Fifty years is little more than a handful of heartbeats to a Time Lord.
Earth humans, with their ten fingers and ten toes, naturally embrace a decimal
counting system, although they tend to lose sight of the simplicity of base ten
when it comes to subdividing units of time. They also display a profound
sentimentality when it comes to marking anniversaries.
Five decades may seem scant in Gallifreyan terms, but fifty years of
marriage is never insignificant. This period of my life has been blessed with
the mundane and the exciting in equal measure, and I have cherished both. For
circumstance to thrust someone upon me in a time of direst peril was hardly out
of keeping with my lifestyle. And you will feel very little surprise to learn
that I had some measure of foresight regarding the identity of my future
spouse. For all the rules about not knowing one’s own future, if you have
travelled in time as much as I have, you cannot help but get the odd glimpse.
Yet even though I had some foreshadowing of just how and when I might come to
settle down again, that was as far as the spoilers went. I could never have
dreamed of the fulfilment that this union would bring. The shared sense of
achievement at helping to rebuild a shattered world was accomplished at the
same time as building a meaningful life together.
Of course, I haven’t spent the entire last fifty years engaged in
nothing but pious and doe-eyed pursuits. I may have curbed my wanderlust and
endured a self-imposed exile from the vortex and even the TARDIS, but I have
not been idle. My countless visits to Earth at all stages of its development
have given me some insights. And I have been planning.
After all the problems that arose after my eleventh regeneration, I
finally began to understand how I needed to prepare for my twelfth. As Time
Lords go, I am not that old, not really. In Gallifreyan terms, my life of
adventuring has seen me use up my many lives faster than a clumsy and suicidal
cat. Only really in my first body did I grow properly old; since then, I am
afraid to say that I have been somewhat more reckless. The sedentary life of my
race typically meant that they could effectively live forever. The whole
regeneration thing for them seemed just as much about relieving the monotony as
it did about prolonging life. They even had the technology to give a whole new
life cycle, twelve more regenerations, if they really wanted to. The way they
lived their long lives, and clung stubbornly to existence, it was hardly ever
deemed necessary. The Gallifreyan equivalent of cosmetic surgery was so
advanced that my people could sculpt themselves new features on a whim without
even resorting to the whole death and regeneration process.
All this was done so that they could continue their extended watch over
time and space. And what good is being masters of time? We could explore all of
history, all of the universe, but then we were expected to return home and do
nothing but observe, never to interfere. They wagged their big finger at anyone
who dared threaten the equilibrium of the universe as they saw it, but
knowledge of the future and an ethos of non-interference turned out to be so
mind crushingly dull. It was like watching the most epic of thriller films, and
all the while knowing exactly what the final twist would be. It was only ever
the actual exploring, the thrill of the personal experience that could possibly
hold any real excitement. The immediacy of real life’s amazing denouements had
to be lived, not recorded remotely. Once you have that in your blood it is impossible
to go back home and be unchanged.
Right from the outset, Rassilon laid down the fundamental Laws of Time.
We were only ever meant to return home at the correct relative point on our own
timeline. This was, I suppose, our own Gallifreyan Mean Time. Of course, I have
crossed my own timeline before, usually only with the help of the Time Lords,
though they had no hand in things the last time. That was all my own doing. It
was known to me since my first incarnation that this would come to pass, and
when it finally did, it was a great relief.
I remembered how cantankerous my former self could be at times. I
remember too, how I was often criticised for my irascibility. Yet from my
unique viewpoint, if I am honest, I confess that my former self was jealous.
Some of that abrasive behaviour stemmed from sheer envy at the vibrant and
youthful persona of the new me. Quite immature really. Yet I absolutely needed
the help of the old me to assist in convalescing after my most recent change,
and help in preparing me for my last lease of life. That is not to say that I
felt in my dotage, not at all. I had every intention of having a long, happy
and productive last incarnation, and I had the good fortune of knowing exactly
how it would all begin.
