Doctor Who: The Also People (26 page)

'No occupations,' said feLixi. 'And the science-based interest groups would regard an association list as privileged data. Especially if they knew why you were asking, which they would since the bar fight last night. I suppose you could ask saRa!qava. I think she used to be involved in field dynamics or something like that. Gave it up to bake bread.'

'Why don't we do that now?' said Chris.

'What's that red thing in the water called again?' asked feLixi.

'Er, the float I think.'

'In that case,' said feLixi, 'shouldn't it be floating?'

The Doctor waited precisely three minutes for the tea to brew before carefully pouring his first cup. Replacing the white porcelain teapot on the side table he picked up the matching jug and added some milk. Next he dropped in two lumps of sugar and stirred with a simple silver-plated spoon that was definitely not made in Sheffield. The spoon pinged harmoniously on the saucer and the Doctor leaned back in his armchair, crossed his legs, took his first sip of the excellently blended tea and sighed with contentment.

Outside of the little bubble of air and gravity in which he sat, the ships of the people slowly gathered around him.

The smallest of them were the two VLR Drones, a bare eight hundred metres long, all engine, brain and minimal life support. They were the first to arrive having been built to be fast and inquisitive. They described complex patterns around the Doctor with the gay abandon of ships that don't have an organic crew to complain about motion sickness. The four converted VASs arrived next, sliding through the vacuum with the same grace and fixity of purpose of sharks.

They formed up into a loose semi-circle facing him, the blind insect eyes of their weapon's pods very much pointing in his direction.

The Doctor dunked a digestive biscuit and quickly ate it before the soggy end fell off. He sipped his tea and calmly watched as the huge shapes of the GPSs converged on him, slipping into complementary firing positions above and behind the VASs.

Finally, the front end of the TSH rose up behind him like a city taking flight, coming so close to the Doctor that it seemed as if a great wall full of windows, airlocks, antennae, launching pads, docking bays and promenades leaned over his back.

The ships hung all around him, silent, absolutely still, waiting for him to make the first move.

Even the VLR drones stopped their ceaseless patterns and turned towards the Doctor. They represented such a force, he knew, that if the Rutons or the Sontarans had even suspected their existence they would have climbed into the deepest darkest hole they could find and sealed themselves in. The effect of the culture shock alone would kill millions.

The Doctor took another swallow of tea and cleared his throat.

'I just want you to know,' said the Doctor, putting his cup down, 'that there is absolutely no reason to be alarmed.'

It took the combined strength of Chris and feLixi to stop the fishing rod being dragged into the sea. Once they had both grabbed hold of the rod it dawned on Chris that if one let go the other would instantly be pulled into the water.

'It must be a monster,' shouted feLixi.

'I hope not,' said Chris, 'I was hoping for a fish.'

'Didn't the Doctor tell you what to do when the line ran out?'

'Yes, but I wasn't listening.'

A heavy tug on the line dragged them forward across the slippery stone. Chris managed to get his foot braced against the parapet just in time. He remembered the Doctor's story about Scorbiski Major and the angling fish. And then tried to put the sudden image of some deepwater monstrosity with a fishing-rod-shaped proboscis out of his mind.

Cold water hit him at knee level.

'The waves are getting bigger,' he yelled to feLixi. He had to yell because the wind was getting bigger as well. He noticed that feLixi had lost his hat. There was a skittering noise as the umbrella fell over and went for a run up the breakwater. Chris watched as it launched itself, spinning, into the air like a crude helicopter.

'There's a storm coming,' shouted feLixi, 'winds of ten metres a second with gusts up to thirty, severe precipitation likely.'

'How can you tell?'

'What?'

'How can you tell how fast the wind is?'

'God told me. That's why I came out to tell you and the Doctor.'

'You could have mentioned it sooner.'

'I forgot,' shouted feLixi. 'Shouldn't we try and reel the fish in?'

Chris grasped hold of the handle but it wouldn't budge. 'It's too tight.'

'Maybe if we pull the rod up we could get some slack.'

They heaved the rod up to a 45-degree angle, at least the base was; the thin fibreglass was bent so far that the end was almost below the level of their feet. Chris cranked the handle, letting the rod lower as he took up the slack. 'It worked.'

