A CHRISTMAS CUTAWAY
By Iain McLaughlin
It was Christmas Eve and Dr Who was a very happy man.
His lovely little house was decorated with the delightful crepe paper decorations he had hung every year since… ooh, since Louise and Barbara were little girls. The decorations were a bit old-fashioned now as the 1960s embraced plastic but they were bright and warm and they held memories of all those happy family Christmases as the family had grown up.
His family hadn’t just grown up. It had grown.
Susan was now a teenager studying at Oxford University while trying not to let the professors in on the fact that she already knew far more than them. Dear Louise had become very attached to that nice policeman boyfriend, Tom. Not a scientific mind but so brave, he more or less lived with them now. Well, that was the modern way, wasn’t it? Then there was nephew Jim, so gifted mechanically and mathematically, who lived in the house with his fiancée Vanessa, a refugee from 1912 where the Great Intelligence had killed her father. Another recent arrival was amnesiac Rebecca, whose only family had been her brother, and he had died saving her from the Autons. Not all new arrivals had tragic stories, though. This would be the first Christmas for Barbara and Ian’s baby boy, Charlie.
Another generation, he thought. Another generation to show the wonders of the Earth and the mysteries of the galaxy. Another generation to teach and to learn from. He was getting older now, his knees creaked more when he ran – and he did run a quite ridiculous amount for a man of his years. But there were so many people who needed his help, and urgent action could rarely be effective if it was done at a walking pace. Charlie would find that out in time.
The grandfather clock chimed. It was almost time to take the cake out of the oven. He wasn’t allowed any of it, sadly. His doctor kept telling him to be careful with what he ate. Unfortunately his family kept an eye on his to ensure that he did.
He was almost alone in the house. Everyone except Susan was out shopping or at work and she was… well, she was doing something. She was always doing something.
Now, before the cake came out of the oven, what was he going to do? There had been such a long list of things needing done, especially with Colonel Cameron and that fascinating wife of his joining the family for a few days. It really was just as well that he had reconfigured the internal dimensions of the house so that the normal little end terrace house actually contained dozens of rooms.
But what was he supposed to be doing?
He scooped up the post from the mat behind the door. Cards from old friends, a few letters from scientists whose handwriting he recognised, some mail for the family… he dropped it onto the sideboard.
The cake was smelling rather good. Five more minutes and that could come out of the…
Oh, yes, that was it.
He crossed to a little sideboard and removed a metal box. Inside were a dozen delicate little shapes with loops of cotton thread tied around them, ready to be hung on the tree. On closer inspection they looked like tiny model spaceships. They would be rather an apt decoration for his family’s tree, he thought.
He picked the largest of the ships from the box and held it up in front of his face. ‘Hello in there. Can you hear me?’
A tiny squeak came in reply.
Dr Who tutted in disappointment. ‘You’ll have to use the filter I explained to you and amplify or I simply won’t be able to hear you.’
A second later a tinny – and tiny - voice came from the little ship. ‘We hear you.’
‘Excellent,’ Dr Who clucked. ‘And have you made up your mind?’ There was no answer and Dr Who looked at the clock. ‘I’m sorry to be brusque but I do have to take a cake out of the oven in a few minutes, so I must press you. Have you made up your mind? Or would you like to spend the next few days hanging from our Christmas tree?’
There was a mutinous pause then the voice said sulkily, ‘I have decided.’
There. That was progress, at least. ‘And what have you decided?’
The answer came reluctantly. ‘We shall return to our own planet.’
‘And?’ Dr Who pressed.
Another petulant delay. ‘And we will not return unless it is in peace.’
Dr Who smiled broadly. ‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
An indecipherable mutter came from the ship.
‘What was that?’ Dr Who asked pointedly. ‘I didn’t quite hear that.’
‘Nothing,’ came the reply.
‘Good,’ Dr Who said briskly. ‘Now, I shall pop you back into space on the far side of the Oort Cloud and you can make your way home from there.’
‘We did not know you are giants,’ the voice said awkwardly. ‘We would not have attempted our invasion if we had known you were giants.’
‘Well, you really shouldn’t invade at all,’ Dr Who said sternly. ‘But at least you know now only to come back when your motivation is peaceful.’
‘Grandfather,’ Susan’s voice sounded as she came in from the hall. ‘Where are…’ she scowled saw the ship in his hand.