It was quite an emotional rollercoaster spending time with the grumpy
old younger version of myself. So much of what we did together was naturally
familiar, right up until our parting of ways. Particularly that. I found myself
naturally acting out the parts I should remember, having witnessed them long
ago. I relished the experiences that my fresh body could enjoy during this
period that were new to me, the ones the first Doctor had not seen. And when we
said our goodbyes, well, they were real tears I shed. Nostalgia and the excitement
of the new collided with overwhelming emotion. I knew exactly what had been
coming, and for once, I did not really know what would happen next.
Of course, that is not completely true. I had fallen in love, and was
overjoyed to finally be able to settle down with my new spouse. We had been
travelling in the other Doctor’s TARDIS, so without my own I was tied to Earth
once again, but this time my exile was self-imposed. There was so much to do, to
help rebuild as much as we could of human civilisation, on a planet scarred and
diseased from alien attack. Unearthly vestiges of otherwordly intrusion were everywhere, and often still dangerous. I knew very well that life on Earth would ebb
and flow into the far future, but regardless of the ups and downs that humanity
had in store in years to come, this rebuilding was of real importance to my beloved, so it
was important to me.
A Gallifreyan’s last regeneration is traditionally the time during which
we have children. There is nothing wrong with having them earlier, but
traditionalists would have us wait. Rassilon even catered for this, in his way.
So it was we found ourselves trying to start a family. It took longer than
might have been expected in human terms, but we got there in the end. Caring
for children was a gloriously draining experience. We all travelled and settled
where we were needed and concentrated on family when we could. We were quite a
team. And I still found time to prepare, to get things ready for what I knew
was coming.
A ravaged Earth had no need for gold. Some may have clung to what they
could find, but such actions were totally misguided. Resources were the most
valuable things for mankind at this time, and barter held sway. Money in its
previous form became outdated, and gold was of no use for food or making anything
practical. I rigged a simple device to detect gold wherever I could find it,
and gradually stockpiled my own supply as we travelled the world. I did not
know how much I would need, but I knew I only had until the early 23rd century
to get what I could. As we moved around the ruins of Britain I accumulated as
fast and as much as I could. I am not ashamed to say I stole when I had to, and
the future security of the whole planet had to come before any sentimentality.
The stuff was not exactly just lying around, and at a time when basic survival
was by no means guaranteed, I was not averse to relieving grieving widows of
their jewellery.
We moved onto the continent at a time when London was well recovered. Pestilence,
and the remnants of alien infestation, was largely under control, and with a
semblance of order, and naturally some help from me, the possibility of even
space flight had emerged. I have never wanted to patronise the people of Earth,
but what a wonderfully tenacious drive they have for survival and recovery. It
is surely impossible not to love them for it. For me to provide some little
help through this most difficult of times was a privilege, made so much easier
by the unconditional love I received from my partner. As a couple, we had our
problems while we were in Britain, both of us seemingly overcoming death itself
at different times, but love did really conquer all on those occasions, the
Grim Reaper included.
We went to France feeling that we needed a new challenge. The children
were old enough to travel. The authorities were becoming well established at
home, and we wanted to offer our help elsewhere. We became fairly nomadic, the
urge in me to wander coming to the fore once again. This was made ever so much
easier being in receipt of the unwavering love and support of my other half. I
spent my evenings in Paris flattening and rolling what gold I had collected
into the finest leaf I could manage. By the time I had steered us all the way
through Asia I had a number of canisters of the finest gold dust I could
produce.
My Time Lord body showed little signs of ageing over the course of our
travels. As years turned into decades, the same could not be said of my soulmate.
As our offspring started to look more and more like my siblings, my partner was
left looking increasingly time-worn. I still only saw the person I had fallen
in love with and married, but I could tell from the odd look or phrase, that
this was something being felt more acutely by my beloved. It was clearly becoming
a source of worry.
I had always known that I would not be able to stay and watch this
beautiful human life finally wither and die. We had never discussed this
explicitly, but I knew it was understood. When we reached Cairo, the children
were old enough to explore on their own, and we spent long evenings hand in
hand, speaking hardly a word. When my other half did talk, I was often
mesmerised simply by the lovely lilt of that soft and melodic accent. I
reflected on how I myself had even had a Scottish manner of speaking on more
than one occasion, even trying to clumsily suppress it in one incarnation. The
substance of whatever was being said to me would sometimes be lost amongst that
tuneful voice, as my mind wandered around the corners of the cosmos, and back
through the night air. I could find myself drifting on a solar wind buffeting
hundreds of years of astounding and almost impossible reminiscences, as I sat
tethered to the humble speck that is Earth by the tender grip of my one true
love. It was just such an evening when the sunset was darkened prematurely by
an enormous spaceship.
