Post by Fitz Kreiner on Jul 11, 2012 18:19:27 GMT
Jonathan Reed double took as his train rattled through the District Line under the Thames and towards Waterloo. From his position at the front, he was sure that the trains’ lights had illuminated someone on the lines. He’d only caught a glimpse, but he knew that there shouldn’t be anyone messing around down on the lines.
There weren’t any work crews down there, so it could only mean one thing; a trespasser, not only putting themselves at danger, but also any trains. Jonathan had seen the mess made by jumpers on the lines before, and the danger lay not just in being hit by a train but by the electrical current on the lines.
There was only one thing for it; he’d have to radio in and let control know so that they could pass the matter on to British Transport Police.
“Understood, Jonny, we’ll get on it.” Steven Elwood sighed as he switched the radio off and sat back in his chair.
Trespassers on the District line between Westminster and Waterloo? How had they got down there? It was a long stretch of line for them to make their way down without being spotted by another train.
Looking through the log book, Elwood couldn’t see any records of work crews on the District line, or any evidence of anyone with any permission to be in the tunnels under the Thames. Still, he might as well have a look.
Getting up from his chair, he walked out of his office and towards security. Upon reaching the office, he rapped on the door before going straight in. Carl Reynolds, the head of security at Waterloo was sat there, sipping coffee from a polystyrene cup.
“You got any CCTV footage from the District line?” Elwood asked as Reynolds looked up.
“Care to narrow it down a bit, pal?” Reynolds asked. “The District line isn’t exactly a model railway.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Elwood replied. “Stretch between Westminster and Waterloo, under the Thames.”
“Under the Thames?” Reynolds asked, sitting up and reaching for the console before him. “Why would you want to look at that God forsaken area?”
“I’ve had a report that there’s someone arsing around on the lines there.”
Reynolds face fell. “There shouldn’t be anyone down there ‘til next Tuesday,” he said.
“I know,” Elwood replied with a sigh. “Can you get me any CCTV?”
“Not of that deep into the tunnel,” Reynolds replied as he changed the screens from the images of Waterloo Station to the tunnels. “I can get you as deep as I, oh,” he trailed off as he looked up at the screens of flickering static.
“And when was the last time you had them serviced?” Elwood asked.
“Last week,” Reynolds replied, looking round at Elwood, confused.
“Then I think we’d better get BTP down there,” Elwood said, turning and walking from the room.
Neil Wilkinson of the British Transport Police walked carefully down the tunnel from Waterloo towards Westminster, the light from his torch flashing on the stone walls of the tunnel. How someone had managed to get this far in, he didn’t know. It was something which seemed to confuse everyone else who was involved as well.
He’d arranged for people to be stationed on the stations either side of the stretch of tunnel in case they had slipped past him. The fact that someone had got so far into the tunnels angered him. Wilkinson liked to think he kept this stretch of line as safe as possible. He’d certainly give whoever was arsing around down here the full penalty when he got his hands on them; they’d be sorry they decided to mess around on this part of the line.
Keeping close on the small metal walkway that ran along the side of the track, Wilkinson kept one hand against the stone wall to keep his balance, the torch in his other. The shadows it was casting in the darkness were blacker than the already blackness of the tunnel and not for the first time Wilkinson felt a slight chill go through him.
Wilkinson took his hand off the wall as he reached one of the brick buttresses of the tunnel. Putting his hand out after he passed it to steady himself, he found himself falling sideways through blackness. With a cry, he landed painfully on a stone floor in a puddle of water. His torch clattered away from him, the light going out, leaving him in total blackness. The panic and confusion swam through his mind. There shouldn’t have been a hole in the tunnel wall. He now didn’t know where he was. He could hear water dripping somewhere and a soft current in the water he was now laying.
A brief flash of light and deafening clatter of a train going past in the tunnel outside suddenly filled his head, causing him to collapse to the floor again in confusion.
