Javis Nine was in an entire new world.
Not two days ago, she was the premier hand-to-hand combatant in the New Earth underground. Not one day ago she was facing down Daleks, the scourge of the universe, and meeting a quizzical man who changed his face. Now she was in this quizzical man's quizzical ship, known as the TARDIS, buffeting through time and space. The interior of the ship resembled large shocks of coral, with a pulsing, whirring, beeping, clicking, blinking central console at the center. The outside, she was told, was called a Police Box, which was a "chameleon circuit," blending into a landing in London of the 1960s. Of course, Javis had no idea what a Police Box, chameleon circuit, or this London even was.. perhaps it was an ancestor of Londinium Prime, across the Atlantean Ocean? Either way, Javis was happy to be away from a hard fought life of scuffed knees and bleeding knuckles.
True, she hadn't punched someone in almost twenty-four hours, and was beginning to feel the old itch, but it was almost nice to not have to fight. It was also nice to have fresh, clean clothes, (thanks to a lavish wardrobe) a hot bath, (as opposed to frigid fight club showers), a good night's sleep (on the first real bed she'd seen in years) and a satisfying, if peculiar meal at the hands of an efficient, but peculiar machine.
And then…there was the "captain" of this vessel, known only as The Doctor. Javis had known him only two days, and in that time she had come to the conclusion that she will never really know him, but that it wasn't the end of the world, what she knew about him was enough. The man was alien, brilliant, eccentric, eclectic, talented, brave, honorable, kind… and the worst dresser she had ever seen.
"Oi, Doc." Javis ventured, adjusting the lapels on her new dark green suit, professional but still practical.
"It's Doctor, Javis," he responded from the other end of the console, hidden from her view as he adjusted various control and switches, "please," he added in that silly voice of his. Javis felt she would never get used to the voice, that it was so formal, so proper…on the other hand, it was perfect for him. The man was husky, and still ridiculously dressed, but he carried an air of superiority. Not a snotty kind, but a confident kind. He thought he was a genius and, well, he was. Javis found a bit of comfort in a man so unabashed about his talents, if not particularly thrilled with his physical appearance. Indeed, she began to wonder if the confidence was merely a veneer, hiding something vulnerable underneath…
"Javis? You were saying?"
Javis snapped back embarassedly, "Erm, sorry, Doctor…"
He poked his head around the console at her, "Quite all right, dear, I often find myself journeying the cosmos between my ears," he flashed a quick grin and went back to gazing at an integrated flatscreen display.
"Doctor, we've been traveling for a while now…"
"Twenty-seven New Earth hours, to be precise, almost a day after our departure. We're in temporal orbit, you see, just sort of clanging about the universe, seeing what's what."
He stood up from the console, stretching his back slightly, and turned to Javis, "Twenty-seven o'clock and all's well," he added with a wink.
"Doctor, are you going to change?" Javis blurted.
"What? Oh! You mean regeneration!" The Doctor chuckled, "oh, no no, not for a while, I hope. You see, my people, the Time Lords, we have this ability to change our entire makeup when near death, and–"
"I meant your clothes, Doctor!" Javis felt a little bad about being so blunt.
"My…my clothes? Why? What's wrong with my…?" He searched about for a mirror, but found none. Finally, in desperation he shut off one of the flatscreens to view himself in the black reflection. There was complete silence, followed by a gulp, a wheeze, and what looked like a great deal of effort to contain a shriek of disgust. With eyes as wide as saucers, jaw a-tremble, the Doctor bolted from the console room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Javis decided that the best course of action would be to follow him. At any rate, it might be interesting to see some verbal pyrotechnics. However, she found locating the man quite difficult in the labyritnh of hallways inside the TARDIS. Javis had originally thought the console room was a marvel, being bigger than the inside, but the sheer massiveness of the ship's interior left her flabbergasted. Finally retracing her steps to the wardrobe, she heard a delicious clatter from within. If she couldn't punch anyone, she could at least watch the Doctor do war with his wardrobe.
The interior was cavernous, with a great spiral staircase erupting between rows and rows of racks, hangers, boxes, cases, and whatnot. Following the sound of destruction, Javis came upon the Doctor, still clad in his mishmash costume, rifling through a rack of sportcoats.
