Chapter Twenty-Five: Oblivion
- Mauritius Island, Madagascar, 6 Million Years Ago... -
The explosion lit up the entire sky. The pre-Cambrian crimson, replaced by a striking flash of orange and yellow, was quite the startling sight. Two scouts in the Far East were the first to report a sighting, but of course, the entire colony had seen it, and their cries were paled into insignificance. Councilor Draggax was looking from his window when it catapulted past, a swirling mass of fire and rock descending behind the hills to the north. Within the minute, or the prehistoric equivalent, he was on the line to his generals, demanding immediate investigation. Of course, they obliged, and within the hour (time was yet to truly exist), they had returned, complete with high-definition renderings of what they had seen.
"Have you ever seen anything like it?" the Silurian leader asked, pacing up and down his office in indecision.
"No," Ilyena, his chief of military, stated firmly. "The meteor is comprised of an unknown composition of elements. None of the science team have any idea what it is, or where it came from. But there's something else..."
Draggax stopped pacing and looked at her. "Yes?"
"As you can see here, the inside of the meteor is fully crystalised. At first, we put it down to the immense heat during atmosphere entry causing metamorphosis in the rock. But then we took a reading. The crystals were not only a crucial part of the original composition, but they also seemed to... well..."
"Spit it out!"
"They seemed to be alive, sir."
"That's not possible..."
"Assuming that they are geological in nature. We won't be able to confirm either way until the radiation is dispelled."
"And how long will that take? I have nightmarish visions of a walking crystal creeping through my window and slitting my throat in the night."
Ilyena smiled, an oddity upon her stony face. "I wouldn't hold my breath."
"That's all, Ilyena. Dismissed."
Draggax watched as his general left his office. Slowly, he turned towards his bay window, replacing his reptilian sun-mask on his face so as to look over his kingdom, no doubt, with murderous alien crystals not far from his thoughts.
- The BBC, London, 2013 -
The Doctor knew he was toast (and burnt at that) the moment he turned the corner and was met with a dead end: a monstrosity of bricks and mortar that seemed almost to laugh at his incompetence. He waited with baited breath for his eleventh death, and what would surely prove to be the most gruesome. The sounds of dozens of little saw-blades closed in behind him, and slowly the back wall was lit up with innumerable little red lights, the eyes of mechanical predators, hungry for blood and bone. No screwdriver, no TARDIS. No Clara. How cruel fate seemed, now that the Doctor had no say in it.
But the onslaught did not come, and squeezing one eye open apprehensively, the Doctor saw that the battle blades were still hovering in mid-air, with no sign of movement amongst them.
"Well, this is an anti climatic death," he quipped, laughing uneasily with the knowledge that one move could yet trigger his death.
"Do not fear, for your end shall be magnificent."
A small man emerged from underneath the swarm, clapping enthusiastically, but mockingly. "It will just be slightly... belated."
"Oh, and who might you be?" the Doctor asked, more confident now that his evisceration had been averted. "Are these your frisbees? No, they're Kroton design, of course! So, you're a puppet who thinks he's a puppet-master then, are you? Where's your master, eh? Does it prefer somewhere more... volcanic, per say?"
"Wow..." the man remarked. "I'd heard you were a talker, but this is quite extraordinary! You're like a fish, aren't you? Well, a knowledgeable fish, anyway. Maybe a Koi? Where've you been getting your information, hmmm? From a coffee shop computer?"
"From up here," the Doctor said, smiling and pointing to his head. "The Krotons and I go way back. But it seems that they go back even further. Now that they've finished on their diet of dodo-burgers, they want to consume the human race? Sorry, but they have rights to their life; a right that the Krotons don't."
"So, you're just going to kill them then, are you?" the man quizzed, theatrically sobbing. "Yes, I've heard all about your mass murdering as of late. What, did you decide pacifism wasn't doing it for you anymore?"
But the Doctor wasn't going to be baited so easily. "What's the endgame then? Your plan isn't exactly water-tight. You must have known that your radio frequency would literally lead back to you. Have the Krotons really degenerated so far, or, or..." Suddenly, a cog clicked into place. "Or it wasn't about humanity at all... Harvesting human brain tissue would provide a decent meal, but they've been in hibernation for so long now... They want a feast, a banquet! They... they want me."
"And tonight, the Doctor of mystery, you will help us sing this planet into oblivion. The brain of a Time Lord... Such a fascinating subject for study... It really is your civic duty to donate yourself to medical science!"
"If you wanted me dead, then I would be." The Doctor eyed the battle blades, which were luckily still in suspension. "So let's not waste time. As a man rather like myself - but completely different, I assure you! - once said to the Commander of a Cyberman Unit... Take me to your leader!"
