‘Who the hell are you?’
At this point the Doctor woke up again.
‘Oh hello, Romana!’ he waved.
The Doctor was never entirely sure exactly who or what had knocked him out a moment later. Romana had shot him a freezing look, that was certain. The Great Khan had whacked him with a horridly sticky sword. And a rather large and overfed dog had landed in his face. Thinking about it, that had probably done it. Dangling over the fire, he followed much of the rest of it through his auditory bypass system.
‘Good evening, I’m the Lady Romanadvoratrelundar.’ Romana checked her clipboard. ‘I’m from the Despot Awards. Surprise inspection.’
‘Oh,’ said the Great Khan, in a voice that was hastily straightening its tie. ‘Come in, do take a pew.’ The vizier nudged forward a corpse, patting and sorting it into a wet approximation of a pouf.
Romana shook her head. ‘I prefer to stand,’ she said and made a slow, severe tick on her clipboard.
‘Er, quite so,’ said the Khan, rubbing his forepaws together. ‘And, if I can ask, how am I doing, in this year’s awards? I mean, if you’ve come out here, can one presume the shortlist?’
‘One cannot,’ Romana said icily, and made another tick on her clipboard. ‘I’ve a few questions.’
‘Oh, fire away, fire away.’ The Khan was all affability.
Romana consulted her clipboard, frowning at it. ‘On the way here, I noticed you’d burned a few hospitals.’
The Khan brightened. ‘Indeed,’ he purred. ‘When I declare war on a planet, it’s total war. Even on their diseases.’ He cast a look around the churned-up wasteland. ‘It’s my clean slate policy.’
‘And the schools?’
‘Oh yes. People are forever sheltering their children in them. You know what I call that?’ The Khan was warming to his theme. ‘I call that an act of terrible cruelty.’ The Khan leaned forward, his brows very serious. ‘After all, what kind of life would the poor things have without their parents? Much kinder just to torch the places, don’t you think?’
Romana simply made another tick on her clipboard.
The Khan strained forward. In another man, you’d have sworn he was trying to sneak a peep at the clipboard. But you’d never have said that of the Great Khan.
Romana ran a finger down a printed list. ‘I notice that you’re running a bit behind schedule with the conquest of this planet.’
‘Oh ho!’ the Great Khan exclaimed with weary cynicism. ‘This’ll be the Dominators, stirring again. I tell you now, Lady, these things are best done properly. There’s an art to conquest. Each devastation crafts itself. It’s one thing to be stood on a hill overlooking an idyllic valley, crammed with meadows and windmills and houses with smoking chimneys and children and chickens gambolling in the yard. It’s quite another to know exactly when to sweep down and lay waste to it all. You don’t want to appear over-eager, and you don’t want to hang back. You want a situation to mature. Why, look at this fellow –’ and he gave the rope suspending the Doctor a hearty twang. ‘Stumbled in, spouting nonsense. I could have just gibbeted him on the spot. But instead I’m having him smoked. Takes time, but he will be delicious. Unless, of course …’ The Great Khan leaned forward solicitously. ‘Are you hungry now? In which case I can have him served up in a jiffy.’
‘No, no,’ said Romana. ‘I ate before I came.’
‘Very sensible.’ The Khan squeezed thoughtfully at the fur on his belly. ‘I’m always hungry. I guess it’s what drives me. That and the screaming.’
Romana made another tick, and then freed a couple of sheets from her clipboard and handed them to the Khan. ‘I’ve a couple of heritage surveys for you to fill in. Purely optional, of course, but they do count towards our judging. We’d just like to know the value of what’s left before you wipe it out.’
‘Oh quite.’ The Khan scanned the forms before passing them to his vizier. ‘Lovely little fishing town, a small island, and a totem pole.’
‘A totem pole?’
‘Oh yes,’ the Khan said. ‘Quite an elaborate steel thing. Said to represent the Might of the World, a might that can never be conquered. Overstating the case, I have to say. But I’m sure it’ll score quite highly, won’t it?’ His eyes were schoolboy eager. ‘Now, him –’ he jerked a thumb at the vizier who was, even now, starting on the paperwork – ‘he’d have me just march on and take it. But it doesn’t feel right, now, does it? I want the survivors to really hope that, at the last minute, their totem pole will save them. And then – pfft – I’ll take it and move on somewhere else.’ He sighed a weary sigh. ‘There are always more worlds to be crushed, aren’t there?’
