Doctor Who: Drift (7 page)

Martha drew herself up, boots planted squarely in the snow.

„Who the
hell
are you people?‟

She‟d set out right after Curt‟s call - after she‟d tried Mak a few times on his radio. All she got was static, like the snow had taken over the airwaves along with everything else.

Cheated of any chance to warn Mak, her new priority was to prepare Amber: your Daddy‟s here to see you, honey. Make like the bad news was good. Now here she was, all set to trespass on the ground her little girl believed she‟d kept so secret and sacred, and she finds two creeps poking around.

Lucky for them, the walk from the house had left her slightly breathless and her deadly mood lacked the force of volume to back it up.

They were wearing heavy winter coats, smart and expensive, and they looked at her from behind designer sunglasses.

The woman was petite, even in the coat, soft pale complexion and luxurious dark hair, like in the shampoo commercials, cut in a real cute bob. The man was much taller, rising from an inspection of Amber‟s rock-cleft hideout. His hair was smoothed back, showing off a handsome face that dimpled with a smile as broad as his shoulders. Right now, Martha didn‟t much care for how they looked, but they plainly did.

„Well, howdy, ma‟am,‟ he stepped up to proffer a hand.

Martha wasn‟t sure if the Southern accent was intended to mock her own. She got a lot of that from the kids at the school, but she‟d coached herself to ignore it.

„How do you do, ma‟am,‟ the woman stepped up beside her partner and removed her glasses to show a pair of pretty eyes. „We‟re just looking into something your daughter appears to have found. You are Martha Mailloux, mother of Amber?‟

Right, like her facts needed checking. Martha wanted to tell her there was clearly nothing wrong with her facts and if she wanted any more she should take it up with Makenzie Shaw, whom they no doubt knew was Police Chief around here.

Martha Mailloux handled her own fights though, and if these people didn‟t know that already, they were about to find out.

„I said,‟ she said, „who the
hell
are you?‟

„It‟s not here, Captain.‟

„Thanks, Derm, I can see that for myself.‟

Morgan Shaw wasn‟t proud to be broadcasting his irritation. He was less proud to be taking it out on his 2IC.

Still, when Lieutenant Dermot Beard had been christened, Morgan reckoned his folks must have intended him to acquire the nickname of Derm. The toughest hide, wrapped round an exceptional, conscientious intellect; going a thousand thoughts per second and revealing itself to the outside world only in a carefully measured gaze and soft-spoken observations. He could take any flak Morgan cared to throw, and he‟d turned down a fistful of transfers so he could carry on doing just that. Well, serve the guy right.

Morgan appraised what little they did have.

The room in which he and most of Derm‟s squad were gathered showed the only signs, as far as Morgan could tell, of attempted renovation to the building by the current -

scratch that,
most recent
- tenants. It wasn‟t what you‟d call grade A craftsmanship: they‟d simply ripped out most of the floor from the bedroom above, presumably for the effect of a high ceiling, but left the beams in place to collect dust and sprinkle it on the shoulders of the heavy-footed. It was a work in progress, the bones of a chapel to their alien gods.

The pseudo-religious trappings were few and far between: dead candles everywhere, many of them toppled, and DIY

holy relics, like that mutated star-sculpture made out of copper wire, either hanging on the wall or mounted on tall stands draped with dark cloth. Heavy drapes blocked out the windows and there were more of the same leftovers from the unholy battle that had erupted throughout this crazy house.

The major difference was in the sheets, spars and lumps of metal; scorched, buckled and broken, and laid out with lunatic reverence over the floor. Metal victims of some unnatural disaster.

„Do we even have half an aircraft yet?‟

„Possibly, Captain, with the sections we recovered already.‟

Morgan shook his head, displeased. „Well, I‟ll have Ben bring up the trucks for loading. Other than that, maybe we should let the crazies do our work for us.‟

„Sir?‟

„Kristal and Marotta reported two rust-heaps out the back.

