Doctor Who

by Jenny T. Colgan

  Mickey’s attempts to decode the alien language had come to nothing. ‘I can’t even translate French,’ said Mickey sadly. ‘Christmas morning. Everyone’ll be waking up. Opening their presents. No idea what’s coming.’

  ‘Even his voice changed,’ said Rose, following a different line of thought.

  Mickey looked at her. ‘Yeah, that’s our biggest problem right now.’

  ‘How can he change his accent, though?’

  ‘Well, you pick up accents, don’t you? Depending who you’re with. Depending who you’re close to.’

  His voice was quiet.

  ‘Maybe he got it off you.’

  Rose was shaking her head. ‘But the Doctor wouldn’t do this. The old Doctor. The proper Doctor. He’d wake up. He’d save us.’

  She moved in to Mickey and laid her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, I like that,’ said Mickey. ‘He’s let you down, so I get all the hugs.’

  Nothing marked Mickey so well in the war—his own war, the only one he was never, ever going to win—as the manner in which he took his defeats.

  ‘You really love him, don’t you?’ he said. But he stood strong and he took the sobbing, and the hugging, until morning came.

  11

  Walking in the Air

  UNIT was never fully quiet; people were still working and on duty, efficient and chilly as the atmosphere. Major Blake was sitting alone, as Harriet approached him. She glanced around, but there was nobody close.

  ‘I don’t suppose we’ve had a Code Nine?’ she murmured. ‘No sign of the Doctor?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said Blake. ‘You’ve met him, haven’t you? I’ve only seen the classified files. More like the stuff of legend.’

  ‘He is that.’ She sighed. ‘Failing him, what about Torchwood?’

  Blake stuttered. ‘Well. I-I don’t really think…’

  ‘I know I’m not supposed to know about it, I realise that. But if ever we needed Torchwood, it’s now…’

  ‘Nothing’s been tested!’

  ‘Then I suggest they start,’ said Harriet.

  The Major shook his head. ‘I can’t take responsibility.’

  ‘I can. See to it. Get them ready.’

  The Major hesitated, only for an instant. Then he got up and walked off, his mouth a grim line.

  Harriet sagged in her seat, and just for an instant the full weight of the office passed over her brow.

  ‘Prime Minister?’

  It was Alex. There was something about his youthful face and boundless enthusiasm for hard work that made her forget her own fatigue.

  She forced herself upright. ‘Has it worked?’

  ‘Just about,’ said Alex. He pressed the button again, and the growling tape played. He talked over it at the same time.

  ‘“People”—that could be cattle. “You belong to us. To the Sycorax.” They seem to be called Sycorax, not Martians. “We own you. We now possess your land, your minerals, your precious stones. You will surrender or they will die. Sycorax strong, Sycorax mighty, Sycorax rock.” As in the modern sense, they rock.’

  Llewellyn and Sally had reappeared for this and now stood close together. They looked at one another, their worst fears confirmed.

  Llewellyn, who’d been regarding the monitor quietly, lifted his head. ‘They will die? Not you will die, they will die? Who’s “they”?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alex, ‘but it is the right personal pronoun. It’s “they”.’

  Harriet’s face was set in a grim mask. ‘Can we send a message back?’

  ‘Can we do that?’ Alex asked Sally, who nodded. ‘If they’re listening, yeah,’ and Llewellyn glanced at her, impressed.

  ‘Then send them a reply. Tell them: This is a day of peace on planet Earth. Tell them, we extend that peace to the Sycorax.’

  Alex was typing it in.

  ‘Then tell them: This planet is armed… and we do not surrender.’

  Mickey was watching it all from the front room.

  ‘You’d better come and see this!’ he shouted to Rose, who was washing her hair.

  ‘Aliens online.’

  The four Sycorax appeared again, in a diamond formation this time, with one—the leader, Llewellyn supposed, watching on the huge screen at UNIT– standing up.

  The creature walked towards the probe camera, and held up his hands. His fingers were bony; skeletal, with only skeins of skin between them. He opened his palm out to the camera. And then his fingers just flicked out. Flicked out towards them, again and again, in small jerky movements, and glowed blue. And suddenly Llewellyn could see a little blue light dancing around his fingers; fluttering around, the tiniest bobbing light.

