Five miles from camp, coming over a rise, the Doctor saw what he had most feared. The night was clearing, bringing with it a sharp chill. In the distance, the Witchhorde camp was a broad scattering of tiny fires twinkling like stars gone to earth. A diffuse oval of light floated high above it, anchored by a sparkling thread.
The sight completely nonplused his companions. Dr. Taylor swore with unexpected eloquence. Masterson trod down hard on the brakes and stared.
"Professor!" It was all the Doctor could do to keep the frustration out of his voice. "We're in something of a hurry!"
"Oops. Sorry."
The truck bounced forward again. Pressed against the passenger door, Anna's hands were clenched on her bag. "You might have warned me," she hissed.
The Doctor barely heard her. His attention was fixed on the alien ship and that umbilical beam of light. Some sort of transmat, probably. Too late! Too late!
The truck barreled through the night, jolting them relentlessly as they sped along pocked and broken roads. The Doctor kept his eye on the ship. It was not moving - not yet. Following the road into a heavy wood, they lost sight of it briefly - saw it again as they cleared the trees.
"It's huge!" Anna cried
Try as he might, the Time Lord could not discern the actual ship through its cocoon of light. That cocoon, however, was of considerable size. It covered nearly a quarter of the camp, with the predictable effects on the camp's inhabitants.
Crossing the perimeter they entered the camp, all but ignored by the Horde. Men were staring upward, mouths a-gape, or running for their lives toward the distant trees. Here and there, an officer exhorted his troops to order, but most of the Horde, woefully out of its depth, was beset by utter panic. The Doctor, expecting at any moment to be stopped and hauled from the truck, went shaky with relief when they reached the center of camp unopposed.
Or what was left of it.
The tents had been blown away. There were small knots of men standing back from a column of pure light that hurt the eyes. Some were gesturing frantically - others simply stared. The air pulsed with power, drowning out all other sound.
"Stop here!" shouted the Doctor.
Masterson hit the brakes hard; the truck's back end slid across the mud. The Doctor reached over Anna and pushed open the door. At that same moment, the light vanished.
"NO!" The Doctor was out of the truck, running toward the place where the light had been. The deafening beat of the ship's engines accelerated, rising in pitch. It lifted away from the hillside, light envelope dimming as it diverted power into the propulsion units. There was a dull concussion and it was gone.
Tents, furniture and papers were strewn across the ground. The Doctor's hearts beat painfully as he started to search through the debris. Lifting a corner of wet canvas, he found someone, face down in the mud, unmoving. Carefully, he turned the man over.
"Over here!" he shouted. "It's Nelson!"
By this time, others had shaken off their paralysis and ran to help him. They lifted the lieutenant carefully. He was still alive, but his chest was badly burned. Someone crouched beside him - Dr. Taylor.
"I have medical training," she said. "Leave him to me."
The Doctor nodded gratefully and continued his search, but even as others joined in to help, dread settled in his gut. No sign of Palas. No sign of Danner. He wanted to jump into the jeep and tear off to Deet and his TARDIS. It was a wild, irrational impulse that he forced himself to ignore. Of all the humans he had ever met, those two were certainly capable of holding their own. At the moment, he was needed here.
To their credit, the Horde was making a quick recovery from their earlier panic. Officers shouted orders while men moved around the hillside, clearing away debris, struggling to erect one of the fallen tents. The Doctor pushed through the growing crowd to Anna. A sheet of canvas had been rigged to block the wind as she worked calmly and efficiently on the injured Miles. She had his shirt off and was laying a dressing over the burn as they reached her. A Witchhorde Rider hovered at her shoulder.
"How is he?" the Doctor asked, settling down beside her.
She lifted bloodstained hands to push back a lock of hair.
"It's bad. He's in shock. There may be some internal bleeding - whatever burned this man also had one hell of an impact. If we were in Igan, with access to first-age tech, I might be able to save him - as it is . . ." she bit her lip.
"Do you also have the power to heal?"
Her jaw tightened. Eyes moved to the Old Man, then back.
"You can, can't you? Palas could."
Anna stood up, turned to the young Rider assisting her. "Keep him warm, will you, Bill? I'll be right back."
