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narrow little backstreet. As the truck negotiated the tricky
corner into the yard, Ratcliffe found himself whistling
Wagner.
In the back, with the rest of his men, was the Hand of
Omega. Now he knew he had something to bargain with.
Now he could ask for the world.
For months it had nestled in the corner of his office.
He had just walked in one day and found it there masked
by shadow a vague mechanical shape, a voice that gave
him secrets. It gave him secrets and the promise of power.
He stepped down from the truck.
Charlie?
Yeah.
Get the damn thing off the truck and put it over on the
trestles.
But it s cold, said Charlie.
So wear your gloves. Charlie was loyal, but a few
coupons short of a pop-up toaster.
Ratcliffe slammed the sliding door over and went into
the warehouse. There was a musty smell from the racks of
timber he hadn t done much work recently. He hadn t
needed to, what with the money it had supplied. He
opened the door to his office and entered.
We have the Hand of Omega, he said. It s out in the
yard.
Excellent.
Ratcliffe sat down at his desk and picked up the
telephone receiver. I ll tell my man. After all, he found it
for us. He sat back in the chair and watched as the phone
dialled itself.
The sun had broken through the clouds, splashing light
across the playground. Four soldiers were piling up
sandbags by the front door. Ace glimpsed khaki boxes
stacked against the wall. One big box was open, revealing a
long tube nestling in straw. A recoilless anti-tank gun, she
thought, classy.
If this place is so out of the way of the action, she asked
the Doctor, what are we all doing here?
I want to keep an eye on the group captain, said the
Doctor. He pushed open the doors.
The entrance hall was full of noise. Field telephone
cables snaked across the floor, disappearing through
doorways. A soldier was nailing up signs indicating the
operations room, the mess, and one crudely lettered
KHAZI . Down the hall someone was swearing in a
foreign language. Ace peered past a group of soldiers
hefting ammunition boxes to see Rachel. She was
gesticulating at two soldiers who were trying to lift a huge
box of electronics up the back stairs. Allison was watching
her colleague with an astonished expression. There was a
smell of packing straw, sweat and overboiled tea.
Rachel ran out of Yiddish profanities and resorted to
glaring at the privates backs. Allison was wincing every
time the computer banged against the floor.
This is stupid, said Rachel, where s Sergeant Smith?
I can see Ace, said Allison.
We want to move the thing, said Rachel, not blow it
up.
There he is.
Mike emerged from a classroom. He saw Ace and
stopped. His eyes followed her as she disappeared up the
stairwell. He fancies her, doesn t he? said Allison.
It s her Aryan looks.
There was a loud crash from behind them and the
sound of delicate electronics breaking. Rachel didn t
bother to turn round.
Allison?
Yes?
How s your mental arithmetic?
This reminds me of parties I used to go to, said Ace. She
was sitting on the stairs with the Doctor. From below they
could hear the sound of frantic military activity. They re
really busting a gut down there.
That s the general idea, said the Doctor. I want to keep
the military fully occupied and out of the way.
Out of the way of what? Ace kicked at a bit of loose
paint on the wall. Professor, you promised, remember?
A long time ago, on my home planet of Gallifrey, there
was a stellar engineer called Omega...
The prelaunch checks were complete. Omega settled his
big frame into the shock webbing. The sound of the big
engines could be heard despite the capsule s layers of
shielding.
What s Rassilon doing? Omega asked the other with
him.
Going over the data, said the other.
Again?
He worries.
Omega was silent for a moment. How about you?
Stellar! said Ace, as in stars you mean he engineered
stars?
Ace.
Sorry, go on.
It was Omega who created the supernova that formed
the initial power source for Gallifreyan time travel
experiments. He left behind him the basis on which
Rassilon founded Time Lord society and the Hand of
Omega.
His hand? What good is that?
Not his hand literally, no, it s called that because Time
Lords have an infinite capacity for pretension.
The engines were whining, the vortex could almost be felt
eating away at the fabric of space and time. Stop fussing
and get out, Omega told the other.
I have doubts.
You always have doubts. Omega s grin was fierce.
You re as bad as Rassilon. He flexed his great hands and
placed them on the control interface. Doubts will chain
you in the end. The engines were screaming now. We ll
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