Murder on the Uxariean Express
Prologue
SOIREE OF DOOM
Let other scribes dwell on gore
and misery. I gabble my account, solicitous of my Reader’s comfort. Let a terse summary suffice:
- it was the
planet Uxarieus in 2971;
- there was an
intimate, prestigious party, an elegant affair;
- it took
place in the government’s top-notch flying saucer, the Uxariean Express;
- Lady Winton,
the Prime Minister, was there;
- there was an
explosion;
- Lady Winton
exploded from the inside;
- Lady Winton
was all over everyone else.
Chapter 1
COMMONWEALTH IN SPACE
Politics abhors a vacuum! Within a day the Egalitarian Party, the
planet’s ruling party, had elected its new leader, Claudia Caldwell. She addressed supporters and media outside
the Governor-General’s cave.
“Our planet has taken great
strides since the days of the Earth pioneers.” proclaimed Claudia. “Once we were a divided world, pitted against
each other, oppressing those we dared call ‘Primitives’. Now we know them as the Nu, and they are part of us!”
“Lady Winton’s name will live for
ever, the most radical Egalitarian of our age.
This planet used to be grim:
every adventure within it was a muddy, dreary runaround. But with Lady Winton’s help we turned it into
an Earthly paradise. We won’t just
continue her policies, we’ll super-charge them.
We’ll turbo-boost them. Planetary
ownership of industry, progressive taxation, galaxy-class health care for all. They’ll be calling it Uxarieus’ golden
age. And on this planet spared from a
Doomsday Weapon we must never forget the cause of peace. Let our progress be our tribute to her memory!”
And with that she turned towards
the cave and walked in.
Inside, the Governor-General (a
lizard from the planet Foamasi who had lived on Uxarieus for many years) wagged
a reptilian tail.
“Good morning Miss Caldwell, I have it in hand from
Her Majesty under letters and T-Mats patent to ask you to form Her government:
will you do so, and will you take the oath of allegiance?” he rasped,
proffering with a gnarled paw a neat card bearing the words of the oath. Claudia nodded.
“Yes I undertake to form a
government,” replied Claudia gravely, before reading: “I solemnly, sincerely,
and truly affirm that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her
Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Ninth, and to her heirs and successors according to
law.”
“Congratulations, Prime Minister!” hissed the reptile, his
scaly face puckering with pleasure.
“There is one thing on which I
wish to consult you, Governor-General” said Claudia quickly.
“Oh yes, what is that, Prime
Minister?” asked the Crown’s representative, his forked tongue lashing the air
at the rare treat of being consulted on anything.
“If I wished to appoint external
investigators to look into the murder of Lady Winton, would there be any constitutional objection?”
“External investigators? Not
against the constitution; not in the slightest!
But whatever’s wrong with Uxariean
police?”
* * * * *
What was wrong with Uxariean
police was that justice must be seen
to be done. Despite being Prime Minister Lady Winton had
been an anti-establishment figure: the police were pro-establishment. Any investigation risked looking like a
cover-up. Worse still, it might be a cover-up.
Claudia Caldwell sat alone in the
Cabinet room with a copy of the Planetisation of Banks and Financial
Institutions Bill 2971 in front of her.
Sterling stuff, absolutely necessary.
Yet her thoughts were elsewhere.
Somewhere, somewhen, so very long ago, Claudia had seen
an advertisement which had piqued her interest.
To this day she remembered most of the text:
MURDERS SOLVED
Anywhere in time and space
Susan and Romana,
Time Ladies
The advertisement had stuck in
her mind. But the means of getting in
touch with them had not. Still, what did
that matter, she was Uxariean!
Long ago on Uxarieus, the settlers
from Earth had used the Native Uxarieans as little more than servants, dubbing
them “the Primitives”. Then, little by
little, marvellously and miraculously, humans and Nu had together fashioned a
utopia! Misunderstandings were
overcome, narrow-mindedness thrown asunder, fear of ‘the Other’ cast aside. The humans and the Nu started to cohabit and
interbreed. Not just sparingly, but
extensively, pervasively, militantly! No
human was untouched by the charms of the Nu!
No Nu could resist the womanly or manly wiles of the human! First
there were two races, then everyone was mixed race, then the mixed race became the race – the Uxarieans. As a result the denizens of Uxareius were
undeniably humanoid yet in a becoming shade of green. They had a robust collectivism which made
them more resistant than other Commonwealth planets to capitalism’s
blandishments, a preference for cave life and a powerful gift of telepathy.
Telepathy! That was the way to get in touch with
the Time Ladies. Telepathy which could
transcend the barriers of time and space!
Claudia closed her eyes and concentrated as never before:
Susan…Romana…
Murder…Uxarieus…2971
Help! Help! Help!
Chapter 2
“YOU’RE NOT BEING UXORIOUS ON UXARIEUS, DAVID!”
On another world several
centuries earlier Susan Foreman too was engaging with the Crown. Queen Elizabeth III, youngest daughter of
Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, was the only member of the Royal Family to
survive the Dalek invasion of Earth.
She’d climbed down into the sewer a Princess and climbed up a Queen –
ten months later. She strongly resembled
her mother but for a shock of ginger hair.
Britain ’s
first mixed-race sovereign, yay! (At
least, people less well-versed in time travel assumed she was the first.)
With all royal residences reduced to rubble by the tender ministrations
of the Daleks, the monarch had had to adapt to her government’s drive towards
equality: farewell Buckingham
Palace
“I’m the bloody Queen mate,
basically I rule!” said the Queen, admiring herself in a hand mirror and coining
a phrase to be relished by her women successors.
