Doctor Who: The Twin Dilemma (13 page)

But nothing happened.

Strange, thought the Doctor, there must be something wrong with the cutter. But careful examination proved that it was in perfect working order. So he tried again. But still nothing happened.

'What are you trying to do?'jested Hugo. 'Hard-boil it?'

'Hardly!' The Doctor wasn't in the mood for jokes. 'The beam of the cutter is as hot as a diamond is hard. It should have at least scratched the surface.'

As the cutter continued to ineffectually blaze away at the egg, an unpleasant slurping sound was heard to come from within the shell.

The Doctor switched off the cutter as the sound grew momentarily louder and then more unpleasant.

‘Is it going to hatch?' enquired Peri.

‘I don't think so.'

And, as though to prove him right, the slurping sound stopped.

The embryo only reacted to the heat,' said Azmael.

'Precisely what it's supposed to do. Only it isn't anything like hot enough yet.'

Puzzled, Hugo glanced at Peri, but she didn't understand what he was talking about either. 'You're talking in riddles, Doctor.'

'No he isn't,' said Azmael, beginning to see what the Doctor was getting at.

'Now you're both talking in riddles,' insisted Peri. 'What is going on?'

How best to explain an intuitive leap, whose inspiration stems from tiny disparate events and observations? It was possible he was wrong, but the reassurance of Azmael's concurrence made it unlikely.

The Doctor was also aware that Peri and Hugo's own scepticism wouldn't help them to believe what he was about to tell them, especially after his eccentric behaviour since his regeneration.

But did it matter? Did any of it matter? Right or wrong in his assumption, Mestor had to be stopped.

In a quiet, even voice the Doctor began to relate how and what he had concluded.

At the safe house Azmael had said that Mestor had led an original army of several hundred gastropods. Not only had they taken over Jaconda, but they had reduced its once fertile plains to the scorched, barren state Peri and Hugo had earlier seen for themselves.

If so few gastropods could cause so much damage, it would take very little time to devour any produce grown on the two planets Mestor wished to cultivate. Yet only a few metres from them were millions of eggs awaiting the opportunity to hatch. Simple mathematics had told the Doctor that three small planets could not support so many hungry, greedy mouths. Therefore, he had concluded, Mestor's intention must be to extend his empire a great deal further.

So how best to do this?

As far as the Doctor knew, Mestor was not involved in building a massive fleet of transporters, but he was interested in moving planets. One very effective way to distribute his unhatched eggs would be to create an enormous explosion. The easiest way to create the tremendous power necessary would be to explode a star.

And the simplest way to do that would be to send a hard, cold, massive rock spinning to its heart.

In fact, a planet would do very nicely.

When the Doctor had subsequently discovered that the shell of the gastropod eggs could resist the maximum setting on a laser cutter -

some ten thousand degrees centigrade - without incurring a scratch, Mestor's scheme seemed obvious. Domination of the universe with his own kind by exploding the Jacondan sun.

Such were the brutal, murderous implications of what was intended, that on completion of relating these facts, the Doctor wasn't certain he could believe them himself. But the sad, nodding head of Azmael confirmed he had come to the same conclusion.

The shocked silence of the group was broken by the squeaky, outraged voice of the twins. 'Mestor expected us to achieve that for him!'

The Doctor concurred.

'Outrageous!' stamped Romulus.

'Our genius was to be abused,' echoed his sibling.

But the Doctor was no longer listening. Instead of petty complaints what was needed now was a plan of action.

'Hugo,' ordered the Doctor. 'You must escort the twins and Peri back to the safety of the TARDIS. As

Mestor still needs the twins alive, you shouldn't be under any threat of death.'

The young pilot nodded.

'And what do we do?' enquired Azmael.

'Deal with Mestor!'

The elderly Time Lord's face crinkled into a half ironic smile. 'Are we capable? Look at us, Doctor. I am old. I have even lost my ability to regenerate. .. And you... Your mind could cloud at any moment. We are hardly fit competition for someone with the power that Mestor controls.'

