Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies Part 32

Maybe I'd better explain. You can't look straight at the Celestis. You only get to watch them out of the corners of your eyes. The Grand Hall's hardly lit, so all you ever see are shadows. Sometimes, you can hear something rustling in the darkness, like cloth, and you get the feeling they're wearing robes, but other than that you can't say the first thing about the way they look. You can stare into the corners all you want, you're never going to see faces there.

And the rest of the Hall? Hard to describe it. There's so little there that's solid, so little you can focus on. Maybe I should talk about the way it feels, instead of trying to say what it looks like. You know those great big temples you get back in the land of the living, where all the politicians live? Think about the White House, or the House of Commons, or... well. Anyway. If you go to a place like that, you sometimes get the feeling there's something wrong with the building, like all the bad decisions and double-crosses have been soaked up by the walls. Well, that's what the Grand Hall felt like. Only worse.

There was a lot of empty s.p.a.ce in the middle of the Hall, I remember that. The Celestis used to skirt around the edges, out of the way of the light (and I think the castle was lit by candlelight, by the way, although I don't remember seeing any candles). A lot of them sat up in the big galleries they had overlooking the Hall, so yes, they kept most of the floor clear. Whenever they opened up their "aperture" and reached out for the land of the living, that was where the hole would be, right in the middle of the Hall. When the Doctor arrived Wait. Wait. I'm going too fast. I was talking about my non-life in Mictlan.

As it turned out, the Celestis only wanted me as a kind of domestic servant. Don't ask why they chose me, out of all the human beings on Earth. Maybe they knew I was stupid enough to make a deal with them. Remember this, it's important; the Celestis love contracts, and they never break deals. The Grand Hall's the same as any other parliament it's got its own set of rules, and the Celestis have to stick to those rules. When you're as powerful as they are, I suppose you need codes of conduct to hold you down, to stop things getting too easy. What I'm saying is, they can't force their mark on you, you have to agree to it. Once you've agreed, there's no escape clause. If you tried to back out, they'd treat it as a breach of the rules, and you don't want to annoy them like that.

So, I became one of their dead slaves inside the castle. This was a great honour, apparently, because most of the dead never got to see the castle, they had to spend eternity wandering the streets. Yes, Mictlan's got streets, although I never saw the outside. The other servants in the castle had been in Mictlan longer than I had, and I hated them for it. I hated their dull, lost-looking faces. I hated their mindless dried-up voices. And yes, I obeyed the Celestis without question, just like they did. And yes, after a while I started to look like them, as well. I tried to hold onto my ident.i.ty, like I'm trying now. I kept telling myself who I was, I kept saying my own name over and over, but it wasn't long before it didn't sound like it meant anything.

How long did I work in the castle? I don't know. Time's different, there. All I know is this; I would have been as faceless as the Celestis by now, if it hadn't been for the Doctor.

Let me tell you how he came to the castle. I need to remember that, more than I need to remember anything else.

I was in the Grand Hall when it happened, answering questions for the Celestis in the higher galleries. Not that I was the centre of attention. They'd opened up an aperture in the centre of the floor, and most of them were busy watching events out in the land of the living. They were seeing how the war was going. Their favourite pastime.

Now, this is something I've never understood. There was a war ready to flare up, something to do with the Time Lords, although it wasn't my place to ask about the details. The Celestis were always watching through the aperture, waiting for the first big battle, arguing about which side they were supposed to be backing. And this is the thing that doesn't make sense to me. They could see the whole of the universe through the aperture, they could have watched any event from the beginning of time to the end. So, how could they not know the outcome of the war? Why didn't they just peek into the future and see how it all turned out?

Maybe it had something to do with those rules they kept making for themselves. Or maybe there are rules older than the Celestis, ones even they can't break.

So, they were waiting for the bloodshed to start, as usual. The ones in the higher galleries were arguing about whether they could trust their human agents. That was why they were asking me questions, as a kind of psychological test. I didn't have much of a psychology left by this time, but I gave them the answers I thought they wanted to hear.

And in the middle of the argument, one of the Celestis on the floor of the Hall stepped forward, towards the aperture. For a second, I thought I was going to see his face, but the candlelight kept missing him somehow. I saw him lift up the Speaker's staff in his hand, and I saw him bang it against the floor, three times, to get the others' attention.

'The timeline is settling,' the Speaker said, once the rest had quietened down, and I can't describe his voice any more than I can describe his face. 'The Time Lords' forces are committed to an a.s.sault on Dronid. The enemy, as we've seen, is taking appropriate counter-measures.'

There were whistles and catcalls from the galleries, which was pretty much business as usual. 'Good luck to them,' someone shouted, and there were laughs from the floor. I think.

