Doctor How and the Illegal Aliens: Book 1: The Doctor Who Is Not a Time Lord

by Mark Speed

  Kevin sucked his teeth. “I mean, you explained the analogy so brilliantly, Doctor, that even a lowly human couldn’t fail to understand it. Anyway, what do the results say?”

  “D’you know, they’re rather interesting. Whatever the implement was that cut the steel fence and the fuel lines of the taxis wasn’t made of metal. Nor, in fact, was it anything like diamond. In fact, it was biological in nature.”

  “Come on, Doc. That isn’t possible.”

  The Doctor fixed his assistant with a stare. “Please don’t make me go down the baboon analogy again because I couldn’t face another conversation like that with your mother. Nothing is impossible, Kevin. Heavier-than-air flight was thought impossible. If you want to be my assistant – and especially if you want to be an assistant who survives the experience, and I hope you do, because I’d imagine the conversation with your mother would be even worse than the one about the baboon analogy – then you’d better start believing in the impossible.”

  “Okay, I get the message.”

  “Look at nature on your own planet, for heaven’s sake. You have insects that can support five hundred times their own weight when they hang upside-down. They don’t need to be able to do that, but they can do it all the same. And you’ve still to invent something superior to the silk produced by spiders.”

  “I suppose so. I’ve seen Trinity cut open a tin. That was out of this world, man.”

  “Exactly. So at least we know that we’re probably dealing with something biological in nature. Or something that has a biological appendage. Though I can’t see any good reason to add a biological appendage to a machine. It has been done, though. Hmm. Food for thought, and a distinct possibility.”

  “Yeah, it could be a machine that runs off diesel. With a jaw made of some super-hard biological material.”

  “Most of the things that run off petrochemicals aren’t motors, Kevin.”

  “You what?”

  “Bacteria digest petrochemicals. Diesel would be a pretty good food source for a creature that evolved in a carbon-rich environment.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Plenty of life-forms live off methane, often in liquid form.”

  “But it would have to be freezing for liquid methane.”

  “Nice thinking, but not if the pressure were high enough. Bees feed off sugar, which is just a crystalline hydrocarbon. Put the same molecules in a ring and you’d have an oil. Bacteria quite happily store energy as plastic, the same way you store your excess chicken nuggets and milkshake calories as fat. Anyway, we digress. It needs diesel, for whatever reason. Almost certainly as a source of energy. That diesel tank it ruptured at the filling station must have been a bit of a shock for it. A bit like a drunk drowning in a vat of whisky. No wonder it didn’t stick around.”

  “Wasn’t there another sample? The one from the puddle.”

  “Hydrocarbons again – as you’d expect in a car park for taxis. But also some amino acids.”

  “What, amino acids as in protein?”

  “Very good. Yes, amino acids of some sort. Not necessarily what you’d expect in a puddle in a car park. I did take a control sample from another puddle. The hydrocarbons in that one were human industrial in origin, and there were no amino acids.”

  “So you think it’s like a creature, or something. Something alive, I mean.”

  “A pretty fair bet. A very powerful creature that feeds off diesel. I’d guess its extraordinary strength comes from its need to burrow.”

  “This is all well and good, Doctor,” said Kevin, using the last of his bun to mop up some piri-piri sauce from his plate, “But I’ve no idea how we’re going to track this thing down.”

  “And if you think I do either, you’re very much mistaken.”

  “But that’s hopeless!”

  “Isn’t it exciting, though? For all we know, that creature – or hundreds like it – could be tunnelling away under our feet right at this moment. Who knows when and where it – or they – might strike next?”

  “So can’t you work it out?”

  “Eventually. But there’s not enough to go on yet. I think the answer may lie elsewhere.”

  “Doctor, I’ve had enough of Dagenham now. “I know bits of Tulse Hill is bleak, but this is just hideous. I mean all the houses are this horrible pebble-dashed grey and brown.”

