Doctor Who: The Devil Goblins From Neptune (24 page)

Liz and Shuskin stood back to back as the ring of goblin creatures closed in on them. While the Soviet soldier fired at the advancing creatures, Liz struggled with the anti-Waro device.

'I'm running out of ammunition.' said Shuskin through gritted teeth.

'That's not all we're running out of,' said Liz, trying desperately not to glance up at the approaching, snarling creatures. She couldn't afford to let them fluster her. She just had to concentrate on the wiring, on breathing life back into the Doctor's contraption.

'They've got weapons,' observed Shuskin. 'I can't understand why they're not just shooting us'

'Probably not macho enough for them. They want to tear us limb from limb with their bare hands, or they're not interested'

'More fool them,' spat Shuskin, lobbing a grenade in the direction of the closest group of Waro. Liz felt the blast sweep past her back, followed by a downward hail of soil and ice and... No, she really didn't want to know what was now falling from the sky.

'Really, ladies,' came a voice they both recognised.

'There's no need to go to quite these lengths to attract my attention'

Liz glanced up, relief flooding over her. Coming through the trees towards them was the Doctor, his clothes torn, his face still scratched and bruised, but with a steely determination in his eyes that shone through the shadows.

Best of all was the fact that, in his hands, he carried another converted intercom.

He pointed it at the nearest Waro and pressed a switch.

Immediately the creature rocketed into the air, squealing.

'Retreat might be advisable, Captain.' said the Doctor.

The two women ran through the gap in the cordon created by the Doctor's intervention, while the Doctor calmly moved his device in an arc against the remaining Waro.

'I'll catch you up in a moment.' urged the Doctor as they ran past him and deeper into the forest.

Liz risked a glance behind, and saw that the Doctor's device was becoming increasingly ineffective against the Waro. Perhaps they were reprogramming the software that controlled the wings to override the effects of the Doctor's interference. 'Come on, Doctor!' she shouted.

The Doctor had clearly come to a similar conclusion. He made a final adjustment to the jamming device, then threw it at the onrushing Waro before turning to run. Soon he was alongside Liz and Shuskin. 'I'm not sure we'll be able to use that trick again,' he said. His limbs were a blur, but he wasn't out of breath.

'They're... not... stupid,' agreed Liz, panting.

'No.' said the Doctor. 'They're evil, egotistical and depraved.

'But they're certainly not stupid.'

Suddenly there was an explosion, just to their left. A fir tree flowered into a ball of flame that threatened to knock them off their feet. The Waro had started to use their hand weapons.

'We must have riled them,' said the Doctor brightly.

'I'm so glad.' said Liz.

'Well, if they're concentrating on three small targets on the ground.' said the Doctor, 'it means they're slightly more likely to miss a whacking great thing like that' He pointed upward, at the enormous green helicopter that was descending towards them out of the dull grey sky.

'They got it going again!' exclaimed Shuskin in delight.

'With a little help,' added the Doctor. 'I can honestly say that it's twice the helicopter it was.'

With surprising grace the craft landed on the snowy soil, the rear door already open to receive them. A number of Soviet soldiers jumped down to give covering fire.

'Really?' said Liz, still running fit to burst. If the Waro didn't get her, heart failure was sure to.

'I've improved the shielding against the Waro's energy weapons.' said the Doctor proudly. 'There's every chance we shall escape from here in one piece.'

'Excellent.' said Shuskin, without a trace of irony as she clambered on board. 'I must report to my superiors' She ran towards the cockpit without a backward glance at the creatures that had pursued them.

When the helicopter was safely in the air, and the Doctor was watching the Waro flit around the craft with unnerving detachment, he finally asked Liz what they had seen at the mining centre.

'There's nothing there,' said Liz, her heart still pounding.

'It's all a sham. It looks like a mine from the air, but it's nothing of the sort. You could put two hundred and forty volts through those "motors" and you wouldn't get a dicky bird in response.'

'That must be what the Waro was hiding from me when I performed the soul-catching,' said the Doctor.

'But I still don't understand.'

'You're not thinking of these things in military terms,' said the Doctor. 'Standard invasion procedure.' establish a false bridgehead in order to divert attention.'

