by Doctor Who
Nathan’s eyes widened as he caught the Clade’s meaning. ‘Lord have mercy, you ain’t comin’ anywhere near me!’ He backed away.
Godlove rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, child. Youth and vigour you may have, yes, but you’re still human. At the end of the day, your race is still the sorry cousin, galactically speakin’.’ He grinned again. ‘What I require is a more. . . resilient host.’ The Clade waved the gun at the air. ‘How about it, Doctor? Your life for Missy 134
Martha’s?’ The weapon rotated in Godlove’s fingers, turning to offer him the grip of the huge pistol. ‘You’ll be certain to have a moment to save her, ’fore I get me a permanent residence in that happy head of yours. . . ’
‘Doctor, don’t!’ Martha called out, crying in pain as she moved.
‘Don’t touch it! You can’t let that thing take you over!’
Godlove licked his lips. ‘Tick tock, Time Lord. What’s it gonna be?’
‘Give me the gun,’ said the Doctor.
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Nathan’s heart froze in his chest when he saw the Doctor reach for the Clade weapon. ‘You can’t do it, Doc!’ he shouted. ‘That thing is pure evil!’
His cries fell on deaf ears.
The Doctor’s slender fingers closed
around the pistol grip and there was an actinic flash of blue-green light that sparked across the walls of the cavern. As one, Godlove and the Doctor went stiff and trembled, sparks of power arcing between them where they both gripped the heavy shape of the gun.
Godlove gasped out a word. ‘Commencin’ –’
‘– Transfer!’ the Doctor continued, spitting it out from unwilling lips.
There was a noise like bones breaking, like tendons snapping, and the gun came away from Alvin Godlove’s grip and into the Doctor’s hand. In its wake, a hurricane of wires and cables tore free of the man’s arm, each one of them whipping into the air and clattering where they scratched over rock and stone. Still connected to the butt of the gun, they hissed around the Doctor, weaving and dancing. He stood stock still among them, unmoving, staring into the dark.
Godlove released a low gasp of air and sank to the ground in a heap of angles, his body abruptly robbed of any support. Nathan thought 137
of a puppet with its strings suddenly severed. What little colour still remained in the conman’s face ebbed away and his sightless, misted eyes went dark as the spark of life finally left them. The host body, the husk of meat and bone that had been Godlove, was no more. Nathan stared at the dead man. Only moments ago the youth had been on the verge of ending the man’s existence, but now, seeing Alvin in the stark pallor of death, he could not find the wild anger he had felt before. Nathan searched inside himself and all he could bring forth was sadness. He felt nothing but sorrow and pity for Godlove.
An agonised gasp drew his attention back to the Doctor. His breathing was coming in rapid chugs of air and sweat beaded his face.
Nathan made to move closer to him, but the Doctor shook his head violently.
‘No! Stay back! Keep away!’
The rattling dance of the wires stilled and they hung suspended all around him; and then with blinding speed, each razor-edged tip turned and buried itself in the Doctor’s flesh. He cried out in agony, bearing his forearm with a savage yank of his sleeve. The cables bored into the meat of him, burrowing through his skin like worms through mud.
Nathan’s stomach knotted with nausea at the sight of it, unable to turn away from the horrible spectacle. He imagined the wire tendrils of the Clade weapon infiltrating every organ inside the Doctor’s body, tapping into every part of him. The full horror of it shocked him to his core; and the man was willing to do it for the life of one woman.
He glanced at Martha, saw her crying. He knew immediately that the tears were not of pain, not for herself, but for her friend. For the harm he was doing to himself. She closed her eyes as the Doctor screamed, the echo of the sound resonating down the long, dusty tunnels.
The Doctor fell to his knees clutching the ugly gun to his chest.
Nathan caught a strange scent in the air, like overripe fruit, sweet but with the tang of decay. In the silence that followed, a chill ran down his spine, turning his blood to ice water.
Nathan ventured forwards a step. ‘Doc?’ He asked. ‘Doc, talk to 138
me.’
