Autonomy

by Doctor Who

  Reece looked horrified. That was a present from Grandad!'

  'I'll buy you another!' Chantelle snapped. 'Now - stay here!'

  And, head down, Chantelle charged towards the dummies.

  She knew, as she ran, that it was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life. But something was pushing her, something was telling her it was right. She could smell the burning wood and foam of the sofa, and the nasty, sweetly plastic smell of the shop-window dummies as they twisted towards her.

  Chantelle leapt onto the back of the female dummy and gripped its head, feeling it thrash beneath her.

  She'd expected it to feel cold to the touch, but it was horribly warm and clammy. She could see the male ducking from one side to the other, trying to get a clear shot.

  And then she pulled the bottle of nail varnish from her pocket, jammed it up against the dummy's head and poured. Right into its eyes. Glutinous, purple streams covered the dummy's polished face.

  Nothing seemed to happen at first. It was thrashing back and forth, its strength unabated. Chantelle could feel it about to throw her off. Her feet and hands lost their grip and she was

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  hurled against the door with a juddering impact that knocked the breath from her, making the room spin. The bottle of nail varnish rolled away. Where the hell was Reece?

  The dummy swivelled round to face Chantelle. Its hand pointed straight at her.

  'Oh well,’ Chantelle said. 'Worth a try.'

  The dummy's eyes glowed, and its gun barrel snicked fully from its wrist.

  Chantelle screamed and covered her face.

  The blaring alarm rang through the empty halls of Hyperville.

  A disc formed in the floor of Afrika Plaza, beneath the great illuminated, suspended globe.

  It emerged from the floor, becoming a cylinder of glass, packed with Shaneeqi's party guests in their motley costumes from various eras. Several of them were hammering in panic on the curved doors of the lift. Finally, it opened — and they ran, scattering across the Plaza, some leaving feather boas and shoes and scarves in their wake.

  The Plaza was no longer empty. From the floors above, dark figures began to drop, screaming and screeching with hellish voices.

  The witches.

  The party guests panicked, confused, some of them recognising the Doomcastle synchro-thesps and feeling terrified and unsettled by seeing them out of context.

  On the other side of the Plaza, a trio of armoured knights clanked and crashed, sweeping wildly with their halberds, crashing into plants and knocking over the flower stalls and sweet displays.

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  Screams went up from the crowd.

  They ran in different directions, looking for exits from the Plaza. Some even ran for the lift, but a jittery bolt of light from one of the witches' fingers smashed the glass cylinder into a million pieces, which dispersed into sizzling white droplets.

  The majority of the party guests were running into the one available exit, down the tree-lined Kennedy Boulevard, towards the Megashop exit.

  One of the witches fired after them, a sizzling bolt of light enveloping a woman in voluminous skirts as she ran.

  Bolt after bolt crackled from the witches' fingers, slicing through the air and scarring the marble floors.

  Glass shopfronts splintered and melted, droplets of glass splashing and sizzling and congealing on the floor.

  Pungent, green smoke filled the halls like fog from a blasted heath.

  The Oculators bobbed above the massacre, watching.

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  In Hospitality Suite Nine, the dummy staggered. Its shining nose and mouth suddenly cracked, bruising and shrivelling like rotting fruit, and the surface split. The plastic of its face puckered and hissed like the skin of boiling milk, black froth erupting from its eyes and mouth.

  Chantelle uncovered her face cautiously, watching the delayed effect of her nail-varnish-bomb. She watched in fascination and horror. The nail varnish had seeped inside it and was beginning to take effect, she realised.

  An unearthly screech echoed through the room as the dummy bent over sideways, clutching its frothing head, black foam dripping down its clothes and collecting on the floor.

  Chantelle saw Reece. He had scooped up the bottle.

  He threw it straight at the other dummy, hitting it square in the face. The tough glass bottle didn't smash, but it did splatter the mannequin with purple nail varnish. The effect

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  seemed even faster with this one. The liquid bit into the plastic, making it split and froth. The dummy screeched, staggering backwards, throwing both arms out wide, fists clenching and unclenching as if in pain.

