by Mark Gatiss
He had made friends and allies, of course, during the past – how long was it? – a week? Two? But the terrible regime which ruled the planet had not taken too kindly to his meddling and, not for the first time in his life, the Doctor found himself a marked man. Desperation had got him over the walls of the prison and into the dense jungle beyond, but the soldiers were hot on his track as the increasingly raucous rustling behind him showed.
The Doctor dragged off his ruined jacket and hurled it into the undergrowth. His shirt was wet with perspiration as he hurtled on, aware that the spongy surface beneath his feet was crumbling. The jungle was giving way to a steep escarpment. The lake couldn’t be far away.
Staggering down the hill, his boots plunging deep into the muddy ground, the Doctor suddenly saw the lake stretching ahead, like a drop of quicksilver in the moonlight.
He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction and raced on, ignoring the jets of watery mud that splashed up at him from the shallows.
A rotting wooden pier about twenty feet long extended out into the lake and a small boat, like a coracle, was bobbing gently nearby, attached to the legs of the pier by a thick, tarry rope.
The Doctor plunged on through the water. It was very cold and he could feel it pouring in through the tears in his shirt, ballooning the fabric as he waded towards the boat.
Just visible in the centre of the lake was the small, heavily wooded disc of the island. The Doctor gave a sigh of relief and hauled himself over the lip of the boat. He sank back against the wooden struts and closed his eyes.
‘You took your time, my friend,’ said a voice, cutting through the silence.
The Doctor’s eyes snapped open. He was staring down the barrel of a very large, very vicious-looking gun.
‘Now don’t do anything rash, old chap,’ he said patiently, holding up both hands. ‘I’m a friend, remember?’
The man holding the gun was small and thin with a dome-shaped head and the pale yellow, almond-shaped eyes characteristic of his race. His name was Rujjis and he had been the Doctor’s constant companion for the last few hectic days. The alien lowered the gun and smiled. ‘We’d all but given up on you, Doctor.’
The Doctor dropped his hands and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Well, it was certainly a near thing. And they’re not far behind now. I suggest we start rowing.’
With a nod, his companion pulled himself over the edge of the little boat, slipping silently into the waters of the lake where he began to untie the rope from the jetty. The Doctor pulled a stubby paddle from the wet planks at his feet and made ready.
Rujjis’s nimble hands fiddled with the soaked fibres of the rope. The Doctor looked round sharply as a loud crash came from the jungle behind them.
‘Quickly, man!’ rapped the Doctor.
Rujjis gave a final tug and the rope came free, uncoiling from the wood like a water snake. ‘There! Go, Doctor!’
A bullet sliced into the still water next to the boat. Rujjis waded across and extended his wiry arm. The Doctor took his hand.
‘Goodbye, my friend.’
Rujjis smiled. ‘Goodbye, Doctor. We owe you much.’
The Doctor shook his head dismissively. ‘The power was within you all the time. All I did was give it a little encouragement.’
Rujjis smiled, his leathery face dimpling.
Another bullet smacked against the fragile hull of the boat. Rujjis glanced down worriedly and, with a final wave, pushed with all his might so that the Doctor’s little craft sailed off towards the island.
At once, the Doctor began to pound at the water with the paddle, plunging it deep below the surface again and again. The boat began to move swiftly forward. Peering through the night, the Doctor could just make out the lamp on the top of the TARDIS glittering with reflected starlight.
On the far shore, a troop of soldiers had emerged from the jungle. One of them, the ratty, obnoxious figure the Doctor had come to know as General Gogon, stood with hands on hips, a crooked smile disfiguring a face that was, in any case, none too pleasant.
The Doctor shot a look over his shoulder. Gogon was gesturing to his troops to line up and fire. About half a dozen followed his instructions, stepping into the shallows of the lake and raising their long, deadly rifles.
Redoubling his efforts, the Doctor paddled on, the little round boat skimming through the calm water like a well-aimed stone.
A volley of shots rang out like a smattering of hesitant applause and the water just behind the boat broke up into a choppy wake. The Doctor smiled grimly. He was just out of reach.
