Doctor How and the Illegal Aliens

by Mark Speed

  The med-bot withdrew its instruments and another two bots appeared. They unrolled a thin metallic tray and manoeuvred Jackson's limp body onto it. With a bot at each end, the tray was lifted a foot into the air and Jackson and the med-bot seemed to Kevin to disappear through a wall.

  "Where have they taken him?" asked Kevin.

  "Let's call it accelerated healing therapy, shall we? The prognosis is that we should be able to dump him into a reasonably competent hospital within the hour. We'd have to leave a note, of course. Something a bit more detailed than 'Please look after this bear'."

  "You could show a bit more sympathy, Doctor."

  "You're right; I could. However, things weren't going too badly for him until he threw a hammer."

  "True. What about David?"

  The med-bot looking after the Doctor's cousin pointed its communicator at him. "Days? A week? More? It's not just his heart." He seemed to nod to the med-bot.

  Two bots came into the cabin and unrolled a silver foil tray next to Where. He wasn't sure whether they were the same two bots that had moved Jackson, because they all looked alike to him. He watched the two bots, the med-bot and Where disappear through the same section of wall as Jackson.

  "Man, I really miss him. No offence to you, Doc, but I think I shared quite a bit of wavelength with David. You get me?"

  "I get you, Kevin."

  The youth's face brightened again. "Like, is this his regeneration? Is he going to come out of this totally changed? And as good as new?"

  "That, my friend, is part of the problem. You can only regenerate in conjunction with your Spectrel. It's that whole relationship and growth thing I was telling you about. Come on, let's look at the map of this place under Essex."

  "Um..."

  "What?"

  "I need to know where the facilities are. And, like, do you have any food?"

  "I'm sorry. Not much of a host. Not used to it. Not recently, at least. Sorry. Through there." The Doctor pointed to part of the wall between two rows of passenger seats, where the bots and the bodies had disappeared.

  Kevin saw that there was the slight hint of a black line in the shape of a door.

  "Do I...?"

  "Just walk through, yes."

  The Doctor flipped on a projection of the underground facility in Essex.

  Kevin returned a few minutes later. "This is a well-cool place, man. I hope you don't mind, but I took a bit of a tour. It's huge."

  "The two great things about real estate which doesn't actually exist are that it's terribly cheap and you don't need planning permission. And, since it doesn't even exist, remodelling is a breeze."

  "You mean this is all just complex force projections? There's no matter there at all?"

  "Yes. Well put."

  "Like, that makes me feel really uncomfortable. Knowing that there's nothing out there beyond these walls that don't exist is kinda spooky."

  "Kevin, nothing in your world exists either. It's all just forces."

  "Yeah, but I'm totally comfortable with the way the world doesn't exist. It doesn't exist in a totally natural and not in-your-face kinda way. The way this place doesn't exist really freaks me out? You get me?"

  "Not really. You should be more scared in an aeroplane flying at 35,000 feet. Same sort of thing in terms of forces keeping you alive there, but you've just got some human at the controls and you could slam into a mountain."

  "Maybe, but it's matter."

  "No, it isn't. It's unimaginably small bits of matter that aren't really matter at all, with forces around them. Pay attention. All we've done is remove the unnecessary bits."

  "Yeah, like the matter."

  "Well, I'm sure you've eaten a fish fillet."

  "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "You enjoyed eating the fish, but you just ate the flesh – you didn't have to waste your time on all the bits that made the fish a fish, did you? Like the bones, head, tail and fins. And when you've eaten it, you've got a clean plate – no waste. See?"

  "No, that's a totally mental comparison. And it kinda makes my point about my fear about there being nothing left and it all going horribly wrong."

  "As you wish. Now, speaking of food, did you get anything to eat?"

  "Yeah, I ordered something from some machine that asked me what I wanted. It'll be delivered shortly, I expect."

  "Good. We couldn't have you going more than three hours without food."

  Kevin rolled his eyes. He nodded towards the projection of the Essex installation. "So you got it figured out, Doc? And why's it not so detailed?"

