by Doctor Who
‘What is?’
‘This big life sign the computer’s picked up. . . ’ He sighed. ‘It’s between us and the TARDIS.’
The Doctor and Martha left the security room only after checking all the available monitors. There didn’t seem to be any cameras trained on the spot the Doctor had identified – the fourth reading having 17
faded away to nothing once more – but everywhere else seemed as bland and empty as before. The cells were, as they had left them, all securely locked; the corridors and other chambers were bereft of life and movement.
They headed back the way they had come, past the dead guards and the rooms filled with slumbering equipment. It was horrible, Martha considered, but, with one identical corridor after another, she was starting to navigate by the bodies they passed. Just opposite Security Room B was a cadaver in a pale, tattered coat; it was conceivable that this person had been running from some assailant or threat. Left turn at the remains of a guard, slumped against a wall as if exhausted, then right at a corpse perched atop a metal stool with its skeletal hand still resting on the keyboard in front of it.
After a few moments they found themselves at the rounded hatch; it spiralled open and they stepped onto the walkway that encircled the prison area. Their footsteps seemed quieter and less obtrusive now that all the lights were blazing, but, even so, Martha kept glancing over her shoulder. At one point she was convinced she heard something clang somewhere, like a door slamming shut or something heavy and resonant hitting a floor. She glanced at the Doctor, who behaved as if he had heard nothing, striding powerfully towards his beloved TARDIS. In fact, he hadn’t really spoken since they’d left the room with the security monitors. ‘So,’ Martha ventured, ‘any ideas yet what happened to these poor people?’
‘Oh, I have one or two thoughts,’ said the Doctor with an attempt at breezy indifference, though he lapsed into silence immediately.
Martha waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. ‘Such as?’ she said eventually.
‘Oh. . . ’ The Doctor sighed, slowing a little. ‘Something almost instantaneous – minutes rather than hours. And something that didn’t involve the ship itself – all the systems do seem to be working perfectly.’
‘So it must have been something like. . . a quick-acting virus.’
‘That would be one way of putting it,’ agreed the Doctor.
There was another long pause. Martha knew they must be nearing 18
the TARDIS by now. ‘What I don’t understand,’ she said, ‘is why no one came to reclaim the ship. I know human life can be cheap, but surely this vessel itself must be worth a few quid to someone. And the families of the deceased must have been pestering the authorities to get the bodies back. . . ’
‘Perhaps they tried,’ said the Doctor. ‘They tried, and failed, and so resigned this place to its fate. So they left it to float into eternity – a ghost ship on an endless voyage.’
‘You don’t think we’re infected, do you?’ asked Martha, suddenly panicked. ‘If the authorities put this place under quarantine. . . ’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Doctor. ‘The scanners would have picked something up – like they did with your ear!’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my ear!’ said Martha, though, now she thought about it, she did feel a slight pressure on one side of her face.
‘Anyway,’ said the Doctor. ‘I don’t think it was an illness as such.’
‘What then?’ Martha paused. ‘This creature?’
‘Possibly. The life signs were puzzling in the extreme.’
‘And we’re just going to wander up and say, “Hi, why did you kill all the people on this ship, and, by the way, do you mind if we just squeeze past you and get back to the TARDIS?”’
‘That’s about the size of it, yeah,’ said the Doctor.
They turned a corner and came to a halt at a rough metal door.
‘It should be just the other side,’ he said.
‘I don’t remember this door being here before,’ said Martha.
‘I’m not sure it was. Perhaps it’s only used during the day.’
‘Or perhaps something triggered it,’ said Martha, grimly.
The Doctor said nothing, but held up his sonic screwdriver. ‘Shall we?’
‘Go on then.’
The screwdriver flashed for a moment, and then the door slid open.
There was a long pause before either of them spoke. ‘Now I might be mistaken,’ said the Doctor, ‘but we didn’t leave the TARDIS parked in a forest, did we?’
