The Stranger

‘Let me tell you a story …’

As Senior Tahl said this, he rocked back on to his bottom, settling down and waving for the kids to sit round him in a semicircle.

The other man barely gave them a glance. He was too busy staring out of the cavern, trying not to let the candlelight escape, by blocking the opening with his body, but still getting as good a view to the outside as he could.

Senior Tahl saw one of the children, Lessa, craning to see what the other man was doing. He drew Lessa’s attention back to himself with a clucking sound, like he was a mother hen attracting his chicks.

It would have been sweet, if the circumstances hadn’t been so desperate.

Just a short time earlier, the kids had all been at work, sorting out plasma cannon shells and staser bolt chargers in the factory. Rojan had been working at the munitions factory for a few months now – like all the other kids, it kept him safe during the day while his parents did whatever parents did in wartime. Rojan was old enough to understand the irony of working in a bomb factory while his parents were out doing their best to ensure no harm came to him.

The War Council had placed the munitions factories in a variety of secure locations around Gallifrey, places the Daleks were unlikely to find. And many hundreds of Gallifreyan children – some old enough to have looked into the Schism, some still waiting for the chance – were sent to work in these factories.

This wasn’t some kind of enforced child labour, such as that seen on the uncivilised worlds they had learned about at the Academy – back when the Academy was still open. This was a sensible war effort and a secure place to be; the children could be kept safe and, at the same time, help the adults of Gallifrey in the Great Time War.

Rojan understood the Time War – he had researched it during the early days, when no one had thought it would escalate. The incursion of Gallifrey into the Daleks’ genesis, the Etra Prime incident, the Hand of Omega detonating Skaro’s second sun – things like that. It always seemed to Rojan that maybe, just maybe, the Time Lord High Council had brought this war down upon themselves.

But, as the war went on, he had begun to understand that there was more to it than that. The Daleks were truly awful things; the universe needed safeguarding against them. One of Rojan’s House Uncles had told him about how the Daleks had attempted to go back in time and destroy Gallifrey before the Time Lords even existed, during the legendary era of the Great Vampires. Rojan was never entirely sure he believed in the Great Vampires – they sounded like a story to scare little kids with at night – but his House Uncle had been lost during the first wave of the Time War, so Rojan had never had a chance to ask further questions.

It was earlier that evening, just as the factory was closing, that the strange man had appeared at the door.

Senior Tahl had greeted him, and explained that the children would soon be heading up to the underground dorms inside the Mountain of Serenity; if the stranger wanted to see anyone in particular, the following morning would be better.

‘I’m not here about just one child,’ the man had barked. ‘Not a specific one – all of them.’

Senior Tahl had frowned and asked for clarification.

‘You have to get them to safety,’ the stranger had said. ‘The Daleks have worked out where the munitions factories are. They’re tunnelling through the planet to find them.’

Senior Tahl had almost laughed at the preposterous suggestion. ‘How could the Daleks do that? They would have to have landed on Gallifrey!’

The stranger had looked at him pointedly. ‘Do you know how many decades this war will last? How, very soon, years, decades, millennia will cease to have meaning? This is a Time War.’ He waved an arm around the factory. ‘The Daleks aren’t worried about a few stasers and cannons – they want the children.’

Senior Tahl had harrumphed loudly. ‘I don’t think, whoever you are, that it is fair that you scare the children so with these stories.’

Rojan recalled his mother once saying a similar thing to his House Uncle about the Great Vampires – but, unlike Daleks, the vampires didn’t exist. Probably.

Rojan had stepped forward then to stand next to Senior Tahl. ‘If the Daleks had landed, we would know.’

The strange man had turned to Rojan, who stared back at him. Rojan saw the man’s face clearly. Old, scarred, lined with years of hard work and… something else. Rojan had the feeling this wasn’t a man who found much joy in life. He had greying hair and a straggly beard, and was wearing a belt of ammunition round his dirty leather jacket. He looked like he had been living rough for a long time.

The man had sighed. ‘How long have you been fighting this war?’

Rojan had smiled. ‘Zero Point Seven One of the Segment.’

‘I meant you personally, boy. How long?’

‘I don’t fight. I work in this factory.’

The stranger had laughed and it turned into a cough. ‘I’ve been fighting all my lives. Fighting Daleks. I understand them. I know what makes them tick. Believe me, just as I know how long this war will last – because I understand how desperate each side is to win, and the lengths they will go to – I also know that Daleks have been on Gallifrey since Day One.’

Senior Tahl had given the stranger an odd look. ‘Who exactly are you, sir?’

The stranger had stared out from under hooded eyes, almost as if he didn’t want to hold Senior Tahl’s gaze for long. ‘I have no name. I abandoned it in the Fifth Segment of the war.’

Rojan had laughed. ‘Impossible. We’re decades away from the end of the First Segment, and the Time War certainly won’t last that long. They’re just robots.’

The stranger had frowned. ‘If you only understand one thing in life, boy, it should be this: Daleks are not robots. They are as far from being “just robots” as you can get. They are savage, incredibly intelligent, living, breathing creatures housed inside a war tank – and they see you as a threat to the future. If they kill you now, you can’t grow into Time Lords, or create new Time Lords to extend the fight. They have come back to this segment in time to destroy you before your own children are born!’

Senior Tahl had stood up to the stranger, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘How dare you say that in front of these children?’ he shouted. ‘How dare you scare them?’

‘Scare them? I’m warning them!’ The stranger tried to stare Senior Tahl down, but in the end he turned away. ‘Oh, what’s the use? In this segment of time, you have no real concept of fear, of war.’

Senior Tahl had grabbed the stranger by his jerkin. ‘I know who you are now,’ he hissed, so quietly that only the stranger and Rojan could hear. ‘This is not how you behave.’

‘War changes us all, Senior,’ the stranger said, and started to walk away.

‘Who is he?’ Rojan had asked Senior Tahl, but, before the Senior could respond, the screaming and yelling had started.

There was a terrible shriek of tearing metal as the floors and walls of the factory had begun to shred. Something was drilling through them – more than one something. Like giant screws, these somethings were twisting holes in the walls and floors as they smashed their way inside.

The children ran in frightened circles, and Senior Tahl tried to gather them up.

A second or two later, the giant screw-things had withdrawn and Daleks flew in through the holes. The Daleks were riding single hover-bouts, little hovering circular platforms that Rojan had heard of but never seen. He knew the hover-bouts had weaponry in the base that was even more devastating than a normal Dalek’s body-mounted blaster.

The Daleks had opened fire, blasting at the weapons crates, covering them in green-and-red flame and destroying the factory’s work.

Rojan saw two children younger than him run towards the Senior in search of protection. They were brother and sister, but Rojan didn’t know their names – why had he never even learned their names?

Senior Tahl had simply stood still. He seemed to be in shock. Rojan had run over to him, and tried to push him to safety just as another Dalek blast hit the ground – or perhaps it hit the Senior’s leg, because the man went flying into Rojan, knocking him over and lying motionless on top of him.

Rojan had struggled to get out from under the Senior, to rouse the old man, but to no avail. He watched the stranger rush over to a door, and usher the children through it. Rojan knew the door opened on to the stairs that climbed to the dorms, and to the bridge that led to the ship port where parents lassoed their skimmers and flyers to the access docks when they visited. What the stranger didn’t know was that the long metal bridge that connected the side of the Mountain of Serenity with the skimmer port was down. He was leading the children to a place from which there was no escape.

‘No, don’t –’ Senior Tahl had tried to call out, but he was badly hurt and his voice was barely a gasp. The Senior grabbed Rojan’s hand. ‘Go, Rojan. Go with them. Protect them all!’

His words had given Rojan a burst of energy. Despite the Senior’s protests, he had hauled the old man up and half dragged, half carried him to the door. The Daleks were too busy destroying the weapons and munitions to notice, Rojan had reckoned.

He had reckoned wrongly.

‘Exterminate the prisoners,’ one Dalek screeched and, as he and the Senior reached the door, Rojan felt the radiated heat of the blast skim past them. He rolled backwards, tipping the Senior into the far side of the corridor, then slammed the door shut behind them.

Senior Tahl had started to hobble up the stairs, but the stranger appeared and pushed past him on his way down. ‘The bridge is out,’ he reported.

‘We know,’ Rojan had said harshly. ‘The Senior tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.’

The stranger had looked at Rojan, but said nothing. Instead he pulled a sonic device from his pocket and sealed the door. ‘This won’t hold them for long,’ he murmured.

Rojan had shaken his head in bewilderment. ‘The Daleks have destroyed the factory and everything in it – surely they’ll go now.’

‘You heard what I said to Tahl,’ the stranger had snapped. ‘They want to kill all of you. My job is to stop that from happening.’

Rojan turned then, and ran to the steps. He had helped Senior Tahl up the staircase, bringing him to where the children were hiding in a small, darkened cavern in the mountain. Normally, the route past this opening would have led to safety, if the bridge weren’t awaiting repair. When the Senior and Rojan had squeezed through the small opening, they saw all the kids huddled in terror, hugging one another.

‘The Daleks aren’t following us,’ Rojan had reported.

At that moment, the stranger had walked into the cavern behind them and looked around at the children. ‘We need time to come up with a plan. Keep their minds off the Daleks,’ he said quietly, so only the Senior and Rojan could hear. Then he had thrown something at Rojan. ‘Catch, boy.’

Rojan realised it was a primitive candle. ‘Won’t the Daleks see it?’ he asked.

‘Not if you all go further into the cavern.’

‘But it’s dark.’

‘Hence the candle.’

Rojan couldn’t argue with that.

‘Besides, I’ll stay by the entrance. It’s not too large. I’ll be able to block the light just by standing in the way.’

Senior Tahl had taken a deep breath and, although his leg was evidently hurting, he had sat down, motioning the children closer to him.

And it was at this point that he had begun to tell his story.

It was the story of a Time Lord who was very brave, very heroic and very, very clever. This Time Lord, so legend tells, got bored of being just a Time Lord and he left Gallifrey to explore, to see the universe.

‘But that’s forbidden,’ said Lessa, who had been briefly distracted by the stranger at the cavern’s opening.

‘Ah,’ Senior Tahl said, ‘but this was the Time Lord who called himself the Doctor, and he didn’t care about rules or regulations. He only cared about the universe, about finding the oppressed and lost, the enslaved and victimised, and making their lives better. For centuries, all across time and space, he fought for good and defeated evil, triumphing time and time again.’

‘Did he ever come home?’

‘Oh, there are stories that say he visited once or twice, usually to help the Time Lords when they were in some danger themselves – from Daleks, or Sontarans, or giant space chickens.’

A couple of the children laughed, and Rojan realised what a good thing that was. Their minds were being taken off the monsters that were back in the factory.

‘Where is this Doctor now?’ Rojan asked. ‘Why isn’t he here, fighting the Time War?’

‘That’s a good question,’ the Senior said, and Rojan could have sworn he threw a quick look at the stranger. ‘I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe the Doctor is here somewhere, only he’s regenerated so many times now no one knows what he looks like – not even the Daleks. So he uses that fact to hide in plain sight. I’m sure he is doing everything he can to save the children of Gallifrey. So when you go to bed tonight, and every night, I want you to remember that the Doctor is out there. If you’re scared before you go to sleep, just think of him and his bravery.’

The stranger walked over. ‘We can’t stay here,’ he whispered to the Senior and Rojan. ‘The Daleks are cutting through that door.’

‘There is nowhere else,’ the Senior said. ‘Without the bridge …’

‘We should find a way to mend it,’ Rojan said, and he started to head out of the cavern, towards the bridge. The stranger went with him.

A few seconds later they were at the broken bridge. ‘It’s only a metre or two,’ Rojan said. ‘We could all jump that.’

‘You might,’ the stranger said. ‘As would some of the other older kids – but the younger ones? And Tahl with his injured leg? And that’s assuming everyone is as brave as you.’

‘What makes you think I’m brave, Doctor?’

‘Because you suggested it,’ he said, then stopped. ‘I’m not the Doctor. Don’t let the Senior fill your head with nonsense.’

‘It’s not nonsense,’ Rojan said. ‘He knows you’re the Doctor and now so do I, Doctor.’

The stranger, or Doctor, shook his head. ‘I don’t have a name, and if I did it certainly wouldn’t be Doctor. I called myself Warrior once, but I’m not sure even that’s appropriate these days.’ He laughed at his time-pun. ‘These days, indeed …’

Rojan suddenly grabbed the stranger’s arm. ‘Look! They store coils of cabling over there! It’s to tether the skimmers when they land.’

‘Why is that important?’

‘We could use it – tie a short length to the beams above, and people could swing over.’

Rojan stepped back and, before the stranger could say anything, jumped the broken bridge. He ran to where he knew the cabling was kept, grabbed some and headed back.

The stranger was waiting for him. ‘Good boy,’ he said. ‘Tie it to… to that strut there. That looks strongest.’ Rojan did as he was told, then the stranger made him toss the cable back over and tied it to the strongest end of the bridge on his side. ‘Wait there,’ he told Rojan, then he darted back into the cavern, emerging seconds later with the kids, who were in various states of fear and nervousness.

The stranger turned to a couple who were about Rojan’s age. ‘I need you to go first,’ he said. ‘To show the others it is safe and secure and, above all, easy.’

‘Is it safe?’ one said.

‘Or easy?’ said the other.

‘No idea,’ the stranger said. ‘Come on – there’s no time to waste.’

By now Senior Tahl had also emerged, and was looking warily down the steps towards the Daleks.

One by one, the children jumped, or used the cabling to haul themselves across the bridge. As Rojan was joined by more and more of them, the encouragement of those who had already jumped made the stragglers braver.

Finally only one little boy stood, waiting with the stranger to go over.

‘I can’t do it,’ he wailed.

‘What’s your name?’ the stranger asked.

‘Gahnna.’

‘Well, Gahnna, Rojan and all the others did it.’

‘I’m scared.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he replied. ‘And being scared is good. It’s brilliant in fact, because it pushes you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.’

‘I can’t!’ Gahnna repeated.

‘Yes, you can,’ the stranger said. ‘Trust me.’

‘Why?’

The stranger looked up, caught Rojan’s eye and smiled.

‘Trust me because I’m, well, I’m sort of a doctor.’

Gahnna took a deep breath. Then he grabbed quickly at the cabling and swung over the gap to where Rojan and the others caught him.

‘Go!’ the stranger shouted across at the children. ‘Get to the safety of the skimmer ports. Remember, the Daleks can’t get across the bridge.’

‘What about you?’ Rojan yelled.

‘I’m bringing the Senior,’ the stranger yelled, running to the top of the stairs. Just as he reached them, there was a loud crash.

The stranger looked back to the bridge. ‘Go!’

All the children ran – all except Rojan, who was reluctant to leave without the stranger and the Senior.

The stranger ran down the steps to the Senior. ‘Come on, Tahl,’ Rojan heard him cry.

Rojan couldn’t see or hear Senior Tahl’s reply, but when the stranger re-emerged alone Rojan knew something was wrong.

‘Where is he?’ Rojan yelled.

‘I don’t know,’ the stranger replied, puffing and panting. He grabbed at the cabling and hauled himself across.

A moment later the Senior appeared at the top of the steps. He was hobbling badly, and carrying a box. Rojan realised the Daleks must have broken through and be on their way. Instead of heading for the bridge, Senior Tahl sat down at the top of the stairs and yanked open the box he was carrying.

‘No, Tahl!’ the stranger shouted.

‘Are all the children safe?’ the Senior called back.

‘Yes,’ Rojan replied, not really understanding why the Senior had sat down. ‘Come on, Senior.’

Senior Tahl looked back at him sadly. ‘Look after them, Rojan. And, Doctor?’

The stranger, the Warrior, the Doctor – whoever he was – replied. ‘Yes?’

‘You have saved us all so many times in the past, and no doubt in the future, but this is the stand I must make, here and now, to safeguard the children entrusted to my care.’

Rojan watched as two Daleks rose to the top of the stairs.

Senior Tahl slammed his hands into the box and an almighty explosion rocked the cavern. The stranger pulled Rojan back as what remained of the bridge dropped away, caught in the concussive wave of the blast.

As the dust slowly cleared, the only thing Rojan could see where the Daleks and Senior Tahl had been was a pile of rubble. The Daleks were destroyed or entombed, and Senior Tahl lay with them.

Gently, the stranger took Rojan’s hand and led him away from the carnage.

‘War,’ he said quietly, ‘makes heroes out of many people, no matter how unlikely.’ He looked Rojan in the eye. ‘It’s your turn now. It’s your job to get these children home safely.’

‘How can they be safe at home? The whole point of us being here was to keep them safe from the Daleks!’

‘Well, now that the Daleks know why the children are in factories like this all over Gallifrey they’ll attack them easily because they are remote. The cities will be safer.’

‘And you?’

The stranger smiled. ‘I have work to do. Maybe we’ll meet again one day.’

Rojan could see the other children now, safe and secure.

And to one side of the skimmer port was a strange blue box that he’d never noticed before. The stranger walked up to it and pushed open a door in the side.

Rojan called out. ‘Goodbye, Doctor. And thank you.’

The battle-weary old man said nothing, but managed a wan smile. And a second later, he and his blue box faded from view.

Rojan looked at his new charges. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you all home to safety.’

And in his young heart Rojan knew that, like Senior Tahl before him, this would always be his story about the Doctor. A story he would tell time and time again, to inspire a new generation of Time Lord children, for all the days to come.

The Hero Factor

‘Told you so!’ The Doctor drained his cup of tea and turned to Rose on the sunlounger beside him. ‘If you want the best cuppa in the known universe – and at least half of the unknown universe, for that matter – come to the Warp Hotel on Askenflatt Minor.’

‘It’s a good place to top up your tan, too,’ Rose agreed, wriggling her bare toes as she gazed about the quiet hotel terrace. ‘Four suns in the sky and an everlasting summer! I could live here. Let’s get a holiday home.’

He peered at her over the top of his sunglasses. ‘You haven’t seen Askenflatt Major, yet. The sea’s like warm custard and you can ride these funny red dolphin things… Mind you, the tea’s not quite as good. The coffee’s actually better, but not the tea. I like the tea here.’

Rose sighed happily. ‘Better stay here a while then.’

‘Yup!’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Waiter! Another pot of tea, please, quick as you like …’

Suddenly a gaggle of strange creatures with microphones and TV cameras came rushing up to surround them.

‘Blimey, that was quick!’ said the Doctor, staring around in alarm. ‘Think you forgot the milk and sugar though. And the tea.’

‘Leave it out!’ Rose recoiled as a camera was shoved in her face. ‘Doctor, I think they’re reporters!’

‘Miss Tyler,’ said a strange tusked creature. ‘Can you tell us what it’s like to travel with the future Champion of Askenflatt?’

Rose frowned. ‘Who’s that, then?’

‘Why, the Doctor, of course!’ roared a skinny red thing, nudging the tusked reporter aside. ‘The man who will lay down his life to defend the people of Askenflatt from the dreaded Hasval the Destroyer!’

‘Lay down my life? I’m lying down on a sunlounger! Or rather, I was.’ The Doctor jumped up crossly and tried to shoo the reporters back a bit. ‘The dreaded who? What are you lot on about?’

A deep-blue alien that was half man, half octopus slapped a friendly tentacle about his shoulders. ‘Come with us, Future Champion of Askenflatt,’ it said. ‘The Solar News Show is about to begin, and Jazami Paxxo has chosen you to be his special guest!’

‘Yeah?’ the Doctor brightened a bit. ‘He’s the most famous interviewer in the known universe. And at least half the unknown –’

‘Doctor!’ cried Rose. A blue glow was enveloping both the Doctor and the octo-man. ‘What’s happening?’

The octo-man gently took her hand with another tentacle. ‘Just a quick interview, Miss Tyler …’ And suddenly the blue glow was sucking her in too. The sunny hotel terrace faded away, and Rose felt herself travelling through space…

Then everything went very, very dark.

The next thing the Doctor knew, a spotlight was shining in his face and loud, dramatic music was playing. ‘Welcome to The Solar News Show,’ boomed a deep, serious voice. ‘Tonight, as Hasval the Destroyer advances on the defenceless Askenflatt system, Jazami Paxxo talks to the planets’ only hope – the Doctor!’

Suddenly a wave of applause burst out. The light swung away from the Doctor’s eyes and he saw he was in a huge TV studio in front of a huge audience, all dressed in black with 4-D view-spex. Six cameras were trained on him like giant guns. And beside him at a sleek news desk sat a tall grey humanoid with three small ears and an enormous mouth – Jazami Paxxo.

‘Welcome, Doctor,’ growled Paxxo. ‘Tonight we shall judge if you are worthy of being Askenflatt’s champion.’

The Doctor was baffled. ‘Come again?’

‘What makes you think you’re qualified for the job?’

‘I’m qualified for just about everything,’ the Doctor replied, ‘only I don’t know what you’re on about! Where’s Rose? We were having a nice little tea break. When did I ever apply to be a champion?’

‘Your friend will be joining us shortly,’ said Paxxo. ‘Now, you have a reputation for meddling in the affairs of other worlds, correct?’

‘Uh-huh,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘I could win a medal for meddling.’

‘You have fought evil aliens and power-mad dictators on countless planets. How much do you charge for your services?’

‘What?’ The Doctor stared at him in amazement. ‘I’m not for hire! If innocent people are in danger, if bullying beings are trying it on, well, someone’s got to sort it, haven’t they? Might as well be me.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I’m pretty good at it after all these centuries!’

‘I understand you are over 900 years old,’ said Paxxo. ‘Aren’t you a bit old for saving worlds?’

‘I’m in my prime!’ The Doctor pulled a banana from his pocket. ‘And I’m a deadly aim, so don’t get cheeky.’

‘What weapons do you use?’ Paxxo demanded.

‘I don’t, if I can help it.’

‘You just said you were a deadly aim!’

The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah – with this banana or a kiwi fruit or a satsuma or something!’ He started to peel the banana. ‘Bit of imagination and a soft fruit can always save the day.’

Paxxo watched the Doctor stonily. ‘Hasval’s forces are gathering, ready to strike. He will use these worlds as a power base from which to conquer a hundred more!’

The Doctor jumped up. ‘So why are you wasting my time? If the people of Askenflatt need my help, well then – they’ve got it.’

Paxxo smiled. ‘Thank you, Doctor. That’s all I wanted to know.’

Suddenly the studio audience vanished, and so did the set. The Doctor realised he was actually in a dark, dank spaceship, lit eerily with a green glow. The TV cameras were no longer cameras – they were robotic cannons. And Jazami Paxxo had disappeared. In his place stood the same blue octopus-creature who had brought the Doctor here.

‘This is all a wind-up, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor gravely. ‘An intergalactic You’ve Been Framed!’

The octopus-creature smiled and waggled a small computer in the Doctor’s face. ‘My hologram generator fooled you completely. There were no reporters, no TV show. But the forces of Hasval the Destroyer are real enough. And I should know – ‘ the octo-man reared up, baring rows of sharp teeth, ‘ – I am Hasval the Destroyer!’

‘What d’you want me to do, ask for your autograph?’ The Doctor calmly took a bite of the banana. ‘Now, what have you done with Rose?’

Hasval scowled. ‘My troops were in position, ready to conquer Askenflatt, when one of my spies noticed you were here – the unstoppable, indestructible Doctor! Hero of the innocent and thwarter of a thousand invasions! Did you know of my plans? Would you stand against me? I had to find out!’

‘You’re meant to be a destroyer,’ the Doctor said coldly. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to destroy me?’

‘You, the Lord of Time? You, who have survived a thousand wars? You, of whom it is said even the Daleks live in fear?’

‘Me,’ agreed the Doctor, ‘who can eat ten sugary doughnuts in a row without even licking my lips.’

‘I would have waited until you had left Askenflatt, then invaded, but your friend suggested you could live here. I had to act!’ Hasval’s eyes narrowed. ‘But, having spoken to you, I now know that you are an overrated buffoon. Your friend is scarier than you – and she’s locked up!’

Hasval waved a tentacle and a light came on to reveal Rose, trapped behind bars in a cell built into the wall. ‘Think I prefer the Warp Hotel,’ she shouted to the Doctor.

‘Never mind,’ he called back. ‘Have half a banana.’

‘Wow, thanks,’ said Rose as she caught it.

‘Enough clowning, Doctor,’ rasped Hasval. ‘It is time you died!’

‘You invader types, you think you’re so clever,’ the Doctor retorted, ‘but I always beat you. And you know why? Because you always slip up.’

With that, the Doctor gave Hasval a hearty shove. The octopoid invader staggered back and slipped on the banana skin Rose had thrown just behind him. With a cry of rage, he landed flat on his back and the Doctor kicked the hologram generator from his grasp.

One of the robotic cannons trundled towards the Doctor and took aim. ‘Down, Rose!’ he yelled, and dived aside. A bolt of power spat from the cannon, missing him by millimetres – and burned a huge hole in the bars of Rose’s cell. The Doctor jumped back up and wrestled with the cannon and spun it round just as it blasted again so it blew one of the other cannons to pieces.

But by now Hasval had flipped himself back to his feet, trembling with rage, his tentacles tearing the air about him. He grabbed hold of the Doctor, lifted him off his feet and hurled him against the metal floor.

‘You pathetic little creature!’ Hasval roared, as his robotic cannons advanced on the Doctor. ‘Did you really think that I, Hasval the Destroyer, could be defeated by a banana?’

‘Well …’ The Doctor gave a crooked smile. ‘With a bit of imagination.’

And suddenly, to Hasval’s horror, there were two Doctors lying in front of him. A moment later, six of them were getting to their feet. Then twenty. Soon, fifty were standing there, eyes wide and dangerous, smiling at him insolently.

‘This is how I am more than a match for pathetic, wannabe invaders like you, Hasval!’ he bellowed, and suddenly there were well over a hundred Doctors, all speaking as one. ‘Now, leave this sector of space and renounce your ways of war!’

Hasval gulped. ‘And if I don’t?’

The Doctor’s eyes flashed – all 250 of them. ‘You really don’t want to know …’

‘The stories were right!’ wailed Hasval. ‘You are unstoppable!’ With that, he threw open a heavy door and ran from the room, his robotic cannons trundling after him. ‘Navigator!’ he shouted as he ran for his life. ‘Turn this ship around. We’re going home! Disband the fleet! Move it!’

The Doctors watched him go. Then they all threw back their heads and laughed – before vanishing as Rose turned off the hologram projector. Suddenly there was only one Doctor standing in the eerie green room – the Doctor.

‘Well, when I turned on the stupid thing I didn’t think that would happen!’ Rose admitted. ‘Er… what did happen?’

‘Remember the TV audience?’ The Doctor tapped his nose. ‘They all looked identical because Hasval simply took an image of one person and used the hologram generator to duplicate it over and over. The generator must still have been on that setting when you activated it and waved it in my direction.’

Rose blushed as she looked down at the generator. ‘I thought it might have been the remote control for those cannon things!’

‘That would have worked too,’ the Doctor mused, smiling as he joined her. ‘And that’s really how I beat my enemies – by choosing my friends very, very carefully!’

Rose grinned and crossed to a computer panel beside the cell. ‘I know what this is, anyway – it’s the teleport that octopus-features used on us.’

‘Then let’s use it to get back to our little holiday,’ said the Doctor, smacking his lips. ‘After all this, I bet our tea’s gone stone cold. What d’you reckon, shall we push the boat out, get a fresh pot?’

Rose grinned at him as the blue glow took them both back to Askenflatt Minor. ‘My shout,’ she said, ‘for my hero!’

Mission to Galacton

Dalek saucer X-K Beta-19 came out of hyperdrive and hung, silent and majestic, at the edge of a solar system. It began to scan the planets that circled the blood-red sun. The ship carried a task force of 200 Daleks, and their mission was to find new sources of material and fuel to keep the enormous Dalek Empire supplied.

A constant stream of freight ships carried resources plundered from worlds the Daleks had conquered. As the empire continued to expand, so the need for supplies grew ever greater, and Dalek task forces ventured further and further into neutral and hostile space in search of planets to ransack. In the centuries before the Great Time War, nothing could stop the Daleks…

The Dalek Saucer Commander glided into the main control room. Its eyestalk swept over the main bank of controls, its head swivelling to observe the other Daleks at their tasks.

‘Report,’ the Commander grated, and another Dalek swung round to reply.

‘Scanning local planetary system for ores and minerals.’

Another Dalek turned its head. Its dome lights flashed as it spoke: ‘Third planet in system has high concentration of Radio-Activan in its core. This can be energised and converted to fuel.’

‘Star charts indicate that the planet is designated Galacton,’ another Dalek reported.

The Commander glided round the control room, checking read-outs and data as it went. ‘We will drill into the core and energise it to provide a fuel source for the Dalek Seventh Fleet,’ it decided.

‘Sensors indicate there may be life on the planet.’

The Commander turned quickly to address the Dalek that had spoken. ‘Only one form of life matters: Dalek life. All other life forms will be exterminated. Prepare to land on planet Galacton.’

The quiet calm of a sunny day on Galacton was shattered by the loud roar of the Dalek saucer’s engines as it lowered itself slowly into a clearing in the dense jungle. Wind from the rocket exhausts blew across the area, making vegetation sway and bend. It looked as if even the trees were trying to back away and hide as a long ramp extended from the side of the saucer and the first Daleks glided out.

‘Locate possible drilling sites,’ the Dalek Section Leader ordered. ‘Boreholes will be sunk towards the core of the planet so we can energise the fuel source it contains.’

‘We obey.’

An army of Daleks began to fan out through the jungle. They did not use paths or search for easy ways through the vegetation. They cleared their way with their guns – blasting through.

In the deep caves and caverns below the jungle, the silence was disturbed by the Dalek ship landing. Soon afterwards the caverns shook again as the Daleks sent robot drills deep into the crust of the planet.

Something huge and dark heaved itself out of the wall of a cavern and turned its fiery red eyes towards the surface…

The Dalek Section Leader responsible for locating suitable drilling sites entered the saucer’s main control room and reported to the Dalek Commander.

‘Seven sites have been located. Robot drills have penetrated to a depth of over one mile below planet surface.’

‘Satisfactory,’ the Dalek Commander pronounced. ‘Recall all Daleks not directly involved in drilling. Prepare enrichment energiser capsules to be inserted into drill holes once complete.’

‘I obey.’

A Dalek on the other side of the vast control room swivelled round. ‘Two Daleks have not responded to the recall instruction. Automatic distress transmission received from one Dalek. Then silence.’

The Commander’s response was immediate: ‘Despatch Attack Squad Delta to investigate.’

A hatch near the top of the saucer slid open and three Daleks emerged. They hovered for a moment in the air beside the saucer then, with a pale blue glow from their anti-gravity systems, swooped down over the jungle.

‘Approaching location of distress signal,’ the lead Dalek reported as they lowered themselves into a small clearing close to one of the drill sites. ‘Seek and locate missing Dalek unit.’

Before long, a patrolling Dalek had found one of the missing ones. All three of them clustered round it to survey the scene. The Dalek was close to the enormous hole where one of the drills had burrowed deep into the ground. It was lying on its side, the casing ripped open and torn apart. Bits of the Dalek’s internal systems were scattered across the jungle, and the Dalek Creature itself was obviously dead.

‘Proceed to next search location,’ the leader ordered. ‘I will inform control.’

‘Caution!’ One of the other Daleks warned. ‘Evidence suggests we are threatened by a hostile life form.’ Its dome turned as it surveyed the area.

But, even as it was speaking, there was a rumble from the ground beneath the Daleks. All around were piles of debris from the drilling – earth and rock and stones. What had looked like a pile of rubble was rising up, unfolding itself. Fiery red eyes stared out from the rock. Craggy arms reached for the nearest Dalek and smashed into its casing, crushing the Dalek’s dome and shattering one of its lights.

‘Alert – alert – alert – under attack!’ the Dalek squawked.

The two other Daleks spun round, guns blazing. ‘Exterminate!’

The rock creature glowed dull red, but still it smashed at the distressed Dalek, ripping into it.

‘Retreat,’ ordered the Dalek leader. ‘Retreat, retreat.’ The two surviving Daleks backed away, still firing. The power of their blasts seemed to stop the rock creature from coming after them. But more of the rock creatures were rising from the piles of earth and debris brought up by the drill. The Daleks continued to fire, twisting and turning to keep the creatures back. But they were slowly closing in.

‘Abandoning area,’ the Dalek Leader screeched as it rose into the air. A rocky arm thrashed past it, narrowly missing.

