NO PEACE ON GALLIFREY

An Account of the Last Great Time War

A Doctor Who Fan Fiction

by Andrew Bohman

Copyright © Andrew Bohman 2014 (Unregistered)

Doctor Who is a production of the British Broadcasting Corporation.

This narrative is an unofficial work of fan fiction, justified by Fair Use rights. The primary concepts and characters presented in this narrative are the property of the BBC, and the majority of secondary events and concepts are derived from ideas presented within Doctor Who. The author maintains the rights to all of the original ideas presented within this work.

*Story begins after next line break. Scroll down past Introduction and Synopses to read*

Introduction

Author's Note

"You weren't there in the final days of the War. You never saw what was born. But if the Time Lock's broken, then everything's coming through. Not just the Daleks, but the Skaro Degradations, the Horde of Travesties, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been King with his army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres. The War turned into hell. And that's what you've opened, right above the Earth. Hell is descending."

-The Tenth Doctor to the Master, "The End of Time, Part II"

This story focuses on recounting the Time War from the War Doctor's perspective, expanding on the scraps of information we've gained from dialogue and clips within the show. The plotline begins right after "The Night of the Doctor" and ends right before "The Day of the Doctor." It covers the topics of time warfare and battles, the Cruciform, the Master, the Skaro Degradations, the Horde of Travesties, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been King and his army, Dalek prison camps, the Fall of Arcadia— just to name a few of the main points. But this isn't just a collection of ideas I might think are cool, I've tried to make it good, layered writing, emulating the War Doctor's character as best I can while exploring the deep internal conflicts he faces, in addition to describing the general trauma of the war. This isn't romanticized in any sense of the world—I'm aiming at an All Quiet on the Western Front-style interpretation of the Time War, to make it as conceptually realistic as possible. Gritty, emotional writing is what I'm going for here. I include some sciency-wiency inventions as well, some of which may be hard to understand due to their complexity and my scattered thought processes, but we're Whovians, eh? We're used to that. Allons-y!

-Andrew Bohman, 2014

*This Author's Note has been condensed. See profile for more detailed information on the author and creation process of this fan fiction.*

*Work In Progress Notice and Guarantee of Originality*

From what I've recently learned, the BBC has announced releasing a Time War/War Doctor book. I started this fan-fiction months before the announcement, so I was partly excited but mostly disappointed when I heard that. I'm determined to avoid that book until I finish this, to make sure its concepts don't intermingle with mine. I worked hard to complete a decent portion of the first book to publish on as a work-in-progress the day before Engines of War was released, to fully solidify this as my own original work without question. Also, as a side note, I know that there are thousands of Doctor Who fan-fictions out there, and probably scores deal with the same material I'm exploring. Some things are bound to overlap. All of the ideas I present are totally original, based only on what's presented in the actual show. Apologies if any of my ideas are similar to anyone else's, it's completely coincidental.

Included so far is the prologue and first three chapters of the first book. These chapters set the stage, establish the tone, and introduce most of the main ideas of the first volume. They take place before the action really sets in, and hence may be a bit dry. Bear with me for a little while, it'll pick up the pace. They also have not yet been fully edited, so there may be minor literary alterations within these chapters as the writing process progresses, but the content will not change. I also guarantee that at least the first book will be completed, and it can serve as a standalone. The following books are still in planning, and whether or not they will be realized depends on my personal drive and schedule to work on them, and the reception of the first. This notice will be removed upon their completion.

*Notice on the Spellings*

I use American spellings and double quotation marks instead of single. As for the capitalization of "TARDIS," to make a distinction, I only put the word in all-caps when referring to the Doctor's TARDIS, when referring to another Tardis I use standard caps. My reasoning for this is actually a bit of "headcanon," I think it's called. In "An Unearthly Child," it is established that Susan came up with the name "TARDIS: Time And Relative Dimensions In Space." However, all Time Lords call their time machines Tardises, so how could one 15-year-old name the most important machines for a whole race? That doesn't seem very likely to me. My reasoning is that they have always been called "Tardises," but it was just a name, and Susan only came up with the acronym to fit it. Hence, the Doctor's TARDIS is in all caps.

Synopses

No Peace on Gallifrey (Series)

As war rages, hell rises. Gallifrey and Skaro are locked in a vicious conflict which has extended its gruesome fingers across the span of the universe. None can escape the Last Great Time War, a fact which the Doctor has finally come to terms with. The reborn warrior now plunges into the fray to face horrors unimaginable—and not just the Daleks.

Prologue – The End of the Doctor

The newly regenerated War Doctor prepares himself for the long, hard years ahead of him. And he learns, very quickly, that they will encompass the greatest trial he will ever face.

Part I – Cruciform Rising

In the early days of the Time War, the War Doctor is tasked with installing a massive Gallifreyan device in the heart of the front lines—a device which will separate the war from the rest of the universe: the Cruciform. Fighting by his side is a fleet of Battle Tardises, an army of Time Lords, and a very old friend—or foe, rather. But establishing a Time Lock in the heart of an ever-raging war zone is no simple mission, one which is only made more difficult by the mounting threat of the Daleks and their frightening warfare, warfare which grows ever stronger as time progresses.

Parts II-VI

*IN PLANNING*

Prologue: The End of the Doctor

A barren landscape stretched into the horizon, its jagged rock formations poking out of the ground haphazardly. Scattered hollows and caverns were etched throughout the small mountains of stone while wind gently stirred the dust upon them. The surface was a rich rusty red, enhanced by trickles of light which spread out from a rising sun. The spectacle appeared to sprawl on forever, a masterful carving engraved by an ancient alliance of time and the elements. It was dawn on the planet of Karn. But the land was not alone in experiencing a new beginning.

Perched upon a ledge just outside a cave was a very old man. He didn't look old with his mop of brown hair and youthful features, but inside he carried the memories of centuries. His appearance was that of a hardened warrior towards the end of his prime, not quite middle-aged, wearing a battered coat and trousers, scuffed boots, and a bandolier slung over his shoulder. Staring into the distance were his ageless eyes, full of sorrow for the times past and foreboding for the times to come. A war raged deep within him as it did ahead of him.

The man stepped down from the ledge and began to descend a walkway hewn into the side of a cliff, towards the valley below. Wreckage was strewn across the floor of the gorge and small fires were alight irregularly throughout the chunks of debris. The place stank of death, some of it fresh. The man trudged his way through it, ignoring a swarm of abnormally large insects which thronged around a thin pool of blood on the ground. He stepped over a particularly smoky fire before stopping and shoving his hand into a pocket to retrieve a key. A few paces ahead of him was a scuffed up London police box standing triumphantly amidst the crash scene, virtually unscathed save for a few scratches and a considerable coat of dust. The man approached the object and shoved the key into a lock on the door.

He paused for a moment, his calloused hand tenderly resting on the blue wooden frame. Despite his gruff appearance, the man seemed to share a certain level of intimacy with this strange blue structure, as if it were his one true lasting friend—the single thing in all the universe which this grizzled warrior had a soft spot for.

He walked inside. Quite remarkable about the small police box was the incredible size of its interior. Its inside was bigger than its outside. It contained a spacious room resembling a comfortable parlor with plenty of furniture, colorful rugs spread out on the floor, various warm light sources including a candelabra and lanterns, several clocks, mirrors, coat hangers, bookshelves— a host of inviting, homey artifacts. But what stood out most of all was in the middle of the room: a large hexagonal platform surrounded by tall metal pillars with a seemingly wooden control center and a column, made of a sort of luminous blue crystal, protruding from its middle. The warrior proceeded towards the platform, all the while in deep thought.

"Doctor no more…" he whispered to himself in a slightly hoarse voice. He caressed the console and spoke as if addressing it, "I've changed a bit, old girl. You'll have to get used to me again." There was a pause as the man looked around. "And you'll have to change too. I can't be fighting a war in this… retirement home of a space-time machine," he gestured to the room around him, a hint of a smile in his voice as he spoke.

