'Right then, you 'orrible lot,' the pirate addressed them. 'No one else 'ere leaves the room. Not even t'go to the toilet.'
The other pirates had positioned themselves round the cocktail lounge strategically, and seemed satisfied that they now held the room. Martha could only keep any two of them in her line of vision at once. The pirate who had shot the robot nodded at his colleagues, and each pirate in turn worked the controls at the necks of their spacesuits. There was a hiss of air as the suits depressurised, and then the robot-killer took off his helmet.
Martha gasped. She glanced back round at the other pirates, who were also removing their helmets. They were the same species. Each pirate wore a thick gold earring in his left ear, so heavy it made the ear droop. They each had the same twin black stripes running down their hairy faces, hiding mischievous, twinkling eyes. And it took Martha a moment to realise what she was looking at.
The pirates. They were badgers.
FOUR
'You're not Martha Jones,' said the Doctor as he stepped out of the scrambled egg membrane that blocked the door to the engine room.
'No, Mr Doctor,' said the slender machine in the shape of a flight steward. It bowed its head politely.
'Well hello anyway,' said the Doctor, clicking off his sonic screwdriver, spinning it in the air and then deftly dropping it into the inside pocket of his suit. He then banged his head on the dark wooden ceiling. 'Cramped in here, innit?' he said. 'Reminds me a bit of the SS Great Britain. I helped lay a carpet on that. You're a Bondoux 56, aren't you?'
'Indeed, Mr Doctor,' said the machine. 'Though I have been remodelled for this voyage with the latest accoutrements.'
'Good for you,' grinned the Doctor. 'I was gonna say you were a bit old-fashioned for the fortieth century, even when it's all retro like this place. But these accoutrements of yours. They don't half look like they hurt.'
The machine bent to examine its own battered body. The once highly polished chrome of its chest was smeared purple and black where it had been charred by flame. One slender arm still retained its original, elegant shape, the other had been badly twisted by the fire. The machine hesitated, as if it couldn't think quite what to say. It'd probably have protocols that stopped it slagging off the passengers or crew, thought the Doctor. So if one of them had done this, it would find it hard to say so.
'You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,' said the Doctor kindly.
The Bondoux 56 stood stiffly upright, and was probably in need of an oil. The Doctor would just find out where Martha was, have a word with the Brilliant's captain and then maybe they could do a quick repair; he really liked to be fixing things. 'There was . . .' said the machine, and hesitated. It took a full second before it selected the right word. 'An altercation, Mr Doctor. It is of no consequence.'
'Well that's very brave of you,' said the Doctor. 'Now, you seem to know who I am, so I'm guessing you've met my friend Martha.'
'Indeed, Mr Doctor. I have had that pleasure.'
'She is nice, isn't she?' said the Doctor. 'Clever and able and she's got lovely hair. Mind you, she likes to talk back to those older and more experienced, but I was the same at her age. She'll grow out of it by the time she's 300. Where can I find her?'
'The last time I saw Ms Martha she was in the cocktail lounge, Mr Doctor,' said the machine.
The Doctor laughed. 'I might have known. "Don't wander off," I say, and the moment she's out of sight it's "I'll have a white wine spritzer!'"
'Begging your pardon, Mr Doctor, but Ms Martha ordered a measure of hydrogen hydroxide. In liquid form.'
'The scamp! I can't believe she's found a bar and got served in less than thirty seconds.'
'Begging your pardon, Mr Doctor?'
A terrible thought struck the Doctor. His eyebrows pressed together as he scrutinised the machine. 'How long's it been since you saw her?' he asked.
'Checking,' said the machine. 'It has been three hours, forty-two minutes and... eighteen seconds since I last saw Ms Martha.'
'What!' said the Doctor. 'Three hours, forty-two minutes and . . . twenty-three seconds? Really? You mean Martha was in the cocktail lounge three hours, forty-two minutes and... twenty-nine seconds ago?'
'Indeed, Mr Doctor,' said the machine.
'Well that's clever of her. It only felt like thirty seconds to me. And I'm usually very good at that sort of thing. Being the last of the—' He grinned, sheepishly. 'Oh, never mind.'
He turned to examine the membrane of scrambled egg blocking the way back into the engine room, prodding it with a finger. It felt soft and warm and rubbery, but didn't yield to him. He buzzed the sonic screwdriver at it, on setting twenty-eight. Nothing. Settings twenty-nine and forty-one did no good either.
'Hmm,' he said, turning back to the machine. That's a bother. So it only felt like thirty seconds to me since Martha stepped through, but it's really been three hours, forty-three minutes and... eleven seconds. Approximately.'
'Begging your pardon, Mr Doctor,' said the machine. 'I do not understand.'
'Ah well,' said the Doctor. 'There's this experimental drive in there,' he indicated the eggy doorway with his thumb. 'And it's stalled or something, so the engine room is now cut off in a separate pocket of time. Like the engine room and the rest of the ship are running at different speeds. Which, now I think about it, is why it was so difficult to land here.'
The Bondoux 56 considered this. 'Begging your pardon, Mr Doctor,' it said. 'I do not understand.'
'Well, that's all right, it is a bit complicated,' said the Doctor. 'The engine room is running at a different speed to us out here, so when you're in there it's like everything out here is moving really, really fast. Voosh! And out here, it's like everything in there is moving really, really slowly. Like how time stretches out in that bit after lunch break and before it's home time.'
The Bondoux 56 bowed its head. 'Begging your pardon, Mr Doctor,' it began. The Doctor interrupted.
'Never mind that,' he gabbled. 'This is more for my own benefit. It's because they're moving at different speeds that you get this skin of scrambled egg between the two. And it means you can only pass one way through it. Why's that, you say? Well, because . . . um . . . I know! You can only speed up in one direction. Obvious, really, 'cos otherwise you're speeding down. And I guess that great big download waiting in the transmat machine in there is someone from this side transmatting down at normal speed.' His eyes widened in horror. 'I hope whoever's in there doesn't notice the delay. That could be pretty nasty.' He clapped his hands together. 'Never mind. Nothing we can do about it just now, is there? I'll have to work out how we get back in there somehow, but first things first I always say. So what's next? What have I missed?' He addressed the machine. 'What's Martha told you?'
'She said, "But Gabriel! The Doctor will walk right into them,'" said the Bondoux 56, doing quite a good impression of Martha's London accent. 'I volunteered to meet you.'
'Gabriel?' said the Doctor. 'She called you Gabriel?'
'Indeed, Mr Doctor.'
'That's her name for you?' he laughed.
'I regret it is my designation, Mr Doctor.'
The Doctor realised he'd been rude – which was good, as he normally needed other people to point that out to him. Probably Martha's influence, he thought. He patted the machine fondly on its less burnt shoulder. 'Oh, don't say that. It's a nice name, Gabriel. If I remember rightly, it means you're here to help us. And are you here to help us?
'Indeed, Mr Doctor,' said Gabriel. 'My function is to serve the passengers.'
'And I bet you do it brilliantly. What did Martha want you to warn me about?'
Gabriel considered. 'Ms Martha did not ask me to warn you about anything, Mr Doctor. I said I would escort you to the cocktail lounge.'