‘Sir, we’ve got civilians incoming.’
Captain Wilson hurried up the stairs to the front bedroom where Private Hawkins had set up his observation post. The window was open, and Hawkins had set up his big L115A3 sniper rifle so that he could cover the whole of the front yard.
At the far end of the narrow road that led towards the village, Wilson could see the bulky green shape of the Norton motorbike and sidecar. He could make out three figures clinging on desperately as it sped towards them.
Then he caught sight of the shapes in the sky behind them.
Hawkins spotted them as well, snatching up his rifle and taking careful aim. There was a deafening crack and one of the mosquitoes exploded in a cloud of legs, wings and bodily fluids.
‘Good man!’ Wilson clapped him on the shoulder. ‘See if you can get any more of the buggers.’
He bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time. ‘Arnopp, we need some of that A7E insecticide!’ he bellowed. ‘Palmer, watch the rear.’
He hauled open the front door as Private Arnopp hurried to join him, struggling with a large plastic container of clear liquid attached to an industrial spray head. Setting down the insecticide, the two men took up positions against the wall of the house as the motorbike screeched to a halt in front of them.
The rider and passengers barely had time to dismount before the air was filled with an angry buzzing and the mosquitoes swept into the farmyard.
Wilson and Arnopp both opened fire with their SA80s, the high-velocity ammunition tearing into the hovering insects. The three civilians raced across the yard, covering their heads with their arms as blood and ichor showered down around them.
‘Inside! Inside!’ shouted Wilson, swinging around and loosing off another burst of gunfire, as several of the insects swooped past his head.
The two women vanished in through the front door, but one of the mosquitoes lunged forward, hovering in front of the policeman and cutting off his escape route.
Wilson struggled to bring his gun to bear on the insect, but the panicked policeman was moving around too much.
‘Arnopp, do you have a clean shot?’ he yelled.
‘No!’
The policeman let out a scream of terror as another of the insects swooped down, landing hard on his back.
Cursing, Wilson sprang to his feet, abandoning his assault rifle and snatching up the container of insecticide instead. He ran forwards, unleashing a torrent of spray that doused both the mosquitoes and the policeman.
The effect was instantaneous. The two insects sprang away from their victim as if they had been scalded. Wings soaked in the insecticide, they crashed to the floor, legs thrashing uncontrollably.
The policeman stumbled around blindly, desperately trying to clear the liquid from his eyes. Wilson grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and dragged him towards the house. As he did so, he heard the angry buzz of wings approaching from behind and something hit him between the shoulder blades.
Almost simultaneously there was a sharp, explosive crack from the upstairs window, and the shattered body of the mosquito dropped onto the cobblestones next to its dying brethren.
Repelled by the smell of the insecticide, or somehow aware that it faced insurmountable opposition, the remaining insect shot up into the air then vanished over the trees, its harsh buzzing slowly fading until there was silence once more.
Wilson gave a grateful thumbs-up to Private Hawkins, then turned to Corporal Palmer who was making his way cautiously from the house. ‘Get the constable inside, would you, Palmer? Make sure he sluices that stuff off him with plenty of cold water. The boffins say that it’s harmless to humans, but better safe than sorry, eh?’
‘Sir.’ The corporal led the spluttering policeman inside the house.
Snatching up his discarded rifle, Captain Wilson regarded the motorbike and sidecar with satisfaction.
He turned to Arnopp with a smile. ‘Looks like we have motorised transport.’
In the cool calm of the TARDIS interior, the Doctor stood hunched over one of the diagnostic consoles that bordered the control room, peering worriedly at the readout on a screen.
A blackboard standing next to him was covered with complex calculations scrawled in chalk. As far as the Doctor could ascertain, the Bell had just operated in a way that was secondary to its main purpose. Energy emissions had certainly been sent to, and received from, the Wyrrester planet of Typholchaktas in the Furey-King Maelstrom. But they hadn’t been transmat waves. The energy had been on telepathic frequencies, and the Doctor recognised the waveform.
It was almost identical to the telepathic energy that the TARDIS used.
