Prologue


Prologue - Prologue

Page 1


MEMORANDUM

To: Professor Andrew Montrose
Research and Development
Department of Sciences
Cambridge University
Cambridgeshire

October 14th

Dear Professor Montrose,

Regarding the existing agreement between your Department and Department C19
of HM Government's Ministry of Defence, reference number JS/77546/cf.

As you know, C19 has, over the past few years, continued to subsidize a
great number of individual projects and courses and co-sponsored a number
of staff at your facility.

As per the above agreement, C19 requests four attachments to begin
immediately at locations of our choosing. These simultaneous attachments
are scheduled to run between twelve and twenty-four months.

The researchers we require are:

Richard Atkinson
Doctor James D. Griffin
Doctor Elizabeth Shaw
Cathryn Wildeman

Please inform the above that their attachments will be beginning on Monday
21st October. They will be collected by our representatives and taken to
their place of work.

Please inform the attachees that to comply with the Civil Defence (Amended)
Act (1964) they will be required to sign the Official Secrets Act (1963)
before leaving Cambridge.

You can assure the attachees that they are not being seconded to work on
any projects that they may find morally objectionable, including weapon-
development programmes, military hardware design, or any related matters.
Many thanks for your co-operation in this matter.

Yours faithfully,

Sir John Sudbury
Administrator
Department C19
Ministry of Defence

Page 2


Sir Marmaduke Harrington-Smythe CBE
The Glasshouse

October 14th

Dear Sir Marmaduke,

Further to your requests stated in your letter of 23rd September, I write
with two important points.

Firstly, the future of the private nursing facility known as The
Glasshouse. We are pleased to confirm that we have extended your existing
contract for a further eighteen months, effective October 31st this year.
Our payments to you for this service have been increased by 2.3%, effective
the same date.

You will, I'm sure, join with me in acknowledging that there have been
teething problems; some while you were setting up this most essential
service to our Ministry; others as we co-ordinated the necessary
administration (specifically the use of the Official Secrets Act (1963)).
However, the Minister now joins other members of C19, myself included, in
feeling that we have reached a satisfactory standard of care and
convalescence for our servicemen with injuries unsuitable for traditional
hospital treatment, and with suitable respect for the total confidentiality
required by this Department.

The second point is the one raised in your letter of September 27th,
concerning the Glasshouse's requirement of better scientific staff to work
on the materials we provide. To this end, we are subsidizing your proposed
redevelopment of the basement area into a laboratory, provided that only
staff supplied by ourselves should be aware of its existence. In addition,
four new members of staff will be supplied to you, paid for by this
Department. The team will be headed by Doctor Peter Morley, with whom you
may already be familiar through his work with the Department of Applied
Sciences at Warwick University.

If you have any further questions, please contact me at your convenience.

Yours sincerely,

Sir John Sudbury
Administrator
Department C19
Ministry of Defence

Page 3


MEMORANDUM

FROM: Commander, British Branch, UNIT
TO: All Staff
REF: 3/0038/ALS/mh
SUBJECT: Scientific Advisor, arrival thereof
DATE: 24th October

I am pleased to announce the forthcoming arrival of Elizabeth Shaw to UNIT
as our Scientific Advisor.

Doctor Shaw has been working with the highly regarded Montrose team at
Cambridge for the last few years, and will be joining us on Monday 31st
October. She will be answerable directly to myself and Captain Munro, and
will be setting up our new scientific department. She will also work
closely with Doctor Sweetman on medical matters.

I feel sure you will join me in welcoming Doctor Shaw to our organization,
and will give her all the help and support she needs during her period of
adjustment. We all look forward to her becoming a valuable member of the
team.

Brigadier A. Lethbridge-Stewart
Commander
British Branch, UNIT

Page 4


Andrew Montrose
The Cupps House
Bridge Street
Cambridge

To:	Richard Atkinson
Doctor James D. Griffin
Doctor Elizabeth Shaw
Cathryn Wildeman

October 25th

Dear Colleague,

I enclose a copy of the letter I received today from C19. You've all known
that this might happen, and it seems they finally want their pound of
flesh.

All four of you will need a few days to sort out your lives and tie up your
current projects. I don't know where any of you will end up, either as a
group or not. Sorry. We're pretty much in C19's hands there. All I do know
is that Sir John Sudbury is trustworthy. If he says the work's non-
military, I accept that.

I'm sorry we probably won't work together again here at Cambridge. As you
know I'm due to retire from here in May next year and I expect you'll be
incommunicado for the next year or two. I'll keep a slice of cake for each
of you.

Make the most of this opportunity. It may look a little Orwellian, but it
won't be. Enjoy, my dears, enjoy!

Stay Hip and Cool.

Andrew

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Episode One

Page 1


'Jesus,' coughed Grant Traynor into the darkness. The J tunnel reeked of
chloroform, condensation and antiseptic, plus a blend of amyls nitrite and
nitrate, and urine. All combined together in a nauseous cocktail that
represented something so horrible that he couldn't believe he was involved
in it.

Why was he there? How could he have sunk so low that he had ever accepted
all this? Over the last ten years or so Traynor had not only accepted but
even taken part in events so abhorrent it had taken him until now to do
something about it. At the time, it had just been part of the job. Now, he
couldn't understand how he had ever participated in the operations without
vomiting, or screaming, or raising a finger in protest.

Well, that didn't matter, now that he'd finally realized what had to be
done. He had decided to blow it all wide open, blow it totally apart. 'Once
I'm finished,' he grunted, as he tripped over another lump in the tunnel
floor, 'they'll never be able to show their faces in public again.'

The papers. All he needed to do was to reach a telephone and tell the
papers about the place. In three hours, he guessed, they would be there,
swarming all over the laboratories, offices and, best of all, the cavern.

The cavern. That was the place he really wanted to see shut down. That was
where all the horrors took place. Where some of the most evil acts ever had
been performed, allegedly in the name of science, research and history.

'Yeah, right. Well, they'll be exposed soon. They'll - '

There was a noise in the dark. Where was it coming from? Behind him? In
front? He had to strain to listen the tiny amount of light in the tunnel
was barely enough to enable him to see where he was treading, let alone
yards ahead or behind. A snuffling sound, like an animal. Like a pig
snorting out truffles. It sounded like the...

'Jesus, no! Not down here!' Grant moved a bit faster.

'They know I've gone. They've sent the Stalker down here! After me!'

Page 2


The snuffling noise was nearer, and this time he could hear the growl too.
A deep, slightly tortured growl that would send even the most ferocious
Rottweiler scurrying for safety. And Traynor had helped to make it sound
that way; he knew its limitations. Or rather, he knew that it didn't have
any.

He must have got a good start on it. No matter how fast it could run, he
reasoned, he had to be way ahead. But it could see far better than Grant
Traynor could - and it could see in the dark. It could track via scents;
everything from the strongest garlic to the mildest sweat. He'd been
responsible for introducing that particular augmentation, and he knew how
effective it had been. Surely it had to know he was there. Surely -

But maybe not. Traynor stopped for a second and listened. Perhaps they were
bluffing, hoping that hearing it in the tunnel with him would scare him,
make him reconsider. To go back to them.  Fat chance.

It was nearer now. That growl was getting louder. Much louder. Which meant
it was definitely closing the gap between them. But how far behind was it,
and did he have enough of a lead? He quickened his pace through the
darkness, ignoring the intermittent pain when his outstretched hands
cracked against the unseen stone walls.

'That's right, Traynor,' called a voice further back in the dark.

'We've sent the Stalker after you. Are you close by?'

Traynor stopped and pressed himself against the tunnel wall, as if the dark
would protect him from the Stalker. They were murderers, all of them. What
if someone else should come down here? Innocently? Mind you, Traynor
considered, then he would have a hostage. They would never let the Stalker
get an innocent.

Hell, Traynor was the innocent. He wasn't doing anything wrong. They were
the ones doing something wrong.

'Traynor, come back to us.'

Page 3


Stuff it, you lisping creep. As if I'd trust you. Maybe, Traynor thought,
he should tell his pursuer what he thought of him and his bloody henchmen
back in the Vault. Maybe - what was he thinking of? That would only serve
to let the Stalker know where he was hiding.

It was definitely closer. But Traynor was positive that he couldn't be far
from the gateway. And the chemical stench had to be confusing the Stalker
to some extent. Surely...

'Traynor, please. This is so pointless. You knew when you signed on, when
you signed the OSA, that you couldn't just walk away. We need you back,
Traynor. Whatever your gripe, let's talk about it. You're too useful to us,
to our boss, to lose you like this.'

Traynor smiled and let his head loll back against the damp wall. He smiled
without humour. There was no way he was falling for that.

'Traynor?'

They were so close now. And that creep was down there, personally, with the
Stalker. You're brave, I'll give you that, Traynor thought. Psychotic,
twisted, malicious and evil. But brave.

But he wasn't going to let admiration stop him. He wouldn't let it hold him
back. He simply couldn't. Getting out, spilling everything to the papers,
was too important. It was too -

'Hello, Traynor.'

'Oh God.' Traynor could only see one thing in the dark - his own reflection
caught in his pursuer's dark sunglasses. The same sunglasses his pursuer
always wore whatever the weather, wherever he went, whoever he saw.

Page 4


Traynor saw fear reflected back into his own eyes. The fear of a man caught
by his immediate boss and the Stalker.

'I'm sorry, Traynor. You had your chance, but you blew it.'

Traynor was momentarily aware of a snuffling noise near his left foot, and
then he was falling, and then the pain hit. He screamed, his mind filled
with nothing but agony, as the Stalker bit cleanly through his lower leg.
He fell, feeling himself hit the floor, his blood adding the scent of human
suffering to the overpowering smells in the tunnel. Somewhere in the
darkness, someone was chuckling. The last sensation to pass through Grant
Traynor's mind was one of bitter irony as the Stalker bit deep into his
side, tearing through flesh with genetically augmented fangs that he'd
designed for precisely that purpose.

Liz Shaw stared around the laboratory at UNIT headquarters, gazing towards
the jumble of test-tubes, burners and coiled wires. Then there were the
less recognizable scientific artefacts, probably from other worlds, or
alternate dimensions at the very least. Well, maybe. Whatever their origins
and purpose, they were strewn in untidy and illogical designs all over the
benches. Doing nothing except being there.

They annoyed her.

It was ten-thirty in the morning, her car had taken nearly thirty minutes
to start, and it was raining. No, frankly she was not in the highest of
spirits.

'The sun has got his hat on. Hip-hip-hip hooray! The sun has got his hat on
and he's coming out to play!' The Doctor was singing - out of tune, off-key
and with little feeling for rhythm, tempo or accuracy but, Liz decided, it
would just about pass a dictionary-definition test as 'singing'. Maybe.

Page 5


She had been stuck in this large but rather drab UNIT laboratory for eight
months now - staring at the same grey-brick walls, the same six benches
with the same scattered tubes, burners and Petri dishes for far too long.
Liz told herself often that before her 'employer', Brigadier Lethbridge-
Stewart, had whisked her down here she had been enjoying her life at
Cambridge, researching new ways of breaking down non-biodegradable waste by
environmental methods. It had been a challenge, one that looked set to keep
her occupied for some years. Scientific advancement rarely moved fast.

Instead, she had fought a variety of all-out wars against Nestenes, strange
ape-men, stranger reptile men, paranoid aliens and other assorted home-
grown and extra-terrestrial menaces. Her initial and understandable
cynicism about the raison d'etre for UNIT had quickly given way to an
almost enthusiastic appreciation for the unusual, unexplained and
frequently unnatural phenomena that her new job had shown her. Her most
recent assignment had pitted her against an alien foe not only far away -
the tropics - but, via the Doctor's bizarre 'space-time visualizer', back
and forth in time as well. UNIT had provided her with novel experiences if
nothing else.

But as she twirled a pen between her fingers and left her subconscious
trying to make some sense of the complex chemical formula the Doctor had
scribbled on the blackboard during the night, three things were gnawing at
her mind. How much longer she could cope with UNIT's sometimes amoral
military solutions; how much longer she could cope with UNIT's cloak-and-
dagger-Official-Secrets-Act-walls-have-ears mentality; and how much longer
she could cope with UNIT's brilliant, sophisticated, charming, eloquent but
downright aggravating, chauvinistic and moody scientific advisor.

Oh, the Doctor was without doubt the most inspiring and intellectual person
(she couldn't say 'man' because that implied human origins, and she knew
that to be wrong) she was ever likely to meet. He was also the most
insufferable. And he needed Liz as an assistant about as much as he needed
a bullet through the head.

Hmmm. Sometimes that analogy had a certain appeal...

Page 6


'Are you in some sort of pain, Doctor?' asked the Brigadier, popping his
head round the door of the UNIT laboratory, an unaccustomed broad grin on
his face.

The singing stopped abruptly. Liz wanted to point out, as brusquely as she
dared, that her employer had just said exactly the wrong thing. She did not
get the chance. Instead, the Doctor stopped what he was doing with a sigh.
Liz was none too sure exactly what he was doing, but it looked complicated
and tedious, and she had decided ten minutes earlier not to enquire - the
Doctor could be very patronizing when he was irritable. And he was
frequently irritable.

'Did you say something, Brigadier, or were you just releasing some of that
pent-up hot air you keep in your breeches?'

The Brigadier crossed the lab, pointing with his favourite swagger-stick at
the shell of the TARDIS, which was standing in the corner. 'Can't upset me
today, Doctor. I've got my happy head on.'

The Doctor picked up his tools and turned back to the bench at which he was
working. 'Oh, good.'

Liz decided some tact was called for. 'And why's that?'

The Brigadier turned to her and smiled. 'Because, Miss Shaw, today our C19
paymaster Sir John Sudbury is due here to tell us exactly how much money
we're getting in this coming financial year.' He perched on the edge of a
bench and leant forward conspiratorially. 'If we're really lucky, I might
get a new captain out of it. Quite impressed with young Yates - fine
officer material. Might even give you a pay rise.'

Liz laughed. 'Oh come on, I doubt the money gods are that kind.'

Page 7


The Brigadier shrugged. 'Maybe not.' He nodded towards the Doctor, who was
working feverishly as he quickly moved his equipment round, a soldering
iron in one hand.

'And what exactly is he up to?'

Liz shook her head. 'I don't know. I came in this morning and he was seated
exactly where I'd left him last night. I don't think he's slept a wink.'

The Doctor swivelled round, the hot soldering iron pointing at them like
some kind of alien weapon. 'My dear Liz, sleep, as a wise man once said, is
for tortoises. And if you must know, Lethbridge-Stewart, I'm actually
obeying your orders for once.' He got up, placed the soldering iron on its
rest and let his jeweller's eye-glass drop into his hand. 'As usual, the
two of you have been so absorbed in chit-chat that you've failed to notice
an important omission from this lab.' He had crossed the room and was
standing face to face with the Brigadier. Taking the military officer's
swagger-stick, he twirled it like a magician's wand and tapped the side of
his head. 'Worked it out yet?'

Liz stared around for a moment and gasped. 'That TARDIS console. It's
gone!'

The Doctor smiled at her. 'Well done, Liz. Top of the class.' He shot a
look back at the Brigadier. 'At least someone round here can use their
eyes.'

The Brigadier shrugged. 'So where is it?'

'Back in the TARDIS?' ventured Liz.

'Right again.'

'Pah,' snorted the Brigadier. 'How'd you get something that big through
those tiny doors?' He pointed at the TARDIS as the Doctor leant against it.

Page 8


'Elementary, my dear Alistair, quite elementary, you asked me to try and
get the TARDIS working. Well, the console is back in there and I'm
currently trying to restore functions to the dematerialization circuit.
Satisfied?' He walked back to the bench, took off his smoking jacket and
laid it over a stool. 'Now, I have work to do.' He gave the Brigadier a
last look. 'Goodbye, Brigadier.'

The Brigadier stood. 'Yes, well... I suppose I've got to make sure
everything's ready for Sir John and old Scobie.'

Liz smiled. She had a soft spot for Major-General Scobie. 'When's the
general going to be here?'

The Brigadier looked at his watch. 'Sergeant Benton's collecting him from
his home about now. Will you join us for lunch? Cold buffet, I'm afraid,
but the best I can offer.'

Liz nodded. 'I'd be delighted.' She threw a look at the Doctor's back.
'That's if there's nothing for me to do here?'

Without looking up the Doctor grunted something about idle hands, finger
buffets and military officers admiring pretty legs.

'I'll take that as a no then, shall I?' She turned back to the Brigadier.
'Twelve thirty?'

'On the nose, Miss Shaw, on the nose.' He gave a last look at the TARDIS.
'Through those doors? Pah. One day I'm going in there to see exactly what
he's spending UNIT funds on.' Picking up his swagger-stick and flicking it
under his arm, the Brigadier marched out.

Page 9


Liz crossed to one of the lab's huge arched windows and stared down onto
the canal below. It had stopped raining and the sun was just breaking
through the clouds. A colourful narrow-boat was navigating the lock, a tan
shire horse waiting on the towpath, given a brief respite from providing
the barge's horse-power. The morning seemed to be getting better. Liz
smiled; she liked sunny days.

Behind her a low moan went up. Or singing, depending on whose definition
one accepted:

'Raindrops keep falling on my head...'

Liz threw a clipboard at him and stormed out of the lab.

Daylight. Can't be done in daylight.

Night. It has to be night, or someone might see, might try - no, will try -
and stop me. Can't let that happen.

So cold. Why is it so cold? The sun is up. Bright sun but it seems...
further away? No, must be an illusion. But the sky. Look at the sky. A
haze. Dust and dirt between us and the blue sky.

Air is dirty. This world is polluted. Probably irreversibly. Why couldn't
they look after it better?

Ridiculous fools. Pathetic idiotic primitives. Cretinous apes!

Page 10


Once upon a time Jossey O'Grahame had been an actor. Once upon a time he
had been Justin Grayson, star of stage, screen and radio. He had been there
in the golden days of Ealing comedies, Lime Grove dramas and Riverside
support features. He'd worked with Guinness, Richardson and Olivier in
films during the fifties. He'd had to shoot a young Johnny Mills in
'Policeman's Lot', marry Jane Wyman in 'The Game's Up' and assault
Trevithick in 'They Came from the Depths'. The sixties had been good to
him, radio and television making the most of his talents.

'There's no higher responsibility than great potential,' his agent had once
said. But then there'd been that scandal with the silly young model - he
couldn't possibly think of her as an actress after he'd worked with the
likes of Dora, Ashcroft and Neagle - in that aborted comedy film about the
power crisis, 'Carry on Digging'. He'd been thrown off the Pinewood lot,
his contract and reputation in tatters, and the production company had sued
him for compensation over the scrapping of the film. And all because the
little tart had written a stupid letter and taken too many sleeping pills.

The papers had proved to be fair-weather friends. Their coverage of the
story had been relentless and unforgiving.

Eventually Jossey had 'retired' to the south coast and had spent eighteen
months touring the holiday camps, bingo halls and small clubs, re-hashing
old Galton and Simpson comedy material until finally he couldn't take it
any more, and his bank manager couldn't take any more of him. He was
bankrupted, washed up for good.

So here he was, living in the cheapest bed-and-breakfast he could find,
leeching off charity and the public purse. With no future, every day became
the same. He spent his few waking hours watching the waves spray against
the rocks at the foot of the local lovers' leap, clutching a bottle of
cheap whisky, and wondering over and over again whether he should take the
plunge himself.

As he stared once again at the endless ebb and flow below, and listened to
the screeching of the seagulls as they circled over the small town below
the cliff, Jossey knew that he lacked the courage to jump. Besides, this
place was a lovers' leap, and no one had ever loved him, nor him them, so
what was the point? He tugged his worn overcoat around his thin frame; it
was cold for late March, and the wind across the cliff-top was brisk and
bitter. The half-empty bottle of whisky glinted at him, and he took another
dram to keep out the cold, keep his spirits up. Something would happen to
change all this, he was sure. His brief moment in the public eye wasn't
over yet. One day, his name would be in the papers again.

Page 11


There was a strange hissing sound. Had it been there a while, and he hadn't
noticed it? It crossed his mind that there must be a car or motorbike
parked behind him on the cliff-top, and one of the tyres had sprung a leak.
Hefting himself around, he was intrigued to see nothing. No car, no bike,
nothing hissing. The wind whipped through the thin grass around his bench,
but this was a different sort of noise.

'Who's there?' he muttered.

No reply. He peered down towards the edge of the cliff Nothing. Maybe it
was something to do with the old cottage a few hundred feet away, the one
the hippies had taken over for midsummer a few years ago, when they
released those pretty doves. Love, peace and harmony. Ha. No chance -

There it was again. Not really a hissing. It was more regular this time,
like breathing. Perhaps someone else up from the town, then, come for a
drink and a chat. The breathing of someone with a bronchial infection, too
much smoking and drinking. He should know.

'Larry? Larry, is that you? Stop mucking about, would you?'

Then he saw it. And wanted to scream, but couldn't. All he could manage was
a whimper as something caught all the noises in his throat and held them
back. His eyes tried to take it in, tell his brain that it wasn't real. He
gripped the bottle of whisky tighter, and something old and forgotten
crawled into his mind.

Devilback! Run, run for my life. The Devilback is after me, they're all
after me, yelling and screeching. Hissing and spitting, I can hear them...
A net. I'm in a net, dragged backwards. Screaming. Mother. Father. Help me.
No! No, don't let them touch me... don't let them take me back to the pen!
I can't stand the pen. Left in the sun for days, no food or water, with my
fur getting drier and mangier as the insects crawl all over it, in my eyes,
ears and mouth. Can't get clean enough. No family. No friends. Just the
growling of the Devilbacks. Must struggle, must get away from them must
scream...

Page 12


Jossey O'Grahame saw the vision of half-remembered terror bend towards him,
wobbling its... its head?

PAIN! Overwhelming pain and heat swept over him as he felt his skin
contract suddenly, growing too tight for his body. His mouth dried up,
stalling a scream in his throat. His eyes hurt. His ears wanted to pop. The
bottle in his hand grew hot suddenly, the whisky inside bubbling and
steaming. He tried to let it drop but his hand seemed to be melted to it.
With a frightening calmness, he knew that the pain in his chest meant that
his heart had stopped working. He saw the face of his mother smiling. The
bottle shattered, shredding his hand, spilling its boiling contents over
his smouldering coat. He didn't notice.

And for a final flickering moment, Jossey knew for certain he'd never play
Lear.

No! It can't be dead.

Only wanted to stop it making that awful noise apes always made. This one
had that look in its eye - millions of years later and still they fear us.
An adult, this one, surely, so why did it try to make a noise? Young
hatchlings, yes, but adults? Pathetic creatures. Maybe Baal is right, the
best way to deal with vermin is to destroy. But Sula doesn't agree, says we
need their DNA to help us. Who's right?

Curse Sula. Curse Baal, too - he wants a hatchling, he should get it
himself. Instead, this ape sees things it shouldn't and dies. The Apes
always mourned their dead, so there will probably be a family of them here
soon. Their telepathy is basic, mostly instinctive and empathic, but
functional.

Nothing yet. Strange. Still, better hide. Yes, shelter - there.

I sense nothing alive in it. Safe.  Now to wait until nightfall.

Page 13


Liz's day was getting better.

First off, she'd gone hunting for some spares for the electron microscope
she was trying to improve. If there was one thing she'd learned from
working with the Doctor over the last few months, it was how to cannibalize
various 'primitive' scientific devices and rebuild, modify and generally
improve them.

Mister Campbell, the stores-manager, had been more than happy to delve into
his darkest drawers and cupboards to find what she wanted and load it all
into a cardboard box for her.

'Always willing to help a fellow inmate,' he laughed.

Liz smiled back, thanked him for his time and left with her box, trying to
ignore the slight crawling of her skin that she always felt when talking to
the Scotsman. His predilection for what he thought to be harmless flirting
with the few female UNIT officers and staff was renowned throughout the
building. Carol Bell had been the first to warn her about Campbell's
'charms'.

'He's all right if you just grit your teeth and smile. Anything more than
that and he'll take it the wrong way.'

Maisie Hawke, UNIT's chief radio operator, had concurred. 'There's so few
of us that he's starved for attention. We tried complaining to Jimmy Munro
once but he said he couldn't do anything about it.'

That, Liz decided, was typical of Captain Munro,, who was now back in the
regular army. Nice enough chap, but never one for confrontations or
discipline.

It was on the way back from the stores that she'd thudded into a new young
private, Boyle, who'd offered to take her box up to the lab.

'It's on the second floor,' she explained. 'Can you find it?'

Page 14


Boyle had saluted in the way that all newcomers to UNIT did - a combination
of eagerness to please anyone who might be an officer even if they weren't
in uniform, and pleasure at seeing a young woman about the place and
marched off with the box, muttering that he couldn't wait to introduce
himself to the Doctor, about whom he'd heard so much.

For a top-secret organization, Liz thought wryly, there's a lot of gossip
about UNIT going on in the regular army. Still, UNIT probably wasn't
considered the greatest of postings, and the rumours of danger and high
casualty rates must far outweigh the truth.

On the other hand, UNIT's mortality rate was the highest of any section of
the British Army, and some information about that was definitely in
circulation - Liz knew of at least three privates who had requested duty in
Northern Ireland rather than serve in UNIT. And Liz had to acknowledge
that, to Lethbridge-Stewart's credit, he never attempted to strong-arm any
of the soldiers who had made that decision; he simply accepted their
refusal and moved on to the next potential recruit.

And now UNIT was being investigated financially. Liz had been aware from
the day she had joined that UNIT was not as well funded as it ought to be.
Special weaponry and the latest electronic gadgets, most classified as top-
secret, were the staple diet of Mister Campbell and his stores. Designing
and prototyping these items cost what UNIT's opposite numbers in the CIA
referred to as 'the big bucks'. The British branch of UNIT didn't have big
bucks or even medium bucks, and while its equipment might be decades ahead
of state-of-the-art commercial technology, it was lagging behind its
rivals.

'Good morning, Miss Shaw,' said Mike Yates, carrying an armful of rifles.

She nodded back at the handsome sergeant, thinking not for the first time
how his rather public-school good looks reminded her of some hero of a
boy's comic from the fifties, or an Eileen Soper illustration of one of
Enid Blyton's intrepid child adventurers. Mike and Liz had shared a couple
of tense situations, and while Liz would never claim they were close
friends, she did feel a certain bond with the young sergeant.

Page 15


She remembered that the Brigadier had already asked for her opinion on
Yates as possible captain material. If honesty, integrity and reliability
were essential requirements for a military promotion, then Mike Yates
fitted the bill perfectly.

'Where are you off to with that lot?' she asked, nodding at the armaments.

'Stores. Being put away for a rainy day.'

Liz frowned.

'Well.' Mike shrugged his shoulders. 'If we're on an economy drive to get
more funding for UNIT, it struck Benton and me that the less hardware there
is lying around and looking surplus to requirements, the better our chances
of more dosh.'

'Hmmm. As a taxpayer, I'm not sure I approve.' Liz tapped his hand
playfully. 'But as a poor overworked and underpaid lab rat, I appreciate it
enormously.'

Smiling, Mike wandered off in the general direction of the Armoury. Liz
watched him go for a moment and then continued on her own tour of the
building, making her way to the Brigadier's office. She wanted a quick
natter with him about the correct protocol in dealing with Sir John Sudbury
- she'd never met the man, and a few pointers on what she should or
shouldn't say to him could be useful.

After all, it was always best to keep on the right side of C19.

Page 16


March 27th
I am so bored. This place is about the dumpiest dump Dad could find. I've
been here two days now, and they've been two of the crappiest days I've
known.

It's been a while since I wrote anything in this diary and I really ought
to as my early memoirs are going to be a best-seller when I'm a famous
politician and world statesman.

At least, that's what Dad always says. I'd rather be a singer or an actor
or something exciting, but he says there's no money in it. Isn't there more
to life than money? Mum always says that I shouldn't be asking things like
that at my age, whatever that's supposed to mean. Mrs Petter says we're
never too young to think about money and the good and evil it causes. Dad
says she must be a 'bloody commie', but I think she's making sense. It's
all very well to be loaded like Dad and the others in Parliament, but there
are lots of people who aren't and Dad doesn't know what to do with half of
his cash. Just before they sent me here, he bought a boat. I know he'll
never use it. Steve Merrett called it a status symbol. I asked Dad on the
phone last night what that meant, and he said Steve and his father were
just jealous, and that next-door neighbours were scum. Which means Steve
was obviously right.

'The Memoirs of Sir Marc Marshall OBE. Volume 2: Formative Years of Teenage
Angst'. I wouldn't bet on it. But I've got going now, and there's nothing
else to do here, so...

Why am I here? Bloody good question, Marc, I must say. Officially 'the sea
air will do you good and Aunty Eve has been wanting you to visit ever since
you were old enough to be on your own.' Yeah. Right. Truth is, Mum and Dad
are having a month of be-nice-to-the-constituents, and every night it's
barbecues, folding newsletters and postings, or endless meetings with
various local groups. And I, of course, would get in the way.

Mrs Petter said that I should be proud that my Dad does something for the
community but I think she was being sarcastic. Maybe that's what a bloody
commie is - a teacher who thinks parents are one thing but tells their
children the opposite. I'll ask Aunty Eve.

Anyway, this place is called Smallmarshes and it's in Kent. Apparently it's
not far from Hastings, which Aunty Eve says is good for shopping, and
Dungeness, which Aunty Eve says is good for nuclear radiation. I don't
think she likes it. Come to think of it, I remember her and Dad arguing
about nuclear reactors once. She's Mum's sister, and he's never liked her.
He doesn't like me much either. Probably explains why he sent me here for
the school holidays.

Page 17


Steve Merrett's dad runs a newsagents down on Deansgate. His mum works in
that big office block above the car park next to the Arndale Centre. She's
a secretary or something. Why can't my parents be normal? Why does Dad have
to be an MP? Why doesn't Mum go to work like everyone else's mum?

This afternoon I'm going to Dungeness to stand next to that nuclear reactor
and get radiation poisoning and then all my hair will fall out and my skin
will go green and I'll die and it'll be in all the papers.

Why?

Because it'll really piss Dad off.

Yeah.

All right, working on the assumption that the average fourteen-year-old
doesn't die from standing next to nuclear reactors - Aunty Eve's still
alive and she said she tied herself to the gates of Dungeness once - I'll
write about it later. Let's face it, there's nothing else to do here.

'Marcus?'

Don't call me Marcus. It's Marc.

'Yes, Aunty Eve?'

'Lunch's ready.'

Toad in the hole? Fish Fingers? Not Spaghetti Hoops on brown toast, please?
Something with a bit of meat in it, or I'll die.

'You'll like this. Potato skins filled with cream cheese and red kidney
beans. Get it while it's hot.'

Oh. Fab. Just what I wanted.

Page 18


'Doctor Shaw, always a pleasure to see you, m'dear. How are things? Stewart
looking after you properly, is he?'

Liz smiled at Major-General Scobie. 'Everything is fine, thank you,
General.' She adored the way that the weasel-featured old general always
called the Brigadier 'Stewart', as if refusing to acknowledge the UNIT CO'S
English heritage, purely because he knew it annoyed the younger man.

Scobie, Liz had decided on her first meeting with him some months before,
possessed all the looks that casting directors would kill for whenever they
wanted an ageing military officer. A tiny snow-white moustache gripped his
upper lip, beneath a beaky nose that protruded from a thin face with cheek
bones upon which you could rest teacups. Excursions to Burma during the war
and a long posting with his late wife in Singapore during the fifties had
left him with a permanent suntan that unfortunately looked as if it had
come straight out of a bottle. But the best thing about him, Liz thought,
was his steel-grey eyes that could reduce a new private to jelly with one
glance. Experience would teach them that beneath the gruff exterior lived a
virtual pussy-cat of a man; yet one who was fiercely loyal and dependable.
A top-rate commander, Jimmy Munro had once called him, and Liz had learnt
how right that assessment was.

Scobie and the Brigadier had some sort of love/hate relationship. Being a
regular army liaison officer, it was Scobie's job to challenge and
investigate LethbridgeStewart's every move, but Liz frequently felt sorry
for the Brigadier. Old Scobie often seemed to play devil's advocate to the
point of ridiculousness. Still, if it made UNIT more efficient and saved a
few lives now and again, it was worth it. Deep down, Liz knew, the
Brigadier agreed. But such was his character that he'd never let anyone
know that - least of all Scobie.

Page 19


Army men, Liz had decided long ago, were just overgrown schoolboys who had
exchanged their catapults and stink bombs for mortars and guided missiles.

As she popped a cheese vol-au-vent into her mouth, she spared a glance at a
newcomer, who was escorted in by Private Boyle. This was obviously Sir John
Sudbury, a rather chubby man who had 'Minister for reducing cashflow'
written all over him. Almost bald, except for tufts of hair around his
ears, he had the ruddy complexion of a man whose liver wasn't likely to
last another five years. His dull, red-rimmed eyes suggested long exposure
to too much cigar smoke, probably wafting around whatever ridiculous
gentlemen's club he and his friends frequented near St James's Street, SWI.

This rather grim impression was offset by a beaming smile that creased his
heavily jowled face into something Liz could only picture as the face of a
sea-lion on LSD. He almost hopped across the Brigadier's office, arm
outstretched, and gripped Scobie's hand. He began to pump it furiously.

'Scobie old man, how the ruddy devil are you, eh? And Lethbridge-Stewart,'
he continued without a pause, leaving Scobie silently mouthing a riposte.
'Good to see you again, old chap.' He swivelled around, waving to Boyle as
he left, shutting the door. 'Splendid young man that, Brigadier. Polite,
pleasant, chatty. Good to see your troops are up to their usual standards.'
He swiped a vol au-vent off the desk and swallowed it whole, pausing only
to take a proffered glass of mineral water from Carol Bell as she offered
it to him. 'Thank you, Corporal,' he mumbled, nodding at her as she smiled
back. 'Splendid set up, Brigadier, quite splendid.' His eyes rested on Liz.
'Ah, and who is this young charmer, eh? Didn't tell me you had even more
young ladies around the place. Corporal Bell not enough for you, what?'

Liz knew she would normally be steaming at such sexism, but Sir John's
manner was so buffoonish and inoffensive that she knew getting annoyed
would be pointless. The old man hadn't a clue how sexist he was being. From
the corner of her eye, however, she could see the Brigadier beginning to
panic. Good, Liz decided. At least she'd got him trained.

'Sir John Sudbury, I presume?' Liz shook his hand firmly. 'My name is
Elizabeth Shaw. I'm one of UNIT's scientific corps.'

Page 20


'Of course you are, m'dear. Doctor Shaw isn't it, from Cambridge?
Doctorates in chemistry and medicine, honorary doctorate in metaphysics and
humanities. Plus assorted qualifications in economics, history and Latin.
Have I missed anything?'

'Apart from my sixteen-plus in metalwork, probably not. I'm flattered.' Liz
found herself blushing. She coughed, trying to hide her embarrassment.
'That, and my research work into the paranormal.'

Sir John looked surprised. 'Really? I must have missed that. Been studying
your file recently, have to confess. I've had to get genned up on all this
space defence stuff ever since Jim Quinlan's death meant I had to take on
his workload as well. Sorry, but it takes time.'

Liz nodded. 'Of course. Well, that last interest has only started since I
began working here. I found I needed to... broaden my horizons somewhat.'

Sir John Sudbury scooped up another vol-au-vent and flopped into a
convenient swivel chair. It creaked dangerously under his weight as he
swivelled to face her. 'The Doctor's influence, no doubt. Marvellous chap.'

The Brigadier looked astonished. He shot a puzzled look at Liz but she had
to shrug back - she had no idea that the Doctor had met Sir John.

'At the Pemburton club, Brigadier. Lord Rowlands' Gang of Four, you know.
Excellent bridge player, your Doctor. We partner-up a lot.'

The Brigadier nodded dumbly while Liz tried to picture the Doctor, the
great anti-establishment provocateur, sitting in a gentlemen's club in
London, playing cards. The image was too horrible to cope with, so she just
smiled at Sir John. 'Does he cheat?'

Page 21


Sir John stared back in mock horror. 'Cheat? Young lady, are you suggesting
that an honorary member of the Pemburton, and a guest of Lord Rowlands to
boot, would cheat? Heaven forbid, he'd be expelled on the spot if anything
like that occurred.' He finished off his mineral water with a grimace.
'Foul new stuff. Bloody French rubbish.' He looked back at Liz. 'D'you like
it, Doctor Shaw?'

'Call me Liz, please.'

'Thank you, Liz. Can you drink this imported donkey's -?'

The Brigadier harrumphed loudly. 'Gentlemen, to business?'

'Of course, Stewart,' concurred Scobie, pulling his tie a bit tighter. 'We
should be discussing UNIT's funding. That is, after all, why we're here.'

'Hence the mineral water rather than a decent Bolly, eh Brigadier?' Sir
John winked at Corporal Bell, who nodded discreetly and left. Liz smiled,
knowing exactly what Bell was up to. She waited a few seconds herself and
then quietly exited the room, shutting the door behind her. The three men
had already sat around the Brigadier's desk and were shuffling their
papers, eager to start the meeting. She wondered if they'd even noticed her
leaving.

Standing in the outer office, Liz paused for a moment. She'd been hoping to
talk to Major-General Scobie for a while longer. Since the Doctor did not
seem to need her at the moment, there seemed no harm in waiting here until
the meeting finished, and having another few words with the Brigadier's
visitors. She settled herself into a large and well-worn armchair
upholstered in red-leather, which sat beside the secretary's desk.

Page 22


The low rumble of the three men discussing their financial business
permeated the door. Liz found herself hypnotized by the rise and full of
the conversation, punctuated every so often by Lethbridge-Stewart's
outraged expletives as yet another proposal for an additional truck or
sergeant was denied by a government intent on cutting taxes in its next
budget. She let her head lie back on the soft armchair and lifted her legs
until they rested on the edge of the desk. She closed her eyes and let the
drone of the voices carry her away.

God, she was tired. She realized that ever since joining UNIT's never-
ending crusade against everything unusual she'd had no time to herself, her
friends and even her family had all been ignored. When was the last time
she'd phoned her parents? Or seen Jeff Johnson since he'd gone back to the
regular army after his stretch in UNIT had ended? She'd not kept in touch
with Justin and Laura at Cambridge despite all her promises to them; and no
matter how many times she told herself it was all because of the Official
Secrets Act, she didn't believe that any more than she knew they would.

Was she happy? Jeff had asked her that on their last night out. Was a role
in UNIT, as nothing more than the Doctor's assistant, really what she
wanted? Christ, Jeff had been so furious at her. She had more brains than
most of the UNIT team put together, he had said. And she couldn't give him
an answer. Just why was she languishing in this backwater, tucked just
outside London on the A40, when she could be heading research teams at
Cambridge, getting recognition for her work, and doing something worthwhile
for people? She could be discovering cures, learning the secrets of the
world, pushing forward the frontiers of science.

And yet, she'd argued, wasn't that what her work at UNIT was all about?
Mankind would have fallen to the Nestenes, or the terrible liquid gases
that Stahlman had discovered, if UNIT hadn't intervened. And hell, even if
the Doctor did most of the work, it was Liz who had eventually found the
cure to the reptile-men's disease. Not many people could have understood
the Doctor's notes and made the same intuitive leap that he had.
Nevertheless, Liz knew that deep down, she did agree that she was wasting
her time at UNIT Jeff was right. It was time for something to change.

The trimphone on Lethbridge-Stewart's desk trilled. She opened one eye,
reached out and plucked it off its rest, nestling it under her chin.

'Yes?'

Page 23


The Brigadier appeared at the door to his office, summoned by the ringing.
He harrumphed and held out his hand, but Liz closed her eye and pretended
not to have seen him.'I see.'

The Brigadier harrumphed again.

Liz sighed and opened her eyes. 'If it was for you, Brigadier, I would have
passed it to you the first time you grunted.' She shifted in her seat,
turning to face away from him, unwilling to see the reaction on his face
and wishing that she had thought before speaking to him so rudely. She
spoke back into the phone: 'Sorry. Go on, Doctor.'

The phone tucked under his chin, the Doctor was wandering around the
laboratory, staring through the window at the canal one moment, facing the
huge green arched doors the next, then squatting on the spiral staircase
that led to the little roof garden he kept above the lab.

'Liz, I cannot begin to explain to you how important this is. I've managed
to reconnect the stabilizing dio-nodes and the transceiving telo-circuits.
All I need to do is feed in the directional memory wafers and weld the
dematerialization casing back into the artron filaments. Then a few months
of steady-state micro-welding and it'll be completely finished. Where would
you like to go?'

'Cambridge,' came the reply.

The Doctor stared at the phone, screwing his face up in puzzlement. 'But
Liz, what about Florana? Or the wonderful waters on Majus Seventeen?'

'Cambridge has wonderful waterways, Doctor,' came the reply. 'It'll be May
Week soon. You'd like that. Lots of toffs on punts sipping champagne and
playing bridge.'

'Liz - it's June.'

'May Week's in June.'

Page 24


The Doctor frowned. 'I'm confused. But all right, maybe Cambridge soon. But
surely you'd like a spin off-planet. Somewhere out there?' He pointed
toward the ceiling, knowing that, although she couldn't see him, Liz would
imagine the gesture.

'No thank you, Doctor. I prefer to keep my feet on terra firma, you know.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Oh well, suit yourself. I'm going back to work.'

He stared at the receiver for a moment, then put it down. Instantly the
phone rang again. He snatched it towards his ear.

'Changed your mind, have you?' he asked.

'Hello?' came a man's voice; quiet, sibilant and clearly quite aged.

'Who is this?'

'Is Elizabeth Shaw there, please?'

The Doctor paused. 'Who's asking?'

'Hello? Is Doctor Shaw available, please?'

'I asked who is calling for her? Is that her father?'

'Is she there, please?'

'Look, who are you? How did you bypass the switchboard? In fact how did you
get this number?'

There was a faint click from the phone, and nothing more.

Page 25


'Hello? Hello?' The Doctor replaced the receiver. It was unusual enough for
him to get phone calls - very few people outside UNIT knew him - but in all
the time he'd been exiled on Earth and working in this lab, he couldn't
remember anyone ever phoning for Liz before. Come to think of it, she
didn't seem to have friends or family; none that she ever talked about, at
least. Maybe a trip to Cambridge would do them both good - he'd offer to
drive them up there in Bessie and try to meet some of her friends. 'I
really don't know anything about you, do I, Miss Shaw?' he murmured to
himself. 'Then again, I've never asked.'

He resolved to change that and, in doing so, put the memory of the strange
phone call to the back of his mind.

From her vantage point overlooking the bay, Jana Kristen stared down at the
policemen as they swarmed across the grass and sand dunes like flies around
a corpse. Which, she decided, was roughly what they were. As a journalist
it was her job to show an interest in anything unusual and, to be frank, in
the sleepy backwater of Smallmarshes, a dead tramp was about as much news
as you could hope for.

Like all good journalists, she had her notebook, micro-recorder and point-
and-shoot Nikon camera with her. Right now they were lying behind her, on
the uncomfortably hard bed in Room 9 of the Bayview Guest House. She was
one of only three guests in the three storey converted house; and the other
two were out shopping. They were a young couple, obviously here without
either parents' permission, who had told her they were looking for a week
of romance and excitement. Hah! Like hell. They were here because they
fancied each other rotten. They'd gone to bed in Room 7, next door, at
about ten thirty last night. Jana had heard them rutting away for hours;
she shrieking every so often, he groaning like some primeval sub-human.

Pathetic.

Page 26


Jana herself had once had what she thought were feelings for a man. She'd
met him at home in Amsterdam, and they had spent a couple of weeks cycling
around the countryside, cavorting like wild animals under bridges, in
fields and cheap hostels. She'd soon realized that while anatomically well-
developed, he'd been mentally stunted and she'd had to dispose of him.
Witless innocent.

Pathetic.

