The Maker wakes up. She stretches and yawns, then rolls over to look at the clock. 6:25? Her alarm doesn't go off for another five minutes. Oh good! She snuggles more deeply into her blanket, closing her eyes tight. Something won't let her sleep, though, which is weird because normally she can doze off very easily if she wants to. Not today.
After tossing and turning restlessly for a minute, she gives up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and standing up. Today is a big day for her, so a few minutes head start won't hurt. Wait, why is it a big day? The Maker thinks through her agenda – nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind. There is a hard pit in her stomach though, a knot she can't explain that insists that today is incredibly important. It's exciting, but also more than a little unnerving. Where is this coming from?
The Time Lady pushes the knot aside as best she can, her awareness of it occupying a tiny, distant corner of her mind, and sets about getting ready for work.
An hour later, she is washed, dressed, and eating breakfast in the small kitchen of her apartment. She is examining a small device in the palm of her hand, absorbing the morning news, weather forecasts and the like from it telepathically. It works a bit like a radio, but exclusively for psychic messages. There is talk about some political stuff she isn't very interested in, a competition going on next week for a sport she does not play, and an announcement of two fugitives currently being hunted by government authorities. Nothing that seems to explain the weird sensation of destiny in her gut. The Maker is about to shut down the device – it is almost time for her to go – when she catches the name of the fugitive. She focuses in on the broadcast:
Authorities are searching for a man looking to be around 65 years old traveling with a female companion, approximately 15 years old. Agents have identified the man as The Doctor, and the girl as his granddaughter who goes by 'Susan.' These fugitives are quite dangerous, and should not be interacted with. If you see something, contact local authorities with information and vacate the area. I repeat, do not attempt to interact with the fugitives.
The Doctor…
The Doctor…
Why did that name sound familiar? And why did it make her hearts beat harder and the knot tighten dramatically? Suddenly she is sure that she will be seeing him today. She can't explain why.
Quickly she shuts off the radio, taking deep calming breaths. The Maker assures herself that she is just being paranoid. This whole thing was just her imagination getting the better of her. Today is just a day like any other. And this is the end of it.
She rides the transit to work, like she does every day.
The name haunts her the whole way.
Doctor, Doctor, Doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor…
The tense excitement in her stomach pulses rhythmically.
Graduation was just a couple years ago – The Maker is 33 years old now, and has found a job she absolutely loves. She grows TARDISes. Not the boring work of constructing the mechanical bits, the outer shells, and the mechanisms of a TARDIS. Her job is to grow and tend to the infant TARDIS consciousness until it is ready to enter an empty TARDIS console, like a hermit crab moving into a shell for the first time. Sometimes it is also her job to take a consciousness out of an old model until either the old shell can be retrofitted or a new type is constructed. The Maker doesn't care for that as much as raising an infant TARDIS, only because sometimes the older ones don't want to leave their homes. But once they are out, oh the stories they have to tell…
Today she actually does have a few old souls, as her supervisor calls them, to pick up from the local garage. Apparently someone even turned in an old Type 40 for retrofitting. A Type 40! She's never even seen one – only heard about them from her co-workers and the occasional old soul feeling talkative about some good old days. A Type 40 is practically obsolete by this point in the technological development, but they were an instant classic in their day. She wonders if she will be able to explore it for a little bit before she has to collect the consciousness…
The Maker works in a building that exists mostly underground. What is above ground is a simple and unassuming building, but what lies beneath is a deep and complex series of tunnels and rooms for the care and storage of the TARDIS minds, reaching down into the Gallifreyan soil hundreds of feet. The original builders were digging down to reach the edge of a huge rift that ran from the core of the planet out towards to surface. Later on, the Time Lords would realize that the Untempered Schism was, in fact, the tip of this rift jutting out from the ground. The original tunnel was made long ago, before the beginning of time travel. To those ancient Gallifreyans, the rift had just seemed like a source of power. In fact, it was so much more.
