Fan Area » Fan Fiction » World Tour
| The World Tour | story by Simon |
"Ladies and Gentlemen!"
"Why do you always have to say that! I tell you, nobody's said that kind of thing for millennia!"
Terk just cast him an ironic look. "Nevertheless..."
"Alvin who?"
It was rare to see the Doctor looking crestfallen, but it only lasted a second. "Come on, Martha, don't tell me you've never heard of Alvin Stardust?"
"What is he, a Gary Glitter clone?"
"Other way around, actually... look, I'll show you." And he was back into that frenzy of buttons, bells and whistles that seemed to pass for controlling the TARDIS. Was it reassuring that something so fantastic could be operated so badly?
The whirlwind blew out, and he opened the doors. "Come on, Martha... let's rock!"
There was a sea of faces. Make that an ocean. All frozen, staring back. Some pointing. Some cheering.
The Doctor calmly shut the door, and took in his surroundings. "Ah, I see. Small mistake in the time factor. Hello!" He waved at the crowd, smiling to reassure them.
"Who are you?" asked a burly thug whom Martha decided might just have been an evolutionary throwback.
"Nice, Ogron roadies... we're with the band. You saw us arrive, didn't you?"
A zanily-dressed middle-aged man with greying hair and a Fender Stratocaster pushed the Ogron to one side. "Can we have our show back, thanks?"
"No problemo. We'll just wait in the wings, shall we? You can talk later, yeah?"
"Sure, later. Alright, kids... let's rock!"
Martha and the Doctor shuffled off the stage, dragging the Ogron in their wake. The Doctor did well to project a feeling of calm, but she wasn't sure she believed it.
"So, is that Alvin Stardust, then?"
"Oh, dear, no! I can't place him just now, but this is probably thousands of years after Alvin."
The band struck into their next song, winning the crowd back onside with a smooth display of vintage rock tricks.
"They're not bad, whoever they are."
Much, much later, whilst the bass guitarist, drummer and keyboard player were all making their own amusement, Martha and the Doctor sat in a back room, opposite the lead singer, who had introduced himself as Terk Wistcotte.
"You seem alright to me, but you want to be careful when Mosgon gets here. He'll want shot of you in a click."
"Ah, we'll worry when he gets here. I was impressed out there, we didn't faze you at all?" asked the Doctor.
"Son, we've been on this tour for a decade. Very little is left to surprise us. And as neither of you are agents or groupies, I don't mind what your business is."
Alfred, the MC, wandered in. "I haven't seen business like this since before the War. You gentlemen will be front page news tomorrow. Oh, hello there."
"Hi, I'm the Doctor. This is Martha. We're cultural travellers. So, are you a local?" Terk and Martha sniggered at the question, earning bemused glances.
"Yes, I'm the compere, although not every night is quite as lively as this... perhaps we ought to book more bands like this."
"Believe me, Alf," quipped Terk, "there are no other bands like us!"
Outside in the desolate winter, Fyl and Lusa waited desperately shivering for any sign of the band coming out. They must be going back to their hotel sometime, and then they might finally get the autographs they wanted.
Instead, a new vehicle screeched to a halt, and a corpulent montrosity emerged, blinking with disdain into the cold night air.
Lusa nudged Fyl, although he was already looking. "Look, it's the Mighty Mosgon! Wow!"
"Yeah. Do you think he'd help us?"
"I don't know, Fyl, haven't you heard what people say? There's more chance of a clear sky, I reckon. Shame, though."
Fyl fancied his chances, though. "Excuse me, Mr Mosgon? Any idea how much longer the band will be in there?"
The reputation that preceded the most fearsome band manager in the Western spiral arm of the galaxy seemed fully embodied when Mosgon paused in his rush for the stage door, and looked down his proboscis at them.
"Oh yes. But you might catch your death if you expect to wait for them out here."
Surprised, Fyl turned to Lusa, and they moved forward. But Mosgon simply carried on his way, through the entrance and out of sight.
Martha was intently studying the notices on the walls, as Alf had taken her interest to be genuine and was filling her in. In fact, she had realised that Terk and the Doctor were getting on like a house on fire, so she might as well let them get it out of their system.
"So, you've gigged on 327 planets?" reiterated the Doctor, boggling.
"Yup. I can remember them all... okay, maybe not every last set list, but the venues, the crowds, the atmosphere... they all make it worthwhile."
"That's quite a feat," added the Doctor, when Terk seemed to have stopped.
"Heads up, lads, here comes the Mos!"
Martha and the Doctor exchanged glances. This could be the moment of truth, if what they had heard was true.
"Well, look at the time, I think maybe Martha and I will be making tracks..." He stood up, and turned towards the entrance.
To find it blocked by a fearsome seven foot hulk of a creature, a species the Doctor didn't recognise, and was secretly glad of his ignorance for once.
"And I'll just bet you're Mosgon," he predicted.
Lusa was so upset that she was ready to give in and go home, but Fyl reacted diversely. Even with a band this mighty, there was no need to act quite such a jerk.
