Doctor Who BBCN20 - The Pirate Loop

by Doctor Who

  ‘Where are Jocelyn and Dashiel?’ she asked the Doctor.

  ‘Dash is sleeping,’ Archibald told her, eager to be helpful.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor, ‘had a nasty bang on his head. Now, we’re up here, aren’t we?’

  He led them off to the side of the dining room and into an area of the ship that clearly wasn’t for passengers. There was no wood panelling or plush carpets but whitewashed walls and thick metal. It felt more like the kind of sailing ships Martha had seen in films. They clanged up the steep metal staircase onto the upper level and into a cramped space where the ship’s crew appeared to hang out. There were posters on the walls of the tiny sleeping spaces, young and pretty humans waving in 3D.

  But Martha had been in the accommodation blocks of hospitals, where the doctors and nurses lived. Her first thought was how tidy these sailors must be. They didn’t have books and clothes and DVDs littered all over the floor. She assumed they had to keep their quarters tidy as part of the job. Then she saw the great gash in the ship’s metal wall and its cause, the sharp-nosed little space car in the middle of the deck. Everything that hadn’t been bolted down had been sucked out into space before the Brilliant could seal the hole. She felt a pang of horror at the thought of the sailors who must have died at the same time.

  ‘That’s you, is it?’ she asked Archibald sourly.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied, but he could not meet her eye. For a moment she felt guilty for being so mean to him. Then she remembered what he’d 87

  done to her – the icy pain of the blade as it went through her – and to the other people on board.

  ‘He is trying to be a better badger, dear,’ Mrs Wingsworth told her.

  ‘But you have to remember how he’s been brought up. I doubt he’s been to public school.’

  ‘Went to Eton Nine,’ said Archibald. ‘S’on an asteroid.’

  Mrs Wingsworth quivered with amazement, her long tentacles up to her mouth. ‘Really, dear?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Archibald. ‘Burnt it down, took the gold.’

  ‘Well that’s something of a relief,’ said Mrs Wingsworth.

  ‘Is it?’ asked Martha. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Well, dear,’ laughed Mrs Wingsworth. ‘I was worried for a moment he’d been admitted as a pupil. You know how standards are slipping.’

  They followed the Doctor and Gabriel along through the passageway. The small sleeping areas got slightly bigger as they went, and Martha realised they had started in the area for the lowest officers and were now walking up through the ranks. Gabriel opened a heavy door into a chamber full of little rooms, and Martha could see how much better the Brilliant’s officers had it. They had proper quarters, with beds and wardrobes and desks.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘I never expected this!’

  ‘Better than what you’ve got?’ asked Martha.

  ‘It’s not the privation one minds,’ sniffed Mrs Wingsworth. ‘It’s the unfairness of it. Why should the captain have such luxury?’

  ‘The captain’s recreational area is prescribed by intergalactic law, Mrs Wingsworth,’ said Gabriel. ‘The regulations require that she does not spend more than thirty consecutive hours on duty, for the safety of the passengers.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’s very deserving, dear,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. It occurred to Martha she wouldn’t normally have called a robot ‘dear’ –that this was her and the Doctor’s influence. ‘I just think we should all have the same.’

  ‘It’s funny there’s no officers about, though, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘They shouldn’t all be on duty at once.’

  ‘They fell off the ship when we came here,’ said Archibald. ‘Sorry.’

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  ‘Even so,’ said the Doctor. ‘There’s no one here.’

  ‘I believe, Mr Doctor,’ said Gabriel, ‘that many were called to the bridge at the first alarm.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘How many people are there likely to be on the bridge?’

  Gabriel considered. ‘There are six officers on duty, Mr Doctor, including the captain. There are then twelve reserve officers of which seven are also on the bridge.’

  ‘And why are they there?’ asked the Doctor, though Martha suspected he already knew.

  ‘I regret I am not at liberty –’ began Gabriel.

  ‘Oh come on,’ said the Doctor. ‘You know the safety of the passengers is at stake.’

  Martha watched Gabriel struggling with his robot conscience. ‘They are there in a protective capacity, Mr Doctor,’ he said.

