A/N: It's still a runaway mutant plot-bunny… And I want to thank alphaskiier and mirth513 for the reviews. Wow, there are other nuts in this 'Verse that are actually interested in this drivel… :-D

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble.

500 years in the future, Humanity is in space and expanding outward in fits and starts. Not everyone fleeing Earth-that-Was went to the same system. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of the galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that there is a ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? There's a Bounty Hunter aboard, but not one after him…

Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over.

Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…

Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse

Part Three

Alien.

The red flashing lights illuminated sleepers inside their cryo-lockers. Only one of the individuals was awake and aware enough to notice the loud grating hullabaloo that suddenly cut through the blaring alarms. This man, muscled and tense, was held in chains, blindfolded, and gagged. But he raised his head at the new noise knowing that nothing in this 'Verse he had ever encountered made a cacophony like that. Deciding not to wait any longer he jerked his body in such a way as to pop his restraints loose from what would be his coffin and rammed his weight into the door. Once, twice -- and it gave with a crack and pop of breaking plexi-glass. The shaking of the outer ship made him stumble blindly and he hit, full on, something strange.

He paused, placing his shackled hands against the new surface. 'Wood. Painted. About 1.38 meters or so square,' he thought as he followed it around by touch. The odd hot freeze of deep space still clung to the surface, making his senses tingle. He could smell that this didn't belong here, too. The odors drifting off it were that of charred soil and alien minty plant life with a hint of mercury overlaid by a faint tint of spiced honey and musk. And he could feel the thrum of power under his fingers that was not human in nature. The entire experience made his perceptions shift in such a way that he wasn't sure of where he was standing for a moment.

Then the ship his feet were rooted to by the artificial gravity rolled, bucking into a spin that forced him to tumble along with it. He had nothing to cling to until he was against the ceiling. His arms and legs instinctively gripped a supporting pipe as the spin leveled out. He crept closer to the front of the cryo-bay, away from the engines. With the blaring alarms going off and the shaking that indicated things being shed from the hull, he was sure that the ship was going down. He'd crashed enough of them to tell. The safest location for him would be as close to the crew cabin as he could get. Whatever the mystery object was, he didn't have the time to waste trying to figure it out when his life was at stake.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Less than a minute later another sleeper, one with tightly curled red hair and a badge pinned to his navy-clad chest was shaken awake. Blinking the sleep away with military precision, he forced his mind to function. It's a skill he has acquired from the battlefield from when not being speedy to awake meant being very dead. For a moment the flashing lights make him think of a bunker raid. But the situation was wrong. The man made a confused face, as his mind fit the pieces together. Riddick. Ship. Alarms. His breathing fogged up the plexi-glass in front of his face. Johns wiped his hand across the view port to look at the locker that is supposed to be his primary business.

It takes him fifteen to twenty seconds to register what it is that his eyes are seeing, due to the effects of the cryo-drugs in his system. The locker he was concerned about has been busted open from the inside. There's no Riddick there. Meaning that the killer has gotten loose while the rest of them are cooped up inside their cryo-boxes. Panic welled up and he clawed at the webbing frantically for another fifteen seconds or so before finding the red handle that will release him from his locker.

William Johns does not feel the jolt that indicated first contact, as he is at that same moment expelled out of his cryo-locker into a blaring hell of claxons and flashing lights. He stumbles forward, and the next shudder sends him sprawling. By luck he grips a handhold. The next thing he knows is that Riddick's empty locker and the rest of those that are full behind it are swept away, flying off into the alien landscape along with the wall they were connected to. As this registers, he noticed, with horror that the back half of the cabin tears off from the main part he's clinging to. The far corner detaches from the rest of it taking seven cryo-lockers and a roughly three-meter tall blueish crate with it. The lockers string themselves out like pearls across the alien yellow sand. Only one of those is saved, and that barely, when it connects with a support post and deflects back into the ship, sideways. Fire and plasma and burning dust envelop the scene as it becomes more distant. The remaining locker skids to a halt just shy of his toes as the ship stops moving. He's too numb to think about how lucky that all is.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor slowly opened his eyes, focused on the sensation of death that seemed to rise from the burned and smoldering scar in the landscape that stretched off to the horizon in front of him. His blue ship sat just out of sight, about 30 feet into the alien landscape. He was aware if it but was more focused on the fading impressions left from the mass death that had occurred with the crash. Most of these impressions were so faint that there was no hope to revive any of the lives that they belonged to. But one, just off to his left and slightly behind him was sharp. New. Not quite passed. He spun on his heel, stopping once his direction was lined up with it. He saw first the white box, winking at him with unconcerned steady power. Then he saw the cryo-locker that was unconnected to anything, tilted at an angle that nearly placed the person inside in a reclining position. It was this box that the TARDIS had insisted on protecting. And inside it was a man who was, at this moment, struggling for life.

