Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids by Pip Baker, Jane Baker

talons, the severed waxy, olive-green limb began scrabbling towards him.
    He fled. Any misgivings about his drastic plan were expunged by the gruesome mutation.
    ‘I don’t care what you heard on some mythical tape!’
    Lasky, propped against the work bench, was allowing the Doctor to examine her bruised forehead. She wanted only to talk of Bruchner’s attack, but the Doctor, who had come to the hydroponic centre to question her about the missing tape and the mysterious voices on it, persisted.
    ‘You’re letting arrogance blinker you, Professor. Maybe it’s not your intention, but you’re running the risk of joining an extensive role of dishonour. Misguided scientists who’ve claimed the pursuit of truth as an excuse for immoral experiments.’
    ‘There’s no time to debate ethics!’ retorted Lasky, scrambling to her feet. ‘I made that mistake with Bruchner! I tell you the man’s demented. He’s out to destroy this ship. And everyone on it!’
    The stolen phaser was levelled at the two officers on the bridge. ‘Get out of here!’ Bruchner commanded.
    Instinctively the Commodore reached for the emergency tab – an intense beam blasted from the phaser searing the Commodore’s wrist, disabling him.
    ‘Move! Now! Or I’ll kill you both!’ That Bruchner was capable of executing this uncompromising threat was crystal clear. Non-compliance would have been tantamount to committing suicide. Grudgingly the Commodore and Duty Officer retreated to the lobby.
    On their departure, Bruchner energized a locking device, causing two heavy panels to slide together forming an impregnable barrier that sealed off the control section from the rest of the ship.
    In the lobby, beyond the barrier, the Duty Officer’s immediate concern was his superior’s injury.
    ‘Leave that till later. Get the laser lance up here!’
    The officer hesitated.
    ‘ Now! ’ barked the Commodore. ‘And bring stun guns with you!’
    At the double, his subordinate left, passing Lasky and the Doctor who were entering the small antechamber.
    ‘Bruchner?’ she asked, indicating the sealed panels and the inflamed wound.
    ‘Yes. Why? What’s his motive?’ rasped the Commodore.
    ‘I rather think his intention is the vital question,’ the Doctor corrected.
    ‘All right. What’s his –’ Pain creased the handsome face.
    ‘Just tell me, Doctor!’
    ‘He’s determined to destroy this ship.’
    ‘And the rest of us with it,’ added Lasky.
    ‘Does the lunatic know anything about flying a space craft?’ Another grimace of pain accompanied the Commodore’s words.
    ‘Bruchner’s been trained as an astronaut,’ informed Lasky. ‘One of the team had to be. Obligatory requirement.’
    ‘Very thorough.’ The bitter sarcasm had a finality that did not bode well.
    ‘Can the power to the bridge be cut off ?’ Straw-clutching was a trait of the Doctor’s.
    Not a hope. It’s designed to be hi-jack proof. From the outside!’
    Suddenly, an almost imperceptible tremor shuddered through the lobby.
    Bruchner’s training had, indeed, been thorough. At the command console on the bridge, he adeptly fed in course changes, igniting the directional boosters. On the navigational window, the image of the Black Hole of Tartarus began to shift from its offset position... until the co-ordinate grid had the rapacious whirlpool fixed plumb centre.
    Another minor adjustment, and the intergalactic liner’s prow was locked into the epicentre of the beckoning Black Hole...
    Already the cosmos’s most sinister gravitational forces were sucking the craft into ever increasing speed. Thrust against the lobby wall, Lasky fought for balance. ‘What’s happening?’
    ‘Isn’t that obvious? We’re running into turbulence!’
    Because of his injury, the Commodore was having even greater difficulty in maintaining his balance.
    ‘I’d say rather more than turbulence,’ stated the Doctor, solicitously steadying the Commodore.
    ‘Don’t talk in riddles, man!’