Part 7 (2/2)

The Doctor tapped his teeth with the handle of his sonic screw71 driver, then pointed at a small panel.

'This bit's a behaviour inhibitor, usually used on farming planets to keep the livestock under control. Induces extreme anxiety if they stray too far from their fields. Probably why the locals are so reluctant to get anyone in to sort out their problems. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to stop them calling for help.'

'You going to turn it off, then?'

'Ah, well, that might be a bit hasty. Whoever put this here did so because they can cover the entire village from this spot.'

The Doctor crouched down, peering through a grille.

'This is a wide-beam transmitter of some kind. Or receiver. But I'm not entirely sure what it does, and I hate to go around poking at things until I know what they do. Could cause untold damage. Besides, there's lots of power going in. Lots and lots of power.' He frowned. 'Ridiculous amounts of power, in fact. That little s.p.a.cecraft must be working flat out when this thing is going at full tilt.'

'Is it safe? I mean, are we safe?'

'Oh yes.' The Doctor nodded vigorously. 'This thing's just on tickover.' He tapped at a dial. 'No worries while the power is down at this level.'

There was a sharp click. Lights sprang to life all across the machine. The low hum started to rise in pitch.

'Ah,' said the Doctor.

Rose lowered herself gently on to the floor of the cellar, listening for any sign that her entrance into the house had been heard. She let the window swing shut gently and peered through the dusty gloom. Distant m.u.f.fled footsteps could be heard from overhead and there was the soft, low throb of machinery, generators of some kind, she supposed, but other than that it was silent. Rose crossed to the bag, pulling it out from under the tarpaulins. The fis.h.i.+ng rods had been pushed in hurriedly without breaking them down properly, fis.h.i.+ng line wound round everything in an untidy knot. Seeing the glint of fish hooks in the dim light from the bare bulb, Rose dragged the bag over to the window, determined to get a better look. Her fingers touched 72 something sticky. She held her hand up to the light and swallowed hard. Dark red stains smeared her fingertips. Blood. Grimacing, she wiped her fingers on the damp canvas of the bag and opened the zipper carefully. It was what you would expect of a bag packed for a fis.h.i.+ng trip: reels of line, cans of bait, carefully packed sections of various styles of fis.h.i.+ng rod. A peaked cap and a stainless-steel Thermos flask were stuffed into a wide pocket at one end and there was a sc.r.a.p of paper, an advert for holidays at Ynys Du. Rose unfolded it, looking at the cheery sunlit pictures of the harbour and the lighthouse. 'You'll never want to leave,' read the cheery headline.

'Yeah. Right.'

Rose stuffed the advert back into the bag, zipped it closed and dragged it back to where she had found it. She needed more evidence than this. She needed something that identified the man. It had been a vain hope that Morton and his cronies would have left anything that incriminating just lying about. She looked around the cellar in frustration. There was nothing.

The background hum of the generators suddenly changed in pitch, deepening, the vibration setting the wine bottles rattling in their frames. Rose frowned. The noise was rhythmic and regular, almost like a heartbeat; she could feel the vibrations deep in her stomach. Another sound cut above the vibration, a high-pitched chattering and beeping.

'That's not a generator,' Rose murmured.

On the far side of the cellar a set of steps led up to the only door. It was slightly ajar. Rose crossed to it, climbing the short set of stone steps and pressing her eye to the gap.

The door opened into a tall, vaulted corridor lined with pillars and arches. There was a dark wooden staircase against one end. The corridor was empty. Easing the door open, Rose slipped out. The cellars were more extensive than she had thought. Each arch led off to another room piled high with junk. Perhaps she would be lucky and find the evidence that she was looking for after all. The noise of machinery was louder now, almost painful. It was 73 coming from one of the arches at the far end of the corridor. Wincing, Rose edged her way forward. There was a harsh, pulsing glow from behind the pillars that sent long fingers of light flickering across the vaulted ceiling. She could see the outlines of tall, gleaming machines ranged against the cellar walls, bundles of cables fixed clumsily to the ancient brickwork.

She stepped down into the throbbing room in astonishment. It was full, packed floor to ceiling with technology. Tall silver cabinets were stacked against each wall, lights flickering deep inside them, while a large central console was bolted to the flagstones in the centre of the room. Cables and conduits snaked off into the shadows. Monitors showing the sleeping figures in the dining room hung in an ungainly tangle from the ceiling and huge power units throbbed in a corner. It was like mission control from some s.p.a.ce shot, and certainly not the product of anything on Earth. Rose shook her head in amazement. Not the evidence she had been looking for, but certainly something that the Doctor would want to know about.

She circled the console, trying to make sense of the flickering readouts. Each set of controls seemed to relate to one of the sleeping figures upstairs. Heartbeat, respiration, brainwave activity.