By sheer luck, these predecessors to the Time Lords had found perhaps the only place in the universe with the right elements to create a TARDIS. Something about the depth of the rift, its proximity to the core of the planet, and the rift itself allowed for the birth of TARDIS consciousness. It does not happen often, but occasionally a bead of light will form on a tunnel wall beside the rift, quickly grow in size, then, when it is about the size of a fist, it would drop off the wall and float in midair, a shimmery entity of time energy.
It is a sight to behold.
At first, the workers didn't know what to do about these strange glowing beings coming from the rift except to try and work around them. They seemed to have very short life spans – if left unattended, they would dissipate within a few days. Eventually, though, someone figured out what they were and how they could be incredibly useful, and the TARDIS minds have been preserved and cared for since then.
The Maker walks into the office, nodding to the security guard, "Morning, Cornelius!" The gruff old coot harrumphs acknowledgement of her greeting, then fluffs the pages of his newspaper and goes back to reading. His reaction makes her smile – despite his best efforts, she is still incredibly fond of the guy.
Entering the elevator, she punches the button for the storage floor. There is a whirring of machinery as she shoots downward, then sideways through the tunnel systems. Despite her speed, it takes a while to reach her destination. The elevator is playing a corny little diddy on repeat, and she groans inwardly. Someone messed with the speakers again – normally the music is pretty good. She tries to block the song from her thoughts, searching for anything at all to think about besides this song. Her thoughts land on that name again. Doctor. Why does it sound so FAMILIAR? Like she's been waiting all her life to hear it? A memory budges in the back of her mind. Wait, wasn't that -? A name ceremony when she was nine years old. He had been one of the graduates. Of course! She breathes a sigh of relief, having solved the mystery. Yes, that must have been it. The memory has been there the whole time, bothering her, and now that she has identified it she can go back to having a normal day. Despite this assurance to herself, the knot in her stomach only tightens, and her inexplicable excitement grows.
There are four glass vessels already set out for her when she arrives to the store room. These are specially crafted containers, designed specifically for storing TARDIS souls until they can find a home in a console. Her supervisor has left her a note taped to the side of one of the large jars, and she reads it:
Maker,
These are for your pick up today. The garage says any time is fine for you to swing by. Their head mechanic Colstof has the info on which units you will be collecting from, in case you forgot.
- Matterly
The Maker looks carefully at the crate the vessels are stored in. The jars themselves are very large, requiring two hands to carry by themselves. She will be carrying four of them, so probably… Yes, there is a small button on one side of the box. She pushes it, and the box lifts into the air, levitating just at her eye level. She smiles "Perfect!"
As she walks back to the elevator, the crate follows like a faithful puppy. Again the crappy music plays, but she tries not to mind it too much. Walking out the office doors, she calls out to Cornelius again, "I'll be back soon!" His disgruntled huff is cut off as the door swings shut behind her, the crate still following closely. It is not far to the garage, so she decides she will just walk the streets and enjoy the beautiful day.
That is difficult, though, as she keeps getting distracted. Every step closer to the garage makes her hearts beat louder in her chest and the tension build in her stomach. Something big is coming, she is sure. The Maker stops in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling to the side as not to block the moderate foot traffic, and forces a few deep breaths down in and out of her lungs.
There is nothing going on today. This is just a normal day, a normal pickup. Nothing life changing is going to happen. All these things she insists to herself, and slowly her body responds, calming down bit by bit. After a few moments, she feels steady enough to continue. The rest of the short journey is uneventful.
Walking in the front door, a large burly man greets her, "You here for the pickup?" She nods, still shaky with excitement. He looks at her more closely, "You alright, miss? You look a little ill."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just been a weird morning, that's all." He nods in a slow, serious way, accepting this explanation and motions her to follow him into the back. Once they enter the big open loading area, he gestures towards four large nondescript cylinders sitting together against one wall, "Those are the ones you want. Had my boys set them out special so you wouldn't be wandering around looking for them for hours."
"Thanks – Colstof, right?"
"Yes, miss."
"Thank you, Colstof. I'll be sure to let you know when I am done." He nods once again, then trudges back to the front room.
