The Silurians and Sea Devils (now generally known as Homo Reptilia and Homo Aqua) have always been a unique prospect in Doctor Who.
They’re not aliens trying to take over a planet that’s fundamentally ours. They were here first, so they’re essentially prone to treat human beings (to quote comedian Bill Hicks) like “a virus with shoes.” They want rid of us more or less because we stink up the place.
Look around right now and tell them they’re wrong…
Some people will have had their introduction to Homo Aqua in the recent BBC-Disney co-production The War Between The Land and the Sea, and as that production made clear, co-existence between the species has always proved to be inherently impossible.
In both the species’ outings during the Jon Pertwee era, their return in Peter Davison’s, and their re-return in Matt Smith’s time in the Tardis, the story arc has largely been the same – humanity wakes up the sleeping reptile people by accident, reptile people retaliate, and ultimately, Humanity is forced either to kill ’em all or at the very least seal ’em back up and kick the problem of cohabitation further down the line in the hope that at least human beings, and potentially the reptiles too, can grow the heck up and learn to share.
In a sense, that was an arc repeated again in The War Between.
Gary Russell at the very least manages to find a strand of alternative storytelling in The Scales of Injustice. But quite how well he does it remains up for debate.
Firstly, let’s say that Russell’s Homo Reptilia tale is full-on Pertwee era in its energy. It’s set during the time when Liz Shaw was at UNIT, but after her first encounter with the Silurians, and the tale is split distinctly into seven “Episodes” where are duly labelled as such, in a nod to that first season of Pertwee stories.
It also feels like it crams a couple of “Companion Chronicle” side-quest stories into its pages, as we get the story of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart’s love for his young daughter Kate, and the disintegration of his marriage to her mother.
It’s oddly uncomfortable to see the Brigadier in this mode. It makes a certain sense, building on Kate’s existence as shown in Downtime, and it delivers a kind of Elizabeth I shift between the potential of a family life and the dedication to a greater duty, but still, it brings a queasiness, because we only tend to think of the Brigadier in his work setting, and fundamentally don’t WANT him to be unhappy in his home life.
Then there’s Liz Shaw. We more easily accept that she’s unhappy, or at least uneasy, working at UNIT, handing the Doctor his test tubes. Both Liz and Caroline John who played her were better than the destiny that was handed to them both in Doctor Who, and both of them left the show after just the one season – though there was never a proper leaving scene for Liz. She just disappeared between the first and second Pertwee seasons, going back to Cambridge to pursue her own researches.
Here we see her discontent growing while she’s undertaking a good deal of active adventure, dealing with a spy intent on killing or capturing some Silurians, as well as inter-agency shenanigans, an assassination plot and some real, “on-screen”, close to home murders and accidental deaths.
We see her as a friend, as a potential lover, wife and mother, as a scientist, and as a granddaughter, open to the fanciful and whimsical as well as the staunchly scientific. And we see Liz shift to rediscover a moral core than goes beyond the curiosity that made her stay with Lethbridge-Stewart’s UNIT and the Doctor.
As far as Homo Reptilia and Homo Aqua are concerned, there is a vast treasure trove of complexity and interplay in their societal relationships here. We hear from Ichtar, Tarpok and Scibus (the trio who would later go on to cause havoc in Warriors of the Deep), but we also get a much greater insight than ever before into the castes, physical differences, and genetic interbreeding laws that underpin Silurian and Sea Devil life when it’s left to its own devices. Oh, and yes, there’s a Myrka. Which, in a moment of joy for Doctor Who fans, the UNIT regulars take to calling Nessie. Oh, boys, if you only knew…
There are certain tropes that are included here to maintain the Pertwee era nature of the Silurians, too. A fair amount of ape-hate and ape-slurring is par for the course, and so is a degree of open-mindedness in some Silurians as to what could be done to share the planet with its newer dominant species. As such of course, there’s a good deal of Silurian social tension between the “wipe ’em out” brigade and the “Ach, they’re not so bad once you get to know them” crew.
All of this heavily weighs in the book’s favour, giving it Pertwee flavour and drama and action, oh my!
What doesn’t work so well is the nature of the intertwining human-level plot, with C-19, the predecessor to UNIT originally initiated by Group Captain Gilmore after his encounter with Daleks in Shoreditch in 1963, being suborned to internecine conflict with UNIT itself, and the two having political avatars squabbling for supremacy in a more Avengers-style plotline that is necessary on some level, but often feels like a heavy dose of script-padding.
What’s more, the organisation is being run discreetly by someone who has developed a grab-bag of Troughton and Pertwee-era goodies, more or less just to thrill fans with their inclusion. There’s a dog that’s transformed by an injection of Stahlman’s serum from Inferno. There are humans injected with Auton…juice, to give them a degree of invulnerability and the flippy-down gun-hands that are synonymous with the species. And there’s someone who’s been augmented, Tobias Vaughn-style, with Cyber-strength and a creepy pair of eyes.
It all jogs along on its own rails well enough, but it’s a hefty load of Other Stuff that can sometimes clutter the bejesus out of what is and should be primarily a second stab at a Third Doctor/Liz Shaw Silurian story.
But let the record show that the cluttered, moderately clumsy book redeems itself at the end. While the endings of both the C-19 and the Silurian reawakening stories are tidied away in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fashion that can leave you asking “Wait, what just happened?”, Russell gives you not only the scenes leading up to the appointment of Mike Yates as Captain, but also the leaving scene between Liz and the Doctor that people had been waiting more than 26 years for – and importantly, Russell knocks it out of the park, staying true to Liz’s character, but giving her her “Jo Grant in The Green Death” moment.
The Scales of Injustice then does a lot right, gets intensely cluttered with additional material that obscures more than it clarifies, but then plays a blinder right at the end in terms of righting an on-screen wrong after nearly 30 years.
Is The Scales Of Injustice a perfect Pertwee-era novel? Not really. But is it worth your time as a Doctor Who fan? Oh, absolutely, for the joy of the Silurian social structure and the high quality Liz Shaw content.