She sat on the bed and stared at the painted wall opposite. Brilliant White
(she could picture the Dulux tin now) over dirty wallpaper, with a hint of
damp. Every room painted the same by the owners, a charmless couple called
Sheila and John Lawson. Sheila was always going on about whatever faded
television personality was working the fleapits in Hastings; John would nod
and go back to reading his tedious newsletter of the Rollercoaster
Passengers Club of Great Britain (inc. Eire). 'I'm trying to get them to
set up a theme park in Smallmarshes,' he had enthused to her. Jana hadn't
enthused back.

Pathetic.

'Better get some work done,' she muttered as she picked up her camera,
slung it over her shoulder and popped her notebook into her bag, then left
her room and jogged downstairs, hoping not to meet her hosts along the way.
There was no sign of them, so she made her way to the coin-operated phone.
Dumping a pile of change beside it, she dialled a London number and waited.

March 27th (still)

I'm on my way back to Aunty Eve's now. God, this train is bumpy, which
explains why my writing's so crappy.

Page 27


So that was Dungeness. What a creepy place. You come out of the station
near the seaside and walk down this long road that eventually vanishes.
It's like one of those roads on an airfield, made in concrete segments. I
thought I'd gone wrong until I found a row of small houses. Horrible things
that looked like they'd blow over in a harsh wind. All grey and dreary,
with a few clothes on lines in front. A few kids were playing with a dog,
but that was it as far as life went. Then I found a lighthouse and a small
cafe/shop.

And there was the Nuclear Power Station, blocked off with this massive
metal fence. No one was friendly there at all, especially the guard. I
asked if I could look around and he just said 'No' and that was it. There
were more houses to the right of the power station. They looked like they'd
been picked up from Salford or somewhere and dumped there. Terraces, made
from ugly red bricks and in bad repair. More washing lines and dogs. No
kids though. I grabbed a hot dog from the shop, went to look at the
lighthouse - couldn't get in there either - and wandered down to the beach.
Stones. No sand at all. It looked so desolate that all I felt like doing
was throwing stones back into the sea, stone after stone after stone. Mrs
Petter once told me that was undoing millions of years of evolution or
something. It'd taken millions of years for those stones to get to that
beach, and I threw them back in. If Aunty Eve's right, we'll all be
radioactive cinders by the time the stones get back to the beach, so it
doesn't matter anyway.

Now I'm nearly back in Smallmarshes. It's ten past three. I'll stop off at
Casey's and see if Aunty Eve's magazines have arrived like she asked. No
doubt she'll tell me what a good boy I am. I want to go home. Home home.
Manchester. I want to see Steve and Matt and Alex and Jacqui and Ozmonde
and the rest of the gang. I want my own bed, my own room, my own sheets and
pillows and everything. I HATE THIS PLACE.

Pulling into Hell now, so I'll write more tonight.

Page 28


Marc Marshall closed his diary as the train drew into Smallmarshes station,
brakes squealing. He put the pencil into the leather tube attached to the
book's cover, then dropped the diary into his green duffle-bag with its
Sylvester and Tweety Pie stickers. He slung the bag over his shoulder and
got off the train.

He stood outside the station and stared down the long road that ran down to
the sea-front, with its guest houses and shops. Aunty Eve's road was the
third on the right. He could see Casey's newsagents just on the far corner,
beside the Highciffe Guest House. Down to the right, the south, the town
fell away into streets of depressing houses, all the same, inhabited by old
people who couldn't afford a house in Brighton or Bournemouth. The cliff
was to the north, a green hill with the town at its feet, as if the
buildings were too lazy to attempt the climb. From here he couldn't see the
white chalk of the cliff face, but he could make out the single-track cliff
road that led from the town up to the highest point, from which it was
possible to see France on a good day, and then onwards up the coast.
Halfway up it was the abandoned old cottage which Aunty Eve had said ought
to be demolished. 'A death-trap,' she'd called it. Probably the only
interesting place in the whole of Small-marshes, Marc decided.

As he began wandering towards it, he saw vehicles and figures on the cliff-
top and on the road going down. He squinted against the late afternoon sun.
Police.

Excitement at last, he thought. Something had happened if the police had
been called in. Smallmarshes itself only seemed to warrant a couple of
panda cars and a bicycle, yet there were more than a dozen men and women,
several cars and a van up there. Best leave them to it, he decided. They
wouldn't want some strange Northern kid in the way. Besides, Aunty Eve
would know what was going on.

Marc had all but put the abandoned house out of his mind when something
caught his eye. Something had moved in there. A curtain had been flicked by
someone. He didn't know who, but it wasn't a policeman, he was sure.

Page 29


He looked at Casey's, then at Aunty Eve's road, and set off up the cliff
road. It was steeper and further than it looked, and after ten minutes he
was almost out of breath. He put his duffle-bag on the ground and as he did
so, decided he'd finally have something interesting to put in his diary
tonight. He mopped his brow with his sleeve, and carried on. He'd pick up
his bag on the way back. Who was going to steal it with so many police
around?

As he wandered away, the bag toppled over and the diary flopped out,
nesting in the grass.

Written across the front in flaking correction fluid was the name 'Marc
Marshall'.

WPC Barbara Redworth, on assignment to Smallmarshes from Hill Vale station
in Hastings, found the duffle-bag. She hadn't noticed anyone around, but
she guessed that its owner had to be in the ramshackle building - if they
were anywhere else, they would have been seen by her or her colleagues.

She left the bag where it was and walked into the building. Considering it
was the middle of the afternoon, the place was astonishingly dark. WPC
Redworth didn't have a torch with her and she cursed quietly, then called
out. No one replied.

She was dimly aware that she was in a two-storey building - a flight of
stairs with a moth-eaten carpet was set near the front door. She was
standing in what must have been a living room, and to the back she could
see a doorway leading to an equally dark kitchenette. It wasn't until she
fumbled towards the doorway that she noticed the sofa and seats - mildewed
and rotten, but undoubtedly recently disturbed. The coverings had been
ripped away, revealing bright yellow foam, without a hint of dirt or mould
upon it.

Page 30


She glanced up at the darkened windows: there were no curtains, but the
seat coverings had been hung over them. Stumbling over unseen debris on the
floor, she tried tugging at the makeshift drapes, but they wouldn't come
away. As her eyes finally adjusted to the light, she realized that the seat
coverings were not held up by nails, or pegs or even string. They had been
melted onto the walls at all four sides. It looked as if a blow-torch had
been fired against them, from the scorch-marks on the walls. Soot came off
on her fingers as she stroked one edge.

She heard a creak, the sound made when someone moves on weak floorboards,
trying to be quiet.

Someone was upstairs.

'Hello?' No reply, and no more noise. She reached the foot of the stairs.
'Hello? My name is Barbara Redworth. I'm a police officer. Is anyone there?
Are you hurt?'

No reply.

'I found a bag outside. A green duffle-bag. Is it yours?' Still nothing. 'I
only want to help. I'm coming up.'

It briefly occurred to WPC Redworth that she could use her radio to call
for back-up; a bit of support, in case something awful was upstairs. She'd
seen a few corpses in her time: pensioners who had been left unattended at
Christmas; a young homosexual, his head pulped by queer-bashers. Even a
suicide, who'd deliberately driven his car into a petrol pump. But somehow
she felt, perhaps by instinct, that whatever was in the cottage, it was
still alive. There wasn't that awful smell of death - although over the
rank dampness of the rotted furniture, she couldn't smell much at all. She
began to climb the stairs, wary of their stability.

Page 31


And there he was. A boy, about thirteen or fourteen, hunched up against the
wall of the bathroom. He was huddling against a filthy toilet-bowl, staring
at her. No, through her, as if he couldn't focus on anything. To the left,
partially hidden behind the bathroom wall, was an old white enamel bath.
The toilet was against the other wall, next to a cracked basin. On the
floor was a small heap of mud-caked rags.

Gradually WPC Redworth's sense of smell kicked back in. If the boy had been
wanting to use the toilet, he'd not got there in time, and as she stared at
his trousers, she could see tell-tale marks that confirmed this.

Drug addict, she decided. Out of his head on something. It was shocking at
his age - he'd probably be dead in a couple of years. Poor kid. WPC
Redworth had a brother of fourteen; how easily it could have been him.

The boy was shaking very slightly. The bathroom window had again been
covered by something - a towel, she guessed. It had fallen away at one
corner, letting some light in, and she could see he was dark-haired, with a
reasonable complexion - unusual for a drug-addict. He was wearing a white
T-shirt, a name in blue stencilled letters ironed across the top: M.A.R.C.
His pale jeans were soiled, as she had guessed, but his white plimsolls
were still very clean, despite the muck on the floor.

'Marc? Hello, I'm Barbara. Someone carried you up here, didn't they? Your
shoes are too clean for you to have walked through this. Are you all right
now? Who brought you here?'

Page 32


She wasn't expecting a reply, so she jumped when the boy pointed at the
bath, his hand shaking uncontrollably. WPC Redworth walked slowly into the
bathroom, her hand on her truncheon, and turned to look at the bath. It was
full of dirty brown water, and stank of stagnation. Without taking her eyes
off the bath, she reached out and tugged the towel away from the window,
puffing lumps of plaster with it. It flashed through her mind that whatever
had melted the towel to the wall had done a thorough job.

Sunlight filtered in through the salt-encrusted broken window, and she
could see everything more clearly now. The water in the bath was more than
just dirty, it was positively opaque but she could just make out a body
beneath the yellowish scum on the surface. Had Marc murdered his abductor?
Dropped him into the bath and drowned him?

As WPC Redworth leant over the bath, the surface erupted into a fountain of
dirty water, scum and slime. She couldn't scream, her mind wouldn't let
her. Some previously unused, dormant portion of her brain simply took over,
forcing her to realize that to make such a noise would be a sign of
weakness. All she saw was a human-shaped green/yellow something. A flash of
three eyes, scales, a puckered leathery mouth and, most stupid of all, a
garment like a long string vest.

And then WPC Redworth realized that she had recognized something she could
never have seen before. And yet she remembered...

Page 33


Page 34


Must get away, run for my life. The Devilbacks, yelling and hissing.
Spitting. I have to protect the family - even if they catch me the family
must be saved. I won't let them touch me. . . won't let  them trick me into
leading them to the others. Those eyes, staring from every angle, every
tree and bush. Every path. I'm being watched. The Devilbacks think they'll
trick me, but I know not to be fooled, not to let my kin go to their filthy
camps to be killed... They'll	never catch me, I know how to swing off that
branch, over the river and they'll lose my scent. Not even the Devilbacks
can track me through water. Nothing will stop me - No! No, there weren't
that many just now. Blocked, I'm blocked at every turn. Filthy vile
reptiles. Disgusting evil - No! Not the eye! Not the middle eye! Please.
Oh, it hurts.. . hurts so much. . . pain, I can't take the pain... no-

Page 35


Something heavy and damp slapped into the side of Barbara Redworth's head,
sending her sliding in the muck on the floor, back towards the doorway. All
she could do was stare at the damp-ridden wall, aware that two figures were
walking over her. Who were they? Why There they there? Where was there? Who
was she? What was she?

Three eyes. She remembered.

She dipped her fingers in the thin layer of slime and mud that covered the
floor and began making patterns on the wall with it.

If anyone had seen her, they would have said she was insane, drawing
meaningless pictograms. But what was left of WPC Redworth's shattered mind
knew that drawing the pictures was very important, for some reason she
could not understand or explain.

'Drawing pictures? Of what exactly?'

The Doctor was clearly excited as he read the report Corporal Hawke had
handed him.

'I'm not sure, Doctor, but Sergeant Yates said I should tell you
immediately.'

'Thank you, my dear. And Mike was right to do so. Liz, have you seen this?'

'Obviously not, as Maisie's given the only copy to you.' With an
exasperated shake of the head, Liz took the report from the Doctor. As she
did so, she caught sight of a sympathetic grin from Hawke. She returned it.

'Well?' the Doctor asked. 'What do you think?'

'I haven't read it yet. Give me a chance.'

Page 36


She scanned through the pages, vaguely aware that Maisie Hawke was still
standing awkwardly in the laboratory, as if waiting for something. The
Doctor paced for a second, deep in thought, then turned to the corporal.

'The Brigadier hasn't seen this yet?' he asked.

'No, Doctor.'

'Good. I'll take the copy through to him myself, so I can discuss the
implications with him immediately.'

'Are you sure, Doctor?'

'Yes, absolutely. It's no trouble, and I'm sure you've better things to do
than deliver messages.' Liz, still deep in the report, was aware of Maisie
leaving the room. A few moments later, she looked up. The Doctor looked
down at her, expectantly.

'What are you going to tell the Brigadier?' she asked.

'Nothing,' the Doctor snorted. 'Knowing him, he'll try and blow them up
again.'

'That's not entirely fair, Doctor,' Liz said, 'but I take your point.' She
pulled up one of the lab stools, sat on it, and withdrew her pipe from her
handbag. Without speaking, she filled it and lit it, puffing slowly to get
it going. All the time, her eyes never left the report, reading and re-
reading every paragraph.

Page 37


'So,' she said between puffs, 'so, what we've got here is a burnt corpse, a
missing boy and a disturbed policewoman, linked by a bag found near a
house. And the woman drawing primitive pictures of bison, woolly mammoths,
sabre-toothed tigers and tall, man-sized bipedal reptiles with three eyes.'

'They're back, Liz. They're back.'

Liz looked at the Doctor, noting that he could barely conceal his
excitement as he threw his cape over his shoulders.

'Keys,' he muttered. Where are the keys?' He scrabbled around various
benches until he suddenly stopped and looked at Liz. 'You've got them. I
gave them to you yesterday.'

Liz nodded. 'Uh-huh. And before I give them to you, just confirm
something.'

'What?'

'That you're going to drive off down to Sussex and play Hunt-the-Silurian
without informing the Brigadier.'

'No.'

'What?'

'No. You're wrong.'

Liz was surprised, but pleased. 'Oh. Right. What then?'

'We're going to jump into Bessie and drive to Sussex without telling the
Brigadier.'

Liz held up her hands, but already knew that there was nothing she could
say to stop the Doctor from going. 'Now Doctor, we both work for him and
although I don't like it very much, I do regard him as a friend. I'm not
going to just disappear without him knowing. He has a right, you know?'

The Doctor suddenly sat opposite her. 'To what, Liz? A right to what? To
destroy them? To get his clod-hopping soldiers down there, tearing up the
seaside trying to find something new to shoot?' He stuffed his hands into
his voluminous cape pockets and shook his head slowly. 'No, Liz, don't you
see? I can't let him. Not yet. This time I've got to try and communicate
properly. To make both sides see sense before we have a repeat of
Derbyshire. Before the Brigadier wipes out yet another colony of
intelligent, decent, amazing beings simply because he and the likes of Sir
John Sudbury are afraid.'

'I thought Sir John was a bosom buddy.'

'Listen, Liz,' the Doctor continued. 'The Brigadier is a brave man. He's
not stupid, his mind is quite open and receptive, but first and foremost,
he's a soldier. Queen and country and all that. But us, we're scientists,
aren't we? We see a wider, global picture. Universal, if you like.' He got
up and held his hands out for the keys. 'Please, Doctor Shaw? We have to
find the Silurians and help them.'

Liz stared at him and then gave him the key. 'I don't know where you're
going Doctor, because when I came back to the lab you had gone, taking
Corporal Hawke's report with you.' She shoved the papers back into the
internal OHMS envelope and placed it in his cape pocket. 'You only want me
there to navigate, anyway. I'm not spending two hours in Bessie getting
cold and irritable while you ignore my directions and claim you know a
quicker way.'

The Doctor beamed. 'I'll see you tomorrow then.'

Page 38


'Yes, I'm sure.' Liz tapped the contents of her pipe into a sink and washed
away the dark ashes. When she turned back, the Doctor had gone. Now, she
thought, all she had to do was tell Maisie Hawke to say that only the
Doctor had seen the report. Subterfuge, that was all she needed.

The Doctor's sprightly yellow roadster, Bessie, cut along the A40 through
London, whizzing down the Euston Road, then along Farringdon Road and over
Blackfriars Bridge. Having rounded Elephant and Castle and passed along the
Old Kent Road, the car then took the A2 out of London, heading towards
Kent.

Wrapped up in the excitement of discovering more Silurians, the Doctor
failed to notice that he was being followed by a grey Ford Cortina,
matching his route and speed but always hovering three or four cars behind.

Inside the car were three people. A bearded Nigerian drove, dressed in a
chauffeur's uniform. He sat silent and unsmiling.

In the back seat were two other men. One was young and very pale, as if he
hadn't seen sunlight for a few years. He was smartly dressed, with short
black hair and dark glasses. Emerging from under his glasses and running
down his left cheek was a livid scar which connected with a slightly
mutilated top lip.

The other was slightly older, blond and tanned, wearing casual slacks and a
blue sports coat. Cradled in his lap was a large pistol, fitted with a
large suppressor and with a set of marksman's sights mounted on its barrel.

The pale man passed his companion an envelope. Inside was a copy of the
report that Hawke had given the Doctor, appended with two 10 x 8 black-
and-white photographs. One was of the run-down cottage on the cliff, a
duffle-bag abandoned in the foreground; the other showed a young woman in
police officer's clothing being dragged, evidently with some resistance,
away from the house and into an ambulance.

'No survivors,' said the pale young man, his voice soft and lisping.

'Especially not the Doctor.'

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Episode Three

Page 1


It was a tiny island, with a surface of rocks and lichen. A few low bushes
and hardy flowers struggled to survive on its bleak surface, but most of
the plants that tried to sprout rapidly died as the small amount of
available earth was quickly used up, or washed away by the spray from the
waves that crashed against and over the island's surface.

Once upon a time it had been attached to the continent that mankind
referred to as Europe - southern France to be precise - but the movement of
tectonic plates many millions of years ago had caused a cluster of rocky
outcroppings to break away from the mainland. Violently dragged away by
nature, and eroded by the lashings of the English Channel, they settled
some way away and eventually became known as the Channel Islands by the
French and British, who would spend centuries arguing over their ownership.
The average Briton or Frenchman asked about the islands can name Jersey,
Guernsey, Alderney and Sark. The handful of smaller rocks that surround
them are usually ignored. Most people are not even aware that they exist.

Of them all, the southernmost island, thirty-five minutes by motor-boat
from its nearest neighbour, is the least known and least visited. Less than
half a mile across, it is known to the locals as L'Ithe. A couple of
ornithologists once stayed overnight, and in 1969, a small group of hippies
wanting to explore free love further than the Isle of Wight pop festival
would allow hired a boat and sailed to L'Ithe to set up a commune.

They returned home within a week, claiming the island was haunted. The few
papers that mentioned the story put it down to experiments with LSD, but a
popular medium called Psychic Shin travelled to the island with a reporter
and photographer from the Daily Mirror to see if they could summon up any
unearthly apparitions. They failed, and after a few weeks most interest in
the island faded. This came as a relief to the inhabitants of the Channel
Islands - it was one less potential attraction that would bring tourists to
tramp all over their unspoiled countryside.

Page 2


Only Tom Renault complained. Originally hailing from Rotherham (and
christened Thomas Reynold), he considered himself the Channel Islands' only
true entrepreneur and saw the potential of the 'Haunted Isle' as a tourist
attraction. With his fake French accent and self-created heritage, Tom
advertised his cheap holidays on the island as far away as the Winchester
Gazette and Portsmouth Herald.

No one was interested. Worse, the other islanders began to shun him,
notably after the Dame of Sark wrote to him personally and asked him to
drop the idea. Writing back, he acknowledged her worries but explained
that, as a businessman, he had every right to exploit whatever he could to
make his livelihood. There had been no response. Having offended the
islands' most revered figure, he was speedily ostracized.

Things became so bad that one day Tom announced he was leaving Jersey to
build a house on 'his' island, where he would live. Deciding that being rid
of Tom was preferable to trying to stop him, no one raised an eyebrow when
he loaded up his rowing boat with wood and departed for L'Ithe.

Four days later, Tom's boat was found drifting near the Port of Guernsey.
Sitting in it was Tom, or what was assumed to be Tom. The dead body was
horrifically burnt, as was the bottom of the boat. It was suggested that he
had knocked over an oil lamp, or that an ember from a cigarette had caught
a leaking petrol can. The wood he was carrying must have combusted in
seconds, and Tom would have been caught in the flames. No oil lamp or
petrol can was found in the boat, but Tom might have knocked it overboard
as he struggled.

A doctor from Southampton confirmed Tom's identity from his dental records
and his remains were flown back to Rotherham, where two distant cousins and
an old school friend witnessed his cheap burial in a local cemetery.

Only one fact of the case might have raised suspicion, but the Guernsey
police never commented on it, although PC Stuart Halton had mentioned it in
his report. PC Halton had been called to the scene when the boat was
sighted; he was responsible for physically dragging the craft into the
dock, and checking Tom's body. Later, he had the boat taken back to the
station for safekeeping. Five months later, after an inquest recorded a
verdict of accidental death, the boat was smashed up and used as firewood.
What PC Halton had observed, and what everyone seemed to have ignored, was
that the burning seemed to have continued underwater the keel of the boat
was scorched and charred. Moreover, the tiny hole that was leaking water
into the boat seemed to have been burnt through from underneath.

Page 3


Halton's report was filed away when the case was closed and never seen
again. After a few months, Tom Renault was almost forgotten, and not
missed. As far as PC Halton and his colleagues were concerned, copies of
the files were passed to the Police Records Department of the Central
Office of Information. And forgotten.

Until they were read by a six-foot blonde Dutch woman called Jana Kristan,
who had gained access to the Central Office of Information using her
National Union of Journalists: Foreign Correspondents Chapel card.

She had photocopied PC Halton's report, ringed his comments about the
direction of the burning in red, and returned the original file. As she had
handed it back, and signed the COI waiver form stapled to the inside of the
file, she had noted that three days previously, someone else had been
reading it. Jana had tried to read the signature, turning it on its side
and even upside down, but no matter what she did, there had been no way of
deciphering the spider-like scrawl. Then she had gone to London Bridge
station and caught a train to Tunbndge Wells, where she had changed for the
local service via Hastings to Smallmarshes.

'I am an Earth Reptile. It is what I always have been. It is what I shall
be until the day I die. And beyond. Any works left behind bearing my name,
the name Baal D'jo, will acknowledge to the future that whilst I lived, I
was an Earth Reptile.

'I am an Earth Reptile. My heritage is the Earth. Not to cower below it.
Not to cast it aside. My heritage is to walk freely upon the surface of my
world. This world I, and my forebears, shaped. It is a world that, I
acknowledge, may have forgotten me, but a world which will soon remember.
It is a world that shall welcome me back with open arms and I shall wallow
in its glory.

'I am an Earth Reptile. My future belongs to Earth, to my forebears and my
ascendants. My future, brothers and sisters, kith and kin, is your future.
Together we shall unbind the chains that hold us in the past, the
misdemeanours of the old, ignorant and afraid. Together we shall reclaim
Earth for ourselves. If the Apes will not accept our supremacy, they will
be eradicated.

'I am an Earth Reptile. You are all Earth Reptiles. Today begins the dawn
of our future.'

'Tautology, Baal.' Auggi punched a button on the console. 'Correct final
paragraph,' she said to the computer screen. The last paragraph was
immediately outlined in red. 'You'll need to rewrite that piece.'

Page 4


Baal dragged a claw across the sensor pad. 'What about the whole thing,
Mother? Is it what Chukk would call inflammatory?'

'Oh, I imagine so, Baal. In fact, I certainly hope it is. He could do with
a shock. Your recital of this at Chamber tomorrow night will certainly give
him that.' She stepped away from the computer. 'I shall leave you to
rewrite the last part. Beginning and dawn mean the same thing in the
sense you're using them.'

Baal stared at the text and then nodded his understanding. 'Thank you,
Mother.' He looked her in the eye and held up his right hand, claws
retracted, palm facing forward. She placed her palm flat against his and
they bowed to each other.

'Good night, my dear.' With another slight bow, Auggi left the room and set
off into the depths of the Shelter.

As she walked down the rough passageway to her quarters, she smiled.
Everything was going to plan. Sula and Tahni should be returning from
whatever task Baal had sent them on, while he was preparing his speech. And
she was, well, waiting. Waiting for her moment, her triumph. After all
these years... she stopped. 'After all these years'. Interesting phrase. To
her and the others in the Shelter, it had only seemed about ten years. In
reality, it had been many millions.

Millions of years during which their civilization had vanished without
trace. The whole world had changed. Continents and land-masses had moved
and split, and where once there had been only a few land masses, now there
were many. Icthar and the Triad had told her and Chukk that thousands of
their fellows had died, oblivious to their fate, as tectonic plates and
continental drift had pulverized their Shelters, killing them while they
hibernated.

Page 5


Icthar and his Shelter had awoken around forty years previously, and
through the Triad's researches, much had been learnt of the 'new' occupiers
of Earth. The tiny planetoid that the Science Division had spotted had not
swept past Earth. It had not sucked the atmosphere away with it, but had
fallen into orbit around the Earth. Having failed to leave their solar
system, it had not triggered the machines that would awaken the Earth
Reptiles from their hibernation. And so, the Earth Reptiles had continued
sleeping for millennia until the Apes had unwittingly awoken them.

Auggi recalled the most exciting communication she and Chukk had received
from Icthar, sent from the Triad's base on the other side of the world.

'We have thrilling news, Chukk,' Icthar had said. 'The Triad has received
salutations from two Shelters, both within your immediate vicinity.'

Chukk had immediately punched up the unfamiliar map of the world as it was
now. 'Are they on this land mass, or this?' he had asked, pointing wildly
at green blotches of Ape-infested land.

Icthar had indicated the uppermost one. 'About a third of the way up, in
the centre. And Chukk?'

Chukk had twitched his fingers eagerly, exposing and retracting his claws
in that annoying nervous habit that he had. 'Yes?'

It had been Scibus, Icthar's second, who spoke. 'It is your brother's
Shelter. Okdel lives!'

Chukk had been overjoyed, and it had fallen to Auggi, as always, to return
normality to the conversation. 'Let us not forget, Nobel Icthar, that it
was Okdel L'da, Bokka K'to and their associates who consigned us to this
prison in the first place. I am... gratified that they have survived these
millennia, but I will not share any elation about the personnel that
Shelter contains.'

Scibus leant forward, as if he'd only just seen Auggi on his screen. 'Is
that you, Auggi D'jo? We have news for your spouse. Is he there?'

Page 6


Auggi stared at the figure before her. 'My apologies, Scibus. I assumed
that you had taken note of Chukk's plentiful messages, relayed to your
Shelter at great expense to our power resources. My beloved Daurrix did not
survive the hibernation. Only my son and daughters remain to welcome me
into aged wisdom.'

Icthar took centre stage once again. 'Enough, Auggi. Of course we were
grieved to hear of Daurrix's death. Scibus had momentarily forgotten.' He
seemed to stare through the monitor directly and for a fleeting moment even
Auggi felt his presence in the room, as if his wisdom and benevolence
really did touch all of them. With an involuntary shiver, she disposed of
that thought. 'Remember, in the years to come, all Earth Reptiles are as
one family again.'

Auggi had punched her hand onto the sensor, cutting the sound. Icthar was
clearly still talking, but his well-meaning pearls of wisdom were lost to
posterity.

Chukk had looked appalled. 'Auggi, that was rude. No, more than rude, it
was a flagrant abuse of the privilege you have been granted.'

Auggi had been livid. 'Privilege? Just remember, Chukk, you are only leader
of this Shelter because Daurrix is dead and your blatant fawning to Icthar
in the old days made you something of a favourite with him. But know this'
- she jabbed a claw towards the screen, where the Triad had realized they
could not be heard and were peering at their monitors, trying to see what
was going on - 'know this, it is my son and daughters prepared to risk all
to save us, while the Triad sit and debate. My family is prepared to die if
there is any chance for the rest of the young here to survive.' Auggi
flicked the visual contact off. 'Don't you dare try to revoke any
privileges you believe you have honoured me with. I am here to stay,
Chukk. Here to ensure you do not betray the principles for which this
unique Shelter stands, rather than ingratiating yourself with our fellow
Reptiles who, a few million years ago, sought to exterminate us all.'

Page 7


Page 8


Auggi was still staring at him, daring him to respond, as visual and aural
contact was renewed by the Triad.

'Come in Shelter 429, this is the Triad Encampment. Can you see or hear
us?'

The angry mother punched the sensor again and stared directly into the
monitor. 'Yes, Tarpok, we can hear you quite well. We had a power
fluctuation, leading to a communications breakdown.' She shot a glare
towards Chukk. 'Chukk believes it is now sorted out satisfactorily.' She
stood up. 'I will leave you with him.'

Scibus spoke again. 'Before you leave, do not forget the news I had for
you, Auggi. Your late partner's original colony has been awoken by Ape
ships in the area, and has sent us a message. They are delighted that you
are all alive and hope to speak to you shortly. They are located just below
the central southern point on the same land-mass as Okdel's Shelter. If
there are three surviving Shelters in such a small area, there must be
more. Finding them must become a priority.'

Auggi nodded. 'If my beloved's family has any true honour, they will find a
way to eradicate the Apes and return our planet to us.' She tugged her
webbed robe tightly around her and strode out of the communications room.

Now she stood there again, six months later. Okdel was dead, along with
everyone in his Shelter. The Apes had discovered them and destroyed them.
According to one of young Morka's final reports to Icthar, Okde had
betrayed them to the Apes and been removed from power. Morka had announced
that they had used Bokka K'to's famous vermin virus on the Apes, but his
last message said that the Apes had found a cure.

Page 9


They never heard from the Shelter again. Icthar wanted to mount a rescue
but, in an unusually sensible moment, Chukk pointed out that if neither his
dishonoured brother nor Morka could have saved the Shelter, there was no
point in risking discovery by travelling such a great distance on what
would almost certainly be a fruitless mission.

Auggi thought it amusing that once again Icthar had suggested using
Reptiles outside the Triad to investigate. And that when they refused, the
idea of investigation was dropped. The Triad might be noble, all-powerful
leaders of great quality and brilliance, but as far as she was concerned
they were foolish cowards whose survival of the hibernation was nothing
less than a tragedy for the rest of the Earth Reptile species. At a time
like this, with the planet overrun by vermin, leadership would be better
placed in the hands of one of the other Shelters - in fact, in the hands of
anyone other than the Triad - or the aquatic military caste; the legendary
Sea Devil Warriors.

Auggi's mind returned to Daurrix and his excommunication from the Sea Devil
Warriors. Here they were, after all that disgrace, all that humiliation,
expected to welcome the Sea Devils back as their brethren, as if nothing
had happened.

Again, none of the Triad had ventured out of their Shelter to communicate
with the Sea Devils themselves. That was hardly surprising. Icthar and the
others were just as wary of the Sea Devil Warriors as everyone else. All
those years of underwater inactivity had clearly addled their brains.
Daurrix's uncle, an advisor to the Chief Sea Devil, had told her that they
were planning an attack on the Apes using their traditional aquatic method:
underside burning. Much as it pained Auggi to think along such lines, there
was no getting away from the fact that Ape scientific progress had begun to
mirror theirs. Another three or four hundred years and the Apes would be at
the level Reptile society had reached before the Great Hibernation.

'I thought you had retired to rest, Auggi.'

She turned at the voice, and a chill went through her body. 'Good evening,
Krugga. What brings you to this level so late at night?'

'Night?, Day? Do we really think about such things, Auggi? Your greeting -
so antiquated, so unreal.' Krugga strode in. Auggi stared up at him - even
by reptile standards, he was huge, seemingly composed entirely of vast
muscle. He wore a breastplate, like those worn by the Triad. No matter how
hard the armourers had looked, they had been unable to find one entirely
large enough for him, and the plate was ridiculously small against his
bulk. He crossed the communications room in three strides, and began to
check the equipment. Despite her sudden chill, Auggi was outraged. 'Are you
checking up on me, Krugga?' She pointed at the communicator and console
monitor. 'Who do you believe I was talking to? The Sea Devils? The Triad?'

Page 10


Krugga shrugged, his breastplate creaking with the movement. 'I never
suggested anything, Auggi. I am merely doing my job, as requested by Baal.
The experiments are approaching an important peak and I need to ensure that
your daughters can contact us when they are ready. Feel free to leave now,
I am preparing to await their messages.'

Feeling dismissed, but also aware that arguing with Krugga was pointless,
Auggi bowed. With a sarcastic bow back, Krugga raised his right palm, claws
retracted, in the traditional gesture of friendship.

Auggi stared at him for a moment, her third eye glowing red in anger.
Seeing a slight jerk in Krugga's form, she left the room, satisfied that
she might have pushed him back down a peg or two.

Ten minutes later she was in the elevator returning her to the hibernation
level, where the Earth Reptiles still kept their personal quarters. A few
minutes after that, she was on her damp bed of seaweed and lichen, curled
up and fast asleep.

The blond man with the suntan was not a very nice person to know. His wife
would have confirmed that, if he had not beaten her to death. If he had not
been knifed in a gangland killing, watched by his then 21-year-old son, his
father might have agreed.

Very few people had a good word to say about the blond man, which suited
him fine because he had very little good to say about anyone else. The only
people that mattered to him were his targets. Seeing them die at his more
than capable hands was not just his job, but his hobby. His vocation.

His obsession with death had begun when he was a teenager, down at the
local flea-pit cinema where he could watch cheap American movies heavy with
gratuitous carnage and emotionless sex. The sex had never interested him;
he felt almost embarrassed by watching it, and by the similar noises coming
from the seats behind him. He went there for the violence. The power that
came from aiming a gun at someone, pulling the trigger and ending a life so
abruptly and succinctly. Who needed sexual gratification when there was
death to be dealt out? Front row, centre seat, with every shot, every gun,
every death in close-up. He revelled in it.

Page 11


With the money from his first job, he began to buy every book and magazine
he could find about weapons and death. Within a year, he had emptied his
bedsit of anything that did not relate to weapons: knives, swords,
explosives and firearms. Firearms were his favourites, and they became his
true love.

He married a local girl he had met at a fairground. She had been impressed
with his marksmanship at the shooting range, despite the mis-aligned sights
on the air rifle. He gave her the fluffy elephant he won that night; she
took his virginity. Two months later they got married. It had seemed like
the thing to do, and for about six weeks it was a satisfactory arrangement.
Then she began nagging him about getting a proper job and so he found one
through his father, running errands for the underworld characters who ruled
a majority of London's East End in the fifties. He liked the work, and his
bosses liked him. The first person he killed was an accident; the second
wasn't. The morning after, they gave him a gun and a photograph. He came
back that afternoon with blood on his shirt, a smile on his face, and an
extra two hundred pounds in his bank account.

Execution after execution followed: sometimes a bullet in the back of the
head for disobedience or arrogance, sometimes straight assassinations in
bars and clubs, cars and parks. He became known for his discretion and
professionalism. The police knew he was the culprit but could not pin so
much as a parking ticket on him.

He only ever made one mistake. He had returned home one night after
disposing of two particularly unreliable police informants. His wife had
been angry over something simple. Was it food for the dog? Was it that his
dinner was cold? Had he forgotten her birthday or their anniversary? He
could not really remember. It all seemed so insignificant at the time. She
had yelled, screamed and thrown things. He had followed her up to the
bedroom, pushed her onto the bed and pistol-whipped her around the head.

Dazed, confused and in a great deal of pain, she had begged forgiveness.
Wrong. He'd thought she was strong, he'd respected her for that. Now he
knew she was weak.

Page 12


She should have fought back. He shot her cleanly up through the chin,
spreading her brain all over the bed-sheets.

He grabbed a few clothes, threw them into a bag and left. He never went
back.

He found out that a neighbour, alerted a day later by the whining of their
Alsatian, had called the police. Finding her body with his blood-soaked
fingerprints all over her had given them all the evidence they needed; and
the riffing on the bullet connected him to a dozen more murders. But by
that time he was already in Brazil, and he kept moving.

The blond man stayed abroad for six or seven years, shifting from country
to country, selling his services to anyone who could pay. Rich gangsters,
South American governments, and even the American intelligence forces
utilized his talents at times. He took their money and their equipment, and
honed his skills until he believed there was no one better than him.

It had been one of his contacts in the CIA who had told him that if he
returned to Britain, instead of the arrest he anticipated, the blond man
would be welcomed by various parties. His safety would be guaranteed. The
money offered was excellent. But it was the guns he was promised, the range
and capabilities of them, that clinched the offer.

Taking as few risks as possible, the blond man flew into Manchester airport
with black hair and a false passport. As promised, he was greeted by a man
whose name he had never asked. He accepted jobs as and when they were
offered, comfortable in the knowledge that the police were unable to touch
him.

Now, he had been given the task of killing the man known as the Doctor,
somewhere in or around Smallmarshes. It had looked like a simple job: trail
the target, kill him in a remote spot, weight the body and dump it at sea.
What had gone wrong, he never understood. The Doctor had gone into the
deserted cottage just after midnight, and never came out. The blond man had
waited half an hour before following him in, but there was no sign, trail
or trace of the target. The blond man had watched the cottage all night,
but when a police car arrived early the following morning he gave up and
returned to London. He had been denied a kill, and he was puzzled and
seething. His nameless contact, a scarred, pale young man who always wore a
suit and dark glasses, met him at London Bridge station. The car that had
dropped him in Smallmarshes was waiting for them outside the station, the
silent Nigerian in the driver's seat, and they drove over the bridge, then
westwards through London. As they headed along the Embankment, the pale
young man passed him a photograph.

Page 13


'This man is your next target. He's not a villain. Well, within reason; he
is a member of Her Majesty's Government. So security's going to be tight on
this one.' The pale young man shifted slightly, leaning over the blond
man's shoulder. 'We need him dead because someone is on our tail, trying to
do our work for us and getting everything in a right old tizzy as a
result.'

'I don't need to know that.' The blond man studied the corpulent figure in
the photograph, memorizing every detail of face and build. His pale
companion appeared not to have heard him, and continued.

'With this poor man dead, we can heap the blame wholly onto Sir Marmaduke
Harrington-Smythe CB bloody E, close down his little entourage and make
life better for everyone. Plus the Glasshouse got hold of our policewoman
before we could. Made quite a kerfuffle, I understand, at Hastings General.
We need to expose them for that as well.'

As they turned right, then left into Parliament Square, the blond man
stared up at the House of Commons. 'In there?'

'In there,' his companion confirmed.

'When?'

'Three o'clock this afternoon.'

'That's cutting it tight. Not much time for preparation.'

The pale man turned to him, his expression implacable. 'Can you do it?'

'No problem.' He patted his case.

The chauffeur pulled over in front of Westminster Abbey and the blond man
got out. His strange employer unwound the car window.

'By the way. The Doctor?'

Page 14


The blond man did not even pause. 'Job done. UNIT will be needing a new
scientific advisor.' He picked his bag up, and walked down past the
Methodist Central Hall and left into Petty France. He was soon just a part
of the crowd, along with the tourists and visitors to the passport office.
He entered St James's Park underground station and headed back to his tiny
bed-sit in Notting Hill, preparing mentally and physically for his next
job.

The moment Liz put the key into the front door of her flat, she felt a
chill. As if someone had just walked over her grave, as the saying went.

She pushed the door open - something was blocking it. Letters. Circulars. A
massive clothing catalogue of the sort that the previous tenant obviously
thrived upon, because a different one seemed to appear every week. No
matter how many times Liz rang or wrote to the companies, the catalogues
kept coming.

She added it to the pile next to the phone and scooped up the rest of the
post. Obviously Mrs Longhurst, her landlady who lived in the flat below,
had not been in here for some time.

The Doctor, Liz recalled, had once offered Liz the use of a flat he owned
in Soho, but central London didn't appeal to her. Born and bred in the Home
Counties, Liz preferred the outskirts of the city to being in its heart.
Besides which, the Dean Street flat was far too noisy and cramped, and she
could never have kept a pet there.

She wandered into her living room, flicking through the various letters,
tossing the circulars into the round waste-paper basket without a second
glance, and following them with a couple of postcards of foreign climes,
with trite cliches scrawled on the back. Liz abhorred clutter and saw no
purpose in pinning up colourful photographs, twenty years out of date, from
Rhodes or Egypt in her kitchenette.

Page 15


Beside a rarely used black-and-white television that Mrs Longhurst had
supplied, rattled a cage with a guinea-pig in it. Regularly fed and
watered, more by Mrs Longhurst than by Liz, she was ashamed to say, John-
Paul clearly wanted some attention. Liz wasn't an animal person at heart,
but when she had first moved to London, a well-meaning Cambridge friend had
bought her the two guinea-pigs as a house-warming gift.

One, Ringo-George, died soon after the move, and Liz found herself needing
to keep the other more as a reminder of life at Cambridge and her friends
up there, than out of any real liking for it as a companion.

Yet as it stared up at her now, Liz felt a rush of affection flood over her
and she bent over, lifted the lid off the cage and scooped up the little
bundle of fur, feeling it squirm and kick in her hand. She raised it to eye
level and blew a kiss at it, adding a few silly noises for good measure.
'Aren't you the most beautiful guinea-pig in the world, then?'

People had told her that keeping a pet was a good way of relieving stress.
She'd never taken it seriously until, as she flopped onto the sofa, she let
John-Paul wriggle on her lap for a second, as he got comfortable.

'No, don't get settled,' she said. 'I want a cup of tea, if you don't
mind.'

It was too late: John-Paul was breathing deeply, fast asleep, and she could
not bring herself to disturb him. He looked so tranquil that she could feel
his simple happiness spreading into her too.

She was definitely getting soft in her old age. Reaching across to the
coffee table, careful not to up-end the animal, she used her fingertips to
slowly drag the letters towards her. When they were close enough, she
grabbed them and leant back, flicking through the pile. The first had a
typed address, and a look at the back told her it was from her bank.
'Later.' The next was in the familiar handwriting of Jeff Johnson.

'Sorry, but a long lecture about my life, ruts, and lack of direction I
don't need right now,' she said, putting it to the back. The third envelope
was also hand-written but she didn't recognize the writing, and she was
about to open it when she saw another, addressed in the same writing
further down the pile. She compared them and opened the one that had come
three days before the other.

Page 16


Dear Doctor Shaw,

I shall keep this brief. My friend Grant Traynor and I are very worried
about the activities of C19. You probably know them as the liaison between
the British Government, your UNIT group and the United Nations. But there
is far more to C19 than you, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Commodore
Gilmore, Major-General Scobie, and certainly Sir John Sudbury are aware.

We, Traynor and I, elected to try and contact you. Your non-military
background makes you seem far more, shall we say, open-minded to the
possibility of corruption and deceit at the highest levels. We feel that
you have much less invested in the establishment than a military person,
and less to lose except your personal honour. No one can demote you or cut
off your pension if you disagree with them.

Traynor is currently based up at C19's north-eastern research station,
attempting to find some concrete evidence to bring to your attention.
Naturally, you don't know anything about C19's activities up north, do you?
And why should you? Well, we believe that you and every citizen of Britain,
if not the whole UN, ought to know. What is going on there has terrifying
implications for us all.

I am sure you know what the Glasshouse is. You may assume (because we doubt
anyone will have thought to tell you differently) that it is connected with
C19, and therefore the Government, UNIT in Geneva and so on.

You would be wrong, I'm afraid. My dear Elizabeth, be prepared to discover
the truth about many things you've taken for granted while at UNIT. You are
the only civilian employed by UNIT and, despite your signature on the OSA
form (I have the document in front of me), you are the only person within
the operation who could uncover the truth. You will have help. A journalist
from Amsterdam is in the country. She is looking for a big story, and
frankly we are inclined to help her get it. Breaking C19 wide open can only
be beneficial for all concerned.

If you would like to know more, or meet up with the journalist, Miss
Kristan, please let us know by leaving a light on in your living room
window at 4am any night after the 23rd of this month. We will contact you
soon.

I hope we can help each other and, ultimately our fellow mankind, by
exposing the truth.

Yours,

A friend

Page 17


There was no other name or signature.

