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The Dying Days - Chapter Ten

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An Englishman's Home

The Doctor had lit a fire, shaking the match until it went out.

Benny and the Brigadier sat in front of it, nursing the mugs of cocoa he had just made for them. It was getting dark outside, the sun was already dipping behind the orchard. For the moment, they kept the curtains open, watching the view. If Bernice had been in one of her periodic melancholy moods, or if she'd had something a bit stronger to drink than cocoa, she was pretty sure that she would see something deeply symbolic about the blood red sky. The Brigadier was sitting in the Doctor's favourite armchair, so the Time Lord sat down on the sofa, alongside her.

'Miss Waugh is late,' the Brigadier said, a gentle warning in his voice.

'If she was going to call the authorities, she would have done that already,' the Doctor replied.

Their journey to Allen Road had been along something of a scenic route, avoiding the motorways, A-roads and big towns. It hadn't helped that the Doctor had got them lost somewhere south of Maidstone. Tempers had become frayed, but they'd ended up in Adisham just before three o'clock. The Doctor had stopped off at Mrs Darling's shop to buy some milk and bin bags, and to make a quick phone call. Then they'd driven up to the House and parked Bessie safely undercover in the garage. Only then had the Doctor revealed that he'd just told Eve Waugh, the American journalist, and anyone tapping her line, exactly where they were.

'Why did you call her?' Benny asked.

He had looked puzzled. 'We need allies. Help. She's a talented young lady, and people in America will listen to what she has to say.'

She and the Brigadier had looked at each other, unsure whether to trust the Doctor's judgement or to run to the hills. After half an hour of cheerful domesticity away from the rioting and alien devastation, they had become more relaxed. The landscape here was peaceful, unchanged by the Martian Invasion. From here it was easy to believe that the spacecraft over London was a mass hallucination or purely a local difficulty for the capital to deal with.

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They didn't need their umbrellas, the Martian ship hovering overhead sheltered them from the light rainfall. There were a couple of dozen of dignitaries: politicians, businessmen, soldiers. All of them were supporters of Greyhaven's cause. They were his co-conspirators, the people who had facilitated his rise to power, although none of them had been let in on the full scheme. Now they were helping to ease the transition between the old government and his regime, and to ensure their continuing support they thought they were being rewarded with a state banquet. For the moment, they were delighted just to be so close to the Martian ship, London's newest tourist attraction.

Greyhaven hadn't really thought about the Tower of London before. It had sat there in the London drizzle for almost a millennium, and for most of that time it had been a part of the landscape. A thousand years ago the squared-off Norman architecture of the White Tower must have been as striking a symbol of alien occupation as the Martian warship was now. A thousand years before that, Roman biremes had ploughed down the Thames, and to the eyes of the ancient Britons they must have seemed like Martians with their gleaming armour, their strange customs and advanced technology.

'The ravens have gone,' Greyhaven said. 'The Yeoman warders took them away. They and their families voted to leave rather than serve the Provisional Government.'

'What's more, your little American friend isn't here.'

Greyhaven checked the crowd, already aware that Staines was right. The Home Secretary hadn't finished his analysis. 'She must have found something that's more important than her first sight of a Martian.'

'Indeed,' Greyhaven said acidly.

Xznaal watched the small gathering on the hologlobe. The head of his scientific research division, Vrgnur, was standing opposite him, studying the image.

'Humans take some getting used to,' Vrgnur said.

'Indeed,' Xznaal grunted back. The human body was a stunted parody of the Martian form, but with an endoskeleton. Many centuries ago, Martian scientists had concluded that an oxygen-breathing lifeform was a theoretical absurdity. Xznaal found himself wondering what effect a sonic blast would have on such a creature. Without even a shell to crack open, the damage would be entirely internal. Every one of those brittle bones would shatter like pottery. Every nerve would burst. It would mean instant death, even at the lowest settings, Xznaal was sure of that. The only question was if human physiology was sufficiently developed for them to feel pain as they died.

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'Nothing as bizarre ever evolved on Mars. Would your authorise the capture of a couple of specimens for study?' Vrgnur was one of the clan's foremost scientists, and his insight into human anatomy would be invaluable.

'That might be considered... undiplomatic, for the moment,' Xznaal answered. 'Soon it will be possible.'

It was time for him to meet these creatures. Xznaal stepped up onto the magnetic lift platform.

'You will really honour such creatures with a ceremonial banquet?' Vrgnur asked.

