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Authors: Doctor Who
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The Doctor had to hand it to Tiermann. He really was a whizz with all that stuff. He had built robots out of seemingly everything – old lamp stands and drinks cabinets. . . everything! He could bestow intelligence on any kind of inanimate object, it seemed. Tiermann was like some kind of Frankenstein. . . but using furniture and household objects, rather than human body parts. . .
Exploring the rooms of this desolate level, the Doctor found that he soon returned to the doors of the elevator. He gave the controls another go with his sonic screwdriver, but with no result. Somehow they were completely impervious to the old sonic, which the Doctor took rather personally.
Hmm. Something different about the doorway this time, though.
He blinked. That wasn’t there before, was it? He was sure it hadn’t been.
There was a bulky vending machine standing next to the lift door.
It certainly hadn’t been here, last time he had wandered through this way. It was one of those machines with the glass front, showing the rows of cans of pop and bags of crisps for sale. The Doctor stared at it and realised he was quite peckish. He fished around in his overcoat pockets, finding coins which, if not the correct currency, were about the right size. He had just forced one of the coins in when the whole machine shook and gave a sort of cough.
‘Oh hello,’ said a velvety female voice, emanating from deep within the vending machine. ‘Good morning. I think you’ll find that coin is the wrong sort.’
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Course. The machine talks. All the machines talk. Why should this one be different?’ Rather shamefacedly, he pocketed his inappropriate coinage. ‘Erm. I don’t have the right 54
money. But I’m starving hungry. Any chance of some crisps?’
‘My name is Barbara,’ said the machine, in its smoothly seductive voice. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Crisps!’ the Doctor shouted, into the metal grille next to the coin slot. ‘I could eat my own trainers, here!’
‘You’ll just have to owe me,’ Barbara sighed, and all her insides lit up suddenly. There was a clunking and a thunking from within and suddenly a can of pop and three packets of crisps shot out into the tray near the Doctor’s feet.
‘That’s great,’ he grinned, grabbing them up. ‘Thanks, Barbara. I’m the Doctor, by the way. And I’ll see that you get paid.’
‘Oh, no matter,’ sighed Barbara, rather voluptuously. She shrugged her shoulders – and that was the first the Doctor realised that she had arms hanging down either side of her squat bulk. She was the most ungainly robot he had ever seen. She went on: ‘I’m just pleased to be of service, Doctor. It’s been a long time since anyone’s shown any interest in my comestibles.’
The Doctor opened up a packet of smoky bacon. ‘Nothing like crisps for breakfast,’ he grinned. Then he pulled a face. They were soggy.
It was like eating old leaves fished out of the gutter. He tried to hide his disappointment. He didn’t want to upset Barbara. ‘Delicious.’ He really hoped the pop wasn’t flat. But the can opened with a reassuring fizz.
‘So. . . you have been relegated to the Minus Levels, too, have you?’
Barbara said, looking the Doctor up and down. ‘I must say, you don’t look much like a Servo-furnishing. Has Tiermann taken up fashioning androids?’
‘I’m not an android,’ the Doctor shrugged. ‘I’m a prisoner down here. Old Tiermann wanted me out of the way.’
‘Oh well,’ said Barbara. ‘He’s like that. I fell from favour a good while ago. I don’t even know why. Years ago, it was. I’ve been here ever since. Shuffling about on Minus Thirty-Nine. Hoping that, some day, someone like you would turn up. Someone who wants crisps and pop for breakfast!’ There was a lift in her tone, like the Doctor had made her happier than she could ever remember being.
55
Suddenly the Doctor was imagining days stretching out ahead, with nothing to
Exploring the rooms of this desolate level, the Doctor found that he soon returned to the doors of the elevator. He gave the controls another go with his sonic screwdriver, but with no result. Somehow they were completely impervious to the old sonic, which the Doctor took rather personally.
Hmm. Something different about the doorway this time, though.
He blinked. That wasn’t there before, was it? He was sure it hadn’t been.
There was a bulky vending machine standing next to the lift door.
It certainly hadn’t been here, last time he had wandered through this way. It was one of those machines with the glass front, showing the rows of cans of pop and bags of crisps for sale. The Doctor stared at it and realised he was quite peckish. He fished around in his overcoat pockets, finding coins which, if not the correct currency, were about the right size. He had just forced one of the coins in when the whole machine shook and gave a sort of cough.
‘Oh hello,’ said a velvety female voice, emanating from deep within the vending machine. ‘Good morning. I think you’ll find that coin is the wrong sort.’
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Course. The machine talks. All the machines talk. Why should this one be different?’ Rather shamefacedly, he pocketed his inappropriate coinage. ‘Erm. I don’t have the right 54
money. But I’m starving hungry. Any chance of some crisps?’
‘My name is Barbara,’ said the machine, in its smoothly seductive voice. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Crisps!’ the Doctor shouted, into the metal grille next to the coin slot. ‘I could eat my own trainers, here!’
‘You’ll just have to owe me,’ Barbara sighed, and all her insides lit up suddenly. There was a clunking and a thunking from within and suddenly a can of pop and three packets of crisps shot out into the tray near the Doctor’s feet.
‘That’s great,’ he grinned, grabbing them up. ‘Thanks, Barbara. I’m the Doctor, by the way. And I’ll see that you get paid.’
‘Oh, no matter,’ sighed Barbara, rather voluptuously. She shrugged her shoulders – and that was the first the Doctor realised that she had arms hanging down either side of her squat bulk. She was the most ungainly robot he had ever seen. She went on: ‘I’m just pleased to be of service, Doctor. It’s been a long time since anyone’s shown any interest in my comestibles.’
The Doctor opened up a packet of smoky bacon. ‘Nothing like crisps for breakfast,’ he grinned. Then he pulled a face. They were soggy.
It was like eating old leaves fished out of the gutter. He tried to hide his disappointment. He didn’t want to upset Barbara. ‘Delicious.’ He really hoped the pop wasn’t flat. But the can opened with a reassuring fizz.
‘So. . . you have been relegated to the Minus Levels, too, have you?’
Barbara said, looking the Doctor up and down. ‘I must say, you don’t look much like a Servo-furnishing. Has Tiermann taken up fashioning androids?’
‘I’m not an android,’ the Doctor shrugged. ‘I’m a prisoner down here. Old Tiermann wanted me out of the way.’
‘Oh well,’ said Barbara. ‘He’s like that. I fell from favour a good while ago. I don’t even know why. Years ago, it was. I’ve been here ever since. Shuffling about on Minus Thirty-Nine. Hoping that, some day, someone like you would turn up. Someone who wants crisps and pop for breakfast!’ There was a lift in her tone, like the Doctor had made her happier than she could ever remember being.
55
Suddenly the Doctor was imagining days stretching out ahead, with nothing to
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