Logopolis by Christopher H. Bidmead

Author:Christopher H. Bidmead [Bidmead, Christopher H.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426201496
Publisher: Target Books
Published: 1983-05-14T22:00:00+00:00

7

The Doctor’s young friends pressed in around the Monitor, and Tegan’s voice was louder than the others. ‘It’s your numbers doing this. You must be able to do something to put it right.’

‘Quick! Please, we must get him out of this!’ Adric demanded, tugging at the Monitor’s sleeve.

A greyness glazed over the fine features of the Logopolitan. ‘This is unheard of… A fault in the computations?’ He pushed his fingers, some ornamented with simple rings, through the neat silver curls of his hair. Then the moment of hesitation was over. In a voice crisp with authority he spoke to the distressed crowd around him. ‘Collect the visitor’s machine. The honour of Logopolis is at stake.’

And Adric thought he heard him add under his breath, ‘And more than our honour… much, much more.’

The TARDIS was now no bigger than a large cabin trunk, and even a child of ten would have had to stoop to get in through the miniature door. It was still fluorescing intermittently, but its surface didn’t seem to be hot to the touch when the Logopolitans hoisted gently it into a horizontal position.

Nyssa had run forward to supervise the lifting of the TARDIS. Now as the procession swept towards the city she fell into step beside the Monitor.

‘What are you going to do with the Doctor?’

The Logopolitan Leader turned his head towards her gravely. ‘Our best. That is all we can do.’

And they hurried on to the Central Register through the winding maze of Logopolis, not knowing if the Doctor, inside that shrunken and still shrinking toy, was alive or dead.

The Doctor himself was little wiser. He had been only part of the way through the tedious business of reading the figures off the data block and keying them at the console when the room began to fill with an insidious buzzing sound, like an infuriated mosquito caught in a jam jar.

It was then that the distortions started. He first noticed a curious truncation of the time column, as if he were looking down on it from the perspective of the ceiling. His own hands, working at the keyboard, suddenly seemed a long way off. The buzzing grew, until he wasn’t sure whether his head was in the room or the room was in his head. As he folded to his knees the floor rose smoothly to meet him halfway, like a well filling with dark oil.

An idea came swimming towards him through the thick buzzing blackness: dematerialise. Whatever was causing the spatial anomaly might be local. There was a chance of escape, if only…

The console was a giant mushroom that towered miles above him. He tried to struggle to his feet against some huge pressure. But he fought it, and eventually in agonising slow motion his knees straightened, and he found himself thin and tall, stretched like an over-tightened violin string between ceiling and floor.

His hand, almost an independent creature at the end of his long arm, managed to pull the dematerialisation lever. The buzzing continued to grow.

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