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  ‘Where is the Doctor?’ she asked. Her voice remained calm as ever.

  ‘A spy!’ he muttered. ‘A spy in the camp!’

  Suddenly, Bill was standing there again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not a spy.’ Did she really expect him to be taken in by such a meagre charade? ‘I’m Bill Potts,’ with her voice once again. ‘But I’m part of Testimony now. To trust the Doctor, they needed to see you through my eyes.’

  The First Doctor took a step back. He had no idea what any of this might mean.

  The Doctor had been watching a series of informative images, trying to tune out the furious Dalek commentary that went alongside them about how ripe for conquest the looted memory stacks revealed these primitives to be. That was really a stretch, even for Dalek arrogance, because what he’d been seeing wasn’t primitive at all, quite the reverse, in fact. The woman in the picture, Professor Clay, was speaking now, as if giving a lecture.

  ‘The Testimony Foundation combines the resources of time travel with the latest in memory-extraction techniques.’ The image switched to showing a glaring white chamber, in which were sitting in rows of elaborate chairs, seemingly entranced, people from many eras of Earth history. There were Roman soldiers, primitive tribespeople, Victorian gentlefolk … and they were all being attended to by the glass creatures. ‘The near dead,’ the narration continued, ‘can be lifted momentarily from their time streams, their memories duplicated, and then their physical selves returned to their moment of their dissolution, without pain, distress, or any recall of the process.’ She appeared again, a slight, pleased smile on her face. ‘Now the dead can speak again. We can hear the testimony of the past. And, channelled through our glass avatars, they can walk among us again. This is the nearest thing to heaven we can make. This is heaven on New Earth.’

  The picture froze. The Doctor didn’t want to show the Dalek how hard this news had hit him. On one hand … it was her, it was Bill after all. On the other hand, it wasn’t her from the moment when they had parted, or anywhere near that, or if it was, it was because Testimony had allowed her access to only part of her memory. It wasn’t her as encountered in life. He could see all of them like that if he wanted to. He could have visited all their graves, read about all their lives. He had never let himself. He loved meeting them again. And that was what was being denied him, in his moment of greatest need. Humans had invented their own version of the Matrix on Gallifrey, and it was just as unsatisfying.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, empty and happy at the same time, ‘it’s not an evil plan. I don’t really know what to do when it’s not an evil plan.’ This time, everybody got to live. Actually, this time, it turned out nobody was ever properly going to die. He realised that the image had stopped moving while he’d been deep in thought. ‘Why did you stop the playback?’ The Dalek didn’t reply. He turned to look. ‘Rusty?’

  A voice came from nearby. ‘He didn’t stop it. They’ve frozen time again.’ Into the room stepped the First Doctor.

  ‘Who has?’

  Then, through the image, stepped a figure. It was the physical form of Professor Helen Clay, as preserved in glass, the Glass Woman herself. The figure morphed in one easy movement into the familiar form of Bill. ‘Not everything’s evil, Doctor. You’re not the only kind one in the universe.’

  He hated seeing her now. He hated hating it. ‘I knew you weren’t real,’ he whispered. ‘I knew you couldn’t be.’

  ‘Oh shut up and don’t be stupid,’ she teased. ‘Of course I’m real. What is anyone supposed to be, except a bunch of memories? These are my memories, so this is me. I’m Bill Potts, and I’m back.’

  The Doctor couldn’t speak. He had once said that a person was the sum of their memories, a Time Lord even more so. He could not believe … he could not allow himself to believe that now. He was not a collection to be filed away and neither was she.

  Then she stepped right into his face. ‘And so long as I’m here, what the hell do you mean, you’re not going to regenerate?’

  The Doctor looked furiously at his former self, who looked calmly back. He had indeed told this museum exhibit of a person everything. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘it’s my choice. It is always my choice. There has to be an end, Bill.’ He had said it out loud now. This had been his choice since he had recovered inside the TARDIS. He was not going to allow the regeneration. He had decided to die. ‘For everyone. Everywhere.’

