Autonomy

by Doctor Who

  Max felt his heart thudding faster.

  His hand closed over his concealed pistol.

  Something told him this was going to be a decisive moment in his career at Hyperville.

  Miss Devonshire was checking readings at the computer.

  She nodded grimly to herself, then strode up on to the platform and closed her eyes.

  'Enough residual power,' she murmured. Tartly thanks to the Doctor's meddling. The fool! We can do it. We will.'

  She placed her hands flat on the Consciousness's pod.

  Palms flat against the plastiglass shell, she stood there braced as data pulsed from the central computer into the pod. Inside, the Consciousness screamed, torn apart in pain.

  And Miss Devonshire smiled.

  Her eyes and mouth streamed with incandescent green light.

  The Doctor watched Beta-4 and Kendrick carefully as they circled round the control centre gallery. He was also watching Max Carson out of the corner of his eye. He knew he had no reason to trust the amoral, spineless Director of Operations -and things could still go either way there.

  'Hello!' said the Doctor. 'Come for a chat?'

  Beta-4 chuckled, and flipped herself along the gantry like a gymnast.

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  She hurtled hard into the Doctor.

  He felt his hearts thumping as his feet lifted from the podium. And together, the Doctor and Beta-4 fell.

  The Doctor rolled over onto one shoulder, minimising the impact, but the Auton had righted its small body even more quickly, moving with an amazing fluidity.

  There on the control-room floor, with the screens flickering and fizzing behind it, the Doctor found himself looking down the barrel of one small and very deadly wrist-gun.

  'Doctor!'

  He heard Kendrick's voice from the podium above, and looked up.

  Kendrick's gun-hand was jammed under Max's chin.

  'Don't try to resist, Doctor,' said Kendrick. 'Or things will get very messy for Mr Carson.'

  The Doctor slowly raised his hands. 'Sick as a parrot, Mr Kendrick. You've equalised in extra time.' He glanced at the toddler, then up at the footballer again. 'What are you, exactly? Because I've got a sneaking suspicion.'

  'I am Paul Kendrick,' said the Auton, with a hint of a sneer in its voice. 'I am also the Nestene Consciousness. We are all the Nestene Consciousness.'

  'Yes, yes, brilliant. Wonderful self-awareness. But how long have you known that, eh? Because you're not a facsimile, are you, Paul? You're not a waxwork or a copy, like the Autons have used before. You're not a dummy like this little lady and her shop-floor friends, or even an enhanced Auton like the Snow Queen and the witches and the knights.' The Doctor raised his eyebrows, and took a careful step forward. 'Ohhh, no. You are Paul Kendrick. You're one of a whole new breed of Autons. Miss Devonshire and the Consciousness have been 188

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  very clever with you - sending you out there, letting you live a life, get married, being a real person. Did you know all this, Max? Maybe you did.'

  Carson glanced nervously at Kendrick's wrist-gun. He didn't dare say anything.

  'And I think,' said the Doctor softly, 'that I know. What's going through your mind. Why you hesitated, earlier at Shaneeqi's party. Why you stopped. You didn't kill those people. The Consciousness wanted to kill them, didn't it, Paul? But not you. Not Paul Kendrick, or the vestige in your mind that still calls itself Paul Kendrick.'

  Kendrick's face was trying to stay impassive, but the Doctor was sure he could read the strain on the super-supple Plastinol visage.

  Beta-4 swivelled from side to side, almost jumping up and down in its eagerness to kill. The manic chuckle emanated from deep within its little body.

  'Oh, and_ you can be quiet,' said the Doctor. 'It's past your bedtime.' He looked up at Kendrick again.

  'Interesting, isn't it, Paul? Can I call you Paul? Paulie?...

  OK, Paulie's a bit far. Stick with Paul... An Auton who's always thought he's human, Paul. Always believed he was.

  With memories that seem so real, so vivid.'

  Kendrick remained impassive.

  'I bet you can still smell your school playground, can't you, Paul?' the Doctor went on. 'I bet you can see the face of the first teacher who ever gave you detention. I bet you can remember how the mud felt on your hands after you first kicked a ball into goal. That was, what, twenty years ago? Twenty-five? But it wasn't, was it? All of that was injected into you by the Consciousness when you were born. Just two or three years

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  ago, Paul. None of it ever happened.' The Doctor paused. 'A fake human with fake memories. An Auton who's developing autonomy.'

