Title: Snapshots of a New Zealand Holiday [Part 2 of 2]
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna
Summary: Ten takes Donna to New Zealand where her dislike of sheep becomes alarmingly justified.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is copyright to the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement intended, no money being made. Any similarities to Black Sheep are unintentional. (No, really.)
A/N: Inspired by NZ references in Voyage of the Damned. Thanks so much to my beta
sophieisgod, who is made of fantastic. :D And
tinuviel428 for her early awesome feedback.
[Part 1
here.]
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FOURTH POLAROID: A country stile, muddied by hasty footprints.
Dave was rather impressed by the stranger at first. He hadn’t looked surprised or shocked at all. In fact, he’d looked almost pleased.
“Come on,” he said, striding forward, “let’s go have a chat with these sheep of yours.” Albert and Dave, following along behind, exchanged confused glances.
“You off your nut, mate?” asked Albert. “Sheep don’t talk.”
“These sheep attack, yes?” the stranger called over his shoulder. He’d slung his jacket over one arm.
“Yes,” said Dave. How’d he known?
“Then they’ll talk. They’ll talk to me.” They reached the fence at the top of a ridge. Down in the paddock at the bottom of the ridge the sheep were halfway across the field. Dave stopped walking.
“I don’t care what you think. I’m not going down there. I’m not.” Albert stood beside his son, arms folded, and looked at the stranger.
“Look, mate. You go down and talk to the sheep. Or whatever it is you do. I’m not paying you anything for it,” he added suddenly. “If you want money you can get off my property right now. I’ve had enough of the council trying to - ”
“ - I don’t!” interrupted the stranger. “You stay here then. What’s that saying? No worries, that’s it. No worries.” And with a flash of a grin he was over the fence and moving across the paddock, leaving his jacket behind him. The woman followed, clambering almost reluctantly over the stile.
FIFTH POLAROID: A military badge with a crest; next to a curl of wool.
“They think you’re barmy, Martian-boy,” muttered Donna. She’d ripped her trousers on that stile, dammit. They could have gone to some Martian space-resort, but no. They were still on earth, in a muddy paddock, walking straight towards rabid sheep. What the hell had she got herself into?
“Don’t let them hear you call me that,” he muttered back. “If they don’t like council men, there’s no telling what they’ll think of aliens…”
“So,” said Donna, hurrying to keep up with the Doctor’s long-legged strides, “what’s wrong with them? You sure we’re alright?” The sheep were less than fifty metres away now.
“We’re fine,” said the Doctor, his vowels stretching like a lazy summer afternoon. Twenty metres away from the sheep he halted, putting his hands in his pockets.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he called. “The Royal Embassy of the Cochduons, trying to conquer another planet.” There was a snarl from amidst the sheep. Donna coughed nervously.
“If they bite me…”
“Not scared, are you?” he said.
“They’re biting sheep,” she pointed out. “They’re sodding dangerous. And we’re standing twenty sodding metres away. Remember how I said you needed someone to hold you back?”
“Yes.”
“Probably shouldn’t have let you past the fence.”
“Trust me,” said the Doctor, turning back to the sheep. “I’m the Doctor. I know what I’m doing. Well, most of the time.”
The sheep were shuffling uneasily, like a class of miscreant schoolboys.
"You are the Cochduons, aren’t you? Come on, speak up. Who's your squadron captain?" asked the Doctor. An large white-grey sheep moved forward from the front of the formation.
“I am Major Baa-aartholemew, Ensign Sigma Seven. I speak for my Cochduon squadron.” His voice was thick and muffled, with a hardness and age at its edges.
“Oh, not YOU again," said the Doctor. "You really do have no imagination. Just like sheep, stumbling across the universe, trying the same old thing everytime...it never works," he said to Donna.
“Don’t be rude,” said Donna. And for a second the Doctor paused, looking at her.
“No,” he said.
“We’ve not done anything wrong,” said the Major in his thick voice.
“Not done anything wrong?” said Donna, indignant. “You attacked that boy!”
“It was self-defence,” rumbled the Major. “I have lost so many men to these people. My men grow intolerant. And impatient.”
“Listen to me,” said the Doctor. “You know you’re not allowed to be here. You and I were both there when they issued the Cochduon Restriction Proclamation.”
“That,” said the Major, “was an unfair charter. And unfair. And badly translated. Our version reads differently to theirs.”
“But you speak English,” said Donna, confused.
The Major raised his head slowly, his large eyes staring directly at Donna. She backed away.
“No, they don’t,” said the Doctor, “I’ll explain later…how many of you are there here?” he continued.