He moved over to a screen in the console and began punching buttons around it. "You will be… my Type-40 Battle TARDIS," he mused to himself. "We'll show up those flashy Type-500 monstrosities the Time Lords will be using on Gallifrey, or whatever number they've got to these days."

He continued his work on the screen, completely immersed as he toyed with the controls. All the while, a faint glimmer of light touched his sad eyes. He had this one moment to create before spending the years ahead of him destroying.

Lingering behind the traces of brightness and hope which occasionally graced this man's eyes was an ever-palpable pain. In his past he was known to many as the Doctor, a great and wise physician of the universe; then his eyes were full of youth and excitement. He defended, but never attacked. But now, he was a soldier bred for battle. His whole being, his entire purpose had been altered within a moment, and he felt that deep within him. He had given up resisting. Now his duty was to enter the greatest trial and most horrific time of his long, long life. In the past he had his share of trauma, death, and heartbreak, and he suffered enough loneliness to last a hundred lifetimes, but none of it would compare to this. The hurt behind his eyes was fueled by old wounds, by regret, by grief, and most of all by dread. The warrior was weary of battle before he had even begun to fight.

But he locked this sadness inside, for now.

Hours had passed while he pored over his creation, though he hardly felt it. Time had always been relative to him. A light smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, and he stepped back to gaze at this faithful console one last time.

"Off to storage with you, now. It was nice while it lasted," he touched the central column with the tips of his fingers. "But it's time for a new chapter, for the both of us."

Now for a reset run, he thought to himself.

He twisted a few controls, jabbed at a button or two, and struck a lever, causing the whole room to rumble and shudder. Ancient engines from deep within the machine began to wheeze and groan, a strange yet somewhat beautiful sound to those who knew it. The sapphire column jutting from the center of the console started to pump up and down. As the room convulsed, the man gripped one of the metal pillars for support. Then it all stopped. The control column began to softly slide downward, its blue glow disappearing into the heart of the machine. All the lights in the room dimmed down to gradually shut off, and the man headed to the doors. The inside was about to change, as he had. He slipped out through the thin doors and tugged them shut behind him. It closed and locked with a slight click, all within a moment—but the feel of the air revealed what a grave mistake he had made.

Outside of the phone box was an unexpectedly jarring sight. The warrior had set the coordinates for the nearby planet of Alderfrey, a lush Gallifreyan colony. But what lie before him was not the thriving trade center he remembered from long ago. This planet was a black wasteland as far as the eye could see. The bodies of men, women, and children lay in irregular heaps across the horizon, some of them in more than one pile. Many were twisted beyond recognition, but others' final expressions of terror were still intact, though sometimes only the face remained amidst a fully dissolved body of cinders. Most of them, he imagined, were now a part of the moist dust which now poisoned the air and clogged his lungs. The moisture from the cool brooks had evaporated into a scalding steam which coursed through the atmosphere alongside the dust, making it all dangerously and painfully hot and humid. The expansive flora had been reduced to ashes, and only charred stumps remained of the famous giant Traikesta trees, which once stretched thousands of feet into the air and shaded entire villages with but a few branches. The soil had been churned by the hateful thrusts of powerful weaponry, the rocks and boulders had crumbled into dust, mountains had been kicked to their knees, buildings leveled, mines unearthed, metals smelted together—one would not have been able to distinguish it from Skaro itself. This was not a battle zone. This was a massacre site.

The warrior covered his stinging eyes with the crook of his elbow, both to keep the hostile air from blinding him and to hide the atrocity before him. He moaned softly to himself—never in all his years had he seen anything so wretched. "This is what I'm getting into," he whispered. "This will be all that populates the remainder of my life…" He clenched his jaw. "So be it."

