Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 28

'Hugo never mind. G.o.d, look at the state of you. Was it rough out there?'

'Rough's not the word.'

'Aah.' George 'the Spike' Pryke cooed. 'It's not fair. It's too hard on you. It'll drive you all away, those that are left.'

His eye caught the clock.

'G.o.d, is that the time? I've got to run, love. If I'm late again, it'll be no pudding from his nibs for a week. Uh, here's your b.u.mf.'

'b.u.mf?'

'For the big do! You're with Murphy.'

George Pryke handed her a brown envelope, then kissed the air again and swept out. Rita could have sworn he left a lingering trail of perfume.

That was when it hit her. She was dreaming. The sc.r.a.ps of reality, the weird details... She'd never before dreamed so lucidly or so long maybe she was still out under the Russian drugs.

Or was that part of the dream too?

Then she had another thought. If this was a dream, and she was aware of the fact, she could surely control it. Whatever was in the envelope she could make it something good.

She tore it open.

A press pa.s.s nice photo of her some big three-day fashion do at the Savoy. Accommodation included.

'Miss... We're going to break down the door...'

Rita wished they'd go away. She heard a new voice a woman's.

'What kind of a hotel do you call this?'

Harsh, American.

'I'm sorry, madam, but she... well, she had an authentic reservation and identification and she did look remarkably like you.'

'I can't believe I'm standing here having this conversation in a corridor outside a locked hotel room.'

There was a banging on the door.

'Get out here, you little b.i.t.c.h!'

138.

Rita shuddered. There was something about the voice that went through her.

The man was talking peace and quiet. 'If madam wouldn't mind,'

he said. 'So as not to disturb the other guests.'

'Well, how the h.e.l.l you gonna bust the door in without disturbing the guests?'

'Well, I had rather hoped to avoid actually having to, as it were...'

Rita tried to ignore them and get back to enjoying her dream.

She'd gotten away with it for a night, at least. She'd bathed for hours, clambered over the huge bed, ordered lavishly on room service, eaten, drunk... She cleaned out the mini-bar, ate until her belly hurt, and within minutes she was hungry again.

And weak. She hadn't felt full since leaving the Wongs.

OK, follow the logic of the dream...

She went out and got a Chinese. Once again she was asked if she was American. If anything it made the Chinese more attentive. She was made to sit with a huddle of Chinese, rather than with the rest of the diners.

'Why you no go home?' she was asked more than once.

'Why don't you go home?' she countered.

'You think we want to stay here?' came the reply. 'We stay because we can't go home.'

She'd returned to the room. They had a TV by the bed, a ridiculous amount of channels... She found one doing just movies some old cla.s.sics, which she loved, and some she'd obviously missed. Tomorrow she was supposed to start covering an event she'd never heard of in a place she'd never heard of, but tonight the dream was hers.

She tried to think hard about Alan Ladd.

And now some American harpy was at the door, baying for her blood.

Rita heard her stomp off, snarling about getting the police. What a b.i.t.c.h...

She supposed it was time to go. She rose from the bed, dressed (she'd had the hotel launder her clothes) and heaved the wardrobe back into its place.

'I'm coming out now,' she called, unlocking the door.

Two flunkies were ringing their hands in front of her.

'This is a most unfortunate instance ' one began.

'Yeah, shove it,' Rita replied and marched proudly out.

139.

Chapter Fifteen.

'Dr Hopkins, thank you for agreeing to see me.'

'Always a pleasure, Edward. Have a seat and tell me how you are.'

Edward Drakefell took a deep breath. 'I did it.'

'You...'

'Confronted it, like you said. I went aboard the ship.'

'Well done, Edward.'

Drakefell shook his head slowly.

'It was remarkable. The Doctor I told you about him he explained a few of the principles to me, and it's terrifying.'

'I should love you to tell me.'

'Damage to the fabric of s.p.a.ce/time. When we sent the rocket up...'

Drakefell paused. He was becoming agitated.

'There, there, Edward,' his psychiatrist said. 'Sit down, do. And pray don't alarm yourself. This Doctor sounds like something of a prankster to me. Damage to the fabric of s.p.a.ce/time indeed! I fear we will have to concern ourselves more immediately with our Russian friends, don't you?'

Drakefell rummaged in his baggy briefcase.

'I wish the Doctor was here,' he complained. 'He could have explained it. I wish you could have met him.'

'You speak as if...'

'I don't think he made it off the ship.'

'Something happened to the ship?'

'I shouldn't tell you this, it's highly cla.s.sified.'

'Come now, Edward.'

'The Russians attacked. Blew it up. Not a trace left.'

'Indeed?'

'You won't hear a thing about it on the news, of course. The place is in turmoil.'

'Blew it up. That is unfortunate.'

Drakefell fished again into his briefcase and pulled out a large, flat metallic box.

'I managed to save this. The Doctor seemed to think it was vitally important. Something about repairing the damage.

140.

'Did he, indeed?'

'I don't know what to do with it. I can't keep it. It reminds me of...'

'Yes, yes, don't worry. Leave it with me.

'I know I should have given it to General Crawhammer, but...'

'Edward, I don't think you should even mention this. Least of all to the military.'

'But what should we do?'

'I must think about this. Leave it with me. I shall call you when I have mulled things over.'

'Thank you, Dr Hopkins. You've taken a weight off my mind.'

'That's my job, Edward. I'll see you to the door.'

George Limb watched as his patient scurried down the street, glancing anxiously around him. Poor man. He genuinely felt sorry for him.

Drakefell had a fine mind, but his physicist's insight into the cosmic vastness filled him with more terror than wonder. Limb hoped his rather improvised psychiatry wasn't doing too much damage. He had become fond of Drakefell, he noted with a little surprise.

With his sleeve Limb wiped a smudge from the gold nameplate next to the door. Dr John Hopkins. Had to keep the place up for the old boy.

As far as his Harley Street neighbours were concerned, he, George Limb, was just standing in for John Hopkins, who was spending six months mountaineering.

He smiled, knowing how dangerous the Alps could be.

He returned to his consulting room, picked up the telephone and dialled.

'Mr Dumont-Smith, please... Tell him it's George.'

He tapped his long fingers in a spider pattern on the desk until he heard Dumont-Smith's voice.

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Miles? George. What happened?'

'What?'

The ship, Miles. I told you to prepare a contingency plan to s.n.a.t.c.h the thing in the event that I couldn't gain access by other means. The next thing I hear, it's been blown to smithereens. What went wrong?'

'This need not concern you, George.'

'Why couldn't you wait? I'd practically won Drakefell over.'

'Regrettably, I don't take orders from you, George.'

'Well, I hope no d.a.m.n fool ordered ordered the ship to be blown up. the ship to be blown up.