Doctor Who BBC N03 - Winner Takes All Read online

  Rose’s stomach heaved. She wondered, almost detachedly, if she threw up but couldn’t open her mouth, would she choke to death on 123

  her own vomit?

  Thankfully she managed to hold it down. It was just a dead body.

  It was pretty disgusting, but it couldn’t hurt her.

  But then, with a jerk, she found herself bending at the waist, her head getting closer to the grisly cadaver. What was the Doctor doing?! Had she been labouring under the misapprehension that they were friends, when he actually really hated her and wanted her to suffer? She could smell the blood from this distance, the faint whiff of a butcher’s shop. Was he intending to do the whole CSI bit and examine the horribly dead body for clues? She could save him the trouble if so: this person had obviously had their head chopped off by a Mantodean’s mandibles, and then it had been. . . eaten. Stripped bare. Oh, ugh. Butcher’s shop was right.

  She was getting closer. After a few tries she managed to shut her eyes, but that was almost worse. It felt as if any second she was going to plunge into the corpse face first. She opened them again to find that she was staring right at the skeleton’s pelvis. And then her hand moved out. . .

  Gross, Doctor, gross. He’d better have a bloomin’ good reason for this. . .

  And it soon became clear that he did.

  Her hand touched the pelvis, went underneath, inside the tattered remains of what must have once been blue jeans. The Doctor’s sharp eyes must have spotted what she only now took in, a tiny black plastic corner sticking out from underneath. Her hand grasped it and pulled it out.

  It was a mobile phone.

  It was her mobile phone.

  It was still on, transmitting nothing across thousands of light years.

  On the screen it said ‘Home’.

  These rags and bones had once been Johnny Deans, whom she’d known from school.

  She had listened to this man’s death.

  Her hand switched off the phone, pushed it into her own jeans, and she was walked away.

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  ∗ ∗ ∗

  ‘I want my mum!’ screamed Robert. ‘I want my mum. I want my mum, I want my mum!’ Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he tore at the bonds holding him to the chair. ‘Let me go! I want my mum!’

  Frinel had left after helping tie them up, saying he had to ready the invasion force, and the remaining Quevvil had been staring at the screen ever since, but it now turned towards Robert. ‘Be silent!’ it shouted at him. It picked up a small silver box and waved it threateningly at him. Robert knew what it meant: if he didn’t shut up the disc on his forehead would be activated, and he’d become a zombie like the others. Robert stopped his shouting. The Quevvil turned back to the screen.

  Robert turned his tear-streaked face to the Doctor. ‘Was that OK?

  Did you get it?’ he whispered.

  The Doctor answered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  Then after a pause, he said, ‘Good for you to let it all out.’

  Robert tensed. ‘It was just pretend.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ whispered the Doctor.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, watching Rose’s progress on the screen. Robert found it hard to fully accept what was going on, that what he was seeing was what the wonderful girl, Rose, was actually experiencing; that the Doctor was somehow controlling her every move.

  Robert wasn’t dead. That had surprised him for a start. What he was, was a hostage. That seemed somehow shameful: through him the Quevvils were forcing the Doctor to do things he didn’t want to do.

  But Robert took comfort from the fact that he was actually managing to help the hero in little ways. The Doctor – as Robert had expected

  – had a plan. Unfortunately, both Robert and the Doctor were tied to their chairs, and this Quevvil had stayed behind to monitor the Doctor’s progress. The Doctor wanted to do things without it noticing.

  Which meant that Robert had to try to distract it.

  That had been the easy one. But the Doctor said he needed it distracted for a lot longer next time, and Robert really didn’t know what 125

  to do. ‘You saw it,’ he whispered to the Doctor. ‘If I do anything else it’ll activate this.’ He indicated the disc on his forehead. ‘Then I won’t be able to help at all.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is that we need to distract it before you can distract it?’ said the Doctor.

