Author's Note: Even though this is my second story of my AU Doctor Who series (the first being "The Mind Ravager"), I actually wrote this one first. You may notice my writing is a bit different between the two. Again, this was written before Matt Smith became the Doctor, so think of it as an AU 11th Doctor. And for this story in particular, we have a bit of a crossover between Doctor Who and an old PC game called "Descent". Enjoy!


The Ghost of Oberon

PART ONE

Briscoe checked the auto-pilot mechanism on the dropship for the fifth time in less than an hour. He sighed heavily. It would be another thirty minutes before the ship reached Otomo, but then he wouldn't be bored anymore. There was a cargo hold full of platinum to be unloaded, and that would keep him busy for quite some time. Until then, however, there was nothing he could do. Dropships existed to serve two purposes: pick up cargo, and drop it off. Certainly not exciting work by any means, but he needed whatever money he could find if he wanted to move to the new colony on Europa. It didn't help that PTMC gave him pittance for a salary. Perhaps I should try contacting Shiva Station again, he thought. He grunted at himself. As if I would hear something they haven't already told me.

He looked over at his co-pilot, Bova. He was asleep in his chair with his head tilted back towards the ceiling. Briscoe chuckled. It was amazing to him how these young kids, who should be full of energy, did nothing but sleep on the job. He had joined PTMC at the age of twenty and had given thirty years of good service, though his short grey hair and numerous wrinkles made him look more like seventy than fifty. Then there was Bova, who was in his mid-twenties and had no blemishes or imperfections anywhere on his body. Briscoe wished he could be that young again. He would settle to have dark brown hair like Bova. Most of all, he would be happier if Bova was awake. He leaned over and punched Bova on the arm. "Hey Sleeping Beauty," he said, "when's it my turn?"

Bova jolted awake. He immediately grabbed his arm. "Ow," he said in a thick British accent. "That was completely unnecessary, mate."

"Not completely," said Briscoe. "We're due to check in with Otomo soon."

"Really? It seems like we just left Oberon," said Bova.

Briscoe groaned. "Kid, sometimes I think you would sleep through Judgment Day."

Bova laughed. "You can do plenty of that after you retire, Briscoe."

"If I retire," Briscoe said with emphasis. "With the money I get from these corporate bigwigs, I'll be able to retire when I'm three years past deceased. In any case, it's time you made yourself useful. Call in."

Bova activated the comm unit. "Processing station Otomo, this is dropship 1A97A3 on return flight from Oberon requesting permission to dock."

A female voice chirped on the comm. "Copy that, 1A97A3. Proceed to Bay 3 for docking. Look sharp, you two. Dravis has made a surprise visit."

"Damn!" said Briscoe. "As if my day couldn't get any better. Thanks for the news, Susie."

"We're not happy about it here either, Briscoe," said Susie. "To be honest, we don't know what he's doing here."

"Maybe he wanted a nice retreat from his comfy office at Shiva Station," Briscoe said sarcastically. He motioned for Bova to switch off the comm. "I'll make sure the containers are in neat little rows," he said, rising from his chair.

"Check that all the lids are on tight," Bova added.

Shortly thereafter, the dropship pulled into Bay 3. Bova opened the cargo hatch and stepped outside. His gaze immediately fell on a man who stood out amongst the others. While most of the crew wore blue or orange uniforms, this man wore a nicely pressed black business suit complete with white undershirt and red tie. This was the standard attire for all PTMC executives and station supervisors, but the man's perfectly bald head gave his identity away instantly. Bova stood at attention. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dravis," he said. "May I say what an honor it is to have you here with us today."

"I would prefer you saved the formalities until after you've unloaded the cargo," Dravis said.

"Yes, sir," said Bova. "You'll be pleased to know we have a full load of platinum today."

"I'd be more pleased if it was off the ship and in the cargo bay," Dravis said sternly. He looked around. "Where's your partner?"

"You mean Briscoe? He was checking the containers before we docked." Understanding Dravis' implication, Bova went to the hold to unload the platinum. He expected to hear one of Briscoe's chiding remarks when he arrived, but to his surprise, Briscoe was not unloading the containers. He hopped inside. "Briscoe? Are you in here?" No answer. "Briscoe, come on. We've got to unload these. This is no time to be napping." As he said this, he looked down and saw Briscoe unconscious near the back of the cargo hold. His face filled with fear. "Briscoe!" he shouted. He tried shaking Briscoe to revive him, but it was no use. "Someone fetch a medic!" he yelled.

