by Mark Gatiss
‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked.
Noah sat up and pushed a fat cushion behind his back.
‘Pretty weak. Who… who are you?’
Jo held up her UNIT pass. ‘I’m Jo Grant.’
‘Jo,’ he said simply, ‘how long have I been here?’
‘Day or so. Your dad found you.’
Noah looked troubled. ‘I was out there. On the marsh. The Wing Commander and me went up to the aerodrome and –’
He cut himself off and clamped his eyes shut. Jo grasped his hand.
‘It’s OK. You told us all about it. You don’t have to think about it any more,’ she murmured gently.
Noah shook his head and opened his eyes. ‘No! I do. I want to remember.’
He took a deep, ragged breath. ‘There’s some kind of creature out there. Living in the marshes. Like a… a snake. Or a worm. It’s huge.’
Jo nodded. ‘It attacked you?’
Noah turned to look at her. ‘It was going to kill me. I thought I’d had it. But it seemed to… to hesitate. I ran. God, I ran so fast.’
He put a hand to his chest as though feeling the pain of exertion all over again. ‘I don’t know how I got out of there.’
Jo ruffled his blond hair. ‘Well, thank goodness you did. We were all very worried.’
Noah sighed. ‘Who’s the geezer with the white hair?’
‘That’s the Doctor,’ stated Jo.
‘Your boss?’
Jo laughed. ‘Not exactly.’
She thought of how she’d felt so recently, of how she’d grown under the Doctor’s tutelage. How it seemed he’d come to respect her.
‘We’re more like… well… colleagues,’ she said at last.
The Doctor was standing with one foot on the wheel-hub of a UNIT jeep, frowning in exasperation, the receiver of a field telephone pressed to his face. The Brigadier sat next to him, leafing through a sheaf of papers and dissuading children, who assumed the vehicle to be part of the summer fête, from clambering inside it.
Jo ambled across the green, smiling broadly at the happy scene. Several floats drove slowly by, crammed with waving villagers, all dressed in a variety of colourful, home-made costumes. Two sets of Laurel and Hardys were having a heated argument by the old water pump and something had made Little Bo Peep cry.
‘Perhaps she’s lost her sheep,’ thought Jo to herself.
She approached the jeep with trepidation. The Doctor didn’t look to be in the best of tempers.
‘Of course I appreciate that,’ he barked into the phone. ‘I know you’re new to the department but I would have thought after all this time… In the files, yes. All right. Yes… I’ll wait.’
He tucked the receiver under his chin.
‘Man’s an imbecile,’ he announced to no one in particular.
‘Who?’ asked the Brigadier. ‘The Minister?’
‘Yes, the Minister. Some doe-eyed boy hardly out of short trousers, by the sound of it.’
The Brigadier smiled. ‘He’s a rising star, so my government sources tell me.’
The Doctor harrumphed. ‘Well, I have some experience of stars. They can burn out very fast if they’re not careful.’
He turned and spotted Jo. ‘Hello Jo. Any candyfloss on the go?’
Jo shook her head. ‘Not that I can see. But the three-legged race was quite a gas.’
The Doctor nodded absently. ‘I knew a man on Taganis Six who would have won that by a mile,’ he said with all seriousness.
There was a crackle on the receiver. ‘Hello?’ he barked.
‘Are we going up to the aerodrome again?’ asked Jo.
The Doctor put his hand over the receiver. ‘If I can get rid of this idiot, yes. But I want you to stay with Mrs Toovey. Keep an eye on things here.’
‘I’ve just been talking to Noah again,’ said Jo confidently. ‘I think I could pinpoint exactly where on the marsh he saw that thing. We should get on to it right away.’
The Doctor returned to the phone. ‘Hold on.’
He flicked his gaze towards Jo. ‘We will. But you’ll be far more use to me here. Now off you go. There’s a good girl.’
Jo felt her face flush.
‘OK, colleague,’ she said under her breath and stumped away sullenly towards the green.