  "This is just the upload of what was intercepted during the hack. We're being jammed from getting a decent read, which at least proves it's not human. At one level it's blindingly obvious, really. These beetles are GM and –"

  "Sorry, GM?"

  "Genetically modified. You know, like the crops that people protest about. Not naturally bred.

  "You mean not organic bread?" Kevin grinned.

  "Very droll. Where they come from there's not much oxygen. And you can see why that would be an advantage, given their diet and their physiology. They've evolved to live off crude oil, so distillates like diesel are like refined sugar or starch are to your physiology. With me so far?"

  "Yup. My Mum's always nattering about this stuff."

  "Good. So here they can take advantage of the comparatively high oxygen content in the air and grow much larger and more powerful. But there's the obvious risk of combustion, as you saw." Kevin nodded. "The clever bit is that southern England has a massive deposit of oil-bearing shale underneath it. In between video games you may have seen this on the news." Kevin nodded again. "So they can burrow through that, feeding on the way. Any vibration they produce is explained away by shale gas drilling, or fracking, as it's more commonly called."

  "Totally makes sense. Weird and kinda unbelievable, but it hangs together."

  "I think it hangs together better than most episodes of... Well, the least said, the better about your favourite sci-fi programme."

  A shiny metal tray with a polished metal dome slid through the air from the door and drifted to a stop at waist height next to Kevin. "Oh, wow. Great service, and I'm guessing I don't have to tip." He removed the polished metal dome from the tray to reveal two golden Jamaican patties. The spicy smell filled the cabin. "Oh, I'm lovin' that smell, man. Jus' like at home!" Kevin picked one up and bit into it. "Man, that's outrageously good. It's the real thing! Go on, be my guest, Doc."

  "I can't tell you how grateful I am that I have such excellent deodorising air filters. Well, I suppose I can at least be sure of the provenance of these." He took a small bite and nodded his approval.

  After they had finished their patties, the Doctor said, "Nothing left of the constituents, you see?"

  "You what?"

  "The patties. Nothing left of them, or the ingredients they were made from – the chickens, the plants that grew the vegetables that were part of the recipe. And yet they were real, weren't they? Do you follow?"

  "I don't know whether you had any plans to become one of those guys on TV who explains things like physics and astronomy but, well... I guess you're a pretty good Time Keeper. Although maybe the competition isn't exactly hot on that front, eh?"

  "I think I'll have to take whatever compliments come my way. Oh. Your ear."

  Kevin touched his ear, which was still throbbing. His hand came away with coagulated blood. "It's alright. Bleeding's stopped."

  "It needs to be seen to." The Doctor nodded to the med-bot holding the bag of fluid for Jackson. It handed the bag to another med-bot. "Take a seat," he told Kevin.

  Kevin took a seat and the med-bot hovered near his head. He heard the faint whine of tiny electric motors and felt the touch of tiny robotic appendages on his ear. It went numb, and he heard more noises.

  "So now we've refuelled, what's the plan, Doc?"

  "Drop off our guests at hospital in fifty minutes from now and then the Doctor will make a
house call that somebody won't forget in a hurry."

  Thickett ripped the oxygen mask from his face. "Police," he said. "I want police at every emergency clinic in London."

  "He's come out rather suddenly," said the doctor. "Nurse, get ready with another shot."

  "Don't you dare put anything else into my body, or I'll have you disciplined," said Thickett, getting up off the gurney. "I'll have your guts for garters unless you get me to a secure phone in the next thirty seconds."

  "You might find you're a bit –"

  Thickett took a couple of steps and fell over, splitting his head open on an unfortunately-placed table.

  "–unsteady on your feet at first."

  Thicket held a hand to his head and sobbed with pain.

  "Oh dear. Let me help you up."

  "You... you idiot," moaned Thickett.

  "Now, I've got to warn you that abusing medical personnel is an actionable disciplinary matter," said the doctor. "But given the crack you've had I can let it pass this time. The nurse will show you the way to a secure line. Quite happily. And when you're done with your phone call you can come back for a couple of stitches if you're in a better mood."

