by Doctor Who
'I've heard that before. It's never true.'
DOCTOR WHO
The last thing Amy saw was a long green tendril of wool shoot from 107863's hand to the wool en root holding Amy's ankle. She felt a slight jolt go through her body and she slumped to the soft ground, which felt more like a comfortable woollen carpet than she thought it should. Her head was spinning, but she could still hear the voices of the Weave.
'She'll be out in seconds, Commander.' That was the newcomer. 'The anaesthetic has passed through her skin.'
'Thank you, Medic 107863,' said 128. 'Let's hope only a few years pass before we need to wake her again.'
Years?
Amy had to hope the Doctor got the warning. Or Rory.
Rory.
'I love you, Rory,' she managed to mutter.
Then blackness swirled into her mind and she was unconscious.
Chapter
10
You are beautiful, sexy and really hot. Woof!' The Doctor gave Rory a wink. 'You're not bad either, Rory.'
Rory just shuffled awkwardly and hoped no one took the Doctor seriously. 'This is 1936,' he reminded the Doctor.
The Doctor shrugged. He was facing a group of staff at the Manse, but had actually been directly addressing a magnificent Aga that took pride of place in the kitchen where they were gathered. He had a hand on one of two oven doors and the other hand on a pot of boiling potatoes on the hob.
The cook, Mrs Stern, blushed at the attention her kitchen was getting. 'Oh, sir, you are too kind,' she said shyly.
It wasn't a big staff, Rory noted. A cook, two 153
DOCTOR WHO
young maids, that manservant and quiet Old John sat in a corner cleaning spoons with a cloth. In fact, he seemed to be cleaning the same spoon. Over and over again.
'We were just with Mrs Porter at the dig, and she told us to come and seek you out, Mrs Stock—'
'Stern,' Rory hissed.
'Thought I was being quite polite actually,' the Doctor responded less subtly. He returned to the task at hand. 'Anyway, so your Mrs Porter, she says to my main man Rory here, and lovely Amy who has gone to powder her nose or something, that we needed to taste some of your excellent culinary skills, Mrs Stick. So while she's busy at the dig, we thought we'd come see if we can get some grub before we head back and carry on digging with her team.'
'I'll bring you some of my finest pheasant up to the dining room shortly, Doctor,' she said smiling the sort of big rosy smile that Rory associated with big fat cooks from storybooks.
'No no, no,' the Doctor sat on a wooden chair by the rough kitchen table, scarred with years of chopping vegetables and charred by hot pots. He pointed at the table. 'None of that fancy stuff for us, Mrs S. I'd rather spend some time chatting to you lovely people.'
The manservant who Rory thought might have been called Chibbers or Chiggers sighed loudly and shooed away the maids. 'No time for you girls to 154
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
sit listening to the chit-chat of your betters,' he said.
'There's a Manse to clean up.'
The two girls bobbed politely to 'them London types' (as Rory had heard Chibbers/Chiggers refer to them when he thought he couldn't be heard earlier) and nipped away, giggling quietly.
'That's enough,' Chibbers/Chiggers snapped as he followed them out.
'So, Mrs S,' the Doctor said cheerfully, 'how many years you been in service?'
'Since I was 14, sir. Started off as a kitchen maid to the Southwolds, then I trained as a cook at one of the big London hotels before working in a few homes here in the East. Been with the Porters seven years now.'
'And Mr Stern?' Rory asked.
'Ooh, never time for any of that, sir,' Mrs Stern said with a smile as she stirred some vegetables.
'The "Mrs" is an honorific, Rory. Always is in the big houses for a cook. Gives 'em a sense of place and position.' The Doctor smiled back at Mrs Stern.
'So... you must've known the first Mrs Porter.'
Rory could sense the atmosphere change, like someone had flicked a switch.
'I did indeed,' was Mrs Stern's only response and, unseen by her, the Doctor gave Rory an 'ooh, get her' look.
'S00000...' He tried changing the subject.
'Cooking been a lifelong hobby...'
Mrs Stern's expression darkened a little.
