Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [84]
'Inside the Tower you wil find the conditions more suitable,' Gerayhayvun said.
Xznaal nodded groggily, and began stepping forwards, his feet dragging against the turf.
'Killing life,' he grunted, his head lolling.
'It's only grass,' Gerayhayvun explained. 'Plenty of that here.'
The humans were relaxing as he passed, clearly not seeing him as a threat. Many were making gurgling noises.
'A drunken rhinoceros,' one human muttered. More gurgling.
Ears that could pick up a whisper on the imperceptible breeze of the Martian deserts were almost deafened by the sound of human laughter. He snapped his claw, and was satisfied to see some of them back off.
The human fortress was so far away. He lifted his foot and swung it down in front of him. His other foot scraped the ground. His shell was sagging, digging into the muscle clusters of his shoulder. Water fell from the sky - tiny droplets pattering against his carapace.
77
Some of the humans were rushing on ahead, opening a portal for him. Three humans walked in front of him, bearing swords. Those that weren't laughing at him seemed genuinely concerned. He half-stumbled over the threshold, welcoming the fresh air inside. The humans in here wore more cloth, and had covered their claws. Was their clothing designed to raise their temperature even further? The thought almost made him pass out.
But he was inside now. The air was thick and cool, like the blood of an enemy.
'Is this more suitable?' Gerayhayvun asked him, clearly agitated.
'Yess,' he barked. He could feel his strength returning, his congestion clearing a little. The humans were beginning to follow him in, and they gave him a wide berth. Their respect for him was returning, without the need for him to enforce it. They were climbing tiny steps.
'Where are we going?'
'The Chapel of St John the Evangelist. Not far now. Wil you be able to speak to them?'
'Ssoon,' Xznaal whispered.
'You will only need to say a few words.'
***
The Brigadier checked his watch.
'She's not coming,' he told the Doctor gently.
'No.' The Doctor had been staring into the fire for the last half-hour, and had hardly said a word. He seemed tired, weary - not sleepy, like Benny, who dozed quietly in his lap with two mugs of cocoa and just as much vodka inside her. The alcohol had come from her "private reserve" up in her bedroom. The Brigadier wondered how long the Doctor had owned this house - he'd never referred to it during the seventies, but he often disappeared for days at a time in Bessie. Perhaps he had been here.
'If you need some shut-eye, Doctor, I can keep watch.'
The Doctor shook his head, smiling. The Brigadier had seen the Doctor sleep from time to time over the years, but he remembered those long vigils in the UNIT labs where the Doctor would spend thirty, forty, fifty hours at work, without even a tea-break, discovering the cure for a plague or assembling some magical gadget from household junk. When they'd been setting up his lab, the works department had put a little bunk in the corner. The very next day it had been piled high with computer parts and components from a car engine.
'We've been here before, Doctor. The aliens have landed, they've tried to destroy the world and we beat them. The only difference is, back when I was in charge, we always managed to keep it a secret.'
'And they didn't even make you a general,' the Doctor chuckled.
Lethbridge-Stewart looked down at his half-full glass of vodka. Mrs Summerfield might be able to knock back her drink, but he was taking it easier these days. 'No. Office politics.'
The Doctor was watching him. 'General William Lethbridge-Stewart came down from Scotland with King James.'
The Brigadier perked up a little. 'Yes, yes, I know. Have you met him on your travels?'
The Doctor shook his head.
'They arrived at London in 1603 to a glorious parade, a magnificent spectacle, according to family legend. It was seen as the glorious