The Pirate Loop (6 page)

Archibald grinned at her. 'Yeah,' he said, pleased with himself. He glanced back at Martha, still stood at the bar. She nodded encouragingly at him and he moved into
the throng of tentacled aliens, who took the proffered food from him more and more eagerly. Archibald seemed overawed by the attention, grinning at everyone for all he brandished a gun. Soon there was a hubbub of comfortable chatter and even a bit of laughing.

'That was good,' said Martha as Archibald returned to her with the empty tray. He placed it carefully beside the other trays of food and helped himself to a sausage roll.

'Yeah,' he said, about to say something further. But he'd bitten into the sausage roll and his eyes widened in amazement at this incredible new flavour.

'Wait till you try the scotch eggs,' Martha told him.

While Archibald tried each of the different nibbles on offer, Mrs Wingsworth came over to join them. 'I wonder,' she said, 'if there are any more of those delightful cheese and pineapple ones.'

'Sorry,' said Martha. 'All gone.'

But Archibald then offered Mrs Wingsworth a whole tray of them. Mrs Wingsworth let out a high, girlish giggle as she deftly took one. 'Oh, you are an angel,' she said.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

'Hang on,' said Martha, pointing at the tray laden with cheese and pineapple on sticks. 'Where did that come from?'

'It was 'ere,' said Archibald, indicating the end of the bar where all the trays of nibbles waited. 'Did I do it wrong?'

'But there was only one tray of these things,' said
Martha. 'And we finished it.'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

Martha looked again at the bar. 'Where's the empty tray?' she said. 'The one you just put down?'

Archibald scrutinised the bar himself but could see no empty tray. He shrugged, then seemed to notice the full tray he was still holding. He lifted it up for Martha to see. 'Here,' he said.

Martha boggled. The robot barman was at the far end of the bar, and she was
sure
she would have seen him if he'd come down this end to restock the nibbles. Maybe they had special trays in the future, she thought, which just filled up again the moment the food ran out. Maybe they used the same technology as the teleporter thing she and the Doctor had seen down in the engine rooms.

'I never had stuff like this before,' Archibald told Mrs Wingsworth.

But no, thought Martha, something was wrong. She could feel it. After all these months travelling with the Doctor, she'd developed a sort of sixth sense for things like this.

Her thoughts were cut short by Mrs Wingsworth's mocking laughter. 'Well of course you haven't had food like this before, dear,' she told Archibald. 'You weren't born to this sort of lifestyle, were you?' She probably didn't mean to sound so unkind, thought Martha, but it was hardly wise to antagonise the badger with the gun.

'Look,' she said, trying to intercede.

'I wasn't born,' said Archibald proudly. 'I got grown
in a test tube.'

'Precisely, dear, precisely,' said Mrs Wingsworth. 'And you were grown with a purpose in mind. We need someone to do the grubby jobs, don't we?'

'Huh?' said Archibald.

'What Mrs Wingsworth means—' began Martha.

'She means we're dirty,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn marched back into the cocktail lounge. 'And she's right, ain't she? We are dirty. We
fight
dirty. An' we don't care when we kill our prisoners.'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed poised to protest but thought better of it. Which was just as well, thought Martha, as the pirates were in an even worse mood than before. Judging by the surly looks on their faces they hadn't found what they were after.

'What's been 'appenin', Archie?' Dashiel demanded.

Archibald carefully put the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks back down on the bar and headed over to his colleagues. His body sagged as he went over, Martha noticed. When it had just been him, he looked taller, tougher, more in control. When the others badgers were around, though, he became like a sulky teenager.

'I was askin' 'em questions,' he told Dashiel.

'Find anythin' out?' Dashiel asked him.

'Nah,' said Archibald. 'They're pretty stupid.'

Martha couldn't stop Mrs Wingsworth. 'Well really!' she huffed, more than a little too loudly.

'You got summin' to say, 'ave you?' growled Dashiel, jabbing his gun towards her.

