Autonomy

by Doctor Who

  He rolled over, grabbed one of the candelabras and swung it up, just in time to deflect the blow of the second knight's halberd...

  Kate, watching on the monitor, gasped.

  'You've got to stop them! They're going to kill him!'

  'My dear, they are simple mechanical devices for the entertainment of children. They can no more kill anybody than a salt-cellar could.'

  Kate glared at Max. 'Stop them, Mr Carson!'

  Max sighed, chuckling. 'Oh, all right.'

  He reached out and punched a code into his control panel.

  'Carson,'

  he

  said.

  'Voice

  recognition.

  Circuit

  DC-47-B-98. Override.' He leaned back in his chair, spread his hands. There, Miss Maguire. Satisfied now?'

  'Yes,' she said with a smile, folding her arms.

  And she looked as if she meant it.

  The Doctor had his hand above his head, ready to deflect whichever of the ghoulish apparitions decided to attack him next.

  But in that very second, the lights in the witches' eyes went out and they dropped to the floor, as if their power of levitation had suddenly been lost. The two knights paused in mid-stride, halberds held in the air, once more like the motionless suits of armour they had been before.

  The Doctor sat bolt upright, looked first one way and then

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  the other. 'And we were getting to know each other so well,'

  he said.

  He put the candelabra down, flipped his glasses on and peered at the inert suit of armour. He tapped it gently, expecting a clang, but hearing instead a dull thud.

  He wanted to take a closer look at his attackers. But something told him that enough was enough for the moment - and he had the vampire's tooth in the glass phial in his pocket. He bounded off the table and, with one quick look back, hurried up the stone spiral staircase which he hoped would lead him to the exit.

  'You sure about this?' said Reece Stanford nervously to his sister as they stood in a mock-up of a rock-walled cave, waiting for some greenery-festooned doors to open.

  Chantelle thumped him on the arm. 'Course. Don't be so stupid. You wouldn't rather be going shopping with Mum and Derek, would you?'

  'Well... no,' admitted Reece. 'It's just that I feel a bit of a dork in this get-up.'

  He gestured down at the ill-fitting green tunic, brown leggings and sandals which he had been given to wear in the entrance area of the SherwoodZone. Chantelle had come off better, having been fitted out in a smart Lincoln Green waistcoat and velvet trousers tucked into boots.

  'All part of the fun, innit?' said Chantelle cheerfully.

  'Ooh, look out - here we go!'

  The doors swished open, and they stepped out into the forest.

  Even the normally cynical Chantelle had to admit that she was quite impressed. She could tell the forest was artificial,

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  enclosed within the great dome of the FunGlobe, but if you looked below the level of the trees it was pretty convincing -

  a throng of dense undergrowth, great canopies of verdant leaves drenched in what appeared to be sunlight, and a soft covering of leaf-strewn earth beneath their feet. There were mossy boulders, as well as crowds of bluebells, and other flowers which Chantelle did not recognise. The air was infused with an earthy, barky smell, and they could hear the sounds of gentle birdsong.

  'Blimey,’ murmured Reece. 'Sherwood Forest!'

  'I was expecting a few tacky plastic trees,' said Chantelle in awe. 'And a Friar Tuck Burger Bar.'

  'What was that?' Reece suddenly clutched her arm.

  'What?'

  'I saw something move. In the trees.'

  'Dunno. A bird?'

  'It was bigger than a bird,' said Reece crossly. 'Have you got anything to eat?'

  She folded her arms and glared at him. Two hours ago you were feeling sick as a pig. Now all you're interested in is

  - wait a minute!' Chantelle ran across the forest clearing towards what she had seen. She beckoned Reece over.

  'Look!'

  It was an arrow, buried deep in the bark of the tree, pinning a fragment of parchment to the trunk. Chantelle removed the arrow and unrolled the parchment. It was marked with a rudimentary map, scrawled in black ink, with a big red X marked at one place near the centre.

  The Merry Men's hideout!' she said excitedly.

  'You sure?' Reece glowered suspiciously. 'Could be a trap by the Sheriff of Whatsit. Norwich.'

  Chantelle sighed and rolled her eyes. 'Nottingham, Reece.