"Forty-four, fourty-eight, forty-two, forty-six…blast, isn't there a decently sized jacket in this place? Ah! Let's have a look here! No, no…that won't do, the color is simply awful…hmm…"
He looked down the row to find Javis, leaning on a stack of hat boxes, displaying a crooked smile of superb enjoyment.
"Javis!" the Doctor blustered, "haven't you any shame?" he stopped here, however to check himself, "wait, New Earth, underground, the last name Nine suggesting New Human, brought forth from the Ninth subterranean pod, probably from ancient Mediterranean descent from the skin tone, but yes, you probably have very little concept of shame, very interesting…"
He began shooing Javis back out of the wardrobe, "Javis, in most human cultures it is not considered proper to see others in a state of undress so, off you go, back to the console room. I'll be there in a moment."
Hm, Javis thought. That explains a lot of the strange episodes in those ice cold fight club showers. The men were smart, however, as they didn't try anything fresh… they valued their noses unbroken. As she walked back to the console room, she mulled over the lesson she had just learned, and wondered how many she would learn at the hands of this mysterious Doctor…
As promised, the Doctor returned in short order. His outfit was indeed dapper, if a bit strange to Javis' tastes: a navy blue pinstriped jacket, complemented by a similarly coloured golfer's vest in argyle, white shirt, and navy blue tie. He carried a tan overcoat over one arm, along with a slightly floppy newsboy hat. As he rounded the console, however, Javis noticed that the pants that matched the jacket were tucked into long blue argyle socks, culminating in brown loafers. Javis pulled a face.
"Ugh, Doctor…lose the socks."
"What? This is a very classic style, I'll have you know, Miss Nine. It was all the rage at one point of human history…"
"Well, it's all the rage with me right now, but it's not particularly a good rage," Javis pleaded, "come on, Doctor, I'm not even going to discuss the vest, but could you nix the socks?"
With a slight sigh, the Doctor relented, "Oh, fine…" in a few swift movements his pantlegs brushed the top of his brown shoes. Accomplished, the Doctor finally picked up something from the previous comment.
"Wait…what's wrong with this vest then?"
Any further fashion discussion was cut short when the TARDIS gave a short jerk, sending both occupants stumbling slightly. Javis was a little frustrated with being caught off guard, but the Doctor was overjoyed.
"Ah! Here we are! London, 1909! Lovely year, and perfect… for my socks," he finished with a bit of a sneer at Javis. She punched him playfully, which still stung quite a bit. Gritting his teeth in a vicious smile, the Doctor turned his attention to the flatscreen. Unfortunately, it read 1999.
"A little off, are we Doctor?" Javis grinned.
Unfazed, the Doctor rolled with the situation. It wasn't the first time his TARDIS has landed a little off course.
"No no, we're right on. Hiding my socks must have set the TARDIS off course, you see…" he dodged another punch, while in the same fluid motion picked up his cap and overcoat.
"1999 is where it's at! End of a Milennium, celebrations galore! San Fransisco is a bit of a mess, but luckily we're in jolly old London! Internet, Interest rates, and an international fascination with… coffee! Have you ever had coffee, Javis? No? Well then this is the time to be, let me tell you. Such variety, such luxury, mmm…can't wait!"
Donning his coat and cap, he extended his arm, which Javis took.
"Miss Nine, do you feel like a coffee?"
"Sure!"
"Well, you don't look like one!" the Doctor began to laugh uproariously at his own joke, until he realized Javis didn't particularly share his mirth. Then, it struck him. The joke simply wasn't funny.
"Oooh," the Doctor mused, "I'll have to watch it this regeneration. First the clothes and now the jokes…worst case of regeneration sickness I think I've ever had!"
The Doctor poked his head out of the TARDIS door briefly, surveying the area like a turret. Popping his head back in, he smiled triumphantly.
"Well, we're a bit of a walk away, but nothing too strenuous. Luckily, there's one on every corner these days," he added with a chuckle. Javis made to exit, but the Doctor held her back ever so slightly.
"Just a moment, Javis…" he reached into the right breast pocket of his sportcoat and produced a little silver instrument, his sonic screwdriver. He switched it on, producing a bright, blue light, and proceeded to run the device over most of his face. Javis was skeptical, to say the least.
