The Slitheen Excursion

by Simon Guerrier

  Cosmo closed his eyes, then let out a squeal of horror. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That makes it worse.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ll try not to be too long.’

  The huge machines crowded around him and Cosmo. Some of the couplings were really expertly done. He admired the use of a proton valve to join a reintegrator to the shut-out port on an electric black hole. Mamps, he noted, had been talking rubbish. There was a stardrive disseminator coiled in a wide loop round the logic gate – a squat, oblong component that looked like a fridge but had an effect on time like a cat-flap. Which meant the Slitheen didn’t understand half as much of this system as they liked to make out.

  The problem, he’d surmised, was temporal energy leaking out of the system whenever it penetrated space-time. But there were lots of places the leak could be coming from. He’d just have to check every stage . . .

  In doing so, he could check for possible escape routes. Though it didn’t make sense for the cave they were in to have any other exits than the one they’d come in by. Made the whole thing secure if they couldn’t get out by anything other than the transmats. He could, of course, offer to test the system and transport himself into the future. But then he’d only have all Mamps’s siblings asking awkward questions. And June would be left to face the anger of the three Slitheen back here. That didn’t really seem fair.

  He considered reasons he might need June here alongside him, some expertise she might possess. But even if he could save her, there were still all the humans living round the Mediterranean. There were just too many people involved for him to try any of his usual tomfoolery. His brilliant mind picked over all kinds of possibilities and found flaws in every one.

  He’d think of something; he always did. But fixing the machine would at least stop the earthquakes, saving thousands of lives in the process. Best just to get on with the job in hand, then . . .

  But no, that only helped the Slitheen. They would continue bringing tourists back through time and eroding what little chance of taking charge of their own lives the humans had. He couldn’t sabotage or blow up the temporal drive because that would strand all the aliens back in time, where they’d get up to all manner of antics. Yes, he could probably take them back to their own time in the TARDIS. But he didn’t exactly want to let the Slitheen inside his own ship. He’d had problems with that sort of thing before.

  What he really wanted was a way of stopping the temporal drive from working once and for all, but then having it work for him to send everyone home. Which was exactly the sort of paradox he’d always loved untangling. And a wicked thought struck him.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said out loud. ‘That would work.’

  He released his grip on the ladder and skidded down it at high speed. ‘Wheeee!’ he called, before hugging his arms around the edges of the ladder to bring him to a stop just before he crashed into the gantry.

  ‘Well?’ asked Mamps.

  ‘Oh,’ he told her, ‘very well.’ He ran to the controls and began punching instructions into them.

  By the time Cosmo had climbed down rung by rung to join them, the Doctor had almost finished. Mamps leaned over his shoulder to watch, nodding appreciatively. But if she’d had any idea what he was conjuring, she would have killed him there and then.

  ‘You see?’ he asked her as he stepped back from his work.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she enthused, patently lying. ‘And it will really work?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I think so. You saw what I did, of course?’

  ‘Should have thought of it myself,’ preened Mamps.

  Brilliant, he thought, he had them! He turned back to face them. Mamps and Cosmo blocked his way, their green faces leering down at him, showing their razor-sharp teeth.

  ‘It seems,’ said Mamps in a girlish, sing-song voice, ‘that you’re usefulness is at an end.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said the Doctor. He’d been so busy outfoxing them he’d forgotten they were going to kill him. ‘Should have thought of that.’

  He grinned. The Slitheen grinned back. And with a terrible roar they pounced.

  FIFTEEN

  FIFTY HUMAN BEINGS knelt in the shadows waiting for their cue. Out in the arena, they could just hear Leeb introducing the show, explaining how all the players were willing volunteers. He liked the sound of his own voice too much, but the alien audience seemed to love him.

  June knelt in the darkness waiting. She had been cast as one of the aliens, with a crude papier mâché hat with a spindly head attached. While the people playing humans got swords and spears and shields, the ‘aliens’ were only given wooden props in the shape of ray guns. It didn’t look like the war would take very long.