"Sure thing, Doc."
"Are you insane?" she hissed as soon as they were away from the others, Masterston trailing along behind. "That's all I need. I'm this far from going psychotic - this far!"
He looked at the tiny space she marked out between thumb and forefinger. Beside him, Masterson said uneasily: "She has a point, Doctor. I'm the only blackstone in reach, and I'd rather not be her next victim, thank you."
"And what about the Prophet?" the Time Lord asked. "If Nelson dies, who will lead the Horde in defending Deet?"
"Who cares?"
"Igan ready to deal with the Prophet as a neighbor?"
"He has a point, Anna."
"Shut up, Masterson." She took a deep breath. "Doctor - I'll have only one dose left."
"There are no good choices, Anna. I'm sorry."
Her eyes held his a moment, bleak. She shrugged and returned to her patient. Oblivious to the damp, she sat cross-legged beside Nelson and took his hand. There was no response; the man's face was gray, his breathing labored. She bent her head, pale hair swinging free. The Doctor felt something tugging at the edges of his mind. Minutes passed.
Nelson stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at the Doctor and Masterson, turned his head and started visibly. Anna smiled.
"Lieutenant Nelson? I'm Dr. Taylor. How are you feeling?"
"I -- all right -- PALAS!"
It took both Anna and the Doctor to push Nelson down. He glared helplessly at them.
"A little weaker than you thought, aren't you?" Anna admonished. "Stay still for a while. You need rest - which I suppose you won't get - and food and water."
The Doctor settled down next to Nelson. "What do you remember, lieutenant?"
"Lermor - the Cardinal - and some monks. They said they came to bless us on the eve of battle, but they came for Palas, Doctor!"
"Lermor? Head of the Church in Deet?" Masterson exclaimed. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. He was at the signing of the contract with Deet."
Nelson's eyes slid to the biocrystal, doubtful. The Old Man smiled crookedly.
"Dr. Alan Masterson," he explained, "late of Igan University.
"Was Danner with you?"
Nelson nodded. "Palas wanted him nearby. He was alive when they shot me, that's all I know. Where did they take her, damn it? What were they?"
"Aliens, extraterrestrials," Masterson said matter-of-factly. "Your captain's been abducted, lieutenant. If she left you in charge you'd better get busy. According to Igan intelligence, Callifer has about seven thousand troops near the river. You've got your work cut out for you."
"We can't do it without her," Nelson objected. "Our spy network, inter-unit communications are nonexistent."
"So what? You're going to roll over and play dead?"
"Of course not!"
"Good - you've got the numbers and . . ."
"Masterson," the Doctor interrupted, "This is all very interesting and necessary, but I need your truck."
The Old Man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You want to go after them, don't you?"
The Doctor nodded.
"I'm coming with you."
"Well, I'm not staying here alone" Anna looked uneasily at the dozens of men lingering nearby, staring.
"Does either of you know the Slough?" the Doctor asked.
Dr. Taylor shook her head.
"Only by reputation," said Masterson. "Let me guess. You don't remember where you parked."
"I'm afraid not."
Masterson frowned and looked at Nelson. No sooner had they stepped away then several Horde officers moved in around him. He was talking quickly and earnestly to them.
"I have an idea," the Old Man said abruptly. "Coming?"
* * *
It was a holding tank of some kind. Danner sat with his back to the wall, the metal ice-cold through his shirt. Beside him, several more blackstones lay or slumped against each other, unconscious. Through the walls and far off, in this place he could only guess at, Danner heard a deep, sonorous clang. Then another. He had not felt movement of any sort for a few minutes. They must have reached the end of their journey - wherever that was.
There were more clangs, then a spine-chilling screech flooded their tiny prison. A moment later, silence. Suddenly their cell filled with light. Vertigo sent Danner tumbling forward, but there was no floor to catch him. For one nauseous moment he was in free-fall. Then the light was gone.
There was a long period of confusion and darkness. Images came out of black chaos to freeze against his inner eye: A room of sterile silver, faces straight out of horror movies staring at him through bars, spider-fingers hovering over his face, light winking on their tips. Occasionally there was sound as well, sibilant whispers, cracking barks -- unintelligible at first; later, he understood the words though the meaning drifted off before he could seize on it.
