Doctor Who: The Eight Doctors

  The Eight Doctors

  By Terrence Dicks

  Prologue

  The Doctor closed The Time Machine with a sigh.

  'Dear old H.G.,' he murmured. 'Such an optimist. Such an enthusiast...

  especially for the ladies.'

  The Doctor smiled briefly, as if at some pleasant memory, but then he frowned, as the recent - well, subjectively recent - events at the millennium celebrations in San Francisco flashed through his mind in a jumble of outrageous images.

  It had been a weird, fantastic adventure, full of improbable, illogical events.

  He scowled at the memory of the Master, treating his precious TARDIS as if it were his own. How had he got in in the first place? Where had he acquired those mysterious morphotic powers he had made use of so freely?

  Useless to speculate, decided the

  Doctor. He would probably never know the answers now.

  He looked round the vastness of the reconfigured TARDIS control room, with its redwood panelled walls and complicated console. He had been so pleased with it once

  - now it seemed to carry the lingering taint of the Master's presence.

  The Doctor stood up abruptly, suddenly troubled. Better make one final check - just to make sure that none of the Master's malignant influence remained.

  Leaving the TARDIS control room, the Doctor made his way to the cloister room. He paced slowly along the pillared walkways and crossed the stone-flagged square, entering the massive central structure that held the Eye of Harmony.

  He stood gazing down at the flat granite sculpture in the shape of a great closed Eye.

  It wasn't the Eye of Harmony at all of

  course, not really.

  Just a symbolic manifestation, an aspect, of the Great Eye of Harmony on Gallifrey. Created by Omega, stabilised by Rassilon, the Eye held a trapped Black Hole.

  Its inexhaustible energy powered the whole of Gallifrey - including all the TARDISes with which the Time Lords voyaged through space and time.

  Even an antiquated Type Forty, like this one, was directly linked to it.

  The Doctor studied the Eye for a moment longer. It was closed, as it should be. Everything was in order.

  Except...

  In the stone corner of the closed Eye, something gleamed like a tear. The Doctor leaned forward to study it more closely. It was solid, like a tiny gleaming diamond. Surely it must irritate the Eye, thought the Doctor.

  Like those gritty fragments children call 'sleep' that they sometimes find in their eyes upon awakening.

  He leaned closer still.

  The little diamond started to blaze even more brightly. It glowed and burned and spun itself into a bolt of pure energy that lashed out and upwards and flashed into the Doctor's eyes, searing across his brain.

  The Doctor staggered back, his hands to his eyes and crashed to the ground. As he fell he heard a mocking voice.

  'Always one last trap, Doctor. All's ill that ends ill...'

  Master's mocking laughter ringing in his ears...

  ***

  Some time later - he had no idea how long - the Doctor awoke.

  He got to his feet and stood swaying for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He looked down uncomprehendingly at the flat stone sculpture of a closed eye, relieved when its blurred outlines focused into sudden clarity.

  At least he could still see. But what was he seeing?

  With a sudden shock of horror and fear, he realised that his surroundings were weird, exotic and completely strange to him.

  He turned and staggered away, out of the cathedral-like building, across the stone-flagged square.

  He had a destination, he knew that if nothing else. Something was drawing him. There was somewhere he needed to be. His stumbling footsteps took him along a different route through the labyrinthine interior of the TARDIS ending up in a room with

  white-roundelled walls and a many-sided central console.

  This, although he didn't realise it, was the old, traditional TARDIS control room, in all its classic simplicity. A few old-fashioned chairs, a comfortable chaise-longue, an antique table, a hatstand, a tall column with the statue of a bird on top...

  There was something comforting, reassuringly familiar about this room. He leaned on the control console, hands spread out flat. The console seemed to tingle with warmth. Life and strength flooded into his body.

  He had found an old friend.

  After a moment he straightened up and looked uncomprehendingly around him. What was this place? Clearly it was some kind of control room. But what was it supposed to control?

  He wandered about the room. There were chairs, a table, a teapot with an unwashed mug beside it. He touched the wall and a locker door swung open wide, revealing a rack of clothes.

  A man stood beside the locker, watching him.

  A tall, blue-eyed man with longish hair. He wore a long velvet coat, a wing-collar and a cravat.

  They stared at each other for a moment. The Doctor raised a defensive hand and the figure did the same.

  Suddenly he realised that he was looking at himself in a full-length mirror set into the locker door.

  He stared curiously into the face in the mirror. It was the face of a stranger.

  A word formed itself in his mind: amnesia.

  He didn't know what he looked like. He didn't know who he was.

  He felt a girl's warm lips on his own and heard a voice shout exultantly, 'I am the Doctor!' The voice was his own.