‘He. . . shouldn’t have done it. . . ’ Martha whispered.
The youth placed a careful hand on the Doctor’s trembling shoulder.
‘Doc?’
‘It’s difficult. . . ’ The reply was hollow and distant. ‘So strong. . . ’
Slowly, the Doctor turned to face Nathan and he flinched at the expression on the man’s face. From the moment he had first met him, when his dreams had been driving him to panic, Nathan had known the Doctor was a good, decent person. There was something in his manner, in the light in his eyes that was noble and true. Nathan hadn’t even questioned it; he had just trusted the Doctor, because that seemed like the right thing to do.
But that man, the man who had helped Nathan fight down his fears, who had pulled him back from the brink of losing himself to his rage –that was not who was there before him now, crouched on the floor of the cavern. For the first time, Nathan was afraid of the Doctor.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he growled, and Nathan drew back his hand as if it had been burned.
‘Doctor?’ Martha breathed. ‘Are you still in there?’
He came to his feet and took quick, stiff steps across to where the girl lay against the wall. ‘No time,’ he said, biting out the words as if each one gave him pain to voice it. ‘Must be now. Before. Too late.’
The gun in his balled fist came forward, moving of its own accord, shifting to point at Martha’s injury. The tendons stretched tight in his neck, the Doctor’s brow furrowed and the Clade module shifted and changed, planes of metal and discs of bony material folding back in on themselves to reveal a glowing green teardrop of glassy crystal.
‘Don’t. Be scared,’ he managed.
Martha nodded weakly. ‘I trust you.’
With effort reddening his face, the Doctor’s finger tightened on the trigger and emerald energy flashed into being, enveloping the girl’s torso. Martha’s back arched and she gasped.
The youth watched, conflicted. Was he hurting her? Never! No matter what had happened, he couldn’t believe the Doctor would ever do something to injure his companion. You’d have to be a fool not to 139
see that she cared a great deal for him. The bond they shared was more than just travelling friends, it was clear as day even to someone with a plain and simple upbringing like Nathan.
The green glow ebbed and flowed across her wound and, to his wonderment, Nathan saw the damaged skin draw tight, colour returning to it. Martha pulled at the makeshift bandage on her belly and it came away leaving no sign of injury. The beam fluttered across her jacket, miraculously knitting back the burn hole in the leather. In moments, it was as if Martha Jones had never been shot.
The beam snapped off and she sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.
‘Oh. I’m. . . OK,’ she said aloud, hardly able to believe her own words.
‘It’s done,’ growled the Doctor, and he pushed back, stalking away to the other side of the chamber.
Nathan offered Martha his hand, but she waved him away, getting to her feet on her own. ‘Doctor?’ she asked, a hundred different questions in the same utterance.
It seemed impossible. A heartbeat earlier, and there had been so much pain, a constant throbbing agony that Martha had never known. Her life had been trickling away, drop by drop. But then the Clade – the very same kind of weapon that had pushed her to the brink of dying –had healed her. The pain was gone, with only the fast-fading memory of it left behind. Martha probed gingerly at her side and found skin and muscle there, intact, undamaged. As if nothing had happened, all back to normal, reset.
Except for the Doctor.
She crossed towards
him, ignoring Nathan’s warning hand on her shoulder. The Doctor was turned away from her, head down.
‘Go away.’ His voice was harsh, deep and throaty.
‘You can let it go now,’ she told him. ‘Doctor? I’m OK, you saved me. You can let the Clade go.’
‘Don’t. Tell. Me.’ Each word was like a bullet. ‘What to do!’ He broke into a shout and spun around, leading with the gun. The Clade weapon aimed to point at Martha and Nathan, the massive maw of the barrel yawning before them. The Doctor’s face creased in agony.
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‘I’m trying to resist, trying, trying. . . ’
Martha’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. She hesitated, unsure if she should reach for him or run from him.