155
DOCTOR WHO
'No, not just a hobby,' said the Doctor quickly. 'A passion! A passion that's also your job! How... er...'
He found himself flailing and looked hopefully at Mrs Stern.
'I enjoy it, sir,' was her curt but-trying-to-be-polite reply.
Rory suspected they had outstayed their welcome. 'Doctor, why don't we leave Mrs Stern to her kitchen while we join Amy and freshen up for dinner?'
The Doctor responded with an 'oh do shut up'
look.
Old John suddenly stopped cleaning his spoon, stood up and walked over to them, his limp more pronounced than ever. Rory guessed he was in his sixties, so it was most likely a war wound from the Boer.
'I have to check on Mr Marks,' Old John said to Mrs Stern, but he gave Rory and the Doctor a swift nod of the head as he passed them. This seemed to mean 'follow me and learn things to your advantage'
and not 'I have a really embarrassing spasm in my neck', so they followed him out.
'We'll eat in the dining room, after all,' the Doctor called to Mrs Stern, but she didn't reply.
'You've upset the old woman,' Old John said as they walked down one of the long gloomy corridors.
'Not difficult.'
'She seemed such a nice cheerful lady, though,'
moaned the Doctor.
156
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
'Oh, that's the professional bit. Deep down, she's like everyone else in this village. Weird.'
'And you're not,' said Rory, hoping that sounded less rude to Old John than it did in his head.
'No, I'm normal. Me and Mr Marks. The only ones that are. Your fault, though, you asked about Mrs Porter. The real one.'
'Real one?' said Rory, abruptly aware that staring at Old John's limping leg probably wasn't helping.
'That's what they call her. They don't like the new one. I reckon it's cos nobody got invited to the wedding.'
'I'm missing something,' the Doctor said quietly.
Rory frowned. 'What?'
'Amy Pond. Where's she got to? One minute she's all omm nom nom, next thing she wants to explore the place. You need to keep a closer eye on your soon-to-be-wife, Rory.'
'I do?'
'I think so. Still, she'll be along presently. In fact...'
He held up his hand and slowly lowered each finger individually, counting them off soundlessly.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
As his thumb went down, Rory's heart jumped a bit as his fiancée’s voice rang out. 'Oh, there you are,' Amy said from the far end of the corridor.
'Had fun exploring, Pond?' the Doctor asked.
'This gentleman's filling us in on all the weird goings-on here.'
'I am?' said Old John.
157
DOCTOR WHO
'He is?' said Amy. 'I see.'
The Doctor turned to the older man. 'Tell you what, you go and see to 011y, and leave us here.
We'll make our way to the dining room and wait for our pleasant pheasant to arrive.'
'Pleasant pheasant,' said Amy. 'Mmmm, love it.'
Rory frowned at this, wondering when Amy had ever eaten pheasant. Mind you, she'd seen and done so many things with the Doctor that anything was possible.
Yet something didn't seem right.
'Tom Benson showed me the whole village,' she said. 'Seems very peaceful.'
'Really?' said the Doctor. 'That's nice.'
'Well, Earth's always my favourite planet,' joked Rory, thinking about the Doctor's comment earlier, when they had first arrived.
'Yes, all right, I like it too,' he said. 'Home from
home.'
'One day you should take us to your home,' Amy said. 'I've always wanted to go there.'
The Doctor said nothing, just frowned a bit.
'Why?' he said after a moment.
'Mars is always such a beautiful sight. On some nights, you can see it glowing in the night sky. All red and orange.'
The Doctor shrugged. 'Yes, it is rather beautiful.'
He pointed forward. 'But for now, I just want some lunch.'
Amy nodded and took Rory's hand in hers.
158
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
'Come on, sexy fiancé,' she said. 'Escort me to the table like a true gentlemen.'
Rory smiled back at her. 'This way, madam.'
159
Chapter
11
If the people of 1936 had possessed telescopes like those used by the people of Rory's era, they might have spotted the Tahnn ship.
