Chapter 22
Des Moines, Iowa
April 2, 2010
Jack noticed the gas gauge was moving ever closer to zero. They had been driving over two hours in the car that he had "borrowed" - although Grace had told him to get off his high horse and admit he'd stolen the car after he hotwired it - and now he needed to get some fuel or else their slow trip to Albuquerque was about to slow down even further. Seeing a gas station on the outskirts of town in a mostly rural area, he pulled beside one of the pumps. "Grace, you have any money on you?" he asked after checking his wallet.
"I didn't exactly have time to go collect my purse before our death-defying escape, no," she replied.
Rose put up her hands. "Don't look at me. I'm not even supposed to be in this particular time... or body."
"Cute, Rose," Jack groused. He sighed.
"Well, you stole the car. Why not steal some gas while you're at it?" Grace suggested.
"I was hoping not to turn this into a crime spree." He bit his lip, pulling out a credit card. "I really don't want to use this. They could trace the usage and I want them to think we're dead."
"Then don't," Grace told him bluntly.
As they argued about the method to fill the tank, a knock sounded on the window. Jack looked over and saw a middle aged man in overalls. Flashing a smile, he quickly shoved the credit card into his pocket, hoping the man hadn't seen it. Rolling down the window, he wasn't sure what to say, rather he just continued to grin.
"Can I help you folks?" the man questioned. "You've been sitting still for quite a while there."
"Um... yeah. I... well, the car... I mean..."
Grace jumped in quickly. "We're almost out of gas and we have no money."
The man blinked. "Well, at least you're honest about it. What do you want me to do about it?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't know. How about letting us fill up? I promise I'll send you the money for it as soon as I get to my bank."
The man looked at him with uncertainty. "Well, that really depends. See, I own this gas station and, if I just give you gas, how do I know that you are going to pay for it later?"
"Doesn't this face just scream of honesty?" Jack asked.
"It screams con-man to me."
Grace's face broadened into a beaming smile. "Told you you're too pretty for your own good."
"Yeah, well..." Jack answered her. "Okay, okay. Here's the deal. At one time, you would have been right. But now I'd never do that. Wouldn't be right."
At that moment, another car pulled up. There was a radio blasting away. The man rolled his eyes. "Oh, Lord. Not again. If I hear about Harold Saxon one more time, I think I'm going to puke."
Jack looked between the owner of the station and the car. "You better not let them hear that."
"Oh, I've already had the brunt of them yelling at me about it. This whole town has just gone completely bonkers over that guy. I just don't get it myself. The guy thinks he's all that because of that new satellite network of his and everyone's all ga-ga over him. Hell, even the lady on the national news gushed like a school girl!"
Jack nodded. "We need to talk." He watched as the driver of the other car got out and filled up his tank before driving off. Once he knew there was no one to hear, he asked, "So you don't think that Harold Saxon is the greatest thing since artificial pheromones?"
Rose giggled. "Only you, Jack."
"Well, I already know I'm the greatest thing since artificial pheromones but that's not the topic right now," the immortal man replied.
Grace rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother," she murmured.
The gas station owner just raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to get all bent out of shape if I say I think Harold Saxon is an egotistical blowhard?" Receiving just a smile from all three of the people in the car, he exhaled. "Good."
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Very good." He licked at his lips a moment before explaining himself. "We need your help."
"Yeah. I know. You want me to give you free gas."
"No. Well, yes, but there's more."
"You want more than free gas? Listen, mister..."
"Harold Saxon is a danger to the freedom of not only this country but the entire world. The man makes Stalin, Hilter, and Mussolini look like well meaning choirboys. This satellite network he's put up is taking over most people's minds and not only will they allow him to take over the world, they're likely to hand him the keys on a silver platter."
The owner looked at him for a long moment before breaking into laughter. "Now, that is one hell of a story."
"It's not a story, dammit!" Jack stated heatedly. "Those people you said have been ga-ga over Harold Saxon. Have they ever acted like this before?"
"Never. But that doesn't mean they're just going to hand over the world to him. It's a publicity stunt. Like a couple of years ago with that Zodiac guy in England. Hypnotizing everyone."
Jack shook his head sadly. "I wish that were true. That situation just needed to be figured out and an end was put to the whole scheme. This is much worse. This will mean the enslavement of the entire human race. I know you think I'm off my rocker, but what I'm saying is true. I can stop it from happening, but I need your help."
The man took a deep breath. "You're right. I do think you are off your rocker. But that was such a convincing act and such a wonderful little story... what the hell. Fill up. Your little fantasy is definitely worth thirty bucks."
Jack didn't wait for the man to change his mind, instead getting out to pump the gas. "Thank you."
Rose and Grace also got out. "Going to take a pit stop, Jack," Grace told him as she headed for the single ladies' bathroom. Rose, knowing she needed to keep cover went to the men's.
