Author's Note: OK guys, thanks again for reviews and subscribing. We're getting to the good stuff over the next few weeks, so do stay tuned! I hope you like it so far, and I hope I continue not to disappoint. If you've taken the time to read this far, I thank you. I would greatly appreciate it if you took another minute or so to let me know what you think! Otherwise, enjoy.
Chapter 5- Searching
The Chameleon Arch is a funny piece of technology developed by the Time Lords which provides an excellent disguise whenever one is needed. It actually alters the biological makeup of a Gallifreyan and their cells register as those of another species because they are the cells of another species. The Time Lord becomes undetectable, unless the person searching happens across a certain fob watch. However, perception filters generally prevent this predicament.
The technology does have its drawbacks though. Even though it is biologically sound and generally harmless, it hurts like hell. Some Time Lords describe it as setting fire to each of the trillions of individual cells and blazing the inferno hotter than the twin suns. For those who do not routinely set fire to themselves, it is said to be comparable to driving rusty spikes into your eyes, except over your whole body. Or, the most graphic description of them all, it is like sitting through all seven hundred and thirty seven hours of the popular twenty-fifth century soap opera Don't Short Out My Circuits. Twice.
Some other issues with the Chameleon Arch lie in the personality of the transformed Time Lord. Because the transformation is so precise, memory loss occurs and the disguised Gallifreyan becomes a different person entirely. Certainly this can help with the disguise, so long as nobody looking for you knew what you looked like beforehand. Some awareness remains and everything about the disguise is present in the template, albeit in different proportions. However it can be rather disconcerting for the hidden Time Lord, since all memories from the time hidden are retained and the memories of another person can be uncomfortable things to have floating around your consciousness.
The memory loss is usually accounted for by the Arch. It can usually tell some information about the place the Time Lord is hiding by doing a rudimentary environment scan and determining any needed history for the fictional person the Time Lord has become. The Doctor hid in 1913 and the Arch gave him a backstory fitting that disguise. Likewise the Master's hiding spot at the end of the universe filled in any gaps in "his life" up until that point.
When the Master used the Chameleon Arch for the second time, before escaping the Time Lock, there were several things wrong. First was the fact that the Arch he had chosen was not in top working condition and in fact it was a wonder it had transformed him at all. Second was the fact that he was using it within a Time Lock. This interfered with the background information the Master should have had when he hid, and in fact he ended up with more residual awareness than usual.
As a result, his time as a human was, well, let's call it confusing. Had he found a fully functioning Arch, "Harold Saxon's" memories would have been filled when he escaped the Time Lock. Had he used the malfunctioning Arch on Earth, he still would have been provided proper memories. However, the combination of less than ideal circumstances caused his memories to be spotty, consisting of an odd mish-mash of Time Lord memories and false history as a human.
To the casual observer, id est our dear Miss Leah, this manifested as a simple, yet harmless, case of amnesia. It was possible to lose memories after an accident, she had heard, and she thought the man she rescued to be eccentric and a bit odd, but generally harmless. She was both very, very right and very, very wrong in this regard. On the one hand, the man she had found back home was indeed confused, disoriented and eccentric, but mostly harmless. The man he had been before and would become, however, was quite different. The man behind the man, or Time Lord behind the man was a little bit more than eccentric and far from harmless. Unfortunately for Leah Harrison, the greater scheme of things needed her to be working with an unstable man.
Now, contrary to what most people back home chose to believe, Leah wasn't stupid. She did stupid things and said stupid things, but she was a perceptive girl who could handle herself well under pressure. She could pick up on things easily and she was a fast learner, she just most of the time didn't know what to do with her skills so she did, to use the modern vernacular, dumb shit. On her own, she made spectacularly stupid and impulsive decisions, but under the right guidance, the girl could be brilliant. It was for this reason that the universe had selected her, inasmuch that the universe could tangible "select" anyone for this task. It wouldn't be easy, and Leah would find the very outer limits of her selective brilliance being stretched. Causality was taking a great risk, relying on the untested and unlikely partnership of Leah and the Master, and hoping they would succeed.