Mrs Wingsworth trembled where she stood. 'No,' she squeaked.

Martha reached out her hand and took hold of Mrs Wingsworth's tentacle. There was little she could do if the badgers turned on any of the prisoners, but Mrs Wingsworth seemed grateful for the gesture and her trembling began to ease.

'Don't annoy them,' Martha whispered.

'I don't mean to, dear,' Mrs Wingsworth whispered back. 'But, you know, I mean
really...'

The three badger pirates conferred by the door back into the ballroom. Martha edged forward to better hear what they were saying, but Mrs Wingsworth held her back.

'Don't, dear!' she whispered. 'They'll kill you.' And Martha didn't need to get any nearer; Dashiel was so angry he didn't bother to keep his voice down.

'We found the bridge,' he growled, 'but couldn't get in there.'

'An' we couldn't find the engines,' said Jocelyn.

'It's that door with the stuff,' Dashiel told her. 'I bet you.'

'Could be,' said Jocelyn. 'But you know what Captain Florence'd say. You can't prove it, can you?'

'An' what about the others?' asked Archibald.

Dashiel glanced over at Martha and the tentacled aliens before he said anything further. He whispered, but Martha didn't need to hear the words. To want to keep it secret could mean only one thing: these three badgers
were all there were. And Martha could deal with three badger-faced pirates.

'There's food here if you want it,' she said, gathering up the tray of cheese and pineapple on sticks and taking it over to them. Again the tray had replenished itself; despite what Archibald had taken just a moment ago, the tray was full again.

'What's this?' asked Jocelyn warily.

'Oh, yeah,' said Archibald. 'You should try these.' He showed his colleagues how to eat the cheese and pineapple and what to do with the sticks. Dashiel and Jocelyn followed his example, and like him their eyes widened with amazement.

'That's amazing!' said Dashiel. 'That's like . . .' He trailed off, unable to think of words to describe what it tasted like.

'It's
nice
!' agreed Jocelyn, wowed by the very idea that food could taste good.

'You,' said Dashiel, prodding Martha with his paw. 'What's this stuff called?'

Before Martha could answer she heard a tutting behind her. She didn't need to guess who that was.

'You,' said Dashiel. 'Come 'ere.'

Martha watched in horror as Mrs Wingsworth came forward. Her tentacles trembled with fear but Martha saw her struggling not to show that she was scared.

'I really didn't mean anything by it,' said Mrs Wingsworth, talking quickly. 'But really, dears, it
is
funny. I mean, imagine! You've never even
seen
a canapé.'

'Canner-peas,' growled Dashiel, still holding a half-eaten cheese and pineapple stick. 'That's what they're called?'

'Yeah,' said Martha, trying to calm the situation. 'That's a posh name for finger food. I call them "nibbles".' It was like any family party, with her having to be the peacemaker. Except when her parents argued, they weren't also wielding guns.

'Nibbles,' said Dashiel slowly. 'Cos you nibble on 'em. Yeah.' He seemed quite taken with the word, and finished the cheese and pineapple stick as he considered. Martha stepped forward, proffering the tray so he could put the stick into the little silver box. She didn't withdraw, waiting in front of him until he took another cheese and pineapple stick from her tray. Anything to keep his mind off the gun in his other hand.

'We've also got sausage rolls and scotch eggs,' she told him, 'and those things like baby pizzas.'

'Cor,' said Dashiel and Jocelyn together.

'"Things like baby pizzas"!' said Mrs Wingsworth, aghast.

'What now?!' shouted Dashiel, storming over to her. Mrs Wingsworth threw her tentacles up in front of her wide and orange face. The other tentacled aliens quickly withdrew to the far side of the room, leaving Mrs Wingsworth on her own with Dashiel.

'She didn't mean it!' said Martha quickly. She wasn't sure what she could do to stop him, especially with the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks in her hands.

