by Mike Tucker
‘The German bombs completely destroyed the British machine,’ Clearfield told her. ‘The Bell, the control assemblies, the research notes, everything. Starting again would have taken years, and the end of the war put paid to any thought of that. But the German device had never been used as intended. The German Bell was still out there!’
‘So you tracked it down.’ Clara wracked her memory. ‘Didn’t a lot of Nazi war criminals escape to South America? Paraguay, Argentina, places like that?’
Clearfield nodded. ‘And I spent a lot of time in those countries, finding people who had been close to the project, trying to learn what had become of the Nazi Bell. In the end I learnt that both it and SS General Kammler had been removed from the test facility in Poland by U-boat, and taken to a secret submarine base in Neuschwabenland.’
Clara shrugged, unfamiliar with the word.
‘The Antarctic.’
She frowned. ‘But this must have cost a fortune. Finding the Bell, transporting back here, setting up this facility. Where are you getting the money?’
Clearfield gave a sly smile. ‘There are still plenty of people who would like to see the Nazi empire rise again. People with access to the money that they stockpiled at the end of the war.’
‘So you’re financing the recreation of the Bell experiments using Nazi gold.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you returned here to set up in the same place again. Using the circle.’
‘I had hoped to.’ He sighed. ‘Sadly the damage to the stone circle was so great that the energies it created are no longer available to control the Bell properly.’
‘Hence this.’ Clara indicated the black monoliths, the spirals on the screens still swirling in endless complex patterns. ‘But surely there are dozens, if not hundreds of stone circles like this scattered around the countryside. Surely you could just relocate to one of them?’
Clearfield shook his head. ‘There are very few with the particular properties that made the one here in Ringstone so special. Our ancestors understood the special nature of the stones; modern man just sees them as curiosities of a bygone age. Most of the circles of power have been destroyed by farmers anxious to use the fields to grow crops … They call it progress.’
‘OK.’ Clara crossed her arms. ‘You recover a Nazi machine that’s remained hidden since the war, you manage to fund the creation of a high-tech stone circle, and you breed giant insects. So here’s the million-dollar question. What is it all for?’
Clearfield leaned forward urgently. ‘The Wyrresters that tried to open a portal here in the war are the same ones that I am working with now. They are pariahs from their own species, hunted, persecuted … Looking for refuge. I had hoped to create a digital version of the circle, a means of opening the portal artificially, but …’ He sighed. ‘The energies of ley lines require very specific conditions. My experiments have only been partially successful. I cannot enable a physical transference, only a mental one.’
‘Hence the insects.’ Clara glanced at the vile shapes crawling in the cages on the far side of the laboratory. ‘You’ve created bodies for them!’
Clearfield nodded. ‘I have been experimenting for years, trying to find a form that will allow them to survive here on Earth. The creatures that you have seen, the spiders, the crane flies, they were just tests, trials to see if the Wyrresters could inhabit and control those bodies … Those tests were not entirely successful.’
Clara was horrified. ‘So those insects have alien minds?’
‘Partially. Those early experiments have a shared mind, a shared consciousness, but the Wyrrester part is unable to dominate totally, sometimes the animal gains the upper hand. When it does, the creatures revert to their basic nature … Ultimately it leads to madness, then death. They have served their purpose, though, as guards, as distractions whilst we prepare the final phase.’
‘That’s horrible. Horrible.’ Clara looked at him with disgust. ‘Did the Wyrresters that you persuaded to go through with this … procedure know they were just … test subjects?’
‘The Wyrresters who agreed to those experiments were totally committed to their cause,’ said Clearfield coldly. ‘If our tests with human subjects had been as successful …’
‘You tried to do this with people?’
Of course!’ Clearfield looked at her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘If the Wyrrester mind was capable of being grafted into a human form then that would have been the most suitable solution. Unfortunately the human mind is not compatible.’
‘Or so we had thought!’
