Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 13

The Doctor pressed his face up to the video wall, calculating trajectories and velocities. 'Yes, of course. Don't you see, Brigadier? It means that this has been planned: the Martians launched their revenge s.h.i.+p a day and a half before before the astronauts even set foot on Mars.' the astronauts even set foot on Mars.'

'Skywatch confirms UFO on heading for Northern hemisphere.'

'But how did the Martians know that the Lander was heading their way?'

'They must have picked up the transmissions from Mars 97,' Bernice suggested.

The Doctor whirled to face the video screens, a little concerned. They were al missing something obvious. A cylindrical object on radar; faked radio signals; no telemetry from the Lander. He turned back to the group.

Captain Ford's former scepticism had evaporated. He was also staring at the screen, unable to take his eyes from it. 'So how long have we got?'

The Doctor glanced up at the screen. 'Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.'

Bambera s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone. 'We'll need a global state of emergency. Captain Ford, contact the Secretary-General and the Prime Minister. Tell them "Cromwel ". Tell them "Ultimate".'

Back in the Second World War, 'Cromwell' had been the codeword for the German invasion of Britain. An invasion that had never come. 'Ultimate' must be some sort of codeword stressing the urgency of the situation.

'The PM's in Was.h.i.+ngton. We'll need the Home Secretary.'

'Whatever,' she snapped.

'Skywatch confirms UFO on heading for Western Europe.'

'Brigadier - it's New York for you.'

'That was quick.'

The Secretary-General appeared on the screen. 'Winifred. I've just received word from Downing Street. Now you're declaring a Cromwell Ultimate. What on Earth is going on there?' She had a pleasant Irish accent.

Bambera scowled at the screen. 'Secretary-General, we have reason to believe - '

'Ten minutes ago, I had the Home Secretary on the line. He says that you've got Alexander Christian in there.'

Brigadier Bambera was a little taken aback. 'Yes we have, he - '

'They have formal y requested the suspension of UNIT operations in the United Kingdom pending an investigation.

You are not above the law, Brigadier.'

50.Bambera pulled herself up to her full height. 'Madam, we have a global security alert.'

'Wel that's just it. There's nothing on the radar, no anomalous radio transmissions. The sky is clear, Brigadier. In future, before you tell everyone the world's about to end, kindly check your sources. Provide me with concrete evidence and hand over Colonel Christian to the British police. Do that, and I'll reconsider. End.'

The screen went blank.

'We need to warn the public,' Bernice said quietly.

'That is the last thing we wil do,' Bambera snorted. 'Can you imagine the panic when we announce that not only do aliens exist, but they're about to attack?'

Bernice was scathing: 'Don't you think they'll be panicking anyway in a quarter of an hour when the war rocket lands and Martian battle tanks pour out?'

'Can't we at least set off air-raid sirens?' Lethbridge-Stewart suggested. 'Get as many people as we can into shelters.' The Doctor looked around. For al their brisk efficiency, for all their expertise, there was little that the people in this room could do to protect their citizens.

'The Martians won't get that far,' Bambera announced, dialling a short number. 'Missile Control?'

'Missile Control here.' The reply was relayed around the conference room.

The Doctor opened his mouth to object, but Bambera was already barking instructions into her microphone. 'We need a surface-to-s.p.a.ce ICBM strike. Those are your co-ordinates now. Authorisation: Seabird One. Dayword: Electron.'

'Denied, UNIT HQ.'

' Denied Denied?' Bambera snarled.

'Skywatch confirms UFO heading for the United Kingdom,' the Corporal cal ed out.

'Direct orders, United Nations, ma'am.' The line went dead.

The Doctor sighed with relief. 'Any attempt at violence will be met by the Martians with superior firepower.'

Captain Ford was still staring at the radar screen. 'Couldn't we contact another country? Another branch of UNIT would have the authority. Call NUIT in Paris.'

'Sir, we can't ask the French to start firing nuclear missiles over British airs.p.a.ce. What if one fell short?'

'Won't other countries start taking things into their own hands and arrange their own nuclear strike?'

'They won't,' Lethbridge-Stewart said, more in hope than certain knowledge.

'Can't we try talking to them?' Bernice asked.

