Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [81]
Pablo. That was the name of the man leading the guards. He was shouting something in Catalan, screaming and yelling. The roar continued in her ears, but then Anji realised there were no more bullets. She looked up. There were no more bullets because the anarchists were being overwhelmed. Some were still fighting, hand to hand now. Others had thrown down their guns and were putting their hands on their heads. There was a constant maelstrom of shouting and screaming and the smell of cordite and blood. Then someone was grabbing her arm, hauling her up into the chaos.
She caught a glimpse of the street beyond the barrier. Huge trucks formed a wall, cutting off the square. If she tried to run she would be caught easily. Not that she had to run. Anji recognised the uniforms of the attackers: Assault Guards. Government. She didn’t need to run; she was innocent. Not even a member of any party. She just wanted to get away, back to the Hotel Oriente. How the hell was she going to get the Doctor back into this building now?
‘Gracias, comrade –’
Anji was interrupted as a burst of machine gun fire rattled across the foyer, sweeping back and forth. The Asaltos scrambled back, now using the sandbags to shield them from the nest on the first landing. The man holding her arm shook her, jerked her arms upwards on to her head.
‘No, comrade, je suis un civilian... er...’ Now was the time her French deserted her? Typical. He was running one hand up and down her sides, checking for weapons, the other hand holding her two on her head. His hand curled slightly at her chest.
‘Hey!’ Anji pulled herself away, tried to turn in his grip. ‘Hey! Get off me!’
The man shrugged, then pushed her roughly towards the trucks. She glanced about, wanting to go back and slap the man, but part of her realised that would be insane. She made for the narrow gap between the nearest truck and the wall. Hurrying, not looking about. More hands grabbed her, and she found herself being dragged towards the back of a vehicle. It was all a misunderstanding, she was a civilian. They’d look at her papers and realise she wasn’t part of whatever stupid internecine fight was going on. She let them push her into the truck.
* * *
The Doctor dodged along the colonnade. One of the main factions had premises facing both Las Rambles and Plaça Reial, so the square was splattering with loose bullets. A crashing sound suggested someone on a rooftop was dropping grenades on passing vehicles. The Doctor had one hand out, waving a somewhat grubby white handkerchief to indicate his innocent intentions, but he still preferred to keep the pockmarked pillars between the militiamen and himself. As he darted along, he pulled the key chain free, untangling it from his shirt buttons. Last archway.
He jumped across, scrambling to get the key into the lock and then tumbling the door open with his own weight. The TARDIS was as sullen as ever. The light was only from a single bulb, the shadows suggesting neglect. Closing the doors took him long moments but he dare not leave it ajar. Not with the possibility of a full street battle starting outside. The handle cranked round until the doors clunked. With the doors closed, the tension in the square was cut out. He still felt the air was charged though, the lack of a hum disconcerting.
‘Hello, old girl.’
He trailed a slim hand along the panels as he stepped over the wiring. He looked at the console for a long moment, then shrugged off his jacket, throwing the dark red velvet into a dim corner where his favourite armchair lurked. He rolled up his sleeves, still gazing at the panels. He’d been looking at things the wrong way. The search he’d started hadn’t overloaded the time machine, or caused the feedback of which his collapse had been a symptom. The old girl had been programmed to run a check of all the information communication methods of the time: newspapers, newsreels, radio broadcasts.