‘I’m sorry?’ Clearfield looked up as the hissing voice rang out once more. ‘You said that it was impossible. That you could not inhabit a human mind!’
‘That was true. But this girl is different. Her mind is something that we have not encountered before. Her neural pathways have been opened by technology that is not of this planet. She will be receptive to us. Place her in the circle.’
‘What? No!’
‘Do as you are instructed, Clearfield!’
‘But, Gebbron, the hybrid insect bodies that I’ve created for you are an unqualified success. All the work that I have done …’
‘You have had years, and yet still there are problems! The creatures that you have engineered still remain primitive. This girl provides a new opportunity. I will not squander it. You need my guidance, and now we have the means for me to provide it. She will be my vessel.’
Clara looked up in alarm. ‘Erm, now hang on a minute … Not sure I’m keen on being a vessel …’
‘Do as we say!’
Clearfield looked utterly dejected. ‘You leave me no choice.’
Clara waved a hand nervously. ‘Hello … Like I said … Not keen!’
Clearfield reached into his jacket and withdrew his revolver. ‘I’m sorry, Clara. I … you … must do what Gebbron asks.’ He gestured to the circle. ‘Stand in the centre.’
Clara didn’t move.
Clearfield’s tone hardened. ‘The process will work just as well if you are unconscious, Miss Oswald.’
The threat was quite clear. Realising she had no choice, Clara stepped into the circle of black obelisks.
Clearfield slipped into a seat in front of one of the many control consoles and started snapping on switches. Slowly a low throb of power started to build and the base of the Bell started to glow with a deep purple light.
*
‘Sir!’
Captain Wilson looked up as the private in charge of the monitoring communications station stepped into the command vehicle.
‘Positive confirmation of energy signature from the site, sir. Very weak, but definitely the wavelengths that you told us to look for.’
Wilson cast a worried look at his commanding officer. Colonel Dickinson’s face remained impassive, but something about his manner, the way that he held himself, abruptly changed and he suddenly seemed a lot older, a lot wearier.
As Dickinson reached for the phone to issue the order that would wipe Ringstone from the map, Wilson pulled himself from his chair.
‘Sir, a moment.’
Dickinson’s hand hesitated on the receiver. ‘What is it, Captain?’
‘Permission to lead a small team inside the perimeter, sir.’
‘To what end?’
‘Locate the Bell, disable or destroy it, evacuate as many civilians as possible.’
The colonel regarded him closely, his hand still resting on the telephone handset. ‘And the hostiles?’
‘We’ve armour-piercing rounds available, and two of the Next-generation Light Anti-tank Weapons. Plus eight gallons of the experimental pesticide. If all that fails, then we’ll just blow the wretched things up with grenades.’
The colonel said nothing.
‘Give me two hours,’ said the captain softly. ‘All the intelligence points to the fact that whoever is operating the device will wait until the vernal equinox before activating at full power. Give me two hours befo
re you call in that air strike.’
Dickinson removed his hand from the telephone. ‘All right, Captain. But, if I see that energy signature start to spike, I’m pulling you and your team out and making that call.’
Wilson saluted. ‘Sir.’
As the captain turned to leave, Dickinson called after him. ‘Captain Wilson …’
‘Sir?’
‘Good luck.’
The two men held each other’s gaze for a moment, both of them aware of what was at stake. Then Captain Wilson hurried off to assemble his squad.
‘Uh, oh.’
The Doctor peered at a readout on the TARDIS console that had suddenly flickered into life.
“What is it?’ Charlie Bevan looked up in alarm.
‘An energy reading. From your time. The Bell has just been activated.’
‘But I thought that you said that we had until the … the vernal equinox?’
‘I did.’ The Doctor darted around the console, adjusting controls. ‘This is something different.’ He frowned. ‘And it’s not coming from the circle, its coming from the science park.’
‘Clearfield?’
‘Who else?’ The Doctor slammed down the materialisation control. ‘I think it’s time we found out exactly how our professor survived, and why he is determined to start everything up again.’
