by Mark Speed
"I'm looking to the future, Miss Peterson," said Thickett, between clenched teeth.
"So am I. I'm looking to the future and hoping to prevent whatever this thing is from destroying any more property. It's my job. God forbid there's more than one of them. I can't imagine the trouble we'll be in if an invasive species like this starts breeding. I'll drop these samples back at the lab and see you in the morning. Goodnight, Mr Thickett."
"She's not a happy Spectrel, is she?" said Dr How. They had been looking at a projection of the scene in Dagenham from the point of view of the Spectrel's badge. The three-dimensional image hovered in the air in front of Dr How's Spectrel.
"She's a bit grumpy, that's all," said Ware. "I don't know where she gets it from," he said to Kevin, with a grin. "Still, she's done herself proud, resisting arrest."
"Unfortunately, she's used up quite a bit of energy by throwing a tantrum. She's also drawn a little more attention to herself than she perhaps should have done. She could have gone along quietly, then just waited for us to rescue her."
"Well, you gotta understand what she's been through, Peter. I ain't proud of the neglect, am I? Then there's this cyber-attack you were talking about. She's got a right to defend herself."
"Yes, yes. We could just do without the attention of these people."
"Who are they?" asked Kevin.
"Mmm? Oh, MI16," said Dr How. "Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section Sixteen. Formed in 1945 to deal with scientific intelligence."
"The Nazis had funded all this scientific research, you see," said Ware. "The V-1 Guided missile, the V-2 ballistic missile –– and a host of other stuff. They needed a whole new department to gather the documents, the artefacts, and interrogate the actual scientists."
"But I thought there was just MI5 and MI6?" said Kevin.
"Nah," said Ware. "There was MI sections right up to Nineteen. I must say, I thought Sixteen was disbanded and shoved into Six after a while."
"Section One became GCHQ," said Dr How. "The big base of eavesdroppers based in Cheltenham. The ones who crack codes, hack emails and listen to telephone conversations."
"Anyway, they were more than a little interested in us Time Keepers," chipped in Ware. "But we didn't want to talk to them."
"We'd done our bit for Britain during the War," said Dr How. "As always. But we digress." He turned to his Spectrel. "Thank you," he said, and the projection stopped. "She'll be okay, but we have to get her back soon. She's going to need extensive repairs."
"Again, my apologies for the complications," said Ware.
"It happens, cousin. Just so long as you're back with the cause now."
"I'm back."
"So, like, who do you think is attacking you?" asked Kevin.
"Could be anyone," said Ware.
"Or, indeed, anything," said Dr How.
"Yeah, but like, do you really think it's this beetle thing?"
"If you're asking me whether the beetle is attacking us – or, more specifically, my cousin – of its own volition, then the answer is almost certainly no."
"Like, how do you know?"
"Come on, Kevin, look at the facts. It's a fairly dumb critter, as they go. Give it something that looks even just a little like a member of the opposite sex and it's happy. Give it some food and it's pretty passive. No, something's controlling it. And it's no coincidence that it attacked so soon after we arrived on the scene."
"Well it might be obvious to you, but I'm new to all this. Like, do you have any enemies?"
Both of the Time Keepers laughed.
"Come on, guys," protested Kevin. "You can't expect me to know all of this stuff."
"Sorry," said Ware. "It's just that –– even if you were going off your BBC knowledge – you should realise that there are plenty of people who'd rather we weren't around."
"Yes, but who?" said Kevin.
"Oh, don't mention that word in Peter's house," said Ware, and slapped the youth on the shoulder.
"I just want to understand what the situation is," protested Kevin. "I mean, Dr How's told me that there are aliens all over the place, but he hasn't told me who they are, what they want, why they're here – none of that. I think I've got a right to know. I mean, why are you two here anyway?"
