Ooooh, maaaan. Thanks to Alex Ryzlin Gold and Sadako Mcfly for the reviews. I was debating if I should continue this or not.
I still own nothing. Not even my Netflix account.
Kneeling my the head of her old bed Brittany gently wiped the light sheen of sweat from the Doctor's forehead with a damp cloth, her eyes taking in the wisps of dark hair sticking to caramel skin that had gone a sickly pale echo of what she thought it should have been. The Time Lord had, again, succumbed to unconsciousness, but this time it was a restless, shuttering sleep. The girl's body shook in waves of discomfort, her breathing unsteady, and eyes rolling under closed lids. In an effort to ignore the faint whimpers escaping the Doctor's lips, Brittany let herself be distracted by Rory popping his head around the tree-shaped hole where her door used to be. She kind of hoped he would say something, but he just looked from her to the prone form she was crouched next to. She frowned as his face hardened into an expression she couldn't place, and the boy turned away, continuing his trek to the living room. The blonde sighed to herself, shaking her head a little before looking back to the agitated face on her pillow. On top of the mysterious "something big" that was coming, and not being able to depend on the Doctor waking up to help them, Rory was being weirdly tense again. Another sigh. She brushed her fingers lightly over the Doctor's cheek, pushing a few slightly damp strands of the other girl's hair back behind her ear before standing. One last glance, skimming over the small, twitching body under her faded old quilt, and Brittany made her way towards the sound of her Irish friend asking to use the computer to look something up.
When she entered the living room her mother was looking at the clock, muttering about it being midnight, and stirring a few cups of tea on the coffee table, while Rory clacked away on the Pierces' laptop.
"Any change?" her mom asked, handing her a steaming mug. It was her usual cup, but the yellow paint on its sides seemed inappropriately cheerful considering how the day had gone so far.
Brittany shook her head, gloomily, "She's getting worse, and I can only hear one heartbeat, now."
She perched on the arm of the sofa, blowing on the tea in her hands as a half-hearted attempt to cool it, and glanced at the TV. It was still on the news broadcast. An older man with short graying hair was chattering away about something she couldn't bother to listen to until the little graphic of a space probe slid into place by his head, indicating their next topic.
"Scientists in charge of NASA's mission to Mars have just reestablished contact with the Guinevere I Space Probe. They're expecting the first transmission from the planet's surface in the next few minutes."
The broadcast flipped to the bearded man she remembered from earlier, again speaking into the microphones of excited reporters.
"Yes, we are. We're back on schedule. We've received the signal from Guinevere I, and the Mars landing would seems to have been an absolute success."
"Is it true that you completely lost contact with it earlier tonight?" cut in an off screen reporter.
"Y-Yes. We had a bit of a scare earlier when Guinevere seemed to fall off the scope, but was just a blip. It only disappeared for a few seconds. She's fine now. Absolutely fine," the scientist reassured, quickly, "We should be getting the first pictures transmitted live any minute now, so I'd better get back to work. Thank you." He nodded and hurried away from the cameras.
" 'ere we go," Rory piped up, "Pilot fish." The two women turned to look at him as he pointed to the screen, apparently reading. Brittany wondered if he had an accent when he read in his head, too.
"Scavengers, li'e th' Doc'or said. Tiny, but, th' little fish swim along si'e the bigga' fish."
"Like dolphins?" Brittany asked.
Rory blinked, "More li'e sharks. Grea' big sharks. So th' Doc'or meant we got th' little fish, an' now we get th' sharks."
Brittany started blankly at the shark picture on the computer screen. "Something is coming," she said softly, her voice ominously heavy. Her grip on the yellow mug tightened. The image on the TV screen stuttered. Lines of snowy static breaking the video feed for a moment.
"How close?" She asked.
"Dunno. Can' tell, but the pilot fish dun swim far from th' bigga' fish."
"… Then it's close."
"Pretty weird rocks…" murmured her mother, tilting her head at the screen. Brittany looked to the television again. It was mostly static now, but through the distortion she could pick out a faint image, slowly coming into focus. Blue eyes widened.
"That's not rocks." She stood, setting her tea on the coffee table, and stepping towards the blurry screen. The lines of static leveled out for a moment, hesitating long enough to catch a clear picture of large red eyes glaring into the camera from behind what looked like a mask made of carved bone.
