‘So,
you're it? The last Zygon?’
‘No.
Remember, we are a spacefaring species. Besides ourselves, dozens of crawler
ships remained. As time passed we listened as a fleet was assembled from the
rim worlds. They devised a stratagem to achieve light speed by inducing an
intrinsic magnification field around their linked mass, then using a
dynachronatic velocity boost from the gas giant Yuggor, but the maneuver could
only be performed once. Their calculations required a destination.’
I stopped
talking for a moment. I was pleased at the speed of the human's comprehension.
‘What?
There's an entire Zygon fleet approaching?’
‘Do not
worry about the fleet, friend. They are very far away. You will be dead many
hundreds of years before their scheduled arrival.’
‘Oh! Well,
that's alright, then. I suppose.’ He pondered a moment, then ventured, ‘You
know, in a couple hundred years humanity will be pretty advanced. They'll put
up a good fight, you know.’
The device
in my pocket twitched: the Skarasen grew near.
‘Perhaps,’
I said, ‘if their progress is unimpeded. I have had many years to weigh the
problem and I hope to have learned from Broton's failure.’
‘You're
talking about the attacks on the oil rigs and Stanbridge House.’
‘Correct.
In a matter of days everything was undone. You seem well-informed about the
events.’
‘Let's
see,’ said the human, ‘It was 1976. Quite a year for Britain. Everything
changing, but maybe not for the best. 'No
Future', am I right?’
‘Yes. Our
monitoring revealed much unrest. Old institutions were falling and their
replacements were less than satisfactory. Humanity was adrift, it seems,
disconnected from the forces that guided their lives. They were weak. It was
time to strike, Broton declared, but unforeseen events accelerated his program.
‘It was
the Duke, you see. Amongst the other entitlements of his position, he owned
several unconnected expanses of land. Broton, his childhood tutor, remember,
had convinced him of the dangers of atomic energy. Acting on his own initiative
while Broton enjoyed a brief hibernation, he allowed a petroleum company to
construct its headquarters directly atop the Skarasen's path from the Devil's
Punchbowl to the sea.
‘Broton
was furious. Privately, the rest of us thought his reaction out of proportion
to the problem; the growth of the city called Inverness had posed an earlier
problem that led to the establishment of a tunnel between the the Punchbowl and
the loch; surely a similar excavation could extend the tunnel to the sea?
‘He would
hear nothing of it. I now believe that Broton had so long envisioned himself as
the Duke that he became unhinged when the latter's actions inconvenienced our
routine. The Duke, he decided, must go.
‘And that
is when the Duke of Forgill and his gillie, the Caber, became changed men. We
simply walked the long tunnel from the ship to the Duke's library and surprised
them there. I gained respect for the Caber that night, I assure you. With
ourselves in place, it was time to expand operations. Soon Odda was dispatched
to spy on the Hiberian base; she chose as her body-print a female medic called,'Sister Lamont'.'
‘And
then,’ said the human, ‘Hiberian built platforms in the sea.’
‘That is
correct. Others were already there. It was a great success. The more oil
burned, you see, the closer Broton's plans came to fruition.’
‘Then why
order the Skarasen to destroy them? I have to say, it doesn't make a lot of
sense. I'd have just destroyed the base.’
‘Oh, I
completely agree and, exercising great care, I suggested as much to Broton. Not
only did the flow of oil advance our plans, I counseled, but using the Skarasen
endangered our secure position. But he would hear none of it. The humans had
unknowingly disrespected our great work and must be punished. More, they must
be shown our power. Besides, he said, once their platforms were destroyed,
Hiberian would close the facility and drill elsewhere. With that, all
discussion was closed. He inferred that further questioning would result in
discipline. Under the assault of his withering glare, I acquiesced. I will
always wonder what the outcome would have been had I pressed my case.
‘And so the end came. After the third platform was
destroyed, the humans you call 'UNIT'
appeared in the village near the Punchbowl. We arranged for a surveillance
device to be placed in a stag's head, a gift to the owner of the tavern they
commandeered. The human leader, a man called Lethbridge-Stewart, was observed
using an advanced machine to contact someone called 'the Doctor', whose presence was deemed very important. Intrigued
by the device, Broton, on the pretext of complaining about poachers to the
human commanding Hiberian, drove to the village.
Heeding a
curious impulse, he stopped when a curious trio appeared on the road. One was a
tall male in native ceremonial garb; one a small female and the other, from his
bearing, a military officer.’
‘Ah, yes!
