The Good Doctor.’

Contents Cover About the Book About the Author Title Page Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Epilogue Copyright About the Book A new adventure featuring the Thirteenth Doctor as played by Jodie Whittaker About the Author Juno Dawson is the international bestselling author of ten titles for young adults. She is a columnist at Glamour UK, Attitude Magazine and a key LGBTQ activist with Stonewall. For Stuart, who told me all this was possible Chapter 1 On the tank’s monitor, General Orryx surveyed the ruins with keen yellow eyes. Kanda was once a proud, beautiful city. Now it was little more than rubble; only the charred skeletons of homes, temples and shops still stood. By dawn the war would be over, and the loba would reclaim their world. “Lobos for loba,” she often told her troops. Kanda was the last stronghold of the rebels and Orryx had them surrounded. The tank bumped and shuddered as it ploughed over the debris. Hers was one of a fleet, all closing in on the city. For the human scum, there would be no escape. ‘General Orryx,’ said Captain Brun. ‘Incoming. From above.’ Orryx checked her radar and, sure enough, a small flying object – possibly a drone of some sort – approached. ‘What is that thing? Intercept it. Blast it out of the sky.’ There was only room for two personnel in the tank, but they were flanked by hundreds of foot soldiers, ready to storm what was left of Kanda Plaza on her command. ‘STOP!’ The voice boomed from every speaker in the tank. Orryx covered her ears and Brun yanked the headphones off his head. The tank stopped rolling, its engines dead. The few lanterns that still worked on the street flickered and went out. Even her scanners dimmed until the aux batteries kicked in. ‘Who is that? Where is it coming from?’ Orryx snarled, her eyes almost glowing in the gloom of the tank. ‘Why did you stop?’ ‘I didn’t, General! The controls are frozen. It won’t move.’ ‘Where are the floodlights? Get me visual!’ All she could assume was that the humans had somehow got their furless paws on alien technology. ‘And destroy that drone! Now!’ ‘Weapons offline.’ Orryx’s heart pounded. This wasn’t possible. The rebels didn’t have the means to … ‘IT’S ME. PLEASE. CEASEFIRE.’ Orryx recognised that voice very well. ‘General?’ Brun said quietly. ‘It sounds like …’ ‘Stop the assault. Now! Halt!’ She spoke into the comms system. ‘Fleet. Halt and ceasefire. That’s an order. Over.’ The tank had enough power for her to use the visualiser. Orryx scanned the district. In the east, the suns were starting to rise, the sky almost violet-purple. With the tanks and bikes now still, the dust started to settle on Kanda Plaza. In the sky, a single light shone from a spherical drone. It hovered like it was waiting for her to make a move. ‘What is that device?’ Orryx growled. ‘Negative, general. The scanner doesn’t recognise the technology as human.’ ‘Is it a weapon?’ ‘I … I don’t know, General.’ ‘MOTHER.’ His voice once more blasted all around them. ‘PLEASE. CAN WE TALK?’ There was a sudden flurry of movement on the deserted street. A drain cover popped open, rolled across the street and came to a stop with a clang. ‘Hold fire!’ Orryx commanded, trying to keep panic out of her voice. ‘But train your guns on that storm drain.’ ‘Someone’s coming out,’ Brun told her. A makeshift white flag emerged from the sewer. It appeared to be an article of clothing – a cotton shirt with the words FRANKIE SAYS RELAX in black, human script – attached to a bamboo cane. ‘They’re surrendering,’ Brun whispered. ‘We won.’ ‘Wait here. Unseal the hatch.’ ‘But General, they may have gas bombs or—’ ‘Do it!’ With a hiss, the hatch unlocked. Orryx twisted the handle and swung the door open. The air was gritty and dusty, tinged with acrid smoke and gunpowder. She pulled her scarf over her snout and mouth. From the drain, she saw Avi emerge, holding his flag. It took everything she had not to cry out and run to him. She’d long since thought him dead. There he was. Alive. As Avi crawled out into the rubble, he was followed by a human woman. She had yellow head fur and wore a long grey coat. She didn’t look like a soldier at all; her trousers finished halfway up her legs for one thing. She too stumbled onto the plaza, her arms aloft in surrender. Behind her came an elderly human male and a face she recognised well: Alex Blaine, the resistance leader. Faintly, she heard snipers ready their weapons. Her soldiers had them entirely covered on all sides. ‘I said hold your fire or I will have your pelts!’ she yelled. She would not risk her only son, not now that she had this second chance. How? How was this possible? Orryx slid over the front of the tank and dropped down in the debris. She established that Blaine didn’t appear to be holding a gun, but that meant nothing. He’d killed many, many loba in his time. ‘Mother …’ Avi began. Orryx said nothing because she didn’t trust herself not to cry and that would be unforgiveable in front of her troops. Her cub was fully grown now, taller than her. They were still unmistakably mother and cub, however: same eyes, same thick, shaggy chestnut fur. ‘Mother … I …’ Suddenly, the human woman interrupted him, stepping between them. Up close, she was slight, impish. ‘I’m sorry, but would you look at the state of this?’ She twirled around, waving her arms at the ruins. ‘Look at all this mess!’ As she spun closer, Orryx drew her gun. ‘Stay where you are! Freeze!’ ‘But look at all this mess!’ the woman said again, her eyes wide. Orryx wondered if maybe she was intoxicated. ‘I won’t warn you again …’ ‘Look at it.’ This time it was a demand. The human woman, somehow, was now almost nose to nose with her. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Just what I said. Look at the mess.’ She snorted. For the first time, Orryx looked at her feet. Scattered around her gleaming boots was all sorts of junk from the old marketplace. The woman with yellow fur squatted down for a split second and bounced back up holding a chipped mug. ‘Look.’ Orryx sighed. She didn’t have time for this. ‘It’s a cup.’ ‘It’s a blue cup.’ ‘I see that.’ ‘Probably belonged to someone, don’t you think?’ She pointed at the ruins. ‘From one of those homes, I should think. I wonder if it was someone’s favourite mug. I wonder if every morning, without fail, they’d wake up and make a lovely cup of tea in their favourite blue mug. I can’t start the day without a cup of tea in my favourite mug, can you?’ ‘What?’ ‘I like Yorkshire Tea the best. What about you?’ Far away, on the other side of Kanda City, Yaz and Ryan crouched in the dark radio tower. It reeked of damp. Water ran down the black walls and wind howled through the corridors. This high up, it felt like the tower was swaying back and forth in the gusts. Trying to ignore seasickness, Yaz could hardly believe Edwards had got this wreck to work. The young soldier looked out of the broken window with his binoculars. He can’t have been more than fourteen years old, Yaz thought to herself. The torn camouflage he wore drowned him. ‘It’s transmitting,’ he said. ‘All over Lobos. Everyone can hear it.’ ‘Let me see,’ Yaz said, tugging on Ryan’s arm. ‘Stop hogging it.’ The feed from the drone was – somehow – being picked up by Ryan’s phone. ‘It’s broadcasting on every available frequency. Audio, visual … everything,’ Ryan said. The Doctor had found the drone in the TARDIS storeroom and instructed Edwards to patch it into the old radio network. But, according to Edwards, this radio tower hadn’t been used for years. The remaining equipment was rusty junk, but Edwards had managed to patch it up sufficiently to receive and transmit the signal. ‘Fine!’ Yaz said, ‘But let me see.’ ‘Magic word?’ Yaz tutted. ‘Please?’ He tilted his screen in her direction. She saw what the drone saw. It showed the Doctor, Graham, Avi and Blaine talking to someone she guessed was this Orryx she’d heard so much about. Yaz frowned at Ryan. ‘What’s she doing with that mug, though?’ The yellow-haired one kicked through the rubble. Her hand shot out like a dart and this time seized a photo frame. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for a photo frame,’ she said. ‘Especially after the twentieth century when everything went digital because, to print out a photo and stick it in a frame, you really, really had to care about who was in that picture, right?’ She rubbed the shattered glass with her cuff. ‘I wonder who they were. I mean, if this is half buried, they’re dead, right?’ She tossed the photo at Orryx’s feet. ‘Loba family, by the way, if it matters.

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