'You shut up,' Dashiel snapped at her. 'Now,' he said to Mrs Wingsworth, prodding her egg-shaped body with his gun, 'you tell me.
What?'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed to consider her predicament and conclude she had nothing to lose. She visibly relaxed, meeting Dashiel's gaze and holding it.

'I know you can't help it, dear,' she said. 'But you three are just an absolute shambles. Coming aboard like this, all threats and violence. And you don't even know what you're eating! My boys could tell you what made the best blinis – that is what they're called, young woman – before they were fully hatched!'

Dashiel seemed transfixed by the performance. He knew he was being insulted, Martha could see, but he didn't quite understand how. The cheese and pineapple sticks were a brief taste of a life he and his colleagues had never even known. And for all this tentacled alien prisoner taunted him, the insult also gave a tantalising glimpse of a life where you could take this luscious stuff for granted. A life where food had different names.

Martha glanced over at Jocelyn and Archibald. They too were watching avidly, hanging on what Mrs Wingsworth had to say. It was just possible, she thought, that the tentacled alien had made them rethink their pirate ways.

'Yeah,' murmured Jocelyn.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald hungrily. 'Go on, do it, Dash.'

And Martha suddenly saw that she had got it wrong.
They weren't hungry at the thought of Mrs Wingsworth's world of canapés. They were excited because she'd just given them an excuse to kill her.

'Please,' said Martha, taking the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks with her as she went over to Dashiel.

'I said
shut up!'
he snapped at her, his eyes never leaving Mrs Wingsworth.

Mrs Wingsworth did not look away from him. 'It's all right, dear,' she told Martha. 'I'd rather get it over with now than spend any more time with this
riff-raff.'
She smiled with satisfaction, like somehow she'd just won a board game.

Dashiel took a step back from her and raised his gun.

'No!' cried Martha, dropping the tray to one side as she ran forward. Dashiel swiped her away with one paw, sending her sprawling across the floor, on top of the spilt cheese and pineapple sticks. Stunned, she looked up in time to see Dashiel pulling the trigger.

Mrs Wingsworth didn't scream. She stood tall and sure and haughty as the pink light dazzled round her. Martha watched appalled until there was nothing of Mrs Wingsworth left to see.

More than three hours later, the Doctor stood in the same cocktail lounge watching the space where until a moment before Mrs Wingsworth had stood. The air was rich with a stink of roasted lemons, and wisps of ash floated from the ceiling, but only the Doctor seemed in any way bothered about what had just taken place.

'You disintegrated her!' he said, appalled.

'Yeah,' said Dash. 'S'only language these lot unnerstand.'

The Doctor blinked at him. 'You disintegrated her!' he said again.

Dashiel grinned. 'You catch on quick,' he said.

The other Balumin prisoners huddled by the bay window, though not from fear, the Doctor noticed. They really didn't seem to give a stuff that Mrs Wingsworth had just been killed and that it might be any one of them next. He ran a hand through his thick hair, not caring that it probably made it all stick up oddly.

'Right,' he said, addressing the badger pirates. 'Well maybe before anyone else gets hurt we can discuss what it is you lot want. From us, from the
Brilliant,
from life in general if you like.' He grinned at them.

Dash regarded him coolly. 'We gotta mission,' he said.

'That's good,' said the Doctor. 'Something to work towards. I like that.'

Dash nodded but said nothing further. The Doctor could see he was going to need some prompting.

'Your mission wouldn't be to pinch the Brilliant's experimental drive, would it?' he said. The badgers stared at him.

'Yeah,' said Archie.

'No,' said Dash at the same time. He glared at Archie, then said to the Doctor, 'It might be.'

'Figured,' said the Doctor. 'It's what I'd be after, if I was a pirate.'

Dash leered at him. 'We ain't pirates,' he said. 'We're entrepreneurs.'

