Part 25 (2/2)

The wave broke and washed her like jetsam onto the empty beach. Endless fields of computer data scrolled across the livid sky. The wind flung squalls of sand in her face. The dark shape of her despair still gripped like a vice, a clawed hand, wreathed in web, clamped at her arm. She struggled to escape as its shadow rose above her.

'I needed time!' she protested to her judge.

' I needed freedom! I needed freedom! ' '

She struggled to free her arm. The wind was tearing at her hair, tangling it into wild streamers. 'You're not Professor Travers. For pity's sake, let me go!'

A burst of laughter echoed through the clouds like thunder.

' Your task is done. Now I take control. I'll find Lethbridge-Stewart... my gaoler! Your task is done. Now I take control. I'll find Lethbridge-Stewart... my gaoler! ' '

Victoria turned for help, any help. She saw the Brigadier himself, in uniform, walking away across the flats. She reached for him, but he was too far, fading in the veils of blown sand.

Other fingers were reaching in to her. Thousands of beseeching hands. Promises she had made, expectations she could not fulfil. They all bound her, a hideous anemone of human yearning.

'Let me go!' she cried to the huge shadow. 'Who are you?'

' Remember me, Victoria? Remember me, Victoria? ' Again its laughter boomed. ' Again its laughter boomed.

' Who's blind now? Who's blind now? ' '

The shadow reared above her. It raked the air with heavy claws. It had a s.h.a.ggy pelt of ruddy fur and eyes like burning coals. It filled the sky and its roar of anger made the beach tremble.

23.

Crichton rigadier Charles Crichton flipped yet another plastic B coffee cup into the bin and snapped irritably at his adjutant.

'Nothing on Miss Smith either?'

Sergeant Beagles looked ready to duck. 'No, sir. There's nothing we can do, not without Central Records at Geneva.'

'd.a.m.ned computers!' exploded Crichton. His normally immaculate jacket had been discarded. He was down to s.h.i.+rt sleeves with the rest of them. UNIT HQ had been pandemonic since the early hours. Twice in the morning, Crichton had fielded calls from Clive Kirkham. The opposition MP was demanding to know why, with the overwhelming plethora of inexplicable events, UNIT was doing nothing. Something had better be done because the government wouldn't lift a finger.

Crichton refrained from telling him that they didn't know what to do because they couldn't access the UNIT computer net. He had been inordinately grateful when the phone lines had crashed as well. But it didn't solve the Lethbridge-Stewart problem.

'Sir?' Sergeant Beagles was still standing in front of his desk. 'Apparently there are some old records in the security vault, sir. Still on hard copy.'

'Sir!' Corporal Ishani dashed in from the outer office and came to an abrupt halt. 'Sorry, sir.'

Crichton fished a key out of his pocket and proffered it to Beagles. 'Out of order, I know, Sergeant, but go and see what there is.'

'Sir.' Beagles hurried away, obviously relieved to be out of the firing line.

'Yes, Corporal?'

Ishani handed an envelope to the Brigadier. 'Just arrived by courier, sir.'

Crichton tore open the envelope and produced a letter printed on Home Office stationery.

'Good G.o.d,' he announced as he started to read. The letter was recalling all British troops attached to UNIT ' in the event in the event of expected civic disorder following the global breakdown of of expected civic disorder following the global breakdown of the technological infrastructure. the technological infrastructure. ' It was personally signed by the Home Secretary. ' It was personally signed by the Home Secretary.

'They want us to stop the public looting Sainsbury's.'

'Sir, the courier's waiting for an answer.'

Crichton tried to concentrate through the machine-gun barrage of a resuscitated electric typewriter in the next room.

It occurred to him that mankind's evolution had peaked and from now on they were devolving backwards down to the primal slime.

Someone in civvies sauntered past his office door.

'Cavendis.h.!.+' yelled Crichton.

The nonchalant head appeared round the door. 'Sir?'

'Ishani. Wait outside and close the door.'

The corporal disappeared as Cavendish came to attention in front of the CO's desk. Crichton had the Devil's very temper when roused and knew how to play on its reputation.

'You're supposed to be on surveillance, Captain,' he barked. 'Who's keeping tabs on Lethbridge-Stewart?'

'Grieve's taken over, sir.'

'And?'

'Nothing unusual to report. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart was still at home when I left. He lives alone.'

Crichton flicked at a paper on his desk. 'No callers, Captain?'

'Only the school secretary.' He smirked. 'She seems to drop in on a regular basis.'

'No phone calls either?'

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