Doctor Who_ Father Time Part 26

'It's solid metal,' Debbie told him. She'd done it herself, gone round the room, discovered that the room they had been locked in was a metal tank, seemingly cast in one piece. There weren't joins, welds, or anything of the sort. The room was bare, apart from the old bed, the s.p.a.ce-potty thing in the corner, and the chess set she'd been given when she'd asked the Deputy for one.

The Doctor slammed his fists against the door, knowing it was futile.

'She's not dead,' he said.

'Doctor, I know this isn't easy for you '

'She's not dead,' he snarled, 'or the Deputy would have come in here to tell me. That could happen at any moment, but it hasn't happened yet, so there is still hope.

'Come and sit down,' she said.

'You look worn out,' he said, apologetically. 'I know the last few days haven't been easy for you.'

Debbie patted the bed, and he sat down next to her.

'I'm not sad,' she said. 'I'm shocked. I saw a man killed, and... well, I've seen that before, and it's upsetting.'

'Of course it is,' the Doctor said.

'But I'm not... in mourning. Is it terrible to admit I'm glad that Barry's dead?'

The Doctor looked startled. 'I thought you loved him.'

'I did. I did, but I don't think I liked him. All I can think of, really, is that a terrible weight has been lifted.'

The Doctor looked at her for a moment, unsure what to say. 'I understand,' he said finally.

Debbie remembered Mr Gibson towering over them, blaming the Doctor for the death of his beloved queen and the death of a whole planet. Physically, the Doctor didn't look a day older, but he carried that weight with him, she could see that, now.

She held out her hand. 'All of us carry the weight of the past, even if we don't know what that past is.'

Dinah and Miranda walked into the reception area of the swimming baths.

Dinah couldn't believe what Miranda had just told her. 'He went into the ladies' changing room? Did you see him in the shower?'

'No!' Miranda laughed.

'Didn't you want to? G.o.d, if I'd been there I'd have got in with him.'

'I've asked Bob out, now, Dinah. You should be happy with that, not trying to turn me into a bigamist. Besides, you said he looked like a n.a.z.i.'

Dinah smiled.

The young man was sitting in reception, watching them.

Miranda was hesitating. 'Dinah...'

But Dinah couldn't believe her luck. She tried to imagine him without his shirt and jeans on... then she remembered she'd already seen that, and it hadn't been a disappointment. 'Hi!' she said, surprised at how shy she felt.

'h.e.l.lo,' he said. His accent was odd, difficult to place. A bit like Miranda's.

'Well done at beating Miranda,' Dinah said. 'Not many people do. I used to be able to.'

'Thank you,' he said, noncommittally.

Dinah realised her charm offensive wasn't working.

'I'm Dinah, by the way. I'm having a party tonight,' Dinah told him. 'You can come if you want.'

'Will the La-Will Miranda be there?' he asked, looking straight through Dinah and at her friend.

Dinah felt her shoulders sag. 'Yes.'

'I'll be there. Where is it?'

'Hang on, I've got some invites in my bag.' She rummaged around for them, already wishing she hadn't bothered to ask him.

He studied the card. 'Thank you,' he said again.

Dinah rejoined Miranda. 'You're in there,' Dinah grumbled.

Ferran watched them go.

The Last One was in his power. He closed his eyes, inhaled, felt some of the Doctor's memories of her wash over him. They were fading now, like dreams, but he could still catch the sense of them, the emotions evoked. The love the Doctor felt for her, his pride in how she was growing up into a beautiful, talented young woman with the world as her oyster.

To have killed her just then would have been anticlimactic.

For so long he'd been picturing the death of the Last One. He'd thought it would take place in the desert, in warsuits, hydraulic limbs tearing away at the plate armour until she was exposed. Or in a burning building, with the two of them exchanging shouts and screams.

He could kill her at any moment, whenever and however he wanted. To have struck then would have been to slurp down a vintage wine. He would savour this, take his time, make it perfect.

He reread the invitation.

He wouldn't have to wait long.

Bob and Alex arrived five minutes early, and Miranda was running five minutes late.

They looked very smart. She was still in her dressing gown, waiting for her nails to dry. She'd worn nail varnish a few times before, but still wasn't used to it. She rarely wore make-up, but had dabbed on some blue eyeshadow. Bob just gawped at her, clearly astonished and delighted to see her bare legs and a flash of collarbone.

She got them to sit in the front room, telling them that her dad was away. Alex nudged Bob at the news, which made Bob blush. Miranda went back upstairs and got dressed. She'd bought matching white underwear that afternoon when she'd bought Dinah's present. She put it on, then found jeans and a white shirt to go over it.

Where was her dad? He'd often go shooting off for days at a time, especially now she was old enough to be left by herself, but he was always meticulously precise about when he would return. Miranda wasn't worried his absence made a few things she was planning a little easier but she was curious as to what he was getting up to.

She dabbed on some White Musk, put on her waistcoat and went downstairs.