  'Well, that's something,' he murmured. A name - or at least, a title. But it wasn't enough.

  Doctor of what?

  Which Doctor?

  Doctor who?

  He heard another voice, but this time it wasn't his own.

  It was a deep, booming voice, rumbling and husky at the same time. It called up a shadowy picture of a great vaulted chamber in which a shaft of light picked out a massive stone bier.

  On the top of the bier lay a motionless form, dressed in ancient ceremonial robes. A frieze of Time

  Lord images ran around the sides of the bier, but the eyes in the stone faces were furiously alive.

  The voice said, 'Trust theTARDIS, Doctor!'

  Immediately, the Doctor knew that the TARDIS was where he was. The many-sided control console beneath his hands. The infinity of rooms and corridors and chambers that lay beyond it. A mini-universe - and a sentient entity. An old friend. The voice in his head spoke again. 'Trust theTARDIS.

  Let it take you back to the beginning.' The Doctor's hands began fumbling over the controls.

  Chapter 1

  Totters Lane

  A girl skidded round the corner into Totters Lane and sped along the rutted pavement.

  A thin, wiry girl with blue eyes and close-cropped fair hair, wearing black jeans, white T-shirt and trainers.

  Samantha Jones was on the run.

  Still running, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a little knot of panting figures turn the corner behind her.

  A hoarse voice shouted, 'Sam, wait up!

  We only wanna talk!'

  Sure you do.

  She increased her pace, lengthening the gap between her and her already-flagging pursuers. She grinned. Smokers, boozers, bar-room cowboys. The only exercise they ever got was pulling the ring-pull on a can of lager.

  Sam Jones was a runner, three miles every morning without fail. She could leave this lot standing.

  She was nearing the other end of Totters Lane when a tall, redhaired skinny young man in black jeans, black T-shirt and a black padded jacket stepped out in front of her.

  'Hello there, Sam! Going somewhere?'

  Sam spun on her heel and ran back the other way.

  Baz
was alone. But even alone, Baz was a lot more scary than those moronic thugs he called his gang.

  Unfortunately, she was now running back towards those same thugs. They had strung out across the road to block her escape. Three of them: Little Mikey, Pete and Mo. Mo was short for 'monster.' He was as big as a gorilla, but considerably nastier.

  Sam took a quick look over her shoulder and saw Baz strolling along behind her. Baz never ran - he would have considered it uncool.

  Sam glanced quickly around. She was running along the side of a high wooden fence, no turn-offs in sight.

  But there was a gate, midway between her two sets of pursuers. She sprinted up to it.

  The gate was locked. But it wasn't all that high...

  She took a few paces back, sprang forward, and swung herself over the top.

  Sam Jones was a gymnast as well.

  As she dropped to the ground she heard the first of her pursuers crash against the locked gate.

  She looked around her. She was in a junkyard - an abandoned junkyard if such a thing was possible. There was an incredible collection of odds and ends. Broken furniture, old bikes and rusty lawnmowers, faded pictures in shattered frames, shop-window dummies looking eerily human.

  A faded sign was propped against one wall.

  TOTTERS LANE YARD, I.M. FOREMAN, PROP.

  'Of course,'thought Sam. 'Foreman's Yard.'

  The place had been closed for years now - a junkyard that had been junked. It had a sinister reputation that went back over thirty years.

  Something about a mysteriously appearing and disappearing police box.

  There didn't seem to be any sign of it now, but there had been tales of people just disappearing - and about strange silvery monsters...

  Aliens and UFOs in Totters Lane! Yeah, right.

  Sam heard the sound of heavy bodies thudding against the locked gate once more. Little Mikey was saying, 'Here,

  Mo, give us a bunk-up.'

  It was then that she heard a strange wheezing, groaning sound from somewhere behind her.

  ***

  The transparent column at the centre of theTARDIS console - somehow the Doctor knew it was called the Time Rotor -slowed in its rise and fall, and gradually came to a halt.

  The Doctor also knew that this meant the TARDIS had landed.

  And what did you do when the TARDIS landed?

  Somehow he knew that too.

  You went outside and took a look around.

  Automatically the Doctor's hand went to the control that opened theTARDIS

  doors.

  Sam spun round and there was the police box in the corner of the yard.

  Old, shabby and out of date, it fitted in quite well.

  But it hadn't been there a moment ago.

  She saw the door begin to open.

  A young man appeared in the doorway. He wore old-fashioned vaguely Edwardian clothes and he had brown curly hair and extraordinarily bright blue eyes. He stepped out of the police box and the door closed behind him.

  He looked at Sam and smiled. 'How do you do?'

  Sam gaped at him.

  From the other side of the door she heard Baz's voice: 'Smash it open, Mo.'

