by Doctor Who
Andrea, shaking, flipped out her mobile phone.
'Er, that won't work in here, I'm afraid,' said Max.
'Andrea. A moment, please. Put the phone away.' He gestured, then looked at Miss Devonshire as if expecting her to take the lead. He was sweating.
Andrea slowly folded her phone again and slipped it back into her bag.
Miss Devonshire came forward and leaned on the desk.
'You know what we do here,' said Miss Devonshire.
'You've researched our services. Dammit, you even know about Plastinol-2. That makes you interesting, Andrea.
That makes you dangerous. Someone who can't be allowed to run around bleating about "accidents", unfortunately.'
She glanced down at her boots and skirt. 'Hey, you shop at Hyperville. You're wearing one of our in-house brands.
Zarasti, isn't it?'
Andrea slouched, hand on hip. 'What of it?'
'Zarasti fashions, as I'm sure you know, have the look and feel of the most expensive patent leather. But in fact, they're based on an early form of the Plastinol-2
compound.'
Andrea folded her arms crossly. 'I'm vegan. I don't wear leather. Your point?'
Miss Devonshire smiled and straightened up.
Max snapped his fingers, and the waxy-faced security men both lowered their arms in unison.
Miss Devonshire turned the dial of her gold watch.
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At first, nothing seemed to happen.
And then, Andrea Watkins realised that she could not move her feet. The Plastinol boots around her feet had tightened, squashing her toes, pinning her to the spot.
Max and Miss Devonshire stood side by side and exchanged a satisfied look.
The molecular structure of Plastinol is very pliable,'
murmured
Max
Carson.
'An
extremely
versatile
compound.'
Andrea's boots had lost their soft, leather-like comfort, and had become chilly and clammy. She was standing in cold, plasticky mud. She stared down in horror at her legs.
The boots were alive. They were growing, climbing over her knees and moulding themselves to the outline of her legs.
A squelching, slurping sound filled the room as the boots pinned her to the spot and began to engulf her.
'Stop this!' Andrea snapped, now more in outrage than in fear. She glowered angrily at Max and Miss Devonshire.
'Stop it immediately!'
'All right,' said Max Carson with a smile. He turned to Miss Devonshire. 'I think Miss Watkins knows we mean business, Elizabeth.'
But Miss Devonshire did not seem to hear him.
Max cleared his throat and glanced nervously at his associate. 'Elizabeth! I, ah, think that's enough!'
'It's not enough,' said Miss Devonshire. 'Zarasti fashion is rather wonderful. In fact, one might almost say it's to die for.'
The skirt tightened around Andrea's waist, making her gasp for breath. It had acquired the same pitchy, clammy feel as the boots, and was spreading outwards in both directions like a living thing. It was shimmering, swelling, slurping, as if alive and hungry.
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AUTONOMY
Andrea felt her chest and stomach tightening. Her heart thumped in panic. 'Stop this now!' she yelled.
Max licked his lips nervously, and looked from Andrea to Miss Devonshire and the guards and back again.
'Elizabeth,' he said. 'Look, come on. We agreed. We were just going to give her a little scare.'
'And so we are,' said Miss Devonshire, smiling.
The skirt-shape met up with the boot-shapes, forming one great mass of shiny Plastinol over the lower half of Andrea's body - and within seconds she found herself totally unable to move.
The Plastinol grew, expanded like spilled ink across her.
She struggled, but it was like fighting something which was part of her skin.
'You can't do this!' Andrea screamed. 'You can't do this!
What are you doing? Stop it!'
She watched as the Plastinol spread down her arms and encased her fingers, like the sleekest of evening-gloves. It tightened on her body, painful and grasping. She felt the coldness spreading to her neck. Now her entire body, up as far as the chin, was engulfed in glossy black plastic, spreading like a fluid to every extremity of her body.
With her eyes open wide in terror, the last thing Andrea Watkins saw was the burning, intense stare of Miss Devonshire, flanked by the impassive security men.
And then the slurping, clammy Plastinol engulfed her face, and she screamed.
Until it covered her mouth.
