by Mark Speed
“Drat!” yelled the Doctor. He pulled a blue canister off the wall and rushed at the beetle. He pulled a lever on the canister and a cloud of gas blew out of the other end, dousing the fire on the beetle’s leg.
“What are you doing, man?” shouted Kevin, swinging his Con-Bat in preparation.
“Oh, don’t thank me, Kevin,” said the Doctor, running back to join his companions. “If one of those blows then we’re done for.”
“But we’re done for in two minutes anyway!”
“I just added two minutes to your life and you’re complaining? We’ll think of something.”
“Well you’d better hurry!”
The beetles that had come through the walls were closing in on them, their three-foot mandibles swishing through the air like black swords.
“What’s up with Trini, Doc? She’s frozen!”
“Nonsense. She’s examining their physiology. I told you all that stuff when you first met her.”
Trinity turned grey to match the décor and leapt through the air, landing on the back of the one to their right. She cut through one of its antennae. The creature arched its head back and hissed, but couldn’t get to its attacker. She removed the other antenna with a twitch of her mandibles and jumped onto the ceiling as the creature reared up on its four hind legs.
Kevin bounded forwards and swung the Con-Bat at the beast’s mouth. It connected with a crunch. He had to leap to the side as the creature dropped back onto six legs and jerked towards him. He jumped six feet into the air as it bore down on him, and dealt it a massive blow to the top of its head. The shiny black cuticle crumpled and a thick black liquid welled out. Kevin landed with one foot on a counter, lost his balance and fell back to the floor. The creature took another couple of steps towards him, mandibles flailing, cutting through consoles. A spark ignited the black liquid on the creature’s head-wound and it writhed in agony as oily yellow flames took hold. Kevin scrabbled away on his back. A gob of burning black fluid spattered onto the floor where he’d been lying. The beetle collapsed, dead.
“Are you alright?” yelled the Doctor, who jumped out of the way of an attack by the creature on the left.
“Less than ninety seconds!” shouted Kevin. “Got a plan yet, Doc?”
The Doctor pulled the lever on the blue canister and rushed at the burning beetle, dousing the flames with the inert gas. The jet sputtered and went out, so he threw the empty canister at the mouth of the other beetle. There was an explosion as the canister was pierced, and a fragment bounced off Kevin’s goggles. The creature was stunned, but only for a couple of seconds.
“It’s no use,” said Kevin. “Too many of them for us.”
The Doctor pointed his Ultraknife at the beetle which had come through the roof and it arched its head up, its front pair of legs grasping in agony at the air. A second later its head exploded without flames, sending thick black liquid spraying onto the walls and ceiling. The creature slumped, but some of the patches of liquid ignited and burnt with a thick oily flame.
“Double-drat,” muttered the Doctor.
“One minute!” said Kevin, and readied himself to take on the creature on the left. The two beetles which had broken through the rear wall were now almost upon them. Trinity jumped onto the head of the beetle on the left but had to jump straight back to the ceiling because one of the creatures behind lunged at her. It was no use; they were penned in.
A black cab appeared ten feet from the ground, to their right. Its amber Taxi light was on. It honked its horn at the beetles.
“Wow! It’s –”
“Shh. Stand still,” whispered the Doctor. “Let nature take its course.”
“But we’ve only got about forty-five seconds,” hissed Kevin, swinging his bat.
The beetles’ attention switched to the cab. It glided away from the three companions, keeping its amber sign directed at the creatures, which turned first their heads, then their bodies, to face it. All three lunged lustily for the cab, then fell in a heap as it dodged out of the way.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Patience.”
“Patience?”
The beetles began fighting amongst themselves – a hissing mound of writhing legs and mandibles. A severed leg flew out of the pile and landed on a pool of burning black liquid.
“Triple-drat.”
“Fifteen seconds!”
The Spectrel disappeared from in front of the heap of fighting beetles.
“Aw, Doc! Now what? Ten seconds!”
