Doctor Who_ Human Nature Part 17

'Sir!' called Stanley. 'Look!'

A soldier was running towards them on the other side of the barrier, waving his arms urgently. 'Ah, good, now we'll get some answers,' muttered Wrightson. 'Hey there, who are you with' The thought died in his mouth as he recognised the Royal Artillery shoulderflash. Somebody from his own regiment in fact... Oh my G.o.d,'

Stanley whispered. The man on the other side of the barrier was Stanley too.

'Don't touch it!' he was shouting. 'Don't -'

The Stanley on this side of the barrier thought of himself for a moment, and then he was the dome, stretched across the countryside in an arc, and glad to be everywhere the dome touched at once. He resolved himself into being a hundred yards down the road, and saw his former self, that silly old thing, trudging up to the barrier. He ran forward, shouting for him not to touch it.

Torrence, who was a lot less of a churchgoer than Stanley, found that he'd lived in the past and would live in the future. He saw the view from the longhall in Dublin and felt the bones of a roe deer between his teeth as the sun rose over Ethiopian plains. He saw Torrence continued, his name and his cell memory, across generations. He saw that he would have children and that they would prosper. And here he was, as yet unmarried.

He fell from the barrier, his mind blinking off like a speck of static, dead.

Wrightson flashed upwards through the atmosphere, yelling as he encompa.s.sed the globe of the Earth inside his body.

Suddenly he stopped. Great stellar teeth flashed at him. 'Is it time?' enquired a surprisingly soft voice from a bright star that flashed past. He was left stumbling in its trail.

'I don't know. Is it?'

Whatever was a.s.sociated with the object turned, and Wrightson caught a look of agonised imprisonment from it... from her. And then she was gone.

Earth returned like a knot in his stomach. He took his palms off the barrier, and looked down to see Torrence lying there. He would have done something, but Stanley was running towards the barrier again. This time he wasn't alone.

A young man was holding his hand.

The soldier and the boy ran right through the barrier. Stanley collapsed into Wrightson's arms.

Timothy looked around at the soldiers. 'More of you? Well, don't do anything rash.'

'Now, wait a moment,' Wrightson began, 'what...'

'Actually,' Tim interrupted him, 'don't do anything at all. Especially to this wall, whatever it is.' With a grin of accomplishment, he turned on his heel and ran back through it.

The soldiers watched him go. Wrightson got a stretcher party together for the unfortunate Torrence.

'Sir,' said Stanley, grabbing his superior by the forearms, 'did you see it? Is it the Lord, sir?'

'If it is,' Wrightson spoke loudly, so his men could hear, 'then he's got the Artillery here to guard him. We'll form a perimeter round this thing, one man every hundred yards. Keep an eye on your neighbour, don't touch the wall. Meanwhile, I'll try to get a wire through to HQ.' He lowered his voice again and disengaged from Stanley's grip, patting the man gently on the shoulder.

They shared a long release of breath. 'In short,' muttered the major, 'holy flaming cow.'

Benny and Alexander ran through the forest, carrying the big metal sheets on their backs.

'How far is it to this blacksmith of yours?' Benny panted.

'It's over the hill.'

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'So am I. This is the sort of thing they tried to make me do when I was in military training.'

'You were going to be a soldier? Do they let ladies do that in the future?'

Benny was about to reply with something apt, but then she saw a figure standing behind the trees in front of them and a surge of fear swept through her. 'Alex, look!'

As Alexander swung his burden to see, the lithe figure broke from cover. It was a schoolboy, Benny was relieved to see, albeit a very messy one. He stood watching them for a moment.

Benny noticed that he was holding something. Was that a cricket ball? Then she realised. Just as Timothy turned and ran.

'Wait, stop!' Benny yelled. 'He's got the b.l.o.o.d.y Pod!'

She tried to run after him, but fell, halfway up the slope that Timothy had scrambled away up. Alexander hobbled over, and with much effort, got her back to her feet again.

'We, loved one, are in no position to take part in a chase.'

'I know, d.a.m.n it,' Benny sighed. 'But unlike everybody else, we now know who's got what we're looking for.'

Nathan Bottomley was a blacksmith, farrier and metalworker. He was known to everybody in Farringham from those occasions when he'd come into a house and bash the boiler with a spanner, listen to the chime and then mutter: 'No, that's absolutely ridiculous. You were hoping for hot water at Christmas?'

