Fingers dug hard into his shoulders and Harrods pulled him away from the shop window. Inside, a dozen television screens were flickering balefully, their reception reduced to blank white light.

Clive Kirkham sat in the plush surroundings of the Millbank studio at Westminster waiting for something to happen. The BBC's hospitality was beginning to wear a bit thin. The young upstart correspondent they had a.s.signed to interview him about New World University kept apologizing for the delay.

There was meant to be a report to accompany the interview, but the top bra.s.s at New World were unavailable for comment and the camera crew were stuck in traffic between Westminster and Shepherd's Bush.

'Gone to the pub if they've any sense,' muttered Kirkham.

Initially, the producer had said that the interview was for the evening news. Now, in between bouts of blasphemy, she was muttering that the news might not go out at all. If it did, it would wholly concern the technological meltdown that was infecting every major computer system around the globe.

Millbank's link to Television Centre had gone down. All TV and radio stations were currently running on their own generators and several of the transmitters had failed.

'Christ,' the producer complained, 'what the h.e.l.l's going on out there? The licence-payers complain we spend too much time speculating, but how else do you cover the end of the world? Get Kate Adie to summarize Armageddon after after the event?' the event?'

'It'll never get the ratings,' crowed Clive Kirkham.

The producer gave him a withering look and retired from the studio to the bedlam of her control room. The correspondent apologized again. The lights went out. With no internal phones working, they were isolated and literally in the dark.

Kirkham stayed put, determined to have his say no matter what. He sipped his BBC tea, enjoying the dimly lit sight of the world's most prestigious broadcasting organization reduced to grovelling about trying to change a fuse.

Twice, a secretary from the House came in to see if there was any news. The second time, she announced that Parliament was to be recalled for an emergency debate.

The back-up generator came on. Clive Kirkham grabbed at the microphone boom and glared at the producer through the gla.s.s window of the control room. 'Young lady, are you listening? If you want this interview, I suggest you get it now.

Or maybe you can afford to get me back at a time more convenient to you.'

Within minutes, Kirkham was facing the camera and unleashing his tirade against New World, neo-n.a.z.ism, the Education Secretary and the irresponsibility of the government in general.

As the correspondent nodded dutifully, there was a shout from the control room. The lights flickered and dimmed.

Several of the cables that lay across the floor twitched and undulated. There was a deafening screech of feedback.

Kirkham gaped as the whole camera podium, operator and all, lifted gracefully away from the floor. The cameraman flung himself sideways. The camera hovered and then threw itself straight at Clive Kirkham. The MP ducked as the ma.s.sive piece of technology sailed inches above his head and smashed itself into the wall behind him.

There was a loud clunk as someone cut the power.

Technicians and PAs cl.u.s.tered round the astonished Kirkham. All he could think to say was, 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. You didn't tell me you had a poltergeist.'

Sarah was getting increasingly frustrated. 'No. No. I said codes NN and QQ.'

She threw a glance at K9, who was waiting by the desk, monitoring the call to UNIT HQ. The voice still told her that Brigadier Crichton was unavailable, but at least she was not talking to Cavendish.

'Q...Q! It's urgent!' She shook the phone angrily, trying to clear the crackling interference. 'I'd get more sense out of the tea lady.'

The voice on the other end of the phone burbled something which she didn't even imagine she had heard correctly.

'Sorry? Have I encountered any what? What have Yeti got to do with it?'

There was a pause.

'Mistress?'

She groaned. 'Not now, K9.'

'Yeti, mistress?'

'What?'

'I have references to Yeti which also mention Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart and the London Event.'

'K9?'

'Mistress?'

'I'm sorry for what I said when I tripped over you this morning.'

'Apologies are unnecessary.'

'You're a wee gem, K9, and I won't ever threaten to put you in kennels again.'

'h.e.l.lo,' said a new voice on the line. 'This is Crichton.'

'Oh h.e.l.lo, Brigadier. My name is Sarah Jane Smith. I used to work with UNIT a long time ago. But I'm ringing about Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart and the London Event and New World University.'

Victoria rose from her desk as the old man appeared in the doorway. He advanced slowly, his white stick sweeping the floor before him.

'Chancellor,' she said, and came to meet him.

