Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [115]
In the ninetieth hour of the battle a strange communication signal was received by Tegan. At first she thought that the irregular series of radio blips was random interference. Then she started to see a pattern on the monitor in front of her. ‘Doctor,’ she called. ‘Have a look at this will you?’
‘It’s not from any of the tracking stations,’ the Doctor confirmed, just as the screen locked on to the source of the signal and accepted the incoming transmission. A domed alien head, with raw flesh and tiny red eyes filled the screen. Both Tegan and Natalie almost fell out of their chairs.
‘I am the commander of the Jex League,’ the creature said in halting English.
‘This war is over.’
‘Delighted to hear it,’ replied the Doctor, standing aside for Lethbridge-Stewart to speak to the alien.
‘Now see here,’ began the Brigadier strongly, ‘your forces have been decimated. I think you should just pack up and leave, don’t you?’
‘I am to inform you,’ the alien commander said, ‘and via you, all of your planet, that you can keep your stinking little world.’
The screen went blank.
‘. . . And a good day to you too,’ said the Brigadier laconically.
Moments passed and then the first of the remaining Jex ships began to leave orbit. The procedure was slow and awkward, and difficult to follow on fixed satellite pictures that merely showed one patch of the sky, but after a few minutes it was clear that the Jex were running.
Now, only one problem remained.
‘Surely the Canavitchi will go too?’ asked Paynter.
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There was a deathly silence as everyone looked at the screen. The Canavitchi fleet, which had been as decimated as the Jex one, remained exactly where it was.
‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor noted. ‘Or perhaps they’ll try to destroy the Earth. To obliterate every last trace that the Jex were ever here. I imagine we’ll find out quite soon.’
Time inched onwards. Caught in the amber of the moment, as seconds stretched into infinity.
No one said anything, few even dared to breathe.
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Maybe Tomorrow
Across the world, in houses, flats and halls, in African and Indian villages where hundreds sat huddled around a single television set, in the Australian outback, the furthest reaches of China, the frozen wastes of northern Russia, the mountains of Tibet, the plateaus of Central America and the valleys of Egypt. In Peru, Bulgaria, Syria and New Zealand, the world held its collective breath across each and every continent.
‘They’re leaving,’ shouted someone in the bunker. A few minutes stand-off had become a lifetime. The worried faces remained pensive and watchful for a few seconds of additional stress as everyone looked for further signs of departure.
The Brigadier was thinking of Doris, who was staying with some friends on the Sussex coast.
He looked at the Doctor, whose face betrayed nothing of the anxiety that the Brigadier knew his old friend felt. Because he felt it too.
‘They’re leaving,’ repeated Corporal Murphy.
‘They are as well you know,’ said Paynter. ‘My God, they’re turning around and going.’
But still everyone in the bunker held their collective breath. For a long moment they made no sound, until the last of the Canavitchi ships disappeared from sight and into the thick blackness of space. Then, and only then, did they explode in noise just as, around the world, end-of-the-world parties were exploding with celebrations and fireworks.
They were kissing each other, hugging, shaking hands, barely able to say words that would mean anything at a time like this, so simply making sounds instead.
Delighted sounds of survival.
And amid the carnival atmosphere one figure stood alone watching the screen, oblivious to the pats on his back and the cries of joy around him.
Finally, the Doctor turned around, his face as grave as anyone had ever seen it.
The noise in the room died instantly, reduced to total silence.
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‘It would appear,’ the Doctor said in an emotional voice, ‘that humanity