Doctor Who: The Blood Cell Read Free

ever seen her actually smile once, and that was when an escape attempt had gone horrifically wrong. Poor Marianne. To be truthful, I’m glad I’d never seen Bentley smile again.
    ‘Will you take tea with me?’
    Bentley inclined her head in assent. ‘If you so order.’
    ‘It’s hardly an order. Simply a custom between friends.’ We were not friends. It was stupid to pretendso. And yet, I could not help trying. She worked for me, and yet she treated me little better than her charges. No matter what I did, no matter how correct, stern and thorough I was, she always surveyed me as though there was jam on my uniform. I don’t even know why I was offering her tea. The whole thing was a stupid idea. But I’d made the offer, so I should press ahead with it. I beamed at her, a little forced, perhaps. Still – a drink between colleagues. A Custodian brought us tea and we both pretended to enjoy it. The drink was all right, so long as you didn’t question where the tea came from. Or the water.
    Bentley settled in the metal chair opposite me. She was the only person who never seemed put out by its iron discomfort. She was waiting for me to speak.
    ‘I think we’ll have trouble with this “Doctor”, don’t you?’
    She nodded. ‘Are you going to call 428 by his name?’
    I was expansive. ‘We can afford to be generous. I doubt he’ll be with us for long.’
    For a moment, Bentley almost caught my eye. ‘Would you like me to arrange …?’
    ‘No, no!’ I assured her hurriedly. ‘I simply mean that we’ve seen his type before. It never ends well, does it?’ Bentley considered the airy statement seriously. ‘We still have 112 on Level 6.’
    It took me a moment to remember the number. ‘Oh.’ She meant Marianne Globus. Poor Marianne.Poor 112. A dear friend. ‘Ah, yes.’ Neither of us said anything for a moment. ‘How remarkable of you to remember, Bentley. I’d quite forgotten, really. I’ve almost completely forgotten all about her. Well, what’s left of her.’ I was pretending to be airy. In reality, the very thought of what had become of poor 112 made me feel ill. ‘And how is she?’
    Bentley almost faltered for a moment. ‘I have not supervised her personally for some time. But the Custodians on Level 6 have not reported anything negative about 112’s condition or her pain management.’
    Poor Marianne. We’d stopped thinking about her. Level 6 was pretty empty. She’d not even seen a human guardian for quite some time. Oh dear. ‘I should probably arrange a personal visit with her at some point.’ I didn’t fancy it at all.
    ‘Indeed.’ Bentley inclined her head, pleased I wasn’t rebuking her.
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I assured her. ‘You do a splendid job overseeing the running of the entire prison. You can’t worry about every little thing. That’s my job. My wife used to tell me a saying from Old New Earth: “Take care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves.” ’
    Bentley inclined her chin, interested. ‘What does that mean, Governor?’
    ‘I’m not entirely sure. Then again, she also usedto tell me: “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” That’s the problem with archaic prayers. To our ears, they seem so contradictory and elusive.’
    ‘A little like Prisoner 428?’ It was, for Bentley, a joke.
    ‘Yes,’ I beamed, keen to show I was pleased with what Bentley had said, as it fitted with where I wanted the conversation to go. ‘Sounds a lot like the Doctor! Remarkable fellow. Yes.’ I leaned back, feeling all thirty-six supporting comfopockets of the chair do their luxurious work. ‘You know, I’m rather keen we don’t end up with another Prisoner 112 situation on our hands … Well, all over our hands.’
    ‘What would you like me to do?’ Bentley waited for me to speak.
    ‘I was wondering if, in this case, forewarned is forearmed. I was thinking I’d have perhaps the tiniest of glances at 428’s records. Do you think that would be