CHAPTER 7: LOST IN SPACE

The Doctor was rooted to the spot in stunned disbelief, processing the information Amy had relayed to him. Five abducted humans for five alien lifeforms, yet the TARDIS had picked up six distinct signals. What was going on?

"Amy, things aren't adding up," he said. "I'm not sure what's going on yet, but sit tight, because an incredibly clever plan is on its way."

The Doctor tapped his ear, pausing the audio feed, and then he remembered: Miranda. She was still standing there off to one side, a witness to his entire half of the conversation, and he could only wonder what was going through her mind. Her face certainly showed no indication, hovering somewhere between confusion, amazement, bewilderment and wonder. Somehow, with great effort, she furrowed her brow and looked at the Doctor.

"What... who were... what was...?"

He smiled gently. "Lots of questions, I know. Questions are fun, so let me go first: where's the art room?"

"Uhh..." She tried to return to focus. "Art room?"

"Yes, art room. A room of arty things. A teacher. Black frizzy hair?"

"Oh. Yes-yes. Room 128." She still sounded dazed.

"Thank you," said the Doctor, genuinely. And with that, he started heading forth, but only took himself a few paces before stopping and looking back over his shoulder at Miranda.

"Answers are coming," he assured her. "After this is over, I'll explain everything. You deserve at least that much."

And then he ran.

Time was of the essence now. Things were becoming increasingly stacked against the Doctor, and whatever was happening - whatever these six, or five, were up to - was going to happen soon. They'd reformed their numbers. They had Amy on their ship. And they'd laughed. That was what irked the Doctor more than anything else - repeatedly, they'd flat-out laughed at his efforts and interrogations, knowing full well they were always a few steps ahead.

No longer, he told himself.

Answers are coming.

Feet pounded the floor as he maintained his pace, passing countless classrooms until he reached the right one: Room 128. The Doctor paused outside the door, allowing himself a moment of observation through its window. Wall to wall, the room was filled with art projects from dozens of students, pinned up for display and all showcasing varying ranges of colour and talent. Moving around tables, picking up used paintbrushes from scuffed tables, was a figure true to Amy's description. Long, black hair with strands that seemed to repel each other in every direction. A flowery dress, faded here and there. Sandals. A green pendant around her neck.

An exact replica of the woman trapped aboard that alien spacecraft. An alien in human's clothing.

Satisfied, he tapped his earpiece into life and announced to Amy: "Plan. Clever. Soon."

And tapping it off again, he swiftly opened the door and marched into the classroom.

With a handful of paintbrushes, the woman moved towards a nearby sink, seemingly oblivious to the intrusion. She dumped her bundle into the basin and turned the tap to full-force stream, blasting the stainless steel surface with a torrent of water.

"You there!" called out the Doctor, trying to be heard over the din.

She didn't respond, but began to wash the brushes under the water, pushing through the bristles with her fingers.

Her paint-stained fingers...

The Doctor cocked his head as he noticed what was happening. Despite the amount of water that was streaming over her hands, they remained marked with paint. Unclean. As though the splatterings of colour on her skin were part of her genetic makeup, physically unable to be removed...

Smiling now, the Doctor confidently approached the woman and grabbed her by the shoulder, wheeling her body around so the two were face to face. She look at him benignly.

"Sorry, were you there long? My hearing's not the best."

"Oh, don't give me that totally-innocent act," he said tiredly. "I know what you are. A Zanrope, right? And I know why that water's having such a hard time getting your hands clean. Not exactly easy when an appearance replicator doesn't know the difference between paint and skin, is it? That thing can't tell where your original human begins and ends. So let's you and I start being honest with each other - where's your ship?"

The woman turned the tap off and dried her hands against her dress. "There's always something," she said derisively. "If it's not dyed hair or makeup, it's painted fingers. Stupid humans."

"Blaming others for your mistakes - nice one. Where's your ship?"

"Well, technically, it's not my ship. I'm just part of the order."

"The order. The... six of you."

"Five. There's five of us. Do you go charging around everywhere with only half the facts?"

That confirms it, he thought. Even if it doesn't explain it.

