Doctor Who: Drift (37 page)

‘There, there.’ It wouldn’t take too long to dig the doors clear, at least; especially if Leela put her back into it.

He looked around for her. She was turning the gun over in her hands.

‘Leela, what did I tell you about-’ The Doctor stopped short of snatching the weapon from her. ‘Kristal gave you that, didn’t she?’

Leela nodded minutely. She ran her thumb over the pistol, absorbed by the texture. ‘Doctor, do you think that she crossed into the spirit world, as she would have wished?’

The Doctor weighed his moment carefully. He eased the gun from Leela’s hands. Well,’ he said, ‘that’s the thing about belief. It’s not important what I think.’ He draped an arm around her. ‘It’s only important what you think.’

Just occasionally, there were things that science couldn’t explain; and equally, there were some occasions when it shouldn’t make the attempt.

‘Amber probably still believes she was connected to that creature in some way. Empathy Is a common phenomenon between like minds.’

‘Is that why the girl was crying? She felt for the creature?’

‘Yes, and who can blame her.’ The Doctor pocketed the gun, thinking it might be made safe. ‘Lost, adrift and alone in an alien dimension, only wanting some basic needs common to most: a home and some control over its own destiny.

Someone should shed a few tears for it.’

Leela glanced up at him. ‘You feel for the creature too?’

‘Well,’ the Doctor shrugged off the notion, ‘I expect it’s just the drink talking.’

Shaking himself alert, he turned back to the TARDIS.

‘Come on, a spot of digging might be the very thing to help me metalobise the alcohol out of my system.’

‘Metalobise?’

‘Yes,
metalobise,
’ the Doctor insisted defensively. ‘If I tried to operate the TARDIS in my current state, I’d have no idea where we were going. Then where would we be, hmm?’

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning was trying its damnedest to bless the trees and hills with a gold trim, working hard at it through a still-hazy sky. Like a priest determined to exorcise the demons of the past few days

The storms would be back, for sure. It was that time of year. But they would be natural, and for now the world of New Hampshire simply needed to take a breather. And for once, it seemed, the weather was uncharacteristically inclined to give everybody a chance.

Captain Morgan Shaw wandered back to the chopper, squatting on the hill like some mutant mosquito adapted for winter. The Nighthawk was a taste of the outside world, the military machine; in some ways as heartening to Morgan as the sunrise.

His medical officer was hoisting her pack on board. She’d been glancing into the dawn, but not really seeing it. Morgan reflected on all the reasons why he shouldn’t be seeing it either.

‘Hey,’ he felt the need to break the moment.

‘Hey, yourself,’ she worked hard on her smile.
‘Sir’

‘Don’t go quitting the team, Joanna. Not after all this.’

Hmieleski looked out over the trees and ridges. ‘I don’t know, sir. The team is-’ She stopped herself, then looked right in his eyes. ‘I made some wrong choices, sir, and they cost lives. I should have-’

‘Hey,’ Morgan shut her up. ‘Want to know what I think?

What I think is - totally irrelevant.’ He gave a friendly smirk, because he had her attention now. ‘They were judgement calls, Joanna, and stuff happened. But you know what’s making you sick to the gut right now? I’ll tell you, it’s not because they were the wrong calls or the right ones. It’s because they were
yours.
Sometimes you just have to be satisfied you were able to make any decision at all.’

‘Sir?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I go now?’

Morgan laughed and he wished her bon voyage with his eyes. He could have used her support and expertise a few more days, with the whole cleanup operation; but he was hopeful if he let her go now, she’d still be his queen of Alpha Team. His Alpha female.

He helped her on board the helicopter. She settled into her seat and her expression was like a huge Thank God. Morgan ducked back and signalled to the pilot: take my girl home for some quality R&R.

Morgan knew he’d be here a while himself. Long enough to exchange goodbyes with his brother, he guessed - whenever he got back. Morgan wanted to make some sort of personal resolution, to keep in touch with Mak more. Make an effort.

But. like all those forefathers who’d landed on the East Coast and offered up their thanks to the Lord, and then, as Kristal had constantly reminded him, trashed their new paradise and wiped out the natives - some promises were best left unmade.

Melody tapped the keys hanging from the ignition and watched them jangle like a poor set of chimes. She wondered how much longer she was going to have to sit here.

Her partner was standing at the lake’s edge, gazing out across the ice at the 4x4 as though willing it to finish sinking properly. Where the ice had cracked open, the waters had re-frozen and locked the vehicle in that ridiculous angle. Parker looked like he was paying his respects to a memorial - a memorial to their failure, perhaps.

With every plough in the county mobilised to take advantage of the first respite in days, it had been a relatively simple matter to obtain a replacement car.

Melody was all ready to get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak, but she’d driven back to the cabin so they could collect their personal belongings; or rather, the belongings that had become personal to their lives here. They were on their outward journey, when Parker had asked her to park up by the shore.