  Chantelle rolled over and sat up.

  The dummy fell to its knees.

  And then its head exploded. It burst with a wet, squelching sound like a soft fruit.

  Liquefied black plastic splashed across the carpet and the coffee table, leaving a steaming, gaping hole at the dummy's neck. Its arms flailed wildly like those of a puppet, and then it crashed forward, hitting the carpet in a cloud of noxious, oily black steam.

  Coughing and choking, Reece and Chantelle staggered from the suite, Chantelle hit the closing button and the door swished shut.

  They looked at each other.

  'Seriously,' Reece said. 'You put that stuff on your nails?'

  Chantelle, getting her breath back, grinned and leaned against the wall. 'Course.'

  Reece shook his head. 'You're weird.' He looked up at his sister with new admiration. 'How did you know?'

  She grinned. 'Bit of guesswork. And GCSE Chemistry.

  Listen in class, that's my tip.' She glanced up and down the corridor. 'Come on. I think this place is about to go to hell.'

  Reece didn't move.

  'Reece, I said come on.'

  'I want to know what's happened to Mum,' he said. This place... it's bad, isn't it?'

  Chantelle put her hands on his shoulders. Trust me, Reece. The Doctor's the key to what's going on here. If we can find

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  him, he can help us find Mum again. Now let's get out of here.' She turned to go. 'Sorry about your penknife, by the way,' she added.

  Reece shrugged. 'Like you said. We get out of this, you're buying me another!'

  On Level Zero, the lift doors rumbled open.

  The Doctor looked around, impressed by the huge, echoing, freezing cold space. It was like a kind of underground warehouse, he thought, but also reminded him of a cathedral with its vaulted arches and dark pillars.

  Paul Kendrick emerged first, followed by the two Auton-waitresses with their gun-arms trained on the Doctor. The Doctor noticed that, unlike the two waitresses, Kendrick had breath which misted in the cold air.

  Kendrick waited by the lift as the waitresses escorted the Doctor the length of the warehouse-like space, footsteps echoing up into the darkness, and then he got back into the lift again. The Doctor wondered briefly where he was going.

  Miss Devonshire and Max Carson were waiting at the far end.

  'Hello!' the Doctor said, nodding. 'Mr Carson. We meet again. Still got the little beardy thing going on.' He tutted.

  'I'd lose it if I were you. It's very 1990s.' He turned to Miss Devonshire. 'We've not met, have we? I'm the Doctor.'

  He extended a hand. She kept hers clasped together.

  'I am aware of you,' she said with a smile.

  The Doctor shrugged, let his hand fall back to his side.

  'Nice place you've got here. Well, nice-ish. Bit chilly.'

  'Indeed,' said Miss Devonshire levelly.

  'I don't suppose you've got any tea? I'm dying for a cup of 155

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  tea. An Earl Grey with a dash of milk. Not too much milk.

  Just a dash.' He nodded at the wall behind them. 'And a lovely piece of warp-shunt containment technology
. Now, I wonder why you've got that there? As if I didn't know.'

  Inside its translucent plastic bubble, the Consciousness thrashed and glowed, as if it recognised the Doctor.

  Miss Devonshire, hands clasped neatly in front of her, walked slowly towards the Doctor, her heels clicking. She raised her eyebrows behind her austere rimless glasses.

  'Quite finished, Doctor?'

  'For the moment. If you like. Right, is this the bit where you tell me all about your plans and say the information won't be any use to me, because I'm "about to die"?' The Doctor made finger-quotes in the air. 'Because, you know, I really like that bit. I'd better take notes. Could I sit down?'

  Miss Devonshire folded her arms.

  That tea would be good,' the Doctor went on. And some shortbread. Those chunky round ones. With the... little thistle stamped on them.' He gestured with his hands, describing the shape of the biscuit. 'I love the little thistle.'

  He looked up hopefully.

  'Quiet,' said Miss Devonshire.

  'Oh.' The Doctor looked disappointed. 'Can't you even manage a hold your tongue, Doctor, or I shall remove it?

