CHAPTER 12. Just Another Day At The Office: 13 October 2010
In the maelstrom of alarms, shouting and associated gunfire that followed Amy's entrance, it occurred to her that it was a bloody good thing that she had found the 'disable guns' setting on her sonic. Perhaps it would become a speciality of hers.
Right now, however, there were more important things at hand. Such as thanking Rory for saving her life – or at least this life.
As soon as they'd landed, she'd impulsively raced out of the TARDIS, hell-bent on rescuing the Doctor from his self-imposed captivity. She'd managed to fizzle the rifles of both the guards before they filled her body with supercharged steel, rendering them little more than heavy clubs.
Unfortunately, heavy clubs were still heavy clubs – in addition, these were made of metal and wielded by two men with (literally) superhuman strength. They both instantly charged straight at her, eating up the metres separating them with impossible speed. Amy tried to back up into the TARDIS, but they were gaining on her far quicker than she was heading towards the still-invisible box. They were raising their once-rifles to cave her skull in when two enormous cracks sounded behind her and both men fell dead at her feet. She turned around, breathless, and saw her wide-eyed fiancée wielding two futuristic pistols.
There was silence for a moment, as all present took in the events of the last few seconds. Then the room erupted with noise as the soldiers streamed out of the TARDIS, and the guards, having heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, rushed into the control room. The Doctor, Heviniye and the leader all dived for cover in separate directions. Amy and Rory simultaneously grabbed each other and did the same.
"Thanks," Amy said, panting, still deep within an adrenaline rush.
"Don't mention it, 'cos I will," Rory replied, smiling.
"You better not," she threatened lightly.
"Yeah, I better not," he admitted. She squeezed his hand and poked her head above the low wall that marked the edge of someone's workstation.
"You see the Doctor?" Rory asked, not willing to chance his arm – or head – unless absolutely necessary.
"Yeah. Well, no. But I know where he is."
"As long as he's fine," Rory said, leaning back on the low wall as the sound of the firefight continued to fill the room, sparks from gunfire striking bare metal flying across the dimly lit space.
Amy shook her head. She needed to be sure. She tightened her grip on her sonic phone and took one of the pistols out of Rory's hand.
"Wait," he said as Amy turned around, crouching just below the level of the wall, tensed like a cat poised to strike. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think?"
"Amy, wait! No! Amy!" But he was too late. She had already sprung up from behind the wall, darting between the computer terminals, firing both her sonic and her gun at any presence she instinctively felt was vaguely hostile. Shimmering blue streaks rent the air around her, and Rory watched in terror as one passed far too close to her for comfort, then another...
Oh, dear god, that was far too close. She's going to get herself killed...
The Doctor watched the scene unfold in equal parts sheer terror at the danger his closest companion was placing herself in, amazement at her nerve, and swelling pride at her dedication. Acting on nothing but instinct, she'd somehow managed to avoid the crossfire that had filled the room and reach him amidst the smoke, sparks and deadly beams erupting from the firearms of the eighty or so soldiers that now occupied the command centre. She dived down between a pair of computer consoles, its operators both having managed to flee, and ended up on her belly right in front of him.
"Hello," she said in a breathless, slightly sing-song voice.
"Quite an entrance you made there."
She grinned. "I try. Learnt from the best."
A wry smile made its way onto his lips. "Maybe later I'll show you some other things I'm quite good at."
Amy cocked an eyebrow, still prone on the floor beside him. "Really, Doctor? Is this really important now, flirting?"
The Doctor's eyes widened. "I mean... that's not – er – I meant-"
Amy giggled. "Never mind, Doctor." Hopeless, brilliant man. "Here, I need to uncuff you." He held out his hands in front of her sonic and the steel rings popped open.
"Thanks," he said gratefully, wringing his chafed wrists as she lifted herself off the floor and into a more comfortable position. He poked his head above the collection of black computer boxes they had taken cover behind. "Looks like your folk are winning. Superior numbers and all that. You know," he continued, turning to Amy and eyeing the firearm in her right hand, "I usually don't have time for guns-"
"-but for me you'll make an exception. As you always do."
