Текст книги "Doctor Who- The Pirate Loop"

Автор книги: Simon Guerrier

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FIVE

More than three hours earlier, the tentacled alien passengers huddled together protectively. They wrapped their tentacles tight around one another, and the screams they'd let out when Gabriel was killed slowly fell away to a murmur. They weren't going to be any help, thought Martha. She was all there was.

She stepped forward. 'Who are you?' she asked the badgers.

'Name's Dashiel,' said the badger who'd killed Gabriel. He waved a bony, hairy paw at his counterparts. 'That's Jocelyn, and that's Archibald.' Martha couldn't suppress a smile. 'What?' Dashiel growled.

'Nothing,' said Martha. 'Was it middle-class parents?'

'We don't have parents!' said Archibald, the other male badger from behind her. He seemed a lot younger than the other two. 'We was grown in a lab.'

Archibald,' Dashiel chided. 'She dun't need to know that.' He didn't sound, thought Martha, like someone doing an impression of a pirate – all "me hearties" and "shiver me timbers". They were like the teenagers loitering outside the Co-op in the evening, because they had nowhere better to go. Yet the guns were real, and the passengers were terrified. And they'd just disintegrated Gabriel for no reason. She had to take this seriously.

'What do you want?' she said.

Dashiel ran forward and suddenly grabbed her throat. His claws were sharp, grazing her skin. His breath stank of something like cat food. The stench brought tears to her eyes.

'You, girlie,' leered Dashiel. 'We wan' you to shut yer mouth.'

Martha nodded, eyes open wide. OK, now she was scared.

'Dash,' said the other pirate; the gruff-sounding woman, Jocelyn. 'We gotta ask 'em questions.'

Dashiel considered and, for a moment, Martha thought he might just kill her anyway. Slowly he released his grip on her throat. She could still feel the pattern of his claws on her skin and wondered how badly she'd bruise.

'Right,' said Dashiel, addressing the whole room. The tentacled aliens squawked with fear, like so many terrified chickens. Martha could remember a time when she too might have been cowed by the sight of strange gun-toting aliens. Now it was just any other day. 'We wanna know where your captain is!' demanded Dashiel. 'We wanna know where your engines is! And we wanna know why none of you tried to fight us!'

The alien passengers cowered, too terrified to respond.

Martha could see Dashiel would think nothing of killing a few of them, if only to prompt an answer. 'We're all just passengers,' she said, trying to keep the terror from her voice. 'We're civilians. We don't know any of that stuff.'

Dashiel considered this. 'Hurr,' he sighed.

'What we gonna do, Dash?' asked Archibald.

'Don't bower 'im,' Jocelyn warned him. 'You 'ave to show respect.'

Dashiel brooded. 'We gotta wait for the others. Captain Florence will 'ave orders.'

'Will she let us kill 'em?' asked Archibald eagerly.

Dashiel smiled at him, fondly. 'Maybe. If you be'ave.'

They waited. Martha counted to ten, trying to keep her cool. Any minute now the Doctor would stroll in and everything would get sorted. She kept counting – to twenty, to thirty... There was still no Doctor by the time she got to sixty, and she'd been counting more and more slowly. Oh well, she thought. It looked like she'd have to do the sorting.

'So,' she asked Dashiel amiably, 'how many of you are there?'

'A hundred,' said Dashiel.

'More like a thousand!' said Jocelyn. 'We're like a swarm or an army.'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald. 'A thousand's bigger than a hundred, is'nit?'

A bit bigger, yes,' said Martha. 'So where are the other nine-hundred-and-ninety-seven of you?'

'They should be here, Dash,' said Jocelyn. Martha realised Jocelyn had pink lipstick around her hairy mouth. It was one of those pastel shades that Martha didn't suit. It looked quite good on the badger.

'They should be here,' admitted Dashiel. His shiny black nose twitched with irritation.

'Did they get lost?' asked Archibald.

'How'd they get lost, Archie?' said Jocelyn, not unkindly.

'Dunno,' said Archie. He shrugged. 'I get lost sometimes.'

Dashiel raised one arm and spoke into the computer set into his wrist. 'Captain Florence,' he said. 'We need orders.' The response was a hiss of static. Dashiel tried again, sending the same message over and over and getting no reply. Martha could see him getting more and more worried. And she didn't like what that might mean for the prisoners.

'They ain't there,' he said eventually, with terrifying calm.

'So what we gonna do?' asked Archibald, almost on his tip-toes with excitement.

'We're gonna do what the captain told us,' said Dashiel. 'We're gonna find what we came for. We're gonna nick it and then we're gonna wreck the whole ship.'

