‘So are we good to go?’ asked Balfour impatiently.
‘Yep,’ said Hobbo. ‘We don’t have a lot of power so every second we wait costs us more.’
‘Right,’ Balfour said, clapping his hands. ‘Everyone find a seat and strap in. Let’s go.’
‘Let’s not,’ said the Doctor.
There was a sharp, unexpected silence as the Doctor’s words echoed around the flight deck. Everybody’s eyes turned to look at him. He stood in the centre of the room, arms folded, resolute.
Balfour frowned. ‘What? Strap in, Doctor. You heard Hobbo: it could be a bumpy ride.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ said the Doctor. ‘But I’m not going to make the journey. None of us are.’
Chapter
20
‘What do you mean?’ Balfour looked confused, almost irritated.
‘Doctor?’ said Clara, uncertain.
The Doctor walked slowly around the bridge, circling Balfour. His eyes were hard. ‘We’re not leaving the time well,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about, Doctor?’ asked Balfour. ‘Look around you! We have the perfect opportunity to leave this place! Stop delaying!’
‘The perfect opportunity?’ repeated the Doctor. He looked around the bridge. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? An old, crashed spaceship that’s still fully functional. What luck!’
‘Doctor,’ said Balfour, forcing patience into his voice, ‘we’re running out of time…’
‘Are we? I thought we were stuck in time. Lodged like a fishbone in its throat.’ The Doctor looked indignant. ‘Time’s been coughing for eternity on this planet, trying to dislodge the blockage. That’s what all those time fluctuations were – poor old Mother Time, gagging and choking to death.’
The spaceship engines were now a deep, background rumble, like thunder before a storm. Clara said, ‘Doctor…’
The Doctor ignored her as his voice hardened. ‘The Carthage entered the wormhole and smashed straight into the Phaerons’ ship, fusing a discrete area of the space-time continuum so that neither could move. Which means the Phaeron never actually completed their journey, as we know. Which means the Glamour is still free to roam – until that journey is completed.’
‘Yes, we know that. So let’s help them do it,’ said Balfour eagerly. ‘Let’s help them finish their mission. If we leave in the Carthage right now, the blockage will be cleared.’
‘The blockage will be cleared, yes,’ agreed the Doctor.
‘We can all survive,’ Balfour added.
‘No.’ The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid we can’t. The Carthage isn’t going to fly – not properly. You might get enough power to blast off – but that will be it. If we’re lucky it’ll explode in deep space and every one of us will be instantly vaporised.’
‘And if we’re unlucky?’ asked Clara, incredulous.
‘Hull integrity will be maintained but life support will fail and we’ll all asphyxiate. Slowly.’
There was an awkward silence for a few seconds.
‘But the ship is workin’,’ said Hobbo. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Is it?’ The Doctor whirled and fixed the young engineer with his fiercest stare. ‘Do you really believe that, Hobbo? Oh, look – everything’s working fine and it’s all shiny and great!’ The Doctor turned to look at the others, each in turn, his eyebrows raised like a teacher challenging his class. ‘Is that what you really think?’
‘Well, it is bit fortunate, I suppose,’ Clara said, uncertainly. ‘But…’
‘But it ain’t possible,’ said Hobbo. ‘It just ain’t.’
‘Then look again, Hobbo,’ said the Doctor gently. ‘All of you, look again. Does this look like a spaceship to you?’
Clara blinked and looked around the bridge once more. She could see the control panels, the flashing lights on the instruments. She could feel the hum of the engines, sense the power contained inside the ship. She wanted to say yes but something was stopping her. Something at the back of her mind, like the distant ringing of a bell. Something in the Doctor’s voice. Something she trusted, almost more than she trusted herself.
She looked again. The control panels were like fossilised lumps of rock, gnarled and cracked and overgrown with weeds. There were no flashing lights, only thin, grey spiders creeping stealthily through the debris. There was no vibration, no engine noise, just a fetid, rotting stench and tendrils of mist creeping across the floor.
‘The Carthage isn’t going anywhere,’ said the Doctor.
