The Trial of a Time Lord [Doctor Who, Story 143]

Parts 1 - 4, by Robert Holmes
6 - 27 September 1986​

 

My summons find me not in the Capitol, but tending to my garden. For delicate plants (and delicate Time Ladies, for that matter) the atmosphere in the Capitol can be decidedly poisonous at times. The rolling fields of burnished red at Mount Perdition's foot, the fields on which I was raised, provide a much healthier environment for the both of us.

My father hardly seems to notice I'm there. Others who know him have said he's never been quite the same since I was loomed from one important day of his. They say he unspooled, came frayed at the ends, when that day was removed. I suppose it's a lingering feeling of guilt that has kept me from moving away, even into my second regeneration. He refuses to ever leave my childhood home, saying that he's still waiting for a hermit to return, a Stranger who once lived in a cave on the highest peak. He's well into his last life, and has never lived recklessly. I assume he's been waiting for a very long time.

The missive is an unwelcome intrusion into this quiet life, and I eye it with a mix of resentment and suspicion. I'm no High Council emeritus, nor a member of any esteemed society. My work with my botanical specimens is my life, and I don't cherish any interruption to it. But still, an invitation to such august company isn't something one ever refuses, if one knows what's good for them. I accept, and take the next shuttle to the Capitol, whence I can board a waiting time capsule.

The Space Station Zenobia is impressive, even through the scanner. I've never seen it before, and the sight is awe-inspiring. Still, I can't help but wonder why we're so far out of the way, out at the very edge of Kasterborous. Usually even the most closely guarded trials are held at the Citadel. I put it out of my mind as I'm ushered out of the capsule.

I'm shown to Courtroom 1, where the Madam Inquisitor shakes my hand and thanks me for coming on short notice. I fidget in my tall, tall collar, projecting confidence and trying to seem like I belong, some small part of me still feeling like it's a mistake. After taking my seat with the other judges, I am finally briefed on the nature of the inquiry I'm about to sit in on.

Things begin to make a little more sense. The subject of the inquiry is none other than the Doctor. As a rule, I don't make a point of paying much attention to the activities of renegades, but I must confess to having a sort of soft spot for this one in particular. I know all about the Doctor, of course. His defeat of the Vardans and Sontarans took place when I was a child and left a rather strong impression. I've studied several more of his adventures, at least the ones that aren't officially censored. Blame it on that dash of the romantic that exists in me, buried deep beneath so many flower trimmings. The idea of seeing him in person intrigues me, but I school myself, trying to remember that I am supposed to be impartial.

Then the Doctor swans in, late, and I feel the needle swing the other way. His disrespect for the assembly is absolutely staggering - as is his dress sense. As the Valeyard's words wash over me, I harden my heart to my childish fancy and focus on adult business. Along with everyone else, I turn to regard the viewing portal to the Matrix as the Doctor's misadventure on Ravolox plays out before us.

I'm a little mortified at first. I don't remember the adventures I'd read as a child being quite so violent - or so laden with puerile humor. The bumbling Andromedan spacers almost - almost - break my composure. They are a little funny, even if I only admit it privately.

I feel an immediate kinship with the Doctor's traveling companion, who is very pretty, but perhaps more importantly a fellow botanist. I reflect that traveling through time and space would allow one to explore a far greater botanical realm, but if I had to keep such disreputable company, maybe it's for the best that I've never had the chance.

When a row begins over censorship in the Matrix recordings, I pay it little heed. The question of why the planet formerly known as Earth finds itself spacially out of place is not really germane to the issue of the Doctor's missteps. When the Valeyard moves to escalate the proceedings to a full trial, I listen attentively. Have the Doctor's adventures outstayed their welcome after all?

Parts 5 - 8, by Philip Martin
4 - 25 October 1986
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Thoros-Beta seems so dazzling at first with its many colors, but its luster fades once the Matrix begins to look into its dark heart. There is such a depth of desparation and sentient misery going on in those caves that it almost chokes me, its thousands of slaves as distant to me as the creation of the universe, but so real on the screen.

It makes it all the more galling that the Doctor treats his companion so terribly as the events unfold. What a coward! Back in the courtroom, he claims that the evidence has been tampered with. Even I know that ought to be impossible, and I'm prepared to write the explanation off as mere desperation. But the clear confusion and pain on the Doctor's face gives me pause. Surely there's no chance that he's telling the truth?

My eyes remain riveted to the screen for the rest of the presentation. As grisly as the display is, I simply can't stop watching. When, in its course, it is revealed that the Doctor was performing a ruse after all, I relax a little. He did the same thing during the Vardan incident, did he not? But something still feels wrong.