'Yeah!' agreed Archibald.

'You're gonna stay here, Archie,' Dashiel told him. 'Me and Joss are gonna go take a look-see.'

'Awww!' said Archibald.

'Now, now,' Joss told him gently. 'This way you guard the prisoners. And kill 'em if they make trouble.'

'I s'pose,' said Archibald sulkily.

'Good lad.'

Archibald took Dashiel's position, guarding the only door into the cocktail lounge. Martha noticed how he stood up straighter, looked more mature, given this responsibility. He gave the impression that he wanted the prisoners to try something, so he could teach them a lesson.

'Won't be long,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn set off. 'Have fun.'

The alien passengers kept quiet, huddled together in front of the bay window. Martha heard them gasp as she made her way slowly to the bar. It was all she could think of to help them. The serving robot stepped neatly up to serve her – he must have been programmed to fetch drinks whatever the circumstances. Martha rather liked that.

'Hydrogen hydroxide on the rocks,' she told him loudly. And don't be stingy with it.' The robot quickly fetched her the glass of water and ice cubes while she perched herself on a barstool. In the long mirror behind the bar, she could see Archibald watching her closely. He didn't know quite what to do. She raised an eyebrow at him, like she'd do with any staring bloke in a pub. And just like any staring bloke, Archibald looked quickly away.

Gotcha, thought Martha.

She didn't turn round; she addressed his reflection, left him talking to her back. 'So,' she said in her best sexy voice. 'You're learning to be a pirate.'

She saw him screw up his hairy face. 'I'm not learnin' nuffin',' he said. 'I am a pirate.'

'Course you are,' she said. 'Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

She watched him seething. 'Captain Florence,' he said at last, 'says we're not pirates anyhow. Says we're venture capitalists.'

'Well fancy,' said Martha. She took a slow sip of water, making him wait. Her sister had taught her the knack of it – Tish lived to torture boys. 'So, venture capitalist like you,' she went on. 'Must spend a lot of time in places like this. Sipping cocktails. Doing deals.'

'Yeah,' said Archibald. He was, she knew, lying through his prominent teeth. 'All'a time.'

'Thought so,' she said. 'You'll have a drink, then?'

Archibald bristled. 'What?' he said.

'Just a drink. Nothing heavy.' As she looked down at her glass of water again she winked at him. Just at the last minute, so he might think he'd imagined it. When she glanced up again, she could see him blushing underneath his coarse fur.

'I, uh, yeah,' he said. 'But Dash wouldn't like it.'

'Dashiel can have a drink when he gets back,' she said. 'It's not like he's missing out. The bar's free anyway. And guarding prisoners . . . That's thirsty work.'

Archibald coughed, clearing the dryness in his throat. He leant back to look through the door into the ballroom, to see if his colleagues were anywhere nearby. Then he waved his gun at the alien prisoners cowering in front of the bay window. The aliens squealed in terror – exactly the response he wanted. As Archibald made his way slowly to the bar, shoulders back, walking tall, Martha could see him playing it cool. He leant against the bar beside her, the perfect position to talk to her and at the same time watch the prisoners. She smiled demurely at him and he grinned back. His breath was hot and stinky, his fur bristly like an old toothbrush.

'Yes, sir?' said the robot barman. Archibald's eyes showed a moment of panic.

'What should I 'ave?' he asked Martha.

She looked him up and down, appraising him. 'Big strong bloke like you?' she said. 'I bet you can handle anything.'

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I bet that too.'

Martha nodded at the robot. 'Do your worst,' she told it. The robot began to mix various brightly coloured liquids into a glass. Archibald watched in horror as the final concoction was presented to him. The amber liquid let off a haze of steam.

Martha raised her glass of water, chinked it against his drink. 'Down the hatch,' she said, and knocked back her water in one go.

'Yeah,' said Archibald, 'OK.' And he knocked the amber liquid back –

– and then spat it all over the bar. He bent over double, coughing like a well-seasoned smoker. Martha would have made a move to relieve him of his gun but she could see how tight he kept his grip on it. She decided not to risk it.

The robot barman quickly set to work with a towel, tidying up the mess. Archibald wiped the syrupy drool from his chin with the back of his hairy paw. He shrugged at Martha.

'Heh,' he said. 'Didn't really like it.'

'No?' said Martha, as if she'd not seen anything. 'Oh well.'

He stuck his tongue out. 'An' now I got this horrid taste,' he said.

'Oh dear,' said Martha. 'Maybe you should try something else.'

Archibald's glared at the robot barman, his dark eyes narrowing to slits. 'Nah,' he said. 'I'm bored wiv drinking.'

