Free Doctor Who by Nicholas Briggs

the Doctor, no one had connected this incident with the man in the tweed suit and his three children. There had been only one, sleeping passenger on the tram, and she looked like she had not even been woken by the impact. The driver was climbing onto the tram roof, trying to check the power pick-up arm. None of the owners of the three empty smashed cars had emerged. Feeling rather guilty about it all, the Doctor hoped the cars had, perhaps, been abandoned.
    He looked back at the children again. They stared back up at him. There was nothing for it, he would have to use his sonic screwdriver to break into the spaceship terminal and somehow find a way to get back to the TARDIS. Checking around to make sure that there was no one looking, the Doctor moved close to the terminal’s main door. But just as he was about to press the control to operate his sonic screwdriver, a terrible noise swooped in from above. A noise like a rusty wheel scraping against a blackboard – ear-piercing and distinctly unpleasant.
    There were green flashing lights too, playing all around, and these, coupled with the horrible din, seemed to transform this dark little backwater of a street into something resembling the opening moments of some horrifically bad-taste alien rock concert.
    The children once again ran for shelter under the Doctor’s jacket. The tram driver nearly fell off his tram roof. The Doctor clamped his hands over his ears, wincing. All of them looked up to see a large, metallic vehicle descending.
    ‘Oh dear,’ murmured the Doctor. He knew a police car when he saw one.
    ‘Stay where you are! Do not move!’ echoed a distorted voice, bouncing off every hard surface in the area.
    The vehicle finally touched down and the grating siren croaked to a halt. The green lights were still flashing all over the place as the door opened and three people in green and black leathery uniforms with blunt-looking peaked caps and tinted visors stepped out, pointing what were clearly weapons at the Doctor and the children.
    ‘I haven’t done anything!’ shouted the Doctor, putting his hands up. The children put their hands up too. The Doctor nodded towards the door of the space terminal. ‘You can check for yourself. The door’s still locked.’
    The police officers stood perfectly still, as if they had not heard him.
    The Doctor glanced at the tram. The driver was standing on the roof of it now, looking over, scratching his head.
    ‘Oh, and I’m sorry about the tram!’ said the Doctor. ‘It was an accident. Sorry. Really, really sorry.’
    The middle one of the police officers put his weapon into a side holster on his hip. He immediately produced a waxy-looking piece of paper from his pocket and held it up firmly, like an old-fashioned town crier. He started to read from the paper, through his visor, in a rapid, staccato manner that suggested he was just going through some motions he had gone through many times before.
    ‘You-are-not-obliged-to-say-anything-but-you-are-hereby-warned-that-comments-you-have-made-in-a-place-of-public-assembly-have-been-deemed-offensive-to-the-Dalek-Foundation-and-as-such-are-classified-as-incitement-to-hatred-under-Carthedian-law—’
    ‘Incitement to hatred? This is ridiculous!’ said the Doctor. Then he thought to himself, I suppose I was trying to incite hatred of the Daleks. What’s wrong with that?
    ‘And-therefore-under-the-Prevention-of-Hatred-Act-9/70-3/4-you-are-hereby-to-be-taken-into-custody-and-detained-until-such-time-as-a-hearing-can-be-scheduled-for-you-to-justify-your-actions-and-words.’
    ‘Custody?’ the Doctor said. ‘But what about …?’ He was pointing to the children. Already, one of the other police officers was approaching the children, threateningly.
    ‘You are no longer deemed a responsible guardian for these minors, and therefore, in accordance with Carthedian Child Protection laws, these children, namely Sabel Blakely, Jenibeth Blakely and Ollus Blakely are to be made