Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 15

The Doctor squinted up, something on his mind. The crowd was getting louder.

'The voice... ' he said.

It hadn't been the usual Martian grunt, it had been beautiful y modulated, a little quiet, perhaps, the hint of a lisp, but it sounded almost human. 'That's because the speaker was in his native atmosphere,' Benny explained. 'He wasn't gasping for carbon dioxide.'

The Doctor turned back to her, his mouth open. 'I know that,' he said, almost scathingly, 'what I want to know is where he learnt English. Specifically the human names for Martian geographical features on Mars.'

'Good point.' Benny looked over at him. This Doctor could rush in where angels fear to tread, he could drop everything at a moment's notice without a plan or a scheme or a hint of a master plan, but that didn't make him a fool. 'Could they have monitored human radio transmissions?'

The Doctor was staring up at the s.h.i.+p again. 'That's probably it.' The question no longer interested him.

'Are you looking for a way in?' she asked. The Martian s.h.i.+p was two hundred feet above them, its hul was five-metre thick alloy, there was a gun port every ten metres behind which a sonic cannon was powering up. But the Doctor could get in anywhere if he wanted to.

'No,' the Doctor stated.

Benny's face fell. 'No?'

He turned to her and grinned, showing all those teeth. 'Why look for something you've already found?'

The emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council sat back and listened to a replay of the Martian declaration. One of the members was a great deal more agitated than the others.

'Surely we must seek clarification?'

The French delegate leant forward and began speaking. The translations took a moment to catch up. 'The message is clear, Amba.s.sador Campbell. The Martians' only dispute is with "the clans of the United Kingdom".'

There was a babble of discussion around the huge crescent-shaped table.

'Does this mean that the Martians are not threatening the human race, only Great Britain?' one asked.

'It would certainly seem so,' another agreed.

57.The British amba.s.sador straightened. 'Am I to understand that you are considering this a domestic United Kingdom matter?,' he asked incredulously. 'Are you seriously suggesting that these creatures will stop at targeting my country, and that yours wil al be safe?'

'That would certainly seem to be a conclusion that we can draw from the Martian declaration.'

'We have no intention of the whole world being dragged into an interplanetary war.'

'Do you think that the Martians can distinguish between the British and the rest of humanity?'

'You mean they might attack us through ignorance?'

'Or they might think that we are all part of the United Kingdom.'

There was further murmuring around the table.

After twenty minutes of debate, the United Nations agreed to broadcast a request for clarification. They used the radio frequency that the Martians had. The Martian response was almost immediate: 'OUR ONLY DISPUTE IS WITH THE CLANS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM. WE HOPE TO LIVE IN PEACE WITH.

ALL THE OTHER RACES OF THE EARTH. HOWEVER, SHOULD OTHER HUMAN CLANS ATTEMPT TO.

ATTACK MARTIAN TERRITORY OR INTERFERE WITH THE INTERNAL AFFAIRS OF THE MARTIAN.

DEPENDENCIES, THEN THIS WILL BE TREATED AS AN ACT OF WAR AND WE WILL RESPOND IN THE.

APPROPRIATE MANNER.'.

The television commentators and their pundits weren't sure what to make of the announcement. The relief of those outside the British Isles was tangible, and the message of peace was taken as a very encouraging sign. The crowd in Trafalgar Square were more ambivalent. Over the objections of the British contingent, the European Parliament issued a statement welcoming the Martians, and stressing that the EU had no hostile intentions towards 'our Martian neighbours'.

The President of the United States found himself outnumbered by people advising him to appease the Martians.

Many countries issued statements that renounced violence as a general principle, and hoped that the Martians would not resort to it. Most didn't make any statement at all, hoping not to draw attention to themselves. Across the world, hara.s.sed politicians appeared on television screens, declaring that their own countries were not under immediate threat, but that all was being done to defend their borders if the Martians did attack.

Throughout the world, military leave was cancelled, bases were put on full alert and units were mobilised.

Tensions mounted, and the areas p.r.o.ne to rioting did indeed riot. Television commentators from Utah to the Ukraine a.s.sured their viewers that there appeared to be one Martian s.h.i.+p and it was staying firmly in London.

