The Ghost of Oberon

PART TWO

"Alert. Alert. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in sixty seconds and counting."

Damia fell to the floor. Tears flowed relentlessly from her face. She was about to die in the vacuum of space. She turned away from the door so that she wouldn't have to see the cold, grey face of Briscoe staring at her through his empty eyes. I have to keep it together, she thought. The Doctor will save me. He'll come to rescue me.

The computerized voice spoke again. "Alert. Alert. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in thirty seconds and counting."

Please hurry, Doctor,= thought Damia. As if on cue, the airlock's alarm stopped blaring. She looked upwards. The red light was no longer flashing. She heard the computer's voice click on again.

"Jettison sequence terminated."

The clear door rolled away. Damia looked and saw that Briscoe's body was slumped in the arms of two PTMC guards. A third entered the airlock. "It's alright now, Miss Derbyshire," he said in a gruff voice. "You're safe with us." He offered his hand to Damia. She took it and he led her into the hallway.

The Doctor was heading down the hallway at a brisk pace. Damia noticed that he never ran if there were a lot of people around. She figured it was to retain a sophisticated image. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh, Doctor, I was so scared!" she cried, burying her face in his body. She sobbed heavily. "I thought you weren't coming!"

"I came as soon as the alarm sounded," he said. "I figured if anyone could get into trouble going to the cafeteria – apart from me – it would be you."

"That's not funny!" she said. "I could've died!"

"Yes, you could have," the Doctor replied. "What's important is that you didn't." He looked at the guards holding Briscoe's limp body. "How did you take him down?" he asked.

"Standard-issue paralysis guns," one answered. He was having trouble keeping Briscoe draped over his shoulder because he was significantly shorter. "Mind you, he seems worse as dead weight."

"That won't be a problem for very long," Dravis said as he emerged from the other corner of the level. "Throw him in the airlock."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!" said the Doctor. "Nobody's going out any airlocks."

"Doctor, this man killed a PTMC employee," said Dravis, thrusting an accusing finger in Briscoe's direction. "On top of that, he almost killed your agent-in-training."

For a fleeting instant the Doctor forgot he and Damia had aliases to uphold, but he recovered quickly. "Yes, Dravis, I'm aware of that. However, just look at him. He's clearly not well. Now, unless this sort of thing happens often, I suggest you take him to sickbay and run some tests."

Dravis was clearly displeased with being overruled. However, he had no choice but to follow the Doctor's orders. "You heard him," he said to the guards. "When he gets there, put him under heavy restraint and keep a 24-hour security detail on him. If anything happens, getting fired will be the least of your worries." The guards quickly headed for sickbay.

"Thank you, Dravis," said the Doctor. "I'll be down there shortly. First I need to make sure that Damia's okay."

"I'm good now, Doctor," Damia said. She was sniffling slightly but the tears had stopped.

The Doctor pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I know," he said. "You're a fighter. I just want to make sure you get back to your room safely." He winked candidly at her. Damia caught the signal and nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, Doctor," Dravis said, "I have things to attend to."

"Of course," said the Doctor. "Don't let me stop you." Dravis began to leave. "Oh, just one thing, Dravis. I'll need to send a report to Shiva as soon as possible about this incident."

Dravis stopped. He turned to face the Doctor. "That won't be necessary," he said. "I'll take care of that for you."

A slight grin crossed the Doctor's face. "Very well. Thank you, Dravis." He turned to Damia. "Let's get you back to the room."

The Doctor handed Damia a glass of water. "So what happened there?" he asked.

"Nothing much. It all happened very quickly," said Damia. She took a drink. "I was waiting for the lift to go to the cafeteria, and Briscoe was coming from the other direction. I spoke to him, but he didn't answer. Then I noticed he was all grey and…I just got frightened and ran." She hung her head. "I guess that makes me a little fraidy-cat."

"No, no," said the Doctor. "You did what any other human would have done in that situation."

Damia looked up at him. "You're just saying that because you're not human."

"No," the Doctor corrected. "I'm saying that because I've been around the block a couple dozen times. There are lots of things I haven't seen, but I'm accustomed to dealing with them. You, however, are just getting used to traveling with me. In time, it won't be so scary."

Damia took another drink. "You're right," she said. After a brief pause, she said, "I think you're on to something about Dravis. He was very eager to send that message for you."

"Which I'm sure will never be sent," said the Doctor. "I have yet to figure out why he's hiding from his bosses, but I'm sure he's hiding all the same." He pulled out his pocket watch. "Speaking of which," he said, "I need to get to sickbay. I can't keep Dravis waiting." He put an arm around Damia's shoulder. "Will you be alright here?" he asked.