'Yeah,' said Martha, keen to keep him on her side. 'It is a bit boring. What about something to eat?'

Archibald nodded eagerly. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm not bored of eating.'

He followed her to the end of the bar and the silver trays loaded with nibbles. The tentacled aliens hurried out of their way, careful to huddle at the other end of the bay window and not to get too close to the door out into the ballroom. Archibald glared at them, reminding them who was boss, then turned back to the waiting nibbles. There were sausage rolls and posh things wrapped in bacon. Martha watched his eyes light up.

'I never ate this stuff before,' he told her. With great care he reached out for the tray of cheese and pineapple on sticks. He took one and scrutinised it closely, like a jeweller examining a diamond.

'You don't eat the stick,' Martha whispered.

Archibald nodded at this sage advice. 'Right,' he said, but made no move to eat it.

Martha helped herself to her own cheese and pineapple stick and showed him how to eat it. She placed the stick back on the tray, in the little silver box provided. Archibald watched her attentively, as if she'd just performed great magic.

'Right,' he said, and did his best to copy the easy way she'd eaten hers. He nibbled warily at first, but after the first taste of pineapple there was no stopping him. When he'd finished, he dropped the clean stick into the silver box and then grinned a happy, badger grin.

'Good?' she asked.

'S'OK,' said Archibald.

'You could always make sure. Have another one.'

Archibald's eyes opened wide at the thought of this. He waited for a moment in case she changed her mind, then helped himself to another cheese and pineapple stick. Martha laughed to see him so delighted.

'You've really never had food like this before?' she asked as she watched him take two cheese and pineapple sticks at once.

'Nah,' he said between mouthfuls. 'We get food packs. 'Ave to share 'em. They're OK. If they get recycled right.'

Martha didn't understand. 'Recycled from what?'

Archibald wrinkled his shiny black nose. 'What else?' he said gruffly. 'The toilets.'

Martha could see that yes, perhaps cheese and pineapple on sticks were something of a luxury. She felt her heart going out to him, growing up on a spaceship with the other badger pirates, never going to school or getting his daily five fruit and veg. It would be a dull, brutal, compartmentalised life, and he'd not even been born. Instead, he and his colleagues had been grown in a lab, slaves made to follow orders just like the mouthless men she'd met in the engine room. Despite his slavering jaws working on yet another cheese and pineapple stick, despite his gun, despite everything, she wanted to give him a hug.

But that wouldn't do any good. Any minute now Dashiel and Jocelyn would come back and, whatever they'd found, the prisoners would be in danger. So she hadn't been able to get Archibald drunk. But she had another idea, one that would make him see his prisoners as people and make it harder for him to shoot them.

As he reached for yet another cheese and pineapple stick, she slapped the back of his paw.

'Ow,' he said.

'Where are your manners?' she said.

Archibald considered. 'Think I lost 'em,' he said. 'Sorry.'

'Yeah,' said Martha, acting cross like her mum. 'But there are other people here, aren't there? What about them?'

Archibald looked over at the tentacled aliens, still cowering in fright. 'They don't like this stuff,' he said. 'They're bored of it.'

'Are they really?' said Martha, folding her arms. 'Why don't you offer them the tray and see how bored they are?'

Archibald muttered something under his breath but did as he was told, picking up the tray of remaining cheese and pineapple sticks with one paw and stalking over to his prisoners. In his other paw he held his gun, also pointed at the prisoners.

'Here,' he said to the first prisoner, the orange lady Martha had spoken to earlier. With the gun pointed right at her, Mrs Wingsworth didn't dare to refuse. A long tentacle looped up and round and delicately took hold of a stick. With everyone watching her, she took a tiny, ladylike bite of cheese and fluttered her eyes in false delight.

'Why, dear,' she told Archibald quietly, eager to please him. 'That is simply a delight!'

Archibald grinned at her. 'Yeah,' he said, pleased with himself. He glanced back at Martha, still stood at the bar. She nodded encouragingly at him and he moved into the throng of tentacled aliens, who took the proffered food from him more and more eagerly. Archibald seemed overawed by the attention, grinning at everyone for all he brandished a gun. Soon there was a hubbub of comfortable chatter and even a bit of laughing.

'That was good,' said Martha as Archibald returned to her with the empty tray. He placed it carefully beside the other trays of food and helped himself to a sausage roll.

'Yeah,' he said, about to say something further. But he'd bitten into the sausage roll and his eyes widened in amazement at this incredible new flavour.

'Wait till you try the scotch eggs,' Martha told him.

