Title: What a Fool Believes
Author: E.A. Week
E-mail: eaweek at hotmail-dot-com
Summary: River Song summons the Eleventh Doctor to the beautiful planet Vareda to celebrate the excavation of an ancient temple. A gruesome attack on the Doctor leads River to believe that someone on Vareda would do anything to keep her discovery buried forever.
Category: Doctor Who. Eleven/ River; Amy/Rory.
Distribution: Feel free to link to this story from another web page, but please drop me at least a brief e-mail and let me know you've done this.
Feedback: Letters of comment are always welcome! Loved it? Hated it? Send me an email and let me know why!
Disclaimer: Copyrights to all characters in this story belong to their respective creators, production companies, and studios. I'm just borrowing them, honest!
The story title is shamelessly stolen from the Doobie Brothers.
Datclaimer: This story is rated M for sex, language, and mild gore.
Continuity (PLEASE read this): This story occurs between "A Christmas Carol" and "The Impossible Astronaut." At first, I'd thought the story would be set at some nebulous point after season five, but somewhat outside the continuity of season six, but in writing chapter four and the epilogue, I discovered a way to make the story fit better into the show's existing continuity, although it still might not be letter-perfect with the existing canon of season six.
Chapter Four
For a few moments, the only sound was Iris, her breathing ragged and harsh. With an inarticulate moan, she dropped to her knees and began sifting through the black ash with her fingers, as if somehow she would find her daughter alive in the pile of burnt carbon.
The Doctor turned to Dr. Griffith, who was watching Iris with an agonized expression.
"Who knows?" asked the Doctor.
"What—who knows what?"
"About your little experiment," the Doctor spat.
"Me—and Iris—and Lady Bianca, naturally," Dr. Griffith said.
"No-one else?" asked the Doctor.
"Nobody."
The Doctor was staring at the other man, his head weaving back and forth. "You're lying," he said.
"I—" Dr. Griffith stammered.
"Who else knows?"
Dr. Griffith was still waffling. Without warning, the Doctor's hands shot up, his index fingers driving into the other man's temples.
"Aaagh!" Dr. Griffith shouted, his face screwing up in pain. The Doctor only needed a moment to find what he needed, and he released Dr. Griffith so quickly that the scientist staggered back a few steps.
Now the Doctor's anger had darkened and hardened into a smoldering wrath. Amy couldn't bear to look at his face—the face of a monster.
"Gather your staff," the Doctor ordered. "All six of them—everyone who knows. Now."
Dr. Griffith hastened to do the Doctor's bidding, looking as though he might be physically ill at any moment.
Amy whispered to River, "What's the Doctor going to do?"
River said, "He's going to wipe their memories."
(ii)
There were five Mollisians on Dr. Griffith's research staff and one Moschatan, a young man with those three golden spots over his eyebrows. All six technicians looked anxious at this abrupt summons.
The Doctor was pacing; his hands, behind his back, were clenched into hard fists.
"Show me what you've been doing," he ordered.
At a nod from Dr. Griffith, one of the women brought up an image on a computer screen, the twisting double helix of a DNA molecule.
"That's mine," the Doctor said. "You're analyzing my DNA."
The female technician nodded, mute and terrified, looking to Dr. Griffith for support or aid or comfort. But Dr. Griffith had no reassurance to offer.
From another side of the room, Amy, Rory, and River watched the tableaux unfold. Amy and Rory clutched hands; River looked as solemn and dispassionate as an executioner.
The Doctor was addressing Dr. Griffith. "What happened?" he asked. "You saw the effect my blood was having on Miranda, so you took another sample, this one for yourself?"
"I—" Dr. Griffith began, but the Doctor interrupted him.
"What for?" the Doctor asked. "The cure for anything? Immortality in a test tube? All for the greater glory of Dr. Hector Griffith?"
"I wanted to help people," Dr. Griffith said, sweating. "It's all I ever wanted."
With a harsh laugh, the Doctor said, "You can't lie to me—I've looked inside your mind, remember?"
Dr. Griffith glared at him.
