Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [45]
Leaving the IRIS machine for later, he hurried out of the lab, Turlough scurrying behind him. They crossed a courtyard with a white marble fountain in the shape of a cherub, and strode along a narrow cobbled street reminiscent of Victorian England, complete with what appeared to be a starry night sky overhead, before finally emerging in one of the TARDIS‟s innumerable, identical corridors. The Doctor halted, raised a finger as if to point right, then abruptly spun to the left. Several twists and turns later they reached the console room.
The Doctor dashed inside and began to scamper around the console, making all the necessary checks. Turlough stood to one side, arms folded, but turned his head when the Doctor operated the scanner to see what awaited them outside.
It looked neither encouraging nor welcoming. They saw metal support girders, covered in rust, trickling with moisture. Part of a wall, part of a bulkhead, the whole thing soaked in brownish, penumbral light. That was all.
„Are we inside what landed in the sea?‟ Turlough asked doubtfully.
The Doctor continued to stare at the screen for a moment as if he could see something that Turlough couldn‟t. Then he said, „Let‟s find out, shall we?‟ and operated the door lever.
Two things struck Turlough as soon as they stepped outside: the cold and the smell. The chill was motionless and permanent, like the inside of a refrigerator. The smell was worse than the cold, though. It was like too many bad things all rolled into one. Rotting fish, rancid meat, large sweaty animals, the dankness of decaying vegetation.
He took a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his nose and mouth. He glanced at the Doctor, who seemed unaffected by the stench. The Doctor was looking around the vast, high-ceilinged area, which appeared to be some kind of cargo bay (or perhaps shuttle bay, although there were no shuttles to be seen) with a mixture of caution and keen interest. Turlough said, „What is that awful smell?‟
The Doctor sniffed the air as if he couldn‟t detect it otherwise. „It smells like putrefaction,‟ he said matter-of-factly, „but I don‟t think it is. I suspect it‟s some kind of musk.‟
„Musk?‟ said Turlough, looking around nervously. „You mean there are animals down here?‟
„Or were,‟ said the Doctor. He moved across to a bulkhead door on the far side of the room, some two hundred yards away, his feet reverberating hollowly on the metal floor.
Rusty water dripped from above. When a spot landed on the Doctor‟s head, he stopped, glanced up ruefully, then unfolded his hat from his pocket and put it on. Reluctant though he was to leave the protective confines of the TARDIS, Turlough stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and followed, glancing around nervously, all but wringing his hands. He kept thinking he glimpsed movement in the clotted brown areas of shadow, but each time he turned to look there was never anything there.
He caught up with the Doctor by the bulkhead door. The Doctor had perched a pair of half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose and was engrossed in an examination of the control panel beside it. Half-turning, he said, „What do you make of this?‟
Turlough looked, though without much enthusiasm. The panel was a mess; the cover had been prised off and a mass of trailing wires linked the unit to a greenish component that looked more like a spiny shell than a piece of technology.
This in turn was linked to what appeared to be some kind of circuit board, which had various other bits and pieces attached to it.
„It‟s a bit of a mishmash,‟ Turlough said, shrugging. „So what?‟
The Doctor looked at him, a little pained by his lack of interest. „What if I were to tell you that there are at least...
oh, seven separate technologies evident here?‟
Turlough feigned interest and asked, „Is that significant?‟
„It means that whoever these visitors are, they‟re very resourceful,‟ said the Doctor. He paused for a moment, then added, „I don‟t think they crashed. I think they landed here deliberately.‟
„So their