Doctor Who Page 6

  ‘Because of a database?’ asked Bill.

  ‘The biggest database in this galaxy, this sector, possibly anywhere.’

  Bill realised that Archie had suddenly become alert, was drawing his revolver. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘I think there’s something moving over there.’ He kept one eye on the shadows at the side of the street as he spun through the chambers. ‘I only have five rounds.’

  He was right too, there was something moving in the gutters there, really pretty close.

  ‘Be careful, Captain,’ advised the First Doctor. ‘Step away, please.’

  ‘Probably just rats,’ said Archie. ‘I’m used to rats.’

  Suddenly, something launched itself at Archie’s face.

  It was a blob of tentacles, a pulsating, hissing mass of fury. It latched itself onto his head and he fell, his revolver going flying, his screams muffled by this obscene thing. He crashed to the ground and started to try to claw it from his face.

  Bill and the Doctors ran to his aid. Bill got her fingers into the flesh of the creature, tried to physically haul it from him, but the contact stung her skin and she had to pull her fingers back, crying out. The First Doctor started to helplessly thump at it with his hand inside his cloak.

  But the Doctor had leapt back, had pulled out his screwdriver and was hitting controls frantically. ‘It’s okay!’ he shouted. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it!’

  The sonic screwdriver suddenly shrieked with a higher note. The creature squealed. Bill realised she could see a mouth in it, a horrible, quivering orifice with … metal teeth?

  And then it was gone, releasing Archie and away into the shadows again.

  Bill went quickly to Archie. He was lying there, panting, his face scratched. It hadn’t had time to do him much damage, thank God. He started to cough and splutter. He looked as if he wanted to sob, but didn’t know how, all the pain of war back on his face in a moment. Then he took a deep breath and calmed himself and looked at her and nodded, as if acknowledging her absolutely, as if, by coming to his aid, she was entirely his comrade now. Bill felt that. She gently pushed her fist into his shoulder, acknowledging him back.

  The Doctor helped him to his feet. ‘Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Just breathe, Captain, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘That creature,’ said the First Doctor, ‘it looked … familiar.’

  ‘It’s mutated a bit,’ said the Doctor, ominously, ‘but yes, I should think it did.’

  Bill had been looking to see where the thing had gone. She could still see movement in that dark gutter. Lots of movement. And now there was movement from beyond the gutter, from up past the sides of the street … both sides … there were now things squirming in the shadows everywhere she looked.

  The whole city was suddenly swarming with the creatures, alive with them. The air was filled with the sounds of their squealing and gibbering. It was all focused on the Doctor’s party.

  They were surrounded.

  10

  Heart of Glass

  ‘What are those things?’ asked Bill.

  The Doctor had hoped that they wouldn’t attract this much attention, but like that was ever going to happen. ‘What we came here for,’ he said. ‘The biggest database in the galaxy.’ Bill stared at him. To her it must be as if Wikipedia had suddenly grown tentacles. ‘They’ll settle down in a moment.’

  They did. With no new targets venturing close to the darkness they loved, the creatures gradually skittered away. They were pack animals at heart, after all. No individual courage was to be found in them. The Doctor turned to check on Archie, who was being tended to by the First Doctor. ‘Come along, my dear chap, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Get him back into the TARDIS,’ said the Doctor. There was no reason this man had to be forced to confront more monsters.

  ‘Oh, did someone put you in charge of this little expedition, hmm?’ said the old man. However, he did as he was told, helping the only slightly protesting soldier back towards safety.

  Bill had gone to watch the creatures skittering around, running for cover, upwards, sideways, into the cracks, wherever they usually hid in the ruins. The Doctor surveyed them too. They had evolved so far from their usual commanding selves, and were, at the same time, just like them.

  ‘So, do we talk to them?’ said Bill. ‘Ask them questions? How does it work?’

  ‘We don’t do anything,’ said the Doctor, grabbing her arm and hauling her back towards the TARDIS, hoping to get her there before she started yelling too much. ‘I do.’

