034 - Doctor Who and the Image of the Fendahl

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‘The Fendahl is death,’ said the Doctor. ‘How do you kill

death itself?’

The ultra-modern technology of the Time Scanner combines

with the ancient evil of Fetch Wood, and brings to life a

terror that has lain hidden for twelve million years.

The Doctor and Leela fight to destroy the Fendahl, a

recreated menace that threatens to devour all life in the

galaxy.

ISBN 0 426 20077 2

DOCTOR WHO

AND THE

IMAGE OF THE FENDAHL

Based on the BBC television serial by Chris Boucher by

arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

TERRANCE DICKS

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

A Target Book

Published in 1979

by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Broadcasting Corporation

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading

ISBN 0 426 20077 2

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way

of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise

circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of

binding or cover other than that in which it is published and

without a similar condition including this condition being

imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CONTENTS

1 The Skull

2 Dead Man in the Wood

3 Time Scan

4 Horror at the Priory

5 The Fendahleen

6 The Coven

7 Stael’s Mutiny

8 The Missing Planet

9 Ceremony of Evil

10 The Priestess

11 Time Bomb

12 The End of the Fendahl

The Skull

A man was hurrying through the woods. Dusk was falling, and

the road was dark and lonely. Wakening owls hooted mournfully

in the shadowy tree-tops. The hiker was near the end of his day’s

travel. He thought longingly of the crowded bar of some village

pub, of pints of beer and cheese rolls, of lights and tobacco

smoke and the babble of conversation.

He kept thinking someone was following him.

It was ridiculous, of course. Every time he looked over his

shoulder the lane behind him was quite empty. But somehow

the sensation persisted. He could feel something, some presence,

some threat, looming up behind him. An old verse began

running through his head. How did it go?

‘Like one that walks a lonely road

And dares not turn his head

Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread...’

Something like that, anyway. ‘A frightful fiend...’ Trying to

put the rhyme out of his mind, the walker hurried on his way.

Professor Adam Colby glared at the skull.

The skull, despite its blankly shadowed eye-sockets, seemed

to glare right back at him.

Colby sighed. He was a handsome, rather elegant young

man, neat and cat-like, whose languid manner concealed a

brilliant brain. ‘Well, don’t just sit there, Eustace. Say

something.’

The skull, of course, said nothing. Enthroned on its

gleaming metal stand, it dominated the clutter of chemical flasks,

bunsen burners, slide rules, callipers and clip-boards that

surrounded it.

Colby scowled. The skull represented a triumph, a challenge

and an enigma, and his laboured student joke of christening it

Eustace did nothing to relieve the problem.

The skull was an impossibility.

Not that you could tell by looking at it. A human skull, well-

developed brain-case, obviously of great antiquity. Fine cracks

and hair-lines across the yellowing bone of its surface showed

that it had been painstakingly reconstructed from various

different-sized fragments.

Colby sighed theatrically, attracting the attention of the

young woman peering through a microscope at the nearby

workbench. She was in her late twenties, dark-haired, and even

in a plain white lab coat and slacks, strikingly attractive. Her

name was Thea Ransome. In her own way she was almost as

distinguished a scientist as Colby himself.

She looked at Colby and smiled. ‘Why don’t you just

publish? Announce your discovery of Eustace to the world and

be done with it?’

‘Why should anyone believe me?’ asked Colby plaintively. ‘I

found him—and I don’t!’

‘Are you questioning my technical competence?’

‘Of course not. The volcanic sediment in which the skull was

embedded was twelve million years old.’ Colby gave her a mock

bow. ‘I accept without reservation the results of your excellent

potassium-argon test. What I don’t accept is that Eustace here

managed to get himself buried under a volcano at least eight

million years before he could have existed!’

Thea shrugged. Her job was the dating of the most ancient

objects by the most advanced scientific methods. Fitting the

results into the accepted theories was someone else’s problem.

The lab door was flung open and Max Stael appeared,

looking round the untidy laboratory with distaste, like a Prussian

Officer on the parade ground. His stiff Germanic good looks

reflected his stiff Germanic character. His lab coat was crisp and

gleaming white. ‘Professor Colby, Doctor Fendleman is waiting

for the corrected co-ordinates.’

Lazily Colby stretched out his arm, fished a clip-board from

the cluttered bench and held it out. ‘There you go.’

