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“Ah! B-12427,” the Doctor declared proudly. “Now that’s – let me see.” Taking up the fault locator manual he leafed through it and ran his finger down a line of does. “B12 – 124 – aha!” Reading aloud, he continued, “Blockage in the macrobiogenic circuitry.” Turning, he plonked the manual absently down atop the toolbox in Steven’s arms.
If Steven had had any free hands he would have thrown them up in consternation. As it was, he looked down at the growing pile of objects in his arms and said, “The macro what?”
“Biogenic circuitry – do keep up,” said the Doctor. “Let’s see, now, that looks like it’s in quadrant fourteen – yes, that’s certainly – hm.” He fell silent, a troubled look passing across his face.
“What’s wrong?” said Steven. Without a word, the Doctor turned and walked back into the control room. “What’s wrong?” Steven hastened after him, taking a moment to offload the manual onto the nearest chair. “Doctor? Can you fix it?”
“Oh, naturally,” said the Doctor, heading out of the control room into the living quarters. “Yes, it’s an easy job if you have the right equipment.”
“And do you?” said Steven, laden with the toolbox and trying to catch him up.
“Do I what?” said the Doctor over his shoulder.
“Have the right equipment.”
“No,” said the Doctor, swiftly rounding a corner.
“What?” said Steven. “What do you mean, no?”
“Well, it’s a very uncommon problem and the necessary equipment is very bulky,” said the Doctor. “But it’s no matter – no matter. We might be able to work this out. Come along – come along.” Beckoning Steven to follow – as if he wasn’t already following – he went deeper into the TARDIS.
The Doctor led the way along a rarely-trafficked stretch of corridor that he didn’t think he’d ever entered before. They passed a number of closed doors, rounded several corners, and came at last upon a dead end.
“There we are – hand me that, would you?” The Doctor motioned vaguely at the toolbox. Steven hazarded a guess and picked up the last tool the Doctor had been working with. “No – no, the sensor,” the Doctor admonished, gesturing more emphatically. Steven located it. Turning the Doctor studied the wall and his face brightened. “Ah, yes! This seems to be the problem area.”
Steven followed his gaze – and took a hasty step back. From the edges of a large roundel in the wall, clear liquid was seeping to pool stickily on the floor. “What’s that?” he said, horrified.
“Oh, just some lubricant – there we are.” The Doctor popped the roundel from its housing – and behind it was –
Steven recoiled still further, backing up till he smacked into the opposite wall. “What is that?”
Behind the roundel, instead of any kind of circuitry, was a sort of – wet hole. A kind of translucent blue jelly, giving off a faint glow, and at its centre a glistening hole about twenty centimetres in diameter.
“Hm?” The Doctor glanced at him, unfazed by the bizarre sight. “Oh, it’s a macrobiogenic circuit access point.” He held up his sensor to the hole and beamed at the series of flashes it produced. “Aha! Very good.”
“Why is it wet?” Steven gabbled. He’d already been having a difficult day, if he was going to be honest. The TARDIS had ground to a halt mid landing with an unsettlingly loud clunk and none of the Doctor’s usual fixes had worked. Apparently they were, at present, jammed between flight and landing and could go nowhere until the problem was fixed. And it wasn’t as if they could radio for help. They were, to his understanding, entirely cut off from the rest of the universe. They were on their own. He had to try very hard not to think about it.
And now this? He was liable to start jibbering.
The hole pulsed, clenching and unclenching. Steven clutched the toolbox tighter. “Is it pulsing – Doctor, why is it pulsing?”
“Why shouldn’t it pulse?” said the Doctor, still fidgeting with the sensor.
He was really going to act like all of this was normal. “No – no.” Steven set down the tool box at their feet. “We’re not breezing past this? What the hell is that thing? Why does the TARDIS have, have – wet gooey bits inside it?”
“I told you.” The Doctor waggled the sensor at him. “It’s a macrobiogenic circuit. It’s made out of organic material.
“Alright, but it’s not normal.” Steven gestured at it emphatically. “I’ve seen the insides of a lot of spaceships. This is – this is weird. Stop acting like it’s not weird!”