The tall, devastatingly handsome man was UNIT's scientific adviser, the Doctor,
the Brigadier was calling on the Space-Time Telegraph. The woman was his best
friend, Sarah Jane Smith, the reporter. The other was Surgeon Lieutenant Harry
Sullivan, a Royal Navy doctor assigned to UNIT.’
‘All three
of whom we tried and failed to destroy. I shot Sullivan but did not kill him.
Odda left the Doctor and the Smith woman in a pressure chamber but left before
they died, bearing Sullivan to us. Broton was furious. Then Sullivan interfered
with our attempt to kill the Doctor.’
‘You lot
had a run of bad luck, I'm afraid. After the Skarasen failed to kill the
Doctor, the military traced your control signal and dropped depth charges on
your ship...’
He sat
quietly for a moment, listening as the soft lapping of waves subtly changed.
‘Grotton...There's
really no need to revisit the entire incident, is there? We know how it ended.
Broton shot dead in London, the rest of you lot presumed destroyed when your
ship exploded. The rest was just a lot of running around, really.’
‘Besides,’
he said, looking up, ‘that's rather more of an immediate interest, wouldn't you
say?’
A shadow
fell. Water cascaded off the mighty neck of the Skarasen as it peered down at
us. It ran off my guest's yellow raincoat. He stood and looked down at me, the
Skarasen blotting the sun behind him. Behind the false beard, his broad grin
was familiar. Not that I needed any further evidence; his gestures, his vocal
mannerisms and his scent had already exposed his deception.
I didn't
bother to stand.
‘Yes,
Doctor, I'd say it is of immediate interest, indeed.’
‘I used to
enjoy disguises when I was younger,’ the Doctor said, shedding the rain coat,
beard and glasses, ‘but you know, I've gone off them.’
He frowned
at me, then looked up at the swaying head of the Skarasen, his hair gently
fluttering in time to its breathing. Eclipsed by the sheer presence of the
beast, his voice sounded very small.
‘I suppose
you intend to kill me, then? Revenge of the Zygon?’
‘You are my
enemy. You killed my Uncle...’
‘No, that
was the Brigadier. Shoot first and don't ask questions, that's his way. Broton
was trying to kill several dozen humans at the time...’
‘You
killed Madra.’
‘An
accident. He fell. I wasn't even there.’
'You
destroyed the Hiskarasa.’
He had no
answer to that. Instead, he lit another cigarette. As the smoke dispersed, I
noticed the Skarasen retreat slightly.
‘A
naphthalene derivative, Doctor?’
He looked
at me, grinning. ‘Something like that. I quit smoking centuries ago. Vile
habit.’
‘I'm
afraid the Skarasen has a respiratory bypass system.’
‘Well,
there's a coincidence. So, I'm at your mercy, then?’
‘Entirely.
Please, sit and answer a few questions. Answer carefully, and you may yet
live.’
He eyed me
carefully.
‘I offer no guarantees, of course.’
He flicked the cigarette into the loch and sat. ‘Fair enough, Grotton, fair enough.’
‘Very good. First, I know you aren't human. What are you?’
‘I'd be happy to answer that, but there's something you're forgetting.’ He rolled his eyes at the Skarasen looming out of the loch. ‘This place will be crawling with tourists in a moment with a fair amount of traffic on this road.’
‘You make a good point,’ I conceded. I instructed the Skarasen to submerge. The Doctor grinned.
‘Much better! You really should brush its teeth more often, you know. Now, where were we? Ah! I'm sure you haven't heard of it, but my planet's name is Gallifrey.’
Gallifrey? It meant nothing to me. ‘Why were you helping the humans? This is a quarantined world, you know.’
‘Well, if you must know, I'm frequently at odds with my own people. I was banished here many years ago. Helping the humans became something of a bad habit. You weren't the first invaders I dealt with, not by a long shot.
‘I offer no guarantees, of course.’
He flicked the cigarette into the loch and sat. ‘Fair enough, Grotton, fair enough.’
‘Very good. First, I know you aren't human. What are you?’
‘I'd be happy to answer that, but there's something you're forgetting.’ He rolled his eyes at the Skarasen looming out of the loch. ‘This place will be crawling with tourists in a moment with a fair amount of traffic on this road.’
‘You make a good point,’ I conceded. I instructed the Skarasen to submerge. The Doctor grinned.
‘Much better! You really should brush its teeth more often, you know. Now, where were we? Ah! I'm sure you haven't heard of it, but my planet's name is Gallifrey.’
Gallifrey? It meant nothing to me. ‘Why were you helping the humans? This is a quarantined world, you know.’
‘Well, if you must know, I'm frequently at odds with my own people. I was banished here many years ago. Helping the humans became something of a bad habit. You weren't the first invaders I dealt with, not by a long shot.