Doctor Who: In the Blood

by Jenny T. Colgan

  ‘Doctor, hurry up!’ shouted Donna. ‘They’re coming! Come on!’

  The moment hung on the air; quivered. Outside, banging was heard and shots were fired into the air. Ji Woo tilted her head and stared straight at the Doctor. When she spoke, it was almost a whisper.

  ‘The Ice King,’ she said. ‘The land of the Ice King.’

  There was a huge bursting noise as the door to the building was flung open and, on the CCTV, men poured into the first room, gasping at the stacked corpses they found there. The noise grew louder. A banging started at the inner door.

  The Doctor nodded once more, and sprinted lightly to the space, rolled under and into the bright daylight. He grabbed Donna’s hand, and they tore across the garden, up the narrow crenelated wall and away, as the brightly coloured birds rose from the trees, startled from their peaceful afternoon, and lifted, circling and cawing into the sky. Below, the armed men, overseen by a man in sunglasses, brought out their metal cutters and started to attack the steel door, sparks flying in the room of horrors, and Ji Woo, for the final time, carefully put down her beautifully lacquered earthenware cup.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  ‘Seriously,’ said the Doctor. ‘This is awful. This isn’t a rogue virus. This is an industry. Someone brought it; released it into the system, like dropping cholera into the water supply.’

  He sighed.

  ‘And Ji Woo was harvesting it. She leased her secure lines to whoever wanted them, and they were the perfect conduit to spread the thing out across the world.’ He winced. ‘So, presumably if nobody liked looking up really awful things on the internet, none of this would have happened.’

  They’d found a small restaurant back on the Gangnam side of the river, in a bustling business district full of international travellers, where nobody was giving them a second glance. The Doctor was studying a map he’d bought in a bookstore.

  ‘Ice King,’ mused Donna. ‘That’s really inconvenient. It could mean the very top end or the very bottom. Like, totally a world apart. I don’t suppose she mentioned whether he had penguins or polar bears with him?’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘I don’t think she actually meant that he’s somewhere icy. I think that’s just what he does to his victims. The feeling of ice inside your heart.’

  Donna blinked. ‘So, where are we going, then?’

  The Doctor started folding the flat world map, rapidly and carefully making creases on separate angles.

  Donna watched him, bemused. ‘What are you doing? I thought origami was Japanese.’

  But he didn’t listen and when he looked up he had turned the flat map into a perfect three dimensional globe. It was beautiful.

  ‘Ooh, show-off,’ said Donna. ‘Can I have it for a lampshade?’

  The Doctor didn’t answer but instead spun it around and pointed to a spot on the map. ‘I think he might be there.’

  ‘Why would he be there?’

  ‘I don’t know. A weird theory I have.’

  ‘This is quite a lot of air tickets to buy on a theory.’

  ‘You have to pay to go on one of those things?’

  Donna blinked. ‘You know, it’s weird when you think about it, but yes. Loads!’ She let her finger trace the map. ‘Look, we’ll probably have to change at Heathrow anyway.’

  ‘Your travelling arrangements are so peculiar. Why do you have to keep stopping to buy all those triangles? Why do they make you do that?’

  ‘What triangles?’

  ‘When they make you get off a plane to pay money for triangles. It’s just so peculiar.’

  Donna thought about it for a bit. ‘Do you mean Toblerone?’ she said eventually.

  The Doctor nodded.

  ‘Oh,’ said Donna. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’

  ‘I can tell.’

  ‘Well,’ said Donna, folding her arms. ‘It’s the only way to get there. And we have to have a layover at Heathrow. So I’m going to see Gramps.’

  The news showed them nothing cheerier. Everything was speeding up the faster the Rempaths were moving. And the papers were full of stories; people were dying, young, after going online. They were calling it Webmageddon. The Trollpocalypse.

  You would think, the Doctor pondered, leafing through the press, that this would stop people going online. But it didn’t seem to be having any effect at all. On the contrary: vast flame wars had broken out all over the internet assigning blame for the deaths to a variety of causes, including vaccination, GM food and an assortment of political parties. One or two of the more tinfoil hat websites were even close to getting it right.

