==Chapter One: Mouth of the Dragon==
"The only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder."
— Jostein Gaarder, Sophie's World
Watson eyed the Doctor with avid curiosity while the TARDIS shuddered and lurched through the Vortex. Their host still hadn't said a word about their destination this time – it was a great relief to his human colleague to see that the old impish gleam had returned to the Time Lord's eye. The week they'd spent on that resort world had plainly been time well spent, the Doctor gradually recovering enough from the distress of relinquishing his humanity that he was even able to sleep again, albeit only for short stretches.
The Doctor smiled enigmatically as they landed, nodding at the door. "Wanna have a look-see?"
Watson tsked, grinning. "Doctor, when have we ever said 'no'?" He and Holmes headed down the ramp, opened the door... and the doctor's mouth fell open, speechless.
They'd landed in an open space which looked rather like a twenty-first century airport lounge, even containing the same type of furniture – but what had Watson spellbound was the view beyond the transparent dome that enclosed it. He'd never seen such a stunning starscape: countless points of blue light, shining through elegantly sculpted clouds of dust, amber, gold and scarlet... In a daze, he drifted forward, only halted by the dome itself, resting his hands against the glass as he continued to drink in the wondrous sight.
Dimly, he heard Holmes murmur behind him, sounding almost as awestruck: "Where are we, Doctor?"
"Polaris Seven, a waystation on the Dragon Nebula." The Doctor's smile was plainly audible. "Welcome to the twenty-fifth century."
Watson blinked, and found his eyes had grown moist. "It's... incredible..." he breathed.
Next moment, the mood was shattered as a peevish, bureaucratic voice blared through the dome: "Attention, all visitors. Will the owner of a Cascade-model Altraxian cruiser please report to Docking Bay Three? Your parking permit is due to expire in half a cycle, at which time your ship will be impounded. Thank you."
The Doctor laughed. "Ah, docking control. Well, boys, most times you've seen other species, you've been running from them, more or less." He raised an inviting eyebrow. "How'd you like to mingle, this time?"
Holmes and Watson shared a grin of pure delight, Watson nodding eagerly. "Lead on, Doctor!"
The three piled into the nearest lift, where a flat, electronic-sounding voice intoned, "Please state the desired level."
The Doctor raised both eyebrows at his Companions. "Well, go on, choose. There are two dozen levels – small, but not at all bad for this point in time."
Holmes looked inquiringly at Watson, who shrugged. The detective considered for a moment before asking, "Computer, what is the main communal area on this station?"
"The primary centre of social activity is the Level Twelve marketplace."
Holmes nodded. "Level Twelve, then."
"Lift descending."
Watson looked curiously at the Doctor as they started downwards. "Doctor, have we missed something?" Normally on a trip like this, the Time Lord would be talking away nineteen to the dozen, yet he'd barely said a word since they arrived.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm just the intergalactic nanny on this trip, and you two..." The Doctor gestured expansively, grinning. "Don't argue with it – I've got a millennium's worth of seniority on you. The two of you will explore, and I will simply make sure that neither of you get killed. Sound like a plan?"
Holmes looked most intrigued. "Dare I ask how likely that is to happen here?"
The Doctor shrugged. "Well, not very – at least, as long as we don't go down into the lower levels. Think like the levels on an ocean liner: top is best, bottom is worst, and everything else falls somewhere in-between."
Watson made a resigned face as the lift slowed to a halt. "Some things really never change, do they?"
"Level Twelve."
The doors opened onto an elevated walkway, which overlooked a bustling indoor bazaar, full of assorted booths and stalls; the spaces between the booths were crowded with dozens... no, hundreds of alien races, all going about their own business. The noise was only a deafening hubbub at first, but Watson eventually began to distinguish individual voices, each seemingly speaking in strangely accented English, punctuated by the occasional odd sound that the doctor supposed even the TARDIS couldn't translate directly.
The two humans just stood there for half a minute, gazing in awe at all the exotic figures below, until a tall, fish-headed humanoid with purple and orange skin walked up to the lift, obviously wanting to get in. The creature had a glass tube full of green fluid attached to its mouth – some kind of breathing apparatus?
Watson and Holmes hastily exited the lift, Holmes nodding politely as the alien brushed past. "Pardon us." Watson wondered mightily how those words had sounded in the fish man's language...
The Doctor sidled up up next to them, murmuring wryly, "This is where the TARDIS's translation is going to be very handy..." He looked around, hands in his pockets. "Sooo, what do you think? By this point in history, mankind has been interacting on pretty equal footing with other races for well over a century, and Polaris Seven is the seventh major interspecies station to include humans as a matter of course."
Holmes pricked up his ears. "And before that? Doctor, do you mean to say it has taken another four centuries since the Manhattan Project for humanity to become equitable enough to be accepted by other races?" He shook his head in disgust.
