Doctor Who: The Twin Dilemma (10 page)

Azmael sat on the bridge of his freighter and furtively brushed a tear from his eye. Displayed on the monitor before him was a computer analysis of the explosion that had occured shortly after their departure from Titan Three.

Next to him stood the twins who were bristling with indignation.

They had just witnessed a heated conversation between Azmael and Noma which had made them very angry.

Although they had not met the Doctor and Peri, the news of the way their lives had been casually wasted by Noma had hurt and outraged them. Although part of their anger was motivated by the fear that they too might be disposed of in an equally offhand way, they had also felt a genuine compassion, fury and indignation that, until now, had been quite alien to their immature minds.

What, in reality, had happened was that Noma had secretly informed Mestor of the Doctor's arrival. Concerned by the intervention of a second Time Lord, Mestor had ordered Noma to destroy the Doctor, Peri and the safe house.

Also, Mestor was still concerned that once the Earth authorities had rediscovered their nerve, they would launch an attack. As already proven, Azmael had shown a rather casual attitude towards covering his tracks. With the safe house destroyed, the trail to Jaconda would end on Titan Three.

Although Azmael tried to explain this, the twins weren't interested and remained resolute as to who was really to blame. As leader of the group, Azmael was responsible for the activities of each member.

As Romulus and Remus continued their verbal attack, Drak came to the elderly Time Lord's rescue with an offer of more food.

Reluctantly, the twins gave into their baser need and allowed themselves to be bustled away.

Once gone, Azmael could no longer hold back the tears. Not since the death of his dear wife had he felt such grief and despair. As he sobbed, he wondered how many more good people would have to die before Jaconda would be rid of Mestor.

Although his tears were mainly for the Doctor, they also contained a few of self pity. It was becoming obvious to Azmael that he was losing his grip on the situation. Up until recently he had always been confident that ultimately he could defeat Mestor. Yet lately the creature seemed to grow stronger, more confident and inventive by the day.

The cloud Mestor had sent to destroy the starfighters was proof of that. The technology and imagination necessary for such a feat was beyond Azmael's comprehension. Even Mestor's ability to thought-read had grown more effective, making it more and more difficult for Azmael to plot and plan. It had almost reached the point where the Time Lord felt nowhere was safe from the prying awareness of his arch-enemy.

Although the twins had been harsh and brutal in their attack on Azmael, they had in one respect, been absolutely right. He was the President of Jaconda and the responsibility for the safety and well-being of his people did lie with him. If he wasn't capable of fulfilling his duties, then it was right that he should resign and leave others to try and succeed in their own way.

But who would replace him? It was a thought that had constantly crossed his mind.

When Mestor and his army of gastropods had emerged from hibernation, many socially important Jacondans had rushed to join him before an angry shot had been fired. Even those who had bravely fought soon surrendered once they realised the war could drag on for years.

Civil servant, politician, merchant and financier alike had all declared their allegiance and had openly collaborated. A few had smiled to deceive their conqueror, whilst quietly working to defeat him, but they had soon been betrayed and murdered.

It is said by cynics that the shortest list of war heroes in the whole of the universe is to be found on Jaconda. Azmael learnt, to his misery, that there was more than a grain of truth in that observation.

Of course, Jacondan historians deny this, declaring that Jaconda exists to trade peacefully. It never seemed to occur to them that only free people can trade peacefully, and however much war may be despised, it is sometimes necessary, especially when invaded by a monster determined to destroy everything the planet is supposed to hold sacred.

When the Seedle warriors had come to Vitrol Minor in search of Azmael, he had been helped beyond the call of any individual's duty. While the warriors had set about murdering the populace, he had been smuggled off the planet by brave people indifferent to their own personal safety. Azmael hadn't needed to ask for such sacrifice, as each individual had offered their help willingly, only too aware that subjection to evil creates and feeds further evil.