"More or less. I learn as I go." The Doctor shifted his stance. "Tell me about this order of yours. It sounds positively delightful."

"We see. We observe. Then we make a decision."

"Hmm. A little vague, but I'll run with it for now. What is it that you lot have you decided?"

The woman grinned. "You're about to find out."

The Doctor leaned in, grabbing the woman's collar with two angry fists. "And you're testing my patience," he growled. "Today is not the day for cryptic teases. Five impostors, a spaceship, and a machine that you're all pretending doesn't exist - what are you planning?"

"Only what is necessary. For life to flourish elsewhere, death must occur here."

His grip loosened as his blood ran cold. "What...?"

She stared right into the his eyes, making sure she had his full attention.

"Life. For. Death."

The woman brought her hands up to reveal a mobile phone - her communicator, similar to the one the Doctor had earlier taken from the leader. With inhuman speed she thumbed in a button combination, each keypress punctuated by a short electronic trill before being capped with a longer, larger tone - and it was with that tone that a silent shaft of blinding light descended from above, enveloping her entire body. The Doctor could only stand back, eyes squinted, as the light pulsated, throbbing for a few seconds, before drawing narrower and narrower until it compressed in on itself and disappeared altogether, leaving an empty space in its wake.

The woman - the alien - was gone.

And with her, the Doctor's last lead.

"NO!" he cried in frustration, pounding a fist against the aluminium sink, the thump reverberating around the empty space of the room. "NO!"

It couldn't seem more hopeless. No information, no advantages, and the promise of imminent death by a group of beings who constantly seemed in control. The Doctor ran through the situation in his head, twice, three times. He paced the room, but saw no option...

...no other option...

...than the only one that lay before him.

With a heavy breath, the Doctor tapped his earpiece to life. "Amy, are you there?"

A burst of static. Then her familiar voice. "Where else would I be?" she grumbled. "Not that I know where 'there' is."

"Neither do I," the Doctor admitted. "My last lead has teleported, so I'm sorry... I really am... but I've got to do something incredibly stupid." He paused. "Is there a door to your cell?"

"What? Of course there's a door," Amy said in disbelief - and then, pointedly: "A locked door."

"Well, I don't know, some species don't use doors. Ever heard of the Talgeshi? Wormholes. No more creaky hinges - think about that next time you're trotting to the loo at night."

"Fantastic," replied Amy, deadpan.

The Doctor detected as much. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But you have a door. That's good. That's a good thing."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen carefully." His tone became serious, urgent, as he exited the art room and started walking back through the halls of the school building. "It's a big ol' universe out there, so we need to narrow it down. I need to know the exact whereabouts of the ship you're on, and unless you're fluent in Fashtren and can hack into their travel logs with a strand of your own hair and a bucket, you're going to have to do it the old fashioned way. A nearby planet, a star constellation, a meteor belt. Some sort of galactic marker that can tell me where you are."

"I'd love to," said Amy, "but this isn't exactly a room with a view. Bit light on windows."

"I'm getting to that. When I tell you to, I want you to take out your ear piece and put it up against the door of your cell." He reached into his jacket pocket. "I'm going to use the sonic to send a signal that'll open the lock. You can get out, have a look around, and tell me what you find - but be careful."

"Okay..." Nervousness overtook Amy's voice as she grappled with her sudden task.

"I'm heading back to the TARDIS now. There's nothing else here. From this point on, everything's with you, Pond."

"Right, I get it. No pressure."

"Now remember, remove your ear piece. The sonic's signal's meant for locks, not for brains. Unless you want yours to melt."

"Melt?"

"Well, maybe not melt. But you'll get a headache and think everything smells like turnips."

She sighed. "Okay... I'm taking it out now. Do it on three."

"Right." The Doctor removed his earpiece and pressed it to the tip of the sonic screwdriver. He started counting.

"One... two... three."

The sonic's green light flashed, and a high-pitched frequency came from its core. After only a second or two, the Doctor deactivated it, then returned the earpiece back to his ear.

"Did it work?"

"Like magic. The door's open. I can see a row of lights ahead, like a corridor. Opening out into a larger room."

