Winner Takes All

by Jacqueline Rayner

  Her hand was actually on the door handle when the phone rang. She hesitated.

  ‘Leave it,’ said the Doctor.

  She might have done, if he hadn’t said that. But she was feeling contrary now, and anyway, it might be the hospital – which was important.

  She weaved past the Doctor, back to the kitchen, and picked up the phone. Behind her, she heard the door slam, and knew he’d gone without her. Let him, she thought, while at the same time being just a bit terrified that she’d never see him again. But a few moments later she was haring down the steps after him, yelling at the top of her voice.

  ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ she cried, and before she’d gone two floors down he’d heard her and raced back up. All his disapproval had gone in the face of her distress, and he was the comforting best friend again, ready to take charge.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, gripping her shoulders.

  She shook her head, not sure, but as they raced back up to the flat she attempted to explain. ‘Thought it was a dirty phone call. Heavy breathing and stuff. ‘S not. I . . . I don’t know. See what you think.’

  They were back in the kitchen, and she jammed the handset into its holder and pressed the button for speaker-phone.

  It sounded like a man, a young man. There was heavy breathing, but it was the deep, ragged breaths of terror. There were gasps and what sounded like sobs catching in the throat. Just those few sounds, but so much fear.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Rose, sure she knew the answer now, but unwilling to suggest it.

  ‘Your phone got nicked,’ said the Doctor. ‘So did a holiday ticket. Stands to reason the same person’s got both of ’em still. So they get carried off to this alien planet, forced to play this –’ his face hardened and he spat out the word – ‘game.’

  ‘But phoning here – no, don’t tell me,’ said Rose, ‘this was the last place I called, and somehow he’s knocked the redial, or the speed dial or something. That’s what’s happened.’

  ‘Shh,’ said the Doctor, pointing at the phone, and Rose hurriedly shut up and listened. Another sound could be heard, a loud chattering, clicking noise. The strangled sobs were getting faster, and there were choked grunts from deep in the throat, as if someone was desperately trying to form words but couldn’t. The chattering sound got louder, closer to the phone.

  Then there was a schnick noise, like a giant pair of scissors slamming shut. And then there was a soft, heavy thud.

  Then the line went dead.

  Rose pulled up a kitchen chair, sat down. ‘I wanted that to happen,’ she said. ‘When I heard what he’d done to my mum, I wanted that to happen. I wanted him to be made to play that stupid alien game, I wanted him to be scared, so scared, like my mum was when he was hitting her. I wanted him to be killed like that, have his head chopped off by an alien. I wanted all of that.’

  The Doctor sat down beside her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Wanting it to happen didn’t cause it. It was the Quevvils who killed Darren Pye, not you. You don’t have to feel guilty.’

  She turned to him, anguished. ‘You don’t understand. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t know what I feel. You know how you say, “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy”? Well, I’m still not sure that I wouldn’t. Cos I feel sick inside, but part of me’s still glad he suffered.’

  ‘There you go, being human again,’ said the Doctor. He put an arm around Rose, and hugged her to him. ‘It’s not fair, is it, when we’re forced into pitying someone we hate. Feels like the world’s turned topsy-turvy. But it’s all right. You’re still allowed to hate them. As long as you don’t gloat at their downfall, that’s all.’

  Her mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. ‘If you say so.’

  He nodded. ‘I do.’

  The Doctor sat back, and Rose fished out a hankie and blew her nose hard. She suddenly realised she hadn’t told him everything that had happened. ‘Mickey got hurt,’ she said. ‘I should check he’s OK.’

  ‘I know, I’ve seen him,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’ll be fine. Might’ve been a different story if the beam had hit him full on, but it must’ve only grazed him as the teleport took you out of there. He’ll just be hobbling for a few weeks. And talking of hobbling . . . time we were doing the rounds, trying to pick up a few of these games.’

  Rose took a deep breath, and stood up. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

  ELEVEN

  They decided on a cover story. Not the best cover story in the world, but better than just turning up on someone’s doorstep and demanding they give you their games console.

  Rose announced she was going to pass herself off as a trading standards official, come to collect up the dangerous games which had been known to catch fire and burn down people’s flats. She would tie back her hair and call herself ‘Susan’, or ‘Pamela’, or something equally sensible and trustworthy.