"Still don't like them."
"Yeah, that's what makes you so sweet. And what makes it so fun, too."
He sighed. "Pond, are you ever going to listen to me?"
She grinned. "Nope, and-"
"-don't you forget it. I know."
A thudding noise and a shower of sparks above them reminded the pair of their predicament. "OK." He breathed in, rubbing his hands together. "A bit longer. Good. So we need to go over there," he told her, motioning to a console about twenty feet away "and discharge all the weapon systems into space. Then we can pack up and go home." Amy glanced over at where he had indicated.
"Oh, typical. Back the way I came. Like always," she groaned.
"Look on the bright side: the gunfire's starting to die down now."
She raised her head cautiously above the steel makeshift barricades to glance around the room. He was right – the cacophony of noise was less from the cracking of gunfire, but rather the sound of arcing electricity from damaged equipment, sparks falling on the tiled steel floor and the groans of wounded men. Several minutes later and the sound of gunshots had died away entirely.
The Doctor sprang upright. "Well then! That was fun. In a manner of speaking. Is everyone alright? Heviniye?" A quavering voice answered him, and he moved over to remove the stroyeteli's cuffs. "Rory?"
"Yeah, fine. Is Amy OK?"
"Absolutely perfect. How about you, General? Everyone in one piece?"
"Not quite, Doctor." The General's voice was grim. "Lost fifteen men, another ten wounded, though none fatally. Captain's dead, too."
The Doctor closed his eyes. Another fifteen lives you couldn't save. He heard a gasp behind him, and didn't need to be looking to know what his friend was feeling, her hands over her mouth in horror. Amelia, you can't always save everyone.
"I'm sorry."
"I appreciate the condolences, Doctor, but that will be for another time. We're in range."
He snapped his thoughts back to the present. "Yes. Right." He strode over to the weapons control console and buzzed the sonic screwdriver over the panel, a light-blue holographic screen flickering into life in front of him. His hands flitted over the images on the screen, directing them in varied intricate patterns.
"Weapons systems activated," a disembodied, robotic voice droned from the speakers in the wall. Heviniye blanched.
"Wait – what do you think you're doing?"
"Discharging the weapons. Only way to ensure that that this fleet is harmless – use up all the ammo, so to speak. Don't worry, I'm not aiming anywhere near your star."
"Coordinates confirmed. Power at one hundred percent. All atom-laser fuel loaded. Firing sequence initiated. Firing in ten... nine... eight..."
Amy watched the Doctor work the controls from behind, having briefly forgotten her horror at the news of the fifteen dead. Yet another world saved. Just another day at the office, then.
"Seven... Six..."
Just a few more seconds and ten billion people would be able to live their lives again, free from fear and the threat of annihilation. Her hearts were ready to burst out of her chest, beating with fierce pride, triumph, and... malice?
What...?
She turned to her right and saw a man, robed in grey with a single golden sash across his chest, on his hands and knees, out of sight of the Doctor and the soldiers beyond, crawling up to a console. A small device, similar to a flash drive, was in his hand. As the countdown fell to five, he reached the console and plugged it in. As he did so, his eyes locked with Amy's. She saw into them, the merciless, pitiless hatred filling their depths and vindictive triumph glazing their obsidian irises. Suddenly, she realised exactly what he was going to do. Raw fury, boiling hot and uncontrollable, rose up her throat.
OH NO YOU DON'T.
She didn't even think about it. Her hand simply moved of its own accord.
"Alternate co-ordinates entered. Please confirm override."
"Five..."
The Doctor stood back, admiring his handiwork. Well, that went rather nicely, didn't it? Seconds away now...
Then as it had in the little shop, a tsunami of emotion of extraordinary strength slammed into his mind, flowing from the Time Lady standing just feet away. This time it wasn't fear, though. It was rage.