'They do have some degree of sentience. Their chieftain, Lord Gerayhayvun, tells me that this ceremony will secure my legal claim to this world.'

'They are cattle, my Lord. Would you ask an animal permission to enter his cave?'

'We have not yet established a firm grip on this world,' Xznaal warned. 'Until then we shall treat the humans as we would any serfs won in battle, with courtesy. Activate the magnetic beam.'

Vrgnur reached across to the large lever mounted on the wall, yanking it to release the exit hatch. It slid open beneath Xznaal, and the platform began descending gently.

Below him, the humans were staring up, murmuring. They had gathered on an area called 'Tower Green', within both sets of curtain walls.

The heat.

He had waited until nightfall before emerging, and the light level was almost exactly right. But the heat was overwhelming. As he floated down towards the ground, Xznaal found himself gasping for breath, sucking in warm, wet air. For the first few instants, until he was used to it, breathing Terran air was like drowning in soup. It was an odd sensation: the thick air was rich with nitrogen, but so much more besides. Earth was a whole new world of smells: the air was damp and fetid like a rubbish dump, the air buzzed with smell of loam, and dung and choking petrol fumes. This planet was meant to be vibrant and alive, but stank of rotten fruit.

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He remembered his childhood, eighty-five years ago. He'd been in the plantations of the Mare Sirenum and had become lost among the withered bushes, yet another failed attempt by the farmers to grow food in the barren Martian soil. To a child's eyes, the plantation was a secret garden, a miracle blossoming in the sands. He'd found a winter berry, a vivid orange against the ash-brown branches. He'd reached into the tangle with his claw, snipped the berry from the vine. It had been so beautiful, and looked so tasty. Xznaal took a bite from it, only to discover that inside it was black. It had putrefied inside, without leaving any external sign. He had swallowed what he had bitten off, so that he would never forget that moment.

Was this planet a rotten fruit, lush from the outside, but foul and worthless within? Xznaal remembered his history. In the Early Period, Martian cities would have smelt like this. Instead of being endlessly recycled, food waste and plant matter was left in the streets. On hot days, the streets would buzz with insects, the weak would die of diseases caught from the scraps left lying in ditches and gutters. The rubbish piled up against the bastions and glacis of every building was - and this was the image that stuck with Xznaal from that distant schoolroom - teeming with tiny worms and bacteria. No Martian day was as hot as even this Terran night, no city was ever as large as London. That smell was life, digesting the rubbish and filth of other life. What a world this was where even the night air sang with chemicals and buzzed with energy.

The platform had reached the ground. The humans were unsure how to react to him, and most contrived to both back away and lean forward. It amused him to think of their animal emotions trying to cope with something entirely beyond their comprehension.

The stench. The dreadful milky stench that these humans all had. They were aware of their pungent state: they tried to disguise it with ethanol and plant extracts, but this only made the rancid smell all the more powerful. He had noticed it before when Gerayhayvun and Xztaynz had come aboard, here there were a dozens of them, all with different odours. He imagined their bodies, crawling with insects and bacteria. Xznaal was dizzy, bombarded with so much that was new. He stepped onto the green flooring material, realising at the last moment that it was plant matter, soaked with water.

'Gerayhayvun... ' he wheezed.

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He was becoming adept at distinguishing between individual humans. Clearly even they had difficulty telling each other apart - they all wore slightly different arrangements of cloth over their bodies. This was an odd custom that served no defensive purpose. It must be a system that allowed easy identification, like the heraldic designs on Third Period siegewalkers. Lord Gerayhayvun's head was distinctive because it showed signs of disease - his hair was drained of colour, finer and more patchy than many of his associates. It was a symptom of extreme age, white hair, yet Gerayhayvun had lived only sixty years - Terran years, he reminded himself. The cold, sterile air of Mars had its advantages, then: what remained of Martian life wouldn't burn itself away, or rot from infections and plagues.

Xznaal reeled.

'Lord Xznaal,' Gerayhayvun exclaimed. The human lord and two colleagues rushed forwards to keep Xznaal upright, clasping his shell with their vestigial, quadfurcated claws. Despite the greater gravity of their home world, their bodies were frail, but the heat where they laid their hands stung him, forcing him to steel himself. He had been here a full Earth day, and grown almost used to weighing three times more than was normal, but combined with the temperature and the smell and the air like soup, it was all too much.