  Deukalion cowered beside her, under his own costume hat. Its antennae quivered in time with his quiet sobbing. June reached her hand out to him. He looked up at her, a single tear hanging from his chin.

  ‘I wish the Doctor was here,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said June. ‘Me, too. He’d know what to do.’

  Deukalion shrugged. ‘And he said we were in this together.’

  June smiled. ‘He said we shouldn’t fight. But what choice have we got?’

  ‘I used to say that,’ said Deukalion. ‘I’m governed by impulse, can’t help myself. So I drink, I talk to women.’ He sighed. ‘My first wife says there’s always a choice.’

  ‘Not this time,’ said June. ‘If we don’t do this, the whole of history goes pfft. The aliens have got a real gripe with humans.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear?’ said Deukalion. ‘The masters said we won. That really annoys some people.’

  ‘The people who lost,’ nodded June. ‘So they wipe us out back in history, and then we never fight the battle.’

  ‘I wish I was a human,’ he said morosely. ‘I hate this silly hat.’

  And she laughed. ‘I think I just had an idea.’ She crawled forwards in the darkness, towards the row of people opposite, the competitors who didn’t have to wear the papier mâché hats. ‘Um, hi,’ she addressed them. ‘Sorry, my name’s June. You’re going to think this is weird, but I’ve had an idea how we can all get out of this alive. And we’re all humans, aren’t we? We should be in this together.’

  The row of figures glanced at one another. A couple of people whispered. And then one of the humans came forward. It took June a moment to recognise her.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been telling them,’ said Herse. ‘All right, what’s the plan?’

  The aliens – the real aliens – cheered and applauded as the fifty competitors ran out onto the sand of the arena. Those with papier mâché hats made for the right side of the courtyard, those without went left. Leeb introduced them from his place high up on the balcony. After the death of Hisk earlier that day, he’d thought better of standing in the arena himself.

  He spoke into the bracelet round his wrist, which amplified his voice, pointing out some of the papier mâché hats. The alien tourists cheered as he named particular species. They also groaned at his cheesy jokes. But Leeb proved a great showman and had the tourists buzzing with excitement for what they were about to see. Their glee bled down into the arena. June trembled with anticipation.

  ‘And so the peace conference of Anselm failed,’ cried Leeb, ‘the delegates withdrew back to their space fleets. And the war began!’

  That was their cue. Twenty-five ‘aliens’ charged at twenty-five human humans, bellowing and waving their wooden ray guns. The twenty-five humans stood their ground with perfect military discipline. They raised their swords, ready to strike, as the ‘aliens’ barrelled towards them. June hurled herself across the sand towards Deukalion, right ahead of her. His sword glinted in the moonlight. He looked a lot happier for swapping sides, not having to wear the antennae. And, as she snarled and shouted at him, he gave her a quick wink.

  She was almost on him when up went the cry. Herse yelled distinctly a single word. ‘Retreat!’

  The human humans dropped their swords and fled around the aren
a. The ‘aliens’ pursued them, still shouting and waving their ray guns. Above them, the real aliens gasped in amazement. And then started to applaud.

  Deukalion spun round to beg for mercy from June. She grinned, prodding her ray gun forward as if she’d fired it at him. He cried out, clutching his sides, and fell back into the sand. June helped pick off the rest of the fleeing humans.

  By the time Herse surrendered, the real aliens were on their feet, whooping and applauding. The dead humans got back to their feet to join the victorious ‘aliens’ in a bow.

  ‘I think that worked,’ grinned Herse to June as the adulation slowly died away.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said June. Leeb was lumbering down towards them.

  ‘Very good,’ he gurgled, clattering his talons together in a strange parody of applause. ‘Very ingenious. You changed history for your own amusement.’

  ‘Well, you gave me the idea,’ said June.

  That really annoyed him. But he glanced back round at the alien tourists, all watching keenly. He couldn’t touch her now.

  ‘Your friends on the Acropolis . . .’ he seethed.

