Doctor Who_ Happiness Patrol Part 7

The mixture, whatever it was, smelt very good. The Doctor was intrigued. 'May we ask what it is?'

The Kandy Man was sniffing the concoction. He smiled his satisfaction. 'A labour of love, Doctor, a labour of love.'

This didn't tally with Harold V's description of the Kandy Man. 'Really,' said the Doctor. 'I didn't know you were the caring type.'

The Doctor had touched a raw nerve, and the Kandy Man sounded genuinely hurt. 'Just because Helen A prefers my ugly side, that doesn't mean I don't care,' he protested. 'Does it, Gilbert M?'

Gilbert M, busy with some strawberries, did not answer.

The Kandy Man hated being ignored. He erupted in fury. 'Gilbert M!'

Gilbert M casually looked up from the strawberries. 'No, no, of course not.'

He seemed unconcerned with the Kandy Man's tantrum.

But the Kandy Man was calm again. 'Thank you, Gilbert M,' he said politely. He turned back to the Doctor.

'And just because Helen A employs me as her executioner that doesn't mean I can't be creative.'

Earl had heard only one word. 'Executioner?'

The Kandy Man rea.s.sured him. 'No need to worry.' He held the test-tubes up to the light. 'Today you see before you the artistic, sensitive side of me. You see,' he said, glancing proudly at his kitchen, 'I make sweets. But not just any old sweets sweets that are so good, so delicious, that sometimes the human frame is not equipped to bear the pleasure. Tell them what I'm trying to say, Gilbert M.'

Gilbert M sounded bored, as if he had heard it all before. 'He makes sweets that kill people.'

The Kandy Man had poured some of the mixture from a test-tube on to a small silver spoon. He held the spoon to Earl's lips. 'I think we'll start with you,' he said.

7.

Terra Alpha was rich in sugar beet. Before the arrival of the colonists, several generations before, it had been allowed to grow wild, supporting most of the planet's indigenous species. But the ancestors of Helen A had quickly seen the commercial possibilities of harvesting the crop, particularly because no sugar grew on any of the other colony planets.

They had built huge grey factories in the flatlands to process the sugar. There was no concession to fun or jollity here. They were well away from the cities and out of the public gaze. The factories were utilitarian, designed for profit and no more. Captured dissidents provided the workforce, and they lived in drab prefabricated dwellings hastily constructed on the factory compounds. Known as drones, these men and women were not prisoners, but were banned from most parts of Terra Alpha, notably the city.

During working hours, the factories were heavily guarded by the Happiness Patrol, and any slackers or truants were harshly dealt with.

Recently, leaders had emerged from the ranks of the drones leaders committed to revolution and freedom from such a miserable life. One of the most charismatic of these was the poet Edward Z, who had organized secret meetings and spoken out against conditions imposed on the drones. At a recent packed meeting he argued persuasively for civil rights for the drones, who, after all, were producing the planet's wealth. Secret agents from the Happiness Patrol had been present at the meeting; a few days later Edward Z disappeared.

More meetings were arranged, and now the drones had left the factories behind and had marched on the city.

Their demonstrations now wound through the streets.

Clothed in black suits and bowler hats, and wearing veils to protect their ident.i.ties, they carried banners proclaiming their message. 'Factory conditions are a joke!'

read one. 'Where is Edward Z?' asked another.

Ace was being escorted back to the waiting zone by Daisy K and one of her guards, when she heard the slow drumbeat to which the drones marched. Rounding the next corner, she saw the bizarre procession.

'Evil!' she shouted happily. 'What's going on here?'

Daisy K was trying to ignore the pa.s.sing drones. 'It's of no consequence,' she said.

They were not the only ones watching the demonstration. Peeking out of a manhole in the corner of the street, Wences was following events with interest.

Wences was of the genus Alpidae, which had once lived off the wild sugar-beet. He had his species' characteristically large, pointed ears, and the wrinkled skin which made even the youngest Alpida appear to be ancient. He wore a loose silk robe and held a sharp spear in his paw.

Since the arrival of human life on Terra Alpha, the Alpidae had been forced underground, and they now lived off the sugar deposited in the large pipes which connected the sugar factories all over the planet to the city. It was for this reason that Helen A, who often hunted the Alpidae with Fifi, called them Pipe People.

Ace, who had not seen Wences, read the banners carried by the drones and watched the shuffling gait of the demonstrators. 'I'd say they were rather upset about something,' she said.

Daisy K could not hide her fury. 'They're fools,' she snapped. 'They think they can achieve something with their march.'

Ace could see that they had already managed to infuriate Daisy K. She was on their side for that alone. 'A demonstration!' she cried. 'Wicked!'

Wences, in his manhole, was delighted.

Daisy K's voice hardened. 'All they will achieve is their extinction.'

Ace wasn't surprised. 'So Helen A doesn't allow demos.

I could have guessed as much.'

