Chapter 3

"Mister Smith…?"

"Hmmm…? What?"

The Doctor had been loitering around in the shopping plaza. Hearing himself called by his favourite alias, he turned and found an old janitor standing beside him, broom in hand. After a moment, the Doctor recognized him as the man with the mop who had chased poor little Millie. He looked rather remorseful as he approached the Doctor, and he seemed to be trying to decide whether to talk to him or not.

"You're here about the incident this morning, sir?"

"Certainly I am. I want to understand exactly what was going on that would make a bunch of grown men assault a thirteen-year-old girl in the middle of a busy mall."

At the word 'assault' the janitor flailed nervously on the spot and gave him a pleading look.

"Please, not so loud! Have a heart, I'll lose me job if management upstairs hears about this! I'm living with my daughter and her kids, she has a mortgage to pay, we need this job… please, I'll never let it happen again!"

The Doctor gave him a pitying look. "What was your name?"

"Maurice. Maurice Johnson."

"Who did you lose, Maurice Johnson?"

The janitor started, then looked down at the floor, though he didn't seem to be really seeing it at all.

"How did you guess…? But then, you are an expert in the field. My… my son-in-law. He was out buying gifts for the kids and got shot by store mannequins that'd come to life. The media tried to hush it up, but the carnage couldn't lie… Oh, he meant the world to those kids, and he always treated my girl right!" The man's mouth quivered sorrowfully. Though his memories from Millie's terrifying chase that morning were still fresh, the Doctor was moved despite himself.

"Well Maurice, I won't blame you for panicking a bit, though what you did was cowardly and low. If you show me where it all started, I won't hold it against you, and the folks upstairs won't hear a word about it from me."

Maurice wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Thank you, Mr. Smith. Very good of you to understand. I can't tell you how it threw me… I thought it was all happening again right here, and with so many children about…"

"What? What was happening again?"

"The invasion. Just after it- er, I mean she, declared she was an alien, a beam of energy came down and nearly fried a bunch of kids."

"What?! No one mentioned this before! Show me where it happened!"

Maurice led the Doctor to where the plaza opened up into a kind of central square. A stage with a long runway was being dismantled by a group of workers. Over near it, the Doctor could see a fancy-looking shop, with the words 'Sue-Ellen's Clothing Emporium' written over its doors in curly letters. A few mannequins in frothy sundresses were displayed in the window. Next to the square was an area full of tables and chairs, bordered by a few food outlets. One of the tables was cordoned off with reels of tape; the glass shield from the fluorescent light above it was half-hanging from the ceiling, and the lower end of it had smashed on the tabletop.

"I'd just come from sweeping up the glass when I saw you, figured you were on your way down here," Maurice explained, leaning on his broom.

"Were you nearby when it happened?"

"Yes, I was mopping up some spilled drinks over there near Fast Burgers when it happened. The crowd was watching the fashion show, then suddenly I heard that girl screaming at the top of her lungs that she was an alien. Next thing, a bright light flew outta nowhere and hit that light panel; the boys sitting at that table moved outta the way just in time. Sparks were flying everywhere; in the confusion, the girl somehow got off the stage and through the crowd. A bunch of guys started chasing her, and I thought it was my duty as an employee of the centre to help 'em out. Sorry if I was in the wrong…"

The Doctor surveyed the area with a keen glance. This table would have been the closest one to the stage, it was on the very edge of the food court. The Doctor remembered Millie's account of the fashion show:

"I fell right over, in front of everyone. A bunch of boys over near the food court started making rude noises, and I guess I overreacted..."

"Did you notice what the boys were doing before it happened?" the Doctor asked.

Maurice shrugged. "They were watching the show, I guess. They were whooping it up a bit. You know how boys are around pretty girls." He grinned at the Doctor knowingly.

"Well, this girl didn't get quite that kind of reception." The Doctor leaned over the tape to examine the tabletop. "From the sounds of things, they were tormenting her, and she may have felt provoked. Hello, we've got scorch marks…"

Black lines emanated from the corner of the table, the corner closest to the stage.

"Well, that's interesting!" The Doctor ducked under the tape and leapt onto the table. In an instant the sonic was in his hand and blinking its blue light over the wirings in the dismantled light fitting.

"Is that that scanner of yours?" asked Maurice curiously.

