That was enough.
And at tomorrow’s press demonstration, that plan would be taking its first step.
Caitlin returned and said the man was waiting on a call from another man in some service area on the mezzanine floor and he’d be done.
Dara Morgan glanced over – the overalled man was trying to call.
‘Tell your friend,’ Dara Morgan said to Caitlin, ‘that he won’t get through to his colleague. The service areas are blocked to cellular signals. Tell him to use a terminal. If the fibre optics are connected, it’ll link straight to his associate’s mobile.’
Caitlin nodded and passed the message on.
Dara Morgan watched as the overalled man inserted the fibre-optic connection into the back of his laptop and dialled via that.
There was a flash of purple and, where the workman had been kneeling, there was now just a pile of ashes. A burnt, acrid smell wafted over, and Dara Morgan wrinkled his nose in distaste. Burned flesh, melted fabric and sweat.
Vile.
‘Well,’ said Caitlin, ‘that bodes well, sir.’
Dara Morgan clapped his hands loudly, and everyone
else in the room, all of whom had ignored the death of Johnnie Bates, turned to face him.
‘People, it would appear the hotel is wired. Or “fibred”, I should say.’
There was a polite ripple of laughter.
‘Tomorrow, we take over the world.’
‘Oi!’
A word/phrase/guttural noise, spluttered with a splash of indignation, a twist of sarcasm and a great gulp of volume.
No matter how hard he tried, the Doctor couldn’t help but sigh every time he heard it. Usually because the indignation, sarcasm and especially the volume were all aimed in his direction.
He sighed and turned back to face Donna Noble, Queen of the ‘Oi’s.
And she wasn’t there.
Just the TARDIS, parked between two council dumpsters. Quite neatly, if he said so himself.
Oh.
Ah.
Right.
‘Sorry,’ he said to the TARDIS door, then walked back and unlocked it, revealing Donna stood on the threshold.
‘I assumed you were already outside.’
‘Which bit of “I’m right behind you” didn’t quite make sense, then?’ Donna asked oh-so-politely, with a characteristic head wobble that actually meant she wasn’t feeling all that polite at all. ‘Which bit of “wait for me”
bypassed your hearing? Which section of “I’m just putting
on something nice” vanished into the ether?’
There was no way for the Doctor to worm out of that one. So he just shrugged. ‘I said I was sorry.’
‘“Sorry”?’
‘Yeah, “sorry”. What else do you want?’
‘Are you “sorry” that you didn’t hear me? “Sorry” that you locked me inside your alien spaceship? Or “sorry”
that you hadn’t even noticed I wasn’t with you?’
Each time, Donna pinged the word ‘sorry’ so it sounded like the least apologetic word in the English language and took on a whole new meaning that linguists could argue over the exact implication of for the next twelve centuries.
‘No way I can win this,’ the Doctor said, ‘so I’m just gonna let it go, all right?’
Donna opened her mouth to speak again, but the Doctor reached forward and put a finger on her lips.
‘Hush,’ he said.
Donna hushed.
And winked.
‘I win!’
And then she gave him that fantastic, amazing grin that she always did when she was teasing him – and he gave her that sigh that admitted he’d been caught out yet again.
It was a game. A game that two friends who’d gone through so much together played instinctively with one another.
Familiarity, friendship and fun. The three Fs that summed up the time shared by these two adventurers.
She slipped an arm around his and pulled him close.
‘So, what’s the skinny, Skinny?’
The Doctor nodded towards Chiswick High Road and the hustle and bustle of the traffic, and quickly dragged her out onto the main street, ready to get lost in the crowds.
Except there weren’t any. Indeed, there weren’t really very many people around at all, just a couple of kids on a skateboard on the opposite pavement and an old man walking his dog.
The Doctor raised his other hand. ‘Not raining,’ he said.
‘Well spotted, Sherlock,’ said Donna. ‘Sunday?’
‘You wanted Friday the fifteenth of May 2009, Donna.
That’s what I set the TARDIS for.’
Donna laughed. ‘In which case it’s probably a Sunday in August 1972.’