"This is coming to you live from the depths of space on Christmas morning!" cheered a commentator in the background.
The three leaned in, much like the rest of the viewing audience across the world, both fascinated and terrified by the fuzzy, but steady image on their screens. Suddenly with a violent, rumbling yell the face jolted forwards, the video feed filling with the sharp yellow teeth of the bone mask. The creature's roar sent them all jumping back, yelping and tripping over themselves. The news anchor came back on, looking shaken, but carrying on in a commendable show of professionalism.
"As you've just seen, all across the world, these images seem to be the first proof we've ever had of alien life forms."
Brittany, Evelyn, and Rory all just looked at each other. The sharks had arrived.
Miles away the bearded scientist was being ushered into a secret room of a secret building by a team of secret service agents. The narrow hallway opened up into a large room with walls made of what looked like hollowed out stone. The man made cave had been filled with a grid of desks an low cubicle walls all facing the front wall where a gigantic projector screen scientist felt the large hand steering him by one arm tug him to a halt behind a smartly dressed woman conversing quickly in low tones with what seemed to be a general of some kind. As soon as the hand left the scientist's arm the woman turned, and his entourage of agents promptly retreated, disappearing into the crowds of researchers and military personnel manning computer stations and phones around the room. The woman put out a hand for him to shake.
"Shelby Corcoran. President of the United States of America," she introduced.
He shook it nervously, "Uh… Y–Yes, I know who you are, Madam President. I'm Dr. Llewellyn. I suppose I just ruined your Christmas."
"I'm never off duty," she said firmly, "Now, we've put out a cover story. Jacob is handling it."
She gestured towards a small man with glasses, and a thick puff of hair on his head. The man clicked his bluetooth off, and looked up at the scientist.
"Saying it was a hoax," his voice was irritatingly high, and obnoxiously nasally, "Kids hacking the signal as a prank."
President Corcoran didn't seem to enjoy listening to him either, if the faint twitch of her eye was any indication.
"I don't suppose it really was a hoax, was it?" Llewellyn interjected.
Shelby ushered him away from her employee, "Unfortunately no, or we could all go home." A runner handed her a cup of coffee as she passed, and she took a sip before continuing. "The transmission appears to be genuine, and this seems to be a new species of alien. At least, not one we've encountered before."
He frowned, confused, "You seem to be talking about aliens as a matter of fact."
"There's an act of congress banning my autobiography," she stated simply without pausing.
A tall black man in a decorated army uniform called her attention over to a woman wearing a headset, typing at a computer station, "Ms. Hollingsworth here can explain."
The woman stood, tossing the headset down, and shaking out her dirty blonde hair.
The President looked her over. "I don't believe we've met," she said firmly, "Shelby Corcoran. President of the United States."
The woman blinked, "Yes, I know who you are…. Uh, right. We've found that the transmission didn't come from the surface of Mars. Guinevere I was broadcasting from a point 5,000 miles above the planet. In other words... the aliens have a ship, and the probe is on board."
Llewellyn frowned, "If they're not on the surface right now, then they might not even be from that planet at all. Maybe they're not actual Martians…!"
The army major looked at him like he had just said the most obvious thing in the world, "Of course they aren't. Martians look completely different."
Llewellyn stared.
"We think the ship was already in flight and just happened to come across the probe."
"And it's still moving," the blonde emphasized, "We've got it on the Hubble array." She turned to open something on her computer, pulling it up onto the huge screen that stood at the front of the open room."
"Moving where?" Shelby asked, crossing her suited arms across her chest.
"Towards us."
"How fast?"
"Very."
On the screen was a graphic approximation of the inner section of the solar system. It zoomed in to show just Mars and Earth. A pinging spot of light marked where the ship was making its way from the orbit of the red planet towards the blue.
"What was your name again?"
The blonde glanced up, "Sally, ma'am."
Shelby stared at the screen, trying to keep her face stoic, "…Thank you, Sally."
"Brittany!" Rory yelled, gesturing for her to come look at the computer screen, "Loo' a' tha. Th' govn'ment's trackin' th' ship."
