Doctor Who: The Devil Goblins From Neptune (35 page)

'So you should be.'

'What?'

'I am a competent soldier, am I not?'

Adequate,' said Yates, with a slight grin.

'And I am capable of making decisions?'

'I suppose so.'

'And you, Michael Alexander Raymond Yates, are a plank!' 'What?'

'A plank. It means -'

'I know what it means,' said Yates. 'It's just the stupidest insult I've ever heard.'

'You want worse?'

'No, plank'll do fine, thanks.'

Shuskin sipped her drink. 'Do you want to know what I think?' 'No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me.'

'I think you are a lonely man, Michael Yates. I think you are terrified of the pressure of command, but you cannot show this to anyone because you know they will think worse of you. I think you cover this up with sexist crap that would insult the intelligence of a four-year-old. I think you do not realise how lucky you are.'

'And how lucky am I?' asked Yates.

'Very lucky,' she said. 'You have many friends who care about you. This UNIT is like a family, protecting their own.

There is only one thing you really need and that is a good woman.'

'Know any?' queried Yates, without thinking. Then he remembered the party at Cambridge, and the bedroom, and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

'Sadly not.' she said, standing and picking up her gloves from the table. 'They are hard to come by, and harder still to keep. But I have a feeling you will find one, sooner rather than later.' She saluted him as he clumsily stood, almost knocking the drinks over. 'Goodbye, comrade Captain.' she said and turned to leave.

'I'll see you around, Captain.' said Yates with a smile, causing her to stop.

'You may indeed,' she responded. 'And that would be a pleasure for both of us.' Then she pushed open the pub door, and was gone.

Benton returned from the toilet just as Yates sat down again. 'Has Captain Shuskin gone?' he asked.

'Yes.' said Yates. Then he shook his head as if to clear it of dead thoughts. 'Right, we'd better be getting back to HQ.'

He paused. 'Business as usual.'

Thomas Bruce awoke, momentarily aware only of the sharp smell of antiseptic. His mouth still tasted of strong medicine and cheap liquor. Encased in crisp linen, Bruce felt safe and warm in his bed. He never wanted to get out of it again.

He had been hit by a stray piece of shrapnel in the early stages of the battle against the Waro. Collateral damage.

Lying in a pool of his own blood screaming for his mother, and for Jesus, and begging someone - anyone - to put him out of his misery. When he had been found several hours later by one of the emergency medical teams, he'd fainted with the pain when they lifted him into the helicopter.

As in his tortured dreams, there was an almost permanent presence in the shadows of his hospital room.

Sometimes it was somebody he knew, another badgeman from Control's stable. Sometimes it was just a faceless figure in a dark suit and sunglasses, reading the New York Times and ignoring Bruce's questions. Occasionally the man would blandly assure him that le was safe, that everything was taken care of, that he wasn't to worry - and, by the way, weren't Green Bay unlucky in the fourth quarter last night?

He was allowed one television station - NBC - and then only at certain times. It was as though they were keeping something from him.

When he was alone, which wasn't often, he remembered the crumpled UNIT file he had found in the wreck of the truck in Switzerland, completely by accident. It was a medical report from a group of scientists engaged in top-secret research on Nedenah DNA. The list of names included one he instantly recognised. Mary Bruce. His wife.

The report went on to suggest that quarantine procedures be tightened after the children of some of the research staff had died of leukaemia. That list of names included one he knew well. John Bruce. His son.

The file was dated three months after John's death. They had known all the time. They had known that they were playing with fire, that messing around with alien blood was likely to have some effect on those who came into contact with it. But people like Control and Hayes had just let the experiments continue.

He cried then. Not for his wife, nor his dead son, nor the marriage that had been torn apart by secrets and lies long before John's illness and the counsellor who'd done more harm than good. He cried for himself. He had played their game, and lost. And was damned.

Night time. Bruce got out of bed to find no one in his room.

Softly he padded to the door to check on the corridor, but it was deserted. He looked at his watch. In the long, dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning.

The gun was lying on the chair, obviously left there by Steve Cowper, who had been on shift until midnight. Maybe Steve was trying to tell Tom something - he was an old friend, after all.

