Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [122]
Xznaal was staring into the monitor again. Then it turned, and lumbered from the room. Ogilvy swallowed, waiting until the Martian was out of sight, then he began running for the fire exit.
***
There was a scream from the crowd.
'Now what?' Bambera scowled.
The two Brigadiers turned back to the Space Museum. At the bottom of the steps was a Martian. Even at Allen Road, the Brigadier had only seen the enemy as he was running from it, or shrouded in darkness. All he knew was that they were heavily armoured, like an armadillo or a rhino, and that they were big. In broad daylight, standing there, the Martian lost none of its majesty, indeed it looked even more powerful. Everyone in the crowd was wild-eyed, they were clambering over each other to get a look.
The Brigadier unclipped his radio. 'This is Greyhound to al Traps. Hold your fire. Repeat: Hold fire.'
'Is that the leader?' Bambera asked.
'Yes,' Helmond said quietly. 'Xznaal.' She was terrified that it would see her, even across the crowded square. The Brigadier looked from the single Martian to the thousands of civilians. They were watching the alien with awe, all of them aware that this was the most important thing that they would ever see. They were mere footnotes in history, witnesses, not instigators and whatever else they did, wherever else they went, this was the defining moment of their lives. None of them were important. For wel over a full minute, the great mass of people were almost deathly quiet.
The Martian didn't move, it stood there like a great, old tree or a statue hewn from a block of jade.
Below it, the crowd was shifting around, rustling like leaves. Some news was spreading among them.
'The warship's moving,' someone - a civilian or a soldier, Alistair didn't know - announced.
Alistair spun around. The metal sky to the East was turning slowly and drifting forwards. All around them, UNIT
radios squawked as the spotters around London began relaying the news. The Brigadier checked his watch.
'The refinery?' Bambera asked.
'Why wait until now?' he replied. 'It's been nearly ten minutes.'
'Then that means... '
The warship was heading towards them, there was no doubt about it. The two Brigadiers were looking at each other, hoping the other would think of something to do.
The warship eclipsed the afternoon sun over Trafalgar Square.
Below them, the crowd fell quiet.
As darkness dropped, the silence swept through the crowd like a Mexican wave. Alistair watched, and felt the mood change. From his vantage point, he could see it all, the high spirits had become darker. A group of young men were fighting each other in front of Dillons. The crowd were pulling back from the Space Museum, some were trying to get away, and they jostled with those who were transfixed, watching the sky. One spark and this crowd would erupt into terrible violence.
Xznaal stood there, watching them too.
109
The warship had stopped, its prow hanging over the Space Museum, the vast mass of the ship hanging over London and disappearing over the horizon.
The Martian lifted its slablike foot, the first movement that it had made.
The warship was blotting out the sun, making everything else around it irrelevant.
Xznaal swung forward, those broad shoulders slouching, its eyes turned blankly to the ground.
Far from the Martian the first bottle arced into the air. It dashed against the pavement, scattering the crowd where it fel . Voices were being raised again.
The Terran gravity was taking its toll. Xznaal was like a medieval knight in a suit of armour. Clad in a chain mail vest and plate armour weighing as much as he did, even a knight in prime condition had been unable to fight for long. Many falling on their face into the mud of a battlefield would find that they didn't have the strength to pul themselves back up. The weight of their armour would drag them down and they would drown.
Xznaal took another step.
On the other side of the Square, there was a great crashing sound, shouts of surprise. The crowd had uprooted a lamppost.