Doctor Who: The Mutation of Time Read online

As usual, when he had no ready answer, the Doctor resorted to intimidation. ‘Don’t be difficult, young man,’ he snapped. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be back inside again.’

  ‘And if you’re not?’ Steven insisted. ‘We’re to come out and find you?’

  ‘Now, look here, my boy, you are to do as you are told.’ The Doctor gestured towards the TARDIS console. ‘Now, just open the doors, and close them immediately after I’ve gone. Immediately!’

  Scowling, Steven did as he was bidden. The Doctor crossed to the doors, and stuck his head out of the TARDIS. The first thing he saw was the snow on the ground. The second was a tall policeman, staring incredulously at him. ‘Good evening,’ said the Doctor, politely.

  ‘Evening, sir,’ Blessed responded, automatically. Then he blinked as the door closed again. He tried it himself, but it was locked. ‘Hey,’ he called to his companion.

  ‘What?’ Welland asked.

  ‘You see that?’

  Welland looked around. ‘See what?’

  Blessed pointed to the door. ‘That then.’

  What then?’

  ‘That door.’

  Welland examined the door closely. It was obviously locked. ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘It opened.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘Aye.’ Blessed tried the door again, but it wouldn’t yield. ‘There’s someone in there.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘I saw his head.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Oh.’ Welland looked at the door, which remained obstinately shut. ‘Well, then.’

  The Doctor was attempting to explain the problem to Sara. ‘Police,’ he repeated. ‘P-O-L-I-C-E,’ he spelled out.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Sara said, mistaking his efforts. ‘We’ve landed on your own planet.’

  ‘What? Nonsense, dear child – we’re back on Earth.’

  ‘Then why can’t I go outside?’ she asked.

  The Doctor had forgotten his earlier cautions about his two companions going outside. Now he remembered what those readings were for! He had spent six long, hard months repairing the TARDIS in that junk yard in Totters Lane

  , and now felt certain that Sara and Steven could survive in this atmosphere almost indefinitely. There was something else tingling in his memory, though. ‘That smell...’

  ‘Yes, I caught it when you dashed back in,’ Sara agreed, wrinkling her nose. ‘Burning oil, most unpleasant.’

  The Doctor looked disgusted with her. ‘That, my dear child, is the warm and inviting odour of fish and chips! Ah, it brings back memories...’

  Sara looked at Steven, who shrugged helplessly. The Doctor caught this, and smiled, patting them both gently. ‘Of course, you two wouldn’t know about them. In 20th Century England, they were like ambrosia, the food of the gods! A nice piece of crisp, golden haddock and two pennyworth of chips... divine!’ He was making himself hungry just thinking about it. ‘Hot, greasy chips, a pinch of salt, a dash of vinegar... last Sunday’s newspaper...’ He dragged his mind back to the present. ‘That brings back memories! Now, I shall have to go outside and try to distract those policemen. Perhaps offer them a few chips.’ He handed Steven the scanner circuit. ‘You wait here a minute, then come outside and fix the scanner.’

  Steven wasn’t letting him off that easily. ‘I thought you said that the air outside was so bad that...’

  ‘Never mind what I said ,’ the Doctor said, testily. ‘You do as you are told! Now, open the doors, and shut them when I’m gone.’

  ‘Yes, sir !’ Steven said, sarcastically, snapping off a crisp salute, and doing as he was told. The Doctor disappeared out of the doors.

  Sara looked at Steven with some worry. ‘How long did the Doctor live in the 20th Century?’

  ‘Oh, on and off for a number of years, I gather.’

  ‘This fish and chips thing,’ Sara asked. ‘Perhaps they’re habit-forming? Maybe he’s an addict?

  Steven considered the possibility. ‘It might explain a few points about the Doctor’s behaviour at that... I don’t understand these people, and how the Doctor can enjoy it here. They ate all sorts of terrible things.’

  ‘I know,’ Sara agreed, fervently. ‘Especially in the winter. I read about them at school. Pudding and birds and things called mince pies...’ She shuddered. ‘It all sounds disgusting. Food machines are much better.’

  ‘Yes,’ Steven replied. ‘And perfectly cooked every time!’

