Notes: double check a couple of spellings, re-check grammar again...probably missed some quote marks and other stupid errors.
Stupid openoffice software messed up the paragraphs again, go in and re-do them!
Also: re-write chase? More atmosphere? Re-write chap. 3...too plodding? Too much exposition?
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CHAPTER ONE
Bertha and Harry Twobigg were sitting beside the placid canal, fishing lines dangling in the water. “What I don’t understand, Harry,” said Bertha between mouthfuls of a cheese and pickle sandwich, “is why you sold the boat.” Harry took an unlit pipe out of his mouth, looked at his slightly rotund wife, and replied, “Weren’t catchin’ no fish.” Bert snorted, casting a wry glance at her chubby husband’s fishing creel, which was sitting beside him, filled with bottles of ale. “Well, ya’ aren’t doin’ that now, either.” She shook her head, at him and added, “I don’t figure you, Harry.”
Harry gave her a blank look, “What’s that dear?” Bert sighed. “You buy a boat so you can fish right out in the middle of the canal, and then spend your all your time out there, casting your line towards the berm. Then, you sell the boat, and now all you do is sit on the berm, casting your line towards the middle of the canal. It don’t make sense!” Harry merely grunted, and slipped his pipe back into his mouth, muttering, “If you were a fisherman, it would make perfect sense to you, sweetheart.” His wife snorted, “Oh sure, Harry. The day you catch somethin’ big in there, will be the day that some alien will fall out of the sky and land smack in your lap.”
Suddenly, Harry felt his line jerk. His eyes popped open with surprise. “Well dear,” he told his wife with a happy grin, “looks like we might be havin’ some fish with our tea, after all.” Suddenly, Harry was almost yanked off his feet, as the line dipped deep below the surface of the water. Then, Bert looked on in amazement, as the surface of the water began to bubble and roil. Harry pulled back on his line with all his might, leaning way back, as the pole bent almost double. “’ere now, help me woman!” He gasped. “Don’t wanna’ lose ‘im, do we?” But, just as Bert went to reach for the pole, Harry cried out, and was abruptly dragged into the canal.
Bert screamed as Harry thrashed about, sputtering and waving his hands in the water—then, he went under, and was gone. His wife leaned over the edge of the canal bank, whimpering his name. There was one last big bubble that came to the surface, this time with a deep crimson tinge to it…and then the water became dead still. Bert sat down on the edge of the berm, looking out into space, her face white with shock.
A few moments later, a dark, oily looking blob, shot out of the water, and landed on her ample lap with a squishy plop. The middle aged woman stared down at the horror. It was almost like a cross between an octopus and a squid. It had a round body, slightly smaller than a football, and short little tentacles that seemed to end in miniature hands. It was coal-black, and slimy cold. Bert was paralyzed with fear and couldn’t speak or move. Then, the thing opened it’s single eye, glaring at her malevolently. Bert screamed again, a terrified high pitched shriek, which was cut off abruptly, followed by a tremendous splash. . The crows in the trees behind her, croaked in protest, flapping heavily away, as the woman’s arm slowly sank beneath the surface of the canal.
The canal path was quiet in the late afternoon. It was slightly overcast, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. The narrow boats tied up near the edge of town rocked gently in the water. Just then, the peaceful scene was marred by a wheezing and groaning sound, like a metal file being run back and forth over some piano strings. An old blue police box appeared beneath some trees. The door opened with a creak of protest, and a young man with mussy hair, wearing a long brown coat and burgundy trainers appeared.
Closing the Tardis door behind him, the Doctor stood and sniffed, gazing about. “You there!” A gruff loud voice behind him bellowed. The Doctor whirled around, astonished. “Who me?” He said, with wide-eyed innocence, pointing at himself. The man he faced was a young and burly looking bobby. He was accompanied by another policeman, wearing a safety vest and cycling helmet, astride a mountain bike. “Don’t see anyone else about, do you sir?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the two policemen. The officer with the bicycle sighed. “Besides the two of us, he means sir.” The Doctor took a moment to glance around. “Erm—no, but, is anybody really here?