Then he got his mind back and almost wished he had not.
He was in a another cell, a cramped metal box with sweating walls and air so ill-smelling he almost gagged. A spot in the wall over his head glowed faintly pink, the prison's sole illumination. There was only one other blackstone this time, but Danner had no idea if he was one of the others he had seen on the first go-around. The man looked gray and tired -- looked, in fact, just like Danner felt. And like Danner, he was dressed in a shabby coverall even greyer than his face.
"What the hell?" Danner wondered aloud. "What did they do to us?"
"I don't know." The other blackstone rubbed his forehead, fingers sliding over his biocrystal.
Danner's blackstone ached, too. He touched it gingerly and winced. He stretched his limbs experimentally. Everything seemed to work.
Somewhere beyond their box Danner was certain he heard the banging start again, and a shout. A panel in the ceiling slid open and a cowled face peered in. Danner felt his muscles tense. For the first time, he could see into the hood - a narrow, white face - all eyes, no nose, and tiny rictus of a mouth. This one talked.
"Feeders up!" It commanded, voice like a rusty hinge. "Hurry!"
The robopriest was not speaking English, but Danner had no trouble understanding it. The other blackstone shrank back, terrified, so Danner shrugged and reached for the opening. With a grunt, he hauled himself up and into a large, low-ceilinged room with floors marked by regular rows of panels.
"That way, Feeders!"
A vicious streak of pain shot through Danner's shoulder. He spun around, reflex winning over caution, and his hand closed around a long rod of crystal. Big mistake. The pain that ran through his arm this time knocked him on his back and drove the breath from his lungs. He lay a moment, staring up into an unremarkable ceiling, trying vainly to breathe.
"Do that again, Feeder, and you die."
The robopriest leaned over him, filling his vision with an ugly, smug face. Danner closed his eyes, figuring if he had to look at the creep he *would* die.
"Don't be stupid!" His companion reached down to help Danner back to his feet, eyeing their tormentor warily. "Take it easy. The skilke don't like attitude."
"Skilke?"
The blackstone, with another scared look at the aliens, said:
"I was a prisoner of the Scourge. They'll kill you if you give them too much trouble. Just shut up and keep your head down or we'll both get it."
On wobbly legs, Danner trailed after the man, following him into a narrow, ill-lit corridor. At the end was a smallish room with a glass-enclosed dais surrounded by a modest bank of alien computer equipment. A skinny man with his back to them stood behind the computers. He looked around indifferently as they approached. With a shock, Danner saw he was human
"This feeder to Sector 14, sir; this feeder to Sector five," the skilke rasped.
"Very well," drawled the man, bored.
He waited until the creature shoved the other blackstone up onto the dais, then touched something on the panel. One moment the 'stone was there, staring at him, the next -- gone. Danner's heart took a dive.
"Go!" The skilke shoved him forward.
Danner stumbled up onto the platform. Light filled his head. Dizziness nearly made him vomit. Then his vision cleared, his stomach settled and he was on another dais in another room. The first thing he noticed was the noise. His ears were assaulted by it.
This room had a control console manned by yet another skilke. In fact, aside from the other blackstones, and the Cardinal who wasn't really the Cardinal - all he saw were skilke. This one, however, was not wearing priest robes. It was quite naked and obviously sexless. There were two more who stepped forward and motioned him down from the platform.
Danner was herded along a short corridor as the noise got even worse. At a massive pair of iron doors, he stopped. His skilke escorts pressed a button on the side and the heavy portals swung open.
The room beyond was roughly the size
of a basketball arena and filled with huge, archaic pieces of machinery.
It was hot, the air thick with smoke and steam. The machines crashed
and whined and screamed in an unceasing, psychotic symphony. Some
belched flame into the stagnant air, pistons worked, gears turned and belts
rolled endlessly around. If Henry Ford had designed hell,
Danner thought irrelevantly, this
was what it would look like.
