by Doctor Who
‘Very well.’
Vida felt a tiny surge of hope. But as the ghost of Andrew dribbled away to nothing and his light faded, she caught the supercilious smile on Crayshaw’s face and knew the thing was lying. She was back in darkness, the wheezing, rasping breath of the drowned still dragging in her ears.
‘The vice admiral will be landing soon. You will contact him and arrange your meeting at a place of our choosing.’
‘Who are you?’ she screamed.
‘We are of the waterhive.’ The voice was different. It was softer, spookier, almost feminine, though it came from where Crayshaw was standing. ‘And the hour of the feast is fast approaching.’
A new noise started up. A slithering, slapping noise, like a fish writhing on dry ground in the throes of dying. Only this sounded more like excitement, a sort of horrible applause all around her. These alien creatures of the deep were still hidden here in the cracks and crannies of the hulk, waiting, anticipating.
And with a sick feeling she knew that whatever she did, they would use her to help them make their plans a reality.
‘Yes, I saw Rose too,’ was all the Doctor would say. He strode through 126
the walkways of the estate with a look in his dark eyes that said do not mess. Mickey could hardly keep up with him.
‘We’ve got to go to her,’ said Keisha.
‘She’s right. Rose needs us,’ said Mickey. ‘Now. We can’t muck about.’
The Doctor didn’t break his step, didn’t turn. ‘Shut up,’ he said.
‘But she’s in danger, like Jay!’ Keisha insisted. ‘We have to get to her before the feast –’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ The Doctor whirled on one heel and rounded on them both. ‘This whole planet could be in danger! D’you think I don’t want to go jumping into the Thames after Rose? You think I don’t want to. . . ’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself. ‘I do want to, and I didn’t even see her clearly. My senses are about a thousand times smarter than yours. These creatures haven’t got the measure of me yet, haven’t learned how to press all my buttons. But they’re having a damned good go.’ His eyes snapped open, urgent and soulful. ‘Now listen to me, both of you. You know that those critters in the river are fishing for humans, and they’re not throwing them back. Knowing that is making it easier for your brains to fight against the alien effect, so keep reminding yourself of what you saw back at Vida’s offices. Don’t trust the voices in your head, don’t trust these images of Rose – trust me.’
Mickey considered. ‘What’re you gonna do?’
‘First of all, you’re both going to help me fight a dragon.’
Keisha grimaced. ‘Dragon?’
‘ You! How dare you show your face round here!’
The Doctor pointed upwards to where Rose’s mum, Jackie, was hanging over the edge of the balcony, deafening the dawn like hell in a fluffy pink nightie. Her hair was a rat’s maze, her face red and tear-streaked.
‘Happy now, are you? Now you finally got her killed?’ She hurled a carton of milk down at him, which missed by a mile and burst open on the concrete. ‘My Rose is a ghost! We’ve got to save her!’
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‘Rose isn’t a ghost. Promise,’ the Doctor called back up, reasonably.
‘You’re being tricked!’
‘By aliens, I suppose?’
‘Well, actually. . . ’
‘I don’t want your excuses!’
‘Look, I’ll just pop up, shall I?’
Mickey could see curtains twitching as he followed the Doctor up the steps. Someone yelled incoherent abuse at all the shouting. And in the distance, still the sirens called mournfully to each other. How long before everyone here’s got someone in the river? he thought. Or else someone dried up in intensive care.’
‘Look,’ said Keisha. A milkman was sprawled at the top of the stairwell. ‘I guess. . . the Rose ghost did that when it came to see Jackie.
Right?’
‘Right. Well done.’ The Doctor picked the man up. ‘Luckily he doesn’t look too bad. Probably other cases in the nearby flats. As the ghosts grow in number, they’ll take less water from more victims.’
Mickey hazarded a guess as to why. ‘Because they want their victims able to chuck themselves in the Thames?’
‘Very good, Mickey. There is a brain in there!’
‘You’re gonna get yours battered when Jackie arrives.’ Mickey could hear her thundering along the concrete balcony towards the steps.
‘What’re you gonna do with the milkman, use him as a human shield?’