Max Bishop and Constable Trickett were sitting on a raised platform on opposite sides of an empty chair as the Reverend Darnell approached. He glanced at them, his pale eyelashes batting in the hard sunlight, and was pleased to see how happy they were looking.
‘Where’s Helen, John?’ he asked, trotting up the wooden steps. Trickett didn’t answer at first.
‘And I didn’t see Nichola in the band. Aren’t they well?’
Trickett’s head turned but Darnell couldn’t see his eyes through the policeman’s thick sunglasses.
‘No,’ said Trickett softly. ‘They’ve come down with something.’
Darnell tutted and turned to face the green. ‘Shame.’ The green was covered completely now, a sea of colours and faces.
‘Going very well,’ he cried. ‘Thanks to you, Max.’
Max Bishop inclined his head slightly. The sun was obviously too bright for him too, judging by the thick black glasses he was wearing.
Darnell patted the pockets of his linen suit, looking for the clip-on green frames he usually attached to his spectacles.
Disappointed, he turned back to Trickett. ‘Is he ready?’
Trickett nodded and got to his feet. As if on cue, a man strode out from behind the black curtains of the Legion International display, looking splendid in his police inspector’s uniform.
Darnell watched as a little girl ran past and cannoned straight into the inspector. The newcomer’s face flushed with fury and he raised a gloved hand as though to strike her. Then his face softened, he glanced around and patted the girl’s head affectionately.
The inspector took the steps up to the podium two at a time, extending his hand. Darnell grasped it and was surprised by the strength of his grip.
‘Good afternoon, Vicar!’ the newcomer enthused. ‘I’m Inspector Le Maitre. How nice of you to invite me.’
The Vicar nodded. ‘Well, when Constable Trickett told me we had a Scotland Yard man in the area I thought you’d be perfect to officially open our little celebration.’
Darnell failed to mention that the person he’d originally asked, an actress most famous these days for advertising ‘Sparkly Suds’ washing-up liquid, had cancelled at the last moment.
The guest of honour nodded. ‘Only too happy, my dear fellow. It does me good to get back in touch with people. One must never lose sight of community relations, even when one is a chief inspector!’
Darnell laughed. What a charming man.
He drew the inspector to one side. ‘Are you up here on a case?’ he asked in a conspiratorial whisper. The Vicar was a big fan of crime novels and never let an opportunity for grisly gossip slip.
The inspector smiled. ‘Let’s just say I’m helping some people with their inquiries.’
Darnell frowned and then burst into a high-pitched laugh.
‘Oh! Oh, very good.’
The Doctor sat down in the passenger seat of the UNIT jeep and pulled a pad of paper from his cloak. Rapidly, he sketched the wind tunnel he had visited the previous night and the strange, chimney-like extension into which the unfortunate Legion International trooper had been sucked. He held up the L-shaped diagram for the Brigadier to see.
‘Make anything of that, Brigadier?’ he asked.
Lethbridge-Stewart, who was midway through a radio conversation, shook his head.
‘What is it?’
‘Bliss’s wind tunnel,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘But why the vertical section?’
He continued to stare at the drawing, tapping a pencil against his chin.
The Brigadier concluded his radio call and replaced the R/T set under his seat. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to send Yates and Benton back to base pending further de
velopments.’
The Doctor frowned. ‘The men from the ministry again?’
The Brigadier nodded. ‘We’re to keep a low profile.’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ smiled the Doctor. ‘You could have got your troops to join in with the fête. Rerun a few battles or something. I’m sure the people of Culverton would be fascinated by a simulation of –’
He stopped suddenly.
‘What is it?’ queried the Brigadier.
The Doctor pointed ahead with his pencil. ‘Just a thought. Let’s get back to the aerodrome. I’ve one or two theories I’d like to try out.’
The Master turned to a microphone which had been set up on the platform and tapped it.
