by Doctor Who
'Oh, get up,' the Doctor said. 'There's work to be done.'
'There is nothing to be done. No purpose. No reason.' He continued to shake.
The Doctor watched him. 'We don't have time for sulking.'
'What else can I do?'
'Or feeling sorry for yourself.'
The clockwork face turned to look up at the Doctor. 'My whole life is a lie. I am... no one.'
'You may not be Vassily. But you're stil Repple.'
'And who is that? Why should I go on?'
'Because if Melissa's right, then somewhere close by there's a power-mad homicidal maniac with a superiority complex who won't let the small matter of the human race get in the way of his escape from this planet. And now that the only thing keeping him in check has probably been damaged beyond repair, he's likely to be making very unpleasant plans to escape, or to rule, or both.'
Repple considered, slowly getting to his feet. His face clicked through the options and possibilities. 'We must tel Melissa Heart. She wil help us.'
The Doctor sighed. 'Or she'l decide I'm the vil ain after al , and you're my jailer. No, we've got to get out of here.'
Repple turned and examined himself closely in the glass. A mass of cogs and gears stared back at him, the diamond-like crystal that regulated the mechanisms gleamed incongruously in the midst of the machine. 'And how do we do that?' He sounded weary and unenthusiastic.
The Doctor looked at him. 'Use your head,' he said.
He did not wait for a reply. He stepped forward, put both his hands behind Repple's head and rammed it violently forward into the glass.
The crystal cracked into the surface of the toughened window. The Doctor held Repple's head tight, dragging it down and across.
'What? 'Repple gasped as soon as the Doctor let go.
But even before he had finished speaking, the Doctor had hold of him again, was smacking his head back into the glass, dragging down and across the other way – through the deep scratch he had already made.
When the Doctor let go again, Repple wrenched himself backwards. In front of him, in the glass, he could see the Doctor grinning, his glee marred only by the deeply scored X that ran through his reflection.
'The weakest point,' the Doctor said, 'will be here.' He stepped up to the glass and tapped on the centre of the X where the two lines crossed. He turned and winked at Repple. Brace yourself,' he said.
'Now it's my turn.'
He turned back towards the glass, felt careful y over the window. They could both see that the glass was bulging slightly inwards where it had been weakened. There was a sound like ice cracking. The Doctor nodded happily and took a couple of paces back from the glass. Then he ran at the window. He leaped, legs extended, both feet crashing into the wal at the same time, right in the centre of the X.
Crashing into, and through.
Murky, cold Thames water swept in, punching aside the remains of the window and taking the Doctor with it. He cannoned into Repple, and they both fel into the rapidly rising water.
'What now?' Repple shouted, his voice al but lost in the thunder of the hammering water.
'I can hold my breath for ages,' the Doctor gasped. 'And you don't need to breathe.'
One of the airlocks, the door back into the house, not built to withstand the stresses of deep space, buckled under the water's attack. It was sagging, bending, breaking under the pressure of the water. Suddenly it gave way, exploding inwards to allow the water to crash through and along the short corridor the other side towards the cellars of the house.
The corridor sloped upwards, the Doctor remembered as he and Repple were carried along by the immense wave. If they could survive the battering, if he could hold his breath for long enough, they would be washed into the house. His shoulder slammed painful y into a wal , the water rising over his face and the light fading. As the blackness closed over his head, he felt the heavy weight of the water bearing him down and began to lose consciousness. He might not need much breath, but he could still drown, he thought... As the darkness swept over him.
FOURTEEN
Rose's first move, once they were clear of the club, was to make sure that Freddie and the others were safe. Then she would think about how to find Wyse. Crowther had no idea where the man might be except that he played chess every Wednesday evening at a friend's somewhere on or close to the Victoria Embankment. Perhaps Sir George would know.
This was the argument she used to persuade Freddie to go home. Now that he was over the fright, he was keen to find and help the Doctor. Though she could hardly blame him, as she felt the same, Rose, with the help of Crowther and the old men, Ranskil and Coleridge, managed to persuade the boy that it was best for everyone to head for his home.
