Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias Part 12

Joyce stared at him. At the umbrella with the red question-mark handle that leaned against the arm of the chair and the paisley-pattern scarf around his shoulders; at the tightly pursed lips; and at the bright, squirrel-like eyes that now twinkled at her, as if waiting for her to reach some decision. Mary hovered in the doorway, an arched eyebrow and a knowing smile suggesting that she viewed the arrival of both Joyce and the Doctor at such an early hour as more than just a coincidence. No doubt, Joyce thought tiredly and with a hint of irritation as Mary floated off to fetch the tea, it would be halfway round the village by lunchtime.

Had the man seen her watching him through the crack in Mum's door? Had he followed her here, only to make ludicrous claims about being the Doctor?

'You'll understand my scepticism,' she said a few minutes later as he rooted through the plate of biscuits for the jammy one, 'but am I expected to take your a.s.sertion that you're the Doctor on trust?'

He smiled, almost as if he relished the challenge. 'Not at all, not at all. I must admit, I generally don't have much of a problem convincing people of who I am after a regeneration.

The Brigadier is one of the few that has occasionally taken some persuasion.' He smiled again. 'But old Alastair always comes round in the end.' He sipped at his tea, his eyes never leaving hers. She'd heard that the Doctor had changed his appearance in the past, but she'd always a.s.sumed he was just a master of disguise, not a shapes.h.i.+fter. But there was something in this bizarre little man's eyes, something sharp and incisive, puckish and poignant, all at the same time; something that definitely reminded her of the Doctor she knew. As she watched him drink his tea, it was still hard to reconcile him with the man she'd seen only a couple of months ago, storming down the corridors at UNIT HQ, heading for some explosive confrontation with Lethbridge-Stewart. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep; maybe it was whatever that machine had done to her head. But as she drank her own tea, Joyce realised that, somehow, he'd already half convinced her - and without even trying.

'When we last met,' she said thoughtfully, 'we spent an afternoon in Brighton. It rained all day and we had to take shelter. Where did we go?'

The little man thought for a moment. 'When we last met, it was in Cromer, and it was a gorgeous day. Windy, but gorgeous.

And we walked along the beach, threw pebbles into the sea, and talked about Michael and Terrance; and then you insisted on paying for afternoon tea. If I recall correctly, you told me that you weren't one of my "dolly-bird" a.s.sistants, and that you were quite capable of paying your own way, thank you very much.

And I notice you're still using your maiden name.'

He leaned forward and, as if he'd read her mind, said: 'Yes, Joyce. It's definitely me. What do you think of the new, economy-sized Doctor, then?' He scanned himself up and down as if he'd never really looked at himself before.

Joyce gave a sigh and sank back into the upholstered bliss of the sofa. 'It's... very different different. Something of a shock, naturally, but after what I've been through in the past few hours, I suppose very little would surprise me.'

'The open mind of the scientist! Excellent! It's good to see that UNIT hasn't worn you down yet, and that you've still got all your curiosity. I must admit, I would have been a trifle disappointed if you hadn't hadn't been so difficult to convince: a good scientist always goes on the evidence. But the best scientists always trust their intuition.' been so difficult to convince: a good scientist always goes on the evidence. But the best scientists always trust their intuition.'

'Rubbish, Doctor!' Joyce said and then burst out laughing.

'Utter, utter rubbis.h.!.+ As usual!' She smiled warmly at him and reached out to take his hand. 'It's good to have you back.'

'Well, it was your invite that brought me here.'

Joyce shook her head and drew her hand across her forehead, smoothing back her hair, as she was reminded of why the Doctor was there at all. 'There's something very wrong going on at Graystairs. Very wrong indeed I mean, apart from the events of the last few hours.' She felt her voice cracking at the edges.

'Your postcard was very cryptic,' the Doctor said. 'What was it that made you send it?'

'At the time, I wasn't sure whether working for UNIT was just making me suspicious, paranoid.' She ventured an uncertain smile. 'I went to see Mum early the other morning and as I walked up the road through the woods, I had the weirdest feeling that I was being watched. I brushed it off and then I heard a none, twigs snapping. And through the trees, I could see someone.' She shook her head at the memory. 'He looked like an old man, and my first thought was that it was just one of the residents out for a walk. But then I started wondering whether he was, you know, confused.' She said the word with distaste: she'd never liked euphemisms. 'Whether he was a resident. I waved to him and he vanished. I thought about just going up to Graystairs and telling them but then I thought about how I'd have felt if it had been Mum, and some stranger had just left her to wander, so I set off after him, calling.'

'And did you find him?'

