Chapter Text
PART THREE
Yaz moved quicker.
Without thinking too hard about it—and fuelled by a simmering anger that she was also doing her best not to think too hard about—she dove for Boucher and wrestled her to the ground, the ancient floors giving way beneath her elbows, her strange hat flying off into the shadows. Her weapon was cold and unfamiliar under Yaz’s grip. She unlatched it and slid it away, where it landed under Ryan’s unsteady heel. He bent as if to pick it up and then hesitated, looking faintly uneasy. She couldn’t look any longer. Boucher perfunctorily tried to bash her in the face, but Yaz was younger and angrier and had made a point of being annoyingly good at this particular aspect of her probationary training. With a snarl she grabbed Boucher by the shoulders and slammed her into the floor. Then, only slightly out of breath, she sat on her legs.
“Stay down,” she ordered.
Too stunned to move, Boucher only glared up at her, looking still far too unruffled.
“I wouldn’t have harmed you,” she said.
“Right,” said Yaz skeptically.
“I have a job to do,” she said. “And, quite frankly, I don’t want or need your help.”
“I take it that job isn’t protecting the hotel guests,” the Doctor said, peering at them both inscrutably. She was still folded over in the chair, elbows resting on her knees. If she was bothered by the brief outburst of violence, she didn’t show it. “Since you’ve manifestly failed. But where,” she wondered sharply, “could you possibly be going? Hotel’s sealed off. Guests are all trapped inside, but for us and a few stragglers. You’re not waiting for the authorities. I doubt you’ve even called them. You’re following somebody else’s instructions. Love to meet them! I’m sure they could clear some of this up for us.”
“I don’t think you’re a hotel inspector,” Boucher said simply.
The Doctor sagged.
“No,” she said tiredly. “I’m not. But I am, historically, pretty good at sorting things. Me and my fam.”
Boucher raised an incredulous eyebrow. The Doctor bristled.
“You’re not leaving us here in this cabin,” she said firmly. “So you can either take my help and stay on my good side, or you can do things the hard way and put up with my interference. One of those options,” she hissed, “is better than the other.”
“Oh, it’s definitely worn off,” she heard Ryan whisper loudly to Graham.
Still, Boucher was rather unmoved.
“What happens if I get on your bad side?” she wondered. “Will your little friend bash my skull in?”
“No,” the Doctor said, scandalized.
“Little?” Yaz muttered, offended.
“Well, then,” Boucher said, and with a sudden burst of energy, shoved Yaz off her legs and stood. Yaz’s lower back hit the ground, and then the back of her skull.
“Oi!” she protested, ears ringing over the sound of everyone else suddenly clattering to life. Flossie shrieked and the little dog barked and Graham shouted in alarm.
“What’s underneath the hotel, Constable?” the Doctor demanded. As Yaz struggled irritably to her feet, she rose from the chair and took a step forward, looking suddenly remarkably sure-footed. “Whatever they’re paying you, it’s not worth the lives of all those guests!”
Ryan stayed back with the weapon, but Graham shuffled forward to take her elbow.
“Good hit, cockle,” he muttered.
But Boucher, Yaz was realizing slowly, didn’t have her heart in it. And she’d shoved Yaz off, not to make her escape, but because she clearly objected to having her legs sat on. Well, fair enough.
“Fine,” she barked, stiffly retrieving her hat. She fixed it over her frizzy hair, glaring at them the whole while. “Okay? Fine. You’re right. This is all some—”
The rest fizzled out into something unintelligible and vaguely French. Apparently the TARDIS translation matrix had limits.
She sighed.
“I was hired by the government. Private company runs the hotel, but it owns this land. Everything the hotel’s built on. Most of it isn’t natural, it’s landscaped. Try and make it look like old Earth. Brings in the tourists.”
“It’s all just fake-cations,” Ryan said miserably.
“You built the mountains,” the Doctor said, ignoring him. “You didn’t build the caves, I’ll bet. Nor the hot springs.”
“No,” Boucher admitted. “No, they were here already. The government crown corporation, they’re doing something with all of it,” she said. “I don’t know what.”
“They must be extracting the minerals from the springs,” Flossie piped up. “To make into serums and cosmetics and things.”
“It’s not just the minerals,” Kit corrected grimly. “It’s the, uh—well, it’s the secretions. The slime. From the snails. The algae, too. The whole package.”
“Seriously?” Boucher demanded. “Disgusting.”
“It sells.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It sells….remarkably well, actually. In the hotel gift shop. And the pharmacy. Everywhere, really. But it’s hardly a secret, Doctor.”
Flossie cleared her throat uncomfortably.
“They’re rather good,” she said. “The serums, I mean. It’s just business, isn’t it?”
“It’s exploitative,” the Doctor said, stepping back towards the wall, palm spreading to steady herself, “and completely against the conventional wisdom about protection and conservation of endangered species. Aren’t there laws?”
“Protection?” Boucher goggled at her. “What protection? Conservation of what? What laws? Nothing here is real, Doctor. And besides,” she said, not looking particular enthused about the prospect. “It’s ours. All of it. As far as I’m concerned, the government can do what it likes with it.”
The Doctor groaned, clunking the back of her head against the wall.
“Humanity,” she breathed. “Love you lot, usually. You’re testing me, lately.”
“We should have gone on a Butlin’s,” Graham said morosely. “Only I’m a bit worried, with our track record, that would have gone sideways, too.”