The Doctor poked his head into a newsagents, smiling at the man behind the counter, who was listening to his MP3 player and ignoring his potential customer completely.
The Doctor looked at the nearest newspaper. ‘Friday 15th May 2009,’ he confirmed to Donna.
‘So where is everyone?’
‘Maybe it’s lunchtime,’ the Doctor suggested. ‘Or maybe Chiswick’s no longer the hub of society it was a month ago. Shall we walk to your place?’
‘You’re coming?’
The Doctor looked as though the thought of not going with Donna hadn’t crossed his mind. ‘Oh. Umm. Well, I was going to.’
‘Doctor, why are we here?’
‘It’s the first anniversary of your father’s death.’
‘And, grateful as I’m sure she is for you saving the world from the Sontarans, I’m not quite sure my mum’s gonna be overjoyed to see you, today of all days.’
‘Your granddad will.’
‘Yeah? Good, take him out for a pint tonight in the Shepherd’s Hut, but to start with I want to see them on my own.’ Donna was still holding his hand, and she squeezed it gently. ‘You understand, don’t you?’
He smiled. ‘Course I do. Wasn’t thinking. Sorry.’
‘Let’s not start that up again, yeah?’ Donna let go of his hand. ‘I’m gonna get some flowers and walk home. Why don’t I meet you back here, this time, tomorrow?’
‘Here. Tomorrow. Sold.’ The Doctor winked at her and started walking off. ‘Nice flower shop on the corner thataway,’ he called out. ‘Ask for Loretta and say I sent you.’
He turned a corner and was gone.
Donna took a breath and walked in the direction he’d pointed.
A year ago. Today.
Adipose. Pyroviles. Oods with brains in their hands.
Even Sontaran probic vents, Hath and talking skeletons all seemed simple in comparison to what was going to happen this afternoon.
Because this afternoon Donna had to go back and be there for her mum and probably relive not just last year, but the days and weeks that had followed, funerals, telling people, memorials, notices in papers, sorting out the
financial side of things, finding the will… None of it had been easy on Donna’s mum. Hadn’t been that easy on Donna, truth be told, and a year ago that would have been her overriding thought. Donna Noble, putting herself first.
But not now – just a short time with the Doctor had shown her that she wasn’t the woman she had been then.
And Granddad, poor Granddad, bringing back memories of Nan’s passing, he’d bravely soldiered on for everyone else’s sake, trying to sort out solicitors and funeral directors and suchlike.
Not that Mum had been weak or feeble – Sylvia Noble wasn’t like that, and they’d been prepared for Dad’s death, well, as much as you can be, but it still haunted her. She could see it in her mum’s eyes, it was like someone had cut an arm and a leg off, and Mum just coped as best she could. Thirty-eight years they’d been married.
Donna sighed. ‘Miss you, Dad,’ she said out loud as she came to a halt outside a laundrette called Loretta’s.
Her phone buzzed with a text message, and she read it.
UMMM. ACTUALLY MIGHT BE WRONG.
LORETTA
’S MIGHT NOT BE FLORIST. SORRY.
How did he do that? He didn’t even have a mobile as far as Donna knew. That sonic screwdriver perhaps? Was there nothing it couldn’t do?
Shoving the phone back into her coat pocket, Donna decided she’d be better off heading towards Turnham Green. She knew there was a florist there.
Men. Alien men. Useless, the lot of them.
Lukas Carnes hated technology. Which made him a bit weird, according to all his mates. His mum had a PC, but
Lukas avoided using it if possible, other than to type up school essays once he’d done them in longhand. He had an MP3 player which his younger brother (who was eight) had to actually put music onto for him. And don’t even get him started on the problems associated with using a DVD-R.
He was, he’d decided on his fifteenth birthday, a throwback to an earlier time, when technically savvy guys were called geeks and girls ran a mile from them. Sadly for Lukas, most girls he knew wanted a bloke who could download music at twenty paces and unlock a mobile that had come from a dodgy stall in Shepherds Bush Market.
So Lukas didn’t have a girlfriend.
