Doctor Who

by David Solomons

  The familiar groaning and wheezing filled the console room. Ryan would never get over the feeling of travelling through space and time. Not that there was much actual sensation. One second they’d be in deep space, the next opening the police-box door on to an alien horizon (or Graham’s front room). Occasionally, there’d be a patch of turbulence, but generally it was the smoothest, most unruffled travel he’d experienced – and he’d been in a Mercedes with AIRMATIC suspension. Ryan loved cars. Back on earth, he had wanted to be a mechanic, so from the moment he came aboard he’d quizzed the Doctor about the workings of the ship’s engine.

  ‘How much horsepower does this thing have?’ had been his first question, as he tried to understand its capabilities in familiar terms.

  ‘Don’t know about that, but she’ll do nought to sixty million years AD in eight seconds. Seven with a following solar wind.’

  Ryan hadn’t understood what that meant, but it sounded impressive, so he’d let out a long whistle. Then he’d stroked the bulkhead, sure he could feel a vibration like a heartbeat. ‘How d’you even get one of these in the first place? Is there, like, a dealership?’

  ‘You don’t buy a TARDIS.’

  ‘So it’s leased?’

  ‘A TARDIS is earned, rather than paid for.’ The Doctor had looked sheepish. ‘I, erm, borrowed this one.’

  With a thud, the TARDIS settled, and the wheezing faded into silence. They had arrived.

  ‘Tellus IV,’ announced the Doctor. ‘Well, come along.’

  Without waiting for the others, she dashed outside, grinning like a kid at the start of the summer holidays. Yaz and Ryan followed, with Graham pausing only to collect his talking begonia before heading after them. Stopping in the doorway, dazzled by the glare of yet another alien sun, he let out a sigh.

  ‘Here we go again.’

  The planet smelled of freshly mown grass.

  The TARDIS had landed atop a small hill at the edge of what looked to Ryan like one of the posh country estates from the period dramas his grandma Grace used to love watching on telly. In the distance, the windows of a great mansion with honey-coloured walls were glinting in the late-afternoon sunshine. Between the TARDIS and the house lay an ordered patchwork of green fields dotted with sheep, which gave way to a sweep of cropped lawn.

  A stream flowed down from a ring of surrounding hills, draping across the landscape like a silver ribbon, then trickled through a small wood. Ryan didn’t know the name of the trees, but they made a whispering sound when the breeze blew through their leaves. Beyond the wood, on another rise, sat a ruined tower like something out of a fairy tale.

  As he gazed out at the picturesque landscape, Ryan felt his shoulders relax and he heard himself release a long breath.

  Graham clearly didn’t share Ryan’s sense of ease. ‘How do you know we’re not walking into a trap?’ he asked the Doctor.

  ‘I don’t.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

  She set off down the hill.

  Graham silently appealed to the other two, but they just shrugged and followed the Doctor. He considered objecting, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. The Doctor may have been over two thousand years old, but she had the impulse control of a teenager with their first credit card. Clutching his plant to his chest, he hurried after them.

  ‘I feel like I’ve been here before,’ said Yaz. ‘But that’s impossible.’

  ‘You’re remembering something buried deep inside you,’ said the Doctor. ‘Your home planet’s not called earth for nothing. You lot have a special connection with the soil. What you’re looking at, smelling, hearing, touching –’ she stroked the long grass – ‘all of this is in you.’ She tapped a finger against Ryan’s temple. ‘Like a memory.’

  Ryan was confused. ‘But the Gardeners aren’t from earth.’

  ‘No, and they’re not from this planet either. They spread out across the universe. Like seeds in the wind.’

  They came to the beginning of a path constructed of mossy stepping stones. It curved alongside the stream, taking them towards the wood.

  ‘The place didn’t look like this when the first of them arrived. It was a hot, barren world, but they saw the potential. All it took was a fleet of transport ships loaded with topsoil from their home world, and patience. The Gardeners are some of the most patient people in the universe. I’ve met mountains in more of a hurry. They plant for the future – and not just for the next season, but for the next thousand. This whole planet is their garden.’

  ‘Is it just me,’ said Graham. ‘Or is that mansion not getting any closer?’