'Inside the Tower you will find the conditions more suitable,' Gerayhayvun said.

Xznaal nodded groggily, and began stepping forwards, his feet dragging against the turf.

'Killing life,' he grunted, his head lolling.

'It's only grass,' Gerayhayvun explained. 'Plenty of that here.'

The humans were relaxing as he passed, clearly not seeing him as a threat. Many were making gurgling noises.

'A drunken rhinoceros,' one human muttered. More gurgling.

Ears that could pick up a whisper on the imperceptible breeze of the Martian deserts were almost deafened by the sound of human laughter. He snapped his claw, and was satisfied to see some of them back off.

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The human fortress was so far away. He lifted his foot and swung it down in front of him. His other foot scraped the ground. His shell was sagging, digging into the muscle clusters of his shoulder. Water fell from the sky - tiny droplets pattering against his carapace.

Some of the humans were rushing on ahead, opening a portal for him. Three humans walked in front of him, bearing swords. Those that weren't laughing at him seemed genuinely concerned. He half-stumbled over the threshold, welcoming the fresh air inside. The humans in here wore more cloth, and had covered their claws. Was their clothing designed to raise their temperature even further? The thought almost made him pass out.

But he was inside now. The air was thick and cool, like the blood of an enemy.

'Is this more suitable?' Gerayhayvun asked him, clearly agitated.

'Yess,' he barked. He could feel his strength returning, his congestion clearing a little. The humans were beginning to follow him in, and they gave him a wide berth. Their respect for him was returning, without the need for him to enforce it. They were climbing tiny steps.

'Where are we going?'

'The Chapel of St John the Evangelist. Not far now. Will you be able to speak to them?'

'Ssoon,' Xznaal whispered.

'You will only need to say a few words.'

The Brigadier checked his watch.

'She's not coming,' he told the Doctor gently.

'No.' The Doctor had been staring into the fire for the last half-hour, and had hardly said a word. He seemed tired, weary - not sleepy, like Benny, who dozed quietly in his lap with two mugs of cocoa and just as much vodka inside her. The alcohol had come from her "private reserve" up in her bedroom. The Brigadier wondered how long the Doctor had owned this house - he'd never referred to it during the seventies, but he often disappeared for days at a time in Bessie. Perhaps he had been here.

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'If you need some shut-eye, Doctor, I can keep watch.'

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. The Brigadier had seen the Doctor sleep from time to time over the years, but he remembered those long vigils in the UNIT labs where the Doctor would spend thirty, forty, fifty hours at work, without even a tea-break, discovering the cure for a plague or assembling some magical gadget from household junk. When they'd been setting up his lab, the works department had put a little bunk in the corner. The very next day it had been piled high with computer parts and components from a car engine.

'We've been here before, Doctor. The aliens have landed, they've tried to destroy the world and we beat them. The only difference is, back when I was in charge, we always managed to keep it a secret.'

'And they didn't even make you a general,' the Doctor chuckled.

Lethbridge-Stewart looked down at his half-full glass of vodka. Mrs Summerfield might be able to knock back her drink, but he was taking it easier these days. 'No. Office politics.'

The Doctor was watching him. 'General William Lethbridge-Stewart came down from Scotland with King James.'

The Brigadier perked up a little. 'Yes, yes, I know. Have you met him on your travels?'

The Doctor shook his head.

'They arrived at London in 1603 to a glorious parade, a magnificent spectacle, according to family legend. It was seen as the glorious union of the English and Scottish crowns. James the Sixth of Scotland would become James the First of the United Kingdom. The English aristocracy fell over themselves to greet their new master. And do you know what? When King James spoke, not a single one of them could understand his accent. For the first few months he needed a translator.' The Doctor laughed out loud, and Alistair found himself chortling.

'There was a General Lethbridge-Stewart at Naseby and at Waterloo. My father died in the Sahara, fighting Mussolini alongside Montgomery. A dozen generations of fighting men.'

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And there will be a dozen more,' the Doctor said.

Alistair's expression flickered. 'No, I don't think so. My daughter may be talking to me now, but I don't think she'll ever let Gordy join up.' He paused, looking down at Bernice, so peaceful in sleep. 'Thank God.'

The Doctor didn't say anything.

Alistair sighed. 'The world has changed. My father could remember reading about the Wright Brothers' first flight. I remember him bringing home a piece of Bakelite to show us. It was like moonrock. You know what Bakelite is, don't you?'

