The TARDIS lurched, awaking Phoebe immediately. She switched her light on, and looked at the clock on the wall. It was still the middle of the night, and she frowned. The Doctor had told her they would be drifting through the Goblin Nebula for another two days; and a drifting TARDIS should have no reason to lurch like that.
The warning siren sounded, and she leapt out of bed. Something was wrong. She hurried through to the console room and found the Doctor frantically wrestling with a stubborn lever on the console. “What’s happening?” she asked anxiously.
He looked up at her. “Put some clothes on!” he said. “We need to land as soon as possible. We passed through a pocket of cydoclastic matter – no idea what that was doing so far from the nearest black hole – and we’re experiencing a dangerous build-up of cydonic energy in the engine. We need to shut everything down and cool the TARDIS to within six degrees of absolute zero. But not, obviously, while we’re still in it!”
The TARDIS lurched again, and Phoebe was thrown against the wall. “Ow!” she exclaimed. “Why does it keep doing that?”
“I’ve sent us on a very rapid descent through a time vortex!” said the Doctor, finally locking the lever into position. “We’re bound to bump into a few things along the way. Hold tight – we’re about to land!”
Phoebe braced herself for an impact that never came. The familiar wheezing sound of the engine as the TARDIS materialised was the only sign that they had arrived at their destination. “Quick!” said the Doctor, slapping a button to open the front door. “Get out, now!”
“But you said I should put some clothes on!” said Phoebe, getting to her feet.
“No time!” said the Doctor. “I need to deep freeze the TARDIS in…” He consulted his watch, then he frowned, tapping it. “Five seconds!” he decided.
Phoebe hurried past the console and ran through the door. The Doctor hit a button, then dashed after her, closing the door behind him. “There,” he said. “That should keep the engine from overheating long enough for the cydonic energy to dissipate.”
“And how long will that take?” asked Phoebe.
“A few hours,” said the Doctor, turning to look at their surroundings. “Ah.”
“Oh!” said Phoebe, looking around. Without her glasses everything was rather blurry, but she could see several objects moving towards them. People-shaped objects. Suddenly she found herself wishing she had gone to bed last night wearing something a little more substantial than a flimsy white tank-top and skimpy pale pink panties.
“Hello, hello!” said the Doctor, raising an arm in greeting. “I’m the Doctor. This is Phoebe of Traxillan. We do apologise for barging in like this.”
An grey-haired man in long, colourful robes stopped in front of the Doctor, and leaned on an ornate staff. “I am Fallto the Eighteenth,” he said. “In the sixty years of my sometimes extraordinary life, I have never seen anything quite like this. Tell me, Doctor: how is it that you have appeared here in this … curious device?” He indicated the TARDIS.
“Well it’s quite simple really,” said the Doctor. “I’m a Time Lord, you see, which means I pop in and out of all sorts of places, at all sorts of inconvenient times. This is my ship, which I’m very fond of although it does have some unfortunate quirks. Um, would you mind telling me what planet this is?”
“This is Darb,” said Fallto. “And you are currently in the heart of its eighth city, Hedrussa. We have not had visitors from another planet in nearly twenty years! We welcome you both.”
“Thank you very much,” said Phoebe.
“We appreciate your welcome,” said the Doctor, “and we’ll endeavour not to outstay it. Our vessel is out of commission for the next few hours – might we perhaps rent some accommodation for tonight? I’m afraid we have no local currency, but…”
“We would not dream of requiring you to pay,” said the old man with a wrinkled smile. “It will be our pleasure to host you both for the night.”
“I was hoping you might say something like that, that’s very kind of you,” said the Doctor. “And perhaps you might spare some clothing for my friend? She does not customarily dress like this; we had to leave our ship in rather a hurry.”
“Of course,” said Fallto. He waved to a nearby young woman in a floor-length gown, who was looking at Phoebe in obvious disapproval. “Please see to our guests’ needs, Remalda.”
“As Your Exaltedness wishes,” said Remalda with a deep bow. “Please, come with me.”
Phoebe stuck close to the Doctor as she followed the young woman out of the large chamber in which they had materialised, and along a brightly-lit corridor. After more twists and turns than she could count, the corridor ended at a door which opened as Remalda approached it. Phoebe followed her through the doorway, and found herself stepping outside into bright sunshine, and a huge market square filled with people hurrying from one place to another.
“Oh dear!” said Phoebe, feeling even more exposed as she noted that all of the women wore floor length dresses. It did not take long for people to start noticing her, and staring at her.
“Remalda, was it really necessary to bring us by this public a route?” asked the Doctor pointedly.
Remalda smirked. “This is the only way to get to the Bessalum Hotel, where you will be staying,” she said. “It’s right this way.”
A short walk brought them to an impressively large building, which Phoebe was glad to enter. Her poor eyesight could not really make out the expressions of most of those who were staring at her, but a few came close enough for her to pick up on their disapproval and contempt. “I really need clothes!” she muttered urgently to the Doctor.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have you dressed in no time,” he promised.
Remalda spoke to a man behind a desk in the lobby, and soon two young women appeared. Phoebe was surprised to see that both of them were very obviously pregnant; one looked as if she might be just days away from giving birth.
“Please step into the elevator shaft,” they said to the Doctor and Phoebe, indicating a vertical tube with an opening at ground level.
“I’m sorry?” inquired Phoebe, wide-eyed. The shaft seemed to disappear into the depths of the Earth – there was no way she was going anywhere near that thing.
“You’ll have to forgive us – we’re not familiar with your technology,” said the Doctor. “How does it work? Do we tell it what floor we want?”
“The Mainframe has already been programmed with your bone scan,” said the less pregnant of the two women. “It knows what floor your room is on.”
“Excellent,” said the Doctor, and Phoebe gasped as she watched him step nonchalantly into the shaft. To her surprise, he simply hovered there for a moment, then began to rise at a swift though hardly breakneck pace.
“Your turn, Mistress,” said the heavily pregnant woman to Phoebe.