Liz stared at the letter for a few moments, re-read it, and shook her head.
What was going on? Why her? Was this a joke? Was Jeff trying to add some
spice to her life? She tore open the subsequent letter:

Traynor didn't come. He hadn't made it.

Damn.

Traynor supplied all the evidence he could, but is it going to be enough?

Probably not, but the man did his best. Now it is my job to continue the
expose.

Liz read the rest of it. The name 'Grant Traynor' rang a bell. Why? And
why, if Traynor's identity was revealed, was her mysterious correspondent
hiding his own identity?

She really wanted to disregard it as crank mail. But if that was the case,
how had they discovered her connection to UNIT, and then found her home
address? Even Maisie at UNIT didn't know it, Liz wasn't entirely sure if
the Doctor had it either. As far as she knew, only the Brigadier knew where
she lived. And Jeff and other friends. But UNIT-wise, she could only think
of the Brigadier. Everyone else had the Cambridge flat's address and phone
number.

Could Mrs Longhurst have told anyone? Unlikely. She thought Liz was only a
civil servant who worked away from home a lot.

The phone rang and Liz jumped. John-Paul squeaked and raised a sleepy head.
Liz was sure he had an annoyed glare on his face. 'Sorry,' she mouthed at
him, picked him up and, with a quick kiss, replaced him in the cage,
grabbing the phone on the way. 'Hold on a sec please,' she said and threw
the receiver onto the sofa.

With John-Paul locked away, she grabbed the phone and sat back down. 'Sony
about that.' 'Hello. Doctor Shaw?' A woman's voice, with some kind of
European accent. Liz was going to ask who it was, but the letter caught her
eye and she decided to make a stab in the dark.

'Yes, this is Liz. Is that Miss Kristan?'

Page 18


There was a pause and then the stranger spoke again:

Yeah. Yes, I am. How did you know?'

Liz could not really answer that. 'A guess.'

'Well, I'm impressed. Did you get a couple of letters from a friend who
didn't give you his name?'

Liz said that she had but, having not been at home on the night of the
23rd, she had failed to light the lamp.

'Light the lamp? Jesus, how melodramatic. The British sense of humour is
well known, but that's almost medieval.'

Liz laughed. 'Well, Chicago in the thirties, at least. Look, do you
understand any of this?'

The woman on the phone said she did not. 'My editor in Amsterdam gave me a
message a few days ago, telling me to go to the Central Office of
Information in London, where I was told to look up a particular file about
a fire in the Channel Islands. When I got there and showed them my
identification, there was a letter waiting for me, telling me to go to a
place called Smallmarshes and watch.'

'And did you?'

The woman laughed. Quite a nice laugh, Liz thought. 'Yeah, I went. Pathetic
place, full of pathetic people, but very... well, English I suppose. But I
certainly saw some interesting things and I think we should discuss them.'

Page 19


Liz felt torn. On the one hand, it sounded as though something of genuine
importance and interest might be going on. On the other, she wasn't sure
that she wanted to be involved. Still, she reasoned, one meeting would not
commit her to anything. They agreed a time and place, and Miss Kristan hung
up.

A few moments later, the telephone rang again.

'Hello. Is that Doctor Shaw?' It was the voice of an old man, with a rich,
upper-class accent.

'Who are you?'

'Unimportant, Elizabeth, quite unimportant.'

Elizabeth. No one called her Elizabeth, apart from her mother and father
when they were tetchy. The man on the phone was certainly not her father.
The letter once again caught her eye. Its anonymous author had called her
Elizabeth.

The voice carried on: 'I tried to reach you at UNIT. Spoke to the Doctor I
think, and some army clod later, but I'd obviously missed you. I'm glad
you're home. Please don't bother asking how I got your number or address. I
watched your flat, but there was no light. I can only assume that you have
not been back lately.'

'No. No, I've... Now look, who are you?'

'Traynor's dead, poor chap.' There was a short silence. 'If you want
further proof that we, or rather I, am telling the truth, watch the news
tonight. I'm going to tell Jana Kristan to do the same, now I know you've
spoken. Au revoir.'

The phone went dead. Liz stared at the silent receiver in her hands, her
mind trying to sift through, sort out and make some sense of the
information that she had just received. How did this all fit together? What
did Smallmarshes have to do with C19?

'And just how, pray tell, did you know I'd spoken to this Jana Kristan,
eh?' She turned and looked at John-Paul, now running around in his cage.
'Tell me that?'

John-Paul, obviously, had no answer.

Page 20


It was six minutes to three. The wall-clock outside the office, which
overlooked the Square, chimed three times. It was deliberately set early.
That way any errant MPs, civil servants and administrators who worked in
the Houses of Parliament could, in the current Speaker of the House's
vernacular, 'get their arses in gear'.

'Sir John, you are due at Lord Blake's reception in fifteen minutes or so.'
Sir John Sudbury sighed. He knew that. He knew where he was meant to be,
when he was meant to be there, why he was meant to be there and even how he
was meant to be getting there.

'What I do not know is what I have done in the eyes of the Lord to be
presented with you, Clive Alexander Fortescue, former Secretary to the
Chief of Defence, as my own private pain-in-the-posterior. Fortescue, if
you continually take valuable time telling me I am going to be tardy, then
tardy I will be, simply because you have distracted me. In other words -

'Yes, sir. I know. Shut up, Clive.' Fortescue shuffled some of Sir John's
papers into a black briefcase.

'Exactly. Shut up, Clive. Words spoken, no doubt, a great many times by
the Chief of Defence over the years.'

Fortescue nodded. 'Yes, Sir John. Familiar sentiments. Nevertheless, you
are due there in -, 'Clive. Belt up.' Sir John stared at him. 'There. A
new phrase for you to learn.'

Clive Fortescue was in his early forties, physically slight in direct
contrast to his master's portly frame. Thinning grey hair, over-sized horn-
rimmed glasses and a slight moustache were the only ones of Fortescue's
attributes which might be considered appropriate for a secretary. His
clothes veered towards the flamboyant; his old school tie of yellow-and-
black stripes was a permanent fixture at his neck, and his white silk shirt
had the slight patterning that suggested something of a dandy. Fortescue
closed the briefcase, and picked up Sir John's hat and scarf. 'Consider it
heard, absorbed and learned, Sir John.'

Page 21


Sir John stared at Fortescue. 'Good grief, man. Why on Earth do I need a
hat and scarf? It's the middle of the summer, and I'm only going to my
car!'

Fortescue seemed to have prepared an answer to that, much to Sir John's
disappointment: 'Appearances, Sir John. There may be members of the press
or television crews out there.'

Sir John crossed to the window and waved Fortescue over to join him. He
pointed outside at throngs of people with cameras and notebooks at the
ready, then indicated his own attire, formal black jacket and grey tie,
pinstriped charcoal trousers and gold cufflinks. 'Bearing in mind that the
Prime Minister is honouring us with his exalted presence, you know damned
well that the press are there. I still fail to see why I should go out
looking like a refugee from the Sad Old Men's Rest Home for the
Bewildered.'

Fortescue shrugged. 'My apologies, Sir John. I just assumed that you'd want
to look as though you were suitable for a position in the House of Lords.'

Sir John finally let his face crack into a smile. 'Oh, all right, you win
this round. But' - he waved a finger at Fortescue - 'I vow to make you
smile first this evening. You are not going to win four rounds in a week.'
Throwing his arm around Fortescue's shoulder, the older man led his friend
and colleague downstairs.

They passed a few other Parliamentary figures and their secretaries
scuttling about, and nodded at a few peers. As they went Sir John received
a running commentary, sotto voce, from Fortescue about each peer and how
long they were expected to remain alive.

'Do you know how many non-hereditary members of the House of Lords got
there without being Members of the Commons?' Sir John asked. 'Very few
indeed,' he answered himself.

'The opportunities simply aren't there. And -

'And frankly,' quoted Fortescue, 'being Head of Department C19 is not a
meal ticket to those comfy seats and long lunches. I know, but we both
need to dream about something.'

Sir John smiled again. 'Ready to face the public, Mr Fortescue?'

'Whenever you are, Lord Sudbury of... of... ?'

Page 22


Sir John shrugged. 'I don't know, Fortescue. Where shall I be Lord Sudbury
of?'

Fortescue pushed past a couple of people and caught a glimpse of Sir John's
car, the driver standing by the near-side passenger door. 'Lord Sudbury of
Late Appointments, I think. Why don't these reporter people bugger off back
to Fleet Street and invent some copy like they normally do?'

Sir John raised a hand to acknowledge his driver. 'Good. It's that young
Glasgow boy driving. What's his name?'

'Morton, Sir John. Try to get it right if you speak to him. Last time you
called him Hughes, your previous dogsbody. Poor Morton didn't know whether
to correct you or not.' Sir John was astounded. 'Of course he should have.
Poor chap must think I'm a beast or some such, ready to eat him alive.
Never fear, young Morton will be correctly appellated, acknowledged and
complimented on his driving.'

Fortescue passed the briefcase over as they reached the doors of the House.
'And if he's a bad driver?'

'All the better. It'd knock a few of the others off the road, eh?'

Fortescue nodded. 'You won't get anywhere if you don't tie your shoelace
up, Sir John. Going arse over tit in front of the BBC will not do any of
our careers any good.'

'Thank you, Fortescue. What would I do without you?' With some difficulty,
Sir John bent down to tie his lace.

'You're putting on weight, Sir John,' Fortescue laughed as he regarded Sir
John's doubled-up form from the rear. He was still smiling when, less than
a second later, a bullet entered his head at the bridge of his nose and
punched its way through the back of his skull, showering blood over the
Parliamentary stonework.

In an instant, the orderly crowd became a frenzied mob. Screams and shouts
went up. The Prime Minister was pushed out of view by his personal
secretaries, their side-arms drawn and ready. Sir John was pushed towards
the ground as a middle-aged reporter dived into him.

Page 23


Before either Sir John or his alert saviour had landed, two more shots rang
out, both hitting Morton in the chest. He was hurled back against the car
with enough force to crack two of the windows, and slumped to the ground.

As people rushed about, Sir John lay on the cold gravel, staring at
Morton's dead body directly in front of him, the young man's shirt now more
red than white. Shifting slightly, he turned to see if Fortescue was all
right. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the headless corpse
beside him was wearing Fortescue's distinctive black-and-yellow striped
tie.

He heard the crack of another shot, and felt a sudden pain in his right
shoulder. His brain registered the facts in an instant. He had been the
target, not the Prime Minister. As the pain began numbing his arm, Sir John
tapped the journalist lying across his back. 'Thank you, I think you saved
my life.'

There was no answering movement. Sir John rolled slightly and the
journalist flopped off, the last shot having gone straight through his
body, killing him instantly, before burying itself in its intended victim.

As sirens began to wail and people ran towards the House, Sir John looked
up. He was staring into the sun, but he could swear he saw someone moving
at one of the high windows of an office building. It was a tiny figure, and
at that distance he could not tell whether it was male or, heaven forbid,
female. But the spring sun glinted off the long rifle it carried as it
moved out of sight. Other hands pointed at the figure, and policemen dashed
across the busy road to try and hunt down the assassin.

All Sir John could do, as an ambulance crew hurried towards him, was stare
at the three dead men surrounding him. Guilty of nothing more than being in
the way as he dropped out of the assassin's cross-hairs. He looked down at
his still untied left shoelace, wondering whether to consider himself the
most fortunate man alive, or whether his conscience could carry those three
innocent lives and let him sleep at night. He doubted it.

Page 24


Liz stared, transfixed as the BBC News logo gave way to the familiar face
of news-reader Corbett Woodall.

'Three men have died, and another was seriously wounded, in an attempt on
the Prime Minister's life at the Houses of Parliament this afternoon.
Shaken but unhurt, the Prime Minister told journalists later that the
perpetrators of this outrageous act would be caught and punished. He would
not rule out the possibility of a Northern Irish connection.

'Shortly before three o'clock, four shots were fired at the Prime Minister
as he left the House of Commons. Sir John Sudbury, a junior Defence
Minister and MP for Woodhaven, was wounded in the shoulder. The three dead
men have been named as Sir John's private secretary, Clive Fortescue; Alan
Morton, a Parliamentary driver; and Michael Wagstaffe, defence
correspondent for the Daily Chronicle. Sir John is currently undergoing
surgery in St Thomas's Hospital, but it is understood that his wound is not
life-threatening.

'The Prime Minister has tonight reaffirmed his Government's anti-terrorist
commitment, suggesting that he believes this attack to be the work of the
IRA. The shots seem to have been fired -

Liz switched the set off. The phone rang and she snatched it off its
cradle.

'Yes?' she snapped.

'I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but I did tell you that something would happen.'

'Were you responsible for this? Is this some kind of attempt to get at me
through people I know? People I work with?'

There was a pause, and then the old voice continued, sounding horrified:
'No. No, I assure you not. I just knew this was going to happen. It's
following a pattern. I know who is responsible, and it's got nothing to do
with Northern Ireland. It's all to do with UNIT, the Glasshouse, C19 and
everything else you're involved in.'

Page 25


'So, it is my fault. It's because of me -,' Liz was almost hysterical.

The old voice was shouting: 'No! It's because of you, and your unique
status in UNIT, that I need to rely on you. I've provided you with an
associate, a real investigator, who can use her talents to help piece
things together. She knows nothing about you, or where you work. Her
independent view could help you sift through things.'

Liz swallowed. 'And why can't you do anything?'

The voice laughed. 'I'm an old man, Elizabeth. I've sat on the sidelines
all my career. It's what I do best, manipulating people and situations. I
thought I could contain them, you see, but I was wrong.'

'So,' said Liz, slowly. 'So, you know who they are?'

'Of course.'

'So why can't you tell me?'

There was a sigh on the other end of the telephone. 'Elizabeth, consider
this to be a game of snakes and ladders. Yes, I could put a ladder leading
from Square Two to Square Ninety-Nine. But you need to play the game, get
through every square, find everything I found. Otherwise what I know, what
you two find out, won't stand up to scrutiny, and won't stand up in court.
If you confront them without having amassed every shred of evidence,
they'll cover their tracks. They're very good, you know.' He stopped. 'Oh,'
he said suddenly. 'You'll be pleased to know that Sir John Sudbury is going
home tomorrow morning. He's fine, just a flesh wound.'

The telephone was dead again. The mystery man had gone. Liz found herself
pulling her knees up onto the sofa, and hugging them. Suddenly the world
seemed much larger and nastier than it had the day before.

Page 26


The old man was waking up. The monsters had dressed him in one of those
stupid-looking string vests - although at least it was warm. They had piled
the old man's clothes up next to him, but only after they had rummaged
through his pockets and made a pile of the peculiar things they had found.

The monsters were sitting on the other side of the strange vehicle they
were in. When Marc had first seen it, parked on the beach, he thought it
was one of those funny electric vans, like milkmen used, except with solid
sides and twice as big. The monster that had held him prisoner had used the
calling-box and the vehicle had rolled towards them, a door opening in the
side.

Then the old man had appeared, shouting, by the cave. The second monster
had come out of the sea and the old man had fallen down. The new monster
had picked the old man up and carried him into the vehicle. The first
monster had then pointed at the vehicle and, realizing that he was meant to
go in, Marc had done so.

He found himself inside a padded room. The redressed old man was lying in a
corner, against some hard seats. There were no windows but a television was
embedded in the wall opposite, and the two monsters sat in seats in front
of it, waving their hands over tiny black things. A few seconds later, the
vehicle moved. On the television, he could see the water getting closer.

They submerged, and time passed.

'Hello,' whispered a voice. It was the old man. 'Who are you?'

'Marc,' he whispered back. 'Marc Marshall. Are you all right?'

The old man nodded. 'Yes. The Silurian just stunned me.'

'Si... Si-what?'

'Silurian. Them over there.'

Marc stared at their backs. 'What are they? Are they monsters? Will they
eat us?'

'No, Marc. No, they're vegetarians.'

'Actually, we're not.' The newer monster, or Silurian, turned back to look
at them. 'But unlike Apes, we synthesize all our food so as not to use up
our planet's resources.'

Page 27


The old man stood up. 'I see. I'm sorry, I was mistaken. Why have you
captured us?'

The other monster turned. 'We are Earth Reptiles. This is our planet. You
are an infestation and, by rights, should be wiped out. However' - it
pointed at Marc -'we have need of the hatchling.'

Marc frowned. 'Me? Why?'

The first monster turned away and watched the television. 'You will find
out.'

The old man cleared his throat, and motioned for Marc to keep quiet. 'I
have met your people before. Perhaps you know of Okdel. And K'to?'

'Were you responsible for their deaths?'

The first Silurian hushed the one which had spoken. 'Sula, do not say
anything else.'

'No, Tahni, we need to know how they died. Chukk and the others must have
their revenge on the Apes.'

The old man moved towards them, the one called Sula turned in its seat. Its
third eye flashed red, and he stopped abruptly, his face showing pain.

'Please,' he gasped, 'please let me speak.'

The other Silurian nodded and the blue glow stopped.

'Thank you.' The old man rubbed his nose. 'I am called the Doctor. Okdel
was my friend. He was the victim of an uprising within your own people and,
I believe, was murdered by one of them. The Apes had nothing to do with his
death.'

The two Silurians faced each other. 'Morka?'

Page 28


Sula nodded. 'Probably. He always was a fool.'

The Doctor continued: 'This Morka, he released a plague to kill the Apes.
Okdel helped me find a cure, but the Apes retaliated in the only way they
knew how. Desperate and afraid, much as Morka had been, they fought back.'

'They murdered our people, you mean.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. Many of them died, I know. But some were
put back into hibernation. K'to certainly was. The Apes sealed the caves
up, entombing them. But I'm sure many of them still live. Indeed, a great
many were never revived and are still fast asleep, unaware of anything that
transpired.'

Sula stared at him. 'Why did you befriend Okdel? To betray him?'

'No.' The Doctor sat on a seat opposite Marc. 'No. I sought to find a way
for the Sil- for the Earth Reptiles to live in harmony with the Apes. Okdel
also wanted this, but paranoia on both sides ultimately doomed such plans.
It was a terrible waste of lives, both Reptile and Ape.'

'Ape lives are unimportant,' said the other Earth Reptile. Marc watched as
it, too, returned to observe the screen.

'I think all life is important, Sula. Okdel believed that, too.'

The other Silurian swung round again. 'Then Okdel was a fool. We shall be
back in our Shelter soon. You will answer to Chukk and the Triad.'

There was only the faint sound of the strange vehicle's engine. After a few
moments, the Doctor looked at Marc. 'I'm sorry. I tried.'

Marc tried to smile. 'Will these Reptiles kill us then?'

'I really don't know, Marc. Why not tell me how you came to be here?'

Page 29


Marc nodded and told his story, from his stay with his aunt and his visit
to Dungeness, right up to seeing the Doctor appear on the beach. The Doctor
listened intently and made him clarify a few points but after ten minutes
or so, he seemed satisfied.

'Well, the policewoman is alive and in hospital, so that's something good I
can tell you.' The Doctor paused, then indicated the Reptiles with his
head. 'Now all we have to do is sit tight and find out where we're going.'

Fiona was beautiful, no doubt about it.

As she sat opposite, her hair highlighted by the flickering candles on the
table between them, Alistair felt he loved her more now than ever before.
Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires, and when she smiled at him he felt
an unquestionable glow spread in his chest.

Mr and Mrs Lethbridge-Stewart were having their first dinner together for
far too long. They had experienced little trouble in convincing Virginia
Ince to baby-sit Kate for the evening, and dressed up to the nines, they
had headed into Old Beaconsfield, to their favourite restaurant, the
Saracen's Head.

They were not entirely sure if the maitre d' really did recognize 'such old
and valued customers', but nevertheless they got an excellent table,
secluded but not so invisible that the waiters could ignore them.

Alistair had ordered a salmon steak, Fiona had gone for the veal escalope
and a simple Burgundy washed it down well - Alistair forgoing his usual
house red.

They had talked about the house, Kate, and her forthcoming first year at
school. Alistair wanted to make plans to send her to a boarding school when
she was old enough, but Fiona argued that the girl would be just as well
educated closer to home. Not wishing to get into a 'you just want the girl
away at boarding school to make things easier for you' row - which would
have been untrue anyway - he consented.

Page 30


In fact, so far, not a single cross word had been spoken. It felt like
something of a miracle. Yet at the back of his mind Alistair knew that
Fiona was keeping something back; she often seemed on the edge of saying
something and then changed onto a totally different track.

'So,' she said, finishing off her last mouthful of veal, 'work must be very
busy. The office seems to call a lot, or keep you there for days on end.
London's not so far away that you can't come home, no matter how late, once
in a while.'

And it had been going so well. If only Fiona knew that 'the office' was
less than ten minutes from their front door and not in the City as she
assumed. The only time he'd ever been completely truthful with her was
during the period he was based in Guildford, while the central complex was
being built. If Fiona had known he was spending his days inside a massive
aircraft, inside a military hangar... Even now, he occasionally had to
visit it as they used it as a green-field HQ. Young Captain Walters
excelled in looking after the hardware...

His mind was wandering. 'Sorry, Fiona, but at this time of year, things do
get very hectic. Foreign clients arriving at odd hours, and wanting to be
entertained, and such things.'

Fiona nodded and took a sip of her wine. 'And just who is this Miss Hawke
who keeps phoning you up?'

Alistair tried to laugh. 'Maisie? Oh, she's been with the firm since day
one. I suppose you'd call her my Girl Friday -'

'Really? And what does being a Girl Friday entail?'

'Oh, honestly, darling. She's married,' (well, she was engaged, he
thought), 'to one of the young... accountants,' (he was a captain
actually). 'Sam. And he's an ex-boxer,' (true), 'who'd flatten me easily.'
(Also true, but at least he wouldn't have dared.) 'Please don't start
inventing fantasy women to keep me at the office.'

Page 31


Fiona shrugged. 'Just a thought, darling. Apparently Eric Pike is cheating
on Monica, and they've three teenage sons.'

'No,' he laughed. 'I expect poor Pike just has a gorgeous wife, whom he
rudely takes for granted much like I do, and who has a vivid imagination
working overtime.'

'You're a spy, aren't you? Something to do with the Government. And your
Maisie Hawke is some kind of Miss Moneypenny.'

Alistair stared at her, unsure whether to laugh at the absurdity or admit
the proximity of her guess. Then he saw her eyes. They were glittering
sapphires no more. Now they were hard chunks of ice, daring him to argue.

'I think that's...  well -

'Spot on, darling?'

'Preposterous was the word I was looking for. Darling.' This was going
wrong. Alistair knew with a sinking feeling that it was going to get worse.
'I mean that's just so ridiculous.'

The maitre d' appeared beside them, like a genie from a lamp. Alistair
actually jumped. 'There is a phone call for you, Mr Lethbridge-Stewart. A
Miss Hawke from your office of work?'

Fiona smiled tightly and gestured across the restaurant towards the phone
by the coat-rack and the gents.

With a mumbled 'Excuse me', Alistair got up and followed the maitre d' to
the telephone. He picked up the receiver, there was a click and Corporal
Hawke was there.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir. We are now scrambled.'

Page 32


'Hawke, how in blazes did you find me? D'you know how inconvenient this
is?,' The Brigadier found himself whispering despite the scrambled line.
Across the restaurant, his wife was finishing her wine, looking anywhere
but at him.

'Terribly sorry, sir. You weren't at home, and your baby-sitter said you
had gone out with Mrs Lethbridge Stewart for dinner. Having been your
Administrative Assistant since we were based at Guildford, I have booked
more than one table for two at the Saracen's Head.'

'Don't get funny, Hawke. What is it?'

'A Navy sub in the Smallmarshes area has reported detecting strange
underwater movement, sir, possibly a submersible.'

'In what area? Why is this worth interrupting a very expensive dinner,
Corporal?'

There was a silence. The Brigadier imagined that Hawke was pausing,
unwilling to continue, fearful of her master's wrath. 'Well?'

'Something came up yesterday, sir, while you were lunching with Sir John
Sudbury. The Doctor said he was going to show you the report and discuss it
with you before he left. It involved Smallmarshes, a seaside town near
Hastings. In Kent.'

'I know where Hastings is, Corporal. I can also tell you that I didn't see
the Doctor at any time after Sir John left. Now tell me what the Doctor has
gone to see, find or do.'

'I'm sorry, sir, I know I should have told you earlier but -'

The Brigadier sighed. 'Corporal Hawke, you have already ruined my evening
out. I suspect my wallet is going to have to stand another two or three
evenings out if I am to pacify my wife. You, it would appear, have kept
something from me, but not from the Doctor. As briefly as you can, Hawke,
what is going on?'

Page 33


The one-word reply chilled the Brigadier. After a second's pause, he began
to chew his lip. 'Are you sure, Hawke?'

'Yes, sir. I've got the original report here. Miss Shaw has seen it as
well, although she asked me not to tell you that. I have tried reaching her
on the London number you gave me recently, but it has been engaged for a
while. I think perhaps you should see this report before we go any
further.'

The Brigadier felt himself going red, and fought to control his voice. 'I
think I should have been shown it a day and a half ago, Corporal, so that
UNIT could have reacted properly. This has all the hallmarks of what
Sergeant Benton would term a cock-up, and believe me, right now the
Doctor is in very deep water. I shall be with you as soon as I've dropped
Mrs Lethbridge-Stewart at home. Now, as if this evening wasn't ruined
already, is there anything else?'

There was a slight but audible pause. Then: 'Have you seen the news this
evening, sir?'

'No, Corporal. I have better things to do than watch television. What
Earth-shattering event have I missed? Michael Parkinson interviewing one of
the Silurians?'

'Someone tried to assassinate Sir John Sudbury. The bullets used were C19-
issue. The grapevine is linking it, tenuously, to Sir Marmaduke Harrington-
Smythe and the Glasshouse team.'

'Wonderful news, Corporal. All I need now is Scobie to accidentally launch
an all-out nuclear strike against the Chinese, and my day will be perfect.
I want everybody in the Operations Room in forty-five minutes.'

Without waiting for a reply, he replaced the receiver... Silurians. The
Doctor must have gone off chasing them, probably assuming that UNIT would
follow and try to blow them up. Typical of the man. Never thought of the
bigger picture. And then someone tries to kill Sir John Sudbury who,
despite his inflated opinion of his role in Parliament, was hardly a prime
target. If the Glasshouse set-up was compromised, all hell would probably
break loose.

Page 34


Which, frankly, was nothing compared to Fiona's reaction to his having to
return to 'the office'.

As Alistair walked back towards his alcove, he realized he was approaching
an empty table. The candle had been put out, and was currently playing host
to their bill, impaled halfway down its length, torn and soaked in red wax.

The maitre d' had the decency to try and look anguished as he walked
towards him, carrying his long fawn overcoat.

'The lady has, er, departed, sir. She hailed a cab. She said you would pay
the, ah -' Alistair de-speared the bill, flattening the torn centre to try
and read it. He took out his wallet and gave the maitre d' a twenty-pound
note. 'I imagine this covers everything,' he said curtly.

The maitre d' coughed in surprise. 'More than adequate, sir. Are you really
sure you want to -'

But Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was gone.

And it was the Brigadier who got behind the wheel of his Daimler, and
headed onto the A40 towards Denham, and UNIT HQ.

The pale young man was waiting for the blond man when the latter returned
to his bed-sit that night.

'Well, you botched that, didn't you?' was his first comment. 'And I was led
to believe that you were one of the best.'

'I am the best,' the blond man replied emotionlessly.

'Oh, tosh and nonsense, old chap, tosh and nonsense. You're a second-rate
East End hood whose reputation is probably bought rather than earned.' The
pale young man poured himself a drink. 'Scotch?'

'Please.'

Page 35


A moment later and they were both drinking. The blond man helped himself to
a second. His employer declined the offer.

'Now, what are we to do with you?' he wondered. 'Sir John is still alive,
and although the evidence neatly points to the Glasshouse thanks to the
tit-bits we left for the Parliamentary internal investigators to find, we
have three innocent corpses in a morgue and one blighter with a bit of a
scratch on his shoulder. Harrington-Smythe is going to find it quite easy
to squirm out of this one.'

'The sights on the rifle you gave me were mis-aligned.'

The pale young man turned his face to him, his expression unreadable, his
eyes invisible behind the thick lenses of the sunglasses he always wore.
After a second he nodded his head a fraction of an inch. 'I'll have the
armourer reprimanded for that.' He dug into his suit pocket and passed the
blond man an envelope. 'I think it's time to get daring. Do the job
outlined in here and then lie low for a few days. After that, I think we'll
go get our policewoman back from Sir Marmaduke's grubby little mitts.'

With a sudden and jarringly fast movement he grabbed the bottle of Scotch,
smashed it against the doorframe and jammed the jagged end into the door
itself. 'And if you screw up once more, next time the bottle goes into
you.'

After he had left, the blond man tried prising the bottle out of the wood,
but it was stuck fast. As he grasped the broken neck, he felt unusual
ridges in the glass. He looked closely. Gouged into the glass were five
clear fingerprints. But to have the strength to do that... the pressure
needed would require someone with the strength of about ten men. And there
was no way that the pale young man was that strong, surely?

Page 36


In a cage, kept away from too many smells, sights or sounds was a Dobermann
pinscher. At least, once it had been a Dobermann pinscher. Now it was
something more, something extra special.

One day a man it had trusted had come into its cage with a large syringe of
a thick green ooze, which bubbled slightly. The man had injected the
substance into the dog's neck, right into the jugular. It had hurt, and the
dog had tried to snap at his former friend, but collapsed as it tried.

The transformation had taken about eight minutes. Waves of pain swept over
it as it felt its body and mind twist and alter. Its senses were heightened
- it could see things previously hidden from its limited spectrum of
vision; it could hear the breathing of people a hundred yards further down
the cavern; it could smell the particular scent of sweat on a man standing
next to a woman he was attracted to.

And this sudden in-rush of new perception snapped its mind, sending it
insane and insensible.

The man watched the transformation from a safe distance, and reported back
to his masters that the Stahlman Hound was ready to be trained. To become
the Stalker. And over three months, he trained it, using a mixture of
drugs, conditioning and basic cruelty.

The Stalker was the first living thing to be deliberately infected with a
modified sample of Stahlman's gas from the aborted drilling project
nicknamed the Inferno. The man was justifiably proud of the aberration of
nature he had designed and engineered. He considered himself almost god-
like; he had created a new form of life in the name of science, research
and the future.

Then one day he woke from a dream of being chased through dark tunnels, and
realized that he had helped to create not a new species, but a new weapon -
one with untested and terrifying implications. What if it escaped? What if
it could infect other dogs through breeding, or biting? What if it could
infect humans? Rabies would be the equivalent of a slight cold in
comparison to the Stahlman Hound's fearsome mutations. He decided it was
time to stop those experiments, and vowed to do what he could to make the
workers in The Vault see the error of their ways. And if they would not, he
would find another way of stopping their work.

Page 37


Now, all that was left of the man and his good intentions was a pile of
well-gnawed bones and a shattered skull, scraped clean of all meat and
marrow, their surfaces scarred with deep gouges from canine incisors.
Around them lay pieces of torn and tattered clothing. One, a sock, lay
discarded in the corner of the cage. Inside was a neatly stitched label
that read 'Grant Traynor'.

The creation had eaten the creator. And it was still hungry.

Marc Marshall stood beside the nice old man, the Doctor. Both of them were
dressed again in their own clothes, which had been washed and dried. The
reptile who had returned them explained that they had needed to wear the
mesh vests to protect their bodies from the pressure caused by the depth.
The explanation had taken a while and Marc had not understood any of it,
but the Doctor had remarked on its cleverness. 'And very thoughtful, too.'

Now they stood in a cavern deep under the sea, facing a whole group of
reptile people. Earth Reptiles, they seemed to call themselves. The Doctor
had explained to him how they had ruled Earth at the time of the dinosaurs.
How their cities had sprawled across the world. How they had cars and
planes, ships and submarines, and had been working on space-craft. The
Doctor also said that they had art and literature, sports and games. A
complete civilization.

They were the same as humans, but much, much older. The Doctor told him
that the entire race had gone into hibernation when their astronomers saw
the moon approaching the planet. Thinking it would suck away the Earth's
atmosphere as it rushed by, they built vast shelters underground and went
to sleep, waiting for it to pass and return to deep space. Instead the moon
went into orbit and the Earth Reptiles never awoke.

The Doctor also explained how thousands of their shelters had been
destroyed over the millions of years that had passed, but hundreds more
must still exist somewhere. He explained how he had met the Earth Reptiles
before, and how they had fought and ultimately lost a battle because they
were too similar to humans. At least, that was how the Doctor put it.

Page 38


Now the two humans were being examined by these seemingly hostile Earth
Reptiles in their shelter. And from a large screen mounted on one wall,
three others stared down. They appeared slightly different, slightly older,
than the ones in the room.

'I have to say, Sula, there are marked differences between your group here,
and Okdel's group.' The Doctor was staring at Sula and Tahni, the two
Reptiles who had been in the submersible. 'You are very different from the
older Earth Reptiles. You have what seem to be fins rather than ears.'

'You are correct, Ape. And before you prod and poke us any further,' said
Tahni, slapping his hand away, 'we are different. We are hybrids. We are -'

'Enough, Tahni. The Apes do not need to know anything.'

'Of course, Baal.'

Marc looked at the newcomer. If what he had gathered from the Doctor's
comments was correct, this must be another hybrid Reptile, because he too
had fins for ears.

The new hybrid, Baal, pointed at him, 'Sisters, you have done well. The Ape
hatchling is exactly what I need for my experiments. Take it away.'

Marc was petrified, but the Doctor stood between him and Baal. 'What are
you going to do with the boy?'

Baal shoved the Doctor aside with astonishing strength. 'It is no concern
of yours, Ape.' He looked back at the screen. 'If the Triad has no
objections, I will start breaking this one down. Interrogate the old Ape as
much as you like; just ensure that it is killed afterwards.' He looked
across at an older Reptile, who resembled the three on the screen. 'Is that
all right with you, Chukk?'

The one called Chukk nodded slowly.

Page 39


Baal grabbed Marc's arm tightly, hurting him. He was determined not to cry
out. He would be brave. 'And Chukk, be sure to disinfect this area. I can
feel the Ape's fleas crawling all over my skin already.'

As Marc was dragged away, he heard the Doctor calling out, 'Noble Triad,
please guarantee the safety of the Ape hatchling. I implore you not to -'
but his voice was muffled by the rocks.

'What are you going to do to me?' Marc asked Baal.

Sula, who had followed, laughed. 'Make use of you, Ape. You never know, you
may be our only way of surviving.'

'I'd like to help. Really I would. Just tell me what to do,' Marc said.

Baal stopped in front of a rock wall. His third eye glowed green for a
moment and the rocks seemed to melt away, revealing a cavernous laboratory
inside. He pulled Marc in, and Sula followed. She used her third eye to
replace or rebuild the solid wall, Marc couldn't work out which.

'How did you do that?' he asked.

Baal ignored the question. 'Stand there.' He pointed to a far wall, where
something that looked like a large movie camera was mounted near the
ceiling, pointing straight down. 'Under the encoder.'

Marc stood. Opposite him, Sula waved her hands over a console. 'Begin,' she
said out loud.

Marc's body began to tingle as he was enveloped by a pale light, emanating
from the camera-like object above him.

'It is working,' said Baal, from the right side of the room. 'Observe.'
Marc looked. In Baal's hand a tiny figure seemed to shimmer into existence,
about six inches high, mounted on a black disc.

Page 40


Baal sneered at Marc. 'See, Ape. You do not possess such technology. This
is a hologram, and it has reproduced every facet of your body. Your
inferior mind cannot begin to grasp the concepts involved.'

Marc was positive he was not going to give in. He would not cry, or let
Baal or Sula or anyone know how frightened he really was. He'd been
frightened when Tahni had dragged him into the cottage, but that had been
surprise more than anything else. He would try to resist whatever they were
going to do. Somehow in his mind the memory of the cottage seemed like
years ago, but it was only yesterday, surely?

'Tell me about the technology anyway,' he said.

Sula shrugged. 'It has spirit. For an Ape.'

Baal pointed at the hologram, and Marc saw a tiny copy of himself stare
back. It glowed slightly, and flickered. 'Here it looks like you. But now -
' and Baal tapped a stud on the base of the holo-thing and the copy of Marc
vanished, to be replaced by a Marc-shaped image, composed of a series of
lines and circles '- we have a wire-frame image of you.' The stud was
pressed again and this time, the Marc-image was filled with glowing primary
colours. 'Here, you are in infrared. We can see your inner body, and trace
your genetic codes. Here we can see it all.' Marc was aware that Baal was
not really talking to him, or to Sula. He was talking to himself.

'Here we can find the chromosomes that make you different from us. We will
separate them, bind them with our own and create new ones.' Baal looked up
from his console. 'We needed a young hatchling, on the brink of puberty,
while its body chemistry is in such a marvellous state of flux. With you,
we may be able to single out the exact piece of genetic material that can
save us all.'

'When will you do this?' asked Marc, looking at Sula, as Baal turned back
to his console, engrossed in data.

Sula looked at Baal and then back at Marc. 'Very soon, Ape. Very soon.'

'And will it hurt much?'

Baal looked up suddenly and laughed. 'Oh, probably. But you shouldn't worry
about the pain. Whether it hurts you or not, it will most definitely kill
you.' He turned back to Sula. 'We can proceed immediately. Let us start.'

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Episode Four

Page 1


The Brigadier strode into the UNIT Operations Room, watching the chaotic
scene before his eyes. Eight people were engaged in frenzied activity, each
studiously avoiding eye-contact with their commanding officer, if they had
even noticed his arrival.

Only the staff officer for the night, Sergeant Benton, managed a quick
salute before grabbing and scanning a series of messages that had come
through on the telex. Corporal Bell was on the red phone, linked directly
to UNIT'S headquarters in Geneva. Private Parkinson was doing a round of
teas and Corporal Hawke was sticking small red flags into a map of the
Hastings area. Others gathered files, brought chairs and made themselves
busy. It was chaos, but a structured chaos.

'Well?'

Everything went quiet and still as the Brigadier spoke. He moved to sit in
a chair behind his desk as Bell stepped into the next room to continue her
conversation with Geneva. Hawke broke the silence, pointing at her map.

'This, sir, is the cottage outside Smallmarshes where the Silurian activity
is reported to have taken place, and where WPC Redworth was found.' She
pointed to the next flag along, very close to the first. 'This is the
Smallmarshes police station, the Doctor's last reported location.' She
indicated a third flag. 'And this is Hastings General Hospital, sir. The
policewoman apparently injured by the Silurian or Silurians was taken
there, and later abducted during an armed assault. The kidnappers caused
enough other distractions to cover the abduction for a few hours.'

'Any casualties?'

'A few concussions, a few cuts from broken glass and one fatality. A
strange one, sir.'

'Don't stall, Corporal.'

Page 2


Hawke shrugged. 'A woman in a nurse's uniform was shot dead in the
hospital's reception. She was not on the hospital's staff, and her uniform
wasn't recognized by any Hastings staff. Which is hardly surprising.'

The Brigadier raised an eyebrow. 'Why?'

Benton chipped in, holding up a photograph of the dead woman, allowing the
Brigadier to see the neat hole in her forehead. 'She was wearing a
Glasshouse uniform, sir.'

'And the gun,' the Brigadier continued, mostly for his own benefit, 'was a
Compacta 25 calibre, judging by the entry-wound. Any rear damage?'

Benton shook his head. 'Apparently not, sir. The bullet entered her brain
and lodged there.'

'As I said, Compacta 25 calibre; a toy unique to the Glasshouse. Was the
weapon located?'

'On the reception desk, sir. It looks like she was shot with her own gun,'
Hawke replied.

The Brigadier stood up and coughed. 'Let me get this straight. We have a
possible sighting of a Silurian; a category A plus, UNIT-eyes-only threat.
Instead of UNIT's commanding officer being informed, the report is
intercepted by his scientific advisors and they act upon it. One goes to
Smallmarshes and talks to the police, one of whom has seen the creature and
has been hospitalized as a result. The other advisor disappears. Neither of
them are contactable. Meanwhile, the policewoman in hospital is kidnapped
and only one clue is left behind: a potential Glasshouse staff member
murdered with her own gun.' The Brigadier glared at the group around him,
as if daring someone to speak. 'And I wasn't briefed on any of this until
an hour ago. Anything else?'

Page 3


'Just two things, sir.' Benton picked up a sheaf of papers from beside the
telex. 'The Smallmarshes police have reported that they were due to meet
the Doctor at seven thirty this morning at the cottage where the Silurian
was seen. He didn't turn up, and they want to know if he was really
attached to UNIT Secondly, a teenage boy has been reported missing from the
same town. His name is Marcus Marshall.'

'So?'

'A duffle-bag, belonging to a Marc Marshall, was found near the same
cottage. And Marc Marshall is Alan Marshall's son.'

'So apart from the Doctor passing out the telex number of a supposedly top-
secret defence agency, and the son of a prominent MP vanishing, I trust
everything is going well?' The Brigadier paused as Corporal Bell re-entered
the room. 'And what joy from our Swiss paymasters?'

Bell glanced around the room, but a look from the Brigadier told her to
carry on.

'Well, sir, it's bad news. Because C19 won't release any information on our
operations over the past twenty-four months to the UN, and both the Dutch
and French Governments are being equally tight-lipped, the UN Secretary has
cut UNIT's budget by almost half. If we're to get any more money, it must
come directly from C19 and the British Government, not the UN.'

The Brigadier wandered over to Hawke's map, deep in thought. He studied the
position of the flags for a moment, then turned to face his staff. His face
was hardened with the resolve of a man determined to face any slings and
arrows that fortune threw at him. 'Our funding is a C19 matter, and until
Sir John Sudbury returns from hospital we will just have to carry on as
best we can. I will take a small group down to Smallmarshes to look into
things and find the Doctor. Benton, call up Yates and ask him to get a
squad together. You're staying here to co-ordinate everything. In my
absence, you have command.'

'Sir.'

'Hawke, you liaise with Smallmarshes and Hastings police. I want total
assistance from them. Put out a complete D notice on everything relating to
this. If the media boys give you any trouble, pretend we're bigger and far
more powerful than we currently seem to be, and shout a lot. Scare them.
Blackmail them. Threaten to shoot their families if necessary, but I want
absolutely no press involvement.'

'Sir.'

Page 4


'Bell, you're with me. Use the Austin, not the Daimler. I want this to be a
discreet operation. Benton, ensure Yates does the same. No Rovers, no
uniforms. Handguns for the troops. This is going to be a subtle operation,
ladies and gentlemen. And there will be no further cock-ups. Is that
understood?' He looked around and smiled mirthlessly. 'Dismissed.'

As the troops began to disperse, the Brigadier waved Maisie Hawke over.
'Corporal,' he whispered, 'find Miss Shaw. Contact Private Johnson and ask
if he knows where she is.'

'Sir?'

'Hawke, it is my job to know about my staff, and their personal as well as
professional lives, much as I don't like it. I believe you have his number.
Don't make me turn a suggestion into an order.'

'Sir.' Hawke saluted and left the Ops Room.

The Brigadier followed, heading for his own office. He had to make a phone
call himself. A more personal one, a more difficult one than he would ever
have imagined. He had to telephone his wife and say he wouldn't be home
that night.

He entered his office and looked at the clock. Ten o'clock, an hour and a
half since Hawke had rung him in the restaurant.

More importantly, an hour since Fiona had taken herself home, and an hour
since Alistair had collected a few odds and ends from the spare room, and
then pushed open the door of his own bedroom. She had been in bed and
asleep, or pretending to be. Either way, the message was clear.

Page 5


Then Alistair had popped his head into Kate's room. Lying on the floor,
presumably having fallen out of her bed, was Aloysius the bear. He had
crossed the room, picked up the soft toy and slid it back under the covers.
Kate's arms had instinctively grabbed for it and hugged it closer.

As he had turned to leave the room, a sleepy voice had murmured, 'G'night
Daddy. I love you.'

'G'night Tiger,' he had whispered back, and shut the door.

