Doctor Who_ Sleepy - Kate Orman [86]
Byerley blew out an angry breath. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I—’
‘No,’ said White. ‘You listen. I looked into your friend’s head.’
‘Bernice?’ said Byerley, after a moment.
And what I saw there... do you know she’s carrying another virus?’
‘Is she?’
‘Another virus. Do you know what a merry-go-round is?’
It struck Byerley that the man he was talking to was not entirely well. ‘Yes,’ he said, hesitantly. ‘One of those—’
‘When I was a boy,’ continued White, obliviously, ‘I had a recurring nightmare about a merry-go-round which went faster and faster, and I could never get on it. When I couldn’t find work, when I was older, I had that feeling again, that the horses and unicorns would just keep flashing past me forever. Now I have that feeling again.’
Silence for a bit. Byerley coughed. ‘Colonel White?’ he said. ‘Do you know what the virus is for?’
‘Yes,’ said White. ‘No more telepathy, no more psychokinesis.’
‘I don’t think that’s all,’ said Byerley. ‘Some of us are starting to see things. To remember things. You must be aware of the alien memories which took hold of the Doctor, prior to your arrival.’
‘Yes,’ breathed White. ‘The Doctor’s memories. That will be all, doctor.’
‘But we —.’ Byerley half stood up. White wasn’t looking at him.
Byerley went to the door. Turquoise met him there. ‘Back to the common area,’ he said.
‘Why?’ exploded the medic. ‘What for?’
‘Orders,’ said Turquoise.
Byerley twisted around, looking at the Colonel. ‘From him?’ The white-haired man was humming to himself in the darkness.
‘Who else would they be from?’ said Ngaiyo.
The Doctor was in a restaurant — no, a smaller space, a café. He was looking for something.
A waiter came up to him, stood a little distance away as he rummaged in a pot plant, unsure of what to say. The Doctor straightened up, went to a table, kneeled down to look underneath. Not there. Where else to try, then?
‘Excuse me, sir.’ The waiter had finally drummed up enough courage to speak. ‘Are you having a dream sequence?’
‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘This is one of my memories. Do you mind if I look in your kitchen?’
‘I don’t think—’ He strode over to the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and peered over the top. A cook looked back at him, startled.
The waiter followed him into the kitchen. The Doctor started pulling open drawers, rummaging around inside.
‘What are you looking for?’ said the waiter.
‘You always leave little bits of yourself everywhere,’ said the little man. ‘A companion here, a piece of history there.
That’s the thing about time travel. There’s no peace, I’m in pieces, scattered along the lines in the universe.’
‘Look,’ said the waiter. ‘I’m sorry, but if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to have to call the police.’
The Doctor turned to look at him. ‘I don’t remember any police,’ he said.
‘Oh, said the waiter, lamely.
‘Let me tell you something.’ The Doctor jerked open the fridge, banged the light until it came on. ‘Never put all your eggs in one basket.’
The waiter looked at the carton of eggs on the top shelf.
‘No, no,’ said the Doctor irritably, foraging in the butter drawer. ‘If there are things you value, don’t keep them all in one place. Not together on one planet — it might be destroyed. Not together in one time — it might become interesting. Does it make sense to send your companions off in different directions during any given adventure? Yes, it does; splitting up does make sense.’ He poked the waiter in the chest with a stick of celery as punctuation. ‘One of these days I’m going to leave it just a little too late and one of them is going to die. But not all of them in one go.’
He crunched on the celery, thoughtfully. ‘After all, there can be only so many pieces missing from the chess set before it becomes useless.’
‘That’s heartless, sir,’ commented the waiter.
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just trying to steel myself to the inevitable.’
He tugged open a cupboard drawer, stood on tip-toe looking behind the spices. ‘You haven’t asked me what