Author's Note:

Well here we are, another chapter. I'm sorry to say that it's a rather short one, once again, but on the plus side that means you only have to wait a week for it! Honestly, I'd meant to finish 'The Beast Below' in this chapter but I just don't have time to do any more writing at the moment so I figured that instead of making you wait, I'd just break it up and post what I have. Also on the plus side, there's plot! Yay! On the downside, not the greatest ending (in my humble opinion) but it's the best I can do unless you all want to wait a lot longer...

As for update time... Not sure. Same excuses as last chapter. Sorry. No more than two weeks though, as usual.

Alright, I think that's everything. As always, please feel free to point out anything you like, don't like, don't understand, wonder or think about the story! I'll do my best to reply to all of you. All reviews are good reviews, after all!

Happy Reading

Chapter Eleven

The Belly of The Beast

They were walking today, grass pickling the bottoms of their bare feet with every step, their long folds of clothing rustling gently in the breeze. Sunlight shone down upon them, lighting the world with its orange glow, and silence stretched around them for miles save for his companion's gently tapping fingers. Everything was calm. Everything was peaceful.

The shadow was there, of course, it always was, but neither walker paid it any mind.

Sometimes, during their darker meetings, Wilfred had attempted to get a look at the darkened figure but each time it faded away. Most things did, here. Even his companion, when he tried to study him, seemed just out of focus. Some things about him he was able to hold on to, others faded away like the shadow. Today his mind seemed able to retain only his companion's receding hairline and bowtie...

They came to a halt together, when the gentle hill they'd been climbing finally evened out, and stared out over the impossible scenery below. The shadow hovered behind them, silent but ever present. His companion's fingers held their rhythmic beat against his thighs. And the world shone still more brightly around them.

"It's coming, old man, the time is coming..."

Wilfred awoke with a start, sitting up quickly only to lie back again in the chair in which he found himself as the world swam around him and his head pounded. Another bloody dream. Ever since the fiasco last Christmas his sleeping hours had played host to that same strange, foggy companion and he hadn't the faintest idea who or what he was or what the dreams meant. Heaving a sigh and rubbing one hand over his face, the old man forced himself to focus on the here and now. He remembered talking with the child, crawling into a tent, being attacked by a tentacle and the hooded men but then… Nothing…

Shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the cobwebs still dulling his sense he sat up once more, more slowly this time, and looked around carefully. He was in a cubicle of some kind, made up of the same dingy metal walls as the rest of the ship, and seated in the sole piece of furniture in the room which happened to be a simple padded chair. In front of him was some sort of computer with four small screens and only three buttons available for him to push – Protest, Record and Forget – while off to one side sat the same strange smiling thing in a booth that they had seen all over the ship... They. Amy! Pushing himself into a more upright position the old man looked around more frantically but could see no trace of his red haired companion, nor anyone else for that matter. He was entirely alone, just him and that strange smiling thing...

"Welcome to voting cubicle three thirty C," came a robotic voice suddenly and Wilf nearly jumped out of his skin. The computer, it seemed, was playing back some kind of audio recording. "Please leave this installation as you would wish to find it. The United Kingdom recognises the right to know of all its citizens. A presentation concerning the history of Starship UK will begin shortly. Your identity is being verified on our electoral roll." There was a brief pause before a result popped up on one of the computer screens before him. "Name, Wilfred Fredrick Mott. Age, thirteen hundred and sixty five."

Wilf whistled softly. "Blimey... Got on a bit, haven't I?" he chuckled.

Unsurprisingly, the computer did not respond. "Marital status," it continued in its computerized monotone, "Windowed. Children, Silvia Irene Noble. Daughter. Deceased. Marital status, widowed. Grandchildren, Donna Elizabeth Noble. Granddaughter. Age," there was a pause, as though the computer was searching through its information, "Unavailable," it said at last, "Marital status," it paused again, even longer than before, until, "Unknown."

The old man raised one eyebrow questioningly but before he had the chance to really contemplate the computer's words another image – that of an older man with white hair and matching beard – flashed up on the screen.

"You are here because you want to know the truth about this starship," the man on the screen began, "And I am talking to you because you're entitled to know. When this presentation has finished, you will have a choice. You may either protest, or forget. If you choose to protest, understand this. If just one percent of the population of this ship do likewise, the programme will be discontinued with consequences for you all. If you choose to accept the situation, and we hope that you will, then press the Forget button. All the information I'm about to give you will be erased from your memory. You will continue to enjoy the safety and amenities of Starship UK, unburdened by the knowledge of what has been done to save you. Here then, is the truth about Starship UK, and the price that has been paid for the safety of the British people. May God have mercy on our souls."

Wilf narrowed his eyes. "What…" he began, but the presentation had already begun.

