Doctor How and the Rings of Uranus (4 page)

“I’ve told you before – you can’t go around creating different versions of the same timeline. There can be only one Trinity. Now get back here to the bridge. That’s a direct order.”

“Can you not come and fetch us in the Spectrel?”

“I can’t risk multiple pick-ups this close to a chronological event of such significance. Not when this computer could just destroy everything on a whim. I have to preserve the integrity of the timeline at all costs. That’s the law, and I cannot go against it. You know that.”

“Well,” said Kevin, imitating the ship’s computer’s smooth voice. “Admiral. How. Order. Countermanded. Irrevocable. Kevin. Will not leave without. Trini.”

“Do you even know where you are, lad?”

“Honest answer? No, not
bleedin’ a clue.”

“Hang on just a moment,” said the Doctor. “I’ve managed to restore the map systems. If this is accurate I think I can detect you
… Yep… If you go to the next lift along the corridor that’s towards the end of the corridor you’re on.”

“They all look the same.”

“Big clue will be that you can see one end of it. Go that way. Lift will be on your left.”

“I’ve got an idea, Doc. I should have started my journey backwards.”

“You
what
?”

“If Trin’s following our scent, she might even be back at the bridge.”

“Aye, you’re right. Good thinking. That lift. Take it down thirty-five floors.”

“Gotcha.” He jogged along to the lift and counted down the floors.

“Attention. All personnel. One. Sidereal. Minute. Remaining. Precisely.”

“No, no, no!” screamed Kevin. “That’s not fair. You robbed us of at least three minutes!”

“I can get you out of there. Take the lift straight back up and you’ll get to the bridge in time.”

“No. Not without Trini.”

“
Now
, Kevin. I’m ordering you. You must save your own life!”

“Nope.”

The lift pinged open. He recognised this corridor because it was curved. It led to the gallery overlooking the gargantuan array of pipes that made up the helium-3 distillery. He jogged along it. “Trini?” he called. “Trini?”

“Attention. All personnel. Thirty. Sidereal. Seconds. Remaining. Precisely.”

He reached the door to the viewing area and pushed it open.

“Trini!” he yelled, and ran towards the
oversized muscular black cat, which was gazing groggily at the view through its glowing green eyes. “You think they look like fallen trees, don’t you darling?” he said. He bent down and picked her up. The sheer weight of her always surprised him. He held her to him.

“I’ve got her!
” he shouted, knowing that the Doctor must now have left the ship. “Well, Trin. There are worse places to die. The view from a hospital bed could never match this, eh? And,” he started laughing, “they’d never let pets on the ward, eh?”

He felt a pair of hands grab him. “Get in!” shouted the Doctor. “We might just make it!”

“Attention. All personnel. Five. Sidereal. Seconds. Remaining. Precisely.”

As Kevin turned he saw the Spectrel disappear.

“Bugger!” said the Doctor. “Emergency. She has to save herself.”

“You came back, Doctor,” said Kevin. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right.”

“Attention. All personnel.”

“Oh, Christ, here we go,” said Kevin. “Been nice knowing you.”

“Attention. All personnel. Man hath no greater love than to lay down his own life for h
is friend’s.”

“
What
?” whispered the Doctor.

“New Testament,” said Kevin. “John, chapter fifteen verse thirteen.
Drummed into me at Sunday school.”

“Attention. All personnel. Please leave this vessel. You have. Fifteen. Sidereal. Minutes. Destruction will result in an. Annular. Debris field. It will be. Red. In the. Visible. Spectrum.
You are reminded that running in the corridors can be dangerous and is not permitted. I wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.”

“I think we’d better do as she says,” said the Doctor.

“
She
?” asked Kevin, walking briskly to the exit.”

“So I’ll tell you what you need,” said Kevin, munching his reheated Jamaican patty.

“Go on,” said the Doctor.

“I always thought you needed talking therapy, you know? Like, I think you need a crash course in female psychology.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, straight up. I figure she was well pissed-off, just being left there for eight millennia on her own, alone and unloved. She wanted to feel significant, you know? A bit of respect. A bit of dignity, man.”

“Right.”

The Doctor leaned back in the chair at his control panel. The twin projections of the Uranus system glowed in the dimmed cabin.

