Doktor, Donna a sonet 130
Byl Doktor. A Donna. A v rámci Red Nose Day vzniklo jedno video se Sonetem č. 130
Pro pohodlí cituji originál
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
V českém překladu
to zní asi takhle:
Mé milé v očích neplá slunce zář,
jak korál rudý není její ret
a růže hezčí nežli její tvář
a v mnohých barvách krášlí tento svět.
Je bílý mramor - ne však její hruď,
jak dráty vlasy, ne jak hedvábí,
a parfém mnohem lépe, buď jak buď,
než její dech mne vůní přivábí.
Rád naslouchám jí, ale přiznávám,
že hudba uchu více lahodí.
Když kráčí, pak se jistě nezdá vám,
jak víla že se vznáší v jahodí.
Ať jiní básní v klamných příměrech -
i bez nich se mi z milé tají dech.
A proč to tady? Svět přece potřebuje můzy dotek, aspoň někdy.
: link na knihovnu na archive.org
V rámci poznávání světa DW dopisuji patřičné poznámky ...
"And there's just one more thing,' the Doctor added. 'When you get home, you may find a need for money. I think you'd better come back to the TARDIS and pick up all of your things. I believe your wallet and purse will be among them, you know.' He shook his head.
"Really, do I have to do all
of your thinking for you?"
The Eight Doctors
"The ruthless arrogance that has been the curse of our Time Lord race. Nothing must endanger us, nothing must stand in our way. And if the lives of inferior have to be sacrificed, so be it!
You left Gallifrey in a fit of pique, and a stolen TARDIS, when your colleagues on the High Council refused to tolerate your arrogance. You selfishly took Susan with you because you felt it might be pleasant to have her company, without considering what the departure might mean for her.
Whatever your motives, much good may come of your leaving Gallifrey. But try to learn a little humility. And remember, you cannot fight evil with evil's methods. The end never justifies the means."
"The only thing sadder than a battle lost is a battle won. Old Wellington sait that to me, just after Waterloo. He was quite right".
There were disadvantages to being thought all-knowing and all-powerful, mused the Doctor. Nobody told you anything, since they assumed you knew it already.
"The process of conversion - the change, we call it - takes place over many nights. We drink the blood of the chosen one, time after time, taking him -" he smiled at Romana - "or her close to, but not over, the brink of death ..."
"What happens then?"
"Either the chosen one dies or becomes one of us. No all are suitable. A certain strength of spirit is required to survive the process."
That must be why Aukon was so keen to vampirise young Adric, thought Romana. He sensed Adric had the strength of spirit they needed.
Ignoring Zam, the Doctor addressed Romana, deliberately using the calm, detached tone of one scientist discussing an interesting theory with another.
"In my view - for this bunch of vamipres, at least - a kind of forced mutuation occurs. It takes several exposures for the vampire toxin to establish itself in the bloodstream. If the subject survives various changes occur. The cardiovascular and muscular systems are immensely strengthened, and the ageing process is arrested."
Romana replied in the samne scientific tone:
"You get the various side effects of course - sensitivity to light, mild hydrophobia, the allergy to to the allyl component in garlic ..."
The Doctor nodded. "And of course, the raging hunger for extra protein that the altered system needs. Hence the blood-drinking."
He turned to Zam. "You know, you could actually get the same effect by gnawing a good hunk of Cheddar cheese, but it doesn't quite have right mystique, does it?"
The mind of Borusa, the Doctor's much-loved old teacher and the most distinguished of the Lord Presidents of Gallifrey had silently broken under the strain of his responsibilities. With crazed logic, he had decided that what was best for Gallifrey was that he alone should rule it forever. To achieve this he needed more than the twelve regenerations granted to every Time Lord. He needed true immortality.
Like most Time Lords, he was deeply ashamed of some of the dark secrets in his people's past. He knew that their morally superior image was largely a front, but there was no need to spread scandal araund the cosmos.
Immune to scene's beauty, Wrag saw only a clear field of fire and gratifying lack of opposing military installations. He didn't know where he was, or why, but Sontaran's duty was allways clear - to conquer.
The Doctor realised that most Time Lords had no idea of the tragic circumstances in which Borusa had left them. As fas as they knew, he had merely vanished in mysterious circumstances. Now equally mysteriously, he had returned.
There were no obvious indications that the Doctor was in trouble. He was safe inside the TARDIS, where no enemy could reach him and there was no unexpected trap waiting for him there - yet.