"What are you doing?"
"Just a little hypersonic folicle stimulation, shouldn't take more than a moment," he switched the machine off, and in a matter of seconds he was sporting a neat, trimmed full beard.
"There we are," he said, rubbing the new growth, "that ought to lend a bit of character to these wholly rounded features, don't you agree?"
"It's an improvement," Javis said, grinning, "I see less of your face."
The Doctor wasted no time in reaching behind Javis quickly, using the sonic screwdriver to snap her hair tie in two. Her dark hair fluttered around her shoulders, and Javis hurriedly tried to control the mess. Half frustrated and half in wonder, she remarked to the Doctor, who was playing the innocent victim.
"Is there anything that gizmo can't do, Doctor?"
The Doctor looked fondly at the sonic screwdriver, "Can't make tea, can't clean the TARDIS, can't cook a roast…and can't provide sparkling companionship and conversation." he replaced the item to his pocket with a smile. "Are we all set?"
Javis had just finished tying her hair back with one of her many, many spare ties.
"Think so. Lead on, Macduff!"
"Have you been reading my books?"
"Only a few."
And so they carried on, down the street, chatting amicably. Javis couldn't help but notice as they walked, however, that the Doctor would do the most peculiar things. Pull out a chair here, tip over a glass there, fix someone's hair, nudge a flowerpot off a windowsill…but nothing as strange as when they passed a group of Neo-Bohemian looking youths. When one walks down the street, one often hears snippets of conversations, and Javis heard plenty.
"-when I went over."
"-could have even started-"
"four monkeys!"
"-at least call-"
But it was the one statement made, perhaps purposefully loudly, by a bohemian looking fellow in his cloister of freinds that caused the most disturbance. There was an obvious intent in his voice to impress those around him, but perhaps he shouldn't have been so loud with his words.
"Later today I'm heading down the street to buy some eccentric clothing."
That was it. A perfectly innocuous, if a bit pretentious statement to Javis, but the Doctor saw it on an entirely different level. Busting through the group of friends, he confronted the ringleader like an irate professor.
"No, no, no, no! You don't go out and BUY eccentric clothing, my boy! You buy the kind of clothing you WANT to buy, and then the rest of the world will call you eccentric or not, understand?"
Completely taken aback by the ferocity of this vocal salvo, the youth withered before the Doctor's outstretched, accusing finger, and nodded dumbly. The Doctor nodded in return, then continued down the street, still taking care to ship sides of buildings, and pet only certain dogs or cats. Javis hurried to keep up, for a man with such short legs, he moved deceptively fast.
"What was all that about?!" She demanded.
"I don't know." Was all the Doctor could answer, calm and collected.
"What do you mean, 'you don't know?!' " Javis was becoming as irate as the Doctor had just been.
"We're here, Javis," the Doctor announced, stopping at an outside cafe terrace, "have a seat."
Still seething with confusion, Javis plopped herself down in a seat as the Doctor ordered for her.
"Two cups of your strongest, smoothest brew. Sumatra, Guatemala, something rich, thank you."
The waitress disappeared as promptly as she had appeared, and the Doctor turned to Javis and to business. His face was half apologetic, half stubborn. His eyes, for the first time since Javis had met him, began to show an age that betrayed the youngish features. It almost seemed as if the mists of time itself swirled within them.
"Javis…" he began.
"What are you doing?"
"I don't know, Javis, I really don't. It's a new body, I have to retrain it to repress…the same old things…"
"Meaning?"
The Doctor sighed heavily, playing with a napkin.
"I suppose I should just start from the start. I'm not human, Javis. I know I look it, but I'm not. Not even New Human, like you. I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation Kasterborous. Right about…" he peered up at the late afternoon sky, gray as it often was in London, and extended a finger slightly northeast and upwards, "about 250 million light years that way. Everything all right?"
"Yeah. No worries here, Doctor. I knew you weren't rightly human when you took that man's chips about two blocks back."
"I did? Oh my, I'm dreadfully sorry! Did he seem…angry?"
"More confused. Continue."
