DOCTOR WHO.

MYSTERIOUS PLANET.

by TERRANCE d.i.c.kS.

1.

The Trial Begins.

It was a graveyard in s.p.a.ce.

A graveyard not of people but of s.h.i.+ps. A junkyard, a sc.r.a.p heap, a metallic cemetery, where the battered corpses of once-proud s.p.a.ce-craft cl.u.s.tered together in a tangle of shattered hull plates and twisted girders.

The metallic desolation was clouded by drifting patches of cosmic dust, fitfully illuminated by the s.p.a.ce lightning that crackled between the drifting wrecks.

But beyond the shattered s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps there loomed something else. Something that was not derelict or destroyed but vast, powerful and ma.s.sively whole, the integrity of its towering ramparts unbreached by the electrical storm that raged around them. It was a s.p.a.ce station, one so huge as to seem almost a s.p.a.ce city. Ovoid in shape with a colossal communications-tower sprouting from the centre, its entire surface was overlaid with spires and towers and battlements, with interlocking complexes of ornately designed buildings, workshops, laboratories, living quarters, energy-generators and s.p.a.ce-docks, with batteries of s.p.a.ce-cannon projecting from every available surface.

Ma.s.sive, arrogant, invincible, the great complex hovered in s.p.a.ce, dwarfing the shattered hulks that drifted around it, dominating its section of s.p.a.ce like some enormous baroque cathedral. There was an eerie, almost mystical quality about it. It seemed to be brooding...

waiting.

Suddenly the whole complex seemed to hum with t.i.tanic energies. A huge central hatchway irised open, emitting a great pillar of light, so intensely blue as to seem almost solid.

The pillar lanced onward and outwards, lancing into the furthest reaches of s.p.a.ce. Somewhere in those infinite distances a shape appeared, trapped in the searching blue beam. A square blue shape with a flas.h.i.+ng light on top and the words Police Box inscribed above its door.

Turning over and over in the powerful pull of the blue beam, swept downwards like a twig caught in a rus.h.i.+ng waterfall, the TARDIS was drawn down and down until it reached the beam's very source, and vanished through the hatchway, disappearing into the heart of the s.p.a.ce station.

The hatchway slid closed.

The TARDIS was trapped. And so, of course, was its occupant, that wandering Time Lord known usually as The Doctor....

The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS and stood looking around him. He felt puzzled, almost bemused, and he had a profound sensation that something was very, very wrong.

At this stage in his lives, in his sixth incarnation, the Doctor was a tall, strongly built man with a slight tendency towards overweight. Beneath the mop of curly hair, the face was round, full-lipped and sensual, with a hint of something catlike about the eyes. The forehead was broad and high and the jutting beak that was his nose seemed to pursue the Doctor through most of his incarnations. This Doctor was a solid, powerful figure, exuding confidence and energy, yet with something wilful and capricious about him. The extravagant side of his nature was reflected in his costume, which was colourful, to put it mildly.

The yellow trousers, vivid enough in themselves, were positively sober compared to a multicoloured coat that might have made Joseph himself feel a pang of envy. Reds, yellows, greens, purples, and pinks, all in varying shades and hues, fought savagely for predominance. This quietly tasteful ensemble was finished off with a flowing cravat, a bright red affair with large white spots.

Clas.h.i.+ng violently with the decor around him, the Doctor stood for a brief moment lost in thought. A profound sense of wrongness persisted. He ought not to be here. But then, where was here?

The Doctor looked around him. He was in a brief, broad corridor, one end empty and featureless, the other leading to a short flight of steps and an imposing door. One swift glance around him, and the Doctor knew effectively where he was.

This wasn't one of your blank, metallic, hi-tech s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, s.p.a.ce-station, scientific installation type of corridors. The gleaming metallic walls had a rich golden hue, their expanse broken up by ribbed pillars and fussy grilles. The steps to the ornately decorated door were surrounded by a riot of castellated ornamentation.

Strange, thought the Doctor, how much you could tell about a culture from its taste in decoration. This particular culture was grandiose, pompous and obsessed with ritual.

It was the culture the Doctor knew best in the entire cosmos - that of his fellow Time Lords.

He was in Time Lord territory.