Another wave crashed against the breakwater and doused them both in freezing water. Chris spat salt. 'Now what?'

'I think we do it again,' yelled feLixi.

They did it again and again, each pull gathering up a few precious metres of line. Chris was soon glad of the driving horizontal rain; it washed the sweat off. There was a burning pain in the muscles of his arms and across his back. He could hear feLixi panting for breath, obviously as exhausted as he was.

The line went inexplicably slack.

'Look,' shouted feLixi.

Out amongst the high swell Chris saw a grey shape surge out of the water. Six metres long from the tip of its horn to the end of its tail, the fish seemed to hang agonizingly in the air before crashing down into the waves.

'Crank the handle,' screamed feLixi, 'before it gets away.'

Chris wound like a madman until the line went taut.

And still the fish defied them, fighting every centimetre of line. A kind of madness overcame Chris and feLixi; there was never any thought of quitting, there was only the fish, the sea and the hard rain coming down. Their hands were raw with pain from gripping the rod and their backs were bent with agony.

Until suddenly it was in front of them, thrashing urgently at the base of the breakwater. 'One last pull,' called Chris. Using the ripped-out pockets of their coats as makeshift gloves they took hold of the line and heaved the fish upwards. While feLixi kept it tight against the parapet Chris grabbed hold of the fish itself, the skin rough and cold against his numb hands, and manhandled it onto the top of the breakwater.

They stepped back, amazed at what they had done, triumphant. The fish thrashed on its side, gasping in the air, an eye like a wet pebble stared up at them.

'What do we do now?' asked feLixi, panting for breath.

'I think we're supposed to bash it on the head,' said Chris.

'Well,' said the fish,
'excuse me!'

Chris opened his arms to their fullest extent. 'He was twice this long,' he said.

SaRa!qava was an indistinct figure through the steam. 'So where is he?'

'We had to let him go,' said Chris. He flinched as Dep dug her fingers into his back, kneading the tension out of his knotted muscles. A single strand of her hair caressed his ear.

'You could have invited him back for a drink,' said saRa!qava.

'We did,' said feLixi from one of the upper, hotter benches, 'but he said that he had a promising shoal of fish to worry.'

'Wasn't he annoyed?' asked Dep.

'Actually,' said feLixi, 'he said he rather enjoyed it and needed the exercise anyway. No nerves in his mouth, or so he says. Put some more water on the stones, saRa!qava, I'm beginning to contract again.'

Chris averted his eyes as saRa!qava stood up to fetch a ladle of water. He wasn't used to casual nudity, especially as it pertained to his girlfriend's mother. Ladled water sizzled on the hot stones in the pot, filling the small room with clouds of aromatic steam.

'He almost pulled us in,' said Chris.

'Did he have a name?' asked Dep.

'We asked,' said Chris, 'but he said he hadn't gone to all the trouble of having himself turned into a fish to get away from people just to start handing out his name when he got caught.'

'I think he was embarrassed really,' said feLixi, 'for swallowing such a crappy lure in the first place.'

'Knock, knock,' said a voice.

'Who's there?' said saRa!qava.

'The Doctor,' said the Doctor.

'Well, don't just stand there,' said saRa!qava, 'come in.'

The Doctor walked, fully dressed, into the steam room. He looked around curiously. 'Have I ever told you about Wulf the Unsteady?' he asked. 'Very fond of steam baths was Wulf, especially after a hard day's looting and pillaging. Now there was a real barbarian. Big homed helmet, shaggy beard, chunks bitten out of his shield, the whole shmutter. Pity about the narcolepsy though. Used to fall asleep during raids.' The Doctor slipped off his jacket and sat down on the bench next to Chris. 'I've been talking to the ships,' he said.

'What did you find out?' asked feLixi.

'Oh,' said the Doctor, 'this and that. They do like to gossip ships do, especially when they're in dock. Worse than Tuesday morning at the town pump in a small Welsh village. They thought they might have to have a war but I talked them out of it.'