The machinery was not the only thing about this place that spun Danner's mind. It was overrun by as bizarre a collection of beings as he had ever imagined. Although most were human and blackstone, he saw some creatures of reptilian appearance, others that resembled giant toads. He saw bearish, furry mammals, bipeds and insectoids. All were dressed in the ubiquitous gray coverall, though they varied in style to fit the miscellany of physical types. The creatures were laboring at the various machines: hauling carts, sacks and barrels hither and yon, punching buttons, pulling levers, racing in and out of chugging pistons. There were also lots of skilke standing around toting those obnoxious rods. The more traditional variety of whips dangled at their belts, along with a collection of oddly shaped devices whose purpose Danner refused to imagine.
At Danner's back, the skilke gave him another shove, pushing him through the crowd of busy slaves. Skilke overseers watched from round, fathomless eyes. Few of the slaves did more than glance in their direction.
Finally, the skilke called a halt. It advanced on another of those unlovely creatures, this one standing nearby a collection of conveyer belts. The two spoke, their words lost in the crashing din of the place. Danner stared up curiously at the conveyers. They ran up and down, east and west, an intricate, moving web of metal and some sort of plastic material. Only a few of them, however, were actually moving.
A short distance above the highest of the belts was a slender pipe that belched steam into the already oppressive atmosphere. A bulbous, bell-like contrivance hung directly above the pipe-end, catching most (but not all) of the steam, siphoning it up through another pipe and out of sight. As Danner watched, the steam cloud suddenly dwindled to a halfhearted trickle. His skilke's companion turned and shouted at a small, feline creature with a battered face and patchy, matted fur. It had been huddled near the belts, unnoticed by Danner until that moment. At the skilke's shout, it leapt to its feet and scrambled frantically up the moving belts, hopping from one to the other until it reached the top, keeping its balance by means of an intricate little dance. In one of its paws it held a long, slender metal shaft. Danner's heart jumped into his mouth. The creature flung itself at the pipe and jammed the stick into the open end, then threw itself back with desperate speed as steam exploded outward, nearly engulfing it in a scalding cloud. It tottered a moment, fighting to keep its footing on the narrow belt, then scrambled back down the way it had come, collapsing back into its previous position.
This was the end of the line. Danner's guard shouted at him, then turned and walked off, disappearing into the foggy chaos of metal and sound. The remaining skilke, its eyes bugging with what Danner imagined to be malice, pushed a stick at him identical to the one the cat-man held. Danner looked down at that sodden, exhausted creature, then up at the steam-pipe.
Shit.
Danner entertained the brief and attractive notion of using the rod to bash the skilke's ugly face in. Unfortunately, the rod was too thin and flexible to be very effective - to say nothing of the fact that about a million other skilke would come rushing to his victim's defense. No. The best thing to do was to bide his time, to scope out the environment, plot his next move carefully.
The skilke gestured jerkily toward the cat-man; in this place of constant thunder sign language was easiest. Danner, eyes wary on the crystal rod, crossed over and crouched by his fellow pipe-cleaner. Close up he could see the pitiful thing's fur had been literally scalded off in mottled splotches -- blistered skin painfully visible in the bare spots. Many of the sores had putrefied, seeping yellowish fluid into the lank, greasy fur surrounding them. Medical treatment for the slaves was apparently not a high priority. Danner wondered what the life expectancy was in this job.
Danner's companion had no interest in him. It sat with head hanging, burned paws limp on its small knees. He could not even tell if it were male or female.
Above him, the steam output had fallen off again. This was not a very efficient system. The skilke screamed, barely audible through the din, and gestured peremptorily at Danner, backing up his order with a threatening thrust of the rod. Danner set his jaw and was on his feet with a speed that sent the creature back a couple of steps. Without breaking his momentum, he leapt onto the belt, needing a half-second to learn its rhythm before running lightly from belt to belt until he reached the summit.
From this vantage point, Danner could see most of the room - and be seen. All around him, work slowed as those in the immediate vicinity watched - skilke with glee, slaves with dull-eyed expectation. Below him, the cat-thing had moved out and was watching, bones sharp beneath its mangy, festering flesh.
Danner closed his eyes a moment, seeking calm. This was not going to be easy. The angle of the pipe to the conveyer belt was awkward, to say the least. To pull the stick out, one was almost forced to be directly in the path of the gushing steam -- or in the midst of a thirty-foot fall to the floor.
