THE
PLAGUE
OF
TERMINAL
CITY
By
X5R-731
Disclaimer: Cameron and company owns dark Angel, while Doctor Who is the property of the BBC. Please, please, please don't sue me.
Time placement: This story takes place four years after Max A Collins' "After the Dark" (which I consider canon until the series is picked up again), and during the Dr. Who comic strip adventures from DWMagazine. Although I should point out the companions traveling with the 8th Doctor didn't travel with him all at the same time. (Destrii didn't join until Sins of the Father, long after Izzy and Kroton said good-bye.)
CONTAGIONReport.
Phase 3 is in progress, Imperatrix.
Do the humans suspect?
No. They are too preoccupied with their own petty prejudices.
What is the status of the experiment?
The test subjects are proving more resistant that earlier predicted.
How will this affect the overall project?
Predictions indicate it could take an extra 28 kras for total fruition.
Unacceptable. The project must come to total fruition in no more than 9 kras, understood.
Yes Imperatrix. We are attempting to accelerate growth to maintain our timetable.
Very well. Proceed.
NEWS REPORT
We are now in the third week of the Terminal City Plague. The exact number of transgenics who have succumbed to the mysterious disease is unknown, but sources say dozens of Terminal City citizens have been infected. The Center for Disease Control in collaboration with city officials and transgenic leaders has worked tirelessly to isolate the sick and slow the spread of disease. The plague began when transgenic senatorial hopeful, Alec, collapsed at a political debate. After he was rushed to hospital, incumbent Senator Julia Tarrison made this video statement – Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a Streaming Freedom video bulletin. This cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced; it cannot be stopped and remains the only free voice in this city.
Despite the actions, insinuations and innuendo perpetuated by Tarrison's camp, the so-called transgenic flu is no threat to the general populace. It is the result of a genetic defect in the genome structure, cooked up inside them by an administration that tried to play God and was only partially successful.
If the administration is given the right to let this community die, how long before they start allowing other groups of people die, all in the name of 'public safety'?
Peace, out.
METRO MEDICAL HOSPITAL
"Code Blue. Code Blue."
Max, flanked by her ever-present bodyguards Joshua and Krit, watched helplessly the observation glass as doctors and technicians raced to save the life of the patient on the operating table. The once rakishly handsome and debonair Alec had been reduced to and emaciated old man covered with blisters by the disease. According to the heart monitors his heart was racing uncontrollably fast. The doctors desperately tried to slow his heart to no avail. Eventually the monitors flat lined. The medics began CPR but to no avail. Alec was dead.
Flanked by Krit and Joshua, Max left the hospital to inform the rest of Terminal City of it first fatality.
As far away from Terminal City's problems as physically and philosophically as one could possibly get, an incongruous blue box with a flashing light on top spun leisurely through the space/time vortex. By its appearance the object looked more comfortable on a London street corner in the middle of the twentieth century. However as everyone knows, appearances can be deceiving.
The box was really a TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimensions In Space) machine, capable of traveling to any time period to anywhere in the cosmos. Theoretically its shape was infinitely variable but for some reason or another it remained in the shape of a Police Call Box. Inside the TARDIS was infinitely bigger, comprising of many rooms and corridors, the console room being the most impressive.
Originally gleaming white with a hexagonal control console and a center column. The console still existed but had been refurbished in mahogany along with the rest of the console room giving it a Victorian study feel. It even had a recliner and reading lamp in a corner and an old gramophone playing in another.
The owner of this machine (or more appropriately its primary occupant) was known only as the Doctor, a centuries old traveler who looked like he was in his mid-thirties. Aquiline good looks with soulful blue eyes topped off with long curly hair, he looked every inch the eccentric Victorian scientist (although his costume was based more on dandified Wild Bill Hickok). Currently he fussed over the console; his sleeves rolled up like a master craftsman making sure it was perfect.
"Have we arrived yet," an electronically modulated voice purred.
The Doctor gave an involuntary shudder at the sound but said over his shoulder, companionably, "Not yet. But soon Kroton, soon."
Kroton was a Cyberman, a Junior CyberLeader to be specific. Normally the Doctor wouldn't have let a Cyberman within fifty parsec of his TARDIS. The Cybermen had once been humans who replaced their organs with steel and plastic until all traces of humanity had been erased. Now emotionless creatures of ruthless logic, they existed for one purpose – to proliferate and survive. Throughout the cosmos they had plundered planets for there resources, converting suitable species into beings like them. The Doctor had tangled with them with them in the past, thwarting their plans to conquer Earth on more than one occasion.
An imposing figure at almost two meters tall, he was completely silver with a square shaped head, two blank holes for eyes and a slit for a mouth. Just above his forehead was a light that could project a beam of light capable of either mesmerizing of killing a human. What set Kroton apart from other Cybermen was that a part of the man he'd once been had survived the conversion process.
