Post by Fitz Kreiner on Sept 21, 2010 15:05:58 GMT
Wednesday, December 15th, 1999
“Ever since the September Terror Attacks in Camden, James Duncan has been held in the highest regard by the British Public. And ever since the recent historical documents were brought to the public light, the populace has rallied around this, until recently, unknown figure. With the abdication of Queen Elizabeth the Second and the calls from both the public and government for the Royal Family to step aside in his favour, the future King James the Third has been touring the country, embracing his public.
“In just a few minutes, we will be going to Mr. Duncan’s first address to the nation, live from Buckingham Palace. Already there are large crowds gathered outside up the Mall, the cold of this December afternoon not deterring the determined public, desperate for a sight of their popular upcoming Monarch.
“Mr. Duncan was made head of the whole British Police Force after the untimely death of Sir Hugh Winters, the previous holder of the post, just weeks before the ill fated events in Camden. Due to his handling of the situation, and saving many hundreds of lives, the public has rallied around him. Liaising with the armed forces, Mr. Duncan had the area evacuated so that the military could contain the situation.
“With Mr. Duncan’s coronation as the new King of Great Britain and Northern Ireland mere weeks away, the Christmas season has sparked greater celebrations than previous. Extra police have been drafted to the major cities to make sure that all frivolities are within the confines of the law.
“I have just been told that Mr Duncan is now making his way to his first address to the nation, so we are now going live to our correspondent at Buckingham Pala-”
Captain William Morris leant forwards and switched the radio off. He was already fed up of the extended media coverage of James Duncan. Ever since he first rose to prominence for his ordering the police to help with the Camden Incident, he hardly seemed to be out of the press, even more so since the startling turn of events in October. He could hardly believe it himself; Britain seemed to have gone crazy since the Derbyshire Incident in August.
He had been put onto red alert by the Ministry and was preparing to move into the area to take over from the regulars when it had all suddenly ended. He had learnt later that it was due to the Doctor arriving and sorting the incident out within twenty four hours. From then, his life hadn’t been the same; he’d gotten a new sergeant in the form of Allison Lovatt, who had great potential and would go far. And then mere weeks later UNIT became embroiled in the nefarious machinations of the Master and Autons.
It was then he had first met the Doctor and his companions; Jess and Tom, and true to the reputation he had acquired, the Doctor sorted the whole situation out within thirty-six hours. The affair had been covered up and was passed off as a terrorist attack, and the Master had been captured and swiftly tried and imprisoned. All the public was aware of was that the terrorist leader had been captured and imprisoned, but that was it. Then, the Doctor and his friends had disappeared, leaving him to clean the mess up, along with General Bailey and the police, of course, under direction from Duncan, who had come down personally to oversee it.
Duncan had further risen in prominence when the Master’s facsimiles in the government had been disabled, and he took credit for busting open a corruption ring. It had resulted in a massive cabinet reshuffle by the Prime Minister, who had publically thanked Duncan, no doubt starting the corruption rumour between the two of them. Even the Prime Minister had come out smelling of roses, the cover story having said that he had helped Duncan in bringing them to justice. Morris knew different however, and couldn’t listen to either of the smarmy suits when they bragged about it on the news.
After that, the celebrations for the culmination of the Derbyshire affair had been put back and were rearranged to incorporate the Camden Incident. The whole of Camden had pretty much closed down for four days over a weekend and it seemed as though the entire Alternative culture had descended on the area for a four day celebration and mourning of those who had lost their lives. Morris had wanted to make a sarcastic comment about Goths and death but thought better of it when he remembered that Jess, the Doctors companion, was one of them. “Them”. Not a term he should really use. Especially after the way the girl had handled herself when faced with the Master and helped in capturing him. He was glad she was on his side.