Inside the TARDIS, Damia Derbyshire watched in amazement as the time rotor floated up and down in the console. The notion of a machine that not only traveled through time and space but was bigger inside than outside blew her away. Even more surprising was the fact that she was traveling inside it. She looked across the console at the man who made this fantasy a reality. She thought back to the day she met him in Bowling Green, Ohio. He seemed a bit peculiar to her then with his long jade-colored overcoat and white buttoned undershirt with question marks on the collar. Perhaps what made it strange to her was the fact that he only looked 19, the same age as she, but he had knowledge far beyond his years. She knew now that even though he looked human with his dark brown hair, sideburns and glasses, even though he sounded human with a slight Pittsburgh accent, he wasn't human at all. He had no name, or at least she didn't know it. To her, he was called the Doctor, a Time Lord from the former planet Gallifrey. His hands glided over the controls like a piano player, effortlessly steering the TARDIS through the time-space vortex. He was amazing in every way, and now he was taking her on the trip of a lifetime. "Where are we going?" she asked.

The Doctor looked up from the console towards Damia. She was a nice girl, and fairly intelligent too, he thought. She wasn't necessarily drop-dead gorgeous, but he liked her long brown hair, and she wore glasses just like he did. He still couldn't believe that Bowling Green could produce people like this. Well, for all I know they can't, he thought. She's not from Bowling Green; she's just a student at BGSU. She's really from Dover, Ohio, which in some sense is less likely to produce a girl like her. His thoughts were interrupted when Damia asked the question again. "Well," he began, "I thought I would ease you gently into the wonders of time and space." That statement was a bit dramatic, but he always did things like that. To him, this was just another day in his life, but to her, this was something that she had only deemed possible in science-fiction. He figured he might as well hype it up. "I've decided to keep our first trip within the Solar System and not too far away from your present time of 2008." He knew, of course, that flying the TARDIS was far from an exact science, but he wasn't about to spoil her dreams. He pulled a red lever on the console and with a loud, grinding whine the TARDIS began its materialization. A resounding thud signified they had landed.

"Is it safe to go outside?" asked Damia.

"It should be," said the Doctor. "Scans report normal oxygen levels for human life." He placed his hand on the viewscreen switch. "Would you like to take a peek, or just go outside and see for yourself?"

"Oh, let's just go outside, please!" Damia said excitedly.

The Doctor smiled. "Very well," he said. He opened the doors and the pair walked outside.

Damia's eyes were wide with excitement. "I don't believe it!" she said. "We're on a spaceship!"

"Actually," the Doctor said with an educational tone, "this is a space station. You can tell by the size of the hallway we're in and by the resonance of the power core. Personally, I can tell by these sickly grey walls. It seems to be an unwritten rule of the universe that all space stations have to have sickly grey walls."

Damia, however, didn't hear a word the Doctor said. She was too busy staring out the window into the vastness of space. It looked more majestic out here than back on Earth. "It's so beautiful," she said. As she looked out the window, a large blue orb rotated into view. "Doctor, look!" she said.

The Doctor peered out. "Ah!" he said with an air of triumph. "It seems I got one thing right." He pointed to the sphere. "That is the planet Uranus. You can tell by the vertical alignment of the rings."

"Amazing," said Damia. The Doctor was pleased by her state of awe. He moved away from the window and found a control panel in the hallway. He took his sonic screwdriver out of his coat and began tinkering with the panel. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm trying to see if I can access the BIOS for this panel. That way we can find out where we are, and more importantly, when we are," the Doctor said with a smile. The control panel beeped. "Aha!" he said. "That should do it. Now let's see what we've got." The panel read:

DATESTAMP: 07.07.2132 1415 GMT

LOCATION: PTMC PROCESSING STATION OTOMO, URANUS ORBIT

PLEASE STATE REQUEST

"There you are," said the Doctor. "We're about a hundred years in your future, Damia. I managed to get two things right today. I'm quite impressed with myself."

"What's PTMC?" she said.

"Post Terran Mining Corporation. The future of Earth's economy," said the Doctor. "In fact, to some degree, one could argue they own the world."

Damia laughed. "That's ridiculous. Nobody can own the world."