  He frowned, and glanced over at Donna, who was busying herself with her phone. ‘Oi! Are you online?’

  ‘I’m reposting some motivational messages,’ said Donna stoutly, sharing a picture of a kitten looking over the sea at the sunset. ‘To cheer people up and stop them getting so angry on the internet.’

  ‘I’m not sure those things don’t make people quite annoyed,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Well some people are never happy,’ said Donna, liking every single photograph she came across in an effort to increase the sum of online politeness.

  ‘No,’ said the Doctor, musing. ‘Come on. You’re throwing water in a bucket with a hole in it. Let’s get going.’

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  The Australian drummed his fingers crossly on the desk. They were on the webcam.

  ‘Nothing?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing,’ said the man with the yellow eyes, sitting high up in the bright shiny office in Seoul, the sun blazing in, the stark interior lines hard and clean. His militia men had long gone.

  The old man on the other end of the line, skin rough as a lizard’s, blinked, slowly. ‘But you caught her?’

  ‘She gave nothing up.’

  ‘Even to you?’

  This was what the man was paid for. He was relentless in his questioning; repetitive and never deviating or letting up for an instant. It generally never failed. People flailed, got upset, became emotional. It was normally very quick.

  Not her. He had done things to her . . . well. It was fortunate this particular office had plastic sheeting. And blackout blinds. And soundproofing, although he hadn’t needed that. She hadn’t made a sound the entire time. He had never come across anything quite like it. There was, it seemed, absolutely nothing he could do to her. There was no way she was going to talk. No way at all.

  There was no record of any family, any connections. There was absolutely no record of her existence at all. He didn’t even know her name.

  But she had been there, after the fool and his sidekick had led him right to what he was looking for. They’d shown him the way. The people who’d died there; he’d found all of them on a watch list easily enough. Major terrorists; people smugglers; gun runners. The scum of humanity, all of them, and all of them known at the high levels of penetration of his own organisation.

  But this woman . . . nothing. And absolutely nothing he could do to her seemed to be changing anything about that. It was as if she had slipped into a trance; her pulse rate was barely noticeable. As if anything he did to the body was completely separate to wherever she was inside her mind.

  ‘I think she must have been playing both sides,’ he said, quietly.

  The Australian chuckled; a dry, barking noise. ‘What, there’s someone she’s more scared of than us? Sheesh, I wouldn’t like to meet him,’ he said. ‘What happened to the other two?’

  ‘They ducked out. I have men on all the airport and ferry feeds. But if I couldn’t get anything out of her . . .’

  ‘Don’t take anything for granted,’ warned the Australian.

  ‘I never do,’ said the man.

  ‘Get it sorted.’

  ‘I will.’

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Chiswick felt dull and grey after the bright sharp sunlight of Seoul. Donna had left the Doctor on triangle-testing duty and had slipped in
to a cab.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ said Sylvia, coming out to the doorstep. ‘Treating this house like a hotel, as usual. Are you working or travelling or what? Your fringe is getting too long.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you too, Mum.’

  ‘Seriously, do you want me to cut it?’

  Donna blinked. ‘You really have missed me.’

  Donna sat in the familiar small kitchen with its orange curtains whilst her mother came at her with the kitchen scissors.

  ‘Where’s Gramps?’

  ‘In the shed,’ said her mother, in a resigned tone. ‘Keeps him out from under my feet. Anyway, he’s extended the wiffy connection out there.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘You know. Wiffy.’

  ‘Do you mean Wi-Fi?’

  ‘Yes. You know. The weird stuff that floats in the air.’

  ‘And he’s got it in his shed?’

  ‘I know, it’s not right.’

  Donna jumped up.

  ‘Hang on, I’m not finished!’

  ‘That’s OK, it’ll give you something to complain about next time. And give me those scissors.’