"Right," the Doctor said, turning to address the six technicians. "And how many of you haven't been able to resist talking about this to your friends? Your family?"
"They all work under a strict nondisclosure agreement," Dr. Griffith said.
"Oh, silly pieces of paper never stopped anyone from talking, especially about a magical elixir, immune cells that can cure any disease." The Doctor reached out his hands, placing his fingers against the temples of the nearest technician. The young man gasped and went rigid. A moment later, the Doctor stepped away. The technician staggered and almost fell.
"What am I doing here?" he asked, bewildered. "Dr. Griffith? What's going on? I—I can't remember."
"Good lad," the Doctor said, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Off you go now, back to work."
After the young man left, Dr. Griffith growled, "What are you doing?"
The Doctor approached a middle-aged woman and put his fingers on her temples. A moment later, he released his hands.
"Had a nice little chin-wag with your husband, did you?" he said. Turning to Dr. Griffith, he ordered, "Have him brought here."
"No—not Claudio, don't hurt him!" the young woman cried out.
"And who did he tell?" the Doctor asked. He went down the line, one by one. Four of the six technicians had not spoken of the DNA analysis to anyone, so the Doctor wiped their memories of the past twenty-four hours and sent them on their way. With the other two, he waited until the female technician's husband and another technician's sister had been brought in for questioning. The sister had said nothing, but Claudio, the husband, had been loose-lipped, and another five people had to be brought in and mind-read before the Doctor was satisfied that the secrets of his blood had not traveled any further.
By the time all this was done, Amy was exhausted and feeling queasy. She realized she was seeing a side of the Doctor that until now, she'd only glimpsed at odd moments. She hadn't guessed how carefully he'd concealed this aspect of his nature. No, not concealed, she thought—reined in. This anger, this righteous fury, had always been part of him, but now he was allowing it to take the driver's seat.
"Am I next?" Dr. Griffith asked after the befuddled technicians and their equally confused retinues had departed the conference room.
"Not yet," the Doctor said, his lip curling up a bit over his teeth. "Show me where the samples are kept."
Dr. Griffith led them into another part of the research lab. From beneath a hood, he drew out a small rack containing a dozen glass test tubes.
Without any further debate, the Doctor carried the rack over to another counter and threw it down into a sink. The glass shattered into fragments, the liquid within each tube spilling out and running down the drain. The Doctor splashed alcohol into the sink and used his sonic to ignite the chemical, which exploded upward with a startling whomp and a burst of blue flame.
"Right," he said. "Now, your data banks."
In another room sat a small cluster of sophisticated hardware, computer drives mounted in a series of metal stands. From the look of things, a single monitor allowed access to the system. The Doctor sat before the monitor, waved his sonic at the screen, and began tapping keys on a glowing keypad.
"I'm deleting all your data," he said.
"There's more than just the data on your blood," Dr. Griffith said, sweating. "Decades of work—other projects—Doctor, please, people's lives are—"
The Doctor aimed the sonic at the rack of hard drives. With a loud bang, like a gun being fired, the entire system went dead. The lights stopped blinking, the monitor went dark. Dr. Griffith made a small, high-pitched noise in his throat.
"That research could have saved people's lives," he said.
"I'll leave you to explain to them why it was destroyed," the Doctor said.
Beside Amy, Rory shifted and said, "What, like he doesn't have all that stuff backed up somewhere?"
Dr. Griffith jolted, and he shot Rory a furtive, murderous look. Amy glared at her husband; not that she didn't understand the Doctor's rage, but did Rory have to go and make everything worse?
"Even on Earth, we back up our data," Rory went on. "Redundant systems…" He faltered for a moment, and then shrugged, "It's not exactly rocket science."
"Ha-ha, Rory the Roman's on a roll today!" the Doctor exclaimed, clapping his hands together once.
River said, "Doctor, that data could be backed up anywhere on the planet—Vareda's network includes everything, every computer, every mobile…" Like Rory, she seemed to realize that giving the Doctor more ammunition might not be the best thing. Her lips formed a silent "Oh," as if she'd just realized something of staggering importance—and not anything good, either. "Oh," she whispered.