“There’s a refinement plant,” Boucher said, eyeing him irritably. “Underneath the hotel. Behind the spa. That girl—the one you knew—I think she was trying to get there.”
“Lydia,” the Doctor said. “Oh! Lydia!” She peeled herself off the wall. “Where did she ever get to? She was ill when I met her. If she’s not Patient Zero, she must at least be Patient Less-Than-Ten!”
“You’ve still not explained,” Yaz interrupted. “What’s all this beneath the hotel got to do with the quarantine? How are the snails making people ill?”
“Not sure yet,” the Doctor said, skillfully avoiding her gaze. “But it’s clearly something. The natural habitat here has been damaged, it’s been poisoned and corrupted. Something caused the snails to react.” She squeezed her eyes shut, brow wrinkling. “I need a snail,” she breathed, “ and I need the TARDIS, in that order. Or just somebody who’s been snailed. Anyone would do, but fingers crossed for Lydia. Use her to diagnose the problem. Then, I can use the TARDIS to synthesize some sort of cure or antidote.”
“You’re saying we need to get back in there,” Graham said.
Ryan frowned. “Yeah, but we can’t get beyond the shield. Unless—”
“Not overground, we can’t,” the Doctor said. “Sonic’s not powerful enough.” She opened her eyes and looked across at the constable. “When I met you and Lydia the other day you were escorting her from the lift. The secret lift,” she pointedly continued to avoid Yaz’s gaze, “that leads to the refinement plant. Must be high security. How did she get down there?”
Boucher tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“I never found out,” she said.
“Bet you a banana daiquiri,” the Doctor said, “the cave system extends beyond the grounds of the hotel. Beyond the quarantine shield. We just need to find another entrance and we can get back into the hotel from beneath. We can get to the spa from there. Get me a snail, get me my TARDIS, get you all home in time for tea!”
“My boss,” Boucher said. “Matthieu. He knows a way. That’s what he was telling me earlier on the comms. A secret route from the back. It’s not far from here.”
The Doctor beamed. For a moment, Yaz thought sadly, she looked exactly, perfectly like herself.
“Well, then, Constable,” she said. “Lead the way.”
The sprinkle of snow from earlier had become a proper snowfall, dusting down onto the tops of their heads and the evergreen trees surrounding the cabin. The sun had truly set, but the ambient light from the hotel reflecting off the snow gave everything a faint glow that was nearly pink. It would have been pretty in any other circumstance. Well, Yaz supposed, it was still pretty, even now. It was just there was no time to enjoy it. Back, she thought, to business as usual.
The constable hadn’t lied. The hidden entrance to the plant wasn’t far at all from the maintenance cabin, which must have existed as decoration or concealment as much as anything else, given how lightly used everything inside had looked. Behind an outcrop of snow-laden trees, Boucher ground to a halt and irritably kicked away the snow and dirt with her boots until a metal hatch revealed itself. She plugged a code into the keypad attached and watched dispassionately as it groaned open, hydraulics creaking.
She looked over at the rest of them.
“Well?” she said. “Hurry up. I won’t wait for you at the bottom.”
“Charmer,” Graham muttered. He waited for Ryan to go next, holding a subtle hand out to stop Flossie from following. “Give him his space,” he said quietly. “You’ll be alright with that little dog, cockle?”
Flossie smiled at him.
“I’m rather good at climbing,” she said, clambering down leisurely. Pip, against the odds, was still snoozing away soundly in the pocket of her robe. “And I always land on my feet. Even in heels!”
“Flossie Divine,” the Doctor said admiringly. Behind them, the same buzz from earlier began to vibrate beneath her feet. She waved Yaz and Kit on irritably, red gleaming beneath her boots.
“It’ll keep trying,” Kit told her, stopping short of the hatch. Graham frowned over his shoulder, but began to follow Flossie down. “Each time it measures a new variation—”
“Yep, thanks, got it,” she said flatly, as the quarantine shield came shooting up from the ground. Like before, the sonic stopped it easily, before it could trap her in. She stepped out rather unsteadily, arms pinwheeling. Yaz took her elbow unthinkingly—she was still cross, after all—but she jerked away, stumbling backwards into the snow with a yelp. She stayed there for a moment, breathing hard. There was sweat beading relentlessly on her forehead. Even in the gloom, she was as white as a sheet.
The rest of them had disappeared into the darkness beyond the hatch, but for Kit, who shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder and disappeared, too.
Yaz stayed. This time, she didn’t try and help.
“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” the Doctor insisted, dragging herself to her feet. She dusted the snow from her coat, face still pinched and white. Maybe she was dizzy, maybe she was hurt. There was no point asking and even less point in trying to guess. “I’m—I’m the one who should be—”
“Sorry?” Yaz said pointedly. “For what, exactly?”
Her eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way for a moment, lips pressed together grimly. It wasn’t dizzy and it wasn’t hurt, Yaz realized. Or, at least, that wasn’t all it was. What had Kit said earlier? Crippling despair.
“Why would you—?” she wondered faintly, skin prickling. Still, she didn’t move any closer. “…Is it that hard?” she asked, half-joking. “Spending time with us?”
The Doctor opened her eyes, looking gutted.
