Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones

by Mark Speed

  “I trust that Rindan holy week was good for you, and that you were greatly blessed?”

  “Personally, we are blessed with good fortune to have been chosen for this position,” said the consul. “However, we wish only that the circumstances of our appointment were slightly less… tragic. Consul Plensca was a great woman and the nest that she left will be difficult to fill.” She contorted her stubby beak into something resembling a smile, and the Doctor could see exactly the kind of opportunistic career diplomat she was. This was a dream posting, and the speed with which the previous consul was being replaced was something the Doctor found a little obscene. ‘Greatly blessed’ didn’t even begin to cover it – the Pincas had won the lottery.

  “Yes, a terrible loss to the diplomatic community,” said the Doctor. He was unable to follow up with an appropriate statement of one of Consul Plensca’s career achievements, and mentally kicked himself for not having taken the time to read her obituary in the Galactic Gazette.

  “She contributed a great deal to the work of various sub-committees,” chipped in Dolt, who was similarly naked. The Doctor couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of his eye that Dolt had nothing – not a trace of anything – in the private department. That meant he was out of season, which might explain his slightly less belligerent attitude.

  “An avoidable and tragic accident,” said Consul Pinca.

  “Wholly avoidable,” agreed her husband.

  The Doctor smiled grimly at the pair of Rindans, who were eyeing him coldly. If they were looking for an apology, they’d have to think again. His statement was a matter of record, and a final one so far as he was concerned. “With such terrible ongoing consequences for all of us in the out-of-town community,” he said. “Not to mention the human population.”

  “Pff!” said the consul. “When those entrusted with policing the community cannot do their jobs, then one must question whether their position and authority is merited.”

  “Really?” said the Doctor. “The Agreements are there for a reason. When those Agreements are broken then the transgressors must be held to account, rather than those who police them.”

  “In light of the breakdown in policing, we have chosen to move the consul’s official residence from Du Cane Court,” said the consul.

  If the Doctor had had a mouth full of drink he’d have spat it out.

  “I think you’ll find that there’s a sub-clause in the Agreements that allows for this,” she added, looking at Dolt.

  “I found that it’s perfectly within the terms of the Agreements,” said Dolt. “If a member of the diplomatic community feels that security is lacking, they may appeal to the Dolt in charge. Consul Pinca felt that security was lacking, and so –”

  “And so being the Dolt in charge you thought you’d allow the change. Marvellous. Just marvellous. The further apart the community is scattered, the more difficult it is to provide security. That much would surely seem obvious.”

  “Doctor How,” said Dolt. “Let us not create a scene in public. I am assured that the alternative accommodations are up to scratch.”

  “Oh,” said the Doctor, folding his arms. “This’ll be interesting. Tell me who your landlord is.”

  “The Circarians.”

  “The Circarians?” spluttered the Doctor. “But they let their own accommodation from me!”

  “Very enterprising, the Circarians,” said the consul. “They’ve adapted a property to all of our needs.”

  “Doubtless having copied all of my touches,” said the Doctor. “They’ve rented off me for nearly a decade, you know. I even helped them set up their cleaning business.” Then the penny dropped in the Doctor’s head – the Circarians – aka the Cleaners – had made their introductions to the Rindan diplomats when they’d handed over the remains of the previous consul and her husband. Doubtless they’d had a good look at the flat in Du Cane Court at the same time. He had to credit them with the brilliance of their move.

  “That’s what happens to monopolies,” said the consul’s husband. “You don’t adapt, and others come in and take your market away.”

  “But they’ll be gone as soon as the next money-making scheme comes along,” said the Doctor. “And if their property’s so good, you should ask yourself why they’re still renting from me.”

  “They wanted us to have a superior residency. They say the one they rent from you is somewhat… below par.”

