by Mark Speed
The Doctor gasped again and Kevin rushed to his side.
“You blithering idiot!”
“I just saved your bleedin’ life, Doc. If that’s all the gratitude –”
“Butane, lad! There’s a furnace over there. Pick me up and run, damn you! Trinity, get the hell out of here!”
Kevin felt a pang of fear loosen his stomach. He knelt down in front of the Doctor and put him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift – his right arm hooked around the back of the Time Keeper’s knees, and the Doctor’s chest against Kevin’s back. He ran for the plastic curtain that led to the other part of the factory. Something large shot over his head, and Trinity landed in her spider form several feet ahead of him. She ran straight through the plastic curtains without slowing down. He could see something red on the other side, about the height of a man.
He burst through the curtains. There was no sign of Trinity but there was a red post office box right in his path, and its door was wide open. Without even thinking, he ducked down and pushed the Doctor feet-first through the door. As he clambered through he felt the blast wave from the explosion hit his back and launch him forwards into the post box.
Doctor How had just got onto his hands and knees in When’s Spectrel when Kevin landed on top of him, sending him sprawling heavily back onto the floor.
“Damn it, Kevin. Let me get up, will you?”
“Sorry, Doc. You know not to stop moving once you get into a Spectrel, don’t you?”
Kevin was first on his feet, aided by his suit. He held out a hand to the Doctor, who took it and got up, still a little unsteady. Trinity’s head bobbed up and down with laughter from underneath a display table of museum pieces.
“Thank you,” said the Doctor, and brushed off his suit.
“I do hope you are both well?” said When in a monotone from behind the control panel. “That was a little bit too close for my liking.”
A 3D projection of the factory appeared in front of the control panel. It showed flames billowing up from one corner of the building, and it was clear that the fire was spreading rapidly to the other parts.
“What about the Doc’s Spectrel?”
“Luckily she was quite some distance from the explosion. She was frozen and unable to move due to the large amount of interference. It would seem that this was a very clever trap. However, as soon as those components were destroyed she was able to exit.”
“So how did you get here?” asked the Doctor, his voice tinged with anger.
“Peter, I do have a good grounding in technology, you know,” said When, looking genuinely hurt. “You kindly sent me one of those flowers tomorrow, if you recall. I worked my backside off getting a fix fitted to counter this threat. To be honest, I wasn’t one hundred percent confident that it would work. There was not a small risk that I could have damaged my Spectrel.”
Doctor How regarded his cousin for a few moments. “Bhaltair,” said How. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. You can understand…”
“I appreciate that you have been under an awful lot of pressure these last fifty years, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” The Doctor walked over to his cousin and grabbed him in a tight embrace. When stood rigid, his hands by his side whilst How hugged him.
“Peter, you know I don’t –”
“No, nor do I for that matter. But sometimes I think it’s appropriate.” How let his cousin go and stood awkwardly in front of him. “You did the right thing today. A brave and risky thing, and I’m grateful. The three of us are, and my Spectrel.”
“I took the liberty of deploying a fix. So you’ll find that the existing stock of flowers isn’t going to be a problem.”
“A fix?” asked Kevin.
“Yes,” said When. “I found a particular resonant frequency at which I could burst the – for want of a layman’s term – guts of these devices using a time-gravity pulse. For your reference, Peter, I deployed it in three sequential bursts triangulated around London.”
“You what?” said Kevin.
“You know how you can break wine glass with the right frequency?” said How. “He did the same thing to these chips, but with a time-gravity pulse. He went to three points around London and did it. He didn’t do them all at the same time because there would have been interference patterns, as would happen with any wave form. That would have meant there would have been an interference pattern and some wouldn’t have been destroyed.”
“Right. Of course.” Kevin thought for a moment. “Hang on, why didn’t he just go back in time and eliminate the threat from the start?”
“You’ll find we’re now back in your basement,” said When in his usual neutral tone. “I took the liberty of presuming you would want to be returned there, and to the time you originally set off. I know you’re a stickler for keeping your timelines and schedules uncomplicated.”
How turned to Kevin with a smile. “Does that answer your question, lad?”
“Sure. Timelines. We hadn’t been to Brixton at that stage.”
Kevin noticed that the projection of the factory now showed the aftermath of the fire. Most of the massive structure had been gutted, leaving just the blackened skeleton of the building. Water from the fire crew still played on the smoking ruins. This was clearly a factory the day after a massive blaze.
“Thank you for your consideration, cousin. And the remains of those illegal robots?”
“I did scan the building with a probe, but they were turned into pools of molten metal. Deliberately, it would seem. I’m sure we could get samples of the metal if you would like.”
“No,” sighed the Doctor. “I can already guess.” He paused awkwardly. “If you’d like to stick around for dinner?”
“Thank you, Peter. But that’s quite enough for one day. In terms of having company. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy seeing the three of you, it’s just that, you know…”
“You prefer to be alone. I understand and respect that. Well, you know where I am.”
“Yes. Yes, I do, Peter. And I’d like to thank the three of you, too. I am very appreciative.”
