Doctor Who_ Happiness Patrol Part 5

'I just want to listen to him' said Susan Q.

Ace still couldn't quite believe her. 'Oh yeah?' she said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Susan Q paused for a moment as if she were carefully considering what to say next. Then she looked into Ace's eyes and spoke.

'I like it,' she said. 'I used to have a collection of blues seventy-eights that came from old Earth. I had to destroy them when I was vetted for the Happiness Patrol all except one.'

Ace listened carefully. She knew that Susan Q, by confiding in her, was taking a great risk.

' Lucille Lucille,' said Susan Q, 'sung by Big Joe Turner.'

'And you managed to hide it from them?'

'No. They found it.'

'Oh dear,' said Ace. She had seen enough of the Happiness Patrol to know the danger that Susan Q could find herself in. She also realized that Susan Q was on the point of defecting. What other reason could there be for these revelations?

Susan Q held out her hand. 'Susan Q,' she said.

Ace was distracted. 'What?' she said.

'My name. It used to be Susan L before I was demoted.'

'But you're all right? They haven't done anything to you?'

'No,' said Susan Q with a wry smile. 'Not yet.'

The Doctor, heading towards the centre of the town, was the only one who couldn't hear the blues tune. He was concentrating too hard on the unhealthy sounds from the go-kart's engine. It had been coughing a bit, and now it was misfiring. As the go-kart went slower and slower and it became clear that he would have to give it another examination, he looked round for help.

The streets were deserted.

The auditions for the Happiness Patrol were a weekly event in the city. The candidates were usually girls from the towns and villages in the remote parts of the planet, captured by the press-gangs sent out regularly from the city. Helen A reasoned that if the Happiness Patrol were to lose members to the guerrilla tactics of dissidents in these parts of the planet, then it was only fair if the gaps in the patrol's ranks were plugged by the guerrillas' own people.

The auditions took the form of a variety show. The Happiness Patrol was the most obviously visible side of Helen A's regime and she wanted its members to be positive, gutsy and talented she wanted them to have star quality. Helen A long ago decided that the best way to a.s.sess these qualities was to ask the candidates to present a variety turn to her in the Forum. It didn't matter what it was a dance, a song, a piece of magic, or a stand-up comedy routine. All that Helen A asked was that she felt better at the end of the act, that she left the theatre with a smile on her face. Those who succeeded went on to join the Happiness Patrol; those who didn't were never heard of again.

Susan Q, prior to being press-ganged into the Happiness Patrol, had worked as a singer and dancer in theatres all over Terra Alpha. She pa.s.sed the Happiness Patrol audition with the highest ever marks and, among her other duties, was quickly put to work coaching the candidates for the auditions.

She was now standing in a large room in the headquarters of the Happiness Patrol watching Ace trying to twirl a baton over her head. It was terrible.

'OK, Ace,' said Susan Q, as kindly as possible, 'stop there. I can't take any more. We won't even bother looking at your dancing.' She racked her brains for something Ace might be good at. 'Do you know any jokes?'

Ace shook her head. 'I always forget jokes.'

'How about songs?'

Ace remembered an old song from the 1950s. She thought it might be American. It had always been one of her favourites. 'I know this great song about this guy and his girlfriend. She drops the ring he gave her on a railway track, and when she goes back to get it she's killed by a train, so he's really miserable for the rest of his life. It's fantastic.'

Susan Q was exasperated. 'Happy songs, Ace,' she exclaimed. 'Songs about sunshine and furry animals.'

They went through a few other ideas: juggling, card tricks, and even tightrope walking. None of it was any good.

Susan Q was tired. She could see through the charade could see the pointlessness of it all. She told Ace to take a breather.

They both sat on the floor, and Susan Q stared into s.p.a.ce. 'You know, Ace...'

'Yeah?'

'I woke up one morning...'

'I know that song,' said Ace enthusiastically.

Susan Q laughed. 'There are a million blues songs that start like that. But I did.'

Ace looked puzzled.