Brittany whined to herself, wishing he could talk like a normal person instead of in his weird half-leprechaun language so she wouldn't have to give herself a headache trying to understand him. She hopped over to him, leaning over his shoulder. The screen showed a blinking dot between two not blinking dots, one red, one blue.
"It's big, fast, an' commin' this way."
She frowned, "For what, though? The Doctor?"
He shook his head, "Dunno. Could be for all o' us."
The map changed, transitioning into the shape of a number of red-eyed bone masks. The one in the middle was bobbing like it was talking, and the laptop's speakers started growling out something that might sound like words if you were speaking German with laryngitis and were also a mountain lion-alligator crossbreed with a lisp.
They squinted at it, trying to pick up anything recognizable.
"Do ye have any idea wha' they're sayin'?" Rory asked.
The blonde shook her head. She was surprise she was still understanding most of what he was saying, let alone what liongators were saying. The growling speech seemed to end, syllables dissolving into what seemed like a roar of approval from the masked aliens. The leader brandished a menacing looking sword over his head, yelling his cry along with the rest.
"I don't understand them. The TARDIS translates languages inside my head all the time. Wherever I am." She felt her distress tightening her chest again, "It's not working."
The Irishmen looked at her, "Why not?"
She shook her head, never taking her eyes off the bone faces cheering on the computer, "I don't know. Maybe it's the Doctor." She glanced over her shoulder to where the Doctor was laying up in her room, "Maybe she's like a wire, or something. Without that wire the circuit is broken…."
Her voice trailed off as she felt the burn of tears trying to form in her eyes at the thought of her traveling companion. Part of her still felt like this was the tan girl's fault. If she'd never showed up… If she'd never taken Brittany's wide-lipped friend away in that burst of light then it wouldn't be up to them to save the world by themselves. She stepped back from Rory so he wouldn't see her face twist against her will. She was overwhelmed. Her childish, laughing Doctor was gone forever, and would never be able to save her again. Instead of a tall yellow haired man shrieking his glee at having thought up a brilliant new plan to save everyone and make it back in time to stop for ice cream there was a comatose Latina writhing helplessly in her bed, and, apparently, leaking beacons of energy that call alien brass bands to make holiday decorations attack them. Brittany walked into the empty hallway. She slid down the wall, wrapping one arm around her knees, and pressing the other against her mouth to muffle the quiet sobs. The Earth was probably about to be obliterated and her Doctor was gone. In the house she grew up in, the sounds of Rory typing in the living room, her mother shuffling around in the kitchen, and a girl fighting just to survive upstairs…. Brittany had never felt more alone.
Shelby shifted, her hands clasped behind her back, and eyes trained steadily on the information filled screen on the front wall of the room. She ignored the bustling around her except for the dark skinned army officer sliding up to her, his gaze matching hers as they both watched the data stream by.
"How far off is the ship?" she questioned.
"About five hours, Madam President."
A newscaster showing on a near by monitor spoke up, "Speaking strictly off the record; Government sources are calling this… Our longest night."
A moment of relative silence passed between them.
The woman turned to him, "I don't suppose we've had a code 9? No sign of the Doctor?"
He shook his head regretfully, "Nothing yet."
She tried not to sigh too heavily, and looked away again, rubbing at her mouth in thought. She had hoped he'd show by now, and didn't have any way of contacting him.
"You've met him, haven't you?" the man asked quietly, his curiosity obvious behind dark eyes.
She nodded mutely.
"He's the stuff of legend…"
"He is." The woman pressed two fingers against her temple, hoping to stave off the threatening migraine, "Well, in case he doesn't pop out of the woodwork, what about Torchwood?"
His jaw went slack for a split second before he could catch his surprise.
"I realize that I'm not suppose to know about it, I do. Not even the United Nations knows, but if there were ever a time for them to be called upon– this would be it." She leveled a glare at him, daring him to deny it.
"I– I can't take responsibility," he stuttered.
"I can."
She kept her gaze steady on him as she stared.
"See to it. Get them ready."
He nodded curtly and moved away to comply as another aide jogged over.
"Madam President? We've got the translation software almost completed, and a translation to show you."
Shelby gestured for him to set the laptop he was carrying down an unused desk. On the computer showed a recording of the aliens' last broadcast, and a box where the English approximation of the unknown language was.