"Yes. I think I'll get a little rest," she said.

"Good idea." The Doctor got up and headed for sickbay.

Briscoe was tightly strapped to a bed in sickbay. It was very crowded in there, but not because of a multitude of patients. In addition to Briscoe on the bed, there was a medical attendant checking his vital signs on various monitors, Dravis was impatiently pacing around the room, and a team of at least six bodyguards stood watch with their blasters primed. The Doctor strode in and surveyed the crowd. "When do the girls arrive?" he asked, grinning.

Dravis huffed. "I'm glad you could join us, Doctor," he said. "Is Damia feeling better?"

"Yes, she's fine. She's just a little shaken, that's all." The Doctor moved to Briscoe's bed. "Is he asleep?" he asked.

"No," the attendant said, "he's under sedation. We don't want him thrashing around."

The Doctor checked the straps. "If he started thrashing around with these straps, we'd all be in serious trouble." He opened one of Briscoe's eyelids. It was still grey, with a bit of milky white floating about. "No pupils of any kind," said the Doctor. "Very interesting."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" asked Dravis.

"Not a clue," said the Doctor. "Not even Gregory House could figure this one out." He turned back to Dravis. "How does a man go from perfectly normal to perfectly abnormal in six hours?" he asked.

"I'm not a doctor," said Dravis, "but supposedly you are. You should be telling me."

"Unfortunately, I don't have much to go on," said the Doctor. "The only clue we have is the whispering he heard amongst the cargo. I suppose the first thing to do is check out the containers. Where are they?"

"They're in storage area 14. No one has gone near them since the incident," said Dravis.

The Doctor was led to a large storage room. The walls were grey like the hallways, and the Doctor made a sour face after making the observation. Harsh bright lights shone down from the ceiling, forcing the Doctor to either shield his eyes or squint. In the center of the room were sixteen containers from Briscoe and Bova's dropship. "Are you sure these are all the containers?" he asked his escorting guard.

"Yes, sir," the guard replied. "Sixteen containers. No more, no less."

"Good. I'll get to work, then, though I don't know what I'm looking for."

"If you need me, I'll be outside," said the guard. He walked out.

"Many thanks," said the Doctor. "Well, let's see what's behind Door Number 1." He used his sonic screwdriver to unseal the lid. Peeling it off, he looked inside. The container was filled to the top with chunks of platinum ore, each piece of varying size. The Doctor picked up a small sheet-like piece and inspected it under the lights. "Looks like platinum," he said. He put his tongue to it. "Ugh. Tastes like platinum." He held it up to his ear. "I'm not hearing anything," he said. He sighed. "Looks like this is shaping up to be one big waste of time. Nevertheless, I have nothing else to run with. I hope I can find something useful." He put the ore back and closed the lid. "One down, fifteen to go."

Damia was busily scanning the datalinks for general information about the history of Earth after 2008. She wasn't particularly pleased with what she read. Earth's burgeoning population prompted a series of violent wars across the world, people died of starvation and multiple diseases… It was a mess. She decided to surf the datalinks– she wasn't altogether sure if people 'surfed' the datalinks in 2132 – to see if YouTube still existed. The call button on her door beeped. "Come in," she said. The door slid open and Dravis walked in. "Hello, Mr. Dravis," she said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Thank you, Miss Derbyshire," said Dravis, "but I'm actually conducting official business. I need you to recall the incident with Briscoe earlier today so that I can properly file my report to Shiva."

Damia suppressed a chuckle. Anytime Dravis mentioned sending a report to Shiva, she thought of the Doctor's theory. She offered Dravis a seat. "There isn't much to it," Damia started. "I was waiting for the lift and Briscoe came at me. I got scared and ran."

"Right into an airlock," said Dravis.

"I know it sounds silly, but I've never been on a space station before," she said sheepishly. Dravis' face remained expressionless. Damia didn't like that about him. It was obvious that he was an experienced businessman and he learned never to show emotion for fear of giving something away. I can only imagine what he's like at home with Mrs. Dravis, she thought. He probably doesn't even have a wife.

Dravis finally spoke to break the silence. "Indeed," he said. Damia took a drink of water. "Tell me, Miss Derbyshire, where did you get your preliminary education to become a special agent?"

Damia had to force back a spit take. That was one question she hadn't expected to answer. She assumed since they were alone, Dravis felt he could be a little bolder. Perhaps it was because she was a woman and he felt he could take advantage of her. She began to shake slightly. She hoped Dravis wouldn't notice, but at the same time she couldn't think of a decent lie. "Mars," she said at last.