A cult like this, stuck in the New Hampshire backwoods, they‟ll have more wheels than that to their name. My guess, there are a few more search parties out there, running down every last piece of our property. And sooner or later, they‟re going to be bringing it home.‟

Hopeful, sure, but Morgan Shaw needed something to smile about.

„White Shadow? Is that your winter name? Do you have a different one for warmer climes?‟

„No, Doctor, I think it‟s meant to convey that we‟re stealthy and we‟re the good guys.‟

Joanna Hmieleski was, in some respects, enjoying her betrayal, offering up state secrets to this self-pronounced Scientific Adviser. Mainly, she guessed, because they hadn‟t got very far into it, and she took care to murmur her responses under cover of the renewed activity taking over the house: soldiers everywhere. They‟d moved on from the dining room when Pydych had come through with the detection gear: so far nothing. Thankfully he‟d kept it short and quiet, let them off lightly with just the one wisecrack about a lovers‟

tryst.

„Anyway, our mission here is ostensibly a Search and Rescue.‟

„Ostensibly, as in,
it’s something else entirely?’

„No. As in,
it is now.
There‟s a pilot we‟re hoping is very much alive. And - the aircraft was, well, special: a Raven EF111B - with some modifications.‟ Joanna glanced below as she took the stairs two at a time after the Doctor. She didn‟t want to fall behind him and have to raise her voice. „We found some sections on the mountain, but the Captain had Kristal divine the whereabouts of the other fragments and she traced some of them here. A backwoods cult with an interest in United States Air Force debris.‟

The Doctor fixed her with a stare from the landing. „Do you know, the trouble with answers like those, they leave me with too many questions to know which one to ask next.‟

Hmieleski drew a cool breath. „Doctor, I‟m risking a lot to tell you any of this. Trust me, I want to help you,‟ she kept her voice low but sharp, „but there‟s a lot of stuff they don‟t even tell me. I told you, we‟re not UNIT. We‟re not about fighting aliens. White Shadow is about - recovery and research into the useful application of extraterrestrial artefacts.‟

„Oh, wonderfully recited,‟ the Doctor‟s stinging praise was unexpected. „Military applications, of course. What artefacts?

What
modifications,
Lieutenant? What was that expensive aircraft doing flying through a blizzard?‟

„Extreme conditions were key to the exercise.‟ Joanna hated the hole she was in here, but she couldn‟t bring herself to deceive the Doctor. Ridiculous, she didn‟t even know the guy, but she couldn‟t figure him as an enemy of the state. An excuse she would save for her court martial. She followed him along the upstairs hall, and paused while he examined the splintered rail. „A conventional Raven is a two-seater electronic warfare jet. As the test platform for Operation Afterburn, our aircraft was fitted with a device, situated in the cockpit, adjacent to the pilot‟s seat.‟

„Afterburn, hmm? The modern military loves to play with names almost as much as it loves to play with big bangs.

What device?’

Joanna wanted to tell him to back off, she didn‟t need any more prodding. But she tightened her lip a moment, then opened her mouth to continue.

„The Stormcore,‟ said Kristal. The scout was standing weakly in a doorway and the girl, Leela, was supporting her.

„Where is the Captain? There‟s something he‟ll want to know.‟

„He couldn‟t possibly be more interested than I am,‟

declared the Doctor.

Guilt warmed Joanna‟s insides. No way Kristal could have missed what was going on here. But you could never tell with Kristal, whether she was inclined to be frank and truthful or utterly secretive. Let her play it her way. Kristal had just blown the top-secret name anyway.

She reached for her hand radio. „I‟ll call him in. Then we can all hear It.‟

„Tell him it‟s very close,‟ said Kristal. „And it‟s on the move.‟

Snow was turning this trek home into a year‟s worth of walking. Mitch Lagoy‟s bones were one big ache barely holding him together. He would have suggested they move up onto the ridge over west, where the drifts weren‟t so deep, but he knew Jacks would only throw one of her tantrums: too high, too visible; where are the trees up there, Where‟s our cover? The fact she‟d be right only made him ache some more.

