Doctor Who_ Attack of the Cybermen - Eric Saward [15]
‘Then they must be watching the house. Otherwise how would the alien know the rescuer had arrived?’
‘Precisely!’
‘So what are you going to do?’
The Doctor unplugged the direction finder from the console. ‘Fortunately TARDIS technology is a little better than that of Earth.’
‘You’ve located the true source of the signal?’
The Time Lord nodded as he pressed the master control. ‘Should be there almost immediately.’
The time rotor at the centre of the console started to oscillate. ‘I hope this alien appreciates what we’re doing.’
The Doctor chuckled. ‘I’m sure he’s sitting there all of a dither, waiting for us to arrive.’
Peri wasn’t so certain.
A large pipe organ had suddenly appeared on the forecourts of a boarded-up garage. The Doctor hadn’t said anything as they squeezed from behind it. He hadn’t needed to as his look of disappointment had stated everything on his behalf – the chameleon circuit still wasn’t working properly.
Briskly they pulled open the unlocked garage door and were greeted by the sour, pungent smell of sump oil blended with sewer gas.
The Doctor sniffed the air as Peri coughed. ‘It’s horrible!’ she spluttered.
‘From the predominant odour of mixed hydro-carbons, it would suggest this area has been used for repairing the internal combustion engine.’
‘I think you could be right,’ said Peri, eyeing the faded sign above the door. ‘But is the alien here? This place looks as deserted as the house.’
The Doctor extended his arm, inviting her to enter.
‘Let’s find out,’ he said.
It took a moment or two for their eyes to adjust to the sepulchral gloom of the workshop and yet another before they noticed the inspection pit surrounded by its debris of soil and bricks.
Cautiously the Doctor crossed to it, picking up a handful of rubble as he went. Tossing it into the pit, he listened as it bounced and ricocheted off the sides of the hole before hitting the floor of the sewer. He then peered over the edge into the darkness.
‘Is the alien down there?’ whispered Peri, as she joined him.
‘Not that I can see,’ he said, rummaging in his coat pocket. ‘But wherever he is, I’m certain he won’t be far from the source of the distress call.’
Producing the tracking device, and after having picked fluff and other substances from its read-out display, the Doctor set the controls and slowly scanned the room. A moment later the machine was alive with information, indicating that the transmitter was in the office at the end of the workshop.
‘Wait here,’ said the Doctor, as he moved warily towards the room.
Quietly he eased open the door and peered inside. The office was small and stuffy, with a row of metal lockers crowding the length of its longest wall. At the far end of the room was a table with a pair of well-polished shoes on its chipped top. Near the table was a Bauhaus chair - its cane seat destroyed by careless use - with a fashionable grey suit, a crisp white shirt and a silk tie draped neatly over it.
Whatever else, thought the Doctor, the alien was a smart if somewhat conservative dresser. It also told him he was humanoid in shape.
Checking there wasn’t anyone behind the door, the Doctor entered and switched on the bright, unshaded light. He no longer needed his tracking device to locate the transmitter as the draped suit told him its precise location.
From what the Doctor had already seen, he knew that the suit’s wearer was far too tidy not to have hung it in a locker, unless the lockers were already full of something else.
With careful vigilance, the Doctor inspected the cabinets for signs of booby-traps. Taking out his sonic lance, he ran it across the surface of one of the doors. This, he hoped, would deactivate any sensors primed to set off a detonator. Even so, he knew that there were many other ways to protect a cabinet when the only way in, without specialised tools, was the conventional method of turning the handle and opening the door.
Rubbing his hands along the outside of his thighs, the Doctor wiped the nervous sweat from his palms. It had crossed