The Plastic Underground
A sharp creaking of the hip jolted Amelia Williams as she knelt to face the concrete slab in front of her. So strange, she thought, she who had travelled time and space, could somehow not fathom that the name upon the tombstone was that of the child she had raised and loved. Her fingers lovingly stroked the elegant letters of Anthony's name. Having lost one child to inexplicable circumstances, the loss of her adoptive son came with a strange numbness.
Some steps away laid what remained of the husband lost to her nearly five years ago. Amelia sighed as she examined the blank stretch of concrete beneath her husband's name. Soon a loving mother would join her family in eternal rest. Yet, something about a thought that, for an old woman of poor health, stirred a restlessness in her heart.
There was more to be done. She was sure of it. In fact, the novel she had brewing was, in the author's opinion, her best work yet. Amelia's chauffeur waited just outside the gates of the Manhattan cemetery.
"Five minutes," she always told him. "I'll allow myself five minutes and we'll be off."
Having concluded her visit with her family, Amelia re-entered the passenger seat of the black sedan. She retrieved a piece of notepaper from her purse and handed it to her chauffeur. Her afternoon was to be spent stopping off at the shop to purchase an ink ribbon and then heading straight home to set out to work.
The dreary and drizzly day saw the elderly lady scramble through the small storefront with her hat clung tightly to her white locks. She greeted the shopkeeper with a smile and asked simply for that which she had come to purchase.
"One ink ribbon," repeated the dour salesman. His eyes did not move from her face, nor did his hands move to procure the requested item. Amelia did not waiver and the two stood for a moment appraising one another.
"Amelia Williams, née Pond," the man said.
"Yes, guilty as charged," laughed the old woman. "Seen my books, have you?"
Footsteps from the far corner turned both of their heads.
A young girl with wide framed glasses and braces on her teeth smiled down at the slightly hunched authoress with awe.
"Miss, Williams," she panted. "I hate to bother you, but your stories have meant so much to me. Summer Falls was my absolute favorite as a child. It's such a delight to meet you!"
"Always a pleasure to meet a fan!" Exclaimed Amelia spreading her arms in a generous gesture. "I wrote them just for you, you know. For children in need of adventure."
"And what luck to run into you now. I've just been babysitting my baby cousin and I have my copy right here in my bag! Oh, please, would you sign it for me?"
"Gladly. Who am I making this out to, dear?"
"Debbie, please, Miss Williams."
"For Debbie," Amelia said allowed as she scrawled a small message in the corner of the book. She handed it back and the girl thanked her profusely. Having already feared to have encroached on her idol's time, she excused herself and went back to the typewriter she was examining.
Amelia turned back to the shopkeeper who had already placed a peculiar looking ink cartridge on the counter before her. It gleamed a rose gold tint as Amelia had never seen on such an item in this decade.
"Just, a regular one would be fine please. What is that?"
"Oh, no," the shopkeeper assured her. "This is a new shipment of the finest ink available, as befitting an author of your stature. Please, accept this as a gift for your patronage, Miss Pond."
"Thank you," Amelia said hesitantly. In her old mind, there was no denying her curiosity about the instrument. Her hand slid across the counter and grasped it between her pale fingers. She almost turned to leave, but stopped herself.
"You called me Pond," she scrutinised. "I've never published under that name. How could you know my name?"
"Please, Miss Pond, you simply must go and put that ink to use."
Without more than a smile that followed her lie the door, Amelia exchanged no more with the strange and rigid man. As she looked back through the window, she beheld his hand waving back and forth in a rigid way as a mill might do in the wind.
Amelia did not speak with her chauffeur on the way back to her apartment as she so often did. The look on that man's face was embroiled in her mind's eye. She flipped the ink cartridge in her hand pensively and stared out into the grey weather.
Amelia bade the chauffeur farewell for the afternoon and trumped up the steps to the apartment where she now lived alone among a row of other apartments populated by young and happy families. Still, clasping the inkwell, she set straight for her typewriter.
She removed her empty cartridge and inserted the strange tinted one. She could have sworn a faint hum rang through air, but she ultimately blamed it on the tinnitus that so often comes with old age. Though the years may have changed her, her fingers were still fast and she set out to work immediately.