The burly policeman narrowed his eyes. “Two people, a man and wife, disappeared yesterday. An hour ago, someone found a piece of bloody clothing belonging to the husband, floating in the canal.” He looked pointedly at the Doctor. “Are you carrying any weapons, sir?” The Doctor raised his other eyebrow. “Just my mind—and, my words. A good friend of mine once said that ‘words are loaded pistols..” He said quietly. The policeman snorted. “Words, a weapon?” He looked at his mate and murmured, “better check with the mental hospital, and see if anyone’s turned up missin’.” The bicycle officer turned aside and quietly spoke into his radio. The burly young officer turned back to the Doctor and smiled politely, “I see then sir, soo—you think you can harm people with words?”
The Doctor caught the word ‘missing,’ and becamesuddenly serious, “Have others gone missing then? When was this?” The policeman seemed skeptical. “You mean you don’t know, sir? It’s been all over the tele and the papers this morning. Where have you been? And, while we’re at it, just what were you doing in the old police box, over there? Maybe we should take a look, yeah? What do you say?”
The Doctor didn’t like the turn of the conversation. He glanced worriedly at the Tardis. The Doctor preferred to keep a low profile and he knew that wouldn’t last long, if either of the policemen got a look inside. On sudden inspiration, his hand dived into his coat pocket for his physic paper. Alarmed by the sudden movement, the policeman reached for his pepper spray and sprayed the Doctor full in the face. The Doctor merely sneezed. “Oh, that cleared the ol’ sinues, thanks…” but then fell over, having been given a sharp rap on the head with the other officer’s baton. The two officers looked down at the unconscious Doctor, the big young officer nodded to his partner, “You’d better call in for the van.”
CHAPTER TWO
The officer with the mountain bike was speaking into his radio, when a strange buzzing noise sounded, and the transmission went dead. The two officers looked at each other with puzzled expressions, and then down at their prisoner. The man was fully conscious and sitting up, holding out a device rather like a thick pen, with a blue glowing tip instead of a ball point. He grinned cheerily at them, and then he said, “Not that I wouldn’t like a tour of your police station, constable, but you now how it is; places to go, things to see, planets to save…” Then, without further preamble he sprang up and took off down the canal path. With twin shouts to halt, the two officers hotfooted it after the Doctor.
As he ran, the Doctor spied a bicycle lying against a tree near the canal, which one of the narrowboat owners had just left. Grabbing the bike, the Doctor climbed on and began peddling for all he was worth. The policeman on the mountain bike pedaled furiously after him. Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, the Doctor noted that the man was gaining on him, then he looked forward again—almost too late, as a jogger with a big dog on a lead came at him down the narrow path. The Doctor had no choice but to slow down, having no desire to injure an innocent person.
The policeman was just a hair’s breath behind, reaching out with one hand to grab the flying tails of the Doctor’s coat, when a bridge loomed up on the left, the doctor quickly rode across the bridge, and onto the pavement of the town. Pedaling back towards the direction he’d come from, the Doctor dodged moving cars, shoppers and strollers, still with the policeman hot on his coat-tails.
Just then, a police car, lights flashing and siren wailing, pulled out from a cross street, blocking the Doctor’s path. Without hesitation, the Time Lord hung a hard right into a narrow alleyway. Which, as it happened, turned out to be a dead-end. The Doctor, breathing heavily, whinged, “Oh, now that’s just not fair!” Then, he noticed a fire escape on the left side of a crumbling brick wall. It was blocked off by a wire gate, and lot of the steps on the bottom half were missing, but it seemed to be the only way out.
The policeman on the bike turned into the alley, and saw his suspect leaping over the short gate and shimmying up the thin edge of the fire escape, on the edge of the former step supports, only an inch or two wide. The Doctor, using the handrail as a support, did his impression of a highwire act, quickly but carefully placing one foot in front of the other, inching his way towards the crumbling iron platform halfway up the side of the building.
Ditching his bicycle, the policeman cursed under his breath, and followed the Doctor. Gaining the platform, the Doctor used his long legs to their full advantage, running up the rest of the staircase to the top of the building. He’d just reached the top of the old fire escape, when with a metallic groan of protest, the step gave way!
For a long few seconds, the Doctor hung there in space, his burgundy trainers dangling in the air, coat-tails fluttering in the breeze. Three stories below him was a strip of concrete pavement, littered with broken glass, bits of discarded machinery and other rubbish.
Then, the Doctor got a better grip with his fingers on the edge of the building, and with a mighty heave, flung himself onto the roof, rolling away from the edge. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, and giving a sigh of relief. The Doctor didn’t dawdle though. He quickly sprang up, and was off again, dashing across to the other side of the roof.