So it was that he led her around the building, looking for some other way of getting in. She had told him this was silly and pointless, and the odds against it must be sky high.
But then they had stumbled on a fire escape.
"Oh, I don't like it up here," she whined.
"Then don't look down. Sing something that'll keep your spirits up and take your mind off it. Or else..."
"Or else what?"
He stopped, and looked down at her. And smiled. "Or else, I'll sing you something." And he resumed his climb.
"This had better be spectacularly good," said Mosgon.
"I don't see why we needed to be tied up first."
"Because," Mosgon leaned in close to the Doctor's face, causing him to recoil from the bad breath, "honesty doesn't go as far as it used to. Now - talk!"
"We arrived by accident during the gig, and were just chatting to the band," said Martha, who found she wasn't intimidated, despite the intensity of their situation.
"You arrived... by accident... during the gig..." repeated Mosgon, slowly, with long pauses as if struggling to get his head around the concepts she was telling him. Or, to emphasise how silly he thought her lies sounded.
"Well, and you won't like this, either, we didn't know there was a gig going on here," added the Doctor, who had got Mosgon's game pretty quickly, but still couldn't help riling him further.
"Didn't know... there was a gig going on..." Mosgon peered in closer to the Time Lord's face, trying to intimidate the truth out of him. The Doctor just smiled back.
"We don't even know what planet we're on," added Martha. "We are on a planet, I assume? Not one of those rotten satellite space station things."
"Oh, don't you like those?"
"Seen one, seem them all."
Mosgon looked between the pair of them. A truly alien concept was battering away at his mind. Perhaps they really were telling the truth.
They had compromised and not sung at all. But that came partly because the climb seemed a lot further than they were expecting, and there wasn't the spare breath for singing.
"Shouldn't we try any of these doors?" asked Lusa. She had stopped glancing down in the futile hope that it might not be as far to fall as she thought. But the sooner they were inside again, the better she would feel.
"Nah. All the way to the top of the pops!" Fyl chuckled, also wilfully oblivious to the stark danger. "Look, I think there's an aerial there, that's got to be worth a look. Maybe we'll make our own broadcast!"
Not for the first time, Lusa wondered what Fyl's game was.
The Doctor had accepted Mosgon's offer of a compromise, but Martha was not impressed. "How long do I have to stay trussed up here, then?"
"Not long, my dear," sneered Mosgon, who was enjoying the way this was going. "Now, Doctor, you say you can help me?"
"I don't have a choice now, do I? So, where is this fusebox?"
"It is rather more than a mere fusebox."
"Okay, where is this superannuated fusebox, then? C'mon, time is money, wouldn't you agree? Terk, do the necessary."
As Mosgon led the Doctor out of the room, Terk came forward from his seat. Martha wasn't sure she liked the look in his eyes.
Or the size of the knife he pulled from his pocket.
"What a view!"
Lusa didn't know, or care. She clung to the base of the aerial, trying to will herself further along the roof. She didn't want someone to find her skeleton here in years to come. Undignified, for one thing.
Fyl leant one hand on the wire, only realising momentarily that it should have been bristling with energy. Perhaps it was downtime. Or insulated. Still, what did it matter?
A long way above his fair hair, energy crackled through the clouds.
Lusa was the other side of the aerial when she heard the scream. As she looked back, knowing it had to be Fyl, but afraid to face that truth, she realised she could hear a ferocious, crackling noise.
When she saw what it was doing to her friend, she screamed.
Martha rubbed her sore wrists. "Well, thanks for that."
"Mosgon's a tough nut," said Terk, "but it's a tough business."
Then they heard the scream.
"Someone still enjoying the show?" wondered Terk, half-knowing himself to be wrong.
"Nothing's that enjoyable!" replied Martha, heading for the door.
The Doctor looked down at the gun in Mosgon's hand. Its end pointed firmly but uncomfortably towards his chest.
"Could we talk about this later? Someone's in trouble, and I'd like to help them."
"You're not going anywhere," replied Mosgon. "Not now."
And he pulled the trigger.
Fyl was finished, but Lusa didn't want to be next. Forgetting her earlier apprehension, she scurried along the rooftop to the doorway, and sighed with relief when she found it open.
Inside, sheltered from the horrors she had just witnessed, she paused, breaths heaving. Then she started to sob.
Which she was still doing when Martha found her.
"Phew, that was close."
Mosgon stared down at the gun, the first flickers of doubt rampaging across his face. In fact, it was the first doubt he'd shown in all the short time that the Doctor had known him.
When he prized the weapon out of his fingers, he looked over it with keen interest. "Ah, there's your problem!" And he threw the gun over Mosgon's head, into a corner of the room.
"Come on, that sounded to be coming from somewhere high up..."
"What are you playing at?" asked Mosgon, recovering his wits at last.
"I'm not playing at all. I leave that to others." Without another word, the Doctor raced off up the stairs.
"What happened?"
Lusa had calmed down a little, but Martha knew from experience that it was probably just a temporary respite. Having taken a glance out onto the roof and seen the body, she knew just what this girl must be going through.