As Jack continued to finish the transaction, another car pulled in. This time there were several young men. The one from the passenger side pointed at the gas station owner. From the window, his voice carried. "That's him. That's the guy who doesn't believe Harold Saxon is going to save us all. He called us nuts and sheep."
The other men started to get out of the car, holding clubs. As they approached the owner, it was obvious their intentions were to hurt him.
"Still think I'm bonkers?" Jack asked quietly.
The owner moved away from the oncoming crowd. "But... that's the Daniels boy! He's known me his whole life!"
"It doesn't matter. Husbands will turn on wives, brothers against brothers, best friend against best friend. That's the danger of Saxon's message." Jack stood in between the group and the owner. "Okay, boys. You're close enough."
"Are you another idiot that hasn't realized what Harold Saxon means to us? To the world? You can have the same as him, mister."
"Oh, I realize what Harold Saxon means to the world. Turn back now or I'm going to have to hurt you."
The boys laughed. "You and what army, old man?" the Daniels boy taunted.
"Army? I don't need no stinking army," Jack stated, holding his ground.
"Ooo, funny guy here. Take him!" The four teenagers rushed him with their clubs raised.
Years of training kicked into motion the moment the boys began their attack. With precision and speed, Jack made short work of ending the melee. When he was finished, there wasn't a conscious boy in the pack. "Don't worry. They'll be fine. Well, I don't envy them the bruising, but they're not really hurt."
The owner stared at him with slightly frightened eyes. "Who are you?"
Rose saw the end of the fight and ran to Jack. "What happened?"
"Just a bunch of boys high on Harold Saxon and youthful hormones," Jack answered Rose. Then turning to the owner, he stated, "I'm the best hope to keep this from becoming the norm on this planet. That's why I need to get to Albuquerque."
Rose pointed to Jack while looking at the owner. "Don't mind him. He gets a bit big headed after a fight." Feeling the frown Jack threw at her, she shrugged. "Well, you do."
Ignoring her taunt, Jack continued. "Join us. You stay here and they'll be back. Come with us and you can help us stop that megalomaniac. What do you say?"
The gas station owner hesitated for a moment. "That car of yours isn't going to get you very far on one tank. You're going to have to refill before you get to Albuquerque. What'll you do then? Try convincing someone else?"
"I guess we'll have to." Jack looked at the man with complete conviction in his eyes. "We have to try or else there's nothing. Earth doesn't deserve that."
"Yeah, well, from what I've just seen, convincing anyone else is likely to get the lot of you killed." He gestured for him to follow. "We're going to need supplies too, I'd reckon. At least sandwiches. And you can forget that car. Sticks out like a sore thumb."
"Yeah. I guess it does," Jack answered before realizing what the man said. "You're going with us?"
"Better with you than waiting for my own friends to beat the crap out of me," he replied. "My name's Paul, by the way. Paul Middlemeier." He walked into the station and started to pull some drinks and food.
"Captain Jack Harkness. Pleased to meet you, Paul." He turned to Rose. "Hey, grab a Styrofoam cooler." He picked up a bag and put some chips and such in it.
Grace walked into the station, confusion on her face. "What now?"
"Picking up a passenger," Rose told her, holding out the cooler while Jack and Paul put items in it.
"And why are we doing that?"
"Because, my dear Grace, Paul has seen the future and he's not any more interested in letting it happen then we are," Jack answered. "Right, Paul?"
Paul just gave a semi grunt at Jack's words as confirmation. "I suggest you find somewhere to ditch that car. I'll go around back and get the Beast." He walked out the back entrance as he spoke.
"Sounds like a plan," Jack answered. He started to walk out the front door before turning, confused. "The Beast?"
DWQLTWDWQLTW
Lima, Peru
June 2009
It was lunch time in the Lethbridge-Stewart home and Alistair, Doris, and Glad were already gathering in the dining room for the midday meal.
"It smells wonderful," Glad complimented as she sat at the table, a smile on her face.
Doris grinned. "My mother's special recipe. I remember as a girl I loved her fish and chips. Especially with malt vinegar."
"I've never eaten fish with French fries before," the girl told her. "Separately, yes. And what's malt vinegar?"
"French fries? That's American. Your accent is British... Well, Welsh. Why would you call them French fries?" the woman asked.
"That's what Sam calls them," Glad explained. "I suppose I just picked it up from him. The Doctor calls them chips but that's what Sam calls those thin crunchy potatoes."
Alistair frowned slightly. "My impression was that Miss Tyler was British as well, from her accent." He had already gotten used to the idea that whenever Glad mentioned Sam, she was really referring to the companion still in the hospital.
"I wouldn't know. They both talk just like me and you. Don't know what this accent thing you are talking about is. Though Pharaoh and Jarman did have a funny sound to their voices."