  ‘Oh no, no, no!’

  ‘You’re going to wait in the TARDIS.’

  ‘Why?’

  He’d led her to the doors of the TARDIS. He found he could still hardly look at her. She was like his conscience made flesh, mostly in that her existence was unreliable. ‘I need you to look after the Captain.’

  ‘You’re lying. You think I’m a duplicate, a trick.’

  ‘I don’t know what I think.’

  ‘You don’t trust me. You don’t think I’m really me. Tell me the truth!’

  In this incarnation, the Doctor could never have resisted that invitation to honest bluntness. ‘I don’t trust you, and I don’t think you’re really you.’ He saw the effect his words had on her; he’d known what they would do. ‘But if there is the slightest chance that Bill Potts is alive and standing in front of me, I will not, under any circumstances, endanger her life again.’

  ‘Seriously. You’re looking right at me. And you don’t even know I’m here.’

  ‘Correct. I ask you to respect that, and to respect me—’

  ‘You’re an arse, you know that? You’re a stupid bloody arse.’

  ‘—as I have always respected … you.’

  There was an anguished silence between them.

  The door of the TARDIS burst open, and the First Doctor stuck his head out, wagging a finger at Bill. ‘If I hear any more language like that from you, young lady, you’re in for a jolly good smacked bottom!’ He slammed the door behind him and vanished back inside.

  The Doctor and Bill continued to look at each other. The anguished silence had now changed a bit in nature. Bill suddenly burst out laughing; he almost joined in, but the wincing rather got in the way. ‘Well! Doctor!’

  ‘Can we please … please …?’

  ‘I mean, I’m a broad-minded girl and everything …’

  ‘Can we just pretend that never—?’

  ‘I realise we have this professor-student thing going on …’

  ‘Can we never, ever, talk about this again?’

  She was suddenly serious again. ‘Yeah, I hope we talk about it loads. I hope we spend years laughing about it.’

  His hearts could have broken. ‘Me too.’

  She saw the look on his face and seemed to decide it was enough for her. She nodded, and opened the door of the TARDIS. ‘Come back alive.’

  ‘Be here when I do.’

  She went inside.

  He felt suddenly weak. He had to lean on the old police box to keep upright. The strain of remaining himself. In all his years of life in this incarnation, he had finally learned some lessons about human life that his other selves had not. He had enjoyed, for decades, the dream of a normal existence. He had had love, long-lived love. He still wore his wedding ring. This time, if he allowed the regeneration to happen, he wouldn’t just be sacrificing some iconic hero, he would be losing a life. He would be losing it anyway. So why not … why not simply …

  Yes, he had made up his mind, he had made up his mind before he had even set off on this diversion. He opened his palm and saw it, the phoenix fire that wanted to consume him. He concentrated, and closed his hand … and the flame was banished again. For a moment.

  He had just a few more things to learn yet.

  Inside the TARDIS, the First Doctor had found the brandy, behind one of the console room roundels. The last time he had raided this drinks cabinet had been that time one Christmas with dear Steven and Sara Kingston … Kingsley … ah
, yes, Kingdom. ‘Perhaps another nip of brandy?’ he suggested to Archie, who was recovering from his ordeal in a rather nice chair the First Doctor had found in Pimlico in 1927. He was anxious to do his part to help the Captain, and then be off to join his other self once more. He was anxious about haste in all things at the moment, because he could feel the change pounding at him, insisting. Still, he would hold it off. He had no intention of giving in to the sheer impertinence of his biology. He was resolved, yes, he was, to stand up to it, whatever happened. He poured out a glass, resisted drinking it himself, and noted that he had already made that mark on the side of the bottle, and had just dropped the level of liquid beneath it. He had possibly been a bit worried about the youngsters in his crew finding this supply. ‘Oh. This is where it went!’

  Bill had gone to Archie, and was looking at the scratches on his face, presumably attempting to ascertain whether or not they might be infected. ‘I’ll look after him.’

