Prologue
“Have you never found beauty in chaos?”
Death had taken the Doctor, with very little choice on his half, to a bench up a hill outside the ballroom. They sat down, like newly-weds on a picnic, watching the ground swallow whole the crew of the Machiavelli. There were no birds tweeting in this late hour; the only harmonies they were treated to as they watched over the village were pure, unadulterated screams of terror.
“How could you find something like this beautiful?” retorted the Doctor.
“You enjoy chaos,” pointed out Death. “You enjoy challenging authority, toppling the most ordered of societies, abolishing the rules, running without direction.”
“In the name of freedom. So that people can walk freely and without fear on their own ground, not so that they get eaten up by it.”
“They’re not being consumed. They’re just being… purified.”
The Doctor felt sick.
“Oh yes, of course,” said Death. “They’re aliens, you’ve met them before, you know what they want. They just want to invade indiscriminately, turn people into robots, point guns, maybe even blow up the universe if they get a chance.”
“One or more of the above, yes.”
“Do you even know what the Cybermen want? Do you even know what they believe?”
The Doctor watched the last soldier being dragged below the mud, screaming some unknown woman’s name: Cordelia. A wife, daughter, mother, sister, friend. It hardly mattered now.
“To strip every person of their individuality,” said the Doctor. “To make them all uniformed.”
“To make them equal,” re-joined Death. “It perplexes me, Time Lord, how you make the argument from individuality. Do you know who else uses that argument? Those races who live in fear of others: who use their ‘uniqueness’ and ‘identity’ as an excuse to drive out the new and the alien, terrified of being ‘mongrelised’ or even converted. Then there are the privileged – those who believe they cannot be like other people because they are inherently better, superior, to what others will ever be.”
“Are you seriously telling me,” uttered the Doctor, “that the Cybermen are doing all of this in the name of justice?”
“The Cybermen believe in equality. They believe that all living organisms are fundamentally the same – everything in the universe will one day evolve, and the endpoint of that evolution will be eternal life as a Cyberman. No one is exempt. Live your life with riches or rags, the highest perfection remains the same at the end of it all.”
“Perfect?” spat the Doctor. “Are you out of your mind?”
“A life free not just from pain, but all those other cursed human tendencies. Imagine a universe without idleness, where each unit is self-motivated to work and contribute for the good of the society.”
“But no one gets any pleasure out of it!”
“No carnal pleasures, perhaps. No chemical reactions stimulating what you know as pleasure. But higher knowledge? Enlightenment? Intellectual stimulation? That will still exist plentifully.” Death crossed her legs, and closed her eyes, the spectacle below them finally over. “The Cybermen will use the authority of the Machiavelli and its upgraded crew to reach the very heart of the Empire. From there, they will begin by converting its leaders – the Emperor, the politicians, the civil servants, the businessmen, the law enforcement. From there, society will live according to Cyber-law: no discrimination will be made on account of class, colour, creed or any other aspect of ‘identity’; there will be no wars within the Empire; resources will be shared; and all knowledge will be also be shared, unbiased and uncensored.”
“Sounds like a great deal,” said the Doctor. “Not bad the price – just your soul,” he mocked. “That’s all they’re asking for in return.”
“They don’t plan to convert the whole Empire right away. That would be impractical. And they won’t need to – soon, those on other worlds will watch the Cybermen of the Capital, lives free of pain, suffering and other human concerns, and realise that conversion is the way forward. They will all have to give consent before being converted, but over millions of years they will – and the Cybermen will take their place as the destined rulers of the universe.”
“And to achieve that, they’ll have to stamp out any and all opposition.”
“Naturally.”
“Whatever happened to ‘no wars’?”
Death corrected herself. “There will be no wars among those who submit to the New World Order. And no one will refuse, if they have any sense.”
“Live under the Cybermen or become a Cyberman,” said the Doctor. “Yes, your idea of ‘consent’ perturbs me, Death, but do you know what perturbs me most of all? You.” Death turned to face the Doctor, allowing him a good look. “You seem like their number one supporter, and yet their end goal is to eliminate death itself from the universe. Surely that’ll leave you… well, hungry?”
“I am already hungry,” replied Death. “The Cybermen offered me a feast I could not refuse.”
“And what would that be?” scoffed the Doctor. “What in the universe could the Cybermen promise you?”
“The Doctor,” said Death. “Their end of the bargain is delivered today – the Cybermen have promised to give me you.”
Death had taken the Doctor, with very little choice on his half, to a bench up a hill outside the ballroom. They sat down, like newly-weds on a picnic, watching the ground swallow whole the crew of the Machiavelli. There were no birds tweeting in this late hour; the only harmonies they were treated to as they watched over the village were pure, unadulterated screams of terror.
“How could you find something like this beautiful?” retorted the Doctor.
“You enjoy chaos,” pointed out Death. “You enjoy challenging authority, toppling the most ordered of societies, abolishing the rules, running without direction.”
“In the name of freedom. So that people can walk freely and without fear on their own ground, not so that they get eaten up by it.”
“They’re not being consumed. They’re just being… purified.”
The Doctor felt sick.
“Oh yes, of course,” said Death. “They’re aliens, you’ve met them before, you know what they want. They just want to invade indiscriminately, turn people into robots, point guns, maybe even blow up the universe if they get a chance.”
“One or more of the above, yes.”
“Do you even know what the Cybermen want? Do you even know what they believe?”
The Doctor watched the last soldier being dragged below the mud, screaming some unknown woman’s name: Cordelia. A wife, daughter, mother, sister, friend. It hardly mattered now.
“To strip every person of their individuality,” said the Doctor. “To make them all uniformed.”
“To make them equal,” re-joined Death. “It perplexes me, Time Lord, how you make the argument from individuality. Do you know who else uses that argument? Those races who live in fear of others: who use their ‘uniqueness’ and ‘identity’ as an excuse to drive out the new and the alien, terrified of being ‘mongrelised’ or even converted. Then there are the privileged – those who believe they cannot be like other people because they are inherently better, superior, to what others will ever be.”
“Are you seriously telling me,” uttered the Doctor, “that the Cybermen are doing all of this in the name of justice?”
“The Cybermen believe in equality. They believe that all living organisms are fundamentally the same – everything in the universe will one day evolve, and the endpoint of that evolution will be eternal life as a Cyberman. No one is exempt. Live your life with riches or rags, the highest perfection remains the same at the end of it all.”
“Perfect?” spat the Doctor. “Are you out of your mind?”
“A life free not just from pain, but all those other cursed human tendencies. Imagine a universe without idleness, where each unit is self-motivated to work and contribute for the good of the society.”
“But no one gets any pleasure out of it!”