The Speaker sounded agitated, I remember thinking that at the time. 'This is a moment for firm decision,' he said. 'Are we to stay neutral, or are we to lend our support to the Time Lords?' (I might be paraphrasing a bit here.) 'Neutral! Neutral!' someone called.

'The Time Lords!' someone else suggested.

'The enemy!' yelled someone at the back, and that sparked off a few arguments. I'd picked up a thing or two about Celestine politics while I'd been working in the castle. Some of them had gone against official policy, I think, and given help to the Time Lords' enemies. I got the feeling more and more of the Celestis wanted to take that kind of action. They probably thought it'd make their lives more interesting.

And that was when I saw the aperture getting wider. I remember being surprised, because the hole never usually opened up without the Speaker's say-so. You could see the Celestis were excited, anyway. They mumbled and gibbered and chattered, and watched the aperture turn into a doorway, from Mictlan to the universe outside. The Speaker banged the staff against the floor, but I think he must have known no one was going to pay him any attention.

Finally, something appeared, something solid, right in the middle of the Grand Hall. Filling the aperture, like a cork stopping up a bottle.

It was a box. A big blue box. The corners were battered, so it looked as old as the hills, and the white letters on the sides were so worn down you could hardly read them.

The Doctor had turned up in Mictlan.

I can't let myself forget that.

All right, I'll admit it. I can't remember what the Doctor looked like. The kind of face he had, the kind of clothes... things like that weren't important. He was life, and he was right there in the land of the dead, that was all that mattered. I'd heard the Celestis talking about him, so I knew who he was the second I saw the box. And yes, I know there are lots of Doctors. I couldn't say which one it was that walked out into the Hall. I'd guess it was the last one. The oldest one. I know he acted old.

There was silence when he stepped onto the floor. I mean, real silence. I'd never heard that before, not in the Grand Hall. The Doctor looked around, squinting at the shadows, with a look of real contempt on his face. Whatever face it was.

'Tedious,' he tutted.

He turned a full circle, then gave a sarcastic salute to the galleries. 'Just like the old Council Chamber on Gallifrey,' he said, and you could see the other servants around the place taking deep breaths, like they were trying to suck the words into their bodies, like they thought they'd get their personalities back that way. 'Everything sour about Time Lord culture,' the Doctor went on. 'No more than I'd expect from the Celestial Intervention Agency.'

Well, when he said that, the Celestis came to life again. They started shouting, 'no, no, no,' and they didn't stop until the Speaker banged the staff against the floor.

'We are the Celestis,' the Speaker said. 'We are the Last Parliament. We acknowledge no other t.i.tle.'

'You're a bunch of no-good interferes who should know better. Trying to decide which side to back in a war that doesn't even concern you. You should be ashamed of yourselves.'

'No, no, no,' the Celestis chanted. But the Doctor held up a finger, and they all went quiet. (Yes, I'm serious.) 'Time can't be toyed with by those who exist outside her limits,' the Doctor said. 'And I can't allow this to go on. I won't let you involve yourselves in the affairs of Dronid. You don't have the right.'

There was muttering. There was laughing, too, I think. 'Allow?' said the Speaker, but his voice sounded like nothing next to the Doctor's. 'Your opinions are unimportant. You have no power over us here. You have no authority in Mictlan.'

'No? Then how did I get here in the first place? How did I force the aperture open? I know the codes that control this grubby little afterlife of yours, don't forget that. I can come and go as I please. And I can destroy you all, if I feel it's necessary.'

There was a gasp of horror. At least, I think there was. I might have imagined it.

'You lie,' said the Speaker.

'Do I? Do you really want to take that chance?'

Even from the floor, you could hear the arguments in the galleries. The Celestis, squabbling among themselves, as usual. Some of them said they wanted the Doctor destroyed, but you could tell they were scared. Personally, I think the Doctor was bluffing. He carried it off well, though.

After a while, the Speaker called for silence again.

'I can't let you interfere on Dronid,' the Doctor repeated, before the Speaker could say anything. 'The situation's too unstable. You must know that.'

The Speaker gazed up at the galleries. 'Then... we could come to an agreement,' he said. I got the feeling he was looking to the others for support.

And, as one, all the Celestis went; 'Yes, yes, yes.'

'What did you have in mind?' said the Doctor. He sounded suspicious, and who could have blamed him?

'We can agree not to involve ourselves in the affairs of Dronid. We can agree not to further influence the conflict. In return, we would require something from you. Compensation.'

'I see. Presumably, you're going to ask for more than just a pound of flesh.'

I remember looking around the Hall, then. I remember seeing the shadows leaning forward, waiting for the Speaker to make his offer. Can shadows hold their breath? If they can, they must have done it then.

