Doctor Who BBC N06 - The Stealers of Dreams Read online

  ‘Left brain,’ repeated Rose, still not quite following.

  ‘Yeah. Logic, reasoning, language, all that stuff. And memory.’

  ‘So that’s why they. . . they kind of half froze my brain. . . ’

  ‘So you couldn’t dream, yeah.’

  ‘All the muscles down my left-hand side. . . ’

  ‘Right side of the brain controls the left side of the body.’

  ‘But you can make it better – can’t you?’

  ‘Once we get to the TARDIS, yeah. I can flush the micro-organisms right out of your system. Till then . . . ’

  Rose’s face fell.

  ‘You can get through this!’ said the Doctor. ‘If the people of this world can learn to live with it – well, most of the time – I know you can. You know what the monsters are now, Rose. You can fight them.’

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  ‘Did. . . did Jack tell you. . . ’

  ‘That you tried to break into the Big White House cos you thought I told you to? Nope, didn’t need to. I read your note at the hotel.’

  Rose avoided his gaze. ‘You must think I’m pretty thick.’

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘Seeing things that aren’t there, though.’

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘And it’s like. . . like even after – after I knew what was wrong with me, yeah, I kept. . . We were letting the patients out, and the orderlies didn’t know what had hit them. I thought they were gonna tear some of ’em apart. There were people running and screaming and fighting, and it was like. . . I didn’t know how much of it was real and how much. . . ’

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘Doctor. . . You know last night, in the . . . when I said you were

  “mental”. . . ’

  ‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘Tell me something: was I clever?’

  The question threw Rose. ‘Eh?’

  ‘When I brought you here. Was I clever?’

  ‘You weren’t. . . I mean, he wasn’t. . . ’

  ‘Real. I know, yeah. But was I clever? That version of me, in your head – was I resourceful and witty and charming and handsome?’

  For the first time, a hint of a smile – a genuine smile – broke through her awkwardness. ‘Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘Bit full of your self.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Pat yourself on the back, Rose Tyler – cos all that cleverness and resourcefulness and that wit and that charm, it came from inside you.’

  ‘And the handsome?’

  ‘Well. . . ’ said the Doctor, with a modest shrug.

  And Rose remembered how to laugh.

  Cal Tyko looked up as the Doctor entered his dorm. Recognition flickered in his eyes and was joined by hope – until he saw the two patients standing guard at his visitor’s shoulder, and fear took over.

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  He scrambled off the bed and backed up to the wall, his eyes wide.

  The Doctor wondered what nightmares he was seeing.

  ‘Cal Tyko,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘Got something for you.’

  ‘What. . . what are you going to do to me?’ gasped Tyko, trembling, finding his voice at last.

  ‘What, you don’t wanna take your own medicine? It’s for your own good. You look fantasy crazy to me. Don’t you want to get better?’

  ‘I was just. . . just doing my job. Just trying to help people.’

  ‘Yeah, me and you both, mate.’ The Doctor found a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket and threw it at Tyko with contempt. ‘Difference is, I don’t lobotomise them in the process. Here! A few ideas about what’s causing your problem. The rest’s up to you. Unless you want things to stay like this for ever.’

  ‘You’re asking me to. . . to. . . ’

  ‘To take a leap of faith, yeah. Scary, isn’t it!’

  Then the Doctor turned and breezed out, not looking back to see if Tyko had reached for the balled-up paper.

  He had a great deal more still to do.

  At the far end of the third floor from the lifts, the Doctor found an office like the one in which Tyko had left him and Waller that morning: desk, chairs, computer, screens over two walls, no windows. It had been overrun by inmates, but he quickly shooed them out.

  He sat at the computer, took a few seconds to familiarise himself with its operating system, then opened its Ethernet connection.

  Within minutes, he had found his way through several backdoors and three firewalls to a server that had not been used for decades and yet, as he’d hoped, had never actually been dismantled. A server that had belonged to the old government.

  ‘Um. . . Doctor?’

  He’d been aware of Domnic’s presence for a while; he had just been ignoring him. His eyes remained fixed on the monitor, his fingers a blur on the keyboard.

  ‘These. . . these micro-organisms. You said they’d come back.’

  ‘Yeah.

  They’re already swimming up your nose, through your mouth, down your ears. Won’t be long before there are enough of 147

  them in your brain to start the delusions all over again.’

  ‘But you can drive them out again, right?’

  ‘Could. Won’t be here.’

  ‘I. . . see.’ Domnic sounded disappointed, but he made no move to leave.

  For a minute or so there was silence. Then the Doctor gave up his work in exasperation. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? There’s always something else.’

  ‘I. . . I’ve been watching TV in one of the patients’ dorms.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ he said scathingly. ‘Life pretty much back to normal for you already, eh?’

  ‘I was looking for Static. I thought. . . you know, with everything going on, I thought it’d still be. . . I can’t find it, Doctor. I can’t find it on any frequency.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ said the Doctor. ‘Doesn’t exist.’

  Domnic’s jaw trembled. ‘You. . . you mean. . . ’

  ‘Static. Hal Gryden. All fiction. Any more questions?’

