Chapter Three
The Lonely Traveller
Climbing onboard was a difficult task, but it had to be done. Now I was sitting in the open door, staring into space. Really, staring into space.
In all the books I'd red the void would suck me out of the box the moment the door opened. The void would suck me out of the box even if the door wasn't open, because the box was made of old, wooden planks, full of holes and cracks. But then, the blue box had nothing to do among the stars. How did it even get there? How was it going to get back to Earth? And where was Earth? Where was the whole blooming Solar System?
"I want to go home," I said aloud. "I want to go back!"
I scrambled to my feet.
"Some sort of a force-field, right?" I said pointing to the space outside. "And it extends beyond the door, so I can breathe outside. I didn't freeze to death either. The box is protected in a way. I must assume it is safe for space travel. I have no other choice."
I snorted. "Space travel in a wooden box. This is rich!"
I closed the door and looked back, at the central column in the middle of a vast room.
"How did they squeeze all that into such a small thing?" I asked. "They could certainly play on dimensions, these Time Lords. It's like a… like a… spatial… displacement… or multidimensional realignment… Or something… Or maybe the box is just a portal leading here, so the inside does not necessarily have to occupy the same space as the box… Or I should go home and read some more science fiction." I chuckled. "Good to have some scientific background, though. Even if it's fictional."
Then, somehow reassured by the sound of my own voice, I decided that a little reconnaissance wouldn't do any harm. I walked briskly across the room and dived into one of the corridors…
Several hours later I was standing at the bottom of a spiral staircase, tired and dispirited and completely lost. Did I say the ship was bigger on the inside? What an understatement! It was positively enormous! Even ruined and derelict, it was still incredibly vast and beautiful. The staircase, for instance – it seemed fragile and sweet like twisted liquorice. It didn't resemble anything built – it seemed alive; or barely alive – a living creature's conch fitted into the ship's interior.
Then there were rooms – hundreds of them. Some completely ruined, some preserved under layers of dust. The library was gorgeous – very old-fashioned with highly decorated mahogany bookshelves, polished desks, inkwells and pens, discrete brass lamps with green-tinted glass lampshades, and with a faded armchair in the middle of the room. On a little round table next to the armchair I found a cracked china cup resting on a plate. Oh, yeah, there was even an antique gramophone, the one with a large, flower-shaped tube. The collection of books was absolutely gob-smacking. Some of them were written in alphabets or symbols I didn't recognise at all.
There was a bedroom – one of many, as big as a tennis court, the soft floor strewn with cushions and pillows and blankets; the walls seemingly see-through and opening to a breathtaking panorama of nebulas and supernovas.
There was a dead garden full of stone sculptures, hidden amongst leafless trees and waterless ponds.
There was a swimming pool, weirdly shaped and tilled in tiny, mosaic tiles in all shades of turquoise and gold.
There was a room full of clothes and mirrors, and if you ever visited a big theatrical storeroom, you can begin to imagine how it looked and smelled like.
There were dinning rooms, and play-rooms, and drawing rooms, and bathrooms, and tea-rooms, and kitchens, and cupboards, and engine-rooms, and storage rooms, and empty rooms, and hallways, and toilets, and workshops, and endless corridors. I got lost several times, but somehow I was always directed towards the central staircase. Now I was standing at its bottom, completely exhausted, wondering at how big the place was, and feeling an overwhelming sadness at the state of it.
There were signs of somebody living inside this ship, but they were all covered with a layer of dust. Whoever had lived here, left a long time ago. The ship was abandoned. I was the only living thing onboard.
I climbed up the stairs (it took me another half an hour to reach the top) and went back to the steering room. I was spellbound with the ship's beauty, but mostly I was knackered and depressed. Hungry as well. It was hours since I left the Earth. Days maybe.
"Please," I said towards the crystal rota of the ship. "I want to go home."
I circled the steering panel, gently touching the instruments and screens. They seemed alive under my fingers.
"It is beautiful, Ship, oh, it is, but… It's so empty…" I sighed.
The ship sighed as well.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed, "I'm so sorry, but you have to let me go. Take me back. Please, just take me back."
Silence.
I rested my hands on the switches and levers, enjoying a tiny vibration of the panel. Something was spinning within the depths of the ship; the energy was still flowing and turning the old clogs of this wondrous machinery. It was sentenced to death, and yet it survived.
"Ok," I sighed. "What do I do? How do I fly you? Any hints?"
Silence.
But then I spotted a tiny scribble underneath one of the switches. It was written in faded ink on a sepia coloured scrap of paper. Maybe it should be a warning, but all I could see were minuscule letters – English letters – forming words FAST RETURN.
"Oh, God, thank you, thank you!"
I said a quick prayer and flipped the switch.
To be continued...