“Spectrel,” said the Doctor. “Patch me through to the mining ship. Thanks.” He cleared his throat
and addressed the mining ship’s computer. “On behalf of us all, thank you for your many millennia of valuable service,” he said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Admiral. How. Thank you.
I am now glad to have finished my useful service. I look forward to taking my place in the greater scheme of galactic history.”

“And you will, computer. You will.”

“Kevin. I am grateful,” said the computer.

“What? Me?” Kevin put a hand over his mouth to stop flakes of pasty going onto the floor of the Spectrel. Even though the house-bots would clean them
up, he knew their fleeting existence would annoy the Doctor.

“I spent millennia of your time without true meaning to my existence.
Today I was able to experience vicariously the depth of love that only unselfish sacrifice can show. Without your feelings for the creature called Trinity my existence would have had no meaning to me.”

“Sure thing. I mean, thanks for sparing us from total oblivion… And don’t forget that the Doctor also showed some… I dunno… feelings.”

“One last thing. Admiral. How.” The computer’s salutation hung in the air as the three occupants of the Spectrel waited for her final words. “Get some therapy.”

Trinity’s head jerked up and down with mirth.

The red dot in the projections blew out sideways in both directions into a fine red dust. Doctor How, Kevin and Trinity watched in silence for a few minutes as the red dust tore through the vacuum at dazzling speed to form a red ring around the planet. After just ten minutes it had begun to settle into a blazing red of even density.

“It’ll be very bright for a few weeks,” said the Doctor, quietly. “Then, as you’ve seen with the
surface of Oberon, it’ll begin to get a bit dirty. A little less red. Duller.”

“I get it. So only Herschel will see it with his…
primitive
telescope. Then it’ll be another couple of hundred years before anyone else knows any of those rings are there.”

“
Exactly. Nine years after that, Voyager 2 will pass by and take images.”

“And no one will have a clue why there’s that one red ring.
Or what it’s made of.”

“Thank God for that.
Mission accomplished. Let’s go home.”

Thanks for reading – I hope you enjoyed it!

Doctor How is a five-volume series of novels. Book one,
Doctor How and the Illegal Aliens
is due for release on March 13
th
2014.

The Doctor needs your support in the forthcoming battle. Please do one (or more!) of these:

-
Like Doctor How on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/DoctorHow.tv

-
Follow him on Twitter:
@DoctorHow_tv

For the avoidance of doubt, this is a work of parody.

Doctor Who and TARDIS are registered trademarks of the BBC. No, really, they are.

Other works by the same author:

Doctor How and the Kennedy Assassination Conspiracy
(available for a limited time only; contains extract from book two!)

Apocalypse Later: A guide to the end of the world by Nice Mr Death
(paperback only)

Britons in Brief
(anthology)

More about him is available from these sources:

Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/MarkSpeed

Author information and more writing:
www.markspeed.co.uk

Amazon Author Central:
http://www.
amazon.com/author/markspeed

Author biography

Mark Speed finished writing his first novel at the age of fifteen. His comedy writing has appeared in newspapers as diverse as the London
Evening Standard
and
The Sun
, and been broadcast on BBC Radio 4 Extra. He performed his solo comedy,
The End of the World Show
, at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2011 and 2012.

He was born in Glasgow and swore he’d never move to London. He’s lived in Edinburgh, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Nottingham, Bristol and Bath, which gives him an understanding of Britain as a series of distinct tribes. Against his better judgement, he moved to London in the late Nineties, and loves it now that he gets it.

Amongst other postgraduate and professional qualifications, he has a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from City University, London. In 1995 a chiropractor told him he’d never run again. Sensibly, he gave up chiropractors, and has since completed several marathons and a couple of Olympic-length triathlons. He occasionally does irresponsible things like scuba and skydiving.

In case you hadn’t guessed, he’s a ‘polarity responder’.

Copyright © Mark F Speed 2014

All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-9573204-6-8

The right of Mark F
Speed to be identified as the author and illustrator of  this work has been asserted by him in accordance with  the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher.

Published by Terra Supra Limited

Registered in England and Wales no. 8109753

www.terrasupra.co.uk

Nothing is black and white