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WARNING: IF THESE WORDS ARE VISIBLE ON THE PAGE YOU ARE WITHIN TEN FEET OF A CYBERMAN.
For the people of Gallifrey, the translation from one dimension to another took many hours—rather longer than the Doctor had estimated, in fact—but for the surrounding Daleks, active in a slower gradient of time, the planet vanished in a little under two seconds. As the Doctor had planned, once their target disappeared, the Daleks were engulfed in the firestorm of their own weaponry, and the final battlefield of the Time War was marked by a supernova that burned for over a thousand years.
Now, the fact is, there are many historians out there, shaking their heads and frowning—and not just because they’re a funny, cross bunch of people who can only see time in one direction, and think that’s worth boasting about. It’s not even because a weekly Cheese & Wine Social is the only way they can think of to meet new people. No, it’s this: how, historians demand of each other, could all the Daleks have been destroyed? Most them certainly. Maybe nearly all of them? But is it credible that this explosion, massive though it was, could have ended the life of every last Dalek in the universe? Surely some of them must have survived? This question has caused heated debate at the highest level, and froideur at the Cheese & Wine.
The truth is, of course, we know that a number did survive, and that they continued to plague the Doctor in the years that followed the end of the Time War. But still, say the historians, can this account for the likely number of survivors? Perhaps not.
It might help, though, to imagine what happened from the Daleks’ point of view. Their campaign had been going well up to that moment—they had driven the Time Lords back to their home world, which they had then surrounded and were on the verge of destroying. With victory in their grasp, picture what the Daleks then saw: in two accelerated seconds of time, their most dreaded enemy, the Doctor in the TARDIS, was flying everywhere at once, filling the skies of the world they were about to destroy. For a moment, there was a planet full of Doctors, and before they had time to react, their entire battle fleet blew up.
That many of them perished in the explosion is certain. That a few of them survived to regroup is known. It is my strong suspicion, however, that the remainder are still running for their lives.
Now! I promised you a treat. Everybody settle down, and just wait a moment. Talk among yourselves.
Shh!
No, really, shh!
I’m back, but you’ve got to be very quiet. I’ve got the webcam on, they might hear us. I’ve popped it in the flower in my buttonhole, and I feel rather like a spy. Exciting, isn’t it? Now keep your voices down, they’re just around the corner.
Who’s around the corner, you ask silently (thank you!).
I’ll explain in a moment. First of all, let me explain how this webcam works. I’ve switched on the automatic prose translator. That means everything the camera reads, you will read. No, sorry, I’ll try that again. Everything the camera reads, you will read. Oh, dear, there’s a problem. Any time I say the word ‘read’, the prose translator automatically turns it into the word ‘read’, if you read what I mean.
Oh, never mind. What a bother!
Okay, once the Doctors and Clara Oswald had saved Gallifrey, they did what Doctors and Clara Oswalds always do. They went for a cup of tea. As it happened, they all went to the National Gallery for another look at the Gallifrey Falls painting, which had started the whole thing. And that’s what they’re doing round the corner from me, right now. To be honest, that’s the real reason I waited all this time to write my bits of the book. So I could give you a live experience for the last of our sessions together!
Hush, listen!
‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know if we really succeeded. We pushed Gallifrey into another dimension, and kept it safe in transition—but how long can they survive? Where are they all? Still, at worst we failed trying to do the right thing, as opposed to succeeding in doing the wrong.’
Oh! That was the War Doctor (as we’ll call him to avoid confusion).
‘Life and soul, you are.’
Oh, cheeky. That’s Clara Oswald, of course. Oops, sorry, she’s still going on.
‘Something happened. And at least the Daleks blew up.’
‘At least they did that.’
Shall we take a peek round the corner? If I can just position my spy-button-hole …
Oh, there they are. There’s the goofy one with the bow tie, standing next to the painting. He looks rather dashing, really, doesn’t he?
Also next to the painting is the one in the tight suit. Goodness, it is tight, isn’t it? No wonder he stands like that.
And, oh, sweet, they’ve got their glasses, so they can look clever. I think it works, don’t you? As a matter of fact, I have glasses like that.