'So all of this... all the destruction... '

'Was just to distract us, yes. Perhaps they wanted us to go halfway around the world on a wild-goose chase.' The Doctor turned to look at Liz for the first time, his voice now sombre. 'So the question we now need to ask ourselves is.'

where is the real invasion?'

If Hayes had hoped that the Brigadier would hand himself over without a fight, then he'd underestimated Lethbridge-Stewart for perhaps the last time. The Major-General must have pulled all sorts of strings to get the local police force involved, thought the Brigadier. The last thing his friends would have wanted was an undignified chase through the shopping centre.

Which is exactly what Houghton and Lethbridge-Stewart had just given them. Now they were clear of the city, heading towards the Alps. All the while their pursuers drew closer.

The Brigadier knew their plight was still hopeless, but the fighter in him wouldn't countenance surrender. The men, buffeted and bruised in the cramped conditions of the back of the lorry, accepted their situation with the kind of barrack-room humour that Lethbridge-Stewart understood and excelled in.

'We've got them worried now, sir,' said Sergeant Hutton, a tough Yorkshireman who had served with the Brigadier in the Scots Guards. 'They don't know whether to ram us or shoot us!'

The Brigadier laughed as much as the rest of the men. It was just what the situation needed, having the whole thing brought down to earth. 'How's the wife, Harry?' he asked, kneeling beside the man and checking his Browning.

'Just fine, sir,' said Hutton as he aimed another shot at the leading APC. 'Damn.' he said, as the shot pulled to the right. 'The driver's that German git from relief watch. I owe him one.' He looked at Lethbridge-Stewart with a gleam in his eye. lust like old times, eh?' he said.

For a moment there was nothing that the Brigadier could say. He had, almost certainly, condemned these men to at best dishonourable discharge and at worst traitors' graves.

'Who's got the radio?' he asked, and was told that young Laverre was the man in charge. 'Can you raise HQ?' he asked.

'Yes, sir,' said the terrified youth.

'Right. Get me somebody, anybody, who outranks Hayes.

And a bit sharpish,' He turned back to Hutton with a wry grin.

'Aden was never like this, was it?'

'No, sir,' replied Hutton. 'You saved my life there, sir. You and Johnny Benton and that coloured lad we used to have with us, remember?'

The Brigadier fired another shot at Hayes's car, but it missed, the lorry rounding another sharp corner. 'Yes, Harry.

You've never let me forget it.'

'What was that lad's name?'

'Hartfield,' said the Brigadier.

'Aye, that was him. Jacob Hartfield. Jamaican, wasn't he? Quiet lad. I remember Johnny Benton and some of the others getting him drunk in Al Mukalla and trying to have him tattooed. He fought like a lion that night, I can tell you!'

Lethbridge-Stewart heard someone calling for him and turned to find Laverre holding out the radio handset towards him.

I've reached someone, sir. Called him out of a meeting.'

'Good man,' said the Brigadier. He grabbed the handset.

The risk, of course, was that the officer was also tainted by the conspiracy.

But it was their only hope. 'Sorry to interrupt you, sir -'

Suddenly the lorry swerved violently to the left, lurching out of control.

'They've hit the tyres!' cried Houghton as the lorry pitched over on to its side.

FIFTH INTERLUDE:

THE FOUR SYMBOLS OF THE SAUCER PEOPLE

They had camped on the ridge of Knighton Down, with Salisbury Plain sprawled out before them. At sunset the previous night they had knelt and prayed to Jesus-from-Venus to come in a halo of light and groove with them. Big Tye from Glastonbury had even produced a battered old Philips tape recorder and stuck on his cherished fourth-generation copy of Cosmic Sounds' 'The Zodiac' to usher in the second coming of the age of Aquarius, or Scorpio, or something.

Nothing happened, other than that the sun died awesomely on the far horizon over Stonehenge, and Mad Paula, who'd been on a concentrated diet of cheap blotter-acid and Tizer in the van ever since they'd left the south coast, had experienced a divine visitation or (more likely) a bad trip.

It was four days to the summer solstice, and in Wiltshire that meant pilgrimage time. Just like Chaucer's ragamuffin army of everymen, so the Venus People found themselves with strange bedfellows. There was the Wicca crowd (mostly a bunch of reformed football hooligans from the North who said they were into peace, but were really looking for love).

