Downtime - Marc Platt [100]
She spun round and saw Christopher Rice watching her from the centre of the chamber. His usual cold smile had an odd warmth to it. He was levelling a gun at her. Behind him, a Yeti loomed, rocking slowly on its hind claws.
‘I have to stop it,’ Victoria protested.
Christopher began to advance. ‘Way, way out of time.’
Plainly he was back to his normal self, turning on his oily charm at the most inappropriate moment. ‘Let’s see what the New World has to offer.’
Victoria knew that her ruin was the objective he had set himself. He didn’t seem to have noticed that something else was now setting the agenda.
‘The Intelligence doesn’t care about you,’ she insisted.
‘I look after myself.’
The Yeti was growling softly behind him. Victoria caught a look in its eye that pierced her. She saw through the cold vice of alien hatred that gripped and drove the huge creature, glimpsed something that struggled deep inside. Another tormented will that strove just to comprehend its own existence. The Yeti seemed to have a soul.
Christopher was moving closer.
‘Get away from her!’
A woman was running towards them. It was Sarah Jane Smith, unarmed and apparently unconcerned by the danger to her herself.
Christopher stepped backwards with a grin, swinging the gun back and forth to cover both women. ‘Well, the press never miss a trick, do they?’
Sarah looked beyond him with a gasp. ‘Mr Pennington!
Look out!’
Christopher turned, startled, momentarily fooled.
Sarah ran at him, twisting his gun hand. He struggled against her. The Yeti bellowed. In the midst of the mêlée, the gun fired.
Christopher yelped with pain and fell back clutching his arm. There was blood on it.
‘Sorry,’ exclaimed Sarah. She was toting his gun in her hand now.
Victoria saw the Yeti raise its claws and stalk towards Sarah. ‘Behind you!’
‘Bloody little Miss Gutterati!’ choked Christopher from the floor.
Sarah was dodging away from the Yeti. ‘Turn off the power!’ she called.
Victoria was back at the keyboard. ‘That’s what I’m trying to do!’
The screen flared and came up white, staring like an eye.
The shape of Professor Edward Travers stood at the centre of the university square. It turned slowly, its stick raised. The Intelligence was apparently taking in the breadth of its achievements.
To the Brigadier, even the air seemed to have been charged and activated with an oppressive energy. The pyramid of silver spheres was starting to give off a pale aura. The halo seemed to flicker around Travers too. The rupture on the side of the old man’s face was widening.
His eyes settled back on Lethbridge-Stewart and he grinned. ‘I shall impose an organizing order on your chaotic world. One thought to burrow deep into the Earth’s roots and reach high into its skies. The humans shall provide me with new machines and new bodies.’
There was no sound of fighting now. And no sign of Sarah either. Only the crackling of the canopy overhead. The Brigadier determined to play for as much time as he could muster. He longed desperately to see his grandson, if it was only for his one last moment.
Travers’s head jerkily turned to look at the steps. Two Chillys were leading a figure down into the square. A young woman with long yellow hair.
‘Dad,’ she called out.
The Brigadier was suddenly wearier than he had ever known. All those years when he had struggled to keep his two lives apart were swept away. He had medals for bravery and distinguished service. He had been made a CBE shortly before he left UNIT.
As a family man he had no honours.
Perhaps the two worlds he kept so separate had been colliding all that time.
His daughter walked with a dignity that he was infinitely proud of. He was scarcely proud of himself at all.
‘Dad,’ said Kate again as she reached him. It was rare that they ever looked at each other so directly.
‘As bad as your mother,’ he said awkwardly, hardly managing to disguise the deep tenderness he rarely admitted.
There was a sickly gurgle of laughter beside them. Travers was watching in fascination. ‘You have blood