It had been only a week after the celebrations when the Doctor returned, bringing trouble with him again; the Colesham Incident and the Klil-Raäth. It was during this when Morris had his first falling out with the Time Lord, and he had apparently stormed off earth, leaving one of his companions behind in the process. It had shocked both him and Tom, who had stood there watching in shock as the TARDIS disappeared.
That was now two months ago and Tom seemed to have moved into the lab, sleeping on the sofa he had brought in there. The two had worked together in that time, and Tom was a lot different than the Doctor to work with. Darker and moodier at times, although Morris had learnt that the Doctor could be moody. It must be a Time Lord thing.
Since the Doctor had disappeared, these strange historical documents had come to light, highlighting that James Duncan was the sole descendant of Queen Elizabeth the first. The authenticity of the documents was widely questioned but soon confirmed throwing a whole new light onto British history. Elizabeth was no longer the “Virgin Queen” as from her own hand and her lover, the Earl of Norwich, had confirmed, they had an affair and Elizabeth had an illegitimate child to him, whom was hushed up and almost lost to history.
It was times like this that Morris wished the Doctor was here. He could have no doubt confirmed whether this was all true or not, nipping back in time in his TARDIS to see firsthand. Or he would know already. Unfortunately, Mr. Rowan didn’t know as much as the Doctor, claiming to be a lot younger at one hundred and eighty-five. Morris found it rather hard to believe looking at him, but he knew better; he’d read the reports of the Doctor, and Tom was one of his people. Still, the young Time Lord, if at his age that was young, had been invaluable in helping in the past two months.
There had been a plague of reports of UFO’s, but so far there was no radar contact or any sight of any alien beings. Tom had been trying to work on getting some advanced scanning systems set up to help track the UFO’s, but so far, nothing concrete had been found. He had detected traces of advanced technology, but was unable to pinpoint them.
Their investigation had been going well until James Duncan had become head of the Military as well as police as his coronation grew ever closer. Morris didn’t like it at all; the public seemed to still be rallying round him, yet behind the scenes, it sometimes seemed as though Duncan was setting up a police state. Morris had had to sign a new waver saying that he would be loyal to the man and after that the investigation into the UFO’s seemed to drop to a crawl.
Still, Morris had entrusted it to Tom, who had no official position in UNIT, and nor was he known to the government. As far as they were concerned, Tom Rowan didn’t officially exist, which leant the man a degree of freedom. He still acted through UNIT, but Morris couldn’t order him to do anything. He wasn’t sure whether that was a fully good thing, but so far, he had shown no reason not to be trusted.
A muffled cry followed by a crashing from the floor above reminded Morris that Tom was still in the building. He hardly seemed to leave much these days. Morris almost worried about him at times, he was sure that Tom was paler and gaunter than when he had first met him. He had also seemed to suffer from severe headaches, which had caused him to shut himself away for days on end in a darkened room.
There was only one other occupant in the building besides himself and Rowan, and that was Corporal Loding, who was working towards a promotion and busy in the operations room. The HQ seemed rather quiet with just the three of them in. Sergeant Lovatt was due in one hour to start working her shift. The members of the support platoon were all barracked nearby if they were needed. It didn’t feel right to Morris to have such a small number of staff in the HQ. He had heard that Duncan wanted to shut down the HQ and disband the UK branch of UNIT, but he was trying his hardest to dismiss these rumours. If they were true, he’d end up back in the regular army. It wouldn’t be the same after his time in UNIT.
Sighing, Morris looked up at the clock on the wall. It was only just half past nine in the morning. He thought about the mad fools who were braving the December cold to line the Mall, those who must have been there for four hours or more. He may not have been in bed at that time, but at least he had been inside in the warm.
“You ok down here, Corporal?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Loding replied looking up from where she was sat.
Nodding, Morris left the operations room and walked down the corridor to the stairwell. Pausing to look out of the stairwell windows, Morris again reflected on how glad he was to be inside this morning instead of on the Mall. The clear morning sky and crisp winter sunlight belied the coldness that lay outside the building. Turning back to the stairwell, Morris climbed to the next story, taking the stairs two at a time.
