Dark Scrolls of Rassilon

DAY 1

My return to Gallifrey has given me the chance to examine the remnants of my fleet of bowships and the troops that manned them.  The losses that we have suffered in the battle with the Vampire Horde have been staggering.  Out of almost seven hundred bowships and sixteen thousand troops, only thirty-four ships and barely twelve hundred men have survived.  It was a sad hour, watching the survivors stagger in like that, but it was also encouraging.  Though tired--and in some cases almost lifeless--they still cheered me as I inspected their ships and condition before reporting to the High Council.   With troops such as these, a man could do much if he so desired...

As usual, the High Council dithered and vacillated.  They've known about the destruction of the Horde for three weeks, since I contacted them from the battlefront.   In that time, they have made only one firm decision, and it's an appalling one.   They tell me that the public mood has been turned against warfare, and want me to dismiss the entire Chancellory Guard now that the blood-letting is over.

If I were not so used to their hypocrisy and mealy-mouthed stupidity, their decision would have infuriated me.  These troops are all that are left of the brave men and women who set out to save the entire Galaxy from the most deadly scourge imaginable, and the High Council wants simply to pat them on the back and disband them.  They believed me, however, when I assured them that I would do my best to implement their wishes.

Fools and cowards that they are, they deserve what will come to them.  Pandak especially--as President, he should have more sense than to allow himself to be carried away on any wave of public sentiment.

I do not blame the general populace for this wish to end war.  I, too, would like to see its necessity vanish.  But as a practical man, I know that this is impossible until we of High Gallifrey are much stronger than now...

DAY 3

I spoke at length with General Gimel who assured me that the troops are doing well.   They have all been billeted, as I suggested, in the Citadel.  Pandak readily accepted my story that this was in order to have them all together for processing and discharge.  Gimel reports that most of the wounded are now on the road to recovery.   My plans are beginning finally to coalesce...

Omega was somewhat surprised to see me.  Apparently, the High Council hadn't considered it worthwhile to tell him of my return.  Typical.  Still, he was glad to see me, and I even more glad to hear his news.  He showed me around his new laboratory with a great show of pride and optimism.  Despite the man's ego, he remains one of the most gifted cyber-technicians I have ever known, and probably one of the four or five most brilliant  minds Gallifrey has ever produced.

His masterpiece of engineering is now nearing the final stages.  Before I left on the campaign, I had stressed to him the necessity of keeping the details secret from the High Council, and thankfully he has done so.  Their latest talk of peace in our time would really turn rancid in their mouths if they could see what he had--with his usual lack of modesty--called the Hand of Omega.

"A fist,"  he said, laughing.  "One that will tighten about any star we aim it at.  A fist that will clench and crush the life force of the star, and create an instant supernova."

With a cheerful heart, I congratulated him on his process.  The prototype has been hooked into the computers, and simulator tests can begin within the month.  When we have such a solar activator for our arsenal, there will be no planet that will ever dare challenge Gallifrey's supremacy.  Who would dare, knowing that with one such device we could snuff out their sun in an instant, and doom them to either the flames of a massive supernova or else the lingering death of utter cold?

My plans are coming together even better than I dared to hope...

DAY 7

For the first time, doubt has entered my mind.  Oh, not about my plans--they are all in place and proceeding beautifully.  In just a short while, I shall be ready to move.  No, the problem lies in another area entirely.

He breezed into my offices inside the Citadel today.  How he managed to get inside the building to begin with he would not say, but it seemed that the man has a signed pass!   Wanting simply to have him arrested, I demanded his papers, and he handed over a special pass, signed by me!

Yet I know full well that I have never signed such a pass for this person.

Infuriatingly, he pointed out that the pass is genuine, and that it was indeed, signed by me.  He was quite correct--the ink and sigil are kept locked in my office at all times, and they were correctly affixed to the pass.  I demanded to know how he had acquired it, but he only smiled.

"When you know how I got it,"  he told me, with incredible cheek,  "then I can tell you why I am here.  But not until then."

I was more then tempted simply to have him taken to the roof and pushed off, but until I know who he is, how he obtained that pass, and who he works for, I dare do nothing drastic.  Gimel favours using the mind probe on the man, but I seriously doubt it would work.  If the man is an enemy's agent, then he will either resist the beam or die under it.  If he is not an enemy, then I cannot afford to antagonize a friend.   In the end, I had him escorted under strict guard to a guest suite.  The man smiled as he left; apparently he had expected me to make just such a move.

He worries me.  Not badly enough to halt my plans--I doubt that they could be halted now even if I tried--but he does trouble me.  Who is he?  And what is his purpose for being here?  I cannot explain it, but I feel there is some thing of great significance in his arrival.

DAY 8

I spent a sleepless night worrying about that confounded intruder, but I am still unable to know what to make of him.  Still, I was able to force my worries into the background, for there is still much to be done.  My own experimental staff has continued with my research while I was away, and Jelen informs me that the generators are being set up now.  They will  be located at the heart of the Citadel, close to the main security level.  Gimel's men have unobtrusively taken over the task of guarding the building, allowing the High Council's men to go and join in the general revelry that seems to have infected the planet.

I watched some of the festivities on Public Access Video.  The foolishness of the average man or woman appalls me.  There they were, literally dancing in the streets, making idiots of themselves, and getting drunk all because we had won the war against the vampires.  Pandak made some sort of speech about that being the final war, and how soon we would be able to usher in an age of peace such as Gallifrey had never known.

I have to give the old moron his due--he can make a rousing speech.  Well, he should be able to--he's done nothing but make speeches for almost fifty years.   Others of us have had better things to do with our time.  I was musing over his latest ramblings when the stranger turned up again.  He had somehow managed to give the guards the slip, and made his way into my office!

"Ironic, isn't it?"  he commented, gesturing at the screen.  "Pandak never spoke truer words--an age of peace indeed.  Pity he doesn't know it'll be your peace and not his."

I felt a chill pass through me.  "What are you talking about?"  I demanded.

"Have you worked out where I got that pass from?"  was all he would say.   The guards arrived and dragged him out of my office, but he had already done what he had come to do--he had unsettled me yet again.

How much does this mysterious man know of my plans?  And what does he intend to do about them?  Surely if he had intended to reveal them to Pandak and the Council, he would not now be here.  And Gimel is no help.  His staff has checked the computer records through three times, and find absolutely no record of this man anywhere, under any name...

But I have other worries.  My plans for Gallifrey are known to no one but myself.   I find myself longing for a confidant to trust, someone who could succeed me.   There is always the possibility that my plans will not work, and that I may die in the attempt.  In that case, to have a worthy successor would be a great relief.   But to whom could I entrust this task?  No.  For now at least, I must remain alone in what I know.

DAY 10

Now that it has begun, it seems somehow to be anticlimactic.

Gimel led the Chancellory Guard on the raid at dawn.  The High Council was still sleeping off their collective hangovers when the men arrested them.  Apparently Castellan Temus was the only one to even reach a weapon.  There's not enough left of him to make it worthwhile holding a funeral.  The other four, including the idiot Pandak, are all in cells in the Panopticon chambers.

The Transduction Barriers are in full force about Gallifrey, sealing all aliens out--and all Gallifreyans in.  The second level of the Barriers has been established about the Citadel, and no one can now enter or leave without my permission.  Not that I expect any problems from the people of Gallifrey.    They are sheep, already to bleat and cry, but not to take any kind of positive action, especially if they should spot a wolf.  So far, probably no one knows of the abduction of the Council, but it cannot remain a secret for long.  The existence of the Transduction Barriers will take them a little longer to discover, but it must be done gradually.  They must be on the verge of panic for my plan to work.

The four surviving members of the Council--Pandak, the Lady Norin,  Zabor, and Mayeron--were alternatively incensed and afraid.  After letting them stew in their own imaginations for several hours.  I finally had them brought to me.  Pandak tried his usual bluster, and I let him blather on for about five minutes before I nodded to Gimel.  He tapped his staser significantly, and Pandak's whining cut off short.
"I now control Gallifrey,"  I told them bluntly.  "The Chancellory Guard are, thanks to your own edicts, the only armed force still in existence on the planet.  They will remain that way.  They are, as you can see, quite loyal only to Gimel and myself.  And they have very little desire to be legislated out of their jobs by you."

Predictably, one of them--Zabor--blurted out:  "You can't get away with this!   The people--"  "Will do nothing,"  I answered.   "First, they are not, for the most part, armed.  The Guard is, and has orders to kill anyone trying to get to us here.  Second, there is a Barrier up about the entire fortress, so that even with weapons the people could not get in.  Third, the general population of Gallifrey couldn't give a damn who rules them, as long as it is done well, and causes them as little personal inconvenience as possible.  Fourth--'   I smiled.  "Fourth, I will tell you later."

"Tell them now,"  broke in an excruciatingly familiar voice.  It was the stranger once again, blithely walking into the private conference as though he had every right to be there!  "Or shall I tell them about the Transduction Barriers?"

How he knew about them was beyond me, but I had to find out just how much he did know.   I suggested that he tell the Council.  He did exactly that.

"Rassilon has set up an impenetrable force field about the plant.  It's very effective, and may well prove to be quite deadly."

So he had grasped my plan!  I allowed him to continue talkingh.  The Council, of course, did not understand what he was saying, so he spelled it out for them:   "Rassilon is one of the greatest force field engineers this Universe has ever known.  The Transduction Barriers can keep out everything outside Gallifrey."

Mayeron blinked, helplessly.  "A good defense," he finally said.

"You don't understand," he replied, with more patience then I could have mustered.  "I mean everything out--including, if he wants to, the sun's rays."

That finally sank in!  I smiled at their expressions of horror.  "As our guest has surmised,"  I admitted,  "such a level is possible.  I do not think that I shall have any trouble from the general populace when at a stroke I can condemn them all to freeze to death--do you?"

"You would never dare!"  Lady Norin stormed.  "Even you could not be so callous as to condemn a planet to death."

I was afraid that they might take it like that.  Drawing my staser from the desk drawer, I held it loosely in one hand.  "Believe me,"  I assured them.   "I am quite capable of doing what is needed.  If there is any one of you who thinks I would hesitate for a second to kill if I had to, they may now speak up."   I raised the staser.  "I will use their corpse to demonstrate that I am in earnest about this."

That shut them all up, quickly.  It's one thing to talk about death in general terms, but quite another to stare into the face of Death and feel its fingers about your heart.

"Good,"  I smiled.  "Now we've settled that point, I think that it's high time we began work, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"  Zabor asked.

Pandak cut him short.  It's obvious,"  he sighed.  "This maniac has some plan in mind in which we must play some part.  Otherwise we would already be dead."

He wasn't quite as senile as I had thought.  "Excellent,"  I complimented him.  "So, to details: Gallifrey is, effectively, mine.   However, if I were to simply go onto Public Access Video and announce this fact, then it might cause a little..."

"Riot?" the stranger suggested.

"Unpleasantness,"  I corrected.  "So what I would like you four to do is to make the announcement for me.  Nothing grand, just something along the lines of handing in your resignations and passing over the Government to the heroes of the War with the Vampires.  You may, if you wish, embellish the picture a little--but it had better be in a positive way.  If it is, then you will all be allowed to retire to your estates in South Gallifrey."

"And how do we know you won't simply have us executed to avoid trouble?"   Mayeron growled.

"Because that won't be necessary,"  I sighed.  "Once you are outside the Citadel, the only way you can ever get back in is if I allow it.  I really can't imagine any scenario that might make me do that.  As for your stirring up trouble among the people--well, that wouldn't be very clever.  They, too, are trapped outside the Citadel, and I am immune to anything that they may seek to do.   The only reason that I need you to make your broadcast is to prevent unnecessary panic and the inevitable accompaniment of bloodshed.  If you truly do care about the people of Gallifrey--which, to be honest, I seriously doubt--you'll see that the best thing that you can do for them is to calm matters down.  On the other hand, if you care at all for your own miserable hides, I assure you that the only way you will leave the Citadel alive is to do as I wish and make that broadcast."
The stranger broke in once again.  "Allow me to assure you that Rassilon is perfectly right.  He's holding the winning hand here, and things will be a lot smoother if you do as he asks."

"And who are you?"  Pandak demanded.  "One of his lackeys?"

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort,"  He answered.  "I'm a sort of--travelling consultant.  I've a strong line in good advice, and my advice to you is to play along with Rassilon here."

"We will think about it,"  Pandak agreed, mustering all the dignity he could.

"Take time,"  I said.  "Take as much as five hours.  But no more."  They were led away to their cells again, and I returned to my real problem.  He flashed me a cheerful smile.

"So,"  I said,   "what am I to make of you?"

"Oh, pretty much what I told them,"  he replied, airily.  "I have a very good line in advice."

"And you have some for me?"

"Plenty, Rassilon,"  Suddenly serious, he glared at me.  "But there is no point in my giving it to you until you work out how I got that pass."   He smiled at the remaining Guards.  "Would you like to take me back to my cell now?"

An infuriating person!  But what am I to do with him?  Strangely, I do not feel that he holds any malice for me, but it is equally clear that he disapproves of what I am doing.  I cannot help but feel that the key to my future lies within his grasp.

In some ways, I wish that I could trust him.  He seems to have a brilliant mind, and he would make a worthy successor to me--when I am ready either to retire or to die.

DAY 15

Since the "resignation" speech by the High Council, things have been going well.  Oh, there has been plenty of speculation in the news and gossip all over the planet.  I am certain, as to what it means.  But, on the whole, my revolution has been surprisingly bloodless.  I had expected a few thousand casualties at the very least, and in the end only twenty-seven people have died.  A small price to pay to gain the mastery of the planet.

I have begun to make my reforms now.  Though I am certain that the High Council views me as simply a megalomaniac with a lust for power and a lucky invention that enabled me to seize control, I know that this is simply due to their own foolish limitations.   When Gimel let them all free, they could not believe it.  They had expected a knife in the back, and probably will go on expecting sudden death in the night for the rest of their stupid lives.  They truly cannot grasp the enormity of my plans.   Even Gimel, for all his loyalty, has no concept of my aims.  Only Omega and--once again!--the stranger seem to be able to grasp anything of what I am planning.

I suspect that I am going to have trouble sooner or later with Omega.  A brilliant scientist, but it turns out that the man is secretly a democrat.  He actually believes that all political power should be derived from the people.  What an idiot!   As if they could possibly know what is best for them, and that by taking a count of hands, it should come to pass.  I told him that democracy is the illusion that all people are equal when it is perfectly apparent that they are not.  Am I to be compared to some snivelling little fool, barely out of school, and with no experience in life, and no ambition other than to earn himself a comfortable living, raising a few brats, and then spend his life watching The Games on the Video?  Why ever should we be considered of equal worth?

Needless to say Omega could not answer me, but I doubt I've dispelled his foolish faith in that asinine process.  Well, I care little for what he may think, just as long as he does what he alone can do.

DAY 23

Finally, the Hand of Omega is finished!  According to all of the computer simulations, it should work perfectly, but we still have the field test to go, of course.   Once we have this weapon, there will be nothing to stand between Gallifrey and total security.  Any world that would disagree with us would have its sun annihilated!

It is difficult for me to contain my excitement.  I have been looking forward so long to this point that even he cannot ruin my good humour.

Yes, he still manages to get about as he wishes.  I've finally dismissed the Guards I had assigned to watch him, since he manages to elude them whenever he pleases.   And I retain my belief that he is not really dangerous.  At least, not in any physical sense.  The man has a fierce intelligence that may well be the most dangerous unleashed force in the Universe.  But I am not afraid of this--if I cannot contain it, then I can simply have him killed at any moment, and he's too intelligent not to realize this.  I cannot fathom him at all, and he won't talk until I tell him the answer to that stupid riddle of his about the pass!  As if I have nothing better to do with my time than to work out a puzzle!

The question that vexes me at the moment is which star to select to test the Hand of Omega on.  Not one too close to Gallifrey--I have no desire to flood the planet with radiation.  Nor one too far away o be seen.  The people of Gallifrey must be able to look up into the sky and see the evidence of their new place in the scheme of things!  Given the speed of light, the choice must be a star probably within six or seven light years from us.  Any further, then there will be too long a gap between triggering the supernova and in seeing the effects in the night sky.

This is where I am at a loss, because all of the stars that fall into this band have planetary groups, and at least one habitable planet in each system.  Not that I would hesitate to destroy a nascent civilization if it becomes necessary, but it does seem a waste when a dead system would make just as great a mark.  It is simply a matter of deciding which of the twelve planets has the least potential, I expect.

DAY 26

Really, he can be most infuriating!

I had finally decided upon destroying the star Ezmion VI when he burst in on me, unannounced as usual, and started to berate me for the choice.  Finally--and, I feel, justifiably--annoyed, I threw the sheet of names at him.  "Then you decide which one to destroy,"  I told him.

He tore the list into shreds and literally jumped on the pieces.  "There is no need to destroy anyone!"  he yelled at me.  "Omega's device works!   Why waste lives proving it?"

"We are both practical men,"  I said patiently.  "We know that the device works, but there are going to be plenty of people who will never believe that it can detonate a star until they see it done.  We have to blow one up to prove that we have the power."

"A weapon must be seen to be effective,"  he growled.

"Exactly."

"Then choose a dead star.  Polyphilos."  He stabbed a finger at the chart on my desk.  "Nothing could ever live there."

"Polyphilos?"  His suggestion had never occurred to me.  Omega--who had sat silently through the discussion until now--leaned forward.  "But that's a Q star,"  he objected.  "It's highly unstable to begin with."

"And totally out of the question,"  I added.  "First, because it's unstable, who would believe that we had destroyed it, and it hadn't simply blown itself up?  And, second, it lies twenty-six light years away.  I am not going to wait almost three decades to prove my power.  We do not have the time to waste."

"Time,"  Omega mused, staring at the chart.  "Time!"   he cried, leaping to his feet, and running out of the room.  I stared after him in amazement.

"He's gone crazy,"  I finally said.

"No,"  The stranger corrected me.  "He's gone sane.  I can only trust that you will go just as sane.  Rassilon--give me three days.   Three days.  What's that to wait for the test?"

I sighed.  "Very well.  Three days.  Then I destroy Ezmion VI."

DAY 29

Well, I have finally made either the greatest decision of my entire career or the greatest blunder that will be known in all of recorded history.

I have given Omega permission to use Polyphilos as his target.

I'm not sure I can follow all of his calculations, but if he is correct, then we shall have even greater power than even I have ever dreamed of.  Gallifrey will be secure for all of time.

He came rushing in here this morning, a pile of calculations a foot thick in his hands, and so excited he could not speak.  Finally, he calmed down enough to explain his crazy theory.

"It's the Q star that makes it possible,"  he explained.   "Tremendous potential energy, locked into a tight field because of the axial spin of the star.  If we detonate Polyphilos, then we can actually channel that power."

He showed me his calculations.  Some I shall have to take his word on, but others made more than perfect sense to me.  What his new idea boils down to basically is this: if we use the Hand of Omega to detonate the Q star, the resulting explosion of energy can be captured and utilized.  It will produce a sort of one-directional exposion, which Omega proposes to aim at Gallifrey.  The force of detonation will turn the star into a source of chronons.

Chronons are the basic particles of time.  Using these, we can then contain the explosion, stretching it out quite literally forever, and producing a continuous flow of energy directed towards Gallifrey, a flow consisting of high-energy chronons.

I have to confess that I didn't see the point in all this initially, but Omega has it all worked out.  Given the proper force fields to shield us from the power, and a collection device here on Gallifrey itself, the chronon particles will allow us to penetrate through time itself.
The Time Scoop used to collect the players in the Game does this, of course, but in a very crude manner.  It uses taranium for the process, and we are fortunate in having a large supply of the rare metal on our closest moon.  But it's a very rough process, and works only over a small area.

Using the harnessed force of the Q star, however, we will be able to be much, much more selective.  Omega hypothesizes that we should be able not merely to pull objects and people out of time, but also be able to push them through from here to any time or place in the Universe in a single instant!  We would be able to manipulate time, instead of being a prey to its implacable forces.

The thought appeals to me greatly, and I have given Omega the permissions and funds he needs to complete the process.  I shall have to design the force field generators and equipment myself for the containment fields here, and for our use when we detonate Polyphilos.  After all, if we were caught in the explosion, who knows what might happen to us?  Perhaps we should simply be eradicated in a microsecond.  But, given the strange forces at work in the heart of a Q star, perhaps something even worse might occur...

And, of course, should the collectors for the beamed power not be perfectly aligned on Gallifrey, then the flood of chronons that hits the planet will literally explode it, and send its scattered fragments throughout all of eternity.

We shall have either the staggering power to manipulate time and space on a scale undreamed of, or else the biggest explosion in history since the creation of the Universe itself.

What scientist could resist a challenge like that?

DAY 34

Putting a stop to the Games is probably the most unpleasant task I have ever had to face in my short time in power.  Oh, the populace of Gallifrey grumbled about the higher taxes I imposed, and they complained when I insisted on funding pure research, but nothing like this protest!  When I imposed the strict segregation in schooling, there were protests for days!  The parents complained that I was unfairly rewarding brighter children, and that intelligence couldn't be measured in academic marks and all of the usual liberal claptrap.  You cannot argue with people like that, and I didn't bother.  I don't care if they think I'm sending a message to the lower classes that they are not worth as much as the brighter children.  The future will lie in the hands of those with ability and talents, not in the hands of the masses.

Even General Gimel thinks my decision to ban the Games, however, is a bad move.  I do not question his loyalty, of course, but sometimes his blunt soldier's opinions are a bit too much for me to stomach.

"You can institute all the reforms you like,"  he told me in private.   "It doesn't matter how unpopular they are, if they produce results, the complaints will stop.  Your education policies might be controversial, but if they lead to an increase in output and revenues generally, then protests will die down.   But stopping the Games is madness.  They are the outlet for the masses--they funnel their emotions and anger and fury into watching the combatants.  It's therapeutic for them."

"I don't much care what it is for them,"  I replied.  "If the Time Scoop is still operating when we explode Polyphilos, the time distortion that it produces could wreck the careful system of forces that I am setting up."

"Well, if you must shut it down, do so only when you really have to."

"Gimel,"  I answered, wishing he had the brain to understand me,   "time distortions aren't something that die down in an hour or two.  The ripples from the Scoop could last for years for all we know.  I have to have it turned off now so that I can definately know what effects it has had on the time aura about Gallifrey.  Don't you understand that if my calculations are wrong, then this entire planet will be less than dust floating in the vacuum of space?"

"If it's that dangerous,"  he growled,  "then maybe you shouldn't even attempt it."

"Gimel, don't be short-sighted.  Exploding a Q star is a theoretical possibility that might occur to any civilization that has broken through time in any manner whatsoever.  Right now, we are the only civilization that we know has done this.  Sooner or later, there will be others.  If one of them should harness a Q star, then they will be able to control all of time and space and the destinies of a myriad worlds--including ours.  Do you not see that if we fail to conquer time, then whichever race does so will also conquer us?  Now that we know it can be done, it must be done, for the security of Gallifrey."

That he could finally understand.  He was good at any kind of logic that involved war.  "But the banning of the Games will be a hard blow."

"We all must make sacrifices, Gimel,"  I told him.  "The populace will have to find another way to sate their bloodlust and boredom?"

"And if it is on each othe?"  he asked.  "There are groups who claim that without the sublimated violence of the Games, we shall have an increase in crime, particularly violent crime."

"Then let them take it out on one another,"  I told him.   "Violence is the first home of the foolish man.  And his last."   I smiled.  "We should organize special patrols, then, and arm them.   Give those who want to the chance physically to fight back if there's an increase in crime.  That should make them happy.  They can kill one another off."

"And a lot of innocent people,"  Gimel objected.

He was getting tiresome.  "Innocence is a word that means whatever its user wants.  Being born means you're involved in life.  There are no innocents--merely the uncommitted.  We are going to ban the Games, and if the people object, let them.  They will sooner or later find some other stupid diversion to take their minds off that one.  If it does become a problem, then we shall act.   Otherwise, let them complain."

DAY 38

Well, Gimel was certainly right about the complaints!  Morning, noon and night, days without let-up.  I finally agreed to see a group representing the most vocal complaints.  Their leader got right to the point, demanding that the Games be restarted, or else.

"Or else what?"  I asked, curiously.

"We are ready to organize planetwide strikes," he answered, with stupid pride.  "Bring everything to a halt until you give in."

"And what makes you think I would ever give in?"  I wanted to know.

"You would have to,"  he told me.  "Civilization would begin to crumble."

"Your civilization, not mine,"  I told him.  "The only people you would affect by this strike of yours would be yourselves and your families.  I couldn't care less what you do against yourselves, to be honest.  I'm tempted to allow you to go ahead.  However, I have had a better idea."

"What's that?"  he asked, suspiciously.
"I'll revive the Games,"  I told him.  "Only, instead of it being played using alien warriors, it would be played using whiners, complainers, malcontents and the like.  You, for example.  You want the Games so badly, then you play in them.  You fight, and bleed and die for the entertainment of your fellow sociopaths.   Don't you find it morally repugnant to kidnap intelligent beings from other worlds and force them to fight one another to the death just to give you something to watch with your supper?  Or are words like morality and decency too complicated for you to understand?  If so, I will make it plain.  Tell your members that the Games will recommence next week.  The first matches will be played out using the ten people whose names I first hear of complaining about the loss of the Games."

"You can't do that!"  he screamed, furious.  "You cannot use a citizen of Gallifrey as a pawn in the Games."

"You idiot!"  I snapped back at him.  "I can do whatever I chose to do.  And I swear to you that I shall do exactly what I've told you.   Starting now, anyone who protests the loss of the Games goes into the Forbidden Zone to play in the next round.  Do any of you have anything to say to that?"

Gimel and his Guards moved significantly closer.  The delegation paled to a man, and no one spoke.

"Good.  I see that we understand one another perfectly.  Now go home, and make certain that everyone understands what I have just told you.  In two days' time, I shall have written into law that anyone who publicly calls for the return of the Games will be fighting in them the next day."

I suspect that the fuss of the cancellation will die down very quickly now.

DAY 43

It is really quite astonishing how much progress has been made in so short a time.   The public outcry over the cancellation of the Games has died down once everyone realized that my threat was quite serious.  It took only one roundup of the dissident factions to convince people that they didn't really want the Games back after all.

I was tempted to dismantle the entire apparatus for the Time Scoop and to obliterate the playing area, but realized in time that this would have simply been operating out of spite.  Instead, I simply set up a new force field generator within the Great Tower--of which only I know the frequency--and have sealed off the entire Forbidden Zone.   The apparatus for the Time Scoop I had moved, and it is now well hidden within the walls of the redesigned Panopticon section of the Citadel.

Finally, I am getting te chance to indulge in my architectural leanings.  I have been rebuilding the Citadel.  I am, perhaps, an idealist, but I am no fool.   Though I know all of my legislation is necessary to make Gallifrey strong, I do not for one moment imagine that I am popular because of it.  I very much doubt whether it would be safe for me to leave the Citadel for a few years yet, and am thus making a virtue out of necessity.  With the Citadel building as my basis, I am redesigning the entire complex.  Once it is finished, all the power--both intellectual as well as physical--on the planet will be concentrated here.  I plan an Academy area, the Panopticon itself, which will house all the representatives of the various Chapters (as soon as I am certain that I can trust them, of course), the Security offices, to replace the rather cramped quarters that Gimel and the Guards now occupy, and the various laboratories and public offices that are needed.  I am also adding a Presidential suite or two.  Though it is too soon yet, I shall eventually have to accept the office of President, although not until I am certain that I can trust enough people to form the remainder of the High Council.  Until then, I will stand alone.

DAY 50

Some obscure biologist by the name of Thremix (poor fellow, being saddled with a name like that!) came to see me today with what must be one of the most extraordinary ideas for a project that I have ever approved.  Since the proclamation about the new funding for pure science, I have sat through quite a number of odd sessions, either to approve or deny funding, but Thremix was certainly one of the strangest petitioners I have met yet.

He proposes to develop a disease called immortality!

"Not a disease, exactly,"  he corrected me in his nervous way when I laughed.  "A virus.  it will live within the body, and breed.  It will be specifically tied into the genes of the person it inhabits, and will constantly monitor that person's body, eliminating and repairing anything that goes wrong.  For example, if you were to break a leg, it would enable the break to heal in about a quarter of the time that it would naturally.  Burns, diseases and other problems could be healed in a day."

"And death?"  I asked, half-believing him; he was so intense and serious.

"That, actually, it couldn't do much about.  Not real death, that is."

"Are there any other kinds?"  Gimel asked, in his brusque way.

"Oh, yes.  Suppose, for a moment, that you had a heart attack, and collapsed.   Would you die?"

"Not if there was a physician around who could restart my heart,"  Gimel answered.  "If I was alone--yes, I'd probably die."

"Well, my virus would be like a surgeon, only an internal one.  It would restart your heart for you, because it would know how your body should be functioning, and work to keep it like that.  Of course, if you had a complete breakdown of your body system, then it couldn't work.  For instance, if someone shot you with a staser."
"That's a relief,"  Gimel said, with his grim humour.  "I like to see a man I shoot stay dead."

I have to confess I was intrigued by Thremix's suggestions.  Mad as they might seem, he did sound serious, and he wanted a pitifully small amout of money.  He almost slobbered over me in gratitude when I agreed to fund him, but I finally got rid of him.  I could see that Gimel didn't approve, so I invited his comments.

"I had the man checked out,"  he told me.  "He's considered completely unreliable by the scientific community.  A charlatan."

"Good,"  I replied.  "So was I, at one time.  And think, Gimel--if he is right in even one half of what he claims, then we shall have solved a problem I had thought unsurmountable.  I'm sure you have the same trouble I have.   Have you ever given serious thought to who will succeed you  when you either retire or die?"

"I've six or seven men I've had my eye on, Lord Rassilon,"  he said.   "But, frankly--well, none of them is exactly what I had hoped for."

"Well, you can imagine my problem.  Gallifrey is running smoothly with my hand at its political helm, but if I were to die it would undoubtedly founder back into its stupid old ways.  But one day I must die, and pass on the reins of power.  I am constantly tormented by the nightmare that I might chose the wrong man, someone who will dilute my dream, or prove to be weak or corrupt.

"Now, if Thremix should be correct, we can take a lot longer to make our decisions.  Perhaps they might even be indefinately postponed.  And if he is wrong, what have we lost?  A little money.  I think the chance is worth taking."

Gimel was not convinced, I could see, but he wisely held his counsel.

DAY 73

Thremix finally resurfaced today, with news that is both good and bad.  Despite Gimel's misgivings, the biosynthesist has produced some results.  He's managed to create his strain of virus and he's fairly certain that it will do what he wants.   There are, however, a few drawbacks to his wonderful invention.

"I can't guarantee that it will work on everyone,"  he explained.   "Theoretically, there are some problems.  There are three possibilities that I can see.  First, it will work perfectly, and the recipient will become endowed with extra virtues and a terrific resistance to sickness, ageing and even death itself.   That's the best-case scenario.  Second, the recipient's own bodily defenses will think it is an infection, and try to combat it.  In this case, the virus might simply be overwhelmed, and the recipient will be left as he was before the infection.   Alternatively, the virus might win, and take effect.  It's impossible to be certain what would happen there.

"Third, what I am really worried about!  My virus takes its template for rebuilding the body and keeping it healthy when we inject it into the body.  But what if the first cell it chances to scan is actually a diseased cell?  Or a parasite, or some other defective cell?  It will assume that this is the normal cell, and wreck the rest of the body to try to match it.  It would become a killer instead of a healer."

"Interesting,"  I agreed.  "Is there any way for you to predict which will happen with any given person?"

"Oh, yes,"  he told me.  "That's simply a matter of taking a small tissue sample, and injecting it with the virus.  If the sample dies, then so would the recipient."

"Then why not simply inject only those who could stand the treatment?"

"You don't seem to grasp the problem fully,"  Thremix said, in some anguish.  "My process is a virus.  I can't simply inject one person or another with it and leave it at that.  It will breed like any normal virus and spread from person to person as contact is made.  If even one person contracts the virus, within a month the entire planet would become infected."

I began to see his problem.  Well, I think you'd better try refining it a bit."

He shrugged.  "I really can't see how I could do much else with it,"   he admitted.  "There are limits to what you can do with a simple virus."

A dreadful thought came to me.  "Just a moment.  This business of infection.  Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you injected yourself with the virus.  I take it that you haven't?"

"Of course not!"  he said in horror.  "I've used only experimental animals, in strict quarantine."

"Good, well, if you were to pass on the virus to say, Gimel here, wouldn't it simply kill him?  After all, his genetic code is entirely different to yours, and the virus would assume it was all faulty."  I could see that the idea didn't appeal much to Gimel.

"No, I compensated for that,"  Thremix explained.  "The virus works only if the genetic variations are of a small order.  Say, up to twenty percent.  If there's more than that, then it takes a fresh sample and starts again.   So if another person were infected with the virus, the little devil would simply recalibrate, so to speak, and start to work."

"Another problem occurs to me,"  Gimel put in, showing more sense than I had expected of him.  "How would it affect a pregnant woman?  Would it assume that the baby's genetic coding is wrong, and alter it to an exacting duplicate of the mother's?"

"Ah, that had occurred to me,"  Thremix admitted.  "I, too, had that same vision--a future populated purely by women, each one identical in all aspects to their mother.  Until, of course, all the men capable of breeding with them died out, dooming the race to eventual extinction.  Not a pretty thought, is it?   Fortunately, the virus is sophisticated enough to allow for that.  I can ensure that a baby--with fifty percent of the mother's genetic material--would be considered as a secondary unit.  You see, it's simply a variation on the infection problem."

"So, basically, you're telling me that we have one choice to make,"  I asked him.  "Either to infect the whole planet with the longevity virus or to withhold it from all."

"Exactly,"  he agreed.  "We must do one or the other.   It's not a decision I would relish making."

"It's not a decision that you have to make,"  I told him, coldly.   "I shall have to decide."

"It might be wise, in either case,"  Gimel suggested,  "to have Thremix here test out the virus on samples from the top level of command.  It would be unfortunate if any of us proveed to have an adverse reaction."

I could see his point there!  Naturally, I have ordered a series of tests to be conducted among the people I can trust.  Especially, of course, on myself.  If the virus will kill me, then it will stay hidden away until I am dead.  If it will not work, the same is to hold true.  If, on the other hand, it will work on me, then I really have no option but to authorize its release.

DAY 80

Thremix has returned with some good news and some excellent news.  It turns out that in his usually silly way, it had never occurred to him to preform tests on a humanoid subject.  He confine his work to lower animal life.  What he has found is truly remarkable, though perhaps somewhat accidental.

The virus not merely heals, but regenerates tissue.  Portions of diseased or dismembered tissues, even ones that were decades old, actually grew back into place.   He's off again, now, working on some new thoughts that this has given him, and with my blessing.  Perhaps his virus will prove to be even better than I dared to ever have hoped.

And the excellent news is that the virus will work perfectly on both myself and Gimel.

DAY 84

I am beginning to suspect that a little of Omega's egocentricity is rubbing off onto me.  My personal force shields are finished, and work--as I expected--perfectly.   They are worn across the shoulders, and because of their appearance, I have named them the Sashes of Rassilon.  Omega smiled when I handed his over to him.  Well, if he can name his invention after his hand, he needn't be so amused with my names!

Still, both Sashes work perfectly, allowing us to approach within the critical distance that we shall need to penetrate when we detonate Polyphilos.  Omega has worked brilliantly on his engineering, and only two ships are required to do the work.  He will man the main ship, which will dive into the corona of the star and deliver the Hand of Omega with precisely the right trajectory it will need.  I had wondered about this, since the Hand is capable of remote programming, but  Omega had his reasons.

"If we just wanted to detonate the star, then I could fire off the Hand from here,"  he agreed.  "But we need to detonate it at a specific instant in its rotation, so as to funnel the chronons on the exact path.  That requires us to approach within two solar radii of the star.  Your ship will maintain the main force fields in place, and mine will dive in to deliver the Hand precisely on target.   These Sashes will protect us from the forces, and then we can return to the main fleet, which will be holding an orbital pattern much further out."

There is no doubt at all in my mind that the man is a genius.  Which makes him doubly dangerous, of course, because he has never hidden from me the fact that he thinks I should share the reins of power with elected officials.

I shall have to ensure that he is watched.

DAY 85

Once again, Gimel has proven his resourcefulness.  I had mentioned the thought about watching Omega, and Gimel informed me that he's had an agent close to Omega for many weeks now.  Gimel, careful as ever, has never fully trusted Omega.  He has also taken it upon himself to have other individuals monitored, including Thremix, it seems.   That strikes me as going too far.  Thremix hasn't got a single political thought in his head.  I seriously doubt if he even dreams of anything that doesn't have viruses in it.
Still, it makes me think--with all of this surveillance, none of which I knew about before, how much can Gimel himself be trusted?

DAY 98

Now that I've worked it out, I suppose it should have occurred to me before.   Still, the idea was so preposterous that I'm not surprised that it took me this long to arrive at the correct answer.  I now know where the stranger got his pass from.

I gave it to him.  Today, in fact, in my office.

He looked at it, and then put it away in one of those baggy pockets of his.

"I knew you'd realize eventually,"  he said.

"It was the only explanation that made sense,"  I sgreed, modestly.   "The only way you could get a legitimate pass was to obtain it from me.   Since I hadn't given you one in the past, it had to be in the future.  Then it all made sense.  Tell me--who exactly are you?"

"I suppose you might call me a Time Lord, Rassilon.  One of the people that you are in the process of creating."

"You are the result of my plans?"  I studied his appearance with unavoidable dismay.  He looks so much like a tramp!

"Well, something like me, at any rate,"  he conceded.  "I am considered to be something of a maverick."

"And the rest of your people?"

"Oh, terribly serious and dull.  You'd love them.  A place for everything, and everything in its time.  So horribly boring."

"And do they remember me still?"

"Rassilon?"  He smiled.  "Oh, yes, they remember him.   Though the Rassilon that they remember and honour isn't quite you, you know.   He's much more agreeable and saintly."

I had to laugh at that.  "Sanitized history?"

"Believe me, all of your history is sanitized.  It's positively pure, through and through.  Still, one or two of us know the truth.  And it's not a very nice truth, is it?"

This man is highly dangerous!  For all of his buffoonery and humour, his mind is sharp.  He hides this teeth behind an inane smile.  "What are you talking about?"

"Rassilon, Rassilon,"  he sighed.  "Don't beat around the bush with me.  I know what you are, and what your plans are, because I have seen their results."

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind enlightening me a little then?"

"Well, we could start with Thremix's little virus, couldn't we?  When do you intend to release that?"

Now I knew his source of information, I was considerably happier about talking to him.   "In a few days, probably.  Why?  Do you disapprove?"

"In some respects, yes.  Then there's Omega.  What do you intend to do with him?"

His changing of the subject was rather abrupt, but his mind is something like that of a flea--hopping from place to place, never staying still for long.  "I'm not yet sure,"  I told him, honestly.  "Why do you ask?"

"If you're thinking of killing him, Rassilon, don't do it.  That could be a very serious miscalculation on your part."

"Kill Omega?"  I asked.  "But he's my friend."

"And, of course, you'd never kill a friend, eh?"  He turned very serious.  "Rassilon, you have planned for a long time, I know, but I beg you, take a while longer.  Think about what you are doing, and try to imagine the consequences."

"Imagine the consequences?"  I echoes.  "But why should I do that?  You alreaady know the consequences.  Why don't you simply tell me about them?"

"My people have a law that forbids our interfering."

That made me laugh, I can tell you!  It was several minutes before I could stop, and answer him.  "The fact that you are here shows how little respect you hold for that law!  Just being here interferes with the course of history.  And, I imagine, talking to me like this interferes even more strongly."

"Not necessarily,"  he said.  "You see, I'm supposed to be here.  I fit in here, at this moment."

"And you therefore have a reason for being here,"  I told him, flatly.   "I should very much like to know what that  reason is."

"Yes, I rather imagined you would."  He stood up, and crosses to the scanner.  Turning it on, he brought up a view across the Panopticon floor.  The workmen were still expanding it, and the noise was ferocious, so he turned down the volume.  "I've already seen that room, Rassilon.  Every seat filled with pompous jackasses in their regal gowns.  Pontificating bureaucrats and venal snakes.   What a future you're creating here."

"But Gallifrey is safe?"

"Safe?  Oh, yes, it's safe.  It's completely impregnable to everything--especially ideas.  Your plans, Rassilon, will create a powerful society that is content to do nothing but sit on its academic qualifications and talk.   Gallifrey is so safe, it has isolated itself from change."

"Perfection does not need change,"  I reminded him.

"The Time Lords are not perfect.  Far from it.  They're inflated with self-importance, they're stuffy beyond endurance, and they are afraid to use their powers for good."

"Good?"  So the man was an idealist.  "And what is good?   I'll tell you--whatever makes Gallifrey strong is good.  Whatever makes us the masters of all time and space is good.  Anything that advances that day and hour is good."

"The ends justify the means,"  He sighed.  "You don't know how often I've heard that stale, weak philosophy, Rassilon.  And it always sickens me.   I came here to help you with your schemes, but still hoping to convince you to change the way that the future will be.  To make the Time Lords less powerful, less stuck in their ways.  To free their grip on the cosmos.  To make them able to think again.  I can see that that was a mistake on my part.  You're far worse than they will ever be."

"I will not compromise my beliefs,"  I told him.  "Whatever the price must be, then I shall pay it.  But Gallifrey will be strong.  Time Lords--that is what you call the race I am making?  A good name!  That is my desire, my aim."  I studied his tired face again.  "You say you know of me, the real me.  Then you know what I have already done.  Do you think I could have achieved what I have without this belief in the destiny of Gallifrey?  I am willing to risk everything--everything!--to create the very future that you have described."

"I know,"  he agreed.  "You've murdered, schemed, and corrupted to get where you are now, and all in the name of idealism.  Rassilon, what kind of a society can be based on such a start?"

"My dear fellow, you've already told me--the very future that you have described.   One in which Gallifrey is the sole dominant force in time and space, bending even the fabric of the Universe to our wills.  Why, the fact that you are here tells me that we shall have that power.  It's the culmination of all my dreams, and the end point of all my desires."  I looked him over.  "Just the fact that you are here shows that my plans will succeed.  Detonating Polyphilos will work, and we shall have all of the power we shall need to break the constraints of time and space."  Something occurred to me then .  "But if you are here, why haven't I been infected already with the immortality virus?"

"The what?"  He looked genuinely perplexed.

"Thremix's little invention."

"Oh, that."  He grinned again.  "Well, I've got news for you--it's not quite what you hoped of it.  It's not a doorway into immortality, you know.  It'll increase tremendously the life span of all it touches.  And it's going to have a very interesting side effect that Thremix will discover any day now, I believe.  But it won't stop death, you know.  And it's not as contagious as he thinks.  After about a year or so, it will stop infecting people.  After that, only those Gallifreyans born with it in their bodies will be able to use it.  Not everyone gets it.  It's a good job, really.  The way I travel, half the Universe would be immortal if it could be passed on."

"Then my descendants won't all live forever?"

"I've got some more bad news for you, Rassilon: you will never have any descendants at all.  You're the last of your line."

I stared at him, wondering what else he knew that he wasn't telling me.  "And you know all about my future?"  I asked him.  "Including how I die?"

"I know something about your futire,"  he corrected me.  "You and your cohorts and the people who come after you will hide or distort a lot of the truth.  And I do not know anything at all about your death.  In fact, in my time, there are all kinds of silly children's fables about you.  One of them even calls you the Once and Future King, or something along those lines.  It says that you never died, and simply sleep on somewhere, to awaken one day and rule Gallifrey once more."  He laughed.  "And there are others that say you were killed in a popular uprising against your incredible tyrannies.  Who can say which is true?   If either?"

Who indeed?  Well, perhaps when we achieve the power to break through the boundaries of space and time I shall be able to discover the answer for myself.   After that last pronouncement, he left me to my thoughts, promising he would see me again before he left.

And what thoughts I have had!

He has shown me the future, and it works!  Gallifrey has become impregnable.   His own fears are simply a result of his misplaced idealism, a disease of the young.  When we are strong, then there will be no need to change.  We shall have reached that level of grace that Gallifreyans have dreamed of for generations.   Perhaps we will not be able to live forever, but even he admitted that we shall expand our lives many, many times.  Why, in two or three normal life spans, what a world I could create!  To be able to plan for fifty, a hundred, or a thousand years!   To know that anything I envisage can be shaped and built.  Ah, what a place this Gallifrey shall become with my hand to guide it down the ages!

DAY 117

Well, one of his predictions has certainly come to pass.  Thremix came to see me this morning in an unusyally agitated state.  When I could get him to calm down and talk to me, he delivered some news that a few short months ago I would have considered to be insane.

He has been conducting more extensive tests of his virus--apparently at his urging--and discovered that it possessed a new property that none of us had imagined, but which he, of course, must know: total bobily regeneration.

"At the instant of what should be death,"  Thremix explains as best he could,  "the virus reconstructs the body completely.  It remakes it, and allows the new body to begin life afresh."

"You mean like reincarnation?  We start with a clean sheet?"

"Not exactly.  We would carry across the process a large amount of our existing memories and personalities.  But there would be a great deal of change, I suspect.  Features could alter, there could be minor deviations in the psyche, that sort of thing."

"Then we are indeed talking about true immortality!"  I exclaimed.   "Instead of death, a rebirth!  We can all live forever, thanks to you!"

"Not exactly,"  he cautioned.  "I've run more tests on the virus itself.  It turns out that it isn't anything like as infectious as I had thought.  Most people will never be able to inherit it.  Those that do will be fully protected, but the rest will never know of it.  And some will die because of it.  Then, within a year or so, it will stop breeding.  After that, its levels will stay constant in the body until regeneration.  Then, when the body is reconstructed, there will be less of the virus left."

"Which all means?"  I demanded.

"Putting it simply,"  he sighed,  "about five percent of the population of Gallifrey is likely to get the virus.  Possibly another five percent will die.  The other ninety percent will be unaffected.  The five percent that is protected by the virus will have extended life spans, and when that span is over, instead of dying, they will be able to regenerate a new body for themselves.  They should have sufficient levels of the virus within them to be able to do this probably a dozen times.  After that, the level of viral activity will be too low for it to work properly.  Then they will die."

I thought about this for a while.  "Couldn't they simply then be reinfected with the virus?  If it worked once, it should work a second time."

"Think about it,"  he said.  "By the time these people have been reboren twelve times, they will not be the same people who started the process.   So we'd be back to the same chances again-- five percent of infection, five of death, and ninety percent of nothing at all happening."

It made sense, but there was one point to consider.  "So there would be a diminishing figure of people who could live beyond that first infection.  And of those, there would still be five percent who could have a third dose..."

"Sooner or later, everyone would die,"  he answered.  "Oh, theoretically, someone might always fall into the five percent forever, but the odds are against it."

"And how about the children of those people?"

"Again, it's not as good as I had hoped.  If the mother is infected with the virus, then she has about a one in ten chance of passing it on to her child.  It seems to favour the male for some reason, about two to one."

I failed to see why he seemed to be so gloomy.  "It sounds to me like you've done excellent work."

"Hardly that,"  was his answer.  "I had hoped to give everyone extended life and health.  What the virus will do is to create an elite that   will have abilities far above the norm."

"Come now,"  I reasoned.  "There have always been elite groups in history.  Society is governed by an elite.  All you will be doing is rewarding those people for their work in a very special way."

"It's easy enough for you to say,"  he replied.  "You know that you will be in the elite.  How would you feel about the virus if you discovered that it wouldn't work on you?"

"I should not be as happy,"  I admitted.  "But for the greater good of Gallifrey, I would be willing to stifle my own pride."

He sighed.  "Well, I do have one other piece of news about the process.   I've been able to refine the virus so that it actually enhances the body when regeneration occurs.  Instead of simply rebuilding the body along the original lines, it will improve things somewhat.  I've added a double circulatory system, for example.  Most deaths occur because of heart failure.  With two hearts, there's very little chance of that ever happening.  Overall, I think I can say that those who the virus works on will have life spans approaching ten or twelve thousand years.   That is, of course, approximate, and dependent on chance, stress and so forth."

Ten or twelve thousand years!  And the idiot was unhappy with what he had done!   Well, these geniuses were always a moody lot.  And probably the stranger had infected Thremix with some of his idealistic nonsense.  There was only one important question left.

"When will the virus be ready for use?"

He frowned again.  "I don't know if we should be using it at all."

I could hardly believe my ears.  "What are you babbling on about now?   Of course we must use it!"

"Haven't you heard a word I've been saying?"  he asked.  "If it is release, then we will be creating an elite among our own people.  But we will also be murdering just as many innocent people in the process.  Is it worth the price?"

I put an arm comfortingly about his shoulders.  "Stop bothering yourself with such questions,"  I told him.  "Let me worry about the question of ethics.  When can the virus be released?"

"It's ready now,"  he replied.  "But I don't know if we should go ahead with it."

I nodded, sympathetically.  "Well, you simply prepare it for release.   Once that is done, we will talk about it some more.  If you have any objections, I promise you it will not be released."

He seemed so pathetically grateful as he hurried off.  What a fool.   Naturally, I knew he would have no objections to the virus' use.

How could he have?  Gimel's man was very careful.  He didn't kill Thremix until after the virus was ready for use.

It was a shame that I had to do it, because the man was so brilliant.  But I simply could not take the chance that he might have destroyed the virus before it could be used.

DAY 118

A historic day for Gallifrey.  It's a pity that my hand is shaking as I write this.  Thremix neglected to mention that there would be side effects from the virus.   Typical of the man.  Still, the medics assure me that the nausea and general lassitude are experienced by all those who have been infected with the virus.  The symptoms should pass once our systems get used to the new regime within our bodies.

Thremix was wrong in one other area, too.  Initial figures place the successful infections from the virus at almost exactly his five percent mark, but the death rate is running closer to ten percent.  At the moment, only about ten or twelve people know the true story of what has happened to Gallifrey, and the planet is in something of a panic.  I've had an offical cover story made up about an old germ warfare plant having sprung a leak.  To make the story more convincing, Gimel has organized an air strike on a site we selected as being useless anyways.  Still, with one in ten dying in the streets--some in incredible agony, I have been informed--there is understandably fear ahead.  It will calm down soon, when there are no further deaths.  The public memory of tragedy especially is very short.

DAY 123

Well, I'm finally back to my old self again--or should that be my new self?  I feel wonderful, and have been able to concentrate on matters of state once more.   Gimel recovered sooner than I did, and had some interesting reports for me to study.

Naturally, the stranger interrupted me, hopping about in anger, and yelling at me for what I had done.  I pointed out, quite rightly, that if I had not had the virus released, then he would not have been alive to come and shout at me.  But it made no difference.  Fanatics can be quite immune to logic.  Then he was off on another tack, trying to get me to stop my other plans, to restructure the Time Lords-to-be into something else.  Bored, I began scanning the reports from Gimel, and couldn't stifle my derisory laugh.

"My dear sir, I owe you an apology.  I had thought it was because of your pernicious influence that Thremix became reluctant to release his virus,  I was quite wrong, it seems."

"Thremix,"  he replied coldly,  "was showing good judgment until he trusted you."

"His reluctance to release the virus wasn't based on any moral qualms,"   I answered.  "It seems that he knew that he was in the ten percent of the population that would be killed by the virus.  Isn't that grimly ironic?  If I had not had him killed, he would be dead by his own hand.  Would that have been classified as suicide, do you think?"

"Do you think that he would have hesitated for a moment to release the virus if it meant only his death?  It was the other millions that you slaughtered so casually that he was worrying about."

I was getting very weary of his pretentious prattle.  "Millions of people are simply numbers.  He was only afraid for himself.  And for that, he would have ruined the fate of the planet!  It's a good job that I took the decision out of his hands, isn't it?"

"I don't know why I'm wasting my breath on you,"  he sighed.   "You're incapable of grasping any ethical standpoint at all."

"Don't waste any further breath on my account,"  I said, cheerfully.

The next report dealt with Omega.  As I had suspected, the man had turned out to be a subversive.  He was slinking off to join prodemocratic meetings in secluded corridors of the Capital.  It was so primitive, you almost had to feel sorry for them.  One of Gimel's men had infiltrated the group, and we now had the names of all of the ringleaders.  Most of them were unimportant, but Omega was far from that.

It left me in a bit of a dilemma.  Normally, I would simply have had Gimel round up the troublemakers and quietly dispose of them.  But I couldn't afford to lose Omega until we had our temporal control.  After that, he became quite expendable.   But until he triggered the supernova in the star Polyphilos, I dare not act against any member of his group.  If they should happen to disappear or die, he might turn difficult.

I implemented the obvious solution.  Gimel would have them killed once Omega and I led the fleet to Polyphilos.  The only thing left now was to ensure that Omega would not return with me.

DAY 140

The fianl portions of the temporal flux controls are now in place and ready to begin work.  They have been installed as close to the Panopticon as I could manage it.   Only the few technicians who helped with the work know the exact location of the controller, and they will never pass on their knowledge.  I have decided to call the device the Eye of Harmony.  In it, all the forces are held in cosmic balance, a true harmony, and from it the power may be tapped to control the Time Drivers.

The technicians working on the TT Capsules have done wonders.  I am constantly amazed at the practical applications of pure science.  Even though I invented the force barriers and fields that are used in the capsules, what Jelen and her technicians have done with them is truly astounding.

They have sealed each capsule within its own separate field, virtually impregnable once sealed.  Entry can be gained only through a key with numerous permutations.  The actual lock code will be known only to the operator of the capsules--after all, we should not want any of  them to fall into the wrong hands.  Each capsule is to be fed from the Eye of Harmony, and using those chronons and the forces they generate could effectively traverse the known and unknown reaches of time and space.

As if this were not enough, between them they have added several refinements to the plans.  This latest capsule is the Type 30, and will feature a chameleon circuit.   The capsule's telemetry will scan the area in which it will materialize, and then alter the shape of the enveloping force shield to resemble some native structure in the vicinity.  This will enable the capsule, as it materializes, to blend in perfectly with its surroundings.  It's a very clever idea, and appeals to me enormously.   With the lock and the chameleon device, there is almost no chance at all that any non-Gallifreyan will even be able to enter a TT Capsule unescorted.

I wonder if it might not be time for the stranger to be permanently retired.  I mentioned this thought to Gimel, who--extremely reluctantly--admitted that he had been trying to have him shadowed.  It seems that he is always managing either to give the followers the slip or to overpower them somehow.  Until now, I had assumed he was simply a nuisance.  It seems that he is fast becoming a real problem.  I shall have to decide precisely what to do with him shortly.

DAY 162

I suppose I should not have been too surprised, but it seems that the stranger has somehow found out that I intended to have him executed.  When Gimel's men broke into his room this morning, he had gone.  I have had the Citadel searched, of course, but there is absolutely no sign of him.  Obviously he has fled back to wherever he came from, and will no longer be able to harass me.

Omega was furious to discover that he had not only run off, but had taken several invaluable items with him.  The prototype of the Hand of Omega is missing.  This would have been a severe blow to our plans, had not Omega already constructed a second, more sophisticated version of the Hand; we can still proceed with the detonation of Polyphilos.

Along with the missing Hand, some of Omega's "living metal" has gone also.   It's an old device of his he worked on to help defend the planet before I came up with the Transduction Barriers.  Since it is no longer really necessary, I don't see its loss as being too serious.  Still, I am irked that Gimel's men could allow a stranger to steal anything at all from within the Citadel and then simply walk off with it.  I've given them all standing orders that if he shows up again, he is to be killed on sight.  I can't chance his returning for the other Hand before we can use it.  Given his idealistic nature, it's not outside the boundaries of possibility that he might do that.

DAY 187

It's almost beyond belief what has happened.  Despite my trust and faith in her, Jelen attempted a coup this morning.  Now that it is all over, and she and her fellow conspirators are dead, we have begun to piece together what has happened.

Jelen, it seems, took umbrage when the virus killed off her family almost in its entirety.  She felt that I was responsible for their murders, and had joined some radical group planning to oust me and to restore the old order.  I can't believe that anyone as intelligent as she was could be so utterly foolish as to want back those foolish Councillors.  Still, it seems that Pandak and his ilk are a focus for those who do not like my regime.  Gimel suggested that it might be better if they were eliminated, but I hesitate to do this.  Such a move would suggest that we are afraid of what Pandak and the rest could do, and would be a show of weakness.  I favour simply having their contacts watched.  Any future conspirators should thus be simple to spot.

Still, Jelen planned well, and was actually equipping her men with portable force shields to enable them to storm the Panopticon and attempt to assassinate me.  She had based the shields on the Sash of Rassilon I  designed, though, and that was her mistake.  I know the weakness of the device, and when Gimel woke me with the news of the revolt, I was soon able to stop it.

Gimel's men could not affect the attacking maniacs, but I could.  It was simply a matter of sending a signal that caused the field to contract about each of the wearers.   Those that weren't crushed to death were suffocated.  Jelen was one of the latter, and I only wish that her death had been more protracted.  Such disgusting ingratitude as she showed deserved a far lengthier and more painful demise.

Still, that abortive little revolt shows that there are still some who can plot against me.  And that they can find people to take a stance and back then up.  It's really quite astonishing--and inevitably foolish.  I've allowed Gimel to recruit more agents, and to position them as he deems best.

DAY 203

We are now ready to begin.  It's hard to believe, but for the first time in many months, I will be leaving not only the Citadel but also Gallifrey for a short while.

Omega is getting more and more excited as the hour approached for the fleet to take off.  He and I have the smallest craft, and the other eight ships will remain almost a light year from Polyphilos.  They will monitor everything that happens, and check that all is going according to plan.

Curious.  Had it not been for the stranger, I would probably be in as nervous and excitable a state as Omega is in right now.  After all, there is a chance that our tampering with Polyphilos might not power the Eye of Harmony, but instead utterly destroy Gallifrey.  But I am now certain that this will not happen.  Now, I simply wait, knowing that we shall succeed.  In two days, Gallifrey will be completely in control of the boundaries of time and space.

And Omega will be dead.

DAY 204

We are now in orbit about Polyphilos.  As I write, light from the doomed star illuminates my ship.  Hanging here in orbit, it is hard to conceive that tomorrow this entire yellow sun will be no more.  Once the forces of the Hand of Omega squeeze it, and the Eye of Harmony locks onto it, then it will explode in a single, intense instant of brightness, and then appear to vanish forever from the Universe.  It will be locked within my power.

All is now ready, and I have insisted that everyone in the fleet get a good night's rest.  We do not want any mistakes tomorrow.  I know, of course, that we shall succeed--but there is always that little core of doubt within each of us that cries out in fear.

I have consulted with Gimel, in great secrecy.  He reports that his men have killed or arrested all of Omega's fellow plotters.  What is most ironic is that they had planned to strike against me right after the detonation of Polyphilos.  Had Gimel not moved before them, they might even have won.  And then control over all of time and space would have been theirs and not--

LATER

The stranger is really most irritating.  He interrupted my line of thought, arriving on my ship at the most inopportune moment.  I find myself torn between anger and admiration for him.  Despite all that I could do to prevent it, he managed to land his TT Capsule on my ship.  Clearly the Time Lords that I shall create will be a most powerful race!  And you almost have to admire his gall in daring to arrive just hours before my greatest triumph.  I only wish that I could say the same about the asinine speech he came to deliver.

He still had this fanatical determination to try and make me see what he likes to think of as sense.  I prefer other words for the liberal drivel that he spouts.  I gather he's had something of a strong falling out with the Time Lords of his own era, and now wishes to get his own back at them by erasing them from history.  Oh, he never said it in quite those words, of course!  Instead, he hides behind a mealy-mouthed rationalization that they have become a stagnant society, introverted and impotent.   Clearly, he is interpreting this in his own way.  I believe the truth of the matter is that they are a stable, well-ordered society and that they do not change because they have achieved perfection.

When I interrupted his rambling arguments with the accusation that he is simply trying to get back to the regime that had wronged him, he looked most crestfallen.  I challenged him to deny that he has been disciplined by them, and his weak defense was that he has been subjected to their whims "many, many times".

It is as I suspected all along: the stranger is either dangerously insane, or a criminal.  Oh, not a common one, I grant you, but nonetheless a felon.  Still, he doesn't lack courage,  only intelligence.  Perceiving that he was not winning the argument with me, he did finally give up in disgust.  Logic isn't one of his better qualities.

"I don't want to prevent your work,"  he wheedled.  "Simply to give it a nudge in a different direction."

"I'm glad to hear that,"  I said dryly.

He gave me one of his long stares.  "Don't think that the idea doesn't tempt me,"  was his reply.  "You've murdered and enslaved millions of people to get to this point.  But the Time Lords are necessary for the future of the Universe, and you are the key to their creation."

I tried one last time.  "To be able to get to this nexus, I have had no option but to act as I must.  Don't think that I enjoy killing anyone.  But to achieve stability, those who dig at its roots must be disposed of.  I do not kill out of enjoyment, but from necessity.  As for enslaving Gallifrey--I think that you'll discover that there is less crime, less poverty and less inequity than ever before."

"And less freedom,"  he retorted.

"Freedom is such an empty word.  Freedom to do what?  Left to their own devices and imaginations, most people waste their lives.  Instead, I have given them a purpose--the elevation of Gallifrey to the strongest power in all of time and space.   Thay have been handed a destiny that changes the entire course of history--are a few lives and the loss of a few freedoms so important that this destiny should be ignored?"

"People have a right to chose the destiny that they want for themselves."

"Ah, you and Omega would probably get along well!  You, too, believe in the outmoded concept of democracy!  Let the people decide!"  I shook my head.   "The people, left to their own devices, will never decide.  And if they do, who is to say that they will make the right choice?  Democracy is a foolish system of government."

"Perhaps so,"  he conceded.  "But it's better than any other.   Tyranny, for example."

"Come, am I such a tyrant?"  I asked.  "What I do, I do for Gallifrey.  If I am a tyrant, then it is with the best of intentions."

"You're handing to the Time Lords such power as would corrupt a saint, Rassilon,"  he responded.  "Even if you were the most pure-hearted tyrant that the Universe has ever known, you cannot guarantee that the same will hold true forever."

"Perhaps not,"  I had to agree.  "But I will do my best to ensure that no tyranny will come from the powers that I endow upon the future members of our race.  But I cannot agree with your apocalyptic vision of the future.  Make your decision.  Go, or stay and watch my new creation."

Eventually, he left, of course.  Not without more and longer speeches, but he finally understood that I stand firm in my resolve.  I have not made my choices lightly, and I am not going to change them now.  Out of respect, for his audacity, I will place safeguards on my spiritual descendants, though.  Tyranny of the worse kind can never be tolerated.  Only strong rule, and aa resolute purpose.

I think that the first Law of TIme I shall lay down, though, will be that no Time Lord shall ever travel into his or Gallifrey's own past.  The stranger is bad enough with his constant harping on his tired ethics, but suppose that there will come a fanatic one day with similar ideas, but a will to do something positive, such as returning to kill me.   No, that cannot ever be allowed.

DAY 205

It is accomplished!  We are no longer Gallifreyans, but the Lords of Time!

As I now sit within my offices in the Citadel, the hum of power surrounds me.  The Time Control Room is awash with chronons, and the TT Capsules are being prepared for their first real tests.  Everything has gone as I desired it.  My only partial regret is that I was forced to kill Omega.  He would so dearly have loved to be here to see this.

I managed a few, brief hours of sleep, and then awoke to the day of my greatest triumph.  Omega and I set the Sashes firmly about us, and I followed his craft into the blazing glory of Polyphilos. There we held our positions, and when the exact moment came, he sent the Hand of Omega spiralling into the heart of the star.

It was a moment of indescribable beauty.  The entire body of the star shook, and ripples of force sped across it.  Then, in a brief, burning instant, came the explosion.  Without the protection that the Sash afforded me, I should have been annihilated by the flow of radiation that exploded from the dying core.

At the very second that the shields moved to their maximum, closing out the indescribable light that poured from the wreckage of Polyphilos, I used my remote control to shut down Omega's Sash.

His craft disappeared, eradicated in an instant.  I am not a harsh man, and am glad that Omega could never have known what happened to him.  His body must have been torn apart in a microsecond by the terrible forces that we have unleashed here today.

Back on Gallifrey, the Eye of Harmony captured and chained that outpouring of chonons.   The TT circuits within my ship leaped to life, and both I and the fleet were able to leap back to the Citadel in a second.  Ah, such a feeling of true exhilaration!   To kow that the power was finally ours.

Naturally, I made a speech.  The Public Access Video spread my words across the entire planet as I broke the news about the tremendous accomplishment that Omega and I had made possible.  "The boundaries of Time and Space have been destroyed,"   I proclaimed.  "No longer are we mere Gallifreyans--from this instant on, we are the Lords of Time!"

I also broke the news of the unfortunate death of Omega to them.  I invented a story that his force field had failed at the second of explosion, and that sadly he had been destroyed.  It would never do for the people to know that he was a traitor, plotting my overthrow.  The public has a need of heroes, and dead heroes are so much more convenient than live ones--they are much less likely to stand up and say something to embarrass you.  And you could mould them into what ever shape you chose.

This is the moment of greatest triumph for both myself and for Gallifrey.  A new era has begun!

DAY 20,000

I foujnd the old diary that I used to keep the other morning, and read through it.   Much of it seems as fresh to my memory as it did then.  Some of it I find hard to recall, even on rereading the words.  And much has changed since I wrote them.

In the years that have gojne by, we Time Lords have consolidated our powers.  I have been able to make changes, and there is now a High Council serving me.   Naturally, their first move was to elect me President for life.  I like a pliable Council.

The Panopticon has been opened up, and the representatives from the various Chapters are now able to take their seats there in debate and on state occasions.  The only rule that I have imposed on those holding political powers is that they must be of the new Gallifreyan breed.  They must possess the virus that allows them to regenerate.

The stranger, were he here now, would undoubtedly scream and panic, claiming that I have created an elite.  Well, he would, I suppose, be correct.  We Time Lords are the elite of Gallifrey.  Still, given that we have abilities far beyond those of the average person, is it not logical that it should be so?  After all, there are thousands of times more insects on Gallifrey then there are people; should we then be requiring to hand over the planet to their rule?  Absurd, of course, as is the notion that the Gallifreyans should be allowed to have a say in the running of Time.

As with all things, change has brought us many problems.  I have been more than busy these last few years simply formulating and imposing the regulations that will govern time travel.  As I see I had noted down, I have laid down the First Law that no Time Lord shall ever cross his or her own time lines.  I want no revisions of history at this stage.

There has been only one real regret for me since I stopped my diary, and that is the death of Gimel.  It is still a hard blow to take, knowing that the one person I had trusted above all should have been planning my overthrow almost from the beginning.   However, he did seriously underestimate me, assuming that I had allowed him to set up his little net of spies unsupervised.  My own agents within his clique gave me timely warnings of his intentions,  His miniature revolution was nipped in the bud, and he was able to perform one last task for our race by dying.

It's odd, but before his conspiracy, it had never occurred to me that it might become necessary one day to execute a Time Lord.  It took a little imagination on our part to accomplish it, of course.  After all, the usual staser shot to the head would hardly work, given Gimel's powers of regeneration.  Instead, one of my aides came up with the concept of vaporization.  When we tried it, it worked beautifully--every single particle in the victim's body is disassembled, and scattered into the Vortex of Time and Space.  There is no chance at all of bodily regeneration.  I have now had it written into the Codes that any Time Lords that must be executed should be disposed of in this manner.

It is sad, though, that Gimel's death should have become so inevitable.  Thremix, Omega, Jelen...all of the people who began this grand design with me are now dead.   And our foes, too, Pandak and Mayeron.  I sometimes wonder why death is always such a prelude to change, but it seems to inevitably be so.

Well, for now, this is enough.  I believe that my diary is complete, and I shall seal it--and the secrets it contains--away.  Perhaps some day it will be recovered, and read.  Perhaps not.  It hardly seems to matter.  Still, I do not wish to finish this narrative on a depressing note, and should perhaps explain why I no longer need to keep this written record.

One of the brighter of the younger Time Lords has invented what he calls an Exitonic Circuit.  It appears to be basically a net of artificial brain cells that constantly update the information that they carry.  He tells me that this Amplified Panatropic Net of his will be able to record the mental processes and thoughts of any person.  I can see that it will have many uses, perhaps even more than now seems possible.  But from this point on, I shall certainly use it to store information that before I have only dared to write down.

Again, I find my memory returning to that impudent interloper.  His prediction that the Time Lords would become brooding, introspective failures seems to be no more than his own dissatisfaction written onto the whole race.  The Time Lords are a bright, alert species, and we are constantly expanding our horizons.  Already we have conquered the boundaries of Time and Space.  We have shaken the grim hold that death has always held over us.  We can now record emotions, thoughts, and memories forever.   All this in so short a period of time!  Given the vast frontiers that are now open to us, who can say what the Time Lords may not some day be able to accomplish?

FINAL ENTRY

Rassilon is now finished, and it has fallen to my task either to seal or destroy all of his records.  Accordingly, I have searched through his offices, and came upon this box of scrolls.  It has apparently lain here for many centuries, all but forgotten even by Rassilon himself.  I sat, quite engrossed, in reading his accounts of the formation of the society we now have.

He has ruled a long time--almost a thousand years--and much has happened since he wrote.  Still, it is not my place to attempt to chronicle those events.  I am simply ending his narrative with a few notes on what has happened to him.  Then these scrolls shall be sealed.  I will recommend that they never be opened.  Already, in just a few years, Rassilon has become something of a legend among the common people of Gallifrey.  How quickly the general populace seems to forget his darker side.   But perhaps that is to the good.  As Rassilon himself remarked, heroes are often needed, and dead heroes are the best of all.

Not that he is dead, exactly.  I had voted for termination, but the general assembly overruled this.  Partly this was due to a fear that Rassilon had somehow set a trap in the vaporization booth that would not kill him, but simply transport him somewhere.  It's hard to argue with this opinion--after all, he was an accomplished engineer, and possessed a feverishly devious mind.  The other part of the reluctance to kill him stemmed from the fact that the new regime did not wish to begin as Rassilon himself had, with executions and repressions.

In the end, they elected merely for eternal imprisonment.  He was taken and confined by force screens--ones he did not himself design!--within the Dark Tower at the heart of the Forbidden Zone.  His body would remain immobile as long as the screens last--which will be while the Eye of Harmony can drain any power at all from the outer cosmos.  If Rassilon does ever awaken, then it will be as the ruler of a dead and barren world.

Curiously, he did not seem at all dismayed by the sentence imposed upon him.  He looked upon it as a step into immortality.  Reading back through the records he has left, I am forced to wonder how honest his thoughts contained in these scrolls have been.   Is he merely another Time Lord--perhaps the greatest of us, but still similar?   Or did Thremix design a second, better virus for his own use?  The original virus, Rassilon notes, would have killed Thremix.  I find myself wondering if the brilliant biologist then worked on a second strain, one that might have granted him full immortality...and with Thremix's death, did Rassilon then appropriate this virus for his own use?

Such speculations are fruitless.  Rassilon will never again talk.  I am almost certain that it is merely my own fears speaking in the night to me.  But there are hints within Rassilon's records that he is not the same kind of being as we are.   His earlier writings, for example, show his worries about selecting a successor to himself.  Towards the end, this thought has vanished.  Is this simply because he felt he had a longer time in which to make his decision?  Or did he believe himself to be truly immortal, and thus in no need at all to determine his successor?

Anyways, I have spoken to no one of my worries.  It would surely do no good at all to share these fears.  And I will have these scrolls sealed away.  Perhaps if I were a braver person I would simply burn them, but they contain such valuable material that I find myself hesitating.  One day, perhaps, a wiser, kinder society may evolve, and the truths locked within these scrolls--along with the distortions of that truth that infects all that Rassilon writes--may be made known.

Enough.  I have finished, and to this final page, I fix my seal.

Pandak III

Under this entry, one final word has been written.  The handwriting, of a much later date, belongs to ex-President Borusa.  It reads, simply:

Interesting.