  ‘Can wait,’ said June. ‘You’ve got something more important to do first.’ She nodded at Herse.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Herse called out, addressing the alien tourists. ‘As a token of our esteem, the defeated forces of humanity would like to invite you to join us in the arena for cocktails and canapés.’

  Again the alien tourists cheered. Then they began to squabble about how they could get down to the arena.

  Leeb gaped. ‘But you don’t have cocktails or canapés,’ he said.

  June beamed at him. ‘So you’d best rustle something up before they get here,’ she said.

  Leeb grimaced at her, then pointed the bracelet on his wrist at the sand underneath them. With a high-pitched squeal, the sand began to swirl up in a pink cloud. When the cloud faded away, there was a table laden with drinks and little things to eat. It materialised just in time; the alien tourists descended on the table greedily.

  ‘There,’ said Leeb.

  ‘Good,’ said June as the alien tourists crowded around them. ‘And now,’ she said, loudly enough for them to hear, ‘we can have a chat about the conditions in which you’re keeping us humans.’

  As Leeb began to protest, behind his back Deukalion waved from up on the balcony, then disappeared in amongst the aliens.

  The Doctor gazed up at the yellowy claws as they slashed towards him. His last thought was of June. And of an overdue library book. And whether he’d be killed instantly or would have a chance to regenerate. And the bleeping of the comms panel, just beside his head.

  Mamps lowered her claws with a sigh. ‘Oh, really,’ she said. ‘Get that, will you, Cosmo?’

  ‘Always on call,’ said the Doctor.

  Mamps shook her head in exasperation. ‘I can’t be away for a moment.’

  Cosmo pressed the button and the screen showed Leeb, his face pressed up close. ‘Mamps!’ he said. ‘They’re being horrid! I don’t know what to do.’

  Mamps tutted. ‘What are you blathering about?’

  ‘The humans,’ Leeb told her. ‘They’ve organised a party.’

  ‘You mean like a union?’ said Mamps.

  ‘No, a party. With cocktails and stuff.’

  ‘Aw,’ said the Doctor. ‘I like a good party. Can we go have a look when we’re done here?’

  Mamps blinked at him. ‘You’ll be dead when we’re done here.’

  ‘Oh yes. Sorry.’

  ‘You can handle a little party,’ Mamps told Leeb. ‘Let them have their fun.’

  ‘But Mamps,’ said Leeb. ‘They’re talking to the punters. They’re talking human rights!’

  ‘What?!?’ shrieked Mamps. ‘How could you be so stupid? Right, I’ll be there in a moment.’ She reached out and switched off the communicator. Her nostrils twitched with rage, her golden nose ring glinting.

  ‘Trouble?’ said the Doctor cheerily.

  ‘It’s none of your concern,’ Mamps told him.

  ‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘Of course not. You’d better get on with killing me.’

  Mamps nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, raising one claw above his head.

  ‘Shame though,’ said the Doctor just as she was about to strike. ‘I’ve got experience of human rights.’

  ‘I don’t give a stuff about human rights,’ Mamps told him crossly.

  ‘She doesn’t,’ Cosmo agreed.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘You’re just going to kill them all, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mamps. ‘I am.’

  ‘Only not in front of your punters,’ said the Doctor. ‘Because they won’t approve of that. So you probably want someone to negotiate for you now.’

  Mamps lowered her claws. ‘Someone like you, I take it?’ she said.

  ‘Well, now you say it,’ said the Doctor. ‘I suppose I could.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mamps. ‘I let you live and you help us out with this bother. Make the punters think we care for the prey. At least until we can get the prey off somewhere we can kill them without being seen.’

  ‘That sounds like a perfect plan,’ said the Doctor. ‘And you promise not to kill me if I help you.’

  Mamps nodded. ‘On my honour,’ she said.

  ‘You, er, don’t have any honour,’ said the Doctor.

  Mamps grinned. ‘Good point. But we don’t have time to draw up a contract. Can’t you take my word just this once?’

  The Doctor grinned back. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I negotiate peace between the humans and tourists, and then we’ll see where we are?’

  Mamps nodded. ‘Yes,’ she gurgled. ‘That will do fine.’

