Doctor Who: Festival of Death: 50th Anniversary Edition (11 page)

The Doctor halted and checked the life-detector. ‘We’re the only living souls aboard,’ he announced. ‘Good. How long, K-9?’

‘Approximately five minutes twenty-four seconds. Advise immediate relocation to TARDIS. Urgently.’

‘All right, all right.’ The Doctor hauled the airlock door open and carried K-9 into the access tube. ‘Romana?’

Romana glanced down the corridor. In the darkness there was the figure of a child, a girl, smiling in farewell. Romana blinked, and looked again. There was nothing there, just a shape in the blackness.

She collected her thoughts, and stepped through the airlock.

The engines of the
Indigo Glow
flared into life. It cycled on its retro boosters and emerged from the mesh of struts and access tubes. The main thrusters fired and the supernova convertible glided into the tranquillity of space.

The remaining ships launched themselves, taxied into a queue and then, one by one, abandoned the tunnel for ever. With each
spacecraft
that separated, the G-Lock was diminished, leaving only the
Cerberus
and the other barren wrecks.

In the hold of the
Montressor
, the TARDIS faded to nothingness. The cobwebbed hooks and piles of junk remained in a withered silence.

Romana flicked the appropriate switches and the scanner droned open to reveal the G-Lock, wedged at one end of the hyperspace tunnel.

‘Ah.’ The Doctor picked through his jelly-baby bag, but it was exhausted. He crumpled it away. ‘Time, K-9?’

‘Four seconds, master, and counting. Two seconds. One.’

Within an instant the entire structure was crushed into a white-hot speck as the tunnel first compacted and then disappeared completely. As the hyperspace conduit reduced to a singularity, an explosion erupted from the breach, hurling a million blazing fragments into real space.

Romana closed the scanner shutters. She faced the Doctor. He was poised over the controls, staring gloomily at the rising and dipping central column. He looked haunted, stooping under the weight of his troubles.

For several minutes, no one spoke. Romana edged towards the Doctor. ‘Doctor?’

‘Mmm?’ He aimed his bulging eyes at Romana.

‘We are going back, aren’t we?’

The Doctor frowned. ‘Romana, we could go anywhere. Anywhere in space and time. We have the entire universe at our fingertips. But…’

‘But?’

‘But we have to go back. Because we know that’s what we will do. And we can’t break the second law of time travel, can we?’ said the Doctor bitterly.

‘First law.’

‘Because it’s in our past now. Our future is in our past, and our past… well, it’s in our future.’ The Doctor drew an angry breath.
‘We
have no choice.’

‘We don’t have to return immediately. We could travel elsewhere for months. Years, even.’

‘Oh, but we can’t, can we?’ said the Doctor. ‘What if I died somewhere else? Where would your precious web of time be then, hmm? And besides, I made a promise to Gallura.’

‘To avenge the extinction of the Arboretans?’

‘Exactly. Whatever that means. So we might as well get it over with. “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”’

Romana approached the Doctor hesitantly. ‘How far back are we going to go?’

‘One day should do it, I think. I have a rendezvous with death. An appointment with destiny,’ said the Doctor bleakly. ‘“Though I walk through the valley of…”’

‘You don’t know that for sure. Evadne could be mistaken, or lying, or…’

The Doctor would not be lifted from his dark mood. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t clutch at straws. Particularly as I’ve already drawn a short one.’ He set the coordinates, and lowered the materialisation lever.

‘Doctor, you haven’t activated the analogue osmosis dampener –’

‘Never mind the analogue osmosis dampener!’ snapped the Doctor, jutting out his lower teeth.

‘Master, advise –’ piped up K-9.

‘Just leave me alone.’ The Doctor closed his eyes and leaned on to the console. His voice cracked under the strain. ‘Leave me alone, both of you.’

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

IT WAS SOMEWHERE
around the bow star on the edge of the galaxy that the drugs began to take hold. Hoopy was in the aft seat, swigging on a bottle of Old Bizzarre, whilst Biscit sat at the wood-effect dashboard, unwrapping a chocolate bar, cutting a tab of Gylcerat and changing the music on the digidisc. Xab lay on the seat next to him, sniffing blissfully on a vial of Etheramyl.

Hoopy clunked the drained bottle to one side. He could feel the Novovacuous billowing up inside him, the sweetness snaking up through his veins, into the tips of his spines. He lit a joss candle to celebrate and rearranged his kaftan and neck beads. Suddenly the tassles seemed so interesting and colourful.

