Connectivity of the Doctor

It's Sunday again and this time I bring you the final instalment of my Doctor Who fan fiction. Yes, there's an end. I hope you've enjoyed it.

(Part I can be found here, Part II can be found here, Part III can be found here, Part IV is here, and Part V is here.)

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part VI

“Doctor, this whole building will be filled with toxic gas within ten minutes,” said William. “Can you get us out of here before that?”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She looked back at the wall panel thoughtfully.

“Doctor?” said William insistently. “Doctor?!”

The Doctor's eyes wandered to the bare space of wall beside the control panel. Its metallic surface offered faint reflections of the five people standing in the corridor. “Inspector,” said the Doctor, “what are these walls made of?”

“Isharasteel,” said Marwat, her voice shaking, “re-reinf-inforced by divaranised mesh . . .” She stopped as the Doctor reached over to Rob's hip, grasped the hilt of his sword, and drew it. The looks of terror that suddenly overcame Marwat's, Judy's, and William's faces showed they'd suddenly realised leaving a prisoner armed didn't make very much sense. But instead of attacking them, the Doctor walked over close to the wall, raised the weapon, and began pounding the pommel into the surface.

Instead of the loud clang of metal on metal, there was a knocking sound accompanied by the sight of splinters. Splinters of wood. Very soon, the Doctor had made a small hole.

“It's—it's wood,” said William, stunned.

“It's plywood,” said the Doctor. “Made to look like metal.” She continued pounding, expanding the hole. Rob drew his dagger and started helping her, expanding the rupture and the red light started to filter into the darkness behind the wall. The smooth surface of some kind of oblong object on a rough hewn table slowly became visible.

“I don't understand,” said Marwat, something like awe coming into her voice. “There's nothing about this in the Cloud.”

The Doctor shrugged, stepping over the rough bottom edge of the hole, lifting her skirts. “There didn't need to be. It occurred to me . . .” She went over to the object and started twisting dials and flicking switches. “. . . that for a great security system, the most important thing is convincing people it's a great security system.” She stepped back, letting out a breath. “And when people voluntarily limit their sources of information, it becomes much easier to convince them of even absurd things.” The Doctor now looked at some lines running from the oblong object into the rough, pale wooden wall.

“Plywood?” asked Rob.

“Ah, yes, hm. Cheap, weak wood veneer,” explained the Doctor, gathering up one of the small lines and examining it. “Very good for . . . theatre and television. There was a show in Britain I liked--”

“Doctor, what about the gas?” said William.

“Ah, turned off,” said the Doctor, pointing at the oblong object. “There are others like this tank but I've hit the master control. We're quite safe.”

“No, we're not,” said Marwat, starting to get angry. “These are all relics of a Wanter infiltration. According to the folder 27115, this tracks with an attempt to infiltrate and monitor our prison!”

“Ha! That was fast,” said the Doctor. “Already writing articles to protect itself, eh?”

“The date on the article is from two years ago!” said Marwat, getting more confident. “In fact, the more I look, the more articles I find on how rooms like this have already been discovered and dealt with years ago.”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows and put her hands in her pockets, the corners of her lips turned down. “Well, who am I to argue with articles, eh?”

“And you shouldn't!” said Marwat, “because one of my colleagues has just uncovered an article that exonerates you. You and your companion are free to go.”

Rob didn't understand what was going on but he couldn't help smiling at the sudden look of delight that spread over the Doctor's features.

“So, now it shows me its belly!” she laughed. “Well, then, Rob. Let's go!”

“Now wait just a minute!” said William. “They can't go just like that. After everything she said.”

Marwat looked at William pityingly. “All I can say, William . . . is you would understand if you were still . . .” she couldn't finish.

William clenched his fists.

Rob was kneeling beside Judy who'd slumped to the floor, her hands clutching her shoulders.

“Is there anything I might do for you, miss?” he asked.

“Leave me alone,” she said and, just like the man Jean, she said, “Don't look at me!”

The inspector saw nothing strange about telling the Doctor and Rob to find their own way out of the high security detention facility. The Doctor seemed to have no trouble finding it. Whenever a locked door or forcefield presented itself, a wave of the sonic screwdriver granted them passage. They found the Doctor's green velvet coat in the now deserted office. She put it on and they proceeded down a cold, dark stairwell before emerging from the base of the tower on the mountainside. By now it was quite late and the slumbering city of the Aeons lay below. Smooth, blocky buildings lit by evenly spaced, coordinated lighting.

“All the lights fit together,” said the Doctor, a subtle laugh in her voice. “No motley of shapes in a commercial district, no distinctive decorations on the homes in the residential zones. Little even to indicate which is which.”

“Aye . . .” said Rob, very tired and now not a little cold. “I can't believe men can build such a place.”

“Hmm, neither can I.” The Doctor eyed him, noting his fatigue. “Perhaps we'd have been better off in that cell, eh? Hmm.”

At this point, they both became aware of William standing behind them. He'd followed them down the stairwell.

The Doctor quietly looked at William expectantly while he fixed on her an intense gaze. He seemed ready to say something several times but caught himself each time and said nothing.

“It seems very strange, doesn't it?” said the Doctor slowly and loudly.

William frowned, his eyes flashing mutely.

“How can the inspector change her mind so swiftly, so completely . . .” the Doctor continued.

“If she's wrong . . .” said William, “then you're guilty of poisoning us. But how—how can she be right . . . ?”

“Ah, ha ha. I see your trouble,” said the Doctor. “Well, a stopped clock is right twice a day, you know! We didn't really poison the implants. But it's also not reasonable for the inspector to change her mind so quickly.”

He grunted and looked away, to the ground. He took a few steps to the right, his work boots scratching on the dirt. “There's something else, you see. It's not just losing part of ourselves now. It's losing the part of ourselves that lives on . . .”

The Doctor's body tensed as comprehension dawned on her. “Ahh . . .”

“Is it in the Great Tomb?” he asked, looking at the Doctor now. “Is it there waiting, like I'm—like I'm dead already?”

“Is it in the Great Tomb!” the Doctor repeated. There was a pause and then she pounded one fist into her palm. “One way to find out, eh? Let's go have a look, shall we?”

William scowled but started trudging down the mountainside. He stopped, looked back, and motioned for them to follow.

They passed in silence between rows of indistinguishable white buildings shaped like boxes occasionally connected by hard edged corridors. Rob wondered how anyone could find their way. Finally, there was an open square in the centre of which was a roughly three storey round tower that tapered slightly to a flat top. Eight smooth buttresses adorned the exterior. There were no windows and Rob could see only one double door which was open, revealing an interior dimly lit as though by candlelight except the light was a pale blue. As they stepped inside, they saw the interior was mostly hollow with two levels of platforms above ringing the edges. At the centre of the room was a small pedestal with what looked like a bell jar on top containing something within.

“Ah,” said the Doctor in a dark tone. “I can't say I'm surprised.”

As Rob came around the Doctor he had a better view of the thing on the pedestal, in the jar. It was a helmet, not one of the thin wiry ones the Aeons wore, but one that would fully cover the head. The remarkably smooth metal extended across the face and down the neck like a hard metal cowl. A sort of handle was attached at about where the ears would be and it ran over the top of the helmet. Two perfectly round holes for the eyes had smaller holes, like little tears, connected to them and the mouth was a perfectly rectangular, horizontal slit.

“You know what that is?” asked Rob.

The Doctor nodded. “The helmet of a Cyberman.”

“When we Aeons die,” said William, a curious look on his face, “the sum of our knowledge and skill goes to rest here and can be accessed by anyone.” He gestured at the wall and Rob saw that the walls were covered by little shiny black boxes, each with identical sets of little blue lights and tiny slots.

“So you would say your spirit, if you will,” said the Doctor, “descends from the Cloud to rest here, in the Great Tomb?”

William nodded slowly, contemplatively. “We don't call it a spirit. It's simply us. We are all of us one foot in the Cloud and one foot on the ground, as the saying goes. Most of us.” He reached up and touched his own thin, lifeless helmet which, it now occurred to Rob, never made the clicking noises of the helmets belonging to the other Aeons.

The Doctor nodded distractedly and started strolling along the wall, looking at the black boxes as though viewing paintings in a gallery. She came to one box that was different to the others. It was about the size of three of the others, roughly the size of a seaman's chest, and had no lights on it. The Doctor held her sonic screwdriver close to it, there was a wirring noise, and the box swung open, revealing a coil of black line. At the same time, the light inside the tomb changed from dim blue to dim yellow, quietly.

“William, may I borrow your helmet?” said the Doctor, her eyes remaining on the coil of line.

William's mouth opened and he didn't respond at first, clearly taken aback. “Doctor . . .” he said finally. “Doctor, I wouldn't let my own wife wear my helmet.”

She looked at him now and smiled gently. “I understand. But it's very important, William. I might be able to solve this whole thing.”

“You mean—you mean you could help me recover the part I've lost in the Cloud?” he took a step forward eagerly.

Her smile tightened. “I could possibly, William. But I'll need a helmet like yours to interface with the Cloud.”

“But—but it's poisoned. Broken. Isn't it?” said William, reluctantly pulling some tiny wires from his temple and lifting the frail looking headpiece.

As he slowly placed it in the Doctor's small, pale hands, Rob suddenly found himself saying, “'The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.'”

“Richard II, eh?” the Doctor smiled at Rob. “Well,” she said, looking at William, “I hope it's not so bad as that.”

She placed the headpiece on her own brow, attaching the end of the coiled line as she did so. She lifted her sonic screwdriver to her temple and suddenly the little helmet started making the familiar clicking sounds.

