Part 17 (1/2)

The remaining man was left alone. He knelt down and reached for his fallen contraption. He saw that it was broken.

He straightened, shrugged and vanished anyway.9.08 p.m.

Beecham had watched that section of the tape straight through, and was not much closer to understanding it. This was almost as strange as the 'incident' six months ago; the one which had persuaded Beecham, with the approval of old man Yeadon, the owner, to install monitoring equipment in the cafe.

He had hoped, somehow, that it might help next time.

The building had been kept closed throughout the day. The authorities had been called in, but had been unable to shed much light, not even on the blue police box which remained in the corner, and which n.o.body could penetrate.

Beecham wound the tape to the next occurrence and remembered the theory he had formulated earlier. The one he had dismissed as being inherently ridiculous.

Time travel. That would make some sort of sense of it.

He stopped the tape at time signature 14 56, remembering the details of what he would see there. Beecham s.h.i.+vered as he realized how neatly this next incident, viewed out of sequence, might fit into the short gap between the last two.2.56 p.m.

Ace felt like she had been pushed through a brick wall sideways: the increasingly familiar sensation of transference using the hopper. Her surroundings hadn't changed, although the flames, her attackers and the cafe's staff had gone. A second elapsed before she thought to check the clock on the wall 131 amongst the antique postcards.

The hopper was obviously getting to like her. It had pushed her five and a half hours forward without being given any such command. It had saved her life. And the imposter had chosen not to hang around waiting.

Except that, Ace noticed, the TARDIS was still here.

She was heading cautiously towards the craft when a slight noise made her turn, alertly. The weirdoes were behind her (where had they come from?) and she ducked, avoiding a crackling blast of energy which came from . . . from the young man's fingertips?

'Steady on Jason,' the Doctor-double warned. 'I'll go in first.'

He ran at her, but Ace pushed a chair into his path. He stumbled and she picked the chair up, using it as a s.h.i.+eld.

She had no chance against people who could apparently do whatever they liked (or was it that boy Jason who had all the power?). She had to escape. But was that possible, if they could follow through time?

She needed an advantage. She hurled the chair at the boy and made for the counter, leaping across a table and sending the hopper a mental command more forceful than was necessary.

Five and a half hours back, to where she'd come from.

Ace transferred in mid-vault.3.20 p.m.

Jason was still bent over, stomach aching. He reached for a chair, but before he could make contact, his foe returned. This time, she had travelled through time after him.

He heard and felt her knuckles crack against his teeth. He saw red filling his vision and felt his back impacting against the wall.

'Get off him!' a voice cried, dulled by the bloodrush in Jason's ears. It was Chris, racing from the TARDIS and running, in slow-motion it seemed, to his fellow's defence. He dimly registered Dr Who's presence too, and felt relief as he sank to the floor and Ace, outnumbered, chose discretion and blinked out of this period.

'What's going on?' asked Chris, rolling Jason over and 132 inspecting his face (which stung and felt puffed-up). 'Who was that terrible woman?'

'I'm sick of this story,' complained Jason through tears. It's not ending right.'

Dr Who's strong hands helped him to his feet, Chris standing by to lend support. In the back of his mind, Jason felt some measure of triumph: the Doctor's ex-supporter now at least knew that beating up a defenceless boy was wrong.

'Where did she go?' Chris was asking. 'We have to get after her.'

'No,' said Jason, as defiantly as he could manage to sound.

'Let her go. I don't ever want reminding that we came to this horrid place!'9.17 p.m.

This time, the dematerialization of the police box at time signature 15 22 did not concern Will Beecham unduly. 'They left her,' he said to himself. 'Those two men came here after the woman, she got the upper hand on them and they gave up and went.'

He took a paper and pencil and began jotting down a few notes, feeling a sense of unease - and yet, of fascination - as the incredible fragments began to fit together.

There was more. He watched, with growing interest, gnawing at the pencil end as his impossible theory continued to gain in credence.3.26 p.m.

She appeared again, running for where the box had been. She stopped short, apparently seeing that it was there no longer.

The young man materialized behind her then. She turned, side-stepped and pelted towards the door. But her other pursuer appeared, belatedly, and she pulled back, looking more than mildly surprised.

The older man swung a fist. She twisted, changed course again and transferred. Her pursuers vanished, right on her heels.9.18 p.m.

Beecham left the tape running. He knew that, only fifteen 133 seconds later, the strange woman would be back; for what he now suspected to be the coda to this day's events.3.44 p.m.

Ace had only moved five minutes forward. She had proceeded to wait for almost twenty, alone in the wreckage of the cafe. It was becoming obvious that her attackers weren't following.

She didn't know how to feel about that. She had been gaining the advantage after all, but the young man's powers were phenomenal and one slip might have proved fatal.

The TARDIS was no longer there, of course. She thought about going back in time and trying to steal it, but she knew that the Doctor would have disapproved. 'Aaron Blinovitch would have a fit if he knew you were even thinking about it.' She smiled at the memory of his voice and felt a rea.s.suring squeeze from the hopper; glad, presumably, that she was alive.

That gave her an idea.

If that kid was sixteen in 1994, and now he's . . . what? she thought. Twenty-two to twenty-six, maybe? So when did he come from? She did the calculations and grimaced.

So far as Ace knew, the hopper couldn't take her past the twentieth century.

But then, if it was forming an attachment to her . . .9.43 p.m.

Will Beecham had stayed in the empty back room and watched it all again, right up to the woman's disappearance at 15 45. He still couldn't fit it all together - her original arrival, for a start, was problematic. But he had seen enough to be convinced.

He walked through into the dining area, hardly daring to think about what he might find there.

The broken machine. The one which she had kicked out of the older man's hands. Beecham still didn't know how he had moved through time without it, but that, for now, was little more than an irrelevance.

He scrambled in the dust and collected the plastic fragments 134 together. It might not, just might not, be beyond repair.

He stood up and laid the pieces out on a table. His ex citement grew as they seemed to combine.

Then, with an alarming explosion of sound, the three figures appeared, and the woman was running towards him - and into him. She recoiled and shouted and pushed him away, turning too late to prevent the older man from getting a grip on her neck.

They vanished abruptly, her final curtailed exclamation hanging heavy in Will Beecham's ears.

'Where the h.e.l.l did you -?'