Doctor Who: The Blood Cell

by James Goss

  The Doctor wriggled in the Custodian’s arms. ‘Actually, my foot got shot.’

  ‘The same foot?’ Clara clucked, trying to seem casual and not at all terrified. ‘Unlucky.’

  The Doctor didn’t answer her. He was surveying the room, making sense of it. The large creature. The piles of neatly sorted objects. Clara and Bentley’s benches were raised a little off the ground. Near a revolting-smelling drain cover.

  I went over to Clara. The creature didn’t try and stop me.

  ‘I am sorry about this,’ I said to her. ‘No one should have to see this.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Clara said. ‘I think my brain took one look and shut down. It’ll be a while before I dare have dreams.’

  ‘I had no idea this was here,’ I assured her. ‘I mean, really. None at all.’

  Clara laughed. It sounded horrid in this room. ‘There was an abattoir in your prison, and you didn’t notice? You really are a total failure of a Governor.’

  I nodded. ‘I’m not going to argue with you.’ I looked over to the Doctor. ‘What’s he going to do?’

  ‘Something,’ said Clara. ‘Hopefully.’

  The Doctor continued to lie in the Custodian’s arms. Looking around the room. Thinking.

  Bentley had woken up now as well, and was also staring at the Doctor. ‘Come on!’ she yelled. ‘Get us out of here.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘I need to work out what to do.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what to do,’ Bentley shouted. ‘You don’t stand around thinking. You take action. You do something.’

  The Doctor twisted his head to one side trying to see more of the room. Then he motioned to his Custodian and whispered, ‘Gee up!’ It glided towards Bentley, bringing him to her.

  Bentley was shouting now. Terror and panic had driven her to hysteria. In her rage, she was holding the Doctor responsible for everything in The Prison, for the deaths of her Guardians, for Level 7, for everything on the HomeWorld, for the plague, for the steady collapse of the System.

  ‘It’s all happened,’ she was babbling, ‘because you wouldn’t do the right thing. No one would.’

  The Doctor had reached Bentley. Draped in the Custodian’s arms, he was level with her face.

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ said the Doctor. ‘Why has this creature kept you alive? It didn’t need any of the other Guardians. It didn’t even need poor Lafcardio. Because they were innocent. But it kept you. Didn’t it?’

  Bentley glared at him with mute rage.

  ‘You want me to do something?’ The Doctor gave his full attention to Bentley. ‘Because I’ll tell you something. I’ve worked out what to do. But I don’t like any of it. You know what’s been nice about being in this Prison? I’ve not had to make any tough decisions. Not for a long time. It’s been peaceful. I’ve spent every day of the last few thousand years waking up wondering if I could have done things better. But for the last few weeks I’ve not had to do that. I’ve just had to worry about how bad breakfast was. But every holiday has to come to an end.’ The Doctor let out a long sigh that filled the room. ‘So I’ll tell you what – I’ll go and do something.’

  The Doctor tugged at the Custodian and it glided away. Bentley watched him go.

  It was still impressive.

  The Doctor looked at the Creature. The Creature continued sifting through its various piles.

  ‘I don’t know,’ continued the Doctor. ‘What should I call it?’

  The Custodian carrying the Doctor spoke up. ‘It is called the Judge.’

  ‘Really?’ The Doctor continued to watch the creature glide across to a filing cabinet. It opened a drawer, took something awful out, and hung it onto itself. It shut the drawer and then glided away.

  ‘The Judge,’ the Doctor repeated. ‘And what is it for?’

  ‘It does not yet know,’ the Custodian said, and then shut up, seemingly refusing to answer further questions.

  The Doctor continued to regard The Judge. ‘Can you talk?’ he asked it. ‘I would like to talk with you.’

  The Judge paused. It seemed to notice the Doctor, cradled in the Custodian’s arms.

  Please remember – Bentley had demanded the Doctor do something. Just remember that. In some way it was her fault. She’d brought it on herself. She’d deserved it. That’s what I tell myself, when I remember what happened next.

  The Judge reached casually across to Bentley, lifting her from her bench. And then it took her voice.

