Doctor Who: The Mutation of Time Read online

  ‘Oh!’ Sara said, finally realizing what the policeman was referring to. She patted the TARDIS. ‘You think it’s yours!’

  ‘Well, not mine, exactly.’ Welland rubbed at the window with his coat sleeve, but could see nothing inside. ‘Let’s just say it belongs to us. So why don’t you just leave it where it is and move along, eh?’

  ‘I’ve got to fix it,’ Sara replied.

  ‘Fix what?’

  ‘The scanner eye.’

  Welland blinked, puzzled. ‘The scanner eye?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sara pointed to the roof of the police box, where the light was mounted.

  Welland nodded. ‘We usually get the jokers round here at Christmastime,’ he observed, trying to sound stern. ‘Just move along, eh?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Oh yes you can, young lady!’ Welland glared down at her. ‘That’s enough of your joking. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy yourself at that party you’re going to, so why not go down there now?’

  Sara couldn’t follow this line of thought. ‘I’m not going to a party.’

  ‘Then what are you doing, dressed up in them fancy clothes?’ Welland felt his logic was impeccable. A funny outfit under a fur coat meant a party of some kind. Real Sherlock Holmes deduction stuff, that. ‘You leave now, and there won’t be no trouble.’

  ‘I’ve got to stay here.’

  ‘You take my advice, young lady, and leave now.’ He leaned down and added: ‘Otherwise, I might have to run you in for loitering, or something like that, and I wouldn’t like to have to do that. We’ve had a bit of trouble already tonight. We don’t like people hanging about, but at Christmastime we are a bit lenient. We wouldn’t want to make it difficult for you.’

  Clearly, however, he intended to make it very difficult for her if she stayed around. Sara shrugged, and started to move off, as though the whole thing wasn’t of the slightest interest to her.

  Welland watched her go; a pretty lass. He dug into his memory for the right phrase, and called after her: ‘Have a swinging time.’ She waved, and walked around the corner. Welland turned back, and stuck his hands under his arms to warm them. ‘Funny girl,’ he muttered, and started to stamp his feet to warm them up.

  A moment later, Sara popped her head quickly around the corner. The policeman had his back to her. Quietly, she slipped behind the TARDIS, and started in very gingerly fashion up the ladder, praying that the rungs wouldn’t creak and alert him to her return. Then she reached into her pocket for the replacement component, and started to work on the scanner circuits.

  Sergeant Ellis peered up from his copy of the Police Gazette at the young replacement policeman, who was pacing up and down now. ‘Why don’t you sit down, lad?’ he asked, in a kindly voice. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

  Steven caught himself in mid-step, and almost fell over. He had read all the posters several times, and stared at the door of the CID office for so long, he was sure that nothing would happen. Or that, if it did, it would involve the Doctor, a cell and a key being tossed into the nearest river. To his surprise, the door to the inner office opened, and the Doctor strode imperiously out.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Steven called.

  The Doctor paused to examine his young companion in his unfamiliar clothing. ‘Of course, of course,’ he lied. ‘But what are you doing here?’

  Steven suddenly noticed that another man was examining him critically. Finally, Inspector Windsor demanded: ‘Who are you? Do you know this man?’

  ‘Yes,’ Steven replied hastily. Then, realizing his accent had slipped, he added: ‘I mean, aye.’

  The sergeant took pity on him, mistaking his flustered response for nerves on meeting the Inspector. ‘It’s the relief constable from G Division, sir,’ he explained.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Steven agreed. ‘I’ll look after him.’

  Windsor scratched his neck, thoughtfully. ‘Well, if you know him, perhaps you could tell us what he’s doing in a police box?’

  ‘A what ?’ Steven tried to sound amazed.

  ‘That police box across the yard. He claims he lives in it.’

  Steven nodded, confidentially. ‘Last week it was a post box,’ he whispered. ‘We caught him trying to mail himself. It’s all right – he’s a funny fellow, but we’re used to him down in G Division.’

  Windsor was glad to see the back of the lunatic. Why did they always come out and ruin his Christmas? All he ever wanted was a nice helping of plum duff, and a hot dollop of custard... ‘Very well, get him out of here. And see he stays clear of that police box.’