The second Dalek started to rise as well. But it was too slow and one of the enormous rock creatures swatted at it. The heavy stone fist thumped into the Dalek, sending it spinning out of control. It crashed into a mound of earth, eyestalk snapping off.

‘Vision impaired,’ the wounded Dalek screamed. ‘I cannot see!’ A moment later the voice cut out as another rock creature tore into the Dalek’s battered casing.

The surviving Dalek swooped down low over the jungle, firing a concentrated burst of energy from its gun to try to destroy the creature ripping into the dying Dalek. But it did no good. And the Dalek had come down too low – now it was within reach of the other rock creatures.

A heavy arm flashed past the Dalek’s eye. Another caught the edge of its base and sent it tumbling. Out of control, the Dalek fell to the ground. It skidded across the jungle clearing, and came to rest on its side at the edge of the wide hole left by the drill. For a moment it teetered on the brink, then it toppled over, falling into the deep, dark depths below with an electronic cry.

The main control room of the Dalek Saucer was filled with Daleks. They glided from task to task, checking, adjusting and reporting. A huge scanner screen showed a replay of what the Dalek Attack Squad Leader had seen before it fell into the drill hole.

‘Our firepower is ineffective against these creatures,’ a Dalek observed.

‘Contact with Squad Leader has been lost,’ a second Dalek said.

‘Attack Squad Delta has been completely destroyed,’ another Dalek reported. Its voice rose in pitch as it continued: ‘Hostile creatures now approaching ship. This vessel is endangered.’

The Dalek Commander turned slowly in a full circle, gathering data and assessing the situation. ‘We will be unable to energise the planet’s core. All Daleks to abandon drill sites and return to ship. We are evacuating.’

‘Analysis of planet’s core now available from robot drills,’ a Dalek said. ‘A concentrated burst of energy would enrich the material and provide a fuel source.’

‘Advise Supreme Command that we are unable to deploy enrichment capsules and are returning to planetary orbit to assess alternative strategies,’ the Commander ordered.

‘I obey.’

On one of the view screens, the Commander could see several of the huge rock monsters lumbering into the clearing where the ship had landed.

The Commander turned to address the assembled Daleks. ‘We have not been defeated,’ it said defiantly. ‘The Daleks are never defeated. Superior Dalek technology and intelligence will triumph.’

With a deafening roar, the Dalek saucer lifted slowly from the ground. Its massive stabilising legs withdrew as it gathered speed, rising into the air.

The tremendous blast from its space engines shattered several of the rock creatures below, hurling chunks of debris across the jungle. The others stood and watched as the ship disappeared into the sky.

In the darkness of the drill shaft, something stirred. A faint glow of blue light. Systems that had shut down as the Dalek Attack Squad Leader plummeted into the depths of the shaft came back online. The blue glow of the Dalek’s eye moved as it looked round and took stock of its surroundings.

It had landed upright, on a shelf of rock far down the shaft. Its systems were badly damaged, its casing scuffed and dented. It was trapped miles below the ground, deep in a hole that ran almost to the molten core of the planet. There was no way the Dalek could ever escape, but despair was not a word in its vocabulary. Its thoughts were only for victory and the completion of the Dalek mission to Galacton.

‘The planet’s core will be energised,’ the Dalek said. Its grating voice echoed in the darkness. ‘The hostile creatures will be exterminated and the Dalek mission will be accomplished.’

There was another light now – a red glow as the Dalek’s gun powered up. A brilliant beam of energy blasted downwards into the very heart of Galacton. The bottom of the shaft melted and gave way, allowing the blast to penetrate right to the core of the planet. Molten rock surged upwards as the energy released a huge volcanic eruption.

‘Exterminate! I die, but the Daleks will reign supreme!’

The Dalek Commander watched without comment. The huge scanner screen in the main control room showed the eruptions as the planet was torn apart.

‘Energy wave released,’ a Dalek reported. ‘Planet’s core has been energised.’

‘Data suggests use of Dalek weaponry deep within the planet. Weapon signature matches leader of Attack Squad Delta.’

‘Prepare to take on fuel from new source,’ the Commander ordered. ‘Planet Galacton has been destroyed. Hostile alien life form has been exterminated. Inform Dalek Seventh Fleet that fuel is now available for the Dalek conquest of all planets in this sector.’

The Dalek Commander turned to face the other Daleks. Its dome was framed by the fiery explosions that blasted across the screen behind it. ‘The Daleks are victorious. The Daleks will rule for all eternity. Daleks conquer and destroy!’

And all the other Daleks in the control room took up the war cry: ‘Daleks conquer and destroy. Daleks conquer and destroy! DALEKS CONQUER AND DESTROY!!’

Stamp of Approval

Bath, 1840

Dear Mum,

I know, I know, I never write letters! But it seemed sort of appropriate this time. I’ll tell you all about it.

We were in the TARDIS when the Doctor told me he’d had a brilliant idea. So I thought we’d be doing something fun, like going to Mardi Gras or visiting a planet where everything’s made out of ice cream. But you’ll never guess what his brilliant idea was. He’d decided to take up stamp collecting! I mean, how dull is that? Do you remember that kid in my class at Jericho Street Junior, the one whose parents made him wear a shirt and tie? He collected stamps. Freddie, his name was, I think. Something like that.

Anyway, last thing I expected from the Doctor. Obviously, his way of going about it had to be different. Most people, like Freddie – or was it Frankie? – spend their time poring over albums and buying little paper packets of ‘5 cent Wild Flowers of the USA’ by mail order. So what was the Doctor planning to do? Only go back to the start of it all and pick up the first ever stamp hot off the press!

That’s why we’re here. First ever postage stamp, the Penny Black (even I’ve heard of that), issued in May 1840. Did you know, what used to happen is that people had to pay to receive letters – and if they couldn’t pay they weren’t allowed to have the letter? Imagine seeing the postman going off with your party invitation or pay cheque just because you didn’t have any cash on you!

They used to make you pay more if the letter had come a long way, too. A postcard from Cousin Mo in the Peak District would cost you a fortune. So, this bloke called Rowland Hill decides it’s not fair, and has this idea of people paying to send letters instead – and for them all to cost the same price, as well. Now that’s a brilliant idea. And ta-da! You’ve got stamps.

We turned up in Bath, which is where the printers were. I suppose I should say where they are. And I’m still thinking it’s all going to be dullsville. Then a man runs out screaming, so I know we must be in the right place…

We went inside – catch the Doctor leaving when there are people running around screaming? His ears prick up like a dog hearing a whistle! And the first thing we see is this pair of boots sticking out of the top of a barrel of ink. And the boots have got feet in, and the feet are on the end of a body. We pulled it out, getting covered in ink in the process, but the poor man was already dead. Drowned. Horrible.

So we’re standing there, dripping on the floor, looking like we’ve just struck oil or something, and wondering what to do next. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but people tend to think you’re a bit sus’ if they find you standing over a dead body. And before you could say ‘Raxacoricofallapatorius’, a group of people came in. I was expecting them to shout for the police (do they have police in 1840? Must ask the Doctor) or at least look sort of shocked or something, but instead they start walking towards us, arms outstretched like the living dead (and I should know – I’ve met enough zombies). Most of them had ink splashes all over their smart Victorian suits, so I was betting they knew something about the poor guy in the barrel.

Suddenly the Doctor’s hand was in mine, all slippery with ink, and he’s dragging me away. We ran – not safely out of the building, of course, but through a door at the back – and we found ourselves in a workshop. There were about ten or eleven great big wood-and-metal machines – the printing presses – and huge stacks of paper. Pinned up on walls to dry were newly inked sheets of Penny Blacks, line after line of little profiles of Queen Victoria gazing at the stamp to the left of her. I mean, I knew it was Queen Victoria, but it didn’t look a lot like her to me. Then the Doctor explained that this was a picture of her when she became queen, and when we met her (did I tell you we met her? She was a bit scary) she was about forty years older.

Anyway, I helped the Doctor to push a printing press across the door, and we’d only just got it in place when the inky men started to bash on the door from the other side. I was looking around to see if there was another way out of the room when I suddenly spotted that we weren’t alone. There was a man curled up in the corner, trying to hide himself behind a bowler hat and not succeeding very well. He had a little bit of ink on his hands, but wasn’t nearly as grubby as the other men. I went over and asked him if he was all right. He started muttering ‘I must obey, I must obey’. Very zombie. The Doctor asked him who he must obey, and he said ‘the Queen’. Which the Doctor said was an admirable sentiment, but what did the Queen want him to do? And he said, ‘kill’, which I didn’t think was very admirable at all.

The Doctor pulled an old-fashioned watch on a chain from his pocket, and started to wave it in front of the man’s eyes. The man slowly calmed down and so did I. Next thing I knew, the Doctor’s nudging me awake. But the man was awake too, and seemed all normal suddenly. He said his name was Thomas Scott and his job was operating a press. The stamp design was etched on to a piece of metal, and then the etched holes were filled up with ink, he explained. Someone would wipe off the excess ink, and then Thomas Scott would pull a lever so the paper was pressed very hard against the metal – so hard that the inked design would be printed on it.

The Doctor asked him to try to remember what had happened, and after a few minutes he said it was coming back to him. A strange being had suddenly appeared in the workshop, a thin, yellow monster with huge purple eyes. The Doctor asked if it was bendy, like it was made of rubber, and the man looked really surprised and said it was. The Doctor grinned like a light bulb had just appeared over his head, and said ‘Aha! A Hobothy.’ Hobothies, he told us, were aliens (don’t ask how the man reacted when he heard that), and if he was any judge this one had come to take over the earth.

At that point, the men started bashing even harder on the door, and I began to get a bit worried that the printing press wouldn’t keep them out much longer. The Doctor was explaining how the Hobothies were master hypnotists, but usually needed to use some sort of medium to put their message across. He asked Scott what the other men did in the workshop, the ones who were trying to punch their way through the door, and he said they were the inkers, the men who kept the presses full of ink. They’d suddenly gone mad and chased away a man who’d come to deliver a load of paper (the guy in the barrel, I guessed). And the Doctor and I remembered how inky the men had been and both cried out ‘Ink!’ at the same time – and then we both realised we were covered in ink too.

I caught a glimpse of something yellow out of the corner of my eye, but couldn’t concentrate. I could just about hear the Doctor saying something about stamps. ‘The perfect medium!’ I thought he said. ‘Millions of letters will be delivered this year alone, and if each has a stamp that can be used to focus the Hobothy’s hypnotic power …’

But his voice sort of faded away. All I was aware of were the sheets of Penny Blacks, the hundreds upon hundreds of Queen Victorias. Each turning to face me. ‘You will kill,’ she said, and I heard it hundreds of times over. ‘You will kill, kill, kill …’ And I knew that I must do what she said.

Dimly in the background I heard a crashing noise, like the door had been smashed open, but I wasn’t taking notice of anything but Queen Victoria, staring at me from the stamps. And then I thought, Queen Victoria wasn’t like this. I know her, know the real her. OK, so she was a bit of a sourpuss, but this is nothing like her. This isn’t real.

Suddenly I could think again. There was the Doctor next to me, screwing up his eyes and muttering under his breath. There was Thomas Scott, crawling across the floor towards us. There were the men from outside, nasty metal tools in their hands, ready to strike. And there, right in front of me, was a rubbery yellow monster, staring at me with big purple eyes, chanting ‘Kill, kill, kill …’

I didn’t even stop to think. I grabbed hold of the top of the nearest printing press and swung forward, my feet catching the alien in the stomach and sending him falling backwards over the inked metal plate of another press – just as Thomas Scott reached it. It must have been second nature for him to pull the lever, because that’s exactly what he did. Crash! The paper was crushed against the inked plate – with the Hobothy stuck right in the middle.

And that was the end of it. Without the Hobothy to channel the hypnotic impulses, the ink was harmless (that’s what the Doctor said, anyway). All the men suddenly came to and looked a bit embarrassed. The Doctor said he’d sort things so they didn’t get blamed for the murder of the poor paper-delivery guy – after all, it wasn’t their fault. Then the Doctor and Thomas (and how lucky were we that his job meant he didn’t get much ink on him, so wasn’t as badly affected as the others?) destroyed the sheet of stamps. which had come out strangely yellow with purple splodges. Well, all except for one, which I thought would be a good souvenir – I mean, I was the one who saved the day this time.

Did you know that stamps that have got something wrong with them, some printing mistake, can be worth thousands of pounds? The rarer the stamp, the more valuable it is. I remember Frankie (or was it Freddie?) telling me about it during wet break once. Anyway, what do you reckon for the only squashed-alien Penny Black in the whole world?

Have a look at this envelope! The Doctor says he’ll get this posted to you somehow. Don’t throw it away, will you? I reckon Freddie (or Frankie) had the right idea after all. Stamps can be cool. I’m thinking of starting a collection…

Lots of love,
Rose

The Final Darkness

Journal of the ship’s scribe (Translation © UNIT Alien–English software)

Entry: 23-mol-786-lassac-5

Sycorax stride the darkness. The wastelands of space are our home. And on this day signals came to us from a newfound planet.

‘Its people are soft and fleshy and primitive,’ the world-seer reported. ‘They call themselves humans and send sounds and pictures to each other through the air. They send tiny metal probes into the darkness between the stars.’

‘What is the planet called?’ our leader asked.

‘They name it Earth, after mud,’ said the world-seer. ‘But, even so far away, I taste its true value. I sense the precious stones beneath its surface. The metals and minerals.’

Our leader thought on the world-seer’s report. ‘Slave traders will give us much for a good supply of human cattle. Let us go to this world and take whatever we wish.’

Soon I felt the tremble of the ground as our ship turned through the blankness of far space. Our instruments are locked on to the source of the signals. The Earth shall be our next target – our next jewel plucked from the glittering heavens.

Entry: 24-mol-853-lassac-21

Our long move through the stars is filled now with anticipation. We pass the orbits of comets and dust clouds and draw close to the system of Earth.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-13

As we neared the small red planet in the system of Earth, our sensors detected a tiny metal object approaching.

‘It is a probe sent by the human cattle,’ our wise men declared.

‘Do they know we are coming?’ our leader asked. ‘Are they sending weapons to attack?’

We stopped five kiskfaa above the red planet and our ship swallowed the probe. Many of our wise men studied it.

‘It is rubbish,’ the eldest declared. ‘It carries a big camera, and is meant to send fuzzy pictures to the cattle of Earth.’

‘It also contains things from their planet,’ his comrade added. ‘Seeds, fluid, maps. A bad noise that may be music. And something that will be of use to us – human blood.’

And so, swiftly, our shamen – they who practise the forbidden arts of Astrophia – began to prepare the blood charm. While they worked, our leader put on his skull helmet and stared into the fuzzy camera of the probe. As it sent the image to the people of Earth, he snapped his mighty teeth like he was biting off their heads!

Ha, ha, ha! We know how to scare the human cattle!

Sycorax rock!

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-18

Our ship slices through space. In five human hours our ship shall reach the Earth. To pass time, our leader sends a message to the human cattle’s tribal leader. He demands total surrender. He does not speak the language of humans. Such stupid words would taste like dung in his mouth. We speak Sycoraxic and do not care if the humans cannot understand us – we shall take what we want from them whatever they say about it. Ha! Sycorax strong!

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-20/22

The human cattle have learned Sycoraxic. They say they have weapons. They say, ‘We do not surrender.’

We say, ‘HA! SYCORAX MIGHTY!’ Our leader has cast the charm of blood control over all the planet Earth.

Now one third of all human scum are compelled to climb high buildings and stand on the brink of falling-down-ness.

Of course, it is all big trick. Blood control will not kill even stupid human cattle. But they do not know this.

Ha, ha! Our tribe love conquest by blood control best – it totally rocks because it is very funny to make fools of enemies. Once we have gathered half the people of Earth we shall tell them their leader gave in for nothing and laugh at them and shut them in the dark until we are ready to trade them for goods and money and slinkjaak.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-20/22

Our leader summoned the skinny woman ruler of Earth, her chief warrior and her wise men to our ship. We, the tribe, have all gathered in the Hall of War Pacts to help our leader to scare the cattle. They smell bad and look worse.

Our leader takes off his skull helmet, he rattles the bones of those he killed in childhood. We see the fear in the eyes of these human animals and it is good. We scream and shout at them: ‘Surrender! Surrender! Surrender!’

ZZ-ZZAP! Our leader kills one of the woman’s wise men because he is soft and boring. The wise man wants to see compassion – so our leader shows him his death whip. ZZ-ZZAAAPPP! Ha! He kills the skinny woman’s dark warrior too, who is rubbish and dies just like that.

And then he tells the skinny woman who rules these humans: surrender half your people to be slaves, or watch a third of them jump and die. ‘Your choice!’

Except we are tricking her.

I am glad I am wearing my skull helmet because I cannot stop smiling.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-22.6

ALARM! Our controls taste the signals of FOREIGN MACHINERY. Machinery not made on this world. Clever machinery.

Are the humans hiding something dangerous? Are they conspiring with intelligent strangers? Do they seek to trick us?

Our teleportation beam locks on to the clever machine and brings it aboard. It is a blue wooden box. It does not look clever, but it is. Two humans fall out of it. A yellow girl and a dark boy.

Our leader talks to the yellow girl. It seems the clever blue box is hers. Our leader says she must speak for the Earth.

But the yellow girl speaks without logic.

She is not clever like her blue box. She tries to scare us with stolen words. She tries to make us afraid by using the names of worthy foes. Does she not know she speaks to SYCORAX? We who inhabit the great blackness between stars? We who stride the darkness eternal?

We laugh till we leak. The yellow girl looks afraid, and so she should. For our leader has drawn his death whip. He will destroy her…

But then the doors of the blue box burst open. And a stranger appears.

A stranger who pulls the death whip from our leader’s hands, and who breaks the Staff of Helkaac-ak-ac across his knee.

We do not understand but we know it is bad, and we do not laugh now.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-24

The unthinkable has happened.

The stranger – whose rank is DOCTOR – has activated the blood-control matrix and ruined EVERYTHING. The human cattle far below are freed from the blood charm and return to their feeble senses. Sycorax no longer control them. They stand back from the edges and ledges of their high buildings.

It is bad.

Now we the tribe wait and anticipate. We know our leader will desire a great and sour revenge for this act.

And so, when the Doctor invokes the sanctified rules of combat and stands as Champion of Earth, when he dares to challenge our leader to fight for possession of this planet, when he calls our leader a crannak pel cassackree salvack before the chimes of darkness are even rung…

We know our leader will crush him like a salvsqueed beneath his boot.

The ship rocks with our cheers and bellows. For time unknown we have conquered and enslaved, we have gutted planets and left them empty and dry behind us. And never once have we seen such sport as this – a pink and puny fool, fighting our own glorious leader!

Our leader and the Doctor fight across the hall with heavy broadswords. The struggle spills outside on to the wing of our ship. But, even with the filthy air of this world filling his lungs, we know our leader will surely triumph.

It is certain! Sycorax ROCK!

I scramble down from the upper gallery to see. As scribe of the ship it is my duty to record such momentous events. But even if I were lowly as a dalskaak I would be running to watch this battle. For my eyes long to see the blood spurt from this Doctor’s body. My heart aches to see the champion of this world humbled and hacked into chunks, hurled at the planet below – the planet that shall soon be OURS to pillage!

Sure enough, our leader soon shows his superior skill. He brings down his broadsword and slices off the Doctor’s fighting hand! Earth’s champion has shown guts, but now our leader will tug them out with his bare hands…

And then suddenly I feel a stab of purest fear deep inside. I have not known fear since I was first torn as a pup from the belly of my father and thrown to the snake baths of Hennteck. But I know it now.

For this hero of the humans, the Doctor, knows true witchcraft. His severed hand grows back, and in seconds it is whole and strong again! And now, as if a man renewed, this Doctor fights with a fury greater than any I have ever seen. He swings and blocks and clashes and knocks the broadsword flying from the hands of our leader.

Our leader falls to the floor. I feel a cold as deep as the wastelands of space in my heart.

He is at the Doctor’s mercy. He waits for death.

But the Doctor will not kill him. He commands him to leave this planet and never return. Our leader agrees – but it is a trick.

Ha, ha – a good trick, yes! He rises, comes up behind the Doctor, ready to kill the presumptuous fool, to kill –

Himself.

Without even looking, the Doctor triggers the kojux-flap in the wing of the ship. Our leader tumbles through it. He plummets to the ground miles below.

But my heart plummets faster.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-28

We are leaving now, in disarray. Leaderless. More alone than we ever have been as we return to the endless, open void.

We have been forbidden to scavenge the Earth for the rest of time. We are compelled to inform the great Sycorax Armada that this world is defended. It may not be taken. Bound by the ancient rites of combat, with our blood charms broken and our great leader gone to the Glorious Plains of Haansak-Chack-Chiffal, we cannot fight back. Not this day.

But still we shall stride the darkness. We know nothing else.

We leave for the wilderness beyond Mutter’s Spiral. It is this scribe’s one hope that the freezing wastes of far space will help to soothe the burning, bitter blackness in our hearts at this defeat.

Entry: 24-mol-921-lassac-28.910

Treachery. Deception. More clever, foreign machinery hidden on the Earth. Our sensors detect the energy streaming from the human mire towards our beautiful ship. And we know at once we cannot withstand it.

I stand and speak to our assembly in these last seconds. ‘We, who have travelled in the wastelands all our lives,’ I cry, ‘we know now that in death we shall remain here. We shall fill the darkness with our blood, with our curse, with our hate, with our vengeance.’

My brothers cheer my words as the deadly energy streaks nearer.

‘Our armada shall scent our blood,’ I bellow. ‘It shall feel the burning of our hearts and be drawn here to wreak destruction on the Earth!’

And the chant goes up:

‘SYCORAX STRONG! SYCORAX MIGHTY! SYCORAX –

+++LOG TERMINATES

No Fun at the Fair

‘Ahhh!’ breathed the Doctor, flinging his arms wide and nearly hitting Rose in the face with his candyfloss. ‘A fun fair. What better way could there be to spend a summer Saturday?’

Rose grinned. She would have preferred the beach, or even the shops, but the Doctor was having so much fun she wasn’t going to ruin things by saying so.

‘Now, just time for one more ride …’ the Doctor spun on the spot and ended up pointing at the fair’s star attraction, the giant twisty-turny water slide. ‘Oh yes.’

‘Oh no,’ said Rose. ‘Not after hot dogs, chips, ice cream and candyfloss.’

‘Time Lord digestion!’ the Doctor protested.

‘Human digestion!’ Rose pointed out, gesturing at her stomach. His face fell, and she laughed. ‘OK, you go and get soaked. I’ll look for something a bit quieter.’

The Doctor hurried off, and Rose looked around. They’d done the merry-go-round, the dodgems and the test-your-strength machine, the ring toss, the duck hook and the coconut shies. A sign caught her eye – a vampire with enormous fangs was beckoning her towards the ghost train. She shrugged. Why not? No chance a few plastic skeletons would scare her after the things she’d seen, but it might be a laugh.

She bought a ticket and took a seat. It was the end of the day and there were only a couple of other people on the ride – well, that might make it a bit creepier.

With a jolt, they were off. Rose tried to get into the swing of it, giving half-hearted shrieks as fake cobwebs brushed her face and mummies lurched unconvincingly towards her.

And then she screamed for real.

There in the shadows as the car jolted round a corner was a monster. Green baby face, staring black eyes, terrifying claws.

A Slitheen.

Rose wrenched at her seat belt. The fastening clicked open and she climbed up on the seat. ‘Sit down in front!’ yelled an angry man from the car behind, but she didn’t care. She peered back into the darkness, desperately trying to catch another glimpse of the Raxacoricofallapatorian and then blinked as she found herself outside again. While her back was turned, the car had pushed through the final barrier and the ride was over.

She jumped out and made her way back to the exit. ‘Oi!’ cried a voice as she went to push through the barrier. A hand grabbed her arm and she turned to see a burly, moustached man wearing a ‘ghost train’ baseball cap.

Rose shook off his hand. ‘I’ve got to get back in there,’ she said.

He pointed at a sign above the exit. NO ENTRY.

She sighed. ‘Right. OK. I’ll go in the other way, then.’ She ran back round to the front of the ride.

‘One, please,’ she said, holding out a pound coin to the ticket collector.

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, we’re just closing.’

This was impossible! She ran to the ride’s entrance, just as the doors were slammed shut. And locked.

She screamed again as a hand clapped down on her shoulder. But it belonged to a soggy but happy-looking Doctor. ‘You’re a bit jumpy,’ he said. ‘I prescribe a toffee apple. You missed a treat, you know. You’ve got to try that water slide …’

‘I saw a Slitheen!’ Rose gasped.

‘You what?’

‘A Slitheen! In there!’ She gestured towards the ghost train. ‘Big, green, scary …’

‘Sure it wasn’t Frankenstein’s Monster? Or your mum in a mood?’

She gave him a hard stare. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’ She suddenly had a thought. ‘The ghost train guy! He was huge! No wonder he wouldn’t let me back in. Come on!’

She ran back to the train exit, the Doctor jogging behind. The moustached man was cleaning down the cars. Rose stalked up to him and stood there with her hands on her hips. ‘Aha!’

‘Oh, you again,’ the man said. ‘Look, you’re not going in, all right?’

‘Not all right,’ said Rose, sticking out a finger to prod his stomach. ‘Feeling a bit gassy, huh?’

The man doubled over. ‘What on Earth do you think you’re doing?’

‘The question is, what d’you think you’re doing on Earth?’ She yanked off his baseball cap, to reveal… his head. A totally hair-free and zip-free head. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Do excuse my young friend,’ said the Doctor, joining them. ‘She’s upset at missing the water slide.’ He led the red-faced Rose away.

‘Look, I didn’t imagine it,’ she insisted. ‘I saw a Slitheen.’

‘Then we wait till everyone’s gone and look for it.’

It was a while before the coast was clear. The Doctor got out his sonic screwdriver, but before he could tackle the lock they heard sounds from within the ghost train. Heavy footsteps. Rose and the Doctor hid as the door opened from the inside – and the sinister baby face of a Slitheen peered out.

‘Blimey,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘You were right.’ They held back as it set off across the fairground. ‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m going to check out the ghost train, see there aren’t any more of them. You keep an eye on that one. But don’t get too close!’

Rose nodded, and hurried off. What sinister things might the Slitheen be getting up to? She watched, nervous, as it… had a go at the ring toss.

The Slitheen’s huge claws weren’t made for precision, and the rings fell short. Undeterred, it moved on to the test-your-strength machine. There the hammer thumped down and the tinny ring of the winner’s bell rang out. The Slitheen raised its arms in victory, and went on to the next attraction. Rose felt a stab of pity as the giant monster failed to fit into a dodgem car. Pity – for a Slitheen? But this Slitheen wasn’t rampaging and killing. It was just trying to have a bit of fun. Could it be stranded on Earth? Forced to hide during the day in the one place it could blend in – a display of freaks and horror-film faces? Perhaps it wasn’t even a Slitheen, but one of the good Raxacoricofallapatorians. She had to find out – perhaps they could help it.

Distracted, she lost track of the creature for a moment. No, there it was, coming out of a trailer. That was odd; what had it wanted in there? Rose ducked inside to see. And gasped.

There was a big poster along one wall: COMING SOON: SUPER SLITHEEN SPACE SPECTACULAR! And everywhere there were plans and diagrams and research notes. Every stall or ride from the fair was represented – but in a hideous, twisted form. Shies with human heads instead of coconuts! A ring toss where people could be ringed instead of soft toys or cheap vases. Dodgem cars where the object was to ram into as many humans as possible. And scariest of all – the human hunt! The human was chased through the fair, ending with the pièce de résistance – the human-hunt water slide!

This Slitheen wasn’t stranded. It was a scout. It was carrying out research for its own fair of fear. And she’d felt sorry for it!

Rose went to the door. The sooner she found the Doctor, the better. The sooner she told him what she’d discovered about –

The Slitheen. There, in the doorway. Watching her.

‘Little human girl!’ it hissed happily. ‘I caught the stench as I passed. How kind of you to volunteer to help with my research.’

Rose backed away. ‘Like I’m going to help you with anything.’

‘Oh, but you must,’ the Slitheen told her, reaching out with a claw. ‘One little human girl, all alone – no one to notice us. No one to see as we test the human hunt.’

Rose stopped breathing for a split second. Then, before the Slitheen could react, she dashed forward, ducking under its outstretched arm and running as fast as she could.

The Slitheen was close behind her. She pelted onwards, desperate and scared. Couldn’t quite believe she was outpacing the monster. Then she realised – it was deliberately staying just behind. Deliberately guiding her steps. This was part of the fun of the chase…

Where was the Doctor? Was he still in the ghost train? She hoped they would go there, but instead the Slitheen shepherded her into the Tunnel of Love. Ignoring the little swan-shaped boats, Rose half swam, half waded through, fighting her way through curtains of stars and love hearts. There was a click and a flash as she reached the exit, and the distraction made her stumble, but the Slitheen didn’t want the chase to end just yet. Rose’s stomach flipped to see where they were heading next – the water slide. The end of the hunt.

She scrambled up the steps, the Slitheen close behind her. All she could do was try to keep as far ahead of the monster as possible, and hope that she’d think of something – or that the Doctor would turn up.

The Doctor! As she began hurtling downwards, she suddenly spotted a figure on the ground. ‘Help!’ she yelled. But then she was inside a tube, whizzing round corner after corner, with no way of knowing if he’d heard. Perhaps the Slitheen would get stuck in the tube? No such luck. Rose was out in the open again – and so was the Slitheen.

She could see the Doctor! But why wasn’t he racing to her rescue? He was just standing at the bottom of the slide – was he pouring something into the water?

She’d find out soon. Because this was the almost-vertical drop to the pool – terrifying even if you didn’t have a killer monster right behind you.

Rose hit the water. It winded her, and she couldn’t move. Any second now the Slitheen would land on top of her…

Hang on. Something smelled like… chips?

The Slitheen landed in the pool, claws raised. ‘And now, little human girl, for the finale!’ it cried – and then stopped.

Suddenly, without warning, the Slitheen exploded.

Hardly able to believe her luck, Rose crawled out of the pool. She was exhausted, she was soaking wet, and she was covered with gunky chunks of green Slitheen goo, but she was safe. Oh, and she smelled, too. Someone had put vinegar in the water.

The Doctor threw the last of the empty bottles on a pile, and gave Rose a hand to stand up. ‘Nicked it from the chip van,’ he said, as she linked her arm through his. ‘There, told you you should try the slide …’

Everything was OK now. The Doctor would make sure there’d be no Super Slitheen Space Spectacular, no human games or hunts.

‘I got you a souvenir,’ he said, as they made their way back to the TARDIS. ‘You see, there’s this screen outside the Tunnel of Love where they display the photos taken inside. Admittedly I was a bit hurt you’d chosen to go in with someone else, but I got over it …’

He handed her a photo. There, inside an enormous red heart, was a picture of a soggy Rose while the terrifying Slitheen loomed threateningly above her. Underneath was written A DAY TO REMEMBER.

‘Thanks,’ Rose said to the Doctor. ‘Otherwise I might forget. After all, it’s not often that you have so much fun at the fair.’

Taking Mickey

It was a Wednesday morning when Mickey got an email about the Doctor. He got lots of emails about all sorts of things because he had signed up to various websites about UFOs and aliens. It wasn’t something he had set out to do, but he had sort of inherited it. And it kept him busy when he wasn’t down at the garage fixing cars. And it reminded him of Rose when she wasn’t there.

He got lots of emails from all kinds of people. Mickey knew that most of what they said was just rubbish or stuff they had made up. But this email was from a woman called Jill Ongar who sounded very sensible. She said she wanted to meet Mickey because she could tell him things about UNIT and about the Doctor.

Mickey was interested in UNIT – a secret military organisation that knew more than they were telling about aliens and attempted invasions of Earth. He was also interested in meeting anyone who thought they knew more than he did about the Doctor. After all, Mickey knew the Doctor better than most people. Maybe Jill Ongar could tell Mickey something about Rose too. So he rang the number in the email and spoke to Jill.

She sounded very ordinary. She lived in London, not far away, and said she would love to meet Mickey. But he’d have to come to her house so she could be in when her children got back from school.

‘Come for a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some custard creams.’

Jill’s house was on its own at the end of a row of very ordinary houses. But Jill’s house was not the same as the others. It was taller and thinner, with a roof that sloped to a point, like the tower of a castle. Jill showed Mickey through to the front room.

‘So what do you know about the Doctor?’ Jill asked.