  It simply plugged Bentley into itself. There was, after all, plenty of room on it. And she fitted. More or less. Sort of. With only a little cramming. Tentacles and tendrils wrapped themselves around her wetly and squeezed. And then, after one scream and a long and terrible silence, Bentley spoke to the Doctor.

  ‘I recognise you,’ it croaked. ‘You are more than these others. You wished to speak with me? Speak.’

  The Doctor swallowed. ‘I’m not sure …’ he said, and his voice was dry, ‘that after all that, it was really worth it.’

  Bentley’s empty head regarded him with what might have been bitter irony. ‘I repeat,’ said the Judge through her throat. ‘You wished to speak to me.’

  ‘What are you for?’ said the Doctor.

  The Judge paused. ‘I do not know. My function confuses me. I was built as the final weapon. To wipe out any remaining population in The Prison.’ Bentley’s dead brow pulled down in a mockery of a frown. ‘But that seems unnecessary. There are already enough ways for the prisoners to die. I was redundant. That cannot be right.’ Bentley’s lips pulled back and air hissed out in a ghastly attempt at a sigh. ‘That cannot be right.’

  The Doctor nudged his Custodian, and they glided up to the Judge. ‘You don’t know much about humans, do you? Some of them like making really sure that people die.’

  ‘You are correct,’ admitted the Judge. ‘I do not know enough about people. So I set about to learn. When the systems failures activated me, I became curious. I was called the Judge. A judge assesses the merit of humans. That is what I am doing.’

  ‘By wearing bits of them as jewellery?’ The Doctor raised an eyebrow. Bentley’s face followed suit.

  ‘The population of the System is being destroyed by plague. I sought permission from HomeWorld to carry out investigations into the cause of the plague. Under the terms of their captivity, Prisoners do not need to give their consent to take part in clinical trials.’

  Struggling in the grip of his Custodian, the Doctor flung an arm out at the neat, disgusting piles around him. ‘This is a clinical trial?’

  The Judge was unruffled. ‘It was a commonly held belief that illness is caused by sin. I am seeking to see if that is so. I am searching their bodies for the cure. I am assessing each guilty prisoner and finding the source of their sins.’ It indicated the gruesome trophies dangling from it. ‘Then I wear them. So that I understand them.’

  The Doctor stared at the Judge for a long time. He looked about to say something several times. Then didn’t.

  ‘From the sample I have made,’ the Judge continued, ‘there are so many different things that humans do to each other and their reasons are so complicated and conflicting. People who do wrong because they think it is right, or because they want to help. People who hurt those they love. By studying the sins of the prisoners, I have learned so much about humans.’

  ‘They’re complicated, aren’t they? The thing you’ve missed is—’ The Doctor began a speech, but the Judge talked over him.

  ‘I have learned so much. But not enough. I must build up a complete picture.’

  ‘Does it mean us?’ I hissed at the Doctor.

  ‘Oh, if only it did,’ he muttered. ‘I think it’s not only given itself a purpose in life. It’s going on a crusade.’

  The Judge leaned over the Doctor, Bentley’s head flopping forward, wearing a ghastly grin.

  ‘You interest me,’ it informed him. ‘You have recognised the failings of your self. You have augmented yourself into that machine as I hav
e absorbed so many into myself. You understand.’

  The Doctor started to say that he didn’t, but the Judge spoke over him again.

  ‘I must finish my study. I need to expand my sample. In order to do that, I think must leave here. And you will help me.’ The Judge leaned back and indicated Clara. ‘Or,’ it said, ‘I shall be forced to assess the soul of this one here.’

  ‘You can’t!’ yelled the Doctor. ‘She’s an outsider. An innocent.’

  ‘Quite,’ Bentley’s head pulled itself into that same awful smile. ‘It will provide a useful contrast to the other specimens. Where better to begin?’

  The Doctor writhed in the grip of his Custodian. I felt utterly powerless.

  Occasionally, within the mesh of tendrils, bits of Bentley would thrash, which made me wonder if she was quite dead. I hoped she was. I’d never really liked her, but even she didn’t deserve this.

  The Doctor twisted his head round to look at me. ‘So, Governor …’ His voice was so low it was practically an icy breath. ‘Here we have humanity.’ With some difficulty, he gestured around the room. ‘I don’t know why I make the effort. Poverty? Disease? The hoovering? Ah, can’t be bothered. But no, when it comes to being cruel to each other, and devising needlessly complicated weapons, oh my word, you’re all over it. The result is this grotesque nightmare … Only humans could be so idiotic.’

