Doctor Who - Downtime Part 14

Christopher, who had been studying the screen from over the Vice Chancellor's shoulder, smirked. 'Afraid of unearthing a scandal?'

Sarah was not going to be thrown. 'Half of them vanish off any records. And what's this "London Event" that connects them?'

'What do you know?' parried Christopher.

In for a penny, thought Sarah. If that's the way you want it.

'I've found records implying that about thirty years ago central London was evacuated in an industrial accident. They say it lasted three months. But there are no extant reports. No actuality. No one even remembers. How can that happen?'

Christopher never lost his superior air for one moment.

'The London Event was a wasted opportunity the world missed out on interface with a higher plane of existence.' He shrugged. 'It's no big deal. Other chances come along.'

'It was totally misunderstood,' insisted Miss Waterfield.

She turned away from scrutinizing the data and fixed Sarah with an equally intense stare. 'We all stumble about in the unknowing darkness. New World seeks to light the first candle.'

Sarah just managed not to laugh. The woman's sincerity was genuinely touching. 'Oh, come on. New World's more than just a New Age Sunday school. You've got fingers in more pies than Robert Maxwell.'

At this, Miss Waterfield looked slightly hurt. She glanced at the screen for a second and then reached forward to open a large painted box that sat on her desk. Inside, nestling on a couch of blue satin, was a mirrored metal globe.

'I'm afraid we've wasted your time, Sarah,' she said.

This time Sarah did laugh. 'You already knew all this. I should have known better,' she accused. 'New World has the solution.'

The Vice Chancellor nodded. 'That's our motto.'

'Our program program,' corrected Christopher sharply.

Sarah was incredulous. 'But if you've got such highflying sources, why employ me?'

Christopher slowly turned the gold ring on his index finger.

'There's still one name missing from your list.'

'Not to my knowledge,' replied Sarah.

'But much to ours,' said Miss Waterfield. She was intent on gazing into the depths of the globe as if it were a crystal ball.

Sarah had been wondering which story was worth more.

The ease with which she had obtained cla.s.sified MoD information, or the university that was prepared to pay for it?

Whatever she decided, it would all have added up to a nice little expose for her. That was until the names of people she cared about had started to emerge. And, of course, the information she had pa.s.sed on was just the tip of the iceberg.

Even so, she was beginning to get the sense of a hornets'

nest about New World University. She started to feel for the handle of her briefcase in the vain hope of making a scoot for the door.

'United Nations Intelligence Taskforce is a paramilitary espionage squad,' began Christopher as if he was kicking off a lecture. It was plain that they were testing her, so Sarah tried to feign disinterest.

'It's the old MI5 story,' he angled. 'Everyone knows it's there, but no one knows what its real agenda is.'

'Even those who work for it,' added Miss Waterfield.

Sarah returned their accusing stares and noticed a reflection in the Vice Chancellor's spectacles of the monitor screen on her desk. An old black and white image, instantly recognizable, of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart in his UNIT uniform.

Christopher blinked slowly. 'Colonel Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart figures largely in its setting up in the Seventies. He's a Brigadier by then with a remarkable active service record.' He leant forward slightly. 'And then he vanishes.'

'You must have known him during your time at UNIT,'

said Miss Waterfield.

Sarah shook her head wearily. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a journalist.'

'With no "official" records of him, you could easily imagine Lethbridge-Stewart was dead,' continued Christopher.

The Vice Chancellor half turned to him. 'UNIT looks after its own.'

'What's this "Brigadier" supposed to have done?' Sarah enquired.

There was a sudden look of pain on her employer's face.

'He has committed a great crime,' she said. She plainly took this offence personally. Christopher edged towards her, almost as if to console her, Sarah thought. Miss Waterfield suddenly pulled up and said, 'There are other ways of seeking him.'

Simultaneously, there was a flare of light from the screen and a shrill bleeping sound began. It came from the silvered sphere. Beside it on the desk, a small white ivory pyramid began to pulse with an inner fire.

Cracking the Waterfield system had been a doddle, but now Danny was inside, there was nothing to do but nose through the files. It seemed to be all administrative records; nothing immediately political or in any other way d.a.m.ning. Even Victoria's diary was only a list of the future meetings she had to attend. Danny couldn't believe that she could really be so boring. He was skimming through the items faster and faster until he reached a file t.i.tled 'LOCUS'.

He edged in and found a series of doc.u.ments flicking up onto the screen. Some were headed 'Ministry of Defence', others marked 'UNIT'. A number carried ID photos of military personnel. Danny tried to control the flow of images, but the function keys refused to respond. He guessed that he was monitoring another screen elsewhere on the same server.

The parade of doc.u.ments continued as Danny tried to puzzle out why anyone needed to know about 'ARNOLD, George Albert Staff Sergeant (DECEASED)' or 'EVANS, Gwyn Ivor Private'. Then the screen went blank.

Danny tried the keys again, but they refused to punch down. They physically resisted. No exit. No escape from the file. He started to try other combinations, but the keyboard was jammed solid. He started to bite at his finger until the nail tore painfully.

The screen flickered into life.

Danny studied the new image for a second and gawped. It was a UNIT file and the ID photo was of Old Stewpot. Or, rather, Young Stewpot. Lethbridge-Stewart, the Brigadier, his old maths master at Brendon, but much much younger. He was in full military uniform as he invariably was on School CCF younger. He was in full military uniform as he invariably was on School CCF Inspection Day.

School was three years back for Danny, although it seemed about a century. Three years since he was expelled for dabbling in the occult or was given what the headmaster called 'early career benefit opportunities'. Danny's father was more concise with his condemnation. The school did its d.a.m.nedest to avoid the publicity. Even so, the Brigadier had argued strongly and surprisingly in Danny's support. It had been of little avail, but in return, Danny had inwardly promised to be eternally grateful.

