Текст книги "Doctor Who- Legacy of the Daleks"

Автор книги: John Peel

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

15

Happy Endings?

Donna sat glumly by the bed that held the Doctor, hating everything. Especially, she hated hospitals. They always stank of things she knew she didn’t want to identify. She hated doctors, because, when it came down to it, they didn’t know what they were doing. In the case of the Doctor, it was triply so. All they’d done was stitch up what they could and left him to live or die. Their excuse was that, given his alien metabolism, anything humans considered medicine might well be lethal to him. She hated them for that, but what Donna hated most was the fact that they were right.

The Doctor had been unconscious for two days. The ECG had held pretty steady, though the readings indicated a human being should be dead. The Doctor wasn’t dead but it was hard to tell whether he was becoming more alive. Things were happening all around her, but Donna had no will to find out what they were. All she could do was to stand vigil over the Doctor. Well, sit vigil, really – she didn’t have the strength to stand.

The door to the room opened, and Barlow ambled in, carrying a tray. On it were two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘Thought you’d need this,’ he said, setting the tray down and handing her a mug. ‘That’s the way you like it, right?’

She sipped the tea, and discovered it was with a little milk, one sugar. ‘Lucky guess?’ she asked.

‘Spies,’ he answered with a grin, putting the biscuits down beside her. ‘Comes in handy being boss sometimes.’

She gave him a tired look. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than to make me a pot of tea?’ she asked.

He pretended to consider the question seriously, and then shook his head. ‘Nope, not a thing.’

Donna snorted. ‘You’ve taken over effective power in this whole damned area,’ she said. ‘You’re merging London and Haldoran Domains, cleaning up after the Daleks, and you’ve nothing better to do than make me tea? Excuse my disbelief.’

‘I’m getting used to it,’ he replied. ‘I notice you disbelieve everything out of habit, But, I swear, it’s true – I’ve nothing more important to do.’

‘You must rate making tea really high on the scale of things,’ she jibed.

‘Not the tea.’ He took the other seat in the room, and nodded at the bed. ‘How is he?’

‘God knows.’ Donna sighed. ‘There’s been no change for two days.’

‘Well, at least he’s not getting worse.’ Barlow leaned forward. ‘He saved us all, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he bloody well did,’ Donna agreed. She sipped at her tea, refusing to let her emotions overwhelm her as they had so often these past two days. It was time to change the subject. ‘How’s it feel to be the new Lord London?’

‘Strange,’ he admitted. ‘But right.’ His face softened.’ Though I’m sorry your father was killed. That wasn’t my intention.’

That made her snort tea out of her nose. ‘You led the bloody war against him!’

‘Politics, not preference,’ Barlow said. ‘I wouldn’t have killed him.’

‘More fool you, then,’ Donna replied, still not really believing him. ‘He never gave in to anything in his life with grace.’

‘No,’ Barlow agreed. ’Well, I’ve had enough of killing. Seeing how close the Daleks came to wiping us out made me realise what an idiot I’ve been.’

Donna raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘So you’re giving up power and heading off to be a monk,’ she jeered.

‘Hardly,’ he responded with a grin. ‘Like I said, I’m the best man to bring everything together now. Only I want to do it peacefully – or at least, try to. It ought to be possible for us to reason this out. Besides, I’d make a lousy monk – my mind’s far too filthy.’

Donna looked as if she was about to smile. ‘I see. Well, I’m pleased to hear you talk of peace, anyway.’

He shrugged, and looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘Which really brings me to why I’m here,’ he said.

She glanced down at the mug of tea. ‘You’re not really the kitchen help?’

‘I want you to marry me,’ he said.

Donna looked at him sharply. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve!’

That made him grin. ‘Yeah, haven’t I? I’ve cheek enough for ten people. Don’t worry, I’m not talking a love match here or anything. It’s purely political. It will stabilise things if I marry the old Lord London’s daughter, won’t it?’

Trying not to think too hard about it, Donna nodded. ‘Or one of his other relatives,’ she added.

