Doctor Who_ Father Time Part 11

'He's guarding the exit,' the woman replied.

The other man and Debbie was sure he was their leader wasn't as tall as the Hunters, but he was an imposing figure broad-shouldered, muscular. He wore a green tunic, and a long fur-trimmed greatcoat, and his black boots almost came up to his knees.

Debbie looked back at the Doctor, to see what his reaction was, only to realise that the Doctor was moving forward. She tried to grab his sleeve to stop him, but the Doctor was already too far away.

'Stick close,' he suggested. Despite herself, Debbie found that she was following him. The ground was uneven, and she could hear every crunch as she and the Doctor moved across the snow. They were less than fifteen feet away, now. There was a faint hum in the air, like standing near an electricity pylon.

The aliens watched the Doctor approach, clearly caught out by his sudden appearance.

'Good evening,' the Doctor declared. 'I am the Doctor. I come in peace. Take me to your leader. That sort of thing.'

The Hunters and the man in the black coveralls tensed, and seemed ready for a fight. The man in the green tunic was more calm. He turned, and stepped forward. He had wiry hair, steel-grey and tightly curled.

'I know why you are here,' the Doctor announced. 'I know why you are here on Earth.'

The leader stood silently, not giving anything away.

'You're here for the girl,' the Doctor told them. 'You are here for Miranda.'

If the leader replied, Debbie didn't hear him.

Chapter Seven.

Inside the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p Miranda didn't need much sleep, indeed she could do without it.

She knew this made her different but, usually, it didn't bother her. She sat at her desk and read. Sometimes she would play with her toys. She didn't like to make too much noise, in case she woke her parents, so if she did put the radio or a tape on, then she always used earphones.

It was nice. It was a time to be quiet, a time to be alone. She never got scared in the dark, as children were meant to. She didn't like to sleep. She didn't like her dreams. She dreamed of fog and rocky, broken ground. She dreamed of screaming and fire. Monsters, but not furry, scaly, giant monsters as in Where the Wild Things Are Where the Wild Things Are or or The Muppet Show The Muppet Show, but monsters that looked like people on the outside. There were silver palaces full of servants in her dreams. But everyone was running from something. They were running away from her because anyone who knew her was being killed where they stood. They didn't want to die, so they ran. It was always the same dream, and she seemed trapped in it. It scared her.

So Miranda didn't sleep.

But tonight was different. Tonight she wanted to sleep, but she couldn't. She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She was tired, but a part of her mind was telling her that she couldn't go to sleep, or she'd never wake up. She'd be trapped in her scary dream.

Miranda realised she was crying, and she was lonely.

She went up to her parents' door, and then into their bedroom.

Her dad had woken up. She heard him s.h.i.+ft around, then turn on his bedside light.

Mum was awake now. She looked at Dad to see what was wrong, then saw Miranda. Her mum didn't say anything, just pulled her up on to the bed and hugged her. She was so warm and big and comforting.

'It's the UFOs,' Miranda explained.

'What do you mean?' her mother asked.

'The Doctor was telling me about them. And he says they are real.'

Her dad looked angry. 'He has no right to. Look, he's scared you.'

Mum was pulling on her dressing gown. 'Let's get you some cocoa.'

'Are they real?' she asked.

'I'm going to have words with that Doctor,' Dad said angrily.

Miranda looked over at him. 'But are they real?'

They were right underneath the disc now. It was wrong wrong that it was hanging there, Debbie decided. It was bigger than a house, and it was made from solid metal, but it hung there like a hot-air balloon. that it was hanging there, Debbie decided. It was bigger than a house, and it was made from solid metal, but it hung there like a hot-air balloon.

And there were four aliens standing there, leaving footprints in the Derbys.h.i.+re snow.

The Hunters, standing together at the back, keeping out of the way but looking down their noses at her. The balding man in SAS gear, standing to one side, clearly ready to fight. And, at the head of the group, the imposing figure with curly steel-grey hair and a green military tunic.

'Doctor,' this man said, his voice deep and full of authority. 'I'm afraid I don't recognise your charming companion.' He was their leader that was obvious from the way he stood, the tone of his voice. A born leader.

'I'm not his companion,' Debbie said quietly. 'We're just friends.'

The Doctor frowned. 'You know me?'

The man hesitated. 'Of course. You don't know me?'

The Doctor gave a slight shake of his head.

The leader exchanged a quick look with the bald man.

The Doctor smiled helplessly. 'Have we met?'

'You don't remember?' the bald man asked, and Debbie was sure he was fingering the scar that ran down his cheek.

'No. I've... forgotten a great deal. I remember Rum and Thelash, of course, from our little chat today, but I'm afraid I don't remember you.'

Debbie was nervous of the whole situation, but the little bald man in particular scared her. His combat gear was practical, and had obviously seen use. She had no doubt at all that the pouches contained all sorts of weapons and lethal devices. 'You don't remember Galspar, or Falkus?' he asked, oozing suspicion.

'Those are your names?' the Doctor asked.

Mr Hunter burst into laughter. The bald man spun to face him, silencing him.

'Places?' the Doctor guessed.