  “These are called ‘banjos’ by the locals, you know. If you look at the shape of the streets from the air, they’re like a giant banjo. A circular bit at one end, then a couple of parallel streets leading off back to the main road. I suppose the idea was that there wasn’t any through-traffic, and you got a bit of a community feel to it. These are suburbs designed for the age of the automobile. We’re in Dagenham, after all – Britain’s equivalent of Detroit, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, Detroit without the charm. Or the glamorous architecture. Or the contribution to black music. And the problem is that if you go up one of these banjos, you have to come all the way back down before you get to the next one, innit? It’s a mad idea. Especially if you is on foot. I don’t know why we didn’t get a cab or something. Or the Spectrel.”

  The Doctor had his Tsk Army Ultraknife out, and was sweeping it slowly from side to side as they walked up the street at a snail’s pace. A woman pushing a pram gave them a suspicious look as she passed the other way.

  “My apologies; bad management on my part. I should have explained this afternoon’s objective to keep you motivated. We’re trying to find where Where is. Where is here somewhere.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said Where is here somewhere.”

  “You’ve lost me again, Doc. Where’s here?”

  “Yes, exactly. Now keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Nah, I still don’t get it. Who is where?”

  “No! Where isn’t Who. Nothing like him. Where is here. Somewhere. Who is elsewhere.”

  “Where’s your cousin?”

  “Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be looking for him, would I? Pay attention, would you?”

  “No, I’m saying that Where is your cousin. Your cousin is called Where.”

  “Of course he is. Honestly, Kevin. I thought you were pretty bright but now I’m having doubts. We’re trying to find where he is.”

  Kevin took a couple of deep breaths and counted to five. “I take it he’s not on your Christmas card list no more.”

  “No.”

  “Your family had this big falling-out, yeah? And you hasn’t spoken since?”

  The Doctor nodded.

  “But, like, you should be able to find each other easily. You have all this hi-tech gear. It would be like trying to find an elephant in a herd of cows, surely?”

  “Bad analogy. More like trying to find a tiny chameleon on a green wall covered with ordinary lizards. Actually, that’s also a bad analogy because you might be able to infer the presence of the chameleon by the absence of other lizards, or the behaviour of the other lizards due to the presence of the chameleon you can’t see. Maybe a tiny chameleon living on the back of a lizard on a wall covered in lizards.”

  “So he’s like a parasite, your cousin?”

  “No, no, no. Look, he’s just difficult to find. Alright? He doesn’t want to be found. And, to be honest, I think his powers have probably degraded somewhat – hence the fact that he got hacked. That makes him doubly hard to find because he’s not giving out much in the way of signals I can pick up. Luckily, though, I’m able to pick up something from his Spectrel. It’s degraded too.”

  “Isn’t there some, like, relationship between you and your T— Spectrel?”

  The Doctor stopped and faced him. “Yes, there is. That’s one thing that the BBC did at least get right. There’s kind of a symbiotic relationship between a Time Keeper and his Spectrel. That makes it doubly important to find Where. If he’s compromised, whoever it is that tried hacking us can get at the others.”

  “Surely they can help you too, right?”

  The Docto
r snorted.

  “Like I said, you should get therapy for those issues. I bet your Christmas card list is, like, really small.”

  “Here we go… Yes, here we go, Kevin. Up ahead – not much more than forty or fifty yards.” They looked along the street, both sides of which were lined with cars in front of drab, identikit houses. “It’s actually rather clever to hide somewhere so unglamorous and nondescript.”

  “Rather him than me.”

  They walked on, the Doctor waving his Ultraknife in smaller arcs. To Kevin’s surprise, he began waving it more in the direction of the parked cars than the houses. Finally he was pointing it directly at a dilapidated old black cab.

  “Oh, dear God,” said the Doctor.

  “Whassup?”

  “This is it. This is his Spectrel.”

  “What, this piece of junk? It’s filthy. And the tyres are flat too. This is ready for the scrapyard. You sure you’ve got it right?”

  “Oh, this is Where’s alright. This is bad, Kevin. This is really bad.”