It had started on the Cybermen's adopted home world of Telos. Junior CyberLeader Kroton had been assigned to a special taskforce to help quell a rebellion on the planet Mondarran. The day he was scheduled to leave, he'd found himself staring up at the Telosian sky wondering if he'd ever see it again. That should have been the first warning sign, but he put it out of his mind. Once on Mondarran though things got worse. He found himself puzzled by human reactions. The Cybermen were stronger, more intelligent, it was logical that the Cyber race ultimately succeed, yet small groups of humans continued to resist them with little more than primitive hand held weapons. What further confused him was how some humans willingly sacrificed their own lives and endured torture while others collaborated with the Cybermen. After a conversation with a captured rebel leader, Kroton agreed to help him and a handful of other escape, destroying at least two other Cybermen in the process.
Nowhere else to go and unsure of his place in the universe, he took a shuttle and went out into deep space. The Doctor had found him on board an abandoned Starliner called the Flying Dutchman II and, after some initial misunderstanding, the Doctor invited him to join the TARDIS crew. Recently Kroton had been in need of repairs and had found what they needed on a derelict Cyber vessel. Also, Kroton had collected a damaged Cybermat. Cybermats were small, bug-like machines used by Cybermen as spies and saboteurs. Kroton had domesticated it and made it hit pet. The Doctor didn't know what was more disconcerting: that he allowed a Cyberman and Cybermat willingly on his TARDIS or that said Cyberman was gently cradling it in his palm, stroking it absently. The Cybermat (dubbed Scarper by Izzy) chattered contentedly, like a purring cat.
"Call the girls and let them know we're about to materialize."
Before Kroton could comply, the two other members of this particular crew.
Primatriax Destriianatos (Destrii for short) came from Oblivion, home to a genetically manipulated species (basically no two individuals were alike). Destrii had the physique of an Olympic swimmer, not surprising as she had the facial features and physical characteristics of a fish. She had blue skin, webbed hands and feet and purple dreadlock-like hair swept back, hanging loosely around her shoulders. She strode into the console room wearing her favorite outfit – a purple bikini with gold trim.
The Doctor once described her as an egocentric, immature hellion with a vicious streak wider than the Gobi desert. But after she risked her life to save the residents of Hippocrates Base from the cruel Zeronites, rather than dump her back on Oblivion the Doctor offered her a place on the TARDIS, which she eagerly accepted.
The final member of the crew was a teenage girl from a small village in northern England called Stockbridge. Izzy Sinclair had been an amateur paranormal investigator and X-Files enthusiast who joined the Doctor to escape the mundane ness of small town life. She had been traveling with the Doctor longer than the others and had seen many wonderful and horrifying things. Now she was ready to go home.
She looked around at this eclectic bunch of people she'd developed special relationships with. The Doctor: her mentor and teacher who had taught her so much; Kroton: the overprotective big little brother who constantly needed help understanding his emotions and the human condition; and Destrii, she really didn't know how to define their relationship.
When they first met, Destrii had stolen her body leaving her at the mercy of Mobox bounty hunters. When she'd eventually got her body back, Izzy and Destrii's minds briefly touched, each getting a special insight into the others lives. Destrii had literally grown up in a gladiatorial pit, feared by everyone her, while Izzy had grown up feeling emotionally isolated because she was adopted and harbored feeling for girls. Izzy was ready to go home and make peace with her parents – provided she ever got there.
"Well," she said. "Have we landed?"
"Well," the Doctor said, running a hand through his hair. "I know for a fact its Earth, December nineteenth. As for where and what year…" he shrugged apologetically. At her look he added quickly, "But I'm sure once we get an exact location, getting you home should be comparatively simple."
"I've heard that before."
The Doctor plucked his coat off a hat stand and swung it around his shoulders. "Best dress warmly everyone, it's a bit nippy out. Izzy take Kroton into the wardrobe room and see if you can find him something suitable to wear and Destrii," the Doctor pulled a small disk from his coat pocket and tossed it too her.
Destrii caught it effortlessly saying sarcastically, "Yeah, yeah, don't want to scare the natives. Dumb mammals, scared of their own reflection."
She clipped the disk to her waist and her holo-disguise shimmered on.
The Doctor exited the TARDIS with a pair of fluffy earmuffs, a scarf thrown loosely around his neck and a pair of wool-knit mittens, followed by Destrii as a dark skinned woman with a long ponytail. She was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and leather jacket as part of her disguise.
"Aren't you cold," the Doctor asked.
"Nah, I can endure temperatures of minus fifty. Part of being a fish girl, you're never sure how cold the ocean will be."