Then she stopped.
31
TWO
'Helloagain!'saidtheDoctortoReeceandChantelle Stanford, as he made his way down the aisle of the rickety wooden train. It didn't just run to the Doomcastle, he had noticed - rails ran all through the various zones of Hyperville, and you could book a tour through the whole lot if you were so inclined. The Doctor sat himself behind the teenagers, sprawling out with his feet up. 'Well, this is all right, isn't it? Nice comfy seats. I like a comfy seat.'
Chantelle shot a nervous smile at him. Across the aisle, a rotund blonde woman and a grey-haired man turned and peered at the Doctor over matching red-framed glasses.
'Me
mum,'
Chantelle
said.
'And
Derek.
He's
her boyfriend.'
'Hello!' The Doctor waved, giving them an open-mouthed grin. They smiled nervously back. 'Ohhhh, I love stuff like this.
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DOCTOR WHO
This is great, isn't it?' The Doctor looked round the carriage, but the other passengers — families with children, mainly -were ignoring him.
The locomotive didn't appear to have a real driver - just an animatronic mannequin, dressed in a shiny blue plastic suit and peaked cap. It had turned its head to greet all the passengers as they entered. The train sat on sturdy rails beside a platform, and through the open windows the Doctor could see the gaping mouth of the Doomcastle gate, into which the rails disappeared.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' said a voice through the speaker-grille at the front of the carriage. Tour tour around the Doomcastle is about to begin. Please hold tight.'
'Don't be sick this time, Reece,' said Chantelle to her brother. She looked round at the Doctor, grinning. 'He was sick at Alton Towers,' she said in hushed tones. 'Never saw nothing like it. Managed to hit some of the people six carriages behind.'
'Chantelle!' Reece thumped his sister's elbow. 'Shut up!'
'He shouldn't have had that ice cream,' muttered Chantelle, shaking her head. This is scarier than Alton Towers.'
The Doctor leaned forward. 'Have you been on this before?' he asked.
'Oh, yeah. Me and my mates come here all the time.'
The Doctor heard Mrs Stanford tutting and saw her shake her head.
Derek gave the Doctor a look which clearly said Kids, eh?
The Doctor made a token 'aaah-huh' sound and smiled.
He didn't want to get into that debate right now. He leaned back towards Chantelle. 'How do you, um, pay, exactly?' he asked, intrigued.
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AUTONOMY
Chantelle fished in her bag and showed him a small red card, the size and shape of a credit card. 'HyperCard,' she said. 'You pay for everything here on it. Saves carrying cash. Charge it up with euros and away you go. You can even plug it into your phone - look.' She showed the Doctor the bottom of her cellphone, which had a thin HyperCard-sized slot in it -she pushed the card in and pulled it out again.
'Could I have a look?'
'No.' Chantelle snapped her bag shut again. 'What's it to you, anyway?'
The Doctor pulled a face. 'Just interested.'
At that second, the train hooted and steam began to gather in clouds around them. The Doctor sprawle
d back in his seat, hands behind his head, and grinned.
'Allons-Y! he said delightedly.
Chantelle gave him a withering look.
The carriage juddered, the engine roared, and they were all slammed back into their seats as the train lurched into the darkness.
'Attention. Attention. This is Hyperville. All ticket-holders for the Shaneeqi book-signing should make their way to Europa Plaza before 3pm. A blue HyperCard entitles you to twenty per cent off the price of Shaneeqi's new book... If you are shopping on Obama Boulevard today, then check out the styles in the Zarasti spring range - designer names at prices you can afford. Shop. Dream. Relax.'
A glass lift powered its way up from the ShopZone, containing a sweating Sir Gerry and four smartly suited, fresh-looking young people.
The younger of the women was Kate Maguire. Encased in
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DOCTOR WHO
pinstripes, elegantly made-up, with designer glasses, Kate felt older than her twenty years, but she was starting to wonder what she had let herself in for. Her heart was pounding.
The two young men, Alex and James, looked as if they'd come out of some business cloning factory, she decided, all hair-gel and neat ties and Armani suits, while her fellow female Trainee, Rhiannon, cut a striking figure in a cream jacket and skirt.