  “That’s because they wanted a value home. They’re Circarians for photon’s sake. It’s what they do. They move from one economic hotspot to another, start businesses, live life as cheaply as possible, make money to send back to their home planet and then move on. I knew it was too early in Earth’s cycle to let them in.”

  “Not such a free marketeer as you purport to be,” snorted the Rindan Consul.

  “I purport only to uphold the Agreements,” said the Doctor curtly. “Those who transgress them deserve what they get. Good day to you, Consul and Mr Pinca.” He bowed deeply but insincerely to the pair of Rindans, turned on his bare heel and left the room.

  He was angry with himself for allowing his irritation to show in public. He was sure the news of the official Rindan consul’s move and his reaction would already be around the out-of-town community. The majority would surely side with him. They could see that the previous Rindan consul had done a terrible thing by allowing alien species into the Earth’s ecosystem in violation of the most fundamental tenets of common sense – not to mention the strict rules of the Agreements. It was a very long time since an alien species had killed humans on Earth, mainly thanks to his work. Everyone in the community could do without this potential attention from the human inhabitants. True to form, the Rindans were playing politics with the very future of the community. True to his own form, he wasn’t going to be the one to blink first: he had the future to safeguard.

  He put on his trademark white shirt and suit in the lobby, instinctively patting himself down even though the clothing was more secure than a Swiss bank vault, then checked his phone. There was a message from Grk, the Circarian cleaner, asking the Doctor to give him a call. If they thought they were going to get any advice on finessing the Rindans’ accommodation, then they had another thing coming.

  He headed out of the club, nodding to the doorman, and headed for his office at Imperial. Once he was amongst the crowd of humans he dialled Grk’s number, ready to give him a mouthful.

  “Hello. Is Grk.”

  “Now you listen to me, Grk. You’re sailing a very fine line at the moment. If you think you can just march in and start –”

  “Doctor, stop now. Please!”

  The Circarian’s voice was laden with emotion, and it cut through the Doctor. “What is it, Grk?” he asked, his voice now tender.

  “Is my younger brother Mnk.”

  “Back on Circaria? Do you need to go back to see your family?”

  “No, Doctor. He missing London.”

  “How can he be missing London? He’s never been here. You and Kls are the only Circarians ever to have vis–.” One of the Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat. “Oh. I see. You mean he’s missing in London?” The Doctor slowed his pace, his mind whirring.

  “Yes,” sobbed the Circarian.

  “And you realise he had no right to be here? He has no permit, and he’s not been through orientation.”

  “Yes, yes. Sure. But he young, he have sense of adventure. You know what life like when young, Doctor – you want to see other place in universe. You look up into sky at night and see all possibles. Home planet too small.”

  “Of course,” the Doctor lied. “And when did you last see him?” He’d already put two and two together.

  “He go shift Friday and not come back. I think maybe he out make party Friday with wage.”

  “And then you saw the news.”

  “I not see BBC with language problem, and besides it blah-blah-blah about nothing important, humans always killing humans, maybe earthquake or forest fire, som
etimes dog on skateboard. But comes news in Squill and…” Grk broke into sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” said the Doctor. It was little wonder the Metropolitan Police had so far been unable to locate the relatives of the sewer worker – they’d no idea that Circarians even existed, let alone that one of them was working illegally on Earth. Even the name he’d given his colleagues, Arek, was fake.

  “Is body to collect, Doctor?”

  “I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry Grk. It looks to me like your brother was eaten by one of the polyps that ate the Rindans.”

  “Rindans!” shouted Grk. “I kill Rindans.”

  “Those Rindans are dead, Grk. You dealt with their bodies.”

  “I kill other Rindans!”

  “No, Grk. Look, these things happen. Now, tell me, are there any other Circarians on Earth? Some cousins, maybe?”

  “No,” came the sulky answer, which the Doctor would have to take at face value. “So who can I kill? Are you have blame, Doctor? Maybe I kill you to make revenge?”

  “Just calm down, Grk. Please. The polyp that killed your brother is already dead.”

