A/N: Thank you, My Reflection, alphaskiier, and ck16, for the reviews.
What was River thinking (remember Bushwhacked?!? Huh, do you?)? Did she go inside the Coring Room? Why, why, why? Yee Gawds! … Guess you'll have to read to find out (Is a cliffhanger really a cliffhanger when you only have to wait a day for the answer?). :-D

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one 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? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

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 Sixteen

Burn

She could hear them scream. Thirty voices, young and old, shrieking out in a total darkness, huddled together behind a locked door, listening to the inhuman wails and clicking that coated the wet air with death. Echoes of old terror that built and built with increasing pressure until she couldn't neglect them anymore.

The voices started out as whispers, a caress, that she ignored in favor of remaining safe. But now, they overwhelmed her with a call that pounds in her head, even though the void is filtering the emotions of the living for her. He can't touch the cries of the dead. It's beyond his power. To know that she can sense something he cannot frightens her. She must fight it, for as long as she can.

But then, she swept along on the horror, the blind panic, and the fear of the sharpness in the dark the moment she's too tired to resist anymore. It drowns out the others, grips her like nothing else, and she can't make herself cling to the storm. She's too impuissant. They wash her away, like so much rain across the walk. Sometimes water is forceless. It follows the path of least resistance. It flows downhill. It shrinks in the face of the sun. This is not something she chooses to do. Her feet seem to take her there, through the twisted passages of the ghost town, without any conscious thought.

Now she stood, like a gunslinger, or a ballet dancer, in the middle of the dusty lane. A warm dust devil swirls around her knees then goes still. But not just the air falls silent. The world seemed to pause, caught in the moment, suspended. Time hovers, waiting for its lord to catch up. And she wonders during that breathless twinkling what exactly that means. She thinks she hears a faint inhuman laugh, as if something divine finds her petty thoughts amusing.

She blinked. A sizzling, hellish, wind blew her tangled hair back away from her face. Fire could flow on that bluster, burning everything in its path. Her cheeks sting from the bite of the grit in it. Seconds later her ears detected a scraping sound. The heavy yellowish stained tarp slithered to the ground off the roof of the huge multi-sided building in front of her. The noise in her head swelled even larger, she put her hands up over her ears. Their screams came from here, this place, The Coring Room.

There was rain, pounding rain. And Darkness. Something shielded the fire and let the hunger out. She thinks that she is going to faint for a moment as the vision of the past floods her senses with sensations that do not jive with reality. When it fades she's shaking from the remembered cold. Her fingers still feel it against her scalp where she's clawing at her head. Where is the Storm?

Then her attention is drawn back by something else. River's extra senses detect what only one other can see, the shattered wispy filaments that cling to this place like dusky golden embers that refuse to fade. It is like the building is burning in the horror of what took place in this location. The strands flicker like flame greener and mauve here, different than elsewhere. It's a strange combination, one that fills her with dread.

She can't see any other movement aside from the golden-green-mauve licking filaments but there must be some taking place because she can hear it. There's a sharp click followed by deeper creaking noise, with a grinding accompaniment. Her eyes become aware of movement behind the gossamer cool inferno as the storm shutters slide open, but it takes her a disjointed second to connect the sound with the vision. She takes in a sharp hissing breath and freezes as something begins to rise and fill her ears. It's a tickling sensation, like the actual sound is beyond her comprehension but not her hearing. She's reminded of a whirlpool or a funnel cloud.

River knows then that something very bad is about to happen, and she's quiescent, unable to flee.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Simon has never been so scared in all his life. He's chasing through the punishing heat trying to follow someone through someplace that he's not familiar with. Breathing is impossible, but somehow he doesn't need to in his panic. Behind him the others are following, a clatter of bodies and feet against the rocky soil, packed hard into passable roads.

The path is a twisted one, left, right, left and left again followed by a long straight alley filled with crates and stacks of various sizes that forces him to twist from one side to the other as he runs. It almost seems like this settlement is growing just because he needs to get someplace quickly. The Doctor, who is near the end of the alley already, disappears around the corner, as the sounds of something large breaking, like huge panes of plexi-glass shattering, crashes through the air. Time crawls to a slow snail's pace and he feels like he's pushing through something thick. But his sister is in danger; he can feel her alarm. It makes him strive harder to reach her. If he had the breath to, Simon would yell out to River, but he doesn't.

He bursts around the building just seconds later and skids to a halt, sliding in the duff and just barely keeping his feet. His eyes are drawn and glued to the glittering fountain of shards that are exploding off the roof of a multi-story structure just on the other side of where River and the Doctor are standing. Simon is aware of both above and below, as the Time Lord places his left hand on River's head and pushes her down into a crouch and digs in his pocket with his right. At the same time, the tinkling glitter falls off from around a hellish blackish-gray mass of living creatures spiking up into the sky. The conglomerate flies through the air like a school of fish, in harmony like it has one mind, even as the outer layer catches fire and burns.

