Doctor Who BBCN20 - The Pirate Loop

  The Doctor’s been everywhere and everywhen in the whole of the universe and seems to know all the answers. But ask him what happened to the Starship Brilliant and he hasn’t the first idea. Did it fall into a sun or black hole? Was it shot down in the first moments of the galactic war? And what’s this about a secret experimental drive?

  The Doctor is skittish, but if Martha is so keen to find out he’ll land the TARDIS on the Brilliant, a few days before it vanishes. Then they can see for themselves. . .

  Soon the Doctor learns the awful truth. And Martha learns that you need to be careful what you wish for. She certainly wasn’t hoping for mayhem, death, and badger-faced space pirates.

  Featuring the Doctor and Martha as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman in the hit series from BBC Television.

  The Pirate Loop

  BY SIMON GUERRIER

  24681097531

  Published in 2007 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.

  Ebury Publishing is a division of the Random House Group Ltd.

  © Simon Guerrier, 2007

  Simon Guerrier has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One Executive Producers: Russell T Davies and Julie Gardner Series Producer: Phil Collinson

  Original series broadcast on BBC Television. Format © BBC 1963.

  ‘Doctor Who’, TARDIS’ and the Doctor Who logo are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009.

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.co.uk.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 1 84607 347 2

  The Random House Group Limited supports the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

  Series Consultant: Justin Richards

  Project Editor: Steve Tribe.

  Cover design by Lee Binding © BBC 2007

  Typeset in Albertina and Deviant Strain

  Printed and bound in Germany by GGP Media GmbH

  For the dread pirates Luke and Joseph

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  One

  5

  Two

  11

  Three

  21

  Four

  31

  Five

  43

  Six

  57

  Seven

  69

  Eight

  81

  Nine

  93

  Ten

  105

  Eleven

  117

  Twelve

  125

  Thirteen

  133

  Fourteen

  143

  Fifteen

  151

  Sixteen

  159

  Seventeen

  165

  Acknowledgement

  169

  Six thousand robots danced through the streets of Milky-Pink City.

  They had never been programmed with dance lessons but what they lacked in style they made up for with their enthusiasm. All around, metal limbs twisted with abandon. Tall robots did something that looked like a rumba, lifting robots did the Mashed Potato. And weaving in and out between them raced the Doctor and Martha Jones.

  Martha and the Doctor had been in Milky-Pink City for no more than four hours and it had not gone brilliantly well. The city and all its robots had been built years ago to serve and pamper thousands of human holidaymakers, but the humans had never arrived.

  Intergalactic tourism, the Doctor had explained, was an unforgiving business. So the robots had been delighted to see Martha and the Doctor, even if they hadn’t booked ahead. They had fallen over themselves to oblige their every whim. They squabbled about who got to fetch Martha a drink and came to blows over who took the Doctor’s coat. It had quickly turned into a war between different factions of keen-to-please robots, all with exquisite manners. And then an hour later they’d turned on the Doctor and Martha as the source of all the problems.

  This, thought Martha now as she ran to keep up with the Doctor, her hand held tightly in his, was what happened when you tried to force people to have a good time. She remembered a particularly miserable family holiday at some activity camp outside London, her big sister Tish falling for one of the creepy blokes that worked there.

  She shuddered. Even being sentenced to death by a city of daft robots wasn’t quite as terrifying as that place. For one thing, you couldn’t defeat creepy blokes by playing them songs from your iPod.

  ‘It’s funny,’ she said to the Doctor as they ducked and weaved between the dancing robots. ‘My brother hates this song.’

  ‘What?’ said the Doctor, stopping in his tracks. He spun on the heel 1

  of his trainer, his long coat and silvery tie whirling around him, and swept a hand through his spiked and scruffy hair. ‘But this is a classic.

  Humans doing what you do, daring to be brown and blue and violet sky!’ He laughed. ‘I don’t even know what that means! See? Brilliant.’

  Martha raised an eyebrow. With the robots still dancing around them, it didn’t seem the best time to indulge him.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said chastened, taking her hand and leading her on through the strange and metal street party, ‘you know I once saw Mika live in Denmark –’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Martha wearily. ‘I was there too.’

  He turned his wild, inquisitive eyes on her like he’d only just noticed her there. ‘That’s a coincidence!’ he said. ‘Funny how these things work out, innit?’ But his wide grin and enthusiasm were infectious; Martha found herself grinning back.

  They turned a corner and Martha felt her heart leap. At the end of the alleyway, beyond yet more cavorting robots, stood the TARDIS.

  They made their way through the last of the dancing robots. While the Doctor rummaged through deep pockets to find the TARDIS key, Martha looked back one last time on the city. Two small robots the size and shape of kitchen bins were dancing together, the same keen but clumsy routine she remembered from old school discos. She felt a sudden pang of sorrow for the silly machines.

  ‘But won’t they get bored with this song one day?’ she asked the Doctor.

