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'The ones that showed the anomaly. A black blob that had suddenly
appeared in the mountains. That's what Anton Deveraux was looking
into when he died.'
'Brigadier, you told me that Deveraux died of some mysterious
disease and that Yates and his team had gone to Kebiria to
investigate. You didn't mention anything about a construct of this
sort.'
'I didn't know very much about it,' admitted the Brigadier. 'I didn't
see the photographs. I'm a busy man, you know.'
'Good grief, man! Look at the thing! And you didn't think it was
important?'
They were close enough now to see detail: a rough tower, several
hundred metres high, tapering towards the end, and around it what
looked like extensive excavations. As they passed overhead, the
Brigadier thought he saw a helicopter on the ground.
'It's some kind of military base,' he said. 'Probably Kebirian
government.'
'Maybe, Brigadier. But there are other possibilities. Let's take
another look, shall we? I'll slow her down a bit more.'
There was a short silence. The mountains were getting dangerously
close.
The Doctor pulled the plane up sharply, began to turn. There was a
beeping noise, and a red light began to flash on the panel in front of
them. The Brigadier looked at the readings, said, 'Doctor, we're
almost out of fuel.'
'But that's impossible. Flight Lieutenant Butler told me that the
wing tanks held enough fuel to get us all the way to Kebiria and back
again if we had to.'
The beeping became a continuous angry note. With a sinking
feeling, the Brigadier realized what the popping noises had been.
'The fuel lines to the wing tanks have broken on both sides, Doctor.
All that manoeuvring must have been too much for the joints. We're
spilling fuel like a leaky teapot.'
'We wouldn't have had this kind of trouble in a Martian Exploder,'
said the Doctor irritably. The engine note changed as he throttled
back. 'Hold on tight, Brigadier, this could be a rough landing.'
After that things happened very fast. A silver speck appeared in
front of them, rushing along the curve of a mountain valley. It came
closer with astonishing speed, until the Brigadier could recognize the
tiny, clear shape of a Kebirian Air Force MiG. He saw a bloom of
flame under each wing, and for an instant he thought it was on fire.
Then he saw the two missiles accelerating towards him.
His stomach lurched as the Superhawk dropped. The aircraft
shuddered, then the roar of the engines faltered and died.
'Sorry, old chap,' said the Doctor. 'I think we're going to crash.'
Ten
FJo tightened the tourniquet around the young man's arm, then
lifted the makeshift dressing from the wound. Some blood still leaked
from it, but it didn't look too bad.
As long as it doesn't get infected, she thought.
The hospital's supply of antibiotics had been destroyed in the raid,
and it was unlikely that more would arrive in time to save the young
man. She tied a fresh dressing around the wound, then used some of
the same clean, disinfectant-smelling cloth to wipe her hands, as the
nurse had shown her.
The next patient was beyond help with the little they had left: a
shrapnel wound in his stomach was still bleeding steadily. With every
breath he clenched his fists and gave a little moan of pain.
Feeling sick, Jo dispensed another couple of aspirin, held his cold,
sweaty hand for a moment. She tried not to think how many people
she had seen die this afternoon.
There was a metallic click behind her, followed by a buzzing noise.
Jo jumped, almost dropped the man's hand. Then she turned, saw
Catriona. She managed a slight smile.
'Hello.'
The reporter was clutching a large camera and flash gun. She
winked. 'I promised Vincent headlines, and headlines he's going to
get.'
'Where did you get the camera?'
'One of the aid workers. She's got a broken arm, anyway, so she
won't be using it for a while.'
The reporter seemed remarkably cheerful, considering what she
must have been taking pictures of, Jo thought; but then she thought
again, realized that Catriona had been doing her job. Getting the story
out. That was bound to make her feel better. Jo wished she had a job
that could be of some help in this situation. 'The Doctor's assistant'
was all very well, when the Doctor was around. It wasn't a lot of use
the rest of the time. Holding the hands of the dying and giving them
aspirin felt so useless. Yet she knew it was all that she could do.
She wondered if she should have trained as a nurse instead of a
spy. Not that it would have made much difference, in the present
situation.
She realized that the man's hand was clutching hers tightly. She
turned, stared as his breathing faltered and stopped, and his eyes
glazed over.
'No,' she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. 'No, no, no,
no!'
'I think you need a break.'
Jo felt Catriona's arm go around her shoulders. Every muscle
shaking, she allowed herself to be hugged.
'Come on, we can go to Vincent's tent.'
They picked their way through the ruins with care: there were still
unburied bodies around, and dark pits of shadow that might have
hidden anything. As they approached Vincent's tent, they heard the
sound of raised voices. Jo couldn't make out what was being said
she was fairly sure it was in Arabic but the voices were angry.
She looked at Catriona. 'Perhaps we'd better not go in.'
The reporter nodded. 'He's having a discussion with the local
Giltean commanders, I think. They don't like him very much.'
The voices were raised even further. Catriona took a step forward,
then seemed to think better of it.
'Isn't Vincent a Giltean, then?' asked Jo, lowering her voice to a
whisper.
'No. He's just a sort of well, general purpose international
freedom fighter, really. He was Egyptian to start with, but he calls
himself a Pan-Arabist. These people are supposed to be Pan-Arabists
too the Giltean Arab Front but they're just Gilteans really. The
GAF put up with Vincent because his name gets them money and
weapons from the Libyans; they'd ditch him if they won, and
probably the Libyans too. There's another group, the FLNG, who
won't have anything to do with him at all, and just want autonomy for
Giltea.'
Jo blinked. 'It all sounds a bit complicated.'
'Arab politics are complicated, Jo. There are hardly two people
who want the same thing.' She paused, gestured at the tent where
there was a renewed outbreak of shouting. 'They're probably blaming
him for the raid.'
'And is it his fault?'
Catriona stared at the ground.
'I don't know,' she said at last. 'They might have been after him,
they might have been after me; they might have been after you, for
that matter. Or they might just have been angry and bloody-minded,
or doing a bit of target practice. Who knows?' Her voice was shaking
slightly.
Jo put a hand on her arm. 'It was their fault,' she said simply. 'The
Kebirian government. They decided to do it. The reasons don't
matter, do they?' Like Vincent and the Cairo bombing, she thought;
but she didn't say it.
Ahead of them, a figure emerged from the tent. Jo recognized
Vincent. She noted with relief that he didn't appear to be under arrest,
in fact was carrying a gun.
He walked up to Catriona. 'They want to stage a reprisal raid on
Kebir City! Tomorrow! In daylight!'
'They're mad,' said Catriona flatly.
'I know, but how do I stop them? They say I am not a Giltean, I do
not understand. Of course I understand! I am as angry as they are
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