William sucked in his breath. The Doctor's eyes widened and started moving quickly from side to side, as though seeing something Rob couldn't. He tried to follow her gaze and looking at the entrance to the tomb he saw a number of Aeons entering, all of them armed with rifles, led by Inspector Marwat.

“What are you doing, Doctor?!” screamed the inspector. “I demand you cease your activity immediately! Stop! Stop!” But she seemed unwilling to shoot at the Doctor. The dozen or so Aeons all watched with various shades of anxiety on their faces, each impotently clutching their rifles. All of them looked very tired, as though they hadn't slept in weeks.

Rob drew his sword and stood between the Aeons and the Doctor.

“There is no Cloud!” the Doctor pronounced loudly. “Only the Tomb! All of the data is here! All of your folders and your articles and your expertises are here, contained on these servers.” She frowned and there was silence. Then all of the Aeons screamed and fell to their knees, clutching their helmets. Some of them went quiet, some of them started weeping.

The Doctor removed the helmet. William looked bewildered and a little angry. “What have you done?!”

“I've 'poisoned' everyone else,” said the Doctor sternly.

“No!” cried William, lunging for her but Rob shoved him to the ground.

“I'm sorry,” said the Doctor, “But it was inevitable. This whole network is breaking down. It was built on a single outdated piece of Cyberman technology. Left as it was, it would have all shut down within a week. It couldn't support that kind of neurological interface any longer, your population has grown too large. But all the data is still here, intact. You can access it from this terminal.” She pointed to a screen and panel inside the larger box.

“That's not good enough!” screamed Marwat.

“All of the knowledge is here still,” said the Doctor. “But you'll have to learn it on your own.”

“You don't understand, you damned alien!” shouted William. “It isn't about knowing things . . . it's about—about being who we are!”

“Perhaps you aren't who you thought you were!” said the Doctor. “It can happen, you know. It certainly happens to me now and then. You don't look receptive to any advice I might offer,” she grinned apologetically at the furious faces arrayed about her, “but I would say . . . you'd be surprised how very much you can find in very little things. Sometimes you can find a whole universe in a daisy.”

One of the Aeons lifted a rifle and pulled the trigger. The thing clicked ineffectually.

“Yes, I'm afraid those won't be very helpful,” said the Doctor. She looked at Rob, “You know, I think we'd better go.”

The two of them walked out of the tomb, Rob sensing angry eyes burning holes into him the whole way.

It was a couple hours' walk back to the TARDIS and Rob was amazed at the Doctor's ability to find the way to the ruined Wanter town. Along the way, she tried to explain cybernetic implants and computers to him. He felt he might understand better once he'd gotten some sleep.

At last, standing beside the TARDIS, he took one last look about him.

“Will the Aeons be all right?” he asked.

“They're smarter than they give themselves credit for,” she said thoughtfully.

Rob was surprised. “They seem to accord themselves a great deal of credit.”

The Doctor grinned. “Hmm. Well, now they must put aside their resentment and sloth and learn to build. They can do it. Especially if they make peace with the Wanters who, despite what the Aeons say, are much more skilled at living than they are.”

“It seems the more tools people have at their disposal,” Rob said, “the greater the folly they create.”

“Ha!” the Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS. “Humans make some truly marvellous things, too.” He followed her inside, the door shutting behind him as she began operating the controls on that peculiar capstan. “I should show you the cathedral on Balyitsu Fourteen. Or the bathhouses on Konaral in the 6740s.”

“For now,” he said, “I'd like nothing more than a good hammock.”

She laughed and that strange wheezing sound filled the air again.

The Versatile Sonic Screwdriver

It's Sunday again so it's time for the fifth instalment of my Doctor Who fan fiction.

(Part I can be found here, Part II can be found here, Part III can be found here and Part IV is here).

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part V

The inspector drew her gun and pointed it at the Doctor. “We don't want anything!” she shrieked. “Now you will remain silent and come with us!”

The inspector would respond to no further attempts at conversation with the Doctor as they went back to her craft. Rob looked for the man called Jean whom they'd seen when first entering the reactor building but he was nowhere in sight. He asked the inspector where he was but was met with stony silence.

Once they were in the car it rose back up into the night sky. “Not much traffic,” the Doctor remarked. “I don't see any other cars out there.”

She looked at Rob who was reclining happily in his seat. The Doctor smiled and also leaned back, putting her bare arms behind her head, her coat having been left back at power station. “Good to rest after sweaty work, eh?” she said.

“A more luxurious capture I've not suffered,” replied Rob.

They ascended further as they approached a mountain and a very dark, featureless tower. It grew larger and larger, much larger than Rob had estimated its size from a distance. An opening now slowly appeared and expanded beyond which a tunnel lit by evenly spaced white lights grew to meet them.

“This is very impressive, I must say,” said the Doctor, her fingertips resting lightly on the window pane as she tried to peer around the edge. “The isolated location and the elevation are perfectly balanced.” She glanced at Rob and tapped the glass. “Between the lights are interlocking sensors . . . “ she looked over to watch the Inspector's hand flying across the controls. “And there's a separate code for every ten feet! The Inspector must input ten characters a second!” The Doctor looked over at Rob to see his baffled face. “A series of passwords,” she said, “communicated to the machines by hand.”

Rob looked from the Inspector to the tunnel outside and said, “'Tis a far sight more formidable than the Tower of London, to be sure.”

The craft landed on a thin platform and they were ushered into a corridor with long, vertical strips of light on either side. Between these strips, the air shimmered with colour like a soap bubble. The Doctor told Rob these were “security forcefields.” Inspector Marwat typed a series of numbers into a panel by each field for it to vanish just long enough for them to step through. At a corridor junction they met a pretty blonde woman wearing a white coat over the usual armour. She, like everyone else, wore the little helmet skeleton. She stood on the other side of a forcefield.

“Thanks for staying late, Judy,” said Inspector Marwat.

Judy smiled tightly and said, “I've usually taken my shoes off by now.” The two of them both started typing quickly on either side of the forcefield. Rob realised they were hitting precisely the same buttons at precisely the same time.

“That's certainly something you couldn't do without a cybernetic implant,” said the Doctor, folding her arms across her chest and smiling as she looked down her nose at the the two Aeons.

“Yeah, so maybe it wasn't a good idea to poison people,” said Judy. “Might want to think about that before you commit acts of terror and sabotage, hmm?” This earned a caustic laugh from the Inspector and four other people in a room they walked into now. One desk occupied each corner of the room, each with a shiny metal surface perfectly bare of paper or tool. Nonetheless Rob recognised a clerical space.

“Good one, Judy!” said a man with dark hair and red nose at one of the desks.

The Doctor and Rob were placed in a cell. Like the car, it greatly exceeded Rob's idea of the comforts that should accompany imprisonment. Two soft white bunks were separated by a white silk screen. Benches on the walls were upholstered like the seats in the Inspector's car and there were even video screens, the purpose of which the Doctor explained to him as providing information and entertainment by way of recorded plays and pamphlets.

“Truly, a man could pass his days in perfect bliss!” said Rob.

The Doctor laughed, “I've seen more than my share of prisons and this one, I must say, surpasses others on both security and comfort.” She reclined on her side on one of the benches like Cleopatra on a divan, resting her cheek on her palm. “We could live out our lives comfortably here. Would you like to, Rob?”

He sat down on a bench along the wall perpendicular to hers, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “No,” he said firmly. “Maybe I ought to. But I don't. Many's the lad lured to sea by the promise of comfort and riches. But those that stay in the life are either slaves or . . . men like me.”

“What sort of man would that be?” she asked.

He laughed and looked down. “I hardly know myself.”

“'Only the shallow know themselves',” the Doctor grinned. “A man named Oscar Wilde wrote that. Shallow you're certainly not. But as a seaman I'm sure you're aware that depths have their advantages, even the unfathomable kind.”

He laughed again, looking down as he blushed. “I think you flatter me. Really, I think it not so profound. Like you said, I tend not to join in my fellows in egregious slander of Royalists. Though, at heart, I suppose I am a Parliamentarian, there's something . . . ” He grimaced, searching for the word. “About their certainty. Their certainty about so many things that really are . . . obscure. But perhaps I am simply . . . irresolute.”

The Doctor shrugged. “I hardly think so.” She sat up, stretching her arms over head. “But perhaps we may indulge ourselves in some repast, eh, hmm? You should eat, my boy!” She let out a breath as she dropped her arms and stood up. “Let's see what's on offer.”

She walked over to a wall panel that she evidently recognised, a sort of cupboard built into the wall with a row of black buttons above it. Peering at it, she raised her eyebrows, her enormous eyes widening to a slightly comical effect, drawing a smile from Rob. “A robust selection!” she said. “What meal have you dreamed of in your long hours at sea?”

“Hmm . . .” he thought. “A shoulder of mutton with oysters?”

The Doctor laughed. “Well, this thing wasn't wired for 17th century guests. I'll order for us both . . .” She pressed a series of buttons and there was a rumbling far below them followed by a clatter, like a barrel of cookware was overturned into a copper tub. She now turned her wide eyes to the floor and took a step back. Both the Doctor and Rob slowly looked up as the sound travelled all the way up to the panel. There was a shaking behind the wall and then the door shot open loudly. Within was a tray with two large plates, two small plates, and two cups. The Doctor cautiously removed the tray and brought it over to Rob. She sat beside him.

The two large plates held what looked like roasted potato and various vegetables, the small plates each had a few slices of bread with cream coloured crusts. He took up one of the cups, the liquid inside was a translucent amber.

“Barley tea,” said the Doctor. She took a sip from her own cup and made a face. “Or that's what I asked for. This is more like . . . lemonade. But sweeter.”

