Part 25 (1/2)

'And then the Time Lords started losing,' the Doctor murmured, more to himself than to the s.h.i.+ft.

'n.o.body likes to be on the losing side. Besides, the Time Lords aren't nearly interesting enough for the Celestis' liking. Think of it this way. You're a carbon-based life-form, the Krotons are tellurium-based life-forms, and the Celestis are idea-based life-forms. They need new ideas to survive, but the High Council hasn't had a decent new idea for thousands of years. The Celestis are starting to side with my employers, largely because my employers are so much more... how shall I put it? More imaginative. More dynamic.'

The Doctor slapped his forehead. Of course. Qixotl had said that some of the Celestis were going over to the enemy, but so much had been going on, he'd missed the significance of it.

'My employers felt it necessary to stop the High Council obtaining the Relic,' the s.h.i.+ft continued. 'In fact, the Celestis weren't happy about me attending the auction at all. They have a personal grudge against you, Doctor. They wanted your body for themselves.'

'Then why didn't they send an agent?' the Doctor asked. The s.h.i.+ft didn't answer. The Doctor suddenly realised what he was missing. 'Trask.'

'Yes. To an extent, Trask is a product of the same science as myself. But I'm an intelligence without a physical form, and Trask is an intelligence forced back into back into a physical form. The Celestis have agents all over the material universe. Thousands of corporeal beings, each one bearing the Celestis' mark. When they die, their minds are transferred to the Celestis' own realm. They call it Mictlan, I believe.' a physical form. The Celestis have agents all over the material universe. Thousands of corporeal beings, each one bearing the Celestis' mark. When they die, their minds are transferred to the Celestis' own realm. They call it Mictlan, I believe.'

Mictlan. The land of the dead, in South American folklore. The Celestis were getting some of their ideas off humans, then. 'That's tantamount to soul-stealing,' the Doctor protested.

'True. Trask was a Celestis agent while he was alive. The Celestis recorporated him specially for this auction. Although, from what I can gather, they didn't bother telling him what he was actually bidding for. They felt he'd be an appropriate choice to attend the sale of your body, bearing in mind that you were the one who killed him in the first place.'

'Was I?' The Doctor tried to look sheepish. 'I'm sorry, I had no idea.'

'It was a long time ago. Incidentally, I did plant a reminder of you in Trask's mind, when you arrived. I changed his memory of the way he died, as well. Just to make it a little more dramatic. I was hoping he'd deduce your ident.i.ty by himself and try to kill you out of spite. Obviously, I wouldn't have expected him to succeed, but it might have distracted you for a while.'

'And Qixotl? A minute or two ago, I remembered meeting him before somewhere, but now I can't quite recall the details. Did you plant those memories, too?'

'I can't plant memories, Doctor. I can only adapt them. Memories can be reshaped by ideas, as easily as emotions can. As for your past acquaintance with Mr Qixotl... well, that's between you and him.'

The Doctor stood. The bean-bag, forgotten, faded into nothingness behind him. 'I think I've heard enough.'

The s.h.i.+ft stood, as well, and allowed its chair to slip away into the void. 'Curious. You sound like you're expecting victory. Might I remind you, you can only keep me here as long as your senses are closed off to the outside world.' The s.h.i.+ft considered its next words carefully. 'Besides which, you're a.s.suming I can't kill you now.'

'Even if you could, you wouldn't. If I die while you're inside my mind, you'll be stuck here forever.'

'Not at all. Your body is destined to end up inside Mr Qixotl's casket, whatever happens. Logically, I'll only remain locked inside your head until he sells the Relic. When the buyer tries probing your dead brain, as any buyer inevitably will, I'll be able to make my escape.'

The Doctor frowned. 'I'm sorry, this is getting horribly convoluted. I can't die now. I know I'm destined to go through more biodata changes before my death. In this regeneration, my biodata isn't valuable enough to go to all this trouble for.'

The s.h.i.+ft seemed irritated by this trifling point of logic. 'Supposing I kill you now, Doctor. Supposing Trask collects your body, and the Celestis recorporate it, to use it as one of their agents.' The Doctor actually s.h.i.+vered at the thought. The s.h.i.+ft went on. 'The recorporated Doctor could pick up all the biodata the Time Lords think is so valuable, before it dies a second second time. Then, somehow, it finds its way into Qixotl's possession and ends up here in the vault of the ziggurat, ready to be sold again. Causality is satisfied.' time. Then, somehow, it finds its way into Qixotl's possession and ends up here in the vault of the ziggurat, ready to be sold again. Causality is satisfied.'

'I hate this sort of nit-picking,' the Doctor muttered. 'All right, I accept I'm mortal. But it's a moot point. You can't kill me, not here. You don't have the power.'