A squeal came from the ship. ‘It’s her. Keep her away from us. She is wild!’
‘And I’m still bigger than you, remember,’ Susan said angrily.
The ship didn’t answer.
‘Now, now,’ said Dr Who in a placating voice. ‘Let’s just set these people on their way home and we can get on.’
‘If you say so, Grandfather.’
Five minutes later, Tardis was on its way back to Earth.
‘Won’t their computers have worked out that we weren’t giants at all?’ she asked. ‘Won’t they realise that you just shrunk them and their ships?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so, Susie dear,’ Dr Who answered without any sign of concern. The miniaturisation field disrupted their systems rather badly. We would have been long gone by the time they were back at full size and the ships up and running.’
‘They weren’t very bright, were they?’ Susan asked, sounding rather disappointed.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Dr Who answered, sounding equally disillusioned, ‘but every race can’t be as cunning as the Daleks or as dangerous as the Cyber-Men.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Susan nodded.
‘Thank goodness indeed,’ Dr Who chuckled. ‘Now we should head back home and see is that cake is ready.’
Susan’s lips pursed mischievously. ‘Or…’
Dr Who’s bushy old eyebrows rose. ‘Or?’
‘Or we could stop off for some supplies somewhere.’
Dr Who wagged a bony finger. ‘Now, Susie dear, we were told not to go off on any adventures weren’t we? Barbara and Louise were most insistent.’
‘So were Tom and Jim and Ian,’ Susan sighed, ‘and Vanessa and Rebecca.’
‘So, no adventures,’ Dr Who confirmed. A disappointed silence filled Tardis. And then a sly little grin slid across his face. ‘But I suppose we can do a little shopping. The spiced cake on Magellan 3 tasted very Christmassy as I recall…’
‘But we’re only going shopping,’ Susan said firmly.
‘Oh, yes,’ Dr Who agreed. ‘We’re only going shopping. He sniffed and then winked at his granddaughter. ‘Probably…’
His lovely little house was decorated with the delightful crepe paper decorations he had hung every year since… ooh, since Louise and Barbara were little girls. The decorations were a bit old-fashioned now as the 1960s embraced plastic but they were bright and warm and they held memories of all those happy family Christmases as the family had grown up.
His family hadn’t just grown up. It had grown.
Susan was now a teenager studying at Oxford University while trying not to let the professors in on the fact that she already knew far more than them. Dear Louise had become very attached to that nice policeman boyfriend, Tom. Not a scientific mind but so brave, he more or less lived with them now. Well, that was the modern way, wasn’t it? Then there was nephew Jim, so gifted mechanically and mathematically, who lived in the house with his fiancée Vanessa, a refugee from 1912 where the Great Intelligence had killed her father. Another recent arrival was amnesiac Rebecca, whose only family had been her brother, and he had died saving her from the Autons. Not all new arrivals had tragic stories, though. This would be the first Christmas for Barbara and Ian’s baby boy, Charlie.
Another generation, he thought. Another generation to show the wonders of the Earth and the mysteries of the galaxy. Another generation to teach and to learn from. He was getting older now, his knees creaked more when he ran – and he did run a quite ridiculous amount for a man of his years. But there were so many people who needed his help, and urgent action could rarely be effective if it was done at a walking pace. Charlie would find that out in time.
The grandfather clock chimed. It was almost time to take the cake out of the oven. He wasn’t allowed any of it, sadly. His doctor kept telling him to be careful with what he ate. Unfortunately his family kept an eye on his to ensure that he did.
He was almost alone in the house. Everyone except Susan was out shopping or at work and she was… well, she was doing something. She was always doing something.
Now, before the cake came out of the oven, what was he going to do? There had been such a long list of things needing done, especially with Colonel Cameron and that fascinating wife of his joining the family for a few days. It really was just as well that he had reconfigured the internal dimensions of the house so that the normal little end terrace house actually contained dozens of rooms.
But what was he supposed to be doing?
He scooped up the post from the mat behind the door. Cards from old friends, a few letters from scientists whose handwriting he recognised, some mail for the family… he dropped it onto the sideboard.
The cake was smelling rather good. Five more minutes and that could come out of the…
Oh, yes, that was it.