He gazed out over the packed green and watched as the Doctor and the Brigadier, oblivious to his presence, drove off towards the aerodrome.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced in a clear, authoritative voice which echoed through the village. Almost at once, the crowd settled down and listened.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. I’m very honoured to have been asked to open the Culverton village fête. I’m sure it will be splendid. And you’re all obviously enjoying yourselves very much. I’m only sorry that the lady from the washing-up advertisements couldn’t be here…’
Darnell looked up in shock.
‘… but I promise that, in spite of this, we’ll all have good clean fun!’ concluded the Master.
There was a ripple of laughter and applause.
The Master’s amplified tones settled like a blanket over the whole of Culverton. ‘I declare this fête well and truly open!’
He turned from the microphone and then swung back. ‘Oh and, by the way, I wouldn’t miss the Legion International display. I’ve seen it and it’s… captivating.’
He gave the crowd a cheery wave and walked slowly down the steps on to the green.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FÊTE WORSE THAN DEATH
The track to the aerodrome had been pummelled into deep ruts by the ceaseless convoys of lorries. The Brigadier’s jeep rattled over them, dust flying from the tread of its tyres.
‘So, no joy with Cochrane?’ shouted Lethbridge-Stewart above the roar of the engine.
The Doctor shook his head. On his knee was the notepad on which he’d made the drawing of the strange vertical wind tunnel. It fluttered as they sped along.
‘There’s obstinacy and then there’s wilfulness,’ he said, sketching in further details with a pencil. ‘Our Mr Cochrane seems very keen to keep this place under wraps.’
The Brigadier frowned. ‘But he’s the Defence Secretary!’ he cried, genuinely shocked. ‘Are you suggesting…’
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘But if Legion International are not from this planet – as I suspect – they may well have some pretty sophisticated methods of brainwashing.’
The Brigadier shook his head and tried to keep his mind on the road ahead. ‘Good Lord.’
The jeep trundled along until it came within sight of the aerodrome perimeter.
‘So where are they from?’ asked the Brigadier.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ confessed the Doctor. ‘But I think that wind tunnel is some kind of simulator. They’ve been experimenting with a process which will bring them to Earth.’
‘They’re definitely alien then?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘I’m sure of it. And you must admit, it gives a whole new meaning to the term “friends in high places”.’
He grinned broadly. The Brigadier seemed unamused.
The Doctor’s attention was suddenly riveted. ‘Hello.’
Lethbridge-Stewart looked through the dusty windscreen. The entire perimeter was ringed by Legion troopers, arms folded, each and every one in identical black uniforms and sunglasses.
The Brigadier pulled on the brake and the jeep shuddered to a halt. He swung himself out at once and stood with hands on hips, gazing at the human barrier.
The Doctor joined him. ‘Something tells me they don’t want us to come in,’ he said quietly.
The cabin of the simulated Legion aeroplane was packed. Despite the heat outside, a carefully controlled air-conditioner kept it pleasantly cool. There were precisely fifty-eight passengers seated in the spacious chairs, talking in excited whispers and gazing in wonderment at the projected view visible through the small windows.
The Reverend Darnell, with the diminutive Miss Plowman at his side, gazed absently at the three-dimensional image of Zurich airport.
Bliss’s honeyed voice drifted through the cabin.
‘Now approaching Zurich…’
The passengers gave little gasps of pleasure as the whole cabin appeared to tilt, shifting on invisible pistons, a simulated wing appearing to rise in their eye-line as the aircraft banked to the left.
‘Or is it really Kenya?’
A wave of awed sighs washed over the cabin as the view outside altered again, this time showing a blazing sunset over the African plains. Giraffe tugged at the leaves of tall trees. A herd of elephants careered through a dusty landscape then splashed into a lake, far below.
‘It’s amazing!’ cried Miss Plowman, her beady eyes bright with excitement.
‘Miraculous,’ muttered Darnell, chewing on his fingernail.
Suddenly, a small sign blinked into life. There was a soft chime and Bliss’s voice returned.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching an area of turbulence. Please fasten your safety belts.’
There was rush of chatter, then a whoop of frightened delight as the cabin suddenly lurched downwards. Outside, the view appeared to be of a thunderstorm. Rain and lightning lashed at the cabin windows.
