Trap of the Toymaker: 2
Trap of the Toymaker: 2
“But with the Second Doctor more than any other, first impressions are misleading. The Doctor's apparent bluster and ineptitude masks a deeper, darker nature. But there are moments too when the Second Doctor's humanity also shines through. There is ultimately no doubt that his raison d'etre is to fight the evil in the universe.”
--Opening to Doctor Who and the Abominable Snowmen, novelisation, by Terrance Dicks; introduction by Stephen Baxter.
*
After the cool darkness and glowing flowers, the inside of the TARDIS was a shock of contrasts. Because TARDIS stood for “Time and Relative Dimension in Space” it should be no surprise that the inside of the craft was bigger on the inside.
It was also considerably warmer, a fact that Zὅe didn't appreciate until her moment outside in the fresh air.
The Console Room was inevitably the first room anyone saw when they walked into the ship, though theoretically the young mathematician knew it was possible that another room might “happen” some day.
The Console Room might fool a person into thinking it was only what it appeared to be: a squarish room with two doorways and a third leading outside. The floor was smooth and the walls lined with humming metal boxes of the Doctor's computers. Roundel-windows graced the walls and the ceiling of the room was very high. A grandfather Clock tick-tocked discreetly in the corner, not far from an old wooden chair that the Doctor confessed had given him many hours of contemplation. An old piece of luggage that looked like a sea-chest or leather-bound trunk huddled off to one side, littered with compartments and drawers.
This part of the TARDIS reflected on the Doctor's nature more than any other, she thought. It was a study in contrasts: sterile, neat and clean modernism where the only beauty was the elegance of efficiency; and then you had the elegance of the past in the form of old, quietly crumbling antiques that were made of organic materials.
And that was much like the Doctor: one foot in a mysterious past even as he strained anxiously forward into the future. But what would the future be-clean technological lines or patient old relics preserved out of Time?
She discreetly lowered the temperature on the controls as she hurried in the Doctor's wake-since Jamie's collapse the Doctor had been solicitous to the side of error in his comfort. Zὅe was a Space Station brat and shuddered at the expenditure of energy to make a room comfortable for someone who might not be able to get to it.
And Jamie really couldn't. The Doctor knew. But he kept the room warm so he could tell the truth when he would look at the boy and tell him they were ready for him to crawl out of bed when he was recovered.
Zὅe knew by now some of how the TARDIS worked, and the Doctor was taking a terrible risk on their power consumption for Jamie's sake.
If only, she regretted as she moved faster to keep up with the little man, the mercury fluid links could be resolved! But she wasn't an engineer, just a calculator.
Once, she'd thought to ask that why the Doctor, with the gigantic free spaces allowed in the TARDIS, couldn't simply stock up on mercury so they wouldn't be so...well...trapped and helpless and desperate and courting death whenever the links blew.
“That's a good question, Zὅe,” he admitted, and coughed-a sure sign that her question had been more than 'good'-it was close to the bone. “I would if I could, I assure you. It's just that...” And he glanced down, his fingers twisting in his hands again. “It's not good for the TARDIS if I keep more mercury than what I need. I can carry enough for another replenishment...but more than that and I'm taking a risk.”
Taking a risk? Zὅe didn't press it, but her brain was already off and running, much like her body was running down the corridors of the TARDIS at this moment. It had taken her the next series of weeks of observation and calculation, but she'd finally pared it down to the vital points:
First point: The Doctor had no allergy to mercury-it was toxic to humans but to him it was the equivalent of a stink bomb. He didn't like it, but he wouldn't stop using it.
Second Point: He'd assured her there was no other alternative to converting the links-a few geniuses had discussed the possibility of converting from mercury to alcohol, but that would mean years of sitting down and taking everything apart and putting it all back together-so that wasn't practical.
Third Point: The Doctor's wording. He much preferred to lie by omission, rather than just blunder his way through a chain of untruths. So his wording suggested that there was a consequence to carrying a lot of mercury around.
She'd shared her suspicions with Jamie as he curled before the fire with a book. He was surprisingly helpful.
“Och, aye, I believe it.” The Piper lowered the book in his lap and leaned back to view the fire. “Makes sense.”
“Well it doesn't to me,” Zὅe complained. “Why does it make sense?”
“Well, back when Ben and Polly were here,” Jamie waited for Zὅe's nod; she knew the stories to the point she felt she knew them like her own friends, “Polly came up with an idea about the Doctair...an....hypothesis.” He said it slowly.