Dravis looked intrigued. "My, my," he said. "Very impressive. PTMC doesn't take many applicants from Mars…"

Damia smiled, thinking she had pulled it off.

"…especially because there aren't any education programs to become a special agent," Dravis finished.

Damia's smile faded. "I…was exceptionally gifted," she said.

"Of course," said Dravis. He rose from his seat. "Thank you for the report, Miss Derbyshire. You've been very helpful."

"Can you tell me where the Doctor is?" she asked.

"He's still in the storage area inspecting the cargo," Dravis said. "If you'll excuse me…" He left the room.

He suspects, thought Damia. He tricked me, and I fell for it. Now what do we do? He'll probably kill us and dump us out an airlock. She took a deep breath. Stay calm, stay calm. I should probably get in touch with the Doctor. She activated the room pager and requested the storage area. She heard a chirp on the pager. "Doctor, are you there?" she said.

"I'm here, Damia," he said. "I'm almost finished with the containers. I'm sorry to say that this has been a bust. There's nothing out of the ordinary with this ore."

"Well, I think we have bigger problems," she said.

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"I think Dravis suspects us of being frauds," she said with a worrisome tone.

"Good," said the Doctor. "It's about time. It doesn't matter anyway; he can't do anything about us."

"He could have us killed!" said Damia.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "He can't do that. He'd have to cover his tracks, which wouldn't be easy given the amount of people on the station."

"You don't know if they're all under his thumb! Maybe he's paid them to look the other way! You don't even know if your theory about him being here is correct!" she said frantically. She was practically on the verge of tears.

"Calm down, Damia," said the Doctor. "Obviously I don't know if my theory is correct. If I did, it wouldn't be a theory."

"That's not the point!" she said with a huff. Sometimes it was impossible trying to talk to him. She decided to change the subject. "So you have no idea what's going on?"

"Nope," said the Doctor. "I think I'll do some in-depth analysis on the ore. I found one that looks like a small rock. I'll get Orac from the TARDIS and see what I can find."

"Good luck with that," she said. She switched off the pager and went back to the datalinks, her mind slightly more at ease. What she did not know, however, was that Dravis had been listening through the door and heard the entire conversation. He smiled to himself as he walked back to his office.

The Doctor arrived back at the room with the platinum ore and a small rectangular box. It was completely transparent and the inside was a mass of circuitry connected to an orb with lights. This was Orac, a relatively portable supercomputer. The Doctor had, in his words, "liberated" Orac from a laboratory in the 24th or 25th century. He was going to be used by a group called the Federation (which had nothing to do with Star Trek; he always made a point to mention that) to bring down resistance forces. It was also said Orac could predict the future, but the Doctor had never seen any proof of that. Damia had once commented that the Doctor was smart enough without the aid of Orac, but the Doctor assured her that he wouldn't keep him forever. He said that he knew a group of seven people who could use Orac more than he did.

The Doctor placed a couple of leads on the ore and connected them to Orac. He flipped a switch and a low, steady whir emitted from the machine. The lights on the orb blinked in an alternating pattern. "How's it going, Orac?" said the Doctor.

"My operating system has passed all diagnostic checks," said Orac with a nasal-sounding voice. "I am functioning within acceptable parameters."

"Fantastic," said the Doctor. Damia knew it was only a matter of time before Orac's formal computer vocabulary would irritate the Doctor. The first time she was introduced to the Doctor and Orac, he was a pain to work with. A necessary pain, the Doctor later admitted, but a pain nonetheless. "Orac," said the Doctor, "I need you to analyze this platinum ore and state its composition."

Orac began to click. Within a few seconds, his job was finished. "Analysis complete," he said.

"What have we got?" asked the Doctor.

"This ore is primarily comprised of platinum," said Orac.

Damia laughed. The Doctor slapped a hand to his forehead. "Thanks, Orac. Now tell me something I do know."

"There are also trace amounts of argon, carbon, lithium, and iron," Orac stated with an air of authority.

"Is there anything that could cause a human's body to turn completely grey? Any radioactive isotopes?"

"There is insufficient data to arrive at that conclusion," Orac said. "However, it should be noted that this ore has been exposed to a large amount of fusion energy."

"Fusion energy?" asked the Doctor. That didn't make sense to him. He furrowed his brow trying to understand Orac's statement. "How did fusion energy seep into the ore?"

"There is a very obvious explanation for that query," Orac said. The Doctor rolled his eyes. For a computer, Orac had an ego that rivaled most humanoids. Of course, many of the Doctor's companions had said that he had a big ego, too. It was possible that there wasn't enough room in the universe for two egos of that size. "All PTMC installations are constructed with a preliminary detonation of several fusion-powered explosives in the respective area. The surface is then excavated with more precision to form the standard mining facility."