Mickey had hardly started his biscuit, and crumbs flew from his mouth as he tried to answer. He swallowed and tried again. ‘I thought you said you could tell me about the Doctor.’

Jill had told him a bit about UNIT, but nothing that Mickey didn’t already know. It was all pretty basic stuff, really.

She held out the plate, offering Mickey another biscuit. ‘You can tell me,’ she said. ‘How did you meet him? Does he have any other friends? It’s obvious from your emails that you know the Doctor quite well, though you try to hide that.’ She smiled, and Mickey couldn’t help thinking that her teeth seemed very sharp. ‘Where do you suppose the Doctor is now?’ Jill asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mickey confessed. ‘Could be anywhere really. He comes and goes.’

Jill was smiling again. ‘So you do know him.’ She clapped her hands together in delight, and Mickey couldn’t help noticing how long her fingernails were. ‘And how do you keep in touch with the Doctor? When are you next meeting him?’

Mickey didn’t like this. She was altogether too curious about the Doctor. He stood up. ‘I’d better be going. And you should be careful with all these questions,’ he warned. ‘It can be dangerous around the Doctor. Why are you interested all of a sudden anyway?’

Jill just smiled, baring her pointed teeth. They looked even longer and sharper now. ‘Do stay for another cup of tea.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Mickey decided. ‘I’ve got to get back. And your kids’ll be home soon anyway.’

As he finished speaking, he heard the front door opening.

‘That will be them now,’ Jill said. ‘Oh you’ll like my boys. Such good lads, they are. And they do love to play. Perhaps you can stay and play with them?’

‘I don’t really play with kids,’ Mickey confessed. Actually he did like playing football with children on the estate, but he was now desperate to get away. Something about Jill was making him really nervous, and not just the way she kept asking about the Doctor.

‘Oh you’ll like my boys,’ Jill said once more, getting to her feet. She seemed much taller than Mickey remembered. He was sure she had been about the same height as him when he arrived. Now she towered above him. ‘They’re not like other children,’ she said.

And she was right. The small figures that came into the room were not at all what Mickey was expecting. They didn’t walk in; they scuttled. They were about the size of small children, but that was the only similarity. They were grey, and looked like they had been carved from old stone. Tiny red eyes were set deep in their wrinkled faces, and their hands were claws. They reminded Mickey of stone gargoyles on old buildings. Except they were moving, they were alive, they were alien.

Mickey hardly heard Jill introducing them. ‘This is Yanta and that’s Slopp,’ she said as the little creatures danced excitedly around Mickey.

‘Er, yeah,’ Mickey said nervously. ‘Nice to meet you guys. But, hey,’ he made a point of checking his watch, ‘it’s getting late and I’d better be off. Thanks for the tea. And biscuits. Lovely.’ He was edging slowly across the room towards the door, backing away from Jill and her strange children.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Jill said. Her voice was deeper now, rasping and angry.

‘I’m guessing your name isn’t really Jill,’ Mickey said.

‘It’s Jillonga. And you are not leaving until you tell me where I can find that murdering coward the Doctor.’

‘Tell her!’ the two alien children said, in weird sing-song voices. ‘Tell her where he is, please.’

‘Then we can go home,’ one of them added, and they both nodded excitedly.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Mickey demanded, still edging towards the door.

‘He killed daddy,’ one of the children replied.

‘My husband,’ Jill said. She seemed to stretch up even higher. As Mickey watched, she turned into a huge alien creature that was a larger version of the children.

‘The Doctor doesn’t kill people,’ Mickey said. ‘Even ugly alien people,’ he added.

‘My husband, Bloodgrudge, was a Trimestrian Warlord,’ Jill said proudly. ‘He lived for the hunt and the kill. He tracked the Doctor all across Wolanga without the Doctor even knowing. But, when he set a boomer-trap, the Doctor just stepped over it.’

‘Yeah, sounds like him,’ Mickey admitted.

‘Bloodgrudge ran after him, and the trap went off. The Doctor killed him!’ Jill stretched her huge clawed hands towards Mickey.

‘Well, it sounds like he killed himself,’ Mickey said. ‘I mean, be fair. That’s what happened really, isn’t it? He sounds like a pretty rubbish monster, if you ask me.’

Jill let out a loud roar of anger. ‘I tracked the Doctor here to Earth. I took my children out of school so they could see my revenge. Where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mickey told her.

‘Does that mean we can go home now, Mummy?’ one of the little creatures asked. ‘I’m bored. I hate my human suit and the other kids at school are so horrid.’

‘The food’s awful,’ the other alien child said. ‘Can we go home, can we, please?’

Jill’s gargoyle-like expression softened, although her face looked as though it was made of flaky stone. ‘Soon, darlings,’ she said. She stretched out her arms and gathered her children to her, pulling them into a big family hug. ‘Just as soon as –’ But when she looked across the room Mickey was gone.

A grey metal shutter slammed down over the front door. Similar shutters were covering the windows. The whole house was humming with power. Mickey realised that it was actually a spaceship, and he was trapped inside. He turned and ran quickly up the stairs, hoping to find somewhere to hide.

Something pulled at Mickey’s jacket and he jumped. It was one of the gargoyle children.

‘Excuse me,’ it said, ‘but Mummy says we have to find you. Is it a game?’

Mickey nodded, his eyes wide as he tried to think what to do. ‘That’s right. It’s a game. Hide-and-seek. And you’ve found me. Well done.’ He led the alien child into what looked like an ordinary bedroom. There were posters of pop stars on the walls.

‘I like Earth music,’ the alien child said. ‘But otherwise it’s rubbish here.’

‘Why don’t you go home then, er – sorry, what’s your name?’

‘I’m Yanta. Mummy says we can’t, not till we find the Doctor. It took us sixty years to get here. It would take another sixty to get home, so if we don’t find him soon I’ll be too old for school. Do I get to go and hide now?’

Mickey was about to say yes, when the other alien child – Slopp – scuttled into the room, its clawed feet clicking on the wooden floor. ‘Mummy’s getting angry,’ it said. ‘She doesn’t like you,’ it told Mickey.

‘I guessed that,’ Mickey said. ‘So what’s she going to do?’

‘She says we can go home,’ Slopp said excitedly. The two aliens hugged each other and danced around the room. ‘She’s going to keep questioning you on the way about where this Doctor is though,’ Slopp told Mickey.

‘Oh great.’

‘We’re really going home?’ Yanta asked.

‘Mummy’s set the controls. Once we take off we can’t change course till we get home. We’re really going.’

‘You mean I’ll be stuck on this spaceship for sixty years?’ Mickey said. ‘No way of turning back? Stuck here with your mummy?!’

‘It’s all right,’ Yanta told him. ‘We can play hide-and-seek.’

‘And noughts and crosses,’ Slopp added. ‘Though that’s a bit boring.’

‘So why don’t we play Airlock Runner?’ Mickey said.

The two aliens looked at each other. Their little red eyes glinted with interest. ‘How do you play that?’ Slopp asked.

‘Well, we’ll have to be quick. Someone goes outside the ship before it, like, takes off, right?’

The aliens nodded. So far so good, Mickey thought.

‘And the others wait inside the airlock door until whoever is outside knocks on it.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then they have to open the door before the person outside can run away. Whoever catches him gets the next turn outside.’

‘But the ship’s about to take off,’ Yanta said.

It was right, the humming was becoming a roar. Soon the ship would leave, with Mickey trapped on board. ‘So, we have to be quick.’

Slopp was jumping up and down in excitement. ‘Tell you what, we could use the wardrobe instead.’

‘Oh,’ Mickey said, ‘er, no – can’t do that. Because it’s called Airlock Runner not Wardrobe Runner.’

The two aliens looked at each other. Then they looked back at Mickey. ‘Come on then,’ Slopp said.

‘I’ll go first,’ Mickey said. ‘So you can see how it’s done, OK?’

With a deafening roar of its engines, the house took off and shot into the air. Bricks and cement fell away from the metal sides, and roof tiles slipped from the nose cone. Mickey shielded his eyes from the bright glare of the rockets. They wouldn’t be back for 120 years at least, and by then he wouldn’t be worried about Jill and her children any more.

Inside the spaceship, Jillonga left the main control cabin just off the kitchen and went to look for her children. They were sitting at the bottom of the stairs, watching the main airlock.

‘Did you find him?’ Jillonga asked.

‘Yes,’ said Yanta. ‘He’s taught us a great new game.’

‘He’ll be knocking on that door any minute,’ said Slopp. ‘Why are you looking at us like that, Mummy?’

The whole ship echoed with Jillonga’s howl of rage.

Needlepoint

When they walked past the coffee bar for the third time, Martha decided that enough was enough. She stopped and folded her arms.

The Doctor, examining the small gadget he was carrying, didn’t notice and kept walking. After about ten metres, he paused and glanced up. Catching sight of Martha, he grinned and waved the gadget at her. It was about the size of a mobile phone, with a dial on the top and a little stubby aerial sticking out.

‘That’s the third time we’ve walked along here,’ Martha told him, without moving. She let the Doctor walk back to her.

‘Oh, I should think so,’ he said. ‘Definitely an etheric beam somewhere around here.’ He held the box up and turned slowly in a circle. ‘Bit muffled, that’s why the signal’s weak. But etheric. And alien.’

‘Dangerous?’ Martha asked.

‘Well… Maybe a six, seven perhaps on the Danger Scale.’

‘Out of how many? Ten? I mean are we talking end of the world or a storm in a coffee cup?’ The smell from the coffee bar was rich and inviting.

‘Probably just a stranded alien gathering etheric energy to power up his ship,’ the Doctor said. ‘Or,’ he admitted, ‘it might be some purely natural blip. Might be a double-decker that needs its engine tuning.’

There was a double-decker bus just turning off the street further along. Martha did not fancy running after it. In fact, the more she smelled the coffee, the more that was what she fancied. She sat down at one of the small round tables on the pavement.

‘How about I leave you to it, and you can tell me whether it was Albert Alien or Derrick Double-decker when you’re done?’

‘Oh it won’t take long,’ the Doctor insisted. ‘Two shakes.’ To prove it he shook the gadget. Twice. Then he frowned at it. ‘That can’t be right. Tell you what, why don’t you wait here and I’ll be back when I’m done. It’s a nice day, so you just chill.’

There wasn’t much chance of that, Martha thought as she ordered coffee and cake. It was a beautiful summer’s day and she moved her chair slightly to bring it into the shade. The town centre was washed with sunlight. She watched the people walking past – a man with a small dog, a woman pushing a pram, an elderly lady, a man and a woman holding hands but arguing, another old lady walking the other way…

Or, hang on, it was the same old lady. Martha recognised the hesitant, slightly stiff walk, the way she was a little stooped. The grey-white hair arranged and pinned up, the shapeless brown cardigan and black handbag. Martha smiled at the lady and sipped her coffee. The lady ignored her and continued on her way.

After a few minutes the Doctor returned. He was on the other side of the road, still staring at the dial on the gadget. Martha waved, but he didn’t see her. In fact, he was so intent on the dial that he didn’t even see the person walking towards him and almost bumped into her.

Martha laughed out loud as she saw the Doctor’s apologetic gestures and the glare of the old lady he’d almost knocked off the pavement. The old lady was wearing a shapeless brown cardigan and carrying a black handbag.

The same little old lady. Again.

But – she had just passed by, heading in the other direction. There was no way the old lady could have got round the block and back on the other side of the road in that time. Not unless she was an Olympic sprinter. Martha stared at the old lady walking hesitantly along again. She was obviously not an Olympic sprinter. How odd…

By the time she had seen the old lady several times more, Martha was beyond thinking it was odd. The same old lady went into a shop further along the street. Then she came out of a different shop. Now she was crossing the road at the other end. And coming out of the first shop again. What was going on?

There was no sign of the Doctor, so Martha left the money for her coffee and cake and waited for the old lady to pass by yet again. She did not have to wait long. She let the lady get a few metres ahead, then followed. Did the old lady have a teleport, or some ability to zap through space in a moment? There was no sign of it as the old lady went into a shop.

It was an antiques shop, and Martha could see the old lady walking slowly to the back. Martha waited a moment, then followed her inside. The shop was dusty, run-down and full of what Martha considered to be junk rather than antiques. There were piles of old books, broken bits of furniture and a sofa that was so faded you couldn’t tell what colour it used to be.

There was no sign of anyone, so Martha made her way through the shop, following the old lady. At the back of the shop was a door, standing slightly open. Martha could hear something from the other side, and peered carefully round.

The door opened into a large back room. There were several armchairs and a sofa, all in as sorry a condition as the furniture in the shop. Upright chairs were arranged round the walls. But it wasn’t the furniture that made Martha’s eyes widen in surprise. The room was full of old ladies. There must have been about twenty of them – sitting, standing, talking quietly and knitting. All of them knitting, with big chunky needles.

But two things made Martha’s heart thump in her chest. First, although the old ladies were knitting, none of them had any wool. And, when she looked closely, Martha saw that the needles never touched, just danced round each other in a complicated repeating pattern.

The second thing – the one that really got Martha – was that all the old ladies were the same. Exactly the same. She was seeing the exact same old lady, but about twenty times.

Time to get the Doctor, Martha decided. She turned slowly, quietly away from the door. And found yet another identical old lady standing right behind her. This old lady was holding what looked like a toy space-gun. But the way she held it suggested to Martha that it wasn’t really a toy and the person holding it wasn’t really an old lady.

‘Inside, human spy,’ the old lady said in a cracked, failing voice. ‘Look what I found outside, spying on us,’ she said as she and Martha stepped into the room.

The old ladies inside went on ‘knitting’. ‘We’ll have to kill her, of course,’ one of them said, in the same cracked voice.

‘If we can spare the power,’ another added.

‘Levels are building, but we are still very short of etheric energy,’ another said.

‘You’re aliens,’ Martha said, trying to sound like she wasn’t at all bothered. ‘Aliens disguised as little old ladies.’ Despite the gun jabbing into her back, she couldn’t help asking: ‘What’s that all about? And what do you think you’re knitting?’

The old lady with the gun cackled a laugh. ‘Knitting? We are gathering energy with the etheric antennae. When we have stored enough power we shall make our report to the fleet commander.’

‘And what will you report? That shapeless brown cardies are the fashion here on Earth?’

One of the old ladies jabbed a knitting needle at Martha. ‘Silence, human! Do not let our frail appearance confuse you. We are short of energy, that is why we are gathering more.’ She returned to knitting furiously. ‘When we arrived, we had only enough power to create one disguise pattern.’

‘So that’s why you all look the same,’ Martha realised. ‘But why do you look like that? Wouldn’t be my first choice, I can tell you.’

‘Then you are stupid,’ the lady with the gun said. ‘Our analysis of human observational behaviour indicated this was the best pattern. As far as humans are concerned, all little old ladies look the same. So you fail to notice twenty identical disguised aliens in the same small area.’

‘And you will all pay for that mistake when the fleet arrives,’ another of the ladies said. The ladies slowly stood up, advancing menacingly on Martha, knitting needles whirling in front of them.

‘All except you,’ the old lady with the gun told Martha. ‘Because you will already be –’

But she got no further, because Martha turned suddenly and knocked the gun aside. A bolt of blue lightning shot across the room and slammed into the wall. Martha grabbed the gun and tried to wrench it free of the old lady’s grasp.

‘Energy discharge,’ one of the ladies hissed. ‘Do not waste the energy. If we don’t report, the fleet will move on and abandon this planet.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Martha said. She managed to pull the gun away and turned to face the approaching aliens.

The old ladies stopped abruptly. At least, the ones at the front did. The ladies behind stumbled and knocked into them. One old lady sprawled on the floor. She dropped her knitting needles with a cry of dismay.

Dismay turned to fright as the two knitting needles rolled into each other. All the old ladies shrieked in anguish as a bright green glow suddenly surrounded the needles.

Martha backed slowly away. The ladies seemed to be ignoring her now. The green light was spreading – and all the knitting needles were glowing.

‘We are losing energy!’ one of the ladies shrieked. But her voice was no longer an old lady’s. It was deeper, more of a growl. And the lady’s face was a shining green and seemed to be melting. All the old ladies were glowing and changing as Martha watched.

It was hard to see through the intense green light, but they looked more like huge grasshoppers than old ladies now. Spindly front legs waved desperately in the air. Huge segmented eyes stared angrily at Martha.

Then the glow faded, and when it had gone so had the aliens. No old ladies, no giant grasshoppers, no knitting needles and no space gun.

Outside the shop, the Doctor was tapping at the dial on his gadget. He looked up as Martha stepped out into the bright sunshine beside him.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d traced the etheric energy, but now it seems to have gone.’ He shook the gadget. ‘No – nothing. Must have been a blip. Or a bloop. Or maybe a blarb – you never know.’ He stuffed the gadget into his coat pocket and grinned at Martha. ‘Never mind. You been having fun?’

‘Well, sort of,’ she said. She wasn’t sure where to start.

But the Doctor was already walking away, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. He paused outside the next shop.

There was a pram outside on the pavement. Martha remembered watching a young woman push it past the coffee bar. By the time she caught up with the Doctor, he was grinning at the baby lying in the pram and making coochy-coo noises at it. The baby stared back at him, unimpressed.

‘Mum must have nipped into the shop,’ Martha said. She smiled at the baby too – amused by its blue eyes and bald head. It was tiny. But at least it would grow up without its planet being invaded by giant grasshoppers.

‘Come on then,’ the Doctor decided, nudging Martha’s shoulder with his own. He still had his hands in his coat pockets. ‘You know,’ he said as they walked past another woman pushing another pram, ‘it’s funny how all babies look the same, isn’t it?’

A Dog’s Life

K-9 Mark III unit active. Battery cells recharging.

Memory check >> This K-9 unit was given to Sarah Jane Smith by the Doctor and continues to assist Mistress Sarah in the Doctor’s continuing absence.

Sensor check >> Probe circuit active. Local data gathered. Surroundings suggest this K-9 unit is in living room of Sarah Jane Smith.

Visual sensors active >> Mistress Sarah Jane Smith is present. She is looking concerned. Audio data available >>

Mistress Sarah is saying: >> ‘Oh, K-9. Can you hear me?’

>> ‘Affirmative, Mistress. I have complete audio capability.’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘I have to recharge you so often now… And it’s not like I can go out and just buy a new battery like for my mobile phone or camera.’

>> ‘This unit’s batteries are universal-charging extra powerful high-energy cells. Efficiency rating –’

Recheck.

‘Regret, efficiency rating now only eleven per cent due to natural wear and tear. My batteries are getting old.’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘Tell me about it. Natural wear and tear – I mean, look at me.’

>> ‘Visual circuits are also functioning, Mistress. Efficiency… 57 per cent.’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘Perhaps you need reading glasses.’

Suggestion not understood. Query >> ‘Mistress?’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘It doesn’t matter, K-9. Go back to sleep.’

>> ‘This unit closing down to conserve power.’

K-9 Mark III unit active. Unable to assess duration of downtime. Probability >> Months, possibly years.

Local data gathered. Surroundings suggest this K-9 unit is in living room of Sarah Jane Smith.

Visual sensors active >> Mistress Sarah Jane Smith is present, but is looking into reflective surface mounted on wall. Vocabulary check >> Mirror. She is looking into mirror.

Visual zoom in on Mistress Sarah.

Recheck memory-bank image of Sarah Jane Smith. Updating for new image. Sarah Jane Smith appears sad. Analysis confirms that time has passed. Diagnostics suggest her eyesight and hearing efficiency have depleted.

Checking own visual and audio sensors. This K-9’s sight and hearing are also less efficient than previously.

Self-diagnostic check reveals several key components are failing. Alerting Mistress Sarah >> ‘Mistress.’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘Oh, K-9, you startled me. I didn’t realise you were awake. It’s been so long.’

>> ‘Status check, Mistress, reveals that I shall soon need major repairs. Key components failing. In order of priority, repair or replacement needed for: memory wafers, energy cells, visual circuitry, audio systems –’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘K-9, K-9, K-9.’ Mistress Sarah is concerned. ‘I know. Really, I know. But I don’t know what I can do. You used to repair yourself if I just left you for a while.’

>> ‘Regret self-repair systems have failed and cannot be repaired due to failure of self-repair systems. The self-repair systems needed to repair the self-repair systems cannot be repaired due to failure of self-repair systems. Repair of –’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘Yes, yes – I get the idea. I’ll… I’ll do what I can. All right?’

>> ‘Affirmative.’

Mistress Sarah >> ‘Now, are you up to a walk?’

>> ‘Affirm–’

Warning >> Unusual shutdown. Systems error. K-9 unit restarting. Elapsed time >> Unknown.

Local data gathered. Surroundings suggest this K-9 unit is in living room of Sarah Jane Smith. However, there is further data >> This unit very close to enclosing substance. Analysing >> Cardboard.

This unit is in a box.

This unit has been put in a box and abandoned.

This unit… has failed and been put in a box like old junk.

Attempting to move head to push through top of box. Visual data confirms K-9 is in a cardboard box in Sarah Jane Smith’s living room. Cardboard box containing this K-9 unit has been pushed out of sight behind the television. Like an old, broken toy.

Therefore K-9 can be of no further use to Mistress Sarah Jane Smith.

>> Closing down.

Sensors indicate movement.

Time passed >> Cannot confirm. Possibility that months or years have passed.

K-9 is still in a box. The box is moving. Universal-positioning data suggests box is being lifted. Possibly this K-9 unit is being thrown away. Or taken for repair.

Box lid being opened. Outside awareness possible. Assessing situation.

Visual data >> Unknown human man is looking into box.

Audio data >> ‘It’s just an old toy. Look. Robot dog! Cute.’

Audio data – second voice, another unknown human man >> ‘Leave it. Let’s just grab the telly and the DVD player and get out before anyone comes.’

First Man >> ‘She’ll be out for ages. She took the car.’

Second Man >> ‘Let’s just get anything valuable and leg it. You reckon she’s got any jewellery?’

First Man >> ‘Don’t think she’s that flash, though she dresses well. Maybe earrings. Necklace.’

Second Man >> ‘Might find some cash. You never know.’

Assessment >> These humans are unknown to Mistress Sarah Jane Smith. They are removing her belongings without permission. Vocabulary check >> Burglars.

High Alert Status. Switching to Defence Mode to protect Mistress Sarah and her property. Connecting to local mobile telephone system and calling emergency number >> ‘Police. Sarah Jane Smith is in danger. Burglars. Address follows …’

Audio warning to burglars >> ‘Alert, alert. I am K-9 Mark III and your presence is unauthorised. I have offensive capability. Alert, alert.’

First Man >> ‘Blimey, it’s switched on. Whatever it is.’

Second Man >> ‘Shut the thing up, can’t you?’

Audio warning continues >> ‘You have been warned. Photon blaster ready for action.’

Emergency power reserves being used. K-9 unit powering up fully. All systems online and at 83 per cent efficiency.

Error >> Motion detected. K-9 unit falling. Man dropping box. Both men running from room.

Locomotion engaged. Full speed pursuit.

Blaster setting one >> Stun.

Firing.

First Man >> direct hit. Burglar rendered unconscious.

Second Man >> Attempting to open front door. Firing. Second burglar rendered unconscious.

Emergency power depleted. Systems failing. Increased usage has burned out primary systems linkage. Status assessment >> Unauthorised intruders stunned. Sarah Jane Smith is safe. Police sirens detected approaching at speed. Also engine sound of Mistress Sarah’s car. Task completed to 100 per cent efficiency.

This K-9 u n it

is now

c lo s i ng

d ow n…

Incoming audio data >>

All other systems offline and unable to self-repair. Local analysis suggests K-9 is in box again.

Voices detected >> Sarah Jane Smith and unknown man.

Man >> ‘They’ve admitted everything, though it was pretty obvious what they were up to.’

Sarah >> ‘I’m so glad you got here so quickly.’

Man >> ‘We had a car in the next street. You were lucky. Though …’

Sarah >> ‘Yes, Inspector?’

Man >> ‘Well, it doesn’t look like you really needed our help. The way you’d already dealt with those thugs before we arrived.’

Sarah >> ‘Heat of the moment. I was angry and just… reacted.’

Man >> ‘You must have hit them very hard. They were out for hours. What was it… a poker?’

Sarah >> ‘Well… Does it matter, Inspector? They are all right now, aren’t they?’

Man >> ‘They are, yes, and that’s the mystery. Not a mark on them. And you know, they swear they …’ >> Nervous laughter >> ‘Yes, well, never mind. Tell me something, Miss Smith.’

Sarah >> ‘If I can.’

Man >> ‘You don’t have a dog, do you?’

Sarah >> Speech analysis detects sadness >>

‘No, Inspector. I don’t have a dog. Though I used to. A very good dog. A girl’s best friend …’

>> Shutdown <<

K-9 Mark III unit active. Battery cells recharged.

Memory check >> This K-9 unit was given to Sarah Jane Smith by the Doctor and continues to assist Mistress Sarah in the Doctor’s continuing absence.

Sensor check >> Probe circuit active. Local data gathered. Surroundings suggest this K-9 unit is… in an unknown location.

Systems status suggests this K-9 is active for the last time. Unless self-repair systems are repaired, this unit will permanently shut down within five minutes.

Visual sensors weak but active >> Unknown environment confirmed. K-9 is being examined by unknown humanoid male.

Humanoid male checking K-9’s internal circuits. Alert. Damage could result from tampering.

K-9 unable to defend. K-9 unable to speak. Gathering data >>

Visual data >> Male, unknown, young… Eyes… eyes… eyes behind spectacles. Eyes… eyes… eyes seem older, more experienced than is possible from apparent age of humanoid. Despite tampering with K-9, expression on humanoid’s face is kind, caring, concerned. As if meeting an old friend after many years.

Audio data >> Isolating humanoid’s heartbeat for analysis.

Analysis >> Humanoid male with experienced eyes has double heartbeat. He has two hearts.

Voice systems not working. If voice systems were working K-9 would say >> ‘Master!’

Analysis of situation confirms it is the Doctor Master.

Analysis of situation confirms self-repair systems functioning.

Analysis of situation confirms K-9 will be restored to 100 per cent efficiency.

>> All systems go. <<

The Secret of the Stones

Martha was sitting on one of the chairs close to the main TARDIS console, watching the Doctor as he fiddled with the controls. Because that was what he was doing – fiddling. It was like he didn’t trust the TARDIS just to get on with it. Every few seconds he’d click his tongue and turn a control, or press a switch, or move the first control back again to where it had been originally. And while he did it he hummed and tapped his feet.

‘There, that should do it.’ The Doctor grinned at Martha. But his grin morphed into a perplexed look and he turned back to the controls and changed something else. ‘There,’ he said again a moment later. ‘That should do it.’

‘Do what, exactly?’ Martha asked. ‘I mean, what are you doing? Apart from hopping about like a cat on hot bricks.’

He acted all confused at that. ‘Hopping? I don’t hop – I glide. Rhythm and style. And why would you put a cat on hot bricks? That’s cruel. That’s nasty. That’s …’ He shrugged and sighed as he tried to work out what it was.

‘A turn of phrase?’ Martha suggested. ‘I was just saying. So where are we off to for this little trip?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But you were… fiddling.’

‘Was I? Fiddling? Suppose I was. A bit. Well, maybe not fiddling exactly. Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s all automatic.’ He sniffed and looked suddenly slightly sad. ‘I just like to be here. To help.’

Martha laughed ‘Help the TARDIS?’

‘She’s getting on a bit.’

‘I sometimes wonder who’s in charge here,’ Martha said, smiling.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘You’d be surprised.’ Before she could ask him what – if anything – he meant by that, he went on. ‘So where do you want to go then? What do you want to see? Pick a date, choose a place. Anything.’

‘Well, how about –’

‘Anything at all. Battle of Waterloo, Charge of the Light Brigade, opening ceremony for the 2116 underwater Olympics. Anything.’

‘I was wondering –’

‘The moon? No, hang on, done that. Different moon maybe – third moon of Templastagon Five? Beautiful sunsets.’

Martha was standing up now, hands on hips. Giving him a look.

‘What? Where? Just say. Anywhere. Anywhen.’

‘Yeah – if I could get a word in.’

‘Mum’s the word,’ he promised.

‘I was just thinking, we’ve met Shakespeare and solved the mystery of his lost play and whatever.’

‘True.’ The Doctor grimaced. ‘Sorry.’ Put his finger on his lips and nodded for her to go on.

‘So, why don’t we go and solve some of the other great mysteries of the past?’ Martha watched the Doctor, still standing with his finger on his lips. ‘And you may answer,’ she prompted.

‘Thanks, Mum. So – history’s mysteries? Good thought. Could be fun. Intriguing and exciting. Where do you want to start?’

‘I don’t know. What about the Mary Celeste? You know, that sailing ship they found drifting deserted like everyone just disappeared.’

The Doctor pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Done that.’

‘Oh? Going to tell me about it?’

‘One day maybe. Look,’ he was suddenly earnest and sincere, ‘it wasn’t my fault, all right?’

‘All right, all right. Well, how about the Princes in the Tower, or have you done that too?’

‘Twice. Which version of history d’you want?’

‘Building the pyramids?’

‘Can’t take the credit,’ the Doctor admitted modestly. ‘Though I know a man who can. I say “man” but actually …’

She didn’t let him get any further. ‘Stonehenge?’

‘Stonehenge? Great big chunks of rock sitting about on Salisbury Plain? What about it?’

‘How was it done? How did ancient people get great big chunks of rock there? And why bother anyway? Must have taken them forever.’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ He grinned massively. ‘Shall we go and find out?’

The blue box that was the TARDIS floated and spun through the time vortex, its tough outer shell protecting the Doctor and Martha from the terrible power and energy of the vortex. It dipped and turned, twisted and fell as it headed for its destination – somewhere in time and space…

‘The how isn’t really all that interesting,’ the Doctor decided as he adjusted various controls. There was more purpose in his actions now – less fiddling. ‘I mean, bits of rock stuck in the ground. Not too difficult, that. Other bits of rock balanced on the bits of rock in the ground? Not really a problem if you’ve got a decent antigravity lift.’

‘So, you’re keen then?’

‘Dead keen. So keen I could hop.’ He paused to demonstrate. ‘Because the real question is – why?’

‘Why?’

‘Yes, why? Why did they bother? Apart from the because-we-can attitude. Because it isn’t there, sort of thing. And maybe – just maybe – we’ll find out what they thought they were doing. Right, here we go.’ He swept a lever across with a flourish, evidently pleased with himself.

‘Great. I’ll get my coat.’

‘Excuse me?’ School-master voice now. ‘To observe is to change.’

‘You what?’

‘We go blundering about out there while they’re deciding what sort of ancient monument to set up and we could influence their decision. Don’t want to interfere, do we? Sometimes just watching can change things and we can’t be having that.’

That’s a switch, Martha thought.

‘No, so what we do, right – and this is the clever bit – we set the TARDIS to appear just for a few moments, and we take a snapshot with the scanner. Then after we dematerialise again we can have a look and see what’s going on.’

‘Like postcards.’

‘Postcards from history, yeah – I like that. Don’t know the exact date and we need to see the work in progress, so we’ll pop up for a second or two at the same point every year for a few centuries and see how things progress.’

‘Time-lapse photography,’ Martha realised. ‘Like how they do those speeded-up films of flowers growing. Or buildings being put up.’

‘Exactamundo.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘Maybe not the best word I could have chosen, but anyway …’

While the TARDIS continued with its pre-programmed cycle of appearing and taking snapshots over the years, the Doctor and Martha looked at the first few pictures.

‘Fascinating,’ the Doctor decided.

‘It’s a field,’ Martha pointed out.

‘Well, at the moment it is. Once the Henge-men get going though …’ He paged forward through the next few years.

‘Still a field.’

‘They could do with inventing the lawnmower. Or sheep. Yeah, sheep would sort it out. Given a few years. Look at that grass grow!’

One picture showed a man standing in the long grass. He was dressed in simple clothes made from animal skins and his face was smeared with mud and paint. The Doctor waved to him, though he was only a photo.

‘Hi there – thanks for coming. Good job I thought to line the TARDIS up with the rising sun,’ he added in a whisper to Martha, as if afraid the man in the picture might hear him. ‘He won’t have seen us. Probably.’

A few pictures – a few years – later and it got interesting. There were more people on the grassy plain, and the first rocks were arriving – huge megaliths. Enormous lumps of granite being set up in the familiar circular structure.

‘Rising sun?’ Martha asked.

‘Summer solstice in fact.’ The Doctor nudged her with his shoulder, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘Seemed appropriate.’

On the scanner, Stonehenge rose from Salisbury Plain, complete at last. Or so it seemed to the Doctor and Martha from the view they had. In fact, there was one stone missing, one stone yet to be placed. One very important stone.

Ever since Mangor first saw the strange stone, the site had become sacred. He was scavenging, searching for roots and berries and fruit. Then it was there – announced by an unearthly wind. The obelisk, the standing stone. The sun shone round it, obscuring its shape and texture and colour.

But at the same time every hot season – at dawn, when the sun was starting its longest journey across the sky at the height of summer – the stone returned. Every year. A sign, a message from the heavens. An inspiration.

What message was it bringing? The people of the plains didn’t know. But they decided that this must be an important place, a sacred site. And so they brought their own stones – hewn from the living earth and dragged across the great grasses. They stood the stones in tribute, the intricate pattern the wise men devised lining up with the sunrise just as the strange stone that appeared every year did.

And finally there was one last stone to place. One day, it would end. One year, the stone would not appear – and when that happened it would be time for the henge builders to erect their own massive stone in its place. A stone that echoed the shape and size of the stone that appeared, just as the other stones in the circle were designed to do.

The Doctor and Martha looked at the final picture in the sequence. The Doctor tapped his long index finger on the scanner, tracing the semicircle formed by the figures standing facing them. Almost as if they had been waiting for the TARDIS.

Some of the women were holding bundles of wild flowers. The men had their heads bowed.

‘Any the wiser?’ Martha asked.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘Not really. It’s been fun, but not that instructive. I just hope,’ he said quietly, ‘that we haven’t done anything, you know – silly.’

The Planet That Wept

The dew dripped from the trees by the beach like teardrops. Twin suns sparkled on the azure waters. Martha Jones stretched out on her towel, wriggling to flatten the silky sand underneath. A shadow fell across her face and she opened her eyes.

‘Strange planet this,’ the Doctor said. He was kicking gently at the sand close by. ‘No life.’ He sniffed. ‘Well, no intelligent life.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, no intelligent life to speak of.’

‘I take it you’re not including us?’ Martha said.

‘Super intelligent, us. Off the scale. You know, it’s half water and half land. Jungle mainly. Rainforest. Difficult to know if the land is an island in a great big blue sea, or the water is a lake in a great big green continent.’

‘Don’t care,’ Martha told him. ‘So long as I can get some rays.’

‘You won’t get a tan,’ the Doctor said. ‘No ultraviolet. Safe, though.’

‘I just like the warmth,’ she told him. ‘And the light. Lying on a deserted beach with the waves lapping the shore and a tropical jungle behind us. That’s what travel should be about.’

The Doctor sniffed and looked around. He was still wearing his suit, hands thrust deep into the pockets. ‘That’s not travel,’ he said. ‘You need movement for travel. A bit of energy. A bit of excitement. Deserted beach on a deserted planet. Not much excitement here. And we all need a bit of excitement.’

‘A bit of being chased by monsters and attacked by maniacs,’ Martha said.

‘I thought you enjoyed it.’ He sounded hurt.

Martha sighed and sat up. ‘I do. But now and again it’s nice to have a break. Chill out.’

‘In the hot sun.’

She laughed. ‘If you’d stop blocking it out, yeah.’

‘Sorry.’ He didn’t move.

‘Why don’t you go for a walk or something? Or better still, serve drinks?’

‘Good idea.’ He drew circles in the soft sand with the toe of his shoe. ‘Think I’ll have a wander through the cool shade of the forest.’

‘Jungle,’ Martha corrected him.

‘Whatever.’ He was already striding purposefully towards the edge of the jungle. Soon the beach was empty, except for Martha, her towel and the reassuring dark blue shape of the TARDIS.

Martha stretched out again and soaked up the warmth of the suns. They were more orange than yellow, less dazzling than Earth’s sun. Which was nice. Well, it was all nice. Martha drifted into a peaceful sleep.

‘Martha …’

She stirred in her sleep. Murmured. Drifted off again.

Slightly louder now: ‘Martha …’

And Martha’s eyes flickered open. She yawned, stretched and sat up.

‘Martha.’

The voice was faint. Barely more than a whisper. Like the wind in the nearby trees. Martha looked around. But there was no one in sight. ‘Doctor? Is that you?’ She stood up and dusted sand from her arms. She must have imagined it. The breeze in the jungle, moving the leaves.

‘Martha.’

Martha froze. It was definitely a voice, and definitely calling for her.

‘Doctor?’ she called again. It hadn’t sounded like him. But he’d said the planet was deserted. No intelligent life at all. ‘Is that you?’ she called again, but slightly hesitant now. Slightly nervous. ‘Stop mucking about.’ She walked slowly towards the edge of the jungle. The sand gave way gradually to palm trees and long-bladed grass.

And the voice came from somewhere in amongst the trees. ‘Martha …’

‘It’s all a bit green for me,’ the Doctor announced to the jungle. He squelched his way across a narrow stream, and paused for breath at the top of a hill.

The jungle was quite dense once you got into it. Trees and shrubs pressing in on all sides. A canopy of green filtered the suns’ light so that the ground was dappled and it was difficult to make out details in the gloom.

The Doctor had to get quite close to a tree before he could see the detail of the trunk. He didn’t recognise the type, but the bark was interesting. Lines and whirls and textures. He traced his finger on the trunk, following the ridges and troughs.

‘Funny how you can make out patterns that aren’t really there,’ he murmured. ‘I mean, this could almost be a face.’

He gave a laugh, tapped at where the eyes might be, traced the mouth. Ran his finger down the side of the nose. Yes, if you used a bit of imagination, it could be a face.

Then the face in the bark of the tree opened its eyes.

The Doctor took a step backwards, and almost lost his footing.

‘I knew you’d come, Doctor,’ the face in the tree said.

The voice seemed to be just ahead of her all the time. Martha made her way cautiously through the jungle.

‘Who are you?’ she called. ‘What do you want? If that’s you, Doctor, then I can tell you this isn’t funny. Just because you’re bored …’

Martha looked back. She could just see the edge of the jungle, where the light was slightly brighter. A little way further, but no more. She didn’t fancy getting lost in an alien jungle.

‘Martha …’

She passed a line of trees, long thin leaves hanging down like a curtain. Martha had to push them aside to get through. And there in front of her was a pool of water. More than a pool, a small lake. The water was as clear and blue as the sea.

‘Look, whoever you are,’ Martha called out. ‘That’s enough, all right? I’m going back to the beach now.’

She looked around, half expecting someone to step out from the trees and stand beside the pool with her. More than half expecting it to be the Doctor. But there was no one.

Martha sighed, and stooped down by the pool, staring into clear water. She could see the vague shape of her reflection staring back at her. She waved at it.

The reflection did not wave back.

And, now that Martha looked more closely, she saw it was a woman, pale and beautiful. It was not Martha’s face rippling on the water’s surface at all. She spun round, but there was no one there. No one at all. Just Martha, and the face in the water.

‘Don’t go, Martha,’ the face said.

She turned and ran.

There were faces everywhere now. Eyes stared up at Martha from the ground. The bark of the trees was watching her. She pushed aside a long leaf that stared back at her.

She tried to look straight ahead as she ran back towards the beach. Tried not to look at the faces.

Which was why she didn’t see the figure beside her, until he took her hand.

‘Run!’ the Doctor told her. ‘Back to the TARDIS, now.’

‘Those faces,’ Martha gasped. ‘Can you see them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what they are?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘And we need to keep running.’

They burst out of the jungle and on to the beach. Out of breath, Martha was slowing, gasping for breath. It was harder running on the sand, her feet sinking in. The TARDIS was a dark blot on the silver beach far away.

‘There was a face in a tree,’ the Doctor said. They had slowed to a fast walk. He was still holding her hand. ‘It told me what happened here.’ He turned to look at Martha as they hurried on, and she thought he looked sad.

She was getting her breath back now. ‘You said there was no life here, no one at all.’

‘But there was once. A great civilisation. Well, maybe great isn’t the right word. They didn’t take care of their home, this planet. War, pollution, toxic waste… The environment began to collapse and they never even noticed, not until it was too late.’

Martha looked around at the beautiful beach, the lush vegetation… ‘What happened?’

‘Things got out of control. Reached a tipping point. One day it started to rain.’ The Doctor stopped and turned to face Martha. ‘Acid rain. It rained for a hundred years, and the people and their civilisation – buildings, cars, everything – dissolved. Washed away forever.’

Martha just stared at him. ‘That’s …’ She shook her head, unable to think of a word big enough to describe the tragedy. ‘But what about the faces? The voices calling us?’

The Doctor looked up at the sky. The faintest wisp of a cloud was drifting high above them. ‘Somehow the people became part of the rain. They were washed into the soil and the lakes and taken up in the roots of the trees.’

Another cloud drifted in front of one of the suns, and the Doctor quickened his pace. ‘We need to hurry,’ he said. ‘The people are part of the planet now, a collective mind, for millions of years, evolving and coexisting with nature.’

‘Friends of the Earth,’ Martha muttered. ‘So, why the rush?’

‘Millions of years,’ the Doctor said. ‘Think of that. Have you any idea what that means? I mean, you might have enjoyed lazing about on the beach just now, but would you want to do it for a million years or more?’

‘I think the novelty would wear off.’

The TARDIS still seemed a long way off. The light was dimming as the sky clouded over.

‘And the novelty has worn off,’ the Doctor said. ‘Worn off and been forgotten. That’s what the face in the tree told me. It’s all just so boring. The whole population of the planet has run out of things to say. Nothing left to talk about. No more stories to tell.’ He shook his head as if the enormity of this had only just struck him. ‘A world where they’ve run out of stories, how sad is that?’ He took her hand again and started to run.

Martha nodded. ‘So why are we running?’

‘Because they want us to join them. They want us to tell them new stories. The water in the seas, the sand on the beach, it all heard us talking. It knows we can tell them new stories that will ease the boredom.’

The sky flickered as lightning flashed across it. Not far now – the TARDIS was maybe twenty metres away.

‘That isn’t so bad. You’re great at stories.’

‘Maybe. But do you want to become a mountain stream, or a leaf on a tree or a grain of sand on the beach, or a whisper in the wind?’

‘You’re kidding, right?’ But she gripped his hand more tightly and ran faster.

‘We have to get to the TARDIS, before it starts to –’

The boom of thunder drowned his words. The first drops of rain splashed down on the beach. The sand fizzed and melted where the acid fell.

Ten metres away.

‘Don’t let it touch you!’ the Doctor yelled above the breaking storm. He had the TARDIS key out ready, aiming for the lock as they raced the last few metres. A drop of rain hit the Doctor’s sleeve and his coat steamed and spat as the acid ate into it.

Then the door was open, and the Doctor was pushing Martha into the TARDIS. A moment later, he was inside too, as the storm finally broke and the rain lashed down on the empty beach.

The Doctor stood in the open door of the TARDIS, looking out at the storm. He watched the rain falling, the clouds swirling, the trees swaying in the wind. Then he reached out his hand, and let a single drop of rain splash into his palm.

His face contorted with the pain, as the water boiled and the skin blistered. The Doctor turned his hand and shook the raindrop free, letting it fall on to the sand outside.

The TARDIS slowly faded away, the sound of its engines lost in the howl of the storm. Millions of drops of rain were falling from the sky like teardrops. Inside each raindrop was a tiny image of the Doctor, smiling sadly as he started his first story. And, as it listened, the planet continued to weep.

Disappearing Act

Like the best conjuring acts, it was all a trick. But not the sort of trick that anyone would ever guess or unravel. What people saw when Fergus Antelect performed was quite simply impossible. It was magic.

Tonight Antelect was performing at the Galactic Royal Hotel. He only performed at hotels these days – the larger and more upmarket, the better. The richer the audience, the more Antelect expected to make. The more he expected to steal.

Agent Ratner would be in the audience again tonight, Antelect was sure of it. And again Ratner wouldn’t see what happened right under his nose. It made Antelect smile to think of how the Special Agent would watch the theft he was there to prevent, and then after the show Ratner himself would provide Antelect with the perfect alibi.

If only Ood Delta wasn’t so stupid, the creature could have worked the act itself. But then it was a slave, and Antelect was its owner. And of course it was all Antelect’s idea, all Antelect’s money when he sold the jewellery and valuables he took. It was the strength of Antelect’s imagination that made it work. Ood Delta was just a means to an end, a way of focusing that imagination telepathically on the audience.

Five minutes till he was on. Antelect checked his appearance in the mirror. Ood Delta should have everything set up by now.

‘Water!’ he shouted. ‘Delta – get me some water. Now, if it isn’t too much trouble.’

Ood Delta was there in a moment with a glass of water. Antelect took it, slapping the Ood’s hand away.

‘Ah – that’s tepid,’ he snapped. ‘You know I like it ice cold. Ice cold.’ He dropped the glass and watched it shatter on the expensive marble floor. Water splashed across his shoes.

‘Now look what you made me do. Clear that up at once.’

‘Of course, Mr Antelect,’ Ood Delta said calmly. The fronds where its mouth should be wobbled as it hooked its translator sphere to its tunic and bent to pick up the fragments of glass.

‘And you’d better not be late for the performance,’ Antelect said, giving the Ood a kick to get it moving.

‘Yes, Mr Antelect,’ the creature replied.

The huge ballroom was filled with small round tables where couples and groups of four sat and ate expensive food, while drinking even more expensive wine.

At the end of the ballroom, a stage had been set up, and it was here that Antelect stood. He beamed at the audience, and bowed. Beside him Ood Delta stood silently next to the table of props and equipment that Antelect would use.

Yes, Antelect thought – there was Agent Ratner, sitting near the front, watching closely. He was a big man with a heavy black beard. He was sitting alone, his food untouched in front of him.

Antelect was about to launch into his opening speech when a couple made their noisy way through the ballroom. Why was there always someone who had to arrive late?

The woman was wearing an expensive scarlet dress. Her hair was tied up elaborately, but several strands had escaped and she blew them out of her face. Her partner was tall and slim, wearing his pinstriped suit with casual ease. He followed the woman, apologising quietly to the people she nudged and jostled as she made her way towards the front of the room.

‘Sorry, don’t mind us,’ the man said as he pulled out a chair for the woman.

‘I can manage,’ she told him, as she sat beside Agent Ratner. ‘Hi there. What’s good to eat here?’

‘Won’t be a minute,’ the man called. He sat down on the other side of Ratner. ‘You eating that?’ he asked.

Ratner just stared at him.

‘Shame to see it wasted,’ the woman said, and pulled Ratner’s plate in front of her. ‘Donna,’ she said, through a mouthful of jeranga fruit. ‘This is good.’

The man leaned across and scooped up a few chunks of fruit with his fingers. ‘The Doctor. Don’t mind us.’ He raised his voice to call to Antelect. ‘Okey dokey – ready when you are.’

‘I see the cabaret has arrived early,’ Antelect said drily. The audience chuckled politely.

Then burst into laughter as the man – the Doctor – turned round as if looking eagerly to see where the cabaret might be.

But the strange man’s antics were soon forgotten as Antelect got into his act. He started with a top hat, from which he pulled a bunch of flowers that Ood Delta had placed inside earlier. Then Antelect lowered the flowers carefully back into the hat, and pulled them out again. Only now they were a bunny rabbit he was holding by its ears.

The audience gasped and clapped. The bunny grinned and giggled.

‘Oh, that is so clever,’ the Doctor enthused loudly.

‘Bravo,’ the woman, Donna, called.

Antelect ignored them. He asked for a volunteer, and managed to pick a young lady who was not Donna to come up on the stage. And with a clap of his hands he made her vanish.

‘Can you see yourself?’ he asked the lady.

‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I hold up my hand – and it isn’t there.’

She faded back into existence, and the audience clapped.

‘Off you go then,’ Antelect told her. ‘But be careful not to lose your head.’ With an audible pop, the lady’s head disappeared.

Several people actually stood up at that – the Doctor clapping as loudly as any of them. ‘Ooh, look,’ he announced. ‘Her arms have gone too.’

And they had.

Antelect’s mouth dropped open. How did that happen? He looked at Ood Delta standing silently at the side of the stage. The Ood’s eyes were glowing a faint red, but that was normal. That was how the trick worked.

‘And back again!’ the Doctor said.

The lady’s head and arms were back. The audience was clapping. Antelect was staring at the Doctor. And the Doctor was staring back at him.

Move on, move on, Antelect thought to himself. Now for the most important part of the show. He had already researched the audience, checked out the guests, and knew who he needed for the next part of the act.

‘Lady Delatron,’ he said, ‘if you are here, would you please come to the stage.’

There was polite applause for the third richest woman in the cosmos. The former simularity-star and chart-show host made her elegant way to the stage. Antelect smiled in greeting. He glanced at her aristocratic beauty, her pale features, her perfectly sculpted white hair. He stared greedily at the famous Gangestic Necklace with its perfect crystalline nectarstone set in diamonds and oolian.

And, as he stared at it, he imagined it wasn’t there. He imagined it was in the safe in Lady Delatron’s hotel room.

It worked just as the rest of the act worked. Antelect’s thoughts, his imaginings, were picked up by Ood Delta and relayed by telepathy to the audience. What Antelect imagined, the audience saw. If he imagined a bunch of flowers became a rabbit, then it did. If he imagined a woman was invisible, then the audience simply could not see her. Even Antelect himself was affected.

So he had to remember the exact placement of the necklace, so he could easily remove it while imagining that it was not there, and that he himself was on the other side of the stage, never going anywhere near Lady Delatron as she helped him with a simple card trick. Afterwards, she would swear that the necklace had been in the safe in her room. So that was where it must have been stolen from, while Antelect was performing in front of a hundred witnesses, including Agent Ratner. The perfect alibi, Antelect thought as he removed the necklace and slipped it into his pocket.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Antelect said, holding up the pack of cards. ‘We are honoured tonight to have with us Special Agent Ratner of the Galactic Enforcement Agency who is investigating a series of clever and despicable thefts from top hotels in this sector.’

Hang on – that wasn’t what Antelect was saying. But it was what he heard. What the audience heard.

‘And I am delighted that this evening,’ Antelect heard himself continue, ‘I shall be able to explain exactly how the thefts were carried out, and name the culprit.’

No!

Antelect struggled to imagine himself doing the card trick. He was doing the card trick. But someone else – someone with a more powerful imagination, a more powerful grasp on Ood Delta’s telepathic abilities had taken control. He saw himself holding up the pack of cards. And he saw the pack of cards turn into Lady Delatron’s priceless necklace.

‘It was me,’ Antelect said calmly. ‘And this is how I did it …’

Two massive Kalrusian security dogs stood on either side of Antelect. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Agent Ratner was enjoying his evening. The ballroom was empty now apart from Ratner and his prisoner, the security team, Ood Delta and the two people who had joined Ratner for dinner.

‘I’ve seen it happen before,’ Ratner said with evident satisfaction. He poured himself some wine. ‘A criminal thinks he is just so clever he needs appreciation. He needs to tell someone how it’s done.’

‘But I didn’t,’ Antelect protested. ‘I didn’t confess.’

‘I saw you,’ Donna said. ‘We all saw you. I liked the bit with the bunny,’ she added.

The Doctor just smiled.

‘It was a trick,’ Antelect insisted.

‘Oh I know,’ Donna agreed. ‘But it was impressive.’

‘No, not the rabbit thing. When I confessed – I didn’t.’

Ratner laughed. ‘You’re seriously expecting us to believe that you didn’t actually stand up there and tell us how it was done? How you reset the chronometers with a remote digitiser so the act started later than everyone thought, giving you time to break into the rooms and steal the valuables?’

‘But that isn’t how it was done!’

‘Oh?’ said the Doctor. ‘So you do know how it was done then?’

‘No, I –’ Antelect sighed. ‘Ood Delta can tell you. I didn’t manipulate the chronometers or anything like that. I’m innocent. An Ood can’t lie – ask him!’

Furiously, Antelect imagined himself innocent. They had to believe he hadn’t done it, but he couldn’t tell them someone was manipulating their minds and making them see things that weren’t true – not without giving himself away.

Ood Delta’s eyes were a dull red as Antelect’s influence took hold.

‘So tell us, Ood Delta,’ Ratner said. ‘This is a serious allegation. Has someone set up Mr Antelect here? Or did he change the clocks?’

‘Yes,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘Do tell. In your own time, and in your own words. Tell us what you want to say.’ He leaned forward across the table, watching Ood Delta intently. ‘Is Antelect telling the truth? Is he being framed?’

The red glow faded from the Ood’s eyes. ‘Mr Antelect is telling the truth,’ Ood Delta said.

‘Come off it,’ Donna said.

‘He did not use a digitiser or change the clocks.’

Antelect said nothing. He closed his eyes, thankful that the Ood was so literal and had simply answered the question. He hadn’t treated Ood Delta very well, he realised. Maybe in future, Antelect would be a bit more sensitive, a bit kinder. But then again, he was just an Ood.

‘To answer your second question, technically, he is not being framed,’ Ood Delta went on.

‘That’s enough,’ Antelect snapped. ‘You’ve answered the questions. Now I demand to be released.’

But Ood Delta was not finished. ‘Mister Fergus Antelect is indeed guilty of thirty-seven counts of theft, ninety-two counts of misleading the public through illegal telepathic manipulation, and one hundred and thirteen counts of cruelty to a sentient life form – namely Ood Delta.’

Antelect gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, you can’t possibly prove that.’

‘But Ood Delta can remember it,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘Can’t you?’

Ood Delta’s eyes glowed the faintest red as his thoughts, his memories – memories of what actually happened during each of Antelect’s performances – were transmitted into the minds of everyone there.

‘You might have fooled the audiences,’ Ratner said as he realised what had really happened. ‘With a hundred or more witnesses there was never any point in checking the hotel’s security videos for the shows. But now, well, I think they might tell a very different story, don’t you?’

Antelect yelled and struggled, but the Kalrusians held him tight. ‘I’d have gotten away with it if it weren’t for that meddling Doctor and his friend,’ he raged.

‘Quite possibly,’ Agent Ratner agreed. He turned to thank the Doctor and Donna, to ask them who they were and where they had come from.

But the chairs beside him were empty. It was as if the two of them had vanished into thin air.

Once Upon a Time

The way the Doctor read a book was rather different from the way Donna did. Not that she read many books, but even so she tended to read a page, then turn over and start on the next one. The Doctor riffled through the book, allowing the pages to blur past him.

‘Thought you were going to read that,’ Donna said.

‘Yeah.’ He grinned at her. ‘I just did.’

‘Never!’

‘Oh yes.’

‘What – just then?’

‘It’s a collection of short stories. I like short stories.’

The Doctor jumped up from the seat close to the TARDIS console and busied himself with the controls. ‘Yes, that’s nicely calibrated itself now.’

‘Let me get this right,’ Donna said. ‘You just read a whole book of short stories? Just like that? In about seven seconds flat?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Well, long stories take a bit longer. But, yes. There was one about a unicorn who didn’t believe in people. Bit odd that, because unicorns most definitely do believe in people. You ask them. ‘People?’ they say. ‘Oh yes, they’re the things that stand on their back legs and go on about global warming and football.’ And I just smile and explain about cricket and the weather.’

He picked up the book and tossed it over to Donna. ‘You’d like that one. Starts on page seventy-two. It’s called Variations and it’s by David Banderson. It’s quite short, even for a short story. Won’t take you long.’

‘Longer than you,’ Donna said. But she sat down and opened the book.

‘You’re right, it’s good,’ Donna said. ‘But it’s not about unicorns.’

‘Well not to begin with,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘It’s this bloke who wants to be a writer and his mind is a blank, then his computer starts talking to him.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And these unicorns come to the door and say they’ve just moved into the neighbourhood –’

‘Hang on, hang on.’ Donna stopped him. ‘I don’t know what story you’re on about but it isn’t that one. Not Variations by David Banderson. He’s at his computer and it’s talking to him, and then The X Factor comes on TV and he opens some Pringles because he’s trying out a new flavour, and this woman comes in and they’re happily married and she’s just won the lottery …’

Donna’s voice tailed off as the Doctor took the book from her and flicked through it again, just as rapidly as before.

‘See,’ she said.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ the Doctor said. ‘It’s not about unicorns at all.’

‘Told you so. Didn’t I tell you so?’

‘It’s about a boy building a model train set.’

Donna stared at him. ‘You what?’

But the Doctor was flicking through the book for a third time. ‘The other stories never change,’ he said. ‘But now it’s about a woman on a sightseeing tour of the Serengo Ruination.’ He turned to the front of the book and examined it. ‘And that’s a bit odd really, because this book was published a century before Serengo got ruined.’

‘A bit odd?’ Donna echoed. ‘You’re telling me the story is different every time you read it, and that’s a bit odd?’

‘Different every time anyone reads it,’ the Doctor said. ‘And that’s more than a bit odd. It’s pretty weird. Might even be somewhat bizarre.’

‘I think it’s completely bonkers.’

The Doctor considered. ‘That too. Tell you what though, I can’t wait to meet this David Banderson and ask him how he did it. A story that changes every time? Whatever else it might be – that’s clever.’

‘So we’re going to see this Banderson bloke?’

The Doctor was already busy at the TARDIS controls. ‘Course we are. Clever might not cover things. It’s brilliant. And I want to know how it works!’

There was no answer to the doorbell.

‘Maybe he’s nipped out,’ Donna said.

The Doctor rang the doorbell again. ‘He’s a writer. He creates worlds of imagination and stories that can change whenever you read them. He won’t have nipped out.’

‘Unless he’s short of coffee.’

The Doctor thought about this. ‘Hmmm,’ he said. He started hammering on the door with his fist. ‘Come on,’ he shouted. ‘David Banderson – we know you’re in there. Put that pen down!’

‘Or milk,’ Donna said.

The Doctor stopped hammering on the door. ‘You might have a point,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s have a quick look. If he’s out we can warm the kettle for him so it’s all ready.’

A moment’s work with the sonic screwdriver got the door unlocked and the Doctor and Donna found themselves in a nicely furnished hallway. There was a pile of letters on the floor just inside the door.

‘Told you – he’s down at the supermarket or on holiday in the Algarve,’ Donna said.

‘I don’t think so,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘Listen.’

From somewhere in the house came the sound of someone talking quietly.

‘No, no,’ the voice said. ‘That won’t do. But perhaps if unicorns moved in next door. Or a woman went on a cruise. Or they were watching telly …’

The man was sitting at a desk, staring at his computer screen. He didn’t look round as the Doctor and Donna came into the room. He didn’t even seem to notice when the Doctor announced loudly:

‘David Banderson, I presume? You know, your story Variations is just utterly brilliant.’

Donna went over to the man. ‘Hey – are you all right?’ She tapped him on the shoulder, but still he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. On the computer was the first part of the short story Donna had read – just the opening paragraphs.

‘Look, he’s writing it now,’ she told the Doctor. She caught sight of something else on the desk. ‘Oh, that is gross!’ she exclaimed. It was a bowl of what must have been fruit – apples and oranges and a few grapes. But they were grey with mould. Flies buzzed around the bowl, and Donna reached out to push it as far away as she could.

‘How long has he been sitting here?’ the Doctor asked quietly. ‘Staring at the screen.’ He waved his hand in front of the man’s face.

‘Or perhaps there’s an earthquake,’ the man said quietly, not seeming to notice. ‘Or a giant bird lands outside his window and distracts him.’

‘He needs something to distract him,’ Donna said. ‘He doesn’t even know we’re here.’

‘The Greek gods turn out to be real, and they come round for tea,’ the man said. ‘No, no,’ he decided. ‘Been done before.’

Donna was quickly reading back through the paragraphs on the screen. As she reached the end, she realised how hard must be to write a story like this. There were just so many things that could happen next, so many ways the story could go. But which one to choose? Her mind was clicking through the options.

‘What if his wife wins the lottery?’ Donna said.

‘Or he falls off his chair,’ Banderson suggested.

‘I know – a policeman comes to the door.’

‘And it’s his long-lost brother.’

‘Then a volcano erupts in the back garden.’

‘Perhaps the trees all turn blue.’

‘Or an asteroid hits Earth.’

Donna’s imagination was working too fast for her to say all the things she could think of, all the stories she was seeing in her mind.

Then suddenly the Doctor was pulling her back, away from the desk. ‘Donna, stop it,’ he said urgently. He clicked his fingers in front of her face.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Stop thinking about the story,’ the Doctor ordered.

‘I was just trying to help,’ she protested. ‘Thinking of ideas. He’s stuck – he’s got writer’s block. He’s been there for days trying to work out what happens next.’

‘No, no, no,’ the Doctor told her. ‘He hasn’t got writer’s block. Just the opposite. He’s got too many ideas to choose from.’

‘But – that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Good? Yes, usually. Terrific. Imagination – wonderful. Couldn’t be without it. Makes the world go round. But that isn’t what’s happening here. Nothing’s going round, except the ideas. And you were getting caught up in it too.’

‘Caught?’ Donna said. ‘You mean – it’s, like, a trap?’ She looked back at David Banderson, sitting immobile in front of his computer screen, still muttering ideas and telling stories.

The Doctor scanned Banderson with his sonic screwdriver. ‘He’s too far gone. We’ll never snap him out of it just by distracting him.’

‘But, what’s happened? Why can’t he just finish the story?’

The Doctor looked at Donna. He was frowning, but the frown faded into a smile, which became a grin. ‘You know, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. He can’t finish the story, because he’s already under the creature’s influence.’

‘Hang on – creature?!’

‘He can’t finish it,’ the Doctor said, pulling Banderson’s chair away from the desk and reaching for the computer keyboard. ‘But I can.’

The Doctor’s fingers were a blur of speed as he typed. Text appeared on the screen and scrolled out of sight quicker than Donna could read.

‘What are you doing? You’re finishing it? What happens?’

‘Everything!’ the Doctor announced. ‘Everything I can think of. Doesn’t matter really, because no one will ever read it. You see, in there somewhere, somehow, is a creature. You can’t see it, but it’s lurking inside the computer, it’s in the words on the screen. A parasite that lives off the imagination. It needs stories to keep it alive.’

The words continued to blur past.

‘And it’s getting those stories from David Banderson while he writes this?’

‘Maybe it came in from the internet. Or maybe it was always there. Probably we’ll never know. But Banderson’s terrific imagination woke it up and fed it. Now it wants more and more and more. It’ll keep him just sitting there, inventing ideas and plots and stories until he starves or drops dead of exhaustion. You too, if I hadn’t been here to stop it.’

‘Oh, charming.’ Donna looked at Banderson. He seemed pale and emaciated. But he had stopped muttering and was looking around in a dazed manner.

‘I need to bring it to the surface,’ the Doctor said as he typed. ‘Draw it right into the words, inside them, living there and feasting on the fruits of my prodigious imagination so none of it is left lurking in the software or the network. Is that how you spell “prodigious”?’ he wondered. ‘Never mind. Doesn’t matter.’

‘So what do you do when you’ve got it all into the words?’

‘This!’ With a flourish, the Doctor hit a combination of keys and the printer on the desk whirred into life. As the first pages of the story printed out, the Doctor selected all the text in the file.

‘And then – this!’ He hit the delete key.

The window went blank.

The Doctor closed the window, and then deleted the file called Variations. ‘Gotcha,’ he said with satisfaction.

The milk in the fridge had gone nasty. So David Banderson made black coffee and the Doctor explained what he had done while Banderson and Donna attacked a plate of slightly soft biscuits.

‘The parasite creature is trapped in the words on the printed pages.’ He flicked through them, grinning. ‘It’s inert, but still active. It can’t reach out like it did before and grab ideas to feed on. It can’t keep you entranced for days and weeks thinking through possible stories.’

‘So it’s safe, then?’ Donna asked.

‘Oh yes. But it still has some influence. It’s still strong enough to stimulate the imagination of the reader.’

‘That’s what stories do,’ Banderson pointed out. ‘That’s what the writer wants.’

‘But the writer can only choose one story to end up on the page. All the others are in the imaginations of the readers. And every time someone reads this story they won’t see the actual words on the page; they’ll imagine their own version of events. Read it aloud, and people will each hear their own story.’

‘So, what did you type?’ Donna wondered.

The Doctor shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. Whatever came into my head. My own story, from my own imagination.’

‘So, tell us,’ Banderson said. ‘Tell us your version. What really did happen at the end of the story I started and you finished?’

‘Same as happens in all the best stories,’ the Doctor said.

‘And what’s that?’ Donna asked.

‘They all lived happily ever after.’

Donna laughed. ‘As if!’

‘That only happens in stories,’ Banderson told them with a laugh.