“I don’t wish to be rude or
anything, ma’am,” blurted Susan, glancing fruitlessly from side to side in
embarrassment, “but I rather think you reign,
rather than rule,” Susan was mindful
of the books she’d read at school on the British constitution under the
tutelage of dear Miss Wright.
Putting down the mirror the Queen
frowned. There was something unearthly
about the Minister of Planning. She was forever
building bypasses and sometimes had a sense-of-humour bypass. Susan looked around nervously. Had she failed to latch on to a
drollery? It would be nice to get on with the British
crown. Things had got off to a shaky
start when grandfather had thrown that parson's nose at Henry VIII…
“Our business today?”
“An Order in Council to appoint
Jenny Davies director of the National Coffee Service and Nicholas Wells her
deputy. They’re both war heroes, you
know.”
The Queen smiled at Susan’s
proliferation of national services.
“Wouldn’t a National Tea Service be more British?”
“Oh, it’s not that we’re
anti-tea, ma’am, it’s simply that since the Daleks caused that volcanic
eruption in Bedfordshire we thought we could excavate tunnels there and use the
warmth to grow a coffee plantation.”
“Coffee in caves? You do have some magnificent ideas, Minister!”
“Instead of Americanos we thought
we’d call them Britcanos. Well, it’s
either that or volcarnos.”
“You’ll be having a National
Sourdough Toast Service next” said the Queen signing the Order in Council.
“Well, if it helps the British
have a good lunch….oh….”
Suddenly Susan turned pale. She could feel words plough through her
mind. She could barely see or hear the
Queen. She could perceive nothing but the
words…
Susan…Romana…
Murder…Uxarieus…2971
Help! Help! Help!
“Are you all right, Minister, you
look a bit peaky?”
“Oh I’m, I’m fine. I must dash off and see the Agriculture
Minister now. Need to discuss the
infrastructure for the coffee project.
“You and your infrastructure,
Minister! I hope my subjects appreciate
the RSI I’m getting cutting ribbons!”
* * * * *
Back home, Susan Foreman and
David Campbell talked shop. There were
far fewer humans left alive after the Dalek invasion of Earth and with less
political competition Susan and David had easily become Minister of Planning
and Minister of Agriculture respectively.
Susan’s portfolio gave her a
finger in every pie. Having exhausted
the subject of the coffee mines the couple talked quinoa. Could the national harvest be distributed by
rail? What tracks and freight trains
would be needed? Could Susan’s
workforce pull it off? Then David
worried about the national yield. The
Daleks had brought with them a terrifying monster called the Slyther. What if you crossed quinoa with Slyther DNA
for extra vigour? That had already worked wonders with the nation’s rhubarb which had
never grown so aggressively! But would
the vegans kick up a stink? Plus, some
people would object to anything of alien origin; they’d never hear the end of
it from the “locally sourced” brigade. And
it might be tricky marketing the radioactive planet Skaro as “planet Organic”.
Then Susan broached the subject
of the telepathic message.
“Oh, someone contacted me by
telepathy,” she said lightly, “Some murder on a planet called Uxarieus. I’ll need to tell Romana.”
“Och no, not again!” protested
her husband. “I’m not having you risking
your life on some far-off wirruld!”
“But David, that’s exactly what I
did with grandfather all the time!”
“Aye, I sometimes think you
regret leaving him. You’d have never met
a skinny Scotsman with great hair called David if you’d stayed in the TARDIS,
you know!”
“Oh it’s not that, David, it’s just that we Time Lords should do good throughout
the cosmos, not just here. And I’ll have Romana remember.”
“Then I’m coming too. Extra safety.”
“You can’t! It’s not safe for a human! It you were harmed you wouldn’t even
regenerate!”
“You’re not going and that’s
that!”
“I am going, David”, said Susan in exasperation, “And if you don’t
change the gramophone record you’re heading for a jolly good smacked bottom!”
David raised his eyebrows and
smiled.
“Now I’m going to show you an old
Time Lord trick.”
She rose from the kitchen table
and sat crossed-legged on the floor, drawing six blank playing cards from her
pocket and placing them in front of her.
She closed her eyes and focused.
After a few seconds the cards moved of their own accord, rearranging
themselves to form a white cube.
“My message to Romana is in the
box,” she explained. “Now, one last
heave and…”
Vwoorp! Vwooorp! The box faded, dematerialised, vanished…
Chapter 3
IN WHICH ROMANA IS NOT EXACTLY THARIL-ED
WITH HER COMRADE
(a) Paws
for thought
“It won’t work, Biroc!” exclaimed Romana, “A full frontal attack will
only cause bloodshed!”
“The Tharils are a warrior race. You must bow to our military prowess.”
“No I shan’t. Think
it through, for goodness’ sake. It’s
not about fighting. It’s about avoiding
fighting. We need to rescue the cubs and
get out of there!”
Biroc remained impassive. This leonine species with which she’d got
herself over-involved was incorrigibly stubborn! Biroc was the worst offender - and he was the
leader! Romana uttered an expression of
frustration and went into her TARDIS.
She couldn’t be doing with
arguing with Biroc. She’d take matters
into her own hands. She flung down the
lever to dematerialise the TARDIS – vwooorp!
vwooorp! Short hop. Her destination was the cargo hold of the
space freighter Privateer of Enterprise,
part of the spacefleet of Time Lines Corporation, a company which reared baby
Tharils to sell as navigators for space vessels.
(b) The mane event
Romana’s TARDIS materialised at
one end of a long barren metallic corridor.