Phoebe licked her lips nervously. “All right,” she said, and she stepped into the shaft. Almost immediately she was carried upward by some invisible force. She passed several openings, and then she slowed and stopped, and drifted in a rather wobbly fashion towards another opening. Setting foot on the solid floor was quite a relief.
“You got the hang of it, I see,” said the Doctor, smiling as he waited for her.
The two pregnant women joined them a moment later, stepping out of the shaft with the ease of long experience. “Come with me, Mistress,” said the heavily pregnant woman to Phoebe.
“Oh please call me Phoebe,” said Phoebe as she followed the woman along a corridor. “And what do I call you?”
“My name is Lastira,” said the woman. “This is your room.” She touched a door, which opened vertically.
“Wow, it’s very nice!” exclaimed Phoebe, entering a room that was quite simply dazzling in its sumptuousness. “What a view!” She walked over to the window and looked out over a sea of beautiful buildings, beyond which rose distant mountains with snowy peaks.
“Your friend is in the room next door,” said Lastira.
Phoebe turned and smiled. “Thank you very much,” she said. “So tell me … when are you due? Any day, by the look of it!”
Lastira smiled briefly, but looked a little sad. “Yes – it shouldn’t be long now.”
Phoebe was surprised by the woman’s manner. “Boy or girl?” she inquired, hoping to engage Lastira’s enthusiasm.
But this seemed to make things worse, as the young woman’s eyes became a little misty. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to welcome,” she said.
“Oh – of course,” said Phoebe. “I’m sorry if I said something improper. I’m not familiar with your customs, you see.”
“It’s all right,” said Lastira, forcing a smile. Then she turned and left at a swift pace.
Phoebe frowned, but then she shrugged: it was really none of her business, after all. “Oh but wait – clothes!” she exclaimed, but Lastira was already out of earshot.
A few minutes later, the edges of her door lit up like neon, and she heard a soft, bell-like sound. “Um … come in?” she ventured.
The Doctor entered. “Apparently we’ve been invited back to the Citadel to have dinner with the High Counsellor and his wife,” he said. “Good heavens, Phoebe, haven’t you acquired any clothing yet?”
“No,” said Phoebe glumly.
“Well you can’t go to dinner like that,” he said. “I’ll go out and find you something to wear. As I recall, this planet has some wonderful clothing technology, based on organometals – programmable clothing, you know. It responds to the ambient temperature, and the temperature of your body, and keeps you cool, or warm, or whatever it needs to do. It can also tell you if you’re coming down with something nasty…”
“Interesting!” said Phoebe, intrigued.
“Yes, well,” said the Doctor. “I’ll be back shortly with something suitable.”
“Thanks Doctor,” said Phoebe.
The Doctor left her room and dropped down the elevator shaft to the lobby. Approaching the front desk, he said, “Young man, would you be so kind as to tell me where I might acquire some clothing for my young companion?”
“Of course, sir,” said the receptionist. “There are three clothing emporiums in the vicinity. As you leave this building just turn left…”
But the Doctor, distracted by the sight of a pregnant woman walking past on the street, said, “Your city seems to be experiencing an epidemic of pregnancies.”
“Uh, yes sir,” said the receptionist hesitantly. “It’s been a busy year, I suppose.”
The Doctor frowned thoughtfully, and walked out on to the street. Of the next ten people he passed, three were pregnant women. He stopped the third and said, “Excuse me young lady, would you mind directing me to a clothes shop?”
“Of course – there’s one just over there,” said the woman.
“Thank you very much,” smiled the Doctor. “And congratulations.” He indicated her belly.
“Oh, thank you,” said the woman without enthusiasm.
“There seems to be a lot of concurrent pregnancies in this city,” remarked the Doctor, looking around and gesturing at another heavily pregnant woman.
“Yes,” agreed the woman, but she did not seem inclined to provide an explanation. “Excuse me.” She hurried on her way.
“How very odd,” mused the Doctor. Turning around, he headed for the Citadel, but when he reached the entrance through which Remalda had led him and Phoebe earlier, he found it guarded by two hefty men in uniform. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said to them, and he attempted to pass between them.
One of the guards lowered an electro-pike, barring his way. “I’m sorry sir, but you’ll need a pass to enter the Citadel.”
“But that’s absurd – I’m a guest of the High Counsellor,” said the Doctor. “He’s invited me to dinner!”
“It is not yet time for dinner,” said the guard. “Please come back at sundown.”
“Oh very well,” said the Doctor with a sigh, and he turned to leave. But he did not go far; he was even more determined to enter the Citadel now that he had been barred from doing so. Finding a locked side door, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the lock. A moment later, he was inside and making his cautious way down a corridor.
****************************************
In a control room in the heart of the Citadel, the High Counsellor watched a monitor over a technician’s shoulder. The display was showing the Doctor stealthily creeping down a corridor, and Rallto frowned. “This Doctor is apparently a spy,” he said. He pressed a button on the wall. “Guards, please apprehend the Doctor – gently – and bring him to the interrogation chamber.”
“Of course, Your Exaltedness,” came the reply.
“And you’d better station a guard outside his companion’s room at the hotel,” Rallto added. “We don’t want her running around loose while the Doctor is under lock and key.”
“Very good, Your Exaltedness.”
****************************************
The Doctor was hiding out of sight as he watched a trio of men chatting and laughing at a junction in the corridor. After a moment they parted ways, and he drew back into the shadows as one of them walked right past him. Then he stepped into the corridor and made his way quickly down the right-hand branch. Stopping outside a door, he listened carefully, then tried the handle. It was locked, so he used his sonic screwdriver again. This time, it opened.
Inside were about a dozen surprised-looking young women, all heavily pregnant. “Well hello, ladies,” said the Doctor.
“Who are you?” asked one of the women suspiciously.
“Oh I’m just a visitor, passing through,” he said. “This door was locked – are you being held prisoner?”