  And then the image fizzed out in reverse, and cut dead, and was gone.

  The room looked round in puzzlement.

  ‘What was that?’ Harriet was still staring at the monitor. ‘Was that a reply?’

  ‘I don’t know… It looked like some kind of energy or… static?’ suggested Alex.

  ‘Maybe it’s a different form of language, some sort of ideogram or pictogram or…’ Llewellyn looked straight at Harriet. ‘It looked to me like they were casting a spell.’

  Llewellyn was the first to spot it, as Sally Jacobs suddenly got a glazed look on her face and headed for the exit. Blue light was dancing over her head, as it was over many others in the room. As if to a prearranged signal, they all got up, as one, and followed her.

  ‘What the hell? It’s the light! It’s the same light!’ He caught sight of Sally moving away. ‘Sally, what are you doing? Sally?’

  Daniel attempted to pull her back, but she pushed on and kept on going; she could not be stopped. She didn’t even react, continued walking. Her eyes were open; she wasn’t bumping into things. But it was as if she were sleepwalking, as if she were in a completely different world to him, utterly indifferent.

  ‘Let go of her, you’ll hurt her!’ said Harriet, and Llewellyn dropped Sally’s arm like it was hot. The soldiers at the door raised their guns—although several of them had left their posts and were walking, like Sally, as if in their sleep, but the Major ordered them to stand down immediately.

  ‘Let them pass!’ ordered Blake.

  ‘But where are they going?’ said Alex, as they watched the sleepwalkers move onward in utter, eerie silence, as if a spell had been cast upon them. He began to follow.

  Back in the industrial park, stuck in his wheelchair, of course, Matthew couldn’t chase Duerte up the stairs.

  Okay, they’d had a long night trying to get someone to tell them what was up; trying to get Daniel to answer his bloody phone, which appeared to be blocked. But even so, he’d never known Duerte sleepwalk before. And not just him—loads of people around here were doing the same. They’d turned into zombies.

  And the light. That weird light flickering over them, the like of which he’d never seen before.

  Helplessly Matthew screamed up after Duerte. ‘Come back! Come down! What’s wrong, don’t you want to eat my brains?’

  But the figures were blank, and removed, and didn’t stop, or turn around, and Matthew could only watch as they got higher, and higher up the stairs, and finally disappeared from view.

  Jason Overton from the laundrette, his face completely blank, walked right past Jackie’s front door, pursued by a frantic woman crying, ‘What’s wrong with you? Jason? Jason!’

  Rose heard the commotion and came out. She recognised her neighbour immediately.

  ‘Sandra?’

  ‘He won’t listen. He’s just walking. He won’t stop walking! There’s this sort of light thing…’

  The pale blue glow was flickering over his head.

  ‘Jason? Stop it right now! Please Jason, just stop!’

  Rose looked down and caught her breath. Right through the estate, like zombies, wearing pyjamas or half-dressed, were dozens of people. Pursuing them anxiously were friends and families, begging them to stop, trying to pull them back. It was no use: those affecte
d seemed like robots, their pace relentless.

  Rose’s heart sank. The sharks were getting nearer.

  At UNIT too the full extent of the invasion—or infection, or whatever it was—was becoming clear, as Harriet, Alex and Llewellyn rushed out to follow the blank-eyed marchers.

  ‘They’re all heading in the same direction,’ Harriet pointed out.

  ‘It’s only certain people. Why isn’t it affecting us?’ said Llewellyn.

  Alex hung up his phone with a grim look on his face. ‘Prime Minister, reports are coming in. The same thing is happening all over the country. There are thousands of people affected—maybe millions—and nobody knows how or why!’

  12

  Angels We Have Heard on High

  It wasn’t just all over the country. It was all over the world. Desperate families were running beside blank-staring, zombified men, women and children, all of them taking stairs, or escalators, or pressing into lifts, heading in the same direction—up.

