The car sped down the road, peaking at sixty miles per hour and showing no signs of slowing. At first, Myka was in shock, with an involuntary white-knuckled grip on the unresponsive steering wheel and completely unable to manage anything other than an inaudible stammer. Finally, the Doctor pried Myka's hands from the wheel and gently pressed them into her lap.
"Relax, Agent Bering. I promise that there are much stranger things in the universe than automated cars, and you're going to just have to go along with it for now."
Myka looked down at her lap and the Doctor's hands curled around hers, the only tangible thing that left her convinced that this wasn't a dream. "But…but there's no possible way it can be moving."
"There's no possible way for a lot of things to happen that have happened. Why, you wouldn't believe what happened to me once, many years ago." She squeezed Myka's hands before leaning back and launching into her story.
For a while, the Doctor entertained them both with a tale of "the last time I chased down cars that drove themselves," though she seemed thoroughly astonished that Myka hadn't heard of what she described as "the ATMOS crisis." It was precisely strange enough to make Myka forget that she was in a car speeding down the road of its own accord, and by the end, the Doctor's enthusiastic rendition of the story had Myka holding her breath.
Unfortunately, the story couldn't last forever, and soon the Doctor was restless. After ten minutes, the Doctor began fiddling with the radio, stopping it on a jazz station. After another ten minutes, she dug through the glovebox and started skimming the manual. By the thirty minute mark, she was tearing pages out of the manual and folding them into perfect paper swans. Myka's nerves were slowly being whittled down by the exaggerated listless sighs from the passenger seat.
"You're a thousand years old, right? Shouldn't you have a little more patience?"
"Closer to one thousand and four hundred, but yes. And no. I travel by time machine—does that sound very patient to you?" Her nose crinkled and her fingers tapped out a swift rhythm on her knee.
Myka plucked the manual from her hands and put it back in the glovebox. "Don't ruin his things, at least. If you're one thousand four hundred years old, why do you look like you can't be over thirty?"
Seizing on any form of distraction from her boredom, despite an earlier claim that she detested discussing herself, the Doctor shifted in the seat to face Myka. "Well, for one, I always use sunscreen."
"Hilarious," Myka told her without a touch of humor, and the Doctor grinned and continued.
"I'm not immortal, per se…but I'm definitely not human, so I'm not going to function in quite the same way. This is my thirteenth face. Whenever I 'die,' to put it that way, I'm able to regenerate, only I'm a new person when I do. Then in each body, I age extremely slowly. My first form did grow frail, and I've been zapped a few times—it's never fun to suddenly age a century—but for the most part, my body can go untroubled by age for quite some time."
Myka looked at the speedometer. They were edging up to seventy. She tried to ignore it and returned her gaze to the Doctor. "A new person? So, your appearance changes?"
"Indeed. Many of my previous forms were men. Old, young, tall, short, all types. Last time, I was a middle-aged fellow with a magnificent mustache and these splendid gigantic eyebrows. Much more serious than me, and a bit preachy." With a smile, the Doctor reached up to touch her rich, dark locks. "No mustache now, but at least I'm not balding anymore. Besides, I don't think I'd look so good with one now, do you?"
A frown twisted Myka's lips as she tried to understand. "More serious? Does your personality change too?"
"Mhm. I become an entirely new person. Not that I'm ever radically different, but it's still a considerable change."
"Do you have unlimited regenerations?"
The Doctor hesitated, and it was the first time Myka had seen the playful glint vanish from her eyes. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth for an instant before she finally opened her mouth.
That was when they crashed.
The car went flying off of the road. Myka got a last glimpse of the speedometer before the airbags came flying out: Well over ninety miles per hour. Though the crash was over in a second, it felt infinitely long. The shriek of metal against metal rang out, and though Myka couldn't hear herself, she felt her mouth fall open in a cry of its own. A cloud of dust or smoke or both came billowing through where the windshield had once been.
When they finally came to a grinding halt, Myka discovered she was holding her breath. It poured out in a shaky, weak sigh. She reached beside her, searching for the Doctor's hand, in need of any reassurance, and discovered the other woman on the same search. They gripped each other tightly as the situation settled.
"Bollocks," the Doctor finally sighed. "One of us is going to have to tell that poor little man about his car."
Myka turned her stiff neck to meet the Doctor's eyes. They both stared at each other in silence for a long moment before a smile broke across Myka's face, immediately mirrored by the Doctor. "Not me. You're the one who made it take off." The situation was too absurd to do anything but grin, and Myka decided that she was going to have to revisit Camus with a new understanding if she ever got back home to her books.
"But I'm the Doctor and you're only the brand-new assistant! I say you tell him."
They laughed weakly and Myka untangled her hand from the Doctor's. "Are you alright?"
"Always. Are you?"
"Nothing hurts. I think I can get out of here okay."
"Let's see where our roadtrip has ended, then."
