Doctor Who: The Devil Goblins From Neptune (14 page)

The journey seemed to last forever, and Liz found it increasingly difficult to get comfortable in her seat. After the briefing, Shuskin had handed out various documents and hard-copy photographs, which Liz had glanced at but could make little sense of. Indeed, she was feeling increasingly out of her depth. The comparative speed with which she had been whisked from Cambridge to East Germany and beyond hadn't helped, but really it came down to a growing realisation that this was a purely military problem. And she hadn't become a scientist to help soldiers fight wars with nastier toys than they'd had before.

Of course, she was concerned by the deaths of the soldiers, and the potential threat posed by this mysterious construction site, but it seemed to Liz that this 'mission' was little more than an excuse to watch the Soviets throw increasing amounts of military hardware at what seemed to be an unknowable and deadly alien threat. And she was surprised that the Doctor seemed to be involving himself at that level, discussing military matters with Shuskin towards the rear of the AWACS plane.

Anyway, what could Liz do? She was adaptable, and learnt quickly - it surprised and somewhat depressed her how swiftly she'd picked up the jargon and even the hardware specs of much of the British army - but she wasn't sure how much help she'd be to the Doctor over the coming days. She turned to him as he returned to his seat.

'Why did you ask me to come, Doctor?'

'Two heads are almost always better than one, Liz.'

'But this...' She indicated the craft interior, the officers who worked at the various screens, the accompanying MiGs just visible through the windows. 'It's all so "Come outside if you think you're hard enough."'

'I know,' said the Doctor. 'I'm very aware of the military mind, its predictable response to alien aggression. Just think for a moment. What will the Soviets do if they can't sort this problem out fairly swiftly?'

Liz paused, deep in thought. 'You can't mean...' she said at last.

The Doctor nodded. 'A nuclear strike has already been discussed. It's not an option the military and civil leaders will put off using for much longer.'

Liz gulped. 'But the damage, the fallout... If the wind's in the wrong direction then somewhere like Yakutsk would get roasted. And they don't even know what they're attacking.'

'Exactly,' said the Doctor. 'I'm going to suggest something a little more subtle. They might not listen to me, despite all the trouble they've gone to to get me. But perhaps if both of us shout loudly enough...'

Liz to smiled, ashamed that she'd thought the Doctor was getting too embroiled in the military's distinctive approach to problem-solving. 'And you think there's a link with that meteorite in the UK?'

'Almost certainly.'

'You had an idea there would be, didn't you?'

The Doctor smiled. 'I've never been a believer in coincidence, you know that.'

'Then why come all the way out here?'

'To stay and defend Britain alone would be parochial in the extreme, Liz. Anyway, the aliens - if that is what they are -

have only just landed in Britain. They've been in the USSR

for a number of months. If we can work out what's going on here, we'll have a pretty clear idea what to expect back in England, won't we?'

Liz nodded, leaning closer to the Doctor. 'And you believe the Soviets?' she whispered. 'You don't think this is all some elaborate trick?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. They're frightened. I'm inclined to trust frightened people.

Mike Yates had volunteered for further duties as soon as it became clear that he hadn't suffered any long-term damage from Shuskin's blow to the head. Although the plan to allow the Doctor's kidnap had worked, and the entire operation was completed with minimal fuss or loss of life, Mike couldn't help but feel that his own rampaging hormones had let the Brigadier and the Doctor down.

The Doctor, of course, harboured no resentment, and, thankfully, Lethbridge-Stewart seemed preoccupied and had dispatched Yates with Sergeant Benton to the site of the festival to see if any further information could be gleaned from 'those young people'. From the reaction of the couple in the van two nights before, Yates suspected that there was very little chance of a pair of army officers, however nice and

'with it' they might seem, getting much frankness from the peace-and-love freaks.

He'd decided that they should travel in civvies and pose as journalists from the underground press.

'Remember,' he said, as they parked his Datsun close to the entrance to the festival grounds, 'If anybody asks, just say you're with the International Times, and say "man" a lot. It'll be a breeze'

'Yes, sir,' said Benton.