'He found me me. Suddenly I turned and he was there, right behind me. with a stick in his hand. I thought he was going to hit me. It's weird: I've dealt with all sorts of alien incursions and threats, but I'd never been so scared as I was then, threatened by an old man with a stick.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Human behaviour can be the most alien of all,' he agreed. 'Humans have preconceptions, don't they, about other humans, in a way that they don't about non-humans? And it's the shattering of those that make us see the truly alien in others.'

'There was something in his eyes,' Joyce said nodding. She furrowed her brow. 'Something human and alien at the same time. I honestly thought I was a goner, and then he started to ramble, muttering about how "they" whoever "they" were had put things in his head. "Bad things" was how he described them, "evil things". At first, I thought he was simply suffering from dementia; I said that I'd take him back and then he really flipped, threw the stick down and ran off into the wood. I'd never have believed someone of his age could run so fast.'

'What did he look like?' the Doctor asked curiously.

'In his sixties maybe seventies. Slight build, white hair, grey cardigan. Black trousers. Maybe grey. Not much to go on, is it?'

'Oh, I think it's enough. It sounds like the man I met in the teashop this morning.'

'Really? So he's still at large, is he?'

'It would seem so. Did you find out who he was?'

'Well, this was the thing that convinced me to write to you - apart from the general atmosphere in the place. When I got to Graystairs, there was a right hoo-ha about someone who'd gone missing. I told that girl Megan, the odd, gangly one and she rushed out with a face like thunder. I must admit, I was a bit curious and concerned. I followed her and saw that she'd gone down the cellar steps. So ...' Joyce smiled, conspiratorially 'You can take the woman out of UNIT... Anyway, I went down half way and heard her telling someone that Eddie had been seen.'

'And did you hear the reply?'

Joyce nodded slowly. 'I heard this creepy, hissy voice say "Good we need him. Without him we've wasted the last three years." Something like that. I know the words themselves don't mean much, but it was the way it was said so cold, so calculating.' Joyce felt the hairs on her arms stand out. 'And something told me I should call someone and obviously you sprang to mind.'

The Doctor smiled. 'I'm glad you did. There's something very wrong going on at Graystairs, you were right. What happened then?'

'I stayed for a couple of hours, had a cup of tea, and then Doctor Menzies one of the doctors up there came in and said it was time for another treatment session for Mum.' Joyce narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. 'He said I should come back tomorrow. I asked if I couldn't call back in the evening, but he said he thought that Mum would be too tired after the treatment.'

The Doctor leaned forward in his seat. 'And did he tell you anything about it? About what it involved?'

Joyce's eyes slipped away from him in embarra.s.sment. 'I made a few enquiries, but the most I got out of them was that it was "new" and "revolutionary" and involved a new drug regimen that had already been trialled in Europe.'

'And had it?'

Joyce felt herself flush. She didn't know. Of course she'd meant meant to check it out; she'd to check it out; she'd planned planned to do some research into it, call in a few favours in Geneva; she'd even written the details out. But somewhere between thinking of it and doing it, other things had got in the way. Things that were obviously so much more important than subjecting her mother to a new and potentially hazardous course of drugs. Thank you for reminding me, Doctor. to do some research into it, call in a few favours in Geneva; she'd even written the details out. But somewhere between thinking of it and doing it, other things had got in the way. Things that were obviously so much more important than subjecting her mother to a new and potentially hazardous course of drugs. Thank you for reminding me, Doctor.

She looked up to see him watching her, understandingly, and almost wanted to slap him. How dare he be understanding?

'I know how it is,' he said softly. 'There's never enough time, is there?'

She swallowed, her anger draining away as she realised he wasn't just taking about her. After a few moments'

uncomfortable silence, broken (thankfully) by the sound of Mary sighing exasperatedly over yet another radio report on the Falklands, Joyce moved.

As the Doctor drank his tea she told him all she could remember of the last couple of days, starting with her visit to her mother's room. He listened appreciatively, hmming and nodding throughout, but letting her finish her tale before setting down his cup. Telling it all out loud like that made it sound even more ludicrous than it already seemed the pale man, being knocked out from behind, the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p as Ace had insisted it was the transmat and the numbers in her head. So ludicrous, in fact, that if the Doctor had suggested that it had all been a particularly vivid dream, she imagined she would have agreed with him.

'It sounds like the ravings of a madwoman, doesn't it?' she laughed, a slight tremor in her voice. She suddenly remembered the metal nodule at the nape of her neck, and tipped her head forwards to allow him to examine it. As he looked at it he asked her how she was feeling generally.

Joyce gave a shrug. 'I'd feel better if I knew where Mum was at the moment.'

