Dr. Who - BBC New Series 48

by Borrowed Time # Naomi A Alderman

  There was a knock on the door and Vanessa’s assistant Jane rushed in. ‘The, um, the people from PZP Group are here Ms Laing-Randall. Shall I show them in?’

  Vanessa pursed her lips. The Doctor was waving his knobbly black gizmo around in a circle above his head.

  ‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘can you sit down and be quiet, just for the next hour, while we win a contract worth £300m?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the Doctor thoughtfully, ‘time is money, mustn’t forget that.’ He sat, suddenly, in one of the chairs, folded his arms, crossed his legs, in a position of perfect attention.

  ‘Do you know how this works, Doctor? Perhaps you’d like me to give you a run-through of exactly what’s going to happen today, and why it’s so vitally important that you don’t, erm, spend the meeting crouching on the floor?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor, ‘why don’t you tell me all about money.’

  The brief was simple. PZP Group needed a full-service bank to carry them through the next decade and beyond. Well, that was the marketing hype. What it boiled down to were two questions: can you make us money and can you save us money? PZP Group was an industrial company - mining bauxite in South America, processing tungsten in Eastern Europe, constructing engines in Asia - the kinds of boring, sometimes dangerous work without which the whole of Western civilisation would collapse. A big company like that needed a clever bank full of highly educated and crafty people to find wonderful ways to raise money for that new mine in Chile, that new metalworking plant in India. The question was whether Lexington Bank was clever enough.

  Vanessa introduced the Doctor to the people around the table. There was Simon, tall, blond, broad-shouldered senior analyst; Rob, slightly shorter senior analyst; Audra, curly-haired senior analyst…

  ‘Don’t you have any junior analysts?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Oh yes, we do,’ nodded Audra, seriously, ‘but they’re not senior enough to come to this meeting.’

  And finally Andrew and Sameera, mid-level analysts.

  ‘But they’re vying for the top spot, aren’t you, Andrew and Sameera?’

  Vanessa sounded a bit like a primary school teacher when she said this. Andrew and Sameera both flinched slightly, then put their shoulders back and smiled.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Sameera. ‘I know I’m very keen to get that promotion.’

  ‘Yup,’ laughed Andrew, a little too heartily. ‘And I’m very keen to stop you.’

  They both chuckled, the laughter straining the corners of their mouths, and Jane Blythe showed in the clients.

  At first, the meeting went well. The clients - three American businesspeople, two men and a woman -

  enjoyed their tea and made the obligatory little joke about how British people always serve tea. They were relaxed, leaning back in their chairs, admiring the view out of the window onto the glass sculpture far below them.

  And the first presentation started pretty well. It was Andrew Brown’s turn to present his strategies for PZP Group’s next big project, a magnesium facility exporting to Europe. He brought up his colourful PowerPoint presentation with the pie charts he’d spent more time than he really should have both composing and animating. He thought he was holding the room’s attention. But then… one of the American businessmen passed a note to the woman. She opened it, nodded, and glanced at the man. Andrew forgot what he was supposed to say next. He stumbled over his words. He ground to a halt.

  He stared at the note. The American clients stared at him.

  ‘Is there…’ Andrew said at last, ‘a problem?’

  The American woman smiled very broadly, showing rows of gleaming white teeth.

  ‘No problem, Mr Brown, you go on.’ She paused.

  ‘It’s only that when Morgan Stanley gave us their pitch their analysis was rather more complex? They’d dealt with the tax implications as well.’

  ‘The tax…?’

  ‘The tax implications in Delaware? Since that’s a vital part of the analysis?’

  Andrew Brown turned his rictus grin into a smooth smile.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve actually prepared a document about that. Just give me a moment and I’ll be right back with it.’

  It really was a moment, the clients were most impressed. He’d barely left the room, couldn’t have had time even to walk down the corridor before he re-entered clutching a pile of warm, newly photocopied documents. He handed them out to the Americans.

  They flicked through and smiled.