Dickson opened the door almost immediately. He was visibly relieved to see Freddie and at once ushered them al into the drawing room. Sir George was there already, looking pale and tired. He said nothing, but hugged Freddie tight.
When he eventual y let the boy go, he said quietly, 'Your mother is in her room. You should go and see her. She's worried.' Only the tremor in his voice betrayed how worried she must be.
'Thank you,' Sir George said to Rose as soon as Freddie had gone. 'As he gets older it wil get harder, I know. But it is difficult not to be so very worried when he wanders off like that.'
'He was fine,' Rose said. 'You know what kids are like.' She didn't want to get into the details. There wasn't time.
Dickson was pouring brandy for the old men, Ranskill and Coleridge. Crowther was dithering, evidently feeling he should help. Sir George was looking at Rose.
'You al right, my dear?' he asked. 'You look a bit...'
'I am a bit...' She sighed. 'Look, they'l tel you al about it. But I've gotta dash. Have to find Wyse. You don't know where this Ben someone he plays chess with lives, do you?'
Sir George was shaking his head, puzzled. 'Don't know Wyse, I'm afraid to say. Only met the chap a couple of times. Sorry I can't help.'
'Never mind.' Rose all but ran to the door. She turned, aware that they were al watching her.
'I'l come with you, miss,' Crowther offered.
She shook her head. 'I'l be OK. You get your breath back.' She smiled. 'And thanks for what Mum would cal the Seventh Cavalry impression.' He obviously didn't understand what she meant, but Rose hadn't got time to explain. 'See ya,' she said.
The moon was struggling to get through the layer of cloud and the gathering fog as Rose reached the river. She felt cold and damp and worried. She would have been more worried if she had seen the figure fol owing her, running quickly between the deepest shadows. Once she turned, feeling for some reason she was being watched. But though she stood for almost a minute, she saw nothing and no one. Getting jumpy, she decided, and continued.
She could remember running along the same stretch of the Embankment before, with the Doctor, soon after they first met. It was strange how similar and yet how different it al seemed. The skyline was lower, yet most of the landmarks were there – the Houses of Parliament, the bridges. No Millennium Wheel, though, she thought with a smile. But the smile faded as she realised that she was putting off deciding what to do, how to find Wyse, helping the Doctor. Maybe she should knock on the doors of every residential house she could find and ask for Ben.
Looking round, wondering where exactly to start, Rose caught sight of movement. Perhaps she had been fol owed. But no, the movement was ahead of her, moving away – towards Parliament Square. A patch of shadow at first, shapeless, smal , barely visible. She ran towards it, keeping to the darkest parts of the pavement, trying to make no sound.
It was a cat. Limping along, back leg dragging. Even from twenty yards away, Rose could hear the unhealthy grinding of the mechanism. It was in a bad way, damaged, she assumed, when the Al system was blown up by Melissa. But it continued to stagger onwards, with a sense of purpose, of direction. It was heading somewhere, and Rose wanted to know where.
The figure behind Rose watched both her a
nd the cat. It nodded with satisfaction.
'Dickson told me Freddie was back.' Anna looked old and frail, obviously affected more than Sir George by her son's disappearance.
Sir George hurried over to her, led her to a chair. 'Sit down, sit down. Yes, the boy's fine...' He frowned, suddenly worried. 'I sent him up to you. Must be quarter of an hour ago now. Perhaps he didn't like to wake you.'
'But I've not been asleep. I couldn't settle. I haven't seen him.'
Sir George sat down heavily beside his wife. 'Oh, my dear,' he said, grasping her hand. 'Oh, Freddie, what have you done?'
The world swam back into existence. The Doctor blinked and stretched. He felt cold and wet and confused. Just for a second. Then he leaped to his feet and looked round. He was standing in a few inches of muddy water in the vaulted cel ar of Melissa Heart's house.
Repple was sitting at the bottom of the stone steps that led up into the house. 'I thought you were dead,' he said.
'So did I. How long was I out?'
'A minute. No more. The water washed us in here, then receded.'
