Autonomy

by Doctor Who

  'What are you doing?' snapped Chantelle.

  'Don't tell anyone,' said the Doctor breathlessly, 'but I think this thing is out of control.'

  'What are you gonna do?'

  He looked surprised. 'I'm not quite sure yet.' He looked down at the broomstick and gripped it firmly. 'Right.

  Va-va-broom!' The Doctor leapt to the front of the train, past the alarmed families. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, struggling to keep his balance. 'Minor technical fault.

  Please stay in your seats while we sort it out.'

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  He leapt over the gap into the locomotive and peered at the animatronic driver. Its hands were gripping the controls hard, the rigid, grinning cartoon face beneath the blue hat turning from side to side under the control of some kind of motor.

  The Doctor had calculated, by comparing the speed of the train with the sound of the engine and the angle of the incline, that it wasn't supposed to be going this fast. And now they were thundering into the bowels of the Doomcastle so fast that the train risked coming off the rails altogether.

  He leaned down, flipped open a panel on the instrument board, pulled out two wires and touched them together.

  There was a haze of blue, followed by a screech of brakes, and the train began to judder and lose velocity. Fountains of orange sparks flew up in the darkness, steam engulfed the cabin and the smell of hot metal filled the dark air.

  People screamed. Something went pop very loudly, like a cracker.

  The Doctor stood up, hands pushing his hair back so that it stood up in mad spikes. 'Well, I did something,' he muttered.

  The engine had stopped, but, thanks to the slight downward incline of the track, the train was still rolling slowly forwards. The driver's motorised head swung round and it appeared to glare straight at the Doctor with its impassive, cartoon-grin face.

  'Blimey,' the Doctor muttered. 'Where's the Fat Controller when you need him?'

  He jumped out onto the track and jammed the broomstick diagonally between the locomotive and the stone wall. To his amazement and delight, it held firm, jamming the train so that it was, at least for the moment, motionless.

  The Doctor peered at the broomstick interestedly. 'So what are you made of? Not wood, that's for sure...' He 42

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  jumped up. 'No time. People.' He leapt back into the carriage and addressed the shaken-looking passengers.

  'Right, sorry about that. Quick, er, health and safety inspection. If you all wouldn't mind getting off and walking to the end of the tunnel? It's not far.'

  Grumbling, looking at each other in incomprehension and shrugging, people eventually began collecting their bags and moving.

  The Doctor ushered them off the train with a smile.

  'Come on, that's it. Nice and quick, please. Pronto, pronto.

  Thank you very much. Off, please. Aussteigen.'

  'Is this all part of it?' asked Tricia, as she tottered uncertainly down from the train in her leopard-skin high heels. 'I said to Derek, I bet this is all part of it.'

  The Doctor thought they'd better not go into that right now. 'Just keep moving, please. Do ensure you have all your belongings with you, and, er, all that sort of thing...

  Reece, Reece!' He slapped the boy on the shoulder.

  'Managed not to vomit. Good man. Keep it up. I mean, um, keep it down. You know what I mean.'

  As soon as most people were off the train, the Doctor

  -glancing to check that the broom was still holding it in place -jumped back up onto the locomotive and peered closely at the driver.

  'Now, then, let's take a look at you, matey.' The Doctor loosened the driver's blue plastic cap with his sonic screwdriver and lifted it off, revealing the gleaming silver dome of the head beneath. He tapped it. The surface looked like metal, but felt softer, shinier. The Doctor rubbed it, licked the end of his finger and pulled a face.

  'Interesting. All right.'

  He hopped out of the train and scrambled down to meet 43

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  the passengers, who had assembled, nervously, in the greenish light by one of the train junctions, watched over by a black-armoured knight.

  'Right, then," said the Doctor breezily, and clapped his hands. 'Sorry about the impromptu ending. Shall we see what we can find in the Doomcastle?' He folded his arms.

  'D'you know, I love saying that. Doooom-castle. You pretty much know what you're going to get with that, don't you?'

  'You don't work here,' said Chantelle. She had her arms folded and was chewing gum, looking at the Doctor with threatening insolence.

