Doctor Who and the Krikkitmen

by Adams, Douglas

  And now they were scurrying for their lives through a metal shaft that was turning into a chimney.

  ‘Do you think we’ll still be doing this when we’re a thousand?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Romana replied.

  The main Parliament building was in uproar. Fires were sweeping through the corridors and, from the smell of burning canvas, the rebels hadn’t been able to resist the art galleries. Krikkitmen were striding through the smoke, firing at whoever they could. The rebels, crouching behind statues of Krikkitmen, shot back uncertainly. The effect was aesthetically ironic, as Krikkitmen engaged in a firefight with statues of themselves. Romana wondered if there’d be a paper in it.

  She and the Doctor hid from the barrage behind a desk.

  There was a rustling noise. She turned around.

  Forever a child on Christmas morning, the Doctor hadn’t been able to resist opening up the plans and having a look at them.

  ‘You’re impossible,’ she said, as a large lump of screaming metal flew over them.

  The Doctor pointed to some drawings of circuit boards. ‘That should interest you.’

  Romana peered through the smoke at the plans. Something nearby was shrieking electronically. There was a loud explosion and the shrieking stopped. ‘That fault in the circuit here? And there … Well, at the very least that’s sloppy work.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She could see the Doctor grinning through the cordite. ‘Something’s up, Romana.’

  ‘Something’s up, Doctor.’

  They nodded at each other, enjoying a rare moment of complete understanding. The plans for the Supernova Bomb were both breathtakingly audacious and curiously incomplete.

  ‘Put charitably, like they said, it’s as though the Krikkitas have run out of science.’

  The Doctor considered her suggestion. ‘I’m not feeling charitable. Not today.’

  Something was clanking through the great hall towards them. It did not sound friendly. Romana had a peep.

  ‘Krikkitman?’ the Doctor asked.

  She nodded. Then with no warning, she stood up. ‘Halt,’ she said.

  The Krikkitman took three further strides forward and then halted. The red glow in the depths of its helmet lit up, considering her.

  ‘Report,’ Romana snapped.

  The Krikkitman continued to survey her, silently.

  ‘You heard me,’ Romana repeated. ‘Report.’

  Without moving, the Krikkitman appeared to pause, considering the situation.

  Crouched at her feet the Doctor’s head was its usual tangle: perhaps Romana was pretending; perhaps she had been under their control all this time; maybe he should just give another squint to the circuit diagram, because there were at least two things he’d learned from the plans and he was dying to learn a third.

  ‘You are no longer under our control,’ the Krikkitman announced, raising its bat.

  A lesser mortal would have quailed. Romana did not. ‘I never said I was still under your control,’ she remarked. ‘I’d still appreciate a report.’

  Surprisingly, the Krikkitman complied. ‘We knew you would come here. We knew you would make contact with the rebels. We knew you would seek to stop us completing the Supernova Bomb. Your movements have been predicted.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ the Doctor began to say, but Romana trod on his hand.

  ‘Predicted by whom?’ she demanded. ‘Who do you serve?’

  ‘The cause of Krikkit,’ the Krikkitman replied.

  Romana could see the bodies strewn across the great hall. Some of them were rebels. But not all of them. Even if they were evil, there was still something distressing about a dead librarian. Probably come running to save some books from the conflagration, which just made it worse.

  ‘The cause of Krikkit?’ snapped Romana. ‘Certainly you don’t serve the people of Krikkit.’

  The robot was silent again.

  ‘So –’ Romana’s tone was refined steel – ‘who or what are you working for?’

  The robot leaned forward. The red glow in its helmet burned bright. It raised its bat, ready to strike.

  Romana refused to flinch. ‘Killing me is no answer.’

  The bat swung down.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BIRTH OF A NOTION

  The Krikkitman toppled to the floor. Rolling through the debris behind it came K-9. He was even more pleased with himself than usual. Sir Robot had pointed out a weak spot in the neck armour of the Krikkitmen, and the results were most satisfactory.

  ‘Splendid shooting, that dog.’ The Doctor sprang over the desk, and examined the robot. ‘Pity, though. We nearly got it to talk.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Romana kicked the robot. ‘Beastly thing. I’m going to make a wild assumption.’