  Thickett was already out of the door and stumbling down the corridor after the nurse. Without a word of thanks to her, he snatched the receiver from the cradle and stabbed at the keypad. He was a vindicated man whose triumphant hour had come. He spoke with the thundering voice of authority – the voice of a righteous man whose truth has been denied for decades, but who finally holds in his hands the evidence he needs to prove his unlikely belief. This was his Churchill moment. "Thickett here, Sixteen. This is a Code One. I need armed police at all London emergency clinics." He paused for dramatic effect before saying, "The Time Keepers are here."

  The gloating smile faded from his face.

  "Catering? When did the number change? Why wasn't I told? Well what is the Met liaison number? Do you not have a bloody directory there? I said Thickett. How dare –"

  "There's an internal telephone directory here, Mr Thicky," said the nurse. "Would you like me to dial a number for you?"

  Thickett snatched the directory from the nurse. "No. Thank you." He flipped the pages, muttering madly, found what he wanted and then jabbed at the telephone deliberately whilst glowering at the nurse. "It's Thickett," he said. "Remember that name, because you'll be hearing a lot more of it. Oh, yes." He puffed himself back up to his full height again and cleared his throat.

  "Is that Metropolitan Police liaison? Good. My name is Thickett. No, Thickett. T-H-I-C-K-E-T-T. Yes. Head of Sixteen. What do you...? Military Intelligence, Section Sixteen. Yes there is, and I'm head of it. No, it wasn't disbanded. Peterson? Yes, she's one of mine. Yes, the only one as it happens. Very memorable face, so I'm told, but I can't say I've noticed myself. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that, and I'll be sure to tell her. Look, this is an emergency." Thickett snapped and screamed down the phone: "This is a Code One. Officers down at MI6. Yes, Six. I know I said Sixteen, but they were helping us. As previously stated, there are only bloody two of us, you fool! Officers down and kidnapped. I want Met Police officers at every emergency clinic in the Greater London area. Expect casualties. No. No, no they're not going to be attacked. Expect casualties to be delivered. No, by the kidnappers. Of course kidnappers give people back. No there aren't any demands. Look, just do it. Now. Thank you." He slammed down the phone, exhausted.

  "Oh, is that Doctor Peterson you were talking about?" said the nurse. "Such a lovely person. I didn't realise Sixteen still existed."

  "No," said Thickett. "Apparently you're not the only one."

  Jackson's body appeared, hovering on the silver tray between the two bots, with the med-bot at his side holding a drip. His Noddy suit had gone, and he was dressed in the civilian clothes he'd been wearing underneath, all of which were freshly laundered and repaired. Except that he wasn't wearing any trousers or shoes – from the waist down he was in underpants and socks only, showing the fresh red amputation scar on his left leg.

  His trousers were neatly folded on his chest, with a drip resting on top. The left leg happened to be uppermost, and a fine layer of stitching was visible just below the knee. The bots laid the body on the floor and withdrew. The med-bot directed its communicator at the Doctor.

  More conspicuous to Kevin than the man's state of partial undress was that the face had a week's worth of stubble on it. "Like, what happened?" said Kevin. "Does this accelerated healing therapy cause rapid ageing, or something?"

  The Doctor coughed awkwardly. "Well, I said 'accelerated healing therapy' but what I really did was to have him go round the houses a bit."

  "What do you mean, 'go round the houses'?"

  "So here we all are at this point in space and time, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "So I sent him on a rather circuitous journey."

  "I'm not sure I follow, Doc."

  "This sort of thing will be second nature once you get your Ph.D. Basically, I sent him on a long journey. Time-wise long, rather than length-wise. He's had a week of just lying there recuperating, which is why he's not in his NBC suit. You can't leave a man for a week in one of those things. I shudder at the thought of the hygiene problems."

  "What about this other geezer?" Kevin pointed at Smith's body.

