by Doctor Who
'Oh, right.' Reece folded his arms and scowled. 'Hold the front page.'
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Things are going belly-up. And they don't want us to know about what we've seen, right?' said Chantelle carefully.
'Right.'
'But that Doctor bloke. He knows what's going on. We've got to find him somehow. Get a message to him.'
Reece slumped onto the leather sofa and gestured around the bare but tastefully decorated suite. 'And how exactly are we gonna do that?' he asked.
'Like I said - I'm thinking.'
They ain't exactly given us the Freedom of Hyperville,'
Reece said, nodding at the electronically locked sliding doors to the lounge. 'I dunno about you, but I've not noticed many other ways out.'
Chantelle looked up, smiled and returned to her nails.
Thinking,' she said again.
Captain Tess Tilbrook crested the ridge at a run and, controlling her breathing, scanned the snowy landscape with her binoculars.
'Nothing,' she murmured. 'Dammit - either it's gone or it's
very
good
at
hiding.'
She
spoke
into
her
wrist-communicator. 'Unit One, report please?'
The voice of one of her team crackled back at her.
'Nothing here, Ma'am. We've checked the grotto and the WinterZone Garden.'
'Unit Two?' said Tess.
The response came quickly. 'Nothing in the forest this end, ma'am. Just heading to the ice lake.'
'Be careful,' said Tess. 'Remember, Mr Carson wants it alive.'
Over the years, Tess had learnt not to ask too many 138
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questions of her employers. Her job was to provide a secure, safe environment for the punters to spend money in happily -and that had sometimes meant doing things she wasn't happy with. Things like doubling the armed patrols on the prestige shops of Xenophon Boulevard, because there had been a terror threat, and having to look mean and moody because the circumstances demanded it, and querying anybody who looked vaguely suspicious.
She didn't always like her job. But it was a job. And that was something to be thankful for.
Her boys, Joel and Barney, always said, 'Be careful, Mum,' when she went off to work. It had become a bit of a standing joke.
These days, she knew it wasn't so funny.
And suddenly, she noticed it had become very cold in the WinterZone.
Properly cold.
Tess shivered. The temperature was always kept a little lower than the rest of Hyperville, just so the punters felt they were getting the true WinterZone experience. But this was different. She could see her breath. She could feel it in her fingers and toes.
There!
A flash of movement in the trees.
Tess dropped to one knee, shouldered her gun and fired.
The shot went wide.
She was sure she heard a quiet, childish cackle coming out of the trees.
'Units!' she snapped. 'Target intercepted. Forty degrees north of my position. Block off its retreat!'
Tess, her breath aching in her lungs, pounded towards 139
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where she had seen the thing. A homicidal homunculus, the Doctor had said, she remembered with a shiver.
She ran, pounding the snow, past the tree which her stray shot had punctured. She was trying to turn, sweep the gun in a wide arc, just in case the thing doubled back behind her.
There was a blizzard whipping up.
It was impossible, but it was happening.
Although it was convincing, Tess knew the snow was just very small mass-produced flakes of the new substance, Plastinol. She didn't know they actually had a way of making it 'snow' inside the Dome. And where the hell -was that back-up?
There was a soft flump sound from behind her.
Tess whirled round.
Standing on the white-covered path in front of her, framed in the whirling snow, was a small girl in a pink-and-white striped jumper, a red hat and red trousers, and red Wellington boots. Her face was shiny, smiling. It had a strangely waxy quality, as if polished or moisturised.
Tess levelled the gun.
'All units," she said quietly and calmly into her radio.
'Target located. Please assist.'
The girl smiled.
She started to advance on Tess, through the whirling snow.
'You will stop walking,' Tess said calmly, feeling her heart pounding. She spoke to the child just as she'd always tried to speak to Joel and Barney when they were being naughty. Images of the boys' faces flashed into her head, scenarios from the past: mud or cereal trodden into the carpet, milk spilt on the DVD player, toys all over the hall.
You will clean that up. You will tidy that away.
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The child advanced, fingers flexing. She lifted her arms as if to run to Tess for a hug.
The cold, harsh snow whipped up into a fountain around Tess and began to cling to her.
And then the child cackled. It was a harsh, electronic sound, like the noise a cheap doll might make.
'Stop! Walking!' Tess yelled. She could feel the Plastinol snow clinging to her face, getting into her mouth and nostrils. It tasted cold, clammy, bitter.
The child leapt at Tess, eyes glowing.
Somehow, Tess dodged it, spinning round, and the child smacked against her shoulder as it leapt, falling to the ground. It rolled like an athlete, righting itself again almost instantly, snarling.
Tess fired.
She unleashed bullet after bullet into the small creature.
They smacked into it, plopping as if into soft mud, ripping holes in the waxy flesh and in the dummy's coat and trousers. The dummy's head, ripped away, hung hideously and grotesquely off the neck.
Smoke dispersed.
The hot, angry smell of the incinerated bullets and plastic wafted through the chilly WinterZone.
The dummy was lying on its back in the sizzling snow.
Tess, hands tight on her gun, didn't dare breathe. She reached out, her hand drawing nearer and nearer to the bullet-riddled dummy.
