Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones

by Mark Speed

  “They promised they’d get through them by tomorrow. The polyps were all male, and incapable of asexual reproduction.”

  “That was very lenient of you, Peter. By rights you should have destroyed them all.”

  “Well, the Rindans are alright. They’re a bit funny about holy week and, after fifty years of doing all of this stuff on my own, I could have done without the paperwork.” When looked self-conscious as the Doctor spat out that last sentence with a trace of bitterness. “I probably need to report in to Dolt today. They’ve not responded to me and I’ve got better things to do than chase false alarms.”

  “In the absence of your own Spectrel, I’d be happy to give you a lift down there to save you some time.”

  “Would you? Thanks, that would be most useful. Kevin, you might as well jump in for the ride. You keep going on about wanting to meet more aliens.” Kevin shot him a look. “I mean out-of-towners. Maybe I do need to get you out more. So far, the only ones you’ve met have been trying to kill you. With that, and your daft Rorrim alien-bashing videogame you have a totally distorted view of the Pleasant universe. Come on. Trin, you’d better stay here.”

  Kevin was second into When’s Spectrel, and the Doctor was last. The fact that he had to stoop down and then squeeze through the small door in the red pillar box made the contrast between the outside and inside of the Spectrel greater.

  The interior contrasted with Where and How’s Spectrels. Where’s was ribbed rubber flooring and seats arranged like those in a London black cab. How’s was pure white glowing walls and seats arranged around the circular walls, with a sleek control panel in the centre.

  The interior of When’s Spectrel was dim, mostly beige and grey, and something about it reminded him of the ship in the first Alien movie – the one the crew of the Nostromo had found the eggs in. When’s Spectrel had that air of strange, dark otherness. Not in a bad way or, at least, not that bad. After all, the ship the alien eggs had been found in was one which had been overcome by them. Whatever culture the ship had belonged to wasn’t the same species that impregnated hosts’ bodies with carnivorous parasites. He put the line of thought from his head and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  As his eyes adjusted, Kevin could see that there were objects in every direction. They cluttered the space so much that he found it difficult to tell how big it was. One of them he thought he recognised – a brass cube sitting on top of an oak table, next to some other artefacts. It was about three inches on each side, with a triangle of brass sticking out like the fin of a shark on each side. There were Roman numerals etched into surfaces. “That’s a sundial,” he said. “But… there’s a sundial on every face of that cube.”

  “Very good, Kevin,” said When, with an edge of excitement. “Except for the bottom face of the cube, of course. Made for Cardinal Wolsey during the reign of King Henry VIII. It’s a nice piece, isn’t it? It will tell you the time accurately in London – or anywhere on the same latitude as London. Just put it on a flat surface and line it up north-south.”

  “So you need a compass to use it? Or if you knew when midday was, that would be due south. But then you’d not need to know the time if you knew that. Big design flaw, Walter.”

  “Unless you happen to be near a building which is lined up precisely on compass bearings. I wonder,” said When, adopting a scholarly tone, “if you could name the sort of building that might be useful, Kevin.”

  “Uh…”

  “There’s a clue in the name of the person it was made for.”

  “Cardinal Woolly. Er, I’m gonna guess it’s a church. Right?”

  “Oh, excellent, Kevin.”

  “And all this other stuff, man. This whole collection. These are all horological in nature. Right?”

  “Got it in one!” said the ecstatic When.

  “Lovely collection, Walter. I tell ya, I went to the museum at the Greenwich observatory on a school trip when I was a kid, you know?”

  “Oh, that must have been very inspiring for you,” said When. “Although of course there is a little bit of a maritime bias to that collection. In particular to the work of my friend Mr John Harrison.”

  “I just remember clocks, man. Loads of ’em. With weird springs and stuff. So this is like a giant clock museum floating around in the space-time continuum?”

  “I suppose you could describe it as such, yes.”

  “Great. Only this morning I was thinking that was exactly what me and the Doc needed in the fight against the aliens. Maybe we could bore them to death?”

