Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [57]
‘It’s all true,’ she said grimly. ‘Come in. It’s bloody freezing. I’ll fetch the Doctor – he’s in the TARDIS.’
She dashed out the back door, relieved that a grown-up had arrived. All right, all right, she thought, pushing open the TARDIS door and running in, that wasn’t entirely fair. But the Doctor’s personality whipped back and forth between a sage and a young boy, with very few stops in the middle ground of dull, but sometimes extremely welcome, adulthood. He wasn’t in the console room, and she darted down a corridor, calling for him.
Inside, Lethbridge-Stewart poured himself a Scotch and sat down in one of the club chairs, stretching his feet towards the fire. Typical of the Doctor’s hospitality that he should keep liquor when he didn’t drink. The fire was pleasantly warm. Lethbridge-Stewart had no doubt that a similar one was burning in all the fireplaces of the house. He looked around the room. Same as always.
Simple and comfortable, which was odd since the Doctor was a complex, uncomfortable being. Maybe one of him Lethbridge-Stewart had never met, past or future, had actually furnished the place.
There were a few oil paintings – fine small nineteenth-century English landscapes. Lethbridge-Stewart was fairly certain one of them was a Constable. No portraits, which wasn’t surprising, but no photographs either – neither of the Doctor alone nor with any of his companions. That made sense on a security level here, but the Brigadier doubted there were any in the TARDIS either. The Doctor never looked back if he could help it. Lethbridge-Stewart tried to remember that line about rising on the stepping stones of one’s dead self, but he couldn’t get hold of it.
‘Brigadier!’ the Doctor said happily, hurrying into the room. ‘Just the man I wanted to see.’
‘Then why didn’t you respond to your pager?’
‘Ah.’ The Doctor patted his pockets. ‘I must have put it down somewhere.
Not to worry – I’m sure it will turn up.’
118
The Algebra of Ice
‘Where’s Mr Amberglass?’
‘Upstairs. He may be awake enough to talk to you.’
But in the bedroom, Ethan was in a dead sleep, so still he hardly seemed to be breathing. Lethbridge-Stewart grimaced as he got a close look at him.
‘Swine,’ he said shortly.
‘Very nasty,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘An unpleasant character, our Mr Brett. I suppose your people can get all the stats on him?’
‘Of course. What did he want from this boy?’
‘Mathematical assistance. It’s a bit complex.’
‘I don’t need the particulars. This is something to do with those crop patterns, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Ace entered with a blanket. ‘Out, you two.’
Meekly, they withdrew to the landing. Lethbridge-Stewart watched Ace throw the blanket over Ethan. Dear me. He’d never seen this side of her.
‘She’s fond of him?’ he asked as they descended the stairs.
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor uncomfortably. ‘That may cause some problems.’ He sighed. ‘Still, one thing at a time. The long answer to your question is: these men who had Amberglass – one of them is Patrick Unwin, by the way, the AWOL mathematician – appear to be involved in constructing some kind of computational bridge over which our invaders can enter.’
‘Forgive me, Doctor, but I. . . ’
‘Doesn’t make much sense, does it?’ They sat by the fire. The Doctor gestured to Lethbridge-Stewart’s glass, but he shook his head. ‘But if these beings are, for example, pure equations, then no doubt they could manage it. You know mathematical graphs quite often have more than three dimensions. Fractals can be graphed in one and one-half dimensions. It’s more flexible in there than you’d think. Of course, it’s also completely rigid.’
‘Of course,’ said the Brigadier unperturbedly. Over the years, he’d discovered that it was perfectly possible to work with the Doctor without understanding even half of what he said. ‘But if they are equations or some such, how would they function in this world?’
‘It’s a problem, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor unhappily. ‘It’s very, very hard for any being with a body to conceive of their