Making Memories, chapter 9

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Chapter 9: Memory Lapse

The next morning, as the second sun was beginning it's ascent, the Doctor was already awake and had put the awkwardness of the evening's events behind him. He was still unsure of whether her confession had been merely caused by the alcoholic drink's effects, or whether she really did fancy him. As much as he liked her, he still pined after Rose, which made the whole situation emotionally troubling. He was fairly certain that she wouldn't remember any of it, however, and this is what allowed him to push it to the back of his mind.

He took a deep breath before addressing Martha who was still lying in bed. "Care to head down to breakfast?"

His only reply, which he half expected, was a groan of pain. The Pink Sunrise had really taken a toll on her and she was still suffering from its effects. "Go without me," she finally managed to get out, her expression no longer the pleasant smile of the prior evening but one stuck in a perpetual wince.

He nodded and then headed down to the ballroom where breakfast was being served.

When he arrived at the ballroom, he picked himself up some things from a large abundant decorative display, but when he turned to find himself a table to sit at, he was sad to see most were already occupied, either by large groups of friends or by couples whose love made him wish for Rose.

After several more moments of surveying, he was pleased to find a face he recognized. Sitting alone at a table was Drexicon, one of the Trydians who had told him of their reading experience when he and Martha had first arrived.

"Mind if I sit here?" the Doctor asked politely after he had walked over to the table.

Drexicon looked slowly up from his plate of food and furrowed his brow. "Who the hell are you?"

The Doctor was taken aback by the abrupt and rather hostile question. "I, well, I'm the Doctor," stumbled from his lips. "We met just yesterday."

"I have never met you before in my life!" Drexicon said with an angry snort.

The Doctor furrowed his brow and looked the Trydian over. "Yes, we met just yesterday," he said, his confusion showing.

"Then prove it," Drexicon retorted.

The Doctor searched his memory. "You, you told me all about your daughter. The Psycla's prediction. Your name is Drexicon."

Dreixcon gave a look of surprise that quickly faded, replaced once again by a scowl. "The only part of that you got right was the name. I have no daughter."

At this the Doctor was even more confused, and suddenly very suspicious of the Psych Hotel. Even more than he had been when he had first been introduced to the gimmick of the Psycla. "I'm sorry, my mistake," he said quickly, leaving his plate on Drexicon's table, and heading out of the room.

He turned down the hallway and headed for the main desk.

"May I help you," the Trydian woman working the front desk asked.

The Doctor stole a glance at her nametag. "Certainly, Collette."

"What can I do for you?" she said with a bright smile.

"My name is Drexicon, I need you to pull up my record."

The Trydian pushed some buttons on the computer screen. She then moved her head to clearly view the Doctor, and then the screen again. "I'm sorry, sir, but it says here Drexicon is Trydian in origin, so I'm fairly certain you are not him. Guest information is strictly confidential."

"The file. It says he was invited here at the opening and he was invited back now, correct?"

Collette shook her head. "I cannot confirm or deny that statement as guest information is strictly confidential, sir."

The Doctor went on. "The question is why, why was he invited back. And who else was invited back."

Collette was beginning to get annoyed. "Sir, that information is confidential." She was just short of yelling. "If you don't leave this desk now, I will call security."

"Yes, but--" the Doctor began, but he was cut off by a tug on his coat pocket. He turned around and looked down to see none other than Clera, the Trydian girl who had fallen on top of him and aided in his discovery of the hidden room behind one of the hotel's tapestries. "Why, hello there," he said, a bit surprised to see her. But she would not talk to him, not yet, not even to return pleasantries. She motioned for him to follow her and led him to the far corner of the room.

"You shouldn't be here, poking around," she finally said to him.

He furrowed his brow, but she continued before he could respond.

"People who poke around have a nasty habit of disappearing around here."

The Doctor's expression turned serious. "Disappearing? So there is something going on here."

Clera frowned. "No, please," she pleaded. "Just enjoy the resort. Enjoy your holiday. Stop snooping, then you can go home. You don't have to be involved."