‘Indeed.’ Romana made a final tick. ‘That all seems to be most satisfactory. I’ll be on my way.’ She turned to go, and then had a sudden thought. ‘Oh, just one thing …’
‘Anything,’ the Great Khan rumbled, sweeping a paw through his mane.
‘That prisoner.’ She pointed at the Doctor. ‘Would you mind if I took him? You know, for questioning as to your methods and so on.’
‘Ha! I know what you’re up to.’ The Khan tapped the side of his nose.
‘You do?’
‘You fancy a snack.’
Romana led the Doctor through the woods. He was rubbing his wrists and shaking his sore head.
‘I’m terribly grateful. What a horrible man,’ he groaned dazedly. ‘He really has put me off cat people.’
They walked away into the night.
Gallifreyan cats, by the way, have thirteen lives and they sleep through all of them soundly.
The Doctor and Romana wandered to the shoreline. They stood watching a perfect sun slide slowly behind a distant hazy island.
‘The Great Khan’s last conquest,’ sighed Romana. She thought the island looked rather dreamy. The idea that it was to be consumed by war seemed not just absurd, but a terrible shame.
The Doctor was leaning against the hulls of the boats the Khan had had built especially for the job of conquering the island. He was fiddling with a matchbox and was wearing his most furtive smile. It was a smile that went with the buying of birthday presents and the telling of glorious fibs.
‘The island may be uninhabited,’ said the Doctor, ‘but the Khan needs to conquer it in order to own the planet.’ He patted the side of the boat. ‘These were mighty oaks, grown in glades undisturbed for thousands of years, and now they’re off to war. Normally I like ships. But I like trees more. It’s funny to think that everything made out of wood really is just the grave of a tree.’
He pulled a dolorous face and Romana rolled her eyes. She looked forward to reminding the Doctor of his sentiments next time he sat down in his favourite chair.
She looked again at the island, glowing in the sunset. It had somehow placed itself in the very centre of the horizon. Poor old island, she thought. What had you done to upset anyone? It could easily have been neglected, waved away as a bit of paperwork, were it not for … well …
The setting sun caught against the vast steel pillar jutting out of the island and made it glow and shine. The Steel Stump of Strength and Power. The kind of symbol that made idiots like the Great Khan invade a world. Even if they then couldn’t be bothered to actually possess it.
‘Reluctant as I am to help out the Khan,’ ventured Romana, ‘we could go and claim it for him. Save everyone a lot of effort. Let’s go get the TARDIS.’
The Doctor didn’t fancy trekking back through the Khan’s army. ‘Messy.’
‘All right then, Let’s use one of his boats.’
‘These boats?’ The Doctor shook his head and shiftily slipped the matchbox back in his pocket. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Let’s use public transport.’
They found a man down in the harbour who sort of agreed that he would like to take them to the island. Just not yet. His wife, you see, had made dinner.
Right, said the Doctor, waiting for an invitation. The ferryman didn’t offer one.
So they sat in the harbour a
nd waited for the ferryman to have his dinner.
The boat sat in front of them, bobbing up and down against the tide. Little fish plonked and dived around it.
‘We could steal it,’ suggested Romana.
‘Borrow,’ corrected the Doctor. ‘And no.’
‘But, we’re trying to stop the Krikkitmen. We need to get to that stump.’
The Doctor sat on a low harbour wall and kicked his feet, scuffing the surf with his boots. ‘They’ve already got one stump. When we went hunting for the Key to Time we were lucky that we managed to snaffle the lot. Bit different this time – the other side already have one bit. No matter how well we do, the best ending we’re going to get is going to be some kind of glorified car boot sale.’ He gazed up as the last glints of the sun blazed off the distant pillar. ‘I’ve got better things to do in life than race around collecting things.’
‘Yes,’ said Romana. ‘If you’re going to do it seriously, you’ve got to accept that the Universe is so very large and you’d need ever so many shelves. We’d have got there by now if you hadn’t got yourself captured.’