"Oh. Right. Anyway…" the Doctor sighed again, and his eyes got older, sadder, "my planet is gone. My people, the Time Lords, they're all gone."
Javis realized he was in pain. She reached across the table to console him.
"Oh my, I'm so sorry…I had no idea…"
"It's all right, Javis, it's all right," the Doctor said, sniffing slightly, "it's always painful to pull memories back from the locked recesses of the mind. But, I never would have made it nine hundred and ninety-nine years if I hadn't been able to."
"Whoa! Then take it easy, Grampa," Javis winked, giving the Doctor a bit of levity. This allowed a bit of a chuckle, and a chance to continue. He tilted his head back, looking to the skies, as if for assistance or reprieve.
"I'm the last one, now…the only one. The sole keeper of the Matrix."
"Matrix?"
"Yes, the Matrix," the Doctor said, bringing himself back eye-to-eye with Javis, "The combined knowledge of all Time Lords, condensed into one single complex. When everything died, the Matrix was programmed to default, and perpetuate itself amongst the survivors. However, the original plan was to save a chosen few of Time Lords to inheret the Matrix. That plan… couldn't hold up to the Daleks."
"Daleks?! The-"
"Yes, Javis. The Daleks. The Last Great Time War, ending in the near extinction of both races, save for a few Daleks…and me. And, being the last of the Time Lords, the entire Matrix…zzzip!"
He made a motion indicating something like a small dart whizzing into his brain.
"The whole kit n kaboodle, locked in my noodle. Hm, that rhymes…"
Javis took the moment of introspection to interject.
"So what does that mean, Doctor?"
"It means I see it all, Javis. Before, after, and inbetween. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The entirety of existence, as documented by the Time Lords, has been forced inside my head as a safety mechanism, as a defense response. My fault, I suppose…I survived."
He added that last bit with a pinch of venomous remorse. Javis patted his hand reassuringly.
"So…you see everything at once?" she ventured.
"Not quite. Javis, do me a favour. Do you see that lamppost over across the street?"
"Yes."
"You see it because you focus on it. Now try to take in everything you see: buildings, cars, buses, people, dogs, cats, flowers, scooters…try to see it all…"
Javis' eyes twitched slightly and she had to sit back in her chair, rubbing her forehead.
"Ow! It hurts."
"Oh yes, it hurts. It hurts quite a bit sometimes…" His eyes went far away again.
"So do you…lash out…because it hurts?" Javis asked, "Taking the chips, chipping the wall…is it out of pain?"
"Certainly not!" The Doctor straightened in his chair, "I'm made of sterner stuff than that!" he added with a twitter of his eyebrows.
"Then what is it?" Javis asked, exasperated, "And where the devil is our waitress? How long does it take to make two drinks?!"
"The fallout of a society obsessed with coffee, Javis…getting a simple cup of it proves a Herculean effort at times. But to answer your question, let me paint you another picture."
"Don't make me do anything googly with my eyes."
"I won't, Javis, I won't" the Doctor chuckled, "Just look at the street. Do you see all the little bits that make up the street? All the little stones and grains and bits of debris?"
"Yeah…hope they clean it up."
"Imagine yourself walking down a street… and being able to sense when one little grain of sand, one little stone, it out of place. You don't know where, or why, or perhaps maybe even how to fix it, but you know that something is out of place. My mind by itself is too small to take in the Matrix as a whole, so I see a fractured version of it. I only see the entirety of time, and fuzzy memories that are not my own tell me something is wrong. I find myself doing things, going places, saying things that I don't know why I do…because I know something is not right."
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, a weight off his shoulders.
"But don't worry. As with my previous two forms I'll have to learn to control it. Just like riding a bicycle, you never forget."
Javis wanted to ask "what's a bicycle?" but she had a more pressing question.
"TWO forms?! That skinny guy…and one before? How many of you are there?"
The Doctor responded most off-handedly, as if someone had asked him the color of his hair. "Thirteen in all, Javis, I'm number eleven. After all you've heard today, that should be the easiest to believe. Oh look! Our coffees are here!"
Javis decided that she liked coffee.
"Wow! This is some strong stuff. You sure there's no booze in it?"
