Doctor Who - The Wheel of Ice

by Stephen Baxter

  ‘What about it?’

  A small mouth closed, a snub of nose without nostrils. Eyes sealed shut, eerily.

  ‘Don’t you think it looks like Casey?’

  9

  IN THE END the TARDIS crew spent less than twenty-four hours behind locked doors.

  Their liberation was thanks to Zoe, who demanded that Sonia Paley send a message to the headquarters of International Space Command at Geneva, on Earth. This wasn’t Zoe’s time, but it was close enough that she was able to guess at the state of space law. The core of her case was a polite demand that the travellers be granted certain basic human rights, universally recognised by the authorities on Earth and across the solar system – the right to shelter and sustenance in space, the right not to be subject to false imprisonment. Such rights were upheld in Zoe’s era, and, she earnestly hoped, in this age too.

  She was proven correct when Sonia Paley, with Jo Laws at her side, unlocked their cell door.

  The Doctor led them out, beaming with pride. ‘That’s my girl!’

  Jamie, who never took well to confinement, was hugely relieved to be out. ‘Aye, ye’re a marvel, lassie. Although ye could hae been quicker about it.’

  ‘Well, that’s typical.’

  They were led once more through the ice chambers of the Wheel, and the defunct spacecraft and fuel tanks that connected them.

  Jo, pushing herself along in a slim wheelchair, navigated the hatches and corridors skilfully, Zoe observed. In Zoe’s time there were automated chairs, and cybernetic prosthetics and exoskeletal suits that would enable a person with Jo’s injuries to function normally, even if surgical options were ruled out. Maybe such options hadn’t been developed yet, in this age, or maybe were too expensive for Jo.

  Or maybe, Zoe thought, observing the skill with which Jo operated her chair, she just enjoyed the challenge.

  Sonia said, ‘You have the right to liberty and shelter until an inspector arrives from Geneva, or another ISC base. It helps that I happen to report to the ISC…’

  Jamie asked, ‘So how long have we got?’

  The Doctor said, ‘Well, it takes light itself an hour to get here from Earth, Jamie. And interplanetary travel depends on the availability of a ship, and the relative positions of the planets. Several days at least, I should think.’

  ‘Seems a lot o’ fuss, jest fer the three o’ us.’

  Zoe said, ‘But such procedures are important, Jamie. People need to be protected out here, but so do colony facilities like this one. Don’t forget, every breath of air you take in a place like this has to be processed, every sip of water. Nothing comes free, not even the air.’

  ‘Well, I willna take more than my fair share, then.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said the Doctor.

  They emerged through a hatchway into another wide ice bubble, another bauble on the tremendous bracelet of the Wheel, this one a densely inhabited volume. People swarmed everywhere, adults and children, most in a purplish colour scheme. There was an orderly layout to the main buildings, which followed a street that ran along the axis of the bubble. Zoe recognised a small hospital, a smaller school, residential blocks, stores, a meeting hall – and a detention centre. More of those big display flags hung and shimmered, silently dispensing symbols, images and slogans: IT’S GOOD TO BE A B! One big central tower led all the way up to the roof of the bubble, and looking through the translucent roof Zoe saw cables crossing space to the pinpoint block of the ice moon itself, suspended directly over her head. So that was how the workers travelled up to the mines.

  At the feet of the main structures there were other, scruffier buildings. There was even a ramshackle church, with the symbols of many religions on its walls. Maybe this was how people chose to live, in these much more crude, humble structures that they built for themselves.

  They came to a house on the main drag along the bubble’s axis, a substantial block but not ornate. Zoe heard music, a rhythmic thumping along with a heavy plucked-string melody.

  Phee Laws emerged from the main door, unsmiling, wary-looking. Zoe guessed this was the Laws’ own home. Zoe saw that the Doctor was carefully trying not to stare at Phee, trying not to hunt for the anomalous time-travelling artefact she had evidently been carrying when they had first encountered her, out in space. Zoe was almost sure that the culprit was that heavy black amulet that Phee wore around her neck; it didn’t fit with the rest of her bland grey outfit at all.

  Jo Laws looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Our home,’ she said. ‘Personally I’d have been happy to have stayed put in Triple Block.’ She indicated one of the big residential buildings over the road. ‘That’s where the kids grew up. But the planners decided the mayor needs a palace, and so here we are.’