He was currently attending to the first of a pair of new shoes for the old Lucas mare, hammering the red hot metal against his anvil, holding it in the clamp. An edition of Sons and Lovers Sons and Lovers was propped open by a metal doorstop beside him. He had opened up the big doors to his workshop by the stream to let the cool breezes in, but it wasn't as satisfying a day as he had expected. It wanted to storm, but couldn't. A bit of rain would be a relief. was propped open by a metal doorstop beside him. He had opened up the big doors to his workshop by the stream to let the cool breezes in, but it wasn't as satisfying a day as he had expected. It wanted to storm, but couldn't. A bit of rain would be a relief.

'Nathan!' Bottomley looked up at the urgent call and saw a bizarre sight trudging into his yard. Alexander Shuttleworth and a girl in trousers, with dirty great sheets of metal on their backs. 'Nathan...' Alexander leaned heavily on the wheel of a threshing machine that was in for repair. 'Help...'

Hoff looked up at the sky and shook his head. 'That dome's doing bad stuff with time.'

The aliens had taken up a place in a cl.u.s.ter of trees above the town and were training a variety of scanning devices on the valley below.

'Oh?' August looked up for a moment. 'I thought you had the technology sorted out?'

'I thought so too.' Hoff shook his head again, and was silent.

'This is a complete waste of time.' Greeneye was pacing back and forth, twirling the dials on his particular scanning unit randomly. 'The Pod isn't showing up as a mutation agent or broadcasting on any electromagnetic wavelength. We'd need to be psychic.'

'That,' hissed Serif, grabbing the scanner off him, 'is one of the things we shall be, if we can find the Pod!'

'Greeneye's just hungry!' Aphasia teased. She didn't have a scanner. She'd just narrowed her eyes and was turning her head in an imperceptibly slow arc.

'She'll still be there when we get back,' said August. 'I just hope that you do your business behind the screen or something.'

'I want to watch!' moaned Aphasia.

'You can.' Greeneye ruffled her hair. 'Tell you what, you can have her pancreas afterwards.'

'I've got the pancreas, I've got the pancreas!' sang the little girl, glancing up at Serif. 'And you haven't, and you haven't...'

Serif raised a dangerous eyebrow and stalked off.

'Got something!' Hoff stabbed a stubby finger on to his scanner unit. 'A source producing rapidly decaying particles in negative time. Way beyond the technology levels here.'

'Could be an effect of the time shield?' August glanced at the figures. 'Except - it's moving! Come on!'

The Aubertides ran downhill towards town, Serif pursuing them with broad strides in an attempt to catch up.

'So, what do we do now?' asked Alexander.

Bernice was gritting her teeth as Bottomley hammered a sharp metal tool into the fastening of her left manacle. 'We find that boy with the Pod, and help out with his, admittedly so far rather successful, plan to hide it. How would he have got hold of the thing, anyway?'

'Well, the orchard where you say you left it is part of the Marcham estate, old Mrs Marcham's place, but it's notoriously ill-tended. She doesn't get out much, and so her staff leave the fruit to rot. It's a huge area, and it snakes right round the forest and the school, with all sorts of secret places. The place is therefore beloved to wasps and boys of Hulton College.'

'Where Dr Smith works. I see.'

'And, of course, schoolboys love to get hold of mysterious things.'

'So I remember.' Benny triumphantly broke free of the first manacle and waggled her hand to get the blood circulating again. 'Your average fifth former's got his finger in more pies than Mr Kipling.'

The blacksmith glanced between the two manacled figures propped up against his workshop wall. 'I'm astonished. You've met Rudyard Kipling?'

Benny burst out laughing and used her free hand to pat the man on the shoulder.

'No,' she a.s.sured him. 'But I know a man who has. Hopefully.'

Bottomley shrugged and continued his work.

Dr Smith had placed a ladder against the wall of the cottage and climbed up it, while Joan held it steady. He undid the catch on a hatch in the ceiling and opened it, then climbed up into the loft. A moment later he called: 'Come up here and see!'

Joan gingerly climbed the ladder, and John helped her step out on to the beams of the little loft. He'd lit an oil lamp hanging on a hook, which gave the wooden s.p.a.ce a gentle lemon hue. It had started to rain outside, and the sound of raindrops formed a gentle patter on the roof. The gaps between the beams were only plasterboard, so the two lovers took care to step only on the wood. Mouse-eaten cardboard boxes, orange crates and suitcases secured by belts were piled around the cool stone arch of the walls.

Smith squatted, lost his balance, waved his arms and was only saved from falling by Joan putting a hand on his shoulder. 'Thank you,' he said. He started to untie one of the suitcases.

'So what is it about this umbrella that so intrigues you?' Joan asked. 'I thought we might get on with the business of jam.'

'It's just -' Smith opened the first suitcase and began to sort through the items he found there - 'I remember a strange umbrella, but I don't. I know I had one, but I don't remember carrying it... using it... getting it.'

