Doctor Who_ The Dying Days Part 7

A pulsing sound, like air folding in on itself.

The picture and sound went dead.

David Staines tried to take a step back. He took a deep breath and turned to see what Lord Greyhaven was doing.

No-one else in the room was looking at Greyhaven, and why would they when they had so much to do? The former Minister of Science was standing at the back of the Mission Control room, and surely his expression would be the one of horror worn by everyone else in the room. But no. He stood impa.s.sively, watching the screen as though it were some science fiction blockbuster. Al his plans were in ruins, but he stood there like a rock.

The scientists were shouting their jargon: 'I've lost lifesigns on all four of them, sir.'

'The camera on the Lander just went off-line.'

'I've lost telemetry on the Lander.'

'Lander transponder dead.'

'They're dead, or else the signal is completely blocked.'

'There isn't anything else.'

'Re-establish contact with the Command Module,' Greyhaven suggested softly to the scientist who was manning the post immediately in front of them. Before his government positions, Teddy had been a captain of industry. Now all that authority was a.s.serting itself.

The loudspeaker began crackling. Simultaneously, data that had been collected and stored for this moment flooded across the screens. The main screen flickered into life and the picture quickly resolved into the face of Astronaut Singh. He wore the standard issue plain blue coveral s, and looked worried. He was in the Command Module, the part of the s.p.a.cecraft that remained in orbit above Mars.

'London Control, this is Mars 97 Orbiter. Time 11:02 Zulu. Update: have not, repeat have not, been able to re-establish contact with the Lander. This is not, repeat not, a technical fault. I have no transponder response from Lander. Am forwarding al data collected from the surface. Please advise. Over.'

By the clock mounted on the wall, Staines worked out that the signal was already five minutes old.

32.Computers began chattering as more information from the Command Module reached them. Quickly, the staff at Mission Control readied their response. It was quite a skill, coming up with the best possible response, keeping the time-lag to an absolute minimum, but at the same time sending as much useful information or instructions as possible. Within a minute they had transmitted their response.

'Mars...o...b..ter, this is London Control. Time 11:08 GMT. We confirm communications lost with surface. Advise redeployment of survey satel ites. Show us the surface of the Mare Sirenum. How are you all up there? Over.'

It was going to be a full ten minutes until the brief response. 'Well done, everyone,' Lord Greyhaven congratulated the scientists, leaning awkwardly over one of the consoles to shake Theo Ogilvy's hand.

Something about that was bothering the Home Secretary until Theo Ogilvy stood up to make an announcement, interrupting his train of thought.

'There is nothing more we can do for the time being, ladies and gentleman. If any of you need a coffee or to stretch your legs then do it now.' A few of them left, but most stayed at their posts.

The Doctor bought a bunch of violets from the flower seller by Charing Cross tube station as Benny studied the note he had been pa.s.sed again.

'Do you know where Chesterton Road is, then?'

'No, but that lad knew that I'd be able to get to it in plenty of time.' The Doctor ducked into a newsagents, Benny followed in his wake. Her ballgown was getting her funny looks now.

The Doctor had found the rack with the street maps and tourist guides on it.

'Ah, there we are.' He flicked through to the right page. Benny smiled wanly at the young Asian woman at the till.

'And that's the nearest tube station.' He measured out the distance with his thumb. 'Only about two minutes' walk away.'

Benny looked at him in his frock coat, eyes gleaming as he leafed through the A-Z, still clutching that bunch of violets in his hand.

'Have you any idea why he wants to see you?' she asked tentatively.

'No,' the Doctor said happily, replacing the A-Z. 'Do you?'

'Wel ... I was just wondering if he'd want me to come along.'

'What do you mean?'

They stepped out of the shop and out onto the busy pavement. The Doctor stood waiting for the answer, forcing the pedestrians to flow around him.

Benny collected her thoughts and began. 'Doctor, your new body is very ... well, I say "very", that doesn't mean that I personal y think ... I mean, compared to the way you used to look, of course, but not everything goes on looks.

But when it comes to the initial, y'know ... ' She blushed, realising she might be implicating herself here.

'Bernice, I don't understand what you are trying to say.'

'What I'm saying is that he might just want to see you because he fancies you.'

The Doctor looked blankly at her. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Who's being ridiculous?'

A big, fat man walking past glanced at her dress and smirked knowingly. Benny replied with one of her more severe frowns.

The Home Secretary stepped over to Ogilvy.

'Anything I can do, Professor?'

Ogilvy smiled wanly, 'There's nothing any of us can do for the moment.'

Staines nodded and returned to Greyhaven's side.

'What do we do, Teddy?'

'We wait. Al is not lost.'

'How can you say that? Those poor men.'

Suddenly, in front of them, there was a commotion.

'Sir! Signal from Mars.'

'Mars...o...b..ter to London Control. 11:14 Zulu. Roger that. Estimated one hour eighteen minutes to realign camera.

We're fine, Professor, don't worry. Will contact when satellites redeployed. Over.'

The sense of relief was tangible. It didn't last.

Screaming, and shouting.

'Airlocks!' one of the astronauts was yel ing over the sound of rushing wind.

'Sir,' one of the scientists shouted from the next row of controls. 'The airlocks just opened of their own accord. All the interior hatches have been blown.'

The Home Secretary was aghast. 'My G.o.d ... how?'

Greyhaven leant over the microphone and said calmly. 'Singh, this is at London. How did the airlocks open? Over.'