  'Sorry?' The Doctor looked at her, wide-eyed.

  'You've got no more idea what's going on than the rest of us, have you? Why don't we just wait here for the mechanics to arrive, or whatever?'

  'Weeeell, because then you'll have missed your chance to have a bit of an exploration. You're up for a bit of an exploration, aren't you?'

  Several of the small children cheered. Their parents started to look visibly more relieved, obviously convinced that this was all part of Hyperville's package of attractions.

  'OK, then!' said the Doctor cheerfully. 'Off we go!'

  They trooped off into the torch-lit passage, heading for the wooden doors at the end.

  As the last of the passengers left the junction, the suit of armour creaked. Then, slowly, the shiny black visor turned towards the group, and watched them go.

  In his chair, Max Carson mopped his sweating brow. He'd had a very trying couple of days, and he suspected things were about to get worse.

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  Max leaned forward, looking at one of the hundreds of monitor screens in front of him.

  'Magnify him,' he murmured.

  The high-definition CCTV image flipped out, filling his own personal viewscreen. The image closed in on the Doctor's face as he smiled and chatted with the passengers, gesturing upwards like a tour guide.

  Car-ssssson...

  'Fascinating,' said Max. He licked his lips. He cupped a hand to his ear as if receiving a message through an earpiece. 'Our friend with the capacity to override the ticketing system obviously fancies he has a future in the tourism industry. Perhaps we should tell Sir Gerry. Or, er, maybe Butlin's.'

  There was a ripple of polite laughter among the operatives in the control room. Everyone knew it was a good idea to find Mr Carson's quips amusing.

  Caaaaar-ssson!

  'Keep a fix on him,' said Max sternly, cupping his ear again. 'I want to know what he does.'

  He flicked a control on his chair, and the floor swallowed him up once more. He descended through a glass tube, carried on his personal platform.

  Car-ssson! Report!

  I’m on my way,' he said, seemingly to nobody. 'Just...

  dealing with a little... local restlessness.'

  Max Carson's personal lift, unseen by anyone, descended further into the tube - down, down, past the shopping levels and the casino levels, deep down into the bowels of Hyperville.

  Where something was waiting for him.

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  Kate was being proactive.

  Rather than retreating to her room with Sir Gerry's documents, as her fellow Trainees had done, she had got out into Hyperville straight away, her Access All Areas badge pinned to her lapel, her HyperCard in her pocket.

  She'd never believed in sitting and reading rules - she wanted to be out there finding out how it all worked. Ask questions, take notes. Surely that was what it was all about.

  And that was what she needed to do. For her own purposes.

  After two hours chatting to endless store managers and security officers, Kate felt she'd earned herself a coffee and, as she paid for it at a stall off Europa Plaza, she became aware of a large crowd gathering by the giant, blue Waterwall.

  'What's going on?' Kate asked the stallholder.

  'Shaneeqi,' said the man with a grin. 'Doing he
r promo signing.'

  Kate tingled with excitement. So - one of the world's biggest pop stars was right here in Europa Plaza and she hadn't been aware. She glanced nervously back at the stallholder as she sipped her coffee. Maybe he was watching? Maybe they were all watching, all primed to report back to Sir Gerry on who was asking the most sensible questions, who was being the busiest?

  A curved white table was set up with copies of Shaneeqi's silver-jacketed autobiography, Sound Life.

  Some of the crowd were clutching their own copies, while others held CDs.

  Kate was prepared to shoulder her way to the front of the excitable crowd, but she found the black-capped security men ready to hold people back for her. She smiled and nodded at them. Only some of them nodded back.

  Fifty metres above

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  her, an Oculator bobbed in the air; she could see it, a black dot against the backdrop of the Waterwall. She knew there were at least ten of them, now. She remembered showing that school friend - Lisa, was it? - the very first one, that day they skipped school together in Year 11. She knew from her reading that Hyperville still had the exclusive contract for those floating surveillance devices, even though other organisations were begging to be allowed access to them. Not for the first time, Kate wondered why somewhere like Hyperville seemed to need so much security. Surely it wasn't an obvious terrorist target in the way a military or scientific installation was?