'Plastic,' the Doctor replied.

The Brigadier nodded. 'Forty years ago, I was a lieutenant in Africa. I got lost in the jungle, and stumbled across a Themne village called Rokoye where most people had never seen a white man before. For a while I lived there, in a place where half of the women died in childbirth and where you were considered a traveller if you walked for more than a day. They were good people, but were probably less advanced than the Britons when Julius Caesar invaded.' He paused. 'It's a long time since I thought about my time there. There are great chunks of my life that I don't - or can't - talk about. I've made a career from keeping a lid on my memories.'

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. 'So what made you think of Sierra Leone now?'

'Because last week I watched the Channel Four News and learnt that the Themne are wiping out their neighbours with attack helicopters over oil rights.'

'You blame yourself for that?'

The Brigadier looked into the fire. 'I don't know. When I was back in Britain, I used to read about all those groups who were trying to free Nelson Mandela and think that they were wrong, that he was a communist terrorist and that the world would be a better place without people like him running around. Apartheid was wrong, I knew that, but that didn't make everyone who opposed it right.' He hesitated before changing the subject. 'Do you remember Crichton?'

'Colonel Crichton, the head of UNIT in the eighties. I only met him a couple of times.' The Doctor's expression remained neutral, but Alistair sensed disapproval in his voice.

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The Brigadier nodded. 'He was promoted to general two years ago, after a fracas involving the Yeti. It was only the third time he'd led men into battle against extraterrestrial forces. They promoted him, but they never promoted me.' He paused for a moment before knocking back the vodka.

The doorbell rang, startling them both.

They looked at each other sheepishly - both thinking about the hordes of monsters they'd fought over the decades, only to end up here being frightened of doorbells.

Lethbridge-Stewart had already reached for his gun. The Doctor shook his head. 'Ice Warriors don't knock,' he assured his friend.

The Brigadier nodded, but kept the pistol close to him. 'I'm coming with you.'

The Doctor extricated himself from the dozing Benny and made his way through to the hall. The Brigadier stayed behind him, far enough back to get a clear shot if that proved necessary.

The Doctor reached the front door. He glanced back at the Brigadier, who was standing by the grandfather clock. It provided him with partial cover, and with something to conceal his gun behind.

The door opened to reveal a pretty blonde thing standing on the step. She didn't have a hair out of place, she wore a haute-couture dress and a gold necklace that would break the bank for most people. A hairy chap behind her looked a little more nervous. He was carrying a big bag with a shoulder strap - it was almost certainly just his camera equipment, but there was room in there to stow a bazooka.

'Miss Waugh,' the Doctor beamed, 'good of you to join us.'

She smiled, kissing the Doctor on the cheek. 'I'm sorry we're late. The motorway was at a standstill - police roadblocks at every junction. It was causing tailback, fender-benders, chaos. Who's this?' she asked, looking over at him.

The Brigadier introduced himself, but didn't shake her hand.

'UNIT... ' Miss Waugh breathed. 'You were the head of UNIT in this country during the seventies.'

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'That's meant to be classified,' Lethbridge-Stewart joked. Twenty years ago, only a handful of people had known that information, but nowadays it was an open secret. His picture had appeared dozens of times over the years in various newspapers and books.

The Doctor hurriedly introduced the woman and her cameraman, Alan, to him. The Brigadier watched them carefully, and asked them to leave the camera bag and Eve's mobile phone in the hall. They agreed, and the Doctor led them through into one of the dining rooms, so as not to disturb Ms Summerfield.

The humans were taking their places around tables. They were divided into groups of six or seven. Xznaal was sitting in a chair designed for a human.

Xztaynz was talking to Gerayhayvun. They were speaking quietly, but Xznaal could hear them. 'You can't be going through with this?'

'Of course I am.'

'That is not the Archbishop of Canterbury.' Xztaynz waved a withered claw at a human animal in flowing purple robes, who was muttering the words of some pagan ceremony.

'Oh, he's near enough,' Gerayhayvun said breezily.

A hundred human eyes were watching Xznaal, with a mixture of curiosity and respect. The tables were piled high with food - steaming animal carcasses, vegetables, fruit.

Xznaal had read an oath, and this had been the cause of some consternation in the crowd. Now the purple robed human came forwards with a gold implement. He was a priest of some kind.

'If you could move onto King Edward's chair,' he prompted, indicating the adjacent seat.

'Why?'

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'Because that is how the ceremony goes.'