Stael took the clip-board, tucked it under his arm, gave a

brisk nod, and turned to leave.

‘Come on, Maxie,’ said Colby encouragingly. ‘End the day

with a smile.’

Max Stael stared blankly at him for a moment. Then his

rather woodenly handsome features twitched briefly, and he

turned and left the laboratory.

Colby winked at Thea, rose and stretched. ‘Think I’ll call it a

day. Coming, Thea?’

‘I just want to finish this—shan’t be long.’

Colby gave a farewell nod to the skull and drifted off. Thea

returned to her microscope.

It was almost dark now and the walker increased his pace,

looking uneasily around at the gathering shadows. He began to

whistle to keep up his spirits, a ragged uneven version of some

ragtime tune. The owls seemed to accompany him with a

mocking, hooted chorus.

His sense of oppression, the feeling of being somehow

pursued was stronger than ever now. The night-wind rustled

eerily through the trees as he hurried on.

Stael went along an oak-panelled corridor in the rear wing of

Fetch Priory. The atmosphere was cold and dank, as if this part

of the enormous old building was seldom used. He marched up

to a heavy oak door, produced a formidable-looking set of keys,

unlocked the door and went into the room beyond.

The big old-fashioned room had been converted into an

incredibly complex electronic laboratory, its walls lined with

banks of controls. This was the home of the Time Scanner,

Doctor Fendleman’s supreme achievement, and as yet a closely-

guarded secret from all but one of his colleagues. The apparatus

gave out a steady electronic tick.

The left-hand bank controlled and monitored power input,

the right directional co-ordinates. The huge central bank

running across the entire rear wall was the control console for

the Time Displacement Sweep. There was a large vision-screen

at its centre, a number of smaller monitor-screens at each side.

Fendleman was busy with the computer controls, a wiry

intense-looking man, sharp-faced, with a thin moustache.

Nothing particularly impressive about him—but he was one of

the richest and most powerful men in the world. Fendleman

Electronics was a multi-national giant that had outstripped all its

competitors, an industrial complex so vast that it virtually ran

itself—leaving Fendleman free to pursue his twin hobbies of

archaeology and electronic research.

He looked up as Stael came into the room. ‘Ah, good, there

you are Max.’ Stael handed him the co-ordinates, and he studied

them for a moment. ‘Yes, excellent. We, are ready to begin.

Phase one power please.’

Stael moved to the power console. ‘Phase one power.’ A

steadily rising electronic hum filled the cellar.

‘Phase two power.’

‘Phase two power,’ said Stael obediently. The hum became a

high-pitched, vibrating whine. Stael winced, rubbed a hand over

his eyes, shook his head as if to clear it, and then returned his

attention to the console.

Alone in the laboratory on the floor above, Thea Ransome

winced, and rubbed her forehead. Her eyes fell on the skull, and

were held by it. There was something very strange about the

skull. It seemed to be glowing... She moved over to take a closer

look.

‘Switching to main computer control,’ said Fendleman. There

was a chattering beep of computer sound, which just as suddenly

cut out.

‘Activating full power run-up sequence—now!’

The whine of power rose higher. The lights in the cellar

flickered and dimmed.

The lights in Professor Colby’s laboratory dimmed too. For a

moment Thea glanced up at them. Then she returned to her

absorbed study of the skull.

It was quite definitely glowing now, and as the glow became

brighter, all expression and vitality faded from Thea’s features.

It was as though the skull were absorbing her very being. Her

face became blank, her eyes glazed, like a high priestess

enraptured by some ancient ritual... She seemed to absorb the

skull and yet to become part of it...

Worried by the ever-approaching darkness, the hiker

stopped, fished a heavy torch from his rucksack and waved it

around. The white beam picked out trees and bushes, nothing

else. Yet somehow the hiker knew there was something hunting

him. He began to run, blundering from the path, crashing

panic-stricken through the bushes.

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摘要：

‘TheFendahlisdeath,’saidtheDoctor.‘Howdoyoukilldeathitself?’Theultra-moderntechnologyoftheTimeScannercombineswiththeancientevilofFetchWood,andbringstolifeaterrorthathaslainhiddenfortwelvemillionyears.TheDoctorandLeelafighttodestroytheFendahl,arecreatedmenacethatthreatenstodevouralllifeinthegalaxy.IS...

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