The corridor had a dozen doors running the length of its two long
walls. In this bleak grey environment
the TARDIS assumed the form of a bleak grey box, camouflaging itself from the
gaze of CCTV.
Romana would nonetheless have to
act quickly. First she must contact the
Tharil cubs telepathically. That was easy. She lacked Susan’s finesse at telepathy but
this was basic stuff. And Tharils being
time-sensitives were receptive to telepathy anyway. She gave the cubs their instructions.
She then stuck her hand out of
the TARDIS door and pointed her sonic screwdriver at each door in turn, hearing
its lock click open. When the twelfth
door clicked all twelve were simultaneously pushed open and over a hundred
Tharil cubs poured out of them through the double-doors of the TARDIS. The spaceship’s alarm sounded loudly: security
men came with machine guns. Too
late! Romana closed the TARDIS doors as
the men entered and the TARDIS dematerialised as they fired through a fading
box!
(c) Pride in her work
Romana entered the new
coordinates as the Tharil cubs scampered and gambolled around the console
room. Even she had to admit these little
lionish humanoids were rather sweet en masse.
And she’d rescued them all without a single life lost!
(d) Romana deserves to be lionised
The TARDIS materialised back on
the Tharil spaceship, twenty seconds after it had left. Romana opened the TARDIS doors and went out,
surrounded by cubs.
“There you go!” she addressed
Biroc. “I was right and you were
wrong. And not for the first time!”
She was waiting for some mystic
pronouncement from Biroc. He generally responded
to being given a hard time by uttering some incomprehensible twaddle. If Romana wanted gratitude she’d have to look
it up in a dictionary.
Thankfully the stand-off was
truncated. There was a tap-tap-tap on
the window of the Tharil spaceship.
Romana turned. To her surprise
she saw a little white box pressing itself against the window.
“Hello, you!” she smiled,
“Remarkable: you aren’t even in the right universe!”
Chapter 4
THE EXPLODING PRIME MINISTER
Spool forward twenty
minutes. Acting on the message from
Susan, Romana had excused herself to the Tharils and collected Susan in the
TARDIS, encountering a nervy David Campbell in so doing. Susan had given him an affectionate but firm
goodbye and the Time Ladies were now heading towards Uxarieus and 2971.
“I hope David doesn’t blame me
for leading you astray,” said Romana
“Oh it’s not that he blames you,
Romana, it’s simply that he doesn’t want me coming to any harm. We
argued, but I wouldn’t give way.”
“Good for you! All the same, I’d like to make friends with
him later. Do you know anything about
Uxarieus?”
“Only that I read it was some
barren, desolate place,” said Susan.
“Yes I vaguely remember the
Doctor saying it’s bleak,” concurred Romana, “He must have visited”.
Vwooorp! Vwooorp! The TARDIS materialised and assumed the shape
of a tall boulder.
“That’s funny,” said Romana,
frowning at a gauge on the console. “Traces
of artron energy. Seems this is the
exact same spot where a TARDIS landed some five hundred years ago.”
Susan and Romana went outside. Not bleak at all! They were in a verdant valley with slopes
filled with trees and the song of exotic birds.
The planet’s suns were high in the sky.
“Oh I do love far-away planets in
the afternoon,” said Romana, “the trick of the sunlight, all the warmth!”
At the head of the valley was a
cliff with something like a doorway. A
sign above the doorway announced in grand black lettering “Downing Street Cave
“Downing
Street ? That’s funny: that’s
the name of the café in Worksop where we hold our Cabinet meetings,” said
Susan. She had happy memories of the
approval of her many public works programmes around a table of steaming skinny
lattes.
The cave door slid open and a
green-skinned lady elegantly attired in a grey suit appeared.
“Good morning!” said the lady, approaching
them.
“Oh I do love far-away planets in
the morning,” said Romana, “the trick of the sunlight, all the warmth!”
“I’m Claudia Caldwell, Prime
Minister. You must be Susan and Romana,
thanks for being so prompt.” It wasn’t
hard to be prompt in a well-piloted time machine, thought Romana.
Claudia led them inside, into a
spacious study with a view of the valley.
“Do take a seat. Our problem is the murder of my predecessor,
Lady Winton. The government owns this
flying saucer, the Uxariean Express. It’s
used for grand occasions. We took it
into cruising orbit to throw a party for the Dalek Ambassador. We’re the first Commonwealth planet to accept
a Dalek Embassy so it was a big deal.”
“Daleks?” exclaimed Susan.
“Oh yes, they’ve been peaceful
for some time now,” explained Claudia, “One has
to bury the hatchet. Anyway, we had
a small party on board, glittering occasion and all that, but just a few
guests. Lady Winton was knocking it
back, but she could take it. Well, except
this time she couldn’t. Suddenly she went
blue, looked to be choking, and then exploded, blood and flesh all over the
rest of us!”
“That must have been awful!” said
Susan.
“Who else was there?” asked Romana.
“Well, apart from Lady Winton and
the Dalek Ambassador, I was there of course; I was then Deputy Prime
Minister. Then there was the Leader of
the Opposition, Anita Sour Bee of the Traditionalist Party, all airs and graces
as usual. There was also Lady Winton’s
predecessor Ringham Ashe, on the right-wing of our party; the party members
gave him the boot as leader so he’s resentful, despite having been made Foreign
Secretary. Lady Winton’s partner the
Space Gurkha was there too. There was a
buffet, no waiters or waitresses. What
remains of the buffet is with forensics.
And I’m afraid we’ve no CCTV footage: we Uxarieans are sticklers for
privacy.”