Rob took a sip and recoiled. “'Tis sweeter than honey . . . And somehow repulsive.”

The Doctor took a bite of the bread and nearly choked on it, coughing heavily. Rob instinctively put a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm—I'm all right,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her throat. “It's like the ingredients of a thousand bargain birthday cakes condensed into one. But it seems meant to pass for ordinary bread.”

This was not an encouraging commendation but Rob had eaten nothing but small morsels of mouldy bread for two days. He hastily crammed two slices of the bread into his mouth. The thick, eggy sweetness seemed to permeate the back of his tongue while it also burned his nostrils. But he worked it down slowly while the Doctor watched, fascinated. He started on the potato which was like lumps of sugar and burnt cocoanut.

He felt a little embarrassed, slowly but steadily chewing the mass in his mouth while this beautiful, elegant, and weird woman stared at him. But he was so hungry.

“We need to get you some real food,” she said in a resolute tone, standing up. “Good thing I took this from my coat.” She produced the sonic screwdriver from her skirt pocket.

Just as quickly, though, she put it back in her pocket as they both now heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. Soon, on the other side of their cell's forcefield, there appeared Inspector Marwat and the old man from the power station. The Inspector seemed annoyed and the old man looked uncomfortable, faintly embarrassed, and angry.

“Hello!” said the Doctor. “Nice to see you again. How are things at the power station, all running smoothly? And how's your leg? I'm the Doctor, by the way, I don't think we were introduced.”

“You have a lot of nerve,” said Marwat.

“My name's William, William Hayashibana. The reactor is back to normal levels,” he said grudgingly. “And my leg is fine.”

There was an uncomfortable silence finally broken by the Doctor who said, “You're welcome.”

William peered at her, searching her countenance and big, round eyes which were open wide, suggesting a weird mixture of intense interest and placid equanimity.

“Maybe this is all some kind of game to you,” said Marwat, sarcastically. “But poisoning the implants is worse than killing people. You're effectively trapping them in a living Hell.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor frowned and put a hand on her chin, leaning her head down thoughtfully.

“I don't know what kind of people you are or where you came from,” said William, slowly building steam as he spoke. “I don't think you're Wanters. But you don't understand. We Aeons, when we're children, we're helpless. We don't know anything. But when I was ten I knew I wanted to be an engineer. So I got the data installed to me and that's who I become. You know what would've happened otherwise?”

“Years of schooling?” asked the Doctor.

“Maybe! Or maybe I'd have failed the first or second test required to advance to the next level. And then where would I be? Who would I be?”

“Good question!” the Doctor grinned at Rob who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

William nodded, “That's what I thought. You don't understand. I'm an old man now. I have a long career to look back on and I can feel pride in the things I've accomplished. Optimising the north east turbine . . . Repairing the . . .” he struggled for words. “the—the” he held his hands up, as though trying to grasp something before letting both fall back to his sides. “So maybe, what's left of my mind after the poison, it can't . . .” he took a breath. This was clearly not something he'd had the courage to say aloud before. “Maybe I can't do the things I used to. Maybe I don't . . . know what I used to. But I'm seventy-two years old. I've had a good long career. What you did to me is cruel.” He fixed a stare on her. “But if you do it to my son, or a kid just starting out, that's . . . evil. I can't think of a better word for it.”

The Doctor now employed a very cautious, gentle tone. “Have you considered the possibility that the implants weren't poisoned but are simply malfunctioning on their own?”

Inspector Marwat groaned in disgust and William frowned at her.

“How long have you been using the implants?” asked the Doctor.

“A long time . . .” William said helplessly, looking at Marwat.

“Hundreds of years ago, the first Aeons made the data cloud,” said the inspector impatiently. “They put it together and created it to make us whole.”

The Doctor leaned forward, tilting her head slightly. “Yes, and?”

Inspector Marwat looked baffled, “That's it. That's how it happened. Look, I need to take you two to the interrogation room.” She punched in a code and William stepped aside.

The Doctor shrugged and Rob stood up. They followed the Inspector and William down the corridor.

“Much of what you say is well beyond my ken,” said Rob. “But I consider myself a seaman. I collect the wages of an able seaman when pay's not in arrears, which it too often is. But I came to be so not for my childhood fancy but years on a soggy wharf, building callouses as a young lad carrying tackle or learning to tie knots.” They started to pass through the forcefields and Marwat began inputting codes. Judy was already visible waiting for them at the junction. “There were years when I was the lad who could barely tie a bowline.” Rob continued. “There were years when I was the lad who could splice two lines as neat as any fine lady's embroidery. It's not simply being able to do that makes me me. It's all the years before. If I didn't go through those years, well . . .” He scratched his head. “Might be I wouldn't be so understanding to them what was still learning.”

“Haven't you noticed that you're frightened all the time?” said the Doctor, gently. “In ways the Wanters don't seem to be?”

“The Wanters are ignorant and repressed,” said Marwat flatly.

They came now to Judy who was standing there, staring at them with an odd smile on her face.

“Still here, Judy?” said the inspector tiredly.

“Ah, yes,” she said quickly. She was blinking rapidly.

“Wait,” said the Doctor but the inspector was already inputting a code in the nearby panel. Judy's hand went to her corresponding panel to punch in precisely the same code at precisely the same time. But her hand moved too slow and then too fast as she tried to catch up.

“Judy!” cried the inspector.

Judy screamed and clutched at her helmet, backing away. The lights went out and then the white illumination was replaced by a dim red causing Rob to strain his eyes. A high pitched horn sound now repeatedly pealed throughout the corridors.

The Doctor now pushed the inspector aside and raised her sonic screwdriver to the panel. The forcefield went down but the light stayed red and the alarm continued to sound.

“How did you do that?” said Inspector Marwat, angry and frightened. Judy slumped to the floor, against the wall, staring in terror at the opposite wall, her eyes rapidly moving side to side, searching.

“I think I can get us out of here,” said the Doctor. “We can talk about how later.”

“Doctor, this whole building will be filled with toxic gas within ten minutes,” said William. “Can you get us out of here before that?”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She looked back at the wall panel thoughtfully.

“Doctor?” said William insistently. “Doctor?!”

TO BE CONTINUED

Lava versus the Doctor

It's Sunday again and time for another part of my Doctor Who fanfic. I said at the beginning this would be four parts but this didn't feel like the end. So it turns out this will be five or six parts. (Part I can be found here, Part II can be found here, and Part III can be found here).

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part IV

The Doctor looked at Rob. “Mr. Fenner, would you like a lesson in geothermal engineering? Do say yes. We may survive if you do!”

“What do I do?” said Rob without hesitation. The Doctor nodded. She marched off to the left, past the two cowering Aeons, and motioned for Rob to follow her. Meanwhile, enough of the red liquid had poured out to completely fill the cavity outside the glass wall.

“There may not really be a volcano,” the Doctor explained while hurrying down a corridor. Rob struggled to catch up as steam pushed him from either side. Fast clouds of steam like cannon smoke flashed across his vision while the gleaming metal walls here and there were obscured in hot, roiling, white vapour. “This is all . . .” the Doctor waved her hand vaguely. “You know how a water mill works? The water turns the wheel?”

“Yes,” said Rob. “There's a wheel being turned by the red water?”

“That red water is in fact stone. Stone so hot that it's melted like iron in a forge. Many planets are filled with it, including Earth. All this steam you see--” she waved her hand “--is from a cooler liquid hitting the melted stone, like water in a forge. The steam pushes the wheel, or wheels, which we call turbines.”

They came now to a large, dark room with myriad flashing blue and yellow lights. The Doctor stopped and briefly turned to face him. “The advancement you see at work here,” she said as she resumed her brisk walk, “is twofold. Instead of water, the system uses a substance that remains—well, let's say a better sort of water. And also, the melted rock is conducted to power stations by the aqueducts you saw. Here.” She pointed at a pair of enormous, parallel, glowing tubes, each about the width of a rowboat. “It works marvellously, most of the time. It seems there's been a breach somehow, as you saw. This melted stone is now filling a failsafe reservoir but if we don't redirect it soon it will overflow and destroy, eh, everything. So.” she hastily removed her velvet coat and Rob saw her shift was soaked with sweat. He realised now his own shirt was, too. The Doctor rolled up her sleeves and grasped a large metal wheel on the wall and tried to turn it. Her face reddened with the exertion and she grunted but the thing wouldn't budge. Rob reached over her head to the top of the wheel and she moved aside, ducking under his arm. He pushed now and the thing slowly started to move.

“A quarter turn,” said the Doctor, breathlessly. It wasn't so different from turning the helm in rough weather.

A sound like an enormous door slamming echoed throughout the chamber from somewhere behind the wall.

“Okay, that's well,” said the Doctor, her lips spreading in an involuntary grin as she indulged in sailor talk. “Now I'm afraid we need to go down into the bilge.” Her voice dropped dramatically on that last word. She started over to a round hatch on the wall, pointing at a lever beside it as she talked. “The automatic systems designed to coordinate rerouteing the molten rock have broken or have been meddled with.”

Rob grasped the lever, its rubber grip sticking on his sweaty hands, and pulled it. The hatch swung open slowly.

“Mr. Fenner, I must warn you now . . .” To Rob's surprise, she now put one of her small, slender hands on his cheek. “If we go down there, we may be buried beneath several hundred tonnes of burning stone.” Since he'd met her, he'd been struck by her sharp eyes, always restless, making quick, precise movements. It was a face that could scarcely conceal a tireless, compulsive intellect. He'd seen mothers and young maidens caress the faces of their men in just such a manner as the Doctor did now. But while Rob didn't doubt her sincerity, he could tell the gesture was the product of calculation and study. Some men might have found this off-putting, even infuriating. Rob didn't mind it. He felt he understood somehow.

