Deep Time

by Trevor Baxendale

  ‘Maybe he keeps a spare service robot in there.’

  ‘What would be the point of that?’ Mitch took off his cap and scratched his head. He didn’t need any puzzles or worries now, not at his age, but there was something damned strange about this box. The fact that it was locked was really bugging him too. He gave the door handle an experimental tug but it was no use. ‘I just don’t get it. It’s—’

  ‘Incongruous,’ said the Doctor, stepping between Mitch and the TARDIS. ‘That’s what it is.’

  Mitch jerked back. ‘Who the hell—’

  ‘I’m the Doctor. You must be…?’

  ‘Mitch Keller, chief engineer.’ Mitch found himself responding automatically. ‘This is Harley Hobson, my assistant. Everyone calls her Hobbo.’

  ‘Who said you could poke around my TARDIS?’ asked the Doctor, his eyebrows bristling ferociously.

  ‘TARDIS?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ said the Doctor, patting the police box. ‘It makes a mockery of space and transcends time itself. Completely out of your league.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mitch agreed. He pulled his cap back on. ‘Wait a sec. Just wait a damn sec. This is yours? How the hell did you get it on board?’

  ‘I thought I just explained that: space, mockery, transcends time.’

  Hobbo was chuckling to herself. ‘You had to ask, Mitch…’

  ‘Sorry it took me so long to get here,’ the Doctor said. ‘I got distracted on the way. Had a quick look round your engine room…’

  Hobbo’s smile faded instantly. ‘What? Who said you could go poking around in—’

  ‘Touché,’ said the Doctor. ‘Anyway, it’s all shipshape and in good order.’

  ‘The Alexandria is fresh out of the box,’ grumbled Hobbo.

  ‘In that case the megaton valves are probably too tight. Try loosening them a bit.’

  ‘I knew there was something,’ Mitch said. He looked at the Doctor with respect. ‘This ship’s sweet as a nut but there was somethin’ about those meg valves…’

  ‘There’s nothin’ wrong with ’em,’ Hobbo insisted. She jumped down from the crate, her face crumpling into a petulant frown. ‘There’s nothin’ wrong with anythin’ on this crate. There’s so much not wrong with it there’s nothin’ to do.’

  ‘Just check them, will you, Hobbo?’ asked Mitch. ‘Try loosenin’ them, like the man says. See if he’s right.’

  ‘Loosen the megaton valves?’ Hobbo looked disgusted. ‘That’s gonna take all night.’

  ‘Just do it,’ Mitch said as Hobbo opened her mouth to argue. He was easy-going by nature but there was a certain tone of voice he used when he was giving what amounted to an order.

  ‘Here, let me take that,’ the Doctor offered, taking Hobbo’s still steaming mug. He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Is that hot chocolate?’

  ‘Knock yourself out,’ Hobbo replied as she sauntered out.

  Mitch turned to the Doctor with a smile. ‘She ain’t happy unless she’s complainin’,’ he said.

  ‘I like her already,’ said the Doctor, sipping the hot chocolate.

  —

  Marco Spritt lay on his bunk, fully dressed. He was fuming. The cabin was in complete disarray; clothes and equipment strewn around where he’d hurled it all in a fit of temper as soon as he closed the door.

  He was staring at the datapad Balfour had handed out in the common room. It showed a picture of Tabitha Vent. It must have been an old publicity photo because she looked a lot younger than she did now. Marco flung the datapad across the room with a curse. He’d have been with Tibby now if it wasn’t for the Oswald woman interfering. He didn’t like her at all. She was too bossy, too prim, too much like a teacher and Marco had hated school. He’d done well for himself despite school. He’d done it all himself, on his own, without help, and he would carry on doing things that way.

  He opened up a 3D schematic of the Carthage on his personal computer and flicked through the images of the engines, the cabins, the flight decks and stasis tanks. They were more familiar to him than any other spacecraft in existence.

  His mother had tried to tell him what to do as well, usually at long range – via interstellar hypernet messages that were delayed by months, or sometimes even years. She’d left him on his own at school to fend for himself. Marco liked to think there would be a reckoning when he found her. There’d be a reckoning with Clara Oswald too, if he had his way. And that cadaverous Doctor.