  ‘Well spotted, Graham,’ said the Doctor. ‘The house, like that ruin over there, is held in a perspective field, which means that no matter where you are in the landscape the view is always at its most agreeable.’

  ‘Is it all like this?’ asked Ryan. ‘I mean, country houses and water features?’

  ‘Oh no, you’ll find every kind of garden imaginable. Some ordered and harmonious, others disordered and harmonious, walled gardens, wild gardens, zero-G gardens, hanging gardens, hanging baskets. And then there are the greenhouses: perfect, seamless domes, each stretching a kilometre across. The glasshouses of Tellus are one of the great architectural achievements of the galaxy. And wait till you try their tomatoes.’

  The cool of the wood came as a relief after their stroll in the afternoon sun. They walked beneath trees hung with clusters of plump blue fruit the shape of peaches. The Doctor plucked several and handed them round.

  ‘This place is like paradise,’ said Yaz, taking a bite and wiping juice from her chin.

  The Doctor made a face. ‘Between you and me, Tellus is a bit boring. Plenty of life, but not much nightlife, if you know what I’m saying.’ The Doctor stopped and held up a finger. ‘One other thing. Over the millennia, the Gardeners have evolved into beings perfectly designed to tend the soil. Do not be alarmed.’

  From up ahead came the splash of running water, and shortly after they arrived in a clearing. The stream they had been following ran down a rocky slope into a shady pool. At the edge waited three Gardeners, though it wasn’t until they moved that the Doctor and the others noticed their presence, so well were they blended into their surroundings.

  Each Gardener stood approximately ten feet tall, on gnarled, trunk-like legs with knees wide and padded for kneeling. They each had two long arms, one ending in a fork-shaped hand with tapering green fingers, the other like a pair of secateurs. Their faces were vaguely human, but instead of skin they were covered in green leaves. Branches curled round their heads, vines sprouted from their mouths, and insects wriggled across their wooded faces. From within the foliage of their faces gazed two large brown eyes, and their noses were twice the size of a human being’s, with a flap over each nostril. Maybe a pollen filter, Graham speculated.

  ‘Welcome to Tellus IV,’ said the middle Gardener in a voice as deep as his roots. He bowed, creaking like a tree bending in the wind. ‘Allow me to present Convallaria majalis.’

  ‘Lily of the Valley,’ said the Gardener to his left with what sounded like a tut. ‘He likes using our Latin names when we have guests.’

  Ignoring his colleague’s objection, the middle Gardner gestured to the one on his right. ‘And Petroselinum crispum.’

  ‘Parsley,’ the third Gardener clarified.

  The middle Gardener then took a slow step forward. ‘And my name is Quercus robur,’ he said. ‘You may call me Oak.’

  ‘Right then,’ said the Doctor, mimicking Oak’s formal bow. ‘Take us to your cedar.’

  * * *

  —

  The leader of the Gardeners was not located in the mansion, but in a walled garden next to it. Her name was Salix fragilis, or Willow.

  ‘You must be hungry after your journey,’ she said, when the visitors arrived with the three Gardeners. She had laid on a formal meal, which took the form of a pic
nic on the grass.

  Graham hesitated. How come wherever they went in the universe there was never a chair?

  The picnic was a mixture of the familiar and the alien: rainbow-coloured grapes that sparkled in the sunshine, ripe figs that sighed with contentment when you bit into them, blushing strawberries that pulsed in the hand like living hearts. There were vegetable tarts and thick soups with crunchy croutons that never got soft, all washed down with a green and glutinous juice at once sharp and sweet. Around them, Gardeners tended to the plants and flowers. Bees buzzed in the herbaceous borders. Sunlight flickered through the sprinkle of watering cans.

  ‘Your friend appears to be thirsty,’ Parsley said to Graham.

  ‘Doubt it,’ said Graham, gesturing to Ryan. ‘He’s just downed a gallon of space cider.’

  ‘Oh, not him,’ said Parsley. ‘Your plant.’

  Graham looked down at the begonia by his side.

  The plant aligned several leaves to point across the lawn at a Gardener emptying a watering can over a rose bush. ‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ it said.