  “But I wanted make kill! Make revenge!”

  “Look –” The Doctor rolled his eyes as Grk cut him off again.

  “I want kill being who kill polyp for taking my justice! Who kill polyp? I tear apart being who kill polyp!”

  “Tim.”

  “Tim? You mean, Tim?”

  “Yes. I mean Tim. The Tim.”

  “Oh.”

  It was hard for the Doctor not to laugh at the sudden re-evaluation of the situation. “Trinity has also been working on tracking them down.”

  “Oh. Trinity.”

  “I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you to talk over the matter of retribution.”

  “No, no, no. Is fine,” said Grk. “Tim and Trin is good. To be honest Mnk a bit stupid to take job. Grk say bad job but Mnk must have exploring London sewer. Silly boy. What about other polyp? Can Grk and Kls help with kill other polyp?”

  “Grk, really, that’s very kind of you to offer. I think we have things in hand. I’m sorry about your brother. Now, I understand you’re supplying accommodation to the new Rindan consul and her husband.”

  “Yes, is true. Grk is make diversification.” The Circarian said the last word slowly, savouring it with pride.

  “And you’re not still going to blame the Rindans for your brother’s death?” The Doctor heard heavy breathing down the line.

  “No. Is okay now. Is okay.”

  Again, Doctor How would have to take the Circarian’s word for it. Circarians may be quick to anger, and not a little stupid and capricious – but generally their word was good. “Okay, Grk. Now promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

  “What you mean rash? Is like boil, yes?”

  “No. Rash. Rash as in stupid or hasty. Just don’t do anything without asking me first.”

  “Maybe. Ciao-ciao laters, Doctor.” The line went dead.

  There was small ping as a message came in from the system that monitored the human modes of communication. As far as he was concerned, déjà vu wasn’t a mysterious phenomenon – foresight was as important as eyesight. He muttered under his breath as he went through the electronic entrance barriers at Imperial – he’d known to head for his office as soon as the day started turning down. It seemed that everything and everyone was conspiring to ruin not just his day, but the equilibrium of his whole peaceful existence on Earth. Being the only responsible Time Keeper left was more trouble than it was worth, and there was a dearth of gratitude for his troubles.

  He went up to his office and slumped into the chair behind his desk. Wearily and warily, he turned on the terrestrial computer that linked in to the extraterrestrial system. There were a few bleeps as the interface between the two systems synchronised and then he was presented with a picture.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “No. No, no, no.” He’d been expecting a picture of Tim’s avatar, but not this. He put his head in his hands.

  After half a minute he took his head out of his hands and dabbed at his mobile.

  The call was picked up and there a burst of noise at the other end – screams and explosions.

  “Kevin! Are you alright? Do you need help?”

  The battle noises ceased. “Doctor! How’s it going?”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Rorrim, man. I tell ya, I’m up so many levels, it’s wicked. That experience with the monsters last week was like really great training.”

  “Hmph. Well I suppose it keeps your skills sharp. Be at my place in an hour.”

  “But Doctor –”

  “No buts, Kevin. This is an emergency.”

  “An emergency? Like, a real-life emergency? It’s just that I’m on this critical bit of the game and –”

  “Yes, a real-life emergency. What other kind of emergency would there be, you clown? Can’t you forget your stupid fantasy world for an afternoon and do some real work?”

  “Like, don’t get abusive, Doc. You know, some people have issues with attention and stuff.”

  “Kevin,” said the Doctor sternly. “Have I ever struck you as being someone with attention issues?”

  “No, but –”

  “For God’s sake, I need your help, laddie. This whole polyp thing is blowing up in my face.”

  “Doc, if you think I’m going down those sewers –”

  “For the last time, I’m not asking you to go down the sewers. I need your help. Urgently.”

  “Like, don’t have a cow. See you in an hour, Doc.”

