Jenny Colcan, page 12
Everyone stared at me and I pretended to be very busy and distracted.
‘… and I bet you all have the same thing. Just one day. To get away from your normal routine. To remember how much you love your family. To escape
that feeling that everything is collapsing around your feet. And then it collapsed around your feet. And I think somebody here is responsible…’
There was suddenly a bolting figure from the back; a bright flash of blue, taking off towards where the tunnels began.
We turned and ran, chasing it. So did Postumus, who had reappeared, and moved remarkably fast on those long limbs of his.
Beneath the tunnels, everything was dank and utilitarian. We followed some very swift running feet.
‘This way!’ shouted Postumus, whose ears were pricked up. We followed him, the pathway twisting and turning and getting deeper.
Suddenly I clanked against something, and I nearly tripped. My leg was caught. ‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ puffed Postumus. ‘That’s the monorail. For the transportation pods.’
‘The what?’ I said. But it was too late. Already, I could see a gleam of light ahead, as one of the little pods was heading straight for us.
‘Get into the side, River!’ shouted the Doctor.
But I had seen something – something just ahead.
‘It’s blue!’ I shouted. ‘Get the guy! He’s blue!’
I couldn’t move my leg. The train was coming closer and closer. It didn’t appear to have a driver.
‘Go on!’ I shouted. ‘Get him!’
But the Doctor stopped running and turned back towards me; they both did.
And both Postumus and the Doctor instantly gave up their quarry and came towards me and, with an extremely ungracious 1-2-3 HUMPH, quickly pulled me out of my boots. The Doctor heaved me first and rolled with me to the left side; Postumus made a dive to the right and, to our utter horror, didn’t make it in time.
The white pod rolled past and over him, and, just underneath it, we saw one
little paw, lying limp on the rail.
We dived back down to the track. Postumus was lying, eyes shut. His legs were horribly mangled. I stroked his very soft fur. Then I looked up.
At the end of the passageway, there stood a tall blue, humanoid shape, outlined in the lights.
I leapt up and pulled out my sword. ‘And now,’ I shouted, ‘I believe you harmed a friend of mine.’
I stalked up the tunnel, sword trained on his chest.
As I drew closer, however, I noticed something. The figure wasn’t trying to
escape or attack. And yes, it was tall: but it wasn’t a man. It was an overgrown child; it was the teenager we had noticed earlier; his gadget dangling from his fingers. Also, he was crying.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he sobbed, his mouth a wobbly line. ‘I didn’t mean it, but…’
‘I’ve got a pulse!’ shouted the Doctor, as I led the boy back down the tunnel at the tip of my sword.
‘And I’ve got a miscreant. Did you just perform mouth to mole?’ I said.
‘It’s not so bad once you get used to it,’ said the Doctor, wiping his lips.
Postumus’s eyes began to flicker.
‘What… what happened…?’
I stroked his nose. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You’ve hurt your legs. But we’ll get help.’
He nodded. ‘They won’t hurt,’ he whispered. ‘Do you know, they’re actually augmented legs.’
‘I absolutely hadn’t noticed,’ I whispered back, and he smiled.
And then, thankfully, the ambulance arrived, and transported us back to the
central base.
All the lights were on in the control room, screens showing a rapidly emptying park. Postumus was propped up. Caius was marching up and down in front of the boy, who was apparently called Tomith, and his quivering parents.
‘What on earth were you thinking?’ he was shouting. For something that looked like a beaver, he was actually quite scary. ‘You killed people! You nearly killed my staff! You could have killed everyone in that hall.’
Tomith was staring at the ground, trembling. ‘I didn’t mean any harm.’
‘Oh, you didn’t mean any harm,’ said Caius. ‘You might have destroyed this
place for ever, you know that?’
‘I was just hacking. Your security systems are so simple.’
The bristles went up on the back of Caius’s neck. ‘They’re the finest on the
market today!’
‘Well, they’re still terrible,’ said Tomith. ‘But I didn’t… I didn’t realise that would happen if you messed with the dimensional calibrator.’
‘A little knowledge,’ said the Doctor.
‘You know the sentencing in this part of the world for hacking?’
One of Tomith’s triparents burst into tears.
Tomith trembled even harder. ‘I’m so so sorry. I’ve got exams and
everything back on Nurfer. I’m really, really sorry, Sir.’
‘You’ll be even more sorry when you’re on Death Row.’
The parent now looked close to collapse.
Tears ran down Tomith’s face. ‘I only wanted to mess with it a bit.’
‘Well, you messed with the wrong theme park.’
‘How old are you?’ said the Doctor.
‘Fifteen,’ said the boy, or that’s what the TARDIS translated for me.
The Doctor raised his hands up. ‘He’s a child, Caius.’
‘He’s a criminal child.’
‘If I were you, I’d give him a job.’
‘What?!’
‘Sort out your security breaches once and for all. Poacher turned
gamekeeper… No offence,’ said the Doctor, looking round at the assorted
woodland animals. ‘Because it seems to me, Caius, you need a new perspective.’