While Archibald tried each of the different nibbles on offer, Mrs Wingsworth came over to join them. 'I wonder,' she said, 'if there are any more of those delightful cheese and pineapple ones.'

'Sorry,' said Martha. 'All gone.'

But Archibald then offered Mrs Wingsworth a whole tray of them. Mrs Wingsworth let out a high, girlish giggle as she deftly took one. 'Oh, you are an angel,' she said.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

'Hang on,' said Martha, pointing at the tray laden with cheese and pineapple on sticks. 'Where did that come from?'

'It was 'ere,' said Archibald, indicating the end of the bar where all the trays of nibbles waited. 'Did I do it wrong?'

'But there was only one tray of these things,' said Martha. 'And we finished it.'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

Martha looked again at the bar. 'Where's the empty tray?' she said. 'The one you just put down?'

Archibald scrutinised the bar himself but could see no empty tray. He shrugged, then seemed to notice the full tray he was still holding. He lifted it up for Martha to see. 'Here,' he said.

Martha boggled. The robot barman was at the far end of the bar, and she was sure she would have seen him if he'd come down this end to restock the nibbles. Maybe they had special trays in the future, she thought, which just filled up again the moment the food ran out. Maybe they used the same technology as the teleporter thing she and the Doctor had seen down in the engine rooms.

'I never had stuff like this before,' Archibald told Mrs Wingsworth.

But no, thought Martha, something was wrong. She could feel it. After all these months travelling with the Doctor, she'd developed a sort of sixth sense for things like this.

Her thoughts were cut short by Mrs Wingsworth's mocking laughter. 'Well of course you haven't had food like this before, dear,' she told Archibald. 'You weren't born to this sort of lifestyle, were you?' She probably didn't mean to sound so unkind, thought Martha, but it was hardly wise to antagonise the badger with the gun.

'Look,' she said, trying to intercede.

'I wasn't born,' said Archibald proudly. 'I got grown in a test tube.'

'Precisely, dear, precisely,' said Mrs Wingsworth. 'And you were grown with a purpose in mind. We need someone to do the grubby jobs, don't we?'

'Huh?' said Archibald.

'What Mrs Wingsworth means—' began Martha.

'She means we're dirty,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn marched back into the cocktail lounge. 'And she's right, ain't she? We are dirty. We fight dirty. An' we don't care when we kill our prisoners.'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed poised to protest but thought better of it. Which was just as well, thought Martha, as the pirates were in an even worse mood than before. Judging by the surly looks on their faces they hadn't found what they were after.

'What's been 'appenin', Archie?' Dashiel demanded.

Archibald carefully put the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks back down on the bar and headed over to his colleagues. His body sagged as he went over, Martha noticed. When it had just been him, he looked taller, tougher, more in control. When the others badgers were around, though, he became like a sulky teenager.

'I was askin' 'em questions,' he told Dashiel.

'Find anythin' out?' Dashiel asked him.

'Nah,' said Archibald. 'They're pretty stupid.'

Martha couldn't stop Mrs Wingsworth. 'Well really!' she huffed, more than a little too loudly.

'You got summin' to say, 'ave you?' growled Dashiel, jabbing his gun towards her.

Mrs Wingsworth trembled where she stood. 'No,' she squeaked.

Martha reached out her hand and took hold of Mrs Wingsworth's tentacle. There was little she could do if the badgers turned on any of the prisoners, but Mrs Wingsworth seemed grateful for the gesture and her trembling began to ease.

'Don't annoy them,' Martha whispered.

'I don't mean to, dear,' Mrs Wingsworth whispered back. 'But, you know, I mean really...'

The three badger pirates conferred by the door back into the ballroom. Martha edged forward to better hear what they were saying, but Mrs Wingsworth held her back.

'Don't, dear!' she whispered. 'They'll kill you.' And Martha didn't need to get any nearer; Dashiel was so angry he didn't bother to keep his voice down.

'We found the bridge,' he growled, 'but couldn't get in there.'

'An' we couldn't find the engines,' said Jocelyn.

'It's that door with the stuff,' Dashiel told her. 'I bet you.'

'Could be,' said Jocelyn. 'But you know what Captain Florence'd say. You can't prove it, can you?'

'An' what about the others?' asked Archibald.

Dashiel glanced over at Martha and the tentacled aliens before he said anything further. He whispered, but Martha didn't need to hear the words. To want to keep it secret could mean only one thing: these three badgers were all there were. And Martha could deal with three badger-faced pirates.

'There's food here if you want it,' she said, gathering up the tray of cheese and pineapple on sticks and taking it over to them. Again the tray had replenished itself; despite what Archibald had taken just a moment ago, the tray was full again.