A knock on his office door broke his reverie.

'Brigadier?' It was Bell.

'Yes, Corporal?'

'The cars are ready. Mike Yates will be here with his troops in about ten
minutes.' The Brigadier realized he had never seen Corporal Bell out of
uniform. She was dressed in a thick grey fisherman's sweater and black
jeans.

Perhaps aware that he was staring at her, she coughed. 'I thought it might
be cold down there this early in the morning. If it's not appropriate, sir,
I can -

'No. No, it's fine, Corporal.' He stared at his own clothes, realizing he
was still dressed in the suit and tie he had worn to the restaurant. 'Glad
you reminded me. Could hardly go traipsing around Sussex in this get-up,
could I?'

Bell smiled and shook her head. 'Are you needing anything else, sir?'

The Brigadier shook his head. 'No. I'll get changed now, I've spares here
somewhere.'

'Left-hand cupboard, behind the black filing case, sir. Three shirts, four
pairs of casual trousers and two pairs of light shoes. Plus assorted
sweaters.'

Page 6


The Brigadier smiled at Bell. 'What would I do without you, Corporal?'

Bell went red, and was smiling as she left.

The Brigadier looked at the cupboard she had indicated. 'No,' he muttered.
'Displeasure before business.' He picked up the phone and dialled his home
number. It rang twice before Fiona answered, her voice crisp and clear,
without a trace of tiredness. The phone had clearly not woken her.

'What do you want, Alistair?'

'Hello, darling. How did you know it was me?'

'Fifteen years of late-night calls saying I won't see you for the next
week, that's how. What do you want?'

Alistair sighed. 'To apologize?'

'Oh, fine, darling. I'm supposed to forgive you for abandoning me for the
millionth time, leaving me embarrassed and unable to explain to our
daughter exactly what is going on.'

'I really am sorry.'

There was a pause and then Fiona sighed. When she spoke, all trace of
sarcasm had gone. The only thing Alistair could detect was a sudden
tiredness. She must have been holding back. 'I can't go on, Alistair. It's
all too much.'

'What do you mean, darling?'

'Don't bloody darling me all the time!' she shouted. 'Stop saying that as
if it excuses everything, explains anything or justifies something. Just
stop darling this and sweetheart that.' She paused again and then
continued, more quietly, 'What I mean, Alistair, is that you come home now.
You drop everything and get back here. Your job can survive without you for
one evening. You tell Miss Hawke to keep the office running for the next
three days or so without you. Is that so impossible?'

Alistair coughed. 'Well, yes, darling, it is impossible. I'm an important
person here. I have staff to manage. I can't just -

Page 7


'Can't or won't?'

'Can't. Absolutely. I'll try and get a weekend off in the next couple of
weeks. Mike or John can hold the fort. But not right now.'

Fiona took a deep breath and exhaled noisily down the telephone. 'Alistair,
you know as well as I do that you won't leave Mike, John, Miss Hawke, Uncle
Tom Cobbley and all in charge. I still don't understand what is going on
there, but I do know it's more important to you than your family.'

Alistair interrupted her: 'Now hold on, darling. That's not true at -,

'It is true, Alistair. Absolutely. One hundred per cent true. If I was some
faint-hearted little wifey who did not have a life of her own, I'd probably
sit back and accept it. But I'm not, and I won't.'

'Shouldn't we discuss this face to face -,' tried Alistair, but Fiona cut
him off quickly.

'No! You had your chance for face to face this evening. You blew it. This
is it, Alistair. Kate and I are off. Don't try to contact us - if there's
one thing you do know, it's that my father will ensure you get nowhere near
us.'

Alistair felt a sudden pit in his stomach deepen. 'What are you saying, Fi?
Your parents are in Chichester. Why are you going that far away? Why are
you going at all, damn it?'

Fiona sighed. 'If you don't know that now, Alistair, you never will.
Goodbye.' Click. A disconnected hum.

'Fiona?' said a small voice into the phone. 'Fiona, Kate? Please?'

Page 8


Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart realized that the voice was his, abruptly lost
and cut-off.

She was going. Away. Leaving him? But, no, she couldn't. Surely not. It
wasn't fair. Not to him. Certainly not to Kate. What chance had he had to
explain himself? Fiona couldn't just drop eight years of marriage over
something as pointless as this. People didn't just give up on married life,
abandon their families because of a few long weekends away and a disrupted
dinner.

Except, said the demon in the depths of his stomach as it churned up bile,
it wasn't just about long weekends or a ruined dinner, was it? It was about
the last eight years of lies and evasions. It was about how his life had
altered following that meeting with Air Vice-Marshal Gilmore after the
'London Event'. How secrecy had become his watchword, at home as well as
work.

Kate. Had Kate just been the result of some attempt by both of them to
solidify a partnership that had never had any concrete base of its own?

Was he destined to be on his own for the rest of his life? He remembered
what Doris had said in Brighton that day all those years ago: 'Never take a
woman for granted, Ali. You never know when familiarity has become boredom;
when what one accepts as normality means depression and tedium for the
other. That's what destorys marriages. Not one sudden argument, but a slow
eroding of love because two people don't realise they have drifted apart,
Their mental image of their partner becomes far removed from reality.
Beware that, Ali.'

She'd given him a present then; a watch. It lived in a box, tucked away at
the back of the cupboard Bell had pointed out. Doris had been a friend from
Sandhurst, where she'd been a WRAC-in-trianing and he'd been a young lance-
corporal, He'd thought they loved each other but he'd let her go, to drift
away from him into the arms of George Wilson.

They'd met up a few years later on the pier in Brighton, the day after his
marriage to Fiona. She gave him the watch, ostensibly as a wedding gift, in
addition to the Wedgwood dinner set from both of them. But he knew it was
more than that. It was a reminder of what might have been. Perhaps what
ought to have been.

Wilson had been killed in Northern Ireland a couple of years ago. Alistair
had sent a brief letter of commiseration to Doris. Just a few lines -
crammed into a few moments between a battle with Cybermen and Autons or
some such threat. Thinking back, he realised how impersonal the letter had
been. No more meaningful that the frighteningly than the frighteningly
regular letters he had written to the parents or wives of young privates
who died under his command at UNIT.

No wonder Doris had not written back.

What kind of unfeeling monster had this job turned him into? Was he any
better than those Cybermen or Autons? Did they have more feeling or
conscience than him?

The phone's hum had become a high-pitched whine, indignant at not being
used, and he gently placed the receiver,

Page 9


He undid his collar and slipped off his tie. Then off came the jacket,
trousers and shoes. He crossed to the cupboard and took out a blue cardigan
and grey trousers. After that, on went a pair of comfortable black leather
Hush Puppies. On the back of one cupboard door was a half-length mirror,
and he stared at himself in it. Behind him on the floor lay the suit and
tie, the wreckage of an identity, something that had been but wasn't any
more. He turned back, scooped them up and shoved them roughly into the
cupboard, screwing them up to make them fit. He put his black leather shoes
on top. Then, after a moment's though, he reached into the back of the
cupboard and pulled out the box and stared at it for a long moment,
debating whether to put it on. Then he closed the lid and returned the box
to its resting place.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. Alistair Lethbridge-Stewar had
been put away.

The Brigadier was ready for action.

It was lunchtime.

People milled through the streets, butling their way around the shops,
pushing and charging, and generally acting like headless chickens.

Liz Shaw did not feel like one of them, or like a part of the human race.
She was just an observer, brought down from an alien planet and forced to
watch the silly things mankind did.

She was not sure exactly how long she had been feeling this disjointed, but
it had certainly started since joining UNIT. There were so many other life-
forms out there, amongst the stars, millions of miles away. Each of them,
too, lived day to day, enrapt in their own little worlds, unaware that she
or her race, even existed.

When she was small, Liz's parents had walked her around the shops of
Nottingham. It had occurred to her even then that each of the hundreds of
people she saw in the old market square had homes, families and friends
that she would never know. Everyone had lives that she could not know, and
her own existence would touch only an infinitesimal proportion of the
world's population. Although that knowledge had scared her a little, it had
also fascinated her. Since then she had devoted herself to other people. It
was that which had driven her towards science at school, college and
eventually university. Receiving her doctorate from Cambridge was, she had
thought, the pinnacle of her career.

Yet now, as she still stared at the unknown throng around her, she realized
not for the first time that there was more to the universe than a few
billion people on Earth. There were Nestenes, and Delphons and something
called the Great Intelligence. There were Cybermen and Daleks and Zarbi and
Drahvins according to the Doctor. There were even Time Lords.

Page 10


So many different races, so many different cultures, attitudes and
moralities. And Earth people could barely maintain a fragile peace with
each other. Liz once asked the Doctor why UNIT had to be secret, why it
couldn't use its resources to find benign races and bring them to Earth, to
show mankind the folly of arguments, disputes and wars.

'And if they came, Liz? If they arrived on Earth just to say hello, what
would you do?'

'I'd shake their hands. Or fins. Or tentacles or whatever. I'd say hello.'

The Doctor had looked dubious. 'Would you, Liz? Wouldn't you wonder what
they were doing here? Query their motives? Distrust them? Why, if they had
the technology to travel to Earth, would you assume they wanted to share
it?'

'Because... because...'

'Because,' the Doctor had said, 'you are a trusting soul. But a vast
majority of people aren't. And the least trusting of all are those in
power, those who would be responsible for meeting the aliens. They'd be
driven by paranoia to blow them up, I think. Earth has been visited
countless times by harmless, inquisitive visitors, or by those unlucky
enough to be stranded here. Many have left unnoticed, but those who have
been discovered are usually persecuted, hounded and often killed. And some,
who wanted nothing but peace, were forced to kill to defend themselves. No,
Liz. Mankind is not ready to know the truth. Just look at the Silurians and
how they were treated by the Brigadier.'

'But they were killers. Well, some at least.'

The Doctor had nodded. 'But so were a lot of humans.

Should the entire human race be wiped out because of a few Hitlers, Genghis
Khans or Magnus Greels?'

Now, as she sat outside a small cafe, sipping at her mug of hot tea, Liz
found herself agreeing with the Doctor's sentiments. Mankind was not ready.
But one day it would be, one day it had to be or they were all -

'Doctor Elizabeth Shaw?'

Page 11


Liz stared up at the woman who had spoken. She was a good six feet tall,
her blonde hair cropped in an unusual manly cut. An ample bosom was encased
in a red sweater, and her extraordinarily long legs were barely concealed
by a very short black miniskirt. Slung over her shoulder was a large black
holdall.

'Yes, I'm Liz. You must be Jana?'

The newcomer smiled and sat beside her. 'Yeah, hi. Good choice of location.
Easy to find for a newcomer to London like me. Amsterdam is full of street
cafes like this. I almost feel at home.' Jana placed her bag on the ground.
'Can I get you anything?'

Liz declined, and watched as Jana walked - no, strode - into the cafe to
get something to drink.

While she waited, she resumed her observation of the lives passing her by.
There was an old woman carrying too much heavy shopping. A young couple,
who looked as if they'd been arguing about something. They were together
physically but obviously not mentally; both looked at different shops for
prolonged periods, determined not to catch the other's eye. A young woman
caught Liz's attention, her clothes and make-up a little too over-the-top
to be fashionable. Still, this was Soho, and people had to earn a living.
Just across the way was the Palace Theatre, and beyond that a congregation
of German or Swiss tourists were disembarking from a coach parked illegally
outside the famous 84 Charing Cross Road bookshop.

'Books. Everywhere you go round here, there are books. But do people read
them? No, the young today listen to rock 'n' roll. This peace, love and
free sex stuff. Drugs, that'll destroy them all. In ten years, they'll all
be dead and this will be a wasteland. And then where will we be, eh?'

Page 12


Liz, startled, stared at the shabby tramp who faced her, his hands in
mittens despite the warm summer day. He shook a tin cup at her. By the
sound of it, so far he'd scrounged a couple of old shillings and a ring-
pull from a coke can. In his other hand was a tatty plastic shopping bag.

'Still,' he continued as if she'd shown some interest, 'at least the birds
will survive. One day, we may see a fox in Piccadilly again. Or hear a
nightingale in Berkeley Square. Do you know the old song?'

Terrified that she was about to be subjected to a rendering of it, Liz
dropped a fifty pence piece into his cup.

He put the bag down beside her table and touched a matted lump of his grey
hair. 'Bless you, miss. May God smile on you today, and guide you on your
journey.'

'Oh yes, and which journey is that?' asked a strong, slightly accented
female voice beside Liz. The scientist looked up, pleased to see Jana
return.

The old tramp held his cup out optimistically, but he obviously saw
something in Jana's returned stare that made him wilt. His arm dropped and
for a second Liz thought he would spill his money.

'Careful,' she said.

The old man looked back at her. 'God bless you again.' His voice was
suddenly very quiet and hoarse. 'I'd best be going.' He turned away and
disappeared with surprising speed along Old Compton Street.

'Well, I suppose this is hello.' Jana was drinking something that looked
and smelled like rich hot chocolate, with a dollop of cream on top.

Page 13


'That looks nice.'

Jana nodded. 'My absolute favourite. Chocolate is a true gift from the
gods. Energizing, exotic, erotic and very tasty. Do you want a sip?'

Liz shook her head. 'So why are we here? Literally rather than
philosophically, if you don't mind.'

Jana laughed, loud and strong, yet feminine and hearty. Liz realized that
she had instantly taken a liking to this Amazonian journalist. 'It's a good
question. I suppose we're here to discuss our mysterious nameless friend
and his strange notes. You're with UNIT, aren't you.' It was a statement,
not a question. 'So I thought it must be something to do with them, or at
least with the United Nations. Maybe someone is defecting to Russia.'

'We're not MI5, you know. It's sometimes a little deeper than that.'

Jana nodded. 'Yeah, all right. So we're talking about little green men with
three heads.'

Liz chuckled quietly.

Jana frowned. 'What did I say?'

'The same as me when I first started working for UNIT. I said I wasn't
interested in spies, invisible inks or anything like that. Nor little green
men with -'

'Three heads,' finished Jana. 'Okay, I'll tell you what I know about UNIT.
Bugger all. Zero. Zilch. Nought. I once had lunch with a UNIT officer
called Jan-Dick Heijs but all he said was that it was top secret, and
fobbed me off with the usual cover story.'

'Nice man,' Liz murmured. 'I met him at a reception at... Westminster. He
said that one day he thought UNIT personnel would all be integrated and
working all over the world.' Liz paused to sip her tea. 'I said I hoped he
would come and work in Britain.'

Page 14


Jana nodded intently. 'Did he?'

'He was killed in an... accident a few weeks ago.'

'Oh. God. How awful. I didn't know...'

Liz shrugged. 'How could you? It was a UNIT thing. Hush-hush.' Something at
the back of her mind was jabbing at her; she was not allowed to speak about
UNIT affairs so openly. Least of all with a journalist, no matter how
pleasant her company might be. But she pushed it down. She was fed up with
UNIT red-tape. With being denied the freedom to talk.

'I need to talk.'

Jana looked over. 'Did you say something?'

'No. Just day-dreaming.' Liz finished her tea. 'Okay. To business. I can't
say I like getting strange mail or phone calls, but I admit I'm intrigued.
I thought our anonymous source was a hoaxer until you called.'

'Hoaxer?'

'Sorry. Prankster? A man making stupid calls for the hell of it. Putting me
on.'

Jana smiled. 'Ah, right. Hoaxer. I'll remember that. My English isn't bad,
but there's always room to learn.'

Liz laughed. 'Actually, I think your English is excellent. I forgot it
wasn't your first language.' She looked along Old Compton Street. 'Do you
fancy a bite to eat? I didn't have breakfast this morning and I know a
place that does a good brunch. That's a -'

Page 15


'A cross between breakfast and lunch. Believe me, Liz, where food's
concerned, I know the language.' Jana also got up and looked off towards
Charing Cross Road. A police siren could be heard wailing above the general
hubbub of the crowd. 'I can't think here. I need to be inside something
like a restaurant and - what's that?'

Liz looked down at her feet. The old tramp's bag was lying there. 'The old
fool must have left it here. It's probably got all he owns in it. We must
find him and give it back.' She looked around, as if expecting to see him
pushing his way through the crowds to retrieve it. 'Oh, the poor man.'

Jana reached over and took it. 'Maybe we can see if there's anything in
here that will help us find him.' She put her hand in and pulled out a long
manila envelope.

DR SHAW. MS KRISTAN.

It took a few moments for it to sink in and then Liz opened her mouth to
speak, but no words came out. Jana just shrugged. 'He's cleverer than we
thought.'

Liz looked at the bag. 'And being a tramp almost guaranteed that we
wouldn't look too hard at him. He knows human nature.'

'Yeah, that's as may be, but let's see what he left us. I doubt he was just
saying hello for the hell of it.' Jana dug into the envelope and yanked out
a small letter.

Hello to both of you.

If you've got this, then everything is going well. The Glasshouse has been
framed for the assassination attempt on Sir John Sudbury. They're moving in
for the kill now. The Minister has begun an investigation into the
Glasshouse and Sir Marmaduke. Beware, both of you. Few people are what they
seem. Except me, of course. I'm exactly what I seem: a faceless mystery
that no one notices.

Page 16


Enclosed is a map. It shows an island in the Channel Isles. That is where
the trail is leading. Something is there, connected with what is going on
in Smallmarshes. I don't know what exactly - possibly because of my
connection with Grant Traynor, my supply of information has been 'diverted'
to other people and I'm left in the dark. Something dangerous is going on
up North, and this island is linked to it.

One final thing. Beware of Sir Marmaduke Harrington-Smythe. He's a tricky
bugger and will not let anyone get in his way. Like all vicious animals,
he's at his most dangerous when he's cornered.

I believe someone is aware that I'm feeding you two, and I may have been
betrayed. Perhaps that's why my information has dried up. Either way,
you're on your own now. I've given you all I can.

Good luck, my angels.

A friend

'He's given us nothing!' shouted Jana, causing a few heads to turn. She
ignored them, but spoke more quietly. 'A map of an island and vague
references to the North. Of England? Europe? The Arctic circle?'

'And why worry about the Glasshouse?' chipped in Liz. 'They're hardly
dodgy.' Jana scratched her chin, aware that her voice was still raised to
make her words audible above the sound of the police siren which had
stopped nearby, and was now. joined by the ululation of an approaching
ambulance. 'Except they've been implicated in the attack on your jolly
politician. Perhaps we should go there first. Can your UNIT connections get
us in there?'

Liz nodded. 'I'll arrange some transport.'

Page 17


Jana smiled. 'Won't you get into trouble for taking a journalist there?'

'Right now,' Liz said, 'I'm more concerned with finding out the truth
behind all this.' She pointed at the letter. 'I'm afraid brunch will have
to wait. We'll get something on the motorway.'

'Where do we go from here?'

'I need to make some calls from my flat, to arrange things. So Piccadilly
Circus tube station.'

They set off down Old Compton Street, heading to the junction with Wardour
Street. A thought struck Liz. 'Do you have a car?' she asked.

Jana failed to respond. Liz turned to look at her, and saw her companion
staring down the road, towards the junction of Wardour Street and Brewer
Street. A police car and ambulance were parked there, with uniformed police
pushing the crowds back. Intrigued, both women moved forward to get a
better view, and Liz inexplicably felt a shudder run down her spine. 'This
is going to be bad,' she muttered. If Jana heard, she failed to respond.
Instead she shot Liz a glance and indicated with her head towards the
crowd.

Liz stared through the mass of onlookers and caught a glimpse of what
seemed to be a body lying in the road. She immediately thought someone had
been knocked down.

Something inside egged her on. 'Let me through please,' she heard herself
say. 'I'm a doctor.' Jana was following close enough behind her to get
through the gaps in the crowd, and if anyone closed in, her muscular frame
soon eased them out of her way.

The body was dead, there was no question, but it was clearly not the victim
of a car accident. Three cavities disfigured the upper chest and left
shoulder, and Liz recognized them as bullet-wounds. A fourth bullet had
gone through the temple and another into the throat, making the face
unidentifiable. The body was a mess, soaked with blood. This hadn't been an
accident, or even a killing. It had been an execution.

'Poor old guy,' muttered a woman laden with bags of shopping. 'What a way
to end his life.'

'Probably the best thing for him,' replied someone else; a man. 'I mean,
who'd want a tramp's life anyway?'

Page 18


Liz stared at the crowd in surprise and disappointment. A man - a human
being - had been shot. Deliberately. A life gone in seconds. And they
reckoned it was for the best?

She was about to give someone a piece of her mind when Jana grabbed her arm
and pointed. Under the front of a nearby parked van, where it had rolled
away, was a bloodstained tin cup. A few small coins were scattered nearby.

Liz looked again at the dead body, and then at Jana who had clearly reached
the same conclusion.

'Well.' Jana tapped the envelope against her hand. 'I guess that was our
last message. We really are on our own now.'

The Reptiles' base was a fantastic piece of architecture. Deep below the
island, it had been built to circulate air from the surface, equalizing
pressure naturally. Its passage-ways and ducting were designed to optimize
the heat and humidity without the interior becoming stuffy. Condensation
formed on the walls and drained into grated gutters, providing a constant
supply of pure water in which the inhabitants could bathe and replenish
their natural oils. It was also salt-free, and therefore drinkable.

Some of the walls were rough, jagged and unfinished. However, closer to the
living areas, their surface was so perfect and flat that the walls became
almost reflective. Stunningly vivid paintings adorned the walls at
intervals, and tiny holographic images had been placed in recesses almost
invisible until one encountered them. These art-works all represented
reptile-people; some, the Doctor noted as he passed them, of hybrids or
sub-species that he had not yet encountered.

Most of the reptiles the Doctor had seen so far bore little resemblance to
those he and UNIT had met in Derbyshire. Just as humans varied in hair and
skin tones, height and weight, so the reptiles differed in physical
characteristics. Some seemed adapted for underwater life, others for
extreme cold or life on high plateaux. Although it was untrue to say that
no two reptiles looked identical, it was easy to group them together into
families or clan groups.

Page 19


Page 20


However, the Doctor realized, if that was true then the group which
currently held him prisoner, was the most mixed possible. They were also
not represented in the art.

As Chukk led him towards a food area, the Doctor allowed himself to be the
subject of stares and inspections and, sometimes, hisses from the various
reptiles he encountered.

'My people,' Chukk had explained earlier, 'have no respect for Ape life. I
apologize.'

'No need, old chap,' the Doctor replied. 'I don't blame them at all.'

The journey so far had been following a downward path, leading further into
the depths of the Silurian complex. Although he was capable of resisting
extreme temperatures far better than any human being, even the Doctor was
beginning to find the heat a bit stiffing.

'Much further, is it?'

Chukk shook his head, his thin ears flapping slightly. 'Not far. There is
much you need to understand. You will appreciate why Baal is doing what he
does to the Ape hatchling.'

They emerged from the narrow hot corridor into a room very different from
it and indeed the rest of the Shelter. It was a massive cavern, reminding
the Doctor of the Panopticon on Gaffifrey. Or, in more human terms, of St
Paul's Cathedral. The room's enormous domed ceiling was decorated with
beautiful paintings showing Silurians battling and taming dinosaurs.

'And I thought the Sistine Chapel was the pinnacle of Earth's
architecture,' murmured the Doctor.

Chukk pointed upwards. 'There you can see Masz K'll, legendary warrior
chieftain from our Third Dynasty fighting the legendary Two-Face Lizard,
his evil alter-ego. And to the left is Panun E'Ni, leader of the Southern
Clan, who conquered much of the world and ruled it cruelly, although
briefly. To his right is Tun W'lzz, who ultimately brought about Panun
E'Ni's downfall. The lower end of that wall shows the celebrations that
followed their destruction as the previously imprisoned and cast out tribes
reconverged into a new, unified civilization, eating their foes' mindless
warrior beasts, the Myrka.'

Page 21


The Doctor nodded. 'Folk stories, or historical fact?'

Chukk laughed; the sound was alien and abrupt. 'Does it truly matter,
Doctor? They inspired our race for a millennium, that is all that counts.
We copied these paintings bit by bit from the Hall of Heroes at the centre
of our world.' The reptile-man shrugged. 'I doubt it still exists. Very
little of our civilization has been found by our few scouts or your fellow
humans.'

The Doctor had wandered into the centre of the cavern, standing right below
Masz K'll. 'Firstly, I'm not human. I'm not from this planet. Secondly, I
fear you are correct. Nothing of your civilization exists at all. Millions
of years of erosion and plate movement have seen to that.' He paused and
examined the paintings as best he could from the ground. 'I find that
rather sad.'

'As do my people. Those entombed here, especially.'

The Doctor looked at Chukk. 'Entombed? So you weren't placed here
voluntarily, then?' Chukk surveyed the ground, the walls and his own feet
before apparently deciding to confide in the Doctor. He moved towards a
handful of benches roughly hewn out of the walls, and waited for the Doctor
to join him before he continued speaking.

'Look at me, Doctor. What do you see?'

'A person,' replied the Doctor. 'Alien to mankind, but not this planet. A
member of a race I have thought of as Silurian, or homo reptilia. Both
inaccurate, I imagine, as your records here would indicate you are much
older than we previously imagined.'

Chukk shrugged. 'Your human terms are unknown and irrelevant. No, Doctor,
what I am is an outcast. Despised by my peers and loathed by the other
inhabitants of this Shelter. I am a go-between if you like, leader by order
rather than design. In truth, one of our pure Marine cousins should be
leader of the Shelter, but he died during hibernation and I assumed
control.

Page 22


'You met one of my closest hatchlings in what you call Derbyshire. Like me,
he foresaw that co-operation between the Apes - mankind, or whatever they
call themselves - and us has to be the only viable option for survival.
Others here would rather see us dominate and destroy to reclaim our
territory.' Chukk sighed. 'I fear my attempts at conciliation are destined
to fail. Most of those here are young and idealistic. Auggi, the former
leader's mate, is a charismatic opponent of any kind of deal with Apedom.'

The Doctor scratched his neck. 'I see your problem.'

'There is more,' Chukk added. 'The worst  part. I am unfamiliar with Ape
culture - indeed I am one of the few who can imagine using those two words
together - but I doubt it is much like ours.' He indicated the passage
through which they had entered. 'You have seen the different forms of our
people. By far the biggest genetic and physiological differences lie
between my clan and our Marine cousins, the Sea Devil Warriors. You may
have noticed that you did not see any paintings or holograms of people who
look like Baal and his sisters. Or any of the hundreds of their generation
still hibernating here.'

'Indeed, it had crossed my mind. Do I assume that inter-breeding is frowned
upon?'

'You might say that. Punishable by death is far more accurate. The pure
eugenics of our people are considered our race's most important principle,
and our most sacrosanct belief. Those cast into this Shelter were guilty of
abandoning those teachings.'

'So Baal and the others were conceived by a union of your clan and these
Sea Devil Warriors?'

'Correct. Normally their eggs would have been crushed, and the parents
executed. But our scientists knew that many millions of our people would
die in the cataclysm that caused us to hibernate. They allowed the hybrids
to live here for the twelve years before the great hibernation. We went to
sleep like so many others, and awoke a few years ago.' Chukk stood up,
indicating for the Doctor to follow him. 'Let us return to my laboratory.
Now you have seen something of our culture and history, let me hope you
understand our quest.'

Page 23


Her reddened eyes were reflected in the glass of the school photograph. It
showed a group of twenty-three boys aged between thirteen and fifteen, on a
rugby pitch, all wearing House colours, all smiling, with a small trophy in
front of them.

All bar one were at home, safe and secure with their parents.

'It's our own fault, constable,' she said, still looking at the picture,
feeling tears building up in her eyes once more, stinging the sore rims.
She sniffed. 'We sent him down to Eve's because it was Alan's most
important season. Lots of constituents all swarming around. the place. Marc
would have hated it, so we thought a few weeks down at the seaside would be
great. Kids love the seaside. I always did.'

'He's fourteen. He's not six.' The Right Honourable Alan Marshall, member
of Parliament for Irlam o' th' Heights, was sitting on the sofa, staring at
a blank television screen. He wouldn't let her catch his eye, nor those of
the two police officers who had come to collect Marc's photograph for the
papers. 'The Opposition will have a field day with this.'

She lost focus on the photo of her son instantly. She just saw a blur of
red, felt her cheeks glow and her hands clench into fists. She didn't
remember turning or moving across the room, but suddenly she was pummelling
her husband as he sat on the sofa, tears of fear and rage spraying off her
face as her head twisted ferociously.

The two police officers moved swiftly and efficiently to pull her back,
letting her sob, uncontrollably, against one of them. It was the woman
officer, the one with the soft Irish accent who had spoken at the door,
offering condolences and apologies and suggesting that a photograph of
their son would greatly increase the chances of finding him.

As she raised her damp face from the equally damp white blouse, Sarah
Marshall threw a look at her husband. She saw astonishment - presumably at
her fury - etched across his face.

Page 24


And at that moment she knew she hated him. She hated his job, his politics,
his friends and his need to socialize. She hated the tea parties, the
endless public meetings, the local constituency arguments at the town hail.
She hated wearing a fake smile as complete imbeciles turned up on her
doorstep with petitions signed by twenty people from the local fish and
chip shop. She hated wearing blue jackets, blue trousers and a silly blue
rosette in public. She hated having to be present as he opened fetes and
donkey derbies.

'I just want my little boy home,' she screamed suddenly, falling to the
floor in what she knew was an undignified heap and hoping that it would
embarrass him further.

Again the strong arms of the two police officers helped her up. The woman
spoke again. She was the only one of the two who ever had. 'I think, Mr
Marshall, it might be best if we talked to your wife alone for a few
moments. Allow her to calm down a little. Could you make us all a cup of
tea, perhaps?'

'Tea? Oh, right. Yes.' Alan Marshall left the room.

'He... he doesn't even know how to turn the kettle on,' sobbed his wife as
they led her to the sofa.

'He'll find out, Mrs Marshall. Men are remarkably adaptable.' The Irish
policewoman indicated to her companion that he should go into the kitchen.
As he went, the policewoman began massaging Mrs Marshall's shoulder. 'Tell
me about your son. Why would someone kidnap him? Has he any enemies? Or
your husband, perhaps?'

Of course - that was it! Alan's bloody job again. It had to be. She had no
enemies, and Marc was only fourteen. But Alan, his politics. The IRA? The
German lot? Someone from the Labour Party even?

'I don't know, but it's possible.'

The policewoman nodded. She understood, of course. In their line of work
they must come up against this all the time. They'd find him.

'Has there been a ransom note?'

Page 25


Good God! There had been nothing at all. But the abductors must know how to
contact them, or why would they bother kidnapping Marc? Unless it was being
done through the House. 'Maybe Alan should go to London. See if there's
anything there?'

The policewoman frowned. 'Unlikely. And we don't want to draw attention to
this yet. We need to let the kidnappers think we're relaxed about this. Any
signs of panic and, well, we just don't want to risk anything in these
situations.'

She was so reassuring. 'Have you done this a lot?'

The policewoman stopped smiling. 'Once. A long time ago, in Eire. My older
sister was kidnapped by one of the anti-IRA groups. I had to help negotiate
her release.' She smiled again. 'But that was different. We're unlikely to
be dealing with terrorists here. It's probably someone who's after your
money.'

'But we haven't got any. Well, not cash to speak of. I know Alan's an MP,
but he doesn't make much. Most of it goes to charities and other worthwhile
causes.'

She looked up as the door opened and the policeman walked in with a tray.
He smiled at her as he put it down. Sarah was convinced she'd seen that
smile before, and then it hit her. The Irish policewoman - these two must
be related. Their smile, their eyes and features were perfectly matched.
The way they moved in unison with each other. But he hadn't spoken, hadn't
said a word, so she didn't know if he too was Irish.

'Where's Alan?' she asked.

The policeman shot a look across at the policewoman. She just shrugged.

Sarah was confused. 'Is he in the kitchen still?' She raised her voice.
'Alan?'

There was no reply and she got up, narrowly avoiding the outstretched hand
of the silent policeman. She found herself in a hurry to get to the
kitchen, to Alan, to -'Oh God,' she whispered.

On the floor... blood... he... he...

Something hit her between her shoulders and she found herself on her knees.

It hurt. She wanted to turn around but couldn't, wanted to... to... reach
out to Alan. Why was he on the floor with her? Why was he wearing red?

Where was Marc?

Where

Page 26


A small, dark-haired woman looked up as two police officers walked towards
her car. As they reached it, they both took off their caps and the male got
into the driving seat, the female joining the owner in the back.

'They were useless. Totally useless,' the policewoman said. 'They don't
know where the boy is. They think he's been kidnapped.'

'What did you do, Ciara?' The dark-haired woman. tapped Ceffian's shoulder
and indicated that he should drive.

As the car started to go forward, Ciara smiled, her blue eyes sparkling
with joy. 'The usual, of course. She actually lasted about eight seconds.'
She placed a silenced revolver on her lap. 'The gas ought to go up in about
fifteen minutes. There's enough to take out a couple of other houses. It'll
be ages before they piece the bodies back together.'

'Nevertheless, Ciara, we have to move quickly. The Government wants to
investigate your employer over that Sudbury incident. He's been framed for
something he didn't do, and my people don't want him to be cleared.' The
dark-haired woman smiled at Ciara. 'In the meantime, let's see if Peter has
had any luck with our artist from Sussex.'

Page 27


Doctor Morley was aware that he was not having any success with WPC Barbara
Redworth. Despite his best efforts, she had remained almost completely
comatose since her arrival. He had decided not to ask too many questions
about exactly how she was removed from a public hospital. He doubted he
could stomach the answer.

Dick Atkinson had pulled himself away from whatever had preoccupied him for
the last few days to examine her chart.

'Her temperature is up quite badly, Peter. Whatever happened to her, she's
picked up some kind of infection.' He shrugged. 'Oh well, it's your
project.'

'Hey,' Morley started, but Atkinson was gone, back through the long strips
of plastic sheeting that separated Morley's patient from anyone else in the
basement area. Okay, he consoled himself it wasn't exactly Barts, but she
was clean and sterile down here. Sir Marmaduke's obsession with hygiene had
ensured that. Only Morley was officially entitled to go near her, but he
had invited all of his team to make periodic visits if they wished.
Atkinson, he guessed, did it to relieve boredom. Not of his job, but of
having to work with people he considered no better than lab rats, with
lower IQs. Griffin occasionally popped in, and his chirpy Newcastle accent
was, at least, not as monotonous as Atkinson's Midlands drawl.

Of Cathy Wildeman, Morley had seen nothing for a couple of days. Jim
Griftin said that she'd been down to work for a few hours but had done
nothing but complain of a headache, and so had gone back to bed.

'Peter,' Jim had suddenly asked that morning. 'Peter, what are we doing
here?'

Morley had continued examining the policewoman's charts - it was the
question he had been dreading for the last few months. He was surprised it
had taken three intelligent people so long to ask, but nevertheless, he
knew from experience that geniuses were often so absorbed in their work
that they never stopped to ask 'why?' Just look at Oppenheimer. Or Mengele.

'How do you mean, Jim?'

'What is Sir Marmaduke paying us for? All we do is research a few odds and
ends he brings us, but we never see an end product. Why?'

Morley hated that word.

'Because,' he began, and then stopped. How much could he actually say? Was
this a test? Was Sir Marmaduke stirring up the others to test his loyalty?
'Because he's paying us not to ask questions of him. Only science. Only
those new and unique things he provides us with. Those are the only
questions we're paid to think about.'

To Morley's total surprise, Jim Griffin seemed content with that answer and
had wandered away. But should he be surprised? If this was a test, he might
have given him the right answer and everything would be all right. Wouldn't
it?

He returned to ministering to his latest charge.

Page 28


'So who exactly are these Glasshouse people, then, Liz?' Jana was staring
at Liz's guinea-pig, although Liz was not sure whether it was out of
affection for small, furry animals, or incredulity that Liz could own such
a worthless pet.

Liz was actually quite proud that she did. Having seen a life wiped out not
an hour earlier, she was rather happy to arrive back at the flat to find
Mrs Longhurst out shopping and the guinea-pig excited to see her. It had
raced around its cage for a good fifteen minutes while she made coffee and
Jana began flicking through their dead contact's papers and photos.

'Presumably they're not on this Channel Island?'

'No,' called Liz from the kitchen. 'No, they're somewhere in
Gloucestershire, I think. I only went once. I'll give UNIT a call sometime
and sort out that car.'

'Okay,' was Jana's response. Then: 'Are you sure you want to go on? I mean,
if he's dead, well, what are we doing this for?'

Liz walked into the lounge with a tray and placed it on the occasional
table near the sofa. She sat down. 'I don't know, really. I have some idea
of a reason in my head, but I'm not convinced it's a good reason.'

'Air it,' said Jana.

Liz poured two coffees. After passing one to Jana, she took her own and
slumped back in the soft. 'OK, stream of consciousness, so beware.

'I work for UNIT, a supposedly top secret organization, yet apparently
everyone, including Dutch journalists, knows who they are.'

Page 29


'Permission to interrupt,' interrupted Jana. 'I don't know what they are at
all. I just know they exist. Part of my brief to myself when all this
started was to find out what they are. Before our late informant contacted
me, I had no idea they even existed.'

Liz nodded. 'OK. Granted, but nevertheless, having signed the Official
Secrets Act, I'm not blowing my future by talking about them. Sorry.' Jana
smiled, and Liz carried on.

'So, anyway, I'm feeling a bit under-used. I'm a quite well qualified
research scientist. But, as more than one person has pointed out recently,
the string of letters after my name are barely recognized at UNIT.'

'So? Leave.'

'To do what, Jana? I suppose all this' - she waved towards the photographs
and letter - 'was my attempt to get involved a bit more. To do something of
my own.'

'To impress your superiors at UNIT?'

'Not really. No, to impress myself, I think. To prove I still had it in me
to research and follow things up, even if they're not strictly scientific.'

Jana swigged down her hot coffee in one gulp and replaced the mug on the
tray. She leant over and grabbed the telephone, passing it to Liz. 'Seems a
good reason to me. Let's get investigating. But we have a decision to
make.'

'What's that?'

'Revert to Plan A - the Glasshouse. Or go with Plan B - the Channel
Islands. Which I'd prefer.'

'Why?'

Page 30


'I could do with a holiday. A bit of sea air. The Glasshouse, whatever it
is, probably isn't going away. But things do leave small islands slightly
more regularly. Let's go south.' Jana picked up the tray and took it to the
kitchen. 'Book us a flight to Jersey. Use my company charge-card. It's in
my handbag.'

Liz shrugged and began to probe Jana's bag.

Then she saw the pistol. Its unmistakeable outline was pressed against the
thin cloth of an inside pocket.

'Jana?'

'What?' came the reply from the kitchen.

'Jana, why do you carry a gun?'

Jana hurried out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. 'Oh God,
that. I'm sorry, I forgot I even carry it now.' She smiled reassuringly.
'When I first said I was coming to England, one of my photographers gave it
to me. It's a replica he bought in Rotterdam, I think.'

Liz stared at the outline of the gun. It was... familiar somehow. A strange
design she was sure she'd seen before. 'So it's not real?'

'Good God, no. I wouldn't know what to do with a real gun. Horrible things,
terrify me. No I keep it there to warn off muggers.'

Liz passed the bag to its owner. 'You'd better find your charge-card
thingy. I don't like guns either. And after this morning...'

'Hey, yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I should have warned you.' She
rummaged in the bag and then passed Liz a small plastic card. 'My charge
card. Just give them the number, my company will pay. She wandered back
into the kitchen. 'Oh, and Liz?'

'Yes?'

'First class, if possible. If it's someone else's money, I want to go in
comfort.'

Page 31


The typically restrained English tourist guides merely described them as
'pleasant, rolling hills' that were 'ideal for all rambling enthusiasts'.
That, and the 'charming, unspoilt beauty' and 'opportunities to view rare
and diverse wildlife in its natural habitat' were usually enough to have
the area swarming, during the summer months, with tourists from both
Britain and abroad.

But what the tourist guides frequently forgot to mention was that the
Cheviot Hills in Northumberland were also famous in English mythology for
their connection with Arthurian history as well as the more fanciful
folklore of the type Shakespeare had brought into his play, A Midsummer
Night's Dream. The hills were famous for their sightings of faeries,
goblins and unicorns. Many students of English legend flocked to the area
to see if they could be the ones to finally photograph or paint members of
the Otherworid community.

In the mid-sixties, however, a massive blot was built upon the landscape.
The Darkmoor Experimental Nuclear Research Station was opened amidst a
blaze of bad publicity and open hostility from nearby businesses. Partly
funded by money from the private sector, the project took far longer to
complete than the British Government had anticipated and after a serious
assault by a terrorist gang known as the Reavers, the plant was closed
down. The resulting publicity, organized jointly by the Northumberland
Health Authority, CND and Greenpeace, was massive. Having been shamed, the
Government agreed to leave their nuclear capabilities in the proven hands
of Dungeness, Sizewell and Windscale. The plant was dismantled four years
later.

Page 32


The ground upon which it was built, however, was still owned by the
Government. Nestling conveniently in the vale between two hills, with an
entrance disguised by a tunnel between them, a new, far darker project was
born.

In the late fifties Department C19 had been established. It was primarily a
little brother to M15, an off-shoot of the Civil Defence programme
instigated in the defence boom of the Cold War. As the decade progressed,
C19 acquired a reputation for involvement in some of the less well
documented paramilitary excursions. After what was referred to in
ministerial papers, all marked Top Secret and Eyes Only, as 'The Shoreditch
Incident', the responsibility for the Intrusion Counter Measures Group was
handed over to C19 with a recommendation that it be used as the foundation
for an entirely new organisation. An organisation set up to deal with those
out-of-the-ordinary events which fell outside the remit of the regular
army.

A decision was made to mix military and scientific measures and an
experienced Air Force Group Captain, Ian Gilmore, was promoted and asked to
lead the new unit. He in turn requested the scientific help of an advisor
called Rachel Jensen whom he knew to have been pivotal in Turing's work
with computers during the war, expanding upon the aborted Judson Ultima
Machine.

Although she had retired to write her memoirs in Cambridge, Jensen agreed
to help Gilmore, also suggesting the recruitment of a number of her
Cambridge proteges, including Allison Williams, Ruth Ingram and Anne
Travers. A few years later, London was evacuated, reportedly due to a
nerve-gas explosion that froze the capital, focused on the area within the
Circle Line of the Underground system. That incident was handled by an army
officer, Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart who, on Gilmore's recommendation, was
instrumental in setting up the organization known as UNIT - the United
Nations Intelligence Taskforce. As its moniker suggested, this set-up had a
wider remit than the Intrusion Counter Measures Group, and was answerable
not just to C19, but also to a central governing body in Geneva.

Page 33


Throughout, the population of Britain, indeed the whole UN, remained
blissfully unaware of the existence of these organizations. The few
ministers aware of, or responsible for, C19 were sufficiently well briefed
to remain silent. For most of them, all it took was a reminder of wartime
slogans about careless talk costing lives to ensure their loyalty and
discretion. That, and their signature on the Official Secrets Act, any
breach of which was tantamount to treason.

What no one in the British Government, the United Nations or even
Lethbridge-Stewart's UK branch of UNIT knew was that there was more to C19.
Far more.

Like any organism, natural or social, it possessed a dark side: a
cancerous, repressed side that made the light seem all the brighter. Only
those who directly worked for C19's darker half knew of it. They were
ensconced deep within those Cheviot Hills, reporting directly to someone
who, on the rare occasions the matter was discussed, did not appear to
possess a name. He was a pale young man with a vicious scar disfiguring his
face. His eyes were forever hidden behind a pair of expensive silver-rimmed
dark glasses and he always wore the same pale grey suit. Or perhaps he had
a wardrobe full of identical ones.

On the whole, the people there turned a blind eye to the implications of
their work. Most had been selected, signed up body and soul, and brought to
the base because, apart from lacking family ties and loyalties, they also
lacked two other things considered essential by the more public side of
Cl9: morals and integrity.

