Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [99]
The Doctor looked down at his hands. Perhaps he was looking under the skin. Perhaps he was just inspecting the state of his own DNA.
Naturally, there are risks. A young Time Lord may trigger an actual regeneration, a great disgrace among neonates. If he remains in flux for too long, his identity may be permanently lost; his body may attempt to rebuild itself randomly, causing a lethal genetic ‘spasm’.
‘How much longer can you stay out in the rain?’ asked the shadow. ‘How much longer before your genetic big end goes?’
The Doctor pushed at the door.
‘Ben, do you remember what he said in the tracking room?
Something about... it isn’t any drier indoors, you know.’
The name Eighth Man Bound was coined by students of the Arcalian Chapter, and honours one of their number who managed to ‘fake’ his first six regenerations, discovering the natures of his first seven bodies, but never quite unleashing the Eighth Man. Though this record has never been broken –
‘So he gets himself a new one? Do me a favour!’
The door opened.
Though this record has never been broken, it is rumoured that one student of the Prydonian Chapter did successfully equal it. Though this student later denied ever having played a game as ‘reckless and irresponsible’ as Eighth Man Bound, those who knew him claim that he wouldn’t have been able to resist playing it at least once. Curiosity, they say, was always his downfall.
‘You’ve played this game before. This time, however, the rules are slightly different. Ben, what are we going to do? We can’t just leave the Doctor there.’
‘Him? The Doctor?’
The Doctor stepped through the door.
Had you asked him later in his life – six regenerations and at least as many centuries later – he would have pointed out that even if he had played the game, the knowledge of his future that he gained from it would have been useless. He would never have been able to predict what his third body had looked like, for example, because he would never have been able to predict the unusual circumstances under which it had been obtained. Would he?
The Doctor’s vision flickered and blurred as he entered Catcher’s cellar, and everything went dark for a nanosecond or two. A minor side-effect of cross-dimensional engineering, he told himself, his brain adjusting itself to the sudden change in environment, the same kind of ‘glitch’ he noticed every time he walked in or out of the TARDIS. Inside the house, there wasn’t any rain, but that didn’t mean it was dry. The shadows had ceased to be.
One never forgets one’s first regeneration. Particularly not if one has rehearsed it well.
The battlefield was a wide open plain, and there was nothing on the horizon in any direction, no buildings or mountains or landmarks of any kind. There was mud on the ground, and night in the sky.
And there were armies. One to the north, one to the south, rolling forward like thunderheads. Roz and Daniel were standing in the exact spot where the two sides would meet.
Roz estimated that they had about forty seconds before the forces collided.
‘This is history,’ said Daniel. ‘Isn’t it?’
Roz frowned. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Don’t know.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘I can remember lots about the Revolution, as well, but I was a baby when the shooting stopped. It’s like I’ve got a feel for it. Like I was born to it.’
Roz looked down at the amaranth. Still turning. ‘Daniel, listen to me. This is the future. Except that it isn’t. This is...
kind of like a stage-show of the future. The amaranth’s making it happen, but it’s not real. Not really real.’ She squinted at one of the approaching armies. She could make out mounts, probably horses, and hear the beat of their hooves.
‘That doesn’t mean they can’t hurt us, though,’ she concluded.
‘What happened to the town?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we’re still in it. Maybe it just got bigger. At least we lost Forrester-the-sequel.’
The armies thundered on, and the soldiers rode into view.
Their bodies were smooth and shapeless, like melted lumps of obsidian, riding on skeletal horses