by Doctor Who
It wouldn't make any difference if it wasn't. Just picking that single star and deciding it was home brought some degree of comfort; a comfort only dampened by the thought that even if it were the sun, and even if the Earth was still spinning around it, it might be an Earth 2,500 centuries after her time.
'Dirk! said Amy, looking at his reflection in the mirror,
'what's Earth like?'
Slipstream laughed. 'Earth? Well, I've only been the once, Miss Pond. Y'see, I grew up on Titan.'
'But what's it like?'
Slipstream mulled this over for a moment, and grimaced.
'Far too many tourists,' he said bluntly.
It wasn't the answer Amy had been looking for. She wanted to hear stories about magnificent cities made of glass, or cruise ships that floated through the clouds. She wanted him to tell her about robot butlers, or floating cities.
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Still, what else could he tell her? If she had learned one thing about the future, it was that it was nothing like people said it would be.
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Chapter
8
Charlie sat alone in his quarters, looking at the rifle, now fully charged, that he would never use. He knew that elsewhere on the ship his father and Dr Heeva would be preparing the Nanobomb for detonation, and he felt something, a feeling or an emotion, that he didn't recognise. It was like an aching in his chest, a real and physical pain. It was a mood that hung over him like the darkest of rain clouds.
He thought about Amy and Ahmed, driving across the Gyre in Ella, his buggy, and he realised he would never see them again. He had known Ahmed almost five years. They were the same age, and had joined the crew of the Beagle XXI at the same time. There had been some animosity at first; 87
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Ahmed taunting Charlie, saying he'd only got the job because of his father. Of course, this was true, in part, but soon enough they became friends. They had seen so much of the universe together; each experience new for both of them. Ahmed was not just his friend, he was the best of friends.
But something else was gnawing away at Charlie.
Something he couldn't quite fathom. Everything about that day's events seemed so unlikely. They had been on the Gyre for more than a hundred days, and there had been no answer to any of their distress calls. The Gyre was so remote that years and decades could pass without another ship passing it. And yet, in a single day, they had been joined by not one but two separate parties.
Amy, Charlie had decided, was trustworthy. His years at a university populated largely by humans had given him some understanding of their ways and customs. He knew when humans were lying and when they were telling the truth, most of the time. No, she was fine, and if she trusted the Doctor, then maybe he was fine too.
Which just left Slipstream.
On and on they drove through the dark gully. Biting winds that chilled her to the bone came sweeping through its gloomy, zigzagging corridor. In what little light there was, Amy saw long-forgotten and discarded relics on the side of the path: emptied
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containers, shattered belongings. She saw a plastic doll pinned to the ground by an old oil drum, its hollow eye sockets gazing up at the dark sky, and it made her sad. Sad because maybe its owner had died here, or maybe it had been lost or thrown away.
At last they left the gully and reached the precipice of a vast canyon, across which there lay a wide metal pipe. Ahmed brought the buggy to a halt, the engine still purring away.
'OK! he said. 'This is where we have to be careful.'
Slipstream looked out across the canyon, squinting his eyes and toying with the ends of his moustache.
'Well... At least there's a bridge.'
'Except it's not a bridge,' said Ahmed. 'It's a pipe. As in, it's round. You ever tried steering a buggy on something that's round?'
'Nonsense!' Slipstream snorted. 'Just keep her straight, and drive on into those rushes yonder.'
He pointed across the gorge to where a forest of what looked like tall black reeds were swaying in the wind.
'And that's the other thing! said Ahmed. 'That's where the Sollogs live.'
Slipstream snapped his head in Ahmed's direction, his eyebrows bunching together.
'Sollogs? What in the devil's name is a Sollog?'
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Ahmed looked from Slipstream to Amy. He looked worried. No, more than worried. He looked genuinely terrified.
'They're... they're like slugs! he said. 'Giant slugs.'
Slipstream laughed.
'My dear chap... It'll take more than a few pesky molluscs to get Dirk Slipstream's knickers in a twist. Drive on.'
Ahmed revved the engine again, and took the buggy closer to the edge of the canyon.
'Is there another way?' asked Amy. 'Some other way around that doesn't involve crossing a ridiculously deep canyon and ending up in a swamp filled with giant slugs?'
Ahmed shook his head.
'Like I said, Ahmed, drive on! said Slipstream. 'There's a good chap.'
Taking a deep breath and flexing his smooth, grey fingers around the steering wheel, Ahmed started driving again. They were on the pipe, now, inching their way forward. The giant wheels of the buggy grumbled against the thick metal, flecks and shards of rust falling away and tumbling down into the darkness like orange snowflakes. Each time they hit a slimy, gnarled length of vine the buggy bounced. Amy peered over the side and felt giddy with vertigo.
'Tad faster, if you would...' said Slipstream.
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Ahmed glanced over at him with a resentful sneer, but then snapped his gaze back to the road ahead, if it could be called a road. To either side of them it curved around before falling away altogether. If they over-steered just a little to the left or right they could lose their grip on the pipe, and be sent tumbling down into the bottomless ravine. Amy hadn't breathed in or out in an age.
They were halfway across the bridge when Amy heard it.