'John, for goodness sake, stop calling me "sir" - that's a bit of a give-away, wouldn't you say?'

'Yes, sir... Mike.'

'That's better.'

As they walked through the near-deserted grounds Yates became increasingly aware that they probably stood out amongst the litter and the occasional clump of windswept youths like a pair of stolen cars. Oh, well. Standard army procedure.' press on regardless.

'Check out the squares,' said one boy as they passed his tent.

'Hi, man,' said Yates with a cheesy grin. 'Me and my mate are from
IT
. We heard there was a happening going down?'

'Your hair's too short,' the boy said with disinterest. 'Make like a drum, and beat it till you've got yourself together man'

He turned and scuttled back into his tent, muttering about

'weekend hippies'.

'Not very successful,' said Benton, straight-faced.

'No,' agreed Yates. 'Still, I suppose that proves we're never going to convince anyone we're part of their scene.

We'd better just say we're from the Daily Mirror or something.

At least that's left-wing. Let's try over there...'

They headed towards a group of dirty Transit vans with a large bonfire roaring away in front of them.

'Not a very inviting bunch,' said Benton as they closed in on a group of suspicious-looking long-haired people in flowing kaftans.

'First impressions aren't always reliable,' said 'Just, turning on his most charming smile as he approached the group. 'Hi,' he said, 'I'm Mike Yates from the Mirror. Nice day, isn't it?'

There followed a long period of silence before one of the group, a woman, answered. 'Every day is a beautiful day on God's Earth,' she said.

Oh great, thought Yates. The Jesus Freaks. 'Good way of putting it,' he said. 'Listen. We've been sent down to find out what was going down at the gig on Thursday. You know, the lights in the sky and all that.'

'Why?' said another of the group.

The question floored Yates. 'Why what?'

'Why do you want to know about the lights?'

'Knowledge is good,' said Yates. 'Anything unusual should be publicised, so that people can learn what's going on.'

'People don't want to learn anything,' said the woman, sitting cross-legged next to the fire. 'They can't accept simple truths so they've got to invent their own meanings for the obvious. The signs are there, and have been for months.'

'Meaning...?'

'We're the Venus People,' she continued. 'You've heard of us?'

'Should we have?' asked Benton sarcastically.

'Not if you're too blind to see and too deaf to hear,' said a tall man with wild blond hair who had just emerged from one of the vans.

'What do you believe in?' asked Yates.

'We believe that God has seen the sick and sorry state of this planet and that he's gone to Venus,' said the newcomer.

'But mankind can't get its act together so he's gonna come down with his angels and wipe the planet clean.'

Yates nodded. 'Armageddon...'

'Too right, said the man. 'But before he does that, he's gonna send the Saucer People to take us away to Eden.'

'On Venus,' continued another of the group. 'Just us, and the bands. They know. The Beatles, Floyd. That's what

"Astronomy Domine" is all about, right?'

'Shut up, Crispin,' said the blond man angrily. 'They don't give a toss about all that. They're just here to suss out the scene and give it back to the Man, right?'

'Not exactly...' began Yates.

'Don't give me that crap. You're MI5, or Special Branch, or the military. You stink of it, man. I can smell you from miles away.'

Neither Yates nor Benton said anything. With their cover seemingly blown, their choices were limited. Yates chose to try to bluff it out. 'What makes you think that?' he asked.

'Before God found me, I was like you,' said the man. 'He sent the Saucer People to me. They said, "Arlo, it's coming down big time, baby. It's gonna be the end of everything."'

'You don't say?' muttered Benton.

'You're too uptight to dig anything, man,' said Arlo. 'So you just run off back to the cats in charge, and tell them what the Saucer People said.' Earth's days are numbered.'

'I shan't be telling them that, or anything like it,' said Yates. 'What I will tell them is that I met a bunch of hippie dropouts who've had one too many herbal cigarettes. Come on, Sergeant, let's get out of here. Can't say I like the smell.'

Yates turned and hurried away. Benton, looking nonplussed, eventually caught up with him. 'What now?' he asked.