A wind began to stir, swirling the sands of death. The polluted air began to pelt the man with increasing vigor, nearly burning his flesh. He was sweating profusely, which only caused the horrible dust to cake on his skin and clothing. He turned and sank to his knees, pressed his body into the blue box for shelter, and wrapped his arms around his head. The cool wood paneling of the machine came as a beautiful relief to the bare skin of his face, like the deep blue waters of a sea.

He could hear a sort of shifting sound within the ship, as if the rooms were rearranging themselves. His mind throbbed impatiently, desperately crying out for the renovation to be completed so he could leap back into its familiar arms. But it would take another hour at least for it to finish. Until then, he had to wait.

His mind could not shove aside the images which it had just been fed. As they raced through his brain, several things in particular disturbed him especially. For one, there was not a single sign of a fallen Dalek craft or even a Dalek—as if they suffered no casualties. Second, there was no sign of any resistance. There were no staser guns, no battle Tardises, no Time Lord soldier bodies, only dead civilians—innocent, peaceful descendants of Gallifrey who had been swept up into hell itself. They might not have even known why a horde of murderous metal drones thundered upon them with such hatred, or why their noble and powerful allies (like gods to them!) did not swoop down and smite the enemy in their defense or even show up to help at all. They had no weapons, no defenses, and no help. The war had come upon them swiftly and disastrously, impartially killing every member of their society. And what were they to the Time Lords? Collateral damage. This disturbed the warrior more than the mass death itself.

The wind intensified. The weather had been shocked out of equilibrium in the fire, and now a storm was brewing. The man huddled closer to the box to keep from being carried away, and cried out audibly as he felt objects smacking against his back. A shudder of repugnance coursed up his spine as he realized what they were. He felt a hand grip his shoulder—the stiff, clutched hand of a disembodied arm. He froze, tensely and silently until it was graciously knocked away by something else—a head by the feel of it. The minutes passed like days.

Inside the machine, the shifting noise stopped. Life began to hum as its machinery was rebooted, and that simple electronic buzzing was like a chorus of angels to the warrior. He shoved the key into the lock, turning it as quickly as he could (which didn't feel nearly quick enough) and burst through the doors, turning to shut them with all his might. The interior felt wonderfully refreshing and new.

"I am never remodeling again without visiting the planet before I strand myself on it. Idiot…" He rubbed the thick layer of dirt from his eyes and turned around to survey his new home. A smile lit up on his filthy face. "Much better. But in all honesty, I can't say it was worth the wait." The new interior was gray, white, and gold—brightly lit and starkly lain out. The walls were white and covered in roundels, and yellow coral-like pillars seemed to grow out of them, giving the feel of a marriage of mechanical and organic components. The floor was spacious with a raised wide circular gray disk, with plenty of room to run around in. Thick black cabling hung around across the whole setting, easily accessible for quick maintenance, which presented a sort of workshop appearance. And at its heart was the glorious console—bronze-colored and rounded, seeming to rise up out of the ground like a curvy vase. The column was an opalescent white, rising up to the ceiling.

Something on the floor caught the proud owner's eye—"How considerate! You shouldn't have. You never do fail to please, old girl." He gratefully strode up to the large bucket of water and plunged his head and shoulders into its chilled contents. A few minutes later, he was acceptably freed from the awful grime which had coated him. "Good enough to present myself before the High Council, at least."

He shoved the bucket into a side room and, dripping wet, began to survey his new console. Part of a device jutted out from a hole: a metal handle with a red light at the end. "And a new sonic screwdriver." He withdrew it. It has a nice feel to it. I'd better install a weapon setting, for my purposes. That snapped him back into reality. His mood turned cold once again.

"New TARDIS, new screwdriver, new… me. I suppose I'm as prepared as I'll ever be."

He'd waited long enough, and now was the time. Reluctantly, he dialed in the coordinates, pushing each button deliberately. His hand slid around a lever, and paused. He pushed it down. "And so it begins."

The room began to convulse while the engines shuddered to life. And the War Doctor plunged into the Time War.