'Oh right,' said the Doctor. 'Sorry, I always get those two the wrong way round. Pirates are the ones with the suits and pink shirts, aren't they? Anyway. I'm thirsty. Aren't you lot thirsty, what with all the entrepreneur-ing? Is there anywhere round here we can get a drink?' He looked all round him quickly and then made out like he'd only just seen the long bar that stretched down one side of the cocktail lounge. 'Ooh!' he said, making his way over to inspect the menu the machine barman
offered him. 'A bar! Brilliant! Watchoo all having?'

A long mirror hung behind the bar. In the reflection, the Doctor could see the badgers watching him uncertainly. He hoped to wrong-foot them, keep their attention on him, stop them killing any more of the Balumin prisoners. 'Come on,' he said when the badgers made no move to name the drinks they wanted. 'It's my round. I'm gonna have a blue one.' He pointed to the branka juice on the menu. 'One of those, please,' he asked the barman.

The machine barman smoothly retrieved a branka fruit from a bowl, extended a shiny blade from its skinny arm and in a blur of quick, precise activity chopped the fruit into tiny pieces. 'You wanna watch this guy at work,' the Doctor told the badgers. 'It's like an art or something.'

Archie came over to join him at the bar, but rather than choosing a drink he prodded the Doctor in the arm with one of his long and jagged claws.

'Ow,' said the Doctor.

'We're
bored
of cocktails,' said Archie, making it sound like a threat. Perhaps, thought the Doctor, they weren't allowed to drink while they were out rampaging. These things had to have a certain discipline, didn't they?

'That's a point,' he said. 'I think I'm bored with them too. Hold the juice, barman.' The machine had long since stopped chopping and now stood perfectly still, poised with the glass of thick, blue liquid in its metal hand. It took the Doctor's command entirely literally,
and held on to the glass until someone told it otherwise. Machines, thought the Doctor, could be dim like that.

He turned to Archie. 'So,' he said breezily. 'What else is there that isn't cocktails?'

Archie grinned at him. 'We got canapés,' he said. Sure enough, trays full of elegant finger food were laid out at the other end of the bar, by the bay window.

'Cor,' said the Doctor, 'they do look exciting, don't they?' He leant closer in to Archie for a conspiratorial whisper. 'Which ones do you recommend?'

Archie considered. 'The ones with the sticks,' he said. 'They're good.'

The Doctor scratched at his chin as he nodded, considering this advice. He made his way slowly to the other end of the bar and, looking up to make sure Archie was still watching, took one of the cheese and pineapple sticks. He then tried to put the whole thing in his mouth.

Alarmed, Archie hurried over. 'You don't eat the sticks!' he said.

The Doctor removed the cheese and pineapple stick from his mouth and scrutinised it closely, as if trying to make sense of its workings. If in doubt, he thought, always play it stupid. It put people – and, he hoped, badger-faced pirates – at their ease.

'Like this,' said Archie, grabbing his own cheese and pineapple stick. The Doctor watched him as he nimbly ate the pineapple and then the cheese from around the stick, and then did his best to copy the procedure –
careful to make it look like he'd never done this before. If he could put Archie at his ease, make him drop his guard... One chunk of pineapple escaped him, slipped down his chin and slapped into the carpet between his trainers.

'Oops,' said the Doctor. 'It's pretty tricky, this.'

'Yeah,' said Archie, helping himself to another cheese and pineapple stick.

Archie!' growled Dash, still by the door back into the ballroom, still brandishing his heavy gun. 'I said no more. You'll be sick.'

'I don't feel sick,' said Archie.

'Do what Dash says,' growled Joss. The Doctor watched Archie put his cheese and pineapple stick back on the tray behind them. He turned back to say something to Dash, and then a sudden thought struck him. He looked back at the tray, on which the cheese and pineapple sticks were crowded. There was no space to fit any more on the tray. There was no empty space from the two cheese and pineapple sticks he and Archie had eaten.

