"The Mistaken M. Jones"
23. What Becomes
Above the Asteroid, in the year 4524
Mercedes, Clara, Merit, and Annabel had just barely picked themselves back that they realized there was someone missing among them.
"Doctor?" Clara called out, settling her wig as she looked around. She barely had time to entertain the frightening thought that the doors might have somehow opened and allowed him to be sucked out into space, and then she heard the clunking sound of boots. When she turned, there was the Doctor, in a too-large orange suit, complete with helmet and gloves.
"All of you, go on and stand over there," he pointed.
"You're not going to jump, are you?" Clara gasped.
"What? No, of course not, I'm only going to take a peek, so…" he pointed again.
"So what's with the suit?" Mercedes asked. The Doctor frowned, exasperated.
"For whatever reason, the TARDIS won't approach the asteroid, if this…" he indicated the doors, "… is the closest look I'm going to get, then I want to be prepared, no matter what." Without another word, the four shuffled to the other side of the control room. "Good, stay there," he came just up to the point where he could reach the door handle before turning and pointing his sonic screwdriver to the controls. There was a flickering in the air around the point where he stood, what the others guessed had to be a force field of some kind, isolating the space around the doors before he could open them.
He grasped and pulled them open, staggering for a moment before he would look down. It was barely ten seconds before he shut them again, deactivated the field and ran up to the controls, yanking his helmet off before taking them in flight away from the asteroid.
"What is it, why are you…" Merit asked.
"Quarantine," the Doctor declared.
"Quarantine?" Annabel repeated, confused. "But… no…"
"Are you saying… They're all sick down there?" Clara asked; it made no sense.
"A virus perhaps, something in the air," the Doctor nodded. "Bad enough that she wouldn't let us go near it," he went on, giving a quick and affectionate touch to the panels in front of him.
"But if they're so sick, then why would they keep bringing more kids here?" Clara shook her head, still absently trying to fix the wig, her own mess of brown curls nearly at an escape.
"They'll be contaminated just like the others…" Merit's voice was small. This was what they hadn't wanted him to know, to tell the others. "Lenton, he must have tried to tell me, he said… they needed the young ones, they were still strong, healthy…" It was hitting him that Lenton himself would not be so lucky, and he turned away. Annabel was crying, thinking of her sister.
"That's why," the Doctor told Clara, his voice somber. "The work needed doing, but they'd never get any new workers if they knew what they were walking into, would they? Doesn't matter that they're condemning their city to die out, if they keep sending their children away at sixteen, send them to work for them and then die for them."
"Can't they go somewhere else?" Mercedes asked. "Somewhere they won't get sick?"
"This is the only place they've found this source," Annabel shook her head, sniffing as she attempted to gather herself up again. "It's been… a life saver." She looked like she would be sick, thinking about what she'd known, what she'd believed, and now what she'd discovered. "My sister… Is there any way to make contact with them? Down on the asteroid?" The Doctor looked at her, considered.
"What are they going to do, come after us?" Clara pointed out, turning to him. With a sigh, he moved to the screen, working until an image appeared there, and then a man stepped into view, surprised.
"Who are you? How did you…"
"Yes, hello below!" the Doctor waved. "I need to speak to…" he raised his hand toward Annabel.
"Bode, night shift four," she told him.
"Bode, night shift four," he repeated. "We'll wait," he told the man.
Whether or not the man was in charge, whether or not there were any rules that would have possibly prevented him from doing as the Doctor asked, he told them to wait while he went and checked. As they waited, Merit had his hand up on Annabel's shoulder. She reached up putting her own over his, taking a deep breath.
"Sir?" the man returned.
"Hello again," the Doctor repeated his wave.
"Who are you exactly? Why do you wish to speak with her?"
"Ah, well, I'm not the one, although I'm sure she's lovely. But I've got her sister here, and…"
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid she is not, ah… She is not disposed to… take calls," the man told him. "If I were you, I'd go on my way. Goodbye," he nodded, and the image disappeared.
"Not disposed…" Clara repeated, looking between the Doctor and Annabel.
"Too sick," Annabel replied flatly. "Too sick, or…" She couldn't say 'dead,' but they knew this was what was meant to come next.
"Can't anyone make them better? You're a doctor," Mercedes pointed to him.
"Would that it were so simple," he frowned, pinching between his eyes, thinking.
"How can we help them if the TARDIS won't let us go?" Clara asked. "How many of those suits do you have back there?" The Doctor looked at her, at the other three. He went to Mercedes, picked up her wrist and looked at the time. 0:07:59. 0:07:58. 0:07:57… He let out a breath.
"Time's almost up. I'm good, but I'm not that good. Whatever we do, it won't happen now. The clock will run out, you'll go back to Earth, like before, but don't you worry. We'll come and get you again."
TO BE CONTINUED (TOMORROW)