I had discovered some time ago the true origins of the mysterious planet
Mondas. Rather than a lost twin of the Earth, it was actually a parallel
version of the Earth from another dimension. Rather than search a vast universe
for new human bodies to convert, the Mondas Cybermen hit upon the novel idea of
shunting their whole planet sideways through realities, hoping to harvest the
unsuspecting population of each new ‘sister’ planet. The Cybermen were not
always truthful in their explanations of where they had come from, and
accidental trips of my own to parallel universes had gradually given me the
data I needed to piece together the truth of their predictable quest. These
trips of mine were always something I tried to keep brief, and reverse as
quickly as possible. Parallel Cybermen are one thing, but I was never keen to
hang around and meet parallel Time Lords.
Cybermen do not, of course, need air to breathe, but the human captives required
to produce more of their race have to respire, so their transport vessels all
still need good old-fashioned life support systems. This particular ship came
to rest in the shadow of the ruined Great Pyramid. I could not fathom why the
Daleks would destroy such an ancient and tactically useless building, except
perhaps to try and intimidate an already weakened human population. People that
the Cybermen now sought to exploit even further.
Hacking into the Cybership’s teleport technology was an almost
subconscious effort, and releasing as much gold dust as I had been able to
muster into the ship’s atmosphere took but a moment. Cybermen of this era have
improved their physiology so as to no longer be susceptible to gold in the way
their predecessors were. Their systems do however retain just enough algorithms
and subroutines to recognise the gold as a potential threat, and in the second
it took the computers to work out that it was relatively harmless and expunge
it back through their vents, I had used my sonic screwdriver to slip in the
back door.
When I am dealing with situations like these I occasionally I let the
excitement overtake me. An overconfident bit of posturing in front of the Cyber
Controller saw me sideswiped by a drone I had thought dormant, and I was
captured. No doubt I would have tripped over a root had one presented itself. I
had only provided a minor annoyance so far and there was little to suggest that
the Earth was in any less danger for all my efforts. After enduring
insufferable taunts and boasts from a supposedly emotionless race, it was a
blessed relief when the Cybership was struck a terminal blow by my reliable better
half heroically crashing an old Earth rocket into it head on.
Of course, the twins had rigged a remote control device, so my
wonderful, significant other simply had to watch from a safe distance as they
engineered the collision. I was able to use the machine I had been plugged into
to create a telepathic link to Mondas, and implant all sorts of unwelcome
suggestions, not least of which was to shunt itself off sideways to another
dimension as quickly as possible.
When the dust had settled, we were able to get back to relative
normality. Ian and Barbara thought it was funny to tease their father about his
relatively minor effort in repelling this latest invasion, and I allowed them
their fun. No small part of my preparation for these events had been their
education, and aptitude for decisive action in a crisis. They both very
obviously have their human side dominant. This has been some great comfort to
my darling in managing the unusual feelings that arise from our relationship,
and will continue to be so after I have to leave them. The children do not know
that this time has come, but my spouse understands, and will explain. While the
children are off foraging for salvageable technology, we say our goodbyes, and
part simply. We have both thought that we had lost the other before, so the
emotions are not unfamiliar.
My TARDIS sits where we Doctors left it, in the tomb in the centre of
the pyramid, cloaked predictably by the fully functioning software that adapts
its appearance. I breathe deeply of the air on the world where I managed fifty
years of marriage, and turn my back on David for the last time. I need to find
somewhere new and special so that I might bring up properly the child that is
yet to be born. I have made sure that this one will have a dominant Gallifreyan
side. Rassilon equipped us well when he ensured that our thirteenth bodies are
most likely to be female. We will travel the vortex together, I will teach it
so much, and the last of the Time Lords will endure. First though we must
settle, in a place where I can nurture and educate. I think I know just the
place.
As a former man, I wonder, should I keep the name Susan, or continue to
ask people to refer to me as The Doctor?