Watson's breath caught as he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. "Speak of the devil... Holmes, Doctor, look there!" He pointed excitedly at one of the stalls to the far right, where a smartly-dressed Manhatian was standing behind a counter crowded with wares. "They did survive..." Thank God...
The Doctor had been about to answer Holmes when Watson cut him off; his annoyed expression rapidly faded as he turned to look, mouth falling open. "That's... that's wonderful..." The Time Lord's eyes were glistening, although Watson was hardly about to comment; clearly, Sec's sacrifice and Kit's pain had not been in vain, after all.
Holmes craned his neck. "I can't tell what he's selling from here, what are those?"
Watson grinned – this trip was just getting better and better. "Well, let's go and find out!"
The Doctor strode towards the stall with a definite spring in his step. For all the rescuing he'd done throughout his TARDIS-only-knew-how-many centuries of life, he'd rarely seen positive results like this. He grinned as he got closer: the stall was crowded with black, palm-sized discs projecting holographic reproductions of artworks. Most were alien, but a few were human, such as 3D images of van Gogh's Sunflowers and the Venus de Milo.
"Oh, that's lovely. I love a good holographic reproduction." He looked up from the art to study the Manhatian behind it. The hybrid possessed a recognisably Dalek head without being as overwhelmingly Dalek as Sec had been, none of the disturbing tentacles and far less of the nerve-mass apparent... A human-Gallifreyan-Dalek hybrid selling art in a bazaar—the Doctor stopped short in awe at the thought. He could have whooped, punched the air, and leapt for sheer joy.
The hybrid bowed as they approached the counter, smiling. "Greetings, humans! How may I help you?"
Watson smiled back. "You have an impressive collection, sir." He gestured at one of the deactivated discs. "Did you make these?"
"The projectors? Yes, I have something of a gift for holotech." The Manhatian proudly waved a hand at the display. "Do you see anything you like?"
The Doctor could feel his fanboying smile creep over his face. "Oh, I like it all, but that's just me!" He carefully picked up the holoprojector bearing Sunflowers and inspected both the projector and the image. "Ohhh, that is lovely." The level of engineering in the disc was impressive for the race having started out four centuries back with cobbled-together tech from the Daleks and World War II.
He set it down and glanced up at the boys. "How about you fellas?"
Watson nodded at one of the images in the back of the stall: a graceful, coloured crystal sculpture of an insect-like humanoid, complete with antennae and iridescent butterfly wings. The Doctor had encountered the race a very long time ago, when Ian and Barbara were still travelling with him. "I have to admit, this one caught my eye."
The stallholder beamed. "Excellent taste, sir! That is the inaugural statue of Her Majesty Vrestin II of the Menoptera. A bargain at 20 credits."
The Doctor wordlessly dug a wallet out of his pockets and handed it to Watson with a smile. He then turned back to the collection. "Actually, I think I'll have this tree, myself." The tree in question was a richly coloured, stylised sculpture that looked rather Celtic... and Gallifreyan... And yet: "It reminds me of someone I once met, someone brave." Someone who burnt to death so he could save others from that fate. He shook himself out of his reverie and said, "What about you, Holmes?"
The Manhatian turned to the detective, who was still browsing. "Sir, if I may? Perhaps I can tempt you with..." He activated another projector, and a stunning spiral sunburst of crimson and gold tiles blossomed into life. "...this magnificent Silurian fire mosaic?"
Holmes's eyes widened, and he smiled. "Magnificent indeed..." He shook his head and gestured at a storm-lashed seascape. "...but I rather think this one."
The stallholder nodded. "The Venusian watercolour—a fine choice, sir."
The Doctor smiled; this was simple, touristy fun, and he was enjoying it. "How much will these be, then?"
"Eighty credits in all, noble sir... and as your friend was so taken with the fire mosaic, I'll include it for free." The Doctor grinned as the Manhatian waved away Holmes's attempt at protest. "I insist; it has been a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen." He deactivated and packaged up the discs. "Is this your first visit to Polaris?"
"Ah, their first, my second, but it's been a while." The Doctor took the wallet back from his human colleague and gave the stallholder the money. "Thank you. You've got a lovely stall here."
"You're too kind, sir—" the hybrid sighed—"although I doubt you'll find me here for much longer. Business is about the same, but the rent for a stall space is twice what it was on my last trip."
The Doctor frowned in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. Ah, why did the cost jump up?"
The hybrid shrugged. "Blessed if I know... but you must have noticed something yourself, sir—you wouldn't have had to pay half the cost of your parking permit last visit. Somebody's making themselves a tidy profit here..." He smiled ruefully. "Too bad it isn't me. I have the family to support back home, and if I can't cover my costs, I'll have to ply my trade on another station."
The Doctor tilted his head in thought. "Interesting. I mean, I'm sorry for your troubles, it's just interesting that... mm." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I like puzzles, me. Bad habit. Baaad, bad habit."
The stallholder looked concerned. "Well, take my advice, good sir," he murmured: "try to resist that tendency while you're here. Asking questions mightn't be illegal—yet!—but it's still not wise to attract the Judoon's attention if you don't have to."