It appeared that he was having an allergic reaction to the Cryo-drugs. It was much the same reaction the Doctor had warned Susan about. The man was waking, but his mind couldn't remember how to make his lungs work. Moments later he had the fellow in his arms, draped over as he held him sideways. He gathered up his instinctive understanding of the breathing process in humans and thought, 'I do hope this works.' The Doctor forced the knowledge into the man's mind overriding the mental fog and panic with an illuminated spike of understanding. As he gave the man a sharp rap between the shoulder blades with the heel of his palm, he further commanded mentally, 'Breathe!'

The raven-haired man took a sharp gasping breath, choking on the heated dusty air. His hands came up over the Doctor's leather clad arm and clawed at the thin bow-tie that he had loosely holding his collar closed. "Shush," The Doctor turned the fellow, pinning his struggling arms. He found himself looking into an elven face topped with short wavy dark hair. But what momentarily startled the Timelord was the panicked deep blue eyes that caught and held his own. "Here," he removed the tie with the skill of a surgeon. "I know it's a battle, but just focus on breathing." The confused fellow allowed himself to be settled on what remained of the floor as he fought for each breath. But when the Doctor went to stand the man gripped him by one wrist with his elegant hands and dug his fingers in until it was almost painful. "There might be others. Survivors, like you, that I can save."

"River?" the man queried.

"Would that be who is in the white box?" The Doctor pointed at the object in question with his free arm. An object that was wedged into the corner of the crumpled hull under the medlocker. The man looked at him, his eyes still panicked but confirming. "It's alright. The box is still running on internal power. If you let go, I'll check her vitals."

Slowly Simon Tam became aware of the mental press that this strange man's mind was forming on his own psyche. Blue eyes, the same color as his own, but with such an incomprehensible depth that was both timeless and filled with mental pain, locked on his for a second time. The agony was almost too much for Simon to deal with and that alone forced him to look away. With a nod the medical doctor uncurled his fingers from the strange man's bony, hairless, wrist. The tendons were sharp and strong under a membrane that was smooth and un-weathered, almost like a baby's skin. The sensation of too cool flesh and rapid flutter throbbing of the man's pulse struck Simon as being not right somehow. But he pushed that aside as he watched with great care, the stranger rubbing the reddened mark from his desperate grip while the tall, imposing, powerful man crossed over to the box that contained Simon's precious Mei-Mei.

The stranger seemed aware of the undercurrent his standing had created and went into a kneeling position almost reflectively in an attempt to make himself smaller. "She is stable. At the moment. Your -- " he cocked his closely cropped head but didn't look away from the readouts, " -- sister?"

"Yes," Simon found himself answering before he could stop and think. "How?"

The dark-clad man twisted to look at Simon, "The mental force of your worry. And hers. Are you twins?" he asked, for the Doctor had never encountered such a strong mental link between two humans who were not born of the exact same gametes before. It was another puzzle how one could be female and the other male, but with genetic manipulation even that was possible.

The slight fellow swallowed, reminding the Doctor of his granddaughter, Susan, for a flashing moment. "My teenaged sister? No. I – I don't think so."

An ache settled in the Doctor's chest that had nothing to do with his hearts and he forced himself to ignore it with a flippant wave, "Well, -- no matter." He scratched his chin. "Important thing is, she's stable and looks like there's enough power here for a few more hours at least. I'm going to see if there are other survivors."

Simon was confused by the other man's hasty retreat out of the minimal shade and into the smoldering ruins that sat around them. He had almost seemed wounded, but nothing Simon had said had been harsh. The sounds of the other man's footsteps receded. After a while, Simon thought that he should look after his sister's readings himself. But the distance could have been a million miles because of how he felt right now. He set his face and made the decision to force his body over the distance anyhow. He needed to know his sister was really all right.

Swallowing, the ex-trauma surgeon forced his sluggish limbs into moving him over to the white box. The effort winded him. He placed a finely-boned, shaking hand on the side of it, 'Oh, Mei-Mei… I think I got on the wrong ship.' His forehead found a cooler home on the side of the container that his sister was sleeping inside, 'I'm so sorry.' But his connection to his sister thrummed in contentment and safety, in spite the situation. He lost himself in the feel of it, nearly falling asleep. But then there was a clatter in the distance that started him awake and he sighed. The feeling remained however. He grunted to himself, "You are strange, you know that, Mei-Mei? Just you wait until you see where we are, then tell me we're safe, because right now it doesn't seem that way to me," he mumbled.

"Gone around the bend already, have we?" came the stranger's voice as he returned laden down with a man in his arms that was easily half again his weight. The injured man's synthetic-blend white shirt was partly melted into his burnt skin, and one hand was formed into a claw of melted tissue around his red release handle. His hair had been burnt off to the quick, forming withered ends near his reddened scalp. Splits formed a patchwork through the burns on his face that puckered and blackened his skin. He was moaning softly in pain.

