Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 32

'I know that,' Xznaal replied, 'but thiss iss sstill the place where many human n.o.bless were executed. The Princess in the Tower, Lady Jane Grey... '

I was impressed by the level of the Martian's research, and told him as much. He accepted the compliment.

Behind us, silently, the Martian shuttle began rising into the air. It pa.s.sed overhead, arcing up towards the warship.

A hatch was opening up to welcome it. Neither Martian ship seemed concerned by the prospect of a surface-to-air attack, and none came.

Xznaal watched the two vessels converging in silence. The shuttlecraft rotated on one of its axes, rising the last few metres into the body of the warship. Above it, hydraulic clamps rattled out of their housings and locked into place. I realised that I needed to keep talking to Xznaal.

'How goes the battle?' I asked after a slightly awkward moment.

Xznaal licked his lips, the Martian equivalent of a smile. 'The human ressisstance forcess are brave, their tacticss show intel igence.'

'But they don't have the firepower to get in here and they don't stand a chance against the warship?'

'No.'

' "It's bows and arrows against the lightning, anyhow," ' I said in an attempt at a c.o.c.kney accent.

Xznaal looked down at me.

'A quotation from an Earth book,' I told him, although I didn't tel him which one. He didn't seem to care. 'Why aren't you using the sonic cannons?' I asked.

'They are unnecessssary.'

'Because you are going to use the gas?'

'Yess. Watch.'

As I cricked my neck upwards, the warship was beginning to rise.

'It will ssoon reach ten kilometress, the alt.i.tude for optimum dissperssion. Commander!'

A human army officer ran to Xznaal's side, saluting as he came. He looked at me as though I was something he'd stepped in.

'Issssue your men with ga.s.s ma.s.skss,' the Martian ordered.

'Your Majesty.' The soldier saluted, hurrying away.

'As I understand it,' I said, 'gas masks won't protect those men.'

Xznaal gurgled. 'No. They wil perissh. The Red Death will hunt them down. Imagine their terror when they realisse their fate. That while they thought they were protected, they are in fact helplessss.' His tongue was flickering over his fangs.

I found it easy to remain calm. Panicking wouldn't save the Earth, and it wouldn't save me. 'Is that honourable?'

'It iss a ssimple matter of retribution. Gerayhavunn desstroyed my clan, I sshal desstroy hiss.'

'b.a.l.l.s,' I said, stopping in my tracks. 'You were producing that gas a week ago, and it was already on its way to London when the nuke went off. You're a thug, a bul y, not a warrior.'

Xznaal pitched around, stooping over me. 'Hisstory shall be the judge of that,' he growled.

'Who's history, Xznaal?' I shouted back. 'Your dead planet's or mine?'

Xznaal glowered at me. 'The time ha.s.s come for you to die,' he announced.

I put down my teacup. 'Executing me won't solve anything.'

'Not jusst you, Professor Ssummerfield. Your race. The time ha.s.s come for humanity to die.'

End of extract ***

'She's talking to it.'

The Brigadier adjusted the focus of his binoculars. Professor Summerfield was dwarfed by the Martian Lord. The two of them were strol ing along a footpath, engaged in what looked like a polite conversation. Around the Tower was a ma.s.s of people, crashing against the walls like a stormy sea. The Brigadier turned his binoculars on sections of the crowd.

112.

Bottles and stones were being thrown at the Tower, but the moat and the high walls prevented any of them from getting inside. So, the brunt of the anger was focused on the tanks of the Provisional Government. Rows of riot police were holding firm as missiles clattered against their plastic shields. Behind the front ranks of police were more heavily-armed units: water cannons, mounted units, even tanks. It wouldn't take much more provocation before they were wheeled out. Some of the Provisional security forces had machine guns. This could become a ma.s.sacre, and there was little the Royalists could do.

There was a young man propped halfway up a lamppost, goading other young men in the crowd. There was nowhere for them to take their anger.

'I want some thoughts about how we get into the Tower without the use of air power,' Lethbridge-Stewart said. The walls had stood for centuries, but every so often an army or a mob had managed to get in there: it had happened during the Peasants' Revolt and the Wars of the Roses. These days in normal circ.u.mstances, if such a term could ever be used, a couple of SAS or other Special Forces squads would abseil down from helicopters, or parachute in. With the Martian warship there, and the Provisional Government intent to enforce the no-fly rule, the helicopters would never make it to London.

'That ship on the opposite bank... ' Corporal Baxter began.

'The HMS Belfast,' Bambera said, 'what of it?'

'Wel do you think those guns are in working condition?'

One of the Captains sn.i.g.g.e.red.

'You have something to add?' Lethbridge-Stewart asked him.

'No sir.' The Captain looked straight ahead, discipline restored.

'You know for a fact that the guns won't fire?' the Brigadier continued.

'No, sir.'

'Then do something constructive, Captain, find out.'

The Captain saluted and left the room.

A young lieutenant had her hand clamped over a telephone receiver. 'I'm trying to contact some of the Beefeaters.

