Chapter 5

Half-falling, half-skidding down the tree-trunk, Ian slammed into the ground hard and then, to his astonishment, kept going. The ground gave way beneath him and he plunged through to tumble again, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He lay there, stunned, staring blankly at his hand where the odd hedge-hoggish urchin thing lay. It's spines were still stuck into his palm but he couldn't feel it.

"That can't be good," he whispered. After a moment, he slowly managed to lever himself back up, carefully checking all his limbs; it was a great relief to discover it wasn't paralysis from the fall, but rather that the spines themselves seemed to possess a numbing quality of some sort. He appeared to be in an underground tunnel.

He looked up at the light filtering down through the fibers above him, surprised to see the hole he'd made from his descent was already starting to draw back together. He started to giving a jump at it, he tried to stop it but it was too high…and he still had an alien creature embedded in his hand.

He considered his situation. First things first.

"So, what so I do about you?" he asked the spiny alien grimly. Now that he had a better look at it he could see it resembled an earth sea-urchin more than anything else, it's small mouth moving as it blindly sought the bark it apparently consumed for food. He gave it an experimental tug, glad for the numbing as he found it took a fair bit of ruthless force to release the spines from his palm. He nearly threw it aside, but managed to check himself; it wasn't the tree-urchin's fault, after all, and it was alive. Setting it aside, he hunted in his pocket for a handkerchief to bind up his hand.

"I certainly hope you aren't poisonous," he grumbled at the silent tree-urchin. Finished with his hand, he considered the long, dimly lit brown tunnel he'd fallen into, long, brown and strangely quiet. Feeling vaguely guilty that he was responsible for the tree-urchin's being so violently pulled from its meal, he picked it up with his other hand and considered it. He didn't see any eyes on it, just the mouth. A blind hedgehog-urchin thing then.

He experimentally held it to his vest where it promptly attached. He looked down at it thoughtfully. "With spines like that I guess you don't need eyes. I can't just leave you here; you can come with me, I'll find you another tree later on - if I can find my way out of here."

. . .

"Where are we? Why are you keeping us like this? Where is the Doctor?" Barbara asked.

The two natives observed them, swaying their heads. She had no idea if they were even the same ones who'd brought them. They spoke in almost creaky whispers to one another so she could barely make out their speech.

"They are supple? Do they speak, then?"

"Their words make little sense and their appearance is unnatural. Should we take them above?"

"They have not lost the power of speech. Leave them, they may yet absorb. There is much strange. They only recently left their pod."

"Has it become this bad?" the other said, swaying sadly.

Susan cowered against the side of the netlike-enclosure as the natives reached their sinewy brown-streaked hands in through the netting holes and carefully smoothed down Susan and Barbara's dresses, flattening the sticky fabric onto their arms and legs anyplace it still flared up.

Barbara tried again. She snatched at one of the hands, trying to hold their attention but they quickly pulled back.

"Why shouldn't we be speaking? What is this place? What pod? Do you mean our ship?"

"They are not absorbing," one noted to the other, ignoring her. "We must give them more."

"More? More of what?" Barbara asked.

They didn't reply, already turning to leave. "They must absorb soon …" one of them way saying, all sound lost as they passed beyond the fibrous wall.

Barbara looked at Susan, who was plucking at her dress, trying to peel the filmy sleeves back up from her arms with limited success, her own hands were so sticky. "Why don't they listen to us?" she wondered.

"They said something about our being absorbed," Susan said in a hopeless, frightened voice. "Like something was going to eat us. Maybe they don't listen to us because we're only…food…"

"Yes, I heard that too. I have no idea what they're talking about, but maybe it's not that bad. Nothing's really hurt us yet, after all; we've just been captured. And the pod, that must be the TARDIS."

Susan suddenly looked up at her with a horrified expression. "Maybe this…stuff…is something that will eventually absorb us? Like those plants that catch insects?"

"Sun-dews," Barbara said. "They catch things in a sticky liquid, you're right. But the syrup itself isn't what digests their prey, it just holds them while the enzymes…"

Susan put her hands to her ears, shaking her head in denial. "I don't want to hear about it, not when I'm the insect."

