Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [112]
The Doctor’s hand tapped once at the console and the crystalline column at the centre began rising and falling.
Once he was sure they were in flight, he turned to Benny.
‘I’m sorry.’
Benny stood impassively. The Doctor looked down sadly, and shuffled out of the control room.
When he was gone, she smiled. ‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’
Roz glanced nervously between Chris and the console.
‘Where are we headed?’
‘Don’t worry, the TARDIS won’t crash into anything. It’s quite capable of flying itself,’ Chris assured her.
‘That’s not what I asked.’ She shooed Wolsey away from her Harrods bag.
Chris scanned the readout. ‘Canterbury. Twentyfirst-century time zone.’
‘They will have central heating there, though, won’t they?’ Roz asked Benny hopefully.
The archaeologist yawned. ‘Central heating, electric blankets and global warming,’ she assured Roz. ‘I’m off to my room to write up my diary. It looks like we could all catch up on our sleep. Especially you, Captain Forrester.’ She giggled as she left.
‘What did she mean by that? Was there an air-raid last night that kept you awake?’ Chris asked curiously. Roz just scowled.
* * *
The Doctor sat alone in the centre of the Infinity Chamber, remembering. Above him holographic stars twinkled far away in a fake night sky.
In another time and another place, the Doctor sipped at his lemonade. He was sitting outside, on the balcony of the Grand Imperial Hotel, watching the moon and stars. It was cool, now. Earlier, Mel and Emil had been the centre of attention on the dance floor, dancing a mean tango. They were sitting in a darkened corner of the ballroom now, and the Doctor knew enough about human nature to give them some privacy.
Was Mel leaving him so soon? She wouldn’t stay with him forever, the Doctor knew that. Then, the last link with his past self would be severed and he would have to make the first move in a new game. There was so much to do, so much unfinished business. Wolves and ravens were gathering at the fringe of the battlefield. Long-forgotten forces from the ancient past and the distant future had returned, and he could feel their eyes watching him.
The Doctor angled his straw and sucked up the last dregs of his lemonade.
There was a distinctive scream from inside the hotel, and Mel came running onto the balcony, hoisting up her skirt so that she could run all the faster. The Doctor was already standing. ‘Mel, what’s the matter?’
‘Doctor, Emil’s a German.’
The Doctor furrowed his brow, baffled. ‘Well, yes.’
‘It’s 1936. We’ll be at war soon!’ she reminded him.
‘We? I’m not human, let alone English, and you won’t even be born for another thirty years.’
‘Twenty-eight. That’s not the point. My grandfather died in the war.’
‘Hartung didn’t kill him.’
‘But he’s a Nazi, he just told me. He’s a Party member.’
‘Most Germans were in the ‘thirties. Your ancestors supported slavery, workhouses, fox-hunting and burning witches at the stake. Most of them were nice people. Emil’s a nice person.’
Mel shot him an accusing look. ‘I’ve got to get out of here.’
The Doctor smiled thinly. ‘I know.’
The rocket arced over the forest high into the clear blue sky.
It was Christmas Eve 1942. Generalmajor Oskar Steinmann watched the vapour trail rend the sky in half.
The future was unfolding around him. He’d memorized the chapter in Summerfield’s book, watched each one of its predictions come true in turn. His warnings had gone unheeded, his actions had made no effect. 24/12/42 — The first test of the ‘flying bomb’ at Peenemünde.
It had all changed in the last eighteen months. The attack on Russia had started only a couple of months after the destruction of the Hartung Project. Britain was undefeated, and Germany suddenly found itself fighting wars on two fronts, just as it had in the Great War. At first it had seemed to make sense — there were untold resources in Russia: land, slaves, oil, grain, metals. On the first day of the attack, the