'What's this?' asked Jocelyn warily.

'Oh, yeah,' said Archibald. 'You should try these.' He showed his colleagues how to eat the cheese and pineapple and what to do with the sticks. Dashiel and Jocelyn followed his example, and like him their eyes widened with amazement.

'That's amazing!' said Dashiel. 'That's like . . .' He trailed off, unable to think of words to describe what it tasted like.

'It's nice!' agreed Jocelyn, wowed by the very idea that food could taste good.

'You,' said Dashiel, prodding Martha with his paw. 'What's this stuff called?'

Before Martha could answer she heard a tutting behind her. She didn't need to guess who that was.

'You,' said Dashiel. 'Come 'ere.'

Martha watched in horror as Mrs Wingsworth came forward. Her tentacles trembled with fear but Martha saw her struggling not to show that she was scared.

'I really didn't mean anything by it,' said Mrs Wingsworth, talking quickly. 'But really, dears, it is funny. I mean, imagine! You've never even seen a canapé.'

'Canner-peas,' growled Dashiel, still holding a half-eaten cheese and pineapple stick. 'That's what they're called?'

'Yeah,' said Martha, trying to calm the situation. 'That's a posh name for finger food. I call them "nibbles".' It was like any family party, with her having to be the peacemaker. Except when her parents argued, they weren't also wielding guns.

'Nibbles,' said Dashiel slowly. 'Cos you nibble on 'em. Yeah.' He seemed quite taken with the word, and finished the cheese and pineapple stick as he considered. Martha stepped forward, proffering the tray so he could put the stick into the little silver box. She didn't withdraw, waiting in front of him until he took another cheese and pineapple stick from her tray. Anything to keep his mind off the gun in his other hand.

'We've also got sausage rolls and scotch eggs,' she told him, 'and those things like baby pizzas.'

'Cor,' said Dashiel and Jocelyn together.

'"Things like baby pizzas"!' said Mrs Wingsworth, aghast.

'What now?!' shouted Dashiel, storming over to her. Mrs Wingsworth threw her tentacles up in front of her wide and orange face. The other tentacled aliens quickly withdrew to the far side of the room, leaving Mrs Wingsworth on her own with Dashiel.

'She didn't mean it!' said Martha quickly. She wasn't sure what she could do to stop him, especially with the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks in her hands.

'You shut up,' Dashiel snapped at her. 'Now,' he said to Mrs Wingsworth, prodding her egg-shaped body with his gun, 'you tell me. What?'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed to consider her predicament and conclude she had nothing to lose. She visibly relaxed, meeting Dashiel's gaze and holding it.

'I know you can't help it, dear,' she said. 'But you three are just an absolute shambles. Coming aboard like this, all threats and violence. And you don't even know what you're eating! My boys could tell you what made the best blinis – that is what they're called, young woman – before they were fully hatched!'

Dashiel seemed transfixed by the performance. He knew he was being insulted, Martha could see, but he didn't quite understand how. The cheese and pineapple sticks were a brief taste of a life he and his colleagues had never even known. And for all this tentacled alien prisoner taunted him, the insult also gave a tantalising glimpse of a life where you could take this luscious stuff for granted. A life where food had different names.

Martha glanced over at Jocelyn and Archibald. They too were watching avidly, hanging on what Mrs Wingsworth had to say. It was just possible, she thought, that the tentacled alien had made them rethink their pirate ways.

'Yeah,' murmured Jocelyn.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald hungrily. 'Go on, do it, Dash.'

And Martha suddenly saw that she had got it wrong. They weren't hungry at the thought of Mrs Wingsworth's world of canapés. They were excited because she'd just given them an excuse to kill her.

'Please,' said Martha, taking the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks with her as she went over to Dashiel.

'I said shut up!' he snapped at her, his eyes never leaving Mrs Wingsworth.

Mrs Wingsworth did not look away from him. 'It's all right, dear,' she told Martha. 'I'd rather get it over with now than spend any more time with this riff-raff.' She smiled with satisfaction, like somehow she'd just won a board game.

Dashiel took a step back from her and raised his gun.

'No!' cried Martha, dropping the tray to one side as she ran forward. Dashiel swiped her away with one paw, sending her sprawling across the floor, on top of the spilt cheese and pineapple sticks. Stunned, she looked up in time to see Dashiel pulling the trigger.

Mrs Wingsworth didn't scream. She stood tall and sure and haughty as the pink light dazzled round her. Martha watched appalled until there was nothing of Mrs Wingsworth left to see.