There was a hissing from the posts and the mist rose up once again.

. . .

"Here, we have brought you someone to play with," one of the natives was saying, the browner one. The Doctor looked up from where he was experimenting once again with the reflexes on the vine around his ankle. There had to be a way to get it to release.

"Oh good heavens," he said.

The presumably young creature they introduced to the room was much like them, thin and flexible and somewhat taller than a young child might be expected to be among humanoid races though still significantly shorter than himself. It had nearly none of the brown colouring; the skin and hair were rippled in a variety of black and white streaks and splotches. His hair was nearly all white, his eyes strangely pale compared to the deep golden-browns of the others.

He looked down at his own black coat, smoothed his white hair with his hand and shook his head.

"Oh my, hoo-hoo! Who would've thought it. No wonder you've thought me to be a child! Why, your children are the same colour as I am. Hoo-hoo, oh my! A child, at my age! Goodness me, what a lark." He chortled to himself at the humor of it while they fluttered in confusion at his words.

"So intelligent for his age," one of them told the other.

"Intelligent, am I?" he chuckled softly, "Yes, I suppose you might say that. And this does put a bit of light on the matter now, doesn't it? If this lad and I are the children, that must make the two of you the, eh, 'nannies,' or whatever you would call them here. Someone who cares for the younger ones. So, do you?"

"Do we what?" Now they seemed merely amused.

He spaced his words out, enunciating firmly. "Do you care for children?"

This brought a fluttering and more amusement, as if he'd merely said something clever that he didn't know the meaning of. If anything, this confirmed it for him. He was in a nursery.

He turned to the youth who had sat down and was simply watching him with those pale, almost colourless wide eyes. Bending down he thoughtfully tapped at the vine tendril that held the boy's ankle as surely as his own was held. The child looked at him curiously.

"I can see you're used to this, aren't you? A sort of natural grown child restraint? Hm." He leaned a little closer and tried a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know how to get it off?"

The black and white streaked child just looked at him, then slowly and seriously he took the Doctor's arm in his hand. Wrapping his fingers around the Doctor's wrist with great concentration he traced up that arm with his opposite hand. Squeezing his own upper arm, he then sprang the fingers apart. He considered the Doctor who was tilting his head at him thoughtfully, then the eyes shifted to something behind them and he dropped the Doctor's hand. The Doctor turned.

"Do you need food?" one of the nanny-natives was asking. She came to them, extending out a hand with two moderate balls of something pale in her hand, like a large sweet. The child eagerly reached for one, but didn't lift the sweet it to its mouth as the Doctor would've expected. It sat down, cupping the ball in its hands. After a moment, it began rubbing the ball up and down its arms and all around its face as one might with a bar of soap, apparent delight on its face. The substance seemed to soak right into the child's skin; the Doctor half-wondered if it were some sort of beauty-treatment, except the nanny had explicitly asked if they were hungry.

"Go on," she was gently urging him, one hand still extended. "If you don't, he'll take both!"

"Thank you, madam," he said. "But I am not hungry." He rubbed his lapels, gesturing at the offering with a finger. "May I ask, though, what manner of foodstuff this is? If it is food? Do you not eat with your mouths, then?"

The native swayed, greatly amused at this. "With your mouth? Listen to him, what an imagination! Mouths are for talking and breathing, that's quite enough. Now here," she held it out again.

He briefly felt the pale ball in her hand, curious, and found it was quite tacky like a warm toffee apple. He shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Even if I could eat such a thing my teeth would no doubt suffer for it." He rubbed his sticky fingers together, trying to get the residue off without getting it on his clothing.

He watched as the child gladly took the second ball and 'consumed' it in the same manner, by rubbing it over his skin until it was gone. The Doctor put out his own hand and the child mimicked him. Gently, he took the child's hand in his own and studied the skin, then experimentally wiped his own tacky fingers across the small palm. The residue came right off, leaving both his own fingers and the child's clean as it apparently absorbed straight into the pale skin. "How very interesting," he mused. "Yes, how very interesting indeed. And your, eh, pigmentation, does it come with age or from your diet, or from sunlight, like plants, I wonder?"