“No,” she said raggedly. She’d been stood still for so long that there were snowflakes collecting in the crown of her hair. “No, of course not. It’s the best thing in the universe. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing.” Her throat bobbed. “I just—well, I just—”
“What?” Yaz demanded. “Doctor,” she protested, when the silence lingered.
“I didn’t want you to leave,” she confessed, still half-hunched over herself, like the very act was causing her physical pain. Her lips twitched. “…Me. I didn’t want you to leave me. I know I’m not very fun anymore,” she said, all in a rush. “I got worried that—well, it’s just I don’t know how to be—I suppose I just wanted to—”
She shook her head painfully.
“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Like I said. Moment of bad judgement.”
“Yeah,” Yaz agreed.
“Won’t happen again.”
“Better not.”
This, Yaz thought, was some sort of line on the verge of being crossed, but she didn’t know quite how to say it. They didn’t get very many lines in the sand, the three of them. The Doctor had enough for all of them—lines in the sand, minefields, trip-wires. Still. It was on the edge and maybe she knew it. She seemed to pick up some of it from Yaz’s face.
“I would never put you in danger.” Her expression darkened. “Not like this.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Yaz said, finding that she believed it utterly, despite herself. “So do the boys. But I still don’t understand. Is this about—?” She tilted her head. She didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.
Like clockwork, the Doctor’s already dark expression closed off completely. Wiped clean. There would be no explanation tonight, Yaz thought. Maybe there never would be. Could she live with that? Could they?
“It’s fine,” she settled on quietly. “You’re right. Don’t matter. And don’t be stupid. We’d never leave you. No matter how mardy you get.”
It wasn’t quite the truth and it simmered uneasily between them.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. She sounded tired again. It made Yaz’s gut twist, all the more for the thought that the happiness of the last day or two hadn’t been remotely real. It had only seemed it. Nothing had been fixed. Nothing was better. The only thing that had set anything remotely to rights was a looming disaster. Business as usual. Maybe she was better that way, herself. Maybe they were all better off running. Maybe none of this had been all that fun or that satisfying. Maybe the only thing that would make it satisfying was a job well done. Save the day and move on. Move on, she thought to herself. Move on and keep moving.
“Okay,” said Yaz. She thought about offering her arm again, but couldn’t quite bear the thought of it being refused. “It’s okay.” She looked away. “Let’s go.”
The caves dripped with melting snow and condensation. The ground was porous and slippery, Ryan was finding, to his irritation. Ever few steps he kept having to grab for the wall, which was also porous and slippery. Porous, slippery, smelly. It wasn’t like he’d been having the best time ever, before, but this wasn’t exactly an improvement.
The last time they’d been in a mysterious tunnel beneath a resort—not all that long ago, he thought tiredly—the Doctor had lied to them, too. For a good reason, at least in her head. Trying to protect them. Only problem with protecting people from the truth, though, was that eventually there came a moment where you couldn’t. And it didn’t matter in the end how you framed it, he figured. Call a spade a spade and a liar a liar. Even when that liar was your best mate. The worst part was, he still wasn’t that cross, even though he figured they all had a proper right to be. He’d been down the same road, though. Angry and not quite sure what to do about it. Messed up by something you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about. All wrapped up in yourself with no clear way out. His nan had always known what to say. He had no idea, and he was a bit worried whatever came out his mouth wouldn’t be quite right.
His foot slipped on a slimy section of rock and he nearly went headfirst into the wall with a quiet shout. Kit grabbed him by the upper arm with a grunt and set him right.
“Thanks,” Ryan muttered.
“Sure,” said Kit. Man of few words. He set off a little ahead of him again, shoulders tense. In the seconds after that he lingered, searching for a drier patch of ground, the rest of them caught up. Graham had his hands tucked into his armpits to fend off the cold. Yaz was trying so hard to look normal that it was a complete and utter failure. As for the Doctor—well, he thought fondly, maybe the less said about her the better.
“Alright?” she asked him, brows drawing together. “Bit drippy down here.”
“Slimy,” he said.
“Yeah,” she agreed. She tilted her head. “…slimy. Interesting.” She crouched down at the spot where he’d just nearly done a header and stuck her finger into the green, mossy ooze. Then she stuck her finger in her mouth. Ryan groaned.
“Mate,” he said. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”
She frowned contemplatively.
“Tastes funny. Like the water,” she said, swallowing carefully. “Makes sense. But why?” She stood abruptly and then nearly did a header into the wall herself, palms scraping against the rock. “I’m missing something,” she muttered, shaking off Graham’s attempt to help. “What am I missing?” She spun on her heels, pressing her palms into her eyes. “It’s not just the snails,” she said. “It’s the slime, too. The water. The algae. The rocks. Total ecosystem. Total ecosystem collapse…so maybe it’s the whole ecosystem fighting back?”
She dropped her hands, still squinting irritably into the dark.
“Only it’s not fighting back,” Yaz pointed out. “Nothing’s happened, except for the hotel guests getting ill.”
“Which strikes me as a symptom,” the Doctor said quietly, “of something else. A side effect, not something deliberate. But what’s the deliberate bit, then? Woah!”
Like clockwork—and it was always like clockwork, Ryan thought giddily—the whole tunnel shook and strained with sudden noise and force. Dust rained down on him. The slimy puddles beneath their feet rippled.
“Stop saying things!” Graham protested. “That sounded pretty deliberate to me, Doc.”
