‘Your children,’ he said. ‘They’re brilliant. Just brilliant. Did you know that? Well, of course you knew that. They’re your kids. And they’re brilliant!’
THEY HAD NEVER, in their two years living on Chelsea 426, seen the hotel this busy. The lobby was filled with people, the passengers from those ships that had steered the colony away from the storm. Among the many new faces, Mr Carstairs made a beeline for two in particular.
‘Jenny!’ he called. ‘Zack!’
‘Oh, hello,’ said Jenny. ‘Apparently it’s going to be three or four days before they can refuel. We were wondering if—’
‘Of course!’ said Mr Carstairs. ‘Of course!’
His wife appeared at his side.
‘The usual rate is sixty credits a night,’ she said.
Mr Carstairs shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not for these two. They can stay on the house.’
‘But—’
‘No, Bess,’ said Mr Carstairs. ‘It’s the least we can do. Those ships could have left us, you know.’
Mrs Carstairs smiled.
‘Yes, Brian,’ she said. ‘Quite right.’
She turned to Zack and Jenny.
‘Welcome to the Grand Hotel. Breakfast is served between six-thirty and nine-thirty. Our son will help you with your luggage.’
She looked around the lobby for Jake.
‘Jake?’ she called out. ‘Jake? Oh, where is he now?’
From the windows of room 237, Jake Carstairs looked down at the south-west corner of the colony.
Engineers in spacesuits were already carrying out emergency repairs to the areas of broken, jagged metal where the flotation panel had been torn away, but the Great White Spot was far behind them.
A short time earlier, some people from the colony’s hospital had come to take away the Major’s body, but Jake had wiped away his tears and kept what his father called a ‘stiff upper lip’. Only when they had gone and he was alone in the room did he allow himself to cry.
On the other side of the room, the door of the TARDIS opened, and the Doctor stepped out.
‘Are you leaving us?’ Jake asked, mopping up the last tears with his fingers and wiping his nose on the back of his hand.
‘Soon,’ said the Doctor. ‘Thought I’d go and say goodbye to your parents first.’
Jake nodded thoughtfully.
‘Where will you go?’
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor. ‘Here and there. Anywhere, really.’
‘So you can go anywhere in that thing?’ asked Jake, nodding toward the TARDIS.
‘Oh yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘More or less.’
Jake looked back to the TARDIS.
‘And do you ever take people with you? When you’re travelling around?’
‘Sometimes,’ said the Doctor.
‘Oh, right,’ said Jake. ‘Because I was wondering—’
The Doctor shook his head.
‘No,’ he said, smiling gently. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and no.’
‘But why not?’
‘Because,’ said the Doctor, ‘for one thing I’ve had my fair share of angry mothers lately, and I don’t think I’d survive the wrath of yours. And for another thing. . .’
Jake’s shoulders slumped and he hung his head.
‘Look,’ said the Doctor, ‘life here isn’t all that bad, is it?’
‘You don’t live here,’ replied Jake. ‘With their boring Colony Code and their Mr This and Mrs That. It’s boring. And everyone’s weird.’
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘But everyone’s a little bit weird, aren’t they? Just a little bit. I mean. . . Look at you. Thirteen years old, but you know a scary amount about rockets. I mean, seriously. And your sister. . . With computers? Freaks, the pair of you.’
Jake laughed, and the Doctor smiled gently.
‘I’ve got a feeling things are going to be a little bit different from now on,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s not going to turn into the Party Capital of Saturn, but things will be different. You’ll see. Besides. . . You’ve got plenty of time to see the universe. I reckon you’ll make a good pilot one day.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Jake Carstairs. . . Space Captain. Sounds perfect.’
Jake smiled.
‘Come on,’ the Doctor continued. ‘Let’s get you back to your mum and dad. Looks like they’ve got plenty of customers to deal with.’
The woman with the pearl earrings and necklace rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers impatiently on the reception desk.
‘Come along, dear,’ she said. ‘I would very much like to check into my room as soon as possible, thank you. And where is my luggage? Really. . . I don’t know why we had to take our things off the ship. I’ve got a perfectly acceptable cabin on the Pride of Deimos, you know. It has a balcony. Do your rooms have balconies?’
‘No, madam,’ replied Vienna, writing down the woman’s details but scarcely daring to look up at her, fearing another glowering sneer from their guest.
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘Of course not. A week without a balcony. I shall be writing a stern letter to the travel agents about this, you mark my words. Not allowed back on the ship. . . It’s health and safety gone mad if you ask me. . .’