19
Thesunroseintotheocean-bluesky,aburningdiskthatignitedthin streamers of cloud on the horizon. The light picked out the edges of distant purple mountains, the ripples in the great grey lake, the tips of the angular trees as they shook in the early morning breeze.
The entire forest, at night a shapeless and still slab of interlocking darkness and shadow, began to stir. A deer appeared between the trees and looked around nervously before making its way to the lake’s edge to drink.
The burning ribbons of cloud appeared to reach out towards the village, where they merged with the elongated garlands of scarlet that fluttered from the flagpoles and the arched bridges.
Breathing deeply, Saul gripped the rough wooden handrail, as if the sheer beauty of the scene would overwhelm him. The splashing, impossibly clear waters that cascaded beneath the bridge seemed unfathomable, unanswerable, yet they pointed to something beyond Saul’s everyday life. He knew neither the river’s source, nor its eventual outflow into some larger body of water – for some people, merely having the river running beneath their feet would be enough. They would savour the moment, or use it as part of the fabric to dress their mundane lives. But Saul wanted more.
21
Saul always wanted more.
Everyday life did eventually disturb Saul’s thoughts, though he did not resent the intrusion. He was usually the first to rise, but this morning he’d only had a few minutes to himself before he’d heard the rattle of shutters and the creak of doors. He glanced over at the square at the heart of the village and could see children playing in the dewy grass before breakfast; elsewhere adults were emerging to feed animals or check the fields.
Saul smiled. Just for a moment it was possible to imagine that everything was all right, that the day would be uninterrupted by grief and loss. However, as Saul turned on the bridge to head back home, he glimpsed again the lake to the north. The water was the colour of slate, and mist was just beginning to form at its edge, obscuring the tiny, mysterious island at the lake’s centre. The fog, thick and knotted like old rope, began to expand even as Saul watched it. This wasn’t fog that the rising sun could burn away.
This wasn’t normal fog at all.
Saul turned his back on the lake and the island, making his way down to a stony area at the side of the river. He was carrying a painted ceramic pitcher on his back, looped around his shoulders with long strips of black leather, and he spent a few moments dropping this down and into the clear water. It wasn’t much, but then the old woman needed little to get her through the day. It would suffice.
Pushing the wooden stopper into place, he hefted the pitcher onto his back, and set off for the woman’s house. It was at the edge of the village, its sloping roof only just catching the light of the sun.
The Dazai’s house was angled away from most of its neighbours, its doorway opening not onto the village but onto the forest. It made sure that every visitor actually intended to see her; no one passed by on their way somewhere else.
Saul knocked on the door, setting the pitcher down on its flattened base. When the Dazai slid back the door, he bowed low. ‘Good morning,’ he said simply.
The Dazai bowed in return. ‘My blessings to you, child.’ Her voice crackled like dead leaves and dry wood. ‘You have brought my water?’
22
‘As always, noble Dazai.’
‘I am honoured. You are like a son to me, Saul. Would you like to come in?’<
br />
Every morning, without fail, the Dazai made the same offer. He only ever accepted when there was something on his mind. ‘If I may. . . ?’
‘Of course.’ Despite being bent double with age, the Dazai picked up the water pitcher effortlessly and shuffled inside. Saul followed the old woman into a perfectly square room with a large bookcase dominating one wall. A wooden table and four chairs sat at its centre, though it was well known in the village that the Dazai rarely saw more than a single person at a time. One person was an audience, a consultation; more than that was a party, and the Dazai was too old to approve of them.
‘How is your brother?’ she asked, gesturing that Saul should sit.
‘Busy,’ said Saul. The dismissive word sounded more bitter than he had intended. ‘I do not envy Petr his position,’ he added hastily. ‘He has a lot on his mind.’
‘We all have a lot on our minds,’ observed the Dazai, ‘and only a fool would envy a diligent leader his position in life. Better by far to be indolent or carefree or selfish.’