The dismembered leg exploded, sending flaming fragments around the room, streaming oily black smoke behind them. One landed on the crushed head of the beetle Kevin had slain and it burst into flames again.
“Drat squared.”
The Spectrel appeared beside them, and the rear left passenger door opened.
“Five seconds!”
“Shut up and jump in!”
Something spider-shaped flashed past Kevin and he felt a dab on his chest as it passed him. He looked down and saw a thin thread. Just as it clicked what it was, he felt himself heaved forwards towards the open door. At the same time he felt the Doctor slam into him from behind and his hands grab him around the waist. He landed with a thud on the floor of the cab. The Doctor landed on top of him. There was a massive flash and then it went quiet.
Chapter Eighteen
“How’s your head?” asked Peterson, walking into the sick bay, where Thickett had been ordered to stay, under light sedation, for a few hours. She was holding something long and thin, wrapped in a black plastic bag.
“My head is the least of my worries, Miss Peterson,” said Thickett. “Where’s the Doctor?”
“I’m right here,” said the doctor.
“No! Not you!” shouted Thickett.
“He keeps talking about me in a very abstract sense,” said the doctor.
“I can see why that might have been a problem,” said Peterson. “Too many doctors. It may not sound like it, but he is actually making sense.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “if that makes sense to you, then maybe you need a bit of R and R. Do give me a call when your field work calms down. I know a fabulous Kashmiri restaurant just around the corner. You can have ten minutes with him, then he’ll need some more rest.”
“Thank you, doctor.” The doctor left the room.
“What happened?” asked Thickett. “Did they get the Doctor? What about Smith and Jackson?”
“I think we owe the Doctor a bit of a favour. Smith and Jackson were… dropped off at King’s A&E this afternoon. Both of them are fine. Smith’s being discharged in an hour. Neither he nor Jackson remember anything after Doctor How’s Spectrel arrived. They’re keeping Jackson in – for how long I don’t know. The Doctor did an amazing job on his leg, and they reckon he should make a full recovery. Something else they can’t quite explain is that he was out of his Noddy suit, there was no trace of blood on his clothes and he had a week’s worth of stubble on his face.”
“Time travel,” gasped Thickett. “That’s how he healed him so quickly. Don’t you see?”
“Forget that,” chuckled Peterson. “Everyone wants to know what brand of detergent got those bloodstains out.”
Thickett spluttered. “Did they nab them?”
“The attending police were a bit hazy, apparently. They did a stop-and-search on one suspect but they aren’t clear how our guys got into A&E. Shall I let Jackson know you were asking after him?”
“Stuff Jackson. I wanted the Doctor. He’s responsible for all of this. How am I going to explain the damage to Whitehall? How are we going to cover it up? There’ll be an enquiry. I’ll be crucified!”
“Nothing’s going to happen, Mr Thickett. The cover-up is in action. The British Geological Survey is stating that it’s related to fracking. And the radar traces from air traffic control were too indistinct. They’re being explained by freak echoes from the London Array; you know, the big wind turbines in the Thames Estuary – reflecting off cirrus
clouds in the upper atmosphere.”
“What? What radar traces?”
“Over Essex. This afternoon. Impossibly fast-moving objects travelling at high speed straight up and out of the atmosphere. Probably a couple of escape pods.”
“What?”
“Fractional radar traces. No sonic booms, either. Very impressive.”
“Well, where did they come from?”
“Rural Essex. Oh, sorry. You don’t know. It’s not just the tremor under central London we had to explain. There was a much larger one somewhere under Essex late this afternoon. About half an hour after Smith and Jackson were left at King’s.”
“What the hell happened?”
“The BGS put the depth at about twelve thousand feet. A bit large for a fracking-related tremor, but that’s how we’re explaining it.”
“We need to get a drill down there!”
“Calm down, Mr Thickett. It would take months to get a drill to that depth, and the chances of us hitting anything significant are miniscule. And it would cost millions. I think some things are better left as they are, don’t you?”
