Doctor Who_ Return of the Living Dad - Kate Orman [9]
Only a few of Benny’s and Jason’s belongings were left now: Just a big wooden chest with a flat top, a few chairs and a bag or two. The cold wind had become a steady icy breeze, barely stopped by the row of trees at the edge of the clearing.
The Doctor had deactivated the alarm field they’d left to guard the bits and pieces. He’d improvised a tablecloth from one of his cleaner handkerchiefs, and rummaged through the bags until he’d found a chipped ex-UNIT enamel mug and a mug with the message MY PARENTS WENT TO SKARO
AND ALL I GOT WAS A LOUSY PAIR OF GENES.
Groenewegen had insisted on helping him pick out the champagne from a travelling merchant’s wares. The Lacaillan, a blue humanoid with cropped white hair, had spent five minutes rummaging through the coins and notes from the Doctor’s pockets until he’d found one he liked.
They clinked their mugs together as the sun began to set.
Benny took a long drink and sat down, swinging her feet up onto the wooden box. The Doctor copied her, watching the sunset as he took a careful mouthful of the wine. He was still into the silk shirts, she saw, but the burgundy-coloured waistcoat made a nice change. The tweed jacket made him look like an eccentric university tutor.
For a little while they just sat there, quietly, letting the night settle in.
‘“Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why,”’
said Benny, at length. “Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.”’
The Doctor tilted his head to one side. ‘The Rubáiyát,’ he concluded.
‘It’s good to see you.’
The Time Lord raised his mug to her.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘We have two options,’ said the Time Lord. ‘One is to watch the outcome of the battle from a nearby safe bit of space. The problem with that is that we might not learn much more than we already have from the hologram.’
‘What’s the other option?’
‘We could materialize aboard your father’s ship a few minutes before the disappearance.’ He looked at her sternly.
‘They might have been blown apart by a Dalek energy bolt.’
‘I understand. But won’t we, well, give them a bit of a surprise? Appearing on their ship out of nowhere?’
The Doctor reached into a pocket, pulled out a plastic sheet with blueprints stamped on it. ‘The Fury-class ships were massive, all engine and weapons systems, with a tiny cone at the front where the crew of six sat.’
He traced his fingertips over the blueprint. ‘There were access corridors running through the bulk of the ship, like tunnels in a warren. We could materialize the TARDIS in one of those, and take a quick look around.’
But Benny was shaking her head. ‘Not us. Me. I can’t ask anyone to risk themselves for this.’
‘Asking isn’t required,’ said the Doctor, drumming his fingers on the blueprint. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Benny took another swallow of the champagne. ‘I’m not planning to try and save him,’ she said quietly.
The Doctor looked up at her. ‘The best-laid schemes of mice and Benny...’ he said. He held up a hand before she could speak. ‘I have a responsibility to history. We have this responsibility, Benny, each time we step out of the TARDIS.’
‘I mean it,’ she said.
‘Of course you do.’ The Doctor watched the bubbles rise in his champagne. ‘We reassure ourselves that we’d give our lives to protect it all. But anyone can die. Living with the responsibility is much more difficult. How long before we’re wondering what little exceptions we can make? Whether solving one problem, saving one life, would spoil some great eternal plan? From time to time, I need to reassure myself that I can still do it.’
‘Do what?’ said Benny.
‘Let someone die.’ He ran a finger around the rim of the mug.
‘I understand,’ said Benny.
The Doctor’s eyes bit into her. ‘Do you?’
She held up her thumb and forefinger in a mimed pinch.
Just a little.
The Time Lord shook his head. ‘What have I done?’
The Doctor had spent an hour rummaging through the TARDIS for baby things, and had come up with a magnificent Victorian Wooden cradle, a food machine capable of producing nappies, and a Martian hatchling’s spinning top.