Deep Time

by Trevor Baxendale

  The Doctor stepped forward, his face drawn and sombre. ‘I hope you’re not planning to activate any of these stasis tanks, Marco, because that would be a horrible mistake.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Marco replied. More lights were flickering on along the hallway, and a low, steady hum could be heard.

  ‘I always knew you were an idiot, Marco,’ said the Doctor. ‘But this is taking idiocy to a completely new level. You don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I know exactly what I’m doing,’ Marco snapped. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth. He pointed the ion bonder at the Doctor’s chest. ‘Take another step towards me and you get it.’

  ‘Oh, I get it, all right,’ nodded the Doctor. ‘Poor little Marco’s come looking for his mummy. Well, Marco…’ The Doctor pointed at the stasis tank. ‘Is this your mummy?’

  The tank had lit up from within. A chime sounded as the machinery inside reached its optimal level. A long metal screen slid back, up into the slope of the wall, shedding dust and grime and lichen as it disappeared into a narrow slot. Beneath it was a transparent lid, and under that could be seen a prone figure. It wasn’t clearly visible because the plasteel window had clouded with age.

  Marco glanced down at the tank nearest to him, and then quickly looked back at the others. He kept the ion bonder level, his finger shaking on the activator. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

  ‘I don’t want to, believe me,’ said the Doctor. He regarded Marco with baleful, hooded eyes. ‘In fact, I’d advise you to step away yourself.’

  ‘You’re spoiling this!’

  All along the hallway, more of the stasis units were illuminating, humming, the metal hatches sliding back with long, grinding noises. Inside each one was the shape of a human being.

  But Marco was only interested in the tank next to him. He grabbed Tibby and pulled her tight against him, pressing the ion bonder into the side of her neck.

  Hobbo, who had been moving steadily, slowly forward as the Doctor talked, froze in her tracks. ‘Hey, don’t be stupid, Marco. You could kill her with that.’

  ‘Just stay where you are!’ Saliva flew from Marco’s lips as he kept Tibby positioned in front of him, the ion bonder jammed against her throat. His eyes turned to look down at the stasis unit as the plasteel window cracked away from its housing with a soft, pneumatic hiss and lifted on a hinge to reveal what lay within.

  Tibby let out a gasp of horror. Lying inside the tank was the dark husk of a person. The skull was covered in a thin layer of dry flesh, shrunk tight to the bone, the eye sockets nothing but withered creases. Grey hair hung, stiff and brittle, against the shoulders.

  ‘Oh no,’ Marco said, choking. ‘Oh no, please no, tell me it’s not true…’

  ‘They’re dead, Marco,’ said Tibby. ‘They’re all dead.’

  Every tank had opened to reveal a similar sight: a shrivelled corpse. Not one of the Carthage crew had survived.

  ‘There wasn’t enough power left to keep the stasis tanks goin’,’ said Hobbo quietly. She almost sounded sorry for Marco. Almost. ‘They were never gonna last, you dumb fool.’

  ‘It’s terrible,’ said Clara, holding the Doctor’s arm. A fetid stench was beginning to fill the hallway and she covered her mouth.

  ‘It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,’ said the Doctor. ‘This entire spaceship is contained in a massively fluctuating time field. Those stasis units work on time suppression fields. The two things won’t mix.’

  ‘What’ll happen?’ Clara asked.

  ‘I dread to think.’

  Marco bared his teeth. ‘Shut up! Stop talking, all of you!’ His eyes were fixed on the cadaver in the stasis unit. The thing that had once been his mother, someone he had never even known alive. He could not look away from the grinning skull.

  Hobbo wanted to move closer, but she could see the knuckles on Marco’s hand were white where they gripped the ion bonder. At this range the damage to Tibby Vent would be instantly fatal. Hobbo dared not move. ‘For pity’s sake, Spritt,’ she said. ‘Get away from there.’

  ‘No…’ Marco breathed. A look of complete despair overtook his twisted features. He was still staring at the corpse in the tank. The skeletal remains within were already crumbling. A shimmering field of displaced air slowly expanded from within the tank, carrying the dust of ages with it.

  ‘Oh no…’ said Tibby.

  ‘Doctor, what’s happening?’ Clara demanded.

