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

by Mark Speed

  They strode on in silence for a minute, crossing a major road, and heading for a Tube station.

  “Well, thanks for choosing me, Doc. You know, for putting some faith in me. I’ll pay you back, man. I swear it. But it’s frustrating, you know? I was expecting this gig to be something else – time travel, fighting evil, seeing amazing creatures and all that.”

  The Doctor laughed. “I’ll tell Trini you’re disappointed in her, shall I?”

  “Jesus, no!” Kevin saw the Doctor’s look, and let himself laugh from his gut.

  “Be very, very careful what you wish for, Kevin. Even the damned BBC has occasionally let one of the assistants be killed. Death in real life is much more painful, and tends to have this awful permanence about it.”

  They touched their Oyster cards on the barriers and went onto the open platform to wait for a train back to town.

  “You think about it, Kevin. You seriously think about it. There’s something on the loose here that can cut reinforced steel like scissors through paper, and bend it like it’s tinfoil. And you’re not afraid of that?”

  “Like, let’s look at the facts, Doc. It’s not physically harmed anyone yet, and it seems to live off diesel. It only comes out at night and it runs at the first sign of trouble.”

  The Doctor grabbed him by the shoulders and grinned. “Good man! Exactly the kind of reasoning I want to hear. Now I remember why I chose you.”

  “It’s this yin and yang thing, innit?” said Kevin. “I’m the brainless optimist full of hope, and you’re the uptight, gloomy brainbox, ain’t you?”

  “Something like that, except that you’re not brainless. But as to whether this species of creature is dangerous or not, that’s another matter. If you exclude the malaria parasite that travels in mosquitoes, the most dangerous animal in Africa isn’t the lion, it’s the hippopotamus. Despite the fact that hippos are vegetarians, they kill far more people. They’re so powerful and aggressive they can kill crocodiles.”

  “Yeah, but this thing’s not aggressive.”

  “Yeah, but no one’s got between it and its diesel yet. Or its young, if it has them.”

  “Good point, Doc.”

  “Thanks. And I sincerely hope it doesn’t have young. Invasive species are another constant nightmare I have to deal with.”

  They boarded a near-empty District line train that would take them straight to Embankment station, and sat down.

  “So, do you mind if I ask you about this thing with the Spectrel, then?”

  “What, exactly?”

  “Like, you wanted to take his Spectrel, but you didn’t. I mean, what gives with it? Why’s he just left it there? I mean, left her there.”

  “Anyone – any Time Keeper, that is – can use a Spectrel. But the reality is that you grow into each other; get to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. You get energy from each other. Your Spectrel becomes an extension of your character, in a way. Unfortunately, my cousin has chosen to abuse his – or at least, not to treat her with respect. My guess is that he was using her for ordinary cabbing at some point. Can you imagine? You have the most advanced piece of kit in the entire Pleasant universe and you choose to use it as a London licensed hackney carriage? And I bet that’s where his reputation came from: he was using her to transport important clients faster than humans should really be going. I could excuse it if they were important out-of-towners on serious diplomatic business, but not humans.”

  “Out-of-towners?”

  “Oh, sorry. Out-of-towners. Extraterrestrials. Aliens, you would commonly call them.”

  “Aliens exist?”

  “Of course.” The Doctor used an open-palm gesture to offer himself as an example.

  “No, I mean, like, little green men. Stuff like from Roswell.”

  “Not really listening to my point about men earlier, were you? I’ve met the odd alien that’s a bit green around the gills, and some species are shorter than others, yes.”

  “That’s so cool! When can we –”

  The Doctor silenced him with a wave. “Anyway, I bet she got pretty sick of that quite quickly. They would have had what you’d call in human terms a bit of a falling-out.”

  “But, like, surely he’s the boss?”

  “To an extent. But a Spectrel takes its – and I mean ‘its’, because it’s yin and yang – Time Keeper’s job seriously. And if the Time Keeper goes off-mission then a Spectrel can refuse to serve anything that isn’t related to that mission.”