“No carnal pleasures, perhaps. No chemical reactions stimulating what you know as pleasure. But higher knowledge? Enlightenment? Intellectual stimulation? That will still exist plentifully.” Death crossed her legs, and closed her eyes, the spectacle below them finally over. “The Cybermen will use the authority of the Machiavelli and its upgraded crew to reach the very heart of the Empire. From there, they will begin by converting its leaders – the Emperor, the politicians, the civil servants, the businessmen, the law enforcement. From there, society will live according to Cyber-law: no discrimination will be made on account of class, colour, creed or any other aspect of ‘identity’; there will be no wars within the Empire; resources will be shared; and all knowledge will be also be shared, unbiased and uncensored.”
“Sounds like a great deal,” said the Doctor. “Not bad the price – just your soul,” he mocked. “That’s all they’re asking for in return.”
“They don’t plan to convert the whole Empire right away. That would be impractical. And they won’t need to – soon, those on other worlds will watch the Cybermen of the Capital, lives free of pain, suffering and other human concerns, and realise that conversion is the way forward. They will all have to give consent before being converted, but over millions of years they will – and the Cybermen will take their place as the destined rulers of the universe.”
“And to achieve that, they’ll have to stamp out any and all opposition.”
“Naturally.”
“Whatever happened to ‘no wars’?”
Death corrected herself. “There will be no wars among those who submit to the New World Order. And no one will refuse, if they have any sense.”
“Live under the Cybermen or become a Cyberman,” said the Doctor. “Yes, your idea of ‘consent’ perturbs me, Death, but do you know what perturbs me most of all? You.” Death turned to face the Doctor, allowing him a good look. “You seem like their number one supporter, and yet their end goal is to eliminate death itself from the universe. Surely that’ll leave you… well, hungry?”
“I am already hungry,” replied Death. “The Cybermen offered me a feast I could not refuse.”
“And what would that be?” scoffed the Doctor. “What in the universe could the Cybermen promise you?”
“The Doctor,” said Death. “Their end of the bargain is delivered today – the Cybermen have promised to give me you.”
The Eighth Doctor Adventures
Series 4 - Episode 12
Silver Shadows
Written by Zoe Lance and Janine Rivers
“Me?” the Doctor laughed mirthlessly. “Of course it was. Out of every single thing in the universe, down to microscopic levels, you chose me.”
“What else could I want?” whispered Death, as if she was telling a naughty secret.
“Somebody or something far less decrepit?” the Doctor snarked, crossing his arms and trying to mentally distance himself from the woman sitting besides him.
“Do you really have no idea why I want you, Time Lord?”
“I don’t,” The Doctor confessed with a mutter. “And frankly, I don’t want to find out.”
“You’re always running, Time Lord.” Death sighed as the Doctor stood up. “One day, you’ll fall and break both your legs, maybe even die. And I’ll be waiting for you. We will meet again, you know we will.”
The Doctor said nothing as he walked away. Death wasn’t going to give him information, but maybe there was something that could.
***
The Doctor walked slowly and deliberately towards the stage, an air of danger exuded from his powerful form. His eyes drifted towards the stage where the Cybermen stood, staring right back at him with their emotionless eyes. Cold, uncaring, emotionless. Their bodies glinted in their stagelight, their guns ready for any dissent.
“Doctor.” The Cyberman at the front uttered in a monotone voice.
“Am I? That’s nice.” the Doctor smiled darkly. He gestured at their surroundings, “A stage? A theatre? This isn’t exactly where Cybermen usually plague the universe from. What happened? Too old? Developed a taste for theatrics? We both know that happened a long time ago.”
“Your questions are irrelevant,” the same Cyberman stated emotionlessly. “Your anger is irrelevant. This is the natural order of fleeting lives. Conversion.”
“I should have seen this sooner.” the Doctor spat. “Why didn’t I see this sooner?”
“You grow old, Doctor,” the Cyberman taunted, goading the Doctor to make a rash decision, “Stale. Your body ages. The Cybermen do not suffer. We are beyond age, we are immortal. We are the superior race.”
“It’s not about superiority!” the Doctor growled. “Can’t you see that? The universe is for coexisting, not to destroy and rebuild to fit your own image. You don’t have the right!”
“We cure the infirm and the weak better than your namesake. We remove pain and fear and loss while you actively encourage it, you are not a healer, you contradict your primary function. We will purge the universe, we will make it better.”
“And what then? Hmm? What happens after you convert the population of the universe?” the Doctor chuckled when he noticed the Cybermen had fallen silent. “You don’t know, do you? That is exactly what will happen! You’re stunting emotional growth. You’ll be stuck! Happiness and loss are what make the world go around”
“Your opinion is irrelevant,” the Cybermen stated definitively. “The universe will be converted. They will become like us.”
“Is this what all this about? You’re using Death as a means to an end?”
“Incorrect.”
The Doctor frowned. His mind whirred, scrambling for other possibilities. The Cybermen were far from stupid, his many encounters with them had taught him that. They were obviously planning something.
“Surrender, Doctor,” the Cyberman boomed, raising his gun. “Surrender or be eliminated.”
“Oh, what’s brought this on?” the Doctor inquired curiously, his eyes flitting between the numerous metal monsters on stage. They all raised their guns simultaneously, undoubtedly aiming for him. “I thought we were just starting to get along.”
“This idle discussion will cease. The Cybermen are superior, that is the definitive fact.”
“Is it really?” the Doctor chuckled. “You’re pathetic, all of you. Experimenting on your own species wasn’t enough, you want to lobotomise the universe! Well, I’ll just have to stop you. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”
A Cyberman fired frm the gun a beam of concentrated energy that barely missed him. A warning shot.
“The statistical probability of you succeeding against the Cybermen is 0.1 per cent.”
“Like that’s ever stopped me before!” the Doctor exclaimed, sauntering out of the door. The Cybermen watched him leave, their guns poised. They didn’t fire. They wouldn’t fire. They wanted to convert him, like all the rest, even if it went against Death’s plans for him. The Doctor wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
***
“What else could I want?” whispered Death, as if she was telling a naughty secret.
“Somebody or something far less decrepit?” the Doctor snarked, crossing his arms and trying to mentally distance himself from the woman sitting besides him.
“Do you really have no idea why I want you, Time Lord?”
“I don’t,” The Doctor confessed with a mutter. “And frankly, I don’t want to find out.”
“You’re always running, Time Lord.” Death sighed as the Doctor stood up. “One day, you’ll fall and break both your legs, maybe even die. And I’ll be waiting for you. We will meet again, you know we will.”
The Doctor said nothing as he walked away. Death wasn’t going to give him information, but maybe there was something that could.
***
The Doctor walked slowly and deliberately towards the stage, an air of danger exuded from his powerful form. His eyes drifted towards the stage where the Cybermen stood, staring right back at him with their emotionless eyes. Cold, uncaring, emotionless. Their bodies glinted in their stagelight, their guns ready for any dissent.