The next building over was adjoining the roof, so it was only a matter of jumping down a meter or so, to the next roof. Below him, the Doctor caught a glimpse of policemen and pedestrians, staring up at him, gesticulating excitedly. He ran from roof to roof for a few minutes, then…ran out of roof.
The Doctor looked down, worried, as there seemed to be no way off the roof of the last building on that particular row. There was no door and no ladder. The police were closing in on him again. Just then, a tractor hauling a trailer piled high with hay slowly rumbled by on the street below, and taking a deep breath, the Doctor jumped down. Burying himself in the straw, he comfortably rode a ways down the street, but, then noticed a road block up ahead. Looking carefully around, the Doctor swung down from the hay bales, and slipped down to the pavement once again.
Hearing shouts getting closer, The Doctor knew he had to escape and soon. He was standing by the canal, when he noticed a ladder leading down to the water, with a rowboat tied up to it. Flinging himself down the ladder, the Doctor picked up the oars and rowed for all he was worth to the other side of the canal, ending up only about ten meters from the Tardis.
Clambering up the bank, the Doctor sprinted for his machine—but, before he could get there, an old man grabbed him, yanking the Doctor nearly off his feet. The Doctor looked around wildly at the man, “Wh-what?” He stammered, in sheer disbelief that after all that, he’d been caught by some old man.
The old man shook his head, “It’s alright mate, I saw the whole thing, they’s nowt they’ve got on yer, they was just lookin’ to beef up their arrest record, most likely. I saw yer arrive in that funny box, don’t reckon you had nowt to do with no murder.” The Doctor looked at the old man, as he allowed himself to be lead towards a nearby narrowboat. The man was short and wizened, wearing an old jumper and baggy trousers. He lead the Doctor down the stairs and sat him down on a bench. The old man admonished his guest to stay there, and left. A few minutes later, the Doctor heard the engines start up, and in seconds the boat was underway, headed down the canal.
After a short time passed, the boat’s engine cut out again. The Doctor heard movement on deck, as the old man tied the boat up again, a few miles down the canal from the town. The man came back down to the little cabin, bearing two mugs of tea in his hand. “My name’s John, this is my boat.” The Doctor took the mug. Thanks.” He said. Then, he held out his hand. “Hello John, I’m the Doctor.” The man shook his hand and then sat down. “Yes, I know.” He said dryly. “Only one man in the universe has a space ship that looks like a police box, can’t be anyone else.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Doctor had been about to sip his tea. Now, the mug hung halfway between the table and his lips, as his eyes widened in surprise..and wariness. “Come again?” he asked, for once truly taken aback. The old man eyed the Doctor knowingly over his tea mug, “You are the Doctor, aren’t you?” he asked in a completely new voice, this time, with a slight Scottish burr. “ At least I hope you are, or I’m going to sound like a right git, talking about space ships and police boxes” He smiled reassuringly. “I’m with Torchwood’s Scottish branch. Well,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I am the Scottish branch, actually.”
Sipping his tea, the Doctor raised an eyebrow, and his expression grew warier still. This didn’t go unnoticed by John. “Relax, Doctor.” He winked, “believe it or not, I’m on your side. I never did go along with that Doctor paranoia of Torchwood, thought it a bit rubbish, ma’self.” The Doctor set down his mug and returned the smile—only to become wary again, at John’s next words, “Mind you, Doc, you are still a very dangerous man. You have an alarming tendency to bring about death and destruction wherever you turn up.”
The Doctor was silent for a moment, his eyes suddenly seeming ancient and sad. John sensed this, and looked at the Doctor through sympathetic eyes. “Yet, I know quite well, that if you didn’t turn up,” he continued softly, “the death and destruction would be absolute, and mean the end of us all. Unfortunately for you Doctor, Captain Jack’s predecessors didn’t share my view.” The Doctor was silent and brooding for a moment longer. Then, he pushed his chair back, and stretched out his legs. “What’s going on here, John? Why are people going missing? What has gotten the police so stirred up?”
Setting down his tea mug, John said, “It all began eight months ago, near Loch Lomond. A bright light was seen by some of the locals, low over the hills near Millarochy Bay, burning across the sky. Then, it disappeared into the loch—or at least that’s what some of the witnesses claimed.