  ‘Good girl. Quite right.’ He set the bottle and glass down on the console beside them, and felt it necessary to deploy his wagging finger once again. If there was one thing he would not stand for, it was intemperate language. ‘Now, young lady, I don’t want to have to repeat myself—’

  ‘I don’t think any of us want that.’

  Excellent. He nodded at her appropriate agreement with his scolding. ‘I’ll see you both presently.’ He activated the door control, and headed out to join the fop and make sure he didn’t trip over his own feet.

  The Glass Woman watched as her target, this Captain, put his hands to his face. He had already caused himself undue suffering, when all he had to do was surrender to her. He had tried, but these copies of the same person were preventing him from coming to her. She heard him being offered brandy. ‘Please,’ he said.

  A hand came into view, reaching for the bottle.

  The Glass Woman was displeased to see that she had nearly given herself away. The hand was made of glass.

  11

  Old Friends

  The Doctor hadn’t exactly been overjoyed to see that the First Doctor did indeed intend to return and accompany him on his mission. They made their way together through the overgrown streets, aware this time of the thin, high voices of the beings that gibbered and scuttled in the shadows.

  ‘These creatures,’ said the First Doctor, ‘what are they?’

  Had he really not got it yet? ‘Old friends of ours,’ said the Doctor, ‘but they’ve really come out of their shell.’ Ahead, he finally saw on the horizon what his rough mental map of this place had told him was out there. He pointed. ‘That tower over there, the only one with its top still on. That’s where my friend is.’

  The First Doctor squinted into the distance. Atop the tower, a faint light could be seen, the only light on this world. Someone was home. ‘“Out of their shell”, you said; do you mean …?’

  Suddenly, pain spasmed through the Doctor’s head, agony from his body. He cried out, had to stagger to a chunk of wall and grab hold of it to stay on his feet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked the First Doctor urgently.

  ‘I’ll be … fine in a moment.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  What, did he think they were both in exactly the same predicament, that he’d just worn himself thin through centuries of holding on? He had wounds, great burns and lesions from combat. His mind was holding back this pain as well as the fires of regeneration. ‘I died a few hours ago. Then I refused to regenerate. It catches up with you.’ He flapped a hand to wave away the retreating pain. ‘Like a big lunch.’

  ‘I did exactly the same,’ insisted the First Doctor.

  With a groan, the Doctor found a convenient place to sit on the chunk of wall. They were far enough from the shadows here. He indicated for the old man to sit by him. He wasn’t going to be going anywhere for a while, after all. ‘I know you did, but why? I don’t remember this.’ Because of the temporal amnesia caused by their meeting, or something more sinister? It wasn’t to do with what the old man had seen of his future, was it? ‘Why are you refusing the regeneration?’

  The First Doctor sat. ‘Why are you?’

  ‘I asked first.’

  ‘In point of fact, I’m earlier in our timeline, so …’ The First Doctor twinkled, and tapped him on the leg. ‘I asked first!’ The Doctor couldn’t help but join in his chuckle. But as the First Doctor’s laughter faded, the humour on his face faded with it. The Doctor felt that he was looking into the eyes of a very old man. The old man was looking ashamed. ‘Fear,’ he whispered. ‘I’m afraid. Very, very afraid. I … do not normally admit that to anyone else.’

  The Doctor took pity on him. ‘Don’t worry, technically you still haven’t.’ It took a moment for the First Doctor to understand, then he looked irked at the lack of seriousness in the face of his admission. The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing in anger. ‘It’ll be fine. You just have to let go. Just let yourself go. Hold tight to everything you believe. Jump into the darkness. And hope you land safely.’ He remembered how it had always been. If only he could say these same words to himself and believe them. ‘Afterwards, don’t go swimming for half an hour.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  ‘Look at the stars.’ The Doctor nodded upwards.

  The First Doctor looked up, beyond the thin red atmosphere, at the sweep of distant galaxies arranged equidistantly from this supposed central point of the universe. Here was a Milky Way of Milky Ways, a long way from everywhere. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Half of them will go out,’ said the Doctor, ‘if you don’t carry on and do the things you’re supposed to do.’

