Doctor Who_ Lucifer Rising Part 2

.

.

The corridor was triangular in cross section and lined with machinery. The floor was steeply concave, but covered with a mesh grille. Doorways led off it, each sealed with a large slab of metal. The air was musty, as if something malevolent had crawled in there a million years ago and given birth to shadows and silence and dust.

And then, perhaps for the first time in centuries, a faint echo ran through the corridor; a sound like distant drums, or perhaps a thunderstorm far away across a black sea. The air in the corridor swung apart like a grimy curtain to reveal a large blue box with a flashing light on top. Momentarily the thunder crashed overhead, as if something infinitely heavy had come to rest.

The moment the doors of the blue box opened, and a small, rather exuberant gentleman in a gaudy pullover, tartan trousers and brown corduroy jacket emerged, the atmosphere changed completely. Perhaps it was the white Panama hat perched upon his head like a nesting bird; perhaps the fact that beneath its brim, like two large, round eggs, his eyes were bright and full of joyful intelligence. Whatever it was, the sum of all the individual details added up to a personality shining with the conviction that, whatever the situation, whatever the galaxy, it could be grasped as firmly and immediately as the crooked handle of his umbrella.

Twirling the umbrella like an old*fashioned propeller, the gentleman looked around, wide eyed, as if he couldn't believe his luck in landing exactly where he had. A corridor! Yes, but what sort of corridor? What was it a corridor in? Where did it lead? And what adventures were lying in wait for him at either end?

He walked jauntily over to the nearest door and pushed at it. Nothing happened. He looked around the frame for b.u.t.tons or handles but there were none. He tapped it a few times with the handle of his umbrella. Still nothing. He tried to force his fingers into the gap around the frame, then suddenly withdrew them when he realized what might happen to them if the door suddenly opened. He tried humming a few bars of 'Chatanooga Choo*Choo' at it, but the door wasn't impressed. He sighed, and turned to survey the corridor. It glowed with possibilities. Should he go left? Or right? Perhaps he should try various combinations of the two?

Before he could even start to think about his next move, he discovered something very interesting.

The door was humming back at him.

He bent to listen. It wasn't humming anything recognizable more a kind of monotonous, low*pitched vibration in the key of E flat minor with a sustained fifth than anything else but it was recognizably a hum. And what did that tell him? The hum from a piece of heavy machinery, perhaps? A generator, maybe? Hmm.

E flat minor was his favourite key. A sustained fifth note was icing on the cake. The gentleman considered. Maybe the key to the door was a musical one.

Before he could wrestle the thought to the ground and force it to submit, somebody else left the large blue box a young woman who wore a badge*loaded jacket over body armour of an unidentifiable material and lycra leggings tucked into military*style boots, and whose hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail.

'Incredible,' the girl said scornfully. 'With the entire universe to choose from, he finds another scungy corridor!'

The man turned.

'Is it deliberate?' she continued. 'Do you have some sort of Time Lord sensor in the TARDIS which automatically seeks out cold and dirty corridors to land in, Professor?'

'Ace!' the gentleman said, with a subtly hurt burr in his voice. 'I had hoped that your little holiday might have cured your innate cynicism. I see I was wrong.'

'Come on, Prof, the s.p.a.cefleet was hardly a rest*cure.'

'And how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not the "Prof", I'm the Doctor.'

'But that's not a real name either,' said a voice behind them. 'They're both labels. Why doesn't either one of you ever tell anybody your real name?'

The Doctor looked over Ace's shoulder at a tall, slender woman who had stepped out of the TARDIS. Her baggy jumpsuit seemed to have been woven from a nondescript material around a series of pockets and loops, and it was only the extravagance of her velvet waistcoat that stopped her blending in completely with the background. Slung across her shoulder was a portable instrument package. Her recently dreadlocked hair stuck out from beneath an old*fashioned baseball cap. She looked around curiously, as if she fully expected to find interesting things to look at, dig up, or otherwise poke her nose into.