Madame Vastra was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Jenny was sobbing and shaking to her left, and she was doing her best to comfort her. Meanwhile, Strax had obtained a stick and was eking fun out of poking the liquidated corpses in the Square with it.
"For the last time, Strax, stop!" she yelled, cursing her luck for being burdened with the troublesome Sontaran.
"Oh, but it's so boring!" he whined, stamping his feet like the potato-headed man-baby that he was. "You never let me poke the dead bodies!"
"I said knock it off!"
Knowing he had lost the fight, Strax dropped the stick and sat down on a fountain in a huff. Vastra sighed and returned her attention to her grizzly task. "Full-body liquefaction. I've seen these symptoms before. I remember reading something... in the archives, before I went into hibernation, before I was removed..." She paused, and looked over at Jenny. "Before I met you."
"I've seen a lot of horrific things in me life," Jenny murmured solemnly. "But what I've seen today... is just barbaric! Whatever did this... is a monster."
"A monster of our own making, I fear." Vastra sat down next to her maid and wife, and tried very hard to recall the memory. "A colony in Madagascar several million years ago was practically wiped off the map by a new disease. At least, they thought it was a disease at first. Victims turned up with overly-pigmented skin and green eyes, and without a bone in their body."
"Revolting," Jenny whispered.
"Quite. Now, if only I could remember what happened next. They managed to subdue it somehow, burying it, but they were unable to destroy it. Or perhaps their humanitarian sides won out, and they were simply unwilling. It doesn't matter, because without their research, I don't know how to stop this!"
She placed her head in her hands, feeling the uncharacteristic urge to break down and weep. Jenny saw the shift in her, and placed a reassuring hand upon her own, scaly paw. "It'll be alright, ma'am. We'll work it out, like we always do."
"Not this time, Jenny. I think we're in over our heads here."
"That's quitters talk, ma'am. I want to 'ere you using winners talk!"
The Great Detective glanced at her, seeing something she had long given up for lost in herself. Hope, a most endearing concept for those who did not carry it for themselves. A real, pure, gratified regard for life. It was little wonder that Vastra had fallen for Jenny, for the dainty little maid carried hope in spades.
"Now," Jenny announced. "We are gonna solve this, aren't we?"
Vastra smiled. "Yes, of course. Like always. I just hope that the Doctor is having better luck. What was it he said he was doing...?"
As the Doctor had suspected, the Kroton hive was located in a room with the geothermal conditioning required to sustain their neural pathway. Tucked away inside an inconspicuous boiler cupboard, the unusual heat signatures wouldn't have been given a second thought.
The telepathic web stirred into life as the Doctor neared. "Time Lord," it growled. "Child of Gallifrey. The Krotons welcome your safe return. Since your last visit, we now offer a free service to remove your head from your shoulders. We hope you'll consider."
"No thanks," the Doctor replied. "I don't trust these benefit scams anymore."
"A pity. Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee the return of your money. Company policy."
"That's the last time I'll ever use you."
"I brought the 'Doctor' as you requested!" Sid grovelled, clearly feeling pleased with himself. "Have I served you well, boss?"
"You have. Have a pay rise, on us."
Sid smiled sycophantically, but then his masters' words sunk, and the emotion was wiped clean off his face. Without warning, he crumpled to the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head. The Doctor was at his side in minutes, but there was little he could do. "He's dead," he whispered, scarcely believing it. "You murdered him! You didn't have to do that!"
"Of course not. But it was fun."
"The Kroton race was once proud and mighty," the Doctor pointed out. "You bring shame to your ancestors!"
The hive considered carefully. "As, Doctor, do you."
The Time Lord was unable to dispute the claim, because he too believed it to be true. Yet, he wasn't about to let a bunch of crystals soften his resolve. "I will stop you, even if I have to destroy you."
"That remains to be seen. In the meantime, we ask that you kindly plug yourself in to this electromagnetic amplifier right over here."
"No."
"We lied," the Krotons cackled. "We weren't asking."
The Doctor's arms were suddenly seized from behind by two surprisingly-burly robots that forced him down onto his knees. "Please," he stumbled. "This planet is full of good people, people who don't deserve this. Just take me. You'll be able to feast on my mind waves for an eon, and by then this planet will have moved on."
"A tempting offer, unfortunately made redundant by our total and uncompromised control of the situation. Do get comfortable. We have slumbered for too long. It's time to have some fun."
"So, how long?"
Clara looked up at hearing Art's question. "How long what?"
