Doctor Who_ Theatre Of War Part 18

'Manage what?' asked the Doctor, his eyes narrowed slightly as he and Ace walked round the machine. The innards had all been packed away inside. It looked like Fortalexa was finished.

'Manage to get it working. We must be able to present a play on our return.'

The Doctor smiled. 'What a nice thought. You know, I haven't been to the theatre for centuries. What play did you have in mind?' Fortalexa did not answer. 'Could we get a performance of The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers, perhaps?' hazarded the Doctor.

'That's the one I'd get,' Ace said immediately and grinned at Fortalexa.

But he did not react at all. 'I am quite busy, actually,' he said, his face impa.s.sive. 'Perhaps we could discuss another time?'

'Of course, of course.' The Doctor was already on his way to the door. 'I quite understand.'

But Ace understood nothing. She followed the Doctor into the corridor. 'What's happened, Doctor? He was laughing and joking a few minutes ago, now look at him. What's he found out?'

'I don't know, Ace. But I'm pretty sure of one thing.'

'What's that?'

'That machine it's the key to whatever is happening and to a lot of what has already happened.'

'How?'

'I don't know.' His brow furrowed for a moment, then his eyes brightened and he said, 'But I think that whatever is being played out here is about to enter the final act.'

ACT 3.

Source Doc.u.ment 11 From The Techniques of the Actor The Techniques of the Actor, article by Haga Nodena in Theatre Today Theatre Today issue 428, July 2049. An extract which survived the Bodleian Library fire issue 428, July 2049. An extract which survived the Bodleian Library fire Braxiatel Collection Catalogue Number: 957JM Balance of power on the stage is important. There is no point in casting a strong and forceful actor in the role of a weakling, especially if he is expected to play opposite a weak actor who is presenting a more powerful character, such as the play's raisonneur raisonneur.

The Flannegan production of Henry V Henry V failed for exactly this reason. It asked the audience to believe in a frail and weak king leading his troops to victory and spouting hollow rhetoric with a lisp and a limp. By contrast, Keffley's portrayal of Bardolph as a forceful and intelligent manipulator not only played against Shakespeare's intentions but upstaged Grayton's King. failed for exactly this reason. It asked the audience to believe in a frail and weak king leading his troops to victory and spouting hollow rhetoric with a lisp and a limp. By contrast, Keffley's portrayal of Bardolph as a forceful and intelligent manipulator not only played against Shakespeare's intentions but upstaged Grayton's King.

As a result it seemed to the audience that Bardolph was a more likely monarch than Henry, and several were heard to blame Shakespeare for not making it more clear that Bardolph was really the power behind the obviously ineffectual throne.

Chapter 11.

The Doctor's Dilemma Osterling wrote primarily for the emerging technologies and practices of the purpose*built theatres of his day. He was able to make full use of an emerging dramatic form and a new and less restricting set of staging techniques.That said, although most of his plays were written for the public audiences of the theatres, some were written perhaps even to order to be performed at court. The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers is unlikely to have been one of these plays. is unlikely to have been one of these plays.The New Dramatists Barbas Lothal, 3544 Barbas Lothal, 3544 Locris Marlock had become Manact of Heletia through political manoeuvring and liberal use of a.s.sa.s.sination. He used those same techniques to keep his position. He also believed fervently that knowledge was power, which was why he was hurrying through the concrete corridors the palace to a meeting with the Exec. He knew that they would not dare to start the audience without him, but he knew also that if he arrived late he might miss a vital comment or a telling raise of an eyebrow.

His two bodyguards kept in step as they followed on his heel at an indiscreet distance. When they reached the heavy wooden double doors to the green room he strode towards them without slowing, knowing that the guards within would see his approach on the monitor and open them for him. Or they would die. Fear was such a useful tool.

The doors swung open without warning and Ace turned from the throne. So far they had been kept waiting, the bec sitting at his desk apparently oblivious to their presence.