‘I’m often accused of being all those things. . . ’
‘Then they do not know you as well as I do. I know you care – and care deeply. To be lazy or self-serving – it’s the easy way.’ She raised a finger, as brown and knotted as a twig from the forest floor. ‘I am not, of course, saying it is the best way.’ She poured Saul some tea from a large copper kettle. ‘You and Petr are more alike than either of you care to admit.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Saul. He took the tiny tumbler of tea, tipping it first one way, then another. Were it not for the steam rising from it, the tea would appear as cold and grey as the great lake that lapped against the edges of the village.
He drained the tumbler in one, and slid it back across the table.
‘What do you think this day will bring, noble Dazai?’ The Dazai continued to stare at Saul and he found himself unable to hold her gaze. ‘The fog’s already gathering,’ he added.
23
‘I feel it will bring something new,’ said the Dazai. ‘Whether for good or ill. . . ’ She paused, as if sniffing the air for clues. ‘No, I cannot tell.’ She indicated the kettle. ‘Another?’
Saul got to his feet, bowing again. ‘I need to check my traps in the forest,’ he said. ‘And then I need to speak to my brother.’
‘You still wish to travel to the outer settlements?’
‘I need to see what’s there,’ said Saul. ‘Perhaps they can help us. . .
With the children, I mean.’
The Dazai shook her head. ‘The children are beyond our help now,’
she said gravely. ‘Let us hope that we do not join them.’
Martha took another deep breath. ‘I don’t believe it. . . ’ she said slowly.
‘So you’ve said.’ The Doctor, his hands deep in his pockets, looked around once more, like a child desperately trying to work out how a conjuring trick is done. ‘Twice,’ he added.
‘But – we were on a spaceship. We opened a door. . . ’
‘And wallop!’ said the Doctor. ‘Here we are.’
Martha and the Doctor stood in a small clearing in a forest, surrounded by thin autumnal trees and angular evergreens. There was a thick carpet of bronze-coloured leaves under their feet, and over their heads the circle of blue sky was unblemished but for a pale curl of cloud.
‘ That should be deep space,’ said Martha, pointing upwards. ‘You know, black, full of stars. . . And this. . . ’ She bent down, forcing her hands through the leaves. ‘This should be a metal floor. The TARDIS
should be just in front of us!’
‘Perhaps it is,’ said the Doctor. ‘And we just can’t see it.’
‘So this is some sort of. . . virtual reality? A computer simulation or something?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the Doctor, cautiously.
Martha picked up a leaf by its stalk, twirled it between her fingers, held it up to the sunlight. It was large, copper-coloured and webbed by deep green veins, as angular as a child’s drawing of a splayed hand.
‘It all feels pretty real,’ she said.
24
And there were the sounds, too – tiny sounds of furtive animals for-aging through the undergrowth, joyful birdsong high up in the trees.
More distantly, an intermittent thrumming of a woodpecker tapping against rotten wood.
‘It smells pretty real, too,’ said the Doctor, who for his part had found a fungus at the root of a tree. He passed it to Martha – a white streak of flesh peppered with vivid red spots, like a comedy toadstool.
Martha breathed deeply – and immediately wished she hadn’t. ‘It stinks!’ she said.
‘Student’s sock with a hint of back-of-fridge Cheddar,’ grinned the Doctor.
‘We’ve gone through. . . some sort of portal, then,’ said Martha, desperate to make sense of their situation. ‘We walked through, and. . .
Now we’re on another world.’
‘I don’t remember stepping through a magic wardrobe, do you?’
Martha was getting impatient with the Doctor’s wilful misreading of her comments. ‘No, you know. . . A wormhole that links one bit of space and time with another.’
‘You ever seen a wormhole?’ queried the Doctor.
‘You know I haven’t!’
‘Well, it’s nothing like this. Anyway, take a look there.’ He pointed over Martha’s shoulder.