He’d been so sullen, she’d given in without a word. Now.

she wanted to honk the horn.

Finally though, he walked briskly to the car and hopped in beside her, shutting out the cold air with a satisfying slam.

Melody offered her partner a pitying gaze, but he didn’t seem to rise to the bait. ‘Hey, partner, chin up. It’s not that bad.’

‘Isn’t it? We were so
close.’
He spat through his teeth and clenched a fist over the dash.

‘There’ll be other cases.’

‘Yeah. And a lot more Dimension Phase Multiplexers. There must be, what, dozens out there. You know, it’s not like the lottery - we can’t buy a goddamn ticket every week.’

‘No,’ agreed Melody softly, and she gently took hold of the keys. ‘But even if we have to wait another twenty or thirty years, the waking hours will go by that much easier if you’re not in a permanent sulk.’

‘I guess.’ His huffy response and the folded arms said otherwise.

Melody left the keys in the ignition and reached over to stroke her partner’s hair. ‘Try to look at it this way: what were we back home? Just a couple of nobodies, really Here, we’re really something, Parker. We’re special, different. We have talents and gifts, and a whole lot more time than anyone else on this planet.’

Parker sniffed and rocked his head from side to side, weighing up the advantages. He ended by tipping his head more Melody’s way. ‘Keep doing what you’re doing. Yeah, maybe I can live with that. When you put it that way it doesn’t sound so bad.’

Parker held her gaze and moved in for the kiss.

‘Knock it off.’

Melody sat up and grabbed the wheel, turning over the ignition. There would be other cases, guaranteed. They’d just have to do like they had been doing: keep an eye out for the really
special
ones, manoeuvre their way into them.

Meanwhile it was time for a vacation. Somewhere warm, she fancied.

The road around Winnipesaukee unfurled into a different world, like an early Christmas card. The sun was shining and the clearer skies implied that the land could sleep snugly under its blanket of white this winter. Amber had seen only a few Thanksgiving mornings, but this was by far the most beautiful.

At least it gave her something other than Makenzie to look at as the miles rolled by.

Amber could tell he had something other than driving on his mind, like he’d been building up to saying the words from the moment they’d left Concord. Amber wished he’d just get on with it, get it over and done. Then leave her to her silence.

At last. Makenzie said, ‘You know, your Mom and I were talking at the hospital.’

‘I know.’ Did he think she was stupid? Mom had packed her off to the vending machine with a few quarters and when she’d come back, she’d stopped outside the door, slurping at her soda, and listening to their low voices - Mom and Mak -

engaged in one of their quieter arguments - the ones they called
discussions.

Amber had entered and answered their twin smiles with all the sincerity they deserved. Since then, she’d confined her conversation to
yeahs, nahs,
and
uh-huhs.

Makenzie braved it out. ‘Well, anyhow, we made up our own minds what would be best for us. And your Mom’s hoping you and I can talk about what’s likely to be best for you.’

Amber blinked at Makenzie. Big Mak. She didn’t quite get what he was saying, but he was all serious and earnest and he wasn’t looking at her like she was a kid.

‘You know, I can’t ever be your Daddy,’ he went on. ‘The best I can ever be is your friend. Fact is, it’s down to you and me whether we make that a good thing or a bad thing.’

‘Uh huh.’ This time she said it because it was all she
could
say. Because Amber thought she understood: her life, her choice. They were putting her first. The final decision was hers, and it was partly a comfort, partly a fragile weight that she felt scared to drop. She chanced a sidelong look at Makenzie. and he caught the glance.

‘Your Mom’ll be out of hospital within a week. You know, I think I talked her into getting rid of that old trailer of hers -

kind of spoils the view out front, doesn’t it? Put a For Sale sign down by the road. The town will be coming back to life soon. Plenty of folks sure to be driving through before Christmas. It’ll be gone in no time. What’s your take on that?’

Amber let her gaze ride ahead of the police truck some distance and for some reason she suddenly felt like she might cry. Courageously, she shook herself clear of that and aimed an uncertain expression up at Makenzie.

‘Can I help hammer it in?’ she asked. ‘The sign, I mean’

‘I’ll need someone to hold it steady.’ Makenzie smiled.

Pretty soon. Amber noticed, he had relaxed some more into his driving.

They still had a few miles between them and home.

But with Makenzie driving. Amber felt confident they would get there.

About the Author

Simon Forward was born in Penzance in 1967. From the age of three he was probably dreaming about writing for
Doctor
Who.
For a while he was a computer programmer, but between reading, films, role-playing and writing, much of his life has been based in fantasy. He bears little resemblance to the person who wrote ‘One Bad Apple’ for
Doctor Who: More
Short Trips,
although he is of course the same individual.

• Front Cover
  
• Back Cover
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Thanksgiving
  
• About the Author