Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles Part 18

It was very hard not to think about something.

Itself a thought.

He was back in the dark cellar.

The Doctor tutted to himself. He knew how to do this. He'd studied the discipline a number of times and in a number of locations. He'd been the one who'd helped show the Beatles how to do it, in Bangor of all places.

Which reminded him. That had been the time he'd got into a conversation with a Buddhist vet about the karmic implications of putting an animal down.

Apparently, if you are so willing to put the animal out of its hopeless suffering that you're willing to risk the resulting bad karma, and even rebirth in one of the h.e.l.ls, then it's a good act. He had destroyed Gallifrey, put it out of its misery. Had he been reborn in h.e.l.l, left adrift? The crucial thing to remember, the vet had told him, was compa.s.sion.

He was back in the dark cellar.

He let his thoughts slip away. He let his mind go, introduced his mantra, replacing thought.

Simply mind. Something like, but more than, the vast ocean. It was like being dipped in golden light. A pure world, quite unlike the dark cellar.

105.

He was back in the dark cellar.

He was out of practice. Trying too hard. He didn't need to go into a trance.

He simply needed to return to Vibration not thought. Golden light, light of life. Pure mind, not where we come from but where we all go when we transcend, the community of mind.

He had destroyed far more than he had created. But he was on the side of life.

He was back in the dark cellar. It was darker, more of a cellar. He screwed up his eyes to clear his head.

Why had that happened? That time it wasn't him, it was like someone else had warned him. It hadn't been a noise out here, in the real world.

Slipping back in was easier now.

Nothing had ever called to him in the gold. No voices tempting or scorning.

No conversations. But there were other voices here. Ghosts yet not ghosts, they. . . He had never existed. He was the pa.s.sing thought of a small, cunning man sitting alone reading a book, drinking his tea, listening to a gramophone record. In a dream.

No.

False.

He was back in the dark cellar.

'd.a.m.n it!' the Doctor shouted out. Then he felt a bit guilty he'd almost certainly startled Marnal and Rachel. Guilty for disturbing his kidnappers, not guilty about destroying his home planet and killing its entire population and history.

Interesting.

Trying to explore his mind was like throwing a rubber ball at a wall.

The Doctor closed his eyes.

Strip away all the deception, uncover the truth.

And the truth is: the Doctor was the finest dream of hundreds of human beings, refined as they tapped away at their typewriters. For generations, they'd made him a hero to countless millions in over a hundred countries.

Then, just once, he hadn't come back. His enemies had kept him away. But despite their best efforts he hadn't been forgotten. There were those who remembered him when they walked past a dummy in a shop window or sat on the beach looking out to sea, and every time they ground pepper. Some of those who remembered him had typewriters of their own. And, after far too long, a new generation of children were about to hear that music for the first time, and they would learn their sofa wasn't just for sitting on. Before his sweetest victory, unfinished business here He was back in the dark cellar.

He left it again. Every time, it became easier to return.

106.

He remembered the wall.

It was a stone wall, about twice his height. Behind heavy iron gates the small, cunning man he'd seen before, asleep lying on a bed of flowers. He was wearing a white suit, cut from the finest dreams.

'Is it. . . time. . . already?' the Doctor asked.

The small man sat up suddenly.

'That was a nice nap. Just three questions: where am I, who am I and who are you? But wait! Your shoes they fit perfectly!' he gabbled, in a Scottish accent.

The little man hesitated, then pulled himself together. 'Oh, that's the trouble with memories. All that deja vu. All those things you don't want to be reminded of. It's excess baggage, you know. I envy you. What could the relevance possibly be if I remember Ace's visit to Paradise Towers?'

The Doctor stayed quiet.

The little man sighed. 'This is all terribly symbolic. With the emphasis on terrible. Clear thinking, that's what's needed now.'

He came ambling over and poked his nose through the gate.

'I think you're in my mind,' the Doctor said.

