by Doctor Who
‘Well then,’ she said, with the same sexy voice she’d tried on him before.
‘Yeah,’ said Archibald nervously. He glanced down at her. ‘I liked those.’
She looked down. In her hands, the silver tray was laden with cheese and pineapple sticks.
‘Take one,’ she said.
Archibald grinned at her and reached out. She hit him hard in the face with the tray. He dropped his gun, staggered back and she kicked him with all her might. Archibald fell back but caught her foot and brought her down with him. They scrabbled on the floor, Martha biting and kicking for her life. Archibald didn’t fight back, and she knew he was confused. Maybe he didn’t fancy her exactly but she’d got something over him. And she’d use that. She’d use that to escape.
She felt a sudden hot pain in her gut and then she could not breathe.
Looking down, she saw the dagger Archibald had thrust into her stomach.
‘Ak,’ she said to him, all that she could manage.
And she died.
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They dared not meet his gaze; not the pirates, not the Balumin prisoners, not even Mrs Wingsworth, who hovered in the doorway.
The Doctor stood, tall and still in the centre of the cocktail lounge, the look in his eyes holding them transfixed and terrified.
‘I want to see her body,’ he said quietly.
The Balumin prisoners murmured with concern but none would dare come forward. Archie looked like he wanted to say something, but Dash got there first. If there was going to be trouble, thought the Doctor, Dash was the one in charge.
‘Er,’ he said to the Doctor. ‘You can’t.’
The Doctor turned to look at him. Dash stepped back, involuntarily, then seemed to remember he still had his heavy gun. He raised it a little, though it seemed less to threaten the Doctor than to make Dash himself feel more at ease.
‘Can’t?’ said the Doctor softly. Dash tried to say something and faltered under the dark brown, staring eyes. He could only shrug and shake his head.
‘She’s gone, dear,’ said Mrs Wingsworth from the other side of the cocktail lounge. She sounded awkward, like she was not used to speaking kindly.
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‘Gone,’ the Doctor repeated as he turned to her. ‘I see.’
‘It’s what happens,’ said Mrs Wingsworth, again not quite making it sound as comforting as perhaps she’d hoped.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Dash, grateful for an ally.
The Doctor nodded. He could think myriad complex thoughts at once, and a small part of his brain acknowledged that the protocols for deaths in space were much like deaths at sea. Martha’s body would have been discreetly, respectfully put overboard to minimise any concern from or risk of disease to those remaining. She would be out there, floating in the darkness, calm and cold and lonely.
Another part of his brain already knew that he would find her, how-ever long it took. He could already see the look on Francine’s face when he brought her daughter home, could already feel the Jones family’s tide of grief and anger. They would blame him for her death –and they would be right to. Once it would never have occurred to him to brave something like that if he could avoid it. But he knew that Martha would have wanted him to take her back to them, and because of that he would face whatever came.
There were just a couple of things here to sort out first.
He shrugged, smiled and tried to convince those watching him that the storm had passed. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Can’t stand idly about all day, can we? Gotta find the captain of this starship and have a little word. Get things back on track, make sure you all live happily ever after.’ But the pirates and passengers did not seem convinced: the horror and grief must have still showed in his eyes. ‘Oh well,’ he said,
‘please yourselves.’
Yet as he turned to leave the cocktail lounge, Dash stood in his way.
He wielded his heavy gun awkwardly, not quite sure where he should be pointing it.
‘He’ll shoot you, dear,’ said Mrs Wingsworth from over by the wall.
‘It’s rather tiresome.’
‘You’re our prisoner,’ said Dash, as if embarrassed at having to point it out. ‘You do what we say.’
The Doctor jutted out his jaw. ‘Or what?’ he said. ‘You really don’t want to try my patience, Dash.’
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Dash’s paws tightened round the trigger of his gun. ‘That a threat?’
he growled.
The Doctor grinned at him. ‘Course not. But look at it this way. I’m the only one who can sort this mess out for you.’
