Name: Only Human
Writer: Gareth Roberts
Fanhome: Doctor Who
Characters: 9th Doctor, Rose
My Weekend
By Chantal Osterberg (aged 7)
2 October AD 438,533
On Saturday, our cat Dusty was giving the whole family too many
Wrong-feelings. She weed on the upholstery again. It’s nice to have
Pets to stroke, and we do love Dusty, but she has been too naughty
Recently. She gets in the way. Later a man over the road triped over
Her and broke his leg. That was inconvenient and the man needed a
Health-patch.
That was when I took a long look at Dusty and decided she was
Very inefficient. Animals run about for no reason, and they must feel
All sorts of odd sensations just like people used to. I thought it would
Be a good idea to improve Dusty so she would be happier and would
Understand not to be naughty.
So I went to my room and got out my pen and paper. I had lots of
Ideas about improvements and I wrote them all down. Then I called
Dusty into my room and set to work, using Mother’s cutters and things
From her work-kit. First I took off her tail, which I consider to be a bit
Pointless in its present form, so I stretched it and made it scaly. Then
I opened Dusty up and moved her organs about to make them more
Logical. Then I took her head off, pulled her brain out and studied it.
It is very primitive, not really what you’d call a brain at all.
1
I got out one of Mother’s gene sprays and dialled it to make Dusty
More ferocious at catching mice and better at breeding. I made it so
She would never wee again. Then I put all her bits back together and
Took her downstairs to show to my parents.
Unfortunately, the improved Dusty gave my parents wrong-feelings.
They tried to catch her but she sped out of the door and I don’t think
She’ll ever come back.
All
the mice are dead now. There was no need for mice, and eventually
All cats will be like Dusty because of my cleverness. I like improving
Things.
So that was my weekend.
Bromley, 2005
The young Roman examined himself in the mirror. He adjusted his
Purple robe and straightened the circlet of plastic laurel leaves on his
Head. He was very pleased with himself and how he looked, as usual.
An astronaut walked in behind him, crossed over to the urinal and,
With some difficulty, unzipped the flies of his silver space trousers.
‘Hey, Dean,’ he called over his shoulder to the Roman. ‘There’s a bloke
Here really giving Nicola the eye.’
Dean felt a wave of anger rushing up inside him. Which was all
Right, because he liked feeling angry. Most of his Friday nights ended
Up like this. It didn’t take a lot.
The astronaut finished and did up his flies.
Dean came right up to him. ‘What bloke?’ he asked.
‘The caveman.’
A few moments later, out by the bar, Nicola, who was dressed as a
Chicken, looked up at Dean through her beak. Oh no, not another
Scene, not another fight. She shouted to make herself heard over the
Thudding music. ‘Dean, it doesn’t matter!’
Dean’s mate the astronaut was intent on firing him up. ‘He won’t
Leave her alone. Kept eyeing her up while you were in there. I told
Him she’s seeing you. . . ‘
2
Dean looked around the club, over the crowded dance floor. He
Searched for a caveman among the clowns, schoolgirls, vicars and
Punks. ‘I’m gonna sort it,’ he said, feeling the energy crackle through
His powerful body. He strode away into the crowd.
Nicola jumped down from her stool and, clutching her golden egg,
Hopped after him in her three-clawed felt slippers. ‘Dean, leave it. It
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