  Robert gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘Something like that. I don’t know what to do,’ he said, and his voice sounded pathetic and whiny. He tried to control it better. ‘I wish it had a disc so we could turn it into a zombie. . . ’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’d be good. . . ’

  The Doctor negotiated Rose up a flight of steep steps. The Quevvil was now watching the screen again.

  ‘Look at me,’ whispered the Doctor. Robert did so. The Doctor leaned over and examined the disc.

  ‘We’ve tried to remove them,’ Robert told him. ‘But we just couldn’t.’

  ‘You’re not me,’ said the Doctor, grinning. But then his face fell.

  ‘Damn!’ he said. ‘I gave my sonic screwdriver to Rose. Oh well, improvisation it is then. . . Start yelling.’

  Robert did as he was told. The Quevvil might zombify him, but if it was what the Doctor wanted. . .

  ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ cried Robert at the top of his voice.

  The Quevvil picked up the silver control box and raised it threateningly.

  ‘Quick!’ called the Doctor, holding up the game’s control pad. ‘This thing’s gone wrong!’

  Robert and the Quevvil both looked at the screen. It certainly did look as if something had gone wrong – the picture was going up and down, up and down. Robert – but seemingly not the Quevvil – noticed that the Doctor was actually rapidly pressing one button with his thumb, again and again. ‘Sorry, Rose,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘Still, bit of exercise won’t do you any harm. . . ’ He waved the control pad at the Quevvil. ‘I need this fixed.’

  The Quevvil approached them. It leaned over to take the control pad. And the Doctor hit it, right on its snub, hairy nose.

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  The Quevvil reeled back, and the Doctor grabbed the silver box from its hand. Dropping the control pad, he prised off the top of the box, poked inside it, and suddenly pointed it at Robert’s forehead. Robert jerked back in alarm, but to his amazement and delight, instead of losing all control of his body, he felt a tickling sensation around the disc, as if the little metal hooks were retracting from his flesh! A second later, the disc tumbled off into his lap.

  But there was no time for rejoicing – the Quevvil had recovered from the blow and was staggering towards them, its quills straight-ening, ready to throw. The Doctor was still poking around inside the silver box. ‘Quick, on its head!’ he called out.

  In a split second, Robert realised what he meant. He grabbed the disc and pushed his hand forward in one rapid movement. His palm slammed into the Quevvil’s face, and he felt the metal legs push themselves into the monster’s coarsely furred forehead. The Doctor had the top back on the control box, and pressed a button.

  The Quevvil froze.

  ‘Well done!’ cried the Doctor, an enormous grin on his face. But Robert wasn’t grinning. He was gazing down at his hand. At the sharp quills that were sticking into his palm. The pain was intense.

  He choked back a sob.

  The Doctor followed his gaze. ‘Ow!’ he said in sympathy. Robert thought that didn’t even begin to cover it. But the Doctor was actually looking serious. ‘Got to get them out,’ he said. ‘They’re barbed, and they can work their way in really quickly. If they hit a major blood vessel. . . ’

  Robert shivered. ‘What should I do?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

  The Doctor looked him straight in the eye. ‘Can you bear some pain?’

  Robert took a deep breath, and nodded. He thought he’d been willing to die for this man. He couldn’t
appear a coward in front of him now.

  The Doctor put a hand in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a scalpel and an apple. He gave the apple to Robert. ‘Bite into this,’ he said.

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  Robert stuck his teeth into the apple, and held out his hand. There was a red-hot pain in his palm, and he crunched right into the apple in shock. He spat out the piece, and put the apple down. ‘I don’t think that’s really helping,’ he said weakly.

  ‘One more,’ said the Doctor. Robert felt another stab, and couldn’t help but whimper. ‘OK,’ said the Doctor. ‘All done.’ Robert looked down, and found the quills gone from his hand. The Doctor was holding them, and even at a distance it was obvious that the barbed points had expanded outwards till they looked like miniature Christ-mas trees. No wonder the Doctor had had to cut them out.

  The Doctor dropped the quills on the floor, and pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket. He began to bandage Robert’s hand.

