Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Times Crucible - Marc Platt [118]
"It's all right," he called as the filament gently descended. "I'm back. I am the Doctor!"
The Process crouched beneath him, condensing its length like a coiled spring. It leapt up, its jaws snapping at his legs. He swung wildly on the filament to avoid it.
"The World, it is mine!" it shrieked and leapt again.
Overhead, the lowering ceiling of moonshell broke open completely. The first head of the embryo Process, dripping mucus, forced itself out and squealed its claim of inheritance.
The younger Vael ran forward. "No! It's mine! Mine by right!" He held up something that glinted in his hand. It was the TARDIS key. "You left it in the Phrontisterie door." He grinned. "Important, is it?" His head ticked wildly as if a power was pressing on his mind.
"Give me that!" demanded Ace. "You're the last person who's having that!" She ran angrily at him, but he turned, a flood of burning anger in his eyes.
"Ace!" cried the older Pekkary. He knocked her sideways and caught the blast of Vael's hatred full on. Flames burst out inside his coat. He crumbled in smoking ashes to the floor.
Ace screamed.
The monsters bellowed.
Vael's eyes darted wildly. "The ship is mine!" he said with an intense quietness. The spindly form of his future came to join him.
"You're beside yourself with fear, Vael. Out of control!" goaded the Doctor. He clung to the filament for his life, swinging dangerously close to the open maw of the Process below.
Above him, the newborn monstrosity squirmed voraciously down.
"You'll never be an Individual, Nanny's boy!" he added. "Neither you nor that archaic old battleaxe of a Pythia belong in my ship! So go now!"
The anger blazed up through both Vaels.
The Process gave one final leap. Its jaws fastened to the Doctor's leg. It dragged him down, screaming. The bolt of Vael's burning fury seared off target into the new monster above.
The egg and its creature exploded into a cataract of fire.
The Process spat out its victim and flung up its head in a wail of despair. Burning shell and flesh rained down. Its Past was destroyed. Its Now ceased. It vapoured away into nothing.
"Vael, my successor!" ranted the voice in his mind. "The future. I must know it. Bring me this ship!"
He twisted and clasped his head. "No! I'm an Individual! It's mine! I'm the future. Not you!" His future self watched him in bewilderment.
Across the floor lay the Doctor, bewildered and vulnerable, his leg twisted. Ace crouched, her arms around him. Shonnzi stood beside them.
"Got you all together," Vael growled and ran at them with his burning eyes.
A flash of silver.
The cat ran out of nowhere and leapt at Vael with a vicious yowl. Its claws sank into his back. He reeled sideways, beating at the impossible creature in agony.
"Obey me, Vael! You are mine!" cried the Pythia.
"Never!" he railed. "Get out! Get out of my head for ever!"
In the blind rage he would never master, he turned his burning fury on the eye in his own mind.
Ace crouched down, burying her face in the Doctor's jumper.
The Doctor observed Vael's final immolation in dispassionate silence. Beside him, the Vael guard faded too, vanishing into the curling, greasy smoke.
"Much too Grand Guignol," the Doctor said after a while. "A mind like Vael's only occurs once in a millennium. In the wrong head, it can be the deadliest weapon of all."
He rose on his painful leg and gently sifted the blackened TARDIS key out of the ashes.
"Don't you ever care?" said Ace, pushing away her tears.
"I'm a Doctor. Call it professional detachment."
She shook her head in indulgent despair and took his hand. It was trembling.
30: The Children of Rassilon
The periodic subdivision of archaic Gallifreyan history known as the Old Time is an area of much debate. The Scribe Quartinian theorizes that the Age of the Pythias should be divided into