Soon they stood outside of the car, surveying the damage. The front was nearly obliterated; Myka couldn't believe that they'd gotten out unscathed. A thin puff of smoke rose up from the engine, but it wasn't enough to worry her. She'd seen cars on the verge of going up in flames before, and no immediate danger came from this wreck. They had torn halfway through the wide doors of a building—some sort of isolated warehouse outside of the city limits. Myka wondered if they would end up in jail for damaging private property. It would be quite the fitting end to her day.
"He'll need a new paint job," the Doctor finally observed, straight-faced.
Myka groaned, but she couldn't help but smile. "You think you're so funny, don't you?"
"Absolutely hilarious. Come on, let's look inside."
The moment she started to object, declaring that this was trespassing, the Doctor dashed ahead, jumping over the mangled metal. Myka had no choice but to follow her. "This is illegal! We're breaking the law!"
"Did you forget that we were just brought here by an autonomous car? Honestly, Agent Bering. Breaking in someone new can be so dreadful. We aren't going to just walk away from something like that." Hands on her hips, she surveyed the vast, empty space. "It appears to be abandoned, at any rate."
It was a fair point. If there was a force powerful enough to move a vehicle, Myka supposed it must be powerful enough to plan the direction. "Fine. But I'm saying you kidnapped me if the police show up."
"Wouldn't be my first kidnapping," the Doctor teased. Something across the room caught her eye and she took off towards it.
"Wouldn't be…." Myka repeated, momentarily dazed. With a loud, resigned sigh, she shook it off and set off after her.
The concrete floor of the warehouse was completely barren except for a few scattered beams and boxes. The metal walls were equally bare. The only break in the monotony was a wooden door opposite of the wall they'd burst through. When Myka caught up with her, the Doctor was staring mournfully at the door.
"It's wooden," she said. "The sonic screwdriver doesn't work on wood."
"Your screwdriver doesn't work on wood?"
"Perhaps you noticed, but it's not a traditional screwdriver," she snapped, but she frowned, an apologetic tone creeping into her voice. "No, it doesn't work on wood. Its uses are limited. You see, it's sonic, so it works through—oh!"
In one powerful kick, Myka drove her heel into the door to the side of the doorknob and the wood splintered. With another kick, it swung free.
"My," the Doctor said, admiration evident, "you'll have to show me how to do that sometime. The benefit of traveling with a government agent."
Myka pushed the door the rest of the way open, and she stepped through, followed closely by the Doctor. The room was nearly as empty as the rest of the warehouse. In the center, however, sat a simple wooden desk. An old computer monitor sat in the middle of the desk. It beeped softly when they entered.
"Stay back," the Doctor cautioned, stepping in front of Myka. "This is your first encounter with alien technology. Be prepared for danger."
It beeped again. Myka stared at it. "Doctor, it's a Dell computer. The only danger is it crashing on us."
Hands on her hips, the Doctor turned to face Myka. "Is this the time for quips, Agent Bering?"
Myka bit back a grin and held up her hands in apology. "Sorry, Ms. I-Always-Use-Sunscreen. Alright, if you're convinced it's alien, do you think it's transmitting some kind of signal?"
The Doctor nodded, taking a tiny step closer. This time the box beeped louder. "Seems likely."
"It's a shame I don't have my handgun with me. We could shoot it and be done."
Even as the computer beeped on, the Doctor spun around to look at Myka, appalled. "What, your gun?"
"I'm a Secret Service agent, which you were praising me for a few seconds ago."
"Yes, but that was when you were kicking down a door, not proposing that shooting things was an appropriate solution to a problem. I knew I should have just gone and found another retail worker." She threw her head back in frustration. "Who knows how hard it will be to break you of this habit."
"Yeah, because there's literally never any use for a gun." Myka snorted, derisive. Her life had been saved by having a weapon more times than she could count, and if they were facing alien forces, she had no intentions of diving in empty-handed. She didn't believe in excessive violence, but she also didn't believe in unnecessary risk. She'd seen what could happen when risks were taken.
"There isn't! There's always a better solution!"
"That is the most naïve—"
The beep that came from the machine this time was loud enough to make Myka clap her hands over ears. The Doctor grimaced in pain but took a step closer.
"Hello! Sorry! We'll quiet down!" she called. One hand went into her coat pocket and slowly withdrew the sonic screwdriver. The beeping slowly lowered to a soft buzz.
Myka pressed back against the wall and watched. The Doctor bent down over the desk, investigating the computer. She ran her fingers along the side, frowning in concentration.
"Do you speak, or do you just beep?" she asked. The computer remained silent.
Then, for the umpteenth time that day, Myka found herself once more completely stunned.
"I…speak." The voice was detached, robotic, but definitely real.
The Doctor rocked back on her heels. She shot a smile at Myka, and Myka smiled hesitantly back, wondering if the Doctor was already over their bickering. Maybe when you spent your time talking to robots that moved cars around, arguments over weaponry seemed trite. She tried to dispel her own irritation.
"Are you the one who carried our car here? And who's been crashing cars all over Cardiff?"
"I…am."
"I see. And what—sorry, who—are you exactly?"
