What Clara Saw…

Look, comprehensibly, Doctor, I went to get Carling, like you said. It just took a bit longer than expected because this, by the way, is a really big campus that you might have visited before, but I don't have a map. Anyway, in the end I had to ask for directions. That was embarrassing. Apparently it's rude for a human female to speak to a Kah-Rusky-something-wordy-name?

"Coruskakoripuscent. Horrible creatures. More rules than my lot and that's saying something…"

Yeah, but I didn't know that, did I? And you told me to approach all alien races as equal. Cultural equanimity, you said. Foster a culture of mutual understanding. Is any of this ringing a bell?

"It certainly sounds like something I would say. Clara, I'm starting to prefer the version of this story where you came in and spat out words like a machine gun-"

So I got directions and I got the right building and I got Carling's office, alright? Except when I was outside the door, I could hear voices. Said to myself, He's on the phone, I'll give him a minute. In the interests of mutual understanding and all that. And that's important, so please be listening to that, and please remember okay?

"I completely agree. Mutual understanding is very important."

Not that. The bit before it, where I was in the hall and I could already hear him. You have to remember that because it proves I didn't eavesdrop on his conversation. I could just hear it anyway, see? He was talking to somebody he called 'sir', so I thought it must be the headteacher or whatever.

"Dean, Clara. Universities have a dean, where did you study?"

I didn't. I mean I haven't. Not yet. I… still intend to, probably. That's if we survive. Which I think might actually be an issue we need to consider. They weren't talking about staff meetings, Doctor. Whoever, or whatever, this 'Sir' is, Carling had called him up to tell him we'd found Jessica. He was calling her, 'one of the candidates'. And I thought, That's weird, because I thought they'd already decided she was the one getting the award. Why would there be candidates?

"I don't know, Clara, why would there be candidates?"

…Why are you talking like that?

"Like what?"

All big and boomy like you're about to do Shakespeare.

"Funny you should mention it… I'll tell you when I know why there would be candidates. You keep getting distracted! Wouldn't like to be depending on you for battlefield reports."

Okay, so obviously the Sir on the other end of the phone already knew, so there was no need for Carling to explain it to him. But then I heard him saying, 'Yes, sir. I'll be right there, sir.' So, and this is the part I can't really justify as much as I can justify the eavesdropping so just bear with me for a second, please, Doctor, but I maybe slightly sort of… stalked him.

…

Well? Isn't that the sort of thing you usually disapprove of?

"Not when there's all sorts of dodginess going on. And it certainly sounds as though there was all sorts of dodginess going on. No, you did the right thing, dah-ling, well done, tip-top performance!"

Alright, now you're doing camp actor things. What's going on?

"Where did you stalk him to, stalker?"

Halfway round this bloody space station; my feet are aching. It was in that first place you showed me, the main building. There's this great big hall, and loads of people around getting it ready for the gala tomorrow night. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Happy, smiling people. Couple of them stopped Carling, stupid jokes, just keeping him going, about how he'd found his 'prize peacemaker' again. But he didn't really stop to talk to anybody. He just sort of waved them all off. So I kept following, all the way down to the stage at the far end. He went down underneath it, and there was a trapdoor there, with stairs. Dark down there. I was feeling my way along, mostly.

"I hope you were careful."

If I had a broken ankle, you'd have heard about it by now.

"I don't mean it that way. I mean it's starting to sound like there's extreme dodginess going on, and I wouldn't like Carling to have seen you. You should have come and fetched me, Clara."

I didn't know if I could have found the place again. Besides, there wasn't time. And I wanted to see who he'd been calling 'Sir' anyway. Those stairs went on forever. It was worse than where I found you. And the view wasn't half so nice, just damp stone walls. It looks ancient under there. It looks like it was all carved out of the stone.

"But this is a space station, Clara! How could there be any stone!?"

Okay, you've gone way too panto dame now.

"Scale it back?"

By, like, a thousand per cent. Less is more.

"You got a C in drama. Don't lecture me. What was at the bottom of the stone stairs that make no sense and are very intriguing to us both? So help me, I will coach a cogent explanation out of you yet, woman."

A room. Big. Stone, again. Paved floor. And a big machine, or lots of apparatus or… Doctor, I don't know. But it started with something like a big glass funnel that ran from the ceiling and that was the only light in the room. Dim, like old gold, and it seemed to move around in flashes and ribbons… And at the bottom of the funnel, all surrounded by copper pipes and springs and, and, and sprockets and whatever… there was this little flask. The tip of the funnel had just this tiny, very bright drop of gold falling from it when Carling walked in.

And nobody, not Carling nor Sir, spoke or moved until it had fallen and the flask had been stopped up.

Oh, yeah, that's the other thing that was in the room. Sir. Sir was standing over the flask with the stopper ready. He was tiny and withered, like a skeleton with skin on it, but with a huge, round head that stuck way out at the back. Wearing a ragged suit. I never heard him speak, Doctor. I heard every breath he took, huge and rattling, like it was a real effort to him. Pretty scary, actually. But he must have been speaking on the breath, because I didn't hear words. Carling was closer than me, he heard.

They talked about a harvest. This will be a most successful harvest. Carling said, 'I agree. The girl is the real prize. This changes everything.' And whatever Sir said, he laughed. 'Especially the price,' he said. And then he said it again and he was really enjoying it. It scared me. I didn't even know what they meant or what they were talking about, and it still really scared me.

"I should hope so too. Scary stuff, undoubtedly. And you're sure it was Carling? I mean, he was on the other side of a door and then you only saw him from behind, so isn't it possible, just a little bit possible, that-"

Doctor!

"But lovely, sweet, quiet, won't-even-drink-real-tea Dooblevay Carling, Professor of Peace? Are you sure you're sure? Please, Clara, tell me there's some doubt."

It surprised me too. That's part of what was so terrifying about it. That, and the way they just kept repeating themselves, about the harvest, and the girl, and harvesting the girl, and that being the best thing ever and…

"And?"

And then Carling mentioned you. He told Sir, 'It was a stroke of luck. He just showed up this afternoon.' And Sir must have asked who and Carling said, 'The Doctor.' Something about the way he said it was funny, though; like he knew he'd made a mistake, said too much. The breathing got faster. That withered little man at the flask was heaving with it. I saw him grin. I saw him starting to shake and I knew that was what he did instead of laughing.

Carling was trying to talk, and that Sir flung his skinny arms to mean 'Get Out'. Carling tried to argue with it, but I knew he wouldn't win, so I used that to get a head start.

And in comprehensible conclusion, Doctor, there's a strange, clattering Sir underneath the great hall, which has designs on your mate Jessica and anybody else who's won an award. Professor Carling is in league with it. And it's down there laughing and plotting about you right now. That's why I'm pretty sure that nearly everybody is in huge major trouble. That's what I was trying to tell you when I came in just now."

"See, Clara? Do you see now that it takes more than one breath to offer an effective account of recent happenings that have a possible bearing on our continuing existence?"

Yeah, alright, you don't have to rub it in. I was trying to give you the quick version and then we could maybe go back there so I could show you, but no, apparently it's no good if you don't get to be sarcastic about things along the w-! …Doctor? Do- Doctor, what are you doing? Wh… what are you-? Arh! Doctor, do you want to maybe put your shirt back on, please? Now? Like, right now?

"Never! Now help me tie this toga."