My apologies,
Doctor. The Regent hoisted himself off the ground,
clutching his broken arm.
‘No need,’ said the Doctor, sincerely. ‘I’ve managed to temporarily suppress all subconscious activity. For all intents and purposes, he is brain-dead. It won’t last long, but we need an opportunity to speak without interruption.’
Your findings while linked by the neurological bridge.
The Doctor couldn’t whether the Regent had asked a question or made a statement, but either way the unmistakable tone of begrudging resignation rang clear enough for the Doctor to notice. ‘I’m afraid I see only two courses of action, both of which are reprehensible at best.’ The Doctor’s tone became as grim and serious as it had ever been.
‘You have said the normal course of treatment for this disease has shown absolutely no progress, and if that is the case the child’s power will continue to grow conversely to his body’s ability to handle the stress the expulsion of power is placing on it. In short—‘
Every atom in the child’s body will eventually detonate.
The Doctor nodded curtly. ‘Like a billion, billion nuclear bombs.’
And the two options, Doctor.
The Doctor could scarcely hold the Regent’s gaze. ‘Option one; permanently close off all neural pathways necessary for consciousness, leaving only basic life functions intact.’
Brain death.
‘No need,’ said the Doctor, sincerely. ‘I’ve managed to temporarily suppress all subconscious activity. For all intents and purposes, he is brain-dead. It won’t last long, but we need an opportunity to speak without interruption.’
Your findings while linked by the neurological bridge.
The Doctor couldn’t whether the Regent had asked a question or made a statement, but either way the unmistakable tone of begrudging resignation rang clear enough for the Doctor to notice. ‘I’m afraid I see only two courses of action, both of which are reprehensible at best.’ The Doctor’s tone became as grim and serious as it had ever been.
‘You have said the normal course of treatment for this disease has shown absolutely no progress, and if that is the case the child’s power will continue to grow conversely to his body’s ability to handle the stress the expulsion of power is placing on it. In short—‘
Every atom in the child’s body will eventually detonate.
The Doctor nodded curtly. ‘Like a billion, billion nuclear bombs.’
And the two options, Doctor.
The Doctor could scarcely hold the Regent’s gaze. ‘Option one; permanently close off all neural pathways necessary for consciousness, leaving only basic life functions intact.’
Brain death.
‘Indeed. Option two,’ the Doctor paused, never in his wildest imaginings having thought he would ever suggest it, ‘if the disease is allowed to continue along its current path it will end in an explosion that destroys your world, that is, after you’ve all gone and hacked each other to bits, or even attacked other worlds, and that’s only if—‘
Doctor, the second option!
‘True death.’
The Doctor felt shame unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if a thousand pairs of eyes had fallen upon him, and a thousand mouths were whispering in a thousand ears, all judging him guilty. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t fix this.’
The Regent walked up to the child’s bed, leaned over, and laid most of his hands on the boy. Yet again, you have nothing to apologize for. You were our last hope, Doctor. We knew the inevitability of our situation, and only wanted you to confirm our suspicions. You have our thanks.
‘Thanks? I just gave you perhaps the grimmest diagnoses I’ve ever given, and you’re thanking me?’
We needed confirmation. You have provided it. For that we thank you.
‘But what will you do?’ What could they do was more apt a question, or so thought the Doctor, but he knew there was no good answer for that. The choices were too offensive to entertain, and yet the people of this planet had no choice but to choose. The old Earth phrase ‘being stuck between a rock and a hard place’ came to the Doctor’s mind, but there wasn’t a fibre in his being that could muster a chuckle. Not now. Not in this case.
We will choose.
This wasn’t the time for speeches, the Doctor decided. Sure he could whip up a rousing ovation debating who had the right to make such decisions. He had made such decisions, begrudgingly so of course, but never without the full weight of his actions upon his conscious. At least he knew the Regent and his people fully comprehended the gravity of their decision. It wasn’t his right to lecture them. Not now. Not this time.
‘Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?’ The Doctor couldn’t take his eyes off the child, who stirred just then, as if knowing the Doctor was looking at him. ‘No,’ he answered before the Regent had a chance, ‘I suppose not.’
The Doctor walked back to his TARDIS all by himself. The Regent had far more important things to do than bid a silly old Time Lord adieu. The Regent did, however, thank the Doctor once more before they parted ways, going so far as to extend a permanent invitation to the Doctor for future visits. The Doctor, however, thought it almost impossible that he could ever come back to this place. It was a big universe, after all. The people of this planet would hardly miss one man.
He knew they would feel the loss of one child far greater, as would he.
written by
MICHAEL FALINO
copyright 2013
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013