  “But you said there was, like, a symbiotic relationship.”

  “Indeed there is, and therein lies the tragedy. In a relationship where there’s no interaction, both parties suffer. His Spectrel is in such a bad way that I doubt she could function on her own. I got but the briefest greeting from her. I can understand that she was trying to conserve energy, but she remembers that I’m his cousin and we’ve been estranged. I’m sure she was just being a bit huffy. I hope it’s nothing more serious – I have no way of knowing how bad that hack was. As I said – there are two sides to it. I know that Dave is not going to be in that good a state himself.”

  They were into the rush-hour now, and as the Tube train rumbled on into London the carriage became more crowded. When they reached Embankment station they had to squeeze out through the crush onto the platform.

  “Yuk,” said the Doctor, as they exited through the barriers onto the Embankment itself. He stopped and took out a hygienic wipe from his pocket to clean his hands. Kevin noticed that he was careful to clean between the fingers, and to rub the tips. The Doctor caught him staring. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like one?”

  “No thanks. You’re, like, meticulously clean, Doctor.”

  “Hygiene is key, Kevin. Public transport is filthy.”

  “Yeah, but you are, like, obsessive. Seriously, I think you need to talk with someone.”

  “What was I saying earlier about judging each by the standards of their culture?”

  “Just sayin’.”

  It was twilight now. The London Eye rotated slowly on the other side of the river, and a commuter train rumbled loudly on its way out of Charing Cross and out over Hungerford Bridge to a town in distant Kent. “I love this view east along the river at night,” said the Doctor.

  “My Mum says it was pretty ugly when I was a baby.”

  “Ah, you should have seen it in its heyday, Kevin. Water was the fastest way to travel. Where we’re standing now was in the river. Over there,” he gestured towards the Strand, “was where the beach was. Strand is old English for beach, in case you didn’t know. There’s a gate in Embankment Gardens where Peter the Great, Tsar of Russia, disembarked. It’s about fifty yards from the water’s edge now.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “Stank to high heaven. A giant cesspit. If you fell in, you were dead. The great engineer Joseph Bazalgette built out the riverbanks to accommodate the new sewers in the Eighteen Sixties. They were able to stick the trains down there too. Also narrowed the river and speeded up the flow. It’s still only about six feet deep here at low tide. Further down, the Romans were able to ford it.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Yes, at low tide you could ford the river nearer the City.”

  “Why’d they build a bridge, then?”

  “Who wants to wait for low tide? Now, come on.”

  “Why are we going back this way?”

  “I only came to see the view. You’ll learn to take the time to appreciate the smaller things, like views, when you can.”

  Kevin followed the Doctor back along the Embankment, under Hungerford Bridge, to the bottom of Northumberland Avenue. He pointed past the steps leading down from the pedestrian bridge to an oblong panelled wooden hut. It was dark green with a tiled roof. “There it is.”

  “It looks like a big garden shed. Or a pixie’s hut or something. What’s it doing in the middle of London?”

  “Scores of these were built in the Eighteen Seventies. Shelters for cab drivers.
They could get warm, enjoy decent food at a low price and keep one another company. Built by a charity founded by Lord Shaftesbury. As in Shaftesbury Avenue. There are quite a few still scattered around London. Want to know why they’re all that size?”

  “Go on, indulge me.”

  “The police decreed that they should be no bigger than a horse and cart because they were built on public highways. You can get ten cabbies in there, easily.”

  “Not if they’re as fat as most cabbies, you can’t.”

  They heard a faint round of men’s laughter from inside the building.

  “Stop it. Now, they’re a close-knit bunch and they’re not keen on outsiders. Let me do the talking.” The Doctor knocked on the door and went in. He was hit by a wave of warm, moist air laden with the smell of fatty food, toast and coffee. The conversation stopped, and the eight middle-aged men sitting on benches either side of a long table looked at him.

  “We’re all off duty, mate,” said one, through mouthfuls of a bacon sandwich. “Taxi rank’s round the corner. Opposite the Tube station. Can’t miss it.”