“Well!” said the Doctor. “You haven’t made a study of the inner workings of a TARDIS before, now, have you? No! I thought not.” He went back to twiddling with the sensor.
“It’s leaking on the floor,” Steven hissed.
“Yes, I imagine it’s overproducing lubricant at present in an attempt to flush out the obstruction,” said the Doctor. “Now, it’s hard to get a clear reading through the biomass but I’d say the blockage is quite close to the access point. It ought to be possible to remove it without specialised equipment.” He patted Steven’s arm. “You might want to take your shirt off for this, my boy.”
Steven stared down at him. He didn’t like where this was going at all. “Why would I want to take my shirt off?”
“Well, as you observed, it’s a bit wet in there.” The Doctor motioned at the hole.
Steven went on staring. He pointedly didn’t look at the access port. “Are you suggesting that I take off my shirt and wriggle on in?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not!”
“My dear Steven –”
“No, don’t you my dear Steven me,” he said. “You want it fixed that badly, you take off your shirt and climb in.”
“Oh, no, out of the question.” The Doctor waved him off. “Not with my back being what it is. Anyway, your arms are longer.” He patted one fondly. “Better reach. No, you’re the man for the job.”
Steven opened his mouth – and finding himself truly lost for words, shut it again.
“Ordinarily one would use an automated type contraption to go in there and clean it out,” the Doctor went on, unflapped. “But in the circumstances you’ll have to do.”
He found his tongue. “An automated contraption which you do not have?”
“I told you – it’s an uncommon problem –”
“Alright, but it’s an uncommon problem that completely scuppers you when it comes up?” Steven pointed out. “Do you not have safety regulations on your planet? Also,” he went on, voice pitching up a little. “I’m big in the shoulders and the port’s pretty small. I won’t fit.”
The Doctor smirked up at him and patted his arm again. “It stretches.”
He was rapidly approaching the end of his rope. Actually, he’d been at the end of his rope ever since the big clunk. He was clinging to the frayed remains of his rope. He was liable to snap. “Why couldn’t you just have a normal spaceship with normal problems?” he demanded. “What is wrong with you?”
“Steven –”
“I’m not going in there, think of something else!”
The Doctor pursed his lips. “Well, my boy, as there isn’t anything else I’m afraid you have two choices,” he said. “You can, as you put it, take off your shirt and wriggle on in or you can spend the rest of your natural life within the ship.” Steven opened his mouth to protest. “That is, assuming the obstruction doesn’t cause the circuitry to overheat, in which case the TARDIS will likely disintegrate and we’ll both be killed.”
Steven shut his mouth. He said, “I refuse to accept that those are the only two options.
“Mm-hm,” the Doctor hummed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” said Steven. “Oh, for –” He looked back down at the access port, still leaking its fluids all over the floor. He looked at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut. No. Nope. Absolutely not.
He said, “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” and began to unbutton his shirt. “This isn’t over,” he said as he unbuttoned. “Once we’re out of this mess you and I are going to have words.”
Kneeling on the floor, he found himself eye to eye with the access point. Tentatively – very reluctantly – he touched a hand to its glowing surface, and flinched. “Doctor, it’s cold.”
Stooping beside him the Doctor waved him off and said, “Oh, stop fussing.”
“It’s so cold and slimy, Doctor,” he complained.
The Doctor patted him on the shoulder. “The sooner you get in there, the sooner you can get out.”
“Fair point,” he said, Breathing out, he touched the access port again.
The surface around it had a soft, rubbery texture. It was very slimy. He peered into its aperture, but couldn’t make out much inside except a gentle blue glow. Steeling himself, he reached in.
His arm slid into the port with a wet sucking noise and he cringed. “Ohh, god,” he groaned. It was slippery, inside – rubbery – he groped blindly around its interior, pushing till his arm was inside almost up to the shoulder. “I can’t feel anything.”
“No, no, it’s certainly further from the entrance than that,” said the Doctor. “You really will have to go right inside.”