Images flashed across the screen before him – the sun burning too hot, children crying, a space ship that could never fly and a whale, a beautiful, lonely Starwhale – all of them faster than his eyes could process. But it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't actually make out the pictures for the information somehow seemed to download directly into his head. They'd trapped that creature, that poor innocent creature. They'd tortured it. They were still torturing it! In the name of the survival of the British people yes, but all the same... And then, just as suddenly as the presentation started, it was finished and silence slammed into the old man from all sides.

If you choose to protest, understand this. If just one percent of the population of this ship do likewise, the programme will be discontinued with consequences for you all.

The man's words floated around Wilfred's head as he sat, his mind reeling. To protest would mean potentially damning this ship and its millions of inhabitants to their death but to forget would be just as bad... "Bloody hell," he said abruptly, the decision suddenly made, "I'm not part of this ship's population!" And with that he reached out and brought his hand down firmly upon the Protest button forcefully.

Silence followed his action for only a moment before a soft ticking noise drew the old man's attention towards the smiling thing in the booth off to one side. The thing's head was turning slowly, the smiling face spinning away to be replaced by one snarling with fury. Wilf took a step back instinctively, staring around for any means of escape but nothing presented itself, unless, of course, you count the floor sliding open beneath his feet to reveal the angry red inner workings of the ship. And, Wilfred decided as the last of his footing slide away and he plummeted downwards, this really didn't count as escaping.

Barely a minute and a far less exciting fall than the one he'd experienced in the TARDIS later, the elderly human found himself laying in a warm pit of chunky slime. At least, he really hoped it was just chunky slime, for the alternatives were far less pleasant... He stood up slowly, wiping as much of the unidentifiable stuff off him as he could and – wait, was that a banana? Wilf stared at the partially decomposed fruit he'd just removed from his jumper for a moment, then gazed around the warm, soft walled pit in which he found himself once more...

"Oh blimey..." he whispered.

The Starwhale. The creature from the presentation. The one the British people had imprisoned and tortured to save their own lives. He was inside the Starwhale's mouth. His suspicion was confirmed a second later when the floor of the pit began to lift up beneath him.

"Whoa ho, no, no, no!" Wilfred cried out, swinging his arms about wildly in an attempt to stay on his feet, "Hold on now, big fella! Don't swallow! I know what you are! I chose to protest, I couldn't forget any of it if I tried! You're the Starwhale, you're a living, breathing, thinking, feeling creature and the last of your kind. I can help you, my friends and I, we can help, just please don't swallow!"

The giant alien's tongue stilled at his words, as though it was listening closely, but no move was made to lower it again.

Taking a deep breath and drawing what courage he could from the sudden lack of movement, Wilf forged on. "What's been done to you," he continued, "It's not right. Let us help you." But still the tongue did not lower and the old man cast around quickly for something else to say. "My friend," he tried, "He's the last of his kind too and I've seen how it hurts him. I can't imagine what living with that knowledge is like. And that on top of what these people are doing to you..." He sighed sadly, "Please, just let us help you."

There was silence for a moment before, at long last, the Starwhale slowly lowered its massive tongue. Steadying himself as the tongue settled back into its natural resting place Wilf watched as the creature opened its jaws wide, the equally massive rows of teeth which he had not noticed before splitting open to reveal another corridor just beyond them.

"Thank you," the old man whispered softly, "You won't regret this." And with that he ran as best he could through the slime out of the creature's mouth.

Wilf may have thought that the upper levels of the ship were dirty and grimy but they had nothing on the corridor in which he now found himself. The filthy metal walls were broken up only by a single door before him (adorned with only a Forget button) and two of the smiling fellows in the booths off to one side. One way out then. He'd have to forget. Except that was never going to happen. He made his way over to the door and ran his hands over its surface, searching for any other way to open it but with no success. Still, the action did succeed in causing the Smilers to begin ticking away in their booths as a frowning face too the place of their smiling ones.

"Oh you fellas don't like that, eh?" the old man asked, frowning in his own right as he glared at the things in their little booths, "Well too bad, I say. I shan't be forgetting any time soon!"

The faces turned again at his words, changing from frowning to downright furious. It really was oddly intimidating, if he was being honest. But the thing didn't stop there, for next thing Wilf knew the front of both the booths had swung open and the now-furious Smilers stood up and began making their way towards him in a decidedly robotic way. Now properly scared the elderly man took a step backwards only to find his back pressed against the metal door while the things continued to bare down on him. There was nowhere to go.

Ten minutes later and Wilfred was still trying to figure out exactly why he was still alive. One minute the Smilers were advancing on him and the next they'd stopped dead, stood motionless for a beat then reached out and grabbed him roughly, pinning his arms to his side. Perhaps capturing him had been their plan all along but somehow the elderly human doubted that. Still, regardless of their initial intention the point was that he was somehow alive, sandwiched in between the two robed figures as they watched a strange hanging machine fire bolts of energy at what looked suspiciously like part of a giant brain.