The Doctor smiled over the brim of his cup, "No, just a hefty dose of caffiene, enough to wire an entire nation."
"It's like a sock in the mouth," Javis marveled, grinning, "I like it."
"See? Who needs constant hand-to-hand tests of strength when you have coffee? Mind you, I feel a bit sacreligious, drinking coffee in the middle of London and all… but I suppose it will pass… my, my! You're finished already? Would you like another? Or a scone or something?"
Javis sat the empty mug down, sighing satisfactorily, "Fine, thanks. I'm just enjoying the quaintness of the place we're in. What is this, 1999, the nineteenth century?"
"Twentieth, Javis. You have to remember to count years zero to one hundred. But yes, I am rather fond of this space of time, especially the humans and especially the Britons. A composite race that forever left its mark on the world, a dank little island that nearly owned the whole lot…fascinating."
"Composite race?"
"Well, not technically," the Doctor set down his cup, "but the English are a race that have been formed by assimilation. Over the years they were conquered, freed, changed, reverted, ruled and been ruled over. Language, food, customs, all of it had been rolled into a giant ball of muddled lifestyles…but the humans manage to make sense of it all. I tell you, it used to drive my people mad, a race of so many things all smashed together and working, sometimes simply out of spite! Your ancestors were quite amazing things, Javis, you ought to be proud."
"So we don't drive you mad?"
"No, of course not! I consider you lot a challenge!" the Doctor grinned as he polished off his coffee, "So much to learn, so many variables, idiosyncrasies, funny little tidbits…with my long life and my…resources…"
"The TARDIS?"
"The TARDIS," the Doctor winked, "I consider it a crime to not get to know everything I possibly can about all the fascinating creatures of the universe, and there are few more fascinating than humans. Why…listen to that…"
Faintly on the breeze came a raucous sound: smashing cymbals, screeching guitars, and caustic lyrics.
Javis was a little scared, but intrigued.
"Doctor, what is that?"
The Doctor punctuated each word of the response.
"Punk. Rock."
"What's that?"
"A form of music that the humans came up with earlier this century. Very anti-establishment, very anti-government, very…anti. A musical genre that thrives on dischord and rebellion, the upsetting of commonly held belief."
"Sounds tough," Javis grinned.
"I think you might like it. Shall we?"
The Doctor made to leave, but their waitress stopped him short.
"Oi, Silent Bob, you gonna pay or not?"
"Silent…what? Oh! Right, sorry. Still using pounds, right? Erm…here you are."
The Doctor fished into the pockets of his jacket and placed the proper amount on the table. The waitress scooped it up with agitated haste. Suddenly, Javis saw a strange look flash across the Doctor's eyes, and he reached back into his pocket, producing a one hundred pound note. Tapping the waitress on the shoulder as she made to retreat, the Doctor handed it to her.
"Keep the change, miss," he said with a smile.
The waitress' harsh demeanor shattered, and she was left in belief as a strange man and woman in suits set off through London in the direction of that new punk club. Shaking her head in wonderment, she stuffed the note into her apron and headed back to the bar.
Javis caugt up with the Doctor halfway across the street.
"Okay, so what was that for?" She said with a knowing half-smile.
"That note will give that waitress a little more confidence in the world. She'll go home, and feel inspired to finish off her novel, which will become one of the best-sellers of all time."
"Putting the stones in place, eh? And what of our bohemian friend?"
"I can't be sure, but I think…Prime Minister?"
The club was a bit of a jaunt, a testament to both the Doctor's hearing and the sheer decibel level spilling out of it. The surly-looking youth stationed outside had a wild mohawk hair-do, a studded leather jacket, and not much time for the two decidedly business-looking patrons.
"'old on there, Silent Bob. Just where d'you think yer goin?"
The Doctor was beginning to get frustrated.
"I don't know who this Bob fellow is, but we would like to enter this establishment. My friend here is quite interested in your music."
"Well only certain people get in, see? My boss says that he don't want any sellouts, only real anarchists are allowed."
The Doctor seemed to take this as a challenge. Raising himself up to his full height, his eyes grew wide as he stared down the angry youth.
"Oh, but I am an anti-christ, and I am an anar-chist."