“Easier said than done,” he said. Alright. He shuffled in closer to the wall and pressed his other hand to the port, working in his left arm. “Ohh, that is stretchy.”
“I told you – didn’t I tell you?”
With another horrible sucking his left arm went in to the shoulder. As the port stretched open he made out lights flashing inside; and then it pulsed, firmly, around his arms, and a thought struck him.
Turning to the Doctor, he said, “This is safe, isn’t it?”
“Oh, oh yes,” said the Doctor. “It’s quite safe, probably.”
“Probably?”
“Yes, yes,” the Doctor said. “Get it over with, now.” Then setting his hand firmly on the back of Steven’s head, he actually pushed him forward.
His attempt to protest was swiftly muffled by the rubbery interior of the port. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth and did his best to wriggle further in. It was very slippery in there – looser now that he was past the port – nothing to grab onto and he was forced to half stand and attempt to push himself in with his legs, leaving him bent in half at the waist in maybe the least dignified position of his life.
The Doctor’s muffled voice carried to his ears. “Any sign of it?”
“Um,” Steven called back, loathe to open his mouth, lubricant squishing against his skin. He felt around himself, finding nothing but more rubbery circuitry. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to open his eyes.
He opened them up, and blinked. All around him was a sea of translucent blue jelly. He was in a kind of tube and through its hazy membrane he could make out a whole network of similar strands, packed in tight together. All of it had a soft glow. Every so often white lights would dance along a tube. Flash, flash, flash.
“Is this what’s behind all the walls?” he called out.
“No – no,” said the Doctor. “Of course not. Only the areas that have macrobiogenic circuitry.” Well, that explained nothing, but he didn’t say so. “Steven, can you see the obstruction?”
“I’m not sure.” He scanned the interior of the circuit again. There – a shadow, against the glow. He squinted, trying to make sense of it. “There’s a dark patch,” he called out. “I can’t make out how far away it is – I don’t know if I can reach it.”
“Give it a go,” the Doctor encouraged.
“Alright.” He made another futile attempt to find some purchase on the slippery interior of the tube. He could sort of grip it. He pushed and kicked against the floor. It was cold in there, and airless. All that wriggling was making him short of breath.
Boosting himself up on the balls of his feet he managed to gain a few more inches, and as he did so, to his relief a gentle gust of cool air passed across his face. He sucked in a lungful. Still, though, the dark area was out of reach. “No – can’t get to it.”
“Do be careful,” said the Doctor. “The last thing we need is you getting stuck.”
Dear god in heaven, he hadn’t even thought of getting stuck.
“No, having a human being in there would make the problem significantly worse,” the Doctor went on.
“Thanks for your concern,” he said, making another vain attempt to heave himself inwards. It was feeling a bit less cold, now that he was in.
Although, actually –
“Doctor, I think it’s getting warmer in here,” he said.
“Really?” said the Doctor. “Curious.”
“It’s not overheating, is it?”
“No – no, it’s much too soon for that,” said the Doctor. “It would take hours for it to – warming up? Hm. How fascinating. Can you get in any further?”
“I’m doing my best,” said Steven, and at almost the same moment the Doctor said, “Here – let me.”
Then to his horror, the Doctor planted both hands on his backside and began to push.
“Hey!” he called out, furious. He lifted a leg and kicked blindly back until his foot connected with something soft, then kicked a few more times for good measure.
“Alright – alright!” The Doctor didn’t sound especially contrite, but he did at least stop pushing on his ass. “There’s no need to be like that!”
“Hands off!” Steven called out. “For crying out loud! I’ll figure it out.”
He sagged down against the interior of the circuit, pondering his next move. The trouble was, much as he hadn’t wanted to go inside the port in the first place, now that he was in he was loathe to leave empty handed. He hadn’t wriggled in up to his waist and got covered in TARDIS lubricant to give up now. But he couldn’t get himself in any further and he wasn’t about to let the Doctor go on pushing. If he went too far in he’d be reliant on the old man to pull him out. No, thank you.
