by M. J. Baker
Conspiracy on Karn
A Doctor Who Story By
M. J. Baker
Copyright © M. J. Baker
All rights reserved
ISBN: 1530368847
ISBN-13: 978-1530368846
This is a work of fanfiction and has not been licensed or authorised by the BBC. Doctor Who and all associated brands are copyright of the BBC and their respective holders. No claim of ownership is implied by this work.
Author’s Note
Though this is fanfiction, I tried to make the story as accessible as possible to someone unfamiliar with Doctor Who. But I definitely failed. Instead, I think someone who enjoys the show and has at least a passing knowledge of its recent history will be able to enjoy it. The references to past episodes have been explained insofar as it has any bearing on the plot, so it isn’t necessary to have seen them. But if you want to get the full picture I’d recommend watching The Brain of Morbius (1976) and The Night of the Doctor (2013).
For Pippa
Chapter 1
A tide of crimson met Ohila's eyes as she emerged from her chambers, the newest members of the Sisterhood were lined up for morning inspection outside her door. As she always did, Ohila puffed out her chest and adopted her sternest countenance before stepping towards the leftmost sister. They were all taller than Ohila, now that old age had finally been allowed to catch up with her, but it made her no less intimidating to the new recruits. She inspected the first sister, taking in her perfectly-arranged robes and hood. Zahilo was always the first in line for inspection and her dress was always immaculate. She was loyal to the sisterhood, ambitious too, but unimaginative. Her young neck and sharp chin was the only part of her face not shadowed by her hood. Without changing her expression, Ohila turned on her heel, took one step forward and turned back to inspect the next sister. She repeated this exercise for the first nine sisters in the line-up, stopping only once to straighten a sleeve on Rula. As she turned to inspect the final sister she gaped for a moment, nearly breaking her act of pompous severity. Compared to the youthful jaws she'd been inspecting, this one was practically obscene. A wrinkled, liver-spotted neck garnished with a wiry grey beard and thick moustache. Ohila sharply regained her composure and addressed the assembly.
"Acceptable, sisters, but scruffy," she said calmly. "You chose your appearance when you came to me today. When I see you next, choose to be tidier. Dismissed."
Zahilo as she nodded and led the procession out through the stone doors at the end of the cavern. She expected the final sister to remain, but the figure skulked out behind the others. Two young serving boys, who had stood outside during inspection and opened the great stone doors ahead of the departing sisters, began to pull them shut again. Ohila hitched up the skirt of her robes and jogged lightly to grab one by the arm.
"Derrin, could you bring some tea to the surface ceremony cave?" she said. The boy nodded, flashing the polite smile all men in the Sisterhood's temple were trained to give their superiors - the smile that never quite met their eyes - and left.
"And two cups," she called after him wearily.
Ohila climbed the stone stairs towards the surface of Karn, treating each step like a military operation. Closer and closer. To the moment she'd known was coming ever since she'd last seen the man at the end of the line. The warrior who was meant to end the Time War, but hadn't. Not yet, anyway. And the sin she'd hoped would be wiped away with the Daleks was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. Ohila stepped out from behind the stone wall that obscured the steps from view, a harsh wind grazed her anguished face.
There he was.
How long must it have been for him? He'd looked young when he left Karn, centuries of pain and loss and absurdity and wanderlust trapped behind a face barely older than a child's. Time had caught up with the Time Lord, for now he looked like a man sick of the Universe in a Universe doing its level best to wear him down. Ohila recognised the wizened neck and beige beard, but the robe had been discarded and she could now look at the rest of what she'd started. The man's face was a wasteland of time-worn wrinkles, his skin rough and impenetrable like armour. His unkempt hair, slightly darker than his beard, clumped at the top of his head into a broad tuft. His frame drowned in a peeling leather jacket, under which Ohila could see a frayed scarf double-looped around his neck and the bandolier he'd taken from the girl he'd failed still clung to his chest. The man was holding a steaming cup of tea, apparently taken from the pot left thoughtlessly on the slab where she'd died. A second cup stood waiting for her.
