Chapter 14
Lima, Peru
June 2009
It had been a long time since he'd seen anyone. Not that he cared to see anyone in the camp. He didn't know exactly what they wanted but he certainly had an idea. All of this had to do with that Prometheus Institute. Why else would anyone kidnap an old man like him much less keep him chained to a rock wall in a cavern?
Even as Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart pondered on the issue - not for the first time since he was brought there, mind you - he heard the sounds of men shouting. He sat up quickly, startled even more to see two men carry a young unconscious woman into the cavern and chain her opposite him. From the dried blood on her clothes and her shoddily bandaged shoulder, he could see she was hurt. Immediately, his instincts demanded he go over to assist her however he could but he knew that he was hindered from doing so by his own chains. Despite his best attempts to gain information from his captors concerning his new cellmate, Alistair was left with no clues as to the identity of the woman across from him. However, the lecherous laughs that came from the two guerillas did give him a strong sense of foreboding concerning the young lady's fate.
She was out for about three hours before coming to. As she opened her eyes, she looked around somewhat wildly, pulling on the chains that held her to the wall. "Oh, boy!" the girl exclaimed. "This isn't good."
"That, my dear, is most definitely an understatement," the seasoned veteran replied with a sardonic smile.
The girl, suddenly hearing the voice, looked up. "Who are you?"
"A fellow prisoner, apparently," came the reply. "Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. I'd say I was at your service but, as you see from my current position, I am not."
A slightly lopsided - and quite attractive, if the Brigadier was any judge - grin graced the face of the girl. "Well, at least I'm in the right place."
"And why do you say that? I seriously doubt that you intended to be shot and then chained to a rock wall."
"Well, no," she admitted a little uncomfortably. "If I'd listened to the Doctor, instead of forging ahead, it's entirely possible I wouldn't be in this particular predicament."
The military man's eyebrows went up with interest at her words. "Doctor, did you say?"
"Yes. He said you were friends. Good friends."
There was silence for a moment as Alistair considered her response. "I've known quite a few doctors in my life, my dear... What was your name?"
"Sa...um...Rose," he stumbled slightly. He'd spent so long with the Gallifreyan that he was feeling more himself then he had for some time.
"Saumrose?" the Brigadier questioned with a smile. Hearing the girl correcting him and telling him that her name was just Rose, he gave her a nod as a way of greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Rose, though I wish it had been under more pleasant circumstances. Now, you were talking about not listening to a friend of mine, a doctor."
"Yeah. He sort of said we needed to turn back and I thought he was just being... well... Time Lordy."
The knight of the realm chuckled slightly. "Probably the most accurate description of a most infuriatingly indescribable man."
"You two are friends," Sam said with a smile.
"Oh, I would say that our relationship is just as indescribable as the Doctor himself. You must be his assistant, then."
"Not exactly..." Sam started only to be stopped by the sound of their captors returning.
"Ah, chica. You are awake." An ugly smile graced the face of the shorter one. "See, Stephano? She is as we told you. Beautiful and young. We have fun tonight, yes?"
Stephano walked towards the woman in chains and grinned slightly. "Oh, yes. We will have fun but we don't need to wait until tonight and we go in shifts. Can't let our guard down. Remember what the boss said. We can't trust El General there."
"So who gets her first?" ask Paulo, obviously excited about the possibility. "I think we should draw lots."
Sam's eyes flared. "Like hell. I'm not doing anything with any of you, so just stop that now."
"Now, don't be like that, Señorita," Stephano taunted. "You don't want us to be... upset, do you?"
"You get near that young lady and I will be upset," the Brigadier warned, straightening noticeably as he saw the lust in the men's eyes.
Paulo walked over to the military man and hit him. "You think we care if you're upset, old man? You're on borrowed time as it is. When el jefe turns us loose, you'll be no more."
"I'm not the only one you'll upset if you hurt her," came the strong reply. "You really don't want to mess with her friend."
"Her 'friend' is dead. He was no match for us."
Sam blinked as if remembering but with great confusion. "He went over the cliff. It all went... wrong and he... How long have I been here?"