"Volcano Day," the Doctor said, striding from the room.
"You don't have to do this!" River shouted, running after him.
"Oh, yes I do," he said, walking even faster, his companions racing to keep up with him. "All anyone would need is one image of my DNA, one file, one molecule, and they could clone themselves an army of Time Lords. Not on my watch," he said, aiming his sonic at the controls of the nearest lift.
Dr. Griffith had come up behind them. "Stop," he ordered. "You've done enough damage already—whatever you have planned, I forbid you—"
Hector's words stopped when the Doctor's hands snapped up to his temples. In an instant, the Doctor had erased everything Dr. Griffith had learned about Time Lord genetics. When the Doctor released his hands, Dr. Griffith's eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell with a heavy thud to the floor.
"That sorts the loose ends," the Doctor said, and he stepped into the lift without looking back.
(iii)
By now, dusk had gathered around the capital city, the beautiful lavender dusk full of a heady perfume; high overhead, the palamon trees were beginning to flower. Crowds of people milled about the city streets, exiting and entering tram cars. Very faintly, Amy heard music and laughter: it seemed the New Year's celebration hadn't ended—yet.
The Doctor strode with single-minded focus over the bridge to the royal palace. Stewards looked up as the Time Lord came whirling through, his friends running alongside him. The queen's staff surely had heard about the events at the hospital; one tried to halt the Doctor, but a single look from him, full of cold steel, cowed the steward into dumb paralysis. Nobody else hindered the time travelers as they rushed inside the blue box.
Amy found her voice once they were inside the machine. "What are you going to do?" she asked.
The Doctor didn't answer, setting coordinates and throwing levers.
"You don't have to do this," River said, her blue eyes full of concern. "The chances that any of them could use your DNA—"
"Vareda has cloning technology," the Doctor said. "You said it yourself—data files with my genetic code could be anywhere on the planet."
"So, how do you get rid of them?" Rory asked.
The Doctor said, "Blow it out."
"Blow out what?" asked Amy.
"The power. All of it."
Amy and Rory stared at him. Amy's gaze jerked over toward River, whose resigned expression suggested she had already guessed the Doctor's plans.
"The whole planet's power?" asked Rory. "Isn't that a bit overkill?"
"It's the only way."
Amy said, "Doctor, you can't do that."
He pointed a finger at her. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Amelia."
The TARDIS shook and rumbled as it materialized. The Doctor opened the doors and bounced out, as if in anticipation of any new adventure.
"This is it," he said.
Amy stared around the massive silver structure, plunked in the middle of a desolate brown desert. This must be the other side of Vareda, where it was still daylight. The sun beat down with a ferocious, unforgiving blaze of heat.
"It's a furnace!" Rory gasped.
"The equatorial region," River nodded. "We're on Vareda's smallest landmass—uninhabitable desert, over twenty hours of daylight every day. A perfect spot for a solar power station."
The station itself was quiet and serene, no humming of powerful machinery, just an occasional soft click from overhead as the vast solar panels rotated, following the sun's path across the sky.
"Where is everyone?" asked Amy, looking about.
"Nobody works here," River said. "It's too hot for human habitation—the station is fully automated."
The Doctor strode around a metal catwalk that circled the main column of the plant. Once they were out of the sun and into the shade, the temperature became slightly more bearable. Still, Amy and Rory were dripping sweat. They followed River and the Doctor down a long flight of steps and around a second, lower catwalk. The Doctor was looking for something.
"Ah," he said, voice rich with satisfaction. "Gotcha."
As his companions watched, he used the sonic to open a panel in the wall of the column. Amy peered inside. She saw nothing except what appeared to be a dozen tall, slim columns of clear glass.
"What's that?" she asked uneasily.
"Crystal," said River. "Varedan clear quartz crystal, the same stuff you saw in the Moschatan pit trap. It conducts the electricity from the solar panels through underground power cables and out to the rest of the planet."
"Mind your ears," the Doctor said, and aimed the sonic straight into the heart of the tower. Amy and Rory clamped their hands over their ears, barely blotting out the explosive sound of the crystal columns shattering, as one by one, the Doctor destroyed the plant's power conductors.