  The First Doctor looked back to him, hawk-like. ‘How many more will go dark if you don’t?’ The Doctor found he couldn’t reply. ‘You have done this before. Many times, I assume. What is stopping you now, hmm?’

  ‘The … changes have been getting bigger,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘Stronger, more volcanic. Last time I wiped out a whole Dalek fleet.’

  The First Doctor made a disapproving noise. ‘You’re afraid too.’

  ‘I suppose I should admit that to myself.’

  ‘I think you just did.’

  The Doctor felt he could try to explain some of it to the youngster, try to make him see why he himself was right to feel afraid, why the First Doctor was wrong to. The old man was done, the Doctor knew him as something finished and put upon a shelf, whereas he was whole and here and had achieved what none of the others had: he’d had the entirety of a real, human life. ‘Who I am right now, my consciousness, my conscience, my … soul … is about to rip apart. Someone else will walk back out of the storm. A stranger.’ He looked into those old young eyes again. They shared for a moment that feeling of being haunted by their own future. ‘And that stranger will be me.’

  The First Doctor paused, then decided to venture on with his reply. ‘My problem is slightly different. I was just about reconciled to giving in and letting go, as you say.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then I met you. The stranger from the storm is standing in front of me. And I don’t think I like myself.’

  Ah. So it was that. ‘Oh,’ sighed the Doctor, remembering some of the previous occasions when they’d had this family reunion, ‘you never will.’

  Suddenly, they were bathed in a beam of white light. The Doctor shielded his eyes and saw that the beam was coming from their destination, from the very top of the tower.

  ‘That’ll be my friend,’ he said. ‘I think he knows I’m here.’ He stood up and stepped away from the First Doctor, so he was silhouetted at the centre of the beam, and began to wave his arms. ‘Hello! Here I am! How are you? How’s things?’

  An energy bolt blasted away the ground at his feet. The Doctor leapt out of the way, but then came another, and another. He found himself violently throwing himself from one side to the other, dancing to avoid death. The First Doctor reached out a hand, grabbed him, and hauled him back into
cover behind the ruined wall.

  ‘I was right,’ said the Doctor, casually. ‘He knows I’m here.’

  ‘Why do you keep calling him your friend?’

  ‘He’s got a great big gun, are you suggesting I insult him?’ He stood up again and stepped back into the light. ‘Excuse me!’ This time the ground nearby erupted upwards in an explosion. There was another, and another, close enough to send the Doctor staggering. ‘Landmines,’ he explained to the First Doctor. ‘He’s setting them off. This whole place is booby trapped.’ He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and fiddled with the settings.

  ‘Can you detect them?’

  ‘No, but I can blow them all up.’ He sent a wide-beam sonic pulse at exactly the right frequency all the way down the path between him and the tower, and was rewarded with a very satisfying series of detonations. The First Doctor skipped about about at every fireball that burst into the sky. Finally, the smoke and flame died down. ‘There you go, all done.’

  ‘There could have been one right underneath us!’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not the kind of mistake you have to live with.’ That was the other thing about his centuries of additional experience, he was a little more willing to roll the dice. Or perhaps it was just at this point he didn’t give a damn. What the hell, his clothes were already ruined, might as well mess up the bodywork too. It wasn’t like he was planning to trade the old thing in.

  But now there came a hissing and shuffling from all around them. Great clouds of dust had been thrown up by the explosions, and through the murk the Doctor could see the creatures moving, massing, advancing, disturbed by the concussions, as his friend in the tower must have been aware they would be.

  They came at them at high speed, rushing through the dust, flailing and gibbering, dozens of them. They launched themselves straight at the Doctor and down he went, down into a mass of the tearing, biting, sucking things, tentacles wrapping around his neck, trying to press against his eyes, trying to invade his mouth. He hadn’t taken enough of a breath to cry out. He forced a hand into his pocket, fumbling for the sonic, but realised with horror that he’d dropped it as they’d grabbed him.