Doctor Who BBCN17 - Sick Building

by Doctor Who

  ‘Put him down in the cellars, deep under Dreamhome,’ Tiermann said at last.

  Martha could have sworn she saw the robots shiver at these words.

  But could robots really shiver with fear? ‘The very bottom,’ Tiermann added, as the robots started dragging the Doctor towards the elevator doors. ‘Level Minus Thirty-Nine.’

  41

  Martha felt Solin jerk in surprise at this. ‘What’s Level Minus Thirty-Nine?’ she asked.

  ‘None of us go there,’ Solin said. ‘It’s where we put old stuff. Useless stuff. Stuff we’ll never need again.’

  ‘Oh great!’ cried the Doctor, as the elevator pinged and the doors whooshed open. ‘I heard that! So, what? You’re going to shove me in your old lumber room? Your basement dump? Your junk room at the centre of the world? And then you’re going to conveniently forget about me, eh?’

  The robots dragged him into the small lift.

  ‘Doctor!’ Martha cried.

  ‘Don’t,’ Solin told her. ‘At least he’s still alive.’

  ‘What?’ Martha gasped.

  ‘We’ve got other things to concentrate on, Doctor,’ said Tiermann.

  ‘We need to plan our departure. We don’t need to hear any more from you, thank you. Some posturing know-it-all. . . ’

  ‘Martha!’ The Doctor yelled, as the doors started to close. ‘I’ll –’

  And with that, the doors closed on him.

  The lift plummeted down the shaft. They could feel the vibration of it through the living room floor as it whizzed down thirty-nine levels.

  Martha hated to imagine the place they were taking him.

  She whirled round to face Tiermann: ‘You’ve got it so wrong about the Doctor. And you’re going to regret this.’

  Tiermann tutted at her. ‘I shouldn’t think so, my dear. And you should be glad that I’m not banishing you down there with him. You are his friend. You are not to be trusted, either.’

  Martha sensed that Amanda was behind her. She touched the girl’s arm in support as Martha faced up to Tiermann’s crazy, vengeful leer.

  ‘This house will watch you,’ Tiermann promised. ‘If you lift a finger to help your friend, the Dreamhome will know. It will tell me! And I’ll have you sent away, too! Deep, deep, deep under Dreamhome!’

  And then Tiermann stormed off back to bed. With an anguished glance at Martha, Amanda scurried after him.

  Martha was left looking at Solin, who seemed quite shaken, himself.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  42

  ‘He’s cracking up,’ Solin said hollowly. ‘I told you he would. It’s the pressure. He’s really losing it.’

  The two of them were sitting in the kitchen now that Solin’s parents had vanished to their rooms again. The kitchen was an incredible, spacious area filled with devices Martha couldn’t even begin to guess the purpose of. There was a corner with soft cushions and settees, and here she sat with Solin in the very early hours. Solin had one of the kitchen robots dial up some hot chocolate as a peace offering.

  It was taking Martha some time to cool down. ‘You don’t understand. It isn’t right. You can’t just lock the Doctor up. . . !’

  Solin kept his voice soft and calm. He said, ‘Just let my father compose himself, Martha. You see, he reacts like this sometimes. It is possible that he might see things differently in the morning. . . ’ Solin noticed that Martha wasn’t drinking her hot chocolate. He realised why, when he saw her eyeing the kitchen robots warily.

  ‘You don’t have to be scared of them, you know.’

  She looked at him narrowly. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘The Servo-furnishings.’

  ‘They were pretty rough with the Doctor. The way they had a hold of him. . . ’

  ‘They are our servants. They do as we tell them. They can’t hurt us.’

  Martha pulled a face like she wasn’t convinced. She sighed deeply.

  She wasn’t convinced by any of it any more. The welcome they had received here at the Dreamhome. All the polite manners from Tiermann and his wife. It all just disguised the rottenness underneath.

  Anyone who could treat the Doctor like a criminal; like a saboteur and a thief in the night. . . well, Martha didn’t think much of them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Martha,’ Solin said, leaning forward earnestly. ‘I know my father is wrong about your Doctor.’