"How long have you and the Doctor... been together?"
"Not long really. For a long time, I was certain he would never reciprocate my feelings. He was just this... crazy, magical, fantastic man from space and I... I was always insignificant."
"Now you know that's not true," Art assured her. "I've seen you together. You look like quite the team."
"Thanks. But next to him, I always felt... smaller."
"I'm sure that's not how he sees it."
Clara was about to reply when a blood-curdling scream cut her off. The sounds of mechanical contraption were echoing down the corridor, accompanied by the skidding of feet and petrifying yells of terrified BBC employees, who had certainly not expected to be attacked while on a coffee break (if at all).
Clara was a whirlwind, leaping from her seat in the cell and throwing open the door.
"Clara!" Art called after her. "The Doctor said we should wait here!"
"Well, tough!" she shouted back as she turned the corner sharply and left Art's sight. For a few moments, the serial hacker sat completely, rigidly still, and then he bolted right after her.
By that point, Clara had reached a junction, and was unfortunately uncertain of which path to take. To the left was a path marked 'Soundbooths', whilst to the right was a passage littered with cardboard boxes of varying content. Art caught up to her, breathlessly leaning against a wall while he recovered his strength. She turned to him. "Where to?"
He looked dumbfounded. "I have no idea where we're going!"
"You're telling me you've never hacked into the BBC before?"
"Well... no, but..."
"And taken extensive looks at their floor schematics?"
"Look... I wanted David Tennant's autograph, alright?"
"I'm not judging. Can you remember where this way goes?" Clara pointed down the rubbish-strewn corridor to the right.
"No," Art admitted. "In fact, I don't remember this area even being on the plan..."
Clara looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with excitement and daring. For a moment, as he looked back at her and recognised the glint, and the pair shared a grin, it was almost like all that time had never passed at all, and they were back at high school. The dangerous duo. The troublesome two. 2CoolForSkool.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Clara whispered. Art paused and thought about what it was exactly that he was thinking.
"Unlikely," he remarked. "But maybe if mind-controlling aliens took over the BBC, they would want to stay off the record... and out of sight..."
Then, he broke out in a sly smile. "Ah. Now I can see why you love it so much."
- Some time later -
As Clara and Art ran through yet another corridor and found themselves staring at the umpteenth identical metal door in that minute, Art suddenly became aware of a breeze on the back of his neck. Quickly noticing the obvious, he turned his head sharply and nearly screamed out loud. Instead, he faintly whimpered. "Clara!"
"What?" she hissed back.
Art gulped heavily as a red-shaded dot landed upon his forehead, and lingered menacingly, followed by a further accompaniment of three. "What is that?"
Clara turned to identify the problem, and found no trouble. Right before her eyes was a seven-foot-tall robotic killing machine, surrounded by a plethora of smaller, yet similarly murderous companions. As Clara took a step backwards and tripped over her own feet, the bot stepped forward, sending clunky shockwaves across the floor. Her lip trembled as it slowly raised its arm in her direction, and a long, thin katana slid from the socket. It began to advance on her.
"Doctor!" she shouted, before she could stop herself. Force of habit, she supposed. But the Time Lord was far away, and she was in very real danger.
She closed her eyes and anticipated the hit as the katana hovered mere inches above her. But it didn't come, and upon reopening her eyes, she found herself with an unlikely saviour.
"Hey!" Art cried, wielding the metal construction pole he had just used to deflect the blow. "Pick on someone your own... um... geekiness!"
"Art," Clara squealed, fearing the worst. "No!"
But it was far too late for that, it seemed. The robot struck out again, and Art twisted the pole around again, this time barely managing the effort. Sparks were ground off the pole as it bore the strain; it was evident a third blow would snap it like a toothpick.
"Yeah, what're gonna do, huh?" Art taunted, acting more confident than he could possibly have felt. In response, the robot lifted its other arm, revealing a huge gun-barrel the size of a Japanese sumo wrestler, and twice as deadly-looking. Art was no Bond, and looking down the sights he felt only fear.
"Oh, god," he muttered, dropping his pole with a thud. The robot seized up, preparing to disintegrate the fool that stood in front of it. The battle-blade backups whizzed through the air, apparently content with simply watching the kill, rather than any form of participation. Art was not at all prepared to die, but then, who could honestly say differently?
But then the robot fell forward, as if struck from behind. The battle-blades looked down in confusion as their overlord was cleaved in half by a blast of white light, which was then refocussed upon them. What little was left of the cybernetic squadron fell noisily to the ground in a heap of smoking rubble.
