The Road to ... (Chapter 4, Part 2)
This is Part 2 of 4, thanks to LJ and their size limits. It's not as sappy as the last chapter, but I've made up for the sap with wacky skience! No idea if it makes sense. It may not, actually, until you read the final part. All will be revealed. (Bear with me, please?)
The Doctor jumps up and rushes away; the Master stomps after him, caught between irritation at the interruption, and relief that the awkward moment has been brought to an abrupt end.
“Another distress call? Is this usual? Have you set up some sort of ultra-sensitive disaster-meter on here that’ll respond to a human who’s forgot their keys?”
The Doctor’s rushing round the console, switching off alarms, looking at display screens, answering distractedly. “Yes, another distress call. No, this many isn’t really normal. And no - this must be an actual disaster.” He’s now standing at the main display screen, sonic screwdriver between his teeth, staring at the screen in intense concentration. It is, the Master notes laconically, the very image that had been troubling him mere moments ago: the Doctor, distracted, attention elsewhere, and the Master standing uselessly to one side …
“But … this can’t be right!” The Doctor bangs the screen a couple of times with the side of his hand, but apparently nothing changes.
“Are you planning on sharing?” The Master asks, not out of curiosity, but more to bring the Doctor’s attention back to him.
“Well … it’s a distress call. From Earth. In the four hundred and seventeenth century.”
“What’s that, then?”
“It’s the start of the New Ice Age. The time when the ice caps begin to advance again, covering most of the inhabitable parts of the planet. But I’ve seen this before … there were no great emergencies.”
The Master snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”
The Doctor looks upward in confusion and frustration. “Well, they had their little hiccups, certainly, but they had plenty of time to prepare for this. Ice caps advance slowly. Everything was so well-organised: people moved to places nearer the equator, formidable bases set up further north and south. But that’s where the distress call’s coming from …”
“So what do you think it is?”
“I’ve no idea. I suppose it’s possible that they’ve lost power, or something … but this wasn’t supposed to happen!”
“Well, maybe it’s the same thing as I said at that … what was it, that desert battle you took me to?”
The Doctor shakes his head a little, unable to remember.
“I said there was a ‘big alien nasty’, remember?”
Understanding dawns on the Doctor’s face. “Oh, of course. If something’s gone wrong, it must be some sort of interference from outside!” He starts fiddling with the controls again, preparing for landing. Then, suddenly, he lifts his head and looks over his shoulder.
“You’re good at this, you know.”
The Master doesn’t dignify this with an answer. Nothing has been resolved, and now he knows it will have to wait until this crisis has been averted.
***
They land, and the Doctor finally turns to face the Master, giving him his full attention.
“Do you … do you want to come? I mean, you don’t have to, but if you’d like to … but only if …”
“Relax, Doctor. I solemnly swear I will get up to no mischief here. Natural disasters bore me, rather, as I grow older.”
The Doctor looks at him uncertainly. “So … are you coming, or not?”
Sighing, the Master answers. “Oh, I suppose so. Better than sitting around here.”
***
As they leave the TARDIS, it becomes glaringly obvious that they’ve landed in the middle of an ice age. They’re inside, but even here, the temperature is decidedly chilly. Even for a Gallifreyan.
Rubbing his arms, the Master asks, “So what exactly is this place?”
The Doctor checks a panel on the wall. “Habitation station.”
The Master stops trying to warm himself and gives the Doctor a sardonic look. “Oh, please be joking.”
Wide-eyed and innocent, the Doctor asks, “What? Why?”
“Habitation station? It bloody well rhymes. It sounds like something from a cartoon.”
Grinning, the Doctor shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry,” he replies with a toss of his head. “I didn’t call it that.”
“No, even you’re not that bad,” the Master retorts, stamping his feet on the ground, still shivering. “Come on, let’s have a look around. And you can tell me a bit about this place. Take my mind off the cold.” He sets off down the tubular corridor, giving the Doctor little choice but to follow.
“Well, when the ice caps started to advance, most of the cities and towns that would eventually be covered were abandoned. But in case of any great disaster striking the equatorial zone, they decided to set up these habitation stations - about twenty in the northern hemisphere, and ten in the southern. They stationed about a hundred people in each one, but the bases are massive. The thing you have to remember is, an ice age on Earth can last ten thousand years or more. A hundred people now, will be many, many more by the time the ice melts.”
