Doctor Who: Paradise Towers (2 page)

‘You don’t happen to know another planet with a swimming pool, do you?’ she asked the Doctor. But something about the way he was poking excitedly with his umbrella among the junk told her he was not going to be that helpful.

‘There is a rather spectacular swimming pool on the planet Griophos, I understand,’ he replied airily, examining the yellowing paper collecting in the fountain.

‘We could try there then,’ said Mel eagerly. The Doctor looked dubious.

‘There’s just one snag, Mel. It’s for the exclusive use of the Gulmeres.’

‘Who are they?’

‘A rather nasty breed of flesh-eating octupi.’ He returned to his exploration. ‘Personally, I’d rather stay here and explore. I wonder what’s happened.’

Mel looked round dispiritedly. ‘It’s got awful, that’s what happened.’ She sighed and decided to get the better of her disappointment. ‘Still, now we’re here, I suppose I might as well see what the pool’s like,’ she conceded.

‘That’s the spirit, Mel,’ the Doctor returned approvingly.

‘This could be fascinating.’ He started off across Fountain of Happiness Square towards one of the dingy, ill-lit streets that led off it, pausing only to turn back briefly towards Mel. ‘Are you coming?’

‘All right,’ Mel agreed, now secretly determined not to miss out on any of the adventure. ‘But one thing, Doctor. If anything goes wrong and we get separated, we’ll meet at the pool all right?’ She knew the Doctor and she knew the situations they could get themselves in. The Doctor was a masterly improviser, of course, as well as an intrepid explorer, but during her time with him, it had sometimes occured to Mel that a little more forward planning might have helped. Here was a chance.

‘Oh, very well,’ the Doctor sighed, his mind already racing on to investigating all the ins and outs of the Towers. ‘But we’ve only just arrived. There’s no need to start worrying yet.’

An experienced Time Traveller should have known better.

No sooner were the confident words out of his mouth than a strange metal arrow whizzed through the air from a place of concealment in the Square. And, before the Doctor could say another word, the arrow had pinned him neatly by his coat to the adjacent wall. Just a split second later, another arrow whizzed across the Square and pinned Mel there too. Other arrows aimed with equal accuracy followed. They were pinned still more tightly to the wall. Both of them tried to struggle free but it was hopeless. They were as incapable of moving as flies trapped in a spider’s web. Mel just hoped that the comparison wasn’t too accurate. She had no desire to be anybody’s dinner.

She peered anxiously about her as they waited for their assailants to emerge from the shadows and show their faces.

Caretaker number 345 stroke 12 subsection 3 was not a happy man. In fact, he was a rather frightened man. He was one of the younger, more able-bodied Caretakers so he was always being given the job of patrolling the more dangerous and distant streets of Paradise Towers. Every time he had applied to be put on to an easier, less alarming job, the Chief had been less than sympathetic, fluently quoting whole sections of the rule book at him to prove he had to what he was told. And in the end, it was impossible to argue with the Chief. He knew the rule book backwards and had an answer for every complaint or problem a Caretaker could bring to him. So here he was again on the Potassium Street beat.

There were nasty rumours about what had been happening in the Potassium Street area. The young Caretaker, if he was honest, had seen nothing in the three weeks he’d had the job –

but that didn’t alter the fact that the last Caretaker on this particular beat had mysteriously disappeared. At least the young Caretaker had seen nothing of him since taking over. He was never at the Caretakers’ Headquarters. The Chief would have none of these worries, of course. ‘He’s been transferred to other duties,’ he announced firmly, holding up the rule book. ‘all according to paragraph 12 of Rule 79b.’ There was no answer to the rule book. All the Caretakers knew that.

The young Caretaker made his way carefully down Potassium Street looking nervously about him, his Mark 12

LDCE (Long Distance Communication Expediter) in his hand.

Half of him expected to be attacked at any moment. And half of him knew that it was silly to doubt the wisdom of the Chief. Or the rule book.

It was time to report to the Chief. The Chief expected regular reports at every inter-section and the young Caretaker knew better than to disappoint him. He raised his Mark 12

LDCE, pressed a button and announced his name and number.

There was a slight crackle and then he heard the bright, confident tones of the Chief Caretaker.