“I don't know this country well enough,” said Rob. “But if you see it as worth risking your life for, then I'll follow you.”

The Doctor reacted with a thin smile. “Well—all right.” She ducked into the hatch and he went in behind her.

A vertical ladder led into hot darkness, the steam about them serving as the sole illumination as it carried diffuse light from the room above. Gradually, Rob became aware of the steam turning red from a light growing below. He realised now they were in a thin shaft, something that became clearer as it opened up about them to reveal a massive chamber awash in red.

The Doctor sprang off the ladder, stumbled slightly, then got to her feet and started running. Rob did likewise, managing to catch up to her with his longer stride . . . but slowed as he took in the awesome sight of the glowing liquid, red mottled with yellow and black, flowing above him, on the ceiling.

“They must have some lovely hot springs around here,” said the Doctor, rapidly pressing buttons now on a panel as Rob caught up to her. “Right! I want you . . .” she looked up, squinting. Instead of finishing her sentence she started walking briskly again, stopping beside a podium. Rob saw the floor here stopped and there was a remarkable river of shining liquid, reflecting the red from above but not the same substance in itself. The light glinting off it nearly blinded him.

“And that's not working either,” said the Doctor, grimacing at the podium. “There should be a bridge . . .” Now he followed her eyes to a series of thin metal planks across the river a few yards upstream. She walked up to one and put her foot on it, her nice black heel clacking loudly on the metal. She shrugged. “It's a little wobbly. But we've got our sea legs.”

She gathered up her skirts and started walking, slower than before but faster than he thought she really ought to. He hurried to follow her, as much to catch her if she lost her balance as to get across himself.

“I really did meet Oliver Cromwell, you know,” she said.

“What?” It took a moment for the words to make sense, being so out of context, “What—what makes you tell me this now?”

“I met him in Ireland,” she said. “With his New Model Army. Were you in the army?”

“No,” he watched her feet, one in front of the other, with perfect balance. “I was a seaman throughout the wars.”

“He's a complicated man, Cromwell. A man of firm principle but not the zealot some make him out to be. An intelligent man. But he presided over a slaughter in Drogheda. Of routed men, women, and children.”

Rob didn't say anything. They were almost to the other side. He felt the plank beneath him, its centre of gravity. He had no trouble walking it except the glimmer off the strange river below him was worse than any reflection of the sun off the sea. It was easier to watch the Doctor than look down at his own feet. “I hadn't heard about that,” he said finally.

“I don't imagine you would have,” said the Doctor, jumping lightly off the plank and onto the floor of a large sort of alcove filled with a variety of cabinets, each with glowing buttons and screens. “My point is . . . take care whom you follow.”

“I know that, Doctor,” said Rob.

A door opened at the back of the alcove and a black man in his twenties with a cleft chin, sweat pouring down his face, leaned against the doorway and looked at the two interlopers in alarm. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm . . . ” began the Doctor. She stopped as his eyes immediately focused on one of the panels. The man was an Aeon and Rob could hear his wiry helmet clicking over the ambient roar of the red river above. He staggered to one of the panels, he seemed exhausted. He flicked one switch and then his arm seemed to be sapped of strength for a moment and he accidentally hit three other switches as his arm fell across the controls. There was a low hum that dropped quickly in tone before disappearing.

“I'm the Doctor,” she began again, coming to his side and rapidly pressing a series of buttons. He leaned against the wall, watching her hands in amazement, breathing heavily.

“The . . . sector 30—the coils in sector 30 must . . . must be active for the yeodrogen to flow—to . . .” he winced.

“Rob, I need you to pull the green levers on the panel over on that wall,” she pointed. He nodded and immediately did so. Over the next few minutes she gave him instructions while the exhausted Aeon watched them, astonished. Gradually, the alarm sounds died down and generally Rob had a sense of things being put back in order. The Aeon leaning against the wall was looking more and more relieved.

Finally the Doctor released a breath and stepped back. She turned to look at Rob and smiled, laughing a little. He smiled too.

“Wait!” said the Aeon, struggling to stand. Rob immediately went to help him up. “You're a Doctor? My father--”

“Where is he?” asked the Doctor. The Aeon pointed at the door he'd come through and Rob helped the man walk behind the Doctor as he directed her down a few corridors to a smaller room filled with screens and two chairs. One of the chairs was tipped over and on the ground was an older black man, breathing heavily. He was awake, watching them warily, and Rob could see his leg was twisted under him. Beside him was a small open case filled with what Rob assumed were surgeon's tools. Rob helped the Doctor move the man's leg out from under him carefully. “Hello,” she said, smiling at him as she began to cut open his pant leg with a small knife from her pocket. She took a small white tube from the nearby case and from it began to squeeze a clear gel which she rubbed into his swollen, misshapen, black and purple shin. “I'm the Doctor. What happened here?”

“Where's your helmet?” said the old man, suspiciously.

“Dad, she got the whole system up and working again,” said the young man leaning against Rob.

“She's not a medic?” asked the old man, seeming positively offended by the sight of the Doctor's bare forehead.

“Oh, I've been a compulsive student in my time and seem to have amassed a variety of expertises,” she said as though it were the most trivial of comments.

“Where's your helmet?” he asked again, sounding angrier.

She started putting small metal disks in a row on the man's injury. “What exactly happened here?” she asked.

“There was a failure on the upper row of the northeast arm complement,” explained the younger man. “Once they stopped, eight cables snapped on the conveyors which were still moving on that side.”

“How did that happen?” asked the Doctor.

“We still don't know,” the younger man looked uncomfortable.

“What happened,” said the old man, trying to rise up, “is some joker played a prank and took out all the old—the old works and put a bunch of nonsense in the top floor of the north building. Hank and I have no business with this fool equipment, whatever it is.”

“Ah ha,” said the Doctor, raising an eyebrow as she finished up by spreading a white bandage across the man's leg. “There, that should do.” She started to help the man stand up but he held up his hand.

“I'll sit a while, if you don't mind, 'Doctor',” he said.

She shrugged, “All right, if you're comfortable. How long have you two worked here?”

“My dad has been head engineer in this station for forty years,” said Hank, the younger man. “I installed the engineering data too and became an engineer eighteen years ago.”

“How old were you?” asked Rob.

“I was ten, the usual age,” he said, looking more comfortable.

Rob nodded. “That's about the time I first went to sea.”

Hank looked confused. “You two don't seem like Wanters.”

“I'm always wanting things,” said the Doctor. “I could do with a cup of tea for starters.”

There came a sound of many footsteps in the corridor outside followed very quickly by the appearance of Detective Inspector Marwat. She was accompanied by a dozen Aeons carrying white and silver rifles.

“The Aeon State orders the Doctor and her companion to submit to immediate arrest!” cried Marwat, trembling as she said it. Her commanding tone was at odds with her whole demeanour. Rob felt like if he took but one aggressive step in her direction she would immediately run in terror. “Put your hands on your heads!”

The the Doctor languidly complied, placing her palms lightly on top of her voluminous hair. Rob put his hands on his head as Hank pulled away from him with a look of sudden comprehension on his face.

“May I know on what charge?” asked the Doctor.

“You are charged with poisoning the data implants and sabotaging the power station!” said the Inspector, trying to hold back a sob.

“Now wait a minute,” said the old man, slowly rising from the floor. “I thought this Doctor here saved the station.”

“Analytics show the likelihood of the Doctor being the saboteur in the 80 to 85 percent range,” said Hank, firmly. “It's in folder four thousand two hundred six B.”

“Can't you see it?” the Inspector asked the old man plaintively.

The old man blinked rapidly, looking away, unable to respond or meet her gaze.

Hank leaned in close to Inspector Marwat's ear, causing her to recoil reflexively. “He's been poisoned,” he said in a low voice. The Inspector's eyes widened in terror.

A young white man with blotchy skin, one of the guards accompanying the Inspector, approached her from her other side and said, “Inspector, it's 16:50.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Right, okay. You can go home just as soon as we get the prisoners into a car.”

“I was just saying I want tea!” said the Doctor, delighted.

The inspector drew her gun and pointed it at the Doctor. “We don't want anything!” she shrieked. “Now you will remain silent and come with us!”

TO BE CONTINUED

The Doctor is a Doctor

Happy Sunday, everyone. Here's the latest chapter in my Doctor Who fan fiction. (Part I can be found here and Part II can be found here).

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part III

The Doctor grinned, looking ahead. “Brenda was a suspect. And now, she knows Brenda has an alibi for February Fifth.”

“Ah . . .” said Rob slowly, glancing back at the taciturn inspector. “And so she's come with us now . . .”

“Because we likely look like prime suspects ourselves,” finished the Doctor.

Rob didn't know what to think of this. Around him, the general ruin started to seem worse as they went along now. Strange black and twisted shapes emerged from the rubble in various places, some of it his mind could resolve into familiar pieces of structural supports for buildings but much of it was unrecognisable, something he found increasingly disturbing. Shattered shapes with complex parts clearly once had functions he couldn't imagine. Smooth pieces of clear glass were piled like dust in charred boxes. Thick, tangled black lines drooped from overhead like willow branches. Now and then, the Doctor put a restraining hand on his arm, warning him not to trod on this or that piece of wreckage.

“It looks like this city was attacked,” the Doctor remarked. “Six years ago?”

“Seven,” said Billy, the redhead. “Where have you travelled from?”

“Who attacked you?” asked the Doctor.

