Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [24]
'Are we telling the public?'
'Not yet. I was with the Home Secretary when we heard about the escape. He doesn't want to cause a panic, but he's agreed that if we haven't found him by noon-thirty then warnings will be posted on the lunchtime news.'
'Do we know what his objectives might be?'
'A link with the Mars landing seems the most likely. We've posted extra guards at Devesham and at the National Space Museum.'
24
'An axe-murderer? An escaped axe-murdering ex-astronaut?'
'Yes. Trying saying that three times when you're drunk.'
'I think I might just take you up on that.' The caption underneath the photograph was a model of understatement, but it managed to convey the information that Alexander Christian had kil ed his shipmates.
The Doctor plucked his pocket watch from his waistcoat. It was the same watch that he had worn before he changed, and he used the same technique to flick it open with one hand. 'Ten thirty. Time to join the party.'
The great and the good had been drifting past them for the last ten minutes or so. They were getting a condensed version of the guided tour as they headed to the stairways at the back of the Main Hall. The Doctor's plan was that they would join a group of VIPs and follow them down to Mission Control.
Benny tried to keep her mind off Alexander Christian by standing at the edge of the Hall and identifying as many of the guests as she could as they walked past. The first one she had got had been Steven Hawking. He'd been deep in conversation with Richard Dawkins and his wife, and had been helped down the stairs by a couple of hefty security guards. Jarvis Cocker and Chris Evans followed, chatting about something. The next woman Benny recognised was either Mystic Meg or Lady Di (Benny always got them mixed up). She had no problem identifying Lady Creighton-Ward - she didn't live far from the house in Allen Road and Benny had often seen her being driven around the Kent countryside. All were wearing their poshest outfits, and despite her earlier anxieties that she'd be under - or over-dressed, Benny felt that her own ensemble had been well-judged.
The Doctor took her arm, and Benny found herself following Gillian Anderson through a low archway down a short stairway and into the party. No-one checked for an invite, but a man on the door gave them the once-over. Benny smiled at him with her best 'I'm meant to be here' look.
There were about two hundred people in the room, more if you included the waiters milling around the little social groups that had begun to form. The reception was being held in an observation gallery that overhung Mission Control. Beneath them, two dozen scientists were at their posts, eyes fixed on the giant screen that dominated the back wall. Up here there was row upon row of red chairs arranged to watch the show. A big digital clock above the observation bay window was counting down to the landing. It was currently hovering just over the ten minutes mark. There was a podium at one side of the bay window, complete with a TV monitor and autocue.
A buffet had been laid out down one wal and the rich and the famous were picking away at it. In one corner Richard Branson and Alan Yentob were arguing about something, in another Geoffrey Hoyt was sharing a drink with Dame Emma Knight. Beneath the gentle rumble of conversation music was playing: Holst. Around the edge of the room film crews had set up, and journalists from around the world were pulling celebrities from the edge of the crowd to share a few words of wisdom with their viewers.
A waiter hurried by, and Benny plucked a champagne glass from his tray with an expertise born of years snatching free drinks.
She sniffed it and sipped it. 'Nice,' she concluded.
'A 1982 Ayala. A good year.' The Doctor hadn't taken any for himself, and had apparently identified the vintage just by looking at the glass or catching a whiff of it on her breath.
'I've just seen someone