Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [93]
At the entrance to the R and D unit the Doctor had exchanged the gun for the keys to the truck. He knew Mike could have tried to stop him them, or insisted on coming with him despite his protestations, but he didn’t. He simply looked the Doctor in the eye, wished him luck and shook his hand.
The Doctor was grateful for Mike’s intelligence, glad that it was not the Brigadier he was dealing with. Not that the Brigadier was stupid - on the contrary, he possessed a sharp mind and a quick, dry wit. However his old friend was ingrained with the gung-ho single-mindedness of many of the top military men the Doctor had encountered in his lives.
Often the subtle approach advocated by the Doctor baffled and infuriated him, seemed to him to undermine everything he stood for.
Mike was different. He was a good soldier - brave and loyal, dependable and efficient and cool under pressure - but also sensitive and sensible, far-thinking but impressionable too.
The Doctor focused on the matter in hand: he needed to find a way of halting the Xaranti infection before it laid waste to the entire population of the planet.
As he stood in the lift which carried him down through the hospital, the Doctor wondered whether he had done the right thing in leaving Tegan behind. She was infected too, of course - though it would be some time yet before she actually became a danger to those in the R and D unit. The Doctor was hoping to have solved the Xaranti problem long before that moment arrived, though if he failed in his mission he would at least be consoled by the thought that Mike had his gun with which to both safeguard the uninfected and provide Tegan with a merciful release. Despite his guilt, the Doctor knew that taking Tegan with him would have been a bad idea. She - or anyone else for that matter - would have been more of a hindrance than a help.
He took out the square, grey object which was his remote link with the diagnostic programmes he had left running in the TARDIS and flipped open the lid. He pressed a button, then perused the columns of numbers and figures and formulaic symbols scrolling down the tiny screen.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured, then snapped the lid shut and tucked it into his trouser pocket as the lift arrived at its destination.
He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, hands clasped behind his back, as the doors opened. Despite appearances he was alert for the slightest sound or movement. However, the only sound was the buzzing of flies which had found their way into the hospital, attracted by the sprawled corpses in Reception. The Doctor set his face grimly as he strode through them to the main doors.
He could feel the infection inside him, tingling across his shoulders and chest and back, trying to gain a foothold in his mind. His shoulder wound ached intolerably, but at least it had been treated and properly dressed. That was one thing Mike Yates had insisted upon, and quite a crowd had gathered to watch the man who was pointing a gun at his own head being patched up by a young and nervous doctor.
After selecting a few items from his coat pockets and transferring them into his trousers, the Doctor had left his ruined coat and sweater behind in the R and D unit (remarking to Tegan that if he didn’t have spares in the TARDIS he would be writing a strongly-worded letter of complaint to the Xaranti government) and had strode to the exit, wearing his torn and bloodstained shirt, still holding Mike’s gun to his head.
Outside he climbed into the UNIT truck and drove away from the hospital. As he passed through deserted streets he switched to automatic pilot, allowing the Xaranti part of him to lead him to where it wanted to go. Up until now his mind had withstood the siege that the infection had been conducting against it, but suddenly the Doctor lowered the drawbridge, withdrew his defences. The infection swept in, aggressive and triumphant, filling his mind with Xaranti thoughts.
The first phase of the Xaranti recruitment