“Well, I hope we can count on you in the future?” said Kevin.
“I have a feeling you may also need my help in the past,” said When.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Kevin. “Whenever.”
“Right. I’d better be off then,” said When, shuffling awkwardly.
“Kevin, come along. Let my cousin get back to his life.” How gestured for Kevin and Trinity to leave When’s Spectrel.
“Cheerio,” said When.
“Laters,” said Kevin.
“Farewell, cousin,” said How, and exited into his basement. He motioned to his companions to enter his own Spectrel.
There was a slight disturbance in the air as When’s Spectrel disappeared.
“Well, I’m sorry to say that the US doesn’t sit on its collective ass drinking cups of tea when American citizens are getting attacked and killed, Sir Adrian,” roared Joe Schlutz. “So I can hardly apologise for taking the action I did.”
Vauxhall Cross, one of the busiest intersections in London, was devoid of traffic – both pedestrian and road, and the bus station had been evacuated. The Tube and rail stations were closed, with trains passing straight through. It reminded Peterson of a scene from a sci-fi disaster movie, which she supposed it was, in a way. The illusion was helped by the fact that Colonel Schlutz was almost a caricature: six foot three, solidly built, square-jawed, squeezed into a suit so smart that it seemed like it wanted to sprout gold braid and become a uniform.
Sir Adrian smiled a diplomatic smile. “The problem is, Joe, that you’ve created a bit of a… problem. Rather a big stink.”
“The hell I have! Those sewers are sovereign US property.”
Commander Bunce raised her hand in an assertive police-like manner. “With all due respect, Colonel Schultz –”
“Schlutz! Schultz is the guy who created Charlie Brown and Snoopy.”
“
Sorry, Colonel Schlutz. Your territorial rights begin at the edge of the property. This is British sovereign territory.”
“It’s underground.”
“Same principle, Colonel.”
“Nah. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“We can’t be having you conducting this sort of operation on British soil. Or under it.”
“Thank you, Jane,” said Sir Adrian. “I think we’re actually a bit beyond questions of policing now. Rather, I think we’re onto issues of security and intelligence. Incidents like this are, unfortunately, sometimes talked about at diplomatic level because of the seriousness of the violations they represent. Of course, if the parties concerned can be shown to have been cooperating and communicating effectively… sharing information between peers as equals… then matters such as these need go no higher. Although quite how we explain a series of large explosions escapes me for the moment.”
“Methane explosions,” said Dr Peterson brightly, stepping out from behind Commander Bunce and Sir Adrian Brown.
“Excuse me?” said Schlutz, unable to resist a full take on Peterson’s figure.
“Methane builds up from bacterial action on faecal matter. Occasionally it explodes. Modern sewers are supposed to have had that flaw designed out of them, but in this instance it failed. Totally plausible.”
“I like it,” said Schlutz.
“This is Doctor Peterson. MI16,” said Sir Adrian. “One of our brightest.”
“Sixteen?” asked Schlutz.
“Scientific branch,” said Sir Adrian. “She’s one half of it. The better half, to be honest,” he said conspiratorially.
“But what about the hundreds of witnesses who saw our special ops guys go in first?”
Peterson smiled. “Security check on the back of the ongoing problem with the… whatever we decide to tell them it is. Unfortunate that a spark ignited the gas. A routine accident, if you will.”
“A routine accident?” asked Schlutz.
“Of course. Just your usual sort of accident. No conspiracy. All very unfortunate. Wheel out a couple of experts for the media. Everybody knows that – if you’ll excuse me – farts are flammable. All rather amusing, humorous articles in the tabloid press, thankfully no one was hurt. Nothing to see here, let your brain move along please.”
Schlutz gave Peterson a long, hard look, then grinned. “Lady, if ever you wanna go on secondment to Uncle Sam, I can swing it for you.” He clapped his hands together and shouted over at a couple of his men. “Okay guys! Get this wrapped up ASAP and get back in the compound. Let the Brits have the scene back. I think we got all we need.” He turned back to his three British colleagues. “Sorry about the misunderstanding. You can appreciate we get a little trigger-happy. When it comes to our diplomatic missions, memories of Tehran, Beirut, and Nairobi are always in our minds – the whole damned world wants to have a pop at us.”
“We can work that into the news story,” said Peterson. “Maybe you were installing some kind of security apparatus and a spark triggered the explosion?”
“She’s awesome,” he said to Sir Adrian, jerking a thumb at Peterson.
“Isn’t she just?”
“Come on, you guys,” said Schlutz. “Let me get you a proper cup of coffee back in my place. Sir Adrian, you’re right – we need to share. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“That’s a game I’ve not played in a long time,” said Sir Adrian.
Schlutz looked at Peterson and Bunce for an explanation.
“British humour,” said Peterson. “Double entendre.”
“Well it sounds French. Uncle Sam don’t do French. Hey, Mac!” he addressed a guard at the gate.
“Sir!” the man snapped to attention.
“Doctor Peterson’s leaving her French at the gate here. Look after it, will ya?”
“Uh, yessir.”