Ogilvy shook his head. 'There's a five minute delay, Lord Greyhaven, look at the clock.'

It was twenty-five past eleven. Singh had sent his message five minutes ago. Greyhaven's question wouldn't arrive until half past. It had already happened.

'Can we close the airlocks from here?'

33.Theo Ogilvy ran over to one of the control panels, the one just in front of where Staines and Greyhaven had been standing all this time. 'The airlock override is here, but it will be five minutes before ... ' he stabbed the control, because it was the only thing that he could do.

Staines looked up to see Singh staring into the camera, his clothes whipping as the air from the cabin was blown out past him.

'London,' he croaked, trying to suck air into his lungs, 'There's nothing - '

He lost his grip, and was hurled backwards in a storm of loose items: plastic cups, clipboards, sheets of paper.

There were no signs of the other three astronauts.

'I've lost lifesigns from the Command Module.'

'Air pressure zero.'

There was absolute silence at mission control.

'It's over,' the Home Secretary whispered.

'No,' Greyhaven said, determined. 'We continue.'

'How?'

'We continue,' he repeated firmly.

Eve opened up the door to their hotel room with her keycard. With all the interviews and other footage in the can, they'd come back to the hotel, dropped the tapes off and had lunch - lamb, as Lord Greyhaven had suggested.

That afternoon they would take a taxi over to the editing suite they leased from one of the satel ite stations based in Docklands and edit everything into shape. One advantage of working in England was that you could spend all day working on the report for the lunchtime news.

'I'm going to get this make-up off and have a shower,' Eve announced, holding the door open for Alan. He thanked her.

He and Eve had been working together for a couple of years, and this wasn't the first time that the cheapskate network had put them up in the same room. At least it was a twin room this time, and quite a large one. There was a chance for some privacy: not like that guest house in Berlin. It had always been awkward for Alan - he was a married man, and a pretty shy one at that. Alan never held anything back from his wife Melanie - he'd told her about the logistics of working abroad for a network who's foreign affairs desk was still trying to save money after spending so much covering the Gulf War. Melanie knew that it was part of her husband's job description to spend a lot of time alone in close quarters with his reporter.

'Unzip me, would you?' Alan obliged, and Eve stepped out of her dress.

She had danced semi-professional y while was at college and was used to getting undressed in front of other people. More than that, she had nothing to worry about when she did. Back home, Melanie read magazines full of pictures of thin, toned women and articles saying that she shouldn't worry because not everyone could look like a model. Melanie was good-looking, but she was a thirty-seven year old waitress with three kids. Eve was twenty-five with a hundred thousand dollars in the bank, a personal trainer and membership of a gym. When Alan was at home, he lay in bed with Melanie, telling his wife that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but they both knew it wasn't true.

The funny thing was, Eve was more jealous of Melanie than the other way around. When they'd covered some event at EuroDisney, Alan and Eve had shared a double bed thanks to another booking error. They'd got drunk and had a big heart to heart. If nothing else it proved that their relationship was going to stay Platonic no matter what. Eve had told Alan that she envied him his wife, she didn't have anyone back home. Whenever she met someone now, she could never be sure whether they wanted her or her fame. So she stayed lonely.

Eve was standing there in that lace underwear she'd paid a thousand dollars for in Paris. Alan was the only person who had ever seen her in it.

'Alan ... ' she warned.

He frowned and looked around the room.

They had been burgled, by experts. They were both good at spotting the signs. As a matter of routine Eve left little bits of sticky tape on doors and on her suitcases to see if they'd been tampered with, and she was obsessive about noting exactly where she'd left her stuff. Over the years, Alan had begun to share this paranoia - it wasn't just mad dictators who didn't want their dirty little secrets exposed. In their time, Alan had had material stolen by the owners of a rat-infested old peoples' home and even by the manager of a fast-food restaurant who paid below minimum wage.

He was already checking his videotapes. 'Someone's been here, but they've not taken anything,' he announced.

The combination on the case had been altered, it had shifted slightly.

'The tapes could have been wiped.'

He shook his head. 'It's a h.e.l.l of a lot easier to take them or smash them up. I'll check, though.'

Eve was looking through her notes and clippings. They'd picked the lock of her doc.u.ment wallet, but they hadn't removed a single disk or piece of paper.

'This is depressing,' Eve moaned.

'Why?'

'Nothing's been taken. Someone thought we were on to them, so they burgled our room, but they couldn't find a single thing. They didn't even trash the place to warn us off.'

Eve slumped on the bed.

34.Chesterton Road was a five-storey Georgian terrace that a hundred and fifty years ago would have been a row of town houses for affluent families. Since then times had changed and the rich had gone elsewhere - the buildings had been converted into flats, and regular maintenance had fallen by the wayside. Now the street had a vibrancy to it that the Victorians would have frowned on - the doors were painted in a rainbow or different colours, and hanging baskets and bright pots were scattered around, brightening the place up even more.

The Doctor and Bernice had walked uphill from the tube station and quickly located the right road. Finding the green door after that was simple enough - it was about halfway along the street. If it hadn't been lunch time there would be builders up on the roof, dropping slates down the big plastic chute into a yel ow skip. The Doctor rang the doorbell.

The Doctor checked his watch. They were two minutes early.

The intercom buzzed. 'Come up. Flat Two,' a gruff voice told them.

The door unbolted itself. The hallway inside was unfurnished. Bernice followed him in and closed the door behind her.

'Upstairs,' she told him.