Making Memories, chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Invitation
When the Doctor and Martha reached the room, the Doctor put a hand out to stop her. He stared warily at the door which was open a crack. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and moved to peer inside. There, looking about the room, practically ransacking it, was Bri.

The Doctor quietly with his sonic screwdriver clenched tightly in his fist, threw the door open to confront the Trydian. She spun around to face him and much to his surprise addressed him directly and abruptly. "There you are. You are to come with me."

"Am I, now?" the Doctor asked, while Martha stayed out of sight beyond the door.

"Yes, there will be consequences if you do not."

"And where exactly am I to go with you?"

Bri shook her head and gave a sigh. "You can put the screwdriver down, Doctor. You have been summoned to dine with Trinton tonight. I am to take you there now."

"And the consequences?" the Doctor asked. He had put his sonic screwdriver down but was still eying her warily.

"Of refusing a direct invitation of the owner? Immediate removal from the premises. You and that girl of yours."

"What if I have prior engagements?" he asked, referring to Martha. He had just promised to stay with her for the evening.

Bri looked him directly in the eyes. "Then break them," she said defiantly. "Or out you both go. I can call security now, if you prefer?"

Martha walked into the room now, and looked at the Doctor. She forced a smile. "Don't worry about it. Just go, have fun, I'll be fine."

The Doctor kept his gaze fixed on Bri, "And this invitation to dinner merited your tearing our room apart?" He still didn't trust her.

"You," she said pointing an accusatory finger directly in his face, "failed to return the clothes provided to you last evening."

Before he could reply Martha walked up to her, holding two boxes with the clothes folded neatly inside. Bri couldn't find words, and seemed rather disappointed that she had no reason to yell at the Doctor anymore.

"I see," was all she managed. "Well then, follow me, Doctor."

"If I go, Martha goes with me," the Doctor asserted.

Bri glared at him. "She was not invited," she said pointedly.

"If she can't join me, then I refuse," the Doctor said leaning against the wall defiantly.

"It's okay, really, it is," Martha said gently, though somewhat sadly. "I'll be fine."

The Doctor eyed her searchingly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, and much to her surprise, he stood up and embraced her.

Before she could enjoy the sensation, though, she noticed him slipping the sonic screwdriver into her hand. "Don't let anyone in," he whispered. "Stay on your guard. And remember, they are watching you."

And, with that, he pulled away from her and smiled a smile from ear to ear at Bri, who seemed unnerved by this. "Shall we," he asked her.

Bri scowled. "This way," she said and she began to lead the Doctor. Martha slipped the sonic screwdriver into the pocket of her jacket discreetly, as they departed.

After the two had exited the room, she shut the door and locked it tight. She then moved to the bed, and began to read the brochure again, looking for anything to distract her from thinking about her reading which was drawing ever closer to fruition.

The entire way to the suite reserved especially for Trinton, the two walked in silence. Bri wanted nothing to do with the Doctor and she made sure he was quite aware of it. She didn't even wait for Trinton to answer the door after she had knocked on it but immediately vacated the scene.

A few moments passed before the door was opened. But, to the Doctor's surprise, it was not Trinton who answered it. Instead, before him was Clera, dressed quite formally for the occasion. Her eyes widened upon seeing him. "Why are you here?" she said in a harsh whisper. "This constitutes prying. In fact, this is the very definition of prying."

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "I was invited."

Before Clera could respond further, Trinton appeared behind her an eerie smile on his face. "Good evening, Doctor. I'm glad to see you honored our request."

The Doctor smiled defiantly. "You say that as if I had a choice."

"Quite right," Trinton said, eyeing the Doctor carefully, smile never fading. He gestured for the Doctor to come in, much to Clera's horror.

"Clera," Trinton addressed her, "you look as if you've seen the walking dead."

Clera's demeanor suddenly changed to one as plastic as Bri's. She smiled and gave a curtsy to her father. "I was just surprised. We have so few visitors these days, ever since mother died."

"The woman in the portrait?" the Doctor asked for clarification.

"Ah yes, lovely woman. Went to visit her sister on Horfontra. Dreadful woman. Married to one of the Orfo. That planet," he said with a shudder, "it polluted her."

"Polluted?" the Doctor questioned his choice of words.

"She grew ill, terribly ill," Clera clarified.

"I see," the Doctor said nodding solemnly. "I'm so very sorry."

Trinton shook his head. "Don't be. What's passed is past." His face regained it's eerie smile. "We must look toward the future."

"Yes, well," the Doctor said, unsure of what else he might say to that.

"Shall we," Trinton said, gesturing toward the other room where a large ornate table sat, draped in all sorts of frivolous ornamentation, and covered so that almost none could be seen by plates upon plates of food.

Trinton took a seat at the head of the table flanked by Clera on one side, and the twins on the other. With a bright smile Clera gestured that he sit by her. As he took his seat, one of several Trydian servants, with solemn deep brown eyes, began pouring the drinks, a bright red, alcoholic beverage for the adults, and a bright blue drink for the children. Much to the Doctor's surprise, shortly after they had been seated, several more gentlemen took their seats at the table. They had to have been commonplace, he reasoned, for Clera barely seemed to even take notice and sipped lazily at her drink.

