Part 4 (1/2)

The Doctor folded his arms and turned away. Such was his petulance that Peri expected him to mince out of the console room.

Instead, he said, 'You never cease to amaze me. You are asking me to revive a man who had every intention of terminating my life.'

'That's right.'

Peri leant forward, tugged at a plastic tag attached to the tunic of Hugo's jacket until it was free and held it up for the Doctor to read: Lieutenant Hugo Long, Intergalactic Task Force, 'A' Squadron.

'Oh ...' said the Doctor at last. 'A policeman.'

'That's right. Now get to work and make him well again!'

Reluctantly the Doctor bent down and continued his ministration.

The Time Lord was puzzled. He was aware that he was having lapses of memory, but couldn't understand why Peri was being so aggressive. Come to that, he couldn't remember why they had come to t.i.tan Three. Perhaps the two things were linked.

In fact, the more the Doctor thought about the general situation, the more confused he became. Why had Hugo accused him of destroying his squadron? And who were the children he seemed so concerned about? Come to that, what was Hugo doing so far from his home planet? He couldn't imagine that t.i.tan Three was part of his normal beat.

The more the Doctor wondered, the more he realised how confused and muddled his mind was. He would have to do something about it.

But what?

6.

AN UNSAFE SAFE HOUSE.

t.i.tan Three has always been accused of being the bleakest, most miserable planet in the universe. Scenically, it is no bleaker than any other small planet devoid of vegetation. The real problem with t.i.tan is that its thin atmosphere contains a very rare gas nicknamed t.i.tan Melancholia. It isn't at all poisonous, but prolonged inhalation can cause depression in humanoid life forms.

Azmael had discovered t.i.tan Three while searching for somewhere to live after his self-imposed exile from Gallifrey. At that time he very much wanted to be alone and t.i.tan seemed to offer him precisely that.

He had been surprised when he had discovered buildings on the planet. And even more surprised when he had learnt they had been built by people from a nearby solar system that no longer existed.

It wasn't until he discovered a still functioning computer that he learnt of their sad fate.

Originally the buildings had been erected to house a research unit and monitoring base for the solar system, Maston Viva. Before building the centre, all the usual checks and tests had been made, including a close examination of the atmosphere. Although a gas unknown to the Mastons (t.i.tan Melancholia) had been detected, exhaustive research seemed to indicate it was inert and safe to breathe. So the centre was built.

It wasn't until some time later that it was noticed that people who spent more than six months on the planet became strangely depressed. At first this was dismissed as nothing more than an over-reaction to t.i.tan's bleak environment, so the tour of duty was shortened to three months.

This did little to help.

Scientist, technician and labourer alike started to abandon their work in favour of writing long, introverted, painfully self-critical novels and essays. When summoned home, they refused to go, preferring to stay on t.i.tan to complete their self-imposed tasks.

Such was the all pervading gloom of the place that Mein Kampf and the works of Strindberg were read as light comic relief.

It was during one of these intense periods of introspection that an enormous burst of radiation wiped out the population of Maston Viva. The scientists, whose function it was to warn of such impending disasters, were mortified. On checking their computers, they found that the radiation cloud had been visible for days, and if they had been more attentive to their duties, the danger could have been neutralised.

Suddenly, the pain of life had overtaken the agony of art. There was little left for the scientists to do. After each of them had completed a long, soul-searching autobiography, they committed ma.s.s suicide.

They were the first and last victims of t.i.tan Melancholia. Shortly afterwards, it was discovered that a daily gla.s.s of Voxnic acted as the perfect antidote to the side effect of the gas. But such were the terrible events that had taken place on the planet that n.o.body wanted to live there.

Originally Azmael had earmarked the planet as a bolt-hole in case the High Council of Gallifrey had changed its mind and again sent a squad of Seedle Warriors to kill him.

But that was a long time ago.

Nowadays, Seedle Warriors seemed relatively harmless compared with the paranoid ambition displayed by Mestor.

Yet here he was again, this time watching two immature boys struggle with chalk and blackboard to complete equations that had been set for them.

The twins weren't happy, being unused to such primitive implements. Their fingers were sore from holding the chalk and their arms ached from the effort of scratching their calculations on the squeaky blackboard. Although they had complained bitterly, Azmael had shown little sympathy. 'You've brought this on yourself. If you hadn't rigged that silly distress beacon aboard my s.h.i.+p, I would have let you use the computer... Now I can't trust you.'

The twins worked on, but they were running out of patience. The drug which controlled their minds was beginning to weaken, and their stubbornness was returning.

'There's no point to what we're doing,' complained Remus.

That's right,' echoed Romulus. 'Why don't you tell us what this is about? The equations you've set us could be done by an idiot. You don't need us for this sort of work.'

Azmael nodded. Romulus was absolutely right. What they had been given to do was simply to test their cooperation and the accuracy of their work. Mestor had insisted.

'To be honest. I do not know what is intended for you. You must understand that I am also a prisoner. I must do as I am told.'

The twins weren't certain whether to believe him. 'Then tell us who your master is,' they said as one voice.

Cautiously, Azmael looked over his shoulder as though expecting to find Mestor listening. 'His name would mean nothing,' he said quietly. 'But understand that he is a creature of infinite ambition.'

Azmael glanced over his shoulder once more. 'He will use anything and anyone to gain his ends.'

'Including us?' said Romulus.

Azmael nodded. 'He requires the gift of your genius.'

'He shan't have it,' said Remus, cutting in. 'We shall fight him if necessary.'

As the boy spoke, a swirl of red light formed into a hologram of the most repulsive creature the twins had ever seen.

It was Mestor.

'Fight me!' his rasping voice boomed. 'Beware, boy ... So far, I have been prepared to put up with your childish obduracy. But no longer! Fail to obey me and 1 shall have your minds removed from your bodies and use them as I wish... Do you understand?'

Terrified, the twins nodded. As they did, the image of Mestor faded.

'I did try to warn you,' said Azmael. 'Believe what Mestor says. He does not make idle threats.'

Lieutenant Hugo Lang lay prostrate on the floor of the TARDIS console room, his wounds dressed, a pillow under his head and a blanket covering his body. He looked cosy and snug, which is more than the Doctor did.