The concern on the Brigadier's face grew at hearing the answer but he was unable to reply as Stephano did so instead.
"Long enough to get your rest, chica. Now it's time for a little... exercise." Taking off his gun holster, he tossed out of reach towards the door before moving his hands to his belt. "Being holed up in these mountains, we don't have many opportunities to be with the beautiful ones." He reached out one hand to fondle her breast.
"Don't," Sam growled. "Leave me alone!" He pulled away from him as far as he could which wasn't far. As Stephano ignored his pleas, He pulled up a leg and pushed him away with his foot.
"You won't deny me!" Stephano yelled back. "Hold her, amigo."
"Leave her be, you barbarians!" Alistair shouted at them, pulling against his restraints in a futile attempt to defend her honor.
"Silencio!" Paulo said as he moved to Alistair and backhanded him before returning to hold down the girl.
Sam continued to fight against the other two men, one holding him so he couldn't land a blow, the other ripping away the clothes he was wearing and violating him. As Stephano hit his victim's head repeatedly against the wall to prevent him from fighting back, Sam's mind retreated, the trauma causing him to pull back mentally, not able to face the horrid reality. "No! Not again! I won't let you! Stop it, stop it!" His voice changed pitch and tone significantly as the remembered personality of Katie McBain, a rape victim he'd leapt into some years before, took over his consciousness. For the next hour, she screamed and whimpered through the assault as Sam's mind tried to protect itself.
It was a good ten minutes before the elder man stopped shouting at the attackers, only because he had run out of verbal abuse of his own against them. The rest of the time, he helplessly switched between watching and avoiding the sight of the horror before him, silently bearing the tears the girl's screams were causing to his old heart. When at last they had left, both laughing at the fear that permeated the room, he waited several moments, listening to the girl's sobs before speaking gently.
"Rose..." he started but stopped when he found there were no adequate words of comfort in the human language to convey to her. Instead, he decided on words of hope. "The Doctor will come for you. He will come."
She didn't answer, rocking rhythmically and pulling into as close to a fetal position she could with the restraints. The military man could do nothing but continue to give her verbal support.
DWQLTWDWQLTW
Approximately three miles from Sam's location, half way down a steep sloping mountain side and near a small stream, lay a tall thin man, a section of his thick brown hair stained crimson with blood. The blue pin-striped suit he wore was dirty with rocks, dust, and small tears while the maroon dress shirt underneath had absorbed quite a large amount of blood, especially on the collar. His face and hands had cuts that clearly spoke of a desperate attempt at saving himself. The rocks around him were strewn with what remained of a backpack full of hiking supplies. If anyone were to come across the still form, it would be quite easy for them to mistaken the man of being a victim of a horrible accident, one which resulted in the poor soul's death.
They would have been wrong on both counts.
"It's a screwdriver, Albert, not a weapon," the still form murmured. A moment later, the Doctor's eyes snapped open, his brown orbs shiny with ill-concealed agony. "Grintarii! Lutu lutu!" He cried out loudly as he tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position. Hyperventilating for a moment to fill lungs that had been inactive for far too long, he slowly turned his head to assess his situation as best as he could, grimacing as he did so.
First and foremost, he was in pain. A hell of a lot of pain at that, covering every inch of his body. Second, he was upside down. Well, nearly upside down. A glance around him revealed his current location, one which only made him groan as he finally remembered exactly how he wound up where he was in the first place.
He'd been slowly backing away from an armed Peruvian guerilla that obviously had intentions of killing him. As he approached the cliff he knew he was being herded towards, his mind raced for a solution to his and Sam's predicament. He knew that he had no means of escape without causing severe harm to his wounded scientist friend several feet away; he was under no false impression that the other guerilla would have willingly finished killing Sam if he made a single move to escape his own fate. He also couldn't allow himself to be killed. A quick glance to the rocky surface below told him everything that he needed to know and, within seconds, he'd calculated exactly what he needed to do to prevent his own possible regeneration or, worse yet, death.