His ears still ringing, Wilkinson scrambled about on the floor for the torch. He decided that he would search in the direction the water was flowing, considering that it would have to be an inclination causing that and that would be most likely the direction the torch would have rolled. He was sure he heard a scuffling in the dark as he searched, causing him to pause and look around, his eyes wide, trying to make sense of the blackness.
He was sure that he saw something move in the darkness, causing him to scramble more hurriedly for his torch. After several long seconds, his mind rationalised the shape he saw into a trick of the eyes caused by the total darkness. His fingers closed around the cold metal handle of the torch and he hefted it up, scrambling to his feet, slipping slightly on the slippery stone under his feet.
Typically, his torch wasn’t working. Slapping it hard against his hand and twisting the end, he managed to get the bulb to flicker back into life. It wasn’t anywhere near as bright as it once had been, but at least it gave some illumination, even though it was a dirty yellow light.
Shining the torch around, he found he was stood in a brick lined tunnel, stretching off as far as his torch would allow him to see in both directions, with other tunnels connecting to it, some of them only rather small, water trickling out of them, down the curved walls and to the stream in the middle.
Stepping back down the tunnel, in the direction he hoped he had come from, Wilkinson searched for the hole in the wall he’d fallen through. It took him several seconds to find the hole which had been opened in the wall, the bricks had been removed and were nowhere in sight. It puzzled him slightly and was reaching for his radio to report it when he heard another scuffling sound.
Swinging his torch around, Wilkinson was just in time to see a black shape drop from one of the smaller tunnels and splash into the water. Keeping his flickering torch looking for the shape, Wilkinson brought his radio up to his lips. Flicking the switch he was met with nothing but static. He looked up, a sixth sense which he had trained since joining the Transport Police kicking in, and dropped the radio in fear:
A terribly large, un-human shape was looming before him out of the dark. He took a step back, a shape at his feet catching in the dimming torch light made him stumble and fall again. The last thing he ever saw was the shapes closing in on him before the dimmed light died and he was left in an endless blackness.
Jonathan Reed walked along down the corridor leading to the conference room he had been told to attend to. He’d only just finished his shift and was rather annoyed at being called to attend this interview. He’d seen trespassers on the line before and hadn’t been called up like this. Just down the corridor, Steve Elwood was stood near a rather attractive brunette in military uniform. Elwood had his usual cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth, another behind his ear.
“Steve,” Reed shouted. “What’s all this about then? Who’s this?” he asked quieter as he got nearer and indicated the soldier.
“Corporal Loding of UNIT,” Elwood said as way of introduction, “this is Jonathan Reed; the driver who reported the trespasser.”
“Mr. Reed, thank you for attending,” Loding said with a smile.
Reed smiled back but couldn’t help noticing the sidearm the corporal was wearing. “Sure,” he said, not saying what he was thinking about wanting to get home. “Look, what’s all this about?”
“Sorry about this, sir,” Loding said, “but you’ve unwittingly stumbled into one of our investigations. My captain and one of our advisors just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
“Ah, ok, no probs,” Reed said, following Loding as she led him to the door, opening it for him.
Reed stepped into the room. There were already two occupants, both male; a man in military dress with captains pips on his shoulder and a man in civilian clothes. The captain was looking tired, his green eyes hooded with a couple days stubble on his chin and with ginger hair. The other man was younger, with long hair tied back into a pony tail. He had a goatee beard and sideburns which went along his cheeks in points. The younger man was pale with dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. Despite their bloodshot appearance, there was something about the man’s eyes, they were pale, icy blue and seemed to look deep into him as he walked to the empty seat.
“Please, Mr Reed, have a seat,” the Captain said, indicating the empty plastic chair.
I was going to, Reed thought, but thought better of saying it. “Thanks,” he said. “And you are?”
“Captain William Morris of UNIT,” Morris said, introducing himself and offering a hand shake. “And this is our advisor, Mr Tom Rowan.”