The laboratory wasn’t far from the stairwell. It’s normally light windows were blacked out by the heavy black cloth that Rowan had pinned over the windows, both inside and out, to keep the light out. Even the door window had been blocked up. The only light that ever shone in that room these days was from the desk-lamp or the seven LCD computer monitors, which Rowan had linked together. Coming close to the door, Morris knocked on the glass; the place he knew produced the loudest knock on the inside, no matter what Rowan was doing.
*
There was blackness, the same deep and oppressive blackness that haunted him every night, the same blackness that had haunted him every night for over a year. He could feel their presence surrounding him, encroaching on him. No light was penetrating the black void, yet he could feel them, reaching out to him, calling him, probing his mind. They were close, closer than they’d been in a while. They were stepping out of the light, surrounding him.
*
Tom awoke with a cry, sitting bolt upright, a cold sweat on his brow, the small table he kept beside the sofa crashing to the floor, spilling the glass of water, pile of books and files and desk lamp. The dim lamp-light which had illuminated the room died as the lamp hit the floor and the bulb burst.
Cursing, Tom fumbled in the gloom to pick the fallen items up. The glass of water had smashed, of that he was certain. The books were still relatively dry, as were the files. The lamp would need a new bulb. Getting to his feet, Tom crossed the room in the near darkness to find the drawer he kept the spare bulbs in.
Retracing his steps to the sofa, and only once banging his shin against something, Tom felt in the darkness for the toppled lamp. Replacing the blown bulb, the soft glow of the 40 watt bulb filled the lab and revealed the state of the files that had been on the table. The sheaves of paper had spread in a large area, soaking up some of the spilled water. Tom cursed again and picked them up, casting a quick glance over them. They were out of order now; he’d sort that later when he could be bothered.
Still squinting in the light, Tom absently rubbed as his jaw. The four day growth of stubble was starting to itch slightly. Deciding that he should shave, finally, Tom stretched and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea what the time was, and frankly, he couldn’t care. The cloth he had put over the windows cancelled out all outside light, that way, he could control the levels of light.
A sharp knocking at the door made him start. Hardly anyone ever came to the Lab since he had moved in, meaning it could be only one person; Morris.
“Yeah, come in,” he called wearily.
The door opened, flooding the room with the bright florescent lighting of the corridor, framing the dark silhouette of Morris. “Everything alright?” he asked stepping into the lab.
Screwing his eyes against the brighter light, Tom held his hand out. “Shut the bloody door, will you?” he groaned.
Rolling his eyes, Morris reached behind him and closed the door. “So what have you been up to?” he asked.
Getting to his feet, Tom crossed to the sink, refilled his glass and downed the water. “I appreciate the social call, but we both know why you’re here,” he said, staring at the cloth curtain.
“Mr. Ro-, Tom,” Morris corrected himself walking into the lab and sitting down. “It’s been over two months,”
“I know, I know,” Tom snapped, turning round. “I may as well accept that they may not be back or be coming back.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say, Tom,” Morris replied, sitting down on the sofa and flicking through the papers.
“You want to know if I’ve uncovered anything else?” Tom asked, before continuing without giving Morris the chance to reply. “Well, no I haven’t. Bugger all in fact. The Police seem to block at every moment, and I can’t get a peep from any civil servants or the suits there. I’ve got further talking to conspiracy nuts on the ‘net.”
Morris sighed and sat back. “And all these papers?”
“Just the little I’ve been able to get. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but should you be talking to me about this. Thought the bigwigs told you to forget it?”
“Well, I may be bending the rules a little,” Morris replied. “But you know what I think about it all. Ideally, we need the Doctor.”
“But you have to settle for me, I know,” Tom said grabbing a shirt from the desk and putting it on.