‘Er, Vienna?’
Vienna looked up and saw, standing beside the woman in pearls, Wallace.
‘Hi, Wallace,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
‘Yeah,’ said Wallace. ‘Sorry about that. I was just wondering. . . if maybe you’d, er. . . well, like to go see a film or something.’
‘What? Now?’
‘No. . . Not now, obviously. But later. When you’re a bit less. . . well. . . busy.’
Vienna stopped writing for a moment and smiled.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’
‘Cool!’ said Wallace, his face lighting up.
Realising that he’d spoken a little louder than planned, he nodded sheepishly.
‘Cool,’ he said, more quietly. ‘I’ll call you. Later on, I mean.’
‘Yeah,’ said Vienna, still beaming.
Wallace waved goodbye and walked out onto Tunbridge Street with what looked very much like a skip in his step.
Behind the desk, hidden from the view of their guests and her parents, Vienna drummed her feet excitedly on the ground, and then, taking a deep breath, wrote down the last of the pearl-wearing woman’s details, and gave her the key card for her room.
‘And where is the bellboy?’ asked the woman, flaring her nostrils.
‘Oh, right. . .’ said Vienna, looking around the lobby. She saw, beyond the sea of guests, her brother and the Doctor stepping out of the elevator.
‘Jake!’ she called. ‘We’ve got guests. Lots of guests. Can you take this lady’s luggage up to room one-three-five?’
Jake nodded dutifully and jogged over to the guest and her luggage.
‘This way, madam!’ he said, wheeling her suitcases towards the elevators.
Vienna turned to the Doctor.
‘Are you going?’ she asked. There was a hint of disappointment in her tone which he hadn’t quite expected.
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Well. . . Looks like you’re going to need as many free rooms as you can get.’
‘Yeah,’ Vienna laughed. She bit her lower lip softly, and said, ‘Doctor. . . I’m sorry if I was a bit. . . you know. . . snappy with you earlier. And I’m sorry I called you weird.’
‘Snappy?’ said the Doctor. ‘Oh. . . No. You weren’t snappy. It’s called cautious. I mean. . . Strange bloke turns up and starts talking about aliens. . . I’d be exactly the same in your shoes. Besides which, I am weird, so you weren’t wrong there.’
Vienna laughed.
‘Anyway,’ the Doctor continued, ‘where’s your mum and dad?’
Vienna pointed past the guests to where they stood, her father with his arm around her mother’s shoulder.
&
nbsp; The Doctor crossed the lobby to join them.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be making a move now.’
‘So soon?’ said Mrs Carstairs. ‘But we’ve hardly got to know you, Doctor. I’m afraid I was a little out of sorts, earlier. Can’t remember a thing about it. . .’
‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘Probably for the best. Still. . . Nice to see the hotel so busy.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Carstairs, pensively.
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor. ‘You don’t exactly seem over the moon about it. Or should that be moons if you’re on Saturn?’
‘Well,’ replied Mr Carstairs, ‘it’s busy now, Doctor, but it won’t always be like this. We’ve given it some thought. The cruise ship companies are paying for the rooms. Compensation, apparently. We’ll turn a tidy profit this week. Enough to pay for tickets back to Earth.’
The Doctor nodded.
‘So you’re going back, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Carstairs. ‘Perhaps we were a little hasty in dismissing it so. . .’ She paused to find the right word.
‘Hastily?’ the Doctor suggested.
‘Well, quite,’ said Mrs Carstairs. ‘I doubt there is any place that’s truly a utopia. Do you agree, Doctor?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ replied the Doctor. ‘I know it for a fact. Well. . . I should be going.’
‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ said Mr Carstairs, shaking the Doctor’s hand. ‘And thank you.’
The Doctor nodded without saying another word, and made his way back to the elevators.
Closing the door of the TARDIS behind him, the Doctor crossed the console room and leaned against the central unit on both hands. Turning a number of dials, he tuned one of the screens to a local news bulletin. Amidst the stories of the colony’s invasion and its near-collision with the Great White Spot, he saw a smaller headline:
WAR HERO TO BE GIVEN FULL MILITARY
FUNERAL ON EARTH
He opened up the story in full and read it. It ran:
The body of Field Marshal Sir Henry Whittington-Smythe, who, tragically, was killed during the incident on Saturn’s Chelsea 426 colony, will be returned to Earth where he will receive a full military funeral, it has been announced. Sir Henry, a veteran of the Martian Wars, the Battle of Mercutio 14, and the Siege of the Hexion Gates, is survived by his fourteen children and thirty-six grandchildren.