  ‘Is that assumption almost completely unsupported by evidence?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Romana vowed solemnly. ‘Thesis: The Krikkitmen released their home planet from Slow Time. Antithesis: Their actions had nothing to do with freeing their own people. Hypothesis: They simply wanted the Supernova Bomb. They’ve come to find it before launching their final assault.’

  ‘Good,’ the Doctor said, ignoring K-9’s repeated throat clearing. ‘K-9, you were going to say that was impossible because the Elders of Krikkit hadn’t thought of building a bomb when they were sealed up two million years ago, weren’t you?’

  ‘Correct, Master.’ The dog sounded only mildly miffed.

  ‘That isn’t the Krikkitmen’s only problem.’ The Doctor grinned. ‘They’re going to have to find a way to make the Supernova Bomb work.’

  ‘Query?’ said the dog, but the Doctor was already striding away into the conflagration.

  They found Jal in a corridor, clutching her chest. Sir Robot was bent over her, supporting her gently by the shoulders.

  ‘Have you been shot?’ Romana asked.

  Jal shook her head. ‘Worse,’ she gasped.

  ‘Oh,’ Romana replied. ‘Are you sure?’

  Jal nodded, agonised.

  ‘K-9,’ Romana called. ‘We need you.’

  The dog trundled forward, followed by the Doctor.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

  ‘The baby’s coming,’ Jal said.

  The Doctor looked around, at the burning building, the approaching sounds of battle, and the death cries. ‘Oh. Can’t it wait?’

  Romana and Jal looked at each other and back at the Doctor.

  ‘Sorry,’ the Doctor said. ‘It’s been a while. I can barely remember my own birth. Not sure I was much help then, either.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Romana, gently lowering Jal to the floor. They were in a relatively quiet corner at the bottom of a staircase. The grim portraits on the landing frowned down at them. ‘Find a bathroom, get towels.’

  The Doctor was baffled. ‘Where?’

  ‘The corridor we’ve just run down. There was probably a bathroom there. Weren’t you looking?’

  ‘Normally I’m just trying to get to the end.’

  ‘Go back and look.’

  ‘I will provide covering fire,’ said Sir Robot as the Doctor headed off. ‘Jal must be protected.’ He strode away, raising his bat. ‘Even if I must fight my own people. Which should prove interesting.’

  Romana held Jal’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing.’ She turned to K-9. ‘K-9, I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. Can you talk me through this?’

  Jal gasped in pain and outrage.

  ‘Honestly,’ sighed Romana. ‘Would you rather the Doctor did this?’

  ‘No,’ hissed Jal.

  The Doctor hared off down a corridor. ‘Bathroom,’ he muttered.

  He found a door, tested the handle, then threw it open.

  ‘Bathroom?’ he called into the cavernous space.

  A distant light flicked on. Then another. And another.

  ‘Not bathroom,’ the Doctor decided.

  ‘Hurry up, Doctor,’ Romana muttered, as K-9 rat
tled off an alarming list of instructions and Jal gave a sudden roar of pain.

  ‘Attention,’ K-9 remarked. ‘That is a good sign. Please breathe more steadily.’

  Jal kicked the dog.

  ‘Honestly, Doctor,’ sighed Romana. ‘I just sent him for paper towels. If he comes back with a hand-dryer I will have to kill him.’

  ‘We’ll blame the Krikkitmen,’ panted Jal.

  ‘Your breathing is still not steady enough,’ chided K-9.

  ‘Have you done this before?’ gasped the rebel.

  ‘Negative,’ the robot dog conceded.

  Jal gave another shriek of pain.

  ‘Please try to express your agony more quietly,’ the dog remarked. ‘You may attract undue attention.’

  Jal held her breath. She made careful eye contact with K-9. Then threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A figure appeared at the Doctor’s side.

  ‘Er, yes, actually,’ the Doctor regarded the hologram. An Elder of Krikkit, he was dressed in white robes. ‘I was looking for the bathroom.’