"Okay, what were you doing up here, then? Sneaking in to see the band?"
"It was his idea," replied Lusa, an automatic response that surprised both of them. "We'd only been waiting outside for their rotten autographs. Mosgon barrelled up and gave us the brush-off, so he wanted... to find another way in..." She broke off the story, sobbing again.
Martha just held the poor girl tight, understanding.
Which she was still doing when the Doctor found her.
Terk had chosen to sit by the body. They had soon realised he was a fan, and so it was the least he could do to repay that devotion.
"Nasty," said the Doctor, surveying the state of the corpse, and then the aerial. Terk thought he seemed to flinch slightly at the sight of it. Bad memories, perhaps.
"What do you reckon?" asked Martha, still assuming an accident.
"I reckon our friend Mr Mosgon has some explaining to do. This design is familiar... unfortunately. Terk, I need to know how you stand."
The rock star pulled a face. "On my own two feet?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "No, I mean, what's the deal with Mosgon? 10%? Fifty-fifty?"
"He's our manager, our agent, our PR. Why?"
"Because he's using you."
Terk surprised everyone, even himself, and laughed. "Doc, that's generally what these guys do!"
"Not for this. Come on, Martha, time to face the final curtain!"
The rest of the band were shocked.
"When we get to New Lemusona, there'll be a new frontman for you. I know you've had complaints about Mr Wistcotte in the past... well, don't say I don't listen to you."
Mosgon looked around the room. Were they gonna buy it?
"And I'll make sure you all get a proper break when we reach the Kestine Galaxy. What do you say?"
"Why can't Terk tell us all this himself?" asked Bluey.
Because... "It's all this nonsense that this Doctor has been filling his head with, increased margins, variable overheads, the Fingal axis... if you ask me, he's got his head stuck up his-"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" interrupted the Doctor. "Impressionable minds, even at their age. Not to mention the poor kids in the audience."
"Doctor, how nice to see you!" lied Mosgon. "Sorted your little problem, have you?"
"Terk's handling it, actually. He's a good lad. So, now I've got all my time to ask about your transmitter." He sat down, arms folded, expression of distaste in full flow.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The Doctor smiled. "Excellent. It must be someone local, then. I'll get it taken down immediately."
Mosgon hesitated - and everyone noticed. "Are you sure that's wise? Probably best get an expert to do it."
"I am an expert. On all sorts of things. Including the Arkimos Principle." The smile turned back to a grimace.
"Ah."
"Do you want to tell the guys what that means, or shall I? No, tell you what-"
"I know what it means." It was Bluey again, of all people. "Well, it's something to do with sub-space physics... isn't it?"
"Sort of. To take a hypothetical example, someone could use it to broadcast a signal across space and then across an arena such as the one out there, and transmit a message into the cerebral cortexes of the audience. How many planets did you say you'd covered on this tour?"
Bluey tried to remember, and then realised, as they all did, that a precise number was not called for. "What have we been doing?"
"You've been using people. And being used yourself! Isn't that right, Mosgon? No wonder you were so keen to keep everyone moving after the gig, if they stayed, people might notice. Might put 2 and 2 together."
The smile was absolute. "You can't prove any of this. You can't even prove it hasn't been you all along."
"Oh, you reckon?" The Doctor pulled the Sonic from his inside pocket, looking for the right setting. "Let's put that to the test, shall we?"
"You'd need independent verification," added Mosgon, smile only slightly faltering.
"No need," said Terk, entering with Lusa in tow. "Because it stops here, and now. You won't get far without your band behind you."
"Mutiny, Mr Wistcotte?" Martha saw the smile was all but gone.
"Are we a band of brothers, guys?" asked Terk.
"I'm with you, Terk," said Bluey, and the others nodded, or waved cans, as appropriate.
The Doctor looked to Lusa. "Tell me, Lusa, have you ever considered management?"
Her eyes flickered. She was still missing Fyl, but being close to Terk was helping. "Me?"
"Yes!" Terk caught on quick. "We need a new manager. Someone who understands us. Someone... who likes us."
"You can't do this!" screeched Mosgon.
"Oh, they can," refuted the Doctor. "When people band together, it can be the strongest force in the universe. And you're out."
Mosgon looked around. At a wall of silence. Then went to the door.
But when he opened it, he saw three policemen, flanking a plain-clothes officer. Holding a datacorder. And a smile.
"So, what now?"
"Well, with the full itinerary of planets, I can send a counter-signal through this aerial, to hopefully reverse the effects of the beam. Clever bloke, Arkimos. You should meet him, someday."
She sighed. "I meant, what about the band?"
"Well, they'll go on again, but with a new direction."
"Shame about Fyl."
"Who?"
"Lusa's friend? Who died?"
"Oh, was that his name! Yes, liking music shouldn't be that dangerous..."
"And what about us?"
He looked surprised at the question. "Sorry, did you want to see the concert? Well, just for the record, Martha... they rocked!"