Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 26

'Thankie, my liege.'

Xznaal grunted. It offended him to hear his language desecrated by a lower lifeform. The conversation would have to continue in the crude human dialect. 'The domesstic ssituation remainss volatile. Why?'

'The rabble are trying to take advantage of the new government. The riots are being orchestrated by extremists.

We'l capture the ringleaders. With your help, we've completely removed the enemy stronghold at Portsmouth. If you would authorise the use of the warship again - '

'That attack wa.s.s in retribution for the incident at Gatwick.' He paused to suck in more air. 'Our operation there wa.s.s dissrupted. One of our sshuttlecraft was desstroyed.'

Xztaynz faltered. 'Yes, I heard reports. But your crew?'

'My crew wa.s.s unharmed.' Xznaal barked. 'But al the livesstock esscaped.'

'How did it happen?'

Xznaal didn't reply. The Terran weapons were primitive, but they had penetrated the war rocket's armour. Xznaal had always known that his ship would be unable to withstand a nuclear blast, but last night human conventional rocketry and artillery had proved a great deal more effective than Martian military intelligence had suggested. It was a worrying development, but one that only confirmed the urgency of his endeavours.

'That iss of no importance. I will not authorisse the usse of the warsship except where Martian interesstss are directly threatened.'

'But Adisham - '

'The Time Lord wa.s.s a threat to Martian operationss. Enough of thiss: what of the other human clanss?'

'The foreign situation has stabilised, as we knew it would,' Xztaynz continued. 'Very few emba.s.sies have closed, and now that the foreign nationals are beginning to return home, and it's clear that it's business as usual - '

'Enough. Lord Gerayhayvun informss me that you are an expert on human art.'

The human shifted from one foot to the other, as it was wont to. 'I know a little. The curators here will be happy to help us if my knowledge proves imperfect. This place is so much more impressive without the mob surging around it in their backpacks and T-shirts.'

Xznaal looked around at the high ceilings and long galleries. Normally this place was open to humans of al ranks.

He understood that as the British state owned the exhibits, all taxpayers had free access to view the finest Earth art acquired in a millennium of conquest and commission. A n.o.ble arrangement for such a savage race. When he returned to Argyre, Xznaal vowed to throw open his own galleries to his subjects. The first exhibition would be one of human painting, weapons, flowers and sculpture.

He turned to the canvas on his right. 'What iss thiss one?'

'The Hay Wain. By Constable.'

'I like it. It sshowss the bounty of your human flora and fauna. Have it removed and taken to my chamberss in the Tower. Thiss one iss by the ssame artisst?'

'Correct, your majesty.'

'That one too. And that big horsse.'

'The Stubbs? Yes, King Xznaal.' The Home Secretary motioned to the curator and repeated the order.

When the curator had gone, Xztaynz turned back to Xznaal. 'Your majesty, I was at Television Centre yesterday.

The doc.u.mentary on Martian history is proceeding very well. The photographs you provided of the last Marshall's funeral were very powerful.'

'Yess.' They showed the funeral barge moving up the Araxes Ca.n.a.l into the Fields of the Dead. Every Lord was there, their armour bedecked in gold. Xznaal had stood sh.e.l.l to sh.e.l.l with even his bitterest rivals, the leaders of the clans of Thaumasia and Erythraeum, united in grief for the ruler of all their people and in support of the new Marshal , the boy-king Paxaphyr. The funeral of a Marshall was such a contrast to the normal austerity of Martian life.

'I had no idea that your civilisation was so old. Hundreds of thousands of years. It makes human history seem so insignificant.'

'Indeed,' Xznaal whispered. 'Report on the consstruction of the ss.p.a.ce freighterss.'

'Er, yes, that is ahead of schedule. The first shipments to Mars wil begin at the end of the month.'

'Good,' Xznaal said.

'If I might return to the subject of Martian culture. I couldn't help noting an Egyptian influence. That fascinates me.