"And they'd like to keep everybody thinking that way." The Doctor used his sonic screwdriver again and brought up a schematic of the station. It looked like a series of levels of squares connected to a central column. "Of course, where they excel in business, they lack in artistic design," he said.

"Your comment has been noted," said a deep voice near the Doctor. The two turned to see Dravis at the end of the hallway with two guards at his side. The Doctor noticed the guards had their blasters drawn and were aiming at them. "I think you two should come with me," Dravis said.

The Doctor and Damia were led into Dravis' office. The Doctor began to sit down, but one of the guards touched the blaster to his back. "On second thought, I think I'll stand," he said to Damia.

"Now then," Dravis said, "who are you and why are you here?"

"Well, we're just a couple of travelers and we thought we'd stop by and see the sights," said the Doctor. He turned to Damia. "It's very pretty out there, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," said Damia. "Absolutely wonderful."

"Enough," said Dravis. "This is a high-security processing station. Only PTMC personnel are allowed onboard. Trespassers are to be executed."

The guards proceeded to raise their blasters. The Doctor made a nervous laugh. "Well, that's a bit excessive, don't you think? I mean, we've only just arrived. We don't even know your name."

"Don't play dumb," Dravis said. "Anyone with half a brain knows who I am."

"Well then, I guess we have less than half a brain," said the Doctor. He put his arm around Damia and they smiled in unison.

Dravis growled. "My name is Samuel Dravis. I'm the head of PTMC mining operations within the Solar System."

"Indeed you are," said the Doctor. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced a small black wallet. He flipped it open and showed it to Dravis. "Allow me to introduce myself. Material Defender 1032. I'm on special assignment from Shiva Station. This is my agent-in-training," he said, motioning to Damia, who waved gently.

Dravis bristled. He hated when Shiva did things without telling him, especially when it involved special operatives. Quickly he regained his composure. "Yes, of course," he said. "Forgive me, sir."

"Don't worry," said the Doctor. "You did everything by the book. My report will give you good marks. However, you understand that I must check out the rest of the station as well."

"Certainly," said Dravis. He paged the control center. "Susan, will you come to my office, please?" He looked back at the Doctor. "I'm sure you'll find everything's in order," he said.

"Oh, I have no doubt. Nothing but the best from PTMC," said the Doctor.

Susan entered the room. Damia noted to herself that even though it was a hundred years in her future, people still dressed relatively the same as her time. Susan extended a hand to the Doctor. "Susan Killian at your service, sir," she said. "My friends call me Susie."

The Doctor shook Susie's hand. "Very nice to meet you," he said.

"Will you show the Material Defender and his partner to a room?" asked Dravis.

"Yes, sir," said Susie. "This way, please." She moved to the door. "Oh, Mr. Dravis, you'll be pleased to know that Mr. Briscoe is in stable condition."

"Thank you, Susie," said Dravis, clearly irritated that she brought it up in front of the inspectors.

"If you'll just follow me, please," said Susie to the Doctor and Damia. They followed her out.

"Doctor," Damia said in a low voice, "that paper you showed Dravis was blank."

"It's slightly psychic paper," he explained. "It makes people see whatever I want them to see. It saved us from being shot on the spot."

"I'm thankful for that," said Damia.

The trio arrived at a set of living quarters. "Here you are, Material Defender," said Susie.

"Many thanks," said the Doctor. "Oh, just call me 'The Doctor'. It's less of a mouthful."

"Certainly," said Susie. "If you need anything else, give me a call."

"Actually, Susie, I was wondering if you could tell me about that Mr. Briscoe," the Doctor said.

"Oh, Mr. Briscoe fell ill during his shift today. It was a bit of a scare, but he's alright now."

"Good, good," said the Doctor. "Would I be able to see him?"

"Yes, sir. Sickbay is on Level 3."

Briscoe was lying on a bed in the sickbay. He hated being there. It was just as bad as being in a hospital. It was uncomfortably cold, and everything was bright white. It made him feel like he had died and gone to the afterlife, care of PTMC. The doctors had advised him to get some rest for a few days, but he knew if he did that it would only be a matter of time before he received a letter from Shiva saying his services were no longer needed. He was about to leave when the doors glided open and Susie walked in with the Doctor and Damia. "Oh boy," he said. "Visitors. That's exactly what I needed."

"This is the Doctor," Susie said.

"I've had enough doctors for one day, Susie."

"He's a special agent from Shiva. He says he'd like to speak with you."

