The Scientific Secrets of Doctor Who

by Simon Guerrier

  That’s why this Doctor doesn’t like soldiers – not because the mindset of the scientist and the soldier are so radically opposed, but because he knows they can overlap, and how easy it was to convince himself ‘objectively’ that he should wipe out his own people. It’s not Danny the ex-soldier that the Doctor is horrified by, but the soldier in himself. Hence him asking Clara in Into the Dalek: ‘Am I good man?’

  One further question: how did the Time War begin? Russell T Davies, the writer who came up with the idea of the Time War, has suggested that it was the Time Lords who started it when they sent the Doctor back in time to stop the Daleks ever being created in Genesis of the Daleks.

  The Time Lord who gives the Doctor this mission says there are good reasons for doing so:

  * * *

  ‘We foresee a time when they will have destroyed all other life forms and become the dominant creature in the universe … We’d like you to return to Skaro at a point in time before the Daleks evolved.’

  ‘Do you mean avert their creation?’

  ‘Or affect their genetic development so that they evolve into less aggressive creatures … Alternatively, if you learn enough about their very beginnings, you might discover some inherent weakness.’

  A Time Lord and the Fourth Doctor, Genesis of the Daleks

  * * *

  Although the Doctor agrees to undertake the mission, when it comes to the crucial moment of actually destroying the Daleks for ever, he is unsure he has the moral right to do so. Some things, he says, could be better with the Daleks, arguing, ‘Many future worlds will become allies just because of their fear of the Daleks.’

  In fact, Davros argues something similar – when the Daleks have conquered everyone, he says, then there will be peace. If the Doctor doesn’t agree with that line of reasoning, he is at least unsure about wiping out an entire intelligent life form. After all, he says, wouldn’t that make him as bad as the Daleks?

  We’ll talk more about the morality of this moment in Chapter 13, but ultimately the Daleks survive at the end of the story – though the Doctor denies that he has failed in his assignment. He admits that the Daleks ‘will create havoc and destruction for millions of years’, but says that he also knows that ‘out of their evil must come something good.’

  But is that correct? In Chapter 5, we talked about Day of the Daleks, in which a group of humans travel back from the future to the present day to kill a politician. They think that by doing so they’ll change future events and prevent the Daleks conquering Earth in the future. But the Doctor realises that it’s the death of the politician that leads to the Dalek conquest.

  Isn’t that what happens in Genesis of the Daleks, too? Early in the story, we’re told that the Daleks’ creator, the brilliant scientist Davros, does not believe that there is intelligent life on other planets. No one dares to disagree with Davros about anything, so his seems to be the prevailing view of the people of ancient Skaro. He’s created the Daleks to win a war on Skaro, not to go into space.

  But just by meeting Davros, the Doctor and his friends prove to him that there is intelligent life on other worlds. Worse, Davros learns that his Daleks will conquer these alien worlds in the future. Then, at the end of the story, the Daleks make a sinister pledge.

  * * *

  ‘This is only the beginning. We will prepare. We will grow stronger. When the time is right, we will emerge and take our rightful place as the supreme power of the universe!’

  A Dalek, Genesis of the Daleks

  * * *

  If it wasn’t for the Doctor, would the Daleks have had that ambition to conquer the universe, rather than just their own world? The Time Lords gave the Doctor his mission because they foresaw the Daleks destroying all other life forms. The paradox is that in trying to stop such a future from happening, it seems the Time Lords inadvertently start the Daleks on that very path.

  Perhaps things would have worked out better if the Time Lords, before sending the Doctor on his mission, had known more about the state of scientific knowledge on ancient Skaro. But then our understanding of history can be problematic, too…

  * * *

  Battles in Time

  It’s not just the Time War in which time – and the ability to time travel – is used as a terrible weapon. Here are some examples…

  The War Games (1969)

  Using technology purloined from the Time Lords, an alien race kidnaps soldiers from different wars in Earth’s history as part of a scheme to build an army for conquering the galaxy.

  Pyramids of Mars (1975)

  The Doctor moves the threshold of an Osiran time-space tunnel into the far future to age the evil ‘god’ Sutekh, caught inside it, to death.

