ENEMY WITHIN

Chapter 8

Coughing and waving away the white smoke which wafted through the now-dimly lit TARDIS console room, the Doctor quickly went over to where Donna lay on the floor.

"You alright, Donna?" He asked, helping her to her feet.

"Cheers." Donna nodded.

"Good thing the TARDIS automatically activated it's collision shielding. As it is, she doesn't appear to have sustained any major damage. Although, I hope you don't need to use any of the bathrooms anytime soon. I'll er—get the TARDIS to re-build new one's." The Doctor said, as he continued checking for problems.

"I hope you got the plate number of that driver. You know, you really ought to install some airbags on this thing, Doctor." Donna told him. "I wish you hadn't mentioned bathrooms. Now I have to erm—you know."

"Ey?" he looked up, puzzled. Then he got it. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He apologized. "It'll only take a few minutes to to fix it. Tell you what." He smiled at her. "I'll make up for the inconvenience by installing a bidet and a whirlpool bath, Donna."

"Thanks. But if you don't mind, I'd rather you leave off the posh fixtures and make it a few seconds." Donna said, shifting her legs uncomfortably. "Does this thing have a porta-loo on board?"

"Yeah, not right now, Donna." The Doctor said, abruptly distracted by a mauve-coloured light, which had just begun flashing on the far side of the console. "We've got an emergency distress signal coming in."

"From that other ship?" Donna asked, coming to stand beside him.

"No." The Doctor answered, fiddling with some switches and looking at the monitor screen. "This seems to be coming from the far side of your moon.. The other ship's already landed on Earth. At least, it has according to the comparative astro-kinetic trace signal it left behind. That ship was a Trylellian Class space freighter. A supply ship from the far reaches of the universe. Question is," he puzzled, hand reaching up to ruffle the back of his hair, "what's it doing here? And who's sending us that distress call? I can't quite get a fix on any readings coming from that ship. Which is very odd indeed. It's almost as if someone is purposely trying to keep it from being found. Now why would a ship in trouble want to do that?"

"There's only one way to find out, I suppose." Donna said, looking at him with arched eyebrows. The Doctor's face brightened and he shot her a grin.

"Right you are, Donna. OK. First things first. Let's go check out those stranded moon tourists." The Doctor agreed, as he piloted the TARDIS towards the dark side of the moon.

"Wrong, spaceman. First things first, you fix the blinking plumbing!" Donna insisted.

Sylvia numbly stared down at her now-cold cup of tea. She was sat on a less than comfortable chair, all alone, in a special waiting lounge of the hospital's intensive care unit. Her dad had gone critical, and was barely being kept alive on a respirator. The doctor and nurses tried to put a positive spin on that, but Sylvia wasn't buying it, and told them so. If her dad was going to die, she'd prefer to be prepared for that eventuality, rather than be given false hope.

She was too aware that if it came to the worst, she was the one who would have to sign off her dad's life support. The thought made it feel like she had a Titanic-sized iceberg sitting in her stomach. It was truly one of her worst nightmares come true. Reality wasn't a television programme, it was this. Right here, right now, inside the cold sterile walls of a hospital. Part of her mind longed to simply run away, let someone else handle it. But, she couldn't. Sylvia knew that she had a nonnegotiable obligation, one born purely of love, to stay there and wait. Whatever the outcome. In a corner of the room, amid some dusty plastic potted plants, an old television set droned away at a low volume. She heard it, but barely registered what the news reader was saying.

"...and vaccinations are set to begin at any time now. We are told that no one in the greater London area is to be excluded from receiving an injection. It is even rumoured that the Queen may televise her vaccination live, on BBC One, in order to reassure the public that the vaccinations are both safe and effective. As of this news broadcast, hundreds of people across Great Britain have contracted the flu, and some eight-two deaths have been reported nationwide. The youngest victim so far is a three year old boy in Manchester. As the virus spreads unchecked, is believed thousands may become ill in the next few weeks. And, according to an unnamed source, those numbers are only expected to continue to rise. NHS officials say that many hospitals are becoming overwhelmed, as more and more patients are pouring in, and some members of staff are becoming reluctant to show up for their shifts...

...Buses in London have ground to a halt, as drivers have been taking unscheduled holidays or sick leave, rather than risk being exposed to the virus. Rail staff have also reported in sick, meaning less trains coming into and out of London and other major cities across Great Britain. Many Tories in the House of Commons are expressing grave concern over the present state of the economy, and are now considering significant cuts to education, the arts, pensions and unemployment benefits. They say they also are having ongoing discussions with members of the financial industry, over the possibility of granting loans to banking interests, in order to keep the nation's finances stable. They urge everyone to have their injections, so that life can return to normal as quickly as possible. In other news...."

