by Mike Tucker
Hughes cursed under his breath. ‘Great. The egghead. Just what we need.’
Picking his way cautiously along the mud track towards the stone circle, the man made his way over to where the sergeant was waiting.
‘Sergeant Hughes! Why isn’t this machine in position yet? It should have been on the ground ten minutes ago.’
‘My men are working on it now, Professor.’
‘The timings are crucial, Sergeant!’ The professor glared at him from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘If we don’t turn on this machine at the exact moment of the vernal equinox…’
‘I am well aware of that, sir,’ said the sergeant firmly. ‘But ground conditions have meant that it has taken slightly longer than anticipated to get the control vehicle into position. I have drafted in extra men to make up the time lost. And there was a fifteen-minute contingency.’
The professor made a disgruntled ‘harrumphing’ noise, and then took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to snap, sergeant. I realise that you are doing your best under difficult conditions.’
‘Would you like to check the controls, sir?’ Hughes gestured to a large grey vehicle parked a few hundred metres from the circle.
The scientist nodded and the two men started to make their way across the wet grass. ‘I gather that the equipment was heavier than you had expected.’
‘Considerably. We didn’t have anything big enough to shift it, other than one of the local tractors, and I didn’t really want to involve civilians unless it was absolutely necessary. In the end we borrowed a converted Matador from the RAF boys at Lyneham.’
The two men stepped to one side as a soldier hurried past them, unfurling thick cable from a drum.
‘Where are the civilians, by the way?’ asked the professor. ‘I saw no one on the drive in.’
‘Evacuated to Chippenham. We’ve let Military Intelligence deal with the details and cover story. And good luck to them, the locals are a feisty bunch.’
‘They’ll thank us for it in the morning, Sergeant. By tomorrow, the eyes of the entire world will be on the village of Ringstone.’
The professor reached out for the door handle of the control vehicle.
As he did so, Sergeant Hughes rushed forward to stop him. ‘No, sir! Don’t!’
It was too late. The door swung open and brilliant yellow light lit up the field around them.
As the light from the open doorway illuminated the scene in front of them, Charlie Bevan gave a gasp of disbelief.
‘That’s not possible!’
The Doctor twisted around to look at him. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘That man…’
‘The scientist?’
‘Doctor, I know who that is!’
‘Well done. So you know some of your local history.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I’ve met him. He was standing in front of me less than three days ago. That’s the man who owns the industrial estate outside Ringstone. That’s Jason Clearfield.’
Chapter
Thirteen
From the village there were distant calls of alarm. ‘Hey! Put that bloody light out!’
Pushing past Clearfield, Sergeant Hughes quickly reached inside the door of the control truck and located the light switch, plunging them into darkness once more.
‘I’m sorry, sir. You couldn’t have known. We’re operating blackout protocols. Two knocks so that the team inside know to turn the lights out before anyone opens the door.’
Clearfield looked sheepish. ‘Of course. A sensible precaution.’
There was the sound of boots kicking up stones as Private Sanford hurried across the field towards them. ‘Don’t you bloomin’ boffins know the meaning of the word blackout?’ He skidded to a halt as he spotted Hughes. ‘Oh! Sorry, Sarge…’
‘It’s all right, Private. Everything is under control here. How are we doing with that Bell?’
‘The boys are ready to put it into position and connect it up, sir.’
‘Good.’ Hughes nodded in approval. ‘Perhaps you’d better supervise the final positioning, Professor?’
‘Yes, Sergeant. Very good idea. Lead on, Private.’
As Sanford led the professor to where the Bell was being set up, Sergeant Hughes looked up at the ominous sky once more, checking for any indication that the German spotter plane had been alerted to their position.
‘Scientists…’ he muttered. ‘They shouldn’t be allowed out.’
The Doctor watched as Clearfield made his way across the field towards the hulking shape of the British Bell.
Charlie Bevan was adamant in his assertion that this was the same man that he had seen alive in 2014. Even without the mask, he was instantly recognisable.
The Doctor rubbed at his chin. One possible explanation was that this experiment had something to do with time travel. There was only one way to find out.
‘I’ve got to get a look inside that van,’ he whispered.
‘Are you crazy? You can’t just walk down there and start poking about!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s the war! If you get caught then they’re liable to shoot you on the spot as a spy!’
‘Good point.’ The Doctor took a long look at what Charlie was wearing. ‘If memory serves me correctly the British policeman’s uniform hasn’t changed significantly since 1944. This isn’t quite right though.’ He reached out and fiddled with Charlie’s hair, pulling it into an approximation of a side parting. ‘There! That and the fact that it’s almost pitch black should fool most people.’
‘You just want us to head down there? In plain sight?’
‘I’m not suggesting that we go out of our way to draw attention to ourselves, no. But if we are spotted we just act as if we own the place. That always works.’
‘OK. Even if we assume that I can pass for a wartime policeman, what about you? What are you meant to be?’
The Doctor tousled his own hair and waggled his eyebrows fiercely. ‘Would you believe mad scientist?’
Charlie stared at him. ‘Do you know what? I’d have no problem believing that whatsoever.’
‘Excellent!’
