‘You said “me too”. Do you mean you’re a doctor?’
‘Yes. Well, pathologist, actually. Gyles Winterbourne.’
The Doctor had spun back again. ‘Ah – hence the death.’
Winterbourne turned to the large window beside them. ‘This probably wasn’t the best place to sit. The poor chap died down there, in the park.’
‘Accident?’ Amy asked. She could see several policemen standing round and a small group of onlookers.
‘Natural causes.’ He hesitated before adding: ‘I think.’
‘You’re not sure?’ the Doctor prompted.
‘Need to do a post mortem. Something else to put you off your food.’ Winterbourne stabbed at a tube of pasta, lifted it to his mouth, then changed his mind and put the loaded fork back into the bowl. ‘You’re a doctor, you ever seen a case of heart failure with all the symptoms of asphyxiation?’
The Doctor blew out a long breath as he considered. ‘Well, I’m not actually a medical doctor.’
‘Student?’ Winterbourne suggested.
Amy stifled a smile as the Doctor glared at the other man, affronted. ‘I’ve seen more death than you’ve avoided hot dinners.’
‘And then there’s the dust,’ Winterbourne went on, almost to himself. ‘Gets everywhere – look, there’s still some on my sleeve.’ He turned his cuff to show a pale grey spattering of dry dust.
The Doctor’s frown returned. He grabbed Winterbourne’s hand and pulled it across the table so suddenly the man almost went face-down in his pasta. Then, just as abruptly, he let go again.
‘Sorry,’ Amy said.
Winterbourne smiled weakly back at her. ‘There’s loads of it down by the burger place,’ he said. ‘If dust is your thing.’
‘The burger place?’ the Doctor asked, turning to look.
‘Downstairs. You know, where the spaceman is.’
‘Figures,’ the Doctor said dismissively, and picked up the menu. ‘After all, it is moon dust.’
Amy watched the Doctor and mentally counted off the seconds. She got to four.
The Doctor dropped the menu and leaped to his feet. ‘Hang on, hang on. Moon dust – in a shopping centre? And a spaceman?’
‘Well, an astronaut. Publicity stunt, or so someone said.’ Winterbourne pointed. ‘Look, there he is now, with those men in suits.’
The chair the Doctor had been sitting on crashed to the floor. Startled, Winterbourne turned to Amy. But she too had gone.
She was following the Doctor rapidly across to the other side of the restaurant. Together they leaned on the railing, looking down at the fast food outlets on the floor below.
‘Astronaut,’ Amy said. ‘He’ll be the one in the spacesuit, I bet.’ The astronaut was walking stiffly across the shopping centre, carrying his bulbous helmet under one padded arm. ‘It’s a good costume.’
‘It’s not a costume,’ the Doctor said.
Amy pointed to the three men is dark suits, all wearing sunglasses and unnecessarily short haircuts. ‘And those aren’t American Secret Service Agents either.’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Amy Pond.’
‘Sorry.’
‘They’re with the CIA.’
They watched in silence as the men in suits led the astronaut out of the arcade. Moments later, a large, black car with darkened windows drove past the little park.
‘So, what have we got here?’ Amy asked, leaning back against the rail, legs stretched out. ‘Astronaut who’s stopped off for a burger, or what?’
‘Moon dust… astronaut…’ The Doctor pushed himself away from the railing. ‘And asphyxiation. The dead man had dust on him – come on!’
Amy had to run to catch up as the Doctor hurried towards the nearest escalator. She’d been looking forward to a bit of shopping. It would have been so ordinary after what she’d experienced recently. Now it looked like ordinary wasn’t on the menu after all.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Back to the TARDIS. If I’m right…’ He paused, mid-step, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. ‘I’m right,’ he confirmed after a moment. ‘Quantum displacement.’ Then he was off again.
‘And what is quantum displacement, when it’s at home?’ Amy asked on the escalator.
‘Serious. And it isn’t at home – that’s the point. It’s been displaced. Like the astronaut, and the dead man.’
He was standing beside a police box in the car park, wearing a dark blue uniform, but he wasn’t a policeman. The parking warden checked the ticket showing through the window of the TARDIS, and made a note on his pad. He checked his watch and made another note.
