Doctor Who_ Earthworld - Jacqueline Rayner [40]
He thought he was Fitz – deep down inside. The Doctor, he was pretty certain, thought he was Fitz.
But what did the Doctor know?
They were back in the TARDIS. ‘I wonder what Sam would have made of all this,’
Fitz had said, casually. ‘You wouldn’t get a Volkswagen Beetle in here now, would you?’
‘Sam?’ the Doctor had said, in an ‘oh yes, just give me a minute’ tone.
A Man is the Sum of His [False] Memories 73
‘Someone you were travelling with when I met you,’ Fitz had prompted.
The Doctor had given him an ‘of course!’ look, and slapped his forehead theatri-cally. ‘Oh, Sam. Of course. What a guy, eh. . . always tinkering around with that Beetle. . . ’
And Fitz had realised that things definitely weren’t back to normal, not by a long way.
Anji. Anji thought he was Fitz, because she’d never known him otherwise. And he was willing to bet that if he’d looked up Sam while he’d been waiting for the Doctor to pick him up, she’d have thought he was Fitz, too. After all, Sam had had identity crises of her own, and she’d come through them OK.
When Fitz had been James Bond, or Simon Templar, or Frank Sinatra, he’d still been Fitz. Surely it would be much easier now to still be Fitz, when Fitz was the person he was pretending to be too? (Did that make sense? Shush, we’re nearly on the brink of a decision.) Fitz was this guy who liked a laugh and a joke, fell in love far too often but pretended to himself he didn’t feel that deeply really, played the guitar like a dream, hid from the world behind other personalities because in them he could be more confident, more alive, more cool, more the kind of guy he wanted to be. He’d laugh in the face of danger, but only if it was impossible to run away.
Though he’d found he’d risk things for the Doctor – the only person in the world, really, he’d do that for.
He was this guy.
Therefore he was Fitz.
Whatever he may have been before; however he had been created; he was Fitz.
(Yes!!)
Then he imagined how he, Fitz, would feel if he’d been abandoned for two thousand years because the Doctor had found a copy just as good as the real thing, and ended up whimpering in the corner again.
Hanstrum came back into the throne room. ‘It’s true,’ he told the President.
‘The girls are gone. There are only androids.’
The Doctor gave the President an ‘I told you so’ look.
‘I never dreamed their skills were so far advanced,’ Hanstrum was saying.
‘Oh, they’ve been able to build realistic androids since they were tots, and we saw the astounding specific physical resemblances they could create when they built their doubles – as we thought – for the centre. But these. . . the simulated 74
EarthWorld
personality. . . add a copy of the memory, and you’ve got something that is in essence indistinguishable from the real thing.’ He seemed to be half talking to himself, worried.
‘It is astounding, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor. ‘Downloadable memory, very impressive. But now we’ve all been astounded, could we just pop to the centre and turn off the rest of the androids? Before they kill anyone?’
The President waved a hand. ‘If my daughters are in there, then. . . Yes, Hanstrum, go to EarthWorld and bring the girls out. Do whatever you have to do.’
The Doctor waved at him. ‘What about me?’
The President turned. ‘Guards, take the prisoner back to the cells.’
‘Hang on!’ The Doctor was most indignant. ‘You need my help!’
‘Hanstrum,’ the President said, ‘is my chief technician. I am quite sure he does not need the help of a saboteur.’
The Doctor produced his trump card. ‘How about the help of a saboteur with a sonic screwdriver?’ He pulled the metal wand triumphantly from his pocket like a rabbit from a hat. ‘I can make things much easier for you, I’m sure.
Besides, I have friends of my own to rescue.’
The President snorted. ‘I’m already agreeing to you ruining EarthWorld –
the greatest achievement this planet has ever seen; the only thing that’s given us any hope. Why don’t I just let you get on with doing a thorough job of destroying it? Hanstrum,