"Good afternoon," he said.
Chapter 2
"Doctor," Ohila breathed.
"That is not my name," the man responded simply, as though his husky voice had said those words a million times.
"Then what are you now?"
"Well, you made me a warrior. When this body was younger, I reveled in that name and the bloodshed I caused. Now...I don't know."
"The elixir's effects ebb with time," Ohila said. "You're not what you were when you picked the-"
He cut across her sharply through clenched teeth, "Do NOT try to absolve yourself!"
Ohila said nothing, the Warrior seethed for a moment. Then, collecting himself, he cleared his throat and loosened the scarf slightly.
"Something always bugged me about the day I was born, but I've been busy. I didn't really have time to reflect on it until now."
"Why now?" said Ohila accusingly. "The war rages on. You've still got a duty, soldier."
The man rolled his eyes.
"Oh please. The war will still be there when I get back, it'll always be somewhere in the web of time. Unless something drastic happens. It is, after all, a time war. I took a holiday, am I not owed that? Do have some tea, by the way."
"What do you mean drastic?"
The old man didn’t respond for a moment, then grinned.
"Are you sure you won't have some tea? It's very good, you know."
Ohila stole a glance at the teapot still perched on the stone. It was modelled after the traditional headdress of the Reverend Mother - a stout, cylindrical pot with gold trim and two large loops on either side as handles. Identical to the one she'd seen worn by Maren, the previous Reverend Mother, before she'd sacrificed her immortality to save the Doctor on his first visit to Karn, when he'd fought Morbius, sixteen centuries ago. Definitely property of the Sisterhood but…
The Warrior seemed to read her mind.
"I've not put anything in it. You know, as well as I do, that subtlety has never been my strong suit. Have some."
"I don't need your permission. Doctor," Ohila snapped. "I'll have some tea when I'm good and ready."
"Yet you requested two cups. I was talking to that chap...uh...Darren? He was wondering who the other cup was for, thought you might be asking him out to tea. Watch out for him, that boy seeks advancement."
"No, he doesn't. A man in servitude to the Sisterhood would never...You spoke to him?" Ohila's icy expression melted into bare panic for a moment before thickening into a scalding rage.
"GET OFF THIS PLANET, DOCTOR! LEAVE KARN! SPEAK TO NOBODY! NEVER RETURN!" she roared.
The Warrior was unmoved.
"I'm sure that tone works wonderfully on the newbies, but I'm your oldest recruit. Don't think that-"
"Ohh so that's what this is about! You blame me for making you into...this," Ohila laughed contemptuously. "I didn't make you drink that elixir, Doctor. You chose it yourself."
"Yes, I did. But why did I need to choose it?"
Ohila said nothing.
"I went back and watched our last encounter. I hate repeats but thought I might see something that would finall
y settle my mind. Do you know what I saw?" he asked.
"I was there, Doctor. Unlike you, I wasn't dying and driven half-mad with grief. If you blame me for giving you a choice when-."
"No," he cut across her again. "You said 'I took the liberty of preparing this one myself' the moment I told you to make me a warrior. Ready to go in a silver goblet. You brought me to Karn specifically to make me into this, but you needed me to choose it. I ask again. Why?"
Ohila said nothing.
Her warrior glanced at the teapot again.
"If I had poisoned that tea, I could persuade you to drink it of your own choice but why go to all that trouble?" he took three strides towards Ohila and was less than an inch away. She stood her ground. "I could knock you unconscious and pour it down your throat."
Ohila remained impassive. The Warrior grinned again and walked past her, circling the slab as he spoke.
"I was dead. You could have revived me, dosed me with the elixir while I was unconscious and then scarpered. I would have woken up in a new body, assumed a regeneration into a persona willing to join the Time War and been none the wiser. I'd have never known I was being manipulated."
"You're not being manipulated, you stupid boy," Ohila said wearily. "All the elixir does is strengthen impulses that are already there. Violence, rage, callousness. All the things you usually suppress about yourself, Doctor. Your actions are your own."
