From: Alden Bates To: sadwank@onelist.com Subject: [sadwank] Planet of the Nymphomaniacs - part 2 Date: Thursday, August 27, 1998 11:20 From: "Alden Bates" No sex in this chapter, unfortunately. Wait til the next one though. ;-) Doctor Who and the Planet of the Nymphomaniacs by Alden Bates A slightly humorous story featuring the eighth Doctor and a cast of hundreds. Chapter Two The Doctor sat and turned the TARDIS key in his hands. It was, as he had feared, completely and utterly mangled beyond use. He was stranded on a planet full of women who all wanted to have sex with him. He could think of few things to make the situation worse. Then again, at least no one had tried to kill him. The worst possibility he could think of was dehydration which, if every night was like last night, was looking very likely indeed. He put the key down with a sigh, and regarded the woman sitting opposite him. Last night, he had experienced what could only be described as lust for her. Today, he felt nothing. No, that wasn't right. He felt somehow hollow, as if he'd briefly been filled and then emptied again. The purple tinge had faded from his eyes while he slept, though his groin still felt like somebody had been jumping on it. Come to think of it, somebody probably had. Weena smiled blandly and placed a hand on his knee. The Doctor pointedly removed it and picked three pieces of flax from the pile he'd gathered. She watched, seemingly fascinated, as he tied the ends together and began to plait them together. After a moment, she picked up some flax and carefully mirrored his actions. Once the Doctor had created a length long enough to go around his waist, he started to weave more flax into a sort of kilt. Weena continued to copy him, fascinated as his hands made confident looping motions around each other. By the time he'd finished the kilt, the micro-analyser (which had ironically survived the fire unscathed) beeped. He examined the display. As he'd suspected, there was something in the fruit, some sort of chemical, which had caused the odd effect. Weena held up her duplicate kilt for him to inspect. A near- perfect copy, so far as he could tell, although it was slightly smaller in order to fit her waist. Obviously she had a strong ability to learn, it just wasn't being exercised very regularly. He tied his new kilt around his waist and hooked on the few possessions he had left. The TARDIS should be my next destination, he decided. *** A few minutes later, the Doctor fell over a jelly-baby bush. He got up again and regarded the bush with some suspicion. This is a jelly-baby bush, he thought, you get jelly babies from it, obviously. But why do they all have to be orange? I hate orange jelly babies. He sighed, plucked one from its pod and popped it into the micro-analyser. The analyser puttered for a moment, before reporting that it had just eaten a perfectly normal orange jelly baby. He suddenly remembered the jelly babies which had been scattered on the ground the day before. It seemed that there was something rather interesting going on in the soil. He wondered what would happen if he planted sherbet. Weena and Millie appeared from behind a hut, both wearing identical flaxen kilts. Ignoring him, they plucked jelly babies from the bush and began eating. He noticed that their eyes had lost the violet coloration. "Of course!" he shouted delightedly. Evidently the rogue chemicals in the native plants were synthesised by the plants themselves, and not, as he had though, products of the soil. Introduced crops ought to be safe to eat. Fortunately, he spotted a bush containing black jelly babies further along. He'd have a source of food then, even if it was horrendously bad for his teeth. *** "'Zed'," said the Doctor. "Sometimes pronounced 'zee'." He'd spent the last half hour going over the English alphabet with Weena, pinning a number of broad, flat leaves to the wall of a hut and scrawling the alphabet across them. By now a small crowd had gathered to join in the lesson. "It gives the sound zzzzz," he continued. "Zzzzzzzzzzz," said the crowd of women. One of the newcomers at the back started looking around as if expecting an attacking swarm of bees. He suspected they might be partially telepathic. Certainly they all shared the uncanny ability to suck knowledge up like sponges and pass it quickly on to others. Weena took the chalk from him. Frowning with concentration, she scratched two words onto the leaves and turned a purple gaze onto the Doctor. "Is this good?" The Doctor beamed and nodded. "The spelling isn't quite right, but otherwise, yes, that's very good." Weena blinked. "What does it say?" He stared at her eyes. "Lick me." So they did. All of them. For the next hour. After they'd finished, he suggested that they eat the jelly babies exclusively from then on. *** Time passed. "Do you really think this will work?" Weena asked. "I should think so. While the locking system is isomorphic, this ought to be able to override the key identification sensors." "Isomorphic?" "One to one," the Doctor explained. He lifted the loose pile of circuits he'd wired together, and inserted one end into the lock. Lights flashed and the door swung open. "You see?" Weena returned his grin. "I never doubted you for a second. Can I see inside?" The Doctor led the way in. While she was taking in the Edwardian splendour of the console room, he produced packets of seed from a drawer. "Let's see. Three types of wheat. Oranges. Apples. Ooh, Brussels sprouts. These should remain clear of chemicals. What are you doing?" Weena had picked up his class