Doctor Who BBC N06 - The Stealers of Dreams Page 16

  Rose was picturing Jack in the thick of the fight downstairs, giving orders, dispensing jokes and innuendo to keep up the morale of his troops. Living up to a rank that – she was almost certain – he had bestowed upon himself.

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  They’d never get the better of him. She believed in him.

  But what if something went wrong?

  ‘I messed up,’ the Doctor was broadcasting, more confident now, getting into his role. ‘I’ve been telling you that fiction’s good, and I stand by that. But I got one thing wrong. I was treating the symptoms, ignoring the cause.’

  Two of the four lifts began to rise. They rumbled past her floor, on their way to the fifth: a diversion, to make the cops think the Doctor was all the way up there.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs. If everything was going according to plan, then Jack and a few others would be coming this way.

  The lifts came to an abrupt halt, all at once, between the fourth and fifth floors. Jack had expected that, though. He’d known the cops would have an override device and he had taken precautions.

  Fighting had broken out on the stairs, two floors down. Rose could hear booted footsteps and gunshots and yells. The cops must have run into the first-floor defenders: a smaller force than was stationed up here, but their role was just as vital.

  The Doctor was using the whole of this five-storey block as his aerial. That would make it impossible to pinpoint his signal to a single room – and the cops would be desperate to find it. Jack had reckoned they’d split their forces, try to search every floor at once. The longer they could be held up on the first, second and fifth floors, the more time the Doctor would have.

  The fourth floor was reserved for the hostages and for those patients who couldn’t or did not wish to fight. They would surrender as soon as the first uniform appeared.

  The lifts were heading downwards, passing the third floor again.

  Rose swallowed anxiously. If the cops gained control over them. . .

  But then, with a judder and a terrible screeching,they ground to a halt. The patients on the top floor had followed their instructions and jammed the gears.

  The fighting was still coming closer, though.

  It sounded as if the cops had reached the second floor, too soon.

  That meant they were already wading through the patients on the 156

  first, searching rooms, narrowing down the location of their primary target.

  ‘There’s no need to fight, no point. It’s not what I wanted. I wanted you to dream of building, not of tearing things down.’

  Jack came barrelling out of the stairwell and Rose’s heart leaped at the sight of him. He was flushed with excitement. A small bruise grazed his temple and his grey jumpsuit had a tear down one sleeve.

  ‘OK,’ he cried, ‘looks like we’re up. Good luck, everyone!’

  And after that, there was no time for worries any more.

  It looked like a solid force of black, surging towards her.

  The police came charging up the stairs, preceded by a barrage of blue blaster fire. The defenders were tackling them, hitting them, but their helmets and padded armour absorbed most of the blows, and they were hardly slowed at all.

  A couple of cops fell, but their colleagues didn’t care. They just trampled over them, as they trampled over their foes, climbing with single-minded purpose.

  Rose was doing her best, but the people around her were inexperienced, half of them panicking, some trying to back out of the stairwell and run. She was pushed this way and that, just trying to find the room to swing her weapon. A blue ball of energy fizzed past her hip, to hit a young kid squarely in the stomach, flooring him.

  Jack had gone into battle ahead of her. He was somewhere further down the stairs and she thought he must have been overrun because she couldn’t see him.

  And then a cop was reaching for her, planting a gloved hand in her face, trying to push her over. She braced herself against two people behind her and kicked as hard as she could at his stomach. He was winded, doubled up, and Rose brought her table leg down hard. The cop’s helmet rang with the impact, the vibrations rattling the bones of Rose’s hands. The cop almost fell, but was caught by two of his colleagues behind him. Rose wrestled with him, tried to snatch the gun from his hand, but he held on to it with all his strength. Still, 157

  the two of them were effectively blocking the stairwell – until the cop recovered his wits and gave Rose a push that sent her reeling.

  Total time gained for the Doctor: about ten seconds.

  ‘Rose! Rose!’

  Someone was screaming her name. Rose realised that she had fallen back almost as far as the third-floor entrance. She fought her way out to Domnic and her eyes followed the direction of his pointing, trembling finger.

  She was back in front of the lifts.

  From here, white corridors

  stretched in three directions: one straight ahead, leading to a T-junction, the other two left and right, meeting windows at the points at which they turned away. The windows had been barricaded, of course, as well as the defenders had been able to manage. But the barricade to the left was shaking, falling apart, and Rose could see a shadow behind it and hear, even over the clamour on the stairs, the whine of hoverjets.

  She ran for the window, intending to shore up the last upended bed.

  She was too late.

  A bright light smacked her in the eyes and, when her vision cleared, there was a cop climbing through the window frame, through shattered glass, pushing chests of drawers and other clutter out of his way.

  And another waiting to follow him, balanced on a floating disc outside.

  And behind them, a third cop on a police bike, its engines straining to keep it this high, its searchlight glaring.

  Rose ran at the first of the invaders, whirling her table leg, yelling to Domnic to help her. She met the cop before he could get into the building proper, caught him still straddling the window sill. She struggled to push him back out, trying not to think about whether he was padded well enough to survive a three-storey drop. One of his mates would catch him, wouldn’t they?

