Deep Time

by Trevor Baxendale

  ‘What exactly are your qualifications, Doctor?’ demanded Tibby Vent.

  ‘What monsters?’ asked Luis Cranmer quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken.

  The Doctor’s finger swung towards Cranmer. ‘Ah! The first sensible question of the evening!’

  Marco got to his feet. ‘I’m not prepared to listen to any more of this nonsense. I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Trugg will show you to your cabin,’ said Balfour quickly.

  The robot towered over Marco. ‘If you’d care to follow me, sir?’

  ‘Get on with it, then,’ Marco snapped. He said a gruff goodnight to the others, glowered at the Doctor, and then followed Trugg out of the lounge.

  ‘Marco Spritt’s information is vital to the success of this mission,’ Tibby sighed. She rubbed her tired eyes with one hand. ‘It’s taken a lot of painstaking work to match up the information he has on the Carthage with the Phaeron map.’

  ‘Marco probably doesn’t mean to be rude,’ said Balfour generously. ‘It’s just that finding what happened to the Carthage means so much to him. It’s become a sort of obsession, I think.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said the Doctor. ‘How interesting.’

  ‘Maybe it’s best if we all get some sleep before we reach the wormhole.’ Balfour wished them all goodnight and followed Marco out of the room.

  ‘You still haven’t explained about the monsters,’ said Luis Cranmer.

  ‘Poor old Luis,’ laughed Tanya. ‘He hates space travel so much. And now monsters.’

  ‘I get space sick,’ Cranmer explained. He hadn’t touched his champagne and he looked a ghastly colour. He stood up shakily and said, ‘In fact I think I’d better lie down. I don’t feel very well.’

  ‘If you’re gonna puke, mind you don’t do it outside my cabin,’ advised Tanya. ‘Take two of those pills I gave you and see me in the morning.’

  Without another word Cranmer hurried out of the room, one hand clamped over his mouth.

  ‘So much for the party,’ Tanya said. She gulped down the last of her champagne and stood up to leave. ‘I’d better hit the sack myself before it gets too wild. Call me in the morning – but not too early.’ She winked at Clara and then swept out of the common room.

  The Doctor and Clara were left with Tibby Vent.

  ‘So what are these monsters you’re talking about?’ Tibby asked the Doctor. ‘The Phaeron? I doubt they looked human, but that doesn’t mean they were monsters.’

  ‘You don’t need to look like a monster to be one,’ replied the Doctor.

  ‘Maybe not. But whatever they looked like, and whatever they did, they were an extremely advanced species. They were highly civilised. Technologically speaking they were well ahead of us, long before they died out. I can’t believe they were monsters.’

  ‘I never said they were,’ the Doctor said. ‘But they built a vast network of intergalactic roads through hyperspace and then closed them all down in a great hurry. Why do you think that was?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But we’ve got the chance to find out. They left one last wormhole open, remember.’

  ‘Yes, they did.’ The Doctor met her cool gaze easily. ‘Ever wonder why?’

  ‘That’s why I’m standing here.’ Tibby smiled icily. ‘So it’s a bit late to scare me off now, wouldn’t you say? Goodnight.’

  And with that she brushed past the Doctor and left the room.

  Clara winced. ‘I hope they don’t all have nightmares.’

  ‘I hope they do,’ replied the Doctor. ‘It might help prepare them for what lies ahead.’

  Chapter

  3

  ‘Looks like I missed quite a party,’ said Dan Laker as he entered the room with his customary smile. ‘Everyone all right?’ He found the champagne and poured himself a glass.

  ‘You didn’t miss much,’ Clara told him.

  She watched the pilot as he sank down into one of the armchairs with a sigh. He looked worn out, and a little older than Clara had originally thought. This Laker appeared to be in his late forties, his handsome features just beginning to show character: rugged, determined, but with good humour behind watchful grey eyes. He raised his glass towards Clara and said, ‘Cheers.’

  Clara felt the need to explain. ‘It was just Balfour introducing everybody. I don’t know why you weren’t invited.’

  ‘I was. I just didn’t come. I was busy on the flight deck and besides, I’m not one for socialising much. I prefer to do my drinking on my own.’