“Jamie,” Zὅe smiled patiently. “You don't have to keep pretending you're stupid, you know. You're not stupid at all.”
But Jamie only grinned. Since taking the Doctor's advice on Dulkis, he'd found a rich new world of funny possibilities and the deep satisfaction of being overlooked-thus fulfilling the role of “undercover rescuer”.
“Hypothesis.” Zὅe nudged. “What would that be?”
“She felt the Doctair was on the run from his people.” Jamie explained. “And listed all the reasons why that was so. He's on the run and living quiet as he can, to keep them from noticing him.”
“Oh.” Zὅe said in a voice that would have fit a human if they were two inches tall. She tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. Such a small, obvious bit of information...such a neat explanation. And she hadn't thought of it. It was perfectly logical!
“Aye. So if he's nervous about keepin' mercury around, could be a lot of mercury would be how they could find him.” Jamie shrugged. “Or there's the fact that the mercury we get isn't the best...I heard him mutter that once. The stuff we got from your Wheel was the best qucksilver yet.”
“That mercury was harvested from Vulcan,” Zὅe said absently while she thought. And thought. “Terribly hard to filter out the impurities, and it's got a unique element in there, but...oh, I'm babbling.” She dropped into the stuffed couch across from Jamie, pleased that she could be this close to an open flame without panicking. She was getting better, she thought smugly.
“Well if we're traveling with a criminal, he's the best one of all.” Jamie said confidently. “I doubt he really is a criminal-he was just caught breaking the rules. He couldn't have done anything terrible, like murderin' in cold blood or things like that.”
“He does break rules.” Zὅe agreed. But the idea of the Doctor's smiling, warm face associated with that of bloody crimes made her shudder.
*
Zὅe dropped her thoughts of the past and concentrated on the moment: The Doctor had stopped and was opening up the sickbay.
Zὅe was fond of sickbays. She'd developed a trust with Gemma on the Wheel and associated Gemma's craft with practical altruism. This room was considerably more advanced than the Wheel's medical technology, but not always in ways one would expect.
For one, the Doctor was positively determined to combine medicine with botany.
She took a deep breath of heavily oxygenated air as the Doctor padded across the room, dodging a single strand of something called Red Ivy clinging to the ceiling lumen. On the other side, a single bed rested in a rounded corner, almost waist high and padded with foam for muscle support. It was identical to the other beds in the TARDIS, save it was even more bendable and could be settled deep inside the wall for storage. Zὅe knew them as ridiculously comfortable, once one acclimated.
“Hello, Jamie.” The Doctor was beaming-she could hear it in his voice as he bent over the bed's occupant. “How are you feeling?”
It always surprised her that the Doctor would, when the occasion demanded, make it very clear he was the oldest person in the room and thus the protective role model. It was often a delicate dance of politics, for Jamie had assured Ben and Polly he would “look after” the Doctor when they left, and he took his duties quite seriously.
But Jamie wasn't capable of taking care of anyone right now, not even himself. Zὅe blinked back a tiny sting in her eyes.
There was no answer to the Doctor's soft query, so he drew closer, slipping up to perch on the edge of the bed, and repeating his question again. Slowly, there was a sign of movement; Jamie stirred and blinked, trying to wake up through a heavy fog of effort.
“Mmnnn.” He mumbled, and rubbed at his eyes, letting his arm flop bonelessly back upon the pillow. “Mnnotsleep,” he protested in a brouge-thick slur.
“I can see that, Jamie. I just wanted you to know we've landed.” The Doctor's small hands gripped Jamie's free one as he spoke. Zὅe watched, eternally fascinated by how the alien could focus completely on whatever he was doing, to the extent that you couldn't believe he was aware of anything else.
“Hmn? What?”
“Where? We're where I said we were going! Kthionoi! Safe and sound!”
“Really?”
“You don't have to look so surprised, Jamie.” The Doctor huffed.
“How often have we gone where we wanted to go?” Jamie stopped in the middle of his scolding and cracked his jaw upon a gaping yawn. It went on forever, a yawn that went past the normal boundaries of the movement, until Zὅe was staring as hard as the Doctor, both quite convinced that their infamously skilled sleeping Piper had outdone himself.
“Mnsorry.” Jamie said when he was-finally-finished. A lock of dark hair tumbled over the pillow. Zὅe drew close and brushed his hair back from his face. His skin was too cool and dry, she thought.