It seems that your people and ours have encountered one another before.'

Xznaal shuffled around to face the Home Secretary. 'Egyptian?'

'An ancient Earth clan. But Egypt is a hot country, too hot for Martians, I would have thought. Luckily, we've got a lot of Egyptian pieces at the British Museum. I brought a catalogue.'

Xznaal took the doc.u.ment, tried to manipulate it in his claws. It slipped between his pincers and dropped to the floor. Xztaynz bent down to pick it up, holding open and in front of his eyes. Xznaal studied the pictures. Ancient human artefacts, all bearing crude, but recognisable images.

'You worsship thesse G.o.dss?' Xznaal hissed curiously.

'Heavens no, I'm Church of England,' Xztaynz gurgled. 'No-one has worshipped this lot for thousands of years.'

92.Xznaal glared down at him. 'They will,' he ordered. 'You will insstruct your teacher ca.s.ste to include religiouss insstruction in the curriculum.'

'Martian religion?'

'Reformed Martian, yess.'

Xztaynz gurgled again. 'I'm not sure the Archbishop of Canterbury would like that.' His face was contorted into a rictus.

Xznaal angled his head and exhaled. 'Then behead him and replace him with one loyal to uss. I thought you were a politician.'

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield: I finished my ablutions and began to trudge back up to the officer's mess. My thoughts at the time were preoccupied with how I could escape. I'd decided that my best bet was to build myself an interstellar distress beacon and signal for help. That was the current plan, the only real flaw with it being I hadn't even the slightest idea how to build an interstellar distress beacon. I knew that I wanted to try and contact my father, but wasn't sure where to start. He'd be lying low, too low for me to find on my own. Failing that, I told myself, I could stay in Windsor Forest. Why would anyone want to leave such a peaceful wood, with deer and squirrels, for motorways and town centres with a roadblock at every junction?

I slid the door of the mess open and stepped inside. Most of the soldiers were up now. One of them had made us all a mug of tea. I took mine grateful y. The two Brigadiers were checking their maps. Lethbridge-Stewart doing so while he shaved. The radio transceiver was stil on, but now it was playing the Radio Four Breakfast Programme.

The presenters' voices were unfamiliar. There had been purges at all the broadcasters and newspapers. For the most part, UNIT had used the radio only to listen to messages, they'd maintained their own radio silence for almost the whole week. We couldn't afford to draw attention to ourselves.

'Portsmouth has fallen,' Alistair announced grimly. 'In the last hour or so. The Martian ship attacked the docks, they sank every ship there. All the Royal Navy buildings were demolished with that ray thing of theirs.'

I sat down, unable to think of anything to say. There were many tiny resistance cells, but only a handful of real strongholds still stood in England: Bristol, York, Aldershot, Manchester and here in Windsor. Perhaps a couple of others. The one at Portsmouth was the best-defended. The coup leaders included senior officers of the Army and RAF, but the Royal Navy had been almost untainted. The ships around the British coast had moved in to defend Portsmouth, to maintain a foothold on British soil and to keep the supply lines open. Now Portsmouth had fal en.

'Scotland's our best hope now,' Captain Ford noted. The Provisional Government's tacticians had been most anxious to secure the capital and the further north you went, the less their grip on power. Unfortunately, that didn't rule out airstrikes and rapid deployment of men parachuting in. Or the ever-present threat that the Martian ship could up sticks and attack any city in the country within minutes.

'It's the first time they've used the Martian ship since Adisham,' I noted. 'It's been over London for the whole week, hasn't it?' I moved over to the Brigadier. He'd unfolded a big map of the South of England over Bessie's bonnet and had marked off intelligence reports in red felt-tip. He'd been careful not to note down the location of the resistance groups they knew about - a basic security measure, but not necessarily one that would have occurred to me. The resistance cells were doing a good job in tracking ProvGov troop movements, and they had an almost complete record of where the Martians were. So far, the resistance had agreed not to attack any military targets, simply to observe them.