He stood back from the console, angry with himself for not realising what had happened sooner. If he was correct then the mind that inhabited Clara’s body was that of a Wyrrester, and Clara … he couldn’t even begin to image what she must be going though. Assuming that the transference had been successful, that was. If it hadn’t, then she might be nothing more than a disembodied telepathic wraith, doomed to drift through the Furey-King Maelstrom for ever.
Either way, there was no way that he could possibly destroy the Bell until he had reversed the process.
He glanced at the vial of purple liquid perched on the central console.
At least he had something to bargain with.
It took every ounce of Clara’s willpower to stop her mind descending into pure, blind panic. Slowly she tried to slow her breathing and her heartbeat, trying to find familiar sensations in the alien body in which she was now trapped.
With huge effort she forced herself to speak.
‘Where … am I?’
The second scorpion scuttled forward, its surprise plain to see, even on such an alien face. ‘It can talk? You did not say that it would be able to talk!’
‘They always did show signs of potential,’ said the smaller one. ‘Although, this one does indeed seem to be a quite remarkable example of its species.’
‘Please …’ Clara struggled to get her new mouth to force out the words. ‘Who are you?’
The smaller creature tucked its claws across its chest. ‘I am Chief Researcher Maagla. My colleague is General Legriss. Do you understand what has happened to you?’
Clara struggled to recall the events of a few moments ago. ‘They put me in the centre of the circle. A voice said something about me being a vessel.’
‘The voice that you heard was that of our Head Scientist, Gebbron. Through his genius he has been able to transplant his mind into your human body. You in turn now inhabit his form.’
‘So I … I’m on …’
‘The planet Typholchaktas. It may come a shock to you to discover that you are billions of miles from your homeworld.’
‘That’s what you think will come as a shock to me? Not being in the body of a giant scorpion?’ Clara tried to laugh, but the only sound she could make was a burbling cough.
‘Scorpion?’ Maagla tilted his head on one side in an almost human gesture. ‘I do not understand the word.’
‘Never mind.’
Maagla scuttled forward, his claws touching controls on the consoles that surrounded them and Clara suddenly felt the force that held her dissipate.
‘Is that wise?’ snapped the other Wyrrester gruffly. ‘This creature could be dangerous.’
‘I do not think so,’ replied Maagla. ‘Besides. Where is she going to go?’
Slowly Clara tried to move the body that she found herself trapped in, staggering forward almost drunkenly. ‘OK, six legs, that’s tricky.’
Orientating herself, she turned in a slow circle, desperately trying not to let her gaze rest too long whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished surface and glass screens of the control consoles.
She was in a laboratory of some kind. Or a hospital. The lack of anything that even remotely resembled human technology made it almost impossible to find a common frame of reference. The walls were some hard, grey stone, almost like granite. Light from hidden sources bathed everything in a sickly yellowish light. She was standing in a circle of stones, each made from the same granite-like rock as the walls, each with the same swirling patterns as the circle back on Earth.
‘What is this place?’
‘You are in the Bunker. That is all the information you need,’ hissed the larger of the creatures.
‘You must forgive General Legriss.’ Maagla raised his claws apologetically. ‘He has the mind of a soldier. Come, let me show you.’
Ignoring the protests of the other Wyrrester, Maagla led Clara from the laboratory, ushering her down a wide passage constructed from the same grey stone. At the end of the passageway Clara could see reddish light, and there was a sound; a bubbling, hissing, screaming roar that made her hesitate.
‘What is that?’
‘That is the sound of our species dying.’
They emerged onto a wide balcony. The air above them fizzed and crackled, and Clara realised that it was a force field of some kind. Maagla scuttled forward to the balcony edge. ‘This is how it ends …’
Clara edged forward to join him, staring in disbelieving horror at the scene in front of her.
They stood at the top of a tall, featureless building in the remains of a shattered, ruined city. Once-proud spires now stood blackened and crumbling beneath a boiling scarlet sky. Strange alien craft lay smashed and twisted amongst the rubble, black smoke rising in huge columns filled with ash and glowing embers.