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  It's Nottingham. You got any idea about geography?' She held a hand up. 'OK. Don't answer that. Come on.'

  The two teenagers disappeared into the undergrowth, talking excitedly.

  A second after they had gone, the dark, hooded figure which had been watching them from the shadows stepped out into the clearing. It nodded to itself, and gave a low, amused laugh.

  Then, with green-booted feet making almost no sound on the soft earth, the figure slipped back into the cover of the forest.

  'Attention. Attention. This is Hyperville. Please note that the Doomcastle is now dosed to visitors for essential maintenance. Anyone holding an advance booking on their HyperCard may exchange it for other goods of an equal value at any Hyperville vending point. We apologise for the inconvenience. Shop. Dream. Relax.'

  The Doctor, once he had made his way back through the vastness of the ShopZone, didn't take long to find the alcove beside the small gift shop where he had left the TARDIS. He strode round the corner with a big grin, ready to snap his fingers at precisely the right level of decibels and the correct frequency.

  The grin froze on his face.

  The TARDIS wasn't there.

  Hearing movement behind him, the Doctor whirled round. Two armed security men stepped from the shadows, blocking off his retreat to Europa Plaza.

  Another man - dark and goatee-bearded - appeared between them, smiling, hands clasped behind his back.

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  'Your... equipment has been, ah, impounded, sir,' he said.

  'No parking permit.'

  'Oh!' The Doctor backed towards the glass Emergency Exit doors behind him. 'Sorry about that. I did have one.

  Always losing these things. Sorry, um, I'm the Doctor, by the way.' He offered his hand.

  "The Doctor. Just that? How interesting." The man, who didn't offer a handshake back, raised an eyebrow. 'I'm Max Carson. Director of Operations.'

  'Right. I suppose you know you've got rampaging exhibits on the loose in the Doomcastle? Not to mention a less-than-jolly train driver who very nearly killed a whole load of passengers?'

  Max chuckled. 'Fanciful nonsense. Our operations are controlled by our Mark One Central Program, tested and protected to the absolute limit.'

  'Mmmm. You say that, and yet you won't look me in the eye. You're a rubbish liar, Mr Carson, did you know that?'

  'I don't know what you mean. Nothing can malfunction.'

  Try telling that to Witchy Mac Witch and the Knight Twins. You've got yourself a few dodgy circuits down there.

  Well, that, or some seriously miffed members of the Horror Actors' Guild.' The Doctor scratched his ear and pulled an apologetic face.

  Max rolled his eyes. 'I wonder,' he said smoothly, 'if you'd be good enough to join me for a meeting in my office, Doctor? Just to... discuss a couple of things?'

  The Doctor, still rummaging in his pockets, looked pained. 'Oh? Meetings, nah, I don't really do meetings.

  Especially when there aren't any biscuits.'

  'Doctor—'

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  'And don't you find it really irritating when someone's spent half an hour going on about the annual leave allocation and you've still got six items of Any Other Business to get through? I hate that. Don't y
ou hate that?'

  In one movement, he had flipped his sonic screwdriver out and loosened the Emergency Exit doors behind him. Now, he kicked backwards and slipped through the gap. 'Send my apologies,' he said, and ducked into the staircase.

  'Get after him!' snapped Max, and the two security men hurried to obey. Sighing, more in exasperation than anger, he flicked the attachment in his ear. 'Carson here. Got a wanderer in Europa, heading down towards the junction of Fifth Walk and Attenborough Boulevard. Get some units to apprehend, please. And try not to hurt him too much. I want to ask him some questions!'

  At the foot of the stairs, the Doctor almost cannoned into a slim figure who stepped out in front of him. She was smartly dressed, aged about 20, with a feathered bob of black hair, an impudent snub-nose and smart glasses.

  Coming to a breathless halt, the Doctor flipped his trusty psychic paper up in front of the woman.

  The Doctor looked casual. 'Dr Johannes Schmidt.

  Structural engineering consultant.' He winced, tapped the breezeblock walls. 'Oooh, you've had some cowboys in here.'

