Chapter 15: Truth Comes Out

Mel sprinted down the stairs, making sure that every single one of her steps pounded against the wooden ledges. As a result, she almost fell down them, thanks to the sheer speed she was moving at.

However, she managed to keep her balance the whole way down. The last thing she wanted would be to topple over and crack a bone on the steps.

It was quite a rarity for her to get angry. Normally, she much preferred to forgive and forget, accept it had happened and move on with her life. But not this time. Nothing this big had happened before. Not to her, and not like this.

'Mel!' Eric said, almost knocking into her as she went around a corner. 'I've been looking for you!' Upon noticing her expression, he decided to add: 'What's wrong?'

'How could you?!' she asked, brow furrowed in anger. 'How could you?'

'What do you mean? I haven't…' he stopped, as his eyes grew large with horror.

'Everything you've done!'

'Mel, you must understand-'

'No. I understand.' she said, spitting out every word. 'I know all about people like you. You never seem to stop!'

'Mel! Please!'

'No! I've had enough of your lies!

Eric watched in despair as Mel turned and stomped away, disappearing around the next corner. He stood on the spot, running his hands through his admittedly thinning hair. He'd gotten well used to people having this reaction to seeing him, but not her. Not now. Not after all this.

Lois approached behind him, her arms crossed over her chest.

'Something the matter?' she asked through pursed lips.

'Am I a monster?'

Lois paused, tilting her head a little to the side. This was something new. 'Sorry?'

'You heard me. Am I a monster? When people look back at us, when history reflects…how are we going to sound? Like the heroes, or the villains? Someone coping admirably under times of great strain and turmoil…or a Machiavellian trickster, who grabbed all the power he could find and clung onto it for dear life?'

'Sir, I-'

'Because they'll remember. One way or another, they'll remember us. All we can do is wonder how. By the time it's decided, we'll both be long gone.' he let out a hollow, single laugh. 'So what will it matter to us? When we're six foot under, we won't care what anyone thinks. In fact, I don't think you care now!'

'Sir, I'm sure you're just-'

'I'm not just under stress, or in shock, or panicking! This is history, this is my life! Do you think I want any of this? To…tear this country apart, like a shattered glass? I'm as much a prisoner of this as the people we attack, only I don't get the sympathy. People would rather see me as the devil, than think of me as a fallen angel. It's much easier, you know, to hate someone outright than realise they might be worthy of redemption. But no. I'm not someone dragged into the mess and torn to shreds every which way but loose. I'm just the next Hitler, someone you can chuck bombs at, and make threats at, and then go home like nothing ever happened. It's remarkable, how much hate comes disguised as peace.'

On the last word, he struck the wall with the flat side of his fist, before taking a few deep breaths through gritted teeth. The wood dented a little, a few of the panels cracking under the force. As he started to calm down, the breaths came easier and easier, before his jaw began quaking slightly.

'There's no way out, you know.' he said finally, turning his head a little to face Lois. 'If I die now, I can't defend myself. If I carry on, it'll just get worse. There's nothing I can do…nothing…'

'Sir.' Lois said plainly, stepping beside him. 'With all due respect, you know how the public are. In a few weeks, they'll move on and half of them will forget your name and face.'

Eric laughed bitterly:

'It's been 2000 years, but we still remember Julius Caesar, and King Herod. They weren't forgotten in a few weeks, were they?'

'No,' Lois replied quietly 'I suppose they weren't.'

'But then again,' Eric started 'look at rulers and leaders and sovereigns and presidents the world has seen. Must be in the thousands. History can't remember all of them, can it? Some must be, er…sacrificed. Forgotten, so others can be remembered. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to the former.'

'Perhaps.' Lois repeated, looking away from Eric.

'Always wanted to do something important, that's my trouble….' he murmured, wiping the dust from his hand. 'So eager to get started, I never which bloody game I was playing in the first place. I started off playing poker, and it turned out to be chess.'

'We've all been there. Thought we knew what we were doing, went blundering in, guns blaring. Thought we were in the right. Happens to the best of us.'

Eric smiled softly, his eyes twinkling against his better judgment and wishes.

'Yes,' he answered 'I suppose you're right.'

Fergus reached out his hands, feeling them slam into contact with the solid concrete floor beneath him. His arms bent into an acute angle, almost gently cushioning him down from the blow. For a second or so, he remained there, unwilling to move, a little shaken by the events. However, the cries of his fellow hostages spurred him to rise to his feet, then trot towards the side of the roof, pressing himself against the wall.

He watched as the lift door slid shut, and the metal cage floated up into the air, like a bizarre caricature of a balloon.

'Now what?' one of the other guards asked. As if to answer his question, the lights snapped off suddenly, plunging them into darkness. Fergus let out a hollow laugh.

'Perhaps we all have a nap?' he asked wryly, tucking his hands into his pockets. 'I trust you've all still got your torches?'

