Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones (11 page)

Then there was a grating noise of metal on metal. The polyp dropped the last hunk of meat from its tentacles into its mouth and pushed away with its foot as it started upstream.

There was a flash as bright as lightning from the foot of the polyp, blinding Trinity’s dark-adjusted eyes.

Trinity froze. Had she misjudged the creature’s defences?

A solid beam of light from the open manhole cover hit the opposite wall as the cover above was pulled back. There was another loud
clang
as it hit the pavement to the side of the manhole. Agitated human voices filled the space underground.

Out of her eight eyes, it was her infra-red pair which was working the best, and she was able to see that the polyp had stepped on an SLR camera as it had moved off, triggering the flash. That was a relief.

The light from outside wasn’t allowing her flash-blinded eyes to see past, but she could hear the polyp splashing its way upstream and hissed in anger.

“Hear that?” came a voice from the aperture of the manhole.

Artificial light now swamped in on top of the beam of natural light. There was no way she could go after the creature now – even with her best camouflage, the shadow that she cast in that situation might easily be seen.

A man screamed and another swore as the flashlights fell first on the body dangling from the ladder, then on the one lying below it with its shredded legs.

Trinity had been pushed into check by a polyp. She was furious as she retreated to the bend in the sewer and updated the Doctor on the situation.

The camera.

She’d left the camera.

She crept forward to the bend again. This time she had her eyes guarded against the flash photography and bright lights that were casting strange shadows against the opposite wall. Her body still camouflaged, she peeked around to steal a look. The camera was within the radius of emergency personnel. There was a dangerous level of hysteria, and on each side of the killing scene stood a policeman poised with a Tazer. There was more shouting from above, and two more police officers, each armed with a Heckler and Koch G36 climbed down rapidly and took up position beside the ones with Tazers.

When British police resorted to firearms, it was time to go – that was practically a Newtonian Law. She only wished they knew that she and Tim were their best hope, but by the time they’d understood – not that it could ever be explained to them – it would be too late.

She crawled slowly backwards a few yards, came down from the ceiling and then ran back the way she’d come. If they had any sense, they’d be cordoning off a large section of the sewers and conducting a systematic hunt, and she didn’t want any more trouble than she was already in.

It was the weekend, and specialist officers were thin on the ground. Hostile conditions in the sewers made the gathering of any more meaningful evidence impossible at the site of Friday’s incident in Clapham. A decision was made to move the team to Brixton, where it appeared that the beast – or whatever it was – had been interrupted mid-meal.

This suited Tim fine: they’d been reaching out slowly towards the pool containing the polyp for hours, transferring themselves in a long, thin strand and then branching out into the fetid pool. They’d detected where it was lying low and had it surrounded with an ever-increasing mass of themselves which it couldn’t detect. Trinity had updated them on the physiology. If a colony of super-evolved slime could be said to have a sense of humour, then it would be true to say that they laughed derisively at the creature’s defensive and offensive capabilities. What use were stinging barbs or a powerful crushing gizzard against slime? What use were lethal toxins on a colony of beings so toxic that no civilisation in the Pleasant universe would welcome it on its home planet?

Tim heard some drilling in the chamber, and sensed pieces of brickwork falling into the water. They would examine the activity later and report back.

The last of the humans climbed up into the evening air of Clapham, and the place became still once more. After ten minutes the polyp began to relax and bring itself out of hibernation. It popped out a tentacle a few inches into the water and let it absorb water, expanding and growing longer. It popped out another and then began absorbing water into its body, expanding back to its original size.

It stopped. Something wasn’t right. Its central nervous system wasn’t signalling back from the tentacles or the surface of its body. A flash of activity shot through its nerves but nothing happened because the nerves ended not in its own flesh, but in the slime that was rapidly digesting and absorbing it. Within a few seconds it was a stump without tentacles, its extremities dissolving into nothingness. A minute later the polyp had ceased to exist.

Tim felt good about themselves: they had done a good job, and eaten fresh food. It reminded them of younger and more adventurous times. When an old being relives its youth it takes on some of the vivacity it has lost. And when a colony of such beings feels that way, it feels even better. Tim felt renewed and vigorous.

No one was looking, so Tim thought they’d enjoy themselves. They popped up their human avatar and let out a yell of joy.

There was a flash of light from the top corner of the chamber.

Tim cursed themselves: they should have known. The humans had installed a motion-sensitive camera of the kind used to photograph wild animals at night.

They were careful to dissolve their avatar slowly, so that it wouldn’t trigger the motion sensor in the camera again. Once that was done, they crept along under the surface of the pool and sent some of themselves oozing up the wall to the camera.

Tim had been hoping simply to destroy the device and take care of the offending photographic evidence. Unfortunately, leading out of the back of the camera was a cable: an internet connection.