‘I didn’t think it would be a roller coaster too!’ trilled Miss Plowman.
Darnell smiled weakly and clutched the arms of his seat as the aircraft plunged again. His stomach flipped over.
‘Please do not be alarmed,’ soothed Bliss’s voice.
There were more excited giggles from the passengers. A little boy screeched with delight as lightning appeared to strike the wing and the cabin rocked backwards with a bang.
‘Emergency!’ called Bliss, her voice only fractionally more energised. ‘Emergency. Cabin depressurisation.’
A high-pitched whine filled the air. Outside, the view appeared to show the plane rapidly descending.
‘Terribly… terribly realistic,’ croaked Darnell above the din.
‘Isn’t it?’
Miss Plowman no longer seemed to be enjoying herself. ‘Not a very good advert for an airline.’
Darnell shook his head.
The air in the cabin seemed to be genuinely altered. Darnell felt his ears pop. Really, this was going too far. Someone screamed.
‘Oxygen masks about to be released,’ said Bliss’s voice. ‘Do not be alarmed.’
There was a loud, splintering crack and fifty-eight oxygen masks swung down from the overhead compartments.
Some of the passengers, completely caught up in the simulation, reached for them. Others, like Darnell, looked about uncertainly.
He glanced back at the oxygen mask and frowned. There was something odd about it. The pipe which presumably led to the tanks was transparent but tinged a strange brown colour. A gelatinous slime seemed to ooze from it and the oxygen mask itself was more like the carapace of a crab, legs packed in a tight bunch, black eyes burning with malice.
The oxygen mask moved.
Darnell let out a little shriek of terror.
As the cabin appeared to plunge in a downward spiral, rolling in disorientating circles, the lights blacked out and fifty-eight slithering, living oxygen masks rocketed into the faces of fifty-eight Culverton villagers.
What little screaming there was, was drowned out by the roar of the simulated engines.
By the time the ride was over and another batch of passengers prepared to take their seats, fifty-eight satisfied customers filed out into the baking heat of the summer afternoon. It was obv
iously one hell of a ride. Every one of them was smiling…
The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. Not one of the Legion troopers had moved, nor even shown any sign that they had noticed the jeep’s arrival. They remained as immovable as shop window dummies the Doctor thought, then checked himself, remembering that shop window dummies didn’t always stay still…
‘What now, Doctor?’ said the Brigadier.
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I want to get another look at that wind tunnel. What we need…’
He glanced back at the jeep and then over at the ring of troopers. ‘…What we need is a diversion.’
Moving back towards the car, he made a quick examination of the windscreen. It was divided into two sections; a solid rectangular bottom half and a top half that was split in two. Each of these sections could be opened and angled upwards in its frame.
The Doctor opened the nearest one and tilted it until it caught the sunlight.
‘Pick one,’ he said.
‘Beg your pardon?’
The Doctor indicated the troopers. ‘Pick one of our jolly friends here. I’m going to try something.’
The Brigadier shrugged and pointed to the trooper nearest to the firmly closed gate.
‘All right,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’ll call him Charlie.’ He held up a hand and waved. ‘Hello, Charlie!’ The trooper didn’t react.
The Doctor angled the pane of glass in its frame until it was struck by sunlight, turning it into a square of dazzling yellow. He moved the glass further until it was shining directly into the Legion man’s sunglasses-covered eyes.
The trooper fell to his knees, clutching his face. Despite the sunglasses, he seemed unable to bear the direct assault.
‘You see!’ cried the Doctor. ‘They can’t stand bright light. Something else I discovered last night.’
As one, the troopers took a step forward and unshouldered their machine guns.
‘How does that help us?’ queried the Brigadier.
The troopers raised their weapons.
‘Not a lot, it seems,’ said the Doctor.
And now the cyan-blue of the room turns deeper, like the last, faint shafts of sunlight penetrating a fathomless ocean. The small creatures in their racks sleep silently, their delicate-looking, leathery chests rising and falling in soft motion.