The Maker approaches the four TARDISes she has been sent here to claim. From the outside, they are completely identical. But she can tell there are clear differences – they sound different. The way they interact with her mind is different. Each one has a voice, and they are different as Time Lord voices are from one another. She reaches out with her mind to embrace each of them in turn.
The first hails her as a friend, and she smiles. She has tended to this soul before – she is so ancient, and this is not the first time she has come back to the nursery.
"Hello, old friend."
Hello! Surprised to see me? The voice in her mind is like an orchestra of mysterious and beautiful instruments. They speak for a few minutes before she opens one of the jars and invites the TARDIS soul inside. She goes willingly, and soon the jar is filled with a glowing yellow light.
The second is being stubborn. He had a long run in this one shell, and he doesn't want to leave now. It takes some time, but she eventually convinces him that he will find a better home after a short stint back in the nursery. He grumbles (honestly, he reminds her of Cornelius) but accepts, entering the vessel with only a small degree of hesitation.
The third will not even speak to the Time Lady. She tries for several minutes with no response. Sighing, she moves on the last TARDIS.
The fourth TARDIS practically jumps out of the console, beyond excited to be leaving this shell far behind. When she asks, he only says that his driver was less than gentle, and The Maker shivers at the reverberations of fear in his consciousness. TARDIS abuse is an ugly thing – rare, but it did happen.
She turns back to the most stubborn of her charges today. And staggers back a step as a flurry of images hits her mind, flickering in and out of existence. Instead of the featureless metal cylinder, she sees a big blue box, and the recognition smacks her over the head like a two by four. A man stands next to the box – one man with so many faces, and somehow they are all familiar. The knot in her stomach explodes, and suddenly she knows why she is here today – why she is in this life at all.
You will make something big and beautiful, something timeless and unending, but it cannot start without you. It will touch all of the stars in the heavens and save the universe countless times, but it cannot start without you. Today is the day of that creation, Maker. Today you fulfill the promise you made.
An eerie calm settles over her as she the barrage ends. There is a strange peace in knowing your purpose, and knowing exactly how to achieve it. She lays a hand on the outside of the nondescript grey tube, and a voice like wind chimes speaks to her:
I'm not going.
"I know. You've got a much bigger adventure waiting out there, my friend."
Why are you like this – so impossible on the inside?
She laughs, "I don't know. I suppose I will find out some day. I think you will too. Keep an eye out for me, ok?"
But what do you mean – I'm stuck here!
"Not for much longer." A clattering behind her warned her that the second half of her mission had just arrived, and she ducked behind the TARDIS, not wanting to frighten him off.
An old man and a young girl hurried across the loading bay towards the four lonely TARDISes. The Maker held back a laugh at her own description of him – he might be physically old, yes, but he was only just beginning. She knew that now. He seemed to pick one at random, ushering his granddaughter into the second unit. No, that was wrong! Couldn't he feel the way HIS TARDIS was reaching out to him, calling him to pilot her across the stars? Immediately she stepped out, calling to him, "Doctor – Doctor!"
He turned to face her, panicking a little but covering it well, "Yes? Yes – what is it? What do you want?"
That knife sharp intelligence is in his eyes again, and the very serious mannerism, but now she knows that someday he will learn to let that go and live a little. She is looking forward to that day.
"Sorry, but you are about to make a very big mistake" The Maker suddenly wonders what on earth she is going to say to convince him. 'My entire purpose in life has been to ensure that you get into the right TARDIS today so you can go on to save the universe for the rest of time in the right vehicle?' It sounded crazy even to herself, despite her absolute certainty of its truth. Then an idea strikes her.
"Don't steal that one, steal this one. The navigation system's knackered, but you'll have much more fun."
Somehow, it works. He believes her, takes the incentive of fun, and goes shooting off into time and space. His TARDIS sings a grateful melody to her until they are gone, and she grins wide, her purpose complete.
Now, what was she going to say to her boss?
AN: Hi again. This story would not let me be today, so here is a second chapter for the day after far too long without updating. I live for your reviews!