  ‘The temporal suppression field inside the tank is reacting with the time field outside. What that means is anyone’s guess.’

  Marco let out a long, low groan, reaching out to the emaciated husk in the casket. His hand closed on the flaking remains, and dust ran through his fingers.

  ‘Stop! Stop it!’ he screamed. ‘Mother!’

  Tibby grabbed the ion bonder and twisted it out of Marco’s hand, pulling away and running to the Doctor and Clara as Marco continued to scream.

  The conflicting time fields enveloped Marco and he started to change. Hair erupted from his head in a sudden, greying torrent, a beard curling out of his face, whitening and fading as the skin beneath aged and sagged.

  ‘Time acceleration!’ said the Doctor. ‘We’ve got to get away from here!’

  Marco’s teeth cracked open and his jawbone, rotting at the hinge, fell away to reveal a twisted, blackened tongue. He was still screaming.

  The Doctor pulled Tibby and Clara away, herding them with Hobbo and Jem back through the airlock.

  The last they saw of Marco Spritt was the papery flesh splitting and falling away from his bones. He let out a final, clotted shriek of agony as the Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at the airlock. The tip flashed green and a shrill whine filled the corridor. Slowly, and with a terrible, metallic grinding noise, the airlock door began to move. It jerked along runners in the bulkhead, dislodging weeds and spiders, and then finally clicked home. The sounds of the stasis chamber were abruptly cut off.

  Chapter

  18

  ‘What just happened?’ asked Clara shakily. ‘How could anyone age so quickly?’

  ‘The time fields cancelled each other out,’ the Doctor said. ‘Nothing but ashes in there now.’

  ‘That was a terrible thing for anyone to see,’ said Clara. She looked sadly at Tibby. ‘Are you all right?’

  Tibby nodded. ‘Better now that I’m out of there.’

  Clara took the opportunity to pull off the rest of her spacesuit. Her work clothes were rumpled and in need of the washing machine, and the very thought of the simple, mundane chores of everyday life was both surreal and reassuring.

  The Doctor was fiddling with his sonic screwdriver again, eyebrows working hard. He clicked it open and swept it around the passageway, taking a number of readings.

  ‘What is it?’ Clara asked, noticing the ever-deepening frown of worry on his face.

  ‘I’m scanning for the TARDIS…but not picking up any signal at all now. Not even a weak one.’

  Clara felt a flutter of anxiety. ‘Then where is it?’

  ‘I have no idea. I was getting so close…the signal was weak, but now there’s just nothing.’ His eyes were suddenly full of clouds. ‘Nothing at all.’

  The Carthage was now utterly silent. The five of them huddled together as the stillness closed in around them. ‘Feels like the place is suddenly deserted,’ said Clara with a shiver. Her voice echoed back and forth along the passageways.

  The Doctor had taken out his key to the TARDIS and held the tip of the sonic screwdriver against the metal. The screwdriver glowed green but nothing happened to the key and he let out a hiss of annoyance.

  ‘What was that supposed to do?’

  ‘I thought I might be able to boost the TARDIS signal through the key,’ he said. ‘If the TARDIS was anywhere here or now the key would glow.’

  ‘It’s not glowing,’ Clara noted.

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Screwdriver and key disappeared back into his pockets and the Doctor ran his fingers backw
ards and forwards through his untidy grey hair. ‘Come on, Doctor! Think! You’re missing something, you silly old fool.’

  ‘We’re stuck here, aren’t we?’ said Tibby quietly.

  The Doctor suddenly stood up straight, one long bony finer held up like an aerial above him. ‘Question!’ he said loudly. The word echoed around and around. ‘What’s the Carthage doing here?’

  They all looked at him but didn’t say a word.

  The Doctor’s eyes were like little bright sparks in the gloom, his curly hair fizzing out of the top of his head as if it could barely contain the energy inside. ‘I mean, what’s the Carthage actually doing here?’ he repeated.

  ‘It’s not doing anything,’ said Clara.

  ‘Exactly.’ The Doctor beamed. ‘It’s not doing anything. But it should be. It should be falling back through time like the rest of us were. There hasn’t been another time flux since we all arrived here, and there’s no sign of another one happening. Why?’