Reed looked at the other man, who simply nodded.
“What can I do for you guys?” he asked.
“We just need to ask you a few questions,” the other man, Rowan, said. His voice sounded rather morose.
“Anything I can do to help,” Reed replied. “Your colleague said that I’d walked into one of your investigations or something?”
“Something like that,” Morris replied. “We’re investigating a swathe of disappearances in the London area. I believe you saw someone on the District Line this morning and reported it in.”
“Yeah, standard procedure,” Reed replied. “They’d’ve sent BTP to investigate it.”
“They did,” Rowan replied, looking into Reed’s eyes. “Constable Neil Wilkinson. He’s the latest one to go missing. He entered the stretch of tunnel you saw the intruder and never came out.”
“What?” Reed said, incredulously. “You don’t think he just, y’know, slipped and fell under a train?”
“No body-strikes reported,” Morris said, flatly. “And no body was recovered. There was no sign that Wilkinson was ever in the tunnel.”
“Ok, but what has this got to do with me?” Reed asked.
“We want to know what it was you saw,” Rowan said.
“I dunno,” Reed shrugged. “It was just a flash, y’know. Those trains don’t exactly dawdle, it’s not a scenic tour, it’s the Tube. It was just a glimpse.”
“Anything, any little thing may help us,” Rowan pressed.
“I can’t tell ya what I don’t know, can I?” Reed almost shouted.
“Look, just tell us what you know,” Rowan reiterated.
“It was just a shape. The lights caught it, that’s pretty much it,” Reed shrugged.
Rowan slammed his hands down on the desk, in a move that made both Morris and Reed jump, and stood. “You’re not telling us everything,” He shouted. “You saw something and you know it. Now you either tell us what it is you saw, or you’ll find yourself in a UNIT cell for withholding information vital for this investigation.”
“Tom!” Morris yelled over the younger man as Reed appeared to sink back into his seat.
“Look, I’ve seen enough films and what have you to know you’ve no right to do this,” Reed said, his voice wavering slightly.
Ignoring him, Morris stood and turned to Rowan. “Tom, settle down,” Morris shouted.
“He’s keeping something from us,” Tom replied, shouting back at Morris, “I know it. Something’s coming, remember? That’s what the Master said.”
“You can’t believe everything that man says,” Morris countered.
“It might make sense of everything,” Tom replied. “I’ve felt it. Someone or something is taking all these people and this man saw something or someone who could tell us more. And if he won’t tell us willingly, then we’ll have to make him,” Tom turned back to the table.
“Tom,” Morris shouted again, grabbing Toms arm and pulling him aside. “That’s it, that’s not how we do things. You’re becoming a liability.”
“A liability?!” Tom almost spluttered over the word. “I’ve told you again and again that there’s something big at work here and you’re not listening,”
“I am listening, Tom,” Morris cut it. “I’ve listened to it all but we need hard proof and you’ve only got some say so, and not very reliable say so at that.”
“Then ask him,” Tom pointed to Reed. “Like I say, he saw something.”
“And bullying him is not the way to get any information,” Morris replied. “We’re not the Gestapo.”
“So what, you’re gonna get in the way of this investigation for me? I’d like to see you try!” Tom yelled into Morris’ face.
“Don’t even try it, you’re not the Doctor,” Morris shouted back. “Now if you aren’t going to do things by the book, then you can get out of here now.”
Tom opened his mouth to argue back before turning and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Morris watched him go before turning back to Reed. “I’m so sorry about that,” he replied. “I can see how unprofessional that looked and, well, I’m not trying to make excuses, but Tom has been under a lot of pressure these past six months.”
“That’s no real excuse, I want a solicitor present,” Reed replied outraged.
“I hope that won’t be necessary,” Morris replied. “I promise that you will be fully compensated. We just need as full a description as you can give as to who you saw down in the tunnels.
