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Doctor Who Page 12

by Una McCormack


  Fifteen minutes later, her last battle fought, the Donna burnt up in Gallifrey’s atmosphere. There was no one left aboard.

  Two blue police boxes shoved themselves out of nowhere and landed with a thump on the planet of Birinji.

  The Ninth and Tenth Doctors strode out, each critically eyeing up the other’s TARDIS to see who had made the more level landing.

  Then they began walking to the biodome.

  ‘The Doctors are coming,’ Madam Ikalla said, squeezing Inyit’s hand in hers. It was brittle as an old twig.

  Inyit struggled up in her chair. ‘That was the last of me,’ she sighed. ‘A good final act. Purging the Dark Times of the Daleks.’ She went looking for her breath and eventually caught it. ‘I kept a sacred stone from Mordeela. I put some of myself into it for the Doctor. I hope he used it wisely.’

  She looked with difficulty at the two figures approaching through the dust. ‘Sadly, I shall not get to ask him in person.’

  ‘I do not beg,’ said Madam Ikalla, ‘but I ask you not to die.’

  ‘I am the Last of the Kotturuh,’ Inyit said, tugging at her cowl. ‘And I no longer have control over such things. The last creature to see my face was called Yinji. The last inhabitant of this world.’ She pulled her cowl away. ‘Tell me, what do you think of my face?’

  Ikalla reached out and stroked it. ‘I think it is beautiful.’

  ‘I know.’ The Last of the Kotturuh sank back in her chair, smiling. ‘Don’t be afraid. I think I finally understand about the Gates of Death. They are only opening for me, and I can see something very exciting inside …’

  ‘Aye aye,’ the Ninth Doctor said, barrelling in. ‘Here we are. Come to collect a spider plant. I brought biscuits.’

  ‘I brought biscuits—’ corrected the Tenth Doctor, then fell silent.

  Madam Ikalla was crouched on the floor, next to the still figure of Inyit. She stood and turned to the Tenth Doctor. ‘The Kotturuh are extinct,’ she announced crisply. ‘You have won. How is your victory?’

  ‘Hollow, actually.’ The Tenth Doctor rubbed the back of his head. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘What would you say to her?’

  ‘That, well …’ The Tenth Doctor frowned. ‘That … in some ways I had a lot in common with them. I became convinced I was right and that went too far. No species, no person should ever think they control death.’

  ‘I see,’ Madam Ikalla nodded, and did something with her face.

  ‘Wait,’ the Ninth Doctor exclaimed. ‘Look at her lips – are you feeling all right? Ikalla, are you – smiling?’

  ‘Yes,’ Madam Ikalla agreed. ‘I hope I shall get better at it. I am changing.’

  ‘Too right you are!’ The Ninth Doctor strode towards her, beaming. ‘You’ve done what I think you’ve done, haven’t you?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Ikalla said. ‘The Gates of Death took Inyit but left some of her behind in me. I am the last of Birinji, but changed. I am the Last of the Kotturuh, but changed. One day, I shall be the last of the vampires, but changed. Because I am life, and, in order to continue … life must change.’

  Two Time Lords stood outside among the unpromising gravel, breathing the gritty night air. Up above them stars glimmered through the sandy clouds.

  ‘So,’ said the Ninth Doctor. ‘You’ve changed the future. Instead of lifespans being dealt by the Kotturuh, every world out there will find its own way forward. Some species will live for heartbeats. Some will live until the last sun dies. No one can control or shape it. It’s just … life.’

  ‘Just life,’ the Tenth Doctor agreed. ‘I’ve taken a step too far, but you know what? All in all, I think it was a step in the right direction.’

  ‘But just the one step. No further.’

  ‘No further.’

  They stood for a moment in silence.

  ‘I wanted to fight Death,’ the Tenth Doctor murmured, ‘and beat it for good.’

  ‘Oh, you can fight Death,’ the Ninth agreed. ‘But you know the point of that old story. However you wriggle and cheat and play the odds … you can never win.’