"Need any help, sweetie?" River Song asked, as she blew the shrapnel from the end of her gun and replaced it in her holster.
"I'm not sure that the Doctor would approve of the ultra-violence," Clara tutted, but with clear relief at seeing the professor.
"Then we'll keep it as our little secret then, shall we?" River laughed, turning to look at Art, who was trembling from head to toe. "Who's this handsome devil?"
Art took a sharp intake of breath, and smiled charmingly. "I need you in my life."
The Doctor once again strained against his chains, but it was no use: he was stuck fast, forced to watch as the bad guys enacted their nefarious plan.
"Silly apes," the Kroton's cackled, clearly enjoying the show. "Watch them run!"
"Yeah," the Doctor muttered. "From an army of robotic assassins. I bet they'll never live it down."
"Ah, sarcasm. You become more like them with each passing moment, Doctor."
"It doesn't have to be this way," the Doctor enthused.
"Oh but it does, Doctor. This is the circle of life. Empires rise, and then they fall into dust; life will continue without the human race. The Time Lords once stood atop the shoulders of this galaxy. Even they were not impervious to time; it is the true destroyer of all things."
As the Doctor listened, he began to wrestle with the chains that were attaching his arm to the back wall, and his head to the Electromagnetic Amplifier. "What is this thing!?" he demanded calmly, feeling another jolt of electricity strike him behind his eyes.
"It's a very special device. We are using it to channel your life-force through to our servers, which boosts our capacities by over tenfold. In a few hours, your neural energies will be responsible for the extinction of the human race. A storm is coming, Doctor, and only the strongest will survive."
The Doctor's attention was caught in that moment by a red flashing light on a screen in the corner. Remembering his basic Time Lord-training, he was immediately aware that something was wrong. "Problem?"
"Not at all. The machine is simply rerouting the energy. It's in control."
"I don't think so," the Doctor retorted "You're running a thirteen-thousand gigawatt power supply in under five seconds. You'll cause an overload."
"The machine can handle it. Don't detract from the point."
Panic was starting to rise in the Doctor. "You need to let me out of here. Now. Or we all die."
"You expect us to believe that? And we had hoped for so much greater of an adversary."
By now the red light had been extinguished. The threat was not over, however. The warning had been given. Now for the fire.
"Please, listen to me." The Doctor was quickly losing his nerve. "That reactor is going to blow, and we are going to die. I can fix it. You need to let me out."
"Nonsense. It's starting to work. In a matter of moments, you will nothing but a shell. Goodbye, Doctor Who."
The pain in the Doctor's head peaked, and he clenched his fists and bowed his head. "Please! No 'one was ever supposed to use a Time Lord for fuel! The things I've seen... It'll burn you up!"
"Farewell."
The tremor took Clara straight off her feet, shockwaves rattling straight down her bones and tearing cracks in the walls. When she rose to her feet, the world was blurry, and half of the path ahead was obscured by a black fire.
"What just happened?" Clara heard Art say, but she was already running. River was calling after her, and the sounds of pounding feet followed in her wake, but she did not falter.
"Doctor!?" she cried, spluttering in the smoke, dodging over the fiery banisters and rolling under the crumbling brickwork. Somewhere in there was her Time Lord.
And she would never stop looking.
The Doctor's eyes opened to a haze of grey and black. Slowly, groaning, he stood up from the rubble and took a first, hesitant step into the fog. Little embers danced about like fireflies, and his vision wobbled with every step, but his hand caught on a foundation, and to it he clung. He surveyed the scene clumsily.
There was nothing left of the Krotons, or their machine. As he listened, he caught the last strands of the telepathic web as it was unravelled and destroyed. It was mostly screaming, but the worst kind, a vortex of harrowing, unearthly cries that could only signal pain without measure. It was the final sound of a dying race, and so no matter how terrible it was, the Doctor would not block it out. When he could take no more, he moved away, his feet crunching on the broken flooring.
He was relieved to still be alive (apparently), and yet perturbed as to how he possibly could have been. He thought about Clara, and K9, and Jack. About all the people he could have lost, and all the people he still might.
He stumbled forward blindly, knocking into the walls and splintering them apart. The smoke stung his eyes but still he pressed on.
A shadow fell across his face, blocking out the view ahead. Sluggishly, he recognised its unique shape, and felt his heart go to rest. The figure called to him, and he moved towards it, crumpling into its embrace, and falling into darkness.
- Five hours later -
Kate looked several years older when the Doctor and Clara met her in her office later that day. The events of the past few hours had aged her considerably, taking a real toll on her mindfulness for her job. "Well, you did it," she declared, sounding joyful, but not really emphasising it. "You saved the world again."