  ‘Hold it tightly,’ he said. ‘But it shouldn’t bleed for long.’

  Robert nodded, gripping his palm as tight as he could with his left hand. But through the pain, he was happy. He’d helped! He’d actually helped! He’d helped the Doctor, and now they’d be able to rescue Rose, the most wonderful girl in the world. . .

  He looked up at the screen, expecting to see exactly the same view as when the Doctor had abandoned the game a few minutes before.

  But to his shock, he found that wasn’t the case.

  ‘Doctor!’ he screamed, too horrified to be embarrassed. ‘A Mantodean!’

  The Doctor spun round. There on the screen, the giant green figure of a Mantodean was approaching. Its jaws were open, coming closer and closer.

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  Rose’s thoughts about the Doctor were not complimentary. She’d been suffering the indignities of being walked and jumped and run around, and now she was frozen in one place, like a musical-statues world champion. One foot was just off the ground – under normal circumstances she’d have overbalanced quite quickly. The Doctor was probably having a good old laugh at stupid, helpless, puppet Rose.

  And just knowing that he almost certainly wasn’t didn’t stop her thinking about it. When she got hold of him. . .

  She’d give him a great big hug, because she’d still be alive and he’d still be alive and he’d probably have saved her life, lots of other people’s lives, and a planet or two into the bargain. And she wouldn’t mention the helplessness she’d felt; how she hated this more than anything ever.

  She wouldn’t mention how she was worried she was his puppet, doing things at his command, whether she could move by herself or not.

  She thought she’d chosen to travel with him of her own free will, but she’d figured out that he had his own agenda. Because he needed a companion. He needed her. Somehow, she validated him. If a tree 129

  fell in a forest when no one was there to hear it, did it make a sound?

  If a Time Lord saved a world when there was no one there to know it, was he still a hero?

  And she needed a hero right now, oh, God. . .

  There was a Mantodean. There was she, stuck like a lemon in the middle of the room, and she could see it down the corridor. . . any second now – oh, help, it had seen her, it had seen her. . .

  She tried to scream out with her mind, praying desperately that in a spectacular twist the implant in her forehead would turn out to be able to transmit thought waves to its controller. Doctor, help! Doctor, help!

  Doctor – It was skittering closer, multi-faceted eyes examining this intruder in its path, this alien creature that threatened the security of its home. Not that she was doing much threatening at the moment.

  As Rose watched, the creature’s mandibles sprang apart, like a gar-dener whipping open a pair of pruning shears. If they were slammed shut, her head would fall to the floor as easily as an unwanted twig.

  Doctor, help!

  And then. . . her knees braced, and she was flying into the air, soaring towards the high ceiling, and her arms were reaching over her head –

  – and she grabbed hold. Of what, she had no idea, she couldn’t look upwards, but for all she knew her fingernails were digging into solid rock. If she didn’t know what she was doing was impossible, she wouldn’t fall – like Wile E. Coyote happily running across thin air until he thought to look down.

  Her legs raised up, and her head was pointing downwards enough for her to see that the Mantodean could no longer reach her. It was scurrying about under her, probably very annoyed. She was just starting to feel – not safe, but some relief that she wasn’t about to die that very second – when she thought about grasshoppers, and the ‘hopper’

  bit of their name, and weren’t praying mantises really like them, and weren’t Mantodeans really like praying mantises, and did that mean they could hop up high, say, ceiling high. . .

  The Mantodean was bouncing slightly on its back legs – preparing 130

  to jump? It was right under her, it would grab her, bring her down, snip off her head. . .

  Rose’s hands stopped gripping.

  They opened wide.

  She fell.

  She landed right on top of the Mantodean.

  Rose expected to be hurt, but she didn’t seem to be. She didn’t think the Mantodean was, either, just knocked to the ground, probably a bit dazed. She found herself jumping to her feet, running away, leaving the giant insect still lying in the middle of the floor. Round a corner, over a chasm, through a door, into a tunnel. Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

  No, it’s SuperRose.