“Doctor.” The Cyberman at the front uttered in a monotone voice.
“Am I? That’s nice.” the Doctor smiled darkly. He gestured at their surroundings, “A stage? A theatre? This isn’t exactly where Cybermen usually plague the universe from. What happened? Too old? Developed a taste for theatrics? We both know that happened a long time ago.”
“Your questions are irrelevant,” the same Cyberman stated emotionlessly. “Your anger is irrelevant. This is the natural order of fleeting lives. Conversion.”
“I should have seen this sooner.” the Doctor spat. “Why didn’t I see this sooner?”
“You grow old, Doctor,” the Cyberman taunted, goading the Doctor to make a rash decision, “Stale. Your body ages. The Cybermen do not suffer. We are beyond age, we are immortal. We are the superior race.”
“It’s not about superiority!” the Doctor growled. “Can’t you see that? The universe is for coexisting, not to destroy and rebuild to fit your own image. You don’t have the right!”
“We cure the infirm and the weak better than your namesake. We remove pain and fear and loss while you actively encourage it, you are not a healer, you contradict your primary function. We will purge the universe, we will make it better.”
“And what then? Hmm? What happens after you convert the population of the universe?” the Doctor chuckled when he noticed the Cybermen had fallen silent. “You don’t know, do you? That is exactly what will happen! You’re stunting emotional growth. You’ll be stuck! Happiness and loss are what make the world go around”
“Your opinion is irrelevant,” the Cybermen stated definitively. “The universe will be converted. They will become like us.”
“Is this what all this about? You’re using Death as a means to an end?”
“Incorrect.”
The Doctor frowned. His mind whirred, scrambling for other possibilities. The Cybermen were far from stupid, his many encounters with them had taught him that. They were obviously planning something.
“Surrender, Doctor,” the Cyberman boomed, raising his gun. “Surrender or be eliminated.”
“Oh, what’s brought this on?” the Doctor inquired curiously, his eyes flitting between the numerous metal monsters on stage. They all raised their guns simultaneously, undoubtedly aiming for him. “I thought we were just starting to get along.”
“This idle discussion will cease. The Cybermen are superior, that is the definitive fact.”
“Is it really?” the Doctor chuckled. “You’re pathetic, all of you. Experimenting on your own species wasn’t enough, you want to lobotomise the universe! Well, I’ll just have to stop you. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”
A Cyberman fired frm the gun a beam of concentrated energy that barely missed him. A warning shot.
“The statistical probability of you succeeding against the Cybermen is 0.1 per cent.”
“Like that’s ever stopped me before!” the Doctor exclaimed, sauntering out of the door. The Cybermen watched him leave, their guns poised. They didn’t fire. They wouldn’t fire. They wanted to convert him, like all the rest, even if it went against Death’s plans for him. The Doctor wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
***
The town looked more ravaged and desolate than it had when the Doctor had first arrived. He stared morosely at the apocalyptic environment. A few screams punctured the air, a constant reminder of all the people the Doctor had failed to save. He knew it wasn’t real, of course; almost all of the soldiers had already been dragged into the mud. It was his mind stubbornly refusing to let him forget his own mistake.
The little hut opposite the grand theatre had caved in, the roof smashed into rubble at his feet, but the office building stood tall and proud, the moonlight glinting off its stained and dirty windows. He continued walking, examining every aspect, searching for a clue to aid him against the Cybermen, The picturesque little village had been demonised. The row of multicoloured houses they had passed mere hours ago had been reduced to rubble. The stench of death hung thickly in the air, no matter how far the Doctor walked. Holes and dirt mounds lay bare in the ground. Splashes of blood.and torn human ligaments were splayed haphazardly around them. They had clearly resisted the process, They had fought a losing battle.
The Doctor kept walking. His footsteps echoed around him, a soothing sound when compared to the howls of terror, The wind ruffled his hair. It was starting to get cold. The Doctor hardly felt it, mainly because he was wrapped up in his thoughts. The Cybermen had manipulated the population into doing their bidding, rewarding them with conversion. They had played the long game, waiting for Death, waiting for him.
His thoughts whirred as he continued walking down the beaten path. The metal monstrosities had bargained with Death herself. They had created the ultimate scheme to catch his attention. They knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of meeting Death itself. He hadn’t seen the signs until it was too late.
Things always seemed to rest on the Doctor’s shoulders these days, While the Time Lords were busy with preparations for war, they had neglected the universe, allowing it to crumble slowly. He was shook out of his thoughts by a blood-curdling scream. The Doctor paused and spun on the spot, trying to locate the source. When he couldn’t see anything, he walked a little further, passed the office block and froze.
A Kuthari woman was struggling with the contraption wrapped securely around her neck, her pale topaz skin glinting in the moonlight. What was her name again? Azar? The Doctor couldn’t remember anymore. How did she get there? Wasn’t she with the rest of the crew? Weren’t all the crew members converted long ago? He supposed it didn’t matter. He stepped forward and sat down on the soil, crossing his legs.
The Kuthari looked at him, a range of emotions warring in her eyes, battling for dominance. “It’s you,” she gasped, her voice choked. The Doctor could see she had to physically struggle to verbalise her words. “You’re the one who helped me.”
“Yes, I am,” the Doctor confirmed. “I’m the Doctor, do you remember?”
“Yes...you were here, with the mask,” she realised. “You...you walked with us, and Death. Oh, Karisa, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be stuck with her.”
“You don’t know that,” the Doctor pointed out.
“She’s proved it to us already, there’s no denying it anymore,” the woman whispered, tears pouring down her face. “I’ll be stuck with her for eternity. Can’t you help me?”
The Doctor scanned the contraption around her neck with the sonic and examined the results. “I’m afraid not.” he replied, his lips pursed in despair. “There’s really not anything I can do, this circuitry, it’s advanced, they’ve put a deadlock seal on it. Nothing I can do.”
“You have to try something!”
“Trying in vain? Why waste time when you can spend your last moments with a friendly face?” the Doctor asked, smiling charmingly to alleviate the Kuthari’s fear. “Think about it, you’d be reunited with your race, your family, in their original form. No illness. No sickness, you’d be together without the threat of the Kryonoid hanging over you.”
“But she’d still be there.”
“See, I don’t think she will,” he lied. He regretted it slightly, but if it helped to comfort a dying woman, he would lie without hesitation. “I think she’s an agent of the Cyberman.”
“D-do you think so?” she asked hopefully, her eyes shimmering slightly.
The Doctor nodded. “Yeah! It’s all a bit convenient, don’t you think? The Cybermen would never work with the actual Death, because Death does not exist.”
“But in the Church-”
“A simple ruse to glean information,” the Doctor countered. “I think you’re going to be fine.”