hologram from the academy and was staring, fascinated, at the tiny figures. "Who are these?" "Well," he said, leaning over her shoulder and pointing. "That's me." "The old man with the white hair?" she giggled. "Who are the others?" "That one's the Master. He's an evil renegade now. That's the Rani. She's also an evil renegade. There's Ruath, who wasn't supposed to be in the picture. She's was a renegade too. And Mortimus, who became a renegade and started interfering with history. And -" "Are any of them actually left on Gallifrey?" "Um," the Doctor looked searchingly at the picture. "Yes! Runcible. But he's dead." "That would make it difficult for him." "Quite," the Doctor frowned. "I think we'll visit the wardrobe, shall we?" *** Time passed. The little house was sturdily built, constructed from wood and flax. Its porch looked out over waving fields of wheat, behind which the sun was currently setting. Plants grew quickly here, even though there was no rain; apparently the water seeped up through the ground from some underground source. It was a perfect world. Too perfect to be natural. The Doctor adjusted his cravat as he watched the brilliant golden light draped across the sky. Weena sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She'd assembled an outfit consisting of a pale, long-sleeved shirt, a black skirt and matching tights. Shoes had turned out to largely unnecessary, since the ground was a uniform soft texture. Perfect for lying on, the Doctor had told her. They sat there together on the wooden bench and watched the sun go down. "It's amazing how far a culture can come in a few months," the Doctor said. "You did help quite a bit," she reminded him. "Those books are proving extremely useful. We should be able to work metal before long. Are you going to stay much longer?" The Doctor nodded. "I want to make sure you're all self- sufficient before I go." Weena lifted her head and looked at him carefully. His wonderful, sparkling eyes were studiously fixed on a point on the horizon, not looking at her at all. His mouth was slightly open, moving slightly as if his thoughts were leaking. "You wouldn't..?" She reached out to touch his cheek. The Doctor took a moment to work out what she meant. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "That night wasn't me. I've told you that before. I can't do that again." "We could try. There's still some of those trees growing -" He shook his head. "I don't... I can't feel that way about anyone. Not even you. I'm sorry." His voice was faintly distressed. Weena looked away with a sigh. The Doctor quietly looked back at the last glimmers of sunset. *** Time passed. The Doctor was standing in a wheat field when it happened, scythe in one hand, sheaf of wheat in the other. He dropped both. A man exploded from the bushes. He was young, early twenties, wearing a battered pair of wire-framed glasses and nothing else. The man strode directly up to the Doctor. "Grant?" the Doctor blinked down at him. "Grant Markham? It's me, the Doctor!" "Yes, and you've ruined _everything_!" said Grant, and hit him. *** "It's amazing," The Doctor was applying ointment to his nose. "The fruit they were eating contained chemicals which not only acted as a combined aphrodisiac and contraceptive, but also halted the ageing process entirely. They'd have stayed the same age indefinitely." "And that's a bad thing?" Grant was sitting on the edge of the bed, straightening up his mess of brown hair with a comb. The Doctor had provided clothing from the TARDIS wardrobe: shredded jeans and a Metallica T-shirt, neither of which really suited him. "It's a wonder drug. You could make millions off it." "It's not bad in itself, no. But without stimulus for learning and developing, and hampered by the need for constant sex, their society was stagnating badly." "It was stagnating quite happily, at least from where I was lying, um, sitting." "It would have gone absolutely nowhere," the Doctor insisted. "It was just lucky I turned up in time to halt its inevitable spiral into a constant state of debauchery." "You bastard. I got six of them pregnant before I realised something was wrong." The Doctor broke into an devilish grin. "You'd better hope they don't invent child support then." "Git!" said Grant. "So, how did you come to be here?" "I crashed. The ship I was piloting lost its load of fuel and I crashed on the other continent." "That must have been pleasant." "Not really," Grant said grumpily. "It's exactly the same as here, except they're all men. It's surprising how fast you can build and launch a raft when you put your mind to it." "Ah," the Doctor had adopted a thoughtful look. "I know that look. What are you thinking of doing?" "Well, without a male population, this race is rather doomed to die out. So I was thinking you and I could pop over in the TARDIS and educate the men. We should be finished well before the women develop sea-going vessels." "Um," said Grant. "Good, We'll leave in the morning then." The Doctor flashed him a cheerful smile and left the room. Grant lay back with a distinctly worried look on his face. To Be Continued ________________________________________________________ ()))______http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~abates/___)__)__-~ `----------o "Why's your ASCII star destroyer upside-down?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To unsubscribe from this mailing list, or to change your subscription to digest, go to the ONElist web site, at http://www.onelist.com and select the User Center link from the menu bar on the left.