‘Problem?’ Amy asked brightly.
The warden sniffed. ‘Problem,’ he agreed.
‘We’re well within the time,’ Amy told him.
‘We are,’ the Doctor agreed, leaning over to see what the man was writing. ‘I’m an expert. I know all about time.’
‘Time’s not an issue.’
‘Well, you say that,’ the Doctor replied. ‘But actually…’
‘So what is the problem?’ Amy asked before he could go on.
The parking warden pointed to the ticket in the window. Then he pointed at the ground, where the TARDIS stood. ‘One ticket. Two spaces.’
Amy’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘He looks serious,’ the Doctor said.
‘You have to park within spaces,’ the warden said.
‘But we’re too big,’ the Doctor explained. ‘Look – narrow space, wide box. It won’t fit.’
‘Then you need two tickets. One for each space. If you want to dump some antique like that in a car park, you have to pay for the spaces. Sooner you get it towed away again, the better.’
‘So you’re going to give us a fine?’ Amy asked.
‘Not me. The council will give you the fine. I just issue the bill. Fifty quid.’
‘Fifty?’ the Doctor was already reaching inside his jacket.
Amy glared at him. ‘We’re not paying fifty quid.’
The warden shrugged. ‘Then it’ll be a hundred. If you don’t pay within twenty-four hours, that is.’
The Doctor removed his hand from inside his jacket. He was holding a plain leather wallet. ‘Wait, wait, wait. I can settle this.’
‘Put the money in the machine,’ the warden said. ‘Send the ticket it gives you to the council and they’ll accept that as payment.’
‘Like we have fifty pounds in coins in our pockets,’ Amy said.
The Doctor flipped open his wallet to reveal what Amy knew was a blank sheet of psychic paper. It would show whatever the person looking at it expected or was persuaded to see.
‘Two-for-one voucher,’ the Doctor announced. ‘Look – here you go. That should sort it out. The bearer has the right to one free car-park ticket for every ticket purchased at full price. Second ticket need not be displayed. See, it says so right here. Authorised by the district council.’
The warden frowned. ‘Let me see that.’ He took the psychic paper from the Doctor and examined it carefully. ‘Yes, well that seems to be in order,’ he muttered glumly.
The Doctor grinned at Amy.
‘You should have shown me this straight away,’ the warden said. ‘Would have saved a lot of bother.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Can I have it back now?’ The Doctor held out his hand.
‘In a moment.’ The warden licked the end of his pen. He teased the sheet of paper out from behind the protective plastic window of the wallet. ‘Just need to sign this to authorise it.’
The Doctor’s eyes widened. But the man was already signing his name across the paper before sliding it back, snapping the wallet shut and handing it back. ‘There you go, sir.’ He touched the peak of his uniform cap with his hand. ‘Miss. Mind how you go.’
‘He signed it,’ the Doctor said in a harsh whisper after the warden had gone. Then louder: ‘He signed it. He signed my psychic paper.’ He opened the wallet and stared in disbelief. ‘“Albert Smoth
”, is that? I can’t even read it. He’s ruined my psychic paper.’
‘Oh, get over it,’ Amy said. ‘Saved us fifty quid, didn’t it? Give it here.’ She took the wallet, and slid out the paper, then turned it over and slid it back into place, the blank, unsigned side now visible through the plastic window.
The Doctor took the wallet back. ‘Yeah, OK. That’ll work,’ he admitted. ‘Probably.’
‘That was quick,’ Amy said, a few minutes later.
‘No time at all.’ The Doctor pushed home a lever on the TARDIS console. ‘Really, no time at all. I just removed the safeties, drifted a bit to the west in the fourth dimension, and let the TARDIS fall through the quantum displacement. It’s closed up now, of course, so she had to jig back in time a bit, then edge forwards again to compensate.’
‘So where are we?’
The Doctor opened the doors, and they both turned to see.
Amy gasped. ‘It’s amazing. So desolate, but so beautiful.’ She started down the slope towards the doors.
