Part 30 (2/2)

'And terminate your regeneration.'

'So that you could live!'

'So that you couldn't make any more mistakes!'

His sixth self released a scream of frustration and sprang for him with shocking speed. The Doctor brought his umbrella up and drove himself forward with the implement straining against his attacker's throat. The sixth Doctor's head hit the brickwork and they remained locked, jaws set, eyes staring mutual loathing into each other's.

His previous self had never been so unhinged. His enforced captivity, the perceived injustice of his demise, had done this to him. The duties of Time's Champion were responsible.

The Doctor's doubts lent strength to his earlier form. He threw his successor and the Doctor skittered back, bringing up his brolly and preparing for a second deadly thrust.

The sixth Doctor fell silent, choosing not to press his advantage for now. They stared at each other and the sixth Doctor clenched his fists, his breathing deep and tightly 236 controlled. They circled warily.

'I had to exist,' the seventh Doctor claimed, almost in desperation. 'You know that. No manifestation before me could consider the consequences of what we must do. We were too young when we left Gallifrey. We created paradoxes, set time on one course but undermined that too. Somebody had to tie the loose ends up. Somebody had to unwind the threads. Somebody had to become the Ka Faraq Gatri. I had to take responsibility.'

'To become the great manipulator,' the sixth Doctor sneered.

'To use your companions and condemn whole races. To satisfy some ungraspable concept of what you deem to be the Universal Good.'

'That's not how it is.'

'How many people did you endanger on Earth, playing games with the Daleks? Manoeuvring them into destroying Skaro so that you wouldn't have to do it yourself? Keeping blood of your hands! Like when you persuaded Benny and Chris to destroy Detrios from afar. What makes you think your version of right is better than mine? What makes you think that you won't become the Valeyard?'

'I have to be right!'

'I knew what good was. I travelled. I found injustice, I sided with right and I beat back darkness. But I respected my travelling partners too. I practised decency and morality. You lie to them and trick them. You killed Ace on the moon. You left Kadiatu to her fate. You use them time and time again and never even tell them why. Doesn't that make you feel guilty?'

'Of course it does!' the seventh Doctor howled. 'Of course I do! That's why you got free. Don't you understand that? Of course I feel guilty. Each one I use, each one I sacrifice, is a piece out of my own soul. But I have my responsibilities too. To life, to justice.'

'And the ”Universal Good”?'

'I can't - I won't - treat things as simplistically as you did.

The cosmos can't afford for us to act like that any more.'

'And the ones you've killed - the people that you've decided shouldn't live on in the universe that you're creating what about 237 them? What about Gabriel and Tanith?'

The seventh Doctor averted his gaze. 'I do what I have to. I do what I think is right.'

The sixth Doctor took advantage of his distraction to attack.

The Miracle had been divested of its power. It was shrinking rapidly and, to Ace, stranded on the surface, it felt like she was balanced on peris.h.i.+ng rubber.

She could feel that surface receding beneath her and she wondered how long the fictional energies could sustain the very air she breathed. She wondered where the Doctor had gone and she hoped that he would find her still alive when he returned.

The seventh Doctor was down and the sixth Doctor's hands were about his throat, thumbs pressing down hard, mouth drooling saliva as his eyes flashed with the insanity that comes from long-denied retribution.

'You'll . . . kill us both,' Time's Champion choked. 'This crystal is melting. You'll kill me and you'll kill my companions.'

'Then give in to me!' the sixth snarled. 'Return what's mine.

Surrender your life so that I may live again.'

'Can't . . . do that.'

'Oh no, because you're so important, aren't you? Clinging on to existence even when the odds are against it; when you should have given in to Number Eight. Or me.'

'Or . . . Valeyard?'

The sixth Doctor reacted as if stung. His eyes flashed and he drew back his fist to punch the usurper across his face. 'I am not him!' He pulled back again, levered himself to his feet and staggered momentarily, a hand to his forehead. He seemed dizzy, unsteady; weakened by his foe's resolve.

The seventh Doctor took his chance. He left himself exposed and concentrated, willing the walls to fall and release him. He was unsuccessful. The sixth Doctor laughed. 'You're keeping yourself blocked in, because you know my cause is just.'

'I won't let you do this.'

'You don't have a choice. If you give in, I can save our 238 friends. To leave, you will have to find a way through me.'

The seventh Doctor glowered at him and tried to remember that this was but a fictional creation: a representation of what was inside his own mind. He needed to keep that thought clear if he was to do what needed doing.

The construct was awaiting his move. The Doctor s.h.i.+fted his grip on the umbrella and squared up to him; took a deep breath and tried to forget that he was battling a part of his own self.

'So be it,' he said in a hushed tone. 'Let's end it.'

On Detrios, at the pick-up point, Chris stared up at what now looked like a distant ball of grey wax, melting in a furnace heat - the remnants of what had once held so much hope for so many.

'It had to be done. You know that, don't you?' Roz was staring and Chris felt as though she was testing him; as though a wrong answer, a sign of any lack of understanding might get him flunked right out of the service.

She was right. He knew that.

'That thing was a menace to life across the universe.'

'I realize that,' he said. He turned to take in the wretched mess of the desolate planet. 'But what does that mean for these people? They were rebuilding, just coming out here onto the surface. We've destroyed the only chance they had of life.'

Roz shrugged. 'If they're worthy, they'll survive. They don't need a Miracle.'

'You believe that?'

'It doesn't matter what I believe. They still have a chance, that's all. They aren't dead yet.'

He didn't answer. He turned away and tried to drift off into his own dark thoughts. Roz stemmed them, laying a hand on his. 'There might still be time to look for her, you know.'

He shook his head. 'There's no point. We can't save everybody and she won't want to leave her people.' He snorted bitterly. 'She's probably dead now anyway. Lying sliced open on a slab somewhere.'

'I'm sorry,' Roz said. Chris wondered how he could ever have become so confused about her; how he could have 239 questioned their relations.h.i.+p. They were best friends, pure and simple.

'I'm sorry too. I didn't act much like a trained Adjudicator back there.'

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