  As they ate, Willow revealed her reason for contacting the Doctor. ‘What do you know of the Galactic Seed Vault?’

  The Doctor bit into an apple. ‘It was created to store and preserve examples of plant seeds from across the universe, so that in the event of planetary catastrophe or galactic apocalypse the seeds will survive to be replanted. But no one knows who’s responsible for it. It’s an MLITMOT.’

  Parsley’s bushy face curled in puzzlement. ‘A what?’

  ‘Mystery lost in the mists of time,’ she explained. ‘Yes, it’s up there with the monoliths on the moons of Europa, and with Stonehenge. This is a great apple. Crunchy and tangy and sweet all at the same time. Might be the best apple I’ve ever tasted. Do you mind?’ She reached for another, then decided to take all the remaining apples and stuff them in her pockets.

  ‘One of our people created the vault,’ announced Willow. ‘Malus pumila, also known as the First Gardener. She was aided in her endeavour by the Time Lords.’

  The Doctor’s hand froze midway to her pocket. ‘Huh. You learn something new every regeneration. What were my lot doing there? We’re not exactly the most green-fingered of races.’

  ‘The Time Lords’ role remains unknown,’ said Willow. ‘The First Gardener also attempted to hide her part, and nothing is written down in our histories. It is as if she wanted to forget what she had done. Yet a few of us know the vault’s true origins, including one who goes by the name Atropa belladonna.’

  ‘Deadly nightshade,’ Graham chimed in. He had known those garden-centre catalogues would come in useful one day.

  Willow nodded. ‘He leads a faction that regards the vault as blasphemous. They hold extreme beliefs. In their view, no plant should be confined indoors; all should be under the sky. Nightshade and his insurgents have already laid waste to our greenhouses. Now they plan to destroy the vault itself.’

  ‘Well, they won’t succeed,’ said the Doctor. ‘The Galactic Seed Vault is on the ice planet of Calufrax Major. If the cold doesn’t get them, the vault will. It’s one of the most secure buildings in the universe.’

  ‘Indeed, Doctor,’ said Willow. ‘But they are already inside. We have learned of a plan that was set in motion ten generations ago and is about to come to fruition. Thousands of years in our past, a single seed was collected by the vault-keepers. They did not know that it had been grown by Nightshade’s predecessors and laid as a trap. Far from being an ordinary seed, it is a weapon, and now it lies at the heart of the seed vault, primed and ready. You must get to it first. Remove it before it germinates and destroys the vault and everything in it.’

  ‘Why not just send a message to whoever’s running the vault?’ asked Yaz. ‘Warn them about the bad seed and let them take care of it.’

  ‘We have already done as you suggest. But there has been no response.’

  The Doctor frowned. ‘Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m always happy to help out when there’s an intergalactic mystery involved. But why wait for me? Why not go there yourselves?’

  ‘Let me show you something,’ said Willow, rising to her feet and gesturing for them to follow.

  As she led them and the other Gardeners through a wooden door in one of the garden’s mossy walls, they found themselves in a green maze with high walls of yew hedges.

  ‘You are about to see something that no outsider has witnessed in forty generations,’ Willow told them.

  They smelled it before they saw it: a sweet, heady scent that drifted on the breeze. A moment later, they reached the centre of the maze and found it filled with roses.

  ‘The Rose Garden of Eternity,’ said Willow. ‘The garden blooms but once every thousand years, with a prophecy written in its flowers.’ She led them to a raised section, which offered a view of the whole garden. ‘Behold.’

  Yaz let out a gasp. The roses had flowered, forming pictures with their blooms. Picked out in blue was the distinctive shape of the TARDIS, and next to it a wedge-shaped building she assumed to be the Galactic Seed Vault. And, beneath both, in a profusion of colours was a number: ‘13’.

  ‘We have been waiting for you, Doctor.’ Willow turned to her. ‘You are the Thirteenth Flowering.’

  There was a rustle from the nearest hedge, and Graham’s begonia let out a warning squeak. He looked round just in time to see a shrub detach itself from the yew hedge. It was just over six feet tall, with dense foliage and a gaping mouth full of thornlike teeth, and it scuttled towards them faster than any plant should move.

