Thank you very much to LingeringLuminosity for the review. I'm very pleased you think that. Part of why I keep finding this fic so difficult to write is I think because it was never intended as a Doctor Who story. It was intended as a piece of original fiction that has somehow crossed over in the DW universe, but if you feel it fits in well here then it must be going alright :)

Chapter Eight – The English Gentleman

When the lights came back on the Doctor immediately realised he wasn't standing in the Official Records Bureau, as he had hoped. Instead, he found himself standing in a small rectangular room that was for the most part painted the same shade of plain white as the reception, the only difference being that the wall in front of him was entirely mirrored to reflect the rest of the room. In it he could see himself standing on his own amid the expanse of plain white, and he couldn't help but think there was something about the situation that felt just slightly creepy. He quickly pushed that thought to one side as he tried to focus on the reason he was here. Briefly he thought that perhaps he should try and get back to Dominie, but then reminded himself that she was indigenous to this time zone and she was probably quite capable of finding her way around for herself. Since he'd ended up in the RCO he may as well get on with trying to find things out.

He took a few steps forward towards his reflection, noting as he did so that there appeared to be no exits from the room and the white light that illuminated everything had no apparent source. As he came within about three metres of the mirror the Securauton computer systems kicked in again and the room turned blue. "Welcome to the Office for Recent Commissions," the disembodied voice greeted him.

"Hello," he replied to it, even though he didn't think Securautons actually counted as being a form of AI. It would probably only recognise specified voice commands but he may as well try. "I don't suppose there are any actual people in this place, are there? You know, real people as opposed to just some computerised interface."

The voice just ignored him and continued with its automated message. "This department is reserved access only. Please provide identification now, or select the green option for assistance."

"Well, it was worth a try," he muttered to himself as he tried to decide what to do. He considered trying to use the psychic paper, but he didn't think it would work on a computer. "Assistance would be good," he said aloud, looking round the room for what might be the green option. "How do I select the green option? There's nothing to select the green option from," he said as he realised the walls were completely blank in all directions. "Do I just say 'green, please' or something?"

At that point the room suddenly turned a shade of pale green and the voice announced, "You have requested assistance. Please wait here and your request will be dealt with shortly."

"Well, I can't exactly go anywhere," the Doctor remarked as he once again glanced round to check there were indeed no doors. As user interfaces went, he found he had to agree with Dominie that this light-code one was rather frustrating.

After a few seconds the green light changed to white again and the Doctor heard a new voice speak, this one most definitely not a computer. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Um, yes… please," he said, turning round to try and see where the voice was coming from. "I'm, er…I'm looking for…sorry, where exactly are you?" he said as he suddenly stopped turning and looked straight ahead at the mirror again, realising he couldn't see anybody.

"I'm right in front of you sir," the feminine voice replied.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

He squinted his eyes as he looked in front of him, wondering if he was missing something, but all he could see was his own reflection. "Where?"

"I'm…oh wait, sorry," the voice said as she seemed to realise something, "Forgot to dim the photon splitter. One moment."

As he watched, his reflection in the mirror began to fade and was replaced with the image of a humanoid woman with blue skin and an elongated head. She was wearing the navy blue uniform of the IFA and had a rather apologetic expression on her face. "Sorry," she repeated, "We don't often get people visiting in person, it's easy to forget the room's on a time stream cross-fade. Anyway, what can I help you with?"

"Ah yes," he said, quickly trying to think of something to tell her, "I'm the Doctor and I'm looking to get hold of some files pertaining to a recent case of…shall we say armed assault on Alcyone Three Beta."

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. "You know all files in this section are classified, right? I'll need identification from you and you'll have to tell me what you want the files for."

"Of course," he said, taking out the psychic paper and showing it her. "I'm a lawyer and I need to analyse certain pieces of evidence for the case in question." It was quite a good lie, he thought, and he was rather pleased with himself for thinking of it.

She eyed him suspiciously. "A lawyer? I thought you said you were a doctor?"

"I'm the Doctor. Definite article. There's a difference."

"Right…" she said, sounding like she didn't fully understand, and then looked down at the psychic paper in his hand. "The Doctor, senior partner of Auriga ILA."

He nodded. "That's me."

"Okay," she responded, still looking a little confused, "Well, do you have a case number? And I'll need to know who the investigation was commissioned to."

"Well, as far as I'm aware the investigation hasn't been commissioned to anyone yet, even allowing for the relativistic time delay," he answered her, only causing her look of confusion to deepen even further. "But I'm more interested in finding out whether the actual crime itself was commissioned. Of course I could be completely wrong about this, but I won't know until I've checked."

She gave a bewildered shake of her head. "I'm sorry, what?"

He continued talking as if he hadn't noticed how much he'd perplexed her. The more confused he was the more likely she would be to let him see the files. "Would you be able to look up all files relating to the Nova sugarleaf plantation on Alcyone Three Beta for the last…say, twenty warpdays?"

"I…um…sorry, I don't think I can do that," she replied, "I'm not sure you have clearance. There needs to be a specific case number for you to get permission to access the files."

"Well, it says I'm a senior partner for a law firm," he said, drawing her attention to the psychic paper, "So let's assume my firm covers all recent case numbers for that part of Ezucan and I need to see all of them."

He thought he was managing to be quite convincing, but she was giving him a suspicious glare and he realised she wasn't likely to give in easily. "What do you need this for again?" she asked with a trace of hostility creeping into her tone.

"It's for a…" he began to answer, but they were interrupted by the sound of a man's voice coming from her side of the room.

"Did you say the Nova plantation?"

The question came quite abruptly and the Doctor tried looking past the woman to see who had asked it, but yet again found he couldn't see anyone.

"Um…yes, that's what I said," he replied, moving his head to see if any the photon splitter was being dimmed on the far side of the room. Slowly, he saw the figure of a man materialising behind the woman and making his way towards them.

"In which case, thank you, Alizya, but I will deal with this from here," the man said, addressing the woman in a crisp, aristocratic English accent.

Alizya turned to face him before glancing back at the Doctor, and then gave a curt nod before saying, "Yes, sir," and turning to walk back up the room, disappearing into the cross-faded region.

Curiously, the man in question wasn't wearing standard IFA uniform, but instead was dressed in a formal black suit, with a black shirt, black waistcoat, black tie and polished black shoes. The only splash of colour in his attire came from the gold chain that was dangling from the breast pocket of his waistcoat, and the Doctor assumed that he must keep an antique pocket watch of some sort attached to it. Indeed, the man's style of dress seemed very old fashioned but at the same time non-specific, and he wouldn't have looked out of place at just about any point in Earth's twenty-first or twenty-second century.

The man flashed the Doctor a smile, displaying perfectly straight white teeth. He looked to be in his early forties, although with cosmetic procedures so commonplace these days it was quite possible he was decades older. Either way he was certainly handsome - even the Doctor could appreciate that fact - with an angular jaw, long straight nose and very dark grey eyes. He was also very well groomed, with his black hair pristinely oiled and smoothed over his scalp and his moustache neatly trimmed into a traditional Italian style.

It occurred to the Doctor that this man appeared to be trying to cut the image of what was once considered on Earth to be the perfect gentleman – polite, charming and classy – and he certainly managed to pull it off very well. But yet there was still something about him that set the Doctor on edge. Despite the apparently warm smile he was being given, there was still something in those hard grey eyes that made the Time Lord feel uneasy.

It was with a definite sense of caution that the Doctor reached out to accept the handshake that was being offered to him, and the man continued to grin as he addressed him in that almost-too-perfect English accent. "Elias Belman, sir. Pleasure to meet you."