Biscit gulped his chocolate, popped his tab and twisted up the volume. The music surged over them, a roar of guitars and sitars. Then the drums came in, pounding like an earthquake. It was the most incredible noise Hoopy had ever heard.

Biscit slumped back into his seat, his tongue lolling. ‘My loaf feels a bit trip-switched,’ he groaned, sliding down the chair in little bumps. ‘Can somebody else take the steer?’

Hoopy struggled forward to the pilot seat, ignoring the way the colours seemed to trail about after him, and the way the music resonated with his soul. The floor was strewn with collapsed piles of cartons, plastic bags and spent herbal sticks, and the ship was lurching seasickeningly from side to side.

Seeing Hoopy staggering towards him, Biscit fumbled out of his buckle-belt. ‘Totally groovy, Hoopster. You’re the main Gonzie. I need some medicine.’

Hoopy took command of the
Indigo Glow
. There were hundreds
of
instruments in front of him, some red, some yellow, some green. All giving off little flashes and making beep noises. It was very pretty, whatever it meant.

He studied the viewscreen, concentrating on keeping his eyes open. An asteroid rushed towards them; Hoopy gave the joystick a jolt and the asteroid soared overhead in terrifying detail. As the
Indigo Glow
swerved, Xab rolled happily to one side and Biscit crashed against the drinks locker, swearing. ‘Steer nicely!’ he yelled.

‘Where the hole are we, Bisc?’ asked Hoopy.

Biscit blearily examined some charts. ‘Somewhere outside Riedquat. Coordinates… oh, lots of numbers. Zone something or other.’

‘And whereabouts are we heading?’

Biscit uncrumpled a leaflet. On it was an illustration of an angel – an angel with the face of a skull. Creep-out city, state spooky. Underneath was emblazoned,
Come On Through To The Other Side
.

‘“The Beautiful Death”,’ said Biscit proudly, uncorking a bottle of Mobster. ‘A voyage to the undiscovered country.’

‘The beautiful what?’

‘It’s the ultimate trip!’ Biscit shouted into Hoopy’s ear. He had fire-eater breath. ‘You get to be dead!’

‘Freak out! No way?’

‘Your whole life recapping before your peepers. The answers to life, the universe, and everything! You see the afterlife! Shangri-la! And, wow, when you come down? You are the resurrection, man!’ Biscit had reached a messianic crescendo. ‘You know how oldies after near-death experiences always bang on about how they’ve been given new insight into life and that whole profundity bag? Well, this is it! That whole “blossomiest blossom” vibe!’ He shook Hoopy fervently by the shoulders. ‘Dying! Our whole lives have been leading up to this!’

‘Totally nice and groovy!’ Hoopy flicked over the leaflet. ‘The G-Lock. Teredekethon–Murgatroyd hyperspace conduit. Pas de problem.’ He rattled the destination into the navigation computer. The computer corrected the spelling and plotted a course. ‘I’ve
never
tried being dead before. Well… nearly, a few times… but never all the way.’

‘Happy hunting ground, here we come!’ said Biscit. His eyes glazed and he fell over.

In the hold of the
Montressor
, the TARDIS solidified into existence.

The Doctor emerged and checked his pocket watch. ‘Almost twelve hours exactly before our previous visit. I think that’s very good. I’m impressed. Time travel proficiency, pah!’

Romana stepped delicately after the Doctor. ‘We shall have to be careful to leave before we arrive.’

‘Of course.’ The Doctor parted a lattice of cobwebs hanging from a billhook, and hunched his way over to the bulkhead. He lit his face from beneath. ‘The web of time. We must leave all the threads hanging exactly as we found them.’

‘Figuratively or literally?’ Romana waited for K-9 to motor out of the TARDIS, and pulled the doors shut behind him.

‘Both. Except, of course, I may be leaving by another route.’ Romana watched as the Doctor rummaged in his pockets for his sonic screwdriver and whirred the instrument over the bulkhead door. It had no effect. He frowned to himself. ‘That’s odd. It worked last time.’

‘Next time,’ said Romana, brushing cobwebs from her jacket. The edge of the bulkhead had rusted solid. ‘Chronologically speaking, you haven’t opened this door yet.’

K-9 wheeled forward. ‘Suggestion. I am capable of facilitating entrance.’

‘You, K-9?’ the Doctor said. ‘But last time… Oh, I see. You’re just going to start it off for me?’

‘Affirmative.’ A line of intense heat fired from K-9’s nose and melted its way down the edge of the portal.

