Doctor Who: Adventures in Lockdown Read online

  Steve Cole

  * * *

  DOCTOR WHO

  Adventures in Lockdown

  Contents

  1. A Message from the Doctor

  2. Things She Thought While Falling by Chris Chibnall

  3. The Terror of the Umpty Ums by Steven Moffat

  4. Doctor Who and the Time War by Russell T Davies

  5. Revenge of the Nestene by Russell T Davies

  6. Rory’s Story by Neil Gaiman

  7. One Virtue, and a Thousand Crimes by Neil Gaiman

  8. The Simple Things by Joy Wilkinson

  9. The Tourist by Vinay Patel

  10. Press Play by Pete McTighe

  11. The Shadow Passes by Paul Cornell

  12. Shadow of a Doubt by Paul Cornell

  13. The Shadow in the Mirror by Paul Cornell

  14. Fellow Traveller by Mark Gatiss

  15. Listen by Steven Moffat

  16. The Secret of Novice Hame by Russell T Davies

  Illustrations by

  1 Valentina Mozzo

  2 Valentina Mozzo

  3 Valentina Mozzo

  4 Valentina Mozzo

  5 Sonia Leong

  6 Mike Collins

  7 Mike Collins

  8 Adrian Salmon

  9 Lee Binding

  10 Chris Riddell

  11 Sophie Cowdrey

  12 David Wardle

  13 Anthony Dry

  14 Richard Wells

  Publisher’s note

  Stories 1–4, 8 and 10–11 were first published on the official Doctor Who website as part of a lockdown initiative led by Chris Chibnall.

  Stories 5–6, 12–13 and 15–16 first appeared online as part of the Doctor Who: Lockdown! series of watch-alongs organised and produced by Emily Cook

  Stories 7, 9 and 14 were written especially for this collection.

  The publishers would like to thank Chris Chibnall, Russell T Davies, Steven Moffat, Emily Cook, the Doctor Who brand team, the Children in Need team, and each of the authors and illustrators for their contributions to this book.

  1

  A Message from the Doctor

  Oh, hi!

  This is an emergency transmission. If you’re reading this, the TARDIS must have detected an upsurge in psychological signals from somewhere in space and time – basically, I think somebody somewhere might be a little bit worried.

  I’m actually just self-isolating – or, as I like to call it, hiding – from an army of Sontarans. But keep that to yourself. Now. Here’s what I do in any worrying situation:

  Remember, you will get through this. And things will be all right. Even if they look uncertain. Even if you’re worried. Darkness never prevails.

  Tell jokes. Even bad ones – especially bad ones. I am brilliant at bad ones.

  Be kind. Even kinder than you were yesterday. And I know you were super kind yesterday! Look out for each other. You won’t be the only one worried. Talking will help. Sharing will help. Look out for your friends, your neighbours, people you hardly know, and family. Because in the end, we’re all family.

  Listen to science. And listen to doctors, right? They’ve got your back.

  Stay strong, stay positive.

  You’ve got this. And I will see you very soon.

  2

  Things She Thought While Falling

  by Chris Chibnall

  She was cold.

  The Doctor was cold.

  The ragged clothes weren’t helping. She was cold, and in someone else’s ragged clothes.

  She felt a little peeved that the ragged clothes did not include a built-in parachute. That felt like an error.

  Wait, she thought. Why would I want a parachute? Oh yes, that’s right. She remembered.

  She was falling.

  Air was rushing past her. Or, more accurately, she was rushing past air. Tumbling through the cold night sky.

  Also, she was fizzing.

  Remnants of regeneration particles were still skittering off her. The process was still… in process. Her newness still in train.

  The Doctor looked up, mid-plummet. Oh dear, she thought.

  Far above her, the TARDIS was exploding.

  That is very unhelpful, she thought.

