Doctor Who_ Silver Nemesis Part 1

DOCTOR WHO.

SILVER NEMESIS.

by Kevin Clarke.

1.

The closer one travels towards it from the cold silent darkness of infinite s.p.a.ce, the more the planet Earth appears as a backcloth to some small theatrical performance taking place on a limited budget. From the tiny distance of only a few million miles, approached directly, the little production looms confusedly, the seas and land ma.s.ses cheap dye, dampened and imperceptibly merging one into the other.

Towards this tiny but slowly growing scene, what appears at first to be a ball of rock shoots through the darkness. It might be taken for a comet, one of the endless number of pebbles or worlds pa.s.sing eternally through s.p.a.ce, until viewed from a few hundred miles. When seen from perhaps the distance which separates London and Berlin, a small tail of flame becomes visible, spraying from behind the rock. It might simply be a natural discharge of gases self-igniting, yet there is a quality of precision about the flame which invites further examination. It proves from a closer viewpoint to be not one, but four small jets of fire.

The Earth looms steadily larger with a slow inevitability as the rock flies towards it, apparently propelled by four small rockets fixed to a kind of sled at its base. The comet might thus appear to be the creation of some enthusiastic amateur with an interest in s.p.a.ce travel. It is certainly a ramshackle enough device.

As it pa.s.ses on, inexorably towards the looming Earth, something else about it momentarily catches the attention.

Despite the speed at which the comet if that is what it is pa.s.ses, one might be forgiven for imagining one briefly glimpsed a face within the centre of the rock. Somehow, in that instant, there is the fleeting sense of a still expression, carved in silver. Perhaps it is seen through a small gla.s.s panel, or more likely, not seen at all.

Infinity of a more immediate nature was on the Doctor and Ace's minds that afternoon. In the case of the Doctor, a number of simultaneous infinities were at work, all of them pleasurable on this occasion. The rare appearance of the sun in England on a late summer's day seemed to be everlasting. The beautiful waterside garden of the pub outside which they were sitting equally seemed to be going nowhere, as indeed it had not for at least three hundred years. Of greatest importance to both of them was the jazz blowing out of the saxophone of, in the Doctor's view, the most exciting musical discovery since John Coltrane; it sounded and felt as infinite as anything the Doctor had ever encountered on his travels. He had once defined music to Ace as interior s.p.a.ce travel, and he reflected on the accuracy of this remark as the drummer counted in the band for the final number of their first set.

The people around them were equally relaxed. The music blew through their souls and drifted gently away over the countryside. It would have required a cynic to pay more than pa.s.sing attention to the two large men tapping their feet rather mechanically at the edge of the audience.

Among civilized music lovers it would be almost unthinkable that anyone might stare at them, either because they were identical twins, or because while apparently listening to the band they both continued wearing what looked like extremely expensive personal stereo headphones headphones that appeared to be made of solid silver. The crowd, however, were music lovers, and although the identical men were extremely large, no one did stare at them and such questions did not arise.

The final number came to an end. The crowd applauded, yelling for more, but the band took a break. Ace picked up an abandoned Sunday paper and stretched. 'I could listen to them all afternoon,' she said.

The Doctor opened his eyes dreamily, still out in the distant galactic reaches of the last high E flat.

'And so we shall,' he replied.

Fully aware of this, because more than cursory preparations had brought them here in the first place to catch the quartet, Ace was already immersed in the news.

'Have you seen this?' She rustled the paper at the Doctor.

A headline 'Meteor approaches England' swam briefly before his eyes. 'Charlton have picked up three points.'

The Doctor nodded, seeming to concentrate fully on her excitement.

'Yes,' he agreed, 'that's my favourite kind of jazz: straight blowing. I'm afraid I got quite annoyed when it went through the audiophonic lasers phase.'

'Who are they?'

'You know.' It appeared she did not. 'Sound and light becoming the same thing.' He might as well have been speaking the lost and later corrupted, recycled and codified sound-patterns of the defunct planet Ofrix, to which no outside being other than himself, to his knowledge, had ever ventured. 'Holographic movies coming out of saxophones.' They appeared to have reached a communicatory impa.s.se. The Doctor looked desperately at the date on the paper and beamed with relief. 'Oh, of course. It's 1988. Ten years to go. Make the most of them.'

Ace, as usual, was not fooled. The Doctor could see this.

'I complained about the future of jazz to Louis Armstrong,'

he continued in a brave attempt to rea.s.sert his authority. It didn't do to let Ace see him slip up.

'What did he say?'

'I can't really remember. Oh, yes.' Recalling it, the Doctor warmed to his theme. 'He said music would always survive. He was right, of course. You see, he knew better than anyone that if you're going to play around with the most basic principles of time then mark my words time will ' the Doctor was sharply interrupted by an unearthly screeching which seemed to come from inside his shirt-sleeve ' catch up.'

People nearby turned round. The Doctor busied himself inside his jacket and the noise stopped.

'What's that?' asked Ace.

'Very strange. A reminder, of course.'

'Go on then.'

The Doctor was only too happy to do so. 'Well you see, Louis Armstrong...'

'I don't mean that. What about your alarm?'

'Oh that.' The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. There was a pause. 'What about it?' he attempted lightly.

Ace gave him one of her more direct looks. 'What's it supposed to remind you of?' she demanded relentlessly.

The Doctor prevaricated. 'Well obviously, I set it so that at this precise moment I would change course to... our new destination.'

Ace, however, was not satisfied. 'Where's that?' she insisted.

There was nothing else for it but the truth; often, in the Doctor's view, a mistake. 'I've forgotten,' he admitted.

Ace looked at him, knowing all too well what was coming. 'Oh, Professor...'