Tom stormed out of the interview room and marched down the corridor, his face a picture of pure rage. Ignoring Loding and Elwood who were still stood outside the room and must have obviously heard what had just gone on in the room. Watching him stomp past, Loding glanced at Elwood before chasing after Tom.
“Hey,” she said, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. “What was all that about?”
“Morris won’t believe me,” Tom replied. “The Master said that there was something coming, something that I’m not seeing.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be a naysayer, but how do you know he wasn’t just messing with your head? We know what the Master’s like, it’s not past him to do something like that,” Loding said cautiously.
“I know, “Tom replied. “But there’s a feeling, something I can’t shake.” He stopped and hit both fists against the wall, before leaning into the wall and resting his forehead against the cool surface. “I, I just wish the Doctor were here,” he said.
“So do I; if it’ll stop all this moping about. Not so much for the all hell breaking loose side of him.”
Tom stood up and smiled softly, the anger draining from his face. “That too,” he said. “He’s likely to figure out if there really is something here, and knowing him, if there is and he finds it; it’ll be trouble.”
“At least he can handle it,” Loding said. “That seems to be his job.”
“Yeah,” Tom smiled before glancing back at Elwood, stood just down the corridor. “Look, I’d best get back to HQ, I can’t imagine matey-boy over there is best chuffed with me, and chumley in the interview room even less so.”
“No worries,” Loding replied. “See you back at base.”
Nodding, Tom turned and walked back down the corridor.
In the inky blackness of space, a dark craft was slicing its way through the vacuum. It had travelled far, answering the call coming from the blue marble hung in space before it. The beauty of this sphere was lost on the crew. Already they had made contact with the source of the signal and further transmissions were made, each going unnoticed by the primitive surveillance systems on the planet below. The crew of the ship knew what to do.
A small hatch opened in the outer hull of the craft and several small spheres emerged. Silently and swiftly, they set about their intended purpose, moving towards the satellite network in orbit of the planet.
The dark ship moved into a concealed position around the planet’s one natural satellite; a dusty and lifeless sphere of rock, 360,000 kilometres out from the mother planet. There it sat, silently waiting.
There weren’t any work crews down there, so it could only mean one thing; a trespasser, not only putting themselves at danger, but also any trains. Jonathan had seen the mess made by jumpers on the lines before, and the danger lay not just in being hit by a train but by the electrical current on the lines.
There was only one thing for it; he’d have to radio in and let control know so that they could pass the matter on to British Transport Police.
*
“Understood, Jonny, we’ll get on it.” Steven Elwood sighed as he switched the radio off and sat back in his chair.
Trespassers on the District line between Westminster and Waterloo? How had they got down there? It was a long stretch of line for them to make their way down without being spotted by another train.
Looking through the log book, Elwood couldn’t see any records of work crews on the District line, or any evidence of anyone with any permission to be in the tunnels under the Thames. Still, he might as well have a look.
Getting up from his chair, he walked out of his office and towards security. Upon reaching the office, he rapped on the door before going straight in. Carl Reynolds, the head of security at Waterloo was sat there, sipping coffee from a polystyrene cup.
“You got any CCTV footage from the District line?” Elwood asked as Reynolds looked up.
“Care to narrow it down a bit, pal?” Reynolds asked. “The District line isn’t exactly a model railway.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Elwood replied. “Stretch between Westminster and Waterloo, under the Thames.”
“Under the Thames?” Reynolds asked, sitting up and reaching for the console before him. “Why would you want to look at that God forsaken area?”
“I’ve had a report that there’s someone arsing around on the lines there.”
Reynolds face fell. “There shouldn’t be anyone down there ‘til next Tuesday,” he said.
“I know,” Elwood replied with a sigh. “Can you get me any CCTV?”
“Not of that deep into the tunnel,” Reynolds replied as he changed the screens from the images of Waterloo Station to the tunnels. “I can get you as deep as I, oh,” he trailed off as he looked up at the screens of flickering static.