The Doctor folded his arms and leaned forward, suddenly interested. “And then what happened?” The old man’s face grew sober. “People began disappearing. At first it was only several over a period of a few weeks, just the odd fisherman or rambler.” The Doctor nodded. “And no one thought to question that, I suppose.” He stated matter-of-factly. John shrugged and replied, “People assumed they were merely accidents. A few more weeks went by, and a few more people went missing around the loch, and the authorities tried keep people calm, telling them accidents often come in batches, people get careless and there was nothing to worry about, these things happen. You know, all the usual standard issue clap-trap.”
John rose and stretched, stood staring at nothing on the wall. The Doctor took a sip of his tea, waiting patiently for the old man to continue with his story, which he did; “But, Torchwood knew different. They’d tracked that shooting star, Doctor. Only it wasn’t a shooting star—it was a space ship, and it didn’t crash into the loch…it landed.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “And they’d sent you to investigate?” He asked. John turned to him and smiled, “From what I gather, Captain Jack and his team were having something of a weevil problem down to Cardiff, so being that my base of operations is in Glasgow, I was the obvious choice.” He shrugged, “Well, the only choice really. They didn’t want to get U.N.I.T. Involved. I’m sure you know how trigger happy that lot can be.”
The Doctor looked on curiously, as the old man stood over the table, rummaging through his trouser pockets. “Then, a few weeks ago, a boater pulled a man out of the water. He was in shock and babbling incoherently about monsters in the loch, claiming that his friend had been eaten by one. I visited him in the mental hospital, put him under hypnosis, and got a rather good description from the man.” As he spoke, John pulled out an assortment of items from his pockets: a package of licorice All-sorts, a pocket knife, a small electronic gadget which the Doctor recognized as a monolysis fission capacitor, two pence, a piece of string, the stub of a number two pencil…and finally, a folded up piece of paper. Looking at it with a grunt of satisfaction, he carefully unfolded it and handed it to the Doctor.
Slipping on his glasses, the Doctor eyed the paper, frowning at what he saw there. It was a crude drawing of a blob-like creature, with a single eye, and tentacles ending in miniature, almost humanoid digits. “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” He said simply. Sitting down across from him, the old man asked, “You know what it is, then?”
Pocketing his glasses, the Doctor reached over and snagged the box of licorice, popping one into his mouth. “Oh yes,” he said, chewing, “I’m rather afraid I do.” John looked at the Doctor expectantly. “Well?” “The Doctor blew out his cheeks. “The Umvots.” “Who’s what?” the old man asked. “Never heard of them.” “No, and you don’t want to.” The Doctor said ominously.
The Doctor stood morosely, jammed his hands into his coat pockets, and stared down at the drawing lying on the table. “They’re a species from the Gamovar system, long thought to be extinct.” He tugged on his ear, “They were supposed to have perished in a war with the Daleks, over a thousand of your years ago, back before I was born. Apparently, some of them must have escaped the slaughter.”
John bit his lip, not liking the sound of this. “What do you think they’re after, Doctor?” The Doctor shook his head, “Dunno’. As you may have surmised, they are a rather blood-thirsty lot. Intelligent carnivores. They’ve got a dual breathing system, a combination of gills and buccal pumps, which allow them to live in water or on land. They usually prefer the water, because that’s their origins really. The Umvots evolved from oceans similar to those on earth—which may be why they have landed here. Could be, that they’re just using the Earth as a supermarket—Loch Lomond is basically like their version of Sainsbury’s.” John grunted, “I prefer Tesco’s ma’self.”
Just then, the boat rocked violently. “Attention!” A man’s voice amplified by a bullhorn megaphone, called out. “This is the police. Stay where you are.” The Doctor moved to the entrance of the boat. “Oh dear.” He said again. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” John snorted, and reached picked up a mobile phone from a nearby table. “I take it you’re not talking about a herd of deer, Doctor. Guess I’d better place a little call to Captain Jack.”
The Doctor watched as a policeman climbed from a small powerboat onto to the narrowboat. Then, as he got almost all the way up the side, the man cried out, looking behind him. A second later, he fell into the water with a splash. The Doctor ducked as shots were fired towards the narrowboat’s cabin. He didn’t see a black, oily looking creature, climbing over the rail and slithering across the deck towards the cabin door.