  Donna knocked gently on the door of the shed. Wilf opened the door tentatively, then his kindly white-bearded face broke into the widest of smiles as he saw his favourite granddaughter. He flung his arms around her.

  ‘Donna! It’s so . . . it is. Well. It is quite lovely to see you. What’s up with your hair?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that right now. What are you doing back here?’

  Donna looked at his old computer on the desk, now blinking cheerfully with the familiar little fan of lines indicating that it was connected. ‘Gramps. You have to disconnect from the internet.’ She held up the scissors. ‘Show me the box. I know they say wireless, but there’s always one around somewhere.’

  Wilf sighed. ‘This is your mum again, isn’t it? Tell her again: I’m not looking at mucky pictures.’

  Donna shook her head. ‘It’s not that, Gramps. It’s . . . well, have you heard of a computer virus?’

  Wilf shrugged. ‘The salesman said something . . .’

  ‘Well,’ said Donna. ‘It’s a bit like that. But not that. But it’s still important. You have to come offline. Now. Sorry. You can totally still play patience.’

  Wilf looked downhearted. ‘But this is . . . this is where I log in my stars. You know. I like to see what’s up there, and anything unusual I log it with SETI and then I can chat to people there who are looking at the sky like me . . . It’s nice. I don’t feel lonely, even with you away.’ He glanced at her slyly. ‘Of course I never let on who I’m looking for.’

  Donna smiled.

  Wilf looked at his computer sadly and cleared his throat. ‘How’s that tall friend of yours?’

  ‘Same as ever. Off his head. But in the best possible way.’

  Wilf gave her a shrewd look. ‘You’re not going sweet on him, are you? Because I know what you’re like with the boys.’

  ‘Gramps!’

  ‘I remember you in primary school. Any game of kiss-chase, you’d either started it or were willingly losing right in the middle of it . . .’

  Donna rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m only thinking of you sweetheart. You know that.’

  ‘I know, Gramps. And no, honestly. I promise. I couldn’t. I really couldn’t. It would be like falling in love with a walrus or a tiger or something. I really, properly couldn’t. Actually. There was someone. A person, I mean. A real person. Well, he wasn’t . . . I mean, real is. Well. Never mind. But it didn’t work out.’

  Wilf patted her hand. ‘You know, ducks, when I met your grandmother, I just knew. Within seconds. It felt like we’d been together for ever. And the time we had together, it flew. It just flew past, like a year would take a minute. You know, when you have that, you just know. It went far too fast.’

  Donna nodded slowly. ‘OK.’

  Wilf looked at her. ‘Is it really important, this internet thing?’

  Donna nodded. ‘Yes. It really is. If you saw anything that made you angry . . .’

  ‘I’m too old to get angry,’ said Wilf. ‘I did my anger in the war. Nothing I can do these days. Just watch and nod. I’ve seen it all before.’

  ‘I know,’ said Donna. ‘I know that. But just in case.’

  She gave him a hug. He sighed.

  ‘What?’ said Donna.

  ‘I know that hug,’ said Wilf. ‘It means you’re off again, doesn’t it? It’s your “off again” hug. It means you’re going to be leaving me out here in my shed, all by myself, without even my online mates to talk to.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Donna, and she was. Because she loved him and she knew he loved her. But she was still going to go.

  ‘Don’t you want me to finish your fringe?’ shouted Sylvia as she was leaving. ‘Honestly, you’re so ungrateful for everything.’

  ‘I know,’ said Donna. ‘Sorry. In a rush. Got a plane to catch.’

  Sylvia came to the door, clutching a box of Tupperware. She looked nervous. ‘Um . . .’ she said. ‘I put together some leftovers. In this box. I knew . . . I knew you probably wouldn’t be staying for supper.’

  Donna looked up at her. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  There was a pause.

  ‘So give me some notice next time,’ said Sylvia. ‘Some of us are busy, you know.’

  Donna gave a half-smile. ‘I know,’ she said, and took the box with thanks, then turned round and wandered out into the rain.