Barlow scowled. ‘It’s you or that cow Brittany,’ he said. ‘And I know you don’t care for me much, but would you saddle anyone with that bitch?’

Donna paused for a moment, as if she were considering the question. ‘I’m seriously tempted,’ she replied. ‘You two do sort of deserve one another.’

‘God forbid!’ he said, fervently. ‘She could tempt me into monkdom.’

Donna didn’t even smile at the joke. ‘I don’t want to get married,’ she answered. ‘And you don’t really want to marry me, anyway.’

He leaned forward. ‘Is it because of him?’ he asked, gesturing to the bed.

Donna did have to think about that for a moment before shaking her head. ‘No. I’m not in love with him. I owe him a lot – but he’s not the reason.’

‘Well –’ Barlow began.

Donna almost felt like punching him. ‘Can’t you get it through your head that I don’t want anyone?’ she demanded. ‘Not him, not you, not anyone. I want to be left alone.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘And that’s it?’ he asked. ‘You want to retreat into a shell for the rest of your life? Where nobody can reach you?’

Donna said nothing.

For a moment, Barlow looked annoyed. ‘Look, I know I’m a miserable sod,’ he complained, ‘but I’m not a liar. I’m very proud of that. I won’t ever lie to you. Hell, I could have come in here and pretended I was so smitten with you that I had to marry you. I could have just sat here and lied. Would that have been what you wanted?’

‘No.’

‘That’s what I thought. You’re too smart to fall for that crap.’ He glared at her again. ‘What I need now is someone who is strong, who can stay with me and fight beside me. And there isn’t anyone else other than you.’

Donna sighed. ‘I’m sterile, remember?’ she stated, feeling her cheeks heat up.

‘So?’ Barlow shrugged. ‘The three I’ve got already fight enough as it is. Wait till they have to figure out who’s going to succeed me.’

‘Donna,’ came a voice, ‘you’re a knight. Put him on your charger and take him away, would you? It’s probably the only way I’m ever going to get some rest.’

Donna stared down at him and found herself grinning foolishly. ‘Doctor! You’re all right!’

‘No, I’m not,’ he argued, with a slight smile on his lips. ‘I’m getting a terrible headache from all of this arguing. I don’t believe in marriage for the sake of expediency. But if you truly think you’ll be happy…’

She tried to glare at Barlow for bringing all this up, but couldn’t quite manage it.

‘I’ll not take no for an answer,’ Barlow said softly.

‘We’ll see, then,’ Donna replied, her voice equally low.

‘Thank you at least for turning the volume down,’ said the Doctor, wryly. ‘Now kindly go off somewhere and let me get some rest. I’m a sick man, you know.’ He closed his eyes.

Donna looked at Barlow, smiling, and wondered about the future.

Once Donna and Barlow had gone, the Doctor jumped out of bed. His recovery was almost complete – his healing trance had done the trick, of course. Thankfully, this time no over‐helpful medical technician had tried to help him recover.

It took him a couple of minutes to find his clothes and get dressed. He surveyed his ripped coat with a sigh. Well, he had others like It back in the TARDIS, but it wasn’t really the same thing. It was a shame to see it torn up like this. He slipped it on anyway, wincing only slightly from the pain in his shoulder.

He hopped out of the door, and marched down the corridor towards the exit. Thankfully, neither Donna nor Barlow was around. He didn’t want any more fuss, and he knew they’d insist. As it was, he’d spent far too long doing nothing while there was so much still to be done.

As he’d suspected, he was in the Tower. The Queen’s House, he realised. It amused him to be back here again but it was also helpful. He hurried out of the building and back to the Peace Officers’ rooms. The duty officer was that chap Spencer again. He looked surprised to see the Doctor.

‘Hello,’ the Doctor said cheerfully. ‘I’ll be off, soon. But I wondered if you’d managed to find that information I was after. A young girl named Samantha Jones?’

