Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 6

The powerful beam of light swept down, petering out after two hundred metres. After walking through a short tunnel, al four of the astronauts had entered the cavern. The cavern was irregular in shape, made up of the black volcanic rock common on Mars. Cut into the floor of the chamber was a circular pit, twenty metres in diameter, fifty times as deep at least. Commander Michaels wasn't looking at the pit, but rather what was inside it.

He had kept his radio mike open all the time, and was keeping up a running commentary. The Command Module had informed them that the pictures from Bob's camera weren't getting through properly - the volcanic rock was interfering with the signal. Michaels struggled to find the words. 'The pit is full of large structures, solid blue crystal.

They are, er, stalact.i.tes.'

'Stalagmites,' Andi's voice corrected him, ' "t.i.tes come down".' Andi took up the commentary. 'They project up from the floor, narrowing at the top. Stalagmites the size of cathedral spires. The low gravity means they can grow so much taller than they can on Earth.'

'Are they a natural feature?' A male voice crackled from the Command Module. The sound was becoming as erratic as the pictures - Michaels couldn't even identify the speaker for certain.

'Good question. What do we think?'

The four astronauts stepped forward, right to the edge of the abyss. They looked across at the spires and then back to each other. Andi, Bob and Campbell all shook their heads.

'Negative,' Michaels stated, 'These are artificial in origin.'

'Is that ice in there?' Bob asked. Michaels checked his wrist monitor. It was cool in here, with no atmospheric water vapour.

'There's so little water on Mars, how could it be ice?' Campbell objected, bringing a torch beam to bear on the nearest spire.

There was a shape inside, a humanoid shape.

Eve checked her make-up and hair in the mirror.

'OK Alan?'

'Sure,' her cameraman grunted. 'Ready to rol .'

'Do I pa.s.s muster?' Lord Greyhaven asked. He was the picture of English elegance in a single-breasted suit with a silk tie and matching handkerchief. There was something cla.s.sy about a man that had over a bil ion dollars but didn't feel the need to exude wealth.

Not that he'd got his money because his great granddad was at Agincourt. While she was researching this story, Eve had often seen footage of Edward Greyhaven, then a fortysomething politician with a black quiff and some very sharp suits. He'd managed to get the Treasury to pour money into R&D back then, and the British had led the world in the field of pure research. Every month he'd open some new project that promised to revolutionise the way people lived their lives. Not all of them had failed, either. If only the rest of British industry had been in a state to exploit all that new technology. Greyhaven had made his fortune as a consultant after he'd left office. Twenty years on, he looked more distinguished, but there was still a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

'You look good. Er ... before we start, I've got a question. How - ?'

'You can cal me Teddy, or Edward if that's too informal.'

Eve was caught out, something that rarely happened. 'How did you know that's what I was going to ask?'

'I've been interviewed by Americans before, Mrs Waugh. You don't have to address me as "Your Lords.h.i.+p". And my name is spelt with an 'e', not an 'a'.'

'You don't have to cal me "Mrs". I'm not married.'

'I'm afraid that I am,' he replied, chuckling. 'Is this your first time in London?'

'No. Who's doing this interview, me or you? It's the second time this year. I covered the general election. No need to ask you about the result.'

Greyhaven smiled. He had flourished regardless of which group of politicians happened to be in charge. 'Which hotel are you in?'

She told him. He brightened. 'Oh yes, an excellent place. If you're eating in the restaurant there, I recommend the lamb. If not, try the Thai place around the corner.'

'Thank you. Shal we begin? Ready Alan?'

'Still ready.'

The picture on the screen at London showed the three astronauts venturing towards the archway, their torch beams coming on and leaving streaks of light across the Martian landscape. These were five-minute old pictures.

'I must ask you al to leave.'

The Doctor turned his attention away from the screen for just a second. The large young men wore black wool suits that might have been tailor-made to make them look like secret service agents. There were only three people left in the observation bay now: Bambera, Bernice and the Doctor himself. They'd sent three men to get them out.

Each guard picked a target and began to advance.

30.With a couple of seconds before the guard reached him, the Doctor turned back to the screen. The astronaut with the camera followed his colleagues into the tunnel, and the picture became darker, more grainy.

The Doctor was grabbed from behind, and pul ed away from the window. The giant screen lurched out of view.

Benny was kicking and shouting, trying to wriggle free.

Bambera was more calm, although her voice was just as loud: 'I am a member of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce.'

'No sudden moves,' one of the men warned.

The Doctor s.n.a.t.c.hed another glance at the screen. The astronauts were still in the tunnel, there was more static now than picture. His head snapped back to look at Bambera and her antagonist.

'I'm reaching for my ID,' Bambera said sternly. 'Believe me, son, if you want to play Top Trumps with our security clearances you'll lose unless you're the Secretary-General herself.' When Bambera held up her security card, the guard recoiled like a vampire at the sign of the cross.

The Doctor and Bernice weren't so lucky. They were now being dragged across the room to the door, and both had found it impossible to break their captor's grip. The guard clasping the Doctor was paying particularly little attention to how he held his charge, choosing to dig in his nails and shake him as he moved.

'Stop this!' the Doctor yel ed. Everyone in the room stopped and faced him.

