Doctor Who_ The Devil Goblins From Neptune - Keith Topping [57]
He knew that a precise inventory of all UNIT equipment was held in the UNIT security records, which were stored in this section of the building. Having switched on his torch, the Brigadier passed banks of computer terminals until he found the large telex section and a filing cabinet marked 'Top Secret' in twelve languages.
The holy grail.
It was only as the Brigadier pulled at the cabinet and the top drawer opened that he suddenly realised he had been set up. In the split second before the klaxons began he knew that he had been given the subtlest trail of crumbs to follow. The intention seemed to be to incriminate him beyond recovery.
As the alarms blared Lethbridge-Stewart found himself a seat and waited to see what would happen next.
* * *
Liz and the Doctor watched the creature intently. It was no bigger than a child, but it spat and lashed out with surprising torte whenever anyone approached. It stared with utter contempt through bruised eyelids, as if daring one of the humans to try putting it out of its misery.
'Do you recognise it?' asked Shuskin, thankful that her angry attack on the creature had gone unobserved.
The Doctor shook his head. 'No. But then it's a very big universe.' He pointed towards the wings, and the large belt that I held them in place. 'The fact that these work at all indicates how light the creatures are. Which just goes to confirm their reliance on agility and sheer numbers'
'As we saw from the air battle,' observed Liz.
The Doctor nodded. 'Earth's military forces aren't equipped to deal with them.'
'It doesn't seem to want to talk,' said Shuskin.
'Perhaps it can't,' said Liz. 'Maybe it left its English/Alien phrasebook behind.'
'How many soldiers would talk when captured by the enemy?'
'The Doctor took a step closer to the creature, which lunged at him, hissing.
'Then there's nothing more we can gain from it,' said Shuskin, drawing her pistol.
'Put that thing away!' snapped the Doctor. 'You might not have signed a treaty with these creatures, but please don't descend to their level!'
Liz glanced back at Shuskin, and wondered for a moment if she'd start firing at the Doctor again. But instead she replaced her gun in its holster, a look of disappointed incomprehension crossing her face.
'What can you do?' Liz asked the Doctor.
'My people have a rite, a psychic ability that allows the memories of a dying Gallifreyan to be transferred to another's mind prior to assimilation.'
'Assimilation?'
'Too complex to explain. But the process – somewhat melodramatically - is known as "soul-catching". I've never tried it with an alien before.'
'Oh.'
'Actually, I'm not sure anyone has.'
'Oh.'
'And I was never very good at it anyway.'
'Oh' Liz paused. 'Doctor, you do know what you're doing, don't you?'
Bruce had been hard at work at the terminal for some minutes, all the while hoping that the soldier wouldn't return.
Finally he took the spool of magnetic tape from its spindle, and walked over to the technician's corpse. He pulled off the man's white lab coat, and then unbuttoned the shirt. The man was taller than Bruce, with a very cheap taste in fabric, but there wasn't much he could do about it now.
Bruce quickly dressed the almost faceless corpse with his own clothing - a sad waste of haute couture, if not of human life - and then dropped the body back on to the floor.
He removed the corpse's spectacles and poured some more acid over the body, then carefully smashed the flask on the floor and overturned chairs and test-tube racks.
Bruce stood back to admire his handiwork. It wouldn't fool an expert, but there were few of those in this pox-hole, and it should be enough to get him clear.
He rummaged in the pocket of the lab coat,