Read Online Doctor Whom or ET Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Parodication by Adam Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: Adam Roberts
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need to tell you how serious a development this is. If Stavros is able to arm his evil cyborg army with TGVs, then the whole future of Time Gentlemanliness is in danger. We could all be wiped out!’
‘What can we do!’
‘For now,’ said the Chair, ‘continue with your various missions. We have breaches of time-grammar that need clearing up in every sector of the Galaxy. Meanwhile the Council of Time Gentlemen will ponder our options. We may be compelled to take the most drastic course of action of all - going back in time to before Stavros was able to create his monstrosities, and eliminating them before they are even created!’
There was only one item of ‘any other business’, relating to the washrooms. After that the meeting was adjourned.
Chapter Six
THE SLUTTYTEENS
The TARDY rematerialised on the patch of green lawn just outside the Houses of Parliament in London, England, Europe, the World, Solar System. The date was 1960. It was a bright sunny day.
‘So what’s the problem here?’ Linn was asking as we stepped from the TARDY. Red Routemaster double-decker buses rolled past. Beefeaters walked arm-in-arm with soldiers in busbies. Everybody was wearing miniskirts, driving mini-cars, and laughing with mini-hahas.
‘It’s like a history lesson!’ I exclaimed.
‘Lesson in ahistory,’ Linn said darkly. ‘More like.’
I smiled at this, and even forced out a chuckle, but then I gave up. ‘No, I don’t get that at all.’
‘Never mind.’
‘Come along,’ said the Dr. ‘We’ve a job to do. The government here has been infiltrated,’ the Dr said. ‘An alien race called the Sluttyteens. They look on the outside like obese teenagers. But that’s just a prosthetic skin-suit. Underneath that skin, gleaming as it is with the oil of sebum, are pure Slutties, from the planet Slut.’ The Dr shook his head. ‘Very nasty types. No class or style at all.’
‘They shouldn’t be here?’
‘Indeed not. That’s a clear violation of the law of temporal enclitic participles, right there. They shouldn’t be on this planet at all. They should just go back to the planet Slut, and grow up. If we were to do nothing they’d use their hidden positions to pass a series of laws liberalising sexual behaviour, turning nineteen-sixties Britain into a louche and swinging place with no respect of any kind for order, grammar, sequentiality or anything at all. They must be stopped!’
‘How?’
‘Should be easy enough. I’ll slip into the main chamber of Parliament, whilst a governmental debate is going on. I’ll walk up to the Minister for Swinging Affairs, and yank off her skin-suit - in full view of everybody. Once they’re exposed, it’ll be a simple matter to chase them back to their homeworld.’
‘Shall we come with you?’ I asked.
‘Nah,’ said the Dr. ‘I’ll be fine by myself. It should only take me a minute.’ He marched off for the main entrance of the House of Commons.
It was a warm and sunshiny day, and it was pleasant to sit on the grass with Linn at my side.
‘Linn,’ I said, plucking strands of grass and twirling them between my fingertips. ‘Now that the Dr’s away for a moment, can I confess something to you?’
‘Go on.’
‘Promise not to tell him?’
‘Alright.’
‘I know how important grammar and everything is to you. And I know I’m a prose tailor and everything. But the thing is . . . ’
‘What?’
‘I can never remember when to use who and when to use whom ,’ I said. ‘Frankly, I can’t understand why we have both those words. We could just make do with who and everybody would still understand everybody.’
‘Maybe they would,’ Linn agreed. ‘But then we could probably understand one another if we did away with all grammatical tense, all distinction between subject and object . . . why, we could probably point and grunt and get our message across. But it wouldn’t be a very elegant or sophisticated universe, then, would it?’
‘No
‘What can we do!’
‘For now,’ said the Chair, ‘continue with your various missions. We have breaches of time-grammar that need clearing up in every sector of the Galaxy. Meanwhile the Council of Time Gentlemen will ponder our options. We may be compelled to take the most drastic course of action of all - going back in time to before Stavros was able to create his monstrosities, and eliminating them before they are even created!’
There was only one item of ‘any other business’, relating to the washrooms. After that the meeting was adjourned.
Chapter Six
THE SLUTTYTEENS
The TARDY rematerialised on the patch of green lawn just outside the Houses of Parliament in London, England, Europe, the World, Solar System. The date was 1960. It was a bright sunny day.
‘So what’s the problem here?’ Linn was asking as we stepped from the TARDY. Red Routemaster double-decker buses rolled past. Beefeaters walked arm-in-arm with soldiers in busbies. Everybody was wearing miniskirts, driving mini-cars, and laughing with mini-hahas.
‘It’s like a history lesson!’ I exclaimed.
‘Lesson in ahistory,’ Linn said darkly. ‘More like.’
I smiled at this, and even forced out a chuckle, but then I gave up. ‘No, I don’t get that at all.’
‘Never mind.’
‘Come along,’ said the Dr. ‘We’ve a job to do. The government here has been infiltrated,’ the Dr said. ‘An alien race called the Sluttyteens. They look on the outside like obese teenagers. But that’s just a prosthetic skin-suit. Underneath that skin, gleaming as it is with the oil of sebum, are pure Slutties, from the planet Slut.’ The Dr shook his head. ‘Very nasty types. No class or style at all.’
‘They shouldn’t be here?’
‘Indeed not. That’s a clear violation of the law of temporal enclitic participles, right there. They shouldn’t be on this planet at all. They should just go back to the planet Slut, and grow up. If we were to do nothing they’d use their hidden positions to pass a series of laws liberalising sexual behaviour, turning nineteen-sixties Britain into a louche and swinging place with no respect of any kind for order, grammar, sequentiality or anything at all. They must be stopped!’
‘How?’
‘Should be easy enough. I’ll slip into the main chamber of Parliament, whilst a governmental debate is going on. I’ll walk up to the Minister for Swinging Affairs, and yank off her skin-suit - in full view of everybody. Once they’re exposed, it’ll be a simple matter to chase them back to their homeworld.’
‘Shall we come with you?’ I asked.
‘Nah,’ said the Dr. ‘I’ll be fine by myself. It should only take me a minute.’ He marched off for the main entrance of the House of Commons.
It was a warm and sunshiny day, and it was pleasant to sit on the grass with Linn at my side.
‘Linn,’ I said, plucking strands of grass and twirling them between my fingertips. ‘Now that the Dr’s away for a moment, can I confess something to you?’
‘Go on.’
‘Promise not to tell him?’
‘Alright.’
‘I know how important grammar and everything is to you. And I know I’m a prose tailor and everything. But the thing is . . . ’
‘What?’
‘I can never remember when to use who and when to use whom ,’ I said. ‘Frankly, I can’t understand why we have both those words. We could just make do with who and everybody would still understand everybody.’
‘Maybe they would,’ Linn agreed. ‘But then we could probably understand one another if we did away with all grammatical tense, all distinction between subject and object . . . why, we could probably point and grunt and get our message across. But it wouldn’t be a very elegant or sophisticated universe, then, would it?’
‘No
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