Something was tapping on the metal beneath them, like a metallic Morse code.
'Can you hear that?' she whispered.
'Hear what?' asked Slipstream. He sat with one arm slung nonchalantly over the side of the buggy, as if he hadn't a care in the world.
'That tapping,' said Amy. 'Listen.'
'I can't hear anything, Miss Pond. It's your mind... playing tricks with you. That's the thing with ladies, Ahmed, old chap.
They do have a frightful tendency to let their imaginations get the better of them.'
I’m not imagining it!' snapped Amy. 'Listen.'
The buggy drove on another two metres, its passengers silent, and then she heard it again.
'Yeah... I heard that,' said Ahmed.
'Oh, don't you start! Slipstream sneered. 'There's nothing there. Just drive on. That damned comet will have smashed us into atoms by the time we
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get to the other side, at the rate we're going.'
There was another tap, this one louder than the last, and this time they all heard it.
'It's probably nothing. Just a lot of old rust rattling around inside the pi—'
Before Slipstream could finish his sentence they saw it. The Sollog. It crawled up from the side of the pipe with spider-like movements, its slimy trunk squirming between eight gangling, bony limbs. For a moment it just stood there, blocking their path, but then its eyes lifted up on gelatinous stalks, and it stared right at them. Then it hissed.
Slipstream moved fast. Drawing his pistol from its holster, he aimed and fired at the creature, a pulse of green light flashing towards it. The Sollog moved even faster, and dived out of the way, its sucker-like feet clinging to the pipe.
'Damn and blast!' shouted Slipstream.
He took aim and fired again, missing the Sollog but hitting the side of the pipe, splitting it wide open in
a cloud of powdered rust. Slipstream turned to Ahmed, his face contorting with rage.
'Drive!' he yelled. 'Damn you, drive!'
The Sollog hissed at them again and charged at the buggy, ramming into it with shocking force. As Ahmed slammed his foot into the accelerator the back end of the vehicle swerved wildly to the left, one of its wheels slipping down into the gaping hole left by Slipstream's second shot.
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The buggy shook violently and Ahmed was thrown from the driver's seat and onto the pipe. He landed on his side and slid down, further away from the buggy, until he was hanging over the gorge, holding on to the edge of the blast hole by his fingertips.
'No!' Amy screamed, reaching out for him, but it was no use. He was too far away.
Slipstream had already climbed into the driver's seat. He hit the accelerator, and the buggy's wheels spun and howled beneath them.
'What are you doing!' cried Amy. 'We have to help him!'
But Slipstream wasn't listening to her. He drove on along the pipe, the buggy swerving from side to side. With a sudden gasp, Amy climbed up onto the buggy's frame, looking back to where Ahmed was still hanging from the side of the pipe.
Even though the Sollog was still giving chase, scuttling after them with its eight legs a blur of motion, she prepared to jump, closing her eyes, and holding her breath.
'Don't even think about it, Miss Pond,' said Slipstream.
With one hand bracing the steering wheel, he had turned around and had his pistol aimed straight for her. 'Get back where you were.'
Terrified, Amy sat back down, and Slipstream fired another shot at the Sollog. This time the creature was not so lucky, and it burst in a shower of
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dark green gunk. The blast from the pistol slammed straight into the pipe, tearing open another gaping, smouldering wound.
Beneath them, the pipe groaned; a metallic howl that echoed down into the canyon. It shuddered and shook, and slowly they felt it beginning to sag.
Fissures appeared around the second crater left by Slipstream's gun, spreading wider. The pipe was splitting in two.
'No!' said Amy, more to herself than Slipstream. 'No... I've got to help him.'
She closed her eyes again. This was it. She could stay in the buggy, or she could jump out. Slipstream was facing forward again, his eyes focused on the other side of the gorge. This was her chance.
Taking a deep breath she stood and she jumped. The split second before she landed seemed stretched out into an eternity, when all around her became silent, and in that boundless moment she thought about home, and the Doctor, and the dress she might never wear.
She landed on her side with a heavy thump, rolling twice before coming to a stop, and she spread her arms and legs as quickly as she could and held on to the pipe, fearing it might dip once more. Then, when she had gathered herself, she stood and began running back to where Ahmed was still clinging to the gaping hole by his fingertips.
'It's OK!' she shouted. 'I'm coming!'
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She was halfway to him when the pipe groaned again, and now she heard a monstrous crunch as it began to buckle and break. Again, the world slowed down, and she looked back to see Slipstream reach the far side of the canyon, the buggy screeching to a halt. She turned once more to Ahmed, and saw his expression of fear.
Then the pipe broke.
Amy breathed in as the ground beneath her fell away.
Looking down, she saw Ahmed, falling from the pipe, his mouth open in a scream she couldn't hear, before he was swallowed by the darkness.
She turned, and realised she was floating, or rather falling, and she reached out with both hands, grasping at the pipe that had, until seconds ago, been beneath her feet. Her fingers clawed at nothing but its rusty shell until, and not too soon, they found a length of vine, and she clutched at it and held on to it for dear life.
The pipe swung down and slammed into the face of the gorge with a bellowing clang, but still she held on. Then there was silence.