The Doctor being forcibly plucked out of events before he has a chance to clean up after himself stuns me. I barely hear the Inquisitor saying that it had to be done, and am instead struck by the unfairness of it all. Especially when the second blow arrives, showing the fate of his charming companion.

"You... killed Peri?" He no longer seems to fill the whole courtroom, instead sounding so very small. My hearts break for him a little, and as we break for recess, I steal a glance at the Valeyard. Seeing a glint of smugness on his learned features makes me decide that his "evidence" is having the opposite of the intended effect - on me, at the very least.

Recess
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During the recess, I steal out of the hall, hiking the far too long hem of my robes a little so that I can move with speed. I thus manage to prevent any of my learned colleagues from stopping me as I go to find the Doctor.

He is lingering down one of the long, labyrinthine halls spiraling out from the courtrooms, staring out the window. I doubt that he is actually paying much attention to the shipwrecks outside. He seems a million miles away. It takes him several moments to notice me standing nearby, his eyes faintly reddened and his expression guarded.

I clasp my hands in front of myself to try and seem as important as I have been dressed, but end up fidgeting instead. Anything I say will seem paltry, but I pick something eventually. "I'm sorry. About what happened to your companion."

There's an almost imperceptible softening in his gaze. "Yes," he answers, more to himself than to me. A confusion follows, though, as he looks at me strangely. "Have we met somewhere before, young lady?"

I blink, not knowing the answer. There's no way we could have. "I don't believe so."

The Doctor seems to shake it off after a moment, and sets his elbow on the sill of the window, lofting an eyebrow at me. His eyes are a most impressive blue, now that I can see them clearly. I try to focus on them instead of the outfit. "The judges aren't meant to have private discussions with the defendant, are they?"

"Well, no," I answer, gazing back the way I came. "But you don't have any of your friends here." No character witnesses, I suddenly notice, furrowing my brow. That is odd indeed, when it's the Doctor's character that is being impeached. "If they wish to censure me for it when I return, then I suppose they can."

He smiles, though it still has a sad tint to it. "You're welcome to be as disobedient as you like. Renegades are welcome here." I smooth my robe in embarrassment at that remark, and he looks back out into space again, pondering. "I think that this may really be the end for me. Maybe it's time."

"Don't say that," I protest, shocked. "I've read all about you. I know the good you've done." To my surprise, I find that I mean it. How quickly my opinion has solidified! I'm more surprised that the realization doesn't shame me.

"And the ill?" he asks with an ironic lilt to his voice. "Oh, I'm not quite the man I used to be. I was so sure of myself when I reached this regeneration. Sure that I would do such great things, such that all my previous could not compare!" He bows his head, forehead pressed to the window. "But where has that bragadocious swagger, all that vim and vinegar, gotten me? I seem to fail more often than not these days, each adventure claiming a greater toll in lives than the last. All faded glory, and missed chances. The autumn of my life... I'm starting to think that the universe doesn't need a Doctor anymore."

"But that's all in the past," I cut in. "Those adventures may have been written already, but what of those yet to come? I think the future may vindicate you. You just have to fight long enough to see it."

He rises up, realization shining on his broad face, obviously having heard something in my words that I did not. "But that's it, dear lady! Of course, that's it!" He turns to me laughing and pats me boisterously on each shoulder, jostling my collar. "Do pardon me, but I have much to do before the recess is over."

He begins to rush off and I turn, bemused, to watch. He stops before he's fully out of view to shout back: "... And thank you very much!"

I shake my head and slowly wend my way back to the courtroom, hands folded in my sleeves and posture as upright as I can make it. The Inquisitor raises an eyebrow at me, but says nothing as I go to sit. The Valeyard's cool gaze is more difficult to ignore, but I try gamely anyway as we wait for the court to return to session.

Parts 9 - 12, by Pip & Jane Baker
1 - 22 November 1986
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The Doctor is all firm resolution when he strides back in after the end of the recess. I'm not at all shocked when he brings forward a Matrix recording of future events for his defense. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there is legal precedence for this in Gallifreyan jurisprudence, but it is still a bit fascinating. It's with more than professional concern that I turn to regard the screen when the events begin to play.

Once again, my botanical interest is piqued, though my reaction becomes stunned horror as soon as I actually lay eyes on the so-called Vervoids. How vulgar-looking they are! Still, I reflect sadly that the Doctor's late companion might have gotten something out of this adventure. His new friend, another Tellurian woman with a big personality, seems capable enough, but her scream almost jostles me out of my seat.