He stopped, sensing her presence.

She ignored Christopher's stare and gazed adoringly up at her mentor's ancient, bedraggled features. 'Welcome home, Professor Travers.'

His head did not turn and his voice was icy. 'I am still in the wilderness. Only my will to survive keeps me from despair.'

Victoria took his free hand and lifted it to her face. 'You have lit a flame of hope in all of us.'

He gave a little groan and started to run his bony fingers almost tenderly across the contours of her face. Then, with a grunt, he caught her chin and held her with sudden ferocity.

'Is it as I instructed? My shape. Symmetry. A form at last.

Shaping out my future. When will my new web stretch out across the Earth?'

'Web?' She struggled to break his grip as his face came closer. He was drooling into his filthy beard.

'Not until I have the Locus!'

21.

A Reunion he Brigadier followed the ca.n.a.l west from Regents Park.

T He was hungry. He had not eaten since breakfast.

Eventually he saw the figure of his daughter seated on a bench, staring out across the water at the cemetery on the other bank. It was a day for memories. The blonde hair she had inherited from his own mother still reached down to her shoulders, just as it had done since she was little. He thought she looked distinctly lonely.

He had almost reached her before she noticed him. She stood up, looking embarra.s.sed.

'You're late,' she said.

'I was delayed. The traffic and this computer business.'

It seemed a world away in this desolate spot. They eyed each other warily, both awkward, not touching, each not sure if the other was an enemy.

'Are you all right?' she asked politely.

'I can't complain. How are you?'

She paused and then turned away. 'Look, this is stupid. I'll just go. I shouldn't have called you.'

'Kate?'

She was instantly back. 'Yes, Dad?'

'Have you eaten? We can go and get a meal.'

She shook her head emphatically. 'No. I just...' She sat down in frustration.

He sat at the other end of the bench, looking out over the water. 'All right. We'll sit here.'

'Sorry.' She was tight with emotion. Without turning towards him, she said, 'You look tired.'

He glanced round for trouble. 'I've had a difficult morning.' He turned to her. 'It's been six years, Kate. What's the matter? Is it money?'

'Not especially,' she said.

'Your mother, then?'

'No, I don't see her either.' She kicked out her feet. 'Sorry.

It sounds stupid, but well...I'm being hara.s.sed.'

'Who by?'

'There are these Chillys.'

'Chillys?' As usual she was miles ahead of him. He felt like the High Court judge who had to have compact discs explained to him.

'You know. Children of the...'

'Children?'

'No. I mean they're called Children Children. From that New World techno-cult.'

'Ah.' He maintained his look of concern, silently relieved that at last some pieces were falling into place. 'Nasty customers in yellow and green.'

'Two of them,' she went on. 'They just sit opposite the boat all the time.' She had turned to look at him at last, her face taut with despair. 'Look, I'm just being stupid.'

'No,' he said firmly.

Tears were welling in her eyes. 'But they just won't go away. And they're frightening...they're frightening me.'

He nodded, wondering what name she had nearly blurted out. He did not like sitting here. It was too exposed. Not for him, but because he had always shielded his family from the implications of his job. He was the one the Chillys were after and now Kate was involved because she had his name.

He had another abiding image of her as a little girl. She had huge sad eyes and said, 'Come back soon, Dad.' He was always being called away at crucial moments, and it was usually a certain Scientific Advisor's fault. Ridiculous that they had never met, because he was sure that the Doctor would be wonderful with children.

'Can we walk a bit?' he said.

She started to lead back the way he had come and he guessed she was taking him away from her home.

Showing emotion had always been a problem. That shrink woman that they sent him to after his breakdown at the school had told him as much. He couldn't imagine why. It had never been difficult to shout at the men, or at public schoolboys for that matter. That was letting off steam wasn't it? But the shrink, who was a very charming woman, he recalled, said he had been bottling it up for years. That was nonsense, of course. He never took family problems onto the parade ground, and if he never talked to Fiona either, then there were good reasons for it. He had duties and other commitments.

Anyway, Fiona had never talked to him either, not for years.

So that evened things out a bit.

He fished for something to say to Kate. She used to have a partner or boyfriend or lover, but he had never met the chap.