'Yes, you're quite right. I'm afraid we'll have to go and find out.'

He was already marching away among the tables towards the riverside path. Ace stopped to buy a souvenir ca.s.sette from the band and ran to catch up. In their hurry, neither of them noticed the two large men stand and follow.

The TARDIS waited among some trees across a small footbridge. Ace, reaching the Doctor, was still annoyed.

She followed him on to the bridge.

It was at that moment that two simultaneous bursts of gunfire tore out of the bushes behind them. The force of the bullets threw the Doctor and Ace headlong into the water.

The two large men emerged from the bushes, their silver headphones still in position. They watched silently as the unmoving bodies floated downstream.

In 1638 Lady Peinforte controlled her impatience with an effort, as she had been doing for many days. She aimed the arrow very carefully at the blackbird sitting in the tree and pulled back the bowstring. The bird sang on as she tautened the bow further; then she fired.

The arrow embedded itself in the trunk and the tree immediately emptied of birds. There was a nervous attempt at applause from behind her. Richard, her servant, smiled fulsomely. 'Oh very good, my lady.'

Ignoring him in disgust, she dropped the bow on to the ground and strode into the house. She had waited long enough.

Inside, an elderly man sat bent over scrolls of calculation muttering to himself.

'How much longer?' she demanded.

The elderly man continued muttering, absorbed in his work. Lady Peinforte seethed. The last servant who ignored her had suffered a number of torments that surprised even those familiar with her strict standards of etiquette. Richard, who had followed her in, was anxious to a.s.sist.

'He doesn't hear you ma'am,' he informed her needlessly. 'Shall I... ?'

'Leave him. There'll be time enough to punish his impertinence when he has finished.'

A pot of green liquid containing the floating remains of a blackened human hand simmered gently on the fire.

Above it, a number of gold-tipped arrows were apparently drying. Lady Peinforte examined them carefully and held them out to Richard. 'Put these with the others,' she instructed.

Richard was nervous. Lady Peinforte glared at him. 'Are you so very feeble? The poison cannot harm unless the arrow's tip should break the skin. Let who will steal my gold.'

Richard turned to a silver arrow, lying in state on a purple cushion. 'And this one, my lady?'

'Leave that to me. You're sure the potion is well mixed?'

'On my life, ma'am.' Suddenly conscious that this was perhaps an unfortunate choice of phrase, Richard amended it to: 'I guarantee it.'

'Then we await but the calculation.' This was said emphatically, for the benefit of the elderly man, but he continued working, oblivious to her words.

Aware of this, Richard spoke quietly. 'There is but the final ingredient of the liquid wanting, as my lady knows.

For that, I was thinking...'

He was interrupted by a cry from the elderly man at the table. 'My lady! Lady Peinforte: I've finished.'

Lady Peinforte gazed at him in disbelief. 'You have the answer?'

'Yes, my lady.'

'Quickly then. Tell me.'

The man fumbled among his scrolls and held up the final one. 'The comet Nemesis will circle the heavens every twenty-five years...'

Lady Peinforte cut in. 'I know this. When will it land?'

Heedless of the interruption, the elderly man rambled on: '... pa.s.sing ever closer until it once again strikes Earth at the point of its original departure in the, ah, meadow outside.'

Lady Peinforte was beside herself. 'Yes, yes, when when?'

There was a pause. The man found his place on the scroll. 'The, ah, twenty-third of November... nineteen hundred and eighty-eight.'

Lady Peinforte almost fainted. Her voice was weak.

'You are certain?'

'See for yourself, ma'am.' He handed her the last page of calculation. It swam before her eyes. Dimly, she was aware of his voice in the distance.

'My equations will have astounding applications! I can do anything!' the old man burbled. 'I shall build a flying machine. Imagine that, my lady. Human beings flying like birds. Let me see...' He returned to his figures and his voice faded away.

'Bring the cups of potion,' commanded Lady Peinforte.

'We leave at once.'

'The final ingredient, my lady,' Richard reminded her.

'Human blood.'

'I shall change the world...' murmured the elderly mathematician.

'Ah yes, Richard,' replied Lady Peinforte, softly. 'Close the door.'

The enormous drawing room of the former German colonial residence was filled, as it normally was, with sunlight and the chatter of birds from the forest that surrounded it for many miles in every direction. The South American heat was as intense as usual, but after these many years, the man known as Herr De Flores was more accustomed to it than the Bavaria in which he had spent his youth, and which he now only faintly and rarely recalled. In the telescopic sights of his crossbow, a beautiful multicoloured tropical bird, one of the last of its species, preened itself a quarter of a mile away. De Flores tightened his finger on the trigger. A young man ran from the house.

'Herr De Flores. Herr De Flores.'

De Flores lowered the bow in annoyance. 'What is it, Karl?' he rasped in his usual terse manner. Something in the younger man's face, however, caught his attention.

'Wonderful news,' Karl replied.

2.

Only when they were certain that the two large men who had just tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate them had gone did the Doctor and Ace pull themselves to the river bank. 'Welcome home,' said the Doctor as he hauled Ace out of the water. 'I always liked the Eighties. They were a time of great certainty in England.' While Ace stood drying herself outside the TARDIS, the Doctor went into it and then emerged carrying her ghetto blaster. He had built it for her from a combination of old valves and future technology.

Ace was touched. 'Great,' she said. 'I'll put on my tape from the gig.'

The Doctor fiddled with the controls. 'Not at the moment, Ace.'

'Why not? It's my tape deck.'

'It isn't just a tape deck. And we've got more important things to worry about than your tape. Like people trying to kill us.'

'Who were they? Who'd want to kill us?'