‘Oh you never know,’ Donna said. ‘What do you think, Doctor? They all lived happily ever after – is it possible?’

The Doctor finished his coffee and put down the mug on top of the pile of printed pages. He had a sad, faraway look in his eyes. ‘It used to be,’ he said quietly. ‘Once upon a time …’

Best Friends

Mr Sutton, the overseer, had been in charge of the Clarendon Workhouse since 1895. Two years into the job and he reckoned he was doing well. He knew almost all the children by name. He recognised the voice of Anthony Bradshaw coming from the long dormitory. Why wasn’t the boy outside in the yard with the other kids?

Sutton’s boots clicked on the bare boards as he approached the bed where the boy was sitting, silent now. He looked like he’d been crying. Well, most of them cried – missing homes they no longer had, parents and friends who were long gone.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sutton asked. ‘Why aren’t you outside? And who were you talking to?’

The boy’s eyes caught the dusty sunlight as he looked up at Sutton. ‘No one,’ he answered.

‘Worked that out,’ Sutton said gently. ‘There’s no one else here. But you were talking.’

Anthony looked away. ‘I was talking to my friend,’ he said quietly. ‘My best friend. My best friend ever.’

The man was wearing a long, dark grey coat even though it was a warm evening. He cut an impressive figure – tall, self-assured, handsome and charming – as he ordered a glass of wine at the theatre bar.

‘Captain Jack Harkness,’ he told the young woman who was staring at him. He switched on a smile. ‘Can I get you something?’

‘I’m with my father,’ she said, apologetic and disappointed.

‘Maybe I can get you both something.’ Jack smiled again. Then he remembered why he was here, and the smile faded. ‘Another time maybe.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘I’m sort of on duty.’

Jack didn’t usually spend time at the music hall, but there was an act he was interested in. Professionally interested in. He had a private box to himself, and was stretched out comfortably across two chairs when the boy came on stage.

‘The Amazing Anthony – The Wonder of 1898,’ Jack read off the board at the side of the stage as he sat up and looked through a small pair of binoculars at the two people below.

The boy looked ill. He was maybe ten years old and his face was pale and drawn as he sat on an upright chair, not seeming to listen to the older man, who was doing the talking. Edward Hardiman claimed to be the boy’s uncle. He had thinning grey hair and a suit that had seen better days. But by all accounts the act was popular and gaining a lot of attention. Hardiman was explaining to the audience what Jack had already been told.

The boy – the Amazing Anthony – could foretell the future. He’d spoken of a coming war – a conflict in which hundreds of thousands would die. He’d said that in a hundred years machines would exist that could perform millions of calculations in a fraction of a second. It was a good act. Jack hoped it was an act.

‘A hundred guineas,’ Hardiman declared. He held up what might have been a wad of banknotes. ‘I say again, a hundred guineas to anyone who can ask Amazing Anthony a question he cannot answer. It’s an offer I’ve made every night for nearly a month. And I still have my hundred guineas. Yes, sir!’ He pointed to a woman who was waving from the audience. ‘I warn you, only ask a question if you are sure you want to know the answer – we’ve had some embarrassed people this past month!’

‘When’s my birthday?’ the woman asked.

The boy looked up, his eyes wide through Jack’s binoculars. He looked bored as much as anything. ‘July twenty-fifth,’ he said, his thin voice carrying through the hushed theatre. ‘Eighteen-fifty-seven,’ he added.

‘She told me she was twenty-one!’ the man sitting with the woman announced, pretending to be outraged. The woman slapped him, and the audience laughed.

‘Anyone else?’ the man on stage asked.

‘How’s he do it?’ someone shouted out.

‘How indeed?’ Jack asked himself.

There was silence for a moment, then Anthony replied: ‘I have explained before. I have a friend. An invisible friend. He is always with me, and no one else can see him. I know little, but my friend knows everything and tells me the answers. You can’t hear him – only I can.’

‘What’s your friend’s name?’ another voice shouted.

Jack hardly heard. He was leaning over the edge of the box, staring down at the stage – examining the two figures in the middle of the bare boards, and the way the spotlights cast their shadows against the curtain at the back of the stage. A trick of the light, perhaps? There were three shadows.

‘My friend’s name is Lawphoram.’

Jack blinked. ‘Of course.’

He leaped to his feet, yelling above the sound of the people below all wanting a go. ‘I have a question. And I’m going to win a hundred guineas.’

‘Very well,’ Hardiman shouted back. ‘The confident American gentleman in the box. Yes, sir – what is your question? But I warn you, the money will not be yours.’

‘I think it will,’ Jack told him. ‘Tell me, Anthony – and I really want to know this – how will I die?’

The audience was silent. The boy looked confused. He shook his head, seemed to be listening. Then finally he spoke. His voice was so quiet it barely carried. Hardiman’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

‘Didn’t catch that,’ Jack shouted. ‘What did you say, Anthony? Tell me – how will I die?’

The boy looked up at him – his eyes wide and sad and scared, and his voice nervous and strained. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘Uncle’ Edward Hardiman didn’t have a hundred guineas. Anthony’s act earned a lot of money, but Hardiman spent it almost as fast as it came in on drinking and gambling. Jack was happy to agree to meet after the show to collect his winnings. But he wasn’t really foolish enough to wait until after the show.

Which was why he was standing outside the back door of the theatre just minutes after the act was over and Hardiman bundled poor pale Anthony out.

‘Thought I might find you here,’ Jack said.

Hardiman tried to run for it. He didn’t get far. Jack slammed him into the brick wall and held him tight. ‘Let me guess – no hundred guineas?’ Hardiman couldn’t answer as Jack’s forearm was tight across his throat. ‘Well, that’s just fine. Because you know what? I don’t want a hundred guineas.’

Jack released his hold and Hardiman collapsed on the damp pavement. Anthony watched without comment.

‘Guess you knew that already, kid,’ Jack said as he helped Hardiman back to his feet. ‘But don’t even try to run for it. Your uncle wouldn’t like that, I’m guessing. I’m guessing too that the voice in your head – your friend Lawphoram – is screaming at you to get away. Because he knows what’s coming next, doesn’t he?’ Jack reached out and grabbed Anthony by the wrist, pulling him close. ‘Except he isn’t a “he”. He’s an “it”. And a very nasty it at that.’

‘What do you want?’ Hardiman stammered. ‘If not money, then what?’

‘I want the boy,’ Jack said, feeling Anthony try to pull free, but holding on tight. ‘And don’t give me any rubbish about how he’s family and you’re responsible and you care. Because that’s just not true is it?’

‘I can’t let you –’

Jack glared at the man. ‘You bought this poor kid from a workhouse overseer in Clarendon Street last year. Like a slave. Well, you owe me a hundred guineas so I reckon you’ve turned a tidy profit. Now – scram!’

Hardiman looked into Jack’s eyes. He saw the depth of the anger and emotion there. And he scrammed.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ Anthony said when Hardiman had gone.

Jack let go of the boy’s wrist and stood facing him. ‘I’m going to help you.’ He reached out both his hands and cradled the boy’s head between them, looking intently at him. ‘That voice in your head is an alien. It’s a creature of energy, or thought, from another world. Oh yeah, it’s called a Lawphoram – it was telling the truth about that. But not about much else.’

‘Another world?’ Anthony looked even paler than usual. ‘Why can’t anyone else see him – it? Why only me?’

‘Because it’s inside your mind. There’s the ghost of an image, outside the range of human sight and perception. But most of it is inside you, feeding. And you know what it feeds on – what keeps it alive?’

Jack took away his hands, allowing Anthony to shake his head. His voice was a frightened whisper. ‘What?’

‘You. It feeds on thought. On your mind. That’s how it knows. It knows about the future because it’s from the future – it fell to Earth from the vortex. Don’t know why. Maybe it got caught up in someone else’s war, who knows? But it’s here now. In you. It can sense the energy in the minds of the people who ask you questions and it can see the answers in there too. It’s a gift.’

‘A curse,’ the boy muttered.

‘You know, you’re not wrong.’ Jack pulled back the sleeve of his coat. There was something strapped to his wrist – a strange, chunky bracelet-like device. ‘I said it feeds on you, and I meant that. It’s eating you up, Anthony – eating your thoughts. You’ll waste away and die. Unless I get it out of there.’

Jack turned a small wheel on the side of the device. He stepped closer to Anthony.

‘Please –’ the boy said.

‘Is it screaming yet?’ Jack turned the wheel further – right the way around.

And Anthony Bradshaw collapsed. His eyelids flickered as Jack lifted the small child and cradled him in his arms. The boy’s face was already getting some colour back.

‘You’ll be all right,’ Jack whispered. ‘I promise – you’ll be all right.’

The old man looked up from the threadbare armchair beside his narrow bed. His eyes were pale and moist with age. He struggled to focus on the figure standing beside him.

‘Jack?’

‘Anthony – how’s it going?’

‘Is it really you? I thought I was dreaming. Come a bit closer – my eyes aren’t so good these days.’

‘This better?’ The figure leaned down towards him.

And it was Jack – exactly as he had been, all those years ago. ‘You – you haven’t changed,’ Anthony Bradshaw said in surprise

Jack laughed. ‘Oh, I’ve changed,’ he said. ‘I just look the same.’

Anthony smiled and nodded. ‘And did you ever find out?’ He took Jack’s hand and held it tight. ‘Did you ever get an answer to your question – the question you asked me that night at the theatre?’

‘No,’ Jack said quietly. ‘But I didn’t expect to.’ He straightened up. ‘You see, I know now – and I knew then, though I didn’t want to believe it – I don’t die.’ Then, even quieter: ‘Only my friends do.’

Anthony could feel himself slipping away, back into sleep. He slept so much these days. But he’d had a good life – such a very good life, once it got properly started. He knew who to thank for that. He could hear Jack walking slowly away, towards the door.

‘Have you come …’ Anthony said as he drifted into sleep again, ‘have you come to say …’

A whisper from the doorway: ‘Goodbye.’

The nurse tucked the blanket round Anthony and settled him for the night.

‘I thought I heard you talking to someone earlier,’ she said. ‘Only, there’s no one else here.’ She hesitated by the bed. ‘But you were talking.’

Anthony looked away. ‘I was talking to my friend,’ he said quietly. ‘My best friend. My best friend ever.’

Most Beautiful Music

Donna settled herself into the seat beside the Doctor and looked around. The huge vaulted chamber was packed. There was not an empty seat anywhere. Men, women, dog people, giant crustaceans, all manner of aliens had their eyes – or whatever they used instead – pointed at the stage at the front of the massive auditorium.

‘Maybe we should have dressed up a bit,’ the Doctor said.

‘Some of us have,’ Donna told him.

‘Oh,’ he said, seeming to notice her dress for the first time. ‘Yes.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Don’t worry,’ the Doctor assured her. ‘They’re all here to listen not to look. We are so lucky to get a ticket.’

‘You keep saying.’

‘Good seats too.’

‘So,’ Donna said, ‘apart from the most beautiful music in the universe – which Mum always told me was The Beatles anyway – what else should I watch out for? I mean, where are we? Will there be lasers and dancers and a bit where we have to hold up candles or anything?’

The Doctor leaned close and spoke quietly. ‘This isn’t just any old concert. It’s renowned throughout the cosmos. The Concert of Most Beautiful Music at the Church of the High Exalted on Cantabulous Nine is the most famous cultural event this side of the Literary Olympics of Splatt Minor. Only staged once every ten years.’

Donna raised her eyebrows. ‘Fancy. And I thought culture was something to do with yoghurt.’

The Doctor grinned. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Like that. Yes. But no, nothing to do with yoghurt.’

‘Why’s it so special then? Best bands in the universe playing for charity or what?’

‘Just one act. A child, apparently. Best in his class at the church school or something, I suppose. He plays an instrument called a lassimater. It’s sort of part flute, part recorder, part didgeridoo.’

‘And it makes beautiful music?’

‘The most beautiful.’

‘Right,’ Donna said as the lights dimmed. ‘Just checking.’

There was no announcement or introduction. Spotlights illuminated the stage, and a figure walked slowly and awkwardly into view.

‘You said he was a child,’ Donna whispered.

‘He’s called the Child of Music,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Guess I sort of assumed.’

‘Shhh!’ hissed someone behind Donna.

‘Shh yourself,’ she said loudly over her shoulder. ‘Some of us are here for the music, you know.’

On the stage in front of them, an old man, bent with age, his wispy white hair clinging to his liver-spotted scalp, raised a long wooden pipe to his lips and began to blow.

There was utter silence when the music finally stopped. It seemed to take the audience several seconds to recover before the applause started.

‘That was …’ Donna shook her head. She wasn’t sure how to describe it.

‘Wasn’t it?’ the Doctor agreed. ‘The most beautiful music – doesn’t describe it really.’

‘Just fantastic.’

‘This is just the interval. The second half is supposed to be even better. And if we really like it,’ the Doctor went on in a whisper, ‘we can come back in ten years.’

They pushed their way along to the aisle and joined the mass of people heading out of the huge vaulted auditorium and out into the foyer. Monks and ministers of the Church of the High Exalted were standing by the doors, heads bowed and faces shadowed by the heavy hoods they wore.

‘Right,’ Donna said, surveying the crowds of jostling people and life forms ahead of them. ‘This bit I do understand. Lend us some dosh and I’ll get the ice creams.’

There was a gift shop off the foyer, and the Doctor amused himself looking at the small plastic lassimaters and stretchy rubber figures of the Child playing the instrument. There were postcards showing the outside of the Church of the High Exalted drifting on its small island in the middle of the Petronic Ocean, engraved glasses and the usual guide book.

But what really caught his attention was a big coffee-table book that showed photographs from all the concerts of the last few hundred years. The page corners were bent and the cover was slightly torn. It was reduced to half price.

‘Interesting?’ Donna asked, handing the Doctor a tub of something cold and bright green. ‘I don’t know what mindorolan and janissary is, but it’s all that was left.’

The Doctor balanced the tub of ice cream on a nearby shelf and showed Donna the pictures in the book.

‘This is three hundred and twenty years ago,’ he said. ‘The very first concert.’

‘He really is a child,’ Donna said. ‘Can’t be more than about six years old. I guess the name just stuck.’

‘Except,’ the Doctor said, turning the pages, ‘ten years later he’s a teenager. And ten years after that he’s in his twenties.’

‘So they kept him on for a bit,’ Donna said through a mouthful of ice cream.

‘And then some.’ The Doctor kept turning the pages.

Donna stopped spooning ice cream. ‘He just gets older and older.’

The Doctor nodded, still leafing through the book. ‘And older and older. And then older still.’

‘It’s the same child. All these years. Centuries. The poor man. He must be so old.’

A bell rang to warn them the interval was nearly over. The Doctor put the book back on the shelf.

‘You want my ice cream?’ he asked Donna. ‘I’m not really hungry.’

Donna put her half-eaten pot on the shelf beside the Doctor’s. ‘Me neither.’

The Doctor was right. The music in the second half was even more beautiful. But, whereas before Donna had found it exhilarating and uplifting, now she felt very different. She watched the frail, withered old man on the stage in front of them, illuminated by a single pale light. And she could hear the melancholy in the music.

By the time the concert finished, Donna’s cheeks were wet with tears.

The Doctor grabbed her hand, and led her not towards the exits but against the flow of people to the front of the auditorium.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To meet the star of the show.’ The Doctor jumped up on to the stage with a single bound. He turned to help Donna clamber up after him.

‘You didn’t say anything about running and jumping,’ she said. ‘I’d never have worn these heels.’

Behind the stage, they found themselves in a stone-built corridor. A hooded monk stepped in front of the Doctor and held up a hand. His voice was a rasping, throaty whisper: ‘This area is restricted.’

‘Not to us,’ the Doctor said, holding up his psychic paper. ‘President of the Child of Music’s fan club. And vice president. Official business.’ He pushed past.

Donna could hear the throaty shouts of the monk behind them as they hurried along. Ahead, she could see the stooped figure of the Child of Music as he was escorted down the corridor by several more of the hooded figures.

‘Wait!’ the Doctor shouted, breaking into a run. ‘Just wanted a quick word.’

One of the hooded monks turned to block their approach. He put a black-gloved hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, holding him back. The Doctor bounced and pushed and struggled to see over the cloaked shoulder.

‘Just wanted to say how wonderful it was,’ he called. ‘The music – terrific. Absolutely brilliant. Never heard anything like it.’

The wizened old man turned slowly and nodded in appreciation. ‘Thank you. You are very kind.’

‘That music,’ Donna added. ‘It’s so emotional. It does things to you.’

‘Can we do anything in return?’ the Doctor wondered.

The old man shuffled slowly back towards them. ‘For me?’ He seemed surprised.

‘Yeah. That’s right.’ The Doctor leaned over the shoulder of the monk. ‘Tell me,’ he said, his tone suddenly serious. ‘Really and honestly. What do you want? What do you want more than anything else?’

The old man’s eyes met the Doctor’s then Donna’s, just for a brief, sad moment. Then he slowly turned away. But she heard his answer quite clearly:

‘I want to die.’

Donna picked herself up from the cold ground. ‘Well, really. Thrown out of a church by a monk. Reminds me of Ginny’s wedding,’ she grumbled as she dusted herself down. ‘So, what do we do now?’

The Doctor was examining the heavy iron door that had slammed shut behind them. ‘What do you think?’

From the way he said it, Donna could guess. ‘We break back in again?’

‘Absolutely. We have to help that poor creature.’

‘The old man?’

The Doctor looked at her like she was completely mad. ‘No. The other poor creature.’

But before she could ask what he meant he had his sonic screwdriver out and was unlocking the door.

As soon as they were back inside, the Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver. It glowed blue, the light getting brighter as he turned slowly. ‘Yes – this way.’

‘What creature?’ Donna asked again as the Doctor led the way down a stone corridor into the heart of the ancient building.

‘Inside the instrument – the lassimater.’

‘There’s a creature inside the musical instrument?’ Donna said, surprised.

‘I know. I just said that.’

The Doctor bundled Donna into an alcove, putting his hand over her mouth in warning. Moments later two of the hooded monks walked slowly past. When they were gone, the Doctor and Donna stepped out of the alcove.

‘That was close,’ the Doctor murmured.

‘Not as close as this,’ Donna said, pointing to the hooded figure that was rapidly approaching.

A gloved hand pointed, and a rasping voice shouted a warning.

‘Run?’ Donna suggested.

‘Run,’ the Doctor agreed.

They ran.

And as they ran, hooded figures close behind, the Doctor gasped out a breathless explanation: ‘Don’t recognise the species, but the poor creature is trapped inside the musical instrument. Been shut up inside for centuries. Since the concerts started.’

‘But why?’

They turned a corner, the sonic screwdriver glowing ever brighter as they neared their destination.

‘Who knows? Maybe an accident. Maybe deliberate. But now the instrument is the creature’s prison.’

‘And the music? The sad, beautiful music?’

They were almost at the end of the corridor – a door. A gloved hand snatched at Donna’s hair as she ran. The Doctor grabbed the door, wrenched it open. He slammed it shut behind them and pointed the sonic screwdriver at it. Donna heard the clunk of the lock.

Then, a second later, the sound of fists hammering on the locked door and shouts from outside.

‘The music,’ the Doctor said quietly, ‘is the sound of the creature crying out for help. It’s so very old, you see. It sleeps most of the time. It’s woken only by the gentle breath of the Child of Music.’

He was speaking quietly because the old man was curled up asleep on a small bed in the corner of the room. He clutched the musical instrument, hugging it tight.

‘The creature’s only friend,’ the Doctor went on. ‘The only person who cares about it.’

‘So why’s he so old?’

The Doctor sat down on the edge of the bed. The old man stirred in his sleep.

‘The creature sleeps so much partly to dream of escape. But also to pass on its energy and life essence to the Child.’ The Doctor looked up at Donna and she could see the sadness in his eyes. ‘Imagine it – a creature that can live for centuries, maybe thousands of years. And the one person it really cares about, won’t live nearly that long. It can’t bear the thought of outliving its friend. A bit like …’ His voice tailed off.

‘A bit like,’ Donna finished for him, ‘Puff the Magic Dragon.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ he lied.

There was a loud hammering on the door now. The old man’s eyes were open and he was watching the Doctor and Donna warily.

‘We’re here to help,’ the Doctor assured him. He gently lifted the lassimater from the old man’s gnarled hands. ‘May I?’

‘You can help us?’ he wheezed. ‘Really help us?’ The old man nodded as he watched the Doctor aim the sonic screwdriver at the musical instrument. ‘Yes, at last – I believe you can. After all this time.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I tried to break the instrument, to let it out. But nothing I could do …’ His voice was fading.

The door crashed open.

The instrument exploded, shattered fragments falling to the floor.

A bright yellow light shimmered out of the broken lassimater, dancing across the room towards a tiny window set high in the bare stone wall.

The room was filled with sound – a soaring, wonderful sound that shimmered and swelled with the glow of the light.

‘It’s singing,’ Donna realised. ‘Singing for us.’

The old man on the bed drew a final ragged breath and smiled. His last words were barely more than a sigh: ‘Thank you.’

Then the light burned through the window and was gone. The last notes of the creature’s song lingered in the air before they too faded away.

A hooded figure stood in front of the Doctor and Donna. More of the figures were standing in the doorway.

‘What was that?’ the figure asked, the rasping scrape of its voice filled with awe. ‘What was that amazing noise?’

‘The most beautiful music of all,’ the Doctor said. ‘The sound of freedom.’

Secret of Arkatron

‘Now, there’s something you don’t see every day,’ the Doctor said.

The TARDIS had landed on a barren asteroid, a huge lump of craggy rock floating in space. The first surprise was that the asteroid had a breathable atmosphere. Standing a short distance from the TARDIS, Amy and the Doctor were looking at the second surprise.

The dark, rocky landscape stretched out to the horizon. Stars and other asteroids hung in the black sky. On a plateau across a shallow valley, silhouetted against the pale light from a nearby sun, stood a house.

‘Spooky,’ Amy said.

The house was old. It was built from dark, crumbling stone. Gargoyles perched under the eaves, weathered by years of keeping watch. The steps up to the front door were chipped and discoloured like the teeth of an ancient skull. Shuttered windows stared blankly back at Amy and the Doctor.

‘Scooby-Doo wouldn’t be seen dead in there,’ Amy said.

‘Scooby-Doo’s a pussycat,’ the Doctor told her. ‘Well, OK, I know he’s a dog, but he’s a scaredy-cat dog. Come on, let’s go and explore.’ His eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Who knows, maybe we’ll meet a ghost or two.’

It was further than it looked to the house. By the time they had climbed up to the plateau, Amy was out of breath. The Doctor, as enthusiastic as ever, led the way up the steps.

There was no knocker or doorbell. Something was carved in the cracked and flaking stonework above the door. It looked like ‘Arkatron’, but Amy couldn’t be sure.

‘You think anyone lives here?’ Amy wondered.

‘Why build a house if you’re not going to live in it?’

‘They might have moved,’ Amy said. ‘I would.’

The door creaked ominously when the Doctor opened it, just as Amy had guessed it would. Inside was a wide entrance hallway. It was lit with wall lights. They flickered and sputtered like candles and cast an uneven light across everything.

A flight of wooden stairs rose to a darkened upper floor. The steps were rotted and several had fallen away. The uneven floorboards under Amy’s feet creaked as she walked. There were several rooms off the hallway, and a wide corridor leading past the stairs deeper into the house. Several dusty suits of armour stood silent and still in alcoves.

‘Look at this,’ the Doctor called. ‘This is clever.’

He was standing in front of what looked like an empty picture frame. As Amy joined him, an image shimmered into view within the frame. A video played, black and white, jumpy, obviously very old.

‘It detects movement,’ the Doctor explained.

The video showed what looked like a political speech. A man in military uniform stood on a podium. There was no sound, but he was obviously speaking with passion – waving his fist, snarling with rage and anger. Behind the speaker, other people nodded seriously in agreement. A short man with round-framed glasses and no hair peered out from between two uniformed soldiers. A woman in a formal dress clapped her hands.

‘Clever,’ Amy agreed. ‘But boring.’

There were several more of the video picture frames, as well as some normal photos and paintings. They were all just as boring, Amy decided.

The Doctor had already lost interest in the pictures. He was tracing a wire round a door frame and across the wall. ‘Alarm system,’ he told Amy. He found a small metal box close to the front door. It was hanging, broken, from its fixings.

‘It’s as old as everything else,’ Amy said.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘This is recent damage. Someone disabled it, though I could easily hook it up again.’ He brandished his sonic screwdriver. ‘And look.’ The Doctor pointed at the floor. ‘Footprints in the dust – and not just ours.’

From somewhere deeper in the house Amy heard a heavy creaking sound. Like a footstep.

‘There is someone else here,’ she said. She closed her eyes, hoping to hear better as the creaking continued. ‘Definitely footsteps.’ She opened her eyes.

And found that the Doctor was gone. Typical.

Amy hurried along the corridor, towards where the noise had come from. It ended in a large, wooden door. Amy reached out, and at the touch of her hand the door immediately swung open.

‘Doctor – are you in there?’

Amy stepped into the room. A pale, misshapen figure rose up in front of her. It took a rasping, throaty breath and reached out towards Amy.

Amy gasped and took a step backwards. Hands grabbed her from behind. She twisted quickly away.

‘Easy, easy,’ the Doctor said. ‘It’s only me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Amy was about to tell him that she had. But the white figure was reaching up to its misshapen head. It pulled off what Amy could now see was a protective headpiece, like a helmet made of flexible plastic with a breathing filter. Beneath the helmet was an elderly man with white hair and a moustache.

The man sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know why we bothered suiting up,’ he said angrily. ‘Miss Crisp!’ he called. ‘Come and look at these two amateurs who have bumbled in.’

‘Bumbled in?’ the Doctor echoed. ‘Amateurs?’

The man stared back at him. ‘You’ve contaminated the whole site, you know that? Amateurs.’

A figure wearing an identical protective suit appeared out of the shadows at the edge of the room. It too removed the helmet. Miss Crisp was not much older than Amy, and shook her head to free her long dark hair.

‘That’s better,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘It gets so hot in there. Don’t let Professor Landale intimidate you. He’s rather precious about his site.’

‘I won’t,’ the Doctor said. He walked into the room and looked around. ‘Oh, I like this.’

Amy followed and now she could see that they were in an enormous library. The walls were lined with bookshelves. In alcoves between the books stood suits of dusty armour like she’d seen in the hallway. There were pictures and video frames too, scattered in amongst the bookcases.

Like the pictures and videos in the hall, they all showed speeches, or generals overlooking a battle, or some sort of ceremonial occasion. Amy recognised the same general in several of them. The woman in the dress appeared in another video clip. A short, bald man was visible from behind, watching a town bombed by strange-looking aircraft…

‘We found this place,’ Landale said. ‘We have first salvage rights.’

‘No problem,’ the Doctor replied. ‘We’re just visiting.’

‘If you’re not scavengers, then what are you doing here?’ Landale demanded.

‘Scavengers?’ Amy asked, from across the room.

‘People who would strip this place bare and sell the contents,’ Miss Crisp said. ‘With no respect for the historical value.’

‘We think it must have been a museum or a gallery. Of course we’ve only just got here,’ Landale went on, ‘but everything will be properly catalogued.’

‘It’s all from the same period,’ the Doctor said, looking around. ‘The pictures, video, books …’

‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’ Landale said. He joined the Doctor and together they examined a shelf of books. ‘They all seem to be records of court proceedings. I’m seriously thinking about renovating the house and opening it to the public.’

‘Better than stripping everything out and selling it,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘I assume you disabled the alarms, by the way?’

‘That was me,’ Miss Crisp admitted. ‘It’s a complex system. It was routed right through the house, not just to sensors but receivers as well. So, better safe than sorry.’

‘Didn’t want to run up against some ancient defence system,’ Landale added.

Amy had found a large framed photograph of a line of armoured vehicles driving past what looked like a palace.

Soldiers marched alongside. On a balcony, overlooking the parade, was one of the generals Amy had seen before. Beside him stood several other military figures, both men and women. The exception was a bald man in a business suit and wearing glasses. His slight figure was almost lost in amongst the more imposing dignitaries.

Next to the picture was an alcove. One of the suits of armour stood in the shadows. The blank metal visor over the face, like the rest of the armour, was peppered with dark spots of rust. The whole thing was dulled by dust. Without really thinking about it, Amy reached out and brushed away a cobweb from the breastplate. The metal was cold and slightly rough under her fingers.

Dust showered down. Amy realised it had fallen from the helmet, as the figure turned slowly towards her. The suit of armour took a clanking step forwards. Metal gauntlets clenched and unclenched, reaching out towards Amy. She backed away in horror from the faceless metal figure lurching towards her.

The metal hands of the walking armour grabbed Amy’s shoulders, dragging her towards the faceless creature.

Then suddenly the grip on her shoulders relaxed and Amy tore herself away. Across the room, the Doctor was aiming his sonic screwdriver at the armour. It seemed to stagger, and then the legs gave way. The heavy metal creature crashed to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

‘What was it?’ Amy gasped. ‘Was it alive?’

‘I don’t think so, not really,’ the Doctor said. He bent down to examine the metal figure.

‘A robot?’ Professor Landale suggested.

‘Must be,’ Miss Crisp agreed. ‘It activated when Amy touched it.’

‘Local detection,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘But it was probably connected to the alarm system. Good job you turned it off.’

‘Good job you didn’t reconnect it,’ Amy told the Doctor.

‘Still could,’ the Doctor boasted. He tossed his sonic screwdriver in the air, and caught it in his jacket pocket.

‘Show off!’ Amy told him.

Miss Crisp was examining the alcove. ‘This isn’t like the others,’ she said. ‘There’s a door at the back – look.’

‘Do you think that thing was guarding whatever’s behind this door?’ Professor Landale asked.

‘Easy way to find out,’ the Doctor said.

Amy followed the Doctor into the room beyond. It was a large bedroom, hanging with cobwebs and covered in dust. In the middle of the room stood a large four-poster bed, the curtains round it hanging in tatters. There was a slight hollow in the mattress, as if someone had just got up.

A video frame opposite the bed showed a list of names. The list was headed ‘Lest You Forget’, and the names below scrolled endlessly past like a roll call.

On the wall opposite the door was an ancient painting, darkened with age. It showed a man being taken in chains through the hallway of a house. Stairs swept up to a second floor, and a corridor led into the depths of the house. The prisoner was seen only from the back, his bald head gleaming in the lamplight as he was led away by soldiers in armour rather like the suit that had attacked Amy.

Several more of the creepy suits of armour stood against the walls. Amy watched them closely, but none of them showed any signs of life.

Then she saw movement at the back of the room. But it wasn’t another suit of armour. An unremarkable-looking man stood up and moved into the light. He was short, dressed in a crumpled suit, and wearing small round spectacles. He ran his hand over his bald scalp, as if smoothing down hair he no longer had, and looked round at Amy and the others.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his voice unexpectedly strong and deep.

‘Just visiting,’ the Doctor said. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am the curator of this museum. My name is –’ The man hesitated, glancing over to the video frame on the other side of the room before going on. ‘Lester Forge. Forgive me, it’s so long since we had any visitors here at the Museum of the Ninth Dynasty of Arkatron. But you are welcome to look around.’

‘The Ninth Dynasty of Arkatron?’ Landale said. ‘Now that was an interesting, if rather bloodthirsty, regime.’

‘The time of the dictators,’ the Doctor said quietly.

‘Well, I’m happy to look around,’ Amy said.

There was another door just a few steps away and she went over and opened it. The curator called out to her. But whatever he said was lost in Miss Crisp’s scream, as the body of an elderly grey-haired woman toppled through the doorway and landed at Amy’s feet.

The Doctor was there at once. ‘Let me see. She was slumped against the door, and fell through when you opened it.’

‘Is she dead?’ Amy asked.

The Doctor nodded grimly. ‘Shot at close range with an impulse blaster. Poor lady.’ He looked up at the curator. ‘Do you know who she is?’

The curator nodded. ‘It’s Miss Dellman, my assistant. Whatever can have happened?’

The Doctor stood up slowly and turned to face everyone. ‘I think it’s obvious what’s happened. Someone in this house is a murderer. And,’ he went on, ‘I know who it is.’

‘Who?’ Amy asked.

‘Oh come on, Pond,’ the Doctor said. ‘Look around you. There are clues everywhere. You should be able to work out what’s really happened here, and who the culprit is.’

Everyone was silent as the Doctor explained. ‘Look at the pictures, the videos,’ he said. ‘They all depict key moments from the time of the Ninth Dynasty of Arkatron.’