Grant Traynor had once been such a person, and as the pale young man viewed
Traynor's record of employment on the screen of a so-state-of-the-art
computer that no one outside the Vault even knew it existed, he smiled
broadly.

'Employment terminated. Benefits rescinded. Private pension payments
reinserted into our funds, I think.'

'Don't get too complacent,' said a voice that seemed to come from just
behind him.

'Complacency is the beginning of the end.'

The pale young man switched off his computer. 'Of course, sir.'

'And is the Doctor dead?'

Page 34


'No.' The pale young man coughed slightly. 'Our agent claims that he
succeeded but no body was found. I believe he's lying. The Doctor seems to
have disappeared.'

'He's probably sharing lunch with the Reptile People. Knowing the Doctor,
he'll try negotiating a peace settlement like last time. Ensure that his
efforts fail. And ensure we get at least one of the Reptiles here. I
haven't seen a good dissection in months.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Oh, and one last thing. I'm going away for a while. You might call it a
round the world cruise, if you had a sense of humour.'

'I don't have, sir. Sorry.'

The voice laughed. 'No, that response was a joke within itself.'

'Was it, sir? I'm glad. May I return to work?'

'Yes. I will return in a few weeks. I expect to find lots of records about
Reptile physiognomy when I return. One last thing.'

'Sir?'

'The Glasshouse. Questions have been asked within the House about its
validity. Ensure those questions are answered to our, to my, satisfaction.
I want it closed down until I'm ready to take it over.' The voice laughed.
'I can't stand private enterprise, unless it's mine. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye, sir. Enjoy your trip.'

There was no reply.

The pale young man switched off his computer and pressed a button under his
desk. A portion of the desk slid back silently and the unique computer
slowly lowered into the gap. Once it was out of sight, the hatch slid back
seamlessly and only someone with exceptionally good eye sight, who knew
exactly what they were looking for, would have spotted a slight mark on the
mahogany. He shuffled a few papers around, then got up. He walked to the
cabinet that had a tray of glasses and a whisky decanter on top and poured
himself one. Bailey was due in exactly eighteen point six minutes, and they
always shared a Black and White.

Page 35


He swallowed his drink in one, letting the Scotch roll over his tongue and
down his throat in one fluid movement. He pictured himself, as he had been
five years previously. Sitting with his mates in the Bullfrog after work on
Friday night. He had been drinking, as normal, watching those same mates
playing billiards. Occasionally one or two of them had turned and looked at
him in sympathy, their eyes automatically drawn to the stump which was all
that remained of his right arm, or the livid scar down his cheek. And he'd
hated them all for it. OK, so he could no longer join in. He could no
longer play cards, read on the train comfortably or even toss a coin. But
he could still work. And drink. His firm had been very good after the
accident, all sorts of benefits and continued employment, although at a
desk rather than on the shop floor. He couldn't handle all that complex
electronics or even screw the back on a transistor radio with great
precision, but he could take and place orders, work out schedules and
timetables. Really, he had been very lucky.

He could also still taste Scotch. And steak. And roast potatoes, ice cream
and cigarettes.

But all that had changed that Friday evening, five years ago. When the boss
had unexpectedly wandered into the pub, with a couple of his middle
management types.

The boss had sat beside him and asked him how he was getting along. Was the
work fulfilling? Questions like that. And as his mates continued their
game, he sat and listened while his boss outlined a new scheme, explaining
that some foreign investors had placed a vast amount of money and research
opportunities with the company. The boss suspected that this would go down
as the silver age of prosperity for the firm, and there would be chances
for all, especially those who were willing to take a few risks.

And he would get a new, fully operational arm out of it. Capable of doing
everything his original arm could do and, as he discovered later, able to
break a billiard table into fragments with just one finger.

Intrigued, he had agreed to join the Special Projects Team. In fact, he was
to lead it.

There had been an operation, he remembered. He remembered feeling the
strange detachment as the anaesthetic took effect. He remembered gowned and
masked doctors and nurses and then... then...

Page 36


Then he had awoken. Complete with a new right arm. And a left one. And two
new legs and, he was told, an infallible new set of internal organs. His
skin felt cold yet he was perfectly warm and comfortable. He had been given
food and drink, but couldn't taste any of it. Initially, he assumed that
was the result of the anaesthetic, but no, he was later told that it was a
by-product of the complete body replacement he had undergone. The only
reason he had to eat and drink was to keep his head and facial skin healthy
looking. All the nutrients, vitamins and everything else he needed would be
diverted to keeping everything from the neck up in prefect health. His new
internal organs would sort out the residue.

From that day, he had never grown a minute older. Sometimes, such as when
he and Bailey shared their Scotch, he felt a twinge of remorse at having
lost the pleasure of taste, but his heightened strength, resilience and
stamina more than compensated.

He had continued working for a few more years until the company was finally
declared bankrupt after his boss, the man to whom he owed his new life, was
apparently killed at an out-of-town warehouse.

But his boss hadn't really died and, before long, the pale young man found
himself with a position in a Government paramilitary department, a move
arranged by his boss. There, he was able to carry on his boss's wishes
right under the Government's noses, without them suspecting a thing. He had
redirected money and resources into setting up this whole sub-section of
Department C19, deep beneath the Cheviot Hills, code-named the Vault.

His task was a simple one. Collect as much information, hardware and
software as possible from UNIT operations around the globe (his boss was
very interested in UNIT's work), store it, experiment with it and learn
from it. Or use it.

The Vault was staffed by a lot of good, hard-working people, all of whom
the pale young man could rely upon. Among them was Bailey, a Nigerian
munitions expert who had been seconded from one of the boss's companies in
Ottawa. Now he doubled as the pale young man's chauffeur. As he entered the
office and took the proffered tumbler of Black and White, he passed over a
sheaf of reports.

Page 37


'I think you'll find everything we need for the current project is there.
The room is set up, the conditions seem perfect. In fact, it's bloody hot
in there. But it ought to make our guest feel right at home. Any ideas when
it'll arrive?'

'None yet.' The pale young man swallowed another tumbler of Scotch in one
go. 'But I don't think it'll be long. I've sent people in to fetch it.'

Bailey nodded and sat down underneath a portrait that showed the head and
shoulders of a man in his late fifties. The combination of swept-back
silver hair and thick black eyebrows gave him a rather disturbing
appearance. His right eye was half closed but the left gazed straight
forward, wide-open with a cold blue iris and huge black pupil. He was
wearing a collarless black jacket over a high-necked Nehru-style white
shirt, buttoned at the neck with a gold clasp. His gaze seemed to follow
people around the room, no matter where they stood. The pale young man
assumed that Bailey had noticed this a long time ago, because he always sat
directly below it.

'And how,' Bailey continued, 'are the plans regarding the Glasshouse
progressing? We're beginning to find a few projects here increasingly
difficult because the Glasshouse are taking most of our - how can I put it?
- raw materials.'

The pale young man smiled. 'It won't be long now. The assassination trail
we laid to Harrington-Smythe and his lot ought to at least result in the
Government suspending their licence. All we need to do is go down there
and, using our tact and diplomacy, remove anything we need. In fact, I
already have a man in mind for the job.'

Bailey drained his tumbler. 'Well, I'd better get back to work. The
Russians have put in a bid for the Nestene energy weaponry, by the way, and
it tops the Saudi one. Which do you want to go for?'

'Neither, at the moment. There are more pressing things to worry about.
Play them off against each other for a few more days.'

Bailey nodded. 'You're the boss,' he said and walked out.

'Oh, if only you knew...'

Page 38


The Doctor and Chukk were eating a porridge of what appeared to be crushed
nuts and various fruits. It was very sweet, but the Doctor had not been
ill-mannered enough to complain.

'This is very nice, Chukk, but I really do need to get back to the
mainland. Could Sula or Tahni possibly give me a lift?' The Doctor put down
his spoon. 'And then there's that young man I came here with.'

Chukk swallowed hard. 'If it were up to me we would return you, Doctor, but
that decision is not mine to make.'

'No. It is mine. And everyone else's, Chukk.'

The Doctor turned as a newcomer strode into Chukk's office. 'How do you do?
I am the Doctor and -,'

'I know who you are, Ape. I am Auggi, mother of the tortured ones. This,'
she indicated a massive Reptile Person standing behind her, 'is my friend
Krugga.'

Chukk seemed to frown. 'Krugga? Why aren't you at your station?'

Krugga walked forward and the Doctor almost did a double-take - Krugga was
so heavily muscled that he was almost as broad as he was tall. The Reptile
pointed at the Doctor. 'I believe that it is my duty as a citizen of the
Shelter to guard this Ape. That responsibility is more important than the
task to which I am normally appointed.'

Chukk stared at him. 'I see.' He then looked straight at Auggi. 'And how
long did it take for you to write that little sermon?'

'I don't know what you mean.' Auggi walked towards the Doctor. 'But I'm
sure the Triad would not approve of your showing the lowly Ape our Shelter.
Our tools and equipment. Our defences.'

Page 39


The Doctor mutely observed as Chukk crossed to a monitor screen and waved a
clawed hand over it. Immediately, a flow of unreadable script darted across
it, of a style the Doctor had glimpsed in Derbyshire. He was impressed by
the level of technology the Reptiles had. One-touch, possibly even voice-
activated, equipment littered Chukk's office. He would have enjoyed the
chance to study it, but Auggi and Krugga seemed fairly determined not to
let him do anything except be a 'lowly Ape'.

A few seconds later, three faces appeared on the screen, high-resolution,
the Doctor noted. Almost holographic.

'Where is this Triad of yours based?' he asked.

'Silence.' Auggi pointed at him. 'You are to remain quiet, or Krugga will
quieten you.'

'Oh, well. In that case, I'll keep quiet.' The Doctor smiled at Krugga,
unsure whether Krugga was smiling back or not. 'Wouldn't want to upset you
of all people, old chap.'

Chukk had greeted the Triad and was telling them about the Doctor. He heard
one of them demand to speak to him, and Krugga pushed him into clear view
of the screen. 'Greetings, noble Triad. I am the Doctor.'

One of the Reptiles on the screen, clearly the leader, was standing (or
sitting, the Doctor could not be sure) slightly proud of the other two.

'I am Icthar, Leader of the Triad. This,' he pointed over his right
shoulder, 'is my Second, Scibus and with him is Tarpok, my Science
Advisor.'

'Then I am greatly honoured, noble Triad.' The Doctor bowed slightly. 'To
speak with three such learned people is a great privilege.'

Tarpok leant forward slightly on the screen. 'So, you are the Doctor. You
knew Okdel L'da. Were you responsible for his death?'

'No. I am truly sorry that Okdel died. I would not be arrogant enough to
say we were friends, but we were associates. We worked together.'

Page 40


Tarpok nodded. 'He supplied you with the antidote to cure the virus. We
know this. We are not without sympathy for his actions.'

The Doctor took a step forward, and felt Krugga's hand grip his arm. Icthar
also noticed this and waved Krugga back.

'Thank you.' He cleared his throat. 'What Okdel did certainly caused those
in his Shelter who did not share his views to lead an attack on the
research centre in an effort to stop me finding the cure. That led
indirectly to some deaths and the eventual entombment of the others.
However, had the virus run unchecked, mankind would have struck back in a
far more violent way. That Shelter would never have been able to defend
itself against their weapons of mass destruction.'

'You say they were entombed, not destroyed?'

'Indeed. The humans resealed the caves rather than commit mass murder.' It
occurred to the Doctor that it might not be wise to go any further into
that. The Brigadier had wanted to raise a full military expedition to
slaughter the Reptiles but the Doctor had talked him out of it. Then,
apparently on direct orders from C19, the Brigadier had resealed the caves,
stopping the Doctor from going back down, and attempting to make peace.

'Why?' asked Tarpok.

'Because there were still a great many of your people in hibernation,
including the scientist who developed the virus. A large number of the
colony never awoke in the first place and, should they be revived, will not
even be aware that Okdel, Morka and the others had ever fought mankind.'
The Doctor let himself look proud. 'I was, indeed still am one day, hoping
to revisit the Shelter, revive your people and talk to them. There are
great areas of this planet mankind does not use. The deserts, the ice
tundras. All places you can live and build and co-exist with each other.'

'Mankind, these Apes, they are a vermin. This is our planet,' spat Auggi.
'I will never co-exist with them. I should rather die.'

Page 41


The Doctor turned to her. 'That, madam, if I may say so, is a totally
irrational and inflammatory thing to say. Even if you fought mankind, even
if you unleashed virus after virus, there are billions more Apes than
there are of you. It would be a long and bloody war and one that you could
not win. Once mankind at large begins to know of you, if they see you as
hostile, your Shelters will be sought out. If you antagonize them, they
will locate every sleeping Reptile Person on this planet and kill them.'
The Doctor paused and stared at her unflinching eyes. Then he continued in
less aggressive tones: 'Madam, if you want a war with mankind, you will
certainly get one. And you will receive your wish. You will surely die.'

Auggi took a step towards him, Krugga also moving nearer. 'Are you
threatening me, Ape?'

The Doctor stood his ground. 'No. No, I am simply stating a fact.' He
turned back to the screen. 'Great Icthar, you have survived so many
millions of years. Why throw all that away in a war? Seek peace, I beg
you.'

Icthar spoke again. 'You speak well for an Ape. The Triad will consider
your words carefully. Chukk, we shall communicate soon. Until our next
conversation, take care, all of you.'

The screen went blank.

Auggi circled the Doctor a couple of times and then stopped in front of
him. 'You can take off that smug look, Ape. The Triad might be swayed by
rhetoric, but they are three old cowards. My prime concern is for my young,
and their continued existence, no matter what the cost.' She turned away
and, with Krugga, walked out of the office, throwing a parting remark over
her shoulder. 'I, too, shall consider your words, Ape. Very carefully
indeed.'

After she had left, the Doctor let out a deep breath. 'She is a very
powerful woman, Chukk.'

Page 42


Chukk nodded. 'She would be Shelter Leader, if I let her. I see it as my
main job to be a counter balance to her extremist views. Nevertheless,
Doctor, she has many followers here. Especially amongst the young ones.
They see her as some kind of potential saviour. Her and Baal, her son. He
is a science student. A very good one, but very determined.'

'How careful, though? I have known many scientists, all very good ones,
but they all lack one important thing necessary to be a really good
scientist.'

'What is that, Doctor?'

'Morals, Chukk. The ability to judge right and wrong, and not to live by
the old credo that the end justifies the means. Is Baal like that?'

Chukk looked down at his feet for a moment, and then straightened up. 'I
think we should go to his laboratory, Doctor. Quickly.'

The Doctor followed Chukk as they raced down some corridors, and through
areas the Doctor had not seen before. Past more walls of art and holograms.
Through a more open area, with benches and chairs and a fountain which
sprayed a fine mist over them. They rounded blind corners, almost crashing
into Reptiles going about their business, and nearly knocked one off a
ladder as he repaired a burnt-out lighting circuit.

As they went round another bend, Chukk nearly sent Sula flying.

'What is the hurry, Chukk?'

Chukk was breathless by now. 'Baal. Has he experimented upon the Ape
hatchling?'

Sula nodded. 'Yes. But sadly he won't know the results of-'

Page 43


She stopped as the Doctor thundered past her, shouting Baal's name. As be
entered Baal's laboratory, he was able to see everything. The holograms,
the charts on the screens (the ones he could understand at least), the
particle disseminator in the corner.

'Baal!' he shouted. 'Baal, what have you done?'

Baal swung around, angrily. 'Who let this Ape in here? Sula? Sula, where
are you?' Sula and Chukk scurried in. Baal was livid. 'How dare you let
this... this thing into my workplace, Chukk! What were you thinking of?
Think of the contamination!'

'Balderdash and rot,' snapped the Doctor. 'Where is Marc Marshall?'

'Who? Oh, the Ape hatchling.' Baal suddenly stopped and sat in a chair in
front of a hologram. 'Do you know what this is, Ape? Has your puny science
achieved this yet?'

'Yes, of course it has. If you'd stop being so blind about mankind, you'd
understand their science is on a par with yours in many respects.'

Sula hissed. 'Nonsense. If the Apes are so advanced, why do they have
diseases? Why could they not build a Shelter like this? Why do they not
live on the moon yet? We have all that technology; they have nothing.'

The Doctor looked at her. 'My dear young lady, you are so very wrong.
Mankind has that ability, it just has not made use of it yet. Or doesn't
realize it has it. But the ability is there.'

Baal coughed. 'But to my question, Ape.'

'He is called the Doctor, Baal,' murmured Chukk. 'He is a scientist also.'

'My apologies, Doctor. As one scientist to another, do you recognize this?'

'It is the double helix. The basic structure of genetics and all life.'

'Very good.' Baal wiped a hand over a nearby screen, and the helix was
replaced by a wire frame model of a Silurian, like Chukk. 'This is one of
my people. As is this.' A variation appeared, looking like the Reptiles the
Doctor had seen on the screen when talking to the Triad. A further eight or
nine variations appeared in the room, each one twisting slightly on its
holographic axis, making the room appear to be full of dancing Reptile
People.

'We, on the other band, are different.' All the images vanished, to be
replaced by a wire frame model of a Reptile which looked more like Baal or
Sula. 'We are hybrids. The byproduct of genetic interbreeding. Two genetic
strains which are too different to breed true when crossed. Maybe Chukk has
explained that our aquatic caste and all 'land castes are forbidden to
mate. The genetic structure is too impure. Well, the mating happened,
shortly before the Great Hibernation. And we are the result.'

Page 44


The Doctor frowned. 'You're alive. I presume you're healthy. What is the
problem?'

'Correct, we are alive,' said Sula. 'But we are sterile. We are the end of
our line. And you are most certainly wrong about our health. Most of our
people live to be two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty years old. Our
research into our sterility has proven we only have another eight or nine
years before our cellular structure collapses and we die.'

'I'm truly sorry. But how does that involve Marc?'

Baal got up. 'Ah, that's my great discovery, Doctor. The Ape chromosomes,
vile as they are, contain the genes we need to survive, to correct the
imbalance and give us longer to develop a cure for our sterility.'

'I imagine your mother does not approve.'

Chukk agreed: 'Auggi would be horrified if she knew you were actually
implanting Ape material into your own bodies.'

'Then she must not know,' said Tahni, emerging from a side room, closing
the door behind her. 'And if she finds out, Chukk, our revenge will be very
swift indeed.'

'Look, this is all very well, but your inter-Shelter politics are of no
interest to me. Where is Marc?' The Doctor began to cross the laboratory,
towards the other door through which Tahni had entered, but she stepped
into his path.

'Our politics ought to interest you, Ape.' She placed a hand firmly onto
his chest. 'Auggi, our mother, would prefer you dead. Chukk would prefer to
let you go and tell the other Apes all about us. But the three of us -
well, we'll see. And as you are here now, I rather think it will be our
decision.' Tahni moved to one side. 'And if you want to see your Ape
hatchling, it's in there. I remember how attached to each other you lot
were. It's disgusting, all that groping and mauling each other. How
primitive.' She went and stood to one side of Baal. Sula stood on the
other.

Page 45


Looking at them, the Doctor was suddenly reminded of the way Scibus and
Tarpok had stood slightly behind and to each side of Icthar. He hoped that
these three never got those particular reins of power.

He gave a last glance at Chukk who, once again, was examining his own
shuffling feet upon the floor, presumably unwilling to catch the Doctor's
eye. He, therefore, knew what the Doctor was going to see.

The Doctor looked across at the particle disseminator, and thought of the
hologrammatic double helix. What had Baal done to the child in the name of
science? If, indeed, Baal's experiments could be placed under that heading.

He pushed open the door, surprised at its weight, and decided Reptile
females must be stronger than they looked. A point to remember, a point to
file away for future -

He saw Marc Marshall, lying on the rough ground, curled up in a foetal
ball. Even in that position, his bloated skin was obvious, hanging from his
body in swollen folds.

Most of his hair had fallen out.

The Doctor was at his side in a second, his long legs crossing the room in
three strides. He bent over him, checking for a pulse through the distended
skin of his neck. He found one, but it was very slow.

Marc's mouth, nose and ears were caked in dried blood and his eyes were
closed; he was unconscious. The Doctor tried moving some of the skin,
feeling for the bones underneath. They seemed to be strong and unbroken.
The Doctor concluded that the particle disseminator had somehow disrupted
both Marc's hormonal and glandular state, causing the skin mutation.

Page 46


He tried to lift Marc up, but couldn't get a firm enough grip on the
horribly loosened skin. Instead, he stroked the boy's head. His caress
dislodged the last few strands of hair.

'Oh, Marc,' he murmured.

The boy's eyes fluttered open and the Doctor could see he was holding back
some immense pain. 'Doctor? Is that... you?'

'Yes, Marc. Just sleep. You've had an accident but you're going to be fine.
I'll look after you.'

Marc swallowed gingerly as if he had a very bad sore throat, his eyes
watering. 'The man Reptile said it would hurt. He... he was right. I want
to go home.'

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and tried to look apologetic. 'I
don't think we can yet. But as soon as we can, I'll let you know. Now, just
sleep. Sleep. Sleep.'

The Doctor stared hard directly into Marc's eyes, silently mouthing the
word, until they rolled up and his eyelids closed.

The Doctor spent another couple of moments collecting his thoughts. Then he
stood up, prepared to confront Baal.

Facing him in the doorway was Tahni.

The Doctor almost snarled at her as he pointed towards Marc. 'Was that
necessary?'

'Yes. Remember, we are not savages or primitives. We do not experiment on
vermin just for the fun of it. We do not kill, maim or fight for fun. We
needed this sacrifice to try and find a cure.'

'And have you?'

'Baal will not know that for a while. That is why the hatchling is still
alive.' Tahni stared down at Marc. 'We may need to study his DNA more
closely.' She looked back at the Doctor. 'And you will stay here as well,
for now.'

'Now just a minute -' the Doctor started, but was interrupted by Tahni's
third eye glowing green. He suddenly felt pins and needles shooting up
through his feet and legs. With a gasp of surprise, he dropped to the
floor, unable to move the lower half of his body at all.

He rolled onto his back, trying to lever himself up, but his legs simply
would not obey. It was as if the commands from his brain were encountering
a brick wall as they reached his thighs.

As he stared at the damp ceiling, Tahni's face loomed upside down above
him. 'It will pass,' she said. 'In time.'

'How... how long?' The Doctor found it hard to speak. The paralysis had
already spread through his stomach and was reaching his chest.

'A few hours. Maybe a day. By then, we may have retaken our world. That
depends on Auggi. All I will say is that with you here, this time, no one
can stop us.'

The last thing the Doctor was aware of was that he could not answer her.
The paralysis was swamping his brain and everything was going dark. Like
sinking into a pool of thick black ink, he was floating down, down, down...

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Episode Five

Page 1


The tall, blonde woman, dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt watched as the
police frogmen went under the water for a fourth time.

The lake was not particularly large and was almost completely surrounded by
shrubbery and trees. Only the gravelled area on which she and the ageing
and rather tubby Inspector stood provided a clear run up to the water. The
car simply had to have been driven in at that particular spot.

Maya der Voort glanced around the countryside in an effort to stop watching
the surface of the water, waiting for the tell-tale black-encased arm to
point up and inchcate that the discovery she had so long expected had
finally been made.

'Mrs der Voort, it has been eight months now.' Inspector Hoevem was doing
his best to be sympathetic - as he had been ever since the investigation
began - but Maya could tell he was beginning to lose his patience.

'I know, I know,' she said. 'And it is costing a small fortune in your time
and resources.' She lit a cigarette, offering him one as well, which he
declined. 'It's just that everything my husband and I have discovered leads
us here.'

'With respect,' said Inspector Hoevern, lighting her cigarette, 'you and Mr
der Voort are hardly experienced investigators.'

'Unlike my sister,' Maya said. 'Yes, I know. Hans has been at me to give
this up already. But it's my sister - his friend - who we think is down
there. I have to be sure we're right.'

'Do you know how many people deliberately vanish every year, Mrs der
Voort?'

'Hundreds.'

'Thousands. Most of them turn up again, even if only to say they're all
right, but sometimes not until months, even years, later. If your sister
chose to vanish, she could do it with consummate ease. Especially with her
background. How do we know this isn't some assignment she's on?'

'Because her editor would have told us. Oh, he might not say what she was
doing exactly, but he would have put our minds at rest. According to him,
she was taking a break after exposing that military cover-up.'

'I remember.' The Inspector scratched his head. 'And the awards she won
were impressive. For the third year running, I think.'

Page 2


Maya nodded. 'Each one meant something to her. She never quite believed she
could really win one, let alone three. That's why I can't believe she'd run
away. She loved life, her job, her family.' Maya sat on the bonnet of the
Inspector's car. 'She hadn't argued with anyone, had no enemies -,'

'Ah, well, that's where you might be wrong, Mrs der Voort. In her line of
work, she was bound to make enemies. And after her last case blew open that
corruption ring in the army, well, she must have upset a lot of influential
people.' He looked at his watch and then back at the crystal-clear water.
'I'll give you until six, and then I'm calling it off. I'm sorry.'

Maya gave a resigned shrug. 'Thank you. You've already done more than I
expected.'

Inspector Hoevern joined her on the car bonnet. 'To be frank, I admired
your sister. That's what keeps me going on this case. I'm as intrigued as
you, but out of respect for her rather than family loyalty. I want her to
be living it up in Spain or South America. The last thing I want is for you
to be right. But if she is under this,' he pointed at the water, 'then rest
assured, I'm going to find out why.'

A car suddenly slewed to a halt beside them, skidding on the gravel. After
a second, the driver got out, cursing.

'Blasted roads. No sign to say it turned into gravel. Hit that at forty-
five kph and you'd be under water in a moment. Brakes would just throw you
in.' The newcomer stared at Maya. 'You must be Mrs der Voort. I met your
husband a few months back at a charity do. The Art Gallery.'

Maya frowned, shooting a look at Inspector Hoevern.

'I do apologize,' he said. 'Mrs der Voort, allow me to introduce you to
Doctor Moere.'

Maya raised an eyebrow. 'I remember my husband talking about you. You made
a nice donation to his project. He was very grateful.'

'A police doctor's wages aren't high, Mrs der Voort, but I'd rather see
young people's art on my walls than their drug-filled corpses at the
mortuary.'

Maya was about to ask why he was there, when an arm suddenly shot up from
under the water, sending spray everywhere. All three of them were at the
water's edge in an instant. The diver was walking towards them, pulling off
his mask.

'Well?' asked Doctor Moere.

Page 3


The diver nodded. 'There's a car there. One occupant, a driver.' He shot a
glance at Maya and then to Inspector Hoevern. 'It's been there... well,
quite a while.'

The doctor tutted. 'ID will be difficult. It'll take a couple of days to
sort everything out.'

'Is it a woman's body?' Maya was surprised to hear herself ask the
question. Her legs were turning to jelly and all she wanted to do was get
back inside the Inspector's car and sit still.

The diver looked again at the Inspector, who nodded. He turned back to
Maya. 'I'm sorry, Mrs der Voort. I believe it is. It's a dark car, probably
a Mini, imported from the United Kingdom.'

'As I said.' Maya sat on the bank. 'It's hers. I knew it.'

'We don't know if she's the one inside it, yet, though.'

Inspector Hoevern looked back at the diver. 'Anything else?'

Again the diver looked towards Maya. She stared up at him. 'Please,' she
said, 'don't spare me anything. Inspector Hoevern will tell you, I'm no
shrinking violet. And I'll find out eventually.'

'But we don't want to make you assume the worst until Doctor Moere can do
an autopsy.' Maya smiled stiffly. 'Yeah. But you know it's her just as I
do. That's why you called a police doctor here.'

'Just a formality. Just in case,' the Inspector said.

Maya again looked to the diver. 'Well?'

He took a deep breath. Behind him, the surface was broken by the other two
divers. One of them was carrying something. He swallowed. 'It is definitely
a woman. I can't say more than that, except...'

'Go on,' urged Inspector Hoevern.

Page 4


The diver held his hands out, apologetically. 'It's up to Doctor Moere
really, but -'

Moere nodded sharply. 'No, go on. In your opinion, if you like. I can make
my formal report later.'

The diver nodded. 'All right. From what I could see, the victim had been
shot. At close range, in the back of the head. This was no accident; this
looks like murder.'

'Back of the head, eh? Well, that's suicide out.' Moere looked across to
the other divers. 'What's that?'

Inspector Hoevern took a wet bag from the nearest, who reported: 'On the
seat beside the corpse, sir.' He shot a sad look at Maya. She recognized
him as someone who had been on the inspector's team from the beginning.

The inspector opened the handbag with a piece of clear plastic he took from
his pocket. Maya stared at the bag. She'd seen it so many times before. On
her sister's shoulder. In her car. On her sofa. 'It's hers,' she breathed.
'My God, it's hers.'

The Inspector produced a purse and an ID card from within. On the ID card
was a photograph of a blonde woman with a strong bone structure, and
piercing blue eyes.

Maya couldn't stop the tears coming. She felt Doctor Moere's hand on her
shoulder. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

Inspector Hoevern waved the divers back under the water and dropped the bag
onto the back seat of his car. Then he crossed to Maya, holding out the ID
card. 'Your sister, I presume?'

Maya glanced at the photo, and the signature beside it. 'Yes,' she said, a
little hoarsely. 'Yes, that's Jana.' Maya looked back out to the disturbed
water. 'And this is where she died, isn't it? Murdered.'

Finally, she gave way to tears.

Page 5


The career of Sir Marmaduke Harrington-Smythe was finished, he realized,
and there was nothing he could do about it. It had all been a set-up, a
deliberate attempt to wreck his life. And all for revenge. Oh, yes, of
course, it all fitted now. It was Lethbridge-Stewart's fault. He had Sir
John Sudbury, in fact the whole of C19, eating out of his hand.

He'd always been manipulative, that soldier, right back to their days at
Sandhurst, when a very young Sapper Lethbridge-Stewart had been caught
making an error on manoeuvres. A careless rifle shot that had nearly killed
one of the training marshals. The marshal had tried to bring a charge, to
teach the young man a lesson, but of course, Lethbridge-Stewart had
everyone eating out of his hand even then. Charmed the disciplinary board
with assurances that it was an accident, that the rifle was at fault, not
the operator. And that the training marshal had overstepped the bounds of
safety by being ahead of the manoeuvres instead of watching them from
behind.

As a result Colonel Harrington-Smythe had been forced to resign. What else
could he do? Lethbridge-Stewart had betrayed him, stabbed him in the back.
His life as a training marshal was over and he had to leave the Armed
Services and return to civilian life.

From there, he had got together the funds (from his accrued inheritance)
and set up the Glasshouse. A marvellous concept, a private paramilitary
nursing home, caring for the sick and injured from the likes of M15, UNIT
and other 'discreet' organizations across the United Kingdom. With the help
of the Ministry of Defence, C19 in particular, he had made quite a go of
it. Only last year, they had agreed to extend his contract.

And so here he was, sitting in one of those marvellous oak-panelled
briefing rooms that littered Britain's corridors of power, listening as six
or seven sad old men dictated his future. Of course, Sudbury had made it
all sound jolly pleasant when he'd called him to London. Talk of an early
retirement: 'Old Marmaduke's abdication' he had called it, oh so very
wittily. And all because of that failed assassination attempt. And a tape
sent to Sudbury's office that morning that the old fool had not bothered to
listen to until after the attempt.

Page 6


Sir Marmaduke now sat, both rapt and appalled, listening to that very tape.
On it, he heard the unmistakable sound of his own voice, discussing with
someone a plan to kill 'those C19 asses who are wrecking my Glasshouse'.

'That is a fake. A forgery. It's all a plot by someone who wants to
discredit us, break up the alliance between your Ministry and the private
sector.' Sir Marmaduke straightened his back, trying to look relaxed at the
same time, as if none of this could possibly be upsetting him. 'It's a
complete fabrication, and it will never stand up in court.'

'We are well aware of that, Sir Marmaduke,' one of the faceless bureaucrats
said. 'But it does not alter the fact that three men died that day, and Sir
John Sudbury is only sitting here due to the bravery of one of those men.'

Sir John Sudbury pushed himself up from his chair with obvious discomfort.
Sir Marmaduke momentarily felt sorry for him and then noticed that the
expression of pain on Sudbury's face was not quite realistic. He was faking
it, the old bastard. Faking it in an attempt to get sympathy.

'I regret that these events, whatever Sir Marmaduke's involvement in them,
have forced our hand in this matter. After all, I was responsible for
persuading all of you here, as well as the Minister, that Sir Marmaduke's
Glasshouse project was worthwhile. I still believe it is.'

Sir Marmaduke was puzzled. Surely Sudbury was after his blood, irrespective
of that tape? They all were. They always had been.

'However,' Sir John continued, 'I do believe that it would be appropriate
for there to be a change in management. The Minister has allowed me to
arrange to buy Sir Marmaduke out of the Glasshouse at, I might add,' and he
looked pointedly at Sir Marmaduke, 'a very fair price. Enough to keep you
comfortable for the rest of your life.'

Page 7


Sir Marmaduke decided enough was enough. 'I accept that offer, Sir John, in
the spirit in which it has been offered. Unfairly, unnecessary and
spitefully. Yes, take the blasted Glasshouse project. I would not wish to
work for, indeed ever see, any of you again after today. But for the
record' - he looked directly at the young man sitting at the back of the
room, transcribing the proceedings - 'I believe you are all in error. I
have been framed. Someone is out to get me, or obtain my facility for their
own ends. That tape is forged and somehow I shall prove it. And when I do,
I will drag this quorum through the slander courts so fast, you'll end up
paying me six times the offer currently on the table.' He looked at Sir
John. 'You, sir, I believed to be my friend. You have destroyed my faith in
this Ministry and our relationship in particular. Take the Glasshouse and
everything involved in it. I don't want your blood money, because I have my
pride. Goodbye to you all.' He took his case from the floor, rose and
walked towards the door. 'I hope, young man, you got all of that on
record.'

The young recorder looked up, and smiled. It struck Sir Marmaduke that he
would have been quite a handsome young man if it hadn't been for the scar
down his face, made more livid by its contrast with the paleness of his
skin. Perhaps he was some poor wretch Sudbury had found in the dregs of the
working classes, scarred and injured. Maybe he was partially sighted, hence
the dark glasses. 'Trust no one,' Sir Marmaduke warned him.

'Whatever you say, Sir Marmaduke,' the pale young man replied.

Sir Marmaduke walked into the corridor and slammed the door behind him. On
a bench further down the corridor were the Irish Twins, dressed in their
Glasshouse medical uniforms. They stood up together, Ciara reaching for his
briefcase, Cellian passing him a plastic cup of water. Sir Marmaduke shook
his head at them both. 'Thank you, but no. If you can bring the car round,
I'm going to walk outside for a few moments. Meet me outside County Hall in
fifteen minutes.'

The Irish Twins nodded and looked up as the door which Sir Marmaduke had
slammed shut was reopened and a gaggle of old men traipsed through it. Sir
Marmaduke shot them a stare of open hostility but it was only seen by the
young recorder, who followed them out.

Page 8


Sir Marmaduke hugged his briefcase closer and headed for the stairs that
would take him towards Parliament Square.

A few minutes later, he stood on Westminster Bridge, looking back at the
House. He allowed the slight breeze blowing down the Thames to ruffle his
tie and hair. He liked the feel of the wind - it was something he had not
appreciated for too long.

The air was warm, the sun blazing down onto the river, sending beautiful
streaks of reflected yellow across the water, like tiny bolts of lightning.
A River Police boat was chugging downstream from under Lambeth Bridge,
tearing through the calm waters and leaving a churning wake behind it.

A disturbance, he decided. A breaking of the river's natural form. Rather
like his life, he supposed. What to do now? Twenty minutes ago, he had been
the head of a powerful organization.

Now, he was abandoned, with nothing to look forward to but returning to the
Glasshouse, and facing his staff. Telling them that he had been dismissed
from his own company and that they would soon be working for a new, as yet
unknown, leader.

He looked left, towards the South Bank and County Hall. He could see his
distinctive Mercedes parked there, but there did not appear to be anyone in
it. Perhaps the Irish Twins were also getting a breath of fresh air.
Probably worried about their jobs. No, nothing fazed them, really. Peter
Morley though, he was potential trouble. He was weak enough as it was, but
news like this might send him off. . . oh, what did it matter? Why should
he care? If Morley didn't finish his work, it was no business of his any
more. It was behind him. One day he'd been in charge, the next, he was out
without so much as a thank-you for everything he'd done. The last few
years' work meant nothing to the men in power. They would take everything
he'd done and use it quite happily, and within three months, he would be
nothing more than a hazy memory.

He saw Ciara walking across the bridge to meet him. Strange, that was
unlike her. Oh well, he'd find out what she wanted soon enough.

Page 9


'There's someone who wants to talk to you, Sir Marmaduke,' she said,
pointing back towards the car. Sir Marmaduke could have sworn it was empty
a moment ago, but there were two people in it now. Cellian was presumably
in the driving seat, but who was in the back?

He and Ciara crossed the bridge and got to the car, Ciara side-stepping and
getting into the front passenger seat before Sir Marmaduke could. He
shrugged, but before he could climb in behind her the door was opened for
him from the inside.

Sitting comfortably on the back seat was the pale young recorder. 'What do
you want?' Sir Marmaduke asked him, annoyed. 'Why aren't you typing up your
copious notes? Is this Sir John's attempt at an apology? Because it won't -
'

'Shut up, Harrington-Smythe!'

Sir Marmaduke stared at the back of Ciara's head. How dare she speak to him
like that! 'Ciara -'

The scarred young man reached out and grabbed his wrist with amazing
strength. Before he knew what had happened, he had been pulled off his feet
and into the car.

Sir Marmaduke looked across at his assailant in astonishment. 'Who are
you?' he growled, rubbing his bruised wrist.

'Me?' said the pale young man. 'I'm the new owner of your Glasshouse, Sir
Marmaduke.'

'But you're just... just a...'

'Oh Sir Marmaduke, I'm a great many things.'

Sir Marmaduke gasped in horror as the pale young man removed his dark
glasses, revealing a face without human eyes. In their place were two black
discs criss-crossed with microscopic filaments. Sir Marmaduke found the
artificial eyes fascinating. 'What happened to your... I mean...'

The pale young man replaced his dark glasses, and tapped Cellian on the
shoulder. 'You are a fool, Harrington-Smythe. We've been using you for
months now, preparing to take over your little nursing home, preparing
ourselves.'

'But... but you're with C 19?'

'Am I? I suppose in a way I am. But I'm also involved in far more
interesting things.' The pale young man smiled, his perfect white teeth
almost glinting in the sunlight as Cellian drove down Millbank, towards
Victoria.

Page 10


Page 11


Sergeant Mike Yates stood and stared across the greyish blue water of the
English Channel. A slight breeze was blowing his hair, but he was not
particularly cold. Cool, but not chilly. To his right was the road that ran
through Smallmarshes towards Hastings. Dotted along it were various shops
and guest houses. Out of sight but, he knew, further along was the police
station where Bell and Osgood would be making their investigations. The
Brigadier was at the railway station. The five other men they had brought
with them were searching the village. Only Hawke was not out and about. She
was sitting in his car, using a short-wave radio to keep in touch with
Benton at HQ. On the side of the car had been stencilled the name and
address of a fictitious taxi firm, just in case anyone saw her with the
radio.

This was Yates's first civvies-job since joining UNIT and he was rather
enjoying himself. Being in the army was all very well, but wearing a khaki
collar and tie or rough fatigues every day could get a bit tedious. The
chance to wear his own clothes while at work was rare enough to be
savoured.

He was dressed in a brown roll-neck, under a brown check sports coat. His
tan flannel trousers flapped in the breeze as he started back towards the
car, stuffmg his hand in his pocket.

Cunningly deepened and reshaped, the pocket was actually a holster
containing a small Browning automatic, loaded and ready. Mike Yates was not
taking chances.

Page 12


As he approached, Maisie Hawke stuck her head out of the window, smiling.
'Hey, Michael. I don't think any of the locals are going to attack us. No
need for the pistol, eh?'

He got into the passenger seat. 'Can't be too careful, Maisie. You never
know. The Brig always says to be prepared.'

'You sound like a boy scout.' She was still smiling. 'When you've been with
UNIT a while longer, you'll relax a bit more.'

Mike shrugged. 'Yeah, but how long is that? The life-expectancy of a UNIT
soldier isn't exactly known to be high.'

'We all know the risks when we sign on the dotted line. No one forces us
here, you know.'

Mike opened the glove compartment, taking out a bar of Dairy Milk. He broke
off a piece, offering it to Hawke. She took it and began munching.

He did the same. 'I know, but it sounds quite glamorous when you're in the
regular army, pounding some parade square. Or going on endless manoeuvres
in Germany.'

Hawke shrugged. 'So. Why did you join up?'

Mike stared out of the windscreen. 'A long story involving family pressure,
peer group pressure, university pressure and personal inability to say no
to anyone who thought they could run my life better than I could.'

'Wow. Anything you do actually like in your life?'

Mike looked at her in concern. 'No, don't get me wrong. I actually like it.
I mean, UNIT is great because it has an element of risk. Of the unknown.
I've done things here that I could never have dreamed of. I've travelled
through time rips, I've arranged for top secret objects to be locked away.
I've seen more weirdness here in two months than I could have hoped for in
ten years in the regular army. I'm not leaving this place unless it's on a
blanket-covered stretcher.'

Page 13


'How grim.' Hawke held her hand out for more chocolate. 'Best I've done is
book restaurant tables for the Brigadier and the Doctor, order sandwiches
for Sir John Sudbury and have a Nestene Energy Unit delivered to the
National Space Museum.'

'Huh. Didn't know such a thing existed.'

'Nor me.' Hawke demanded more chocolate. 'You're a weird one yourself,
Michael.'

'Why?'

'Most of us are doing a job. OK, I'm a glorified telephonist and radio ham,
but I probably know more about UNIT and what it does than any foot soldier
here. But it doesn't greatly interest me. You, well, you're sort of odd.
You like all this crap. Aliens, killer robots, space missions bringing back
alien plagues and all that. It actually interests you, doesn't it?'

Mike Yates nodded. 'I think so, yes.'

'Do you know why we're here?'

'Silurians. That's what Benton said when he rang. I had a quick flick
through the files and gather that they're -'

'Reptile people, who had a civilization upon this planet millions of years
before mankind could even talk clearly. Recently located in some caves in
Derbyshire.

Research, however, has caused some speculation that a similar colony was
found in the Antarctic during the twenties, although the UNIT station
subsequently set up there has yet to provide any concrete evidence. Unlike
most Reptiles, they appear to be able to adapt both to extremely hot and
extremely cold temperatures. They are dangerous when roused and are a Code
1101 menace.'

Mike was impressed. 'How did you learn all that?'

'I typed the file you read.' She paused, staring forwards, 'I also lost my
fiance to them, at Wenley Moor.' She turned to face him. 'Possibly out of
consideration for my feelings, or maybe because Sir John won't extend his
budget, the Brigadier has not had a captain since Sam was killed.'

'I... I'm sorry, Maisie. I didn't know.'

Page 14


'No reason why you should. Even his family don't know. They think he died
in a military car accident in Switzerland. Do you know how many lies I have
to type, Mike? How often I have to write and tell someone that their son or
daughter has been killed while on attachment to UNIT? I can't say they died
when an Auton shot them in Essex, or a supposedly friendly alien shoved
more radiation through their body with one touch than they'd get if they
sat in a reactor at Windscale for six months. No, they die in car
accidents, or swimming accidents. Or missing after manoeuvres in the Gobi
desert have gone awry.' She looked at her hands and Mike could see they
were gripping the steering wheel too tightly; her knuckles were white. 'I
had to write to George Hawkins, a man I spent Christmas with last year, and
tell him Sam died in an accident when he actually died protecting us all
from a bunch of reptilian killers.'

'I thought the Brigadier wrote to people,' Mike said suddenly, and
immediately wished he hadn't.

But Maisie Hawke laughed and let go of the steering wheel. 'Oh, Michael,
you're so sweet.'