'Do you speak Martian. Mrs Summerfield?'

'As a matter of fact - '

'UFO is now in the atmosphere. Trajectory confirmed.' A string of numbers ran across the computer screen.

'Calculating course,' the Corporal said.

'It's heading for Trafalgar Square,' the Doctor announced. 'Brigadier, you have to get us down there.'

'UNIT engagement protocols - '

' - the Doctor knows al about them, Captain,' Lethbridge-Stewart interrupted, 'in fact he helped me to draft them.

We need a containment team down there to evacuate the public, we need military units to keep them out.'

'I am aware of what we need, Brigadier,' Bambera bawled at him, 'but I have just been given a direct order from the Secretary-General to stay put.'

'This is far more important than the petty concerns of your planet,' the Doctor yel ed.

'I agree, but - '

'Tracking computer confirms the landing area as Central London.'

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling. Far, far above him, the Martian s.p.a.cecraft would be visible from the ground now.

'We're too late,' he whispered. He darted for the door. 'Come on, Bernice!'

Night was falling over London.

It never got dark in the city. The street lighting became diffused with the air pollution, and the sky glowed a muddy orange. On most nights you could see the Moon, and some of the brighter stars, but nothing much else. So few people ever looked up.

A black shape appeared among the clouds, parting them like a plough. It was vast, larger than any of the buildings it pa.s.sed over.

Warning buzzers had already sounded at Air Traffic Control stations around the city. Airs.p.a.ce had been cleared, as best it could. Police stations were beginning to get the first of their phone calls from worried citizens.

Alan dialled the number of the Newsdesk.

'Gloria, it's Alan in London. I know I'm too late for the evening news, but I've got a story for you. Yeah - you'll want to flash it. Check the pictures of the - '

The line was beginning to crackle. Alan scowled at the phone, unable to believe that the story of the century would slip through his fingers because of a dodgy telephone.

'The line's terrible,' he told Oswald.

'It's the government listening in. They're on to us. We'd better get moving!'

51.The young man was swinging his head from side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching the phone box.

Alan ignored him.

'Check the pictures of the Mars Landing,' he shouted into the phone. 'Look at the air lines. One's disconnected. It's the story of the century: the Mars Missions are a fake. The Brits haven't been to Mars at all. Tell the world!' He slammed the handset down, knowing that he'd just made history. Oswald was waving at him.

'Alan, look up there, for Christ's sake.'

Alan did as Oswald said, and saw a vast, dark shape coming down through the clouds over the Thames.

For the first couple of seconds, those that looked up and saw it thought it was an aircraft in trouble. But after a moment of panic, they realised it couldn't be. It was perfectly silent. It wasn't a zeppelin, either: the hul was clearly made from thick metal plates, riveted together, and it must have weighed many hundreds of tonnes. It was drifting down, apparently effortlessly. In reality the underside of the object was lined with tiny rocket vents which were pulsing with bursts of magnetic force.

Far below, television pictures and computer monitors began to s.h.i.+mmer. Car radios and phone lines began to crackle. Every audio and video tape in Central London was wiped. Cutlery drawers were rattling, every loose piece of metal across the city began jiggling up and down.

People were beginning to look up. Cars stopped, the crowds on the streets began to point up into the sky. Every burglar alarm and car alarm went off.

The Sumerian MechInfs had wiped out the Mongol Militia, and now they were advancing relentlessly towards the Mongol capital, Doug City. The three hundred year campaign was reaching its inevitable conclusion and only an act of G.o.d would save him now. Stil Emperor Doug fought on.

The VDU rippled, then the computer tried to reset itself. Every other machine in the Cafe was bleeping as they rebooted. Doug looked around at the denizens of his Internet Cafe, all of whom were glaring at him as though the freak electrical surge was his fault.

'The end of Civilisation,' he chuckled.

Eve Waugh often woke in an unfamiliar bed.

This was the first time she had found herself in a married man's room wearing nothing but a ten-thousand-dollar necklace. It was the first time she'd slept with a member of the House of Lords. It was the first time for a long time that she'd shared a bed with anyone. What would her mother think?

Although the curtains were drawn, she could see that it was stil only the early evening outside.