'Well, I think you're in mine,' the little man replied slyly. 'Either way, there seems to be more than enough room for both of us.'

Yellow blossoms were falling like rain on the other side of the wall, in countless numbers.

'Times like this, I need an umbrella. I used to have one, but you gave it to Benny.'

'There must be millions of blossoms.'

'One hundred and fifty-three thousand, eight hundred and forty-one of them,' the little man replied instantly.

'You've counted?'

'The maths is simple enough. I'll give you a clue: you just have to remember to subtract five at the end.'

'Could you open the gate for me?'

'If you say the magic word.'

'Please?'

The little man chuckled. 'Not that magic word. You've got plenty of room on that side. Certainly more room than any human being. Over a century's worth of memories, for one thing. s.p.a.ce for plenty more.'

'This is like talking to a wall,' the Doctor sighed.

This reminded him of something, something outside.

'Hang on a minute!' he exclaimed.

And he was back in the cellar.

107.

Trix sighed. She'd woken, got up, showered, dried off and dressed. In that time, Fitz had managed to sit up in his bed and get the guitar on to his lap.

'Do you know what you're singing tonight yet? That pub looks like the sort of place where golden oldies would go down well.'

'Why else do you think I want to spend an evening there?'

'You could sing one of those parallel universe Beatles songs you were talking about.'

Fitz thought about it. '"Back Home"? No, how about this one?'

He played a couple of chords. 'On the road to Ris.h.i.+kesh / I was dreaming more or less.'

'That's just "Jealous Guy" with different lyrics,' Trix pointed out. Fitz paused.

'Yes. Hadn't even noticed that. Well, it's cheating anyway, isn't it? I'm going to do something new, I think.'

'You mean the Scissor Sisters or something?'

'No. Something I've written.'

'What?'

'Well. . . I haven't actually written it. Not yet. I think I've got the tune. It doesn't have a chorus. I'm not sure it needs one.'

He strummed a couple of chords and started to sing: 'I've travelled to the past, sweetheart / And I've been to the future, too.'

'It's not about us, is it?'

Fitz shook his head. 'No, that's private. This is just the opposite really.'

Trix seemed half-relieved, half-disappointed. 'You do know it's just a little pub thing, don't you?'

'Oh yeah. But I want to get it right.' He strummed the guitar again.

Rachel had brought the Doctor a coffee.

He was sitting up, alert. It didn't look as if he had slept that would be difficult tied up like he was but neither did he look exhausted.

'Where's Marnal?'

'Looking up punishments. Trying to, anyway.'

'You couldn't free my wrists just for a moment?' he asked. 'I just need to rub a bit of life back into them.'

'No. You'll hit me.'

'Hit you?'

'With that karate.'

The Doctor gave a beatific smile. 'It was aikido. Purely defensive.'

'You kicked that one-armed man in the head.'

'He was just about to conquer the universe.'

'I can't believe you know martial arts. You don't look the type.'

108.

'Well, lucky for you, I'm afraid I forgot all that when I forgot everything else.

Shame. It could come in quite useful from time to time. As a last resort.'

She asked him if he wanted anything for breakfast.

'Rachel,' he replied instead, 'I need to get to my TARDIS. The answer is in there. I didn't know that before, but I've just been thinking, and I realised that after '

'The answer is in your TARDIS?' Rachel repeated.

'That's right. There's a. . . well. . . a back wall. I didn't know what it was before. Not entirely sure what it is now, truth be told. I know it's time to find out. Marnal will want to know about this too.'

'I will tell Marnal what you said. He'll decide what happens from there.'

'Let me go,' the Doctor pleaded. 'You heard him before. He doesn't care about humanity, he doesn't like human beings.'

'I'm not sure I do,' Rachel said.

'What?'

'Look at me. Look at what I do all day, and it barely covers the credit card bills. You don't even remember me, do you? Do you think I'm pretty?'

The Doctor sighed. 'I don't see what '