The grating, rasping roar of the TARDIS engines reverberated around the console room, and the huge, spinning rotors started to slow down. The Doctor was across the control room and out of the doors before they had even stopped moving. Charlie hurried after him.
Charlie emerged into brilliant sunlight. The TARDIS had landed in the car park of the industrial estate, nestled against the wall of one of the large prefabricated buildings. The Doctor was already over at the doors, using his sonic screwdriver to break in.
The glass doors slid open with a hiss and the Doctor vanished inside. Pulling the TARDIS doors closed, Charlie ran to catch up with him.
The interior of the building was dark and deserted, but there was a low electrical hum that made all the doors and windows rattle faintly. It was setting Charlie’s teeth on edge.
As they made their way slowly down the wide corridor that led from the main reception area they suddenly heard a noise, a banging accompanied by a muffled voice. ‘That sounds like Angela,’ said Charlie, listening to the distant cries for help.
They followed the noise to a locked cupboard at the end of a corridor leading off the main walkway. The Doctor pressed his sonic screwdriver to the lock, and there was a clatter of tumblers as it released. Immediately the door slammed open and a frantic figure burst from the cupboard, screaming and lashing out with her fists.
The Doctor dodged out of the way in time, but Charlie was too slow, catching a blow on the side of the head as Angela tried to push her way past them.
‘Hey! It’s us!’ he yelped.
The young vet skidded to a halt. ‘Oh, thank God!’ Her relief was palpable. ‘I thought that you were Clearfield’s zombies coming back.’
‘Where’s Clara?’ asked the Doctor sharply.
‘He’s got her through there.’ Angela pointed at the wide double-doors at the end of the corridor.
Jaw clenched, the Doctor spun on his heel and set off towards them.
‘Be careful, Doctor!’ Angela called after him. ‘He’s got a gun.’
Disregarding her warning, the Doctor threw the doors open and marched brazenly into the room beyond. Charlie and Angela followed him cautiously. The noise from inside the room swamped all other sounds, a low throbbing that Charlie could feel through the floor. Purple light blazed from the centre of the room sending shadows dancing across the walls. A circle of thirteen monolithic black shapes dominated the middle of the room, each one crackling with energy.
In their centre stood Clara.
The Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver. ‘Clearfield!’ he shouted. ‘Turn it off! Now!’
The heads of everyone in the room snapped around to look at him.
Clearfield had risen from his seat and was staring at the Doctor in disbelief. ‘You …’
‘I mean it,’ said the Doctor dangerously. ‘Either you turn it off now, or I will.’
Clearfield reached out and pressed a series of switches. Slowly the light from the Bell and the noise of the machinery faded. Harsh fluorescent lights snapped on. Technicians at the other consoles started to rise, but Clearfield motioned to them to stay where they were. Slowly he walked across the room towards the Doctor.
‘Well, well, well … The Doctor and his idiot detector. You said that we would meet in seventy years and here you are. I love a man of his word.’
The Doctor ignored him. ‘Are you all right, Clara?’
For a moment she said nothing, then nodded her head weakly.
Clearfield was now a few feet from the Doctor, regarding him with a professional curiosity. ‘Extraordinary. Seventy years since I last set eyes on you, and yet you haven’t changed at all.’
‘I could say the same.’ The Doctor studied the mask that covered one half of Clearfield’s face. ‘Apart from that, of course.’
‘This?’ Clearfield raised a hand to touch the translucent plastic. ‘Let me tell you about this. This is a constant reminder of a night in 1944, of a night where I tried to contact another world.’ His voice stared to crack as emotion started to get the better of him. ‘This is a reminder of a plea I made to a man for help. A man who said that he could not, would not help.’ His voice was shaking with anger now. ‘This is a constant reminder of you!’
He peeled the mask away from his head, and the room echoed to Angela’s scream of horror.