Abruptly, they reach the end of a corridor and are greeted by a most unusual sight. Under a high roof, is the basic layout of a town. Paved roads, signs, lamps, even the foundations for a few buildings.
“See what I mean? They’ve got everything they need for a working city … ten thousand years in the future.”
The Master’s had enough of playing tourist to the Doctor’s guide. “So, where’s the emergency? I thought we’d arrive to find the place in ruins.”
The Doctor runs his hand through his hair and looks around. “Well, someone must have sent out that call.” In the window of a building some distance away, he sees a glowing light. He nudges the Master, and sets off in that direction.
***
As they enter, something odd catches the Master’s attention, and he grabs the Doctor’s arm, preventing him from going any further. “Wait a minute. Super high-tech ice base … and no security? How come we can just walk in?”
The Doctor smiles. Some things about the Master will never change, and this is one. He’ll always have a suspicious nature. Deep down, the Doctor admires a lot of things about his oldest friend, but he’s glad he doesn’t think that way. “I told you … there are only a hundred people within a mile of here … no, make than a thousand miles. And every one of them was carefully chosen. They don’t need security - at least, not from each other.”
The Master shakes his head, and the Doctor can see that this sort of logic is lost on him. They make their way up a narrow metal staircase to a well-lit room, where a woman and two uniformed men are examining papers and computer screens. All three jump to their feet as the two Time Lords enter, confirming the Doctor’s theory that these people never imagined they would be invaded.
“Who the hell are you?” The shorter of the two men barks at them, his eyes darting around the room, probably looking for something to use as a weapon.
“We’re … travellers. We were just passing, and … my ship picked up your distress call.” The Doctor is holding out his hands, the Master notices, in that way he does, that tries to show he doesn’t pose a threat. The Master’s never felt the need to do that.
“Your ship?”
“My space ship. You did sent out a call, didn’t you?”
The woman gestures to the two men, appearing to be in charge. “Yes … we sent out the call in the hope that one of the colony shuttles would answer. But we’re in need of information, nothing more.”
“What information?”
“What do you know about Habitation Station Six?”
“Not a lot. Like I said, we were just passing.”
She gestures at them to sit down. All of the seats are covered in paper. The Master stands and looks at his distastefully, until the Doctor notices, and moves the papers from the Master’s chair before his own.
“I assume you know our objectives, Mr. …” She lets her voice trail off, waiting for him to volunteer his name.
“I’m the Doctor. And this is the Master.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Oh, academics, are you? Well, perhaps you will be able to help us.”
The Doctor smiles broadly. “I hope so. And yes, we’re familiar with your objectives.”
“Excellent. Well, then, you know that one of those objectives is to increase our population at a set rate; specifically, doubling it every five hundred years or so. The intention being, to have a large enough population at the end of the time to begin a small city.”
If this is news to the Doctor, he covers it well. The Master finds it easier to control his own expression, as he isn’t really interested.
“Well, this shouldn’t be a problem at this stage in the mission. Obvious, as we’ve only just started. But things are happening that are going to give us great problems before very long.”
“What things?”
“People are dying. We allowed for that in our calculations, of course, but people are dying at an alarming rate. And the deaths are falling exclusively within the most problematic demographic.”
“Which is?”
“Our young men. Our current population covers all demographics, but we have lost eleven young men of breeding age in the last two months. We gathered data based on post-mortem examinations and sent that out with the call. Did that not reach your ship?”
“No … only the distress call. Sorry, my ship’s a bit …”
“ … dilapidated …” interjects the Master.
“ … temperamental.” The Doctor says, more loudly, rolling his eyes slightly at the Master. “Still, the most important message got through: we’re here.”
“So you are,” the woman says, dryly, looking at them appraisingly. “So tell us, Doctor … Master … what do you think is happening?”
The Doctor stands and puts on his glasses, looking at three different computer screens and a sheet of paper before sitting down.
“Is anyone else ill? Any women? Any children?”
“No. And none of the victims showed signs of illness before they died. So, that do you think?”
“Well, I think you won’t find the answers in this data. But we’ll keep looking. We’ll have a look around the station, if that’s all right, and see what we can find.”