  Marco switched off the computer and wondered what the Doctor and Clara were really doing on the Alexandria. There was something odd about them, about the way they’d just turned up out of the blue like that. He brooded on it for several minutes and then, abruptly, got up from his bunk and left his cabin.

  Chapter

  4

  Dan Laker walked back onto the flight deck and listened carefully. It was wonderfully quiet. Even on luxury starliners you could hear the engines, but the Alexandria just purred through space, cat-silent. The instruments guided the vessel with a calm assurance. The ship hardly needed a pilot. Laker had never felt more like a passenger in his life. The only important person on the flight deck now was Jem.

  She lay quietly, hardly breathing. Her eyes were open, but Laker knew she was not fully conscious. It was said that astrogator clones were never truly alive unless they were dreaming, and thus at one with the cosmos.

  After a few minutes, the holographic indicators on the couch terminals showed Jem’s heart rate and blood pressure were beginning to increase, which meant she was close to waking again. Laker glanced at the holoviewer. It was as black as a shark’s eye; nothing but intergalactic space.

  Jem stirred. Her eyes flickered and widened as consciousness returned and she sucked in a sudden, shaking breath.

  Laker felt a pang of concern. ‘Hey, are you OK?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I think so. Just tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Just keep thinking of Chasima Orion and a villa overlooking the Sand Sea.’

  ‘Sunlight from a binary star,’ said Jem dreamily.

  ‘It’ll be warm and peaceful, and there’ll be no one there but us. I’ve had the villa kitted out with exactly what you need.’

  Jem’s hand reached out for his. ‘I only need you.’

  Her hand was soft and pale, tiny in his. He held it as tightly as he dared. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘We are close to the Phaeron Road.’

  Laker looked at the holoviewer, but there was only blackness out there.

  ‘You won’t be able to see it,’ Jem said. ‘Not yet – not until we’re right on top of it and ready to enter. But I can sense it. I can feel the way space is bending towards it.’ She closed her eyes and, from nothing, a frown appeared.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Ripples,’ she said quietly. ‘Striations in the dark matter around us.’

  Laker rarely understood exactly what Jem meant when she talked like this, but he was always alert to how it made her feel: calm, or happy, or fulfilled. But now she seemed perturbed by something.

  ‘It’s like a whisper in space,’ she said. ‘Telling me something – something I can’t quite hear.’

  Laker was frustrated. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Everything is important, Dan.’ She settled back in her couch and her eyes glazed over. ‘We’re getting closer. The whisper is getting louder.’

  ‘I’d better call the others,’ Laker said. ‘Balfour will want to see this and—’

  ‘No,’ said Jem softly. ‘Leave it for a moment. Let’s enjoy this for ourselves, just for a moment. Think of Chasima Orion.’

  ‘OK,’ Laker said. He squeezed her hand and looked at the holoviewer again. Somewhere out there was the transition point between normal space and the wormhole, but no matter how hard he looked, Laker could only see darkness.

  —

  Clara opened her eyes when she heard the knock at her door. She’d actually drifted off. The room wasn’t huge but it was warm and comfortable, with a bunk and a closet
and a place to store clothes. It felt like a hotel. She’d lain down on the bed and closed her eyes and the warmth and the champagne and the long day at school had done the rest.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, sitting up and pressing the door control.

  The cabin door hissed open, and the Doctor came in. He had a mug in each hand. ‘Thought you might like some hot chocolate. It’ll help you sleep.’

  ‘Believe me, I don’t need any help there.’ Clara took the drink anyway and sniffed it and sipped. ‘Hm. That’s good. I didn’t think they’d have hot chocolate here.’

  The Doctor frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, you know, in the future and everything.’ Clara raised the mug with a smile. ‘Hot chocolate – who knew?’

  ‘Well, it’s not actually hot chocolate. It’s purely synthetic, made by the ship’s drinks machine from recycled waste products.’

  Clara gagged. ‘Waste products?’