  ‘Oh, I’d hardly call it a palace,’ the Doctor said, patting a seamless ceramic wall.

  ‘But we still get ragged for it,’ Phee said. ‘By the kids at school. Sam hates it.’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘My eldest,’ Jo said. ‘You’ll meet him soon enough. Well, you can hear him already. At least we didn’t move up to Res One, Phee. You might have fitted in there, but Sam—’

  The Doctor asked mildly, ‘Ah – “Res One”?’

  ‘Sorry. The Wheel has six sectors, numbered anticlockwise.’

  ‘Widdershins – it would be!’

  ‘There are three residential sectors. Res One is reserved, more or less, for A-grade, Res Three – this one – for Bs like me, and Res Five is for Cs. The other sectors are Utilities, Industrial, and Recreation – sectors two, four and six.’

  ‘Sounds jolly. And how does one become an A or a B or a C?’

  ‘They test you at school,’ Phee said.

  Jo said, ‘Bootstrap used parapsychology consultants to set up the educational system here. I think they saw us as a test case. An experiment.’

  The Doctor said, ‘Hmmph. Like that, is it? Everybody classified and colour-coded!’

  ‘It could have been worse, Doctor. There were proposals to replace family units with work cadres. Most of us argued hard against that.’

  ‘And I suppose once you have been graded you are stuck for life, are you?’

  ‘Well, you can always become a D,’ Phee said.

  ‘Criminal class,’ Sonia Paley said. She sounded mildly impatient.

  Jamie had his mind on more practical matters. ‘Now we’re out of the jug, where are we gonna kip? I suppose there’s always the TARDIS.’

  Sonia frowned. ‘Oh, you mean your escape capsule? I’m afraid it’s been impounded.’

  ‘That is my property,’ blustered the Doctor. ‘Well – not strictly – but it’s certainly nothing to do with you!’

  ‘I think you’ll find the sanction is in the scope of the law.’

  Jo said, ‘Look – you’re welcome to stay in my home as guests. That’s why we brought you here. Phee seems to have taken a shine to you all, for one thing.’

  Her daughter blushed and looked away.

  ‘And it’s a way to keep an eye on you that satisfies Sonia here. Mr McCrimmon is going to have to share a room with Sam, my son. You’ll be in with Phee, Zoe. Now come on inside, let me get you settled.’

  Zoe decided to make an effort. ‘I’m glad we’re sharing, Phee. It’ll be fun.’ She knew her smile could be infectious, at times.

  Eventually, Phee smiled back.

  Sonia stepped back. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Oh, Doctor – there’s somebody who wants to meet you.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  Jo pulled a face. ‘Florian Hart. The conscience of our commercial lords and masters. Likes to know about whatever’s going on in this Wheel. She can be somewhat intense, but I’ll sit in, don’t worry. Now do come in…’ With a graceful flip she rolled her chair over the threshold and into the house.

  The Doctor followed, after a cheeky nod to Sonia.

  Jamie marched after him. ‘I’d better go meet ma new roommate.’

  ‘Just follow the noise,’ Jo called back wearily.


  Sam’s room was at the top of the stairs. Jamie found himself facing a closed door, painted jet black. The music, such as it was, came from behind the door, a thumping, repetitive drumbeat, the twanging of some stringed instrument. Muffled as the noise was by the door, Jamie found his foot tapping; the beat was just a bit faster than his heartbeat.

  He knocked. There was no reply, and he shrugged, turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room within was dark, the only light a glowing pattern on the walls and ceiling, a stripy, coloured design. Jamie thought the pattern was an image of Saturn’s rings. The designs were slowly evolving, he saw, changing.

  The main piece of furniture was a bed, black sheets and blankets, on which a young man sprawled. He plucked at a kind of harp, made of a bit of curved ceramic with strings running taut across it. There was a set of drums stacked in one corner that looked like they had been made out of odds and ends too, but the drumming sound was a recording, coming from some kind of box in the corner of the room.

  The din was loud. Jamie called, ‘D’ye mind to turn yon box down a wee bit?’

  No reply.

