Doctor Who BBCN15 - Wooden Heart

by Doctor Who

  She wasn’t in the forest any more.

  Her last memory was of tugging herself free of Martha and running towards her father. Something strange was happening – she kept glimpsing a single silver corridor, and she wondered if she was nearly dying and this was the way to heaven. But she wasn’t injured, she didn’t feel unwell – and the monster was attacking her father. Compared to that awful reality, nothing else mattered.

  She had darted towards him, screaming his name, oblivious to the great creature, its wings stretched out as if to cover the sky. Suddenly, everything around her changed, a new reality crashing over the old one. She was in darkness, in some sort of echoing chamber – and she was falling.

  She must have hit the floor and passed out. Now she stood, trying desperately to see shapes in the darkness. Her ears strained for any sound, but they throbbed only with silence. Of her father, of the monster, of the forest, there seemed to be no trace.

  Swallowing down her panic, she started to explore her enclosed environment, her feet echoing against the floor. Definitely metal of some sort. She was indoors, somewhere. And everything was very, very dark.

  She walked for a few moments, hands outstretched before her. She told herself not to be scared – she wasn’t a baby, she knew that she wasn’t necessarily in danger just because she couldn’t see where she was going – but, even so, the sooner she found a lantern or a window, the better.

  She took a few more steps and found a wall, hewn seemingly from 91

  the same strong, resilient metal as the floor. She pushed herself on tiptoes, stretched her arms in either direction as far as she could –nothing. The wall seemed entirely featureless and smooth.

  She edged along it, still feeling her way with outstretched arms and cautious, shuffling footsteps. Suddenly she stumbled into something, about waist-height and very solid. She ran her hands across it nervously, but it seemed to be just a box, absolutely square and seemingly made of some sort of faintly warm, plant-like material. There was no obvious lid to the box, nothing else to indicate its purpose or to give her reason to examine it further. She groped further into the gloom, forcing herself to breathe slowly, batting away each fear as it came to mind. What if I don’t get out? What if I’m imprisoned forever?

  How can I get back to the forest? What’s happened to Dad?

  ‘Shh,’ she hissed, irritated at herself. ‘Let’s just find a door.’

  The moment she spoke, a dim light began to seep into the room.

  She nervously dropped to her knees, seeking shelter behind another one of the plain boxes. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked, but there was no reply. However, the light grew a little stronger, painting everything with a dull yellow colour.

  She looked around her – the room was smaller than she had thought, not much larger than her bedroom, though the ceiling was high. The light came from the ceiling; a series of lanterns, about the size of small vanity mirrors, were built into the roof. The ceiling and the walls seemed utterly featureless. Thankfully, one of the walls was studded with a simple, rectangular door – the edges where door met wall, and what looked like hinges, were just visible. And scattered across the floor were a number of mostly square buff-coloured brown boxes. Each one was sealed, and strange hieroglyphs had been written or stamped across their sides. Some were piled high and pushed back into the corner of the room, others seemed scattered almost randomly.

  She walked towards the door, but her inquisitive mind refused to let things rest there. Why had the lights come on? They didn’t seem like windows, so where was the light coming from?

  ‘Hello!’ she said suddenly, her tiny voice now sounding brash and loud as it echoed and rebounded off the metal walls. Obediently, the 92

  lights in the ceiling became yet more dazzling. It was like daylight, somehow captured in a room without windows.

  Jude stepped up to the door, wondering how she was going to open it – she could see no lock, no handle, and she imagined it was as at least as thick as the walls and floor.

  Suddenly the door opened. It slid noiselessly back into the wall, rather like the interior doors of Jude’s house, but it appeared to complete the action on its own. The shock and sudden movement was so great that Jude immediately jumped backwards.

  Unbidden, the door emerged from its slot between the walls, gliding into place and clicking shut again. For the first time, Jude could hear a faint humming sound coming from the door.

  Jude took a couple of deep breaths and walked forward once more.

  The door immediately slid away. Jude scratched her head, puzzled.

  There was no one there, but the door seemed entirely capable of moving on its own.

  She stepped out onto the corridor beyond – it was silver-coloured and, like the room, was very plain. It was incredibly long, stretching off in both directions – this house must be huge, she thought, the palace of some great king. The style reminded her of what she had seen in the forest. The place she had glimpsed while her father fought the dragon-creature was now her reality, and the forest might as well have been a dream.

  She paused, forcing back the tide of panic that threatened to drown her, and wondered which way to turn. She could hear and smell nothing from either direction, and both corridors appeared identical.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she turned left out of the cell and crept along the floor, keeping low as she had seen her father do on numerous occasions. She passed another door – which also opened as she approached – but the room beyond only contained more boxes, and no one answered her when she called out.

  The corridor turned abruptly to the right. As she followed it she stopped suddenly – and shivered.

  One section of the corridor was as black as midnight. The lights over her head became progressively dim until, at the far end, there 93

  was no illumination at all, and even the featureless walls flickered with shadow.

  And something was moving within the darkness.