“Thirty five squadrons, spaced along this country’s length.” There was a rebellious pride to his voice.
“And what exactly are you planning? No, wait. You’re Cochduons. I can guess.”
“You cannot expect me to reveal military secrets. Whoever you are, you may be wise but you have no army. No power.” His voice grew quiet. Harder. Threatening. Donna swore very quietly and moved slightly behind the Doctor.
“No. Very rude of me to not introduce myself…I do apologise. I’m the Doctor. And I don’t have an army. But I do have this.” He held up his sonic screwdriver. His voice was strong with age-old authority. “This is more powerful than your squadron, than your whole army. One word and the whole lot of you will be inside here. And I’ll take you back to Cochddu. And I don’t think the Federation will be impressed. Do you?” Behind the major the flock shifted, a worried edge to their muttering.
“I cannot remove an entire army in an instant, Doctor,” rumbled the Major, although there was a quaver at the very edge of his voice. Just the slightest hint of a quaver.
“No, no, you can’t,” said the Doctor. “But where you and yours go, the rest will follow.” There was a silence and a small cold wind that pulled at Donna’s hair. “You can leave the way you came. I’m going up there,” he pointed back at the house, “to have a cup of tea. If you’re still here when I come back…”
He turned and began walking back. Donna hastily followed, hearing the sheep muttering resentfully behind them.
“I don’t think your bit of sonic worked,” she said. “How do you know they’re going to leave?”
“Because they always do,” said the Doctor. “Regular as clockwork…they show up, I show up, I scare them, they leave and start again somewhere else. It’s no wonder they choose to make themselves look like sheep. They really don’t have much imagination.”
“Can your sonic…screwdriver…thing really do that? Imprison all of them?” It didn’t look like much, just a silver and blue knobbly tube. Looked more like a dodgy hen-night present than anything else. The Doctor grinned, and ran a hand through his wind-mussed hair.
“Nope. But they don’t know that, do they?”
It occurred to Donna that someday they might.
SIXTH POLAROID: Lamb, still rawly red, on a brown butcher's board.
"And THAT," said the Doctor, "is why NZ lamb has been selling so well lately. The flesh of the Cochduon has a certain," he paused to clamber up a ridge "piquancy." Donna looked at him blankly. He rolled his eyes, and explained, "It tastes good. Like that tea and shortbread we just had…you sure you passed all your final exams?" Donna whacked him one. No alien was going to give her cheek and get away with it. The cup of tea had been nice, although she wasn’t sure how that family’d take their flock disappearing overnight. She’d have to remember to ask the Doctor about that as well.
"I've probably eaten the stuff," said Donna, making a face. "Lance always bought it. He reckoned British beef wasn't safe yet, said he was looking out for me.." she trailed off. They'd reached the top of the hill where the Tardis was. The Doctor looked across at her, and shot her a grin.
"It won't have done you any harm," he said. "Cochduon meat's packed full of nutrients. Very healthy stuff. I'd eat it if I wasn't allergic."
"You're allergic?" said Donna. "I thought you were, y'know, invincible."
"Weeell, not allergic," he said. He leaned against the side of the Tardis. "I ate some when I was little. Wasn't properly prepared, so I got the nutrients full-power. Grew an extra leg and three more fingers."
"Is that why you've got two hearts?"
"Nah, that's Time Lord standard. Anyway," he continued, "they chopped all the extra bits off and when I regenerated for the first time I lost the scars. Not a mark on me." He extended smooth pale hands out in front of him, slender nails chipped from navigating his Tardis. "But ever since, I don't fancy eating them much."
"No," said Donna, "me neither. I don't fancy growing extra tits, thank you very much."
The Doctor raised his eyebrows and said nothing. "They were only interested in animals,” he explained, after a pause. “They always figure it’s the best way in. Basic masking technology. You look at them and think you see a sheep or a cat or a dog, when really it’s just them wearing a perception filter. They imitate animal forms, gradually bring in reinforcements, ready themselves to launch an attack when you all least expect it. After all, you trust your pets, don’t you? You let them wander everywhere…”
"But they didn't infect any humans or anything, did they?" asked Donna, suddenly worried. New Zealand might be down the bottom of the world but still...she didn't trust these aliens. She wasn't even sure about this Doctor yet.
"Nope," he said “Their genetics are all wrong for anything like that. No semi-sheep or quasi-dogs wandering around, no.”
There was another pause. The wind was rising, and grey beginning to gather at the edge of the wide sky.
"Mind you,
Helen Clark..."
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end.
PREVIOUSLY:
Doctor/Rose drabble.