  The Doctor was back in control, and she was safe. Well, as safe as she could be round here, anyway.

  ‘There,’ said the Doctor, whose anxious eyes had belied his cry to the screen of ‘Soon get you out of there, Rose, no problem.’ His frantic fingers finally eased off the controls.

  ‘She’s OK,’ said Robert, relief flooding through him.

  ‘Not out of the woods yet,’ said the Doctor. ‘Robert, keep an eye on the screen. Tell me if you see anything – and I mean anything.

  Threatening bit of dust, anything.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Robert asked, doing as instructed but able to see out of the corner of his eye that the Doctor had levered the top off the console.

  ‘Few adjustments,’ said the Doctor. ‘This thing’s pretty sophisticated, but not enough, to my mind, not for what I need. Those Quevvils are good at this sort of thing, obviously, but they can’t make this sort of delicate adjustment, not with those great claws. . . ’ He tutted. ‘Rose won’t like it, though.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to improve the controls? Make her do more things?’

  ‘Yeah and yeah.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she is going to like that.’

  ‘Nope.’

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  The Doctor seemed to have stopped still all of a sudden. Robert held his breath – had the Doctor heard a Quevvil coming or something?

  He risked the tiniest glance at the man, and what he saw in his face was frightening. Hurriedly looking back at the screen, he whispered,

  ‘What is it?’

  The Doctor didn’t answer straight away. Robert tried hard not to stare as he got up and began to sweep things on to the floor, crash, smash. Robert was terrified the Quevvils might hear the noise, terrified the Doctor might break something important; most of all, terrified of the Doctor.

  ‘How dare they!’ the Doctor yelled, thumping the wall with his fist.

  ‘How dare they make me do this to her! Rose is not a toy!’

  ‘She’ll understand,’ Robert ventured after a moment, scared of making things worse, but knowing he had to say something. ‘She’ll know you had to do it, why you had to do it.’

  The Doctor didn’t seem to hear him. His voice was calmer now, but icier; scarier. ‘You don’t treat someone like that. You don’t treat a person like that. And they’re making me do it, making me degrade her like that. We’ll get out of t
his, won’t dwell on it, won’t ever mention it again. But, back of our minds, it’ll always be there.’ He thumped the wall again, then, after a frozen second, sat back down and picked up the controller. ‘I’ll just get on with augmenting my friend then.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Robert whispered.

  ‘I know,’ the Doctor whispered back. ‘Thank you.’

  Rose had stopped moving again, and was trying not to panic. Had the Doctor abandoned her? Would another Mantodean find her? What was that pain. . . in. . . her. . . head. . . ?

  Things were moving inside her: in her mind’s eye she could see fibres worming around, wriggling along the pathways of her body. If she was X-rayed now, she’d look like one of those diagrams of the nervous system, a million wires threading through her, and she could feel every one of them. Then – after only a few seconds, or perhaps a lifetime – the pain faded, but a feeling remained, swamping every bit of her, from a tickle in her throat to a tingle in her toes.

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  She started to move – involuntarily, as before, but smoothly, oh so smoothly – no longer was she a jerky string-puppet, now movement flowed like a ballerina swanning across a stage. An onlooker would find nothing risible in Rose’s deportment now, though they might well be in awe of her grace and strength and speed. She was a gazelle, a cheetah, a wonder of nature. Pits yawned beneath her, and were gone in the blink of an eye. Corridors flashed past, barriers were breached as she barely paused for breath. If Rose could have cried for joy, she would have done.

  ‘Wow,’ said Robert, watching the features of the Mantodean stronghold flash past, as if he was watching it on fast forward.

  ‘Pretty good, if I do say so myself,’ said the Doctor. He’d switched off his anger, pushed it back – was concentrating on the job at hand, not what it meant. ‘Lot of wasted potential, the human body. Right, time to get to work. I’m gonna be keeping a close eye on Rose –’ his eyes didn’t leave the screen at all while he was talking – ‘so I’m going to be relying on you, Robert.’