  ‘Well, something’s got to be done with all the human excreta. What do you want them to do – just eject it into space? I thought Coal Hill School was keen on recycling.’

  Clara was staring at the mug in her hand. ‘Even so…’

  ‘It’s just a case of mixing the right flavours, anyway,’ the Doctor explained happily. ‘Like colours. Only in this case you just take all the right chemical ingredients from the waste and mix it together to make hot chocolate. Or something that tastes just like it. It all comes down to chemistry in the end, Clara. It was quite fun experimenting, actually.’

  ‘Experimenting?’

  ‘Well I had to make a few adjustments to the drinks machine. And I used a cup of genuine hot chocolate as a control.’ He raised his own mug and took a sip, smacking his lips with relish.

  ‘You’ve got real hot chocolate, then?’

  ‘Well, of course. No point in me trying the synthetic stuff – I knew which was which so it wouldn’t be a true test.’

  ‘So I’m just drinking this recycled…stuff…as a test?’

  The Doctor nodded eagerly. ‘Does it pass? Tell me the truth.’

  ‘It’s…hot.’ Clara put the mug down on the little table by the bunk. ‘I’ll let it cool for a bit.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Doctor…why are we really here? I don’t like the sound of this wormhole thing, and I can’t believe you’ve brought us here just to meet the worm that made it.’

  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t advise meeting a Space Worm. Most human brains can’t cope with them. It would be highly irresponsible of me to introduce you to a Space Worm. But this wormhole wasn’t made by any kind of a worm. It was manufactured.’

  ‘By the Phaeron?’

  The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Beings of great power and massively advanced technology. They practically ran this part of the universe, billions of years ago, crisscrossing the galaxies with their hyperspace conduits.’

  ‘The Phaeron Roads? Do you know much about them?’

  ‘Not really. It’s an era I’ve never visited. It’s taken me nearly 2,000 years to just scratch the surface of time and space, Clara. I can’t know everything. But I do know there’s hardly anything left of them in this time period. Professor Grumpy was very lucky to find the relics she did. That archaeological dig on Ganymede was exceptionally fortunate.’

  Clara caught the Doctor’s tone immediately. ‘Too exceptional?’

  The Doctor pulled a face and shrugged.

  ‘Come on.’ Clara nudged him with her elbow. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  The Doctor blew out a deep breath. ‘According to some legends, the Phaeron were forced to shut down their wormholes by the Time Lords.’

  ‘Your people?’

  ‘Long before my time. Long before your galaxy was fully formed. In those darker days, the Time Lords weren’t so averse to interfering in the affairs of the universe. It’s possible they saw the Phaeron as a threat. Or perhaps the Phaeron had discovered something the Time Lords wanted kept hidden. Either way, they closed down the roads and left the Phaeron to rot.’

  ‘That seems harsh.’

  ‘It was. Without the roads the Phaeron couldn’t function properly. Their once fruitful civilisation withered on the vine.’

  ‘Except for this one last wormhole, right?’

  ‘The last Phaeron Road.’

  ‘Why didn’t the Time Lords shut it down with the others?’

  ‘Because it was hidden. It was a secret road, Clara. Unknown to anyone except the Phaeron.’

  ‘What was it then? A bolthole? Somewhere they could hide until the Time Lords went away?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Clara sat forward, intrigued. ‘What then? Come on, out with it. I can tell that look – like you’ve swallowed a wasp.’

  The Doctor grimaced. ‘Actually, I think I might have got the hot chocolates the wrong way round.’

  Clara took the Doctor’s mug and sniffed it. She pulled a face. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Mixing flavours is harder than it looks.’

  ‘I imagine it depends what flavours you’re starting with. Anyway. Go on. The Phaerons’ last road. Where does it lead?’

  ‘The truth?’ The Doctor stared into space. The intensity of that stare frightened Clara sometimes. It was almost as if the Doctor could see through the spaceship walls and out into space. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it leads to the Andromeda galaxy. But the Phaeron are only part of the problem here.’

  ‘There’s something else?’

  ‘It’s just a rumour. Little more than a legend, in fact. One of those tales that go hand in hand with ancient, lost civilisations…but nevertheless make too much sense to ignore.’