‘Don’t go out,’ the Doctor warned. ‘There’s just a force membrane keeping the air inside the TARDIS. Pass through it and you’ll suffocate in seconds. Like the man Dr Winterbourne was telling us about.’
Amy turned back to the Doctor. ‘Is that what happened? He got, like, displaced?’
The Doctor walked slowly down to join her near the doors. ‘He was in the park, and he was also here. The two places are joined by the displacement process, so you can walk from one into the other. Except the overlap is unstable. Something’s gone wrong. For a while, maybe just a minute or two, he was here.’
‘And the astronaut?’
‘Same thing, only the other way round. And more permanent. He walked from here into the shopping centre. If the displacement had stayed open he could have turned round and walked back again.’
‘From Earth to the moon,’ Amy murmured. ‘Talk about a giant step for mankind.’
They both stared out across the empty grey craters of the dark side of the moon.
Chapter
2
General Adam Walinski stared out across the empty waste of the desert. It stretched as far as he could see. Only the fenced compound round Base Hibiscus broke the grey-yellow of the sand.
A shadow fell across the wide window behind his desk. Walinski didn’t turn.
‘How can this happen, Candace?’ he asked, his Texan accent drawing out the vowels. ‘They said it was impossible for anything to go wrong. You said so.’
‘Seems I was mistaken. Big time. The pictures from Base Diana are coming through now.’
Now Walinski did turn. He stared down at the slight figure of Dr Candace Hecker. Somehow, despite her khaki military uniform, she still managed to look like a civilian. Her shoulder-length brown hair was hanging loose, and the top button of her tunic was undone. Walinski didn’t look at her boots, but he knew that they wouldn’t be polished.
‘Do I want to see the pictures?’ he demanded.
She shrugged. ‘I do. Like you said, something’s gone wrong. Maybe the pictures will tell us what. Sir,’ she added as an afterthought.
The first of the photographs was coming off the printer in Hecker’s office when they got there. It showed the body of a woman in a red coat. Several of Hecker’s staff were gathered round. Graham Haines lifted the print, still damp, from the printer’s output tray and laid it on Hecker’s desk for everyone to see.
‘Obviously a major malfunction,’ Haines said.
‘Becky Starmer,’ Candace said. ‘Thirty-four years old. No kids, which I guess is a mercy. Husband says she went out every lunchtime to walk the dog. Even when it was raining – which it was at the time of the, uh, incident.’
‘What time was Garrett’s call?’ Walinski asked.
‘17.32,’ someone replied.
Walinski jabbed his finger at the woman in the photo. ‘And this happened…?’
‘She was spotted at 17.53 our time,’ Hecker told him. ‘Major Carlisle got anxious when Garrett didn’t report in on the half-hour. She went to look for herself from the Section 4 observation gallery.’
‘And the photos?’ Walinski asked, as Haines laid a second damp print beside the first picture.
‘About ten minutes later. Colonel Devenish scrambled a team from Base Diana to recover the bodies.’
‘Bodies – plural?’ Walinski said.
In answer, Haines put another photograph down on the desk.
Walinski stared at the pictures and shook his head. ‘She’s got a dog – can this get any worse?’
A man at the back of the group cleared his throat. He was wearing a dark suit – not military. ‘The dog’s called Poochie,’ he said. ‘The agents in England who collected Garrett interviewed the woman’s husband. And the colleagues of the Babinger guy too. Their report’s just come through.’
‘Hooray for the CIA,’ Walinski muttered. Louder he said: ‘Thank you, Agent Jennings. Anything else you can tell us? Preferably about Poochie’s owner, not his pedigree.’
Agent Jennings eased his way to the front of the group. There were now three pictures on the desk. He pointed to the first, which showed a woman lying on her side. Her blonde hair was splayed out around her head. Her damp, red raincoat was spattered with grey dust. Jennings tapped the second photo – a close-up of a small white dog with dark markings. The dog was also lying on its side, mouth open, eyes wide.
‘Poor old Poochie,’ Jennings said with no sincerity. ‘They say dogs look like their owners, don’t they?’
The third photo was a close-up of the woman’s head, the hair like a halo on the dark ground.