Simon jumped to his feet, heat and breathing difficulties forgotten in the emergency of having a patient to tend to. "Set him down in the shade." He turned to the medlocker and took stock of the emergency supplies, pulling out what he knew would help in this situation. "There's no derma-heal. No burn salve. But there is Anetaphine, antiseptic cream and bandages." Meanwhile the Doctor had settled the man down and was doing his best to keep him alive on sheer will alone. "I've got more in my cargo, but there should always be derma-heal in an emergency medical locker. -- I've got some in my bag," Simon added. The shorter, slightly built man crossed back over to his cryo-locker and pulled out his black healer's bag.

Black leather swished as the Doctor simply reached upward for the packet where he was kneeling at the survivor's head. "Hand it over. The Anethphine will at least keep him from dying due to pain."

"Here," joining his helper on the metallic floor, Simon tore the container open and popped the cap off the needle before transferring it to the waiting larger hand. As the strange man administered the shot with professional efficiency, Tam turned his attention to the derma-heal spray. "I don't have enough to treat everything. Maybe just the worse of it?" His companion didn't answer, but proceeded to work on carefully peeling away the melted areas of shirt and skin while the injured man was too doped up to feel it. Simon knew that in a civilized setting the injuries would be easily dealt with. But here? It was far more likely that they were wasting their time and energy. "Were there any others?"

"No."

"Out of 46 people, it's just us?" Simon was trying to not panic.

The Doctor suppressed the desire to roll his eyes and sigh. 'Oh, of all the self-pitying -- ' Instead he snapped, "I didn't say that. Just out there, in the field of debris, I counted 29 lockers, and his was the only one with someone still breathing in it. This obviously isn't all of the ship." The Doctor looked at the young man who was pragmatically working on the worse of the burns like he'd been doing it all his life. He seemed to take the words as a comfort even with the scathing tone they were delivered in. "Perhaps once the suns are lower in the sky and your sister is awake we'll set off to find the rest of the crash." The raven-haired head bobbed in a nod. He was currently too busy with his trying to save a life to worry about the 'lower in the sky' and 'suns' references.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Imam Abu al-Walid had never found himself in such a situation before. Well, it was a Hajj, wasn't it? Just looks like God wanted him to have a bit more of it, is all. The alien world they were on had a thick cloying atmosphere, with too little to breathe. The yellow dust didn't help matters either. Around him the other survivors were coughing as much as they were calling to each other. He gathered up his pilgrims and sent a prayer of thanks that all of them are alive and uninjured. The other family on Hajj with them had not been so lucky as they seemed to be missing entirely. Little Ali chattered at him that his friend Jack appeared to be missing too. He hoped not, as the young boy was Ali's age and could relate to him in ways his older brothers couldn't. No, what worried Imam is that the doctor, Simon Tam, seems to be gone and they could have used his skills.

The thoughts about the missing doctor are brought into sharp relief as Marshal Johns stumbles into view with blood tricking from his ears. Imam wonders how many others are suffering injuries as he sends his boys out to help the survivors. The asthmatic businessman, Paris, stumbles out of his locker and slips to the floor as the two prospectors busy themselves by cutting open a locker that is detached and on its side. Abu stops Johns and hands him a scarf; "You appear to be bleeding."

The man nodded, accepted the cloth, and said, "It's the least of my worries," before dabbing at the dribbling trail from his right ear. "I got a missing bounty." His hand then brushed the top of his holster and he starts with renewed alarm. "Excuse me, Father," he mumbled before beginning an intense search.

Abu lets the man go, turning his attention to looking for others in need of assistance. Behind him the cryo-locker that was being cut open falls into two pieces revealing that Jack had been found. The spunky child's voice cut through the gloom and heat with, "Somethin' went real wrong, huh?"

The female prospector let off a laughing snort, "You seem okay, Jack." Imam turns away after calling to Ali that his friend has been found.

"Up you go," added Zeke as he lifted the boy to his feet. It's an excuse to look the child over with out offending him. "Right as rain, you are." Ali pattered past the adults and greeted Jack with an enthusiastic chatter of Arabic and English and a hearty hand clasping.

The joyful reunion is cut short by a choking sound coming from the forward section of the hull. It quickly resolved itself into sounds of a hand to hand battle. Zeke pushed past Imam and the holy man caught the two boys following by their collars. "No. I'll not have either of you shot because you are in the way," he scolded. The fight is a cacophony of grunts, whooshing thuds, metallic groaning, and flesh being battered. Abu doesn't think the boys need to see it.

With a sudden clatter of metal on metal, dampened only slightly by a large body hitting the floor, the fight is over. Johns strangled voice comes back through the heat, "One of these days – Someone is going to get hurt. And it won't be me."

Zeke's voice followed, "A'right there, mate? Need a hand with 'em?"

"We'd better. This animal isn't safe. Maybe the support there will hold him." Johns couldn't be more grateful for the assistance at this point by the tone of his voice. Abu releases the boys with a look that means 'behave!' and the two of them scatter into the darkness away from the problem.