"Oh yeah, it's an all-purpose tool. Very useful. Great for picnics. All these wires are intact. It's just the glass cover that has come down, and it was shattered as it hit the table…" He stopped scanning and folded his arms thoughtfully. "If the wires are intact, no electricity came from the ceiling, so how did the scorch marks get on the table? And what made the light shield come down anyway?" He scanned the plaza with a rapid glance. His eyes drew a straight line from the table to the stage, then retraced it.

"Oh, that could be it!"

He leapt from the table over the tape, and strode over to stand in front of the stage. "Come over here, Maurice, and watch this! This is going to be ingenius!" Maurice ambled over, looking intrigued and confused by turns. The Doctor began to vigorously rub the sonic up and down the sleeve of his coat.

"That oughta do it," he murmured after about a minute of this activity, then he aimed the sonic at the table and activated it. It made a slightly higher-pitched whir than usual, and a blue beam of light shot across the square; it hit the corner of the table, and as it did blue sparks appeared. It kept up for just a few seconds, then stopped. The Doctor lowered the sonic, looking very impressed with himself.

"Let's have a look then! Allons-y!" He dashed back to the table with Maurice, slightly startled, following him somewhat hesitantly.

The Doctor was circling the table exuberantly. "Look at that! It's a shorter, lighter mark because it wasn't fully charged and the line is thinner because the beam was more concentrated, but it's more or less the same thing!"

A new, still slightly-smoking line was burnt into the tabletop, right next to the previous one.

"How did you do that?" Maurice asked in an awed voice.

"I reversed the polarity," the Doctor smirked proudly. When Maurice looked fogged, he launched into a rapid-fire explanation: "I simply harnessed negative ions clinging to my clothes. I rubbed the sonic- er, scanner on my sleeve to create a flow of negatively-charged atoms, it reacted with the positive atoms of the scanner, causing their polarity to reverse. Then the resulting energy collected and I was able to focus it at a single point! It was static electricity, converted into a beam! That's what happened at the fashion show this afternoon; a stronger, more volatile beam of static electricity hit the table, bounced up, smashed the light, and brought it down. The question is, though – where did that first beam come from?"

"It'd have to be done with one of those, wouldn't they?" asked Maurice, nodding at the sonic.

"Yeah, or some other form of converter… these-" he held up the sonic "-are limited-issue, I have one of the very few prototypes, so it must've been something else…"

"Something… alien?" Maurice asked fearfully.

"Nah," the Doctor replied instantly. The last thing he needed was another outbreak of human hysteria. "Kid with a laser pointer probably could've done it," he lied easily. "Don't go blowin' your top again, Maurice. I won't tell Centre Management this time, but treat the customers right in future. You've helped me out here. Thanks a lot."

And with that, the Doctor ambled off, leaving a rather bewildered Maurice staring uncertainly at the blackened table.

He didn't go far. His next port of call was just across the square – Sue-Ellen's Clothing Emporium. He was in luck; just as he reached it, a tall, gaunt woman with a heavy bag over her shoulder, from which protruded a fuchsia-coloured spray of tulle, and three pairs of shoes in each hand, pushed open the door with some difficulty and started to make her way down the plaza. She was attired in a sleeveless, very close-fitting dress of pale-blue taffeta that reached to her ankles and caused her to take small, rapid steps as she walked. She looked rather like a wind-up doll.

And from the looks of it, someone jammed the key in a bit hard, the Doctor thought to himself, looking at her haughty lilac-painted mouth and line-thin eyebrows which gave her a constantly disapproving expression. This is not my lucky day.

He straightened his tie, steeled himself, then dove in.

"Excuse me, it's Susie, isn't it?" he asked, remembering Sylvie's mention from earlier.

The woman stopped, looked rather put-upon, then stiffly replied, "Sue-Ellen Trinnigan. What can I do for you?"

Out came the psychic paper. "Hullo, John Smith, talent scout." He showed her what he knew would appear to be a very flashy-looking business card from a London talent school. "I was watching the show this morning, very impressed. I was wondering if it would be possible to commission your services for an exclusive range to be used in our annual production this year. Always hard to find someone to costume our girls properly, and I think your designs would compliment our performance wonderfully."

Sue-Ellen had lost her sulky expression quicker than she could've lost her heavy layer of make-up; her eyes took on a rather hungry gleam, and a smile that was almost as brilliant as sun on the snow beamed at the Doctor in a slightly predatory manner.