The Doctor smiled. There was something faintly out of control about that smile.

'We all have our little secrets,' he said.

Ace looked away.

The other woman smiled sweetly. 'Point taken,' she replied.

Ace snorted contemptuously. 'It's still a corridor,' she muttered. 'No matter what you say.'

'But don't you see the positive plethora of possibilities implicit in the very existence of this corridor? There could be anything at the end of it. Anything in the universe or beyond. Could you get back in the TARDIS, not knowing what was waiting for us?' He turned to the older woman. 'Could you, Bernice?'

'Hardly; it was me who wanted to come here.' She looked over at Ace, who was looking up and down the corridor warily. 'And Ace, as I recall, wasn't exactly averse to the idea.'

Leaving Ace with a slight frown marring her face, the Doctor set about the business of exploring the corridor. He took a few steps to his left, then hesitated. The corridor seemed to stretch to infinity ahead. He turned to the right, and headed back past Bernice, who watched him with growing amus.e.m.e.nt. He stopped again. If he went the wrong way he might miss all the action. If there was any. But which way was the wrong way? Was any way the right way?

'Eeney meeney miney moe,' he said, pointing alternately left and right, 'catch a Rutan by its toe. If it wriggles, let it go. Eeney meeney miney moe!'

He strode off back past Ace and Bernice again. 'Come along,' he yelled over his shoulder. 'What are you waiting for?'

'Christmas,' Ace muttered bad*temperedly as she followed the Doctor.

.

Ace felt a hand on her arm. 'Are we looking for anything in particular?' Bernice said, drawing level with the younger woman, 'or is this more in the nature of a const.i.tutional?'

Instead of answering, Ace glanced around, stared coldly at Bernice, and then increased her pace so that she was walking in front of the others. The TARDIS was a long way behind them by now. Gloomy and mysterious, and still lined with the hulking shapes of vast machinery, the corridor looked as if it went on ahead of them forever. Nothing, she knew, was more likely to arouse the Doctor's curiosity. Ace was not so easily impressed. She could think of nothing more boring than walking for miles down some manky corridor. Except walking back again. She banged a clenched fist in frustration against the flank of a colossal piece of machinery. An echoing boom reverberated off into the far distance. Dust shivered loose from its years*old perch and trickled down upon her like dirty snow.

'Fascinating as this is, Doctor,' she said loudly, 'if I'd wanted to spend the rest of my life hoofing it around grimy s.p.a.ceships for no good reason I'd have stayed in s.p.a.cefleet.'

Bernice stopped in the middle of the corridor and began to ma.s.sage her calves. Ace walked on for several metres before realizing she was alone. She turned and stared impatiently at Bernice. The Doctor was leaning on his brolly at the archaeologist's shoulder, offering advice in a quiet voice. Ace looked away quickly, disturbed to find herself becoming angry without a discernible reason.

'I'm hungry,' she said in a loud voice.

'Yes,' Bernice agreed. 'Fascinating as this is, I'd much rather sink a pint.'

'Now listen to me both of you,' the Doctor said. 'This overstressed preponderance towards the absorption of purely physical nutrition has got to stop. Look at that piece of machinery you're standing by. Who knows what it is or why it's there? Feed the mind, ladies. Feed the mind!' And the Doctor gently tapped the top of his head with the umbrella handle to emphasize his point.

Bernice looked up with a tired sigh. 'It's '

The Doctor touched her shoulder lightly. 'Why don't we see if Ace can work it out, Bernice? Perhaps it'll rekindle her sense of wonder. What do you think, Ace?'

Ace was looking at the Doctor with an irritated expression. Without pausing to study the device to which the Doctor referred, she said, 'It's an oxygen generator.' She pointed towards a universal junction about half*way up the device. 'Look at the convective f.l.a.n.g.es. And the line feeds. It's a museum piece, built around twenty*one fifty, which is just about the year we were aiming for.'

Ace suddenly fell quiet.