  The polyp in the building had eaten the body on the toilet from the inside out. Like its sibling in Brixton, it had found the muscles of the victim’s upper legs particularly nourishing – though it must be said that the muscles of a middle-aged civil servant were not as good as those of two fit thirty-something urban adventurers. It had tugged at the bones, but they were still joined by ligaments, and the sensors on its tentacles told it they weren’t worth the effort. If no other opportunity came to it in the next few days then they might be useful.

  There was a limit as to how far its tentacles could reach, and it didn’t want to put itself in jeopardy by exposing too much of itself to the dry air inside the building, so it had left some of the body intact. Nevertheless, it had been a good meal and it had had a long period of complete quiet to lie in the piping and digest.

  There was now more movement in the building. Footsteps came and went with a frequency that put the polyp on edge. Its nervous system kept detecting the repetition of the pattern of vibrations it had felt prior to its first successful attack. But time and again, it was thrown off by other vibrations that didn’t fit in with the pattern. Chief among these were footsteps that didn’t stop above any of the pipes it was covering, after which it was subjected to strongly tainted liquid from a smaller pipe to the side.

  After an hour two the activity died down and the polyp felt more at ease, and moved into full predatory mode again. It felt a lone pair of footsteps on the floor, then the set of vibrations it associated with a human settling down in the manner of its first victim. It popped a tentacle tentatively up the pipe, and felt the unmistakable touch of solid waste. It slipped a second and third tentacle up the pipe, then all three struck at once – two gripping the human by the thighs, and the other entering the body. As before, it felt a high frequency vibration in the air around the tentacles, which it knew it could ignore. It stung the victim’s thighs and ripped flesh from the inside of its body, passing it back to its mouth.

  It felt the vibration of another pair of footsteps, then a deeper vibration, followed by larger vibrations in the air. The venom took effect, the high-frequency vibrations stopped, and the victim stopped clawing at the tentacles around its legs. However, there was more movement and other sets of footsteps vibrated through the floor. This was too much for the polyp, which retracted its tentacles, each taking a final piece of flesh with it. It was an opportunistic predator, evolved
to lie in wait for easy prey, and not evolved for conflict. Its primitive circuitry worked out that it had eaten well, and that the risk-reward ratio of further hunting in this particular spot at this particular time was too high.

  The activity in the floor above it increased in volume. Never in its short polyp life had it been exposed to such a high level of disturbance. It was the sort of noise that triggered the creature to move out of the immediate area and back into the central piping system, where it was a good deal quieter. It had fed well. Its primitive circuits were flagging up discomfort about the increase in activity. A pattern had been upset. To a species that was used to opportunistic predation, that was the signal that a habitat had been compromised. It would have to move on. It slithered in a controlled manner back down into the depths of the building’s pipes.

  Suddenly it felt an overwhelming urge to stop. It remained rooted to the spot for a few seconds, then a spasm went through its body. Its muscles continued to convulse, until a linear fissure formed in its body. Its mouth split into two mouths, and the body unzipped until the split reached the tough muscles of its foot. After a couple of minutes of wrenching, the two polyps separated. The polyp which was closest to where the original polyp had just come from remained where it was; these were rich hunting grounds, and the circumstances could change.

  The second polyp waved its tentacles and detected the presence of its twin. It moved off in the opposite direction and shortly found itself in the main sewage system. Engrained deep within its inherited recent experience was new knowledge: the profile of the rich feeding grounds it had just left. It set off up the sewers with as much determination as a brainless polyp could be said to have. After just twenty minutes it found exactly what it was looking for.

  The polyp which had jumped up the pipe flowing with fresh water stopped just a few yards in, and washed itself down. This was polyp heaven: no chemicals, no waste, and the water infused with oxygen. This was better, even, than the earliest memory it had – that of the Plenscas’ bathroom – not that it had known that that’s what it was. Although the water had been warm there, it had been sterile and offered no signs of life.