It was in space, hovering somewhere between Io and Callisto, shielded from the sunlight (such as it was) by the gas giant known as Jupiter.
These names would have meant nothing to the Tahnn. Not only did they not have names for alien moons or planets, they had no interest in them either. All that mattered to the Tahnn was fulfilling their mission: find the Weave ship, access it, then totally destroy it and its occupants.
It was a mission that had lasted for thousands of years. But they had a means to complete it now. As soon as the ship had been uncovered, they would DOCTOR WHO
be able to home in on it, get what they wanted and then vaporise it completely. It was unfortunate for their agent on the planet concerned that he too would be destroyed in the localised conflagration, but Tahnnis Command had made the decision not to pre-warn him of this. It was neater that way.
Some years back, a troop had installed a beacon on the planet in the usual way. They had then vaporised themselves, bar one who would act as guardian to the beacon and activate it once the Weave ship was located.
Of course, they could just destroy the entire planet, which would be quicker and easier and ensure that there were no survivors, but that would bring down the wrath of the Shadow Proclamation.
As powerful as the Tahnn were, they knew their limits and how... determined the Shadow Architect could be. They'd encountered witnesses and heard stories of forces from another galaxy that had crossed into this one and infringed on the Shadow Proclamation's territory. They had wiped out an entire species over a dispute no one could recall.
The Shadow Proclamation had, under the cover of diplomacy, crossed the boundaries of space and reached that far galaxy, seeding it with a virus. Guilty or innocent, if any of the inhabitants of any of that galaxy's worlds ever tried leaving their planetary atmosphere, the virus would be triggered. It would wipe out the entire galaxy in a matter of hours.
Of course, one planet had risen to the challenge 162
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
and to the stars. One planet was dead in minutes.
The other worlds pleaded with the Shadow Proclamation for aid - it had not been their fault. But the Shadow Proclamation couldn't - or wouldn't -
help that quickly, and over one-third of the galaxy died in agony that day. By the time the antidote was provided, a lesson had been learned: threaten the Shadow Proclamation, its articles or covenants, its worlds or territories, and retribution would be swift and devastating.
It was entirely possible this story was a complete fabrication but, as a piece of propaganda, it was effective. The Tahnn could get away with destroying one area of the Weave's hiding place. Probably. But to destroy a whole non-combatant world just to get at the Weave treasure... well, it wasn't worth the risk.
And so the plan had been hatched: get in, locate the Weave, destroy them, cauterise the immediate locality if unavoidable, then get out before anyone could raise the alarm. The dominant indigenous species on the planet concerned was of a low status, and they were unlikely to be aware of the existence of the Shadow Proclamation, let alone have the means to contact them.
Which was all well and good until their periodic scans and communiqués with their agent there reported the arrival of an alien with two hearts, an IQ well beyond the normal range of the planet's inhabitants and a strange blue box that defied both 163
DOCTOR WHO
Tahnn and Weave technology to scan it.
The Tahnn computers did the rest.
They identified the Doctor.
So when this was reported back to the Tahnn Primary, he had to decide what to do. First he accessed the Tahnn databanks. Then those pirated from the Weave over the centuries. Then he even hacked into the Shadow Proclamation.
When he learned that even the Daleks had a unique name for the Doctor which suggested, if not fear, then a certain trepidation bordering on respect, the Primary made his decision.
The Doctor was trouble.
The Tahnn had a mission.
The two were not necessarily mutually incompatible.
'Bring the plan forward,' he declared to his advisers. 'Ignore protocol. Ignore the safeguards.
Destroy the Weave and this Doctor as soon as we have confirmed the Weave location. Our agent suspects where the Weave ship is. The presence of the Doctor would seem to confirm that. Protocol be damned - blast that whole area into space dust.'
One of his advisers, an experienced campaigner who had assisted many Tahnn commanders over the years, ventured to suggest that High Command on Tahnnis might not agree to this incursion and that reportage homewards was a good idea. 'Just so they know what we are planning and why we have deviated from the plan.'