No, the Doctor's enemy was inside his own mind. For no particular reason, he was feeling depressed.
It was a condition which occasionally attacked Time Lords, especially those with half their regenerations behind them. In fact, the condition attacked most intelligent lifeforms and was well known on many planets, inclulding old Earth.
There it was known as accidie, and to the Church it was a mortal sin - a denial of God. It was also known as ennui, the megrims, the blues, or the black dog. But whatever the name, the symptoms were always the same; listlessness, boredom, a sense that life was ultimately meaningless and futile, without point or purpose.
If short-lived humans can be oppressed by such feelings, how much more vulnerable is a Time Lord, weighed down by the burden of regeneration after regeneration. When life seems to have no value, an almost ending supply is a curse, not a blessing.
The Doctor could remember mornings on Gallifrey when a daisy on a snowy mountainside or a drop of dew gleaming on a blade of grass was a sufficient reason for living.
He told himself he was simply bored, that perhaps, much as he hated to admit it, he was lonely. He badly missed having a travelling companion to share his journey with.
Both problems could easily be remedied.
The cosmos was full of excitement and adventure. As for companions, well - Earth, and any other planet with intelligent life, was full of sentient life-forms eager to see the Universe at his side.
But the Doctor was sick of risking his neck in some noble cause - and even more sick of doing nothing. Fed up with being wise and kindly and patient and patronisingly paternal, his persona had darkened, he had become detached. He could barely believe some of the things he had done these last few years. And now, no one was here, and he realised with a cold bitterness just how much he hated be alone.
The Doctor knew in his hearts that he should go back to Gallifrey and place himself in the hands of the Chief Hospitaller and his team of psycho-techs. There were drugs, there was neurosurgery, there was endless well-meaning talk ...
Even then, though, a cure was by no means guaranteed.
Some Time Lords recovered, but others wandered off into the Outlands and were never seen again.
The treatment of last resort was a forced regeneration, in the hope that the melancholia would be left behind in the discarded form ...
As you once said yourself, Doctor, a man is the sum of his memories, and a Time Lord even more so. You needed your other selves, just as they needed you. For a time I needed you - to make one or two small improvements in the patterns of history.
The Reign of Terror
Barbara flung down her dishcloth and Ian made way for her to take a look. She saw the squat, almost neckless figure, as if in a portrait come miraculously to life. There was the famous fringe brushed forward over the high forehead, the twin curls in front of the ears, the arched nose and the small, rather mean mouth. The gold braid on his collar and epaulettes and the broad sash knotted around his waist gave Nappoleon an impressive air despite his short stature. For Barbara, the only disappointment was the fact that the future First Consul and Emperor of France did not have his hand tucked into the opposite flap of his tunic.
The Stone Rose
"Hey, why doesn't he get wrinkles? I mean, however many hundred years, even with the new body, got to do something to the skin. Free radicalls and all that. I bet we're not the only planet with pollution. Can you find out what he uses? Make a fortune, he could."
"You have been helping me, Doctor, at great inconvenience to yourself. It is in many ways my fault that you are in this predicament at all. I will not desert a friend."
"That's the beauty of time travel. I've arrived back a few days before I left." He handed her the now-empty phial. "There you go. One miracle restorative. Roll up, roll up! Does your head feel like it's full of rocks? A drop of our potion will sort you out. Ladies, does your husband receive all your loving comments in stony silence? Give him our amazing remedy and he'll be a new man in no time at all."
Rose grinned. "So where did that come from, then?" And where's Ursus? Did you sort him out?"
"Don't really know. Somewhere around and not yet."
"You're lost without me!"
He tucked his arms through hers. "Don't I just know it? If anyone ever asks me what sort of friend you are, I tell them: Rose Tyller? I'm lost without her. Rock-solid, that's what she is."
"There's no one to ask! The Doctor's gone, Vanessa's been rockified and you've just slurped up Ursus like a cat with a saucer of cream! Look, who - what - are you anyway?"
The little creature clacked its beak. "I am a GENIE," it said.
Rose gasped. "A genie?"
"Indeed. A Genetically Enginereed Neural Imagination Engine."
"Do you mean - you can't mean - I mean, you're not a being that grants wishes ..."
"You are incorrect. I am not a being that grants wishes."
"Pardon?" said Rose.
"That is to say, I am a being that grants wishes. That is the function for which I was designed and built."