The laser cut off and K-9 moved back. ‘Doctor master will now be able to gain admittance using the sonic device.’

The Doctor blew on the door, and fanned the smoke away with his scarf. He activated the sonic screwdriver, the lock unclicked
and
the bulkhead ground open. The Doctor patted the side of K-9’s head. ‘You’re a very useful fellow to have in a tight spot, K-9.’

‘Query: tight spot.’

‘Tricky situation.’

The cockpit was as they had left it. Or, rather, as they would find it. Romana squeezed in beside the Doctor, who was flashing his torch across the dead instrument panels.

‘You know, Romana,’ he grinned, ‘I’m getting the funniest feeling that I will have been here before.’

An expansive bank of windows overlooked the swirl of hyperspace. A selection of humans and other aliens milled around the bar. Heavy drapes lined the walls of the observation lounge; guards and attendants strutted past, their faces obscured by howling skull masks.

Hoopy slurped his caffeine brew and admired the view. Beside him, Xab was snoring. Biscit paced back and forth, swishing a fervent tail.

‘Totally out-of-body,’ said Biscit. ‘It was like, a beautiful garden. So peaceful. I was there man. It was freakin’ loaf-baking. I know what it’s like to be dead, I feel like I’ve never been born. Way out, man, way out.’

Hoopy nodded, not really listening. A week ago, they had died for the first time. Placed in coffins alongside a hundred other trippers, Hoopy had slipped the mortal coil and let the blackness consume him. The sensation had been incredible. No pain, no anxiety, just life ebbing away like a departing tide. And then the endorphin rush, a pure angelic warmth swamping every sense. The sweet sensation of floating in a cloud above himself. Hoopy had glided down the tunnel of light, his fellow travellers alongside him, swooping into the approaching glow.

He had relived every moment of his life instantaneously. A thousand forgotten but suddenly familiar faces flashed past, mouthing his name. His forty-fifth birthday party. His expulsion from art college. His first job, shooting gibberish from the hip
for
the Underground News. Every experience, collaged higgledy-piggledy, cross-faded at a lightning pace, from the moment his eyes had shut to the scream of the proto-Gonzie bursting from the primeval soup.

And then, the celestial bliss of the afterlife. Until, after half an hour, the resurrection, and the feeling of rising up through a thick, black sea only to break through the surface and gasp into the light. Feeling the life tingle back into one’s limbs, every fibre soothed and renewed. It felt great to be alive again, that was the most wonderful part of all. Every sound was purer, every colour more vivid, every friendship more precious. Hoopy had cried at the sheer exhilaration of it and, judging by the weeping around him, everyone else had shared the same transcendent revelation.

The effect had worn off, of course. Dying a second time didn’t quite recapture the glory; death had lost some of its sting. But, nevertheless, even for the fourth time, dying was still the ultimate trip. It was supremely addictive.

Hoopy picked up the threads of Biscit’s ranting. ‘And, freak this, I met Shrieking Boy Veepjill. Apparently he’s been writing new material, it was totally digworthy –’

A tannoy tolled into life. ‘G-Lock. This is Executive Metcalf speaking, and it gives me not insubstantial pleasure to most sincerely welcome you one and all to the Festival of Death.’

Hoopy groaned. This Metcalf cat had been making broadcasts every thirty minutes.

‘This announcement is to merely inform you that there will be another Beautiful Death at midnight tonight. And this time, places will be available for over two hundred visitors to take part, so it will be by some considerable margin the largest Beautiful Death ever. So if you haven’t yet plucked up the courage to make the ultimate sacrifice, or if you’re a veteran suicider, now is your chance. Book your places now for the thrill to end a lifetime. Thank you.’

The tannoy crackled off. Biscit vaulted on to Hoopy. ‘We’ve got to do it, Hoopster. Another Beautiful Death.’

Hoopy stared into Biscit’s unfocused eyes. ‘And the fiscals? We’re
a
bit sparse on the rough-and-readies. You can kick the money pig but it ain’t jangling.’ To save on cash, they had taken to sleeping in the
Indigo Glow
between deaths, rather than hiring a cabin.

‘I’m getting some credit wired, but…’

‘Don’t flannel me,’ threatened Biscit. ‘We are partaking of this death, even if it costs us our last pobble. You hear me?’

Metcalf enjoyed making public addresses. It was good for morale, particularly his. No one had yet approached him asking ‘Are you really
the
Executive Metcalf?’, but it would most certainly happen one day.