  ‘Then this is not what you seek,’ the hologram said. ‘This is the Chamber of Our Shame.’

  ‘Have you at least some paper towels?’ The Doctor was hopeful. ‘It’s just that this sounds fascinating and I do love killing two birds with one stone.’

  ‘We do not have paper towels,’ the hologram intoned implacably. ‘Allow me to show you our shame.’

  More lights came on. The Doctor stared.

  ‘Someone kill me,’ Jal groaned.

  ‘Attention.’ K-9’s voice remained unperturbed. ‘Your attitude is unduly negative. Your heightened pain response is all part of the natural order and allows your body to be more reactive to the birthing process.’

  ‘Shut up K-9,’ said Romana.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Behold our shame,’ the hologram intoned dolorously.

  ‘What I can see,’ the Doctor remarked slowly, ‘is a spaceship.’

  The chamber was vast. At its centre was the beautifully lit wreckage of the craft which had started the whole Krikkit War by falling out of the sky two million, one thousand and five years ago. The wreckage had been carefully restored to the state it had been in before it crashed.

  ‘Until the arrival of the desecration, we lived in a state of absolute grace. When this fell from the skies, our entire belief system, our hopes, our dreams, all vanished.’ The hologram’s wounded tone had been honed to perfection. ‘Until that moment, we knew what our lives meant and understood our place. After that, we reacted with rage and fury. We would not rest until we had restored the simplicity of the Universe. This abomination made our lives complicated.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ the Doctor muttered sourly.

  A second figure flickered into being. It was a creature composed almost entirely of talons and fangs, and effort had even gone into covering it with holographic slime.

  ‘This is an artist’s impression of the pilot of the ship. It is based on scientific conjecture.’

  ‘But not on the body of the pilot,’ the Doctor mused. He stepped closer to the ship, a worried thought forming. The pilot could have ejected. He could have been completely atomised by at least three common malfunctions. But the chill scampering down the Doctor’s spine told him otherwise.

  He stared into the cockpit.

  ‘Behold our shame,’ began the hologram again.

  ‘Oh, you poor idiots,’ the Doctor said.

  Jal was now panting in a low voice.

  ‘The next phase of giving birth should see some interesting temporary changes in your physiognomy,’ K-9 announced.

  The Rebel Leader emitted a low, agonised howl.

  At exactly the same moment, a Krikkitman advanced on them.

  ‘Is there anything else you wish to see?’ the hologram asked.

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘Fool me twice, shame on me.’

  The lights snapped off, leaving the Doctor in darkness.

  ‘Oh,’ he cried suddenly. ‘Paper towels!’

  ‘You shot it,’ Romana was flummoxed. ‘Whilst giving birth.’

  ‘Turns out it’s quite therapeutic,’ gasped Jal. She did not relax her grip on the gun. ‘Funny, I’m normally a terrible shot.’

  ‘How are we doing, K-9?’

  The robot dog’s careful and precise status report was drowned out by some more screaming from Jal. Her cry rose louder and louder and then suddenly stopped.

  For a moment, the Parliament building was quiet. Even the distant gunfire dimmed. There was just the echo of Jal’s screams dying off against the marble.

  Romana was holding something. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I think it’s over.’

  ‘Really?’ gasped Jal.

  Romana held the object up gingerly. ‘Is this a baby?’ she asked, unconvinced.

  ‘Yes.’ Jal’s face broke into a dazed grin. ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘It is a female infant,’ announced K-9. ‘And you are holding it upside down.’

  The baby was starting to make a sound.

  ‘Well done,’ said Romana, wincing. ‘She is noisy.’ She forced her smile a bit. ‘I could do with a—’

  ‘Paper towel?’ The Doctor slid into view. ‘Sorry about the delay, I got held up and isn’t she adorable!’

  The Doctor, Romana realised, was about to prove immediately good with children. This would be a relief. Jal’s delighted laugh stopped suddenly and she gave another cry of pain.

  ‘Attention,’ remarked K-9. ‘The second infant is on the way.’

  ‘The second?’ screamed Jal in horror.

  ‘Ooh, lovely! Twins!’ the Doctor clapped.

