Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [108]
It was the Quatermaster-Fiscal. ‘We have them, Provost-General. All but one of them.’
Medford acknowledged the report and signed off. When he followed Whitfield, the Doctor and the Patient into the Machine, there was a broad grin on his face. His expression soon changed: this was the first time he had been inside, although he had seen holographs and read all the reports that Whitfield had chosen to release. The room was so mundane compared to the outward appearance of the Machine, almost suspiciously so. It was also a mess: it looked like the aftermath of an electronics firm’s Christmas party, with wires and equipment strewn around the room apparently at random.
‘It’s smaller on the inside,’ he stated.
‘That’s because it is dimensionally immanent,’ the Doctor said casually. Medford frowned.
‘He means that it’s smaller on the inside,’ Whitfield said impatiently. ‘I would prefer a more scientific explanation. I would also ask how and why you have reverted to your original appearance.’
Patience supplied the answer, to the first question at least: ‘In electrokinetic theory space expands to accommodate the time necessary to encompass its dimensions.’
‘Isn’t that what I said?’ the Doctor asked glibly. His attention was occupied by one of the pieces of machinery lining the walls, a large transparent dome. He and Patience moved over to it, and between them they pulled the glass back.
The Doctor reached inside. ‘Might I have my sonic screwdriver back?’
Medford nodded and handed it over. ‘No tricks,’ he warned.
The Doctor smiled, and began to detach one of the mechanisms on the inside rim of the dome. Patience was unclipping wires and cables that ran into it, rerouting them. They had clearly planned this procedure.
‘What are you going to do?’
The Doctor held up a gold sphere. It was about the size of a cricket ball with an elaborate swirling pattern shimmering on the surface. ‘I’ve already finished. This is the Time Control Unit.’
‘You can control the entire Machine through that?’
Medford asked. ‘Yes.’
‘How?’ Whitfield asked.
‘I’ll show you outside. In fact we’ll have to get to a safe distance: these early models are prone to leakage.’
‘To avoid time pollution TARDISes are grown in space, well away from Gallifrey itself,’ Patience said. The Doctor nodded sagely.
Whitfield’s eyes were fixed on the Time Control Unit.
‘That has enough range to work from the research dome?’
The Doctor chuckled. ‘From the other side of the universe.’ He looked over to Whitfield. ‘Put simply, the Stattenhenn Signals are broadcast along the time contours in the Vortex that accommodate the Eye of Harmony simultaneously on Gallifrey and within each TARDIS.
Elementary chronon transduction, really, but a very neat solution.’
‘Give it to me,’ Medford demanded.
‘Unless you are a Gallifreyan, it’s not much use to you,’
the young man informed him as he handed it over.
‘You are Gallifreyan, Doctor,’ Medford replied, ‘but while I have this, you can’t use it.’ The Doctor’s face fell.
The observation gallery was a plastic bubble on the side of the research dome, with an awe-inspiring vista of the crashed TARDIS. The room was lined with high-backed chairs. There were two Adjudicators guarding the door.
‘Might we have two of those chairs together in the centre of the room?’ Medford confirmed the order, and the service drone burbled over to the chairs. When that was done, the drone slotted back into its recharge point. The Doctor and Patience took a chair each. They sat facing each other for a moment, mentally preparing themselves for the task ahead. Finally Medford handed the Time Control Unit to the Doctor, who placed it on the floor between them, careful not to let it roll away.
‘Now what?’ Medford asked. He glanced at his wrist computer which had reached 00:02: 11.
‘We need to concentrate. This process