  The woman tapped the badge on her lapel. 'Kate Maguire. Management Trainee.' She tilted her head on one side. 'At least mine's not blank,' she added reprovingly.

  The Doctor's jaw dropped. 'How did you... ?'

  From above came the sound of clattering footsteps, as the security men hared down the stairs after the Doctor.

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  'Having a spot of bother?' said Kate. She opened a maintenance door to the side of the staircase. 'Get inside.'

  The Doctor hesitated. 'How do I know I can trust you?'

  'You don't. But I'm not carrying a gun. Unlike those guys.' She pointed up the stairs.

  The Doctor swallowed hard. 'Good point, Kate Maguire.

  Well made. Come on, then."

  They ducked into the maintenance doorway, and Kate slammed it shut behind them.

  Inside, they were in a low, tight tunnel lined with multicoloured cabling and grey junction boxes, lit by occasional orange panels along the walls. It smelt musty and hot.

  'Let's move,' said Kate. 'Quickly.'

  The Doctor grinned as they hurried along, ducking under the low, cable-lined ceiling. 'You sound like you've done this before. Why did you rescue me?'

  'Because Mr Carson didn't like the look of you.'

  'Yeah, there is that.'

  'And Mr Carson's an idiot.'

  'Ah, well, there's that too. You seem like a good judge of character, Kate Maguire.'

  'And you looked as if you'd found something out that you shouldn't. You seem like a nose-poker to me. You a nose-poker?' She stopped, spun round, faced the Doctor with her arms folded and her eyebrows impishly raised.

  'Urn... well...' The Doctor didn't know what to say. 'I do sometimes make it my business to find things out.'

  Kate beamed. 'Great! Me too. That's why I got myself on this Management scheme. I'm a trainee journalist.' She tapped the side of her nose. 'Strictly undercover. It's my project. Trying

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  to find out the real story behind Hyperville. It's kind of a...

  lifelong obsession.'

  'Rrrright. So you're not in it to work here, then?'

  Trust me, Doctor - I've no more got a business mind than your real name is Johannes Schmidt. What is your real name?'

  'Just the Doctor.'

  'What, just The Doctor?' Kate pulled a face. That's stupid.'

  'No, no, it's—' The Doctor tutted, sighed and turned to face her. 'Why? Why do people have such a problem with this? They never ask Meat Loaf why he's named after an unfashionable foodstuff, do they? Or tell J.D. Salinger, oh, no, you can't just be J.D., you've got to have a proper first name?'

  Kate held up a hand. 'OK, OK. Don't tell me. I'll try and guess. It'll be our little bit of fun.' She shook her head.

  'Didn't realise it was such a touchy subject,' she muttered.

  'I hope you like a challenge,' muttered the Doctor, as they hurried on through the service ducts. 'By the way, um, Kate -do you actually know where you're going?'

  'Away from those guys,' said Kate. 'Can only be a good thing, right?'

  'Weeeelll...' The Doctor caught up with her, shaking his head. 'Not necessarily. Depending on what's at the end.' He grinned at her. Tell you what - while we look for a way out, why don't you fill me in on what you know about Hyperville...?'

  'Ta-dah! Tricia Stanford giggled and held up a silver-lame miniskirt against her none-too-pert bottom.' Whaddya think, Derek?'

  Derek smiled weakly.

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  Endless miles of shops, stretching up above his head and away into the distance, were not really his idea of fun.

  Unfortunately, Tricia was in her element. Her annoying kids

  were

  off

  entertaining

  themselves

  in

  that

  SherwoodZone, which was a blessing, but he was still stuck here for the afternoon.

  One of the security guards had said something about young Paul 'Goldenball' Kendrick being in the complex somewhere, which interested Derek far more than a lot of clothes shops. Granted, the young'un was no Bobby Moore, but it would still be worth trying to shake his hand.

  'Oooh, how about this one?' Tricia asked, pulling what seemed like the thousandth item from the rack and holding it up against her voluptuous body. It was an all-in-one bodysuit consisting of a pink crushed-velvet top and leopard-skin leggings.

  Derek shrugged and pulled a face. Gawd, he thought, that would look awful on a woman twenty years younger, let alone on her. What he really wanted to do was go and have a nice sit down and a cup of tea somewhere. Maybe even a scone.