The Brigadier's forehead creased. "Pharaoh? You don't expect us to believe that you actually met a pharaoh, child."
"Pharaoh Ptah-Hotep the Second, actually," came a jovial voice from the doorway. "And Pharaoh Thutmose the First. Although, if I were to pick between them, I'd take Thutmose any day, even if he was a real ladies' man, if you know what I mean. Brilliant man but seemed to want to build his harem pretty quickly, in my opinion."
"Doctor!" Glad exclaimed excitedly, jumping from her chair to run over and nearly bowling over the thin man in her exuberance. "I missed you so much!"
Alistair and Doris also looked in the direction of the voice, both smiling broadly. Doris spoke first. "Doctor, you are a sight for sore eyes. I've been waiting for you to awaken to thank you. If not for you, who knows where my Alistair would be right now?"
The smile on the Time Lord's face dropped slightly with the memory. "Yeah," he said quietly. "All erased from history now, though!" he added, the smile starting to return but slightly modified by the continuing headache that seemed to dog him since Sam had been kidnapped. "Is that fish and chips?" He pulled away from Glad to go to the table, picking a chip from Glad's plate and popping it in his mouth. "Oh, these are marvelous! You don't happen to have any acetametaphine around, do you?"
"My mother's special recipe, Doctor," Doris beamed, her face falling at his second request. "Acetametaphine? What type of sauce is that? Sounds awful. Almost like a medicine or something."
"It is a medicine, dear. It's what the Yanks call paracetamol. Sounds like the Doctor isn't feeling well."
"Well, that's what I get for being around a Yank recently," the Doctor commented. "I mean, calling paracetamol acetametaphine, not the headache. Then again, better than what the Egyptians had. That was disgusting from what I understand."
The Brigadier asked, "You mean to tell me Miss Galadriel's story about the Pharaoh is true?"
"Depends. What did she tell you?"
"I told them they had funny voices compared to you, me, Sam, and them."
"I suppose they did," the Doctor stated, slipping into a vacant chair as Glad returned to the table.
"I also told them about Arthur but they didn't believe me."
"What?!"
"Well, really, Doctor. She has been telling a number of tales," Doris explained. "Wonderfully creative imagination. Alistair and I have been a little concerned, however, seeing as many of her stories are so fantastical," she added, bringing a plate and a bottle of paracetamol to the Gallifreyan.
"Like what?" he demanded, opening the bottle of the over-the-counter pain reliever and shaking out five tablets.
The Brigadier was about to say something about the rather large dosage but then shrugged, knowing that it was typical for the Doctor to do such things. "Well, for one...she keeps referring to your companion, Rose Tyler, as a man. Sam, to be specific."
"That's because he is a man. Sam Beckett." The Time Lord popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with the water provided him before waving his hand in dismissive manner. "Yeah, I know he looks and sounds like Rose Tyler but that is neither here nor there and far too complicated to explain in layperson's terms."
"I explained it just like Sam did," Glad complained. "You know, using a pitcher and water. I got it. I don't know why it's so difficult for Mrs. Doris and Mr. Alistair."
"Actually, it's Sir Alistair and Lady Lethbridge-Stewart but I suppose Mrs. Doris is okay given that she hasn't protested yet."
Doris smiled. "I actually like the name, dear. Sort of like being called Aunt Doris by a favored niece."
"See? There you go, Glad. You've already been adopted as a niece," the Time Lord said with a grin.
"That still doesn't address this Sam/Rose situation," the Brigadier stated. "Remember, I was in the room with the young lady. I think I would know a man versus a woman."
"Alistair, do you have even the slightest understanding of quantum physics?"
"I have technical experts to address such scientific matters, Doctor."
"So I know. You used my technical expertise many times in the past. So, it comes to me to reduce a very complicated concept down to a shoestring... quite literally, actually. You don't happen to have a shoestring on you?"
"I'm wearing loafers."
"Would a hair ribbon work?" Doris asked, pulling the ribbon that held her hair in a ponytail out.
"Brilliant. Now I don't have to untie my shoes. Just got them on, you know." He accepted the ribbon before clearing his throat. "Right then. Dr. Samuel Beckett's string theory of time travel reduced to grammar school level. This ribbon is your life," he started, using the ribbon as a visual aide. "One end is your birth, the other your death. Tie it together and crumple it up and your life is a ball of wibbly wobbly timey whimey connections allowing one to go from one time to another where the ribbon touches."
"And what does this have to do with Rose Tyler being a man named Sam?"
"That's what Sam Beckett did. He threw himself into a quantum accelerator - a really stupid thing to do, if you ask me, even if it is rather brilliant from a theoretical standpoint - jumped lines in his own life and replaced Rose Tyler. What you see is her temporal aura but Sam's the one inside. And Glad's allusion about the pitcher and water was the best way for her to understand this particular concept, considering the time she is from - namely the Middle Ages. Well, Camelot, to be more precise."