  She pointed in what the Doctor assumed was the direction of the TARDIS, and informed by powers beyond herself, she really should know. ‘What about the Captain? You know he has to die at his allotted point in time and space. To correct the error.’

  That expression on her face … he was being taken in by that, but he couldn’t help but be, not when she had a point. He was being a hypocrite. He could hardly say that he believed in an ending for all things when he was continuing to facilitate the unnatural continuation of this man’s life past the point where this entirely non-hostile and ethical system had ascertained he was destined to die. To do so might be to deny him the survival of his memories, to truly and utterly kill all he was. To do so might also rip the space-time continuum apart and allow the grim reapers to appear for so many more than him. If the Doctor was committed to ending his own life, then his ethics meant he had to take Archie back to where his life would end too.

  ‘I’m so tired of losing people.’ He looked again to the First Doctor. He was showing this man his own ending also, it was true, but he would forget this meeting, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t be burdened by this moment now, through the rest of his lives, would he? Or was he really going to curse his own life with this decision? That was, assuming that his earliest self was not going to mess this all up by refusing his regeneration after all.

  ‘This was us, you know,’ he said to the First Doctor. ‘We did this.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You and me, trying to die at the same time in the same timeline. Our lives are woven throughout time and space. We must have given history an embolism. We caused the timeline error, that put the Captain in the wrong place. We created a whirlpool in time, and landed him at our feet.’

  ‘But why him?’ The First Doctor tapped his own chin with a finger. He had, after all, come upon an idea that hadn’t occurred to the Doctor. ‘What’s he got to do with us? What’s so important about one Captain?’

  The Doctor didn’t know. ‘Everybody’s important to somebody,’ he muttered. ‘Somewhere.’ He was aware that sometimes, mysteriously, meaning and connection seemed to be born from the random interaction of physical processes in the universe. There was sometimes passion hidden within coincidence. The Doctor had never believed that more than when he’d been young. That sense of the impossible possible was something he had lost. That … hope … was something he had lost.

  He went to the window and stared out at the destroyed world. If he was going to die, he was going to settle his affairs first. He would not let someone else bear this burden. Besides, wasn’t there a tiny question here to settle, the flame of a riddle kindled by the old man? No, that was a thought of hope, and he had none of that left in him.

  The Doctor turned back to the Glass Woman who was also Bill. ‘If the Captain has to die … one request. This was our fault. Let us take him back.’

  Bill looked aside for a moment, consulting a greater authority. Which once again indicated, painfully, hopefully, that she was separate from what she was consulting. She looked back to him. ‘Agreed.’

  The Doctor marched back to the TARDIS, only to find that there were two of them standing there now, his own beside the First Doctor’s. He barely looked at those who walked with him. He had nothing to fear from the creatures, now the landscape around him was frozen. He had only to fear the terrible duty ahead.

  Then he could die. Then he could rest.

  He went into the First Doctor’s TARDIS. The Captain had brushed down his uniform, and stood with a look of duty and acceptance on his face.

  ‘Well, then,’ said the Do
ctor. In the early days of this regeneration, he would have been so direct about this, so blunt. He could not bring himself to be like that now.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Archie. He must have realised a lot from the Doctor’s own expression. ‘Time to die.’

  15

  The Hopes and Fears of All the Years

  The Doctor and Archie went into the Doctor’s TARDIS. They took off into the Time Vortex. They had left the Glass Woman, still looking like Bill, standing there, watching the TARDIS dissolve. She intended to travel with the First Doctor who, it seemed, had become her confidante, without his future self benefitting from their conversation. The Doctor was sure that, in any case, she could follow them offhandedly wherever they went. Besides, he wasn’t lying: there was no clever trick here, he was going to do what he’d said he’d do. As he worked the controls, he was terribly aware of the Captain standing nearby, keeping his courage up, watching with calm interest rather than allowing himself to think too much.

  The Doctor looked to the scanner, where the First Doctor was standing beside his own console, looking rather petulant. ‘Your TARDIS is slaved to mine,’ said the Doctor. ‘You’ll follow directly behind me.’

