Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [15]
He gave a start as John surfaced, splashing and thrashing about. He panicked, thinking that something was wrong, until he saw John’s raised arm, fingers formed into a circle. OK. As John trod water and began to move towards the boat, Alexander could see that his clumsy swimming was caused by the fact that he had something in his other hand. Alexander rushed to the head of the ladder and threw the lifebelt out to his brother. He leaned over and took the object from John as he grabbed the lowermost rungs and began hauling himself up.
It was heavy – a lot heavier than it looked. Matted in seaweed and barnacles and dripping with water, it was about the size of a house brick, but roughly ovoid. Through the tangle of vegetation that clung to it, he could make out the glint of metal.
John heaved himself onto the deck, pulled off his mask and peeled back the suit around his head.
‘Bloody hell, that was cold!’
He shook his head, spattering Alexander with cold, salty droplets. In the light of the lamp, swinging from the roof above them, they pulled at the weeds on John’s find, casting them back into the sea. It was revealed to be a chunky ball, dull gunmetal grey, set in the centre of a narrower doughnut made of the same metal.
‘Strange,’ whispered Alexander, prising off the barnacles that had clustered on it surface.
‘Yeah – and there was more of that static.’ John shook his hand in emphasis. ‘Come on downstairs. I want to get out of this gear. You won’t believe what else is down there. Let me get out of this suit and I’ll tell you.’
The two of them clattered down the wooden stairs, and whilst John headed for the cabin to change, Alexander placed the object gingerly on the table, clearing aside the gutted remains of Moby.
‘So what are you supposed to be?’ he said to the thing. It sat there, wet and inert, tipped over on its side. He tilted it carefully with a biro, remembering what John had said about the static shock. He rooted around for a screwdriver and scratched gently at the pewter-like surface. It marked surprisingly easily. But as he watched, the scratch faded away – as if the metal had spread to fill it.
‘Weirder and weirder.’
‘What’s weirder and weirder?’
John came out of the cabin, pulling a black jumper over his head and reaching for the packet of cigarettes on the bench beside him. He lit one as Alexander told him about the scratch.
‘Where did you find it?’ asked Alexander.
John blew out a cloud of smoke and gave a short laugh.
‘That’s the really odd thing. There’s something else down there –
something huge. Too big for the spotlamp to show it properly.
All I could see was a great big dome, something like that. And this was fastened to it, sort of plugged into the side.’
Alexander stared at him. ‘And you unplugged it why, exactly?’
‘Because, smart-arse, that thing is probably what’s scared all the fish away. And this–’ he tapped the device with the biro, ‘–
might give us a clue as to what it is.’
‘What?’ Alexander said. ‘Like pulling out the firing pin of a grenade and looking at it gives you a clue as to what the grenade’s going to do next?’
The tea was half cold. And stewed. And against her instructions, Bernard had put sugar in it.
But it didn’t matter. It looked like her mother was going to be OK, but Joyce felt like she was waiting for permission to smile. Months of worrying and fretting couldn’t just be wiped out by a few vague words of comfort. She had to try not to get her hopes up too much. Nothing was certain anymore.
But still...
She looked around for a member of staff, intending to follow Graystairs’ protocol and ask someone to show her to her mum’s room. But they all seemed to be busy. Megan had vanished completely, and she could see Bernard struggling to take a pair of scissors and a magazine away from one of the residents. The man protested, his face crumpling like a child’s, and tucked his hands under his armpits