  ‘This, this isn’t my fault!’ I protested, but the Doctor was already sarcastically echoing my words.

  ‘Not his fault! Hah!’ He turned to jab a finger at the Judge. ‘Did you hear that, Judge? Not his fault.’

  The Judge leaned over Clara. Hands that were not originally its own grasped knives and scalpels.

  The Doctor squirmed frantically in the robot restraining him. ‘You know what, Clara, I lied. I’m very much afraid you’re probably going to die, and it’s my fault,’ he said. He spoke so tenderly. ‘Because I’m the idiot here. I thought these people were worth helping. But no, only humanity would build this obscenity.’ He nodded towards the Judge. ‘No offence – but you’re awful. On a prison full of lethal traps, they added a redundant backup system that was so smart it figured it couldn’t possibly just be a surplus weapon. Oh no. It set out to find the meaning of life. And how’s that going?’

  The Judge paused in its examination of Clara and glanced towards the Doctor. ‘A Judgement must be made.’

  ‘Exactly.’ The Doctor clapped slowly. ‘Like an old Egyptian god, you’ve weighed up the souls of the guilty, lump by gristly lump, and still you’ve not got an answer. So you’re going to spread out across the stars. All because you – are – utterly – pointless.’ The Doctor punctuated his last sentence with a jab of his finger. ‘And I can’t let that happen.’

  No one spoke. Eventually, the Judge moved. Bentley’s mouth fell slackly open. ‘I must know.’

  ‘No, sunshine, you really mustn’t.’ The Doctor sounded so old and tired. ‘They’re really not worth the bother, Judge. You’re stupid, I’m stupid, but humanity – they’re the biggest fools of all.’

  I wanted to argue with him, but the room, the Judge, the terror on Clara’s face … they all stopped me.

  ‘You’re a monstrosity dreamt up by idiots,’ snapped the Doctor.

  ‘I am not a monster,’ replied the Judge flatly through Bentley’s empty mouth. ‘I am seeking to become a balanced creation.’

  The Doctor waved at the piles that crammed the corners of the room. ‘And have your learned anything?’

  ‘I have learnt much.’ The Judge towered over the Doctor. ‘I have learned about the sins that weigh people down. If I opened you up, what would I find you guilty of?’

  ‘Trust me,’ the Doctor said grimly, ‘you don’t want to bother with that.’

  ‘One final time,’ the Judge said, hands moving closer to Clara. Bentley’s jaw was making a wet, clicking noise whenever it spoke. I really wished it would stop doing that. ‘Or I dismantle your companion and then you.’

  ‘She has a name, you know,’ sighed the Doctor.

  ‘Are names important? I would like to know.’ Bentley’s head flopped over him, empty and agape.

  I strode forward. ‘Me,’ I said, amazed to hear my own voice. ‘Judge me.’

  The Judge twisted to one side, turning Bentley’s sightless eyes on me. How odd, I realised. This was the first time she’d ever actually looked at me. She must really have hated me.

  ‘You are beyond the remit of my inquiry,’ it announced regretfully. ‘You are a figure in authority. My construction prevents me from examining them. They are above suspicion.’

  The Doctor laughed at this. ‘You finally do something noble, Governor,’ he told me, ‘and discover that your friends back home have prevented you from doing even that. How wonderfully corrupt your system is.’

  ‘I can fix it,’ I said.

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘It’s really too late for that,’ he said. ‘The only way out of this is to do something horrid. Something I really didn’t want to do.’

  With a triumphant shrug, he slipped out of the arms of the Custodian and dragged himself over to stand by the sleeping figure of Marianne.

  I felt a chill inside me.

  It did not take Marianne long to wake up. Abesse tapered off her medication, and she twitched, her remaining eyelid fluttering, a thin moan of pain coming from her mouth.

  The Judge ceased its interest in Clara and strode over to examine Marianne. It halted suddenly.

  ‘You recognise her, don’t you?’ The Doctor turned to face it. ‘You spared her on Level 6. You took everyone else, but you left her behind. Remember?’