The elderly man could take an educated guess at whose brain it was but that would mean acknowledging the fact that he was standing there watching the torture he'd just protested against and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Instead he focused on studying the room he'd been all but dragged to by the robed Smilers, if only to distract himself. It was a dungeon; really there was no other way of describing it. It was dark and dank and the metallic clang of those same clawed tentacles he and Amy had seen earlier beating against the grating which kept them at bay rang out every few seconds. Tentacles which were part of the Starwhale who was fighting to get free...

Wilf set his jaw. He had promised the creature that he would help it and by God, he meant it. "Hello!" he called out, his voice reverberating around the room, "Someone's got to be runnin' this monstrosity, come out here where I can see ya!"

And come out they did. Another robed man, about the same age as Wilfred himself, with round glasses and grey hair approached the brain from the opposite side, his face the picture of calm detachment. "Wilfred Mott," he said simply, nodding towards the captive man, "My name is Hawthorne. I ask for your patience for a moment longer, your friends will be joining us shortly."

Worry gnawed its way up Wilf's throat. "What does that mean, they'll be joining us? What did you do to them!?" he demanded.

Hawthorne's expression did not change. "They wanted information regarding the inner workings of Starship UK, they will receive it. You will act as motivation for them to make the right choice."

Motivation? Wilf swallowed thickly. If the manner in which they were 'motivating' the Starwhale was any indication he wasn't sure he would enjoy what was coming next. Before he had a chance to think on the possibilities too long, however, the door to the dungeon creaked open and a robed Smiler entered followed by Amy, Mandy, the Doctor and a pretty black woman Wilfred recognized from the presentation as the current Queen of Britain.

"Wilfred!" Amy shouted the moment she spotted him. She made to run towards him but was stopped roughly by one of the perpetually smiling guards.

"I'm alright, Amy," he shouted back, wishing that he looked more alright and wasn't being forcibly held by two Smilers and covered in alien whale slime.

Still, it seemed that the young redhead took his word for it for she stopped fighting and was released to stand next to the others once more. "Doctor," she asked softly, "Where are we?"

"The lowest point of Starship UK," the Doctor replied in a voice of forced cheer, spinning away from the others with his arms spread wide, "The dungeon."

"Ma'am," Hawthorne spoke up, his voice as monotone as ever.

The Queen turned to him with a look of surprise. "Hawthorne," she replied, moving so they were standing face to face, "So this is where you hid yourself away. I think you've got some explaining to do."

Before any explaining could occur, however, the Doctor wandered over to them, a frown on his face. "There's children down here," he said, watching as a line of the aforementioned children made their way robotically past them, their arms laden with pieces of technology which Wilf could not recognize, "What's all that about?"

"Protesters and citizens of limited value are fed to the beast," Hawthorne replied simply, watching as the children moved away, "For some reason, it won't eat the children. You and your friend Wilfred are the first adults it's spared. You're all very lucky."

"Yeah, look at us," said the Time Lord sarcastically, "Torture chamber of the Tower of London. Lucky, lucky, lucky." And with that he was off and moving again, circling around the room until he came to rest on the same side of the brain as Wilfred and talking all the way. "Except it's not a torture chamber, is it? Well, except it is. Except it isn't. Depends on your angle."

The Queen, who had moved from Hawthorne's side to stand opposite the Doctor and Wilf and stare down at the brain, made a face. "What's that?" she asked, causing Amy and Mandy to hurry over to see for themselves.

"Well, like I say, it depends on the angle," the Doctor began, the anger tainting his voice causing Wilf to wish for freedom from his robed guards so that he might place a hand on the alien's shoulder to calm him down, "It's either the exposed pain centre of big fella's brain, being tortured relentlessly –"

"Or?" the Queen asked.

"Or it's the gas pedal, the accelerator. Starship UK's go faster button."

The dark skinned monarch frowned. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" the Doctor asked, his voice still much colder than usual, as he circled around to the Queen's side, "Try to. Go on. The spaceship that could never fly. No vibration on deck. This creature, this poor, trapped, terrified creature. It's not infesting you, it's not invading, it's what you have instead of an engine! And this place down here is where you hurt it, where you torture it, day after day, just to keep it moving," He paused for breath, staring around at all of them with anger swirling in his eyes. "Tell you what," he said at last, running over to the grating covering one of the Starwhale's tentacles and pulling it aside so that the clawed appendage rose up into the dungeon, "Normally, it's above the range of human hearing. This is the sound none of you wanted to hear." And with that he pointed his sonic screwdriver at the tentacle causing a terrible screaming to erupt all around them.