Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [12]
‘Yes. It was originally about two inches thick.’
‘Mm. Hasn’t gone down much. Not under this sun.’
Lethbridge-Stewart nodded. The pale winter light held no heat.
‘And the depth of the track itself has been measured?’
‘Yes. It’s consistent, oddly consistent in fact, except –’
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The Algebra of Ice
‘Except where the lines break off.’
They were standing at one of these dead ends now, where the earth was violently gouged. The gash was over a metre deep.
‘Might almost have been done with a gigantic claw,’ Lethbridge-Stewart observed.
‘Nothing organic made this,’ said the Doctor grimly. He rifled through the photographs again.
‘The haphazardness of the patterns is confusing.’
‘Not at all.’ The Doctor handed him the pictures. ‘Look closely. None of the shapes is completed. Almost there but not quite. As if someone tried several times and didn’t get it right.’
There was a long pause. Then the Brigadier said slowly, ‘You mean that. . . ’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Something was trying to come through.’
‘Hello!’ called a voice.
The two men turned to see a stocky figure running toward them. ‘Damn,’
said Lethbridge-Stewart.
‘Who is it?’
‘A journalist. More or less. Writes for one of those nonsense web magazines.
Complete idiot.’
‘Hm.’ The Doctor tapped the handle of his umbrella against his chin, watching the man approach.
‘Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart,’ Molecross panted as he came up. ‘Just the man I wanted to see.’ He nodded at the Doctor, who smiled and raised his hat.
Lethbridge-Stewart did not make introductions.
‘I’m busy at present, Molecross.’
‘More investigating, I see. What have you found out?’
‘Nothing new since this morning.’ From the corner of his eye, the Brigadier saw that the Doctor had somehow concealed the photographs about his person.
‘There will be a press announcement when we know more.’
‘Oh yes,’ Molecross said sarcastically. ‘We all know how much to trust government press announcements.’
‘Really, Molecross, you should be in the States. They have all sorts of phenomena there – UFOs, Bigfoot, some monster that eats goats. A whole area devoted to government cover-ups of alien visitations.’
‘Well, I’m not in the States, am l? And neither is this crop pattern. Who are you,’ Molecross said rudely to the Doctor. The Doctor only smiled.
‘A scientific adviser,’ said Lethbridge-Stewart stiffly. ‘I don’t have any more time for you, Molecross. And as of 1800 hours, this will be a restricted site.’ He Chapter Three
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strode away. The Doctor, after tipping his hat again, followed him.
‘So, Doctor,’ the Brigadier said as they drove off, ‘what did you want to see me about?’
Molecross stared after the departing car bitterly. Snob. Lethbridge-Stewart would give an interview to The Times quickly enough. Or some television journalist – they all loved to be on the telly. Just because Molecross ran a webzine, that was no reason to dismiss him. The Internet was the future. Look at that fellow in America who’d published those details about their president’s sex life.
Part of history now, that bloke. Someone from a marginal publication was more likely to find out the truth about this crop pattern than any mainstream reporter, because mainstream reporters had to have their imaginations surgi-cally removed before they were even allowed to apply for their jobs. They weren’t open to anything that didn’t fit their prejudices. And that was true for the tabloids too. All they wanted was the sex lives of the royals. All right, he admitted it, he’d had a bit of a thing for Princess Di, even cried when she – But that wasn’t the point!
The point was, he was in a position to find things out. And if Lethbridge-Stewart had only treated him with common courtesy Molecross would have told him that when he first arrived, before