In the madness following the siege, most of the attackers had been a little bewildered by the success, and thus, they'd forgotten to do a complete search of the prisoners. Yes, they removed the guns, boots and watches, anything that could be used as an offensive weapon – was there any other type? – before giving them a vague pat-down. But as they'd felt the pockets, they found that they were mostly empty. A few bits of change, packets of gum, nothing of any note. Anything important was left in the lockers during the shift. But they all had a regulation torch on them as they were working. A joke regularly made its way around the Centre how the torches were akin to Fergus himself – small and dim. He'd always meant to do something about that, but never had the heart.

Around 30 circles of yellow light appeared on the walls and roof, dancing about like fairies in a forest. They flickered from spot to spot, each of them combing through the darkness for anything of import.

'Now, see if you can find the telephone.' Fergus said, trying to make his voice as booming as possible. 'Probably disconnected, but worth a shot.'

'And say what?' said the same guard from earlier. 'Help, we've come across a better set of traitors?!'

'Just find the phone! We'll cross that bridge when we get there.'

Outside the Centre, strolling across the white stone path were two figures, both dressed in perfect suits. The figure to the right was carrying a bulky attaché case, made of false leather and a plastic interior, its sides slightly convex from the contents inside.

They approached the main door the Centre, and despite the carnage surrounding them, simply opening the wooden door a crack and entered the building, ignoring the disaster area surrounding them.

It was Alistair and Sir Fisher.

'Where to now, sir?' Alistair asked, gently shutting the door behind them. Sir Fisher left out a large huff, as he looked up and down the seemingly endless corridors.

'To the…left, I should think.' He replied, setting off towards the first door. 'According to the plans, the library should be down here, but you know how builders are…'

Ten minutes and seven wrong turns later, they made it to the library. They were greeted with every occupant of the room standing to attention, or at least, the cheap civilian mockery of it.

'Alright.' Sir Fisher said, relieving them. 'No need for the ceremony. We've got a job to do, so let's do it.'

The briefcase popped open, revealing the mess of wires and diodes inside. To the untrained eye, it looked like someone had simply stuffed as much of the stuff into the case as quickly as possible, like they were stealing from an electronics shop. But to the trained eye, it was clearly a carefully plotted arrangement, one that had taken months of planning to shuffle together.

Sir Fisher produced six ends of wire from the case, each only six inches long and with a socket at the other end. As he dangled them over the side of the case, some of the squaddies brought forth cables, which neatly plugged into the sockets. The cables ran across the library, plugging into six tall, thin panels of reflective metal. They were arranged in a loose hexagon, with each mirror facing another directly and the case sitting on a table in the middle.

Next, Sir Fisher pulled out a cartridge from the centre of the case. It was plugged into the rest of the kit, but a small door was connected to the side. It swung open, ready to receive its meal. Sir Fisher dug around in his pocket, before pulling out a small green crystal. Upon noticing his colleague's curious expression, he explained:

'Energy device. Bought it at an auction a couple of years ago. Took my best expert nine months to figure out what the hell it was. Do you remember those nation-wide power-cuts two months ago? I was charging this up.'

The colleague chuckled at the comment, clearly amused by the notion. However, he stopped laughing:

'You're serious?'

'Deadly.' Sir Fisher inserted the crystal into the cartridge, before clicking the door shut. He dropped it back into the case, and then dug around for the next tool. The whole room started to hum, a sound and feel reminiscent of an amplifier without any notes being played.

Finally, he found the trigger unit, no larger than a pen. It was sleek black, although from the end protruded a red button. He gripped the unit in his hands, thumb hovering over the button…then he pressed down.

A bright beam of light, pure white, shot from the case, over towards the first panel. It shot into the metal, then ricocheted off, meeting the next panel, then the next and then the next. Soon enough, the beam of light was formed a six-pointed star in the room, a single, unbroken line of splendour.

Where the six lines met in the centre, a white ball started to form, swelling and growing ever-so-slightly.

'Sir?' Alistair asked nervously, backing away a little. 'I think it would be best if you retreated, sir.'

'What?! Nonsense.' Sir Fisher replied, not taking his gaze away from the case. 'It's all going perfectly. It's all safe!'

'If…If you say so, sir.' Alistair nodded slowly, gripped by poorly concealed terror.

The white ball was about to consume Sir Fisher, dancing around the top of his head…then it passed over him. The rest of him followed suit, slowly being swallowed whole by the spectacle. Before Alistair could cry out, his master was completely inside the white ball.

It continued to grow, spreading across the room, like a translucent bubble. Alistair ducked his face beneath his arm, covering his eyes. And then it stopped.

The room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of its occupants. They all looked around, clearly expecting to find something much worse than the unnerving serene that greeted them.

The white ball had finished growing, its skin shifting and morphing, but otherwise motionless. It didn't extend beyond the limit of the mirrors, just grazing up against them ever so gently.

In the centre stood Sir Fisher, triumphant and joyful. He crossed his arms, sending a particularly smug expression to Alistair.

'I told you it was safe, didn't it?' he asked, laughing a little. Putting his hands back into his pockets, he started to walk across the room, exiting the bubble. 'I know, it's a bit strange. Come on, I'll tell you about it over tea.'