“Why don't you ask Miss E-Yun?” said Tom without turning around. The Doctor, with raised eyebrows, turned to Inspector Marwat. The inspector only glanced at the Doctor and trudged on.

“Did the Aeons assault the city?” asked the Doctor.

“That's what the Wanters would have you believe,” the Inspector said flatly.

“And what would you have me believe?” prompted the Doctor.

The inspector said nothing. She only gave the Doctor a look that was half fear and half disgust.

A glowing green and white beam, bigger than a yard on a man-o-war, now jutted out at a slight angle as they rounded a pale grey hill of rubbish. It illuminated so much of the area it made Rob suddenly realise how dark it had gotten.

This beam proved to be a sort of trim on a rooftop of a building half buried. A doorway was uncovered except by remnants of a ragged, iridescent curtain. The Doctor, Rob, and the inspector followed Tom into an interior dimly lit by two thin, white, glowing beams in the ceiling. Many similar beams throughout the room were grey and lifeless. On the dirty floor, on four bare mattresses, were four female shapes, one of them a woman, the other three were girls, fifteen or sixteen years old. Here was something all too familiar to Rob though he'd never seen it afflict women and girls: battle wounds. The woman was unconscious, a white bandage wrapped about her head and her arm was in a shiny metal splint. One of the girls, a sweet faced lass with straight, dirty blonde hair, was propped up on her elbow and Rob assumed one or both of her legs were injured where they lay hidden beneath a thick, clean, beige sheet. The Doctor swiftly knelt beside another of the girls at the far end. Reaching into an inside pocket of her coat, the Doctor produced a pair of black glasses and put them on. Rob held back, not wanting to be in the way. The girl had dark hair, matted against her flushed and sweaty forehead. He couldn't tell if she was conscious but there was a pained expression on her face. From the thin sound of her breath and shuddering chest, he guessed at least one of her ribs was broken.

The Doctor briskly pulled off her glasses and looked around. “Have you any Ondrigen epoxy?”

Billy looked at her with an uncomprehending expression. Tom scowled and folded his arms over his chest. Inspector Marwat watched everyone in turn, pieces of her armour making faint clicking sounds.

The Doctor sighed. “I've dealt with worse. Maybe all I need is my sonic screwdriver.” She produced a tool with a glowing blue tip. With her other hand, she gently stroked the girl's forehead.

“Can you save her?” asked the conscious girl in a shy, quiet voice. The Doctor gave her a tight smile and said, “I can try. What's her name?”

“Lisa.”

The Doctor leaned closer to Lisa's face. “Lisa, I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt.” She put the glasses back on and placed the glowing tip of the tool a few inches from Lisa's breast. She hesitated a moment. Then there was a soft, high pitched sound like a mouse sustaining a squeal. It was suddenly drowned out by a cry from the girl. The Doctor's hand tightened on her forehead and she moved the tool slowly up and down along the girl's chest. The girl's cries choked off and Rob expected blood now to burble out of her mouth. But it didn't.

The girl whimpered once and then relaxed. The Doctor continued slowly moving the device back and forth along her chest for what seemed like an hour. Rob found out later it had only been about ten minutes. Finally, the little mouse scream stopped and the Doctor let out a breath and smiled. She wiped Lisa's forehead and stood up. When the other girl, who'd waited patiently throughout the procedure, asked, “Will she be okay?” the Doctor grunted in affirmative, a most unladylike sound, Rob thought.

“Oh, thank you,” said the girl as the Doctor carefully removed her glasses and put them back in her coat, not looking at the four.

“And what were you doing, my girl, hmm?” the Doctor asked in a severe tone.

“They were drinking on the conveyor belt,” said Billy. “Over at Henchel's factory.”

“Oh?” said the Doctor. “And what does Henchel make?”

“Kitchen appliances,” said Tom. “Sells them to colonies on Hopsai and Enanes.”

“I see. And you don't sell to Aeons?”

Before Tom or Billy could reply, Inspector Marwat stepped forward, “Doctor, I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to come with me.”

“I thought you'd never ask,” the Doctor grinned.

As she and Rob followed the inspector out, Tom said, “Thank you, Doctor.” Not very loudly, as though he'd almost prefer the Doctor didn't hear.

So the Doctor almost shouted, “You're quite welcome!” in reply then stopped at the doorway and pointed at the girls. “And you—stay out of trouble, eh?”

“Am I right in thinking,” said Rob once they were outside, “you mended the lass's broken rib?”

“Hmm, three broken ribs,” said the Doctor, pushing aside a large metal panel.

“Amazing,” he said, remembering everything else he'd seen this woman do. “You're a genius!”

“Hmm, yes,” she said, running a hand through her blonde hair piled messily atop her head in wide curls.

“That's hardly remarkable,” said Inspector Marwat irritably from behind them. The Doctor and Rob stopped as the inspector made her way around them. “All Aeons are geniuses.”

“Really?” said the Doctor slowly, her eyes wide. Just then, the air began to swirl about them and the Inspector's craft descended from the darkness above. It landed and brilliant white light poured from its side hatch.

“Inside, now!” shouted the inspector, vigorously swiping the air with her arm to motion them in.

Rob ducked inside behind the Doctor and soon found himself on smooth leather upholstery, inside the weirdly smooth interior, the most comfortable seat he'd had in his life. “Don't you want my hanger, Constable?” he asked.

“Your what?” said the inspector, scooting into a small space at the front of the craft and gripping a small black wheel.

“His sword,” said the Doctor.

“Oh, you're no threat to me,” said the inspector.

The Doctor and Rob both raised their eyebrows, exchanging looks.

Then came the peculiar sensation as the craft lifted off the ground. It was night outside and due to the bright interior illumination all Rob could see of the world were the few tiny pinpricks of light that suddenly fell away. It was amazing but his stomach had been fortified by a ride in the TARDIS. So he kept his wits and his breakfast.

“How do you mean, all Aeons are geniuses?” asked the Doctor.

“We've evolved, that's all,” said the inspector.

“And the Wanters haven't, I take it?”

“They could, if they were willing,” said the inspector with undisguised repulsion. “It's an endless mystery. Why do the poor consistently make the worst decisions for themselves?”

“You Aeons have better schooling, then?” put in Rob.

“You might say that,” said the inspector with a smirk.

“Or you might say you have cybernetic enhancements,” said the Doctor, pointing at the wiry helmet on the other woman's head.

“Is that a magic helmet?” asked Rob.

“There's no such thing,” said the Doctor. “It's science. Her helmet connects an external, intricate cloud of electronic information seamlessly to her consciousness.”

“It's not external,” said Inspector Marwat, angry with a surprising suddenness. “It's who we are. We are in the cloud and the cloud is in us!”

“Except there's been a problem lately, hasn't there?” said the Doctor, leaning forward with a smile that was both weary and eager.

“How did you know that?” demanded Inspector Marwat.

“Oh,” the Doctor waved her hand, “an educated guess.”

“Or you have something to do with it.”

The Doctor's tone turned deadly serious, “I promise you I don't.”

The inspector flicked some switches on the panel before her. “You certainly don't seem to have a favourable opinion of the implants.”

The Doctor shrugged. “They've done little to improve the lives of Cybermen or Daleks I've met.”

“And yet if you'd had the benefit of such implants you may have saved the life of the girl.”

The Doctor blinked. “Well, at the risk of bragging . . . I did save the life of that girl.”

“I'm afraid she died minutes after we left,” said the inspector in a tone tempered with some sympathy.

“She did? How do you know this?”

“Based on the severity of her injuries, her environment, and access to follow up treatment, she has only a six percent chance of having lived thirty minutes after we left.” The inspector pushed the black wheel forward and they began to descend to an area between two rows of evenly spaced blue lights. “I'm sorry, Doctor.”

“Did your algorithm factor in a sonic screwdriver?” the Doctor asked dryly. “Do you not think there are some things beyond the scope of your algorithm?”

Inspector Marwat groaned like an embarrassed teenager. “Oh, give it up. You may as well. Our interrogators are brilliant and you will confess to the implant poisoning.”

“Implant poisoning? Is that what you think Brenda was up to?”

The inspector didn't answer. The craft shook and came to a stop. They'd landed. Emerging from the craft, Rob found himself in a large, shining steel cavern gleaming with clear white light. He marvelled at the distant ceiling arched above him, bigger than the inside of Saint Paul's or any building he'd ever been in. And he'd never seen so much metal interspersed with panels of smooth beige and grey material he had no names for. White, red, and yellow lights, big and small, infested the structure, each with clear meaning and direction. There were other crafts about so it must have been a dock of sorts. People, men and women of many colours, reminding him of Liverpool, moved equipment to and from crafts. All were dressed like Inspector Marwat, wearing the skeletal armour over plain suits covered with pockets. Some seemed to be talking to themselves. One or two stood still as statues, their faces flinching mysteriously now and then.

“This way,” said the Inspector, motioning them toward a door in the distant wall.

“What do you think, Rob?” said the Doctor, grinning at him.

“Think?” said Rob. “I can scarcely think! 'In-plants' you say? The 'external' is who she is? Would this not be God? Are you certain she's no Puritan?”

“I think you'll find she's a dyed in the wool libertine,” said the Doctor.

There was a terrific sound then. It was horrible, like a screaming infant but impossibly loud. And it was a single tone sustained and then cut off—sustained and then cut off. It was accompanied by flashing red light.

“It's the reactor!” said the inspector. She and dozens of other people started running to the right. Rob and the Doctor followed. Passing through small metal corridors they came to a room with glass walls where a white man in his forties sat on the floor, his hands clutching his thin brown hair.

“Jean!” cried the inspector, kneeling beside him.

“Go away!” screamed Jean. “Don't look at me! Or please—kill me!”