Izzy stepped out of the ship bundled up in suitable clothing topped off by a rainbow bobble hat, pulling a reluctant Kroton after her.
Izzy had managed to find some industrial sized pants and overcoat to cover his bulky frame. The hood pulled low over his face and a heavy scarf did nothing to hide the odd shape of his head. Also, there were no gloves or boots to cover his hands and feet. Hopefully nobody would look to closely and ask where he got his shiny new gloves and boots.
"I feel – ridiculous."
"Don't worry," Destrii said. "You look it, too."
"So where are we," Izzy interjected.
"Wherever it is," Destrii said. "It's a dump."
"Destrii!"
"Well it is."
Izzy was force to agree. They'd landed inn the middle of a slum. It looked like half the buildings were held together with nothing more than tape and bubblegum.
"I'd say we're in Seattle, Washington, United States of America sometime in the early to middle twenty-first century."
"What makes you say that?"
"That." The Doctor pointed off into the distance to a skyscraper. "The Space Needle combined with the general state of disrepair."
"How did things get like this?"
"In 2009 an electro-magnetic pulse shorted out all the computers, turning the last great super power into a third world nation. Now life is a daily struggle for most people not to starve."
As the quartet walked along, they passed a newsstand where the headlines "Plague City" and "Transie Extinction" caught the Doctor's eye. He grabbed every title he could, handing them to Kroton and tossed a Spanish doubloon to the vendor as payment.
"Hey," the vendor protested.
"Don't worry, its genuine." The Doctor called back, flipping through the paper.
"Doctor," Izzy said, trying to keep up. "What is it?"
He stopped outside a bar called Crash. He looked up and said, "Yes this is as good a place as any." And marched inside. Izzy and Destrii exchanged looks and followed, a put out Kroton not far behind.
Original Cindy sat at her usual table nursing her beer half listening to another one of Sketchy's convoluted conspiracy theories. She missed Max. She hadn't seen much of her since she became leader of the transgenics, but since the plague surface she hadn't seen her boo at all in weeks. Like every other transgenic, Max was shut up in Terminal City, to prevent the spread of infection (or so the news claimed).
Original Cindy was startled when Sketchy suddenly stopped talking. She looked up to see him staring past her at the entrance. Turning around in her chair she saw what had caught her friends attention. A dandy reading a newspaper waltzed in followed by a giant, a cute white girl and a fine looking sistah. The two females went to the bar while the dandy sat at a disused booth. The giant placed the stack of papers he was carrying on the table and sat across from his companion.
The sistah already gathered a following, Sketchy among them, but it was the white girl that caught Cindy's attention. There was a tired, world-weariness that drew Cindy. She leaned against the bar and said conversationally, "Hey."
The girl looked up, surprised, but responded with an adorably shy, lopsided smile. "Hi," she said revealing a British accent that only added to her mystique.
"You new in town?"
"Just passing threw."
"Cynthia McBeachim. Original Cindy."
"Isabelle Sinclair. Izzy."
Kroton observed the interaction between Izzy and the human female. It was different than Destrii's with the other patrons, more intimate and his visual sensors could detect increased chemical irregularities in her endorphin count. A word to describe this tugged at the back of his mind – flirting, yes, that was it. He wondered if he'd done that before waking up in his alcove in CyberHive 618.
He continued to observe the other patrons as the Doctor flipped through his papers while keeping an eye on Izzy. Destrii had been trained as a warrior, literally from birth so whatever trouble she got into logic dictated she would handle herself. Izzy's fragile organic form coupled with her ability to attract trouble almost as much as the Doctor, caused a great deal of concern.
Izzy hoped "Let's get outta here" meant the same thing in the twenty-first century as it did in the twentieth. She'd been enjoying herself immensely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so open in a conversation with another female (at least not from Earth). Back home in Stockbridge, while other girls had been ogling Tom Cruise, she'd been fantasizing about Nicole Kidman. This just added to her feelings of isolation, making it difficult for her to trust herself. But now, after traveling with the Doctor, she was surer of herself
Outside, Cindy gently pushed Izzy against the wall and kissed her softly. Izzy responded, hoping she was doing it right. Kissing was something she didn't have a whole lot of experience in, with the exception of Fey Truscott-Slade (a time hoping antique dealer) Izzy had been living locked and barred in the closet.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing," the Doctor railed. "The so-called news media of this city is a joke. They go on about a virulent disease and some pseudo-religious claptrap about God cleansing the transgenic scourge but they don't say what the transgenics actually are!"
"Hey, Doctor."
Destrii approached accompanied by a skinny human who apparently got dressed in the dark and had no colour co-ordination. "This is Sketchy. He says he can tell us anything you want to know about the transgenics."
"Really," he didn't sound convinced, then remembered something. Rummaging through the discarded newspapers, he pulled out a copy of the New World Weekly. "Calvin Theodore?"