The women looked at each other uncertainly. “No, not at all,” said the one who had spoken.
A hand was laid on the Doctor’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here, sir,” said a voice behind him. “Please come with us.”
“Oh all right,” said the Doctor with a sigh. “It was nice meeting you, ladies.”
****************************************
“What were you doing, snooping around the Citadel?” asked the Chief Interrogator. He was tall and thin, with bushy black eyebrows that came together when he frowned.
The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I was simply attempting to ascertain what the big secret is around here,” he said. “Clearly, you’re all hiding something.”
“We have nothing to hide,” said the Interrogator, glaring at the Doctor. “But you cannot simply wander around our Citadel without authorisation.”
“What’s up with all the pregnant women?” inquired the Doctor. “Around forty percent of those of child-bearing age, I’d estimate. At least among the working classes – none of the more well-to-do ladies seem particularly pregnant.”
“It is normal for this region,” said the Interrogator dismissively. “Nothing for you to concern yourself about.”
“Where’s Phoebe?” asked the Doctor. “I do hope you haven’t arrested her too.”
“No, but she will have to remain where she is until we have obtained some answers from you,” said the Interrogator. He leaned in close to the Doctor, and frowned. “Whom do you work for?”
“Work for?” asked the Doctor in surprise. “My goodness, man, you seem to have me confused for somebody who works for a living. I’ve never heard anything quite so absurd. I work for nobody but myself, and I hardly ever even do that.”
“Then for what government are you spying?” asked the Interrogator sharply.
The door opened and the High Counsellor swept in, looking highly distressed. “My dear Doctor!” he said. “I am most dreadfully sorry. Our police force tends to adhere to the letter of the law, and is not well versed in the finer points of interplanetary diplomacy. Gavvito, release the Doctor immediately!”
“As you wish, Your Exaltedness,” said the Interrogator, rather stiffly.
“That’s quite all right,” said the Doctor, getting to his feet. “Gavvito and I were just having a nice little chat.”
“It is very generous of you to take that attitude,” said Rallto with a smile. “Come – let us talk in a more comfortable setting.”
Ten minutes later, the Doctor was sitting in Rallto’s own quarters, sipping at a glass of Kollen-Darbian wine. “Tasty stuff, this!” he said, raising his glass to Rallto. “If this is anything to go by, dinner should be a treat indeed.”
“Oh it will,” said Rallto with a smile. “But tell me, Doctor – not to seem too indelicate, but why did you feel it necessary to break into our Citadel?”
“Well I didn’t actually break anything,” remarked the Doctor. “But I must admit, the number of pregnant women in this city has me very curious – particularly since none of them seems especially happy about it.”
“Times are hard,” said Rallto with a sigh. “It is not easy to raise a family in these economic conditions. A newborn child is always a blessing, but it can be a little bit of a curse too, for some. Tell me, Doctor – have you heard of Solennic radiation?”
“I haven’t,” said the Doctor. “Perhaps you could enlighten me.”
Rallto picked up a small wooden bowl, and pulled out of it a slender, worm-like object. He popped it into his mouth and crunched on it thoughtfully. “It strikes our planet in cycles,” he said. “Oh – would you care for a jellenga?” He offered the bowl to the Doctor.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the Doctor, pulling one of the objects out. It had a faintly tangy smell, and when he popped it in his mouth, he found it to have a crispy texture. It was also quite delicious. “Good heavens!”
Rallto laughed. “Good, aren’t they? Jellengai are quite a delicacy, and extremely versatile – our chefs can work wonders with them.”
“You were saying about the radiation,” said the Doctor.
“Ah yes,” said Rallto. “It has the unfortunate effect of rendering our women infertile. For almost four years out of every five, no babies are conceived.”
“Aha,” said the Doctor. “So when the cycle passes, and the planet is no longer subjected to the radiation, you experience quite a boom in pregnancies.”
“Indeed,” said Rallto, nodding.
“Is there no way to shield the planet from the radiation?” asked the Doctor. “Where does it come from?”
“A major space battle was fought in our solar system a couple of centuries ago,” said Rallto. “Sollenic radiation, in much higher and more deadly concentrations, was used as a weapon. After the battle, though our planet escaped most of the physical destruction, we discovered that our moon, Dipirri, had suffered such a bombardment that it was now bathing us in a constant stream of Solennic radiation. If it were not for Dipirri’s highly eccentric orbit, no babies would have been born on our world for the past two hundred and twelve years.”
“I assume the levels are decreasing, though?” said the Doctor.
“Yes indeed,” said Rallto, nodding. “Already they are less than half what they once were. And the period of fertility of our women is increasing accordingly. But it will take the best part of a millennium for things to return to normal.”
“Well,” said the Doctor, putting his hands on his knees, “my curiosity has certainly been sated. Thank you for your explanation.”
“Don’t mention it, Doctor,” said Rallto with a smile. “I will see you and your companion for dinner later?”
“Of course,” said the Doctor. “But … do you think I might grab another of these jellengai of yours?”
“Please do!” said Rallto, holding up the bowl again.
“Marvellous things,” said the Doctor, popping one of the crispy worms in his mouth.
****************************************
Phoebe’s door lit up, and chimed. “Come in!” she said. “It’s about time!”
“I do apologise,” said the Doctor as he entered. “I had a small case of getting arrested.”
“For what?” asked Phoebe, wide-eyed.
“Snooping,” said the Doctor ruefully. “Good heavens, girl, haven’t you found any clothes yet?”
“You were going to get me some!” protested Phoebe.
“Ah yes,” said the Doctor, and he winked at her. “Here you go.” He handed her a large bag, out of which Phoebe pulled a long, very bulky, and very elegant-looking dress.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Oh, you did very well, Doctor!”
“Yes, well, you’d better get ready,” he said. “We’ll be going to dinner soon.” He winked at her again … and again.
Phoebe raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, until she realised that he was communicating with her in the secret winking language of the Olpurians, of which she had a relatively good working knowledge.