'Oh. Thanks. I think.'

'Yeah, he signs them. But I research who they go to and actually type them
up.' She shook her head, letting her hair whip around her face for a
second. 'Right, that's enough about that. What next?'

Mike just stared at her. 'That's the first time you've talked about Sam's
death, isn't it?'

'Not allowed to talk about it, am I? Official Secrets Act and all that.'
She touched his hand. 'Thanks for listening.'

'Thanks for talking. If you want to do it again, I'm always around.' Mike
gave her the last piece of chocolate.

She ate it and then pointed out of the window. 'Here comes Tom.'

Mike sighed. Why did he have to bring Corporal Osgood? The chap meant well
but he was, frankly, a bit of an egg-head. Ah well.

Page 15


Osgood opened the door and slid into the back.

'Sergeant. Corporal Hawke.'

'Well, Tom? Anything from our helpful local constabulary?'

Osgood consulted the spiral-bound notebook he always carried. 'I left
Corporal Bell talking to a Sergeant Robert Lines. It appears he knew the
Doctor.'

Hawke sighed. 'We knew that. That's why you went to find him.'

'Oh. Yes, right. Well, he knows nothing more it seems, but he wants to
help. The Doctor obviously took him into some confidence.'

The radio crackled and Benton's voice came out of the dashboard receiver.
'Trap One to Greyhound Two. Over?'

'Greyhound Two to Trap One, receiving.'

'Hello, sir. News for you from Sir John Sudbury. The Glasshouse has been
closed down pending an inquiry. Sir John wants us to oversee the removal of
sensitive materials. Over.'

'Oh great,' Mike muttered. 'Roger, Trap One. Will inform Greyhound One of
the situation. Do nothing until contacted. Over and out.' He looked at the
other two. 'We'd better find the Brigadier.'

Page 16


The Glasshouse receptionist looked up as the doors opened, briefly letting
the bright sunlight in. She blinked slightly and her eyes readjusted.

A man in a cream jacket and black roll-neck sweater stood in the doorway.
He had a neatly centre-parted cluster of blond hair above a richly tanned
face. He was wearing dark glasses. She felt herself relax until she saw the
hefty pistol in his hand, a large stubby silencer on the end. She reached
for the alarm button but didn't make it - the man smacked her in the chest.

No he didn't, he was standing by the door... Then wha-

The blond man walked past the reception desk, glancing at the dead nurse as
scarlet red spread across her breasts, stark against the bleached white of
her uniform.

A male nurse came out of a room, carrying a sheaf of papers. Seconds later,
he was on the floor, the papers soaking up the blood from a massive hole
through his neck. His arm twitched violently, but he was already dead.

Moments later, the blond man entered Doctor Peter Morley's laboratory. It
was empty apart from a man in a white coat and a young woman, both sitting
in a corner. The woman was drawing something on the wall with a pen while
the man watched. Neither was aware that he had entered.

He fired twice, almost severing the man's head from his body. The woman
swung round and looked up, uncomprehending.

'Hey, who the hell -'

Another man in a scientist's jacket had entered from an office at the rear.
The blond man turned almost imperceptibly, firing casually as he did so,
not bothering to take careful aim. The shot took the newcomer through the
groin, slamming him back against the far wall. White with shock, the
injured man tried to get up until a second shot hit him between the eyes.

Before he had hit the floor, the blond man strode across to the woman,
grabbed her roughly and threw her over his shoulder.

Ten minutes later they were on their way to Northumberland.

Page 17


Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart stared at the timetable pasted up at
Smallmarshes station. One train every hour passed that way, heading either
for Dover or Hastings. The railway was a one-track job, like the famous
Marlow Donkey near his home.

Home, Fiona and Kate, and all those problems, seemed frighteningly far away
at that moment. It constantly amazed the Brigadier how easily he could set
aside his worries about his domestic life. It was a kind of schizophrenia,
he decided, a deliberate leading of a double-life to try and keep Queen,
Country and Fiona happy. He didn't need to remind himself that he had
failed. Fiona was going to divorce him. Even her Catholic grandparents
wouldn't be able to stop that one. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should
just give in and let her go, let her get on with her life. Find a real city
businessman, with a real city business who could give her real excuses for
working late and have real affairs with real secretaries.

No. He would not get bitter. Separation was, frankly, inevitable. It had
been ever since that business in the Underground a few years back, when
everyone else was talking about being evacuated from London. Fiona had
wanted to know why he had 'stayed at the office apartments in London'
instead of leaving for the safety of the countryside with her. Kate had not
even been a gleam in their eye then, but nevertheless, Fiona had been
pregnant within eighteen months. It had been a reminder that his place was
at home. But Lethbridge-Stewarts had been in the military since the battle
of Waterloo when Major General Fergus Lethbridge-Stewart had been right-
hand man to the Duke of Wellington. And family tradition was something the
Brigadier had never kicked against. Like all Sandhurst lads, he'd learnt
another trade in case he ended up in Civvie Street, but there had been
little doubt that the army was to be his life.

And so here he was, standing on an empty railway platform on the
Kent/Sussex coast, wondering what had happened to two of his staff. The
Doctor was not known for his adherence to rules and regulations, but for
him to have vanished so totally seemed more than a little suspicious. And
if those reptile monsters were involved, well, there could be an element of
revenge thrown in. After all, the Doctor had been around in Derbyshire.
Mind you, it had been the Brigadier and not the Doctor who tried to blow
them all up, all on orders from C19 of course, but he would hardly blame
them for bearing a grudge.

Page 18


Then there was Miss Shaw: acerbic, spiky and just a little frightening.
Nevertheless, the Brigadier valued her, not just for her mind but for her
ability to keep the Doctor in check. She had just vanished without trace.
Maisie Hawke had not been able to track her down at all, not even through
Jeff Johnson.

'Can I help you, sir?'

The Brigadier found himself facing a ticket collector.

'Not another train for a while, sir. Sorry. I'm just about to lock up while
I nip out and get a bite of lunch. Do you want to stay, or come back later?
It's due in about twenty minutes, if you're wanting Hastings. Over an hour
before Dungeness and Dover.'

'Oh. No, I'll go.'

'Right you are, sir. See you later.'

The Brigadier followed the ticket collector off the platform and back onto
the short path leading up to the coastal road.

'Mr Lethbridge-Stewart?'

He looked up. There was Yates in his car with the two corporals. He walked
over to them and Yates relayed Benton's message.

The Brigadier snatched at the radio transmitter and paged Benton back at
UNIT HQ.

'Afternoon, sir. You got my message? Over.'

Page 19


'Certainly did, Benton. What the hell is Sudbury up to? We need the
Glasshouse. Over.'

'No idea, sir,' came the reply. 'But I think he wanted us there quickly. To
be frank, sir, I think he was worried that Sir Marmaduke Hamngton-Smythe
would go back there and, well, scuttle the ship as it were. Over.'

The Brigadier thought about that. Harrington-Smythe was a spectre from his
past who somehow always reared his ugly head at inopportune moments. He'd
been there at Sandhurst, always trying to get him and the other sappers
into disciplinary cases; he had been there after that business with
International Electromatics, offering to buy the company up, and when that
failed (the Government bought it out itself), he set up the Glasshouse. It
was generally believed in the better circles that both his knighthood and
CBE were pacifiers to keep him quiet and sweet. He had a knack for finding
out the truth about less-than-public-interest events - that was how he'd
know that an institution like the Glasshouse would be useful.

If Sir John Sudbury had upset him too much, he was malicious enough to make
trouble. 'Do as Sudbury asks, Benton. Take a small squad of men you trust
implicitly. I don't want a word of this getting out. Remember not even
everyone at UNIT knows of the Glasshouse's existence. Over.'

'Understood, sir. Over and out.'

The Brigadier passed the transmitter back to Yates. 'Where's Corporal
Bell?'

'Still at the police station, sir,' replied Osgood.

The Brigadier looked back towards the town. 'Not much to learn, is there?'

'No, sir,' said Yates. 'I suggest that a couple of us stay here for the
night. See if anything unusual turns up.'

'Good idea, Sergeant. You keep a couple of your men here. I'll go back to
HQ with the corporals. Osgood, can you drive the other car?'

'Yes, sir.'

Page 20


The Brigadier swapped places with Yates to leave the sergeant standing
outside the car, next to Osgood. 'We'll pick Bell up at the station. Got
your radio, Yates?'

The sergeant produced a small walkie-talkie from under his jacket. 'And I'm
armed, sir.'

The Brigadier told Yates that he was to observe, not take any risks. When
the sergeant agreed, the Brigadier started the motor and began the long
drive back to London.

He watched Yates and Osgood's figures fade into the distance as he and
Corporal Hawke sped out of Smallmarshes on the road to Dover. 'Do you mind
the long way round, Corporal?'

'No, sir. I like the Kent countryside.'

'Good girl' He watched the road for a few moments before clearing his
throat. 'Good man, Mike Yates, don't you think?'

Hawke smiled. 'He's a good officer, sir.'

'Oh come on, Maisie. I'm not asking about just his military skills. He's
intuitive. He's got exceptional leadership qualities, don't you think?'

'I think, with respect sir, that those are military skills.' She opened the
glove compartment, producing another bar of chocolate. 'A bite, sir?'

'No thanks. My wife is on at me not to put on weight.' He paused. 'On the
other hand, some chocolate would be very nice right now. Thank you.'

He could see Hawke relax a little more. Good, that was what he wanted. He
tried a different tack.

'We've served together quite a while now, Corporal, haven't we?'

'Three years, sir. I've enjoyed it. For the most part.' Hawke nibbled on
some chocolate and broke a piece off for the Brigadier, passing it as she
spoke. They were about twelve miles from Dungeness, and another ten from
the road that led towards London. 'Corporal. Maisie. I'm thinking it is
time for some promotions within UNIT. Possibly a captain.'

Page 21


Hawke let her head fall back against the head rest. 'I appreciate what
you're saying, sir. Really I do. But I think you're right, you do need a
captain. The troops could do with some stability as well. A handful of
sergeants and corporals are all very well, but the command structure needs
to be strengthened.'

'Yates? Benton? Someone from outside?'

'Mike Yates would make a fine captain, sir. As I said, I appreciate your
waiting this long, but Sam is dead and life has to go on, for everyone.'

The Brigadier felt himself flush slightly. She had caught on. In fact,
she'd probably caught on ages ago that he was putting off making any
promotions to avoid upsetting her. 'That means there'll be a sergeant's job
up for grabs. It's yours if you want it.'

She turned sharply and smiled. 'A nice idea, sir, but I'm not one of the
troops. If someone like myself or Carol Bell went for a sergeant's job,
we'd have to move away from UNIT. I know I speak for her by saying that
neither of us want that.'

The Brigadier nodded. 'I could try for a special dispensation. You'd be one
of the few female sergeants in the British Army.'

They were passing through Dungeness now, and they could just make out the
distant bulk of the nuclear power station, dwarfing a nearby cluster of
terraced houses.

'No thanks, sir. I like what I do. Tom Osgood would make a good sergeant.
He's a technical wizard and although he can be a bit eccentric at times,
the lads like him a lot. He'd be popular.'

The Brigadier steered the car into the turning for London. 'Thank you,
corporal, for your appraisal. As usual, I expect I will act upon it.'

After five minutes he switched on the radio, and Radio Four filled the
silence that had blanketed the car's interior.

Page 22


'I feel sea-sick. Just thought you ought to know.' Liz Shaw tried smiling
at her companion as their motor boat was tossed like a salad by the twenty-
foot-high waves. At least, that was what it felt like. In fact, the sea
wasn't that choppy, but the constant motion and the drone of the engine had
made Liz feel very unwell indeed.

'Nearly there, Doctor Shaw. And I thought you looked sturdier than this.'
At the back of the boat, steering it, Jana Kristan looked for all the world
like a misplaced figurehead, her jaw set firmly against the buffeting wind
and spray, her brown overcoat billowing behind her. All Liz wanted to do
was hide under the tarpaulin she had found tucked under seat, and emerge
when they reached the island.

Sturdier? She had never felt worse. She just hoped she would not have to
use her favourite hat as a sick bag.

They had flown from Southampton to St Helier on Jersey, taken the ferry to
Guernsey, and then hired the outboard to take them across to their
mysterious island which, the man at the boat-hire company told them, was
called L'Ithe. It was not until they were on the boat that Jana confessed
she had accidentally left all the notes given to them by their mysterious
correspondent back at Liz's flat. However, she had remembered enough for
them to work out which island was their destination.

'It's a very small lump of rock,' Jana yelled over the noise. 'Only a
couple of miles across. It shouldn't take long to find whatever it is that
sent us after.'

Liz just nodded, trying to keep the aeroplane snack down, and praying that
they would get there soon.

'Where exactly are you taking me?' asked Sir Marmaduke Harrington-Smythe.
'Not back to the Glasshous, I imagine.'

'Oh, certainly not,' said the pale young man. 'By now, UNIT will be
crawling all over it, and searching for various things they won't find.' He
pointed at the trees at the side of the road. 'This is a very nice part of
the country. I used to enjoy walking though the trees and fields when I was
younger. Especially when it was dark.'

Sir Marmaduke wondered if they were going slowly enough for him to jump
out. He looked forwards, and saw Ceillian's eyes reflected in the rear-view
mirror. Piercing blue, they stared straight back. As if he was reading Sir
Marmaduke's mind, the car sped up a bit.

Damn.

'How long have my trusted aides here been working for you?' Sir Marmaduke
asked.

The young man opened up a small wooden box built into the floor of the
Mercedes. He took out a small bottle of Gordon's gin and another tonic.

Page 23


'Ice?'

Sir Marmaduke bristled. 'I don't want a drink. I would like an answer to my
question.'

The pale young man shrugged and flicked his finger at the top of the
bottle. The vacuum-sealed metal cap flipped off and up, embedding itself in
the roof. Sir Marmaduke stared as the pale young man extracted a glass from
the same box and mixed himself a drink. He then looked Sir Marmaduke
straight in the eye, swallowed the drink in one gulp and replaced the
grass. He picked up the empty gin bottle and held it upright between the
palms of his hands.

'This, Sir Marmaduke, is your career.'

Sir Marmaduke watched open-mouthed as he slammed his palms together.
Instead of shattering and cutting both of them to ribbons, the bottle
seemed to vanish. The pale young man opened his palms, revealing thousands
of fragments of powdered glass.

'How -?'

His kidnapper shrugged. 'Just a knack. No, that's a lie, I'm stronger than
the average human. My reflexes are faster than the average human's. My life
expectancy, barring accidents, is longer than the average human's. Oh, and'
- he removed his glasses again, revealing his mechanical eyes - 'my
eyesight is better than the average human's. It extends beyoned the normal
spectrum into the infra-red. I can see colours that the average human
doesn't even dream exist.'

'Are you human?'

'Oh yes. But I'm also much better than human now. Augmented by a technology
the rest of you can't begin to imagine. And before you ask, yes, alien
technology.'

Sir Marmaduke again asked how long Ciara and Ceillan had been working
against him.

'Since before you employed them. I... well, created them I suppose, about
seven or eight months ago. Using technology that you had a hand in.'

'Me?'

The pale young man smiled. 'You'll find out very soon. Now, tell me
everything you know about the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce that I
don't already know from working at C19.'

The car drove on as the sky began to darken with the fall of night.

Page 24


Sergeant Benton stood in the doorway. Three UNIT soldiers were hovering by
the reception desk, including Corporal Tracy and Private Boyle. Benton
looked at the body of the receptionist, but Boyle shook his head.

'Is there anyone left alive?' Benton asked.

'Not on this floor,' said Tracy. 'All the patients and nursing staff were
in the wards, on the top four floors. They weren't even aware of any of
this until an hour ago.' The corporal pointed to the receptionist's
telephone. 'One of the staff nurses heard it buzzing and came down to see
why it hadn't been answered. There,' - he pointed at the body - 'was the
reason.'

Benton stared at the carnage, holstering his gun. 'Yes. But why, Tracy?
What was there here that she had to die for?'

Corporal Champion approached from the corridor opposite. 'I think you'd
best see this, sir.'

Page 25


Benton and Tracy followed Champion down the corridor, briefly staring at a
dead male nurse, his blood drying on a sheaf of scattered papers. They
passed two more bodies at the junction of the corridor before Champion
pointed at an unremarkable door.

'A cupboard, corporal?'

'Not exactly, sir.' He pushed at the door and, with a hum, it slid upwards.

Both Sergeant Benton and Corporal Tracy allowed their surprise to show.
'Well, I've been here a few times with the Brig,' said Benton, 'but I've
never seen this part before. Either of you?'

'Absolutely not, sir.' Corporal Champion led them further on. They were now
in another corridor, which seemed to be sloping downwards. At the bottom
was a series of connecting routes.

'It's like a maze, sir,' said Tracy. 'Shipman and Farley went exploring a
few moments ago. They should be back soon.' No sooner had Champion spoken
than Farley's voice called out from the left-hand corridor. Sergeant Benton
led the way towards him, noting the various doors and sub-corridors leading
off the corridor. 'This must extend for nearly a mile. Impressive.'

They met Farley outside an oak-panelled door. Sprawled in front of it were
another two bodies.

'In there, sir. It's not pretty.'

Farley opened the door and Benton found himself looking into a large
laboratory, lights in the ceiling illuminating various areas, like
spotlights in a circus.

He saw the man on the far side of the room first, but the bullets which had
blown away most of his head had rendered him unrecognizable.

'Shame that,' said Benton. 'He's not nursing staff, so we can't ID him.'

Page 26


Corporal Champion stared at him. 'We can't identify any of these poor
blighters, then. None of the people in here were nurses.'

'No, Corporal, we can't. The Glasshouse is top secret. Frankly, only the
Brigadier and his main staff, and Doctor Sweetman of course, officially
know about it.'

Farley coughed. 'Actually, sir, just about everyone at UNIT does. It's
always been...'

'A bit of a joke to be sent here. Yes, Private, I know. I was a private
too, once.' Benton pointed to the opposite wall. 'And there's another.'

Champion stood upright with a start. 'Sergeant Benton, what was that man
doing over there?'

Benton strode over to examine the unrecognizable corpse by the far wall.
'Nothing. . . Wait a mo! Oh, this seems a bit stupid, but there's a pen and
someone's -,'

'Drawn pictures on the wall, Sergeant? Mammoths, tigers, that sort of
thing?' Champion hurried over.

Benton nodded. 'That's about the size of it, Corporal. Why?'

'Just remembering something, sir. From those caves in Derbyshire, when me
and some of the lads went up there with Captain Hawkins. Steve Robins was
drawing pictures like that when those Reptile things trapped us there.
Silurians, I think the Brigadier called them. And Sergeant Yates mentioned
them when he rounded C Patrol up this morning to go down south. Come to
think of it, Steve ended up in here for about six weeks before going back
to the regular army.'

'All right.' Benton thought for a moment. 'And apart from the Doc, they're
looking for some missing policewoman who drew similar pictures.'

Page 27


Tracy vocalized what they were all thinking. 'So that policewoman must have
ended up here, then.'

Suddenly, Boyle bustled in with Private Shipman. 'We found a large office,
sir,' Boyle said. 'Look at these.'

Shipman handed over a sheaf of photographs that seemed to have been pinned
up, judging by the tiny holes in the top of them.

'Let me see those.' Benton swiped them from the private's outstretched
hands. 'Yes, look at this. Whoever came here probably didn't murder all
these people out of hand, then - they had a far greater purpose.' He passed
the two corporals one of the photographs. 'Either of you recognize her?'

'That's the policewoman the Brig's been hunting for.'

'Yes, Champion. And that's why he couldn't find her down in Kent. She was
here and, as we haven't found her body, she's probably been taken away,
possibly by someone who wants her alive and ready to talk about your
Derbyshire Reptiles.' Benton looked around the huge room, trying not to
focus on the two bodies and the drawings. 'I reckon this is a medical or
biological lab of some sort.'

'Looks like it, sir.' Tracy was hurriedly examining the papers and
equipment scattered across the benches. 'I'm no Sherlock, Sarge, but I
don't think these were the only two working here.'

'Why?'

'Well, I'm trying to picture the Doctor's laboratory at UNIT. I mean, he
has loads of things on the go at once, right?'

'Usually,' Benton agreed.

Page 28


'So he's a bit cleverer than your ordinary bloke. But there are four or
five different bits of equipment set up here, like the Doctor has, but
spread about more. Like individual work stations.'

They were interrupted by a shout from Shipman, who had returned to the
small office. Leaving Tracy to examine the worktops, Benton and the others
went to investigate.

'Hey Sarge, what's that policewoman's name?' Shipman was leafing through a
box file. Benton paused. 'Red-something, I think.'

'Not Wildeman, then?'

'No. Why?'

Shipman held up a piece of paper. It looked like a personnel file, with a
photo clipped to the top. 'Cathryn Wildeman, sir. Worked here, presumably.
She seemed to be some sort of animal boffin. Zoology, and genetics. Seems
she came from Cambridge. And she's not dead out there, is she?' He waved
the paper in the direction of the main laboratory.

Benton looked over Shipman's shoulder. 'That's one of the men out there,
though. James Griffin. Perhaps the other one is this bloke, Atkinson.'

Shipman dug to the bottom of the file. 'Or, sir, he could be this bloke. I
saw this report first. Peter Morley. He seems to have been in charge, and
it's him that the other three had to report to, according to their files.'

Benton paused for thought and then stuffed all the papers back into the
box. 'We'll take this lot back to HQ for the Brigadier.' He turned to the
others. 'Right, I want all the other staff questioned and everything on
this level sectioned and, if it can be carried, taken back to HQ as well.'
As the other soldiers began following his orders, Benton followed them out
of the office, and stared ahead. Boyle was covering the unrecognizable body
with black plastic sheeting. Above it, he could make out the pictures on
the wall. 'Blimey, where's the Doctor when you really need him?'

Page 29


The Doctor was surrounded by Reptile People, all staring at him. They had
stripped him of his cloak and smoking jacket in case they concealed any
weapons. A shaft of light and power that beamed down from the ceiling held
him helplessly in place.

He was in a massive chamber, even larger than the one Chukk had shown him
earlier. This one was filled with stone benches, arranged in a semi-circle.
Some kind of debating chamber, he guessed. Behind the benches, directly
facing him, a huge screen had been carved into the rock. To either side of
it were two entrance tunnels. The Doctor guessed that when decisions were
made the Ayes went one way and the Nays went the other.

His nose itched, but he could not move. He wanted to speak, to say
something, but that was impossible. All he could do was stare straight
ahead. Straight into the jubilant eyes of Auggi.

Twenty minutes earlier, she had come to the lab and demanded of her son
that he release the Doctor into her care. This he had agreed to do on the
understanding that the Doctor wasn't harmed and would be returned later.
Auggi had said that would not be a problem and Krugga had carried him away.

Now he was standing in what he took to be some sort of council chamber.
Chukk was there, and one of Baal's sisters, Tahni probably. She seemed to
be more politically inclined than Sula, who appeared content in her role as
her brother's assistant. 'The Ape is an abomination generally, but this one
is particularly vile,' Auggi was saying. 'It was involved in the
destruction of Okdel L'Da's Shelter.'

'Entombment,' Chukk said.

'I'm sorry?' said another Reptile Person. 'Explain?'

'The Doctor is adamant that a majority of Shelter 873's population are
still hibernating, alive but entombed. The Apes sealed them inside their
Shelter rather than kill them. This Ape that Auggi is so keen to blame for
everything is actually responsible for keeping our people alive rather than
letting the other Apes destroy them.'

Page 30


Thank you, Chukk, thought the Doctor, but I doubt that will help.

'So, even if this Ape is in some way benign,' another said, 'the majority
are still murderers. Typical Ape behaviour.'

Auggi nodded. 'Indeed. And anyway, this Ape is what passes for a scientist
among the Apes. He probably wanted our people to experiment on.'

Chukk sighed. 'Auggi, you know that is not true.'

Auggi turned to him. 'I do not know whether it is true or not. Neither do
you. This Ape has fooled you and you are blinded by its apparent
sincerity.' She walked to him and took his hands in hers. 'Dear Chukk,
understand this. You are a good person, with a deep belief in right and
wrong. You became our leader after Daurrix died and have seen us through
the last few years with great wisdom and sense. But I believe these Apes
present a terrible threat to us all. To our hatchlings. We need an Ape-free
world for them to grow up in.'

'Why?' The Doctor forced his jaw to open, his vocal chords to vibrate. The
word emerged as a hoarse whisper, but it was enough to make everyone stop
and stare at him.

'Turn the beam up!' yelled Auggi.

As Krugga moved to obey, Chukk shouted: 'No! No, I believe we should hear
this Ape. If we consider ourselves the leaders, the decision-makers of this
Shelter, then we need all available information, no matter how
unpalatable.' He walked to stand beside the Doctor, and held his arms
outstretched. 'We need to know everything we can.'

Slowly, one by one, the Reptiles sat on their benches. The Doctor hoped
this was an indication of agreement, and realized it must be as only Auggi
and Krugga were left standing. Then Krugga sat, despite a sharp look from
Auggi. She remained standing even after Chukk switched off the beam.

Page 31


'Thank - thank you.' The Doctor massaged his throat. 'Thank you for giving
me the honour to address you all today. Everything you have heard about me
in this chamber today is true. I was present at Shelter 8...?'

'873,' prompted Chukk.

'Yes, Okdel's Shelter. Many of his people died because they attacked
mankind. The Apes, as you call them. Mankind was stronger because they were
afraid. And fear is a huge asset in a war, because it makes people fight
harder. Dirtier. Believe me, mankind has weapons far dirtier than you.
Mankind has split the atom, created nuclear weaponry capable of destroying
millions of you in a second.'

One of the elder Reptiles stood. 'We discovered the power of nuclear
fission and saw its potential for destruction, but we chose not to develop
it further. Why have the Apes done something so foolish?'

Other Reptiles nodded at this question, daring the Doctor to answer. 'Yes,
well, you're right. Mankind is foolish. It could wipe itself out in half a
day if it so chose.'

'Good,' Auggi said. 'We could live with high radiation levels. Perhaps we
should rediscover nuclear power.'

A shocked exclamation rippled through the chamber.

'I am, of course, joking,' she said quickly. The Doctor eyed her carefully.
She was clearly a consummate politician, capable of judging opinion and
changing tack instantly. Very shrewd. Very dangerous, too.

'But know this as well, noble Reptiles,' said the Doctor. 'Mankind has a
thousand other skills as well as making war. For every weapon of
destruction, it has ten cures for diseases, sicknesses and accidents. For
every war that breaks out, another two or three groups demanding peace
spring up. Mankind is resilient.'

Another Reptile stood. 'Could the Apes cure the genetic disorder in our
hatchlings?' A murmur went through the crowd. The Doctor guessed that many
of them had wondered this, but in the face of Auggi's determined verbal
assault on mankind, were unwilling to risk her wrath. Now that he had been
freed to speak, Auggi's control had slipped a little.

Page 32


'Possibly. Mankind faces similar problems and finds ways to overcome them.'
He wondered if he should disclose Baal's secret experiments. Angry as he
was about Baal's torture of Marc Marshall, he knew it was a weapon to be
used against Auggi only at the right time. This was probably not it.
Instead, he glanced in Tahni's direction.

'Possibly. It is an avenue that ought to be explored and -,'

A Reptile came crashing into the chamber, almost knocking a couple of the
older members to the floor.

'Chukk! Auggi! There are two Apes upon the surface of the island.'

No! This was precisely what he did not need.

Unsurprisingly, Auggi leapt at the opportunity to discredit him. 'See! See
how the Ape lies. He knew we were to be attacked.'

The Doctor decided that he would achieve little by pointing out that two
peoples probably local fishermen, hardly amounted to an invasion force.

Krugga used his third eye to activate the huge screen at one end of the
cavern. On it, two figures could be seen tying a boat to a rock. Or rather,
one was tying it up, the other was sitting on another rock, face in hands.

There was something familiar about that posture, the Doctor thought. 'Zoom
in on them,' Auggi said to the screen.

Agitated voices travelled around the chamber like fire through dry bush.
'Are they hostile?' 'Should we destroy them?' As the picture closed in on
the two humans, the Doctor saw Auggi staring at him. He was becoming very
good at reading Reptile facial expressions but even a rank amateur could
have seen what she was thinking. She had won her people over. The Apes were
invading.

Page 33


Chukk tried to reason with the crowd but no one was listening.

'Fellow Reptile People.' Auggi spoke quietly but forcibly enough to silence
everyone. 'We are under attack. Bring those two in for questioning.' She
addressed the last remark to Krugga and he walked off down the right-hand
tunnel. Auggi then pointed at the Doctor. 'This Ape has tried to fool you.
He has lied and betrayed you all. Chukk, tell me you don't still believe
him. He has distracted us all in the hope that we would remain unaware of
these others.'

'I'm not sure, Auggi.'

The Doctor stared at Chukk. If he was faltering, then the Doctor had lost
his only ally here.

Then a human face filled the screen. It was the face of the person whose
posture the Doctor had thought familiar a moment earlier.

'Oh no,' he said quietly. 'Liz!'

Auggi switched off the screen.

'Damn cold, isn't it, Liz?'

Jana had finished tying up the boat and was rubbing her hands together.

Liz nodded. 'Yes, but we're here to find out what was important enough for
our mysterious friend to die for. Let's take a look around.' She stuffed
her hands into her green duffle-coat pocket. 'Experience tells me that the
longer you stay near the unknown, the more dangerous it gets.'

Jana laughed. 'I'll tell you one thing. I'm dying for the toilet. I bet
there isn't a handy ladies here anywhere.'

Liz laughed. 'I think it'll have to be those bushes.'

'I'll be quick,' said Jana and scurried off.

Page 34


Liz pulled her hat further down onto her head to try and keep the wind from
whipping her long hair into her eyes. Thankfully she'd exchanged her usual
miniskirt for a pair of slacks, and had worn them over tall boots. As a
result, her legs were probably the warmest part of her.

What was taking Jana so long? Where exactly had she run off to anyway and
Liz stopped worrying about Jana in an instant. Emerging from a hole by some
rocks was a Silurian, a massive one. For a second she thought she had not
been seen, but then the Silurian turned to her. And stared.

Must get to the top of the tree. Have to hurry. The Devilbacks cannot reach
us up here, they do not have the head for heights. The only way they can
reach us is to use a Long Neck, but they rarely use them. Too stupid to be
trainable, even when the Devilbacks use their third eye to hurt them. They
don't even know they're being hurt! The Devilback is coming, but it has not
seen us. Wait. No! No, it saw someone's foot and is pointing us out to
another Devilback. The eyes! Not the eyes. No!

Liz shook her bead. No, she was stronger than that. She had faced them
before and would not let the race-memories overwhelm her. What would the
Doctor do in this situation?

She knew the answer. Pushing down her feelings of fear, of nausea, she
stood up and held her hands outstretched, palms up.

'I know you can understand me. I am not armed and I come in peace.'

The Silurian turned its head slightly, as if considering her words. 'There
were two Apes,' he said slowly.

Page 35


Liz shivered at his voice. She had forgotten how cold, how completely alien
they sounded.

'My friend will be back any second now,' said Liz. 'She too comes in
peace.'

'Like hell I do!' shouted Jana from a rocky plateau slightly above and
behind the Silurian.

'No!' screamed Liz, but it was too late - Jana was firing her pistol. One,
two, three shots slammed into the Silurian's body. It staggered slightly
and then swung round, its third eye glowing. Jana dived at it, catching it
behind the knees.

The Silurian was on the floor in a second, bleeding from two injuries to
its shoulder and a third in the back of the neck.

Liz glared up at Jana. 'What did you do that for?'

The answer she got was an action, not a word. Jana aimed the pistol
straight at her.

'It's a Silurian, right?'

'Yes, but how -?'

'That hole, there. Did it come from that?'

Liz nodded. 'I still don't understand.'

'No, you don't. Just as well.' Jana jumped down beside the fallen Reptile,
still keeping her gun trained on Liz. 'I only needed you for your knowledge
of these things. Now, down the hole.'

Liz took a deep breath, and did as she was told.

Page 36


Moments later, they were climbing down a ladder carved from the rocks, into
a dark and damp tunnel.

'Where now?' Liz stopped, folding her arms. 'I mean, I presume you have a
plan of some sort. You obviously knew what to expect.'

Jana, still training her pistol on Liz, stared around the phosphorus-lit
tunnel. 'Nope, not really. I just followed my orders.'

'Our anonymous informant's?'

Jana smiled. 'Don't be pathetic, Doctor Shaw. I work for your people. C19.'

'You're with Sir John Sudbury?'

'Wrong again.' Jana pushed Liz along to the left. 'Our mysterious
benefactor thought he was safe from us, but we knew he wanted someone to
expose what we do. We got rid of Traynor and I was sent down to pose as
some stupid Dutch journalist he had written to. I followed his
instructions, wound up in Smallmarshes and lo and behold, one Silurian gets
the policewoman and the child. I make contact with you and go through the
motions of being Jana bloody Kristan for a little longer.'

'You killed her, I suppose.'

'No, but someone did. Think yourself lucky I wasn't asked to impersonate
you.'

'Probably because I'd be harder to kill at UNIT.'

Jana just laughed again, and pushed Liz into another corridor. 'I could
walk into UNIT any time I wanted to with my credentials. No, impersonating
you would have been difficult simply because we knew UNIT would become
involved.'


Page 37


'Stop, Apes!' A Reptile Person stood directly in front of them. 'I am
Chukk, leader of the Shelter and I will -'

Jana shot him straight through the head, jumping over his body before it
had stopped twitching.

In front of her, Liz saw a massive chamber, occupied by about thirty
Reptile People. Standing in front of them was the Doctor. She shoved Jana
out of the way and dashed through the startled Reptiles towards him.

'No you don't, bitch!' Jana aimed her pistol and pressed the trigger. As
she did so, the third eye of every Reptile Person in the room glowed red.

Jana, or whoever she really was, was slammed back against the chamber wall,
her mouth opening and closing in soundless agony. After a few seconds, she
fell lifeless to the ground, her pistol skittering across the floor to stop
at Auggi's feet.

The female picked up the gun. 'So Apes will help us, will they, Chukk?'

All the other Reptile People turned to look at the Doctor, waiting for
Auggi to decide what to do with him and the other Ape.

And they saw the Doctor sitting on the floor, cradling the unmoving body of
the other Ape in his arms, blood soaking into his shirt from the bullet
that had gone straight through her back and out through her right shoulder.

A tear ran down his cheek. 'Oh Liz, no. I'm so sorry.' He stroked her hair.
'So very sorry.'

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Episode Six

Page 1


The Mercedes was waved to a stop at the tunnel's entrance by an armed guard
standing in front of a red-and-white barrier. The guard wore a one-piece
black boiler suit and a black belt decorated with various pouches and a
pair of handcuffs. Hanging from it was a long black truncheon. He wore a
matt-black helmet, attached to which was a clear plastic visor that covered
his whole face.

The guard's machine pistol was held casually in his left hand, but it was
undoubtedly primed and ready.

In the last few miles, they had passed so many 'Keep Out' signs that Sir
Marmaduke had lost count. 'Since when have we had armed guards at tunnels
in this country?' he asked. 'I thought I was in East Germany for a moment.'

Ciara did not turn to him as she explained that it was a safety precaution
to protect the unwary as much as those working under the hills.

'You mean the place we're going is built inside these hills? But how?'

The pale young man showed a pass to the guard, who spoke into a walkie-
talkie and then lifted the barrier. Cellian drove through. As the Mercedes
entered the gloom, a series of red lights flicked on, dotting the roof in
two parallel lines rather like, Sir Marmaduke thought, an airport runway
upside down.

They carried on in silence for about half a mile before the two red lines
became four as the tunnel forked. They took the right-hand turning and Sir
Marmaduke swivelled round to watch all the lights behind click off,
plunging their entry route into darkness. The glow from the lights through
the windows cast unearthly shadows across his captors and for the first
time Sir Marmaduke felt decidedly nervous.

'What exactly is this place?'

The pale young man smiled and settled back in the seat.

Page 2


'OK, Sir Marmaduke, brief history lesson coming up. Why was UNIT set up?'

'I don't know. I wasn't aware of it until a few years back, after that
business with the electronics firm with the dodgy components in their
wirelesses.'

'Radios, Sir Marmaduke. Do try and keep up with the times. But that's by
the by. What do you believe UNIT does?'

Sir Marmaduke focused on the red lights, trying to avoid seeing his
captors' faces. 'I suppose it deals with things out of the regular military
forces' purview. Alien invasions, extra-terrestrial infections, the
paranormal, people with extra-sensory powers. That sort of thing. I only
know that really because of the people we treat at the Glasshouse. It's
just a job for me, a service I provide. I don't investigate that much.'

The pale young man chuckled. 'Oh rubbish, Sir Marmaduke. Why did you abduct
the policewoman from Hastings? To continue your feud with
LethbridgeStewart, perhaps? Or because you knew that she was connected with
the Reptile People whose previous victims you had cared for?'

'What would I want with Reptile People?'

'A good question. We wondered that for a long time. Even Ciara and Cellian
here couldn't find that out. None of my agents at the Glasshouse could work
it out. Shall I tell you what I believe?'

Sir Marmaduke snorted. 'I'm sure you will anyway.'

Page 3


'True. I think you believed that she would lead you to these Reptile People
- UNIT's Silurians, or whatever they're known as colloquially. I think you
believed that if you had one at the Glasshouse, you could begin to set up
some kind of indispensable repository of... let's lump it together as alien
paraphernalia. You'd go in after a UNIT operation and clean up. Gather the
spare part, dead aliens or whatever and sell them to the highest bidder. I
believe you already have contacts, especially where UNIT, as a United
Nations sub-division, has no jurisdiction. Behind the Iron Curtain,
perhaps? Or the Middle East? Somewhere where the leaders would hope to
upset the balance of power.'

Sir Marmaduke did not reply. Cellian had driven the car into a small side
tunnel which flared with a bright light, revealing them to be in something
no larger than a domestic garage. He turned as a mesh shutter dropped down
soundlessly behind them. Then he realized that they were going up, on some
massive hydraulic ramp. Eventually they stopped, the shutter lifted, and
Cellian drove the car into a huge hangar-sized car port and stopped. About
thirty other vehicles littered it, some recognizable as cars and vans,
others looking decidedly unusual. Sir Marmaduke saw one craft which he
recognized as Mars Probe Six.

'That?' said the pale young man, as if reading his prisoner's thought. 'We
got that shortly after the British Space programme was abandoned. With
James Quinlan's death and Professor Cornish's retirement, the Government
put the whole thing into limbo. They're looking at moving part of it down
to Devesham in Oxfordshire, out of the prying eyes of the public, but until
then, we have their cast-offs.' He unwound his window and as he did so a
black-clad armed guard rushed over.

'I understand that everything is prepared, sir. The woman is in the
laboratory with the two science people.' The guard looked across at Sir
Marmaduke, then back at the pale young man. 'We have also had a report from
our agent on the HR Project.'

'Go on.'

Page 4


'She reports that the targets are on a Channel Island known as L'Ithe.
Mister Bailey decided that it would be inadvisable to send a force in
because it would be difficult to avoid alerting people on the other
islands. Traffic to and from L'Ithe is infrequent enough to draw
attention.'

'Fair enough. What is his proposal?'

'He has sent some men down to Smallmarshes to wait in case the creatures
return to the mainland, that way. He thought it safe to assume they would
stick to familiar routes.'

'Probably right. OK, I'll review the situation later. Let me know if our
agent contacts us again.'

'Yes, sir. Need anything else, sir?'

'No thank you, Mister Lawson.' Then he gently tapped his forehead, as if
remembering something. 'Oh, Mister Lawson?'

'Sir?'

'Has anyone exercised the Stalker recently?'

'Not recently, sir, no.'

'Tell Bailey it will be going for a run sometime later today. I don't want
it getting idle.'

'No, sir. Very good, sir.' Lawson nodded at the Irish Twins and walked
towards one of the doors that dotted the huge car park.

Page 6


'Now, Sir Marmaduke, where were we? Oh yes, I remember. You were veering
close to queering my pitch.' The pale young man opened his door. In unison,
Ciara and Cellian undid their seat belts, wound up their windows and got
out of the car. Ciara then opened Sir Marmaduke's door for him, much as she
always had.

'Ciara, why?' he asked quietly, but she ignored him.

Her real employer moved around to the front of the car. 'I think it might
be best to incapacitate this vehicle. We wouldn't want Sir Marmaduke to
attempt an escape.' He held his hand out and Cellian dropped the car keys
into his palm.

With a smile, the pale young man closed his fist and dropped what was now a
tight ball of metal onto the floor. 'And just to make quite sure.. .'
Effortlessly, he thrust his arm through the bonnet, into the engine and
started hitting things. After a few seconds, he extracted his arm, brushing
off some minute fragments of metal. 'I don't think that's going anywhere.'

He looked at Sir Marmaduke again. 'Now, where was I? Oh yes, you asked what
this place is.' He waved his arm around the area like an estate agent
showing prospective clients around a house. 'This is the Vault. A - how can
I put this - a side-line of C19. The sort of side-line that, should he be
aware of it, would cause the likes of Sir John Sudbury to have a coronary.
You see, I already do what you were hoping to.' He led them through one of
the doorways and Sir Marmaduke found himself on a metal catwalk, high above
another stadium-sized room built into the inside of the hill.

'The Vault takes up eight levels per hill. Two hills. Sixteen areas of
research, storage and development, plus a few outlying areas where some of
our more interesting experiments live. Look down there.' He pointed below,
where white-coated men scurried about with clipboards. They were moving
between various large computers with spinning tapes and other oddly shaped
devices, while the double doors were guarded by more gun-wielding, black-
clad men. 'Not everything here is extra-terrestrial in origin, Sir
Marmaduke. Those men are building new computers, using man-made technology
from a super-computer built during the sixties.'

Page 7


'WOTAN? My God, I thought it was destroyed.'

'Oh, rest assured it was. But here at the Vault, we're very interested in
any kind of artificial intelligence, especially an accidental one like
that. Imagine the possibilities of an AI that could run businesses,
administer hospitals and schools. And, of course, the Government. No need
to feed it, water it, give it sleep. That's something we're working
towards.'

The pale young man walked on, Sir Marmaduke trailing him, with the Irish
Twins bringing up the rear. They went through a doorway which led to an
airlock. Before the next door was opened, Ciara shut the four of them
inside the cramped area and a fine mist sprayed all over them.

'Decontaminant. All perfectly harmless. But necessary between each
section.' They entered the next area, which was a little smaller and was
bathed in a blue light. Sir Marmaduke's captor continued his recital:
'Basically we go in after UNIT has done its job. We collect the dead, the
detonated, the inanimate and the unusual. We strip away the ruined
computers, the deactivated weaponry. Ostensibly it is all destroyed.
Incinerated, under the Brigadier's strict orders. But what no one at UNIT,
or the main part of C19, knows is that it all comes here. We sift through
it, cannibalize anything interesting and store the rest. Nothing is
disposed of.

'This area is devoted to flora,. Every day millions of particles of dust
enter our biosphere from outer space. Most of them are so microscopic that
they are untraceable and irrelevant. But some attach themselves to plants
on the planet's surface, causing interesting mutations. Did you know, Sir
Marmaduke, that last winter eighteen people in Western Australia died after
eating what appeared to be normal local fruits? They contained, however,
appallingly high levels of mercurial duoxide, an element unknown to occur
naturally on Earth. Over in that far corner is a new strain of the Venus
flytrap. As you can see, it is large enough to catch a rabbit or small dog.
It grew in someone's garden in Rhodesia a couple of months back. A unique
specimen which, it has to be said, has created quite a stir in botanical
circles. Among those who are aware of it, anyway.'

'This is obscene, you know.' Sir Marmaduke ran a finger round his collar.
He was very hot.

Page 8


'Obscene?' His captor pursed his lips in apparent confusion. 'In what way
is it more obscene than that which you were planning? Or is it just that
we've already done it, and on a scale, with resources, you could only dream
about.'

