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  12

  The Tower

  Suddenly the creatures starting squirming away from the Doctor. Impacts had come raining down through their bodies so hard that the Doctor could feel them; he realised that his younger self was actually thumping the things.

  ‘Unhand him!’ the First Doctor was shouting, his voice muffled by the sheer number of alien bodies. ‘That man is unarmed! Leave him alone!’ Which was all well and good, and it had given him a moment’s respite, but surely the old man must realise that the only way to get him out of here would be—

  The familiar sound of the sonic screwdriver was music to the Doctor’s ears. The wrong music, for just a second, which made him bellow, but then the old lad got it and the creatures started jumping off him, racing to get away, scrambling to be first to throw themselves off of him … and swiftly he was lying there, clear above him, managing a breath and seeing the First Doctor standing there, proudly and awkwardly, holding the sonic screwdriver as if it was a fragile ornament.

  ‘Are you all right?’ the old man asked.

  The Doctor managed a smile. ‘That was it.’

  ‘What was what?’

  The Doctor pointed at the screwdriver. ‘My very first time.’ Suddenly, the light from the tower washed across them again, the dust having settled enough to allow it through. The Doctor struggled to his feet, retrieved the screwdriver, and called up into the light again. ‘Okay, calm down, hold your horses—’

  He had to dodge another couple of energy bolts, but they were becoming almost formal in nature, more of a greeting than anything else … even if they were pitched in the medium of excited plasma.

  ‘No, just scan me. Go on, scan me. Because I’ve got big news for you. I’m dying!’

  The energy bolts stopped. A buzzing came from the tower. Then the nature of the searchlight changed. It became a scanner beam, lines of information twisting around the Doctor’s body and being immediately relayed back to the being in the tower.

  ‘You see? It’s true. Dying.’

  The light snapped off.

  ‘Now, be honest with yourself. Wouldn’t you like to see that up close?’

  There was a moment of silence, then a grinding noise. The Doctor looked to the tower in the distance. In its base a door was opening. The Doctor tried to step forward, but again came the agonies he was holding back, fighting to change him, here and now. But then the First Doctor was beside him, propping him up, and he managed to hold them back, yet stay alive, once again, for a little while. ‘Will you help me over there?’ he whispered.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked the old man. ‘What’s this for?’ Because he’d surely realised this was a bit of a hoo-hah just to consult a library. This had to be the library of all libraries, and his motivation for it must therefore go way beyond an inquiry to help a random innocent like the Captain.

  ‘Bill,’ said the Doctor. The First Doctor considered, nodded, and then bore his weight towards the tower. ‘Come on,’ the Doctor couldn’t resist adding. ‘Up and at ’em, Corporal Jones.’ As ever, the reference was lost on his younger self, who knew nothing of Clive Dunn’s bumbling Dad’s Army hero. Only should he reach his sixth incarnation would he find himself touring the London pubs with the sitcom star—and there was still every chance he’d refuse even to reach his second.

  Archie was more holding the brandy than drinking it. The glass was shaking in his hand. He didn’t trust his surroundings enough to allow himself as much as he wanted. Also, he didn’t feel he … deserved it. ‘Funny thing, I wasn’t afraid, in that crater. One doesn’t want to die, of course. But one gets in a certain frame of mind. One pulls oneself together, and gets on with the matter at hand.’ He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Bill, was only aware of her staying a diplomatic distance from him. He could not allow himself to break down in front of her. ‘Big shock for everyone back in Cromer, of course.’

  ‘You have family?’ she asked.