  ‘They’re there to fight anyone trying to get onto the bridge,’ said the Doctor. ‘What do you think of that, Mrs Wingsworth?’

  ‘I think it’s perfectly understandable, dear,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ said the Doctor. ‘It doesn’t seem very fair to me. Why aren’t they out here, protecting the passengers? That’s their first responsibility isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘I suppose they did rather leave us in the lurch.’

  ‘We was expectin’ to fight,’ said Archie. ‘But no one ’ere would fight us.’

  Martha felt herself growing hot with anger. The crew left the passengers to die,’ she said. In her mind the crew were already villains anyway: they had to be to employ the poor, mouthless men in the engine room.

  ‘It does look that way,’ said the Doctor. ‘But let’s not judge them until we’ve heard what they’ve got to say in response. Here we are.’

  They had reached a huge double door at the end of the passageway.

  Gabriel went forward and, without having to press or say anything, did whatever he had to do. They heard the heavy locks untangling 89

  from deep within the doors. Gabriel stepped backwards and the doors swung slowly open at him.

  ‘Oh,’ said the Doctor, disappointed. ‘Well, yes, I should have thought of that.’

  The doorway was blocked by a wall of what looked like scrambled egg. Archibald reached out a hairy paw to prod the strange material.

  Even when he punched it, the scrambled egg did not yield.

  ‘What are we going to do, dear?’ asked Mrs Wingsworth.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Martha. ‘The Doctor can get us through.

  Can’t you?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Nothing simpler. I’m just wondering if I should. It’s like with the engine rooms, isn’t it? We can get through it easy, we just can’t come back out.’

  ‘It’s the only way,’ Martha told him sternly.

  The Doctor gazed at her for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said, taking the sonic screwdriver from his inside pocket. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He clicked the screwdriver to setting twenty-eight and aimed it at the scrambled egg.

  Archibald and Mrs Wingsworth watched in wonder. ‘What is that?’

  said Archibald.

  ‘Well, it’s just sound waves, really,’ said the Doctor, busy at work. ‘Vi-brations you can aim. This scrambled egg stuff resonates at a certain frequency and that’s why it seems solid. If I can change the frequency it all loosens up. And then we just walk through. Simple, really.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Archibald.

  ‘Did you understand that?’ asked Martha.

  ‘No,’ said Archibald. Martha, despite what he had done to her before, laughed. Archibald grinned at her.

  ‘See, dear?’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘He’s rather a darling once he can stop being such a rascal.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Archibald.

  ‘If you say so,’ said Martha. Keen to change the subject, she turned to Gabriel. ‘Don’t suppose you can get us a drink while we’re waiting, can you?’

  ‘Certainly, Ms Martha,’ said Gabriel. ‘What would you like?’

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  ‘I’ll have a cup of tea if one’s being offered,’ said the Doctor, still busy on the door.

  ‘Is tea good?’ Archibald asked him.

  ‘Oh,’ said the Doctor darkly. ‘It’s no
t for everybody. It can be quite dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll ’ave a cuppa tea,’ Archibald told Gabriel.

  ‘And me,’ said Martha. ‘Just a bit of milk, no sugar.’

  ‘Certainly, Ms Martha,’ said Gabriel. ‘And Mrs Wingsworth?’

  ‘A gin and tonic,’ said Mrs Wingsworth. ‘Well,’ she added, seeing how Martha looked at her. ‘I am on holiday.’

  By the time Gabriel returned with the drinks, the Doctor was nearly finished with the wall of scrambled egg.

  ‘Ms Jocelyn,’ Gabriel informed them, ‘instructs me to tell you that Mr Dashiel is awake but continues to recuperate.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said the Doctor, taking his tea from the tray Gabriel proffered. Martha sipped her tea, the hot, familiar flavour making her feel so much better. There was something brilliant about being so far in the future and still getting a dainty china cup of tea. However far into the past or future she went, she was constantly amazed how much people were just people, with the same worries and loves and things to eat. And that made it all the worse that Archibald had never had any of that. She looked over at him, where he was finding it difficult to get his cup of tea to fit round his long badger nose.