Bambera consulted a notepad. 'Not quite, Professor. The Martian ship headed this way on Sat.u.r.day - we thought it was coming for us, but it went straight past before returning to London. It was sighted over Bradford during the rioting there on Monday night. Yesterday it was tracked over Surrey. But it's never been used in combat before.'

I rubbed my forehead, already tired again only half an hour after waking up. 'The Martians probably see the riots as a spectator sport. Up there they had the best seats in the house.'

The Brigadier slammed his fist down on Bessie's bonnet. 'd.a.m.n this!' he shouted.

We stood in silence for a couple of seconds, glaring at each other.

Tactlessly, the radio continued to reel off its propaganda. ' ... Staines reiterated that the Provisional Government is offering a full amnesty for anyone leaving the rebel encampments. In the north, York is under siege. Our correspondent on the ground there observes that medieval walls won't hold back the tanks for long. Another walled city, Chester, surrendered unconditionally on Tuesday evening when an outbreak of cholera ... '

'It must be a good sign that they haven't bombed York to oblivion,' Lethbridge-Stewart said hesitantly.

'Yes,' I said, recognising that the old man was trying to stay friends with me. Tempers had become frayed quite a few times over the last couple of days. We both knew that the Provisional Government was capable of winning without firing a shot - all they had to do was cut off the water and electricity supplies, prevent any food from getting in and wait. Parts of the country that weren't resisting were finding that life was going on pretty much as normal.

That was enough of an incentive to co-operate with the new government for most people. Even the foreign travel ban wasn't being badly-received: the government had ful y compensated holidaymakers, and businesses had received various a.s.surances. It was frustrating just sitting here, hoping that the woods around us weren't full of Government snipers.

'What are we going to do?' I asked, trying to sound constructive.

'Professor Summerfield, you will need to brief us about the Martians and their technology. We'll need to know how long we can expect to stay hidden.' Bambera said al that without even looking in my direction.

93.'Fine. Look, they are a civilised race. We can talk to them.'

A couple of the officers laughed, but Lethbridge-Stewart was nodding. 'You're right. But I think we should negotiate from a position of strength. Show them what we're made of.'

Any other time, I would have cracked a dark joke about spilt blood and guts, but it wasn't appropriate.

'Brigadier,' Bambera said darkly, 'we are in no position to take back London. Especially not with that Martian ship there. We should wait here until we know more. Professor Summerfield is the expert on the Martians. Let's hear what she has to say.'

I scratched my collarbone. 'Now? OK.'

The officers pulled their chairs around to face me. I smiled nervously - this wasn't quite how I had pictured my inaugural lecture as a real professor. For one thing, I'd planned to down a stiff brandy beforehand.

I began by sketching in a brief history of the Martians. Nothing too detailed, just a rough explanation of the feudal system that had kept Martian civilisation careful y balanced for the last million years.

'So the Martians have been around for more than a million years?' one of the senior RAF men interrupted. 'Surely by now they'd have evolved into superbeings or conquered the galaxy? If they had ships like that a million years ago, why didn't they conquer the Earth then, back when we were only monkeys?'

I chuckled. This was traditional y the first question a human asked in any lecture about Martian history. I'd done the same fifteenish years before. 'You're judging their civilisation in terms of your own. There's a lot to be said for a stable society rather than a progressive one. The Ancient Egyptian civilisation thrived for thousands of years without a single new invention, they hardly even improved on their existing stuff. The only thing that changed in four thousand years under the Pharaohs was the introduction of the chariot, when the Phoenicians attacked. Or was it the a.s.syrians? I forget.' A number of the officers were shuffling impatiently, so I shunted off that particular train of thought. 'Anyway, the Martians are exactly the same, only their stability has been forced on them by a lack of resources. Mars is in what we archaeologists call a "state of decay": they've lost advanced technological knowledge - or it sits in libraries gathering dust - because they have no use for it. What's the point of knowing how to build an atom bomb if there isn't any plutonium? Or a silicon chip if there isn't any silicon? Or a log fire if there aren't any logs?'

