‘A spare ticket, you say?’ replied the Doctor.
Vienna nodded enthusiastically.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘So are you coming, or what?’
The Doctor looked to Jake, who was grinning from ear to ear, and then to Mrs Carstairs, who had folded her arms.
‘What do you say, Mrs C?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Carstairs, through gritted teeth, ‘I suppose it would only go to waste otherwise.’
‘I guess that means I’m coming,’ said the Doctor.
Huffing through flared nostrils and shaking her head, Mrs Carstairs led her children out onto Tunbridge Street, and the Doctor followed.
‘TICKETS, PLEASE,’ SAID the usher.
Vienna passed the tickets on to her mother, who in turn handed them over. The tickets were torn and the stubs handed back to Mrs Carstairs, and then the four of them filed through the arched entrance to the Oxygen Gardens.
Jake looked back over his shoulder to see that the Doctor was now wearing a pair of black-framed spectacles. He seemed to be inspecting almost every detail of the corridor, as if each pipe and valve was endlessly fascinating. As they neared the main chamber, the Doctor paused momentarily and began sniffing the air.
‘What is it?’ asked Jake.
‘Oh, nothing,’ said the Doctor. ‘Probably nothing. Hopefully nothing.’
‘This way, please,’ said a second usher, walking backwards with his hands held up, beckoning the guests forward.
Jake had never seen so many Newcomers before, so many different faces. In the two years that his family had lived on Chelsea 426, he had become used to seeing the same people, day after day. Even if he couldn’t put a name to every face, he did, at least, recognise almost everyone he saw on a daily basis. There were occasional visitors, from time to time – traders mostly, or those who were passing through and stopping to refuel or rest before embarking on a longer journey – but they were never this great in number. Looking around at the slowly shuffling army of guests, Jake realised he saw very few faces he knew at all.
In the main chamber of the Oxygen Gardens, the guests were guided into place in the walkways and thoroughfares beneath the colossal glass dome. To either side, large sections of the chamber were hidden from view by curtains suspended from the dome itself. No flowers or plants were yet visible. On the far side of the gardens a small stage had been set up on which there stood a lectern and a microphone, and behind the stage two large video screens and a sign announcing the ‘First Ever Chelsea Flower Show’.
There was then a long and tiresome wait, as the last of the guests came through the doors, and the whole chamber echoed with an increasingly excitable chattering. Young waiters and waitresses passed among them carrying trays filled with glasses of champagne or orange juice. Jake surreptitiously reached for a flute of champagne, but felt his mother’s disapproving glare and chose an orange juice instead.
While Mrs Carstairs shifted restlessly and impatiently, and his sister went up on tiptoes to get a better view, Jake noticed that the Doctor seemed anxious, eagerly trying to look behind the curtains. He was still sniffing at the air as if he could smell something distinctly unpleasant; his expression not one of excitement or enthusiasm, like the guests, nor one of quiet irritation, like his mother, but of concern. The Doctor looked like he was intensely worried about something. But what?
‘What is it?’ Jake asked eventually. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just. . . I don’t know. . . A hunch.’
The Doctor raised one hand and, deep in thought, tapped out a silent Morse code on his lips with his forefinger. Then he leaned forward and said to Jake, as quietly as he could, ‘If I give you the signal, I want you to get your mother and sister out of here as soon as you can.’
Jake’s eyes opened a little wider.
‘What signal?’
The Doctor nodded thoughtfully.
‘I’ll shout, “Now!” The word “Now”. How does that sound?’
Jake snorted and shook his head.
‘Not much of a secret signal,’ he said.
‘It won’t have to be a secret,’ said the Doctor.
‘What are you worried about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, it might be nothing,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Probably just me, worrying about noth—’
Before he could end his sentence, the whole chamber echoed with the loud thudding of Professor Wilberforce tapping at his microphone. The chattering of the guests stopped abruptly, and everyone in the gardens turned to face the stage and the Professor.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Professor Wilberforce. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. . . Residents of Chelsea 426 and our esteemed guests from across the cosmos, may I take this opportunity to welcome you to this, the first ever Chelsea Flower Show.’