  ‘My wife will miss me, that’s perfectly natural. But she’s a solid woman. Remarkably solid.’ He let the words push away the actual images he had of Mary in his mind, which were so much more than words allowed. ‘And my boys …’ Here he had to stop, had to wait until he was sure he could use the words that convention allowed and that his emotions wouldn’t betray him as he did. ‘Well, sons are supposed to move on from their fathers. It’s the proper way.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Trouble is, I thought I’d been rescued. It felt rather like a miracle, in fact. But I do have the feeling that, in the end, they’re going to put me back. Back in that crater. In time to die. No matter what your friends do. And you see, I’m not … I’m not ready any more. I’ve lost the idea of it. That’s the trouble with hope. It makes one awfully frightened.’ He took a sip from his brandy and came out with a chuckle, rather against his will. ‘I must sound like the most dreadful coward.’ He felt he’d better change the subject, for decorum’s sake. Bill must be embarrassed as all get-out. He looked up to find her.

  There stood the Glass Woman.

  As she reached for his face, Archie just had time to cry out.

  Doors of iron, raddled with rust, stood open in the crumbled, blackened wall of the tower. Beyond them, the First Doctor could see ancient stone steps leading upward. He had carried his successor this far. The fop seemed to have got some of his strength back.

  He disengaged himself. ‘Okay, I’d better go up alone.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it.’

  ‘The thing up there won’t miss the chance to kill me twice.’ He pointed between them. ‘The paradox would rip the universe apart. And you know how much hard work it is putting it back together again.’ The First Doctor was about to agree when he realised he really didn’t. ‘You keep a lookout down here.’

  For a moment the First Doctor wanted to argue, but then he saw the determined, and quite lost, look on the man’s face. ‘Very well, if you insist,’ he tutted. ‘If I do see anything, what do I do?’

  ‘Oh, you know, talk a lot, make something up and sound confident.’

  ‘The usual.’

  ‘The usual.’ And the Doctor set off into the tower and up the stairs.

  The First Doctor looked around apprehensively. He had an inkling what these creatures were that were whispering and gibbering in the shadows all around. And he didn’t like that inkling one little bit. His gaze fell on something on the ground, something half concealed in shadow, a familiar shape. Was that what it looked like? He took a tentative step forward to examine it.

  The Glass Woman stepped from the box that belonged to the two men who were the same man, and took a moment to sense every detail of her surroundings, from tiny scent traces on the air to infrared remnants of heat presences on the ground.

  She could see which way the two who were one had gone. Calmly, she set off after them.

  The Doctor was having a hard time with these stairs. Just as well he hadn’t brought the other one, it’d have been double the exertion, plus a lot of complaining. He paused for breath. He must be somewhere near the top now. Sure enough, now he could see over the next landing, there was the door to the central room at the summit. From it streamed an ominous light. The Doctor readied himself for a last exertion and made his way towards it.

  The First Doctor had squatted to examine what he’d seen. It was a disc, yes, something like a lens. It was obscured by the darkness, a few feet over there in the guttering. He wanted to reach out for it, but he had no idea how close the creatures were. Dare he? Yes, what nonsense, of course he dared! He reached a hand into the shadows.

  The Glass Woman looked down at this version of the one who was two, watching him inch his hand towards the darkness. He grabbed hold of whatever he was after, and started to tug at it. She recorded and shared all she was sensing from him. Her approach had been utterly silent, she was pleased to note. Or at any rate he hadn’t noticed her arrival.

  The Doctor pressed himself against the wall of the tower, and inched closer t
o the door. His friend must be aware of his arrival. He called towards the opening. ‘You know what? You’re a bit of a legend these days. Not everyone believes it. People don’t think it could happen, that someone like you could turn against your own kind. Because your kind don’t do that.’ He braced himself, hoped his words had been intriguing enough to ensure his survival, rolled away from the wall and stepped into the doorway. ‘Because people don’t believe there could be any such thing … as a good Dalek.’

  13

  Enter Rusty

  The First Doctor had pulled his prize from the ooze. He looked at it in grim resignation, now certain he understood what his other self had been hinting at. ‘Out of their shells!’ he muttered to himself.

  In his hands he was holding the broken-off eyestalk of a Dalek.