  From the Tower of London to the Coliseum in Rome, from the Taj Mahal to Sydney Harbour Bridge: as if hypnotised, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters walked steadily onward, all pursued by their increasingly desperate and hysterical loved ones. If pulled to the ground, they would fight back with superhuman strength, until they made their way free, then simply carry on. If they were locked in rooms, they would break out; if locked in cells, they would walk in the same direction, banging their heads off the walls, scraping their fingernails down to nothing trying to get out. Babies were abandoned by the side of the road or, if screaming to reach one direction, picked up and carried along with everyone else. The mothers were frantic.

  They marched, a great, hypnotised silent, eerie army of humanity; from every town, from every village and city, to the highest point near to them. They were heading for their nearest high-rise building. Anything with stairs, anything with steps. Fire escapes. Towers. Castles. Skyscrapers. Onwards, they marched relentlessly, onto the roofs; slow moving feet clanging on fire escapes. Right to the very edges of the roofs, poised on a hundred million precipices.

  And then they stopped.

  Llewellyn followed Sally up to the top of the Tower of London, the city spread below. She stood there, in a line with all the others, frozen, like a robot. A policeman was reporting just below them. ‘They’ve gone right to the edge. They’re going to jump. They’re all going to jump!’

  Daniel didn’t pull or grab, but he very gently took her hand. She did not feel it, or if she did, she gave no sign. It felt as cold as ice. He looked at it.

  ‘Sally, just listen. Just stop,’ said Llewellyn in his calmest voice. ‘It’s Daniel Llewellyn. Danny. Sally, just concentrate. Listen to me. We need you. Stop this, Sally!’

  Daniel’s phone rang and he stood back to answer it, unable to take his eyes off the girl, her hair streaming in the wind; not looking quite human any longer, but like something feral waiting to take flight.

  Alex from downstairs was calling. His voice was scared and low.

  ‘According to reports it’s a third. One-third of the world’s population. That’s two billion people ready to jump.’

  Llewellyn looked at the girl on the ledge, and he didn’t have to even think of all the people balanced on top of the pyramids of Egypt; the people teetering on the windy fretwork of the Eiffel Tower; he didn’t have to think about everyone. He had to think about one person, and he didn’t hesitate.

  ‘We have to surrender, then,’ he said. ‘Surrender or they’ll die.’

  Rose and Mickey stood at the very top of their building. They stared out, taking in the sight of every tower block roof in South London, as far as the eye could see, lined with human silhouettes. All the way across the river to the buildings in the city; each precipice a cluster of dark human shapes like flies on fruit.

  ‘It’s an invasion,’ said Mickey, his blood well and truly chilled. ‘Different way of invading, gotta give them that, but all the same. What do we do?’

  Rose’s face was stony. ‘Nothing we can do. There’s no one to save us. Not any more.’

  Harriet was demanding answers. Llewellyn had descended. He could do nothing upstairs; perhaps he could be more useful in Mission Control.

  But he hated leaving Sally behind. He’d called his parents; they were fine. But the neighbours—the mother and the little girl had gone, just walked out of the house on a freezing morning, in their pyjamas. His mother’s voice was grey with anxiety; she pleaded with her son to come home.

  ‘I can’t, Mam. I’m trying to… I’m trying to help out here.’

  ‘With this? What’s it got to do with washing machines, bach?’

  ‘Just stay inside, Mam. I’ll… I’ll be home when I’m able.’

  ‘All right. Merry Christmas, yes?’

  Llewellyn found he was unable to respond and, swallowing heavily, gave himself a second, hung up, then turned round, shaking his head.

  ‘Why are only some people affected?’ he said dismally. ‘Why not us?’

  Alex was desperately leafing through the file reports coming in, and listening to his headset.

  ‘Wait a minute. There might be some kind of pattern. All these people tend to be father and son, mother and daughter, brothers and sisters. Family groups, but not so often husbands and wives.’

  Llewellyn blinked for a second. That reminded him of something. ‘Some sort of genetic link, but…’

  Then it came to him in a flash. ‘Oh my God. It’s Guinevere One. These people, do we know what blood group they are? No, wait a minute, have you got medical records on file? For all your staff?’