'I go to that pub in the village and have a very large drink,' said Yates. 'You can join me if you want.'

Benton smiled broadly. 'Now you're talking my language, sir.' He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. 'I take it you didn't believe what those freaks were dribbling on about?'

Yates stopped suddenly. 'Of course I believe them. But I don't want them to know that.' He smiled. 'I'm just trying to work out how on Earth I'm going to report it.'

* * *

Liz felt a vague sense of disappointment.' the overlapping runways and low buildings looked not unlike those they'd left behind in Germany. She'd always wanted to explore eastern Europe - the USSR in particular - but it looked as if her first and only glimpse of life behind the Iron Curtain would be from the windows of various aircraft.

The Doctor nodded approvingly at the helicopters arranged before them. 'We're actually very privileged, Liz.'

'We are?'

He pointed out the differing types for Liz. 'That huge beast over there is a Mil Mi-6, NATO codename.' "Hook". It's a basic heavy-transport machine. Those smaller ones over there are Mi-8s, general utility helicopters' Liz noted that most had external pylons fitted, bristling with rockets and gun pods. 'Now, here's the really interesting thing' He pointed to a pair of helicopters towards the rear of the airfield. They were the smallest of all, almost insignificant as they faced her on the tarmac, were it not for their menacing crouch and their weapon-loaded stub wings almost as wide as the motionless rotors. 'Very early examples of the Mil Mi-24, the first true Soviet helicopter gunship, if I'm not mistaken. I wasn't aware any had been built yet. You can clearly see, however, the debts owed to the Mi-8 and -'

'I'm really sorry, Doctor,' said Liz. 'I never got round to finishing

Jane's Book of Helicopters.'

Despite Liz's interruption, Shuskin appeared pleased with the Doctor's knowledge. 'I am glad you feel privileged. No other Westerner has been permitted to see the prototypes'

Liz noted an expression of sadness flicker across the Doctor's face as the blades on the two gunships began to rotate. 'Terrifying, isn't it?' he said. 'Mankind can make even an instrument of death and destruction almost beautiful.'

The Mi-24 helicopter gunships rose from the tarmac, then twisted across the runways like a pair of dragonflies over still water. The dark nose cannons twitched inquisitively in the cold evening sky.

The larger Mi-8s followed, adopting a diamond formation against the clouds. By the time the enormous and bulbous Mi-6s had pulled themselves cautiously away from the runways and surrounding fields the air was heavy with the pulsating cadence of numerous rotor blades. A trio of MiG-25s roared overhead from a neighbouring air base, angular silver arrows that faded swiftly and noisily from view.

The pub was called the Rat and Parrot, a lovely old rustic Tudor building with thick oak beams and real ale. Yates and Benton introduced themselves to the landlord, this time using no aliases, and found the man to be quite chatty and open.

He gave them a first-hand report about what he believed to have been a comet crashing into the sea on Thursday night.

'I suppose.' said Yates as they sat down with pints of foaming beer, 'a comet is the most likely explanation.'

'Sounds reasonable,' noted Benton.

'Except that everything that Arlo character said had a ring of truth about it.'

'Surely not, sir? He was just a freak. Too many drugs and not enough baths, I'd have thought'

'Maybe,' said Yates, sounding unconvinced.

'Mind you, I did think there was something odd about him' 'Odd?'

'Dangerous. I can't place it exactly, but I'm pretty sure I've seen him somewhere before...' Benton's voice trailed away as his attention was drawn to the television set on the bar, and a football game in progress. 'See the World Cup highlights last night, sir?' he asked.

'What? Oh yes. Very good goal that Brazilian chap scored,' said Yates absentmindedly.

'True,' noted Benton, 'But the defending was shocking.

Now if that had been in England, the centre-half would have clattered him into the tenth row of the stand. Let's see him try and score from there! That's the trouble with your average Johnny Foreigner.' give them a slap and they don't want to know...'Again Benton's concentration gave out on him and he stared intently at his beer.

'What's the matter?' asked Yates.

'It's... annoying.' said Benton, 'I know I've seen that Arlo bloke before, but I'm blowed if I can remember where.'