Doctor Who - Downtime Part 1

DOWNTIME.

by Marc Platt.

For Daniel

With alphabetical multi-thanks and love to: Ben Aaronovitch, Keith Barnfather, Ben Aaronovitch, Keith Barnfather, Christopher and Venice Barry, Andrew Beech, Roy Bell, Nicholas Courtney, Terrance d.i.c.ks, Roy Bell, Nicholas Courtney, Terrance d.i.c.ks, Leo Janaek, Emilia Marty, Simon Rooks, Leo Janaek, Emilia Marty, Simon Rooks, Lis Sladen, Mike Tucker, Lis Sladen, Mike Tucker, Debbie Watling, James White and all the tremendous cast and crew of Downtime Downtime

Which was more abominable?

Me or the Yeti?

Foreword.

The novelization you are about to read is based on an independent drama production which I originally approached Marc Platt to write over four years ago.

Television being what it is, it took nearly three years to finally get the cameras rolling, but the end results have more than justified the producers' faith in the project and Marc's ability as a writer.

Downtime continues and concludes what might now be called the 'Yeti trilogy' begun with the two Patrick Troughton continues and concludes what might now be called the 'Yeti trilogy' begun with the two Patrick Troughton Doctor Who Doctor Who stories stories The Abominable Snowmen The Abominable Snowmen and and The Web of The Web of Fear Fear so if you haven't read them I suggest you do so immediately! so if you haven't read them I suggest you do so immediately!

In truth this is more than a novelization, as Marc has expanded upon the original script to include scenes and locations we couldn't possibly afford. A comparison between the two might prove rewarding and details of Downtime Downtime the drama are printed at the rear of this book. the drama are printed at the rear of this book.

With, at this time, no certainty Doctor Who Doctor Who will reappear on our television screens, it is commendable that Virgin Publishing have taken over the mantle of producing original stories based on the series. I am extremely grateful to them for publishing will reappear on our television screens, it is commendable that Virgin Publishing have taken over the mantle of producing original stories based on the series. I am extremely grateful to them for publishing Downtime Downtime and hope you enjoy reading the story as much as the cast and crew enjoyed making it. and hope you enjoy reading the story as much as the cast and crew enjoyed making it.

Keith Barnfather Producer August, 1995

Prologue.

Oxford, 1857

A Golden Afternoon It seemed an awfully long time since dinner. Victoria was sure it would soon be time for tea and Mr Do-do-dodgson still had not taken any photographs.

She clutched her doll tightly and tried very hard not to move, but she was very, very bored. The sun was in her eyes and the little stone bench seemed to be getting harder the longer she sat there. And just when Mr Do-do-dodgson said, 'All r-ready then,' and disappeared under the black cloth behind the camera, the sun would go behind a cloud, or the breeze would catch her petticoats and they would have to stop again.

Victoria puffed out her breath and kicked her legs in frustration. A fat woodpigeon, waddling across the gra.s.s, took off in lazy alarm. 'Victoria, you must stay still for Mr Dodgson,' insisted her father, who had been hovering beside their visitor all this time.

'I'm trying,' she protested.

'Yes, very,' he agreed.

While they waited for the sun to come back, he talked and talked to Mr Do-do-dodgson about the scientific principles of silvered plates and photo-zincography, and Mr Dodgson smiled patiently and smoothed out his long ruffled hair.

'So the lens entraps the image in time like a frozen looking-gla.s.s,' her father said yet again.

'Exactly, Waterfield,' declared Mr Dodgson. 'Imagine that, Victoria. A frozen teatime, when the tea never gets cold. You must come to my rooms in Hall at Christ Church and see some of my other photographs.'

'I don't like tea much,' Victoria said.

'Lemonade then... and m.u.f.fins.'

The sun peered round the side of the cloud. 'Let's t-t-try again,' Mr Dodgson added and ducked back under the cloth.

A bee, who had been exploring the tiger lilies behind her, decided to investigate Victoria as well and flew noisily in circles round her head. She gave a little scream.

'Please, Victoria. Sit still!'

The distant bell of Magdalen Tower chimed across the meadows from Oxford. From the lane came the steady clip-clop of the drayman's horse.

'Will you come in to tea?' called Mama from the french windows.

Her father pulled his gold watch from his waistcoat. 'Good heavens. Four o'clock. Where has the afternoon gone to?'

'Time has such a t-t-terrible appet.i.te,' Mr Do-do-dodgson agreed. 'There's no pleasing him. Why, he eats minutes, hours, days, even whole weeks at a time. And just when you think he's finished, do you know what he comes back for?'

He fixed Victoria with a twinkling eye.

'More?' her father suggested.

'No,' she giggled. 'He comes back for seconds!'

London. The Sixties and beyond 'Tea. That's what we all need,' the Doctor cheerfully informed Jamie and Victoria. His young companions stood awkwardly, watching him chip the white residue away from the TARDIS doors. It was settling on his frock-coat and baggy trousers.