“You still need to rest, Jamie,” Zὅe reminded him in her matter-of-fact voice-the voice that annoyed him no end. “We'll go look for treatment and you'll be better in no time!”
“W-we should wait a bit first,” The Doctor blurted. “It's best to wait until day, if I remember the anecdotes correctly.”
“Anecdotes?”
“It's very dark in the Auhm Zone-that is, when all illumination is absent.” The Doctor sounded exactly like a student reciting from memory. “Even our torches won't help us much; but it will only be a few hours.”
“Oh, that's all right.” Zὅe was satisfied. Jamie had at least a few weeks to live; if the healers were one fraction of the skill the Doctor claimed, he would be more than well very quickly. “Don't worry, Jamie. She looked away from him long enough to smile at the Doctor. “I'll keep an eye on the Doctor for you.”
No answer.
The Doctor's affronted moue at needing a guardian melted off his face like warm wax by heat. He stared down at the sleeping youth with an expression that looked as lost as a child's.
“It's all right, Doctor,” Zὅe assured. “You said he would be fine; we just need to get to the City.”
“Yes...” He made a smile, if a small, quick-lived one, and rose up, pulling the blankets back under Jamie's chin as he spoke. “Well, no sense dilly-dallying,” he decreed. “Let's find some torches.”
“Torches? But you said--”
“If we move quickly, we won't be caught in the Auhm for long. And time is critical for Jamie!” With one of his unnerving bursts of speed, the Doctor scampered out of the Sickbay and back down the Hall, veering sharply to nip inside the supply closet adjacent to the Power Room.
The TARDIS had re-routed the rooms so they would find it almost instantly. Zὅe hoped this did not mean the strange timeship had reason to worry about Jamie.
She hesitated, taking in the sight of the Doctor on his knees, yanking out a large metal trunk-like thing, flipping the top off and all but throwing himself headfirst down its interior. Things of almost every size and shape (all written in alien languages) shuffled from side to side as he searched for something in particular. A book written in binary code sailed past Zὅe's face. The girl's view was briefly overwhelmed by “01000001 01010100 01001111 0101101” Or, “A TO Z” in conversion, before the book (all 9,000 pages of it) continued on its ungainly attempt to achieve flight through the wall. It failed, and she flinched at the crack of the book as it collapsed to the polished floor.
“Found them!” The Doctor crowed as he jumped to his feet. His hair rested in all directions, and his eyes snapped with a huntsman's thrill. A large object vaguely torch-shaped dangled from each hand. “And here are the tethers!” He added, just as triumphantly pulling up a length of safety line that was a match to the ones kept under the TARDIS console.
“Here we are...put this on, Zὅe...” The Doctor was already doing it for her, as she stood and tried to process what was happening. She knew she had many superior mental qualities, but one of her flaws was her inability to follow the Doctor's jumping-jack perambulations (mental and physical), so instead of just going along with the flow and nodding “aye” like Jamie was wont to do, she simply stood stock-still and tried to process the strangeness, her mental wheels spinning against clots of brain-rust.
“Doctor, why do we have to wear these?” With a SNAP a broad belt fell into place about her slim waist.
“Well we don't have to, Zὅe, but it would be a good idea.” He stepped back to examine or admire his handiwork, and brisked his hands together before clipping the other end about his own waist. It was, Zὅe realised, more solid than her own. She plucked at the clip uncertainly. It was painstakingly woven glasstic, tempered to the strength of volcanic crystal yet flexible as floss. Someone had gone through an appalling amount of effort to make a smaller model for someone of her size.
“How is it, Zὅe?” The Doctor asked anxiously. “Does it fit?”
She tugged at the belt and smiled. “It fits perfectly, Doctor! When did you do this?” It must have been one of the nights where he never seemed to sleep.
“Oh...some time ago,” he suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I'm glad it fits.” He dipped down, bending his knees slightly (it made her wonder again if the Doctor had ever lived on a wet-water ship; he often moved as though he was ready for a wave to strike him off-balance). “Here we are.” He slung a large satchel over one shoulder-it looked like antique canvas-and pressed one of the strange torches into her hands. “If we hurry we should be almost to the city by the time the Auhm Zone hits.”
“But Doctor,” Zὅe protested even as he ushered her out the door, “Is it really so dangerous?”
“Dangerous?” He paused as he closed the door and keyed it shut. “It's no more dangerous than anything else, Zὅe...it's just less obvious.”
“Oh.” Zὅe said, though she didn't know much more than that. There were a few infuriating things about the man, and it was his occasional forgetfulness in the gaps of her education. Thankfully, he never seemed to forget for long...
