Authors: Nicholas Briggs
Jenibeth could hear a deep rumbling sound that made her tummy feel funny. Then she remembered, this noise had been made by the big rocks moving, up in the desert. She thought hard and realised this noise probably meant these rocks were moving back to the way they had been, before all the lights and the fizzy stuff.
‘What have you done?’ asked the Dalek who had spoken in the less noisy voice.
‘I’m having a jelly blob,’ Jenibeth answered.
‘The child is too undeveloped to comprehend,’ said the same Dalek.
Jenibeth thought this sounded funny and smiled back, unable to stop herself giggling a bit.
The Dalek continued. ‘But she may yet prove to be a useful hostage. Secure her in a detention cell in the ship.’ It moved to face the other Daleks and carried on droning away in its horrible voice.
‘Now that we have seen the Cradle power activated, we know for certain that it will serve our purpose. And when the Daleks take control of it, we will activate it again. The Cradle of the Gods will make the Daleks masters of the universe. Masters of the universe! Masters of the universe!’
The other Daleks all started repeating those words, their voices getting higher and higher.
‘Masters of the universe! Masters of the universe! Masters of the universe!’
Not even the sweet taste of her imaginary jelly blobs could shut out the terrible noise. It echoed all around the chamber, making her ears buzz painfully. She put her hands flat onto her ears, but it was no good, the horrible noises from the Daleks and their shouting went on and on and on until Jenibeth felt her head would burst.
Lillian Belle stepped into her apartment after another long, hard day reporting news to an ever-dwindling holo-TV audience. Today, she had presented features on drainage facilities and the issue of sun protection for the populations of the four hundred Sunlight Worlds. She had put as much of her heart and soul into it as she could muster, given that she knew that the vast majority of the Sunlight audience would most likely opt to watch one of the hundreds of ‘reality’ programmes or quizzes.
She gleaned what job satisfaction she could and smiled her tight, restrained smile to her bosses whenever they asked how things were going. She was a fairly big fish in the evaporating pond of current affairs in the world of Sunlight television. She knew that many industry people looked on with a mixture of pity and confusion as she batted away all offers to move over into live ‘info-tainment’. They viewed her as a kind of slowly self-destructing crusader in a reality where there was nothing to crusade about any more.
And that was just what she wanted them to think.
Lillian gently closed the front door behind her, took off her light little jacket and hung it on the wall. She breezed gently into her kitchen and made herself a cool, refreshing fruit drink. She then went into her lounge and moved towards the wide, floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto her small, neat garden area, just big enough for two chairs, a table and a sun shade. A sun shade so vital on a planet constantly soaked in artificial sunlight, courtesy of the Dalek Foundation’s life-giving artificial satellites.
As she reached the window, she absently placed a hand against it, letting the warmth of her body temperature mix with the air-conditioned coolness of the plastic glass. Satisfied that she had left her hand there just long enough, she moved back and relaxed onto a sofa.
But her eyes never left that spot on the window where she had rested her hand.
If anyone had been watching her over a period of weeks, they might have noticed that Lillian carried out this little ritual every third day. On the other days, she touched other windows in her apartment, or stroked the lid of her garbage incinerator or brushed her hair against the light fitting in her bedroom. All seemingly pointless little moments in the life of someone entirely unremarkable.
And that was
exactly
what she wanted them to think.
Her eyes still stayed fixed upon the window.
Just a little more time …
Some months back, she had covered one of the few
dramatic events to take place on a Sunlight planet. There had been a train crash. A terrible, freak accident. She had investigated it. She had been told the drivers had survived. But she had never been able to find those drivers or the medics who attended them.
Never one to give up, she had kept on trying to trace them. She had contacted the local government authorities and had been pushed from department to department. She had even attempted contact with the Dalek Foundation itself. All to no avail. But the more she got nowhere, the more she found she wanted to push further. The more she knew that something was really wrong here, because she had always had a strange, uneasy feeling about life here on Sunlight 349.
Then, one day, she had noticed someone looking at her across the street. It was a secret but pointed sort of a look. When she had attempted to cross the street to talk to this person, a skimmer had ‘accidentally’ got in her way and, when it had cleared, the person had gone.
The next day, she had spotted someone else looking at her. Again, she couldn’t quite get to them before they vanished. This time, an automatic streetlight-fixing unit had trundled in front of her.
And the next day, something similar had happened. And the day after that and the day after that. She had started to think she was becoming paranoid or going insane.
Then, one day, Lillian had returned home after a hard day’s work at
Sunlight 349 Holo-News
to find a complete stranger sitting in her lounge. He had worn commonplace clothes, dark glasses and had a
commonplace kind of face. When she had got close to that face, she had realised there was something … artificial about it.
‘This isn’t my face,’ he had said. ‘It’s a disguise. You can’t see my real face. It’s too dangerous.’
‘Are you really that ugly?’ she had joked.
He had laughed, but it was a brittle, artificial laugh, like bad acting in one of the many ‘real-life’ dramas on TV.
The man had told her not to push any further on the truth about the train crash.
‘Are you something to do with the government?’ she had asked.
‘We’re
nothing
to do with the government,’ he had said. ‘We are the resistance.’ And then he had told her about the adjustments that had been made to her apartment. The technology implanted into the floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the small garden, the lid of the garbage incinerator, other windows in the house, the light fittings … He had told her what to do and when to do it and what signs to look for when she had done it. This was to be the means of her receiving instructions, she had been told. This was how she could help to bring down the rule of the Daleks.
And then he had injected her with something. Without warning, he had leapt forward and jabbed her with a tiny needle. She had had no time to react or stop him. The effect of it had knocked her unconscious. And then she had fallen ill for about three days. It was like some kind of flu virus. Her bosses had understood. Things were not exactly busy at
Sunlight 349 Holo-News
,
she could be spared for a few days.