  ‘I … remember …’ The Judge made the admission grudgingly.

  ‘You remember too, don’t you, Marianne?’ The Doctor spoke soothingly.

  The figure jerked up and awake in its chair, mewling piteously. ‘It could have ended … my suffering. I followed it … I begged it … but it ignored me.’

  ‘More than that, it went away,’ the Doctor said. He turned to the Judge. ‘Why?’

  The Judge made no answer.

  ‘Thought you’d dodge that one,’ the Doctor nodded. ‘Doesn’t matter. I know. It’s why you spoke to me. You thought I was joined to a Custodian. And you spared Marianne because you felt a kinship with her. Didn’t you? She’s a hybrid of Custodian and human. You saw her and you spared her. Because it’s what you want to be.’

  ‘She is a perfectly balanced creation,’ the Judge announced.

  There was a noise then. A terrible noise I never wanted to hear again. The sound of Marianne Globus laughing.

  That did it. The Doctor stumbled closer to the Judge, drawing himself up. ‘She’s perfectly balanced? Well, what about you, Judge? Judge yourself. Tell me how balanced you are.’

  The Judge considered the Doctor’s command. For a moment I sort of hoped that would be it. That the Judge would just fall apart right then, in a heap of its own sins.

  Instead it made a noise, and snatched the Doctor up, pulling him towards itself. Tendrils snaked out of it and grabbed the Doctor. It was going to tear him apart.

  ‘Balanced?’ The voice rasped around the room.

  Marianne’s chair twitched and she started to move towards the Judge, her face contorted with agony. ‘Do you want to know what balanced feels like?’

  The Judge took a step backwards, dragging the Doctor with him. ‘You are a pattern.’

  Marianne continued to glide forwards, her head swivelling from side to side. ‘I made decisions. Terrible decisions. It was my job to. And people hated me. Bentley hated me. She lost her whole family on the colonies. That’s why she told me how to escape. It was a trap she’d set up. Revenge. She did this to me.’ A stump pointed at her body. ‘She felt I deserved it. That’s justice. When death came, I finally felt a tiny bit better. But they wouldn’t let me die.’

  She was moving really quickly now, the gliding incessant as she moved closer and closer to the Judge. As she moved, I heard a whining noise. The Jud
ge was swaying, backing away, the Doctor twisting wildly in its grasp.

  Marianne’s voice was loud now. No longer lost in pain. It was strong with fury. ‘Bentley did this to me. I think she was happy I survived. At first. And then she couldn’t bear it either. And no one here had the guts to just let me die. Not even the Governor.’

  ‘Marianne—’ I protested.

  ‘He never had any courage to do that kind of thing.’ She sounded almost fond. ‘Perhaps the only person here who does is the Doctor. But he would never admit it. Because he is the hero.’

  The Doctor said nothing, just struggled in the Judge’s grasp. I had to admit, he didn’t look particularly heroic. Especially not when the Judge flung him aside and he landed in a pile of shredded prison uniforms.

  Marianne carried on gliding across the Blood Cell. The whining noise was growing louder. The Judge moved back again, and then stopped. Standing against the wet wall of the cell. It had run out of room. And still Marianne moved on. Something was glowing in the remains of her hand.

  I turned to Abesse, protesting. ‘Stop her, stop her somehow!’

  Abesse raised her gun and fired it repeatedly at the base of Marianne’s chair. It should have stopped her. Only nothing happened.

  It was at this point that Abesse realised the power-pack was gone from her gun.

  I went cold.

  ‘Marianne,’ I cried out. ‘Stop, please!’

  Marianne’s chair swivelled back, facing me for a moment. ‘Governor,’ she said. ‘Remember. It’s just the little people. They don’t count.’ And then she closed in on the Judge, the whining growing shriller and shriller.

  ‘Go on,’ she snarled. ‘I’m your answer. Judge me. Judge. Me. Because I am guilty.’

  The Judge cowered back, that huge figure recoiling from the tiny righteous, crumpled frame of Marianne.

  I think I called out her name first.

  Or maybe the power-pack exploded first.

  Perhaps Marianne cried out.

  Or whatever remained of Bentley did.

  But when the explosion had finished, peace came to The Prison.

  14