Within the hour, the tone had changed to one of wounded pride: why hadn't the Martians chosen to come to Paris, New York or Moscow?

Brigadier Bambera had spent the last three-quarters of an hour on the telephone, cal ing up as many senior military men as she could. Most seemed to know that UNIT's activities were official y suspended, but in the light of recent events, they were talking to her anyway.

The Martian s.h.i.+p hovered on the video screens, each showing a different TV channel, each showing a slightly different angle of the vast s.p.a.cecraft. Al but one channel showed the s.h.i.+p itself: ITN had resorted to 'artist's impressions' of the aliens.

While the eyes of the media were on the enemy, the Army were dusting off their invasion plans. There was a lot of dust on them. it was over fifty years since there had been any realistic possibility that a foreign power would invade Britain rather than obliterate it with nukes. During al that time, the British Army had kept itself busy with minor skirmishes, training exercises, Northern Ireland and peacekeeping for the UN. The theorists and strategists had spent a lot of their time running war games, planning what they would do in the unlikely event of an invasion of British soil. The computer simulations had proved that the war time plans had been broadly along the right lines.

It was a simple idea, borrowed from the terrorists, guerril as and mercenaries that the Army had spent its time fighting. Elite soldiers would, as the s.e.xist phrase had it, 'kiss their wives and disappear', heading underground to carefully prepared safe houses and secret hideouts. Caches of weapons and other equipment were buried around the country. These soldiers would continue the fight behind enemy lines, helped by careful y-vetted locals with good knowledge of the terrain of their area. Each group would operate like a terrorist cell, to prevent infiltration.

These 'Auxiliary Units' would sabotage bridges and railway lines, monitor enemy troop movements, blow up strategic targets.

All around the country, men were kissing their wives goodbye and disappearing.

Captain Ford was on his way to UNIT HQ in Windmill One-Nine. Because of their unique position, the staff at UNIT HQ would liaise with other countries, provide an 'underground railway' for men and materials. Ford would remove the communications equipment from HQ and take it to the rendezvous point outside Windsor.

Bambera's husband Ancelyn had been in Durham, on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St Cuthbert. Now he was heading to Balmoral with an SAS team to evacuate the Queen and Prince Phillip. The submarine Prometheus Prometheus was waiting to take them to safety. The Prince of Wales and his sons had been on the royal jet when the Martian s.h.i.+p entered the atmosphere. Instead of London, the jet had ended up in Madrid. was waiting to take them to safety. The Prince of Wales and his sons had been on the royal jet when the Martian s.h.i.+p entered the atmosphere. Instead of London, the jet had ended up in Madrid.

58.Other members of the royal family were also being accounted for. Ancelyn would be going with the Queen to Canada, protecting the rightful sovereign and the descendants of the rightful sovereign as his sacred oath demanded.

Bambera would never get the chance to kiss her husband goodbye. She put the phone down.

'We are with you,' Lethbridge-Stewart said. Alexander Christian nodded his consent.

'With respect, gentlemen, no. Go home to your family, Alistair. We'll manage.' Bambera couldn't look them in the eye as she said it.

'No.' Lethbridge-Stewart said firmly. 'This is our fight, too.'

She smiled. 'Good.'

The Foreign Office was being deluged by messages from around the world, al of which welcomed the Martian's peaceful intentions towards the rest of the world. The Cubans were the first to welcome the new administration and hope for future co-operation. Emergency sessions in parliaments, congresses and palaces around the world concluded that a 'wait and see' policy would be most prudent.

Greyhaven consulted his watch.

'A quarter past eight. It is time.'

'Time?'

'With the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary in Was.h.i.+ngton and the Chancel or of the Exchequer in bed with a nasty bout of food poisoning, you're in charge, Staines.'

'M-me?'

Greyhaven nodded. 'And the Martians did say that they wanted the leader to go up in person.'

'Er... Teddy.'

'I'll accompany you if you wish, Home Secretary.'

'You're going up there?' It was Veronica Hal iwel , the head of MI5.

'There's little choice, is there, Director General?'

'Will you be armed?' she had done her homework. Greyhaven had done his National Service, and still practised his marksmans.h.i.+p from time to time.

'No, thank you, commander. That's a big s.h.i.+p, and one handgun won't make too much difference in the lions' den, will it?'