‘Oh, yes, right.’ Spencer started hunting on his desk. ‘I checked all the data banks.’ His face was grim. The Doctor wondered how many times he must have assumed that sorry face for the benefit of the broken‐hearted. ‘No positive match,’ he sighed. ’Not when we cross‐reffed against all the information you gave us on her. There’s no one here on our files. I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘I really do think it unlikely she’s alive.’

The Doctor started at the thought, then smiled weakly. ‘Oh, she’s alive… she must be. She’s just not here. She must be somewhere else.’ He said the words with a child’s certainty. Thank you anyway,’ he added politely. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re a busy man. Good day.’ He strode out, deep in thought.

His standing enhanced no end through his involvement with Barlow, the Doctor was able to commandeer a runabout and a driver without a problem. The cheerful young man gladly drove the Doctor back to where he’d left the TARDIS. The Doctor let him prattle on about all the changes that were happening, and about how great times were coming. The enthusiasm of the young was matched only by their naivety…

Finally, though, the trip was over, and the Doctor could say goodbye. Then he hurried to the TARDIS, and entered it.

‘Hello, old girl,’ he murmured, as he crossed to the console and powered it up again. Time now to rescue Susan and recover that transmuter. Everything else was secondary. He bent to his work, and did what he knew he should’ve done in the first place – he instructed the TARDIS to begin analysing properly.

At least now he had some explanations for it. Susan must have used the Master’s TARDIS to send the signal, distraught at the Master’s actions. All he needed to do now was to narrow down the point of transmission and then go to her rescue. Provided the TARDIS behaved herself and did as she was told.

Long hours passed. The information started to come through, and as he read it, the Doctor paused.

Tersurus…

And then the track of an unshielded TARDIS, which then reshielded itself and left the dismal planet…

His fingers hovered over the controls, and didn’t descend.

Tersurus…

He aborted the sequence, with a mixture of relief and reluctance. Of course… He already knew that the Master had hidden on Tersurus when his final regeneration had been used up. Some devastating force had ravaged his body and left him a crippled wreck.

But his TARDIS had left the world.

That could only mean that Susan had been the one to trigger the Master’s grotesque change. And that she had taken his TARDIS and gone on alone. There was no need for him to go to her aid, then. She had acted swiftly and certainly, and solved the last remaining problem.

She had her freedom back.

Something twinged at the Doctor. Freedom. He tried to place himself in Susan’s shoes. He remembered his exile to Earth, the frustration, the desperation to escape. Then release.

But wherever he went, there were the companions. He seemed to collect people like badges, the good, the brave, the plucky and bold.

The hopeless innocents.

He could leave Sam now. Give up the search. What did it matter? With the evil of the Daleks to contend with, with Susan in danger, Sam had left his thoughts for a while… He’d soon be distracted again, caught up somewhere else, in another age. Look how long he’d left Susan. How soon before he forgot all about Sam, a grain of sand on time’s beach?

He could go now. There’d be only himself to look out for, just as when he’d gone off before, soon after they’d first met – he’d been testing out his new body but got caught up, diverted, held in time’s thrall once again. If he got really bored this time he could always find someone else. Anyone else, really.

TARDIS‐fodder…

He saw his eyes reflected back at him in the glass screen of the monitor. They were dark, cold. He closed them, imagined Susan travelling through the vortex in her stolen TARDIS, free of all responsibility now.

He snapped his eyes back open and looked down at the backs of his hands. No, that was something he would never be free of.

He started to reset the controls. It was almost time to go looking for Sam again…

First Epilogue

‘I’m picking up a TT capsule lock,’ the technician reported from his control seat.

‘Acknowledged,’ Rodan responded from her own control station. She hated monitor duty, but as a very junior Time Lord, she was stuck with it. ‘Somebody’s probably just gone on a joyride,’ she added, ‘but check it out anyway.’

The technician nodded, bending to his task. Rodan examined her own controls. Yes, there was the signal. Some insignificant little planet in the Mutter’s Spiral. If she wanted, she could call up all the data the Matrix had on the place, but it was hardly worth it. As she’d said, this was undoubtedly of no importance.

Then the technician gave a low whistle. ‘It’s an Umber Priority,’ he announced, slightly awed. ‘According to the computers, it’s a stolen capsule piloted by a renegade.’