Briscoe looked the Doctor over. "They got kids working as special agents now? Sheesh. Why weren't those jobs around when I was his age?" He paused for a moment. "Is this about my request for a raise?"

The Doctor and Damia exchanged smiles. "I was hoping to talk to you about the nature of your illness, Mr. Briscoe." He turned to Susie. "Could you give us some privacy?"

"Of course." Susie and the medical staff on hand left the sickbay.

"So, Mr. Briscoe," said the Doctor as he pulled a chair alongside the bed. "Tell me about what happened."

"We were getting ready to dock," said Briscoe, "and I decided to check that all the containers were secure."

"What were you carrying?"

"Platinum," said Briscoe. "Oberon's full of it. There's lots of money to be made in that these days, not that I see any of it. Anyway, I'm back there making sure everything's in order and I start hearing this…whispering."

"What sort of whispering?"

"I don't know. I couldn't make anything out. It seemed to be coming from all around me. I thought it was just air going through the containers, so I opened one to screw it on tighter."

"What happened after that?"

"After that…I don't remember. That must have been when I passed out."

Damia said nothing during the conversation. She kept an eye on the Doctor and noticed how his curiosity increased with each of Briscoe's answers. Something must be out of the ordinary; the twinkle in the Doctor's eyes was readily apparent. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. "What do you think is going on, Doctor?" she asked.

"I'm not completely sure," said the Doctor. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Briscoe."

"I suppose this means I won't be getting a raise," said Briscoe. "Thirty years I've been working for PTMC and I've never passed out on the job."

"I suppose you were past due," said the Doctor. He and Damia walked out of sickbay and headed back to their room.

"So how did PTMC get so powerful?" asked Damia. She was curious about the nature of her future, even though the Doctor said she wasn't allowed to do anything to interfere with it.

"Initially, Earth's population growth prompted the development of colonies on Mars," the Doctor began. "From there, materials were needed to sustain these colonies and to allow transit between Earth and Mars. PTMC was formed in order to harvest materials from every planet in the Solar System so that the colonies would survive. No one anticipated they would be so successful. Now there are colonies as far out as the moons of Saturn and the human race is stronger than ever, all thanks to PTMC."

"You said they owned the world. How did they pull that off?"

"That wasn't hard at all," said the Doctor. "They were the only company capable of providing for the colonies. No one else had the money. PTMC knew that and exploited it for all they could."

Damia sat on her bed and stared at the green walls of the room. She lay back at looked up at the ceiling, which was also green. "What about Dravis? He seems like a futuristic Donald Trump to me."

The Doctor laughed. "Unfortunately, he's not that good. He acts tough, but I think that's because he wants to be higher in the ranks and hasn't gotten the chance yet."

"He seemed uneasy when you mentioned Shiva Station. Is that who he answers to?"

"Yes. Shiva is the official headquarters of PTMC, located in orbit around Earth. All the executives and higher-ups work there, which is why I'm amazed Dravis would come all the way out here." The Doctor got two glasses of water and gave one to Damia. He took a drink. "In fact, I'm surprised we haven't been caught yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're obviously not special agents. In fact, I don't even know if Shiva has special agents, let alone if they're called Material Defenders. All Dravis has to do is get in touch with them and we'd be exposed." The Doctor took another drink.

"Maybe he's too scared to question his bosses," said Damia.

"Possibly," the Doctor mused.

Damia sighed. Whenever the Doctor said, "Possibly," it meant that he had his own ideas. "Why do you think he hasn't called Shiva?" she said.

The Doctor paused a moment. "I don't think Shiva knows he's here," he said.

Briscoe was back in his room looking out the window. He wished he could be home. Spending the rest of his life in transit between Otomo and Oberon would only last so long, and then what would he do? He shook his head. Perhaps it was best not to think about it. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat on his bed looking at the green walls. Green was his least favorite color. If he could, he would paint the whole room blue, but PTMC regulations dictated that no one could tamper with their rooms in any way. He took a drink. Maybe I should just quit now, he thought. I don't really need to move to Europa. Maybe I could-

His thoughts were interrupted by a stinging pain between his eyes. He dropped his glass, spilling bourbon on the floor. He clutched his head with both hands and fell back onto his bed. The pain was unbearable. He just wished it would go away. As he lay there in agony, he thought to himself, What brought this on?

And then he heard it. The whispering from the dropship was back. It was inside his head, speaking to him like it did before, only this time it was much clearer.