And as far as the eye could see, to the edge of the city and out to the distant mountains beyond, the landscape was crawling with Wyrresters. Millions of them, crawling over their fellows, a seething, screaming mass of insect bodies, clawing to stay on top of the pile.
It was a vision of hell.
Maagla turned to Clara and the alien visage cracked into a horrible semblance of a smile.
‘Welcome to my world.’
Back on Earth, Gebbron, the Wyrrester in Clara’s body, looked around the strange building in which he found himself. It never ceased to amaze him how much unnecessary clutter these creatures surrounded themselves with. Even Clearfield, brilliant as he was, still retained the untidy compulsions of the rest of his species.
He watched as one of the soldiers guided another human male into the room, leading him to a metal receptacle that stood against the wall and dousing his head with water. The acrid reek of the insecticide on his skin made Gebbron want to retch. He had heard the death cries of the insects outside as the chemical had destroyed their nervous systems, but in his mind he had felt the deaths of the Wyrresters who had been inside those bodies.
He felt a blaze of hatred for these pitiful creatures. If they had been able to complete the bridgehead seventy years earlier, none of these animals would ever had existed.
Another two of the soldiers entered the room and Gebbron took an involuntary step backwards as he saw that one of them was carrying the pressurised canister of insecticide spray.
One of the men, an obvious leader, turned to face him.
‘I’m Captain Wilson, British Army. Are you able to give me any useful intel about what is going on out there?’
To Gebbron’s relief the other human, the female called Angela, was more than happy to speak.
As she explained to the soldier about the laboratory and the experiments taking place at the industrial estate, Gebbron took the opportunity to weigh up the opposition that he faced. For the most part they would be relatively easy to dispose of: the man seemed old, and obviously unwell; the smaller human was nothing more than a frightened child. The female was fit, and of equal weight, so she would be a challenge, but not an impossible one. No. It was the soldiers that would prove to be the most difficult obstacle.
He scrutinised the weapons that they were carrying. They were considerably more sophisticated than the ones that had been used against his species previously. The humans had obviously made significant military advances in seventy years. Perhaps there might be a place for some of these human creatures after all in the new order.
The discussion between Angela and the soldier had become heated, and Gebbron returned his attention to what they were saying.
‘Don’t be ridiculous! The Doctor isn’t behind this, he’s doing everything he can to stop it! Clara, tell him!’
A sly thought entered Gebbron’s head. If he could suggest to these soldiers that the Doctor was part of this, sow the seeds of dissent amongst this group, then that could only be to her advantage …
As Gebbron opened Clara’s mouth to speak, the other male, the one who had been riding the bike, interrupted. ‘Captain, I can vouch for the Doctor. Without him, all of us here would be either zombies or dead by now.’ He turned and looked at Gebbron with a conspiratorial smile. ‘I envy you, Clara, travelling with him.’
Aware that the moment for his deception had passed, Gebbron forced the body he had stolen to smile back.
‘Right then.’ The leader of the soldiers had obviously reached some kind of decision. ‘Now that we know the location of our objective I suggest that we get on with our mission. Arnopp, Palmer, you’re with me. Hawkins, you stay here with the civilians, inform the Colonel that we have a positive ID on the location of the Bell.’
‘Sir!’ All three soldiers snapped to attention, then two of them followed their leader out to the primitive transportation device at the front of the dwelling.
As the three men clambered aboard and the engine coughed into life, Gebbron allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. The odds had just turned significantly in his favour.
Clearfield watched as the last few insects were finally herded back into their cages, the air as thick with the smell of ozone. Cattle prods might not have been the subtlest way of getting the job done, but they were efficient.
He turned back to where technicians were swarming around the Bell, trying to repair the damage that the Doctor had done. He glanced at his watch. Less than three hours to the vernal equinox.
‘Well? Have you found out what’s wrong yet?’ he snapped.
One of the technicians turned slowly to face him. ‘A Xerum 525 fluid link has been removed.’ His voice was slurred and emotionless.
Clearfield felt a jolt of panic. Xerum 525 was one of the few components that they could not replace. They had tried with limited success to synthesise an alternative. If he failed the Wyrresters …
‘Start preparation of replacement solution 540.’
