Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [37]
The second picture was so beautiful that as Larna looked up at it she felt a tear form. This wasn’t drawn by a computer, it had been hand-painted. The woman in the painting was almost feline, with hair in a black bob and eyes such a vivid green that they would seem unnatural if only they weren’t so right. She was slender, with bare, freckled shoulders. This woman was so much older and wiser than she appeared.
This picture was just a shadow of her, it only captured one facet of a passionate, intellectual, lovely person. The gown she wore was archaic, made from a flowing gold material that no Gallifreyan woman had worn for generations…
There was a scroll in her hand, bearing an inscription.
Larna strained to read it. It was in High Gallifreyan.
‘“Death is but a door”,’ she whispered.
And then there was a door in the wall in front of her that hadn’t been there before.
The Doctor stood between the Sontaran delegation and the Rutan. His past self had nipped away before either the delegates or the Public Record cameras had noticed him and would now be on his way up to the TARDIS cradles. The rest, as they say, was history. Now he could turn his full attention to the conference without worrying that the universe was going to unravel because of the time paradoxes he had created.
The delegates were face to face for the first time. It was impossible to tell what the Rutan was thinking. Its tentacles were quivering and patterns of colour flushed across its skin, but the Doctor couldn’t be sure whether that was a sign of its emotional state, or just how its body reacted in these conditions. He knew that he would have to be careful not to favour the Sontarans simply because they were humanoid, with expressions and emotions that he could relate to. That said, the Sontarans were no better at the moment: they’d all put their helmets back on as they entered the Citadel, and only their eyes were visible, glaring through the narrow eye-slits. Their stance suggested grim resolution, but it always did.
A word out of place here, and the Doctor knew that the delegates would storm away; return to their ships and resume hostilities.
‘Welcome, once again,’ the Doctor said, careful to turn to both delegations as he said it. ‘Thank you both for coming.
We will convene at First Bells tomorrow. We have prepared quarters for you, as per your specifications. You will find the conditions of your homeworlds perfectly recreated there. Are there any further issues before the Chancellery Watch escort you to your rooms?’
The column of soldiers split into two groups, saluting the aliens, and began to form into ranks of escort.
‘There is the matter of security,’ the Rutan said. ‘Do we have your total assurance that the Sontarans will be confined to their rooms, preventing them from assassinating the Rutan?’
‘Neither yourself nor the Sontarans will be confined to quarters, but if you choose to leave the xenodochia, you will be escorted by the Watch and carefully monitored. Both delegations have the freedom of the Citadel, except, of course, you will not be allowed into your opponent’s quarters.
Neither side is permitted weapons of any kind, and both have agreed to be continually monitored to prevent the acquisition of any weapons.’
The Doctor paused. ‘You are all perfectly safe here, the safest that any of you have ever been. I hope that in this atmosphere of tranquillity, without the constant threat of assassination or attack, you may learn that there is common ground between your two races.’
The Sontarans and Rutans remained unmoved.
The Doctor’s smile flickered.
The Doctor’s empty words had drifted up like convection currents. Now the roof vault echoed with the sound of marching boots, as the Chancellery Watch led the alien delegates away. They thought they were safe, that the Time Lords could guarantee their security. They were wrong, and so utterly complacent.
A masked figure perched on one of the roof-beams