  SIXTEEN

  THE TRANSMAT PINGED and four people suddenly stood in the room. Deukalion turned to the others, grinning. They stared at him in awe. He rather liked having pretty women staring at him in awe.

  ‘See?’ he said. ‘It’s easy.’

  King Actaeus and his daughters stepped forward, waving their swords at the room as if duelling ghosts. Deukalion sighed and stepped out in front of them. ‘There’s no one here,’ he told them. ‘I said it was OK.’

  The others did not smile back. ‘You foretold the doom of my kingdom,’ said Actaeus. The scar running down his face caught the light. ‘Told my people to flee for their lives. But we are “OK”.’

  ‘No,’ said Deukalion. Why did he always have this problem with people in authority? ‘I said things would be OK. You didn’t need to come back with me.’

  ‘You said you were fighting for the freedom of men,’ said Actaeus. ‘That the Doctor had sent you. How could we not be here?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ said Deukalion awkwardly. ‘Well, we’re not fighting exactly. We’re being smarter than that.’

  The king’s daughter-in-law, Aglauros, regarded him with a sly smile. ‘The Doctor could talk his way round anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Deukalion. ‘So there’s no need for you to—’

  The map on the wall flickered. Deukalion had survived this far by trusting his instincts. And his instincts were screaming now.

  ‘Quick,’ he said, leading the king and his daughters away up the passageway to a storage area. There were crates stacked high on both sides of the corridor, amphorae of wine, olive oil and the liquid fuel he’d seen the masters use for fire. They ducked behind crates filled with fine grey-black dust. Deukalion ducked down behind the crates and his head exploded in a sneeze. He glanced at the king, who could not tear his eyes from the contents of the crates.

  ‘Pepper,’ murmured Actaeus. ‘More pepper than I’ve ever seen in my life. We’re looking at a fortune!’

  Deukalion grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him down behind the crate. In an instant the magic booth down the passageway let out a ping.

  ‘And,’ gurgled a high voice, ‘you know what we’ll do to you if it doesn’t work.’

  The Slitheen, Mamps, emerged, an
other Slitheen tagging along behind her. And behind them both, walking freely, came the Doctor.

  ‘Mamps,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I fixed your machine, so you can bring all the tourists you want here. And now I’ll fix this problem with the humans.’

  ‘I just want you to be conscious of what’s hanging on this,’ said Mamps. And then she stopped abruptly. She raised her head, sniffing the air. Deukalion peered through the gap between two crates. And Mamps stared directly back at him. Deukalion knew songs in which the masters could sniff out a man like a dog sniffed out prey. His nose twitched again, and he fought back the urge to sneeze. But Mamps gazed at him with her black eyes.

  ‘Something up?’ the Doctor asked her.

  Her eyes narrowed. Then she looked back at him. ‘I think the seasoning is a bit damp,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get this done.’

  The two Slitheen and the Doctor disappeared down the passageway. A long time after they’d gone, Deukalion dared to let out his breath. He’d never felt so relieved.

  ‘Said we were OK,’ he told Actaeus as they got to their feet.

  ‘He’s working for them,’ Aglauros told him.

  ‘What?’ said Deukalion. ‘Never. He’s spinning them a line.’

  ‘And where did they come from?’ said Pandrosos, heading down to the map on the wall.

  ‘It shows the last trip in yellow,’ said Deukalion. ‘I worked that out to get us back here.’

  ‘Here,’ said Pandrosos, pointing at but not touching the dot. ‘An island just a bit north of here.’

  ‘Where they can summon the creatures they bring here,’ said Actaeus. ‘The Doctor said he had fixed their magic.’

  ‘He’s up to something,’ said Deukalion. ‘He must be.’

  ‘He didn’t look like it,’ said Aglauros.

  ‘Well, he’s not going to make it obvious,’ said Deukalion. ‘That is kind of the point.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Actaeus. ‘But you said we should fight back.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ said Deukalion. ‘We’re not meant to fight! June said we can be smarter than that.’