The dummy sat up.
Tess, gasping, took a step backwards.
And then the holes closed up.
One after another, as if they had not been there, sealing 141
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with a slurping, squelching sound, as if it were made of dough or porridge. And then the head flipped back on like a bin lid, and twisted back into place.
The dummy-girl made an odd sound, rather like retching. It leaned forward, coughed up the spent bullets and spat them into the snow.
Its eyes glowed brightly again, and it cackled.
Horrified, Tess threw her useless gun at the creature, and turned to run.
She couldn't. She felt panic overwhelming her.
The Plastinol snow had crept up round her boots and was holding her in place with the strength of concrete. Like a living thing, it slurped and crawled up her legs. The flakes which had already attached themselves to her face suddenly swept together, formed into a saucer-sized, living mass of snow, clogging her mouth and nose and stopping her from crying out.
The dummy-child, whose plastic body now bore no sign of the bullet-wounds, cackled again, reached out its arms and stalked forward.
And then it jumped onto Tess, its small plastic hands tight around her neck.
'Down!' The Doctor shouted. 'Everybody get down!'
He looked in horror at the four members of Shaneeqi's entourage, expecting that they would get to their feet at any moment and level their deadly fingers at the party guests in the same way.
But to his surprise, amid the general screaming and sounds
of breaking glass, they threw themselves to the floor and covered their heads along with everyone else.
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There was a loud crash, the sound of several objects dropping in unison, and the tinkling of broken glass.
The Doctor looked wildly around. He couldn't see Kate.
What he did see was that each one of the catering staff had dropped their tray of champagne or canapés, and that every one of them - the black-gloved waitresses and the white-gloved waiters - was pointing, as if accusingly, at a group of revellers.
As he watched, the gloved hands each clunked, then opened in unison with that same fleshy, slurping sound
-revealing dark, metallic gun barrels built into the hands.
The Doctor slowly raised his hands. 'Autons,’ he murmured. 'All Autons. Why didn't I work that out?'
Paul Kendrick, smiling, circled the Doctor, his gun-arm close to the Time Lord's head. These are newer models, Doctor. Enhanced Autons. Some of the exhibits, which you managed to do some damage to, are older units. Ready for replacement.'
The Doctor tried not to move as Kendrick circled him.
'So. Right, hello. Golden boy of English football. Don't know much about football. Sorry... An Auton facsimile.
No wonder you never missed a penalty. Well, I assume.
How did you pass the medical?'
Kendrick chuckled. 'People in authority are easily bribed, Doctor.'
I see.' The Doctor's voice had lost its flippancy. Through clenched teeth, he said, 'Let these people go. I don't know what you want, but you can't possibly need them.'
'We are already letting hundreds of people go, Doctor,'
said
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Kendrick quietly. 'Can't you hear it?' The sound of the klaxon blaring was not relayed as far down as the casino, but it could be heard in the distance, echoing through the upper levels. 'We're clearing Hyperville. With the exception of a small number of humans whom we... require.'
'Require?' The Doctor wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.
'Yes, Doctor. Autons, like any tool, need to be tested.
Calibrated. Trained. They need to be aware of the nature and speed of human responses.' Kendrick nodded to the nearest Auton-waitress, and stepped aside.
She stood, booted feet apart, in front of the Doctor, and he heard the buzz and the whine as her gun-hand powered up.
Both his hearts thudded furiously. He was wondering how to get out of this one.
The Auton-waitress swung in an arc away from the Doctor and fired at the nearest table.
A ray of harsh, incinerating crimson whipped across the room, seeming to tear the very air apart with its intensity, and blew the table and chairs into glowing fragments. In the haze of light, they turned red, then white, and dissolved before the pieces hit the floor. A acrid smell of burning drifted through the room.
One of the gamblers, a man dressed as an eighteenth-century pirate, swooped on the Auton with a chair in his hands, holding it high above his head, ready to bring it down on her.
'No! Don't!' the Doctor yelled, but it was too late.
The Auton-waitress swivelled as if on a pivot, and blasted the guest and the chair with the same hot, red light.
He didn't even have time to scream. He and the chair 144
AUTONOMY
hung suspended in a crackling haze for a microsecond.
They turned red, then blazed white, before dissolving into white-hot globules which were scattered far and wide across the dance floor.
Paul Kendrick nodded. Thanks,' he said to the Auton-waitress.
She retracted her gun - the barrel snicking back, the fleshy hinge closing up with a slurping, zipping sound as if it had never been there - and stood with one hand on her hip, still as a statue.
The Doctor moved forward, propelled by anger, but Kendrick held up an admonishing gun-hand. 'No, Doctor.'
That wasn't necessary.'
'Perhaps not. I'm sure nobody else will be as reckless.'
'What do you want?' the Doctor asked furiously, his teeth clenched. 'What's all this about?'
To the lift, please, Doctor. You, it has been observed, have particular knowledge. Mr Carson and Miss Devonshire have... a proposal for you.'
'What kind of proposal?'
Kendrick's pale face flickered in what could have passed for a smile. 'You'll find out if you come with us.'