That’s the War Doctor, sitting on the bench, and that’s Clara Oswald next to him. Yes, I know, she’s very pretty. Settle down, boys and girls. Along the far wall, you can read a very rare sight. Three police box TARDISes, standing in a row. The same box, three times. Brings a tear to one’s eye, doesn’t it? Sorry if there’s smudging.
Notice there’s a lot of abandoned teacups around the place. I think we have missed quite a few people. Look, someone’s left their umbrella. Yes, you’re right—the handle is in the shape of a question mark! Rather stylish, don’t you think? I’ll pop it in Lost Property later, I’m sure you-know-who will be back for it.
Hang on, I think they’re about to start talking again. Shall we listen? Look, Tight Suit is examining the painting.
‘What’s it actually called?’ he says.
Look, there’s Goofy, sniffing like an art critic. ‘There’s some debate. Either No More, or Gallifrey Falls.’
‘Not very encouraging.’ Oh, that was the War Doctor, sipping his tea. I’m sure he feels he ought to join the other two at the painting, but I think he rather likes sitting next to Clara, don’t you?
‘How did it get here?’ asks Tight Suit.
‘No idea,’ says Goofy.
‘There’s always something we don’t know, isn’t there?’
‘One should certainly hope so,’ says the War Doctor. Oh, dear, the old sausage is putting his tea down, and getting up. Looks like he’s off, don’t you think? Now, keen students may have already noticed a sort of flickering light on his hand. What do think that might indicate? QUIETLY please.
‘Well, then. Gentlemen,’ he’s saying, ‘it’s been an honour and a privilege.’
‘Likewise,’ says Tight Suit.
‘Doctor!’ adds Goofy, as if he’s bestowing a compliment.
Ahh, look at old War Doctor. He gets the point Goofy’s making, doesn’t he? And he’s so thrilled to be called the Doctor again. I think I’m having a sniffle. Oops, he’s about to make a big old speech, I think! He’s straightened up, and he’s looking at the other two, all serious.
‘If I ever grow to be half the man you are …’ Look at those two boys preen! Oh, but the War Doctor is turning away from them towards … ‘Clara Oswald, I shall be happy indeed.’
Ha! He got them there, didn’t he? But Clara’s loving it, isn’t she? What a smile!
‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘Aim high.’
Oh, look at the old boy go! The War Doctor is kissing her on the cheek now, the naughty devil. And look at the boys! I think they’re trying to out-sulk each other. Ah, now the War Doctor has turned back to talk to them. Oh, he’s frowning. Good at frowning, isn’t he?
‘I won’t remember this, will I?’ he asks.
‘The time streams are out of sync, you can’t retain it, no,’ says Goofy.
The old man looks sad, but then he manages a smile. ‘So I won’t remember that I tried to save Gallifrey, rather than burn it. I will have to live with that. But for now, for this moment … I am the Doctor again. Thank you.’ He’s looking at the row of TARDISes. Is he having a senior moment? ‘Which one’s mine?’
Oh dear, this could be a bit embarrassing. But no, he’s laughing. He was joking. Oh, the dear old soul, he’s a laugh-a-minute now, isn’t he? Look at him, chortling away, as he steps back into his TARDIS. Shame he’s about to cease to exist.
And there’s the wheezing, groaning noise, and off he flies.
Sorry, what? Cease to exist? Well, yes, of course. The flickering light on his hand? He’s far too old, he’s been holding off regeneration for years. I shouldn’t think he’s got much time left at all. Now don’t worry, settle down, he’ll be fine. He’ll go a bit northern, and his ears won’t know when to stop, but after a while he’ll be the same silly old dear he always is.
Ah, now the other two, are having a bit of confab, aren’t they. If I can just turn up the volume …
Oh, sorry, did he say Trenzalore—
* * * * *
Sorry about the asterisks, I just had to turn off the camera for a moment. Trenzalore is a bit of a security issue, and in any event, not on the syllabus for today.
You haven’t missed much. Tight Suit is just saying goodbye to his future self. ‘Good to know my future is in safe hands!’
Oh, that was a nice thing to say, wasn’t it? Goofy’s all pleased—he’ll be at that bow tie any second. But Tight Suit has turned to Clara. ‘Keep a tight hold of it, Clara.’
Oh! Ouch! There’s Goofy’s second aborted preen of the day. And now Tight Suit is kissing Clara’s hand (they’re all at it, aren’t they?) and stepping to the TARDIS.