The old man was becoming frustrated now. He began walking towards her as he spoke, cautiously at first but soon worked up into angry stomps.
"I agree. I'm not trying to pass the buck here, Ohila. I'm beyond forgiveness with or without you. All I want to know is why. Why did I have to choose it for myself? Tell me WHY?!" he spat the last word in Ohila's face.
The old man's fierce expression faltered at Ohila's silence. When she saw that he had tears in his eyes, seeping through the mask of vicious rage, her hearts broke as a mother's would at a distraught child.
The Warrior's face was callous, but his eyes were still kind. And he'd blinked.
Without a word, the old man turned back to the slab and lightly placed his teacup on it.
"Thanks for the tea."
And he was gone.
Ohila took a shuddering breath and reached for the teapot.
Chapter 3
Some time later, the Warrior was climbing across the craggy, amber surface of Karn back to the TARDIS. He'd taken to landing his ship far away from where he needed to be. It made no difference, since the TARDIS would always know what he'd been doing and he could sense the old girl's pity and distress whenever he stepped, blood-soaked, through the doors. But he couldn't look at that blue box and do the things that its true pilot - the Doctor - would abhor.
Even though he must. He had no choice.
He knew Ohila was hiding something. Deception between two telepaths is hard but, with enough concentration, not impossible. He had no reason to lie so could rant and rave all he liked, but Ohila had kept herself guarded. Maintaining such intense control, as she had, ensures that your opponent only learns one thing for certain – you've got a secret. A secret you're terrified of speaking. But what was she afraid of? Not him. After all, she is immortal.
Lost in thought, the first sign the old man had he was being followed was an arrow, crackling with electricity, whizz past his left ear from behind and hurtle in the direction of the TARDIS, itself a barely-visible blotch on the russet landscape. The Warrior looked dumbly in the direction it had gone.
A loud voice echoed around the gulley he was standing in, startling him.
"HALT! THAT WAS YOUR FIRST WARNING SHOT, TIME LORD. IT WAS ALSO YOUR LAST. HALT NOW! OUR KHARUS ARROWS ARE REGENERATION-PROOF. SURRENDER!"
The Warrior put his arms up, shaking his wrists gently so that his hands were visible through the sleeves of his ill-fitting jacket to show he was unarmed. He heard the unmistakable cacophony of a six (or more) legged creature cantering up behind him and somebody dismounting with a heavy thump.
"There's no need for all of this, you know. I was just on my way out. Speak to High Priestess Ohila, she'll vouch for my ability to leave," he told the figure lurking behind him.
"You will come with me to the temple. Any attempt to escape will be taken as an admission of guilt and sentence will be carried out immediately," the figure said in a brusque female voice.
"Guilt?" the Warrior said, confused.
"High Priestess Ohila is dead," the figure responded.
Right, the Warrior thought, now we're getting somewhere.
Chapter 4
The trial had taken place without him, of course. The Warrior had been led back to the temple by the Sister-Soldiers and put in a cell – a bare stone alcove in what appeared to be another ceremonial cave, though this one was underground with the rest of the temple. Interlocking stalagmites and stalactites formed the cell's bars, melting away and regrowing in an instant whenever someone came in or went out. A frightened-looking Sister had entered the cell within a Karnian hour of his arrival, carrying a large white globe in her trembling hands. She released it but, instead of falling, it floated in place. The Sister, who had not yet met the prisoner's gaze, stole a quick glance at his face. As their eyes met, the Sister started and leapt back through the retreating bars as though his gaze had stung her. Nobody had said a word to him since he'd learnt of Ohila's fate and he'd asked no more questions.
A moment later, something started to form within the sphere still floating in the middle of the cell. The old man sat on the floor, cross-legged, in front of the globe. Inside it, the image of yet another ceremony cave bloomed, this one filled with people – hundreds of Sisters dressed in crimson robes and a variety of ornate and perfectly pointless headdresses.