  “Each to their own, Kevin,” said How sternly, stifling a smile. “Walter, if you’d be so kind as to let me steer your Spectrel for a moment?”

  “By all means, Peter.”

  Kevin looked around for a seat, but there was none. He guessed someone like When was more concerned with functionality than comfort, and that guests or passengers were a rarity.

  The Doctor stepped over to an oak box, covered in an array of brass dials, which was sitting atop a sturdy table. “It’s been a while,” said the Doctor. “But I have to say the controls are beautifully balanced, Walter.”

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  “Right, here we are. Chez Plensca, Du Cane Court, Balham. A little rude to barge in on them like this, but there you are – it’s their alarm signal. So long as we’re naked when we step into their dwelling, we’re not committing too big a faux pas.”

  “No,” said Kevin. “No. Freakin’. Way.”

  “It’s a trust thing in some societies, Kevin. A bit like shaking hands to show that there’s no weapon in your right hand.”

  Kevin laughed manically. “Like, you’re telling me the entire universe is some giant naturist colony?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m telling you,” said the Doctor, who had already hung his jacket up and was removing his socks. “The Rindan are an ancient people with customs which should be respected. If you’re coming with me on this one, you’re coming naked.”

  Kevin stared at the Doctor, who continued to disrobe. When he was down to his underwear the Doctor said, “I take it you’re not coming, then?”

  “Like, this is some kind of initiation thing. Right? You has like got a load of other Time Keepers or aliens – I mean out-of-towners – out there, wherever that is. Right? Coz out there could be like anywhere in the universe, man. It could be the Alpha Centauri space cadets’ convention out there and I would be none the wiser, would I? And it’s like I just finished my first mission yesterday, so I’m part of some kinda exclusive club now and there’s a bar an’ stuff and there’s a party and I go out there naked and it’s a big joke. My photo gets taken with my bits hangin’ out and lookin’ all surprised and it goes on display in the clubhouse, but that’s me in the club officially because that’s the initiation ceremony. You get me?”

  “Oh, good grief,” said the Doctor. “I’ve told you before: Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is usually the right one.” He removed his underpants, took his Tsk Army Ultraknife out of his jacket and stepped out of the Spectrel.

  “Doctor? Wait!” Kevin hurriedly took his clothes off, letting them fall to the floor whilst When set about pretending to dust a couple of museum pieces. He ran to the Spectrel’s door and bumped into the naked Doctor, who was coming back in.

  “For God’s sake, Kevin! Make your mind up, lad.”

  “S-sorry, Boss.” Kevin covered his nakedness.

  “No need to stand on ceremony now. The Plenscas are dead. Put your clothes back on.”

  Stepping into the sitting room of a London apartment from a red Post Office box was a new experience for Kevin. There was a little puff of air as the pillar box disappeared, leaving a hole for the air to fill. How had sent When back for Trinity.

  The first thing that Kevin noticed was there was nothing to notice. There was nothing that would mark the sitting room as alien to the untrained eye.

  “That’s because they’re bipedal,” said the Doctor, “and about the sam
e height and weight as you lot. They just have to wear biomasks when they want to go out on the street.”

  “Biomasks?”

  “Yes. Biological outerwear for the out-of-towner. It simulates the human signature in terms of look, smell, basic physiology, fingerprints – the whole shebang. They can go through any scanner in your civilisation and pass for human.”

  “Wow! Amazing idea.”

  “Thank you. One of my quirkier inventions. The royalties would be much greater if we allowed more people to visit and have diplomatic status.”

  “Whoa. You mean there are, like, thousands of these people living amongst us?”

  “The numbers are confidential, but there are a fair few, yes. Earlier versions weren’t quite so reliable, but they’re pretty good now.”

  “You mean the masks would… fail?”

  “Yes. Ever heard the expression ‘the mask slipped?’”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Believe me, that used to really scare the pants off some of your people.”

  “Wait a second… All this stuff about the Grays, and the masks and stuff.”

  “What of it?”

  “I mean, that’s it, isn’t it? The Grays are here. They’ve been here all along, hiding behind these biomasks!”