  ‘Oh,’ he tutted, ‘so I’ll just get towed along behind, like some sort of—’

  The Doctor flipped the mute switch as he continued. He dared to look at the Captain. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, fine,’ said Archie, which the Doctor thought was the most English thing he had ever heard. ‘Yes, absolutely. Just thinking. I told the wife I’d be home for Christmas.’ He had a fixed smile on his face, determined not to be anything less than stoic. ‘Funny how things work out.’

  The Doctor managed a sympathetic smile. He hated this. He hated his hypocrisy at hating this, hated that he was being selfish, hated that he had made it his duty to do this, hated himself, hated time and the world, hated … wait. What had the man just said?

  Hope suddenly blossomed into the Doctor’s mind. Real hope. The thought he’d just had was like seeing a light in the darkness, a gift that had been given to him, to save him, right at the end. Perhaps there was a clever trick still to be played … if it was even possible.

  He hit a control. The wrong control. Then he stepped away from the console, walked aside, as if he’d just done that by accident. Why would the universe allow this? No, no! It was impossible. It wouldn’t be allowed.

  Would it?

  The sound of hope came to a terrible place on what had been a terrible day. It came twice. It sang to itself. With a wheezing, groaning, sound, two police boxes appeared side by side on the battlefield.

  After a moment, the doors opened, and the Doctors, the Glass Woman and the Captain stepped out onto the frozen, in all senses, mud of the First World War trenches.

  The Captain looked around, as if to make sure they’d brought him to the right place, then adjusted his tie, and nodded. ‘I suppose …’ He stopped himself, but then it seemed that he had no choice but to continue. ‘I suppose there’s absolutely no way out of this, is there?’

  The Doctor did not want to give the man false hope. He desperately wanted to look to the Glass Woman, to make sure she wasn’t reacting, to make sure that she wasn’t aware that something was amiss. She might intercede at any moment. He could not let his words trip him up now. ‘I’m sorry, Captain. Time has to resume its course. For all of us. This is where you’re supposed to be. You won’t even remember the interruption.’

  ‘I see,’ the Captain nodded. ‘Jolly good. Just checking.’

  The Doctor looked to the First Doctor. This must be agony for him. He had an angry look on his face, but it was anger directed inwards, helpless. He knew that history couldn’t be changed, not one line. But still, doing this was just the sort of thing a ‘War Doctor’ might do. He put a comforting hand on the Captain’s arm. ‘I regret, Captain, that the universe generally fails to be a … fairy tale, hmm?’

  They found the crater. The Captain actually provided them with directions. The Doctor found himself internally counting seconds as he helped the poor man back to what was meant to be his final resting place. The crater, he noted, came complete with handsome German soldier frozen in time on the other side, still pointing his gun.

  The Captain found his place, made some calculation about precisely what his posture should be, his gun aimed directly at his opposite number, then looked stiffly up the Doctor and the Glass Woman. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Thank you all.’ He was determined, it seemed, to be courteous even to the being who had decreed that his time was up. ‘You’ve all been most gracious in the … unfortunate circumstances.’

  The Doctor smiled down at that gloriously enormous euphemism. Homo sapiens, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t die without them.

  ‘I’m only sorry we can’t help you more,’ said the First Doctor.

  ‘When time resumes, you will not remember this,’ said the Glass Woman to the Captain, with all the kindness she could muster. At least she wasn’t doing this as Bill. ‘A perception filter will also render us invisible.’

  ‘Yes,’ noted the Captain, with quite some sang-froid, ‘one imagines some of those words were attached to actual meanings of some sort.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ said the Doctor, half-hoping his tone conveyed something more than his words did, but only to his target audience.

  Of course, it did not. ‘One thing you could possibly do for me, if you were very kind?’

  ‘Oh, anything,’ said the First Doctor. ‘Name it, young man.’

  ‘My family. Perhaps you could … look in on them, from time to time?’