Alistair had listened to the Doctor. As the concept became more understandable, he blanched. "You're telling me that Rose Tyler is not a woman. You're telling me she's... he's... But that's impossible. I know what I saw as much as I'd like to forget it."
"No, Rose Tyler is a woman. She just happens to be some time in the future and currently looks like Sam Beckett. And Sam Beckett currently looks like Rose Tyler. Completely like Rose Tyler."
The Brigadier blinked. "Completely?"
"Including the plumbing, yes," the Time Lord said somberly. "And no doubt the temporal aura compensates to allow for certain... unpleasant situations."
"Oh." Alistair went suddenly quiet.
Doris, not understanding why this particular point was so important, continued with trying to understand the concept. "So, you're saying that Rose isn't really Rose... at least right now. That she's actually a man. I'm sorry. I just don't see it. Rose doesn't look like a transvestite."
Glad rolled her eyes. "I told you, he isn't like my cousin."
"There's no one like your cousin, Glad," the Doctor commented.
Alistair looked at his wife. "Doris, dear. You know I've told you the rather strange things that happen when the Doctor is around. This is one of the stranger ones. What they're saying is that the woman we know as Rose just appears to be a woman to our eyes. Rather, if we could see clearly, we'd actually see a man. That's correct, Doctor?"
"About as clear as it can get," the Time Lord replied. He munched on one of his own chips, putting his left forearm on the table as he did so. "Can't believe how famished I am. Then again, did just put myself into a regenerative coma. That'll take a lot out of you. How is Sam doing?"
"Still asleep from the reports I've heard," Alistair answered.
"Asleep?" the Gallifreyan questioned with a frown before remembrance played on his face. "Right. Well... he'll stay that way until I wake him up. No doubt he'll be hungry as well. How long have I been unconscious?"
"You were brought in two nights ago."
"Only two nights? Not as bad as I thought I was. The last time it was almost a week. Then again, being poisoned with my immune system already weakened..." He blinked. "I just realized something. Sam Beckett's really dangerous to be around."
"I think the same could be said about you," the Brigadier observed drily.
"Oi! I resemble that remark," the Doctor said with a grin. "Mind you, not that I'm trying to be dangerous. It just sort of... happens."
"You're not dangerous," Glad stated emphatically. "You're wonderful."
The Doctor didn't verbally reply, just giving her a smile of gratitude for her faith in him. Eating yet another chip, he continued with the main issue on his mind. "I'll need a ride back to the hospital to see Sam as soon as possible. I'm sure his injuries have been tended to by now."
Alistair nodded. "I can drive you."
Glad spoke up, "Can I go, too?"
The Time Lord considered her request for a moment before nodding. "Okay. I'm sure that Sam would love to see you after his long nap. But you don't come in until I say it's okay."
"Okay. Just so I can see him," she answered.
Doris brought a jacket to her husband. "I'll stay. You all will probably want tea when you return."
Alistair gave her a kiss. "I doubt we'll be that long, Doris."
She smiled gently at her husband. "You can't say that for sure. If there's one thing I know about when the Doctor's around, you can never be sure what will happen." She kissed him back. "Now go on. At least now that I know you'll be back, I'll be okay."
The Gallifreyan was scratching his sideburn. "We probably should bring him some clothes. I can tell you from experience that going around in a hospital gown isn't exactly comfortable."
"I'll get them!" Glad exclaimed, hurrying towards the TARDIS to do just that.
He watched her run off, a slight smile on his face. "Hope she didn't give you too much trouble, Doris. She can be very... voracious."
"She's still in her teens, Doctor. What would you expect? But no, no major problems. Her dreams have been a bit troubled."
He frowned at her words, his attention immediately shifting towards her. "Dreams? What dreams?"
"Well, they started earlier this week. Vague at first. Two nights ago was the first for the nightmares, though."
"She had a nightmare? Did she say what it was about?"
"I'm not sure. She saw someone killed. Spoke about a king. But right afterwards, she had to be with you."
"The only king I know she knows is Arthur. Well... and Ptah-Hotep and Thutmose but they're Pharaohs."
"As I said, I'm not sure. All I can say is she was terrified. She was so protective of you, too. Kept saying that she needed to protect you from the Black Lord."
The Doctor crinkled his nose slightly. "Don't know any Black Lords. Black Knight, Black Guardian, Black and Decker. But no Black Lords."
"Doctor..." Doris chided.
"What?" he questioned. "I'm just saying..."
"I got the clothes," Glad announced, having returned to the kitchen with a small satchel. "Let's go see Sam. I really want to tell him about my time with Mrs. Doris."
"Then we shall go." Sir Alistair picked up his cane and the three when out to his car.