The Doctor sighed. Secrets, he thought grimly. He bent and dragged the tip of his umbrella along the floor, beneath the cha.s.sis. 'That the item in question is old, according to your rather solipsistic criteria, I will not call into question,' he said pointedly. 'But look here. This is packing grease. And here.' The Doctor tugged at some web fastenings around the device. 'Stowage, unsealed. This machine has obviously been packed for a journey and hasn't been used yet. So, far from being a dead place, this would appear to be somewhere awaiting the arrival of life. What do you have to say about that, then?'

'Don't patronize me. I'm not a kid, okay?'

'No. Of course you aren't.' The Doctor strode past Ace into the darkness. More slowly, Bernice followed him. Ace was forced to stand aside to allow them pa.s.sage. She threw a piercing glance at the back of the Doctor's jacket wondering whether she should give it all up as a dead loss and head back for the ship. The Doctor waved his umbrella behind him in a peremptory gesture. 'Come along, Ace,' he called back along the corridor. 'Don't dawdle.'

Ace ran to catch up with the Doctor. 'I'm coming with you.'

The Doctor smiled. 'I hoped you might.'

Ace pursed her lips. 'Just so long as you realize I don't have to.'

'Of course, Ace. No question about it.'

They walked on.

.

Bernice strolled casually down the corridor, whistling chirpily to herself and occasionally stopping to examine the etched texture of the sloping walls, or to peer through the grillework down at the concave floor. Ahead of her the pa.s.sage straightened. She stopped suddenly. Was she seeing things, or did there appear to be something hovering un.o.btrusively high up in the 'What's that up ahead?' Ace asked suddenly, trying to peer around both the Doctor and Bernice.

'It looks very much like a door. And very much shut,' Bernice said.

'Maybe there's some food behind it!' Pushing past the others, Ace walked up to the door and gave it a swift kick.

Slowly, and to Bernice's astonishment, the door began to slide ponderously into the ceiling. The hiss of escaping hydraulic vapour swamped the creaks and groans of overstressed metal as it slowly ground its way against the acc.u.mulated dirt of years. A few feet off the ground the entire device seized up, and something inside broke with a high 'plink!' Before the door could spring shut again, the Doctor jammed it open with his umbrella, pushed Ace and Bernice underneath, and leaped through himself.

He stood, examining a tiny spring he had picked up off the floor. He measured it against the size and weight of the door and shook his head. He was about to speak when the door suddenly clanged shut, neatly slicing his umbrella in half as it did so. Before he could quite come to terms with the sudden, shocking demise of an old and comfortable piece of apparel, he realized that the trouble hadn't stopped there.

'Professor!'

He turned. Ace was peering up into a corner of the room, where a small mechanical object hovered, looking something like a metallic knot in the process of being tied. Somehow the Doctor got the impression that it was peering back at her. And humming.

'Hmmm,' he murmured. 'E flat minor. So that was what it was.'

'What was what what what was?' Ace asked, then frowned, trapped inside the tortured logic of her own question. was?' Ace asked, then frowned, trapped inside the tortured logic of her own question.

'My dear Ace, sometimes I think you do for the English language what Escher did for spatial geometry.' The Doctor leaned forward and his voice hardened. 'I am referring, of course, to the thing that's been following us. It must have tried to get through the door before it closed, and given itself away by accident.'

'What is it?' Bernice asked curiously.

'It's a Peeping Tom.'

Ace's face twisted in sudden anger. 'You mean somebody's spying on us?'

'Yes... Or it could just be pa.s.sively recording a doc.u.ment for somebody to experience later.'

He leaned closer and peered up at the ribbon*like device that twisted and turned before him. His eyes narrowed and his voice hardened yet again. Now there was real menace in it. 'I don't know about you, but I'm not so sure I'm partial to the idea of being peeped at.' Suddenly, and perfectly in character, the Doctor's mood swung back to the jovial. 'Still. It's rather a cute little bug really, don't you think?' The Doctor reached out a hand to pat the device. As he moved towards it, tiny air currents swung the device, lending it an appearance of alarm.