The boy initially seemed scared, but finally processed the words. A slow, realising grin displayed yellowed, crooked teeth.
"Right, old timer, go on in. You too, Greekie."
"Greekie?" Javis asked as they entered a dark corridor.
"He thinks you're from Greece. Expect to be offered a lot of gyros," the Doctor quipped.
Almost immediately it became apparent that this place was very, very hot. Both travelers doffed their jackets in the heat, hanging them on hooks in the dim light. Shirtsleeves bare, the two made their way down into a cramped, hot space, filled with the cacophanous, raucous music. Javis found herself liking the chaotic rhythms, but severely disliking the heat.
"Cripes it's hot in here!" she complained.
"Yes, I wonder why that is," The Doctor mused, looking around and depositing his suit jacket on a nearby chair, "I wonder if something is not right, I do love it when something is not right…ah! That should do it!"
"What?"
"See the band playing?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who they are?"
"No, Doctor, they're a few millenia past my time."
"That's not excuse, good music is good music."
"Just…who are they?"
"Well, that fellow right there is Simon John Beverley; formerly Simon John Ritchie, and goes by the name of Sid Vicious."
"Sounds like a tough name for a tough bloke. What's the problem?"
"The problem, Javis, is that Mr. Beverley died in 1979."
"Oh?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"So, then?"
"So then…I think it's safe to say that something is not right!"
"And now, the end is near, and so I face, the final curtain…"
"Too right, sir," The Doctor said, combing through the dense, smokey club, trying to find the head proprietor. Javis was right behind him, when she could manage, shoving aside inebriates and other zombified patrons. The heat of the place made this venture almost unbearable, with sweaty body after sweaty body standing in their way. Finally, Javis saw the back of a blue vest which had halted, and she creeped up behind to get in on the conversation.
The Doctor was standing across a lavishly appointed table from a dapper young man, with slick, black hair of medium length shellacked to his scalp. He was smoking several cigarettes and imbibing from several liquor bottles that sat among his feet on the table. When he was finished with a cigarette or a bottle, he would toss them into the roiling crowd, resulting in a chaos that seemed to give him pleasure.
The Doctor was not quite as pleased.
"Neatly pressed, neatly dressed, neatly tressed…I take you to be the ringleader of this rotten little operation," he used the r's as springboards packed with energy.
"You would be correct, sir," the man replied with a very well-cultured accent. He hurled a whiskey bottle into the crowd. It hit one man and caused a minor row.
"Then I should ask your name," the Doctor's face was stone.
"For all intentions and purposes, you can call me K," Vodka bottle, another row.
"For all intent and purpose, I should ask your name," a flash of fire tinged the Doctor's blue eyes.
The man snorted.
"And who may I ask is asking?"
He dropped the last of his cigarette in a very potent bottle, which he hurled into the crowd. A small fire broke out, resulting in a small riot. The man giggled like a schoolchild. He made to throw another, but the Doctor caught it in mid-flight. Looking at the label, he made a noise of approval, then set the bottle down with a thud.
"You may call me the Doctor, and I believe that this place needs to be shut down."
"You've got no business here, Doc," the last word stung the Doctor, "everyone is here of their own volition, medical waivers are under the bar, third drawer."
"Oh I'm not a medical doctor," the Doctor quipped.
"Then what are you, prick?" the man made to flick a cigarette angrily at the Doctor, but again the Doctor caught the projectile.
"The Last of the Time Lords!"
He flung the cigarette back with a quick flick of the wrist, neatly burning the man right under the eye. As he howled with pain, the Doctor sat down and helped himself to a glass of scotch.
"Very nice, very nice. Not as good as the casterelle liquors of Tandoon, but certainly not worth throwing into a throng."
Javis was frozen. Her mouth hung open. This chubby little guy was tougher than she thought!
The man had slapped a cold bottle of beer to his cheek, groaning.
"Agh…Time Lord? I thought you were wiped out!"
"Not me, m'boy, not me," the Doctor seemed almost jovial now. He picked up the pack of cigarettes on the table, clicking his tongue.