“And when was the last time you had them serviced?” Elwood asked.
“Last week,” Reynolds replied, looking round at Elwood, confused.
“Then I think we’d better get BTP down there,” Elwood said, turning and walking from the room.
*
Neil Wilkinson of the British Transport Police walked carefully down the tunnel from Waterloo towards Westminster, the light from his torch flashing on the stone walls of the tunnel. How someone had managed to get this far in, he didn’t know. It was something which seemed to confuse everyone else who was involved as well.
He’d arranged for people to be stationed on the stations either side of the stretch of tunnel in case they had slipped past him. The fact that someone had got so far into the tunnels angered him. Wilkinson liked to think he kept this stretch of line as safe as possible. He’d certainly give whoever was arsing around down here the full penalty when he got his hands on them; they’d be sorry they decided to mess around on this part of the line.
Keeping close on the small metal walkway that ran along the side of the track, Wilkinson kept one hand against the stone wall to keep his balance, the torch in his other. The shadows it was casting in the darkness were blacker than the already blackness of the tunnel and not for the first time Wilkinson felt a slight chill go through him.
Wilkinson took his hand off the wall as he reached one of the brick buttresses of the tunnel. Putting his hand out after he passed it to steady himself, he found himself falling sideways through blackness. With a cry, he landed painfully on a stone floor in a puddle of water. His torch clattered away from him, the light going out, leaving him in total blackness. The panic and confusion swam through his mind. There shouldn’t have been a hole in the tunnel wall. He now didn’t know where he was. He could hear water dripping somewhere and a soft current in the water he was now laying.
A brief flash of light and deafening clatter of a train going past in the tunnel outside suddenly filled his head, causing him to collapse to the floor again in confusion.
His ears still ringing, Wilkinson scrambled about on the floor for the torch. He decided that he would search in the direction the water was flowing, considering that it would have to be an inclination causing that and that would be most likely the direction the torch would have rolled. He was sure he heard a scuffling in the dark as he searched, causing him to pause and look around, his eyes wide, trying to make sense of the blackness.
He was sure that he saw something move in the darkness, causing him to scramble more hurriedly for his torch. After several long seconds, his mind rationalised the shape he saw into a trick of the eyes caused by the total darkness. His fingers closed around the cold metal handle of the torch and he hefted it up, scrambling to his feet, slipping slightly on the slippery stone under his feet.
Typically, his torch wasn’t working. Slapping it hard against his hand and twisting the end, he managed to get the bulb to flicker back into life. It wasn’t anywhere near as bright as it once had been, but at least it gave some illumination, even though it was a dirty yellow light.
Shining the torch around, he found he was stood in a brick lined tunnel, stretching off as far as his torch would allow him to see in both directions, with other tunnels connecting to it, some of them only rather small, water trickling out of them, down the curved walls and to the stream in the middle.
Stepping back down the tunnel, in the direction he hoped he had come from, Wilkinson searched for the hole in the wall he’d fallen through. It took him several seconds to find the hole which had been opened in the wall, the bricks had been removed and were nowhere in sight. It puzzled him slightly and was reaching for his radio to report it when he heard another scuffling sound.
Swinging his torch around, Wilkinson was just in time to see a black shape drop from one of the smaller tunnels and splash into the water. Keeping his flickering torch looking for the shape, Wilkinson brought his radio up to his lips. Flicking the switch he was met with nothing but static. He looked up, a sixth sense which he had trained since joining the Transport Police kicking in, and dropped the radio in fear:
A terribly large, un-human shape was looming before him out of the dark. He took a step back, a shape at his feet catching in the dimming torch light made him stumble and fall again. The last thing he ever saw was the shapes closing in on him before the dimmed light died and he was left in an endless blackness.