  Jamie set his fists on his hips and leaned over. ‘Ah said, will ye turn yon box doon? And it wid be nice tae have a bit o’ LIGHT in here!’

  To his surprise, as he yelled the word ‘light’, a bright white glow flooded the room, from tubes set in the ceiling. Now Jamie could see that the floor was covered with discarded clothes and other junk.

  Sam threw his arm over his eyes, abandoning his harp. He called, ‘Off,’ and the drum noise stopped. He lowered his arm and slipped on dark glasses. He was very like Phee, his sister, Jamie saw, with the same pale colouring, the red hair. He was tall, and looked strong in a wiry, ropy way. He wore a green jumpsuit that had been artfully gashed to reveal a bright red underlay. He looked Jamie over. He looked jealous as he took in the traveller’s kilt and tunic, and especially the knife at his waist. But he said with a sneer, ‘What did you come as? This is my room. Get lost, granddad.’

  Jamie loomed over him. ‘Aw, now you jest shut yer geggie. First off it’s our room for now, because yer mam says so. And second off, I’m no grandda’. How old are you?’

  Reluctantly, Sam said, ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’m no’ much older, so ye call me grandda’ again and I’ll larrup ye. Pleased to meet yer by the way. I’m Jamie.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Messy scamp, aren’t ye?’

  ‘Now you sound like my mother.’

  ‘A’ right, a’ right. I like yer wallpaper.’

  ‘It’s not wallpaper,’ Sam said contemptuously. ‘It’s an update of an analysis we’re doing on the rings.’

  ‘Saturn’s rings?’

  ‘Full of resonances. Patterns. You can see some of it with the naked eye, but there’s a lot more in there if you do some analysis… Music, maybe.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Some of us think there’s music in the rings. Frozen in the patterns in the ice. But nobody your age thinks so.’

  ‘Now, I told ye—’

  ‘All they see is more mines. More profit.’

  ‘Music, eh. And what do ye call this?’ Jamie picked up the harp and experimentally plucked a string. The sound was louder than it was sweet, but the strings were backed by a crude fretboard, and Jamie quickly found that he could change the tuning by bending the board as well as by fingering the strings. With a few seconds’ experiment he began to pick out a tune.

  Sam stared. ‘I made that myself.’

  ‘Ah can tell,’ said Jamie, a bit unkindly.

  ‘The body is the lid of a defunct home suncatcher pile. The strings are threads of elevator cable. The stuff they use to drop us down onto the mine. I made the drums too. There are a few of us. We play…’

  ‘Play what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Stuff we make up. They don’t like music here. Gets in the way of work, they say. All we get is company motivation songs, and you should hear them. But some of the oldies remember songs from Earth and we learned those. But we prefer to write our own… What’s that you’re playing?’

  It was an old Jacobite marching song. ‘Ah, ye wouldnae know it.’

  ‘You must have an instinct for music, to pick up a thing like that and just play it.’

  ‘I’m a trained piper. In the blood.’ He thought the boy had the faintest trace of a Scots accent himself. A bit wistfully he asked, ‘If there’s Scots here, I don’t suppose there’s a set o’ pipes around?’

  ‘A bagpipe? In the museum, maybe. Yes, I think there is.’ He grinned. ‘We could bust in and pinch it. You could play with us.’

  ‘Ah, whisht ye, maybe we’ll leave that fer tomorrow.’

  The boy grunted. ‘I won’t be here tomorrow.’

  Jamie frowned. ‘What do ye mean?’

  From outside the house came a cold, artificial noise, an urgent blaring. Jamie had heard it several times before, cooped up in the jail cell.

  Sam scowled. ‘That’s what I mean. Shift change. Time to go to work.’ He swung his legs off the bed. ‘Don’t you know that much? Where are you from?’

  ‘Ye look young to be working down a mine.’

  Sam pulled a trunk out from under his bed; it contained boots, a heavy-duty green coverall, what looked like a skinsuit, transparent. ‘There are kids a lot younger than me being sent up to that mine every day, believe me. You ever been skiing?’

  The change of subject took Jamie by surprise. ‘Skiing?’

  ‘A bunch of us break out sometimes. We pinch scooters and nip over to Enceladus. You know, the moon. You should come, next time we go. Fantastic. Full vacuum, low gravity, you feel like you’re going faster than light!’ Now Sam was pulling on his skinsuit. ‘Make yourself at home. There are pillows and stuff under the bed. You can find a place to kip on the floor. But don’t touch my stuff.’