Perhaps it was too much to expect the Jacondans to be as brave as those on Vitrol Minor, but it saddened him that the people of his adopted planet had such little self respect and awareness of their own freedom and dignity.

Carefully, Azmael dried his eyes. It was time to stop remembering.

Whether the people of Jaconda wanted to fight or not, was up to them. As far as he was concerned, Mestor had to die, as he had brought nothing to the planet but famine, suffering and death.

But alone, he wondered, how effective would he be?

As the TARDIS had made its way towards Jaconda, the Doctor had waxed lyrical about the beauty of the planet, of its lush meadows, its wooded countryside, its easy-going, friendly people.

The reality proved somewhat different.

As the Doctor and his party stepped from the TARDIS, they couldn't believe the devastation before them. It was as though a nuclear explosion had taken place.

The ground was scorched and black. What was left of the trees looked like skeletons that had been gnawed and ravaged by sharp-toothed scavengers. In spite of the barrenness of the planet, a heavy obnoxious stench hung in the air, reminiscent of a particularly unpleasant compost heap.

Although the Jacondan sun shone, it seemed to offer little warmth, as though the desolation absorbed the life-giving heat, jealous that it was unable to utilise its energy, but determined no-one else should enjoy it.

Cautiously, the Doctor moved around, examining first the stripped trunks of the trees, then the heavy, impacted soil. Everything was covered in a thick, mucus which hardened into a concrete-like substance, making close examination difficult.

As the Doctor continued his exploration, he caught sight of the frightened, timid face of a child staring at him from a nearby hill.

The Time Lord waved and smiled, but the boy scurried off to whatever passed for safety in such a lifeless place.

Peri and Hugo watched the painfully thin child and wondered how anyone managed to survive in such a place.

'Can't we help him?' asked Peri anxiously.

The Doctor shook his head. 'The only way we can help him is to destroy what has caused this desolation.'

'That will hardly help him survive,' snapped Peri. 'He needs food now!'

Ignoring her outburst, the Doctor continued to examine the terrain.

He knew only too well that the child would probably die, but where there was one hungry boy, there would be many others in just as much need. Although there was food aboard the TARDIS, there wouldn't be enough to keep anyone alive longer than their current condition would permit. The Doctor knew this and considered their time better spent searching out Mestor.

'What caused this devastation?' asked Hugo, crumbling a dry, lifeless twig.

'Gastropods...'

Peri and Hugo looked at each other. Slugs did this?

'Giant gastropods...' added the Doctor, reading their thoughts.

'Look at the slime trails if you don't believe me.'

As they returned to the TARD1S, the Doctor briefly related the myths and legends surrounding the gastropods of Jaconda.

It went something like this: Hundreds of years earlier, a then queen of the planet had offended the sun god, who in his revenge had forced her to give birth to a half-human, half-slug creature. (The reasons for this rather unpleasant retribution weren't certain.) Before long the gastropod had multiplied until its offspring had become numberless, ravaging and plundering the planet until every living plant had been eaten and everyone was on the verge of starvation.

It wasn't until the planet had been devastated that the sun god relented and sent a drought to destroy the slugs.

'But that's all myth,' said Peri. 'Outside is real devastation!'

The Doctor started to set the navigational coordinates. 'As you well know,' he said, glancing over his shoulder, 'myths are often embroidered stories that contain more than a grain of truth. Forget about sun gods and offending queens. Just concentrate on the fact that somehow giant slugs found their way to Jaconda.'

'But you said they had died out.'

'My dear Peri, use a little of your not inconsiderable imagination.

The beast itself may have died out but it seems fairly obvious that it left a heritage in the form of many clutches of eggs. Somehow they must have

hatched.'

'Starting the whole cycle again?'

'Correct.'

'Pity there isn't a sun god to relent and send a drought nowadays,'

said Hugo.

Peri glared at him. Why didn't he keep his mouth shut, she thought.

With the current state of the Doctor's mind, all it required was such a silly suggestion to set him off again. Cautiously, Peri glanced at the Time Lord. If he had heard what had been said, he hadn't reacted.