* * * * *
Romana was watching Claudia
intensely but suddenly Claudia faded and vanished, as did all the
surroundings! Romana now appeared to be
in a windowless room with pulsating orangey-brown walls. Susan was sitting facing her. Both women were in regal armchairs.
“Where in heaven’s name are we?”
“Can’t you guess?” smiled Susan.
“It’s not your brain is it?” Romana had heard tell of some escapade where
the Doctor had ended up in his own cranium.
“No, not my brain: my mind! It’s what you might call a mental reservation,
a mind-retreat.”
“Have you been practising
telepathy again, Susan?” said Romana, wagging her finger to feign a
telling-off. She looked around, admiring the glowing walls.
“Actually, I have to say, this is rather impressive!”
“Thanks. Yes, it’s telepathy, I’ve been brushing up. Not easy, I had to work it all out for
myself. No books on Earth on Time Lord
telepathy of course, and grandfather didn’t leave me any when he left. In fact he didn’t leave me with anything, not
even a pair of shoes on my feet!”
“Some people! Anyway, what exactly are we doing here? Won’t Claudia wonder where we’ve gone?”
“No she won’t. We’re outside time here. TARDIM.
I made up the word from the initials: Time and Relative Dimension in
Mind. I just thought we could decide here
whether to intervene or not, at our own pace.”
“Good idea. When I was with the Doctor I was sometimes
wary of meddling. He said of course we should interfere: always do
what you’re best at. Didn’t think that was much of an argument.”
“Typical!” said Susan, “But then
again, all the same, perhaps we should
do something for Uxarieus. Someone might
well have tried to achieve their political ends through murder. That’s not right.”
“Not right at all. Let’s investigate”.
Susan put her hands to her
forehead….the room faded…they were back in Claudia’s office.
* * * * *
“We’ll take the case!” said
Romana.
“Splendid,” said Claudia, “There
was one thing I was wondering. Your
advert mentions murders in time as well as space. Might it be possible – it would be so
wonderful – to go back in time and
prevent the murder from happening in the first place?”
“Absolutely not!” declared Susan,
her eyes darting in Romana’s direction to seek her approbation, “You can’t
rewrite history, not one single line! What
you are asking is utterly impossible!”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” nuanced Romana, who had studied temporal theory a little later
than Susan, when Time Lord grasp of the discipline had become less
rudimentary. “But Susan’s right in
substance. Certainly I sense that Lady Winton’s
murder is a fixed point in time: that’s something we Time Lords can
perceive. We feel time at the very core
of our beings, you see. And where there’s
a fixed point in time I’m afraid we cannot change what happened.”
“On the other hand,” said Susan, “there’s nothing to stop us returning in time to the scene of the murder and observing it.” Her voice tailed off: “It’ll be horrible of course.”
* * * * *
Susan and Romana entered the
TARDIS, Romana swiftly setting the coordinates.
“Back in time two days, and
upwards in space to the Uxariean Express in cruising orbit!
The TARDIS materialised in the
corner of a handsome room at the top of the flying saucer. The room boasted 360 degrees of window giving
magnificent views of the looming planet Uxarieus. Romana swiftly put the outer shield of the
TARDIS on invisible.
“I think you should go out and
have a closer look,” she suggested to Susan, “Go and plump cushions!”
“But they’ll see I’m not green!”
protested Susan.
“Ah, you’re reckoning without the
greatest make-up artist in Gallifrey, doyenne of the Academy’s amateur
dramatics society!” She clicked open a
rondel in the TARDIS wall to reveal a battered make-up box. “Thank goodness I’ve still got some alien
green left from that pantomime I put on with the Tharils.” How they’d vied to play the crocodile. She
held up a bottle of garish verdant pigment.
Funny how many aliens were that unforgiving hue! A green Susan, in her white blouse and brown
pinafore dress, could just about pass as Uxariean staff.
Once disguised, Susan went
outside and started needlessly plumping up cushions and unnecessarily
rearranging coffee tables. She kept a
sharp eye open for any means of murder.
Wines and a buffet had already been laid out: it looked tasty and Susan
could see nothing suspicious.
Suddenly she heard a raucous
laugh coming up the stairs. It belonged
an extraordinary-looking woman. Short,
squat, fat; bright green of skin, bulbous of eye and full of mouth. Yet
she was vibrant, alive, a personality one could not ignore for a moment…
“Lady Winton, Prime Minister” she
declared, waddling towards Susan and advancing both chubby hands to shake
Susan’s warmly. “You’ve done a
tremendous job here,” she said, eyeing the buffet.
“Oh it’s nothing,” said Susan
truthfully.
“Just as well it’s lavish, Mr
Ashe is in a foul mood today. Still sore about being given the push. You’d think after all these years! Are you
a party member?”
“Oh yes!” fibbed Susan, “And a
committed Wintonista!”
“Bless you, comrade! Well, watch out, our MPs are plotting another
vote of no confidence in me, the darlings!
Aha – you’ll have to excuse me, Dalek Ambassador ahoy!”
Lady Winton turned as the
Ambassador glided to the top of the stairs.
The Ambassador was a dark-red Dalek with lines of black globes on its
casing. Susan took her cue to slink back
into the invisible TARDIS.
“Learn anything?” asked Romana
“She seems nice and I wish we
could save her! I couldn’t see any means
of foul play.”
Romana dabbed Susan’s face with
ointment to remove the face paint as they watched the convivialities unfold on
the TARDIS monitor.
The Dalek trundled towards Lady
Winton.
“Ambassador, an honour to welcome
you!” To Romana’s and Susan’s surprise
she kissed the Dalek on both sides of its domed head unit. Mwah
mwah. “Do hope you had a good flight from Skaro, would you care for some
refreshment?”
