Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [78]
It was just possible that Unwin had come in after the Doctor had gone, and collapsed across the bed. But the odds were against it. Very much against it.
Had he made a mistake with Unwin? He’d known he was weak. On the other hand, without him nothing could have been done. There would have been no contact. None of the bridge could have been constructed. It was Unwin who had brought Amberglass into the equation. True, he hadn’t had time to get from Amberglass what he needed, but the boy was connected to the Doctor in some way and was no doubt the reason the Doctor had shown up. And served a very useful purpose.
And made Unwin obsolete.
With some difficulty because of the dead weight, Brett hefted Unwin into a fireman’s lift. He took him out the back door of the chalet and up under the dark, snow-laden trees, where he dumped him and looked around. He kicked at the snow, walked another few feet and kicked again. At last he spotted an area where the trees thinned, and went to examine it. A little dip, almost a ditch, filled with pillowy snow.
Brett dragged Unwin over and rolled him into the hollow. Unwin landed in a tangled position only a drunk could maintain. Brett began to kick snow over him. He didn’t hurry. After a bit, he had to crouch and shove the snow with his hands. It took longer than he expected. The last thing to vanish was one of Unwin’s feet, slipping quietly beneath the icy powder. Brett piled the snow till it was slightly higher than the ground around it. He tamped the resulting mound down a bit, but didn’t bother hiding the marks he’d made all around.
No one was coming up here.
Molecross sat on an examination table with what was left of his wrist stuck Chapter Nineteen
161
in a box filled with blue light. The Doctor had removed the bandages and examined the healing wound. Now he was looking at computerised diagrams of Molecross’s arm. ‘I think I can accelerate the healing process.’
‘Thank you,’ said Molecross humbly.
The Doctor glanced up at him sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry I can’t regrow the hand for you, but we’re not at that stage yet with humans.’
‘ “We”?’
‘My people. There are some medical problems even we haven’t solved –
though, I admit, not many.’
‘Will it hurt?’
‘No. You won’t even know anything is happening.’ The Doctor began to work with some buttons.
‘Can I ask some questions now?’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Go ahead.’
‘How often have you saved Earth?’
‘I’ve lost count.’
‘Lost count?’
‘Everyone wants to take over the Earth,’ said the Doctor. ‘You’d be amazed.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, it’s strategically located. Also unusually rich in resources. Blessed, you might say. Of course, that attracts the would-be conquerors. No silver without a cloudy lining.’
‘Have you saved other planets?’
‘Yes. Don’t ask me how many. It’s all in files somewhere.’
‘How?’
‘Sometimes one way, sometimes another. I depend a great deal on improvisation. It’s never a good idea to go into a situation with fixed ideas.’
‘There’s an invasion happening now, isn’t there?’
‘Trying to happen. I wouldn’t call it an invasion – more of a gleaning.’
‘What do they want?’
‘Power. You’ll find most problems are caused by desire for power – to wield it, to consume it, to overcome it. The condition is universal.’
‘Can you stop them?’
‘Oh yes.’
Molecross went quiet for a moment, digesting this. ‘Do you ever fail?’
‘Not often.’
‘All this,’ Molecross said after another moment, ‘it must take. . . How do you have. . . How old are you?’
162
The Algebra of Ice
‘Hm.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘I’m not entirely sure. Nine hundred and something, I think.’
‘Nine hundred and something!’
‘Don’t hold me to it.’
‘Then. . . is that why you’ve had so many bodies?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The available information suggests you don’t always look the same.’
‘Silly idea.’
‘There are photographs.’
‘Not of me.’
‘Oh.’ Molecross mused on this. ‘Are you sure?’
The Doctor looked at his eager, innocent face. Oh well, why not? ‘All right, yes. I change bodies. Regenerate. This is