Doctor Who: The Devil Goblins From Neptune (9 page)

Nothing else.'

' Gig, man. It wasn't a concert'

'Trust me.' The Doctor pointed out one particular figure, who seemed to share the Doctor's embarrassment at the over-the-top scenario. 'That's Captain Mike Yates. Go and see him.'

'Not a chance, man. I don't speak fascist.'

'Please,' said the Doctor. 'They can force you if you make the

The couple paused, then walked towards the captain, glancing back at the Doctor occasionally with ill-disguised contempt.

Interesting company you keep, Doctor.' said the Brigadier, staring at the night sky as intently as if it were the cricket pages of The Times. There was precious little humour in his voice.

'Whatever you're going to say, Brigadier, can't it wait until the morning?'

'No, it cannot,' replied Lethbridge-Stewart. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the Doctor, like some schoolteacher struggling to come to terms with a favourite pupil's abuse of trust 'I didn't authorise your little jaunt into London. You knew you were under strict instructions to be accompanied at all times.'

'I'm terribly sorry,' mocked the Doctor. 'I will try harder not to lose your plain-clothes chap in future.'

'Listen here, Doctor!' exploded the Brigadier. "This isn't a game, you know. Two attempted abductions in under forty-eight hours. You were lucky enough to escape from them both - but with this constant emphasis on placing yourself in danger, it wouldn't have surprised me if you'd have been in Siberia by now.'

'Now, Brigadier, the point is -'

'The point is, Doctor, that I can't afford to be without you,'

said the Brigadier levelly. 'If you're missing the next time the Autons invade or the Yeti terrorise central London, we'll be defenceless.' He nodded towards the vehicles, the soldiers spilling out on to the lay-by, the Lynx helicopter droning overhead. 'I've got good men and equipment. But any soldier is only as good as the intelligence reports he acts on. I simply can't afford to have you AWOL.'

The Doctor smiled. That was the nicest thing the Brigadier had said in weeks.

,

'Therefore.' continued the Brigadier, raising his voice a notch just as Benton strode forward, 'from now on, Doctor, everywhere you go, you will be accompanied by Captain Yates or Sergeant Benton. I can't order you to do anything, Doctor, but, by heaven, ..consider that an order. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly,' said the Doctor.

Benton saluted. 'We've surveyed the area. Nothing.'

'Of course there's nothing.' said the Doctor, irritated. 'I was kept in a house miles from here.'

'Where?'

The Doctor pointed back down the road. 'A farmhouse, about Twenty or so...' He rubbed his chin. 'I wouldn't worry about it. They'll have gone by now.'

'Very well agreed the Brigadier. 'Benton, get the men ready to move.'

'Yes, sir.'

The Doctor and the Brigadier watched Benton as he ordered the men back into their vehicles. Yates was questioning the hippie couple, pointing to something written on the side of their van and joking.

'I do have one piece of good news, Doctor,' announced the Brigadier.

'What's that?'

'As you know, Miss Shaw is in Cambridge, liaising with Professor Trainor.'

'Yes?'

'Well, she's asked me... to invite you to a party.'

'Splendid. You'll come along too, won't you, Brigadier?'

Lethbridge-Stewart appeared horrified by the suggestion. 'I've got rather a lot on my plate at the moment, Doctor.'

'I understand,' said the Doctor. 'When is this party?'

'Tomorrow night.' The Brigadier checked his watch. 'Actually, I mean tonight. Nineteen hundred hours.'

The Doctor jumped into the back of the jeep. 'Plenty of time to get ready then.'

The Glass Onion used to be a coffee bar, back when the world was a little more sane. Then the Cybermen marched down Noel Street towards Covent Garden, and things were never quite the same again. Now it had been rechristened the Apollo Café, and its small, white, iron, outdoor tables were largely unoccupied on this particular Sunday morning. A man in a blazer and an MCC tie read The Times; another sat with a Pan Am flight bag and a cup of weak coffee. He sipped from the mug between occasional heavy drags on his Guards cigarette. He disliked the brand but Bulaks were difficult to come by in this godforsaken country. Sometimes he agreed with Tom Bruce.' coming to England was like taking a step into the Third World.

'The weather is unusually inclement for the time of year said Bruce in a mock upper-class English accent as he approached the table.