They were soon joined by others:
Claudia appeared in a sandy chiffon frock, as tall and slim as the Prime
Minister was dumpy. Mwah mwah. A slick man with
a sharp suit joined the throng. He
looked unpleasant. Must be her party
rival and Foreign Secretary Ringham Ashe.
Nonetheless he got the mwah mwah.
“Rather a kissy planet,”
commented Romana.
A short, stocky human, midway
between Asian and oriental in appearance with pleasant features, arrived. He looked smart in a pale grey uniform and a
long row of medals. The Space Gurkha no
doubt: a particularly warm mwah mwah
for him.
No kisses for the final guest: a
posh, pale-green blond-haired woman with a shirty manner. It must be the Leader of the Opposition Anita
Sour Bee. Unpleasantries were exchanged
over a stiff handshake.
There was the requisite yapping
and quaffing as Claudia helped people to drinks and Ringham Ashe handed round
the canapés. Then it was time to broach
the buffet.
“May I offer you some solid refreshment, Ambassador?” asked
Lady Winton, “We heard you liked soufflé and had one baked for you”. The Dalek directed its eyestick towards the
billowing dish. Daleks rarely eat in
public but the Ambassador could not resist.
“Prime Minister, with this
soufflé you are really spoiling us!” it grated.
Click! The Dalek unlocked and
flipped open the hinged lid of its head unit.
A long tentacle ventured out and wrapped itself around the entire dish,
disappearing with it before snapping its lid tightly shut with a bang. Munching and slurping resounded from inside
the Dalek shell.
For their part the Uxarieans,
always fond of a free nosh, helped themselves lavishly, piling their platters
high.
“Some table manners at this do!”
complained Romana, drawing a veil over the gnashing, gnawing, gouging and
grunting to which she was accustomed from Tharil circles.
Lady Winton was stuffing herself
when it happened. She
looked as if something had disagreed with her, or maybe something got stuck in
her throat. Her eyes became more
bulbous than ever. Her greenness veered
towards blue. Then a deafening bang as
she exploded! Blood and gore everywhere,
including on the guests.
Resourcefully, Claudia reached
for the panic button. Emergency!
Emergency! Lights
flashed. Alarms sounded. Engines roared. Within seconds the Uxariean Express was
living up to its name, whizzing downwards at tremendous speed towards the
planet below.
* * * * *
Chapter 5
THE SPACE GURKHA
So the party had gone with a
bang, but not in a good way.
Romana pressed the TARDIS’s fast
return switch. Vrwoorp, vrwoorp!
“Well, what do you make of that?” she asked.
“Very upsetting,” said Susan
dispiritedly. “No shortage of suspects
though.”
“No indeed,” said Romana. “Claudia’s got pretty much the strongest
motive, somersaulting to Prime Minister.”
“But on the other hand, she did ask us to change history to save
Lady Winton’s life,” pointed out Susan.
“My money’s on the
Daleks. They’ll destabilise Uxarieus to
soften it up for invasion.”
“All the same, I don’t think you
can write off the Uxariean suspects.
That Anita Sour Bee seems pretty grim.
And Ringham Ashe isn’t as nice as he looks!”
Vrwoorp! Vrwooorp!
“Right, we’re back. Let’s tell all to Claudia.”
Opening the doors Romana walked
out. Susan lingered a few moments
examining the fast return switch. She
seemed oddly preoccupied with making sure the switch wasn’t getting stuck. Romana looked at her quizzically.
“Coming?”
Susan hurried out of the TARDIS.
Claudia was still outside and had
been joined by the Space Gurkha; the TARDIS had reverted to the form of a tall
boulder.
“Gosh you’ve only been gone
thirty seconds! May I introduce you to Ram
Raj Rana. We were discussing the details
of Lady Winton’s state funeral.”
The stocky, pleasant Gurkha bowed
slightly. He was now smartly attired in
the regular, khaki-green uniform of the Nepalese and British Space Army
Gurkhas, the flags of the two nations fused in the form of a space rocket on
his cap. He affected a brief smile, then
defaulted to disciplined solemnity.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,”
said Romana, “and we’ll do all we can to find out who’s responsible.”
“Thank you,” said Ram.
“I suspect the Daleks,” blurted
Susan, “Worth investigating them first.”
Romana looked at her friend. Had Susan’s experiences in Britain clouded
her judgment? It didn’t really matter: the Daleks were
certainly suspects, even if there were Uxarieans who were even more suspicious.
“Well you can seek an interview
with the Dalek Ambassador, she’s reasonably obliging,” suggested Claudia.
She?
“But the Daleks are so
deceitful!” countered Susan, appealing from face to face with an air of
desperation, “They’ll invite you round to eat, then ambush and kill you! We need to catch them unawares, get into
their place and see what’s going on.”
“I must warn you,” said Claudia,
“legally the Dalek Embassy isn’t the territory of this planet. It counts as part of Skaro.”
At that moment an assistant
arrived to remind Claudia that a Cabinet meeting was imminent. The Prime Minister hurried off, leaving an
awkward silence between the Time Ladies and Space Gurkha.
“I could always help you get into
the Embassy,” volunteered Ram.
“Are you sure?” asked Romana,
“Your loss must be traumatic, we wouldn’t want you to do anything unwise.”
“No,” he said, “I need work to
deal with grief! I will get climbing
equipment to scale the walls and return soon!”
And off he ran.
“Funny how people take
bereavement in different ways” said Romana, “Hard on him, losing a partner.”
“Have you never wanted to be part of a couple, Romana?” asked Susan.