  "Didn't need the extra time. Nothing much wrong with him. Hopalong's been given a subcutaneous slow-release healing agent capsule to last him the next couple of days. A bit naughty to leave something that advanced in there without supervision, but if they pick it up on an MRI they won't want to take it out until the rest of the leg's fully healed, by which time it'll have dissolved. The doctors should be left wondering if it was just a blip."

  "Man, the NHS needs some of this kit."

  "Looks like we're all done," said the Doctor, as the med-bot attending to Jackson withdrew the last of its probes and hovered expectantly above the body. "Print care instructions. Homo sapiens, early 21st century, United Kingdom. Oh, pre-collapse."

  "Pre-what?" asked Kevin.

  "Pre-collapse."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Just giving the med-bot a context for the care of our friend here. It'll look at the care regime available at that particular time and then advise medical personnel on how best to care for the patient within the parameters of the drugs and treatment regimens available at that time. I mean, if we'd just helped a knight from the mediaeval period there'd be no use in us giving care instructions that involved penicillin or paracetamol, would there? The best anti-septic for the wound would be honey, and the best painkiller and blood-thinner would be bark from the willow tree, which contains aspirin. With me?"

  "You said early 21st century, pre-collapse."

  "Yes."

  "But what about –"

  "Don't worry about it."

  "But –"

  "Smile, it might never happen. I thought you were an optimist? Let's just get on with the job in hand and not worry about the future, shall we?"

  "But your whole job is to look after the future, isn't it?"

  "Yes, and I'm telling you to please not worry about it right now. Forgive me – I didn't realise you were so sensitive about it."

  "Well, when you tell me there's a collapse coming, what am I supposed to think?"

  The Doctor looked away from Kevin's earnest eyes and went over to the control panel to make a few adjustments. "First, I didn't tell you there's a collapse coming. I just said pre-collapse." Kevin opened his mouth but the Doctor cut him off. "Just a turn of phrase. If I tell you there's nothing to worry about, then trust me on it. Now, please, time is of the essence." The med-bot held out two printed sheets of paper for the Doctor. He glanced over them, nodded, and handed them back to the bot, which pinned one to each of the two unconscious men.

  "Okay," said the Doctor, "let's get ready by the door. You take out the uninjured one first and I'll follow with Hopalong."

  "Like, can't we get the bots to lift them out,
or something?"

  "We could, Kevin. However, this little mission is already becoming a little too overt for my liking. We'll have the cloaking on of course, but it's far easier to bamboozle people with the ordinariness of two men with a body each."

  "I'll have to take your word for that, Doc."

  "Come on, then."

  A three-dimensional projection of a busy emergency department appeared, with the planned position of the Spectrel's appearance. Kevin eyed it. Something nagged at his brain.

  Kevin and the Doctor put their hands under the armpits of their respective patients. "One, two, three –" said the Doctor.

  "But Doctor, that's –"

  "Go!" yelled the Doctor.

  Kevin lifted Smith and dragged him backwards. In a second he was dragging Smith out of the Spectrel and into the waiting area of the emergency department. Learning from his previous mistakes, he continued to drag the body away from the Spectrel. He saw the Doctor appear out of the red telephone box with Jackson, bumped into someone behind him and fell over. The back of Smith's head banged loudly on the blue linoleum floor.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, young man?" said a deep, stern woman's voice behind him. Kevin felt a strong, irresistible force pulling him to his feet, and a primeval dread in his heart.

  "Mum! I can explain everything!"

  The Doctor looked back and lowered Jackson's head gently to the floor. The intravenous drip was taped to the man's chest. Now that he looked at Smith and Jackson, he realised what a bizarre sight they made. Smith was in a black Noddy suit with its head cut off, his face was bruised, and he had a drip into a cut-away area of the Noddy suit. Jackson was half-naked with a drip sitting on a pair of trousers.

  "I can take full responsibility," said the Doctor, standing.

  Mrs Thomson's nurse's training took over. "Doctor!" she yelled. "My God, what have you done to this man?"

  "He saved his leg, Mum. It was, like, amputated."