Doctor Who

by Jenny T. Colgan

  ‘I don’t know what to do. But if you can hear me, Doctor. If anyone knows the Doctor—’

  Rose turned away, her heart breaking.

  ‘—if anyone can find him—the situation has never been more desperate.’

  Rose walked slowly down the corridor to the Doctor’s room, tears cascading down her cheeks.

  ‘… help us, please, Doctor. Help us.’

  Rose leaned against the doorframe, sobbing like a child as she watched the form of this man who was not the real Doctor, not any more, still in the bed. The brand new face of her loss.

  Everything in her life had fallen apart so very quickly, it had vanished beneath her feet; everything she had; everything she had ever hoped for…

  Jackie came up quietly and for once did not start talking. Instead she just put her arm around her only daughter.

  ‘He’s gone,’ sobbed Rose. ‘He’s left me, Mum. He’s left me.’

  She sobbed even harder, and Jackie, who knew a thing or two about unreliable men, kissed her forehead and stroked her shoulder and crooned, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right, I’m sorry…’

  She was still murmuring her sympathy as all the windows in the flat smashed, as every window on the estate shattered, and as the glass-showered earth beneath their feet began to tremble and things came crashing to the ground.

  Every window in London smashed, and still it did not jolt the frozen sleepers, standing up at the very heights, as broken glass rained down on their terrified loved ones gathered below.

  Groaning heavily, a huge rock moved into the sky, casting its shadow over everything; the massive belly-shaking rumble of the noise it made felt across the city. Its darkness seemed all the more awful in the bright white winter’s morning of Christmas Day.

  Llewelyn was screaming at the screen, as the alarms came on, shouting that it was the sonic wave of the spaceship hitting the atmosphere, but everywhere else nobody had a clue.

  He was right, for all that it mattered: the ship hit the atmosphere, and the shockwave reverberated around the world.

  ‘Here it comes,’ he said, clinging on to the back of his chair, as if that could save him.

  None of the people standing on the edges looked up. But their loved ones did, and the screams and panic were terrible to hear. Their imprecations grew stronger, the more they attempted to pull people away. In Calais, a man, trying to save his wife, lost his footing on a warehouse roof, and tumbled to his own doom. His wife did not give him a second glance as he fell.

  The great ship looming over London could be seen for a hundred miles. It was like a huge grey boulder; somehow hanging there in mid air, both organic and engineered at the same time.

  Then the screaming fell silent. Everything fell silent.

  In a different time, Rose would have stood. She would have fought. She would have been in the centre of any battle, with the Doctor at her side.

  Now all of that had been ended. She had no strategy; she had no plan. She had the two people in the world she was closest to, and that was going to have to do.

  She dashed indoors, pulled the sheets off the Doctor.

  ‘Mickey, we’re going to carry him. Mum, get your stuff, and get some food. We’re going.’

  Mickey shrugged.

  ‘Where to?’

  Rose glanced up.

  ‘The TARDIS. It’s the only safe place on Earth.’

  ‘What we going to do in there?’ asked Jackie, bemused.

  Rose looked up, utterly defeated.

  ‘Hide,’ she said softly.

  ‘Is that it?’ said Jackie.

  ‘Mum! Look in the sky. There’s a great big alien invasion, and I don’t know what to do, all right? I’ve travelled with him, and I’ve seen all that stuff, but when I’m stuck at home I’m useless. Now all we can do is run and hide, and I’m sorry. Now move.’

  Jackie vanished to do as she was told. Rose heaved the Doctor up, taking the shoulder end; Mickey took the legs.

  ‘Right! Lift!’

  Harriet Jones stared hard at the huge screen. The sinister bone-faced aliens were back, gathered once more in formation.

  ‘They’re transmitting,’ warned Llewellyn, every muscle tensed.

  Alex ran the harsh, guttural speech through his handheld computer, and translated for them: ‘“You are now our property”—well, that’s more like “goods and chattels”. Um. “Now will the tribal leader”—that’s just “leader” I suppose—“will the leader of this world stand forward.”’

  Harriet Jones immediately did so. Her face was composed.

  ‘I’m proud to represent this planet.’