'Doctor, I've been ordered to secure the Relic for my employers, and that's what I intend to do. Don't stand in my way. Leave in your TARDIS as soon as you can. This is a lost cause. You have no place here. You know that's the truth.'

The Doctor thought about it for a moment.

'Yes,' he said, in the end.

The s.h.i.+ft seemed surprised, even though the Doctor couldn't see its expression. 'Yes? Yes what?'

'Yes, I agree. I shouldn't get involved.'

'Then you'll let me go?'

'I don't exactly have a choice.' The Doctor sighed, with well-rehea.r.s.ed weariness. 'I don't like leaving my remains in your hands, but you are are talking about events in my future. The war doesn't affect me, and it never will. Not while I'm alive. I'm not going to stay here with you for the rest of my life, not if I should never have become involved in the first place. So, you can leave. Now. Before I change my mind.' talking about events in my future. The war doesn't affect me, and it never will. Not while I'm alive. I'm not going to stay here with you for the rest of my life, not if I should never have become involved in the first place. So, you can leave. Now. Before I change my mind.'

The blackness of the void split open, as if it had been unzipped from top to bottom. On the other side of the opening, the Doctor could see the conference hall of the ziggurat. The other representatives stood motionless, frozen in poses of mindless aggression. No, not frozen, the Doctor reminded himself. They were moving, but very, very slowly. Here inside his mind, events were occurring at ten thousand times their normal speed. In ”real” time, the discussion with the s.h.i.+ft had taken a split-second.

For a moment, the s.h.i.+ft stood quite still, facing the light from the outside world. Then it disintegrated, becoming a cascade of concepts, glistening ideas that looped and whirled as they headed for the opening. The Doctor made sure every last notion was safety out of his head before he zipped the darkness up again.

He'd been forced to let the s.h.i.+ft go. He hadn't been able to confine it permanently, not without confining himself along with it. But then, he hadn't been prepared. And whatever he'd said, he didn't intend to let anyone walk off with his old bones, not without a fight.

The Doctor concentrated, and willed new shapes to materialise out of the void. He had to refurnish his mind. Next time, he'd be ready.

A few moments ago, the Doctor had mumbled something that had sounded like ”sorry”. The Doctor had this thing about taking life, Qixotl remembered. It made him uneasy, for some reason. Just like him to apologise before doing someone in.

Qixotl closed his eyes, and waited for the killing blow.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened, and it happened in style. Around him, the sounds of senseless violence had died down, becoming nothing more than a bunch of awkward scuffling noises backed up by muzak.

Mr Qixotl opened up one eye. Nothing blinded it or tried to gouge it out, so he opened the other one.

The Doctor stood over him, an expression of smug satisfaction plastered across his face. Nearby, Cousin Justine lay on the floor, looking lost and bewildered, her skin covered in sc.r.a.pes and bruises. Next to her was a pile of limbs which, once disentangled, would almost certainly prove to be made out of Homunculette, Little Brother Manjuele, and Colonel Kortez. On the other side of the shattered table stood E-Kobalt, its head going round and round and round and round, while Trask was his usual less-than-human self.

'And I hope you're all thoroughly ashamed of yourselves,' said the Doctor. It sounded like he was delivering the punchline to a very strange and complicated joke.

Cautiously, Kortez struggled free of the man-heap. Homunculette followed his example. Manjuele was the last one on his feet.

'Everything's changed,' Cousin Justine observed, as she picked herself up and delicately dabbed some of the blood off her chin. 'You can feel it. It's...'

'Less tense?' suggested the Doctor. 'Well, less tense than you might expect, bearing in mind who's here.'

'Whoah,' said Qixotl. 'Whaah. I mean, what...?'

'We've all been taken for a ride,' the Doctor explained. 'The thoughts we've been having aren't entirely our own. The s.h.i.+ft has been trying to sabotage the auction.'

'Not true,' said Trask. 'You. You killed me.'

The Doctor spun around. 'Really? How?'

'You...' began Trask, but he didn't seem to know how to finish. 'I. I remember. Water... no. There was...'

He lapsed into silence. The Doctor nodded. 'Exactly. The memories have been adjusted by the s.h.i.+ft. Mr Qixotl?'

Qixotl squirmed backwards, in case the Doctor had any more murderous inclinations. 'It's not my fault,' he whimpered.

The Doctor raised both eyebrows. 'You knew who you were inviting. You should have researched your clients' abilities more thoroughly.' Behind the Doctor, the Kroton's head was spinning faster than ever, but the thing didn't speak. Qixotl wondered if it was having some kind of a fit.