Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [54]
She rubbed his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.’
A few minutes later the cab arrived. ‘Can you walk?’ Tegan asked.
‘I think so.’ Andy stood up, then immediately had to clutch at her for support. ‘Whoa, my head’s spinning.’
‘Just hold on to me,’ Tegan said. ‘We’ll take it slowly.’
They were heading out of the door when Mr Prudom scuttled up behind them. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘your shopping.’
Tegan glanced back. Half of what they were going to buy for their picnic had been stuffed into a plastic bag, half was clustered at the bottom of the checkout conveyor belt.
With a wicked sense of glee which she did her best to conceal, Tegan said, ‘You might as well put it all back. We won’t be needing it now.’
Prudom’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘Yes, madam,’ he said.
As soon as he saw Tegan framed in the opening lift doors the Doctor hastily said his goodbyes to the Brigadier and put down the phone. He hurried across the hotel foyer with a grin on his face, calling out her name as if she was the person he most wanted to see in the entire universe.
Then he noted how unhappy she looked, saw how tightly she was clutching his message in her hand, and his face fell.
‘Oh dear,’ he murmured, managing to inject such gravity into his voice that Turlough, who was behind him playing catch-up as usual, felt his heart sink.
Tegan held up the note, looking at the Doctor almost accusingly. ‘Alien contamination?’ she said. ‘What kind of alien contamination?
‘Turlough, would you be so kind as to order some tea?’ the Doctor asked. He took Tegan’s arm gently and drew her aside. ‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’
At first Tegan looked as though she might protest, but then she nodded glumly and allowed herself to be led. The Doctor escorted her over to where he had been sitting, a seating area bordered by tall, white pillars. The seats were all black squishy leather with chrome frameworks, the coffee tables low and glass-topped. Harry Nillson was piping from the speakers, lamenting that he couldn’t live if living was without you. Didn’t that guy know any other songs? Tegan thought irritably.
They sat, the Doctor leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his legs slightly splayed, white-booted feet turned inward. To Tegan he looked like a little kid who’d been told to sit quietly, but who really wanted to run off and play.
His eyes, however, were alert, full of wisdom, windows to the awesome complexity of his thoughts.
‘Which was it?’ he asked gently.
‘What?’
‘Did you swim in the sea or eat the fish?’
‘Oh. I swam in the sea. Or at least I paddled. What’s going on, Doctor?’
The Doctor sighed, and as Turlough meandered across to join them, began to tell her exactly what was going on. He had just finished when their tea arrived.
‘Ah, tea!’ the Doctor exclaimed as if it was the answer to all their problems. As the waiter departed the Doctor reached for the teapot. ‘Shall I be mother?’
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ said Tegan miserably. ‘Am I going to turn into one of these Xaranti things?’
The Doctor glanced at Turlough as if urging him to remain silent. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ he said reassuringly.
She didn’t look convinced. ‘First the Mara, now this. I’m sick of being taken over by aliens.’
‘Yes, the novelty does wear off after a while,’ the Doctor remarked dryly.
Tegan glared at him. ‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘Of course he isn’t,’ said Turlough.
Tegan thought that one day she ought to tell Turlough that being nice didn’t suit him. Whenever he tried it, he simply ended up sounding oily and insincere. ‘Isn’t he?’ she said curtly.
‘Of course not. In fact, he’s working on a cure even as we speak.’
‘No he’s not,’ said Tegan. ‘He’s eating chocolate bourbons.’
The Doctor popped the remainder of his biscuit into his mouth a little guiltily and reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He withdrew a square, grey object that resembled a powder compact, though when he flipped open the lid with his thumb, Tegan saw that it looked more like a miniature laptop. ‘There are