  “You want to look for one with the yellow light switched on,” said another, to much laughter.

  “I’m not after a cab, actually.”

  “Well, if you want food then there’s plenty of places on Villiers Street,” said the cook from behind his counter at the far end. “We’re closed to the public, mate. Cabbies only, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m looking for David – Dave – Ware. I understand this is his regular shelter.”

  “You Old Bill, are you?” said the one who’d joked earlier. “Takes six months to get your warrant card, four years for one of these.” He waved his licence, and his mates laughed.

  “I’m his cousin, actually.”

  “You don’t look nothing like him,” said another man.

  “Dave’s twice the man you are,” said the joker. More laughter.

  “So I’m right in assuming he frequents this place?”

  “Oh, la-di-dah,” said the joker. “David Ware frequents us often,” he said in a mock-posh voice. “Flamin’ ’eck, I always thought Dave was from good stock, but I didn’t realise he was related to royalty. What’s happened? Has his rich aunt died and left him a castle?”

  “Yeah. Elephant and Castle,” chimed another.

  “Roundabout time someone said that,” said the joker.

  The Doctor waited until the laughter died down. “It’s a fairly serious matter. Just… if you could please tell him his cousin is looking for him.”

  “Uh, Doctor,” said Kevin from behind him.

  “Not now, Kevin.” The Doctor felt a presence behind, and noticed that all eyes were looking past him.

  “You looking for me?” It was a throaty voice, but it had a familiar undertone.

  “Daibhidh,” said the Doctor.

  “How do you pronounce that?” muttered one cabbie.

  “Like I said, Dave’s from royalty you know,” said the joker. “All hail King David of the London Licensed Hackney Carriages.”

  The Doctor turned to find a large man with a shaved head, two chins and wire-framed glasses standing behind him, blocking the exit with his girth. He was a couple of inches shorter, wore a creased dress shirt, cheap workwear trousers and casual trainers. His licence didn’t so much hang around his neck as rest on top of a pot belly.

  “Peadair,” he said. “You’ve not changed a bit.”

  “You’ve… put on a bit of weight, cousin.”

  “Come here, Peadair.” The big man grabbed the Doctor and hugged him tightly, putting him off-balance. He put his hands lightly on his cousin’s shoulders, then stepped back.

  “There’s tears in my eyes, Trevor,” said the joker.

  “We need to talk,” said the Doctor. “Is there somewhere a bit more private?”

  “He’ll have forgotten his mates in a week,” said one of the cabbies.

  “I’ll be back, lads. Tomorrow, most probably. Keep me seat warm, will ya?” He stepped away from the door and let the Doctor back out onto the pavement. The door closed behind him. “We can talk in my cab. It’s just around the corner.”

  “Daibhidh, I’ve been worried about you. I have to say you’ve put on quite a bit of weight. And I can smell tobacco smoke on you.” They began walking back down Northumberland Avenue, back under Hungerford Bridge. Kevin winced as the brakes of a train thundering into Charing Cross screeched from above.

  “It’s Dave now. Alright? I’ve built a new life for meself. And I’m perfectly happy. If you’re going to have a go at me and give me a lecture, save your breath. Right?”

  “Something’s afoot. I think you might need my help. I think we might all need to help each other.”

  David Ware stopped to cough, deep from his lungs. “Is that why you’ve got the lad in tow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bit different from the others, ain’t he?”

  “If you’re referring to his ethnicity, then yes. I assure you he’s of the highest calibre.”

  “I’m sure,” said Ware. He reached out a large hand to Kevin, who took it. “Dave Ware. How’d you do?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Dave,” said Kevin. “Are you a Doctor too?”

  “If you mean to ask if I’m a Time Keeper, then yes I am. There’s only two proper Doctors as such, and that’s him,” he gestured towards How, “and his brother. They was always the academic types. Anyways, I’m retired. So don’t expect no fancy tricks off of me.”