'I'm sure she's fine,' he said, touching the device. The words comforted her more than she expected. This most definitely was was the Doctor. 'Nevertheless, I need to go back there and find out exactly what that chamber aboard the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p is for. How much did you manage to work out while you were wired up?' the Doctor. 'Nevertheless, I need to go back there and find out exactly what that chamber aboard the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p is for. How much did you manage to work out while you were wired up?'

She shook her head and scratched her neck, feeling the unwelcome, though not painful, presence of the alien device. 'I got the impression of complex calculations. It was so odd: I felt like I'd been sliced in two one half performing calculations, the other half just watching.' She gave a little shudder.

'Perhaps some sort of parallel processing array,' he murmured, sitting back on the arm of the chair. 'Using human brains as the processors. I imagine it would be necessary to separate the processing functions from your conscious awareness to prevent you from introducing spurious data into them.' He leaned forward again. 'In your opinion,' he said, 'what was being calculated?'

'Frequencies,' she answered firmly without hesitation.

'Definitely frequencies, harmonics, Fourier transforms. I might have found out more if Ace hadn't woken me up.' She realised that there was an edge to her voice that she hadn't intended.

'I don't think we can blame Ace for that,' the Doctor said. 'I just hope that she managed to get out without being caught.

That's another reason I really should be going.' He reached for his hat. 'But before I go,' he said, popping it on his head, 'let me see if I can remove that implant for you. It might-give me some clues to the technology and the people behind all this.'

Joyce leaned forward again and pulled her hair out of the way. She felt the Doctor's fingers surprisingly cool and light in their touch pressing and probing at the device. With a triumphant 'Aha!', he stood up, and she felt a sudden hot wetness at the back of her neck. The Doctor produced a handkerchief.

'If you don't want to get blood on that smart new jacket of yours:,' he said, 'I'd suggest holding this over it firmly for a few minutes.'

Joyce pressed it to her neck as the Doctor showed her the device much bigger than she'd imagined: an acorn-shaped piece of greenish metal trailing a few inches of hairlike metallic fibres. She gave another shudder, realising that this had been embedded in her, the fibres working their way into her brain.

The Doctor pulled another handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the device up in it, and put it away inside his jacket. As he did so, he pulled out a sheaf of postcards and envelopes and quickly flicked through them.

'I think this is yours,' he said, handing her the very same card that she'd posted not two days. For a moment, she was about to tell him that it couldn't be; that it was too old, too dry, too yellowed. And then she saw the writing, turned it over and recognised the picture. How could it have aged so much in just a couple of days? She looked up to see him smiling.

'Trust the post office to smudge the postmark so that I couldn't read it,' he said, like a teacher admonis.h.i.+ng a pupil for their bad handwriting. 'Next time, don't forget to write the date and time you posted it. You've no idea of the trouble I had to go through to find out when and where you were.'

And with that and a wink he was out of the front door and gone.

She hadn't had much of a choice, Ace thought ruefully as she watched Sooal skulking around the door to the corridor like some pallid elf. Once she'd realised that the airlocks and s.p.a.cesuits were still functional, and that the external sensors showed the s.h.i.+p was under forty yards of water and there was a land ma.s.s half a mile away, it all clicked into place. She could leave via the airlock, float to the surface, then swim ash.o.r.e. A bit of a bind, but at least then she could race back to Graystairs, find the Doctor, and wrap this whole thing up.

She checked the seal on the helmet and nudged her rucksack, pushed down into the front of the suit like some fake pregnancy padding, into a more comfortable position. Then she pressed the b.u.t.tons that would slowly let in water from the outside. As the cold, icy torrent began to foam at her feet, Sooal saw her. She couldn't resist a cheery wave. And as the water swirled around her waist, she took a few deep breaths. This is becoming a habit, she thought. I wonder if I'm now qualified for my 'exiting an alien s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p underwater' Girl Guide badge...

She was still smiling as she plunged into the darkness and made for the surface.

Chapter Eight.

Megan was closing the kitchen windows as Sooal came storming in. His temper was a black cloud, hovering above his head, waiting to spit thunder and lightning.

'She's escaped,' Sooal said. 'That Ace girl's escaped.'

'How?'

'The airlock on the s.h.i.+p. She just put on a suit and out she went.'

Megan gave a half smile. 'Well, we can forget about her for a while, then.'

'No we can't!' he rounded on her and she flinched. 'You know what's out there. What if she finds it or, worse, damages it?' 'But she doesn't even know it exists. Does she?'

Sooal made impatient clucking noises as he paced the kitchen. 'She managed to use a s.p.a.cesuit and operate the airlock.

Who knows what she's capable of? What if she's come from '

'But they don't even know we're here,' Megan interrupted.