Opening his eyes, Danner brought up the stick, and rammed it with all his might into the opening. Measuring time in heartbeats, he waited for that indefinable sense of timing.
Now!
He pulled out the stick, at the same time twisting to the right and down. A bad moment as his arm hit the belt at the wrong angle. Then he had found the rhythm again, somersaulting down the belt as escaping steam shrieked over his head - a startling heat that was there for the barest instant before he was away.
He landed easily and stood, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deliberately. The skilke, disappointed, met Danner's disdainful stare and looked away. The cat-thing was grinning. Danner winked and settled down beside it. Large, golden eyes surveyed him intensely a moment. Then its head was down, once more the abject slave.
The skilke sent it up at the next steam jam -- and the next. Danner, ready to take his turn, found himself knocked back by a thrust of the rod. At the fourth jam, when the creature was again sent, staggering now and at the end of its precarious strength, Danner knew what was happening. He could only watch, sick, as the pathetic creature leaned, shaking, against the stick, barely able to push it into the pipe.
It managed, just, to pull the stick out. Tottering, it was frozen in that eternal second just prior to disaster. Then the explosion of steam engulfed it, the hissing roar drowning out the slave's dying scream. The tiny body appeared from the cloud, tumbling through the latticing of the conveyer belts. It seemed to float to the floor. Danner looked aside as it hit, but was unable to block the sound of brittle bones snapping.
Something that looked like a miniature rhinoceros came with a handcart and hauled the body away. It was all Danner could do not to throttle his skilke overseer. Instead, he wiped sweat off his face, and silently vowed to get out of here by whatever means he could find.
The next succession of hours blended into one grueling, nerve-wracking blur. Again and again he was sent scrambling up the belt to clear the pipe. Once he missed his footing and, in attempting to regain his balance, swung his hand directly into the steam jet. He recovered almost at once, but the back of his hand was blistered and sore. After that, he forced himself to focus, obliterating all extraneous stimuli.
Finally, as he crouched at the foot of the belt, hoarding his strength against the next run, something jabbed into his aching shoulder. He lifted his head, muscles tensing, expecting to be sent upward again. But a new slave stood over him, another human blackstone. A different skilke stood beside it. Danner's overseer snapped something that got lost in the noise and motioned impatiently for Danner to get up. He did so, swaying a little from fatigue.
Through the pillars and walls of machinery, the creature led Danner to an open space. More slaves were gathered there, all in various stages of exhaustion. The overseer left Danner with the others and departed. To his right and left, slaves were collapsing onto mats. Two skilke, apparently the room's guards, sat on either end of the long chamber. Bedtime, eh? That was fine with Danner. He felt himself folding up, hitting the thin padding without really feeling it.
He awoke some time later, uncertain about what it was that had roused him from a profound sleep. The din from the engine room was a constant battery; it had become white noise, easily ignored. The breathing, snorts and snores from his fellow slaves was not remarkable. So what could have awakened him?
Then raw panic crashed through him. His heart rate soared, breath caught in his throat.
The Witch!
Hard on the terror came hunger. Danner's own sight shifted and blurred. Another image imposed itself over the hellish room and his fellow slaves.
A dark place filled with corpses. Hands like damp clay on her skin.
His skin! Danner fought to regain control and discovered that he was kneeling on the metal deck. There were skilke shrieking at him to stand or be punished. Need dragged at him with hooks dug into his flesh.
Something around his wrists, tight as a vice. A face shut away the lights overhead.
Not these lights. Nothing around his wrists.
"The Feeder is in violation. The Feeder has five seconds to comply."
Compulsion was burning him worse than their damned energy weapons. The entire room was awake now, and staring. Danner pushed to his feet, reeled as he tried to override the invading images. He saw the skilke raise its punishment rod, heard the faint whine as it powered up. Helplessly, he waited for pain. But the thing did not fire. Instead, it stood, motionless, head tilted to one side. Then:
"Feeder will get up. Feeder will accompany unit four-oh-nine. Now."