At least not yet.

Peri hoped this indicated the Doctor was beginning to stabilise.

With the coordinates set, the Doctor operated the master control and the time rotor started to oscillate. If his calculations were correct, as they often were nowadays, they would soon arrive at Azmael's palace where they could delight in the company of Mestor and his friends.

From their rude, sarcastic remarks, the Doctor reckoned his companions could barely restrain their eager anticipation ...

Upon arriving on Jaconda, Azmael had been summoned before Lord Mestor. Again he had been subjected to a ranting tirade.

This time, though, Azmael had felt doubly embarrassed, as Mestor had insisted on insulting him in front of his courtiers, many of whom had served the elderly Time Lord when he had been President. Although some remained silent, Azmael hoped as a mark of respect, many others had joined in the jeering and general abuse.

After being dismissed, Azmael dejectedly made his way back to his laboratory. There he found the twins staring through the glass wall that separated his work area from Mestor's hatchery.

Fascinated, the boys watched the technicians as they loaded gastropod eggs onto a conveyor belt system which then took them deep into the heart of the incubation area.

'So many eggs,' said Remus, noticing Azmael. 'Will they all hatch?'

The Time Lord nodded. 'And now you're going to ask me why we're breeding so many gastropod eggs when I have already said that Jocanda is on the verge of starvation?'

'Not at all,' said Romulus. 'My brother and I were wondering how our mathematical skill could possibly aid you in slug husbandry.'

'Come with me.'

Azmael led the twins to a corner of the laboratory where there was a beautifully made astronomical model of the Jacondan solar system. Pressing a button built into the base the model jerked into life.

'As you can see, there are only three planets in our solar system.

The largest and nearest to our sun in Jaconda. The two other planets, Muston and Senial, are not only much smaller but are also uninhabited.' Fascinating, thought the twins. But it was hardly an answer to their question.

'It is the intention of Mestor,' continued the Time Lord, 'to bring Muston and Senial into the same orbit as Jaconda.' He tried to make the statement sound as matter of fact as he could. 'Once the planets have adjusted to their new position, I am informed by our agronomists, we shall be able to farm them.'

The twins stared at Azmael as though he were mad. 'Have you any idea what would happen if anything were to go wrong?"

'1 am assured that nothing will,' said Azmael rather stiffly.

'And what is supposed to be our part in this ridiculous plan?'

'We already have the technology to move the planets. What we require from you is the mathematical delicacy that will stabilise them once they are in their new orbit.'

'And what if we refuse to help?'

'Then 1 shall kill you.'

The statement was casual, unforced and the twins knew he meant it. For the first time in their dual existence they had been threatened with death. Instead of feeling hurt and outraged, they understood the pain that Azmael must be suffering. Moving the outer planets into the same orbit as Jaconda's was for him one way of trying to save his people from starvation. He was desperate to succeed. And they accepted it.

They were also aware that the scheme was a lunatic one.

Carefully, they considered what they should do. Somehow they had to stop him. The thought of dying heroically, however glamorous it may appear to the onlooker, did not appeal to them.

To aimlessly throw away their lives by not cooperating would be pointless. Neither would it stop Mestor or Azmael. They would simply go ahead without them. Alive, they had power to control events. But how?

It was possible that Azmael would respond to reasoned, logical argument and the reality of events. As Mestor started to move the first planet and the impossibility of his task became obvious, Azmael would be forced to do something. After all, to die from another planet crashing into your own is as permanent as dying from starvation.

At least, that's how they reasoned.

On the other hand, Mestor was something else. The twins wondered how much he cared about anything. If things started to go wrong, he might insist that they continue irrespective of the consequence. As he had the power to back his insistence, they could all finish up dead and with the Jacondan corner of the universe in chaos.

The twins decided they would have to play the situation by ear.

Trying to make too many plans was foolish. But first they would have to gain the confidence of Azmael.