  Kendrick's head tilted on one side, and his eyes began to glow threateningly.

  'You know it, don't you, Paul?' the Doctor asked.

  'Because you've always known. There's always been that little hint at the back of your mind, the suspicion that your memories weren't real. The streets where you first played football.' He nodded up at Max Carson. 'I expect Maxie's media contacts were able to do a lot. Faking the history, creating a man out of nothing.' He looked back at Kendrick again. 'Kate told me you seemed to come out of nowhere.

  Because that's exactly what you did. You never existed before. There was no real Paul Kendrick. Your entire history, your entire life, is a fiction. But, there, you see, that's interesting. Does it make you any less of a being?'

  Breathlessly, the Doctor tried to lock eyes with Kendrick.

  Staring into that redness, seeing if he could find a way into that Auton soul. There was no response.

  'So who are you?' the Doctor challenged. 'Because you haven't always been the Nestene Consciousness. It gave you memories, Paul Kendrick. It gave you a personality. A purpose, a life. A talent. And fans! You've got fans! Did you know that? They'll all be there on their little computers, tapping away, comparing your stats from Euro 2012 with those of the past greats. Bobby Robson, Gary Lineker, even Stanley Matthews. Those people, Paul Kendrick, ohhh, they all think you're brilliant.'

  Kendrick's gun-arm wavered.

  'I mean, yeah, some of them might say you're not as good as you used to be. Trading on past glories. They'd rather watch

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  the videos of your old matches over and over than enjoy the new ones. But you know what? They're wrong. You're still brilliant. Just in a different way.'

  Beta-4 clicked and jittered agitatedly. It was obviously waiting for orders from Kendrick, and as yet they were not forthcoming.

  'Brilliant,' said Kendrick flatly.

  That's right!' The Doctor nodded enthusiastically. 'And you know what's great about that? Somewhere out there is a child you've given hope to. A child who might not be that good in school, but who can play football like a demon. And they've watched you on TV, and thought, one day, I'm going to be like Paul Kendrick.'

  Kendrick's eyes flared a brighter red. These things are irrelevant,' he snarled.

  'Oh no, not to me, they're not. And not to the thousands of fans. Imagine someone going online and typing in Paul Kendrick's an Auton! Imagine if they knew. Imagine if they could prove it. Think what that would do to the people who love and admire you!' The Doctor took another surreptitious step forwards. Think how it would destroy their world.'

  Kendrick's gun-arm came up again, then wavered again.

  They... admire me,' he said softly.

  'You are Paul Kendrick,' said the Doctor softly. 'You have a life, you have memories. They may not be real, but the fact that they seem real can make life worth living. And you have Shaneeqi.' The Doctor took another step forwards. 'It doesn't have to be this way, Paul.'

  It wavered, then. The Auton which was known as Paul Kendrick. It seemed to take a step backwards and to lower its gun-arm a fraction of a centimetre more.

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  The Doctor held his breath.

  'I a
m Paul Kendrick,' said Kendrick.

  And at that moment, Max Carson ruined everything.

  His bony elbow slammed into Kendrick, knocking him off-balance for a second, and then Max whirled round, dropped to one knee and was levelling his pistol.

  'Max! No!' the Doctor shouted, but it was too late.

  Beta-4 gurgled in apparent delight, swivelling its little gun-arm up towards the podium to try and get a clear shot.

  The Doctor charged into Beta-4, knocking the midget Auton over and sending its shot wide. The beam smashed into the screens above, sending globules of dissolving plastiglass raining down like confetti.

  Max fired. Six bullets hammered into Kendrick, making him stagger. He lost his footing and plummeted off the edge of the podium, crashing to the floor beside the Doctor.

  'Barbados,' he said softly. 'You're not going to take away Barbados.'

  But time was up for Max Carson. He was too late for Barbados, or anywhere else.

  Kendrick, the bullet-holes in his shirt already closing up, sat up, swivelled his head round and pointed straight up at Max. As if accusing him.