‘There ain’t a mess,’ said Dash. ‘And we’re the ones in charge.’
‘Really?’ said the Doctor. ‘The three of you?’
‘The others’ll be ’ere any minute,’ said Joss.
‘There’s going to be more of them?’ moaned Mrs Wingsworth. ‘That will be such a nuisance!’
‘Yeah,’ said Archie.
‘That’s right,’ said Dash, seeming more confident with his comrades beside him.
The Doctor laughed. ‘Let’s see how much trouble you three are in when they get here.’
‘What you mean?’ asked Dash.
‘Well, look at you,’ said the Doctor. ‘Oh, I know it’s not been all you expected – there’s nothing but nibbles to pillage and so on. But you’ve been here how many hours and what have you achieved? Have you got into the bridge? No. Have you found the engine rooms? No.’
‘We killed some people!’ said Dash.
‘But not very brilliantly,’ the Doctor corrected. ‘Only Martha’s staying dead. So that’s what, one whole person, and in how many hours?
You think your comrades are gonna be impressed? That’s rubbish!’
‘It is rather shoddy,’ agreed Mrs Wingsworth. She seemed the only one of the Balumin to take any interest. The others busied themselves with important matters like finger food and drinks. The Doctor could see that they had long since learnt that the badger-faced pirates were at worst a mild inconvenience. It was clear the three badgers knew this, too. They itched with frustration.
‘It ain’t fair,’ said Joss. ‘These lot don’t die when you kill them.’
To make the point, she shot one of the blue Balumin prisoners. As he disappeared in the familiar, vivid pink light, he merely rolled his eyes.
‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ said the Doctor. ‘What did you just prove that I didn’t know already?’
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‘Um,’ said Joss. ‘I dunno.’
‘Well then,’ said the Doctor. ‘Maybe if you could stop shooting people, I could explain why killing them isn’t working.’
‘They got powers,’ said Dash. ‘We know that.’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘The Balumin have powers. But even so, no one’s completely indestructible. Well, apart from Captain Scarlet. But I don’t think he was real.’
‘How d’we kill them?’ said Dash eagerly. ‘You can tell us what to do?’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor, rubbing at his chin as if considering whether they were worth telling.
‘I don’t think you should, dear,’ advised Mrs Wingsworth. ‘They really do have the most frightful manners.’
‘Go on,’ said Dash. And he screwed his face up as he dredged from his memory a word he had probably never used before. ‘Please,’ he said.
The Doctor beamed at him. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I think the problem is with your guns.’
‘Huh?’ said Dash, cradling his own heavy gun as if the Doctor might steal it off him.
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Pirates like you, you’re gonna have guns that can do just about anything. Stands to reason. Your captain isn’t going to send you off pillaging with stuff that’s not up to standard.’
‘She might,’ said Joss.
‘Shh!’ Dash told her.
‘So,’ said the Doctor, ‘if your guns aren’t working they must just be on the wrong setting.’
Dash examined the heavy gun in
his paws, looking for switches or buttons that he’d not seen before. There didn’t appear to be anything.
‘How’d we change it?’ he asked.
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor, ‘it’s a tricky job and you need to be a bit clever.
And it helps if you’ve got one of these.’ He extracted the sonic screwdriver from his inside pocket, flipping it into the air and catching it deftly with his other hand.
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‘What’s that?’ asked Archie, like any young boy presented with some new gadget.
‘Just a screwdriver,’ said the Doctor.
‘Huh,’ said Dash, still wary. ‘Maybe.’
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘You don’t trust me. Well, that’s OK. We’ve only just met after all. And I can see that nothing much gets past you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Dash.
‘OK,’ said the Doctor. ‘Then how about this. I let you have the sonic screwdriver and you can fix your guns yourselves. It should be setting fourteen, and you just give the power cells a quick buzz.’
Dash snatched the sonic screwdriver from him, though his paws were not really suited to such a slim instrument. The Doctor couldn’t resist trying to show him which bits to press, but Dash waved him irritably away. ‘I can do it,’ he growled. ‘Not you.’
