Winner Takes All

by Jacqueline Rayner

  ‘Yeah, aliens trying to take over the world usually have a better motive than just wanting to make people’s lives a misery.’

  Rose looked at the Doctor. ‘So, are we gonna sort him out then?’

  The Doctor looked at her in mock surprise. ‘I never save anything smaller than a planet.’ He grinned, and pulled his hands out from behind his back. He was holding something blue and furry. ‘Oh, and sometimes a teddy bear.’

  She grabbed the furry object. ‘Mr Tedopoulos!’ Then she thought for a second, and used the bear to whack him across the chest. ‘You went in my bedroom?’

  TWO

  Rose thought they’d better go and see Mickey while they were there, because he’d never forgive her if they didn’t, or so Jackie said, and Rose thought she was probably right. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d ever even formally split up. But long-distance relationships were bad enough when one person went off to college, or got a job further than the end of a tube line; when someone was commuting from London to the end of the world, or to Victorian times or something, they didn’t really stand much chance at all.

  Mickey didn’t seem particularly surprised to see them, and Rose guessed – which Mickey confirmed – that her mum had been on the phone the instant they left the flat. She looked at him, and felt an unexpected wave of affection surge through her. With his gorgeous dark skin and twinkling eyes, he really had been a bit of a catch. Didn’t have a time machine, of course, but even so . . .

  But that was her old life, and she wasn’t that person any more.

  ‘Hope we’re not interrupting anything,’ she said.

  ‘Just playing a game, babe,’ he said.

  ‘And you’re how old? Six?’ said the Doctor. ‘Nice bit of Snakes and Ladders, is it, or something a bit more sophisticated like Snap?’

  Mickey didn’t seem to take offence. ‘This games thing that Rose’s mum got me. Thought it was a bit of a rip-off at first, not a PlayStation or an Xbox or anything and you only get one game, but it’s brilliant. You’d like it. All aliens and stuff.’

  The Doctor seemed unconvinced.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ Mickey said.

  The Doctor had dragged a second chair up close to the TV, and Rose was perched on its arm. There was a pile of games on the floor: Gran Turismo, Resident Evil, Bad Wolf, TimeSplitters 2, loads of football stuff. She’d picked up the top one and was examining it: an orange cardboard box that had a picture of a cartoon porcupine shooting a cartoon insect-thing on it. Big black letters gave the game’s name: Death to Mantodeans. The two men were discussing the game itself, passing the control pad between chairs, across Rose. She might have been a cushion for all the notice they were taking of her.

  ‘Smart graphics,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Yeah, first-person’s cool, innit?’ said Mickey. ‘All Blair Witchy, like you really feel you’re there, yeah? And it’s never the same twice. The amount of variables they must’ve programmed in is amazing.’

  ‘And it’s got these porcupines in it, has it?’ said Rose, trying to take part in the conversation. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t have been really good at this stuff herself if she’d wanted to be, but she just couldn’t see the point. ‘The ones from the promotion?’

  ‘Yeah, right at the beginning,’ Mickey said. ‘They’re at war with these other things called Mantodeans, like giant praying mantises sort of thing, and they send you off on a mission to infiltrate the enemy stronghold. That’s what it’s all about. ‘Spect they’ll pop up again at the end if you win. No one’s done it yet, though.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Cos I have my finger on the pulse, babe.’

  She kept looking enquiringly at him till he continued. ‘They’re offering a prize. First person to complete the game gets a load of cash. So everyone round here wants to give it a go. Nag at their mums till they win a game off the shopping. Set up a message board on the net an’ that, talking about it. Hardly anyone’s even got past the training level.’

  ‘Training level?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what they call it. It’s all cartoony, not like this stuff.’ He indicated the screen, which currently showed a realistic-looking view of a tunnel entrance. ‘All tests and that. If it wasn’t for the prize, I reckon a lot of people would’ve given up. But once you’ve done it, you get this intro about the proper game, the mission, and you get to play the good stuff.’

  ‘And not many people have got that far then?’ asked Rose, pretending interest just for something to say.