'And if they did, they wouldn't send a girl and an old man, would they?' She watched Sooal silently for a few moments. 'So what are we going to do, then?'

' We We are not going to do anything.' He jabbed a finger at her. are not going to do anything.' He jabbed a finger at her.

' You You are going to get a pulse rifle, follow her through the airlock and track her down.' are going to get a pulse rifle, follow her through the airlock and track her down.'

Apart from his imperious tone, Megan found the idea quite appealing. She'd taken an instant dislike to the smart-a.r.s.ed girl: getting even with her would be a pleasure. 'And when I've tracked her down...?'

Sooal grinned wickedly, showing his sharp little teeth. 'What do you think? Kill her, of course.'

Sooal stomped off up the stairs, frustration and anger making his heart pound painfully in his chest. He had to steady himself halfway up, feeling his breath come in sharp, ragged gasps. He fished a silvery device from his pocket, applied it to his wrist, and felt the metabolic stabiliser course icily through his veins.

Not now, he thought, fear tightening its grip on his already weak heart. he thought, fear tightening its grip on his already weak heart. Not now Not now. For a few moments he stood in silence, grasping the handrail as sweat p.r.i.c.ked out from every pore. Not when I'm Not when I'm so close. so close.

He tried to calm his breathing, felt his heart steady. He knew he didn't have long; but it had to be had to be had to be long enough. long enough.

Gritting his teeth against the sudden pain in his joints, he heaved himself up the stairs to the attic. He needed to get replacements for the disconnected processors. It occurred to him that the three that had been removed might still be somewhere around perhaps even aboard the s.h.i.+p. But it seemed unlikely. He reached the treatment room and pulled down the clipboard from the wall, checking the treatment rota. There were several of the residents who hadn't been to the s.h.i.+p for a while whom he could 'call on': attachment to the processor was a draining experience that, long term, could cause damage. He tried to rotate them he didn't know how long he would need them, and although Graystairs was ideal for his purposes, he didn't want to exhaust his supply. He'd already used the more dispensable staff. The irony of the whole situation was that he couldn't risk using the Tulks in the processor array: they were far too valuable.

Sooal jumped at a gentle tap on the door. Menzies stuck his head round, clearly surprised to find him there.

'Is everything OK?' he asked. 'Only there's a treatment-booked for Ceris in twenty minutes. D'you want to be in on it?'

'I have absolute trust in you, doctor, Sooal answered smoothly. 'In fact you probably know the process better than I do by now ' He broke off as a coughing fit shook his body.

Menzies rushed over and settled him into the chair, despite his protestations. He pulled his stethoscope from his pocket and checked Sooal's heart and chest.

'Fluid acc.u.mulation again,' he said, tucking the instrument away. 'Have you taken the stabiliser recently?'

Sooal nodded. 'Just a few minutes ago.'

'You need to rest. Give it a chance to kick in.'

Sooal waved him away. 'I don't have time.'

'Exactly,' said Menzies, peering meaningfully over his gla.s.ses. 'The metabolic stabiliser can only hold off the ageing symptoms for so long, you know. Without rest '

'I know, I know. But if the processor doesn't finish its work soon, I'll be dead anyway.'

Menzies looked away at the mention of the processor. Sooal knew that it was the one thing about his work there that bent Menzies' Hippocratic oath almost to breaking point: he'd a.s.sured Menzies that no harm was being done, and that acceptance of it was the price Menzies paid for Sooal's work on Alzheimer's. Menzies had gone along with it with bad grace; but the potential good that the treatment could do was enough to keep him in line.

'You'd better go and give Ceris her sedative. Steve will help you.' 'Where's Megan?'

Sooal tried hard to suppress a smile and didn't entirely succeed. 'She has... other duties to attend to. Now go on: I need to work out replacements for the array.'

Reluctantly, Menzies left him with another warning not to exert himself for a while. Sooal checked the treatment sheets. He didn't know how much time he had left: the array had to be his first priority 'I'm here to see Doctor Menzies,' said the perky little man at the front door.

Bernard looked him up and down, wondering if he was a new patient, just arrived. He didn't have any luggage with him, and they were usually accompanied by some hugely embarra.s.sed son or daughter, or a tearful spouse, keen to impress on the staff that their dearly beloved wasn't really going round the bend, but just needed some 'convalescence'. But the man was alone, his only luggage a rather ugly umbrella. There was something frighteningly intense in the man's eyes and at the same time, something else, frustratingly vague. If he wasn't a patient, Bernard thought, he ought to be. He waved the man in, checked that there were no relatives tugging suitcases out of a car outside, and closed the door.

'What did you say your name was?'

'I didn't. But it's Smith. John Smith.'

'And is Doctor Menzies expecting you?'