There was a murmuring around the room. They seemed excited by this. I'd stolen the last bit from a textbook that wouldn't be written for four hundred years. I enjoyed appearing all-knowing, having a roomful of military men hanging on my every word. They were lucky I didn't get my spoons out and start playing them.

'So in many ways, we are at an advantage?' Bambera asked.

I nodded sagely. 'Oh yes. Humanity is in the middle of a rapid stage of technological progress. Within a hundred years, we'l have overtaken the Martians in a number of key areas.'

Another round of murmuring.

'Don't get carried away,' I warned. 'Just think how easy it would be to conquer Victorian England using Harrier jump jets and nuclear submarines.'

The officers were apprehensive again.

'The Doctor built a sonic jammer,' the Brigadier said, trying to keep the spirit of optimism stoked up. 'That reflected the Martian's energy ray back at them. I take it that we can't do that yet?'

I shrugged.

'If we had the right frequency we probably could,' one of the technicians said. 'Problem is we don't have the frequency.'

'We need to strike before they consolidate their position,' Lethbridge-Stewart said. 'They could be preparing a giant occupation fleet on Mars.'

I shook my head. 'They have the technology, but not the raw materials. That one warship represents a ma.s.sive investment of time and energy - think of all that metal and fuel. There's probably a year's entire clan defence budget tied up in it. Britain found it a lot easier to build the Mars 97 than Xznaal did to build his warship.'

Lethbridge-Stewart frowned. 'So that's not the spearhead, that's the entire invasion?'

Captain Ford was nodding. 'Our intelligence suggests that the Martians are staying put. The Provisional Government is preparing consignments of raw materials for export to Mars: steel, timber, fertiliser.' He swept his hand over the map in front of him that had al of the production sites marked off.

Lethbridge-Stewart was trying to concentrate. 'Surely they'l use Earth's resources to build more warships? I would have thought that would be logical. Only then would they send for reinforcements. So we have to strike now, before more of those things are operational.'

Bambera frowned. 'Strike where? Look, they aren't building anything at the moment. If they started, they can't build any of those things overnight, or in one place. You are right to be concerned: we'll pa.s.s this on to the other cel s, get them to watch out for unusual activity at aeros.p.a.ce factories, shipyards, that sort of thing.'

'I want to go into Windsor,' Lethbridge-Stewart announced, 'We need more detailed maps.'

Bambera chuckled, presumably by the thought that an elite military force needed to pop to the shops for supplies.

'I'll try and phone Doris, too,' he whispered across to me.

'No,' I said firmly.

He frowned. 'Why not? Do you think the Martians will be monitoring phone cal s?'

'Not the Martians. They are a n.o.ble warrior race, and such tricks are beneath them. I'm worried by the humans.'

The soldier considered what I was saying, then nodded. I took Lethbridge-Stewart to one side. 'Take Bessie,' I offered.

'I wasn't sure whether - '

'Take the car. If you need to make a getaway, you'll need it.'

94.A smile flickered across his face. 'Thank you, Benny. If I'm not back by nine-thirty, then I won't be coming back.'

He lifted the map off the bonnet, and handed it over to her.

'Er, do you mind if you fold this up, Alistair?' I asked, 'I never real y got the knack.'

When the Brigadier looked at me, there was a twinkle in his eye. 'Truth to tell, Mrs Summerfield, neither did I.

When I joined the army I made it my business to get promoted quick smart so that someone else could do all the folding for me.'

We turned back to the main group, and the Brigadier pa.s.sed the map back over to Bambera, who began to fold it without being asked.

'Look after yourself,' I chuckled as Lethbridge-Stewart climbed stiffly into the driver's seat.