"Alright, so it starts with 'people,'–which could also mean 'cattle'– 'You belong to us. To the Sycorax'– not Martians. They seem to be called Sycorax–'We own you. We now possess your land, your minerals, your precious stones. You will surrender, or they will die.'" The young man glanced up at his president, "Then, 'Sycorax strong, Sycorax mighty, Sycorax… rock.'– as in the modern sense, they rock."
Llewellyn had joined them by now, "'they' will die? Who is 'they'?"
The aide shrugged, "I don't know, but it is the correct pronoun. It's they."
"Send them a reply," Shelby cut in, "Tell them that this is a day of peace on planet Earth, and that we extend this peace to the Sycorax, but that this planet is armed, and we do. Not. Surrender."
He nodded, hesitantly, and jotted down her message before gathering up his computer and heading off.
Brittany bit at her thumbnail, deep in thought. She stood leaning against what was left of her door frame, looking over the sleeping form of her mother where the woman had accidentally draped herself over one side of the bed after falling asleep wishing she knew what the Doctor needed to wake up safely, and the Tme Lord herself, now having fallen into a less fitful rest.
Rory stepped up next to her, brown eyes raking over the scene.
"The Doctor wouldn't do this," she mumbled, brow furrowed in what Rory worried might become a permanent crease soon, "The old Doctor. The real Doctor. He'd wake up and save us."
He glanced at her, then back to the sleeping shapes inside her room. When he spoke again it was a solemn voice. "Ye really loved 'im, didn' ya."
The fidgeting of her hands stilled, blue gaze never shifting.
She sighed softly, "I don't think I ever had the chance to find out."
Brittany let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, then turned her body to hug him, needing his solid shape to reassure her that maybe all wasn't lost. That she wasn't completely alone. That…. She didn't know. She just needed someone to comfort her. Her friend wrapped his arms around her, his eyes softening from their unreadable wall to a faintly bitter sadness as he watched the unmoving body of the new Doctor over the embrace. Longest night, indeed.
"Here comes the response!" Sally yelled. Everyone paused what they were doing as all attention turned to the large screen. The image switched from computations and maps to a video feed of yellowed bone masks. The apparent leader growled at the camera, and threw a hand into view. A vibrant blue light pulsed over the appendage leveled at them, but nothing else happened.
Shelby frowned, "What was that?"
The large soldier kept watching the feed, "It looked like someone casting a spell…"
The aide sitting to the right of where the President stood clicked away at his translation software, but shook his head, "I'm not sure. It might be another kind of language– some sort of ideogram, or pictogram…"
Sally Hollingsworth stepped away, face blank. With a swish of dirty blonde hair she joined up with a number of other empty-faced personnel who were walking as a group towards the stairwell.
"What the hell?" Dr. Llewellyn shouted, jumping up from his chair nearby. The group jostled through their stunned co-workers without the slightest acknowledgement of anyone else in the room, a blue pulse of light echoing around their heads. The armed guards by the doors brought their weapons up, pointed at the bodies shuffling towards them.
"It's the same light as the alien!" the scientist cried, "Don't hurt them! I don't think they're in control right now!"
"But what's happening?" Someone yelled, "Where are they going?"
In Ohio a blonde head cocked at the front door. Outside she could hear a frantic shouting. Quickly the Brittany darted to open the door, popping her head around it to see what was happening. In the early morning hours she saw her neighbor trudging down the road, his wife shrieking for him to please stop. She kept asking him what he was doing, and pulling at his robe, but receiving no response.
"What's going on?" Brittany called out.
A scared face turned to her, the woman's arms letting go of her husband for a moment, "I don't know! He won't listen, and he won't stop walking." The woman hurried to catch up to him again, mumbling as she moved out of earshot, "And there's this… light thing…"
Brittany stepped outside, watching them continue off. She heard the door shut as Rory joined her, staring down the street. Following his gaze the blonde gasped. The street was filled with people. Expressionless figures followed by distressed loved ones trying to get answers from them. There both individuals, and chunks of families locked in the haze, the remaining members frantically hovering around them in terror, begging them to respond. A pajama clad parade of zombies making its way steadily down her block.