  The Doctor looked at Vanessa. ‘Very fast, your team,’

  he said.

  ‘The most efficient in London,’ she smiled back.

  Simon was next to pitch. His presentation was efficient and effective, marred only slightly by the moment when one of the American men, still faintly smirking, still with an air of friendship, said, ‘You know, when we asked Merrill Lynch for their views, they had an expert on International Law standing by.’

  ‘An expert on…’ Simon’s confidence dribbled away visibly. ‘I think we can…’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sameera, ‘I’ve asked our senior in-house

  lawyer to wait outside for just this sort of question.’ She stood up and, looking each of the clients directly in the eye, said, ‘I’ll just be two minutes.’

  She really was just two minutes. Maybe less. As if she’d stepped into the room next door and then come straight back, bringing the in-house lawyer with her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘it was so kind of you waiting all that time with me,’ but she shushed him quickly and the pitch went on. Vanessa gave Sameera an impressed nod. Andrew Brown shot her a look of pure loathing.

  The Doctor raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

  Next it was Rob’s turn to present his thoughts. Again, the American clients listened very politely, and it was only when he’d got to the very end of his presentation that one of them raised a query.

  ‘But,’ said the woman, ‘how will technology fit into this? Will we be able to get updates on the project delivered remotely, for example? I’d hate,’ she laughed, ‘not to be able to check in from my smartphone.’

  ‘We all live on our smartphones,’ laughed one of the men, as if this were a hilarious joke.

  Spotting Rob’s panicky face, Andrew leapt up before Sameera had the chance.

  ‘I was thinking the same thing!’ he half-yelped, ‘and I’ve prepared a technical demonstration if you’ll bear with me for just a moment.’

  It took slightly longer for Andrew Brown to come back into the room this time. About long enough, the Doctor estimated, for him to run down to the end of the corridor, get into the lift, go down one floor and then come back up. Not long enough for him to have, oh, let’s say, constructed a working prototype of a field transmitter which would send updates every fifteen minutes to a specially created application which he’d somehow also put onto the smartphones of every client in the room. That would have taken several weeks, not just a few minutes. Although Andrew Brown was looking a bit more tired. And hadn’t he been…

  ‘Weren’t you wearing a blue tie just now, Andrew?

  With egg on it?’ said the Doctor.

  Andrew looked shocked. And frightened. ‘I um,’ he muttered, ‘was I wearing a…’

  ‘I expect he changed it,’ said Vanessa, ‘didn’t you, Andrew?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Andrew. ‘Now let me show you round this prototype.’

  The clients were very impressed. Relaxed, smiling.

  It was clear that Lexington Bank really went that extra mile. Sameera got up to give her presentation. It was flawless. There were no questions, the clients had no problems. Her last slide was greeted with a riotous round of applause from the whole conference room.

  ‘That was just great,’ said one of the American men.

  ‘Awesome.’ He grinned at his colleagues. ‘Best birthday gift ever.’

  Sameera cocked her head to one side. ‘It’s your birthday?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘I don’t lik
e to make a big deal out of it. Shame there’s no cake though, huh?’ he joked.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sameera. ‘No, we’ve got a cake for you!

  Just wait here…’

  The clients thought she was joking. She wasn’t. She left the room for - the Doctor estimated - 12.8 seconds and returned with a huge cake iced with the words ‘Happy Birthday Greg’ on the top.

  ‘We’re a full-service bank,’ she smiled.

  ‘You certainly are,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘It’s all down to the excellent time-management practices I’ve instituted,’ said Vanessa.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ said the Doctor.

  And, without warning, he grabbed Vanessa and dragged her out into the corridor.

  ‘So what is going on here, Vanessa Laing-Randall.

  What on earth is going on here, eh?’

  Vanessa gave a wide-eyed look of total innocence.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Doctor. All that’s going on here is excellent business practice at a multinational bank with wide-ranging capabilities and a versatile team who…’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Something’s going on here and you know exactly what it is.’

  ‘I can promise you, Doctor, I don’t.’