The Exec was a small man, made smaller by the high ceiling of the drab grey windowless room adorned only with the green carpet leading across the stone floor from the main wooden doors to his desk. The room lacked even the playbills and posters which seemed to add colour to the featureless concrete of the rest of the palace. It was difficult to tell quite how small the Exec was since his desk and the chair behind it were raised on a podium. And he was surprisingly young. Ace did not reckon him to be very much older than herself. He had short, greasy black hair and his skin looked like it needed the attention of a good cleansing agent. His lips stuck out as if he were permanently preparing to burst into tears. His watery grey I yes had flicked across at her once, then returned to the papers on his desk. He continued his slow way through t hem, initialling one, discarding another.

But when the doors opened he immediately stood in greeting almost in reverence, it seemed to Ace. 'Ah, Manact Marlock. Good.' He sat down again and waved a hand at the piles of paper in front of him. 'You know Marlock, I sometimes think a computer console might help organize my affairs somewhat.' His voice was high, as though nervous. The way it rose slightly at the end made it sound almost as if he were asking a question rather than making an observation.

Marlock growled his response. By contrast, the Manact's voice was firm and deep: 'You know that an engineer's tool would not befit your position. The pen is mightier than the console, and much more n.o.ble. No, Exec,' he continued with a slight bow, 'you would not wish to be burdened with the excess of data and useless information that a console would force you to endure. Far better that you see just those communications and orders which require your ' he broke off for a second, as if in search of the right word, ' special special attention.' attention.'

Ace thought she understood the sub text of the conversation and wondered how many times it had been played out in similar fas.h.i.+on. If he were not such a wimp she might have felt sorry for the Exec.

Madock got none of her sympathy. He sounded self*a.s.sured and frighteningly over*confident. Ace could see that others thought so too. The guards either side of the main doors were all but quaking in their boots, as were the few courtiers gathered for the audience. And the two men standing alert behind Madock (their purpose starkly clear) had their hands firmly on the handles of their disruptors.

Had she not seen the recent display of power, Ace might have put Madock's hold over the courtiers down in part to his appearance. He was a large man she could imagine he towered over the Exec. His head had not a hair on it and his ears were flat against the sides. His nose was broken in the middle and his eyes were a piercing blue*grey. His right eye seemed set deeper than the other but this might be a trick of the light coupled with the discoloration round it. The way the skin was pulled sideways across the edge of the socket where the wide scar ran in a vertical line from his forehead down to the right side of his thin*lipped mouth did nothing to help. He was dressed in the dark uniform of the Heletian fleet, the braid at his shoulder presumably signifying his position. Though Ace imagined that everyone on the planet would know him by sight.

The Exec sifted through his papers and eventually found the one he was looking for. 'This matter of the uprising on Arbela.'

Madock found himself a seat on the stage beside the Exec's desk and slumped down in it, looking round the a.s.sembled courtiers. His eyes lingered on the Doctor, Ace and the archaeologists. Then they flicked back to the Exec. 'You have my recommendation there.' He pointed to a sheet of paper buried about half*way down one pile identifying it by the visible corner.

The Exec pulled out the paper and scanned it. 'Is the commissionaire from Arbela here?'

One of the courtiers stepped forward. 'Exec.' He was a shortish man, fat and balding; what hair he had was slicked over in an attempt to make it appear he had lost rather less of it than was actually the case. The attempt had failed.

'Ah, good. The rising has been put down, I see. But a lesson must be taught.'

'The rebels and Rippearean sympathizers have been executed or s.h.i.+pped to the camps on Pulai Kompay.'

'Yes, yes. But we I feel a further lesson is necessary. You will select one thousand of the inhabitants of Arbela City at random, and execute them also.' The Exec licked his full lips with a pale tongue.

'Ihe commissionaire's face went white, 'But Exec '

The Exec was on his feet at once, his voice a histrionic screech. 'You dare question me? I shall have you flogged! Two thousand you will execute two thousand of the population!' His face twisted into a schoolboy grin, his eyes acquiring an inner light. The commissionaire bowed stiffly and stepped back.

'My, my,' came a voice from behind Ace. 'That seems a little extreme under the circ.u.mstances.' Ace turned to see the Doctor stepping forward. Fortalexa was unmoved by the exchange, but both Lannic and Klasvik looked pale. Ace wondered if they had ever seen their Exec before. Obviously they had never seen him like this.