  A mere nod got Kate through to the backstage area, which was more cramped than she'd thought it would be.

  There was the young megastar, easily recognisable —crop-top, silver hotpants, spiky crimson hair and terracotta fake-tan - drinking bottled water with her entourage. Shaneeqi was meant to be a health freak, Kate knew. It was rumoured she ate mainly vegetables and drank nothing but water. As Kate approached the group, she saw the girl's heavily made-up face turn towards her.

  She realised she was smaller and bonier in real life than she looked on the TV.

  Kate extended a hand, her heart pounding. 'Hi, Shaneeqi? Just wanted to say hello. I'm Kate Maguire, Sir Gerry's assistant.' It was a brave bluff, but she carried it off.

  Shaneeqi grinned, shook her hand. The young star's hand was cold, Kate noticed, but her grip was firm.

  'All right,' she said in her casual South London voice.

  'Umm...' Kate shrugged, grinned. 'Everything OK?'

  Shaneeqi took a cautious bite of one of the cauliflower-sticks on the buffet arranged for her. 'Are these organic, darlin'?' she asked. 'I said I wanted organic.'

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  'One hundred per cent organic, I assure you,' said Kate smoothly, not having the faintest idea if that was true or not. She could see the entourage eyeing her up - a couple of young men in suits with T-shirts, two muscular guys in baseball gear and a woman in shades who appeared to have silvery-white hair down to her waist. 'Is Paul joining you?'

  The 23-year-old pop-star had caused a stir recently by marrying England football heart-throb Paul Kendrick, who played in Italy for most of the year. A golden showbiz couple, they were rarely out of the magazines Kate read.

  'He's flying in,' said Shaneeqi. She looked at Kate as if she was stupid. 'From Milan? His helicopter's, like, bringing him from Heathrow.'

  Kate smiled. 'Of course. Yes.' She nodded at the additional piles of the autobiography beside the buffet.

  'Book doing well?'

  Shaneeqi shrugged. Think so. Don't really know.'

  'How long did it take you to write?' Kate asked.

  Shaneeqi laughed. 'Oh, I dunno. I just spouted into a microphone and some journalist bloke wrote it all down.'

  She peered at Kate's badge again. The Zone's all ready, then, darlin'? Cause I've not seen it, yet.'

  The Zone. The Zone! Yes, of course, yes. The Zone is fine.

  All clear. All ready.' Kate realised that she was babbling, and tried to maintain her serene grin. 'Umm... tell me about what you... are looking forward to most about it.'

  'Between you and me,' said Shaneeqi, 'I dunno if I'm going to like it. I mean - a whole Zone of the FunGlobe dedicated to meeee! She gasped, put her hand to her chest in mock-horror. I mean, I know I'm, like, fabulous, but this is just amazing.'

  'Amazing,' agreed Kate.

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  So amazing, she thought, that she didn't even know about it. She was beginning to understand Sir Gerry's strategy of keeping them all in a hotel for two months with no media access. It put them at a disadvantage - even those who'd been to Hyperville as customers before. They still had to get up to speed with the latest developments in the place.

  'Well,' said Kate, 'any problems, anything you need, just ask for me, OK? Kate Maguire.' She tapped her ID badge with her index finger.

  'Sure. No, we're fine. Just waiting for the nod that Paul's landed on the helipad, and we'll be off.'

  'I can find out how long he'll be for you,' offered Kate.

  'Oh, would you? Darlin', that'd be great.' Shaneeqi gave her a broad, dazzling smile, as fake as her tan.

  Kate smiled as she put the phone to her ear, and turned away so that Shaneeqi couldn't see her wincing. This'll be fun,' she muttered.

  Using his sonic screwdriver as an additional light source, the Doctor led the group of tourists through the dark, cobwebbed Hall of the Doomcastle.

  It was bitingly cold, and sound effects of chilly wind played in the background, adding to the atmosphere.

