Doctor Who: The Twin Dilemma (14 page)

'Please, Doctor. The Lord Mestor is quite capable of doing what he says,' said Azmael.

'A Jacondan mind, perhaps. But I am a Time Lord.'

Mestor laughed loudly, this time without managing to belch.

'Perhaps you would like me to demonstrate how feeble a Time Lord's mind really is?'

As the question was a rhetorical one, Mestor did not wait for an answer. Using nothing but pure thought he operated a control built into the arm of his throne. Suddenly Mestor was shrouded in a green, ethereal light. Then without warning, a vicious, luminous green finger of concentrated energy shot out and locked on to Azmael's forehead.

The elderly Time Lord screamed.

This wasn't what the Doctor had expected. But then Mestor was rarely predictable. That's how he managed to survive.

As the Doctor continued to watch, a small black blob seemed to work its way along the finger of light.

As it reached Azmael's forehead, the blob spread across his face, then slowly it began to permeate the skin. A moment later it was gone. Mestor now resided in Azmael's brain.

As the green light faded, Mestor's body collapsed, lifeless like the skin of a snake when sloughed. Concerned, the Doctor rushed to his friend. 'Are you all right?'

Azmael started to work his mouth up and down, like a ventriloquist's dummy, but nothing came out. When words finally did emerge, it was not Azmael's voice, but Mestor's that he heard.

'Azmael is now my slave. I have taken over his mind.'

That's not fair. He's an old man.' The words sounded foolish, almost childish, but then the Doctor wasn't used to seeing physical transference of one creature's mind to another.

'I could do the same to you, Doctor.'

'Then prove it!'

The face of Azmael sneered. 'All I need is...' but Mestor didn't finish the sentence. Instead his voice faded, Azmael's pained and agonised voice replaced it.

'He's weakening, Doctor. Mestor is attempting to control too much... All Jaconda is affected with his thoughts.' Azmael paused, his body heaving with the effort of controlling the unwanted presence in his mind.

'We must mind-link,' insisted the Doctor. 'Together we can destroy him.'

'No!' The voice sounded more agonised than before. 'He will pass to you, and you will be lost.'

'I can contain him.'

'I may be old,' croaked Azmael, 'but my experience in mind control is greater than yours. You must destroy Mestor's body, otherwise he will attempt to return to it.'

But how?

The Doctor's experience in dissecting two metre long slugs was non-existent, although he did recall having once read that the garden variety could be destroyed by covering them with sodium chloride. But where would he find enough salt?

'Hurry, Doctor!' screamed Azmael. 'I cannot control Mestor for much longer.'

Suddenly the Doctor remembered the second flask of Mosten acid and set about searching for it in his cavernous pockets.

The Doctor was angry with his lapse of memory. He had wasted valuable time. Azmael had been right to warn him against taking on Mestor. In spite of his vast improvement, the Doctor's regeneration was far from complete.

Finding the flask, he moved to the gastropod's moribund carcass and emptied the contents over it.

The response was immediate. Huge blisters began to form on the moist, oily epidermis which then burst, scattering dry clouds of flakey skin. At the same moment, the corpse started to sag and fold in on itself as though a large invisible weight was pressing down on it.

As the dehydration process continued, Mestor's spindly limbs snapped and powdered like old paper exposed to a sudden gust of wind. Then his face dissolved into thick chunks of heavy cardboard which crumbled, yet again, into dust.

A moment later, all that was left of the Lord Mestor was a pile of fine grey dust, not unlike the ash of spent charcoal. The Doctor turned to Azmael. 'It's done,' he said quietly.

'Too late, Time Lord!' It was voice of Mestor. 'I now completely control your friend's mind.'

But he had spoken too soon.

Suddenly the body of Azmael began to sway, then reel like a drunken man. 'What's happening?' roared Mestor.

There was a pause, then the strained, agonised voice of Azmael was heard. 'You're dying, Mestor. I'm doing the one thing you cannot control - I am regenerating!

Again, the voice changed and Mestor started to rant and shout.

The Doctor turned away, angered and frustrated that he could do nothing to help. The mortal battle which was taking place inside his friend's mind was one that could only be fought by him alone.

To interfere could prove fatal.

As Azmael struggled to stay upright, he staggered and wobbled about the room. But even with the wall as support, the effort proved too much and he collapsed.

Horrified, the Doctor rushed to the crumpled heap. 'You can't regenerate,' he pleaded. 'You've used up your allotted number of lives.'