Outside the glass wall, a waterfall of glowing red water in which chunks of red stone fell rapidly was gushing through a burst open metal structure. Rob realised it had become very hot, hotter than summer in the Caribbean.

The Doctor ran to a nearby panel and started pressing buttons. She stopped and stared at Inspector Marwat and Jean who were hugging each other and rocking back and forth.

The Doctor looked at Rob. “Mr. Fenner, would you like a lesson in geothermal engineering? Do say yes. We may survive if you do!”

TO BE CONTINUED

Taking the TARDIS from Water to Lava

Last week, I posted the first part of my own Doctor Who fan fiction. So to-day I bring you the second, here you go:

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part II

A woman with torn and matted blonde hair pointed her pistol at the Doctor and demanded, “Well, where is it?! Ten thousand toktols now or you're dead!”

“Ten thousand toktols?” the Doctor blinked in surprise. “I haven't got ten thousand toktols. I don't even have one toktol. Have you any toktols, Rob?”

“Eh, what?” The air was chilly, like an early autumn evening in Plymouth, but he was sweating. His hand was on his sword but he didn't dare draw it. “Toktols—is that currency, then? I have a shilling and threepence.”

The woman with the gun snorted.

“This is probably all part of a slumber party for the E-Yuns,” bellowed a tall man with a large belly. “This may not be serious for you but when we Wuntas ask to be paid for services we expect to be paid.”

“Well, I'm afraid I don't usually carry money,” said the Doctor. “What services do you mean?”

A thin, red-headed young man of about twenty four or twenty five was looking at them with a more appraising eye than the others. “You know, I don't think this is the E-Yun you made the deal with, Brenda.”

“Yes, thank you,” said the Doctor. “We are simply travellers.”

“Travellers?!” Brenda scoffed, clearly unpersuaded, “Here?!”

“Want a tour of broken pipes and leaky roofs?” asked a thin, dark haired man coming down the metal stairwell of a nearby building.

“This place does look like it's seen better days,” said the Doctor, looking about. A third of the buildings on the narrow street looked as though they'd been in a terrible fire years ago and were never repaired. They were all tall buildings, each at least seven storeys and Rob marvelled that they could be so thin and sheer and not topple over. He wondered what could leave the gigantic black marks, visible beneath what must have been months or years of accumulated dust.

“Look,” the Doctor continued, “I haven't got any toktols but I am a doctor. Perhaps there's something I can do for you and in exchange perhaps you can tell me a bit about this place?”

“Doctor, eh?” said the tall man.

“Diana and the four girls from Henchal's could do with a doctor,” the red-headed man remarked in a low, cautious tone to the tall man.

“You think so, Billy?” said the tall man, peevishly amused. “And what would you know about doctors?” He turned to the Doctor. “You know what we did to the last doctor we saw down here?”

Rob half-expected some witty rejoinder from his new friend but he looked at her now to see a grave expression on her face. She said nothing, keeping her hands in the pockets of her velvet coat.

“My name's Rob Fenner,” he said suddenly. “I'm a seaman, I grew up in Plymouth, England, if that means anything to you. I haven't known the Doctor a long time but if she says she wants to help, I can testify, her word is good.”

“England?!” said the thin man. “They really are having a slumber party.”

“There's no harm in letting me at least look at this Diana and the four girls, is there?” the Doctor said, ignoring this last exchange.

“I have a better idea,” said Billy, the redhead. “What kind of ransom do you think these two would fetch, Tom?”

Suddenly, a great, swirling wind arose about them. Dust whirled about—Rob covered his face with his arm and through the sudden haze he could just make out the Doctor burying her face in her coat. White light like sunbeams appeared as glowing shafts in the dust. The Doctor grabbed Rob's sleeve and pulled him back to the edge of the road as a dark shape, the size of a sloop, descended and came to rest on the street with a hiss.

“Keep your hands in the air,” a woman's voice boomed from the object, impossibly loud. “I'm looking for Brenda Vitti.”

The people on the street all took cover or moved to the side of the street. The big man with the gut, Tom, looked at the thing with calm disgust. Brenda fidgeted in the doorway of a building behind him. No-one said anything. No-one raised their hands.

There was another hiss from the thing and a curved hatch opened up on one side. A plump, brown skinned young woman stepped out. She was pretty and about Rob's own age. She wore a simple one piece garment with numerous external pockets, each with a little flap. Over this was a peculiar suit of armour, more like a skeleton of armour than proper armour, a grid mesh involved with disjointed black webbing.

“I'm not here to hurt anyone,” she said, hers being the voice of the machine but now it was of a normal human volume. “I'm only here to speak with Brenda Vitti and I'm prepared to pay.”

“That's more like it,” said Brenda, stepping forward. Tom grunted out a derisively little laugh but didn't do anything to stop her.

The woman from the machine had a tense smile on her face and she looked around the buildings furtively. She really didn't look like she wanted to be there but she strode forward briskly, unfalteringly. So quick was her movement that Brenda recoiled a little.

“Don't be afraid,” said the woman. “I'm Detective Inspector Sara Marwat, we spoke yesterday on the comm link. May we go somewhere to speak alone?”

Rob had never seen anyone so easily master their own evident fear. The look in the inspector's eyes, which were a little moist with tears, was on the verge of panic but her gestures and her tone suggested only confidence and purpose.

“I got nothing to say these folk ain't fit to hear,” said Brenda. “And where are my toktols finally? What's the idea of sending your little scouts ahead empty handed?”

“Scouts?” said the inspector.

“Hello, I'm the Doctor,” said Rob's new friend pleasantly. “My companion here is Rob Fenner. Your name is Sara, I gather?”

Inspector Marwat looked at the Doctor and Rob in surprise but spoke to Brenda as though they weren't even there. With her eyes on the Doctor and Rob, she reached into a pocket on her left hip and produced several pink and white coins. “Here. Now what can you tell me about the night of February Fifth and Leland Shaw?”

Brenda smirked, putting the coins in a grubby purse hanging at her side. “He was at the party, all right. And Bobby Nelson and Eddie Yamaguchi were there, too, just like you said. Eddie tried that new beer from Harpsol and got sick in front of everyone. Leland and Bobby were playing darts.” She shrugged. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“What was Eddie wearing?” the inspector persisted.

Brenda looked curiously at the woman. “I don't know. Shirt and trousers I guess. Don't remember the colour. The colour of puke by the end of the night I guess.”

The inspector considered this a moment then finally nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Vitti. You may go.”

Brenda mockingly bowed before sauntering off. The others remained, watching the inspector.

“Well done!” said the Doctor, coming forward. “A keen nose has the local law enforcement, I see. It might interest you--”

“Who are you?” the inspector interrupted.

“As I said, I'm the Doctor and this is my companion, Rob. We're new here, travellers. I was wondering--”

“Travellers from where? Where was your point of entry on Mallos?”

“Mallos, ah! Of course.” The Doctor smiled and ran a hand through her hair as she looked about again at the buildings and at the twilight sky dotted with dark grey clouds.

“We came in that box yonder,” Rob said, pointing at the TARDIS. The inspector turned to look at the blue box and stared at it quietly. She still looked a little frightened and instinctively he wanted to reassure her. “The Doctor's right, I think, you're doing good work. A constable or magistrate of some kind, are you?”

At this the Doctor looked at Rob sharply, curiously, before turning to the inspector again. “You see, inspector, I understand there are five injured people nearby in need of medical assistance. Perhaps you can help me persuade these people to allow me to examine them?”

“Why?” asked the inspector.

“Er, like I said, I'm a doctor and I believe I might be of some help.” The Doctor licked her lips, waiting for the inspector to respond. “Maybe there's nothing I can do . . . but I won't know that until I see them, will I?”

“You're wasting your breath!” said Tom, laughing. “The good E-Yun Detective Inspector could care less for Diana and the girls!”

Detective Inspector Marwat regarded the Doctor with a look of abject terror. She looked ready to completely break down. The Doctor seemed at this point to finally notice it.

“Now, now, it's quite all right,” said the Doctor. “Er. Everything will be fine. You're doing a very good job and you'll be home, nice and safe, before you know it, I'm sure. I'm sure I can persuade Tom here to show me to his friends.”

“Yeah, all right, I suppose so,” Tom said grudgingly. “You don't seem like an E-Yun, anyhow.”

“It was very nice meeting you,” said the Doctor, starting to follow Tom. But Inspector Marwat also started to follow.

“I will accompany you,” she said, only a slight tremor in her voice as she stepped forward, pressing something on her wrist. Behind her, the hatch closed on her strange craft.

“That's the spirit!” said the Doctor. “Stay close to me and Rob and you'll be all right. Rob's a good stout lad, he'll see you come to no harm.”

Rob flushed red but added, “Yes, m'lady. Quite.” He offered his arm, wishing his sleeve wasn't so dirty. She looked at his elbow a moment, puzzled, and didn't take it. They all started together down the broken lane, Tom in the lead followed by the Doctor. Rob, walking beside the inspector, followed last.

“So . . .” he began, searching for a frame of reference. He'd never tried talking to one of the native girls at any of the ports in the West Indies. The last time he got anywhere with a woman was when he started talking to an English servant maid about living through the siege of Gloucester. “So . . . you're searching—doing a . . .” Words failed him. “What brings you here?”

She shot him a fearful look and then continued looking straight ahead but answered, “I'm investigating the poisoning of several Aeon citizens.”

“Aeon—oh, E-Yuns,” he realised lamely.

“Yes, that's what the Wanters call us,” she said softly, in almost a whisper. The Doctor had fallen back a bit, clearly having been listening to them the whole time.

