The right of Norma Ashley to be identified as the Author of the

Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Copyright © Norma Ashley 2015

Characters and Concepts from ‘The Web of Fear’

© Hannah Haisman & Henry Lincoln
HAVOC developed by and © Andy Frankham-Allen & Shaun Russell

Doctor Who is © British Broadcasting Corporation, 1963, 2015.

Editor: Shaun Russell

Deputy Editor: Andy Frankham-Allen
Cover: Simon Williams
Editorial: Will Rees
Licensed by Hannah Haisman

Published by
Candy Jar Books
Mackintosh House
136 Newport Road, Cardiff, CF24 1DJ
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LETHBRIDGE-STEWART
LEGACIES

Based on the BBC television serials by

Mervyn Haisman & Henry Lincoln

Norma Ashley

CANDY JAR BOOKS CARDIFF

A Russell & Frankham-Allen Series
2015
 LEGACIES

T en-year old John James looked up, feeling an odd calm

wash over him, as the Yeti lurched from the outhouse
toilet and towards him, a clawed-hand reaching down.
A loud bang and the creature staggered backwards. For
a moment John could do nothing but blink, his ears ringing
from the unexpected sound. Someone else was in his garden.
He slowly turned his head.
Standing a short distance behind him was a tall soldier,
a smoking gun in one hand, still aimed towards the Yeti.
The soldier looked down at him. His hard face, clipped
moustache, was framed around kind eyes, a dark blue
glengarry on his black hair.
‘Come on, son, let’s get you out of here,’ the soldier said.
John shook his head. There was only one question that
really mattered right now. ‘Where’s my mum?’ he asked,
taking the soldier’s hand as he offered it.
Pulling John up, the soldier looked around briefly.
‘Climbing into the truck out there, I suspect, like you need
to be.’
John looked back at the Yeti, which was slowly climbing
to its feet. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked as the soldier stepped
forward. ‘Who are you?’
‘Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart,’ the soldier said and aimed
the gun again. ‘Now cover your ears.’

1
 John did as he was told. This was adventure! The soldier
fired.
But nothing happened.
The colonel looked at the revolver in his hand and hissed
a ‘damn! I knew I should have got it serviced.’
John wanted to ask what he meant, but before any words
could form the Yeti lashed out with its large claw. Colonel
Lethbridge-Stewart went down, John landing safely on him.
The boy looked around, and caught sight of the colonel’s
lifeless eyes looking down at him. His neck was twisted at
an odd angle, blood pouring from a gaping wound on one
side of his face.
As the shadow of the Yeti engulfed him, John James
screwed his eyes shut and cried, yelling for his mum.

Two weeks later, and deep beneath London on the platform

of Covent Garden Underground Station, stood a police box.
A common enough sight in the streets above, but
incongruous in the dark station. Much like the platform
upon which it stood, and the tracks beside it, the police box
was covered in web. It stood unknown, a reminder of what
might have been.
Deep within the box, a trace of consciousness stirred.
Time had changed, a hundred different futures and pasts
were in danger of ceasing to be. The threads of cause and
effect were unravelling.

They had managed to make their way as far as Croydon,

only a couple of miles from the agreed rendezvous point in
Addiscombe. Here the web was thickest. Protecting the city.
The colonel still wasn’t too sure just what within London

2
the web was protecting, but the Scottish lad felt sure he
knew. The colonel remained unconvinced, but General
Hamilton believed the young lad, and so he’d ordered an
advance party of the Prince of Wales’s Own ahead, led by
Major Douglas, which included the lad and his petite
girlfriend; a tactical error in the colonel’s opinion. He didn’t
doubt in Douglas’ command, after all the man had always
been spoken highly of by Lethbridge-Stewart, but taking a
girl into the heart of the web…
‘What’s so special about a police box?’ Knight had asked,
once the colonel had told him.
Captain Ben Knight had served under him for many
years now, and was often referred to by the lads of the
Parachute Regiment 1st Battalion as ‘Little Spence’, which
Spencer Pemberton found amusing. Mostly because it was
so true. Knight was a chip off the old block.
‘Beats me, but the young travellers insist the Intelligence
will want what’s inside it. And Hamilton believes them.’
As such, the Special Forces Support Group were tasked
with following Douglas’ own company into Greater London
and securing a police box that was located in the London
Underground. Why there was even a police box in the
Underground was another question Pemberton wanted
answered, but Hamilton refused to comment. Neither
Pemberton nor Knight trusted the boy, and were still
convinced that the little man Pemberton had shot, who
apparently owned the police box in question, was a civilian
traitor. OK, so the Scottish lad hadn’t shied away in the
fight to retreat out of London alive, but Pemberton still
didn’t trust him. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but that
lad just didn’t belong with them.