Dr How gave him a serious look again. "As I think I've told you, Kevin, we Time Keepers operate under an intergalactic treaty. We are, if you will, peace keepers, of sorts. We're entrusted to do certain things. That's why we're called Time Keepers. As for the other aliens, there are delegations from many different cultures. They're here to observe and to represent their civilisations." Kevin opened his mouth to speak. "And, no, they're not here to kidnap people on lonely country roads; nor do they carve up cattle in the Mid-Western United States."
"Not for the most part, anyway," said Ware.
"There are miscreants, yes. But most civilisations mean well."
"And there are ones that don't?" asked Kevin.
"There's always a small percentage of otherwise intelligent beings who want to destabilise, or control."
"Or just trash the status quo," added Ware. "Who knows what they want?" He flashed a look at his cousin. "Who hasn't a bleedin' clue, actually."
"Enough, David."
"What about the other Doctors? I mean, the other Time Keepers?" asked Kevin.
"As we like to say on Gaelfrey, Kevin, 'All in good time'. Now, we must all rest. We have much to do tomorrow. Trinity will show you to your rooms." The other two glanced at the stairs, surprised to see the big black cat swishing her tail silently.
"I'd better call my Mum and let her know I'm staying out."
"I took the liberty of having my Spectrel leave an explanatory message in your voice earlier," said the Doctor. "She'd not be grateful for a call at this hour in the morning. I bid you goodnight. Oh, and just one thing."
"What's that?" asked Ware.
"Both of you – please shower thoroughly before you go to bed. You know I... Look, it's just this cleanliness thing. Okay?"
"Where are you sleeping, Doctor?"
"A good Time Keeper sleeps in his Spectrel," said Ware, putting a hand in the middle of Kevin's back, and guiding him in the direction of the stairs. Trinity was already climbing them.
Kevin glanced back over his shoulder. The chair at the desk was empty and the red telephone box glowed in the corner.
The Doctor was gone.
Dr How had known who it was the instant the doorbell had rung.
"Mrs Roseby, good morning," he said. "And to what do I owe this great pleasure at this early hour?"
"Don't you try sweet-talking me, Doctor How. You know very well why I'm here."
"No, really, I don't."
"You arrived back at God-alone-knows what hour last night in a scruffy-looking cab with a couple of very dodgy-looking people and woke my Albert up. And I'm concerned that this wreck of a vehicle," she gesticulated at Ware's cab, "is bringing down the neighbourhood."
Inside his pocket, Dr How's fingers curled around his Ultraknife. He made a conscious effort to let it go and bring his hand out empty. "Mrs Roseby, I have every right to arrive at my own home in whatever means of transport I choose at any time of the day or night, with whomever I choose to do so. Domestic cats are semi-nocturnal so it's only natural that Albert was awake. As for my guest's cab, it has every right to park on my property. However, if you feel it's affecting the value of your house, I'd be delighted to move it before you put it up for sale. I have to say I'm glad to hear you're considering moving into a nursing home; your niece has often expressed concern about your safety."
Doctor How had chosen to press several buttons at once. It put him in mind of pulling the lever on a one-armed bandit, and he could almost hear the words lining up in his neighbour's head as the wheels stopped spinning.
"Oh! Don't tell me that... that boy is staying with you?"
A jackpot line, bar one wheel.
"You mean my new assistant?"
Nudge.
"Assistant?"
Jackpot.
"Yes. Kevin's my new assistant."
"..."
"He's from the Tulse Hill estate."
Bonus.
"Don't tell me he's one of them illegal immigrants. I shall have the police round to arrest him if anything goes missing from my house."
"He's as British as you are, Mrs Roseby. Born and bred. Believe me, I do share your concerns about illegal aliens. More than you might care to imagine. Now that I've covered Kevin, how else may I help?"
She recovered her composure. "Well, I won't stand for having a cab service operating from these premises, Doctor How. It's quite against planning restrictions, and I shall bring down the full weight of the residents' association; not to say the council planning officers."
"You have no need for concern there, Mrs Roseby. That's my cousin's cab. His house is undergoing an unexpected refurbishment after a small accident yesterday."