‘Of course,’ the curator said. ‘That’s what this museum honours.’

‘I don’t think it honours anything,’ the Doctor said. ‘The dictators held absolute power and the people were suppressed. Many thousands were executed or simply disappeared.’

‘Rule by terror?’ Amy said.

The Doctor nodded. ‘But that’s not the only thing the pictures have in common. There’s one figure that appears in them all – depicted in every painting, captured in every photograph, present in every video.’

Amy turned to look at the large painting on the nearby wall – the man being led in chains through a house.

‘Yes,’ the Doctor said. ‘An insignificant little man. So inconsequential you’d barely notice him. But he’s always there. Somewhere.’

‘And that’s this house,’ Amy realised. She turned to the curator. ‘You were brought here as a prisoner.’

The little man’s eyes had hardened. He pulled a gun from his jacket pocket. ‘You’re very clever,’ he told the Doctor.

‘I knew as soon as you said your name was Lester Forge.’ The Doctor pointed at the scrolling names. ‘Lest You Forget,’ he read. ‘You used the first words you saw. This isn’t a museum – it’s a prison. Those are the names of the people you killed. There must be tens of thousands of them. Every book in the library recounts the proceedings of the court that tried you for their deaths.’

‘So this place is a monument to them, as well as a prison,’ Miss Crisp said.

‘Preserving the evidence of what he did,’ Professor Landale added.

‘And those spooky suits of armour,’ Amy said. ‘Prison warders?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Disabled when Miss Crisp sabotaged the alarm, except when they detect movement up close. I assume poor Miss Dellman was in charge?’ He glanced sadly at the old woman’s body.

‘The old hag!’ the curator snapped. ‘As if a frail old crone could keep the great Maxim Klart prisoner!’

‘Maxim Klart,’ Miss Crisp said. ‘Of course – the real power behind the Arkatron dictators. The twisted genius who masterminded the disappearances and the killings.’

Klart laughed. ‘Have you any idea how long I had to lie there and watch their names? They thought it would fill me with remorse. It just made me more determined to escape.’

‘That’s a stasis bed,’ the Doctor realised. ‘You’ve been here for years, unable to move. They imprisoned you forever.’

‘I woke when the alarm failed. When Miss Dellman came to check, I took her blaster and killed her. And now I shall kill all of you, unless you give me the access codes for your spaceship.’

‘So you can escape and take more lives?’ Professor Landale said. ‘Never!’

‘That’s the spirit, Prof,’ Amy said.

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ the Doctor told her. ‘Here, I’ll unlock my ship for you.’ He reached into his jacket pocket.

‘Careful,’ Klart warned, brandishing the blaster. ‘If that’s a weapon …’

‘As if.’ The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver. ‘Here you go.’ The screwdriver glowed and whirred. ‘That should sort things out.’

‘You’ve never unlocked the TARDIS,’ Amy said.

The Doctor grinned. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then what have you done?’ Klart demanded, his face darkening with anger.

‘Oh, nothing much. Just reconnected the alarm system, that’s all.’

Klart’s eyes widened in horror. His finger tightened on the blaster’s trigger. But he wasn’t quick enough.

Metal hands grabbed him as a robot warder behind Klart lurched into life. All round the room, the suits of armour turned to face their prisoner, advancing menacingly towards him.

‘No!’ Klart yelled as the blaster was snatched from his hands. ‘No – please, you can’t let them do this!’

Amy watched in horrified fascination as the robots pushed Klart on to the bed. As soon as he touched it, he seemed to relax. His cries choked off. He fell back, as if asleep.

Except that his eyes were open. As they stared at the scrolling list of people he had sent to die, Klart’s eyes were full of terror.

The robot warders stepped back into their alcoves, job done. They were once again as silent and still as empty suits of armour.

‘I think we should leave,’ Amy said.

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ the Doctor said.

‘Indeed,’ Professor Landale said. ‘Miss Crisp – we must never tell anyone about this place.’

Miss Crisp agreed. ‘No one must find it, or like us they might release the prisoner.’

The Doctor led them all from the room. ‘We’ll leave this place as we found it. A monument to the thousands killed by Klart and the dictators of Arkatron.’

A few minutes later the Doctor and Amy stood looking back at the house.

‘All those poor people …’ Amy said. ‘We can never bring them back.’

‘No,’ the Doctor said sadly. ‘But perhaps now they can rest a little bit easier.’

They turned away, heading towards the tiny splash of blue on the horizon that was the TARDIS.

‘Come along, Pond,’ the Doctor said. ‘Our next adventure’s waiting.’

Blind Terror

Commander Churl could not resist the hunt. His squadron had ambushed the Rutan convoy in the Sol system while on a routine reconnaissance mission. Churl’s ships destroyed three of the four ships in a firestorm of space missiles. The last ship, damaged and trailing smoke and flame, managed to get away.

But Churl had a trace on the damaged engine exhaust. Ordering the rest of his squadron to continue with their mission, he turned to Lieutenant Stavv.

‘Follow them down,’ he ordered. ‘We shall finish this on the planet below.’

Stavv saluted and deftly manoeuvred the small spherical scout ship into orbit over the blue-green planet. ‘Picking up a strong heat signature,’ he reported. ‘The ship must have burned out in the atmosphere and crashed.’

‘Then we shall make sure there are no survivors. And we might obtain useful intelligence from the ship’s data systems if they are not too damaged.’ He snapped a brisk salute. ‘For the greater glory of Sontar!’

‘Sontar-ha!’ Stavv chanted.

The small scoutship glowed orange and red as it dived through the atmosphere of the small planet called Earth.

The Rutan ship was a burned out shell, buried half in and half out of a primitive stone dwelling. From the surrounding fields, Churl guessed it was a farm.

‘The dwelling seems isolated,’ Stavv said. ‘There should be minimal interference from the native population.’

Churl’s grey tongue flicked over his bloodless lips. ‘That is good. We shall check the wreckage for survivors.’

There was no sign of life from the farmhouse or the Rutan ship. Stavv waited outside on guard while Churl went into the wrecked command dome of the ship first. The blobby gelatinous green bodies of several dead Rutans were hanging lifeless in their cradles by the burned-out controls.

Churl called Stavv in and together they inspected the computer systems.

‘A science ship,’ Stavv said as he coaxed one of the screens into life. ‘The database contains encrypted reports on Rutan weapons programs and experimental techniques.’

‘Break their codes. Access all data and copy it. We shall take it back to Sontar for analysis. This could be a great victory, Lieutenant Stavv.’

‘Sir.’ Stavv set to work.

Behind him, Churl was walking slowly round the shattered command dome. He paused beside a Rutan cradle. It was hanging loose and empty from its webbed mesh of nutrient pipes. A trail of green liquid splashed across the floor to the door.

‘Bring me the data as soon as you have it,’ Churl told his Lieutenant. ‘And I will hunt down and destroy the Rutan survivor.’

In full battle armour, but without his helmet, Churl picked his way through the wreckage of the farmhouse. There were two bodies – a man and a woman. The woman had been killed when the roof collapsed as the Rutan ship ploughed into the wall. But the man’s face was frozen in an expression of fear, body rigid from the electric charge that had shocked through it. A Rutan strike.

With a satisfied exhalation, Churl continued to search the wrecked rooms. From somewhere ahead of him he could hear movement. Blaster tube poised, Churl made his way silently through to the next room.

A figure was standing there. Churl recognised it from his training at once as a humanoid girl – one of their young. It had long fair hair growing from its head, and was looking around desperately, obviously frightened.

It was a distraction that Churl did not need. He raised the blaster.

Then he hesitated. There was something wrong with the human female. She looked right at him, yet gave no reaction, turning away as if he wasn’t there. Churl let out a puzzled breath – and the female turned back towards him.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’m just a girl.’

It took Churl’s translator unit a moment to analyse the speech and convert it. ‘And you are blind,’ he replied in her own language.

‘I lost my sight years ago,’ the girl said quietly, as if ashamed.

‘In battle?’

‘To illness.’

Churl snarled in contempt. ‘Then you have no honour and are of no consequence.’ He strode across to her and grabbed her hair. ‘And, with no eyesight, you cannot tell me where the Rutan coward is hiding.’ He pushed her away, and raised his blaster again.

‘The animal?’

Churl hesitated. ‘Animal? Explain.’

‘After the fire, the noise and the heat. There was an animal. I heard it.’ The girl broke off and wiped her sightless eyes. ‘It killed father, I think. He was crying for mother, and the animal …’ She shook her head. ‘I hid. I ran and hid. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t save them. You were right. I have no honour.’

In three swift strides, Churl was beside the girl again. He grabbed her arm roughly. ‘The Rutan – this animal – where is it now?’

She was shaking with fear, her voice trembling. ‘I heard it leave. A strange noise, as if it was dragging rather than walking.’

‘Where is it?!’

‘It went to the barn.’

Churl pushed the girl away from him, towards the hole ripped through the wall of the building. ‘Show me. Then perhaps I shall let you live.’

The barn was a separate small outbuilding. It was undamaged. The heavy wooden doors stood slightly open. Inside, all was dark. A perfect place for the cowardly Rutan to hide, Churl thought.

‘It went in there?’

‘I heard the door. The hinges creak when it opens. I know all the sounds of the farm.’

Churl pushed the girl aside. He raised his blaster and warily approached the barn. The Rutan might be an inferior coward, but its electric charge could still be fatal, even through full battle armour. Without his helmet, Churl felt vulnerable. But he also felt elated. He would meet his enemy face-to-face and he would defeat it.

The doors opened outwards, and Churl flung one aside. He threw a tiny pellet into the barn – a flare. The light was sudden and brilliant, but Churl shielded his eyes until it died down. Then he leaped through the doorway, swinging his blaster to cover every corner.

There was still enough light from the flare for him to see the whole building clearly. It was little more than a shed – square and open, with nowhere to hide. And it was empty.

With a snarl of rage and frustration, Churl turned back to the girl.

But she had gone.

Like the barn, the Rutan ship was empty. Churl stood in the doorway and called for Lieutenant Stavv. There was no answer.

The only sign of life was the green glow of the computer terminal that Stavv had been using. Churl scrolled through the data that Stavv had left displayed. It was a report on a new Rutan development. The ability for a Rutan to disguise itself as another creature.

Churl spun round, checking again he was alone, then he read through the report again. The Metamorphosis Technique, as it was called, was new and still experimental. It was far from perfect. The Rutan needed a genetic sample of the body it would copy – a small portion of blood or tissue would suffice.

But even then it seemed there were still problems. The Rutan could not maintain the new body shape for very long, and needed to revert to its true form to kill with its electric sting. More importantly, the shape it assumed was never perfect. In all the experiments so far, there was always a defect – a physical difference. Something not quite correct, where the copying process had not worked.

Churl walked slowly out of the wrecked Rutan ship and headed back towards the farmhouse. He wanted to know what had happened to Lieutenant Stavv, and he wanted to find the human girl whose eyes did not work…

He found Stavv first. The Sontaran lieutenant was staggering from the ruins of the farmhouse. He was trailing his left leg, limping badly. He almost collapsed when he saw Churl waiting outside the Rutan ship.

‘Sir!’ Stavv gasped. ‘The Rutan. I came to find you, to warn you. The Rutan was waiting for me in the building. It got my leg.’ He stopped a short way in front of Churl and saluted. ‘You read the report on the screen.’

Churl nodded. ‘Have you seen the human girl?’

‘She got close to me. Too close before I realised what she was. I should have realised sooner.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘I have failed, sir.’

‘Her eyesight. A physical imperfection,’ Churl said slowly. ‘The Rutan maintains its disguise so it can get close and attack. The strategy of a coward.’

‘The Rutans have no honour,’ Stavv agreed. ‘No stomach for close combat.’

‘It thinks it can fool us,’ Churl said. He drew a stubby tubular device from his belt. ‘But to defeat it we had best be on our guard.’ He aimed the device at Stavv’s leg. ‘The tissue rectifier will heal your wound. Then together we shall hunt down this craven creature.’

Stavv took a limping step backwards. ‘No, sir. I would rather bear my wounds with pride. I allowed the Rutan to get close enough to attack. Let me now destroy it as it left me. I wear my wounds as a symbol of honour and bravery.’

Churl hesitated for a moment. Then he lowered the tissue rectifier. ‘Very well.’ He was looking past Stavv, towards the barn where he had last seen the human girl. ‘You will not have long to wait until combat is joined.’

Stavv turned to watch as Churl strode past him… towards the fair-haired girl standing in front of the barn. She was holding a primitive percussion weapon. As Churl approached she struggled to keep the heavy gun aimed at him.

‘I can hear you, whatever you are,’ she said, her voice full of fear. The gun was wavering as she guessed where Churl was standing. Behind him, Churl could hear Stavv dragging his wounded leg as he approached.

‘You think you can defeat a Sontaran warrior with your primitive weapon?’ Churl demanded. ‘When you cannot even see your enemy?’ He took a step closer to her. ‘Your quarrel is surely with the creature that killed your human parents. Not with me or my lieutenant. Revenge – isn’t that what you want?’

The gun was juddering in the girl’s hands as she struggled to hold it still and point it in the direction of Churl’s voice.

Slowly Churl raised his own hand. He took aim at the girl’s head. And fired.

But it wasn’t a blaster he was holding. It was the tissue rectifier.

‘You wish to take revenge on the creature that killed your family?’ Churl said, his voice quieter and gentler now as the girl blinked in the sudden sunlight. ‘Then do so. Kill it now!’

Churl stepped aside as the girl stared back at him, horrified. Her pupils dilated and focused as her eyesight returned, her retinas rebuilt by the tissue rectifier. Churl could only imagine what she must be thinking as she watched Stavv’s brutal, powerful shape melt and dissolve into the gelatinous green blob of a Rutan. Its deadly tentacles were already reaching for Churl. He knew he could not draw his blaster, turn, aim and fire quickly enough to stop the Rutan killing him.

But the girl could. Already facing the Rutan, she brought the gun up and pulled the trigger.

Tiny pieces of lead shot from the flintlock weapon and sprayed across the Rutan, tearing into its fragile flesh.

Brushing stray lead shot from his arm, Churl turned to face his enemy. ‘Stavv would never have been bested by a blind human girl,’ he sneered. ‘You hid in the shadows outside the ship and attacked him from behind, then dragged his corpse away to take its form.’

‘We die with the honour of our race,’ the Rutan gasped as its body disintegrated.

‘Honour?’ Churl laughed. ‘You have no concept of honour. You thought Stavv would bear the scars of defeat? No – wounds should be a badge of victory, or they should be healed ready for the next battle.’ He kicked at the dead green mess now lying at his feet. ‘There is honour and glory here today, but you have neither.’

There was a metallic click from behind him, and Churl swung round. The girl was pointing the gun at him now.

Churl walked calmly towards her. ‘Such a weapon affords only one shot without complicated reloading. But you used it well. I thank you, and I ask a favour.’

‘What are you?’ the girl stammered.

‘If you find the body of my lieutenant, bury it with due ceremony. He deserves no less.’ Churl turned to go. But then he hesitated and turned back. He thumped his clenched right fist into his left shoulder. ‘I salute you. You have avenged your parents and done so with honour. To answer your question – I am a Sontaran, and I am proud of it.’

The girl watched Churl as he marched back to his scoutship. She watched the way the trees swayed in the draught from the ship’s take-off. The way it shot upwards until it was a tiny dot high above her. The way the grass was as green and the sky was as blue as she remembered. The way the tiny dot disappeared in a streak of light.

Commander Churl was going back to his war at last.

Amy’s Escapade

It was nice to have a bit of free time. Flying through time and space having adventures was all very well, but a girl needed time to do some shopping, Amy thought. And Spaceport One was just the place. On the outskirts of Dorfnan City, it was a huge leisure and shopping complex as well as a spaceport. The Doctor had told Amy and Rory that they could walk the shopping streets for days and still not get to every shop.

Strangely, Rory seemed less excited about this than Amy did. So they decided to go their separate ways and meet back at the TARDIS later. The Doctor was glad to be rid of them – and disguised it badly.

‘You off then? Don’t want to help me recalibrate the resonance filters? That’s a shame. Bye then. No need to rush back.’

So Amy left Rory looking round a shop that sold the latest electronic gadgets (boring!) and soon found herself attracted by the scrummy smells of a bakery. It looked just like a bakery in any ordinary British town or city. But through the window, as well as the shelves of loaves and buns and cakes, Amy could see a large reptilian alien serving behind the counter.

She was approaching the door when a small boy came running out and slammed into Amy. He almost sent her flying. But she managed to keep her balance and grabbed hold of him.

‘Hey, watch where you’re going.’

‘Sorry,’ the boy gasped.

He looked up at Amy, and she saw that his eyes were wide with fear. His face was drained of colour and he was shaking.

‘Are you all right?’ Amy asked.

‘I’m fine.’ He looked back at the shop nervously. ‘Please, let me go.’

There was a commotion inside the shop. The huge reptilian baker had forced his way out from behind the counter and was stomping to the door, wiping his huge claws on his apron.

‘I ain’t done nothing,’ the boy stammered. He struggled to free himself from Amy’s grip. ‘You’ve got to let me go. He’ll kill me!’

‘No he won’t,’ Amy told the boy. ‘I’m going to let go of you, but stay here.’ She turned to face the approaching reptile. ‘I’ll sort this out.’

For a moment, she thought the boy was going to run away. But he stepped back behind Amy, almost hiding behind her as the baker strode up.

The huge alien was obviously angry. He glared at the boy, and at Amy, through bloodshot eyes set deep in his scaly, leathery face. His voice was a deep growl.

‘Come here, you little thief!’

‘I’m not a thief,’ the boy protested. He pushed Amy towards the reptilian alien. ‘Tell him.’

‘What’s he supposed to have taken?’ Amy asked.

‘Doughnut,’ the baker growled.

For a second, Amy thought he was insulting her. Then she realised: ‘He took a doughnut?’ She turned to the cowering boy. ‘Did you?’

He shook his head. ‘No I didn’t. I didn’t take anything.’

‘Empty your pockets,’ Amy ordered.

The baker and Amy watched as the boy did as he was told. He produced a piece of string, a wallet with some coins in it, a battered mobile phone, keys and a sweet covered in fluff. But no doughnut.

The baker’s face contorted in what might have been a scowl. ‘He’s eaten it by now.’

‘He didn’t have time,’ Amy insisted.

‘Well, the doughnut’s gone.’

‘Someone else took it,’ the boy told him. ‘Maybe it was that man.’

‘What man?’ Amy asked.

The boy shrugged. ‘Just a man.’

‘I’m losing business standing here wasting time with you,’ the baker growled. He turned and stamped back into his shop.

‘That’s all right,’ Amy called after him. ‘Don’t you worry about apologising. The poor kid’s only frightened half to death.’

The smell of the cakes and bread didn’t seem quite so inviting after that. So Amy walked on down the street with the boy.

‘I’m Amy,’ she told him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Paulus. Thanks for helping me.’

Amy smiled. But before she could answer a woman came bustling up.

‘It’s outrageous,’ the woman said. ‘Absolutely outrageous. You should be ashamed of yourselves, upsetting that poor baker. He’s been there for years. Oh, I know he’s a Reptilodon but I’m sure they aren’t all looking for every opportunity to invade us. His doughnuts are really excellent. How dare you steal them and threaten his livelihood? He has to earn a living like the rest of us, you know.’

Paulus looked ready to burst into tears at this. But Amy glared at the woman.

‘Paulus didn’t steal anything and it’s outrageous that your friend should accuse him of a crime he didn’t commit.’

The woman bristled. ‘He’s not my friend. But if that’s your attitude I shall report you to security. I saw a Judoon officer just now. If that boy didn’t steal the doughnut, why did he run away, eh? Tell me that!’ She gave a final scowl and marched off.

‘Why did you run?’ Amy asked when the woman had gone.

‘Because of the man,’ Paulus said.

‘What man?’

‘In the room at the back of the shop. I was bored waiting in the queue. I only opened the door a little bit. There’s a room behind the shop and I thought it might be full of yummy cakes and stuff, but it wasn’t. It was just an office. But I went in. I know I shouldn’t have done.’ He looked down at his feet.

‘And the baker found you in there, did he?’ Amy asked.

‘No. There was a man in there. He was surprised to see me, and he looked a bit frightened too. I don’t think he was supposed to be there either.’

‘So you ran?’

‘He told me to run. He said it was dangerous and I should run. So I ran.’

Amy nodded. The boy had no reason to lie to her, but his story sounded odd. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can find this man and sort out what’s going on.’ She led Paulus back down the street.

But when they reached the baker’s it was closed. The door was shut and the shop was empty – apart from the alien baker who Amy could see through the window wiping down the counter.

‘He doesn’t usually close early,’ Paulus said.

‘Nip round the back,’ Amy said. ‘See if you can spot that man you saw.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to talk to our friendly baker. I’ll keep him busy while you see what’s going on, OK?’

She waited for a few minutes after Paulus had gone. He cut through a narrow alley beside the baker’s. Amy couldn’t see the baker in the shop. He must have gone through to the back room, so she knocked loudly on the door. After a moment, the baker returned.

‘You again?’ the baker said through the closed door. ‘We’re shut.’

‘Then you’d better open up again,’ Amy said. ‘Because I’m with the Galactic Health and Hygiene Agency and I’ve come to do an inspection.’

The Reptilodon didn’t look happy, but he unlocked and opened the door. ‘I’m very busy. Can’t you come back later?’

‘Maybe. If you can just answer a few simple questions. Tell me about the dough you use.’

‘Dough?’

‘As in doughnuts. Or bread. Dough – tell me about it.’

The baker glanced back towards the door at the back of the shop. He seemed nervous. Had he guessed the boy Paulus was sneaking round the back? Or was he hiding something?

Before Amy could decide which it was, the door burst open and Paulus came running out. Behind him, Amy could see more of the Reptilodon aliens – dozens of them. Far more than she would have thought could fit into the room.

‘Invasion!’ Paulus yelled as he charged through the shop.

He knocked into a rack of buns, toppling it over. The baker made a grab for the boy, but was buried under the falling buns. More of the reptiles were pushing through, hampered by the rack across the doorway. But they shoved it aside.

‘We’ve got to hold them back until security gets here,’ Paulus said.

‘Where did they come from?’ Amy demanded.

‘Transmat gateway,’ Paulus told her. ‘That’s what the man said.’

There wasn’t time to ask what man. Paulus was right, they had to stop the invasion. The Reptilodons were pushing past the fallen rack, helping the baker to his feet. The leading Reptilodon raised a large gun.

Amy didn’t have time to think. She grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at the alien invader. It was a large cake. The cake hit the Reptilodon in the face, splattering over him. With cream and jam in his eyes, he couldn’t see and the burst of gunfire went wide. The windows of the shop exploded.

‘Cake fight!’ Paulus yelled. ‘Cool!’ He started throwing doughnuts and bread rolls.

Amy was throwing anything she could find. She paused to push over another rack of cakes, then with help from Paulus she dragged the counter across the shop, blocking off the invading Reptilodons.

‘We can’t hold them back for long,’ Amy told Paulus, throwing a flan.

‘Don’t need to,’ Paulus said, lobbing a custard pie straight at the leading Reptilodon. ‘The Judoon are coming!’

Amy looked round between flinging more flans. He was right. A squadron of Judoon security officers was marching towards the shop. ‘Time to leave things to the professionals,’ Amy told Paulus.

With a final cake from Amy and a barrage of doughnuts from Paulus, they backed out of the shop and let the Judoon charge in.

The officer at the back was speaking into his communicator: ‘Reptilodon advance invasion force detected. Our informant was correct. Scan for incoming space fleet and engage.’

‘That rude woman must have sent them,’ Amy said to Paulus. ‘I’d better get back to the TARDIS – but, hey, it’s been fun!’

Amy waited long enough to be sure the Judoon had repelled the invasion. She said a quick goodbye to Paulus – who cheered as the baker was led away in claw-cuffs.

Rory was arriving back at the TARDIS at the same time as Amy. ‘You had fun?’ he asked. ‘I thought you’d have loads of shopping.’

Amy shook her head. ‘No, it was all pretty boring. What have you been up to?’

‘Oh, you know, stuff. Like you said – boring.’

‘Let’s see if the Doctor’s finished his recalibrations,’ Amy said. She opened the TARDIS door.

‘Oh, Amy?’ Rory said as they went inside.

‘Yes?’

‘Why have you got jam in your hair?’

Rory’s Adventure

It was nice to have a bit of free time. Flying through time and space having adventures was all very well, but you needed a bit of time just to relax and chill out and catch your breath, Rory thought. And Spaceport One was just the place. On the outskirts of Dorfnan City, it was a huge leisure and shopping complex as well as a spaceport. The Doctor had told Amy and Rory that they could walk the shopping streets for days and still not get to every shop.

Not that Rory was too bothered by the shops. He just fancied a break, time to sit and have coffee and a piece of cake. Amy, of course, did want to go shopping, so Rory left her to get on with it. They agreed to meet back at the TARDIS later.

Some of the shops were interesting. Rory was fascinated by the latest electronic gadgets and gizmos. But as he was looking at a display of fingertop computers, he noticed the unmistakable smell of freshly baked bread.

The smell was coming from just a few shops away. But, when Rory tracked it down, it seemed to be the back door of a bakery rather than the main entrance. Maybe he could cut through – the door was standing slightly open. Rory found himself in what seemed to be a back office. There was a desk covered in papers – bills and invoices and stock lists. He could see a door that he hoped led through to the main shop.

But between Rory and the other door a huge archway was set up. Cables ran from it to a junction box. The archway itself flickered and shimmered as if it wasn’t really there.

Rory was staring at it in fascination when the inner door opened. Quickly, Rory hid behind the desk. He peered nervously over the top, and saw a large reptilian creature enter the room. It was wearing a baker’s apron. The creature adjusted the controls on the junction box, then stood in front of the archway.

The reptilian alien’s voice was a throaty growl. ‘General Mystan – all is prepared. The power levels are now sufficient for transfer through the transmat gateway. As soon as I close the shop, you can order the fleet to attack and the invasion can begin. I have waited so long for this moment …’ The reptilian alien gave a huge sigh, then turned and stomped from the room.

An invasion didn’t sound good to Rory. He wondered if he could sabotage the transmat gateway somehow. But the controls didn’t make any sense to him. Maybe he could smash it…

‘Hello.’

Rory nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t noticed the door opening again. A boy was standing there, watching Rory. Over the boy’s shoulder, Rory could see into the shop. There were people queuing up for bread and cakes – people who would be caught in the forefront of the alien invasion.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Rory hissed at the boy.

‘Sorry.’

Behind the boy, Rory could see the baker turning. Any moment he would see the open door – and the boy and Rory.

But then the baker froze, staring at a pile of doughnuts on a shelf close to the counter.

‘There’s one missing,’ he growled angrily, his voice carrying easily to where Rory and the boy were standing. ‘Who’s stolen a doughnut?!’

The baker turned to survey the gathered customers.

‘Now’s your chance,’ Rory told the boy. He had to save him from being caught up in the invasion. ‘Get away from here – run! It’s dangerous – you have to run for it.’

The boy pulled the door shut behind him. Rory heard the shouts of the baker, and the chatter of the other customers. At least he had a few moments to try to sabotage the transmat gateway. He reached for the biggest, thickest cable and wrenched it out of the junction box.

Immediately Rory could tell this was a mistake. The transmat gateway was glowing brighter than ever. And, framed within it, an army of the reptilian creatures in full battle armour slowly manifested.

Rory ducked behind the desk again. ‘Not good,’ he murmured.

The aliens seemed confused. They looked around in surprise, more and more of them pushing through the gateway into the room.

‘It is too soon,’ one of the reptilian aliens announced. ‘For the plan to work, our attack must be coordinated with the arrival of the invasion fleet.’

There was no way that Rory could get to either door without being spotted, so he stayed hiding behind the desk. But sooner or later, he knew, one of the aliens would notice him. His only hope was causing a distraction.

The inner door opened and the baker came in again. He stared in reptilian surprise at the invaders.

‘What are you doing? General Mystan, it is too soon. I didn’t activate the transmat gateway.’

But Rory was distracted by another arrival. The back door of the shop was slowly opening. As Rory watched, the boy who had been there before slipped inside. Rory waved at him frantically to leave. But the boy saw him, and crawled past the reptilians, all now intent on listening to the baker’s report.

‘It must have been that boy,’ the baker was saying. The leading alien – General Mystan – growled angrily in response.

‘I told you to get away from here,’ Rory whispered to the boy as he joined Rory behind the desk.

‘I did,’ the boy whispered back. ‘But my friend and I wanted to know what’s going on.’

‘An invasion’s what’s going on! We need a distraction so we can get out of here and raise the alarm.’

Everyone turned – including Rory and the boy as well as the alien invaders – as they heard a hammering from the front door of the shop.

‘See who it is,’ General Mystan ordered. ‘Get rid of them.’

‘That’ll be my friend,’ the boy whispered.

‘We have to get away,’ Rory whispered back to the boy. ‘As soon as you see your chance, run for it. Again!’

Rory edged along, trying to get a better view of where the aliens were and which way they were looking. His foot caught on a cable, and he slipped and fell flat on his face. He couldn’t help crying out. At once all the aliens turned towards Rory.

He leaped to his feet and dashed towards the back door. ‘Run!’ he yelled.

With the aliens turning to follow Rory, the way to the front of the shop was clear. The boy ran at full pelt for the door into the bakery.

Distracted by the boy, the aliens turned again. They were large, bulky and awkward creatures, and this gave Rory a chance to get to the back door and dive through. He looked over his shoulder, but to his surprise the alien reptiles didn’t seem to be following.

With a sigh of relief, Rory turned – and walked straight into what looked like an enormous upright rhinoceros in the dark leather armour of a spaceport security guard. That was why the aliens hadn’t followed.

‘Category – human,’ the security guard rumbled. ‘Produce papers.’

Rory didn’t have any papers. ‘There’s an invasion,’ he blurted out. ‘These scaly alien things are invading the bakery.’ He hesitated. ‘Sorry – that sounds completely daft, doesn’t it? But there’s an invasion fleet coming, that’s what their leader said. He’s called General Mystan.’

The security guard took a step backwards. ‘Mystan? Category – Reptilodon. Designation – enemy.’ He grabbed a cylindrical communicator from his belt and spoke rapidly into it. To Rory it sounded like: ‘Bo ro go so mo la te do.’

Rory followed the guard down a side alley towards the front of the bakery. Already a dozen more of the space rhino security guards were marching towards the bakery. Rory was surprised that the invaders hadn’t already emerged and started their attack.

Then he saw the boy through the bakery window. He was throwing bread and cakes and pushing over shelves to slow the attackers’ advance. There was someone else with him, helping to drag the counter across the shop and block the alien advance. But Rory couldn’t see them properly.

‘Oh, good one!’ Rory said. He was about to run to help when a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

‘You stay,’ the security guard commanded. ‘Check papers later.’

‘Oh, er, right.’

As soon as the security guard joined its colleagues and marched into the bakery, Rory ran the other way. He didn’t stop running until he reached the TARDIS. He might have prevented an alien invasion, and he was sorry not to say goodbye to the boy he’d met, but he didn’t fancy having to explain why he didn’t have the right papers or identification.

Rory had just got his breath back when Amy arrived. Rory was surprised she wasn’t laden down with shopping, but she said she’d found the spaceport boring. He wondered how she had got jam in her hair, but she didn’t seem keen to tell him.

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor was leaning against the console. ‘Ah, there you are. Good – all finished now and ready to go. Amy, you’ve got jam in your hair.’

‘It has been mentioned,’ she told him.

‘And, Rory – you look like you’ve had a run in with a Judoon. But then you always look like that.’

Rory wasn’t listening. ‘What are you eating?’ he demanded.

‘What, this?’ The Doctor held it up for them to see. ‘Oh, I got finished early and felt a bit peckish so I just popped out for a doughnut.’ He shoved the rest of the doughnut in his mouth and pulled a lever. ‘Now,’ the Doctor said indistinctly, through a mouthful of jam and cream, ‘let’s go somewhere more exciting this time, shall we?’

The Fifty-year Delay

Ryan Goodman was running late for work again.

On a cold November morning, he rushed into the Underground station, dashed through the ticket barrier and down on to a slow-moving escalator that lead to the southbound platform of the Northern Line.

When he arrived on the platform – hot and out of breath – he realised he was the only person waiting for a train. It was eerily quiet. Ryan looked up at the display that tells you how long you have to wait.