“Wanters?” asked Rob. “Why do you call them that? What do they want?”

“How do you not know any of this?” she asked Rob.

“Rob is terribly out of touch,” the Doctor said apologetically. “Really, Rob, do pay attention.”

Rob laughed ruefully, “Right. I've been at sea too long, you might say.”

“The Wanters . . . want,” the inspector said helplessly. “That's how they live. Everything they do is because the want something. They want toktols or food or sex.”

“I see. Don't we all want some things now and then, though?” asked Rob.

The inspector blushed and dropped back, clearly wanting to disengage. Rob looked helplessly at the Doctor.

“By now, my boy, 'want' has come exclusively to mean desire, to covet,” the Doctor explained in a low voice.

“Oh,” said Rob, glancing back. “Is she a Puritan?”

“I very much doubt it . . .” she trailed off as she caught sight of something and smiled. “Hmm! Look at that.”

He followed her gaze and saw that the ubiquitous buildings had thinned out enough to allow a glimpse of grey hillside. On the hillside against the darkening sky was what looked like a Roman aqueduct except the top of it was glowing bright orange.

“'Zounds!” said Rob. “What on Earth is that?”

“Not on Earth, Rob,” she leaned in closer to him, her big eyes drawing him in. “We've come to the planet Mallos. And that, my boy, is part of a sophisticated system for harnessing geothermal power.”

“Geo—what?” he watched her breathlessly.

Her voice dipped dramatically, “Volcanoes. They use the power of volcanos to create automated light and heat—and many other wonders.”

“Incredible,” was all he could say, overcome fully now by the strangeness of how far he'd come. “And he people here--'tis all very like The Man in the Moon.”

“Read that, did you? You are full of surprises. We've come much further than the moon, though, and this world is much bigger. Tell me, Rob,” said the Doctor, now looking down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with ivory silk bows, as she picked her away over jagged, blackened plaster and masonry. “When you said the inspector had done a good job, what did you mean?”

“Well, like you said,” Rob glanced at the Doctor. “She's a canny inquisitor.”

“Yes, but why, exactly?”

“Well, she asked about some fellows named . . . Eddie and Leland . . . but what she really wanted to know was whether Brenda was in that party, I think. If Brenda had tried to act like she remembered what that fellow Eddie was wearing, or tried avoiding the question, the inspector would have concluded Brenda was lying,”

“Ah ha, yes! That's right,” the Doctor grinned, looking ahead. “Brenda was a suspect. And now, she knows Brenda has an alibi for February Fifth.”

“Ah . . .” said Rob slowly, glancing back at the taciturn inspector. “And so she's come with us now . . .”

“Because we likely look like prime suspects ourselves,” finished the Doctor.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Doctor at Sea (Not Dirk Bogarde)

Who wants some Doctor Who fan fiction? I think I'm not alone in mostly disliking the past couple seasons, though I've noted positive qualities here and there. It's easy to be a critic from the sidelines so I thought I'd try the other side of the equation and demonstrate some of the things I'd have liked to have seen on the show in the process. I'll post this as a four part serial over the next few weeks.

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

Part 1

By Setsuled

"Ready about!"

Rob Fenner jumped to his feet. He was the first. The men of the afternoon watch looked sleepily at the captain, some of them sitting on the deck, as Rob had been. "You heard the captain!" said the bosun, Harry Clay, stomping down the ladder from the quarterdeck. "Ready about! To the masts! Mr. Fenner!"

Rob, the bosun's mate, nodded and hastily strode along the starboard side of the old man-o'-war, watching the men forming groups, taking lines by the masts. Fifteen year old Tommy Parker looked dazed beside the foremast, men twenty years his senior looking to him for guidance but taking no shame in a few additional seconds rest before hauling. "Look alive!" called Rob, his voice cracking. He was himself only eighteen, his ruddy face gaunt from slim rations, his blonde hair brown and overgrown, in a ponytail over his back. He wore a dark grey and blue check shirt, the pattern almost indistinguishable for the grime, and tattered, pale grey slops. The other men looked no better, some of them worse, after days at sea with no end in sight. But now it seemed something had happened and Rob scarcely had time to wonder what.

"Rise tacks and sheets!" called the captain and sunburned, ragged men reluctantly began hauling away on leechlines and buntlines so that the sails aloft began to take wind properly. Moving east with the trade wind. Walking aft on the larboard side, Rob took a moment and peered out over the rail.

There was a ship.

Not a league eastward as he guessed, a little brown shape against the empty blue sky. He could see it was a barque, not a big one but at least a fourth rate. He couldn't see any guns and her sails were stowed in their gear. She wasn't trying to get away.

"Are they with the Prince, then, Mr. Clay?" Asked Rob, coming back to the bosun's side.

"Damned if I know." Clay was in his forties, his face cracked with a thousand wrinkles, his grey eyes keen. "'spect we'll see." Rob knew better than to ask more.

Silently the strange ship awaited their approach. Minutes passed slowly as they drew near. A single warning shot was the only fire ordered by the captain and the mysterious ship obliged by making absolutely no change in slowly drifting with the feeble current.

“Steady! Stay sharp!” barked the captain. Rob looked up at Captain Seward, the man's bulging flesh lobster red above his clean white collar, his round eyes bloodshot and fixed on the strange ship. Rob looked back at the ship and saw now he could descry a crew, a dozen men or so, all standing inert, watching the man o' war. Four officers on the quarterdeck stood similarly submissive as well as . . .

“A woman,” whispered an old Welsh seaman in a greedy tone, holding fast by a line for the fore topsail.

Beside a few famished gentlemen as ragged as Rob's own crewmates was not only a woman but, by appearances, a lady. A thin lady with pleasantly rosy cheeks but with a long nose and bulging, sunken eyes. Cunning eyebrows arched over drooping lids which, complemented by a smile on her thin mulberry coloured lips, suggested she was peculiarly at ease. She wore what looked like a man's burgundy velvet banyan coat but cut for her slender shape. It was layered over a charcoal corset fastened with ivory bows and her skirt was a dove grey, fashionably pinned up at the front to reveal a white petticoat. A silver pendant watch, its face visible due to a glass cover, lay on her breast and she wore a bright, greenish blue ribbon about her neck which fluttered in the breeze.

In short time, the ships were close abeam, hooks were thrown across and Rob and his crewmates clambered over gangplanks. “See that she's secure below decks, Mr. Stevens!” the bosun barked.

Rob, after Stevens, led three men down a hatch, calling ahead into the darkness, “Stand down—lay down your arms!” his heart pounding. But there was no-one there when his eyes adjusted. Empty, mouldering hammocks swung mutely in the gloom.

Rob joined a few more of his crewmates in the hold where sacks were opened to reveal an abundant cargo of sugar. “There's five hundred pounds here if there's a farthing!” exclaimed the weathered old quartermaster in a hushed tone. In one corner, Rob could just make out, in the slashes of light filtering between the boards of the hull, a tall, blue wooden box with what looked like window panes built into the upper parts of its sides.

“Now what might this be?” he asked, running his hand along the side. It had what he might have at first called a strange warmth about it but then he thought maybe it was more like a vibration.

“Some Princely nonsense, no doubt,” scoffed one of the Puritans in the crew. “Some impious curiosity cabinet.”

As Rob returned topside the sun blinded him a moment. “Am I to believe you're unaware that we're at war with the Dutch?!” he heard the Captain saying, the voice shrill between laboured breaths.

“And how was he to know?” said a woman's voice, deep and faintly melodious, like a stage actor. “The first Anglo-Dutch War only began a month ago. Hardly time for word to reach the West Indies.”

“The 'first' Anglo-Dutch War?” asked Rob but no-one else seemed to catch the odd term. His eyes adjusted to see Captain Seward confronting the five captive officers and the woman on the quarterdeck. If anyone had heard him speak they showed no sign. Captain Seward was carrying on unabated.

“This cargo of sugar would do much to fund the exiled court, wouldn't it?” Captain Seward wheezed, pacing before his captives.

“We aren't Royalists!” pleaded the captive captain, a tall, thin, bearded man who indeed, in his humble grey doublet, hardly looked the cavalier. “We trade with several plantations--”

“Sir, I really think--” began Seward's long suffering first mate before Seward interrupted him.

“And this—harlotry,” he sneered, taking the corner of the woman's coat between two meaty fingers. “Prince Rupert's taste in women is well known!” He backed away from the woman in disgust while she, a bemused smile on her face, said nothing. There was something unnerving and almost comical about her round eyes which seemed ready to pop out of her face. The last thing Rob could imagine this woman being was a harlot but, then, he really couldn't imagine what sort of woman she could be. “We've hunted your kind for months and now at last Providence has rewarded us!”

“Captain,” the woman cooed, “Really, I've not had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of His Royal Highness but I have met General Cromwell and I think we both know he'd advise against anything so rash as what you have in mind. Incidentally, are you feeling quite well?”

Seward huffed, apoplectic, and actually drew his sword. “Under my authority! The lot of ye—whoreson dogs and ye blistering wench—that is . . .” He wiped his brow with his sleeve, glancing around. Most of his own crew watched him in mute fascination, the fatigue of long weeks making their eyes dull. Nonetheless, Seward amended his tone. “That is, it is my duty to hereby inform you that you have been found guilty of treason against the Commonwealth and shall, for your crime, be shot dead.”

“Now, see here!” Rob, in his indignation, scarcely knew what he said. He'd hardly realised what he was doing when he crossed the distance to the quarterdeck and now he stood between the captain and the strange woman. “You can't do that—these may well be honest merchants!”

“Avast, Mr. Fenner!” cried the bosun, shocked but too stunned or tired to move from his perch on the Samson post.