He glanced up at the robot barman, still at the other end of the bar, still holding the glass of branka juice until someone told it not to. It had not nipped over to top up the cheese and pineapple sticks. The Doctor looked again at the tray and then around it at the fittings on the bar. No, he could discern no transmat technologies or any other clever doodads which might automatically replenish the tray.

'Good, innit?' said Archie.

'Very good,' said the Doctor. 'And no matter what you eat, the food just keeps coming?'

'Yeah,' said Archie. An' we eat a lot.'

'It's true, dear,' said Mrs Wingsworth as she walked into the cocktail lounge, brushing past Dash and Joss. 'They've been gorging themselves for hours!'

'You,' snarled Dash, 'get wiv the others.'

'Yes, dear,' said Mrs Wingsworth in a mocking, singsong voice. Dash and Joss kept their guns trained on her, but didn't seem surprised to see her. Neither, noted the Doctor, did the other Balumin prisoners.

'Er,' said the Doctor. 'I don't mean to be rude, but didn't I see you die?'

'Oh
that,'
said Mrs Wingsworth, batting a tentacle at him like his question were some irksome insect.

'It's annoying,' growled Archie.

'Yes, it is a bit of a nuisance, isn't it?' agreed Mrs Wingsworth. 'Every time they shoot one of us down, we just wake up in our berths. It's an outrage, you know.'

'I can imagine,' said the Doctor, baffled.

'They're really not what we were promised,' Mrs Wingsworth continued. 'We're meant to be first class. And they've given us tiny spaces!' She was talking about the berths, the Doctor realised, not about having been killed.

'She's gotta point,' said Archie. 'I 'ave more room to myself on my ship!'

'Well, it's part of the experience,' said the Doctor.
'Bit of discomfort to sharpen the senses. I'm sorry, it's Mrs Wingsworth isn't it? I didn't know the Balumin had regenerative powers like that.'

'No?' asked Mrs Wingsworth. 'Well, they do say schools are dumbing down, don't they?'

'S'a bit of a swizz, you ask me,' said Archie. 'You kill someone, they should stay killed.'

'Yeah,' agreed Dash, from over by the door.

'That's more a reason why you
shouldn't
kill anyone,' chided the Doctor. 'Isn't it?'

'I'd like to know what my Uncle Cecil would have made of it,' said Mrs Wingsworth airily. 'He was a famous consultant, you know. Treated the Yemayan Ambassador, Mr Sutton. Was quite something at the time. And he was very interested in this sort of thing. I think he even wrote about it.'

'I'll have to look that up,' said the Doctor. 'When I've a spare moment. Though I can probably guess what he concluded.' He looked Mrs Wingsworth up and down quickly, and again she batted him away with a tentacle. 'Speed of recovery like that, you've probably got a nifty gift for remyelinating nerve fibres at a rate of knots. Obvious really, isn't it?'

'If you say so, dear,' said Mrs Wingsworth.

'You disintegrate them,' said Archibald slowly. 'And they get better.'

The Doctor grinned. 'That's the gist of it, yeah. Glad you're keeping up. Must be a characteristic of the Balumin. But I hadn't heard of it before.'

'Is there ways to kill them?' asked Joss. 'So they don't come back?'

'No idea,' said the Doctor. 'And I'm not sure I want to find out.'

'You're boring,' said Archie.

'Well maybe I am. But at least I don't go round killing people for no very good reason.'

'They're quite indescribably brutish,' agreed Mrs Wingsworth. 'No manners whatsoever!'

'I'm warning you,' began Dash, angrily.

'Oh, what are you possibly going to threaten me with next, dear?' asked Mrs Wingsworth lightly. 'You stand there with your great big gun and yet we both know you're completely impotent.'

'Hang on, hang on,' said the Doctor, quickly putting himself between Dash and Mrs Wingsworth before things turned ugly again. 'Mrs Wingsworth, with all due respect, that's not really helping. And Dash, you know it does no good to kill her, so let's not waste everyone's time.'

