‘Take my hand.’ There had, by now, been arm-waving, screaming and running about and the Doctor was sure that the telling of a wild story was just around the corner… ‘My hand, take it!’ The Doctor reached forward and held out his arm as the chap continued to fire – if you could call it firing – what seemed to be a very rudimentary fusion lance at the area around his own feet. ‘Take my hand!’ The man shouldn’t have a fusion lance on twentieth-century Earth. No one should.
Patterson did as he was told as the last of what was indeed his fusion lance’s fissile core sputtered and got actually much too hot to hold, although there was no way he was letting go of it while it was still any defence at all. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you.’ He felt his free hand being grasped in remarkably strong fingers and found himself looking into precisely the type of reliable, experienced face he might have wanted a rescuer to have. ‘Thank you.’
Just then he noticed Bryony arriving and shouted, ‘No, keep back, darling!’ And he was suddenly very angry that whoever his rescuer was had put the most wonderful human being on Earth in danger by bringing her along. Although it was lovely to see her. Even though he was mortified that he’d called her ‘darling’. And then Patterson felt an altogether different strong grip close back in around his ankles and this time there was a definite tug downwards.
Bryony watched, horrified, as Patterson’s feet seemed to sink and jerk unnaturally backward and the rest of him fell forward towards the sand, then jerked to a halt, suspended lopsidedly by the one wrist the Doctor was gripping. Whatever device he’d been holding, dropped out of his grasp and he windmilled his free arm to try and catch at the Doctor with both hands. It was as if Patterson was drowning and clutching up towards his only hope. The Doctor himself was wrenched over the lip of the bunker when Patterson fell and was left hanging down into the pit, only his legs and waist still on the grass. The glowing, steaming, rippling sand waited below with a kind of dreadful appetite. Both men were clinging to each other desperately by this point, but it seemed certain that Patterson was very likely to drag the Doctor into whatever trouble he was facing, rather than the Doctor being able to haul him out.
So Bryony, without pausing for a second, raced down to grab the Doctor’s ankles.
The Doctor managed, ‘Just keep calm. Everything’s perfectly all right.’
‘No it’s not!’ chorused Bryony and Patterson.
‘No… True…’ The Doctor clung on with steely certainty to Patterson’s hands while deciding that whatever was under the bunker might not be a sandmaster. It wasn’t behaving like a sandmaster… and that metallic taste was very strong, along with a sense of true, primordial horror. ‘Very true…’ With relief, he felt Bryony working out exactly the most sensible thing to do and taking hold of his feet. She really was a wonderful girl. ‘Everything is immensely dangerous, but I do feel we’re managing terribly well under the circumstances.’ And if he’d had the spare energy, he would have laughed. This was, after all, why one became a rogue Time Lord, wandering the universe… to be right on the spot when somebody needed rescuing from a glowing green death pit… a pit infested with something he was sure he should be able to remember…
Then the Doctor slipped a few inches nearer the position beyond which he would inevitably topple into the glowing green death pit himself. Which he guessed would be unpleasant. So he decided to stop raising everyone’s morale and concentrate on keeping everyone alive by holding very tight and trusting Bryony.
Bryony wasn’t that big or powerful, but she did know that her strongest muscles were in her legs. If she’d sat or lain down and hoped her weight would act as an anchor on the Doctor, she would very probably have been pulled over into the bunker when the Doctor finally slipped forward past his tipping point. Instead, she lifted the Doctor’s feet – it was a risk and he did find he was drawn even nearer the bunker as she did so, letting poor Patterson hang ever closer to the shining, oozy, hungry sand. But next she was able to crouch and then slowly stand, leaning back and letting her weight and her legs do the work of pulling. If she both tugged on his ankles and then fell backwards, still gripping the Doctor, they might be OK. She concentrated all her will and strength into saving both her new friends.
Whatever was holding Patterson fast seemed utterly immoveable, but finally it did give way a bit, then a bit more and then, just when the Doctor gave a long and pained shout, it gave up entirely.
SAD
Another plunging, metallic word battered into the Doctor’s mind.