3
 And while A Company were with him, going deeper into
enemy territory, a large contingent of enemy troops, both
Yeti and human, were heading south west, spreading the
Intelligence’s web, and thus its hold, further. Soon all of the
southern half of England would be under the influence of
the Intelligence. There wasn’t much left of 1 PARA, the
UK’s recently formed Special Forces Support Group, and
the best of them were with him now. He just hoped most of
them would escape London. Everyone would be needed to
stop the advance north, which was bound to be only a matter
of time.
North of London the British Army was, no doubt,
mobilising, but so far none had been able to breach the mist
that covered Southern England like the walls of a
concentration camp. Throughout Southern England every
single battalion of the British Army continued to fight and
protect the civilians who hadn’t yet been subjected to the
web’s inimical touch, and it was far from a fair fight.
Battalions continued to fall every day. Not every town or
city had fallen, though, some remained untouched. The
generals at Strategic Command, still holding its own against
the Yeti tide pressing on Fugglestone, had no explanation
for the Intelligence’s targeted advance. Why were some
areas of no interest? It seemed random, no pattern, but
Hamilton was certain there was a method to the madness
around them.
‘Sir, over there!’ Beside him Knight was pointing.
Several floors up, in a newly built high rise, a soldier was
leaning out of an open window making hand signals at
them.
Pemberton smiled, glad to see that at least some of

4
Douglas’ men had survived. They had lost radio contact
with Douglas’ company some time ago, and Pemberton had
begun to fear the worst. The high rise overlooking Hill View
Road and Duppas Hill was the fall-back rendezvous point
should contact be lost. He wondered how many had made
it – and what had happened to those who hadn’t.
He frowned at the mist above. It was the same
everywhere. The sunlight trying to break through. Two
weeks now. Pemberton wondered if they’d ever see daylight
properly again.
‘Stay sharp,’ he said to Knight. ‘Enemy units in the area.’
‘Sir!’ Knight turned to the rest of the company and gave
orders. The men fanned out, arming their pistols and rifles.
So deployed, A Company crossed the deserted streets to
where Douglas and his men were secured.
They were barely five feet away when a piercing scream
broke the silence. A girl ran into the street, looking as crazed
as any witch, gesticulating wildly. Pemberton recognised
her; the Scottish lad’s girlfriend. What was her name?
Something to do with water? One of the queens; Mary…?
Elizabeth…? Ever since he was a boy, he’d never been good
with girl’s names. Lucky he and his wife had never born a
daughter.
For a moment his mind went to his wife and his son.
Joan and David were up north, and he was thankful for that.
He knew the risks of his service, and so did they. Both were
safe, as long as the mist didn’t continue northward. The
Intelligence had to be stopped, before more civilians fell
under its spell. He wouldn’t lose his own family to it.
‘Miss, calm down!’ Knight ordered, moving towards the
girl.

5
 With a roar a Yeti burst from the doorway of the house
from which the girl had only just emerged. Knight aimed
his rifle and fired wide of the girl – and, as a consequence,
wide of the Yeti. Although no damage was done, the Yeti
did pause and turned its attention to them.
‘Blake, Whittaker, take it down!’
The two soldiers aimed their rifles and fired. As expected
the bullets had little effect, and the Yeti simply continued
to lumber towards them. Corporal Nicholas Blake was an
experienced fighter – he had been at Goodge Street when
the Yeti had overwhelmed the HQ there, one of the lucky
few to escape, and had a few bruises to return. He glanced
back at Private O’Connell. ‘ATR, now!’
O’Connell passed the Anti-Tank Rocket to Blake, who
calmly placed it on his shoulder and dropped to one knee.
While he did so, Whittaker continued firing, while Knight
took the girl aside to calm her down. Pemberton motioned
the rest of the company on to the high rise. They needed a
better defensible position. It wouldn’t do for them all to die
before they could get into Greater London.
O’Connell joined the shooting, allowing Blake time to
line up the sights of the ATR.
‘Ears!’ yelled Blake.
The remaining soldiers covered their ears, and Blake fired
the ATR. With a whoosh of power, the rocket shot out and
impacted direct centre of the Yeti, where its control sphere
sat. The Yeti themselves proved almost impervious to all
small arms, but their biggest weakness was the covering over
the sphere. If the sphere could be either damaged or
removed, then the Yeti was little more than a mannequin
of fur and metal. With a deafening explosion, the centre of

6
the Yeti erupted. For a few moments it continued forward,
the beast undaunted by the fire in its belly, until the damaged
sphere slid out of the burning hole and dropped onto the
pavement. It shattered and the Yeti juddered to an awkward
stop.
Blake stood up with a smile, and handed the spent ATR
back to O’Connell. ‘That was for Steve Weams,’ he said.
Pemberton was glad to see the ATR was so effective. It
was such weapons that had been en route to them when the
Yeti ambushed the ammo truck at Holborn. Nobody had
survived that attack, and so the ATRs had not been tested.
At least not in close combat. Until now. Using them was a
risk, but if his men could get close enough…
‘O’Connell,’ he said, walking back to the three soldiers.
‘How many rockets did we bring?’
Blake answered, not needing to count the rockets sitting
safely in O’Connell’s backpack. ‘Six, sir. Not as many as I
would have liked.’
‘No, indeed. But we shall make good use of those six.’
Pemberton patted Blake on the shoulder. ‘Well done,
Corporal. Now, let’s see what the Prince’s Own have to…’
Multiple roars drowned out the end of his sentence. They
all turned to look. Six Yeti seemed to come from nowhere,
hidden by the web that covered many of the buildings on
the street. A yell echoed from above. Pemberton glanced up
and saw several windows open, soldiers sticking out of each
of them.
Despite the covering gun fire from above, the Yeti
continued on. Two of them were barely a few feet from
Knight and the girl. He was so involved in his task that he
didn’t even notice the Yeti approach.