“I find it difficult to summon the
enthusiasm!” replied Romana with a smile.
“I rub along pretty happily with David.”
“Yes, yes. I know. But I’m not the sort. Even that grandfather of yours got a bit trying in the end.”
“Oh, so you weren’t ever inclined
to marry grandfather?” asked Susan
playfully.
“Marry the Doctor? Phwar!
Any marriage between the Doctor and me would have been distinctly short-lived! Anyway, one can always have companions in the
TARDIS. So long as they flit off to do
something noble after a bit. It doesn’t
do for them to outstay their welcome.”
Susan thought: Romana’s a lot more independent than I am, but I’m
strong too. With grandfather I’d
forgotten I used to be strong. I knew I
could be again. I had to rescue myself…
Susan’s ponderings were truncated
by the return of the Space Gurkha with some kind of rope ladder.
“You ready?” Ram asked. Susan and Romana nodded assent.
The sure-footed soldier led them
through the jungle on narrow footpaths.
Hiding his grief well, he radiated competence, professionalism,
energy!
“May we ask you some questions as
we walk?” asked Romana.
“Certainly!” said Ram, ploughing
on ahead.
“How did you come to meet Lady
Winton?”
“There was a split in Nepal between
the Earth Gurkhas and the Space Gurkhas.
The Earth Gurkhas believed in staying on our home planet and pursuing
soldiering there. The Space Gurkhas
wanted to advance beyond our world.
There were other differences too.
Earth Gurkhas esteem traditional amorous attachments: Space Gurkhas
aspire to bisexuality as the nobler romantic calling.
“Anyway, I was appointed captain
of a space mission to Uxarieus. The
Commonwealth on Earth feared a coup against the Winton government. I was to lead a peace-keeping mission. We staved off bloodshed and I found love.”
Ram continued to lead the way,
hacking through hostile foliage and squirting flowers.
“Do you inherit from Lady
Winton?” asked Susan.
“Yes, I am sole heir. But please do not suppose I would kill for
money. I loved her Ladyship, and my
officer’s salary is entirely adequate.”
“Can you tell us about the soiree
for the Dalek Ambassador?”
“Yes of course. Her Ladyship was passionate about peace. She was determined to give the Dalek
Ambassador a warm welcome. Organising
the event fell under Miss Caldwell’s department. They sent round a young lady to ask about our
likes and dislikes for the buffet. We
wanted a smart occasion but above all to impress the Ambassador with our warmth
and friendship. Everyone had Uxariean
wine except the Ambassador. Then there
were nibbles and canapés. We polished
those off. Then everyone tucked into the
buffet. Uxarieans don’t hold back.”
Suddenly the path was truncated
by a high wall, thankfully ending Ram’s narrative just shy of his partner’s
death.
“Dalek Embassy!” he announced.
Without delay the Space Gurkha flung
the ladder over the wall.
“Thank you so much, Ram, but we need
to finish this mission on our own,” said Romana.
She expected argument, but had
reckoned without the Space Gurkha’s military discipline. He bowed slightly and helped them up the
rope ladder. Within a few moments Susan and Romana had made it into the grounds
of the Dalek Embassy.
Had they been naïve? True, the Daleks had only just moved in the
day before. But Daleks don’t hang
about. They’d already set up their
security cameras. Within seconds three
grey Daleks appeared, gliding at speed towards the Time Ladies.
“Do not move! Do not move!
You are our prisoner! DO NOT MOVE!”
Chapter 6
EMBASSY OF DEATH
The dark-red Dalek almost pushed
itself through its grey subordinates.
“Ambassador!” said Romana.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? EGGS-plain!
EGGS-plain!”
“We’re two Gallifreyans,
Ambassador,” said Susan politely. “The
Prime Minister has appointed us to investigate the murder of Lady Winton.”
“Then why did you not seek an
interview with me? I’m a reas-on-ab-le
per-son!”
That’s not what you expect a
Dalek to come out with! Susan and Romana
looked astonished, first at the Ambassador then at themselves.
“Come inside,” grated the Dalek,
“Would you care for some tea?”
They filed in through open French
windows to a modish lounge. The
Ambassador used its sucker to beckon them towards a sofa.
“I’m a bit confused Ambassador,”
said Susan, “I’m used to Daleks being rather more…hostile.”
“Duh-h!” rasped the Dalek, “What
century are you liv-ing in?” More
consternation. Susan and Romana had
never before been the butt of Dalek sarcasm.
One of the grey Daleks arrived
with a tea tray: finest bone china.
“I baked a cake, but it was too
beau-ti-ful to live. Now, has the pot
had enough rels to brew? Will you be
parent or will I?” screeched the Ambassador, eager to avoid rigid gender stereotypes. The Dalek deployed its sucker to adroitly
pour out the tea.
“Have you been an Ambassador
long?” asked Susan with trepidation.
“I used to be junior
entertainments officer on a Starliner until I became a Dalek.”
Became a Dalek?
“At first I was in denial about
my con-vers-ion. Now I cling to the
Dalek race.”
“Why?” asked Susan, “What could possibly drive you towards the Daleks?
“Hu-man-oids,” screeched the
Dalek, “Hu-man-oids who did not think my life worth sav-ing since I have the
form of a Da-lek!”
“How prejudiced!” said Romana
with indignation.
“One of them told me I was no
longer hu-man. I told him to run.
Run, run you ‘clever’ boy. Run,
and remember your big-ot-ry. Run and don’t come back.
“As soon as I’d seen the back of
him, it came to me in a blind-ing flash.
I would not mourn being human: I would glory in the name of Da-lek. I would become the per-fect Da-lek. Where they go I shall go, their kind shall be
my kind: I was born to save the Da-leks!