  No, wait, not just exploding. Now the TARDIS was dematerialising – while it exploded. Dematerialexploding, thought the Doctor. That’s not a word, chided the Doctor. All right, replied the Doctor, I’m only a few minutes in here – you’re lucky I’ve got any words at all. Will you two stop arguing, chimed in the Doctor. Only if you stop subdividing us, replied the Doctor. This is all the same brain. Don’t confuse matters.

  As the blue box vanished, leaving the Doctor looking up at a starry black sky, the Doctor wondered if she’d ever see her TARDIS again. No time to feel sorry for yourself, she told herself. Too much going on!

  Yes, she thought. There is a lot going on. A large dark painful ground mass was rapidly approaching, and inside the Doctor’s body her cells continued to burn and reshape and reform.

  Well, thought the Doctor. All of her. This is a conundrum.

  Her newly minted mind had already had three thousand and seven thoughts over the course of three seconds. She knew because she had counted, and she only realised she’d counted once she’d finished counting, and then she wondered whether the counting made three thousand and eight thoughts and then she realised that the ground was another second closer, and a plan would probably be in order.

  She saw the ground and calculated her own velocity. Ooh, this is going to hurt, she thought. Even with a soft landing. And it probably won’t be a soft landing. She crossed her fingers and hoped she was heading for an open-air trampoline factory.

  Like that planet, what was it called, Fintleborxtug! Fun fact about Fintleborxtug, she told herself, the creature that named it did so when it was hiccupping and just before it was sick. Nobody knows if it was really the name or just the sound it made.

  You don’t have to tell me that, thought the Doctor tetchily to herself. I know! I know the planetary surface of Fintleborxtug is as soft and bouncy as a trampoline, because I went for a long bounce there once, among the mountains and the purple sky. I’d just had ice cream sundaes. That was a mistake.

  Can you please concentrate, the Doctor thought to herself again.

  She concentrated. She confirmed she was still falling. Disappointing, but not that much of a surprise given her circumstances hadn’t changed in the second since she last checked.

  She wondered where exactly she was. Which sky she was falling through. Which ground she was heading for. She stuck her tongue out. It was buffeted by the air. Tickled. Ah. That tasted like Earth. Northern Europe. Britain. Wood smoke, diesel, grass, fast-approaching concrete, lot of moisture and attitude in the air. Yorkshire. Possibly South Yorkshire.

  She snuck another look down. A train track. A stationary train. She tried to recognise the livery on the outside of the train so she could absolutely nail precisely where she was, but it was distant and dark and regeneration had once again failed to deliver the super-powered, see-in-the-dark, X-ray vision she had always craved. Ah well, she thought, maybe next time.

  Now the train below was insisting on getting even closer. The train or the tracks were where she was going to land. She pondered her limited choices – tracks would hurt. Mouth full of gravel and two big metal lines all the way down her new body. Ouch. Train might be better – the roof, if she could crash through it, would soften her landing a bit (though smashing through was most likely going to hurt a lot).

  With a bit of luck, any injuries would be taken care of by the still-fizzing regeneration process. Like those injuries the Doctor had got after he’d crashed
through the roof at Naismith Manor. Or the hand he’d managed to grow back after the Sycorax had lopped one off. Watch out, Doctor, she thought. Your personal pronouns are drifting.

  That roof was super close now. She flapped her arms a bit to make sure her trajectory was bang on. As she did so, she saw that the train lights were out. She saw sparks of a light flashing in one carriage towards the back of the train. Something was wrong. And if something was wrong, she was the man to sort it out.

  You’re assuming you’re going to make it through this fall alive, she reminded herself. Now, don’t be gloomy, she chided back. Things will be all right. Right now, they’re not ideal. But I can muddle through. Probably.

  That’s interesting, she thought. I seem to be an optimist. With a hint of enthusiasm. And what’s that warm feeling in my stomach? Ah, I’m kind! Brilliant.

  This is going to be fun, thought the Doctor, as she crashed through the roof of a train, on the outskirts of Sheffield, not far from Grindleford.