He leaned against the wall, tapping his fingers thoughtfully as he watched his youthful companion rubbing his palms together, perhaps the native equivalent of licking the lips, until his attention was drawn back to the doorway.

One of the nannies, the one with more of the orange and yellow-streaked colouring, had fallen. He immediately straightened to attention, walking to the full extension of the hobbling vine as the brown nanny bent to help her companion.

"What is it? Is she ill? I may be able to be of assistance," he said.

The brown nanny glanced back at him then sighed as she helped the other back to her feet. "Has it gotten so bad?"

"It is worse every hour," the orange one said. She held out her thin hands and turned them. One of them showed a strange cracking lesion across the back of it, though there was no sign of blood. It looked more like a layer of pottery cracking off than a wound.

"Madam, are you injured?" the Doctor persisted. They looked up at him.

"There is nothing you can do, child," the orange one said sadly.

"But your hand…" he began.

"We do not know why it happens," she said. "Age comes so quickly."

He considered this. "Is this old age, then? This," he gestured at her hand. "This, cracking? This brittleness?"

"Yes, this is old age," the brown one told him. "It is a part of life."

"And yet you say it comes quickly," he frowned. "Have your lifespans been shortened, then?"

She didn't answer his question. "You should have stayed in your pod, you would've been safe there."

"But the old ones came from his pod also!" the orange one said. "Even the pods may not be able to stop it anymore."

"Old ones? What do you mean?" the Doctor asked. "Stop what?"

"Go," the brown one was saying, giving the other a push towards the doorway. "You need to go!"

"I try, but still…" protested the orange one.

"Still what?" the Doctor was getting frustrated. "Can't either of you answer a simple question?"

The orange one gave way to the browner one's nudgings, but first she turned back to him. "Still we grow old," she said, in the manner of one who doesn't want to frighten a child but won't lie to them either. "Sooner than we ought to."

"And these pods, they keep this unusual aging at bay?"

"Go!" the brown one interrupted. The orange one acquiesed, slipping out the doorway.

The remaining nanny sighed, then after a moment she settled down, making herself comfortable among the fibers by the entrance. A couple small balls of the sap were toyed with, then rubbed over her own arms; she apparently not being adverse to taking a bit of a snack herself while watching over her charges.

"How long has this accelerated aging been a problem here?" the Doctor asked.

She looked over at him. "Are you still questioning?"

"Yes. Are you willing to answer?"

"Since before your pod was spun, little one."

"But since your own was?" he asked, trying to find a frame of reference.

"Yes, yes. Now hush," she said. "I'm weary."

He pursed his lips, then slowly nodded. Backing to the wall, he edged down beside the boy until he was nearly hunkered. Here was a puzzle to ponder. How long was their lifespan? He had no way of knowing, but whatever it was it had apparently only recently been shortened. Well, no time like the present to find out a bit more.

Starting at the tendril on his ankle he traced his way up it to where it extruded from the wall. He gave it a light squeeze, and then when that did nothing, a good firm one. Immediately he could feel the tendril's tip straightening out, releasing him. The child looked up at him and he tapped the side of his nose significantly. Whether the gesture meant anything to him or not, he didn't make a sound but gave the closest thing to a smile the Doctor had yet seen.

Not wishing to draw any attention just yet, the Doctor quickly tapped the tip of the tendril against his ankle again, where it obediently curled. "I see," he whispered to the child. "It takes some strength, doesn't it? Perhaps more than you have just now, hm?"

He looked over at the nanny who was now beginning to droop into a nap. "If I let you go," he whispered conspiratorially, "do you think you'll stay in here? Of course not. Why there's a whole world waiting out there, my boy."

Tracing up the tendril that held the child's ankle, he gave it a rub and a squeeze. The child considered his unfettered ankle silently but with great interest, looked back up at the Doctor then reached up and tapped the side of his nose.

"Now don't you disappoint me," the Doctor smiled at the child as he tweaked that nose gently back. "Young people are simply filled with good, healthy curiosity. Time to explore!" He gave the child a little pat, encouraging him toward the doorway; there was little hesitation.