‘Trenzalore!’ he’s saying. Oh, I didn’t hit the mute button in time, pretend you didn’t read that. Secret, secret, secret! ‘We need a new destination. Because I don’t want to go.’
Oh, pay no attention, he always says that. And there’s his TARDIS, dematerialising.
Goofy looks sad for a moment, then smiles. ‘He always says that.’
Oh, snap!
‘Need a moment alone with your painting?’ asks Clara.
Interesting. Why is she saying that? But look at Goofy. He looks like he’s going to cry. ‘How did you know?’ he says.
She’s stroking his face now. ‘Those big sad eyes—I always know. I guess you can sit here as long as you like. You’re the Curator, after all.’
And she gives him a little kiss (there’s just too much of this these days, isn’t there?) and she’s off into the TARDIS. Bye, Clara, I think that’s her last bit in the book. No, don’t applaud—she’ll hear! Now Goofy is alone. Oh, shall we just start calling him the Doctor, since he’s the only one left? Okay, we’re going to hang around a bit, because from what I understand, something very interesting happens now. According to Myth and Legend (lovely girls), the Doctor is about to meet a Mysterious Stranger. Possibly from his past, possibly from his future. Possibly from both. Shall we wait and read who turns up. Oops, hello! The Doctor has started talking to himself (I suppose he should be used to that by now!).
‘Yeah,’ he’s saying, ‘I could be a curator. I’d be great at curating. I’d be the great curator. I could retire and do that.’
Oh, listen to him! Silly old Doctor.
‘I could retire and be the curator of this place,’ he says.
Ha! Do you know, Doctor, I really think you might!
Oh! Oh, dear! He’s turned and looked at me. He just looked right at me. I must have said that out loud. Oh, I’ve been incredibly silly. Let’s just wait and see if he stops staring. No, sorry, he’s keeping going. And now he’s getting up and walking towards me. Oh, I really am hugely sorry about this, everyone. I’ve gone and accidentally fallen into the book. This is strictly against the rules, I’m not supposed to get involved in the narrative.
He’s staring right at my face now. To be honest, he has reason to. He used to have a face exactly like this. Well, it was a bit younger then, but basically the same.
‘I never forget a face …!’ he says.
Sorry, you lot, we’re all in this together now. I’m going in!
‘I know you don’t.’ That’s me talking now. ‘Of course you never forget a face. And in years to come, you might even find yourself revisiting a few. But just the old favourites, eh?’
I’m giving him a wink. Sorry you can’t appreciate it from that angle. And sorry if my nose is looming at all, it does that. Oh, he’s staring at me, all surprised. Don’t really blame him in the circumstances.
‘But you … are you …?’ he says. ‘But you can’t be!’
‘You were curious about this painting, I think. I acquired it in remarkable circumstances.’ Ah, yes, I probably should have mentioned—I own that painting. It’s an astonishing piece. Of course, no one really understands how a painting of the Time War can exist, or who the artist could have been, or how Elizabeth knew about it. Well, I do. But that’s another story. Oops, hang on, I think the Doctor is waiting for me to speak. ‘What do you make of the title?’ I ask him.
‘Which title?’ he says. ‘There’s two. No More and Gallifrey Falls.’
‘Ah, no, that’s where everybody’s wrong,’ I tell him. ‘It’s all one title: Gallifrey Falls No More. Now what would that mean, do you think?’
Oh, look at his face, look at all that hope. ‘That Gallifrey didn’t fall? It worked, it’s still out there?’
‘I’m only a humble curator, I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’
‘Then, where is it?’
‘Where is it indeed?’ I say. ‘Lost, perhaps. Things do get lost, you know. Now you must excuse me—you have a lot to do.’ Well, I’ve got this book to finish, for a start.
He’s excited now, isn’t he? ‘Do I? Like what? Is that what I’m supposed to do now? Go looking for Gallifrey?’
Brace yourselves, everyone, I’m going for wise and enigmatic. ‘Oh, that’s entirely up to you. Your choice. I can only tell you what I would do, if I were you. Perhaps I was you, of course. Or perhaps you were me? Or perhaps it doesn’t matter either way. Who knows. Who knows …’
Right, come with me, we’re off. I want to get out before this book gets completely out of control. We’ll all end up in the sequel if we’re not careful. No, don’t look back, keep walking! Round the corner, that’s right. Down the stairs, though the door, past the desk with the giant pot plant (if the plant winks at you, just wink back).