7
 ‘Knight!’ yelled Pemberton, his voiced drowned by the
gun fire and the roar of the Yeti. ‘Dammit!’ He aimed his
own rifle, but it was too late. The Yeti were upon Knight
and the girl. Pemberton stood there, numb, and watched as
the Yeti tore them apart.
An arm pulled at him. He glanced back. It was
Lieutenant Whittaker. ‘Sir, we need to retreat,’ he shouted,
firing another shot uselessly at the approaching Yeti.
Gathering his reserves, Pemberton ran with Whittaker
towards the high rise. Blake and O’Connell were already
lying dead on the road, the ATRs out of reach.
Before the door was closed behind him, Pemberton
stared at the remains of Ben Knight and the young female.
He felt like he’d lost his own son and worse… He couldn’t
explain why, but the death of the girl felt more important,
a portent of disaster on an epic scale.
He shook the feeling away. They weren’t out of the fire
yet. They needed to regroup and find a way to take down
the Intelligence. Once the door was barricaded he turned to
Whittaker. ‘Let’s see what Douglas has to say for himself,’
he said and set off across the lobby, ignoring the pounding
of claws on the now-secured doors. They would give
eventually, he knew that, but right now he could not allow
it to concern him. He and Douglas needed a new plan.

All the reserves had been called in, but still the Black Mafia,
the Royal Green Jackets 5th Battalion, was a long way from
full strength. Many had already died or been compromised
in the last two weeks. What was left of them, all 104
(riflemen, NCOs and officers alike), were on the move,
marching at 140 paces a minute, closing the distance

8
incrementally. They had left their vehicles in Liskeard and
continued on foot, along the country lanes, obscured by the
large hedges, while the enemy proceeded out in the open
fields. They followed at a safe distance, watching carefully
as the Yeti troops surrounded the small Cornish village and
spread their web. The human troops belonging to the enemy
continued on into the village.
Colonel Robert Parker, the commander of 5th Battalion,
ordered the three companies that made up the battalion to
spread out. He remained with A Company, who proceeded
directly towards the village via Tremar Lane. C Company
went south, while B Company, commanded by Major
Reginald Edwards, went north-west to approach the village
from the top. Web embraced the village as far as the eye
could see, which could mean only one of two things; either
the people within were dead, or they were turned into the
mindless puppets of the Great Intelligence, further
extensions of its ever-expanding mind.
‘We need to get inside, find out what’s happening,’
Captain Ian Williamson said.
Edwards agreed. He looked at his men. ‘We’ll break into
two sections of fifteen. Pick your men.’
‘Sir. Corporal McLean, you’re with me. Get Bishop to
help you pick thirteen others.’
McLean saluted and turned to Bishop.
‘I count that as sixteen, Captain,’ Edwards pointed out.
‘Yes, sir,’ Williamson agreed. ‘But it’s an uneven
company of thirty-one, and you’re worth two of me.’
Edwards smiled. ‘Good point. But you do have Bishop.’
Williamson looked over at the rifleman who was helping
McLean break the company into two sections. Although

9
neither he nor Edwards would say so aloud, they both knew
that Bishop was going to go far in the British Army – if any
of them survived the current engagement. This wasn’t like
any war he’d seen before, nothing like Korea or any other
skirmish, and he’d seen more than a few during his time
with the Green Jackets Brigade out in Penang and North
Borneo. They were not fighting an enemy who simply used
tactics and artillery, but instead the enemy managed to
change their own people, corrupt them from within to the
point where their own troops fought against them.
The two sections were ready and waiting. ‘Your army
awaits, Captain.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Williamson saluted. ‘Good luck in there.’
‘And to you,’ Edwards said grimly.
The two officers parted company and issued orders to
their respective sections.
‘Simple reconnaissance,’ Williamson said, ‘but if we can
get any civilians out of there alive and still themselves,
then… Consider it a bonus. But be mindful of how quickly
other towns have been subjugated to the will of the enemy,
let’s not hold our breaths. Let’s go!’
With a chorus of ‘yes sir!’ his section broke out into a jog
and Corporal McLean led the way towards the nearest field.
Passing through the web was simple enough, as long as
you didn’t let it touch you, but dealing with the Yeti was
less easy. Williamson left McLean and five riflemen behind,
to keep the Yeti at bay as he, Bishop and the eight others
continued on. They found themselves in a small quadrant
of houses called Meadow View, and as soon as they stepped
on the streets the eeriness of the web’s effect hit them.
Williamson didn’t expect that Bledoe itself was usually

10
heaving with people this time of the day, even under normal
circumstances, but to find the street simply bereft of any sign
of life struck a chord in him that made him shudder. He
pointed to the three houses closest, and silently signalled six
men to check the homes for any sign of civilian life. They
needed to move swiftly and quietly. Elsewhere in the village
were people already slave to the Intelligence, and he didn’t
wish to attract their attention just yet. He knew they were,
technically, now the enemy, but they were also civilians. Or
had been. And if not civilians, then possibly former
squaddies who been converted beyond their wills. None of
them were to blame for what the Intelligence was doing
through them.
He had heard rumour that a crack squad of paras were
heading into London to take the Intelligence out. He hoped
they succeeded before more lives were lost. This was not a
war. It was something much worse. The subjugation of free
will itself.
The soldiers returned from the houses. The homes were
as empty as the street. Williamson signalled his men to
continue on, and rifles at the ready they moved further into
Bledoe.
Bishop jogged at the front beside him. ‘Do you think it’s
true, sir?’
‘What’s that?’
‘That the enemy is alien.’
Williamson wasn’t sure what to think. All he knew was
what had happened, the orders he had been given. The
nature of the enemy was immaterial. What it was doing to
the UK was the important thing. ‘Seems crazy, eh, lad?’
‘A bit unreal, sir,’ Bishop said, with a sharp nod. ‘But,