  ‘Maybe you need a straw,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Archibald. He didn’t seem to know what to make of the tea. Martha could see the wonder in his eyes at yet another, different flavour. She thought of all the things he would love to try for the first time: chips and chocolate and fruit and Sunday roasts. In a way she envied him.

  ‘Right,’ said the Doctor, prodding the soft scrambled egg with a finger. ‘That’s looking good.’ He turned to Martha. ‘Ladies first again?’

  ‘No,’ said Martha. ‘We go through together this time.’

  ‘OK,’ said the Doctor. He turned to Archibald, Mrs Wingsworth and Gabriel. ‘We’ll just be a moment,’ he told them. ‘And then it should all be put right.’

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  ‘You mean, dear,’ said Mrs Wingsworth appalled, ‘you’re leaving us behind?’

  ‘Nah,’ said the Doctor. ‘This is going to be boring. But we need you here covering our backs.’ Martha knew what he was really up to –keeping them safe from whatever dangers awaited. The crew, after all, were waiting to fight anyone coming through. ‘Big responsibility that,’ the Doctor went on. ‘If you think you’re up to it.’

  ‘Of course we are!’ said Mrs Wingsworth, so affronted she spilt some of her gin and tonic.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Archibald.’

  ‘Mr Doctor,’ said Gabriel. ‘The crew may have instructions to shoot you if you enter the bridge without authority.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said the Doctor. ‘Well I’m the only one of us who hasn’t been killed yet. Probably my turn. See ya!’

  And he grabbed Martha’s hand and moved quickly forwards.

  Again the scrambled egg pressed close against her, threatening to hold her fast. But Martha held the Doctor’s hand tightly, and in a moment they were out the far side.

  The bridge was a long, grey room with a horseshoe of computers at its centre, each computer at the command of a different tall, athletic human. Their tight grey uniforms showed off fine, sculpted muscles.

  ‘Hello,’ said the Doctor cheerily. ‘I’m the Doctor. . . ’ Still holding Martha’s hand, he stepped forward into the room. And into an invisible wall of electricity. Martha didn’t have time to scream as the energy tore through her. She just had time to feel the Doctor’s hand burning up in hers, and then they were both gone.

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  ‘I’ve got my eyes shut,’ she heard the Doctor say. ‘Are you there yet?’

  Martha opened her eyes. She was sat on the floor, her back against the cold and unyielding wall of scrambled egg, and facing the horseshoe of computers. The Doctor sat next to her, his eyes tightly closed.

  His suit was torn in places and blackened from where the invisible wall of electricity had cooked it. The skin around his nose and ears looked raw and pink and painful.

  A thought struck Martha and she quickly lifted the hem of her vest top. The scar from the knife wound had gone.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m here.’

  He opened his eyes and grinned at her. ‘That was exciting,’ he said, as if they’d just stepped off a rollercoaster.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But let’s not make a habit of it.’

  ‘Chicken,’ he replied.

  ‘Ahem,’ said a new voice above them. Martha looked up to see a handsome bloke with a cool, handlebar moustache. He gazed sternly down at them from where he stood a couple of feet away, keeping the wall of killer electricity between them. His tight grey uniform only emphasised his impressive muscles.

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  ‘Um,’ said Martha. ‘Hi.’

  ‘You survived,’ he said, sounding disappointed. His voice was warm and rich, like in an advert for coffee.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said the Doctor easily. ‘Don’t know what we were thinking.’

  The handsome man turned back to his handsome colleagues. ‘Captain,’ he called. ‘They survived.’ Yeah, OK, thought Martha, people coming back from the dead was unusual. But for all he looked lovely, his voice was a bit whinging.

  Martha turned to the Doctor, hoping he’d know what to do. They were trapped between the cold scrambled egg and the invisible wall of electricity. The Doctor pulled a face at her and shrugged. They would just have to see what happened next.