Five minutes later, Alistair had followed Sir Fisher across the room and through the corridors, the latter clearly searching for a nice private spot to discuss the matter in.

'Now,' Sir Fisher said, at last content with the surroundings. 'I'm sure you'll have a couple of questions to ask me. I'll see what I can do about them. But first things first; can you remember our friends?'

'Friends, sir?'

'No, I thought not…' Sir Fisher mused pensively, mostly to himself. 'They said they'd try, but it might not work…alright. Do you remember the photographer, at the house the other night?'

'Yes.'

'Good. What happened to him?'

'Well…' Alistair started slowly, uncertain of how the sentence was going to end. 'He…ran away, sir.'

'Yes, but why?'

'We scared him away, didn't we?'

'Did we?'

'Well, we must've done!'

'Are you sure?'

'No, it was…it was…'

'Yes?'

'Something…' Alistair groaned, irritated at his failure before his master. 'Something…why can't I remember?'

'What it was, Alistair…' came the reply 'was a member of an alien species. If they choose so, they can altered the memory and perception of anything around them, anything at all.'

'I see…'

'If they're so asked, it is somewhat possible for them to restore these memories to the observer, for whatever reason. Not always, but usually. I asked ours to return yours to you.'

'So these…aliens, you're in congress with them, sir?'

'In a manner of speaking, yes. Although, to be entirely honest, I've got an even better idea for what to do with them. That arrangement, in the library? All those mirrors and cables and so forth? It emits a field of perfect-wave light. Anything solid can pass through it easily enough, but these creatures, they're not solid. To them, it is as impenetrable as a brick wall is to you or I.'

'I think I understand, sir.'

'My plan is to spread the field over the Centre, at the very least. I happen to know that this place is of supreme importance to the aliens. I can't tell you how or why, but it's a hefty bargaining chip.'

'But what if they catch you?'

'I very much doubt that they will. I have, in my possession, the one thing in creation that can stop them.'

The area rumbled, like it had been hit with the strongest earthquake imaginable. The Doctor rocked from side to side, trying to find something to steady himself. Something's wrong, he mused silently. Very wrong indeed.

When one faced as much havoc as he did, one started to recognise the early symptoms. The stillness in the air, the scent of worry and panic, the silence of animals, all too afraid to chirrup or caw in fear of attracting unwanted attention. It would almost be a sixth sense, if he didn't already possess twenty three.

It was almost as if the voice was howling in anger.

'Something the matter?' he asked, trying to force a touch of humour into his voice. 'Perhaps it's something you've eaten?'

'Betrayal.' the voice replied, the word seemingly a foreign concept to the alien tongue. 'Deceit. Trickery.'

'Infamy, blasphemy, alchemy?' the Doctor offered helpfully.

'The nexus will suffer for this. Prepare an assault.'

'The nexus?' the Doctor repeated, as the horror started to sink in. 'Oh, no, no, no…'

'Nexus?' the man queried 'What's the nexus?'

'Bad news.' replied the Doctor grimly. 'Very bad news indeed. If just one cog moves out of turn…no, it can't be happening.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I've got to get out of here. I've got to warn them!'

'Well, good luck with the escape plan!' the man said, laughing for the first time in ages. 'Might be just a little bit difficult to escape!'

'No, I don't think so,' the Doctor 'not if you happen to know what you're doing.'

'I'd like to see you think your way out of this one, then!'

'As it happens…' the Doctor purred 'that is exactly what I intend to do…'

Naomi shot awake, sucking in a sudden gasp of breath. For a few seconds, she lay there motionless, trying to take in what had just happened.

Her hands were balled into tight fists, her hair plastered with sweat and eyes wide open. Had it been a nightmare? Not that she could remember. She hadn't faded back into reality, like when she left an alarm on, or the window open and a draught tickled her into consciousness. It was the sharp, glaring burst of energy.

Quickly, she placed her thumb over her wrist, checking her pulse. It was racing away. That would explain the breathlessness. No doubt her vascular system was pumping tons of serotonin and adrenaline through her body, springing every part of her into life.

It was almost as if she'd had a scare, like a premonition of something to come. Something she'd rather prefer to avoid completely.

She flopped back onto the bed, taking a series of deep breaths, determined to steady her racing heart. The bright green side of her alarm clock told her it had just gone five in the morning. Any second now, the morning sun would start to dawn over London. Oh, well. She might as well just get up now, anyway.

As she climbed reluctantly out of the bed, she pulled on the dressing gown, wandering in the vague direction of the shower. A good burst of hot water would definitely wake her properly.

The constant rush of water ran through her sweaty hair, down her freezing body and into the drain just underneath her feet, slowly warming her up. Ten minutes later, she was half-dressed, heading through to the kitchen to treat herself to a daily coffee in the morning.

Underneath her bed was a notepad that she'd left there overnight. When the lights went out at ten o'clock, it was completely blank. But now, it was marked with hundreds upon hundreds of markings, all over-lapping, in various sizes and styles.

X. X. X. X. X.