  “Yes, of course. Look, we can’t just stand here having an expositional conversation.”

  “Oh, my God! So it’s true!”

  “Partially. They’re not grey, for a start. As you’ve already seen, there’s a whole variety of species here.

  “So they control, like, the government and everything?”

  “Can you please stop dancing that annoying little jig? And the answer is no. All these disastrous policies are of your species’ own stupid doing. Don’t try to palm it off on a bunch of out-of-towners. Now, we have to investigate.”

  “Investigate what?”

  “The deaths of the Rindan consul and her husband.”

  “I don’t see no bodies.”

  “Of course not. Through here.”

  Holding his Tsk Army Ultraknife in front of him, the Doctor led Kevin through to the bathroom. “I’ve got my first encounter with the scene recorded,” he said. “Nothing I could do, as you can see. Just bones left of Mrs Plensca, and only the lower half of her husband.”

  “Maaan. Oh. I feel sick.”

  “Don’t keep it in if you need to let it out. But please don’t vomit on the remains. The Rindans have all sorts of rituals and they’ll want those back ASAP. More paperwork for yours truly.”

  “What d’you think happened? I mean, how did they die?”

  “I would have thought it was blindingly obvious that they were eaten – quite possibly alive. Her first.”

  “Like, I can see that, Doc. But what ate them? And where is it now?”

  “It? Maybe it was a they. Here’s what I think happened. Mrs Plensca is overpowered, her husband comes in to investigate and is ambushed by a second… assailant. They’ve got through an awful lot of flesh, I must say. Too much for just one creature which, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now, is no longer in here. And it doesn’t seem to be the kind of species that uses the front door when exiting, either – the keys are still in the apartment and the door’s locked. And I don’t think it – or they – can still be in here. Not according to my Ultraknife, anyway.”

  Kevin became aware of a presence behind him, and jumped when he caught a glimpse of a giant spider’s leg in the mirror. “Jesus, Trin,” he said. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to you. Why’s she here?”

  “Sniffing around for evidence. Come through, Trin.”

  Kevin and the Doctor moved out of the cramped bathroom to let the super-predator in. She hunched over each set of remains for a minute, then began a slow and methodical examination of every inch of floor, wall and ceiling. She settled on an area of the shower wall, then stared at the Doctor. After a few seconds he nodded, then focused on his Ultraknife. A few seconds after that he sighed with relief.

  “It was their own, stupid fault,” he said.

  “What happened?”

  “Have you ever heard of fugu?”

  “No. Is that like some rude acronym or something?”

  “It’s Japanese and translated literally means river pig. We call them puffer fish. It’s a delicacy. The fish contains a toxin twelve times deadlier than cyanide. If it’s not carefully prepared by a qualified chef, it could be your last meal.”

  “So you’re telling me they were poisoned, then eaten? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s just an analogy. Some cultures get a kick out of risky cuisine. I’m sorry to mention it again, but your own father was ultimately killed by the Caledonian-Caribbean cuisine your mother prepared for him.”

  “Come off it, Doc – that’s hardly the same as playing fish roulette!”

  “Isn’t it? I suppose the fish will either kill you or it won’t – but a Scottish diet will get you in the end. It’s just that it’ll take a few decades longer.”

  “Stop lecturing and just tell me.”

  “It seems that those polyps can morph.”

  “The polyps they were growing for their holy week?”

  “The same. There’s a chance that, given the right conditions, they can morph into something rather nasty – you know, a bit aggressive and carnivorous. It’s part of the whole Rindan life-death thing to take that risk, I guess. And if you’re not an experienced grower of these things, and you don’t have the right equipment – well, you’re just asking for trouble. Just bad luck for the Plenscas that some of theirs morphed. Trini thinks three.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Eaten by the ones that morphed. Carnivores don’t tend to be fussy. Especially if they’re below a certain level of sentience. And if the environment had been a little more conducive in here they’d have stayed to eat the Plenscas’ bones too.” The Doctor stroked his chin and sighed. “They’re water-based, and would have squeezed down the toilet to escape. The ones that survived are now on the loose in the sewers of London. And someone’s going to have to go after them.”

