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'The fool has deserted us!' said the Master. 'Doesn't he realise he has no
chance of survival without our help?'
Desertion didn't sound like the Monitor's style at all, the Doctor pointed
out. He had gone somewhere for a purpose.
'Purpose!' exclaimed the Master. 'A word almost without meaning now. If
he's trying to salvage the Research Team's work he may have gone back to
the Central Register.' The Master shaded his eyes and peered towards the
distant building. Parts of it had been eroded already, but it seemed to be
standing stronger than the rocks around it. It occurred to the Doctor that
this might be because of its relative newness. But there was no telling how
long it would last.
Together the Doctor and the Master began to pick their way towards it
through the debris. Occasional small landslips opened up beneath their
feet, impeding their journey, and reminding them of the increasing
instability. Soon even this dusty ground would become unstable. And more
was at stake than just Logopolis. Even as they advanced painfully towards
the Central Register, the rot was spreading outwards through the universe,
the Second Law of Thermodynamics unleashed after aeons of constraint.
'I suggest we collect the Monitor, then get out,' said the Doctor.
'How? In my TARDIS?'
'There's no other way.'
The Master smiled. 'You're presuming a lot, Doctor.'
'Aren't I?' said the Doctor. 'And on so short a friendship.'
By the time the two Time Lords had reached the steps of the Central
Register the TARDIS was parsecs away. But the dematerialisation had not
gone quite according to the Doctor's plans. The light was already flashing,
ready for departure from Logopolis, when the door suddenly opened and Tegan
backed out, her flight bag over her shoulder.
'Come back!' It was Adric calling from inside. 'None of us wants to leave
the Doctor. But it's best to do as he says.' He appeared at the door,
pleading with Tegan.
'Best for him, maybe. It's not personal devotion, I can tell you that. But
he's guaranteed to get me back to London Airport, and I'm going to stick
with him to make sure he keeps his word.' And she set off resolutely back
the way they had come.
'Tegan!' But it was no good just calling her name, and he couldn't run
after her and leave Nyssa. The TARDIS was already beginning to chuff and
whirr. Adric closed the door . . . and the TARDIS was gone.
Tegan found the spot where the Doctor and the Master had been standing, but
the only sign of them was a set of vague footprints. At first it seemed an
easy track for someone brought up in the outback to follow, but small
potholes kept appearing, and the wind blew streaming veils of dust across
the ground, obscuring the horizon.
She was entering what once must have been the middle of the City, if what
remained of the dwellings was anything to go by. The ruins were taller
here: cells open to the sky, some of them almost complete except for their
roofs. The ground was more solid, but in a way that made it more dangerous.
Instead of shifting sand beneath her feet, great crevasses would
occasionally open up just where she was about to step.
Should she have stayed in the TARDIS, she wondered. That was the trouble
with having an independent mind. Tegan consoled herself with the thought
that if being lost and frightened on a rapidly disintegrating planet was
good for the moral fibre, hers must be receiving a tremendous boost.
The Central Register was still recognisable, although portions of the
ceiling and walls had crumbled away, letting in the opalescent light of the
Logopolitan sky. The two Time Lords found the Monitor where they expected,
seated at the Earth computer surrounded by sheets of print-out. Several of
the large disk-drive units that surrounded the console were humming with
activity.
The Doctor touched the Monitor's arm. 'The stability is now critical. You
must come with us.'
'For precisely that reason I must stay here, Doctor.'
'What can you do here?' said the Master. 'You told us Logopolitan maths
wouldn't run on a computer.'
The Monitor gestured to the print-out strewn across the desk in front of
him. 'We were developing this as the program to take the burden from our
own shoulders: a series of data statements to keep the Charged Vacuum
Emboitements open of their own accord.'
'The Advanced Research Project?' asked the Doctor.
The Monitor nodded. 'The computer holds a complete log of that research.'
The Master snatched at the print-out. Somewhere in all this carefully
annotated mass of numbers there might be a permanent solution to the
problem of keeping the CVEs open. While the Monitor continued his
preoccupation with the console, the Master and the Doctor poured over the
document, tracing and retracing the folds of logic.
Eventually, the Master left the document and went to peer over the
Monitor's shoulder. It had become clear to the Doctor, who paused now to
suck the end of his scarf and think, that although the work of the Research
Team was far from complete, it had certainly been on the right track.
The Master felt differently. He returned to whisper into the Doctor's ear,
'His work is loose, speculative, useless. We cannot wait for him. We must
vacate.'
A creaking sound, emanating from the walls, reminded them that the local
structure would not hold much longer. 'Vacate?' echoed the Doctor. 'Where
to? The collapse will spread out like ripples in a pool throughout the
whole of space-time. No, what we have to do is . . .' He tailed off into
silence, somewhat stuck for options.
'Well, Doctor?'
The Doctor waved his arms vaguely but enthusiastically. 'A positive
response. Something definite, resourceful. Entropy works by rusting the
resolve quite as much as by crushing cities into sand dunes.'
'You have a concrete idea behind all that poetry, Doctor?' sneered the
Master.
The Doctor had to admit he hadn't. He put his hands back in his pockets and
returned to his study of the print-out.
'My dear Doctor. You're a poor scientist. It's easy to see why you make so
many mistakes.'
'And why you make so few friends,' the Doctor replied.
The bitter exchange was interrupted by the Monitor rising from the Earth
computer. 'I have done what I can in the time. A desperate last effort. It
only remains to align the antenna and beam the program out to space.'
The antenna still held firm on what remained of the roof. It was a doubtful
enterprise; even the Doctor for all his optimism had to admit that. He was
about to follow the Monitor through the narrow door that lead to the upper
storey, when, through a gaping hole in the wall, he saw a familiar purple
uniform in the street below. 'Tegan!' shouted the Doctor.
'Thank heavens you're still here, anyway.' She arrived breathless at the
top of the steps, her uniform dusty and her shoes scuffed.
'Tegan! I told you to get out of here.'
'No thanks, Doc. I'm staying with you. You're the only insurance policy
I've got.'
The Doctor dragged her inside, ducking a shower of debris. Above them,
through ever increasing gaps in the ceiling, they could see the Monitor
treading warily across the roof towards the antenna. At one point he
stopped to wave to them. 'There is a CVE close by we might be able to re-
open, he called down, pointing to an area of sky.
Tegan held her breath; his progress across the crumbling roof looked
suicidal. 'What's he doing?'
The Master snorted by way of answer. 'He can do as he pleases - he's
harmless. But you and I, Doctor, we must form a plan. I propose . . . one:
withdrawal to a position of temporary security; two: reconfiguration of our [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]