  Clara shivered. The Doctor’s expression was grave, almost as if he was being forced to tread on ground he knew to be unsafe, like a man with no choice but to walk across a minefield.

  ‘You may or may not recall something called the Glamour, Clara. It’s difficult to know because by its very nature it affects people’s perceptions, often in different ways…’

  ‘The Glamour?’ Clara frowned. ‘Yeah, I remember that. It makes itself into whatever you most desire. It can be anything.’

  ‘Indeed. But the Glamour is more than just a bundle of charisma. Its powers of attraction and attention can be malignant. You saw what it did to Lancelot’s knights. That’s why it likes to hide. But shapeshifting is only part of its repertoire of tricks. The fact is no one knows the exact extent of its powers or influence. Is it an artefact? A living thing? Is it sentient? Everyone perceives it in a different way, everyone reacts to it in a different way…and the Glamour feeds off the emotions it provokes. It soaks up desire and revels in jealousy. But it’s very hard to find – and that’s part of its deadly allure.’ The Doctor gave a sad, rueful laugh. ‘You always want what you can’t have.’

  ‘So what’s this got to do with the Phaeron and the wormhole?’

  ‘The Glamour has been lost for centuries now – thank goodness. But the rumour I heard tied the very origins of the Glamour to the Phaeron.’

  Clara sat up. ‘You mean they invented it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But they certainly took it to the grave with them.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think the Glamour is why the Time Lords closed the Phaeron Roads, Clara.’

  ‘You mean they caused an entire race to go extinct just to get rid of the Glamour?’

  The Doctor gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Who knows? I don’t. But if they did…and this last Phaeron wormhole has been left open deliberately…’

  ‘Then there’s a way for the Glamour to get out?’

  ‘With a little help, yes.’

  ‘Help? Who would want to help?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. But we’re currently on board a spaceship heading into the last Phaeron wormhole.’

  Clara felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘So you mean someone on this ship might be under the influence of the Glamour?’

  ‘Everyone wants somet
hing, Clara.’

  Clara thought back. It was easy to see what Professor Vent wanted – to meet the Phaeron, or what remained of them. Marco Spritt wanted the Carthage and his mother. Dan Laker wanted…what? A retirement package for him and Jem? And what about Luis Cranmer or Tanya Flexx – what did they want? Or even Raymond Balfour? He couldn’t possibly want anything – he was rich enough to get everything he wanted. None of them sounded like victims of a mysterious, magnetic power. It was all very confusing.

  ‘We don’t really know enough about them to be sure, do we?’ she asked.

  ‘Perhaps things will become more apparent as we go on.’

  She searched his face for a clue as to whether he really had a plan or not. ‘Maybe we should get to know them better,’ she suggested.

  ‘Best not to get too attached, Clara…’

  ‘What does that mean?’ She glared at him. ‘Because it’s dangerous? Because they might die?’

  ‘We have to tread very carefully now.’

  ‘I don’t think I like what you’re implying. I don’t want to just…watch and wait to see who’s under the influence of this Glamour thing. I want to help them. I want to warn them, to stop them…’

  She stood up abruptly, full of urgency, but the Doctor’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. His eyes bored into hers. ‘You want, you want…Listen to yourself, Clara.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Glamour is the very definition of wanting. It will become exactly what you look for, what you most desire. And the closer you get to it the more it will attract you and exert its power over you. It will hold you in its thrall and suck you dry.’

  Slowly Clara sat back down on the bunk. She was more confused than ever. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Well—’

  In the space of a heartbeat Clara was sent sprawling across the cabin as the ship lurched suddenly to one side. ‘What the hell was that?’

  But the Doctor had already sprung across the cabin and darted out of the door. He nearly ran straight into Marco Spritt, who was looking equally surprised.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Marco demanded.

  The Doctor brushed past him without a word. Clara wondered for a moment what Marco had been doing right outside her cabin but then forgot about it as the Alexandria shook violently, pitching them both from one side of the corridor to the other. Shouts came from various cabins and Clara saw Tanya Flexx’s tousled head appear from an open doorway.