He crossed to a little sideboard and removed a metal box. Inside were a dozen delicate little shapes with loops of cotton thread tied around them, ready to be hung on the tree. On closer inspection they looked like tiny model spaceships. They would be rather an apt decoration for his family’s tree, he thought.
He picked the largest of the ships from the box and held it up in front of his face. ‘Hello in there. Can you hear me?’
A tiny squeak came in reply.
Dr Who tutted in disappointment. ‘You’ll have to use the filter I explained to you and amplify or I simply won’t be able to hear you.’
A second later a tinny – and tiny - voice came from the little ship. ‘We hear you.’
‘Excellent,’ Dr Who clucked. ‘And have you made up your mind?’ There was no answer and Dr Who looked at the clock. ‘I’m sorry to be brusque but I do have to take a cake out of the oven in a few minutes, so I must press you. Have you made up your mind? Or would you like to spend the next few days hanging from our Christmas tree?’
There was a mutinous pause then the voice said sulkily, ‘I have decided.’
There. That was progress, at least. ‘And what have you decided?’
The answer came reluctantly. ‘We shall return to our own planet.’
‘And?’ Dr Who pressed.
Another petulant delay. ‘And we will not return unless it is in peace.’
Dr Who smiled broadly. ‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
An indecipherable mutter came from the ship.
‘What was that?’ Dr Who asked pointedly. ‘I didn’t quite hear that.’
‘Nothing,’ came the reply.
‘Good,’ Dr Who said briskly. ‘Now, I shall pop you back into space on the far side of the Oort Cloud and you can make your way home from there.’
‘We did not know you are giants,’ the voice said awkwardly. ‘We would not have attempted our invasion if we had known you were giants.’
‘Well, you really shouldn’t invade at all,’ Dr Who said sternly. ‘But at least you know now only to come back when your motivation is peaceful.’
‘Grandfather,’ Susan’s voice sounded as she came in from the hall. ‘Where are…’ she scowled saw the ship in his hand.
A squeal came from the ship. ‘It’s her. Keep her away from us. She is wild!’
‘And I’m still bigger than you, remember,’ Susan said angrily.
The ship didn’t answer.
‘Now, now,’ said Dr Who in a placating voice. ‘Let’s just set these people on their way home and we can get on.’
‘If you say so, Grandfather.’
Five minutes later, Tardis was on its way back to Earth.
‘Won’t their computers have worked out that we weren’t giants at all?’ she asked. ‘Won’t they realise that you just shrunk them and their ships?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so, Susie dear,’ Dr Who answered without any sign of concern. The miniaturisation field disrupted their systems rather badly. We would have been long gone by the time they were back at full size and the ships up and running.’
‘They weren’t very bright, were they?’ Susan asked, sounding rather disappointed.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Dr Who answered, sounding equally disillusioned, ‘but every race can’t be as cunning as the Daleks or as dangerous as the Cyber-Men.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Susan nodded.
‘Thank goodness indeed,’ Dr Who chuckled. ‘Now we should head back home and see is that cake is ready.’
Susan’s lips pursed mischievously. ‘Or…’
Dr Who’s bushy old eyebrows rose. ‘Or?’
‘Or we could stop off for some supplies somewhere.’
Dr Who wagged a bony finger. ‘Now, Susie dear, we were told not to go off on any adventures weren’t we? Barbara and Louise were most insistent.’
‘So were Tom and Jim and Ian,’ Susan sighed, ‘and Vanessa and Rebecca.’
‘So, no adventures,’ Dr Who confirmed. A disappointed silence filled Tardis. And then a sly little grin slid across his face. ‘But I suppose we can do a little shopping. The spiced cake on Magellan 3 tasted very Christmassy as I recall…’
‘But we’re only going shopping,’ Susan said firmly.
‘Oh, yes,’ Dr Who agreed. ‘We’re only going shopping. He sniffed and then winked at his granddaughter. ‘Probably…’
MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM US AT
DIVERGENT WORDSMITHS
Released December 2020
Artwork by Alan Camlann
Artwork by Alan Camlann
This site and its contents are not intended to infringe or query any copyright belonging to the BBC and/or its associated parties. Unless otherwise stated, the content of Divergent Wordsmiths contributors is licenced under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License. Divergent Wordsmiths is an independent, non-commercial group, unaffiliated from all other parties, with no interest in monetary compensation or financial gain.