Who Universe
“Obviously, there’s no such thing as magic,” said Cardinal Brabbajaggl, stirring in his chair the way all fat old academics did when they knew they were getting on to controversial ground. “However, this doesn’t mean that magic isn’t a useful metaphor to employ when dealing with less advanced beings than ourselves. Supernatural concepts are used by many cultures as a form of code, with which they can describe the more. . . how shall I put it? The more complicated aspects of reality. In much the same way in fact, that we might use higher mathematics. If our mathematical constructs in any way resemble the rituals we find in magic-based or spirit-based cultures, then this is hardly coincidental. . . “
“Excuse me, sir,” said Theta Sigma, raising his hand only once he’d already started talking. “When are we going to get on to the good bits?”
“Good bits?” rumbled the Cardinal. The interruption had obviously caught him off-guard, because his jaw had dropped and his chin count had very nearly doubled.
“Yes, Sir. You know. The bits about vampires.”
Not that the he or the class believed the text. They believed the books might have been lies written by Rassilon's enemies. Or they might have been half-truths or muddled legends. Or the written by Rassilon himself to make people believe how things happened in his point view or rewriting what really happened.
The Doctor remembered he once had a conversation about the Other:
“In The Triumphs of Rassilon,” he said to Innocet, “the Hand is the stellar manipulator that Omega forged for
Rassilon. It is the key that opened the burning gate of Time. And the Other stole the Hand away.” (This became known as Otherstide. The Gallifreyan celebrated this day because of the removal of the Other. This was also the same day the Doctor was loomed.)
“It's much the same in The Record of Rassilon, the Hand of Omega creates the Time-Sun that shines on Gallifrey. But in The Book of the Old Time, the Other plots to overthrow Rassilon, and flees when he is defeated. The Hand pursues him forever through eternity. Whichever way you interpret it, it symbolizes the people's rejection of superstition. The reign of the gods ends and we learn to fend for ourselves,” said Innocet.
This wasn’t the first problem the Doctor had at the Academy. One time he wrote a treatise on the chromosomal origins of love. The teacher said he'd missed the point entirely and gave him a "rubbish" grade. Not only was his teachers giving him trouble so did Koschei. Koschei would mess up his time experiments, so he began to build time interference thingies to mess up Koschei experiments to get him to stop. It never worked and became a long battle. Who would be the best in the class?
***
Tiny blue flowers carpeted the slopes of Mount Cadon, their long stamens waving gently in the breeze as they searched the air for unwary lizards, flicking back in momentary alarm as Doctor climbed past them, returning to their search within moments as their small vegetable memories forgot that anything had disturbed them. Down at the base of the mountain, where its slope blended gradually with the arid plains of southern Gallifrey, the Prydonian Time Academy erupted in ebony splendour. High above, higher even than the violet clouds and the hovering flocks of air diamonds, the peak of the mountain was abruptly cut off by the pearly orange sheen of the transduction barrier.
The Hermit Monk was sitting, as always, in the shade of a bush. The Doctor, intense sat down beside him looked up at him.
“You’re early,” the Hermit said with a sunny smile.
“I. . . I skipped temporal protocol. I was hoping you would tell me –“
“Tell you what?”
“About the vampire swarms and the legions of the Sphinx?”
“As you can see, I am busy. Come back later.”
The Doctor had found out earlier that he was teaching others as well.
“I thought I was the only one you told stories to!” he yelled with childish anger. “I thought I was the special one!”
“You’re all special to me,” the Hermit replied. “All of you young renegades who come and sit at my feet and listen to me talk. One day. One day, when you will have forgotten we ever talked here, high above the constraining walls of the Citadel, when you have met the others who have shared my stories, then you will understand.”
“But I’m better than the rest. I deserve the stories. They don’t.”
The Hermit’s face hardened. “Your path will always be difficult,” he said, “for as long as you think that the universe knows who you are. Laugh at yourself, and practice humility.”
The Doctor at the Hermit’s side looked away and scowled.
***
Braxiatel wanted to get out to do and see things, to do and see things just like his father. To get out Braxiatel had the plan that needed patience. So he conformed, excelled even and graduated with a fistful of firsts. He instigated research projects, made clever proposals, agreed with arrogant idiots. All in line with what was expected and what was encouraged. He pushed the envelope. By the time Doctor was doing his exams, Braxiatel was already an unofficial ambassador, already off on missions the like of which nobody had ever dreamt of before. At first the Doctor followed his brother’s example trying to get the best grades. Then the High Council decided that they were not going to let out any more people except the Celestial Intervention Agency. This angered the Doctor. He was impatient he wasn’t going to sit around waiting on being let out. So he decided to take a more drastic and less patient plan to get out. The Doctor made sure he scraped through with the barest minimum on the last permitted attempt, only 51% the lowest possible pass mark on the second attempt. Doctor thought forget getting a first, anyone can do that with a little diligence and application, but what he was going to do took genius.
Graduation day he passed his exams and qualified to be a Time Lord. Not all Gallifreyans become Time Lords and not all Time Lords are Gallifreyan. After a Time Lord graduates recognition codes get sewn into the Time Lords’ DNA. That was what Rassilon had done to his people, when the Imprimiture had been worked into the biodata of the Time Lord elite. When you had Rassilon’s gift, you were mapped on to the vortex by the numbers, linked to the heart of space-time by an umbilical cord of pure mathematics. Just thinking about the formulae, just holding all the right equations in your head at the same time, was enough to trigger the connection and put you in a different time state.