At least it wasn’t getting any warmer. It had stopped shy of actually getting hot, the slimy surface around him now at a warm bath kind of temperature that was almost pleasant.
He made another grab for the dark patch, but his fingers didn’t even brush it. As his eyes adjusted to the bizarre geometry of the circuit, he was beginning to think it was still several feet away.
“Alright,” he said to himself. “Now what?”
The access port pulsed squishily around his waist; then it pulsed again but this time it didn’t let up and to his alarm the pulse turned into a long, wet sucking.
With a horrible lurch his feet left the floor as he was dragged inside the port and for a breathless few seconds, he knew what it was like to be inside a gullet. Then it stopped. His breath left him, heart thudding in his chest; he kicked his feet helplessly. He was in up to his knees.
He wasn’t actually stuck – he didn’t think he was – he could probably – wriggle back – it was very slippery. He slid from side to side against the surface of the tube, unable to get much traction and moving neither forwards nor backwards. It was getting a little hard to breathe.
Another draft passed across his face and he breathed in, relieved. He took another breath and settled down to consider his next move, be it demand to be pulled out or make another attempt to get at the obstruction. A white light flashed by overhead.
As he lay there, he became aware that the cool circuitry around him was warming up to that same comfortable warm bath temperature. Another gust of fresh air came along the tube. A wordless suspicion arose in his mind. But surely it wasn’t possible –
“Steven?” the Doctor was calling outside. “Steven, are you alright?”
He was about to answer, when it happened.
Very, very gently, his awareness unfurled around him. He could feel his own body – his slowing heartbeat and breathing – the slick surface of the tube against his skin. But he was aware also of the whole vast network of circuitry. Miles and miles of it, all squished snugly together. Signals passing through it in a constant stream of data. Pulsing, and twitching. Alive, and slowly, ponderously thinking.
Suspended within it, a tiny body. Like a little bug cradled in his palm. Fragile – in need of protection. Close by, a tight, itchy spot – a pinprick of stinging pain.
Like the tide going out, it receded. Once again he was aware only of his own body. The panic that had gripped him moments earlier washed away, leaving behind it a lingering sense of – affection?
Aloud, he said, “Huh.”
“Steven?” The Doctor was still calling his name. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine?” he called back. “I think I’m fine.”
“You think you’re fine?” the Doctor repeated. “Well, are you or aren’t you?”
Steven ignored him, looking around himself with renewed interest. The translucent blue of the circuitry, getting deeper and darker as it grew more distant. The dancing patterns of light. It was comfortable in there. He could breathe easily.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realise it was hurting you.”
Lights flashed around him.
“Alright – let’s give this another go,” he said, and making a valiant attempt at wriggling deeper, he reached for the dark patch.
“Steven?” said the Doctor. “Who are you talking to?”
“I’m handling this, Doctor!” he called, muttering, “Honestly,” to himself. No good. The obstruction was closer now, but it was still out of arm’s reach. “I can’t reach it,” he said. “Can you get me deeper?”
He braced himself for the squeeze.
He circuit contracted around him and there was a swooping rush in his stomach as again he slid forward. Behind him he heard the Doctor call out, “Steven –” before his voice was muffled.
Fully submerged in the machine, as he came to rest he was more aware than ever of the sounds of the place. The distant thrumming, like a heartbeat. The soft wet noises of the tubes moving against each other. It was all a bit weird.
Ahead, the tube tilted up almost at a right angle. The dark patch was a little way above him. Feeling about himself, he identified its underside. It was tight, and warm to the touch.
“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “Let’s see.”
He was aware, as he reached up the bend, of the Doctor’s muffled and agitated voice behind him. He didn’t pay any attention. He supposed the situation must seem quite alarming from the other end, but the deep calm that had come over him when – whatever it was had happened had yet to fade. He had all the time in the world.
He felt around up the tube. There was something hard, embedded in the surface of the circuit. It was wedged in pretty snugly – it was small wonder the TARDIS couldn’t push it out. It was slippery to the touch and the angle was awkward. It took some finagling to get his hand around it.
