Read Online Doctor Who: Remembrance of the Daleks by Ben Aaronovitch, Nicholas Briggs, Terry Molloy - Free Book Online Page B
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bimbos whose name escaped her. Anything would be better than Dennis Boredom and his terminally tuneful string quartet. She had already tried the television, but all that showed was some woman with a posh accent thick enough to insulate cavity walls who played a piano while a wooden donkey jerked up and down.
And people get nostalgic about this decade, she thought.
In seven years I’ll be born; in twenty-four years I’ll be sweating gelignite and something will happen – what did the Doctor call it? – an ‘adjustment’. An adjustment will happen and take me out of time. Ace decided she liked that. It could be worse: it could be Perivale.
Ace went to the window and pulled back the chintz curtain. A couple of boys were kicking a football around the street. She watched them, and then she noticed square of cardboard in the window. It was hanging face outward; Ace took it off the hook and flipped it over. It was a hand-lettered sign which read:
NO COLOUREDS.
Ghost smell of disinfectant and charred wood.
Ace snatched up her jacket and rucksack, almost choking on the memories.
‘I’m just going out for some fresh air,’ she called out angrily. Not knowing or caring whether Mrs Smith heard, Ace ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
‘What’s next on the list?’ asked Mike.
Allison ran her finger down the sheet of paper attached to the clipboard. ‘Parabolic reflector, twenty to thirty centimetres.’
‘What’s that in English?’
‘Twelve inches or thereabouts.’
The Doctor had dashed off the list in the map room and handed it to Gilmore. He had handed it to Rachel, who, of course, had handed it to her. Allison and Mike had then scoured Maybury Hall for the varied array of items.
Cannibalizing the messroom TV had not enhanced their popularity with the enlisted men.
‘Where are we going to get a parabolic reflector?’
‘Radio aerial,’ suggested Mike.
‘No, it says silvered, as in mirror. It’s the last item.’
‘I know, it’s...’ He stopped and waved his free hand around.
‘On the tip of your tongue,’ said Allison.
‘Hot.’
‘Cooker,’
‘Warm.’
‘What?’
‘Like a cooker... electric...’ he was getting quite frantic,
‘ring... electric ring.
‘An electric heater?’
‘Yes,’ said Mike with relief.
‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place.’
Rachel watched the figures clatter on to the teleprinter: orbital co-ordinates, occlusion and estimated mass.
That can’t be right, she thought.
The mass was given as four hundred thousand tonnes.
Oh my god! That was incredible!
A hand reached down and ripped the completed message off the machine.
‘Here we are,’ said the Doctor.
He sounds almost cheerful, thought Rachel. What does he know?
‘It’s a big mothership of some kind – could have as many as four hundred Daleks on board,’ continued the Doctor. ‘At least we know where it is.’
‘Much good that does us,’ said Rachel.
‘It would be foolish of me, I suppose,’ said Gilmore, ‘to hope that this mothership is not nuclear capable.’
Doesn’t he realize yet what we are dealing with, thought Rachel – engineering on that scale, technology beyond anything dreamed of.
‘That ship has weapons capable of cracking this planet open like an egg.’
Allison and Mike banged through the doors with armfuls of junk. ‘We got the parts you wanted, Doctor,’
said Allison.
‘Put them on the table.’
Rachel winced as delicate circuit boards tumbled on to the billiard table amid strips of metal, wires and unidentifiable components.
The Doctor pulled up a chair and sat facing the pile.
Delicately he unrolled a wide suede strip on the table to reveal interesting looking tools that were held in place by loops and pouches. The Doctor picked up a circuit board and selected one of the tools.
‘Is the mothership the Daleks’ main base?’ asked Gilmore.
‘For one group at least,’ said the Doctor, prising a
And people get nostalgic about this decade, she thought.
In seven years I’ll be born; in twenty-four years I’ll be sweating gelignite and something will happen – what did the Doctor call it? – an ‘adjustment’. An adjustment will happen and take me out of time. Ace decided she liked that. It could be worse: it could be Perivale.
Ace went to the window and pulled back the chintz curtain. A couple of boys were kicking a football around the street. She watched them, and then she noticed square of cardboard in the window. It was hanging face outward; Ace took it off the hook and flipped it over. It was a hand-lettered sign which read:
NO COLOUREDS.
Ghost smell of disinfectant and charred wood.
Ace snatched up her jacket and rucksack, almost choking on the memories.
‘I’m just going out for some fresh air,’ she called out angrily. Not knowing or caring whether Mrs Smith heard, Ace ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
‘What’s next on the list?’ asked Mike.
Allison ran her finger down the sheet of paper attached to the clipboard. ‘Parabolic reflector, twenty to thirty centimetres.’
‘What’s that in English?’
‘Twelve inches or thereabouts.’
The Doctor had dashed off the list in the map room and handed it to Gilmore. He had handed it to Rachel, who, of course, had handed it to her. Allison and Mike had then scoured Maybury Hall for the varied array of items.
Cannibalizing the messroom TV had not enhanced their popularity with the enlisted men.
‘Where are we going to get a parabolic reflector?’
‘Radio aerial,’ suggested Mike.
‘No, it says silvered, as in mirror. It’s the last item.’
‘I know, it’s...’ He stopped and waved his free hand around.
‘On the tip of your tongue,’ said Allison.
‘Hot.’
‘Cooker,’
‘Warm.’
‘What?’
‘Like a cooker... electric...’ he was getting quite frantic,
‘ring... electric ring.
‘An electric heater?’
‘Yes,’ said Mike with relief.
‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place.’
Rachel watched the figures clatter on to the teleprinter: orbital co-ordinates, occlusion and estimated mass.
That can’t be right, she thought.
The mass was given as four hundred thousand tonnes.
Oh my god! That was incredible!
A hand reached down and ripped the completed message off the machine.
‘Here we are,’ said the Doctor.
He sounds almost cheerful, thought Rachel. What does he know?
‘It’s a big mothership of some kind – could have as many as four hundred Daleks on board,’ continued the Doctor. ‘At least we know where it is.’
‘Much good that does us,’ said Rachel.
‘It would be foolish of me, I suppose,’ said Gilmore, ‘to hope that this mothership is not nuclear capable.’
Doesn’t he realize yet what we are dealing with, thought Rachel – engineering on that scale, technology beyond anything dreamed of.
‘That ship has weapons capable of cracking this planet open like an egg.’
Allison and Mike banged through the doors with armfuls of junk. ‘We got the parts you wanted, Doctor,’
said Allison.
‘Put them on the table.’
Rachel winced as delicate circuit boards tumbled on to the billiard table amid strips of metal, wires and unidentifiable components.
The Doctor pulled up a chair and sat facing the pile.
Delicately he unrolled a wide suede strip on the table to reveal interesting looking tools that were held in place by loops and pouches. The Doctor picked up a circuit board and selected one of the tools.
‘Is the mothership the Daleks’ main base?’ asked Gilmore.
‘For one group at least,’ said the Doctor, prising a
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