Then there were the itinerant Christian mystics, who were pleasant enough, but seemed absorbed in their own private trip. And the Anarchists kept themselves to themselves, seemingly incapable of trusting anyone outside their group.

And there were others. Thousands of lost individuals, seeking kindred spirits, all gathering around the outskirts of the plain. Waiting.

One of the Venus People had become tired of 'The Zodiac', so he'd gone into his van and fished out something by Atomic Rooster instead. When that caused a rumpus, most of the Venus People had gone back to their campfire, singing Negro spirituals long into the night, while the pagans heralded the sunrise with interminable drumming. Scouse, Saddest Moon and Starchild declared this 'uncool', and moved back to the ridge.

They were very different people, but they shared one thing. An overwhelming hatred of 'Kumbyar'.

Now the cold of early morning had given way to a beautiful, cloudless day, the sky painted a blue that seemed possible only in the Technicolor musicals of the 1940s.

'Nice day for the end of the world,' said Scouse laconically. 'Maybe tomorrow!' countered Saddest Moon.

They laughed, but Starchild looked astonished that they could find levity in such a serious event.

'I don't dig this.' she said quickly. It's a serious happening, all right?'

'Cool your boots, babe.' replied Scouse. 'No need to act like a mong. We're just getting into the scene.' He kissed her, savagely, on the lips, and her frown melted away.

'What is it with you two?' asked Saddest Moon.

It's a love thing, la,' replied Scouse simply.

Starchild stood up, easing the cramp from her legs, and walked to the edge of the ridge.

'It's like the top of the world,' she said. And turned around quickly. 'Hey, wouldn't it be like, amazing, if they came now?'

'The Saucer People you mean?'

'Right.'

Saddest Moon nodded sagely. 'We've got to wait. This is the gathering of the tribes. The global village. Cats have got to get here from, like, everywhere.'

Scouse snorted. 'Are you gonna be there for the love-in?'

he asked cynically. I'll tell you what, though, it's all rubbish, isn't it?'

'No. It's psychedelic,' replied Starchild, sad and hurt that her friends couldn't understand her enthusiasm. 'You ought to clean your head, babe. The ancient writings, the prophecies, it's all coming down. Arlo says so.'

'Yeah?' asked Scouse with a sarcastic grin. But even he had felt the power of Arlo. He had answered the call when the Venus People marched down Lime Street to taunts and ridicule from a motley crew of Everton fans. He'd joined the People there and then, ignoring the prickling embarrassment.

'You are chosen,' Arlo had said, and he was.

'The signs have been witnessed,' added Saddest Moon, a young farmer's boy from the Fens who had met the group on the road near his home, and gone with them after leaving his mother a note to say that 'Jesus has called me'.

'Exactly,' added Starchild, who came from the North but never talked about her past life. 'The symbols. The sky bled at the festival, false religion is being cast down into the bottomless pit, Babylon is falling. The Four Horsemen - it's the Beatles, it has to be.'

Scouse grinned. 'There's five of 'em now, doll.'

'George is God,' she said dismissively. 'Everybody knows that.'

The sound of a car coming up the bridle path caused her to stop. She turned towards the oncoming Mercedes, crawling along the dirt road. It slowed to a stop beside them and the driver's window opened, revealing a man in his early forties with dark, stylish hair and a drooping moustache.

'Where might I find Arlo?' asked the driver.

Starchild felt the hatred he had for them, felt it burn her skin. She sat on her haunches and said nothing.

'Over there, in the van, man,' replied Saddest Moon, before adding 'Peace' and raising his hand.

'Yes. Of course,' said the driver. The car swished past them. 'Nice motor,' said Scouse, following the progress of the car. 'That was Lord Rose, or whatever his name is.'

'Names is for tombstones, baby,' said Scouse.

Rose was getting out of the car next to Arlo's caravan. In his immaculate Savile Row suit and leather driving gloves, he looked completely out of place in this environment.

don't trust that cat.' said Starchild as Rose entered the van. 'You what?' asked Scouse.

don't know what his game is, babe, but his vibes are all wrong.'

'Don't be so suspicious.' countered Scouse. 'He's all right is old Hippie Pete. He's no breadhead.'