'How strange. I do like this attic of yours, it reminds me of Christmas. A wonderful darkness and light at the same time.' Joan sat on a packing case and looked around primly. 'When I was a girl, we were the first people in our town to have a Christmas tree. My father saw the big one in London that Prince Albert had brought over, and thought that it was a good idea. At first, visitors would comment on how strange it was to have a tree inside the house, but then they all started to have them, so Father felt vindicated.'

'My father wasn't that sort of person.' Smith glared at a pair of juggling b.a.l.l.s he'd pulled from the case, threw them up in the air, tangled his arms and missed catching them. 'He was in the Navy, a military man. He went missing.'

'Did you ever discover what had become of him?' Unseen by Smith, Joan had taken the ring he'd given her from the pocket of her cardigan, and was turning it over in her fingers.

'No. Everybody thought that he was a traitor, but I don't think that's true.'

'My goodness. And what about Verity, your former fiancee?'

'Former? Does that mean I have one now?'

'Don't count your chickens.'

'I haven't seen her in years. Except... in a dream. She married a teacher - or was it a soldier?'

'You told me it was a sailor.'

'Did I? Perhaps it was. I'm very confused.'

'You do seem to be a trifle perturbed, today. Why, for instance, did you insist that we walk so swiftly away from the end of the field? I nearly dropped my blackberries, you rushed me so.'

'I just thought there might be a storm. Perhaps it's my finger.' He held up the wounded stump. He'd reached the bottom of the suitcase without success. 'Perhaps this is all my finger. Septic, poisoned. Perhaps I'm losing my mind.'

Joan went to him and kissed the top of his head. 'Not at all. But you have been through a terrible adventure. Perhaps you've been a bit too brave. You haven't even told the Head about it, yet.'

'No, I suppose I haven't. Do you think I should take some time off?'

'Perhaps it would help you to think it through. And on that matter, John, while you are so churned up, should I take it that your proposal was merely speculative? I should be glad to do so and await later confirmation.'

'No!' He grabbed her hand. 'No, I'm uncertain about a lot of things, but that's the one thing I am sure of. It was sudden, I know, but it's certain. It's the thing I'm hanging on to.'

Joan released the breath she'd been holding. 'Well, then I shall take you seriously, and you will have my answer. For now, we shall take a look at that finger, and then perhaps have a cup of cocoa.'

Smith stood up to embrace her. 'I was just thinking of cocoa. You always seem to say just the right thing.'

Alexander and Benny were making their way through the streets of town, walking quickly and keeping a lookout for the boy they'd seen. It was good to be free of their metal burden. There was a general sense of tension about the place this Sat.u.r.day teatime. People were out on their steps, looking at watches and talking to each other excitedly over fences. In the market square, the stallholders were packing up, but one or two of the carts seemed to have returned, and their occupants were conducting hand-waving arguments with those that remained. The gentle rain, the first onset of the storm that was approaching, was making the pavements glisten.

They pa.s.sed the town telephone box, an ornate red construction with a tiny paG.o.dalike point on top. A man in a neat tweed suit and bowler was stepping out of it and locking it behind him.

'I say, Horace!' Alexander ran over to him. 'What's going on?'

'Line's down,' Horace, whose job it was to sit in the box, make the connection for whoever wanted to make a call, and then stand outside waiting for them to complete it, explained. 'If you want to call anyone, you could ask at the school. At least I get to go home early.'

From somewhere in the distance, there came the crack and boom of an explosion.

Horace p.r.i.c.ked his ears up. 'Hey-ho, the boiler's blown on the engine!'

'Couldn't it be the OTC at the school again?' Alexander asked.

'No, my old man used to be the fireman on a train. That's the sound of an engine going up. Hope no poor soul was caught in that. See you at the meeting, eh, Alexander?'

'd.a.m.n,' whispered Benny when he'd gone. 'You could cut the atmosphere here with a knife.' People were gathering in groups looking to the east, where a plume of smoke was drifting from the direction of the branch line. 'What's this meeting he was talking about, anyway?'

'Oh, the Labour group meets on a Sat.u.r.day night in the town hall. I'm normally there.'

'Well, if you want to go - '

Alexander sighed and took her by the arm as an old matron pa.s.sed, flashing the woman a dangerous grin as she glanced disapprovingly at such closeness, such trousers, such a haircut. 'Richard's addressing them.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'Think nothing of it, loved one. Now, shall we go back to school?'

Rocastle sat stock still in his armchair, his hands gripping the antimaca.s.sars. He'd hauled himself into the chair after he'd pa.s.sed out... and of course the child had run away. Couldn't have been long unconscious or the boy would have fetched somebody. Or perhaps he'd been too scared to call anyone.