“Have you been bored, sitting here all by yourself?” asked the Doctor, but his right eye was saying: “They are watching and listening – we can’t talk freely.”
“Um … yes, a bit,” admitted Phoebe, and she winked back at him, “What did you find out?”
“Ah well, I’m so sorry about that,” said the Doctor, and he winked: “Huge number of pregnant women here, and Rallto’s explanation for it made no sense.”
“It’s all right,” said Phoebe. “I’ll be glad to get out of this room though.” And while she said this, she winked: “I’d noticed the pregnancies. What’s your theory?”
“I’ll give you some privacy, then, and you can get changed,” said the Doctor, getting to his feet as he winked: “I don’t have one, yet – I need to investigate further.”
****************************************
The food served by Rallto’s kitchen staff (which included two pregnant women, Phoebe noticed), was beyond delicious. Among the highlights were the roasted kallaroots with jellenga puree, and the jellenga soup, both of which were more exciting to Phoebe’s palate than just about anything she had ever tasted. “This food is amazing!” she said.
“I’m very glad you like it,” said Herrva, Rallto’s wife. She smiled warmly. “There’s more if you would like some.”
“Actually, do you have a bathroom?” asked Phoebe, her cheeks turning a little pink.
“Of course – Sanshya will show you the way.” Herrva beckoned one of the pregnant women over.
The Doctor, ever vigilant, caught a warning glance directed from Rallto to Sanshya, and he nodded slightly to Phoebe.
“This way, Mistress,” said Sanshya.
Phoebe followed her down a carpeted passage to a bathroom with an ornately carved door. “Lots of women around here in your condition,” she remarked casually. “Will this be your first?”
Sanshya looked uncomfortable. “We don’t talk about such things,” she said. “It’s not our custom.”
“But you’re going to have a baby!” said Phoebe in surprise. “That’s a wonderful thing, surely? You must be very excited, I imagine; making plans, thinking up names…”
The young woman’s discomfort deepened. “Please,” she said in a rather pained voice.
“What’s going on?” demanded Phoebe. “All these pregnancies – it’s not natural. And nobody seems happy about it…”
“Hush!” said Sanshya nervously. “You must not ask such questions.”
“Why not?” asked Phoebe. “Why aren’t you allowed to discuss your baby? Are you not going to be allowed to keep it, or something?”
“Something like that – but I really can’t talk about it!” said Sanshya. “Please – the bathroom is just there.” And she turned and practically fled towards the kitchen.
Phoebe sighed. What was going on here? What was she missing?
****************************************
Back at the hotel, she and the Doctor sat and chatted inconsequentially, while their right eyes engaged in a very different conversation…
“Did you learn anything from the serving girl?” asked the Doctor.
“Nothing really, but I don’t think they get to keep their babies,” winked Phoebe.
“That makes sense – I haven’t seen very many babies or young children around,” the Doctor’s right eye remarked.
“Then what happens to them?” wondered Phoebe. “Slave labour?”
“Possibly,” agreed the Doctor. “But see what else you can find out. These women may be more willing to talk to you than to me.” Out loud he said, “I’m going to take a nap in my room. I suggest you go for a walk – explore the city a bit.”
“That sounds fun,” said Phoebe.
Once the Doctor had left, she took the elevator shaft (a mode of transportation at which she was quickly becoming proficient) down to the lobby, then headed outside. On the street she felt much more comfortable than she had when dressed in only a t-shirt and panties, and she soon found a heavily pregnant woman to talk to.
“You look like you’re nearly due,” she said in a low voice. “Bad luck…”
The woman looked at her suspiciously. “You’re not from around here.”
“Not originally,” smiled Phoebe, “but I’ve been here long enough to have been through the same thing.”
“Ah, so you’re between … events,” said the woman.
Phoebe, not knowing what this meant, nodded. “And really not looking forward to the next time!” she said.
“Who would?” said the woman with a shudder. “But hush – you know we aren’t allowed to talk about it.”
“Sorry,” said Phoebe. “Sometimes it just … helps … you know?”
“I know,” agreed the woman. “But I also value my liberty. Goodbye.”
Phoebe pursed her lips in frustration. She was not learning anything at all here. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to strike up a conversation, it was getting dark, so she returned to the hotel. In her room, she was about to get undressed for bed when she heard a noise outside in the corridor. Putting her ear to the door, she listened carefully.
“It’s happening!” a female voice was gasping.
“Then hurry!” said an older-sounding woman. “Get yourself to the Citadel, quickly – you know what happens to women who deliver before they’ve reported.”
“I know, I know! I’m going. Just tell Tavrato where I am.”
“He’ll know, I’m sure, but of course I’ll tell him. Now go!”
This was too good an opportunity to miss, and within moments, Phoebe was dropping down the elevator shaft after the young woman she had heard speaking. Leaving the hotel with an attempt at a nonchalant stroll, she then hugged the shadows outside while she followed the heavily pregnant woman towards the Citadel.
But her hopes of slipping into the Citadel were dashed when she saw the woman approach a guarded door. One of the guards pulled out an instrument of some kind, pointed it at the woman’s belly, waited for a second, then nodded. He opened the door and let the woman in. Phoebe knew she could not possibly get in the same way. Unless…
Thinking quickly, she stepped out into the street and made as if to walk right past the guards, ignoring them. But as she drew level with them, she pretended to stumble … then, with a groan, she fell to the ground, clutching her abdomen. One of the guards rushed over to kneel beside her, and at this point she faked a faint.
“She looks in a bad way, this one,” said the guard kneeling next to her.
“After-effects?” inquired the other, who had not left his post.
“Could be – we’d better get her inside,” said the first.
Phoebe felt herself being lifted up and carried. The fresh, slightly chilly evening air of the market square was replaced with the warmer, stiller air of the Citadel’s interior. A moment later she was laid down on a soft surface, and a voice said, “Miss? Can you hear me?”
