Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [115]
the Prime Minister could hear the sounds of Londoners in Trafalgar Square, demonstrating against him.
'Mussolini once said that ruling Italy was easy,' Greyhaven said.
'He was a friend of yours, was he?' Christian asked, adjusting his pipe.
'He said it was easy but utterly pointless,' Greyhaven finished. He reached into his pocket, checking for something he knew was there. 'Mussolini had a vision that his country could be great again, but he was a fool and he allied himself with a monster. He ended up strung from a lamppost by a mob of his own people.'
Alexander Christian stood there, impassive. Greyhaven smiled at him, not expecting a response. Final y, the Prime Minister tapped at his intercom.
'Tell me, how would I get to the Space Museum from here without those rioters tearing me apart?'
'We can arrange an escort, Prime Minister.'
'Do so. I will be downstairs in two minutes.'
Greyhaven combed his hair into place and slipped a fountain pen into his pocket. 'If you'll excuse me, Colonel, I have work to do.'
***
103
Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield
The Martian ship was unguarded. It was exactly as Ray had described it, and as I had expected from my excavation of the "ship's graveyard" at Tharsis. It was a V-wing, roughly the same size and shape as the pinnacle of human aviation at the time of the invasion, the B2 stealth bomber. It was built from a glistening green ceramic material, the name of which eluded me. I caught Ford's attention, and motioned that I was going in. Ford indicated that he would finish planting his explosives before joining me.
There were two ways into the shuttle: the main hatch at the front, and the cargo doors on the underside. Both were open. I chose the latter, edging forwards. A couple of fork lift trucks sat snugly in the shadow of the Martian craft.
Without even realising that I had slipped into Sherlock Holmes mode, I deduced from the tyre tracks that the fork lifts had been active recently. The cargo hatch looked like the bomb bay of a Lancaster bomber. As I approached the opening, the cold air from inside was wafting down.
I ducked underneath one of the cargo bay doors, poking my head up into the body of the ship. The shuttlecraft's hold was tiny, and there was only dim Martian lighting, but I could see that it had been packed solid with metal cylinders. Captain Ford was already out of sight and I certainly couldn't call out for him. The tiny UNIT walkie-talkie in my pocket was also useless for the moment - we'd agreed at the briefing that this phase of the operation was being conducted under the strictest radio silence.
Everything was going according to my plan - the one that I hadn't shared with UNIT. I took a last look around to make sure that no-one had seen me, then pul ed myself up into the shuttlecraft. I sat on the edge of the hatch for a moment to congratulate myself for being so quiet. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the twilight, and I could feel the goosebumps developing on my legs and arms. It wasn't uncomfortably cold, though. The magnetic engines were on, and throbbing with power. Like every machine of its complexity, the shuttle was on the brink of being alive. Noises that the ship's builders couldn't have explained surrounded me, a hiss there, a clank here.
I was heading for the communications rig. Al Martian equipment is bulky. The communicator was the size of a telephone box, too big to slot into the cockpit. They tucked it away down here. I turned the corner.
The vast Martian scientist filled the alcove. He had his back to me. I edged away, trying not to make a sound.
Vrgnur hadn't seen me and was deep in a hissing, grunting conversation. I wasn't sure, but it was almost certainly Xznaal on the other end of the line. Like any language, there was a world of difference between the textbook Martian grammar and the col oquial form. The sound didn't carry very wel in the thin air, either. Despite all that, I could tell that the conversation was coming to an end.
I backed into something solid,