Doctor Who - Downtime Part 25

Probably some sort of activist of whom he would never approve. 'What about...whatsisname? Doesn't he help?'

'I split up with Jonathan two years ago.'

'Ah. I'm sorry.' He watched a pair of geese that were winging like arrows along the stretch of water. 'I'm getting old, Kate.' He felt himself starting to wallow and immediately changed the subject. 'Perhaps you should get off that boat.'

'It's not the boat,' she snapped. 'It's them!'

He stopped walking. 'And me too?'

Kate froze where she stood. When she was little it had been the prelude to a tantrum. He braced himself, but her voice came surprisingly quietly and was twice as cutting.

'Army families get to live together. So why didn't we? Was your career that important?'

It was a familiar argument she had inherited from her mother.

'It's something I can't explain, Kate.'

'Mum used to think you were some sort of spy. We used to hope hope it because at least that would be interesting. But it's just soldiers, isn't it? Training to kill people with big guns.' it because at least that would be interesting. But it's just soldiers, isn't it? Training to kill people with big guns.'

He could remember a golden-haired little tiger who played cowboys and indians with the rest of the children. He also recalled many sleepless nights over the Christmas Monster that lived under the stairs. She said it gave her nightmares

presents wrapped up in the old Christmas paper in which it made its den. But he kept his silence on that.

'I had other responsibilities,' he said to her.

'Who to?'

He smiled. How could he explain? 'To...everyone.'

'What?'

'That's all.'

There was a woman in a dark cloak standing on the other side of the ca.n.a.l. A solitary figure like a ghost risen from the cemetery.

'Who do I trust then?' said Kate.

She was there alone among the gravestones. Another memory. The woman who had been plaguing his thoughts.

'Who do I trust then?'

He turned back and found that he was standing with young Hinton. The world was misty, lowering, turning into a bowl in which he was trapped. The trees were leaning in over him.

Hinton seemed frightened and spoke urgently. 'Don't trust anyone, sir. I told you, no one at all.'

He was no longer dressed in his school gear. He wore a dark coat and under it there was a flash of green and yellow.

'Trust no one at all.'

The cloaked woman was suddenly there behind Hinton. Her clear eyes pierced him. He shuddered under their a.s.sault. He put them out of his head. The world opened out again.

'Well?' said Kate.

Confused, he s.n.a.t.c.hed at a straw. 'Are you sure you don't want any money?'

A look of sickened despair settled over her face. 'Just forget it,' she said and started to walk away.

'Kate!' When he shouted her name, she started to run. She was already disappearing up a side track. He tried to follow, but could not begin to match her pace.

As he ran, two familiar figures in Chilly uniforms emerged ahead of him from the side of the towpath. The first blocked his way with a surly grin.

'h.e.l.lo, grandad. We want you.'

The Brigadier felt himself grabbed from behind. Arms pressed in on his chest. He struggled as the first Chilly raised his spare set of headphones and advanced on him. He recognized the repeating bleep from the speakers. A sound that had once accompanied the Yeti when their forces occupied London.

The Chilly started to force the phones over his head. The signal began to swamp his thoughts. He fought to keep his own will. Swooning, he reached out with his hand and yanked the Chilly's own headphones off his attacker's head.

The youth gave a yell of pain and his knees gave way. He sprawled on the path, shaking his head in shock.

Somewhere in his head, the Brigadier heard a shout. He staggered and saw both the Chillys taking to their heels along the towpath.

His head was going numb. He dropped to his own knees, unable to catch his breath. He fell sideways supporting himself on one hand. Kate. He wanted Kate.

There was a figure running towards him, running downwards out of the sun, scuttling down the side track, a heavy coat flapping round it, a dark scarf flying behind it. The light made a halo of wild curls round its head. And the face, the nut-brown face, was too close, staring too hard. He couldn't make out the face in the shadow of the golden halo. It could be anyone he was half expecting.

'Good Lord,' he slurred. 'Is that you? Have you changed yourself again?'

Too much light. Too much. He couldn't make out the face.

He keeled over into darkness.

22.

Light of Truth he mix of dream and reality that she had learned to juggle, T slid between her fingers. The ca.n.a.l snaked away below.

The silver cord that anch.o.r.ed her astral body to her physical shape stretched, threatened to tear. Faster and faster. An irresistible current was dragging her down into a Charybdis vortex of flying faces and flying mountains. Victoria was carried in the grip of a wave of her own despair. The lost shapes of things never born s.n.a.t.c.hed at her; ideas yet to find thoughts; shadows hungry to be cast. All the hidden life that waits to squirm and wriggle through any crack into reality.

