Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [67]
The Brigadier nodded. ‘He used those excuses to get out of PE. I always thought he was swinging the lead, personally. By the way, which planet does he come from?’
‘Do you know,’ said the Doctor, ‘that’s a question that’s never cropped up in the conversation. He’s always been rather vague about it. But it’s not important at the moment. The aliens need Turlough’s DNA because they want to use it to make human beings resistant to extreme heat and a thin atmosphere filled with toxic gases and, at the same time, increase their physical strength so that they become an effective slave race. The aliens can’t use their own DNA because they’re dying. I’ve seen this sort of thing before on other worlds.
I know who the aliens are, Brigadier.’
‘At last,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Some proper answers.’
‘It’s a long and complicated story,’ the Doctor said.
‘Isn’t it always?’ asked Lethbridge-Stewart.
The Doctor was forced to concede that, yes, it usually was.
The coven met on this occasion in the crypt of an abandoned church in Santa Monica. Sam had arrived with a bag of cannabis which he had acquired from Pete the Longhair, a former member of the group whom Newton had thrown out after Pete looked at him in a funny way. Pete now ran the Head and Magik Shoppe on Benedict Canyon Drive.
Long before Newton had to start hitting anyone they were falling over anyway, intoxicated by the drug and the ambient, trippy soundtrack on Lynda’s ghetto-blaster.
Newton was in a weird, feeble frame of mind, constantly muttering quota-tions from two of Nostradamus’s quatrains, as if they answered every question he was asked by his followers.
He had an edgy, paranoid look in his eyes that unsettled just about everyone and they all decided that once the cannabis had kicked in properly they would just sit down, shut up and let him get on with it.
‘ Par grand discord la trombe tremblera, accord rompu, dressant la teste au ciel. Do you see? “In the great war, the trumpet shall be sounded and agree-ments broken, lifting the leader to Heaven.” Then shall come the true destiny.
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“The exiles, carried to the Isles, at the whim of that most cruel King shall be murdered and put to the fire.” It is written.’
The coven added their agreement. This pleased Newton, who nodded wisely. ‘We are the chosen few,’ he said at length. ‘I have brought you here today to this place because it is time for you to meet another true believer.’
This was met with silence.
‘A believer,’ repeated Newton to a row of twelve blank faces. ‘C’mon, what’s the matter with you? What do you say when you’re introduced to one of the Faith?’
There was some vague muttering, but few discernible words.
‘It is written. Serpents to the left of me, scorpions to the right of me, demons before me. Seven times damn ye and seven times be ye damned,’ began Newton encouragingly.
‘This shall be the whole of the law,’ continued the coven, automatically.
From the shadows of the crypt a figure emerged. Tall and muscular, with hair cropped close to the skull.
‘Please allow me to introduce myself,’ he said, with a sinister flourish.
Newton bowed and waved his hand dramatically.
‘My name is Ryman,’ said Shaun Ryman, perhaps expecting recognition and gasps of astonishment and terror. Instead, he found himself staring into the blank eyes of twelve stoned masks. ‘Our goals are within reach, but you are too weak and stupid to even realise this.’ He paused and looked at Newton. ‘I didn’t expect much, but these are a grave disappointment I must say.’
‘What’s wrong with them?’ asked Newton crossly.
‘A bunch of potheads,’ said Ryman. ‘It’s time you realised just exactly with whom you are dealing.’
‘Fine,’ said Newton eagerly. ‘Just show us the Sign.’
Ryman ripped his shirt open, and then the skin from his chest. ‘Will this do?’ the thing that had been Ryman asked as its face disintegrated.
Twilight over Death Valley. A staggering sight for those