Tim cursed their luck and retreated back into the pool. They gave Doctor How and Trinity the good news first, then asked for advice on dealing with the camera, offering to destroy it if that was required. The consensus was that it would make matters a great deal worse, and Tim had to agree.

On the plus side, they now knew that one of the polyps was in the sewage system in the branch south of Brixton and continuing to head south, and that another was in the area covered by the second outlet. Tim were instructed to make their way down to the outfall of the Effra into the Thames and await instructions. They headed off slowly downstream, chastened and feeling their age once again.

The polyp slowed down. This wasn’t in response to any external stimulus, but to something new from deep inside. There was some physiological discomfort that was not caused by its sudden flight from the humans. It stopped in its tracks: the discomfort was now crippling.

It planted its foot firmly on the base of the sewer, as if in response to a command that it could not control. A few seconds later a violent convulsion went through it and it stiffened in its upright position. It was too primitive to experience pain, but the discomfort was extreme. It convulsed even more deeply, and the convulsion – which to an observer would have looked like extreme cramp – created a linear rupture down the creature’s body. The rupture had an inwards curl to it and now created a deep fissure. The mouth split into two mouths, and then it was as if the body below the mouths unzipped as it split into two polyps joined at the foot.

The muscular foot spasmed, and with a ripping noise the single polyp separated into two, each with four large tentacles, and four small tentacle buds.

Each polyp had an identical memory of recent stimulations and responses. They continued heading south, one behind the other, until the one up ahead stopped as it detected fresh water coming from a tunnel leading off to the side. Its senses were so overwhelmed by the attractiveness of the fresh water that it practically hopped into the tunnel.

The second polyp was just a few feet behind. It, too, detected the rush of fresh water from the side tunnel. Its senses were also overwhelmed, but it wavered as conflicting information overrode its desire to set off in that direction: it could detect its twin’s pheromones in the water. Food being scarce, it would have to continue along the main sewer in search of its own hunting grounds.

Guided by the Doctor, Trinity made her way to a manhole between Balham and Streatham Hill. She’d heard the desperate activity of humans in the sewers behind her in the hours after escaping from Brixton. It was gone one o’clock on Sunday morning when she finally lifted the cover off and exited. She stood astride the manhole, dabbed the top of the cover with web and hefted it silently back into place. Then she shook as much of the filth off her fur as she could then scampered under a car, where she changed into her feline form.

With her feline form came feline habits, but she resisted the temptation to lick herself clean. Still on full alert, she darted silently between the shadows towards home. She so startled a fox that it leapt into the side of a parked car and knocked itself out. Given her failed hunt, her desire to eat it was powerful, but her orders were to go straight home.

The Doctor was standing silhouetted in his black suit at the front door when she reached the drive of the house. As a super-predator there wasn’t that much in the Pleasant universe she was scared of, but letting the Doctor down was something that filled her with dread. He would never be angry with her but – of all beings – she knew the tremendous pressure he was under, and felt awful about not having been able to help him out.

She let out a soft
meow
and slunk across the gravel, her head down and green eyes looking up.

He crouched down as she approached.

“Good girl,” he said softly. “I know you did your best.” He sniffed the air. “You’re a bit ripe, eh? Come on in and let’s get you fed properly. You must be famished. Then you can take a nice bath whilst we work out what the hell we’re going to do.”

Trinity purred as she crossed the threshold, fighting her instinct to rub against her friend’s legs. The Doctor closed the porch door behind her and turned on the UV bath. “No offence,” he said, and turned it on a second, then a third, time.

Doctor How was naked again; his clothes were on the wooden clothes hanger he’d brought with him to the reception at The Out of Town Club in Kensington, where the great and the good of the out-of-town community were here to welcome the new Rindan consul to her new posting. He’d done the rounds and issued reassurances about the threat from the polyps, and he could avoid her no longer.

“Consul and Mr Pinca,” said Doctor How, bowing deeply. “What a great pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Earth, and to London.”

The Pincas were almost identical to the Plenscas, whom they were succeeding as consul and husband with effect from that day. The subtle differences in appearance between individuals were in the blue-green pulsing veins visible just below the translucent surface of the skin, and above the visible organs. He kept his attention at eye-level, as was proper etiquette, and could feel other eyes in the room burning into him.

“I trust that Rindan holy week was good for you, and that you were greatly blessed?”

“Personally, we are blessed with good fortune to have been chosen for this position,” said the consul. “However, we wish only that the circumstances of our appointment were slightly less… tragic. Consul Plensca was a great woman and the nest that she left will be difficult to fill.” She contorted her stubby beak into something resembling a smile, and the Doctor could see exactly the kind of opportunistic career diplomat she was. This was a dream posting, and the speed with which the previous consul was being replaced was something the Doctor found a little obscene. ‘Greatly blessed’ didn’t even begin to cover it – the Pincas had won the lottery.