That made Rodan pay attention. It also meant it was out of her realm of authority. She had to refer this up, and soon. ‘Get a positive lock,’ she ordered, moving for the communications chair. ‘I’ll call the Castellan immediately.’

This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened on her duty shift. She wasn’t going to mess it up. If she did, she’d be sent to some mindless, menial job like watching the transduction barriers, or timing paint drying…

Damn the arrogant old fool! Chancellor Goth strode through the Citadel, furious and humiliated. The meeting with the Lord President he had been anticipating with relish for the past week had turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. The senile old fool was due to resign shortly, and the matter of his successor had naturally been broached. Goth knew that he was the perfect candidate for the post, the one deserving person to become the next Lord President of High Gallifrey.

Only to have his ambitions dashed when the President had informed him that there was no way Goth would be nominated. Goth had stared at him in disbelief as the President muttered something about Goth being too greedy for power, but it had been impossible to listen. To be so close, and have the cup of success dashed from his lips like this!

He had to get away from here. He needed time to think, to plan. There were days yet before the official resignation and the nomination of a successor. Perhaps there was something he could do, some way to change the old President’s mind… But he needed breathing space, a place to think, somewhere to vent his anger and resentment…

Goth suddenly realised that he was being hailed by the Castellan. ‘What is it?’ he snapped. Couldn’t anybody around here act without detailed instructions?

‘A renegade TT capsule has been detected, Chancellor,’ the Castellan said smoothly. ‘I simply need your permission to go after it and arrest the operator.’

‘Don’t bother me with such trifles,’ Goth snapped. ‘Just go and do it.’ Then, as the Castellan started to move away, a sudden decision came to him. ‘No, wait! I need to get out of this place for a while. I’ll do it. Prepare a capsule for me, and I’ll be along in a moment.’ The Castellan nodded and hurried off. Goth moved after him, a little more slowly.

This was what he needed – action. To get out of the Citadel for a while, on to some world that probably had never heard of the Time Lords. His anger and frustration mounting, Goth found that he was hoping that the renegade – whoever it was – would put up a fight.

Goth glared distastefully around the bleak landscape of Tersurus. He clutched his staser and went in search of the spot where the trace had been registered. It had vanished a short while ago, he had been informed. That probably meant the renegade was gone, but he still had to check. At least it gave him something to do.

He caught sight of a slight movement in a nest of rocks. It looked as if some terrible force had twisted and melted the rocks recently. But what had moved? He walked forward cautiously, the staser at the ready. Then he stopped, appalled.

There was some sort of living creature there, but horrendously mutilated. The skin was burnt and blackened, parts of the skeleton exposed. The face was blistered and warped, the eyes large and studying him unblinkingly. Goth shied back in revulsion as he realised that this thing was somehow alive, despite the horrendous damage it had suffered, and the pain it must be going through. Was this the renegade? Perhaps he should kill it, to put it out of its misery…

‘Are you… are you in pain?’ he asked the creature.

‘Pain,’ it agreed, a rasping, dying voice. ‘Can’t remember… everything.’ It looked up at him, and it seemed to gather itself. ‘I need… newness. And you need… power.’

‘What?’ Goth stared at the creature, repelled and confused. How could it know what he was desiring.

‘I can help you,’ the thing promised. ‘I can get you the power you desire. And you can help me get what I need.’

‘You need death,’ Goth said with revulsion.

‘No,’ the creature whispered. ‘I need life. And you will help me to get it. We can help one another…’ It managed to sit up, grinning like a skull. ‘Do you agree?’

Goth stared at it. How could a burnt, dying thing like this possibly help him? And yet… If it was a renegade, it might have some skills that could prove useful And if it needed him, then it meant that he could control it.

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Yes, I think I do…’

Second Epilogue

Becca looked up from the floor of the barn where she was teasing the kittens. Two of them were swiping happily at the straw she dangled. Serenity was watching from one of the rafters, still none too happy being so close to people. But she’d become a lot more sociable since Becca had rescued her litter a year ago. And now Serenity had grand‐kittens old enough to be weaned.