'a.s.sam. That has a particularly agreeable flavour. Or Lapsang Souchong.'

The crystalline substance covered the outside of the police box and extended like a virulent frost along the tunnel of Covent Garden's southbound platform. Only a few hours ago, it had been a pulsing radiant web that infested most of London's underground system, fouling the nether regions of the deserted city. But with the dark thoughts that engendered it banished, it withered. It crackled as it dried and hardened.

'Och, just give them a good boot,' piped up Jamie, all set to administer the blow to the police box.

'Not to my TARDIS, you don't!' the Doctor protested.

'The very idea. You can't just kick in the doors. The lock is an extremely delicate and complex mechanism!' Jamie, come and wait over here.'

As the young Scot sidled sheepishly back to Victoria, the Doctor re-applied himself to the residue and listened to the muttered conversation behind him.

'Go on, Jamie.'

'Go on, what?'

'You ought to apologize.'

'No fear... What for?'

Tor spoiling the Doctor's plan.'

'Listen, don't you start. We got rid of the Intelligence and that's that. It's well away.'

'Not permanently though.'

'How was I supposed to know what the Doctor was doing?

He didn't let on he had a plan.'

'I still think you should apologize.'

'Och, why do you have to be so... so... 'Reasonable?'

There was a long pause, and the Doctor knew that Jamie was sulking. Then...

'Maybe he he should apologize to should apologize to me me first!' first!'

'Jamie!' she scolded.

With a loud crunch, the Doctor booted in the TARDIS door. He waited a moment for maximum effect and then turned, arms flourishing, his face lit by a triumphant smile.

'Jamie, I think we both owe Victoria an apology...'

The Doctor had entirely forgotten about the tea by the time Victoria found him. He was sitting on the floor in a darkened corner of the TARDIS with the entire contents of his pockets strewn around him.

She picked her way through the debris and presented him with his cup. 'Have you lost something?' she asked.

He surveyed his work and took a sip of tea. 'Actually, Victoria, I think I've just found any number of things I thought I'd lost.' He sighed. 'Only they weren't what I was looking for.'

'And?'

'Ah. I expect you want to know what's missing. I certainly do. The trouble is I can't remember. Where's Jamie got to?'

'He ate enough porridge for three people and fell asleep in an armchair. This thing you lost? When did you last have it?'

'I'm not sure that I did. It might have been somebody else.

All I know is that something's not right. Something's not complete.'

'You're still upset about the Great Intelligence,' she said.

'And there was no need to apologize.'

He smiled gently at her. 'Dear Victoria, you're always so thoughtful. But I thought it might be you that was upset.'

She looked up in surprise, but he continued anyway.

'You see, I haven't forgotten that when we first met the Intelligence in Tibet, it took over your mind and used you as its p.a.w.n. I know what it's like to have the control of your own thoughts stolen by something so callous and cruel.'

'At least it didn't happen again,' she said. Not to me anyway.'

'I think you've been very brave when really you've been having a very frightening time.'

She was quiet for several moments, and he wondered if she was going to burst into tears. 'Sometimes,' she said at last, 'we arrive somewhere and I worry about what we'll find out there.'

He nodded, even though it was just that sort of mystery that made him so eager to experience it. 'I promise to try to get us to somewhere a little less harrowing.'

'And whatever it was you were looking for?'

'I expect it'll turn up where or whenever I least expect it.'

So saying, he proceeded to return the impossibly vast range of obscure objects to his absurdly small coat pockets.

He suggested that Victoria take a much needed rest, and headed for the TARDIS console-room, where Jamie was snoring fit to wake a score of Sleeping Beauties.

Comforted that nothing unusual was occurring, he activated the scanner and gazed out at the vast prospect of s.p.a.ce and time.

He had become parent by proxy to Victoria Waterfield, but he wondered how grateful her late father would be if he witnessed the changes in his daughter. Certainly Edward Waterfield, Victorian scientist, unjustly martyred by his cruel Dalek oppressors, would not approve of the 1960s miniskirt for which his child had abandoned her voluminous crinolines.

Yet she remained gentle and kind, and a little prim, as Jamie knew to his cost. Yanked brutally from her own time and home, she was learning rapidly how to fend for herself. Good housekeeping, he supposed.

Jamie's snoring changed note. Brought out of his reverie, the Doctor stared at the scanner screen. Stars were there. And more stars beyond them. And clouds of gas in imperceptibly slowly billowing iridescence. And more stars. And clouds of imagination and possibility. And s.p.a.ce curved slowly through the stars, turning oh-so gradually round, above, below, so that beyond the infinite abundance of stars, he thought he eventually saw, far, far away, the back of his own head.

And somewhere in the darkness between the stars, lurking, waiting, an insubstantial ma.s.s of hateful thoughts, perhaps just behind him, was the Great Intelligence.