'Have a good look,' said Sir Gerry affably, wiping his brow with a spotted handkerchief, and gesturing below them at the ant-like hordes on the floor of the Mall. 'Rule One - always get a decent perspective on your business.'
Kate swallowed hard and pressed herself up against the lift wall. The glass-floored elevator seemed like a clever idea, but it played tricks with your mind, making you think you were about to fall.
At last, they arrived. The lift door hissed open and they stepped out, one by one, into the pale blue corridor. They were ushered past Sir Gerry's secretary and into his office, where they all stood, rigid like mannequins.
Sir Gerry cleared his throat and took a seat at his desk, flanked by a prim-looking aide. Kate thought the woman looked like her old school headmistress - fortyish, hair in a tight bun, smart suit, semi-rimless glasses.
'Welcome to Hyperville,' Sir Gerry began. 'Now, then. A few things which you should bloomin' well already know...'
Kate was still nervous, but made herself listen as the Chief Exec reeled off the history of Hyperville and all its achievements.
It was four years since she had shoved her tie in her bag, skipping school to come and see the place in all its glory. If 36
AUTONOMY
only Sir Gerry knew, she thought, with a little smile, that she was the girl who, even earlier, had done her school project on the place - and who, still further back in time, had sat on the hills overlooking the site and watched it being constructed.
Kate couldn't remember a time when Hyperville hadn't been part of her life. She looked around at the other three, wondering if they were all thrusting young executives or business-school hotshots - or if they, like her, were in dead-end jobs and seizing with both hands the chance to do something better.
And she wondered if anyone would guess why she was really there.
'I'm going to get you all to do some teamwork and some tasks as the days go on,' said Sir Gerry. 'But first off, I want to know how good you are at sizing this place up. At giving me some advice. So -I want each of you to explore Hyperville. Do a report, with figures, to be on me desk in forty-eight hours' time. Tell me what's doing well, what's doing not-so-well, and where I could be earning more money. Use your eyes, your ears and your common sense.
If you've got any. Equipment, please, Miss Devonshire.'
He nodded to the bespectacled aide, who pushed three Perspex boxes across the desks. One contained four ID
badges, the second four glossy black credit cards, and the third had four computer memory sticks inside.
'Access All Areas badges for you all,' said Miss Devonshire in a soft American drawl. 'And your HyperCards, which double as your room keys. And finally, some extensive notes and rules compiled by Sir Gerry for you all.'
And damn well read 'em!' snapped Sir Gerry. They're not just for decoration. You can spend money to do your research
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DOCTOR WHO
- but careful. They've got a limit. I'm not going to tell you what it is - up to you to find that out!' He tapped his head, chuckling. 'Bit of the old grey matter again. Any questions?'
Everyone was oddly silent. Kate bit her lip as she clipped her Access All Areas badge to her lapel. She wondered if she ought to ask something, or if that would be a sign of not having done her research properly. Or worse.
She became aware that Miss Devonshire was staring at her. She didn't think Miss Devonshire had blinked at all in the past few minutes. Kate's heart rate increased and her palms began to sweat. There was something else about Miss Devonshire's eyes. They were not just looking intently at her - they were glaring, fiercely alive. The blackness within them was fiery, as if burning with the power of some alien intelligence.
Kate broke her gaze away from Miss Devonshire, and cleared her throat.
'Yes?' Sir Gerry turned his crumpled gaze towards her.
'Miss Maguire?'
'I just wondered if, um... if we can talk to the punters.'
To her relief, Sir Gerry seemed amused rather than angry at her question. Talk all you like, lass. Don't expect to get any sense out of them, though!' He gave a wheezing chuckle, and the Trainees joined in, politely. 'Rule One -
the customer doesn't know what they want. It's up to you to tell them!' Sir Gerry narrowed his eyes at them. 'Any more questions?'
The Trainees exchanged glances.
Then get to work!' exclaimed Sir Gerry, and waved his hands to usher them away.