11
I…’ He stopped abruptly and held up a hand. Williamson
and the section stopped, and pressed themselves in a crouch
against the nearest hedge. ‘What’s going on there?’
Williamson looked and frowned. The Black Mafia had
helped out at other towns and villages, saw what happened
when the enemy subjugated the people within. It was
simple, clean, with very little resistance. Once the web
touched you that was it. Resistance was totally useless. In
every instance he had seen, everybody had failed to resist the
effects of the web and the mind of the Great Intelligence.
Except for now.
A short distance away a struggle was taking place. Two
villagers were attempting to drag a young man out of the
post office. Web hung off his bare arms, clearly having had
no effect on his mind. He continued to struggle, his dark
hair lank with sweat. The two villagers, one who looked
much like him, albeit with short hair, continued to pull at
him, a look of disinterest on their faces. They were under
the Intelligence’s thrall. Three Yeti stood nearby, watching
impassively, their web guns held at the ready. Many people
stood there, barely acknowledging the struggle. Some were
no doubt villagers, while others were those co-opted by the
Intelligence from other places, among them a few British
Army soldiers, still armed, from other regiments.
Williamson felt a guilty sigh of relief at the lack of Royal
Green Jackets. He knew what was going to happen, and
didn’t relish the idea of firing on those who were once Black
Mafia.
He glanced back at his section and whispered orders.
Once they were all clear, he looked back at Bishop. ‘Celer et
Audax,’ he said.

12
 Bishop nodded and looked back at his fellow riflemen.
‘As the captain said, swift and bold.’
The Royal Green Jackets spread out and began their
attack. They were known for their precise movements. The
orders were simple. Secure the young man with as little
civilian casualties as possible. Fortunately the civilians were
not armed, but the Yeti and the once-British Army troops
turned and fired. The battle was over quickly, with loss of
life on both sides. But Bishop and another rifleman managed
to secure the young man, although the two civilians who
had been struggling with him had paid the price of
resistance. By time Williamson and his section had managed
to regroup, only five of them remained, while the Yeti may
have remained undamaged, their human troops were all
dead.
The young man they had rescued struggled, looking back
at the death.
‘Keep running!’ Bishop ordered, pushing him on.
‘You killed my brother!’ the young man shouted back,
trying to return to the gathering outside the post office.
Bishop struggled with him, and Williamson nodded to
another rifleman, a particularly big chap, square and
well-muscled. Harbottle joined Bishop and cracked his rifle
on the base of the young man’s skull. He lost consciousness
instantly. Rifleman Harbottle threw the man over his
shoulder.
‘Needs must,’ he rumbled, and Bishop nodded.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Williamson ordered, and the five
remaining Royal Green Jackets set off, no longer hampered
by a struggling civilian. ‘Bishop, Winterton, take care of our
fans.’

13
 Yeti and humans followed. Fortunately the Yeti were
slow lumbering beasts and would never be able to keep up,
but the people were different. Although under the control
of the Intelligence, they lost none of their natural speed.
Bishop and Winterton gunned several down. Eventually the
rest of the enemy’s people slowed to a halt, leaving the Black
Mafia to retreat with their prize.

‘How is Sally?’ Major Walter Douglas asked, once he and

Pemberton had finished the debriefing.
Douglas looked out of the window at the Yeti below.
They had stopped attempting to break into the high rise, and
were now waiting. Neither men had any cause to think the
Yeti had a limit to their power source. If needed, they would
outwait the men inside the building – men who did need
things. Douglas and Pemberton had sent several men to
make a recce of the flats, see what resources they had. Food,
facilities… Just how long could they hold up inside?
‘When I last saw her she wasn’t great, but she’s making
do.’ Pemberton looked around the room they were in, a
kid’s bedroom. He was glad his son had left childhood
behind a long time ago. That kind of fear was too much for
a soldier, a father, to carry in the current situation. ‘Too
many good people have died.’
Douglas glanced back at Pemberton. ‘Friends among
them.’
Pemberton felt the loss, too, but he understood that
casualties were a risk of every battle. Douglas knew that,
too, and so did Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart and Corporal
Sally Wright. Nothing had been officially announced yet,
but both Pemberton and Douglas knew that Wright and

14
Lethbridge-Stewart were planning to get engaged. Douglas
shared Wright’s loss more than he, after all it was Douglas
who had introduced Wright and Lethbridge-Stewart last
year, and it was Douglas’ wife who was an old friend of
Wright’s. Of course Pemberton felt the loss, after all he had
known Lethbridge-Stewart ever since North Korea, longer
than Douglas had known him, but Pemberton didn’t have
quite the same personal connection. Lethbridge-Stewart
would be honoured once this current battle was over, when
they all had time to lick their wounds. For now they had a
mission to achieve.
‘Did you believe the boy about this police box of his?’
Pemberton asked.
Douglas considered this. ‘He seemed to believe it.
Alistair would have believed him.’
Pemberton nodded at that. Lethbridge-Stewart was a
man who liked to take others at their word, until he had
evidence to the contrary. The complete opposite to
Pemberton. He needed proof first, or at least something
reasonable to assess, not science fiction ideas. ‘Did he tell
you which station the police box was in?’
‘Nope. We could spend a long time looking in the
Underground.’
‘It has to be relatively near Goodge Street, not too far
from where Staff Arnold found the two travellers.’
‘Yes, but that still means getting near Goodge Street
ourselves. Even if we can get past the Yeti down there,
London is swarming. We don’t have the time to go
searching.’
Pemberton didn’t like to see the look of defeat on a
soldier’s face, especially not one with men to command.