Tibby had been watching the entire exchange with increasing anxiety. She cleared her throat, the sound was awkward in the silence. She looked at Balfour and said, ‘You’re not Ray Balfour…are you?’
‘You’re mad,’ said Balfour.
‘You’re the Glamour,’ said the Doctor.
With a sudden roar of anger, Balfour threw the Doctor across the bridge. Then he lunged for the Carthage’s flight controls again, scrabbling through the dirt to ignite the engines.
‘Don’t let him blast off!’ yelled the Doctor.
Jem tried to grab Balfour but he had the strength of a wild animal, shoving her roughly away. Hunched over the controls, he began to hit buried switches and activator panels with a manic urgency. Grime-covered lights flickered and long forgotten circuits sparked into life. An unnatural rumble shook the bridge as if an ancient beast was being woken from a long sleep. Cracks appeared all over the room, sending clouds of dust tumbling to the floor. Metal glinted beneath the calcified shell like the bones glimpsed through ruptured flesh.
‘I’ll take you all with me!’ Balfour grated through gnashing teeth. Spittle flew from his lips. ‘I’ll take you all with me!’
The Doctor dug his long fingers into the nape of Balfour’s neck and squeezed hard. Balfour bared his teeth in pain, his eyes rolling madly, but there was no moving him. The Carthage began to vibrate as if a gigantic swarm of angry hornets was crawling around the bridge, searching for a way in.
Clara and Hobbo took hold of Balfour, each trying to pull one of his clawed hands from the controls, but he seemed to be able to fight both of them and the Doctor.
‘Don’t let him take off!’ the Doctor screamed again. His voice was almost lost in the roar of the ancient engines as they were forced into action.
There was a sudden, bright flash of purple light which arced across the room and struck Balfour directly between the shoulder blades. He threw his head back with a gasp and then sank to his knees.
Tibby Vent stood holding the ion bonder out in front of her in two hands, her face stricken. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said. ‘It’s all I could think of!’
‘It’s a good job you did, too,’ said Hobbo, out of breath. She pushed Balfour away from the controls and the man landed on all fours, saliva drooling from his mouth.
Jem stared at him with a look of fascination and horror. ‘That’s not Balfour,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t look at him,’ ordered the Doctor. ‘Don’t look at him, any of you.’
Clara obediently looked away. She stared at the Doctor instead, although she was still aware of Balfour, hunched on the floor, whimpering like a dog.
‘Tibby and Jem are right; that’s not Raymond Balfour,’ the Doctor said, straightening his jacket. ‘It’s something called the Glamour, taking his form. The Imperfection that the Phaeron are trying to bury. It’s trying to escape from its captors by hitching a ride out of the time well.’
‘But I thought you said the Carthage couldn’t fly?’ said Tibby.
‘It can’t – at least not far enough. This ship just isn’t space worthy any more. Millions of years of entropic decay can’t just be shrugged off in a few minutes.’
Hobbo looked bewildered. ‘But I really believed it could fly. We all did.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘That’s the Glamour at work, doing what it does best – appealing to your desires, taking what you want to believe and amplifying and controlling it. It absorbs every wish you have, your heart’s desire, and throws
it right back to you. We all wanted to believe there was a way out of the time well. We all wanted to believe that the Carthage, having been lost here and waiting for millions of years, could suddenly be made space worthy and fly us all safely out of here. How romantic. How convenient! How impossible.’
‘But what are we going to do?’ asked Clara, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. The Carthage was shaking itself to pieces around them and there was no way out. ‘How can we escape?’
‘In the TARDIS, of course.’
Clara turned to where the TARDIS stood at the back of the room. The police box was resplendently solid and blue, without any sign of peeling paintwork or fungal growths. The windows were clear. The sign over the doors shone with its usual steady reassurance.
‘It’s back again,’ Clara said, her eyes moist at the sight. ‘The way it should be.’
‘The way it always was. The Glamour didn’t want to leave in the TARDIS. It wouldn’t be able to maintain the illusion of itself inside the TARDIS. Its true form and intent would be instantly revealed. No, it had to convince us not to use the TARDIS, and that the Carthage was the only way.’