‘Peace offering. Jackie’s not a bad nurse, and right now I’d say she needs someone to look after.’ The Doctor propped up the milkman against Keisha and gave her a sharp look. ‘You must stay with Jackie, right? Look after her, help her with this fella and do not let her out the house. Whatever she says, whatever Jay says –’
‘OK,’ she blurted. ‘I’ll try.’
‘And what about me?’ said Mickey. ‘Surplus to requirements again?’
‘Don’t be silly, you’re full of good ideas,’ the Doctor chided. Then, as Jackie loomed up, he stepped nimbly behind him. ‘Human shield.’
Jackie glowered at the Doctor. ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself.’
‘I’m going to get Rose back,’ he said.
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‘But she’s dying, drowning!’
‘Yes!’ the Doctor cried, shoving Mickey aside like some random obstacle crowding his genius. ‘The dead are no good to these aliens. But they can merge with humans as they drown, use anti-cellularisation to rework the body. . . So that at the point of human death, something altogether more malleable is born.’
‘Don’t try and trick me with your clever talk,’ stormed Jackie. ‘I saw her!’
‘It’s the chemistry that’s clever here, not the chat.’ The Doctor went to her solemnly, took hold of her hands. Mickey held his breath. ‘I won’t lie to you. Rose is in great danger. She’s been got by the enemy, whoever they are. And like Jay, like all the others, she’s needed to lure people like you into the water, so you can go on to lure all the people you love. . . ’ He broke off, glanced back at Mickey and winced.
‘Blimey, that’s gonna be a right motley assortment!’
Jackie’s face clouded. Mickey winced as she whacked the Doctor hard round the face.
‘Ow!’ he gasped, staggered back. ‘Was I being rude? OK, guessing that was rude.’
For a moment, Mickey thought Jackie was about to go for the Doctor again. But the rage had left her, and big tears were welling up in her eyes. She turned to Keisha and burst into noisy sobs, tried to hug her but ended up with a fair bit of milkman in her grip.
The Doctor rubbed his red cheek. ‘OK. Mix a teaspoon of salt, one of baking powder, four tablespoons of sugar, a cup of orange juice and a pint of water, and get it down Milko’s neck,’ he told Keisha, turning to leave. ‘Lots of little sips.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, stroking Jackie’s shuddering back.
‘London’s going down the tubes.’ He looked mournful, still rubbing his cheek. ‘And I suppose I am too.’
‘What does that mean?’ Mickey frowned. ‘What are you going to do?’
But the Doctor simply jogged back down the steps. Mickey went after him, worried by the silence. Either the Doctor was playing the 129
moody alien whose ideas were too big for mere mortal brains to grasp, or else he didn’t have a clue.
Not that, thought Mickey, the angry swoop of circling choppers overhead vying with the drone of sirens. Don’t let it be that.
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As if she was in some horrible dream, Rose found herself taking slow-mo steps through the inky water. There was a pressure in her head, and beneath that a sort of prickling, tickling, stinging feeling.
Like little insects with blowtorches were welding odd bits of her brain together.
She tried to ignore it, to concentrate on breathing. He
r chest no longer rose and fell; it felt numb, dead flesh. She was aware only of a burning itch on both cheeks as she walked one step after the other, sliding through the thick Thames mud, tripping over slimy obstacles.
She saw everything around her in a sick green light, half-lurching, half-swimming onwards with the others until they reached the narrow mouth of a pipe in the dark wall.
Two creatures that might once have been men guarded it. They looked like pale, translucent corpses. Their eyes were like big grey jellyfish eating into their faces.
‘Go through,’ one croaked, standing aside. Rose heard him clear as day – how could that be when she was under water? She pondered the riddle as she squeezed after the others into the pipeline, dragged 131
herself along through the water. Someone crawled in front of her, someone behind. She didn’t know who they were. But it didn’t matter.
They were all a part of the hive now.
Not for the first time, Mickey was wondering how come he ever let the Doctor talk him into doing anything.
He’d meant it about going down the tubes. Or more accurately, down Aldgate tube. It was now 6 a.m. and the underground station was just opening.