'We want the only thing you possess that we can utilise,' the Speaker said. 'We want your body.'

I don't remember the look on the Doctor's face, but he must have been shocked by that. He probably shook his head. 'Ridiculous. Make me another offer.'

'No. We consider the exchange reasonable. You believe in the responsibility of the individual. You believe in the n.o.bility of self-sacrifice. This is an opportunity to prove your dedication to these basic ideals. We want your body. Only if you surrender it to us can we consider doing as you ask. The deal is a fair one.'

And I knew the Speaker meant it, too. It's like I said, the Celestis never go back on a deal. Really, I suppose they could have opened up the aperture and stolen the Doctor's body from anywhere in s.p.a.ce and time, but they don't work like that, it's against their rules. I knew what they'd do. They'd watch the body from the Grand Hall, and they'd try to mark anyone who was unlucky enough to go near it, just to make sure it stayed in their sights. But there'd be a time when it'd fall into their hands, no question. If the Doctor agreed to the deal, anyway.

So, what happened next? Yes. I remember. The Doctor turned on his heel, and started pacing the floor in front of his box. The Celestis stayed hushed all the while. Now, to be honest, I don't think all of them liked the idea of this deal. I think some of them didn't want to get involved with the Doctor, even on their own terms. But no one wanted to say it out loud.

'Very well,' the Doctor said, after a minute or two. 'It's a bargain. But with one or two minor stipulations.'

The word "stipulations" always made the Celestis edgy, but they kept quiet. The Doctor lifted up his hand, and swept it around the Grand Hall, pointing at all the blank-eyed servants standing about the place. Me included.

'These unfortunates,' the Doctor said. 'I want you to free them.'

I wish I knew how I felt at that moment, but I don't. All I know is, the Speaker started rustling his robes. 'We could release our servants from their contracts, if we chose to. But it would be an empty gesture. We would simply recruit more of them from the land of the living. You gain nothing from this stipulation.'

'Every soul saved makes a difference,' the Doctor told him. 'You wouldn't understand.'

The Speaker thought it over. Then he said; 'Acceptable.'

Everyone started grumbling in the galleries. The Doctor nodded. 'Good. Stipulation number two...'

He kept talking, of course. But I don't remember any more of what he said.

I just remember seeing the faces of the other servants, the ones who'd been lucky enough to be in the Doctor's sight when he'd swept his hand around the Hall. I'd hated all those other slaves, because they'd been so empty, so blank, so... all right, I'll say it. So dead. But things were different, now the Doctor had made his bargain. For that one moment in Mictlan, they looked real again. They looked human. Even the ones who'd never been human in the first place.

Then there was light. Do I need to describe the light? It's everywhere, now. I can't see anything, I can't feel anything, I can only remember.

Maybe I shouldn't try to remember. I get the feeling I should let go, let the light take me. But I don't know. I've been struggling to keep my ident.i.ty for so long, I don't want to lose it now.

My name is Kristopher Patrick Englund. I'm dead. I'm dead, but no longer walking, no longer talking. I'm telling myself my own story, over and over, until I forget all the little details, and the last of me finally goes to meet the light. I'm struggling, because that's the only thing I know how to do.

Let me see. Should I start again? I think I should.

I remember being on an operating table...

14.

FINAL OFFER.

Kathleen Bregman, a.k.a. Lieutenant Kathleen Bregman, a.k.a. Miss Chicken-Legs, could still walk, talk, slouch, and scratch. As far as she was concerned, these were good signs that she was still alive. Unfortunately, n.o.body else around here seemed to agree with her.

The streets were full of people, although the people weren't much more than shadows. They lurked in the doorways of buildings, and skulked behind streetlamps in the alleyways, but they looked scared to step out into the wet-Thursday-afternoon daylight. Their features were half-formed, indistinct, all traces of ident.i.ty scrubbed away by the sheer tedium of the place. Bregman had tried talking to them, once or twice. They'd been quite adamant they were dead.

'Dead?' Bregman had queried.

Yes, they'd told her, definitely dead. This was Mictlan, the land of the dead, the place where souls were sent once they were used up and hollowed out. Bregman had read enough South American Demonika Demonika comics to recognise the name. This, in her own poxy orthodox Euro-Christian terms, was purgatory. comics to recognise the name. This, in her own poxy orthodox Euro-Christian terms, was purgatory.

When Bregman had been a child, she'd lived near a corporation-owned housing estate in the Lausanne sub-suburbs, one of those concrete-lined holes the Swiss government liked to shovel Dutch immigrants and welfare addicts into. The sky had always been grey there; even the clouds had been uglier than the ones over the city centre. The roads had been littered with dead pets and burned-out cars, the gutters had been full of syringes, and there had always been wet patches on the pavements where the local children had ceremonially kicked each other half to death.