  ‘SOO CAL FORAXI!’ screamed the Leader on screen.

  ‘That means… um…’ Alex looked up, his eyes frightened. ‘“Come aboard.”’

  ‘Well, how do I do that?’ said Harriet Jones, but just as she did so, all four of them were bathed in the blue light—they looked around at each other, eyes frightened.

  ‘Wh-What’s happening?’ cried Llewellyn.

  ‘I would imagine it’s called a teleport,’ said Harriet Jones. ‘Or a transmat. One of those words—’And she was still talking as they vanished into the ether, leaving the remaining UNIT staff staring aghast into empty space.

  Daniel Llewellyn’s first thought upon arriving on the spaceship was that it didn’t look like a spaceship at all.

  It was more like a dark Gothic amphitheatre. Much of it was in darkness, and torches burned on the wall. Huge torn red banners were hung along the sides, and the vast space was lined with benches. Row upon row of aliens sat upon them, tightly packed, staring down at the vast stage that their visitors from Earth now stood upon.

  The astonishing speed of the teleportation had messed with Llewellyn’s head, but not before he’d seen quite clearly in front of him thousands and thousands more of the menacing alien faces that had appeared on screen. The creatures were absolutely as huge and dangerous-looking as he’d feared, and the great room smelled of something hot and menacing: bodies, ready for battle. A fair distance away, across the metal floor, was the formation of Sycorax aliens they had seen on the monitor.

  One, slightly taller than the rest, and dressed in what appeared to be decorated battle armour—the one they’d seen on the screen—stepped forward. The four humans instinctively did the same. Then a surprising thing happened: the Sycorax Leader lifted his hand to his horrifying skull-like face.

  ‘That’s a helmet!’ cried Llewellyn with sudden hope. ‘This thing—it might be like us!’ For a moment, that hope surged as he imagined the face of some sheepish, smirking human being beneath the mask—that all of this was some elaborate, incredible stunt, a monumental prank. Why or how anyone could have done such a thing, he could not imagine—he knew only that there might be hope.

  Slowly the alien removed the hideous carapace—to reveal an even more menacing alien face of raw flesh and tight bone and sharp pointed teeth underneath.

  ‘Or not,’ finished Llewellyn softly, as the alien started to bark at them in his strange, fierce language.

  ‘PADSKAA!’ screeched the Sycorax Leader. The humans stared at Alex, who was gazing around with his mouth hanging open.

  ‘Padskaa?’ prompted Harriet.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Sorry. Um. “Welcome.”’

  ‘KA, JALVAAAN.’

  Alex looked up, awkwardly.

  ‘“Now, surrender.”’

  ‘JALVAAN! JALVAAN!’ screamed the Sycorax Leader, and in the huge gallery around them, the Sycorax took up the chant; rattling their bone jewellery; banging staffs against the ground and waving their broadswords; all of one voice: JALVAAN! JALVAAN! JALVAAN!

  The sound of the aliens’ screams shook the foundations of the blood-red cavern. The four humans standing in place felt small and helpless and terribly, terribly alone.

  14

  Stop the Cavalry

  Rose and Mickey were struggling to manoeuvre the Doctor out of the flat’s front door, one at each end—Mickey had the feet,
Rose had her arms under the stranger’s shoulders, his head pressed up against her stomach. Jackie had several shopping bags and kept dropping them. All around them was pandemonium: people rushing to and fro, or tending the wounded who’d caught the worst of the shattered glass, or simply gazing up at the dark shadow of the ship. Still, on the rooftops, the sinister lines of people waited, watched; statues on ledges; carved gargoyles and angels.

  ‘Mum, will you just leave that stuff and give us a hand?’ shouted Rose.

  ‘It’s food!’ said Jackie. She was already bamboozled. She’d only been inside the box a couple of times, but she knew it was somehow huge. They must have a kitchen. They travelled the universe, didn’t they? She knew her Rose wasn’t eating properly when she was away, she was far too thin. His fault, again, this Doctor, or this stranger who—

  ‘Just leave it!’ shouted Rose.

  Jackie thought that if there was a kitchen after all it would have been useful to know before. And if everything was as bad as Rose said, they might be in there a while…

  In a tizz, she dumped some of the bags and trailed along after the short procession. If things were going to get bad, she thought, they’d still want a sandwich.