  Kevin rubbed some of the grime off the window on the passenger’s side and cupped his hands against the glass to peer inside. “Filthy inside, too. Junk and all sorts. Someone’s been eating a McDonald’s and just chucking it in the back.” He touched the side of the vehicle and felt only cold metal. He wondered if this was how a Spectrel was supposed to feel.

  “I feel faint. My poor cousin.” The Doctor leaned back against a garden wall.

  “Road tax is up-to-date,” said Kevin, brightly. “Expires in September. If he’d not kept it taxed it would have been towed. That’s encouraging, innit?”

  “I suppose so.” He pushed himself away from the wall again. “I wonder which house is his?”

  “Um… I, like, don’t think you have to look far.”

  The Doctor followed Kevin’s gaze to the house next door to the one whose wall he’d been leaning against. The grass was completely overgrown. A buddleia had sprouted in the middle of the lawn and a blue bag trapped in its branches flapped in the breeze. The paint on the front door was peeling and the curtains were closed, both upstairs and down. All the other houses in the street had modern uPVC double-glazing fitted, but this house had retained its wooden frames. Most of the paint had peeled from them, and the wood underneath was clearly rotten.

  “I feared as much,” said the Doctor. “At least he has a semi-detached, I suppose. He walked up the drive between the two houses. Whilst the neighbour’s garage was well-kept, his cousin’s was not. The neighbours had installed a metal swing-down door, but his cousin’s was the original wooden design. It was rotten at the bottom and one of the four panes of glass at the top was broken. He peered inside. “Full of junk,” he called back to Kevin. He tried the gate into the back garden. It was padlocked, but when he pushed it the latch came away from its rotten surround.

  “It makes the front garden look like an entry at the Chelsea Flower Show,” said Kevin. The grass was knee-height, and a few sycamore saplings had taken root in the lawn. The borders were impenetrable.

  “He’s gone native,” said the Doctor. “Look, he’s even got a brick-built barbecue set on his weed-infested patio.” He went over to examine it. “The coals suggest it was used just the once, then left to rust. He moved some considerable time ago. But to find this… It’s just so far beneath what he was. I mean, he was always the least fastidious of us but one always assumed that whatever bottom he hit, it would be above this. Substantially above.”

  “It happens, Doc. You should at least be grateful he’s alive. Besides, each to their own, you know? Some people are happy with less than what you’ve got. Like about ninety-nine percent of the population. You get me?”

  “Please,” said the Doctor, closing his eyes and sighing. He opened them again. “Please don’t equate human affairs and human lives to ours. That’s another layer of presumption and prejudice you’ll have to drop if you want to succeed in your role. Just as you should judge historical figures by the time in which they lived, you should judge other species by their own culture and biology. After all, you don’t judge stags for keeping harems and rutting, do you?”

  “Yeah, but your cousin is intelligent, right? You should respect the fact that he had freedom of choice, no matter what his background or upbringing.”

  “What a very modern view, Kevin. The individual can do what the hell he or she likes and absolve themselves of all responsibility for their actions. Someone else can take up the slack. Just assume someone else will deal with any problems whilst you go off and live your life on a whim.”

  “I’m so glad you’re not bitter, Doctor.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t understand, laddie. You might think I’m a bit uptight, and maybe I am. But in the coming adventures you might just begin to understand the reasons why. Right now, I have to pick up these pieces and secure us all.”

  “Excuse me. Are you from the council?” called a voice.

  Kevin and the Doctor spun around to see a grey-haired man peering over the back fence. He was evidently standing on something.

  “I filed a complaint about the state of this place eight months ago and I ain’t heard nothing back. I’m glad you’re finally going to do something about it. Bleeding disgrace it is. Brings the neighbourhood right down. Old Alice next door to me, when they came to sell her house and put her in a care home last year, the agent said the state of Ware’s place knocked twenty grand clean off. You do the maths on that,” the man pointed at the surrounding houses, “and he’s knocked at least a hundred grand off all of us. Bleedin’ disgrace.”

  “I’m not from the council,” said the Doctor. “I’m a blood relative. I’ve not seen my cousin in decades.”