Summoning the last of his energy, Azmael forced a smile to his lips. 'Do you not think I know that?'

As he spoke, a black, amorphous stain seemed to swirl and spread under the skin of his forehead. For a moment, the Doctor thought his friend was experiencing a massive haemorrhage.

'Do not be afraid at what you see,' said Azmael. 'It is all that remains of Mestor. He is trying to break out, evacuate my dying frame.' The strain grew into a pulsing blob. 'But he won't succeed.

I can sense his strength is failing.'

Azmael began to cough tiny specks of blood. 'He is finished.'

Then slowly, almost imperceptively at first, the blob began to shrink. Somewhere, in what sounded like the distant depths of time and space, a ghostly scream was heard. It was Mestor.

'Why did you regenerate?' said the Doctor sadly.

'I had no other choice.'

'We should have mind-linked. Together we could have defeated him.'

Again, Azmael coughed, but this time blood flowed freely from his mouth. 'My friend, you are too unstable. He would have swamped you... You would have been the pebble drowning in his lake.'

'But to throw away your life ...'

Azmael smiled for the last time. 'It was nearly over.' He paused, the effort to talk was proving very painful. 'My only regret,' he panted, 'was leaving Gallifrey when it needed me most... To become a renegade is to give up one's roots...'

The Doctor nodded, knowing only too well how he felt.

'But still, my friend,' the voice was even weaker, 'I did try to do my best for Jaconda...'

Azmael started to cough violently, the rattle of death apparent. The old man was fading fast.

'Jaconda certainly gave me a good life... Many great moments.'

The words were separated by violent gasps for air. 'But one of my best... was that time by the fountain... my friend ...'

The elderly Time Lord coughed for the last time and died.

The Doctor gazed down at his mentor. He felt sad and angry. 'I shall miss you, old friend,' he muttered. 'I shall indeed.'

In spite of having the twins as protection, Hugo and Peri had not had an easy time getting to the TARDIS. They had had to contend with Noma and his troop, who in spite of Mestor's strict instruction that the twins were not to be harmed, had attempted some rather unpleasant things.

Slarn, Mestor's senior chamberlain, had been sent to supervise the action, but instead of being a cautionary influence, had become over-excited and added to the mayhem.

But that was now all over. Azmael had been right when he said that all Jaconda was affected by Mestor's thoughts. Now he was dead, and his control relinquished, the Jacondan guards and courtiers seemed to have lost their drive and motivation. Like lost children, they wandered aimlessly around, confused and concerned as to what would happen next.

All except Slarn. As one of Mestor's most trusted advisers, he was only too aware, once his fellow Jacondans had recovered from their temporary disorientation, what would happen to him. He had been too diligent, too enthusiastic to serve his master and in so doing had made a lot of enemies. Knowing that his next appointment would be with an execution squad, Slarn had tried to bribe Peri and Hugo into taking him away from Jaconda in the TARDIS.

With his mission and career in tatters, Hugo had been tempted to try (after all, six million credits is a lot of money), but the memory of the Doctor's warning that it was more difficult to fly the TARDIS than it appeared, had jolted him into caution.

Slarn had then turned to the twins who were convinced that, for the right price, they could mathematically deduce how to operate the time-machine. Such was Slarn's desperation that he entered into negotiation. By the time the Doctor joined them, they had forced up their price, much to Hugo's chagrin, to ten million credits.

The man who returned from witnessing the death of Mestor and Azmael was very different from the one Peri and Hugo had left behind in the laboratory.

Gone was the vague and erratic behaviour. Gone, too, was the false bravado. The Doctor had now fully regenerated. Peri wondered how the new Doctor would behave and whether he would still want her to travel with him.

As the Doctor ordered the Jacondan guards from the TARDIS, she became aware of a colder, more remote manner to the way he spoke.

Wanting to test how cool and emotionless the Doctor had really become, Peri enquired, 'Now Mestor is dead, what about the people of this planet? We can't just leave them.'

They'll survive. The influence of Mestor is beginning to fade.

Some of the Jacondans have already formed themselves into militia groups and are dealing with the gastropods. I think we have little to fear.'

Fortunately, the Doctor gave a little smile before uttering his last sentence. Peri hoped there would prove to be more smiles and less chilly matter-of-fact logic in the man.

'But who will lead the Jacondans now Mestor is dead?' said Hugo.

'Certainly not Azmael.' There was a brief pause, but Peri wasn't certain whether it was for reasons of grief or effect. Then at last he said, 'Azmael's dead.'