  ‘Of course we have, yes,’ said Alex, starting to rise. ‘But why—?’

  ‘I need to see them.’ Llewellyn grabbed Alex by the arm and steered him towards the main doors. ‘Now.’

  And they left, Llewellyn hoping that his hunch wasn’t true. But he feared, with a horrible stone of certainty in his stomach, that it was. And if that was the case, then this entire thing was all his fault.

  ‘What about Torchwood?’

  Harriet Jones asked the question straight out. Major Blake still didn’t like the word being spoken aloud. Things between the two agencies were… well, ‘delicate’ to say the very least. And something like this stepped right across all the lines; tore through the Chinese walls. He glanced left and right and lowered his voice.

  ‘Still working on it. Bear in mind they have just lost a third of their staff too.’

  ‘But do they have what we need?’

  Blake looked her in the eyes, unflinching. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Then, for God’s sake, tell them to hurry up.’

  Daniel Llewellyn, perspiring slightly, logged in to the database in the records room, helped by a scared-looking member of staff. Personal UNIT files were guarded like gold.

  ‘Here it is. Sally Jacobs, blood group A positive.’ His heart was pounding. ‘Who else walked out?’

  ‘Luke Parsons,’ said Alex, glancing up.

  Llewellyn typed his name in. ‘Luke Parsons. A positive.’

  ‘Jeffrey Baxter.’

  ‘Baxter. A positive. That’s it. They’re all A positive. Can you call your boss?’

  Harriet and the Major arrived in an instant, and Llewellyn explained the situation.

  ‘How many people in the world are A positive?’ asked Blake.

  ‘No idea, but I’ll bet it’s one-third,’ said Llewellyn.

  ‘What’s so special about that blood group?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Llewellyn sat up slowly and blew air through his mouth. This was the moment he’d been dreading. ‘It’s my fault.’ Sighing heavily, he turned round to face them, his face distraught. ‘Guinevere One. It’s got one of those plaques identifying the human race. A message to the stars. I mean, it’s standard form, really; you don’t expect anything to come of it, but I put on maps and music and samples… There’s wheat seeds, and water, and… and… blood.’

  ‘Whose?’ Harriet demanded.

 
‘It’s Duerte’s, one of the tech guys—A positive.’ Llewellyn swallowed heavily and stared at the floor.

  ‘I hate needles—I was too cowardly to use my own blood. And now, the Sycorax have got a vial of A positive blood, and, well, I don’t know how, but through that…’

  ‘They’re controlling one-third of the human population,’ said Harriet quietly.

  Llewellyn sank his head in guilt. ‘I put the blood on board. Oh my God.’

  Harriet stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t possibly have known. And if you’d chosen blood from the O group we’d have half the population out there.’ She turned to leave the room. ‘Major! With me. There’s only one more thing I can try…’

  13

  Silent Night

  Rose and Mickey went back to the flat. They didn’t know what else to do. Rose felt thoroughly defeated. The telly was still blaring.

  ‘It’s on telly, they’re saying it’s everyone!’ said Jackie, rushing up to them. ‘Whole planet. People just standing on the edge, there’s two thousand people on the White Cliffs of Dover…’

  Suddenly the television went black, and the words EMERGENCY BROADCAST appeared on screen.

  Harriet Jones sat behind a large wooden desk, two large Union Jacks and a Christmas tree behind her. She glanced to check the TV cameras were on, then turned to address the nation.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen… if I may take a moment during this terrible time? It’s hardly the Queen’s speech, I’m afraid that’s been cancelled.’

  A thought suddenly occurred to her and she glanced off-screen.

  ‘Did we ask about the Royal Family?’

  Alex responded by immediately jabbing a finger upwards.

  ‘Oh. They’re on the roof.’ Harriet cleared her throat. ‘All of them?’ At his nod, she took a deep breath. ‘Ladies and gentleman, this crisis is unique, and I very much fear there might be worse to come. I would ask all of you to remain calm. But I have one request: Doctor. If you’re out there. We need you.’

  On the Powell Estate, Jackie turned to glare at Rose and Mickey. Harriet’s voice blared on out of the television screen.