‘Well,’ Clara sniffed, wiping her eyes, ‘it convinced me.’
‘When did you realise, Doctor?’ asked Tibby.
‘As soon as the TARDIS was returned to me by the Phaeron. I didn’t see what you saw. The TARDIS and I are too close to be fooled by that kind of rubbish, and besides – it’s a time machine. Do you think a few billion years could even touch it? Look at her! Big, bold, beautiful and blue. She’s never let me down.’
‘But…’ Clara said.
‘Why did I play along with the Glamour’s illusion?’ The Doctor’s deep eyes twinkled for a moment. ‘I had to force the Glamour to show itself. At that point, I didn’t know who it actually was.’
‘I knew,’ said Tibby quietly. ‘I knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ray Balfour. It wasn’t anything like the man I…the man I know.’
‘I’m afraid it became all too obvious in the end,’ admitted the Doctor.
‘But if the Carthage had taken off?’ wondered Hobbo. ‘What would have happened?’
‘With luck it might have escaped the time well, but its engines would have failed and life support with it. It would have become a derelict, adrift in deep space. And you would all have perished.’
‘What about the Glamour?’
‘The Glamour doesn’t need air to breathe, or food or water. It could survive for a thousand years, a hundred thousand – for all eternity, perhaps. But someone or something would have picked it up eventually, probably searching for their heart’s desire. The Glamour would have become everything they wanted, and more. And then it would feed on those desires, and grow stronger, and more powerful and influential.’ The Doctor looked sombre. ‘The worst of the Phaeron would have been left at large in an unsuspecting universe.’
‘What about the real Ray Balfour though?’ asked Tibby. ‘Where is he?’
‘I dread to think. Maybe we should ask the Glamour.’
But when the Doctor looked down there was no sign of the thing that had taken Raymond Balfour’s form. ‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Clara said. ‘You told us not to look at him!’
‘Doctor, Jem’s gone too,’ said Hobbo, pointing to the empty pilot’s chair.
The Doctor’s face fell into an expression of horror. ‘Oh no. That’s not good. That’s not good at all.’
‘We have to find her,’ Clara said.
—
Jem followed the limping figure along the darkened corridor. He moved slowly, with an irregular gait, and was clearly injured or unwell. Jem didn’t know where he was headed, but he seemed to be leading her deeper into the ship. The noise of the Carthage’s engines was growing louder all the time. They growled under the floor, vibrating everything in a teeth-rattling jangle.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, hurrying after the shadowy figure.
He didn’t pause, didn’t turn around. He just kept limping, dragging one foot behind him, holding on to the walls for support. Every time Jem thought she was about to catch up, he disappeared around the next corner, or down a flight of steps. At one point, she had to force her way through a curtain of vegetation that had grown up the walls and along the ceiling to hang down in dry, ragged tendrils. Beyond that was a larger room, full of thick cylinders like stacks of giant coins. The noise in here was worse, and it felt as if the whole world was shaking. Smoke curled around the base of the cylinders as they pulsed with blue light.
There was a figure lying on the floor, curled up. Jem saw the tangle of blond hair and realised it was Raymond Balfour. Perhaps he was dead. It didn’t matter. Balfour wasn’t who she was looking for.
‘Where are you?’ Jem called out.
A shadow moved behind one of the cylinders.
‘I know you’re there,’ Jem said. ‘Why don’t you come out? I know who you are.’
The shadow hesitated, turned. Walked slowly forwards, into the light of the cylinders.
‘I always knew who you were,’ Jem said.
‘I didn’t realise it was you,’ said Dan Laker. He looked tired, haggard, and there were bruises on his face. He was still wearing his spacesuit, although it looked damaged and of course the helmet was missing – buried in the snow a million years hence. Laker held himself painfully, hunched over, hurt, still limping.
‘Did you think I’d ever leave you?’ Jem asked, stepping closer.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not ever.’
He came forward, straightening a little. In the flickering light his bruises looked less obvious. He brushed a hand through his hair in the way she remembered and smiled gently at her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ Jem said.
