Deep Blue

by Mark Morris

  He wandered along the corridor towards her. ‘Turlough and I were concerned. We missed your company.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ she muttered.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

  She swung round on him, still feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol. ‘Since when have you cared about my welfare?’

  He looked taken aback, hurt. ‘I care a great deal!’

  Realising she had overstepped the mark, but too proud to apologise, she mumbled, ‘Anyway, who are you to ask me where I’ve been? Where did you disappear off to this afternoon?’

  All at once he looked evasive. ‘Catching up on an old friend.’

  ‘What old friend? Doctor, what’s going on?’

  He sighed, ‘Nothing’s going on.’

  ‘Yes it is. As a Time Lord you may have strange and unusual powers, but you’re a rotten liar. Tell me, Doctor.’

  He raised his eyes heavenward. ‘All right.’ He told her about the light in the sky; the trawler; the alien mind that had briefly touched his upon their arrival.

  Tegan saw her holiday evaporating before her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’

  ‘I didn’t know about most of it earlier. Besides, you and Turlough are supposed to be on holiday, recuperating from recent traumas.’

  ‘So are you!’

  ‘My powers of recuperation are considerably greater than yours.’

  ‘So you keep us in the dark, treat us like children!’ she snapped.

  ‘Only because you often behave like one,’ retorted the Doctor.

  She glared at him for a moment, then abruptly turned and walked away down the corridor, back towards the lifts.

  ‘Tegan!’ he called.

  ‘Drop dead!’ she shouted.

  The Doctor spun on his heels in exasperation - and came face to face with Turlough, who had been standing silently in the doorway of his room, watching the exchange.

  Turlough raised his eyebrows in apparent sympathy and said, ‘Shall I go after her?’

  ‘You do what you like,’ the Doctor muttered, and stalked back to his room.

  Perhaps if she hurried she could catch up with Andy, though what would follow from there she really had no idea. She wouldn’t want him to think she was throwing hers elf at him, and however much she liked him she knew that there was no future in their relationship. She supposed she just wanted someone to talk to, someone neutral, normal, sympathetic -

  though how she could explain what was on her mind without telling him about the kind of life she led was anybody’s guess.

  When the lift doors opened on to the reception area she half-expected to see the Doctor standing there, waiting for her, having beaten her to the ground floor via the stairs.

  When he wasn’t she felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. She hurried across to the main doors and out into the night.

  Andy was nowhere to be seen, but maybe that was a good thing, after all. Tegan had enjoyed the sheer normality of the evening they’d spent together, but perhaps what she really needed right now was time to think, time to sort out the confusion in her mind.

  Should she leave the Doctor and try to pick up the threads of her life again? Rather than simply taking a holiday, or visiting her grandfather, should she break her ties with him once and for all? There was a part of her that craved the kind of normal human interaction she had experienced tonight, and a part that told her she should grasp her once-in-a-lifetime experience of life aboard the TARDIS with both hands and wring from it what she could. She was travelling around the universe in a time machine, for Christ’s sake! She was seeing and experiencing things that the vast majority of people could only dream about! In that respect she was mad for even contemplating giving it all up. But wherever they went they found trouble, danger, death...

  She walked along the promenade until she came to a flight of stone steps that led down to the beach. She descended carefully, holding on to the metal railing at her side, the roaring of the sea increasing like some vast animal excited at her approach. She knew she had reached the bottom only when her feet met a surface that was softer, more giving, than stone. Despite the fat yellow moon and the craning, pumpkin-orange light of the street lamps on the prom above, it was too dark to discern where the sand ended and the sea began.

  The wind ruffled her hair as she began to walk and made her shiver slightly. It was chilly, but at least it might help clear the remnants of the alcohol which still befuddled her thoughts. It was unwise to make any decisions about her future now; she would sleep on it, think about it again in the morning One conclusion she did come to, though, was that whatever was happening here, she would let the Doctor deal with it on his own. She had no intention of breaking her date with Andy tomorrow.