*
Jonathan Reed walked along down the corridor leading to the conference room he had been told to attend to. He’d only just finished his shift and was rather annoyed at being called to attend this interview. He’d seen trespassers on the line before and hadn’t been called up like this. Just down the corridor, Steve Elwood was stood near a rather attractive brunette in military uniform. Elwood had his usual cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth, another behind his ear.
“Steve,” Reed shouted. “What’s all this about then? Who’s this?” he asked quieter as he got nearer and indicated the soldier.
“Corporal Loding of UNIT,” Elwood said as way of introduction, “this is Jonathan Reed; the driver who reported the trespasser.”
“Mr. Reed, thank you for attending,” Loding said with a smile.
Reed smiled back but couldn’t help noticing the sidearm the corporal was wearing. “Sure,” he said, not saying what he was thinking about wanting to get home. “Look, what’s all this about?”
“Sorry about this, sir,” Loding said, “but you’ve unwittingly stumbled into one of our investigations. My captain and one of our advisors just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
“Ah, ok, no probs,” Reed said, following Loding as she led him to the door, opening it for him.
Reed stepped into the room. There were already two occupants, both male; a man in military dress with captains pips on his shoulder and a man in civilian clothes. The captain was looking tired, his green eyes hooded with a couple days stubble on his chin and with ginger hair. The other man was younger, with long hair tied back into a pony tail. He had a goatee beard and sideburns which went along his cheeks in points. The younger man was pale with dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. Despite their bloodshot appearance, there was something about the man’s eyes, they were pale, icy blue and seemed to look deep into him as he walked to the empty seat.
“Please, Mr Reed, have a seat,” the Captain said, indicating the empty plastic chair.
I was going to, Reed thought, but thought better of saying it. “Thanks,” he said. “And you are?”
“Captain William Morris of UNIT,” Morris said, introducing himself and offering a hand shake. “And this is our advisor, Mr Tom Rowan.”
Reed looked at the other man, who simply nodded.
“What can I do for you guys?” he asked.
“We just need to ask you a few questions,” the other man, Rowan, said. His voice sounded rather morose.
“Anything I can do to help,” Reed replied. “Your colleague said that I’d walked into one of your investigations or something?”
“Something like that,” Morris replied. “We’re investigating a swathe of disappearances in the London area. I believe you saw someone on the District Line this morning and reported it in.”
“Yeah, standard procedure,” Reed replied. “They’d’ve sent BTP to investigate it.”
“They did,” Rowan replied, looking into Reed’s eyes. “Constable Neil Wilkinson. He’s the latest one to go missing. He entered the stretch of tunnel you saw the intruder and never came out.”
“What?” Reed said, incredulously. “You don’t think he just, y’know, slipped and fell under a train?”
“No body-strikes reported,” Morris said, flatly. “And no body was recovered. There was no sign that Wilkinson was ever in the tunnel.”
“Ok, but what has this got to do with me?” Reed asked.
“We want to know what it was you saw,” Rowan said.
“I dunno,” Reed shrugged. “It was just a flash, y’know. Those trains don’t exactly dawdle, it’s not a scenic tour, it’s the Tube. It was just a glimpse.”
“Anything, any little thing may help us,” Rowan pressed.
“I can’t tell ya what I don’t know, can I?” Reed almost shouted.
“Look, just tell us what you know,” Rowan reiterated.
“It was just a shape. The lights caught it, that’s pretty much it,” Reed shrugged.
Rowan slammed his hands down on the desk, in a move that made both Morris and Reed jump, and stood. “You’re not telling us everything,” He shouted. “You saw something and you know it. Now you either tell us what it is you saw, or you’ll find yourself in a UNIT cell for withholding information vital for this investigation.”
“Tom!” Morris yelled over the younger man as Reed appeared to sink back into his seat.
“Look, I’ve seen enough films and what have you to know you’ve no right to do this,” Reed said, his voice wavering slightly.
Ignoring him, Morris stood and turned to Rowan. “Tom, settle down,” Morris shouted.
