Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [94]
Backwards.
‘Three... two...’
On ‘one’ his eyes snapped open and he took in a deep, deep breath – and held it, before letting out slowly.
‘Professor?’
He turned his head slowly towards her and smiled. ‘Hello Ace,’ he said, wincing slightly. ‘Too loud,’ he mouthed, still smiling.
‘Are you OK?’
He nodded, eyes closed. ‘Just had to... shut down for a while.
Repair the damage. I thought I was alright, but Michael’s punch must have set me back a little.’
And suddenly Ace was hugging him, squeezing him until she heard him squeak. And then hugging him a bit more. Eventually she let him go and sat back down. ‘Professor... They want Eddie.’
‘I thought they might. I’ve remembered something that I’d forgotten. Maybe Michael’s punch was just what I needed to jolt things back into place. I’ve just remembered that I met Eddie earlier on – before he found me in the hut.’
‘Are you sure they haven’t just put that in your head – like Eddie says they’ve been putting stuff in his head?’
The Doctor shook his head, his sharp eyes fixed on Eddie.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ He looked up at Ace. ‘But Eddie’s wrong.’
At this, Eddie’s head shot up. ‘It’s true. You said so.
“Inhuman things” you said. Alien things.’
‘I was wrong.’ The Doctor’s voice had dropped to little more than a whisper.
‘But what about all the stuff in here... the killings and the burnings? Where did that all come from?’
The Doctor held his gaze steady on Eddie’s eyes. ‘It was in there already, Eddie. They haven’t been overwriting your memories with new ones: they’ve been restoring the old ones.
And I rather suspect that the memory loss of at least some of the residents isn’t due to natural causes.’ He looked from Claire to Ace. ‘And the worrying thing is that the memories that are being recovered aren’t those of happy childhoods and trips to the seaside with the grandchildren.’
‘Alien things,’ breathed Ace, looking at Eddie as she remembered his words. Outside the vestry were an assortment of Graystairs residents who were quite probably aliens. And they’d locked themselves in with one of them.
Clustering together in the cold, starry night, five old people came together in the darkness of the churchyard. They all carried short, stubby weapons, silver grey.
‘He’s in there with them,’ said Khamrain, the woman formerly known as Beanie. She stared at the church, suppressing a shudder at the primitive belief systems that the place embodied. Something that, she hoped, would soon be a thing of the past. There would be no room for such atavism in their glorious new order.
‘They have weapons,’ said Natillo, an uncomfortable caution in his voice. ‘The concussion device they used may be just a sample. We have to be careful. We can’t risk injury to ourselves.’
Khamrain threw a sneering look at him. ‘Fortune favours the bold, as I seem to recall they say here.’
‘And death, the foolhardy,’ added Hamaeia – who’d previously gone by the name of Harry.
‘So what do you suggest? That we leave him in their hands?
If they know the truth, they won’t hesitate to kill him.’
Hamaeia gave a snort. ‘They don’t have the stomach for killing in cold blood. No matter how alien they think he is, they won’t be able to see past the fact that he is a frail, old man.’
Hamaeia’s voice turned wheedling and pathetic, mocking, as he finished the sentence.
Khamrain smiled. ‘What do you suggest?’
She looked at the faces of her comrades: some, she could tell, were with her; but others were dearly confused, thrown by the sophistication of the explosive device thrown at them earlier.
They had not expected such weapons from the humans, such resistance. They could not risk the death of any of their number.
Without Eddie their plans could not progress.
Khamrain made a decision; and as she took a step towards the vestry, not a single voice was raised in argument. That was all she needed.
The Doctor took Eddie’s hands in his, but Eddie refused to look into his eyes. Eddie’s own were red and sore; on the table lay a snotty tissue that Claire had found in the pocket of her