  Romana had only been holding a humanoid baby for four point three minutes and already she was thoroughly tired of the novelty.

  The Doctor was engrossed in helping K-9 deliver the second baby. She had to say his bedside manner was remarkable, if a little unfocused.

  ‘Consider that other one the practice run. How are we doing, K-9?’

  K-9 extended his probe. ‘The head is aligned correctly.’

  ‘Lovely, like popping a cork from a bottle.’ The Doctor’s enthusiasm was, if anything, drowning out Jal’s cries. ‘Sorry, I got lost. Funny thing happened to me on the way here. Romana!’

  ‘Yes, Doctor?’

  ‘You know the ship that crashed into Krikkit and caused this mess in the first place and push a little harder, you can do it.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’ve kept it.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Take a deep breath and an even bigger push … There we go … Yes. It’s in a museum. You know, first time around, you missed something.’

  ‘Did we?’

  ‘The ship didn’t have a pilot.’

  ‘Oh, you’re right. It didn’t. Am I holding this baby correctly?’

  ‘No! Yes, well, nearly. Tilt her until she’s no longer purple and there we are and you, Jal, shouldn’t be waving that gun around, you should be thinking happy thoughts and taking lots of shallow little breaths puff puff puff – no pilot – puff puff – no pilot on board at all – puff puff.’

  ‘OK.’ Romana stared at the baby in her arms. ‘What happened to the pilot?’ she asked him.

  ‘That’s the funny thing,’ the Doctor said. ‘And come on, ready to try again, Jal? Give it the good old college try. Come on, rhythm! Swing, swing, together, our bodies between our knees – all pull together!’

  ‘Shut up,’ screamed Jal, and Romana patted her approvingly on the shoulder.

  ‘All push together!’ the Doctor roared. ‘Anyway, I don’t think there ever was one.’

  ‘One what? A pilot?’ Romana stared in confusion at the baby. The baby stared back at her with equal incomprehension. It started to cry.

  ‘No. The Krikkitas didn’t know what they were looking at because they’d never seen one before. Push! Push! Push again and there we are there we are and oh, it’s a boy and aren’t you the
loudest thing in the world already? And more paper towels all round, I think. Well done, Jal, Well done. Two babies. Don’t pick a favourite – not until they’ve left school and one’s expressed an interest in management consultancy and could you just, with your gun—’

  There were two shots. Two Krikkitmen toppled to the ground.

  The Doctor boggled. ‘Amazing aim. You win a prize. Two babies.’

  Sir Robot came along the corridor. ‘Have I missed anything?’ he called. ‘Most of the rebels have fled. I am holding back the Krikkitmen but I think we should probably leave too. Also, my darling, you look magnificent.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jal propped herself up, taking her babies in her arms. ‘Doctor, Romana – thank you for all you’ve done. I just want to make sure I’m still the owner of all my internal organs, and that you’ve not accidentally wrapped my kidneys in a blanket.’

  She peeled back one of the bundles and stared at the eyes of her baby. ‘Hello,’ said Jal. ‘Welcome to the world. It’s at war, but we’re going to sort all that out just for you.’

  The baby scrunched its face up, and considered its first jolly good cry.

  Everyone, with the inclusion of K-9, was entranced by the scene. The Doctor broke the spell.

  ‘Anyway,’ he boomed. ‘What I saw is not a wrecked space craft. It is actually a full-scale model of a wrecked space craft.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A BROWNIAN STUDY

  Across a desolate wasteland stalked the angry figure of a man. He was holding a kettle.

  As he strode through the biting wind, he snarled at the uneasily angled twilight caused by the planet’s three unpromising suns. He glowered at the rings surrounding the world, each one a disappointing shade of blue. From time to time he stumbled slightly and kicked the kettle cable furiously out of the way.

  Occasionally, he would pout at a scrap of gorse bush. Sometimes he would poke at it, his face glimmering with something that was almost hope, and then he would make a disgusted noise and lurch off again, the kettle plug bouncing giddily in his wake.

  Eventually the man slumped down on a rock, not even bothering to check if it was alive or not. He held the kettle up in his hands and sighed at it.