'Winifred, I am the Doctor and this is my friend Bernice. We have to get down there, to Mission Control. There might still be time to save those astronauts.'

'The Doctor? Ancelyn and Lethbridge-Stewart both said that you could change your - '

'Come on! We haven't time for this now!' he shouted.

'These people are with me,' Bambera informed the guards firmly. The one in charge shrugged, and let all three out of the observation bay.

'Through here for mission control,' he ordered, opening up a door for them. Al three piled through.

The door slammed shut and to their acute embarra.s.sment the Doctor, Bernice and Bambera found themselves standing in an empty alleyway on the wrong side of a fire door.

They quickly determined that it had been barricaded from the inside and that nothing short of an ATR would open it.

'I can't believe we just fell for that,' the Doctor groaned.

'I need to get in touch with UNIT HQ,' Bambera snarled, plucking her radio from her breast pocket. 'Seabird to HQ.

Seabird to HQ. Hey! Where are you going?'

The Doctor and Bernice were already running off.

Staines found Lord Greyhaven as he stepped out of the Gents.

'That al went rather wel didn't it, Teddy?'

Greyhaven smiled. 'Of course it did, dear boy. A marvel ous speech, by the way.'

The Home Secretary grinned. When Lord Greyhaven praised you it was like getting a special mention from the Headmaster at morning a.s.sembly. Staines decided to try for another positive response. 'It was no more than you deserve, Teddy.'

This time he was rewarded with only a faint tic at the corner of the mouth. Walking side by side like this, Staines was surprised to notice how short the former Minister for Science was.

'Are you well, Lord Greyhaven?'

'Everything is wonderful, Staines. There's an Englishman on Mars, the FT index is up ten percent on the day and I've just been interviewed by a lovely American girl younger than my granddaughter who gave me her telephone number.'

'Gol y. What did you do?'

'I gave her my card and told her that I would be happy to help in any way that I could.'

'How do we top that? Lunch at the club?'

'No, Staines, I think that now I should get down to Mission Control and see if I can be of any help down there. By all means come with me.'

Lethbridge-Stewart hadn't taken his eyes of Alexander Christian since he'd first seen him. They'd walked down the footpath to the railway station in silence, and all the time the Brigadier had kept him covered with his pistol.

Christian was nervous of being spotted, but the streets were deserted: everyone was inside watching the Mars Landing on television. About ten minutes ago there had been a rowdy cheer from inside the pub on the corner.

There was an Englishman on Mars again. The Brigadier couldn't let that distract him. Much as he wanted to hear that the mission was a success, much as he wanted to hear the first words of the astronauts as they were spoken, he couldn't predict what Christian's reaction would be if he watched the coverage, so they couldn't risk a cafe or a pub.

They sat down on a bench, catching their breath. Neither of them were young men any more, although Christian had a ten year advantage over him.

'All right, Lex. Tell me.'

'They buried me, Alistair. They buried me for over twenty years. I'm not mad. I didn't kill my crew.'

'I saw the photographs.'

31.'Fakes. You didn't see the bodies, did you?'

'No, whyever should I have done? What about the radio messages?'

'What messages, old chap?'

'You ranting and raving. A radio ham picked one of them up and sold them to the American television stations.'

There was a pause, the silence broken by the sound of a helicopter in the distance. Both men looked up at it.

'The radio antenna was destroyed in the attack. I couldn't broadcast. They were fakes, too. That's a police helicopter, Alistair, they're coming for me. We have to go.'

'We'll go when I say so. What do you mean "attack"?'

Christian turned to him, looked him square in the eye and without hesitating said, 'My crew were murdered on Mars. Not by me.'

'Cosmonauts? Are you telling me now that the Russians got to Mars?'

'Worse.'

'The Americans?'

'Worse.'

'Give me a straight answer, please Lex.'

'My crew were killed by Martians.' Alexander Christian paused. 'I was the only survivor. I ran back to the capsule and launched it, leaving behind the bodies of my crew. I radioed Earth, warned them about what I'd seen. And when I got back I was arrested and thrown into a mental inst.i.tution.' He took a deep breath. 'Do you know how difficult it is to get out of a mental ward when you have to convince two doctors that you are sane, but you're too stubborn to let them hear what they want? I did see a Martian city. I've never doubted it for twenty years, not once.

Of course they think that I'm mad. You have to help me convince the government that there are aliens out there.

But you think I'm mad, too, don't you?' He looked up at Alistair again, frowning. 'You don't think I'm mad. Why not?'

'The British government has known about the existence of extraterrestrial life for over a century. Twenty years ago I was the commanding officer of a United Nations task force that tried to contain alien incursions. Describe these Martians,' the Brigadier ordered quietly.

The scientists at Mission Control watched helplessly as the picture and sound continued to break up. In between the bursts of static and the shouts of the astronauts there were just impressions that couldn't be a.s.sembled into a coherent narrative: Hissing.

The sound of a visor cracking.

Red eyes, looming over them, burning like hot coals.

One of the torch beams snapping off.

A grunting, barking sound al around.

A claw like a giant crab's.

The camera lurching around.

Great slabs of green detaching themselves from the walls.

A woman's screams, cut short.