Rujjis’s people had planted the explosives at the general’s palace. A nationwide rising against his cruelty was already under way. It was time for the Doctor to slip quietly away in the TARDIS, now only twenty feet or so away on the tiny island in the middle of the lake. Time to slip into the mists of legend. Perhaps he might pop back one day and see how his legend was getting on.
‘Doctor!’
The cry rang out through the still night air. The Doctor didn’t stop paddling, but looked back briefly towards the shore. What he saw made him stop at once and the boat coasted to a gentle halt, bumping against the sandy foreshore of the island.
Gogon was visible at the far side of the lake, still surrounded by his heavily armed troops. But now the repulsive commander held a gun to the head of Rujjis. The Doctor’s friend seemed calm, his hands held high above his head.
‘Doctor,’ called Gogon again. ‘You will come back. Or your friend will not live to see the dawn.’
The Doctor sat still in the boat as it bobbed gently on the water.
Rujjis looked at his captor. ‘Don’t worry about me, Doctor,’ he cried. ‘It is the general whose days are numbered.’
Gogon’s face twisted into a snarl and, for a moment, the Doctor thought he was going to shoot Rujjis there and then. But the dictator kept his temper. He continued to train the gun on his captive and once again addressed the Doctor.
‘I am Gogon, Lord High General of Xanthos. Do as I command.’
The Doctor sat up in the boat and shouted back, his voice ringing with authority. ‘You, sir, are a butcher!’
Gogon chuckled to himself. ‘Whatever you think of me, Doctor, you know that I am a man of my word. I will kill this insolent savage unless you row your little boat back to me.’
Rujjis risked another outburst. ‘Please Doctor! Go! You have done enough. This is our struggle now!’
The Doctor looked at him and heaved a heavy sigh. Then, slowly and deliberately, he began to paddle his way back across the lake.
CHAPTER SIX
GOGON OF XANTHOS
A few minutes later the Doctor was standing up to his ankles in the cold water of the lake, the little boat knocking against his legs as it gently rose and fell.
Gogon, still holding the gun to Rujjis’s temple, smiled his reptilian smile and nodded to himself.
‘You’re very wise, Doctor, but you should know by now. We… dictators never keep our word.’
His finger closed on the trigger. The Doctor’s face fell. He had only seconds to act. Hurling himself out of the water he hit Gogon full in the chest with his shoulder, knocking the general backwards just as the gun went off. A bullet hissed through the air and into the dense jungle, smacking the big leaves of the nearest tree.
Rujjis flung himself to the ground, scarcely believing he was still alive. He rolled over and over, just able to see Gogon and the Doctor falling backwards into a nest of leathery foliage which snapped explosively as they grappled.
Gogon’s men advanced forward but the general spat venomously at them. ‘No! Back! Leave him. He’s mine!’
He managed to throw the Doctor off and the opponents shunted backwards, like wrestlers sizing each other up. The Doctor rose to his full height and ran a hand through his mane of silvery hair, now flattened and soaked with perspiration.
‘You’re finished, Gogon,’ he said calmly, his eyes darting from side to side to assess his chances of esc
ape. ‘The people have risen against you. And if you cut us down, there will be countless thousands to take our place.’
Gogon sneered, a trickle of blood threading from his mouth.
‘I do not know who you are, Doctor. Or how you came to my world. But I swear I will be avenged for the chaos you have brought in your wake.’
He stretched out both his arms, shifting from one foot to the other. The Doctor did the same and moved left, inch by inch, his boots sliding through the muddy ground. Soon the two men had completed a circuit, surrounded by Gogon’s troops who once again held Rujjis at gunpoint.
‘You might as well give up,’ said the Doctor with a sly grin. ‘Perhaps the new regime will be kinder to you. There are always prospects for a fella with ambition, you know.’
With a roar of anger, Gogon launched himself towards the Doctor who immediately grabbed his shoulder, lifted him off his feet and threw him into the jungle. There was a splintering crash and the general cried out as he hit the earth with a force that sent a plume of mud shooting into his eyes.