She typed and typed away and quickly what had been a bare bones outline took the shape of the story she had harboured in her mind. The words streamed so easily and at times Amelia's eyes fluttered with sleep as her fingers continued to type. After countless hours of work, she willed herself to rise and carry herself to bed, but her fingers to cease typing. Eventually, her body have way to weariness and there she sat, unconscious with her hands and fingers still working along.
Amelia jolted up from her spot at the typewriter. Morning streamed through the window. She was shocked to find that the usual ache in her lower back was absent and she lifted herself from her swivelling chair with ease. She took a few steps and found the room to be smaller somehow. Just the other day, she sworn she'd had to look up to see the face of the grandfather clock in her office and now she stood eye level with it.
Aside from this wonderful awakening, it was all dampened by the absolute deterioration of her vision. Had she experienced some sort of stroke? Her glasses where still on her face from before. She lifted her hands adjust them, and as they slid from her nose, the world became clear.
Amelia rushed to the mirror. Long locks of fiery hair hung about her shoulders and a supple complexion of ivory stared back at her in the spotty glass. It was not Amelia Williams she saw before her, it was Amy Pond.
The Doctor straightened his bow tie and stood tall encircled all around by large pairs of mechanical eyes with retinas that expanded and contracted as they followed his every move.
"Doctor, it has been long since the Atraxi have last encountered you on Earth. We see that you have retained the likeness of you which was last recorded."
"Well, fellows, why give up a face when it was practically all I needed to send you lot off with your tails between your legs?" Jested the Doctor with a tousle of his wild hair.
"The Atraxi have become aware that your thoughts have turned to Trenzalore where records indicate-"
"Yes, yes, the Doctor will die. I'm quite sure, I've been told it enough so it must be true. I don't fancy you lot would hold a wake for me. To what do I owe the pleasure of this summons?"
"In retreating from Earth, the Atraxi accepted the terms that the planet was under your defence. A recent anomaly raises questions as to this claim."
"Oh, I can hardly be blamed for every odd occurrence on that rock. They don't all have to do with me, you know!"
"A recent scan suggests that a companion of yours during the time of the Atraxi's visit has acquired sensitive technology foreign to her current era."
"A companion..." a dark look grew over the doctor's face. "You can't be saying-"
"One identified Amelia Williams has transmitted a signal from Earth in the twentieth century. The Atraxi have not intervened directly, but scans have detected other anomalies in the area that require investigation. She is your companion. You are implicated. You will investigate in compliance with Atraxi law."
The doctor ruffled his hair with his hands and paced the surrounded platform in long, bow-legged strides.
"You don't understand," he insisted. "I cannot-"
"Law dictates-"
"Bollocks your laws," bellowed the doctor. "Amelia Pond was a victim of the weeping angels. She is trapped in a time that is not her own. Visiting her now would rip a hole in the fabric of space!"
"The Atraxi are well-versed in the laws of quantum physics, Doctor. We are aware that your vessel would be safe to land on the Earth island of Manhattan. If Miss Williams is kept from the Tardis, you may complete your task and avert potential danger to the planet you so claim to protect."
The Doctor stood silent. It was true. He could've gone to see her. It would have taken decades for the activity of the angels to have died down. Even then, she would've always wanted back aboard the Tardis, that which she could never be. She would have been in the spring of her life. Married to Rory, raising her son. He had taken enough from her and vowed not to interfere further with the things that she so deserved.
"You will go now. The coordinates have already been uploaded to your TARDIS console. Investigate the technological anomaly, find out the source and reason for this signal, and do not, under any circumstances allow Miss Williams inside the Tardis. You will find it quite impossible to do much else. We have done much study of the works of the Time Lords. Your vessel will deliver you nowhere but to our desired destination.
The Doctor raised his hand in protest. His mouth hung ajar, but no words would come. The element of choice was removed. He would see her again; meddle with her once more; his Amy. With a deep breath, he creaked open the blue door to the telephone box and shut it behind him.
"What about this one?" Amy inquired of the shopping attendant. She twirled in front of a full length mirror. A black leather jacket gleamed on her shoulders and a flirty cheetah print skirt danced around her waste. She shook her strong arms and heard the rattling of several neon bangles and ran her newly manicured fingered through her permed ginger hair. Thick hung from her ears and dazzled in the light as she swung her head about in glee.