  “A relative? I thought he was on his Jack Jones now. Ain’t seen no visitors in years.”

  “How long’s he been here? Do you know?”

  “Me and the wife moved in here in ’sixty-one and he moved in a couple of years after that. He was a decent sort at the start – a bit of a gent, actually – but he’s gone and let himself go. Much more in recent years. You can’t talk with him no more.”

  “Forgive me, but it’s been such a long time since I saw my cousin. Could you tell me what he does for a living now? What are his habits?”

  “Taxi driver, ain’t he? Always has been. Bit of a legend actually, by all accounts. No one comes close to getting their fares where they want to be faster than he does.”

  “Really? Who told you that?”

  “Me elder brother – God rest ’im – was a cabbie just about all his working life. Your Dave might have slobbed out in his personal life, but I heard he was always bang on when it comes to cabbing.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I assume he works up in town. What are his habits?”

  “Course he works up in town. ’Ave to don’t you? All the Knowledge is within six miles of Charing Cross. We’re twice that out here.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Doctor. “His habits. What shifts does he work, and what bases does he use?”

  “Alright, mate – keep your hair on. I can see you’re just like him. Won’t be told – think you know it all. I heard he preferred the City to the West End. Never much liked the tourists and the shoppers. As I said, he thinks he knows it all and you get a smarter type – all the smart-Alecs in the law firms and the banks. Not that the bankers have much common sense, if you ask me.”

  “Yes, but what sort of hours does he work?”

  “Likes his nights. That’s what’s made it so difficult to deal with him, see? You can’t ever collar him. You don’t want to wake a man who’s on nights. I used to do shifts at the Ford plant and –”

  “I assume he uses the shelter on the Embankment. Did your brother ever mention that?”

  “Look, mate. I’m just trying to be helpful. As a matter of fact, my brother would say he saw him in there more often than not. Now, when you see him, if you can tell him –”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” said the Doctor, turning his ba
ck. “Secure it, will you?” he said to Kevin as he brushed past and walked out of the gate.

  Kevin glanced around. The best he could do was to pull the gate closed and jam a twig in it. He ran to catch up with the Doctor, who was striding down the street.

  “What’s all that about?”

  “You can’t choose your family, but thank God you can choose your friends.”

  “You’re, like, really mad at your cuz, ain’t you?”

  “You’re dead wrong, Kevin. I’m livid. I’m absolutely livid with him. He’s let everyone down. Badly. He’s potentially put the whole project in jeopardy. I’ve a good mind to commandeer his Spectrel.” He stopped and looked back up the street.

  “Great idea! Let’s use his Spectrel to get wherever it is we’re going double-quick, yeah?”

  “I doubt she’s got it in her.” He turned and began striding purposefully down the street again.

  “She?”

  “Yin and yang, Kevin. Time Keepers are male. Well, we’re male in a simplistic sort of way for you humans to understand it.”

  “You mean you’re not a man?”

  “Of course I’m not a man, you stupid boy. I’m a different species. I’m no more a man than you are a giraffe, you clown.”

  “Look, there’s no need to be like that, Doctor. I’ve been with you about three days and you just seem to assume I have a certain level of knowledge about the whole universe. No wonder you aren’t on speaking terms with your cousins and you don’t have any mates apart from a spider that thinks it’s a cat. You’re a stuck-up jerk, you know that? That old geezer back there was trying to help and you was just rude to him.”

  The Doctor stopped and turned. Kevin nearly bumped into him. The two stood face-to-face, just inches apart. “Kevin, I’m sorry. Really I am. You’re right – there’s no need for incivility, and I apologise unreservedly for that.” He began walking again, slower, but with the same solid purpose.

  “When I chose you to be my assistant it was because of certain… characteristics. Things that you can’t possibly guess at right now. Characteristics and abilities you don’t yet know you have. You’ll come to understand that, and to grow into them. You will also come to understand just how much of a burden my cousins left on my shoulders when they chose to abdicate their responsibilities. Maybe then you’ll appreciate just how much pressure I’ve been under the last fifty years. More than fifty years, frankly.”