  The tall, well-toned captain came over, one of those lucky women whose bone structure meant she could be anywhere between thirty-five and sixty. Her long, sleek hair was heavily layered and helped emphasise her cheekbones. It reminded Martha of the ‘Rachel’ look, fashionable when she’d been at university. It also reminded her of the kind of rich students who had so much time to spend on styling their hair.

  ‘They’re human,’ said the captain, with surprise and another coffee-selling voice. Closer now, Martha could see the fine worry lines etched into the skin around her steely, determined eyes. She looked fierce and brave as well as beautiful.

  ‘And so are you,’ said the Doctor. He turned to Martha. ‘I just knew there’d be some of your lot somewhere round the place. Doing your thing, all being in space. Just look at you! You’re brilliant.’

  ‘Doctor,’ said Martha sternly. ‘Don’t do that, it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t do what?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘That. Talking down to the Homo sapiens.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. And then he grinned. ‘Though really, you’re Homo sapiens sapiens. There’s a whole sub-species thing. And you’ve got this –’ He noticed the way she was looking at him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He turned his attention to the starship’s captain. ‘I was just saying to your mate,’ he said, ‘how we didn’t 94

  mean to live through your clever wossname. Can only apologise, really.’

  The captain scrutinised the Doctor as if he wriggled in a test tube.

  ‘He speaks standard,’ she said. ‘Of a sort.’

  ‘What should I do with them?’ said the handsome man beside her, stroking his handlebar moustache.

  ‘Oh,’ said the Doctor to Martha, making a great show of ignoring the two fearsome people standing right in front of them. ‘I imagine they’ll want to interrogate us. Find out what we know.’

  ‘We do know a lot,’ agreed Martha.

  ‘We do,’ said the Doctor. ‘The war, the pirates, the experimental drive and what’s gone wrong with it. . . ’ He looked up at the captain and grinned.

  The captain bit her bottom lip as she considered. ‘We could run the wall of electricity closer to the door,’ she said simply. ‘Fry them again.’

  ‘It’s really not going to make any difference,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’re very hardy. Like dandelions.’

  ‘We could shoot them, sir,’ the handsome man suggested to the captain. In fact, he was so good-looking with his eyes and moustache and twinkling smile that Martha didn’t really mind too muc
h about what he was suggesting. She supposed people were always going to be better looking in the future, just as she’d found Shakespeare a bit unwashed and smelly. Oh, she thought; perhaps this handsome bloke looked at her, a girl from the distant past, with the same kind of horror.

  ‘Or you could say how helpful it is to have someone turn up who knows what’s going on,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘What is going on?’ the captain asked him. She didn’t, Martha noted, try to use her beauty on him. Her good looks were a side issue to the job in hand. The captain expected to be taken seriously.

  ‘Well,’ said the Doctor. ‘Why don’t you let us out of this thing and then we can chat about it?’

  The captain considered. ‘I suppose they are human,’ she said, as if humans had never done anything bad, ever.

  ‘Captain?’ asked the handsome man.

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  ‘Let them out,’ the captain told the handsome man. ‘But keep them covered.’

  Two other handsome men in uniform hurried over with elegant, little guns, which they trained on the Doctor and Martha. The handsome man nodded to one of his well-toned colleagues working at the horseshoe of computers. The colleague, a beautiful brunette, operated some of the controls in front of her, but nothing much seemed to happen as far as Martha could tell. Still, the handsome man beckoned her forward.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Move.’

  With the guns pointing at her, Martha made to move forward but the Doctor grabbed her hand.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ he said, and took a step through the space where the wall of electricity had been. Nothing happened to him. He looked himself up and down, just to be on the safe side then looked back at Martha, smiling. ‘Easy,’ he said.

  The bridge was more like an office than the control deck of a spaceship, thought Martha as she stepped forward. There was no big view screen or anything like that. Instead the handsome, uniformed people each had a place at the horseshoe of computers. Each individual computer screen was also projected onto the wall behind the person manning it, so everyone could see what everyone else was up to. For a moment Martha thought this meant they couldn’t get away with skiving – there’d be no online shopping or Facebook when everyone else could look round at your screen. But then she realised that the captain need only stand in the gap of the horseshoe to see all the wall screens at once.