'That's nice,' said saRa!qava. 'Anything we should worry about?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'The heat death of the Universe,' he said, 'but the diary's pretty much clear until then.' He asked how the fishing went and Chris told him about the talking fish, except this time he stated that the fish was at least
three
times as long as his outstretched arms. 'More than that surely,' said feLixi. The Doctor grinned and said they'd obviously got the hang of the sport.

'I don't suppose you bothered to ask whether he had seen anything odd in the last couple of days,' said the Doctor. 'Thought not. If you want something done you have to do it yourself.' He stood up and made for the door.

'Doctor,' said saRa!qava, 'where are you going?'

'Fishing,' said the Doctor.

The Doctor cast bread onto the face of the dark water, nimble fingers tearing the crusts off and flicking them into the sea below the breakwater. As it grew darker the lighthouse groaned out of its recess. He was amused to hear that it apparently ran on clockwork. The sound of iSanti Jeni starting its evening promenade floated over the harbour, voices and music echoing off the streamlined shadows of the boats that bobbed in the water. He would have liked to have repeated his performance: card tricks, sleight of hand, perhaps a bit of juggling. Such simple tricks for so technologically sophisticated a culture but the audience had lapped them up. It occurred to the Doctor that the audience must have assumed that he wasn't using any technological trickery during his show. They seemed to appreciate skill here, rather than results.

It would have been nice to walk back to the esplanade and become a mere entertainer once more.

A great and unexpected sadness welled up in him, a regret that he couldn't just juggle and play the spoons and pull coins out of the ears of children. It was such a small, human regret. So tiny and insignificant when set against the vast crimes he had committed. Perhaps this incarnation of himself, this small man with his panama hat and red umbrella was meant somehow to caper for an audience, to sing for its supper.

Bring happiness to a few but misery to no one.

He remembered a song, a scratchy old 78 record with some unknown blues singer with a voice pulled from a landscape of dusty roads and strange fruit.
I get so weary following this old road/It
don't go nowhere but damnation.
That voice was coming out of time and speaking to him alone.

That ol' dusty road undulating off to the horizon and the rich smell of freshly turned soil. He shuddered. And behind, the bodies twisting in the wind, blood on the leaves and blood on the ground. Human sacrifices on the road to nowhere.

Frightening that a voice could pick itself out of the grooves in the vinyl, drifting in and out like a Billie Holiday solo, breaking down the walls and storming the fortress of his soul.

Frightening that someone
knew
.

He wanted to walk back to the esplanade and stand in the spotlight with his hat placed at his feet. Wanted a different road so badly it was like an ache in his chest.

Wanted to give up the responsibility for good.

He threw another piece of bread into the sea.

He went through two whole loaves of bread before the fish finally deigned to show up.

Politely the Doctor lowered himself on to his haunches so that his face was closer to that of the fish. Because he was curious the Doctor allowed himself a few moments to ask the fish why it was a fish.

'Got myself reconstructed, didn't I,' said the fish. 'I could have been an aquatic mammal but I figured if you were going to drop out you might as well go all the way.'

'Are there many others like you?' asked the Doctor.

'Couple of million,' said the fish. 'Mostly associates of the Voluntary Devolution Interest Group.

Although I heard there's some monsters in the deeps that belong to Truth Through Ugliness.'

The Doctor found he was fascinated despite himself. 'Isn't it a bit dangerous?'

'Oh, we're strictly top of the food chain,' said the fish, 'except when some wally decides to go fishing. To be honest I've been thinking of packing it in – maybe joining the primate colony near the waterfall. It was fun for the first couple of decades but I'm getting sick of it. Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about, only I'm getting seriously dehydrated here, know what I mean?'

'I was wondering if you'd noticed anything odd happening recently,' said the Doctor.

'Like what?'

'Strange lights in the water, unexplained meteorological phenomena, bits of drone falling out of the sky.'

'Nothing like that,' said the fish. 'Someone dropped a force-bomb near me a couple of months back. That any good?'

'You're sure it was a force-bomb?'

'Oh yeah,' said the fish. '
Very
sensitive vibration detectors I got. I know a force-bomb when it goes off over my head. I was deaf for a week. Great big wave went sweeping into the harbour taking most of the edible fish with it.'