"I...I can't believe I agreed to do this." the Deputy Prime Minster said, his voice trembling with stress and fear. He was pacing the floor in the prime minister's office with the once again human form of the official procurer of the Toxil-Maacht. L'arry was sitting behind the desk, with his feet propped up and his fingers laced behind his head. The man stopped and stared at the alien. He shook his head sadly. "Huxley, or L'arry, or whatever your name is. You do realize that you've made me into a traitor."

"Ah," L'arry said, crossing his legs giving the man a smug smile. "but that is only a matter of your very narrow human perception. To my people, you'd be a hero. We love heroes. Something to give the war-weary people a morale boost, you see. You'd be feted on my planet. Wining and dining with political leaders, doing the chat show circuit, having your picture taken with celebrities. Of course, that would only be if you were one of us. As it is, we don't like humans very much...except on a restaurant menu."

"OK. You've made your point. The prime minister is dead. An entire room full of our top health advisors..." He swallowed and looked like he was going to be sick on the carpet. "I have no choice, do I? It's entirely up to me to save who I can in this country. I am formally requesting that you reconsider at least some of the military numbers. I'm not sure I can vouchsafe having you eliminate our military entirely." He said, adjusting his necktie nervously. "It shall leave us totally defenseless. We've lost American support due to the crisis. We'd have to get our military support from the Canada!"

"I can see your problem." L'arry nodded. "The Canadians do tend to need a bit more seasoning then you lot."

"I wasn't talking about dinner. I was speaking of national defense." The Deputy Prime Minister fumed.

"If you don't give in to my demands, you'll have no worries on that scale." L'arry said mildly, as if it wasn't the threat it was.

"You did however, give me your word that you'd give us enough cures for the royal family and important members of the cabinet and parliament. If we pushed up the schedule. Well, vaccinations are going to begin first thing tomorrow morning, instead of Friday. Does that suit you?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked bitterly. He sat down in a chair and pulling out a handkerchief he mopped his brow.

"Oh, I think that will do rather nicely, thank you." L'arry said.

"Forgive my bluntness, but when will you give us these magical cures?" the man asked L'arry.

"A promise is a promise, as you humans say." L'arry conceded, examining his manicured fingernails. "For each five thousand vaccinations, you get a vial of antidote."

"Five thousand?" The Deputy Prime Minister sat upright, eyes wide. His reedy voice squeaked with shock. "Surely you know that you can't just slaughter five thousand human beings, make them evaporate into little puddles of goo, and not expect for that to not be noticed?"

"Since my own staff will be managing and monitoring the injection stations, I rather doubt that. And anyway, our PR people are among some of the best in the galaxy. They'll find some clever way to spin the mass disappearances, believe me. As long as we stick to the urban populations—especially the poor, and leave the nobility and leave most of the rich, famous and powerful alone, I don't think anyone will pay much notice, quite frankly. Six months from now, it'll be business as usual." We had considered going after the pets as well, you know. Oddly, though, for some reason, many of you humans tend to worry more about cute furry little animals than your own neighbours. Which proves my point, I think." L'arry gave a chuckle, which sounded more like a buzz, deep down in his his human throat.

"You aliens are savages!" The Deputy Prime Minister shook his head. "Is there nothing you won't eat?"

"Of course! We're not Androgums!" L'arry said, surprised. He uncrossed his legs and put his feet down on the floor. "Personally, I find things like deep fried Mars bars, mushy peas, prawn crisps, saveloy, Big Macs and marmite completely disgusting. And don't even get me started on haggis! What's with that?"

"Wait a minute. What did you mean, when you said your own people would be manning the injection stations? What about our erm—human medical staff?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked nervously, once again fingering his tie. He was tempted to rip the blasted thing off and hang himself with it. But, Great Britain would need a leader, even if a huge chunk of the population had gone to feed these mosquito aliens.

"They will among the first to undergo the injections, I'm afraid. In less than twelve hours, they will be suctioned up, placed in containers and loaded onto a cargo ship." L'arry said, spreading his hands in a 'oh well' gesture. "Therefore by necessity, our people will have to step in and take over. It also is an extra security option, to avoid any leaks to the media. We'll of course make certain that everyone checks their mobiles and other devices at the door. The people will go in one door, and those in the queue behind them, will think nothing of it, if we indicate that the exit queue is elsewhere, out of their sight. None of them will even notice that no one is actually leaving the building. Our military experts helped me plan our strategy. And, sorry, but with you gullible humans, it's been all so very easy."

"Oh my dear heavens. How am I ever going to explain all this to Her Majesty?" The Deputy Prime Minister said, mopping his perspiring brow.

"Why don't you let my PR people handle that, hmm—?" L'arry smiled. "All you need to do is supply me with the names of people you want spared, sit back, and wait to for the smoke to clear. We can do that too, you know. Make all of this acceptable to the remaining population. No one need ever know we were even here. We'll just slip some neural-erase powder into the water supplies, and everyone will forget this ever happened."