He jabbed the end of the sonic screwdriver against the power cell of his gun and pressed the narrow button. The screwdriver buzzed and after a second there was a click from deep within the power cell.
Dash looked up at the Doctor, who grinned at him encouragingly.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘You’re a natural.’
Dash hurried over ‘to his comrades but would not let them take the sonic screwdriver from him. He pressed it against the power cells of their guns and pressed the button until he heard the click.
‘Now,’ he said, aiming his own gun at the huddle of Balumin prisoners who were busy chatting with each other at the bar. The Balumin were too busy gossiping and trying different cocktails to pay him and the other pirates any heed.
‘You’re not going to shoot them!’ squealed Mrs Wingsworth from the other side of the cocktail lounge. She had, it seemed, separated herself from the general mêlée.
‘Need to test ’em,’ said Dash.
‘Yeah,’ said Joss, also raising her gun. Archie quickly did the same.
‘But Doctor!’ said Mrs Wingsworth.
The Doctor shrugged, his eyes fixed on the guns. ‘We do need to see that it worked,’ he said. Mrs Wingsworth hid her face in her tentacles.
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Dash, Joss and Archie all fired at once. The Balumin, quite used to being shot already, did not cry out or respond. Only when nothing at all happened – not even a hint of pink light – did they turn round to face the badgers. It took a moment for it to sink in, then they started to laugh.
‘What?’ growled Dash.
‘Oh dear,’ said the Doctor brightly. ‘Something must have gone wrong!’ He reached a long arm out to Dash and plucked the sonic screwdriver from his paw. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, holding the slim tube up to the light. ‘I can see what I’ve done. Setting fourteen in a room full of canapés. Should have thought of that. Sorry.’
‘What?’ asked Dash, though his tone suggested he’d already re-signed himself to the inevitable.
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s nothing really, but you just disabled the power cells. The guns won’t work any more.’
‘You broke them!’ growled Dash.
‘Oh no,’ said the Doctor. ‘You did that. I was over here, minding my own business and you –’
Dash charged at him, drawing a dagger from the back of his sleeve as he did so. The Doctor stood his ground, sidestepping only at the last minute. Dash ran headfirst into the great bay window that looked out onto the Ogidi Galaxy. There was a dull and awful thud as he hit the toughened glass, which didn’t even waver – he might as well have run headlong into a brick wall. He fell back, his wet black nose squished against his hairy face, and then toppled over, unconscious.
‘That was clumsy,’ said the Doctor, crouching down beside Dash to examine him. ‘You just sleep it off.’ When he was sure Dash had done no serious harm to himself, he collected the dagger from where Dash had dropped it, and slipped it into the jacket pocket of his suit.
‘You hurt him!’ said Joss, covering the Doctor with the gun they both knew could not hurt him.
‘I suppose I did,’ said the Doctor. ‘But not quite as much as he wanted to hurt me. Now, I’m going to the bridge to talk to the captain.
Are you going to be stupid enough to try to stop me?’
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Joss considered. ‘No,’ she said. She dropped her useless gun on to the floor and went over to kneel by the unconscious Dash.
‘Coming?’ said the Doctor to Mrs Wingsworth.
‘Me, dear?’ she said, amazed. ‘Why ever would I?’
‘I dunno,’ said the Doctor. ‘Adventure. Excitement.’ He nodded his head at the other Balumin passengers. ‘This lot being really boring.’
The Balumin prisoners ignored the remark, so he turned on them.
‘Don’t you ever say anything?’ he asked. ‘Oi, you cloth-eared lot! I crave the indulgence of an answer!’
The Balumin prisoners seemed to find this rudeness absolutely shocking. ‘We do,’ said one of the blue ones, his tentacles curling in distaste, ‘but only to persons worth speaking to.’
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor. ‘Well you carry on with the complimentary drinks and I’ll take my worthless self off out the way and go save all your lives.’ They didn’t even respond.