'Better we die in harness, battling against the odds, than die in fear, finding menace in our own shadow. We have spent our lives fighting evil. We are certainly too old to give up that particular habit now.'

The Doctor's words sounded bold and exciting to Azmael. To die fighting evil was a romantic notion he had always held, but he was also aware of Mestor's skill at humiliating his victims before death.

There was little honour or romantic bravado in being nailed to a tree with your eyes put out, your tongue missing and the skin flailed from your body.

Still, thought Azmael, there was even less honour in dying afraid of a knock on the door or being scared of going out after dark.

He had vowed to destroy Mestor and now was his chance. With the Doctor at his side, he stood a greater opportunity of succeeding.

And with the knowledge of Mestor's ambition numbing his sensibilities, he was provided with a greater and more honourable motive than simple, petty revenge.

'I'm with you, Doctor!'

'Good man!'

The Doctor then turned to Drak. As he started to order him to go with the others to the TARDIS, he became aware of the blank, glassy-eyed look on his face. 'Are you all right?'

Instead of a reply, the Jacondan crashed to the floor.

Quickly, Azmael was at his side. It required minimal examination to establish Drak was dead, his mind burnt out.

'It must be the work of Mestor,' moaned Azmael plaintively. 'He must have used Drak as a monitoring point to overhear everything we've said.'

'Then Mestor will be expecting us.'

Gently, Azmael closed the dead eyes of the Jacondan. Although they had not been the greatest of friends, Azmael had warmed to Drak, especially since their mission to Earth. He had liked the way he had taken the twins under his wing, caring for them as though they were his own children.

Slowly, the elderly Time Lord stood up. If he had need of it, the death of Drak was yet another reason to destroy Mestor.

As the Doctor and Azmael left the laboratory, the Doctor picked up two small flasks of Mosten acid which he then secreted in one of his deep pockets.

Unlike most acids, Mosten acid doesn't burn or corrode, but ages whatever is immersed in it by a unique process of dehydration.

Professor Vinny Mosten discovered the acid which bears his name quite by chance when on an expedition to the planet Senile Nine.

Mosten wasn't a chemist but an archeologist who was visiting the planet to authenticate a recent priceless discovery of Senilian vases and figurines.

When presented with the discovery, Mosten had become immediately suspicious, partly because of the sheer size of the find, but also because of their pristine state. Further investigatin found the vases and statues not what they, were supposed to be, but modern copies, carefully aged.

Further investigation showed the reason for the deception: the planet was bankrupt. It had been the intention of the Senilians to pass off the discovery as authentic, selling the pieces to the highest bidder, thereby solving their immediate fiscal problems. They had also planned to 'discover' further items which they would exhibit, creating a tourist industry which would solve their long-term cash flow.

At least, that was the plan.

Mosten was so angered by the deception that he set out to discover how the Senilians had managed to age their pseudo antiques so skilfully.

Such was his determination that it didn't take him long to find the chemist who had invented the acid. With the aid of a massive bribe, he was able to acquire two flasks of the unique liquid.

However, whilst travelling to the press conference where he was to publicly expose and denounce the acid, one of the flasks broke in his pocket. Unfortunately for Mosten, he aged and died in seconds.

When he arrived at the conference there was nothing left of him but a pile of grey ash.

Fortunately for the planet Senile, the second flask had survived and, on being analysed, was declared a breakthrough in the science of chemistry. No longer would incredibly hard substances such as modern alloys have to be drilled, carefully filed, subjected to controlled explosion or, in more extreme cases, simply left to weather away. With the careful application of the acid, any shape or depth of hole could be created quickly, simply, safely and, more importantly for money-orientated societies, very cheaply.

Although Senile Nine had been denied wealth through tourism, it now grew rich and fat on the production of what became known as Mosten's acid.

The Doctor knew the history of the acid he carried in his pocket, but he was not thinking about it as, with Azmael, he made his way along the corridor. He was more worried by the lack of guards. It made him feel uneasy. Mestor might be all powerful, but even he would take some precautions.

As they waited for the massive steel doors to the throne room to swing electronically open, it was Azmael who supplied an answer to the Doctor's concern.

