Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [115]
The Doctor stepped forward, stopping only when he was mere feet away from the pattern. There was a man pinned to the wall, stuck to the grey concrete, as if he’d been crucified against the equation. A total stranger, here in the TARDIS. The Doctor wasn’t sure what was holding the man in place, but his limbs were splayed out at peculiar angles, and by the look of him one of his arms had been broken.
Was this a warning? A dead body dumped on board the TARDIS by the High Council, as a way of telling the Doctor to stay in line? Was that the idea?
No. The man was still breathing. He seemed quite young, although there were wrinkles forming around his mouth, and patches of his skin had been scraped raw on his face. His hair was curly and brown, but matted with sweat and… was that blood? Possibly. The stranger’s clothes looked positively Edwardian, not entirely unlike the Doctor’s, although obviously nowhere near as stylish. The man’s eyes looked as though they’d been welded shut, but at least his face seemed peaceful. Asleep, rather than unconscious.
Then he woke up. The Doctor took a step back.
‘Hello,’ the man said, as he opened his eyes. His eyelids were wet and heavy, and he tried to turn his head towards the Doctor as he spoke. ‘What are you doing up there?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘“Up” where?’
‘Up there. That… floating thing you’re doing.’ The man’s voice sounded as though it had suffered as much as his body, but you could tell he was trying to hide it.
‘I assure you, I’m not floating,’ the Doctor told him. ‘I’m standing in front of you.’
The man paused, then shook his head. There was something familiar about him, no doubt about it. The Doctor got the feeling he’d seen the man before somewhere, but the circumstances had been so horrifying that he’d blotted it all out of his mind.
‘Not possible,’ said the intruder. ‘I’m lying on the floor. Floor of this prison cell. So you must be floating.’
Lying? The Doctor examined the wall behind the man, and realised for the first time that it really was concrete, not some kind of TARDIS simulation. The man wasn’t on board the TARDIS at all, then. He was in another space entirely, and somehow the two spaces had been knotted together here in the darkness. Yes, that was it: this passageway was a kind of neutral zone between the two spaces, and the TARDIS had put a little wooden door in front of it to alert him to its presence.
That was when the Doctor worked it out. When he took another look at the red lines on the wall, and finally recognised the hand that had drawn them, even though he knew that the hand in question must have regenerated several times.
‘Good grief,’ said the Doctor. ‘This isn’t right at all. You really shouldn’t be here, you know.’
The man thought about that for a moment. ‘Let’s see. Third incarnation. That means… ah. Where are you? I mean… where’s your TARDIS now?’
‘We’re in flight. We’ve just left Quiescia.’
The man from the future tried to nod. ‘And before that… Peladon. I remember. Is… Sarah with you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s it. I was… careless. When I drew the equations. Her timeline’s mixed up with mine. Must have made a few links between time zones that… I didn’t mean to make. I’m… sorry.’
He was obviously having difficulty speaking, although the Doctor wasn’t sure whether it was something to do with what had been done to his body, or whether he just needed sleep. It occurred to the Doctor that whatever had happened to the man in the pattern was destined to happen to him one day, but he didn’t dwell on it.
Suddenly, the man seemed alert.
‘No,’ he said.
‘No?’ said the Doctor.
‘No. That’s not it. It’s not… it’s not just me. There’s something else.’ The Doctor scratched the back of his head. ‘Look, I’m sorry, old chap. You