Phew! I don’t think he’s following. Everybody, deep breath and relax.
Well then, I hope you all enjoyed that. Because I’m afraid that’s me for the day. Yes, no, sorry. Time for tea and scones with Ohila and Elizabeth. I’ll leave you to read the last chapter for yourselves—it’s only a little one.
Oh, just tiny thing before I go. Did you all guess who I am? Go on, did you?
Yes, well done, that’s right! I’m the Curator of the Under Gallery. Of course I am. Who else could I be?
Sorry, what was that? Yes, fair point, I suppose. The Doctor is the Curator of the Under Gallery. So does that mean I’m the Doctor? Well you already know the answer to that one, don’t you?
It’s complicated.
‘Was he a friend of yours?’ I asked. ‘A relative?’
Cass Fermazzi didn’t reply, but she took the bandolier I held out to her, and strapped it round her chest. She was looking at the sky, and there was something fierce in her eyes.
‘You look like you’re ready for a fight,’ I said.
‘Been ready all my life,’ she said. ‘I’m just admitting that now.’ She flashed a bleak little smile at me. ‘Thanks for looking after him,’ she said, and started climbing out of the crater.
‘What do you mean, all your life?’ I called after her.
‘Oh, you know,’ she said, without turning.
‘No, I really don’t.’
She turned at the lip of the crater, and sighed. ‘It’s going to sound stupid.’
‘Good. I hate things that don’t.’
‘When I was a kid I was in therapy.’
‘Weren’t we all?’
‘We weren’t rich though. I had one of those bots. Looked like a clown—God knows why. It was supposed to take away some of my memories, but it was so full of someone else’s, they all just kept spewing out.’
I felt my stomach turn over. It was exactly what I’d figured out, but it was chilling to hear it. ‘What kind of memories?’
‘Just vague stuff. About always fighting for what’s right, but trying never to hurt people. Never be cruel, never be cowardly, that kind of thing. Cheesy stuff, but it got to me.’
Yeah, I thought, me too.
‘Time to go and do like the clown says, I guess.’ She flashed another sad smile, and was gone.
I could never save her, I knew that. She was too wrapped up in my own timeline. But at least, just once, she’d looked at me without hating me.
And you can’t save everyone, I reminded myself. You just have to save all the ones you can. Was that what the Moment had wanted to teach me?
I thought about the Moment a lot, and I knew it sometimes irritated her. Once, sitting on a bench in Henry VIII’s third-favourite garden, I was brooding away on the subject, and suddenly she just sat down next to me.
‘Will you stop thinking about me all the time,’ she said, still in the form of Rose Tyler. ‘It’s getting annoying!’
‘But why did you do it?’ I asked. ‘What was in it for you?’
She smiled at me, as flirtatious as always. ‘I may be the interface of the deadliest weapon in the universe, but I still want the same thing from a relationship.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not to be used.’ And she winked and was gone.
The next time I saw her she was standing knee-deep in a fountain, at the heart of the Villengard banana groves. It must have been a year later but she resumed the conversation as if there had been no interruption.
‘I did it because the universe needs the Doctor to be the Doctor, and you were in danger of stopping. You have no idea how necessary you are.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said.
‘Truly, Doctor. If you didn’t exist we would have to dream you.’
‘The Doctor doesn’t exist—just a stupid idea in my stupid head.’
‘No, no, no, you’re always getting this wrong!’ She was stamping and splashing now, impatient with me. ‘The Doctor isn’t who you try to be—you are the Doctor, because you try.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you’re a weapon interface,’ I asked her. ‘You sound a lot like a Christmas cracker.’
‘Oh shut up,’ she said, and vanished, crossly.
She might have been flattering me, I thought, as I climbed out of the crater. But did weapon interfaces do that?
Well, anyway, enough brooding, I decided. The day of the Doctor was over at last, and it was time to get my head back in the game. Somewhere there’s danger, somewhere there’s injustice, and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Doctor, work to do.
So it was me who set off across the muddy battlefield towards the TARDIS, but it was the Doctor who opened the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her.