Trying. . . . Failin’!’ From nowhere, a crude sneer etched itself across the Doctor’s lips. ‘He’s a feisty one, ain’t he?’ It might have been the Doctor’s voice, but the accent, the malevolence, they were all Alvin Godlove’s; it was the cruel will of the Clade forcing its way through his speech. ‘So much in here to play with. . . I do declare, this Doctor is so deep, so dark and dangerous. . . He’s gonna be the finest host I ever took!’
‘No,’ Martha shook her head defiantly. ‘You’re wrong! You can’t take him, he’s too strong for you! He’s the Doctor, he’s unbeatable!’
‘Oh, my poor mistaken little girl,’ came the hissing reply, ‘while I am sure he believed that idiocy with every fibre of his bein’, the truth is far different! Did the Time Lord think he could just fix you and then renege on his part of our deal?’ He spat into the dust. ‘My kind haven’t fought a thousand wars against a thousand foes without learnin’ somethin’ about bluffin’! Your Doctor belongs to us now, Missy Martha!’
‘No!’ She refused to believe it. ‘He can’t just give himself up, not without a fight, not just for. . . ’ For me. Guilt, hard and heavy, slammed into Martha. He’s done it to save me, she told herself. Sacrificed all he is for me. She shook her head again. ‘No, I’m not worth that. . . You shouldn’t have done that! You shouldn’t have!’
‘Martha. . . Martha. . . Martha!’ The Doctor choked on her name, for a brief moment his voice returning to normal. ‘Martha, you have to run! You and Nathan have to go, find a way out! I can’t keep control for long. . . ’
‘But –’
Nathan’s hand clamped around her wrist. ‘He’s right!’ said the teenager. ‘We gotta kite outta here while we still can. That thing takes him over and we’ll never see daylight again!’
‘ Go!’ shouted the Doctor, and she could see his control slipping by the second. ‘Don’t look back!’ Fresh tears blurring her vision, Martha let Nathan lead her away into the lantern-lit tunnels.
∗ ∗ ∗
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You belong to us, Doctor. The thought-scream hammered into his mind.
Don’t fight us. If you fight the transfer, it will only hurt all the more.
He was in two places at once. Somewhere, very distant from where his thoughts tumbled and turned, the physical body of the being who called himself the Doctor stood stiff and rigid in the dimness of a disused iron mine.
Somewhere else, in a place that only existed in dreams and sensations, the Doctor’s mind struggled to pull itself free from a forest of probing, questing tentacles. He drew into himself, holding his inner strength as the Clade struck at him from all sides.
Let go, Doctor, let go. You made a promise to us. You said you would give us your flesh.
‘Uh, change of mind. Deal’s off. Sorry.’
Change of mind is right! The Godlove-Clade voice giggled. You’re out, Time Lord. There’s gonna be a new tenant inside your thick skull. . .
Dark laughter echoed through the thought-space. The Clades have never had a Time Lord to play with before. We can’t wait to see what treasures you have locked in your memories.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ the Doctor shouted back across the void. ‘Mem-ory Lane is closed, due to a traffic jam!’
Did you think we were fools, Doctor? Did you really think we didn’t know you would try to double-cross us? We are the livin’ instruments of war! And all war is about lies!
It would have been easy to use violence against the Clade, but that was what they wanted. The intelligent weapon flooded the Doctor’s mind with horrific images of battles long past, merging them with the faces of his friends. It forced him to see Rose and Mickey and K-9
deep in ashen wastelands as fusion bombs turned the ground to glass; it put Martha and Sarah Jane and Captain Jack in the combat arenas of the Isop Galaxy; and a hundred other combinations, false images of companions and friends from everyone of his lives dying over and over again.
It was so very hard to resist the urge to strike back at them. Even in a Time Lord, the primitive animal urge to fight was still there, and the Clade pulled at it, trying to tug it into the light.
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Take the gun! Use it! Feel the power! The power of life or death! Just like you did before. . . in the Time War.
‘No,’ He felt a stab of fear as the memories were dragged up from the dark place where he had hidden them. ‘No. I had no choice then.
I had no choice!’