Which just added fuel to his passionate loathing for tech. He accepted that he needed it, he just didn’t want to understand it. His brain wasn’t wired to understand MP3
compressions and 3G and GPS tracking systems. He just wanted to press an ON button and have it all work. Wasn’t that what his mum’s age group had gone through all that First/Second/Third Generation stuff for? So that he could press buttons and things worked without being out of date in six months and redundant in twelve. On TV they talked about the days when you could click your fingers and doors would open, when you could walk into a room and say ‘lights’ and a computer would turn everything on, just to the right level.
God. He was his grandmother! Next thing, he’d be saying he couldn’t understand pop music and what sex was that person on Popworld?
Fifteen, not fifty, Lukas.
So why was he standing in the local branch of Discount Electronics, watching a demonstration of the newest Fourth Generation Processor on some laptop thinner than a piece of cardboard?
Because his brother, his 8-year-old, technically savvy, brother Joe had asked him. Well, strictly speaking, Mum had asked him. With Joe’s dad gone, just like Lukas’s before him, the older boy had become de facto father to his little brother. Which suited Lukas, cos secretly he adored Joe, not that he’d ever tell him that. And cos little brothers needed to know who was boss, and Lukas’s power would be lost at the first sign of weakness.
And Joe had acted up really badly after his dad went, getting into trouble at school and on the estate, and Mum had been visited by the police twice.
So Lukas had taken Joe aside and explained as best he could to an 8-year-old that it wasn’t Mum’s fault his dad had gone, nor was it Joe’s, and messing about with the older kids, helping them nick cars and stuff wasn’t helping Mum.
After a few months, Joe had calmed down. But now he hung on to Lukas at all times, and kicked off if his big brother didn’t take him everywhere. Lukas had even started taking Joe to junior school before heading off to Park Vale High. Which Mum appreciated no end, so that was good.
But occasionally, Lukas wanted to kick off by himself, be alone, not be the responsible one.
Today was a day like that, but here he was with Joe, watching this new demo along with thirty other people, all
tucked into a shop that probably safely took ten people at most. God help them if there was a fire.
A large (in every direction) woman moved in front of them, so Lukas hoisted Joe up into his arms so he could see better. This meant Lukas could see nothing. So while Joe (how heavy was he getting?) watched intently, Lukas’s gaze drifted round the shop.
A skinny guy in a blue suit was tapping away at a demonstration laptop that was probably going to be out of date by the end of today. The guy was searching for something on the internet – Lukas could see repeated screens showing a search engine (ooh, technical term!) –and frowning. He clearly wasn’t getting the results he wanted.
The man reached into his pocket and took out a shiny tube, like a marker pen, and pointed it at the screen. At first, Lukas thought he was going to write on the laptop’s screen but instead the end of the pen glowed blue, and Lukas watched in amazement as the images on the screen downloaded and changed at a phenomenal rate. No, an impossible rate. The blue-suited man took a pair of thick black glasses out of another pocket and put them on as he stared intently at the changing screens. Surely he couldn’t read that fast?
He became aware that Lukas was watching him and smiled, almost sheepishly. The shiny pen went back into a pocket, the glasses into another.
Lukas realised his mouth was open, so he snapped it shut.
Blue Suit Guy winked at Lukas and was about to leave
the shop, when he reached forward and picked up a leaflet about the demonstration Lukas’s little brother was watching. And then he looked at the crowd and wandered over.
Lukas quickly switched his attention back to the demo.
Or at least to the back of Fat Lady’s head.
After a few minutes of listening to some blonde droning on about how revolutionary the new computer system was, Blue Suit Guy shrugged and muttered about ‘impossible’ and ‘not on this planet’ and ‘contradicting the Shadow Proclamation’s Eighteenth Protocol’, at which point Lukas decided that, shiny penthing or not, this guy was probably a nutter. Maybe he should get Joe away from him, just in case the guy had a knife.
Lukas leaned forward to whisper in Joe’s ear that maybe it was time to go home, when Blue Suit Guy nudged him.
‘So, everyone’s inside all the electronics shops, yeah?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The streets were pretty empty. As I walked along, I realised everyone was in shops like this, watching these demos.’
‘Today’s the launch,’ Lukas found himself explaining.
‘Everyone’s interested.’