  City of Death (1979)

  Having accidentally been splintered in time throughout Earth’s history, Scaroth of the Jagaroth devotes himself to advancing human civilisation to a point where he can build a time machine and go back and stop that accident – but that would stop life on Earth from ever having existed.

  Mawdryn Undead (1983)

  Contaminated by the sickly alien Mawdryn, the Doctor’s companions Nyssa and Tegan can’t travel through time in the TARDIS without making their condition worse.

  Timelash (1985)

  Rebels on the planet Karfel are thrown into the Timelash – a kind of wormhole that dumps them in twelfth-century Scotland. (Is that really a punishment?)

  Father’s Day (2005)

  Rose changes history and exposes Earth to an attack by Reapers – who are drawn to accidents in time like bacteria to a wound.

  Blink (2007)

  The Weeping Angels feed off lost futures, sending you into the past and then consuming the potential of all the days you might have had.

  * * *

  ‘I’m not saying folk round here are suggestible,’ said Miss Perpugilliam Brown, the American with the extremely large dowry, to her aristocratic English fiancé, Lord Roderick Pottinger, ‘but in the park I saw eight men with orange spats, three with polka-dot cravats, and one poor man had even gone to the trouble of putting teddy bear buttons on his waistcoat, even though teddy bears won’t be invented for another hundred years.’

  Lord Roderick guffawed (there was really no other word for the sounds coming out of his mouth). Peri tried not to wince. ‘Dem it, could listen to you babbling nonsense all day, gel,’ the man boomed before leaving the room, probably to go and hunt a fox or shoot a pheasant.

  ‘If I get married,’ Peri said to the painting above the mantelpiece, ‘it’s gonna be to someone quiet. Someone who never shouts or shoots or hunts or fights.’ She sighed. ‘I think maybe I’ll just not get married. Ever.’

  ‘The ingratitude!’ That was the Doctor, the other shouty man in her life and the originator of the suddenly fashionable spats-cravat-waistcoat look (at least he – tall, imposing, curly and blond of hair and determined of expression – had the figure to carry it off, unlike most of the Regency spindleshanks). He had entered the room as she spoke and now stood beside her, also gazing up at the painting. ‘After all the work it took to get Lord Roderick to propose to an elderly spinster such as yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ said Peri.

  ‘Well, 21 is practically decrepit in the Regency marriage market.’

  ‘I think I could’ve been 91 and it wouldn’t have bothered him, with all the stuff you were spreading around about my dowry of millions.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I’m being unfair. He’s OK. Better than his sister, anyway. It’s just he’s so… loud.’

  They stood together for a few moments, Peri enjoying the blissful silence. But in the end, it was she who broke it. ‘It’s hard to believe such a beautiful picture came from something so evil,’ she said.

  If she hadn’t known its background, the painting would have made her feel happy. Calm. Peaceful. It was a full-length study of a ballerina, something in the manner of Degas (‘Edgar Degas, born in Paris, 1834, a founder of the Impressionist movement although he had little time
for his fellow Impressionists and preferred to call himself a “Realist”,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s not really relevant, though, is it?’ said Peri. ‘You’re just showing off.’), its colours muted but perfect, the grace of the dancer singing from every brushstroke.

  ‘Painted by an “Old Master” who at one point could barely manage a potato print,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Do they have potatoes here yet?’ Peri wondered, temporarily side-tracked.

  The Doctor held up a hand and left the room. A few seconds later he reappeared and tutted. ‘And you a botanist! Potatoes were brought to Europe from Peru by Spanish Conquistadors in the 1530s. Sir Walter Raleigh introduced them to Ireland fifty years later, and by the end of the sixteenth century they had spread throughout Europe, including England. So yes, by 1812 potatoes have been here for over a hundred years.’

  ‘How come you know so much trivia?’

  ‘Advantages of a large brain, Peri!’