"Although I had to accompany my wisher in order to facilitate the transfer in time, I fear a slight miscalculation on my part led to us being separated on arrival in this era. However, considering the fact that I had suceeded in forming a working theory of time-travel and then almost instantenously engineered a way of putting it into practice and transporting us not only two millenia in time but several hundred miles across space, I think such an occurence barely even couts as ean error."
"Well, we're not killing anyone for you! Look, how much more do you need? Maybe we can, I dunno, pick up a couple of steaks or something."
The GENIE was quiet for a moment, pondering.
Finally it said "I have calculated the energy that would be required to get to the year 2375."
"Yes?" said Vanessa eagerly.
"Assuming my last energy intake -"
"You mean ´dead body´," put in Rose.
"- is regarded as an average," continued the GENIE, "I calculate I would need 1.718.902 times that amount in order to grant such a wish."
For once, Rose was speechless.
"Yes," the Doctor interrupted testily. "This statue is accurate in every detail. Bum. Arms. Legs. Nose. Broken fingernail on your right hand."
Rose looked down. "Hey, even I hadn't noticed that! Well?"
"Well, where did it come from?"
He sighed exasperatedly. "I made it."
Rose laughed. "No, really."
"What, you're serious? But, like, how? I didn't know you sculped. You said you didn't sculpt. You said you weren't a master sculptor. I heard you."
"I learned," the Doctor said.
She was puzzled. "When?"
"This is a time machine," he said - and told her everything. How he lost her trail. How he went back to the British Museum. How he realised the truth. "The earrings gave me the first clue," he said. "But when Mickey and I turned her over and found my signature on the bottom -"
"You'd better not have signed my bottom," said Rose.
"- on the base," continued the Doctor, "well, that was a bit of a hint too."
"You'd think that something as sophisticated as the TARDIS would have a stand-by emergency lighting system," Ian grumbled.
"It doesn't need one," the Doctor snapped. "This situation can't happen." Out of respect, the others refrained from pointing out that it could and had.
"Yes, I'm not human, and yes, that was a vampire, and yes, you really have wandered into an ancient feud between my people and theirs, and now you can either stay here and tell people stories they'll never believe, or come with us and help us stop her from killing people. Excuse me."
And she could feel an impossible double pulse through her fingertips, and a tingling chilliness to his skin, and she had no idea any more what other questions there were to ask. He was already dashing off down the valley, and she was still standing frozen with stock.
Sam grinned as she hurried after him. "He's the Doctor," she said. "Deal with it."
"The people who believe the most in the idea of the food chain are the ones who think the're at the top,' the Doctor said without taking his eyes off the road. "Remind them they're not, and suddenly they're terrified."
"You want to know what it's like trying to get the US military to cooperate with the UN? If they're not running the show, they don't want any part of it. If I even want to borrow a specialist from the army, I've got to fill about three Michener novel's worth of paperwork. And don't even think about bringing in troops unless you've got hard evidence of an imminent threat to national security." Carolyn nodded. "So I like to bring in the occasional civilian adviser. Saves paperwork, stops the brass knowing what I'm up to ... Besides, your average UFO hound knows more about what's going on than the desk jockeys in the Pentagon." Kramer caught herself. "Never mind," she went on, "that's all classified anyway."
"So, I see his taste for younger women hasn't changed."
Sam gave Kramer her extra-polished freak-out-the-mundanes smile. "Compared to him, we're all younger women."
Kramer shifted in her seat. "Let's just say we weren't exactly on the best of terms."
"Oh." Sam forgot to be sophisticated, and settled for just being puzzled. "Why not?"
"Well, basically because he's a manipulative little weirdo who was always up to something behind my back," Kramer said with a hint of a smile.
Sam blinked and shook her head. "He's, er, changed. Quite a bit."
"So I gather. I don't hold it against him. He always did what he did for the best reasons. But is still annoyed the hell out of me, you know?" Kramer turned and looked at her. "I figured I should put this all out in the open. I don't want you to feel like you're caught in the middle or anything."
They pulled up outside Carolyn's house and walked up to the front door. Sam was surprised. "You sound like you don't trust him."
"I'd trust him with my life." said Kramer. "But he never invited me over for dinner, you know what I mean? We just saved the world and got on with it."
"Yeah?" said Death.
"Ah, yes," said the Doctor. "Could I speak to the manager, please?" he asked.
Death looked at him. "Is there a problem?"
"Not yet," Sam threw in, and grinned.
"There's an old Buddhist story about a doctor," said the Doctor.