  Back on the Sycorax ship, Alex was still translating. The aggressive tone of the Sycorax Leader was not, as he’d hoped, a linguistic twitch. It was simply aggression. The fact that Alex himself had a soft, refined voice made the terrible threats sound almost worse.

  The Sycorax Leader stood behind a huge dais made of black twisted metal. His scaly hand hovered over a huge red switch on the top. All of them stared at it. It was obvious what it must be, even before Alex could say the words.

  ‘“You will surrender, or I will release the final curse. And your people will jump.”’

  Llewellyn’s heart sank. He had never been a brave man; or rather, he had never, in all his universities and labs, been tested. He had never known. And in his careless, boundless optimism at what might be out beyond the stars, he had directly threatened the lives of a third of all the humans on Earth.

  His thoughts sprang back to Sally Jacobs suddenly, and a hot drink on cold steps, and winter sunlight on golden hair. He thought of the lines of people around the world, on the highest cliffs, that would haunt his dreams forever.

  He had no choice. He pushed his way to the front of the group, swallowed back the urge to be sick.

  ‘If… if I can speak…?’

  The Major attempted to pull him back. ‘Mr Llewellyn! You’re a civilian—’

  Daniel shook his head. His mind was made up.

  ‘No. I sent out this probe. I started it. It made contact with these people; this whole thing’s my responsibility.’

  He pulled his arm out of Blake’s grasp and stepped forward.

  The Sycorax Leader turned to face him.

  Llewellyn had never felt more frightened than when the great red eyes sought him out; nor more sure that what he was doing was the right thing.

  ‘With respect… Sir. I created the probe—the Guinevere One. I wanted to reach out in friendship. The human race is taking its first step towards the stars. But we are like children compared to you. Children who need help. Children who need compassion. I beg of you now—show that compassion.’

  Just for a moment, there was a hope. For a tiny split second, the entire room fell silent, waiting to see what would happen. Llewellyn realised his heart was beating incredibly fast; he could feel the blood rushing in his ears. But to meet an advanced people with reason, with language. It was an encounter he’d dreamed would happen his entire life. And if he could save Sally from that windswept ledge far below, now… save them all…

  The Sycorax Leader gazed at Llewellyn. Its pointed tongue hung outside its mouth. Its face slowly twisted in, what—respect, understanding?

  Amusement?

  It happened so fast: the alien, raised, suddenly, a whip from his side, and lashed it out with a sharp electrical crack of blue light. It fastened around Daniel Llewellyn’s neck, burning and tightening at the same time.

  Llewellyn let out a scream which faded to nothing. His body shuddered and then every dream he’d ever had; every plan he had ever made, every thought he’d ever entertained, every step on the path of the life he’d led was no more. Every cell of him flew on the wind, as the good man he’d been exploded into a pile of smoking bones scattering over the floor.

  Immediately the Major leapt forward while Harriet Jones tried to stay calm, her brown eyes looking at the situation levelly; weighing up her options. Fixing in her mind the face of the young man who had sacrificed himself for principles of peace.

  Meanwhile Major Blake was shouting. ‘That man was your prisoner! Even your species must have articles of war, forbidding—’

  Harriet saw the whip hand lifting. There was a terrible, terrible scent in the air: of blood and burning bones and everything dreadful.

  She moved forwards. She remembered her first week as Prime Minister—a blur of photocalls and protocol and official cars and new information—and the first time she had descended into the UNIT facility. He had been so gracious; not condescending, like many of the civil servants she had met, or patronising, like the military generals who assumed she wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He had shaken her hand firmly, given a short smile and said, ‘I believe you have some experience in these areas, and that’s likely to be a very great asset.’ Harriet had found herself unexpectedly grateful; she had liked him very much.

  And the great, bony hand with its long pointed fingers was wielding the whip once again, and Harriet gasped aloud in shock; made to step forward to stop this creature somehow. But it was too late. There was no time even to beg.

  The alien slaughtered the Major in front of her eyes, and the smell got worse and Harriet could feel the blood ringing in her ears as she thought to herself, ‘This is it. This is it.’