  Martha ran forward, giving in to instinct and the urge to try to save Saul. ‘Oi!’ she shouted. ‘Pick on someone your own size!’ she added moments later – not the most original thing she’d ever said, but she didn’t suppose the creature would notice.

  The creature quickly snapped its head to one side to examine Martha, a pair of its legs still resting on Saul’s motionless chest.

  Martha supposed it was like a cat playing with its – still living – food.

  Now Martha was providing another, equally tempting target. It hissed once, then sprang forward nimbly, wings folded flat against its body.

  Like an industrial piston, its face came forward – all teeth and spittle and the stench of rotting meat – and Martha ducked out of the way.

  Then she jumped, narrowly avoiding the great, sweeping tail that was aimed at her legs.

  Next a huge leg thudded into the undergrowth like an arrow fired by some grim giant – she felt it rather than saw it and pitched backwards into some bushes – followed by another, and another. Martha rolled to her left – then right – then pushed herself onto her hands and knees. The beast towered above her. Its wings, unfurled against the night sky, cut the moon in two.

  Another needle-tipped leg swung down; Martha swayed away from it like a boxer, but it was only a trick to divert her attention. The tail

  – as thick as a tree trunk – flew over the forest floor and into her legs, knocking her onto her back. Her view of the dark starscape shook violently as she crashed to the ground; for a moment she thought she was going to pass out, and then everything came back into focus.

  The creature hissed triumphantly, preparing to strike.

  Martha

  screwed her eyes shut, crying out in desperation, though she knew no one was there. She cried out – and waited for the killing blow.

  A second passed. Then another.

  She forced open her eyes. The creature had shifted its bodyweight to one side and was now looking not at Martha, but at the appar-94

  ently rejuvenated,
sword-wielding man leaping through the air like an acrobat.

  ‘Saul!’ breathed Martha – but, moments later, she realised it was not the hunter. It was Petr, his angular frame lacking his brother’s innate fluidity – but the great two-handed sword in his hands seemed to make up for any grace he missed. The sword came down in a near-silent arc of sharp silver against the creature’s nearest, splayed leg.

  It cut through fibrous skin, striated muscle and sinew, and bit finally into bone. The sword did not go too deep – with a flick of his wrists the weapon was back over Petr’s head, ready for another strike – but its effect on the creature was almost instantaneous.

  Its entire body shuddered, each leg shaking in sympathy with the wounded limb, and it swung its head down and close to its body.

  It took two steps backwards, still staring at Petr – and hissed like a scalded cat.

  Martha’s eyes widened. The creature was scared.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ said a voice at her ear.

  She turned, expecting the Doctor – but seeing only Saul. Though covered in bruises and scratches, he’d hauled himself to his feet and stood watching the creature, a wry amusement obvious on his face.

  ‘Someone finally gets a good strike against one of these beasts,’ he continued, ‘and it’s my brother.’ He sighed. ‘I may never live it down.’

  And, hefting his swords upwards, and with a great cry of rage, Saul ran past his brother and towards the monster.

  The Doctor knew he didn’t have much time. The space station was still in its daytime mode, with each and every system operational and functioning, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. It was surely no coincidence that Petr and Saul’s world had blinked into existence soon after the lights had come on, and logic dictated it might click off just as swiftly when simulated night fell over the Castor. It felt like he and Martha had been away from the research ship for hours, but for the moment the Doctor had no way of verifying that.

  The Doctor surmised that whatever was behind the phantom world was linked in some way to the night-and-day pattern built into the 95

  software that ran the station’s systems. If it were a machine – and the technology would have to be far in advance of anything he had seen around the Castor – then the energy required to generate that much matter would be tremendous. There was no sign of the station generating any more energy than it needed to keep ticking over. And if there was some creature or person behind everything. . . Well, who dreams during the day? And what creature can possibly bring into existence a world – or a sizeable chunk of one at least – purely through the power of thought?

  In fact, there were myriad questions the Doctor wanted answering –but first things first. He had to ensure the bubble world was kept going overnight – otherwise, when Petr and the others awoke the next day, they would find Martha gone, dumped unceremoniously back into the real world. And, if she was standing in just the wrong place when that happened, or if there were some other side effect of being within an unreal world when it collapsed in on itself. . . Well, it was quite possible the Doctor would never see her again either.

  The Doctor shivered, increasing his pace, but skidded to a halt moments later in front of a computer terminal. With the help of the sonic screwdriver, and the knowledge of hardware and software systems gained over centuries and lifetimes, he hacked into the main system in minutes. Soon a complete schematic was scrolling across the screen – every room, every system, was now laid bare.

  ‘A map!’ he said out loud, reaching into his pocket for his glasses.

  ‘You can change the world with a jolly good map!’

  He stabbed impatiently at the keyboard, trying to overlay the life support details over the map, much as he had done with Martha before they’d stumbled across the forest where a corridor should have been.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said, pointing at a dull blue glow standing within Technical Corridor 12, Intersection K. In other circumstances, he’d have been offended by the summary currently underneath ‘his’ dot –

  Unknown and/or deviant life signs detected. But the important thing now was the range of life signs the Castor was picking up.