  ‘Which explains why you’ve got such a big head…’ But she mumbled that one under her breath, and even though she was fairly sure the Doctor heard it he pretended not to. She decided it’d be best to go back to the subject of the painting. ‘I wonder how Lord Roderick would react if he knew the person ultimately responsible for that picture is also responsible for his sister dying.’

  ‘She’s not dead yet,’ the Doctor pointed out.

  ‘But she will be,’ said Peri. ‘Unless we get our act together, she’ll be dead in days.’

  A breathless maid hurried into the room. ‘Please, miss, Miss Jane is asking for you.’

  Peri sighed. ‘Just going away and letting the thing kill her would be wrong, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor sternly. ‘It would.’

  Peri read a novel to Jane until the sunlight faded. It was not the sort of novel she favoured, being full of women with heaving bosoms sighing heavily over men whose cold hearts would eventually be melted, probably by all those heavy sighs. ‘Don’t stop!’ screeched Jane as Peri marked her place and shut the book.

  ‘It’s too dark to read any more, even with a candle,’ Peri pointed out. ‘And you said a brighter light would hurt your eyes.’

  Jane put a hand on her forehead and sighed – a piteous rather than a heavy sigh, although just as fictional. ‘How I do suffer,’ she said (also piteously). ‘I fear I will not live long enough to be able to call you sister.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ said Peri, meaning it literally. The thing was that Jane would be either saved or dead before the wedding and either circumstance meant that Peri would definitely not be turning up at St George’s Hanover Square in a bridal gown on the appointed day.

  The next morning, Peri was grabbing a few quiet moments in the morning room when she heard a knock at the door. She sighed at the thought of having something else to deal with. Already that day she’d had to supervise the cooking of dainty dishes to tempt an invalid’s palate (as ordered – and she did mean ordered – by Jane; read yet more of that tiresome novel to Jane (Miss Hyde the governess had been supposed to take a turn but had mysteriously disappeared just when she was needed), and listened as Jane outlined all the beauty treatments she was undertaking to look her best for the wedding (if she lived that long). Jane was so living up to the role of a self-absorbed delusional malingerer that Peri had to keep reminding herself that an evil alien was actually draining the girl’s life force. Jane was actually dying.

  Now, finally, thankfully, Peri was getting a break from her sister-in-law elect while lady’s maid Yvette applied those beautifying unguents and powders and creams. A maid showed a thin, scholarly-looking man into the room and announced that he was Mr Peppercorn.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey, sir,’ Peri said, rising to greet him. ‘Unfortunately Miss Pottinger is too unwell to attend her studies. Please accept my apologies for neglecting to send word to you.’ It was deliberate neglect, of course. The alien they were hunting had to be someone who visited Jane regularly (utilising a very useful ability to blend in as though he or she’d always been there, of course) and her music master was on that list. ‘But perhaps I could beg a favour while you are here.’

  ‘Anything, anything!’ gushed the man, who seemed incredibly relieved that he wouldn’t be spending an hour alone with Jane Pottinger.

  Peri gestured towards the piano. ‘Play for me? It would be such a treat. We don’t have pianos back home in America.’ That was a test. The Doctor had discoursed for some minutes on the history of the piano. If Mr Peppercorn didn’t contradict her mistake…

  … which he didn’t…

  … then it probably meant that he either wasn’t that interested in transatlantic instruments or he was being polite in not contradicting her. So it signified nothing. It certainly didn’t mean he was an alien villain masquerading as a tutor to drain the life force of an irritating girl.

  ‘Oh, charmed,’ said Mr Peppercorn. ‘Delighted!’ He crossed to the piano and began to play.

  Or maybe it did mean he was an alien villain masquerading, etc., etc.! Because that man sure could play.

  ‘Don’t stop!’ Peri told him. ‘Back in a minute!’

  She was back well before the minute was up, dragging the Doctor with her. ‘Isn’t Mr Peppercorn good, Doctor!’ she cried. ‘So good it scarcely seems human.’

  ‘A masterly performance,’ said the Doctor as the music master finished with a flourish. ‘And not a piece I recognise. Your own composition?’

