II
They were in a dank corridor, and the Doctor was tutting.
"It's a mark fifteen ship," he said. "It's an exploration craft. Very dirty, bad state of repair."
"Called Enterprise?" Carrie said. "That's a bit cliché, isn't it?"
"Of course," the Doctor smiled. "I think that's because the Marine Space Corps are a bunch of sentimental people. Star Trek is… well, a cultural phenomenon by your time, something of a historical relic by now. Enterprise is the favourite name for spaceships. Merchants, Traders, Explorers, the Military…"
"Cool," Daniel said appreciatively. "I always loved Trek."
"Somehow it doesn't surprise me," the Doctor said wryly.
"So they just name ships after TV shows?" Carrie asked, incredulously.
"It's not so bad for the Enterprise," the Doctor told her, motioning to the ship around them. "Now, try telling the MCS Banana Split and her crew that their name was fair…"
"MCS Banana Split?!" Daniel smirked, finding the idea absurd.
"Oh yes," the Doctor said, quite sincerely. "The MCS Banana Split, and her sister ships the Lollypop and the Neo were all quite helpful to me during the rather odd incident with the man who called himself Rob the Gob of planet Bob in the sector Sob…"
"The future is insane," Carrie said sagely, nodding her head wisely, trying to look as if she understood a single word the Doctor was saying, when in fact she silently believed he was talking nonsense.
"It is indeed," the Doctor agreed, a grave tone in his voice, as if it were the most serious topic in the world. "Now then, to our business, team."
"Team?" Daniel mouthed, but Carrie shushed him.
"If I know previous form," the Doctor continued, oblivious, "then there will be someone down here any moment…"
At that moment, three men in blue jumpsuits appeared from a door which said "main lift", all wielding massive space laser rifles with big targeting scanners attached – although they still looked a bit like done-up Tommy guns.
"Hold it!" the first one yelled, cliché space-trooper style.
"…now," the Doctor finished with a smile and a very slight flourish. "Hello boys."
"Who the bloody hell are you?!" one of them asked. The Doctor held out a wallet containing a very special piece of paper, and he smiled winningly.
"Dr John Bowman, space adventurer, dilettante, and general do-gooder," he introduced himself grandly. "And friends," he added, motioning to the others.
"Sergeant Morrison," the security buff said.
"Pleasure," Carrie smiled. Daniel nodded, in a (he hoped) very buff and military manner.
"What are you doing here?" one of the other guards asked.
"Take me to the Captain," the Doctor said, pocketing his wallet. "I'll explain everything there."
--
Captain James Arnold Jonathan Kirk reflected, for his second time that day, on his extreme bad luck.
His name was Captain Kirk, and he was in command of the Enterprise. That was the funniest thing imaginable to some people – but not for him. Mind you, his sense of humour was no good, so what was funny to him most likely wasn't to anyone else, but he didn't care, really – it still wasn't funny when everyone laughed upon him introducing himself.
What he did care about, at least at this particular moment, was the fact that three complete strangers had ended up on his ship – and worse, one of them was demanding – demanding – to see him. That did not bode well. Still, he was a Captain in the Marine Space Corp, so he acted like one.
When they were brought to the bridge, two men (one dressed like a Victorian moron, the other like a soldier, and a woman in simple jeans and t-shirt combo) he turned to them and looked about as serious as he could manage.
"Do you mind telling me who the hell you are?!" he asked, snapping slightly.
"Doctor John Bowman," the weirder man said. "Problem, Captain?"
"Yes, actually," Captain Kirk snapped. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! Dilettante, do-gooder, what kind of a job description is that?!"
"Mine," the Doctor smiled. Ignoring the idiot, Captain Kirk turned to the military man.
"You, retro soldier boy. Who are you?" he snapped. As he expected, the soldier snapped to attention, and saluted him smartly.
"Corporal Daniel McKenzie, United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, code 55-675 dot 563," the soldier stated, smart, disciplined. He stared at the captain for a moment, before the military element dropped. "Now who the bloody hell are you, talking to my C.O like you are?!" he added in a harsh tone.
The Captain sighed, and prepared for the laughing that he knew would come with this pronouncement.
"Captain James Kirk," he said, and sighed again at the laughter.
--
Two alien figures, one, a small humanoid in a wheelchair, one, a massive battle-tank of a creature, stood in an alien control room, talking.
The tank spoke.
"You will proceed to the Gates of Elysium," it said, its voice a loud, grating monotone. "There you will activate the Nightmare Child."
The figure in the wheelchair said nothing for a long moment, prompting the Tank to speak again.
"What will you require to make this mission succeed?" it asked, impatience evident in its tone.
"A ship," the man said, his voice soft, almost quiet, but with the same hint of electronic adjustment. "A force of three hundred combat Daleks. Older armour – we do not wish to reveal our joint hand yet. You know that the Doctor will doubtless be there."
"There is no reason to make such an assumption," the Tank stated, its voice brooking no argument.
"There is the knowledge of the Doctor," the man in the wheelchair said, ignoring the tone of the Tank, almost in defiance, but subtle, controlled, mocking. "You know his way. When our victory is assured, the Doctor comes, and shatters us. It has always been his way, and our luck."
The Tank considered this for a long time, and the man in the wheelchair waited patiently.
"You are correct," it said after a moment. "The Doctor will most likely intervene, or attempt to. Request for full combat unit granted."
"Thank you," the wheelchair bound figure smiled, humourlessly, as if humouring an errant child.
"But be warned, creator," the Tank added, its electronic voice shifting a degree downwards. "If you fail the Daleks, I shall personally Exterminate you, and all those who accompany you!"
The being – the creator – smiled again, and this time, malice was there, in its rotten teeth, its dead skin, its hollow eye sockets, and its single, shining blue eye.
"I am difficult to destroy," he smiled, almost mocking the Tank again, more openly this time. "And believe me, Emperor – if I fail, I do not intend to return."
Then Davros turned away, and drove away from the Emperor, who let him go. Both of them had much to prepare, and neither task could wait for the tasked.
--