After everyone had been seated, Trinton stood up, his glass in hand, ready to make a toast. He directed his attention to the Doctor. "It is certainly a great pleasure to have the good Doctor on the premises," and with that he took a sip, the others following in turn. Trinton then sat down and addressed the Doctor directly, ignoring the other guests entirely.

"The Psycla have told us a great deal about you."

The Doctor took a small sip of his drink. "Have they, now?"

"Yes, and let me help alleviate your fears. I'm sure you have many preconceived notions based on what happened in the past. Let me assure you, this establishment is nothing like those on Der. We are entirely legitimate."

The Doctor eyed Trinton searchingly. He took a sip of his drink. "Then how do you explain the memory lapses?"

"Memory lapses?" Trinton asked, furrowing his brow. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Invitation class VI," the Doctor said, taking a sip of his drink, and then looking back to Trinton, eying him carefully, knowingly.

Trinton furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but you must understand, there is nothing special about the invitation classes. They are merely a means of categorizing them as we send so many out. It helps generate business, you know."

The Doctor scrutinized Trinton, as if trying to gauge whether he was being honest or if he was just really skilled at lying. The Trydian was hard to read. He took another sip of his drink trying to retain the guise of utmost composure. "Well, that is interesting," the Doctor said, as if more to himself than Trinton, an attempt to draw the Trydian out.

"What is?" Trinton asked, taking a casual sip of his own drink. He paused for a moment to glare at Clera who was listening far too intently. At this, she quickly turned her head and pretended to find her interest instead in her food.

"It is interesting that you say is just a means of categorization, considering how only a select few were invited back for something called a Special Reading. Just what makes it so special?"

"Oh, that," Trinton said with an unnerving chuckle. "We invited back some of our most valued patrons. They were with us from the beginning. 'Special' is just a means of marketing, Doctor, I assure you."

"They're all suffering from memory lapses," the Doctor said seriously, trying to hide the irritation incurred from Trinton's evasiveness.

"Are they really?" Trinton asked, as though he were genuinely concerned.

"They are, really," the Doctor said decisively, his tone bordering on dangerous levels. Trinton had to know. He had to somehow be involved. This had to all be some sort of mind game.

"I should bring in someone for Psychoanalysis then," Trinton said, almost absentmindedly. "Thank you, good Doctor, for bringing this to my attention. The publicity, the publicity could be disastrous if this were to get out." He put a hand to his forehead as if greatly stressed now. "Those Psycla, I knew, I knew it was a mistake hiring them." he turned to the Doctor as if they had been friends for years, "But the timing was so perfect. So perfect. And nothing like it had been done on all of Tryad. It was new, it was bold." He seemed to be looking to the Doctor for sympathy and understanding, which only served to confuse the Doctor and make him even more wary.

"Why did you invite me here?" the Doctor asked slowly, carefully. The wheels in his brain were turning at full speed. Nothing was adding up.

Trinton seemed flustered by the abrupt change of topic. "Why?" he repeated. "Well isn't it obvious? You are the Doctor. The Doctor. The last of the time lords." He looked to the Doctor, waiting for him to perhaps deny the assertion, and when he didn't, he gestured emphatically at one of the other stoic looking guests, who promptly produced a file folder and handed it to him. He opened the folder and pulled out a plethora of photographs, all of the Doctor. He pushed them all towards the Doctor.

The Doctor looked at them, a trifle alarmed. There were hundreds of them, all of his former form.

Trinton, seeing the Doctor did not look flattered began to quickly explain. "I know, I know, none of them actually look like you. I had my doubts, certainly I had them, but the Psycla -- they assured me, they assured me wholeheartedly that they were all you, and with all the technology that exists these days it certainly--"

"We regenerate," the Doctor said absentmindedly, still staring at the pictures.

Trinton left out a sigh of relief. "Oh good, it is you. You have no idea what this means!"

The Doctor turned to face Trinton, his expression rather dark. "What does it mean?"

"Well it means, Doctor, that this will generate tons of positive publicity. If you do not mind, I wish to call the camera crews, the newspaper. I must alert the media. If you agree to this, your entire stay will be complimentary. Anything you want, complimentary. All our staff, at your personal disposal. Anyth--"

"The lapses in memory, the readings, I want to see how they're done. I want to see the inner workings."

Much to his surprise Trinton nodded vigorously. "Absolutely, Doctor. I am truly in your debt. Oh, the publicity," he said almost giddy with joy. "I will show you it all. The entirety of this empire." He turned to the Doctor, a huge self-aggrandizing smile on his face. "This empire which I built entirely from scratch." He waited for the Doctor to add something, anything, in the way of compliments or praise. Nothing came and, as such, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "At any rate, I shall arrange for you to have a private tour in the morning."

Afterwards, the rest of the evening was spent listening to Trinton complimenting and praising himself, and by the time the Doctor returned to the room, Martha was already sound asleep.

Just after the Doctor had left for the evening, Trinton received a knock on the door of his suite. There Nico stood, half out of breath. "We found it, sir. We found the blue box."

"Excellent," Trinton said, with a grin of satisfaction. "So it begins."