'Don't be a jerk, Tom. Just sit down and assure me you weren't followed' Control glanced nervously around. He hated meeting in the open like this. 'I can't believe I allowed myself to be persuaded about the viability of this particular option'

He shuffled about in his flight bag and then withdrew a small manilla envelope. He slid this across the table; Bruce left it where it was.'

'I've been in this game almost as long as you have,' he said, with a hint of irritation. 'My methods are rarely beyond reasonable denial.'

'Just so,' said Control, glancing across to the man in the blazer. The man nodded, slipped on a pair of Polaroid sunglasses, and folded away his newspaper. He moved off up the street without a backward glance.

'One of yours?' asked Bruce.

'Deep cover. He's been here so long even the cousins believe he's one of the chaps.' Control glanced at his watch.

'You think you'll enjoy this assignment?'

'I've pulled worse special projects than this,' Bruce answered. 'You remember that game in Istanbul?'

'Oh yes, the little girl you found in bed with a cultural attaché, or five. Biographical leverage. And to think I used to believe you weren't cut out for covert actions.

Bruce clicked his fingers, ordering a coffee from a bored-looking girl in the cafe. 'And don't be giving me any of that cappuccino crap,' he snapped. He returned his attention to Control, who was nearing the end of his cigarette. 'They're very bad for you, you know.'

'John Neuberger told me the same in Prague. I'm still here. He isn't.'

This seemed to amuse Bruce. 'Yeah, right. And, of course, you're ready to equate me with that one-man Bay of Pigs. Remind me to rain on your parade at the first given opportunity. Sir.'

Control stubbed out his cigarette. The small talk was over. 'Get your goddamn coffee, Tom, and then make sure this game isn't blown, or you'll be shuffling files in Virginia until the next Ice Age. Capiche?'

Bruce walked into the café and then returned to his seat with the coffee. 'The objective has been attained,' he said, spooning in some sugar.

'You've encountered no problems?'

'No, sir,' said Bruce with a grin.

'Impressions?'

'You want the good news, or the bad?'

Control breathed out slowly. 'This had better be pertinent, Tom. I've got better things to do than come to London to watch the changing of the guard'

'The pudding club is, as we suspected, run like a branch of the Junior Campers. I've yet to meet the extraterrestrial, but the trigger man, Lethbridge-Stewart, is a Bork. The rest of his staff are what you'd expect.' inbred clowns from the shires. They're a joke.'

'Sure,' said Control, annoyed that Bruce's prejudices were getting the better of him again. 'Anything else?'

'At least they're all right-minded politically. Those that have any mind to be right-minded with. And they say the scientific adviser's assistant's photograph doesn't do her justice!'

'Well,' Control continued, 'I'm not here to be your counsellor, but, where Miss Shaw is concerned, I'd stay clear if I were you' Control noticed, with not a little concern, that Bruce was wincing openly. 'We have matters of greater priority to deal with' He pointed to the still-unopened package in front of Bruce. 'Look at it.'

Bruce flipped open the envelope and examined an out-of-focus surveillance photograph.

'Comrade Valentina Shuskin,' said Control laconically.

'The Bitch Queen of Leningrad.'

'Nice,' purred Bruce.

'Don't even think about it. She'd probably eat you alive.

Fascinating background. A Little Daughter of the Revolution.

Superstar activity in Prague, until her boyfriend chose to defect. Then... Soviet UNIT.'

'What? The puddings are letting anybody join their gang these days'

'It's a free world, Tom.'

'Not if I can help it. What's the deal with the sister?'

'She's the leader of the apparatchik unit that are trying to take the Doctor out of the game.'

Bruce nodded, remembering the previous evening's meeting with Lethbridge-Stewart and Yates. 'I like these rules.

Do they want to take your ET to Mother Russia for any specific reason, or are they just planning a party with the vodka and the rebel songs?'

'You know the reason they want him.' Control paused, and drained his cup. 'Christ, but this place makes bad coffee.'

'I know,' replied Bruce, 'but the location's pleasant enough.'

'I like the idea of the Doctor being out of the main picture,' said Control. 'Perhaps the best place for him is the Soviet bloc. Our... contacts tell us that the Siberian operation is not what it seems.'