Rage transformed his face into an ugly mask as he came at his opponent again. This time he caught him off-balance and it was the Doctor who ended up on the ground. He rolled over at once, ignoring the sharp pain in his side, and jumped to his feet.
Gogon ran forward again screaming and, with a high-pitched Venusian war cry, the Doctor landed a devastating chop to the back of his neck.
Gogon crashed to the ground but hurled himself bodily at the Doctor’s ankles, dragging the Time Lord down to his level and pummelling his chest with his fists.
The Doctor struggled to fight back, but Gogon’s claws closed inexorably around his neck.
Tighter…
Tighter…
The Doctor could feel the alien’s long, black nails digging into the flesh of his throat. His eyes began to bulge and he had to fight for his next breath as Gogon pressed down on his chest with his knees.
At last he managed to pull his hands from under him and chopped the sides of both palms simultaneously into the general’s sides.
Gogon gasped and slumped forward, easing his throttling grip just enough for the Doctor to thrust his knee upwards into the alien’s stomach and then continue the trajectory so that Gogon flew over his head and splashed into the shallows of the lake.
The Doctor sprang up, shaking his woozy head to clear it. Gogon emerged from the water, dripping wet, dashed to one of his soldiers and grabbed the weapon he was holding.
The Doctor gave a small laugh. ‘Run out of options, Gogon?’
‘The last refuge of the scoundrel,’ hissed Rujjis.
Gogon wiped the moisture from his face and pointed the long weapon directly at the Doctor. ‘Better a live scoundrel than a dead fool.’
‘No!’ cried Rujjis.
Just then the night sky was brilliantly illuminated by a blinding white flash. The percussion of a massive explosion hit them and everyone ducked instinctively as it rolled down from the mountains like thunder.
The Doctor kicked out one long leg and knocked the gun from Gogon’s hand. The general backed towards his troops.
‘Kill him!’ he screeched.
The Doctor looked up at the distant mountains, now a broad band of fiery orange that could only mean the destruction of Gogon’s citadel.
‘Your palace, I presume,’ said the Doctor evenly.
He turned his attention to the troops and his voice took on a tone of unmistakable authority. ‘Gogon’s rule is now finished. I advise you all to think very carefully about what you do next.’
There was a long, expectant pause. Gogon looked at his men, his yellow eyes twitching nervously. The soldiers looked him up and down, their expressions uncertain.
Rujjis swallowed nervously.
Then, one by one, the soldiers turned to point their guns towards the general. The last in line released Rujjis, retrieved the fallen gun and put it into the rebel’s hand. With a smile, Rujjis turned the weapon on Gogon.
‘Gogon of Xanthos,’ he stated in a voice shaking with emotion. ‘You will stand trial for the crimes you have committed against our people. Take him away.’
Gogon shot a last, hate-filled glare at the Doctor as his arms were pinioned and he was marched away into the jungle.
Rujjis walked slowly up to the Doctor and smiled.
‘Once again, Doctor, we owe you so much. How can we repay you?’
The Doctor rubbed his chin, then tapped the barrel of Rujjis’s gun. ‘Tell you what, as soon as you can, get rid of that. And try and do without it in future.’
He flashed Rujjis a broad smile which took years off his heavily lined face then shook the little alien’s hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.’
This time, the journey across the lake was a placid experience.
The Doctor paddled quickly but calmly, enjoying the smooth splash of the oar through the silky water. He reached the island and walked swiftly through the trees to where the comforting rectangle of the TARDIS stood, almost black in the embrace of night. He felt in his trouser pocket for the key and let himself inside.
The double doors opened with a low murmur.
The Doctor found the insistent hum and glaring white of the console room inexpressibly comforting. He stumped to the console and pulled the lever to close the doors, then rested the flats of his hands against the machinery, like a drunken man relishing the cool peace of his own pillow.
With a few flicks of switches, the time rotor of the TARDIS began to rise and fall, filling the air with the raucous, grinding noise of her engines.