"You may kill me for saying this, but I hope someone stops you. Before it's too late for us." The Deputy Prime Minister muttered, his trembling hand unconsciously picking up the small framed portrait of the Queen, which was sat on a corner of the desk top. He looked at it, but didn't see the picture. Instead, he saw the surviving Britons demanding to know what happened to their friends and loved ones.

L'arry smiled. He took out a pack of cigarettes, knocked one out of the packet and lit up.

"I know your country has banned indoor smoking, but I'm sure you won't object, will you? Some humans deem it a filthy habit, but we of the Toxil-Maacht are immune to such petty things as cancer. And I must say, there is nothing quite like a good cigarette to relieve stress after a long, hard day." The Deputy Prime Minister mutely shrugged. "Oh, don't look so glum, sir." L'arry told him. "Before I leave for the front lines, my staff will acknowledge your assistance by helping you to tart up your public image. Get you elected Prime Minister. You'll be charge of everything, when this is over! So you see? We're the best thing that ever happened to you, my good man."

The TARDIS materialized on the dark side of the moon, less than fifty kilometers from the stranded spaceship. The ship was the size of half a dozen football pitches. Yet, that wasn't what made this craft so unique.

"That's simply..." An amazed Donna said, looking out of the open TARDIS door.

"I know." The Doctor grinned, his arm around Donna's shoulders, happy that his friend had a chance to see something truly special.

"...incredible!" She gasped, wishing she had a richer vocabulary. 'Incredible' didn't seem to half describe what Donna beheld. She'd seen some pretty wonderful stuff, traveling with the Doctor, and the sight she beheld out in the dark of space, was no exception.

What had made Donna stare in wonder, was the way the ship was put together. The enormous vessel was built to look exactly like an American World War II B-52 bomber. Except this one was powered by some sort of futuristic propulsion drive, instead of propeller engines. It even had a painting of what she assumed was an alien version of a pin-up girl: a well-proportioned, scantily clad and tentacled, teal blue-coloured alien woman with flowing blond hair. There was writing under the painting. The TARDIS translated it as, "Trixie." It was painted on the side of the shiny silver craft, underneath what appeared to be the flight control deck windows.

"Is it an American ship from the future?" Donna asked him.

"No." The Doctor shook his head, "Nice guess though. It's a Valaysha ship. From way out in the Scatacoke System, other end of the Universe. They're a long way from home. The Valaysha are seriously into American retro. Their parliamentary headquarters on their home world is modeled after the Chrysler Building in New York City. Oh! And, they have some of the best roller discos in the entire universe. We can go there someday, if you like."

"Whatever's wrong over there, do you think it has anything to do with what's going on back on Earth?" She said, nodding towards the spaceship.

"Dunno'. Possibly." The Doctor shrugged.

"Well? What are we waiting for then, are we going over to the ship or what?" She asked, impatiently.

"I am." He answered, facing her determinedly. "You are going home."

"The hell I am!" She snorted, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. "You're not dumping me just when things are getting really interesting!"

"Don't swear." He told her. "Donna, There's a good reason why I'm doing this."

"You probably just wanna' go over there and get Trixie's phone number." She snorted, half-joking. "She's probably just your type. Blond. Big chested. Nice...tentacles."

"Please listen. I need to tell you something." The Doctor said, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her sadly. "And Donna, I'm really very sorry I didn't do this sooner. Before I passed out, your mum rang your phone. It's Wilf. He's gone into a coma and been put into critical care. I think you should be there with him."

Donna stood there and looked down at the floor. She wanted to be by her granddad's side. It was her obligation to him. Yet, what could she do? At least, with the Doctor, maybe she could help find a cure for Wilf. As she thought that, Donna felt a huge, concrete wedge of guilt riding in the middle of her gut. How could she not be there?

"It's OK if if you want to go home, Donna." He said gently, sensing her indecision. "I understand."

Donna glanced at the Doctor, completely at a loss of what to say to him.

The TARDIS materialized in a short empty corridor inside the ship. The door creaked open. The Doctor stepped out, pulling on his long coat. The ship seemed to be on emergency power, meaning that the heating and lights were turned down to the barest minimum level to allow life and vision. The air was thin, but not so much so that it was hard to breathe.

It was cold. The Doctor's breath clouded the air in front of his mouth, as he took in his surroundings. Behind him, Donna appeared in the doorway, wearing a hooded parka. The walls were a nondescript gun-metal gray, with some kind of utility pipes running along the ceiling. On a nearby door, was a large brass plate with the inscription: 'Passenger Dining Hall' Under which was written, 'SSFV Abundance'

"Where are we?" Donna whispered, looking around her.

"Somewhere not too far from the main flight deck, hopefully." The Doctor shrugged. "This way." He said, heading forward towards a set of doors at the end of the hall.

They came to the doors, and the Doctor pressed his palm against a switch in the wall. As the doors slid open, Donna gasped. It was a lift. Inside, slumped against the walls, were the bodies of three dead aliens.

"D-don't move!" Came a voice behind them. "If you sho much as ta-ta-twitch, I will k-kill you both. Dead!"

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