As Kate headed along the corridor with the others, she remembered the icy glare of Miss Devonshire's eyes again, and felt a shiver up her spine. Just like that time, not so long
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AUTONOMY
ago, when she'd been 'invited' to the school office to discuss her truancy. It was an uncomfortable echo, and the feeling of unease followed her back down the corridor and into the lift.
'Hold on, Reece! Just... hold on!' Chantelle Stanford, alarmed, looked over her shoulder at her brother. Reece was gripping the seat and looking rather green as the Doomcastle train lurched into a dimly lit tunnel, from which an icy draught emerged like a winter wind.
The Doctor was peering through his glasses at the construction of the tunnel. 'Don't like the look of those pit-props,' he said. 'Need to get a man in. Wonder when they were last inspected?'
That ain't helping!' snarled Chantelle.
The Doctor looked abashed. 'Sorry.'
The rickety train lurched as it rounded a corner. That second there was a screech like the rending of metal mixed with a banshee howl, and an unearthly, yellowish-green glow suffused the carriage.
The children, and some of the adults, screamed at the clattering, skeletal figure which had reared up in front of them out of the cobweb-bedecked darkness, and which was now leering over the top of the train as if to devour the passengers. There was a strong smell of burning sulphur.
The Doctor peered up at it, grinning. 'Ohhhh, this is brilliant. Brilliant.' He shook his head in wonder. 'I've not seen one this good since Disneyland. Or was it the Golden Mile?'
The train hooted, belched steam, and began to pick up speed, leaving the glowing ghoul behind.
'Is it supposed to be going this fast?' Reece complained.
'Oh, for goodness' sake, Reece,' said his mum, Tricia, from
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DOCTOR WHO
across the aisle, who was already on her third packet of crisps since starting the journey ten minutes earlier. She rolled her eyes at the Doctor. 'He gets motion sickness just by walking. Doesn't he, Derek?' she added to her boyfriend.
Derek gave an apologetic smile and said nothing.
'Derek can't speak,' said Tricia Stanford to the Doctor, by
way of explanation. 'His doctor's told him to rest his voice for two weeks. Says it'll help his stress. God knows how.'
The Doctor gave a non-committal 'Aahhh' in their general direction.
The train slammed round at a sharp angle, descending through some quite convincing, curtain-like cobwebs.
Glistening spiders the size of cats clicked and scuttled in the slimy, stony darkness above the passengers' heads.
The Doctor peered at the arachnids through a pair of opera glasses which he'd produced from his jacket pocket.
'Oh, very clever. Very advanced animatronics for the time.
They almost look real.' He shook his head. 'Amazing what they can do with special effects these days.'
The ghost train hooted again. It was heading down an incline now, descending into the chilly heart of the Doomcastle.
The Doctor raised his eyebrows at the wild lurches the train was giving. 'The speed this thing's going...' he muttered to himself. The brakes must be the size of Belgium!' He knew the ride was meant to be exciting, but from the start something about it had left him wondering if it was meant to be taken at quite such a pace.
Armoured figures lined the slippery walls, heads swivelling from side to side, while giant bats swirled over the roof of the carriage.
40
AUTONOMY
Their slime's not much good,' complained Chantelle.
They had better slime at Ghostland Heights. Mind you, that was just CGI. It looked well unconvincing.'
The Doctor pulled a face. 'Aw, well. Seen one lot of slime, you've seen them all, really. And I've seen quite a bit.
Probably too much.'
The train hooted again, and was thundering down an incline, swerving alarmingly at each corner, rattling and juddering. Screams and moans emanated from hidden speakers.
As if to confirm the Doctor's suspicions, several passengers were looking alarmed now and hanging on to their seats. Tricia, looking red and flushed, had dropped her crisps.
A cackling witch popped from a fiery cauldron, but they barely had time to see it, such was the speed at which the train was going.
The Doctor, suddenly making a decision, reached out of his side of the train and grabbed hold of the witch's broomstick. 'I'll bring it back!' he shouted, and leapt to his feet and, wobbling as the train hurtled and bumped, tried to make his way to the front of the carriage and the driver.