"Why, Mister Smith!" she said in a voice that gushed more than a waterfall. "It would be a delight and an honour! It would depend on how many students I would be required to outfit, I'm frightfully busy with my personal conquests at the moment, but… I may be able to take it on! What kind of thing did you have in mind?"

"We-ell," began the Doctor, rocking back on his heels as he saw he had successfully laid the bait, "There was in fact a particular dress that struck my fancy, a floaty white number, lots of drapes-"

"Oh, I know just which one you mean! The pride of my collection, that one – it's called 'Snow Queen'. I could create multiple versions of it with a slightly fuller skirt, that would give your students complete freedom of movement-"

Seeing she was about to launch into a full sales pitch, the Doctor hastily interceded: "Actually, I was rather struck by the girl who was modeling that dress. Very graceful lines, a fantastic walk. I could use her in my school. So hard to get refined girls these days! They all run around like boys in low-slung jeans playing with ghastly ringtones."

"Oh, that girl! She's a treasure!" Sue-Ellen waved a pair of pastel-green high-heels adorned with rhinestones to add emphasis. "Carrie, her name is. She's been modeling my clothes for years, ever since I started! I knew her mother when I was just a sales assistant back at Henrik's. Her daughter's a rare beauty! I'd say I sell twice as much of the things she models for me than my next-most-popular item!"

"Yeah, a very fetching girl! Unusual colouring! Is she of British ancestry?"

"Oh, I don't know, actually! Isn't that funny, I've known Sylvie all these years and I still don't know! I suppose they are. I've never heard Sylvie mention it, though when I first met her she'd just moved here from somewhere else… Carrie does have that foreign kind of look about her, doesn't she? Such fair hair and pale white skin! Could be Scandinavian! I just had to put that frock on Carrie today, it matched her colouring perfectly. Her skin is so perfect, it blemishes so easily! Sometimes before a show I have to tell her to stop scratching her arms! She has this horrible habit of raking her nails over her skin just below her elbow, brings it out all red. Picked it up from her mother more likely than not. I've seen Sylvie doing it too. She has to wear three-quarter sleeves to hide the marks. Really, with the care she takes with her appearance, I would've thought she'd have stopped it by now."

"Mmm, probably an unconscious action on her part, hard to break it if your not aware of doing it," replied the Doctor, who had given the appearance of listening conscientiously, but whose feet had been discreetly edging away despite himself. "Is that the only dress of that sort you have in your current collection? I thought I saw another one similar…"

"Oh, well, there was one other somewhat like it," Sue-Ellen admitted. All trace of her enthusiasm had evaporated. "A very similar number, but let out in the waist for a… larger girl." She deliberated over the word as though she wasn't sure how to put it graciously. "Sylvie's other daughter. Can you believe it? Not a thing like her mother and sister. Sylvie is very conscientious of her daughters, she begged me to let Millie model as well as Carrie, but I think I'll have to try to dissuade her. I suppose you saw her take off in the middle of the show. I don't expect to see that dress in a repairable state when it does turn up, and those shoes! Rather expensive soft white vinyl, and hand-stitched. Millie is such a volatile girl! If only she were more like her sister! Well, I suppose I shouldn't talk about my friend's daughter that way. At least Carrie and I get along perfectly well. She often gives me very helpful ideas of what I could create to suit her."

"Well," the Doctor spoke up for what felt like the first time in hours, "I need to talk to my producers, we're currently trying to decide upon a theme for the show, but once I have something more definite for you to work on, we'd love to have your services, if you can make yourself available."

"Most certainly. I'm always keen to support the arts." Sue-Ellen dumped her right handful of shoes on top of her bag and managed to extract a business card from a side pocket. It had the name of the shop in the same curly letters on it, beside a large fuchsia love-heart. "Give me a call whenever you're ready. By the way, I love that outfit." She eyed the Doctor up and down as she handed over the card. "That suit is perfectly slimming, and that coat, it's so… retro! If I ever create a men's range, you'll have to model it for me." Her cobalt-blue eyelashes lowered in a coquettish look.

"Heh, I'll keep that in mind," the Doctor said with a very stiff smile firmly affixed on his face. Managing to extricate himself from the conversation at last, he turned in the opposite direction to that which Susie took, and thrust the card into the nearest rubbish bin with an expression of utmost disgust.

He was wandering back down the mall, pondering what he'd learned, when a rack of gaudy ties in a small novelty store caught his eye. A manic grin spread across his face – the smile of the inspired genius.

They had given him an idea.