‘You’re not,’ Blue Suit Guy replied.
Lukas shrugged. ‘Kid brother is.’
‘Ah. I see.’
Lukas tried to step away, but was hemmed in by another man on one side and Fat Lady in front.
Blue Suit Guy got his shiny pen out again. ‘Don’t mind
me,’ he said.
But Lukas did mind him. A lot.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked.
Blue Suit Guy shrugged. ‘Well, firstly, I’m letting a friend go home for a bit. Secondly, I was wondering why everyone was in here. And fourthly, I’m now really concerned by the technology in that laptop.’
Lukas knew he’d regret this. ‘And thirdly?’
‘Thirdly?’ Blue Suit Guy looked confused, and then grinned as if something had popped back into his head.
‘Oh yes, thirdly, I came looking for you, Lukas Samuel Carnes.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m the Doctor and I’m here to save your life.’
Dara Morgan sipped his coffee slowly. Partly because it showed he had good manners, and partly because it was too hot to do anything else. But it probably looked like good manners to Mr Murakami and his delegation.
‘So, Mr Morgan,’ the Japanese banker was saying, ‘do we have a deal?’
Dara Morgan’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he glanced over at Caitlin, standing by the office door. ‘What do you think, Cait?’
Caitlin walked over, her long legs and short skirt clearly drawing the eye of some of Mr Murakami’s entourage but not, Dara Morgan observed, Mr Murakami himself.
Good.
‘I think it’s a good deal, sir,’ she purred. ‘If Murakami-San can get the M-TEK out throughout the East by Sunday, it will be… superb.’
Dara Morgan flicked his hair out of his eyes. ‘Just under two days, 3.30pm Tokyo time. Doable?’
Mr Murakami frowned. ‘Why Sunday? It’s ludicrously short notice.’
Dara Morgan just smiled. ‘Let’s just say, it’s what the ent
ire deal hinges on. I need that guarantee, Murakami-San, or I go elsewhere.’
‘But that way, you have even less chance of a deal to be in place by then,’ the Japanese man said.
Dara Morgan nodded at this. ‘I know. But let’s face it, with the money that the M-TEK will make, smaller companies than yours, hungrier ones perhaps, will go that extra mile to meet my… MorganTech’s requirements.’ He sipped his coffee again. ‘It’ll be in the contract, with penalty clauses.’
‘Which will be?’
‘Catastrophic. For the whole of Japan.’
Mr Murakami’s people moved an inch closer to their man. ‘Was that a threat, Mr Morgan?’ he asked softly.
‘No,’ said Dara Morgan. ‘I don’t do threats. Barbarians do threats. Idiots do threats. I just state facts.’
‘It is a great opportunity,’ Caitlin cut in. ‘Please, think about it over dinner. Tonight. At our expense.’
‘Alas, we cannot join you,’ Dara Morgan added, ‘but you are at liberty to pick any restaurant in London that takes your fancy and all expenses will be covered by MorganTech. Indeed I insist.’
‘All expenses?’
‘Relating to food and drink, yes.’
‘Ah. In that case, you shall have my answer by
midnight tonight.’ Mr Murakami stood and Dara Morgan did the same, giving a slight bow as he did so. Mr Murakami responded likewise, including Caitlin in the deference, and she nodded to him and the others in his party.
Formalities over, the Japanese delegation headed for the door of the suite, but Mr Murakami turned back one last time. ‘Seriously, why Sunday? Why 3.30 in the afternoon?’
‘Because something big is happening all over the globe on Monday at 3pm UK time. That’s 11pm Tokyo time.
But we all need deals in place. I too have made a deal, you see, but it’s rather like a chain in a property purchase: one link breaks and the whole deal comes tumbling down.
Then we all suffer.’
‘All?’
‘Universally.’ Dara Morgan threw a sideways glance at Caitlin, and she immediately moved to escort Mr Murakami out of the room.
A moment later, the Japanese were gone and Caitlin was back at Dara Morgan’s side. He was standing at a massive picture window, a huge panoramic view over West London. He could see the new Wembley Stadium, Centrepoint, the London Eye and other tall London structures.
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