  ‘I don’t think any of us really know why,’ said Tibby.

  ‘Yes you do,’ said the Doctor. ‘You just said it yourself a second ago but I was too stupid to listen.’

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Clara.

  ‘She said, “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?” ’ The Doctor looked at them each in turn, meeting each individual gaze. He gave Tibby Vent a wink and she smiled uncertainly. ‘We’re stuck. The Carthage is stuck.’

  ‘And knowing that helps us…how?’ asked Clara.

  ‘Since we crashed on this planet we’ve been falling backwards in time, millions of years. Think of it like a well. We came in at the top and fell down the well. Deeper and deeper. If we look up, we can just see daylight, a tiny little disc of light no bigger than a coin. But we drop again, even further, until that little disc of light is just a dot – and then nothing. We can’t even see the opening any more, we’re so deep. It’s dark. It’s cold. We’re alone.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ve just reached the bottom of the well,’ suggested Tibby.

  ‘Yes, that’s a good theory,’ the Doctor said, ‘but it doesn’t fit here. Because there is no bottom to time. It just goes deeper and deeper, for ever.’

  ‘But we’re stuck?’ prompted Hobbo.

  ‘And there has to be a reason for that,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘Perhaps I can help you there, Doctor.’

  It was a voice none of them expected. They all turned together to see a man standing at the end of the passageway. His hand was raised in greeting, and there was a bright, cheery smile on his tanned face.

  ‘Balfour!’

  They rushed to greet him but Balfour held up his hands. ‘We’ve no time for all that, I’m afraid…’

  ‘But where have you been?’ demanded Tibby. ‘We’ve been worried sick!’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Clara. ‘The last time we saw you was in the jungle, just before—’

  ‘I know,’ Balfour smiled again. ‘I woke up with you here. There was no sign of Tibby or Marco. You were out cold so I went to look for help. I wandered around the place for absolutely ages – but I did eventually find something that might be of use.’

  There was a collective gasp of approval and relief and everyone started talking at once.

  ‘What, exactly?’ asked the Doctor, speaking louder than anybody else.

  ‘There’s a way out of here,’ Balfour said. ‘Back to our own time.’

  ‘Oh thank goodness!’ exclaimed Tibby.

  ‘That’s fantastic news,’ said Clara.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you!’ Balfour said happily.

  ‘Looks like we may not be stuck after all, eh, Doc?’ said Hobbo.

  The Doctor said nothing. He followed Clara and the others as Raymond Balfour led them further through the Carthage’s ancient interior.

  ‘You won’t believe it,’ said Balfour as they walked. ‘I didn’t when I saw it. But I think you’re going to be very pleased…’

  He led the way up a sloping section and through a wide, rusted airlock. They followed him into a circular room not dissimilar to the flight deck on the Alexandria. Lights glowed dimly in the ceiling and around the walls, and on some of the instrument panels.

  ‘Welcome to the bridge of the Carthage!’ said Balfour, waving a hand grandly around the chamber.

  ‘Hey, it looks like it’s still in workin’ order,’ said Hobbo in surprise, checking some of the control panels. The metal was rusted and patched with lichen, and there were thin weeds sprouting here and there, but it wasn’t beyond imagining that the ship could still fly. ‘I said these things were built to last, didn’t I?’

  Hobbo was delighted, eagerly checking one control panel after another. Balfour beamed happily.

  But Clara noticed that Jem did not look so pleased. Tibby saw it too. The astrogator, who had been quiet for a long time now, seemed close to tears.

  ‘Jem, what’s the matter?’ Clara asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. She reached out a hand and held on to Clara for support. ‘I…I don’t feel so good. It’s like I’m not properly here.’

  The Doctor examined her closely, lifting her face towards his so that he could look into her eyes. ‘What is it, Jem? Is it the voices? Is it the Phaeron?’

  ‘They’re coming,’ Jem said.

  ‘Who are coming?’ asked Balfour. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The deeper we fell through time, the more Jem became attuned to the Phaeron,’ explained the Doctor. ‘They are more advanced, and more dangerous than I ever realised. They are practically made of dark matter – and Jem’s senses are telepathically attuned to dark matter.’

