Doctor Who_ Unnatural History Part 1
UNNATURAL HISTORY.
JONATHAN BLUM AND KATE ORMAN.
Day Zero Minus Three
Look at that! San Francisco when it was still inhabited! Amazing. . .
The Doctor ( conversations that never happened conversations that never happened)
Chapter One
I Was a Teenage Paradox
London, November 2002.
'Who the h.e.l.l are you?' asked Sam Jones.
A tall, slender man wearing fancy dress stared back at her through the chain on her door. He was lean, hippie-haired. The crumpled outfit looked natural on him, as though he wore it all the time.
He gave her a brilliant smile. 'Samantha Angeline Jones,' he said. 'Born on the fifteenth of April 1980. Daughter to Allan and Margaret. Educated at Coal Hill School, Sh.o.r.editch.'
Sam looked at him. 'That's fine. I asked who you you are.' are.'
The smile was replaced by a look of intense sincerity. 'You've got to come with me. There's not much time.' He was dry, she saw, as though he'd walked between the raindrops. Outside the grungy block of flats, it was coming down in buckets.
'I'm called the Doctor,' he said.
'I'll just bet you are,' said Sam. She slammed the door shut.
She rested her forehead on the wall for a moment, her dark hair hanging down into her face. Had he followed her home? He must be from the video shop the customers were always trying it on. She reckoned she would have remembered this one, though.
She looked around the bedsit for something to thump him with, just in case.
All she saw were the fold-out kitchen table with its overflowing ashtray, a bag of rubbish that needed taking out, the cardboard boxes under her bed. A c.o.c.k-roach was meandering down the grey tiles. It disappeared behind the electric kettle.
Sam pressed her ear to the door, but she couldn't hear anything. He must be gone. He'd better be gone.
She laughed, shoving her hair out of her eyes. Why was it always the good-looking ones?
He was waiting for her outside the block of flats, sitting on a bench, his back to the traffic at the intersection.
'b.u.g.g.e.r off!' she shouted, as he bounced up to her. Startled, he backed away.
Sam pounded down the pavement, checking her watch. It was drizzling, car lights shining through the grey noon. She hunched beneath her umbrella.
Oh G.o.d, now he was following her. 'You're not supposed to be here,' he said.
She couldn't place his accent. 'You're not supposed to be living this life.'
'What's wrong with my life?' Sam glanced around there were plenty of people about, thank G.o.d. Her rape alarm was shoved in a pocket, as always, but she felt too embarra.s.sed to get it out. 'Did my parents send you round?'
'No, no. You're supposed to be with me.'
She looked at him, almost jogging along beside her. 'As chat-up lines go,' she said, 'you're c.r.a.p, but at least you're original.'
'There's so little time.' The eyes stared back at her, piercing. He was getting so close he was almost under her brolly. 'You've got to come with me.'
'What, you're going to carry me away from all this on your white horse?'
'No no,' he said. His eyes blinked, as if at a sudden pain. 'In my time machine,' he said softly.
'Bulls.h.i.t,' said Sam, startling him again. 'b.u.g.g.e.r off and stop annoying me.'
'Look, I know how this sounds,' he said, 'but you're not supposed to be living in London. You're supposed to be travelling through time and s.p.a.ce with me.'
Sam stopped. Rain sprayed from her umbrella. 'Look, what is this are you selling something? Get to the point.'
'We've been travelling together for years,' said the Doctor. 'We stopped the smugglers of Nephelokokkugian and the Dalek invasion of Tuvalu.' His eyes were burning. Every word was true. 'We battled the tyrant queen of Hyspero and we returned a lost Triceratops infant to its mother. Side by side we righted wrongs and bought T-shirts on dozens of worlds.'
Sam gulped a mouthful of air. She'd forgotten to breathe.
'Actually, you bought most of the T-shirts,' admitted the Doctor. Wistfully, he added, 'And you're supposed to be blonde.'
Sam turned and walked away, fast. The bus stop was just a few yards ahead, her bus was just pulling up.
She glanced back. He was watching her go. 'Sam!' he shouted, breaking into a run.
Sam bolted. His footsteps pounded down the pavement, gaining on her.
She grabbed the pole and swung herself up on to the bus, panting.
She caught a glimpse of his face, a look of helpless frustration as the bus shot past him. Then he was gone.