She decided to ‘come around’ at this point, and groaned. “My belly!” she gasped. “It really hurts!”
“I’ll go and get Sabalroat,” said one of the guards. “He’ll know what to do.”
“What about the door? There’ll be trouble if we leave it unattended.”
“Yeah, you’d better get back there. She doesn’t look like she’ll be going anywhere for a while … but just to be safe, we’ll lock her in.”
“All right. See you later.”
There was a click as the door was locked, and then Phoebe was alone. She opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a small room, nicely furnished, with a row of inactive computer terminals along one wall. She looked for a means of switching them on, but could see none. Time being of the essence, she then hurriedly searched the room for a means of escape. The door seemed very solid, and she certainly had no lock-picking skills, so she turned her attention to a ventilation grille high up in the wall.
If it had been sealed shut with screws or bolts of some kind, she would not have had much of a chance of removing it. But this room had obviously not been designed to prevent people from escaping; the grille came off with little more than a sharp upward tug. The revealed opening, however, was very small, and would be a tight squeeze for Phoebe at the best of times. With her bulky dress on, it would be next to impossible to enter.
With a sigh, Phoebe took off the dress and laid it over the back of a chair. Now she was wearing only her panties and shoes, since the cut of the dress had prevented her from wearing her tank-top beneath it. Standing on a chair, she hoisted herself up into the ventilation duct, only to lose one shoe as she wiggled herself inside. Cursing under her breath, she kicked off the other shoe as well, since one shoe alone would be more of a nuisance than anything else.
Crawling along the duct was rather fun; Phoebe had never had a problem with enclosed spaces, and she was able to make progress quickly and quietly. Every so often she would come to a junction, and she turned whichever way seemed most promising. After a while, she investigated a grille from which sounds of speech were coming. Easing her way up to it, she forced herself to breathe very softly as she listened.
“That’s the last of it,” one man was saying. “Let’s get the lid on, and we’ll put it with the others.”
Phoebe squinted as she peered through the grille at a large metal drum, either side of which two men were standing. One stooped to pick up a round lid, and Phoebe squinted, trying to see what was in the drum. Her poor eyesight, however, could only resolve an indistinct brown blur. Then the lid was placed on top of the drum, and the men sealed it tight. Then they pushed it over to stand next to several similar drums.
This was of little interest to her, in any case – she was hoping to find the woman who had come into the Citadel just ahead of her. She backed up to the last junction and continued onward, until she passed another murmuring grille, this time with the sound of female voices. She approached with catlike stealth, and listened carefully.
“Ugh, they’re coming! I can feel them!” said one woman.
“Is this your first time?”
“Yes! Ugh, it feels horrible! Does it get any better?”
“No – but you do get used to it, a bit.”
A door opened, and a man entered the room. “You’re ready?” he asked.
“Yes!” said the first woman. “I can feel them…”
“Come with me,” said the man. “Try to hold on, but don’t worry if they start coming out. The event takes a couple of hours – it doesn’t happen all at once.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” said the woman, getting to her feet. She followed the man out of the room.
Phoebe was determined to find out where they were going. She crawled further along, and tried the next grille. This one looked out over an empty room, and she decided it was time to leave the duct. Removing the grille was harder from this side, but she managed it, and a moment later she dropped rather haphazardly into the room.
Opening the door carefully, she looked out into the corridor. Nobody was coming, so she crept out and tiptoed over to a different door. Here she listened, and it soon became apparent that she had chosen well.
“Just position yourself on the ramp there,” said a female voice, “and when you feel ready, start tensing your stomach muscles. That will get things moving.”
Phoebe very slowly began to turn the door handle, but then she let go as she heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. She darted back to the room she had left, and hid as the other door opened. She caught a glimpse of a middle-aged woman walking past. Then she left her hiding place and returned to what she imagined was a birthing room. Opening the door, she peered in to see a young woman lying on a cushioned, slightly sloping ramp with a bucket beneath it. Her feet were set into fixed sockets in the edge of the ramp, and her legs were spread. She was naked from the waist down, and she gasped as she saw Phoebe.
“Who are you?” she exclaimed. “Get out of here!”
But Phoebe merely stared at her, appalled. “You’re going to give birth into a bucket?”
“Marrinda!” called the woman. “Help!”
“I’m not here to hurt you!” said Phoebe in exasperation. “I just wanted to find out what goes on in here, and what happens to the babies once they’re born.”
The woman stared at her. “You don’t know?” Then she grimaced, and tensed up. “Well I suppose you’re about to find out!”
Then a shocking thing happened. The woman’s vaginal opening dilated a little, and a reddish-brown object began to emerge. Phoebe could tell immediately that it was not a baby; it seemed like tangled ball of noodles, except that as she continued to watch, the ‘noodles’ writhed of their own accord, and separated from each other. With horror, Phoebe realised she was looking at a squirming, tightly-packed mass of worms. “Ohhh what??” she exclaimed. “What are those things?”
“Jellengai, of course!” said the woman. “What else?”
“The things I ate at dinner?” Phoebe gasped.
“Oh you did, did you? Well yes – though I’ve no idea how you don’t know this already, this is where they come from.”
“But how did they get inside you in the first place?” Phoebe squealed.
“That part is easy,” said a voice behind her.
Clasping her hands to her breasts, Phoebe whirled around, and gasped at the sight of Rallto, who had abandoned his courteous manner and was giving her an unpleasant stare. “You’re using these women to breed your snacks!” she accused him.
“More than just snacks,” said Rallto. “The health benefits of jellengai are well-documented. They can increase our lifespan by up to fifty percent.”
“But it’s horrible!” exclaimed Phoebe. “You’ve turned what should be a wonderful experience for a woman into … an abomination!”
“The women are paid for their service to the Citadel,” said Rallto with a shrug. “Most of them, at least. You, however, will receive no payment.”
“Payment for what?” gasped Phoebe, her face turning pale.
“For becoming a Jellengarissa,” said Rallto, smiling grimly. “Guards – take her to the impregnation room.”
