Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [12]
‘You’ve found something, haven’t you? Some plot, some... thing that’s going to ruin our holiday.’
‘No, no, no, Ace! It’s just a very unusual shell, that’s all. Our young friend there found it and I’m intrigued. He bustled over, handing Ace the eyeglass. ‘If you look at the linear ridges down the convex side you’ll see...’
Ace pulled her sunglasses down and peered at him over the top of them. The Doctor shuffled awkwardly and pushed the shell and eyeglass back into his pocket. ‘Yes, well it’ll give me something to do of an evening in the hotel.’
‘Hotel?’
The Doctor clapped his hands together. ‘Yes, there are a few big hotels in the colony, and, as I remember telling Tegan once, it’s hardly a holiday if we just stay in the TARDIS. So pack a bag and we’ll go and check in.’
Twenty minutes later Ace had changed into her cycling shorts and vest top and was struggling out of the TARDIS with a bulging rucksack full of T-shirts, shorts and underwear. She hauled the door 22
shut and crossed to where the Doctor was waiting for her in the shade of a palm. He was looking cool and comfortable in a white linen suit, his battered straw hat perched untidily on his head.
He was sitting on his umbrella, its handle opened out flat like a shooting stick. Ace frowned at him. ‘Surely you won’t need that?’
The Doctor stood up and snapped the handle shut. ‘You never know.
All set?’
Ace nodded at the small Gladstone bag at his feet. ‘Is that all you’re taking?’
The Doctor beamed at her. ‘Oh yes. Come on.’
He set off at a trot. Ace slung her rucksack over her shoulder, cursing at the weight, and set off after him nursing a suspicion that his bag was probably dimensionally transcendental.
The coastal path meandered through the edge of the jungle and soon the two of them were marching along arm in arm, whistling tunelessly, the Doctor doffing his hat at every passerby and occasionally pointing out some unusual specimen of flora or fauna with his umbrella.
A sudden thundering roar made Ace look up. Through the canopy of trees she could see the boxy shape of a freighter silhouetted against the rings.
‘What do they export here, Professor? Fish?’
The Doctor stared at the rapidly vanishing ship, pursing his lips. ‘I doubt it. Salt, probably.’
‘Salt?’
‘Yes. Very important on these frontier worlds. And not always easy to get hold of.’ He nodded at the sea. ‘Unlimited supply here.’
He set off along the path again. Ace followed on. She never failed to be amazed at how much information the Doctor seemed to be able to cram into his head. Whether it be the complete schematics for an alien battle cruiser or a recipe for a Baked Alaska, he seemed to have useless facts for all occasions.
Soon the jungle began to give way to the edge of the colony –
prefabricated buildings were being assembled by teams of service robots, the metal of their casings glinting under the twin suns. There were more and more people and before long Ace and the Doctor were walking through streets lined with market stalls and stores.
The inhabitants seemed mostly young and tanned, and Ace marvelled at how quickly she was feeling at home in this bright, lively colony. The Doctor seemed content too, peering at junk on stalls, occasionally swapping a few words with the locals, completely unfazed by the variety of life forms that swarmed around them.
The street opened abruptly into a wide square dominated by a tall 23
statue of a woman looking over her shoulder. Water bubbled up around her feet in a constant cascade, leaving a glittering white deposit.
Ace crossed to it and read the plaque at its base.
‘Lot’s Wife.’
The Doctor crossed to the fountain and ran a finger over the white deposit. He peered at his finger for a moment, then stuck it in his mouth.
‘Salt.’
Ace rolled her eyes.’ OK, Professor. So you’re right, as always.’
She spotted a ragged symbol scrawled on the clean white stone.
Long red slashes of red, their outlines dripping.
‘What d’you think this is, Professor?’
The Doctor bent and peered down. ‘Some cabalistic symbol