He waited just a couple moments from when the child slid happily out of view into the hallway tunnel beyond then gave the alarm. "Madam! Your young charge seems to have slipped out!" The nanny's head bobbed back upright, her eyes widening as the Doctor helpfully held up the empty ankle-tendril and pointed to the doorway by way of explanation.

Comprehension dawning, the nanny gave a sort of alarmed creaking sound and scrambled up and out the door. Looking first one way then the other, she disappeared down the tunnel. The Doctor hummed happily to himself as he once more released his own fetter and slipped out of the nursery, heading the opposite way.

Now that he knew what to watch for, he kept alert for any other natives that might be concealed along the way, but found none. Working his way along the main passage, he poked into a handful of small rooms and indentations but found little of interest, so it took him slightly by surprise when he heard a slight moan coming from one he'd nearly passed by.

Swerving to the side, he pushed aside the ropy strands to find a small cul-de-sac of sorts. His gaze was so drawn by the unusual shining grey-white cocoons he almost missed the crumpled shape on the floor.

"Dear me," he said as he knelt down. "Madam, can you hear me?" It was the orange-coloured 'nanny.'

She didn't move. He was rather shocked at how quickly the cracking lesions had spread, or were they breaks from a fall? She looked like a terra-cotta figure, now nearly all orange and peach-coloured, one that had toppled from its stand. Her skin was mazed with hairline cracks, larger portions coming loose like thin layers of ridged clay. He smoothed a hand gently over a break in her shoulder, trying to press it back into place but it sprang back up. The edges were strangely curled and dry. He wondered briefly if they shed their skin like some reptiles did, but no, this was much more than that. This native creature was definitely dying.

"How can I help you?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do? Should I try to find someone?"

"The pods…" she whispered.

He looked over at the piled oblongs. They were large, each more than a yard lengthwise but much too small for an adult. Were they restorative or could she merely be selecting her shroud? "I see them," he said. "What do I do with them?"

"Sometimes," she labored softly. "Stops it. Helps it."

Restorative, then. He stood and tried picking one of them up. It felt slightly heavy, like a thick feather quilt, the tear in the side where something had presumably come out was long and ragged; inside he could see a thick white lining. There was no way she would fit in it, but he could try using more than one. Pulling at it experimentally he found it could be torn further open. He opened it up and carefully slipped it over her thin, brittle legs, like a bunting.

He reached for a second one, tugging at it to try to get it as much like a blanket as he could. Laying it over her, he patted it into place and then leaned down by her head. "I've put them on you, is that what you wanted?"

She didn't respond, though there was slight movement. After a moment, he curiously pulled up the edge and examined the shoulder. It looked the same.

"Does it heal?" he asked.

"…stops it." she whispered, which by her appearance was more than he even expected. "Too late. Take me out, take me up."

"Out? Up? What, you mean outside?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't… " He looked at her eyes, glazing over. "But I will find someone else who can," he amended. "Don't worry. You'll be taken up and out." He wasn't sure if she'd meant an outdoor burial or some sort of spiritual concept, but he was glad to offer what comfort he could.

. . .

"Doctor! Barbara! Susan!" Ian called. His throat was growing hoarse and there was still no answer. He wondered if they could hear him; the way this spongy bark material soaked up the sound he might have passed them right by in this dim, brown-hazed labyrinth. It wasn't a comforting thought.

There, somewhere up ahead! Had that been an answer? He was sure he'd heard a voice. "Barbara?" he called, "Susan?" Another sound came but it had an edge of distress to it that made him break into a jog. The tunnel ahead turned in an widely arcing bend and he rounded it with caution, half-running, half-sidling along the wall.

The distressful shrieking voice came again just as he turned onto the next straight stretch. His eyes and ears simultaneously brought him the same information: this wasn't Barbara or Susan. In fact, this wasn't a human at all! A strange, brown and orange streaked person stood just ahead of him, at bay. She clutched to herself a smaller one all splotched in black and white as if trying to shelter with her own body and before them, keeping them trapped against the wall…