"Stunning, ma'am, very stunning. Meeting someone special tonight?"
"Yes, actually, I think I am," replied the young old woman. "Myself."
The gift of restored youth had driven any skepticism from Amy's mind. It was the 1987 and she was young and beautiful again. She left the store with an air of unearthliness. Her mind raced with all of the thoughts of what she might do with her newfound gift.
"Amelia Pond?" Came a voice down a side alley on the New York street.
"Debbie? What're you doing down there?" Called Amy, forgetting that she looked nothing like her elderly self any longer.
"Won't you come here, Amy? I was trying to have an adventure like in one of your book and I've gone and hurt myself. Won't you help me?"
"Hurt yourself?" Repeated Amy. "What have you gone and done, Debbie?"
As she grew closer, the girl simply stared blankly with her arms limp at her sides. Amy cams closed and knelt down before her.
"Debbie?
"You've ruined it," came a voice through Debbie's mouth too hollow and monosyllabic belong to the teenager. "It didn't work on you and now you've ruined it all."
Without another word, the changed girl drew her hand forth which changed instantly into a stark white plastic device in the shape of a pistol. The scream had not had the chance to escape Amy's mouth before there came a familiar sound of whushing and whirring. A blue box zoomed into being and out came the Doctor, illuminated only by the glow of his screwdriver. The girl drooped down limply as if she had been turned off.
From the shallow corner of the alley crept a long leg vested in smart slacks and shoes. A red bow tie shined in the dim light of an upstairs window and Amy's hand flew to her mouth.
"Raggedy man!" She exclaimed. It's impossible to say who ran first. Their footsteps were as flight as they joined in an tearful embrace.
"Amelia Pond," recalled the Doctor, stroking her face with his hand. "My, but it has been some time."
"How can you be here? I thought you could never," her voice trailed off. "You made me wait again. You let me think you were gone and then you let me wait...
"Why, Doctor?"
The Doctor looked deeply into her misty eyes and closed his own. He pressed his lips to her forehead and smelled that familiar earthy smell of Amy Pond that he had been missing for so long.
"I wanted to. I always wanted to, my Amelia. But I couldn't."
"Then what's changed?" She demanded.
"This has," the Doctor said, nudging the lifeless body of Debbie.
"What is she?"
"It is an Auton," explained the Doctor. "An artificial intelligence with plastic shells that can be used to camouflage as human. The question is, what is one doing in New York City in 1987?"
Amy's smile grew beyond the size of her face. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her young, smooth cheeks.
"Oh, not that, what is he crying, Amy? Really, there's killer robots on the lose."
"I'm crying, Doctor," she replied. "Because this means there'll be one more. One more time with you."
She threw her arms around him again and did not let go for sometime. When she did, her face was determined. With her vitality restored, her sense of Valor to stand beside the Doctor burned as brightly as ever."
"I suppose we already have a few leads," she began. "That girl for one. How much did you hear?"
"She said 'it didn't work.' What didn't work on you, Amy? Has anything strange happened?"
"I think you had better come 'round to mine, Doctor. There are things I can tell you."
Over tea in her sitting room, Amy recounted the events of the previous day. She spoke of the strange salesman and the odd ink cartridge he had given her. The Doctor's brow furrowed when she went on to tell him about her trance. She had as of yet neglected to mention her mysterious youth. She was shocked he had not commented.
The Doctor sat in Amy's study for a long while, examined the ink cartridge, but also sneaking peaks at his friend's latest manuscript. It seemed to have more of a sci-fi theme than much of her other work (of which he was well-read), and he found that he approved of it.
Using the Sonic Screwdriver to activate the true nature of the ink ribbon was simple enough. With a simple enough buzz and a ting, it began to spout out letters in yellow alien script that projected themselves along the wall.
"Join us," read the Doctor. "Join ius where the vermin treads and the moving boxes run in the dark."
"Well, that's most definitely the underground," interjected Amy. "It really is filthy. Almost makes me miss the Tube."