The Kuthari woman’s shoulders sagged at that. It was decidedly easy, manipulating her views so she could die without fear resting on her shoulders. He would be damned to eternal Hell, of course, but he had granted the woman a painless death. He watched sadly as she was dragged into the soil before his eyes. One by one, the rest of the crew had fallen like dominoes, and she was the final piece. Now, the only thing that greeted in the smelly village was silence.
He sat silently, unsure of what to do with himself. Death was toying with him, that was certified. It made him angry, the way she strung him along as if he was a puppet. She dictated his every action without stopping to think about whether he would appreciate the gesture or not, because as much as the universe liked to believe, it didn’t have as much free will as it wished it did. There was always someone there, coddling them, steering away from things that were deemed inappropriate.
***
A muddy passage, just outside the graveyard, took the Doctor down, beneath the ground, and into a cavern. The Doctor struggled to tell nature from design – the place was enclosed by a rough formation of rocks, and stalactites hung over a small body of water just to the side.
Up on a raised area, however, a control unit was fixed into the rocks, a metallic board of switches and screens jutting out of the cave’s edge.
Ahead of him, there was an area even further raised, and in that one area the edge of the cavern was set back. He could only describe it as a stage: an exact mirror, in fact, of the stage in the theatre, but also a diametric opposite. It was the same stage with the same measurements, but on the other side of the room; it had a brown floor, but of a different stage; and where the stage in the theatre ended at the wall, this one seemed go on backwards forever, into a luring and infinite expanse of darkness. A Cyberman stepped out of it, and onto the stage.
“We were informed by Death of your opposition.”
“Oh, come on. Did you really expect me to go along with it?”
“We calculated low probability, and when our calculations were shown to be accurate, requested for Death to bring you to us.”
“Nice one, Death,” said the Doctor, and winked at his companion. “You did such a good job I didn’t even realise you were trying. Really made me believe I’d found this secret entrance on my own.”
“Attempting to stop the Cybermen’s plan is futile,” said the Cyberman, caring not for the details of the Doctor’s arrival. “You possess no means of stopping it.”
“But why?” pleaded the Doctor, and sat himself down on the edge of the control deck. “Why are you so hell-bent on taking over an Empire which, all due respects, has nothing whatsoever to do with you?”“The Cybermen are the destined leaders of the universe,” it replied monotonously.
“Oh, of course,” cried the Doctor, sarcastically. “I mean, you should have just said, destiny! That’s the oldest justification there is, isn’t there? Purpose, inevitability, the Aristotelian movement of all things towards a final cause. But let me ask you this, Cybermen. Do you even know what destiny is? What it means? Because I do. I’ve seen it written.”“Destiny is the intended endpoint of all things.”
“Intended, right.” The Doctor nodded. “And just who intended it, hmm?”The Cyberman was silent.
“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” The Doctor laughed mockingly. “I know a man who writes destiny. Calls himself God. He can make anything he likes out of the universe and I can’t stop him. You’re right, of course you are… he probably designed all of this, picked you as the leaders of the universe. But oh, hang on a minute!” He stood up suddenly and pointed up at the Cyberman. “I didn’t know you followed God! You do what a higher power tells you, without questioning it?”
“The Cybermen are the highest power!”
“Are they?” exclaimed the Doctor. “So what you’re saying is, there is no higher power above the Cybermen to design the perfect end to the universe?”“There is no higher power.”
“In which case,” the Doctor followed, “your ‘destiny’ is just blind chance. You’ve looked into the future, maybe, seen yourself as the rulers of the universe. But if there’s no higher power to say why that is, is there even a reason? It’s just chance! You think you’ve found a purpose as rulers of the universe, so you follow that purpose, you become the rulers of the universe, and it’s becoming that that motivates you in the first place!” He clenched his fists. “Can’t you see? That your supposed ‘logic’ is circular? That your actions have no ethical meaning, that your take on the universe is just as subjective as anybody else’s?”
“If there are no absolute rules to follow within the universe,” replied the Cyberman, “it is logical to follow what we can perceive. If chance orders the universe, then chance is the destiny of all living things. Restrain him!”
The Doctor turned as a Cyberman crept up behind him, and threw it unexpectedly over the edge. It fell into the water, machinery hissing and crackling. It stopped still and floated.
Other Cybermen were beginning to move in on him now, arms outstretched, emotionless brains evaluating him through dark and endless eye sockets .
“Then if you’re going back to your basic instincts, so am I!” The Doctor launched himself past the first Cyberman, and slid underneath the second. “If you’re going to allow destiny to govern your lives, I must do what I always have – fight it!” He turned back as he saw the Cybermen gaining on him. “Death, you were right,” he called. “I do love chaos. Are you ready to see some?”He used his last moment to pull out the sonic screwdriver, frying the circuits of the Cybermen’s control panel. He did not know how effective his attempt was; within seconds, he was unconscious.
***
The Doctor woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around him.
He thought he was in the same place, but something had changed. The cavern had shifted. He had become taller. There was-
Ah.
He reached the edge, and before he was about to fall, realised. He had been carried onto the stage. Turning around, he noticed that the tunnel he had seen behind the Cyberman was not there for him; and below him, he noticed quite how elevated the Cyberman had really been.
Where he had stood, next to the control panel – which appeared undamaged – two people, soldiers, were strapped into apparatuses. The apparatuses were conversion equipment, but they were still. The people were asleep: a young man and an older woman, probably having some blissful dream of life with their now-converted crewmates.
The Doctor frowned.
“The Cybermen are leaving, now.”
He looked in the other direction and saw Death, in the same place she had stood before.
“They’re packing into the Machiavelli,” she continued, “and upgrading the last few here while they’re travelling. They don’t like to waste time. By the time you leave this planet, I suspect the Emperor will already have been converted.”
“I’m leaving,” said the Doctor, finding the positives. “How generous of you.”
“I’m not allowed to kill you,” complained Death. “I’m not allowed to kill anyone – it’s against the rules. But your time on this planet is up, now. Part of my arrangement with the Cybermen was that they’d keep you intact, protect you from the automatic conversion mechanisms of the planet. Unfortunately, the terms of the contract were only temporary. The stage you’re standing on is the only place you’re safe – if you step a foot off, you’ll be converted. But don’t worry,” she said almost kindly. “I’ll get you home safely.”“I’m very confused right now, Death.”
“I imagined you would be,” laughed Death. “So let me add the footnote: you’re not going to leave this planet until you’ve made a choice.” She gestured to the two people strapped in apparatuses, and the Doctor instantly understood, in horror, why they were here. “This man is Hank,” she said, pointing to the young man. “Twenty years old, military strategist. He’ll return from this to have a quiet life – he’ll do a few more years in the military, spend some time in the police force, and retire to a considerable pension. He won’t have a family, of any description, and doesn’t have one now.”