  She came to a halt, wondering whether she ought to head back to the hotel. How long had she been gone? Ten minutes? It wasn’t much of a statement, was it? About five hundred yards away, moonlight was washing across a set of caves, their yawning mouths pooled with shadow. She would walk as far as the caves and then slowly back, she decided.

  Her ears filled with nothing but the foaming rush of the sea, she trudged unhurriedly towards them.

  Deep in the shadows at the back of the largest cave, something stirred. Its spiny flesh rasped the stone wall it had been slumped against as it emerged from its fevered sleep.

  The smell that had roused it - coppery, pungent, and oh so deliriously, unbearably sweet - made it salivate, tremble and jerk with excitement. It hauled itself forward to the cave mouth, its stertorous breathing audible only to itself beneath the constant frothing hiss of the waves, and peered out.

  A woman was approaching along the sand, the wind plucking at her hair and clothes, her outline backlit by the moon. It was her blood that the creature could smell; it was beating off her in waves. As she drew closer, so the smell intensified, until the creature was almost crazed by it. Slowly it levered its body up on its eight legs, tensing itself for the kill...

  Part Two

  Breaking Out

  Turlough shouted her name again, but Tegan didn’t respond.

  Either she was wilfully ignoring him or she couldn’t hear him above the crashing of the waves. He made an exasperated sound and resumed his shambling run. He had always hated physical exercise; if you had to exert yourself to get something you wanted, then it probably wasn’t worth getting in the first place.

  He shouted her name a third time, and on this occasion, to his relief, she stopped and turned round.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked discouragingly as he drew near.

  He thumped to a halt and bent double, hands on his knees, out of breath. After a moment he gasped, ‘I came... to see... if you were all right.’

  ‘Did the Doctor send you?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘No. But I do think you ought to come back and talk to him.

  Clear the air.’

  Obstinately she folded her arms. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, because... because you and the Doctor are the only friends I’ve got. I don’t like ill-will between any of us.’

  She snorted. ‘That’s rich, coming from someone who was trying to kill him not so very long ago.’

  He looked shame-faced, hurt. ‘You know I was tricked by the Black Guardian. Besides, that’s all in the past now. I’m doing my best to make amends.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes! Look, I don’t suppose I can blame you for not trusting me, but we got each other out of Sea Base Four alive, didn’t we? There’ll be no more lies, I promise.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Tegan, though her voice was softer now.

  Turlough extended a tentative hand towards her. ‘ Please come back to the hotel.’

  Tegan sighed and glanced towards the Lombard. She could see the lights in its windows glowing some distance away, up beyond the promenade.

  ‘He treats us like children,’ she said. He doesn’t tell us what’s going on.’

  ‘He’s not like
that all the time,’ said Turlough.

  Tegan gave him a sharp look. ‘Why are you defending him?’

  ‘I’m not. It’s just...’ He sighed. ‘I think you’re being a little hard on him, Tegan. He just wanted us to have a holiday, to relax after what happened on the Sea Base.’

  Now it was her turn to sigh. ‘I know. I don’t like him making decisions for me, that’s all. I’m old enough to make my own.’

  Turlough smiled wryly. ‘Not in his eyes. Though if you manage to live for the next four or five hundred years, you just might get a little respect.’

  She laughed and took the hand he was still holding out towards her. ‘All right; she said resignedly, let’s go back.’

  ‘And you’ll talk to the Doctor?’ said Turlough.

  ‘I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee it’ll be a civilised conversation.’

  As the two figures turned and walked away, the creature in the cave snarled and writhed in frustration. The smell of their blood, carried on the wind like musk, was sending it wild with the urge to tear and rend and devour. But just when its feast was almost within reach, it seemed it was to be cruelly denied it. Desperately, the creature moved forward to the cave entrance, but as soon as the moonlight touched it, it shrank back.