  Steven snapped off a pretty creditable salute. ‘Right, I’ll do that. Come along, old man.’ He tugged at the Doctor’s sleeve. The Doctor tore himself free of the grip, and stared at him with haughty mien. He did lower his voice, at least.

  ‘Less of the old man ,’ he hissed. ‘And what’s with the funny accent?’

  ‘Well, everyone else is doing it,’ Steven protested.

  The Doctor raised his eyebrow in disapproval, and then allowed Steven to lead him outside. Sergeant Ellis followed, eager to see the last of the old man. As they all walked through the door, Welland snapped into an alert pose, then decided he’d better look busy. He started to look round the yard, and spied Sara, coming down the ladder at the back of the TARDIS.

  ‘Here!’ he yelled, and grabbed her. ‘What are you doing?’ he turned helplessly to the sergeant. ‘I don’t know what it is about this police box. First that old man comes out of it, and now I catch this one climbing about on it.’

  Sara decided that she’d been polite for quite long enough. ‘Let me go!’ she demanded.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Steven said, stepping forward before she could go for her hidden blaster. ‘I know her.’

  ‘Aye?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Well, you seem to know all the queer people. Who is she?’

  ‘She’s a...’ Steven groped for a plausible explanation. ‘A friend of the old man’s!’

  The talking was getting them nowhere, Sara could see. ‘Let me go!’ she repeated, firmly, tugging at Welland’s grip. As he shifted to keep the hold, she spun about, grabbed his arm, and threw him clean over her head into a pile of snow. Welland hit the ground with a thump, and lay there, dazed.

  Ellis started to move in, and Sara grabbed his outstretched arm, twisted, and Ellis followed the same path as Welland. The two policemen struggled to regain their feet and subdue this unexpected wildcat. They were just in time to see the old man, the wildcat and the young replacement from G Division disappearing into the police box. The door slammed shut.

  Ellis and Welland dashed over, and started to hammer on the door. As they did so, the light on the top of the box began to flash, and then the box melted away with a terrible groaning sound. The ladder that had been propped against the back of the box promptly fell on to their feet. Ellis howled in pain, and tossed the offending article into the snow drift. Then he and Welland stared at the spot where the police box had stood, seconds earlier. All that was left was a black square of snowless tarmac.

  The sergeant stared at Welland. ‘What are we going to tell the inspector?’

  ‘I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’d better be good.’ Both of them returned their gaze to the empty spot, seeking inspiration that stubbornly refused to come.

  Somewhere, in the distance, a group of carollers began singing ‘God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen’...

  Chapter 3

  The Toast Of Christmas Past

  Within the TARDIS, the Doctor leaned on the control console, breathing rather heavily, but with a happy smile on his face. Steven removed his police helmet and coat and tossed them over a chair before crossing to join the Doctor. Sara threw off her heavy coat and grinned as she came over.

  ‘Sara, you were marvellous!’ Steven exclaimed in admiration.

  ‘I agree,’ the Doctor added, smiling. ‘Very impressive.’

  ‘Where did you learn to do that throw?’ Steven asked, obviously
hoping for a quick lesson himself in the technique.

  ‘Space Security training school,’ Sara answered dismissively. ‘All the girls had to learn unarmed combat in all forms.’

  ‘I’ll bet you were top of the class,’ Steven flattered her. She was a very attractive girl, and Steven never gave up hope that she’d find him similarly interesting.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I was never that good at it. The instructor thought I’d fail. You should have seen some of the girls who were good at it.’

  The Doctor chuckled. ‘Well, I for one would give you full marks, my dear.’

  Deciding that it was time to change the subject, Steven asked: ‘Did you fix the scanner?’

  ‘I did,’ Sara said, rather primly. ‘And with no help from either of you.’

  The Doctor nodded, happily. ‘It’ll be good to have it working again. Did you test it?’

  ‘Of course not. That man grabbed me before I had a chance.’ She glared at the Doctor, wondering if she ought to tell him that it was time someone else did some of the work. Wisely, she decided not to raise the subject.