  The Doctor pointed out that her face had been on ‘Missing’ posters around the estate and the surrounding areas for a year, a lot of people either knew her or knew her by sight, and anyway, why would they be less likely to trust an honest-looking, loose-haired nineteen-year-old called Rose than someone who was obviously pretending to be something she wasn’t?

  Rose conceded the point.

  ‘But,’ said the Doctor, ‘the fire idea’s a good one. We’ll tell ’em that.’

  And so they began. Rose knocked at the first door, and after a few minutes a young woman opened it. Rose had seen her around occasionally, struggling with a pushchair, but didn’t know her name. The woman was carrying a crying toddler, and didn’t look particularly happy at being called to the door.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Rose said, ‘but we were wondering if you’d won a games console in this Percy Porcupine promotion.’

  The woman stared at them. ‘Do I look like I’ve got time for playing games? Oh, shut up, Danny.’ The toddler bawled even louder.

  ‘It’s just that there’s been an accident,’ the Doctor interjected. ‘So if you did have one . . .’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ said the woman. ‘Like I told the last one.’

  She slammed the door in their faces. Rose and the Doctor exchanged glances. ‘The last one?’ they said simultaneously.

  They moved on the next flat. An old lady kept the door on a chain and peered through the tiny gap at them. It took some time for them to get her to understand the general idea of what they were after. She turned out not to have a games console, but did still have a set of snakes and ladders from when her children were small, and a pack of ancient playing cards with cigarette advertising on the backs. She – possibly still not entirely clear as to why the Doctor and Rose were at her door – suggested they came in for a game, and Rose felt quite guilty when the Doctor gently refused.

  The third flat brought another young mother to the door. They could see into the sitting room behind her, where two little girls were watching The Tweenies on television. She listened to the Doctor’s spiel with her arms crossed, and a hard expression on her face that Rose found rather intimidating. When the Doctor had finished, the woman gave a great snort. ‘A fire, you say?’ she said, in what would have been a pleasant Scottish accent had she not sounded so scornful.

  ‘Earlier this afternoon,’ said the Doctor. ‘Did you not hear the fire engines going past?

  ‘It’ll all be in the papers tomorrow,’ put in Rose, for added verisimilitude.

  ‘No, I did not hear any fire engines,’ the woman replied. ‘Which is odd, because I have verra good hearing. Nor did I see any smoke.’

  ‘Well, we’re a bit far away for that,’ said the Doctor, waving a hand to indicate somewhere over there, but really quite far away indeed.

  ‘I see.’ The woman snorted again. ‘Well, it’s better than the last attempt, I’ll give you that. At least you’re not threatening to punch my head in. Is it that you’re trying to win the prize, and don’t want any rivals? Or is it that these games are worth a bit? Is that why everyone’s so keen to get hold of th
em?’

  Rose grabbed the Doctor’s arm. ‘Someone else has been round?’ she said. ‘Someone was trying to get you to give them your games console?’

  ‘Trying and succeeding,’ the woman said. ‘I don’t like giving in to threats, but when some lout is staring at my girls while threatening violence, some silly computer thing is a small price to pay.’

  ‘Might as well give up,’ said Rose as they left, the door not actually having been slammed in their faces, but near enough for them to have got the message. But the Doctor disagreed, and after an hour and a half, they’d managed to collect up eight games. Rose’s arms had had trouble coping after the first three, but Mrs Burton, who had known Rose since she was small, and certainly wouldn’t give the game she’d won to her grandson if it was dangerous, lent Rose her shopping basket on wheels to carry them in. Rose felt slightly self-conscious, but couldn’t deny that it made things easier.

  A couple of people refused to give up the consoles, a few dozen had never had a game or had given theirs away, but the majority of game-owners had already handed theirs over in exchange for not being thumped, and it came as little surprise when the would-be thumper was identified by some of Rose’s near neighbours as Darren Pye.

  ‘Sort of hoist by his own petard,’ said Rose, as they walked down the road towards the next block of flats. ‘Nicking all these games, and then getting killed by one of them. In one of them.’