  ‘Nah. Hardly any, I reckon. So just call me da man and get ready to worship at my feet, cos that prize is gonna be mine.’

  The Doctor pointed at an indicator in the corner of the screen. The score wasn’t very high. ‘Yeah, looks like you’re on the home stretch, da man.’

  Mickey got all defensive. ‘Yeah, well, no one’s got very far yet. Reckon there’s a glitch or something. Half the time it doesn’t save your game and you have to go back to the beginning. And the puzzles you gotta work out, they’re like mega brainy stuff. Maths and that.’

  ‘Puzzles?’ said the Doctor.

  Mickey reached across Rose for the controller, and pressed down on a button. On the TV screen, Rose watched a shaky corridor rush past. At the end was an imposing-looking door. A panel on the door came into focus, with numbers and letters scrolling across it.

  The Doctor sat up. ‘I’m surprised anyone’s got past this at all. Look at the algorithms on that!’

  Mickey grinned. ‘Ladies present!’

  The Doctor leaned across Rose and took the controller off Mickey.

  ‘There’s all sorts of different ones,’ Mickey said helpfully. ‘Some are sort of, you know, pictogrammy things. Or odd ones out, that sort of thing.’

  The Doctor was already staring at the screen, muttering things like, ‘Convert that section to binary . . . If d equals 8.9 to the power of y . . . Ha ha!’ With a triumphant yell he stabbed at the controls. On the screen, the door slid open.

  ‘Watch out!’ called Mickey. ‘They’re the bad guys! The Mantodeans.’

  On the other side of the door there was a cluster of monsters, which were, as Mickey had said, like giant green praying mantises. They stood upright on stick-thin legs and had terrifying pincer-like jaws that they began to snap together as they approached the door – it looked as if they were heading straight for the screen, as if they’d come out into Mickey’s living room if they didn’t stop.

  ‘Do I have any weapons?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘Arrow keys to aim, red button to fire,’ said Mickey.

  On the screen, the monsters shrieked one by one, as each fell in a blaze of laser beams.

  ‘You don’t like guns,’ said Rose critically.

  ‘I hate guns,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Which isn’t to say that a bit of fantasy violence can’t be therapeutic. Now, here’s the next door . . . Will there be any more Mantodeans the other side, I wonder?’

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ said Mickey. ‘Only now they know you’re there, they won’t be so easy to get. First couple of times I did this, I got my head bitten off.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said the Doctor.

  Mickey leaned forward and looked across at him. ‘Come off it, you do this stuff for real! What’s so exciting about playing a game?’

  The Doctor leaned back on his chair. ‘Yeah, well, the thing about games as opposed to real life is, one, you’re honing your reflexes, right, two, you’re practising strategic thinking, and three, you’ve usually got a cup of tea and a packet of HobNobs at hand.’

  ‘And four, real aliens aren’t trying to bite your head off, right?’

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Yeah, I s’pose there’s a downside as well. So, about that cuppa then . . .’

  ‘You just had two cups at my mum’s,’ said Rose. ‘And three sandwiches and two cakes.’

  ‘Don’t tell me England’s got a tea-restriction law these days,’ the Doctor said. ‘If it has,
I’ll probably have to take down the government. Again.’

  Mickey shrugged. ‘Whatever, the milk’s probably off, and there won’t be any biscuits.’

  ‘Not since I stopped doing your shopping for you,’ Rose put it.

  He bridled. ‘I never asked you to do my shopping!’

  She nodded. ‘You’re right. You never asked. You just gazed at me like a hungry puppy till I felt sorry for you.’

  Mickey grinned and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Woof woof.’

  Not looking up from the screen, the Doctor said, ‘There’s some cash in my pocket. Go and get us some milk and biscuits, will you, Rose? Oh, and some Winalot for the Jack Russell over there.’

  With an affected sigh, Rose helped herself to a handful of change from the pocket of his battered leather jacket, weeding out a couple of Roman sesterces and a £10 coin which claimed to show the head of William V. She slid off the chair arm, nearly tripping over the wires that connected the control pad to the games console. ‘Don’t miss me too much,’ she said.

