by Doctor Who
‘So we should tell Dash, then?’ suggested the Doctor, just to get things moving.
‘Yeah,’ said Joss. ‘Good idea.’ These badgers, thought the Doctor, weren’t exactly the brightest species he’d ever encountered on his travels. Yet Joss was eyeing him warily, her dark eyes hidden by the twin black stripes down her face. It made her expression difficult to read, but the Doctor could see a wily, predatory cunning. She might not be an intellectual, but Joss could well mean trouble.
‘What?’ he said, as innocently as he could.
‘There’s people still in there,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor.
‘An’ they can get out an’ we can’t get in.’
‘Yeah.’
‘S’not fair,’ she said.
The Doctor nodded kindly. ‘Life often isn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s one of those things.’
‘What we gonna do, Joss?’ asked Archie.
Joss considered, scratching her hairy chin with a paw. ‘We gotta even things up a bit,’ she said. She ushered Archie and the Doctor back along the passageway towards the ballroom. Then she turned and fired her gun at the ceiling above the door to the engine room.
She kept her claws on the trigger, so that a sustained burst of pink 38
energy crashed into the woodwork. Wisps of smoke began to curl from the ceiling. Then there was a flicker of bright flame-And shumm!
A heavy metal fire door crashed down in front of them, blocking their view of the corridor.
‘Ooh, clever,’ cooed the Doctor. He wrapped at the fire door with a knuckle. It bonged with a low, heavy note. ‘The fire doors have locked off the corridor, so no one can get through.’
‘None can get in,’ agreed Joss. ‘And none can get out. S’fair that way.’
‘A stalemate,’ said the Doctor.
‘Speak for yourself,’ warned Archie, prodding him with his gun.
‘Them engineers will ’ave to eat some time,’ said Joss. ‘We’ll let ’em get ’ungry and then we talk terms.’
The Doctor thought it best not to explain about the time difference in the engine room; the badger pirates could starve the engineers for days and days, but to the engineers themselves it would only seem like a few hours. He also wondered if the engineers ate food, what with their having no mouths. Perhaps they just plugged themselves into the mains, so that blocking the door wouldn’t bother them.
‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Well that was fun. Now I was going to have a word with the captain, and then I thought I’d –’
Joss poked him with her gun.
‘You’re not leaving my sight,
starshine,’ she told him.
‘OK,’ said the Doctor, gently moving the gun aside so that it didn’t point right at him. ‘You drive. So where are we going?’
‘You’re gonna sit in the bar wiv’ all the uvva prisoners,’ said Joss.
‘That sounds very sociable,’ said the Doctor. He was itching to find out if Martha was OK, so there didn’t seem much point in protesting.
Archie and Joss escorted him back up the corridor, left, left again and then right, and up the wide staircase into the dining room. They passed through the door at the back of the room into the small cocktail lounge. Another gruff-looking badger pirate guarded about a dozen egg-shaped, tentacled Balumin prisoners, who huddled in front of the great bay window that looked out on to the Ogidi Galaxy. Martha was 39
nowhere to be seen. The Doctor bit his lip. If the badgers didn’t hold her prisoner, she might still be hiding somewhere. He didn’t want to get her in trouble by asking if they’d seen her.
‘This is cosy,’ he said. ‘You must be Dash. Joss and Archie have been telling me all about you.’
The third badger pirate leered at him. He had the same gold earring in his left ear, and the same skull and crossbones on the chest of his spacesuit. He seemed older and surlier than his two comrades.
‘Aye,’ he leered, with the same gruff Hampshire accent. ‘And who are you?’
Archie nudged Joss in the ribs. ‘We never asked his name!’ he said.
‘That’s OK,’ said the Doctor. ‘You had more important things to worry about. Hello. I’m the Doctor. I’m not important. Not in that way, anyway. How’s everybody here?’
The Balumin murmured quietly that they were mostly fine. For all they were being held prisoner, they looked rather at home. They wore the latest fashions and held pretty drinks in their tentacles. If anything, it was the three badger pirates who looked totally out of place. The cocktail lounge was a place for wearing ties.