'I did wake up one morning and suddenly something was very clear. I couldn't go on smiling. Smiling while my friends disappeared. Wearing this uniform. Smiling and trying to pretend I'm someone I'm not. Trying to pretend I'm happy. Better to let it end. Better just to relax and let it happen. I woke up one morning and realized it was all over.'

There was a long silence after Susan Q finished talking.

Then Ace moved over to her and laid a hand gently on Susan Q's arm. 'Look,' she said, 'I'm sorry.'

Susan Q shook her head. None of it was Ace's fault. 'I think we'll abandon our rehearsal.'

Ace was relieved. She didn't know what would happen to her now but she certainly didn't want to go through with the farce of a Happiness Patrol audition. 'I'm not Happiness Patrol material anyway,' she said proudly. 'They stand for everything I hate. Like you said, smiling all the time smiling when it doesn't mean anything. I'm not one of them: I can't twirl a baton; I can't dance; I can't sing.'

Susan Q appreciated the speech. But when she turned to look at Ace the expression on her face was deadly serious.

'No,' she said, 'but there is one thing you might be very good at.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yes. A disappearing act.'

Ace was intrigued. 'What do I have to do?'

Susan Q produced a key from a small purse and held it out to Ace. 'It's simple,' she said. 'I close my eyes. When I open them you're gone.'

Ace did not need a second invitation. Within moments she was through the door and into the blackness of the night.

The ailing go-kart had rolled to a halt next to a bench beneath a streetlight. The Doctor climbed wearily under the machine. He was fed up with Alphan engineering. The Doctor, however, was being watched. Silas P sidled out from the shadows and sat down on the bench. He took out his copy of The Grief The Grief and started to read. and started to read.

The Doctor was making no progress. He hauled himself out from under the go-kart and found himself staring at the back of Silas P's newspaper. 'Excuse me,' said the Doctor.

Silas P scented his forty-eighth scalp Helen A would be delighted. He put down his paper and raised his hat.

'You wouldn't have a small automotive jack, would you?' asked the Doctor amiably.

'I'm afraid not,' said Silas, proffering his hand, which was accepted by the Doctor. 'But I can offer you the hand of friendship. Sit down. Tell me about yourself.'

The Doctor had all but decided to give up with the go-kart. He needed to get back to the heart of the danger, especially if Ace was in trouble. Perhaps the man in the hat would be able to give him some answers.

He sat down on the bench, next to Silas P. 'I'm looking for Helen A,' he said. 'Perhaps you could point me in the right direction.'

'I can tell you where to find her,' said Silas P. 'But make sure you're smiling when you meet her.'

'Smiling?'

'She hates miserable people. Haven't you heard about the ma.s.sacre?'

The Doctor remembered Harold V mentioning a ma.s.sacre, shortly before his death. 'I've heard rumours,' he said.

'Helen A got angry at the end of last year. She sent out her spies to find the most depressing township on the planet. The Happiness Patrol went in and razed the place to the ground.'

The Doctor could barely suppress his anger. He was beginning to understand fully the extent of the evil abroad on Terra Alpha. 'But why?' he cried.

'Policy,' said Silas P. He saw the look in the Doctor's eyes. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distress you.'

'I'm not distressed,' said the Doctor. 'I'm angry. Why do the people let her walk all over them?'

Silas P sighed. He liked this bit of his act best. The bit when he laid the blame on his superiors. 'There are lots of reasons. The Happiness Patrol, the Kandy Man..

The Doctor interrupted him. 'The Kandy Man! He's next on my list of people to see.'

Silas P looked concerned. 'Then I'd cross him off fast if I were you. He's Helen A's henchman does all her dirty work.' He paused for effect. 'There are small pockets of resistance, though. Quiet murmurings of rebellion. Are you interested?'

'But of course,' said the Doctor.

Silas P looked furtively from side to side and then over his shoulder. His voice dropped to a whisper. 'There's a place, a secret place, where we're planning for the day when Helen A and the Kandy Man will be called to account.' He produced something from inside his raincoat.

'Here my card.'

'Thanks.' The Doctor read the legend. 'Silas P.'

