Doctor Who: Dark Horizons by Colgan J. T

Author:Colgan, J. T. [Colgan, J. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781446417782
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2012-07-04T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Sixteen

THE TARDIS DEMATERIALISED, then rematerialised almost immediately, still, Henrik realised, in the same place. With a final determined shove, he tipped up Erik and knocked him over, cracking his head on the stair.

‘Quick,’ shouted Freydis, throwing him the old leather belt from her wet dress. Before the stunned Erik realised what was happening, Henrik had tied both his hands behind his back to the metal balustrade. He added his own belt just to be sure.

‘Shall I punch him unconscious?’ asked Freydis. ‘I expect I could.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Henrik.

They smiled at one another, but only for a second.

‘We have to save him,’ said Henrik, rushing for the doors.

‘I’ll… I’ll make it go,’ said Freydis, running to the console, and staring, completely flummoxed, at the buttons and levers. She tentatively pressed one and the TARDIS bounced to the side. ‘Well, we’re moving,’ she said, trying to put a brave face on it.

But they were plunging through nothing. The TARDIS bounced all over the place.

‘We won’t be able to. We can’t open the doors, Henrik. You have to realise, it’s not possible.’

‘But this is his ship,’ said Henrik. ‘Look how strange it is. It might even be able to find him. Go right!’

The TARDIS heaved and bumped. Freydis pulled up quickly. She looked at Henrik.

‘When I fell into the water, down into the sea, before… Henrik, it is a terribly long way down,’ she said. ‘Terribly, terribly far. I do not know… no one could survive it.’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Henrik. He peered at the screens, but nothing could be seen but great clouds of silt, as the TARDIS lurched here and there in confusion and Erik came round and started making angry threats from the other side of the control room.

The helmet had stood up well, the Doctor reflected. Not bad for something over a hundred years old. Its bolts had wobbled a bit, but it hadn’t imploded. Of course, that would mean death took a little longer. He decided to lie down. He didn’t have to breathe yet – as Martha Jones had once discovered his lung capacity was extraordinary, but a respiratory bypass system could only work for so long. The time was coming. The only sound was his pulses flowing, slower and slower. Apart from that there was silence; utter, pitch-black and total silence.

He wasn’t about to give up, and things could be worse. He wasn’t bleeding. Nobody was shooting at him. He could say his goodbyes to this lifetime from the comforts of a seabed… perhaps he could regenerate into something with gills… mind you they didn’t go with his white hair… like those silmarillions… he didn’t have white hair. Did he? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember any colours, though he was sure he had seen them all. Some with names, some without.

He was being lulled… lulled and called home… full fathom five my father lies… of these the pearls that are his eyes…

‘Ding dong bell,’ he murmured with his very last vestiges of breath. ‘Ding…dong…’

Vworp.

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