Before Charlie had any chance to object, the Doctor scrambled to his feet, and started to make his way along the edge of the field towards the spot where the Matador was parked. As the first spots of rain started to fall, Charlie struggled to his feet and hurried after him.
‘No, no, no! It needs to stand exactly on the ley line than runs between the church, the circle and the spire at Wyndham.’ Clearfield removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. ‘Didn’t you get the briefing document that I sent?’
‘All right, Prof, keep your hair on. We got your document, but it wasn’t exactly an exciting read, now was it?’ Sanford winked at the rest of the men. ‘Hardly “Health and Efficiency”.’
Clearfield pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the raindrops from the lenses of his glasses, trying to keep his temper. ‘Well, Private, if you had bothered to read it then you would realise that the positioning and distance of the Bell from the stone circle is vital to its correct functioning, so if you would please just—’
‘Yeah, it’s odd that,’ said Sanford, deliberately interrupting him. ‘The lads and I thought that it would make much more sense to put the machine in the middle of the circle. You know? Round peg in a round hole? I mean, stands to reason, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it really?’ Clearfield slipped the glasses back into his nose. ‘Do you know what would happen if we put the machine in the middle of that circle and turned it on, Private Sanford?’
Sanford shrugged and opened his mouth to reply but Clearfield cut him off.
‘All the plant life within a hundred yards would lose its chlorophyll, turning white in seconds. Any animal life nearby would die as all the soft tissue in its body crystallised. Imagine that, Private: your lungs, your heart, your brain, all turned to crystal before you could even draw breath. Then you
r corpse would start to dissolve, break down until nothing remained was a thick, black slime, then that too would dissipate until there was nothing left of you whatsoever. That is the mistake that the Nazis have made at their test site in Poland; that is what has happened to the test subjects that they have exposed to their Bell, and that is what will happen here if this machine isn’t put exactly where I tell you to put it.’
There was utter silence amongst the assembled soldiers. Then one of them crossed himself with a trembling hand.
‘Fortunately you have someone on your side who has understood the nature of this machine far more clearly than the Germans, so would you please accept that I know what I’m doing, and get on with your work?’
Sanford held Clearfield’s gaze for a moment, then looked down at his boots. ‘Yes, sir.’
As Clearfield watched the soldiers hurry away to get the Bell positioned, he let out a deep breath. He had never been good at confrontation. It reminded him too much of time spent at boarding school facing up to boys far bigger, and far more stupid than he was.
‘Nicely done, Professor.’ A voice at his shoulder made him start. It was Sergeant Hughes, an amused smile on his face. ‘You should have enlisted. You’d have made a good officer.’ He paused. ‘How much of what you just told them was actually true?’
‘All of it, Sergeant. Position the Bell too close to the circle and it becomes a massive mutation generator. If this goes wrong, then everyone here is going to die.’
‘And if it goes right?’
Clearfield leaned back and looked at the sky. ‘Then we will never look at the universe in the same way again.’
The Doctor cautiously made his way across the field towards the control van, Charlie following behind. The rain was starting to fall more steadily now, turning the ground under their feet into a quagmire.
As they reached the parked vehicle, something on the passenger seat of the cab caught the Doctor’s eye. Opening the door he reached inside and pulled out a clipboard and a technician’s lab-coat. As he shrugged into the brown coat, he plucked a pencil out of Charlie’s breast pocket and stuck it behind his ear.
‘Always helps to have the right props. Wait here, I won’t be a jiffy.’
With that he ducked around the back of the van, knocking twice on the door. There was the sound of muffled movement from the other side, then it opened and the Doctor slipped inside.
The interior of the control vehicle was crammed with a bewildering array of complex electronic equipment. The Doctor was impressed. For 1944, this was about as state of the art as it could get. One entire wall seemed to be a transportable version of the Colossus computer from Bletchley Park; other machines seemed to be for monitoring radiation levels, electromagnetic fields, temperature and humidity. Yet more seemed to be concerned with seismic disturbance, weather forecasting and astronomical readings. More incongruous were the posters adorned with occult symbols, and the astrological charts and books on Celtic mysticism that were scattered across the work surfaces.
The entire place was alive with a relentless clicking of rotors inside the machines, and the low electrical hum of transformers.
As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting condition inside the room, the Doctor became aware of several people looking at him, each of them in the same drab, brown coats that he was wearing.
The Doctor smiled at them. ‘Hello. I’m Doctor… McGuinness. From St Andrew’s University. I’ve been sent by the MoD as an observer of tonight’s experiment. So here I am. Observing.’ He removed the pencil from behind his ear and started scribbling furiously on the clipboard. ‘Please, carry on. Don’t mind me. Just pretend that I’m not here!’
Ignoring the bemused expressions of the other scientists, the Doctor busied himself at the controls of the Colossus, peering at the thin ribbon of paper that spewed relentlessly from the tickertape machine, and continuing to scrawl meaningless gobbledegook on his borrowed clipboard. He figured that he had a matter of minutes before one of the scientists started asking questions that he couldn’t possibly answer, so he had to see what information he could glean as quickly as possible.