  The Doctor suddenly stopped. ‘If that’s what happened. Come on.’ And he was moving back the way they’d come so quickly that Rose’s feet were still going onwards. She quickly turned round and hurried after him, but he wouldn’t tell her why the plan had changed.

  ‘This Darren Pye,’ he said. ‘Thick, is he?’

  ‘As a brick,’ Rose replied.

  ‘Got to have some sort of reasoning power to beat someone up for their lunch money, though,’ said the Doctor. ‘Fist plus terrified first year equals cash, sort of thing. Be devious enough not to get caught by the teachers. Shrewd enough not to take things so far that the police get involved.’

  ‘So?’ said Rose.

  ‘So perhaps we’ve got something more to worry about. Come on.’

  To Rose’s slight surprise, the Doctor didn’t head back to her flat, but to Mickey’s. He swept in with barely a rap on the front door. Mickey was in the bedroom, concentrating on the computer.

  ‘We wanna have a look at that site again,’ said the Doctor.

  Mickey seemed to know what he meant. ‘It’s gone mad,’ he said. ‘Just this evening. Death to Mantodeans is everywhere. There are message boards and stuff. Price has gone up to 100 quid, and there’s one on eBay that’s gone up to over 200 already.’

  ‘Damn!’ shouted the Doctor, kicking at Mickey’s bed. ‘This has got to be stopped.’

  ‘People are selling the consoles on the Internet?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Dumb humans!’ yelled the Doctor.

  Mickey looked almost nervous. ‘That’s not the worst of it . . .’

  The Doctor looked at him. ‘You’re not telling me someone’s done something even more stupid?’

  ‘Er . . . yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘Looks like they have.’ He started to click through screens on the computer. ‘I’ve been at this since you left. Searching around, seeing what I could find out. This only went live a couple of hours ago, as far as I can tell. It’s not easy to find. You go through all these links, passwords and stuff. But I got there.’ He preened slightly.

  ‘Well done, who’s a clever boy,’ said Rose. ‘Now, are you gonna tell us what you found?’

  Mickey clicked Return, and sat back.

  It started with a message posted on a forum. ‘It would be gr8 if game’s were real if you shot someone and they were really DEAD!!!’ It was signed by alienkiller 1984.

  ‘That’s the bloke who runs that other site,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘But it’s only the start,’ said Mickey, scrolling down the thread.

  ‘There are so manny people Id like to see DEAD. But not go to prison 4 it!!!! It would be GR8 if you could send them on holiday and they never came home but were KILLED!!!! Do you agree.’

  Rose inhaled sharply.

  The text ‘Do you agree’ was hyperlinked. ‘That’s where the trail starts,’ said Mickey. ‘Finally, you get a phone number.’ He gestured to a notepad, where a mobile number had been scribbled down. ‘You want someone dead – this person’s prepared to sell you a winning scratchcard. Treat them to a holiday. They never come back. No blame attached.’ He shivered.

  The Doctor picked up Mickey’s mobile off the desk without asking. He walked into the other room. Rose and Mickey looked at each other. ‘It’s sick, isn’t it?’ said Mickey.

  She nodded, not really able to bring herself to add to that. Totally sick. Utterly sick. Lose all faith in human nature sick. ‘How’s the knee?’

  ‘Sore,’ he said. ‘Don’t know how I’m going to cope, to be honest.’

  She grimaced in sympathy.

  ‘What I really need is someone to help me out – look after me, put me to bed, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Shame I’m busy saving the world,’ she said. ‘I’ll phone social services, if you like. They can sent round some nice old granny to give you a bed bath.’

  Mickey grinned. ‘Oh, what a shame the Doctor’s using my phone.’

  ‘Oh, look, he’s finished,’ said Rose as the Doctor walked back in. But their banter was cut short by the expression on the Doctor’s face. ‘What is it?’ Rose said.

  ‘Five hundred quid,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s how much death costs off the Internet. Not much more than a wide-screen telly.’

  ‘You spoke to someone?’ asked Rose.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘And it didn’t sound as if I was the first to call. I reckon your mum’s not the only one who’s been mugged for her winning scratchcard.’

  Rose thought of her mum, lying bruised and bloody in a hospital bed. ‘We’ve got to stop this,’ she said.