"Dreadful things, these. I'm much more of a pipe man myself. Still, they have their uses…" he lit one with a nearby lighter, and proceeded to pour a liberal amount of liquor over the man's legs on the table, taking care to note each bottle so he wasn't wasting anything particularly good. By the time the man had forgotten about the burn and realized what was going on, the Doctor was holding a lit cigarette over two liquor soaked legs.
"Now," the Doctor said, gently blowing on the edge of the cigarette and keeping it lit, "I believe I asked you your name."
"Guards!" the man gulped hard in terror.
"Javis?" the Doctor responded coolly.
The two guards never even touched the Doctor before their bashed faces adorned the floor.
"Your name?" the Doctor cooed, playing with the cigarette, it's smoke combining badly with the smell of seven mixed liquors.
"K…Karron."
"Karron what?"
"Karron…P…Ponk."
"Oh Brilliant!" the Doctor suddenly leapt up, tossing the ciagrette away. The band still jangled on, covering up the entire encounter.
"Brilliant! Karrons! Why didn't I think of it before? And Karron Ponk? Corrupted to Punk! Amazing! Beautiful! Brilliant!"
"Karron Ponk?" Javis helped herself to a bit of scotch.
"The Karron system is four planets orbiting a highly unstable red giant in the constellation of Wittergry. Their planets are horribly unstable, nothing but volcanoes, earthquakes, Mr. Bruckheimer's dream come true. The Karrons, as a result, evolved into creatures that thrive on dischord and chaos. This little Karron, little Ponk, apparently is responsible for the establishment of punk rock music!"
"Not the establishment, Doctor," Karron had recovered and was busy wringing out his pant legs, "merely the manipulation and popularity thereof. Humans have such a propensity for self-destruction, it merely took a spin of the wheel to find an era to cultivate disenfranchisement."
"Spin of the wheel, eh? Very interesting," the Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, handing the still-lit cigarette back to Ponk. He slid the pack slyly into his pocket, "this a time scoop then?"
"Hardly."
"Thought not. Your people would never be able to comprehend that…er, sorry."
"Understood. No, it's simply an oxbow lake in the river of time."
"Oxbox?" Javis asked.
"Oxbow, Javis. It's a vestigal part of a river that existed after a river has dried up around a bend. Our friend Ponk has forced the lake back into the stream…but you don't have temporal manipulation technology."
"No sir."
"Then how did you manage this? Wait…no…this isn't an oxbow lake…this is a shoebox!"
"Excuse me?"
"It's a shoebox! A tiny little corridor! That explains why it's so detestably hot down here! You've got a little bit of the 1970s sandwiched between your home and 1999! Incredible!"
Ponk threw a cold smile, "your reputation precedes you, Doctor."
"I don't get it, Doctor," Javis puzzled, "we're in a shoebox?"
"A narrow corridor in time, forced upon by Mr. Ponk here. Must take an incredible amount of energy, eh Mr. Ponk? You're sucking up the geothermal pulses from the volcanoes on your homeworld, brilliant! Now, Ponk, Ponk, Ponk…that means the tribe of Pp from the planet of Pp would would be…Karron Four?"
"I am in awe, Doctor," Ponk was back to his smarmy self.
"Amazing, simply amazing…through one door, Karron Four. Through the other, 1999. And here we are, smack dab in the middle, walking through a hallway in the late 1970s! Exemplrary work, Mr. Ponk, this must have taken a veritable boatload of credits, hm?"
"Three Karonian freighters full," Ponk responded with a wink.
"Figures…you must be royalty to afford this and goons to attack on command…then of course Karonian royalty basically means you killed more people and took more money…"
"Correct again! Remind me to buy you a drink, Doctor."
"You already have."
"Indeed! Ha ha!"
"So…you've carved out a little piece of 1970s Punk Rock London for yourself. This must be a dream for you then, so much upheaval, the world on the brink of disaster…you must be eating the zeitgeist with a knife!"
"It's quite a time period, I am enjoying it thoroughly."
"When's holiday over then, Mr. Ponk?" the Doctor said, taking a drink.
"Holiday? This is no holiday."
"Hm?" The Doctor said, halfway through a drink of scotch.
"Consider this more my…private island. And by island, I mean planet."
"Beg pardon?"
