Part 20 (1/2)

There might be men dead or injured, the voice told him; men who needed his help, his guidance. He couldn't abandon his duty; he had to lead by example, had to be seen to be counted.

'Yes,' he muttered, 'yes.' He set off again, duty lighting his way once more. When he was almost at his goal he slowed down, allowed his soldier's instincts to take over. His semi-automatic clutched in his hand, he crept along, his back to the wall, towards the place where the track took an abrupt left turn. He wanted a vantage point where he could recce the situation, but before he could do that two further shots rang out, followed by a vast inhuman bellow of rage and pain.

It provoked a deep, almost primeval response in him. For a moment the fog swirled and eddied around him again, threatening to extinguish the light...

Then the enraged roar faded and another sound replaced it - a further cry of pain, from a smaller pair of lungs, but no less agonized.

'Doctor!' the Brigadier yelled. He ran around the corner, gun raised.

The scene before him had frozen into a kind of tableau, lit by a spotlight of torch-beams. Taking centre-stage was a creature from a nightmare, a hideous, giganticised conglomeration of bull, spider, crab and scorpion. Standing rigid before this creature, skewered by its great, ridged arc of a tail, was the Doctor, blood shockingly red on his cream coat, face twisted in agony. Between the Brigadier and the Doctor stood Mike Yates, frozen with horror, mouth agape, gun forgotten in his hand.

Without hesitation, the Brigadier marched forward, barged Yates out of the way and fired six shots point-blank into the creature's face.

Its head disintegrated, spattering the Brigadier with warm, brown fluid. The Xaranti's legs gave way beneath it and its body slumped like a deflating hot-air balloon. Its tail drooped aside as it collapsed, dragging the Doctor over with it. The creature's body twitched and jittered for a few seconds with involuntary muscle spasms and then became still. For a moment all was silent.

Then the Brigadier began to sob.

He couldn't help it. He had killed before, many times, but this time, even as he had pulled the trigger to fire his final shot, an overwhelming wave of horror, revulsion, shame and, yes, even grief, had swept through him, sapping his strength, forcing him to his knees. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried, but now he couldn't stop. A few feet away from him the Doctor was lying unconscious, the Xaranti sting still buried in his flesh.

Then someone moved into the Brigadier's line of sight and crouched over the Doctor. Mike Yates. Yates glanced at him, and in a split second, even through his tears, the Brigadier was able to read so much in his captain's face. He saw Yates's shock and confusion at his superior officer's display of emotion. And he saw Yates's own mental anguish at having failed to take action, even though one of his friends and colleagues was in deadly peril. Then Yates looked away and turned his attention to the Doctor once more. He grabbed the base of the dead Xaranti's tail, and, with an angry gesture, he wrenched the sting from the Doctor's shoulder.

For a while after that things became a little blurred. The Brigadier remained kneeling on the floor, head bowed, trying to pull his emotions back on to an even keel while everything happened around him. He was vaguely aware of Yates taking charge, organising the men. At one point he saw the Doctor being carried out on a makes.h.i.+ft stretcher, his face waxy and composed, some kind of padding - a jacket perhaps - bound tightly against his shoulder to stem the bleeding. He heard Yates barking orders at Benton; heard the voice of the Australian girl too, but rather than words he heard only her emotions - the brashness of her anger, the strain of her shock, the muted tones of her concern.

It was she who finally came to him, crouching beside him, putting one hand on his arm as if feeling his biceps, the other on his back. The Brigadier had never been much of a one for physical contact, but now he felt absurdly grateful for the consideration she was showing him.

'Are you all right, Brigadier?' she asked gently, warily.

The tears had mostly run their course, but the Brigadier felt entirely drained of energy. It was as if he was viewing the world through thick gauze; he felt as if great areas of his mind were no longer his, but merely empty chambers waiting to be filled by whatever had cleared out his thoughts.

He nodded, however, and murmured, 'There's life in the old dog yet.'

She smiled and patted him on the back. 'Come on then, old dog,' she said. 'Let's get you out of here. Can you walk?'

The Brigadier would have found it too much of an indignity to say no, so he nodded again and forced himself to his feet.

He tried to convince himself that he was escorting her as much as she was supporting him as they shuffled out of the building. The fog was closing in again and he had to channel all his efforts, all his concentration, into remembering who and where he was, into putting one foot in front of the other.