"Involved in just what exactly?" the Doctor prodded.

Clera looked around nervously. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

The Doctor eyed her searchingly. She was hiding something. "You know," he said, almost certain of it.

"I know nothing," Clera defended.

He didn't take his eyes off her. "You know who was screaming, in that room, beyond the door. You know who was screaming."

Clera was silent for several moments. "I can help you," she finally said in a voice barely above a whisper. "If you won't stop poking around, then promise, promise me you'll get to the bottom of things. Promise me you'll see it through to the end."

The Doctor nodded slowly, and Clera eyed him carefully for several moments before finally deciding his nod was definitive enough. She then headed over to the front desk, the Doctor looking after her, unsure of what she was going to do now.

When she got close to the desk, she began stomping and fuming, much to the Doctor's surprise. "Ms. Collette!" she bellowed, so loud that Collette winced. "Cordon stole my doll! AGAIN!" she continued, causing all the guests to stare at her, clearly uncomfortable by the scene. "He won't give it back to me! Make him give it back to me or, I swear, I'll tell father that you can't do anything!"

Collette shifted uneasily. "Do you know where Cordon is?" she said in a calm, subdued tone, that was barely audible to anyone beyond Clera.

Clera gave an exasperated and somewhat theatrical sigh. "How should I know? It's your job to find him. I want my doll back! Why are you still here, asking me stupid questions?"

Much to the Doctor's surprise, Collette quickly vacated her desk searching rampantly for this "Cordon" person and the young girl's doll.

The Doctor looked toward Clera. "How?" was all he seemed to be able to formulate but then her looked up at the big portrait above Collette's desk. In the portrait, painted in the very center, flanked by two stoic looking parents stood Clera, Trinton's daughter, the owner's daughter. That's why she had looked familiar when he first met her in the hidden room. He had seen her in the portrait before they had ever officially met.

By the time the Doctor made his way to the desk, Clera was already behind it, pressing keys on the computer. "Cordon is my brother," she explained, though the Doctor wondered why he was not then in the portrait. "He's out with the nanny down the beach," she continued, "so you have about forty minutes. I'll get you into the system but then it's up to you. They can't know I've helped you." With that, Clera vacated the computer and hurried up the stairs and out of his sight.

He headed to the other side of the desk and began his search, completely unaware that all the while he was being watched by several small cameras spaced strategically about the lobby.

Far above him, in a room on a floor purported to not even exist, they watched him.

"She's a traitor," one of them said with disdain. "Your own flesh and blood." He was shocked when the second one laughed.

"You still cannot seem to read people. They are drawn to those who take charge. Her betrayal was expected from the moment she sent him through the tapestries. It's endearing that she believes me when I say we only have cameras in the rooms of our guests."

"She knows too much. She's dangerous," the first asserted.

"She's my daughter, Nico. And clearly she's intelligent enough not to tell him anything directly."

"But she's enabling him. He's prying. Prying is not tolerated. How shall I dispose of him?"

Nico was unnerved by yet another laugh from Trinton. "Dispose of him? If you were to do that, I'd have to dispose of you."

"Sir?" Nico asked, clearly confused.

"That, my dear Nico, is the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Nico did not recognize the title. "Doctor who?"

"Just 'the Doctor'," Trinton clarified. "A Time Lord. The last Time Lord."

"But weren't they all wiped out during the war?"

"All, it seems, but this one. According to the Psycla, he travels through space and time in a TARDIS shaped like an ancestral blue call box."

"The Psycla told you this?" Nico asked, wondering why Trinton would believe them. "Are they really all that reliable?"

Triton abruptly turned his head from the screen to look Nico directly in the eyes, a movement which unnerved him and made him take an involuntary step backward. "The Psycla have been most helpful to us in our endeavors, if you'll recall."

Nico shifted uneasily, "So we trust them now?"

Trinton smiled a smug, knowing smile. "We are searching for the blue box as we speak. The Psycla know the price for lying. There are hundreds of them vying for the gift we offered. If they betray us, we dispose of them, and start fresh with a whole new set." He turned back to the cameras. "But the Time Lord, he is irreplaceable. We can't just find another one, so we must be far more careful."

