Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [62]
Suddenly the image shuddered as if someone had thumped the side of a television set. He winced as the figures began to flicker in and out of sight, overlapping, dissolving into each other. And deep inside his brain, he felt sharp electrical crackles and imagined he could smell ozone. Something was wrong. He felt his hearts speeding up, losing their asynchrony, starting to beat dangerously in time with each other.
Surely it wasn’t all going to end like this, wired up to a computer, powerless. No gloating megalomaniac, no invading army of alien lizards spitting fire at him. Just silence and disconnection, like someone pulling a plug.
He was going to die.
Chapter Nine
Ace unfastened the suit and slipped out of it, letting it pool around her feet, a sloughed silver skin. Her rucksack tumbled onto the deck and she scratched her scalp, itchy from the confinement of the helmet, breathed the fresh, salty air and felt droplets of spray on her face.
‘Ace,’ she said, seeing as no one else seemed to want to break the silence, and stuck out her hand. The curly-haired one shook it grimly. The other one held back but gave her a cautious smile. She winced, feeling a tiny stabbing pain in her elbow. For a moment, she remembered the bends, nitrogen bubbles, and took a few deep breaths, hoping that it was the right thing to do.
She reckoned they were probably brothers - there was a similarity about the eyes, the set of the mouth. They both had dark hair – one short, one longer and curlier; and the short-haired one had a neatly-trimmed moustache. In their early twenties, she expected.
‘I’m John,’ said Curly. ‘And this is Alexander, my brother.’
‘Nice to meet you both – oh, and thanks for the rescue. I was beginning to wonder how long I’d be floating around out there. Good job I don’t get sea-sick easily. Any chance of a cuppa and something to eat. I’m starving!’
‘Yeah, sure, said John, clearly trying not to be too thrown by her sudden appearance from the sea. ‘Come on downstairs and we’ll get you something.’
And before either of them could start on the questions that Ace knew must be on the tips of their tongues, she picked up her rucksack and the suit and headed down the stairs. Despite its ratty, peeling exterior, the inside of the boat was surprisingly cosy, if a little cluttered. Above the padded seats running round the dining area – which Ace assumed doubled as beds – were wide, high-edged shelves packed with bits of electrical equipment, charts and all sorts of sailing paraphernalia. High up in the walls were tiny windows which let light in from above. She plonked herself down and smiled at Alexander who sat down opposite her. She could hear John in the galley, rattling pots and pans and cutlery. Her mouthful of bacon butty seemed weeks ago; she wondered if sudden, ravenous hunger was a symptom of decompression sickness.
‘What were you doing out there?’ asked Alexander. ‘I mean, we’re miles from nowhere and suddenly there’s an inflatable woman in the water.’
‘No wonder you hauled me aboard so quickly then,’ she smiled.
He rolled his eyes.
Where should she begin? She looked at Alexander, trying to weigh up whether he was the no-nonsense sort who would just laugh at the idea of aliens and spaceship and transmats; or whether he was at least open-minded enough to consider them as possibilities. She wished that the Doctor was here so that he could sidestep all the usual introductions in his usual handwavey way. But he wasn’t, and she didn’t think that cryptically saying
‘I’ll explain later’ would get her very far.
‘This is going to sound weird, and you’re probably not going to believe me, but I’ve just come out of a spaceship that’s down on the seabed.’
‘Oh right,’ Alexander said slowly with a cautious nod. A spaceship. On the bottom of the sea: He paused