The Doctor whizzed away at the device once more and exclaimed in satisfaction.
"Got 'em," he smirked. "We have their exact location. They're deep. Bound to be plenty of undesirables. I believe they call them 'mole people?' Won't be an easy excursion."
"We'll just take the Tardis, stupid," Amy retorted. "You've only left it round the corner."
"Amy-"
"Hush, raggedy man," Amy silenced him, drawing a small golden key from a chain around her neck. "Did you know I still had one of these? Race you there!"
The Doctor called after her in horror, but Amy's newly restored vigor carried her swiftly down stairs and across pavement. She ignored all admonishments and made straight for that blue box that had called to her in her dreams for so many long years. She reached the doors. The key turned as smoothly as ever. The Doctor screamed wildly as she slipped away inside.
The door was closed tightly. She'd gone and done it. It has been his fault. Why had he even let her see it? He crumpled to the floor in the alley with his head in his hands, waiting for the darkness of the abyss that would come with the dissolution of reality due to his allowance of this paradox.
He sat there for some moments in his grief before being interrupted by an impatient voice.
The door of the Tardis was hanging open and there was Amy Pond draped over the doorframe with a calling look in her eyes.
"Aren't you coming, Doctor?" She beckoned. "The Autons aren't going to fight themselves, are they?"
In his stupor, he rose and walked directly to her. He pushed his way past her slim form and into the Tardis console room. He circled her, like a dog sniffing out its prey. This was wrong. Yet, here was.
"Well, off we go, then?" She urged uncomfortably.
"Right, off we go," he mumbled as he began to fidget with the Tardis controls. The engine hummed to life and after a few seconds of swirling stopped dead with its usual jolt. The Doctor and Amy exchanged a knowing glance. This was always the fun part.
The Tardis doors opened out into the murkiest of tombs imaginable just underneath a metropolitan city. This railway line appeared to be abandoned as dust and various clutter lay scattered about. A foul odor lingered in the air and nearby a waft of smoke came from a nearby fire.
The Doctor led the way and Amy came softly behind them as they approached the source of the smoke. An orange light came from around a curve in the tunnel and illuminated the rickety tracks before them. They sidled around the corner and paused.
Before them stood dozens of stark white humanoid figures huddled around a small fire lit in what was once a metallic garbage can. Several humans (or what appeared to be humans) knelt before the Autons wearing the same lifeless expressions behind their eyes. One Auton stood out above the rest. He was front and center, just before the fire. He was made of the same white, plastic material as the others, but his face was animated with a pronounced nose that gave him the look of an android Julius Caesar.
"Well, well, Doctor," he crooned in a smooth trans-Atlantic accent. "How nice of you to join us. I had so hoped our message would reach you."
"And what could you lot of window mannequins have to say to me? Have you called me here to show me these innocent people you've taken prisoner? Need I really remind you of our track record, fellows?"
"Your opinion is of no consequence, Doctor. The Autons are made new. The Autons are here to make a home. Let me or, however, forget my manners, as we do mean to integrate into society. I am called Julius-X1, though Julius will do nicely."
"Ah, so you fancy yourself the emperor type," the Doctor commented, sauntering about in his usual manner. "I must say, I don't think the human people will be too keen on being invaded yet again by a hostile force that they are already aware of."
"This is what you do not understand, Doctor," came a new voice. Debbie stepped out from the corner with a small smile on her face. "These aren't your Autons, Doctor. They want to live with us. I was sick and dying. I was too weak even to play as a child. The only joy in my short life came from my books, like Miss Williams's that I am so fond of."
"They've made you a killing machine!" Interjected Amy. "You we're going to kill me in that alley! What did you mean by what you said?"
"I'm sorry," Debbie pleaded. "Really, I am. It didn't work right with you. So many of your organs are enhanced or outright cybernetic already. Creating the body and replacing the old one while retaining your conscience was successful, but you were not successfully linked with the hive mind. That makes you a danger."
"Creating the body? Hive mind? Oh... oh... You got me. You made me like you. Only it didn't work because of..."
"Demon's Run," finished the Doctor. "They gave you a brand new body, but they can't control it, and they fear anything they can't control."