“No!” screamed Phoebe. “You can’t do this!” She struggled against the guards as they took her arms and began to drag her out of the room. “Wait until the Doctor hears about this!”
“Then talk!” snapped Rallto, holding up a hand. “For what government or agency are you spying?”
“I’m not a spy!” cried Phoebe.
“Your actions would seem to suggest otherwise,” remarked Rallto dryly.
“All right, I was trying to find out what’s going on here,” admitted Phoebe, “but I was doing so on nobody’s behalf but myself and the Doctor. We were just curious!”
Rallto snorted. “Are you aware that the impregnation process is permanent? Once the jellengai are in your body, their tiny eggs will flow throughout your whole body, embedding themselves in your internal organs – even your brain. As they hatch and grow, they will make their way to your womb, where they will grow to their adult size. You will be giving birth to them, on and off, for the rest of your life. There is no cure.”
“But that’s horrible!” exclaimed Phoebe, aghast.
“Then tell me for whom you are spying!” shouted Rallto.
“I told you the truth!” insisted Phoebe. “I’m not spying for anyone.”
“Then you have sealed your own fate,” sighed Rallto. “Take her away.”
And Phoebe was dragged, kicking and screaming, from the room.
****************************************
The Doctor had not been idle while waiting for Phoebe. Having reprogrammed the food dispenser in his room to tap into the Citadel’s internal communications network, he had been unable to solve the mystery Phoebe herself had just uncovered, but when he spotted a memo about a spy being apprehended, he immediately feared the worst. Grabbing his hat, he returned to the Citadel with all haste.
The guards let him in when he insisted on seeing Rallto, and they escorted him to a waiting room. Five minutes later, Rallto appeared, wearing a frown. “Doctor, your young friend is in serious trouble,” he said. “She was caught, much like yourself earlier, in a place she should not have been. I can no longer overlook your excessive curiosity – the charge of spying seems entirely appropriate now.”
“I quite understand and I do sincerely apologise, Rallto. Phoebe overstepped, and disobeyed my strict instructions not to pursue the matter any further. If I could just take her back to the hotel, I will attempt to keep her in check a little better.”
“It is too late for that, Doctor,” said Rallto. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on some answers. I must know for whom you and your companion are spying.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous – I don’t spy for anyone. I am a scientist and a seeker of truth – and that is the total extent of our quest.”
“I see,” said Rallto. “You are going to prove to be as troublesome as your friend. I will give you some time to reconsider your position – but in the meantime, I will return to continue Phoebe’s interrogation. Let me assure you that we have very uncomfortable and creative ways of extracting information.”
“Torture?” said the Doctor, rising to his feet. “You had better think twice before laying a finger on that young woman!”
“Nothing need happen to her,” said Rallto calmly, “if you will simply give me the information I am requesting.”
The Doctor sighed. “Very well,” he said. “You may not be aware of it, but has it ever occurred to you that the Pentaplanetary Police Force might have become curious about the falling birth rates here?”
Rallto’s eyebrows shot up. “The PPF has no jurisdiction here!” he exclaimed.
“They see it differently,” said the Doctor. “They are generally content to leave you alone, but only as long as you maintain their high standards of civilised society.”
Rallto looked stunned for a moment. Then his face hardened. “I will have to verify your story,” he said, and he swept out of the room, locking the door behind him.
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He would have to act quickly – it would not take long for Rallto to find out that he had not been sent by the Pentaplanetary Police Force. He had to escape and find Phoebe!
He unlocked the door, and cautiously opened it. Outside, two guards levelled their guns at him. “Nice try,” said one of them. “Get back in there.”
“So sorry to disturb you,” said the Doctor, retreating back inside the room and closing the door. Looking around, he spotted a ventilation grille, but he was no lithe slip of a girl like Phoebe, and had no illusions about his ability to fit into the duct. No – a more elegant solution was required…
Two minutes later, the guards outside heard a crash from within the room, and they looked at each other for a moment before opening the door and rushing in. They were just in time to see the Doctor’s shoes disappearing into the duct; the grille on the floor had clearly made the crashing sound. “He’s in the duct!” said one of the guards.
“Go and tell His Exaltedness!” said the other guard. “I’ll check the duct map, and try to head him off.”
The first guard nodded, and both ran from the room. Chuckling, the Doctor emerged from his hiding place behind a chair, and cautiously crept out into the corridor, his sock-clad feet making no noise at all. He found a computer terminal within moments, and soon determined where Phoebe was being held. “Impregnation room?” he muttered under his breath. “That sounds ominous.” He took a few steps down the corridor, then he snapped his fingers. “Of course! The jellengai!” Shocked, he broke into a run.
Ten minutes later he had found the room in question. Bursting in, he immediately noticed two things of extreme importance. Firstly, Phoebe was naked and strapped to a near-vertical conveyor belt with her thighs bound to her shins, and her knees either side of her shoulders. Her pussy and vaginal opening, looking very exposed and vulnerable, were slowly descending towards a huge vat which was filled with wriggling worms. Secondly, the conveyor belt was being operated by a man in a lime green jacket and trousers, who looked up nervously as the Doctor entered.
“Stop that machine!” ordered the Doctor.
“Who are you?” asked the man, his hand poised over the control panel.
“I’m the Doctor, and that is all the explanation you are going to get. Stop that machine!”
The man flipped a switch, and the conveyor belt abruptly stopped moving. Phoebe, her buttocks just a few inches from the wriggling worms, heaved a sigh of relief. “Just in time, Doctor!” she said. “Now get me out of here!”
“Right away, Phoebe,” said the Doctor, and he rushed over to her.
“Stop right there, Doctor!” said a voice from the doorway.
The Doctor whirled around to see Rallto, flanked by two armed guards. “Cease this madness, Rallto!” said the Doctor. “This evil cannot, must not continue!”