Behind her, as if drawn on the gnarled trunk in spots of pale lichen, was the faintest impression of the door they had just walked through
– a rounded, metallic, very real door. Part of a very real space station that, in the blink of an eye, had been replaced by a clearing in the forest.
Martha rapped the back of her hand against the tree. It made a metallic clang, as if the entire tree were made of steel.
‘So this clearing, this forest. . . It’s attached to the Castor?’
‘It seems to be, doesn’t it?’ The Doctor was on his hands and knees again, digging down through the layer of leaves near the metallic tree.
He eventually found a small section of the space station floor, glinting in the light of an impossible sun.
25
Martha tapped her foot on the revealed metal floor. ‘Can we get back?’
‘To the station? Don’t know. Haven’t tried yet.’ He walked off.
‘Aren’t you intrigued, though? Don’t you want to see if this forest goes anywhere, or if it just turns into another chunk of spaceship?’
Martha considered. She supposed the forest was preferable to a space station full of dust and bodies. And there was always the chance that they’d find themselves back in the research craft before too long
– or maybe even back in the TARDIS. ‘It is beautiful,’ she admitted.
‘OK, just a quick look.’
‘Of course,’ said the Doctor.
‘On the understanding that we’re really only looking for the TARDIS.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And that we can find our way back to this point without a problem.’
‘Piece of cake,’ said the Doctor.
‘And that we’ll be gone for no more than five minutes.’
‘Five minutes. Max.’
Two hours later and they were still going. Martha wasn’t convinced that this was because they were in an especially large forest; instead, she suspected that they were simply going round in circles. Every few minutes they would pass a tree stump that looked like the head of a bloated teddy bear. She tried pointing this out to the Doctor, but he seemed as sanguine as ever. He mentioned something about going astray with the Brothers Grimm, commented airily on why lost people so often walk in circles – something to do with the inner ear, if Martha recalled correctly – and then asked her how she was feeling.
Martha’s gloom deepened. The medical scanner on the research ship had been right after all – her ear was starting to hurt. When she put a finger to it, it felt hot and inflamed. The sooner they got back to the r
elative comfort of the TARDIS, the better.
‘Not far to go now,’ said the Doctor cheerfully.
‘What do you mean? We’ve been wandering around for ages!’
‘I mean, just a few more minutes and then we’ll go back.’
26
‘Are you sure we can go back?’ asked Martha.
‘Just a few more minutes,’ said the Doctor, ducking the question.
As they walked, the Doctor would gesture towards a brightly coloured flower in a glade or a brightly trilling yellow bird in the uppermost branches. At one point, they heard something crashing through the undergrowth, and they both paused, nervously eyeing each other and the gently swaying trees that, just for a moment, appeared to lean towards them.
Then, a tiny boar, dappled with yellow and brown stripes, hurtled out of the trees, squealing. It appeared to glance up at the Doctor and Martha as it moved and then, shrieking all the louder, turned and crashed back into the forest.
Quick as a flash the Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver from a pocket and shone it at the retreating creature. ‘Interesting,’ he said, thoughtfully.
‘It is?’ said Martha.
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Not quite alive. Well, not in the same way that you and I are.’ And he turned the brilliant blue light onto Martha.
‘Oi!’ said Martha. ‘Cut it out!’
The Doctor grinned, putting the screwdriver away before setting off. Martha hurried to catch up.
‘So, what was that creature?’ asked Martha.
‘It appeared to be a wild boar,’ said the Doctor. ‘ Sus scrofa – still common in central Europe, even in your time. Then again,’ he went on, ‘I’ve seen pagoda trees from Asia, magnolias unique to North America. . . Frankly, half of the trees in this forest don’t belong together, and I’m not sure I even recognise the other half.’
‘Not from Earth?’
‘Not from any planet I know,’ said the Doctor. ‘And I always got top marks for botany at school!’
Martha pointed back in the direction they’d come. ‘Let’s turn round.
There’s no sign of the TARDIS, no sign of the forest’s edge. Maybe we can work out what’s going on from the space station.’