All things considered, the Doctor behaves admirably in the recording. His concern for his friend, and for the lives of the crew of Hyperion III, shine through. It seems clear enough to me that he went in with the expectation that his assistance was specifically requested, and acted in the knowledge that, had he not been there, things would have been much worse.

I wonder what the Valeyard's counterpoint will be, until I see him rising in a great fury, his eyes flashing with victory. "The charge must now be genocide!"

My jaw drops, and a murmur rushes through the proceedings. I find it an absurd charge; I know a thing or two about dealing with weeds, and the Doctor's point that his inaction would have led to the destruction of the Tellurian race is a good one. But can it stand up in the face of the law? I worry about the answer...

Parts 13 and 14, by Robert Holmes, Eric Saward, and Pip & Jane Baker
29 November - 6 December 1986
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After a short break of necessity, the Keeper of the Matrix is bundled into the room to account for the Doctor's accusations of tampering. He swears up and down that no tampering could have taken place, leaving the Doctor with little wiggle room unless witnesses can somehow be produced. A glaring omission from these proceedings which I noticed earlier, but at this late stage I'm not sure if any can be scrounged up.

Accordingly, I am a bit flummoxed when Sabalom Glitz and Melanie Bush suddenly stride into the room. So, it seems, is the Doctor. Scarcely do they have their introductions out of the way before a malevolently smiling face with an urbane voice appears on the Matrix monitor. It was he who summoned the two witnesses, to intercede on the Doctor's behalf — despite their long antipathy.

I'm bewildered when I realize that most in the courtroom don't seem to know who the man is. The assassination of Lord President Pandad was before my time, but I still know about the Master's part in it all too well. I start to wonder just how much the most wise and learned members of Time Lord society actually read their history.

So distracted am I by this thought that I almost think I mishear the Master when he refers to the Valeyard as Doctor. Suddenly the proceedings take on a new tinge, and the Doctor's expression of sheer horror is a good echo of what I feel. I, and all of my fellow jurors, were used in a power play by the High Council? I feel shaken to my very core.

The news scarcely has time to sink in before the Valeyard has made a run for it, the Doctor and Glitz hot on his heels. Confused and fearful chatter echoes through the chamber, while the Master continues to exposit on the events that have transpired without our knowing. He soon excuses himself, however, allowing the screen to track the Doctor through the Matrix. We rejoin him just as he's ensnared in a false courtroom scene where his guilty verdict is delivered. His companion rushes off to his rescue, and soon the Doctor is exploring some absurd factory again, rubbing his chin at a list of names.

"... Of Time Lords attending my trial," he muses. "Every member of the Ultimate Court of Appeal, the supreme guardians of Gallifreyan law. The handwriting..."

"It's yours!" Mel says, breathless.

"And there's another thing," the Doctor continues, raising his eyebrows slightly. "There's one name too few on this list. Someone in that courtroom is not supposed to be there."

A hush passes over the room, the words on the screen sending a ripple through all present. I shrink in on myself a little, that feeling of unbelonging waxing once more. I knew it was a mistake. Will I be punished for hearing state secrets, even if it was quite against my will?

The revelation does not have time to sit fully before the Master takes over the screen again, while the Keeper returns to inform us that the High Council has been deposed by a mass uprising on Gallifrey. It appears that the Master has broadcast the whole trial to the interested public in order to overthrow the Council. That settles my worries about impending arrest a little bit, but opens a whole new set of problems. What in the stars will happen to us now? We can never let this... this villain take over Gallifrey!

We are saved from that fate when some calamity befalls the Master, and Mel rushes in, urging us all to evacuate. I barely make it halfway to the door before the screen above us shatters, and I hit the floor, ducking beneath the pews. The acrid smell of ozone fills the air, but blessedly, not the sounds of the dying. I laugh in disbelief when I look up and find that everyone has survived.

I feel a hand on my arm and realize it's the Inquisitor, helping me to my feet. I shy away from her gaze a little, but she only smiles before looking around and recalling all the judges now that the danger has passed. When the Doctor does return, a few minutes later, it is to the happy news that the trial has been called off, and himself cleared of all charges.

I beam with satisfaction, but only moments pass before the Doctor moves to escape yet another unwanted presidential bid. He brushes past me as he goes, and I think to give him a word or two about his conduct before I notice a slip of paper that has been slipped into my hand. I uncrumple it and read:

Dare to think differently!

— D​

Laughing openly and not caring who notices, I stand there with it a moment. But time runs short, and I'm very eager to get home, to the comforting hush of wind in the grass, far away from this place.

I never notice the pair of eyes coolly following me as I go, gazing out from under the Keeper's skullcap.

 (Modified from the original posted at Gallifrey Base on 4 June 2024.)