  ‘Oh.’ Clara glanced at his empty champagne glass. ‘Do you want us to leave?’

  ‘Nope.’ Laker gave her one of his lazy smiles. ‘This isn’t drinking. This is celebrating.’

  ‘Good. What are we celebrating?’

  ‘We’re approaching the wormhole,’ said the Doctor as he sat down in the opposite chair. ‘We should reach the transition point in hyperspace very soon. Isn’t that right, Captain?’

  Laker tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Felt the change in the ion thrust as we vectored in. It’s unmistakable.’ The Doctor closed his eyes. ‘I’d say we are about two hours from transition. Maybe less.’

  ‘I’m impressed. Not many people are that tuned in to space travel – unless they’re astrogators.’

  ‘Like Jem, you mean.’ The Doctor’s eyes snapped open. ‘She’s physically tied to the ship, isn’t she? The navigational computer matrix connects directly to her cerebral cortex.’

  Clara didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What? Like she’s actually plugged into the ship?’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘It’s the only way to guarantee perfect cohesion between human and ship. Jem feels her way through hyperspace – and the ship uses her as its guide.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very nice.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Laker. ‘Really. It’s what Jem wants.’

  ‘Is it?’ wondered the Doctor. ‘The way I see it, Jem doesn’t have much choice.’

  Clara glanced at the Doctor. His eyes were fierce beneath his bristling eyebrows. There was real anger there.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Doctor,’ said Laker tiredly. ‘I’ve heard it all before…that astrogators are just slaves—’

  ‘Worse than slaves,’ said the Doctor. ‘Astrogation clones were developed by the military during the last Draconian War as a cheap and effective method of space navigation. They were genetically engineered from artificial stem cells to serve that one, single purpose – to be plugged into a spaceship as a biological component. Not humanity’s finest hour.’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Laker argued.

  ‘There’s nothing complicated about it at all. Astrogators can’t do anything except fly spaceships and they have a very short life span. When they die, or they’ve been burnt out by some badly tuned computer interface, they just get replaced by another one.’

  ‘Not Jem,’ said Laker.

  There was such basic sadness in the pilot’s voice that even the Doctor paused.

  ‘She’s the last one left,’ said Laker quietly.

  The Doctor looked shocked. ‘The last one?’

  ‘I was a transport pilot during the war,’ explained Laker. ‘They gave me Jem as my navigator. She was good. In fact she was the best in the business. I mean she could sense other ships in hyperspace, you know?’ The pilot shook his head in simple admiration. ‘We flew the major supply routes between Earth Central and the Draconian Front and never got caught once. When the war ended, I left the Space Service and I took Jem with me.’

  The Doctor considered this carefully. ‘That must have been quite a risk.’

  ‘I had no choice. They were decommissioning the other clones.’

  ‘Meaning deliberate burnout?’

  ‘I couldn’t let that happen to Jem. We stole a ship and took off. That was twenty years ago and I’ve never been back to Earth since.’

  The Doctor sat back in his chair and studied the pilot with fresh eyes. The angr
y stare had gone. ‘That’s remarkable,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose it is.’ Laker’s easy smile returned. ‘We’ve been working together ever since, flying our own ships for hire on the galactic rim. It’s been a successful business but we’re ready to retire. I’m not getting any younger and as for Jem…’

  ‘She’s lived far longer than any other astrogation clone.’

  Laker nodded. ‘It’s time we settled down.’

  ‘And this job for Raymond Balfour is your nest egg?’

  ‘Balfour is paying well. Really well. Money’s no object for him – well, just look at this ship if you want proof of that. It’s the best ship we’ve ever had, and we’ve had quite a few.’

  ‘But isn’t flying through this wormhole thing a big risk?’ Clara asked.

  ‘All space flying is a big risk, miss. And Balfour’s making it worth our while. But the real truth of the matter is, only Jem can find this wormhole and only she can navigate it.’

  ‘That’s why you didn’t come down from the flight deck,’ Clara realised. ‘You didn’t want to leave Jem on her own.’

  Laker nodded. ‘She’s sleeping now. The ship’s on course for the wormhole and she’s letting her subconscious handle things for a while.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’d better get back soon, anyway. I like to be there for her when she wakes up, and it won’t be long before we reach the transition point.’