“Aye, Fenner's right!” said another mariner. “If these be Royalists, then I be Charles himself!”

“The woman's a clear Jezebel!” said another, “This being what we're here for, ain't it? Let's shoot the lot and go home!”

“Aye, cut 'em down!” cried other men. Some called for hangings from the yard arm, a few more for pistols or even cannons. One or two took Rob's side.

“Listen!” he pleaded. “We can't--” he heard the sound of steel being drawn at this side. “My sword--?!” He wheeled around to see his rapier gripped in the woman's bony hand.

“You don't mind, do you?” she asked off-handedly and in less than a second she dashed toward Captain Seward, causing the sweaty man's own blade to fly from his grasp and clatter onto the deck.

“Well!” said the woman. “And I thought I was rusty.” She had little time to savour her victory before the first and second mates both drew their swords. Though both men were hesitant to do more beyond that and all over the ship there was a sudden stillness.

“Ah, may I venture to hope your better natures have prevailed?” the woman asked.

“Kill the woman!” shrieked Captain Seward, being disarmed having evidently untethered the last of his restraint. “Run her through! Cut her to ribbons, lads!” The two officers stared at him in astonishment but for all too many seamen this was an irresistible call—the captive officers were shoved aside and the woman found herself rapidly parrying five men at once, descending from the poop deck.

Rob turned the other way and saw sudden melee erupting on the main deck. Five or six men held ground by the main mast but sadly this was Rob's faction. A dozen were filing up the ladder, led by the bosun, Mr. Clay.

“Move aside, Mr. Fenner!” he cried.

“I can't do that, Mr. Clay!” said Rob. “Recollect yourselves, for pity's sake!” He drew his dagger but then he felt himself falling backward as a hand gripped his shirt, pulling him down. He was aware of a massive shape swinging down above him, catching the bosun square in the face and sending him and six others sprawling back on the deck.

“That should level the playing field a bit,” said the woman and now she was leading Rob down the larboard ladder onto the main deck. He glanced back and was just barely able to register the evidence of his eyes—her five assailants from the poop deck were all lying inert on the quarterdeck as was Captain Seward. In addition, the lateen yard had been cut loose, the massive spar being the dark shape Rob had seen, and it banged loudly against the mizzenmast.

“How the devil—ow!” His head smacked against the side of the hatch as she pulled him into the dark below.

“Very sorry!” she said. He looked down and her wide, round white eyes stood out in the dark, her pale face shiny with sweat, her mouth split in an improbably wide, good natured grin. “Come on!”

Hazily, he followed her down into the hold, not quite sure why he should. But so much had happened so quickly his capacity for decision making was well outpaced.

“It wasn't very considerate of me to leave you unarmed,” said the woman, offering him the pommel of his rapier. He took it, his numb fingers closing on the grip. “What's your name? I'm the Doctor, by the way.”

“Robert Fenner,” he said, finding himself back among sacks of sugar near the strange blue box. “My friends call me Rob. 'Doctor,' did you say?”

She was taking a little key out of her coat pocket and putting it into a lock on the blue box and he realised it had a door on one side. “Things should sort themselves out up there now,” she said, glancing up. “I do believe your captain had a stroke—eh, falling sickness. At any rate, I've seen what I came for. It was nice meeting you, Robert Fenner!” And into the box she went.

Robert automatically followed only later wondering what he expected to find in a small blue box. No thought like this entered his head now, though, as he found himself in the strangest place he'd ever seen in all his eighteen years. A chamber, it seemed, the size of a small chapel, brilliant white and bright as day despite the fact that he could see no windows. The walls bore a series of uniform round circles and in the centre of the chamber there was, as he thought, a sort of large silver and white capstan adorned with peculiar knobs and glowing gems. At the centre of this capstan was a glass pillar containing a red glowing vertical shaft.

The Doctor leaned on one arm against the capstan, the other on her hip. “Well, Mr. Fenner, is there something else you wanted?”

“What is this place?!” Everything seemed impossibly clean except a few incongruous items here and there, including a rack which held a few dusty scarves and hats. A raised platform—quarterdeck?--held a desk with scattered books and papers.

“This, Mr. Fenner, is my ship,” said the Doctor, her irritation seeming now a thin layer over an irrepressible pride in the topic of discussion. “She's called a TARDIS—Time and Relative Dimensions In Space. Instead of the sea, she travels all time and space.” She turned away from him to walk around the capstan as she spoke, then turned abruptly on her heel to face him, folding her arms and leaning her elbows on the capstan. “Would you like to go with me?”

“Go—go, m'Lady? Go where?” He asked, hardly able to see anything now beyond those peculiar eyes of hers under quizzically raised brows. He wasn't sure he understood a word of what she said yet he felt an inexplicable, growing excitement.

“Oh . . .” She looked demurely down at the knobs and gems, twisting and pushing one after another. “A million leagues from here, a million years from now. Or a thousand years ago and a hundred leagues from here.”

“You can do that?”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned. “We can do that. Where would you like to go?”

It seemed absurd. But everything in the past—what? Could it only have been twenty, thirty minutes?--had seemed absurd. “Well, Mistress--”

“Doctor” she corrected him.

“Doctor Mistress--”

“Oof, you sound like K-9.” she chided, twisting and punching more knobs. Some made loud clacking noises and little squeals. “Just 'Doctor', if you please.”

“Not Mephistopheles, then?” he asked, suddenly bethinking himself.

She laughed. “A good question. No, and you're no Faustus. I'm really just a simple Time Lady. Well?”

Despite her words, Rob really had no way of knowing whether or not the power of Satan was at hand. The closest things he had for frame of reference—plays, sermons, pamphlets—all would have branded this the Devil's work. Yet he didn't think it was, somehow. Anyway, he could see no practical alternative--he doubted he could rejoin his comrades after such a flagrant display of insubordination. “Well,” he said at last “. . . There was another play I saw once. It was set in ancient Greece,” he said hesitatingly.

“Oh, that narrows it down,” she said dryly. “Hoping to meet a comely nymph?”

He reddened. “I should like to see ancient Greece. If that's really something you can do.”

“Ancient Greece! I know quite a few of your contemporaries who'd ask the same but most of them have been to university.”

“I've had some tutoring,” he said slowly, reluctant to divulge much about himself.

She immediately seemed to catch this. “You don't share much about yourself easily, do you?”

“I'm not one for needless prattle.” He looked uncomfortably at the white walls.

“Wise lad!” she said loudly. “It took some fortitude to stand up to your captain that way. When your mates hold forth on the perversions of Royalists or on their own little dramas, you tend to hold your peace, don't you?”

He said nothing.

“Ancient Greece it is!” She pulled a lever and there was a soft ringing in the air. The door behind him shut and there was a sound, like something muffled and heavy being dropped into a hole, followed by a sort of wail which repeated and grew louder as it did.

Now fear gripped him and he had the sickening feeling of having gotten himself in way over his head. The light pulsed throughout the room and the glass column in the centre of the capstan began to move up and down of its own accord.

“Don't panic,” she said, not looking at him but at the capstan, continually pressing and twisting the parts on its surface. She stepped back and pondered the column a moment. Then she raised a hand as though remembering something and started up a ladder to the raised platform. “You should eat something.” That was all she said on the subject having now become completely immersed in shuffling papers about and sliding this then that book off the shelf. She took off her velvet coat revealing fashionably slashed sleeves through which parts of her white shift ballooned out. She began rapidly writing something.

“You said you . . . you came to see something,” he said, slowly edging his way toward the wall, wondering if he'd be sick.

“Yes!” she said, warming to the topic swiftly. “Some notes I came across in 1954. From the notebook of the merchantman's surgeon. He'd sketched a reptile, a lizard, the like of which I'd not seen in ten light years of Earth. So I came back to see this creature for myself.”

“Did you find it?”

“Mmm, yes. Turns out the surgeon simply wasn't good at drawing iguanas.”

“Oh,” said Rob, wondering what an iguana was.

Just then, the wailing started again followed by that heavy drop sound. The column ceased to move and the ambient noise reverted to a faint hum. “Ah,” said the Doctor. “We've arrived.”

She pulled off the blue ribbon about her throat, “It's been quite some time since I wore a peplos. Well, I'm not in the mood. No-one's going to mind an anachronism in Athens, anyway.” She took a green velvet coat and white scarf off the rack and put them on before she pulled the same lever she pulled earlier. The door swung open but from where he stood Rob couldn't see outside yet. “Shall we?” said the Doctor.

Rob nodded and followed her out.

They really were somewhere else. They were outside and somehow he barely noticed the blue box he emerged from couldn't have been a tenth of the size of the strange white room. The wonder he felt at clear evidence of vast travel, though, gave way very quickly to some puzzling particulars.

It wasn't much like how he imagined Ancient Greece. It was dusk and strange, featureless buildings like stacked blocks towered over them on either side. The street was a smooth grey where it wasn't broken to rubble here and there. Colourful rubbish was also in great evidence.

“Hmmm.” The Doctor looked about. “Well . . . Not ancient by how you'd reckon it. Quite the opposite. I wonder if it's at least Greece.”

Suddenly, from the shadows, about twenty men and women, all of them filthy and in rags, crept out from behind the buildings and various bits of cover. Some had cudgels and others had what Rob took to be pistols.

“Doctor, we must flee,” said Rob, putting his hand on his sword. “This is a strange place but I know brigands when I see them.”

Before they could move an inch, though, a woman with torn and matted blonde hair pointed her pistol at the Doctor and demanded, “Well, where is it?! Ten thousand toktols now or you're dead!”

TO BE CONTINUED