Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [70]
‘What is it?’ the Doctor asked.
‘You’ve been unconscious for almost a day,’ she told him. ‘Ferran’s had plenty of time to get to her. Doctor, there’s a good chance she’s already dead.’
* * *
‘Check him out,’ Dinah said breathlessly.
There was a boy they’d never seen before emerging from the changing rooms. Tall, lightly muscled, tanned. He had cropped blond hair, piercing blue eyes. He walked around the pool, towards them and the deep end.
‘Wow,’ Dinah said.
‘Look at those eyes.’
‘I wasn’t looking at his eyes.’
‘Dinah!’ Miranda said, shocked. ‘Don’t let him hear you.’
‘He looks like he should be in the Hitler Youth,’ Dinah said.
‘Will you shut up?’
He looked over at them, his expression giving nothing away.
‘He’s looking at you. He wants Aryan babies.’ Dinah was running towards him. ‘Fiver says you can’t beat Miranda,’ she blurted.
The new boy looked over at Miranda. From his expression, it was clear he resented the idea of racing with girls. Disdain, bordering on pity. He was in for a surprise.
‘I will race you,’ he said. The words were slightly stilted, he seemed a little awkward.
Miranda smiled back at him.
Dinah nodded. ‘I’ll clap my hands to start, yeah?’
Miranda and the young man both nodded, and Dinah got out of their way. Miranda wasn’t listening any more: she was focusing on her swimming, preparing herself. She concentrated: increased the supplies of adrenaline and sugar in her bloodstream, her heartsrate and the level of oxygen carried by her respiratory system. Ordinary people couldn’t do it, apparently. Her dad could – he’d taught her the mantras she needed. She’d tried teaching Dinah once, but her friend couldn’t get it to work, and just accused Miranda of making it up.
Her body was buzzing, ready for the race. This was one time she wanted to be different. One time she liked having two hearts. She had a competitive streak, she always had, and this gave her the edge. They lined up. The boy would have stood next to her, but Dinah bustled her way between them. The boy ignored Dinah, looking into the face of his opponent. Miranda found herself staring back. He was handsome, but he knew it, which wasn’t at all attractive.
They stood in place, limbering up.
‘Two lengths. Ready? OK. Marks. Set.’ Clap!
Miranda dived into the water, powering away. A clean start. Practised strokes, measured. But he was alongside her. Miranda picked up the pace a little, but now he was ahead of her.
He was flipping over as she reached the far end. She caught up with him now, pushing away powerfully. The race back was a matter of power, and the boy had plenty of that. It felt like he was miles ahead of her. Really, she was doing well, only a head or so behind him.
Enough for him to win. Miranda looked over at him, angry. He was staring straight at her again, but now he was grinning. An expression of triumph, a sentiment that bordered on gloating. Miranda felt a sudden urge to wipe the smile off his face.
‘He beat you!’ Dinah giggled. ‘But I think you beat your personal best.’
Miranda glared up at her, then pulled herself out of the water, and stomped off into the changing room, tried to collect her thoughts. Dinah was right: she’d shaved a little from her own record for the fifty-metres, a record that had held since before Christmas. But she was a sore loser, a trait made worse by the fact she rarely lost.
She stuck her head under the shower, just enough to get the chlorine out of her hair. She went to her locker, unlocked it and retrieved her kitbag.
When she turned around, the young man was standing there, staring at her.
* * *
‘This is the girls’ changing room,’ said Miranda.
* * *
This changing room was like the one he had used – an area with a number of empty cubicles. The same tangy disinfectant had been used, the floor had the same slimy tiles.
The Last One was towelling her hair. Ferran felt a thrill to finally see her. Since before he could remember, he’d been told about this creature, the last of the line that had humiliated his people, driven his genetic line to the brink of