Doctor Who and the Scales of Injustice | Page 2

due to retire from here in May next year and I expect you'll be incommunicado for the
next year or two. I'll keep a slice of cake for each of you.
Make the most of this opportunity. It may look a little Orwellian, but it won't be. Enjoy,
my dears, enjoy!
Stay Hip and Cool.
Andrew


Chapter One
'Jesus,' coughed Grant Traynor into the darkness. The J tunnel reeked of chloroform,
condensation and antiseptic, plus a blend of amyls nitrite and nitrate, and urine. All

combined together in a nauseous cocktail that represented something so horrible that he
couldn't believe he was involved in it.
Why was he there? How could he have sunk so low that he had ever accepted all this?
Over the last ten years or so Traynor had not only accepted but even taken part in events
so abhorrent it had taken him until now to do something about it. At the time, it had just
been part of the job. Now, he couldn't understand how he had ever participated in the
operations without vomiting, or screaming, or raising a finger in protest.
Well, that didn't matter, now that he'd finally realized what had to be done. He had
decided to blow it all wide open, blow it totally apart. 'Once I'm finished,' he grunted, as
he tripped over another lump in the tunnel floor, 'they'll never be able to show their faces
in public again.'
The papers. All he needed to do was to reach a telephone and tell the papers about the
place. In three hours, he guessed, they would be there, swarming all over the laboratories,
offices and, best of all, the cavern.
The cavern. That was the place he really wanted to see shut down. That was where all the
horrors took place. Where some of the most evil acts ever had been performed, allegedly
in the name of science, research and history.
'Yeah, right. Well, they'll be exposed soon. They'll -'
There was a noise in the dark. Where was it coming from? Behind him? In front? He had
to strain to listen the tiny amount of light in the tunnel was barely enough to enable him
to see where he was treading, let alone yards ahead or behind. A snuffling sound, like an
animal. Like a pig snorting out truffles. It sounded like the...
'Jesus, no! Not down here!' Grant moved a bit faster.
'They know I've gone. They've sent the Stalker down here! After me!'
The snuffling noise was nearer, and this time he could hear the growl too. A deep,
slightly tortured growl that would send even the most ferocious Rottweiler scurrying for
safety. And Traynor had helped to make it sound that way; he knew its limitations. Or
rather, he knew that it didn't have any.
He must have got a good start on it. No matter how fast it could run, he reasoned, he had
to be way ahead. But it could see far better than Grant Traynor could - and it could see in
the dark. It could track via scents; everything from the strongest garlic to the mildest
sweat. He'd been responsible for introducing that particular augmentation, and he knew
how effective it had been. Surely it had to know he was there. Surely -
But maybe not. Traynor stopped for a second and listened. Perhaps they were bluffing,
hoping that hearing it in the tunnel with him would scare him, make him reconsider. To
go back to them. Fat chance.

It was nearer now. That growl was getting louder. Much louder. Which meant it was
definitely closing the gap between them. But how far behind was it, and did he have
enough of a lead? He quickened his pace through the darkness, ignoring the intermittent
pain when his outstretched hands cracked against the unseen stone walls.
'That's right, Traynor,' called a voice further back in the dark.
'We've sent the Stalker after you. Are you close by?'
Traynor stopped and pressed himself against the tunnel wall, as if the dark would protect
him from the Stalker. They were murderers, all of them. What if someone else should
come down here? Innocently? Mind you, Traynor considered, then he would have a
hostage. They would never let the Stalker get an innocent.
Hell, Traynor was the innocent. He wasn't doing anything wrong. They were the ones
doing something wrong.
'Traynor, come back to us.'
Stuff it, you lisping creep. As if I'd trust you. Maybe, Traynor thought, he should tell his
pursuer what he thought of him and his bloody henchmen back in the Vault. Maybe -
what was he thinking of? That would only serve to let the Stalker know where he was
hiding.
It was definitely closer. But Traynor was positive that he