Bob had brought a camera, and he got Alex to take their picture together, from a number of different angles. There was, Miranda thought, an abstract thrill about the whole situation. But she still felt distanced from it all like someone looking at the pictures, not the girl in them. Whatever she felt for Bob, and she did have feelings, it wasn't love or l.u.s.t.

She tried to a.n.a.lyse it. Power. She had power over him. He'd turn up when she said, he'd phone her up, follow her around, do whatever she said. All because he wanted a glimpse of her body, with the prospect of more glimpses to come. She wondered whether she ought to be worried that the level of control she had over him seemed to be his main attraction.

When the last photo was developed, it would show her grinning a little more broadly than on the others.

Alex handed Bob's camera back to its owner. 'We ought to get going.'

'I'll just get my bag,' Miranda told them.

'Girls can't go anywhere without a handbag,' Alex said. 'Dinah's the same. I mean, it's not like they keep anything in them. They just cart old receipts and tissues around.'

'You must spend a lot of time rooting through girls' bags,' Miranda noted as she came back into the room, hefting her overnight bag.

'Going on holiday?' Bob joked.

'Staying overnight at Dinah's.'

'Wish I'd have known. I'd have asked and brought my pyjamas.'

Miranda leaned in. 'Ask me nicely and you might not need them.'

His face did odd things. Miranda smiled. Power.

Ferran looked at the invitation again.

He had already checked the route, scouted the area. He had half a dozen possible escape routes from Dinah's house ready. The knife was heavy in his jacket pocket, but it didn't show.

He parked his car a hundred yards down the road, checked he hadn't been seen, and got out. The weather this evening was calm, not like the storms of the night before. The clothes of the era still seemed absurd, like theatrical costumes rather than anything someone would really wear.

He could hear the party from here a faint thumping, music familiar to him from the crash course Joel had given him in the indigenous culture. Humans, particularly young humans seeking a partner, set great store by knowledge of the fashions. Joel had ensured that the right labels and symbols appeared on Ferran's clothing and footwear. Ferran had studied periodicals on the subject: New Musical Express New Musical Express and and Smash Hits Smash Hits. He'd memorised the contents of one of Kirst's compilation tapes, songs she had recorded from the radio on to magnetic tape.

He saw the Last One heading down the street, accompanied by two men. He hoped that the two men would leave her side for a moment, because a moment was all he needed. But they stayed with her, one either side.

Ferran remained out of sight, which was easy enough in the twisting streets and evening gloom. Out of necessity, he was out of earshot for much of the time. When he did hear the conversation, it was ba.n.a.l: one of the men complained that they should have got a taxi. The Last One told him not to be so pathetic.

They soon reached their objective: the house that was the location of the party. The front door was open, Dinah was there, welcoming people in.

Ferran hung back, tried to see what would happen next.

Chapter Sixteen.

The Party of Doom The door slid open.

Debbie felt sick. The Doctor looked like a condemned man, about to be led away to the gallows. She knew this would be the Deputy, come here to tell the Doctor that his daughter was dead.

Instead, it was a young West Indian couple. He wore a sharp suit and a Rolex, she was in a T-shirt and jeans. The woman seemed far more comfortable to be here. Behind them was a guard in black uniform and full helmet. Without, as far as Debbie could tell, touching anything, he managed to get the door to shut, sealing the four of them in.

'I'm Kirst,' the woman said. 'This is Joel.'

The Doctor said nothing, but brooded in the corner, watching them. Debbie stayed on the bed, let them say what they had to.

'We heard you screaming last night. We want to check you're OK. Sallak let us.'

'They want to kill my daughter,' the Doctor told them.

'You're the Doctor,' Joel said.

The Doctor nodded. 'This is Debbie,' he added.

'Debbie Castle...' Kirst said. 'Sallak's talked about you.'

'He killed my husband,' Debbie told her.

'Yeah, we know,' Joel said. 'We're sorry about that.'

'Are you prisoners, too?' Debbie asked. There was an edge in her voice. Almost hysteria. She tried to get a grip.

Kirst didn't know where to look. 'No, we're... Joel was Sallak's cellmate. He promised to help us out.'

'You're working for them?' Debbie said, horrified.

The young man brushed his hands against his lapels. 'He's looked after us.'

'He's not human,' the Doctor said. His voice was quiet, but insistent. Like a teacher. Debbie realised it reminded her a little of her dad's voice. She'd not noticed that before.

'We know that. But it's not like they want to invade Earth or anything.' But Kirst clearly felt uneasy even as she was saying it.

'No,' Debbie said bitterly, 'they just want us dead.'

'I don't know what you did to them,' Joel said, 'but they're well unhappy with you.'

'They want us dead,' she repeated. 'They want to kill the Doctor's daughter.'

Joel jabbed a finger at her. 'Tough break, but you think I was wearing Sergio Tachinni a week ago?'

Kirst smiled, trying to be more conciliatory. 'They let us come in here to check on you. They aren't monsters.'

The Doctor stood up slowly and looked Kirst in the eye.