Joss explained to Dash about the door to the engine room. Dash listened keenly, all the time watching the Doctor. The Doctor tried not to notice; Dash seemed the brightest of this bunch. While the badgers talked about him, the Doctor wandered over to the Balumin prisoners.
‘You’re sure everyone is all right?’ he said. They tutted and said they were fine, rather rudely. All right, thought the Doctor, you can rescue yourselves.
A bright orange Balumin woman of late middle age came over, offering him a plate of cheese and pineapple on sticks.
‘Thanks very much,’ he said, taking two sticks at once. ‘Can’t remember the last time I had these.’
‘I’m Mrs Wingsworth,’ the Balumin lady explained, not nearly as rudely as the other passengers. ‘You’ll be Martha’s friend the Doctor.’
‘Silence!’ roared Dash from across the room.
The Doctor said nothing but nodded at Mrs Wingsworth. She only laughed and rolled her large eyes.
40
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself about these poor lambs, dear,’ she said, fluttering a tentacle at the badgers. ‘They’re just a bit of a nuisance.’
‘I’m warning you,’ growled Dash, pointing his gun at her.
‘See what I mean, dear?’ said Mrs Wingsworth lightly, again offering the plate of cheese and pineapple sticks to the Doctor. ‘Have another of these. You look like you need filling up.’
‘I really don’t think you should antagonise them,’ the Doctor told her. ‘They’ve got big guns and stuff like that.’
‘Oh, I know!’ she said. ‘It really is such a bore.’
Dash stalked over to prod Mrs Wingsworth with a hairy paw.
‘What you call me?’ he seethed.
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it,’ said the Doctor gently.
Dash turned to him angrily, but the Doctor held his gaze. After a moment, Dash’s shoulders sagged.
‘We’re not boars, we’re badgers,’ he said.
‘I know that,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ll tell her.’
‘Good.’ Dash glared at Mrs Wingsworth, then shuffled back to his comrades.
‘You need to be careful,’ the Doctor told Mrs Wingsworth quietly.
And she laughed, loudly so the badgers would hear. The Doctor thought she might even have done it on purpose.
‘But they really are such bores!’ she said.
‘What!?’ roared Dash.
‘Now wait –’ said the Doctor.
‘Oh they are,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘You know they are.’
‘Right,’ said Dash, raising his heavy gun at her.
‘She didn’t mean it,’ said the Doctor.
‘Oh, I did, dear!’ laughed Mrs Wingsworth.
‘No, don’t!’ said the Doctor.
Too late. Dash fired the heavy gun and Mrs Wingsworth was soon engulfed in the dazzling pink light. She just had time to roll her eyes wearily at the Doctor and say, ‘You see?’
Then the light consumed her utterly.
41
More than three hours earlier, the tentacled alien passengers huddled together protectively. They wrapped their tentacles tight around one another, and the screams they’d let out when Gabriel was killed slowly fell away to a murmur. They weren’t going to be any help, thought Martha. She was all there was.
She stepped forward. ‘Who are you?’ she asked the badgers.
‘Name’s Dashiel,�
� said the badger who’d killed Gabriel.
He waved a bony, hairy paw at his counterparts. ‘That’s Jocelyn, and that’s Archibald.’ Martha couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘What?’ Dashiel growled.
‘Nothing,’ said Martha. ‘Was it middle-class parents?’
‘We don’t have parents!’ said Archibald, the other male badger from behind her. He seemed a lot younger than the other two. ‘We was grown in a lab.’
‘Archibald,’ Dashiel chided. ‘She dun’t need to know that.’ He didn’t sound, thought Martha, like someone doing an impression of a pirate – all “me hearties” and “shiver me timbers”. They were like the teenagers loitering outside the Co-op in the evening, because they had nowhere better to go. Yet the guns were real, and the passengers were 43
terrified. And they’d just disintegrated Gabriel for no reason. She had to take this seriously.
‘What do you want?’ she said.
Dashiel ran forward and suddenly grabbed her throat. His claws were sharp, grazing her skin. His breath stank of something like cat food. The stench brought tears to her eyes.