She‟d had them put a spurt on since they‟d heard the shots. Running as best they could in this frozen soup. Mitch wouldn‟t dream of complaining, no sir, not with this lady drill sergeant taking the lead. Emilie Jacks could bitch in your face worse than any storm.

She always said he could scare off bears with his build, but from where he trailed it looked like she was having the easier time of this, and she was carrying a heavier load. Any lesser find she‟d have had him following after her like a pack animal, but not this prize. No, this one was hers and she was going to be seen bringing it on home, a grand offering to impress Crayford. Well, he certainly couldn‟t have been impressed with her body. Wasn‟t hardly female, to Mitch‟s way of thinking.

Muscle and cement, and a face of hard edges.

Nobody had much minded when Crayford had moved the group north. The government were on their tail and they‟d had to go somewhere. New Hampshire or Arkansas, it made little difference when they were this close to crossing over. As it turned out, the move to Mount Shaw had brought them manna from heaven. And they‟d all raced out to join the hunt when Crayford had told them to go find the pieces of their destiny.

Mitch wished he saw the truth the way Crayford saw it, wished he had that kind of mind. But Crayford promised him it wasn‟t intelligence that qualified when it came to crossing over. Even some of the government people were intelligent in their own way, he pointed out, but they didn‟t have the eyes or the soul to see the other realm.

Yeah, it was the way Crayford spoke the truth as much as the way he saw it.

But what in Christ did he ever see in Emilie Jacks?

Lady was a freak. Sticking her ugly face of stone into the whole operation, taking charge and making like she was the only one ever had military training. Yeah, kiss my ass and watch it turn into a prince. If she was so smart and highly trained, how come she‟d had them set out with a dribble of gas in the tank? And how come she hadn‟t kitted them up with snowshoes for this gig? Okay, they never had any of that gear at the house - all guns, no skis - but how hard could it be to get some?

Mitch ploughed up some more snow with his huge legs in an effort to close the distance with Jacks. He didn‟t like her being so way out in front with the major haul. He wanted his share of the credit when they rolled in.

Hell, if there was anyone left up there to slap them on the back.

They were pretty close now. He could tell from the lie of that western slope. Question was, who‟d fired all those shots.

Our guys? They knew the Army were crawling all over this hill, but Mitch didn‟t think they‟d be nuts enough to get into a shooting match with the military. Least ways, not while GI Jane was out here with him.

„Slow it up, Lagoy!‟

Mitch glanced ahead, saw her easing off the pace. Little hills of broken snow gathered around her shins. The prize described a grotesque shape inside her pack. Something much more than just another chunk of aircraft.

Great, so now we get to slow it up. When I‟m half dead.

Mitch forced himself the last few yards before bending over to catch his breath.

„Someone‟s coming,‟ she said.

„Huh?‟ Mitch ducked down as he scanned the hillside.

„They‟ve seen us already.‟ Jacks slid the AK into her hands.

Mitch rubbed the hard bristles on his jaw and worked the Mossberg from his shoulder. He pumped the first shell into position and prayed it wouldn‟t be needed. He wasn‟t afraid, exactly. He just knew these things got awful messy. They did in banks anyway, and it couldn‟t be any different in the great outdoors.

He narrowed his eyes at the figure sprinting and tumbling down the slope. The snow wasn‟t falling too bad for the moment but this runner sure as hell was. Colliding with trees even.

„He‟s panicked,‟ Jacks noted contemptuously.

Yeah, fire one of these at your tail, see how fast you run, thought Mitch. But he was feeling a shade happier that the figure didn‟t look dangerous. He held the shotgun nice and easy.

He screwed up his eyes a notch. „Hey, is that-?‟

„It‟s Crayford,‟ said Jacks, and for once she sounded shaken.

No, not Crayford. Not running like that. Not the great man himself.

Leela was accustomed to confusion. Usually it was a feeling inside, a devoted companion on her travels with the Doctor.