Doctor Who: The Time of the Companions: Book 3 (Doctor Who: The Companions' Adventure)

by Cour M.

  “Precisely, and you yourself trained me, Doctor, to never believe in coincidences. The last time that I did that, Rory was turned into a… never mind. Which means…”

  “What?”

  “Doctor, the last thing I want is for C.S. Lewis to get caught up in this world, we can’t save him, and then all of his works will just disappear from the shelves. And all these other men! All of them! If there is a coincidence and we fail them, then they will have just dissolved. And it will be all our fault.”

  Ten chewed the inside of his lip and then he moved away from her as he rushed to the doors of the TARDIS and turned back around.

  “Soldiers, besides Lewis and Henrickson, what are your names, starting from left to right. I kind of like there to be order in everything.”

  “I’m Henry, Henry Jenkinson.”

  “I’m James Cromwell.”

  “Oliver Chase.”

  “Jason Braxton.

  “And I’m Kenneth Kenneths.”

  Everyone looked at the last Kenneth.

  “Seriously?” Ten asked.

  “It’s a family name,” Kenneth explained.

  “Ah, well, Henry, James, Oliver, Jason, Kenneth, John and C.S., just to give you proof, here you see this strange world, from above.” Ten opened the doors to the TARDIS. Everyone followed his example and looked out of it. Eventually Ace, Jack and the Ponds also came because now they were going to see this strange new world from up above. They all did so, and it was vast and beautiful.

  “By God!” Oliver cried, “it’s… it’s…”

  “Yes, it’s the world,” Ten explained, “a whole new world, don’t you dare close your eyes. No wait, sorry. That’s from ‘Aladdin’.”

  “What’s Aladdin?” Kenneth asked.

  “Oh don’t worry about that,” Jack Harkness urged, “and just marvel at what’s before us.”

  They all turned and gazed at the whole world that was before them.

  “A hidden passageway to a whole universe,” C.S. Lewis laughed, “it’s just how I imagined…” he trailed off and avoided looking at the others, not wishing to give too much away.

  Watching that small moment, Ten turned to Amy.

  “You’re right. This is not a coincidence at all.”

  “But I wonder even more,” Amy whispered, “can this all be real? I mean, it feels as if we walked into a dream.”

  They heard a snap and felt the arrival of something within the TARDIS before they even saw him.

  “Well done, Amy Pond,” he voiced, “you’re learning.”

  They all turned to who spoke and only Amy and Rory were shocked.

  “No,” Rory gasped, “not you!”

  “Of course it’s me,” he laughed, clapping for them, “and you are a lot sharper than you used to be. Then again, you’re not as green as you once were before.”

  “What are you and how did you get aboard the TARDIS?” Ace asked.

  “The way that I always do; I just can.”

  “That’s impossible,” Ten declared.

  “Not if you’re me. Amazing, the same companions before, but with a new face for the Doctor. An old face. I seem to be out of order in my arrival, but I suppose it’s not my fault now is it? After all, that’s the very problem with dealing with the affairs of Timelords. They themselves move in the wrong order.”

  “Enough of this, who are you!” Ten cried.

  “Who am I?” He pointed to himself, “by Jove, you really are young.”

  “I’m not that young at all.”

  “Doctor, we have seen him before,” Amy reported, “and it’s… you told us he wasn’t real. And that he was you.”

  “Oh, does he even look like me?” Ten argued.

  “She means in the figurative/ metaphysical way, you moron,” he replied, stepping forward, “but then again, you never were that good at subtlety, were you? Not in this regeneration, and you also never were that good at taking a hint either.”

  “Shut up and tell me who you are!” Ten cried.

  “Well,” he smiled, “You are the last person who should feel as if he has the right to demand to know anyone’s name. None of your companions knows yours. But oh boy, here we go, if you’re a Timelord, then again that makes me, the Dream Lord.”

  The Dream Lord smiled and looked on Amy and Rory.

  “Ah, it’s so nice to be back amongst you again!” He smirked.[4]

  Chapter 4

  The Devils

  Nine flipped a switch on the TARDIS as they arrived right in the midst of the Earth’s atmosphere.

  “Why have we stopped here?” Clara asked as the rest of the crew were still getting up from their sudden landing.

  “If we go down to Earth, then we shall have nowhere to look,” Nine informed her, “but if I remain on the outer bit of the atmosphere and orbit the planet, the TARDIS can scan for any hostile signals coming from below. Anything that wishes to overcome an entire planet must be giving off some massive signs on a radar system.”

  “So then, we were just a distraction?” Jeannette Picard asked, “and we were not taken for any other specific reason?”

  “Precisely,” Ethel said, “that’s all that we were, just here to send you on a wild goose chase?”

  “We don’t know that yet, therefore it’s best that you remain in here,” Nine demanded, “because if we send you back home, and you were taken for any reason, then you’ll only be teleported back to Uxarieus again.”

  “Governor,” Commander Nestor said, “you should have returned me to my base.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “There was time.”