The plan was that, once off the cliff, he would use his hands to slow his descent as much as possible before twisting his body to land feet first, knowing that his legs would absorb much of the impact. Then he would tuck into a ball and allow himself to roll a short distance before coming to a stop. These actions would cause him only minor damages but would give the Peruvians a good show, thus convincing them that he was dead and allowing him a chance to come up with a plan to rescue Sam and Alistair from their hands.
From the way he was feeling at the moment, however, it was now clear that the plan didn't quite go off as he intended. Tomas – he recalled the name easily – had been more forceful than he had anticipated, causing him to be further from the wall than he intended. As a result, he clawed at the rock wall zooming past him, his hearts pounding with fear of failing in his plan. He failed to turn his body quickly enough to get into the appropriate landing position, thus causing him to strike the rocks hard on the left back side, sending an agonizing wave to run through him as he tumbled uncontrolled several feet only to strike his head against an outcropped stone which halted his fall, leaving him in his current position.
"Grintarii," he said again, this time in frustration of his situation. He was still in agony but he knew he had to refocus away from the pain and toward analyzing his current condition. Forcing himself to think was a good way of starting. And what better way than to do all his analyzing in a foreign language, albeit a well-used one.
"Right, then," he whispered to himself. "Assessment." He slowly attempted to sit up, testing his limits. The moment he did, he screamed. "There's a couple of broken ribs there." Closing his eyes, he forced himself to clear his mind. "Internal bleeding… Aww, bloody hell! Just exactly what I need! Well, at least it's fairly minor. Body's already working on healing it…" Cautiously, he raised his hand to investigate his head. "Cracked skull… but not too bad considering. Lots of surface bleeding, though. Going to feel a bit light-headed, I think." Taking a deep breath, he rolled slightly, stopping himself from finishing his fall down the side of the mountain with a well-placed hand. Then, struggling, he pushed himself up onto his knees, using the same rock he'd hit his head on to maintain his balance, ignoring the agony that shot up through his left arm as he did so. "And a broken collarbone," he panted. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. Well… at least I'm not going to regenerate."
Finally on his feet, he regarded his surroundings. Rocky wall to his right, stream to his left... and backpack contents everywhere. "Oh... even better. No supplies. Well... few supplies." Looking around again, he decided that he needed to tend to his wounds as best as he could and so limped over to the stream, dropping to his knees beside it. Easing himself down, he used his hands as a makeshift cup and gulped down several ounces of water before dousing his head with the liquid, washing away the blood that had clotted in his hair as well as much of the dirt that was in the head wound. He did the same with any cuts he could see, resting for several minutes between each action.
Finding himself at least somewhat refreshed, although still in great pain, he looked towards the west and sighed at the sight of the sun's rays low over the horizon. He quickly calculated what hour that translated into using Earth's rotation and his location on the planet. At least four hours had passed since he last saw Sam Beckett, causing worry to shoot through him.
"Definitely not going according to plan," he muttered, standing once again. Taking a slow deep breath, he looked at the rock wall, his mind all ready planning the quickest way back to the top. He immediately started to work his way up the steep, rough incline, gathering the things he thought he could use and stuffing them into his pockets, thankful that they were dimensionally transcendental. Then, reaching the hardest part of his climb - and the longest - he exhaled slowly, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his sonic screwdriver.
"Here we go," he verbally encouraged himself before putting the screwdriver between his teeth. Reaching up, he grabbed the first outcropping in the rock and proceeded to pull himself up. The moment he did however, pain shot through his arms, causing him to cry out and drop back down to his last position, his trusty tool at his feet.
"Ushazte drentare!" he swore. Groaning, he reached down with his right arm, which was fairly undamaged other than some nasty bruising. After another couple of deep breaths to close his mind off of his physical ailments as much as possible, he again put the sonic between his teeth and started his ascent once more, grunting when the pain became too much for him to do otherwise but still maintaining control over his reactions. Whenever necessary, he stopped, gained a footing, and used the sonic to vibrate small sections of rock to create handholds.