Dash and the other two badgers glowered at him, but since they did not say anything it looked like they took his point. Mrs Wingsworth clearly wasn't used to being talked to like that either, but she too yielded with wounded grace.

'Good,' said the Doctor. 'Now, we're in a bit of a pickle, aren't we?'

He would have elaborated further, got the pirates and the prisoners working together to work out what
had happened to the
Brilliant.
But Archie interrupted, muttering something gruffly under his breath.

The Doctor turned to him wearily. 'What is it?' he asked.

'Nothing,' said Archie.

'No, it was definitely something,' said the Doctor. 'Spit it out so everyone can hear.'

Archie glanced at his badger comrades, but they weren't going to help him with this. 'Well,' he told the Doctor, in an embarrassed tone. 'It was jus' different with that girl.'

'That girl?' said Doctor. He beamed. 'Archie, you've met my friend Martha!'

'Yeah,' said Archie proudly. 'She was good.'

'Oh,' said the Doctor. 'She's better than good.'

'Yeah,' said Archie. 'When we killed her she knew to stay dead.'

More than three hours earlier, Martha had stood in the same cocktail lounge watching the space where until a moment before Mrs Wingsworth had stood. The air was rich with a stink of roasted lemons, and wisps of ash floated from the ceiling. Martha felt sick to her stomach.

'That was murder!' she said coldly.

'Yeah!' said Archibald. But he saw the horror in her eyes and looked quickly away.

'She 'ad it coming,' said Dashiel, gruffly. 'Anyone else wanna be difficult?'

The alien prisoners quavered with fright, none daring to respond. Dashiel seemed delighted. He growled at them, he jabbed his gun at them, each time getting them to scream.

'Ha!' he said. This is good!'

'Let me kill one, Dash,' said Jocelyn, coming to his side. 'Go on! Archie got to kill one.'

'You can't!' said Martha.

'I didn't
mean
to kill one,' said Archibald quietly, still looking guilty.

'Yeah you did!' said Jocelyn. 'That was good!'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald, though he still didn't seem convinced. Martha saw how he kept glancing at her, keen for her approval.

'All right,' said Dashiel. 'Which one you wanna kill?'

The aliens shrieked with terror as Jocelyn looked them over. She decided on a pale blue male, who wore several watches on his left tentacle.

'Please,' said Martha. 'We'll cooperate.'

'There's nothing
to
operate,' said Dashiel, seeming pleased with himself at using such a long word. 'Get on with it, Joss.'

Jocelyn grinned as she pulled the trigger and the pale blue alien vanished in brilliant pink light. Martha didn't think – she just ran forward and grabbed the gun from Jocelyn's paws. Startled, Jocelyn let go, fell back, and then quickly took cover behind Dashiel. Martha covered them both with Jocelyn's gun.

'What you gonna do?' snarled Dashiel without any
fear. 'There's a hundred of us coming.'

'They're not coming,' said Martha. 'You know you're on your own.' She tried to wield the gun like she knew what she was doing with it, though she really didn't.

'They are!' said Dashiel, but she could see the fear in his eyes. He took a step towards her.

'Don't do it, Dash,' said Archie. He stood to Martha's left, his gun aimed at her. He didn't look any more confident about using it than she felt about using hers.

'I don't want to hurt anybody,' she said, backing away from them. Maybe she could get behind the bar, use it as cover. Or, back to the wall, she could circle round, get over to the door in the far corner of the cocktail lounge.

'No you don't,' Dashiel told her as he took another cautious step nearer. 'Cos you hurt us an' we 'ave to hurt you more.'

'Keep back!' she told him, her voice more shrill than she'd have liked it. 'I mean it!'

Dashiel did as he was told, his gun still on her, Jocelyn still cowering on the far side of him. Archibald kept looking over at them and back at Martha, and he couldn't keep his feet still. They were children, thought Martha. Badger-faced children dressed up as pirates. But their game had gone too far.