  ‘Without burning the oil,’ Sara finished.

  The Doctor peered about, and, seeing no sign of the policemen, stepped out of the TARDIS. As the doors closed behind him, Welland and Blessed jumped on him. They had been waiting on either side of the TARDIS for their mysterious intruder to emerge.

  ‘Got yer!’ Blessed exclaimed, suiting his actions to his words.

  ‘Come along, then,’ Welland added. ‘It’s a fair cop.’

  With as much aplomb as he could muster, the Doctor replied: ‘Good evening, gentlemen. Can I help you?’

  The two policemen looked over their captive, and their eyes widened as they took in his long, silvery hair, the strange clothes and the long cape. Blessed blinked several times.

  Finally, he said: ‘You’re a bit old to dress like a pop singer, aren’t you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Blessed gestured with his hand. ‘That funny gear you’re wearing, and that long hair.’

  The Doctor regarded him with contempt. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re babbling about. Now, if you’ll excuse me...’ He attempted to slip from their grasp, but the four hands tightened on him instead.

  ‘Hang on,’ Welland said. ‘What were you doing in that police box?’

  ‘And where did you get it from?’ Blessed added. With a confidential wink, he said quietly: ‘Knock it off, did you?’

  The Doctor looked at them as though he were a kindergarten teacher and they had been terribly ignorant. ‘Gentlemen, I don’t expect you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you, but that is not a police box.’

  Welland nodded, understanding. ‘Of course not. It’s a number forty-nine bus.’

  Flashing him a look of disgust, the Doctor finished: ‘It is a machine constructed to investigate the boundaries of time and relative dimension in space.’

  The two policemen looked at one another in complete certainty now. ‘He’s a nutter,’ Blessed stated.

  ‘Escaped from the funny farm, I shouldn’t be surprised,’ agreed Welland.

  The Doctor didn’t like the direction that their conversation was taking. He tried to draw himself up to his full height and glower at them, but the effort didn’t pay off too well. ‘Sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you implying that I am mentally deranged?’

  ‘I told you,’ Blessed said. ‘He’s a nutter.’ He started to drag the Doctor towards the police station door.

  ‘Careful with him, then,’ Welland cautioned. ‘They can turn very nasty when they’re potty.’ The Doctor did his best to make those words come true.

  Sergeant Ellis was never certain whether or not he liked Christmas. Most of the major criminals tended to take the time off, to be home with their families, who wouldn’t enquire too carefully as to which department stores their presents came from, and if they should happen to have receipts. Business, as a result, was generally quiet at the station, and he could have a few extra cuppas and maybe a warmed-up mince pie or two before heading home. Unfortunately, Christmas tended to bring out all the nut-cases from the woodwork, and in through his doors. Maybe it was too much Christmas spirits, or maybe it was simply that they knew he couldn’t plead a more urgent case and get rid of them.

  Ellis glanced up as a man entered the front door of the station house. He was dressed in a long mackintosh, from which he proceeded to shake the snow all over the floor. The cleaners wouldn’t like that one bit. The man had ‘nut-case’ written all over him as he stomped loudly up to the desk and stared at Ellis. Sighing inwardly,
the sergeant looked at the man. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve got a complaint,’ the man stated, in a thin, reedy voice. He sniffed, and started to search his pockets for a hankie.

  ‘Well, sir, the doctor’s round the corner, and...’

  The man found a rather filthy piece of cloth, and proceeded to blow his nose loudly. Then he continued: ‘No. I mean, I want to make a complaint.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Ellis reached under the counter and pulled out the standard complaints form. He hunted around for his pen, but there was no sign of it where he’d left it. Typical! Some people in this place would nick anything, even at Christmas. He dug in his pocket for another. ‘Let’s have your name, then.’

  ‘They keep movin’ me ’ouse,’ the man replied.

  The sergeant took a deep breath, and counted to ten. ‘They keep moving your what?’

  ‘Me ’ouse.’

  ‘Your house?’ Ellis echoed. A nut-case, all right.

  The man shook his head. ‘Me greenhouse ,’ he explained. ‘It’s the rebels.’

  ‘The rebels?’ Ellis echoed, totally lost now.