Her eyebrows raised in agreement. She was so normal, now things had gone all upside down. It made his stomach ache.
“Come on,” she said, speeding ahead, arms pinwheeling. “Only one way to find out!”
Yaz met his eyes as they followed behind. She didn’t say anything. What would they have even said?
“Come on,” he told her. “Still better than the last vacation.”
She smiled weakly in response.
“Low bar,” she said. “Besides, the day’s not over yet.”
They caught up the the constable and the rest of them where the cave tunnel abruptly became a lot less cave-y and a lot more built up. Slimy metal grate over the ground, metal panels on the walls. The sound of humming machinery was faint but distinctly audible.
“We’re not far from the refinery now,” the constable said, lips pressed together grimly. “If it’s still there.”
“Er, how d’you mean?” Graham asked.
“Smell that? Smoke. I think we just felt a small explosion.”
“Direct action,” the Doctor said approvingly, springing ahead.
“There are people down here!” Yaz protested. “Us included.”
“Not very many,” the Doctor said, “and probably not directly inside the plant. ‘Cos it’s all automated, isn’t it?” She ground reluctantly to a stop, glancing over her shoulder guilelessly. “Couldn’t have too many workers, here, there’d be nowhere to stash them all. A few plant supervisors to oversee the operations from afar and a few workers to facilitate the transport out of here. No more than twenty people, I reckon. Yourself included, Constable. Am I right?”
Boucher nodded, still frowning.
“So,” she said impatiently, “the quickest way to figure out what’s really going is to track down whoever—or whatever—just set off that explosion, preferably before they finish the job. Get a shift on!”
She set off again at an unsteady pace, coat flying behind her.
Kit glanced at the three of them.
“What is it exactly that you do?” he asked. “Who the hell are you people?”
“Could be asking you that yourself, son,” Graham said sternly. “She’s right, you know. How exactly do you fit into all this?”
“I’m a nurse,” he said irritably.
“Yeah,” Ryan said skeptically. “Not a very good one, though.”
He scowled.
“Oh, for—look, I really am a nurse, alright? Got the certification and everything, which I’ll be happy to show you when our lives are no longer under threat! Now, are you going to let her get far ahead of you? She doesn’t strike me as the patient sort.”
He strode after the Doctor without another word. Boucher started to follow, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I think you’re right,” she told Graham quietly, “but I don’t have any proof. Yet. I’ll tell you one thing, he’s not a part of this. I’ve never seen him down here.”
Ryan wasn’t sure her assurances were worth all that much, given how little she seemed to actually know what was going on. There wasn’t a person here who wasn’t slightly dodgy—well, him included, probably. He met Graham’s worried gaze as they traipsed behind. The metal grating on the floor was just as slippery as the unfinished ground had been. It was almost impressive, the way the algae and slime and dripping water had so effortlessly covered something so unnatural. The Doctor was right, probably. There must have been something to it. He wasn’t about to stick any of it in his mouth, though.
At the end of the corridor, there was a large archway into the plant. Well—what was left of it. Black smoke was pouring from it, sharp under his nose. It billowed over the Doctor, who had paused in the entrance, one hand resting on the metal button that must have opened it. He couldn’t see beyond the door.
Beside him, Flossie’s hair stood on end. Her whiskers twitched.
“What terrible smells in this place,” she whispered. “Gosh, there isn’t anyone inside, is there?”
“No,” the Doctor said, confirming with the sonic. “I was right. It’s all remote. And whoever set the explosion is long gone. But your plant, Constable,” she said, turning to face them, “has seen better days.”
“Not mine. Besides, this isn’t the main plant,” Boucher said plainly. “It’s just the secondary refinery.” She crossed her arms. “Well? Now what?”
“Getting closer,” the Doctor said. “To the truth. Also to the hot springs. Why is why—” She swallowed and shook her head again. The same as before, like a dog leaving a swimming pool. She blinked fiercely, listing. “…Which is why I can hear them. I think. But why?”
“What?” Yaz demanded.
“Er,” said Ryan. “What are they saying?”
“More than I was expecting,” she said. “But less than you’d hope. Not the best communicators, whatever they are. Ohhhh,” she groaned, “but why are they only trying to chat with me now?” She put her head in her hands and sank to the ground. “How are they only chatting with me now? I’ve been here for days.”
It seemed obvious to Ryan. He stepped closer, foot splashing in a slimy puddle.
“Didn’t go in the hot springs, though,” he pointed out. “None of us did. Only you—”
“You drank some,” Yaz said, with extreme judgement.
The Doctor swallowed dryly. “…funny tasting water,” she breathed. “You’re right. Must be—but how could it be? Ugh, I hate not knowing what’s going on! And whatever this is,” she moaned, “it is not small talk. They’re proper cross.” She stopped dead. “They’re…proper cross.”
A frown inched its way across her face.
“Proper cross,” she said. “For a reason. Oh, I’m thick. I’m thick!”
“No arguments from me, today,” Yaz said, crossing her arms. “But what do you mean?”
“There must be a reason,” she said, springing to her feet at a tilt. Ryan lunged for her, nearly tripping. “Get it? A reason!”
“I’m not gettin’ it,” Ryan said, taking her by the shoulders. “Doctor, maybe you should sit back down.”
She ignored him.
“Been acting,” she heaved, “on the assumption that they’re just animals. Acting on instincts, reacting to changes to their environment. But if they’re not—”
Yaz frowned. Well, she’d been frowning for ages. The frown deepened.