'Other side.'

'Happiness Patrol undercover.' The Doctor was delighted. 'Excellent! Perhaps you could take a message...'

But Silas P didn't hear. He was blowing his whistle long and loud to summon members of the Happiness Patrol from all over the city to come and finish off this strange killjoy with the straw hat and umbrella.

Earl Sigma, observing the scene from the shadows, made his move. The harmonica spun out of his hand as he hit Silas P cleanly on the back of his head. The whistle flew from Silas's mouth.

The Doctor scooped up the harmonica and handed it back to Earl. 'Are you a musician?' he asked.

'Sort of,' said Earl, pocketing the instrument. They heard the first sirens of the Happiness Patrol.

'Shall we go?' asked the Doctor.

Silas P regained consciousness as Earl and the Doctor escaped down the street. He rubbed his head and looked around, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. He touched the cut on his head and his face contorted in pain. When he opened his eyes he looked down the barrels of five Happiness Patrol guns.

The Happiness Patrol guards had heard his whistle and hurried to this lonely spot. They had found this man in a trilby, obviously unhappy. That was enough.

'No!' screamed Silas P. 'Wait!'

But it was too late. The Happiness Patrol opened fire.

Earl Sigma and the Doctor were crouching in a doorway, trying to dodge the searchlights attached to the front of the Happiness Patrol jeeps. The shooting seemed to be dying down. The Doctor doffed his hat. 'I'm the Doctor,' he said.

'Earl Sigma,' said Earl.

'A sort of musician?'

'I'm actually a medical student,' explained Earl. 'Fifth year post med psychology.'

Something was puzzling the Doctor. 'Tell me,' he said, 'what does the Sigma mean?'

'It stands for alien. All visitors to Terra Alpha are called Sigma.'

'So you're travelling through the colonies?'

'Yeah,' said Earl. 'I'm on vacation, paying my way with music. But I kind of got stuck here.'

The Doctor understood why. 'Yes,' he said. 'Rather a fascinating planet from a psychological standpoint.'

The seachlights were getting brighter; the sound of the Happiness Patrol sirens louder. 'Let's go,' shouted Earl, leaping to his feet.

'Wait!' said the Doctor, holding Earl back. He had just noticed the sign above the doorway. Twelve extravagant, baroque letters which spelt Kandy Kitchen. He steered Earl through the door, which opened easily. 'In here,' he said. 'There's someone I'd like to meet.'

Inside, a steep staircase led down into the kitchen. At the bottom, Earl stared in amazement at the huge black pots on the stoves and their brightly coloured bubbling ingredients. The Doctor was examining the chopped ingredients laid out on the enormous wooden table.

'What is this place?' asked Earl, noticing the great wheels and cogs slowly revolving high up near the ceiling.

The Doctor looked grim. 'I believe it's where they make sweets.'

They were taken completely by surprise when Gilbert M hustled in, chattering angrily to himself. The Doctor grabbed Earl Sigma and they dived underneath the table.

Gilbert M had seen them but was unconcerned. In truth he was rather grateful to have someone to listen to his catalogue of complaints. 'They think it's easy,' he moaned as he pottered around the kitchen. 'A thousand pounds of praline cracknel indeed!' He stirred one of the pots. 'They don't know about his moods.' He took the wooden spoon and tasted the mixture. 'He's terrible when he's roused.' He started shovelling ingredients into the pot. 'I tell them but they don't believe me.' He slammed the spoon down on the table. 'They're lucky they get any sweets at all.'

Gilbert M suddenly stopped talking. In the silence, Earl and the Doctor could hear strange sucking noises. The Doctor was reminded of his time in Peru with the Incas, and the sound of leeches being pulled from human skin.

But this was the sound of the Kandy Man's feet sticking to floor as he lumbered into the Kandy Kitchen. He was carrying a large hammer.

He had heard Gilbert M's prattle and was annoyed.

'Enough!' he bellowed. Gilbert M scurried into the corner and the Doctor and Earl Sigma retreated further under the table.