Doctor Who_ Illegal Alien - Mike Tucker [52]
Booming and flashing, way off to her left; the docks were copping it tonight...
Her eyes drank in the familiar city. Her city. The city that had dumped on her and those she cared about for as long as she could remember. She thought of the posh kids, the pigs, the bloody skins. Her city, but dying. Being cleansed. The thought of chattering government ministers, the law, the schools. What could they say to this? Did they think this could be contained? Authority had broken down there.
Anarchy was at the reins.
And she loved it.
She wished her friends could be there to see it. Midge, Shreela, Manisha.
Manisha.
Burnt out by Nazis.
A man was shouting at her shoulder.
'You can't stay here.'
'No,' she said quietly. 'Which way is Belsize Park?'
'Straight down,' the man yelled.
She turned so that the lovely, lethal fireballet was at her back and trotted away down the path and into trees.
She had little difficulty finding George Limb's house. The heath path became a road, wandering south through Hampstead Village, until she was sure the darkened streets were looking more familiar to her.
She swung into one of the elegant, unlit Regency avenues. She was close now Two streets down a turning off to the leftthere, halfway down the street. One house with a dim light burning in the front windows. So frail against the canopy of darkness, but warm, inviting.
She banged on the front door for several minutes before it gently opened.
'My word,' the old man exclaimed. 'What are you doing out on a night like this? Come in, come in.'
'I saw your light,' Ace said.
'I know.' He ushered her into the small back parlour. In the grate a fire cracked and spat. 'It's against regulations, but it's such a small light. We should all keep a light burning in our windows, for the lost traveller.' He sat her down. 'My dear, you look exhausted. Let me get you something to eat.'
She was too exhausted to argue. She allowed herself to doze while the old man pampered her, bringing her blankets, rolling a leather pouffe under her feet, serving her hot, weak tea and the warmedup leftovers of his evening meal.
'Curry,' Ace remarked, surprised.
'Oh, yes,' George Limb had enthused. 'I love the cuisine of the. Indian subcontinent. I only wish more of my countrymen had discovered its many delights. They will, I am sure. Given time...'
He had that faraway look in his eyes again.
'But, my dear, you must tell me...' He was suddenly lively again. 'You must tell me what brings you here. What adventures you have had tonight...'
Between breathless hot mouthfuls Ace let the last few days spill out of her. She was still starving. The soup she had eaten on the street had barely scratched at her hunger. She told of her breaking into the Peddler factory with McBride, about the Cybermen and her stowing away in their lorry, about the pumping station and the caretaker, about her escape through the sewers, about the attack on Mama's Bar.
'I'm afraid Sharkey's dead,' she said. 'He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?' George Limb was silent for a moment. He blinked his sad, slow blink. 'Poor Sharkey,' he said. 'He never could look after himself properly.' He reached for the teapot.
'This calls for another cup of tea. These... Cybermen sound most formidable.'
'Yes...' Ace hesitated. Had she said too much? How could she, in London in 1940, possibly know about alien races and other planets? Anomalies. The Doctor was always warning her. It was dangerous to give information about the future, however vague, to even the most wellintentioned of people. Even a hint could change history.
She decided to concentrate on the matter in hand.
'George, we've got to do something! I've got to find the Doctor?
'The only thing that you must