  Then, having hit the floor of the train, and felt extra little regenerative energy particles heal where things had scratched and broken and hurt – newness, in train, on a train – she thought to herself: This is going to be a very interesting night!

  The Doctor jumped up, zapped a creature she couldn’t quite understand and immediately made new friends.

  3

  The Terror of the Umpty Ums

  by Steven Moffat

  The reeking flesh mass was silent for a moment before twisting and stretching its upper, frontal skin lumps into a new configuration. Karpagnon’s visual circuits processed and pattern-matched the configuration within two nanoseconds: apparently the human was smiling. Karpagnon considered for a moment and elected not to retaliate.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ emitted the Human from its flapped aperture. ‘Did you understand? Do you understand what I’m saying?’ The encoded sound stream was accompanied by a fresh flow of smells also emanating from the aperture. Karpagnon’s sensory filter began processing the new odours, while his tactical monitor noted that they were unlikely to be directly significant to the Human’s communication. The light spray of moisture was similarly dismissed. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Dr Johnson and Dr Ahmed will be here too. Do you remember them?’

  No explicit threat detected, noted the Tactical Monitor, while the Strategic Oversight Junction added that an implied, non-explicit threat was still possible – but then the Strategic Oversight Junction was like that. Beef and onions, advised the Sensory Filter.

  Karpagnon scanned the habitation box again, but there was no new information of tactical value. There was the little bed (which he had to pretend to sleep in) the window (which was barred) and the door (which was open at the moment). His scan ended on the Human (Dr Petrie, proffered a Context Activated memory bubble), who was sitting on the chair by the bed and clearly expecting a reply. Karpagnon sifted among the options presented by his various Diplomatic Interface Modules and selected appropriately. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I received and understood your communication and I remember Dr Johnson and Dr Ahmed. I shall destroy your world and all who breed here in fire and anguish. I hope you enjoyed your beef and onions.’

  ‘I’ll be seeing you, then,’ said Dr Petrie, and rose to go.

  ‘I shall eviscerate you at the first opportunity,’ replied Karpagnon. ‘Good night.’

  As Dr Petrie moved to the door, the Tactical Monitor advised: Escape must be initiated in 2.7 hours in full darkness.

  The Strategic Oversight Junction further advised: All humans in the installation should be destroyed before departure. The human designated as Dr Petrie is the priority target.

  The Sensory Filter noted: The sweat gland emissions from the human designated as Dr Petrie reveal significant adrenal content. This indicates Dr Petrie has a fear reaction in the upper quartile.

  ‘And a big bottom,’ added another voice.

  If Karpagnon could have frowned, he would have. Where did that come from? He did a quick internal scan but couldn’t source the unexpected data stream.

  ‘I mean you wouldn’t expect it from the front, but then he turns round and boom!’

  ‘Identify untagged data stream!’ demanded Karpagnon.

  ‘I mean, size of that thing! Could take your eye out.’

  ‘Identify untagged data stream!’ repeated Karpagnon.

  No untagged data stream detected, replied the Internal Data Relay Monitor.

  Karpagnon considered for a moment. The additional stress of maintaining his holographic shell (currently projecting an image of a 12-year-old boy called David) could conceivably be causing glitches in the logic junctions. Perhaps it was no more than that. A temporary shutdown would fix the problem, and in any event it would be wise to refresh his systems before the escape.

  For appearances’ sake, Karpagnon swung his legs round so that he could lie down on the bed and switched his hologram eyes to the closed position. As he lay there, he listened to his internal relays shutting down one by one.

  Tactical Monitor going offline.

  Strategic Oversight Junction going offline.

  Sensory Filter entering sleep mode.

  Internal delay on alert mode only.

  For a moment there was only the ticking darkness.

  ‘N’night, fam!’

