Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [61]
Calamee gave him a look.
‘Yes, yes, I know. It’s all a bit woolly, isn’t it? But at the moment, we don’t exactly have much to go on. The only other line of approach is to go back to the Palace – which, I suspect, I’ll have to do sooner or later. But for now, I’d rather like to get this analysed. A little knowledge is a dangerous weapon, you know.’
‘Where, exactly, were you planning on having it analysed? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not many rungs up the technological ladder from Axista here.’
‘Axista?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Calamee said. ‘Are you planning on breaking into the university or something?’
‘No need for that,’ he said, his mouth twisting into a smug smile. ‘I’ve got all the equipment I need.’
Calamee looked him up and down. ‘On you?’
‘No no no – in the TARDIS.’
‘Ahh. . . and what would that be?’
‘That, my dear Calamee, would be my home.’
The streets were almost magically loud, the crowds raucous, and the air damp and heavier than it had been before. It was as if they’d been on a rather long trip away from reality. The Doctor noticed Calamee shiver and draped his coat around her shoulders. It was, of course, miles too big. Nessus climbed into a pocket, with only his eyes and the top of his head showing.
They paused to watch a troupe of street entertainers – still walkers, fire-breathers, jugglers and an elderly woman with a hug fake fish on her head who smiled at them as she passed by.
‘You really should go home,’ the Doctor said as the parade move on and the crashing of the huge drum at its head subsided to a soft heartbeat. He didn’t look at her.
‘And leave just as things are getting interesting? I don’t think so.’
‘Calamee. . . ’ he said, turning to her.
‘Don’t patronise me! If it wasn’t for me, you’d probably be locked up in the Palace again.’ She turned to him and looked up, fixing hit with a stare. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d lost your memory before.’
112
‘It was news to me too. Anyway,’ he rubbed his hands vigorously and made a big show of looking around, ‘memories are ten a pens, Easy come, easy go.’
‘Oh no.’ said Calamee. ‘Oh no you don’t. You’re not wriggling out of it this easily. Why didn’t you let Madame Xing put them back for you?’
He gave a sigh, knowing that Calamee wasn’t going to let it drop.
‘Because I’m happy.’
‘With only half your memories?’ She shook her head, clearly bewildered.
‘How? If some mad old woman offered to give me back half my life, I’d jump at the chance.’
‘And that’d be right for you. Listen, Calamee.’ He gripped her arm gently through the loose sleeves of his own jacket. ‘I appreciate your concern, but. . .
I know what I’m doing.’ He paused, not sure how much he wanted to say, how much he wanted to tell her. ‘Something happened, Calamee. Probably something bad; certainly something big. And I lost my memory. I woke up on a train, remembering nothing of how I got there, where I’d been or what had happened. I spent a century – yes, a whole century – wandering around on Earth, making new friends, seeing things with new eyes. And then Fitz came along and told me that he was a friend of mine. By that time, I’d tried everything to get my memory back: psychotherapy, hypnosis, meditation. Even a few “experimental techniques” that might well have done more damage than good. But no matter what I did, it became clear that – for whatever reason –
the memories I’d lost were going to stay lost. It took a while to come to terms with that, but you know what? Once I did, once I said to myself “Doctor – the past is passed” I realised that maybe, just maybe, it was a blessing.
‘No, don’t pull that face, Calamee. I know that I’ve lived hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. How many memories do you think my brain can hold, hmm? It’s like I’ve had a spring clean, swept out all the dust and the fluff.
I like who I am, Calamee. Maybe not all of me, and not all of the time, but generally, I’m very happy with who I am. I have good friends, I get to travel and help people.