The wave broke and washed her like jetsam onto the empty beach. Endless fields of computer data scrolled across the livid sky. The wind flung squalls of sand in her face. The dark shape of her despair still gripped like a vice, a clawed hand, wreathed in web, clamped at her arm. She struggled to escape as its shadow rose above her.

'I needed time!' she protested to her judge.

' I needed freedom! I needed freedom! ' '

She struggled to free her arm. The wind was tearing at her hair, tangling it into wild streamers. 'You're not Professor Travers. For pity's sake, let me go!'

A burst of laughter echoed through the clouds like thunder.

' Your task is done. Now I take control. I'll find Lethbridge-Stewart... my gaoler! Your task is done. Now I take control. I'll find Lethbridge-Stewart... my gaoler! ' '

Victoria turned for help, any help. She saw the Brigadier himself, in uniform, walking away across the flats. She reached for him, but he was too far, fading in the veils of blown sand.

Other fingers were reaching in to her. Thousands of beseeching hands. Promises she had made, expectations she could not fulfil. They all bound her, a hideous anemone of human yearning.

'Let me go!' she cried to the huge shadow. 'Who are you?'

' Remember me, Victoria? Remember me, Victoria? ' Again its laughter boomed. ' Again its laughter boomed.

' Who's blind now? Who's blind now? ' '

The shadow reared above her. It raked the air with heavy claws. It had a s.h.a.ggy pelt of ruddy fur and eyes like burning coals. It filled the sky and its roar of anger made the beach tremble.

23.

Crichton rigadier Charles Crichton flipped yet another plastic B coffee cup into the bin and snapped irritably at his adjutant.

'Nothing on Miss Smith either?'

Sergeant Beagles looked ready to duck. 'No, sir. There's nothing we can do, not without Central Records at Geneva.'

'd.a.m.ned computers!' exploded Crichton. His normally immaculate jacket had been discarded. He was down to s.h.i.+rt sleeves with the rest of them. UNIT HQ had been pandemonic since the early hours. Twice in the morning, Crichton had fielded calls from Clive Kirkham. The opposition MP was demanding to know why, with the overwhelming plethora of inexplicable events, UNIT was doing nothing. Something had better be done because the government wouldn't lift a finger.

Crichton refrained from telling him that they didn't know what to do because they couldn't access the UNIT computer net. He had been inordinately grateful when the phone lines had crashed as well. But it didn't solve the Lethbridge-Stewart problem.

'Sir?' Sergeant Beagles was still standing in front of his desk. 'Apparently there are some old records in the security vault, sir. Still on hard copy.'

'Sir!' Corporal Ishani dashed in from the outer office and came to an abrupt halt. 'Sorry, sir.'

Crichton fished a key out of his pocket and proffered it to Beagles. 'Out of order, I know, Sergeant, but go and see what there is.'

'Sir.' Beagles hurried away, obviously relieved to be out of the firing line.

'Yes, Corporal?'

Ishani handed an envelope to the Brigadier. 'Just arrived by courier, sir.'

Crichton tore open the envelope and produced a letter printed on Home Office stationery.

'Good G.o.d,' he announced as he started to read. The letter was recalling all British troops attached to UNIT ' in the event in the event of expected civic disorder following the global breakdown of of expected civic disorder following the global breakdown of the technological infrastructure. the technological infrastructure. ' It was personally signed by the Home Secretary. ' It was personally signed by the Home Secretary.

'They want us to stop the public looting Sainsbury's.'

'Sir, the courier's waiting for an answer.'

Crichton tried to concentrate through the machine-gun barrage of a resuscitated electric typewriter in the next room.

It occurred to him that mankind's evolution had peaked and from now on they were devolving backwards down to the primal slime.

Someone in civvies sauntered past his office door.

'Cavendis.h.!.+' yelled Crichton.

The nonchalant head appeared round the door. 'Sir?'

'Ishani. Wait outside and close the door.'

The corporal disappeared as Cavendish came to attention in front of the CO's desk. Crichton had the Devil's very temper when roused and knew how to play on its reputation.

'You're supposed to be on surveillance, Captain,' he barked. 'Who's keeping tabs on Lethbridge-Stewart?'

'Grieve's taken over, sir.'

'And?'

'Nothing unusual to report. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart was still at home when I left. He lives alone.'

Crichton flicked at a paper on his desk. 'No callers, Captain?'

'Only the school secretary.' He smirked. 'She seems to drop in on a regular basis.'

'No phone calls either?'