Bryony landed suddenly on her back. The Doctor’s legs were tangled in her own and then she was scrambling free as the Doctor was finally able to yank Patterson up and away from danger, Bryony hurrying to reach down and help with the last hard tug.
For a long space, the three of them lay in a breathless heap, the turf beneath them shaking, and sand – hot, steaming sand – raining down.
But gently, unmistakably, the turf calmed, settled, the sand stopped falling and all was peaceful.
The Doctor was the first to gather his senses, sit up and study his two companions. The girl was… an excellent girl… but the man was – of course – not a man, in the Earth sense… clearly not from round here. Not from anywhere near here… More like someone from Yinzill… In fact, exactly like someone from the planet Yinzill, which the Doctor should have noticed at once… It wasn’t something a massive intellect should just miss…
He rubbed his face, found his hat – it had rolled to a safe distance and was calmly waiting for him – and dusted it to give himself something to do. This was all very bad.
BAD
The alien thought was slightly gentler this time and seemed to be leaving, somehow. The Doctor felt as if a large hand was being opened inside his skull and then withdrawn. His headache was back. He also wished that so much of rescuing activity didn’t involve arm strain. Beings were always dangling off building, or cliffs, or into evil-minded pools, or bunkers and they always did need to be hauled back to somewhere less risky. There was a lot of hauling, generally.
HURT
BADHURT
After which everything was back to normal, expect for this renewed feeling that more bits and pieces had sort of been vanished away from his mind.
He didn’t have any time to worry about this, because Bryony – human beings were wonderfully insane – then also sat up, stood up and went to lean over into the bunker and fetch out what was left of the lance. It looked like the blackened stump of a golf club handle. Although it surely wasn’t.
As she bent and reached forward into the sand both the Doctor and Patterson yelled, ‘No!’
But it was too late.
Or, at least, it would have been, if rummaging about a bit with her fingers, lifting up the lance and then turning round with a puzzled expression had still been dangerous activities to try. In fact, they were perfectly safe and meant Bryony could stare down into her hand, examine what she’d found and say to Patterson, ‘It’s very small.’
Patterson was dishevelled and defensive. ‘It was quite big when I started.’
Bryony peered at it with distaste, ‘Well, it’s not big now. But it is ruined. Do you want it back?’ She wagged it in Patterson’s direction.
‘Not… well, no, it won’t work now. It’s…’ Patterson rubbed his sore wrists and stood up, blushing.
‘I’ll chuck it back, then.’ And Bryony slung it back into the bunker where it landed with a thump while another ‘No!’ rang out across the golf course. The Doctor and Patterson flinched.
But nothing happened. ‘What?’ Bryony turned to them and frowned at the Doctor. ‘You were pulling him out of the bunker and onto the grass – obviously you think it’s safe on the grass… We’re all on the grass… I’m on the grass… So we’re safe, right?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say—’
‘And how is it you know about these kinds of things? Doctor? People being dragged underground by a golf bunker kinds of things…?’
She waited while the
Doctor wondered why she was sounding cross. He’d saved the day, after all. Again. That was cause for thanks and congratulations and maybe that tea he’d been promised.
Bryony folded her arms as significantly as she could and frowned more, ‘Do you want to explain what on earth is going on?’
The Doctor opened his mouth, but seemed unable to let any words emerge – Bryony was a little bit unnerving when she was angry – and so she turned to Patterson.
‘And who are you, Mr Patterson, and where are you from and what were you firing, or burning, or… what was that, exactly? And don’t tell me it was a big sparkler, or an experimental… umbrella… or that you got struck by lightning, or something else unbelievable, because I’m not a complete idiot.’ Patterson looked so bewildered at this and was so clearly on the verge of crying – Bryony could genuinely be quite fierce – that she softened a little and patted his arm. ‘My dad always used to say that to me – “Bryony, you’re not a complete idiot. I think we lost some of the bits.”’
Usually people found this funny, even if it was a very old joke, but Patterson just swallowed hard and said, all in a rush, ‘My broodfather hated me. He said I was a waste of perfectly good cloning equipment and I agree, I do, I really agree, but…’
He stared from the bunker to Bryony and then to the Doctor and then took a deep breath, but before he could say anything, the twins appeared over the hill, Xavier driving the golf cart. They both waved tranquilly and shouted, ‘Hello! Hello!’