  ‘How. . . ’

  He came into the room proper and sank into the spare chair. He looked shell-shocked and it occurred to the Doctor that he’d been a bit brusque. He’d related the bare facts without considering the effect they might have. Domnic had suspected the truth already – but still, its confirmation had dashed his hopes. And on Colony World 4378976.Delta-Four, hope was hard enough to come by.

  ‘I saw you in the hotel room, remember?’ he said, more kindly. ‘You said you were watching Static. You were more right than you knew.’

  ‘Then the revolution, everything he said. . .

  All lies. Nothing’s

  gonna change.’

  ‘Yeah, it will. Gryden might not be real, but he’s the next best thing.

  He’s an urban legend. Everyone believes in him and on this world that makes him real. Even the newspapers and the TV news are talking about him. You saw the info-screens on our way in here. Your revolution’s started, with or without its figurehead.’

  ‘Fantastic!’

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  ‘No,’ said the Doctor, ‘not “fantastic”. Very, very far from “fantastic”

  – cos this world doesn’t need a revolution. There’s no one to revolt against. All you can do is tear yourselves apart and, believe me, that ball’s already started to roll. Soon, no one will be able to stop it. If I can’t find a way to save this world pronto, there won’t be much of a world left to save.’

  It took Domnic some time to come up with a reaction to that, and then all he could manage was, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Camera,’ said the Doctor abruptly. Apparently, that wasn’t enough, so he explained, ‘I need a video camera. There are plenty around. In every dorm, behind the telly. Or the ones in the corridors might be easier to get hold of. Get a couple of the patients to help you. They’re used to obeying anyone who shows the slightest authority.’

  He’d already returned to his work when he realised
that Domnic was still sitting there dumbly – and that maybe even ‘the slightest authority’ was too much to ask of him. ‘Go and see Captain Jack,’ he sighed. ‘He’ll find a few pairs of hands for you. Go on, then, quick as you like!’

  The camera was set up on a makeshift tripod constructed from three chairs, its lens trained on the desk. Its innards were hanging out, trailing wires to the computer, and in the middle of this lash-up sat the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, glowing with blue light. The Doctor himself was running from computer to camera to screwdriver, checking connections, taking readings here, making adjustments there –and explaining his plan to the audience he had somehow acquired.

  ‘Best way to save this world,’ he said, ‘is to use its most powerful weapon.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Domnic.

  ‘It’s the media, isn’t it?’ said Rose. ‘The telly.’

  ‘Gold star,’ said the Doctor, taking her by the shoulders and moving her gently but firmly out of his way. ‘There are thirty-six TV channels serving this planet, but they all bounce their signals off the same satellite – which I’ve just located. Amazing what you can find on the Net these days.’

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  Jack frowned. ‘You mean to cut in on all those channels?’

  ‘No point in doing half a job.’

  Rose grinned as she clarified matters to the watching patients: ‘He’s seen this on Batman. It’s how the villains always deliver their ransom demands to Gotham City.’

  ‘This part of the building – this block – it’s steel-reinforced concrete,’

  Jack mused. ‘You could use its framework as an aerial.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘But to blanket all frequencies, you’d have to send a broad-spectrum transmission.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Does the sonic screwdriver have enough power for that?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘No?’ echoed Domnic in dismay.

  The Doctor dropped into his chair at the computer and started typing again. ‘Had a better idea. When this world had a government, they set up an emergency distress channel – overrides the signals to all other channels in the event of a global disaster: riots, wars, invasions, monsters, that kind of thing.’

  Jack nodded in admiration. ‘So you crack the frequency of the government distress signal, then we only need a narrowband transmission to activate the override.’

  ‘And you can do that?’ asked Domnic.

  ‘It’s protected by a series of pass codes,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I’ve knocked together a little program that should see to that in about. . . ’

  He smiled as the computer pinged and the screen lit up with the data he needed.

  ‘So, you’re gonna talk to the world,’ said Rose. ‘What are you gonna say?’

  ‘Gonna give them what they need,’ said the Doctor. ‘A hero.’ Catching Rose’s smirk and raised eyebrow, he added, ‘I don’t mean me. Hal Gryden. These people created him because they needed somebody.

  Least I can do is make him real for them – I mean really real – make their dreams come true.’

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  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Rose. ‘You’re gonna – what? – pretend to be Gryden yourself?’

  ‘And let everyone see him,’ realised Jack. ‘Or at least let them think they’ve seen him. Don’t you get it, Rose? Then, when they think about Gryden, they won’t be imagining him – they’ll be remembering the Doctor.’

  ‘Using the left hemispheres of their brains instead of the right,’ ventured Rose, her brow furrowing as she remembered what the Doctor had told her.

  ‘Best way to stop someone dreaming is to make their dreams come true,’ said the Doctor. ‘Should calm things down for a while. One problem.’

  ‘As always,’ said Rose cheerfully.

  ‘Inspector Waller won’t be too chuffed about this.’