"Right," he said, pocketing the sonic device, his face still hard, eyes blank. His friends stumbled after him, up to the overhead catwalk and back toward the TARDIS. The last thing Amy heard before she entered the ship was the forlorn clicking of the solar panels, still moving, but impotent now, machines unaware that the energy they gathered from Stellata was going nowhere.
(iv)
"I want to go home," Amy said, her voice very quiet. She didn't look at the Doctor as she spoke. She clung tightly to Rory's hand, unwilling to let go of the one secure, stable thing in her universe. "To Leadworth." Beside her, Rory nodded.
"Yes," the Doctor said after a moment. "Yes, all right. Of course."
Amy couldn't help a certain amount of anti-climax when the TARDIS materialized outside her house.
"What day is this?" she asked, staring around the starlit garden.
"It's your wedding day," the Doctor said. "Well, night, actually. Twenty-sixth of June, 2010. You've been gone about fifteen minutes."
"Everyone'll still be at the village hall, then," Amy said.
Rory emerged behind her. He'd fetched the rest of their things from their bedroom in the TARDIS. Over his arm he carried a swath of gray fabric—the morning suit he'd worn at the wedding—and a long length of white silk. Amy's heart compressed when she recognized her wedding gown.
"I'll get these inside," he told Amy, not looking at the Doctor.
From within the TARDIS, River's voice called, "Amy, could you help me with your luggage?"
Amy took two of the heavy bags, and River took the other two. Once they were inside the house, out of the Doctor's earshot, Amy asked, "What happens on Vareda? After—after what he did?"
"Do you really want to know?" River kept her voice quiet.
Amy debated, then decided knowing the truth was more bearable than whatever apocalyptic scenario her imagination would concoct.
"Collapse," River said. "Panic, violence, looting, anarchy, starvation, illness. Without electric power, half the planet's population dies."
"Oh, my God," Amy whispered. "Did it ever—you know, get any better?"
"It takes a few decades," said River. "Prince Lambert had gone into hiding, but after his mother's death, he comes back and restores peace. The greatest survival rates will be among the Moschatans, because they have a longer experience of living without technology. Prince Lambert works with them, and the descendants of the original clan elders will take over leadership of the planet. About seventy years after Volcano Day, the crystal towers in the solar plant will be rebuilt and electricity restored. By then, Prince Lambert will be dead, and Professor tarq-Volsica's granddaughter becomes First Clan Elder, the new leader of Vareda. But so much of the Mollisian civilization will be lost."
"What about Dr. Griffith?" Amy asked. "What happened to him? Did he survive?"
"He does," said River. "The Doctor never wiped Iris or Bianca's memories, so Hector knew what had happened. He understood that Vareda's tragedy was their own doing—his and Iris's and Bianca's. Hector became the planet's historian—he made it his penance, almost, to write down everything he could remember. He never mentioned the Doctor in his writings, but later Varedans would refer to the collapse as 'the Time of Great Shame.' New Year's Day would always be marked as a day of mourning."
"Wow," Amy swallowed. "What about the Doctor—will he be okay?"
"He'll be fine," River assured the younger woman. "As angry as he ever gets, he never stays that way. It will take him a while to let go of this, though."
They brought Amy and Rory's luggage upstairs. Amy stood with hands on her hips, surveying her messy bedroom. "I guess we'll have a proper honeymoon after all."
"Enjoy it." River hugged her. She stepped away then, looking about Amy's room with a strange, wistful expression.
"What's wrong?" asked Amy.
"Nothing," River said, giving her another hug.
"So, what about you and the Doctor?" asked Amy. "What now?"
"Oh, same as ever," River breezed, tossing her head a bit. "Spoilers, and meeting up in the wrong order, and more spoilers."
"Will I see him again?" Amy could hear her voice trembling. "And you?"
"Count on it," River smiled.
They heard footsteps on the stairs, and Rory's voice. "Amy?"
"I'm here," she said.