  He smiled.

  'Sorry, Carson,' he said. 'You're fired.'

  The beam hit Max Carson squarely in the chest, hazing him in red, then white.

  Max was wreathed in a corona of blood-red, arms flung high, mouth open in astonishment. Then, the image of him, the imprint - whatever it was that remained - fizzed and burst into a shower of droplets.

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  Kendrick swivelled round and levelled his wrist-gun at the Doctor.

  For a second they stared at one another.

  Kendrick's eyes flared.

  The Doctor didn't gamble. He couldn't be sure that the vestige of autonomy was there any more. He wondered if it had been lost for ever.

  He threw himself aside. The beam from Kendrick's wrist-gun slammed into the wall, carving a huge, smoking gash.

  Beta-4 chuckled and gurgled.

  The Doctor, realising there was nothing he could do, made for the nearby fire door - with a bolt from Beta-4's wrist-gun sizzling within millimetres of his shoulder...

  Miss Devonshire felt fully as one again with the Consciousness, for the first time in thirty years.

  Little Lizzie Devonshire. Walking through the abandoned warehouses in the bleak, industrial wasteland of this part of Britain.

  She didn't know what had brought her there or why. She was running, running past great towering cliffs of warehouses, under looming girders, feet splashing in puddles of foul yellow slime.

  She remembered. Running from them. Running from the bullies, from the girls who had taunted her about her accent and her thick glasses and her buck teeth.

  Ugly girl. Yank. Weirdo-girl. Fleabag.

  And now, here in the darkness, she had found a friend. A little glowing friend. A sphere, pulsing softly, like a plastic football lit from within. Lizzie had touched it. And in her head she had heard the voice.

  What is your name, child?

  Elizabeth Sarah Devonshire.

  What is this place, child? What is the name of this world?

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  The world. It's called the -world. I mean... Earth.

  Earth! That is most appropriate.

  And the voice had echoed deep in the caverns of her mind, and had told her what to do.

  Every month, Lizzie Devonshire had returned to check on the sphere. It had helped her, guided her. Her entire life had been dedicated to the Consciousness from that moment on.

  Her business experience, her meeting with Sir Gerry, her involvement with Carson Polymers.

  And every month, the sphere had grown.

  Deep underground.

  And, after ten years, the sprawling palace of fun had begun to grow above it. First called Superville, then Superland, and finally Hyperville, it had taken shape on the concrete foundations as a strong thermoplastic frame, stronger than iron and more flexible, a huge plastic spider squatting on the cold earth. And the Consciousness had drawn strength from the infrastructure, and from every shop and cafe and shop-window dummy and Zone and exhibit which was developed.

  And now it reached out through Hyperville.

  Miss

  Devonshire

  screamed

  as

  the

  Nestene

  Consciousness coursed through her.

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  'Whatwasthat?'saidChantelle.Katewhirledround, doing a full circle, scanning the bar. 'I didn't hear anything.'

  'It was—'

  Chantelle didn't even get to finish her sentence. There was a loud thump, and the surface of the bar flipped open, taps and all - and a hand emerged, followed by an arm.

  And then a tousled quiff of hair and a big grin.

  'All right, you lot!' said the Doctor briskly, hopping out into the saloon area and slamming the bar shut. 'Have you missed me?'

  Sir Gerry gulped the rest of his whisky and slammed the empty glass down on the saloon bar. 'Dammit, Doctor, you seem to come and go as you please in Hyperville!'

  'Well...' The Doctor shrugged. 'These maintenance hatches are all labelled. Just think of me as a sort of mystery

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  shopper... Reece! Reecey Reece Reece, my man. Not feeling nauseous?'

  'Not bad, Doctor.' Reece grinned weakly.

  'Good.' The Doctor clapped Reece with both hands on his shoulders, then his cheeks, in a manner which Kate, grinning, recognised as belonging to an old comedian her mum had liked called Eric Morecambe. 'And Chantelle!

  Both OK? Good... Your mum's fine, by the way. Got people looking after her.'

  'And Derek?' asked Chantelle.

  The Doctor paused, his face giving everything away. 'I'm sorry," he said. He put a hand on Chantelle's shoulder.