"But aren't you the least bit concerned of how he will react if he finds out what we're doing here?"

"Psychology eludes you again, Nico. The Psycla claim the Doctor is quite the meddlesome type, and observation," he gestured to the screen, "gives credence to that. The more he searches, the more curious he'll become. He will stay until we are ready for him, until we find the blue box. And if, by chance, we were deceived and there is no box, we kill him -- and that companion of his. Either way, the odds are in our favor."

The Doctor, completely unaware of the predicament he and his companion Martha were truly in, continued his diligent search on the computer. The first file he brought up was that of Drexicon, and he was shocked to find out just how much information the resort had on him. They had an entire profile including marital status, records of his former wife, information on his young daughter, information regarding both his parents, and the respective dates of their deaths. They also had information regarding Drexicon's history of mental health which was all clear, much to the Doctor's surprise. For one who had never had a history of mental illness, why had he all of a sudden forgotten about his daughter when even the Trydians knew of it?

Curious as to whether or not this information was standard for all the guests at the resort he looked up his own profile. He was surprised and pleased to find that there was far less information on him but was unnerved to find that under his profile picture there was another picture of his prior form, and not a very flattering shot at that. He was also interested to note they had guessed at his race. Noted on the profile was 'Time Lord' but followed by a question mark.

He pulled up Martha's file. They too had a picture of her, and her species documented definitively as Pure Human. Aside from a notation that she was traveling with him, and documentation of when she visited the spa, when she got her reading, and how long the duration of each was, there was no more personal information on her.

He turned back to Drexicon's file and noted it clearly documented his invitations, both past and current. It then listed the class of the invitations. The Doctor first searched for those invited with the invitation class I, those who were invited to the grand opening of the resort. The list opened on the left side of the screen, showing thousands of names, all Trydians. It looked as if Trinton had invited most of Tryad to the resort to boost its acclaim.

He then pulled up the names of all the people invited with invitation class VI and was surprised to find less than 500 names still there, among them Drexicon and Rinda Sclion. He pulled up several side by side to see if he could find any correlation between them. All the ones he pulled up were filled with information, including mental history and familial relations. He was quick to notice that of all those he had pulled up, all were listed as either single or divorced, few had children, and of those that did, the children were estranged as in the case of Drexicon. The parents of all the remaining names were all deceased, leaving them with no familial ties.

To cross-reference, he pulled up several of the names of those who had not been invited back again. In almost every case they all had spouses, children, or their parents were still alive. The question now in his mind was why was that pertinent. The wheels in his head were turning very quickly now. The Trydians were doing something to these people, through the Psycla. They were manipulating their minds somehow. But for what purpose? All it had seemed to do was make Drexicon forget a very distinct piece of his life. How was that useful? It was certainly wrong, the Trydians and the Psycla had no right to manipulate people's minds, but what purpose could it serve?

There was still some piece of information missing, one that would make it all fall into place -- he was sure. He looked up the profile of Rinda Sclion. He needed a second source.

When he pulled up her file, he scanned it to find her room number and found a curious icon next to it. When he pressed the icon with his finger, the whole screen was swallowed up by an image. It was her. It was her room. The Trydians were watching them.

He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the screen. After a few moments he was able to pull up all the video feeds. They were watching all the rooms, not just hers. He then narrowed the field and all the feeds from the rooms disappeared off the screen, leaving the remaining feeds. He was quick to notice they were watching him, right then. He saw himself in one of the feeds. He looked up, scanning for the camera, but it wasn't visible to the eye.

He then pulled up Martha's file and opened up the video feed from her room. He could see the room clearly, everything in it, including Martha's sleeping form. He looked around him, scanning the desk, until he noticed a stack of empty plates. He picked one up, pointed the sonic screwdriver at the computer screen, and used it to transfer the image to the plate. He then replaced both in his pocket.