"No doubt," said Shackle. He lay on the bed in the guest bedrooms, arms flung over his eyes.
"He worked in the middle of a war that went on and on. All the wounded he treated went right back to the front lines to be injured allover again, or killed. And this doctor couldn't see the point in it any more."
"It just doesn't matter," said Shackle. "Death wins."
"No matter what he did, a lot of good people died. And he didn't know what to do about it. He tried withdrawing from the world, but that didn't make it any better. He tried to be cynical and heartless, but despite his best efforts at giving up hope he couldn't quite manage it completely. He even tried to take control of the people around him, and manipulate them into changing things, but no matter what he did he could never control things enough to change everything that needed changing."
"Why shouldn't I choose how? And when?" Shackle murmured. "Better than catching a stray bullet or a needlestick."
"So this doctor started looking for enlightenment," persisted the Doctor. "He went on a long journey, and he met many people and did many things. I won't bore you with the details of everything he found on the way. But eventually, after many years, there came a moment when he finally understood."
"And then he knew he had to put into practice what he'd to learnt.
And he went back to the front lines, to tend to the wounded and heal the sick. Of course it didn't make any more sense than did it before, he didn't have any more control over the world than he'd ever had, but that wouldn't stop him from holding back death whenever he could.
It's what Doctors do."
Shackle shifted his arm slightly. A bleary eye looked out at the Doctor. "And the moral of the story is?"
The Doctor looked at him.
"Oh, it was very nice." Shackle's last word was a twist of the knife. "Naive and simplistic, but ever so sincere."
The Doctor sighed in defeat. He got up from the rocking chair. "Get some sleep," he said.
Shackle said, "I though you were going to try to talk me out of it."
"Only you can talk yourself out of it," said the Doctor.
The Doctor was there. She wondered how long he'd been sitting on the seat opposite her, watching her with that worried-daddy look on his face.
"I spoke to Joanna," he said.
The Doctor shook his head. "She honestly doesn't understand what's wrong with deliberately making someone miserable. I thought that was so basic and fundamental that every being in the universe had some concept of that."
"Doctor," said Sam, slowly. "Read my lips. They're - vam - pires. Savvy?"
"Yes, yes, yes, but ... I had hope that even after centuries of killing, there might still be something left in Joanna. Something ... Perhaps I hoped a little of me would rub off on her." He put a hand to his face, wearily. "Arrogant."
Sam shrugged. "Worth a try."
"He's still outraged at me for the time in 1983 when I shot him six times in front of a bunch of mortals. The poor sop started to run after me - and you should have seen the look on his face when he realised he'd forgotten to fall down!"
The Doctor couldn't help it. He laughed.
Shackle said nothing. Finally a broken chuckle escaped his lips. "It's just poetic justice. Poetic injustice. Further proof that irony is the fifth fundamental force of the universe."
Kramer put down the mugs she was carrying. "Give her something useful and safe to to. Tell her a few white lies to keep her out of the worst of it."
"No," he said. "Not Sam. She trusts me. Real trust is as rare and precious as having a cat pay attention to you. She didn't storm out of here because I'd lost her trust: she left because she disagreed with what I was doing. She shouldn't be alone out there ..."
Kramer sat down. "Typical, isn't it? You put in all the effort to keep them safe, and then they go off and put themselves right back in danger."
The Doctor began to smile."If anything it's got worse these past few years. I just thought it would be a good idea to talk to someone who didn't have inexplicable urges to run off with me."
Kramer snorted. "They're hard inexplicable," she said, and went back to stacking the dishes. When she registered the confused expression on his face, she put them all down. "Look. You want my honest opinion?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?" muttered the Doctor.
"You should get used to it," she said. "As far at anyone can tell, you're a young single male with a mysterious past and a life of adventure. Of course they're gonna flock to you. They don't see the thousands years, or what a job saving the Earth all the time is." She shrugged. "And besides, chicks dig dig the time machine."
"It was never like this before," he said.
"You never exactly gave 'em the same kind of invitation before," she said. "Your last regeneration, you didn't act so ... uh, approachable."
"I was so much older then," he said. "I think there were things i made a point of forgetting when I stopped being so old."
"No, it's more than that." Kramer cast around for the words. "Lemme put it this way. You weren't so much of hands-on kind of guy."
"That makes a difference - you gotta be able to see that. The way you look, the way you act, the way you're so touchy-feely all of sudden ... It gives you a kind of power over people."