Invaders…

Briscoe was unable to distinguish the voice's gender. It sounded like it was just floating inside his mind. He hoped it was all a dream. I'm going to open my eyes, and everything will be fine, he thought. As if on cue, the pain stopped. He opened his eyes. The voice was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, though he was a little shaken by the incident. He looked at his hands to see if they were shaking. What he saw filled his whole body with fear.

His hands were grey like stone.

"Of course, what really intrigues me is that whispering Briscoe claimed to hear in the dropship," said the Doctor.

"That could be anything," said Damia. "He thought it was air blowing through the containers."

"Not unless that dropship has a wind tunnel in it," the Doctor said. "I'm inclined to believe he heard something. The question is…what was it?"

"Maybe it was a ghost," Damia said jokingly.

The Doctor did not respond. He was lost in thought. "Possibly," he said after a moment.

Bova was relaxing in an armchair in his room. His eyes were closed and classical music was playing out of his speakers along the wall. He thought about using his vacation time soon. I've always wanted to go to Pluto, he thought. Maybe I'll spend a few days there. The beeper on his door chirped. "Now who could that be?" he said. He opened the door and saw Briscoe standing there. "Hello, old chap," he said. "Come in."

"I need to talk to you about something, kid," Briscoe said. "It's about this morning on the dropship."

"Sure, sure," said Bova. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, pouring a scotch.

"No thanks. I'm fine."

"You know," Bova said, "I've been thinking. You could turn this in your favor. Tell PTMC that you're getting a bit long in the tooth and that they should give you a less intensive job. They might just decide to give you a nice pension and let you retire now."

Briscoe chuckled. "I doubt that," he said.

Bova hesitated a moment. "Why are you wearing gloves?" he asked Briscoe.

"I was a little cold," Briscoe replied.

"Is your conditioning unit not working? Mine's been on the blink for a few days, too."

Briscoe sighed. "I don't know, kid. It's just been one hell of a day. I think—" His sentence was cut off by that same stinging pain he felt before. He shut his eyes and groaned in discomfort.

"You okay, mate?" Bova asked. "What can I get you?"

Briscoe didn't answer. He moaned and grunted. Finally he opened his eyes. Bova was shocked to see that his pupils were gone. In fact, his eyes were solid grey. "Invaders," he said, though his voice had become more gravelly. "Interlopers…"

"Steady on, Briscoe," Bova said. He activated the room pager. "Bova to sickbay. I need a medical team in my quarters immediately! Repeat, imm—" His choked on his last word as Briscoe had both hands around his neck. He was thrown across the room and into a bookcase. As he slumped to the floor, the bookcase fell on him and killed him. Briscoe then ran out of the room and down the hallway.

"I'm hungry," said Damia.

The Doctor was reading the history of PTMC through the datalinks. He typed a few keys. "The cafeteria is on Level 7, two levels down from us," he said. "Want some company?"

"I'll just be a minute," said Damia. She opened the door and made her way to the lift. She paused outside it when she heard a groan from far to her left. She turned to see Briscoe trudging towards her. "Hello, Briscoe," she said. "Are you on your way to the cafeteria too?" Briscoe said nothing.

Damia felt that something wasn't right. She peered closer and gasped. Briscoe's face was completely grey; his eyes, lips, ears, everything. She repeatedly pushed the call button on the lift, but the doors would not open. Terrified, she ran down the hallway. Briscoe continued his relentless march behind her. She had no idea what to do, so she just kept running.

At the other corner of the level, she found a circular alcove with a door inside. She thought that might provide some safety. She ran inside and pounded on the door. It would not open. "Someone, please help me!" she cried. She turned around and saw Briscoe outside the alcove. She sank to her knees praying he wouldn't come any closer. Surprisingly, he did not. Instead, he pushed a few buttons on a keypad on the wall. A clear circular door rolled over the open space between them. Damia breathed a huge sigh of relief. Tears of fear rolled down her face. She was safe now, she thought. Then she heard Briscoe push a few more buttons on the keypad. A red light began flashing on the ceiling of the alcove. An alarm sounded. Damia was confused. Then she heard a computerized voice speak all around her:

"Alert. Alert. Jettison sequence initiated. Depressurization of Airlock 17 in ninety seconds."

Damia couldn't believe it. Her first trip to a space station, and she was about to be jettisoned out an airlock.

TO BE CONTINUED…