When she recovered, Lillian remembered what the man had told her and started to touch the windows, the incinerator and the other things in the patterns he had specified. For a long time, nothing had happened.
Then, one day, something did happen. After waiting for five or so minutes, a small yellow mark had appeared on the incinerator lid. As she had been instructed, she touched the mark with her index finger. It had made her feel sick, but it had also given her information. Suddenly, she had known where to look for a clue as to the fate of the freak train-crash drivers.
Three days later, she had managed to find, misfiled in a Medical Department Records Office, a report marked for deletion on the discovery of several bodies from the site of the train crash. The bodies of people who had not died from the effects of the crash, but who had died from massive internal disruption, the result of some form of energy projection, the report had concluded.
She had had no idea what to do with this information; but now at least she knew for certain that something was not right in the Sunlight Worlds. That persistent doubt she had harboured for years, that guilt that had festered because of how grateful her parents had been about it all, her single-minded dedication to finding out the truth, a dedication that had left her cold and alone in her life … Now she knew there really was a justification for it all. It was not just paranoia and depression. And there were other people out there who felt the same way. She was now working for them. Working, in some unfathomable way, to bring the truth to people. It may
take time, she thought, but she was part of something important and, most significant of all, something that would reveal the truth about the Dalek Foundation …
Whatever that truth was.
So, as she stared at the window, she expected nothing to happen, just as nothing had happened so many times before. She knew she had to be patient.
Then, a small, deep orange mark appeared on the glass. A thrill of excitement running through her, she got up and calmly placed her finger on the mark. When she withdrew her finger, the mark had gone, but she was already feeling sick and, most importantly, learning something new.
Her mind was starting to receive information from the microscopically minute artificial memory cells in the orange mark. Memory cells programmed to travel straight to her brain.
Her mind was beginning to learn … gradually …
Something …
About …
The Doctor
.
When Lillian Belle finally found the Doctor, he was walking around one of Sunlight 349’s large, open shopping areas. The central shopping mall, in fact. She saw that he had two children with him. A girl, who was probably about 12 years old, and a boy, who was maybe 5, possibly younger.
Lillian made sure she positioned herself at an angle, across the street, where this Doctor would spot her. But to her frustration, he never seemed to look her
way. He simply carried on looking into shop windows at various gigantic holographic TV screens, typical of these shopping malls. Every now and then, he would flick a hand out behind him and wave for the children to follow. For their part, they seemed completely uninterested in the shops and the screens. The Doctor, however, could not keep his eyes off any and every retail outlet and screen within his gaze. This behaviour certainly did not tally with what Lillian knew about the Doctor.
The information she had received talked of a ‘known saboteur of Dalek Foundation operations’, a ‘meddler in the affairs of others’ and an ‘expert at revolutionary tactics’. At no point did the word ‘shopaholic’ feature.
Finally, losing patience a little, Lillian moved over to the Doctor’s side of the street. As she crossed, she was aware that she would be forgoing the opportunity of dodging behind passing skimmers if the Doctor suddenly turned to look in her direction; but things were getting desperate. The wretched man was simply not behaving as expected.
She saw him gesture for the children to come close to him again as he continued to stare into a window screen, around which a holographic projection of the popular game show
How Nice Is Your Brain?
was showing. Two people were standing opposite each other, with a massive holographic image of their innermost thoughts hanging in the air. A flashing graphic urged viewers to vote on who was the ‘nicest contestant’ based on what they could see of their memories and thought processes. It was the Sunlight Worlds’ top-rated programme.
The children reluctantly slunk up to the Doctor. He was clearly talking to them. Lillian was wondering what he was saying, when she suddenly noticed the small boy standing right in front of her. He had somehow slipped out of her line of sight without her noticing.
‘Hello,’ said the boy. ‘My name is Ollus. I’m with the Doctor, I am.’
Lillian’s first instinct was to leave. She made as if to move.
‘Don’t go,’ said Ollus. ‘He said you’d try to go, he did. But he’s been watching you all the time, you see. In the reflections. So he says there’s no point you going, he does.’
Lillian hesitated, confused. Then when she looked back to where the Doctor was, she saw that he was facing her way, waving.
‘Busted!’ he shouted cheerfully. Then he strode over towards her.
She felt helpless and stupid. What would the resistance people she was working for think of her? Her instructions had been to observe the Doctor and report back. Intrigue him. Let him know he was being watched, but dodge back into the shadows. Subject him to the same initiation she had experienced.
But now, on first contact, here he was, coming straight up to her, hand outstretched.
Lillian looked down at the Doctor’s hand and did nothing.
‘Well, that’s not very friendly,’ he said. ‘Er …’ she started, not really knowing what to say. Lamely, she offered her hand and he shook it heartily.
‘There, that’s better, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor, beaming at her. ‘So let’s start with your name and then we can move on to why you’re stalking me. Don’t worry, I’m not cross, just, you know, a bit intrigued. Well, who wouldn’t be, eh?’ He gave a little laugh. She found she could not respond.
‘Oh dear,’ continued the Doctor. ‘Not very happy today, are we? What’s the matter? Have I spoiled everything? Sorry, I tend to do that, but the fact is that I’m not in the mood for pussyfooting around because I’m after some answers! Got any of those, er … what did you say your name was? Oh, that’s right, you didn’t.’
Much to her own annoyance, Lillian just stared. The Doctor stared back, still holding her hand. She averted her eyes from his almost mesmerising gaze and pulled her hand away, but then she just saw the children, who were also staring at her.
‘We need to rescue our sister,’ said the girl. ‘So we can’t hang around.’
This was all getting far more complicated than Lillian had expected.
‘Lillian,’ she finally said. ‘Lillian Belle.’