She moved along to introduce the woman. “This woman is Penelope,” she said. “She’s fifty years old. She has a daughter the same age as Hank. She’s married, and took this job offer to help fund her education. Her lifespan isn’t all that impressive – she’ll die of a degenerative illness in twenty years’ time.”
“I want you to choose,” she said, stepping back. “The Cybermen are running out of power. There is only room for one more conversion on this planet – it’ll be one of them. You can’t stop it. But you can choose which one gets to escape.”
“You mean I can chose which one is converted, which one dies!” cried the Doctor. “You can’t! Save them both!”
The Doctor already knew what to expect from Death – an I Can’t, an I’m Not Allowed, or a That’s Not In The Rules. He was wrong: Death stared up at him coldly and uttered only one word.
“No.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“Have you any idea of what it’s like?” started Death. “No…” her voice trailed off. “Of course you don’t. People live, I feel them aging, they die, I claim them. It’s a meal, it’s satisfying.” She detected his scowl. “And don’t look at me like that, it’s how I live and you should respect it. And you are the problem. Every time I think you’re getting close to death, Time Lord, you cheat: you regenerate, start anew. You have lived a life full of death, full of anger and regret, and I am hungry for it. But the rules of your species forbid me from being able to touch you. I am starving, longing for your soul at every moment of my existence.”
“I don’t envy your boyfriends,” joked the Doctor.
“You jest. Of course you do. You’re immortal – you can do that. So this was my arrangement with the Cybermen.” She looked around. “I orchestrated the whole thing, by the way. I told one of the crewmembers that if they were able to convince Mitzch to choose this planet as their next mystery, I would tell them when and how they would die. Suffocation,” she muttered. “Poor thing.” She carried on. “That was my end of the bargain – I brought the Machiavelli to the Cybermen. In return, they would keep you intact, emotions and all, and allow me to use their world as I desired. This was the one thing that tempted me, Time Lord – if I have to wait thirteen lives before I can claim you, I need my fulfilment somehow.”
The Doctor observed his predicament. “What you mean,” he said, “is that if you can’t win me, you can at least watch me lose?”
“Exactly. Look at these two people, Doctor.” She gestured back to Hank and Penelope. “Hank has another seventy years left to live, Penelope has another twenty. Hank will save a number of lives in the police-force. He’ll do everything that’s asked of him for the rest of his life. Then again… Hank will take lives in the army. He’ll never have any children, and no one at home will miss him. Would you want Penelope’s daughter to spend the rest of her life grieving, would you want her husband to nearly be driven to suicide, her mother to know that she has lost the most precious thing in the world? But oh.” She pretended to look shocked. “Little do you know that Penelope supports, albeit quietly, an extremist right-wing party. Not that her vote will ever make a difference. So does it matter?”
“Everything matters,” said the Doctor. His voice was becoming brittle, now. He was trapped. Death smiled.
“If you’re making the calculation based on the impact they’ll have, then it’s no contest. Many people will miss Penelope. But if you’re just measuring the consequences on others, are you really valuing them as people at all, or just their utility? Hmm.” Death shivered. “I do love a philosophical debate, don’t you?”
“It’s impossible!” shouted the Doctor. “You cannot make a calculation like that! Lives are too complex, too-“
“Exactly!” agreed Death. “You don’t know any one person. Yet you are determined to go around the universe pretending you do. Pretending that you know what’s right and what’s wrong, that you know who is important and who isn’t, who is worth saving, who should be condemned. How far do you really consider people? Individuals? The whole universe might as well be made up of Cybermen – it would make your job easier.”
The Doctor did not give Death the satisfaction of a response. Death, in turn, checked her watch.
“Tick tock, Time Lord. You’ve committed now, you’ve committed to saving people, you can’t back out now.”
The little hut opposite the grand theatre had caved in, the roof smashed into rubble at his feet, but the office building stood tall and proud, the moonlight glinting off its stained and dirty windows. He continued walking, examining every aspect, searching for a clue to aid him against the Cybermen, The picturesque little village had been demonised. The row of multicoloured houses they had passed mere hours ago had been reduced to rubble. The stench of death hung thickly in the air, no matter how far the Doctor walked. Holes and dirt mounds lay bare in the ground. Splashes of blood.and torn human ligaments were splayed haphazardly around them. They had clearly resisted the process, They had fought a losing battle.
The Doctor kept walking. His footsteps echoed around him, a soothing sound when compared to the howls of terror, The wind ruffled his hair. It was starting to get cold. The Doctor hardly felt it, mainly because he was wrapped up in his thoughts. The Cybermen had manipulated the population into doing their bidding, rewarding them with conversion. They had played the long game, waiting for Death, waiting for him.
His thoughts whirred as he continued walking down the beaten path. The metal monstrosities had bargained with Death herself. They had created the ultimate scheme to catch his attention. They knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of meeting Death itself. He hadn’t seen the signs until it was too late.
Things always seemed to rest on the Doctor’s shoulders these days, While the Time Lords were busy with preparations for war, they had neglected the universe, allowing it to crumble slowly. He was shook out of his thoughts by a blood-curdling scream. The Doctor paused and spun on the spot, trying to locate the source. When he couldn’t see anything, he walked a little further, passed the office block and froze.
A Kuthari woman was struggling with the contraption wrapped securely around her neck, her pale topaz skin glinting in the moonlight. What was her name again? Azar? The Doctor couldn’t remember anymore. How did she get there? Wasn’t she with the rest of the crew? Weren’t all the crew members converted long ago? He supposed it didn’t matter. He stepped forward and sat down on the soil, crossing his legs.
The Kuthari looked at him, a range of emotions warring in her eyes, battling for dominance. “It’s you,” she gasped, her voice choked. The Doctor could see she had to physically struggle to verbalise her words. “You’re the one who helped me.”
“Yes, I am,” the Doctor confirmed. “I’m the Doctor, do you remember?”
“Yes...you were here, with the mask,” she realised. “You...you walked with us, and Death. Oh, Karisa, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be stuck with her.”
“You don’t know that,” the Doctor pointed out.
“She’s proved it to us already, there’s no denying it anymore,” the woman whispered, tears pouring down her face. “I’ll be stuck with her for eternity. Can’t you help me?”
The Doctor scanned the contraption around her neck with the sonic and examined the results. “I’m afraid not.” he replied, his lips pursed in despair. “There’s really not anything I can do, this circuitry, it’s advanced, they’ve put a deadlock seal on it. Nothing I can do.”
“You have to try something!”
“Trying in vain? Why waste time when you can spend your last moments with a friendly face?” the Doctor asked, smiling charmingly to alleviate the Kuthari’s fear. “Think about it, you’d be reunited with your race, your family, in their original form. No illness. No sickness, you’d be together without the threat of the Kryonoid hanging over you.”