"A…computer." The computer's voice sounded like every single robot voice Myka had ever heard in television or movies. It would have been comedic if it wasn't so strange.
It was accurate, if unhelpful. Only the monitor sat there, without any cords or a tower. It looked ancient, light grey and bulky, and the screen was black. The voice and beeping came from a speaker strip on the bottom of the monitor. Myka and the Doctor stared at it in mutual bewilderment.
Finally the Doctor spoke. "Alright. Hello, Computer. I'm the Doctor."
"I…know." A white line crackled across the screen as it spoke. Myka knew little about computers, but she knew nothing should be on the screen.
Myka's eyes widened at that; the Doctor was nonplussed. "What? You do? How—but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that sort of thing any more. Nice to meet you, then. Any reason you keep crashing cars?"
"No."
That wasn't the answer the Doctor had expected. She turned to Myka, who shrugged. "You're just doing it for fun, then?"
"No."
"Why is it happening?"
"I…do not…know. Can you…make it stop?"
"I never," the Doctor whispered under her breath. When she looked at Myka again, a dazed look filled her face. Myka only shrugged, lost as to what input she could possibly provide, and so the Doctor turned back to the computer. "How are you speaking?" she asked.
"I do…not know." There was silence. Then: "It…hurts."
"Is someone controlling you?"
"I am…alone."
She tugged the sonic screwdriver from her pocket again, tossing it up slightly and catching it. Myka counted to fifteen before the Doctor spoke again. "I could reprogram you, I suppose."
"Does it…hurt? Will I…stop thinking?"
"You'd still be thinking, I'd imagine, unless I fried you."
"No more…thinking. Please." It beeped twice.
The Doctor froze in hesitation again. Myka stepped forward, behind the kneeling woman, and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's just a computer," she whispered.
With a deep sigh, the Doctor leaned back, propped against Myka's leg. "But it thinks."
"It speaks. We don't know if it's really thinking." It was, after all, a computer monitor. They weren't usually known for sentience. It was strange, that was true, but it certainly didn't stir up any empathy in Myka.
"It feels pain," the Doctor whispered, voice cracking. "I cannot bear pain."
Myka knelt beside her. "So end its pain, right? Isn't that the easiest? It saves people and it fixes this whole issue." The computer beeped dully in front of them. It did not speak as the Doctor made her decision.
The resolution was only an instant. The screwdriver shone green and made its whirring noise, and the computer screen flashed white.
"Doc…tor," it croaked. Then the screen was black and the room was quiet. The two women stared at what was now merely an old computer monitor.
Rising, Myka reached to pull the Doctor to her feet. They crossed the empty warehouse without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. Myka was still trying to fully understand what had happened, an infuriatingly difficult task. It was only when they stood beside the wreckage of the car that Myka spoke.
"Was that it? Did we fix everything? No more cars being pulled into accidents?"
The Doctor shrugged, eyes unfocused. "I suppose so. It was easy, though, wasn't it? I don't think I've ever had such an easy go of things."
She patted the crumpled hood of the car. "A little anticlimactic to go from a car crash to a very polite '90s PC."
"Only…." With a sigh, the Doctor started to walk to the road, followed closely by Myka. "Only it raises more questions than it solves, doesn't it?"
"It called you Doctor."
"It did indeed. It had no motive. It wanted to stop causing the accidents. And, most importantly, computers don't just start piloting cars by themselves. There must be something bigger, but I don't know what to do. I've done what I came for. I don't…." She trailed off again. "Agent Bering, you'll need to call us a towing company."
Myka obliged. It was a long wait for the tow truck, spent in silence. Myka's mind was in disarray, her entire reality shaken by the day's events. She had stormed out of one discussion about aliens only to find herself partnered with an alien on a quest to stop a talking computer. Perhaps the Doctor and Captain Nielsen knew each other. It suddenly occurred to her that Captain Nielsen had talked about stopping aliens. Presumably some danger was involved. She looked at the Doctor, who felt her gaze and looked up with a faint smile. Myka shivered involuntarily and pulled her tan coat tighter around her. She wondered if the Doctor was one of the dangers Captain Nielsen had said came through the rift. An ache entered her chest, though she did her best to push it away.
Beyond all the joking and smiling, beyond the warm touch of the Doctor's hand, beyond the easy way they fit together like old friends—maybe there was something else, something more ominous and unpleasant. Myka wondered if it was possible for things to not be darker than they seemed. She'd read many books featuring alien invasions, but Wells and Bradbury hadn't written anything where a woman befriended an alien and they ran around solving puzzles together. And yet—
The Doctor reached over to grab Myka's hand, tearing her from tangled thoughts. "Thank you for your help today, Agent Bering."
And Myka smiled despite herself.
When they arrived back in Cardiff, it was dark and a chill had fallen over the town. A faint drizzle began as they paid their driver and stepped out onto the street.
"I'll be going home now," Myka said. The words were flat, strained, and she fought to push them forth. "I guess we probably won't see each other again."