'If you were Mestor, and you knew that I knew what you planned for this planet, would you want to discuss it in front of Jacondan courtiers and guards? Personally I would think you would prefer to keep it all rather private.'

As they entered the long, dank, sepulchral throne room, it seemed that Azmael was right. Apart from the massive, slobbering form of Mestor, slouched on his throne, the room was empty.

Cautiously, the two Time Lords started the long trek towards their captor. As they walked, Azmael noticed that massive humidifiers had been installed and that each one was saturating the atmosphere with an ultra-fine sheet of water. Everything dripped including the beautiful tapestries which adorned the walls.

But what broke Azmael's heart most of all were the thick layers of petrified mucus which encased the mosaic floor. A thousand years ago it had taken Jacondan artisans ten years to create the fascinating and intricate patterns of the mosaic. Such was its final glory that it it had been declared an ancient wonder of the Trilop Major galaxy.

Now it was ruined, destroyed beyond restoration, and the slobbering mass which sat upon the marble throne before them didn't care at all.

'Long walk,' said the Doctor flippantly. 'And now I'm here, 1 don't think the sight of you was worth it.'

Mestor moved uneasily in his chair. In spite of his earlier conversation with the Doctor, he was still unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a rude, offhand manner. 'Control your arrogance, Time Lord,' he rasped.

As the Doctor had only seen and heard Mestor via a hologram projection, he was surprised by the deepness and richness of his voice. Gone was the marked sibilance and slight cackle the hologram had created. Gone, for the time being, was the melodramatic postering and ranting.

Yet none of these small refinements did anything to compensate for meeting Mestor in the flesh. From any point of view, he was disgusting. And what's more, he stank.

The Doctor hoped they could conclude their business as soon as possible and be gone. The throne room wasn't a pleasant place to be.

'Look, Mestor, Azmael and I have worked out what you're up to and it's got to stop!'

The gastropod gave a small, involuntary laugh, then belched. He suddenly found the Doctor amusing. It took courage to threaten Mestor in his own throne room, and the gastropod was mildly titillated by it.

'Are you listening to me, Mestor?'

The gastropod belched again.

'You'd better be!' The Doctor sounded more like a street bully than a Time Lord negotiating with a creature capable of taking over the universe. 'Because I'm not having your sluggy eggs spread all over the place, causing havoc. Do you understand?'

He understood perfectly, but there seemed little point in taking any notice. 'It seems that you are not only mad, but a buffoon, Doctor!'

This didn't please him at all. 'I'm warning you. Will you give up this nonsense?'

'No, Time Lord.'

Then take the consequences.'

Briskly, the Doctor removed one of the flasks of Mosten acid from his pocket and threw it at Mestor. But he wasn't fast enough.

Instantly a blue barrier of energy surrounded the gastropod and the flask smashed harmlessly against it.

As the barrier faded, Mestor growled. 'You think that I would be so vulnerable?'

The Doctor shrugged. What could he say? He had failed.

'I thought, Doctor, that you would be interesting to know. But like so many humanoid life forms, you are totally preoccupied with your own pettiness.'

Carefully Mestor altered his position. He found it difficult to maintain the same posture for long, chairs being unnatural for his body shape.

'I think it's time I dealt with you, Time Lord.'

'Please, Lord Mestor,' pleaded Azmael. 'The Doctor has been ill.

His mind is muddled. It's affected his reasoning. I'm sure, with rest, he will learn to appreciate the respect due to you.'

'He has tried to kill me. He must therefore forfeit his own existence.'

While Azmael continued to plead for his friend, the Doctor glanced over his shoulder and wondered whether he could make it to the door before Mestor had time to unveil another of his tricks.

The thought of dying didn't very much appeal to him. But to be murdered by a slug with pretensions way beyond its cabbage patch would be too much.

'I said, Azmael, that the Doctor would cease to exist. I did not say he would die. If I were to kill him, how would I be able to take over his body and mind?'

The Doctor let out an involuntary snigger.' You take over my mind. It would be like throwing a pebble into a lake. It would sink without trace.'