Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [4]
‘Really?’
‘For a while I forgot about you,’ said Shreela. ‘I’d say that in all these years I’ve thought about you maybe a dozen times. But then, of course, with all this –’ Plastic tubes shifted as she lifted her arm. ‘With all this I’ve been thinking a lot of strange thoughts lately. Looking back on things. And then I started thinking about you again.’ She yawned. ‘We had quite a time, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘I’d almost convinced myself that it never happened. I decided you were a dream that I had. But of course here you are now.’
The plastic cushion of the chair made a faint noise as the Doctor shifted forward. He leaned a little closer to the bed. He was near enough to touch, if Shreela had wanted to touch him.
‘But, of course, if I was a dream back then, I could always be a dream now.’
Now Shreela did laugh. ‘That’s the spirit. You never were exactly reassuring. How’s Ace?’
‘Keeping busy.’
The Doctor reached down past the metal frame of the bed and picked up her computer from where it had fallen on the floor. The computer was an Amstrad portable, an old model she’d used since university. Over the years she’d done most of her writing on it. If she wanted to, she could plug it into a socket beside her bed now and use it to send text files off via the hospital network.
If she wanted to. Shreela didn’t see herself using the Amstrad again. She’d brought it with her out of habit.
‘I don’t really keep in touch with anyone from those days. Not that there are many of them left. What about Midge, eh?’
‘A shame,’ said the Doctor.
‘I thought he had it coming, myself. I liked his little sister, though. I used to see her from time to time. What’s her name? Nice kid. I wonder how she’s doing.’
‘She’s dead,’ said the Doctor.
‘Christ. How?’
‘Natural causes.’
‘You mean her immune system went.’
The Doctor nodded. Shreela sighed and sank back on her pillows. ‘There’s a lot of it about. Christ,’ she repeated, staring back over the years, seeing the little girl playing outside the council block. ‘She must have been ten years younger than me.’ She looked up at the Doctor. ‘And I’m not that old myself.’ He was bending over again, picking up the books that had fallen on the floor. It’s funny really. That time with you I could have been killed so easily. Died any time. So I live through all that and end up like this.’
‘You had the years in between,’ said the Doctor.
‘Just a postponement.’
‘That’s all anyone has.’
Shreela waved a hand. She couldn’t manage to shrug any more. ‘You know what my big mistake was?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t eat the food or drink the water, but I still breathed the air.’
The Doctor straightened up. He had the books she’d spilled on the floor. He put them back into the fruit bowl, one at a time, looking at each one. Several of them were Shreela’s books. Her own articles, collected in paperback. Brought by a well‐meaning but stupid friend. They were the last thing she wanted to read now. She waited for the Doctor to put the last book down, then she asked the question she had to ask. ‘Listen…’
‘Yes?’
‘You rescued me once before. Can you rescue me now?’
The Doctor shook his head.
‘No, I didn’t think so.’ She turned her head away, into the pillow so he wouldn’t see her face. It wasn’t the sting of the light this time.
The Doctor sat patiently, waiting until her voice was steady enough for her to speak again.
‘So what do you want?’
‘I need your help.’
Shreela laughed again. ‘Oh come on. Me help you? Now?’
The Doctor handed her several sheets of paper. They felt slippery, like old‐fashioned fax output. The typing on them was double spaced; large lettering. It took only five minutes for Shreela to read the article. Once she looked up at the Doctor. ‘Are you sure “telekinesis” is the word you want?’
The Doctor just nodded. When she finished reading the article she set the papers on the bed beside her and lay back on the pillow.
‘Pretty good. A few too many adjectives but it’s my style. It would certainly fool my editors.’
‘Good.’
‘You want me to claim authorship of this?’
‘Yes.’