'Planets,' the leader confirmed. He was stern, but seemed more amiable than his colleague. 'But you don't remember them, do you?'

'No. I'm sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage.'

Debbie was sure that the bald man smiled at that prospect.

'I am Prefect Zevron, this is my Deputy, Sallak.'

The word 'prefect' summoned up for Debbie images of little badges and looking after dinner queues, but she knew that it had been what the Romans had called their military commanders. 'We are time travellers, like yourself.'

Debbie and the Doctor looked at each other. 'Time travellers?' they asked, together.

'You know about Miranda?' the Prefect asked, seemingly pleased that he had managed to surprise the Doctor.

'Yes.'

'Then it seems we have something we could learn from one another. Please... step inside.'

The Doctor peered up the ramp, then turned to Debbie, grinned and began bounding up into the s.p.a.cecraft.

They walked through a small garage, or hangar, into a central landing sort of area, with doors leading off in all directions. All the doors were closed but one, which they pa.s.sed through. The room they found themselves in was opulent, with heavy metal sculptures mounted on the walls and on small plinths. The floor was thickly carpeted, or perhaps it was fur of some kind. It was warm, there was a thick, musky smell and a regular electronic burble in the air.

Debbie wanted to get out.

The door hissed shut behind them, sliding up from the floor.

'We're trapped,' she said, panicking.

'Stay calm,' the Doctor told her. He was stepping further into the room, with the same expression on his face kids have in toy shops.

'But what if we take off?' she asked. 'They could be going back to their planet.'

'That's out of our hands,' the Doctor said. 'If they were going to be hostile, they could have thrown us into a cell, or a torture chamber, or just had us killed outside.'

She wanted to go back the way they had come, open up the ramp and run as far and as fast as she could. She wanted this s.h.i.+p to go away, and she wanted to go back to her life, her stupid, normal life with her stupid, normal husband and his darts and his police record and his Ford Cortina and his mortgage arrears.

Debbie forced herself to stand still. 'I can't hear an engine. I don't think we're moving.'

'Relax,' the Doctor suggested.

'There's something wrong,' she said, looking over to the Doctor for rea.s.surance.

'No,' he whispered.

'There is,' she insisted.

The Doctor shook his head. 'It's a natural reaction to this object and the almost imperceptible differences that come from materials that weren't mined, refined or synthesised on Earth.'

Debbie realised he must be right. This place wasn't shocking shocking: it was perfectly within the realm of human imagination. But there were tiny things, things that she didn't notice until she looked for them, but they unnerved her all the same the devil in the detail. There weren't any screws or rivets. The furniture seemed to be made out of metal, not wood, but it felt like plastic.

'You don't feel it?' Debbie asked.

'I feel it,' the Doctor said softly. 'I've felt it for as long as I can remember. Every morning, when I wake up in a world with b.u.t.tons, green leaves, paper money and traces of argon in the air I breathe.'

Debbie rooted in her pocket for her cigarettes.

'We all get like that. Everyone feels like they are on the outside looking in from time to time,' Debbie told him. 'Most of us get over it by the time we've done our A-levels.'

The Doctor glared at her. He had been deadly serious. He turned his back on her, busied himself trying to open the door.

At least it was warm, and Debbie was glad to be given the chance to sit down. The chairs were simple padded stools. The Doctor paced around the room, his brow furrowed. He looked so at home here, surrounded by machines and ornaments quite unlike anything Debbie had seen before. She lit her cigarette, and took a deep breath, pleased to smell something familiar.

Debbie wondered why the Doctor wasn't as scared as she was.

'Pa.s.sing for human,' she said under her breath, looking at him again.

Nothing about him had changed. He was wearing the same black velvet coat, the same boots, a s.h.i.+rt that was identical to the one he'd been wearing in the photograph.

But everything had changed. He looked perfectly at home here, standing in a chamber in a UFO.

He wasn't human.

The Doctor looked over at her and smiled.

He wasn't human.

She looked at him. She looked at the time traveller, the man without a past.

Before she could say anything, the hatch had opened again.

A young woman walked in, someone they'd not seen before. She was wearing a grey tunic and veil, her long skirt made it look as if she was gliding. The woman took their coats away and served them each a gla.s.s of dark-blue liquid from one of the sculptures, which turned out to be a dispenser of some kind.

'Thank you,' the Doctor said, sniffing the drink, then tasting it. The servant left, the door sliding up behind her.

Debbie put her drink down on a low table, untouched.

'Slaves?' the Doctor asked Debbie. 'Servants at the very least. Not the mark of a civilised society... by modern standards, at any rate. I suppose historically historically...'

'I don't trust them,' she confessed.

The Doctor turned to look at her, disappointed. 'Why ever not?'

'I ' But Debbie was unable to put it into words.

'They are clearly very advanced,' the Doctor said. He motioned around the room. 'Capable of producing some striking art, and maintaining a galactic empire. That fact alone implies a great deal about the state of their communications, their transport and their logistical skill. They could teach us a great deal.'

'Are they your people?' she asked, almost under her breath.

The Doctor stopped what he was doing.