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
The adviser stopped breathing at that point, somewhat forcibly and - for him at least -
unexpectedly. The Primary wondered if anyone else in his team of advisers had anything to add.
Curiously, none did.
And so after eons of waiting, the Tahnn ship dropped out of hiding and began a slow but sure move towards the third planet in the solar system.
165
Chapter
12
Thesunwassettingon a busy day.
The Doctor was in his shirt sleeves, sat in a striped deckchair in the rear garden, positioned by the French doors that led into the dining room. He was reading.
Oliver Marks and Rory were playing chess by the willow tree.
Amy was pacing a lot, and Rory reckoned she was anxious to sort out this Tahnn problem and get back into the TARDIS and go.
Oliver put Rory into check again.
'That's the eleventh game, Rory. Give up, mate,'
the Doctor offered sagely.
Amy sighed. 'Why aren't we doing anything, Doctor?' she whined.
DOCTOR WHO
The Doctor held up a thick blue book. 'Reading, Amy. Learning.'
She wandered over to him and leant over the back of his chair, resting her chin on his head. 'Wotcha reading, mister?'
'Enola Porter's notebooks. Fascinating stuff.'
'B00000ring,' Amy said and went and sat on the small step by the French doors. 'You used to be more thrilling,' she muttered.
The Doctor gave her a curious look, shrugged, and returned to his reading, absorbing everything he could about Enola Porter's life and experiences.
Enola Porter, it seemed, had always been a strong-willed girl. Her various governesses and maids had always said she was a handful. Her parents had often despaired of her — no frilly dresses and bonnets for the young Enola, no dolly's tea parties or pony rides in Hyde Park on a Sunday. For Enola Tucker, at the age of 8, had discovered the stories of Rider Haggard, Conan Doyle and Jules Verne. Tales of high derring-do and adventure, with strong, intelligent men protecting young women of spunk and smarts who could quite easily have coped without their male 'heroes'.
Enola had lived through the war, witnessed the departure of the Titanic, experienced the Great Depression, all forming important parts of her development, so her interest in 'events' was always piqued. Her family never shielded her
from the world, for they could see it was pointless and, after 168
THE GLAMOUR CHASE
her mother had died of influenza, her father gave in to his daughter's wilful demands. Instead of being sent to some finishing school in Europe, Enola had been allowed to accompany her eccentric Uncle Bertie to the Dark Continent, the Far East and the Americas while her father remained in London, making a good living as a banker and helping finance her trips.
It had been Uncle Bertie who'd unwittingly piqued her interest in exploration and archaeology.
He'd taken her to Vienna, ostensibly to see the museum, but rather than look at old paintings and Austrian sculpture, Enola had attended a lecture given by Howard Carter. She'd stood and listened to Carter's passion for his subject, admiring his power and his sheer joy for life.
Years later, as she researched his life, she would come to learn of the great sadness that permeated much of his success, of friends lost and the hardships involved in getting backers to support his expeditions. Although now universally famed for the Egyptian discoveries his team had made, Carter was more than a one-trick pony, and Enola always believed that he would surely be disappointed that all his other achievements would be forever overshadowed by Tutankhamun.
When he'd tried to drag her to see some Renaissance painting or other, Uncle Bertie had recognised that her real interest was in discovery and science. He had tried to explain this to her 169
DOCTOR WHO
father, but he'd never truly understood. Or cared much.
Never recovering from the torture of his wife dying so painful y in his arms in 1919, Mr Tucker was quite happy to let Enola do whatever she wanted. It was as if all his love of life had been extinguished when he lost Enola's mother.
'Just don't let your heart be broken by love.' That had been his last, embittered, advice before she and Uncle Bertie had headed to Peking to begin an attempt to follow Marco Polo's route through the Far East. Although she rarely listened to her father (frankly she rarely listened to anyone), this thing about not getting emotionally involved with anyone had stuck with her and, while Uncle Bertie flitted from pretty young girl to pretty young girl like a forgetful butterfly, Enola had never allowed anyone to enter her emotional sphere. As a result, she had many friends but no constant companions.