There was a movement at the door, and Becca looked up to see a face she’d been hoping would come. It was that pretty knight who had saved her life. She wasn’t dressed in her knights outfit now, however, but in a regular – if rather pretty – dress. She still had that mass of golden hair, though, and a peaceful sort of look on her face.

‘Hello, Becca,’ she said in greeting. ‘How are you doing? You’ve grown several inches, I see,’ She smiled, ‘I was promised a kitten, if you remember.’

‘Of course I remember,’ Becca protested. ‘I haven’t given any away yet. You get to have first pick.’ She giggled as one of the kittens tried to grab the straw from her forgers. ‘They’re very playful.’

‘Then that means they’re healthy.’ Donna walked over and flopped down into the straw beside Becca. ‘They’re all very pretty,’ she said, surveying the eight tiny bundles. ‘It’s going to be hard to decide.’

‘No rush,’ Becca said cheerfully. She looked up at Donna suspiciously. ‘Aren’t you somebody famous now?’

‘She’s almost queen,’ said a friendly voice from beside the door.

Donna looked around, her face lighting up. ‘Doctor!’

The stranger came in. There was something about him that made Becca like and trust him. He flopped down into the straw beside Donna, grinning. ‘Hello. I thought I’d just pop by and see how things worked out.’ He had a yo‐yo he’d removed from a pocket, and was teasing the kittens with it. ‘How is life with Barlow?’

Donna rolled her eyes. ’He lied to me, like every other man in my life.’

‘Really?’ The Doctor didn’t sound surprised. ‘And how did he do that?’

‘He told me our marriage was to be purely political,’ Donna growled. ‘And it isn’t.’

‘No!’ the Doctor said in mock protest.

‘No,’ she admitted, with a shy smile.

The Doctor grinned widely. ‘It’s nice to see that there can be happy endings after all,’ he said. ‘And no story with a mistreated girl who gets to be queen, marries for love and ends up with the pick of the litter can possibly be bad. Which one have you chosen?’

‘I’m still deciding,’ Donna admitted. ‘I like the smoky‐grey one. She’s got spirit. Did your story have a happy ending?’

‘She’s cute,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘But I’d choose the tabby myself. I’ve a weakness for tabbies. And my story hasn’t ended yet. Great happiness mixed with great sadness. The transmuter’s destroyed, the Master’s paid for his crimes with his life – well, one of them at least – and I think Susan’s all right now.’

‘And what’s the downside?’ asked Donna.

‘I still haven’t found Sam,’ the Doctor said. ‘A lot of very good people died.’ He sighed. ‘And my coat was ruined. But every progress has its price.’

Donna turned to Becca: ‘I’m going to take the grey one, and I shall name her after you,’ she announced.

‘All right,’ Becca agreed, thrilled as Donna picked up her chosen kitten.

‘Will it work, Doctor?’ Donna asked, turning her attention back to him. ‘You’ve seen the future, haven’t you? Will the reunification plan work?’

‘Tomorrow?’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes. The day after?’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to know. You’ll find out as it happens.’ He brushed the straw off his trousers and stood up. ‘Well, I have to be off again. I just stopped by to check on things and to reassure you that you didn’t have to worry about the Master or the transmuter.’

‘Or the Daleks?’ Donna asked.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘As I said, the Daleks are like cockroaches – no matter how many you kill, there always seem to be more. But they won’t be your problem.’ He gazed into the distance. ‘I wish I could say that they won’t be mine, but I know better.’

Becca scooped up the tabby the Doctor had been admiring. ‘For you,’ she offered.

The Doctor looked down at the tiny bundle and smiled. ‘I don’t know that I could give him a good home,’ he apologised. ‘But thank you for offering.’ He smiled at Donna. ‘That generosity of spirit is one reason why I like you humans so much.’

Becca didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she couldn’t help liking him. ‘You can give him love, can’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ agreed the Doctor gently. ‘I think I could do that.’