The Doctor considered this. 'I was sinking, drowning. No way I'd have made it.'
'I carried and dragged you.'
'Thanks.'
Repple said nothing. He was staring down at his feet. The cogs and gears in his face clicked through their motions without comment.
The Doctor went over and sat down beside him. His clothes were clinging to him and he was tempted to jump up and down to shake the water off. But instead he said quietly, 'Being human isn't only about flesh and blood.' He pul ed Repple's face from his jacket pocket. It was made from a pliable yet very strong material. Some sort of porous plastic, the Doctor guessed. Like everything else, it was sopping wet. So he wrung it out like a dishcloth, and handed it, scrunched-up, to Repple.
The face unfolded in the automaton's hand, uncurling and stretching back into recognisable form. The face looking up at its owner. 'Thank you, Doctor.' He pressed it over the exposed mechanism, blinking his clockwork eyes, moving his clockwork mouth.
'Thank you,' the Doctor replied quietly. He got to his feet and made a cursory effort to brush the mud from his shirt with the back of his hand. 'Shal we go?'
He led the way up the steps. There was a wooden door at the top, closed but not locked. The Doctor eased it open and stepped out. He emerged into the hallway; the door was under the main staircase.
The Doctor stepped forward to al ow Repple to fol ow. He stood in the middle of the hal , puddles forming round his feet, tapping his chin with his finger as he worked through the possible next moves.
'Do we go or do we stay?' he whispered to Repple.
'And if we go, where do we go?'
'To find Rose.'
Repple touched the Doctor's arm – a very human gesture. 'She wil be fine,' he said. 'I'm sure.' There was genuine concern in his voice, between the faint clicks of his mind.
'I know. I'm sure too.' The Doctor smiled thinly. 'Well, 99.99 per cent sure.'
Repple nodded.
'It's just the hundredth of a hundredth,' the Doctor said, 'that's so difficult to accept.' He led the way to the front door, unlocked it, drew back the heavy bolts. Opened the door.
To reveal the faceless metal mask of the huge figure standing outside. It stepped forwards as the Doctor and Repple both turned to run back into the house.
But the other Mechanical was walking stiffly along the hal way towards them, cutting off their escape.
The only other route was up the stairs. But at the bottom of the main staircase, where perhaps she had been for some time, sat Melissa Heart.
She was wearing her angry face.
The cat limped its slow way along the pavement, and Rose fol owed. Freddie watched from the shadows, being careful not to let himself be seen. Rose would take him straight home again, he was sure. And he could help, he knew he could. He owed it to his friends, to Rose and the Doctor, to help in any way he could.
At some point he would have to step out into the light and show Rose he was here. But now she was busy fol owing the cat. Perhaps when they arrived at wherever the cat was leading them...
As they reached Westminster Bridge, the cat seemed to gather itself before making its hesitant way across the road as fast as its failing legs could take it. There was a set of railings across the road on the other side. It managed to climb up and through, dropping down beyond. Rose was across the road in a flash. Freddie fol owed, but he had to wait for a cab to pass. It sounded its horn in the fog, a melancholy sound, al but swal owed by the heavy air.
Freddie hurried over the road, afraid he might have lost Rose. The smog was closing in now, so that everything was pale and drained of colour. He looked al round, but there was no sign of Rose. He ran to the railing, and leaned over. There she was. As he leaned, the railing moved, and Freddie realised it was a gate. He eased it open and fol owed Rose down the steps the other side.
A large figure was looming up out of the darkness. Freddie saw Rose duck into cover as it approached. There was nowhere for Freddie to hide, so he crouched down, against the steps, and hoped the figure would not see him.
It was a policeman, he realised as the figure paused at the bottom of the steps. For a moment, Freddie was afraid the policeman was going to come up to the street – and find him. But then the figure moved on, disappearing into the misty darkness as he moved away from the lamp at the bottom of the steps. Freddie hurried down, and across a small lawn. He was outside a large building, could see its impressive silhouette against the pale glow of the moon.