“Yes, a terrible loss to the diplomatic community,” said the Doctor. He was unable to follow up with an appropriate statement of one of Consul Plensca’s career achievements, and mentally kicked himself for not having taken the time to read her obituary in the
Galactic Gazette
.

“She contributed a great deal to the work of various sub-committees,” chipped in Dolt, who was similarly naked. The Doctor couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of his eye that Dolt had nothing – not a trace of anything – in the private department. That meant he was out of season, which might explain his slightly less belligerent attitude.

“An avoidable and tragic accident,” said Consul Pinca.

“Wholly avoidable,” agreed her husband.

The Doctor smiled grimly at the pair of Rindans, who were eyeing him coldly. If they were looking for an apology, they’d have to think again. His statement was a matter of record, and a final one so far as he was concerned. “With such terrible ongoing consequences for all of us in the out-of-town community,” he said. “Not to mention the human population.”

“
Pff
!” said the consul. “When those entrusted with policing the community cannot do their jobs, then one must question whether their position and authority is merited.”

“
Really
?” said the Doctor. “The Agreements are there for a reason. When those Agreements are broken then the transgressors must be held to account, rather than those who police them.”

“In light of the breakdown in policing, we have chosen to move the consul’s official residence from Du Cane Court,” said the consul.

If the Doctor had had a mouth full of drink he’d have spat it out.

“I think you’ll find that there’s a sub-clause in the Agreements that allows for this,” she added, looking at Dolt.

“I found that it’s perfectly within the terms of the Agreements,” said Dolt. “If a member of the diplomatic community feels that security is lacking, they may appeal to the Dolt in charge. Consul Pinca felt that security was lacking, and so –”

“And so being the Dolt in charge you thought you’d allow the change. Marvellous. Just marvellous. The further apart the community is scattered, the more difficult it is to provide security. That much would surely seem obvious.”

“Doctor How,” said Dolt. “Let us not create a scene in public. I am assured that the alternative accommodations are up to scratch.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor, folding his arms. “This’ll be interesting. Tell me who your landlord is.”

“The Circarians.”

“The
Circarians
?” spluttered the Doctor. “But they let their own accommodation from
me
!”

“Very enterprising, the Circarians,” said the consul. “They’ve adapted a property to all of our needs.”

“Doubtless having copied all of my touches,” said the Doctor. “They’ve rented off me for nearly a decade, you know. I even helped them set up their cleaning business.” Then the penny dropped in the Doctor’s head – the Circarians – aka the Cleaners – had made their introductions to the Rindan diplomats when they’d handed over the remains of the previous consul and her husband. Doubtless they’d had a good look at the flat in Du Cane Court at the same time. He had to credit them with the brilliance of their move.

“That’s what happens to monopolies,” said the consul’s husband. “You don’t adapt, and others come in and take your market away.”

“But they’ll be gone as soon as the next money-making scheme comes along,” said the Doctor. “And if their property’s so good, you should ask yourself why they’re still renting from me.”

“They wanted us to have a superior residency. They say the one they rent from you is somewhat… below par.”

“That’s because they wanted a
value
home. They’re
Circarians
for photon’s sake. It’s what they do. They move from one economic hotspot to another, start businesses, live life as cheaply as possible, make money to send back to their home planet and then move on. I knew it was too early in Earth’s cycle to let them in.”

“Not such a free marketeer as you purport to be,” snorted the Rindan Consul.

“I purport only to uphold the Agreements,” said the Doctor curtly. “Those who transgress them deserve what they get. Good day to you, Consul and Mr Pinca.” He bowed deeply but insincerely to the pair of Rindans, turned on his bare heel and left the room.

He was angry with himself for allowing his irritation to show in public. He was sure the news of the official Rindan consul’s move and his reaction would already be around the out-of-town community. The majority would surely side with him. They could see that the previous Rindan consul had done a terrible thing by allowing alien species into the Earth’s ecosystem in violation of the most fundamental tenets of common sense – not to mention the strict rules of the Agreements. It was a very long time since an alien species had killed humans on Earth, mainly thanks to his work. Everyone in the community could do without this potential attention from the human inhabitants. True to form, the Rindans were playing politics with the very future of the community. True to his own form, he wasn’t going to be the one to blink first: he had the future to safeguard.

He put on his trademark white shirt and suit in the lobby, instinctively patting himself down even though the clothing was more secure than a Swiss bank vault, then checked his phone. There was a message from Grk, the Circarian cleaner, asking the Doctor to give him a call. If they thought they were going to get any advice on finessing the Rindans’ accommodation, then they had another thing coming.

