Part 36 (1/2)

The power turned back on the Intelligence. Systems failure.

Malfunction at Server. Its computer body shut itself down.

Confined to Travers's broken shape, it pitched over onto the ground.

Faces of hatred. Chanting of the Earth mantra. It writhed under their onslaught.

'Nowhere to go! Nowhere!' It had slammed the door on its escape route.

It sank back. The ghost of a wind blew strands of web against its body.

A figure stood on a balcony above.

Travers's head lifted towards her. 'Victoria,' it whispered.

She returned its cold glare, dismissing it from her life and her world.

The head slumped down on the ground. Its eyes watched a single ant making its way across the concrete. The Intelligence tried to put out its will, to take a new shape, but it had no strength. It was exhausted. It was time to let go.

The Brigadier opened his arms wide to embrace Kate. As she clung to him, they heard a thunderous roar from above.

The sky funnelled in on the body of Travers an inverted pyramid of energy and web that boiled downwards, emptying into a smoking mummified coc.o.o.n where he lay.

Finally the energy blazed down into a single locus and collapsed into nothing.

'Dad,' whispered Kate, still holding on tightly.

There was a cloudless night sky overhead. The air seemed cleansed. Without the glare of city streetlamps, the stars were clear as an infinite number of crystals.

The Brigadier took a long breath of the rich night air as he hugged his daughter. 'It's all right. It's gone. This time it's gone for good.'

There was a clatter of footsteps on the square.

'Brigadier?' called Sarah in the dark. She embraced him like a long-lost uncle.

'Miss Smith,' he said, both embarra.s.sed and delighted. 'I knew there was someone I could rely on. Have you met my daughter?'

Around the square, the dazed students of New World University were picking themselves up and staring at the spectacular sky.

Lights were moving on the walkway above the square.

A group of blue-bereted soldiers carrying torches was descending to the concourse. At their head was an officer in combat fatigues.

'It's Brigadier Crichton,' Sarah murmured.

Lethbridge-Stewart nodded, waiting until his replacement reached ground level before letting go of Kate and going to meet him.

'Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Thank G.o.d. Are you all right, sir?' Crichton saluted like a junior officer. He was plainly exhausted.

'I'm surviving, Crichton. Against all odds.'

Crichton nodded wearily at Sarah. 'There's still a lot of things to clear up. It's been a mess.'

Lethbridge-Stewart edged one of the dead silver spheres with his foot. 'How many?' he asked quietly.

'Too many.' Crichton looked at the smoking body of Cavendish, lying face down on the concrete. 'I'll need you for the enquiry.'

'Of course, old chap.' Lethbridge-Stewart glanced over to where Kate was talking to Sarah. 'Family,' he confided.

Crichton looked surprised. After a moment he said, 'I'll deal with this end. Do you need transport?'

Lethbridge-Stewart smiled. 'No, no. I think I have somewhere to stay.' Quite unnecessarily he added, 'Carry on, Crichton.'

He walked slowly back to his daughter.

There was a moment's silence.

'Well, just like old times, eh?' exclaimed Sarah. She punched the Brigadier affectionately. 'And I still don't know what's going on!'

A wave of euphoria swept over them all. What losses there had been could not overshadow the things that had been saved.

The Brigadier wanted to think about that later. He picked up his gun from the ground and pocketed it. But not in the same pocket as the photograph of his grandson.

He took Sarah on one arm and his daughter on the other.

'Someone else can clear up tomorrow. Let's just go home.'

From the balcony above, Victoria watched them leave together.

She s.h.i.+vered. Lights swung to and fro on the dark campus below. Torches and headlights. There were several fires burning in little pockets of red glow.

It was all gone, all smashed. She had nowhere to go now.

No one to talk to. Her emotions had run dry.

In the aftermath of occasions like this, the Doctor had always slipped away in the TARDIS, leaving more questions than answers. But what could she do? Would that take away the hurt?

'Victoria,' her father said disapprovingly, 'to take no responsibility for our actions is both malodorous and impious.'

Sometimes her father could be priggishly self-righteous.