  Vanessa suddenly became aware that her mousy assistant Jane had followed them out and was staring at them with inquisitive eyes. If the Doctor was about to accuse her of mismanagement, she hardly wanted it to get around all the secretaries in the building.

  ‘Come with me, Doctor,’ she said.

  They walked along the corridor. In one of the offices, a manager was talking to a pair of besuited salesmen.

  ‘That’s right, Mr Blenkinsop, as much as you can use…’ one of the salesmen was saying. The Doctor looked at them curiously.

  ‘Now,’ said Vanessa, drawing his attention back to her, ‘what precisely is it you’re accusing me of?’

  ‘Where are you from?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Where ami…?’

  ‘Perfectly simple question, you should be able to give a perfectly simple answer. Where are you from?’

  ‘Chelsea.’

  The Doctor took a pace towards Vanessa. She didn’t take a pace back; she was made of sterner stuff.

  ‘No really,’ he said very quietly. ‘No need to lie, it’s just you and me, no one else can hear, and you know you can’t shock me, no matter what you say. Where are you from?’

  Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘Just between us?’

  ‘Goes no further.’

  ‘Can’t have it getting out.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Vanessa. ‘I’m not really from Chelsea. I’m from Luton.’

  The Doctor breathed out sharply through his nostrils.

  ‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. Vanessa, Where Is It?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  The Doctor stood very close to Vanessa, so close she could feel his hot breath on her cheek as he whispered.

  ‘Where did you get your grubby little hands on a time machine? It must be very crude, whatever it is, so who should I be returning it to?’

  Vanessa laughed. ‘A time machine! Doctor, don’t be absurd, I know we’re efficient but we’re hardly.

  ‘All right then, not a time machine, because why would you stay on this planet if you had one? Big company like this, someone might have sold you some black-market technology, calling it…’ he waved his hands in the air, ‘a Higgs Diverter?’

  Vanessa’s face remained blank.

  ‘Chrononillium Mega Condenser? Espedarian Back-and-Forth? Raston Warrior Glitch technology?’

  Vanessa stared him straight in the eye. ‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, but if you’re having some kind of fit, maybe you should lie down.’

  The Doctor narrowed his eyes and stared hard into her face. ‘I’m going to find out what you’re up to, you know. Humans using time travel like this - probably without proper shielding, without training, without any hint of bureaucracy?! Have you never even heard of the Blinovitch Limitation Effect?’

  ‘Ahem.’ There was a small cough from somewhere below the Doctor’s ranting eyeline. He looked down. It was Jane, the secretary. She was holding a piece of cake on a paper plate.

  ‘We thought,’ she said, ‘you might like some of the birthday cake?’

  The Doctor suddenly beamed warmly. ‘Certainly would, very kind of you, very kind indeed never say no to a birthday cake - except my own, obviously. If I tried to have a birthday cake the candles would probably set the whole planet on fire, I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Not really,’ Vanessa sniffed as the Doctor tried to cram the whole piece of cake into his mouth in one go.

  ‘Orff Mrrf Gnff,’ he said, then chewed hard a few more times, made an enormous gulping motion and swallowed the cake. ‘I mean, oh my god, this cake is amazing - I don’t know where Sameera got it from, or should I say “when”? But honestly it’s… I have to tell Amy. May I?’

  The Doctor pulled the smartphone from Jane’s hand, and dialled.

  ‘Pond!’ he said. ‘You have to get up here right now … Yes, of course it’s urgent, why would I call you if it wasn’t urgent? Come up to the tenth floor right now!’

  Chapter

  6

  Down on the fifth floor, while the Doctor was listening to a pitch meeting and Rory was eavesdropping on mailroom conversation, Amy was supposed to be ‘finding out stuff’. What ‘stuff’ that was wasn’t quite clear to her, though.

  The Doctor had told her to spend time with Sameera Jenkins, a middle-ranking middle-manager on the middle floor of this tall building. But Sameera - a sweet-faced Asian woman with a Lancashire accent and rock-hard attitude that totally contradicted the impression given by her charming smile - didn’t want her around.