Thin men in mustard-coloured tunics were dotted around the room, standing up while most of the women were sitting on rows of stone benches that took up half the room, the other half was taken up by a grand fire in front of a long, semicircular table, at which seven Sisters – wearing the most impracticably resplendent robes and headwear of all – sat facing the others. A gentle babbling swiftly hushed as the Sister seated in the middle of the long table rose to speak.
"The trial of the Time Lord sometimes known as The Doctor will come to order. The accused is watching proceedings through a viewing globe but, as an outsider, he is not required to provide testimony or offer defence. He stands accused of infiltrating the sacred temple of our Sisterhood, robe theft and the murder of a High Priestess."
The Warrior had seen and participated in enough trials to know when it was safe to nod off a bit, but he caught the important stuff. Ohila had been dosed with a simple poison which, ordinarily, wouldn't have affected a Sister. The elixir, derived from the Sacred Flame that the Sisterhood worship and that they are required to take regular doses of to maintain their immortality, fortifies their metabolism against toxins. However, Ohila had been reaching the end of her service so was given permission to cease her elixir dosage and resume aging. She had succumbed to the poison instantly.
The High Council – the seven women on the front table, none of whom looked a day over 25 by humanoid standards – had heard testimony from Derrin, the serving boy, who said he had taken tea to the ceremony cave and spoken to a stranger, who'd been left alone with the teapot before Ohila had arrived. The Doctor's guilt – they had records of his regeneration on Karn, so referred to him by his old title – was undeniable.
The man sighed as the sentencing began. How many times had he been sentenced to death? He must be pushing the five hundredth by now. As the pronouncements were being made, the Doctor began formulating an escape plan involving a Roathian puzzle cube and a packet of Quavers he'd found in his jacket pocket. Until he heard the sentence.
"…exiled from Karn."
Within three hours of being captured, the Warrior was once again making his way back to the TARDIS. Only this time in a convoy of three Sister-Soldiers riding large, six-legged insectoid creatures. One Sister led the way
while the others took up the rear, two fizzling Kharus arrows trained on his back in case he tried to run. He had heard nobody on Karn speak since the trial ended, when the same soldiers who had captured him had immediately appeared at the cell, bound his hands and marched him out. The one time he had spoken – to ask if he could ride too – he'd been ignored. He made the journey on foot.
When they reached the TARDIS, one of the Sister-Soldiers approached him with a knife, presumably to cut the bindings on his wrists. Before she could get near, the man made a swift, complicated movement with his hands and the ropes fell to the ground. He smirked and gave the Sister a brash, two-handed wave. His prowess at sleight of hand was made a little less impressive when the Warrior had to fumble awkwardly in his jacket pocket for his key before fading into the blue box's glowing innards.
The ship seemed to sigh around him as he strode across the threshold to the console. Moving from the dull, red skies of Karn to the gleaming white of the TARDIS interior's walls stung his eyes, but he ignored it. With practised hands, he manipulated the controls and dematerialised the TARDIS.
After a few seconds, the pilot slammed down a control whose name he'd forgotten, though he'd come to refer to it as "the handbrake". The TARDIS shuddered at being held still in the time vortex, buffeted by the past and future howling around it. An alarm sounded in the console room as one of the apocryphal thrusters failed.
"Look, old girl. We're not leaving just yet!" the pilot said, stubbing his finger repeatedly on the button that, he was fairly sure, would restart the thruster. "Someone went to a lot of effort to kill Ohila and frame me, only to let me go anyway. Something's going on and I need to find out what. Just hold it together while I make a tiny hop back!"
The alarm stopped and the thruster came back to life. The Warrior made an imperceptible adjustment to the vector tracker and gingerly lowered a large lever on the next panel. He didn't want to overshoot. The TARDIS grazed the time vortex lightly before returning to normal space on the surface Karn, precisely three hours earlier and some distance on the other side of the temple from where he'd landed before. The pilot checked the ship's location on the monitor and grinned smugly.