'We were working towards something similar I grant you, but we were nowhere
near this audacious. Or secretive.'

'Pish and tosh, Sir Marmaduke. You had Peter Morley and his team working
day and night on experiments that none of them guessed the end result of.
Well, almost none.'

Sir Marmaduke stopped. 'How do you know about Morley? Was he one of your
spies?'

'Good gracious no, I wouldn't have employed anyone who was that big a
security risk. The man is a positive liability. No stomach for what he was
doing. But a genius, I have to say. Quite useful to me now.'

'So he is here, then?'

'Yes. Under protest. Come through to the next area and he'll tell you all
about it. I think it might interest you.'

The pale young man pressed a button when they reached the far wall. The
door slid up to reveal an elevator. 'Going down for ladies shoes and
handbags,' he quipped, but the smile on his face couldn't extend to his
artificial eyes. Sir Marmaduke shivered, wondering what awaited him at the
bottom.

Page 9


Liz Shaw was sitting on a swing in the back garden. Her parents' large back
garden at their house in Burton Joyce.

The grass was a lovely rich green, the sky a cloudless blue, and a bright
yellow sun bathed her in a warm glow. All the colours were very vivid, the
heat too perfect. Something was not quite right.

And anyway, she was far too old to play on a swing.

She got off the swing and looked around. Definitely home, but everything
looked too perfect, too neat and tidy.

But she did feel very safe. Very relaxed.

'That's because you remember it that way,' said a voice behind her.

With a start, she turned, and saw a tall man in her place on the swing. He
had light brown hair shot through with strands of pure white. There was
something she recognized about his pleasantly lined face and rather beaky
nose, but his blue eyes were his most notable feature: the way they bored
into her, as if seeing through her into, well, her soul.

He was wearing a silly black cloak, and a red velvet smoking jacket. That
all seemed very familiar, Liz decided, but she could not quite work out
why.

'Do I know you?'

'Oh yes,' replied the man. 'You know me as the Doctor. We work together. We
are friends.'

'Oh. Right. So how come I don't recognize you properly, then?'

'Ah, that's a bit difficult to explain. I've put you in a trance.'

Liz raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips in mock concern. 'Well, that's a
friendly way to act, I must say.'

'If it helps, I don't like the fact that I've done it.'

Page 10


'Can't say I do much, but presumably I had no option.' Liz realized the
house and garden were gone. They were standing in a huge room, with blank
walls and a large door at one end. Liz decided it looked like a school
science lab. There were Bunsen burners on the many benches and intricately
built objects of tubes and focusing microscopes, thrown together like
Salvador Dali's interpretation of something out of Goodbye Mister Chips.

'I recognize this. Why?'

'It's where we first met - at UNIT's temporary headquarters in central
London. Before we all moved to Priory Mews in Denham. I spoke to you in
Delphon. Remember?' The Doctor was sitting cross-legged, floating about two
feet off the floor, framed and silhouetted by the massive rectangular
window behind him. Liz decided that the bright light from whatever was
outside made the Doctor's indistinct form look angelic - there was a kind
of golden aura around him.

'Ah. It's all coming back now. OK, so why the trance?'

The Doctor smiled. 'It's an old Tibetan trick. It slows your metabolic rate
right down to the bare minimum. You're still breathing, your heart is still
beating, but only just. And this discourse we're having is your brain,
needing to keep busy, latching onto the telepathic connection I've tried to
establish with you. Simple really.'

'Isn't it just. But why?'

'Ah, that's the tricky bit.' The Doctor floated towards her. 'I hope you
can cope with this. No, I'm sure you can.' He smiled. 'You're a very strong
young woman.'

Liz rolled her eyes. 'Yes, Doctor, but as scientist to scientist, let's
dispense with the archaic flattery and talk sense. Please?'

'All right. Liz, you've been shot.'

'As in by a gun? As in bang?'

'As in bang.'

'So I'm not dead yet?'

Page 11


The Doctor unfurled himself; planted his feet on the floor and crossed to
the lab window. The room was starting to distort slightly. The window the
Doctor was near became arched, and behind him a spiral staircase
materialized. The whole room contracted, the cold grey walls of the London
headquarters giving way to the dull hospital green of Priory Mews. 'Never
liked that colour,' Liz muttered.

'When we get back, I'll get Lethbridge-Stewart to repaint it,' said the
Doctor.

'Oh, so I am going to get back then?' Liz joined the Doctor at the window.
Instead of the familiar Slough Canal, the outside was a massive starfield,
planets and stars competing for her attention in the rich, textured dark
background. 'My mother once told me that everyone has a star, Doctor. And
when that person dies, their star vanishes from the sky.' She turned away,
looking back into the laboratory, but sat on the windowsill. 'When my
grandmother died, mother took me outside into the back garden. She pointed
up at one of the stars, a faint one that was twinkling. That's Nanna's
star, she said. It's marking her death with respect as we all should. In
the morning the star will have gone, having collected Nanna and taken her
to Heaven. And no matter how often I looked that next evening, I couldn't
see that star any more. I think I still look for it today, if I'm out late.
Or working here late. Not consciously, but when I look at the stars I think
of Nanna and all the wonderful things she told me.' Liz touched the
Doctor's sleeve, pulling him round to face her. 'You'd have liked her. She
was your type.'

'Oh, and what type's that, Liz?'

Liz shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. She knew lots of things and' - Liz smiled
at him - 'when she didn't have the answer, she'd make one up that sounded
exactly right.'

'Well, we'd have got on like a house on fire.' The Doctor crossed to one of
the benches and stared at a piece of equipment. 'Funny thing, the
subconscious. Here I am in your mind, your memories, and yet I'm holding my
Triacteon Zeiton Regulator and it's fixed. Ever since I was exiled here,
the TZR has needed repair, but I've never managed it. Something to do with
the block the Time Lords put on me.' He looked up, smiling at her. 'Thank
you, Doctor Shaw. When we get back, I now know how to repair it.'

Page 12


Liz was not really listening. 'Is my star twinkling right now, Doctor?'

'Now, Liz, we are both scientists. We know what makes stars twinkle. We
also both know that those sorts of questions cannot be simply answered.
When I go back to the real world, it will be up to you to help get yourself
through this. I can try and save your physical body, but your spirit needs
to be strong too. Your body has gone through a massive trauma as a result
of this wound. That shock has caused your subconscious to retreat to a
level where we can communicate like this. You need to reintegrate yourself
with your conscious mind in order to survive.'

'But do you think I will?'

The Doctor started to fade away. 'I don't know, Liz, but I certainly hope
you do. We still need to get to know each other properly.' And he was gone.
So was the UNIT laboratory and Liz was back alone by the garden swing.
Black clouds ranged across the sky. It was going to rain.

The Doctor's eyes snapped open, and Sula backed away, alarmed.

'What were you doing?' she asked tentatively.

The Doctor pushed himself up from his cross-legged position and walked
across Baal's laboratory to where Liz was lying on a stone slab.
'Communicating Telepathically.' He touched the slab. 'This is very warm.'

Sula pointed at some controls on the wall above the slab. 'The rock absorbs
and distributes the planet's natural warmth. It is the same principle that
heats the whole Shelter. Baal reasoned that Apes need a lot of warmth.'

'Then I must thank him. He's right, Liz needs to be kept warm.' He touched
the dressing around her shoulder. It was made of the same stringy webbed
twine as the clothes he had worn when travelling underwater. 'What a
fascinating material.'

Page 13


'One of our major discoveries.' Baal entered the lab from the direction of
Marc Marshall's cell. 'The Apes have yet to synthesize anything similar. It
has staunched her bleeding and should help to heal the wound. It is
semiorganic, this version carrying a form of antiseptic through its
strands. We can adapt it to carry anything we need: heat, light, even
antibiotics.'

The Doctor gently touched the material. It pulsated slightly. 'It's alive?'

Baal smiled. 'Sort of.' He gave the dressing a harder poke. It shivered
slightly. 'Red blood. I had forgotten that your blood was that bright.' He
looked at the Doctor. 'I believe she will live. No vital Ape organs were
damaged. One lung has a slight tear along it, but it didn't break the whole
tissue. She will be weak for a while. You and this Ape are fond of each
other? You are bonded, perhaps?'

'We are friends. Nothing more.'

'Nevertheless, I can sense your pleasure at her survival. Apes give off
very strong pheromones in such situations. As a scientist I am always eager
to learn new things.'

The Doctor smiled. 'Your new-found compassion does you credit, Baal.'

Baal stepped back. 'Do not mistake scientific interest for compassion, Ape.
My study of your companion is purely for the purposes of survival. Ours
rather than hers. It suits our purpose to keep her alive.' He pointed back
towards Marc Marshall's cell. 'His presence no longer suits us, however. If
Auggi were to find him, it would be difficult to explain his condition.
Tahni has agreed to take the two of you back to the mainland where she
found you both. After that, he is your responsibility.' Baal waved a clawed
hand over a sensor. 'And then you will return. Alone.'

'Why?'

Page 14


Baal pointed at Liz. 'The one she arrived with, the other female. She
wounded Krugga and murdered Chukk. She also deliberately shot your friend
with her projectile weapon. Crude it may be, but it is effective. This can
only mean that someone knows we are here. Someone who wishes to stop my
work. I cannot let that happen. Your return will ensure our safety.'

'How do you reason that? What makes you think I won't return with armed
soldiers to wipe you all out?'

Baal laughed. 'You think I am a fool because I am rather single-minded in
my attempts to save my generation, don't you, Ape? You're wrong. I listened
to what you said about your role in Okdel's Shelter. Unlike my mother, I do
not see war as the only answer. But if such strategies please her, and keep
her away from my real work, I will not interfere. You said you tried to
make peace and I believe you. Chukk believed you, for all the good it did
him.' Baal opened Marc's cell. 'We are both scientists, Ape. We both long
to increase our knowledge, to expand our horizons. I will protect your
friend here; you will return to aid me with my researches. I have a list of
things I need you to bring back. Tahni would not understand them by
herself; or know where to get them from.' He passed the Doctor a small
electronic data pad and ran a finger over a stud on it. A list appeared.
'Tahni will translate our script.'

The Doctor looked at Marc's quivering form. 'And what's to stop you doing
this to Liz?'

'Your Liz is mature. This was a hatchling and its internal chemistry was
still in a state of flux. That was what I needed to explore, to try and
integrate with our physiognomy. Liz is useless to us as anything other than
a hostage to ensure Tahni's safe return.'

With surprising gentleness, Baal reached down and scooped up Marc's prone
body. 'I don't know if your science can help him, nor do I care
particularly, but nevertheless I hope he survives. As a scientist, I would
not wish to be thought of as a murderer.'

Page 15


Sula walked in with some of the webbing. She wrapped it around Marc like a
cocoon and Baal passed him to the Doctor.

'You know, Baal, you are a very good scientist. Remarkable in fact. But you
will never be a great scientist, a true scientist, until you stop regarding
everything you do as justified whatever the cost. A true scientist always
remains, if you'll excuse the pun, humane.' He started walking into the
main lab, looking towards Liz's unconscious body. 'Mankind's history is
littered with the dead bodies of scientists who forgot, or ignored, their
moral responsibilities. I hope I don't return to find you added to them.'
Tahni was in the doorway. 'This way, Ape. Auggi is in the Council Chamber
asserting her authority. We must leave now.' She pulled him out of the
laboratory and down a small tunnel. 'Our only means of escape is a battle
cruiser. This way.'

The Doctor ran just behind her, trying not to bounce Marc too much. Once or
twice, the boy stirred slightly but then relapsed into his coma.

'Just round this corner,' puffed Tahni, and ran straight into a recovered
Krugga.

'What are you doing -' he began, but then saw the Doctor and Marc. 'No!'

Before he had time to stop her, Tahni's third eye glowed brilliant red and,
already weakened from his injuries, Krugga dropped to his knees. His own
eye flared red for a moment and the Doctor felt a stab of pain across his
forehead, but it vanished almost instantly. For a brief second, Marc's body
too convulsed.

Krugga fell forward onto his face and Tahni waved a hand over a door
control. 'Why was he here, I wonder?' she muttered as she led the Doctor
onto the battle cruiser.

'Is he dead?' The Doctor looked back at Krugga's still form as the hatchway
slid closed.

'I don't know. He was already injured.' She suddenly swung round on the
Doctor. 'And I don't care. He isn't one of us, isn't a hybrid. He isn't, or
wasn't, going to die within the next few years because of other people's
meddling.'

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her vehemence. 'I thought you were all very
proud to be hybrids.'

Page 16


Tahni scoffed as she started up the cruiser's power. 'Yes, well, Baal and
Auggi would like us all to be, but frankly a majority of us would rather
they hadn't bothered having us. What's the point of living only a few
years?'

'That rather depends what you do with them.' The Doctor sat in what he
assumed was the navigator's position. The craft shot forward rather jerkily
and he cast a look down at Marc's comatose body, huddled by the door.
'You'll have to forgive my lack of concern for your wellbeing, but if Marc
there is the end result of your researches, then you deserve all you get.
At least you'll have a life. You've destroyed his.'

Tahni slowly looked at the Doctor. 'Surely your science can repair him?'

'Repair him? I don't even know what Baal did to him. I assume it was some
kind of DNA splitting but this planet hasn't developed sufficiently
advanced methods to restore him.'

Tahm looked back at Marc. 'We only want to survive.'

The Doctor looked straight ahead. 'No one on Earth would criticize you for
that. It's just your methods that need some restraint.'

The rest of the journey was made in silence.

Page 17


The pale young man was in his office. Opposite him was Sir Marmaduke
Harrington-Smythe. Near the door were Cellian and Ciara. There was a knock
on the door.

'Come in.'

The door opened and Cellian stood slightly aside as a dark-haired woman
walked in. Sir Marmaduke frowned. 'Wildeman? Cathryn Wildeman? What are you
doing here?'

The American zoologist walked over to the pale young man, and stood
slightly behind him. 'I work here, Sir Marmaduke. I have done for about
three years. Even before I went to Cambridge.'

'I convinced Sir John to select her for your Glasshouse project, you see,'
said the pale young man. 'Ms Wildeman has been exceptionally useful in
feeding me tit-bits of information.' He smiled. 'Actually, that's not true.
To be honest, she's given me every security code, every Top-Secret, D-
Classifled, UNIT initialled piece of paper that she could lay her hands on.
It was Cath who passed Ciara and Cellian much of the information that I
required.'

Sir Marmaduke glared at the American woman. 'You betrayed me. What about
the others?' Cathryn Wildeman smiled an insincere smile, all teeth, with no
honesty in her eyes.

'Oh, I betrayed them too.' She produced a small notepad from her pocket.
'Sir. You may be pleased to know that our agent following up the leaks from
Whitehall has arrived on L'Ithe - a small Channel Island. The documentation
provided by the leak led her and Doctor Shaw there a few hours ago. Her
last report stated that if it was a Silurian base, she was going to seek
entry, capture a specimen and return with it to the mainland. She suggested
a rendezvous at Smallmarshes since it's in a direct line with the island
and too isolated to draw too much attention. We've not heard from her
since.'

The pale young man nodded. 'Fine. Send a squad down to Sussex. They ought
to be there in three hours or so. Use the stealth fighter - that ought to
stop UNIT or anyone else tracking us.'

'One other thing, sir,' said Wildeman. 'The Glasshouse has been dealt with.
We have the WPC here, along with Doctor Morley.'

'Any others?' he asked.

'Alas, sir, Griffin and Atkinson didn't survive the visit.'

Page 18


The pale young man frowned momentarily. 'Did our man leave any evidence?'

Wildeman paused before speaking. 'A few bodies. Including Atkinson and
Griffin, I'm afraid. Did he make a mistake?'

'Another one, yes.' The pale young man smiled. 'Still, killing people is
what he's good at. For the most part.' He turned to Wildeman. 'I think
we'll dispense with his services for a while. Contact him, pay him, thank
him and say we'll be in touch next time he's in the country.'

'Yes, sir.'

Sir Marmaduke was appalled. They were discussing deaths, contract killers
and future murders as if ordering a Chinese take-away. 'Do you people have
any consciences at all?'

The pale young man looked at Wildeman in mock confusion. 'Do you understand
what he's talking about? The man who set up the Glasshouse, the man who has
gone to great lengths to lie, steal and cheat his way through life asks us
if we have consciences?' He suddenly leant over his desk, staring straight
into Sir Marmaduke's face. 'No, Sir Marmaduke. We don't possess a
conscience of any type because we don't need one.'

Wildeman made her farewells and left. Ciara and Cellian followed, leaving
the pale young man and Sir Marmaduke alone.

'The few things I still need, Sir Marmaduke, are UNIT's requisition codes,
their secret military wavelengths and their communications passwords. You
see, I have C19 where I want it, I now own and run the Glasshouse and so
all I need for total control of this country's military espionage
departments are those little things. And you are going to tell me.'

Sir Marmaduke started to sweat. 'I don't know anything about UNIT'

'You are lying, Sir Marmaduke.' The pale young man crossed to stand beside
his seated prisoner. He bent over, took Sir Marmaduke's left hand in his,
and tapped gently on his little finger. Sir Marmaduke howled in pain.

Page 19


'That's right. One little tap and I've broken it in two places. That's the
kind of man I am. Or was. Or will be, even.' He tapped Sir Marmaduke's finger, shattering the bone.

Tears were streaming down Sir Marmaduke's face.

'Can't take a little pain, eh, Marmie? But you're a big army man. Former
instructor in the noble art of survival of the fittest.' He broke another
finger. 'Who's the fittest here, you lump of lard? Me or you?'

Sir Marmaduke tried to speak, but all that emerged through the pain was a
sort of strangled squeak.

The pale young man frowned. 'Sorry, old boy, didn't quite catch that, what?
Try again, old sport.' He broke his trapped foe's thumb. 'Next it'll be the
other hand. Then your feet. Your genitals. Your neck. Enough to destroy
you, cripple you for life. But not enough to kill you. So why not save
yourself all that, and tell me what I need to know?'

A trickle of blood threaded its way down Sir Manrmaduke's chin as he bit
through his tongue. The pain was excruciating, but he no longer cared. He
would endure anything rather than tell his tormentor what he wanted to
know. Seizing on his new-found resolve, reserves of strength he had never
known he possessed, he glared into his captor's eyes until, for the first
time, an expression of uncertainty crossed the pale young man's face.

Page 20


'Where am I?' Even as she spoke, Liz knew it was a redundant question. She
was in a Silurian Shelter, deep beneath a small island.

She had seen the Doctor and then something had hit her. The Doctor said ...
no, the Doctor hadn't said anything. Yet she felt that they had talked.
Impossible.

Something to do with stars... no, it must be in her imagination. So, what
had hit her? 'A projectile, from this.' A Silurian faced her, wearing a
mesh vest of some sort. It resembled the Silurians she had seen in
Derbyshire, but there were subtle differences. Her scientific interest was
piqued. Different genetic strains of the same species. As humans were
black, white, yellow and so on; tall and short; fat and skinny, so the
Reptiles must be equally varied. This one's eyes were far more fish-like,
and instead of the wide ears, it had fins. The skin was a mottled green
rather than the dark and olive hues she'd seen before.

And it was holding a pistol. Liz recognized its distinctive shape
immediately. And then wondered why she hadn't before. 'That's a UNIT
service pistol, supplied to C19-related personnel only. They tried to teach
me to use one once, but I flunked out.' She looked straight at the
Silurian. 'How did you get it?'

The Silurian put his (her? its?) head on one side, the flap over its mouth
sucking in and out rhythmically. Liz realized it was wondering what to say.
She decided to help out. 'It is Jana's. It was in her handbag, so how come
you've got it?'

'Your companion had this. She used it on you. She is dead.' The Silurian
turned away, dropping the pistol into a pocket in its stringy coverall.

'How? And why?'

'She killed our leader. The Council killed her, just after she shot you.'
The Silurian looked back. 'Chukk was a good Earth Reptile. Even Baal thinks
it sad that he died.'

'Who is Baal?'

'He saved your life. He is our scientist.'

Page 22


Liz took this in. 'I am a scientist. Maybe we should talk. You are...?'

'Sula. Baal's sister. And he won't discuss science with you. Apes are not
capable of being scientists. You do not have the brain capacity to learn
enough. You have brains no bigger than ragga-nuts.'

'And that is very small indeed,' said a new voice.

'Baal I presume? My name is Liz Shaw and I'm a doctor. I gather I must
thank you for saving my life.'

Baal shrugged. 'It was of no consequence. The Doctor wanted you to live, so
you are now my hostage. It is of no relevance.'

'Nevertheless, I am grateful.' Liz pointed at the machine in the far
corner. 'That's a particle disseminator. For breaking down DNA and other
genetic structures. Why do you have one?'

A look passed between Baal and Sula but, unfamiliar with their faces, Liz
could not tell exactly what it meant.

Baal looked back at Liz. 'You are a scientist, then?'

'I always thought so, but then again if my brain is only the size of a
ragga-nut, I suppose I can't be.'

Baal stared at her, then back at Sula, who shrugged.

Baal continued. 'I believe that Apes ought to be eradicated. You have
overrun our plant, destroyed many of our Shelters. You have tried to
destroy us.'

Page 23


Liz pulled herself into a more comfortable sitting position on the slab.
'That's not true,' she said, hoping that it wasn't and that Baal couldn't
prove her wrong. 'The only Shelter we've come across was in Derbyshire.'

Baal looked back at Sula again. 'Shelter 873?'

'Apparently,' Sula replied.

Baal waved his hand towards a screen in the wall next to the particle
disseminator. It immediately glowed into life, showing a map which Liz
recognized as Earth as it had been millions of years ago, one large land
mass. Baal waved a claw over a stud and hundreds of red dots appeared.

'Your Shelters?'

Sula said they were, adding that many of them were known to have been
destroyed when the great land masses separated. 'Some filled with water,
drowning the non-aquatic Earth Reptiles. Others were crushed by tectonic
movements. But many have been destroyed by the Apes testing their nuclear
bombs in the oceans, or poisoned by you dumping your waste products into
the seas or burying them in the deserts. One colony awoke about fifty years
ago in the Antarctic regions. They left us communiques saying that they had
awoken and requesting other Shelters to get in touch as soon as they awoke.
Their last message was about invading Apes, destroying their city.' Baal
looked hard at Liz. 'That city was probably the last surviving piece of our
above-ground architecture, and the Apes destroyed it. Your Doctor associate
has been pledging the Ape's support for a unified Earth, where we would all
live together. He is a fool. You know it and I now it. Apes will never
share their planet any more than ye will.'

Liz took a deep breath. 'No, you're right. Not yet they won't. But in the
years to come they might. If you really want to work towards peace, then
you need to plan ahead.'

Baal snorted. 'You mean stay hidden. Here. Until the apes have evolved
enough to lose their egos and accept co-habitation?'

'Yes.'

'Why should we? We have the means to wipe you all out.'

Page 24


'No you haven't,' said Liz. 'Otherwise, you'd have done it. In fact, you
know too well that your plague doesn't work. We discovered an antidote.
You're bluffing with an empty hand, Baal.' She stared back at him. 'What re
you really so scared of? I don't think it's we Apes, or you wouldn't trust
the Doctor, or use me as a hostage.' he looked at Sula.

'Where is he, by the way?'

'Back on the mainland. With Tahni. You are to remain here -'

'As a hostage, yes, your brother said.' Liz staggered off the slab, and
Sula helped her stand. 'Thank you,' said Liz. Now, Baal, Sula, if I'm your
prisoner, I'd better work for my keep. What are you really doing in this
lab that needs a particle disseminator? Something's wrong with your
genetics, isn't it?'

Baal actually looked surprised. In fact, Liz decided, that look probably
meant he was completely taken aback.

Sula stepped between them. 'Yes, Doctor Shaw. Baal, Tahni, myself and all
the other hatchlings here are dying-'

Baal pushed her aside. 'Sula, no!'

But Sula turned back, her third eye glowing for a brief second, and Baal
winced. 'No, Baal, I have had enough of our mother's pride and your
inability to have your own thoughts that aren't hers. I am as much in
trouble as you or the others. I choose to survive by trusting this Ape with
the information.'

'Yes, but what information?' asked Liz.

Sula told her everything.

Page 25


Auggi was addressing her new Council. Some of Chukk's major supporters had
been removed from power and were now sulking in their quarters or in the
Great Chapel. Auggi's supporters hung on her every word, however.

'Chukk is gone. With him, his soft ideas of how to deal with the Apes. I
say we eradicate them. Totally destroy them. And -'

An elderly Sea Devil Warrior limped into the chamber. 'Leader,' he hissed.
'Leader, I was on duty in the monitoring section, watching the screens when
-'

Auggi was livid at the intrusion. 'This had better be good, Naalix. I don't
like being interrupted.'

'A Cruiser has been stolen. Krugga was attacked again. He said it was the
Ape and -'

'The Doctor! I should have had him slaughtered.' She pointed towards the
doors. 'Naalix, find me Baal. I want him here, no arguments.'

Naalix limped out. Auggi smiled at her Council. 'At last,' she said. 'At
last I have the excuse that was needed. Prepare to eradicate that cruiser.
Blow it out of the water.'

'No, Mother, you cannot!' Baal was in the right-hand tunnel entrance,
Naalix hobbling behind him.

Auggi ignored him. 'Naalix, blast that cruiser out of the water. Every
long-range torpedo we have.'

'Yes, Leader.' Naalix vanished, and Baal hurried forward.

'The Doctor is not alone on that cruiser, Mother. Tahni is with him.' He
expected her to countermand her order. Stop the attack. Instead she just
smiled. 'My daughter, captured by the evil Ape, sacrificing her life so
that we may all live. How noble.'

Baal stepped back. 'She is your daughter, Auggi! My sister.'

Page 26


Auggi glared at him, and Baal saw something in his mother's eyes that he
had been too devoted to see previously, too blinded by admiration and the
need to keep his own secrets from her.

'I don't care.' Auggi smiled. 'Blast that cruiser to atoms.'

And Baal fmally realized what Chukk had always known. Why Chukk and the
Triad had refused her original application for leadership after his
father's failure to survive hibernation. Auggi wasn't just hungry for
power, driven by obsession. She was completely mad.

'Mike! Look!'

Carol Bell pointed into the night sky, trying not to shiver despite her
heavy parka anorak. Something had flown low overhead, momentarily blotting
out the moon.

They were huddled down by the old cottage on the top of the Smallmarshes
cliff-side, the one where the boy had vanished and the policewoman had been
driven mad. It was cold, slightly damp and she wished she were back at UNIT
HQ, running her efficient Communications Division, aided by Maisie Hawke
and Larry Parkinson. She was not made for late-night surveillance, no
matter how desperate the Brigadier was for extra troops. Mind you, the
overtime would be useful.

Mike Yates tried to keep track of the low-flying object, but it was so dark
that he could not see a thing. 'Wonder what that was.'

Bell gave in to her shiver. 'It wasn't animal, that I can tell you. The
ground trembled very slightly as it went over. And my ears needed to pop.'

Yates looked at her. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Why?'

Page 27


'You must have been directly below it. Maybe it landed on the beach.'

'What did?'

Mike put his finger to his lips. 'Don't ask too many questions. I only know
about it because I stumbled on some meeting the Brig had with Major General
Scobie a few weeks ago.'

'Can I ask just one question?'

Mike nodded. 'Make it one that requires a quick answer.'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'A stealth plane. Low-level reconnaissance. Possible armament as well. Got
nicked from Geneva about a month back. They blamed our Government for
leaking its existence. Scobie was asked to shift the blame onto us.'

Bell could imagine the Brigadier's response. 'I bet the old man was livid.'

Mike smiled. 'Well, he wasn't best pleased. Gave Scobie an earful that John
Benton and I could hear from the Mess.'

'So, who did nick it?'

Page 28


Mike shrugged and started down the cliff path. 'Whoever it was just landed
it down in that cove. Look.'

Bell peered over the cliff path's edge and saw a cove which, during a hot
summer day, was probably swarming with bathers believing they'd found
somewhere exclusive. It certainly had to be looked hard for. Sitting on the
sand, like a huge shadow, was a triangular-shaped aeroplane. A small one,
large enough for five or six crew only. Despite the bright moon and stars,
no light reflected off it at all. It was like a huge triangle of black had
been carved into the beach. They could not see how high or low it sat; it
simply did not possess any points of reference for gauging such things.

Bell pointed to the left, further in towards the cliffs. She could see
about six or seven black-clad guards, slightly more distinguishable than
the craft in which they'd arrived. She shot a questioning look at Yates,
but he shrugged.

'Never seen those uniforms before. The guns are standard UNIT issue
though.'

Bell nodded. 'Which means they're unique. Our SLRs have faster reload and
less recoil than regular issue.'

'I thought I'd noticed a difference.'

'That's nothing, Mike. C19 are working on developing a sub-machine-gun that
fires armour-piercing explosives like bullets. You lot should have them in
a few months.'

Mike Yates tapped his service revolver. 'I'm happy with this tonight. Less
cumbersome. Are you armed?'

'Of course.'

'Prepared to use it?'

'Of course.'

Page 29


'Ever used a gun out of the practice range at Guildford?'

'Of course not.' Bell smiled. 'But there's always the first time. There
aren't many telephonists that get to shoot up the bad guys.'

Mike touched her arm. 'You'll be all right. Don't take any risks. Whoever
these chaps are, they're not on our side, despite their armament. It's more
important that at least one of us gets to report back to the old man, as
you call him, than that we both be heroes. Is that understood, Corporal?'

Maisie Bell stared at him, then at her gun. 'Yes, Sergeant. Sir.'

Yates grinned. 'Okey-dokey, you watch them, I'm going down.' And he slipped
off into the darkness.

'She's firing on us!' Tahni was astonished. 'My own mother has launched
torpedoes at me!'

The Doctor was staring at the same read-out as Tahni. 'I thought this was a
battle cruiser. Can't you fire back?'

Tahni shook her head. 'No. This is a craft designed for short-range
manoeuvres. The missiles we carry are good, but not at that distance.'

The Doctor waved his hand over the console, bringing up a picture of the
torpedoes streaking towards their craft. 'Where are your short-range
missiles?'

Tahni pointed to a control on her side of the cruiser. The Doctor gently
eased her aside. 'Excuse me.' He sat at her console, and she sat at his.

'What are you doing, Ape?'

'Watch. And learn.' The torpedoes were almost upon them. The Doctor cast a
quick look at Marc, unconscious in the corner, then back at Tahni. 'Hold
very tight. This will hurt.'

Page 30


The expression of puzzlement was still on her face as the Doctor fired
their short-range missiles. He waved his hand over the button again, and
the cruiser bucked violently as the missiles exploded outside, neutralizing
the incoming torpedoes as well.

The Doctor held tightly to his seat, but Tahni was flung out of hers and
over the back, where she thudded to the floor next to Marc. She was on her
feet in seconds, however, as the Doctor wrestled with the controls.

'Clever, Ape.' She pushed him aside and sat in her seat, trying to calm the
cruiser. A massive explosion wrecked a rear console, showering the Doctor
and Marc in sparks. 'Outer hull breached,' Tahni hissed. 'We're going to be
taking on water in seconds.'

'How far to the beach?'

'A few more seconds and we'll be at the underwater tunnel I created. It's
airtight, but you might want to wear our clothing for warmth.'

'No time.' The Doctor pointed at the side of the cruiser where the console
had exploded. A dribble of water was seeping through, setting off more
minor bangs. 'Get away from those controls,' he yelled.

Tahni did not need to be told twice. She swivelled round and jumped towards
the Doctor as both the pilot's and navigator's consoles erupted, shattering
the view screens. 'We're moving blind,' she shrieked and an instant later
the cruiser crashed into something hard.

Page 31


'We'll have to swim for it,' the Doctor cried, grabbing Marc and throwing
him over his shoulder. He pointed at an emergency red switch. 'Is that for
the hatches?'

Tahni nodded. 'This will fill with water in seconds. You'll drown!'

The Doctor ignored her, hitting the hatch release. The catches on the hatch
opposite exploded but the door flew inwards rather than out, almost hitting
the Doctor and Marc. There was a small splash, and for a moment it seemed
as if they were safe. Then a massive inrush of water filled the cabin,
flushing the three bodies straight out.

The Doctor looked for the darkest patch above him, knowing that this
usually indicated the safest place to surface. A few seconds later he and
Marc broke the surface and the Doctor gasped for air. He turned his head.
The beach was close and, lying Marc on his back, the Doctor dragged him,
half-swimming, half-puffing towards the sand and pebbles. Just as they got
there, the water behind erupted in a fountain of froth. The cruiser had
exploded. 'Tahni?' called the Doctor. 'Tahni, where are you?'

'She's right here,' said a man's gruff voice.

The Doctor found himself staring down the muzzle of a high-velocity rifle.
He looked to his left and realized that sitting on the beach was one of the
Government's new, and highly secret, stealth aircraft. 'Interesting,' he
murmured. 'I didn't think that had made it beyond the drawing-board yet.'
Tahni was being held by four other men, a gun at her head. The Doctor
caught her look, and saw her third eye begin to flare. Hoping that Reptiles
could see better in the dark than humans, he mouthed a 'No' and was
relieved to see the red glow fade.

Another soldier was hauling Marc over his shoulder. The man who had
initially spoken waved his gun at the plane. 'Into the Blackbird, all of
you.'

The Doctor, the man carrying Marc and those with Tahni all boarded the
ramp. The leader looked around, then whistled.

Page 32


Page 33


The man who was obviously the group's look-out heard the whistle. He was
about to give one back when a large lump of rock caught him behind the ear.
He dropped like the proverbial stone, but before he even hit the ground, he
was yanked back into the darkness of a recess in the cliff.

Mike Yates unclipped the man's belt and used a knife to slice through his
boot laces. Mike had already shed his own top clothes and was trying not to
shiver as he unzipped the black coveralls. The whole procedure only took
thirty seconds, but it was long enough for the leader to whistle again.
Hurriedly, Mike zipped up the coverall on his own body and slipped on the
damaged boots, hoping no one would look too closely at the laces. Pushing
on the helmet and snapping down the visor to cover his face, he stumbled
out of the recess, almost crashing into the group's leader.

Mike mumbled an apology as indistinctly as he could. 'Yeah, well, we'll
discuss your look-out abilities back at the Vault,' said the leader,
pushing him towards the plane.

Forty-five seconds later, the plane executed a perfect vertical lift-off
and, watched by Corporal Bell, silently shot back into the sky and headed
northwards.

Auggi and Krugga watched the cruiser explode into millions of pieces as
their torpedoes hit.

'Excellent. The Apes cannot be warned by my treacherous daughter.' Auggi
pointed to Baal. 'And you had better return to your laboratory. I thought
you had the stomach for war, the love of it that you should have inherited
from your father.'

Page 34


Baal looked hard at her and Krugga and then stepped back to the right-hand
tunnel. But instead of heading down it, he waited, listening to his
mother's next order to her Council.

'The Apes are pathetic,' she was ranting. 'Chukk was wrong. The Triad are
wrong. It is our job to start a war with these usurpers. We will attack
now, while it is dark.' She raised her hands dramatically. 'Arm the battle
cruisers. Activate the Myrka. We'll attack now, destroy every Ape we see
and take over this land mass. Once that is ours, their world will soon
fall.'

Baal hurried back to his laboratory, then hesitated in the doorway,
watching Sula and the Liz-Ape using the computers. The Liz-Ape's arm was in
a sling, but she was clearly quite efficient at what she did.

Had he got it all wrong? Was his mother's fierce upbringing responsible for
blinding him to the truth? Sula and Liz were working together. To some
extent he and the Doctor were working together. Chukk and the Doctor had
certainly worked together.

Alarms rang throughout the Shelter. Young able-bodied Earth Reptiles of
every sort threw themselves into one, two or three-person cruisers and
headed for the mainland at maximum speed. Auggi and Krugga led the
attacking fleet from the main cruiser, which also housed the fearsome
Myrka.

Auggi watched as the coastline grew in the viewscreen.

'Within a few hours, this planet will be ours!'

The Scales of Injustice


The Scales of Injustice - Chapter Seven

Page 1


The Brigadier was sitting at his desk when Sergeant Benton looked around
the door. He was staring at a sheet of paper and Benton decided he looked
so lost in thought that he'd better go out again and knock.

'Don't bother, Sergeant, I saw you. Come in.' The Brigadier waved him into
a seat. Benton lowered himself down and looked across the desk. He had
begun working with the Brigadier shortly after the business with the Great
Intelligence in the London Underground. When the Brigadier had been
promoted and had set up the basic structure of UNIT, Benton had been a
private in the regular army. It had been Major-General Rutlidge, the
Brigadier's original liaison with the army, who had put John Benton's name
forward for the Brigadier's short-list of potential UNIT troops. Both he
and Jack Tracy had experience of undercover work, and that seemed to appeal
to Lethbridge-Stewart; enough for him to call both men in for a meeting,
outlining UNIT'S future role in the defence of Britain. And the world, as
it turned out. Both promoted to corporals, they had met Captain Turner and
Sergeant Walters, the Brigadier's immediate staff. Maisie Hawkes and Carol
Bell had been there from the start, too.

Benton thought briefly of those who had passed through UNIT's ranks. Jimmy
Munro, now back with the regular army. Stan Hawkins and Sergeant 'Big'
Hart, both victims of the Silurians. Countless squaddies, corporals and
technical bods. And at the heart of it all, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, a
man Benton not only respected and admired as his leader, but liked
enormously as a person. Benton would never be so gauche as to think of his
commanding officer as a friend, but there was a mutual respect between them
both that Benton enjoyed.

He was fiercely loyal to the Brigadier and knew that Lethbridge-Stewart was
equally loyal in return. After all, the old man had pushed hard to convince
Major-General Scobie, Billy Rutlidge's successor, to make Benton up to a
sergeant. Slowly, the team that the Brigadier had always wanted had been
formed. Apart from non-active corporals like Bell and Hawke, UNIT now had a
handful of rotating corporals - Tom Osgood, Jack Tracy and Steve Champion,
a couple of sergeants in himself and Mike Yates and even a major, Alex
Cosworth, on attachment for six months from the regular army. Cosworth,
however, was another non-active officer, brought in to help sort out the
administrative side. Benton thought he was OK, a bit of a university snob
who was pretty good at pushing pens, but likely to be useless in field
action. The Brigadier presumably agreed since Cosworth had yet to leave the
confines of the Admin block at the Guildford HQ.

Benton's reverie was halted as the Brigadier pushed the sheet of paper he
had been reading in Benton's general direction. Taking the hint, the
sergeant picked it up and glanced down it.

Page 2


It was a personal letter, from Beech and Co, solicitors, of Putney. It
detailed the claims of their client, one Fiona Lethbridge-Stewart,
regarding her filing for divorce upon the grounds of irreconcilable marital
breakdown.

Benton passed the letter back. 'I'm very sorry, sir.'

The Brigadier harrumphed. 'At least I get the car and rights to see Kate.
Very little else.'

'It's good that she's not contesting you seeing your daughter, though.'

'Hmmm. Only because she knows that I'm unlikely to be able to do so very
often.' The Brigadier tapped at a framed photograph on his desk with his
pen, knocking it onto its back.

Benton could see it showed all three LethbridgeStewarts gathered around a
Christmas tree. He guessed it must be two years old, because he knew the
Brigadier had been in Geneva all over last Christmas.

'Oh well, back to business. What can I do for you, Sergeant Benton?'

Benton stood up immediately to make his report. 'Corporal Bell has radioed
in, sir.' He produced a full transcript of her report and handed it over.

The Brigadier scanned it with professional speed and then grimaced. 'I hope
Yates doesn't do anything stupid.'

'No, sir. We don't want to lose our new captain, sir.'

The Brigadier looked up, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Benton cleared his throat. 'Talk amongst the lads, sir. Bets are on that
Mike gets his pips soon.'

'Really, Sergeant? And why do they think that?'

Page 3


Benton opened his mouth to give an answer, and then realized he did not
have one. 'Don't know, sir. Just idle chit-chat.'

The Brigadier stood up, straightening his uniform. He bent down, putting
the solicitors' letter into a drawer. 'You've been with me since the
beginning, John. Don't you think that you're in the running as well?'

Benton licked his lips. 'Permission to speak candidly, sir?'

'Of course.'

'It's not me, sir. I know that. You know that. Mike Yates knows that. He's
an officer, sir. Like you, it's in the blood. The lads respect him, admire
him if you like. So do I. Frankly, I couldn't give orders to someone like
him any more than I could to you, sir.' Benton knew he was flushing
slightly. 'Really, sir, I'd much prefer it if he was a captain. It would be
good for morale, provide a chain of command and help things run more
efficiently. Added to that, sir, I don't want that responsibility. I'm a
soldier, not a politician. Mike's a better juggler of high-ups than me. I
can deal with grunts on parade, but give me one of those bods from C19 or
the Ministry, and I'm out of my depth.'

'Good grief, Sergeant.' The Brigadier smiled. 'I don't think I've ever
heard you say so much.'

Benton could not help but smile back. 'Been practising this speech, sir.'

Page 4


The Brigadier nodded. 'I'll take your thoughts on board, Sergeant, if I get
the budget to fund a promotion.' Benton turned to go, but the Brigadier
continued: 'Oh, and Sergeant Benton?'

'Sir?'

'Thank you for being candid.'

'Sir.'

'Now,' and the Brigadier was all business again. 'This report of Bell's. If
it is the new C19 Blackbird she saw, she recommends getting Parkinson to
trace it. According to her, we have its transponder codes fed in.'

'Already taken care of, sir. I'll go and ask Parkinson if he's got a
destination yet.'

The Brigadier nodded. 'Thank you, Sergeant. Somehow I thought you might
have done that already. Report back to me when you have a location. Then
I've got a task for you.'

'Sir?'

The Brigadier pointed at the map of the south coast behind his desk, which
Corporal Hawkes had transferred from the communications room. 'I'm going to
take one squad to wherever the Blackbird is. I'll try and get the Doctor
and Sergeant Yates back safely. However, according to Bell, there was a
Silurian with the Doctor. That means that they are using Smallmarshes
regularly. I want your squad to rendezvous with Bell and keep an eye out
for the blighters. I don't care if you have to stay there for a night or a
week, but until I can speak to the Doctor again, we don't know what the
Silurians are planning. I want you there just in case they attack. We got
caught out last time; I don't want it to happen again.'

'Very good, sir. I'll check up on Parkinson.' Benton saluted and headed
back to the communications room, grateful that as a confirmed bachelor he
would never have to go through a divorce.

Page 5


The three-dimensional schematic hovered in front of her.

Using her pad, Liz could select and illuminate whichever section of the
Earth Reptile's physiology she required.

To her right hovered another hologram, this one a wire-frame of the same
figure, picked out in green. Every so often, Liz made a slight adjustment
to her readings and spoke a command into the pad. The schematic's internal
organs would dilate, shrink or move slightly at her command, then she would
place one hologram over the other and see if it required any adjustments to
the basic body shape.

She had been working one-handed at this for some time now, ninety per cent
of her concentration focused on the job at hand. The other ten per cent was
thinking about Jana, and the bizarre set of circumstances that had led her
here. Jana was clearly a trained assassin; her expert use of a C19-issue
pistol left no doubt of that. The fact that she had so casually shot dead
this Chukk person, and then taken a pot-shot at Liz herself, conclusively
proved that she possessed little in the way of a conscience. Sadly she was
dead, and the solution to the mystery of who had employed her would have to
wait for another day.

Sula moved into the laboratory as quietly as possible, but Liz was aware of
her. Something triggered some kind of warning in her mind, like the time
she had seen the Silurian - no, Earth Reptile - in the barn at Squires'
farm, or on top of L'Ithe when she and Jana had first arrived. She had
learnt to suppress that feeling, the primeval fear of the race. Not just
because it would be inappropriate, not to say awkward, if she got the
heebie-jeebies every time she saw Sula or Baal, but because it was
scientifically important to prove that those fears could be overcome. If
mankind and the Earth Reptiles were one day to live in peace (God willing,
let it be during her lifetime), then this race-memory thing was going to
have to be squashed or people taught to overcome it.