“Miss Peterson.”
“Doctor Peterson.”
“Our department was formed to capture and make the best use of exactly this kind of advanced technology. We need answers, and we need them now.”
“Some things are just beyond immediate explanation.”
“This isn’t going to look good at your performance review, Miss Peterson.”
“I did warn you not to bring that Spectrel into the complex, Mr Thickett.”
“Damn that Doctor How. I’ll nail him and his ilk one day.”
“You’ll never get him, Mr Thickett. We can never match his technology, and we shouldn’t question his motives. Just be grateful he saved the day today.”
“He ruined my career! I’ve got nothing to show for this other than two injured men and millions of pounds worth of damage. Nothing.”
Dr Peterson smiled. “Not at all.” She unwrapped the black polythene bag. There was a whiff of petrol as she produced a section of mandible eighteen inches long. “We’ve got a souvenir. Something for the trophy cabinet.”
Thickett glowered. “A jaw. You’ve got a bit of the beetle’s jaw, Miss Peterson? That’s not going to cut it with Whitehall.”
“Oh, really?” said Peterson. She swung the mandible at the metal arm of the bedside chair and it cut through the half-inch chrome piping.
“Lord above,” said Thickett.
“Exactly the sort of technology MI16 is supposed to capture.”
“Thank God for that. Oh, thank God for that,” said Thickett. “You’ve saved my career. Thank you, Dr Peterson.”
“I have a few contacts at my alma mater who will be very interested in this. It would be a massive leap forward if we can analyse the molecular structure and harness the technology.”
“Where was your alma mater again?”
“Imperial. They’ve got an excellent Technology Transfer unit.”
“Excellent. I can’t wait to see what they make of it. This will be as big in Tech Transfer as graphene.”
Dr Peterson smiled and put the mandible back in the bag. She wished him a swift recovery, but hoped he had a longer one.
She thought she understood why her memory of the Doctor and his Spectrel hadn’t faded like those of the other witnesses, but didn’t know why Thickett’s hadn’t either. She hoped he wasn’t as curious about her lack of memory loss as she was about his.
Chapter Nineteen
Kevin found himself face-down on a grey ribbed floor that smelled like rubber and stale cigarettes. Somebody was lying on top of him.
“Sorry about that,” said the Doctor, climbing off him. He took out his handkerchief and brushed a fast-food wrapper off his lapel. “Yuk! You have to learn to be a bit quicker, Kevin. Another second and we’d have been roasted like your piri-piri chicken. Although I still say it’s supplied frozen and microwaved at the point of sale.”
“Jesus, Doc. We nearly got fried like McNuggets and you lecture me about that?” Kevin took off his helmet and goggles, then pulled the balaclava off.
“Humour. Always the best cure for a bit of post-traumatic stress disorder. Best administered immediately afterwards.”
“You had, like, no plan, man. We were goners in there.”
“I did have a plan, Kevin. The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley,” said the Doctor in a Scottish accent. “Same goes for Time Keepers occasionally.”
“And I ain’t in the mood for no Scottish poetry, neither.”
“Ah, one day our adventures will teach you a little more about your heritage.”
“Hey – this is David’s Spectrel. Like, what happened to yours?”
“I’d love to know. But at least David’s is on-side, and we should all be grateful to her for that.”
Kevin looked around at the Spectrel’s interior. “It’s, uh… different to yours.”
“As I’ve explained before, every Spectrel reflects its Time Keeper’s character – whether she likes it or not.”
“I can’t see anyone being happy with this.” Kevin surveyed the room. The ribbed rubber floor was strewn with food wrappers and empty drinks cartons. There were sticky dark patches which he took to be dried spillages from carbonated drinks. The walls and ceiling were of grey industrial carpet. The room was square and cramped, with black vinyl seating arranged in three rows of three facing towards the back of a single large seat, which was placed in front of a control panel.
“Depressing and functional,” said the Doctor. “He was always low on aesthetics.”