  ‘We’ve still got the hostages,’ Jack pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, but the way the cops see it, ideas are more dangerous than any physical threat – and we’ll be spreading ideas like mad. Soon as I start my speech – soon as they see what I’m doing, and they will, on the info-screens outside, just like the rioters will – they’re gonna storm this building. Not much I can do about that. You’ll just have to be ready, all of you.’

  ‘We’re ready,’ said Jack.

  ‘No, we’re not!’ said Rose.

  ‘As we’re ever gonna be,’ Jack amended. ‘We can’t hold them back, but we can buy you, say, ten minutes.’

  ‘Should be enough. I’ll need a camera person. Volunteers?’

  One of the patients raised a tentative hand.

  ‘Fine,’ said the Doctor. He clapped his hands together, took a deep breath and met the eyes of each of the onlookers in turn. ‘Well, then,’

  he said softly, ‘I think it’s time to man the barricades!’

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  There was a mattress blocking the barred window of the empty dorm, bolstered by a bed and a chest of drawers.

  Rose peeled back the edge of it and looked out cautiously across the Big White House’s concreted grounds. From up here, she could see over the perimeter wall to where the road was swarming with black uniforms. More police bikes were arriving all the time – and as she watched a black truck pulled up on the edge of her field of vision and cops started to unload equipment through its back doors.

  She hated this part: when the plan was made and the risks spelled out, but before everything had kicked off. And this time it was worse, because she knew she couldn’t let herself think about what was to come.

  It was the same for everyone, of course. She could feel their anticipation, their fear, like a physical force. She was comforted by the weight of the table leg in her hand.

  So long as she didn’t think about what the cops might be carrying.

  The Doctor had never pretended he could save her from everything.

  Rose didn’t even want him to.

  As if she hadn’t read his expression when he’d asked for a camera 153

  person, caught the flicker of his eyes towards her. He had to know by now that she wouldn’t have taken him up on his offer, his way off the front line. He had still had to make it.

  She glanced at the TV screen on the wall. It was showing fires and riots and looting; people throwing concrete blocks at cops and even at the cameras. Rose could hardly believe she was looking at the same streets she had walked just a few hours ago. Everything had spun out of control so fast. It hardly seemed real.

  One major channel, apparently, had been taken off-air when its studios had been invaded. A police spokesperson was urging the public to remain calm, to stay in their homes – until he broke down in tears and confessed to the world that there was nothing he could do, that his force was outnumbered and that, contrary to his previous statements, the truth was that everyone was going to die.

  The programme’s editors cut back to a stunned newsreader who fiddled with her data pad and tried to think of something to say.

  She was spared the effort as her image suddenly crackled and died.

  There was a brief burst of static, then a new picture wobbled uncertainly into view.

  The Doctor was out of focus at first, visible only from the neck down. He rushed forward until his navy-blue shirt filled the screen.

  He seemed to be having a row with the patient behind the camera; Rose cranked the volume up and heard muffled voices. Blurred fingers clashed over the lens. Then the Doctor’s face dropped into view, ridiculously huge, his nostrils gaping like caverns. He blinked, grinned and backed away until he was perched on his desk, now perfectly framed.

  ‘Um, yeah, hi,’ he said – and he smiled again, self-consciously.

  Come on, Doctor, thought Rose, pull it together!

  ‘You’re watching Static,’ said the Doctor, playing with his hands,

  ‘broadcasting on all frequencies for. . . for as long as we can. I think you all know me, though I might not look quite as you imagined.’ />
  Rose looked out of the window again. From here she could see an info-screen and the edge of another out in the street, and they were both displaying the Doctor’s image. His words were even subtitled; 154

  presumably, that was automatic.

  She wasn’t at all surprised, then, to see that a change had come over the cops. Most of them had just been milling about, but now they all moved with a purpose. Some of them were returning to their bikes, while others. . .

  . . . most of them were surging through the front gates. . .

  ‘They’re coming!’ yelled Rose, racing out of the dorm into the corridor, careful to lock the door behind her. ‘The cops are coming!’

  The warning was echoed from six other doors and was greeted by agitated murmurs all the way up to the stairs.

  An elderly woman dropped the kitchen knife she’d been carrying and fell to her knees. She was laughing hysterically, but crying too.

  ‘You’re finished now, you fiction geeks!’ she wailed. ‘You’re headed for a real big dose of reality. You just wait till they get you back in the operating theatres, you just wait!’

  And, over the racket, Rose could just make out the Doctor’s voice:

  ‘I’m Hal Gryden – and I’ve got something important to tell you.’

  The shouting began on the ground floor.

  Rose’s stomach tightened at the sound. There were only a few people down there. Their job was to hold the doors as long as they could, then fall back to the stairs. At best, they would buy seconds – but even seconds counted.

  Only a few people. But Captain Jack was one of them. Rose and the rest of the third-floor army were crowded into the space in front of the lifts, the more eager of them spilling out onto the stairs with their makeshift weapons. They were listening and waiting, in a silence so heavy that it could almost have suffocated her.

  Domnic was beside her. He had slipped through the crowd, trying to make it look like a coincidence that he’d ended up just here. She smiled at him and he smiled back weakly, struggling to be brave.