Her hand was shaking. Her hand had never shaken before. Not like this, anyway. She had a lot of coffee in her. There was a lot of caffeine coursing through her veins. So much caffeine. More caffeine than red blood cells, she imagined. Is that how it worked? Oh, she didn't care. She had to pee. Again. She had never peed this many times over such a short period of time before in her life. She had never drank this much coffee before in her life.
Leah hadn't slept a wink for the entire night. Earlier in the flight she had decided to give it a go, but every time she thought she had gotten comfortable, the plane would experience some turbulence or other such disturbance and wake her right up. Her racing mind wouldn't rest either, and she had found herself tormented by her thoughts for the duration of the night.
Beside her, Harry slept undisturbed. She shot him a jealous glare. How come he got to rest?
For much of the flight she found herself inadvertently staring at him. Every time she caught herself, she blushed for being such a creep, but she wasn't staring at him for creepy reasons, even if it looked that way. No, there was something about this man she couldn't put her finger on. There was something more to him, but neither of them seemed truly capable of determining what.
It was something in his eyes. Even though he couldn't recall his conscious memories, his eyes spoke of a man far more fascinating than the one she saw before her. He seemed so very... old. And not just middle aged man old, not even grandfather old, but so much older. Even now as he slept, he seemed far older than his forty-odd year old body indicated.
His eyes spoke of even more than that, though. There was something dark and mad brimming just below the surface, but it was so very fascinating that Leah couldn't help but trust him. The very idea of this man was mesmerising and-
She was staring again.
Right. Pee. Her bladder was bulging uncomfortably and she ducked into the tiny airplane bathroom once more. So, no more coffee then. They would be landing soon. She was uneasy as it was about this supposed "adventure" they were going on, she didn't need to make it worse by popping into the loo every five minutes.
Harold Saxon slept a strange and restless sleep. He did not toss or turn, nor did he display any signs of distress, but he had dreams, horrible dreams, that tormented him for the duration of the flight. He dreamed of things that were happening now, things to come, and things he had done.
Other than himself, he dreamed of two men, both very strange and very hated by himself, but in different ways. One of them he hated because he was too good to be true. This man who saved everyone at the expense of Dream Harry's ambitions had once been his friend and was now his sworn enemy. This man had stopped him so many times, and done so in some truly horrific clothing, the pinstripe suit one of his more tasteful ensembles. This man, who both opposed him and so longed to be his ally, absolutely disgusted Dream Harry. However he found himself able to endure this man for the sake of keeping away the other one.
This other man, the very image of grandeur, looked down his nose at Dream Harry. This man considered Harry a lesser man unworthy of even a sidelong glance. This man wanted to cause Harry and the other man harm. He wanted power and order in the universe under his control. This man wanted Harry and the other man to suffer like nobody had ever suffered before, and he had the ability to make it happen.
But even this man was nothing compared to Dream Harry.
In the waking world, Harold Saxon did not know the kind of man he really was. He did not know who he was or where he had come from or why he had been there, but he had some suspicions and he really hoped that Dream Harry was not an indication that his suspicions were accurate. Dream Harry scared him.
This Harry was a man so filled with hate and resentment for the universe around him that there was nothing below the surface. Oh, the strange man in the pinstripe suit believed there was something there, but anything there ever was had been consumed, devoured by the drumbeat. There was nothing but emptiness.
Harold was unsure what scared him the most about Dream Harry. The plots of the past had their share of terror and he had done some truly horrific things to people. It had all been driven along by the drums of war, pushing him forward until there was nothing left to do but lash out. But at least then he had a purpose. The drums were gone, stolen from him by the sinister man, and now a vast, heavy emptiness had overwhelmed him and taken the place of that maddening rhythm. He was free and he hated it. All he wanted to do was die.
Harry wanted, desperately, not to be that man.
The plane landed just before noon London time and just before 5:00 A.M. Lakewood Hollow time. Leah had officially stayed up all night, even though she didn't feel like it. She was jittery as all hell though. As soon as she left the plane Leah dialled Jack's number, not even considering time changes or international calling charges. She was in London now, she didn't have to think!
"Hello?" Jack's groggy voice croaked over the phone.
"Hello!" Leah chirped.
"Why the hell are you calling me at this ungodly hour?" he groaned in response to her infuriatingly chipper attitude.
