Slivers - Seeking

Most of the zillions of slivers were *moving* now, unthinkingly seeking the face, or the name. Following the portrait, or the call. Find me, Doctor. Find me...

They began bumping into each other as they sought the same channels through time and space, automatically coalescing as they did. Some ghost of consciousness began seeping into the largest resulting clumps of slivers, and they began to put the clues together, matching the call, the voice, the name. Rose...

A larger clump began to coalesce near the genesis of the portrait, gaining a bit more ability to think. It – he – stared at the portrait across the hall from his window, feeling that spark of recognition again at both the man and the woman. When an older man came through and glanced at him, he thought he might know him, too, but then he automatically flicked away when he caught the man's eyes.

He flicked to another window, seeing another familiar face, a pretty, middle-aged blonde woman. She screamed at him, though, and he flicked away again.

Then, finally, after an eternity of searching, he found her. And knew her. Rose... He stopped, finally able to control the flicking for just a moment, and stared. And she saw him, and screamed too. Still, he stayed.

And then the man in the portrait came into view beside her, and he knew him, too. He was, somehow, himself. A name came to him, bringing a ghost of a memory of a sound... He tried, desperately, to call to the man. "Help me!" Almost before he could get out the name, he flicked away yet again, unable to hold himself there any longer.

flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick flick

Then, suddenly, every single sliver *stopped* at the same instant, as an impossibly distant clarion call swept through them. It latched onto each individual sliver, magnetizing them and placing an unbreakable compulsion over each tiny atom of consciousness, whirling them around and drawing them inexorably towards a single point. A room. A moment. A figure, sitting in a chair. From a million miles away, a billion years, the beacon was lit, calling them, swiftly and surely, to that point.

The slivers *turned* as one, and flung themselves towards the beacon.