The Houses of Parliament. Staring up at the dark shape, he almost ran straight into Rose. She was standing stil , at the edge of the lawn. Freddie managed to stop before he went into her. He held his breath, sure she would hear the thumping of his heart. But she did not move, did not turn. Had she found the mysterious Ben? He could just see the dark shape of the cat dragging itself through an arched doorway on the other side of the path.
Incredibly close, barely muffled by the gathering fog, the hour began to strike. Freddie looked up, towards the sound, mirroring Rose's stance a few feet away. She too was staring up at the enormous clock tower rising high above them. The il uminated face of the clock above the Houses of Parliament shone defiantly through the fog.
He heard her voice clearly between the chimes of Big Ben.
'Oh, you have to be kidding,' Rose said.
Repple stood in front of Melissa. 'You showed me your face,' he said. 'Let me show you mine.' He put his hand to his cheek, pinched at the skin, and pul ed his face away from the mechanisms beneath.
Melissa's artificial expression did not change. But her eyes seemed to widen in the mask, and she gave an audible gasp.
'It surprised Repple too,' the Doctor assured her. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs, flanked by the two Mechanicals. Melissa was standing on the staircase, so that she was looking down at them.
'I don't understand,' she said. The angry face turned towards the Doctor. 'You have tricked me!'
He shook his head. 'Not me. I knew nothing about all this.'
Melissa waved the Mechanicals away, and they stepped back from the Doctor and Repple.
'Thank you,' the Doctor said. 'I did wonder if Vassily was actually dead,' he went on. 'Whether this –' he pointed at Repple's face – 'was a charade to al ow justice to be seen to be done.'
'Could it be?' Melissa wondered. 'Was Shade Vassily actual y kil ed in the revolution? Or did he take his own life when he saw al was lost?'
'I did wonder. But if that was the case,' the Doctor went on, 'what's the point of the Al terminal at the Imperial Club? No,' he decided, turning to Repple, 'you're a decoy.'
'A decoy,' Repple echoed. He pushed his face back into position as he considered this.
'So was Aske. Both of you were sent here to draw out any assassins who might find Vassily's prison.
Who might get too close. Neither of you ever suspected the truth. I'm sure Aske believed abs
olutely that you were Shade Vassily.'
'And the real Vassily?' Melissa demanded.
'Stil hiding. Monitored and protected by the AI.'
'But the Al has been destroyed.'
The Doctor grinned suddenly. 'The cats probably have some level of autonomy, but yes, you're right –the Al's done for. Cats can't do much without it.'
'So, who is Shade Vassily?' Repple said quietly. 'Do you know, Doctor?'
'Can't be certain, but it does seem likely...'
'Yes?' Melissa said, impatience and anticipation meeting in her tone.
'That Shade Vassily is Mr Pooter.'
'But there is no such person,' Repple said.
The Doctor thrust his hands into his pockets, and grimaced as he found the pockets were ful of water. 'Oh yes there is. I didn't want to believe it, but...' He sighed. 'We're meant to think there isn't – the daft name, the fact hardly anyone ever sees him. But he's around. And we've got to find him.'
'Why?'
'Because he is a mass murderer,' Melissa told him. She took a step down, looking at eye level at Repple. 'Whatever they might have programmed you to believe about him, he is without honour or compassion. A war criminal with tens of thousands of deaths behind him. Including,' she went on quietly,
'my brother and my parents.'
'More pragmatical y,' the Doctor said to Repple, 'how did you arrive here?'
'In a ship. A spaceship.'
'And why didn't you leave?'
'Because Aske would have kil ed me if I tried. And because the ship was powered down after it was hidden. The cel s completely depleted.'
'Ion cel s?' the Doctor wondered. Repple nodded. 'Ion cel s that would need to be re-energised.'
'Hydrogen extraction,' Melissa said quietly.
'Seems likely.'
'But he would need a supply of hydrogen.'
'And where's the ship?' the Doctor asked. 'Under the Thames, like Melissa's?'
Repple nodded. 'H O,' he realised. 'He could energise the Thames to recharge the ion cel s.'