'What the h.e.l.l are you up to Morton?' she murmured. The machinery suddenly s.h.i.+fted in pitch, the pulsing glow from the power units getting brighter, the vibrations stronger. Suddenly realising that she had been in the house longer than she had intended, Rose turned to make her way back out through the cellar window. And stopped dead. At the bottom of the stairs was Miss Peyne, an unfriendly smile on her face, an ugly, snub-nosed pistol in her hand.

'Why, Miss Evans. You really have lost your way.'

Several of the lab-coated figures appeared at her shoulder. Rose was trapped.

The Doctor helped Bronwyn down the rickety spiral staircase, the noise from the machine in the lamp room humming in his eats. It had increased steadily over the last few minutes as more and more panels sprang to life across its surface.

74.'We're going already?'

Bronwyn was not happy.

'After you've dragged me all the way up here? I wish you'd make up your mind!'

'Well, ideally I would have loved to stay and see what surprises the machine has in store, but there are dangerous amounts of power being fed through it. I have no idea what prolonged exposure to the transmissions might mean for either you or me, so better safe than sorry, eh? I suggest that we beat a hasty retreat, then collect up some of my equipment so that I can a.n.a.lyse what the machine was doing from a considerably safer distance.'

They emerged on to the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. The Doctor craned his neck, looking back up the tower. A pale, sickly glow from the lamp room now lit up the darkening sky. They had been on the island longer than he thought and night was rapidly sneaking up on them.

Bronwyn noticed it too and started back towards the cove where her boat was moored.

'We must go. We've been here too long.' The old woman sounded genuinely scared.

The Doctor nodded. 'I tend to agree.'

Catching hold of her arm to steady her, the Doctor guided Bronwyn over the wet rocks towards the sh.o.r.e. He could see her little boat bobbing animatedly in the surf, tethered to the large craggy outcrop. Then suddenly there was an explosion of spray and something huge and dark burst from the ocean, its back ridged and barnacled. With a grating roar, it immediately vanished beneath the waves again. Bronwyn gave a moan, wringing her hands. 'Too late. We've left it too late. It's always the same. Every night, as soon as the children start to go to sleep.'

The Doctor stared at her, open-mouthed. 'What did you say?' He slapped his hand against his forehead. 'I am a total total bonehead. . . Every night. . . sleep. . . It's not the monsters! Those monsters don't create the nightmares. The nightmares create the monsters! And those transmitters in the machine, it's them. They're affecting the children. . . bonehead. . . Every night. . . sleep. . . It's not the monsters! Those monsters don't create the nightmares. The nightmares create the monsters! And those transmitters in the machine, it's them. They're affecting the children. . . causing causing the nightmares!' the nightmares!'

The Doctor stared out at the churning waves. 'And now. . . ' he said. 75 'Now the children are going to sleep.' He watched as, all across the island, things started to emerge from the sea.

Rose had tried half-heartedly to make a break for it, but it had been a futile gesture. Two of the white-coated warders now held her by the arms. She struggled to shake herself loose, but they held her in a grip like steel.

'Ow. You're hurting me.'

Miss Peyne nodded and they relaxed their hold. Rose rubbed at her bruised arms, staring at the masked figures that surrounded her.

'All right. You don't have to keep up the surgeon act. I'm not contagious. There's no need for the masks.'

'Quite right, Miss Evans. I think we've worn all our masks quite long enough.'

Each of the warders reached up in unison, grabbing their surgical masks and peeling them back. There was a horrible wet sucking noise. Rose stepped back in shock. It wasn't just the masks that the warders peeled away, but their entire faces!

Miss Peyne gave a leering smile.

'Now, isn't that better?'

She grasped her own chin and pulled. Her entire face came away with the same wet sucking noise, revealing dark reptilian skin and gleaming malevolent eyes.

Miss Peyne and all the warders were aliens!

76.

[image]

Rose stared in horrified fascination at the aliens that surrounded her. They were without doubt among the most unpleasant-looking creatures that she had come across.

Each of them was a dark green-grey colour, their skin wrinkled and ridged like decaying fruit. Short tufts of greasy hair sprouted from around a flattened, pug-like nose and their eyes were yellow slits, like a cat's. The mouths were wide and studded with sharp protruding teeth and a ridge of transparent spines ran over the tops of their heads, vanis.h.i.+ng into the collars of their surgical gowns. To Rose, Miss Peyne looked the most bizarre of all. From the neck down she was still the stick-thin, prissy woman who had greeted them at the door, her tweed jacket still b.u.t.toned neatly beneath her lab coat, her shoes still clean and polished. But the head was now slimy and lizard-like, a thin tongue flicking through yellowing teeth. The effect was like that children's game where you mix up various heads, legs and torsos.

The aliens jabbered to themselves in hissing tones, their human masks hanging grotesquely in their hands.

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