Doctor Who: The Blood Cell (12th Doctor novel) (Dr Who) by James Goss

Author:James Goss [Goss, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781448142354
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2014-09-10T23:00:00+00:00

8

It was odd to be in one of my own cells.

I had visited many, talked with inmates in them, supervised them to make sure they were correctly kitted out. But I had never dreamed that I would actually be held in one.

It was very small. The bunk was just too short and too hard to be comfortable. The blanket was a tiny bit shorter and thinner than would have been adequate, and the pillow little more than a cardboard cut-out of one.

Everything in the cell lacked colour. Each object, if you picked it up and examined it, had a colour. Just about. But put together it achieved little more than a nullity.

The only thing of any colour was my orange uniform. And even then, the shade was somehow dirty and insipid. It merely served to mark me out as guilty.

And I felt guilty.

We stood watching Level 7 explode. It took a long time.

Someone cried out in shock. Later, watching the recordings, I realised it was me – the first voice on the recordings… Actually, here it is:

Bentley: Governor.

ME: Yes?

Bentley: Gov – Sorry – Governor. Sir. I must, formally…

ME: Yes. You’d better. I think you had.

Bentley: Governor, I must formally place you under arrest. You will be investigated over… over the…

ME: Massacre. I think that’s the right word you’re looking for, isn’t it?

Bentley: Over the deaths of those on board Level 7.

ME: Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What have I done? It’s all my fault.

Bentley: Governor, it is my duty to advise you that logged recordings of all…

ME: I know. I know. I’m sorry. Can I sit down?

Bentley: I am afraid not, Governor. Would you like me to arrange for counsel for you?

ME: You had probably better stop calling me Governor.

Bentley: Very well, sir. Custodian, remove the Accused to a holding cell. We… we have a lot of vacant ones now.

The cell bore no indication of recent habitation. It had been thoroughly cleaned by a Custodian. But that was little consolation. The previous inhabitant’s desperation and hopelessness hung around it, filled what little space there was. There really wasn’t that much room left for my own despair.

Occasionally a Custodian would come and remove me for an interview. I lost track of how much time had passed. Had I been in there a few minutes or days? It seemed so meaningless. I noticed the lights were dimmer, the air more stifling. I asked if they’d managed to recover the systems, but no one answered me. No one acknowledged me at all. But then, I was no longer Governor.

Lafcardio was one of the prisoners who’d stayed behind. He’d been head of the Law Faculty at a University. I asked for him to be my lawyer. He was shown into my interview cell. His voice was still husky from the fire in his library. He’d come from sickbay.

By law recordings between accused and counsel are privileged and not to be recorded. Here is the transcript:

ME: Thank you for coming, Lafcardio.

Lafcardio: 327, please, Governor.

ME: I’m not the Governor any more.

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