  Above him in the corner of the shop, the CCTV camera swivelled as if to admire Tricia's potential purchases. Derek scowled and folded his arms, cursing his throat ailment for the umpteenth time.

  'No?' said Tricia disappointedly. She took another look at the garish item. 'Hmm, maybe it is a little outré, you know, pour moi.' She spotted something on a rack a few metres away. 'Don't go away, Derek,' she said. 'I've got the very thing.'

  Derek groaned inwardly and looked at his watch.

  Beside him, a family of glossy mannequins displayed the latest fashions - the father in a leather jacket and black jeans,

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  the mother in a black shift-dress, wooden beads and a beret, and the toddler-dummy standing beneath them, displaying a striped jumper and cute pink trousers.

  Derek shuddered. He didn't like shop dummies much at all, especially the sleek new sort. It was the way they looked nearly human, but not quite - the features smooth and unfinished, the sculpted hair, the eyes with no irises, the black plastic faces and limbs glossy and unblemished.

  The shop was full of them, and so were the other superstores. They weren't just in the clothes sections, but in the shop windows and the other departments too, where they could be found brandishing kettles and saucepans, holding up books and even displaying helpful signs for customers.

  He had to admit, he found them a bit creepy. And that went double for those modern ones with no heads.

  'Ooooh, Derek,' said Tricia's voice from behind the multicoloured rack of clothes, 'how about this? Just the thing for drinks with the Hendry-Ellises. What do you think?' She poked her head round, and held up a hideous pink top covered with spangly spiderweb patterns.

  Derek smiled weakly and gave her a thumbs-up. If he'd had a voice, he'd have said it was the kind of thing that Graham Norton bloke might have worn. Tricia disappeared again, in search of more prey.

  When Derek looked back towards the dummies, the toddler-dummy's head was turned in the opposite direction.

  Derek felt a chill, and his heart began to beat faster. He stepped slowly forward, leaned down towards the midget mannequin. Yes, its head was definitely looking down the aisles into the shop - and just a se
cond ago, it had been looking out into the malls.

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  Someone must have moved it, Derek thought. They'd twisted the head round as they walked past.

  He reached out and pressed his hand against the dummy's plastic cheek.

  Oddly, it didn't feel as he had expected. He had thought it would feel cold, hard - instead it felt clammy and quite warm. Very unpleasant. Derek gave a grunt of displeasure and pulled his hand away. Horrible things, he thought.

  And then the toddler-dummy's head turned round to look straight at him.

  Derek jumped back in horror, staggering backwards into two young women.

  'Oi!' one of them snapped. 'Watch where you're going, matey!'

  'And keep your hands to yourself!' the other added.

  Sweating, his heart pounding, Derek turned round, holding his hands up in a placatory gesture as the two girls stalked off, still looking over their shoulders and making disparaging comments towards him.

  Derek peered down.

  The toddler-dummy stared at him with its sightless eyes.

  Tricia swept past him. 'Derek, what are you doing?

  There's nothing good here. Come on. We're going to Gladrags, and then if we can't find anything there we'll look in Henrik's.'

  She paused at the big, open exit to the shop, as shoppers rushed past. She glared over her shoulder at her boyfriend. Derek was not ignoring her, but was backing cautiously away from the dummy.

  'Derek, for goodness' sake! Come on!'

  Derek finally broke his gaze from the dummy, and hurried off after Tricia towards the gleaming blue travelator-tubes.

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  Back in the shop, the toddler-dummy's eyes glowed a soft red.

  On a soft-edged, oval screen, deep within the lowest basements of Hyperville, the face of Derek appeared, freeze-framed. Information poured onto a side-screen -

  data gained from scanning his iris and cross-matching with a national ID database.

  That one has seen too much,' said a mellifluous, female voice. 'Eliminate him. Eliminate him at the earliest opportunity!'

  In the blackness at the edge of the solar system, a cluster of objects, each no bigger than a football, moved, keeping together in close formation. They were purplish-green in hue, roughly spherical but made up of flat, triangular sides. They pulsed gently in unison.