He headed out of the club, nodding to the doorman, and headed for his office at Imperial. Once he was amongst the crowd of humans he dialled Grk’s number, ready to give him a mouthful.

“Hello. Is Grk.”

“Now you listen to me, Grk. You’re sailing a very fine line at the moment. If you think you can just march in and start –”

“Doctor, stop now.
Please
!”

The Circarian’s voice was laden with emotion, and it cut through the Doctor. “What is it, Grk?” he asked, his voice now tender.

“Is my younger brother Mnk.”

“Back on Circaria? Do you need to go back to see your family?”

“No, Doctor. He missing London.”

“How can he be missing London? He’s never been here. You and Kls are the only Circarians ever to have vis–.” One of the Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat. “Oh. I see. You mean he’s missing
in
London?” The Doctor slowed his pace, his mind whirring.

“Yes,” sobbed the Circarian.

“And you realise he had no right to be here? He has no permit, and he’s not been through orientation.”

“Yes, yes. Sure. But he
young
, he have sense of
adventure
. You know what life like when young, Doctor – you want to see other place in universe. You look up into sky at night and see all possibles. Home planet too small.”

“Of course,” the Doctor lied. “And when did you last see him?” He’d already put two and two together.

“He go shift Friday and not come back. I think maybe he out make party Friday with wage.”

“And then you saw the news.”

“I not see BBC with language problem, and besides it blah-blah-blah about nothing important, humans always killing humans, maybe earthquake or forest fire, sometimes dog on skateboard. But comes news in Squill and…” Grk broke into sobs.

“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor. It was little wonder the Metropolitan Police had so far been unable to locate the relatives of the sewer worker – they’d no idea that Circarians even existed, let alone that one of them was working illegally on Earth. Even the name he’d given his colleagues, Arek, was fake.

“Is body to collect, Doctor?”

“I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry Grk. It looks to me like your brother was eaten by one of the polyps that ate the Rindans.”

“Rindans!” shouted Grk. “I
kill
Rindans.”

“Those Rindans are dead, Grk. You dealt with their bodies.”

“I kill other Rindans!”

“No, Grk. Look, these things happen. Now, tell me, are there any other Circarians on Earth? Some cousins, maybe?”

“No,” came the sulky answer, which the Doctor would have to take at face value. “So who can I kill? Are you have blame, Doctor? Maybe I kill you to make revenge?”

“Just calm down, Grk. Please. The polyp that killed your brother is already dead.”

“But I wanted make kill! Make revenge!”

“Look –” The Doctor rolled his eyes as Grk cut him off again.

“I want kill being who kill polyp for taking my justice! Who kill polyp? I tear apart being who kill polyp!”

“Tim.”

“Tim? You mean, Tim?”

“Yes. I mean Tim.
The
Tim.”

“Oh.”

It was hard for the Doctor not to laugh at the sudden re-evaluation of the situation. “Trinity has also been working on tracking them down.”

“Oh. Trinity.”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you to talk over the matter of retribution.”

“No, no, no. Is fine,” said Grk. “Tim and Trin is good. To be honest Mnk a bit stupid to take job. Grk say bad job but Mnk must have exploring London sewer. Silly boy. What about other polyp? Can Grk and Kls help with kill other polyp?”

“Grk, really, that’s very kind of you to offer. I think we have things in hand. I’m sorry about your brother. Now, I understand you’re supplying accommodation to the new Rindan consul and her husband.”

“Yes, is true. Grk is make
diversification
.” The Circarian said the last word slowly, savouring it with pride.

“And you’re not still going to blame the Rindans for your brother’s death?” The Doctor heard heavy breathing down the line.

“No. Is okay now. Is okay.”

Again, Doctor How would have to take the Circarian’s word for it. Circarians may be quick to anger, and not a little stupid and capricious – but generally their word was good. “Okay, Grk. Now promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

“What you mean
rash
? Is like boil, yes?”

“No. Rash. Rash as in stupid or hasty. Just don’t do anything without asking me first.”

“Maybe. Ciao-ciao laters, Doctor.” The line went dead.

There was small
ping
as a message came in from the system that monitored the human modes of communication. As far as he was concerned,
déjà vu
wasn’t a mysterious phenomenon – foresight was as important as eyesight. He muttered under his breath as he went through the electronic entrance barriers at Imperial – he’d known to head for his office as soon as the day started turning down. It seemed that everything and everyone was conspiring to ruin not just his day, but the equilibrium of his whole peaceful existence on Earth. Being the only responsible Time Keeper left was more trouble than it was worth, and there was a dearth of gratitude for his troubles.