“You’re saying they’re sentient? Sentient snails?”
“Sentient,” the Doctor said insistently, “and angry.”
She twisted out of his grasp and whirled on Kit, sticking a finger into his chest. He backed up irritably into the wall, grimacing as the slime coated his shirt.
“And you know why,” she said. “So, go on then. Share with the class. It’s well past time.”
“For the last time,” he protested, “I’m a nurse!”
The Doctor’s finger stayed exactly put.
“A nurse,” he continued tiredly, “and a NECA agent. Designation Epsilon Twelve Alpha Eleven.” At their blank looks, he scowled. “New Earth Conservation Agency? I was posted here to observe. I don’t have my badge,” he said pointedly, still scowling. “I’m undercover!”
The Doctor stepped away, eyebrows raising smugly.
“NECA,” she explained to them. “Sort of like if MI5 and the National Trust had a lovechild. Good old New Earth,” she said, a little bitterly. “Not that big on multilateral collaboration. Government agencies are completely devolved from each other, here. Sometimes, they even fight each other. So—who’re you spying on, Agent Kit?”
His expression darkened.
“Who else?” he demanded. “The Ministry of War.”
“Oh,” Flossie moaned, “Otis always told me not to put so many strange chemicals on my face!”
“The dermatological serums are completely different,” Kit said irritably. They were all still following the Doctor, who was reeling ahead, deeper into the caves and the plant’s access tunnels. Following her nose—or, Ryan supposed, following whatever was in her head. “As far as I’m aware, they’re perfectly safe. But a different processing of the secretions in the algae leads to a completely different result. It’s a new innovation, they’ve only just finished the experimental stage. That must be what’s led to all this.”
“Weaponized slime,” Graham said disgustedly. “Now if that don’t make the old bones shiver.”
“That’s not quite—” But Kit shook his head, clearly deciding the distinction wasn’t worth the effort. “Never mind. My point is, this plant is a major producer of some of the most vile biochemical weapons the world has ever seen. They transport them out under the auspices of everything else they produce here. Just stockpiling, for now. And I have records of all of it,” he hissed. “Manifests, invoices, the whole lot. Not to mention the violation of environmental safety regulations.”
“So you do have laws,” Yaz said skeptically.
“I think you’ll find that the law here,” he said, “is rather difficult to enforce. Every jurisdiction is different. But a scandal like this—well, something will come of it. Something will be set right. They can’t always get away with it. That's where we come in.”
Up ahead the Doctor gave a delighted shout.
“Brilliant!” she exclaimed. The rest of them traipsed along to catch up, shoes still slipping.
“Woah,” Ryan said, as they met her. This part of the cave tunnels was more natural than the rest. The metal grate disappeared and the lights on the walls tapered off and left what was beyond the Doctor in muggy darkness. Water dripped and steam wafted up gently, gloriously stinky. It was curling the tips of her hair.
“Another section of the springs,” Boucher said. “It’s all connected.”
“Yeah,” the Doctor said, tilting her head again, nose wrinkling. Listening, Ryan thought. “Which is perfect.”
“Er,” Graham ventured. “Why’s that?” He eyed the dark, bloomy water warily. “Doc, tell me we ain’t swimming to the surface.”
“Of course not,” she said. She jabbed a thumb back where they’d came from. “If you want to go up, access tunnel to the lift’s just there. But upstairs, there are hoardes of possessed snail people, and let me tell you,” she winced again, “they’re really angry. They’re really angry,” she said again, opening her coat triumphantly. She felt in the pockets and withdrew a sheet of thin, transparent plastic. Completely innocuous looking. Well, so was a lot of rubbish. “So…let’s cool them down. You know the best thing about these?” She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of them and grinned. “Water soluble!”
With a gentle splash, the sheet touched the surface of the water and began to dissolve.
“Will it be enough?” Yaz wondered.
“More than enough,” Kit said grimly. “Which is why I’m amazed, frankly, that you’re still on your feet, Doctor. They really do mean ‘one at a time’.”
She clapped him on the shoulder as she swung past them, boots clattering as they met the metal again.
“Told you,” she said, “superior biology! Come on, fam!”
“Where are we going now?” Yaz protested, clambering after her. “Up?”
“No! If that was just the secondary refinery, then they’ll still have unfinished business,” she said, “in the main plant! Which hopefully we’ve delayed, before we all get blown to bits. Quick smart!”
Graham sighed.
“Come on, gramps,” said Ryan. “If you get blown up on holiday, you’ll be really cross.”
“We just nearly got blown up at the last place!” he complained, but he followed anyway. He was a good sport, Graham. No one ever gave him much credit for it.
The maze of tunnels beneath the hotel all looked the same to him, save the unfinished one they’d just been in, but the Doctor seemed remarkably confident about where she was heading. Past the lift, another left, down yet another dripping corridor. The heat—only a fraction of what he’d felt in the hot springs above—grew as they approached, along with the humidity and the smell. Pip snuffled in Flossie’s pocket, but still didn’t seem particularly moved by any of it.
“Access codes?” the Doctor wondered. “Oh, never mind, actually. Took the manual approach.”
The button to open the door to the main plant was banged up beyond belief and still smoking slightly.
“Whoever’s in there is armed,” Boucher said, reaching for her stun rifle. She fixed her hat more grimly down around her head. “They shot the door mechanism.”