‘She had her roots done a couple of days ago,’ Jennings said, ‘so I guess she’s looking her best.’
‘Aside from being dead,’ Walinski said.
‘Aside from that.’
They all stared at the photos. Becky Starmer’s red coat was like a splash of blood – the strongest colour, distinct and out of place against the grey of the background.
The grey of the dark side of the moon.
Where Becky Starmer and her little dog lay frozen and dead at the edge of a crater.
‘You know,’ Candace Hecker said quietly, ‘for a few moments this afternoon, it actually rained on the moon. Just like it did in England…’
A little later, Hecker and Walinski sat on opposite sides of the General’s desk. The photos lay discarded between them.
‘Captain Garrett’s on his way here now,’ Hecker said.
‘Maybe he can tell us why we’re up the creek without a parachute,’ Walinski said.
‘Let’s hope someone can. We’re down to bouncing radio signals off the satellites. There’s a time delay of nearly a minute and the bandwidth is rubbish.’
‘Why now?’ Walinski asked. ‘The system’s worked for over thirty years. Why’s it suddenly gone to pieces?’
Hecker shook her head. ‘I’m the most experienced technician here, and I don’t understand how it works when everything’s running fine,’ she confessed. ‘The equipment’s well maintained. The components are switched out regularly. Professor Jackson up on Diana tells us they’ve replaced all the major equipment and it still isn’t working. Anyway, with a blow-out it’d just stop. Not this.’ She leaned forward and pointed to the picture of Becky Starmer dead on the moon. ‘And not Marty Garrett suddenly finding himself in a shopping mall in England.’
Walinski nodded. ‘Hell, the desert out there I could understand.’ He waved a hand over his shoulder, indicating the window behind him. ‘But England? What the hell’s that all about?’
There was a knock at the door. Walinski called out permission to enter. Agent Jennings opened the door.
‘Video feed’s online. They’re recovering the woman’s body. And the dog. If you want to see?’
‘Not likely to tell us much,’ Walinski said. ‘But it’s better than sitting around here.’
‘What’s the delay on the link?’ Hecker asked.
‘A minute
or so, apparently,’ Jennings said.
‘What’s the problem?’ Walinski asked.
‘Real time went out with the quantum displacement,’ Hecker explained. ‘The radio waves actually have to come all the way from the moon now, not just across the desert.’
There was a group of people already gathered round a large flat-panel monitor on the other side of the open-plan office area. They parted respectfully to allow Walinski and Hecker a better view. Jennings kept out of the way – an outsider in this close-knit community under pressure.
The colour was washed out, and the picture was grainy and juddered. It showed several astronauts, dressed in the same bulky white suits as Garrett had worn when he appeared outside Perfect Burger. They bounced and lurched in a slightly ungainly manner as they busied themselves round the red stain on the image that was Becky Starmer’s coat.
The image changed as the astronaut holding the camera turned. For a moment, the screen showed the dull grey expanse of the moon, unbroken for as far as the eye could see. Then it spun again, and Becky was being lifted onto a stretcher.
No one spoke as they watched the astronauts place the dog next to its late mistress. Two of the suited figures lifted the stretcher and started across the empty landscape.
The picture lurched and spun again as the astronaut holding the camera moved to follow them. A glimpse of desolation. Then, in the distance, the low box-shaped, modular buildings that made up the outer sections of Base Diana.
‘Hang on,’ Hecker said. ‘Can you rewind?’
‘We’re streaming it to DVD,’ Haines said. ‘It’ll take me a minute, but we can view the recording rather than the live feed.’
‘What is it?’ Walinski asked. ‘What did you see?’
‘Maybe nothing,’ Hecker conceded. ‘Just a flash of colour. Something that seemed out of place. I just want to see what it was.’
A few moments later, the science team, Walinski and Agent Jennings regarded the frozen image on the monitor in collective astonishment.
‘Rewind further,’ Jennings said. He pushed his way through the group. ‘The guy with the camera turned that way about a minute before. Show us that.’
Haines worked the mouse, and the computer ran the DVD-recorded images backwards rapidly.
Doctor Who: Apollo 23 Page 2