  ‘A-ha!’ he said brightly, producing a yo-yo from his pocket. ‘No, hang on, sorry.’ He handed the yo-yo to her and had another go.

  ‘Almost. Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.’ And he produced the innocuous-looking key. ‘Yes they’ll get bored,’ he said as he unlocked the door to his spaceship. ‘But they were programmed as holiday reps, weren’t they? Everyone of them’s a born entertainer. They’ve got hooks and beats in their chips.’

  Martha gaped at him. ‘They’ll make their own music, won’t they?’

  she laughed. ‘They’ll entertain themselves.’

  ‘Right on, sister,’ grinned the Doctor. ‘A bit of culture to liberate the workers. Come on, let’s leave them to it.’

  2

  A moment later, with a gruff rasping, grating sound that tore through the fabric of time an
d space itself, the police box was gone from the alleyway. Six thousand robots lived happily ever after.

  ‘So where next?’ said the Doctor, fussing with the TARDIS controls.

  His long, skinny fingers danced across the strange array of instruments and dials, his face lit by the eerie pale glow from the central column.

  ‘What about that spaceship?’ said Martha.

  ‘That spaceship,’ agreed the Doctor. He began to set the coordinates, then stopped to look back up at her. ‘Which spaceship?’

  ‘That spaceship you were telling me about. When we were waiting to be executed.’ She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Just a minute ago!’

  The Doctor’s eyes narrowed to slits as he struggled to remember.

  ‘Oh! That spaceship,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you said it was brilliant.’

  ‘Well it was. Literally. The Starship Brilliant. Luxury passenger thing. In space. But I only told you about it to take your mind off, well, you know. . . ’ He drew a finger quickly across his neck.

  ‘Yeah, but come on,’ said Martha, leaning towards him across the console. ‘You said nobody knew what happened to it. Not even you.’

  ‘Well no,’ he said, scratching at the back of his head. ‘Not exactly. I mean, there are theories.’ He began to step lightly around the control console, flicking switches, careful not to meet her gaze. ‘It could have fallen into a black hole, or crashed into a giant space squid. You know it vanished just before a huge galactic war?’

  ‘No,’ said Martha.

  ‘Well. That could mean something couldn’t it?’

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Martha, ‘you know you want to. It’s a mystery!’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ The Doctor thrust a hand into the trouser pocket of his skinny, pinstriped suit; his way of looking casual. ‘Exploring a spaceship that you know is going to vanish forever. . . Probably be a bit dangerous. Dangerous and reckless. Dangerous and reckless and irresponsible.’

  ‘What?’ she laughed. ‘And never know what happened to it? Ever?

  That’s not like you at all.’

  3

  The Doctor gazed at her, deep brown eyes open wide. Martha felt the smile on her own face falter, her insides turning over. She had come to accept that the Doctor didn’t share her feelings for him, but sometimes the way he looked at her. . .

  ‘So we’re going?’ she said quickly.

  ‘It’ll bother me if we don’t,’ he said, busy now with coordinates and the helmic regulator. He stopped to look back up at her. ‘But there are some rules. Important ones.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  ‘ Yes, whatever I say. ’ Martha did her best to look serious. ‘One,’ the Doctor continued. ‘We can’t get involved with anyone we meet. Two, we absolutely cannot change anything. Not a bean. Nuffink. Nada.

  Nana nee-nee noo-noo.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And three. . . ’ He turned from the controls to look at her and his eyes sparkled as he grinned. ‘Oh, what’s the use?’ he said, and plunged the lever to send them hurtling back in time.

  ‘Honestly, it’ll be fine –’ began Martha.

  But the huge explosion cut her sentence short. She was thrown off her feet, hurled head over heels across the TARDIS console to crash hard into the metal mesh floor.

  Typical, she thought, as everything faded to black.

  4

  In the moment after she woke and before she opened her eyes, Martha thought she was in her mum’s house in London. She could smell strong tea and cleanliness all around her as she lay sprawled on her back. Her jeans and leather jacket dug into her skin, she felt hot and heady like she’d had a late night out and the floor was trembling beneath her. Sore and a little bit fragile, she dared to look around.

  Dark. Industrial. Noisy. Not the TARDIS. She closed her eyes again.

  When she next awoke, she found the Doctor crouched beside her, grinning encouragingly. He brandished a chipped china mug at her with a drawing of a sheep on it.

  ‘A little milk and no sugar, yeah?’ he said.

  ‘Ta,’ she said, struggling to sit up. Her head throbbed and her limbs felt shaky, so she checked herself over for concussion. She wiggled her fingers and toes, and closed one eye and then the other to make sure her vision was OK. Everything seemed to be fine. Martha could remember the explosion in the TARDIS, being thrown off her feet and across the console, so she wasn’t missing any memory. And, for all she felt battered, she didn’t feel queasy, so there didn’t seem to be any internal damage to worry about.

  5

  ‘What’s the diagnosis?’ asked the Doctor, with that slight, admiring smile he kept for whenever she showed a bit more intelligence than your average human ape.