He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, clipping the carry-loop of his torch about his wrist. “All right, Zὅe,” he said in a much more perkier voice. “Shall we?”
“Which way do we go, Doctor?” Zὅe was just beginning to feel a little apprehensive, now that their backs were to the locked TARDIS and they were facing forward into a landscape that, despite its breathable and comfortable atmosphere, was the most alien planet she'd yet seen.
“Oh, straight on ahead,” The Doctor pointed at a dark lump against a darker lump of sky (she guessed). “There's a slight dip and we go down...the City's below.”
“And they're friendly.” Zὅe felt this deserved emphasis.
“Zὅe, the only people on this planet are those that want to be here.” He said firmly. “And seeing as how it has no practical applications whatsoever in even multidimensional conquest...we're perfectly all right.”
Both politely ignored that the Doctor had stated this sweet truth before, only to have been proven wrong less than an hour later with the arrival of some bizarre concept of conquest. Zὅe suspected it was a fault in the Doctor's wiring-he really wanted to find a nice, harmless little planet and briefly turn into a vegetative state with sandcastles and rockpools.
“Well, then!” Zὅe smiled bravely. Sooner out, sooner found, and they shouldn't dawdle for Jamie's sake. “Shall we?”
*
At first Zὅe had trouble keeping her balance; she clung to the Doctor's arm for almost an acre's walking across uneven terrain comprised of cool, dry sand that was curiously heavy to the touch. “Meteorite sand,” the Doctor had explained. “Some amazing things comprise its makeup-on top of the usual nickle and iron ore, you've got black diamonds, Stellar Sapphire dust, silica, copper, enough gold particles to keep the Cybermen away for life--” (Zὅe shuddered at the thought of Cybermen again) “--and some argonite. The glass-making from this planet is legendary, what with the exotic elements; terribly expensive I fear.”
“Expensive in what way?” Zὅe asked. She was grateful beyond words for his chatter; it focused her mind on something besides her unease at walking through variations of darkness upon darkness upon darkness. “It's a fairly simple process to create glass from sand.”
“Yes, but the expense in shipping the goods makes it difficult. I seem to remember the efforts in building a T-Mat device...but that might revolutionize the planet in some unpleasant ways...”
The sand was broken only by the occasional lump of rock the same grey of the same. Plantlife was peculiar-like the long-rooted sand dunes of Earth, the stalks of something grasslike swayed over their heads and bobbed glowing white, goosedown tufts. The illumination put out by the flowers was quite astonishing, no less so than the occasional flutter and flight of large, peacock-sized glowing white birds with long, sweeping tails and crests. They made a soft, low twitter like Jamie's pipes when he was in the rare mood for playful music.
The air remained comfortably warm, but Zὅe was puzzled at how this was possible. There was no “sun” to speak of, and the Doctor had told her the nearest star was a massive, very hot dwarf 972 million miles away-an insurance of a chill, cold and polar world. The atmosphere needed some other source of thermal energy.
That reminded her; how did the planet operate with so little solar power? Did they focus the nearest star's rays into collective lenses? Or did they use something else? What would be more efficient than solar?
Something crunched underfoot, dry and brittle. Bones, she thought, and her foot-fall flinched, throwing off her center of gravity. Her hand caught the Doctor's shoulder, barely.
“Steady, Zὅe.” She could barely see him in this lack of light; he was a black outline against the glowing white flowers. His voice was a comfort; she couldn't hear any of the variances that indicated a negative mood. “We're almost through the clearing.”
This was a clearing? Zὅe had to take his word on it. Despite the worthlessness of the action, she tilted her head up until her thick hair fell against the middle of her spine. A handful of stars glittered here and there, but they were hardly significant. She looked around; most of what she could see were white lamp-like flowers and the absence of them that meant the Doctor.
Her mouth opened to say-something--but at that moment he went stiff and caught his breath. His hand reached out and grabbed her small arm.
“Zὅe, hurry!” He exclaimed. “We're almost there! Your light!”
There was no arguing with that voice. Zὅe took off running, because broken ankles and cracked ribs from full-face trips in strange terrain was better than facing whatever had scared him. With a guttering SNAP a brilliant light burned from the Doctor's torch-she was dizzily astonished to note it was a primitive yellow-spectrum bulb; the sort they'd seen all the time on Earth fighting the Cybermen Invasion.
And...
….Darkness...
... fell.
Zὅe screamed.