“Saved us the trouble,” the Doctor said. She nudged open the door easily and sauntered in, hands in her pockets. “Hello? Lydia?”
Boucher stared after her.
“Not protocol,” she said.
“Well, she did warn you,” Yaz said, sneaking past her. “This is more our style. Doctor, wait!”
“I’m sure she’ll duck if she needs to,” Graham reassured. He and Ryan slipped through the door behind her. Nothing had been blown up yet. And it would take something big, Ryan reckoned, eyes adjusting to the gleaming darkness of the rusted machinery, caked in green slime and dripping wet. There were only a few sallow emergency lights flickering. This was by far the biggest cave they’d been in. He figured it had to be artificial. They’d collapsed a few caves together or something to make more room. Like everywhere else beneath the hotel, it was deserted. Shut down completely when the quarantine had gone off. But there were controls in the leftmost corner, a giant board of levers and switches, and at the base of it all—
“Lydia!” the Doctor exclaimed, stopping just short of the girl at the controls. There was a stun rifle abandoned at her feet and a bomb in her hands. “Are you alright?”
“I’m…” the girl said. She blinked. Her eyes were filmed over with slime, Ryan realized with disgust. Her lips were totally bloodless. Still, there was something dreamy about the way she spoke. She sounded just like the Doctor had, he thought, skin prickling. All yesterday and earlier today. “I’m not…Lydia. I don’t think. I was Lydia. We like Lydia.”
The cords of the Doctor’s neck were so tense he could see every one of them, but she didn’t let it show on her face.
“We like Lydia, too,” she agreed. “Er…if you’re not Lydia, then can I ask who I’m speaking with? Who I’ve been speaking with? We’ve met, y’see. In my head. Only you just went remarkably quiet.”
“We have no name,” Lydia said easily. “We’ve never needed one.”
“Right, yeah,” the Doctor muttered. “Relatable. Tell me who you are, though. Tell me what you are.”
“We have always been here,” Lydia said patiently. “In the dark. In the heat. In the water. We lived in beautiful silence for millennia. We communed. We ate. We dreamed.”
“Snails,” the Doctor breathed, eyebrows raising. “I was right. Psychic snails. Ancient psychic snails.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth—real, Ryan thought, gut twisting. Genuine and full of wonder. “Universe will always surprise you.” Her smile fell. “But then they built this hotel on top of you. And the refinery. Your natural habitat was disrupted.”
“Disruption is a part of life,” Lydia said, blinking slowly. “We craved the silence of before, yes. We craved the darkness. Still, we lived. Water must be shared. Life must go on. Change is inevitable.”
The Doctor blinked.
“So…the hotel spa…was fine? People smearing your slime on their faces? Very accommodating of you. Sorry,” she said, nose wrinkling. “You’re losing me here. Why go to all the trouble to bodysnatch, then?” Her head tilted. “Or is that…not what’s happening here?”
“Water must be shared,” Lydia said again. “But then our number began to diminish. Our dreams began to change. We began to dream the dreams of outsiders. We dreamt of war and bloodshed. Violence. Noise. Light.”
“When they started using them for all the rest,” Graham ventured quietly. “Weapons and all that.”
“We had no notion of these things before,” Lydia said, nodding absently in his direction. “They were beyond our nature. We were not meant to be tools in such things. We were not meant to be used in such a way. We were angry. We communed. We discussed. We decided what was right and what was not. We decided to put nature back in balance. We could not do it alone.”
“Yes,” the Doctor said impatiently, “okay, but how? How are you inside Lydia? And, by the way, how are you gonna give her back?”
“We commune,” Lydia said, “with the water. The water travels…and we travel with it. That is how we dreamed the dreams of others. That is how we learned of all that we now know.”
“Psychic resonance,” the Doctor said incredulously. “Absolutely mad! You chat with each other using the minerals in the water?” She gasped. “Oh! And the water gets all up in people’s noses when they take a cheeky little dip! Or in their mouths…iftheyhappenedtodrinksome. It dries on their skin, gets absorbed into their hair, their pores, their clothes. Minerals build up in the hotel guests, and you get a back door into their piddly little human brains. Er, no offense. Oh, you are amazing! Ancient, psychic…moral, bodysnatching snails,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “No notes from me.”
But some of the excitement dimmed.
“You have to let her go, though,” the Doctor said. “Her and everyone else. Their bodies can’t handle the strain of communion. It's making them ill. And it’s bad manners,” she said, eyebrows raising, “to use other people’s bodies for ecoterrorism without their permission.” She shot a disapproving glance behind her at the constable. “Even if it’s justifiable.”
Lydia only looked back at her dreamily.
“You have…done something to us, Doctor,” she said, not sounding particularly bothered about it. “You have stolen our anger.”
“Won’t last,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry. Wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Had to slow you down.”
“We don’t wish to harm anyone,” said Lydia. “We only wish to be left alone. We wish to be party to violence no longer. Our communion ensured that these caves were emptied. We thought to put an end to the machines that exploit us.”
“Let Lydia go,” the Doctor said measuredly, “let them all go, and I’ll make sure you’re left in peace. I’ll make sure nobody can ever use you again.”
“I’m not sure,” the constable began to interrupt, “that my employers will like that very much, Doctor.”