"Are you able to go there without being seen?"

"I think so. I'm heading there now."

"Look for a window or some kind of display. Something that can help give an indication of where you are."

He could hear breathing, shuffling. Movement. "There's no-one here. It's deserted."

"Not likely. They've gone from school to ship - all five of them are up there with you."

"That's what I don't understand," said Amy. "Why are there only five when we you said there were six? Was the TARDIS wrong?"

"She's temperamental, but never wrong. Not with something as basic as a signal scan. Whether those five know it or not, there's a sixth out-of-region lifeform here."

"And that elusive all-powerful machine?"

"They're denying it, but it's here somewhere too. More than likely it's part of their plan - a molecular bomb, or a bio-engineered parasite. Something that's geared towards doing something not very nice to the people of this school. I just wish I knew what."

Amy paused. "Well, at least they've made their whereabouts easy for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've found a window. I've found one heck of a window. Large room, lots of chairs, control panels, flashing lights doing... flashing things..."

"You're on the bridge? Amy, what can you see out that window? Describe it."

"Earth, Doctor. I'm looking at Earth."

He immediately quickened his pace into a run. "Fantastic! Okay, get back to where you were so you don't-"

Ksssssssht! A sharp burst of static filled the Doctor's ear. Then, silence. Nothing.

"Amy?" the Doctor ventured.

Silence.

"Amy?" His voice became desperate.

Whatever had happened, their lines of communication seemed to be severed, kicking the Doctor into full gear. Sprinting now, he pushed through a walled double door at full force, racing out into the cloudless sunshine that covered the school yard, bounding across gravel, concrete, grass, until he was finally at the doors of the TARDIS. He fumbled with the lock, hands shaking, and slipped inside the entrance, racing up the ramp and almost colliding with the control pillar at speed. In a frantic blur, he flicked levers, clicked switches, and tapped away at the embedded typewriter, desperately hoping - needing - a result.

"Come on," he whispered to himself. "Come on..."

The TARDIS display came to life, showing Earth at its centre. It slowly zoomed outwards, getting smaller as the Moon crept into view, then-

"Ah-ha!" cried the Doctor. "Gotcha!"

A red dot appeared on the display, blinking to highlight the anomaly. An alien craft, just out of Earth's orbit. A resolution. Answers.

Amy.

The Doctor whirred around the controls, punching in the required coordinates. Twisting this, turning that, pushing these and those in seemingly random order, but eventually culminating his efforts in a grand hefting on a nearby lever that kicked the time rotor into action. Producing its signature cyclic wheeze, the TARDIS was instantly on the move and swiftly rocked the Doctor about the control area, forcing him to hang on to anything within reach. In a whimsier mindset he'd treat the violent movements as part of the ride, but this time, with everything that was at stake, they seemed to get in the way. He battled against them, furiously pushing back at the TARDIS's thrusts as he continued to work the control deck and steer his course to the desired location.

And then, with a sudden thud, he was there.

Barely allowing himself enough time to regain his footing, the Doctor sprinted down the ramp and bolted through the door. He looked around at his new surroundings, the sheer scale of which caused him to slow down in wonder.

A large room, a simply cavernous room of gleaming grey steel, curved upwards in a web of beams, with enough floorspace to rival an industrial warehouse. Dotted throughout were dozens of displays bearing numerous lights and digital readouts, surrounded by foreign-looking chairs at similarly foreign-looking control desks. But it was the enormous floor-to-ceiling window in front of him that captured his attention: a single portal, looking out into the star-filled galaxy and virtually dominated edge to edge with a gigantic sphere of blue and green.

Earth.

The Doctor had to crane his neck to look at its peak, such was its size. He suddenly felt very small, realising how much of a speck he and the TARDIS must look before it. He slowly moved around, footsteps echoing on the hard, smooth floor.

"Enjoying the view?"

A voice cut through his attention. The Doctor looked around behind him, behind the TARDIS, towards the back of the room. Standing there was the source of the voice - the young student, still dressed in his uniform, and flanked by some familiar faces. At his left was the wiry maths teacher, and at his right was the elderly lunch lady. All three stared at him menacingly.