‘But he’s going to be prosecuted…’
‘You have children, Caius?’
Caius shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘And how do you think they’re going to feel when their dad loses his job for
letting his park be destroyed… Or perhaps it stood up to a major test incident.
And learned how to pass it… to make it truly secure.’
‘I could do that,’ gulped Tomith. ‘I could!’
One of the triparents nudged another. ‘A job!’ they said in astonishment.
The Doctor moved closer to Caius. ‘Could you send one of your own children to their death? For breaking the rules?’
‘They wouldn’t do anything like this.’
‘Is there anything they could do, Caius? That could make you send them to
their deaths?’
There was a long silence in the room.
Then Caius waved his paws in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Fine,’ he said.
‘Postumus, can you handle it? If I promote you to Head of Security?’
‘When I get my new legs, I will,’ said Postumus, looking delighted.
Tomith couldn’t believe his luck. A parent started singing a Pharax song of
profound gratitude that wasn’t particularly welcome. And the Doctor gave Tomith a look.
‘You channel those enormous brains,’ he said severely. ‘Don’t you dare get
in trouble again. Don’t you dare let your parents down like that.’
‘I won’t,’ stammered Tomith, in tears of relief now. ‘I promise, I won’t, Sir.
I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
And he broke down again, and the Doctor ruffled his hair.
Oh, and then it hit me like a rock in the guts.
Not that it was any business of mine. But that was what he would be like as a father.
And what do I know? Maybe he does it already. Maybe they’re out there and
he turns up every morning to breakfast. Maybe he zips back in time and tucks them in every single night, a little millisecond late here or there from some tight spot; different face sometimes; they never mind.
Maybe he’s their funny uncle. Maybe they are legion, woven across the sky;
or maybe he has peered into every dark corner of the universe and decided he could never be so cruel as to bring an innocent life into it.
Who knows, maybe some of them are mine.
Although you’d think he’d have mentioned it.
Outside, there was a small knot of disgruntled park visitors – everyone else had gone home, but they were still there, clamouring for compensation and calling it disgusting. Amongst them was the large lady, with little Mure, who was sitting on the ground, crying and wailing in utter exhaustion, ignored by his mum, who was shouting about her rights.
‘River,’ said the Doctor. ‘Give me your sword.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I like it and I want to keep it.’
‘Give it to me.’
I grudgingly handed it over, and he took off all but a tiny rounded nub at the end with the sonic. Then he programmed something into it and handed it back to the child. Now, the blunt-edged sword played its own fireworks. He gave it to Mure, who stopped crying and we headed on back to the gates.
‘I’m just saying, I liked that sword,’ I said.
‘Sssh,’ said the Doctor.
We got to the edge of the Rainbow Bridge. Everyone had finally left; we had
the entire park to ourselves. The Doctor winked at something that must have been a camera, and suddenly, the night lifted entirely, and suddenly we were in a perfect, golden dawn, in a meadow, next to the empty bridge, wildflowers everywhere and the warm sun on our necks.
‘Picnic?’
After we’d eaten, he lay back, sighing in contentment, his head in my lap, and started pointing out the inconsistencies in the sky system. I could have mentioned that he was criticising a replica of a wholly imaginary atmosphere, but I don’t think he’d have cared.
Then he stopped in mid-flow and reached up, one of his fingers – they seem,
through every iteration, to stay abnormally long; Time Lord fingers are always a dead giveaway – twirling up through the curls in my hair.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he said. ‘You look sad. I hate sad. It makes
me itchy.’
I looked down at him. ‘I know,’ I said, and I stroked his cheek. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘But you should still tell me, River-Runs-Deep. Shouldn’t you? Should you?
Is this one of those things I always get wrong, like flowers are GOOD presents and trees are NOT GOOD presents? Mystery of the Universe right there.’
‘Mystery of the Universe,’ I said, breathing out and trying to let go of the
idea of that extraordinary thing I yearned for; life that remakes life on and on and on.
That no matter what the science tells you, the fact that something alive can
grow inside you, something brand new and unique – even though it is made of
the same mix of stardust and honey and hope as everything else that ever lived –
is a mystery; that every baby is a piece of magic.
‘You don’t believe in magic, do you?’ I said, and he laughed.
‘No!’
I shoved him off then and jumped up. ‘Well, that’s a shame, because the Great Wiagler is doing a private show for us in five minutes, if you wanted to catch it.’
‘Ooh! I do!’ he said, scrambling to his feet. We started off in the direction of the beehive meridians.
‘Does he shoot fiery breaths across the sky?’
‘He shoots fiery breaths across the sky.’
‘Does he juggle dragon eggs?’
‘Yes, but they’re very ethically sourced.’
‘Will he let me choose the cards? Because, I have a system, right…’
And we did have fun. It was brilliant. We laughed and ate far too much, and he didn’t even moan too much about the food, and we stayed up too late and I danced with Postumus on his new legs at the woodland staff celebration party under the three sickle moons and the Northern lights; and he got me back last night just before they sounded the alarms, and I lay on my cold stone bunk alone and thought what a fun family day out Asgard™ might make or could have made or was, one day.