  The Doctor took in what he beheld in the room atop the tower at the centre of the universe. The round chamber was lined with windows, showing the ruins of Villengard under its blood-red sky. Once this had probably been a throne room. Now at its centre lurked a new occupant. The Dalek was ancient, dilapidated. It was connected to various machines in the room, machines that looked like they were keeping it alive.

  ‘Hello, Rusty,’ said the Doctor. The nickname he’d once given the Dalek had now become true. This was a Dalek that the Doctor had become unusually intimate with, physically and socially. Miniaturised, he and … there had been others with him, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember their names … they had gone inside this Dalek’s casing, right into its brain. The Doctor had forced it to confront certain issues, and had left it hating its own kind. So, the therapy had been useful—for him, and for every other species in the universe, but not necessarily for the Dalek.

  ‘I am not a good Dalek!’ it grated at him, furious. ‘You are a good Dalek!’ And it fired its blaster.

  The Doctor just about managed to jump back, his already damaged coat taking another hit, the lining falling into ashes as he rolled and managed to stumble back to his feet, and out of the room, his back flat to the wall around the corner once again. ‘Now, Rusty,’ he called through the doorway, ‘you know that I’m dying. And if you don’t want me to go off and die somewhere else where you can’t watch, you’ve got to stop shooting at me.’

  The Dalek paused for a moment. ‘I agree to your terms,’ it said.

  ‘I’m going to need some proof.’

  There was silence for another moment. Then there came the whine of servo motors, the clank of machinery uncoupling. Something was thrown through the door and fell beside his feet with a clang. It was the Dalek’s gun stick. The Doctor looked around the door. Where the gun had been there was now just an empty socket in the casing, circuitry sparking inside it. The Dalek could, of course, summon the gun back to itself with a few moments of telekinesis, but those few moments would give the Doctor the chance to exit once again. The Doctor stepped into the room. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘You are the very first Dalek that ever got naked for me.’

  The First Doctor realised there was someone standing behind him, and jerked around to see who it was. He was relieved that it was Bill. Her presence, he had to confess, was welcome, even if she had been disobedient in leaving the ship. ‘Oh, hello, my dear.’ He had by now found several pieces of Dalek casing. He stood to show them to her. ‘This is very interesting. A lot of Dalek travel machines have been destroyed here. But they appear to have been shot with a Dalek blaster.’

  Bill was smiling at him, like she’d finally gotten to grips with the situation, the poor child. ‘So you’re the first one, yeah? The original version of the Doctor.’

  This was hardly the time or place. ‘My dear, you should get back to the ship. This place isn’t safe.’

  ‘You’re the one who stole the TARDIS and ran away.’

  ‘The Captain might be needing you.’

  ‘The Captain’s fine. Why did you do it?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure your Doctor has explained.’

  ‘I’m not even sure he remembers.’

  What? Well, that was most disappointing. ‘There were many pressing reasons …’

  ‘I don’t mean what you ran away from. What were you running to?’

  Excellent! This young woman seemed peculiarly interested in gathering information, but that was an admirable trait in a youth. Perhaps now was indeed a moment that could be used to inform as well as entertain, by sharing some small lessons from his many adventures? ‘That is rather a good question!’

  ‘Questions are kind of my thing. How are you on answers?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, a very long time ago, I left Gallifrey to answer a question of my own …’

  The Doctor strode around the tower room, making the Dalek turn to follow him, like a particularly gothic and rundown fairground attraction. ‘It’s been a long time. Remember the good old days? Like when I got miniaturised and climbed around inside you?’

  ‘You taught me to hate the Daleks!’

  ‘Billions of years ago. What have you been up to since then?’

  ‘Destroying Daleks!’

  ‘Yeah, all the ones who come here to murder you. I’ve seen the mess outside.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘As a Dalek, you’re linked to the Dalek hive mind. All Daleks are. Even those poor things wriggling about outside. Biggest database I know. I’d like to access it.’

  It paused for a moment. Dalek incredulity. ‘Why would I help you?’

  ‘Because helping me, in any way, does something wonderful. It hurts the Daleks.’

