Part 1 (1/2)

DOCTOR WHO.

MYSTERIOUS PLANET.

by TERRANCE d.i.c.kS.

1.

The Trial Begins.

It was a graveyard in s.p.a.ce.

A graveyard not of people but of s.h.i.+ps. A junkyard, a sc.r.a.p heap, a metallic cemetery, where the battered corpses of once-proud s.p.a.ce-craft cl.u.s.tered together in a tangle of shattered hull plates and twisted girders.

The metallic desolation was clouded by drifting patches of cosmic dust, fitfully illuminated by the s.p.a.ce lightning that crackled between the drifting wrecks.

But beyond the shattered s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps there loomed something else. Something that was not derelict or destroyed but vast, powerful and ma.s.sively whole, the integrity of its towering ramparts unbreached by the electrical storm that raged around them. It was a s.p.a.ce station, one so huge as to seem almost a s.p.a.ce city. Ovoid in shape with a colossal communications-tower sprouting from the centre, its entire surface was overlaid with spires and towers and battlements, with interlocking complexes of ornately designed buildings, workshops, laboratories, living quarters, energy-generators and s.p.a.ce-docks, with batteries of s.p.a.ce-cannon projecting from every available surface.

Ma.s.sive, arrogant, invincible, the great complex hovered in s.p.a.ce, dwarfing the shattered hulks that drifted around it, dominating its section of s.p.a.ce like some enormous baroque cathedral. There was an eerie, almost mystical quality about it. It seemed to be brooding...

waiting.

Suddenly the whole complex seemed to hum with t.i.tanic energies. A huge central hatchway irised open, emitting a great pillar of light, so intensely blue as to seem almost solid.

The pillar lanced onward and outwards, lancing into the furthest reaches of s.p.a.ce. Somewhere in those infinite distances a shape appeared, trapped in the searching blue beam. A square blue shape with a flas.h.i.+ng light on top and the words Police Box inscribed above its door.

Turning over and over in the powerful pull of the blue beam, swept downwards like a twig caught in a rus.h.i.+ng waterfall, the TARDIS was drawn down and down until it reached the beam's very source, and vanished through the hatchway, disappearing into the heart of the s.p.a.ce station.

The hatchway slid closed.

The TARDIS was trapped. And so, of course, was its occupant, that wandering Time Lord known usually as The Doctor....

The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS and stood looking around him. He felt puzzled, almost bemused, and he had a profound sensation that something was very, very wrong.

At this stage in his lives, in his sixth incarnation, the Doctor was a tall, strongly built man with a slight tendency towards overweight. Beneath the mop of curly hair, the face was round, full-lipped and sensual, with a hint of something catlike about the eyes. The forehead was broad and high and the jutting beak that was his nose seemed to pursue the Doctor through most of his incarnations. This Doctor was a solid, powerful figure, exuding confidence and energy, yet with something wilful and capricious about him. The extravagant side of his nature was reflected in his costume, which was colourful, to put it mildly.

The yellow trousers, vivid enough in themselves, were positively sober compared to a multicoloured coat that might have made Joseph himself feel a pang of envy. Reds, yellows, greens, purples, and pinks, all in varying shades and hues, fought savagely for predominance. This quietly tasteful ensemble was finished off with a flowing cravat, a bright red affair with large white spots.

Clas.h.i.+ng violently with the decor around him, the Doctor stood for a brief moment lost in thought. A profound sense of wrongness persisted. He ought not to be here. But then, where was here?

The Doctor looked around him. He was in a brief, broad corridor, one end empty and featureless, the other leading to a short flight of steps and an imposing door. One swift glance around him, and the Doctor knew effectively where he was.

This wasn't one of your blank, metallic, hi-tech s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, s.p.a.ce-station, scientific installation type of corridors. The gleaming metallic walls had a rich golden hue, their expanse broken up by ribbed pillars and fussy grilles. The steps to the ornately decorated door were surrounded by a riot of castellated ornamentation.

Strange, thought the Doctor, how much you could tell about a culture from its taste in decoration. This particular culture was grandiose, pompous and obsessed with ritual.

It was the culture the Doctor knew best in the entire cosmos - that of his fellow Time Lords.

He was in Time Lord territory.

It wasn't good news. The Doctor's relations with his Time Lord race had been varied to say the least. The variations had ranged from his being a hunted criminal and fugitive, an unwilling exile and press-ganged intergalactic agent to a tolerated eccentric, and on more than one occasion he had actually reached the eminence, unwanted though it was, of Lord High President of Gallifrey. Only the power of the Time Lords could have s.n.a.t.c.hed him away from what he was doing. But then, what had be been doing?

With a shock of disquiet, the Doctor realized he couldn't quite remember. Still, no doubt it would come to him... in time. And as for where 'here' was, there was only one way to find out.

The Doctor mounted the little flight of steps and stood before the imposing set of doors.

He raised a hand to knock, changed his mind, shoved the heavy doors open with a powerful heave and strode confidently through.

He found himself in a huge vaulted chamber, furnished and decorated in the same elaborate style as the corridor without. The hall was dimly lit, and the Doctor could just make out the tall imposing figure that seemed to be seated opposite him.

The figure spoke in a deep, harshly resonant voice. 'At last, Doctor.'

'Am I late for something?' asked the Doctor politely.

The figure touched a control and light illuminated a small railed area which contained a large swivel-chair. 'Sit down.'

The Doctor sat and more lights came up, illuminating the figure opposite him, sitting in a railed area very similar to his own. The figure was that of a tall, gaunt-faced man wearing the long cloak, high-collared tunic and skull-cap like helmet of a Time Lord Court official.

This particular ensemble was all in black, and the Doctor struggled to remember its significance. One of those antiquated t.i.tles the High Council was so fond of - val something-or-other... Valeyard, that was it.

The tall, sinister figure opposite was the Valeyard. A Special Prosecutor working directly for the High Council, employed only in the most serious cases - especially those with political overtones.

Suddenly the Doctor realized he was in trouble.

'I was beginning to fear you had lost yourself, Doctor,'

said the Valeyard sardonically.

The Doctor sat back in his chair 'Even I would find it hard to lose myself in a corridor.' He swivelled round.

'Especially when propelled by the mental energy of so many distinguished Time Lords.'

To the Doctor's left were tiered rows of seats, like those in a lecture hall. The rear rows were packed with Time Lords, members of the High Council in their ornate high-collared robes. But the front row was empty, the Doctor noted - and so was the raised podium in front of it, with its single chair and simple table.

The elements were beginning to take shape, thought the Doctor. All that is needed now is...

The door at the far end of the room swung open, and a small imperious-looking woman entered, flanked by court officials and guards. She wore an elaborate headdress and a white gown with a red sash of office. Not only the Valeyard but the Court Inquisitor as well, thought the Doctor. They were really out to get him this time.

The Court officials filled the front row of the seating, and the Inquisitor took her place on the podium, settling into her seat with a rustle of robes.

The Doctor decided that it was best to keep up a pose of injured innocence. Nor indeed was it entirely a pose.