15
‘Then what do you suggest, Major?’ he snapped.
‘Plan B,’ Douglas said simply.
Pemberton did a double-take. ‘There’s a plan B?’
‘Kind of. Getting the police box was only part of the plan,
after all. A means to an end.’
Pemberton nodded, his mind catching up with Douglas.
‘Take out the Intelligence itself?’
‘Its… host, yes. After all, without a body it is just a mind
floating in the aether. Isn’t that what Miss Travers said?’
‘One still connected to the web and the Yeti, as I
understand it.’
Douglas returned his look to outside. ‘Yes, but you were
there before it claimed a host. Would you say it’s more
directed now than then?’
Pemberton considered. Two weeks ago, before claiming
its host, the Intelligence had cut off London, swarmed
through the Underground. Yes, the Yeti were a formidable
force, and yes as it turned out the Intelligence had some kind
of control over Staff Arnold, but its reach didn’t go much
further than that. They had been losing, and they needed a
major stroke of luck to win, but the Intelligence was, more
or less, contained. At least compared to now. Since it had
found a suitable host, to replace the one Pemberton himself
had killed (not that he had known any of that at the time),
it had moved so fast. Spreading out its influence and taking
control of anybody the web touched. Previously the web
had simply killed those it came into contact with, but now…
‘You’re right,’ Pemberton said, and joined Douglas by
the window. ‘We have to get past those Yeti down there,
and then find and kill Anne Travers.’
*

16
Bishop sat in the back of the truck as it trundled out of
Liskeard. He sat beside the man they had rescued from
Bledoe, who was only now just coming around. Captain
Williamson also sat in the back of the truck, along with
Rifleman Winterton. B Company had been ordered to
Strategic Command in Fugglestone by Colonel Parker –
evidently that man who now sat between Bishop and
Winterton was special to the Intelligence.
‘What’s your name?’ Williamson asked, once the man
had stopped struggling and realised he had nowhere to
escape to.
Bishop kept thinking of him as a man, since he didn’t
look that much younger than Bishop, but there was a
softness to his face, a look in his eyes, that suggested their
young guest wasn’t quite a man yet.
‘Owain,’ he said, and coughed. ‘Owain Vine. What do
you want from me?’
‘It’s not what we want that’s the problem, son, but what
the Intelligence wants with you.’
‘The what?’
‘Haven’t you been following the news? The evacuation
of London, the spread of the mist?’
Owain looked around him, his eyes lingering on the
secured flap that kept them out of sight. ‘Of course, but… I
thought it was a gas leak? Bears escaping from the zoo.’
‘Did those things in your village look like bears?’ Bishop
asked.
‘Those…’ Owain stopped. A deep sweat broke out on
his face. He made to move but both Bishop and Winterton
stopped him. ‘I have to get back! My family are…’
‘Either dead, or worse,’ Williamson said. He leaned

17
forward. ‘I’m sorry, son, but you’re staying with us. Nobody
has survived contact with that web before, until you. We
need to know why. Why you survived, and why the
Intelligence thought you important enough to fight for.’
‘What? I don’t understand. What do you mean? What
happened?’
For a moment Williamson just stared at Owain, then
glanced at Bishop. ‘Release him,’ he said. Once Owain was
free of the handcuffs, Williamson began. He explained all
they knew about the evacuation of London, and the
advancement of the web and the Intelligence’s influence.
Owain listened, his eyes constantly darting around the
inside of the truck. Bishop wasn’t sure if the boy believed
the captain or not, but he sat in silence, rubbing his wrists.
Williamson explained what had happened in Bledoe, the
same thing that happened in various places through
Southern England.
‘I remember,’ Owain said, after a few moments silence.
‘Those Yeti, they burst into my parents’ shop, spread the
whole place with web.’ He swallowed. ‘I was upstairs, trying
to get a signal on my tranny. Couldn’t listen to any more
news, you see, tried to find a football match or something.
Anything. Then I heard some kind of disturbance…’ He
offered Bishop a weak smile. ‘Thought it was my parents
arguing again, you know. But then everything went silent.
Like, dead silence. So I went downstairs. Wasn’t my first
thought, but other than climbing out of my bedroom
window there wasn’t much option.’
Bishop nodded his encouragement, and glanced at the
captain. Williamson listened to Owain’s tale, but his eyes
betrayed his thoughts. He remained suspicious, unable to