At the Academy, trainee Time Lords would play games with the principle. Transmigration of object, they called it. Sometimes you could do it in a second, without thinking about it, but most of the time you had to concentrate for hours, maybe days, visualising the correct codes. Then you’d take an object, focus on it, and displace it. Use your fast line to the vortex to take it out of the continuum. It played merry hell with your biodata, the Cardinals said, but it had never stopped anyone doing it as a party trick. It wasn’t any use at all as an escape route. Everybody knew that. The TARDIS was modelled out of solid mathematics. That was no secret, of course. Everyone always assumes that it just meant the physical material. They didn’t understand the way these things worked, the subtleties of the Ship’s engineering. The TARDIS was a complex space-time event. Its very existence, its very position in relation to the rest of the continuum, was just an intricate code series as are the Time Lords.
Even though he passed with the lowest grade, the teachers couldn’t understand this and gave him permission to go to the University. The head teacher was the Prydonian Lord Cardinal and Koschei and the Rani also went the University. When the Doctor was at the University he did the same there, getting good grades, while dealing with Koschei messing things up. When it came to the final exams he passed with the lowest possible pass mark. While at the University the Doctor learned of the existence of the miniscopes and was outraged by their cruelty to the specimens within. He campaigned to have them banned and, despite the non-interference policy of the Time Lords, was successful. His role in banning the use of miniscopes was known throughout nine galaxies. He did succeed in graduating from the University with a doctorate degree.
***
After the Doctor who graduated from the University he told his Cousins what he chose for his name on his Name Day. Quences also had just found out what the Doctor got for his grades. Behind Quences, amid stacks of old-fashioned books and-new-fashioned datacores, was a glass vivarium. Creatures were moving inside elegant experimental creatures that somehow remembered as accelerated genetic hybrids, half orchid, half axolotl. Their black and crimson speckled petal-heads waved in search of food as they clung to twigs with their spindly white lizard bodies. These were the House pets.
"Only a doctor! Wretched child. Such a disappointment to the family and to the House!" said Satthralope.
“A doctor!” blustered Quences. His face was so red that he might have a seizure.
“It’s good enough,” said the Doctor.
“What do you mean, that's enough? Eh? How can a mere doctor be enough? By the megastar, any fool can be a doctor! Where's your ambition and sense of familial duty, eh? How d'you think I've worked... we've worked to give you this opportunity? And you dare to throw it back in our faces!” As Quences ranted, his head seemed to swell and shrink with each outburst.
He studied the Doctor sadly. “Over the centuries, this miserable House has produced nothing but servants and petty clerks. But you were different. You had a mind, and a cunning one at that. That's why I prepared your way.”
“You didn't do so badly, Quences. Ordinal-General of the Brotherhood of Kithriarchs is a fine achievement.”
“Oh, yes. A hard-won, hard-fought position. But you could supersede that by far. You could have achieved the position of Cardinal. And no need to stop at Cardinal. You alone in this miserable House can achieve true greatness of power.”
“I failed my chapter certificates in officiating and legislating. I failed them rather miserably. And what do you expect?” complained the Doctor. “As soon as you arrive at Prydon Time Academy, they drum everything you know out of your head and replace it with years of lectures on the viability of panotropic racking systems.”
“You failed them deliberately. Most of your results were calculated to barely win you a pass.”
“I know I could. And be the Family's first Cardinal? I don't think so. I have plans of my own.”
Satthralope rapped her cane on the desk for attention. “The wretch means that a Cardinalship is not good enough. He'll leech us dry, the ungrateful brat!”
“Not good enough for whom?” said the Doctor, “Time I had lives of my own, don't you think? Hmm?”
Quences slowly turned away, clutching the furniture for support. “I cannot understand it. I have nothing more to
give. You'll break my hearts.”
“Only a doctor.” She was wallowing now. “But that's hardly unexpected. No backbone, you see. So disappointing to the Family and the House. Well, only the Ordinal-General can resolve the situation.” She glared at the old man. “General?”
His hunched back was turned away. She leant in beside him.
“You must ...” and “How will you have it end, eh!” and “...for the House's sake!” said Quences in a low voice so Satthralope wouldn’t hear.
The Doctor watched one of the creations in the vivarium. Its eye-stamens waved as it stalked and snatched a fly out of the air. He said nothing.
At length the old man stirred, his eyes burning with fierce tears. “Is that your final word? No plea for clemency? No extenuation?” He paused and looked at Satthralope, so determinedly triumphant. His voice tremored. ‘So be it. Apparently Lungbarrow will no longer tolerate your hurtful presence. It is an affront, sir. There's no more to be said. You will quit the House immediately and never cross its threshold again.”
When the Doctor went out the door he felt relived to be disinherited from the House. Now he could get on with his plans without being told what to do. After the Doctor left Satthralope announced that the name Doctor was not to be mentioned again in the House again. Quences, however, regretted sending the Doctor out, but he was pressured by Satthralope. She never liked the Doctor, so when it came time to write his will he decided to make the Doctor Kithriarch of the House of Lungbarrow.
***
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