Thomas Bruce picked up the weapon and felt its velvet touch in the darkness. He hobbled slowly across the room to the bathroom, and switched on the light. In this little cubicle, the shot would sound like a clap of thunder. It would be the last thing he would hear.

Bruce looked in the mirror and saw his own face reflected back at him. Tired. Haggard. Lost and alone. The last thing he would see. He spoke softly, to himself.

'Goodbye.' The last voice he would ever hear.

He put the gun in his mouth. He wanted to say something else, something relevant, something profound. His final statement to the world before he splattered his brains all over the white tiles. But he couldn't think of anything so he just pulled the trigger.

Click.

Bruce stared down, stupidly, at the gun in his mouth. He removed it and cracked open the chamber. No bullets. His mouth was dry and he felt sick. Behind him, he heard the door of the cubicle open slowly with a creak, like a sound effect from every bad horror film he'd seen.

'When you join the CIA, Tom.' said Control, 'you join for life. You don't think we'd let you take the easy way out, do you? We decide when it's over, not you.'

Bruce turned, his shoulders hunched. Ignoring Control, he limped back into his bed, and pulled the sheets over his head.

SECOND EPILOGUE:

FEELING SUPERSONIC

It was a bright, clear day in early spring. In the eight months since she'd left UNIT, many things had happened in the life of Dr Elizabeth Shaw. A return to Cambridge, briefly. Then travel, to Australia, the United States, Japan, and the Soviet Union. Her future as a scientific pundit had been assured when she stood in for an ill colleague during the televising of one of the Mars landings, and had charmed Patrick Moore into submission with her laconic wit.

Her first book, Inside the Carnival, had brought her money, fame, and death threats. UNIT, and Cambridge, were a million miles behind her now.

Except today.

She had been invited back to officially open the newly built Trainor Foundation building. As she arrived her attention was drawn to the plaque she was to unveil later in the day.

PROFESSOR BERNARD TRAINOR, 1916-1970

A LIFE LIVED IN THE PURSUIT OF SCIENTIFIC

EXCELLENCE,

AND TO THE BENEFIT OF MANKIND

OPENED BY DR ELIZABETH SHAW, 24TH MARCH 1971

She smiled, imagining the horror Bernard would feign at the thought of having elements (trainorium, first found in rocks returned from Neptune) and buildings (the Trainor Institute in Maryland) named after him. People knew that he had helped to save the world, though few knew the circumstances.

'Hello, stranger,' said a familiar voice behind her.

'Mark!' she replied, turning and hugging him. had no idea you'd be here today.'

'Wouldn't miss it for the world. How are you?'

'Fine, fine. Yourself?'

'Fine,' he said, with a cheesy grin. saw you on television last night, making mincemeat of poor James Burke. What's he ever done to deserve that? You didn't use to be so beastly!'

'I've changed,' she said ironically, remembering old conversations and old arguments. 'You really wouldn't like me these days.'

'Oh, I don't know. You're much more interesting now,'

said Mark as they walked, arm in arm into the building.

Just for once, Liz agreed with him.

• Front Cover
  
• Back Cover
  
• FIRST PROLOGUE:
  
• SECOND PROLOGUE:
  
• PART 1:
  
  • CHAPTER 1
    
  • CHAPTER 2
    
  • CHAPTER 3
    
  • CHAPTER 4
    
  • FIRST INTERLUDE.'
    
• PART 2:
  
  • CHAPTER 5
    
  • CHAPTER 6
    
  • CHAPTER 7
    
  • SECOND INTERLUDE:
    
• PART 3:
  
  • CHAPTER 8
    
  • CHAPTER 9
    
  • CHAPTER 10
    
  • THIRD INTERLUDE:
    
• PART 4:
  
  • CHAPTER 11
    
  • CHAPTER 12
    
  • CHAPTER 13
    
  • FOURTH INTERLUDE:
    
• PART 5
  
  • CHAPTER 14
    
  • CHAPTER 15
    
  • FIFTH INTERLUDE:
    
• PART 6:
  
  • CHAPTER 16
    
  • CHAPTER 17
    
  • CHAPTER 18
    
  • SIXTH INTERLUDE:
    
• PART 7:
  
  • CHAPTER 19
    
  • CHAPTER 20
    
• FIRST EPILOGUE:
  
• SECOND EPILOGUE: