For those of you who haven't got round to reading 'World Game', here's the key bits of background for you on what happens after the second doctor's TV adventures end at the conclusion of the 'War Games'...
The following is an excerot from the genuine and original summary record of the trial of the Doctor. The account with which we were, until now, familiar was substantially re-edited for the public record.
In the High Court of the Time Lords a trial was coming to its end. The accused, a renegade Time Lord known as the Doctor, had already been found guilty. Now it was time for the sentence...
A hush fell as the President of the Court rose and began to speak. 'Doctor, you have been found guilty of two serious offences against our laws. First, you stole a TARDIS and used it to roam through Time and Space as you pleased.'
'Nonsense,' said the Doctor idingnatly. 'I didn't steal it. Just borrowed it for a while.'
The President ignored the interruption. 'More imporantly, you have repeatedly broken our most important law; interference in the affairs of other planets is a serious crime.'
Again the Doctor interrupted. 'I not only admit my interference, I am proud of it! You just observe the evil in the galaxies. I fight against it.'
'We have considered your plea, Doctor, that there is evil in the Universe which must be fought, and that you still have a part to play in that great struggle. It is a plea not without merit.' The President paused. Then he said heavily, 'Regrettably, the Court's hands are tied. The abstraction of an obsolete TARDIS is a relatively trivial matter, and might be pardoned. Temporal interference, however, prolonged and repeated temporal interference, is a far more serious matter. It strikes at the root of out Time Lord policy of non-interference in the affais of the cosmos. It draws attention to our very existence, and for many years our safety has lain in silence and secrecy. In short, aggravated temporal interference of this nature is a capital crime, and the sentence is mandatory.
'It is my painful duty, Doctor, to sentence you to death.'
It was a difficult meeting, held in a security-sealed conference room just ff Temporal Scanning HQ, The three Time Lords present were members of a special sub-committee of the High Council.
Their usual duties were to oversee the work of the Temporal Scanning Service. Normally this was a bureacratic formality, which consisted of rubber-stamping the latest reports. Now, however, they had a real problem to deal with. And a problem which, horror of horrors, might actually require positive action.
They weren't happy about it.
Ragnar, the most senior, summed up their dilemma... 'The evidence is clear. There has been temporal interference - prolonged and repeated temporal interference. So far it is relativelt trivial. Potentially, however, it is highly dangerous. It risks endangering the very fabric of time. It can no longer be tolerated. Those responsible must be tracked down and identified. Once that has been done they must be neutralised.'
Milvo, the second member of the sub-committee, nodded thoughtfully... 'That may be so. However we ourselves cannot be seen to interfere. Such action runs contrary to all our most cherished principles... Our reputation for detatchment, for non-interference, cannot be comprimised.' He paused thoughtfully. 'Particularly at a time when we are about to put a renegade Time Lord to death for precisely that same reason! It would be most embarrassing to e found committing exactly the same offence ourselves!'
Ragnar frowned... 'Nevertheless, something must be done,' he said irratably. 'Action must be taken. We are all agreed on that, I believe. And we achieve nothing by idly spinning phrases!'
The third member of the sub-committee was - nondescript... His name was Sardon.
'I might, perhaps, be able to offer a solution,' he said mildly.
The other two looked warily at him... He was the representative if the powerful Celestial Intervention Agency, that vast and shadowy organisation that underpinned the formal respectability of Time Lord rule.
The Agency wasn't afraid of getting its hands dirty. Some said they were never clean...
'In my humble opinion, you are right,' he said smoothingly.
'Which of us?' snapped Ragnar.
'Both of you.'
'Since we seem to hold dianetrically opposed opinions,' murmered Milvo, 'it is difficult to see...'
'Not at all,' saod Sardon. He nodded towards Ragnar. 'You are right - the situation is urgent and action must be taken.' He turned to Milvo. 'However, you are also right - the Time Lords cannot be seen to take it.'
'You speak in paradoxes,' protested Milvo. 'How can we act and not act?'
'I did not say we could not act. I said we must not be seen to act.'
'Then how -?'
'We must use an agent. Someone we can control, and if necessary, disown.'
Ragnar looked dubious. 'The task is both delicate and dangerous. It will require a person of great intelligence, courage and ability. It will require many kinds of skills, diplomatic and scientific, not to mention a considerable amount of low cunning. All in all, it calls for a person of truly exceptional quality. Do you have such an agent at your command?'
'I have one in mind.'
'Can he be trusted?' asked Milvo.
'I think so,' said Sardon. 'His life is in my hands.'
'How so?' snapped Ragnar.
'He has just been condemned to death.'
For all the luxuries of his surroundings, the Doctor knew he was in an oubliette, a superior Time Lord cell for important prisonsers. He knew too that he might be left there to rot for endless days - left indeed until he either regenerated or died of natural causes. On the other hand he might be taken out for execution at any moment.
As the Doctor pondered the paradoxes of time travel, the door opened and someone came in. An insignificant-looking someone, a grey man in a grey robe.
The Doctor swung his feet from the couch and rose. 'Execution time? Surely not, I'd hoped for a bit more ceremony. A detatchment of those nice ornamental soliers from the Capitol Guard, solemn drum-beats, that sort of thing.'
The grey man smiled thinly. 'No, it's not execution time yet, Doctor. Perhaps it will never be execution time at all - it's up to you. My name is Sardon. I've come to offer you a deal.'
'A deal,' aid the Doctor. 'Good old Gallifrey. There's always a deal, isn't there?'
'Fortunately, for you, Doctor, in this case there is. It is up to you to decided whether or not you wish to take advantage of it. If you're too noble to comprimise, you can always choose to stand by your princiles and die.'
'I'm willing to listen at least,' he said carelessly. 'After all, I've very little else to do. What do I get out of this proposition of yours?'
'Your life for a start. The death sentence commuted into a period of exile. Eventually, when the fuss has died down and all the scandal you've caused has been forgotteb, there's the possibility of restoration to full Time Lord status.'
'Quite an attractive employment package undr the circumstances,' said the Doctor.
'I should have though so,' agreed his visitor. 'Especially when you consider the current alternative.'
'And what do I have to do to earn all these highly desirable fringe benefits? Something you don't care to dirty your hands with, I suppose?'
'You will be asked to carry out a mission, possibly several missions, for the people I represent.'
'The Celestial Intervention Agency, I take it?'
'If you care to think so, Doctor.'
'What else can I possibly think? Who else but the Agency would be unsruplous enough to employ a condemned criminal like me to do their dirty work?'
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