ENEMY WITHIN
Chapter 13 L'arry was definitely gloating. Holding his vid-vone out in front of him, he grinned with delight. The alien had morphed back into his real body. In a dramatic voice, the buzzing only just discernible, L'arry was narrating to his future audience the pending act of violence. The Doctor's breathing had quickened, his eyes were on the Quarks, steeling himself for the inevitable. L'arry opened his mouth to order the Quarks to shoot the Doctor. That's when the alien abruptly realized something. The lighting was too dim. All he was getting on his vone screen were indistinct outlines and shadows. "Bloody hell and damnation!" An irate L'arry cursed out loud. "Stupid humans can't even produce decent indoor lighting." He looked over at the Deputy Prime Minister. "Can't you do something about the lights in here?" In response, the Deputy Prime Minister merely buried his head in his hands and groaned miserably. "I picked one helluva' time to give up smoking." He mumbled. The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at the fuming mosquitoid. "Oh dear. So hard to get good help these days, isn't it, Larry?" He said, deliberately mis-pronouncing the Special Procurer's name. "It's L'arry, you...oh never mind!" He snarked at the Doctor, while waving two of his appendages in disgust at the Deputy Prime Minister. "Humans! I have no idea what the gods were thinking when they made you lot. Can't you see I need light to film this death scene? Must I do everything myself these days?" "Erm—" Said the Deputy Prime Minister, cringing. "The light switch is over by the door?" L'arry's insect head looked up at the ceiling. He let out what sounded very much like a long, martyred sigh. "That lot back home believe this job is all about exotic travel, lunch with the rich and powerful and dirty weekends with my secretary. Ha! If they only knew! Stuck on some cesspool of a planet, working with a mob of genetically cretinous misfits." He sighed again, giving a human-like shrug. "Well, I suppose that's what I get paid the big credits for." "Look, mate, if I'm to be kept standing here waiting, the very least you could do is give me some direction. You know, 'stand there with your arms raised and look really scared'. The Doctor said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and affecting the airs of a celebrity. "I don't want to be shot looking like one of those dummies in Hendrik's shop windows. And lines! I need lines! Not the usual stuff, like, 'No wait! I'm too young to die!' I mean, something more dramatic, something to make my audience cry buckets of tears. Furthermore, you're supposed to say, 'cut' when you stop filming. Some director you are!" The Doctor sniffed. "Don't be expecting any BAFTA nominations, if this is the shoddy way you do things." "Oh, do shut up!" L'arry buzzed angrily. The mosquitoid stalked over to the light switch. "Everyone's a critic these days." "Where's my makeup man? Someone get my my agent on the phone. And why isn't anyone getting me a cappuccino?" The Doctor whinged, carrying on with his act for no other reason than to annoy L'arry. One of L'arry's appendages flicked all the lights on. He held up the vid-vone and pointed at the quarks, checking the lighting levels. The Doctor was stood there with his arms folded across his chest, a bored, pouty look on his face. Surreptitiously though, his fingers were slowly inching towards his suit pocket. If the nurse had found Donna a formidable guardian of Wilf's bedside, Sylvia was more so. It was her dad she was protecting. "You're not giving my dad any jabs today!" Sylvia told the nurse. "Please! Just let me do my job!" The frustrated nurse replied. "They'll sack me if I don't. I'll end up working in some dodgy care home." "What are you going to do?" She asked, "Call back your soldiers and have them machine gun me down? Well, go on then, do it. I'll protect my dad with my life, if I have to." "I'm telling you, Mrs. Noble, there's nothing wrong with these injections." The nurse insisted, "They're perfectly safe!" "And I'm telling you, my daughter says they're not. And I believe her!" "Has your daughter been taking any medications?" The nurse tactlessly asked. "What? What are you on about?" a confused Sylvia said. Then the penny dropped, about the same time as her jaw. "Are you implying that my Donna suffers from mental illness?" "Er—look, Mrs. Noble," The nurse said, deciding that a change of course in the direction of the conversation was in order,. "I'm sure the injections are perfectly safe. They wouldn't give them if they weren't." "Have you had yours, yet?" Sylvia challenged. "Well, no..." The nurse admitted. "Then how do you know?" Sylvia insisted. Then she had an idea. "Tell you what." She smiled, "This is getting us nowhere. Why don't you go downstairs and get your jab. Then if there's no problems, I'll gladly let you give my dad his injection. You can even do me, while you're at it. I promise. No more objections from any of us." "Alright, alright, Mrs. Noble. You win..." Turning away in defeat towards the lift, the nurse cautioned, "But I'll be back as soon as I'm done to give you both your injections!" Watching the nurse get into the lift, Sylvia bit her lip, suddenly feeling anxious and afraid. Had she done the right thing? Would Donna be alright? In the NHS injection centre in the basement of the hospital, a long queue of staff and patients snaked down the spartan hallway and around the corner. Around that same corner came the two soldiers, dragging a loudly protesting Donna along with them. They hauled her past all the people in the queue, some of them giving the soldiers curious, fearful or angry looks. Others seemed relieved simply to have something new to stare at, besides the backs of the those in front of them. At the door to the site, stood a doctor in his white coat and tie, and a woman in dark dress suit. The doctor looked up from the clipboard he was reading, frowning at the two soldiers. His name tag on the white coat said, "Dr Singh.' "Why isn't this woman going to the back of the queue?" He asked them. "Special case!" One of the soldiers grinned. "We're giving this one special VIP treatment this morning. Ain't we mate?" He asked his fellow soldier. The other soldier nodded, leering down at Donna. She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'd like to make a special case out of you, you pair of Rambo rejects. You're both gonna' need a specialist by the time I get through with you!" She snapped, still struggling. She wasn't about to become insect food if she could help it. "I'm telling you, it's not safe. You're all going to die!" Dr. Singh looked taken aback by Donna's outburst. The woman in the suit merely gave Donna a cool, appraising glance. She was, in actual fact, a shape-shifting female mosquitoid named 'Ashlee.' "Looks like we have your first jab candidate, Dr. Singh." Ashlee spoke crisply. " How long before your staff is ready?" "Two minutes." Dr. Singh told her, after consulting his watch. "Don't worry dear." Ashlee said to Donna, giving her a knowing smile. "It will happen so fast, you'll barely feel a thing."
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