The aggregate gains altitude and flattens out like it is searching for something. The dark bat-like swarm is huge, a swirling blob of sparks, raining ash, and sharp edges. He throws his arms wide to catch the others before they pass him around the corner as the mass screeches down to ground level, blocking off his sister and friend from sight. His need to breathe resurfaces and he finds himself gasping for oxygen that just does not exist in the air here.

'Oh please, God Almighty, in whatever name you desire, let them live!' Simon thinks. He's not the only one, as beside him the Imam cries out, "Allah!" He swears, if River makes it he'll pray every chance he's reminded to. He feels the docking pilot's hand grasp his, but his eyes are glued to the last location he saw River at.

The sound seems to grow, like the mob is angered. It physically swells back, like it is following an invisible bubble, expanding and flaming because it can't protect itself from whatever it is that causes them to burn. The school whirls and ripples, smoking and smoldering and sparking into fire, a infernal monstrous wail made of a thousand individual voices all working in unison fills the air. Then the flock rears back as if it's been dealt, finally, a grievous blow before rolling in a spiral upwards, back toward the structure it emerged from like a hellish, flaming, living, mist.

It's raining ashen haze from the burning bodies.

Finally the screech fades. His sister is on her knees with her arms thrown over the sides of her face. The Doctor's left hand is settled still on her head, and her hands are clutching it. The sleeves of her tunic have been shredded. Her arms are covered with fine lines of deep red like she's been attacked by a thousand edges of paper. The linen duster is stained with yellow dirt and black cinders. Above her stands the Doctor with his sonic screwdriver out. His jacket looks a little worse for wear, but somehow he's only caught a few faint scratches on his extended hand and about his face and ears.

A final sooty puff rises from the road as one small body oozed off a distant roof with a plop.

If anyone needed proof that the Doctor was not human they have it. The Tam scion hopes the others don't notice that the pale man's scratches are too russet in tone to be fresh for a human. The cut hand disappears into a pocket, as if the fellow has heard Simon's thoughts. River twists and throws her bloodied arms around one of the Time Lord's legs like she's regressed to a toddler's age, clinging and shaking. The pale man's hairless fingers brush through her tangled raven locks. He gives Simon a haunted look. His sister's face is hidden but he's willing to bet that her expression would be much the same.

Simon doesn't care that River prefers the Doctor's comfort to his own. She's alive. That's all that matters.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Imam finds himself shaking. He looks at Ali, "Is that where you almost went?" The boy looks as though he might become ill, as if he's realized that the strange, pale, man hadn't been guessing about him meeting his death. Tears fill his dark eyes and he nods. Abu sends up a prayer of thanks that the Doctor had been there to catch the boy. The holy man places a shaking hand on the thin neck and pulls Ali into his side in a hug. The child lets out a quiet sob and buries his face into the Imam's robes. "Don't do anything like that again. Life is too precious to cast aside, Ali." He knows the boy is listening and won't be so stupid again.

Abu looks over at the docking pilot who has one hand on Jack's shoulder and the other clutched in Dr. Tam's grip. The blonde looks shell shocked and tired. She takes a deep breath of relief though and slowly lets go of Simon so that he can check on his sister.

The green-eyed boy is staring at the road littered with piles of alien shaped ash. He's got a stunned look of horror on his face. "That – that was what killed Shazza and Zeke?" he gasps out. Behind him Richard takes up a protective stance that makes Johns scowl.

"Those were hatchlings," the Doctor's voice caries across the quiet, "roosting where the adults couldn't reach them."

The redhead pushed past Abu and Carolyn, "So it should be safe now, right?"

"I don't think there is anything in there that we have to see," Paris cautions.

"No? What was that you said, Rich? Oh, right – 'the coring room' – as in the settlers are here someplace. Let's just be sure, shall we?" The merc walked past Simon, River and the Doctor on his trek to the coring room entrance. He reached the twin doors and pulled on one. The chains rattle. He raises an eyebrow, "Why's the door chained up? Why the hell did they lock this door and no others? And why from the inside?"

"Ghosts," River says in a breathless undertone, "Screaming." Simon is trying to treat one trembling bloody arm while she clings to a jean-clad leg with the other. He pauses and brushes his fingers over her soot and tear stained cheek.

Fry looks from River's spooked expression to Johns then makes a face at Imam, "Wait, Johns -- " But she's interrupted by the sound of his shotgun as he blasts the chain off. The large heavy slabs creak open like they were installed backwards or crooked. Carolyn tries again, "Johns, wait."