‘I wouldn’t worry, dear,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘My great-aunt Amy –she wrote the High Tea novels, you know – said our class was often incapable of anything but indulgence. I’m not sure she meant it as a criticism. But yes, I do think I rather fancy a tour of the bridge, since you were so kind as to extend the invitation.’
‘Good!’ said the Doctor. ‘Welcome aboard. I don’t suppose it’s gonna do much good telling you not to wander off and things?’
The very idea!’ said Mrs Wingsworth, with a light and tinkling laugh.
‘Er,’ said Archie.
‘Yes, Archie?’ said the Doctor.
‘Er,’ said Archie again. ‘Can I come? Wanna see stuff.’
‘Oh, really!’ laughed Mrs Wingsworth. ‘You don’t think, after everything, that you’ll be –’
‘As long as you behave,’ the Doctor interrupted.
‘What’s that mean?’ said Archie.
‘You see!’ said Mrs Wingsworth.
‘You do as you’re told,’ the Doctor explained. ‘Say please and thank you. Don’t try to kill anyone.’
Archie considered. ‘Don’t see why,’ he said gruffly, ‘but OK.’
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‘Good,’ said the Doctor, clapping his hands together. ‘Well, no time like the present. Allons-y,’ and he marched out of the cocktail lounge.
Archie and Mrs Wingsworth had to run to catch him up.
At the far end of the ballroom, to the left of the stairs, a small door led off to another narrow passageway. They followed this to a steep flight of metal stairs, the plush wood and carpet of the first-class compartments giving way to simple, whitewashed walls and thick metal.
‘It’s all very. . . functional,’ Mrs Wingsworth concluded as she made her way upstairs, though she couldn’t keep out of her disapproving tone a glimmer of fascination.
They followed the passageway past cramped and uninspiring spaces where the crew might sleep or spend their free time. And then the Doctor stopped abruptly.
‘Cor,’ he said. ‘That’s a bit clever.’
A small space capsule, about the size of Smart car, sat in the middle of the deck. The thick, arrow-headed front of the capsule looked a bit like some kind of snow plough, and had clearly ripped its way through the starship’s side. The gaping hole in the ship’s thick metal wall had been filled with what might have been strawberry jelly but the Doctor recognise
d as sealant. For a moment he thought of the ship’s crew, who must have been sucked out into space as the hole had been gouged. The Brilliant’s emergency systems had then filled the gap with sealant, keeping everyone else on board alive.
‘I guess that’s you,’ said the Doctor to Archie.
‘Yeah,’ said Archie. ‘Dash did the driving.’
‘You came over in that?’ laughed Mrs Wingsworth, appraising the tiny capsule. ‘There’s surely not room for the three of you!’
‘I ’ad to sit on Joss’s lap,’ Archie explained. He grinned. ‘It was good.’
They’ll have hundreds of capsules like this,’ said the Doctor. ‘They spurt from the mothership in their hundreds, and whoever they’re attacking might shoot down a few of them, but some are still going to get through. They’re zippy, manoeuvrable. . . And a bit good really.’
‘It all sounds very reckless,’ said Mrs Wingsworth, but she seemed quite thrilled by the idea.
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‘Yeah,’ Archie agreed.
The Doctor had climbed behind the steering wheel and was checking over the controls and read-outs. ‘I just wondered if there was anything that might tell us what happened to all your comrades,’ he said. ‘Seems odd only one of you made it aboard.’
‘We won the race,’ said Archie proudly. ‘Get the best spoils that way, Dash says.’
‘I see,’ said the Doctor. He opened the glove compartment and eight chunky gold earrings fell out on to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Archie.
‘S’all right,’ said Archie. ‘They’re a bonus.’
‘You could wear one in each ear, couldn’t you?’
said Mrs
Wingsworth. ‘It would be tidier that way.’
‘Nah,’ said Archie, ‘that’s not what they’re for.’
‘The single loop is an old tradition,’ the Doctor explained. ‘If Archie here gets himself killed, his comrades can claim his earring as payment for seeing he gets a decent funeral.’
