Doctor Who_ Winner Takes All - Jacqueline Rayner [8]
‘It might not see the carrier…’
‘No, two more coming round the corner… They’ve spotted it…’
‘The one on the left’s going to get it… Stupid carrier, just standing there…’
‘It can’t do anything else without a controller…’
‘And there it goes. Hook up another carrier, back at the beginning, for when the controller returns…’
The leader, Frinel, grunted. ‘I want that controller. No other has shown such skill! This is the controller who will bring us to our destiny at last! Track the signal. Send a message to our Earth agents. He will play the game for us – under our control.’ He paused. ‘And talking of control…’
He lumbered round, till his back was facing the rest. Then with a swish, he sent a barrage of quills flying towards the hapless small Quevvil from the teleport booth. The Quevvil collapsed to the floor.
‘Discipline must be maintained,’ said Frinel.
* * *
Mickey Smith was beginning to regret throwing out the Doctor, not because he wanted the smug git’s company, but because it was obvious that Rose wasn’t coming back with the milk and biscuits now her older man had left. He began an expedition through the kitchen cupboards, but there was nothing much except an old box of cereal and a giant jar of pickled onions that had been a recent present from Rose’s mum. He unscrewed the lid, selected an onion and began to crunch thoughtfully.
So the Doctor was taller than him, and better‐looking than him, and had saved the world more times than he had. He could cope with all that. But it was a bit much when the bloke even thrashed him at video games, because that was an Earth thing, a Mickey thing, and he should be allowed to win out there at least.
It was just because it was this new, weirdo game. Grand Theft Auto, or Gran Turismo, or even Sonic the bleedin’ Hedgehog, and the Doctor wouldn’t have stood a chance. But this game, with its jerky viewpoint and freaky graphics – it took time to get used to. Mickey hadn’t played it nearly enough yet. Taking another onion, Mickey sauntered back into the other room and switched the games console back on. He was going to master this thing, and then next time the Doctor turned up on his doorstep he’d challenge him to a game – just a little game, Doctor, not scared I’ll beat you, are you, Doctor? – and then he’d show the time‐travelling show‐off…
But the console was playing up. There were all these lights flashing and it was making this high‐pitched sound, and there was no picture on the screen at all.
And then Mickey’s front door crashed open.
For a second, when he saw Percy Porcupine standing in the doorway, Mickey had the mad idea that they knew his console had gone wrong and had sent someone round to sort it. But he knew that was stupid. That wasn’t how things worked. And the bloke – or girl, who knew which was inside the costume? – hadn’t even knocked on the door.
And then, because he remembered the sort of things that happened when the Doctor was about, he suddenly realised that this wasn’t a bloke – or a girl – in a costume after all. So when the porcupine pointed a gun at him, he really wasn’t surprised at all.
* * *
FOUR
Robert had always suspected that his mum wasn’t his real mum. And he knew, knew with a passionate certainty, that deep inside he was different. Special. Not like other boys.
Then one day, the proof had come. The letter. The wonderful, glorious letter. ‘Dear Mr Watson, We beg to inform you that you are really a wizard. We will expect you at Dozbin’s Magical College at the beginning of next term.’
And his mum had had to admit that he wasn’t really her son. His parents had been famous sorcerers, possibly the most brilliant sorcerers there had ever been, but they’d been killed by an evil wizard. It was suspected that the evil wizard had been trying to kill Robert because he was going to be the most powerful wizard that had ever lived. So Robert had been smuggled away as a baby, and given to the most pathetic, feeble, stupid, rubbishy woman they could find, so no one would suspect.
But