“And who are you to say so?” inquired Rallto. “Not an agent of the PPF, that much is certain. I have spoken to Lord Andrascoll himself, and he has no knowledge of either of you.”
“I never actually said I represented the PPF,” said the Doctor.
“Then whom do you represent?” demanded Rallto. “Sorriko, restart the conveyor.”
“No!” squealed Phoebe as her descent towards the worms resumed.
“If you want to spare your friend eternal impregnation with jellengai,” said Rallto, “then talk!”
“Your continued insistence on extracting non-existent information from us is really beginning to irritate me,” snapped the Doctor. “I am a Time Lord, and I represent nobody but myself, since the unfortunate demise of the rest of my race.”
“A Time Lord?” inquired Rallto. “And what is that?”
“I would have thought the name was sufficiently descriptive. I travel through time – I’m quite good at it.”
“Doctor!” shrieked Phoebe, as her buttocks came into contact with the writhing worms, and began to press down into them.
“Stop the machine!” barked the Doctor. “And I will show you my TARDIS – perhaps then you will believe me.”
Rallto hesitated, then he nodded to Sorriko, who flipped the switch. Phoebe’s descent halted, with her vaginal opening a scant inch from the worms. “Your companion’s situation is precarious, as you can see,” said Rallto. “I had better be satisfied by your demonstration, Doctor.”
“You will be,” the Doctor assured him. “In the meantime, though, if you would be so kind as to release her…”
“Oh no, Doctor,” said Rallto with an unpleasant smile. “She is quite safe where she is – for the moment. Torrusto, keep an eye on her. Brannatro, you will accompany us and ensure that the Doctor does not try anything.”
****************************************
“My goodness!” gasped Rallto, staring around at the TARDIS’s interior. “From the outside…”
“Yes, yes,” said the Doctor. “It’s dimensionally transcendental. Now do you believe that I am no agent of any of your planet’s governments?”
“Such technology!” said Rallto in amazement. “And you say it travels through time? How?”
“If you think I am going to share with you the secrets of time travel,” said the Doctor, “you are gravely mistaken.”
Rallto chuckled. “I still have your companion poised over a vat of jellengai, in case you had forgotten, Doctor.”
“That bargaining chip will only get you so far,” said the Doctor sternly. “It got you an invitation into the TARDIS – something I do not extend lightly – but it will not get you access to time travel technology.”
“Then I fear your companion is doomed…” said Rallto, turning towards the door.
“Wait!” said the Doctor. “I … can get you started on the right path. Your scientists will have to do the work themselves, but I can at least give them the basics. But only if you release Phoebe first.”
Rallto considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, Doctor. Let us release your friend. But she will remain in our custody until my scientists report significant progress.”
****************************************
Back in the impregnation room, Phoebe was desperately but unsuccessfully trying to lift her buttocks out of the worms. She looked up hopefully as the Doctor entered.
“Reverse the conveyor,” said Rallto to Sorriko. “And release her.”
The man in yellow nodded, and flipped a couple of switches. Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief as her bottom rose up out of the worms. But then the Doctor sprang into action. He and Rallto had entered the room before the guard, Brannatro, and with one swift movement, he closed the door and locked it with Brannatro still outside. Then, dashing across the room, he leaped at the other guard, Torrusto, who was just swinging his gun around. The two men crashed into a cabinet and fell to the floor, grappling with one another.
“Sorriko, put her in at once!” shouted Rallto, his face turning red with anger. “At once!”
“Doctor!” squealed Phoebe as she began to descend towards the worms again.
“You fool, Doctor!” exclaimed Rallto. “Now your friend will be permanently impregnated – and it will be your fault!”
“I think not!” said the Doctor, springing to his feet and lunging at Sorriko’s control panel with his sonic screwdriver outstretched. The panel sparked and popped, and the conveyor belt halted, with Phoebe’s buttocks just grazing the surface of the worms.
Torrusto, dazed, got to his feet and ran at the Doctor, who delivered a sharp jab to the guard’s throat. Clutching his neck, the guard dropped to the floor, coughing.
“Doctor, look out!” cried Phoebe.
Rallto had grabbed Torrusto’s fallen gun, and he now pointed it at the Doctor. “Make one move and I’ll fire!” he said furiously. “Sorriko, use the manual controls! Put her in!”
“Now let’s all be reasonable,” said the Doctor quickly. “There’s no need for anybody to be put into anything.”
Sorriko had begun turning a large, wall-mounted wheel, and Phoebe’s buttocks were sinking into the worms once again. “Help, Doctor!” she shrieked.
“You are out of time and options, Doctor!” said Rallto, aiming his gun at the Doctor’s head. “I suppose I will just have to kill you, and let my scientists figure out the secrets of your time machine.”
“They won’t!” said the Doctor urgently. “The technology would be incomprehensible to them. But I promise I will give you my full cooperation if you will let Phoebe go.”
“It is a little late for that, Doctor,” smirked Rallto. “She…” But at the moment when he gestured towards Phoebe with his gun, the Doctor sprang at him, knocking the point of the gun upwards. A laser pulse fired, making a large scorch mark in the ceiling, but then the gun went flying as the Doctor wrested it from Rallto’s grip. Struggling free, Rallto fled from the room, and the Doctor picked up the gun.
“You two – out!” he barked at Torrusto and Sorriko. Both men quickly ran from the room, and the Doctor rushed over to the wheel on the wall. Turning it in the opposite direction, he slowly raised Phoebe out of the vat of worms.
“It’s too late,” sobbed Phoebe as her vaginal opening cleared the surface. “I felt at least one of them go inside me.”
“If I can catch them soon enough, perhaps they won’t have had time to lay their eggs,” said the Doctor, letting go of the wheel and hurrying over to Phoebe. He licked his finger and then swiftly slid it into her vagina, feeling around carefully and thoroughly. “Got one!” he said, and he pulled it out of her. “Now think, Phoebe! Was it one, or two, or three? You must be certain.”
“It was either one or two,” said Phoebe. “No more than that, though – I’m positive.”