  The Doctor kept his eyes on the screen. ‘Missing you already,’ he said.

  THREE

  Rose could see down to the shop from the walkway by Mickey’s flat. There was hardly anyone around. Maybe they were all indoors playing computer games, like Mickey, hoping to win the prize. Or maybe they’d seen Darren Pye leaning against the wall and decided to steer clear.

  She recognised him at once, even though she hadn’t seen him since he left school – well, since he stopped coming to school – and that was years ago. She’d attracted his attention a few times, because if you were an individual and stood up for things and refused to be a victim, then some people wanted to make you into a victim. But it’d never been bad, not like it had for some.

  And she wasn’t going to let a thug like that stop her from going to the shop. She walked down the stairs, out into the courtyard. She virtually saw his ears prick up as her footsteps sounded, and he lazily swung his head round.

  ‘Oi! Oi, you!’

  She ignored him, kept walking past.

  ‘I’m talking to you, slag.’

  Ignored him.

  ‘Oi, slag, heard your boyfriend done you in.’

  So he knew who she was. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the Beano,’ she called back. She’d faced aliens and goodness knows what; she wasn’t going to let an immature thug get to her. It was surprisingly easy. Sticks and stones, she thought.

  ‘Thought it ran in families,’ he said. ‘I heard your slag of a mother did in her husband.’

  That made her flush with anger, anger for her mother and her long-dead father, but then she thought again about the aliens she’d faced, and imagined Darren Pye wetting himself if he came face to face with the Nestene Consciousness or something, and that made her smile instead.

  She went into the shop and browsed the shelves, picking up a two-pinter of semi-skimmed, a packet of custard creams and, to be on the safe side, a box of teabags as well. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Maureen behind the counter, as everything went into a blue plastic bag. ‘Do I get one of them scratchcards, then?’

  Maureen snorted. ‘No you don’t. Bloomin’ things. Everyone’s going down the road just so as they can get some stupid prize, even if they only want a loaf of bread. I know mine might be a few pence dearer, but it’s £1.20 bus fare on top, which makes my bread a lot cheaper overall, and you can just tell your mum that, young Rose.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Come off it, like she’d listen! Any chance of something for nothing and my mum’ll be in there, and she’s got a bus pass anyway.’ She picked up the carrier bag and smiled a farewell.

  And she was just turning to leave when she heard the cry. It was the sound of someone in pain, and it was followed by laughter.

  She’d never been the sort of person who hesitated when someone was in trouble – mistakenly, sometimes, ‘Rose jumps in with both feet,’ her mum had said, sometimes proudly, more often pityingly.

  So she ran out of the shop, towards the cry. Not that she had to go far: there was Mrs Desai right in front of her, both hands clutched to her temples as if warding off a blow. There was a little trickle of blood just creeping between her fingers, and behind her Darren Pye had picked up another stone ready to throw. Sticks and stones, she thought again. They hurt.

  Rose launched herself at him. It wasn’t sensible, and it certainly didn’t fit in with her policy of ignoring him, but she did it anyway. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She swung the blue carrier bag at him. He dropped the stone, and there was a satisfying ‘whumph’ as the plastic bottle of milk split on impact, showering him with white droplets. He shook it out of his hair like a dog.

  ‘Big mistake,’ he said to her, grabbing her by the hood of her top and yanking her off balance. ‘Little girl wants to be a hero.

  She twisted out of his grasp. ‘I’ve dealt with a lot bigger than you. Not uglier, though, and that’s saying plenty if you’ve ever seen a Slitheen.’

  Darren gave her a shove. ‘Bigger mistake.’ And he pulled out a knife.

  For a split second, Rose could see nothing but the knife.

  Then a leather-clad arm descended over Darren’s shoulder and twisted his wrist, and the knife clattered to the ground. ‘Naughty naughty,’ said the Doctor, shoving Darren away. The lad stumbled a few steps, then caught his balance and picked up the knife again. The Doctor stood his ground, strong and imposing. ‘Really wanna risk it?’