The Doctor smiled a predatory smile. 'Ladies and Gentlemen!' he proclaimed brightly. 'May I present: the Amazing Disappearing Doctor and Friends!'

Before the thing could react, the Doctor whipped a spray*can from his pocket and .

blue paint back and forth across the .

made their escape through .

.

bounced once or twice, then lay still .

.

.

Silence.

The Adjudicator leaned back in his comfortable chair. With the file corrupt, the terminal had shut down, leaving the darkness surrounding him complete. He tried to relax, allowing a complex web of thoughts and a.s.sociations to form within his brain. Cause and effect was the key here. But which was the cause and which the effect?

The Adjudicator crossed his legs and eased off one slipper. He spent a few minutes ma.s.saging his left foot. Was the mysterious Doctor right? Had the pressure and the loneliness got to one of the Base personnel? Was someone a killer? Piper's cynicism could be hiding a failure of nerve. Bannen was aggressive and opinionated, and that usually meant a lack of confidence underneath. Christine, the illegal daughter of parents rich enough to buy off the Energy Police, could well have problems fitting in with people from a lower cla.s.s. Her nervousness might indicate something more than just social embarra.s.sment. And Miles... Well, rigid structures usually broke easier than flexible ones.

He could feel a headache coming on. He hoped he wasn't coming down with something nasty.

Twenty*eight personnel on the base not counting these new arrivals, the Doctor and his unconventional companions. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to rely on the simularity programs to deduce possible motives. How good did a machine have to be, to be able to correctly extrapolate five years of interpersonal relationships? Was it even really possible?

The Adjudicator replaced his slipper and began to ma.s.sage his other foot. Five years alone together had certainly provided the staff with ample breeding ground for the kind of personality friction that was all too rife on Earth at the moment. Now, for perhaps the first time, the Adjudicator realized the scale of the problem that faced him.

He had the information he had requested, but it provided no answers.

Only more questions.

PART TWO.

BELIAL.

Faustus: And what are you that live with Lucifer?Mephistopheles: Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, Conspired against our G.o.d with Lucifer, And are for ever d.a.m.ned with Lucifer.Christopher Marlowe Doctor Faustus Doctor Faustus

Chapter Three.

Bernice gazed unseeingly into her drink. Beyond the transparent panels which enclosed the refectory area of Belial Base, iron*grey rocks climbed towards a steep horizon in a series of shallow steps. Giant's steps, thought Bernice. Steps for seven*league boots. A flat red luminescence cast down from the lurid horizon gave the rocks a fantastic appearance. They seemed like mirror*smooth puddles of solidified light. Red ice. Black rock. Lucifer and its attendant environs seemed to be a place of stark extremes.

A babble of words and laughter attracted her attention back to the refectory. A group comprising some of the younger members of the Project Eden team Jesus Delporto, Kosiana Kistasami, Lars Ulrich, Julie Ndema and Craig Richards was playing cribbage. The big Russian woman, a.n.u.skia Smyslov, sat watching them all with some bemus.e.m.e.nt.

Bernice sipped her drink, surprised to find the gla.s.s already almost drained. What in h.e.l.l's name was the matter with her? Why was she so depressed? She didn't really think it had anything to do with Paula's death. I mean, she thought, it's not as if anyone else could have found out. Unless the Doctor...

A movement outside caught her attention. Two figures in starsuits lumbered ponderously out from beneath the protective canopy of an outlying area of the base: her friend Cheryl Russell and Cheryl's husband Sam. Bernice watched as they headed slowly for an airlock situated directly below her line of sight. Just before they disappeared, Sam reached out and took Cheryl's gloved hand in his.

Oh yeah, she thought, who does he think he's kidding?

Depression tried to settle on her, but Bernice wasn't having any of it. She walked over to a food dispenser, thumped it with her elbow, caught the drink that the machine hurled at her in alarm, and returned to her seat, peeling the plastic wrapping from the gla.s.s as she went.