Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [56]
I am in full possession of my faculties and I am not signing this
statement under duress.’
The Doctor read it back to himself, silently.
‘I like this. No small print. No room for ambiguity. It all seems reasonable enough.’ He took the pen and signed the contract at the bottom.
Interlude
The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS. Now in his seventh incarnation — or so he claimed — he was a smallish, dark-haired man. He wore shabby brown check trousers, a brown sports jacket with a garish Fair Isle tanktop beneath, and a jaunty straw hat. He carried a long black umbrella with a plain cane handle.
‘...eyepatches!’ he finished.
A young woman followed him out. She was even shorter than the Doctor, with the skinny figure that could only have been achieved through regular exercise. Her hair was a cascading mop of red curls. She was Melanie Bush — Mel for short — and she had been travelling with the Doctor for a number of years now. She wore a cream trouser-suit, and she sported a floppy straw sun-hat.
She gave a mock groan. ‘That joke is terrible.’
The Doctor was chucking to himself anyway. Mel looked around. They had landed in an oriental marketplace — there were Arabs in flowing white robes and burnooses bustling around the stalls, haggling amongst themselves over peculiar artefacts. She could just make out a camel in the middle distance. No one seemed to have noticed the TARDIS arrive, or if they had they weren’t paying it any attention. The air was thick and hazy.
‘It is very hot, Doctor. I don’t think you’ll be needing that umbrella,’ she observed.
‘Ah well, it would be hot: this is Cairo. You did say you fancied a holiday on Earth. What did you say? “I haven’t been to Earth in ages.” ’ It was a passable imitation of her high-pitched tones. ‘After Troxos 4, I thought that we both needed a little break from adventuring.’
‘I’ve never been to Cairo before.’ Mel looked around. She would certainly have no difficulty finding a souvenir of this trip
— carpets, tapestries, sculptures, prints, pictures painted onto papyrus, a cornucopia of treasures. A couple of yards away, a Western tourist, a man, was discussing the price of an ivory elephant with a merchant. Mel was surprised by his clothes: he wasn’t wearing the typical tourist gear of jeans and T-shirts, but an altogether more formal outfit, a dark pin-striped suit.
‘What year is this?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t really matter — Cairo market looks exactly the same whatever year you land in. Just relax and soak up the atmosphere.’ Mel shot him an enquiring look, and the Doctor looked around. ‘Well, judging by that tourist and the relative level of air pollution, this must be the mid-nineteen-thirties.’
‘The past! I’ve only ever been to the future before,’ she said excitedly.
‘Well, yes, it’s the past from your point of view. From another perspective this is the future. For that tourist over there it’s the present.’
Mel was already bouncing over to introduce herself.
‘Hello there. I’m Melanie, and this,’ the Doctor doffed his hat,
‘is my... uncle, the Doctor.’ Mel held her hand out, expecting a handshake. Instead, the gentleman lifted it gently to his mouth and kissed it. Mel grinned, and hoped she hadn’t gone too doe-eyed. He was handsome, with thick black hair brushed back across his scalp and lacquered into place. He had penetrating dark eyes, and a lovely smile.
‘Emil Hartung.’ His voice was cultured, with the slight trace