‘I was winning the Khan over,’ the Doctor muttered.
‘He was smoking you like a kipper.’
‘It was all part of my plan. He’d stopped thinking of me as a threat.’
‘Only because he was thinking of you as lunch,’ Romana retorted.
They paused and watched night settle on the seashore.
‘First editions,’ said the Doctor eventually. ‘Of children’s books. That’s what I’d collect.’
Romana nodded her approval. ‘Not train sets?’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘Sadly, those were ruined for me. I once met a man who said, “Well, once the train’s been round the track once, what’s it going to do next? Go round again?” I had to admit he had a point.’ He tutted regretfully. ‘To repeat an action and expect a different outcome is the definition of insanity.’
‘You’re being very philosophical,’ said Romana.
‘I’m by the seaside,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s what it’s for.’
The ferryman emerged, told them that actually, on consideration, he’d decided to go to a tavern and get drunk. He stumbled off.
The Doctor tugged his boots and socks off.
‘Shall we have a paddle?’ he asked.
It was nearly dawn when the little boat set out for the island.
‘I think the ferryman is asleep,’ hissed Romana.
‘Of course he is.’ The Doctor surveyed the snoring form. ‘He’s had a long night.’
The ferryman had, in fact, seemed surprised to find them waiting outside his house when he came home in the early hours of the morning. He’d had the look about him of a man heading very firmly for bed, but the Doctor had taken him by the arm, turned him around, and suggested an early morning boat ride as though it was a trip to a funfair.
The ferryman was fast asleep now, snoring in his chair. The boat carried on, chewing its way through the waves.
‘Do you think it’s self-steering?’ asked Romana.
‘Do you?’
Romana considered. ‘No,’ she said.
When they finally landed the boat, the sunrise was doing marvellous things to the steel pillar. It soared above the few trees on the island.
‘How are we getting that home?’ asked Romana.
‘Shush,’ said the Doctor. ‘One problem at a time.’
‘It’s an important one.’
‘Well,’ he ambled off up the rocky beach, ‘you think about it on the walk there.’
‘That is beautiful!’ exclaimed the Doctor.
Romana was not so keen. Up close, the steel pillar looked like a municipal streetlamp. If it was a work of art, it was the kind of work that a committee would have ordered, proudly announcing how much they’d paid for it in a press release. Apart from its ability to reflect light, it was just sort of there. But the Doctor was billing and cooing over it. There was no accounting for …
Ah. Actually the Doctor was making friends with a bird. It was a large red bird, about a foot high, and it was progressing around the pylon in a succession of wobbling, fluttering hops, each one accompanied by a hopeful ‘Cark!’ and then a desolate ‘Ark!’
Romana held out her hand, and the edge of the creature’s fine, long bill tapped politely against it. The creature had a curious expression, one of philosophical optimism. Its face seemed to be saying ‘Maybe Next Time’. It nuzzled her briefly, beautifully, and then went back to its hopping and its carking and arking.
‘What’s it doing?’ Romana asked.
‘Taking on gravity and failing, poor thing.’ The Doctor had crouched down and was smiling winningly at what Romana had decided to call the Next Time bird. ‘I’d say it now weighs too much to fly.’
‘Do you think that’s a by-product of the Stump?’
‘No, I think there’s just too much food here.’ The Next Time bird had paused its little circle and was now nibbling at some particularly chlorophyll-soaked leaves. ‘Evolution can be a bit tricky like that. Still, no harm done. After all, there aren’t any predators on the island, so they just get to mooch around a bit causing no harm to the Universe. Bless them.’ The Doctor patted the bird on the head and it carked twice before resuming its little circuit.
Romana looked at the bird and worried a bit. ‘But isn’t the Khan going to come and set the island on fire?’
‘Well …’ The Doctor rapped on the pylon. ‘Perhaps not if we work out a way to remove the Steel Stump.’
‘Really?’ Romana snorted. ‘I think stealing it would make him even more likely to set fire to the place.’