After a while he felt his chest and shoulders itching again, but this time it was a pleasant itch; it seemed to send ripples of sensation, like pure energy, coursing through his body.

'Xaranti,' he murmured, lovingly.

'What?' asked Tegan.

The Brigadier felt a flash of irritation. 'We are Xaranti,' he told her.

The girl looked at him anxiously, and suddenly in his eyes she seemed so puny, hateful, pathetic. 'No. You're Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. You work for UNIT, remember?'

For a brief moment he was confused, felt as if his mind was struggling with itself, then the delicious itch flowed through him again, imbuing him with strength and confidence. 'We are Xaranti,' he repeated, s.n.a.t.c.hing his arm from her grip.

'And you...' He stepped closer as if to strike her, then stopped. He sensed... sensed... yes. yes. 'You are Xaranti too. 'You are Xaranti too.

The girl looked shocked. 'No!' she said, backing away from him.

He laughed. 'Soon we will all be Xaranti.'

'No!' the girl said again, more venomously this time. the girl said again, more venomously this time.

He was about to reply when he felt something in his mind: a tickle, a voice, an instinct, an idea, a compulsion. It was all of these and more, but wherever it had come from - and the Brigadier felt as though it had come as much from inside him, from his memories and knowledge, as from outside - the message was clear.

'The Doctor,' he murmured.

'What?'

'We must -' He stopped abruptly; he was telling her too much. The human influence in her was still too strong. He pressed his teeth together in a tight grin. 'Nothing,' he said.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide, searching.

'Oh no,' she said. 'You're not going to have the Doctor. He's the only one who can help you.'

She turned and ran into the darkness. The Brigadier hissed his displeasure and followed. But his new-found energy burned off quickly, and after a minute or so he was panting again, sweat pouring off him. He struggled along, hands slapping the wall to maintain his balance, but the girl drew so far ahead that soon he could not even hear her footsteps.

It didn't matter. She couldn't get away. He was linked to the group mind now and he knew that there were Xaranti waiting on the outside for her too.

Sooner than he had expected, he burst through a set of double doors and into the light. He stood swaying for a moment, blinking and disorientated. He could hear people shouting, hear his own kind hissing at those who were still transforming. As his eyes adapted he took in the scene before him at a glance.

The UNIT soldiers, many of whom were clinging to their humanity only by the thinnest of threads, were fighting a rearguard action against those of his kind whose transformations were more advanced than his own. If it hadn't been for the man, Yates (backed up by Benton) marshalling them, shouting out orders, pulling them back from the brink, the Brigadier felt sure that most of them would have succ.u.mbed by now. At Yates's behest, the soldiers had encircled an army truck, in the back of which lay the Doctor, still unconscious. Crouched beside the Doctor and facing the conflict wild-eyed with fear was the Australian girl. The hybrids were prowling the perimeter of the human circle, looking for a way in. Those who ventured too close were driven back by blows from rifle-b.u.t.ts. The Brigadier knew that they had not yet attacked in force, overwhelming the humans by sheer numbers, because they needed the Doctor in one piece.

The Doctor was important to them. His mind would make an invaluable contribution to their cause. Indeed, it was not an exaggeration to say that the sum of his knowledge could turn the Xaranti into the most powerful race in the universe.

It was imperative, then, that the humans were not pushed to firing their weapons. Consumed by bloodl.u.s.t they would be unable to differentiate between friend and enemy. Under such circ.u.mstances the Doctor might be damaged beyond repair.

More subtle methods had to be employed, therefore. The current stand-off needed to be brought to a swift and bloodless conclusion. The one major unpredictable element in this situation was the Doctor himself. Who knew what kind of influence he might be able to exert if, or when, he regained consciousness?

Suddenly, as if the idea had come fully-formed into his mind, the Brigadier knew what he had to do. He drew his gun and stepped towards the small pay-booth at the front of the Ghost Train. From there, keeping low and hiding behind the screen of hybrids, he crept around the perimeter of the circle until he was opposite Mike Yates. Yates was standing in line with his men, gun drawn, still shouting out orders and encouragement, occasionally checking with Sergeant Benton on the far side of the truck to keep the circle tight.

The Brigadier suddenly stood up behind the hybrids and proceeded to barge through them, brandis.h.i.+ng his gun, pointing it into the faces of those that made a show of lunging at him, hissing. He even clubbed a couple for good measure to make it look convincing.

'Sir!' Yates shouted, seeing the commotion, and despatched two of his men from the circle as a rescue party.