Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 5

29.

Chapter Four.

'Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!'

The large woman in the pillbox hat gave Ace an indignant look.

'Well, really!'

The Doctor smiled apologetically. 'Please excuse my friend. She's rather exuberant.'

'Is that what you call it?' The woman hauled herself out of her seat and rang the bell of the bus. 'Well, I can do without that kind of exuberance, thank you very much. Good day to you.'

The bus swung into its stop and the woman vanished down the stairs and out into the street. Ace grunted. 'Miserable old bat.'

The Doctor sighed wearily. 'She's from an era where young ladies don't blurt out "Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l" on public transport.'

'But look, Professor. I tore my jacket back there on that bl...'

'Ace.' The Doctor glared at her.

'... on that wall. And after you'd fixed it as well.'

The Doctor peered at the ragged tear. 'I'll sort that out when we get back to the TARDIS.'

'And when is that likely to be, eh? Now that we've upset those squaddies it'll be harder to break in.'

'Oh, we'll worry about that when the time comes.'

The Doctor stared absently out of the window. Ace shook her head.

She wasn't going to get anything out of him at the moment. She leaned forward in her seat and peered down into the jostle of London. The bus meandered through streets only half familiar to Ace. Every now and again she caught sight of buildings that she thought she recognised, rising from the rubble of bomb sites. There were police boxes everywhere, and she kept finding herself caught out by the familiar shapes. It was weird seeing so many of them. It was if a hundred Doctors had arrived in London at the same time, all intent on solving the same problem. All ganging up to thwart some alien menace. Or all watching her. She banished the thought, determined that it was her imagination.

As they pulled into Piccadilly Circus, the Doctor suddenly bounded to his feet, rang the bell and scampered down the stairs.

'Hey, hang about, Professor!' Ace jogged after him.

30.The bus slowed to a halt and the two of them stepped onto the pavement.

'Hold tight, please.' The conductor rang the bell and the double-decker roared away into the traffic. The Doctor stared wistfully after it.

'Always thought I'd make a good bus conductor.'

'I thought you had a morbid fear of bus stations,' Ace teased.

'True...' The Doctor spun on his heels getting his bearings. 'Now, if I'm right, it will be just over... there.' He stabbed at the air with the tip of his umbrella.

'What will?'

The Doctor beamed at her. 'Breakfast!'

The little cafe on Frith Street was crowded. Suited businessmen struggling with unwieldy newspapers sat elbow to elbow with their colleagues at the tiny Formica tables, empty plates greasy with the evidence of English breakfasts in front of them. Street traders and shop owners shouted their orders for sandwiches above the babble of Italian from the kitchen.

Ace sat in the window with a cracked enamel mug full of steaming tea and the remains of a plate of sausage sandwiches. The Doctor was lost amongst the melee behind the counter, chattering animatedly to the owner. Apparently he'd met Luigi ten years ago, helping out in the kitchen when the place had opened. Abbott and Costello had Performed the opening ceremony, apparently. It hadn't surprised Ace that the Doctor knew them. He was like an old film comedian himself Taking a mouthful of sandwich, she stared out into the crowds of Soho. Another old stomping ground. Once again she found herself in familiar surroundings but years before her birth. The last time she had been in central London was during the Blitz. The signs of that conflict were still visible, great scars across the city, and there was a weariness In the faces of the people. But the trappings of Christmas were starting to appear. Decorations on lampposts, paper-chains in windows. The Market round the corner had been crammed with baubles and freshly Cut trees. It amazed Ace that so much of life had returned to normal in a little over ten years. She tried to imagine how her life would have been affected if there had been a war in the 1970s, or the 1980s. She couldn't believe that she or her friends would have coped with as much resilience as these people had.

She was startled from her musings by the Doctor dropping into the seat next to her, a dripping egg roll grasped in one hand, his fingers yellow with yolk.

'Penny for them?'

Ace slurped her tea. 'Just daydreaming, that's all.'

31.The Doctor crammed the last bit of egg roll into his mouth and wiped his hands on his paisley handkerchief. 'Luigi was kind enough to lend me his phone book' He waggled a sc.r.a.p of paper at her. 'I've got the addresses of every Dumont-Smith in London. As soon as you've eaten up we can get going.'

'How many of them are there?'

'Oh, only a few dozen.'