“Tom, you can go places I can’t,” Morris said. “You’re a good asset. If the Doctor were here, I’d be responsible for him; the government know about him, they don’t about you. You can go places I can’t. Ashfield may have told me to forget it and close the case, but I think there’s more going on than meets the eye. That’s why I need you.”
“So other than the ego rub and wondering how I’ve got on, what else is there?” Tom asked, reaching up and tying his long hair back. “You’re not being told to check up on me are you? I did meet Ashfield, remember?”
“He does want to know what you’re doing with yourself these days,” Morris admitted. “They’re trying to get me to put tags on you.”
“And you don’t want to?” Tom asked.
“No,” Morris said after several long seconds.
“Ok,” Tom said, leaning against the desk he was stood by and looked at Morris. “Cut to the chase. What is it? No more military or official secrets crap. Just tell me.”
Morris shifted uncomfortably before getting to his feet and pacing slightly. “There were more sightings of the Tower Lights last night, and now Duncan is giving an address to the nation,” he started.
“That’s today?” Tom asked, cutting in.
“Yeah,” Morris replied. “You know yesterday I had to sign a new allegiance to him, my hands are even more tied than they were. Soon, any investigations I undertake into Duncan will be classed as treason.”
“How long ‘til the coronation?”
“Ten days,” Morris said, “Christmas day.”
Tom looked away and rubbed his goatee beard thoughtfully. “Ten days. So that explains why I’m not getting anywhere with official channels.”
Morris nodded. “And I just wondered, you’ve been to the future; is this really what happens? This is screaming ‘Police state’ to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called Martial Law now he’s got unwavering control of the armed forces.”
“Unwavering?” Tom asked, his head snapping up.
“All done very secretly though,” Morris replied. “Ask the common man on the street, he wouldn’t know. James Duncan is like a bloody saint to them.”
“I’ve no idea,” Tom said. “Sorry, I wish I did know. I wish the Doctor was here.”
“Me too,” Morris admitted. “If he’d talk to me after last time. At least he could nip back and verify it.”
“The TARDIS,” Tom said softly before looking up at Morris. “Look, if you’re trying to direct me somewhere then just bloody tell me. I’m not in the mood for all this faffing about.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Morris said.
Tom looked at Morris again. The expression on the man’s face was clearly that of confusion. “You weren’t aiming for me to go and see him were you?”
“Him?” Morris asked. “I don’t understand.”
Tom sighed and swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe that he’d thought of using him as a resource. “The only other person on this planet who may well know what’s going on; hell, he might even be behind it himself, but it’s worth a shot,” Tom said. “I mean, I’ve used up every other resource. At the very least, I might get an idea.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, you’ve lost me,” Morris admitted scratching his head.
“Well, it’s probably best you don’t know, thinking about it,” Tom replied. “I’ll need a car, and a driver who won’t ask questions.”
*
Tom sat in the back of the black Mercedes; Corporal Loding was sat in the driving seat, dressing in civilian clothes. She hadn’t questioned anything when Tom has asked her to drive to the Wingmoore Institute. But then, Tom reflected, only a select number of people know about the Institute, and even fewer knew about who was there.
Looking out of the car window, as they drove on in silence, Tom watched as London flashed by, idly stroking at his face where he’d shaved not half an hour earlier. The journey through London was taking quicker than he’d anticipated, the traffic being thin on the ground as most people were gathered in public areas to watch the address. He was glad he wasn’t listening to it, all the radio stations were covering it and thankfully Loding hadn’t put the radio on.
Tom had become quite friendly with Loding since his exile. The corporal had begun to understand his moods and knew when he wanted silence or to be left alone. As they drove on in silence, Tom was glad of it, he was getting ever more anxious the closer they got to the Wingmoore Institute. It would be the first time in a while he’d seen him, and the first time alone.