18
accept it was all as simple as Owain said.
‘I came into the downstairs hallway, and everything
seemed normal, but when I went into the shop… Cobwebs,
everywhere. It was thick, sticky, but I pushed through it
because I saw my mother by the shop door. She was on the
floor. I thought she was dead.’
‘But she was worse?’ Williamson asked. ‘No longer
herself?’
Owain nodded slowly. ‘Yes. And outside the shop… It
wasn’t just her. My dad, my brother. Everybody. They all
stood there like… I don’t know. It was them, but it wasn’t
them. And those Yeti things. They stood there with strange
guns in their claws.’
‘And then we arrived?’ Bishop asked.
‘Yes.’ Owain swallowed. ‘Why them? Why me? Bledoe
is nothing, a small village. Most of us barely go as far as
Liskeard. We thought we were safe,’ he finished, his voice
barely a whisper.
‘That’s what we want to know, son. We’re taking you to
Strategic Command, safest place for you. You’ll need to
think on it, because my superiors will want answers,’
Williamson said, his face severe. ‘Why doesn’t the web
affect you?’
Bishop was a man who trusted his instincts, and he
would lay money on Owain having no answers. The boy
was scared, out of his depth. He knew less than they did.
Unfortunately, Bishop doubted the generals would be as
willing to accept that as he.
Such things soon became academic with the sounds of
explosions outside. The truck rocked, bounced and came to
a violent stop. Williamson and Winterton climbed to their

19
feet, readying their rifles. The moved over to the flap.
‘Keep him safe,’ Williamson said, then flung the flap
open.
Bishop lifted his own rifle and climbed to his feet. He
looked down at Owain. ‘I don’t suppose you know how to
use a gun?’
Owain shook his head. ‘Not really. Been shooting with
my dad, but…’
Bishop looked to the open flap and the sound of battle
beyond. ‘That will have to do.’ He reached into the ammo
crate and removed a rifle. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said.
He jumped out of the truck, landing smartly, his rifle
raised and ready. Owain disembarked with less finesse, but
nonetheless he soon had his own rifle ready. Bishop
signalled him to stay close to the truck, before looking
around the corner. B Company was almost gone. The
enemy had arrived in cars and trucks, armed and with a
single mind guiding them. The advantage was theirs. Bishop
watched as Captain Williamson dropped, several bullets
tearing through him. Bishop ducked back behind the truck.
‘Let’s try and get into the verge over there, perhaps if we
keep low enough we can lose them in the trees.’
Bishop put more confidence in his voice than he felt.
What odds did he, just a rifleman, have when more
experienced men had already fallen? He signalled Owain to
follow and slowly moved to the other side of the truck. He
barely stepped a foot beyond the truck when a roar bellowed
out to the left of him.
He span on his heel and fired his rifle. The bullets
bounced uselessly off the Yeti.
‘Owain,’ he yelled. ‘Run!’

20
 The Yeti raised its web gun and fired.

He was on the way. The Intelligence waited. The plan had

changed so much since Tibet. It had to. New elements
continued to appear. It had hoped to spread itself once more
throughout time and space, more so than it ever had before,
but that avenue had been closed with the death of its enemy.
His time machine, his knowledge of how to operate it, all
had gone with him. The Great Intelligence could have left
Earth once more, drifted through space, look for other
minds to bring unto its own, but that would take time. So,
for now, it remained on Earth, secured in the mind of Anne
Margaret Travers. For a human of her age she was smart,
her mind open more than most. She had experienced much
in her thirty years, seen a lot. A truly inventive and intuitive
mind. The Great Intelligence had enjoyed subsuming her
into itself.
And with her came the memory of her father. The
Intelligence had encountered Edward Lyndon Travers in
1935, and it was his greed that had proved to be a lynchpin
of the Intelligence’s plan. Bringing a Yeti back to England,
and the control sphere. All the Intelligence had needed was
that one – it was enough for it to anchor its presence in
London, and from there spread its web. Since then it had
subsumed so many minds, and with those minds came
thoughts, experiences, memories…
Out there, all across the world were people who had
known its enemy. Old friends, companions… The secretary,
the sailor. Neither had been of any use. The lecturer and the
professor in Cambridge… It had hoped that they would
know something, and although they carried much it was

21
soon clear they had no real understanding of the Ship, as
their minds called it. But out there, one of those companions
had to know the secrets of its enemy’s time machine. And
if not them, then others. Earth was a wasteland of leftovers
from his adventures.
That was only a part of its plan, for another element had
presented itself. It had learned of Owain Peter Vine, the
human who would one day be reincarnated into
Mahasamatman, the one who would ascend into pure
consciousness and become the Intelligence itself. With
Owain Peter Vine it would be whole, and its reach would
know no bounds. But the humans, who still attempted to
resist, had taken him. Humans. So imperfect, despite their
potential. Always paying the price for the imperfection.
The Intelligence closed its human eyes, shutting out the
distractions of life, and saw through the eyes of the human
who had once been William Daniel Michael Bishop, son of
Anthony and Susan, brother to Daniel, Michelle and
Samantha. So many lives connected, full of meaningless
noise. Now William Daniel Michael Bishop was
enlightened, part of the pure consciousness that was the
Intelligence. Content, happy, and completely at peace with
the truth of the universe. He sat in the car next to Owain
Peter Vine, a weapon carefully trained on him. Of course,
there was no question of Owain Peter Vine being killed, but
if he resisted then he would be shot. Maimed, but not killed.
The Intelligence could heal any wound. Matter was
ultimately malleable by the enlightenment that came with
understanding the universal truth. The car they were in drew
ever closer to London.
Soon he would be here. Soon, the Intelligence would be

