Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [77]
Abruptly, he found himself on level ground, the lights of the village a few hundred yards ahead. The Doctor smiled. He could easily orientate himself to the TARDIS now: there was less than a mile to walk. He proceeded slowly through the soft, yielding snow. All the way down through the forest, he had kept an ear out for sounds of pursuit. It was much more likely that he might be apprehended here, out from under the trees and so near to the main road. But
– he looked back – his tracks were already blurring; the ones farther up must be completely erased. He had no idea how far Brett’s chalet was by road, but driving tonight would be a challenge. And why come after him, really? They had what they needed and, in spite of his ingenious employment of the tin lid, might presume he wasn’t much of a threat. He smiled again, but thinly.
Brett must be thinking – or desperately hoping – that at full power the invaders might just blast through the barrier created by the lid. Only it wasn’t a barrier so much as a hole – a fighter plane might as well fire down at a canyon it was falling into. No, for the moment, that was taken care of.
Would they run when they found him gone? He snorted. To where? And how? The roads were becoming unpassable, and a simple alert to the police on 158
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his part would prevent their sliding down to the village and departing by train.
And of course, they’d hardly want to leave the vicinity of the possible entryway, not when, at long last, they had the proper equations.
If they were still a “they”, not a “him”. The Doctor shivered and put Unwin from his mind. Ahead he saw the TARDIS, its roof-light shining through the flurries like a welcoming lantern. Exhausted, he opened the door and stepped inside.
‘It’s you!’ cried Molecross.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Doctor took a minute to recover, then raised his hat. ‘How do you do? Mr Molecross, isn’t it?’
‘You really are him,’ said Molecross. ‘I knew it all along.’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor weakly, ‘there you are. Ace anywhere about?’
‘They went down to the village.’
‘Well, you seem quite comfortable in that armchair. Biscuits I see. Lime squash. I’ll just be off.’
‘Don’t you want to know how I got here?’
‘Not particularly, no. I’ll just –’
‘What happened to you?’ said Molecross.
The Doctor felt his face, looked at his clothes. ‘Oh. . . you know.’
Molecross nodded sagely: ‘The sorts of things that happen when you’re saving the Earth.’
‘Exactly those sorts of things. Well –’
‘You’re saving us from aliens, aren’t you? Not that you’re not an alien yourself, of course. I mean unfriendly aliens.’
‘They do seem to be unfriendly,’ the Doctor agreed, edging towards a door.
‘Do they want to take us over?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Look,’ said Molecross, with sudden firmness. ‘You owe me something. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get this story,’ – the Doctor glanced at his maimed arm – ‘and I’m here, so why not talk to me?’
‘I’m not giving you an interview, Molecross.’
‘Right.’ Molecross held up his remaining hand understandingly. ‘So we’ll just do it on deep background, OK?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘You mean “off the record”?’
‘That’s a common misperception. “Off the record” actually allows some attri-bution, whereas “deep background” –’
‘Yes, yes,’ the Doctor sighed. ‘All right, I’ll answer a few questions. You deserve that much.’
‘I can’t take notes any more,’ Molecross said in a small voice.
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Pity stung the Doctor like a slap. ‘Well, we’ll work something out. That arm looks as if it could use some attention.’
‘It does hurt,’ Molecross admitted.
‘Well, come along then. We’ll take care of it, and you can ask me questions in the meantime.’
‘You mean,’ Molecross seemed afraid to believe his luck, ‘I’m going to see the real TARDIS? Not just the corridors?’
‘Parts of it, yes. Come along, don’t sit there staring in awe, it’s not as interesting as you might think.’
Brett leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Unwin sleep. Or – his lips twitched