Doctor Who: The Rescue by Ian Marter

the pistol at the hatchway and watched the two long thin shadows approaching across the sand outside. Another sharp movement behind her caused her to swing round again to see that Vicki had stood up and was pointing at the open hatch in panic. Before Barbara had time to turn back to the entrance, she heard footsteps on the metal edge of the hatchway.
    ‘I think you have already used up that cartridge, my dear!’ cried a familiar voice.
    ‘Barbara!’ cried another familiar voice.
    Scarcely daring to believe her ears, Barbara slowly turned. ‘Doctor... Ian... I thought you were both dead!’ she burst out, her voice wavering with gratitude and relief.
    The Doctor shook his head wearily. ‘People are always trying to kill me off,’ he complained, smiling and easing the gun out of Barbara’s hand. ‘But I never felt better in my life, my dear.’
     
    He glanced over her shoulder at Vicki’s tearstained face and his keen eyes lit up with interest. ‘And who do we have here?’
    The still, dead air in the labyrinth of caverns was disturbed by a harsh grating sound. The rectangular panel, which the Doctor had just been examining in the rock face above the ledge, swung slowly open on juddering hinges. There was a dry scratching noise and then the tall bristling figure of Koquillion emerged onto the ledge hissing and rustling its antennae in the gloom like some gigantic nightmare grass-hopper. Its globular red eyes burned at the end of their stalks as it stared along the ledge in the direction of the low tunnel leading outside.
    A dull opalescent light played over the ledge from some source beyond the mysterious doorway, and in the layer of dust and sand on the rocky shelf it illuminated a distinct heel print from the Doctor’s boot. Koquillion bent forward to examine the print and noticed a vague trail of two sets of footprints leading towards the tunnel. The creature’s breath hissed with pent-up menace as it traced the outline of the print with its scimitar claw. Straightening up, Koquillion turned and prodded a sequence of points on the embossed surface of the panel. With a click and a grating shudder the panel ponderously swung shut flush against the rock face. Koquillion stalked off along the ledge following the footprints with awkward birdlike strides.
    After a while the panel in the rock wall grated open a second time. Two tall, slim figures appeared on the ledge and slowly stared around themselves before closing the panel by the same method as Koquillion. The figures had long heads tapering to narrow jaws set on slender necks.
    Their features, if they had any, were mere pale smudges in the darkness — flat and smooth with faintly sparkling flecks on the skin. Only their eyes showed clearly as large greenish gleams, almost perfectly circular.
    Their lithe bodies were encased in tightly fitting single-piece suits made of a mirror-bright silver material which incorporated supple boots and a kind of balaclava headgear. From the shoulders hung short multilayered mantles made of the same material. The beings made no sound at all. Even their breathing, if indeed they did breathe, was inaudible. They turned to one another in a kind of graceful slow-motion and seemed to communicate without speech.
    Then they strode off along the ledge, their wiry bodies relaxed but alert, gliding towards the cavern entrance like silver wraiths bent on some secret purpose...
     

7
    Night had almost fallen. In the wreck of Astra Nine the power cells were still producing just enough energy to provide reasonable illumination in the hull compartment.
    Outside, the air was already growing chilly, but inside the wreck it still felt hot and stuffy. The Doctor was sitting on the duct casing with Vicki, while Barbara and Ian hovered tactfully in the background.
    The Doctor had been trying to comfort Vicki, chatting gently away like a favourite uncle. ‘So you see, my dear child, in a few hundred Earth years’ time there will be no night at all