Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [109]
Ethan thought about his beautiful numbers. Clean as bone. No messy, leak-ing, aging, hurting, dying flesh. Yes, he thought matter-of-factly, it’s true. He’d sensed it all that time ago, when he heard Unwin rant against life, and now he saw it whole. He’d always been afraid. In his own way, he’d hated life. Just like poor Molecross chasing after the wondrous. Just like Unwin with his numbers, and Brett with his annihilating savagery. And like the Doctor as well. None of them could face the world. The only one of them truly alive was Ace.
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘Without her, what would I be? What would I become?’
After a time, Ethan said, ‘Well, I didn’t want a life, and I didn’t get one.’
The Doctor lowered his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’
‘It’s not down to you. I was going to die anyway. You’d sussed that, hadn’t you?’
‘It was a reasonable presumption. Hallucinations, headaches and a shift in the eye’s processing speed can all be linked to a tumour; three of them in one place almost guaranteed it. And then when the alien fled you, that more or less proved the case. You were too damaged to provide a home.’
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The Algebra of Ice
‘Ah,’ said Ethan. ‘I’d wondered about that. So I was going to die, but not soon enough to thwart Brett.’
‘Not nearly soon enough.’
‘Still, you were only planning to lop off a few years.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said the Doctor flatly. ‘I’m not surprised you’ve never forgiven me.’
Ethan considered this. ‘I haven’t, have I?’
‘No. And don’t waste what time you have left trying.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. People always talk about forgiveness as if it’s an act of will. But it either happens or it doesn’t.’
‘You’re right, of course.’
‘I know you believed it was for the best.’
The Doctor snorted. ‘In the event, your death would have been a disaster.
The TARDIS would even now be fuelling the destruction of the cosmos. I was so certain I knew what to do, so willing to sacrifice moral duty to the greater need.
But I’d have both murdered you and defeated my purpose. A fine achievement.’
‘But at the end of the day, you must always have to guess. An informed guess, but still. . . ’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor wearily. ‘I make terrible choices, and I can’t be sure of the ends. It’s the road I’ve chosen.’
‘Perhaps you should have stayed home.’
The Doctor had removed his hat and was rotating it in his hands. ‘You may be right. I hope not. It’s too late now.’
‘You poor sod,’ said Ethan quietly, ‘I don’t envy your life.’ And he realised that at some unnoticed point in just the past few minutes, he had forgiven the Doctor.
‘What about some cake?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
A plate of cakes appeared. They munched on these for a while.
‘You gave me the best part of my life, you and Ace.’
‘That’s kind of you to say,’ the Doctor murmured. ‘And in the case of Ace, undoubtedly true. I would like to give you something, though. That’s why I came.’
‘I had wondered.’
‘I’d thought about it for a while, trying to work out what I could do. If anything. I wanted to. . . I know you say it’s not bad for you, and I believe you.
I believe you have peace. But I want to give you joy.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
225
‘You really are an arrogant bastard,’ said Ethan, almost admiringly. ‘Give me joy? Now? In my condition?’
‘Of course now and in your condition,’ the Doctor said impatiently. ‘It would hardly do you much good otherwise.’ He stood up. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered, striding away. Ethan grabbed the last cake before following.
They walked in nothing. Actually, Ethan reminded himself, they weren’t walking at all. This was the Doctor’s willed dream. A door appeared and