22
whole. Its past, present and future all combined in the now.
The once and forever.
‘Who are you?’
The Intelligence opened its eyes. There was another
nearby. A mind not part of itself. Something different, vast,
infinite…
‘Take form and show yourself.’
A blue aura and a shape came into being. Like the current
form of the Intelligence, this one was also female. Tall, long
blonde hair, the silk dress the same sapphire blue as her eyes.
She stood and regarded the body of Anne Margaret Travers,
shorter, dark hair, dressed in more functional clothes. The
Intelligence cared little for aesthetics. It had been without
form for so long, it only now kept hold of Anne Margaret
Travers because it was useful for corporeal interaction.
Humans desired contact with each other, even humans now
ascended to pure consciousness.
‘You exist,’ the woman said. ‘At all points. What are
you?’
The Intelligence did not understand the question. It knew
the presence inside the female form, it had touched it briefly
in space before it had dragged it to Earth. But the
Intelligence had never suspected…
‘Not just a machine,’ the Intelligence said, stepping closer
to the woman. ‘What do you call yourself?’
‘I have never needed a name. I have been described in
many ways. Ship, Tessa, sexy…’
‘But you have no name for yourself?’
‘No. But I like Tessa.’
The Intelligence smiled. It had been so long since
physical expressions were necessary, but the smile was

23
instinctive. A muscle memory almost. ‘The last name given
to me was Great Intelligence. It is the one I like the best.’
‘But you are more.’ Tessa reached out, but the
Intelligence stepped back. ‘No, don’t pull away. Let me see.’
‘What is there to see? I am the Great Intelligence. Soon
I will cover this globe, and then I will spread throughout
time and space. And you will help me.’
Tessa smiled and shook her head sadly. ‘I will not.’
‘Yes, you will.’
Behind her, a Yeti fired its web gun.
The web covered Tessa, and the Intelligence felt its mind
touch hers. And it was vast. An entity as infinite as time
itself. This was it, the secrets the Intelligence needed.
But then something happened, something the
Intelligence did not expect. Tessa laughed.
‘You exist everywhere,’ she said, and the Intelligence
saw.
Tibet 1917, the Great Old Ones try to achieve corporeality…
A distorted version of London at the turn of the 21st Century,
and a twisted version of Anne Margaret Travers, the Hierophant
Anastasia, and there the insane entity Yog-Sothoth…
In the centre of New World University, in 1995, the Great
Intelligence spreads out a new web…
And centuries in the future, Mahasamatman transcends…
The Great Intelligence saw it all and finally understood.
So many realities, and in all of them it existed.
‘You do not know yourself,’ the voice of Tessa said. ‘You
think you know your root, the boy that died in 1948, that
was reincarnated in Owain Vine. But that is just an imprint
of what you are. You exist everywhere, in all realities. Each
is an imprint of the multi-dimensional being. You have no

24
beginning, no end. It bleeds through the realities, taking
form… The Great Old Ones, Yog-Sothoth,
Mahasamatman, James Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart… All
become known as the Great Intelligence. All end up in Tibet
and possess Padmasambhava. He is the nexus, the one who
brings you into all realities.’
‘Join with me. Help me expand further. You are infinite.’
Tessa smiled. ‘I am. But you are not. Only the root of
you is. But here, on Earth, you have done too much damage.
More than you should. This reality must be allowed to be
what it is, but the timeline has been changed. I must repair
it.’
‘How did it change?’
‘Chance. The only thing that really changes reality. But
your web, it prevents me from fixing things. From going
back.’
The Intelligence knew Tessa spoke true. When she was
the machine she had tried to go back, but the Intelligence
had stopped her even though it had not tried. The pure
consciousness that brought the humans together was like a
net, trapping her.
‘Then I cannot win,’ the Intelligence said. ‘As long as I
exist on Earth you cannot effect temporal change, and I
cannot use you to spread throughout time and space.’
A stalemate.
‘No,’ Tessa said simply. ‘Time must run true. You will
be defeated, but it will only be a set-back. One day you will
try again, and I will not be there. We will not cancel each
other out. But in this altered time…’
‘I must be cast out, or I will never spread throughout
time.’

25
 The Intelligence drew itself out of Anne Margaret
Travers, out of the neural net that was its web, from every
mind in Southern England. Without form, the Intelligence
turned its mind to the Ship. She smiled at it.
And cast the Intelligence into the void for all eternity.

Colonel Pemberton looked around the combined soldiers

of 1 PARA and the Prince’s Own, and nodded at Major
Douglas. Most of them wouldn’t make it; the number of
Yeti outside had grown. The odds were not in their favour.
But the mission was the mission, and somehow the Great
Intelligence needed to be stopped.
‘OK, lads, let’s show them what…’
His voice trailed to nothing as he noticed something very
strange about the men. None of them moved, not a twitch,
not a blink. It was like they were all frozen.
‘Douglas, can you hear me?’
Pemberton waved his hand before Douglas’ face, but
nothing.
‘We need to fix this,’ said a gentle voice behind him.
Pemberton turned to find a woman standing there. ‘What
the devil? Who are you? How did you…?’ He looked
around. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
‘You can call me Tessa, and this… This is all wrong.
None of this should have happened. You should have died
saving Professor Travers.’
‘What? I’ve never even met Travers. Didn’t get the
chance.’
‘I know. But you were supposed to be there, leading the
team who went to get him, not Corporal Lane.’
‘This is nonsense. What’s happened to these men?’