“Shut up,” the Doctor snapped. “They don’t have to like it! You have my word, Lydia. Er, not Lydia. Snails. Snail hive mind. Snailkind? I promise you,” she said. “Just let them all go. Please.”
Lydia watched her placidly, pale and trembling.
“Put the bomb down,” the Doctor said, “and let her go.”
“We were so angry,” she said. “We were so angry we felt that we might not survive. We felt great harm. We felt great injustice. Where has it gone?”
“It’ll return to you,” the Doctor said, hunching in on herself. “I promise.”
“Good,” said Lydia. She placed the bomb gently on the ground. “We must pass through it. We must endure it. We must become something else in its wake. Will you truly do as you say? Will you let us have the darkness back?”
“Yes,” she promised.
“Then let us commune no longer,” Lydia said, and she dropped like a stringless puppet.
The Doctor carried her out, always stronger than she looked. At the exit to the secret lift, they emerged—blinking and squinting—into weak daylight and the lobby in absolute chaos. Emergency services had finally arrived, Ryan thought, catching sight of vehicles and blokes in uniform outside. Despite the best efforts of whoever was running this place. The quarantine shield was still up. It gleamed faintly through the window.
“Here,” Kit said, holding out his arms. “I’ll take her to the medical wing. I am a real nurse, you know. Most of the time.”
The Doctor relinquished her and watched as Kit made his way through the crowd, clearing a path with his scowl.
“Will she be alright?” Yaz wondered, stepping closer.
“Yes,” the Doctor said. She smiled faintly. “She’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine, I think. Connection’s dropped. I can feel it. They’ll drop the Field 37 any minute. It wasn't a contagion after all, it was just...a sort of psychic transference.”
Boucher sighed and took off her hat.
“I need to find Matthieu,” she said. Her expression darkened. “And give him a piece of my mind. That slimy coward.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know they were making weapons down there,” she said. “I would never have agreed. Not for what they’re paying me, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t worry about that for much longer,” the Doctor said absently. She turned idly towards the lift and pressed a button on the sonic. She grabbed Ryan by the elbow, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear until the ground beneath his feet suddenly rocked and rumbled. He would have fallen, without her steadying hand. “There,” she said, dropping his arm. She put her hands on her hips. “As promised.
Boucher tilted her head, unbothered by the renewed screams of panic from the throngs of guests surrounding them. “Did you—?”
“Overload the circuits in the refinement plant and trigger a total system meltdown that also remote triggered the bomb and happened to collapse the fragile entrance to the caves?” She smiled bitterly. “Me? Nah.” The smile dropped. “Leave them be. Let them live. The dark belongs to them. Y’should never have tried to take it. Fam?”
Without another word, she strode away, coat flapping behind her.
“The spa’s hot springs are still accessible, you know,” Kit said, sliding stiffly down the wall to sit beside her. The darkened hallway—the hotel’s electrical systems had been the only topside casualty of her dramatic explosion—didn’t seem to bother him.
The Doctor didn’t open her eyes. To her dismay, there was a taste at the back of her mouth and a sickening pressure in her head that for many years she had only associated with the mind probe. She’d spent hours double checking the bomb hadn’t caused too much structural damage to the hotel itself. Then, she’d run a few test guests through the TARDIS systems to scan for any lingering connection with the snails. Everyone was free and clear. It was just crowd control, now. Her fam had settled right in, helping with the triage, and it was only now that she’d finally found a moment to sneak away and be miserable about it in private.
“I’m sure your reports will take care of it,” she said quietly. “Find some other way for us all to live in balance.”
“There’s no balance here,” he scoffed. “It’s all artificial. The gravity, the environment…even the feelings.”
She opened her eyes with effort and found him staring at her neutrally.
“Here,” he said. He took hold of her hand before she could stop him and placed two small pills in the centre of her palm. “Take two and please don’t call me in the morning.”
She squinted down at them. The hotel’s tacky carpet swam beneath her hand.
“Painkillers?”
“Generic and cross-species. Shouldn’t kill you. Last few hours are always the worst,” said Kit. He settled reluctantly into the wall. His white uniform was faintly spattered with algae. “…Take it from someone who knows.”
“Oh?” she asked. But she took what he offered gladly and swallowed them dry. She didn’t look him in the eye. They were both the better for it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was a bit rude to you. Turns out, you were only trying to do your job.”
“Wasn’t exactly polite to you, either,” he said. “That’s what I had to learn the hard way, Doctor. I know I’m not very nice,” he admitted. “I never have been. Always found it difficult. No bedside manner. But that doesn’t mean I’m not kind. At the end of the day,” he said quietly, “that has to be the only thing that matters.”
She smiled faintly.
“Known a few people like that,” she said. “Well. I think I was a few people like that, honestly.”
“You’re really strange, you know. Like, properly odd.”
Her smile deepened. Easy and real.
“Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
“But you’re kind,” he told her. “Anyone can see that. Like I said, that’s all that matters.” He stood with a groan. “I hope I never see you again.”
“Likewise,” she said cheerfully.
“And I hope you feel better,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “There’s real happiness out there, you know. Even for people like us. Just takes time.”
She said nothing as she watched him leave. He’d told her the truth. More than that, it was a truth that she believed. You could believe things without feeling them. You could cling to them like rope. She was good at that. She always had been.
Graham’s plodding steps sounded from the other direction. She turned to face him, the pounding in her skull already fading into something that was less like a Judoon emergency alert and more like a gentle thudding. Back to business as usual.