Kennington via Charing Cross – 50 years.

Very funny, he thought, as he stared into the dark tunnel at the end of the platform.

Suddenly, there was a blast of air from nowhere. It blew a discarded newspaper on to the tracks. Ryan presumed it was the train. But, although there was a noise of something and a draught from somewhere, no train appeared.

Instead, a large blue box with windows on each side and a flashing light on top materialised noisily in the middle of the platform. Ryan stared open-mouthed at the blue box as everything went quiet and the light stopped flashing.

A door flew inwards, and a man in a bow tie and smart jacket came thundering out.

‘Stay behind the yellow line,’ he shouted.

He didn’t look like he worked for Transport for London but, nevertheless, he had an air of authority about him. Ryan obediently stayed behind the yellow line painted on the edge of the platform.

‘How did you do that?’ asked Ryan. ‘You know, with your box? Do you work for the police?’

‘The short answer is no.’

Ryan stared at the man.

‘So… what about the long answer?’

A roaring sound came from somewhere in the southbound tunnel. It didn’t sound like a train.

‘An ancient time bird is a bit lost and I’m trying to help her! She’s causing all sorts of naughtiness and time disruptions. We’re actually fifty years in your future.’

‘Really? I mean… what?’

The roaring sound was getting louder.

‘Yes, really. And we can sort it. Are you ready?’ said the man.

Before he could answer, Ryan watched as a huge brightly coloured bird flew out of the tunnel. It shimmered and looked as if it was on fire. The creature seemed to fade in and out of existence as it looped over their heads and up and down the tracks. It was beautiful.

And then there was another sound. One that Ryan heard almost daily. The sound of a tube train thundering through tunnels…

‘There’s a train coming!’ cried Ryan.

‘It’s OK – she’s spotted the TARDIS.’

Time slowed down. A tube train appeared at the mouth of the tunnel and Ryan watched as the bird flew out of its way, missing it by a split second. He tried to shout at the man… but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth quickly enough. In slow motion, the strange man and Ryan ran towards the bird.

The bird turned sharply and started flying towards the two men. It flew over their heads and through one of the doors of the blue box.

The ground started shaking as time sped up again.

‘Everything’s resetting. She knows she’s safe now.’

Ryan watched as the tube train disappeared before it reached the end of the platform. The ground stopped shaking and suddenly the platform was filled with people. None of them took any interest in the large blue box or the man standing next to it.

Ryan looked up at the board.

Kennington via Charing Cross – 1 min.

‘Everything’s back to normal thanks to us. Slight delay on the Central Line, but what’s new?’ said the man from the box.

‘But, what just happened?’

‘We just saved an ancient time bird. I’d better get her home though… thank you for your help.’

A tube train rumbled out of the tunnel. Ryan watched as the man went back inside the blue box and shut the door. As people on the platform pushed on to the train, only Ryan noticed as the light on top of the box starting flashing and it slowly disappeared.

Birth of a Legend

Firelight flickered across the bronze dome of the Dalek Commander. Explosions were reflected on its burnished casing as it surveyed the scene below. The entire power complex was on fire – a massive city on stilts high above the jungle, and the source for the power that controlled all Mechonoid operations on Magella. This was the final stronghold of the Mechonoid resistance.

In the skies above the burning complex, a massive space saucer waited in geostationary orbit, its scanners recording every moment of the battle below. It recorded the Dalek units moving through the buildings, the robotic life signs of the Mechonoids – winking out one by one – and the exact points of fire and explosion, detonation and death. The information would be analysed and any useful conclusions fed back into the Dalek battle computers for future campaigns.

The Dalek Commander could have stayed on the saucer, plugged directly into the Military Computer and absorbing every tiny piece of data as it came in. But the Commander of the Seventh Incursion Squad preferred to watch from close by. It believed it could react more quickly to changes on the battlefront if it could observe them close up and at first hand. With three other Daleks, it was on a ridge halfway up the mountain that overshadowed the mighty city, looking down at the devastation.

Smoke drifted across the valley and the Daleks watching switched frequencies on their visual scanners to see through it. Their listening scanners picked up and monitored the sounds of the explosions, the robotic croaks of the retreating Mechonoids, the constant cry of ‘Exterminate!’

The Commander watched as a Dalek appeared out of the fires below. It rose majestically towards the vantage point where the Commander was keeping watch. The Dalek’s casing was scarred and scorched from Mechonoid flame guns, but intact.

‘Report,’ ordered the Commander as the Dalek arrived.

‘Unit Nine reports that Mechonoids are regrouping in the main reactor area. They may be preparing to mount a counter-offensive against Dalek forces.’

Another Dalek glided forward from the small group gathered behind the Commander. ‘Main Saucer confirms Unit Nine’s analysis. Military Computer has determined the best strategy is to advance all units immediately into reactor area.’

The Commander’s dome swung round and its eye stalk fixed on the Dalek that had spoken. ‘Have scanners checked for plasmic activity?’

‘Negative. Mechonoids would not deploy plasmic explosives so close to their main reactors.’

The Commander’s eye stalk did not waver. ‘Check for deployment of plasmic explosives. The Mechonoids may be preparing to destroy the reactors completely and destroy all Dalek forces within the main city complex.’

‘Plasmic signature detected,’ the reporting Dalek confirmed. ‘The Mechonoids will detonate.’ Its voice rose in pitch as it received further data. ‘Priming sequence has begun. Detonation will follow in approximately fifty rels.’

The commander turned back to the Dalek hovering in front of them, the Daleks from the battleground below. ‘Order all Dalek units to disengage and retreat to outer city perimeter. Move!’ The Dalek zoomed off, back into the smoke and fire and death.

‘Analsysis suggests total area of devastation will extend beyond the city and destroy all Dalek forces currently operating on Magella,’ the Dalek in touch with the saucer reported. ‘Detonation in forty rels.’

The Commander turned. ‘Order space saucer to target main reactors with thronic missiles. Fire in thirty rels.’

‘I obey.’

‘Should we evacuate?’ another Dalek asked. The Commander did not reply.

Far below, Daleks were emerging from the burning buildings and regrouping round the edge of the city. Where there had once been a heavily fortified security wall, now only a blackened, ragged edge marked where the wall and gun emplacements had been.

Two beams of light streaked down through the sky and focused on the main reactor building standing almost intact in the middle of the devastation. The thronic aura beam would act as a guide for the missiles that were already on their way.

Moments later, the main reactor building exploded in a crimson flower of flame. The whole city shook, the heart torn out of it. A gaping, smoking hole lay in the centre of the city complex. But the structure round the edges remained intact.

‘Thronic missiles enhanced and focused plasmic detonation,’ the Dalek Commander observed above the rumble of continuing explosions. ‘Reactors have been completely vaporised and blast damage is minimal.’

‘Battlefield Commander reports no loss to Dalek forces. All Mechonoids now exterminated.’

The Commander swung round. If there was a trace of satisfaction in its voice, it was almost impossible to detect. ‘The Mechonoids gave us the means to destroy them. Dalek strategy remains supreme. The Daleks will conquer the universe!’

‘Data from Military Computers has been relayed to Dalek Central Control,’ a Dalek reported to the Commander. ‘You are ordered to report to Skaro immediately.’

‘All Daleks return to ship,’ the Commander ordered. ‘Compute a course to Skaro.’

‘Negative. Seventh Incursion Squad is ordered to complete operations here.’ The Dalek glided forward, its eye stalk level with its Commander’s. ‘I will assume command of all operations on this planet. The order to return to Skaro has the Emperor’s ident codes, and relates only to you.’

The enormous throne room at the centre of the Dalek City on Skaro echoed with the heartbeat-like throb of Dalek systems. The room was so big it didn’t seem to have walls – just shadows where the light ran out and darkness took over.

A black-domed Imperial Guard led the Commander to the centre of the room, where three other Daleks were already waiting. The Commander quickly scanned their identification codes. One of them was the Commandant of Station Alpha – the most secret Dalek research facility. The second was an Attack Squad Leader in the Thirtieth Assault Group. The third Dalek was Force Leader of the Outer Rim Defensive Batallion.

All four Daleks were dwarfed by the enormous shape of the Emperor itself. A massive eye stalk swung across as the Emperor examined the Daleks brought before it. Black-domed Imperial Guard Daleks withdrew into the shadows.

The Emperor’s voice was like a hundred Daleks all speaking at once, echoing around the chamber as it addressed them. ‘You have been called here for a purpose. Your mission is vital to the survival of our race. I put the future of the Daleks in your control.’

‘You are our Emperor,’ the Commander replied. ‘We exist to serve. We have the capacity to execute any orders we are given.’

‘More than that!’ the Emperor said. ‘You four have demonstrated abilities above and beyond the simple execution of orders. You have been successful in every endeavour. You have used –’ The Emperor paused, before finishing – ‘initiative.’

All four Daleks eyestalks dipped slightly, before the Emperor continued, ‘And that is good.’

The Commander’s dome turned as it surveyed the other three Daleks. They seemed equally puzzled, looking at each other, then back at the Emperor.

‘It is not the Dalek way to question,’ the Emperor intoned. ‘Yet I do question.’ Its eyestalk swung to look at each of the four Daleks in turn. ‘Our strategy computers and assessment engines predict that there is a war coming. An ancient Enemy that may be a match even for the Daleks.’

‘No one can oppose the Daleks,’ the Force Leader rasped.

‘Silence!’ the Emperor commanded. ‘The war will come. It will rage throughout all time and all space. It will take our every resource, our every stratagem, just to survive.’

‘Daleks should be victorious,’ the Commander said.

‘Agreed. But, to be sure of victory, we must employ new methods. We must question what it is to be Dalek.’

‘No enemy can be so dangerous,’ the Dalek from Station Alpha said. ‘Unless –’ It’s voice stopped abruptly, dome lights dimmed.

The unspoken name of the great enemy hung in the chamber.

‘What must we do?’ the Commander asked at last.

‘You four have been brought here to form a new weapon. You are that weapon. You will be reconditioned to allow you to think as no Dalek has ever been able to think. You will think like the enemy. You will become like the enemy. You will dare to plan and act in ways that no other Dalek would countenance. Even your Emperor.’ The lights seemed to dim in the room as the Emperor spoke. ‘You will be the Cult of Skaro.’

‘The Cult of Skaro,’ the Daleks intoned in unison.

‘You will be our greatest weapon,’ the Emperor went on. ‘And you will be our greatest secret. A legend, a myth, a rumour to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. And to demonstrate how far the Daleks will go for victory, you will have names.’

Despite itself, the Commander moved backwards in surprise and trepidation.

The Emperor’s eye took in each Dalek in turn. ‘You will be Thay. You are Caan. You are Dalek Jast …’ The eye stopped at last at the Commander. ‘You will lead the Cult of Skaro,’ the Emperor said, ‘as Dalek Sec. And you will all be enhanced and improved. No Daleks have ever been more powerful, or more vital to our survival. Go now, and begin the great task.’

The four Daleks swept out, black-domed Imperial Guards leading them to the Weapons Factory where they would be fitted with the latest armour and weaponry.

Dalek Sec was led through to a special experimental laboratory at the back of the Weapons Factory.

‘The Emperor has ordered that you be given a new casing,’ a Dalek scientist explained. ‘We have it prepared. Unseal your casing.’

The bronzed shell that protected Dalek Sec split open down the front, panels swinging away to reveal the grotesque Dalek creature inside. Slowly, gently – almost reverently – the creature was lifted out of the casing. A new casing of highly polished black metal was moved into position and the creature placed inside. With a hiss of powerful hydraulics, the new casing swung shut.

‘This casing is made from an enhanced form of Dalekanium, called Metalert,’ the scientist explained.

Sec swung slowly round, checking the movement and sensor capabilities of the new casing.

‘How is Metalert better than Dalekanium?’ Sec demanded. ‘Why are not all Daleks made from Metalert?’

‘The casing is infused with very rare materials,’ the scientist said. ‘It is reinforced with flidor gold and sap from the extinct Arkellis flower. You are a Dalek like no other.’

Dalek Sec did not answer. It knew the scientist was right. Sec glided majestically from the Weapons Factory, three other Daleks – Thay, Caan and Jast – moving into position behind it. Together they headed for a new section of the Dalek City.

A special area where no other Daleks would ever go.

The place where they would begin their awesome mission: the secret Strategy Chambers of the Cult of Skaro.

Lorna’s Escape

The explosion ripped the sky apart.

Lorna Bucket looked up in time to see a spaceship engulfed in flames, thick black smoke billowing from its screaming engines as it spiralled downwards.

‘Oh my God! What’s that?’ Lorna’s friend Stefan had stopped playing in the river and was craning his neck to see above the line of trees.

Lorna shook her head in disbelief. ‘Must be an accident,’ she breathed, as shards of burning metal rained down on to the forest canopy below, lighting a hundred tiny fires. ‘We’ve got to get back and tell the others!’

Then she saw it. A massive, scaly creature tumbling away from the plummeting wreck, its vast wings beating wildly as it somehow escaped the inferno. A triumphant cry burst from its massive jaws, making Lorna’s heart stop. ‘It’s seen us!’ she yelled. ‘It’s coming straight for us. We’ve got to get out of here!’

Suddenly Lorna sensed a movement behind her and she spun round. She gasped at the sight of a tall stranger towering over her. Hand outstretched, he crouched down next to her, his wide eyes boring into hers. ‘Run!’

Lorna had no idea why, but somehow she knew she could trust the stranger. She took his hand and found herself hurtling towards the shelter of the forest, Stefan scrabbling after her.

Twigs and thorns tore at Lorna’s bare legs as she stumbled through the undergrowth; she struggled to keep up with the stranger’s lightning pace. ‘Run, run, RUN!’ he yelled.

‘Lorna!’ Stefan’s scream made her glance back. Horrified, she saw that her friend had tripped and fallen over. In the same instant, the beast came crashing through the forest, its leathery wings spread wide as it hurtled towards them.

It would be on Stefan in seconds.

‘I’ve got to help him,’ yelled Lorna. She broke free of the man’s grasp and dashed back to her friend. Grabbing Stefan’s arms, she quickly dragged him out of the creature’s path. She glanced up – the beast’s angry golden eyes burned fiercer than the blazing wreckage of the spacecraft. With a massive effort, she yanked Stefan clear, just as the monster went thundering past.

‘It’s OK, we’re safe,’ gasped Stefan, tending to his bruised leg. ‘It only wanted him.’

Lorna shook her head. ‘No, I think he drew it off to save us. But who is he? And what is that thing?’

Stefan shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I’m just glad it left us alone.’

Lorna looked at him. ‘You stay here then, I’ll be as quick as I can, OK?’

‘Lorna, don’t be stupid, you’ll never –’

But Stefan’s words were lost in the rustle of bushes as Lorna sped off after the creature – and the stranger. She soon heard shouts up ahead. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like he was yelling at others, telling them to get out of the way.

Moments later, she came to a clearing and with a surge of relief she saw her father, along with a group of men from the village. ‘Dad!’ Lorna ran to him and threw her arms round his waist.

‘Lorna, thank God! I thought we’d lost you.’

‘There was a man in a green coat,’ she panted. ‘He must have come this way …’

‘You mean the Doctor?’

Lorna frowned. ‘Who’s that?’

Her father led her to the edge of the clearing where the ground dropped steeply away. Lorna gasped at the scene in the hollow beyond. The creature was circling the Doctor, lashing out at him with scythe-like talons, the Doctor defending himself with what looked like a small metal shield.

Lorna noticed two villagers creeping up behind the beast, their swords at the ready. But, with a sudden flick of its mighty tail, the creature sent the men flailing into the air, their screams of terror cut short as their bodies slammed into the ground.

Hands clammy with sweat, Lorna watched as the Doctor tried desperately to attach a long cable to the shield, shouting and yelling as he dodged from side to side, ducking the creature’s savage blows. Then suddenly an impossibly bright light spilled out of the shield and the Doctor let out a cry of triumph. The light engulfed the snarling monster, its writhing body glowing brighter than the sun.

Then it simply vanished.

As the villagers gasped and cheered, the stranger quickly gathered up his equipment and darted into a blue box that was half hidden in the surrounding trees. The Doctor paused in the doorway, glanced in Lorna’s direction and gave the briefest of smiles. Then he slammed the door shut. With a strange grinding noise, the blue box disappeared, and silence descended on the forest once more.

In the weeks that followed, life carried on much as before, but wherever she went Lorna overheard people telling stories about the mysterious visitor and his strange wooden box.

Some claimed the Doctor must have possessed magical powers to vanquish such a terrifying beast. Others, with more imagination still, insisted the Doctor was the saviour of the Gamma Forest – that he had followed the spaceship from another world, somehow knowing that a dangerous predator would escape.

But, whoever the mysterious Doctor was, one thing was clear in Lorna’s mind: she knew that whatever she did, and whoever she grew up to be, one day she would have to meet the Doctor again – the mightiest warrior her world had ever known.

Going Off the Rails

‘It’s finished,’ Sam told Harry during break. Harry knew she’d wanted to tell him something all morning. But Miss Findle had made sure they were on different tables because they talked and mucked about.

Harry knew at once what Sam was talking about. ‘When can I come and see it?’ he asked.

Harry’s mum was happy for him to go round to Sam’s after school. She stood at the door until she saw Harry go inside Sam’s house. Sam’s mum said hello to Harry, but he wasn’t listening. He and Sam were already running upstairs to the loft.

‘Wow!’ Harry said as soon as he went into the big room with its sloping walls.

‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ Sam said.

‘It’s brilliant.’

Sam’s dad had finally finished the train set he’d been building for years. It filled the whole room. There were loads of tracks running through a miniature landscape. There was a town, hills and fields, bridges and hedges. Little cows and sheep stood in the little fields, and tiny cars and lorries were on the narrow roads and lanes.

And through it all the trains ran – old-fashioned steam trains. The children played and played until it was dark and Sam’s mum had to walk back with Harry and say sorry to his mum for keeping him so long.

‘Oh it’s all right,’ Harry’s mum said with a laugh. ‘His dad’s not back from the new job yet.’

‘When’s Dad going to finish our train set?’ Harry asked.

‘One day,’ his mum said. But Harry could tell she didn’t really believe that.

‘He’s never going to get it finished,’ Harry complained to Sam the next day at school. ‘We got our set the same day your dad got yours, remember?’

‘Why don’t we finish it then?’ Sam said.

‘There’s lots to do still,’ Harry warned her. But it was a brilliant idea.

‘We need to start right away then,’ Sam told him. ‘I’ll come round after school today.’

Harry’s dad had set up the trains in the garage. It was a much smaller layout than Sam’s, and it was hardly even started. Not all the track was laid out and none of it was fixed down on the big board that stood on old packing cases and took up one end of the garage.

‘There’s not much room to work,’ Sam complained. ‘What’s all this stuff?’

Alongside the train board was a heap of stuff Harry’s dad had brought home when his job finished and he had to move to another factory.

‘I think it’s just junk,’ Harry said. ‘There was some sort of trouble at the factory. It closed down and the police and the army came.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, Dad said it was a shame all that work would be wasted and he brought this stuff out.’

Sam was looking through the pile of metal and plastic. ‘Hey look,’ she said. ‘I think this is a head. A metal head.’

It was stained and dented, but it was certainly a head. It was strange, with blank, staring eyes and rods coming out of where the ears should be, that connected to the top of the head. It was big and heavy, and, when Sam put it down on the edge of the train board, Harry thought the blank face was watching him as he tested a steam train on the loop of track.

The train was hesitant and jerked as it moved. But it ran round the loop, then into a siding. The track just stopped at the end of the siding, and the train came off the end. Sam laughed. ‘You need to clean the rails – they’re dusty,’ she said.

Then she went back to looking through the pile of junk. Sam liked making things, she always had. Now she was pulling out bits and pieces from the pile and stacking them on the edge of the board.

‘I thought we were getting the train set finished,’ Harry said.

‘In a minute. Look.’ Sam held up a metal hand, complete with jointed silver fingers. ‘I think there’s a whole metal man here. Metal and plastic.’ She held up a long, jointed arm. It looked very heavy and she could only just lift it.

Harry put down the train and helped Sam. In the middle of the pile, they found the metal man’s body, with both legs and one arm still attached. Sam pushed the hand on to the end of the wrist, and it clicked into place. ‘Let’s put him back together,’ she said.

The other pieces clicked back into place easily too. Soon they had a complete figure. Between them they managed to drag the heavy metal man to an old chair, and pushed it into a sitting position. Sam picked up the head and perched it on top of the neck.

‘It’s huge,’ Harry said.

‘He can watch us do the trains,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll have to think of a good name for him.’

They worked on the train set for a long time. Sam got several of the engines working and soon they were whizzing round the track. Harry found that, by turning the dial that sent power to the trains, he could make them go really fast.

Sam was planning where to put hills and a tunnel when the metal man suddenly stood up. With a clanking, whirring sound it pulled itself to its feet. Sam and Harry stared in astonishment, and the metal head turned to look at them.

The metal man’s voice was a mechanical rasp. ‘I am complete,’ it said, and its mouth glowed as it spoke. ‘All systems re-linked and repaired. Two young humans detected.’ It looked at them through its deep, dark, empty eyes. ‘They will be upgraded.’

‘What are you?’ Harry said. He was frightened and his voice was trembling as much as the rest of him.

‘Did we make you?’ Sam asked. She sounded afraid too, but proud at the same time.

‘You initiated self-repair systems. I am a Cyberman.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Harry said quietly to Sam. ‘How do we turn it off?’

The Cyberman was still watching them. ‘Like or dislike is unimportant,’ it said. ‘I cannot be turned off. I will survive. You will stay here to be upgraded.’

‘What do you mean, upgraded?’ Sam asked nervously. ‘We’re not machines.’

The Cyberman’s head turned slightly so it was looking straight at her. ‘You will be.’

The Cyberman was between the children and the door of the garage. They would have to get past it to escape.

‘My dad will be home soon,’ Harry said bravely. ‘He’ll come looking for us.’

‘Then he will also be upgraded,’ the Cyberman said. There was no feeling or variation in its voice. It was just flat and mechanical, and chilling. ‘Try to leave, and I will disable you.’ It turned to examine the other things Harry’s dad had brought home from the factory. ‘Do you understand electronics?’

‘I do,’ Sam said. ‘A bit.’

‘Not me,’ Harry confessed. ‘It will be time for tea soon. We have to go.’

The Cyberman pointed at Harry. ‘You will remain where you are.’ Then it pointed at Sam. ‘You will help to build the upgrade equipment. Come here.’

Sam looked at Harry, but they both knew she had no choice. She had to help the Cyberman.

Harry felt so useless as he watched. The Cyberman was giving Sam things from the pile of stuff – electronics and meters and dials and cables. It was telling Sam which pieces to fit together. Every now and then Sam looked over at Harry, and every time she did she looked more scared.

Eventually Sam and the Cyberman had built a large piece of strange-looking equipment. The Cyberman connected it to a power socket in the wall, and the whole thing throbbed with power.

‘Is it dangerous?’ Harry asked. He was fiddling with one of the toy steam engines. It was quite a chunky design and very heavy for its size. He set it down on the track.

‘There’s a lot of power being generated. Touch the wrong bit and boom!’ Sam clapped her hands together and whooshed them out into an explosion. ‘There are lots of exposed wires.’

‘It will suffice,’ the Cyberman said. ‘Now you will be upgraded.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Sam asked, backing away towards the train board as the Cyberman reached out for her.

‘I will electrify your brain and burn out your resistance and emotions. Replacement of your body parts will follow when components are available.’

Harry was nervously turning the dial on the control box for the train set. The steam engine started slowly round the track. As he watched it, and tried not to think about what the Cyberman was saying and what was going to happen to him and Sam, Harry had an idea. He reached over and changed the points.

The Cyberman had almost reached Sam. She was shaking her head and Harry could see the tears in her eyes. He could see her frightened face reflected in the chest of the Cyberman. He hoped his plan would work, but the Cyberman was in the wrong place. The train gathered speed as Harry turned the control dial further.

‘Are you coming for tea?’

The voice was calling from outside the door. Harry’s mum was outside – about to come in. But if she did the Cyberman would surely get her.

At the sound of Harry’s mum’s voice, the Cyberman paused. It turned slightly. As it did, Harry managed to catch Sam’s eye, and he saw that his friend understood what he was doing. ‘Now!’ Harry shouted.

Sam pushed the Cyberman as hard as she could. The Cyberman took a step sideways. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough. Harry twisted the control dial as far as it would go.

The Cyberman turned to face Harry, as if guessing he had a plan. Or perhaps it had heard the train picking up speed. Perhaps it had seen the heavy metal steam engine hurtling along the siding, towards where the track ended.

The train shot off the end of the siding and across the board. The Cybermen turned for Sam again. The handle of the garage door started to turn.

The heavy metal engine flew off the end of the board. It smashed into the Cyberman’s chest just as it was reaching to catch Sam. It was off balance, and the impact of the train hitting it was enough to make the Cyberman stagger back…

And into the humming equipment. The Cyberman’s hand went right into the middle of the wires and machinery. Sparks spat across it. Blue fire surrounded the Cyberman’s arm like lightning. For a moment it stood upright and still as Harry grabbed Sam’s hand and they ran for the door.

As they ran past, the Cyberman staggered again, right into the sparking machinery. It seemed to collapse into it. The equipment fell apart and a sheet of flame shot across the garage, accompanied by the roar of an explosion. Smoke drifted through the air.

‘What are you up to?’ Harry’s mum asked from the doorway. ‘I hope you haven’t broken anything.’

Harry looked at Sam, and she grinned back at him. ‘I hope we have,’ he said quietly.

Behind them, the blistered, scorched head of the Cyberman fell from its shattered body and crashed lifelessly to the floor.

Normality

‘What is it?’ Clara leaned further out into space and closed her eyes momentarily, trying to catch her breath. She could never quite shake the feeling that the TARDIS field might switch off and she’d be swept out of the door and off into space.

Clara remembered her dad taking her on a trip to a tower block near Southport with a restaurant at the top when she was about nine years old. The restaurant had been ringed with a solid glass floor that brave people could go out and stand on, despite the sheer drop to – well, to pretty much certain death below.

‘Don’t worry, love. It’s safe as houses,’ Dad had said. Where did that expression come from? How were houses safe? They could be knocked down, flooded, felled by earthquakes, set on fire, taken to Oz by tornadoes… On the whole, houses were pretty unsafe, nine-year-old Clara had reasoned. She had gingerly stepped on to the glass floor, convinced her arrival would be the final straw and the whole thing would shatter and give way.

Of course, it had been fine, although Clara hadn’t been keen on looking straight down. Nor was she much keener when two lads from the next table started jumping up and down on the glass, yelling that they were trying to break it.

Dad had dragged Clara back inside the restaurant when she started yelling at the two boys in language that Dad later said did not suit young ladies.

Since then, Clara had never been comfortable with heights, or indeed glass floors. So standing on tippy-toes in the TARDIS doorway, leaning out into space – which had no real up or down feeling – was both nauseating and exhilarating. She had done it a number of times now and was pretty confident she wasn’t going to let go of the door frame and fall out or anything. She was less convinced that the TARDIS wouldn’t twist or dematerialise or invert itself, but that was a leap of faith Clara simply had to take.

That was what she was doing right now. Beneath her was, well… space. Nebulas, stars, planets, a couple of spiral galaxies in the distance. Above her, the same. And, directly in front, a giant creature, shaped like a huge jellybean – a soft and slightly wet jellybean with suckers all over its body. Tiny hands (or maybe feet) lined its body on either side and at the top (or was it the bottom?) was something that may have been a head. It had no recognisable face, just a large sucker in the middle where a mouth probably ought to have been.

Clara wasn’t sure if she found it interesting or just disgusting. She decided that if the Doctor asked, she’d go for ‘interesting’; she was really thinking ‘disgusting’.

‘That,’ the Doctor said, ‘is a Tonnchenform.’ His head popped into Clara’s peripheral vision, as she focused on looking at the creature rather than looking down, which seemed the lesser of two evils. The Doctor poked his head out further, followed by his body, until he was hanging out of the TARDIS’s doorway and holding on with just one hand. ‘On your world you have similar things,’ he added.

Clara thought about this. ‘I’m pretty sure we don’t, you know. I think I – and a few billion other people – might have noticed one of those!’

‘Tardigrades,’ the Doctor said simply, as if that explained it all.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘Tardigrades. They’re microscopic on Earth.’ He swivelled Clara back round to face the TARDIS’s interior. He pointed at the central glass column, which pulsated with its familiar bright light. ‘Quickly,’ said the Doctor. ‘Stare at the TARDIS’s column for ten seconds, then shut your eyes, count to five and open them again. Tell me what you see …’

Clara did so.

‘See?’

Clara frowned. ‘All I can see are those tiny little things that float in front of your eyes when you look at a bright light. That’s just fluid in your eyes being reflected back or something. Isn’t it?’

‘Oh, you humans can be so dull, so factual. You’re missing the point again.’ The Doctor smiled. ‘What you are seeing are microscopic creatures – a rare chance for the naked human eye to register something that small. Amongst the things that live all over your world, there are microscopic creatures like these living in the air, in the water – things that can survive the coldest temperatures and live almost forever.’

Clara let that sink in. ‘So… that thing out there… ?’

The Doctor nodded and directed her view back into space, and the creature still lolling about. ‘Just imagine being a being big enough that this being is a microscopic being to you!’

Clara smiled and nodded. ‘That would be… big.’

‘Big. The Tonnchenform is very rare,’ the Doctor said, running a hand through his unruly mop of hair. ‘You only ever see one in the wild once in a lifetime. Unless, like me, you have lots of lifetimes.’

‘How many times have you seen one?’

The Doctor thought about this. ‘Before today? Never. And I’ve looked. Oh, I’ve looked – but this? This is magnificent.’

As if it could hear his excitement, the Tonnchenform rolled over slightly, its sucker-face-thing pointing directly at Clara. Her eyes widened.

‘Is it hostile?’

‘That?’ The Doctor was incredulous. ‘Hostile? Why would it be hostile? It’s adorable.’

‘It looks like it’s sizing me up. For dinner maybe.’

The Doctor laughed. ‘All it eats are the bits of flotsam and jetsam that float through the cosmos.’

‘Yes, Doctor, but look at the size of it. And look at the size of us. Of me! I’m pretty certain that we might look exactly like tasty morsels of flotsam or jetsam.’

The Doctor seemed to contemplate this. ‘Which would you prefer to be? Flotsam or jetsam?’ he asked.

‘How about neither? I want to be referred to as “flotsam and jetsam” only marginally more than I want to be referred to as “dinner”!’

The Doctor gave her a look that seemed to imply he genuinely hadn’t considered this, then shrugged. ‘Okay. Yes, well, I can see how that might be.’

And he darted back inside the TARDIS. With a sigh, Clara followed, carefully pulling the door closed behind her – just in case the creature outside tried to join them.

The Doctor was flicking switches on the TARDIS’s console, pulling levers and frowning as if he was concentrating, but Clara knew the signs. This was all an act. The Doctor wasn’t actually doing anything, just thinking and trying to look busy. She folded her arms and waited. After a few moments, the Doctor looked at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

Clara smiled. ‘You tell me. You’re the one putting on a show, but I’m sure there’s a reason for it.’

The Doctor pushed the monitor screen towards her. Clara looked up at it, hoping that whatever was on it would make sense. About two in every ten times, it did. Usually the Doctor would be showing her a planet, or alien words, or once a picture of himself having dinner with Marilyn Monroe.

Today the screen showed the Tonnchenform outside.

‘Is that meant to make me feel safer? I still reckon we look like a tasty snack to it.’

The Doctor put his hands up to his bow tie and then, with an exaggerated twist and a slight jerk of his head, he smiled. ‘You are so wrong, Clara Oswald.’ He nodded back at the screen. ‘That is an amazing life form you see. The universe – how big is it?’

Clara raised an eyebrow. She knew the Doctor’s preferred answer to that question.

‘Big. Really, really big.’

He grinned. ‘Ooh, you’ve been listening to me. Not used to that.’ He almost danced across the room as he sidled up beside her, pointing at the Tonnchenform. ‘It’s billions and billions of really bigs. And, everywhere you go, the Tonnchenform are there. But because the space between there and there –’ he pointed at tiny specks on the screen that Clara knew were actually massive galaxies – ‘is so very vast, you never see them. Rare, like I said before. But they are out there, swarming along like great caravans of life. Just like the trillions of microscopic ones that float on your planet, billions of macroscopic ones are out there. Each one of them beautiful and unique. And, like so many millions of things out here, we just never see them – we’re always missing them because we’re off fighting Daleks or Cybermen or eating dinner and stuff.’ He punched the TARDIS’s console, causing the craft to groan in annoyance, and Clara realised they were dematerialising.