Xznaal grunted and complied.

Once he was settled, the priest held out a gold implement and lunged at Xznaal with it. The Martian caught the priest's wrist, making the human scream.

'What iss thiss?' he demanded.

The priest was in some pain, indicating that human nervous development had reached a more highly-evolved state than Xznaal had thought. 'It i-is the Anointing Spoon, your, er, your majesty,' the human bleated.

'I ssee. Explain the ritualss ass you perform them.'

'As you wish. The holy oil has been stored in the Ampulla, now it has been transferred to the Anointing Spoon. I dab oil onto your er, hands, your breast and the crown of your head. This is the most sacred part of the ceremony. It was first performed in 785 on Egfrith, King of Merc- '

'Enough explanation. Continue.'

The priest ushered in a couple of human helpers. 'Now the investment of the royal robes and other ornaments, each of which symbolises a part of your kingdom, physical and spiritual.'

'I ssee. You want me to wear thesse garmentss?'

The priest held out a white, sleeveless piece of cloth. 'This is the Colobium Sindonis, this,' he lifted up a thick gold cloak with crimson lining, 'is the Supertunica, or the Dalmatic - '

Xznaal struggled into them, ripping the first. The heavy cloak was enough to keep him pinned down on the throne. He waved his claw to indicate that he was still conscious.

A human touched Xznaal's feet with tiny gold spikes.

'You are now a knight of the realm, Sir Xznaal,' the priest explained. 'A necessary condition for your coronation. Now, if you could take the Sword of Offering - ' Xznaal took it in a single claw and examined it. Unlike the ceremonial swords of Mars it had clearly never been used in combat, but it was a great deal more ornate - the hilt and scabbard glittered with gemstones: diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Unsheathing the blade, Xznaal was pleased to see that the sword was of the finest steel.

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'With this sword do justice,' the priest intoned, 'stop the growth of iniquity, protect the Holy Church of God, punish and reform what is amiss and confirm what is in good order and so faithfully serve our Lord Jesus Christ in this life, that you may reign forever with him in the life which is to come.'

'I am to sshare my throne with this Jessuss Chrisst?' Xznaal bellowed. 'I will accept no joint ssovereignty. Bring thiss Chrisst here. I challenge him to a duel, with weaponss of hiss choossing.'

Gerayhayvun hurried forwards. 'No, no, my Lord - your majesty. I'll explain afterwards.'

Xznaal nodded, glaring. 'You will do that.'

The ceremony proceeded. The sword was removed and laid on a flat table. The priest explained what was happening. 'The earl who is the greatest of those present, in this case Lord Greyhaven, will carry the sword naked before the king.' He turned to the humans. 'The price of the sword belongs to the Altar,' he declared. He turned back to Xznaal. 'The peer who carries the Sword of State now exchanges it for the sword you were bearing just then, the Jewelled Sword for one hundred shillings.' Greyhaven placed a bag of coins on the table and handed over a larger sword. The human required two hands to lift it.

'Thiss ceremony iss ludicrouss. Iss thiss really how it iss done?'

'It is, and I agree,' Gerayhayvun called over. 'But it is necessary.'

Xznaal turned back to the priest. 'The hilt of that ssword hass beasstss carved upon it,' he observed. 'Explain.'

'They are the lion and the unicorn, your majesty. Symbols of this land.'

'Undersstood.' Xznaal was beginning to feel more groggy.

'These are the Armills, symbolising sincerity and wisdom.' Two gold bracelets bearing stylised flower designs. Next, the priest handed a gold globe the size of an impact grenade. 'Now, receive this Orb, set under the Cross and remember that the whole world is subject to the Power and Empire of Christ our Redeemer.'

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Xznaal snorted, causing the priest to step back. 'Er, the Coronation ring is now placed on the fourth finger of the right hand and, er... ' He waved the ring feebly around Xznaal's claw.

'Leave it,' Gerayhayvun snapped. 'We'll worry about that later. Just give him the sceptres and get on with it.' Two gold rods were handed over - one apparently symbolised "Kingly power and justice", the other was the "rod of equity and mercy".

The priest said some prayer, and then held up a crown. It was gold, with the cross and fleur-de-lys motifs that appeared on many of the artefacts.

'This is St Edward's crown, your majesty. It dates back to the time of Edward the Confessor, as far as we can tell. When I place this upon your head, you will be the rightful King of England.'