  ‘OK, I think,’ she said. ‘Can you check my pupils?’

  He handed her the mug of tea and fished in his pocket for his sonic screwdriver. Its brilliant blue light dazzled her for a second. ‘Both the same size,’ said the Doctor. ‘Both go all small when I shine a light at them. That’s what they’re meant to do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Means I’m probably not bleeding to death on the inside,’ she said, batting the sonic screwdriver out of her face. ‘I’m happy with that.’

  So she had survived intact. And then she realised it was not a headache she could feel but the deep bass line of vast machinery thrumming all around her. They were no longer in the TARDIS. Wherever they were it stank like washing-up liquid, all efficient and clean.

  And it wasn’t her own body that was shaking; the hard metal floor beneath her trembled with terrible power.

  Martha drank the strong and pungent tea while glancing round to get her bearings. They were in the narrow alleyway between two huge machines; huge and noisy as an old factory or printing press, she thought, a whole series of sturdy great machines working flat out.

  She was suddenly reminded of the dark, low-ceilinged basement at the Royal Hope, where the hospital had its own power generator. Her mate Rachel had taken her down there at the end of a night shift to watch some other medical students lose at cards to the porters.

  Martha remembered them squeezing into a small, sweaty, claustrophobic room where you couldn’t even hear yourself think. This place had the same heavy, oppressive feel to it.

  ‘We hit the engine rooms then?’ she said.

  The Doctor grinned at her. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Yeah, smacked right into it. Sorry. Think they must have some sort of unmentored warp core or something, and the TARDIS went a bit rabbit-in-the-headlights. Doesn’t take much to turn her head these days, poor girl.

  I meant to put us down in the passenger lounge. Bet it’s a lot more posh than this upstairs.’

  ‘Right,’ said Martha. She put down her tea and struggled unsteadily 6

  to her feet. Just along the alleyway stood the reassuring shape of the TARDIS. She could still taste the acrid smoke that had billowed from the console, and realised the Doctor must have carried her out of it, letting her down here before hurrying off to find help. . . and the mug of tea. The engines around her filled her head with noise and her skin felt itchy with grime. Yet the dark and solid machinery seemed immaculate; perhaps she was just imagining the dirt. She shrugged off her jacket, the air suddenly hot and clammy on her bare arms.

  Despite the heat, she shivered; there was something wrong about this place, she could feel it deep inside her.

  And then she realised she was being watched.

  There were six of them, short, stocky men wearing tough leather aprons and luridly coloured Bermuda shorts. Practical, she thought, for this hot and heavy environment. They lurked in the shadows by the machines, watching her and the Doctor nervously.

  ‘Er, hi!’ she waved at them. One of them waved back instinctively then hid his hand behind his back. The men remained where they were, skulking in the darkness. ‘They’re more scared of us than we are of them,’ said the Doctor quietly.

  ‘You said that in Kenya about those l
ions,’ said Martha.

  ‘Well, yes,’ admitted the Doctor. He smiled his brightest smile as he addressed the men. ‘She’s feeling a lot better now, thank you. Said a tea would do the trick!’ The men remained in the shadows, watching.

  The Doctor nudged Martha in the ribs with a bony elbow. ‘Come on,’

  he said, stepping forward. ‘You need to thank them for the tea.’

  ‘Right,’ said Martha, feeling awkward. She hated being pushed in front of people, expected to perform. Her mum would still have important workmates round for dinner sometimes. Tish and Martha were always made to hand out the nibbles – her brother Leo always got away with filling up people’s drinks. ‘This is my middle one,’ Mum would preen as her friends took the stuffed olives or carrot sticks and dip. ‘She’s going to be a leading surgeon.’ It always made Martha furious, but she had never answered back. Tish, who liked playing up to her mum’s image of her, said Martha had a twisted sense of duty.

  And Martha knew she was right. Even now, hundreds of years in the 7

  future, she felt herself adopting a familiar, joyless smile.

  ‘Hi!’ she said with badly faked delight. ‘I’m Martha!’ The men in the leather aprons said nothing and remained where they were. She turned to the Doctor. ‘You did introduce us, didn’t you?’

  ‘Er,’ said the Doctor sheepishly. ‘I did call out a bit, but nobody responded. They probably didn’t hear me over the noise of the engines.

  And then I found the kitchen and sort of helped myself. Sorry! Better leave them some coins in case they’ve got a tea club!’ He rummaged through the pockets of his suit jacket, the inside ones first. ‘Can you remember what the money is in space in the fortieth century?’ Martha felt guilty; only a couple of days before she’d thrown a gold sovereign away down a wishing well.

  The men in aprons seemed to cower in the darkness, and Martha realised they must think the Doctor was looking for a weapon. The poor blokes were terrified of them and she started to understand maybe why. They were the lowest of the low, toiling away in this noisy, sweaty place. They would never mix with any of the ship’s passengers, and they probably only ever heard from the crew when something had gone wrong.