  ‘We should be delighted,’ said the First Doctor, perhaps in the vague hope he’d remember enough about this to actually follow through. The old man looked to him, and the Doctor realised his former self knew full well that he was hoping to save the Doctor’s life with another obligation. Well, we shall see about that. The old codger turned back to the soldier. ‘What’s the name?’

  ‘Lethbridge-Stewart,’ said the Captain. ‘I’m Captain Archibald Hamish Lethbridge-Stewart.’

  Oh. The Doctor almost laughed. Almost. He could feel the universe tying one of its intricate knots around him, but was it a knot for him to grab hold of and climb to safety, or a knot around his neck? Funny thing, destiny. Funny thing, hope. To be offered the name of his dearest friend, Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, to be meeting his ancestor, his … grandfather, at a moment like this. Right at the end? Possibly, still possibly for them both. This was the poetic connection, this particular grandfather paradox, the meaning beyond all physics that had brought Archie to the spot where Doctors came to die.

  ‘I shall make it my business,’ said the First Doctor, looking meaningfully at his older self again.

  But no, old man, no. He had already made it his business; he had looked after this man’s descendants across generations. ‘You can trust him on that, Captain Lethbridge-Stewart,’ he said gently.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Archie. ‘Thank you so much.’ He took a breath and then nodded. ‘I believe I am now ready.’

  The Glass Woman didn’t even move. She just sparkled. And then, suddenly, the sound and fury of the battlefield was upon them once more. Time had rushed in to claim its own. There was even the sound of a descending shell, right overhead. The Doctor looked to his hands, knowing that to Archie, he was invisible. ‘Don’t fear that,’ said the Glass Woman, noticing his sudden concern.

  The Doctor looked to Archie, and saw the bravery on the man’s face vanish in a moment, to be replaced by sudden mortal fear. The man opposite him jerked into life too. The men were pointing their pistols at each other, more tense every moment, about to fire. The noise of the descending shell turned into the dull thump of a dud landing nearby. The sound made both men react, made them both twitch, their fingers tightening on the triggers. The Doctor made himself watch. What happened next would tell him if he had made a terrible error – his last error – or if there was still hope.
r />   Archie woke, as if from a dream, as if from some sort of terrible fugue. A sudden sound had jerked him back to reality, he realised. A dud had landed nearby. For a moment there, it had seemed like his fear had been replaced with … wonderful adventures … that he could not now grasp or recall. It was as if something beyond the horrors, a fairy tale, had soothed his brow, just for a moment. ‘Right,’ he muttered, ‘where were we? Oh yes.’

  There was the gun. There was the German soldier, pointing it at him. ‘Bitte,’ said the German, ‘das ist verrückt! Ich will dir nicht wehtun!’

  ‘Cold, isn’t it?’ said Archie in response. He wished desperately that the man would either kill him or not kill him. ‘It’s about to get colder, I suppose, for one of us.’ Because he wasn’t going to be saved, was he? Somehow he knew that he was about to die, was meant to die.

  The gun was shuddering so much in the German’s hands. He was going to save himself, wasn’t he? He was going to save himself by killing Archie.

  The First Doctor turned away. ‘I’m sorry, I cannot. I cannot be witness to this!’

  The Doctor grabbed his arm. He hoped his tone would convey the hope that he felt. And damn it, that it was now too late for the Glass Woman to do anything, even if she caught on. ‘Watch!’

  ‘We know what’s going to happen,’ said the First Doctor, helplessly, wondering.

  ‘No. We know what’s supposed to happen.’ He let a little smile creep onto his face. ‘When has that ever stopped us?’

  The Glass Woman realised something was going on. She stepped closer to them, probably thinking he was about to try something, not thinking, hopefully, that he already had. ‘This is where the Captain dies,’ she said. ‘History cannot be changed.’

  ‘Yeah, people say that to me a lot,’ the Doctor said, nodding to the First Doctor, who had a look of sudden possibility on his face. ‘By the way, on the way over, I may have interfered with your temporal mechanics, just a little.’