Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [36]
Now, temporarily defeated, he glared at the eclectic jumble of equipment beeping and whirring around him, and hoped that his more long-term endeavours would provide the breakthrough he was looking for. He perfunctorily checked a multi-rack of test tubes in which samples of the infected man‟s blood had been mixed with a variety of potential neutralising agents, and a row of petri dishes in which various cultures were growing, then he trudged out of the laboratory and out of the TARDIS, and remained lost in thought and almost oblivious to his surroundings until he reached the Lombard Hotel.
„Where‟ve you been?‟ Turlough asked a little plaintively, throwing open his door before the Doctor had finished knocking on it.
„Here and there,‟ said the Doctor briskly. „Where‟s Tegan?
She didn‟t answer my knock.‟
„She‟s gone out, again,‟ said Turlough, as if he disapproved.
„Out? Out where?‟
„She said she had a date.‟
The Doctor stared at Turlough as if searching for signs of duplicity. Turlough shrugged, looking sulky, „Someone she met last night apparently. She said she‟d be back later.‟
„I see,‟ murmured the Doctor, looking concerned. „I do hope she‟ll be careful.‟
Turlough raised his eyebrows. „I‟m sure Tegan is quite capable of looking after herself, Doctor.‟
„Oh, I‟m sure she is, in the normal run of things,‟ the Doctor said, „but there are some dangers that are not immediately apparent.‟ Abruptly he bustled past Turlough and into his room. Crossing to the dressing table, he pulled open the top left-hand drawer and began rooting through it.
Turlough looked indignant and, despite himself, somewhat guilty, „What are you looking for?‟
„Nothing incriminating,‟ said the Doctor pointedly. „Ah!‟
Turlough was still blushing at the oblique reference to his past as the Doctor pulled out a sheet of writing paper and a pen, both emblazoned with the hotel‟s name. His hand moved in a blur as he applied pen to paper. Even as Turlough was opening his mouth to ask, „What are you doing?‟, the Doctor was folding the sheet neatly in half and striding back to the door.
„Come along, Turlough,‟ he said before his companion could speak.
Turlough spluttered a little, then his voice became plaintive again. „Where are we going?‟
„I‟ve an appointment with some old friends of mine.‟ The Doctor offered a disarming grin. „One of them‟s an old friend of yours too.‟
Turlough hated these manic bursts of energy that gripped the Doctor sometimes. All he could do was scurry along in his wake, wishing he knew what was going on. By the time he had reached the ground floor - the Doctor having bounded down the stairs ahead of him, of course, too impatient to wait for the lift - Turlough was wheezing and gasping like an asthmatic.
In the reception area, the Doctor‟s straight, blond hair whipped about his face as he looked quickly around. Seconds later he was striding towards a trio of payphones in an alcove beside the main doors. As the Doctor made a call, Turlough took the opportunity to recover his breath. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief as he watched the Doctor speak rapidly into the phone, put it down, cross to the reception desk and hand the receptionist the folded sheet of paper before re-joining him.
„Why all the subterfuge, Doctor?‟ Turlough protested.
The Doctor looked puzzled. „Subterfuge?‟
„Why won‟t you tell me what‟s going on?‟
„No time for explanations, the Doctor said. „If we‟re to prevent an epidemic we need to make good use of every available second.‟
„An epidemic?‟ said Turlough, baffled. „An epidemic of what?‟
„I don‟t know yet,‟ the Doctor admitted sombrely, then abruptly perked up again. „Come along, we‟ll wait outside.‟
Turlough gave a groan of exasperation as the Doctor strode off once more, heading for the main doors. He descended the wide stone steps to the pavement two at a time, then prowled back and forth in front of the hotel like a caged tiger, scrutinising the oncoming traffic.
Turlough sat down on the low wall outside the hotel and folded