"I just wanted to let you know that we've just landed. I've got a few errands to run, but I'll be back in a couple of days. Don't worry, I'll get you a keychain."
Jack grunted.
"Also," Leah chattered on, "I wanted to say thanks again for covering for me. Have I mentioned yet that I love you and I think you're a star? Because I do, really. You're fabulous, doll! Anyways, Merry Christmas, have a great day!"
"Wait!" Jack called as Leah snapped her phone shut, blissfully unaware of the stream of curses Jack was uttering back across the Atlantic. He had only just figured out why she was calling when she had hung up. Leah had too much coffee in her to carry out a long conversation. It hadn't even sunk in yet that she was in London at Christmas with a stranger and no luggage. She hadn't even noticed how smoothly their exit from the plane had gone, and how very strange that was. She didn't care; she was far too giddy.
"So what now?" Leah asked as they strolled out of Heathrow. The sun was shining and Leah found her winter jacket to be just a little bit too warm for this kind of weather. She couldn't help but be a little bit disappointed over the lack of rain though, if only so she could laugh at their definition of a cold and miserable winter day. Their cold was the same as her unseasonably warm.
Harry's brow creased. "I'm not entirely certain."
Leah's face fell ever so slightly, but she did her best not to get discouraged. "Oh. Well, erm, why don't we catch a taxi and go from there. We should find somewhere to rest for the night."
Harry grinned. "Excellent idea! I knew bringing you was the right thing to do."
"It wasn't your idea to bring me," she pointed out.
"Shh," he said, bringing a finger to his lip. "Don't spoil it, I can pretend like I know what I'm doing, can't I?"
"Fair enough," Leah chuckled. "Any idea where we're going?"
"Actually," he muttered. "I might know somewhere we can go."
Leah brightened a bit. So he did have a little bit of an idea what was going on, that was a good sign. They hailed a cab and Harry gave the driver and address. The driver gave them a funny look at the request, but said nothing. Leah had no idea what the address had meant and neither, it seemed, did Harry, but the cabbie seemed to think they were nuts to want to go there.
When he pulled up, they could see why.
Leah paid, thanked the man, and the taxi pulled away, leaving them standing in some sort of wasteland. It was vast and desolate and dusty, not at all what Leah pictured when she thought "London," and it evoked a feeling of hopelessness.
"We came here... why?" Leah finally asked. Maybe there was a cheap motel somewhere near here – who was she to judge? - but it wasn't looking hopeful.
"I don't... Oh." Harry's eyes lit up with recognition then grew wide with horror. "Oh. Oh no, oh no no no. Oh no oh no oh no. I shouldn't have brought you here. I should not have brought you here, this was a mistake. This is a bad idea. OK, turning back now, going home. This isn't good."
Leah didn't share his horror about this place. Sure, it was unpleasant, but it really wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. Instead she was exasperated that he was suggesting going home. She was a nine hour flight away from home. "Look, it can't be that bad," she said. "We'll just go find a place to stay and then we can do some sightseeing. You said you needed to be here for Christmas Day, and we've still got a little bit of time for you to remember what for. We'll figure it out, but we've come this far and we're not turning back now. Whaddaya say?"
Harry considered this for a moment. "Alright," he conceded.
He was still uneasy though. This place had, in fact, sparked a bit of a memory and though it didn't make a lot of sense to him right at that moment he knew this was something very not good. He wanted to say something, but decided now was not the best time. Still, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit guilty that he had gotten the girl involved.
The pair walked a bit, deciding against another cab, and eventually found a clean looking and cheap looking hotel to stay at. They were lucky enough to get a room, though it wasn't a very large or nice room, but at least they each got their own bed. Leah had exactly no plans to share a bed with that man and would have slept on the floor if she had to. As much as she had done for him so far, there was a line and that she had no interest in crossing.
They spent the rest of the days wandering the city and seeing the sights. Harry believed that he was just making the girl's trip worthwhile, while Leah hoped that the man would see something to spark his memory. The day came to an early end when Leah almost fell asleep on the underground, and they caught the bus back to the hotel. The caffeine was out of her system and she was running on empty. They could carry on tomorrow. Christmas Day was the big one, after all.