The guests began to clap. Jake eventually joined in, but he noticed that the Doctor wasn’t paying any attention, looking this way and that at everything except the stage.
‘When I was studying as a botanist on Earth,’ Wilberforce continued, ‘I was informed, by my tutors, that Earth was the only body in our solar system capable of supporting plant life. Almost thirty-five years later we, here on Chelsea 426, have proven them wrong.’
Behind the Professor, the two video screens came alive, showing images of Saturn and the eddying clouds of its surface.
‘In my time here at the colony it has been a rudimentary practice for us to take samples from the planet’s atmosphere, something we carry out, without fail, on a weekly basis. It has enabled us to develop a greater understanding of the planet we now call home, but more importantly it allows us to sleep safely in the knowledge that this colony and the planet itself enjoy a harmonious relationship, each kept in careful balance by the maintenance of the fusion candle and the tiniest of adjustments to our flotation panels. . .’
Jake looked up at the Doctor, feigning a yawn, but the Doctor still wasn’t paying any attention to him or the Professor’s speech.
‘For almost two decades, this practice had proven quite uneventful. Saturn is a relatively stable world with little in the way of surprises. Or so we thought. A little over a year ago, we came upon what can only be described as a vast cloud of microscopic spores buried a little over sixty kilometres beneath the outer layers of the planet’s atmosphere. The cloud itself was vast, large enough to block out the sun over the entire continent of Africa. . .’
The audience gasped.
‘Though of course,’ said Professor Wilberforce, laughing softly, ‘on a planet that is itself so many times the size of Earth, this is comparatively small. We took samples from the cloud and, bringing them back to the colony, found they were, in fact, biological matter. After many experiments, we learned that these spores were very similar to those one might find on Earth, and so we provided them with a nurturing environment. The results were astounding. . . As I’m sure you’ll agree.’
Professor Wilberforce opened his arms wide in a grand gesture, and all around the gardens the curtains began rising up towards the ceiling of the dome, revealing dozens of square and rectangular flowerbeds, each one filled with outlandish-looking flowers and broad-leaved plants. The audience gasped as one, and the garden was filled with an almost deafening chatter.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Professor Wilberforce, ‘I give you – the plant life of Saturn!’
The audience began to applaud, first clapping and then whooping and cheering. Jake saw his mother clapping politely, but she was sincerely unimpressed by the more vocal enthusiasm of the Newcomers. The Doctor, meanwhile, was gazing up at the colossal blue flower in the centre of the chamber, a monstrous thing that very nearly touched the ceiling.
‘But,’ he said, ‘but. . . that’s impossible. . .’
‘Why?’ Jake asked over the din of the guests.
‘Well,’ said the Doctor, ‘there aren’t any plants on Saturn.’
Jake looked at him with a dismissive sneer.
‘How would you know?’ he asked. ‘I mean. . . Look around you. What are these?’
Jake followed the Doctor’s gaze up the thick and slimy green trunk of the largest plant, toward the flower at its crest.
Was he mistaken, or was it actually moving? There was no breeze, no wind, but it looked as if it was swaying.
No, not swaying. The trunk of the plant was writhing, the flowered head tilting forward. If Jake hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the flower was staring straight at them.
And still, the crowd applauded.
‘Oh, this isn’t good. . .’ said the Doctor, and then, shouting as loud as he could, ‘Everybody out! Now!’
‘Doctor?’ snapped Mrs Carstairs. ‘Have you gone mad?’
People were now staring at the Doctor with quizzical frowns, but none of them were moving.
‘Sorry, are you all hard of hearing?’ said the Doctor. ‘I said everybody leave! Now!’
Heads turned, and some people began muttering to one another, but soon enough their voices were drowned out as the largest of the plants let out a deafening noise, like a cacophonous belch. From its bulbous blue flower, it released a massive cloud of dust which descended onto the gardens like a thick green fog.