Daisy K looked horrified at the suggestion. 'Of course she allows demonstrations. But these are killjoys and worse than that, they're drones.'

Ace hadn't heard of them. 'Drones?'

Daisy K explained. 'Workers from the flatlands. It is forbidden for them to visit the city.' She smiled grimly.

'That's why they won't leave it alive.'

Then Ace understood. 'You're scared of them, aren't you?'

Daisy K avoided the question. 'They will be dealt with in good time,' she said.

Ace struggled free and shouted with all her might. 'Up the killjoys! The drones united will never be defeated!'

Daisy K cuffed her sharply on the back of the head.

'Silence!'

'Gordon Bennett!' shouted Ace, just before a handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth. She was marched quickly away from the demonstration.

Wences had watched all of this scene from his manhole.

He took one last look at the drones and was gone, hidden once more in the underground city of the sugar pipes.

The Kandy Man had finished with Earl, at least for the time being. Earl was slumped in his chair, unconscious, but with a beatific smile stretching from ear to ear.

'He looks as if he enjoyed it,' noted the Doctor.

The Kandy Man looked up from his work. 'I'd be very angry if he hadn't.'

The Doctor listened to the whistle of Earl's soft snore.

'But he's still very much alive.'

The night is young,' said the Kandy Man, ominously.

He examined a line of bottles. 'Now, let's see what we've got for you.'

'Just before we start,' said the Doctor, 'I wonder if I could ask you about something which has been worrying me. It's the executions.'

The Kandy Man continued his selection of the coloured liquids. 'What about them?'

The Doctor continued. 'It's just that out there n.o.body seems to know what method you use. I was intrigued.'

The Doctor had clearly touched on a subject that was dear to the Kandy Man's heart. He placed a bottle on the table and moved over to the Doctor's chair. 'I didn't realize that you were concealing an interest in the mechanics of execution, Doctor. A man after my own soft-centre.'

The Doctor tried to shrug. 'Just curious.'

'Do you think we should grant him a last wish, Gilbert?'

Gilbert was checking lists of required ingredients.

'Whatever you think, Kandy Man.' He hurried out of the kitchen with his lists.

'I don't see why not.' After his success with Earl, the Kandy Man was in a good mood. He stomped over to one of the great silver pipes leading from one side of the kitchen to the other and slapped it with his sticky hand. It made a hollow, booming sound. 'The secret's in the pipes.

Vanilla secret, tomorrow, I think.' He allowed himself a moment to chuckle at his little joke. 'Just when the victim thinks he's been pardoned it flows into the yard and smothers him. Ingenious, isn't it?'

'It's depraved!'

'We call it the fondant surprise!'

'Can it be stopped once it's in motion?'

'The foam can be diverted down another pipe.'

Suddenly the Kandy Man was cautious again. 'But I'm not going to tell you how. Anyway, it's a hypothetical question.

What reason could I possibly have for stopping an execution?'

The Doctor had noticed a large bottle marked 'lemonade' behind the Kandy Man's right shoulder. He changed the subject. 'Just now, you said soft-centre.'

'Did I?'

'You said soft-centre instead of heart. Exactly what is your heart made of?'

The Kandy Man liked this question. He liked talking about himself. 'Difficult to say. It's all in there somewhere.

Caramel, sherbet, toffee, marzipan, gelling agents. But it's all in motion.'

'A movable feast, eh?' said the Doctor.

'Very droll, Doctor.'

But the Doctor now had the knowledge that he needed.

He had a plan. 'So you're perfectly adapted to your environment,' he said.

'Perfectly,' the Kandy Man smiled.

The Doctor knew that the Kandy Man's const.i.tution would not be able to bear intense heat. He had noted with regret that all the ovens in the kitchen were tightly secured. Still, the Kandy Man had his back to the bank of ovens, so he wouldn't know that.

He spoke to the Kandy Man. 'You're protected against everything, in fact, except the intense heat of the open stove behind you.'

'What?'

'I said protected against everything except the intense heat of the open stove behind..

'Silence!' bellowed the Kandy Man as he spun round to see if the stove was open. But, as the Doctor had planned, he spun round too quickly, and his shoulder crashed into the shelf of bottles, causing the large bottle of lemonade to crash to the floor. For the Doctor had also realized that there was something else that would render the Kandy Man defenceless.

'And, of course, the adhesive qualities of carbonated aitch-two-O and citric acid.'

The lemonade had spilt over the Kandy Man's feet. He was thrashing about trying to move. But he was stuck! - stuck to the floor by a bottle of lemonade. The humiliation! He cried out for Gilbert M, but to no avail.

He still hadn't returned from his errand. The Kandy Man was helpless.

The Doctor had taken special notice of the knots that Gilbert M had used when tying him up. They weren't very complicated - the Doctor had taught the youthful Houdini how to wriggle free of them - and he proceeded to do that himself.

In the next chair, Earl groaned. He was coming round.