Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies - Lawrence Miles [110]
The Doctor frowned. ‘I’m sorry, this is getting horribly convoluted. I can’t die now. I know I’m destined to go through more biodata changes before my death. In this regeneration, my biodata isn’t valuable enough to go to all this trouble for.’
The Shift seemed irritated by this trifling point of logic. ‘Supposing I kill you now, Doctor. Supposing Trask collects your body, and the Celestis recorporate it, to use it as one of their agents.’ The Doctor actually shivered at the thought. The Shift went on. ‘The recorporated Doctor could pick up all the biodata the Time Lords think is so valuable, before it dies a second time. Then, somehow, it finds its way into Qixotl’s possession and ends up here in the vault of the ziggurat, ready to be sold again. Causality is satisfied.’
‘I hate this sort of nit-picking,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘All right, I accept I’m mortal. But it’s a moot point. You can’t kill me, not here. You don’t have the power.’
‘Doctor, I’ve been ordered to secure the Relic for my employers, and that’s what I intend to do. Don’t stand in my way. Leave in your TARDIS as soon as you can. This is a lost cause. You have no place here. You know that’s the truth.’
The Doctor thought about it for a moment.
‘Yes,’ he said, in the end.
The Shift seemed surprised, even though the Doctor couldn’t see its expression. ‘Yes? Yes what?’
‘Yes, I agree. I shouldn’t get involved.’
‘Then you’ll let me go?’
‘I don’t exactly have a choice.’ The Doctor sighed, with well-rehearsed weariness. ‘I don’t like leaving my remains in your hands, but you are talking about events in my future. The war doesn’t affect me, and it never will. Not while I’m alive. I’m not going to stay here with you for the rest of my life, not if I should never have become involved in the first place. So, you can leave. Now. Before I change my mind.’
The blackness of the void split open, as if it had been unzipped from top to bottom. On the other side of the opening, the Doctor could see the conference hall of the ziggurat. The other representatives stood motionless, frozen in poses of mindless aggression. No, not frozen, the Doctor reminded himself. They were moving, but very, very slowly. Here inside his mind, events were occurring at ten thousand times their normal speed. In “real” time, the discussion with the Shift had taken a split-second.
For a moment, the Shift stood quite still, facing the light from the outside world. Then it disintegrated, becoming a cascade of concepts, glistening ideas that looped and whirled as they headed for the opening. The Doctor made sure every last notion was safety out of his head before he zipped the darkness up again.
He’d been forced to let the Shift go. He hadn’t been able to confine it permanently, not without confining himself along with it. But then, he hadn’t been prepared. And whatever he’d said, he didn’t intend to let anyone walk off with his old bones, not without a fight.
The Doctor concentrated, and willed new shapes to materialise out of the void. He had to refurnish his mind. Next time, he’d be ready.
A few moments ago, the Doctor had mumbled something that had sounded like “sorry”. The Doctor had this thing about taking life, Qixotl remembered. It made him uneasy, for some reason. Just like him to apologise before doing someone in.
Qixotl closed his eyes, and waited for the killing blow.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened, and it happened in style. Around him, the sounds of senseless violence had died down, becoming nothing more than a bunch of awkward scuffling noises backed up by muzak.
Mr Qixotl opened up one eye. Nothing blinded it or tried to gouge it out, so he opened the other one.
The Doctor stood over him, an expression of smug satisfaction plastered across his face. Nearby, Cousin Justine lay on the floor, looking lost and bewildered, her skin covered