Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles Part 14

Fitz had even managed to shave, although he'd missed the bits he always missed.

His new outfit was essentially his old outfit rubbish suede jacket, white s.h.i.+rt and jeans lovingly reconstructed with newly bought clothes, any slight variation because they hadn't been able to find an exact replica. He reminded Trix of a penny that had come out of the was.h.i.+ng machine a little too clean and sparkling to look quite right. This, though, was the smartest he was ever going to get.

The restaurant was walking distance from the hotel. It was a clear night.

'No stars,' Fitz said.

'Too much light from the street lamps,' Trix said.

'It's odd to think that we've been to some of them.'

'You just said there aren't any,' she laughed.

'They're all still there, though.'

'You're the expert. I've not been to many other planets, not really.'

'I've been to hundreds,' Fitz said.

'I know, no need to rub it in. I've been to about ten.'

'But. . . I've been to hundreds of alien planets. Places that the astronomers don't even know are there. That's pretty incredible, isn't it? Even ten's a pretty good score. Substantially better than the average.'

'We've both got a higher than average number of legs,' Trix said. 'What?' He thought about that for a minute. 'Oh, I see. Yeah. I suppose we have. Unless you take all those three-legged aliens into account.'

'That's cheating.'

'How about creatures on Earth? All those millipedes. What's the average number of legs? It's got to be more than two.'

81.'Are you counting fish? They don't have any legs.'

'Hmmmm. . . Good point. There are a lot of fish.'

They'd arrived at the restaurant, an Indian one called the Red Fort.

'Looks fancy,' Fitz noted.

'I think it's in our price range.'

Fitz held the door open for Trix, then followed her in and up a flight of stairs. Warm, and the air was thick with the smell of spices and meat. Strange, thought Fitz, that he'd once have thought this was exotic.

A waiter hurried over and told them that Ms Kapoor and her partner were already there.

Anji had seen them arrive, and waved. She and Greg were at what must have been the best table, one near the window. The waiter led them over.

There was a good view of Soho from here. A part of London barely recognis-able from Fitz's time, immeasurably cleaner and nicer. This was a very elegant place; it felt Indian without being a parody of Indianness. It was late, so not as busy as it might have been.

Anji had changed into a silk evening dress and, for her, looked pretty s.e.xy.

'This is Greg.'

He wasn't what Fitz had been expecting. He was expecting someone very something. The first impression he had was of someone who was quite. Quite tall, quite slim, quite smart. No grip to his handshake. Which probably didn't mean very much. Anji's phone rang, and she apologised.

'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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 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 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 dice; the Doctor himself with close-cropped hair, sitting on an ornate throne, a newborn baby girl in his arms. 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.

Nothing.

Marnal took a step back, jerking his head from side to side, as though he was trying to loosen something that had got stuck inside it.

'How?' he asked, when he had recovered.

'I'm not even sure what,' the Doctor admitted cheerfully. He looked more carefully at his captor. 'You wanted to read my mind. Over the years, quite a few people have tried. They've also come away empty-handed.'

'Your amnesia is genuine enough,' Marnal conceded. 'It changes nothing.'

'I don't know how I lost my memories,' the Doctor told him. 'But I know it was right that I did so.'

'Right? You can say that without any idea what you did?'

'Yes. I don't know why, but I know it.'

'No,' Marnal said. 'You feel unease.'

'I am often faced with serious decisions,' the Doctor said. 'Life or death decisions. I know that I am not infallible, I know that I am not all-powerful.'

'You have killed people.'

'As a last resort, but yes. My actions have led to the death of others, including innocent people. I have always tried to minimise the loss of life. That is usually not the case with those I oppose, which is one of the reasons I oppose them.' The Doctor straightened up. 'Am I on trial here, Marnal?'

Marnal thought about it. 'Yes. Yes, you are.'

'Does this look like a legitimate court to you? I don't know what my crime is. I don't know what the evidence is against me. And you seem to be judge, jury, gaoler, chief prosecution witness. . . As well as being an interested party in the case. I've travelled across the universe, Marnal, and if I've learnt one thing it's that trials are never fair unless they have to be.'

84.'You don't know what your crime is,' Marnal quoted back to him. 'You know a crime was committed, though, don't you? Ever since you woke up in that carriage, having lost everything you once were, you've known something was wrong. You've felt unease whenever you've tried to think back. You've known it was you.'

The Doctor couldn't deny it.

'It's a court of your peers, Doctor.'

'Marnal. Whatever happened, it happened for a good reason. I lost my memory of it for a good reason. It's the past. It's a done deed. I can't face it.'

'You won't won't face it there's a difference.' face it there's a difference.'

'I know what I said.'

'I think it's time for you to find out what you did,' Marnal snapped back.

Trix and Fitz were lying facing each other, noses about an inch apart, on top of the hotel bed sheets. They were both a little drunk, but only a little. It was nice and warm in the room.

'Why didn't Anji tell him?' Fitz asked.

'She covered your little faux pas very well, I thought.'

'But why hadn't she told him?'

'You've not told anyone here, have you? You didn't say to the waiter, "Hey, that chicken korma was almost as nice as the poached nightfish I had last week on planet Venus, can I please pay the bill in Andromedan euros?"'

'I'm not engaged to the waiter. She's been seeing Greg for a year now. Do you think she is going to tell him?'

'Perhaps she's waiting for the right moment.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know. Perhaps when they go to see Revenge of the Sith Revenge of the Sith, and he says, "Half of the monsters looked like men in rubber suits and half of them looked like CGI" she could go, "Yeah, but that's about the same ratio as real life, and I speak from experience."

'I don't think you're taking my point seriously.'

'No kidding. It's her choice, isn't it?'

'I suppose. But. . . well, wouldn't you want to boast about it? Or at least share it with someone? Isn't it, well, the biggest part of her life?'

'Different people do different things. I don't need to tell you what happened after the Second World War. Most men who came back from service abroad never, ever talked about it again. Even if it wasn't that bad, it was nothing like an ordinary life, nothing like they'd ever see again. So they put it in a box in their memories. Even when they met up with other old soldiers a lot of them never discussed it. Everyone has their secrets.'