  ‘The Phaeron are still alive?’ Tibby said, almost breathless with excitement.

  ‘Not in any way you or I can understand,’ the Doctor said. ‘They exist outside and at one with time and space. That’s why we keep seeing glimpses of them – the blue wraiths – and Jem has been able to communicate with them, after a fashion. It’s not perfect, but—’

  ‘They are coming,’ blurted Jem suddenly, her voice descending to a low growl. ‘They are coming.’

  The Doctor stared intensely at her. ‘That’s good. I have some questions I’d like to ask them.’

  ‘Doctor, are you sure that’s a good idea?’ asked Clara.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘They are coming,’ Jem repeated loudly.

  At the centre of the bridge a blue glow had appeared in the air. It grew brighter and expanded, forming the shape of a tall, humanoid figure in long robes and a hood. Two others appeared on either side of the first, similarly robed. As they materialised their features became visible: long, birdlike faces with large, dark eyes. They stared unblinkingly at the people gathered before them.

  ‘We are here,’ said Jem, as if she was in a trance. ‘We are the Phaeron.’

  We are the Phaeron

  They didn’t speak aloud but the voices boomed in the minds of everyone in the room. Clara heard and understood, even though the Phaeron never actually spoke, and judging by the reactions of those around her, they all understood as well. It wasn’t painful but every word seemed to fill her mind when the Phaeron spoke, blotting out every other conscious thought.

  We are the Phaeron

  Tibby Vent stood directly in front of the central figure and cleared her throat. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Yes

  Tibby gasped, pressing her fist into her lip with barely suppressed glee.

  ‘Remarkable,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Are they actually here, then? The Phaeron?’ Clara asked him quietly.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘How are we communicating?’

  ‘They’re using Jem as a sort of telepathic loudhailer,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Will she be OK?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out.’ The Doctor stepped up onto the central podium to face the Phaeron. He took a deep breath before speaking. ‘I’m the Doctor. Pleased to meet you at last.’

  We know you Ti
me Lord

  The Doctor looked a little startled. ‘You do? Oh. That’s…interesting. Good. I’ve not had the pleasure?’

  We are the Phaeron

  ‘Yes, getting that, thank you very much. How are you communicating with us? I mean, I know you’re using our friend Jem here as a kind of mouthpiece, and I do hope you’re treating her gently, but given that your entire race is extinct…how can we be talking to you now?’

  We are the Phaeron

  ‘OK, I think we’ve hit a snag,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘They sound like a recording,’ said Clara.

  The Doctor clicked his fingers. ‘That’s because it is a recording! It’s a message – left for us here at the centre of the Carthage.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Tibby crossly. ‘You can’t talk to a recording.’

  ‘It depends how sophisticated the recording is.’ The Doctor quickly scanned the Phaeron with his sonic screwdriver. ‘These are perceptual-telepathic messages from the Phaeron. Interactive recordings working off an artificial intelligence. There are no living Phaeron, Tibby. I’m sorry. What we’re seeing are still ghosts.’

  We have been waiting

  We are trapped

  ‘So they’re stuck here as well,’ the Doctor said. ‘Isn’t that interesting?’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Clara.

  In the time of the Phaeron, all the stars and the planets and their moons belonged to us

  ‘Modest too,’ said the Doctor.

  The universe was ours

  There were no others

  Our time was Perfect

  We were Perfect

  The Doctor pulled a face. ‘Not so modest now.’

  We travelled on the Phaeron Roads

  ‘Old news,’ said Clara.

  The universe was ours

  There were no others

  Then the Imperfection came

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘The Imperfection?’ repeated the Doctor. ‘We’ve been hearing a lot about that now. What happened?’

  It spoiled the Phaeron

  ‘What are they talking about, Doctor?’ asked Tibby. ‘I don’t understand.’

  It was Imperfect

  ‘It was evil’, realised the Doctor. ‘Think about it: the Phaeron practically owned the universe. They were here before anyone else. “There were no others.” It was a paradise. The Phaeron had built their own Eden. A perfect civilisation. Imagine that! No hunger, no poverty, no envy, free travel and health care, unlimited data usage and free Wi-Fi. They could go anywhere they liked, do anything they liked. There was nothing to stop them, nothing to interfere.’