Dr. Zimorax did not know much about fashion and had no time for it in the modern world, even if that was a rainbow coat with yellow trousers, but she knew it was a good indicator of technological advancement in a civilisation. Most planets have an industrial revolution, and the clothing that is prominent before and after these revolutions is stark from an anthropological point of view. She had recommended a colleague of hers who studied historical fashion to come with the secondary party, she was certain that her authority and reputation would fulfil any quota for academic interest. But there was a lot of time waiting with the clothing fabrics left lying around. Dr. Zimorax decided to examine them in hopes of finding clear depictions of iconography.
Dr. Matsumoto, with help, was beginning to notice a pattern of DNA in the plant life within and without the temporal fields the Doctor had theorises. They were not so perfect as to align with the geological boundaries, but they did correlate. As there were no set boundaries, what differences he found occurred elsewhere too. He talked with Doctor Clayton, the Doctor, about this and her explanation of temporal anomalies provided a good formula for an answer, if not the answer. He was not used to dealing in the hypotheticals of the historians and archaeologists. He wanted answers.
Within the city the plant life was clearly cultivated, bred for nutrition and flavour (which was tested with equipment, not by hand, he wasn't the Doctor, and this Doctor wasn't the type to lick something for analysis). Outside, the plants had taken a natural course and remained similar but without the concept of flavour and the need for life. Their seeds were mostly carried on the wind or waters. Inside they evolved for biological organisms. Although more interestingly, those patches that flourished within the city were so much more complex. Their genetics showed an alien strain. Instinct told him they were 'more alive' than the others, exactly how this was true he couldn't say and he hesitated to voice this to anyone else. Not because he was insecure about instinct, it was widely understood that instinct, although a little discoloured by primal impulses, was epigenetic knowledge manifesting through hormones, or pattern recognition that the brain couldn't articulate. He didn't voice it because he liked to have the answers within grasp before seeking help from others.
Dr. Matsumoto focused in on this mystery, trying to find a definite answer he could tell the Lieutenant. This gave him time away from confusing thoughts about Hestamoloc, it also took time away from nurturing Icrel's education.
Bored of searching through the chemical compositions of the vegetation to determine flavour and nutrient profile, Icrel created a programme that would use the processed information of the genetic profiler and match it with the common chemical compositions of naturally occurring flavours in their ration packs. It did mean sacrificing a few snacks. It took an afternoon to do. Although it wasn't from scratch, the database was taken from the university library and the matcher was simple as assigning compositions and a value. The code wasn't elegant, it could have assigned serialised categorisation, or used a negative-value negation to save time, but Icrel was a hobbyist. Very much kicking the door down, rather than picking the lock. Although, that still takes skill.
It gave Icrel time to dance alone and feel some feelings, the music was angsty and so were the feelings. Sometimes these things flare up and need to be danced through. He was feeling a lot about himself, a lot about Dr. Matsumoto, a lot about Chitra.
'Bitter is only bitter to humans because it's likely poisonous,' said Icrel to anyone who would listen, much later, after his feelings had been danced through. 'But that doesn't hold for every other species. There's old old Krillitane text about the taste of human—'
'That's a little racist,' pointed out Diana, very conscious how high her voice was, almost whiny and grating when she had to gently correct someone.
'I'm not saying they do now,' snapped Icrel, ignoring the flinch from Diana, but proud of himself at seeing Chitra's smirk. 'These are old Krillitane, it'd be like me saying that… Humans eat meat. Yeah, as a species we,' a very loose use of we there, 'did, and there are some fringe groups that still do, but we've evolved beyond that.
'My point is that this programme will narrow down the vegetation to something edible naturally. Although the chances of that are very high.'
'You mean low?' said Orlo.
'No. I mean high. Highly unlikely. High like two to the power of two-hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven hundred and nine to one against.'
'Where did you pull those odds from?' asked Orlo.
'Samatan's Survivalist's Index. Every planet is given one before it is permitted to be colonised. It's not always accurate and doesn't factor in terraforming capabilities, but it's all there.'
Icrel pulled up the index and showed it Orlo, who pretended to read over it, and gave it a nod of approval as if they understood it at all. Because they're the gifted genius and must understand everything.
'Now, Diana, if you could only find a menu,' Icrel teased, hoping to remedy the snapping.
Diana smiled tightly and kept quiet, she was tired. Chitra continued to think she was a bitch who couldn't take a joke.
A little later, when the conversation had moved on, Chitra had a thought and brought it up, halting the conversation about the latest instalment of a book series none of them had read, but had watched video essays about. 'Icrel, how do you know boiling or frying something won't make it edible?'
Icrel paused to think. 'I have no idea. I'm not that good at coding. I also have no idea how to even programme that. I suppose we wouldn't have the data to even know. Computers can't predict that well. I think we're probably just going to have to cook and experiment.' Icrel saw his future unfold of pan-frying leaves, sweaty and nauseous—exactly as he hoped to avoid when he went to university.
When Dr. Ruth Clayton had given the all-clear for the royal mausoleum, to alleviate the tedium, they planned an expedition for the majority of the group. It did take two days for the laser saws to cut through the rusted hinges, but after that it was the delicate work of gently lowering the stone door on to a blanket.
The inverse of the door was smooth, no faces, no coronas, no intricate details. But of course, what would be the point? Inside was dark, inside was more sandstone-like bricks, darker than the sun-bleached towers of the city. The humanoids, in their suits, could not tell that the wall was only damp and not covered in slime. They could not feel the un-weathered roughness of the stone. They did noticed that their gloves, when drawn across, made some of it crumble to dust.