"So the fusion bombs must have contaminated the platinum," concluded Damia.

"Affirmative," chirped Orac.

"But to turn a human grey and cause him to hear voices in his head? That's what I call P.N.P.," said the Doctor.

"What's P.N.P.?" asked Damia.

"Possible, Not Probable."

"Correct. The probability of a platinum ore with this level of contamination infecting a human in the manner you describe is .00602018%," said Orac. "However, probability increases if the platinum originates from the Uranian satellite Oberon."

"Why is that?" asked the Doctor.

"Reasoning is not well-founded, but it is believed that a form of life on Oberon is primarily platinum-based. Said species is also believed to be extinct."

"Interesting," mused the Doctor. "That's certainly a new way to look at the problem. Unfortunately, I don't think Dravis will buy it."

The room pager beeped. "Doctor," said Susie, "I think you should come to sickbay. Briscoe's come out of sedation and he's becoming increasingly agitated."

"I'm on my way," said the Doctor. He put the ore in his coat pocket. "I'll be back soon," he said to Damia. "Oh, hello, what's this?" His hands had a thin layer of platinum dust from handling the ore. He wiped his hands with a tissue and placed it in another pocket.

Briscoe was struggling against the restraints on his bed. "Invaders!" he shouted. "Invaders!"

The Doctor entered the sickbay amid Briscoe's ranting. "How long has that been going on?" he asked Susie.

"A few minutes," Susie replied. "I think he's lost his mind."

"Possibly," said the Doctor, "or perhaps he has a new one."

"What do you mean?" Susie asked.

"Just a thought, that's all," said the Doctor. He moved over to Briscoe's bed, taking care not to get too close lest he provoke a violent outburst. "What do you mean 'Invaders'?" he asked Briscoe. "Who are the invaders?" Briscoe did not respond. He began breathing heavily and sucking air through clenched teeth. The Doctor checked the vital signs on the monitors. He couldn't get an answer; the machines were mysteriously unable to give any sort of reading. He turned back to Briscoe and withdrew the tissue he used to wipe his hands. He held the platinum stains up to Briscoe's grey skin. They were almost identical. "Okay, that's curious," he said, "but I need something more." He adjusted the monitor with his sonic screwdriver. It now showed the veins in Briscoe's body.

"What are you doing?" said Susie.

"I'm checking his blood flow," said the Doctor. His eyes widened. "That's impossible!" he said. Something from the corner of his mind prompted him to look around. He didn't feel right, but he soon knew why. "Why aren't there any doctors in here? For that matter, what about the security detail Dravis assigned here?"

"I gave them the night off, Doctor," said Dravis as he emerged from the doorway. Two guards accompanied him. "Of course, for all I know you're not really a doctor, considering you're not a special agent like you claim to be." The guards raised their blasters at the Doctor.

"Dravis, we can deal with this later," he said. "Right now you've got a bigger problem on your hands."

"Stall tactics don't work on me," Dravis said with a touch of ice.

"I'm serious!" pleaded the Doctor. "Look at the monitor of his blood flow."

"What am I looking for?" Dravis asked, though it was clear he didn't care.

"His blood is turning into platinum. For that matter, his entire body is becoming platinum. I don't know why, but if you'll give me time…"

His sentence was cut short by an ear-piercing screech emanating from Briscoe. The Doctor, Susie, Dravis, and the guards gripped their ears and slumped to the ground in pain. Briscoe tore through the restraints with a sort of superhuman strength. He hopped off the bed and his head jerked upwards to the ceiling. It began to twist and contort, eventually losing its human shape. Susie ran out in fright. The guards had their blasters pointed at Briscoe but were unsure what to do.

"Fire, you fools, fire!" shouted Dravis. The guards primed their blasters, but then Briscoe's head lowered. It had taken on a more bulbous shape and there were no visible ears or nose. Instead there was a huge yellow eye with an iris as black night in the center where his face would be. From the chin area protruded a set of mandibles. With amazing speed he reached the guards and put a hand around each of their necks. He threw them across the room and their necks broke with an audible cracking sound.

Dravis used that moment to slip past Briscoe and escape. The only person left in the room was the Doctor. He stood up to face this strange creature that seemed to have assimilated Briscoe's body. Fighting it would do no good, but he couldn't run, either. The creature was blocking the only way out. He had to think of something quickly. The creature screeched again. Its body language suggested it was about to rush the Doctor.

"This can't be good," the Doctor said emphatically.

TO BE CONTINUED…