It wasn't good news. The Doctor's relations with his Time Lord race had been varied to say the least. The variations had ranged from his being a hunted criminal and fugitive, an unwilling exile and press-ganged intergalactic agent to a tolerated eccentric, and on more than one occasion he had actually reached the eminence, unwanted though it was, of Lord High President of Gallifrey. Only the power of the Time Lords could have s.n.a.t.c.hed him away from what he was doing. But then, what had be been doing?

With a shock of disquiet, the Doctor realized he couldn't quite remember. Still, no doubt it would come to him... in time. And as for where 'here' was, there was only one way to find out.

The Doctor mounted the little flight of steps and stood before the imposing set of doors.

He raised a hand to knock, changed his mind, shoved the heavy doors open with a powerful heave and strode confidently through.

He found himself in a huge vaulted chamber, furnished and decorated in the same elaborate style as the corridor without. The hall was dimly lit, and the Doctor could just make out the tall imposing figure that seemed to be seated opposite him.

The figure spoke in a deep, harshly resonant voice. 'At last, Doctor.'

'Am I late for something?' asked the Doctor politely.

The figure touched a control and light illuminated a small railed area which contained a large swivel-chair. 'Sit down.'

The Doctor sat and more lights came up, illuminating the figure opposite him, sitting in a railed area very similar to his own. The figure was that of a tall, gaunt-faced man wearing the long cloak, high-collared tunic and skull-cap like helmet of a Time Lord Court official.

This particular ensemble was all in black, and the Doctor struggled to remember its significance. One of those antiquated t.i.tles the High Council was so fond of - val something-or-other... Valeyard, that was it.

The tall, sinister figure opposite was the Valeyard. A Special Prosecutor working directly for the High Council, employed only in the most serious cases - especially those with political overtones.

Suddenly the Doctor realized he was in trouble.

'I was beginning to fear you had lost yourself, Doctor,'

said the Valeyard sardonically.

The Doctor sat back in his chair 'Even I would find it hard to lose myself in a corridor.' He swivelled round.

'Especially when propelled by the mental energy of so many distinguished Time Lords.'

To the Doctor's left were tiered rows of seats, like those in a lecture hall. The rear rows were packed with Time Lords, members of the High Council in their ornate high-collared robes. But the front row was empty, the Doctor noted - and so was the raised podium in front of it, with its single chair and simple table.

The elements were beginning to take shape, thought the Doctor. All that is needed now is...

The door at the far end of the room swung open, and a small imperious-looking woman entered, flanked by court officials and guards. She wore an elaborate headdress and a white gown with a red sash of office. Not only the Valeyard but the Court Inquisitor as well, thought the Doctor. They were really out to get him this time.

The Court officials filled the front row of the seating, and the Inquisitor took her place on the podium, settling into her seat with a rustle of robes.

The Doctor decided that it was best to keep up a pose of injured innocence. Nor indeed was it entirely a pose.

Although he had a pretty clear picture of what was happening, he still had no idea why.

'Would it be too much to ask what all this is about?'

The Inquisitor settled into her place, folding her hands on the table before her, glancing around the room with an air of brisk efficiency. 'The accused will remain silent until invited to speak.'

The Doctor sat bolt upright with indignation. 'The accused? Do you mean me?'

The Inquisitor gave him a withering look. 'I call upon the Valeyard to open the case.'

Sweeping the Courtroom with his sombre gaze, waiting until the attention of the serried ranks of Time Lords was fixed upon him, the Valeyard launched into his opening address, rolling the legal jargon around his tongue with all the relish of a gourmet savouring a perfect meal.

'By order of the High Council, this is an impartial enquiry into the behaviour of the accused person, who will be known for the purpose of these proceedings as the Doctor. He is charged that he, on diverse occasions has been guilty of conduct unbecoming a Time Lord.'

The Doctor leaped to his feet and bellowed. 'Not guilty.'

No one took the slightest notice, so he sat down again.

Unperturbed, the Valeyard continued, 'He is also charged with, on diverse occasions, transgressing the First Law of Time.' The Valeyard inclined towards the Inquisitor. 'It is my unpleasant task, Madam Inquisitor, to prove to this Inquiry that the Doctor is an incorrigible meddler in the affairs of other people and planets.'

There was a moment's silence as the Court absorbed the charges.

Studying the monitor screen built into her table-top for a moment. The Inquisitor said matter-of-factly, 'I see that it is on record that the Doctor has already faced trial for offences of this nature.'

The Valeyard said eagerly, 'That is so, My Lady. I shall also contend that the High Council showed too great a leniency on that occasion.'