  “No, Commander, I needed someone from Uxarieus to see this so that you know what really happened.”

  Nine pulled the stabilizers and then the TARDIS began to orbit the planet. As he did so, he noticed that Mozart was coughing.

  “Wolfgang?” He asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Clara whispered to Nine.

  “What always matters to you humans; he’s sick. And soon he will be dying.”

  

  Clara snapped her head around very quickly.

  “What?” She whispered.

  “Yes, we have one of the greatest composers of Earth’s history here with us, right as he is beginning to fall ill.”

  Clara looked at Mozart again, who coughed gently.

  “I suppose he thinks it’s a common cold,” Nine continued to explain, “and he believes that he will be well soon.”

  “But he’s just standing there, and not even complaining.”

  “You forget, Clara, that he comes from a time where everyone spends their days always sick in some way. They simply learn to adjust.”

  “If memory serves me correctly, doesn’t no one ever learn what kills Mozart?”

  “That’s the understatement of the universal century,” Nine stated bluntly, “he will die, yes, but years later, there will be controversy revolving around it to no end. Some will say that his contemporary composer, Salieri, would have poisoned him, some say that it was a man whose wife that Mozart slept with, and that she was his mistress. Others will say that it could have been the Masons, because Mozart was a Mason himself, others would say that it was a man named Count von Walsegg-Stuppach, who had Mozart write some music for him so that he could pass it off as his own. Some say that the Masons, Catholics and Jews poisoned him together! Then others say that he had military-fever, whatever that is. Others then would say that it was rheumatic fever, and then others say that he ate a bad piece of pork and got worms. The possibilities are endless.”

  “Did no one ever do an autopsy of him? Oh my god, I’m talking about an autopsy done on a man who is standing nearby us.”

  “Believe me, you get used to it.”

  “I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Do as you will then, but still, unfortunately, due to the edicts in Vienna at the time of Mozart’s death, all second and third-class burials were to be only put in
to a sack, unclothed, the sack would be stitched up, and put into a communal gravesite without much of a ceremony, then they would be covered in quicklime, because that would quickly decompose the body. People will assume that this meant that Mozart died poor and unknown, but this was not the case at all. This was just simply the laws of the time so that they could have more room to bury people in, to save space and to avoid expensive grave markers being put up.”

  “So you’re saying that the man right there will soon not only pass away, but he won’t have a burial site, he really won’t even have a body, and then the same place he was buried in would be re-used by others when they died.”

  “Yes, you see, it’s usually time that gives a person’s name weight. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: the man whose corpse will spark a mystery that will last forever.”

  “You sound as if you are so detached from it all,” Clara remarked.

  “I’m not.”

  “Really, because you act as if you feel nothing.”

  “I feel it,” he spat, “I just prefer not to show it.”

  “Sure,” Clara replied, dubious. “But is there nothing we can do to help him? I mean, you are from the future. Surely you must know some remedy, or at least have some way of knowing what is making him sick.”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “What do you mean that it’s not your place? You claim to be a man who can help.”

  “I do help things. But not everything.”

  “And who are you to choose when to help and when not to?” She scoffed quietly.

  “I believe that you are about to get mad at me again.”

  “Too late, I’m already there you piece of—”

  Euripides sneezed in that instance.

  “Sorry,” he apologized to all.

  “No problem,” Emily assured him, “bless you.”

  “Sorry? But why did you say that?”

  “Oh, in our times, when someone sneezes, it’s polite to say ‘bless you’.”

  “Oh… and why would you say that?”

  Emily Bronte looked at Jeannette and Ethel, and they were all stumped.

  “Actually, we don’t know. It’s just something that we do.”

  “Right, well, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  

  “But still,” Clara lowered her voice and continued talking with Nine, “John, why are you choosing to not help him now?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “So you don’t know what’s wrong with him?”

  “No, it’s not that. Clara,” he lowered his voice even more, “I’m not allowed to.”

  “Not allowed to? What do you mean, not allowed to? What do you serve that will make you not allowed to? Is it really worth it?”

  “It’s not a person that I serve, but Time itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Clara, it’s the curse of us Timelords. You see how I know much.”

  “I hate to admit it, but yes, you are a fountain of knowledge, yeah.”

  “Well, it’s because I have to. We Timelords have to know much about the history of the universe, because we often have to make sure that certain things happen at certain times. If we don’t, then the universe will fold over on itself, it will bleed, Clara, so very much, to the point where monsters will arrive in different places through cracks in the universe and terror will ensue. Those are called fixed points. And if those fixed points get contradicted, if we try and change it, then this will happen. We will save one, and then kill many more.”

  Clara turned and looked at Mozart as Nine continued to speak.

  “I made the mistake of not explaining this better before, but I will do so now. If you try and interfere, then we cause the world to bleed. We can destroy the Earth itself over time, and if I were to choose Mozart and his great mind, over the welfare of the people of a planet, then what does that make me? What does that make you?”

