Part 28 (2/2)

'That shuttlecraft was destroyed shortly after those pictures were taken. You didn't know that, either, did you?'

'A Martian s.h.i.+p was destroyed?'

'That's the reason they attacked Portsmouth. Revenge for their loss. They are vicious, warlike. They'l destroy everything, you included.'

'I can control them.'

'You're too clever to trust Xznaal, old chap, and we know you've got something up your sleeve. Whatever it is, use it now. You won't get another chance.'

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield Much has been written about the Battle of London, very little of it by people who were actually there, as I was. The day began sitting in the officer's mess of the UNIT encampment, a map of Berks.h.i.+re hanging on one wal , a map of London on the other. All of us knew that we would be writing history. We were full of that gung-ho spirit that seizes all sections of a population at time of war. Whatever your politics, whatever your thoughts about the rights and wrongs of the situation, you are always glad when ”our boys” win and the enemy's boys don't. It's always been the same from the streets of ancient Uruk to the common room of a twenty-seventh century university. You forget that the enemy feels the same, you forget that every civilisation, even your own, falls in the end. I'd seen empires topple - including my own, but that's another story - yet I was swept along as much as anyone.

'This will be a two-p.r.o.nged attack,' Lethbridge-Stewart announced. He seemed ten years younger, I thought. There was a bounce in his step, determination in his voice. The other soldiers were listening to him now.

He slapped his swagger stick against the first map. 'Step One: a small a.s.sault team led by Captain Ford takes out the refinery. Ray has agreed to go along, and he'll show you where to plant explosives for maximum effect.

Primary objective is to destroy production facilities and any stocks of gas already prepared. The secondary objective is to capture the Martian scientist, Vrgnur.'

I raised my hand, and the Brigadier took my question. 'Could I go along with that group? I'm the only one who can talk to Vrgnur, and I know a little about Martian shuttlecraft.'

Lethbridge-Stewart nodded. 'That's where your expertise will be most useful,' he agreed. 'Now, we know that the wars.h.i.+p hasn't come back to the refinery since it dropped off the shuttlecraft. That means that the wars.h.i.+p doesn't have the gas...o...b..ard and if the Martians want to use it, they will have to go to Reading to collect it. Because the gas in crucial to their plans, it also means that when the refinery is attacked, they'l rush to defend it.'

Lethbridge-Stewart crossed the room, pa.s.sing the rows of officers. 'And that leads us to stage two. Al Royalist units will converge on London. We'll move in along al major routes - our forces will head straight down the M4 and at the moment the bombs go off destroying the refinery, we'l be in Westminster.'

Bambera had kept quiet ever since she'd handed over command to Lethbridge-Stewart, but now she was speaking. 'The Martian s.h.i.+p might stay behind to guard London, even if the refinery is threatened.'

I shook my head. I'd talked this through with Alistair, and we had agreed what would happen. 'The Martians are interested in themselves, not humans. When the refinery is threatened, they'll move.'

'And when that happens,' Lethbridge-Stewart said, 'our aircraft wil attack it. They'll try to box it in, and bring it down. If that doesn't work, they should at least delay its return to London.'

'That still leaves the Provisional Government,' Bambera said. 'A lot of their forces are committed in the north, I know, but there are plenty left behind. They'll know we are coming - we can't keep half a dozen military convoys a secret.'

Lethbridge-Stewart smiled. 'They wil know we are coming, Brigadier Bambera, because we will tell them. We wil tell the world.'

End of extract ***

Xztaynz was showing Xznaal some 'medieval' art. The religious subject matter and naive rendering failed to interest him. One more day, and they would have visited every room in the National Gallery, and seen every painting that was not publicly displayed. The National Portrait Gallery sounded unpromising - all those rows upon rows of ugly primate faces - and so they'd skip that. Next week, they would scour the British Museum.

The large fossils and Egyptian exhibits were going to be of particular interest, Xznaal could see that just from the catalogues that Staines had supplied. The walls of his palace on Earth, the White Tower, were now lined with human art from this place.

100.A human came towards them, with that nervous scuttling motion that they had. Xznaal recognised that this was a female. They were smal er than the males on the whole, and wore brighter cloth. This one had red talons, and they were sharpened. No doubt this was to protect her offspring from predators until they had finished dropping from her mammal body and were able to defend themselves. It seemed a most unhygenic arrangement. She was holding a communicator in her paw.

'Good morning, Home Secretary. Er... Your Majesty.' Whenever he left the confines of his s.h.i.+p, Xznaal was always careful to wear the Imperial State Crown, as now, yet for some reason the humans failed to accept this symbol of authority. The human race lacked the discipline and respect for their leaders of a civilised people.

He waved a claw. 'Good morning.'

'This is Miss Helmond,' Xztaynz explained. 'What do you have to tell us?'

'The Royalist terrorists have launched an attack on London, Home Secretary. Our spotters report that they have blocked off the M25 and they are moving in on most of the major routes.'

'That's suicide,' Xztaynz objected. 'It's a co-ordinated a.s.sault?'

'They've taken over local radio stations, there's going to be a broadcast at mid-day. That's the same time that the Queen... the, er, ex-Queen,' she corrected herself quickly, 'wil address the UN General a.s.sembly.'

Xznaal hissed. 'What iss happening?'

'They can't possibly succeed, your majesty. We outnumber them, we are holding a string of defensive positions, we have the wars.h.i.+p, we - '

'Enough. We wil return to the ssafety of the Tower. Have Gerayhayvun join uss there.'

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield Bessie streaked through the countryside at an implausible speed. The UNIT Land Rover following them was struggling to keep up.

I tried to dredge up what I could remember of the local traffic laws. None of the careful y-designed, non-cultural y specific road signs that lined the route made the slightest bit of sense to me.

Beside me, Ray was hanging on for dear life, unable to put his trust in the sophisticated inertial maintenance system that the Doctor had installed. The two soldiers in the back - Captain Ford and Sergeant Jenkins - were also looking a bit green.

'Professor,' Ray whimpered, 'I'd feel safer if there was a seat belt.'

'Are we nearly there?' I asked. We'd been on the road for twenty minutes so we ought to have been by now.

'Nearly.' Ray seemed subdued.

'Are you OK?' I asked. We were al nervous - even the trained fighters. Combat was like public speaking or acting - if you aren't nervous, you're not only doing something wrong, you're too stupid to realise.

'Benny,' Ray asked, 'Are you real y from the future?'

'Yes,' I replied.

'So we make it? Humanity survives? We are your ancestors, and this is all ancient history to you.'

'It doesn't work like that,' I said.

'But it must do.'

'No.'

'So what happens if this doesn't work?' Ray asked.

I thought about the question and tried to remember what the Doctor had told me about such things. The trouble was, he had said something slightly different every time I had asked. 'I don't know,' I admitted. 'I'll just be an anomaly, a glitch in the system. Something for future historians to ignore or come up with wild theories to explain away. I guess I'll just be retconned.'

Ray paused for a moment. 'I don't mean just for us. We'll die, I know that. But what about my kids?'

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