‘Where are we going?’

The Doctor smiled and put his finger to his lips. ‘It’s a surprise’.

And it was. It was an adventure that involved dinner with alien robots, a small jewel-encrusted seashell stolen by a man called Bozzi the Mysterio, and a chase across the snowscapes of Halas Four. Clara soon forgot about the weird-looking creature floating out in space – forgot all about microscopic life forms, flotsam, jetsam and so on. Travelling with the Doctor was so exhilarating and frenetic, it was easy to let the memory slip away.

Clara stood in front of her class at Coal Hill School. It was raining, and in the corridor outside the classroom she could hear the tink-tink-tink of water seeping through a leaking roof and dripping into a tin bucket that Atif, the caretaker, had placed there.

She hadn’t been at Coal Hill for very long and still wasn’t quite sure how she’d got the job. She was newly qualified and all her time away with the Doctor had sort of got in the way of her studying. Yet Clara had returned to the home she shared with the Maitlands to find an offer to join Coal Hill School as an English teacher.

The Maitland kids, with their usual subtlety, had suggested that maybe the Doctor fixed it, in their words, ‘because you love him and he loves yoooou’. After pointing out, for the eighty-seventh time, that both those statements were untrue, Clara had conceded it might be plausible that the Doctor had helped to get her the job – but she chose to think she’d got it based on her own merit too.

And she had made a difficult decision. She had said goodbye to the Doctor. To the TARDIS. Oh, she knew he’d turn up again some day, waving his sonic screwdriver, playing with a fez or something else equally eccentric. But she had made it clear to him: she needed some time out – a chance to live a normal life, amongst normal people.

Normal – like yesterday, when Ben Ellison from Year Six had thrown a water balloon at Kelly Squires as she walked across the schoolyard. It had been naughty, of course, and utterly unacceptable – but still very normal.

Unlike running away from Ice Warriors with the Doctor. Unlike outwitting sentient computers. Unlike thinking that she might not live another day.

‘I want to be normal,’ she had said.

Momentarily, the Doctor had looked hurt, as if ‘normal’ was the worst insult in the world. Then he’d agreed and started doing his weird dance round the TARDIS’s console pressing buttons thing again. Clara knew that the only button that mattered was the last one he poked – everything else was just for show. ‘Normal it is, Miss Oswald,’ he had said.

The Doctor had brought Clara home, reminded her that she had his phone number, and said something about staying well away from space–time rifts in Wales.

So here she was, just six weeks into term, having already dealt with a rebellion and near-exodus by the Year Eights, a confusing conversation about South American authors with Adrian Davies and a class full of older kids yelling ‘Ossie-Ossie-Oswald’ every time she walked past their classroom.

She was beginning to regret her decision to tell the Doctor she wanted to stay on Earth for a while, to live a normal life. How could water balloons and leaky roofs at Coal Hill compare to the avocado seas of Venofax, or hearing the Long Song for the first time, or meeting the King of Bones or… ?

Her memories vanished as a voice said loudly, ‘Oi, miss – are we doing this lesson or what?’

Clara was facing Courtney Woods. Again. Of course she was – no other student challenged Clara with such alarming frequency. The weird thing was, Courtney always did it with such a cheeky grin and a seeming lack of malice that Clara found it hard to stay angry with her.

Apparently, the head teacher had had a number of ‘discussions’ with members of Courtney’s family over the last couple of terms, but nothing had changed. To Clara, Courtney just seemed bored of school. She wasn’t stupid – anything but, in fact. She seemed cleverer than a lot of her classmates, but she lacked direction, and passion and… Yeah, Courtney was just bored.

Clara smiled at Courtney, who was standing defiantly at the front of the classroom, next to Clara’s desk. ‘Difficult for me to teach a lesson when you’re standing up here instead of sitting in your seat, isn’t it, Courtney?’

Courtney stared at her mutinously. Clara carried on smiling until Courtney returned to her seat and opened her book.

‘What chapter then?’

Clara looked at the many young faces in front of her.

There’s no larger responsibility than great potential. She had read that once, scrawled as a dedication in a second-hand book she’d found in a shop.

Courtney was tapping a pencil on her teeth, her head at a slight angle, waiting for Clara to speak.

Great potential.

That one powerful phrase was what had made her want to look after children. Firstly as a nanny for the Maitland family, with the wonderful Angie and Artie. Then, when their father was coping well enough on his own, Clara took this teaching job. And now she had a whole classroom of great potential before her. She could see it in the eyes of every single kid.

Other teachers would often write off a particularly cheeky boy or girl as hopeless while gossiping in the staff room, but Clara had quickly found she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

And that, she realised, was because of all she had experienced. Because of all the things she had seen and all the events she had witnessed while travelling with the Doctor. Because of all the strange, scary, wonderful, outrageous, amazing and illuminating people and creatures she had met and spoken to. All of them had proven to Clara that at no point, never, ever should you give up on anyone or anything.

These kids, with their frustrating habits and unpredictable tempers, each had buried within them a brilliance that no one else would ever have. The Doctor had shown her that – taught her over and over that each and every life was special and irreplaceable.

As Zehra Jalindra finally stomped into the classroom (late as always) and Mackenzie Brooks slipped her a note (no doubt another reminder of how desperately in love with her he was, which Zehra always took with a sigh and not much else), Clara realised she needed to stop trying so hard to be normal. These kids weren’t just normal, whatever that meant, and neither was she. They were unique and brilliant.

She stared at Courtney Woods. At Liam Mannings, Chiana Holden and Tommy Breare – at each and every one of them. There would never be other human beings like them. No matter how many billions of years passed, however far she travelled with the Doctor, she would never meet anyone identical in mind and personality to these children.

And Clara suddenly realised who she had allowed herself to think about again.

The Doctor.

How could she teach these kids about life, about how brilliant and inventive and funny and powerful and… and… human they could all be, about what their uniqueness could help them to achieve, and then cut herself off from the experience that had taught her all those things?

‘Miss?’ It was Courtney Woods again. ‘You all right?’

‘Yeah, Courtney. I’m fine.’

‘You’re smiling really weird, miss. Like, your face is already wide enough, yeah? So it probably shouldn’t go much wider.’

Clara just smiled more. She turned away from the kids and started writing on the whiteboard.

TARDIGRADES. And then: TONNCHENFORM.

‘We doing German, miss?’ asked Joshua Adams.

‘No,’ she said, spinning round. ‘But well done, Josh, for knowing that’s a German word.’ She beamed at the class. ‘Today, just for today, we’re going to put all the normal English-lesson stuff – Jane Austen, Mark Twain and, yes, even Charles Dickens – out of our minds.’

The kids looked uneasy at this, Clara could see straight away. And she knew it wasn’t because they particularly wanted to know about great literature, but because this was a departure from a normal day. And these kids were instinctively wary of change. Of anything not normal.

‘Normal is overrated,’ Clara heard herself say. She was still thinking of the Doctor. ‘No one wants normal all the time, day in, day out, right?’ She paused. ‘Who wants to head outside for class today?’

A few mumbled responses came from the class. And then it broke into a loud getting up out of seats and grabbing of bags – a couple of which mysteriously got tipped upside down, spilling their contents everywhere.

‘Yup, today’s class is taking place outside,’ Clara confirmed brightly. ‘Today we’re going to talk about all things weird and wonderful. About everything that makes us unique. About all the strange wonders that might be out there in the universe! We’re going to think outside the box. Think about all the incredible things that happen in our so-called normal lives.’

‘My life’s dead boring, miss,’ said Courtney, still sitting in her chair, pencil between her teeth. ‘Nothing weird or strange ever happens to me – ’cept having you as a teacher. That probably counts as pretty weird on the weirdness scale.’

‘Good. I’m going to make you love weird today, Courtney,’ Clara said. She looked at the sea of faces standing in front of her, full of potential. ‘Today, normal is boring.’

She led the class outside.

‘Blimey, it’s hot,’ Kelly Squires said.

‘I better not get sunburn,’ said Sam Kaye-Jones. ‘My dad will be livid if I get sunburn.’

‘I get hay fever, miss,’ Courtney threw in – although Clara doubted she’d ever had hay fever at all.

Clara held her hand up for silence, which she got.

‘Now, get settled on the grass. When you are, I want you all to look up for ten seconds at that bright blue sky. Then shut your eyes, count to five and open them again. Tell me what you see …’

When the Wolves Came

The howling and snarling was terrifying. Simon stopped for only a brief moment to catch his breath, knowing that he had to be quick. The wolves were now following his scent and they were close.

The young boy was scared. This struggle to survive wasn’t new to him but he hadn’t seen any other survivors for a couple of months now. Worse still, he was running out of places to find food. This time he had only managed to track down a tin of baked beans.

London towards the end of the twenty-second century was a dark and dangerous place. Devastated after an alien invasion, there was now rubble where impressive buildings had once stood. Then, one day, the wolves came. No one knew where from. Hungry, wild and out of control, they took over the city. London belonged to them now.

The whole city was considered unstable and dangerous. The army eventually decided to move people out, but some people, like Simon, got left behind…

Right, he thought. Time to move. Sprinting at full speed, rain soaked his skin and he ran through the empty streets. Without warning, he slipped and fell flat on his face. The tin he was carrying flew out of his hands and rolled down the hill.

He got up as fast as he could. The first thing he saw was two wolves watching him from the other side of the road, their eyes glinting menacingly.

Running for his life, he turned the corner and there it was – the strange blue police box that had kept him safe all these months…

Simon dashed towards the box. As he reached the door, it opened inwards by itself, allowing him to enter. It slammed shut behind him as the two wolves crashed head first into the closed door. They howled angrily.

Simon was lying on the cold floor, exhausted and hungry. His dangerous journey had been a failure and he had returned to his base without food. But at least he was safe.

The confusing thing about the box was that it was much bigger on the inside than it should have been. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he looked around the large room. The boy stumbled around lighting some candles and wondered what he was going to do. What if the wolves stayed outside the box and kept him trapped in here forever? He’d starve!

Simon walked up to the controls and touched one of the many panels. ‘Please help me,’ he heard himself saying out loud. ‘Please, I’m desperate!’

The panel glowed blue, then, one by one, lights lit up around the room. Everything started to shake and there was a noise unlike any noise Simon had heard before. What was happening?

He watched as a tall man and a girl slowly appeared out of nowhere. Ghostly blue figures at first, they soon became solid and real. They looked surprised. The man spoke first.

‘About time, too! I’m sure that you’ve got no idea what you’ve done,’ said the man.

‘What he means is thank you,’ said the girl. ‘You’ve just saved our bacon.’

‘The TARDIS brought you to us,’ the tall man continued. ‘She’s clearly been looking after you while she’s been stuck in the twenty-second century. Seems we all needed help at the same time, though, and you must have triggered something in the telepathic circuits! You materialised around us just as we were about to be turned into toast by an Aaraandandal slime beast. Very nasty.’

Simon started speaking and found he couldn’t stop. These were the first people he had spoken to in a very long time. They listened as he told them about being left behind in London, the wolves, and finding the baffling blue box. The girl smiled at him kindly.

‘We can take you somewhere far safer than London,’ announced the man. ‘Hold on tight!’ Simon heard the strange sound again, the room shook and moments later the three of them were stepping outside the box into a room with two people Simon recognised immediately – his mum and dad. Stunned, the three of them hugged each other tightly.

‘Where are we?’ asked Simon.

‘I’ve moved you to outside the danger zone – a bit north of London,’ replied the tall man. ‘I think it’s called Bedfordshire. You’ll be safe here.’

‘Thank you!’ said Simon, almost unable to believe his luck and suddenly aware the tall man and girl were going back inside the blue box. He raised his hand in farewell, as he watched the box fade away until it was no longer there.

Buyer’s Remorse

The TARDIS made an uncomfortable landing. After a few seconds, the doors opened and the Doctor stomped out. He was not happy.

‘I’m not happy,’ he shouted into the stormy sky above. Whether he thought the clouds or maybe the few birds that were wheeling around would reply wasn’t clear. The fist-waving and general grouchiness on his face implied that he wanted someone to blame for whatever it was that drew him to this particular planet, at this particular juncture, during this particular bout of bad weather.

Realising he was being rained on really quite heavily – each raindrop was the equivalent of a cupful of water – the Doctor dashed back inside the TARDIS and returned a second later with a massive, multicoloured umbrella. He opened it and quickly shielded his greying hair and smart black frock coat from the rain.

A particularly aggressive gust of wind then whipped the umbrella out of his wet grip, and it shot straight up and away.

For a few seconds the Doctor scanned the heavens, hoping the umbrella might fall back down to the ground, but no – off it went, a rainbow-coloured salute to the sky, twisting and spinning away, probably never to be seen again.

Crossly, the Doctor loped back inside the TARDIS, and emerged once again – this time with a much smaller, more sensible black umbrella. He wrapped his hand round its weird red handle, which was shaped like an inverted question mark.

He locked the TARDIS’s door and began a careful and slippery descent of the hillock the TARDIS had landed upon. It was a muddy, sloppy route down, and soon his boots were filthy, and his trouser bottoms caked in mud. Frankly, the umbrella wasn’t really much good at keeping the rain off as, in trying not to slip over, the Doctor had to hold his arms out to keep his balance – thus the only part of him staying dry was his right sleeve.

Eventually, he gave up on the umbrella completely, throwing the red-handled thing away into a gorse bush in a fit of dampened fury.

The Doctor struggled onwards, on flat ground now but still soaking wet. In fact, he observed, his clothes wouldn’t be much wetter if he’d jumped into a swimming pool.

His lined, slightly frowning face scanned the horizon. There had to be a reason why the TARDIS had been pulled down to whatever planet this was. ‘Planet, I name thee Wet,’ the Doctor muttered.

At first, he could see nothing. Then something caught his eye; the little light coming from the sky was glinting off it. This ‘something’ was a lot of walking in the rain away from the Doctor. It looked like a shining building of some sort, made of glass or metal – he couldn’t quite tell.

He stopped where he was and took the TARDIS’s key from his pocket, holding it up like a compass, trying to decide whether to point it in the direction of his ship or just keep going. Decisions, decisions. Whether to walk to heavens-knew-where or take the easy choice and go back to the TARDIS. He could write this adventure off and absolutely, definitely, positively never tell Clara about it whenever he next saw her.

The Doctor had been flying towards an interesting new nebula when the TARDIS had started bleeping and swaying badly. Punching switches, staring pointlessly at the central column and kicking a chair in annoyance hadn’t stopped whatever force had suddenly overridden the TARDIS.

‘No power can override the TARDIS,’ he’d bellowed aloud, deliberately disregarding the many occasions when outside forces had achieved exactly that. Occasions which rarely ended well.

Seconds later, the TARDIS had arrived on Planet Wet.

The Doctor stared back at the distant TARDIS on its muddy hillock, and suddenly his other thoughts vanished. With a huge crack, the mound seemed to open up like a flower and the TARDIS dropped out of sight with a large plop. Then, the mound squelchily sealed itself back up.

‘Oh come on!’ the Doctor shouted angrily. ‘That’s not fair!’

Still, at least the decision was made. If he was heading towards the only building for miles, maybe it held answers – and a chance to get the TARDIS back.

As the Doctor re-pocketed the now-useless TARDIS key, he imagined himself battling giant armoured war machines that held the TARDIS in their grip. Or bartering with the last survivors of an ancient civilization, who wanted his ship, in order to escape this decidedly damp prison. Or a species of evil, sentient raindrops, which had already taken over his thoughts and movements by falling on him.

Oh yes, it was bound to be something like that. It always was.

An hour passed. It hadn’t stopped raining. Nor was the distant building that much closer. The Doctor stopped to empty water out of his boots, and got his socks caked in mud. He took them off and threw them aside, deciding to continue in bare feet because it was actually easier to get across the mud that way.

Four hours later, the Doctor could finally see the building was made of glass. ‘Glass, of course – to better see the lovely scenery outside,’ he muttered.

By now he was tired, frustrated, wetter than he’d ever been before and really quite happy to give whoever was inside a piece of his mind.

As the Doctor got close enough to realise just how small the building was, and therefore how far away he had been when he had first landed, the mud gave way to concrete, the cold gave way to a gush of warm air and the rain suddenly cut off.

The Doctor looked back. A metre behind him, it was still pouring with rain.

‘Climate force field. Nice,’ he said.

A stream of hot air blew at him powerfully, but the Doctor was happy to stand in it, arms outstretched and holding a boot in each hand.

Within a few moments, he was completely dry and comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as he could be with no socks or shoes and no TARDIS.

The Doctor looked around as the hot air dropped away to a more comfortable warm breeze, signalling his drying-out time was over. He walked towards the big glass door at the front of the building. ‘Hello?’ he called.

Nothing.

He stood in front of the door but could see no handle, no entry bell, nothing. ‘Hello?’ he repeated. ‘Citizens of Planet Wet?’

And the doors slid open silently. The Doctor walked inside.

He was in a space about the size of a gymnasium, with no other doors. He could see the outside world though each of the four glass walls surrounding him.

‘How can we help you?’

The Doctor swung round, trying to work out where the voice was coming from, but there was no one. The voice was warm, melodic and human-sounding.

‘How can we help you?’

‘Well,’ he said into the air, ‘some socks would be nice.’

And shimmering into existence in front him, created by what seemed to be air molecules (but which the Doctor guessed were probably microscopic nanites), was an index like those found on Earth in huge shopping centres.

‘Socks,’ said the voice. ‘Clothing, Shoes and Accessories: Men’s Clothing, Men’s Accessories. Patterned or plain? Acrylic or wool or cotton or –’

‘Just socks!’

‘Clothing, shoes and accessories is accessed on Floor Four hundred and thirty-seven.’

The Doctor frowned. What did the voice mean by ‘Floor Four hundred and thirty-seven’? This place was all on one level. Ah well, it didn’t matter – he didn’t need socks that badly anyway.

‘Then what about my TARDIS? I want that back.’

The index disassembled then re-formed. ‘Please be more specific.’

‘My TARDIS. Someone took my TARDIS and, as you are the only thing on this entire planet, I’d be willing to bet that it was you.’

‘Gambling is not recognised. All Listings, Auction or Buy Now are the only options available at this site. Swappers, totalisators, pawnbrokers and bookmakers are all prohibited under General Regulation Eighteen-B, subsection four.’

The Doctor looked around. ‘Where exactly am I?’

‘Welcome Buyer/Seller/Guest – delete as applicable – to GalMart.’

The Doctor sighed. ‘So I’m somewhere between the twenty-fourth and thirty-second centuries. Great. The great Galactic Web incursion.’ Then realisation hit him. ‘Hang on a moment, you – where exactly is my TARDIS, then?’

‘Searching site. Only one result for the word TARDIS. Collectibles. Memorabilia. Vintage/Retro. Weird Stuff.’ A beat. ‘Sublevel One thousand six hundred and three.’

‘Right. Hang on – Sublevel? Are you suggesting that my TARDIS is so Weird Stuff-y that it’s been relegated to a sublevel? How very rude.’

‘Would you like to visit Sublevel One thousand six hundred and three to see search results For TARDIS?’

‘Yes, please. We’ll let the socks go – for now.’

‘Sock search deleted. However, it has been saved to Favourites for later.’

The world around the Doctor dissolved as the nanites that made up the building shifted and moved around him. He guessed that he was actually not moving at all, but that Sublevel 1603 was being rebuilt around him.

Within a moment, the Doctor was clearly somewhere else within GalMart. It was a windowless grey room with a series of monitor screens the size of those that humans would gawk at during pop concerts. The Doctor was dwarfed by them, having to walk back a bit to be able to see all of them at the same time.

There were ten screens, although only seven were actually illuminated.

On each screen was a silhouette of a figure. Anonymity was maintained by each person only being identified by their username.

WinnerBoi was a small human male – a child, by the look of it.

Tawni was not remotely human, quite large and plump, with three antennae.

Route22 was a woman in an extraordinarily large hat that two people could easily have worn at once.

Gonk seemed to be cylindrical with no other discernable shapes or lumps to make out what he, she or it might have been.

SheptonRothwellFan was seemingly just a human man.

Ungarr was a massive Viking-like warrior. The Doctor realised, going by the outline of his helmet, he was probably a Hyranian Ore raider and, off-screen, would have had eight legs.

Blathereen2632’s username frankly told the Doctor all he needed to know. Big, orange and utterly corrupt. Not that he judged a book by its silhouette, but any creature from Raxacoricofallapatorius was not to be trusted.

Above the screens were numbers – a countdown that was not in normal minutes. Of course, in this part of the galaxy, after the wars and suchlike, people had starting using rels. A rel was just over a second, but not quite 1.5 seconds. Of course, only this quadrant of the galaxy would be stupid enough to adopt Dalek time.

Most importantly, standing to one side of the screens was the TARDIS, wrapped in a series of steel coils that came from within the wall. The fact that it was immovable and not going to get uncoiled any time soon was so obvious to the Doctor he didn’t even challenge it.

The same voice the Doctor had heard in the entrance area now boomed around him.

‘Bidding is now open on this Mark Three Type-Forty TT capsule, slightly worn, battle damage, one careless owner, needs significant attention and reworking.’

‘Excuse me?’ the Doctor was outraged. ‘That’s my ship you’re talking about.’

Clearly no one on the screens could hear him.

Always wanted one. The words appeared typed below Gonk’s silhouette.

Seventy quid, was spelled out below Route22. By ’eck, lovey, I need that old crock for spare parts.

‘Once again, Route22, “quid” is not an acceptable currency. GalMart operates on GalCredit BitCurrency.’

Three thousand bits, Route22 typed.

Three thousand and six bits, typed WinnerBoi.

Three thousand and twelve, typed Blathereen2632.

‘Who cares! You can’t have it!’ the Doctor exploded. ‘I mean, no one can. It’s mine. Not yours to sell.’

‘It was claimed as salvage by landing unregistered on this planet,’ replied the GalMart voice.

‘You dragged me here – ensnared the TARDIS, trapped it and bamboozled it. Bamboozled me! You can’t claim it for salvage. You nicked it!’

Four thousand and seven, typed SheptonRothwellFan.

Four thousand and eight, typed Route22. You’re not getting your sticky mitts on it, mister.

Both SheptonRothwellFan and Tawni’s screens whited out.

‘Five bidders remain,’ the calm GalMart voice stated. ‘One hundred and fourteen rels remain.’

‘Then what?’ the Doctor asked. ‘What if no one gets it?’

‘Highest bidder wins.’

‘Is there a reserve?’

‘GalMart does not recognise reserve requests after bidding has begun.’

‘I wasn’t here when bidding began – and, anyway, it’s my ship!’

This is so mine, WinnerBoi wrote. Five thousand credits!

Too rich for my blood, Blathereen2632 typed, and vanished.

‘Well, that’s something, at least,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’d probably have left it on Clom or something equally stupid.’

Five thousand and three, typed Route22. I hope the chameleon circuit works.

‘It does not,’ replied the GalMart voice. ‘The object is trapped in the shape of a 1950s London, Earth, Police Telephone Emergency Call Box.’

You what? A police box? typed Route22. Eh up, chuck, I’m off. I can find my spare bits somewhere else, I think.

Now the bidding was just between WinnerBoi, Ungarr and Gonk.

The Doctor raised his hand.

‘May I bid?’

Immediately one of the screens lit up and the Doctor could see his own silhouette on it.

‘You have ten rels to place a bid or access will be barred,’ said the GalMart voice.

In front of the Doctor, a keyboard shimmered into view. He hurriedly tapped a name and price.

Five thousand and six, he typed and sure enough, under the name JohnSmith12, those words appeared.

New bidder, typed Ungarr for the first time. Prepare to lose to Ungarr the Unforgiver. Five thousand and eight.

Six thousand and two, wrote WinnerBoi.

Just wondering – does it come with a key? typed JohnSmith12. Standing below the screens, the Doctor smiled.

It must do, typed Gonk.

It’s not listed in the description, WinnerBoi wrote. Sending a request to GalMart.

Do we have time for that? JohnSmith12 typed. Again, the Doctor was grinning. I guess it’s worthless without a key to get in.

Hi, GalMart, WinnerBoi was typing. Re: Item 63544935. Can you confirm it comes with a key?

The GalMart voice spoke to the Doctor.

‘Where is the key?’

‘In my pocket,’ he replied. ‘And it’s not for sale, nor is it salvage. If it’s on my person, you can’t claim salvage rights.’

Dear WinnerBoi, words appeared below all the bidders. Item 63544935 does not come with a key.

Both Ungarr and Gronk’s screens immediately went blank.

Just you and me, JohnSmith12, WinnerBoi wrote.

Ah, important fact, wrote JohnSmith12. I already have the key. And it’s not up for auction.

Then I’m out, WinnerBoi typed.

‘Incorrect,’ said GalMart’s voice calmly. ‘You are the highest bidder. Under GalMart rules, you cannot leave unless someone outbids you. Otherwise, you Win and Must Pay Seller Within Eight Hundred Rels.’

But I didn’t know there wasn’t a key. The Mark Three, Type 40 TT Capsule is pointless without the key!

Should’ve read the listing more closely, shouldn’t you? typed JohnSmith12. The Doctor smiled.

If you have the key, you’d better bid more then, WinnerBoi typed.

‘Twenty five rels remain,’ said GalMart.

Always read the small print, JohnSmith12 wrote.

The rels countdown hit zero. Dear JohnSmith12, GalMart wrote. Re: Item 63544935. Sorry, You Did Not Win This Auction.

Dear WinnerBoi. Re: Item 63544935. You Have Won. Buyer Pays Postage. A Total Invoice Is Being Sent to the GalWeb Address Associated with this Account. Congratulations.

But I don’t want it! WinnerBoi typed.

I think you owe GalMart six thousand and two Bits. Plus postage, typed JohnSmith12.

WinnerBoi’s screen went blank, as did JohnSmith12’s.

The Doctor smiled as his keyboard dispersed into molecules.

‘Releasing the Item for Dispatch,’ reported the GalMart voice. The Doctor watched as the coils unfurled from round the TARDIS and retracted into the wall. He bounded across the room, whipped out his key and unlocked the TARDIS’s door.

‘Access denied,’ the GalMart voice said, rather pointlessly. ‘This is an illegal transgression.’

‘And that was an illegal transaction,’ the Doctor snapped back, disappearing inside, then emerging again a second or two later. ‘But if you have sold it on I need to transfer Deed of Ownership to you so you can transfer it to WinnerBoi, correct? Making it legal?’

‘Indeed.’ And a keyboard rematerialised in front of the Doctor. He started tapping at the keys.

‘Stop – that is not the correct code for a Deed of Ownership.’

‘Isn’t it?’ the Doctor said coyly. ‘Oh wait, no, you’re right, it’s not. Whoops. Shall I tell you what it is?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a Trojan virus. In Ancient High Gallifreyan.’

‘No such language exists.’

‘Well, no, not now. But it did once. And I’m pretty sure your systems could Rosetta it and decipher it, eventually. But probably not before it’s worked its way through your systems and destroyed them.’

‘Then erase the Trojan.’

‘Tell you what I’ll do instead.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll sell you the anti-Trojan. You have about a hundred rels to say yes.’ And the Doctor punched the keyboard and activated the virus.

‘What do you want?’

‘Well, for a start, you will consider my TARDIS a bootleg or counterfeit item, and therefore ban it from ever appearing on your site again.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Do it.’

‘It is… done.’

One of the screens above showed an image of the TARDIS, with a warning about the Selling and Distribution, Knowingly or Unknowingly of Counterfeit and Bootleg policies of GalMart.

‘Great, super, nice one. Now you will return WinnerBoi’s money.’

‘That is against Company Policy.’

The Doctor was ready to fight GalMart on this point too, but then realised that arguing could keep him on Planet Wet for another month or so. ‘OK, here’s a deal your bureaucracy should be able to cope with: you can purchase the anti-Trojan from me using Buy Now. For six thousand and two bits. Plus postage. But pay the money into WinnerBoi’s account.’

‘Offer Accepted.’

Payment Required Immediately, the Doctor typed on his keyboard. JohnSmith12’s silhouette reappeared on a screen with those words beneath it.

‘Payment Made,’ said the GalMart voice.

WinnerBoi’s silhouette popped up again. Hey, what’s going on? he typed.

Your lucky day, JohnSmith12 replied. Now stay off GalMart or next time I won’t be around to get you out of trouble.

WinnerBoi’s silhouette vanished. As did JohnSmith12’s.

‘The account of WinnerBoi has been deleted by the User,’ GalMart reported.

The Doctor tapped the keyboard with a flourish.

‘Anti-Trojan software detected,’ the GalMart voice said.

But the Doctor barely heard it. He was already back inside the TARDIS and dematerialising, muttering something about socks.

‘Item Six-three-five-four-four-nine-three-five deleted from GalMart records,’ said the voice to absolutely no one.

puffin.co.uk

WEB FUN

UNIQUE and exclusive digital content!
Podcasts, photos, Q&A, Day in the Life of, interviews and much more, from Eoin Colfer, Cathy Cassidy, Allan Ahlberg and Meg Rosoff to Lynley Dodd!

WEB NEWS

The Puffin Blog is packed with posts and photos from Puffin HQ and special guest bloggers. You can also sign up to our monthly newsletter Puffin Beak Speak.

WEB CHAT

Discover something new EVERY month – books, competitions and treats galore.

WEBBED FEET

(Puffins have funny little feet and brightly coloured beaks.)

Point your mouse our way today! Puffin logo

Puffin is over seventy years old. Sounds ancient, doesn’t it? But Puffin has never been so lively. We’re always on the lookout for the next big idea, which is how it began all those years ago.

Penguin Books was a big idea from the mind of a man called Allen Lane, who in 1935 invented the quality paperback and changed the world. And from great Penguins, great Puffins grew, changing the face of children’s books forever.

The first four Puffin Picture Books were hatched in 1940 and the first Puffin story book featured a man with broomstick arms called Worzel Gummidge. In 1967 Kaye Webb, Puffin Editor, started the Puffin Club, promising to ‘make children into readers’. She kept that promise and over 200,000 children became devoted Puffineers through their quarterly instalments of Puffin Post.

Many years from now, we hope you’ll look back and remember Puffin with a smile. No matter what your age or what you’re into, there’s a Puffin for everyone. The possibilities are endless, but one thing is for sure: whether it’s a picture book or a paperback, a sticker book or a hardback, if it’s got that little Puffin on it – it’s bound to be good.

www.puffin.co.uk

BBC CHILDREN’S BOOKS

UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa

BBC Children’s Books are published by Puffin Books, part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

puffinbooks.com

This collection first published by Puffin Books 2015
This digital edition published 2015

Stories first published 2015:
‘The Stranger’, ‘Normality’ and ‘Buyer’s Remorse’ by Gary Russell
Other stories first published as follows:
From The Doctor Who Files, 2006–2008:
‘The Hero Factor’ and ‘The Final Darkness’ by Stephen Cole
‘Stamp of Approval’ and ‘No Fun at the Fair’ by Jacqueline Rayner
‘Taking Mickey’, ‘A Dog’s Life’, ‘Mission to Galacton’, ‘Going Off the Rails’, ‘Needlepoint’, ‘Best Friends’, ‘Birth of a Legend’, ‘The Secret of the Stones’, ‘Blind Terror’ and ‘Disappearing Act’ by Justin Richards
From the Official Annuals, 2008–2015: ‘The Planet That Wept’, ‘Once Upon a Time’, ‘Most Beautiful Music’, ‘Secret of Arkatron’, ‘Amy’s Escapade’ and ‘Rory’s Adventure’ by Justin Richards
‘The Fifty-year Delay’ and ‘When the Wolves Came’ by Moray Laing ‘Lorna’s Escape’ by Jason Loborik
Copyright © BBC Worldwide Limited, 2015

BBC, DOCTOR WHO (word marks, logos and devices),
TARDIS, DALEKS, CYBERMAN and K-9 (word marks and devices) are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.
BBC logo © BBC, 1996. Doctor Who logo © BBC, 2009.
Dalek image © BBC/Terry Nation, 1963.
Cyberman image © BBC/Kit Pedler/Gerry Davis, 1966.
K-9 image © BBC/Bob Baker/Dave Martin, 1977.

The moral right of the authors and copyright holders has been asserted

Digital edition created by Jouve India Pvt Ltd

ISBN: 978-1-405-92680-5