  That's one of the best ones I've had,' he added to himself.

  'Max,' said Miss Devonshire wearily. Tell him.'

  Max Carson glowered at the Doctor. 'You are familiar with the Nestene Consciousness?'

  The Doctor grinned. 'Oh, that old thing. Yeah, defeated it three times now. Or four. Actually, could it be five? I lose track.'

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  'We're not asking you to defeat us, Doctor,' said Max.

  'Not even to fight us.'

  'Really?' The Doctor looked surprised. 'Now, that is interesting. What hold have they got over you, Maxie-boy?

  And how much does Sir Gerry know about this?'

  Max smirked. That old fool doesn't know anything.'

  Thought so. Just checking.' His expression flicked from facetiousness to cold, hard anger. 'What do you want from me?'

  Max looked at Miss Devonshire for confirmation. She nodded.

  'You seem like a man who knows about extraterrestrial technology,' suggested Max.

  The Doctor shrugged, attempted to look diffident. 'Well, a bit.'

  'Warp-shunt interfaces,' Max said. "This unit fell to Earth thirty years ago. The physical manifestation of the Consciousness was, ah, damaged, injured almost irreparably. It's taken thirty Earth years of slow recuperation, but it's almost there.'

  'Could I look?' the Doctor asked softly.

  Max nodded, and gestured for him to come forward.

  The Doctor crouched down, both hands on the softly glowing, translucent green bulge. 'All right,' he murmured,

  'let's have a listen...'

  Reece and Chantelle were running through the strangely deserted Megastore. The escalators were still running, rumbling away to themselves in an uncannily efficient manner. The huge shop floor showed evidence of having been hastily abandoned, thought Reece - some shelves had been

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  tipped over, and clothes from the racks strewn on the floor.

  As they ran, Chantelle was scrabbling at the shelves, filling her capacious handbag with as much nail varnish and hairspray as she could get her hands on.

  That's stealing]' Reece said.

  'Got any better ideas?' she snapped. 'What if we see more of those plastic goons on the way out? What are you gonna do? Talk nicely to them?'

  Reece didn't have an answer. OK, he thought. Stick with Chantelle. I know I hate her sometimes, but she is my sister. And we need to get out of here.

  They emerged into the mall at a skittering pace, and paused for breath. Nobody was to be seen in either direction. Hyperville was unnervingly quiet. Above them, high in the Atrium, the Oculator still bobbed on its little jet of gas. Some things didn't change, thought Reece.

  'OK,' Chantelle said, looking up and down the empty, echoing mall. This is Hyperion Boulevard. There's an exit just round here. C'mon! We need to find Mum. And the Doctor!'

  They ran — past abandoned flower stalls, cafes and shops -and rounded the right-angled corner, then skidded to a halt.

  They had expected to see the great, glass doors emblazoned with the three-circle Hyperville logo at the end of the mall. Instead, tough-looking steel shutters covered the glass from marble floor to vaulted ceiling, blocking out the light from outside.

  Reece stared at the steel shutters in horror. 'Now what?'

  he cried.

  'Back. Come on.'

  They turned the corner - and saw two women running down the escalator towards them. One was dressed in a 158

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  business-suit and glasses - should have been smart, Reece thought, although she was looking like she'd been pulled through a hedge backwards. The other, a thin and bony girl, had dyed-red hair, a psychedelic top and black leather trousers.

  Reece recognised her, but his sister had got there first.

  'Shaneeqi!' exclaimed Chantelle in amazement.

  Shaneeqi and her companion stopped at the foot of the escalator. The two pairs regarded each other with suspicion, backing slightly away from one another.

  'We ought to get the Doctor,' Chantelle said uneasily.

  The woman in glasses looked startled. The Doctor?

  You've seen him?'

  'Not for ages!' Reece answered. 'Have you?' Then he shook his head. 'Hell, never mind you. It's Shaneeqi! Can I touch you?'

  The young pop-star held her hands up. 'Just... don't,'

  she said.

  The other woman spoke softly. 'She's had a very trying day. She's just found out her husband's an Auton.'