“I’m off to explore the rest of the… ship,” said Kevin.
The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really best that you don’t.”
“But I’m, like, hungry.”
“You wouldn’t go exploring a friend’s house uninvited if you’d never been in before.”
“I just want a bite to eat, man.”
The Doctor firmed his grip. “No. She doesn’t want you in there.”
“She?”
“The Spectrel,” hissed the Doctor. “She has feelings too, you know.”
“Uh. Oh. Like, I’m sorry, Spectrel,” said Kevin, looking around the ceiling. “So, Doc. Where are we going now?”
“We’ll be at home momentarily. I know it doesn’t seem like a long distance to you. Physically it’s not, in your world, but she’s not done this in a while. And she’s still weak.”
“So what’s happened with…?” He now knew the Doctor’s look that meant he should stop asking. He sat back in a vinyl seat with a farting noise. He put his goggles and balaclava into the helmet and placed it on a seat next to him. The Doctor paced up and down.
“Right,” said the Doctor, and he exited the Spectrel. Trinity followed him. Kevin picked up his helmet and Con-Bat and took a last look around the interior. “Thanks, Spectrel. You saved my ass,” he said, then left, finding himself climbing out of the rear left door of a black cab parked on the road outside the Doctor’s house in Streatham Hill. Trinity wasn’t anywhere in sight.
It was early evening, and Mrs Roseby was hovering with her watering can. “Argh!” she screamed. She dropped the can. There was a clang and a tortured miaow. She clutched her hand to her chest. “You nearly gave me and my Albert an ’eart attack!” she shouted. “I knew I should have told the residents’ association about that first cab.” She eyed Kevin suspiciously. “Is he the licensed driver? I shall have his Hackney Carriage Number for this.” A grey, fat old tabby cat leapt up onto the wall between Mrs Roseby’s and the Doctor’s. It hissed. “What’s he doing dressed like that and carrying a baseball bat? I shall have the police onto him.”
“Please, Mrs Roseby. We’re just returning by cab after rather a hectic day’s work.” The Doctor put a hand on Kevin’s back and guided him towards the front door.
Kevin saw a pair of bright green eyes underneath David’s real black cab. One eye winked at hi
m. He put a hand on the front door of the house and it opened. A bolt of black shot past Kevin’s legs and into the porch. Mrs Roseby’s cat shrieked an un-cat-like shriek and leapt two feet into the air, landing on the old woman, claws digging into her shoulder. The old woman shrieked her own shriek and grabbed the cat.
“Doctor How!” she shouted. “I don’t know what you’re up to but I’m complaining to the association this evening. And I’m minded to call the police to have that cab towed. The tax had better be up-to-date on it.”
“I look forward to being copied on your letter of complaint, Mrs Roseby. Good evening to you. And your cat.”
The Doctor closed the porch door behind him, held up his arms and spread his legs. Kevin adopted the same pose. The UV light came on and bathed them. The door to the house opened and they went in. Kevin placed his Con-Bat in the umbrella stand by the door.
“Like, why won’t David’s Spectrel come in?”
“Kevin, I just don’t know the answer to some questions. Still a little distrustful I think, and mad at David. At least she’s proximate now. I wish I could say the same for mine.”
“Do you know…?”
The Doctor turned to face him. “Hacked, I think. In the hands of these enemies? I don’t know. She was able to send for help. And thank God that help was available. Can I get her back? Hopefully. How? I’m not sure.” The Doctor let out a deep sigh. “This is a fine pickle, Kevin. I’ve lost my Spectrel, and my cousin with it. I could kick myself for not offloading him here with a med-bot. We only have his Spectrel, and she’s not up to much. I’ve got no idea who these people are who are attacking us. What a fix. I was joking earlier when I said we could be defeated by tea-time. This whole thing has been an elaborate set-up. A trap. And I fell for it. I didn’t even get so much as a screw from that array of display processors. What a waste.”
Kevin put a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Sorry, boss. Look, there’s one thing about us south London boys.”