The Artist. A Seventh Doctor and Ace story. by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk) http://www.cj4386.demon.co.uk ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The copy right of all things pertaining to the concept and characters of Dr Who is the property of the BBC. This story is a work of fan fiction; it has been written simply for the pleasure it gave me in writing it; and no money has or will change hands with respect to the story. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ace stood at a nexus of pathways. Each of the seven ways branching off were lined with more of those twice-life-sized facsimiles of the most notorious killers and crooks, murderers and monsters in creation. Ace turned slowly, hands thrust into the hand warmers of her bomber jacket, staring down one avenue after another. "What the hell's all this for? Is it supposed to be art... Or something?" she mused aloud. Her only answer was the sound of the breeze in the plane trees dotted about the park. A brighter sun than Sol shone from a clear, turquoise sky. There were no other visitors in sight. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the Doctor had gone off in a huff after the Tegan spat, so there was currently no one to whom she could address her questions about the artistic merits of this weird garden. Art was definitely not her thing. She had become thoroughly pissed off with this weird place. She just wanted to find somewhere to get a drink and something to eat, or the way out, or something, so she picked a path at random. Evidently, the Gods, or perhaps the creators of this place, were in playful mood. Almost immediately, Ace came upon a statue of what was obviously meant to be an artist of some kind. The hammer clutched in one hand, the voluminous beige smock, the neat moustache and the French beret worn at a jaunty angle suggested a sculptor. It occurred to Ace that the hammer was somewhat larger than was usual for those sculpturing types who felt the need to chip away at a block of stone looking for the beauty hidden within. Ace considered the dapper little man a long moment. She shrugged. All this wondering about art, and then finding this - perhaps it was Zen... Or something? She didn't know about stuff like that. Now, a can of Nitro-9 was the kind of Zen she could understand. "What the hell!" she exclaimed, advancing a foot to the activation line. The statue jerked to life. The hammer was raised on high, brandished threateningly. In a scornful voice, it proceeded to relate its tale of madness and mayhem. "Pah! Philistines! They were all Philistines!" it shouted. "What did those morons know of art, shackled to their wearisome conventions? Had they even a smidgeon of appreciation of an artistic temperament, they would have applauded the brilliant daring of the concept. All those statues standing around in inartistic poses, no sense of balance or order, and most so ugly their very existence was an affront to good taste. What was needed was an inspired artist. The whole mess was crying out for someone with the "eye" for beauty to select those which added to the overall effect and those which detracted from it, someone possessing the artistic courage and imaginative daring to take a bold step in the furtherance of art... A genius not shackled by the conventional moralities, able to turn the tragedy into a truly inspired work of art... and it was my destiny to be that artist. But did they appreciate my efforts? No, they called me a monster and marched me to the gallows. Even so, I remain proud of what I created. It was my masterpiece. How can one regret true art? It was consolation enough to know that I had taken ugliness and fashioned a thing of beauty from the disaster. They said they might have been able to forgive me had I convinced them that I had not known that the effect was only temporary. Pah! The arrant nerve of them, For give me! I need no forgiveness. At my trial I told them proudly that I always understood the effect was only temporary, that the statues would return to normal in a few days. That was what gave the work its piquancy, you see. They would have only taken up their humdrum little lives after all. At the very least, I saved them from such a mediocre fate and the world from having to endure such ugliness. Of course I knew the medusa effect was only temporary... But I smashed all the ugly statues anyway. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The End