'A few dozen!' Ace's heart sank. She had hoped that they could spend some time looking around. It was one of the perks of time travel.

'Professor, we're going to be traipsing back and forth across London all day in the rain!'

The Doctor frowned at her. 'You had something better to do?'

'Well... I thought we could wander about for a bit you know, do some Christmas shopping or something'.

The Doctor sighed. 'We find a mysterious military hospital, a pilot from a non-existent organisation and you want to go sightseeing.'

'Oh, come on, Professor, just for a bit.'

'All right, all right, all right!' He rummaged in his pockets and produced a scuffed leather bag. 'Here.' He tossed the bag to Ace. It c.h.i.n.ked pleasantly in her hands.

'Pocket money.'

Ace grinned. 'I get to go to the pictures while you handle all the grown-up stuff, eh, Professor?'

He tapped her gently on the nose. 'There shouldn't be too much trouble you can get into in 1950s' London. I'll sort out which of these Dumont-Smiths we need to be chasing and meet you later. Nelson's Column, seven o'clock?'

Ace stuffed the bag of coins into her pocket. 'Right, Professor. Hope you find your Mr Dumont-Smith.'

She slid from behind the table, then tousled his hair cheekily, pulled the door of the cafe open and bounded out into the street.

The Doctor watched through the steamed-up window as Ace vanished into the crowds. She turned and waved at him, then she was gone, lost in the swirl of shoppers.

He gave a deep sigh. This was the moment that he had been dread ing. The moment that he let her go her own way. The moment he gambled with her life. The last throw of the dice before she died...

He unfolded the piece of paper. A single address was written in his scrawling hand. There was only one Dumont-Smith. A solicitor just off Regent Street.

It was inconvenient he should be giving all his attention to Ace, but 32 something about the pilot worried him. He wasn't sure what it was yet, but it worried him greatly. Besides, Ace's body had at some time been at the same otherwise empty hospital. It could hardly be a coincidence.

He reached into his pocket and drew out a small gunmetal shape. He looked guiltily over his shoulder to check that he wasn't being watched, but an argument had started at the counter and the staff were protesting loudly and animatedly with one of the street traders.

Hunkering down over the table, the Doctor pressed a small stud on the side of the device. A screen lit up and a bright point of light started moving slowly across it. The machine bleeped softly and rhythmically, the noise drowned by the babble of Italian and c.o.c.kney. The Doctor nodded gently to himself. The machine was working perfectly. He hated himself for doing it, but putting the tracker on Ace had been the only way he could ensure he knew her movements, the only way that he would be able to find her when the time came.

He just hoped that when she found out what he had done she would understand why, and forgive him.

The woman edged fearfully along the curved, wet wall of the sewer tunnel, her face streaked with tears. The elegant dress she wore was stained and torn, one sleeve hanging in tatters revealing a deep cut in her pale shoulder.

A noise rang out in the darkness and she thrust her hand to her mouth, stifling a scream.

A torch beam pierced the gloom of the tunnel.

'Gloria?' a man whispered.

'Alan?' She flung herself towards him. 'Oh, Man, I thought I'd never get out of this terrible place!'

Cradling the sobbing woman in his arms, Professor Alan Cartwright nervously swung the torch around, playing the beam over the glistening brickwork.

'General Wells and the rest of the men are at the tunnel entrance; they're ready to blow these sewers to dust.'

Gloria's eyes widened. 'But they know we're in here, don't they?

Alan, they do know...?'

Alan shook his head, his face stern. 'The only one who knows I'm here is Billy, and he's...'

A section of tunnel wall suddenly exploded inwards in a shower of bricks and mortar. Gloria screamed as the monstrous beetle pushed through the hole, antennae thras.h.i.+ng.

Alan pulled a revolver from his pocket firing shot after shot into the struggling insect.

33.'It's no good, the radiation has made them impervious to bullets!'

'Alan, look out!'

More and more s.h.i.+ny giant beetles emerged into the sewer tunnel, antennae waggling frantically.

All around Ace kids were screaming, girls were burying their heads in their boyfriends' shoulders. The cinema was packed.

Coming to the pictures hadn't actually been Ace's plan, she had intended having a pleasant few hours shopping, traipsing through London, comparing the city here and now with the one that she knew.

The shops were so dull, though!