  Candles burned in candelabras - fake flames, the Doctor imagined - while grim-faced subjects in Victorian dress looked down on them from vast, golden-framed portraits.

  Suits of armour lined the walls, and the fluttering of bats in the rafters could be heard.

  Tricia Stanford shivered and pulled her fur coat more tightly around her. 'I don't like this. It's like that, whassit, Rockyville Horror or whatever it's called. Isn't it, Derek?'

  Derek smiled tightly and nodded.

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  'Oh, come on, this is great!' said the Doctor with relish, craning his neck and shining his light into the Hall's darkest recesses. 'Very Gothic. The most Gothic castle in Gothictown, Gothicland.' He paused, looked back down.

  'There's only one thing missing, really.'

  On cue, a connecting door creaked open, slamming against the wall, and an icy draught whipped through the Hall. Shattering, discordant organ music echoed through the rafters. Tricia screamed. Chantelle and Reece clung together, while several of the smaller children shrieked or whimpered and hid behind their parents.

  From the doorway, a tall, dark figure stalked -

  black-cloaked, talon-like fingernails outstretched, eyes bright green under a shining cap of black hair. The figure opened its mouth, showing a perfect set of white fangs.

  The Doctor folded his arms and smiled. That's what was missing.' He put his head on one side, sizing the vampire up. 'Ohhh, I'm impressed. Advanced animatronics. These things normally just sort of... stand there and... swivel their heads a bit.' The Doctor bobbed his own head from side to side as if to illustrate the point. 'I wonder...'

  The organ music ramped up a semitone or two.

  'Yeah, yeah, all right!' The Doctor rolled his eyes, raised his voice so that he was addressing the rafters. 'Hammer the point home, why don't you? Blimey, you people like to frighten the kids. You'll be breeding a nation of bedwetters.'

  The vampire shuffled forward, its shiny plastic face swivelling towards the group of tourists, eyes shining with an unearthly glow.

  The Doctor ducked behind the animatronic vampire, flipped his sonic screwdriver up towards it. 'Open wide, 50

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  sunshine. Ever thought you might be getting a bit long in the - no, no, I refuse to do that joke. Even for you lot.'

  He applied his sonic screwdriver to the artificial vampire's ear, and the effect was immediate. It shrieked -

  or possibly made a whining sound caused by t
he grinding of some internal mechanism - and the head spun round a full circle before slumping forward. Its arms hung limply in front of it, making it look like a puppet with the strings loosened.

  The Doctor grinned. There we are.' He raised his eyebrows at the crowd. 'You know, vampires... they're really rubbish, aren't they? I mean there are, what, six...

  seven ways to kill them?'

  'Doctor—' Chantelle began.

  'And one of those involves waving a key ingredient of Italian cuisine in their faces. I mean, that's got to be rubbish.'

  Chantelle folded her arms. 'Doctor,' she said patiently.

  'Mate. Seriously. Is there a way we can get out of here?'

  'Yes. Sorry. Urn...' The Doctor looked around. 'Maybe we can get out a way they don't intend us to, eh? And I can get round to reporting that fault.' He ushered them through the door from which the vampire had emerged. 'Come on, perfectly safe now. Head up the stairs, keep going till you get to the top. Logic tells me that's the emergency exit.

  Although if you see a big green sign at the top marked

  "Emergency Exit", that might be even better than logic.'

  Reece, who was looking a little less green now, poked the Doctor in the ribs. 'Fangs a lot,' he said. 'Geddit? Fangs a lot.'

  The Doctor rolled his eyes. There's always one.'

  Chantelle pushed her brother forward. 'Come on. Let's go and check out the SherwoodZone.' She nodded at the Doctor. Thanks for your help, mister. Sorry I was rude to you.'

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  The Doctor looked up from examining the vampire.

  'Were you? I didn't really notice.'

  When they had all gone, the Doctor pulled a pair of tweezers and a specimen jar from his pocket, gently eased one of the shiny white fangs out of the vampire's mouth and popped it into the jar.

  'Just borrowing that,' he said quietly. 'Don't worry.'

  He popped the jar into his pocket and turned to go.