‘We are receiving you, Caretaker number 345 stroke 12

subsection 3. Make your report.’

The young Caretaker took a deep breath. ‘I am proceeding along Potassium Street,’ he reported, ‘corridor 5673 section 201

opposite door 782 on floor 35 north side.’ He looked up at the wall nearest to where he was standing and tutted disparagingly over the brightly coloured scribble that almost covered it.

‘Considerable evidence of wallscrawl all along this part of street, Chief. Wallscrawlers obviously active here. Over.’

‘Report noted,’ the Chief’s voice replied. ‘Proceed now to report on corridor 5673 section 301.’

‘Yes, Chief.’ The young Caretaker sighed. Orders were orders but still he wished he could be back in the comfort of Caretaker Headquarters not out tramping the streets of Paradise Towers for another couple of hours. He could be fired at by Wallscrawlers. Or bothered by Rezzies with a list of complaints.

Or worse.

His foot struck something. He looked down. Lying on the ground was a strip of yellow material. The sort worn for decoration by Yellow Wallscrawlers. He stooped to pick it up and give a closer examination. He might have thought it had just been dropped there while the Wallscrawlers were larking about.

Except that the scarf was torn and bloodstained. As if its owner had been attacked brutally.

His hand went immediately to the Mark 12 LDCE. He started to give his number and position but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stutter hopelessly.

‘We are receiving you, Caretaker number 345 stroke 12

subsection 3.’ The Chief’s voice was testy now. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m scared, Chief.’ It was a tremendous relief to let the words out. The wallscrawls were disturbing enough. Claws attacking Wallscrawlers, Red, Yellow and Blue. But to actually find evidence of the attacks was worse still. His nerve was about to crack and he hoped fervently that the Chief would be sympathetic and let him come back to Headquarters.

‘Orders are orders. Number One rule of the Caretakers, Caretaker number 345 stroke 12 subsection 3.’ How many times had he heard the Chief say that? More than he could remember.

The Chief was not going to listen to his doubts and fears. And could he really blame him? The Chief had far more important things on his mind and the whole smooth running of Paradise Towers to consider. The young Caretaker was a very small cog in the wheel, he knew.

Nevertheless, he made one last try. ‘Please, Chief, listen.

Something’s going wrong. I can feel it’s going wrong.’ He stared down at the bloodstained yellow scarf he was still holding in his hand. ‘Can’t I just–?’

‘No, Caretaker number 345 stroke 12 subsection 3, you can’t.’

There could be no further argument.

Carefully placing the sad remains of the last of the Yellow Wallscrawlers over his shoulder, the young Caretaker proceeded, as instructed, towards corridor 5673 section 301. It wasn’t very far down Potassium Street but in his current tense state it seemed to the young Caretaker miles and miles away.

At first he thought everything was going to be all right after all. The street was quiet and the scrawls on the wall were less scary in what they depicted. To his surprise, he felt himself begin to walk with a more confident stride. All was well until he finally arrived at section 301 and reached for his Mark 12 LDCE to make his report.

The machine started to make a strange bleeping sound he had never heard before. And a lurid flickering light he had never seen before appeared on the dial. A malfunction in the Mark 12 LDCE was very unusual. It was a Caretaker’s lifeline and the young Caretaker checked his own regularly. Something had gone very wrong. He pressed the button, desperately trying to make contact with the Chief. ‘Chief, are you receiving me?’

His voice got ever more desperate. He imagined the Chief’s fury at his failure to report in. But all that came from his precious lifeline was still the strange bleep. After a time the sound got through to you.

And then he heard another sound, low at first, growing in volume as it approached. A soft, regular, mechanical whirring.

He was not the first to hear it that day but he was not to know that. When it finally registered on his consciousness, he turned his eyes up the Street in the direction of the sound. And froze in horror.