“Almost,” he muttered, starting to feel the strain in his arm. “Almost – got it.”
With a wet sound, the object popped out into his hand. At once, the dark patch began to faintly glow. The whole circuit seemed to shift around him, re-settling in a kind of sigh of relief.
Tugging out his arm, he studied the obstruction. It was a sphere a little larger than his fist. Dark grey, smooth to the touch, just a smidge irregular. He turned it over in his hands, curious. Then, turning his eyes up to the circuit around him, he remarked, “That feel better?”
He had the sense that his meaning was being understood, if not the actual words.
Back in the corridor the Doctor was still talking. But in all honesty, now that he was in, he was in no hurry to leave. It was warm in there and as soon as he was outside he was going to be cold and wet and sticky. When he left he would have to deal with the copious lubricant he was covered in.
He wriggled around onto his back and gazed up at the circuitry. It wasn’t unlike being at the bottom of the ocean – blue and crystal clear – lights dancing like shimmering reflections – the massive weight of it pressing all around him.
It was safe in there.
Alright. He supposed he shouldn’t keep the old boy waiting any longer. He squirmed back onto his stomach and said, “I think that’s me. Reverse course?”
The circuit pulsed.
With a prolonged wet pushing and sucking, he let himself be carried back towards the port. His feet emerged into the open air of the corridor. Almost at once the Doctor’s hands gripped his ankles, trying ineffectually to tug him out.
The port contracted one last time, and he was out. He slithered down onto his knees on the floor and blinked, hard, in the sudden light. Cool air against his skin and the familiar humming of engines in his ears.
“Oh, good gracious!” the Doctor was saying beside him. “Good gracious, are you alright?”
“I’m fine –”
“Good gracious,” said the Doctor again; then plucking a handkerchief from his pocket, he made an entirely futile attempt to wipe some of the slime off Steven’s shoulder.
Steven batted him away. “Stop fussing, I’m fine.” He looked down at himself – at the TARDIS lubricant coating his body. It was coming off him in thick sheets. In all honesty it was pretty disgusting, and he began to laugh.
“It isn’t funny!” snapped the Doctor, touching a hand to his chest. “Oh, I was afraid you weren’t coming out.”
“I’m fine, Doctor,” he said, still laughing. “It’s quite nice in there.”
The Doctor glowered down at him, evidently quite affronted at his complete lack of concern or contrition for the alarm he’d caused. “You’ve certainly changed your tune.”
“Mm-mm,” said Steven. “I think she likes me.”
“Likes you?” echoed the Doctor.
In lieu of a reply, Steven proffered the obstruction.
“Oh, my!” Enthusiastic and heedless of the slimy coating, the Doctor accepted it. He held it up to the light in fascination. “Oh, would you look at that! I never thought I’d see one.”
“What is it, then?” said Steven. The old man was clearly dying to talk about it.
“Well, it’s a pearl,” said the Doctor. He turned it around, studying its imperfections. “Probably fifty, sixty years in the making – now that is a rare event. How marvellous.”
“A TARDIS pearl?” said Steven. The Doctor hummed in reply and he opted not to ask any follow up questions. “Well, I’m glad you like it.” Then, taking up the hem of the Doctor’s coat, he began to wipe his hands.
It took the Doctor a moment to clock what he was doing. He recoiled. “Oh, don’t wipe it on me!”
“It’s fine,” said Steven, still clutching at his coat.
“Stop that –”
“It’s just a little bit of lubricant, Doctor,” he chuckled. “Stop making a fuss.”
Snatching his coat more forcefully out of Steven’s grip the Doctor backed up. “Well, really! Why don’t you go and get cleaned up before you get it everywhere.”
Steven looked down at himself once again. He really was a mess. Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet. “She likes me,” he said again.
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean, hm?” said the Doctor.
He wondered if he should get into it. Probably best not. “I’m going to shower,” he announced, and headed on back towards the control room.
“What do you mean, she likes you?” the Doctor called after him.
“Let me know when we’re landing!” he said cheerfully over his shoulder. “Bye, now!”