Out of the corners of his eyes, the Time Lord saw his Companions' ears prick up. He himself winced. "Ohhh, not them again... I had a run-in with them—totally innocent, me, there was a mix-up, but... they're a bit too strict for my taste."
The stallholder snorted—in the midst of his curiosity, the Doctor couldn't help enjoying the full range of emotion displayed and felt by a sentient creature with Dalek DNA in him. "That's putting it mildly! They've had a field day throwing their weight around here—although I think they're getting rather frustrated at not being allowed to shoot anyone."
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Well, at least they can't do that." He stopped and tilted his head, frowning in suddenly burning curiosity. "Why can't they do that? Judoon have always had a free license to shoot."
"It's part of their contract with the station's Controller, or so I've heard." The expression on the Manhatian's face could only be one of distaste. "According to rumour from Above, he thinks having criminals executed is 'wasteful'..."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "I would agree with that," he said slowly, "only I'm not so sure I would." Wasteful was not a word you heard often from people disagreeing with the capital punishment. He leant in and murmured, "What happens to criminals who are caught?"
"That's just it," the Manhatian murmured back, obviously worried: "no one seems to know—and quite frankly, good sir, there are few here who'd care to attract attention by asking. If the Judoon take you to Administration... you don't come back."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed further—classic dictator scenario if ever there was one. "Now, that's not right. Just disappearing like that—that's not justice, that's something else." He sighed. "So much for a vacation..."
"Oh, no one ever just disappears, sir," said the stallholder, irony in his voice; "that'd be much too obvious. There's always some 'legitimate' reason for their arrest."
"How convenient," Watson said grimly.
"These people who are arrested," said Holmes—"what of their families, their friends? Surely they don't all just meekly leave the station?"
The Manhatian shook his head sadly. "There's a large number of Drifters down Below with friends or family who got escorted Above. Even if they wanted to leave, a lot of them simply don't have the means. When the owner of a vessel is arrested, their craft is instantly impounded and auctioned off." His tone turned positively acidic. "Rule One of Polaris Seven: Read the fine print."
Watson tilted his head, frowning. "The fine print of what?"
The stallholder looked at him oddly. "The fine print of your visiting waiver, of course." Then his expression turned concerned. "Don't tell me you gentlemen didn't read yours before you signed it!"
"No," soothed the Doctor, "no, no, no, no, shh, it's okay." He leant in again and murmured, "Trust me. I'm the Doctor."
Holmes wasn't greatly surprised by the reaction to the Doctor's announcement: the Manhatian's eye widened, head jerking backwards in surprise, but looking decidedly sceptical. Then the hybrid's brow furrowed, looking hard at the Doctor again... and his jaw dropped. "By the Maker..." he murmured reverently.
The Doctor nodded at his Companions. "And these are the men who were with me when your people were reborn: Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. If something underhanded is going on, you can be sure we'll get to the bottom of it."
The stallholder bowed deeply, expression awed. "Then if there is anything you wish of me, gentlemen, you have only to name it. What you did for our ancestors will never be forgotten."
Holmes smothered a sigh. The detective could appreciate the gratitude, but he and Watson achieving legendary status with their own race – and in their own lifetime! – was already troublesome enough.
The Manhatian frowned suddenly. "But... forgive my impertinence, Doctor – where is the Lady Katherine?"
The Doctor froze for a moment. "She has her own path to follow," he said softly.
The stallholder meekly nodded, trying not to look disappointed and failing.
"Well, since we're performing introductions," Watson smiled, "might we ask your name, sir?"
The hybrid returned the smile broadly. "You honour me, Healer. My name is Tarm."
The Doctor beamed. "Tarm. Lovely to meet you, Tarm." He leant forward again, resting his hands on the counter, careful of the projectors. "And I'd like nothing more than to make it so you won't have to leave this station – history in the making here on all the Polaris stations. Any other tips you can give us?"
Tarm looked thoughtful. "Well... there is a word that has been starting to echo Below: Jeruuk. Who or what that might be, I don't know... but on this station, anything remaining in the rumour currents for more than a cycle is worth being wary of." His expression turned serious. "And if you do find yourselves Below, sirs, for the Maker's sake, be careful! There are a lot of desperate people down there now, with very little left to lose."
Holmes smirked mirthlessly – this station was feeling more like home every minute...
Authors' note:
To those wondering what happened to '42'... this is it! Well, sort of... We decided not to revisit the original episode for several reasons, not least of which was that the action consisted mainly of running around the 'Pentallian' and dodging possessed crew members. Bit difficult to write that in prose without sounding extremely repetitive, given the previous episode – plus Holmes and Watson hadn't really had the chance yet to mingle with any friendly alien races, or even see much of the universe besides New Earth and the Manhatians' new planet.
As to why we put this episode after their encounter with the Family and Beth... well, you'll just have to stay tuned!