"Well, I think it's in a disgraceful state and I shall be reporting it at the next meeting. And he can't be operating it from domestic premises."
"If there's nothing else I can help you with, Mrs Roseby, then I'll bid you good morning." He didn't quite slam the door in her face, and went back into the house.
"That woman was a cantankerous old bag when she was a blushing bride," said Ware from the bottom of the stairs. He was only wearing his underwear, and his unsightly pot-belly made the Doctor shudder.
"Age has not mellowed her, nor will it ever. How did you sleep?"
"Not bad. My Spectrel was in my dreams. She's insisting we get her back. Today."
"Yes, yes. It's on my ever-burgeoning to-do list. If you get Kevin up and breakfasted we can crack on. And if you can make sure you both have a shower before joining me in the basement."
"Anything else?"
"If you could remember to tell the house-bot to clean up after you, that would be much appreciated."
"And you wonder why you don't have visitors."
"No, I don't wonder. I don't have visitors because they make everything so untidy. And unclean."
"Good morning, Miss Peterson," said Thickett drily. "I'm so glad you could join me."
She had no idea where Thickett got his energy from. He could only have had three or four hours' sleep the previous night by her estimate. In her opinion, the man was borderline psychotic. "Good morning, Mr Thickett. I see you got it back in one piece," she said with a forced smile.
"More than can be said for the pick-up truck," he chortled. "Oh, the power of this thing."
They were in an observation gallery overlooking a concrete vault fifty feet square and thirty high. Ware's Spectrel was in the middle of the chamber, brightly lit by strip-lights from above and the sides. Peterson had not been in this particular area before. Judging by her route through the labyrinth of tunnels under Holborn, she thought they must be somewhere under Kingsway –– probably at a depth of well over two hundred feet – deeper than the Central Line station which lay to the north. On the side opposite the gallery were armoured steel doors painted a drab military green. There was a three-colour traffic light next to the door to control vehicles going in and out of what would be a long single-lane tunnel to the surface. She knew enough to work out that this would have been built in the Fifties, along with other Cold war bunkers. She guessed that its purpose would have been to quarantine vehicles or supplies whilst they were decontaminated from nuclear or biological material. Below the gallery would be another armoured door, allowing access to the rest of the complex.
"And what's your plan?" she asked.
"Slowly drain it of power, then we'll be able to get in."
"Great plan. You could be here quite a while."
"Oh really? What makes you so certain? We're not detecting anything from it at the moment." He nodded towards a bank of monitors.
"Well... It's just that you'd expect something like this to have plenty of reserves on hand." She looked away a little too quickly.
"At the very least, they'll have to come and get it sooner or later. They can't just leave it in this state."
A slam echoed around the chamber, and the floor shuddered, distracting Thickett. Two technicians dressed in black rubber nuclear, biological and chemical suits – NBC suits; often called Noddy suits in the military – came into view and made their way towards the cab. Each was carrying a heavy toolkit. When they reached the vehicle, one of them turned and waved up at the observation gallery. Thickett waved back, and pressed a button next to a speaker.
"Testing," said a man's muffled voice. "Jackson here."
"Roger, Jackson," said Thickett. "Test all the doors."
The men did as they were told, testing all four doors, which didn't open. They looked back up at the gallery and shook their heads. "No luck," came Jackson's voice.
"Try the boot and the bonnet," said Thickett.
The other man went round to the back of the vehicle. They saw it bounce slightly on its suspension as he grappled with the boot handle. Once his colleague at the rear was clear, Jackson felt under the lip of the bonnet. "I feel the catch," he said. He tugged and shook his head. He put his hand on the cab's badge to steady himself as he tugged hard, and a scream came from the speaker. "That hurt! It felt like an electric shock. But I'm totally insulated in my Noddy suit, so it can't be."
"Gotcha!" said Thickett. "There it is, Miss Peterson. A deliberate assault on a member of the security services by the Time Keepers."