  ‘That’s the bubble world,’ said the Doctor, pointing to a mass of con-96

  tradictory and conflicting signals over one unimportant-looking corridor. Though seemingly condensed in material terms compared to the vast swathes of trees and mountains they had seen, the Doctor’s worst fears were realised – much of the ‘bubble’ extended into deep space, beyond the station’s hull. Hopefully – somewhere amongst that mess of signals – would be Martha’s signal, still pulsing away strongly.

  Martha’s – and the dragon-monster, of course.

  ‘Hang on in there, Martha,’ breathed the Doctor.

  Elsewhere on the Castor there was the faintest trace of the flickering, ever-changing life form they’d noticed earlier. Once again the ship’s systems were finding it hard to pin down, both biologically and temporally. Indeed, at one point, it seemed to be almost in two places at once, and then it appeared to be ascending vertically through the ship’s floors and ceilings.

  Even more intriguingly, there was another – fourth – signal on the screens, pulsing steadily. He hoped to goodness it was not another monster – he’d had quite enough of them for one day.

  The summary underneath this fourth signal was almost as intriguing as the Doctor’s – Human, unrecognised. The Doctor drilled down to get more information. For a split second it read Human – female – c.

  12 years old – healthy – not in database, then it flickered and became Unknown – unknown – unknown – unknown – not in database.

  The Doctor frowned – the life support and monitoring systems were not having their best day. He tapped at the keyboard a few more times, trying to isolate where on the Castor the readings were coming from.

  He paused momentarily, drumming his fingers against the terminal

  – then turned on the spot, taking his stealthy observer completely by surprise.

  ‘Hey, Jude!’ he exclaimed, delighted. ‘Been wanting to say that for ages,’ he added.

  97

  Thegreatskeletaldragonshookitsheadslowly. Nowthatitwasfacing two, apparently well-armed, targets, the creature seemed to be having second thoughts. Its deep-set eyes narrowed like smouldering coals in a fire, an almost human reaction to the distress it was feeling.

  Two of its legs were oozing viscous blood, and both Saul and Petr had managed to slash at its wings. Its skin, which naturally seemed to fall in ragged strips from the bones, was looking even more tattered now, and the creature was making a low, moaning noise somewhere in its throat.

  Emboldened, Saul ducked through the legs one more time, aiming a sword upwards at the creature’s exposed flank. His sword returned to his side, stained and dripping, and he tumbled out of the way of the spiked tail as it lunged desperately towards him.

  The creature shook its head one last time, folded its wings away as neatly as it could, and began to slink back into the trees. Saul and Petr stood side by side, watching it go. ‘Thank you,’ said Saul quietly to his brother.

  Petr nodded, saying nothing, his eyes still fixed on the retreating monster.

  Martha came over, trying not to look too closely at what the men 99

  were wiping from their blades. When the two men had sheathed their swords, they turned to each other – despite everything, there was still an awkwardness between them that spoke volumes.

  ‘We’d better get back,’ said Petr abruptly.

  There was a drawn-out roar from somewhere to their right – it seemed the dragon wasn’t the only beast patrolling the forest. The cry sounded like it was coming from the insectoid creature Martha and Saul had encountered earlier; though currently deep in the trees, it was getting closer.

  ‘Not until we find Jude,’ said Saul firmly. His face was set and determined. He began calling out her name, his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. His strong, de
sperate cries penetrated deep into the trees – and received only the bestial cry of the advancing monster in return.

  ‘You sure shouting like that’s a good idea?’ queried Martha. She understood Saul’s feelings for his daughter but, if they weren’t careful, all they were going to do was bring every monster within a ten-kilometre radius to their position.

  ‘She was here?’ queried Petr, the colour seeming to drain from his face. He had obviously turned up too late to see his niece threatened by the creature.

  Saul stopped calling, his hands now hanging limply at his side. ‘She followed us,’ said Saul sadly. ‘Damn the impetuous child!’ Despite his harsh words, his eyes were suddenly full of tears.

  ‘She. . . disappeared,’ said Martha carefully. ‘One minute she was there. . . ’ She sighed, thinking of the other young villagers who had vanished. ‘Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t the monster,’ she added, as gently as she could, though she knew it must be of little comfort to Saul.

  ‘And the Doctor?’ asked Petro ‘Where is he?’

  Martha turned to Saul. ‘You saw the silver corridor?’

  Saul nodded.

  ‘That’s where we came from. The Doctor went back. He can help us from there.’

  100

  ‘He’s abandoned us,’ said Petr, a self-pitying tone creeping into his voice.

  ‘No,’ said Martha firmly. ‘The Doctor knows what he’s doing. We have to trust him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with him?’

  ‘I was worried for Saul,’ said Martha. ‘It looked like that dragon thing was going to finish him off. I couldn’t just leave him. . . ’

  Saul bowed before Martha, his gratitude wordless once again.