He looked blank. "What do you mean?"
Kramer shook her head. I don't believe it, she thought. "Look at Carolyn. You really didn't see what you just hugging her was doing to her?"
He looked surprised. "I thought she was enjoying it."
"Ohh boy," said Kramer, shaking her head again. "You're a danger to yourself and others, you know that?"
"No, I really don't understand. Where does power into it?"
"Look at her. She's having a rough time with her boyfriend. Along comes another unattached male who can take her away from it all - and who's acting all cuddly and approachable."
"And who has cute eyebrows," he said , incomprehensibly.
"And then she's wiling to put herself in harm's way for him." Kramer smiled out of the corner of her mouth. "You really think she'd be doing that so easily if you looked like me?"
"Oh dear," said the Doctor. Kramer couldn't help smiling outright.
"You should smile more often," he said. "It looks lovely."
Kramer raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm a general
"I never really had breakfast", he said. "Never enough time."
"Always the way," she said coolly.
His taste buds felt just as remote as the rest of the body he was rattling around in. "What a con," he said quietly. "The whole vampire thing was always supposed to be the great sensual experience. Dark romance and a new exotic taste." He looked at her, almost pleading. "Don't tell me you never saw the attraction there."
"Why?" She turned to him with a look of surprise. "Who needs blood when you've got chocolate?"
The Doctor had no fear of falling, because he knew he could always clamber back up, through the sheer force of who he was. Through the people he loved, through the things he believed in, through knowing with that childlike certainty just what he wanted to be.
The Gallifrey Chronicles
There was something ... the old man's skin was glowing. Ever so faintly, at least at first, but too brightly to be any trick of the light. She didn't think that was normal. It was like an overexposed photo now, his eyebrows and the exact lines of his nose and mouth bleached out.
She stared at the old man's face, and when it stopped glowing it was a young man's face.
Brown eyes snapped open.
"Gallifrey," the young man said.
There was structure, the universe was a web made not of spider's silk but of space and time.
But in such a cosmos, one of fluxing quad-dimensionality, who was to say what was cause and what was effect? Even the newly woven children of his world understood the solution to that solemn inquiry: there was no history, don't you see, only established history. Time was an ocean of broth, rich in elements and possibilities. Observations could be made to spot trends and to predict, for the oceans of time were subject to the laws of temporal mechanics. But these were projections of reality, not the reality itself as long as the Lords of Time remained in their Citadel, merely watching. Yet, if a single one among them were to cease observation and to step out into the universe, they would freeze time wheresoever their feet touched the ground, wheresoever they drew breath from the atmosphere. At that moment, their mere presence would change time, from a fluid to a solid thing. If one of the Lords of Time but glanced into the night's sky, the stars would become true in the instant they were seen, and thence back for every picosecond of the ten thousand years of the star's photon's journey. When a time-traveller swam in this ocean, it solidified around them, crystallised, became transmuted into that which could never change. And so was written the most sacred law of all - for even the softest touch of a Lord of Time could condemn a man to existence or nonexistence, bring empires into being and destine them to ruin, and blot out the sky or fill it with heavenly radiance. Observe. Never interfere.
The Doctor pointed at the mule-man. "Thorgan was trying to kill Fibonacci before he wrote the Liber quadratorum. Imagine it, Trix: western culture without the ability to solve diophantine equations of the second degree."
The Doctor tapped his lip thoughtfully. "As I said to King Priam, you should beware of geeks bearing gifts. If only he'd listened. Of course, I also told him not to look a gift horse in the mout ...'
"Yet my planet is still here, and yours isn't," Rachel said.
Marnal's face seemed to grow dark. "Indeed."
"And you realy think the Doctor did it?"
"I know it."
"But he was helping mankind there. Without him, the Network would have conquered the Earth."
"He was interfering, don't you see that? Breaking the most sacred law of the Time Lords."
"He saved lives. Including my life." She hesitated. "And yours, for that matter. You were on Earth then too."
"Who is to say the Network shouldn't have conquered this planet? What gives the Doctor the right to pick a side and fight for them?"
"Those aliens would have killed us."
"No. They wanted you alive. They'd have made you smarter and stronger. United your species, given them a great purpose, made you part of a vast ancient civilisation."
Rachel considered this, then said, "He saved my planet."
"And destroyed his own."
"We don't know that for certain."
"We know it. We just don't know the exact circumstances. What I'm interested in is that if the Doctor was telling the Provider the truth, and he really has amnesia, he himself may not know the reasons why he did it himself."
