Doctor Who_ Attack of the Cybermen - Eric Saward [19]
The Doctor stared down at the body, as though paying silent respect, before bending to confirm the lack of pulse.
He then examined the neck and noticed the massive contusion.
As he pondered on what might have delivered such a blow, a breathless Peri stumbled along the sewer and joined him. It took but a moment to both regain her breath and then realise that the ragdoll shape splayed before her would never move again.
‘His neck’s been broken,’ said the Doctor, quietly.
‘Broken?’ Peri was confused. ‘Then what was that shooting we heard?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Seeing the abandoned Beretta, the Time Lord picked it up and smelt the muzzle. ‘Hasn’t been fired,’ he said, flicking on the safety-catch. ‘What’s more, I’ve witnessed this method of killing before.’
‘Oh... where?’
The Doctor first scratched, then shook his head. ‘Wish I could remember. But further investigation might jog my memory.’
Peri wasn’t so certain. ‘I know I agreed to you searching for an hour,’ she said, indicating Payne’s body, ‘but to me that looks like murder!’
‘There still isn’t anything the police can do. Not until we find some hard evidence.’
‘What more do you need than a body?’ There was an incipient note of hysteria in her voice.
‘That is the unfortunate victim – we require the perpetrator.’
Slipping the Beretta into his coat pocket, he strode off along the tunnel. ‘Come along,’ he said, briskly. ‘When we’ve found who is responsible for this murder, then you can involve the police!’
The Cybermen’s base was a crude affair. The mouth of large sewer pipe had been roughly bricked up, while the other end had been fashioned to house a door. Scattered around the makeshift room, which dripped viscous globules of water, were several large machines with Cybermen busily working at their controls. Along one side of the tunnel were a number of glass-fronted cabinets, each the size of a telephone box and stuffed full of wires, tubing and electronic probes.
Inside one of the cases was a man suspended from steel ropes. Connected to his head was a shiny, silver skullcap with a myriad of tiny wires fanning out from its crown and connecting to probes attached to the roof of the cabinet.
Covering his arms and legs was another shiny substance, which at first glance looked like aluminium foil. Closer inspection would have shown it to be arnickleton: a tough alloy made from metals not found on Earth, and which didn’t just cover limbs but actually replaced them. This process would continue until the man’s whole body, except his reprocessed brain, had been substituted with the alloy.
The procedure was known as Cybernisation: the transformation from human to Cyberman.
At first glance, the almost utilitarian appearance of Cybermen makes them look the same, suggesting a strong egalitarian society. This is far from the case; their hierarchy is rigid. At the apex, and in total command, is the Cyber Controller. Next are Senior Leaders, like a Brigadier on Earth, who command a brigade or, as the Cybermen call it, a Major Phalanx. They are assisted by Leaders and Junior Leaders. Below them is the army, the very heart of the Cyber race, dedicated to absolute supremacy and domination of their galaxy through war and destruction.
Charlie Griffiths watched two such Cybermen in deep conversation and prayed that they weren’t discussing his future – or, more importantly, the impending lack of it.
Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, their general demeanour suggested they were agitated.
‘Impossible!’ snapped Lytton, dismissively when Charlie had pointed this out. ‘Cybermen do not have emotions, therefore cannot become as you suggest.’
‘No emotions?’ Charlie was incredulous. ‘That isn’t possible.’
‘Not for them, Griffiths.’
Charlie had never considered himself, other than in the pejorative sense, a passionate