  She took a detour on her way to the Piccadilly line back to Heathrow, down the row of the big grand houses by the river. Nobody was about, except the usual rich people’s street population: cleaners; foreign nannies wearily pushing buggies that cost more than they earned in a month; gardeners and delivery van drivers, none of whom gave her a second glance.

  She stopped outside Hettie’s house, with its spotless white steps and perfectly manicured little trees lining the tiny balconies. She glanced around. Nobody.

  Nonchalantly, she moved over to the telegraph pole and took out the sonic she’d asked properly to borrow this time. The Doctor had been very not at all keen and had made her promise several times not to put it in her handbag – seeing as things scattered about all the time – and wanted her to call in every half an hour and confirm she still had it and went to great and tortuously dull lengths to remind her not to touch the blue settings or disengage the new dampers.

  By the time he’d finished pacing about and agonising, she was totally wishing she’d not asked to borrow it and just brought a hammer instead. It would have done the same job without anything like the grief.

  Regardless, she lifted it up towards the telecoms box on the pole, and flashed it once, twice. Instantly there was a buzz and a crackle. Then, silence. Then, a few moments later, muffled cursing and lights being turned on and off in different rooms.

  Donna resealed the control box, so technicians would have an impossible job trying to get into it, then stole away.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  ‘Thank you for your patience,’ the young man was saying earnestly over the web. The older man blinked, not removing his glasses.

  The young man was nervous, of course. Everyone in the Australian organisation was always nervous. The entire business ran on jangling nerves and fear and favour and seniority.

  But this time, unusually, it was the man with the yellow eyes who had failed; who had not been able to break the old woman, who had looked so sweet; like a little round doll.

  She hadn’t made a sound, not even with her dying breath.

  Appearances could be deceiving. Not his appearance, though. He knew that, and quickly tapped his glasses.

  Hence the quivering boy, whose fear could be felt even over the internet connection; the fact that they were thousands of miles apart didn’t seem to lessen the effect of his presence in the slightest. He adjusted his earpiece.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We . . . we think we’ve
seen them.’

  Another screen opened up showing CCTV footage of Donna and the Doctor heading through Heathrow Airport. The camera zoomed in on their faces, and subtitles came up underneath them.

  ‘He talks a lot,’ observed the man.

  ‘They both do, sir,’ said the intern. ‘It’s giving the lip readers all sorts of headaches.’

  Regardless, this was clearly the opportune moment.

  ‘The other great thing about Rio,’ the man was saying, gesticulating with his arms as the woman with the oddly cut hair put her bag through the X-ray machine. The man didn’t seem to have any baggage at all.

  ‘The other great thing about Rio is—’

  ‘I mean it, if you don’t stop banging on about Rio, I’m going to change planes for Scarborough,’ said the woman. And the intern froze the screen.

  ‘I think that’s us, sir.’

  ‘Unless they’re bluffing,’ said the man.

  The intern zoomed in again on the two boarding passes hanging out of Donna’s pocket. ‘Expensive bluff, sir.’

  The man folded his arms. ‘Fine. Get me booked there asap. Different flights, they’re a menace to public transportation.’

  Chapter

  Twenty

  The ancient train – once a workhorse of South America, now adapted into a luxurious steam trip for tourists – puffed its way happily under the setting sun in the clear skies over the dramatic Serra da Mantiqueira.

  The Doctor lounged comfortably in his seat. It was the oddest thing, given that he had not enjoyed air travel in the slightest. But here, on the great Brazilian Scenic railway, travelling about a twentieth as fast, he looked entirely at ease.

  It might be, Donna thought, the soft deep leather armchairs they were travelling in; the dark wooden panelling on the walls; the beautiful, deep burgundy cars. It was like travelling back in time without actually having to go to the trouble of doing it. And with flushing toilets.

  The train had left Rio de Janeiro that morning and was now trundling over a narrow mountainous passageway, where they went so close to the edge she felt in danger of the entire structure tumbling off into the fluffy clouds below. They had booked too late for two separate cabins, and were limited to bunk beds in the same space.