Doctor Who_ Longest Day - Michael Collier [18]
She ran for herself, that's what she'd said. Not for Coal Hill School. Her mum and dad hadn't minded. They'd said it was good not to feel loyalties. It was good to be your own person. That's why they'd lived in Shoreditch, she'd always thought -a reaction against their own parents.
So, lesson one: rebellion was a healthy part of growing up, and continuing to rebel reminded you of who you were and what you were about. So instead of the life her mother had so tragically endured - fit in in some rural backwater, go off to university, feel morally obliged to get the best job you could to make your family proud - Sam had been stuck there, in Coal Hill.
And was that better or worse?
She took no pride in it. She hated it. She could do the lessons, no problem.
She could take the flak from friends and foes alike for not smoking, not even touching pot with the rest of them. But it made it so hard to be typical and teenage, and to rebel. Drugs frightened her. She'd dabbled once, and it had scared her to death. She hadn't known how they would work on her, how she'd react. She'd been OK - that time. That was all the risk she was prepared to take.
Then it had been no caffeine. Abstinence. She'd already said no to gelatine, no to meat. No drugs, and if that had meant no friends, she was sticking with it. Her parents had understood in that uninterested way of theirs.
She felt just the tiniest pang of guilt at the thought of them sitting alone in the living room, wondering if she would be coming back this night. Then again, wouldn't they be secretly a little pleased at this new, unexpected rebellion?
You couldn't stay away for ever, could you? She could come back. Carry on as normal. Take it all on again.
But with hair like this? She brushed her fledgeling fringe off her perspiring forehead, panting lightly, staring round her at the dull metal walls but picturing the huge planet hanging in the black sky beyond, billions and trillions of light years, or light decades, centuries -
She knew then that she wasn't going back.
She'd run away from it. Was running. She was still between A and B.
Probably somewhere between C and X, knowing the Doctor. But just knowing the Doctor...
That was a bit more like belonging.
A shrill shriek suddenly tore through her thoughts. She stopped sharp. A woman's voice, screaming with fear, not pain.
Taking a deep breath, she pelted off again down the corridor, following the sound.
***
Anstaar was crammed in, her head forced down against her legs. She tried moving, but she was shut in so tight she couldn't even squirm. She screamed again, although she knew it was pointless.Who was there to hear? 'Vasid! Please!'
'Shut up. Just shut up!' Vasid's voice was slurred, unnecessarily loud.'I can't concentrate.' She heard him curse, then the sound of him slapping his temples - and a low chuckle. 'That's right.'
She saw his head appear over the top of the console, a dribbling smile plastered on his face. 'Happy landings, you whore!'
***
Sam skidded to a halt in the doorway of what had to be the control room.
No sign of the Doctor, but there was the woman who must've screamed.
She was packed in a box so tight it was a miracle she could speak at all.
The woman seemed quite attractive, her skin smooth and coffee-coloured, hair long and dark. But her eyes gripped Sam's. They had no eyelashes, just a tiny covering of some wispy material. The fear seemed to shine out of them.
Some bloke had his back to her. Had he put the women there? Then the clincher:'Happy landings,you whore!'
Cue dramatic entrance. 'Well that's absolutely bloody charming, isn't it?
And who are you, then, the cock of the north?'
***
Anstaar was somehow even more terrified to see the new arrival staring at her so intently. Then the voice: rough, demanding - and angry by the sound of it.
Maybe this was Yost's killer, thought Anstaar as the milky-coloured light began to disseminate through her cell structure. Oh deity, let her kill Vasid too. Don't let him