At the video shop she buried herself in the shelving until she could forget about it. Dave was on her back for showing up seven and a half minutes late again, but she eye-glazed her way through his lecture until he ran out of steam.
It was a busier day than usual, 'cause the new releases had just arrived. After stacking them all on the shelf, she set aside a copy of the latest straight-to-video sci-fi flick from Empire.
She was looking forward to tonight. She'd ring Mark, Marilyn, the usual gang. Instead of going out clubbing, they could stay in, take the p.i.s.s out of a movie or two. Rob was always skint, so he'd say yes. She grinned. Bad film, good friends sorted.
Dave was yelling again. It was Mummy Dearest, on the phone at the front counter.
And she had on her earnest voice, the one she used when trying to Reach Out to her daughter. Sam always wondered if that was the voice her mum's social-work cases heard.
She sat down on a stool, squeezed between the register and a box of polystyrene chips.
'Samantha, oh, Samantha, it's Mum, and we've got to see you as soon as possible. It's absolutely crucial. Oh, I'm sorry to bother you like this.' Sincerity level cranked up to eleven. 'A man phoned your father's office today. He said he was working with the military and he has to speak to you. He'd be stopping by your flat '
'Oh, sh-' She bit it off. Dave would pounce if she swore within customer earshot. 'Look, Mum. Mum, listen. He did come by, and he's a nutter. Whatever he told you '
'Samantha. Please. Listen Listen to your mother.' Sam made herself go silent. 'He. . . to your mother.' Sam made herself go silent. 'He. . .
knew things. . . and we have to tell you about them. We. . . we should have told. . . ' Christ, she really was choking up on the other end of the line. 'We'll be right over, all right, sweet thing?'
'Not here!' said Sam. She rummaged for her smokes while her mother panicked in her ear. 'No, I'm not leaving work early, got to make the rent, remember Mum, after after work! See you then, all right? I'll come to you. Bye, Mum.' work! See you then, all right? I'll come to you. Bye, Mum.'
She rang off, slammed the cash drawer violently, and stepped out into the chill for a shivering cigarette.
11.Five hundred grey minutes later she was sitting in her parents' lounge, while her mother clutched at her hand and her father gravely offered her the first postcard from the stack in his lap.
'The first one arrived about five years ago,' said Dad. His grey hair had thinned out even more since the last time she'd seen him. 'Back in ninety-seven.'
It was a hologram card, a really good one, slick to the touch and lifelike as a window in her hands. It showed a panorama of a vast alien city great Hollywood-quality stuff with pretend alien writing floating in the foreground.
'Greetings from Fleeble 14,' no doubt. Clever. She flipped it over.
The scrawl on the back was her own handwriting: Dear Mum & Dad, I know Dear Mum & Dad, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but please try. this is going to be hard to believe, but please try.
Suddenly her throat was tightening up. You've always said you trust me to You've always said you trust me to take care of myself take care of myself, the scrawl continued. Well please trust me now. I've gone Well please trust me now. I've gone travelling, with a man called the Doctor. More details to follow once I can figure travelling, with a man called the Doctor. More details to follow once I can figure out how to make them believable. out how to make them believable.
The words were blurring, she had to struggle to take each one in. I'll be back I'll be back soon. Maybe I'm back already, and you never even soon. Maybe I'm back already, and you never even And that was it, her whole body was knotted up and she had to turn the card back over, hide the words, but that left her staring into the alien city and feeling like she was about to pitch face first through the postcard and into the other world. And that was it, her whole body was knotted up and she had to turn the card back over, hide the words, but that left her staring into the alien city and feeling like she was about to pitch face first through the postcard and into the other world.
'Oh Jesus,' she said, 'it's not real.' She looked around the room, at the familiar, faded pattern of flowers on the carpet, the modern art print on the wall, just slightly crooked. 'It's a fake.'
Dad sighed his I-know-I'm-right-sweetheart sigh. 'We thought it was a practical joke at first. But they kept coming.'
'What?' Sam stared at the stack of cards in his lap. 'How many?'
He handed her another card, and another, postmarked from all around the world. San Francisco. Auckland. A letter dated London 1894, with 'Do not deliver until 1 August 1997' written on it.
