Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [6]
Beyond the second irised door the Doctor and Martha found a much more high-tech series of corridors and rooms. The night-time lighting illuminated myriad machines and a bewildering array of desks, workstations and control panels.
‘This is more like it!’ exclaimed the Doctor.
They found yet more corpses, just as hideous as those they’d previously encountered, but some wore security uniforms, while others were in long white coats. ‘Scientists?’ speculated Martha. ‘You said they were researching something here.’
‘And hired muscle,’ said the Doctor, bending over the body of one particular guard, frozen in position over a bank of computer screens. A quick glance and you could almost imagine he was still doing his job, still watching the security camera images for the slightest signs of trouble. The monitors, though, had long since powered off.
The Doctor waved his hands over what appeared to be some sort of keyboard made of thick fibre optic strands. ‘One thing you can say about the people of your future, Martha… Is that they’ve long since abandoned screensavers… This monitor will go into complete hibernation if it doesn’t detect any movement – and I’m talking blinking eyes, scratching your head, that sort of thing. Very green, and it stops the guards from falling asleep on the job.’
‘But that’s exactly what seems to have happened, isn’t it?’ said Martha. ‘It’s like everyone just fell asleep.’
‘Hmm…’ The Doctor didn’t sound convinced.
The screen, as if it resented the intrusion after all these years of slumber, finally sprang into life. Martha noticed that others stretched along the long panel in front of them were also beginning to glow. Everyone showed a section of the multi-level prison area they had just been in; the view cycled from one hidden camera to another, and it was only the subtleties of light and shade that made each snapshot different from the last. Being a guard on this ship, reflected Martha, must have been dull in the extreme.
Before the Doctor could say anything, the lights in the room – mere glowing pinpricks against the flat, dull ceiling – became gradually brighter. The room moved from a subtle sense of autumnal night to the artificial cold-blue harshness of a working day. A quick glance at the images on the monitors, and into the corridor behind them, revealed the truth. It was as if the Doctor and Martha had intruded into some magical, slumbering kingdom, which all around them was beginning to wake.
‘What have you done?’ Martha blurted out, surprised at her own reaction. She would have expected to have welcomed the light and brightness, but, surrounded as she was by hundred-year‐old corpses, everything seemed even more grotesque now. It just seemed wrong somehow, like stumbling into a funeral with hats and party poppers.
‘The daylight cycle’s kicked in,’ said the Doctor. ‘Nothing to do with me. Honest.’
Even so, Martha found herself glancing over her shoulder to make sure that they were still alone.
‘Now we’re cooking with gas!’ exclaimed the Doctor, settling down at an unoccupied console, his hands blurring over the controls. Martha watched him for a moment, but he seemed now only to be conversing with himself, muttering occasionally and sighing.
Martha turned away, feeling both lost and useless in this futuristic environment. ‘This is the point,’ the Doctor suddenly whispered, without looking up, ‘where curiosity usually gets the better of people. It has been known for my friends to go for a wander, get lost, or stumble upon something quite unexpected…’
‘Go for a walk around here?’ scoffed Martha. ‘Are you serious?’ She strolled over to another console – at least this room seemed safe enough. ‘You know, I think I’ll take you to Kensal Green cemetery if we ever get back to London,’ she said, warming to her theme. ‘Consider it… repayment in kind.’
‘Oh, I love cemeteries!’ exclaimed the Doctor happily.
‘You would,’ muttered Martha, just quietly enough for the Doctor not to hear.
‘Isn’t Brunel