• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'I'd really rather send down one of my shuttles,' said the !C-Mel, 'just to avoid any unfortunate mistakes.'

'Very well,' said the Doctor, 'if you must. I'll see you in a minute then.' The Doctor waited a moment. 'Has it gone?'

'Yes,' said God.

The Doctor turned to Bernice and Chris. 'Aren't you going to try to talk me out of it?'

'Who, us?' asked Bernice. 'I assume you have a plan.'

'You shouldn't really,' said the Doctor. 'I don't always have a plan, you know. God, can you open a secure line to aM!xitsa?'

'No problem.'

'Yes,' said aM!xitsa, still sounding a bit ragged.

'How are you feeling?' asked the Doctor.

'Rotten,' said aM!xitsa. 'I've got disruptions in systems I didn't even know I had.'

'Do you think you can explain exactly what it was Kadiatu did to you?'

'Well, it was really very simple,' said aM!xitsa, and explained. The word multi-phasic cropped up quite a lot, as did fractal, structure and contra-resonating harmonics.

The Doctor thanked aM!xitsa.

'Are you thinking of doing,' said God, 'what I think you're thinking of doing?'

'Probably,' said the Doctor. 'It worked on aM!xitsa.'

'I don't know quite how to put this,' said God, 'but aM!xitsa is a drone and the !C-Mel is a ship, and there's quite a large difference in the capacity and sophistication of their brains.'

'The principle is sound,' said the Doctor. 'Can you stall the shuttle for a bit? I need you to get me something.'

The shuttle from the !C-Mel looked indistinguishable from the standard travel capsule. It drew level with the balcony and the Doctor climbed aboard. As he did so, Bernice could hear him cheerfully whistling a maddeningly familiar refrain. It wasn't until the shuttle was lost in the darkness above that Bernice recognized the tune.

'Anything you can do/I can do better/I can do anything/better than you.'

The !C-Mel was only the front third of a Travelling Space Habitat, a ship designed so that the people could travel their galaxy and seek out new life forms without actually giving up one iota of their standard of living.

It was essentially a cluster of vaguely pyramidal shapes surrounding a central core, the whole thing two kilometres from top to bottom and three from side to side.

The shuttle deposited the Doctor at the peak of the topmost pyramid. As he stepped out, wide windows gave him a good view of the parks and apartment complexes that made up the living areas. Looking down he could see thousands of small shapes peeling away from the ship and heading for safe landings on the sphere. The !C-Mel was keeping its promise at least.

A marble-sized remote-drone met him in the atrium.

'Well, it's good to see you, Doctor,' said the !C-Mel.

The Doctor said nothing.

'I can assure you that all the crew will be evacuated within the next one point three minutes.'

The !C-Mel paused, waiting for a reply that never came. 'I see,' said the ship. 'You want to be sure Roslyn Forrester is all right before you speak. Very wise. In that case, follow the drone.'

The drone led him deeper into the ship, going down towards the core which was helpful. He found Roz sitting on a park bench next to a small flower garden. There were smears of dried blood around her nose and ears.

The Doctor smiled reassuringly. ' 'Allo, 'oz,' he said. It wasn't easy talking around the thing in his mouth.

'I can't hear you,' said Roz, too loudly. 'I think I burst my ear-drums.'

' 'oz,' mumbled the Doctor, ' 'ee's 'ime 'or 'an 'ee.'

'Is this some sort of secret code?' asked the !C-Mel.

The Doctor shook his head. Leaning down in front of Roz he tucked the thing as far back into his throat as it would go and enunciated soundlessly, 'Plan B.'

'Oh,' said Roz, 'Plan B, negotiated hostage release. Why don't I leave you two alone and go and find myself some, coffee.' She walked away from the park. The Doctor was pleased to notice that she went towards the nearest emergency exit, her walk getting noticeably brisker the further away she got.

'You can take the microfusion grenade out of your mouth now, Doctor,' said the !C-Mel. 'You can't possibly use it here.