  Peppercorn nodded. ‘Indeed. A humble offering of my own. Not quite in the class of Herr Bach or Herr Mozart…’

  The Doctor popped out of the room for a second then came back in. ‘You’re too hard on yourself! Of course, few can compete with Johann Sebastian Bach, born Eisenach, Germany in 1685, best known for his Brandenburg Concertos, or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, born 1756 in Salzburg, best known as a cheese made from buffalo milk commonly used on pizzas.’ He frowned and popped out of the room again, returning swiftly. ‘That is to say, best known for operas such as The Marriage of Figaro and The Magic Flute – but really, sir, you are approaching them in skill.’

  The music master flushed so hard it could be seen even through the thick white make-up he was wearing. ‘I am covered in confusion, sir,’ he said to the Doctor as he left the room, bowing and scraping. ‘Thank you for such kind words.’

  ‘So? Is he our guy? He’s a musical genius!’

  The Doctor wrinkled his nose. ‘Perhaps a genuine one. After all, we’ve found no evidence so far that our foe utilises the stolen gifts himself. And Jane has gone rapidly downhill since we arrived yet Mr Peppercorn only visits her weekly. I don’t think he’s our man.’

  ‘Please, miss, the mistress is asking for you,’ said the maid who’d just come in.

  ‘Oh. Great,’ said Peri.

  Yvette’s lotions and potions definitely hadn’t done the trick. Jane was looking really ill, much more so than previously.

  ‘My body aches from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair!’ she cried. ‘Brambles are clawing their way through my throat!’

  She’d been sick too, Peri noted. ‘Who’s been in to see you this morning apart from me and Yvette?’ she asked.

  ‘No one,’ Jane moaned.

  No one. So if the culprit wasn’t Peri (and obviously it wasn’t)…

  ‘Doctor, I need to know the French for “So, are you a genuine lady’s maid or are you an evil alien?” Hey, come back! I asked you a question!’

  (Pause.)

  ‘Oh, Peri, did you say something? I popped out to check on the weather.’

  ‘I asked—’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. C’est: Alors, vous êtes la femme de chamelle d’un véritable dame ou êtes-vous un étranger mal?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Yvette! Alors, vous êtes la femme de chamelle d’un véritable dame ou êtes-vous un étranger mal? Why are you laughing? Er, I mean, er, pourquoi… Hang on, what’s laugh? Ri-something, I think.’

  ‘I think you
mean femme de chambre, mademoiselle. Instead you have enquired if I am a camel woman.’

  ‘Oh. Well, are you?’

  ‘No, mademoiselle. I am not a ruminant quadruped of any kind.’

  Peri gloomily turned away – then turned back with an ‘Aha!’ and a ‘J’accuse!’ ‘That’s pretty fancy language for a lady’s maid!’ she continued. ‘Suspiciously so.’

  Yvette shrugged. ‘Once upon a time I was educated, mademoiselle. The Reign of Terror made it necessary for me to change both my country of residence and my station in life.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Peri. ‘Sorry.’

  Peri rejoined the Doctor. ‘I thought I was on to something. No good, though.’ She sighed (yes, again). ‘I just keep thinking of all the ones we didn’t save. That Stone Age computer pioneer. Or that little chimney-sweep mathematician.’

  ‘The galley slave who could have been an astronaut… The crossing sweeper who should have been a surgeon…’

  ‘And now Jane. An admittedly annoying Regency miss who could be a great – what was it again?’

  ‘An anpholier.’

  ‘Yeah. One of those. An admittedly annoying anpholier. Whatever that is.’

  The Doctor sighed. ‘I can’t explain it to you.’

  ‘Because I’m too dumb?’

  ‘No. Because you don’t have the vocabulary.’ He sighed again. (Everyone was sighing a lot. It seemed to be the done thing in Regency times). ‘Maybe you could just download the app onto your smartphone.’

  Peri blinked.

  ‘See?’ said the Doctor. ‘Thirty years after you left Earth, that sentence would be understood by every man, woman and child. But it means nothing to you. The Human Genome Project! The World Wide Web! Texting! DVDs! The Large Hadron Collider! Dolly the Sheep!’