Going down it was a curving slope. The arc of the curve went wide enough to accommodate for the slight incline of the slope.
'You didn't find any wheelchairs yet, did you?' asked Diana.
'No, why?' asked Dr. Zimorax.
'I know it's probably just me, but I feels like a ramp for wheelchair access. It even has the small bumps that stop you going too fast down it.'
They stopped to notice this, except the Doctor who of course noticed it and considered the wheelchair possibility, but assumed it was more for setting the pace of the pallbearer. Dr. Zimorax did not allow feelings of guilt or shame to rise in her, she cut them down and dismissed Diana's conjecture aloud.
'Yes. Probably just your bias.'
The Doctor did not feel the need to comfort Diana, she was perhaps not a Doctor you were familiar with, she was a Doctor on a mission and wasn't to get attached.
They went down deeper.
And deeper.
And even deeper.
'How deep are we?'
'Six klicks according to my echo-location,' said Joshua. 'Also showing that we have more of this to go down.'
'How far?' asked Lt. Castillo.
'At least another six klicks.'
'Can't you see what's a head? Isn't it echo location?' asked Dr. Matsumoto.
'Yes, but it only shows so far.'
The went further still.
'That's six klicks. Twelve all together. These environment suits aren't going to be much use if we get to a pressurised state,' said Lt. Castillo.
'We have another while before we'll feel any of those effects,' said the Doctor casually. 'What's strange to me is we haven't found any support for the ceiling.'
'Built into the rock?' suggested Nasti, tapping the sandstone.
'Possibly. But you'd think after so long there'd be seismic activity that should've ruptured it.'
'Actually, as far as we can tell this location is in seismic safety. I'm no geologists, or seismologist, but that orbital probes relayed data that suggested—and perhaps this local temporal anomaly avoided it.'
The Doctor sucked her teeth. It was a distinct possibility, nature wasn't entirely chaotic, in the mathematics of the universe there was the possibility for neatness and peace, but it felt wrong that a civilisation should survive for so long, keep fresh for them to explore. It had a strange reek of consciousness, planning, someone was…
But that's ridiculous, right? Why would anyone want to do that? Ah, but [inset metaphor about limitations of perceptions for dimensionally-fixed beings], that you must consider, dear chap. On the whole, I'd say, things being what they are and all that, you can't pip the idea if it's from one of those extra-dimensional fellows to whom time is but an excuse to dress up and spatial expansion the strutting of a young blood feeling festive. Why do I sound like I'm a P. G. Wodehouse character?
The Doctor shook the strange thoughts from her head and focused on the issue at hand and didn't distract herself with alien minds and their machinations, and that probably didn't exist. It was probably just psycho-temporal echoes or the psychic whispers of those around her.
They walked down further.
'Oh, we have an opening further on,' said Joshua, he sent the echo-location to their own read-outs. The echo-location created a 2D (easier to read, it could easily do 3D) that showed they had another four layers to revolve down until they reached an open space. Beyond that was a cluttered end.
'I think that might be your cave-in, Doctor Clayton,' said Dr. Matsumoto.
'Mm,' said the Doctor.
The opening into a long and narrow chamber was sudden and sharply contrasted with the previous sandstone. The chamber was comprised of the same black stone as the dome and doors. It was perhaps their torches, or the effect of the stale air in the chamber, but the black stone was not entirely glossy like the dome or doors, it did not have the obsidian shine, its shine was paled, pearly, it looked like it had been coated in a thick layer of cheap varnish that left streaks of white. In places it did show some evidence of being mined, but nearer the slope end where the group entered the rock was smoother, whatever cut it wasn't a pickaxe or chisel. But this went largely unnoticed because their torches caught sight of the shadowy figure at the far end.
It was a black sarcophagus, the goddess of death carved on to the front. She held a sickle and bundle of flowers.
Dr. Zimorax shifted with excitement, looked at those she believed were in charge of her, then strode forward.
'Don't!'
'I'm not going to open it. I just want to look at it. It's beautiful!'
It was large enough to fit a human. The face had been given more detail and to Dr. Zimorax's shock, it looked exactly like Augmeden. When she turned to stare at her, Aumegden rushed forward. But when they both looked back, it wasn't so distinctive.
'Sorry, I just… a trick of the light. I thought it was you.'
'My make-up's not that bad,' said Aumegden quietly. The others forced a laugh and joined them at the indistinctly-faced sarcophagus.
'No cave-in,' remarked the Doctor, looking behind the thing. There was only the end. It allowed the sarcophagus to lean on it. It suggested that the chamber hadn't been given up on, but was built to be a storage for the sarcophagus. A basement of sorts.
'Um, I just realised. If this was the royal mausoleum. Where are all the bodies? Where is the biological matter?' Chitra asked this, having spent a lot of time with Icrel she felt confident in using a term like 'biological matter.' They looked around and found the whole place entirely clean. There weren't even bacteria this far down, the air was stale. If they could taste it, it would be ashy and bland, perhaps a small tang of minerals from the stone.
Joshua fled.
'What's wrong, Smiley?' asked Lt. Castillo.
'Radiation spike!'
The alert went off and they fled.
Outside the mausoleum, outside the black-domed building Joshua gathered them all and admitted: 'I lied. I sent that alert. I just… I just felt the same pull to open the coffin like wearing the crown.'
Looking back they all had the same itch.
The Doctor couldn't help but smile, the mystery was deepening, danger was imminent.
After a few days, when the lower chamber was exposed to atmosphere, words became visible painted on to the wall where it was flat: 'Doctor, Doctor, I think I'm a Weeping Angel—and don't give me that look.'