Doctor Who_ Wetworld - Mark Michalowski [16]
‘That man,’ said Ty as she peered out of the window into the pink dawn and watched Pallister scuttle away across the square to his house, ‘is bad news. You know that, don’t you?’
The Doctor smiled at her. ‘I think I’d worked that one out.’
He bent over the desk on which a map – that Pallister had magicked up in seconds – had been unrolled, pinned down by an assortment of coffee cups and pots full of pencils. ‘You’re not an adjudicator at all, are you?’
The Doctor seemed shocked at her suggestion.
‘Professor Benson!’ he said, affronted. ‘Are you accusing me of impersonating an officer of the Earth Empire?’
‘We have an Earth Empire?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘You will,’ he smiled. ‘Anyway. . . ’ He turned his attention back to the map, brushing away a few specks of mud that had fallen from his hair. ‘We’re here – and the TARDIS
landed here.’
‘That’s your ship?’
‘Spot on, Doctor Watson. Now, are there any beasties out there we need to be careful of? Candice told me about what happened. The flood. Sorry about that. But I’d hate to be responsible for the loss of any more of your people.’ ‘No,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘Nothing that we know of – that’s one of the reasons Sunday was approved for colonisation –
fairly nice planet, all things considered. A bit wet and soggy, but warm. They were going to call it “Wetworld” – in contrast to “Earth” –
before we vetoed it, Made us sound incontinent.’
‘Very wise,’ said the Doctor as he smiled, straightened up and took a deep breath.
‘Can you round up half a dozen hefty bodies and some ropes? And if you’ve got any good swimmers around here, that’d help.’
‘You’re going to pull a spaceship out of the swamp with ropes and half a dozen bruisers?’ Ty was incredulous. ‘Just how big is this TARDIS of yours?’
Col started as Candy came back into the zoo lab.
‘Jumpy,’ she said with a tired smile.
‘Thought you were with Pallister and his trained monkeys,’ Col looked distant, thoughtful.
‘Oh, I think the Doctor’s got him firmly under his thumb.’ Candy grinned, putting fresh coffee on to brew. She picked up her forgotten backpack from behind the door and pulled a face as she unzipped it: inside was a mess of smashed shell and gloopy egg.
‘That’s breakfast gone, then,’ Col said gloomily.
‘Give it an hour and the refec’ll be open.’
‘S’pose. So. . . this stuff about him being an adjudicator. . . Reckon it’s true?’
Candy shrugged. ‘Don’t see why not.’
‘I’m not sure anything’s what it seems with the Doctor.’
‘Why?’
Col said nothing, and there was a moment’s awkward silence before he gestured towards the cages, where the otters were starting to wake up.
‘Gonna give me a hand with this lot?’ he said. Some of them were just stretching and yawning; others were pacing in tiny circles, patting down the leaves underneath them. One looked suspiciously like it was having a wee. And the one with the grey smudge on his ear, the one they’d had the longest, was fiddling with the padlock that held his cage shut.
‘OK – what’s what?’
Col checked the clipboard he’d been working on.
‘Ty wants eight of them releasing – says they’ve reached maximum.’
‘Smart and smarter again?’ Col nodded.
‘Y’know,’ said Candy thoughtfully, wandering over to the cage as the smell of coffee filled the lab, ‘I wonder if it’s us.’
‘Us what?’
‘Us that’s making them smart.’
‘You mean when we catch them they’re dim and aggressive, and somehow contact with us ups their IQs? How would that work, then?
They can’t just be learning from us: we’ve made sure not to let them see us doing anything “clever”.’
Candy wasn’t sure, although it made as much sense as any of the other theories they’d come up with – and discounted: diurnal rhythms, food supply, separation from their families. Nothing seemed to really explain why the IQs of the otters seemed to rise the longer they were in captivity, before levelling out. Maybe they were picking it up from the humans. Candy knew she wasn’t the brightest penny in the barrel, but she felt sure that the answer was staring them in the face.
Suddenly