At last, with the final haze of the sun giving very little light, he pulled himself over the top of the wall and rolled a short distance from the edge, his sonic clutched tightly in his right hand. Lying on his back, he panted heavily from the exertion he'd placed on his damaged body, praying to any god out there that he hadn't irreversibly ruined his thin frame's chances of survival. Wracked with agony, he didn't move for a long time, allowing the sun to finish its watch over the Earth and the moon to begin its shift. He was certain that he had pulled several muscles during his climb but his condition was second-most on his mind. He had to find Sam and Alistair quickly, especially since the third day was only ten hours away and that was the day that one of his best friends would die.
He gave a quiet huff of a laugh. It was ironic, really. He'd gone with Sam to make sure that space-time wouldn't be fractured with saving Alistair, ready to kill his oldest human friend if he needed to and yet here he was planning his rescue. And all because Sam Beckett just had to get himself shot. The moment that happened, the Doctor felt the timelines shifting drastically. That alone told him that Alistair's death wasn't as fixed as he had believed. Oh, it was true that he was walking on dangerous ground, playing with his own timeline. But he needed to save Sam, not only because he was a good man and deserved to be saved but also because he would never get his Rose back if he didn't. And he was determined to get Rose back, even if it did mean messing with things he really should be running away from. Besides, if it turned out that his original instincts were true, he still could fix space-time and prevent the Reapers from consuming the Earth. Something, though - he wasn't sure what - was telling him he wouldn't have to.
"And it took falling off a cliff to show me," he laughed sickly, grimacing when his actions resulted in pain shooting through his ribs. While the four hours he'd been unconscious had given his body a chance to start knitting his bones, it wasn't nearly enough time to finish the process. Right now, his body was trying to realigning his broken bones, alignments that were constantly being knocked back out of alignment with every move he made. He desperately needed rest. He knew that, with rest, it would take at least forty-eight more hours and a thorough wrapping for there to be actual progress in his healing. And that was just to get to the first stage. Meantime, however, he would have to endure the pain of multiple broken bones, a slow bleeding lung - the source of his minor internal bleeding - and a torn ligament in his right ankle. He only wished he'd had a strong painkiller to go along with them.
Deciding that he'd had as much rest as he dare, he carefully stood, protecting his left arm as he did so, and, using a nearby tree for support, blinked into the darkness. Raising the sonic, he turned it on, using the blue light emanating from it as torch. Studying his surroundings, he noticed a dark object peeking from the bushes. Moving towards it, he realized it was Sam's backpack. Giving that Sam was nowhere to be seen, he figured they'd taken him but left the pack. Going over to it, he lowered himself to pull it from its hiding place, finding the pack was permeated with his friend's dried blood. He needed to see if there was anything he could use in it and opened it.
The pack was mostly intact, he was glad to see, though some provisions were taken from it. All the canned food that had been in it was gone, though there was a couple of health bars tucked just out of immediate sight. There was also a bottle of water still in its compartment, something he knew he was going to need. Hydration is always a good thing when you are trying to heal. More investigation revealed a bottle of Tylenol, which caused the Gallifreyan to sigh in genuine relief. Opening the bottle, he poured at least seven pills into his mouth, washing them down with a large swig of water. Deciding that there was nothing else in the pack worth his attention, he tucked the pill bottle into his pocket and grabbed the water, tossing the pack back into the bushes. If the guerillas were still on patrol, at the very least the pack being where they left it would help to convince them that there was nothing amiss.
Having procured what little he knew he needed, the Time Lord finally straightened to his full height, ignoring the protests of his body as he did so. Mustering all his strength, he started along the path, trying to track his quarry using only his sonic screwdriver and the moonlight to see by. He didn't get far, however, when he found himself getting very sleepy.
"Not now!" he berated himself, instantly wishing he hadn't taken quite as much of acetametaphine as he had, remembering that the drug had a somnolent effect on the Gallifreyan metabolism. He blinked rapidly, hoping to clear away the fog that was growing in his mind as he continued forward slowly. Finally, however, he couldn't avoid the side effect of the drug, leaning against a tree to keep upright. He didn't even notice when he slid down the tree and slumped under its protective branches into a deep slumber.
Translations:
Grintarii – a Gallifreyan curse word; derived from Grintar, a legendary Gallifreyan demon
Lutu – informal exclamation of pain
Ushazte drentare! - Bloody hell! (literally blood-like Eternity)