His parents had sent him here to New World as a last resort.

A course in Virtual Studies. His father thought the university sounded 'just the job'. His mother didn't have a say. Danny thought it was a right-wing holiday camp. It was the last place he expected to re-encounter the Brigadier.

The image on the screen had begun to flicker, forcing Danny to screw up his eyes against the glare. The screen suddenly flared to a blinding white a white that crackled out at him like a bolt of indoor lightning. He tumbled back in his chair s.h.i.+elding his eyes.

The light was howling at him like a trapped beast. Behind it he could hear a shrill repet.i.tive bleeping. Through the gaps between his fingers, he saw that the monitor screen was turning slowly back and forth on its pivot like a deadly eye searching for a victim. He began to edge the chair backwards as twice the 'eye' pa.s.sed over him. It seemed to be blind.

Something clouded his vision. With a gasp of revulsion, he saw that the fingers on his left hand, the hand closer to the monitor, were covered in strands of sticky web.

He sent the chair clattering as he hurled himself across the room and out through the door.

9.

Flight arah sat in her chair bemused by the sudden effect of the Salarm on her interrogators. She seemed to have been all but forgotten. It might have been a good opportunity to escape, but she was fascinated and the ca.s.sette hidden in her briefcase still had twenty minutes' record time left.

'Someone in the secure system,' muttered Christopher.

Miss Waterfield seemed to be staring into the middle distance, a look of rapt concentration on her face. 'Daniel Hinton,' she p.r.o.nounced.

Christopher smirked. 'That devious little...' He reached down and reverently lifted the bleeping sphere from its box.

The Vice Chancellor watched him apprehensively as he started towards the door. 'I don't want him hurt, Christopher.'

'Of course,' he smiled, and went.

On the desk, the ivory pyramid was still pulsing with light.

Somewhere an alarm was sounding. Victoria Waterfield, now abandoned by her accomplice, sat staring at her monitor screen.

Sarah, determined not to waste this opportunity, moved quickly in on her subject. 'What is New World University?'

she asked urgently. 'You don't have lectures. You don't even have tutors.'

Miss Waterfield turned slowly and regarded her with a look that was defensive and surprisingly vulnerable. She looked very small in the huge winged chair. 'All the tuition is conducted by the mainframe a personalized syllabus for every student.'

'Since when did computers get personal?' complained Sarah. 'Come on, what are the Chillys really for? Some sort of fascist hippy cult?'

Miss Waterfield shook her head gently. She began to remind Sarah more of a nun than a Vice Chancellor all very laudable, but totally impractical. 'The wicked world is full of lost children: the aimless, the lonely. We follow the Det-sen disciplines that our Chancellor shares with us. We really really do care.' do care.'

This compa.s.sion was very persuasive. Sarah did her best to resist. 'Where is he then?' she said. 'Why can't I see him?'

'The Chancellor sees sees no one. He has taken the Path of Truth.' The light of the pyramid was catching in her eyes. no one. He has taken the Path of Truth.' The light of the pyramid was catching in her eyes.

Sarah thought back to the doc.u.ments she had brought with her. In the context of her present situation, one name stood out. 'Victoria Waterfield,' she said. 'That's you on the list, isn't it? At the London Event?'

The result was immediate. The Vice Chancellor was plainly startled.

'You must have been very young then,' Sarah added.

Victoria nodded. She had recovered her composure startlingly quickly. A teasing smile spread over her face.

'Considering I was born over a hundred and forty years ago.'

Sarah half laughed. 'Peanuts, I used to know someone.. She cut herself short, embarra.s.sed and confused. 'No. Sorry, I mean... you don't look a day over...' She mugged and saw to her relief that Victoria was giggling too.

'But I don't feel feel a day over...' She mimicked Sarah's grimace and they both burst out laughing together. They regarded each other for several moments, caught in a sudden unfathomable rapport, even affection. Sarah wanted to ask her to ring for some tea, then they could talk properly. a day over...' She mimicked Sarah's grimace and they both burst out laughing together. They regarded each other for several moments, caught in a sudden unfathomable rapport, even affection. Sarah wanted to ask her to ring for some tea, then they could talk properly.

Victoria's smile suddenly faded. Her eyes were drawn back to the screen.

Sarah followed and saw that the text was endlessly printing: Find the Locus Find the Locus Find the Locus Find the Locus To the side was the image of the Brigadier.

Victoria's hand gave a little reflex jump. Her fingers seemed to reach out of their own volition to touch Sarah's face.

Sarah jumped back with a gasp. The air was suddenly cold.

Victoria's voice had become cracked and hard as if someone or something else was using it. 'We all have pain to face, Sarah. But the Revelation will be soon.'

Startled by the sudden change, Sarah began to edge away from the desk. She picked up her bag and left the office.

Victoria shuddered. The voice in her throat croaked out again, reiterating its demand: 'Find the Locus.'

Victoria clutched at the sides of her desk. She gasped for air, her head pus.h.i.+ng up to stare at nothing at all or something she saw in the ether. Her own voice, no longer usurped, whispered in fear. 'Daniel!'

The whole corridor pumped with the beat. It was pounding into Danny's head as he ran. His legs were going in time with it. He tried to stumble, tried to break the rhythm. Time was slowing up. He was nearly flying already.

Anthony, that's who he had to reach. The DJ would listen.

He'd been complaining in the cafeteria the other day. He'd been there a month and he wanted to know what was going on.

Danny had listened to him then, now he could listen back. He had contacts. He wasn't sucked into the system yet. He'd know how to reach the Brigadier.

' You're jacked into N Treble U from New World. The You're jacked into N Treble U from New World. The people with the solution. people with the solution. ' '