Doctor Who_ Return of the Living Dad - Kate Orman [59]
She arrived at the crop circle to see him standing in the middle, gazing up into the burning, green-tinged light.
Benny fell to her knees in the chaff and mud. There was a flash of light above her, and suddenly darkness so thick that for a moment she thought she’d gone blind.
When she could see again, the Doctor had vanished.
‘Oh, bugger,’ she said.
PART THREE
THE PLOTS THICKEN
My means are sane, my motive and my object mad.
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
In Joel’s dream
It’s always night-time, for some reason.
In Little Caldwell, the single road is dimly lit by a couple of old streetlamps, by the pale yellow glow from the Pyramid.
This being a dream, he can see Newbury as well. The narrow streets are crammed with cars and people, pushing through the cold and wet. But inside the houses, it’s warm in front of the Street.
As far away as Calais, people turn away, blinded.
In ten seconds, the fireball has already eaten Newbury and Thatcham. The peace camp and Little Caldwell are puffs of gas, exploding into the sky.
The winds and the flame howl outwards, hurling trees into the air, smashing cottages into the soil, gouging a burnt hole where Berkshire used to be.
In Basingstoke, buildings catch alight as cars tumble across the ground.
In Reading and Hungerford, people’s skin burns off where they stand.
In London, a boy switches on the radio. Static. He twiddles the dial. Static. Where are the radio stations? Static.
What’s happened? Static. What’s happened to the world?
He draws a breath.
As far away as Paris, people turn away, blinded.
21 Albinex...
... looked at himself in the mirror.
He’d turned the illumination in Suite 6 way down, but there was a striplight at the bottom of the mirror. It shone up into his face, doing strange things to the lines and curves.
Albinex turned his head from side to side. The face was familiar now, after all these years. He knew fourteen different smiles and six different frowns, as well as perhaps a dozen sundry expressions. Not that he used them much.
It was the opposite of the way the Admiral used his face, he reflected. Isaac was careful never to let anything show unintentionally.
He turned on the overpadded seat. The Doctor appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
You didn’t get a choice of faces, of course. That was randomly selected for you. So it was a little like having a real human face.
His was in its twenties, with pale skin and a few light freckles, dark eyes and dark eyebrows and a small mouth with a tendency to pout.
His face never changed, of course, so he was careful to keep it in fashion. This year he’d dyed his hair, but let the dark roots grow out under the blond. It was swept up away from his face and gelled in position.
Albinex glanced at his wristwatch. It had been four hours.
He wondered whether the Time Lord might be faking it. Oh well, he’d get bored eventually.
He’d had the servitors go over the room, even though it had been sealed for years. The tiny robots had gathered up the few specks of dust and had freshened the musty air.
They’d had a go at the bloodstain on the carpet, but it was a bit late for that.
The Doctor was lying on the double bed. He’d stopped snoring when he’d rolled onto his side, shrugging his injured shoulder irritably. Albinex’s simulated heart had beaten faster when he’d thought the little man was about to wake up. But that had been an hour ago.
‘You haven’t had a lot of practice at this, have you?’
Albinex sat up, absolutely rigid, to keep himself from falling off the chair.
The Doctor was watching him from the bed, head resting on his arms. He hadn’t changed position, he’d just opened his eyes. There was something slightly amused in them, and something slightly bored.
‘How do you feel?’ asked Albinex, automatically.
The Doctor sat up and stretched, taking no notice of the weapon his captor was holding. ‘Well rested,’ he said. ‘Lights up.’
Nothing happened. Albinex said, ‘The ship’s computer is keyed to my voice.’
The Doctor nodded, rotating his shoulder a few times. He yawned, hugely.