  At that second, the rear door opened, and Blessed and Welland fell in, hauling in an old man who was struggling to get free.

  ‘Anyone in CID, Sergeant?’ Welland gasped.

  ‘Yes, straight through.’

  As the struggling trio passed the desk, the Doctor suddenly paused, and stared at the man making the complaint. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ he asked, sharply. Before the man could deny it, the Doctor grinned triumphantly. ‘Yes, of course – I remember now – the market place at Jaffa!’

  Things were getting worse. ‘Jaffa?’ Ellis echoed. Why did these things always happen to him?

  ‘The young chap said I should come to see you,’ the man continued, ignoring the Doctor.

  ‘You what?’ Ellis asked, blankly.

  ‘About me greenhouse,’ the man said. ‘It’s the rebels.’

  Ellis closed his eyes, and wished that it would all go away. When he opened them at least part of his troubles were departing – Welland and Blessed were taking the old man through the door to Inspector Windsor’s office. Ellis turned his eyes back to the man in the mackintosh. ‘Now, sir,’ he asked. ‘What rebels would those be?’

  Inspector Windsor had been in the force for thirty years now. He resembled a rather run-down basset hound, with dark-circled eyes and a drooping face. He thought he’d heard everything during those thirty years, but he realized that he had been gravely mistaken in that assumption as he heard the report from Welland and Blessed. Finally, he nodded and then turned to the old man.

  ‘Look, I know there’s a housing shortage, but I don’t think it’s so bad that you have to spend Christmas in a police box.’

  The Doctor smiled, as if he’d made a great discovery. ‘Christmas! Yes, yes, yes, of course! That accounts for the holly in the hall!’

  ‘You mean you didn’t know?’ Windsor asked, amazed.

  ‘Well, of course I didn’t know,’ the Doctor replied, giving him a withering look. ‘I travel about too much.’

  That sparked the inspector’s interest. ‘Oh? And why’s that?’

  ‘The thirst for knowledge, dear boy,’ the Doctor explained, with a smile. ‘You have a saying in this country, do you not, that travel broadens the mind?’ He was fairly certain he was in the right century for that expression.

  ‘This country?’ Windsor repeated. ‘You mean you’re not English?’

  ‘Good gracious, no!’ The Doctor looked insulted.

  ‘Scottish?’ Windsor knew that the Scots could get uppity if taken for English sometimes. The old man shook his head. ‘Welsh?’

  The Doctor waved his hand airily towards a wall. ‘You’ll have to think farther away than that. Your ideas are far too narrow, too small, too...’ He groped for the right word. ‘Too parochial!’

  One of that sort! Windsor sighed. ‘All right, all right: what are you, then?’

  The Doctor struck a pose, turning his left profile nobly towards the policeman. ‘Well, I suppose that you might say that I’m a citizen of the Universe – and a gentleman to boot.’

  Blessed looked at the inspector with sympathy. ‘He’s having us on a bit, isn’t he, sir?’ Windsor wished he knew the answer to that one.

  Steven had decided to improve on the Doctor’s plan after he had peeked out of the TARDIS and seen the two policemen manhandling the Doctor into the police station. He disappeared into the TARDIS wardrobe rooms, and emerged a short while later dressed in a police uniform, finishing off the job by fastening up his coat and placing on the helmet. ‘How do I look?’ he asked, cheekily.

  ‘Very silly.’ Sara shook her head. ‘What if the Doctor is all right? He won’t like your interfering.’

  Steven laughed, derisively. ‘I know that the Doctor’s dreamed up some pretty weird plans in his time, but I doubt if he includes being hauled off into a police station as a method to distract attention from the TARDIS. I’ll go and see if I can help him out, and you finish the repairs to the scanner. Besides,’ he added, ‘you’re more mechanical than I am, and I’d probably botch the repair job.’

  ‘You’d probably botch the rescue as well.’ Sara dropped her hand to the butt of the blaster she always wore, much to the Doctor’s disapproval. ‘I could get him out of there much faster.’

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ Steven agreed. ‘But the Doctor doesn’t like killing, remember? I can be a bit more subtle about it.’