  'We'll make sure he didn't die in vain.'

  She shrugged. 'I never really liked him much.' She caught Recce's shocked gaze. 'Well, I didn't!' Embarrassed, she backtracked a little. 'But... he made Mum happy. So I'm sorry.'

  The Doctor looked around the dimly lit saloon and his eyes alighted on Shaneeqi, who was standing, arms folded, outside on the terrace. Her eyes were still shaded with sunglasses, and she was staring out at the street. 'She all right?' he said quietly.

  'Bit of a shock, I think,' said Kate quietly. 'It's not every day you have to admit your husband's actually an unfeeling killer plastic robot. Although, to be fair, my friend Melissa did say something similar when the Child Support Agency couldn't track hers down.'

  'Kate Maguire!' said the Doctor. 'I like a woman who keeps her sense of humour in a time of crisis... Now then...'

  He rummaged in his capacious jacket pockets and pulled out a small jar. His face lit up with boyish delight as he held it up to

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  the light. This might be just what we need. The whole tooth and nothing but the tooth. Ohhhhyesss.'

  That's from the Doomcastle!' said Chantelle, recognising it. 'You took it from that vampire bloke.'

  'And if I'm right,' said the Doctor, 'and I often am - then this little incisor is going to help us out quite a bit.' He looked around. 'If Maxie-boy hadn't impounded my TARDIS, I could take this and analyse it properly.'

  'What do you need, Doctor?' Kate asked.

  'Well, I'm trying to formulate a bit of an anti-plastic cocktail.'

  'Anti-plastic?'

  Anti-plastic! Interacts with the molecular structure of Plastinol-2. Causes it to disintegrate. Ideally, various combinations of chlorofluorocarbons, vinyl acetates? And copolymers with a dash of maleic anhydride?'

  'Here!' Chantelle tossed him something and he caught it instinctively - her large can of hairspray.

  The Doctor beamed in delight. 'Brilliant! Now all I need is some nitrocellulose and an adhesive polymer. A nice tosylamide-formaldehyde resin would do.'

  Chantelle rummaged in her bag again, and p
ulled out her nail varnish. 'You're not gonna believe this, but this is patent Auton-dissolver.'

  'You should have seen!' Reece punched the air. 'It was sick!'

  'Sick?' The Doctor wrinkled his nose.

  "That means good,' whispered Kate.

  'Ah.' The Doctor reached out for the nail polish and held it up to the light. 'Seriously - you attacked the Autons with this?'

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  Chantelle nodded. Turned their plastic heads to soup.'

  'How did you know it would work?"

  Chantelle grinned. 'I didn't.'

  The Doctor pulled a grudgingly admiring face. 'Empirical method. I like it. Much how I work myself. OK...

  Plastinol-2's still at an underdeveloped stage. If we're lucky, the Nestenes have overreached themselves this time... Now - somehow, I need to get hold of some kind of ethyl alcohol.'

  'Ethyl alcohol?' said Kate. 'You mean booze?'

  'Well..." The Doctor shrugged. 'If you like.'

  Everybody looked at him.

  Kate folded her arms and nodded over his left shoulder.

  The Doctor whirled round, then back to face Kate again.

  'What?' he said.

  'We're in a bar,' she said long-sufferingly.

  The Doctor looked over his shoulder again, then back at Kate. 'What?'

  'We - are - in — a — bar.'

  The Doctor's face broke into a broad grin. 'Course we are! Brilliant!' He ran to the bar, vaulted over it and grabbed a pint glass. He pressed it against each of the optics in turn until the glass was brimming full of a brownish, unpleasant-looking mixture of spirits. 'Club Hyperville, the drinks are free!' He held it up to the light, dipped a finger in and tasted it. 'Mmmm. Wouldn't serve this up at Happy Hour, but it's just what we need... Gimme five minutes.'

  'Doctor?' said Sir Gerry, his voice slightly lower than usual.

  'Yes, Sir Gerry? What can I do for you? Don't tell me -bit of blue-skies thinking? Reference for Kate?' The Doctor stirred the mixture of drinks in the glass and started squirting

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  hairspray into it. 'She's brilliant. Brilliant. Employ her. Let her run the place.'