Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [104]
'I'll try and phone Doris, too,' he whispered across to me.
'No,' I said firmly.
He frowned. 'Why not? Do you think the Martians will be monitoring phone cal s?'
'Not the Martians. They are a noble warrior race, and such tricks are beneath them. I'm worried by the humans.'
The soldier considered what I was saying, then nodded. I took Lethbridge-Stewart to one side. 'Take Bessie,' I offered.
'I wasn't sure whether - '
'Take the car. If you need to make a getaway, you'll need it.'
94
A smile flickered across his face. 'Thank you, Benny. If I'm not back by nine-thirty, then I won't be coming back.'
He lifted the map off the bonnet, and handed it over to her.
'Er, do you mind if you fold this up, Alistair?' I asked, 'I never real y got the knack.'
When the Brigadier looked at me, there was a twinkle in his eye. 'Truth to tell, Mrs Summerfield, neither did I.
When I joined the army I made it my business to get promoted quick smart so that someone else could do all the folding for me.'
We turned back to the main group, and the Brigadier passed the map back over to Bambera, who began to fold it without being asked.
'Look after yourself,' I chuckled as Lethbridge-Stewart climbed stiffly into the driver's seat.
'Of course I will.'
A couple of corporals were pulling open the door for him. Bessie shot silently out and off onto the dirt track.
Bambera was shaking his head. 'Shame.'
'That's why they call them "The Blunder Days", ma'am,' Captain Ford said. 'He thinks we can go in, al guns blazing.'
The sniggering continued for a couple of seconds until I rounded on them. 'At least he's doing something. At least he isn't sitting in a wood, waiting for the Martians to find us.' They looked blankly at me.
'Professor Summerfield,’ Bambera said sharply. 'I’ve read the files: back in the seventies, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart repulsed a couple of smal -scale incursions. I’ve read his reports, and he relied on two things: luck and the Doctor. Since we’ve not had any luck, and your friend turned out to be half-lemming on his mother’s side - ' her voice trailed away.
'I'm going for a walk.' I announced levelly. A witticism had just occurred to me, one of those peculiar expressions Ace would come up with. 'Sod this for a game of soldiers,’ I called back as I headed for the door.
I took my mug, leaving them to compile their reports and sit around on their assimilations. I felt an overwhelming urge to get out of the camp, to be on my own. Without thinking, I wandered out beyond the perimeter and found myself a sheltered spot facing away from the camp. I sat with my back to a tree trunk, my eyes closed. A hundred yards away, a line of black-clad Provisional Government troops with raised rifles marched forwards as if they were directed by Eistenstein himself, gunning down everything in their path. At least they could have been doing for all I cared. This wasn’t my timezone, it wasn’t even my own home planet.
There was a dull shape in my chest, something that a week ago had been a sense of loss. I had spent the week crying, not for one lost Doctor but two. I found it difficult to mourn for the young man who had run off into the red cloud, frock coat flailing. Although Alistair recognised his old friend, I only saw a stranger - irritating new habits and mannerisms, virtual y nothing of the old body language. Carefree instead of careful. A little brother or first boyfriend, not a father. It wasn’t just him - his death had robbed the universe of all future Doctors, young and old, fat and thin, bald and hairy. Now the Doctor had gone, we would have to sort al this out on our own.
It was a daunting prospect. Where did one begin? What would the Doctor have done? He'd have tried to talk to the Martians, he'd have made them see reason. If they couldn't do that, then he'd use their own weapons against them. He'd find out what the Martians were really planning and he'd stop it, once and for all. He wouldn't use guns, he'd talk to them. And he'd have sorted it all out in about an hour and a half, two hours