At first it had been amusing, staring at ludicrous ladies' fas.h.i.+ons and impressively engineered underwear, but when she tried to find a decent record shop she realised just how far out of time she was. She had managed to find an HMV on Oxford Street, but it was only once she stepped inside that she realised that she was back in the days when rock 'n' roll was still a novelty. The Beatles were still several years away.

Eventually she had got bored, and started to regret letting the Doctor go off on his own. She could have kicked herself. After months without a proper adventure she had let him have all the fun. When the rain started in earnest it had been the final straw.

Looking for somewhere dry, she had ended up in Piccadilly Circus.

The bustle and noise had taken her by surprise. Just as in her day, the buildings were plastered with advertis.e.m.e.nts huge posters extolling the virtues of Bovril and the ubiquitous Coca-Cola display. The buzz of people had cheered her up no end. She pa.s.sed a queue huddled outside a cinema. Squinting against the cold rain, Ace had peered up at the facade. 'They Came From Beyond Time!' announced bold letters. The posters showed a scantily dressed woman swooning in the arms of a square-jawed hero, monstrous beetles towering over them. With the bag of the Doctor's money still heavy in her pocket, and with nothing better to do, Ace had joined the queue.

The B movie had been hugely entertaining. Ace had a sneaking suspicion that she might have caught it on telly once a late-night season of old films on BBC2 but here and now it was the latest thing and the audience was loving it.

By the time the movie was over and Ace was back out on the streets, it was starting to get dark and the rain was heavier than ever. Feeling a spreading patch of wetness on her back Ace ducked into the shelter of an arcade. Cursing, she shrugged her jacket off and shook the water from it. The tear where she had caught it on the gla.s.s was gaping open, the wadding beneath sodden.

'b.u.g.g.e.r.'

34.She scrabbled in the small leather bag. There was still plenty of money left, so she could easily get herself a new jacket, but she was going to get soaked in the meantime.

Squatting down on a window ledge, Ace started unpinning badges from her lapels. They would do to hold the tear together whilst she found something a little more waterproof. She smiled as she unclipped her red star. The badge that Sorin had given her. It suddenly struck her that wearing a Russian Army badge might not be the wisest thing to do in 1950s' London. Tucking it into her pocket, she carried on fastening the tear together with her trophies.

Suddenly she stopped, frowning.

A badge she didn't recognise hung on the sleeve of her jacket. It was about the size of a 2 coin, but fatter, brushed gunmetal with a faint sheen. Ace unclipped it, noticing that it had got bent, cracked, probably at the same time that the rip had occurred. She still couldn't remember where she had got it.

She was about to use it for her makes.h.i.+ft repairs when she noticed the light glinting from inside it. Puzzled, Ace looked at it more closely.

There was stuff inside it. Carefully she pulled at the edge and the badge dropped apart in her hand. Ace stared at the microscopic circuitry. A single light pulsed in steady rhythm.

It was a bug.

The Doctor had bugged her.

A sudden blinding rage welled up in Ace.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d, she whispered under her breath. Her hands were shaking.

She couldn't hold it in.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

People were looking at her now Mothers ushering their children away from her, shopkeepers peering at her from inside their shops.

Tears blurred Ace's vision. She didn't know if she wanted to scream or cry. s.n.a.t.c.hing up her jacket, she ran out into the rain, barging through the crowds. Angry voices called after her as she pushed through the Christmas shoppers. Ace ignored them. She wanted to lash out at something, and she didn't really care what or who.

She blundered into the road. There was a blare of horns, and a taxi screeched to a halt in front of her. The driver stared incredulously at her. Pa.s.sers-by were turning to look at her, pointing. Ace balled up her fist and punched the bonnet, hard.

The driver started to climb out of his cab. Ace turned and ran.

Everything around her became a blur. Rain stung her face, her s.h.i.+rt was soaked through. She was lost in a surreal world of Christmas lights and carols. Ace pushed through the ma.s.s of people, hurt and alone. She 35 needed somewhere to think, somewhere quiet.

She emerged into Trafalgar Square. The splash of the fountains was lost in the noise of the rain. The National Gallery loomed in front of her. Gratefully, Ace slipped inside.

After the noise of the streets the gallery was silent and calm. People stared curiously at her. She was soaked, her hair plastered to her head, her s.h.i.+rt almost transparent. Ignoring the suspicious glances of the staff, Ace made her way to the toilets, slipping into a cubicle and locking the door behind her.