  Sara wasn’t so sure about that, but she knew that the acting bug had bitten Steven, and he was determined to go ahead with his plan. ‘Oh, all right.’ She followed him out of the TARDIS, and watched him dash eagerly across the snow towards the back door. Then she turned her attention to the TARDIS scanner mechanism. It was atop the TARDIS, under the flashing blue light. There was no way she could reach it from where she stood, and she vanished back into the TARDIS to look for something to climb on.

  *

  ‘And now they’ve been and gone and moved it again,’ the man said, petulantly.

  ‘Oh?’ Sergeant Ellis asked, bored. ‘Where to this time?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ the man exclaimed. ‘That’s why I came to see you!’

  Another figure entered the station, and the sergeant glanced up, eager for any excuse to break off. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he said to the man.

  Steven looked around. The room seemed primitive, but quite cosy. Christmas cards and trimmings lined the place, and a small bench ran along one wall, under posters extolling the penalties for crime, and offering rewards for information. A pleasing smell of tea permeated the air, along with other scents that Steven couldn’t identify. He was suddenly aware of the sergeant approaching him.

  Ellis smiled. ‘You must be the new bloke from G Division come to help us out while we’re short.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The sergeant frowned slightly. ‘I thought you must be the new bloke from G Division,’ he repeated.

  Steven realized he’s been lucky with the officers here expecting a temporary replacement. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right,’ he agreed hastily, trying to copy the sergeant’s odd accent. ‘I’ve come about the old man.’

  ‘What old man?’ Ellis asked, puzzled with the youngster’s odd accent. It sounded like a bad actor’s version of North Country speech.

  The man in the mackintosh tugged his sleeve. ‘The one that was brought in ’ere a minute ago,’ he offered, helpfully.

  ‘Oh, him. He’s with CID,’ he told Steven. ‘You’d better wait till they’ve finished with him.’

  Steven had no idea what a CID was, but his travels taught him that official groups that went by their initials tended to be very nosy – and he knew how badly questions rubbed the Doctor the wrong way. ‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve got to get to him!’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to wait, lad,’ Ellis said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder, and propelling him towards the bench.

>   ‘He’ll be out here again soon. You just wait over there.’

  Steven saw that any further protests would be met with suspicion and hostility, and decided he’d better do as he was told. Meekly, he sat down on the bench, and hoped that the Doctor would be out shortly.

  ‘What about me green’ouse?’ the man asked Ellis.

  Dragging himself mentally back to the report form, the sergeant nodded, wearily. ‘Oh, yes, sir. Now, where was it you said?’

  ‘Well, for a start it’s not in me garden!’

  Inspector Windsor had finally persuaded the Doctor to take a seat, and then drew the two constables to one side. ‘Was he the only one in there?’ he asked, quietly.

  Welland and Blessed exchanged puzzled glances. Finally, Welland shrugged. ‘How should I know, sir?’

  What were they taking into the police force nowadays? Windsor always complained about the lowering of standards. ‘Well, didn’t you check ?’ he demanded. ‘There might be a whole army of them, living in one of Her Majesty’s police telephone boxes like a lot of gypsies.’

  Blessed shook his head in wonder. ‘How many people do you think could fit in one of them?’ he asked.

  Windsor didn’t have a ready answer for that, but he nodded to Welland. ‘Go on outside, and keep an eye on that box. If anyone else comes out, grab ’em and bring ’em in.’

  Sara emerged from the TARDIS with a folding ladder, and with a heavy fur coat on. It had been colder than she had expected the last time she had stepped out. She closed the doors with her spare key, then set up the ladder out of sight of the back door. Before going up to finish the repairs, though, she popped back around the front. ‘Where have they got to?’ she asked herself. The door opened, but her hopes were dashed when a burly-looking policeman stepped out.

  Welland paused, seeing a pretty young woman in an expensive fur coat standing by the police box. ‘Hello, hello,’ he said, formally. ‘What are you up to, hanging around here on Christmas Day?’

  Sara tried to sound innocent. ‘Nothing.’

  Walking over to join her, Welland slapped his hands together for a little warmth. ‘Surprised to see a police box here, I suppose.’ She’d probably stopped off for a look, he decided. She didn’t seem to have popped out of it.