"Well," said Rachel, thinking aloud, "who's to say that the Doctor shouldn't have to destroyed Gallifrey? Perhaps he picked the right side and it was meant to be."
"You've just chased a flashing plastic ball halfway across the solar system, but for years now you haven't shown the slightest desire to find out who you are, where you're from, if there are others like you and where they all are. Isn't that ever so slightly odd? Isn't it remarkably like there's something you have to face up to, bud you daren't do it? Two hearts and no balls, is that it?"
Rachel quickly found an alcove containing what looked for all the world like an MFI kitchen. She didn't touch anything. If an old man could be an immortal alien and a police box could be a time machine, then a fridge could be a nuclear reactor or something. The bookshelves in another area looked innocuous enough. She plucked a book at random. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. This was worth a bit of money if it was a first edition, which it was. She opened it to check for damage. The first page had been crossed out, and someone had scrawled "No, no, no, no, it didn't happen like this at all" in red ink. Rachel sighed, and put the book back on the shelf with its nine sequels.
"I'm not revelling," the Doctor said, so softly Rachel could barely hear him. "You heard it spelled out: if I hadn't acted, the Faction would have won. If I had joined the Faction, it would have won. It had already happened. You can't alter the past."
"You would dare quote the First Law of Time to me as you boast of flouting it? What about the Second Law, Doctor?"
"It sound like you're now the one giving lawyers' answers."
"'Do nothing, and all will be well.'"
"Earth's your favourite planet?" Marnal asked.
The Doctor deflated at the change of subject. "I have a soft spot for it, yes. From what I gather, you must have too."
"Is that what you think?"
"You've spent over a hundred years here. You seem to have bought property. Oh, and made at least one friend." The Doctor smiled at Rachel.
"I did the same once. Without, of course, your glittering literary career. I'm quite fond of human beings."
"Do you prefer humans to your own kind?"
"If you're a typical Time Lord, then perhaps the universe is better off without us."
There was an old myth that humans used only 10 per cent of their brains. This was a simple misunderstanding. Give or take, there was activity in every part if the human brain. But the physical structures in there were capable of ten times the activity they actually performed. It wasn't that a human being had a brain like a house with ninth-tenths of the rooms sealed off, it was more as though a road network wasn't carrying as much traffic as it was designed to carry.
"Damn it!" the Doctor shouted out. Then he felt a bit guilty - he'd almost certainly startled Marnal and Rachel. Guilty for disturbing his kidnappers, not guilty about destroying his home planet and killing its entire population and history.
Trying to explore his mind was like throwing a rubber ball at a wall.
The Doctor closed his eyes.
Strip away all deception, uncover the truth.
And the truth is: the Doctor was the finest dream of hundreds of human beings, refined as they tapped away at their typewriters. For generations, they'd made him a hero to countless millions in over a hundred countries. Then, just once, he hadn't come back. His enemies had kept him away. But despite their best efforts he hadn't been forgotten. There were those who remembered him when they walked past a dummy in a shop window or sat on the beach looking out to sea, and every time they ground pepper. Some of those who remembered him had typewriters of their own. And, after far too long, a new generation of children were about to hear that music for the first time, and they would learn their sofa wasn't just for sitting on.
Before his sweetest victory, unfinished business here -
"Everyone has a life like that. Everyone I know, anyway. We try to pretend we don't, we try to pretend it's like an advert and that if we buy a new pair of shoes, or some DVDs, or a wedding ring then we'll be happy for the rest of our lives, but before we're even home we feel more guilty than we did, because we spent all that money.
So we just get on. And none of us talks about how effing miserable we are all the time, because when we do it feels so self-indulgent and self-centred and so petty. So we go out and get hammered and try to lose ourselves for just one evening, or we pray to a god we know deep down doesn't exist. But the vast majority of us, the vast majority of the time, just sit at home glued to some television show we don't even like that's showing us nothing, scared that the plane we can hear above us is about to fall out of the sky, or that the water's polluted or that some idiot we didn't even vote for him is going to get us all killed, or we just worry that next month the overdraft will finally run out. Because that's world."
