Doctor Who - 02 - The Art of Forgetting

.18. If Ever, For One Moment...

"Your plan is bound to fail," Theta announced. The voice coming from the translator ball was calm and even, but the Ood's eyes dimmed with pain. There was just one level separating them from the Cells' Chamber now and the alien song bore into minds of all three of them. Even Phillip felt some discomfort; he folded his hands on his chest and was rubbing goose bumps on his forearms.

"What plan?" the Doctor laughed. He tried to pretend everything was all right, but Theta listened to his mind's song (as much as it was audible in the Cells' racket) and was aware that the man was barely standing. "I didn't plan anything; and what does it mean – bound – anyway? Nothing is bound to fail; if we thought so, we wouldn't get anywhere. Defeatism does not pay."

"The Cells will kill you before you'll be able to reach the computer," the Ood said. "It's not defeatism, it's a fact."

"Not so easy to kill the Time Lord." The Doctor stuck his sonic screwdriver in between two bunches of cables, ripped from the panel. "Believe me."

"A Time Lord?" Phillip spoke. "So, you're like a king or something?"

"A king? No." Tweaking with the panel, the Doctor laughed heartily. "It's the name of my species, just like Human, or Ood; and yes, I know, it's a bit bumptious. Can't help it, not my idea, see? Give me that mergin nut, will you. And your chewing gum."

Phillip obediently spat out a lump of chewed gum on the Doctor's outstretched hand.

"A brilliant invention – chewing gum," said the Doctor, placing the lump somewhere inside the panel. "Millions of applications. Fantastic!"

The door blocking their way opened with a hiss and the intensity of Cells' telepathic scream reached a level of a hurricane. Theta stumbled and stepped backwards instinctively. The Doctor looked back at him, concerned.

"Right," he said. "Just stay where you are, Theta. Wait for us here. Phillip..."

He reached to the boy. Phillip grabbed his elbow and groaned, surprised, as the Doctor leaned on his shoulder with all his weight.

"Sorry," he gasped into his ear. "I need you. Without you I won't be able to get there."

"What's wrong with you?" Phillip asked hesitantly as they started down the wide stairs; the Doctor dragging his feet and hanging on to the handrail.

"The Cells are telepathic," the man said. "Even you, almost completely deaf to their signals, must feel it. The Oods are very sensitive to telepathy and I am... well, a little less... But just a little."

"But what does it mean?"

"It means that the Cells don't need all that complicated hardware of dream chambers to reach into my thoughts," the Doctor mumbled. "Here, on this level, they can seep into your mind as well; so we will wear helmets, blocking the Cell's transmissions. They should be over there, in that room," he pointed at the glazed door at the bottom of the stairs. "Would you be so kind and bring them here? I don't think I can get to the very bottom... Not without a helmet..."

Phillip left him there, clutching at the handrail, expression of pain on his face. The boy looked up the stairs briefly, but couldn't see Theta in the darkness of the corridor.

"What are we doing here?" he growled irritably. "We should have evacuated with the rest of the Adventure Emporium. You said it yourself; the computer will only hold for two hours. And what happens then?"

"Best case scenario – everything simply switches off," the Doctor gasped. "Worst case – we lose atmosphere and power, and without the gravitrons, the base's dome collapses, squashing everything below."