“Here’s what we got from the scene,” said Schlutz, setting a glass jar down on the left of his desk. “The only damned thing we could find. Slime. Went straight through the plastic container we tried to pick it up in. This is all we have left.” It looked unremarkable – a greenish-brown gunge in a mix of sewage. “One of the guys swears he was grabbed by something. We think this is what it was. But it doesn’t look like the something that killed our guy on the john this morning.”
“We fought one of the somethings off just before you were attacked,” said Sir Adrian. He was sitting to Schlutz’s left, and closest to the jar. He picked it up and looked at the contents. “It had a tendril. A tentacle. No suckers, so not an octopus. A bit like a jellyfish or something. Nothing like this. Unless it’s decomposed.”
Commander Bunce coughed politely. She was sitting at the other end of the line of three chairs in front of Schlutz. “We didn’t actually fight it off, to be honest. A member of the security services called Thickett –”
“The not-so-good half of MI16,” interjected Sir Adrian.
“Thickett was grabbed by it. It stung him like a jellyfish. The same sort of sting that my scenes-of-crime officer saw on this morning’s casualty.
“Yeah, that’s what we had this morning. Stinging tentacle. And worse. We shot at it. How did you guys fight it off?”
“To be honest,” said Bunce. “Something else dealt with the threat.”
“Something else? What the hell does that mean?” demanded Schlutz.
“We had a little bit of a leak this morning.”
“What is this – more of that famous British toilet humour? Huh?”
Commander Bunce gave Schlutz a thin smile. “No, it’s our famous understatement. There was a big security leak and I’m sure you’ve seen the images that went around the internet.”
“Damn right I did. An old guy in the sewer and a giant spider at the Brixton Market killings. You’re telling me those images are for real?”
“Yes. It was the giant spider which saved our colleague Thickett from the oversized jellyfish.”
“Holy cow. You know how absurd that sounds?”
“Our sentiments exactly,” said Sir Adrian.
“And you told me you had those giant cockroaches last week. What the hell is this?”
“We only wish we knew,” said Bunce. “The giant cockroaches are new to me too.”
“And I only found about them when I had to sign off on the millions in damage they caused,” said Sir Adrian.
Schlutz drummed his fingers on the desk. “You think there’s some kinda war going on down there somewhere? You know, a fight to the death between mutated species? Serious question.” He made eye contact with each of the three Brits in turn before locking gaze with Peterson. “Doctor Peterson, I’d appreciate your opinion. Apparently you saw the giant cockroaches.”
Doctor Peterson was sitting in the middle of the trio facing Colonel Schlutz. She smiled. “I think if you put a mix of any kind of wildlife into a confined space there’s going to be a fight,” she said. “There are predators and there are prey.”
“Very true, but that doesn’t tell me Jack about what we’re gonna do about it.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Sir Adrian. “I think we’d like to hear your side of the story. You’re not going to tell me that a team of Navy SEALs were defeated by a piece of slime, Joe?”
“Since we’re into British toilet humour, we both know that the German defeat in North Africa in World War Two was down to dysentery caused by poor hygiene practices. The British literally got their shit together.”
“Very droll.”
“My point is that the strongest army can be defeated by anything. You can’t plan for every threat.”
“I agree. Please, do continue.”
“So we used a bit of gas.”
“Gas? Tear gas?”
“Let’s call it tear gas plus.”
“Jesus, Joe. You were using poison gas on British sovereign territory?”
“Aw, Sir Adrian. Look, we have to be prepared for all sorts of eventualities.”
“My officers
aren’t allowed anything more powerful than pepper spray!” said Bunce, rising from her seat.
Sir Adrian ushered her back down with a gentle hand and a smile. “You’d had a man killed. I understand.”
“Look, it’s the only thing we have to fight a threat in the sewers. So we dropped it into the system. We figured we had to head it off at the pass… What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” said Peterson.
“We inserted a team in the sewer and heard this splashing. It was going up the pipe towards the embassy. We figured we’d just got there in time – cut off its escape into the rest of the sewer system. One of our guys took a couple of cracks at it. Said it was the weirdest thing. It was deploying some kind of cloaking. You ever see that movie Predator?” His British counterparts nodded. “Yeah, well that’s what it was like. Cast a shadow though – just like your spider. Only this thing was bipedal – our guys could hear that immediately from the sound it made. And it looked… human. Five-ten, weighed maybe a hundred-and-eighty pounds.”
“And it never occurred to your men that this… being might not be a threat? They just chose to shoot at it?”
“Hey, we got a dead guy here and a lot of explaining to do. Right? Anyway, so we inserted another team inside our compound just as this – I dunno – being was about to pass the manhole. He smashes up the team’s ladder and leaves our guy for dead. And then – get this – he runs into a cul-de-sac and disappears. We figure the only way he could have gone is up. Suddenly a couple of our guys are hit by something like an anemone that drops on them from above – right where the being has gone.”
“You mean a sea anemone, rather than the flower, I take it,” said Sir Adrian.
“Enough levity. This sea anemone starts fighting. Then the being lands, and he starts fighting too.”