That was Mictlan. That was exactly how it looked, that was exactly how it felt. Everywhere, there was the smell of urine and fried food. The dead were the ultimate undercla.s.s, Bregman realised. The universe had the same contempt for them that the Swiss had for the Dutch.

She walked for hours, or for what felt like hours, but the sub-suburbs never ended. When she finally sat down, on a patch of dead gra.s.s by the side of an empty road, it was out of boredom, not because she was tired. She didn't seem to need rest here, and she guessed she wouldn't be able to sleep, either. It was true, then. She was dead, and this was eternity. The idea should have appalled her, but to be honest, she didn't have the strength to be appalled.

Across the street, the shadow of an apartment block stretched, yawned, and spat out another one of the dead. That was how people arrived here, Bregman had noticed; the shadows gave birth to them. The man was more active than the other zombies Bregman had seen, but she guessed that wouldn't last long. The new arrival looked around, with some distaste, before his eyes finally settled on Bregman.

He hopped across the road. As he came closer, Bregman recognised him as the man from the ziggurat, the one Sam had called the Doctor. His clothes were colourful, eccentric, although you could tell Mictlan was tugging at the fibres, trying to tear the character out of the material.

'Lieutenant Bregman, isn't it?' he said, stopping in front of her. 'I wasn't expecting to see you here.'

Bregman stood. The Doctor's voice was full of life, even here in the land of the dead. The way he spoke, you could have sworn he was introducing himself at a c.o.c.ktail party. 'Everyone ends up here, don't they?' she said.

The Doctor tutted. 'I shouldn't think so. Not unless you're an agent of the Celestis. Even I I had to force my way in.' A thought seemed to strike him, and he peered at Bregman's face a little more closely. 'But you're not working for the Celestis. I'm sure I'd be able to tell if you were. So why are you here?' had to force my way in.' A thought seemed to strike him, and he peered at Bregman's face a little more closely. 'But you're not working for the Celestis. I'm sure I'd be able to tell if you were. So why are you here?'

'Because I'm dead,' Bregman said. Stupid question, surely?

'No. You're as alive as I am. You're suffering the side-effects of a Paradox control rite, that's all. You need time to recover.' Suddenly, he slapped a hand against his forehead. 'The Faction. Their rituals must use the same techniques as the Celestis... of course! Grandfather Paradox!'

'Come again?'

'Grandfather Paradox. The stories say he was a Time Lord, but there's no record of his existence on Gallifrey. He must have done the same thing the Celestis did. He must have erased himself from the timeline and put himself into conceptual s.p.a.ce. I wonder if the Celestis realise? They must have some idea, there'll be Faction victims all over the place...'

Bregman was starting to get irritated. But then, she reasoned, maybe that was a good sign. At least she had enough feeling left in her to get irritated by something. 'So let me get this straight. This is Mictlan, right?'

'It's the realm of the Celestis. They call it Mictlan. Personally, I'd rather not give them the satisfaction.'

'Then why are you you here?' here?'

'Oh, I've got an appointment with the Celestis,' the Doctor told her. 'I don't think they know it yet, though.' Then he turned, a full 180 degrees, and shaded his eyes.

Bregman followed his lead. On the skyline, looming over the houses of the dead, was the silhouette of something that reached up as far as the eye could see. Bregman felt part of her stomach try to crawl up into her mouth. The structure towered over the rest of Mictlan, but until now she hadn't even noticed it. Maybe the building was too obvious to notice, she thought. It was the heart of Mictlan, the point everything revolved around. It looked so natural, it hadn't seemed worth thinking about until the Doctor had pointed it out.

'The castle of the Celestis,' the Doctor explained. But it didn't look like a castle, not to Bregman. Back on the estate in Lausanne, there'd been a multi-storey car park, and the car park had been the focal point of everything sick and ugly and miserable. No one had ever used the top three floors, because the lights had all been smashed, and it had been two-o'clock-in-the-morning dark there even in the middle of the day. Teenagers had used the bas.e.m.e.nts levels as crack-houses, while tramps had used the stairwells as public toilets.

The building on the skyline looked like a car park, too, but it had an infinite number of levels, stretching up through the clouds of factory pollutant that formed Mictlan's sky. In fact, the structure looked like several dozen car parks piled on top of each other, some levels overhanging the levels underneath them, the access ramps jutting out at awkward, random angles. The supporting columns and there were thousands of them were cracked and crumbling, covered in layer upon layer of grit and dirt, built up over centuries, maybe millennia.

In short, it was the worst place in the universe.