Amy...?
He spun around. He saw Amy purposefully extend her arm, anger and determination writ large on her face. Saw the oversized pistol in her right hand. Saw her take aim. Amy... no...
"Alternate coordinates entered. Please confirm override."
"AMY, NO!"
He was too late.
The echo of the shot deafened in the dead silence of the room. Everyone stared, open mouthed, at the Time Lady in absolute shock.
"Alternate coordinates entered. Please confirm override."
The aquamarine sky above Stroyet stretched in the dazzling afternoon light, the rays of sun glimmering majestically on the glass-steel peaks of the sprawling metropolis below. Cloudless, warm, with a gentle breeze making its way down the skyscraper-lined glass canyons of the city, it was a perfect spring day, and one that normally would have seen droves of people in the great outdoors, soaking up the wonderful conditions.
The streets, however, were empty, its usual inhabitants having finally decided to give up the pretence of normalcy and spend their final moments in the company of loved ones. A rumour had gone around the city that an enigmatic alien had come to their aid several days previously, and that the Stroyet top brass had joined her in a final desperate attempt to avert oblivion, but most dismissed that as absurdly optimistic wishful thinking. A few hardy – and mostly lonely – souls still remained outside, gathering in the various parks and open spaces of the city, feeling that there was now nothing better to do than to witness the death of their star.
One of them, a young, blond-hired man, formerly a student before studying had become a singularly worthless exercise, looked up at the clear, perfect blue sky, taking in its pristine beauty before it was torn asunder by the violent eruptions of an exploding star.
As he stared, a tiny speck of imperfection caught his attention. A little pixel of pure green. Then another. And another. Within seconds, dozens of little green specks of light had dotted the afternoon sky. Just as everyone said it would. The young man's heart leapt up to his throat.
This is it.
The green dots began to move, tracing emerald-shaded lines against the aquamarine sky. The lines began to reach forward, stretching out to deliver doom to the young man and his people.
This. Is. It. Minutes to go now. Last few minutes of my life. Of everyone's life.
He began to tremble, as a thousand desperate, random thoughts raced through his head. His last thoughts. The lines began to converge...
...but not on the star?
The thought came from nowhere, slicing in between hurried apologies to his mother and father for all the wrongs he had committed in his short life. The vivid green streaks moved ever closer and closer together, all seemingly rushing towards a single point in space, far away from the dazzling brightness of the star above.
They met...
A beacon of light, the greenest of greens, blazed forth from the point where the beams had converged. Brighter than any light ever seen, or would ever be seen on the surface of the planet. The man screwed up his face, averting his eyes and using his palm as a shield, but even then the dazzling intensity of the light permeated into every corner of his awareness. This, he thought, must surely be the end now.
And then it was gone. Just like that. The light was gone. No heat of cosmic fire, no rapturous cataclysms, no sign of anything untoward happening at all. Nothing but the murmuring of the wind and the distant chirping of birdsong.
He opened one eye, to see the world as it was a minute before. And another, to fully take in his surroundings. Completely the same, completely normal. No apocalypse. No doom. He looked up – the green lines had vanished. The star was still shining steadily, indomitably, as it had last minute, last hour, last day, last year. Just as it always had.
For a moment, shock and disbelief. Then a laugh. A laugh that grew to an unending outpouring of amazement, relief and joy. He ran through the streets, yelling like a madman, spreading the good news.
By sunset, ten billion people had joined him.
So we've reached the end of the Stroyet plot arc, which turned out quite a bit longer than I had originally envisaged. I might have to be a little less ambitious in future [/BlatantLies]. To the forty-odd-ish who've Story Alerted this thus far, those of you who have Fav'd it, especially the reviewers and especially RunawayTelephones for helping me edit, a heartfelt thanks for sticking through with me thus far. It makes this experiment of mine all the more worthwhile, and makes me all the more the determined to continue despite being buried six feet under with respect to uni.