  Another pause. The Doctor was pretty sure he really could hear the cogs whirring. ‘Your logic is … ingenious.’

  He grinned. ‘And just a little bit evil!’

  ‘I approve.’

  The Doctor now felt able to approach. He went to the Dalek, and took his sonic sunglasses from his pocket. He tapped them against the Dalek’s sucker arm, and heard the sound of vast quantities of information flowing into the creature’s cyborg brain. He felt it was about time that Rusty came out with its standard catchphrase about him once again.

  ‘You would make a good Time Lord,’ said Rusty.

  The Doctor winced. Now that was just plain mean.

  ‘There is good, and there is evil,’ said the First Doctor. He had found the prospect of sharing what he was about to say far too tempting to resist. Especially given that he was on the verge of change, or of death, and surely now was a time when he should feel able to state his reasons, his credo, his origin, you might say. Bill had settled down on some rocks to listen, far enough away from the creatures that he felt they had a moment to talk. ‘By any analysis, evil should always win. Good is not a practical survival strategy. It requires loyalty, self-sacrifice, love. So why does good prevail? What keeps the balance between good and evil in this appalling universe? Is there some kind of logic? Some mysterious force?’

  She was looking at him almost like she knew the answers to his questions. ‘I don’t know. Is there?’

  ‘I don’t know either. But I would like to. Yes. Some day.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s just a bloke.’

  ‘A “bloke”?’

  ‘Yeah. Perhaps there’s just some bloke, wandering around, putting everything right when it goes wrong.’

  Eh? What a strange notion. Did she have anyone specific in mind for this impossible mission? Oh, was she talking about him? Or rather her Doctor. This man who had done those terrible things he had seen, had done enough of them to be called a Doctor of War. He hardly fitted the definition of the good force the Doctor had always sought. ‘Well, that would be a nice story, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘That would be the best.’

  ‘But the real world is not a fairy tale!’

  ‘You dash around the universe, trying to figure out what’s holding it all together, and you really, really, don’t know?’

  Perhaps it made sense that, as the companion of his successor, she knew something about all this. He had been unable to understand the great equation
of ethics in the universe when viewing other races distantly, from Gallifrey, but perhaps he was now going to hear that he had been right to leave, that his later selves had indeed answered that question. ‘You know me in the future. Will I ever understand?’

  ‘No, I really don’t think you do. Everyone who ever meets you does. You’re the only person you know who doesn’t understand perfectly.’

  He was about to say that he had no idea what she was hinting at, that she should really learn to express herself more clearly, when she got to her feet, stepped forward and … oh dear, she was hugging him. Yes, well, this display of emotion was perhaps welcome, in the circumstances, but even so …

  ‘You’re amazing, Doctor. Never forget that. Never, ever.’

  ‘Well, that’s … that’s very kind of you …’ He looked at the arms that had embraced him, wondering how to most gently disengage himself.

  ‘We just needed to understand you, Doctor.’

  Eh? What ‘we’ was she referring to?

  ‘We should have trusted you from the start.’

  Her voice had changed, become much more certain, much more distant and analytical. The First Doctor realised, with a start, that the arms that had enfolded him were no longer clothed in garments, but were … transparent.

  The First Doctor stepped back and found himself looking at the Glass Woman.

  14

  A Whirlpool in Time

  Rusty had projected an image into the air in front of the Doctor. It was a woman’s face. She was obviously the model for the Glass Woman, and she looked just as calm, just as serene, but this was a real person, of flesh and blood.

  The Doctor leaned in to read the accompanying text, in Dalek, ignoring all the swearwords about inferior species.

  ‘Professor Helen Clay, University of New Earth, year five billion and twelve. There’s footage. Can you run it?’

  The First Doctor was staring, stiff with anger, at the Glass Woman. Her posture was now authoritative, commanding. Had she somehow meant those words when she had disguised herself as Bill? Or had this been a ruse to gain his trust? If so, why then break that trust? Or, oh dear, had he already shared the information she had sought?