"They're all going to the same place," Shelby stated said over her shoulder. She and scattered members of her staff were in the stairwell with the still unresponsive mob. The cinder block walls pulsed blue with reflections of the light thrumming around silent heads. A few paces behind her walked the uniformed black man, a phone to his ear.
"President Corcoran," he said, nodding to her over the shorter heads of the crowd, "They're saying it's not just here. This is happening all over the world. They all seem to be heading towards the highest buildings they can find."
Dr. Llewellyn's head peered down over the railing at them from a flight above, face pale under his nervously twitching beard.
"They're going all the way up," he yelled to them, "They're going to the roof."
Brittany stared in shock as lines of people she grew up with climbed the stairs of the fire escape on the outside of an old apartment near by her house. On the roof she could see silhouettes shuffling closer and closer to the edge. A mass of people stood there, probably a foot from falling, and then stopped.
The aide turned away from his computer solemnly, looking to his president, "According to current estimations it's about a third of the population right now."
"Surrender or they will die…" the scientist recited to himself. His wide eyes went to the army man next to him on the roof, "Or they will all die…"
"What do we do?" Rory asked.
Brittany stared at the building a moment longer. "Nothing. There's no one to save us," she said, hopelessly. "Not any more…"
"Wait a minute," the aide shouted, jumping up, "There's a pattern!"
Shelby's head snapped in his direction.
"All these victims seem to be families. Brother and sister, father and daughter. Family groups, but not husbands and wives."
"Oh my god," Llewellyn cried softly, having just returned from the rooftop. The horror creeping into his voice snagged everyone's attention, "It's Guinevere I."
The bearded man looked at the aide, "Do you have medical records for all of your staff?"
While he nodded, and hurried to pull them up, the president moved to stand beside the tall black man.
"Anything from Torchwood?" she asked quietly.
"Still working on it. Bare in mind that they have just lost a third of their staff–"
"But do the have what we need?" Shelby snapped.
"… Yes, ma'am."
She glared at him, "Well, tell them to hurry up."
The officer nodded silently, and stepped away.
"Here we go!" the scientist yelled, skimming over the file in front of him, "Sally Hollingsworth. Blood type: A positive. Who else walked out…? Luke Parsons: A positive. Martin Baxter: A positive. That's it." He looked up at the frosty brunette woman, "They're all A positive."
"How many A positives are there in the world?" the aide asked.
"No idea, but I'd be willing to bet it's one third."
"What's so special about that blood group?" Shelby asked.
"Nothing. Except…" he sighed, "This is my fault."
Llewellyn clicked something and a window opened on his screen. It was a list of things, and a graphic of the space probe. "Guinevere I has one of those plaques about the human race in case–" he shrugged, "Well, in case any aliens came across it… It's a message to the stars. We didn't expect anything to come of it, but I put in maps and music and songs… There are wheat seeds, and water and…" he looked up, regretfully, "and one vial of blood. A positive. I don't know how, but with that somehow they–"
"They control the blood," President Corcoran's face was hard. "…There's just one more thing I can try. Major come with me."
The news broadcast cut off suddenly. In a blink the graying anchorman was replaced with the image of a stone-faced Shelby Corcoran sitting with her hands clasped on at massive wooden desk. Behind her were a few large American flags and a window overlooking Washington D.C.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, "I'd like to take a moment during this terrible time to speak with you. As you know, this crisis is unique… And I'm sorry to say that it might get worse. I have to ask you all to remain calm, but I do have one request." Her eyes flicked away from the camera for a second before returning, filled with a queasy mix of determination and despair, "Doctor, if you are out there…"
Brittany felt that helpless feeling grasp at her chest again.
"We need you. I don't know what to do. If you can hear me, Doctor… If anyone knows the Doctor… If anyone can find him…. The situation has never been more desperate."
The blonde swallowed her threatening sorrow, turning away.
"Help us."
She walked out of the room quickly, leaving her mother and Rory still watching the president's last-ditch effort to reach humanity's only hope.
"Please, Doctor. Help us."
Her blue eyes blurred with tears she didn't know she had left. She made it to her bedroom, but couldn't bring herself to step inside. A sob broke through her pale lips. From the doorway the girl could see that last hope. A dying Doctor wrapped in her favorite pajamas. Motionless.