Mickey eyed the ticket barrier. ‘Gonna use your sonic screwdriver?’
The Doctor seemed affronted. ‘Do I look like your average fare dodger?’
‘Yeah. A bit.’
‘Cheeky. Get yourself a single. And get me one too, while you’re at it.’
Once through the barriers, the Doctor ran down to the empty platform and sonicked open a STAFF ONLY door in the side of the wall. It gave on to a little cupboard space full of hard hats, torches, emergency equipment. Leading off from there was a narrow access corridor, ending in another locked door, marked for authorised service personnel only. Soon the hum of the screwdriver was filling the little room.
‘You any good with phones?’ he asked.
‘Only at running up bills,’ Mickey said.
With the lock shocked to bits, the Doctor opened the door to reveal a cramped, circular tunnel, sloping downwards at an alarming angle. The walls were a thick spaghetti of coloured wiring all the way round. Thick plastic bands grouped the wires into bunches and provided footholds.
‘Phone lines. Secret government link-up, in case of nuclear war,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘This is hidden London, Mickey.’
‘It can stay hidden,’ he replied, turning up his nose. ‘It’s horrible.
Look at those webs. No one’s been down here for years.’
‘Till now. Because what Crayshaw and his mates don’t seem to realise is that this conduit passes within just a few inches of the decontamination chamber. And from there we can get inside and face these 132
creatures in their lair.’ He grinned. ‘I know where that is, by the way.
Passed it while I was on the run from the marines – never even knew!
That’s the thing about hindsight, it’s always twenty-twenty.’
‘So you can get us inside – maybe. What then?’
‘I need to talk with these creatures.’
‘They didn’t seem keen on talking when they called by before, did they?’ Mickey protested. ‘What d’you think they’re gonna do – put the kettle on and give you a biscuit?’
‘Wouldn’t that be marvellously civilised!’ His grin faded. ‘If I’m going to stop them, I need to know what it is I’m going to stop. Cheer up – now their evil plans are in full swing and nothing stands in their way, maybe they’ll be feeling chattier.’
‘Yeah. Cheerful thought.’ He frowned, pointed to the tunnel. ‘Hang on, you said this goes past a few inches from that chamber thing, right? A few inches of what?’
‘Solid concrete.’
‘You are so joking me!’
‘It’s all right!’ The Doctor brandished the sonic screwdriver. ‘I’m getting quite good at resonating concrete.’
‘Well, I’m getting freaked at the thought of going down there.’
‘It’s probably the best place we could be,’ the Doctor told him. ‘Not many people about to filch water from. Less chance of Rose’s image coming back to haunt us both.’ He started to climb inside, then glanced back and fixed Mickey with his large, piercing eyes. ‘I don’t want to see her like that again. Do you?’
Mickey climbed in after him, and they began their cautious descent into the narrow passage.
Strung out with nerves, aching with tiredness, Vida wondered what time it was. Andrew, Rose, all those poor people had been pushed into the river, unprotesting, off like livestock to the slaughter. Soon, Crayshaw assured her, there would be more victims ‘acclimatising’ in the darkness.
To her uneasy relief she had been moved on to dry land. The morning sun was rising steadily, yet there was no one about on this side of 133
the bank. Across the bridge it was a circus of police cars, troop carriers and ambulances as a yelling, jostling swarm of people pressed in on the roadblocks and barriers. It was pointless even to think of shouting for help, and clearly Crayshaw knew it. He had seized her arm in a punishing grip and marched her into the reception of Stanchion House.
Hope flickered as the glass doors slid open. If she could only signal to somebody that she was in trouble. . .
Not a chance. The place was entirely deserted. No receptionist. No Derek guarding the lifts. Nobody.
‘Where is everyone?’ she demanded. ‘What have you done with them?’
‘Arrange the meeting with Kelper,’ said Crayshaw.
‘Why can’t you do it yourself?’
‘I am deemed to be obstructive. It will be easier if he suspects nothing. Call him on your personal phone.’
She pulled her mobile from her pocket. If only the water had damaged it, if only. . .