‘You, girlie,’ leered Dashiel. ‘We wan’ you to shut yer mouth.’
Martha nodded, eyes open wide. OK, now she was scared.
‘Dash,’ said the other pirate; the gruff-sounding woman, Jocelyn.
‘We gotta ask ’em questions.’
Dashiel considered and, for a moment, Martha thought he might just kill her anyway. Slowly he released his grip on her throat. She could still feel the pattern of his claws on her skin and wondered how badly she’d bruise.
‘Right,’ said Dashiel, addressing the whole room. The tentacled aliens squawked with fear, like so many terrified chickens. Martha could remember a time when she too might have been cowed by the sight of strange gun-toting aliens. Now it was just any other day. ‘We wanna know where your captain is!’ demanded Dashiel. ‘We wanna know where your engines is! And we wanna know why none of you tried to fight us!’
The alien passengers cowered, too terrified to respond.
Martha could see Dashiel would think nothing of killing a few of them, if only to prompt an answer. ‘We’re all just passengers,’ she said, trying to keep the terror from her voice. ‘We’re civilians. We don’t know any of that stuff.’
Dashiel considered this. ‘Hurr,’ he sighed.
‘What we gonna do, Dash?’ asked Archibald.
‘Don’t bovver ’im,’ Jocelyn warned him. ‘You ’ave to show respect.’
Dashiel brooded. ‘We gotta wait for the others. Captain Florence will ’ave orders.’
‘Will she let us kill ’em?’ asked Archibald eagerly.
Dashiel smiled at him, fondly. ‘Maybe. If you be’ave.’
They waited. Martha counted to ten, trying to keep her cool. Any minute now the Doctor would stroll in and everything would get 44
sorted. She kept counting – to twenty, to thirty. . . There was still no Doctor by the time she got to sixty, and she’d been counting more and more slowly. Oh well, she thought. It looked like she’d have to do the sorting.
‘So,’ she asked Dashiel amiably, ‘how many of you are there?’
‘A hundred,’ said Dashiel.
‘More like a thousand!’ said Jocelyn. ‘We’re like a swarm or an army.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Archibald.
‘A thousand’s bigger than a hundred,
is’nit?’
‘A bit bigger, yes,’ said Martha.
‘So where are the other nine-
hundred-and-ninety-seven of you?’
‘They should be here, Dash,’ said Jocelyn. Martha realised Jocelyn had pink lipstick around her hairy mouth. It was one of those pastel shades that Martha didn’t suit. It looked quite good on the badger.
‘They should be here,’ admitted Dashiel.
His shiny black nose
twitched with irritation.
‘Did they get lost?’ asked Archibald.
‘How’d they get lost, Archie?’ said Jocelyn, not unkindly.
‘Dunno,’ said Archie. He shrugged. ‘I get lost sometimes.’
Dashiel raised one arm and spoke into the computer set into his wrist. ‘Captain Florence,’ he said. ‘We need orders.’ The response was a hiss of static. Dashiel tried again, sending the same message over and over and getting no reply. Martha could see him getting more and more worried. And she didn’t like what that might mean for the prisoners.
‘They ain’t there,’ he said eventually, with terrifying calm.
‘So what we gonna do?’ asked Archibald, almost on his tip-toes with excitement.
‘We’re gonna do what the captain told us,’ said Dashiel. ‘We’re gonna find what we came for. We’re gonna nick it and then we’re gonna wreck the whole ship.’
‘Yeah!’ agreed Archibald.
‘You’re gonna stay here, Archie,’ Dashiel told him. ‘Me and Joss are gonna go take a look-see.’
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‘Awww!’ said Archibald.
‘Now, now,’ Joss told him gently. ‘This way you guard the prisoners.
And kill ’em if they make trouble.’
‘I s’pose,’ said Archibald sulkily.
‘Good lad.’
Archibald took Dashiel’s position, guarding the only door into the cocktail lounge. Martha noticed how he stood up straighter, looked more mature, given this responsibility. He gave the impression that he wanted the prisoners to try something, so he could teach them a lesson.
‘Won’t be long,’ said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn set off. ‘Have fun.’