  'But Baz...'

  'Smash it open!'

  A massive bulk smashed against the door, the lock gave way and the gates swung open.

  Mo staggered through, followed by Little Mikey and Pete. Seconds later, Baz strolled through behind them, Mr Cool himself. He shoved through the group and took his rightful place in front of them.

  The Doctor regarded the newcomers with mild interest. 'How do you do?'

  he said again.

  Nobody replied.

  Sam and Baz had eyes only for each other - and it wasn't because they were in love.

  'I want a word with you, Sam,' said Baz.

  'We've got nothing to talk about.'

  'There,' said the Doctor helpfully.

  'The young lady doesn't want to talk to you, so now you can be on your way!'

  Baz seemed to notice the Doctor for the first time. He glanced at him briefly, then turned back to Sam.

  'Who is this fancy-dressed loony?'

  'No idea.'

  Baz gave the Doctor his hard man glare. 'Well?'

  'I am the Doctor.'

  'Shut it - or you'll need a Doctor.'

  Ignoring the dutiful laughter of his little gang, Baz returned his attention to Sam.

  'I want to talk to you, Sam, about talking.'

  'Talks about talks? Very diplomatic.'

  Baz spelled things out with deliberate enjoyment: 'I want to talk to you about you talking about us:

  Sam looked quickly around, seeking some way of escape.

  There wasn't one. She tried to play for time.

  'Sorry, Baz, you've lost me.'

  'You've been talking to the filth about me,' said Baz. 'You talked to that pig Foster. Shortly after which we got turned over. Luckily I hadn't picked up the gear yet, so they didn't

  find anything.' Baz took a plastic shopping bag filled with smaller plastic bags out of his pocket. 'Now I've got to find a new drum, a new place for my stash. And it's all your fault, Sam.'

  The sight of the drugs made Sam too angry to be cautious. 'Now you listen to me, Basil..'.

  'Don't call me that!'

  Sam ignored him. 'We all know you're Coal Hill School's friendly neighbourhood dope dealer. Bit of pot, E for the ravers, a few tabs of LSD...

  I don't like it, but that's how it is these days.' She pointed to the bag in Baz's hand. 'But that stuff...'

  'Got to expand, Sam. This is an enterprise culture, right? Crack's the coming thing.'

  'Not at Coal Hill. Not if I've got anything to do with it."

  'That's just it, Sam,' said Baz patiently. 'You haven't. Shut up and mind your own business, if you want to stay healthy.'

  Sam was still too angry to be afraid.

  'What are you going to do if I don't?

  Duff me up? Kill me? There's a

  witness, remember.'

  Baz glanced contemptuously at the Doctor. "Think I'd worry about him?

  He'll shut up - or I'll shut him up.' He gave her a would-be winning smile.

  'Anyway, you got me all wrong. I don't want to hurt you, Sam. I like you, I really do.'

  Sam shuddered. The awful thing was, it was actually true.

  Baz did seem to like her, despite the fact that she'd always stood up to him.

  Because of it, perhaps.

  'So I thought of a better idea,' Baz went on.

  'And what's that?'

  He tapped the plastic bag. 'Gonna give you a few free samples.'

  'What?'

  'Works very quick this stuff, Sam. Right away you're really high - and pretty soon you're really hooked. See, once you've tried it, you won't be so snooty about it. And you won't want to shop me no more, 'cos I'll be your source of supply. You might even start being nice to me. Don't worry about the dosh, Sam, I'll give you a special price. After all, we're mates' Baz beamed at her, pleased at the way he'd come up with a neat solution to a tricky problem.

  Suddenly Sam felt sick with fear.

  'You won't get me taking that stuff. I don't smoke - I don't even drink Coke.

  I'm a vegetarian...'

  'Sorry, Sam, you got no choice, not the first time anyway. After that you'll like it.' Baz nodded to his fascinated gang. 'Grab her, this won't take long.'

  Baz's boys moved forward. Sam shrank back, towards the Doctor and the TARDIS.

  'Excuse me,' said the Doctor.

  He'd been standing there all this time like someone trapped by a baffling conversation at a party - unable to join in, but far too polite to move away.

  'What?' snarled Baz.

  'Let me just see if I've got this straight,' said the Doctor.

  He pointed a finger at Baz. 'You and your associates are engaged in the sale of illicit drugs. In a school? To children?'

  'That's right,' said Sam, before Baz could reply
. 'Now he's about to move on from soft drugs to hard. That stuff in the bag's crack cocaine.'

  The Doctor turned to Baz, who shrank under the freezing glare of those bright blue eyes.

  'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?'

  The question was obviously perfectly sincere.

  Baz was stung by the contempt in the Doctor's voice.