‘I’m out of power,’ she said, disbelievingly. ‘The battery’s dead. His private cell number’s programmed in and I can’t access it!’ She thrust the phone in Crayshaw’s old face, triumphantly. Whatever happened, at least she knew she couldn’t be held accountable. She hadn’t helped these things, and whatever they did now-
‘Vida? What the hell is going on around here? I just strolled in.
What the hell has happened to security?’
She jumped as if she’d been poked with a stick. A massive man in full naval dress uniform was striding towards them, brass, brocade and decorations shining in the strong reception lights. It was him, Kelper, accompanied by a young aide.
‘All London’s gone crazy.’ The vice admiral’s nasal tones filled the reception like the drone of an engine. ‘I had to fly in to Bletchley and take a chopper out here. Couldn’t reach Andrew, or you –’
Vida opened her mouth to speak, but Crayshaw got there first: ‘ We can reach Andrew.’
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Her mouth dried. She offered a hopeless look of vague apology, then watched Crayshaw with frightened eyes as the two men ex-changed formal greetings.
‘Miss Swann informs me you have arrived to inspect the wreck of the Ascendant yourself, Vice Admiral,’ said Crayshaw.
Kelper spoke frankly. ‘Your administration of this affair seems to be a mess, John. I’ve found government ministers chasing their tails, a lack of communication between the naval ranks, a general absence of explanation as to how the Ascendant came to be in bits at the bottom of the sea. . . A conspiracy of silence which extends to the fate and whereabouts of certain chemical tracers Miss Swann’s department had placed upon that ship.’
‘There is no conspiracy, I assure you,’ said Crayshaw, all smiles, crossing to the lift. ‘You must inspect our underground laboratories for yourself.’
The doors slid smoothly open.
‘Must we go now?’ said Vida awkwardly. ‘Perhaps we should ad-journ to one of the briefing rooms and –’
‘The sooner this matter is ended, the better,’ he said casually. ‘And Andrew Dolan is already down there. We should really see how he is faring.’
Kelper and his aide looked inquiringly at Vida. She looked
at the floor, her frantic thoughts piling up, crowding her head. This thing held Andrew, Rose, so many others in its power, and if she messed up now they would never be saved. But then, was there even the tiniest chance that this hive thing wearing Crayshaw’s body would keep its word, whatever she did?
‘Run!’ she shouted suddenly, grabbing hold of Kelper’s braided sleeve, and yanking him away from Crayshaw. He hesitated, confused. She tugged on his arm again, dragged him away. ‘He needs something from you, I don’t know what!’
The aide seemed about to protest when Crayshaw grabbed him by the back of the neck and flung him with superhuman force inside the lift. He smashed head-first against the wall and slumped down.
‘How many more times!’ Vida yelled. ‘ Run! ’
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She started to drag Kelper after her. But as she heard water splash under her soles, she knew it was already too late.
A carnival procession of pale, bloated freaks stood blocking the turnstiles out of the reception. Her blood chilled at the sight of the Victorian lady, the pirate and the U-boat captain who had come for her before, their eyes silvery, fat and ruined. But there were many others now: a dark-haired child in Regency lace, a group of young sailors in bell-bottoms, an old man in a stained apron. They stood ranged in silence, water trickling steadily from their noses and mouths.
‘As I said, sir. . . ’ Crayshaw had removed his dark glasses, and now they could see the scabrous pearls that bulged obscenely from under his lids. ‘The sooner this matter is ended, the better.’
Rose felt the bodies crushing in around her. How many were there now in the black reaches of this flooded pit? She shut out the thought.
It was easier, better to think of the faces in her head. A blonde woman, care and concern behind the glare in her eyes, her scent so familiar and warm Rose could cry. Mum? Mum, where are you? A man, burly and staring with close-cropped hair – no, that image blurred into another, youthful and friendly with quirky good looks. His eyes gleamed with secrets he would share only with her, and. . . Doctor, I want you here. . . a black boy with a scally smile and warm arms. . . Mickey, say you never did that. . . girl-friends reeking of clubs and smoke and hastily sucked mints. . . I trusted you. . .