  This mollified her somewhat. She sipped her chocolate. It was deliciously thick and, even though it had come from a machine in the wall, not at all synthetic-tasting.

  ‘I’m sure we can sort this all out,’ Solin told her.

  43

  Martha nodded. At least one thing had come good out of tonight’s fracas. She and Solin were on decent terms again. ‘I need to get back to bed,’ she said.

  Martha made sure that the house was quiet again before she got out of bed.

  It was the dark before dawn and she was determined to use these last few hours of sleep-time to find the Doctor. She slipped nimbly out of her room and into the corridors that took her back to the large drawing room. She moved stealthily between deep pockets of cool shadow, and pale squares of fake moonlight. She dodged past Servo-furnishings and prayed none would burst into life at her approach and demand to know what she was doing. But the robots she passed near kept still and quiet. She wasn’t doing any harm. She wasn’t touching anything vital. They were letting her be, for now, and Martha was grateful.

  Carefully, calmly, she made her way through the wide corridors of the house. Don’t let anyone wake and find me, she thought. Not even Solin. He’d be disappointed in her, she knew, after promising to help.

  Here she was, going it alone.

  But she had to try, didn’t she? The Doctor and Martha: they looked out for each other. They were responsible for each other. Smith and Jones. She couldn’t rest easy with him locked up somewhere deep, deep, deep underground.

  Here were the doors to the lifts. Here, the elevator had swallowed the Doctor up, in front of her shocked eyes. He had been taken down to. . . what was it? Level Minus Thirty-Nine?

  So many storeys down below the ground. And only one level above.

  It was a weird arrangement. Solin had said something about protection, but was that even necessary, what with a huge force shield stretching over the place? He had also said something about the great generators that created power to keep the Dreamhome running.

  Martha supposed that must make sense. But she couldn’t shake the image of their strange, sophisticated house being like a giant tooth, with its root reaching deep underground. And that’s where the Doc-44

  tor was now. Right at the base of the root, where the rot sets in.

  She went straight to the control panel and studied it briefly. The symbols were a little unusual, but the principle was the same as any lifts she’d seen at home. Lifts were lifts, weren’t they? She jabbed the button at the bottom that read Minus Thirty-Nine.

  Nothing happened.

  There was no swooshing surge of power, or smooth hum of technology coming to do her bidding. Neither were there alarms and crashing klaxons going off, alerting her hosts to her perfidy. There was just silence. She hit Minus Thirty-Nine again and again in frustration. Still nothing, and Martha sobbed with quiet fury.

  She knew the house was watching her. Its many devices were monitoring her. Denying her access. Observing her every reaction. She swore.

  And then she was aware of a presence at her back. It had rolled up to her silently. She swung around.

  Stirpeek’s lights were glimmering with what seemed like faint amusement. ‘It would be better, miss, if you returned to bed. The lift isn’t going to work for you. You cannot rescue your friend.’

  Martha knew when she was beaten. She turned and walked back to her room. ‘You don’t have to dog me all the way there,’ she told the robot at her heels.

  ‘Alas, miss. I rather think I do.’

  Martha gave in and slammed her bedroom door in his face. She sat down on her bed. There w
as nothing she could do for the Doctor just now. She glanced at the clock on the wall, displaying local time.

  Less than a day until the Craw hit home.

  Martha woke to glaring sunlight, surprised that she had slept at all.

  She bathed in the talking tub (which only irritated her today) and dressed quickly in her own, old clothes, which had been laundered and pressed beautifully without her even noticing.

  She barely even noticed now. She hurried out of her room and swatted away the robots that crowded her, keen to do her bidding.

  ‘Breakfast, miss? Coffee?’

  45

  Martha found that the Tiermann family had been up for a while, and they had swung straight into action. At last the reality of the situation seemed to have hit them and they, along with their Staff, were a blur of activity, passing back and forth. They were packing up everything essential, and checking on the supplies they would need for their imminent journey.

  They all ignored Martha, except for Solin, of course, who stopped to have a tiny cup of sharp, hot coffee with her. They sat in the brilliant sunlight of the conservatory beyond the kitchen area. From here they could see the lawns spreading eastwards and the tennis courts and pool. The bristling, frozen trees beyond the force shield could also be seen.