"I put my suit in the car, but it'll look weird if your parents don't find this here." He handed the gown to Amy.
She put the frock back onto its hanger and hung it once again on her wardrobe door. How long ago it now seemed that she'd dressed for her wedding. She told Rory, "Let me pack some clean things, all right?"
"Sure." Rory took his bags. "I'll be down in the car. Don't be too long—our train leaves Gloucester in two hours."
"Okay," Amy said.
"Where are you going?" River asked as she watched Amy unpack and repack her bags.
"South of France," Amy laughed. "It'll seem pretty dull after Vareda. But in a good way, I hope."
She thumped down the stairs, to the front door. River said, "Amy!"
"What?"
"You should say goodbye to him."
Amy hesitated, then said, "Get these out to Rory, okay? Tell him I'll be a minute."
While River took Amy's bags to the car, Amy went back through the house and outside to the garden. She replayed in her mind all the times the blue box had appeared here, each time changing her life irrevocably.
Inside, the Doctor was fussing with the TARDIS console, as usual. If he didn't look his comforting, familiar self, at least he no longer appeared so full of vengeful wrath.
"Hey," Amy said. "We're leaving for Gloucester."
"Gloucester?" he asked, brow wrinkling. "You're going to honeymoon in Gloucester?"
Amy laughed. "Train from Gloucester to London, and then to Provence."
"Lovely at this time of year."
"I want to, you know, show Rory where Vincent lived. Show him the church. And stuff. The places he never got to see."
The Doctor smiled, a hint of his normal warmth returning. "It'll be fantastic," he said.
Amy said, "Um, you know, I still want to go with you," she said. "And so does Rory—don't think that just cos we're married, we never want to see you again. We owe you everything—we wouldn't even be married if you hadn't—"
He made a self-deprecating noise, looking abashed. "Amy, you don't owe me anything."
"Oh," she said. "Well, I need to run—Rory'll be in a strop if we miss our train." She began to circle the console, to at least give the Doctor a farewell hug, but he held up his hands in a warding gesture.
"Please don't touch me," he said quietly, as though he were a medieval leper or plague victim—unclean.
"Oh—right. Sorry. Well, later, then." Amy turned and ran from the TARDIS, blinking away tears.
River, standing outside, said, "Are you all right? Amy?"
"Sort of. Later, River. Take care of him. Tell him to look us up when he's ready for company again."
"Try and stop me." River went inside the ship, the doors closed, and the dematerialization noises began. Amy stood watching the blue box fade away. She turned then, dragging heavy feet towards the house, so lost in thought that she didn't see the small woman standing in the doorway until she was right on top of her.
"Oh!" Amy exclaimed. "Who are you?"
"This is the girl," the woman said. "She's the one."
Amy felt something cold touch the back of her head. She blinked. The woman was gone. And then, the odd little incident simply vanished from her mind, as if it had never happened. Amy went through the house and out to the drive, where Rory waited in his familiar red Mini.
"Hey," he said, kissing her. "You all right?"
"Yeah," said Amy.
"You look… peculiar."
"Just a little weirded out right now."
"Try to sleep," he urged, staring the motor. "We'll be in Gloucester before you know it."
"All right." Amy pushed back the seat, stifling a yawn. "D'you have the tickets? And our passports?"
Rory patted the glove box. "Right here."
"My Rory," Amy smiled. "You always get everything sorted." The car began moving, and Amy slid into effortless slumber. Memories of the past days tumbled together in a haphazard dream: a woman's angelic voice sang as Amy, Rory, and the Doctor chased an Egyptian goddess through the starship Orient Express, and then the ship's corridors opened out into the expanse of Vareda's green savannas. Amy saw the Great Temple, heard the Blue Danube, saw dancers in eighteenth century costumes whirling about the plains. Miranda, healthy and strong, kicked a ball across Vareda's desert, beneath an unforgiving sun. Amy shaded her eyes, looking up at the sky, and it seemed she could see the face of a woman looking back at her, a woman with a strange black patch over one eye.
"Sleep now," the woman said, and Amy's mind sank into the comforting blackness of oblivion.
To be continued…