Sketchy winced slightly at the sound of his given name. "Yeah."
"Have a seat. I found your article about alien virology fascinating. The details are completely wrong, of course, but your overall theory has merit."
As the Doctor and Sketchy drifted off onto the topic of transgenics and possible alien involvement, Destrii returned to the bar.
"Izzy."
Izzy and Cindy jumped apart at the sound of Kroton's voice. The young ladies sighed in annoyance.
"You shouldn't wander off."
"Kroton, I'll be fine."
"We need to stick together. When the trouble starts-"
"The further away from the Doctor the safer I'll be. Besides you know how to find me."
Kroton had to there was a loose logic to that. The Doctor tended to attract trouble more than the others (with the exception of Destrii). And he did have built in sensors that could home in on Izzy's unique brainwaves within a fifty-kilometer radius. Still he had what the other would call a "gut feeling" that it was better not to separate.
Meanwhile, back in Crash a patron jostled Destrii, damaging her holographic imager. Her disguise disappeared, leaving her exposed to everyone in the bar.
"Great, now I suppose you want to fight?"
Watching Izzy and her knew friend leave, he contemplated what to do next when all of a sudden he heard a commotion coming from an alley in the opposite direction. Investigating, he saw four big human males beating a small bundle of rags with large heavy wooden clubs.
"Stinking freak," on of the men snarled. "Should've wiped you out when we had the chance."
The bundle of rags moaned pitifully and tried to stir only to be viciously clubbed down. As the first male brought his club down a mighty metal fist caught it.
"Stop," Kroton stated. "All sentient life must be respected."
A second male swung his bat at Kroton's back. It splintered into several pieces. Kroton didn't even flinch.
"He's one of them," someone screamed.
The two remaining males charged, brandishing their clubs. Kroton caught the assailants' bats in his hands and snapped them like twigs. He then effortlessly lifted the two men off the ground by their shirts and dropped them into a nearby dumpster.
The bundle of rags jumped up with an agility alien to human beings, dropkicking the male who'd splintered his club across his back. Without touching the ground, the rag pile somersaulted in the air, hurtling the attacker into the same dumpster. Kroton observed this with what he assumed was amazement.
"Look out," it yelled in a decidedly female voice.
Kroton turned around to see the first male had produced a gun.
"Die freak!" he fired twice, point blank.
The bullets bounced harmlessly off his metallic hide, but put holes in his borrowed parka. The male looked on in horror as Kroton advanced on him, unhurt. Emptying his clip ineffectually into the juggernaut, he screamed as Kroton wrenched the gun out of his hand and lifted him off the ground. Kroton crumpled the gun like tinfoil as he carried the assailant to the dumpster. After dropping him inside, Kroton pulled down the lid and squeezed the edges trapping them inside. They'd get out – eventually.
He turned his attention to the rag pile had approached him. A hood had fallen back, revealing what Kroton surmised was a female transgenic. She had long, thin green hair and large black eyes. Her flat noseless face was covered with blue and yellow designs. Kroton's internal scanners detected frog DNA, specifically Dendrobates tinctorius, aka the poison dart frog. She looked up at him in wonder and tentatively touched him with a three-digit webbed hand.
"Are you a Steelhead," she asked.
"A – what? No I am Kroton."
"Oh, I'm Francie."
"You are a – transgenic. Shouldn't you be in Terminal City?"
"I was on my back there when these creeps jumped me."
"I see."
Just them two bodies flew through a window of Crash. Kroton turned to see Destrii (in her natural form) follow with three more patrons. Destrii fought them off with ease, but sheer numbers were overwhelming her. The Doctor and Sketchy exited through the door and tried to help. The Doctor's Venusian aikido and Martian karate incapacitated many of them while Sketchy's clumsy attempts at fighting gave the mob someone else to hit.
Kroton sighed. "If you'll excuse me, a friend of mine has gotten involved in another fight."
"Hey, wait up." Francie hopped after him.
Kroton pulled them off Destrii, while Francie used her powerful leg muscles to keep the others away. Sirens pierced the air, stopping the brawl, instantly. Everyone scattered, some even going back into the bar.
"Guess that's are queue to leave," Destrii said.
"Where?"
"Terminal City," Francie suggested.
"Who're you?"
"Doctor this is Francie," Kroton said. "Francie, Doctor."
"Can we save the introductions for later," Sketchy said. "We gotta go."
"Quite right. Terminal City it is."
The party got to the outskirts of Terminal City well enough, but getting in proved more difficult. Fortunately Francie and Sketchy knew the tunnels that could get them in discretely. As they made their way to the secret entrance Sector Cops spotted them.
"Halt or we fire!"
The air filled with bullets before the warming was complete.
To Be Continued …