Honor gambolled delightedly down the slope as if dishevelled strangers and steaming pits were all part of enjoying a normal and lovely summer’s afternoon. ‘We wondered if anyone would like a lift back in the golf cart again.’ She didn’t even glance at the plume of greenish vapour still hanging above the bunker. ‘We’re sorry there’s only one cart, which really isn’t big enough to fit five passengers. Grandmother did talk about having more, but she thinks that walking is good for people and should be encouraged and no sitting about unless you’re incredibly old – grandmother is incredibly old – or you can sit if you’ve had to look at somebody who’s fainted, or had to be somebody who’s fainted. Good afternoon, Mr Patterson.’
Patterson watched his hand being shaken solemnly by the little girl and then Honor led him up the hill as if she was the adult and he was the child.
The Doctor and Bryony followed on, Bryony noticing that she felt sore all over from the recent struggle. As they went, she asked, ‘Doctor, do you get the impression those children are a little unusual?’
The Doctor laughed. It was marvellous that the one thing she chose to mention as unusual was the children. Everything else that had just happened had simply made her inquisitive and cross. Magnificent. He took off his hat and waved it at Xavier. ‘I suppose twins are often slightly remarkable…’ Xavier waved back. ‘But yes…’ He racked his brain, trying to recall where he’d read about adorable barefoot pairs of creatures. There was nothing like reading to prepare you for life, but if all the words were slipping and going dim… if everything you’d read was going to be taken away soon…
He felt a spasm of true panic.
Clearly an alien entity – or Patterson – was flooding this area with telepathic energy at immensely high levels, thousands of psychons, maybe tens of thousands… what could do that? And also lie in wait to devour other beings, just eat them up? Or rather, eat them down? He should know the answer to that. He almost knew that he did know, or had known a very good answer… And clearly the energy was already animating matter… Sand would be quite easy to form into shapes, limbs, silicon support structures, jaws… It didn’t bear thinking about what might come next, but he definitely felt relieved that he was still thinking… even with gaps…
And the Doctor was a determined individual, he didn’t give up easily, if at all. As long as he could think, there was hope. He looked up at the perfectly blue 1978 sky – not too radioactive, not too toxic, a gorgeous pearly dab of light when viewed from outer space – and he thumbed through recollections: the perfectly umber skies of Gallifrey, the first time he’d smelt a dew-laden Earth dawn in seventeenth-century France, swimming in the thick silky waters of Praxus Minor – and it seemed that his head was still stuffed with every kind of this and that. Maybe he’d just misplaced an occasional item, made filing errors due to telepathic shock.
Nothing to fret about.
The Doctor glanced down and noticed he was holding Bryony’s hand. As if he needed to know someone was there to help him. It was extremely unlikely that a solitary Earth girl with almost no effective technology and not a clue about the space-time continuum, psychon dynamics or transchronic psychology would be of any help to him in any way. He didn’t let go, though. He held on tighter than ever.
*
Back at the Fetch Spa, David Agnew was disgruntled and tense. He hadn’t enjoyed his massage. And when he’d shouted at Brian the masseur, two very strong elbows had been pressed very hard up and down his back in a way that probably wasn’t strictly necessary.
He’d taken a shower – which wasn’t the right temperature, somehow – and now, as a last resort, he was going to sit in the hydrotherapy pool. No matter what, a nice dip in the pool never failed to relax him. He attempted to feel content.
Agnew flip-flopped along the relentlessly calming corridor with its tranquilly scented incense burner, its photographs of placid lakes and its speakers softly playing the songs of whales who, if he could have understood them, were actually having a quite heated argument with each other. He despised everything about this imposed serenity, but told himself that the idiots and women who were usually in here must find it reassuring. He didn’t need this kind of nonsense to help him relax – he just needed to focus on really, properly hating someone and then imagining them being devoured, bit by bit. After he had relaxed, he would run through his plans for the future – the future of everywhere and everything and everyone.
