Doctor Who_ Empire of Death - BBC Worldwide [38]
`Did it feel real to you?'
'Yes, but... My heart tells me I was hugging my father, but my head tells me that cannot be. My father is dead, yet he was alive again in this room. How is that possible?'
`The universe is a strange and wonderful place, Nyssa.
Even I don't understand or know everything about it and I have been alive for hundreds of years. If I could live for a millennia of millennia, I still doubt I would have seen or known all there is to know'
Ì don't care about all of that,' I admitted. 'I need to know whether that was my father.'
`Yes, it was - as far as all our perceptions could see.' The Doctor looked regretfully at the shattered equipment strewn about the floor of the bedchamber. 'Alas, all the monitors had already been overloaded before Tremas appeared, so our own perceptions are all we have to go on for now.' He fingered the celery on his coat's lapel. `Victoria is expecting my report on James's abilities by noon. That gives us less than twelve hours to extract what data we can from these instruments and deduce what just happened. I have my suspicions but I would like to have evidence.'
Once we had tidied the room, the Doctor set to work examining his shattered instruments while I wrote this account into my journal. A good observer should always note what they have seen while the experience is still fresh in their mind - at least, that's what my father used to tell me. It seems strange but I feel closer to him now than I ever did when he was alive. Perhaps I appreciate him more. Whatever the case, I will give the Doctor until dawn to Finish his investigations, then I have a few questions he must answer.
Chapter Three
February 16, 1863
Dawn brought an unhappy awakening for Johnson. The private was nudged into consciousness by the gleaming left boot of Sergeant Vollmer. The glowering veteran suggested Johnson and Hawthorne report to him fully dressed and ready for duty within five minutes or else suffer the consequences. If you think I am joking, Johnson, ask your fellow private about my sense of humour.' The sergeant departed the tent and Hawthorne walked in, yawning after spending all night on patrol.
The weary soldier said Vollmer didn't have a sense of humour. Leastways, not so as I've ever noticed. He's a stickler for just about everything and everything in its place.
But as far as he's concerned, having a laugh isn't part of army life'
`Charming,' Johnson said bleakly.
Ì don't see what you're complaining about, you're the one who got us into Vollmer's bad books, running off down the hill like that. What were you playing at?'
‘I... I thought I saw my brothers. Just imagined it, I guess -
unless they were ghosts. But what would they be doing here?'
Òurs is not to reason why, young Nicholas, ours is just to do or die,' Hawthorne said. 'Or in my case, to avoid doing or dying as much as humanly possible. Now come on - the sergeant will have our arses boiled for breakfast if we're late.'
He pushed Johnson out of the tent into the chill morning air, a few weak beams of sunshine breaking through gaps in the trees. Winter had robbed much of the surrounding forest of its leaves, just barren branches reaching outwards like spindly fingers. Hawthorne followed the younger private outside, the sharp cold catching at his throat and making him cough.
'Crikey, it's perishing out here!'
`Johnson! Hawthorne! Where are you two good-for-nothings?' Vollmer bellowed from the far edge of the encampment. The pair grabbed their rifles and set off towards the sergeant's voice, slinging the weapons over their shoulders as they walked. The privates found Vollmer standing on a small plateau overlooking the camp, talking with Lieutenant Ashe. 'These are the two men, sir,' the sergeant explained. 'Handpicked for the job'
`Very good, Vollmer,' Ashe replied, smiling benignly as he returned a salute from the new arrivals. 'Now men, I received a message this morning, sent via the good offices of the Walker brothers at New Lanark. Apparently two crates of equipment to aid us