  She forced herself forward and tried to steady her voice. ‘Harriet Jones,’ she announced, ‘Prime Minister.’

  Alex, his voice an exhausted monotone now, had to translate the howls and grunts of the Sycorax Leader: ‘TASS CONAFEE TEDRO SOO!’

  ‘“Yes, we know who you are,”’ Alex said. ‘“Surrender or they will die.”’

  The Leader held his hand over the red switch again.

  ‘If I do surrender,’ said Harriet calmly, ‘how would that be better?’

  The great bony pointed hand was now almost on top of the red button as he replied, and Harriet could barely hear Alex’s translation above the rumbling approval of those Sycorax watching.

  ‘“We will summon the Armada and take only half of your population. The rest you can keep. One-half is sold into slavery or one-third dies.”’

  The creature smiled a terrible smile.

  ‘SOO CODSYLA.’

  ‘“Your choice,”’ said Alex, his voice a whisper.

  Harriet Jones closed her eyes. The leader of the Sycorax hissed. The rest of the chamber fell silent.

  Jackie Tyler looked around the console room, trying to take it all in. A sofa would have been nice, she thought. But at least they had a telly.

  ‘No chance you can fly this thing?’ said Mickey to Rose. He was good with technical challenges, but didn’t have a clue where to start with this.

  ‘Not any more, no,’ said Rose. Being here without the Doctor—without her Doctor, even as they held another man’s body in their arms—was opening up a huge emptiness in her heart. The entire TARDIS, normally such a living entity to her, suddenly felt cold and dead as the grave.

  ‘Well, you did it before,’ said Mickey.

  ‘I know.’ Rose glanced away. She knew that looking into the heart of the TARDIS was out. ‘It’s sort of been… wiped out of my head, like it’s forbidden. Try it again and I think the universe rips in half.’

  ‘Ah, better not, then.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  They carefully placed the Doctor on the floor. Rose realised she’d been hoping that as soon as they w
alked in, everything would light up; come to life; go back to how it was. But he remained a statue; a fallen knight in a dressing gown, now inside his unlikely tomb.

  Mickey looked around helplessly. ‘So, what do we do? Just sit here?’

  Rose was so frustrated she could cry. All this power, all this glory in this box and absolutely nothing anyone could do, even when everyone was looking to her.

  ‘That’s as good as it gets,’ she said.

  Jackie took out her flask. ‘Right. Here we go. Nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Oh, the solution to everything,’ said Rose, ungratefully.

  ‘Now, stop your moaning. I’ll get the rest of the food.’

  She bustled out of the TARDIS, as Rose leaned against the console, staring at the Doctor. Mickey shook his head as he picked up the thermos.

  ‘Tea. Like we’re having a picnic while the world comes to an end. Very British. Chin-chin.’

  Rose wasn’t listening. Mickey fiddled with the scanner on the console.

  ‘How does this thing work? It picks up TV, maybe we could see what’s going on out there. Maybe we’ve surrendered?’ He pushed a few random buttons. ‘What do you do to it?’

  ‘I don’t know… it sort of tunes itself.’

  Realising he was only trying to help, she too pressed a few buttons…

  And on the war deck of the Sycorax spaceship, the Leader felt each press of those buttons—felt the ripples in the universe—and stared round at his people, his red face more furious than ever. ‘SOO HEB CLSHVORDAL CASYBID!!!!!’

  The vast roomful of Sycorax started to screech and beat their staves to the ground. The Leader pointed at Harriet, who looked helplessly at Alex.

  ‘The noise, the bleeping, they say it’s machinery. “Foreign machinery.” They’re accusing us of hiding it. Conspiring.’ He glanced up, his young face haggard with fear, as the Sycorax Leader gestured to one of the other aliens.

  ‘CREL STAT FORAXI!’

  Alex translated for Harriet: ‘“Bring it on board.”’

  Jackie Tyler thought she might as well bring the rest of the bags, which had Christmas dinner in them. Save it going to waste, she decided. The world wasn’t going to end in the next twenty seconds, was it? No. They had tea and they’d have turkey and in a bit, hopefully, this would all be sorted out…