  They stood in silence once more.

  A lot happened the next day, but also nothing happened.

  The two Doctors were back to normal, laughing and joking and mending things.

  While waiting for the first ship to land, they even tried explaining to Brian how once this adventure was over they’d simultaneously remember it and not remember it. ‘It’s like when you leave off a good book and forget all about it until you pick it up again and there it is again, exactly where you folded down the page.’

  ‘You fold down the page?’ the Tenth Doctor gasped.

  ‘Yeah, I’m a monster, declare war on me,’ the Ninth said, waving the shuttle in to land.

  They all came to Birinji.

  A fleet of unemployed mercenaries who found themselves plenty of work – building out the biodome, constructing domes for themselves, even doing something about the climate.

  After them came Coffin Ship after Coffin Ship, decanting as many of the Free Undead as had heard Ikalla’s summons. They were now her scions, and she allowed them to inherit her altered biology – freed from their cravings, freed from their old masters.

  Ikalla walked among them, explaining to each one how the plants were their new masters. ‘That,’ she assured them, ‘is the basis of gardening.’

  She lingered over a spider plant, which spilled happily over the edges of a pot. And she smiled.

  Life came to Birinji. Life came and made its home there in ways no one could have predicted.

  ‘Undead gardeners?’

  ‘Mr Ball believes the undead will be … happy,’ Brian replied, his face as unreadable as ever.

  ‘Well, it’s novel at least,’ the Tenth Doctor conceded.

  ‘The meagre sunlight is apparently an advantage.’

  ‘It would be.’ The Doctor patted down his pockets, tried humming a tune, then stopped. ‘I suppose I should get you home.’

  ‘You should,’ Brian conceded. ‘But you will not. Mr Ball and I have decided to make our home here. After all –’ he took in an expanse of builders and gardeners – ‘perhaps I too can fit in. I have realised I can choose my own destiny, and I may even choose my own name.’

  ‘Good for you,’ the Doctor said, then frowned. ‘Wait. Are you planning on overthrowing the place and declaring yourself dictator?’

  The Ood shrugged. ‘I have not ruled it out, but Mr Ball thinks it inadvisable.’ His head tilted to one side. ‘For the moment.’

  Later, Madam Ikalla and Brian watched two Time Lords walk away. They had left without saying goodbye and were trudging towards their ships, having muttered something about unfinished business.

  ‘They said they would be back,’ Brian said as one figure opened the door of his time machine.

  ‘But they were lying,’ replied Madam Ikalla as the other Doctor slipped into his blue box.

  ‘Or they did not know for sure.’ Brian offered. ‘Mr Ball believes – I believe – that this is the reason they go on.’

  First one TARDIS and then the other vanished, leaving the Dark Times for others.

  Those on Birinji stayed where they were, to share long and happy lives.

  Barring accidents.

  Three men met among the stars. Not Knight, nor Fool, nor Dead.

  Only the Doctor.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to James Goss and Steve Cole for everything.

  Thank you to Max Edwards for everything else.

  And love to Matthew – and to Verity, who prefers Star Wars.

  THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

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  Ebury is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published by BBC Books in 2020

  Copyright © Una McCormack 2020

  Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production

  Executive producers: Chris Chibnall and Matt Strevens

  BBC, DOCTOR WHO and TARDIS (word marks, logos and devices) are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence. BBC logo © BBC 1996. Doctor Who logo and insignia © BBC 2018. Licensed by BBC Worldwide Limited trading as BBC Studios. Daleks © BBC/Terry Nation 1963 Ood © BBC/Russell T Davies 2006

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Portraits © BBC.

  Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC.

  @DWBBCBooks

  Cover design: Lee Binding @tea-lady.co.uk

  CG: Dave Ladkin

  Publishing Director: Albert DePetrillo

  Project Editors: Steve Cole and James Goss

  Production: Sian Pratley

  ISBN: 978-1-473-53246-5

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

 

 

 


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