  ‘Well, yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s the general idea.’ He reached out a hand and squeezed her arm, a comforting gesture that belied the very slight sarcasm of his words. Rose noticed Mickey’s face. He didn’t like it; didn’t like their closeness. She understood, but didn’t have time now to worry about Mickey’s feelings.

  ‘We’ve got to stop it at the source,’ the Doctor was saying. ‘It’s spreading out all over the place down here. Look, this Internet stuff has only just started. Nothing stolen before this afternoon, far as we know. Earliest anyone can get anything by post is tomorrow morning. We’ve got to get to the planet where it’s all happening before then, stop it there. Then it won’t matter who’s got the games, who wins the holidays.’

  Rose dragged her attention back to the conversation. ‘What, you found out where this planet is?’ she asked. ‘Can we dash off to the rescue?’

  The Doctor’s face hardened. ‘No,’ he said, clenching his fists. ‘I got its name, but it doesn’t mean a thing.’

  ‘You could pay 500 quid to this bloke and go on the holiday,’ Mickey suggested, and Rose was fairly sure she didn’t really detect just a hint of malice, just the tiniest indication that Mickey wouldn’t mind too much if the Doctor went off ‘on holiday’ and never came back.

  ‘There’s an idea,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘What, really?’ said Mickey, slightly incredulous.

  The Doctor soon deflated him. ‘Not your actual idea, obviously,’ he said. ‘That’s pretty stupid. But it’s given me an idea . . . If we could just get hold of one of those holiday scratchcards. With the Quevvils’ teleportation technology, it’d be bound to have a directional circuit in it . . . I could plug that into the TARDIS . . .’ He bounded over to the door. ‘Come on, you two.’ Mickey gestured at his knee. ‘Come on, then, just Rose. I need your life savings. We’re buying scratchcards until we get one that wins the holiday.’

  At which point Rose remembered her meeting with Dilys by the Quevvils’ booth. She put her
hand in her pocket and pulled out a small cardboard rectangle. ‘What, like this one?’ she said. ‘Didn’t really seem important earlier . . .’

  She wasn’t sure from the Doctor’s expression whether he wanted to smack her or kiss her.

  ‘Nice one, Rose,’ said Mickey.

  The Doctor left Mickey with instructions to keep sowing Internet dissent about Death to Mantodeans, make it seem as undesirable as possible, see if their rumour about the consoles catching fire could spread any further.

  Mickey suggested actually setting fire to one and calling the local papers, but changed his mind halfway through explaining the plan when he realised that it would be his flat at risk, and with his knee he couldn’t actually run away if things went wrong.

  ‘Plus, it’s another stupid idea,’ commented the Doctor, not unkindly.

  ‘And look after yourself,’ said Rose. ‘Oh, and could you make sure Mrs Burton gets her shopping basket on wheels back.’

  ‘Yeah, course,’ said Mickey, sounding a bit worried. ‘But you’re coming back, ain’t ya?’

  ‘Course we are,’ said Rose. But the thing was, when you went off into time and space in the TARDIS, you were never entirely sure.

  Mickey hobbled across to the front door to see them off. ‘I’d stick a wedge under it or something till you can get it fixed,’ said the Doctor. ‘Don’t forget that the Quevvils know where you live.’

  ‘You said you smashed their teleport system!’ said Rose.

  ‘They might fix it!’ replied the Doctor.

  ‘Thanks for the cheerful thought,’ said Mickey. ‘I’ll sleep so soundly tonight now.’

  Rose heard the door shut behind them as they started down the stairs. ‘We’re gonna be able to stop this, aren’t we?’ she asked the Doctor.

  ‘It’ll be a cinch,’ he replied.

  ‘No more humans getting their heads bitten off by aliens?’

  ‘And no more aliens getting shot by humans,’ said the

  Doctor. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll stop it, no problem.’

  A figure had slipped into the shadows of a doorway as the Doctor and Rose left Mickey’s flat. Now it left its hiding place and peered round the corner to watch them as they went down the stairs: the tall, arrogant bloke and the mouthy tart. He’d wipe the smiles off their faces. They weren’t going to get in his way again.