  Solin kept glancing at the view outside. ‘Look. The shields are flickering in and out of existence.’

  Martha squinted into the sun. ‘I think I see. . . ’

  ‘Father says we haven’t time to mend it all properly.’ Solin sounded almost shocked. ‘We just have to hope. . . nothing too bad gets in before it’s time for us to go.’

  Martha raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, we went stomping through the woods yesterday. Nothing too bad happened to us, did it? Apart from the sabre-tooth.’

  Solin frowned and flicked his dark hair away from his face. ‘The animals out there know we have food, shelter, warmth, here. They’ve looked at us jealously for years. Now they can get in. When they realise the shields are as good as gone. . . ’

  Martha stared at the deep, wintry green of the forest again. Perhaps Solin had a point.

  They were joined in the kitchen area then by Amanda. Solin’s mother was still in her dressing gown. She was pale and upset, and barely noticed the two young people sitting there. A short, fussy robot was handing her pills, one after another to calm her down. Amanda slugged them back and drank a glass of water and sobbed.

  ‘Mum?’ Solin went to her, concerned.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘My nerves, you know.’ She eyed Martha warily. ‘Good morning.’ She waved her tablet robot away.

  46

  ‘Is Dad OK, Mum?’ Solin asked her. ‘Last night, he was acting so. . . ’

  ‘Your father has a lot to consider, Solin. He has the safety of all of us on his shoulders. Naturally, his patience is worn thin by. . . meddling and foolishness.’

  Martha held her breath. She wasn’t about to get into another argument.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Solin asked his mother. ‘Packing the ship and preparing to go. . . there must be so much to get ready.’

  ‘The Staff have it in hand, mostly,’ Amanda said. ‘But you must choose which of your own things you wish to take, Solin. Your father has outlined very strict weight guidelines for our personal items. . . ’

  ‘I see,’ said Solin. ‘And will Martha count, when it comes time to leave? Has father adjusted his calculations to include Martha and the Doctor?’

  His mother turned away. ‘You must talk to your father. . . when he is less busy,’ she said. ‘I can’t answer for him. But beware, Solin. You weren’t punished for stepping outside the boundaries of Dreamhome yesterday. Your father has been very lenient with you. Don’t push him any further. Don’t go plaguing him with silly questions.’

  Martha pulled a face. Cheers, she thought. Silly questions, indeed.

  It was starting to sound like the Tiermanns were prepared to leave her and the Doctor stranded here. Well, she didn’t want to get in their old ship anyway. She’d settle for the TARDIS, thank you.

  Now Amanda was crying openly. Her head was in her hands and she was shaking. She was right on the brink of hysteria. Up came one of the kitchen robots with a roll of kitchen paper, but Solin pushed it back, and put an arm around his mum. He didn’t say anything, just waited until she started talking again.

  ‘Your father. . . I would follow him to the ends of the universe. I would trust him with anything, Solin. For many years we have trusted him with our lives. Keeping us here in this hostile land.’

  ‘I know that, Mum,’ Solin said. ‘And we have been safe here. Life has been good here.’

  ‘Ernest tamed this wilderness. . . for us. I can hardly imagine living anywhere else. But now we have to leave. I no longer feel safe.’ Her 47

  voice broke again. ‘I feel like something terrible will happen. . . ’

  Is that it? Martha wondered. She’s just homesick in advance? She would rather stay here than return to the rest of the universe? Or was there something more to this? Perhaps Amanda felt the same as Solin.

  Perhaps she was just as perturbed by her husband’s behaviour. Imagine feeling dependent on him, Martha thought. She sighed and, before she knew it, she said: ‘The Doctor would help, if he hadn’t been shoved in the cellar.’

  ‘We don’t need your Doctor,’ Amanda snapped at her, bitterly.

  ‘Ernest will save us. He always knows what is appropriate action.’

  This troubled Martha. Amanda’s implicit faith in her husband’s abilities seemed a very brittle thing. Like it was about to shatter and break

  – just like the force shields apparently had.