He quickly returned the computer to the main screen and hurried back to his room. Martha was still sleeping, looking the same as she had on the computer screen not moments ago. He roused her somewhat roughly, startling her as she jerked herself upright and immediately put a hand to her head which still throbbed. "What was that for?" she asked, rubbing her temple.

"They're watching us," the Doctor said in a whisper. "They have cameras in all the rooms."

"They're watching everyone then." she said as if it wasn't really cause for concern anymore.

"They saw me, at their computer, and unless they take kindly to prying..."

"What?" Martha said, confused, trying to wake up fully to grasp the situation.

"Stay here. Don't go anywhere, and don't open the door."

He was quickly making her anxious, which served to wake her up further. "Why? Where are you going?"

He handed her his sonic screwdriver, that she might protect herself while he was gone. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Martha looked at the sonic screwdriver and back to him. "Then I'm going with you."

The Doctor looked directly into her eyes. "It might be dangerous."

She looked back into his eyes, not breaking eye contact. "I'm going with you," she asserted, handing the screwdriver back to him.

He replaced the screwdriver in his coat pocket and when he looked back up at her there was huge grin on his face. "Then off we go, to the 722nd floor." And with that he put out his arm and she took it, and the two headed to the elevator.

"So where are we going?" Martha asked once they were in the elevator.

"To the room of Rinda Sclion," the Doctor replied.

Martha furrowed her brow. "May I ask why?"

"The readings, it's something about them. It's doing something to their minds."

Martha shifted uneasily, remembering her own reading. She debated whether or not she should ask the Doctor about it but then decided against it. She rubbed her temple.

When the two of them reached Rinda's hotel room, the Doctor knocked on the door. After several moments the door was opened but only about an inch or so, just enough for Rinda to peer out with a single eye. "Yes?" she asked harshly.

Despite the rather unfriendly welcome the Doctor held a smile and thrust out his hand. She didn't take it, nor did she open the door any wider. He put his hand down. "Well, I'm the Doctor and this is Martha. We met yesterday." He was still smiling and when he pointed at Martha she gave a sheepish awkward smile.

"Did we now?" Rinda said, narrowing her eyes, and eying the two warily. "I think I would've remembered that."

"We really did meet yesterday," Martha interjected. "You were talking about, er, talking about, your reading." Martha struggled to remember the details of the conversation. "You met, you ran into, after a great many years..."

"Into a man named Tyrian," the Doctor supplied, keeping his gaze fixed on Rinda.

"Well, now I'm certain I don't know you." Rinda glowered. "I know no one by that name."

Martha was ready to press further, but to her surprise the doctor merely replied, "My mistake," and turned to leave.

Rinda slammed the door.

"She doesn't remember us." Martha said quietly as the two of them walked off. She was stunned and a little frightened.

"And she's not the only one," the Doctor added.

Martha furrowed her brow and looked at him worriedly, "She's not?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I ran into Drexicon this morning."

"He doesn't remember us either?"

"He doesn't remember anything he told us. He didn't remember his own daughter."

"His own daughter?" Martha repeated in disbelief. She shuddered. "I'm going to forget my family," she said barely above a whisper to herself.

The Doctor was caught off guard by the statement. He furrowed his brow at her.

She seemed so far away when she spoke. "The reading. It's going to happen to me. I'm going to forget."

"Oh, Martha Jones," the Doctor said sympathetically.

She turned to look at him.

"I looked up their profiles. They were selected. What happened to them, whatever it was, the Trydians selected them for it. We were never meant to be here. As far as the Trydians are concerned, we're just ordinary guests."

"But, what if..." Martha trailed off.

"But you do remember them, or you wouldn't be so afraid. You can see your mom, your family, in your mind," he said.

"That's true," Martha finally agreed. "But tonight, in just a few hours... the prediction..."

The Doctor, seeing how deeply trouble she was, moved in to hug her tightly. "Nothing is going to happen to you tonight. You have my word. I'll stay with you all night. Nothing is going to happen."

When the two finally broke apart and got on the elevator back to their own floor, she was far more relaxed, though fear still bubbled just beneath the surface. As long as he was there, as long as he was there, though, everything might just be okay.