  Despite its craving, an overriding instinct compelled it to remain in the shadows. Very soon it would not matter, but for now it was important that the creature not draw attention to itself. Bloodlust pounded through its veins; a desire so powerful that the creature’s eight legs twitched and jerked in involuntary spasms, scraping against the walls and gouging out great ruts and scars of stone.

  After saying goodnight to Tegan, Andy Weathers decided to call in at one of his favourite haunts, The Blue Falcon, for a nightcap. He was feeling good, still buzzing from Tegan’s company, and he didn’t feel like heading home just yet. One or two of the lads might be in the Falcon - it was a favourite police haunt - but it wouldn’t bother Andy unduly if he had to drink alone. Besides, it would give him the chance to plan his day with Tegan tomorrow.

  The first thing he noticed when he pushed open the door was that there was a rowdier than usual crowd in tonight.

  The lads from the force could get a bit loud, especially on a Friday when the landlord employed a couple of strippers to bolster trade, but this lot was different: young lads and lasses, holidaymakers probably. As he made his way to the bar, Andy realised that the atmosphere was not merely rowdy, it was downright threatening. He glanced quickly around, but the hostility did not seem to be directed at him in particular. It was simply there, as thick as the cigarette smoke that curled around the room in swirling grey patterns.

  The landlord, Bob Walker, moved down the bar to serve him, and immediately Andy saw the tension on his face.

  ‘Evening, Bob,’ Andy said.

  Walker gave a brief nod. ‘Andy.’

  ‘Something going down tonight, is there?’

  Walker’s gaze flickered nervously around the room. ‘So you feel it too, do you? It’s been like this all week,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘Nothing serious so far, but I have this horrible feeling that it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘Same mob every day is it?’

  ‘No, that’s the odd thing. There are some of the same faces, but nearly everyone who comes in looks as if they’re spoiling for a fight. Even -’ he faltered.

  ‘Even what?’ Andy said.

  Walker looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. He lowered his voice even more. ‘Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Andy. I don’t mean to be insulting or anything. But I’ve even noticed it in some of your lot.’

  Andy frowned. Walker’s words had served to crystallise some of his own recent concerns. ‘I’ve noticed it too,’ he admitted. ‘For a week or two now I’ve had this feeling that...

  that we’re sitting on a powder keg.’

  Walker pulled a pint of bitter without being asked and placed it on the bar. ‘Any idea what’s causing it?’

  Andy shrugged. ‘Not really. The hot weather maybe.’

  He paid for his beer and went to sit down. As he drank he glanced around, covertly watching the pub’s customers. The majority, he noticed, were scowling, standing with their fists clenched, turning to stare at strangers as if inviting confrontation. At the bar, people were barging through without care or apology, causing a number of heated exchanges, and several snapped threats.

  He had been in the pub for ten minutes when, seemingly apropos of nothing, a pint glass flew across the room, beer arcing from it, spattering the crowd.

  The glass smashed against the bar, spraying a woman with crystal splinters. She screamed, her hands flying up to her lacerated face. The man beside her turned, enraged, and launched himself at the nearest target, an elderly, bespectacled man who was standing with his wife, sipping whisky. He bore the man to the ground, punched him in the face, smashing his spectacles. The elderly man’s wife slammed a wine glass on to her husband’s assailant’s head, cutting her hand, and then, astonishingly, spun like a dervish and began to viciously pummel the young man in the leather jacket who was standing next to her. The young man retaliated, kicking and bludgeoning the woman to the ground. As if the sudden flurry of violence had snapped their own fragile threads of inhibition, other people abruptly turned to launch unprovoked attacks on those standing close to them. These tinders of violence escalated into a forest fire with such astonishing speed that within half a minute of the catalyst of the exploding glass the entire room was in uproar.

  The chain of events was so swift that Andy, like many others, could only gape at first, his beer glass clutched almost forgotten in his hand. He had been involved in violent situations before and quickly realised that what was happening here did not conform to the usual patterns.