  ‘But what if he lets us down? What if we’re stuck here?’ Solin said.

  His mother rallied. ‘Darling, of course he won’t let us down. He always knows how to act, in every circumstance. Look! Look out there! Look what he’s doing!’ She moved towards a window which gave a view of the lawn. Puzzled, Solin and Martha followed. What was Amanda going to show them?

  Ernest Tiermann was indeed working busily. He had a can of petrol and was sloshing it onto the grass, and onto a makeshift barrier of old wood he had laid on the lawns. Several of the household robots were following along behind him and they were doing the same thing, perhaps more methodically.

  Solin jerked to his feet. ‘What does he think he’s. . . ?’

  ‘Sssh,’ Amanda said. ‘Trust your father. He is a genius.’

  Solin turned to Martha. ‘What’s he doing?’

  Tiermann’s activities were a good distance from the main buildings of Dreamhome. They were close to the edge of the malfunctioning shields. ‘He’s going to set light to it,’ Martha realised. ‘He’s making a ring of fire around the place.’

  ‘What?’ Solin laughed. ‘But. . . how primitive! How unnecessary!

  Surely the Staff could protect us from any of the creatures beyond. . . ’

  He looked shocked. ‘Mother. . . ?’

  48

  But Amanda Tiermann had slipped away, quietly, in the direction of her quarters, to resume her packing.

  This wasn’t looking good, Martha decided. Outside, Ernest stood back to admire the trail of oil he had described all the way around the Dreamhome. It was complete. He nodded with satisfaction and waved the robots back. Then he lit a match and tossed it onto the grass.

  A vast curtain of flame rose up to protect them. Searing, incandescent, and so incredibly noisy, Martha and Solin could hear it even inside the kitchen. ‘Oh my god. . . ’ Martha whispered, feeling trapped.

  Thick, noxious fumes came rolling across the lawn. Now she had real panic rising up in her. Tiermann, she saw, was properly mad. And she felt sure that he would be the death of them all.

  Martha turned to Solin and saw that his attention was on something else. The tablet robot was at his side, and was attempting to feed him the nerve pills, just as it had to Amanda. Solin was trying to wave him aside. ‘You must take your pills,’ the robot
insisted. Its sharp little fingers tried to push their way into Solin’s face. ‘Take your pills. Take your pills and you will feel better.’ Solin spluttered and grasped hold of the robot’s spindly a rms. He knocked the pills and the bottle out of its grasp. ‘Behave yourself, Master Tiermann,’ the tablet robot said.

  It wouldn’t stop. ‘It’s gone haywire,’ Solin told Martha, panic in his voice. He backed away, and the robot followed. Now its hands were empty, but it hardly noticed. Those skinny fingers were twitching and still reaching for Solin.

  ‘Let’s get out of the kitchen,’ Martha said. The robot, attracted by her voice, whirled on its castors and stared at her.

  ‘You must have your tablets, miss. You must calm your nerves.’

  ‘It’s the same as the shields,’ Solin said. ‘The Craw, it must be.

  Making everything go wrong.’ He looked really scared now, as he and Martha backed steadily away. ‘Don’t you realise? What it’ll be like if all the robots. . . ’ His eyes boggled at the thought. ‘Oh my god.’

  ‘Run!’ Martha took hold of him and they shot across the kitchen, away from the robot’s grasp. They ran down the hallway and the next corridor after that, not even daring to check that the thing was 49

  keeping up after them. But it wasn’t. It had given up and stayed in the kitchen.

  When they reached the drawing room, Martha stopped and swung round to face Solin. ‘Take me to the Doctor,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t, Martha. I would help you if I could. But. . . ’ He even stared at the floor ominously, as if imagining what lay beneath their feet.

  ‘What’s down there? Why has your father put him there?’

  ‘There’s no danger. It’s just storage space. Old stuff. . . stuff that doesn’t work any more, that’s what gets shoved down there.’

  ‘And when you leave? Will he leave the Doctor there?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘The Doctor was only going for the TARDIS, you know. We need it so that we can get away, too. Is that fair, Solin? We came to help you, in all good faith. And your father ends up putting us in danger.’