They say a psychopath cannot imagine the world any other way but their own. That their version of reality is the only one that matters to them.
They are so wrong about me.
ALL THE EMPTY TOWERS
'"Kiss-me-quick-squeeze-me-slowly"?'
'Yes! Hilarious. See?'
'"Kiss. Me. Quick... Squeeze. Me. Slowly." Nope. Still nothing.'
'It's just a joke.'
'Is speed of central importance in these actions?' Clara fixed the Doctor with a look, which he ignored as he placed the pink shiny metallic hat back down on the TARDIS console without trying it on.
'Fine, change the subject,' she said with a sigh. 'Shouldn't it be quick/y? Kiss me quick/y? Is it funny now?'
'Never mind.'
'Kick me quick. Now I can see how that might work. Kick me quick...
appease me slowly.'
Clara marched across the console room, doing her best to keep calm.
'I just thought you might like to see where I'm from. That's all. My home. I
thought you might like to visit it.'
Once upon a time, she thought bleakly, you would have. And we'd have had
such a wonderful time. And you'd have loved that damn hat.
'A "black pool". Right. Good things very seldom come out of black pools in my experience. Oozing things do. Scuttling beastie type things.'
'Well, I did.'
"That's why you scuttle so much.'
'I do not scuttle! I...'
'Flounce?'
'Glide!' Clara tried again. 'We'll go up the tower! See the ballroom! And the illuminations! And I'll make you eat candyfloss!'
There was a very long pause. The Doctor's face was stem. Then he turned round, slowly.
'I love candyfloss.'
The TARDIS wheezed to a halt. Dressed in a black top and mini-skirt, Clara
ran delightedly to the door.
'Home!' Then she turned round and regarded the Doctor. 'You'll have to take
that coat off.'
The Doctor looked up, surprised. 'Well, I don't think so.'
'It's Blackpool. Nobody ever wears a coat.'
'Oh dear. A deal breaker.' He turned back towards the console display.
'You always get like this when you're doing something nice,' shouted Clara
cheerily as she headed for the door. 'I just ignore it. Mind you,' she went on, almost to herself, 'Blackpool in November... maybe we can let you off just this once.'
Then she stepped out of the TARDIS into a steaming hot jungle.
The vines hung heavy in the trees, which were weighed down with strange brightly coloured fruits. The air was damp and sweet with the scent of rotting vegetation. Underfoot were fallen fronds and burst pomegranates, decaying where they lay.
'Oh no,' said Clara, looking round, her hands on her hips. 'This isn't Blackpool. Stupid TARDIS.'
The Doctor popped his head out of the door, then glanced back at the console
readout. 'It most certainly is,' he said as he stepped out into the lush green landscape. 'Oh, it's lovely! You should have said!'
'No!' said Clara. 'This is a jungle! Blackpool has a Ferris wheel. And a beach! And...' She looked up. Overhead, the great wrought iron structure of the Blackpool Tower was slightly tilted. It had oxidised, and great vines twisted their way through the gaping holes in its structure. Brightly coloured birds swooped round the top. In front of them was what remained of the Golden Mile.
Smashed lightbulbs crunched underfoot from the ruined illuminations; the promenade was completely overgrown, and high black waves lapped right across
the cracked tramlines. In the distance, through the broken-down struts of the Big One rollercoaster, she saw, stilting along awkwardly -
'.. .giraffes?' Clara whipped round to face the Doctor. 'Giraffes? What's happened to my hometown?'
The Doctor took out his pocket watch. 'Oh. Yeah. Bit late.'
She glanced at the writhing greenery. 'Is this the trees doing a thing again?'
The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Fraid not. This is here to stay. It's 2089.
It's climate change. The real deal.
Looks like all those Bags for Life you bought didn't quite do the trick.'
Clara stepped forward, horrified. 'The Golden Mile, the sand... it was already eroding in my time, you could see it. But they built these sea defences...' She looked at them. The concrete barriers were overwhelmed with water; crumbled
away.
Horrified, Clara started to run down the promenade, broken glass crunching
under her feet. The pier sagged heavily into the high seas, bent and twisted into cruel shapes, dripping vines. Past the pier, a spit of black sand remained, in front of the ruins of the fish and chip shops; upturned plastic ice cream bins bobbing up and down in the water; a shipwrecked tram. She stopped and stared, mouth open.
Hurtling across the sand at full pelt, their heads and manes tossing in the warm wind, their hooves galloping in the rushing water, was a herd of wild donkeys. They looked beautiful and strange, outlined against the dark seas.
Clara's hand went to her mouth.
The Doctor came over, casually eating a handful of grapes that stained his mouth. 'This place is amazing... What?'
'The donkeys! They're running wild!'
'Beautiful..
As they watched the animals gambolling in the surf, suddenly, as if out of nowhere, came a flashing, buzzing noise. A jagged silver disc, smaller than a frisbee, zipped through the sky, and embedded itself in the side of one of the donkeys, which immediately whinnied in distress and collapsed on the beach.