  She was attempting to get his gun, but, like the cop on the stairs, he was too strong – and Rose remembered what Jack had said about micro-motors in their uniforms. Still, she almost had it – until she 158

  realised that the cop on the disc outside had drawn his own gun and was aiming. . .

  She ducked, using the body of the cop in the window as a shield.

  She realised that this gun didn’t look like the others. It was bigger and silver.

  And something whistled over Rose’s head, to land with a plop in the corridor behind her.

  Some sort of a gas bomb. It was releasing fumes. Thin, green fumes.

  Her first thought was to grab it, to hurl it outside, but her opponent had a grip on her arm and he yanked her back, away from it. Her hands flew automatically to his neck and she felt a catch there. . . No time to think. She just popped it, pulled the helmet from the cop’s head. His grip was released as he threw up his hands to stop her – but he was a fraction too slow and Rose staggered back out of his reach.

  Something was scratching at her throat. Her eyes were filling up and she knew the gas was to blame. She put on the helmet, noting that she could see perfectly through the visor, which was opaque from the outside, and that she could breathe again, stale but untainted air.

  The cop had extricated himself from the window frame and was running at her. Rose could see his face now, albeit cast into shadow by the searchlight behind it. It was surprisingly young, pale, still suffering from acne – and twisted in hatred for her. The gas was getting to the unmasked man – he was wheezing and spluttering. There were tears on his cheeks, but he still had his micro-motors, and he was driving her down onto her knees, raising his fist to strike.

  And Domnic appeared from nowhere, through the green mist, screaming at the top of his lungs, cannoning into the cop – and Rose got just
the briefest impression of his face, all screwed up and teary, both eyes tightly closed.

  Domnic and the cop fell, and neither of them got up again.

  They weren’t the only ones.

  Patients were running from the stairwell in all directions, desperate to escape from the gas, too many of them failing – and as Rose watched helplessly, the barricade fell from the window beyond them and another gas bomb flew into the building.

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  The first cops had emerged from the stairwell and they were tus-sling with the weakened defenders. Some had already got past them and were opening hatches in dorm doors, checking inside for the Doctor.

  Rose almost didn’t hear the hoverjets behind her until it was too late.

  She whirled to see the police bike powering towards her, its rider hunching to fit through the broken window and yet still catching his shoulder painfully on the frame.

  Rose’s first instinct was to flatten herself against the wall. Her second was for the people in the melee behind her – patients and cops alike – and as the bike brushed past her, still accelerating, she grabbed its rider and was pulled along with him.

  Her flailing foot found the back of the saddle, giving her leverage, but she had only a second. Faces were starting to turn towards them, people starting to scatter but only bumping into each other. What was this guy thinking?

  She knew the answer to that one. Even cops could go fantasy crazy.

  She reached over his shoulders, clamped her hands over his, squeezed hard, and just hoped that the brakes were in the handle-bars of this thing.

  The bike stopped abruptly, at the same time veering to the right and flipping onto its side, dashing Rose to the ground. The landing was softer than she had expected; she had thought she would be flung forwards, but somehow her momentum had been drained. Still, she was barely able to roll out of the way before bike and rider crashed into the space she had just vacated.

  The cop was pinned down by his vehicle, shouting obscenities at her, and Rose scrambled away and climbed to her feet, feeling light-headed and wobbly.

  She was back at the lifts, just about the only defender left standing.

  The patients had collapsed or fled, and the cops were moving system-atically down the main corridor, continuing their search, nearing its end. What could she do? She couldn’t fight them alone.

  Then, suddenly, a set of lift doors shot open and she started. . .

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  . . . and then grinned at the sight of Captain Jack, suspended from the lift cable, gripping it with his ankles, one arm looped about it to press a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, the other holding a gun

  – trust him to have found one – with which he had evidently just shot out the doors’ circuits. They were still smouldering.

  She thought he wouldn’t recognise her in the helmet, through the green mist, but her clothes were obviously a dead giveaway.

  ‘Not going so well, I take it?’ said Jack cheerfully. He swung himself easily out of the shaft. ‘How long’s it been?’

  Rose checked her watch and her heart sank. ‘About seven minutes.’

  ‘OK.’ Jack was already running. ‘Let’s see if we can make eight at least.’

  They took the corridor to the right because it was relatively empty. But the cops had gone the more direct route and were already battering down the door to the makeshift studio. Rose could hear the Doctor’s voice on the far side, still talking, still calm. They were almost there, but the cops were running to meet them – dozens of them.

  She wasn’t afraid. She was determined. They had told the Doctor ten minutes and that was what he was going to get.

  Jack had four paces on her and he sent a barrage of blaster fire the cops’ way, then ploughed into them. He fought brilliantly – he could have matched any four of his opponents, maybe more – but there were just too many of them.

  And the door splintered open.