All at once the gardens fell into an eerie silence, and then, as the first guests began to inhale the vile green dust, that silence was replaced by coughing and spluttering.
‘Come on!’ shouted the Doctor. ‘What are you all waiting for? Mrs Carstairs. . . we have to go!’
Clutching Jake and Vienna by their arms the Doctor made a bolt for the exits.
Jake looked back to see his mother frozen to the spot, her face a mask of shock as those around her collapsed to the ground, clutching at their throats.
‘Mum!’ he shouted, a single tear streaming down his cheek. ‘Mum!’
His mother shook her head, the colour draining from her cheeks, and then began to follow them, nearly tripping over fallen bodies as she did. With the Doctor now dragging both Jake and Vienna out into the corridor, Jake saw his mother gasping for air in the last few seconds before she too collapsed, disappearing from view.
As guests and residents alike ran screaming out of the Oxygen Gardens, the Doctor took Jake and Vienna as far as the garden’s entrance and then stopped.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Wait here.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Vienna. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Just wait here,’ said the Doctor once more, before turning sharply on his heels and then swimming against the tide of fleeing guests.
Vienna turned to her brother. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, tears welling in her eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘I just don’t know. . .’
More and more people came flooding out of the exits, many of them dazed and ashen-faced, and then there were no more. The sliding doors slid shut with a mechanical hiss, and Jake and Vienna were alone.
‘Where is he?’ asked Vienna, but her brother could only shake his head.
They waited for seconds that felt like hours, neither of them daring to breathe, then suddenly the doors whooshed open once more, and the Doctor came running out with Mrs Carstairs on his shoulder.
‘Right!’ he said, breathing out as if he been holding his breath underwater. ‘That wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Let’s go!’
The Major sat in an armchair in the lobby of the Grand Hotel, a copy of the Chelsea Bugle open in his lap. He’d been reading it only a minute or so, grunting occasionally in displeasure, or huffing in agreement, before he folded it noisily and turned his attention to Mr Carstairs.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘back in ’58 we were stuck in the swamps for a fortnight. Ten of us clinging to a raft like limpets. Flinty bought it when a dragonfly the size of an albatross came down. Bit his head clean off.’
‘Really, Major?’ said Mr Carstairs, making no attempt to sound even vaguely interested.
‘Oh yes,’ said the Major. ‘And the leeches there were the size of bananas. Course, bit of hairspray and a naked flame soon saw to those nasty little beggars. Tough thing to come by on the moons of Mercutio 14, mind, hairspray. Luckily Migs had a tin going spare, or we’d have been sucked dry.’
Before the Major could continue his story, the lobby doors hissed open and Jake and Vienna came running into the hotel, out of breath and white with fear.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Mr Carstairs. ‘What’s all the commotion?’
Seconds later, the Doctor ran into the lobby, still carrying Mrs Carstairs.
‘Good grief!’ said Mr Carstairs. ‘What have you done to her?’
The Doctor lowered her into the armchair next to the Major, and paused to catch his breath.
‘Blimey!’ said the Major. ‘Looks like Mrs C’s caught a nasty case of drixoid fever, what? Only thing for it is a pint and a half of cod liver oil, straight down in one go.’
‘It’s the Flower Show,’ said the Doctor. ‘Something’s happened. We need to get your wife upstairs.’
Mr Carstairs was now out from behind the reception desk and crouched beside his wife, who remained unconscious. The twins stood away from them, holding each other and crying.
‘You say something happened,’ snapped Mr Carstairs. ‘What happened?’
‘It was the flowers,’ said the Doctor. ‘They let out this. . . this green gas. We need to take your wife to my room.’
‘Your room? Why on Earth would we need to do that?’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor, ‘firstly, we’re not on Earth, and secondly, I’m a doctor. No, not just a doctor, I’m the Doctor. Just trust me on this.’
Together, Mr Carstairs and the Doctor carried Mrs Carstairs to the elevator, the children following closely behind, leaving just the Major in the lobby.
‘I guess I’ll hold the fort then,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘This reminds me of the Siege of the Hexion Gates. . .’