“But she’d still be there.”
“See, I don’t think she will,” he lied. He regretted it slightly, but if it helped to comfort a dying woman, he would lie without hesitation. “I think she’s an agent of the Cyberman.”
“D-do you think so?” she asked hopefully, her eyes shimmering slightly.
The Doctor nodded. “Yeah! It’s all a bit convenient, don’t you think? The Cybermen would never work with the actual Death, because Death does not exist.”
“But in the Church-”
“A simple ruse to glean information,” the Doctor countered. “I think you’re going to be fine.”
The Kuthari woman’s shoulders sagged at that. It was decidedly easy, manipulating her views so she could die without fear resting on her shoulders. He would be damned to eternal Hell, of course, but he had granted the woman a painless death. He watched sadly as she was dragged into the soil before his eyes. One by one, the rest of the crew had fallen like dominoes, and she was the final piece. Now, the only thing that greeted in the smelly village was silence.
He sat silently, unsure of what to do with himself. Death was toying with him, that was certified. It made him angry, the way she strung him along as if he was a puppet. She dictated his every action without stopping to think about whether he would appreciate the gesture or not, because as much as the universe liked to believe, it didn’t have as much free will as it wished it did. There was always someone there, coddling them, steering away from things that were deemed inappropriate.
***
A muddy passage, just outside the graveyard, took the Doctor down, beneath the ground, and into a cavern. The Doctor struggled to tell nature from design – the place was enclosed by a rough formation of rocks, and stalactites hung over a small body of water just to the side.
Up on a raised area, however, a control unit was fixed into the rocks, a metallic board of switches and screens jutting out of the cave’s edge.
Ahead of him, there was an area even further raised, and in that one area the edge of the cavern was set back. He could only describe it as a stage: an exact mirror, in fact, of the stage in the theatre, but also a diametric opposite. It was the same stage with the same measurements, but on the other side of the room; it had a brown floor, but of a different stage; and where the stage in the theatre ended at the wall, this one seemed go on backwards forever, into a luring and infinite expanse of darkness. A Cyberman stepped out of it, and onto the stage.
“We were informed by Death of your opposition.”
“Oh, come on. Did you really expect me to go along with it?”
“We calculated low probability, and when our calculations were shown to be accurate, requested for Death to bring you to us.”
“Nice one, Death,” said the Doctor, and winked at his companion. “You did such a good job I didn’t even realise you were trying. Really made me believe I’d found this secret entrance on my own.”
“Attempting to stop the Cybermen’s plan is futile,” said the Cyberman, caring not for the details of the Doctor’s arrival. “You possess no means of stopping it.”
“But why?” pleaded the Doctor, and sat himself down on the edge of the control deck. “Why are you so hell-bent on taking over an Empire which, all due respects, has nothing whatsoever to do with you?”“The Cybermen are the destined leaders of the universe,” it replied monotonously.
“Oh, of course,” cried the Doctor, sarcastically. “I mean, you should have just said, destiny! That’s the oldest justification there is, isn’t there? Purpose, inevitability, the Aristotelian movement of all things towards a final cause. But let me ask you this, Cybermen. Do you even know what destiny is? What it means? Because I do. I’ve seen it written.”“Destiny is the intended endpoint of all things.”
“Intended, right.” The Doctor nodded. “And just who intended it, hmm?”The Cyberman was silent.
“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” The Doctor laughed mockingly. “I know a man who writes destiny. Calls himself God. He can make anything he likes out of the universe and I can’t stop him. You’re right, of course you are… he probably designed all of this, picked you as the leaders of the universe. But oh, hang on a minute!” He stood up suddenly and pointed up at the Cyberman. “I didn’t know you followed God! You do what a higher power tells you, without questioning it?”
“The Cybermen are the highest power!”
“Are they?” exclaimed the Doctor. “So what you’re saying is, there is no higher power above the Cybermen to design the perfect end to the universe?”“There is no higher power.”
“In which case,” the Doctor followed, “your ‘destiny’ is just blind chance. You’ve looked into the future, maybe, seen yourself as the rulers of the universe. But if there’s no higher power to say why that is, is there even a reason? It’s just chance! You think you’ve found a purpose as rulers of the universe, so you follow that purpose, you become the rulers of the universe, and it’s becoming that that motivates you in the first place!” He clenched his fists. “Can’t you see? That your supposed ‘logic’ is circular? That your actions have no ethical meaning, that your take on the universe is just as subjective as anybody else’s?”
“If there are no absolute rules to follow within the universe,” replied the Cyberman, “it is logical to follow what we can perceive. If chance orders the universe, then chance is the destiny of all living things. Restrain him!”
The Doctor turned as a Cyberman crept up behind him, and threw it unexpectedly over the edge. It fell into the water, machinery hissing and crackling. It stopped still and floated.
Other Cybermen were beginning to move in on him now, arms outstretched, emotionless brains evaluating him through dark and endless eye sockets .
“Then if you’re going back to your basic instincts, so am I!” The Doctor launched himself past the first Cyberman, and slid underneath the second. “If you’re going to allow destiny to govern your lives, I must do what I always have – fight it!” He turned back as he saw the Cybermen gaining on him. “Death, you were right,” he called. “I do love chaos. Are you ready to see some?”He used his last moment to pull out the sonic screwdriver, frying the circuits of the Cybermen’s control panel. He did not know how effective his attempt was; within seconds, he was unconscious.
***
The Doctor woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around him.
He thought he was in the same place, but something had changed. The cavern had shifted. He had become taller. There was-
Ah.
He reached the edge, and before he was about to fall, realised. He had been carried onto the stage. Turning around, he noticed that the tunnel he had seen behind the Cyberman was not there for him; and below him, he noticed quite how elevated the Cyberman had really been.
Where he had stood, next to the control panel – which appeared undamaged – two people, soldiers, were strapped into apparatuses. The apparatuses were conversion equipment, but they were still. The people were asleep: a young man and an older woman, probably having some blissful dream of life with their now-converted crewmates.
The Doctor frowned.
“The Cybermen are leaving, now.”
He looked in the other direction and saw Death, in the same place she had stood before.
“They’re packing into the Machiavelli,” she continued, “and upgrading the last few here while they’re travelling. They don’t like to waste time. By the time you leave this planet, I suspect the Emperor will already have been converted.”
“I’m leaving,” said the Doctor, finding the positives. “How generous of you.”
“I’m not allowed to kill you,” complained Death. “I’m not allowed to kill anyone – it’s against the rules. But your time on this planet is up, now. Part of my arrangement with the Cybermen was that they’d keep you intact, protect you from the automatic conversion mechanisms of the planet. Unfortunately, the terms of the contract were only temporary. The stage you’re standing on is the only place you’re safe – if you step a foot off, you’ll be converted. But don’t worry,” she said almost kindly. “I’ll get you home safely.”“I’m very confused right now, Death.”