"But not without cost," the Doctor said quietly, failing to meet her eye. "Hundreds died today because I wasn't quick enough."
"Yes, but billions also lived. The BBC centre was evacuated after Madame Vastra's call. Only a few stragglers were killed, regrettably. And what of the Krotons? Have you contacted the Embassy?"
The Doctor nodded solemnly. "The United Kroton Embassy will not be placing charges on Earth. They send their condolences."
"You know," Kate said, pouring out a cup of tea (she'd gone off coffee for good). "It might not feel like a victory, but it was. People die in every war."
"You think I don't know that?" The Doctor snapped, instantly regretting his decision. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's okay," Kate assured him. "From a fellow veteran of war, I understand."
"'A storm is coming'," the Doctor recalled, his thoughts with the Krotons. "They knew. They fled from Krosi-Aspai-Core because they knew. And it is. I want UNIT to be ready." "They will," Kate said. "But I won't be among them, I'm afraid. My father's work doesn't seem so glamorous any more." "You could come with us," Clara offered, but Kate just smiled sweetly. "Thank you, but right now, I just want to go home and lie down for a few years."
The Doctor allowed himself to smile slightly. "You and I both."
- Desolation, Dalek Warship, approximately 5000 miles from Earth -
If the Court of the Daleks had once been a 'kangaroo court', now it was little more than a joey. The hall, once symbolic of Dalek magnificence, was in complete and utter chaos. Strangely enough, the same sort of chaos that followed in the wake of the Doctor.
Following the death of the Supreme Dalek, Javiak, succession had been a confused and manic affair, with most claims to the throne disputed with a quick blast of death ray. However, finally, a new Dalek 'sat' atop Javiak's courtroom. In the absence of a better option, the Dalek simply referred to itself as Desolation, after the ship. It was a very ordinary-looking Dalek, scratches across its armour an indication of its involvement with the Doctor in the crisis. Regardless of its insignificance, it was now in-charge of all operations on the ship, the chief of those being the preparation for revenge against the Time Lord who had disgraced them. Fewer than three-hundred Daleks remained fit for duty, and all of these were assembled now in the remnants of the court, listening to their leader speak.
"The Doctor will be exterminated!" it declared boldly, and rather unnecessarily; it was clear that it had no idea what it was doing.
"Of course, you could always aim a little lower for a change."
Every eyestalk in the room revolved to look at the man standing at the back of the room. He was dressed in peculiar, Earth-style clothing and wore a rather-grand top hat. He was smiling coldly, like he had no idea where he was.
"Exterminate!" Desolation cried, stating the obvious. His Dalek cronies attempted to do so, but found their death rays simply passing through their target. "What trickery is this?"
"I come before the Daleks with a message, and an offer," Dr. Simeon announced. "You were once a powerful, feared, formidable force. And with my help, you can be so again."
"Silence, transgressor!" Desolation screeched.
"No, I'm okay, actually," Simeon replied indifferently. "I am the Great Intelligence, harbinger for the Old One. I need an army. An army capable of bringing down the Doctor!"
Every Dalek in the room began to wail at the dropping of their enemy's name. Simeon smiled callously. It was clearly the reaction he had been looking for. "So, let me help you! What do you say?"
In most situations, trying to barter with a Dalek armada would be inadvisable. But when such Daleks are as desperate as the ones on the Desolation were, the outcome may be a little different.
"You will help us kill the Doctor!" Desolation agreed. "Then we will kill you!"
Simeon shrugged. "Fair enough, I suppose. Now, there are a few things I need. Firstly, I have about three-thousand control-spheres that need re-callibrating. Secondly, my jacket needs ironing." He took off his coat and hung it on a nearby Dalek's eyestalk, as if to demonstrate.
"Thirdly," he concluded, making sure that everyone knew this was the big one. "I need to assume control of this ship... immediately."
Desolation looked dumbfounded, quite the accomplishment for an emotionless Dalek. "What?"
"You heard," Simeon said, pulling out a gun and shooting the Dalek leader perfectly in the dead centre of its eye. Desolation had cawed his last.
"So," Simeon cried, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Let us begin..."
NEXT TIME: Dragons, knights and damsels in distress! It's all present in... Dark Knight of the Soul, coming this holiday season!
Phew! This story is halfway done, and still going strong (well, that's up to you to decide, actually!) I know updates are a pain, but I'll always do my best for you, my loyal readers! Thank you all so much for your support and kind words :D
Thanks also to my betas, who have once again worked tirelessly to polish my terrible writing.
ASouffleToServeTwo