Dear Doctor, mocked the Godlove-Clade. So brave. So sad. But so willin’ to do the terrible deed, to destroy so much in order to defeat your greatest enemy. The laughter came again. You call us killers and murderers, Doctor? But the scale of your war crime is so much worse!
The sounds of the past thundered in his ears. The roaring of a million Battle TARDISes. The screeching of a sky full of Dalek saucers.
The resounding drum of his own twin heartbeats as he made that most terrible of choices.
You tried to exterminate the Daleks, but you failed! If only you had been one with us then, we could have made their total destruction a reality. . .
Regret weighed him down. ‘I did. . . what I had to.’
So do it again. . . The voice was seductive, silky. Merge with the Clades. And together we’ll find the last of your enemies and erase them from existence. Isn’t that worth it? To be the hand of destiny all over again? To do it right this time?
In the depths of his mind, some tiny part of him agreed with them.
He hated himself for it, but it was true. The Daleks had taken everything from him, and still they would not die; and there were so many other dangers out there, just as lethal, just as virulent. . .
Don’t fight us, Doctor, said the voice. Join us. As one we’ll be unstoppable.
‘No.’ Martha dug in her heels and shook off Nathan’s hand. ‘Stop. I’m not going another step.’
‘Miss Martha, you heard the Doctor, we gotta get outta here –’
‘I said no!’ She turned around and started back the way they had come. ‘He risked everything to save my life and now what are we doing? Just running?’ Martha shook her head. ‘That’s not the right way. That’s not the Doctor’s way.’
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‘You go back there and you’ll wind up dead, for real this time!’
Nathan implored.
She stopped and gave him a hard look. ‘Before, when I was hurt, when I thought I wasn’t going to make it, do you know what kept me holding on? His voice. The Doctor, telling me to be strong.’ Martha pointed in the direction of the cavern. ‘He’s back there, fighting that Clade thing, and he needs to hear that too.’ She ran off into the dark.
‘Go if you want to, but I’m not leaving without the Doctor.’
Nathan took a breath. ‘Ah, heck,’ he said, going after her. ‘I gotta be out of my mind!’
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Thecryofagonyechoedalongtherough-hewntunnels,haltingKut-ter and Tangleleg in their tracks. The longriders froze, both of them absorbing every element of the sound, sifting it for meaning and density, coldly calculating the pain index of the victim, the distance from their current location. They remained silent, neither needing to communicate the data to the other. Both compared the sound to their stored memories and found a match immediately. The s
cream had come from only one person – the offworlder they had first encountered in Redwater, the being who called himself the Doctor.
As the echo died away, they moved forward once more, holding their weapons before them.
So much sadness and despair. It pressed the Doctor into the ground, forcing him to his knees. His thoughts were alight with all the terrible losses he had suffered throughout the centuries of his existence, each one a razor through his heart. Every time he tried to fight it, the tide of black emotion dragged him further down.
The Clade churned up long-buried memories, battering the Doctor with them. Join us, cooed the Godlove-voice. Just give in, dear Doctor!
Release yourself to us and this will all go away! We will make you strong, 145
my friend. So very strong. Nothing will ever hurt you again! You’ll never lose another companion, never be defeated!
‘I can’t,’ he gasped. ‘It’s wrong.’
Weakness is wrong! The words in his mind were a harsh snarl. Com-passion is a weakness, Doctor! You are so very good, but what does it get you? Death and death and more death? Imagine if you were the one with the power. If you had been merged with us back then, it would be the Daleks that were gone, not the Time Lords! If you had been part of us, your precious Rose would still be with you and the Cybermen would be nothing but scrap metal! How much more do you have to lose, Doctor? How much more before you understand. . . that force is the only way?
‘Might makes right? Is that what you’re saying?’ The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’ve lived my life against that kind of thinking! Violence solves nothing. Anger only creates more anger,’ he shouted. ‘There has to be a better way!’
The Clade-voice hammered at him, grim and unstoppable, grinding away his resistance. You are mistaken, Doctor. How can it be one so old can have such a childish belief. There is only one constant in the universe, my friend. Conflict. Life is war. The only true peace is the peace of the dead.