  “By saving one, we would kill many more?”

  “Yes.”

  Nine reached below the dashboard of the TARDIS, pulled out a box that had many compartments and took a pill from it.

  “Whatever is wrong with him can be saved by this. Right now he has the beginnings of a fever, that much I can see. This will save him. Completely. If you wish to, then you give it to him. The universe, or one life. The choice is yours.”

  

  Nine placed the pill in Clara’s hand.

  “You’re making me choose?” She sighed, pained.

  “Because you are the only one who can. I’m a Timelord; there is no choice for me, for it’s already made. But you are human. And you can.”

  “You’re giving a human the choice of a Timelord. But that’s not fair!”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s the way that it has to be. No other way could it be.”

  Clara looked toward Mozart and stood there at first, just wondering at him. He was deep in discussion with Ethel Waters, for he was a composer and she was a singer who would have heard of them. Both of them sat there, amazed at the other and their different modes of music. Clara’s heart reached out to Mozart, for out of all of them, he had been the easiest to connect to, accepting this strange world that he had fallen into. His mind was large enough to take in anything quickly, and that was a beautiful thought. A beautiful thought to a beautiful mind.

  Coming to a decision, Clara took the pill and took a few steps forward. Nine stood there, doing nothing, but his heart was heavy at seeing history repeat itself.

  And for the first time since Clara had stepped into his TARDIS, his mind had drifted back to Rose Tyler.

  And what did it mean? Rose and Clara were about to commit to the same action! They were about to make the same mistake. Did it speak volumes about their natures or lesser about them? Or maybe it was just that they were human… so very human. Yet in that moment, he felt as if Clara had let him down. As Rose had hurt him somewhat. But when it came down to it, would Clara sacrifice the universe for this man, as well as the Doctor himself?

  

  And then Clara stopped. After taking two steps, she ceased. With the pill in her hand, she was still, just staring at Mozart.

  “The whole world will burn?” Clara asked Nine, while not looking at him.

  “Yes,” Nine sighed, feeling hopeful. “I have seen the effects of trying to undo a fixed point myself. Everything will suffer.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yes, everyone.”

  Clara closed her fingers around the pill.

  “This is really not fair,” she sighed in despair, “you’re turning me into you.”

  “It’s what must be done.”

  Nine stood up, opened her hand, took the pill from her and put it away.

  “Is this how it feels,” Clara whispered, “for you Timelords? To be the hero and to be the villain all the time?”

  “Yes. Now you know why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why I hate myself so much.”

  Nine turned around and sat down, facing away from her. Clara turned around and saw him there. His tall form was still, hopeless, and his shoulders drooped. He was such a large man, and yet for a moment, he looked like a child.

  Driven by a sudden desire to be there for him, Clara accosted him from behind and then placed her hand on his shoulder. His body relaxed at the touch. Feeling encouraged, she sat down behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her head on his neck. Nine closed his eyes, almost wishing to weep.

  “Do you still not forgive me for not being your Doctor?” He asked her simply.

  “No, I just don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t be human if you did.”

  “John, you can’t hate me for almost saving Mozart. I would have been evil if I had not thought to do it.”

  At her words, Nine had a quick glimpse of Rose again, as she had rushed out to save her father.

  The side of her that was a hero.

  But Clara had manage
d to overcome that impulse and listen. And stop and care about the universe around her and the people who would suffer because of her actions. Yet it was all confusing. Was Clara better for listening to him? Or worse?

  “Clara?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just realized something about myself.”

  “What?”

  “I am a little… difficult.”

  “Yes,” Clara laughed sadly, “you are a bit.”

  “But so are you.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it, really. And,” she continued, “is there nothing we can do? I mean, is there something that we can give him so that he feels no pain? Look at him, he’s in pain now. He’s hiding it, but he is clearly in pain. Can you give him something where he will get sick eventually, but for now, you gave him a reprieve from that?”

  “You’re asking me to be like your Doctor now.”

  “Yes.”

  Nine turned to her and smiled suddenly.

  “Clara Oswald, oh just watch me! Wolfgang?”

  Mozart stopped talking to Ethel and Emily Bronte.

  “Yes, Governor?” Mozart responded.

  “You’re coughing, sir.”

  “It’s a minor illness. No more.”

  “And that’s how it always starts. I can’t tell if I can give you a permanent cure, but while you are on my TARDIS, sir, you will not be allowed to suffer.”

  Nine reached into his chest again and pulled out another pill while also giving him a cup of water that he poured from the TARDIS dashboard miraculously.

  “Take this. The effects should be immediate.”

  Mozart took the pill and looked at it dubiously.

  “Oh no, it’s fine,” Clara said, “in our times, it’s a form of medicine.”

  “Well,” he acquiesced, “you didn’t bring me all this way to poison me now, and you’re not one of my rival composers, so…”

  Mozart took the pill, drank and very soon he felt better.

  “How are you now?” Nine asked.

  “By god, man,” Mozart laughed, “you are a miracle worker.”