Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias Part 22

'Professor?'

He turned his head slowly towards her and smiled. 'h.e.l.lo Ace,' he said, wincing slightly. 'Too loud,' he mouthed, still smiling.

'Are you OK?'

He nodded, eyes closed. 'Just had to... shut down for a while.

Repair the damage. I thought I was alright, but Michael's punch must have set me back a little.'

And suddenly Ace was hugging him, squeezing him until she heard him squeak. And then hugging him a bit more. Eventually she let him go and sat back down. 'Professor... They want Eddie.'

'I thought they might. I've remembered something that I'd forgotten. Maybe Michael's punch was just what I needed to jolt things back into place. I've just remembered that I met Eddie earlier on before he found me in the hut.'

'Are you sure they haven't just put that in your head like Eddie says they've been putting stuff in his head?'

The Doctor shook his head, his sharp eyes fixed on Eddie.

'No, I don't think so.' He looked up at Ace. 'But Eddie's wrong.'

At this, Eddie's head shot up. 'It's true. You said so.

"Inhuman things" you said. Alien Alien things.' things.'

'I was wrong.' The Doctor's voice had dropped to little more than a whisper.

'But what about all the stuff in here... the killings and the burnings? Where did that all come from?'

The Doctor held his gaze steady on Eddie's eyes. 'It was in there already, Eddie. They haven't been overwriting your memories with new ones: they've been restoring the old ones.

And I rather suspect that the memory loss of at least some of the residents isn't due to natural causes.' He looked from Claire to Ace. 'And the worrying thing is that the memories that are being recovered aren't those of happy childhoods and trips to the seaside with the grandchildren.'

'Alien things,' breathed Ace, looking at Eddie as she remembered his words. Outside the vestry were an a.s.sortment of Graystairs residents who were quite probably aliens. And they'd locked themselves in with one of them.

Cl.u.s.tering together in the cold, starry night, five old people came together in the darkness of the churchyard. They all carried short, stubby weapons, silver grey.

'He's in there with them,' said Khamrain, the woman formerly known as Beanie. She stared at the church, suppressing a shudder at the primitive belief systems that the place embodied. Something that, she hoped, would soon be a thing of the past. There would be no room for such atavism in their glorious new order.

'They have weapons,' said Natillo, an uncomfortable caution in his voice. 'The concussion device they used may be just a sample. We have to be careful. We can't risk injury to ourselves.'

Khamrain threw a sneering look at him. 'Fortune favours the bold, as I seem to recall they say here.'

'And death, the foolhardy,' added Hamaeia who'd previously gone by the name of Harry.

'So what do you suggest? That we leave him in their hands?

If they know the truth, they won't hesitate to kill him.'

Hamaeia gave a snort. 'They don't have the stomach for killing in cold blood. No matter how alien alien they think he is, they won't be able to see past the fact that he is a frail, old man.' they think he is, they won't be able to see past the fact that he is a frail, old man.'

Hamaeia's voice turned wheedling and pathetic, mocking, as he finished the sentence.

Khamrain smiled. 'What do you suggest?'

She looked at the faces of her comrades: some, she could tell, were with her; but others were dearly confused, thrown by the sophistication of the explosive device thrown at them earlier.

They had not expected such weapons from the humans, such resistance. They could not risk the death of any of their number.

Without Eddie their plans could not progress.

Khamrain made a decision; and as she took a step towards the vestry, not a single voice was raised in argument. That was all she needed.

The Doctor took Eddie's hands in his, but Eddie refused to look into his eyes. Eddie's own were red and sore; on the table lay a snotty tissue that Claire had found in the pocket of her cardigan.

'Eddie, listen to me,' the Doctor said. 'I can help you. If that's what you really want.'

'I don't know.' Eddie looked at Ace, then at Claire, seeking their opinion, unsure of his own.

Ace glanced at the Doctor and then back at Eddie. Then back to the Doctor. Did he really know what he was doing? Just a few hours ago, he'd been a gibbering wreck: when she'd dragged him from the sleeper chamber aboard the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, he hadn't even recognised her. And now here he was, offering to bring back the memory of an alien an alien who had friends out there who were trying to kill them. Could they trust him to make such an important decision now?

'It's what I might remember that scares me,' Eddie said.

'What I might become.'

'We all have our ghosts,' said the Doctor. 'Things we don't want to remember. But sometimes we have no choice, Eddie not if we want to be honest to ourselves.'

Eddie nodded as if he understood. 'What do I have to do?'

Khamrain paused at the vestry door, noted the warm sliver of yellow light that bled under it. She couldn't hear anything.

Perhaps they'd escaped through the building, in which case there was nothing they could do for now. Silently, she pressed her ear to the thick, wooden door.

Claire watched as the Doctor placed the tip of his finger between Eddie's eyes and jumped as Eddie threw back his head sharply, his mouth wide open.

'What's happening?' she asked.

Ace shushed her, pulled her aside. 'The Professor's trying to get Eddie's memory back. And no, I don't know how he does it.'

The two of them watched as the Doctor whispered to Eddie, taking him back. They couldn't hear what he was saying. Eddie just kept shaking his head gently, rocking in his seat. But three minutes later, the Doctor straightened up with a tired sigh and turned to them. 'His memory's blocked by something far more sophisticated than just trauma-induced amnesia. I was hoping that he was close enough to a breakthrough... I thought that maybe just one little push...' His mouth tightened in annoyance.

Then he gave a shrug. 'Maybe I'm not quite back to my old self.'

Eddie was coming round. Claire crouched down beside him.

'You OK?'

He opened his eyes and stared at her muzzily, frowning.

