In the vast, open space speckled by innumerable clusters of stars, one could just barely make out that little blue box bobbing along like an apple in water. Long legs dangled over the edge of the open doorway, and the Doctor stared contemplatively into the empty universe before him. For a man who had all of time and space at his fingertips, it still amazed him how alone he could be. Clara hadn't phoned him in ages; he figured she was more happy doing normal, human things with Danny Pink than she was precariously traveling about with him.
What was he doing? Since when did the Doctor, the man who'd saved innocent lives on countless occasions and defended Earth against many a tyrannical species, start moping when a girl didn't call him? The silver-haired man stood, folding his arms and still leaning against the door frame of his ship. For several minutes, he became entranced by the vast and unending darkness before his very eyes, assured that somewhere out in the universe, Clara was happy. He then stared back at the TARDIS control panel and a frown tugged at his lips. Technically now, in the 29th century, Clara was long dead.
The TARDIS shuddered slightly around him, but the Doctor remained unphased. The trembling grew more violent; however, and the thin man peered through the open entrance to see what was going on. With wide eyes, the Doctor watched helplessly as a Goliath ship advanced toward him. The unfamiliar metal beast inched closer and closer and...
It passed him.
He regained his composure, sitting back at the edge of his ship and allowing his legs to swing back and forth in the empty darkness. The TARDIS began to quake again. Rickety old ship, cursed the Doctor internally, though he new that his constant companion hadn't aged a day since he'd stolen her from Gallifrey. Another ship, this one only slightly smaller than the first, passed the little blue box on its left. The Doctor groaned now, knowing that his relaxing and contemplative ride through the stars had come to an abrupt end. What were these ships doing way out in the middle of nowhere, anyway?
He couldn't believe he hadn't seen the giant reddish planet that he was now fast approaching. Judging by the two ships ahead, the Doctor thought as they both began preparations for landing, that was where the party was. Accepting the fact that Clara was not going to call, the Doctor leaped to his feet with a rare vigor, sealed the wooden door, and strode over to the control panel. Eying the two gargantuan vessels through a screen as they descended into the planet's dense atmosphere, the doctor flipped a few levers and twisted a few knobs to prompt the TARDIS to follow.
It took a few minutes until the Doctor landed squarely between the two substantially larger transports. He gulped as he stood by the closed doors, knowing that his entire plan was the gamble of his life. This is all your fault, Clara, he grumbled in his head, assuming she could hear him, See what I get myself into when you're to busy to come 'round? He gulped again because he wasn't, in fact, even entirely sure as to what he'd gotten himself into. The answer, he knew, was mere feet outside the wooden doors.
As he creaked the door open, he heard the crisp opening of the entrance to the ship at his right. The ship to his left made a similar sound, reminding the Doctor of the sound a jar of custard makes when the lid is broken from its seal. From each ship a different breed of creature walked down with administrative grace, while the Doctor ambled out of his own ship like just another Scot who'd had one too many to drink. He soon wished that he hadn't.
The man standing before him was tall and broad in stature, with archaic garb, a thick exoskeleton, and a barbarous grin. Folding his muscular arms, he spoke gruffly to the three very different entities before him.
"Welcome, intergalactic collectors," he roared, "to the planet Sycorax."