“I teleported to safety in a
Dalek ship. I joined Dalek society,
joined Dalek pol-i-tics. The mood had already shifted in my
dir-ect-ion. The Daleks had convened a
Dalek Parliament. No more dic-tat-or-ships! I served in government as Minister of
Peace. A long and, I hope, dist-in-guished
car-eer. This post is a thank-you from
Skaro.”
“What a lovely story,” said Romana,
“I must admit, Susan and I haven’t seen the Daleks at their best. It’s all been ‘exterminate, exterminate’.”
“Our warlike ways are behind us,”
said the Ambassador, “The Daleks are peace-loving. Now, how may I help you with this mur-der?”
“Well, any details of the party
on the Uxariean Express would be valuable,” said Susan.
Now, I know that the Daleks have
a bad reputation for being manipulative and deceitful, but this Dalek liked to embroider, in order to make a better
story. This posed a problem for our
sleuths.
“I glided to the top of the
stairs; Lady Winton greeted me. In fact,
she practically snogged me. It was like
being snogged by a giant frog. There was
some domestic midget scurrying away, into some invisible cabinet. It was you!”
said the Dalek, pointing its eye-stick towards Susan in belated
realisation. Susan nodded in confession.
“Then more guests arrived. There was the stick insect lady, Claudia,
pouring out drinks. She did well out of the death: Prime
Min-is-ter now. And there was Gurkha
boy: what a Mist-er Hot-tie. Love a man
with med-als. He quite sent tingles down
my tent-a-cles. Then there was Brylcreem boy.
He handed round the
canapés. All hale and heart-y. He was making a play for soldier boy. Either that or he was after Miss Fancy-Pants. Diff-i-cult to say.”
Daleks LOVE gossip! Romana wondered whether the Ambassador was a
reliable source.
“I hacked into their phone calls
af-ter-wards. He and Miss Hoi-ty-Toi-ty
were discussing a government of national unity, if you know what I mean,” grated
the Dalek salaciously.
“Were they actually discussing a coalition?” asked Susan.
“Er, yes, that too,” conceded the
Dalek, peeved at having the raunchy spin diluted.
“Is it altogether respectable to
hack the host state’s telephones?” asked Romana.
“No. But we Daleks need to keep abreast of hank-y
pank-y.”
The Dalek concluded with a
graphic account of Lady Winton’s death, related with some relish but adding no
fresh intelligence. Having finished
their tea the Time Ladies thanked their affable host and quit the Dalek Embassy.
Chapter 7
THE STALE BREAD AND THE RANCID BUTTER
“Micro-explosives in the wine!”
said Claudia, brandishing the toxicology report. Susan and Romana had returned to the Downing Street cave and were with the Prime Minister in
her office. “But it doesn’t stack up,”
she continued, “We all had the wine,
except the Dalek. Why didn’t we all explode?”
“These weapons must surely be
banned on every civilised planet in the galaxy,” said Romana.
“Including this one!” said
Claudia.
“Might the micro-explosives have
been honed to Lady Winton’s DNA?” asked Susan.
“Apparently not. That’s what makes no sense. Our scientists say they were rather
unsophisticated. So how come they killed
Lady Winton and no-one else?
* * * * *
The Cave of Foreign
Mr Ashe’s office was splendid
too. He beckoned Susan and Romana to
sit. He was tall, slim and sharply
dressed, just the wrong side of handsome and a bit of a smoothychops.
“I don’t know how I can help you ladies. All I did was hand round the crisps, nuts and
canapés,” said Ringham.
“Do you recall what was in the canapés?” asked Romana.
“There were all sorts: suns-dried tomatoes, mutant prawns,
olives and anchovies, Uxariean green cheese…”
“We understand Lady Winton replaced you as party leader; you
didn’t resent her?” asked Romana.
“Oh, that goes with the
turf! There was political disagreement,”
explained Ringham, “My wing of the
Party had no problem with certain Uxarieans becoming filthy rich; we sought
open markets and sound finance. I was
got rid of as leader because I toiled to get entrepreneurs from other planets
to invest here, a fine pay-back! But I
don’t blame Lady Winton, it was the party members who gave me the sack.”
“And how did you get along with
her since you’ve been Foreign Secretary?” quizzed Susan.
“Alright. Well, except - you’ll find out anyway so I
should say - we did have a disagreement about the planet Eracho. It’s a dictatorship in our solar system, rich
in artron ore. I wanted to intervene and rescue its people. The Eracho invasion was going to be my
crowning glory but Lady Winton vetoed it,” he said glumly, but then a toothy grin
flashed across his face.
“Still, can’t complain; I’m
Foreign Secretary after all, one of the great offices of state! Lady Winton and I had our disagreements but
of course I respected her. She stood up
for what she believed; I admired that. I
would never have dreamt of harming a hair on her head.”
* * * * *
Anita Sour Bee existed in a
perpetual state of righteous indignation.
She could add nothing useful to the account of the party on the Uxariean
Express, yet insisted on holding forth to Susan and Romana.
“I am absolutely outraged that you could even consider me a suspect,” she fumed. “I am from most distinguished families on both my human and Nu sides. I am in all likelihood descended from the
Guardian of the Doomsday Weapon himself!”
“And as for the Egalitarian Party,
that was a respectable party until it
embraced that pernicious doctrine of social equality!” huffed the shrill
conservative, “All Winton’s doing of
course. And now we’ve got Caldwell
“Now Mr Ashe is a gentleman,” she
rhapsodised fondly, “To have him on
the other side of the Despatch Box would be civilized
politics. Not like those two
harridans, Winton and Caldwell!”