‘Field Marshal?’ said the Doctor. ‘Field Marshal? Ha! Not a Major! He wasn’t a Major! I knew he was fibbing. I could just tell.’
He shook his head, still laughing, and turned off the screen. The console room was silent now and, but for the Doctor, quite empty.
He thought about what Jake had asked him, or at least very nearly asked him, and wondered whether he had made the right decision. After all, the TARDIS being the TARDIS, he could have taken him away to see another world, another time, and still been able to bring him back in time for dinner.
No, he decided. He had done the right thing. Besides, he liked his own company. There was nothing wrong with travelling alone. No one to answer to, nobody to nag him or question him. He quite liked it, in fact. Couldn’t be happier.
It was just that the TARDIS could seem a very empty place sometimes. Empty and very quiet. He could talk to the TARDIS, and often did, but it never answered back, at least never with words.
He sighed and took a deep breath.
‘Right!’ he said aloud. ‘Where were we going? Oh yeah. . . Paris. 1922. The Majestic Hotel. Time to apologise to Marcel, I reckon. . .’
He paused, his hand still gripping the lever.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I think I’ve had enough of hotels for a little while. Maybe some other time. Let’s go for pot luck, shall we?’
He pulled the lever, turned a dial and hit a button with a triumphant thump.
The glowing transparent columns in the centre of the console rose and fell, accompanied by a metallic roar, and, with that, he was gone.
THE MONSTROUS BLACK ship had come to the very edges of the solar system, driving on past the spectral Oort Cloud, with its trillions of icy fragments faintly glittering in the dim light of a distant sun.
In his quarters, General Kade stood before the sample of the Rutan plant, still housed beneath its glass dome. He was pleased that he had managed to rescue it before the colony was completely destroyed. It would be heralded as a key victory by many back on Sontar, even if those in the Battle Fleet failed to appreciate its significance. The higher ranks would clamour to see it; something which satisfied him tremendously.
Leaving his rooms and making his way to the bridge, Kade passed several of his crew, all of whom stopped in their tracks and saluted him. Though Sontarans were rarely anything less than respectful of their superior officers, it seemed that they were making an extra effort in the aftermath of their experience on the human colony.
Perhaps, Kade considered, it was a respect inspired, in part, by his victory over Colonel Sarg. That too was satisfying.
On the bridge, the crew were plotting the coordinates that would take them to their home world. The mood there was almost impossible to gauge. Surely they would appreciate that the Rutan threat had passed, almost without incident. The humans and Rutans alike had, no doubt, been consigned to the destructive cyclone of Saturn’s greatest storm, just as he had assured them. All the same, he could sense dissatisfaction, even if no one dared voice it. Too many of them had been defeated by the Rutans in direct combat. Theirs was, perhaps, a hollow victory.
As Kade stepped out onto the bridge the crew stood and saluted him in unison.
‘At ease,’ said the General, taking to his position at the head of the bridge. He turned now to his chief navigator.
‘Commander Strom,’ he barked, and the commander saluted him once more. ‘Have we plotted our course to Sontar?’
‘We have, sir.’
‘Excellent, then prepare to enter hyperspace immediately.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Strom, with enthusiasm. ‘That would be agreeable.’
Acknowledgements
Thanks firstly to everyone at BBC Wales and BBC Books, namely Edward Russell, Gary Russell, Justin Richards and Steve Tribe, all of them indispensable fountains of knowledge and advice (not to mention suppliers of Sontaran episode DVDs. Yes, Edward – that’s you). Special hugs and kisses, also, to Lee Binding for designing another great cover!
Personal thanks to Benjamin K. Flambards (aka Lord Tinlegs), my trusty sounding board and the organiser of my ‘Who-Mitzvah’, and to Ceri Young for his helpful tips on Latin. And lastly, thanks to Terrance Dicks and the late Robert Holmes for creating such great villains to play around with, and to Russell T Davies, David Tennant and all the writers of the show, for making the writing of this book so much fun.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781409070511
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Published in hardback in 2009 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.
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Paperback edition published in 2010.
Copyright © David Llewellyn 2009, 2010.
David Llewellyn has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One Executive producers: Russell T Davies and Julie Gardner
BBC, DOCTOR WHO and TARDIS (word marks, logos and devices) are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under
licence. Sontarans created by Robert Holmes. Rutans created by Terrance Dicks.
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Commissioning editor: Albert DePetrillo
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The Taking of Chelsea 426 Page 15