Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow Part 31

Beyond its tight dimensional gate, the s.h.i.+p's interior opened out impossibly. Its s.p.a.cious console room was gloomy and neglected. A cobweb lifted and rippled on the central console. Several panels had been lifted off to expose the complex inner circuitry.

The Doctor tore away the cobweb and blew off the dust. Instantly, the sluggish hum of power edged up a tone. A gold light began to glimmer weakly behind the honeycomb of roundels that covered the wal s.

The place felt welcoming.

The Doctor put down his bag.

There were banks of instruments around the room and a couple of overturned chairs. Beyond a door, there was the glimpse of a shadowy pa.s.sage leading deeper.

133.

[image]

He pondered the control panels with a degree of glee and selected the bra.s.s b.u.t.ton marked DOOR.

There was no response. The power was all but drained. The light guttered and the s.h.i.+p's hum died.

The Doctor drummed his fingers in frustration.

Something whooshed. The black box was suddenly hovering beside him.

'Yes, I wondered when you'd catch up with me,' he said. 'So you think you can come along too, do you? Well, that's all very wel , my friend. But since we have neither the luxury of a pilot nor of any power, perhaps you can suggest a way to fly this thing.'

The box whirred. Its lid opened a crack. The white furnace inside winked at him. He could feel its energy softly saturating the air.

The s.h.i.+p gradually began to hum again. A more confident, a.s.sertive hum. The light in the room began to rise. A screen attached to the ceiling flickered into life, showing a group of Agency guards moving methodically across the dock area outside. One of them carried a gun.

The Doctor pressed the DOOR b.u.t.ton again. This time, the heavy double doors buzzed and swung shut. The central gla.s.s column of the console juddered. The complex instruments inside turned back and forth. Lights twinkled among the circuits.

By now, the s.h.i.+p was throbbing with energy. 'Remarkable, remarkable!' enthused the Doctor. 'All this power, from an ancient antiquity!'

There was a loud clang. On the screen, he could see the guards gathering around the s.h.i.+p.

'Well, it appears that my future is in your hands ... or should I say Hand, eh? Hmm?' His shoulders heaved with little gusts of mirth.

A light showed beside an unmarked dial. The Doctor glanced at the box. It gleeped at him. He reached out and gave the dial a twist.

The air grated with the roar of engines. An undulating grinding like something tearing open the fabric of reality. The gla.s.s column rose and fell, its inner carousel of instruments turning. Switches and levers adjusted by themselves.

The s.h.i.+p jolted and the screen picture vanished.

The Doctor turned pale and fell against one of the chairs.

Then the commotion stopped. The column sank and fell silent. The light dimmed and a voice spoke out of the air.

134.

'This s.h.i.+p is on an unauthorized vector. Transportation into the Backtime of the Gallifreyan continuum is forbidden.

You are being tractored back to Time Traffic Control for further questioning.'

The Doctor, already on hands and knees, turned to the box. 'Where were you taking me? Hmm?'

The s.h.i.+p shook and the light turned red.

'Well? This is a fine pickle,' he complained. 'So what do you intend to do about it?'

The box rose steadily in the air. It whirred across the console room and hovered its bulk above the gla.s.s column.

The air started to thrum. The Doctor covered his ears as red light flickered around him.

'Warning!' He could still hear the voice. 'The resistance of a recal summons is an offence. You cannot breach the Backtime Field Buffers. Abandon this vector immediately!'

A trembling seized the s.h.i.+p. Forces wrenched at its structure. The box opened its lid wide.

'Warning! Contact with the Backtime Field Buffers will disengage the dimensions of this s.h.i.+p. Retur-'

The box gave a shriek. The Doctor hit the floor as an icy sunburst engulfed the room.

The flower of white flame hung for a moment. Then s.p.a.ce and other dimensions outside time folded around it and tucked it neatly out of harm's way.

The Doctor lay on his back staring at the ceiling. The steady hum of the TARDIS was gently soothing.

He sat up. The gla.s.s column rose and fell with the pulse of flight. Lozenges of vortical light streaked across the scanner.

'Well,' he said, feeling for broken bones, 'and where exactly are you taking me?'

The box edged in beside him. It clucked and chirruped with something resembling a contented familiarity.

He looked startled. 'Home? What do you mean "home"? I don't want to go home. I can never go home again.'

135.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Old Mole

Innocet dabbed at the Doctor's forehead with his scarf. He was propped against the wall and was stil s.h.i.+vering.

He opened an eye.

'All right,' she said. 'I accept that you were nowhere near the House when Quences was murdered.'

'We al saw me. I could have come back.'

She shook her head indignantly. 'Snail, you were driven out. Glospin drove you. Al this explains away many more things than you will know. But to steal a TT machine.' He closed his eyes again. 'That wasn't real y the mythical Hand of Omega,' she continued.

'You're the cla.s.sicist. You tell me.'

'It's a legend.' She glanced up at the racks of coloured tubes around the room. 'There are at least a dozen different versions of the story, but their interpretations depend on the social and spiritual needs of the times in which they were written.'