Page 6


Sula passed Liz a mug of liquid, taking the pad away and placing it on a
tray she held. 'Liz, you must drink this. It acts as a support to the
webbing we put on your wound. It backs up the antiseptic.'

Liz looked at the liquid. 'Lovely, but is it safe for mammals like me?'

Sula thought about this. 'I don't know. No mammals have ever been given any
to my knowledge. Then again, no mammals had been treated with the webbing
and that hasn't killed you.'

'I suppose not. Oh well, all in the name of science. Bottoms up!' And Liz
swallowed the contents of the mug in one go. 'If I could have done that
with a pint of Guinness,' she said, wiping her lips on her sleeve, 'I could
have won a flyer at the Christmas bash.'

Sula just stared at her, obviously not understanding a word of it.

'Never mind,' said Liz. 'Just ignore me. I'm rambling.'

Sula took the mug and looked inside it. 'You were supposed to sip it gently
over half an hour.'

Liz frowned. 'Oh well, I'm not dead.' She swapped the mug for the pad.
'Thanks.' Then she suddenly smiled at Sula. 'You and Baal seem to have
accepted me as more than just an ignorant Ape all of a sudden. Why?'

Sula's skin seemed to grow a fraction darker, but she did not reply.

'I'm sorry,' said Liz. 'I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just genuinely
wondered.'

Sula crossed to the particle disseminator, placed the tray on the floor and
activated a viewscreen. On it was pictured a small ape-like mammal. 'Your
ancestor,' she said simply.

Page 7


Liz stared at it. Living history. Real prehistory rather than a jumble of
artistic interpretations made up from fossils. 'My God, it's beautiful.'

'Really?'

Liz glanced at Sula and then back at the screen. 'Aesthetically, no. But
scientifically, yes. We could learn so much from you. For hundreds of years
we have wondered what the past was like. You were there. You can tell us.'
Liz excitedly pointed at the image on the screen. 'Hell, you can show us.
There are so many questions that could be answered if we all co-operated.'

'I don't know if the Triad would agree.'

'Sadly, those in power never do. I doubt many of our world leaders would
leap at the opportunity either. It's up to ordinary people like you or me
to show them how necessary co-operation is.'

'For so long my mother and others like her have taught us, almost bred into
us, a total loathing for Apes. You have over-run our world, destroyed so
much of its natural beauty. We were taught to destroy you.'

Liz nodded. 'But you see it now, don't you? You see how you and I are
working together, co-operating.' Liz pointed at the mug on the tray. 'You
say you didn't know if that would work on me. That it might kill me, even.
Well, that's the joy of what we're doing: learning together. From what I've
gathered from Baal's notes, you haven't been able to sort out your genetic
problems, so you kidnapped a human boy and experimented upon him, right?'

'Yes.' Sula look ashamed.

Page 8


'But it went wrong, and that's no one's fault. You don't understand our
physical make-up any more than I understand yours. Only through co-
operation will we get to an answer. The Doctor would have helped you.'

'But can you find the answer?' asked a male voice behind them. Both Liz and
Sula turned and watched as Baal walked across the room, his eyes looking at
the floor rather than them.

Sula was immediately concerned. 'Baal? What's happened?'

He sighed deeply and took her face in his hands. 'Our mother ordered the
cruiser containing Tahni and the Doctor to be destroyed.'

'Her own daughter?' Liz was appalled, not just for Tahni's sake, but the
Doctor's as well.

'My mother is, well, beyond reason. You must have heard the alarm chimes.
She has taken the fleet to attack the Apes.'

Sula looked shocked. 'But why? What will that achieve?'

Baal shook his head slowly. 'Remember, our father was an elite, a Sea Devil
Warrior. They bonded because she admired their ways. She sees extermination
of the Apes as the only way forward, even if accomplishing that costs her
own life.'

'Who has gone with her?' Liz asked quietly.

Baal shrugged. 'Her followers. Many of our people, more than half I
imagine. Few of our generation though - most of the hybrids know better. We
had planned our research to find a cure together.' He sat on a seat next to
the map screen. 'If we are the only ones to survive this Shelter, we need
to find a cure.'

Page 9


Liz knew she ought to find a way to warn the human authorities of the
impending attack. She also knew that, whatever their current doubts, Baal
and Sula would never consent to this betrayal of their people. If she
wanted their trust, she would have to earn it. 'Then let me help you,' she
said. 'I'm a scientist, my field is chemistry, and I'm a human doctor. No
one here is better qualified at least. What have you got to lose? You know
your biology, I know mine. Between us, we ought to be able to find a cure
for this problem.'

Baal and Sula stared at each other. Eventually, Sula touched his arm.

'Baal, our mother is wrong. What she has done to Tahni is unjustifiable.
What we did to that Ape hatchling was unjustifiable. None of those things
can be reversed, but we can go forward. Learn from our errors. Liz can help
us. Please, let us all be equals now or we'll never leave this Shelter for
fear of what we are and what will happen to us.'

Baal stared straight ahead. 'The Doctor asked me if I believed that what I
was trying to do justified the way in which I did it.'

'The ends never justifies the means. It's an established science principle.
One by which most respectable scientists live,' Liz said.

Baal looked her in the eye. 'Even if it means that ultimately you fail?
Even if it condemns you to death because you weren't prepared to take
risks?'

'Many of our scientists have argued that,' Liz said. 'It's a question of
individual morality. Whether you can live with yourself regardless of the
good or bad consequences. Science, Baal, isn't just a job, a vocation. It's
a commitment to other people rather than just yourself Other people can
live or die by your decisions, your successes or failures, more so than in
any other profession.'

Baal walked towards her, holding out both hands. Liz grasped them.
'Together,' he said. 'Please join us and help us find a cure for our
illness. Then, I promise, we will find a way to all live together on the
surface.'

Liz let his hands go, and watched as he and Sula began discussing
rearranging the laboratory. She was dimly aware of their conversations as
they worked out ways of adapting their machinery and ways of working to fit
in with her.

This is it, she thought. This is what it's all about. What UNIT, the Doctor
and the Brigadier are all about. My place isn't with the Doctor, running
around helping him repair his TARDIS. My place is working here for a while,
helping to mend these people and fostering some kind of relationship
between them and us.

Her eye was caught by a white light blinking on and off on one of the
panels. Like a star twinkling. She found herself smiling. OK Nanna, this is
it. I want to be here, I want to do this, I want to use my training, my
knowledge to help these people. And I'm going to.

Page 10


The Doctor was getting the guided tour. Along with the entire squad of
black-clad guards from the beach, he was being escorted through corridors
and laboratories, aircraft hangars and stadium-sized monitoring stations.
The Vault was almost a small town buried beneath the Cheviot Hills.

He presumed this was the full VIP treatment, although the place that the
pale young man who was showing him around clearly did not receive many
visitors. And the Doctor wondered how many of those who entered ever left
again.

'Frankly, Doctor,' his host was saying, 'without your contribution, I doubt
the Vault would be half as successful as it is. I mean, look. Here we have
Cyber-Guns, Nestene energy units, phials of the Silurian plague. You might
even recognize that over there. One of our first trophies.'

The Doctor looked in the direction to which the pale young man had pointed.
Inside a barred cage was the lower half of a cream-coloured Dalek, stained
with green and pitted with bullet holes. The Doctor was sure he'd never
seen a Dalek like that, least of all in the twentieth century.

'How fascinating. Now, I've enjoyed our guided tour. When do I get to see
how Marc is doing? And where have you taken Tahni?'

The pale young man ignored him. 'And then over here,' he said as he led the
Doctor through a steel door and into a room illuminated by a blue light,
'is our cryogenics section. There might be some people here you recognize.'
He smiled benignly. 'Let's take a look, shall we?' He punched some buttons
on the wall-mounted console. A partition slid back and then up on a hinge,
revealing what appeared to be a mortuary. Embedded in one wall were forty
drawers - each large enough to contain a body. 'Who's this?' said the pale
young man. At the press of another switch, a drawer slid silently out of
the wall; inside it was a glass coffin, frosted over. The pale young man
peered at the name plaque, then rubbed it with his sleeve. 'Oh, George
Ratcliffe. Right-wing leader of a post-war pro-segregation group. Know
him?'

Page 11


The Doctor just stared back. 'Is there any point to this?'

'How about this one?' Another frosted coffin slid out. 'Melvin Krimpton.
I'm sure you knew him.' He waved his arm at the remaining drawers. 'In
fact, I'd put a penny to a pound that you knew the vast majority of these
people, and were present - in whatever face you wore at the time - during
the circumstances that led to their deaths. Up there is one Stephen Weams,
over there is George Hibbert and right back here is Mark Gregory, a
scientist of my acquaintance. Did you ever meet him? I'm not sure, but does
it matter? The fact is, Doctor, that all these people died at the hands of
something beyond the purview of normal police or military jurisdiction.
Their bodies are kept here for research, to aid the future.' He paused,
then laughed. 'I wonder what his parents put in young Stephen Weams' grave?
What was faked up to keep even the families of those who died unaware of
the Great Intelligence's true evil?'

'Why?'

'Because, Doctor, all this needs to be collected, sifted and sorted. And
because with the technology here, this country can be powerful. Imagine if
we sent an army of Autons into Northern Ireland. Imagine if we'd helped the
Yanks in Vietnam using a War Machine or two. And if this Government doesn't
want to stain its lily-white hands, the next one will. Or the one after
that. And if the price is right, they can have whatever they want. And,
before you ask, it's all legitimate. I work for C19. I work for Sir John
Sudbury, your bridge partner. Not that he's aware of any of this, any more
than he was aware of what was going on at the Glasshouse. British
politicians and civil servants make excellent ostriches, burying their
heads and not seeing what they find distasteful.'

The Doctor stroked the back of his neck. 'Are you saying that Sudbury,
Scobie and even Lethbridge-Stewart knew about this place?'

Page 12


'Good grief no. No one knows, except those that work for me. And who are
they? Well, that's my secret, but rest assured, they have infiltrated every
walk of life. Politicians, actors, newspaper journalists, shopkeepers and
dustmen. People keeping an eye or an ear out, just to keep me happy.' The
pale young man replaced the last coffin.

The Doctor glanced around him. There were three doors from the cryogenic
chamber, including the one they had come through. There were two guards
holding him while the leader stood a little behind; all three were armed.
He had no way of knowing whether the pale young man carried a gun, but he
placed a silent bet with himself that he did. Never mind.

'Why did you want the Silurian girl?'

The pale young man smiled. 'She is a bonus. We were aware that someone here
was feeding information back to Whitehall, possibly to someone within C19
itself. That person contacted an investigative journalist famous in
Holland, who could work under cover here. She began using this stolen
information which enabled her to piece together what we already knew - that
L'Ithe contained something worth investigating. Deciding to let this
charade continue, we substituted the journalist with one of our own and,
along with your Miss Shaw, they found the Silurian base for us. I've always
wanted a Reptile; their genetic structure is so unique.' He leant back
against the wall, as if he and the Doctor were discussing an old movie
rather than a terrible plan to pervert human science. 'Imagine a breed of
super-soldiers, Doctor. Capable of withstanding the extremes of the
Antarctic and the Sahara. Able to breathe underwater and on land. The
Silurian evolution is far superior to ours. Now that my people have had a
chance to experiment on that poor boy you brought with you, I can see how
it might be achieved. An army of eugenic fighters, Doctor. We'd rule this
whole planet. Westminster would be the heart of the Western world, and
eventually the Eastern, too. What do you say?'

The Doctor looked straight at him. 'Just this. Hai!' He flicked both his
arms up and then back, catching his guards under their chins, and then
slamming his flattened hand against the backs of their necks. Both guards
skidded across the floor, dazed. The guard leader went for his rifle but a
high kick from the Doctor sent it spinning into the far corner. A second
kick took him in the solar plexus and left him rolling on the floor,
gasping for air.

Page 13


The pale young man shoved his hand inside his jacket but before he could
bring his gun up to bear, a rifle shot rang out, sending the gun spinning
across the floor. The pale young man grabbed at his stinging wrist and
looked down at one of the guards the Doctor had sent sprawling. He was up
on one knee, his rifle aimed squarely at his employer's chest. He tossed
his head back, and his helmet flew off.

'Sergeant Yates!' The Doctor hurried over to him. 'My dear Mike, I'm
terribly sorry to have hit you so hard.'

A little hoarsely, Yates muttered that it didn't hurt. He rose slowly,
still covering the pale young man with his rifle.

The guard captain also staggered to his feet, stumbling over to his boss,
followed by the third guard.

'You were infiltrated, Leader,' said the pale young man. 'Presumably at
Smallmarshes.'

'Correct.' Yates's voice was getting stronger now.

Suddenly the pale young man lashed out with his fist, striking the guard
leader's head.

Mike winced, expecting to see the guard fall back down, possibly losing a
couple of teeth. Instead, his head was torn from his shoulders with a
horrible ripping sound, sending blood and tissue everywhere. The head
bounced a couple of times, before coming to rest by the door. A second
later, the body hit the floor.

Without hesitation, Mike fired eight bullets into the pale young man's
chest, but again the expected failed to occur. The man just smiled, and
looked at his shredded suit, a line of smoking bullet holes dotting his
chest.

'Cybernetics. He's been augmented by Cyber-technology!' The Doctor pulled
Mike away. 'Run!'

Page 14


Yates didn't need telling twice, and followed the Doctor through the door
behind them. He turned briefly to put a bullet into the electronic keypad
on the other side. 'That'll either stop them, or make it easier for them. I
wonder which.'

The door didn't open, but a massive rip suddenly split it diagonally, and a
suited arm thrust its way through the breach, feeling for the keypad.

The Doctor frowned. 'There's your answer, Sergeant, but I don't think it's
going to keep them long. We ought to split up. Can you find us some
transport?'

'I can probably find the Blackbird again.'

'Excellent. Get it ready. I need to find Marc and Tahni and get them away.
Give me half an hour. If I'm not there, go and get Lethbridge-Stewart, Sir
John Sudbury, Scobie and the whole United Nations if necessary. This place
needs to be shut down.'

'Right-ho, Doctor. Good luck.' Mike slung his rifle over his shoulder and
ran to the left, down a corridor.

The Doctor wondered which way to go. As the door opposite was ripped
cleanly off its hinges, and hurled ten feet towards him, his decision was
made for him. He ran in the opposite direction.

The pale young man and the surviving guard stood framed in the doorway.
'Kill him! Shoot him down.'

Sergeant Benton and his armed party, now in frill uniform, were waiting on
the beach, watching the sea. Corporal Bell was there as well, as were a
couple of local police officers including Sergeant Bob Lines.

One of the soldiers, Private Millar was operating a powerful sonar. 'Still
approaching, sir. About eight craft plus something I can't identify. ETA
approximately three minutes.'

Benton turned to Lines. 'How is the evacuation going?'

Page 15


'Complete, Sergeant Benton. Just myself WPC Haggard and PC Attrill are left
here.' Lines turned to the WPC. 'Pat, any news from Hastings?'

'No, Sarge, but we've set up road blocks everywhere. Nothing larger than a
field mouse could get into Smallmarshes.'

'Good girl.'

Attrill walked over. 'Sarge?'

'Harry?'

'I know this seems strange, but the street lights are going out every so
often. Electricity at the station is going on and off.'

'Probably something to do with this lot,' said Private Farley. He was
pointing out to sea. Breaking the waves were a series of almost featureless
egg-shaped capsules.

Each had just two tiny indentations at the front which suggested that they
carried torpedoes of some sort.

'Right men, get prep-' Benton never finished. Breaking the water between
the capsules was a massive horse-shaped green creature, covered in scales.
Sharp fins ran down from its crested head to its long tail.

'It's a dinosaur,' muttered Private Johnson.

'It's bloody Nessie,' said Corporal Champion, priming his machine-gun. The
other soldiers followed suit.

Page 16


'You three, get back to the station,' said Benton to the police officers.
'Corporal Bell, go with them. Contact HQ if you can and request back-up.'

'Aye, sir.' Bell led the police officers away.

Farley was the first to open fire, seconds after the previously seamless
roofs of the capsules slid open, revealing three Silurians in each. He saw
their third eyes glowing red and Private Beaton, nearest to them, dropped
his rifle and fell dead. Farley's first burst took two Silurians full in
the face and they dropped lifelessly into the water, but the others
ploughed on relentlessly.

Benton did not hesitate. 'Fall back, near the cliff-side cottage,' he
yelled. Without waiting for further instructions, the soldiers retreated,
firing. Another Silurian died, but two of Benton's platoon were killed in
return.

Benton unclipped a grenade and Millar beside him did the same. Benton's aim
was off, and his grenade exploded harmlessly near the massive bulk of the
huge green sea creature. Millar's, however, landed right inside one of the
capsules and exploded immediately, sending two Silurians into the air,
their bodies alight. A chain reaction started, and two more capsules
exploded, presumably killing their occupants.

Benton and Millar scrambled up the cliff to the cottage, but neither could
see the other men.

'We can't be all that's left, sir,' Millar said, dropping his sonar
tracking pack.

'No, we're not. The others are with Farley over there. Look.'

Farley was on the higher ground further from the cliff

He waved frantically to them.

'What's going on?' Millar wondered.

Page 17


Benton turned and saw the sea creature behind them, just disappearing
around the back wall of the cottage.

'Stay quiet, Millar.'

Millar flattened himself against the wall, while Benton stepped slightly
forward. At that moment, the sea creature's head peered around the wall on
its long neck, and for a second Benton saw a spark of intelligence in its
eyes. It was sizing them up, he realized, working out where they had gone.

Benton turned back to Millar as the sea creature lifted a front flipper and
touched the corner of the cottage. A massive blue flash caused Benton to
cover his eyes and, as it faded, he saw Millar, still gripping the wall.
His eyes were gone, his skin blistered and puckered. Smoke emerged from his
empty eye sockets and mouth, before he pitched forward onto his face.

Benton fired his revolver pointlessly a couple of times before scrambling
up the hill above the cliff.

'I can't see a bloody thing through this smoke,' he muttered as Farley
helped him up the last few feet.

'We lost Beaton, Ashton and Mitchell, sir, as well as Millar. And I've not
seen either Corporal Champion or Private Salt.'

Benton watched as one of his men carefully picked off another Silurian.
'We're going to need to stop that creature before anything else runs into
it, Private. You get the flares, light some and see if you can guide
Champion and Salt towards us. I'm going to get the heavy artillery out.'

He dashed back to one of the UNIT Landrovers and hoisted a bazooka out of
the back. He flicked the catch, loaded it and put two more shells under his
arm. He then headed back towards the cliff-top in time to see Farley
lighting a flare and hurling it into the fog.

Page 18


The flare landed at the feet of the sea creature, and it backed off
slightly. Suddenly, emerging from the smoke, he could see Champion and Salt
running towards him. Champion saw the creature, but Salt was not so lucky,
running straight into its tail and then frying as thousands of volts
spasmed through his body.

Benton fired the bazooka, but it exploded harmlessly beside the creature.
As Farley hauled Champion up, Benton fired again. Farley too lobbed another
flare into the murk. Again, the creature ignored the blast, but moved away
from the flare. Benton suddenly dropped the bazooka and snatched the bag of
flares from Farley.

'How many?'

'Er, about twenty, sir.'

Benton placed the bazooka missile in the bag and then shoved a grenade in
as well, yanking out the pin. He drew back his arm and hurled the bag
towards the sea creature. It landed between its legs and then exploded,
setting off the biggest fireworks display Smallmarshes was ever likely to
see.

The blast wiped out a few Silurians, but it was not that which stopped the
sea creature. It was the sudden blinding flash of twenty flares all
detonating at once.

The UNIT troops covered their eyes in anticipation, but still saw the huge
white flash through their hands. The effect on those on the beach was
devastating. The few surviving Silurians dropped to their knees,
temporarily blinded. The sea creature itself gave a huge roar and then
collapsed dead, crushing a hapless Silurian who had staggered into its
path.

The UNIT troops began to move onto the beach to round up their prisoners.
Suddenly, Champion yelled a warning as a Silurian at least three times
bulkier than the others reared up before Benton.

For a moment, the sergeant hesitated, and Farley saved his life by emptying
a clip of bullets into its back. Despite its horrific injuries, the huge
Silurian still managed to turn, trying to use its third eye. For a second,
it looked as if it would succeed, but its injuries were too severe and it
fell, rolling away onto a clump of rocks, where it finally lay still,
staring up at the sky with sightless eyes.

Page 19


Page 20


Auggi watched her people being massacred on a view-screen within the safety
of her cruiser. Beside her lay two dead Earth Reptiles who had dared to
suggest that all three of them join the attack. No, she had decided, that
was Krugga's job.

Now she realized that Chukk had been right; the Apes were stronger than she
had thought. It was down to Baal now. To develop a better strain of the
virus and help her unleash it upon them.

She used the scanner to contact Baal in his laboratory. Seconds later his
face appeared on the screen.

'Mother! What are you doing?'

'The Apes have wiped out my fleet, my son. It is up to us now to destroy
them once and for all.'

Baal shook his head. 'No, Mother, you are wrong. We will aid the Apes, the
humans, and they will aid us. Observe.' He moved out of her line of sight
and Auggi saw Sula and the Doctor's Ape-woman friend working together, the
image of the hybrid wire frame hovering around them. 'You... you have told
her of our secret? Our shame?' Baal moved back into sight. 'No shame,
Mother. It is our birthright, and we must work together to cure it.'

'But the Apes have killed your friends.'

'No, they have been killed by you. You led them on a foolhardy mission.
This planet is no longer ours. We have to share it if we are to survive. We
are like a tiny voice in a crowd of millions. If we have nothing positive
to say, then we have no right to wake up the other Shelters.'

Auggi stared at her son. She stared at the two dead hybrids at her feet.
She then glanced at another screen, showing the Ape warriors sifting
through the carnage. 'I am betrayed on all sides,' she said, and cut the
transmission.

She programmed in a new course, away from both the coast and from her
Shelter. She would go to a place where no one would embarrass her further,
and where she could plan her revenge against the Apes in safety.

The battle cruiser sped away through the waves.

Page 21


Mike Yates threw himself through the door of Blackbird control, much to the
astonishment of the two people inside, a black-clad armed guard and a
white-coated young female technician.

The guard frowned. 'What's going on?'

'There's been a breakout. That Doctor from UNIT, he's causing trouble.'

The technician stared at the guard. 'See, Lawson, I told you the boss would
want to know.' She looked back at Yates, pointing at her radar screen.
'UNIT helicopters, about three of them, surrounding us. They know we're
here, somehow.'

Yates brought up his rifle. 'Probably homed in on me,' he said and clubbed
the guard into unconsciousness. He trained the rifle on the now terrified
technician. 'Where's the Blackbird?'

The technician pointed through a smoked-glass window, and Yates could just
make out a dark outline. 'Open the hangar doors. Now!'

The technician pressed a switch and Yates heard a clang as the double doors
directly above the Blackbird started to part. Sunlight streamed in.

The technician took advantage of his distraction, whipping out a sidearm,
but the movement caught Yates's eye just in time. He feinted to one side
and they fired simultaneously.

Yates fell back as the bullet ripped through his shoulder and out the other
side. Blood trickled from the wound but, miraculously, it seemed to have
missed any main arteries. His bullet found its mark, straight through the
technician's heart, and the white-coated woman died soundlessly.

Page 22


He looked back through the glass and could see one of the Brigadier's
helicopters coming through the gap, UNIT soldiers leaping out, armed and
ready.

He lifted the technician's chair, smashed it through the glass, and yelled,
'It's Greyhound Two. Don't fire!'

By now two of the helicopters had landed, one on each side of the
Blackbird. Yates saw Tom Osgood open the hatch of the Blackbird and dive
in, probably intending to disable it. Then he saw the even more welcome
sight of the Brigadier, pistol in hand. 'That's Yates up there. Someone go
and help him down here.'

Mike Yates let himself relax. The cavalry had arrived.

In his plush office the pale young man was shouting at Ciara and Cellian.

'Get him. Kill him. The Doctor must die, and I don't care who gets in your
way.

Everyone here is expendable.' Ciara and Cellian nodded and left him. After
they had gone, he stabbed at a button on his desk. A picture opposite slid
away, revealing a screen. Bailey's face appeared on it.

'Where are you, Bailey?'

'In the east labs. Why?'

'Problems. Clear everything out to the safety zone. I'll meet you there in
a couple of days.'

'All right, sir.'

'Oh, Bailey?'

'Sir?'

Page 23


'Make sure you take the Stalker. One day it's going to be used to get the
Doctor.'

'Yes, sir.' The screen faded.

The pale young man stared across the room at Sir Marmaduke Harrington-
Smythe's dead body. 'Fat lot of good you were. A real waste of time.'

He pressed another button on his desk. 'Sorry, boss.' He straightened his
tie, pushed his chair under his desk and opened the wall safe by Sir
Marmaduke's body. Inside were microfiches, microfilms and video cassettes.
Beside them were sheaves and sheaves of papers, all marked Confidential or
Top Secret: Eyes Only. Department of Science and Technology. Or Ministry of
Defence. All bore the C19 crest and motto: Quis Custodiet Ipsos Costodes -
'Who guards the guards themselves?' He picked them up and deposited them on
his desk.

'Yes, who indeed?' He returned to the safe and pocketed the microfiches and
films. He looked at the cassettes, then back at his watch. 'Ah well, I'll
try and find some copies in Sir John's offices one day,' he muttered and
threw them onto the desk.

With a last look around, he exited his office, checking the door was firmly
shut. He counted off another ten seconds and moved forward, allowing a
metal shutter to slam down behind him. Then he heard a muffled bang and a
roar from within the office as it was reduced to fine ash.

'Cobalt. Always said you couldn't better Cyber-technology.'

The Doctor had battled his way past more than a few guards by the time he
found the laboratory he was hunting for.

He pushed the doors open, knocking the surprised guard to one side.

'Hai!' The Doctor delivered a throat jab, and the man dropped unconscious.

Page 24


He stared ahead of him. The room was massive, like a football pitch, but
the high walls were covered in monitors, computer banks and switches for
every kind of machine. To the left was a bed, on which lay Marc Marshall.
Bending over him was a man in a white coat.

In the centre of the room was a chair, rather like a dentist's. Strapped
firmly into it was Tahni, struggling as best she could, her third eye
covered by a metal strap. A young, dark-haired woman, also in a white coat,
bent over her, fixing electrodes to the Earth Reptile's breasts.

On another bed on the opposite side of the room sat a young blonde woman,
scribbling frantically on the wall. She kept casting frightened looks back
at Tahni and drew as if her life depended on the completion of her master
work.

The female scientist looked up. 'The Doctor, I presume?' she said with a
distinct American accent.

The man also stopped and looked over. 'From UNIT?'

'Yes. Move away from those people, if you don't mind.' He aimed one of the
guns he'd stolen from a guard earlier.

The man complied, but the woman ignored the Doctor's threat. Instead she
looked back at the man. 'Get on with the boy, Peter, there's a good chap.
The Doctor has morals about using guns on us mere humans.'

The man called Peter ignored her, and instead undid the straps holding Marc
down. 'I'm Peter Morley, from Cambridge. I'm a xenobiologist and I'm being
forced to work here against my will.'

The woman looked up. 'God, Peter, you are a prat.' She took out a pistol
and aimed it at Tahni's head. 'Retreat, Doctor, or your lizard girl-friend
gets a fourth eye.' She smiled. 'Oh, I do love Raymond Chandler films.'

Page 25


She was still smiling when the far door burst open and a massive pulse of
energy blasted her literally in two.

Tahni instinctively flinched, and even the woman on the other bed dropped
her pencil.

Morley ran to the Doctor's side. 'It's the Irish Twins. Ciara and Cellian.
What are they doing here?'

The Doctor stared at the newcomers. They both held their right arms
outstretched, palms flat. The fingers had dropped away on a hinge,
revealing a stubby muzzle emerging from just under the thumb.

'We were one of the Vault's earliest experiments, Doctor,' said Ciara
calmly.

'You're not Autons, not in the truest sense, surely?'

'No, not at all,' said Ciara. 'We're humans, but the Vault replaced our
blood with the Nestene fluids from the tank at AutoPlastics. These little
additions' - she nodded towards her arm - 'were our commander's little
touch. The fluids provide the energy for the weaponry. Ingenious, don't you
think?'

'You were the forefront of his little hybrid army then,' the Doctor said.
'The ultimate killing machines. Humans with alien technology grafted on.'

'We were his main inspiration. With our armaments and that thing's genes,
he would have made an invincible army.'

Understandably angry at being referred to as 'that thing', Tahni began to
struggle. Ignoring her, the Irish Twins walked around her until they were
face to face with Morley and the Doctor.

'Resistance is useless,' said Cellian.

Page 26


Morley gaped. 'You can speak! You've never spoken before.'

'Never had anything worthwhile to say.' Cellian aimed his energy weapon at
the quaking scientist.

'Not much worthwhile now, either,' muttered the Doctor.

Unseen by the Nestene-adapted twins, Marc Marshall had dropped off his bed
and was pulling himself painfully across the floor, his progress hampered
by his painfully distended skin. He had reached Tahni, and was trying to
undo her restraints when the woman on the other bed began screeching, like
a terrified chimpanzee.

Cellian calmly swung around, blasting her apart with an energy bolt. Ciara
was about to do the same to Marc and Tahni when the door through which they
had come was blown off its hinges. Through the resulting gap rushed the
Brigadier followed by about thirty UNIT troops.

The Irish Twins threw glances at each other and then barged between the
Doctor and Morley, running out through the door by which the Doctor
entered.

Leaving the soldiers to follow them, the Doctor rushed to Marc and Tahm,
while Morley went to the woman on the bed.

The Brigadier stared down at the Silurian. 'Good to see you again, Doctor.'

'Brigadier, you must warn your men, those two they're chasing are
effectively Autons.'

'Right you are, Doctor.' He whipped out his walkie-talkie. 'Greyhound
Leader to all Traps. Male and female you are pursuing are highly dangerous.
Auton facsimiles. Approach with caution. Use explosives if necessary.' He
looked back at the Doctor. 'How are your patients?'

Page 27


Tahni stared back at him. 'I am fine thank you, furry Ape. But the
hatchling is dead.'

'The strain was too much for his young heart, I'm afraid.' The Doctor
closed Marc's staring eyes. 'He tried his best. Brave to the end.'

Tahni placed a clawed hand on the Doctor's shoulder. 'I am sorry, Doctor.
Baal will be too, I know. He has much to learn.'

Morley walked over. 'WPC Redworth is dead. Cellian didn't leave much of
her.'

The Doctor looked at the Brigadier. 'LethbridgeStewart, I think you need to
get old Scobie, Sir John Sudbury and your Prime Minister up to see the
abhorrence that is the Vault.'

'Yes, Doctor. A good idea.' He turned to go. 'By the way, where is Miss
Shaw?'

Three days later, Liz and the Doctor were going over some photographs in
their laboratory at UNIT HQ.

'That's Krugga,' said the Doctor. 'Poor chap. But what on Earth is that?'

Liz looked at the photo, which showed a massive sea creature. She touched
it with the hand that wasn't still in a sling. 'If I didn't know better,
I'd say it was the Loch Ness Monster, but I think it's a Myrka.'

Sergeant Benton placed a cup of cocoa on the bench for each of them. 'Yeah,
bloody great thing killed a few of the lads. We killed it with the flares.
Bright light just seemed to burn its brain out.'

'Do you have to be so graphic, Sergeant?' asked Liz.

Page 28


The Doctor touched Liz's hand. 'How are things on L'Ithe this morning?'

Liz sat on a stool, her good hand in her lap. She smiled tightly. 'Baal and
Tahni have taken control. We've returned Sergeant Benton's prisoners, under
the terms of the Geneva Convention, and everything seems calm. They've
asked me to work with them, to try and find a cure for their problems. I
said I would think about it.'

'Oh but Liz, you must,' said the Doctor. 'Think about what you could learn.
Think about the thrill of discovering a whole new science. Earth Reptile
science. A marvellous opportunity. Oh, Liz, we could do so much for them.'

'We?'

The Doctor coughed. 'Well, obviously, it would be your project.'

She laughed. 'Yes, of course it would be. For a couple of days.' She sighed
suddenly. 'I'll have to think about it.'

Before the Doctor could reply, the doors opened and the Brigadier walked
in, followed by Yates, his arm also in a sling.

'This lab looks more like a field hospital every day,' the Doctor said.
'What do you want, Brigadier. We are busy in here.'

'Yes, hot cocoa all around, is it? Well, just time to pass on some
reports.' He cleared his throat. 'Firstly, as you know, we've made official
contact with this Baal character and his associates. Diplomatic overtures
are being made and I gather Miss Shaw has been asked to be involved.'

Liz nodded. 'I think we need to discuss that later, Brigadier.'

'Fair enough. Sir John Sudbury has been up to that Vault place. It seems
that we hardly saw any of it when we were up there. Whatever was there, if
anything, has gone. However, your cryogenic bit has certainly been gutted.
We lost track of those semi-Auton types, and Sir John recognized his
secretarial aide from your description, Doctor, but has not had sight nor
sound of him since.'

Page 29


Liz snorted. 'Oh great, so the bad guys won.'

'Not exactly, my dear,' said the Doctor. 'They lost, but they do live to
fight another day. As, it would seem, does Auggi.' He tapped the photos.
'I've been looking for her here, but unless she's in little pieces -'

'Look who's being gory now,' murmured Benton.

'If I may continue, sergeant. She's either in pieces or escaped. I know
which I'd put my money on.'

The Brigadier sighed. 'Well, one bit of good news. C19 has taken over
direct running of the Glasshouse now, and will appoint an Executive
Director very soon. Handpicked by Sir John, so there shouldn't be any more
funny business from there at least. Going to a new, secret location, too.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Well, we can all rest easy in our beds then. I mean,
Sir John presumably hand-picked his secretarial aide, who ended up being
half cybernetic, creating hybrid Autons and goodness only knows what else
from our previous battle spoils.'

'Yes. Well.' The Brigadier looked at Mike Yates. 'Oh, yes, and say hello to
my new Number Two, Captain Mike Yates.'

'So, Sir John coughed up the cash then.' Benton smiled, shaking Mike's left
hand vigorously. 'Good on you, sir. Captain!'

Mike Yates grinned, especially when Liz kissed him. 'Congratulations,
Mike.'

'Absolutely, Mike. I'm delighted.' The Doctor also shook his hand. 'Now, if
you're all going to have a party, do it elsewhere. Miss Shaw and I have a
lot of work to do.' The Brigadier ushered Yates and Benton out.

'Oh, Alistair,' the Doctor said quietly.

'Doctor?'

'I am truly sorry about Fiona and Kate. I hope you find some amicable way
to get on with your respective lives without too much pain.'

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The Brigadier stared at the Doctor, trying not to let any emotion show.
'Well, one of those things, Doctor. Thank you anyway, I appreciate it.' He
left.

The Doctor stopped shuffling the photographs and stared into space. 'Poor
Alistair.'

Liz kissed him on the cheek. 'Sometimes, Doctor, you can be a good person.'

Regent's Park was serene, surprisingly empty of people considering the heat
wave, and those that were around tended to be sunbathing rather than
noisily playing football or rounders on the great expanses of greenery.

The Doctor and Liz Shaw had walked for quite some while now, discussing the
weather, the pros and cons of the zoo and whether the Park itself ought to
fall under the auspices of the rapacious Westminster Council or the more
liberal Camden.

The drive there in Bessie had been something of a nerve-wracking experience
for Liz; she couldn't bear the traffic in London at the best of times, and
it was far worse sitting next to the Doctor as he jumped red lights, cut
other drivers up and generally behaved in a way that Sir Robert Marks would
have had kittens about. They had narrowly missed scattering a group of
tourists gathered around Nelson's Column and had honked loudly at a couple
of young men in sheepskin jackets and Lautrec-style fedoras, one of whom
Liz was positive was David Hockney. The Doctor had yelled something about
how one day Trafalgar Square would be largely pedestrianized and therefore
he was making the most of it, but Liz was not too sure how serious he was.
Every so often, he would reveal a bit of foreknowledge, then wrap it in a
swaddling of exaggerations until you could not trust anything he had said.

They had sped up St Martin's Lane, across St Giles Circus and cut into
Tottenham Court Road. Liz had pointed out that this was hardly the most
direct route to the park, but the Doctor replied that he enjoyed having
company in Bessie and was making the most of it. Liz found herself
incapable of ruining his pleasure. And yet there had been something in the
way he had said that... a sadness? A resignation?

Page 31


Could he have guessed? No. No, he was not that sensitive to other people's
feelings, surely? And yet it might explain his eagerness to take her to
London in the first place. Why he let her choose the Park and arrange the
picnic.

And why he had even contributed a rather glorious bottle of Bulls Blood
from something called the TARDIS vineyard. Another exaggeration, of course.

Or was it? Having finished the picnic, they had set off on a walking tour
of Regent's Park, avoiding the Zoo, not just because of Liz's disapproval
of it, but because it reminded the Doctor too much of what he had just
witnessed in Northumberland.

Conversation inevitably turned to their lives, their pasts and, hopefully,
futures. As they talked, Liz began to see a warmth, a compassion emerge
from the Doctor's usual veneer of sarcasm and cynicism. She suddenly
realized how little she knew him.

For the last eight months, ever since that bizarre visit to the Cottage
Hospital in Essex where the Brigadier had seen an unfamiliar face on
someone who recognized him immediately, Liz had got to know the Doctor as a
colleague, trusted and respected, but that was all. She could not have put
her hand on her heart and said she actually liked the man. Time Lord.
Whatever. They just happened to work in the same room in the same building.
But now, as they wandered through London's most regal park, and he pointed
at flowers, trees, shrubs and woodland animals, noting each one's name and
history with a frightening encyclopaedic knowledge and enthusiasm, Liz
realized she felt a real regret.

'I wish we had been friends. Real friends. The sort of people who, oh I
don't now, had dinner. Played Scrabble. Went to the pictures.' Liz had
stopped, thinking the Doctor would think her foolish.

'Had been?' he had said after a few seconds. 'I take it that I've guessed
correctly. You're going?'

Until then, Liz had not honestly been sure. Her logical side said she had
to get away from UNIT before it stifled her, both mentally and in terms of
motivation for her work. Yet, as he said those few words, Liz was overcome
with a feeling of nostalgia. Of wanting to see those other worlds, other
places he spoke of so often. She wanted to shake hands with an Alpha
Centaurian table-tennis player. To play hide and seek with a Refusian, or
say hello to a Delphon with her eyebrows (and she had even caught herself
practising in the mirror one morning).

Page 32


'Yes,' she heard herself say. Then, more strongly, 'Yes, I am.' Why did she
want to cry suddenly? Why was she upset? He infuriated her, made her own
hard-fought and hard-earned knowledge seem so inadequate. There were times
she wanted to shove his teeth down his throat, wrap a Bunsen burner lead
round his neck or just take Mike Yates's service revolver and put a bullet
through his alien temple. But as she looked into his blue eyes, with their
unique mixture of childish enthusiasm and centuries-old wisdom, she knew
her own eyes were welling up. 'I'm really sorry, Doctor, but I have to...'

'Why?'

'Because... because. Just because.' She was aware her voice was rising.
'Because of you. Of me. Of the Brigadier. Of everything. A teenaged male
has just died at the hands of the people who have been paying my salary for
nearly a year.'

'Oh. Is that all?'

Liz froze. That was it. That was the excuse. He had lit the fuse, touched
the red button, blown out the. . . well, whatever, he'd gone too far. Liz
did not keep down either the volume or the bitterness.

'All? Is that all? You heartless bastard, Doctor. He was a kid. Just a kid
and that... that creep at C19 was responsible for his death. And all you
can say is is that all?'

She was sobbing now, her yells emerging as a hoarse whisper rather than the
outraged screeches she heard in her head.

'At last. At last, I'm seeing the real Elizabeth Shaw. It's taken until
now, but she's there.'

Liz slowed her breathing, holding back her tears. 'What, what do you mean?'

The Doctor took her shoulders, ignoring her attempts to shake him off.
Eventually she gave in.

Page 33


And he smiled. The most radiant - no, beautiful -smile she had ever seen
him wear. 'You, Liz. Not the detached scientist. Not the calm, collected
and efficient UNIT Doctor Shaw. You referred to Marc as a teenaged male.
You talked in professional terms. Upset you may have been, but you were
still holding back. Then you finally called him a kid. You even swore. I've
not heard that before.' He sank down to the grass, gently pulling her with
him, and she sat, cross-legged, opposite him. He began plucking odd blades
of grass, as if embarrassed.

And if he wasn't, she certainly was.

'I realized not that long ago that I didn't know very much about you, Liz.
As you say, it's been all work and no play. That's my fault. And if you're
going back to Cambridge, then the opportunities to mend that breach are
going to be few and far between. But for what it is worth, I value you.
Your judgements, your ideas and your ethics. You've been my calm in a
storm. My white when I've been black. I don't think either of us realized
how much I've relied on you over the last eight months. Eight months, two
weeks and four days to be exact.' He held out his hand. In it was a
necklace made of grass, intricately interwoven. Sturdy but fragile-looking.
'What will you do?'

Liz swallowed as she gently took the proffered necklace. 'I'm going to
spend some time with Jeff Johnson. He's got a place in Cambridge, somewhere
to stop over until I find my own place. I've been asked to return to my old
college, to restart some of the projects I abandoned when the Brigadier
hijacked me.' She shrugged. 'I'm going to apply for a grant to research
genetic disorders. I have agreed to help Baal and Sula find a way to cure
their condition and extend their life-spans. And even if I can't help them
directly, we know there are more Shelters out there. More Silurians, Earth
Reptiles, whatever, who need help adjusting to our climate. Our pollution.
Our diseases. And I feel that what we learnt from Marc Marshall, from what
happened to him, could be invaluable in helping our own children with
polio, cancer, leprosy, whatever.' She looked the Doctor straight in the
eye, and his smile broadened. 'I suppose what I'm saying is that I'm going
home. To do something. To achieve what I can't achieve as your assistant.
You don't need me to pass you test tubes, and tell you how brilliant you
are.' She smiled back. 'We both know that already.'

He nodded. 'Do you want a lift back to your flat?'

Page 34


Liz looked around her. People were still sunbathing. A few were walking. A
couple of children ran by and one careered into her, fell on its face and
began to cry. She stood up, picked the little girl up and smiled as she
passed her back to her distraught mother.

'Heaven help us, maybe I'll get married and have children.' She looked down
at the Doctor, who had remained seated, but he didn't catch her eye. He was
watching a caterpillar crawl over the back of his hand,' twisting his wrist
slowly so it always had more ground to cover. 'No, thanks, Doctor. I'll
take the Tube.'

'Goodbye, Liz,' he said, still not looking at her.

She was going to cry again. Real tears now, not rage, frustration or anger.
Not tears of bitterness. Something far better. Far more important.
'Goodbye, Doctor. Will... will I see you tomorrow if I come by to get my
things?'

The Doctor was still staring at his caterpillar. 'No,' he said quietly.
'I'll explain to the Brigadier later today.'

'I'm off to help sort out the Cheviots with our newly promoted Captain
Yates.'

Liz pulled her handbag tightly over her shoulder and shrugged. 'Well, then
I. . . well...'

'Goodbye, Liz.' The Doctor finally looked up. 'We will meet again, I
promise you.'

'We'll catch that film, eh?' she said brightly. The Doctor returned to the
caterpillar. 'Who knows?'

With a last look at the top of his head, Liz straightened up and walked
away, towards Regent's Park underground station.

The sun was shining brighter than she could ever remember as she approached
the road. She allowed herself one final look back, one final image to be
placed in her gallery of memories.

The Doctor, lying outstretched, his hand moving as he continued to play
with his caterpillar.

'God bless you, Doctor. I'm really going to miss you.'

And she crossed the road, determinedly walking towards her future.