Jo Grant sat on a laboratory stool, staring down at the pale grey rectangle of concrete below the window. It glared unpleasantly in the sunshine and left bright after-images on her eyes as she blinked.
A parade was under way with about two dozen UNIT troops standing smartly to attention under Sergeant Benton’s instruction. To one side stood the wiry, slightly anxious-looking figure of Captain Mike Yates, baton under one arm, and behind him was the Brigadier, looking rather splendid, Jo thought, in full dress uniform. She smiled. It was just like him to organise something like this to keep everyone on their toes.
‘Never forget, Miss Grant,’ he had told her solemnly. ‘UNIT is first and foremost a military concern.’
She sighed and glanced around the empty laboratory. The place was beginning to take on the sad, neglected feel of an empty nursery; somewhere usually full of life, now fallen eerily silent.
Jo closed her eyes, thinking of the adventures that had begun within those four walls. She was proud of the way the Doctor had come to accept her, first as an assistant, then a colleague and, finally, as a friend. It was strange to think that it might all have come to an end.
She glanced at the empty corner, its bare, plaster walls depressingly sterile in the hard sunlight.
Perhaps it was for the best. Things had to change. She would have wanted to move on soon, she was sure of it. It was better to have the decision taken for her than have to choose the moment herself.
A little knot of fear and emotion suddenly rose in her and she felt hot tears spring to her eyes. Life after UNIT. What would that be like?
It might have been the sounds of the summer afternoon but, for a moment, Jo could hear the grinding, scraping engines of the TARDIS once more, as though from a long way away. Then she whirled round on the stool.
A familiar blue shape was slowly materialising in its old corner. Double doors, frosted windows, flashing lamp, all suddenly taking on solid form like a ghost stepping through a wall. Jo’s pretty face was suddenly wreathed in smiles.
With a satisfying thump, the TARDIS was once more fully formed. The door flew open and the Doctor stepped out. He looked tired and filthy, his normally elegant clothes virtually shredded.
Jo cannoned into him and hugged him tightly.
‘Well,’ he smiled, patting her fondly on the back. ‘Quite a welcome!’
Jo disentangled herself. ‘We thought you’
d gone. For good!’
The Doctor frowned. ‘Really, Jo. Now why would I want to do a thing like that?’
He crossed the room, looking about him, a frown of displeasure creasing his tanned face. ‘I see the Brigadier didn’t waste much time. He’s had the char in.’
He ran a finger over the workbench and shook his head. ‘See what I mean? Not a trace of dust!’
Jo grinned. The Doctor walked to the wall and examined his reflection in a mirror.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, running a hand through his white hair. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
He turned as the laboratory door opened and the Brigadier marched into the room.
‘Doctor!’ Lethbridge-Stewart cried delightedly, his face betraying a rare display of real emotion.
He cleared his throat as though to reassert his official credentials. ‘Glad to have you back.’
The Doctor smiled too. ‘Thank you, Brigadier.’
The Brigadier laid his baton down on the workbench. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re just in time. Something’s come up.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEGION INTERNATIONAL
Charles Cochrane MP cradled the receiver of the red phone under his pointed chin and examined his nails.
‘No, sir,’ he said softly. ‘No problem at all.’
He frowned, greatly displeased at the quality of his morning manicure, and very carefully snipped away at the side of his thumbnail with a pair of shiny silver scissors.
‘Very well, sir. Of course.’
He sat up straight and smiled smugly to himself as the man on the other end of the line showered him with praise. ‘Thank you, Prime Minister. My pleasure.’
He put down the phone and spent another five minutes attending to his nails before spinning round in his swivel chair and examining his face in a big, gilt mirror which hung just above his desk in the old, dark-panelled room.
He had handled the situation well, it was true, and it would only be a matter of time before the PM moved him upwards in the next reshuffle.
He tightened the knot of his Old Etonian tie and smoothed down the waistcoat of his favourite three-piece suit, then cocked an eyebrow at his reflection. His impish features stared back.