  ‘Ambush!’ cried Willow.

  Too late, Graham saw another shrub creature moving out of the corner of his eye. This one was behind him but, as it reared its head to strike, Oak threw himself in the way. The attacker sank its thorny teeth into the Gardener’s arm. He grimaced, before launching a counter-attack, using his secateurs hand to prune it mercilessly.

  From overhead came the scream of engines. Out of the clear blue sky above the valley beyond appeared three silver scoop-shaped craft. The Tellus IV sun rolled off their curved wings as they dived, then adjusted their approach. Dropping low, the three craft tore across the valley, skimming the ridge, before forming up to commence their attack run. As the leader craft flew closer, the sunlight caught an insignia on its hull: a distinctive design consisting of bell-shaped purple flowers and dark berries.

  ‘Nightshade,’ muttered Willow, turning to the Doctor. ‘He knows you are here. We have been betrayed.’

  The airborne attackers were close enough now for them to see the doors open in the belly of the leading craft and disgorge a series of spherical projectiles.

  ‘Seed bombs!’ yelled Willow. ‘Take cover!’

  Guided by on-board systems, the bombs steered unerringly towards their targets. In the distance, the ruined folly exploded and the woodland burst into flames. The second ship released another salvo, and the ground shook with the impact.

  In the maze, the Gardeners fought to fend off the ambush. Oak had taken care of one of the attackers and wore deep scratches on his arms to prove it, but that still left one more of the shrub creatures. It was just over half the height of the Gardeners, with a wide body made of woody stems interspersed with ropes of thorns, which it wielded as whips. It lashed out, and the whips cut through the air.

  Willow dodged the first strike, ducked the follow-up, plunged her arm into the heart of the bush, then twisted her hand. There was a terrible snap and the creature sagged to the ground.

  ‘They’re coming back!’ shouted Yaz, pointing at the sky.

  The trio of attacking craft had reached the end of the valley, and were turning for another run. They swooped round in a tight manoeuvre, their razor-edged wings biting the air, but this time as they approached one of them peeled out of formation. There was the roar of retrorockets as it decelerated.

  ‘It’s coming in to land,’ said Wi
llow, a note of alarm in her voice. ‘Doctor, you must leave.’

  Moving swiftly to the rose bushes, Willow waved a hand over one section. The stems parted to reveal a hatch in the ground, which she lifted to expose steps leading downwards. She gestured to Lily of the Valley. ‘Lead our guests to safety.’

  Then she turned to the Doctor. ‘Go now. Protect the seed vault!’

  * * *

  —

  The silver craft came in for landing. Manoeuvring jets fired, and three stocky struts unfolded from its body. The rounded nose flared as the craft touched down on top of the maze, its exhaust blackening the foliage and its landing gear crushing the yew hedges.

  Almost immediately a hatch opened in one side, and a ramp descended. Half a dozen Gardeners in green armour emerged, multi-barrelled weapons clasped in their gloved hands, their boots clattering as they came down the ramp. They fanned out, taking up defensive positions around the ship.

  ‘Grave Diggers,’ muttered Oak.

  The soldiers’ leaf armour was made from shade-tolerant forest leaves processed to become harder and lighter than Kevlar, while their weapons were customised black-ash branches designed to take a range of ammunition, including dieback rounds, creeper-shot and modified hemlock with poison-tipped thorns.

  The Grave Digger commander signalled the all-clear.

  A new figure appeared in the doorway. Taller than the rest, this Gardener had to stoop to clear the doorway. Once outside the craft, he straightened himself up and cast a lordly eye over his new surroundings. Unlike his personal guard of Grave Diggers, he was unarmoured. Instead, he was in full bloom, with a bandolier across his chest of bell-shaped purple flowers and shiny black berries that echoed the insignia painted on the hull of his ship. Belladonna. Deadly Nightshade.

  Next to the rose garden, Willow, Oak and Parsley waited patiently.

  As the leader of the breakaway faction approached, flanked by his troops, Parsley bolted forward and knelt before him. He grasped one of Nightshade’s large hands, kissing it humbly.