Doctor Who: War Machine Read Online Free Page B

ready to go, he knew something was wrong. The security graph that recorded entry to this restricted part of the Tower was inaccurate. A series of small breaks appeared, as though the mechanism had developed a hiccup. Or perhaps an irregular entry had been made, the graph had started to record it, and then it had been overridden. For that to happen once was unusual, but this appeared to have taken place about a dozen times in the last hour. Security had been about to move into the alert sector, and each time it had been prevented. Could someone have been interfering with the alarm signal? Was there someone in the Restricted area? He felt suddenly apprehensive, looking round the room nervously. There was only the familiar sight of Wotan ticking quietly, flickering lights... nothing out of place. And yet the Professor was overcome by a strange uneasiness.
    He was late for the conference, but he couldn’t leave with these doubts in his mind. He disliked calling in Major Green unnecessarily, but this was an emergency. The Major answered the buzzer immediately.
    ‘Still here, Professor? I thought you had to go to this conference?’
    ‘Have you been on duty yourself?’ asked Brett. ‘Why, yes.’ The Major was surprised.
    ‘Our usual Security screens are in operation?’ ‘Of course.’
    ‘So you would know if... well, if there had been an intruder?’
    The Professor was so unlike his normally bland and relaxed self that the Major looked at him sharply. ‘There’s been a complete security screen on the Restricted Section. It functions night and day. Why? Have you any reason to suspect anything?’
    ‘The Recorder Graph has developed a fault.’ Brett indicated the print. ‘One can’t be too careful.’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Besides..’ Brett hesitated. He wasn’t a man to give way to irrational fears. ‘I’ve had an odd feeling this last hour or so. As if I were being watched. As though a stranger were somewhere around.’
    ‘I can assure you,’ said the Major, ‘you and I are the only people in this part of the Tower. The rest of the staff are attending the conference.’
    ‘I must go.’ Brett started to cram papers into his briefcase. ‘Sorry, Major. I think I’ve been overdoing things lately. Next week I intend to start a long holiday.’
    ‘Good night, sir.’ The Major went back to his office. He had suggested several weeks ago that Professor Brett took a holiday. The man had worked himself into the ground perfecting that confounded computer of his!
    Brett suddenly stopped packing his case. None of these papers were relevant. He was behaving in an extraordinary fashion. He knew it... But why? He couldn’t help it. He was suddenly so nervous.
    Unable to get out of the room... Unable to leave for the conference.
    ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said aloud. He made a determined effort. He was sane and rational, he told himself. One did not entertain or tolerate fantasies. Yet the ideas which kept flooding into his mind... breaking into his thoughts – taking over his thinking in fact – were fantasies. And he would not permit it. He had been working too hard lately. Too long. He was exhausted. That was it. That was the cause of these extraordinary impulses that burst through, rather like pulses of electrical currents. He could handle it. He would leave now and go to the conference...
    But the ticking of the machine against the wall seemed to grow louder. The lights leapt, and blazed more vividly. He was being mesmerised, he decided. It was some sort of trance. An hallucination. He was Professor Brett... He was the inventor... The creator... He was the Master... in charge... No man becomes the servant of his own creation. He was fighting hard to hold onto his sanity. To retain dignity, strength. To retain his own integrity...
    But he knew it was a losing battle. And one small part of his brain was strangely proud that he had made such a powerful instrument he himself could not stand up to it. What a