The Time Lord crossed to the console and started to set the coordinates for Earth.

'May I stay?' said Hugo. 'I think I could be of some use here.'

'Really?' The Doctor thought he was mad. But then again, he had noticed Lieutenant Hugo Lang metaphorically measuring himself up for the presidency of the planet.

'I've no reason to go back. People on Earth think I'm dead.'

The Doctor knew that Hugo wasn't the stuff heroes were made from, but then there was more to being a good president than being a hero.

He was also aware that the young pilot was lazy and immature. But then, perhaps in striving to become president, he might accelerate his development, for the Jacondans weren't fools and would soon see through hollow promises and misguided leadership. If Hugo Lang thought he could bully and deceive his way to the top, he was mistaken. After Mestor, the Jacondans would be very weary of allowing another despot to rule them.

'Go,' said the Doctor at last. 'And good luck.'

Smiling, Hugo shook everyone's hand and departed.

In many respects the Doctor had been wrong in his assumption.

Although Hugo had momentarily considered whether high office would suit him, his heart was set on something far more basic.

Slarn was frightened of being killed. Whatever else Hugo could do, he was good with a gun. And when someone had ten million credits to spend on simple bribery, Hugo was convinced he could earn some of that money by offering to keep Slarn alive.

As the twins explored the TARDIS, thinking the inevitable thought that it was larger inside than out, the Doctor pressed the master control and the time-machine started for Earth.

Peri watched the face of the new Doctor, as he carefully made his way round the console, making final adjustments to the controls.

He looked tired and a little sad.

'I'm sorry about Azmael,' she said, sincerely.

'Hollow words,' snapped the Doctor. 'You had no reason to like Azmael.'

Although startled and angered by the aggressive response, Peri was more concerned that he was about to have another of his fits. Even so, she wasn't prepared to allow the Doctor to get away with his unpleasantness. 'I wasn't feeling sorry for Azmael,' she said. T was feeling sorry for you.'

The Doctor looked at Peri. 'How can you feel sorry for me? You don't understand how a Gallifreyan experiences grief. Come to that you don't understand me as a person. You don't even know me any longer.'

'That's certainly true,' she shouted, giving full vent to the pent-up fury she had felt since the Doctor's regeneration. 'And I don't think I want to, until you take a crash course in manners.'

The Doctor frowned. 'You seem to forget, I am not only from another culture, but also a different planet from you. I am alien.

Therefore, I am bound to have different values and customs.'

'Your former self was polite enough.'

'True. But at such a cost. I was on the verge of becoming neurotic.'

Peri gave up. It was pointless arguing. He had an answer to everything. All she wanted now was to go home and she told the Doctor so.

'Before abandoning me forever,' he said, 'I would suggest you wait a little while. You may well find that my new persona isn't as disagreeable as you think.'

I hope so, she shouted inside her head.

'But whatever else happens, I am the new Doctor. This is me whether people like it or not.'

The statement was as bland and as sterile as it sounded.

Peri hoped that she had caught a glimpse of a smile as he uttered it.

If she hadn't, this particular incarnation of the Time Lord would prove to be a very difficult person indeed.

DIVERGENT CONTINUITY

PART ONE: After saying goodnight to his twin sons, Professor Archie Sylvest leaves for a publisher’s party and drinks with Vestal Smith. He is, however, diverted from this activity by the arrival of Reginald Smith, husband of the aforementioned, on Archie’s front doorstop. The scene in the TARDIS wardrobe has been cut. Instead, a newly-garbed Doctor and Peri enter the console room arguing, and the Doctor goes straight into the “Do you know what a Peri is?” dialogue. After Peri fends him off with her mirror, the Doctor falls to the floor and into a sort of autistic trance, rocking gently back and forth without demonstrating any other sign of communication. Outside the twins’ home, a ginger tomcat senses the arrival of Azmael and the subsequent kidnapping. Later, Archie Sylvest returns home, having got very drunk with Reginald Smith and paid him off to keep quiet about Vestal. The scenes with Fabian and Elena have been completely removed. Instead, we take the opposite viewpoint: the adventures of Hugo Lang and his squadron. When the squadron challenges Azmael’s freighter and follows it to Titan Three, Mestor telepathically creates ‘a massive [blue] aurora borealis’ that surrounds the freighter and lashes out at the pursuing ships. Hugo’s fighters are picked off one by one, until finally the Lieutenant himself is attacked and crashes his ship.