  To Rose’s relief, Darren thought better of it. He glared at them both, but then turned and swaggered off, milk still dribbling down his neck.

  Once he was round the corner, out of sight, the Doctor turned to Rose. ‘And you thought it was a good idea to take on, single-handedly, someone who’s twice your size and carrying a knife,’ he said.

  She shrugged, torn between relief, embarrassment and bravado. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  He glanced down at the dripping carrier bag. ‘You’ve got a lotta bottle, I’ll say that for you.’

  ‘Just call me the dairy avenger.’

  ‘Queen of the cream.’

  She grinned. ‘They’ll do me for assault and buttery.’

  Mrs Desai and Maureen came out of the shop, from where they’d clearly been watching the show. ‘Good on yer, Rose,’ called out Maureen. Mrs Desai waved her shy thanks.

  ‘I’d go get that checked out in casualty if I were you, Mrs Desai,’ Rose called back.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ whispered the Doctor in an aside. ‘You’d carry on like a brave little soldier.’

  She threw him a withering look. ‘What are you doing out here anyway? Did your biscuit cravings get the better of you?’ She pulled the milk-sodden, now-crushed packet of custard creams out of the bag and waved it in his face. He took it, opened it and put a whole one in his mouth.

  ‘My fpider fenfe waf tingling,’ he said round a mouthful of crumbs and cream filling.

  ‘Be serious,’ she said. ‘And it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.’

  He swallowed the biscuit. ‘I’m being serious! I’m attuned to your distress cries. They come in on a certain wavelength.’ He wiggled his fingers at his head, miming a frequency being received.

  For a second, she actually considered that he might be telling the truth. After all, she had no idea how alien brains worked. But she knew he must be having her on really. It wasn’t as if she’d even been making any distress cries.

  She sniffed dismissively, and he grinned. ‘I got bored with the game,’ he said. ‘No challenge for a mind like mine.’

  ‘Did you beat Mickey’s score?’ she asked.

  ‘What d’you think? Course I did. By several thousand points, too. It might have been round about when I was doing the victory yell that he invited me to leave.’

  Rose laughed incredulously. ‘You let Mickey Smith chuck you out?’

  The Doctor looked very slightly embarrassed. ‘Told you, I’d had enough of the game,’ he said. ‘Co
me on, let’s go and do something less boring instead.’

  It was the least deserted part of the planet Toop, because it had two structures built on it. One resembled a giant pyramid that had had its top sliced off, like a boiled egg. But whereas a pyramid has only one entrance, this had hundreds. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, it might look as if the building was inside a dome, an immense upturned bowl made of faint purple lines. But there again, that might be a trick of the light.

  The other building had no visible doors at all. It would be called big, although it was much smaller than the truncated pyramid, square and solid, constructed with little finesse.

  Inside this building were many rooms, including what was known as the main control room. And inside the main control room, there was uproar. Quevvils were running back and forth, checking monitors and dials and read-outs. ‘This is amazing!’ squeaked one. ‘This controller has mastered the game! The speed, the skill . . .’

  ‘There is a long way to go yet,’ said another, but his companions ignored the words of caution.

  ‘The carrier has penetrated another barrier,’ called a third excitedly. ‘Victory! Victory approaches!’

  A stocky Quevvil started shooing a group of his gleeful fellows into a series of booths. ‘Ready yourselves! Do not delay! At the exact moment of success, you will be transported into the Mantodean stronghold – prepare yourselves for slaughter.’

  The spiny backs of each Quevvil bristled as they readied themselves for action. One small Quevvil let a quill fly in excitement; it pinged off the back of the teleport booth and the stocky Quevvil who was in charge swung round at the sound. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, Frinel,’ the small Quevvil squeaked, terrified.

  Frinel glowered. ‘If it were not that I must ready myself for the moment of victory – the moment when I, with a single touch on this button, bring victory to us all . . . then you would be punished for your indiscipline.’ His clawed finger was hovering over a huge red button, the control of the teleporter. ‘Victory approaches . . .’