by Steve Cole
A Kotturuh filled the screen. It was speaking from inside the sepulchral interior of its craft. But something was wrong with the creature. Behind its veil, the flesh was running like an open wound.
‘Help us,’ it begged. ‘We cannot contain the infection.’
‘I told you I’d stop you,’ the Doctor said. ‘The death you’ve brought to so many others is coming back to bite you.’
‘This is not new life.’ The Kotturuh shook itself like a wet dog, black gore splashing through its veil. ‘This is not justice … This is … unravelling … nothing …’
The voice choked to whispers and the Kotturuh’s body followed it, fading to bleached, misshapen bones. As its bulk vanished, other Kotturuh on board could be seen, hovering at their black and spiny posts. They too were unravelling into dust.
‘Please, help … Doctor …’
The Kotturuh ship fell silent. Dust motes spun in the settling air.
‘Ashes to ashes,’ said the Doctor, and a chill spread across the bridge.
Mordeela had little atmosphere, but behind its shield the planet seemed swathed in blankets of unearthly light. More and more Kotturuh ships flitted under the shield. A glow spread between them. Were they working frantically to save themselves? Or were they getting ready to fight back?
Aware of the uncomfortable silence, the Doctor carefully closed the hatch on his device. ‘It’s ready, Brian.’
Brian regarded a control panel. ‘I can see it is online and ready to fire.’
‘No,’ the Doctor chided. ‘It’s not a weapon. Don’t say fire. Say go. All we’re doing is reflecting back the Kotturuh’s own energy signatures. Bricking up the well; sealing off Mordeela.’
‘Very well,’ the Ood tutted. An inferior Burgundy had clearly been ordered.
The Doctor stood there, on the bridge of his ship, the planet spinning below him. He was the Time Lord Victorious. He’d taken on Death, and he was winning and it felt so good. Payback, at last.
But … was this really the right thing to do? Was it?
‘Let’s get this over with,’ he said. He licked his lips, opened his mouth ready to give the order to ‘Go!’ only—
A spacecraft – shaped like a silver saucer – appeared to one side of the fleet.
A terrifyingly familiar saucer.
‘It can’t be …’ the Doctor said.
A face appeared on the screen. Both Brian and the Doctor reacted to it.
‘Hello, Doctor.’
‘No.’ It was another Doctor. Two Doctors ago, handsome, pale-eyed and looking rather cross.
‘I’ve come to stop you,’ said the Eighth Doctor. ‘And when I say I’ve come to stop you, I mean … that we have come to stop you.’
Number Eight stepped aside, so that everyone on the flagship’s flight deck could see behind him. But only the Doctor gasped and took a step back on instinct.
The saucer was full of Daleks. Daleks, glaring at him in silent hatred. His earlier self was surrounded by – working with – his deadliest enemies.
‘Is this a joke?’ the Doctor hissed.
The image on the screen split in two as another spaceship appeared beside the saucer. A forbidding craft, almost beautiful in its ugliness. Coffin Ship, he thought. No, it couldn’t be … could it? What was happening?
The image swam as another face appeared on the screen. Sad face. Cheery smile. Little wave. Grey, grim countenances gathered round behind him, staring out from the gloom.
‘We need to talk.’
It was the man he’d become at the end of the Time War. The Ninth Doctor. Standing on a ship of the undead.
‘What is this?’ the Doctor breathed.
‘We know you think you’re doing the right thing. But you’re not.’
The Eighth and the Ninth Doctors turned to each other as if they could see each other across space, and nodded.
‘You think you’ve saved the future,’ said Number Eight, ‘but you’re about to break it. Stop. You have to stop.’
The Doctor, resplendent in the ancient battledress of the Time Lords, regarded his two former selves and shook his head. ‘This is a trick. The last Kotturuh, putting images into my mind—’
‘No trick,’ said Nine.
‘No one tells me what to do,’ said the Doctor. ‘Not even me.’
‘Wrong. Don’t do it!’ Eight implored him.
‘Stop,’ Nine said. ‘Seriously, stop now.’
The Doctor looked at the screens. At the planet Mordeela shining below. At a pleading Doctor surrounded by Daleks. At an angry Doctor on a coffin full of vampires.
They were wrong. He was right. It was time to prove it.
Brian was staring at him intently. ‘You were about to say, “Go”?’
The Doctor adjusted his ceremonial attire, stood straighter and killed the images on the screen. ‘Mordeela’s going down with the Kotturuh. If myselves want to make this a battle, we’ll make it a battle.’ He took a deep, deep breath.
‘I’m saying, Fire!’
Find out what happens next in Doctor Who – Time Lord Victorious – All Flesh is Grass by Una McCormack, publishing in December 2020
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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First published by BBC Books in 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
Copyright © Steve Cole 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Portraits © BBC.
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC.
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Cover design: Lee Binding @tea-lady.co.uk
CG: Anthony Lamb
ISBN: 978-1-473-53245-8
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