“Certainly.” The woman says briskly, handing the Doctor a small communication device. “If you need anything, we’ll be here.”
The Doctor jumps up and rushes away; the Master stomps after him, caught between irritation at the interruption, and relief that the awkward moment has been brought to an abrupt end.
“Another distress call? Is this usual? Have you set up some sort of ultra-sensitive disaster-meter on here that’ll respond to a human who’s forgot their keys?”
The Doctor’s rushing round the console, switching off alarms, looking at display screens, answering distractedly. “Yes, another distress call. No, this many isn’t really normal. And no - this must be an actual disaster.” He’s now standing at the main display screen, sonic screwdriver between his teeth, staring at the screen in intense concentration. It is, the Master notes laconically, the very image that had been troubling him mere moments ago: the Doctor, distracted, attention elsewhere, and the Master standing uselessly to one side …
“But … this can’t be right!” The Doctor bangs the screen a couple of times with the side of his hand, but apparently nothing changes.
“Are you planning on sharing?” The Master asks, not out of curiosity, but more to bring the Doctor’s attention back to him.
“Well … it’s a distress call. From Earth. In the four hundred and seventeenth century.”
“What’s that, then?”
“It’s the start of the New Ice Age. The time when the ice caps begin to advance again, covering most of the inhabitable parts of the planet. But I’ve seen this before … there were no great emergencies.”
The Master snorts. “I find that hard to believe.”
The Doctor looks upward in confusion and frustration. “Well, they had their little hiccups, certainly, but they had plenty of time to prepare for this. Ice caps advance slowly. Everything was so well-organised: people moved to places nearer the equator, formidable bases set up further north and south. But that’s where the distress call’s coming from …”
“So what do you think it is?”
“I’ve no idea. I suppose it’s possible that they’ve lost power, or something … but this wasn’t supposed to happen!”
“Well, maybe it’s the same thing as I said at that … what was it, that desert battle you took me to?”
The Doctor shakes his head a little, unable to remember.
“I said there was a ‘big alien nasty’, remember?”
Understanding dawns on the Doctor’s face. “Oh, of course. If something’s gone wrong, it must be some sort of interference from outside!” He starts fiddling with the controls again, preparing for landing. Then, suddenly, he lifts his head and looks over his shoulder.
“You’re good at this, you know.”
The Master doesn’t dignify this with an answer. Nothing has been resolved, and now he knows it will have to wait until this crisis has been averted.
***
They land, and the Doctor finally turns to face the Master, giving him his full attention.
“Do you … do you want to come? I mean, you don’t have to, but if you’d like to … but only if …”
“Relax, Doctor. I solemnly swear I will get up to no mischief here. Natural disasters bore me, rather, as I grow older.”
The Doctor looks at him uncertainly. “So … are you coming, or not?”
Sighing, the Master answers. “Oh, I suppose so. Better than sitting around here.”
***
As they leave the TARDIS, it becomes glaringly obvious that they’ve landed in the middle of an ice age. They’re inside, but even here, the temperature is decidedly chilly. Even for a Gallifreyan.
Rubbing his arms, the Master asks, “So what exactly is this place?”
The Doctor checks a panel on the wall. “Habitation station.”
The Master stops trying to warm himself and gives the Doctor a sardonic look. “Oh, please be joking.”
Wide-eyed and innocent, the Doctor asks, “What? Why?”
“Habitation station? It bloody well rhymes. It sounds like something from a cartoon.”
Grinning, the Doctor shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry,” he replies with a toss of his head. “I didn’t call it that.”
“No, even you’re not that bad,” the Master retorts, stamping his feet on the ground, still shivering. “Come on, let’s have a look around. And you can tell me a bit about this place. Take my mind off the cold.” He sets off down the tubular corridor, giving the Doctor little choice but to follow.
“Well, when the ice caps started to advance, most of the cities and towns that would eventually be covered were abandoned. But in case of any great disaster striking the equatorial zone, they decided to set up these habitation stations - about twenty in the northern hemisphere, and ten in the southern. They stationed about a hundred people in each one, but the bases are massive. The thing you have to remember is, an ice age on Earth can last ten thousand years or more. A hundred people now, will be many, many more by the time the ice melts.”