Amy looked up the cliff face to its edge.
'Help!' she screamed. 'Please! Help me!'
After several long and agonising seconds, Dirk Slipstream appeared, leaning over the precipice.
'Help me!' Amy cried once more.
'Oh dear,' said Slipstream. Terribly sorry, Miss Pond. I'm afraid this is where we part company.
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You see... I've got a rather pressing matter to attend to.'
'What?' Amy snapped. 'What are you talking about?'
'It's a shame, really. Always looks good, rescuing girls.
Anyway... So long.'
He offered her a final, mocking wave of the hand before he vanished, and Amy heard the revving of the buggy's engine.
After a few seconds there was silence once more.
Amy clutched at the vine, and though a part of her was screaming and telling her not to, she looked down. The black and bottomless depths of the canyon stretched out beneath her, and looked for just that moment like a vast, malevolent grin.
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Chapter
9
From the tunnel, they climbed a spiral staircase that corkscrewed its way up a dank and gloomy tower, until eventually they came to another chamber, even larger than the last. This one was dimly lit with flickering torches and fluorescent strips that blinked on and off. The chamber's ceiling was supported by columns made from old oil drums, and the central knave was lined with grisly, humanoid statues, cobbled together from shreds of scrap metal.
At the far end of the aisle a large metal panel bearing the image of Gobo, the cartoon clown, was riveted to the wall. The blinking of the fluorescent strips and the flickering of the torches cast twisted, monstrous shadows onto the clown's face.
Beneath
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the image was a raised platform, on which sat a large iron throne.
When they had reached the far end of the knave, the guards dropped the Doctor to the ground, and he landed with a heavy thud.
'Ow!' wheezed the Doctor. 'Easy...'
He heard a drum roll from beyond the chamber, a slow and funereal pounding that grew louder and louder. Tuco had climbed onto the platform's edge, and he held up his staff, his menacing green eyes fixed on the chamber's ceiling.
'In the beginning! he bellowed, 'was the dark blue night and the silence and the empty and the none. And into this came Gobo. Chosen is he who rules this Earth. Chosen is Django the Wise, son of Rojo the Victorious, of the line of Zasquez. All hail Django!'
The guards around the Doctor echoed Tuco's words, and then, from the platform's side, another human entered the chamber. He was tall in stature, and long-limbed, his straggly brown hair reaching down to his shoulders, his face half hidden with a mottled birds nest of a beard. His eyes were wide, the pupils so large they reduced his irises to nothing, making each eye appear as black as obsidian. He gazed down at the Doctor with an almost casual indifference and sat on his throne.
For a moment there was near-silence, the only sound in the chamber the buzzing of the fluorescent
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strips and the gentle but ominous lapping of the torch flames.
When Django breathed it was with a coarse, diseased rattle, like the sound of bare branches creaking in a storm.
'Who is this?' he growled, his deep voice echoing through the chamber.
'He is a heretic! said Tuco. 'Our men found him beyond the canyon, in the valleys. He was with the Sittuun.'
The Doctor was now standing again, brushing the dirt from his jacket and straightening his bow tie. 'I take it you're Django,' he said.
Django stared at him, his manic eyes peering out through the strands of dirty hair that formed a thin veil across his face.
'Yes. I am Django. And who are you?'
'I'm the D
octor.'
Django smiled, a graveyard grin of tombstone teeth. 'And why are you here?'
'Well... I'm here because your people threw a rope net over my head, tied my hands together, dragged me here and then threw me in a cell.'
'Do not joke, Doctor... It won't save your life.'
'Right...' said the Doctor, hesitantly. 'OK... I didn't realise this was a life-and-death situation. Well, OK... Maybe the thought had crossed my mind. But nobody had mentioned it...'
Django grunted, looking across at Tuco. 'You say he's a heretic?'
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Tuco nodded. 'Yes, Master. He spoke about a ship. He said this is not Earth. He claims knowledge of the times before the Earth. Before even Gobo.'
Django gasped, sitting back in his throne and looking at the Doctor with evident disgust.
'What could you know of the times before the Earth, you insolent swine?'
The Doctor paused for a moment. Should he speak again?
He'd tried arguing his point with people like this, of many different species, on many different occasions, and it rarely got him anywhere. Still, what else could he do? He took a deep breath.
'I know who you are,' he said. 'I know what you are. I think I know what this... this world... this place you call Earth... I think I know what it is. Why it's here.'
'Impossible,' Django sneered. 'You can know nothing of these things. They are the knowledge of Gobo.'
'OK,' said the Doctor. 'What about just now? You called me a swine. Do you even know what a swine is? Do you have pigs here?'
Django frowned, turning to Tuco. 'Tuco,' he said. 'What are "pigs"?'
Tuco shrugged.
'See!' said the Doctor. 'You're using words and you don't even know what they mean. Words that got passed down, generation after generation, and
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lost all their meaning. Listen, Django... mate... we can carry on talking about heresy and the Story of Earth and Gobo the Great and Terrible until the cows come home, even if you don't have any cows, but you need to know... Something very bad is about to happen to this place.'
