Doctor Who_ Earthworld - Jacqueline Rayner [50]
Powerplay
91
Anji was about to remark on his callousness, but she was distracted by a bleeping from somewhere near her feet. She bent down and picked up a small box. ‘What’s this?’
‘Communicator,’ said Xernic. ‘Someone must have dropped it.’ He pressed a button and the beeping was replaced by a voice.
‘Hanstrum! Is that you, Hanstrum?’
Xernic shot a worried look at Anji. ‘Um, no. . . ’ he said.
‘Well, where is he? Hurry! the President’s wife has flat-lined. We need him here now!’
‘Sounds like they need a doctor,’ murmured the Doctor. He took the communicator from Xernic’s hand. ‘Hello, this is the Doctor. I’m on my way. Over and out.’ He pressed a button and handed the box back. ‘Anji – sort things out here, will you? We still have to find Fitz. Meet you back at the palace.’
And before Anji could say a word, he was out of the door.
Chapter Six
Elvis Lives!
Fitz was trying hard not to look at any of the corpses in the cell where a gold robot had thrown him. Some of them were just lying there in a could-almost-be-asleep way, but others were. . . well, let’s just leave it at the trying-hard-not-to-look thing. And, although the cell was extremely cold, the refrigeration obviously wasn’t sufficient to stop. . . Look, there was a smell, all right? And not a nice one.
Fitz wasn’t sure which bit of a twentieth-century theatre this was supposed to represent. Maybe they’d heard of the Chamber of Horrors, but hadn’t realised it was a waxworks exhibition. Or they’d watched The Phantom of the Opera a few too many times. The walls were whitewashed stone with manacles hanging from them, some occupied (don’t look!), and a few rats, which admittedly had turned out to be robotic, but that didn’t mean he had to like them.
He had brought Princess Leia with him. The robot hadn’t seemed to notice, and after his initial apprehension Fitz had decided he actually quite liked the little reptile. It was tamer than most cats he’d known, and was happy to sit in his lap. He’d given it a tiny tap on its nose when it had tried to nibble him playfully (its teeth looked extremely sharp), and it hadn’t tried that again. And it had been company, but now it was off examining corpses, and Fitz didn’t really want to watch. But anyway, he had another distraction now.
Fitz was sitting on the floor with his hands cupped round either side of his head, so he could look directly at the only other living thing in the room (apart from Princess Leia), with no decomposing distractions. ‘And you really know all his songs?’ he said.
‘Well, I guess I do,’ said the other living thing, a man in his sixties dressed like Elvis Presley. ‘ “Jailhouse Rock”, “Hound Dog” – you name it, brother.’
‘So, the people of this time think gun-toting robots delivered the post, that we colonised Mars in the Edwardian era, and that “going to work on an egg”
was talking about a new form of public transport, but they know every single one of Elvis Presley’s hits? Loony. Completely loony. Wacko! Crazy-daisy!’
92
Elvis Lives!
93
‘Well, hey, man, he was the King o’ Earth, know what I’m saying?’
‘Yes. . . ’ said Fitz, tentatively. ‘I mean, you know he wasn’t actually the real King of Planet Earth, don’t you?’
The elderly Elvis-alike looked shocked. Fitz half expected him to yell, ‘Burn the heretic!’ but thankfully he didn’t. ‘What in tarnation are you sayin’?’ the man eventually said. ‘I know there’s a few of yoose sceptical types out there who don’t worship the very ground the King walked on but I don’t know of nobody who doubts that he was actually the King o’ Earth!’
‘Sorry,’ said Fitz, deciding that his accurate historical knowledge had got him into enough trouble for one day. ‘Of course, you’re right. I meant no disrespect.
Long live Elvis! Er, that is, if he wasn’t dead already. Sorry.’ He thought it would be a good idea to change the subject. ‘So, how come you’re locked up, then?’
The man flicked back his quiff with one heavily bejewelled hand. ‘It was those crazy chicks, man! Those little girls! They look sweet