That night, Leah slept soundly in the hotel bed, dreaming that her mother wasn't going to be furious with her for leaving home on Christmas and that she hadn't done anything too crazy. Harry, on the other hand, hardly slept a wink. He didn't need to. He couldn't. More and more memories were coming back to him, and he had a very bad feeling about tomorrow. Something big was going to happen and he wasn't going to like it. Leah wouldn't like it either, and he was regretting bringing her along more and more. This was a mistake...
He wanted desperately to just be Harold Saxon – a normal London man with a normal London life – but that was beginning to look more and more like a hopeless dream. The more he learned about himself, the sicker it made him feel. When he had regained consciousness back in Lakewood, he had wanted nothing more than to know who he was. Slowly he was finding this out, and he found himself wishing he could be anyone but who he really was.
His eyes flew open. His head was pounding like... well, not like a drum. Maybe like a jackhammer, if one was so inclined to describe his headache with a simile. His head hurt, at any rate. OK, so he had two legs, two arms, two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth and a head still attached to his body. Excellent. Still alive. Still... Human. Next up came the tricky bit: figuring out where the hell he was.
There was a crumpled up piece of paper in his pocket with writing on it. His writing. OK, that was weird. No, wait, maybe it wasn't so weird, considering he was just remembering that he couldn't remember... anything about his life up until that point. Alright, don't panic. He had a sheet of paper with his writing on it. Maybe this was a clue? Or it could just be his grocery list. Well, that could help him too, couldn't it? Somehow?
OK you human, the note read, a string of derogatory adjectives crossed out in front of the word human. You have a very important job to do now, so pay attention and don't screw it up. I mean it, do not screw it up! It's not much and it should be simple enough for even you to handle, but it is so important that you could not even begin to comprehend its significance. This task requires you to be on Earth, so your first task is to get to Earth.
Get back to Earth? How on Earth was he not on Earth? What year was this again? Had the humans colonized other planets yet? He wasn't sure, but he supposed it didn't really matter. He had no way of getting back to Earth anyway.
Use the silver sphere, the note continued. It may not take you right to Earth, but it will take you somewhere, anywhere closer to it than where you are right now.
He reached into his other pocket and, sure enough, there was a small, silver, metallic sphere. It seemed to crackle in his hand, energy dancing across the surface. OK, so how did this get him to Earth, or somewhere thereabouts? He read on.
Now, you only need to be on Earth because that is the most likely place for you to find the man you need to find. He may not be there, but it's the best shot you got. Besides, you're human and humans live on Earth. This man is called the Doctor. He's tall and thin with brown hair and a hideous fashion sense. However, he might look a little bit different. So keep an eye out for a blue police box to show up anywhere you wouldn't expect to find one. That means he's close by. If he's on Earth, chances are he's in London in the twenty-first century. If you're lucky the sphere will bring you there, though I'm not sure how likely that possibility is.
You need to rescue this man at any costs. He needs to be saved from the horrible things to come. Once you find him, he'll know what to do and then I'll take it from there. Good luck, human.
The note only served to confuse him. It was written in his own handwriting – at least he thought it was his own – but he seemed to be addressing himself as though he was a different person. Still, he must have been the one to write it, which meant he had to do what it said. After all, he trusted himself for the most part.
That was easier said than though. How was he supposed to save this man if he didn't land in the twenty-first century? How was he supposed to get there in the first place? He was supposed to use this ball but how? What could it possibly do? He examined it, holding the sphere right up to his eye. It didn't appear to be out of the ordinary, but he could sense there was something more to it. Running his fingers over it, he discovered the smallest of circular grooves. It was tiny, smaller than a pinhead, but it was there and quite clearly the activation mechanism.
He pressed it.
The sphere exploded. Or rather, the energy contained within the sphere exploded. There was no noise, no light, just a localized disturbance in the temporal field, originating at the place where the sphere had been. The energy within the sphere – a very rare and potent type of energy known of by only a few Time Lords – enveloped the man who had pressed that insignificant button. The energy burst forth, rupturing the Time Lock in one tiny area in space for one fraction of a second and transported the man who had pushed the button off of the doomed Gallifrey and onto the doomed Earth.