‘Solution 540 has not been effective in full-power tests …’
‘Just do it!’
‘Tut, tut, tut. Getting snippy with the workforce, are we? That’s never going to engender a good working environment.’
Clearfield turned to see the Doctor walking slowly across the warehouse floor towards him. Several of the technicians hurried to intercept him, but Clearfield waved them away. ‘Doctor. How nice of you to give me another opportunity to kill you.’ He shook his head, smiling. ‘But you’re too clever for that, aren’t you. Let me guess. Kill you and I’ll never discover where you’ve hidden the Xerum 525, correct?’
‘Actually, it’s right here.’ The Doctor reached into his jacket and withdrew the glass vial.
‘Then perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought.’ Clearfield raised his revolver. ‘If you’ve brought it back then can you give me a good reason why I don’t just shoot you right now, and take it from your dead hands.’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor holding up the vial in front of his face. ‘That depends on whether you’re colour blind or not.’
Clearfield stared at the vial in horror. The once violet liquid was now a dark green. ‘What have you done?’
‘Something very, very clever actually.’ The Doctor tossed the vial into the air and caught it again. ‘I’ve tweaked its structure slightly at a subatomic level. Quite simple to make the necessary adjustments to the control circuits so that it will still function as it should, but only if you have the right formula.’ He tapped a finger to the side of his head. ‘And that’s in here.’
‘And I’m guessing that the price for that will be the safe return of Miss Oswald’s mind to her body. How very predictable.’
‘The oldies are the goldies.’ The Doctor held out the vial. ‘So, do we have a deal?’
Clearfield nodded.
‘Good!’ The Doctor handed the modified Xerum 525 to one of the waiting technicians and turned to examine the insects lurking in their cages.
‘Didn’t really get a proper chance to look at these earlier. Very impressive! The creatures currently loose in the village are earlier, less successful experiments, I’m guessing. But these …’ He peered into one of the cages. ‘A synaptically enhanced hybrid of spider, ant, mosquito and crane fly. Shells for the Wyrresters to transfer their consciousness into when you turn on the machine during the equinox.’
‘Excellent, Doctor.’ Clearfield nodded approvingly. ‘With the stone circle incomplete, a full physical transference was no longer possible, but a mental transfer … It just took some time to find the perfect hybrid of insects that was suitable for their minds to inhabit.’
‘But why?’ The Doctor spun to face him, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why are you doing this? What have they told you?’
‘Our race has no future here,’ explained Maagla. ‘We have long passed the point where our numbers can be sustained by the planet’s resources. There are no other suitable planets in our system, we have nowhere left to go.’
‘So you figured that you’d just take over the Earth?’
‘We were looking for a way to save ourselves! The stone circles that exist on your planet and ours, and many others, are the remnants of technology from a long-dead race. A technology that we have worked long to understand and control. When functioning properly the circles are capable of acting as transmat stations across unimaginable distances … Seventy of your years ago we opened up a link with your planet. Sadly, that option is no longer open to us.’
‘But even if it were, you can’t just transport millions of your people onto Earth. The results would be catastrophic!’
‘Millions of us?’ Maagla gave a wicked laugh. ‘We have no interest in saving the squabbling masses down there. They have already relinquished their entitlement to life. Only we, the elite, have earned the right to survive.’
Clara backed away in horror. ‘You’d abandon your own people?’
‘They refused to accept our solution! Here, in this city, in this very building, Gebbron had already proved that careful, selective liquidation of certain genetic groups could drastically reduce the population. If he had been able to do this on a planetary scale …’
‘Genocide,’ breathed Clara. ‘You were advocating mass slaughter of your own people.’
‘To survive! When the only other option was death for every living creature on this planet! Gebbron should have been hailed as a saviour. Instead he is hunted and reviled. Persecuted by our so-called leaders. This facility …’
‘Shut up!’ The revulsion Clara felt was almost more than she could bear. The scientists, the soldiers, the creature whose body she inhabited, and whose mind had invaded her own body, were war criminals.
The Bunker was a death camp.