'Extreme?' screeched the Exec, once more on his feet, his face boiling an angry red.

'Under the circ.u.mstances,' offered the Doctor with a smile. 'After all, the plotters are already taken care of isn't that right, Madock?'

Madock said nothing, but Ace could see his eyes glinting intently as they watched the Doctor.

The Exec stepped down off his podium, his bodyguards alert beside him. 'I don't know who you are,' he began.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' interrupted the Doctor. 'I'm the Doctor.' He waved his hat in a friendly manner towards his companions. 'And this is my friend Ace and my a.s.sociates Fortalexa, Klasvik and Lannic.' The Exec watched open mouthed and Marlock shook his head and sighed loudly. 'Our pilot, Lefkhani, went on somewhere I'm afraid nice chap, but he had a war to get back to. So sad, don't you think war?' His voice tailed away.

'Well, Doctor Doctor, I shall have you shot for interrupting me for questioning my authority. You will be blasted into fragments.'

The Doctor clapped his hands together with glee. 'Oh such power and political ac.u.men. Nothing like an execution to solve the problem, is there? Right, off you go then.' He clamped his eyes tight shut and folded his arms over his chest, his hat resting over one of his hearts.

Ace tensed, her hands balling into fists. They had been both searched and scanned for power sources when they came into the room. For once she had been right to heed the Doctor's advice and conceal her single remaining smartbomb in her room. Goodness only knew when she would have a chance to slip back to the TARDIS parked in a corner of a hanger in the s.p.a.ceport.

The Doctor opened one eye cautiously. 'Come on, then. What's keeping you?'

'Take him away,' snarled the Exec. One of the door guards stepped forward. Ace tensed, ready to launch herself into them.

'No no no no. That won't do at all.' The Doctor threw his hat down on the floor and glared at the Exec. Ace relaxed slightly. She began to suspect the Doctor had things under control after all.

'So, you see the error of your ways. But too late Doctor.'

'Error? Not at all. But if you are to execute me as an example to those who question your authority or who interrupt your ranting, then you should do it here and now.' He stuck his chin out and folded his arms, planting his feet firmly either side of his discarded hat. 'I insist.'

Ace watched surprised as the Exec took a step backwards. 'Here?' He sounded unsure, worried. 'Now!'

'Yes. In fact, to make a proper job of it, you'd best do it yourself.' The Doctor nodded to the door guard who had approached him. His disruptor was already drawn and inclining his head slightly he made to hand it to the Exec.

The Exec flinched as if struck and leaped back on to his podium, taking refuge behind his desk. 'No. I have I have changed my mind.'

'Oh?' The Doctor sounded disappointed.

'Yes. Too many executions may be...'

'Counter*productive? Might begin to upset those loyal citizens who have no intention of rebelling or causing trouble?'

'Quite.' The Exec nodded quickly.

'I see.' The Doctor stepped back to join Ace. Almost as an afterthought he called back: 'So, you'll be repealing the execution orders on the good people of Arbela then.'

'What?'

Ace watched as the Doctor went into his I'm-sorry-I-thought*it*was*obvious I'm-sorry-I-thought*it*was*obvious routine. 'But surely you've decided that too many executions may be counter*productive and might begin to upset those loyal citizens who have no intention of rebelling or causing trouble?' routine. 'But surely you've decided that too many executions may be counter*productive and might begin to upset those loyal citizens who have no intention of rebelling or causing trouble?'

The Exec gulped and looked across to Marlock for help, but the Manact was sitting with his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly as if in disbelief. 'Quite, quite to it, Commissionaire,' the Exec said faintly when he saw there was no help coming. 'Er, the matter of the Menaxan expedition,' he went on quickly. 'A report, I believe, from ' he hunted through the papers again, 'from Camarina Lannic.' The Exec looked round expectantly, and Lannic stepped forward.

She bowed formal and low. Ace thought for a moment she was going to curtsy and suppressed a giggle of humour and relief. The meeting seemed to have changed direction, 'My lord Exec,' Lannic's voice was sticky sweet and submissive, Ace looked closely, but she seemed completely sincere. 'It is my honour to report our excavations as a triumphant success.'