"Oh, hardly," said Peterson. "This is a waste of time. None of these monitors even flickered. The lab should have the results back by now. Let me know if anything interesting happens."
There was a sound like a distant explosion. Peterson felt a tremor in the floor beneath her feet, and the monitors on the wall rattled on their mountings. The men in the Noddy suits looked around at the door then, puzzled, looked up expectantly at Thickett and Peterson.
"On second thoughts, I'll stay," she said.
"Like, for real, we're going to travel in the Spectrel this morning?" said Kevin.
"Yes, Kevin. This is 'for real', not some parallel universe. As you can see, David's Spectrel is in a Cold War bunker under Kingsway."
They were in the Doctor's basement looking at two projections, which occupied the middle of the room. One showed a three-dimensional representation of the secret complex, including the buildings immediately above it. Kevin was captivated by it: the detail was extraordinary. The other projection was a live three-dimensional feed from Ware's Spectrel.
"It's like that bit in Star Wars, innit?" said Kevin. "Like where R2D2 is showing Luke the recording by Princess Leia, when she's asking for help from Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Nah," said Ware. "Surely it's more like the bit where they see the 3D model of the Death Star? Or the bit in Return of the Jedi when they see the Death Star coming into firing position round the forest moon of Endor."
"Yeah, or there's this bit in –"
"Can I just remind you that the reason we're able to mount this rescue mission at all is because I was doing my job, rather than gorging myself on contemporary human cinema?" snapped the Doctor.
Ware turned to Kevin and muttered, "To be fair, he did get a bit less sleep than the pair of us."
"So our Spectrels estimate that they'll have to be in close proximity for ten sidereal minutes to get the power transfer completed. Unfortunately, it looks like she's under some scrutiny. Now, that needn't necessarily be a problem just so long as I can get the connection back." The Doctor nodded towards his Spectrel and the projections vanished.
"Excuse me, Doctor. Do you mind if I ask a stupid question?"
"There's no such thing as a stupid question. Fire away, but make it quick."
"Like, if you're using this transdimensional feed, why can't you use it from a distance?"
"Good question. There are four forces. Gravity is the weakest, but it makes its presence felt at almost infinitely greater distances than the others. The ones that apply on a subatomic level are
unimaginably stronger than gravity, but make their presence felt over almost infinitesimally small distances. They bind subatomic particles together, but as soon as those particles are a short distance away – even just a couple of radii of those particles – then they are much weaker. This is a bit like that. Got it?"
"Um. I think so."
"Well it's a bit like the way I can reach the lab in the Spectrel through my pocket. Does that make sense now?"
"Not really."
"That's because you've not done the Ph.D. in Astrophysics yet. I take it you're postponing your Nobel acceptance speech by another decade."
"Is he always this sarcastic?" Kevin asked Ware.
"Nah, he's going easy on you. His full sarcasm has been banned by intergalactic treaty."
"So," said the Doctor. "First rule of time: the sooner we start, the sooner we're back."
"Uh, another stupid question if I may," said Kevin.
"Go on."
"Like, can't we just go back in time and stop them from taking David's Spectrel?"
"No, not really."
"But why not?"
"Misuse of time travel."
"But I don't understand."
"That's because, not only have you failed to complete your Ph.D. in Astrophysics, you have neglected to read the Laws of Time Travel, to which David and I are both signatories and of which we are both enforcers. We can do this another way, and so we must. Or, if you want to put it another way, because I say so, Kevin. Now hop in."
Doctor How opened the door of the red telephone box and held it. Kevin looked at Ware and How. He looked at the inside. There was a telephone and a shelf, just as he would have expected to see in any other box on any British high street.
"Okay, me first," said David. "Been a while, ain't it?" he squeezed into the telephone box and glanced around. He took a firm step forwards and disappeared. He didn't disappear into the back of the box as if stepping behind a curtain – he just ceased to be there.
"But where is he?"
"My cousin Where is now elsewhere, if you'll indulge my humour."
"Yeah, but where?"