  Rose had eyes for only that, had thoughts for only the Doctor. In that moment, nothing else mattered to her except that she get to that door.

  And somehow she did, slipping between the cops in her path, expecting to feel their hands on her collar; but they were surprised by her speed and her dexterity, and too busy with Jack.

  And she raced into the small office, where a cop with pips on her shoulder and a uniform a bit too large for her was levelling a gun at the Doctor, who had stopped talking and was raising his hands.

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  ‘I trusted you,’ spat the cop, ‘and you were him all along. You lied to me!’

  And Rose leaped onto her shoulders. . .

  . . . to be thrown off with an almost casual shrug. She landed in a heap, found her arms pinned by two cops before she could stand again. And there were many more cops streaming into the room, more guns aimed at the Doctor’s head, and his hapless volunteer was wide-eyed with fear as he was wrenched away from his camera.

  ‘Turn it off!’ the cop with the pips ordered.

  ‘Why?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘Because we’ve all heard enough of your lies!’

  ‘But you’re here now. Inspector Waller to the rescue. The world is watching you. Your chance to fix everything, set the record straight.’

  Waller hesitated, gesturing to the cop who had picked up the camera to stay his hand for now. She was thinking about it.

  ‘You can be the one who tells them the truth,’ said the Doctor. ‘The whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

  And he smiled past the cops. At Rose.

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  Domnic had had a good day. A friend of his from the reading group had a friend who was setting up a publishing company. He was interested in fiction, maybe even comics, and he had agreed to look at some of Domnic’s stories.

  He’d made four phone sales at work, including one to a girl he hoped might become more than a customer. He’d told her that his company’s windows were specially proofed against zombies and she had playfully called him a big liar.

  ‘That obvious, huh?’ he had said. ‘I’m still new to it, you see –haven’t had much practice.’

  ‘Well, they’re saying now that lying is good for a relationship,’ she had rejoined.

  At which point Domnic had let his dreams get the better of him.

  He’d blurted out a suggestion that they meet in the flesh to practise on each other some time – and she had agreed.

  Not tonight, though. Tonight was a special night.

  Domnic had turned on the telly an hour early and was passing the time by surfing channels.

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  ‘– big match about to begin on 9 Sport, and for anyone who doesn’t wish to speculate about the result, it was 2–1 to –’

  ‘– of Sector Two-Three-Phi was delighted to be given a parking space closer to –’

  ‘– viewers will decide whether Todd or Lucy – our two remaining con-testants, who are about to emerge from the door behind me – gets to take home the Audience Shares grand prize: a starring role in their very own docu-drama!’

  OK, so change didn’t happen overnight.

  But starting on Channel One tonight was a brand-new show – a drama, with a script and actors and everything – and its makers had promised to show viewers things from beyond their world.

  Some people had already complained, before the show had even aired. They were saying it was too scary, too violent or offensive to their new-found religion. But they would be watching.

  Everyone would be watching tonight – because this was something that, two months ago, they couldn’t have imagined. Something different.

  On 8 News, they were playing back the recording of the Doctor’s con-frontation with Inspector Waller again. Domnic had missed it the first time round, but he’d seen it often enough in the two months since.

  ‘The only truth that needs telling here,’ stormed Waller, ‘is that you’re fantasy crazy, the furthest gone I’ve ever seen! The people only have to look at you, Gryden. They only have to see what’s h
appening out there.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘I didn’t cause any of this. Pushed the process along, maybe, but. . . ’

  ‘It’s your fault, you and your Static channel. The media is meant to inform, to educate. It tells us what’s real, what we can believe. But you’ve corrupted it. You’ve used it to spread dissent and violence and fear!’

  ‘Your people want change,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Yeah,’ piped up the voice of Rose Tyler from off-camera. ‘And if you’d listened to what the Doctor was saying, you’d know –’

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  ‘I was calling for the violence to end. There’s a better way.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and don’t we all know it!’ spat Waller with distaste. ‘Leave it to you, you’d have people dreaming as much as they like.’

  ‘We all need dreams, Inspector Waller,’ said the Doctor. ‘Even you.’

  Waller shook her head firmly. ‘I’m happy with my real life, thank you.

  We’ve seen where your way leads. Everyone wanting different things, fighting for their own dreams.’

  ‘Price you pay, I’m afraid. The freedom to hope, to imagine something better so you can make it real – worth it, believe me.’

  Waller let out a hollow laugh. ‘You’re asking me to believe you ?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re so concerned with the truth, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s all there is.’

  ‘And what do your superiors think of that? Come on, Inspector Waller, why not talk to them? Find out what they think.’

  ‘I don’t have to. I know the law.’

  ‘And the law never changes.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So prove it. Talk to them. Make me out to be a liar in front of the whole world.’

  And then came Domnic’s favourite part. The part where, after a moment’s indecision, Waller brought up her wrist and spoke into her vidcom. The part where she asked somebody called Steel if he had heard, and requested instructions. The part where she nodded and grunted as if listening to someone, then thanked that invisible person and turned to the Doctor triumphantly.