“Ready to go?” she wondered.
“All set,” he told her. “You know, Doc, it wasn’t the worst vacation we’ve ever had. Nobody shot at us with lasers. Even got me a nice cocktail or two.”
“This place has got nothing on Argolis,” she agreed.
“Feeling better?”
“Fine,” she insisted. It wasn’t quite the truth, but he didn’t press the matter. He only offered her a hand up. She took it, bracing herself. The skin of his palm was dry and warm. Her own, she knew, was still clammy with cold sweat. His thoughts were mercifully quiet. He didn’t say anything. He only looked at her solemnly for a long moment in the dark.
“Happy?” he asked her finally.
“Everyone lived today,” she said quietly. She smiled. “So I suppose I am.”
The TARDIS doors swung open with a creak into Graham’s sitting room. They stepped through, one by one, Yaz last on Ryan’s heels. Dust unsettled as they moved. Yaz wasn’t sure how long they’d been away, and from the twist of the Doctor’s mouth as she’d tried to land them, neither did she. But that was alright. They weren’t planning on staying for long.
The Doctor lingered behind them, pausing in the doorway.
“Right,” she said, tense, as Ryan flicked on a lamp. “I’ll just—”
“Get in here, you daft alien,” Graham shot over his shoulder. Exasperated, but just warm enough. “We ain’t leaving you. Stay for tea, won’t you?”
She must have known, but her shoulders relaxed a hair anyway, something relieved and a bit desperate flitting behind her eyes.
“Right,” she said. “Right, okay. Tea at Graham’s.”
Graham’s eyes softened at the tension lingering near her mouth. At the uncertainty. She wanted to stay, Yaz thought. But she didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to open up, didn’t want the interrogation that naturally accompanied any time they all spent together, lately. Something twisted in Yaz’s gut. That weren’t right, either, she was realizing. They’d been pushing her away, too.
“Don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Graham said quietly. “But don’t be alone, Doc. And, for that matter—”
His lips tightened. He tilted his head towards the hall, taking on a more grandfatherly air. “Come with me,” he said.
“What? Why?” Her nose wrinkled, but she followed him anyway, fingers brushing reluctantly past the TARDIS. Ryan shot a confused glance at Yaz, but she only shrugged. They followed Graham and the Doctor down the hall to the downstairs toilet, barely the size of a closet. It left them all a bit crammed together, Yaz and Ryan blocking the doorway. Oh, she had half a thought, wondering if maybe that was the point. Graham switched the light on, bathing them all sallow, and held out a hand expectantly.
“Go on, then,” he said firmly, eyebrows raising.
The Doctor’s nose wrinkled harder, as she realized.
“Graham,” she said, looking slightly offended.
“I mean it,” he insisted. His fingers wiggled. “Go on, give them here. Ryan’ll tell you, I ain’t having that sort of rubbish in my house, and you certainly aren’t leaving ‘em in the TARDIS.”
“There are chemicals in these things that won’t be invented for billions of years,” she protested. “And they really shouldn’t be going down your toilet.”
He left his hand out, mouth set firmly.
The Doctor breathed out through her nose, faintly irritated. She glanced behind her briefly but there was no escaping, only Yaz and Ryan, barricading the door, backing her into the edge of the sink. Her eyes went flat and annoyed, but it didn’t last. She was realizing, maybe, that for better or for worse they weren’t just going to let it all go.
“You’re not my father, Graham,” she said finally, softly. Firmly, like maybe he needed the reminder. Sadly, like maybe she did, too.
“I know I’m not,” he replied. “But you are my family.”
Yaz watched her unreadable face in the thin, sallow light. If she was touched, it was hard to say. She still only looked very tired.
With a sigh, she went digging in her pockets.
Graham sagged in small relief as she placed the scant remaining sheets of plastic into his waiting hand. He flushed them down the toilet with no aplomb and they all watched them spin away into the dark.
“What are we going to do with you, Doc?” he asked quietly, but it wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t even exasperated, anymore.
“I can’t,” she said. Her eyes were still very flat and very dark, like they’d been that night in the console room. “Graham, I can’t—”
“Don’t, then,” Ryan interrupted. Like it was simple, like it was easy. “Yeah? Don’t. We’re still not going anywhere.”
“It’s alright,” Yaz said. In the morning, they’d pretend like it had never happened, she knew. Move on, move forward. She’d go back to the console, face hidden, blind to their watching, their waiting. “I get it.”
Some things, she knew better than most, were beyond being spoken about. She’d forgotten, nearly. It had been such a long time. Only it was creeping up, wasn’t it? Same time every year. And she’d mark it, just like always. She’d talk around it, even now.
“Come on,” said Ryan, maneuvering himself out of the doorway. “Weird being in the toilet with all of you.”
There would be time for it, Yaz thought, following him out. Time and space. One day, she’d know everything. One day, she’d be someone worth telling. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe that was alright, too. Maybe the rest of it balanced out the secrets. Soon, she thought, skin prickling, they’d all have to decide, one way or the other.
In the meantime, the flinty darkness in the Doctor’s eyes gave way to something grateful. They were a family, first. Before anything else. Maybe that was all that mattered.
“Let’s have some tea,” Graham said, as he turned off the light. He smiled. “…Then, let’s go have an adventure.”