  In fact, Sameera had looked her up and down, said: ‘You’d never get away with a skirt that short if you actually worked here, you know,’ and walked out. To a meeting, she said.

  So Amy did the only thing she could do in those circumstances. She sat in Sameera’s chair, checked the coast was clear, and tried looking through the drawers in her desk. She knew what she’d seen in Brian Edelman’s

  office. He’d fiddled with something on his wrist, and then something very nasty indeed had happened to him.

  If she could just find some evidence that Sameera had one of those bracelets, or whatever, she could take it to the Doctor, the Doctor could solve the whole mystery in one mental leap, and they could all go off to somewhere a bit more interesting than a bank.

  The top drawer was open - nothing incriminating in there though, just stationery and receipts. Amy flicked through the receipts idly. How weird. Sameera had bought lunch five times yesterday. At the same sandwich shop, within about two hours. An eating disorder? She didn’t look like a woman who ate five lunches a day, but maybe working at a bank was much more energetic them Amy had thought?

  The second drawer was open too. Some extremely boring-looking reports labelled ‘client guides’ and a notepad: Amy looked through the notepad. Every page was labelled with a different date, and had a list of meetings and, for no obvious reason Amy could see, a list of clothing. She looked at today: ‘Tuesday, PZP

  Group, navy suit, cream blouse, pearl earrings, tiny tea stain on left cuff.’ Sameera was suffering from some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder.

  She tried the third drawer. It was locked. Now, this was looking up. A locked drawer meant secrets, and if the Doctor was involved surely they were scary and exciting secrets, and if they were scary and exciting secrets then she ought to know what they were.

  Amy picked up the letter opener from the top of the desk and tried wiggling it in between the second drawer and the third. If she could get the letter opener into the

  groove in the bar just above the drawer… She knelt down to get a better purchase on the slippery handle.

  The locking bar was
heavy, but for a second she almost had it, and then the knife slid out with a thunk. Try again, get a better angle… She bent over…

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Amy stood up abruptly, thumping her head on the desk.

  ‘I…’ she said. ‘Look, it’s not what it looks like.

  Amy couldn’t help noticing that Sameera was indeed wearing a navy suit with a cream blouse, pearl earrings and a tiny tea stain on the left cuff.

  ‘It seems to me it’s exactly what it looks like, Miss Pond. I don’t care who you are and I don’t care who sent you, I’m going to call security.’

  Sameera reached for the phone. As she stretched out her hand, Amy saw something on her wrist. It was a watch - or something like a watch - a thick black cuff clipped around her arm, with several dials moving at different speeds on the face. And there was something strange about it. It looked like its edges were blurred, as if it was vibrating very fast, or as if it wasn’t quite here at all. Amy knew without a moment’s thought that she was looking at alien technology. She lunged for Sameera’s wrist.

  ‘What’s this, Sameera?’ she said, ‘not something you’d want your bosses to know about I bet…’

  ‘No!’ shouted Sameera.

  Amy’s hand came down heavily on the watch.

  Underneath her palm she felt one of the buttons on the side of the watch click in. Sameera tried to pull her off, scrabbling at her hand but Amy held on. They fell

  across the desk, tumbling the telephone and a shower of stationery products to the floor. Sameera’s hand was wriggling. She pushed her other hand hard into Amy’s neck, forcing her down, and then did something with her leg, taking Amy’s knees out from under her.

  Amy fell backwards, landing heavily on the floor, and Sameera wrenched her wrist out of Amy’s hand.

  Sameera pressed something on her watch and Amy suddenly felt a moment of tiredness. It was like she got heavier, just for a moment, or slower somehow, and then her body compensated and she was back to normal. She sat up slowly. What she saw frightened her.

  It was like there were ghosts in the room - ghosts of her and of Sameera. Fighting. She could see them, hazy, half in and half out of reality, slowly moving and talking and fighting and falling.