Edward had risen and dressed while she dozed. She was dimly aware of him getting out of the bed, kissing her shoulder as he left. Ten minutes ago? She could hear him outside in the living room, boiling a kettle.

Eve sat up, brus.h.i.+ng her chest where the segments of the necklace had dug little marks into her skin. She checked her watch as she scooped it up from the bedside table. It was seven in the evening. She'd been asleep for a couple of hours. The night was still young.

Edward's bathrobe was hanging up by the bed. Eve stepped over to it. The carpet felt as worn as it looked. She toyed with the idea of putting the robe on. It smelt of his aftershave. She decided not to wear it. If it was seven, his staff had gone home, and besides they'd proved very discreet. So she walked through to where he was, wearing nothing but her new necklace and her watch.

Edward was standing at the window, looking out over the Thames. He was immaculate in his wool suit, he'd even brushed his hair and fitted the handkerchief to his jacket pocket. As she walked in, he turned to face her. She hardly saw his reaction to her.

There was a UFO coming up the Thames. She ran over to the window, pressing her palms to the gla.s.s. Five storeys up, she got a better view of the alien machine than most. It looked like... it didn't look like anything from Earth.

Eve stared up into the twilight sky and tried to fit the object into her own frame of reference. There was a resemblance to a Civil War ironclad, its prow reminded her of the head of a swordfish. It was built from a dark metal, like cast iron, but it glittered. The portholes looked like a fly's compound eyes, and it was possible to see through the smoky gla.s.s that the interior was lit in languid red, like emergency lighting. Something was s.h.i.+fting around in there: dark, diffracted shapes that were impossible to interpret. It was vast.

It was fol owing the course of the river, heading upstream. It barely cleared Tower Bridge and pa.s.sed over HMS Belfast on the river. It was possible to guess its size now it was coming alongside the Greyhaven Building. It eclipsed Guys Hospital and London Bridge station, so it was larger than the two combined. That made it a kilometre long, perhaps two hundred metres broad. A dozen times bigger than a Jumbo Jet. on the river. It was possible to guess its size now it was coming alongside the Greyhaven Building. It eclipsed Guys Hospital and London Bridge station, so it was larger than the two combined. That made it a kilometre long, perhaps two hundred metres broad. A dozen times bigger than a Jumbo Jet.

Edward placed a hand on her bare shoulder. 'It's heading across the city. Get dressed. We have to get to Mission Control,' he said softly.

52.Police cars were racing through London.

It was so large that it was visible right across the city. The pavements, the parks and the rooftops were full of people staring up at it, trying to work out what it was. Loudmouths were proclaiming it to be a publicity stunt for a movie, a hot air balloon, a Jeremy Beadle wind-up. No-one was listening to them.

EastEnders vanished from ten million television screens, replaced by a live feed from the roof of the BBC. The picture jumped around a bit at first: there was no commentary. There were dozens of people up there, all looking upwards at an object in the sky. Some were pointing, others were talking. There was an urgency about the image that every viewer found compel ing. They edged closer to the screen, trying to ignore their children who were asking what was going on. The object pa.s.sed overhead, drifting over the Strand. They heard Nicholas Witch.e.l.l's voice telling them that this was a genuine news programme, and the object on their television screen was an alien s.p.a.cecraft. vanished from ten million television screens, replaced by a live feed from the roof of the BBC. The picture jumped around a bit at first: there was no commentary. There were dozens of people up there, all looking upwards at an object in the sky. Some were pointing, others were talking. There was an urgency about the image that every viewer found compel ing. They edged closer to the screen, trying to ignore their children who were asking what was going on. The object pa.s.sed overhead, drifting over the Strand. They heard Nicholas Witch.e.l.l's voice telling them that this was a genuine news programme, and the object on their television screen was an alien s.p.a.cecraft.

But everyone could see that for themselves. This wasn't a model, a computer graphic or any other kind of special effect. It wasn't a hoax, a ma.s.s hallucination, a scare story, a dream, a practical joke, a fossilised polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbon or a science fiction drama.

It was an alien s.p.a.cecraft, coming to rest ten feet above Nelson's Column.

53.

Chapter Seven