“He’s keeping something from us,” Tom replied, shouting back at Morris, “I know it. Something’s coming, remember? That’s what the Master said.”
“You can’t believe everything that man says,” Morris countered.
“It might make sense of everything,” Tom replied. “I’ve felt it. Someone or something is taking all these people and this man saw something or someone who could tell us more. And if he won’t tell us willingly, then we’ll have to make him,” Tom turned back to the table.
“Tom,” Morris shouted again, grabbing Toms arm and pulling him aside. “That’s it, that’s not how we do things. You’re becoming a liability.”
“A liability?!” Tom almost spluttered over the word. “I’ve told you again and again that there’s something big at work here and you’re not listening,”
“I am listening, Tom,” Morris cut it. “I’ve listened to it all but we need hard proof and you’ve only got some say so, and not very reliable say so at that.”
“Then ask him,” Tom pointed to Reed. “Like I say, he saw something.”
“And bullying him is not the way to get any information,” Morris replied. “We’re not the Gestapo.”
“So what, you’re gonna get in the way of this investigation for me? I’d like to see you try!” Tom yelled into Morris’ face.
“Don’t even try it, you’re not the Doctor,” Morris shouted back. “Now if you aren’t going to do things by the book, then you can get out of here now.”
Tom opened his mouth to argue back before turning and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Morris watched him go before turning back to Reed. “I’m so sorry about that,” he replied. “I can see how unprofessional that looked and, well, I’m not trying to make excuses, but Tom has been under a lot of pressure these past six months.”
“That’s no real excuse, I want a solicitor present,” Reed replied outraged.
“I hope that won’t be necessary,” Morris replied. “I promise that you will be fully compensated. We just need as full a description as you can give as to who you saw down in the tunnels.
*
Tom stormed out of the interview room and marched down the corridor, his face a picture of pure rage. Ignoring Loding and Elwood who were still stood outside the room and must have obviously heard what had just gone on in the room. Watching him stomp past, Loding glanced at Elwood before chasing after Tom.
“Hey,” she said, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. “What was all that about?”
“Morris won’t believe me,” Tom replied. “The Master said that there was something coming, something that I’m not seeing.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be a naysayer, but how do you know he wasn’t just messing with your head? We know what the Master’s like, it’s not past him to do something like that,” Loding said cautiously.
“I know, “Tom replied. “But there’s a feeling, something I can’t shake.” He stopped and hit both fists against the wall, before leaning into the wall and resting his forehead against the cool surface. “I, I just wish the Doctor were here,” he said.
“So do I; if it’ll stop all this moping about. Not so much for the all hell breaking loose side of him.”
Tom stood up and smiled softly, the anger draining from his face. “That too,” he said. “He’s likely to figure out if there really is something here, and knowing him, if there is and he finds it; it’ll be trouble.”
“At least he can handle it,” Loding said. “That seems to be his job.”
“Yeah,” Tom smiled before glancing back at Elwood, stood just down the corridor. “Look, I’d best get back to HQ, I can’t imagine matey-boy over there is best chuffed with me, and chumley in the interview room even less so.”
“No worries,” Loding replied. “See you back at base.”
Nodding, Tom turned and walked back down the corridor.
*
In the inky blackness of space, a dark craft was slicing its way through the vacuum. It had travelled far, answering the call coming from the blue marble hung in space before it. The beauty of this sphere was lost on the crew. Already they had made contact with the source of the signal and further transmissions were made, each going unnoticed by the primitive surveillance systems on the planet below. The crew of the ship knew what to do.
A small hatch opened in the outer hull of the craft and several small spheres emerged. Silently and swiftly, they set about their intended purpose, moving towards the satellite network in orbit of the planet.
The dark ship moved into a concealed position around the planet’s one natural satellite; a dusty and lifeless sphere of rock, 360,000 kilometres out from the mother planet. There it sat, silently waiting.