'And the authors who wrote them,' added the Doctor. 'But there are no tides without a moon. Nor towers without foundation.' He took another rice cake from his pocket. 'Badger? The Hand of Omega.'

Chris, who had been drowsing, sat up sharply as Badger lumbered forward.

'In The Triumphs of Ra.s.silon The Triumphs of Ra.s.silon,' rumbled the tutor, 'the Hand is the stellar manipulator that Omega forged for Ra.s.silon. It is the key that opened the burning gate of Time. And the Other stole the Hand away.'

'Dramatic licence,' said the Doctor. 'And a very simplistic view.'

'It's much the same in The Record of Ra.s.silon The Record of Ra.s.silon,' said Innocet. 'The Hand of Omega creates the Time-Sun that s.h.i.+nes on Gallifrey. But in The Book of the Old Time The Book of the Old Time, the Other plots to overthrow Ra.s.silon, and flees when he is defeated. The Hand pursues him forever through eternity. Whichever way you interpret it, it symbolizes the people's rejection of superst.i.tion. The reign of the G.o.ds ends and we learn to fend for ourselves.'

'Correct,' said Badger. 'This period is cal ed the Intuitive Revelation.'

'Excuse me for asking,' said Chris, 'but what's al this stuff about genetic discrepancies on your birth certificate?'

'Not very relevant,' the Doctor said. 'Rice cake?'

'Sorry, but it isn't easy to ignore things, not when half the thoughts in my head aren't my own.'

'That evidence is sub judice sub judice.'

'I tried to protect you,' said Innocet. 'Glospin was set to report all his theories, but I stopped them from reaching the Capitol.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Thank you, Cousin. I hope he didn't take it out on you.'

She tested the weight of hair on her shoulders. 'Glospin was ill. He collapsed with a ma.s.sive double hearts seizure, shortly after the House was buried. When Quences died, Glospin was already bedridden.'

'I saw that,' said Chris. 'Arkhew and I dreamt it.'

'Satthralope nursed him through his regeneration. There were complications and no medical help. It took him many, many candledays to recover.'

136.

'How convenient,' the Doctor complained.

Innocet tutted. 'He is over three hundred years older than you.'

'And only on his third generation.' The Doctor sniffed at his rice cake, grunted and thrust it back in his pocket.

'One more question,' said Chris. 'Why do all your Cousins cal you "Wormhole"?'

The Doctor gave a groan of irritation.

'Not al of us,' said Innocet.

'Why don't you take a turn around the library?' snapped the Doctor. 'I'll stay here. Then you can discuss me at length!'

Owis scarcely believed his luck. He had just discovered a new and brightly patterned woollen garment. And now a bowl of dried magentas was sitting unguarded on a kitchen table. They were supposed to improve with age, so after six and a half hundred years they must be. . . well, only one way to find out.

A hand cracked down on his shoulder.

'Did you hear that noise?' said Glospin. 'Like a machine?' Owis shook his head and wondered what Glospin was up to in the kitchen.

'In the old days,' Glospin continued, 'they'd cut off the fingers of anyone who was caught thieving. One by one.

Snip, snip. Wormhole always talked about the old days. If he ever became Kithriarch, I expect he'd bring them back.'

Owis pulled his hand away quickly.

'Never mind,' Glospin added. 'He isn't Kithriarch yet.'

A smile slowly creased across Owis's face. 'Bet you he never is.'

There was movement. A Drudge emerged through a cloud of steam. It hissed and gestured angrily at them.

'Supper soon,' said Glospin and watched Owis scurry away. 'So don't be too long about your business.'

The Doctor sits quietly, listening to the voices of his friend and his Cousin, coming from the depths of the library.

Badger, his oldest friend, stands like a sentinel beside him. The House is quiet. But there are sorts of quiet other than calmness. Sometimes before a moment of unexpected fear or violence, the wind drops, the birds fall silent and a hush of reverence for what wil happen settles across the world.

A ripple spreading backward across time from an inescapable event.

In her room, Satthralope coughs dryly. No food, only dregs and parings are left for the Otherstide supper. She waits in her chair for what the approaching moment will bring.

Jobiska, her frail bones aching, lies with her head in the fireplace, a telescope to her watering eye. High above, at the distant top of the chimney, she sees the sky change from white to black as a rain cloud hurries across.

In his gla.s.s-lidded casket set on the Loom of the House, Ordinal-General Quences can be seen sleeping, still as a corpse, until the time comes for his resurrection.

A tafelshrew, nosing about on the casket lid, is startled by the repeated echo of a growling engine. The creature darts for cover through a tiny black crack in the gla.s.s where, experience reminds it, it cannot be seen.

A grey figure in a long robe flickers along a pa.s.sage on the third level. Old and angular. Shadows swirl in a cloak around him. Satthralope sees him in her mirror. The cold gruel spills from her shaking bowl.

137.

The Doctor sat and watched the library door.

When the old man came through the wood, his dark cloak was bil owing slowly around him in the spectral wind.