  The Doctor wandered thoughtfully over to the fault locator to see what it had to say. As he did so, his eye came to rest on an object that was in the same roundel that he had earlier removed the circuit board from. Gently, he reached it and brought it out. ‘The Taranium core,’ he said softly.

  Instantly, the jollity was banished from the room. Sara looked at it, and her face fell as she recalled the price that had been paid before they had managed to steal the core from the Daleks. She saw, for a brief second, the look on Bret’s face before he had died – at her hands. She shook her head to clear away those terrible memories. ‘I’d forgotten about the Daleks,’ she whispered.

  ‘Now, that’s one thing you mustn’t do, my dear,’ the Doctor chided, returning to the console. ‘They built a time machine like this once before – and with an access now to Taranium, perhaps they could construct another to follow us through time and space. Their time machines require considerably less Taranium than is present in the core – which might give you a faint hint of the power within this small device! It contains enough Taranium to power a hundred time machines – so whatever the Time Destructor is that this item is the core of, it must be able to unleash dreadful forces!’

  ‘But while we have the Taranium core, their plans cannot work,’ Sara objected.

  ‘I know,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘But I hardly think that the Daleks will attack the Solar System until they have tested their Time Destructor. I think perhaps it might be advisable to destroy this core as soon as possible.’ Abruptly, he smiled. ‘Do you know, I never did get my fish and chips?’

  This abrupt change of topic brought a frown to Steven’s face. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ he complained. ‘Now I’m hungry, too!’

  ‘Well, let’s see if I can rustle up something on the food machine that will please us both,’ suggested the Doctor. Before he could follow this plan, however, the time rotor began to slow, and the distinctive noise of materialization started to flood the room. ‘That’s strange,’ he muttered, scurrying back to the controls. ‘We’re landing already.’ He examined the instruments with care as the rotor came to a rest. ‘I’m afraid we can’t have moved very far – the TARDIS computers couldn’t have reset properly. Dear, dear.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where we are?’ Sara asked.

  ‘No, not really. But with reduced power, it’s safe to assume we are still on the Earth, and probably only thirty or forty years off from when we were last time. Atmosphere and gravity – all check for the Earth. Let’s have a look at the scanner, my dear. It should tell us something this time.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to find a quiet, relaxed place,’ Sara said, hopefully. ‘Where people are friendly, and there’s an oasis of calm away from the general troubles of our travels.’

  ‘Fat chance,’ Steven said, insensitively, and pointed to the picture on the screen.

  It was clearly a turn-of-the-century sawmill, of the type used in the vast timberlands of the American West. A large circular saw stood in the centre of the room, and stacked planks were neatly arranged about the walls. Sawdust covered the floor, and through the opened door could be seen trees and a clear blue sky. The tranquillity was shattered by a terrified scream.

  A man in a dark cape, wearing a tall black hat, was dragging a young girl into the mill. He glanced around to make certain that the room was empty, then twirled his long moustaches. His suit bespoke wealth, as did his frilled shirt and highly polished black leather shoes. The girl, on the other hand, was clad in a long gingham dress, her blonde hair done in long curls. She screamed a second time, and whatever else might be amiss, there was certainly nothing wrong with her lungs.

  ‘If you’ll not be mine, you’ll be no one’s!’ the man cried, throwing her down on to the table that held the huge circular saw. The girl struggled, but he was too strong for her to break free. Laughing, he used a convenient stack of ropes to lash her to the plank on the table.

  ‘Scream all you like,’ he sneered. ‘There’s no one within ten miles of this spot!’ She took him at his word, screaming with renewed vigour as he started up the saw. He then dashed back, and gripped the plank to which she was firmly bound, and began to push it slowly towards the spinning blade, laughing demonically all the while.

  Steven and Sara acted at once as they saw this happening. Steven hit the switch to open the doors, and both of them sprang out of the TARDIS. The man glanced around, startled, as Steven ran across to him. Steven drew back his arm and punched the leering villain full in the face. Sara jumped at the switch and turned off the saw, then moved to help free the trapped girl. The Doctor, slower on his feet, was just closing the TARDIS doors behind him as he emerged.