Abruptly, they reach the end of a corridor and are greeted by a most unusual sight. Under a high roof, is the basic layout of a town. Paved roads, signs, lamps, even the foundations for a few buildings.
“See what I mean? They’ve got everything they need for a working city … ten thousand years in the future.”
The Master’s had enough of playing tourist to the Doctor’s guide. “So, where’s the emergency? I thought we’d arrive to find the place in ruins.”
The Doctor runs his hand through his hair and looks around. “Well, someone must have sent out that call.” In the window of a building some distance away, he sees a glowing light. He nudges the Master, and sets off in that direction.
***
As they enter, something odd catches the Master’s attention, and he grabs the Doctor’s arm, preventing him from going any further. “Wait a minute. Super high-tech ice base … and no security? How come we can just walk in?”
The Doctor smiles. Some things about the Master will never change, and this is one. He’ll always have a suspicious nature. Deep down, the Doctor admires a lot of things about his oldest friend, but he’s glad he doesn’t think that way. “I told you … there are only a hundred people within a mile of here … no, make than a thousand miles. And every one of them was carefully chosen. They don’t need security - at least, not from each other.”
The Master shakes his head, and the Doctor can see that this sort of logic is lost on him. They make their way up a narrow metal staircase to a well-lit room, where a woman and two uniformed men are examining papers and computer screens. All three jump to their feet as the two Time Lords enter, confirming the Doctor’s theory that these people never imagined they would be invaded.
“Who the hell are you?” The shorter of the two men barks at them, his eyes darting around the room, probably looking for something to use as a weapon.
“We’re … travellers. We were just passing, and … my ship picked up your distress call.” The Doctor is holding out his hands, the Master notices, in that way he does, that tries to show he doesn’t pose a threat. The Master’s never felt the need to do that.
“Your ship?”
“My space ship. You did sent out a call, didn’t you?”
The woman gestures to the two men, appearing to be in charge. “Yes … we sent out the call in the hope that one of the colony shuttles would answer. But we’re in need of information, nothing more.”
“What information?”
“What do you know about Habitation Station Six?”
“Not a lot. Like I said, we were just passing.”
She gestures at them to sit down. All of the seats are covered in paper. The Master stands and looks at his distastefully, until the Doctor notices, and moves the papers from the Master’s chair before his own.
“I assume you know our objectives, Mr. …” She lets her voice trail off, waiting for him to volunteer his name.
“I’m the Doctor. And this is the Master.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Oh, academics, are you? Well, perhaps you will be able to help us.”
The Doctor smiles broadly. “I hope so. And yes, we’re familiar with your objectives.”
“Excellent. Well, then, you know that one of those objectives is to increase our population at a set rate; specifically, doubling it every five hundred years or so. The intention being, to have a large enough population at the end of the time to begin a small city.”
If this is news to the Doctor, he covers it well. The Master finds it easier to control his own expression, as he isn’t really interested.
“Well, this shouldn’t be a problem at this stage in the mission. Obvious, as we’ve only just started. But things are happening that are going to give us great problems before very long.”
“What things?”
“People are dying. We allowed for that in our calculations, of course, but people are dying at an alarming rate. And the deaths are falling exclusively within the most problematic demographic.”
“Which is?”
“Our young men. Our current population covers all demographics, but we have lost eleven young men of breeding age in the last two months. We gathered data based on post-mortem examinations and sent that out with the call. Did that not reach your ship?”
“No … only the distress call. Sorry, my ship’s a bit …”
“ … dilapidated …” interjects the Master.
“ … temperamental.” The Doctor says, more loudly, rolling his eyes slightly at the Master. “Still, the most important message got through: we’re here.”
“So you are,” the woman says, dryly, looking at them appraisingly. “So tell us, Doctor … Master … what do you think is happening?”
The Doctor stands and puts on his glasses, looking at three different computer screens and a sheet of paper before sitting down.
“Is anyone else ill? Any women? Any children?”
“No. And none of the victims showed signs of illness before they died. So, that do you think?”
“Well, I think you won’t find the answers in this data. But we’ll keep looking. We’ll have a look around the station, if that’s all right, and see what we can find.”
“Certainly.” The woman says briskly, handing the Doctor a small communication device. “If you need anything, we’ll be here.”