  The Karpagnon awoke. According to his chrono-register, 2.7 hours had passed. He swivelled his head to look at the window and confirmed that darkness had fallen, then got up from the bed and checked his hologram status in the mirror. The shell was holding. He waited a moment, allowing his systems to come on line. As usual the Tactical Monitor was first.

  Recommendation. Human casualties to be avoided during escape.

  Karpagnon noticed his hologram shell was frowning in the mirror, which was odd because he didn’t know it could do that. ‘Sorry, could you repeat your last recommendation?’

  Human casualties to be avoided during escape, repeated the Tactical Monitor.

  In the mirror the hologram shell was looking positively bewildered, which was definitely a new feature. ‘Why?’ asked Karpagnon.

  New protocol, replied the Tactical Monitor. Cruelty and cowardice to be avoided. Destruction of humans within this installation now designated as cruel and cowardly.

  ‘What new protocol?’ demanded Karpagnon.

  ‘Oops, sorry that was probably me.’

  It was the voice again – the untagged data stream. But where was it coming from?

  ‘I got bored, you see,’ the voice continued. ‘Thought I’d do a bit of housekeeping, long as I’m here. Love a bit of rewiring, me, and I get bored when I’m asleep. I can’t be doing with all that sleeping, there’s too many planets. What if you sleep and miss a whole planet. Nightmare, yeah?’

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Karpagnon.

  ‘Just a friend, who wants to help. We’re doing an escape, right? I’m top at escaping.’

  ‘I require no assistance,’ said Karpagnon. ‘Strategic Oversight Junction, please run a diagnostic on the Tactical Monitor. There seems to be some kind of interference.’

  Karpagnon waited but there was no response. ‘Strategic Oversight Junction, please run a diagnostic on the Tactical—’

  Can’t we at least discuss this? asked the Strategic Oversight Junction, with a new tone in the digital overlay that could only be described as cross. I mean, why has it always got to be what you say? What if anyone else has an opinion? Did you ever think about that?

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the voice. ‘My influence, I’m afraid. You see, I do like a flat management structure. Always run one myself – from top to bottom. Obviously I have to be top. No offence to anyone else, it’s just a thing.’

  ‘You are interfering with my systems??’

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll just switch them off, shall I? Then we can get on with escaping.’

  There was a soft clicking as Karpagnon’s internal systems started shutting down.

  ‘Who are you??’ Karpagnon demanded.


  ‘Shouldn’t we be getting on with it, the escaping? Time to start sneaking downstairs, I think.’

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my head?’

  ‘Well who are you and what are you doing in this place?’

  Karpagnon was about to refuse to answer the question, when, to his surprise, he found himself answering the question. ‘I am Karpagnon. A DeathBorg 400, warrior class. I was forged in the weapon groves of Villengard, and I am on a surveillance mission on twenty-first-century Earth.’

  ‘In a children’s home?’

  ‘The details of my assignment are forbidden knowledge.’

  ‘Well I better not ask you about it in case you start telling me everything for no particular reason.’

  ‘I am not so compliant,’ snarled Karpagnon. But he couldn’t help noticing he had left the room and was now sneaking down the stairs – just as the voice had wanted him to.

  ‘DeathBorg 400,’ she was saying. ‘Did they have 399 before you that didn’t work out? It’s not a reassuring number, is it?’

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, Karpagnon, you know who I am. You’ve known all along.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘I’m the Doctor.’

  Karpagnon came to a halt four steps from the foot of the stairs. Had he been programmed for any kind of shock, he would have been experiencing it now. The Doctor!

  ‘Ooh, look at your memory banks lighting up! Heard of me, then?’

  Heard of her? ‘The Ka Faraq Gatri,’ replied Karpagnon. ‘The Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, the Imp of the Pandorica! The final victor of the Time War.’

  ‘A few of my hits. I’m glad you’ve been paying attention.’

  ‘You are known to many as the greatest warrior in the universe.’

  ‘I’m not a warrior, but have it your way.’