Coming towards him was a large, gleaming white, wheeled robot with headlights and a whole battery of attachments for washing, sweeping, polishing and rubbish collecting. A Robotic Self-Activating Megapodic Mark 7Z Cleaner. The Cleaners, as they were known for short by all the Caretakers except the Chief, who was a stickler for full descriptions and titles at all times, were used for all sorts of menial cleaning tasks around Paradise Towers where a robot was undoubtedly more use than a human being. There had, of course, been rumours that the Cleaners had been getting out of control. Certain Caretakers had told the young Caretaker in strictest secrecy that they believed the Cleaners had been attacking people. Wallscrawlers mainly but you never knew. After all, the Mark 7Z Cleaners had been fitted with those large mechanical claws... Few of the Caretakers believed these stories but this hadn’t stopped them being discussed. It helped to pass the time when things were slack.

Looking down at the bloodstained scarf and looking ahead at the Mark 7Z Cleaner, these hushed conversations suddenly took on a new importance for the young Caretaker. The rumours had probably been true all the time. And, far from being cowardly and disloyal, he had actually been right to fear the worst on the Potassium Street beat.

Odd how quickly one can see the truth in a moment of danger. But small consolation to know it with the Cleaner gliding towards him and its menacing white claw shooting out greedily. It was snatching at thin air now but not for long. He had seen the speed the Cleaners could move at and, even if he could have found the energy to run, it would have been useless.

His only hope was the Chief. Perhaps the Chief would know how to stop the Cleaner even now. If only he could speak to him.

The LDCE suddenly crackled into life. The Chief’s voice was there, asking what he wanted. He explained as best he could with his panic rising and the Cleaner getting nearer by the second. The Chief’s voice was calm and reassuring.

‘Don’t panic, Caretaker number 345 stroke 12 subsection 3...’

‘But, Chief... it’s... it’s...’ The enormity of what was happening took away his ability to speak. If the Cleaners were going out of control then who was responsible? The Chief or someone else? And what could anyone hope to gain from killing off Caretakers and Wallscrawlers anyway? The young Caretaker’s mind raced through the questions but could find no answers.

And then the white mechanical claw reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He gurgled helplessly and then lapsed into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was the Chief’s voice, still bland and comforting, pouring out words of advice as the Mark 12 LDCE slipped from his fingers. ‘Don’t worry,’ urged the voice. ‘Relax and enjoy it.’

A few minutes later the Robotic Self-Activating Megapodic Mark 7Z Cleaner was off once more down Potassium Street heading for a service lift that would take it to the basement of Paradise Towers. The gleaming white Mark 7Z Waste Storage Truck it pulled along behind was clearly very full. Sticking out of it was a foot that had once been part of Caretaker number 345

stroke 12 subsection 3.

2

‘Look, what do you want?’ The Doctor and Mel were confronting their assailants who now stood confidently in the middle of Fountain of Happiness Square for all to see, staring mockingly at their captives in a none too friendly fashion. It was not very easy to be very authoritative when you were pinned helplessly to a wall like a dead butterfly in a museum display case but the Doctor was doing his best.

They were girls, none of them more than fifteen or sixteen, all dressed in red and carrying strange metallic crossbows, apparently fabricated from the metal debris that littered Paradise Towers. There was, after all, plenty of it to use, Mel thought. The girls all had a wary, proud look. Their long, spiky red hair matched the bright red of their costumes. Tattered and worn though they were, the girls’ get-ups reminded Mel of pictures she had seen of Japanese samurai warriors.

‘At least tell us who you are,’ said the Doctor in growing desperation at the obstinate silence.

‘We’re the Kangs.’ One of the leading girls spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy and the captives must be half-witted not to know.

‘The Red Kangs,’ put in one of her companions proudly.

‘Red Kangs are best.’ She turned to her companions. ‘Who’s best?’

‘Red Kangs,’ they all chorused. ‘Red Kangs, Red Kangs are best.’

It was obviously a ritual the Kangs went through. The chanting went on for some time while the Red Kangs pressed in on the Doctor and Mel, crossbows at the ready. By the end a sea of young warlike faces clustered round the Doctor.

‘So who’s best?’ demanded the Kang who had lead the chant.

‘The Red Kangs, I gather,’ returned the Doctor smoothly.

‘But there are other coloured Kangs are there?’ he added, desperate to change the subject.

‘Yeah,’ the Kang replied. ‘The Blue Kangs. But they’re cowardly cutlets.’

‘And the Yellow Kangs,’ put in another. ‘But they’re only one now.’