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." I heard that line the very first time it was delivered. All of us, every single one of us in that audience, listened Burbage and knew the truth of it. I've spent a lifetime here, and there's so much more than even I have known. Have you ever seen a whale's tail-fin breaking the surface of the ocean, or the sun rise over the Great Wall of China? Have you walked with ten thousand people around you, all heading the same sway? Have you sat in a forest with your eyes closed, surrounded by sound? have you listened to Bach or sipped Chateau Yquem? Have you seen an insect's eye through an electron microscope or stood on the roof of castle's tallest tower? Have you swum in a moonlit lake? You could have done any of that without me, Rachel. Think what you could do with a TARDIS. Yes, there's villainy on this Earth, but there's heroism that is far, far more than a match for it. However dark it seems, there is always more light. If you need help getting to the light, I will give you that help."
"You've been spying on me, Marnal, seen me on my travels."
"Your intervention in history, you mean? Yes, I've seen you."
"It wasn't a question. Would you say I'm usually racked with guilt?"
Marnal looked very self-satisfied. "Rather the opposite. You have a callous disregard for consequences. You destabilise governments, but never stay to check that the new regime you've installed is any better. You instinctively take sides in any conflict. You can kiss a woman one minute, forget about her the next."
It began raining in the TARDIS.
Primitive sprinkler technology, but as effective as any more exotic method of putting out a fire. The water doused the last of the flames and, most importantly, it cooled the room. The Doctor looked around to find the it gutted. The whole room was stripped empty, the walls smudged with great streaks of soot. The bare floor was a maze of fine cracks. The console was the only thing that was still there. Watter was running off it, on to the floor and down the plugholes that had just opened up.
The Doctor bolted the door then wiped some of the damp ash from the panels, trying to get a sense of the damage from the ruined displays. The TARDIS was able to repair its own structure, given some time, but wouldn't be able to replace the contents he and his companions had amassed during their travels.
He slipped the book bag off, and tucked it under the console to keep it dry.
Checking what monitors he could, the Doctor was almost absurdly grateful to discover that two of the TARDIS's three great libraries had survived unscathed. The walls of the TARDIS were strong, and the old girl had a strong defensive instinct. Emergency barriers had come down, keeping the blast away from the engines and other critical areas, channeling the energy towards ...
The Doctor started running.
"I'm trapped in one of the beams," he shouts, in the hope that someone can hear him. But the communincation links are all down, as far as he can tell.
"I'm loosing power," he reports. "Attempting a landing ot the surface. You regroup and take full scans of this area. The activate cloaking devices, return to Home Constellation. The High Council will need to -"
The planet is looming up inf front of him.
"I know you," the Doctor said.
This is a mere echo of me. The ghost in the machine.
"The serpent in Eden."
The fallen angel. You did what I tried to do but never could, you swept away Gallifrey and the Time Lords. Cracked the dome of heaven, toppled its towers, put the gods to the sword.
"For the greater good."
Booming laughter rolled off the stone walls of the crypt.
marnal doesn't know how to punish you. You never had a problem with the pithy sentence, though, did you, Doctor? You threw me into this black hole, knowing that at the singularity there is infinity power; infinite command, everything I've ever dreamd of. More. Here, I am the master; I am the alpha and the omega. You also knew that those powers only work here, and here you improsoned me. Condemned me to goodhood, with no chance of parole.
"... According to scientists, Stacey, the tides are caused by the moon's gravity. Having two moons in the sky clearly means there's more gravity around."
"Thanks for that, Sir Isaac Newton," Trix sighed, going over to the window. "I don't see one moon, let alone two of them."
"We can't leave him alone for five minutes."
"You think this has something to do with the ... What am I saying? Of course it does."
Fitz had just noticed that there were words, fractured sentences like headlines, running along the bottom of the screen. The one that caughht his eye ended:
"... the UNIT have designated "the Vore" / Devastation immense / Mayor of Londen "eaten" reports."
It was in these times that the visions came of the great Black Eye. It began to be scryed in the visions of the people, watching balefully over them. Not in the past, or the future, but in overtime. Written over past, present, future, in dreams and in waking, an alternity drawn across their history of now forever. All they could do was dismiss, push the thoughts back. Their presumption was that this vision, of another kind of themselves, was a pure symbol, a representation of the actual. That such a vision, themselves erased with five ghosts to wander lost, could become true, that under the Black Eye their primate shadows would rule the space between moments, was literally unthinkable.
The quest came to consume those that followed it. Tha fascination, in both the ancient and modern senses of the word. For a race concerned with observations and acquiring knowledge this, the all-seeing void, was the ultimate negation. Yet it empowered them, made them gods. Do nothing, they cautioned, do nothing and all will be in heaven.
