Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. It'd be wrong somehow, me being an American and all.
Chapter One: Nothing Else Matters
It had been a long time since he had killed.
A very long time.
But it was necessary. He lived for necessity now. He owed it to all those under his command. They who had seen the Devastation, had seen their worlds melt away before them, whom had emerged victorious yet homeless…they who had returned home, only to find a new threat infesting their ancestral world.
The thought burned him. It gnawed at him. Only a hundred years—fifty years!—ago they would have squashed this new threat under their boot like an insect, delivered a reprimand, and sent them on their way.
That was no longer possible. He found it strange that this did not sadden him, but he lived for necessity now. And this was what necessity demanded. After all, the infestation invaders would never see what was coming until it hit them. Humans rarely did.
The TARDIS was doing its usual repertoire of violent shaking, but Martha found it was almost like she was used to it, managing to sit comfortably enough in a chair as the world quaked about them.
The Doctor pulled down a lever on the main console and the TARDIS came to an abrupt stop. "Ah, there we go," he said, delighted. "And no sparks flying or warning lights going off—ha!" He practically skipped over to the chair where his coat hung, then threw it on carelessly. "Well, come on!" he said impatiently. "Places to go, things to see."
Martha grinned and headed for the door. "Where are we?" she queried.
"Prometheus system, 4425," the Doctor said. "I let the TARDIS choose our destination at random."
"Random?" Martha asked.
"I felt lazy," the Doctor said with a shrug, and opened the door to the TARDIS. "So shoot—oh, wow!" Like a little kid in front of a Christmas tree, he scampered out of the TARDIS and out of sight.
"Doctor!" Martha said; more irritated than alarmed. She also stepped out, closing the door behind her, to find the Doctor standing in front of a window staring out at the stars. "Oh, wow," she echoed the Doctor's words as she came to stand beside him.
The view from wherever they were was magnificent; a thousand stars shimmered wonderfully in the receding blackness. But closer to them a yellow sun blazed and flared. Astonished, Martha was able to stare at it without being blinded. Tinting on the windows, she reasoned. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Oh, yeah. And the sophisticated nature of it!" the Doctor replied. "I honestly didn't think humans had the capacity to construct one yet." He frowned. "Actually, I was sure they didn't."
"What?" Martha asked, dumbfounded. "I was talking about the view!"
"Oh, but I was too," the Doctor said, still staring out with a slightly puzzled expression. "Look at the sun."
She did, and saw nothing out of place. She opened her mouth to say so—then promptly closed it. "What the hell is it?" she asked in pure shock. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
A writing mass of metal seemed to be orbiting the sun, constantly shifting, but still letting light through. Martha wondered how she could have missed it before. It was almost as though someone was trying to cage the star.
"It's a Dyson sphere," the Doctor said wondering. "Dyson swarm actually, but it's Dyson's original design. A device capable of harnessing all the power in a star for the benefit of a civilization. I actually don't know if I've ever seen one."
"You're telling me that—that thing is capable of harnessing all the power of that star?" Martha stared forward in disbelief.
"Yeah," the Doctor said, that ever-present thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, I'm pretty sure we're on a space station, so why don't we go and meet the leaders. Sound good?"
"Sure," Martha said. "Just promise me they won't be trying to kill us."
"Oh, I highly doubt it," the Doctor said. "The League of Planets is still in control—another eighty-odd years or so, I think. Then we get the Second Human Empire."
Martha shivered. "It unnerves me when you do that—it really does. Let's go find some people to talk to."
"All right," the Doctor agreed. He gave her a smile, and they turned and walked away.
The room was poorly lit, overhead lights flickering constantly, bathing him in shadow. Before him was a large tank six feet high, filled with liquid halfway. Inside was a man, hands and feet bound twisted behind his back painfully with energy cords that sent rippling electric shocks through his system whenever he made a wrong move. It took all the man's effort simply to stay above the liquid.
"Mr. Fisk; the pleasure is all mine, I assure you," he said, and Fisk's eyes glared hate back at him from behind the glass enclosure. "Mr. Fisk I am going to give you an ultimatum: give me the auxiliary omni-codes, or I will increase the power on your bindings to such that you will writhe uncontrollably, and sadly, soon be immersed. However, give me the omni-codes, and I will drain the liquid from your prison. Cooperate further and your energy bindings may be released." He paused. It was a generous offer, and he hoped Fisk accepted it.
But that was the problem with dealing with humans after all. "Go to Hell," Fisk spat.
"Mr. Fisk, now that is completely unnecessary. Honestly, you humans are the most ill-tempered species I've ever met. And I thought the Sycorax were bad…"
"You'll never get Starpoint," Fisk forced out, only to cry out in agony as his bindings delivered a major jolt to his system.
"But you are wrong Mr. Fisk!" He forced himself to calm down at the blasphemy, at the arrogance of the human. He reminded himself the human would die knowing just how wrong he was. "We will 'get' Starpoint, as you so eloquently put it." He suppressed a shudder of rage at not being able to reveal the scope of the human's mistake. Sadly, that would be for another time. "Now, we were discussing the omni-codes…"
Fisk opened his mouth to retort, but a particularly violent shock sent him gurgling under the liquid, and he floundered, gasping for air. "Let that be a lesson to you," he said in a reprimanding tone, waving a finger at Fisk. "Why don't you just tell me the omni-codes? No? That's too bad Mr. Fisk, it really is…" His voice trailed off as he circled the tank in which the bound human was confined. From a compartment at the back of the tank he took a small spherical capsule, then pulled a lever, draining the liquid from the tank and sending Fisk to the floor. "Have you ever heard," he asked conversationally, "of creatures called syzawyrms?"
He crossed back to the front of the tank and opened the enter/exit portal. "You haven't? A pity; at least I will be able to educate you about these marvelous little creatures." He stroked the capsule delicately. "You see, syzawyrms cut forcibly through the body's skin, and devour the internal organs—very slowly, very painfully. Through the use of hormones, we are able to control when the syzawyrms feast, and stop them from releasing their parasitic children throughout the bloodstream. I don't think you need your gallbladder, do you human?" He didn't give Fisk a chance to answer as he opened a hole in the human with his glowknife.
Fisk started howling in agony as the serrated edge did its work. He opened the capsule, and a two-inch long creature with horrible looking horns and jaws emerged. Delicately, he placed the syzawyrm within the injury he had made, the creature instantly began eating and squirming internally to reach the organ. Fisk's screams increased in volume. "You think this is pain human? You know nothing of suffering!" Seeing your worlds burn, seeing your species crumble into dust, that is suffering! Watching as you are bled dry by ignorant savages! "Tell me the omni-codes human, or I promise you, with the last breath in my body, I will teach you the meaning of agony!"
As the human forced coherence into those shrieks, he felt a wild satisfaction looming up in him: everything was proceeding according to plan. Barring any unforeseen variable, the conquest would begin within a day. The only disastrous possibility was an unable to predict unknown…