  'A what?' Reece said.

  'Big walking dummy-thing made out of plastic?'

  Chantelle offered. 'Paul Kendrick's one of those?'

  Shaneeqi nodded, folding her arms and looking away.

  'I could have told you that after some of the rubbish free kicks he took,' Reece muttered.

  'I'm Kate Maguire,' said the woman. 'Do you kids have any idea what's going on here?'

  The place evacuated,' said Chantelle. 'Dunno if everyone got out.' She nodded behind her. 'Someone's sealed us up.'

  'Blast doors,' said Kate, nodding. They've got blast doors!'

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  'What?' Reece looked confused.

  Kate tutted. 'Urban environments, terrorist protection.

  Basic stuff. Someone, somewhere, hit an alarm and the blast doors closed. We're sealed in. No way out.'

  'Oh, great,' said Reece. 'You're trying to think, hey, maybe things aren't that bad. Maybe it's just a few malfunctions, or whatever. And then someone goes and says something like no way out.'

  Shaneeqi whirled round, crouching. 'What was that?'

  Kate, Reece and Chantelle stared at her. 'What?' Chantelle asked.

  Reece licked his lips nervously. He hadn't heard anything.

  'Down there,' said Shaneeqi softly, nodding.

  The party of four stared down the length of the mall. The empty boulevards, shops, megastores, restaurants and cafes were hauntingly still and quiet.

  'There's nothing,' said Reece. 'You must have imagined it.'

  He turned in a full circle, just checking. Everything

  ^seemed quiet. No... there was something odd about the glass window of the vast Gladrags store, to their left. It was shimmering.

  The boy's right,' said Kate. 'We're getting jumpy. Come on -

  the Doctor needs our help.'

  Reece stared at the blue-tinted window of Gladrags. Shapes were moving behind it. He was mesmerised by the rippling effect on the tinted glass.

  'No,' he said. 'Hang on.'

  The window burst open.

  It didn't smash - it was as if had suddenly been made fluid.

  It bloomed outwards, making a shimmering, round shape festooned with droplets of glass, like a slow-motion replay of a stone dropped into water.

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TONOMY

  The Autons kicked and punched their way out of the liquefied glass.

  The glass hit the floor with a smack, hissing, steaming and starting to solidify again.

  They were shop-window dummies of all sizes, in various colours of plastic, adorned with cutting-edge and everyday fashion: jackets and trousers, sparkly summer dresses, school uniforms, casual T-shirts and beach shorts, sunglasses, underwear. They were staggering, feeling their way as if blind. There was even, Reece noticed with a sick sensation, one of those mannequins deliberately made with no head, so that it looked like a reanimated, decapitated corpse. It whirled around, its stubby neck bobbing back and forth, fleshy plastic hands clenching and unclenching.

  Fragments

  of

  semi-molten

  plastiglass

  window clung to the dummies.

  Reece stared in horror and clutched Chantelle's arm.

  'Hang on,' Kate was saying. 'Look. They're still confused, look!'

  The way the Autons moved was oddly, unsettlingly like that of drunken human beings. They tried to walk in straight lines but lolloped, staggered, arms held out in front of them as if needing support. One or two of them bounced off each other or hit the shop windows, shattering them.

  'How much of that stuff did you pick up?' Reece asked his sister, not daring to take his eyes off the Autons.

  'Not enough to dispose of this lot,' she muttered.

  Kate looked at the teenagers. 'What stuff?'

  Chantelle showed her the contents of her handbag.

  Anything with the right chemicals in. I offed a couple earlier with nail varnish.'

  'Are we gonna run or not?' Shaneeqi screamed.

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  They all, for some reason, looked at Kate.

  'OK, run! ‘she said.

  They ran, heading for Europa Plaza. Further down the mall, another window burst open in the same way -

  liquefied, as if something had happened to its molecular structure. And then another, and another.

  Both behind and in front of them, windows exploded outwards in showers of fluid droplets, a sloshing, glooping noise echoing up into the vaulted ceiling of Hyperville as Auton arms and legs slashed and thrashed their way out.