He was so deep in his thoughts reflecting on things, and how he was going to react to the meeting, that he almost missed Loding telling him they were arriving. Snapping out of his thoughts, Tom sat up and started paying attention to where he was. The tree lined gravel driveway, which had been green and leafy on his last visit was now bare and frost still glistened in the morning sun on the bare branches. The red brick facade of the Wingmoore Institute itself came into view through the front windscreen, and Tom swallowed hard. It was now or never.
*
Les Watson looked up as he heard the sound of the engine coming down the drive. A black Mercedes was slowly driving towards him at the doors to the Institute. Narrowing his eyes at the car, he got to his feet. He hadn’t been informed of anyone coming today. The driver appeared to be a rather slight looking woman, and a rather attractive one. He could see a shape in the back, but couldn’t make any features out.
He stepped out of the front door of the Institute feeling the chill of the December air as he did so. The female driver had got out and was opening the door for the passenger at the back. Watson watched as the man climbed out, he was younger than he expected and was acting very informally towards his driver. Not the usual sort of visitor the Institute received. He was wearing dark jeans, a black shirt, black cowboy boots and an ankle length black leather trench coat. As he stood, he placed a black leather Stetson on his head and then walked purposefully towards Watson.
“Mornin’” he said as he went to walk past.
“Hang on, pal,” Watson said, grabbing his arm. “You need a pass or appointment to come in here.”
The man stopped and glared at Watson with ice blue eyes. Thinking the man was about to hit him, Watson started to move his hand to the tazer baton situated on his belt. His hand stopped when he saw the faux-leather wallet in the man’s hand. Letting go of the man’s arm, Watson reached out for the ID card. Keeping the card in his hand, the man let the flap drop, revealing the UNIT identity.
“I’m here to see the prisoner,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Watson said, holding the door open for him. He recognised the name on the ID card; Tom Rowan. It was he who was the man who had captured the prisoner and the last person Watson imagined ever coming to see the prisoner. “Just a minute sir, I’ll ring ahead for you,” Watson added hurrying after Rowan into the lobby.
Rowan waited, tapping his fingers against the desk top as Watson picked up the phone and put the call through to the governor’s office.
“Well?” he asked, before Watson had even put the receiver down.
“Erm, yes,” Watson said, taken slightly aback by the man’s blunt directness. “Governor Crompton will see you, sir.”
“I didn’t doubt it,” the man replied, turning to head down the corridor, his coat billowing out as he turned.
“Would you like me to show you the way, sir?” Watson asked.
“I know it thank you,” Rowan replied as he pushed open the door and continued walking.
Watson watched the man as he disappeared down the corridor, his footfalls echoing as he walked purposefully away.
*
Kevin Crompton, governor of the Wingmoore Institute, put the phone down and grimaced; a UNIT operative coming to check up on them again. He was getting fed up with UNIT, although it had been some time since their last check. They couldn’t seem to get to grips with the fact that he was able to control the prisoner. They seemed to think he was some kind of superman, or rather, super villain. He had the prisoner under constant supervision, guards checking on him regularly, and the prisoner had never been anything more than a perfect gentleman.
Re-arranging his desk back into its meticulously neat alignment, Crompton then stood up and checked his reflection in the mirror, brushing the thin strands of hair back across the top of his balding head. He’d met this particular operative just once before, when the prisoner was first brought here, he was, after all, the man who caught him.
Straightening the grey polyester suit jacket, Crompton turned round as there was a sharp rapping at his office door. Before he’d even had time to utter ‘come in’, the door swung open. Crompton almost didn’t recognise the man who entered, the large leather coat swamping his gaunt form, but it was still the same man, just paler and thinner.
“Mr. Rowan,” he smiled, holding his hand out. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Staring at Crompton, not returning the smile or shaking the offered hand, Tom just removed his hat. “Mr. Crompton,” he said.
“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” Crompton said, bringing his hand back and walking back to his desk and sitting down.
“It’s quite simple,” Tom replied, sitting down opposite Crompton. “I’m here to see the Master.”