Some of them weren't from Earth. A triple sunrise on a silver desert. 'Come to Kursaal A World of Surprises'. A photo-booth postcard from Paphos, a blonde-haired G.o.d no G.o.d no version of herself, grinning evilly version of herself, grinning evilly Christ she looks just like Christ she looks just like me me with an arm thrown around the man who'd knocked on her door with an arm thrown around the man who'd knocked on her door it's me, it it's me, it can't be me, it is. can't be me, it is.
'They started coming about the time we had the fight,' said Mum tightly.
Funny, thought Sam, it looked like Mum'd had her hair done for the occasion.
It curled around her wide, sharp-chinned face in a soft bob. 'For a while we 12 thought it was your way of telling us how unhappy you were. But you weren't around any more to ask. . . '
It was just like Mum to bring that up, use it like a weapon. Sam resisted the sudden urge to throw the cards in her face.
'And then the man from the army came by. He said you'd been. . . sighted in San Francisco. With the Doctor. You'd asked the army to get in touch with us.' She frowned a little. 'When we told him you were still here, he didn't seem surprised. He said we mustn't say anything to you, it would cause some sort of problem. So. . . we couldn't tell you. We really couldn't.'
'So you just bought it,' Sam managed.
Dad leaned forward, chin in hand, awkwardly burying his grey beard behind his fingers. Trying to hide as much of his face as he could. 'Well, it was around the Mars '97 mission,' he said. 'People were willing to believe anything for a while there.'
'We've never known exactly what to think about it,' said her mother. 'But. . .
even though the postcards kept coming, life went on as always. Nothing really changed.'
Her eyes fell back on the first postcard. Maybe I'm back already, and you never Maybe I'm back already, and you never even knew I was gone. But just in case I'm not back, I want you to know. . . I've even knew I was gone. But just in case I'm not back, I want you to know. . . I've thought about it hard, and this is what I want to do. I'm having the best time of thought about it hard, and this is what I want to do. I'm having the best time of my life, and I wouldn't have let this go for the world. Any world. Love, my life, and I wouldn't have let this go for the world. Any world. Love, Sam Sam P.S. No, I'm not on drugs. Honest!
She had to smirk at that last bit. No wonder they'd wanted to believe it.
It was easier for them to deal with time travel than to face the fact that their daughter had already shot smack three times by then.
And who wouldn't rather believe in a daughter on the far side of the galaxy who wrote loving postcards home, than one just around the corner who never called?
Dad shifted in his seat, leaning towards her, eyes peering from behind his round specs. 'Oh Sam. . . ' It was like he was using his chin to hold his hand in place, otherwise he'd reach out to her. He hadn't given her a hug, hadn't touched her for a long time. Probably hadn't dared. 'We're so sorry.'
'Yeah,' she said dully.
There was a tap at the lounge door. The Doctor leaned into the room. 'Can I come in yet?' he said.
Sam stared at him.
13.Mum took a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, smoothing her dress, 'I suppose we'd better leave you to him.'
The Doctor wouldn't tell her his name, insisted it was just 'Doctor'. He said he had something to show her, a place. But there was no way she was ready for anything else just yet. So she let him lead her to a tiny cafe in a side street, near her parents' house.
The fluorescent light inside bleached everything in sight, brought out every blemish on the face of the bleary counter chick who took their order.
'I appreciate your trust,' the Doctor told Sam.
She glanced sideways at him, reading the menu chalked behind the counter.
He hadn't scared her this morning, she thought p.i.s.sed her off more than anything. He looked soft in his fancy dress and girl's hair. Nothing she couldn't handle.
'I dunno about trust,' she said. 'I just want to find out more about those postcards. I want to know what's going on. All right?'
She had to interrogate the girl behind the counter on whether there was any meat hiding in the pasty she ordered. Right now that was the most important thing in the world. She could focus on that; so long as she could sort that out she'd be fine.
The girl was already thrown by all the unexpected questions. Then when the Doctor smiled and asked her how she was doing, she just stared for a moment.
Sam hid a smile. Too much human interaction for someone in retail-zombie mode to manage. When someone went outside the routine script for your job, actually acted as if you or they were alive, you couldn't handle it.
The girl mumbled something and fled with their order. Now the Doctor was turning those too-friendly eyes on to her. 'Still a vegetarian?' he asked.