“I imagined you would be,” laughed Death. “So let me add the footnote: you’re not going to leave this planet until you’ve made a choice.” She gestured to the two people strapped in apparatuses, and the Doctor instantly understood, in horror, why they were here. “This man is Hank,” she said, pointing to the young man. “Twenty years old, military strategist. He’ll return from this to have a quiet life – he’ll do a few more years in the military, spend some time in the police force, and retire to a considerable pension. He won’t have a family, of any description, and doesn’t have one now.”
She moved along to introduce the woman. “This woman is Penelope,” she said. “She’s fifty years old. She has a daughter the same age as Hank. She’s married, and took this job offer to help fund her education. Her lifespan isn’t all that impressive – she’ll die of a degenerative illness in twenty years’ time.”
“I want you to choose,” she said, stepping back. “The Cybermen are running out of power. There is only room for one more conversion on this planet – it’ll be one of them. You can’t stop it. But you can choose which one gets to escape.”
“You mean I can chose which one is converted, which one dies!” cried the Doctor. “You can’t! Save them both!”
The Doctor already knew what to expect from Death – an I Can’t, an I’m Not Allowed, or a That’s Not In The Rules. He was wrong: Death stared up at him coldly and uttered only one word.
“No.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“Have you any idea of what it’s like?” started Death. “No…” her voice trailed off. “Of course you don’t. People live, I feel them aging, they die, I claim them. It’s a meal, it’s satisfying.” She detected his scowl. “And don’t look at me like that, it’s how I live and you should respect it. And you are the problem. Every time I think you’re getting close to death, Time Lord, you cheat: you regenerate, start anew. You have lived a life full of death, full of anger and regret, and I am hungry for it. But the rules of your species forbid me from being able to touch you. I am starving, longing for your soul at every moment of my existence.”
“I don’t envy your boyfriends,” joked the Doctor.
“You jest. Of course you do. You’re immortal – you can do that. So this was my arrangement with the Cybermen.” She looked around. “I orchestrated the whole thing, by the way. I told one of the crewmembers that if they were able to convince Mitzch to choose this planet as their next mystery, I would tell them when and how they would die. Suffocation,” she muttered. “Poor thing.” She carried on. “That was my end of the bargain – I brought the Machiavelli to the Cybermen. In return, they would keep you intact, emotions and all, and allow me to use their world as I desired. This was the one thing that tempted me, Time Lord – if I have to wait thirteen lives before I can claim you, I need my fulfilment somehow.”
The Doctor observed his predicament. “What you mean,” he said, “is that if you can’t win me, you can at least watch me lose?”
“Exactly. Look at these two people, Doctor.” She gestured back to Hank and Penelope. “Hank has another seventy years left to live, Penelope has another twenty. Hank will save a number of lives in the police-force. He’ll do everything that’s asked of him for the rest of his life. Then again… Hank will take lives in the army. He’ll never have any children, and no one at home will miss him. Would you want Penelope’s daughter to spend the rest of her life grieving, would you want her husband to nearly be driven to suicide, her mother to know that she has lost the most precious thing in the world? But oh.” She pretended to look shocked. “Little do you know that Penelope supports, albeit quietly, an extremist right-wing party. Not that her vote will ever make a difference. So does it matter?”
“Everything matters,” said the Doctor. His voice was becoming brittle, now. He was trapped. Death smiled.
“If you’re making the calculation based on the impact they’ll have, then it’s no contest. Many people will miss Penelope. But if you’re just measuring the consequences on others, are you really valuing them as people at all, or just their utility? Hmm.” Death shivered. “I do love a philosophical debate, don’t you?”
“It’s impossible!” shouted the Doctor. “You cannot make a calculation like that! Lives are too complex, too-“
“Exactly!” agreed Death. “You don’t know any one person. Yet you are determined to go around the universe pretending you do. Pretending that you know what’s right and what’s wrong, that you know who is important and who isn’t, who is worth saving, who should be condemned. How far do you really consider people? Individuals? The whole universe might as well be made up of Cybermen – it would make your job easier.”
The Doctor did not give Death the satisfaction of a response. Death, in turn, checked her watch.
“Tick tock, Time Lord. You’ve committed now, you’ve committed to saving people, you can’t back out now.”
“I can abstain from making a decision,” tried the Doctor. “Leave it all to chance.”
“No you can’t. Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll redefine the problem. If you raise your hand within the next two minutes, I will save Hank. If you do not raise your hand, I will save Penelope.” She smirked. “There. Don’t tell me you’re not involved now.”
“Two minutes is no time to make a decision on this scale!”
“It’s never stopped you before!” Death was screaming, now, but loving every second of the Doctor’s torture. “All those lives you’ve allowed me to take so that you could have the rest. All the new lives you’ve created, just for me. That whole universe – very impressive work, by the way. They were… delicious.” She licked her lips, and the Doctor felt sick.
Then it occurred to him. He laughed, a laugh crueller and more knowing than one he had ever heard from himself before, or even from his enemies.
“What is it?” asked Death. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The Doctor ignored her and carried on, then stopped suddenly.
“You told me your end of the bargain,” began the Doctor, quietly and meticulously. “You said if you couldn’t win me, you’d watch me lose.”
“Yes.”
“You made a mistake.” He took a step forward, and then another. “I never lose.” He took a final step, throwing himself off the edge of the stage and into the pool.
He heard the splash of water, the crash of rocks, and something else: a shrill, furious, terrified scream from behind him. He felt himself hit the bottom, and he felt something else pulling him further; something hard and metallic, wrapping around his legs. He felt something else, enclosing around his head, turning everything dark and hard and uncomfortable…
***
When the Doctor came around this time, he was again raised above Death, but on the lowest level of the cavern. He stood above her because she was as low as it was possible to be: because she was lying on the floor, still, silent, and – if such a thing were possible – dead.
“Well done.”
The Doctor shuddered. When he turned around, he saw a man emerge from the shadows, and recognised him straight away. He seemed to not just recognise him from their previous encounter, but from within, as if he knew him before he even knew how to know.
“Really,” said God. “Well done.”
“I was just saving those two people,” lied the Doctor. “There was only power left for one more conversion, and if I was converted, they would both have been safe.”
“Liar,” retorted God. The Doctor remembered his omniscience. “In stepping off the edge and surrendering yourself to the Cybermen, you did the one thing Death could never let you do – you would have been converted, made effectively immortal, and she would not have been able to claim you for the rest of time. As a result, she had to shut down all the planet’s mechanisms. Which meant neither you nor Hank nor Penelope became victims of the Cybermen.”