"There's nothing here," he complained.
But he'd heard scratching at the wall many times. So this couldn't be true. The Doctor knelt down and examined the floor.
At the far end of the corridor, round the first corner, he heard a whirring noise, like servo motors. It was heading this way. The Doctor stood, ready for the new arrival.
It was a robot. It moved smoothly, hovering a little of the ground. It was battleship grey, with what looked like a gun and some sort of sucker cup. It watched him with a single electronic eye.
"You are the Doctor," it said in a metallic voice.
"Yes. Delighted to meet you," he replied.
The machine considered its response.
"I must kill the Doctor," it concluded.
"Are you all right, miss?"
Not a pleasantry, a genuine question. Trix wasn't sure what she was doing that made him ask this.
"You're secret service, aren't you?" he said. "You can allways tell."
Go with the flow, Trix thought. "Normally, of course, I wouldn't admit it. How have you got on here?"
"Got all the bugs, didn't lose anyone."
Trix nodded. "Good. Lieutenant, if I said "the Doctor", what would you say?"
He shrugged. "I would guess you don't mean you need a medic."
"Initial analysis complete. There is sufficient data to make a report."
"Er ... Do you still want to kill me?"
"You liked what you saw in there?"
"Affirmative." K9 paused for a moment. "The Doctor-master never loses," he added, before explaining what he'd found.
"Warning, master. Alien species identified. It is the Vore. By Supreme Council order, date index 309456/4756.7RE/1213GRT/100447TL, no Time Lord is to engage the Vore, all time ships are to observe an exclusion zone no less than one parsec and one century, in all five directions from any Vore moon. Further warning: this is a potential Last Contact. No further information."
"Better a million aliens die than a single Time Lord." He sneered at Penelope, letting her know that the sentiment was a calculated insult. "And better a pre-emptive attack fought thirty thousand light years away than those things attacking the Capitol."
"There was no threat of war."
"You have no idea what I found there."
"A temporal cicatrix," Mister Saldaamir replied.
"A scar where space-time has tried and failed to heal itself." Penelope added.
"An area characterized by anomalies in time and space," Ulysses finished.
"You were watching me?" Marnal tried not to sound rattled.
Mister Saldaamir smiled, baring sharp teeth. "No. We were watching the cicatrix. They are extraordinarily rare, and rather useful for the project we're working on."
"For millions of years Gallifrey has existed in isolation. Soon - not imminently, not all at once - there will be a spate of attacks. Omega, the Sontarans, Tannis,Faction Paradox, Varnax, Catavolcus, The Timewyrm. You know some of those names, you will come to know the others. It is very important that Gallifrey survives all these attacks."
"Of course it is," Ulysses said.
"You don't understand. All things must pass. Gallifrey will fall. But it must fall at pricesely the right time. The enemy is unknown to us. It will be until Last Contact is made. If it's destroyed before that, by any of those other enemies, then the consequences ..." Her voice trailed off. "That is as much as I know."
Marnal managed a smile. "Then it is a good as done. I know now you really did lose your memories. You saved as much of Gallifrey as you possibly could, more than anyone else would have. I once dreamt that all Time Lords would be like you, that we would explore the universe once more, help those who needed it, destroy those who would destroy. You do good ... but perhaps it is as well that you are one of a kind."
He was fading.
The Doctor leant in: "You were my childhood hero," he whispered.
Marnal's eyes widened, then closed.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King Jr
"You really haven't been paying attention, have you, love? They're monsters, he's the Doctor. There's only one way this is going to end. Look - this is a whopping great ventilation shaft. It's a way in. The Doctor leaps down it, coat tails and hair flapping, lands, finds out what the Vore are planning, discovers their weakness, he confronts them, and then he kicks their arse. An hour from now, we'll all be watching from a safe distance as this mountain explodes, taking every Vore with it."
"Leaps down? Falls down, more like. No one could survice that."
"The Doctor could."
"I can't even imagine how he hopes to beat them."
"That, Rachel, is your problem, not his," Trix tells her.
"Nothing ever ends," Fitz says. "Especally not him."
The Colony of Lies
"History can get stuffed!" Ace had retorted.
"Don't feel too bad about it, Ace; your planet's contributed much more to Galactic Culture than you could imagine ..."
"that's why I've brought you here. To give you a sense of what your incredible race has archieved."
Vložit další komentář
| skóre: 9
Re: Doktor, Donna a sonet 130
Založit nové vlákno •