The Doctor felt around again, and said, “Aha!” He pulled out a second worm. “That one was deeper,” he said. He examined both worms. “Both carrying eggs – and both with their eggcases intact. You’re safe, Phoebe.”
“Oh thank you Doctor!” said Phoebe, sobbing with relief. “Now please get me off this conveyor belt!”
“Right away,” said the Doctor, examining her bonds. “Hmm, organosteel rope – I’ll need a cutting device since I don’t know the security code.”
“Won’t your screwdriver work?” asked Phoebe.
“Not on this – it’s not electronic,” said the Doctor. “But fear not, young Phoebe – I’ll soon find a suitable tool.” A quick search, however, unearthed nothing he could use. “I’ll have to search farther afield,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere – I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t go too far!” said Phoebe anxiously.
The Doctor hurried from the room, locking the door behind him. In the fifth room he opened, his eyes lit upon a small plastic object sitting on a table. “An organic communicator!” he muttered. “Perfect!” He began to reprogram it as a materials actuator while walking swiftly back to the impregnation room. But then he saw the door open, and six armed guards inside … along with Rallto. He hid behind a pillar, his thoughts racing as he tried to come up with a plan.
“The Doctor will be back soon, I’m sure,” said Rallto, his arms folded as he stared at Phoebe. “In the meantime, my dear, you will pay the price for his meddling! Put her in, Sorriko.”
“With pleasure, Your Exaltedness!” said Sorriko, and he turned the wheel, lowering Phoebe’s nether regions into the worms once more.
“No!” screamed Phoebe, thrashing ineffectually in her bonds as her vaginal opening disappeared beneath the surface. “Doctor! Help! Where are you?” Then she burst into tears as she felt the horrible worms crawling inside her.
“The Doctor can’t help you now,” said Rallto nastily, and he laughed. “The next time he shows his face, I’ll have him arrested and tried as an enemy of the state. I have not decided whether to have him executed or merely imprisoned until he has taught us everything he knows about time travel. Needless to say, however, he will not have any say in what happens to you, little Phoebe.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said the Doctor, stepping into the room. Instantly six guns were trained on him.
“Doctor!” wailed Phoebe, by now buried to the waist, her vagina filled with a squirming mass of worms.
“Damn you, Rallto!” said the Doctor angrily. “Lift her out of there at once!”
“You are in no position to issue orders, Doctor,” said Rallto with a disdainful sniff. He aimed his gun at the wheel on the wall, and fired. Sorriko jumped back in alarm as the wheel broke off and fell to the ground with a clatter.
“That was hardly necessary!” said the Doctor sharply.
“But the thing is,” said Rallto with a smile, “I decide what is necessary. You get to decide nothing. As of this moment, you are under arrest.”
“Oh, I think not,” said the Doctor. “Release Phoebe now, or I assure you that things will get very uncomfortable for you and your men.”
“You weary me, Doctor,” said Rallto. “Guards, take him away.”
Two of the guards approached the Doctor, but then they suddenly stopped, stiffening in alarm. “My clothes!” exclaimed one. The other guards soon began to cry out and tear at their clothing.
“What’s going on?” demanded Rallto, looking frightened as he ripped at his own clothes. “My clothes – they’re getting so hot!”
The Doctor held up the device he had reprogrammed. “Very cunning, the use of organometals in your clothing. Temperature regulation, self-diagnostics, even bullet-proofing I imagine. But it’s a bit of a double-edged sword, is it not? Anyone could come along and program a device like this to override your clothing’s programming and make it … well, any temperature at all, really.”
“I can’t take my uniform off!” cried one of the guards.
“Oh yes – rigidity of the fabric is also programmable,” said the Doctor. “I can quite easily cook you in your clothing, and there’s nothing you could do about it. Unless, of course, you run far away. The range of this thing is only about two hundred yards or so.”
This prompted a desperate scramble for the door, as Rallto, Sorriko, and the guards all tried to get out at the same time. “A curse on you, Doctor!” yelled Rallto as he ran down the corridor.
The Doctor rushed over to Phoebe, and tapped a few buttons on the actuator. Immediately the ropes around Phoebe’s arms and legs loosened, and she struggled hastily out of the vat, landing with rather shaky legs on the floor. Worms fell off her by the hundred.
“Oh no!” Phoebe groaned, feeling between her legs and sticking two fingers into her worm-infested vagina. “I’m full of them!”
“Yes, well, I’m very sorry about that, Phoebe,” said the Doctor. “I’m afraid it’s certain that you’ve become impregnated with them now. But rest assured, if there is a cure to be found, I will find it.”
“Thanks,” said Phoebe glumly. She did not feel much comforted.
“Let’s get back to the TARDIS,” said the Doctor. “Rallto and his people won’t dare come within two hundred yards of us, so I think we’ll find our passage unhindered.”
“But we can’t go into the TARDIS yet!” Phoebe reminded him. “Or can we?”
The Doctor smiled. “She sent me an alert just a few minutes ago. The cydonic energy has completely dissipated, and she’s unfreezing herself as we speak.”
“Good! But … what are we going to do about all the other poor pregnant women here?” asked Phoebe.
“Not much we can do for them,” said the Doctor with a sigh, “but we can at least put a stop to this vile practice. Our next port of call will be the headquarters of the Pentaplanetary Police Force – they will be very interested to know what is going on here – and very unhappy about it. Darb’s internal affairs do not exactly fall within the PPF’s purview, but they can exert tremendous pressure on Darb nonetheless – pressure which Darb’s leaders cannot afford to ignore. No – once the PPF hears about this, this abhorrent breeding of jellengai will not last for long.”
“Thank goodness!” said Phoebe. “But that’s not going to help me much, is it?”
“Not really,” said the Doctor. “I’m afraid you’ve got a lot of wriggly pregnancies to look forward to. But don’t worry: as I said, I’ll work on a cure. And I am rather good at the science stuff, you know?”