Emerging into the Hydro Room, Agnew came as close as he ever did to happy. He stepped out of his flip-flops and bath robe, revealing his strangely hairy feet and his checked polyester swimming trucks. Soft lights played on the bubbling surface of the large, warm pool – the room was currently green, the next shade would be blue, then red, then there would be a soft and flattering white light and then the coloured filters would cycle round all over again. A nice soak for a couple of cycles would be more than long enough to cheer him up. There was no one else around – no silly wives gossiping and flapping their hands, no morons boasting about their golf scores – there was only the wonder and the glory that was David Agnew, enjoying the presence of none other than David Agnew. Something told him – loud and clear – that he was the jewel at the centre of the universe.
*
In her deluxe cottage Julia Fetch stopped reading a thrilling article about the way an octopus tastes with its arms. She thought this would be inconvenient for humans, because then everything would taste of blouse. Which would be boring – even though her blouses were of a very fine quality and handmade by Markham & Lancet of Jermyn Street. She decided she was slightly peckish and probably that meant it was time for tea… Or had she taken tea already? It was so hard to tell.
*
Out on the course, Bryony was riding in the golf cart beside Patterson who was, as a result, practically writhing with joy and at the same time more depressed that he had ever been during a quite remarkably depressing life. She nudged him in the ribs, which meant he discovered a new bruise in one of the few places where he hadn’t noticed he was sore, but was also enormously delighted. He stared down at his mangled shoes – they were covered in vicious scrapes and something which looked suspiciously like greenish-purplish saliva – and gave himself time to be very, very delighted indeed. This would probably be the last time she would want to be anywhere near him, but for now – being delighted.
She nudged him again. ‘Don’t thank me for saving your life, then.’
‘But I did, I mean I have, I mean… Didn’t I? I though
t I thanked you both.’ He gulped down a breath. ‘I am grateful.’ He said this with the tone and facial expression of a person who thought that saving him would always be a terribly bad idea. ‘I just…’ He took the plunge. ‘I’m not called Ian Patterson. I’m called Putta Pattershaun 5, because I’m the fifth Putta Pattershaun – we were a batch of ten – and I’m… all the others have done things, and invented things and… I was going to head off into the universe and achieve… Only then I met you and… I got distracted… not that meeting you hasn’t been an achievement, it’s been the best…’ He made a noise like a ferret being held underwater and not liking it. ‘No, that’s not as important as me being from another planet. You should know that. I am. From another planet.’ He waited for her to scream. Or hit him. Or call out whatever Earth force dealt with alien threats, possibly by dissecting them and freeze-drying their bits for snacking later.
‘Yeah.’ She shrugged. ‘What I thought. OK.’
‘OK!?’
‘Yeah.’ Bryony had worked this all out already – this or something very like this – because she wasn’t a complete idiot. She was completely certain it was the coolest thing she’d ever heard of. Nevertheless, she was trying to look unimpressed and managing well, even though she wanted to leap up and down and yell – A space man, I’ve met a space man. I am sitting next to a space man. I fancy a space man. And I think he fancies me. Take that, Mangold. Take that, Cardinal Richelieu. She shrugged again, nonchalant. ‘And…?’ She wanted to seem like a sophisticated woman of the galaxy and also needed to appear stern, because she didn’t like being lied to, or having things hidden from her by a potential boyfriend.
‘And? I don’t… that is…’ The golf cart juddered slightly less than Putta, but only slightly.
Potential boyfriend? Where did that come from? Bryony tried not to look happy, or surprised, or whatever it was that she was starting to feel – she wasn’t quite clear right now, but whatever the feeling was it felt pleasant. ‘Yes. And…?’ Thinking of Patterson, or Putta or whoever he was as a boyfriend suddenly made Bryony realise she ought to consider him in more detail… He was cute. In a mangled way. And he seemed scared of her, which could be fun. And maybe the solution to having found Earth men so disappointing was to choose someone from well outside the neighbourhood. She realised that Putta was staring at her with a kind of adoring horror.
Doctor Who: The Death Pit Page 4