Xznaal hissed his pleasure. As the crown was lowered, the first few voices were raised. Nervous at first, the human crowd gradually got into the spirit of the occasion.

'God save the King!'

'God save the King!'

'God save the King!'

Trumpets and cannons were sounding in salute. Xznaal hoped that his gunnery crew didn't think of it as an attack.

'The moment that you sit on that throne, your majesty, you will take possession of the kingdom,' Gerayhayvun informed him over the clamour.

Xznaal moved eagerly over to the next chair, throwing himself down. It didn\x92t even creak under his weight.

'All hail King Xznaal the First,' Gerayhayvun said quietly.

Xznaal couldn't stand, not weighed down by robes and baubles. The power of his voice was undiminished, though, and he roared for attention. The crowd fell silent. He had prepared the speech that followed, perhaps spending more time on it than was appropriate when addressing beasts. 'Martian legendss sspoke of great hallss full of treassure where the greatesst warriorss went to when they died.' He said. The humans strained to hear him. 'Truly thiss iss ssuch a place.'

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The humans slapped their paws together, apparently a sign of appreciation. Xznaal let the noise die down and then continued. 'On Marss, water is rare, frozen solid. Here it fallss from the ssky. If you humanss were to arrive on a planet where it rained gold, you might be able to imagine your delight. But could you desscribe your feelingss - could a mammal even experience the intenssity of emotion - if the native lifeform offered no ressisstance and told you that poolss of gold covered two-thirdss of the world'ss ssurface, that they had a word for ssuch a phenomenon, "ssea"? Your world is unlike ourss. The land and the ssky and the ssea crawl with life and mineral wealth.'

A human was talking to Gerayhayvun, bending over him, talking quietly into his ear. Apparently the other humans couldn't hear the conversation, but Xznaal caught every word. It came as no surprise, then, when Gerayhayvun tried to get his attention. Xznaal finished quickly.

'Everything here iss in ssuch abundance. Even the horizon is further away. I look forward to ruling you, my ssubjectss. Thank you for your human hosspitality.'

Once they were sure that Xznaal had finished, the guests slapped their claws together. Gerayhayvun leant across to him.

'My office has just taken a call from a friend of mine. She has found the Doctor. He's about a hundred miles from here, the police are on their way.'

Xznaal exhaled, pulling himself upright. 'Do you not want to be in on the kill?' he asked.

'It would be nice to see the grin wiped off the Doctor's face,' Xztaynz offered.

Xznaal hissed his satisfaction.

All four of them sat around a big oak dining table. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

The Doctor took a deep breath. 'The Ice Warriors did not come here to avenge the memory of some dead clan chief, that was simply -'

'Wait a minute,' Eve objected. 'Ice Warriors?'

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'The native race of the planet Mars,' the Doctor explained rapidly, 'The name is a rough translation of their own term for themselves, although literally it's nearer "Polar Bears". In the future, some people prefer to call them "Indigenous Martians", but that's an ugly phrase coined in a rather ugly period of colonial expansion.'

'Like "Red Indians" and "Native Americans",' Alan said suddenly. 'Even the politically correct term imposes European cultural assumptions.' He looked over at Eve, pleased with his analysis. It was the first thing he'd said.

'Quite,' the Doctor continued. 'Now, the Ice Warriors claim to have come here to punish humanity for the crime of tomb robbery. This only provided the pre-text for the invasion, and in fact the Martian war rocket was waiting in a powered orbit above the dark side of Earth's moon.'

Eve was still waving at him to slow down. 'How do you know all this?'

'Don't worry about that for the moment. Let me just explain what's happening. A number of people here in the United Kingdom have been involved in a conspiracy with the Martians.'

'Like who?' Eve said scornfully.

'Who has benefited most in the last twenty-four hours?' Lethbridge-Stewart asked them.

'Greyhaven?' Alan suggested.

'Precisely,' the Doctor said triumphantly.

Eve was shaking her head. 'Edward's not in league with the Martians. He brokered peace.'

'You know him?' the Brigadier asked.

Eve nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. 'I was researching a profile of him, and I'd met him to arrange an interview.' She paused. 'If he is working with the Martians, then he has good reasons.'

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The Doctor looked her straight in the eye. 'I can't be sure what his motives are. Perhaps they are noble, perhaps he thinks that what he has done will benefit the British people. He wants to make his country great again, he wants to be its leader. What I do know is that to achieve his aims he has allied himself with a warlike alien power and overthrown the elected government of this country.'