"What? You trust 'im, don't you, Captain? What do we have to lose here, huh?" Johns turns to look into the brightly lit room, now that the ceiling is busted out and the storm shutters are open. Standing in the middle of the huge cluttered chamber is a vertical coring drill. It's a huge piece of machinery. The multi-story building is open all the way to the top of the clear dome, save for layers of rafters holding in the perimeter. Counters, cabinets, workstations cluttered with equipment, fieldwork notes, and samples line the space. It looks like there's years worth of undisturbed dust settled over everything.

Between two counters near the back of the room is a largish break in the Aluminex siding where something about the same size as a ten or twelve year-old boy had pried the seams apart with razor sharp claws. Sunlight slanted through it creating a bright patch on the slightly shadowed floor. Johns stepped further into the berth. In spite his bravado there's something not right about this room. He just can't place his finger on it yet. Behind him Abu hands Ali off to Hassan, telling the boys to not enter and steps in off to the side. Johns spies several doors that are squeezed in between the worktables. He circles and one of the doors rattles as he steps closer.

"Marshal," The Doctor's voice has a strong commanding ring to it, "Please step back to the main portal."

Johns looks over, about to argue when Fry says, "Johns! Just do it." He sees that she's not willing to enter. Coward.

But he has figured out what bothers him about this room. Under the layer dust on the metallic floor are deep rusty brown and blackish blue splatters. A great many of them. And he's seen what hand-to-hand combat looks like, and how blood splatters when a blunt objects hits a body with enough force. These look similar, although decades old. He hates that Riddick was right.

"Oh, yes ma'am," he replies, flinging the handle on the rattling door, throwing it open. A smaller hoard of razor-winged hatchlings squeals past him, and if it weren't for Imam literally pulling him to the floor, Johns would've come up missing an ear. There's a high pitched whine off by where the others are standing the makes the burning, tiny, black-skinned leather-winged aliens brave the beating sun to dive down the core shaft. Their unearthly sounds slowly vanish from the air as the echoes bounce back at the group long after the last of the forms are gone.

The merc gains his feet quickly and pushes the holy man away. After a lengthy shocked silence Fry screams out, "Just what the Fuck do you think you are doing, Johns?"

"Cleanin' out the supply room?" he says nonchalantly as he brushes past her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Against a blue sunset, the Imam leads a group of the survivors in prayer. They are settled on the edge of the buildings on prayer rugs with their beads and holy books, incense and blessed water, spread out among them. With no clear direction to face the worshipers gather in a circle, as there are more than just four of them. Hassan, Suleiman, and Ali are joined by Simon, Paris, and Jack. Maybe it's a good thing for the kid to get some faith, Rich thinks, as he watches Jack stumble through the book he's sharing with his friend Ali.

Maybe it would've been good for their captain, too. She's in sore need of some faith, right now. However, making someone go through the motions ain't no way to make them believe. He's not going to tell the gutsy blonde that she needs God, hell no. God is a bastard if he ever knew one, anyhow. And Carolyn's got faith, really. It's just a bit on the low side at the moment. Fry is busy at work on the skiff, carefully removing systems that must be replaced in hopes that some of the parts can be salvaged. If she's lucky then that alone will restore her.

The Doctor and Riddick work on the sandcat while a bandaged River watches them intently, often handing them the next tool they need before they ask for it. Johns has vanished like – a ghost, but the ex-ranger knows his blue-eyed-devil is around somewhere. Riddick doesn't need to pray. He suspects that the alien doesn't want to pray. And River… maybe she's communing with God all the time and thus prayer is redundant for her.

They've been awake for two days straight. Soon folks are gonna have to sleep. He wonders if the Doctor needs to. He thinks that they are going to have to set guards up to keep each other from stabbing backs. He knows if he catches Johns napping while the alien is sleeping that he'll slit the redhead's throat, no questions asked. He also knows that if Johns catches the Doctor unaware and unguarded that he'll find some way to end him. The look in the merc's eye hasn't changed.

And he's pretty sure that the kids are on Johns hit list too, because that skiff is too small for everyone and Johns wants to make sure that he's on it when it leaves. Riddick's not sure how many of them will fit on the boat, as the merc kept him away from it. But the Doctor would know, "So the Skiff – looks kinda small."

"Um, yes. It's a six-seater with room for a pilot and copilot. No cryo, and short range."

Now that don't sound good. Not at all. But he's unsure of what to ask with River right there, so he stays silent for a while and thinks it over, "Can the cryo system from the crash be used?"

"Oh, it's possible. Not – well, I need to look closely at the technology before I say."

Vague as hell, that's what he's gettin' here. He looks at the brown-haired man who is up to his currently bare elbows in engine grease; "I wanna know, whatever it is. If you don't think this Skiff is gonna work then we need to find another way."

Those intense eyes meet his even through the impossibly dark goggles. Rich could fall into them and never surface if he's not careful, because that's how old and wise and powerful those eyes are. The Doctor seems to know how he's feeling too, because those eyes glint in amusement and crinkle at the corners making him look almost human for a moment, "As soon as I know, I'll pass it on."