* * *
The truck pulled into a broken, overgrown parking lot. Masterson turned it off. Reaching around, he pulled a bulging briefcase from the backseat and, kicking open the door, stepped out into the deepening dusk. The Doctor and Anna, mystified, got out more slowly. The Doctor, thinking wistfully of his jacket, shivered and looked skyward. It was absolutely clear. An opaline glow edged the east.
"Where are we?" Anna asked.
"The Quality Trade Center - once upon a time." Masterson replied. "A place of commerce for all that was cheap and tawdry. Watch your step."
"It looks like it'll collapse at any second," Anna muttered, keeping close to the Doctor.
"It always has," Masterson tossed back cheerfully. "Head's up!"
She and the Doctor hurried after him as he strode across the lot and passed beneath the concourse roof. At once, a horrendous wailing and moaning started, the dreadful sounds of souls in hellish torment. Anna grabbed the Doctor's arm, startled.
Masterson yawned and dug into his pocket. The key fit into a rusted, but sturdy padlock. He unlocked the door and hauled it open, jumping back quickly as a tattered something flew at his face. The Doctor began to chuckle. Masterson slanted a grin in their direction and humming to himself, he pushed aside the rotting sheet.
"After you." He stepped aside to let them pass, shutting the door firmly behind him.
The interior was barn-like, stretching away in all directions, immersed in shadow and musty silence. Some of the old booths still stood, their wares long plundered. The wailing started up again, this time accompanied by horrific growls and roars. To their right, a pale glow appeared, drifting several feet above the mildewed concrete floor, just barely recognizable as a ghastly face. Jingling his keys, Masterson strolled past it to disappear into a restroom. A moment later, the noise stopped; a chugging started as the main generator fired up. Lights blinked on, banishing the floating face, as he reappeared.
"Not bad," the Doctor grinned. "Pretty effective, is it?"
"Hell, yes. When I first set it up, I had a riot watching the scavengers run screaming. Then the whole area got a rep for being haunted and no one came near it. This way."
Winding his way through the wrecks of booths, he came at last to the center of the building.
"My other toy," he announced.
The thing was elephantine, shrouded in a huge, tarpaulin dust-cover. Masterson set down his briefcase and regarded the hulk in silence for a long time. Finally, with a look of regret, he went over to it and began to unfasten the tarp. Pulling it away, he stepped back.
The sleek, black killing machine gleamed beneath the dim lighting, its blades draped with cobwebs. Dust lay thick on the guns and missiles.
"A Samurai 419. I thought these had all been destroyed," Anna said tightly.
"That was the plan," Masterson agreed, "but Security exercised their one black program option."
She clamped her lips together and looked at the helicopter with loathing.
"Some things," she said shortly, "were better off lost."
"It works?" The Doctor started slowly around it. "Even the computers?"
"I've come here twice a year to test her systems, check the shell, the usual maintenance. It took me five years to replace a motherboard once, but on the whole they did a pretty good job putting this lady together. All the systems are viable except the missile controls. I can't figure out what's wrong there. Yet. It flies, though, and the guns work.
"Doctor - over against that wall is a switch. It controls the hydraulic roof. Anna, if you can overcome your repugnance, perhaps you would get in and put some of those interesting computer skills to use. I can't remember what the fuel level is."
Ten minutes later they were airborne, moving northeast across the Fringe. The rising sun gilded the roofs of long-abandoned buildings slipping away beneath them. To the South lay the towers of City Center, pale against the soot-blackened maze of Old Town. Masterson banked the aircraft sharply and a cloud of gulls scattered in panicked disarray. The Doctor saw the edge of the Slough, oily water creeping inland along desolate streets and alleys. The Professor brought them within thirty feet of the ground. Whirling blades sent water sheeting across the small ponds and canals as they passed.
"Start looking!" Masterson shouted.
Five minutes later, the Doctor saw her - a bright spot of blue against gray pavement. Relief plastered a grin on his face. Masterson landed smoothly and, as the Doctor reached for the latch, leaned over to seize his wrist.
"Good luck, Doctor!"
You're not coming?"
Masterson shook his head regretfully. "Hell, man! I'd love to. But with this machine on their side, the Horde can have Callifer scuttling home in less than twenty-four hours. You take care of the big problem, OK? I'll have a look up there when you've cleaned house."