Five years of exile on planet Earth thought the Doctor indignantly. Five years hard labour as Unofficial Scientific Adviser to UNIT. Call that lenient!

Although he had decided to keep the thought to himself, an amusing idea was entering his mind. Perhaps he had another card to play after all.

'Very well, Doctor,' snapped the Inquisitor. 'You have heard the charges. Do you have anything to say before the enquiry proceeds?'

The Doctor rose. 'Only that this whole thing is a farce. I am Lord President of Gallifrey. You can't put me on trial.'

With a general nod of farewell, the Doctor marched towards the door.

The clear cold voice of the Inquisitor stopped him in his tracks. 'Doctor!'

The Doctor turned, waiting.

'Since you wilfully neglected the responsibility of that great office, you have been deposed.'

'Oh,' said the Doctor, cast down. 'Is that legal?'

'Perfectly.' The Inquisitor smiled coldly. 'But we won't hold it against you.'

The Doctor walked back to his place in the dock and sat down thoughtfully.

'Quite the contrary in fact,' the Inquisitor went on. 'To see that your interests are fully protected, I propose to appoint a Court Defender, chosen from those Time Lords here present, to defend you.'

The Doctor studied the rows of impa.s.sive Time Lord faces.

'Ah! Thank you but - no thank you,' he said at last. 'I have been through several such inquiries before. I think it will be easier if I speak for myself.'

'Very well. The Court notes that the Doctor refuses the services of a Court Defender. Valeyard, you may proceed.'

The Valeyard rose once more, his sombre black-clad figure overshadowing the entire court room.

'Madam Inquisitor, I am not proposing to waste the time of the Court by dwelling in detail upon the activities of the accused. Instead I intend to adumbrate two typical instances for separate epistopic interfaces of the spectrum.

These examples of the criminal behaviour of the accused are fully recorded in the Matrix, the repository of all Time Lord knowledge.'

Ah yes, the Matrix, thought the Doctor. The all-encompa.s.sing telepathic group-mind to which every Time Lord was attuned, in which was deposited all the knowledge and experience of those Time Lords who had exhausted their reincarnation cycles and pa.s.sed on. The most valuable repository of information in the cosmos, accessible of course only to the Time Lords... The disadvantage, of course, from the Doctor's point of view at the moment lay in the fact that everything he said and did, indeed, everything he thought and felt was recorded in the Matrix, and available for recall.

The Valeyard said impressively, 'I propose to begin with the Doctor's involvement with the affairs of Ravolox, a planet within the Stellian galaxy...'

A giant visi-screen appeared on the wall behind the rows of Time Lords. Moving as one, like puppets, they swung their chairs round so that they were facing it, and the Doctor, the Valeyard and the Inquisitor all swivelled their chairs for a clearer view.

The screen showed first a mist-shrouded planet hanging in s.p.a.ce. Could have been anywhere, thought the Doctor.

Any one of a million planets in a million galaxies. Could even be Earth, come to that. The planet loomed larger and larger till it blotted out the screen, and the picture changed to show two figures walking in a wood of tall trees.

The Doctor leaned forward eagerly. He loved a good story, particularly one in which he himself was the hero.

And since his memory of recent events seemed to be a little hazy, the story unfolding on the screen might well be as new to him as it would be to the Court.

Well, thought the Doctor. So it begins...

But where would it end?

2.

Underground.

Sharing a big, multicoloured umbrella between them, the Doctor and his companion strolled in fine drizzling rain through a wood that was made up of tall, widely s.p.a.ced trees.

The Doctor wore his usual colourful attire. His companion, an attractive, dark-haired young woman, wore silver-grey slacks with a wide leather belt, a gold-coloured silk blouse, and a yellow blazer with diagonal stripes. It was a striking enough outfit in its way, though besides the Doctor's clas.h.i.+ng riot of colours it seemed almost subdued.

The wearer of the outfit was pretty subdued at the moment. Her name was Perpegillian Brown, Peri for short.

At the moment Peri was the Doctor's only companion in his wanderings, and like many a companion before her she was beginning to wish she'd stayed at home. There was something eerie about this silent, misty wood.

Peri looked around her and s.h.i.+vered. 'I don't think I like Ravolox very much. It reminds me of a wet November back on Earth.'

The Doctor looked down and smiled, amused as always by Peri's outspoken directness. Presumably it came from her American ancestry. 'That's part of the reason we're here,' he said encouragingly.