* * * * *
Cordelia Dent, a junior civil
servant, though youthful, was an Uxariean Ophelia devoid of physical
attraction. Her dull green face was
surrounded with long, wet-looking hair.
“The Department doesn’t like to
waste food,” she explained, “And Uxarieans can be faddy even though they eat a
lot. I went round the guests beforehand
to take down their likes and dislikes for the buffet.”
She proffered a sheet of paper:
Ram
Raj Rana no dislikes.
Dalek
Ambassador tee-total, partial to
soufflé.
Claudia
Caldwell vegan, gluten intolerant.
Lady Winton dislikes olives and anchovies.
Anita
Sour Bee nut allergy, avoids
carbs.
Ringham
Ashe dislikes
cheese, allergic to mushrooms.
“And this was the order in which
you saw them?”
“Yes, that’s right: starting with
Mr Rana and ending with Mr Ashe.”
During this exchange Susan was
staring out of the window. Romana looked
at her and wondered if she wasn’t being unusually rude.
She was daydreaming. She saw herself with grandfather. They were at some exotic space market, so
very long ago. So exotic, so oriental… Somewhere far-flung…had it been
Akharten? There’d been some gorgeously
fat fellow swathed in raiments of red and gold, his skin an uncompromising
shade of blue… What had he tried to sell
grandfather? It was on the tip of her tongue…
She stood up, rushed out of the
room. Out of the building. Towards the TARDIS. She reached into her pocket for the spare key
Romana had given her. Opening the door
she hurried into the console room, typed words onto the keyboard on the console,
the TARDIS computer whirred…
On the TARDIS monitor the words
appeared in glaring computer print:
CALLISTO PULSE
Chapter 8
SUSAN AND ROMANA SPILL THE BEANS
“We know you did it,” said Susan, having stormed into the Foreign Secretary's office along with Romana,“and we know how you did it!”
“This is a disgraceful
accusation,” snarled Ringham Ashe, “and I am quite sure you don’t have a single
scintilla of proof!”
“Oh, you’re perfectly right,”
said Romana, “we’ve no proof. We’ve something better. A time machine. We can go back in time, back to the Uxariean
Express. You needn’t think we can’t or
won’t. We know how you managed to kill Lady Winton without killing anyone
else: we can watch the means of the crime and not let them out of our sight for
a moment. We can record what happened. Easy as pie: easy, you might say, as canapés.”
Ringham Ashe fell silent, his face
paling to a shade of light green.
* * * * *
What is a Callisto Pulse?” asked Claudia.
“It’s anything which disarms micro-explosives,”
said Romana, “At first, the crime didn’t seem to make sense. The basic fact of
the matter was that everyone had the explosive wine except the Dalek.”
“That’s right,” said Susan, “and
that meant that there had to be an antidote given to everyone except Lady Winton. That’s where the list of dislikes came
in. It provided the killer with the
means of murder. Contaminate the wine,
then put the Callisto Pulses in whatever Lady Winton doesn’t eat.”
“The last person on the list was
Ringham Ashe,” continued Romana. “It
wouldn’t have been hard for him to sneak a look at it. It was he who offered round the nibbles and
canapés. Easy for him to flag up those with olives and anchovies to deter
Lady Winton from eating them. The remark
‘would you care for an olive canapé, Prime Minister?’ would have elicited a
definitive ‘no’.
“He had a particularly strong
motive to kill Lady Winton. She had crushed both his ambitions to
lead the country and his hopes of invading a foreign power. Her death might help the right wing of the
Party break out of its isolation and might propel him back to the
Premiership. He’d already put out
feelers about forming a coalition. He
could not have predicted that the Party would choose you with acclaim.”
“Quite,” said Claudia.
“Others had weaker motives. True, you became Prime Minister: but Lady
Winton was a comrade and you asked us to go back and change history in order to
save her. Ram’s love for Lady Winton
seems perfectly genuine, and the Dalek Ambassador has no axe to grind. Anita Sour Bee appears to see you as an even
bigger threat than Lady Winton.”
“Well, and have you confronted Mr
Ashe?”
Susan was poised to reply when at
that moment the telephone rang.
“Hello?”
“Prime Minister, this is the
Foreign Office. There’s been a terrible accident”.
* * * * *
EXTRACT from the Morning
Scream:
We regret to
announce the death of Mr Ringham Ashe MP, Foreign Secretary and one-time leader
of the Egalitarian Party, in a tragic accident.
Mr Ashe, who was fearful of assassination attacks, always took a small
ray gun with him. He was polishing this in
his office when it went off accidentally and killed him. Death was instantaneous. The deepest sympathy will be felt for Mrs
Ashe etc., etc.
Epilogue
THE GREAT FLYING SAUCER OF LIFE
The planet’s golden suns were
setting on the three women as they approached the TARDIS.
“Thank you ever so much for
solving the murder,” said Claudia, “Now I only have to worry about running a
planet!”
“Oh you’ll be fine!” said Susan
breezily, “I always think running a country’s a bit like piloting a flying
saucer. You fuel it up with all your
principles and beliefs and ideas, then you need lots and lots of thrust to get
things started. Then you need to keep things going.
Slacken the pace too much and you’ll end up crashing back down: keep up
the pressure and your flight will make history!”
“Trust the flying saucer,
Claudia,” said Romana, fitting the key into the TARDIS lock and turning
it. “And trust Susan and Romana – They know.”
THE END
SUSAN AND ROMANA WILL
RETURN IN
DEAD
ROBOMAN’S
FOLLY
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