The Doctor gripped his hand briefly and nodded. Then the Time Lord jumped to the pavement and helped Anna down. The Old Man gave them a lazy salute and waved them away. The helicopter rose, hovered a moment, then shot off toward the west. Grabbing Dr. Taylor, the Doctor ran to the TARDIS.
"What is this?"
Anna took several steps back as the Doctor dug feverishly in his pockets. Thrusting the key into the lock, he pushed open the door. He heard a gasp from Anna as he ran across the room and dove under the console.
"What the hell is this place? Doctor?"
"Time and Relative Dimensions in Space," he called, pulling off a panel and throwing it to one side. "It's a time-spaceship that, at the moment, is a plain old space ship. . . if I'm lucky."
"What are you doing?"
He lifted his head to see Dr. Taylor crouched at his feet, peering under the console.
"I'm missing an important component." He pushed aside a snarl of wires. "Hopefully, I can jerry rig something to make the short hop to their ship."
"Short hop? Into space? Is this place oxygenated? What powers it?"
"Yes, yes, yes and the Eye of Harmony. Ah! There it is!"
Anna hurried scooted over as the Doctor jumped up and hit a button. The TARDIS coughed and didn't move. His hearts dropped into his shoes.
"What's wrong?"
"You wouldn't have a diamond on you, would you, Dr. Taylor?" he asked gloomily.
Maybe if he rerouted from life support, he could get enough power to kick-start the old girl. He started around the console and came up short as Dr. Taylor blocked his way.
"Dr. Taylor, I need to reach that . . ."
The diamond winked at him as she held it out to the light. Smiling, she took his hand, dropped the ring onto his palm.
"I -- I'll have to take it out of its setting."
"Do whatever you want with it. Ron gave it to me, I could not possibly care less. Why is this place so big on the inside? Is there some kind of illusion-generating device on the outside?"
So, as he stripped the prongs from the crystal and went back under the console, the Doctor gave her a brief lecture on the physics of space and time. Placing the stone into its dinurium cradle, he felt the TARDIS power level leap back into the normal zone. A burst of well-being flowed out of the console and shivered through his nervous system.
"Sorry it took so long, old thing," he murmured. "I got distracted."
Dr. Taylor was on the other side of the console, watching him as he stood up. There were tiny tension lines around her mouth.
"Time for more medication?" he guessed.
She caught her breath and nodded. "Thanks."
While she had a seat in his wing-backed chair, he bent over the sensor board and initiated an orbital search, fingers clumsy from his growing anxiety and impatience. He located the ship -- it was massive! -- and set the coordinates. The rotor began to wheeze. He felt the subtle shift in realities that meant they were outside space and time again. He looked up over the console at Dr. Taylor. She was replacing the hypodermic. Her eyes met his across the console chamber, quizzical.
"We're here."
"And where would that be?"
"Let's have a look." The Doctor moved around the console and began checking the sensor data. The readings he got made him check it again.
"What's wrong?"
"The data aren't making sense. I'm getting a total mass reading that's maybe a quarter again the size of your moon. The energy output should be at a certain level for a ship that size, but it's not."
"Maybe it's a really energy-efficient ship."
"I don't think so. We've materialized somewhere in the interior - there's power and air, yet the readings on both are erratic. If I look further afield in this direction, I get stronger readings on both counts. If I go in the other direction, I get nothing at all. Furthermore, I'm getting measurements that show a primitive electrical grid! It doesn't make sense!"
"Doctor, my areas of expertise are mainly biological - human biological. Sorry."
The Doctor shrugged. "Ah, well. Time to have a look."
"Go out there?"
"Certainly. I told you. There's air."
"That's a good start. What else?"
Reaching over, the Doctor activated the viewscreen. They saw a portion of wall.
"Mmm," Dr. Taylor commented. "Very informative."
Some manipulation of the viewer showed more wall and, eventually, a section of corridor leading off into darkness.
"See," the Doctor said brightly. "All clear."
"Herumph." Anna did not look convinced.
"You can stay in here, if you want," the Doctor offered.
To his relief, she shook her head. "No way, Doctor. In for a penny, in for a pound. Lead on."