‘I never meant to hurt you,’ Laker told her. ‘The Phaeron took me from the Alexandria as it went over the cliff. I never thought I’d see you again.’
Jem stepped forward again, close enough to touch him. The nearer she got, the better he looked; the bruises faded, the cuts disappeared. He stood taller and stronger.
‘The Carthage is going to explode,’ Jem said. ‘You have to get off this ship.’
‘Let me come with you,’ he said, reaching out.
‘Jem!’ The Doctor’s voice rang out clearly from behind her. ‘Don’t let him touch you.’
She turned to find the Doctor and Clara behind her, at the entrance to the engine room. Tibby and Hobbo were with them. Tibby ran to where Ray Balfour lay on the floor and examined him. ‘He’s breathing. He’s alive. Thank God!’
Hobbo helped Tibby lift him. He looked groggy but unharmed. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Somethin’s about to hit the fan,’ said Hobbo. ‘Get ready to duck.’
The Doctor had his hands out towards Jem, his fingers splayed wide, as if he could somehow control her like a puppeteer. ‘Wait, Jem. Think about this carefully.’
‘I have,’ she replied.
Laker recoiled, backing a little way into the shadows.
‘Leave us alone,’ Jem said. ‘Please. Go.’
‘But that’s not Dan Laker,’ Clara told her. ‘It’s the Glamour. It’s making you believe it’s really Dan, but it’s not.’
‘Don’t listen to them, Jem,’ said Laker.
One of the engine stacks cracked open and a sun-bright flame flickered within, sending long fingers of light out to touch every surface.
‘The Carthage engines are overheatin’,’ yelled Hobbo. The grinding throb of ancient machinery had reached a crescendo while they were talking. ‘Those astronic thrusters have been powerin’ up for literally the first time in eons!’
The Doctor, silhouetted in the madly wavering glare, strode forward and grasped Jem by the arm. ‘We must leave now!’
‘No, Doctor,’ Jem had to shout over the noise. ‘I have to be here! I’m staying with Dan!’
‘That’s not Dan Laker!’ the Doctor repeated fiercely.
The ground shook suddenly and another engine stack split from top to bottom. Blazing fingers of energy groped around the room, found nearby stacks, began to dig in. The Doctor started forward but a brilliant arc of white energy crackled between him and Jem. Clara grabbed hold of the Doctor and pulled him back, yelling for him to keep away.
Jem held out her hand to Laker. He took her in his arms and smiled at the Doctor and Clara.
‘No!’ Clara screamed.
‘It’s not Dan Laker,’ the Doctor said again, his voice full of despair.
‘I know,’ Jem said. And then she tightened her grip on Laker, digging her fingers in hard to make sure he couldn’t get away.
A blue glow enveloped them both, tendrils of energy flickering out to connect with the engine stacks. The glow deepened, and out of the blue stepped three tall, hooded figures.
‘The Phaeron!’ Clara gasped.
We make the final journey
The Doctor looked astonished. ‘No, you can’t…’
‘I have to make sure,’ Jem said, still holding Laker tight. ‘I have to make sure the Phaeron take it with them. We have to go into deep time together.’
The Phaeron reached out to Laker and Jem. Laker snarled, twisting suddenly this way and that, but Jem held him fast in her arms. Laker’s face elongated, becoming aquiline and pointed like a beak, and his eyes disappeared into wide black holes on either side of a skinless head. Clara had once seen a crow’s skull and it did not look dissimilar. The sharp beak cracked open and the shoulders drew up behind it, suddenly hunched and scrawny. The eye sockets filled with balls of squirming grey things and a thin, keening wail rose above the thundering roar of the engines.
And then the Phaeron drew back into the blue glow, taking the keening thing with them, and Jem also, and then more engine stacks split and the unleashed energy whipped around the room.
‘For pity’s sake, get outta there!’ Hobbo grabbed hold of both the Doctor and Clara and pulled them away. They turned and, together with Tibby and Balfour, they ran for their lives as the Carthage disintegrated around them.
Deep Time Page 18