It was the Brigadier's turn to speak. \x91He's almost certainly implicated in the assassination of the Prime Minister. We've uncovered evidence of a conspiracy dating back over twenty years. Greyhaven has been using his influence all that time, collecting allies and equipment.'

'You make him sound like a Bond villain,' Eve objected.

The Doctor gestured helplessly. 'Greyhaven isn't relevant, anyway. Xznaal will use him as long as he's a good little puppet, and kill him the moment he steps out of line. Greyhaven has given them a foothold, and now he's served his purpose. At the moment, we aren't sure what the Martians are planning, but whatever they are going to do, they won't be stopping at the English Channel. The Martians want the Earth, and they'll kill the entire human race if they have to.'

Alan looked puzzled. \x91If the Martians can build spaceships and they\x92re hostile, then why haven\x92t they tried to invade Earth before?\x92

The Doctor peered up at the two Americans through his fringe. \x91Believe me, they tried.\x92

'Do you have any evidence for any of what you are saying?' It was clear that Eve knew that the Doctor was telling the truth, but that she found it almost impossible to cope with what he was saying.

The Brigadier knew as well as anyone what Eve must be feeling at the moment. Nearly a quarter of a century ago, back when he was a Colonel, he'd met the Doctor for the first time. In less than an hour everything that Lethbridge-Stewart knew to be true, his entire world-view, had been challenged. Friends were enemies, there were monsters, demons and things that existed out in space that man couldn't comprehend. From that moment until his retirement, Lethbridge-Stewart only knew two things for certain: the world depended on him, and he could trust the Doctor.

'No,' the Brigadier said, 'We have no proof. That's why we called you here. Together we can travel the country and collect the evidence.'

'You can send it back to America, show the world what is happening here,' the Doctor said, a gleam in his eye.

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Eve was defensive. 'What is happening is that Britain has formed a mutually beneficial alliance with an advanced alien race. I\x92m telling you that if that ship had appeared over Washington, the President would have done just the same.'

'This isn't the bold new future, it's chaos,' the Doctor shouted.

Lethbridge-Stewart tried to remain calm. 'I used to work with the United Nations, as you know. I still attend reunions, I talk to this generation of soldiers. Have you ever talked to anyone who was a peacekeeper in the former Yugoslavia? Do you know what frightened them most? It wasn't the bombing, the snipers, the shelling or the piles of dead children. It was the fact that they were patrolling towns that looked like English towns.'

The Doctor was staring into the distance, as though he was looking into the thoughts of each and every soldier. 'They walked through the rows of semi-detached houses, all the burnt-out Volvos and petrol stations and primary schools, and they saw how fragile it all was. Yugoslavia used to be where they went for their holidays, but only six months later there were minefields on the beaches, and blood down the white concrete walls of all those big seafront hotels.'

'The Martians are here,' Eve insisted, 'But nothing else has changed. The Archers is still on twice a day, the milkman still brings you bottles of milk, the BBC is still funded by the licence fee. People are quite capable of turning Britain into Bosnia without any help from aliens.'

The Doctor was trying to communicate his urgency to her, while also remaining patient. 'It's calm in London. Too calm. The streets are deserted, because no-one dares to come out. But have you noticed how the television and radio is keeping very quiet about the rest of the country? From what we can gather, whole regiments and police forces are refusing to co-operate with the Provisional Government. It doesn't matter - there are quite enough who will do the Government's work for them. In a week's time, if we don't stop it, this country will have slid into chaos and civil war.'

Eve was shaking her head again. 'Look, some people find it difficult to deal with the Martians. I'm freaked out, and it isn't even my country. But they aren't an army of occupation - they haven't left their ship yet. In a week's time people will be used to having the Martians around. Edward says that they are here in peace, and there's proof of that: if the Martians were going to wipe us out, they would have done it by now.'

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'Listen to what you are saying,' the Doctor insisted. 'The only reason the Ice Warriors haven't wiped us out is because it suits their purposes not to. If things don't go their way, they'll destroy London, then Birmingham, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh - '

She glanced at her watch. 'You don't know that.'

'Wait a moment,' Lethbridge-Stewart said, 'Are we keeping you?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Why did you look at your watch just then?'

'I... '

Lethbridge-Stewart levelled his gun at her. 'Doctor \x96 it\x92s a trap!'

NEXT WEEK: Benny tackles a scaly house guest.