They're all retired soldiers, and until last week they lived within the walls. Every one of them resigned rather than serve the Martians. My betting is that some of them might know about a secret pa.s.sage, or a way under the walls via the sewers or the Tube.'

'Good work.' Lethbridge-Stewart turned to the others. 'What about a direct a.s.sault?'

One of the soldiers handed around copies of a glossy tourist brochure, requisitioned from the official Tower gift shop. There was a detailed black and white aerial view of the Tower and its walls.

'Three entrances,' Bambera said.

'Four,' Lethbridge-Stewart corrected, pointing at Traitor's Gate. It was set low into the wal , facing directly onto the Thames. 'We might be able to lead an a.s.sault from the river,' Bambera mused.

'There would be heavy losses,' the Brigadier responded.

'Professor Summerfield just isn't worth the sacrifice.' No-one said it, but everyone was thinking it.

'What's the s.p.a.ceship doing?' Lethbridge-Stewart asked without looking away.

'Holding its position,' Bambera replied. 'Wait. It's rising!'

It was getting lighter outside. Sunlight began to stream over Tower Hill.

'Look at this, Doug! I've got the Brig's email address, I've got his home phone number. What's this? BN45 7ED.

I've got his smegging postcode!' Oswald could barely contain his excitement. He was waving the business card like it was a winning lottery ticket.

'The ship's moving,' Doug noted.

Oswald wasn't listening. 'I could get more for this than that box full of FHMs I bought last April. This is worth more than my autographed copy of The Killing Stone.'

'Yeah, but you'll have to sel it fast. The ship's moving.'

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield I glanced up. Although it had been making its ascent for a good few minutes, the Martian ship was still filling the sky. When I turned back to Xznaal, he was studying a holographic display that hung level with his head. I could see the mob outside, baying for blood. Rocks and bottles were being thrown at a line of Provisional Government troops.

'Gunnery officer,' Xznaal grunted. 'Fire.'

For a moment I couldn't connect the words with what I was seeing. I looked up again. The Martian ship looked like a gravestone.

And then the sky pulsed.

My teeth were rattling, my ears were ringing. A globule of sonic energy slammed down through the air, impacting the ground on Tower Hil . Not the ground. It had hit the heart of the crowd. I could hear them screaming over the sound of a hundred burglar alarms.

Xznaal gave a wheezing laugh.

'Fire!' he barked.

A second blast fell just the other side of the walls, right on the banks of the Thames. There was a geyser of hot mud, a column of steam that shot fifty feet into the air. And, of course, there was screaming.

113.

'Both planets could survive, Xznaal,' I insisted. 'You have the power to end this war.'

He turned to me, and growled words that sent a chill down my spine. 'I don't want to end the war. I want to win.'

'At any cost?'

He c.o.c.ked his head to one side. He hadn't understood the question. I tried to put it another way. 'If, when this is over, there are two Martians, but only one human alive, wil you have won?'

Xznaal lifted his head. I saw him standing where he was now, bathed in moonlight in the ruins of London, mist on the ground, the sky icy blue. His heavy claws were raised in triumph. The image was so strong, so familiar, that try as I might, I couldn't see it ending any other way. I was crying even before he had given his answer. I was only human, after all.

'That would be victory,' the Martian concluded.

End of extract ***

'They are firing on the crowd. We need an air strike,' Bambera declared. Before she had finished speaking, there was another banshee wail, another tremor as a sonic blast hit home.

'We need a miracle,' the Brigadier replied, reaching for his radio. 'And this is our last chance to make one happen.

Greyhound to Eagle. Launch.'

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield Xznaal grabbed the back of my head and forced it down onto the block. I turned my head as far as I could without breaking my neck. The axe was in his other claw.

'That's a two-handed axe,' I told him. 'Don't I get a last request? Can I call my lawyer? At least let me compose some famous last words. Sorry to babble on a bit, but if this is - as I believe it to be - "it" and I'm going to die, then I'd like to spend my last twenty seconds on this Earth swearing and generally kicking up a fuss about how unfair this all is and how I'm too young to die.'

I resolved to keep my eyes open.

Then there was the whisper.

'It ends now, Xznaal.'

The soft voice had come from all around us: echoing from the walls of the Tower, rumbling like thunder in the distant mountains. The Ice Lord was looking around, trying to locate the source of the voice.

'Who are you?' Xznaal hissed. 'Sshow yoursself. Identify yoursself.'

'I am the man that gives monsters nightmares.'

I frowned. It was a loudspeaker, a public address system of some kind. The second time the voice had spoken it had been at a normal volume.

'The Daleks cal me the Bringer of Darkness.'

I couldn't begin to work out where the voice was coming from. It was getting louder, reaching a crescendo.

'I am the Eighth Man Bound.'

Something was glittering, coalescing in the air over Tower Bridge. A face.

'I am the Champion of Life and Time.'

A long, angular face with a jutting chin and aristocratic nose, framed by a mane of brown hair.

'I'm the guy with two hearts.'