  ‘It’s been nice to meet you,’ Clara said, getting up. ‘And Jem.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said the Doctor, also standing.

  Laker paused by the door. ‘Oh, by the way, Doctor…that thing in the hold. Your police box.’

  ‘The TARDIS. What about it?’

  ‘My people were quite intrigued by it.’

  The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your people?’

  ‘My engineers. Sorry, I forgot you haven’t met them yet.’

  ‘I’ve a feeling I’m about to.’

  ‘They’re down in the hold with your box right now. They’re trying to figure out—’

  But the Doctor had already turned on his heel and was running out of the lounge.

  —

  Clara was left on her own once Laker departed for the flight deck. She found herself yawning widely. She knew the Doctor seldom slept, but she had finished another long day at Coal Hill a short while ago and the champagne had gone straight to her head. A lie down felt like just the thing she needed. She wandered out of the lounge, hoping to follow the Doctor back to the TARDIS, but almost immediately she ran into Trugg.

  The huge robot loomed over her, filling the corridor. Her face was reflected in the burnished metal of its torso. Lights blinked steadily on and off on its large ovoid head.

  ‘Can I help you, miss?’ Trugg’s voice was simultaneously comforting and ever so slightly threatening. But perhaps being eight feet tall and made from half a ton of steel just made it seem that way.

  Clara was about to ask for directions to the hold when she found herself yawning again. She covered her mouth and forced her eyes open wide to look more awake. ‘Oh dear,’ she said eventually. ‘Excuse me. More tired than I thought.’

  ‘Would you like me to show you to your cabin?’ asked Trugg.

  ‘I have a cabin?’

  ‘Everyone has a cabin. Mr Balfour was most insistent when the ship was designed that there should be room for all aboard to be housed comfortably.’

  Clara was tempted. It couldn’t hurt to just check it out, anyway. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘This way, miss.’ Trugg pivoted with a whine of motorised joints and set off along the corridor. It curved around what Clara thought must be the circumference of the ship. ‘Your cabin is located on the starboard side, room number 7.’

  Almost immediately Clara heard someone talking further along the corridor. It was Marco Spritt’s voice. She couldn’t see him yet because of the curve but she could hear him well enough.

  ‘I just thought you’d want a bit of company,’ he was saying. There was a strange, insistent tone in his voice that Clara didn’t like.

  There was no reply, and, curious, Clara slowed down so that she didn’t walk straight into view. Interestingly, Trugg also halted, as if waiting for her signal to continue.

  ‘What’s wrong with a bit of company?’ Marco continued. ‘Everyone likes a nightcap.’

  This was followed by the sound of knocking on a door. It wasn’t loud, but there was an urgency to it.

  ‘Come on,’ Marco said. ‘Open the door. Just for a while. We can get to know each other a little better, can’t we?’

  Clara had heard enough, and she walked on until she saw Marco standing outside one of the cabin doors. He had a bottle of wine in one hand.

  ‘What’s up?’ Clara asked. ‘Can’t find your cabin?’

  ‘None of your business, actually,’ Marco replied. He looked Clara up and down and then looked at Trugg, who towered over them both.

  ‘This is Professor Vent’s cabin,’ said Trugg.

  ‘Get lost, robot,’ said Marco. ‘I’m busy. Go on, move along. Nothing to see here.’

  ‘Perhaps you would like me to direct you to your own cabin, sir?’

  Marco snorted. ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’

  ‘Might be for the best,’ Clara said. ‘Maybe Tibby doesn’t fancy a nightcap, after all.’

  ‘What would you know about it?’ Marco replied. He sighed. ‘Look, your Doctor pal really scared Tibby with all that stupid talk about monsters. I just wanted to check she was OK.’

  ‘With a bottle of wine?’

  Marco shrugged. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else. It’s an excuse. I just want to make sure she’s all right, that’s all.’

  Clara knocked on the door. ‘Tibby? It’s Clara. You OK in there?’

  There was a pause and then Tibby’s voice could be heard on the other side of the door. ‘Yes. I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.’