"You came in through the 99 Door, right? It must be an absolute nightmare out there! My influence on the Punk Rock world here in the Seventies must have created an absolute anarchic hell on earth! Twenty years with my influence, this should be my dream house of chaos and absurdity!"
The Doctor put his drink down with a sigh.
"Hm. Sorry, Ponky, but the most absurd thing you'll find out there is an overpriced cup of coffee."
"No. No way. What about your sexy little assistant here? No one learns to fight that well in a happy world."
"She's…she's not from around here."
"What? She's Greek? What's that got to do with anything? Here, want a gyro, baby?"
The Doctor gave Javis a pleading, knowing look. She responded with utter confusion. What went wrong with Ponk's plan?
"Ponk," the Doctor began, "you set a lot of wheels in motion, yes. You created a bit of chaos, yes, but…well to quote an old stage show, 'you didn't know the territory.' You were expecting your actions to be adopted and carried out mindlessly… but you're dealing with humans."
"And? What does that mean? What do humans do?"
"First, they muck up everything good they've ever been given. Second, they make some of the best food and drink in this galaxy," he raised his almost empty glass, "Third…they assimilate."
"I don't understand…"
"Of course you don't, you're a Karron! Everything that happens in your world is cataclysmic and everything has to change! These are humans! They watch cataclysms every morning and go on eating their grapefruits! All the good, all the bad, all the fair to midland just gets eaten up and smashed into a great big ball of coping compromise, and that's how they survive."
Ponk rose from the table. "This can't be true. You're lying. There's no way I haven't created hell on earth!"
"The humans will create that when they are good and ready, Ponk. Don't go out there, you won't be able to handle it."
"Yes, I will, because you're lying!"
He bolted out of the smokey little hole and towards the door to the future, the "99 Door." Throwing it open, he dashed out into the street.
He saw the most horrible sight a Karron could see.
Blue sky.
Fresh air.
Green trees.
Life.
His breath began to come in heaving gasps. The Doctor and Javis re-emerged into the street, fully dressed once more. As they approached, it became clear that the gasps were not of exertion, or fear…but of a failure to acclimate.
"Karron's atmospheres are sulphourus, carcinogenic, smokey…nightmarish. He can't handle good, clean air. Here," he took the pack of ciagarettes out of his trouser pocket and showed them to Ponk. Angrily, Ponk pushed them away, his voice a grotesque rattle as his alien lungs filled with fluid.
"No…no…I will create this world…this will be my paradise…"
"Spoiled royal brat," the Doctor chided, "can't have his toy, and is throwing a tantrum."
"Shut up! Shut up!" His protracted screams not only echoed emptily off the deserted alley walls, but exhausted his native gas supply. With one final shudder, he fell backwards onto the pavement, dead.
The body of Karron Ponk and his two senseless bodyguards were placed in the airlock of the Home Door, to be returned when the process defaulted. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor set the control panel to undo itself, and the two left in a stoic silence, clashing with the raucous sounds of Sid Vicious.
Back in the street, Javis was uneasy.
"What's going to happen?"
"The process will default. The time corridor will be replaced, and Sid will die in a matter of months. The Karonians will be returned to their home world, where Ponk will be either honored with a fiery volcano burial, or cast into a volcano in shame, depending on who has the most money now. This place will simply become an abandoned warehouse, and the patrons will wonder where it went to, but will forget with time. We shall simply go back to the TARDIS, and follow wherever it takes us, and hope to make things right again."
"I worry, Doctor," Javis began, "that we killed him. We could have saved him, I could have knocked him out and we could have put him back in his home world."
"He didn't want to be saved," the Doctor lowered his head slightly, "it had to happen as it happened. Just filling the cracks in the road."
"So you saw this?"
"I never can tell. I just do what feels right. Sometimes I feel vindicated…other times damned…but that's my burden to bear."
"But I'm here to help you carry that burden. That troublesome, worrisome burden."
The Doctor raised his head and smiled.
"So close you eyes, Javis, embrace your memories.
Leave your troubles and your worries far behind.
Stop contemplating, Start celebrating!
You've got to live before you die."
Javis smiled slightly.
"That's nice. Did you make that up?"
"No, those are the words of a few young men known as Social Distortion," he met her gaze and grinned, "a California Punk Rock Band."