Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [88]
In a far corner, surrounded by junk, was a dull grey, battered old TT booth with an obsolete Type 40 marker on the door.
The key was in the lock.
As the Doctor stepped inside the doomed TARDIS, he heard a fresh clamour of alarms from close by.
Beyond its tight dimensional gate, the ship's interior opened out impossibly. Its spacious console room was gloomy and neglected. A cobweb lifted and rippled on the central console. Several panels had been lifted off to expose the complex inner circuitry.
The Doctor tore away the cobweb and blew off the dust. Instantly, the sluggish hum of power edged up a tone. A gold light began to glimmer weakly behind the honeycomb of roundels that covered the wal s.
The place felt welcoming.
The Doctor put down his bag.
There were banks of instruments around the room and a couple of overturned chairs. Beyond a door, there was the glimpse of a shadowy passage leading deeper.
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He pondered the control panels with a degree of glee and selected the brass button marked DOOR.
There was no response. The power was all but drained. The light guttered and the ship's hum died.
The Doctor drummed his fingers in frustration.
Something whooshed. The black box was suddenly hovering beside him.
'Yes, I wondered when you'd catch up with me,' he said. 'So you think you can come along too, do you? Well, that's all very wel , my friend. But since we have neither the luxury of a pilot nor of any power, perhaps you can suggest a way to fly this thing.'
The box whirred. Its lid opened a crack. The white furnace inside winked at him. He could feel its energy softly saturating the air.
The ship gradually began to hum again. A more confident, assertive hum. The light in the room began to rise. A screen attached to the ceiling flickered into life, showing a group of Agency guards moving methodically across the dock area outside. One of them carried a gun.
The Doctor pressed the DOOR button again. This time, the heavy double doors buzzed and swung shut. The central glass column of the console juddered. The complex instruments inside turned back and forth. Lights twinkled among the circuits.
By now, the ship was throbbing with energy. 'Remarkable, remarkable!' enthused the Doctor. 'All this power, from an ancient antiquity!'
There was a loud clang. On the screen, he could see the guards gathering around the ship.
'Well, it appears that my future is in your hands ... or should I say Hand, eh? Hmm?' His shoulders heaved with little gusts of mirth.
A light showed beside an unmarked dial. The Doctor glanced at the box. It gleeped at him. He reached out and gave the dial a twist.
The air grated with the roar of engines. An undulating grinding like something tearing open the fabric of reality. The glass column rose and fell, its inner carousel of instruments turning. Switches and levers adjusted by themselves.
The ship jolted and the screen picture vanished.
The Doctor turned pale and fell against one of the chairs.
Then the commotion stopped. The column sank and fell silent. The light dimmed and a voice spoke out of the air.
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'This ship is on an unauthorized vector. Transportation into the Backtime of the Gallifreyan continuum is forbidden.
You are being tractored back to Time Traffic Control for further questioning.'
The Doctor, already on hands and knees, turned to the box. 'Where were you taking me? Hmm?'
The ship shook and the light turned red.
'Well? This is a fine pickle,' he complained. 'So what do you intend to do about it?'
The box rose steadily in the air. It whirred across the console room and hovered its bulk above the glass column.
The air started to thrum. The Doctor covered his ears as red light flickered around him.
'Warning!' He could still hear the voice. 'The resistance of a recal summons is an offence. You cannot breach the Backtime Field Buffers. Abandon this vector immediately!'
A trembling seized the ship. Forces wrenched at its structure. The box opened its lid