Chapter
Sixteen
The Doctor stared sadly at the ravaged face that lay underneath the mask. There was virtually nothing left of the left side of Clearfield’s head, just bone and a fused mass of scar tissue. He held the gaze of Clearfield’s remaining eye. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘He’s sorry …’ Clearfield gave a barking, humourless laugh and pulled the plastic mask back into place. ‘Seventy years of seeing this face in the mirror every day, and he says he’s sorry.’
‘It was already a part of history. What happened that night …’
‘Let me tell you exactly what happened that night!’ spat Clearfield. ‘You were quite right: the combination of Wyrrester venom and the residual mutagenic field generated by the Bell did combine in an unusual way. It made me invulnerable, strong, boosted my capacity to learn, made me practically immortal!’ He took a deep breath. ‘It should have been my greatest moment, my apotheosis!’
He glared at the Doctor. ‘I had only managed to crawl a couple of yards from where you left me when the bombs began to fall. If you had helped me get clear then I would have survived unscathed, as it was …’ He closed his eyes, reliving the moment. ‘I took shelter underneath the control vehicle, unfortunately a bomb landed close alongside, rupturing the fuel tank. I was trapped when the flames took hold. I should have died, but the Wyrrester’s venom prevented that. When the flames subsided I crawled from the wreckage a … changed man. I have not aged a day since then.’
‘And this?’ The Doctor gestured to the machines, the circle.
‘This is the work of a lifetime …’
‘The mistake of a lifetime.’ The Doctor stepped forward, intending to reason with him. ‘The Wyrresters …’
‘The Wyrresters are the greatest boon that man could wish for. Their voices have been inside my head for most of my entire adult life.’ Clearfield pulled the pistol from inside his jacket. ‘I intend to help them in their desire to create a colony here on Earth and I am not going to let you stand in my way.’
He levelled the gun at the Doctor’s head.
Kevin Alperton was in the kitchen of Robin Sanford’s house, cleaning up the broken glass, and helping the old man nail a sheet of timber across the window, when he noticed the movement in the field outside.
His first thought was that yet another type
of insect was going to attack, but as he looked closer he realised that the movement came from four soldiers making their way through the field behind the house.
‘Mr Sanford!’ he called out. ‘Look!’
Robin Sanford joined him at the window. ‘About bloomin’ time!’ He opened the back door, taking a large key from a hook and handing it to Kevin. ‘Go and unlock the gate at the end of the garden. They’ll make one devil of a racket if they try and climb over.’
Kevin took the key nervously. ‘Outside?’
‘Sure. I’ll cover you from the window.’ Robin hefted the shotgun. ‘Well, go on!’
Heart pounding, Kevin stepped out into well-kept patio garden. The gate at the far end was probably only about fifteen feet away, but it suddenly looked like a mile. Gripping the key tightly, he started to pick his way slowly down the garden, making sure that his shoes made as little sound as possible on the stone slabs.
The garden was a tangle of plants in pots, interspersed with plastic chairs and bird feeders. Kevin was just grateful that Mr Sanford liked patios instead of lawns. He was still struggling to forget the image of the fox struggling wildly on his own lawn the previous night. At least the insects couldn’t burrow through stone.
He was almost at the gate when a tall shape almost hidden by foliage caught his eye. There was something familiar about it …
Curiosity overcoming his fear he pulled aside the leaves. It was a stone, about four feet high, covered with moss and lichen. Kevin could see swirls and patterns carved in the rock.
There was a hiss from behind him that made Kevin jump. Mr Sanford was glaring at him from the window. ‘What are you dithering for? Get that gate open!’
Hurrying forward, Kevin fumbled with the big clunky padlock, painfully aware of the noise that he was making as he did so. The lock opened with a click and Kevin opened the wooden gate.
He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
‘Hold up,’ came a gruff voice. ‘It’s just a kid.’
Four heavily armed soldiers pushed past him into the garden, methodically checking each corner and patch of shadow until they were certain that the area was secure.
