Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [20]
The Sontarans and the Rutans had been run-of‐the-mill militaristic societies when the universe was young. Each had built up an empire in the usual way, emerging from their homeworlds, subjugating local planets, expanding their sphere of influence. Nothing unusual up to that point. Rapid population growth meant that colony worlds could swiftly be populated, converted into mines and factories, added to the expansion effort. Other races were run by the military, they had warriors’ codes, they had evolved whole societies from honour, chivalry and espionage. Life was a series of glorious battles, of magnificent conquests and terrible defeats, of heroes and traitors, kings and lords and knights and armies.
There were stories, legends, sagas about wars and warriors.
But the Sontarans and Rutans were different. In a way, Voran was right. These were two races that existed for war, that had forgotten everything else. But surely, surely, some part of the Sontaran and Rutan mind longed for peace. Why else would they fight except for the hope of a better time once the war was over?
‘When are these fleets from?’ asked Lord Hedin.
The Magistrate stepped forward, a holographic Penrose diagram annotated with unreadable runes appearing behind him. ‘To minimise disruption to known history we selected a period in the far future. Three hundred thousand years before the Last of Man.’
‘And such a very great time after the fall of our own people,’ Hedin noted.
‘Everything has its time,’ the President replied sombrely.
‘As its Lords, we above all others must know that.’
The Time Lords watched over the timelines, observing and recording everything from the beginning: Event One, the Big Bang that marked the creation of the universe from a naked singularity, to the end, Event Two: when the universe would collapse back into singularity. Although they could survey the entire universe from the lofty heights of Gallifrey, it was impossible for the Time Lords to travel into their own future and they couldn’t change their own past. That was the fealty paid for their title. But as they amassed information, as they prepared projections, they couldn’t help but glean something of their own destiny. They couldn’t see their future, but they could snatch the reflection of what was to come, extrapolate from the ripples and shadows in Time. A legend recounted on the wall of a ruin here, a footnote in a textbook in a forgotten library there. They knew some of the names that would appear in the history books of the future: Varnax, Faction Paradox, Catavolcus, the Timewyrm. Threats to the entire Time Lord race, but quantifiable ones, ones that the Time Lords were destined to survive.
There was another.
Details were vague. There was to be a conflict, a war fought at some point against an implacable force. It wouldn’t be the first time that the rumour of the destruction of Gallifrey had spread. But then only one of the rumours had to be true.
The High Council were uncertain what to do. Were they to command the Matrix to scour the universe looking for threats of the magnitude the legends seemed to talk of, or would that just be the first event in a chain that would inevitably lead to contact and conflict with the enemy? The sub-committee dealing with the issue, to everyone’s relief, had not yet come to any conclusions, after several millennia of deliberations.
The President was staring out at the fleets again.
‘This is the last chance that we have to change our minds,’
the Doctor warned. ‘Invite the delegations down and we will have committed ourselves.’
‘You are having doubts?’ the Magistrate asked.
‘No,’ the Doctor said. ‘No, but others here have always had their doubts. They’ll dress it up with sarcasm, they’ll talk behind our backs. But when this was discussed in Council, they filed through the lobbies, they backed their President like they always do. I just want them