The yellow roadster pulled up with a disproportionately vulgar screech of brakes. Captain Yates immediately jumped on to the pavement and looked up and down the road, as if expecting trouble.

Liz watched from the window before moving towards the front door. Mike had clearly been in the Brigadier's company for too long. 'It's all right,' she said, pushing open the door. 'I guarantee there are no aliens in Cambridge.'

Yates turned round, almost embarrassed. 'Oh, hello. To be honest, it's not aliens I'm worried about at the moment.'

The Doctor walked up the steps towards the front door, a small case in each hand. 'Hello, Liz,' he said. 'I've missed you, you know.'

'So it seems,' said Liz. 'What on Earth is going on?' She pulled closed the door after Yates, and ushered them both into the sitting room.

The Doctor lounged in an enveloping armchair while Mike perched on the edge of a moth-eaten settee. 'Well, you see, Captain Yates has very kindly offered to look after me while I'm in Cambridge,' explained the Doctor.

There was a mocking tone to his voice which Liz recognised instantly. 'Offered?'

'Well, ordered, actually,' stated Yates. 'The Brig's idea.

Increased security.'

'I've been the subject of two kidnap attempts in as many days,' said the Doctor, seemingly with some degree of pride.

'Soviet soldiers. Probably a group of crack Spetsnaz troops'

'What can they want with you?' asked Liz.

'I'm really not sure. But they knew who I was. Maybe they want my advice for some reason.'

'Why not ask for your help?'

'Why not indeed?' The Doctor smiled. 'Anyway, don't let it worry you. I'm sure we weren't followed, and I have every faith in Captain Yates's ability to protect me should our friends put in another appearance'

'I'm surprised to see you so readily agreeing to something the Brigadier suggests'

'I'm never too proud to ask for help, Liz, you know that'

Liz laughed. 'Of course, Doctor.'

'How are the arrangements for the press luncheon going?' 'Fine. Everything's under control. I'm hoping you'll meet Professor Trainor at the party later.'

'I'm looking forward to it.'

A young man poked his head into the room. 'Good afternoon,' he said brightly. 'I'm Mark Wilson. Can I get anyone a coffee?' Both the Doctor and Yates shook their heads.

Wilson collapsed into a huge beanbag in the corner of the room. 'I saw your car outside. Can't say I've ever seen anything like it before'

'I'll take that as a compliment,' said the Doctor.

'Please do.'

'And I'm told that we have you to thank for arranging this party?'

Wilson nodded. 'An informal prelude to next week's press conference. And I've arranged rooms for you and the captain tonight'

'That's very kind,' said the Doctor. 'Liz has told me that you work for Professor Trainor. May I ask, in what capacity?'

'The professor was interested in my doctoral thesis on the use of cobalt-60 in radiotherapy,' said the man proudly.

'Of course, British Rocket Group use my expertise in an altogether different way. Calibrating instruments, minor power sources, that sort of thing. Ultimately, though, we're expected to be Jacks of all trades at BRG!

'I read a paper of yours on sustainable power supplies,'

said the Doctor.

'Really?' exclaimed Wilson, genuinely surprised. 'That magazine has a very small readership; I didn't think -'

'An excellent piece of work. Personally speaking, though, I'd have liked some discussion of the social impact of such energy sources.'

'Not really my field,' said Wilson defensively.

The Doctor smiled, but his eyes suddenly seemed cold and distant. 'None of us should ever forget the human context that surrounds what we do in the name of science,' he observed.

The room was full to overflowing with people, and Liz found the noise and bustle curiously restful after the introspection of the last few days. She sipped from her glass of Rocamar red wine. 'I see you have one of those newfangled eight-track cassette machines, she said.

'Your point being?' asked Mark suspiciously, but with a hint of mocking humour.

'It's just that a few weeks ago I was talking to a friend of mine who works for Philips' R and D,' replied Liz brightly. 'And he was telling me that it's a technological blind alley. The music companies don't want the format to succeed because their raison d'être is records'

Mark scowled openly, his hackles rising at the suggestion that, once again, Liz was making fun of his inability to know which new trend to follow. It was exactly the same as that time he'd told her confidently that there was no future in colour television because the technology was too expensive.

'Look,' he said in a voice that was higher-pitched that normal,