"You!" growled the lunch lady. "You will pay!"

"Oh, go melt yourself," said the Doctor in tired retort. "You're not threatening anybody. A geriatric, a smart-mouth, and a lass who'd fall over in a stiff breeze? Sounds like a bad game of bridge to me."

"Oh, it's a game alright," smiled the boy, the Fashtren. "And we've won. You come here with nothing but your fancy blue box and over-saturated confidence, barely realising how late you are. My brothers and I have made our decision, and in a few moments that planet out there will be free of its cancer."

"Its cancer?"

"Humans," he spat. "Vermin, the lot of them. For too long they've been allowed to spread their filth, showing no regard towards their home or each other. A lost cause, and one that needs to be eradicated - and thanks to you, you've given us the perfect means with which to do so."

A shaft of light materialised beside the lunch lady, its qualities the same as the one the Doctor had seen earlier. Expanding outwards, then inwards, it faded to reveal the art teacher who was fiercely restraining-

"Amy," the Doctor realised.

She was held with a vice-like arm around her neck, struggling to allow enough space to breathe. Her eyes, wide with fear, looked helplessly at the Doctor, begging him for a means of escape, desperate for release. The Fashtren boy chuckled as he reached into his pocket and tossed on the floor Amy's crushed earpiece, scattering fragments and shards as it skidded forth towards the Doctor.

"An ideal specimen," grinned the boy, "Once you remove all extraneous electronic equipment. And we have you to thank for bringing her to us."

"Let her go," the Doctor said through gritted teeth.

"Or what? You'll stand there some more? Please. You have nothing, traveller. But as for us, we also have something extra."

A second column of light appeared, this time beside the maths teacher. Materialising in its wake was the school janitor, but with him stood a second person, restrained in the same manner as Amy. She looked at the Doctor with the same pleading expression, her blue eyes practically screaming in fear.

Miranda.

The Fashtren clasped his hands in appreciation. "That first one was good, but this one? An absolutely perfect specimen. Perfect. You really are quite generous, you know. If it weren't for you, we'd never have found these two." He skipped forth toward the Doctor. "And now... now comes the fun part."

The lunch lady reached inside her cardigan to produce her communicator. She pressed a button on the device, causing a low vibrating hum to resonate inside the room. The Doctor looked up towards its source to see some kind of array descending from the ceiling. It came in two parts: one section resembled a medieval cage, formed of single metal straps bent and shaped to house a single human body. The other presented its polar opposite: an intricate, cannon-shaped build of electronics, lights, wires and moving parts, tapering into a point aimed directly at the cage and looking like some kind of laser or weapon. Both dangled from chained supports, and lowered downwards until they stopped just short of the floor.

The Fashtren stood proud, admiring the mechanical display before him. He turned to the Doctor. "Charming, don't you think? It speaks of its maker. I'll admit, there's a few rough corners, but it gets the job done all the same. Now allow me to save you the time of asking exactly what that job is, because we're on a tight schedule and, to be honest, your idiotic questions bore me. What you see before you is a genetic resonator. It tunes into the base DNA of any living thing and targets every single lifeform that shares it. Just one sample gives us the master key to an entire species. We can control it. We can dominate it. We can end it."

The Doctor looked on, horrified. "No... you can't..."

"Oh, but I can. I need to. Tell me, why would you want filth to thrive? Why would you wish to see it run roughshod throughout a country, a planet, a galaxy? Why favour it over others that are far more worthy, offering so much to the universe? We've seen the nature of this kind - all of us, together. We have decided: this kind will dominate no more. So choose, traveller."

"What...?"

"Weren't you listening? We only need one sample. And since you've spoilt us with two fine specimens that seem to be of some importance to you, perhaps you'd like to decide which one is more important."

The Doctor's eyes widened, the colour drained from his face. "No..."

"Yes!" the Fashtren exclaimed, licking his words through an evil grin. "It is you who will choose the progenitor of the destruction of the human race! It is you who will choose whose death will tumble down below. The end begins with you, traveller! So choose! Choose now!"

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE FINAL CHAPTER - COMING SOON!