  To the astonishment of Steven and Sara, the girl sat up, the ropes falling free. She looked anything but happy to be rescued. ‘You’ve ruined everything!’ she pouted. As the travellers looked at one another in puzzlement, a voice from behind them screamed: ‘CUT!’

  Slowly, Sara, Steven and the Doctor turned around. Instead of the wall of the sawmill, they could see a large open space. Cameras, lights and other instruments stood about. Most were manned by people with decidedly unfriendly expressions on their faces. The darkest glower came from the man who leaped out of the seat marked ‘director’. He was dressed in jodhpurs, and carried a swagger stick under one arm. A monocle dangled on its golden cord, having fallen from his right eye when he yelled. In his right hand he held a megaphone, which he hauled to his mouth. ‘Cut! Cut! CUT!’ he added, for the benefit of anyone who’d missed his earlier bellow.

  The director strode on to the set, followed by a half-dozen men, all paying careful attention to him. He swung to face one, and practically rammed the megaphone into the poor unfortunate’s ear before yelling: ‘How did those bums get in here? It must be sabotage! Everyone wants Steinberger P Green’s latest film to be a failure! It’s de Mille again, I bet! Get the studio police! Get those bums outta here! You hear me?’

  There was no way that they could miss hearing this, and the six men promptly turned to look at the Doctor and his companions. A couple of the technicians gathered about the lights and cameras shot off, presumably after the requested studio police. The others began to move forward on to the set.

  Sara sized up the situation quickly. They could not return to the TARDIS, for the men here would be on them before they could get the door open. There seemed to be a doorway out of this place that the two running men had taken, and that looked like their best chance! ‘Follow me!’ she snapped at the Doctor and Steven, and then hurled herself against the oncoming men.

  They were rather taken aback by this, not expecting to be attacked, and especially not by a woman. Sara’s unarmed combat demolished three of the technicians before the others had a chance to react. Those that did react generally did so by beating a hasty retreat.

  ‘Grab her!’ Steinberger P Green yelled into his megaphone. ‘S
tart the cameras rolling! Get this on film, you idiots!’

  Steven ploughed after Sara, adding a few punches of his own to the resulting mêlée. The Doctor shook his head in disgust, and was left with little option but to follow his young, impetuous companions. The three of them made their somewhat violent way through the throng of people, and the Doctor joined in from time to time, jamming his stick between legs, rapping knuckles, or poking people in the stomach. Sara simply grabbed, thrust, threw and hacked her way out. Steven continued punching until he ran out of people to hit. Then the three of them dashed through the door. The Doctor slammed it behind him.

  The movie set was a disaster area. People lay all over it, nursing portions of their injured anatomies – if they were still conscious. Several of the lights had collapsed, and the huge bulbs had exploded. Director Green spun about, yelling through the megaphone: ‘Great! Great! What action! What movement! What...’ His voice trailed off as he realized that no one was manning any of the cameras. ‘What?’ he screamed. ‘Don’t tell me that we didn’t get any footage of that fight?’

  There was a small tug on his elbow, and he glanced about. The villain in the frilled shirt – actually an actor named Darcy Tranton – was holding one hand over his eye. ‘My eye,’ he moaned. ‘Look at my eye!’ He moved the hand, revealing a swelling, and a definite shade of blackness.

  Green pointed the megaphone right at him. ‘Shut up!’ he yelled. ‘I miss getting the greatest action scene I’ve even seen on film, and you complain about your eye!’

  ‘My ears!’ Tranton moaned, covering them up. ‘My eye! My ears!’

  The girl, Blossom LeFauvre, simply sat on her plank and cried. She hated not being the centre of attention.

  Steinberger P Green whipped around again, and pointed his megaphone in the direction of the crowd milling round the door. ‘Find that girl!’ he howled. ‘She handled my men like they wuz dolls! She’s going to be the star of my next movie! I’m gonna make her the biggest star Hollywood ever saw! She’s gonna make me rich! Don’t just stand there, you numskulls – find her!’