A memo with the letterhead of the Royal Observatory caught his eye, and he swiftly scanned its contents. It looked as though they had been trying to locate the origin of the mysterious radio transmission, but so far without success. ‘Blast…’ He tapped the pencil on his teeth. In another year or so they might have been able to use the radio telescope at Jodrell Bank, but for the moment…
‘Excuse me?’ He turned to face the scientists once more. ‘Have any of you thought about reversing the polarity of the communications array that you have on the roof of this contraption and using the, admittedly primitive, RT equipment you have available to set up a narrow-band radio telescope to try and identify the source of the signal?’
The three scientists just stared at him blankly.
‘No, I didn’t think that you had.’ The Doctor returned his attention to the Colossus. ‘I suppose I could put in a call to Cowbridge House at Malmesbury, see if the guys and gals at the radar shadow factory can knock me up something that’ll do the job. They owe me a favour for fixing their central-heating boiler during the winter of ’39.’
‘I’m not sure you should know about that top-secret facility,’ came a stern voice from the doorway. ‘And I’m certain that you shouldn’t be wandering about in this one.’
The Doctor turned to see Sergeant Hughes standing the doorway of the truck, his pistol drawn.
‘Outside.’
The Doctor stepped down from the truck into the now steady rain. Facing him was a row of soldiers, their rifles raised. Charlie Bevan was standing to one side, hands clasped behind the back of his head. The Doctor was directed to stand alongside him and was quickly frisked by one of the soldiers.
Charlie gave him an apologetic look. ‘I guess that neither of us was fooling anybody.’
The Doctor didn’t reply, but his expression darkened dangerously as the soldier removed the sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket and handed it to Sergeant Hughes.
‘Who the devil are these men, Sergeant?’
Professor Clearfield was making his way across the field towards them, his wet hair plastered to his head, his shoes and trouser-bottoms caked with mud.
‘No idea, sir. This one claims to be the local police constable…’
‘That’s not the local plod,’ said Private Stanford, firmly. ‘Constable Sharples is helping with the evacuation. Left for Chippenham hours ago.’
‘And him?’ Clearfield peered at the Doctor suspiciously through his spectacles.
‘No idea, sir. Says he’s a Doctor…’
Really?’ Clearfield snorted. ‘You’d think the Germans would give their spies better cover stories.’
‘He had this.’ Hughes handed him the sonic screwdriver.
Clearfield turned it over in his hands, his brow furrowing as he examined it. As he did so it snapped open, the tip glowing bright green. He looked up at the Doctor with a puzzled frown. ‘What is the function of this device?’
‘It’s an idiot detector. It lights up in the presence of people who are tampering with things that they don’t understand.’
There was a ripple of laughter from the assembled soldiers. Clearfield snapped the screwdriver closed and pushed it into his jacket pocket. ‘I haven’t got time for this nonsense. We’re running behind schedule as it is. Sergeant, lock these two up somewhere secure. I’ll question them properly later.’
‘Sir.’ The sergeant turned to two of the waiting solders. ‘Rymill. Green. I want these two where I can see them. Put them in the back of the truck. And keep an eye on them!’
Grabbing the Doctor and Constable Bevan by the arms the soldiers marched them away down the path to where the truck that had delivered the Bell was parked.
‘Sanford, you’d better check that there are no more unauthorised personnel in the area.’
‘Even if there are, they’re going to be too late.’ Clea
rfield eyes blazed in anticipation. ‘We switch on power to the Bell in ten minutes.’
From the back of the truck where he and Charlie were being held, the Doctor watched as the activity around the stone circle became more and more frantic as the equinox approached. He glanced at his watch. Just a few minutes to go.
Whilst outwardly calm, inside he was kicking himself. He had meant this to be nothing more than a quick fact-finding expedition, in and out before anyone even noticed they were there. Now his sonic screwdriver was in the hands of a scientist who was more than capable of deducing its function, and there was a fair chance that it would end up in the possession of the British Army.
Except…
If Robin’s recollection of the events that were about to unfold were accurate, then everyone was about to be massacred by whatever the Bell brought through. Everyone except Robin Sanford.
And, if Charlie Bevan was correct, Professor Clearfield.
He checked his watch again. Whatever had happened here, they would know in less than four minutes.
In the control vehicle, Professor Clearfield watched the clock on the wall as the second hand ticked slowly around the dial.
‘Prepare to transfer phase one power on my mark… Mark.’
The entire vehicle vibrated as a low, throbbing hum started to build. On dials all around the control room, needles started to rise.
‘Stand by for phase two power on my mark…’ Clearfield had to raise his voice to be heard now. ‘Mark!’
The hum became a scream. Scrambling from his seat Clearfield pushed his way out of the door. ‘Continue with phase three power. I have to see…’
In the field next to the stone circle the Bell was throbbing with energy, the grilles at its base sending flickering shafts of vivid, purple light dancing across the wet grass. The glistening ceramic shell began to steam as the rain boiled away, and the air was heavy with the smell of ozone.
The hairs on Clearfield’s neck were standing on end, but it had nothing to do with the static being created by the machine. In the centre of the stone circle, a glow was beginning to build. ‘It’s working… he murmured. ‘It’s working.’