  When the shift-change hooter sounded, Zoe and Phee, with a little help from Casey, were going through Phee’s wardrobe, such as it was. All the clothes Phee cherished she had made herself, modified from the uniform-like grey-toned standard issue gear. Phee wasn’t complaining. ‘It’s the same for everybody. And you can do stuff. See?’ She held up a top cut from an old pair of coveralls and covered with bursts of white, like flowers, or like storms on Saturn.

  So Zoe smiled, and they compared sizes, and Zoe wondered if she could give Phee some of her own clothes from her room in the TARDIS. But when she heard that shift-change hooter Phee hastily changed into a work outfit of heavy coverall in her usual pale grey, and skinsuit over the top. Zoe was amazed when Phee told her where she was going.

  Phee led Zoe downstairs to the house’s small kitchen cum dining room, where the Doctor sat at a table of convincing artificial wood, drinking tea with Jo.

  ‘Zoe! You must try this. A quite marvellous cuppa. A good old British tradition, preserved among the rings of Saturn!’ But then he looked into his cup dubiously. ‘Although I suppose it pays not to ask what these leaves grew in.’

  Zoe sat down with him. ‘Doctor, haven’t you noticed what’s happening? These children – they’re all being sent to work in the mines!’

  The Doctor gave her a warning look.

  ‘That’s the way of it here,’ Jo said tiredly. ‘Company rules. Look, Florian Hart is on her way to speak to you, Doctor. I’ll stick around. Besides I have to wait for a sitter for Casey.’

  ‘Huh!’ Zoe said. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t putting her to work as well.’

  The Doctor said evenly, ‘Now, Zoe, ours is not to judge these people. Or those they work for. I’m given to understand that the very young ones are only sent up there to observe. To familiarise, to get used to the environment—’

  ‘Where they will be working for the rest of their lives. Wouldn’t it be better if they were at school?’

  ‘Where they would usefully learn what?’ Without knocking, a woman walked in through the open door: tall, beautiful, confident, dressed in a shining silver-grey suit. ‘My name’s Florian Hart. Bootstrap, Inc.,
Cincture Administrator. Good afternoon, Zoe Heriot, Doctor. I’ve read your files. Good day, Mayor Laws.’

  ‘Hello, Florian,’ Jo replied neutrally.

  Florian sat at the table, again without being asked.

  Zoe said indignantly, ‘I can think of many things more useful than to spend one’s childhood learning about mine workings. Utility trumps everything for you, does it?’

  Florian said, ‘It’s not a question of utility but of basic economics. For Bootstrap, despite the high intrinsic value of bernalium, the profit margins on an operation like this are smaller than you’d think. We’re pioneers. We continually encounter novel technical challenges, and it costs money to overcome them. That moon up there – the core seems unstable, somehow. We pick up shifting gravitational fields. Then there are anomalous neutrino fluxes.’

  The Doctor said, ‘Neutrinos? Well, that’s interesting… I suppose there is much to learn.’

  ‘But this does mean that we must exploit all our resources to their maximum efficiency.’

  ‘“Resources”,’ Zoe said curtly. ‘Child labour, you mean.’ Florian smiled sweetly. ‘Ms Heriot, I’m sure you know as well as I do that the laws concerning “child labour”, as you put it, have been relaxed concerning the space colonies. I like to compare our settlement to the heroic days of the Old American West. If you were a pioneer family everybody had to pitch in to help, from children to grandparents. And when those children grew old themselves, what a heroic tale they had to tell their own grandchildren! This is what the bleeding hearts like Luis Reyes can never see. People want their kids to grow up here, like this. Of course every measure is taken to ensure the safety and ongoing health of all our workers.’

  ‘I’d enjoy a look at your casualty figures some time,’ the Doctor said mildly.

  Florian’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t know who you are, Doctor. I don’t know what you want. I know I’m not likely to learn it before the ISC pen-pusher gets here from Geneva. But it’s obviously to do with the mining operation. What else is there here? And that means, it’s to do with me. I wanted to meet you to make quite sure you know what you’re dealing with.’