'What...? Who are... oh yes, yes.' He looked around the small crowd of solicitious faces. 'Didn't work, did it?'

Claire squeezed his shoulder. She couldn't think of anything to say.

'Only one thing to do, then,' he said, gripping the edge of the table. 'I've got to go out there to them. Maybe they can bring my memory back.'

'You may not like what you remember,' the Doctor warned.

Eddie nodded. 'But like you said, sometimes we have no choice.' His jaw was tight, his eyes harder and narrower than Claire had remembered them. For a second, he seemed like a different person, and Claire was almost glad that the Doctor hadn't been able to bring his memory back.

Khamrain pulled away from the door as she heard the heavy bolt being drawn back. The others were gathered in the darkness at the side of the church and she quickly moved to join them.

'Well?' asked Jophan, impatiently.

Before she could answer, a block of yellow light slanted across the gra.s.s from vestry door and a long silhouette bled into it. As the shape, hair backlit and burning white, stepped onto the lawn, the door was closed and bolted behind it. For a moment, the figure stood there, clearly uncertain. It turned its head to and fro. Khamrain stepped forward so that she could be seen.

In silence, it moved towards her until they stood not three yards apart.

'Eddie?' she said, hesitantly.

The figure shook his head. 'Matrin,' he corrected her, his voice clipped and precise. 'Onaaka Matrin, Commander of the Second Tulkan War Fleet. It's good to be back, Khamrain.Very good indeed.'

Chapter Sixteen.

'Professor!' hissed Ace as they stepped from the crackling ground of the wood onto the solid earth of the roadway. 'Look!'

He followed her gesture. In the darkness, limned by moonlight, were two figures, motionless at the edge of the trees. Ace squinted and, for a moment, wondered if they were just twisted tree stumps, given the semblance of people by the dark and the shadows. Something moved at their feet, a small, black shape.

Two eyes, catching the moonlight, sparkled back at her like tiny sapphires.

'We've got to get away,' she said urgently under her breath, and pulled at the Doctor's sleeve. But he held firm, frowning at her. 'Why?'

'Because. . oh, just because, Doctor. Trust me.'

He frowned and allowed Ace to pull him in the direction of Graystairs. She glanced back to see that the shadows were on the move, stepping over fallen branches, picking their way through the moonlit debris of the wood as if they were robots, silent and creepy. Like three mechanical a.s.sa.s.sins, they advanced on Ace and the Doctor. Ace remembered the events of the night before -and suppressed a shudder.

Since Eddie had walked out of the vestry, things had happened quickly: the Doctor had jumped to his feet, announcing that, now that they had Eddie, the endgame had started. Claire had tried to get an explanation from him as to what the h.e.l.l was going on, but he'd been too busy ordering everyone around to listen. He'd told Claire to get herself back home. She'd offered to call the police, but the Doctor had told her not to, saying that it would just mean more senseless deaths.

Perhaps Michael's outburst had made an impact on him perhaps he was realising the importance of 'the little people'

Wonders would never cease.

Suddenly, the shadows detached themselves from the spiky blackness of the wood, stepping into the broken moonlight in front of them.

'Good evening,' said the tweedy woman with a coldness that totally belied the words.

'Good evening,' the Doctor replied, raising his hat with his free hand. 'Lovely evening for a stroll, isn't it?'

'It is indeed a good evening,' answered the tweedy man at her side, looking from Ace to the Doctor and back again.

'I'm the Doctor and this is Ace. I remember seeing you in the village... are you local?'

The woman barely glanced at the man as she said 'No, not really.'

'Visiting Graystairs, then?' The Doctor waved in the direction of the house.

'That is our intention, yes,' replied the man.

Ace suddenly remembered the dog, and looked around to see it standing behind her, cutting off her retreat. Its eyes shone with reflected moonlight, still that strange blue, as though illuminated from within. She swallowed.

'Well perhaps we can go up together,' suggested the Doctor, and stepped forwards. But the tweedies didn't move. He caught sight of the dog, moving round to stand at the tweedies' side, and waggled his fingers at it. It stepped forwards and gave a cautious sniff before glancing up at its owners in an oddly human gesture.

'Careful Doctor,' Ace warned him, remembering what the dog was capable of.

'Beautiful little dog,' the Doctor said, ignoring her and regarding it curiously. He looked up at the tweedies. 'Well, a beautiful facsimile of one, anyway.'

He glanced at Ace, a smile playing round his lips. 'Very realistic, wouldn't you say, Ace?'

'I'm sorry,' the woman said in that distant, unconcerned voice of hers. 'I don't understand.'

'The dog,' the Doctor said. 'Very realistic.' He bent closer to it and it backed away, its eyes fixed on the Doctor. 'What is it? A Landine?'

For the first time, Ace was almost staggered to see a break in the steely composure that the tweedies had shown so far. They glanced at each other, their eyes widening visibly. 'How do you

' 'How do I know? Well, when you've seen one gene-tailored guardform, you've seen them all.'

'A what?' whispered Ace, tugging gently at his sleeve.

'A guardform?' The Doctor drew himself up, as if preparing to give a lecture. 'Well, not much more than a wild animal genetically modified, bred and conditioned to act as the ultimate in loyal guard dogs if you'll pardon the expression.

Polymorphic, I a.s.sume? Landines usually are.'

The tweedies seemed almost lost for words.

'Oh well, I don't suppose it matters,' the Doctor said, saving them from having to answer. 'And if it's a Landine, that would rather suggest that you two are Annarene. Am I warm?'

'You know rather a lot for a human,' the man said, his voice suddenly becoming much thinner and reedier, inflections and intonations creeping into it that made it almost musical.