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By Root 327 0

at the edge of a field, hands behind his back, certain that a few drops of dew had found their way to his moustache and frozen there. He wanted to check, but the presence of his assistant, Sergeant Ramsey, stopped him. Even in retirement, he believed it was important to maintain standards in front of the men. Wouldn’t do to be rubbing his face; set a bad example. He straightened a bit more and examined the field with what he hoped was a knowing expression. Actually, he couldn’t see much of anything except some wheat stubble and a man and woman wandering around and occasionally stooping. The man had a camera; the woman was taking notes.

‘Not our usual line, is it, sir?’ said Ramsey. ‘Hoaxes and all that.’ His tone was curious rather than dismissive.

‘Something odd about this one, they tell me. That’s why they sent me out.’

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ramsey smile slightly. Lethbridge-Stewart was aware of his reputation. It was natural, people said, for UNIT to retain the Brigadier in an on-call/emeritus position; in his day he’d investigated so many of the ‘odd ones’ that in some circles it had been whispered that the old boy was a bit – well, the polite word was ‘susceptible’. This pained Lethbridge-Stewart, who was responsible, intelligent and, as he would be the first to boast, almost entirely without imagination.

Light was beginning to seep into the grey morning. The woman waved at them to come over.

‘Why did they start work in the dark, sir?’ Ramsey asked as they crossed the field, the thin frost vanishing beneath their steps.

‘Said parts of it would vanish when the sun comes up.’

‘Vanish? That’s hardly the usual thing.’

‘As I said, this one’s odd. The woman, by the way, is Jessica Tilbrook, from the local farm bureau. The man is Adrian Molecross and he really shouldn’t be here.’

‘Why not, sir?’

‘Because he’s a fool.’

Chapter Three

25

The woman came forward to shake hands. She had short grey hair and a pink-cheeked, good-natured face. Molecross, plumpish and bearded, sported an incongruous safari hat.

Lethbridge-Stewart looked around. As far as he could see, they were standing in the centre of the usual sort of crop circle, although it was odd to find one among stubble rather than mature wheat.

‘Look here,’ said Tilbrook. Lethbridge-Stewart bent to examine what she was pointing at.

‘Ice,’ he said in surprise. He crouched and put his hand on it. ‘Thick, too.’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Molecross solemnly. He held out a hand to Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘I’m from Molecross’s Miscellany magazine.’

‘Yes,’ said Lethbridge-Stewart, ignoring the hand. He stood up and walked around the site. ‘It seems to be everywhere.’

Tilbrook nodded. ‘The whole pattern is laid over with ice about an inch thick.’ She handed Lethbridge-Stewart some desiccated material. ‘And this is what was underneath.’

The Brigadier realised that he was looking at brittle, shattered wheat stubble.

‘Ice couldn’t do this. Only a temperature well below zero could cause this sort of damage.’

‘Interesting, isn’t it? I must say, it makes a nice change from teaching people how to hack up thistles. They go organic, and then the first time they have to use a hoe instead of poison they fall apart.’

Lethbridge-Stewart handed the stubble to Ramsey, who crumbled a bit of it in his fingers. ‘It almost looks burned.’

‘In the sense that intense cold is said to burn, it is,’ she said. ‘The whole pattern was “burned” into the field.’

‘This opens up a huge area of possibilities,’ said Molecross. ‘It’s a totally new method of communication.’

‘I assure you,’ said Lethbridge-Stewart, ‘aliens do not communicate by means of crop circles. Especially as there are no aliens,’ he added quickly.

‘Why not? Why exactly not? The circles and spirals follow mathematical rules that are universal, at least in this galaxy. It’s a common language between us.’

‘That’s the other anomaly,’ said Tilbrook. ‘This isn’t a circle.’

‘No?’ Lethbridge-Stewart surveyed the surrounding area. The pattern was too big for him to get a sense of its shape.

‘No,