"The Autons will reside on Earth permanently. It will be a slow process, but eventually half of the population will be converted. When both sides are equal, they will have to coexist," said Debbie.
" And what of free will?" Demanded the Doctor. "This is not peace. It is and will certainly become enslavement. I won't have it under my watch. If there is to be peace, you will report with me to UNIT and an agreement will be made, but it will not be this."
"He's right, Julius," cried Debbie. "Thank you for what you've done for me. I am happy to have my life, in any capacity, but this cyborg existence cannot be forced on the healthy. Imagine the strides we could make in aiding the sick and dying. We could give whole new life."
"Has your programming gone wrong already?" Scoffed Julius. "No matter, you are of no consequence. Julius raised his hand which morphed into a sort of cannon. Fire filled the air and ruined pieces of concrete and railway littered the air.
The Doctor helped himself from the ground, straining to comprehend the scene before him with blurred vision and ringing ears.
Amy Pond stood atop a derelict subway. Her hand was longer a hand, but a laser weapon with a long muzzle that protruded far past her wrist. Julius had only time to look upon his date as the beam of light eradicated him from existence.
Amy climbed down and helped the Doctor to his feet with superhuman strength. Debbie emerged from the shadows embers swill burning from her saggy dress and hair singed at the ends.
"What now, Doctor?" Debbie asked matter-of-factly.
"Gather up your brethren and we'll see that we get them to UNIT immediately."
"Doctor, should I-"
"Return to your flat, Amelia I shall deal with you shortly.
An American splinter-cell of UNIT was on the scene within minutes, but the Doctor and Amy Pond were nowhere to be found.
The Doctor pushed open the door to Amy's flat with a heavy heart. There she was, at least in some capacity, drawn up on her chaise lounge waiting for him.
Amy drew herself up and moved to the hearth where she retrieved a photograph only a few years old of Rory and herself looking quite the part of the elderly couple. She gingerly placed it in the Doctor's hand.
"This was mine and Rory's anniversary seven years ago. Look how old we already were, Doctor. Look at me now. Can't you tell? I'm young again. I'm exactly the same. How could you not have noticed, Doctor?"
"That's not a fair question, Amelia. I'm an old, old man. You will never look old to me," he mused, looking between the photograph and the young, modern woman before him.
"But their conversion failed, Doctor. I have full control of my own consciousness. I don't know what they did with... the old me. I don't want to know. But look at me, raggedy man, I'm alive. It's me.
"And that's precisely why you were able to enter my TARDIS," he could concluded. "You may have retained your personhood, but the fact is, you are an Auton. Essentially, all the rules go out the window."
"Does that mean... I've lived my normal life, Doctor. Just like you always wanted me to. I had a husband, and a child, and I saw them both through to the end of their days. But now I have this chance with you. Please say you'll let me join you again."
"Amy, there is one caveat..."
"What is it? I'll do anything, Doctor."
The Doctor pressed his index and middle fingers against the bridge of his nose and sucked back hard tears.
"Yes, I'm quite sure you will," he told her ominously. "Amy, the entire plan of the Autons is doomed to failure. Not because of our intervention, but because it was flawed. A human consciousness can be integrated with the artificial intelligence of an Auton, but it can't last long. They burn each other out, like having too many gadgets plugged in the same socket."
"How long?"
"Who can say for sure? It could be a year, it could be several, but you are running out of time, Amelia, and I am so, so sorry."
"I'm not. When I was a little girl, you landed in my garden and told me that we'd run away together. You didn't come back until I'd already begun to establish a life of my own. You told me you'd never be back for me when you left me in Manhattan. And yet, here we are. With one more chance. I don't care how long I have. This is my last chance to have my dream. My last chance to be with you."
She came toward him and placed her hand in his cheek. Tears streamed from her beautiful young face and the love in her eyes burned as it had so many years both in the past and the future.
"I've done my duty, Doctor. I've lived my life. Rory's gone, Anthony's gone. I will miss them until the end of my short days, but right now, finally, I can be yours. Let's go and see the rest, Raggedy Man."
The Doctor took her into his arms. Hands melded across skin and lips met in glorious long-awaited harmony. It was like that, tangled up in togetherness, as they often had been, they they ventured off in the Tardis, together at last.