‘What is that?’ said Mr Carstairs, lowering his wife carefully onto the bed. The children stood beside him, equally dumbfounded.
‘It’s a TARDIS,’ said the Doctor.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Carstairs, ‘but would you mind speaking in English?’
‘It’s a kind of spaceship,’ the Doctor replied. ‘It’s my spaceship.’
‘But how did you get it here?’ asked Vienna. ‘In your room? It’s bigger than the door.’
‘Yes, well. . . Long story short and all the rest of it. . . I didn’t push it through the door. I just. . . kind of. . . well, parked it here, really.’
‘This is madness,’ said Mr Carstairs. ‘First you talk of plants attacking my wife and now you park a spaceship in your room? Tell me, Doctor Smith—’
‘Actually, just “Doctor” is fine.’
‘Tell me, Doctor. . . How do we know that you aren’t involved in all these goings on?’
‘Just trust me,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m not. Now you take care of Mrs Carstairs. I won’t be a mo.’
And with that the Doctor opened a door in the blue box and stepped inside. Through the narrow opening in the door, Jake, Vienna and their father heard the clanking of footsteps, and then a series of banging and crashing sounds.
‘Oh, where is it?’ the Doctor shouted, his voice echoing around what sounded like a cave.
Jake walked gingerly towards the TARDIS.
‘Jake, please don’t do that,’ said his father, but Jake continued until he had reached the door.
Gently, he pushed it open until the gap was wide enough to lean in, and poked his head inside.
‘Oh. . .’ he said, laughing in disbelief, his voice resounding around the interior of the blue box. ‘Oh, you would not believe this. . .’
‘What is it?’ asked Vienna, running across the room to join him.
Standing at her brother’s side she pulled him out of the doorway and leaned through herself.
‘But. . .’ she said, stepping backwards and pulling the door back to where it had been, ‘bu
t. . . but. . . I mean. . . That’s. . . It can’t. . .’
Seconds later the Doctor emerged from the TARDIS once more, holding what looked like a very small, thin telescope with a suction cup at one end.
‘Doctor,’ said Jake, pulling at his sleeve as he crossed the room to where their mother lay, ‘Doctor, your ship. . . We just. . . Your ship. . . It’s. . . I mean, it’s. . .’
‘I know,’ said the Doctor, crouching now beside Mrs Carstairs.
He placed the suction cup end of the device to his right eye and flicked a switch. Suddenly, there appeared at the other end of the miniature telescope a pencil-thin beam of green light which the Doctor aimed at Mrs Carstairs’ nose and mouth.
‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘This is just fascinating.’
‘It may be fascinating to you, Doctor,’ said Mr Carstairs, his voice trembling with emotion, ‘but this is my wife. What’s wrong with her?’
‘They’re spores,’ the Doctor said, leaning in closer so that the device was now almost touching her face. ‘Tiny little spores. Probably like the ones the plants came from in the first place. I’m just analysing their chemical composition. . . Just a second. . .’
There was a long pause, and Jake and Vienna sat beside their father, who without thinking about it put his arms around them and held them close.
‘Fascinating,’ the Doctor said again. ‘There’s not enough chlorophyll for a Derridean Orchid. The carbon levels are too high for a Krynoid. No. . . This is something else. It’s familiar, I’ll give it that. . . But what is it?’
With a hacking cough that made everyone except for the Doctor jump, Mrs Carstairs woke very suddenly, and sat bolt upright. She looked around the room; at the Doctor, her husband, and then her children.
‘Oh, Bess. . .’ said Mr Carstairs, hugging his wife as hard as he could, but she didn’t respond. ‘Bess. . . I thought we’d lost you.’
‘I feel unusual,’ said Mrs Carstairs.
‘That’s all right, dear,’ replied her husband. ‘We’ll get you downstairs and make you a nice cup of tea, and then we’ll call a doctor.’ He shot a resentful glance at the Doctor. ‘A proper doctor.’
The Taking of Chelsea 426 Page 5
