Doctor Who_ The Devil Goblins From Neptune - Keith Topping [80]
Starchild said nothing, but every time she looked at the Mercedes, she found herself shivering.
In the caravan, Arlo was lying on a battered old mattress in a haze of nicotine and marijuana. Rose's arrival, without ceremony, didn't cause him much surprise. It was just like the cat to enter without knocking.
'Nice to see you, dad.' said Arlo sarcastically. 'Cool threads. They having a sale at Jackson the Tailor or what?'
Rose crossed the caravan without a word and slapped Arlo across the face with the back of his hand.
‘Insolent cur,' he spat, and repeated the dose, before kicking the terrified hippie on the seat of his loon pants. 'Get up, sharpish, laddie,' barked the viscount.
Arlo struggled to his feet, holding up his hands in a gesture of submission. 'Cool it, man,' he kept repeating as Rose hit him again and again.
warned you about the UNIT men.' exclaimed Rose. 'And what do I discover? You've only gone and told them about the end of the world, you ignoramus!'
PART 6:
SUBTLE ENERGIES COMMISSION
CHAPTER 16
Bruce stepped out of the hovercraft and into the plain black car. Its engine was idling quietly, the only noise in the deserted cove. The driver stubbed out his cigarette and, avoiding eye contact, settled into his seat.
The sedan moved smoothly across the beach of rough shingle, the deep grinding of the wheels sounding like the wash of the tide from within the vehicle. Bruce stared at the back of the driver's head, noticing a band of pink scar tissue around the thick, tanned neck. It was as if the man had been clumsily garrotted - or had been the unfortunate recipient of Baron Frankenstein's spare-part surgery. Either way, he was an ugly brute, stuffed into a cheap suit that stank of garlic.
Bruce imagined a gun sight moving across that blubbery neck and up his cropped black hair. Pulling the trigger. Blood and bone and brain spraying everywhere. From this range, and even against that thick skull, it would make one hell of a mess.
He stared out of the window, bored. England had been a bit of a buzz. But now he only felt empty disappointment. The drug-like rush from every mission was fading more quickly, the spaces between jobs beginning to feel like an eternity. If things carried on like this, even killing might lose its appeal.
Joke.
The road hugged the coastline, gently ascending the cliffs. Eventually it turned its back on the azure sea, moving inland. Some minutes later the car passed through a broken gate covered with warning notices and on to a track. The ground became artificially flat, a ruler-straight, rusted railway line stretching into the distance. The car followed the track for about half a mile, and then turned on to a concourse of broken asphalt and stopped.
The driver stepped out of the car, leaving the engine running. Bruce pushed open the door, and followed the man past the disused railway platform. Numerous weeds sprouted between the old wooden sleepers. The adverts for Orangina and the local hypermarket on the wall of the former ticket office had almost faded beyond recognition.
The station was deserted but for the freight train standing on the one clean-looking track. The big driver approached, pulled open one of the sliding doors, and immediately walked away. Bruce didn't board the train until he'd heard the dark sedan leave.
Rusted steps led into a boxcar that smelled of straw and animals. There was a connecting door at the far end, with light visible through a small glass window. Bruce strode into the next carriage.
It was a computer room, its bright silver walls windowless and claustrophobic. 'White-coated technicians moved between the banks of equipment, checking readings and swapping spools of computer tape. Only one of them seemed to notice Bruce's arrival, and he came over, arm outstretched, as if to shake the man's hand.
Bruce gave him the data reel he'd stolen from UNIT HQ, and the man immediately