‘True,’ the Doctor sighed, ruffling the bird’s feathers. ‘But we really don’t have time to worry about birds.’ He scratched his own head. ‘We could pay the boatman to take them off the island.’
Romana was dubious. ‘I think he’s quite likely to casserole them.’
‘Fine.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘Any idea how we lug this stump back to the TARDIS?’
‘Well,’ began Romana – and then the Krikkitmen arrived.
‘Ark!’
A pause.
‘Ark! Ark!’
Another pause. Some scratching. A sharp pain.
‘Ark! Ark? Ark!’
Romana opened her eyes. A small, sad red bird was pecking her chin. Romana sat up, rubbed her eyes, and then realised her hands had been covered in soot.
A few annoying minutes later, the Time Lady and the bird surveyed the sad burning hole where the steel pylon had stood. She had a vague memory – well, more of an impression really – of the thing being blown out of the ground. Mostly, she remembered the ground throwing itself at her until she’d surrendered.
‘Oh dear,’ she said to the Next Time bird. ‘I think the Great Khan’s going to be very cross about this.’
‘Ark!’ said the bird.
Judging by the way a bush was groaning and complaining, Romana supposed she’d found the Doctor. Sighing, she left the Next Time bird to its own devices.
It started to peck at some leaves, and then, when it was quite full, it gave an excited little hop, and, for a moment, hovered excitedly in mid-air. Perhaps this time would finally mark the moment it took off?
It crashed back down to the ground.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAMP RESENTMENT OF A PLANET
The people of Mareeve II were famously quick to take offence. They’d once been so upset at the mildly eccentric orbit of the next-door planet that they’d moved their world to an entirely different star system. And they were still waiting for life to evolve on Mareeve III and issue them with an apology.
It is said by idiots that into every life a little rain must fall, but it was always raining on Mareeve II. The planet’s climate had never quite got over the orbital shift, and now delivered a constant, quietly furious rain that spattered and dripped over every available occasion. Sometimes, teasingly, it would lighten up, almost becoming that light romantic drizzl
e that people took thrilling first kisses under, and then, at the last moment, it would return to drab, heavy misery.
Romana stood in the doorway of the TARDIS, watching the rain cascading onto the doorstep. For once, she had no idea how to dress for this planet. She’d once spotted a painfully jaunty yellow cagoule hanging in the wardrobe. Perhaps today its time had come.
The Doctor strode out onto the unpromising surface of Mareeve II, refusing to let it get to him. Mareeve II seemed to offer a series of concrete blocks and waterlogged car parks, stretching as far as the rain would allow. He had on a hat, his scarf was wrapped tightly. It was all going to go well. He noticed K-9 wasn’t following. He turned back to call his dog a fair-weather friend. As he turned, a fussy man barged into him on the desolate concourse.
‘Out of my way. You’re an alien spy and should be shot,’ said the man.
‘I can assure you I’m not.’
The fussy man stopped and regarded the Doctor through a pair of meanly thin glasses. ‘You deny it? I find that upsetting.’
‘Well –’ the Doctor puffed up – ‘I find it upsetting being called an alien spy.’
The fussy little man was hopping up and down now, making little splashy puddles. ‘You claim that I upset you?’ he thundered.
‘Well, yes,’ the Doctor said reasonably. ‘You’ve barged into me, you’ve insulted me, and now you’re splashing mud over my trousers. I’m not an alien spy. I’m actually a tourist. Come to see the, er … sights.’ He peered from under his hat brim at the grim surroundings. ‘I say,’ he asked. ‘There are sights, aren’t there?’
That did it. The people of Mareeve II are especially touchy about the lack of sights to see on their world. They once had a perfectly preserved Daudren Temple, but they flattened it after the adjacent gift shop asked if they could have more room for a café. The gift shop is still there, and does, indeed, sell postcards of the temple in what the Galactic Trust has called an act of bloody cheek. (Ironically, the café never actually opened, due to what the Mareevian Tourist Board described as ‘an unforgivably insulting decline in visitors’.) Other, less interesting sites on the planet met similarly drab fates, meaning that the book Ten Places to See on Mareeve II Before You Die had been renamed Oh, Just Die.
Doctor Who and the Krikkitmen Page 9
