Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [38]
‘The moment you walked in, I knew you must be the famous Fitz and Trix,’
Greg said easily, while Anji got rid of her caller. ‘You’re just like Kap described.’
The waiter took their drinks order, delaying an awkward silence for a moment or two. Fitz mentally rehearsed breaking the ice with a joke based around Greg being a West Indian and Anji being an actual Indian, then decided against it.
‘Er. . . so. What’s the music like nowadays?’ Fitz asked. ‘I’m going to have a lot of catching up to do.’
Greg looked a little lost at the question.
‘There’s no use asking him.’ Anji smiled nervously. ‘Greg’s more of a film buff.’
‘Like –’ Fitz slammed the brakes on the sentence. He was going to say ‘Like Dave’, Anji’s previous finance. Who’d died the day she met the Doctor. ‘Like so many people are,’ he finished, weakly.
Greg still looked lost.
Trix was studying the menu rather too furiously for Fitz’s liking.
He decided on a new line of inquiry. ‘So, Anji, we were just talking about this on the way over: how many planets do you think you went to?’
82
Greg had gone from mild bewilderment to total confusion. ‘Planets?’ he frowned.
It was about ten hours since Rachel had given the Doctor his supper.
He was sore from sitting in one place for so long, and the few movements he could make weren’t quite enough to keep the stiffness out of his joints. He had managed a little sleep, and that was all he needed.
The door was unbolted and Marnal entered, pistol raised. He relaxed when he saw the Doctor still secured to the chair, and tucked the gun back in his blazer.
‘I have been reviewing more of your interventions,’ he began.
‘Good morning to you, too,’ the Doctor replied.
‘You repeatedly claim to have lost your memory as a result of what happened, How convenient.’
The Doctor did his best to shrug, given his restraints. ‘I don’t know why I lost my memories, and I don’t think I ever claimed otherwise. I don’t think it’s particularly convenient or inconvenient. I’ve got plenty of new memories now.’
He paused for a moment, unaccountably worried.
Marnal took advantage of the hesitation. ‘Do you know what happened to our race?’
‘So. . . you’re from the same civilisation as I am?’ He’d known Marnal had lived a long time without ageing, but he’d met more than his fair share of immortals in his time.
Marnal nodded. ‘I thought I was the only one.’
‘Well, so did I for a long time. Yes, sorry I never called. I must have missed any number of your birthdays. I owe you a card and a book token, at the very least.’
‘You don’t seem surprised that you are not alone.’
‘There were four of us left, apparently. You’d be number five.’
Marnal rounded on him. ‘Left after what?’
The Doctor hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Some disaster. I’ve picked up hints, seen the odd vision, but I was never able to follow up on anything.’
Marnal leant over him, sensing a moment of weakness. ‘Weren’t you, now?
Not terribly enterprising of you. So you have no idea?’
The Doctor shrugged apologetically.
Marnal raised his hand, and the Doctor thought he was going to hit him.
Instead, Marnal touched the Doctor’s temple with a fingertip.
‘Contact.’
83
For the briefest moment, the Doctor saw himself as Marnal saw him. Then back to vice versa. Then rapid alternations between the two viewpoints. It was dizzying.
A man with a sallow face and small, pointed black beard, who wore a blue rosette; a young woman with long blonde hair in an extraordinary piece of haute couture; a tall man with a bent nose wearing a cravat and holding a pair of dice; the Doctor himself with close-cropped hair, sitting on an ornate throne, a newborn baby girl in his arms.
Marnal was attempting telepathic contact. Memories were flitting from one mind to the other.
Nothing.
Parts of the Doctor’s brain that he wasn’t even aware were there came to life, repelled the attempt to link up.
Nothing.