“And that…” the Doctor looked uneasily at Death’s body, her lips still red with life-blood. “…killed her?”
“Her purpose,” explained God, “was to test you. Once she had satisfied that purpose, she had no use.”
“Oh, of course.” The Doctor sighed and leant against the rocks. “You created Death.”
“You know,” began God, “I’ve been on your tail for quite some time – and you’ve missed me, again.”
“So the Second Meaning was you too?” asked the Doctor, disapprovingly. “Giving me a guilt complex, offering up moral critiques at every turn?”
“I didn’t need the Second Meaning for that. I just sat back and watched as Tommy did it all instead.”
“You didn’t…”
“Ask Tommy?” God chuckled. “Heavens, no. That boy would no sooner listen to a word out of my mouth than offer himself for Cyber-conversion.”
The Doctor smiled to himself. At least I know someone who will always do what he knows is right.
“And the GENIE box?” tried God. “Did you think that just happened?”
Yes, thought the Doctor, guiltily. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it.
“Basic temporal manipulation,” God elaborated. “You state your wish, and the box is able to alter the timelines until the circumstances for that event are made possible. Robin wished you to be reunited with Autumn Rivers, the box ensured she was reincarnated into a form you’d come upon in your life. It’s a simple principle, and I put it in place to demonstrate my commitment to free will.”
The Doctor was about to laugh, but remembered the train of thought he had been on.
“Why?” he asked. “Simply, why? Why do all of this? What do you want with me?”
God walked over the control panel and hit one button. All the lights in the cave went off, and the Doctor’s TARDIS appeared in the centre of the room, the light on top glowing just a little too bright. God wandered back over to it and pushed the door open seamlessly.
“Because, Doctor, there were things I didn’t tell you the last time we met – things I couldn’t tell you.” He took off his hat and threw it on the hat-stand. The Doctor was not even aware he had a hat-stand – in fact, he was positively sure he hadn’t until it appeared that very second.
“I’ve been testing you for a long time, and you passed my test. So then, ‘Time Lord’. Do you think you’re ready to know the truth?”
“No you can’t. Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll redefine the problem. If you raise your hand within the next two minutes, I will save Hank. If you do not raise your hand, I will save Penelope.” She smirked. “There. Don’t tell me you’re not involved now.”
“Two minutes is no time to make a decision on this scale!”
“It’s never stopped you before!” Death was screaming, now, but loving every second of the Doctor’s torture. “All those lives you’ve allowed me to take so that you could have the rest. All the new lives you’ve created, just for me. That whole universe – very impressive work, by the way. They were… delicious.” She licked her lips, and the Doctor felt sick.
Then it occurred to him. He laughed, a laugh crueller and more knowing than one he had ever heard from himself before, or even from his enemies.
“What is it?” asked Death. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The Doctor ignored her and carried on, then stopped suddenly.
“You told me your end of the bargain,” began the Doctor, quietly and meticulously. “You said if you couldn’t win me, you’d watch me lose.”
“Yes.”
“You made a mistake.” He took a step forward, and then another. “I never lose.” He took a final step, throwing himself off the edge of the stage and into the pool.
He heard the splash of water, the crash of rocks, and something else: a shrill, furious, terrified scream from behind him. He felt himself hit the bottom, and he felt something else pulling him further; something hard and metallic, wrapping around his legs. He felt something else, enclosing around his head, turning everything dark and hard and uncomfortable…
***
When the Doctor came around this time, he was again raised above Death, but on the lowest level of the cavern. He stood above her because she was as low as it was possible to be: because she was lying on the floor, still, silent, and – if such a thing were possible – dead.
“Well done.”
The Doctor shuddered. When he turned around, he saw a man emerge from the shadows, and recognised him straight away. He seemed to not just recognise him from their previous encounter, but from within, as if he knew him before he even knew how to know.
“Really,” said God. “Well done.”
“I was just saving those two people,” lied the Doctor. “There was only power left for one more conversion, and if I was converted, they would both have been safe.”
“Liar,” retorted God. The Doctor remembered his omniscience. “In stepping off the edge and surrendering yourself to the Cybermen, you did the one thing Death could never let you do – you would have been converted, made effectively immortal, and she would not have been able to claim you for the rest of time. As a result, she had to shut down all the planet’s mechanisms. Which meant neither you nor Hank nor Penelope became victims of the Cybermen.”
“And that…” the Doctor looked uneasily at Death’s body, her lips still red with life-blood. “…killed her?”
“Her purpose,” explained God, “was to test you. Once she had satisfied that purpose, she had no use.”
“Oh, of course.” The Doctor sighed and leant against the rocks. “You created Death.”
“You know,” began God, “I’ve been on your tail for quite some time – and you’ve missed me, again.”
“So the Second Meaning was you too?” asked the Doctor, disapprovingly. “Giving me a guilt complex, offering up moral critiques at every turn?”
“I didn’t need the Second Meaning for that. I just sat back and watched as Tommy did it all instead.”
“You didn’t…”
“Ask Tommy?” God chuckled. “Heavens, no. That boy would no sooner listen to a word out of my mouth than offer himself for Cyber-conversion.”
The Doctor smiled to himself. At least I know someone who will always do what he knows is right.
“And the GENIE box?” tried God. “Did you think that just happened?”
Yes, thought the Doctor, guiltily. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it.
“Basic temporal manipulation,” God elaborated. “You state your wish, and the box is able to alter the timelines until the circumstances for that event are made possible. Robin wished you to be reunited with Autumn Rivers, the box ensured she was reincarnated into a form you’d come upon in your life. It’s a simple principle, and I put it in place to demonstrate my commitment to free will.”
The Doctor was about to laugh, but remembered the train of thought he had been on.
“Why?” he asked. “Simply, why? Why do all of this? What do you want with me?”
God walked over the control panel and hit one button. All the lights in the cave went off, and the Doctor’s TARDIS appeared in the centre of the room, the light on top glowing just a little too bright. God wandered back over to it and pushed the door open seamlessly.
“Because, Doctor, there were things I didn’t tell you the last time we met – things I couldn’t tell you.” He took off his hat and threw it on the hat-stand. The Doctor was not even aware he had a hat-stand – in fact, he was positively sure he hadn’t until it appeared that very second.
“I’ve been testing you for a long time, and you passed my test. So then, ‘Time Lord’. Do you think you’re ready to know the truth?”
Next Time: The Next LifeBack on Earth, life goes on.
Jasmine Sparks wonders the streets of Croydon in the dead of night. She's not going home. She's going somewhere else. Robin McKnight sits awake in bed, dreading what is to come. Something is wrong - something she can't tell anyone. Tommy Lindsay considers his future - and Jasmine Sparks knows it. Behind every great man... The Next Life will be published on Monday 7th November. |
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