  Brawls and riots generally looked more frightening than they actually were, most of those involved content simply to make up the numbers, to get caught up in the excitement whilst staying out of trouble. Here, though, things were different.

  Here, the majority rather than the minority seemed eager to get in on the action.

  Women were screeching and clawing and kicking; men were punching, head-butting, picking up whatever they could find to use as weapons. The violence was intense, random, senseless, frenzied. People were simply inflicting pain on others for the sheer crazed joy of it, fighting with whoever was closest to hand, regardless of age or gender.

  Andy had only a second or two to take this in before a big guy with a thick moustache and a look of glazed madness in his eyes lunged towards him. Andy jumped up from his seat and instinctively threw his beer in the man’s face. As the man blundered on, momentarily blinded, Andy dropped his beer glass and in one movement stepped forward and punched the man right in the centre of his face, poleaxing him. Before anyone else could zero in on him, Andy ran across to the door at the back of the bar, shot through it and slammed it behind him.

  The corridor behind the bar, at the end of which was a staircase leading up to the living quarters, was deserted. To Andy’s immediate right was a fire exit door, which he slammed through without hesitation. He found himself in a cobbled back yard that narrowed to an alleyway that ran along the side of the building. The noises coming from inside the pub made it sound as if a wild party was taking place in there. Andy took out his walkie-talkie and put a call through to the station. By the time the police arrived, three minutes later, the violence had spilled out into the street.

  Andy stayed out of sight at the end of the alleyway until he heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights of four panda cars and a Black Maria. When he emerged into the glass, debris and body-strewn street, the doors of the police vehicles were opening and uniforms were piling out. Though he was grateful for the back-up, Andy still couldn’t help feeling uneasy. A good number of his colleagues looked as itchy for a fight as most of the people in the pub had been, and Andy didn’t think their eager, yet oddly blank expressions could simply be put d
own to adrenalin.

  As the uniformed PCs and the pub combatants clashed, Reg Stafford, a fellow sergeant and a friend of Andy’s, got out of the front passenger seat of the leading panda car and hurried across. ‘What the hell’s been going on here, Andy?’

  he said.

  ‘All hell broke loose in there, and I don’t just mean a few blokes throwing punches,’ Andy said. ‘Someone chucked a glass, and next thing I knew everyone was going at it hammer and tongs - men, women...’ He tailed off, shaking his head.

  ‘Right,’ Reg said, and even his eyes were glittering a little,

  ‘I’ll follow my boys in, see what the damage is. You coming?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Andy said without enthusiasm.

  Reg and Andy followed the uniforms through the open double doors. Inside the pub, which had been comprehensively wrecked, PCs had drawn their truncheons and were setting about their task of breaking heads. Andy tried to avoid watching them too closely, not because he was squeamish, but because he didn’t want to see how undisciplined his colleagues had become; didn’t want to see the glee on their faces as they brought their truncheons cracking down on skulls. Instead he concentrated on tending to those who had been bludgeoned and beaten out of the fight.

  Most of them had relatively minor injuries - scratches, bites, broken noses, missing teeth, black eyes. Others were injured more seriously: there were broken limbs and ribs and gashes to the head, some of which were quite deep.

  Almost every one of those who had been too badly injured to continue fighting seemed dazed, confused, as if they had emerged from a hypnotic trance. Several of them asked Andy what was happening; one or two even seemed to have difficulty remembering where or who they were.

  Andy made as many of them as comfortable as he could, assured them that ambulances were on their way, then moved deeper into the melee. The police were getting on top of the situation now, hauling people outside. Some battlers still struggled furiously as they were dragged away, whereas others became quiescent, the blank-eyed fury on their faces giving way to a sleepy bewilderment. Glass crunched beneath Andy’s feet and the floor was strewn with debris. A large wooden table-top, cracked and splintered, was lying on the ground, the legs smashed off it, no doubt used as weapons.