  ‘I think that’s clear enough, don’t you?’ Clara asked Marco. It wasn’t lost on him that Clara was speaking with the benefit of an eight-foot robot standing right behind her.

  He scowled at them both. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered, and stomped off down the corridor.

  Clara waited until he had disappeared from view then knocked on Tibby’s door again. ‘Tibby? He’s gone. Relax.’

  The door opened, and Tibby said, ‘Thanks. Come in.’

  The cabin had a single bunk, a wardrobe and a desk unit. There were books and datapads and various other scholarly items on every surface. A 3D holographic map of the galaxy was floating in the air above the desk. There were little dots of red light all over it.

  ‘What are they?’ Clara asked.

  ‘The wormholes,’ Tibby said, picking up a remote control. ‘Or rather where the wormholes used to be. This is a computer simulation of the Phaeron map from Ganymede. And this here…’ She zoomed in on a tiny point of red light flashing in the air, about a foot away from the edge of the galactic disc. ‘This is our wormhole. The last Phaeron Road.’

  ‘That’s where we’re headed?’

  ‘Yup.’ Tibby stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry. I should sound more excited. But the truth is I’m shattered. I was on Ursa Minor when I got the call from Balfour: the ship was ready, the crew was ready, we had clearance…I had to drop everything and get to Far Station.’

  Clara nodded sympathetically. She knew how that felt.

  ‘It’s been a long time in planning, but the last few days have been a whirlwind,’ sighed Tibby.

  ‘And Marco?’

  ‘We needed his knowledge of the Carthage to help pinpoint the exact location of that.’ Tibby touched the little red light blinking in mid-air.

  ‘But you wish he wasn’t here?’

  ‘Balfour doesn’t know what Marco’s really like. He thinks the best of everybody.’

  Clara smiled. ‘I think Balfour might be a bit of a romantic at heart.’

  ‘Yeah. And Marco – well, he’s got another kind of romance in mind. One that I’m not intere
sted in.’ Tibby switched off the galaxy hologram and threw the remote control down. ‘It’s just me and the Phaeron. It always has been.’

  ‘I’ll ask Trugg to keep an eye on Marco,’ said Clara, getting up to leave.

  Tibby smiled at her. ‘Thanks. And thanks for heading him off.’

  ‘No problem. I had help – in fact, Trugg’s probably still waiting outside.’

  ‘Well, good night, then,’ Tibby said. ‘See you later.’

  Clara let herself out and sure enough, the giant robot was still waiting. He showed Clara to cabin number 7 and then she thanked him.

  ‘I’m just doing my job, miss.’

  ‘No, I mean with Marco. It was good that you were there.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything, miss.’

  ‘Oh, you did, Trugg. You did.’

  —

  ‘Well, I dunno what the hell it is,’ said Mitch Keller.

  The Alexandria didn’t have a hold as such because it wasn’t a cargo vessel, but it did have a wide storage bay on the base deck with a high ceiling. Standing right in the middle of it was a tall blue box with a lamp on its roof and little frosted-glass windows set into tall, narrow doors.

  ‘It’s a police box,’ said Hobbo. ‘Says so, don’t it?’

  Mitch walked around the police box once more. He was old and rangy, with a white beard and careful eyes. He was wearing faded spacer’s overalls and an old baseball cap with ‘I ♥ Mars’ on it. Hobbo wasn’t wrong; there was a panel at the top of the box on all four sides that proclaimed ‘POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX’.

  ‘I just don’t get it,’ he muttered. ‘I signed everything on board this ship. There was nothin’ on the manifest about a police box.’

  Hobbo was sitting on a packing crate nursing a hot drink. She looked bored. She wore an old hoody over her fatigues and a heavy tool belt. ‘Give it a rest, Mitch,’ she said. ‘Just cos there’s nothin’ else to do round here doesn’t mean you’ve gotta go lookin’ for problems.’ She tilted her head to one side and eyed the police box. ‘Who cares what it is, anyways? Probably something Balfour wanted on voyage. He’s stupid rich; who knows what’s going on in his head?’

  Mitch reached out and touched the box. ‘It’s humming,’ he said. ‘You can feel it. Like there’s machinery inside.’