  “It’s not something you can ever retire from,” said Dr How. “Abrogate responsibility, yes; retire, no.”

  “Jesus, Pete, let it go.”

  “Pete?” asked Kevin.

  “It’s Peadair,” said Dr How sternly. “Yes, it translates as Peter. But it is most definitely not Pete.”

  “But I thought the name of the Doctor was a question that must never be answered,” said Kevin.

  Dave Ware began laughing. He laughed so hard that he began coughing, a deep bronchial cough that sent him leaning against a cab to recover and catch his breath. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a Doctor Who fan an’ all, son? Peadair’s got to love you for that.” He coughed some more.

  “My God, you must be driving him mental with your view of the – what’s the word? – the Who-niverse.” He began another laughing and coughing fit, and reached into his pockets. He leaned back against the cab in a proprietary manner and lit a cigarette. He drew deeply on it, the coal at the end glowing such a fierce yellow in the gloom that it cast light on his face. He held his breath for a couple of seconds, then blew out a thick cloud from his nostrils. He shook his head and looked at his training shoes.

  “Sorry,” said Ware. He slapped Kevin on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t laugh. But if you didn’t laugh you’d cry. Or if you didn’t laugh or cry, you’d end up like my young cousin here.”

  He took another long draw on his cigarette and let the smoke out as he spoke, addressing Doctor How. “I can imagine it must have been quite hard on you. And I’m sorry about that. Really, I am. But I didn’t want all that palaver. I just got… tired.”

  The Doctor’s face was rigid, and he spoke between his teeth. “You’re right. It hasn’t been easy, Dave. Not emotionally, not physically, not mentally. My young friend here is of the same, modern, individualistic view as yourself. It’s all very well for the individual, just so long as all the other individuals continue to pull their weight. But when it all comes down to the last individual, then it is just a mite unfair.”

  “The only fair I do now is fares.”

  “Deep down, you still have your sense of responsibility. You know who you are, and you know what you have to do. As soon as I knew you were a cabbie I guessed your regular shelter would be the Embankment. Not Maida Vale, not Temple Place, nor any of the others. It had to be Embankment.”

  “Excuse me, Doctor. Why Embankment?” asked Kevin, his voice small.

  The Doctor gestured to the west. “Just yards from Whitehall. The centre of
British power for centuries.” He turned back to his cousin. “You can’t deny your – our – roots any more than I can.”

  Ware threw his cigarette onto the pavement and rubbed it so hard with his shoe that it disintegrated. He went round to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Jump in,” he said.

  The Doctor and Kevin got in and sat on the back seat.

  “I find it easier when I drive,” said Ware, pulling on his seatbelt.

  “Find what easier?” asked the Doctor.

  “Everything. Just existing. Thinking and not thinking.” He started the engine. “Now, where to, guv?”

  “I think you know where to go, Daibhidh.”

  “It’s Dave, and the surname’s Ware. And I’m certainly not going south of the river. And especially not after dark.”

  Chapter Nine

  It took them two hours to get back to Dagenham. To the Doctor’s great irritation, Kevin and Ware insisted on stopping for fast food and eating it in the cab. Whilst his companions sat and ate, he’d gone in search of something healthier, returning with an apple, a banana and some raw nuts. This dietary choice was a source of more mirth for his cousin. Despite complaints about the chill from Kevin, the Doctor insisted on keeping the window open for the rest of the journey. He said it was to get rid of the smell of the fried food, but Kevin suspected it might be punishment.

  “I shall have to have this suit dry cleaned,” he said.

  Ware caught Kevin’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “He’s got worse. You know that clobber he’s wearing is all-singing, all-dancing and resistant to everything, don’t you?” Kevin nodded. “Smells don’t stick to it either. Tell me, does he still insist on the UV bath when you come in his house, and then make you wash your hands?”

  Kevin shot an embarrassed glance at the Doctor before replying. “Yeah.”

  “Flippin’ ’eck. It’s not like he’s vulnerable to any of the stuff you people carry. It’s just the thought of it drives him crazy.”