'I'm not coming,' said the Doctor firmly. 'Not unless you let all these people go.'
'Hyperville is on lockdown,' said Kendrick. They're not going anywhere. Not ever.'
The Doctor opened his eyes wide and stared hard at Kendrick. Then neither am I,' he said.
For a long moment it looked like an impasse.
Kendrick put one hand to his ear, as if perhaps receiving orders. The Doctor was sure he heard a clicking sound.
Then
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Kendrick nodded, and lifted his arm up high. 'Why don't you all run?' he said in a quiet voice, as if making a polite suggestion.
The party guests all stared at him.
The Doctor's eyes narrowed.
For a split second, he wondered why Kendrick didn't just fire into the crowd straight away.
Then Kendrick's wrist-gun exploded into a jagged beam of crimson light, which smashed into the Oculator. The blast blew it into sparkling, fiery chunks which glowed and vanished, fizzing into the air as they pirouetted downwards.
People screamed, scattered, pushing and shoving as they headed for the exits. Clutch-bags, mobile phones, pince-nez, headdresses, chairs, tables, wine glasses and canapés were scattered and kicked aside in the rush.
'Run!' Kendrick shouted again, and his narrow eyes lit up with a fiery red, as if illuminated by bloodlust. His arm swivelled down, pointing at the retreating back of one of the slowest guests, a young woman in a bright purple bodice and ruched silk dress.
'No!' the Doctor yelled, and cannoned sideways into Kendrick, knocking him so that the beam went wide, hitting the chandelier. The Doctor bounced off Kendrick and rolled over.
The glass was hazed with a corona of red light, then exploded outwards like a shower of glass droplets. They turned red and then white as they fell, like heavy, slow-motion rain, towards the room. Before they hit the chequered dance floor, they fizzed and crackled and disappeared in mid air. The room was filled with a sharp, acrid tang.
Kendrick staggered to his feet. He swung round, and 146
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his face wore a sneer. His gun-hand pointed straight at the Doctor, who was being hoisted to his feet by two of the Auton-waitresses.
'Come with us,' said Kendrick softly.
From behind the fire door, Kate and Shaneeqi had watched with a mixture of horror and anger.
'I don't understand,' Shaneeqi hissed. 'My husband...
what's he doing?'
'I don't know if that's really your husband,' Kate said uncertainly. 'The Doctor said these... Auton things can make facsimiles. Copies, of people.'
'So where the hell is Paul?' Shaneeqi snapped.
'I don't know. But we're not going to get very far by charging in there. It won't help the Doctor, or anybody else.' Kate pulled Shaneeqi's arm. 'Come on. I've got an idea...'
Reece and Chantelle looked up as the sliding door to the hospitality suite slid open.
Two dark figures were framed in the doorway. Chantelle felt her stomach plummet. Instead of the security men they had been expecting, two figures in suits stood there.
They looked bizarrely like wedding guests, thought Chantelle. The man wore a steel-grey suit with a purple silk tie and gleaming cufflinks. The woman was in a grey silk skirt and jacket and shimmering mauve blouse, with an elaborate corsage in her buttonhole and a leafy, purple fascinator adorning her hair.
And they were not human.
As the figures stepped into the light, Chantelle saw with horror that they had the smooth, plastic faces of the display<
br />
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dummies from one of the megastores. Light glinted off their polished black skulls and their eyes glowed red.
Reece backed off, holding his hands up. 'Whoa. This better be a joke,' he said.
The two dummies strode forward in unison. They raised their hands as if to point accusingly at Reece and Chantelle.
Some instinct made Chantelle realise she had to duck.
She grabbed Reece, and pulled him behind the sofa - just as two sizzling bolts of light ripped through the air where they had been standing, hitting the far wall. A chunk of the wall turned red, then white, then exploded into a crackling cloud of dust, which disappeared before it hit the floor. A sharp tang filled the air - it smelt like vinegar, thought Chantelle, or window-cleaner.
The dummies turned one way then the other, seeking their prey. As if sniffing them out.
'What the heck are they?' Reece hissed.
'I dunno.' Chantelle was thinking frantically. 'We've got to get out. Warn the Doctor. He'll know what to do.'
'Yeah,' said Reece. 'Not disagreeing here. But - slight problem!'
There was another sizzle, a burst of heat and a whoomph, and half the sofa disappeared, as if disintegrated into hot droplets by some intensely powerful weapon. Fragments of the sofa were splashed against the wall, where they dripped like liquefied wax for a second before dispersing.
Chantelle was frantically turning out the contents of her bag. Lipstick, tissues, mobile phone... None of it seemed any use. Then her hand closed over a small bottle. Of course, she thought. She drew it out thoughtfully and tucked it into the top pocket of her shirt.
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'Reece,' she whispered. 'Do exactly what I say. Right?
Gimme your penknife.'
Reece did. 'What are you gonna do?'
This,' she said. She leaned out from behind the sofa. 'Oi!'
yelled Chantelle. 'Dummies!'
She hurled Recce's penknife against the wall, where it hit with a loud crack. As the little silver knife fell to the floor, both the dummies turned and blasted it with incinerating beams.