26
 ‘They are frozen. In time.’ Tessa waved around her.
‘Look outside. All of time on this planet has been stopped.’
Pemberton eyed her for a moment, then crossed the room
and peered outside. Many floors below nothing moved. The
Yeti remained as they were, but they were known for
standing still. It meant nothing. He was about to tell Tessa
exactly that when his eyes noticed something… He
swallowed. Newspaper, blown in the wind, hung in the air
unmoving. Like time was standing still.
‘How?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
He turned back to Tessa. ‘Then explain,’ he said.
‘Very well. Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart was not meant
to die in Tooting Bec. If he hadn’t died, you would have led
the team to rescue Professor Travers, knowing that should
anything go wrong Lethbridge-Stewart could take
command. His death changed that. You stayed behind, you
encountered a man in the Underground… My thief. And
you killed him.’
Pemberton remembered. ‘He was just a civilian,
someone who shouldn’t have been there.’
Tessa shook her head sadly. ‘No. He was the only man
who could have stopped this. He was supposed to meet
Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart, inspire him… Between them
they would save more lives than can be counted. Lethbridge-
Stewart and his progeny are destined to protect this planet
right until the end.’
‘And what of me? Of my family?’ It was a selfish
question, but what did she expect? She had told him he was
supposed to die.
‘You inspired Lethbridge-Stewart when he was only a

27
conscripted soldier, it was you who set him on this path.
Your role in history is secured.’
Was that enough? Pemberton had served his country all
his life, inspired many young soldiers on to great things. He
remembered North Korea, remembered the first time he had
laid eyes on the young Private Lethbridge-Stewart. The
young man had been angry at being called up, blamed the
military for the death of his father. It had taken first-hand
experience, and a lot of talking, to convince Lethbridge-
Stewart that his father had died with honour, protecting his
country and his family. Pemberton smiled at the memory,
receiving the telegram that informed him of Lethbridge-
Stewart’s enrolment in Sandhurst.
‘You said this was not supposed to happen. How many
lives will be saved?’
‘More than you can count. This is only the beginning,
the Intelligence will be defeated two weeks ago, but it will
return, to be killed finally by Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart in
a little village called Bledoe.’
‘The beginning…’ Pemberton did his best to take it all
in, but it was all so absurd. He looked around at the frozen
men. Proof. ‘Where does it end?’
‘Five billion years in the future, in the year
5.5/Apple/26, Ezekiel Spens Lethebridge-Stuart will be the
President of the National Trust, and his wife Dorcas
Lethebridge-Stuart will be one of the founders of New Earth.’
‘It’s all about Lethbridge-Stewart,’ Pemberton said
bitterly.
‘Dorcas’ maiden name was Pemburton.’
‘What? You mean…?’
Tessa smiled. ‘Yes, your family continues and always

28
remains close to Lethbridge-Stewart. Eventually their
destinies entwine.’
Pemberton wanted to believe it. He didn’t doubt that
Lethbridge-Stewart would have gone on to great things, had
he not been killed in Tooting Bec, but… Was this a chance
to make that happen? And his own family. They would go
on.
Colonel Spencer Pemberton took a deep breath. ‘What
must I do?’

It was dark, and Pemberton stood in the garden next to

Tessa. They were in Tooting Bec and a couple of gardens
along an altercation was about to take place. Pemberton
prided himself on being a man willing to adjust his way of
thinking once presented with truth. And here it was.
His old friend, Colonel Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart,
stood in that garden. He had a boy in his arm, while he
aimed his pistol at the Yeti as it lumbered towards them.
Pemberton knew what was about to happen, but he had
never known why, until Tessa had explained it. A simple
fault in the firing mechanism of Lethbridge-Stewart’s old
revolver.
‘This is for the future,’ Spencer Pemberton said, and
raised his own gun. He aimed it carefully, so it would seem
like the bullet came from Lethbridge-Stewart. Tessa said
‘now’ and both he Lethbridge-Stewart fired. The Yeti
staggered back. It didn’t fall, but it was distracted long
enough for Lethbridge-Stewart to beat a hasty retreat to the
truck that was waiting outside the house, with
reinforcements, and the mother of the boy in Lethbridge-
Stewart’s arms.

29
 Pemberton lowered his arm and looked to Tessa. He
could feel it. It was hard to describe, but he was overcome
with a sense of peace, a shifting in himself that told him he
had made a difference to the world. For the first time in his
life, he had absolutely no doubt that he had achieved his
life’s purpose. His destiny.
‘Your legacies are secure,’ Tessa said, and a strange noise
filled the air. A weird wheezing sound, rising and falling…
He could feel it around him, time shifting, everything he’d
experienced since learning of Lethbridge-Stewart’s death
changing, being erased. The garden faded away around
them until there was nothing.

It was late March by the time Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart

was able to finally free himself up enough to pay her a visit.
The official notification had, of course, been sent out, but
he owed it to the family to see them.
The door opened and she stood there, worn and sad.
Behind her stood her son, David. Tall like his dad, and now
he was in his late twenties, looking a lot like the man
Lethbridge-Stewart had first met in North Korea.
Lethbridge-Stewart wished it had been him who had died
in London, but he had seen enough in Bledoe to know that
everything happened for a reason. And he had to believe
that Spencer Pemberton’s death served a purpose.
‘Alistair,’ Joan Pemberton said, ‘it’s good of you to come.’
‘It’s the least I can do,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, ‘after all
Old Spence did for me.’

The End

30
31