She nodded. 'As you wish.'

'Have you raided the UNIT Offices yet?' the Home Secretary demanded.

'Sir, we need everyone at our disposal here. Besides, it's complicated. UNIT facilities have special status, we can't just wade in.'

'Director General, they have Alexander Christian in there. They are harbouring a multiple-murderer. Criminal acts don't get much more clear-cut than that. Now, I want you to raid their office, and I want you to do it now.'

'Sir!' a young soldier was running over with a radiophone. 'It's Was.h.i.+ngton, Home Secretary.'

Greyhaven leant over the soldier and unplugged the telephone's battery. 'Oops, we seem to be having technical difficulties. It must be interference from the Martian s.h.i.+p. Are you coming, Staines?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

Greyhaven walked over to his car, and unlocked the boot. He pul ed out an Adidas sports bag.

'Are you going to challenge them to a game of squash?' Halliwel asked witheringly.

Greyhaven didn't reply.

'Get Christian,' Staines ordered her sternly, before he followed Greyhaven across.

'What's going on?' Benny asked.

A hatch was dilating open on the underside of the craft. The light inside wasn't that bright, but it stood in stark contrast to the gloomy metalwork of the rest of the s.h.i.+p. The crowd were getting agitated, perhaps thinking that it was a weapon of some kind. A black disc appeared in the hatchway, and it began descending in a perfectly straight line.

The Doctor stared up. 'They are sending down a platform. A lift car, I would imagine.' He checked his pocket watch. 'Dead on time. The message said that they wanted the British leader to surrender in person.' The crowd were pointing and muttering.

Benny was looking down at the ground. 'I don't see the Queen or Mr - Hang on, that's the Home Secretary. And that rocket man, er... '

'Lord Edward Greyhaven,' the Doctor supplied.

'Who died and made him boss?'

The Doctor considered Bernice's question for a moment, before he remembered that it was a figure of speech.

'This is no time for flippancy, Bernice,' he chided her.

The disc had reached the ground. Lord Greyhaven and the Home Secretary walked over and stepped onto it.

Before they had stopped moving, the disc was rising steadily into the air. There were appreciative gasps from the crowd.

The floor closed underneath them, like the iris behind a camera lens, shutting off the dizzying aerial view of Central London. Greyhaven and Staines stepped down from the magnetic disc.

59.The chamber they were in was quite pleasant, bland almost. It was large. The high ceiling was the first thing that Staines noted. That and the lighting, which was a sort of diffuse pink. The room reminded the Home Secretary of the Commons Chamber. It was about the same size, and great swathes of a green tarpaulin-like material lay neatly folded along the walls. The colour was almost the same shade as the benches that lined the Commons.

'This isn't too bad, is it?' He called over to Greyhaven nervously. Teddy's attention was fixed on the only door.

Slowly he began walking towards it, that sports bag of his in his hand. Staines followed. Around them the air was filled with the whirring of mechanisms, the rattling of pipes. The door was almost the size of a garage door, and it was made from frosted gla.s.s.

A deathly red light was glowing on the other side, almost like firelight at the end of the evening, when only the embers remained.

Something s.h.i.+fted behind the gla.s.s, a great, square shape moving slowly through the gloom. A machine of some kind, he thought. It was impossible to see it clearly.

'Do they know we are here, do you think?' Staines felt nervous again.

The door retracted.

Standing framed in the doorway, bathed in red light, was the worst thing that Staines had ever seen.

It looked like a barnacle encrusted deep-sea creature, a monster from the depths. It hissed, struggling for breath as it dragged itself forwards out from a bank of mist.

It was well over seven feet high and was as broad as Staines was tall, with vast shoulders, like an American footballer or a medieval knight. It was a hunchback, with a ma.s.s of thick plating piled up onto its shoulder blades.

It was skin, though, not armour. Crocodile skin, with ridges and b.u.mps al over it. The torso and stomach were covered in a curved carapace like a tortoise's or turtle's.

It moved towards them, lumbering on legs as thick as a human torso and bulky, flipper-like feet. Wiry green-black hair sprouted from the gaps in the armour-plating - tufts of thick fur at the ankles, the elbows and the shoulders.