  “Doc, if you think I’m going to go up to my neck in sewage you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, lad. Help is always at hand.” He paused and looked down at Trinity. “Isn’t it, Trin?”

  She stared back at him, her look inscrutable to Kevin. He felt a pang of envy at this close relationship between Trinity and the Doctor. It was almost symbiotic, and he wondered – not for the first time – how it had developed. All he recalled was that the Doctor had once saved her life.

  “She likes the taste of those things. Or at least she did when they were young and tender and made just a couple of mouthfuls. Nothing like a bit of live game, eh old girl? The reward at the end of a hunt. Trouble is that we just don’t know how far they can travel in a day. Trin reckons these two have been dead a few hours – maybe half a day.”

  “But when did you get the alarm? Is that not when they got attacked?”

  “No, the alarm relay was tampered with last week. Never quite got to the bottom of that. Anyway, the polyps aren’t that stupid. They’re not like your terrestrial ones. According to the articles I’ve just digested they can do an easy half-mile a day. London’s sewers are a warren. They could easily ride the currents in the buried rivers too.”

  “Buried rivers?”

  “Shame on your lack of local knowledge, lad. Over your way there’s the Effra. The artist John Ruskin said the first painting of any merit was of a bridge over the Effra near Herne Hill. In King Canute’s time you could sail up it to where Brixton stands now.”

  “Wow. Unreal.”

  “All a sewer now, of course. Covered over as London grew. The river Falcon comes off springs in Streatham Hill, down the sewers and through Balham. If they catch that current they’ll be off down to the Thames and away. Not that I think they’d like the salinity, but it does mean they can travel. If food’s scarce, which it probab
ly is, they’ll go their separate ways. They could be just about anywhere now. We are, quite literally, in a world of shit – if you’ll pardon my expression.”

  “Like, I think it’s justified.”

  “Luckily, I know a chap who can help. In the meantime, I’ll have to call the Cleaners.”

  “The Cleaners?”

  “Yes, get these bodies cleaned up.” The Doctor sighed and stroked his chin. “I could do without all this bother. Eaten by your own lunch. What a way to go.” He caught a look from Trinity. “She says that’s the way of the universe – you either make lunch, or you are lunch. Hard to think of anyone making lunch of you, Trin.”

  Trinity’s head bobbed in laughter.

  The Cleaners had arrived just half an hour after Doctor How had called. Trinity had gone back to his house with When in the Spectrel. Kevin suspected it simplified things somewhat – no explanation of Trinity, or of Walter’s Spectrel, would be required. No rumours would leak into the out-of-town community about How’s Spectrel not being present, so no alarm would be raised. This was the tragic death of a diplomat and her husband, at which the relationship between food and eater had been unfortunately reversed.

  Kevin had been surprised at the ordinariness of the Cleaners’ appearance – a couple of thirty-something men in overalls. They shook hands warmly with the Doctor, and then turned to Kevin to do the same. It had felt strange to let them take his right hand in what he knew to be only a facsimile of a human hand. He tried to imagine their handshakes feeling different underneath, but couldn’t detect anything.

  They looked him straight in the eye as they performed the very human ritual, and he could see no hint of the alien visage lurking behind. He felt curiously naked and observed; disadvantaged by the fact that he was the one presenting his true face to the world. Strangest of all was that they spoke with what sounded to his ears like Eastern European accents.

  “Are you yanking my chain? Are they, like, actually Polish or Hungarian or something?” he whispered when the two had started work in the bathroom.

  The Doctor beamed. “Pretty good facsimile, eh? I always try to make my clients’ disguises reflect human trends as closely as possible. I have to say that the opening of your borders to Eastern Europeans has made it considerably easier for all of us. It always is when there are waves of migration. The greater the variety, the easier it is. Just don’t expect these lads to smoke, or to stand around drinking cans of beer on street corners.”