The alien passengers kept quiet, huddled together in front of the bay window. Martha heard them gasp as she made her way slowly to the bar. It was all she could think of to help them. The serving robot stepped neatly up to serve her – he must have been programmed to fetch drinks whatever the circumstances. Martha rather liked that.
‘Hydrogen hydroxide on the rocks,’ she told him loudly. ‘And don’t be stingy with it.’ The robot quickly fetched her the glass of water and ice cubes while she perched herself on a barstool. In the long mirror behind the bar, she could see Archibald watching her closely.
He didn’t know quite what to do. She raised an eyebrow at him, like she’d do with any staring bloke in a pub. And just like any staring bloke, Archibald looked quickly away.
Gotcha, thought Martha.
She didn’t turn round; she addressed his reflection, left him talking to her back. ‘So,’ she said in her best sexy voice. ‘You’re learning to be a pirate.’
She saw him screw up his hairy face. ‘I’m not learnin’ nuffin’,’ he said. ‘I am a pirate.’
‘Course you are,’ she said. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
She watched him seething. ‘Captain Florence,’ he said at last, ‘says we’re not pirates anyhow. Says we’re venture capitalists.’
‘Well fancy,’ said Martha. She took a slow sip of water, making him wait. Her sister had taught her the knack of it – Tish lived to torture 46
boys. ‘So, venture capitalist like you,’ she went on. ‘Must spend a lot of time in places like this. Sipping cocktails. Doing deals.’
‘Yeah,’ said Archibald. He was, she knew, lying through his prominent teeth. ‘All’a time.’
Thought so,’ she said. ‘You’ll have a drink, then?’
Archibald bristled. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Just a drink. Nothing heavy.’ As she looked down at her glass of water again she winked at him. Just at the last minute, so he might think he’d imagined it. When she glanced up again, she could see him blushing underneath his coarse fur.
‘I, uh, yeah,’ he said. ‘But Dash wouldn’t like it.’
‘Dashiel can have a drink when he gets back,’ she said. ‘It’s not like he’s missing out. The bar’s free anyway. And guarding prisoners. . .
That’s thirsty work.’
Archibald coughed, clearing the dryness in his throat. He leant back to look through the door into th
e ballroom, to see if his colleagues were anywhere nearby. Then he waved his gun at the alien prisoners cowering in front of the bay window. The aliens squealed in terror –exactly the response he wanted. As Archibald made his way slowly to the bar, shoulders back, walking tall, Martha could see him playing it cool. He leant against the bar beside her, the perfect position to talk to her and at the same time watch the prisoners. She smiled demurely at him and he grinned back. His breath was hot and stinky, his fur bristly like an old toothbrush.
‘Yes, sir?’ said the robot barman. Archibald’s eyes showed a moment of panic.
‘What should I ’ave?’ he asked Martha.
She looked him up and down, appraising him. ‘Big strong bloke like you?’ she said. ‘I bet you can handle anything.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘I bet that too.’
Martha nodded at the robot. ‘Do your worst,’ she told it. The robot began to mix various brightly coloured liquids into a glass. Archibald watched in horror as the final concoction was presented to him. The amber liquid let off a haze of steam.
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Martha raised her glass of water, chinked it against his drink. ‘Down the hatch,’ she said, and knocked back her water in one go.
‘Yeah,’ said Archibald, ‘OK.’ And he knocked the amber liquid back –
– and then spat it all over the bar. He bent over double, coughing like a well-seasoned smoker. Martha would have made a move to relieve him of his gun but she could see how tight he kept his grip on it. She decided not to risk it.
The robot barman quickly set to work with a towel, tidying up the mess. Archibald wiped the syrupy drool from his chin with the back of his hairy paw. He shrugged at Martha.
‘Heh,’ he said. ‘Didn’t really like it.’
‘No?’ said Martha, as if she’d not seen anything. ‘Oh well.’
He stuck his tongue out. ‘An’ now I got this horrid taste,’ he said.
‘Oh dear,’ said Martha. ‘Maybe you should try something else.’
Archibald’s glared at the robot barman, his dark eyes narrowing to slits. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’m bored wiv drinking.’