'Oh'The Exec clearly was surprised that something had gone well. He also seemed smitten by Lannic's att.i.tude. 'Good. Well done.'

Ace caught the Doctor's eye and mimed sticking her index finger down her throat. The Doctor shrugged: he clearly did not know what Lannic was up to either.

'At great risk and suffering heavy losses we have secured and brought back a wonderful gift.'

'A gift? For me?' A note of suspicion crept into the Exec's voice. 'What is it?'

'It is a machine a dream of a machine. It presents virtual*reality*enhanced images of plays.'

Marlock snorted. 'You call that a dream? The Exec can order a real play any time he wishes. With a cast of his choosing. He has no need of a simple holo*projector. We might as well watch a celluloid for all the soul and immediacy you offer.' He leaned forward in his chair and snarled: 'Or is this an audition for the starring role in the The Execution of Segestus The Execution of Segestus?'

Lannic bowed again. 'I meant no disrespect, sir. But the machine I mentioned is pre*programmed with several plays which may interest the Exec.'

'Such as?'

'Such as The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers, sir.'

The room went quiet. 'Is this true?' asked the Exec in a hushed voice.

Lannic nodded. 'We believe we can operate the machine and present a performance. Perhaps in the royal theatre?'

'Have you seen the play this machine projects?' asked Marlock.

'We've seen Hamlet Hamlet,' offered the Doctor cheerily. 'Well, bits of him anyway.'

Lannic answered to the Exec. 'We would not presume to watch Osterling's masterpiece ahead of yourself. n.o.body should see The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers until it is presented to the Exec of Helatia.' until it is presented to the Exec of Helatia.'

'Quite quite right.' The Exec still looked a little pale from the news But his voice was regaining what little strength it usually had. 'No one shall see the play before we do ourselves. When can it be presented?'

Portalexa answered stiffly. 'We can set up the machine tonight and have it ready for a command performance tomorrow evening.'

'Very well,' Marlock said before the Exec could respond. 'Tomorrow night in the royal theatre. See to it.' With that he stood up, descended the steps from the stage and went to the door, standing beside it as the guards swung it open. He made no effort to leave, but his meaning was obvious and the courtiers began to file out.

'This audience is at an end,' the Exec said, a little late and apparently a little surprised. Marlock smiled at him, the scar down his face stretching with the movement of the skin. 'Wait,' the Exec continued and Marlock's smile froze. 'Go and prepare for the performance,' he said to Fortalexa, who bowed and left. 'Lannic, will you and your a.s.sociates stay and tell me more about your expedition?'

Klasvik looked worried at the prospect, but Lannic's whole face seemed to light up and her eyelids fluttered with joy.

'Come on, Doctor,' Ace nudged him. 'Let's go and help Fortalexa before we throw up.'

Marlock stopped them at the door, standing in their way as they tried to leave.

'Enjoy a good play, do you, Marlock?' asked the Doctor politely. 'Keeps the Exec out of your way for a while so you can get on with the war for him, I suppose.'

'Be careful, Doctor,' Marlock replied quietly. 'You may be too clever for our own good.' Then he stepped aside, his mouth set in a smile. But his eyes were harsh and humourless.

The Doctor and Ace had been allocated adjoining rooms. These rooms were as bland and functional as the green room. In common with all the other rooms Ace had seen they had no windows, just several framed posters announcing plays she had never heard of starring actors and actresses she had never heard of either. But despite the splashes of colour the posters offered she was beginning to think of the whole establishment as more of a bunker than a palace.

They were in the Doctor's room. The Doctor was sitting on the single upright plastic chair, which he had pulled from under the single plastic table, and Ace was lying on the bed, her hands behind her head. The smartbomb she had retrieved from her own room lay quietly in her pocket.

'Going to the play?' Ace asked.

'I doubt if we'll get any choice.'

'Oh. Is it any good?'

The Doctor smiled. 'Bit boring in the middle I seem to remember. You'll like the ending though very violent.'

'Should suit that screwed*up cretin Exec down to the ground.' She sat up suddenly, biting back her words and looking round the room.

'It's all right. I've already checked for bugs.'