Andromeda Galaxy, Aquarius Sector

4225

Commander Phiseo stood on the bridge, looking through the viewscreen at the white-dotted blanket of the cosmos before him. Nothing of its beauty phased him—in fact, he found it incredibly cruel that so much nothingness existed in the space between worlds while the oceans of his home planet were bountiful with life. Perhaps, a long time ago, there existed beings who roamed the stars just as fish did the seas. Then came poachers and the nothingness was left in their wake.

Did the universe ever weep for such creatures? Phiseo wondered. Surely, he was not the only one.

The Lieutenant at the communications board behind Phiseo cleared her throat. 'Sir, the Monks of Quad have arrived. They are preparing to dock on level nine.'

Phiseo let out a heavy sigh as he turned away from the stars to face the Lieutenant. She would have blended in with the four other women in uniform if not for the unique way her lips protruded into a constant pout. 'What do the Monks have for us this time?' he asked her.

'Contraband for the Seven Legions,' replied the Lieutenant. 'Risk factor: eight. Shelf time: four days. I would recommend cargo bay ten, sir.'

Phiseo nodded. 'Accept the charge, but tell the Monks the price has doubled. The last time they brought cargo with an RF level above six it destroyed level thirteen. I will not be having a repeat offence—let them know that as well.'

The Lieutenant tapped a button on her earpiece and repeated the commander's orders. She nodded at the response she received, and then looked up at Phiseo. 'The Monks understand. They wish us good luck and prosperity.' Glancing back down at a notification on her screen, she added, 'also, Feric has a report for you.'

'Put him on screen,' Phiseo ordered, motioning to the viewscreen.

The viewscreen was covered in static before the image of a thin, rakish-looking man appeared. Feric licked his lips as he bowed to his commander. 'Pardon the intrusion, sir, but we've located the stow-a-way. She has been detained and placed in the holding chambers on deck five.'

'Excellent work, Feric. Extra rations are awarded. Let Ikkehm and Roni know I still want them on patrol, however; where there's one roach to squash, there's always another.'

Feric once again bowed. 'Yessir.' His image then fizzled from the viewscreen, followed by a trill of sound from a different control board than the Lieutenants.

'Commander, we have a bogey off our six,' reported an older, balding gentleman.

Phiseo grunted in annoyance. 'More trouble?' he asked.

'I'm unsure, sir. It's definitely a craft of some kind, but…' the balding man paused, frowning at his display, and shook his head. 'Its shape is… unusual, sir.'

'Put it on screen,' Phiseo ordered.

The balding man nodded and the image of the craft appeared on the viewscreen.

'What in God's name is THAT?' growled Phiseo.

'It would appear to be a wooden box, sir,' said the Lieutenant.

'I can see that. What's it doing out there?' Phiseo narrowed his eyes at the rectangular, blue shape, trying to read the words printed above its wooden panelling. He made out one of them. 'Police,' he muttered, standing straighter, and then to the Lieutenant. 'Tell Vareen to bring it in. Standard protocol. Docking bay four. Prepare for action 12B just in case. Everyone is to be on their best behaviour.'

'Yessir; right away, sir,' said the Lieutenant, eyeing the blue box with trepidation.

Donna's head throbbed with what felt like two metric tons of pressure. Then her ears popped, bringing into focus the low creaks and aches of the TARDIS engines she'd grown accustomed to hearing over the last several months of travel. There'd been so much noise as the TARDIS plummeted through time and space, however, that she found these familiar sounds dull and inadequate now. Something was missing, she realised. A voice. Specifically, a London tenor fit for Peckham that was actually from outer space.

Oh! The Doctor!

Donna had gotten quite used to him chattering on, especially if she was having a bit of a lie-down. She'd found he liked to pretend she was still listening even when unconscious; as if Donna was capable of soaking up his ramblings in her sleep. His silence now was as deafening as it was worrying, so Donna opened her eyes and tried to regain some modicum of control over her senses.

The TARDIS's tube and wire-covered ceiling swam back and forth in her vision, multiplying by threes before settling on a singular appearance. She thought a bit of cable management was in order up there as she got to her feet, but Donna could talk with the Doctor about that later. First, she had to find out what had happened to him.

Her stomach dropped when she couldn't immediately spot her alien companion. She called his name several times before noticing his yellowing plimsole sticking out from behind the console. Rushing over, Donna was thankful that the shoe was still attached to his foot, leg, and, therefore, the rest of his paper-thin frame. He was completely unconscious, however; his head turned away from her, limbs splayed out haphazardly as if he'd been thrown to the floor. When Donna noticed a trail of blood trickling down his earlobe, her chest tightened.

She cupped her hands over her mouth. 'Oh my God!'

Landing on her knees beside him, Donna ignored the pain the grate flooring brought as she searched for something she could use to dab the blood with. Knowing he'd probably complain later, she took the end of the Doctor's tie into hand and used it to wipe up what she could. Eventually, her effort reached the source: a minuscule cut along the Doctor's forehead. She pressed down, hoping to clot the wound when the Doctor suddenly yelped.

'Sorry!' Donna cried, letting go of his tie. 'I didn't think it was that bad. Or that you would feel it, I suppose. Are you alright?' A silly thing to ask someone who was clearly injured, she thought, but then again, she'd never been the best at these sorts of things. Inherited that from her mum, most likely. A nice cup of tea was always the first thing on Sylvia Noble's mind. Donna didn't think the Doctor would like tea at the moment. Even at the worst of times, he bounced back so quickly there wasn't any time for it anyway. Especially if danger was still lurking about. They couldn't be in much danger right now, then, Donna considered, as the Doctor seemed content to moan and groan, sitting up at a snail's pace.

'Blimey, my head. What happened?' he croaked, rubbing at the spot on his forehead where the cut was.

'You must have hit your head on the console after all that tumbling. Couldn't have been long after me, I'd gather,' said Donna.

'That would explain the headache,' the Doctor agreed as he brushed his fingertips clear of the dried blood that had stuck to them. He then frowned, noticing the dark patch on his brown tie. Donna held her lips together tightly as he tetched, before moving on.

'How did I…?' the Doctor muttered, looking around the room. 'Mmmm, sorry… memories are a bit fuzzy, but…' He licked his lips, turning to face Donna with a somewhat dazed expression. 'Do I know you?'

Donna stared back at the Doctor, blinking several times. That hadn't been what she expected him to say. To be fully honest, the first thing Donna had expected the Doctor to do was: spring to his feet, start shouting a lot of techno-whatsits she didn't understand, and then mention that everything was fine (even though everything clearly wasn't), before planning out their next trip to Space Berlin or something. If he wanted to ask questions it could have been: 'Donna, do you know how brilliant you are?' or 'Donna, would you fancy a trip to the spa?'

'Do I know you?' seemed like the biggest slap in the face she'd ever received.

'Do—you—know—me?' Donna repeated slowly and deliberately. 'What are—? You don't have a concussion, do you? Cos my mate—Jenna—her husband got into an accident once, had a concussion, and couldn't remember a thing about her! Completely blank! We thought maybe he just wanted a couple of hours without her nagging him to death, but the nurse said sometimes concussions can cause a bit of a blip in memory. That's why they always ask your name and—' Donna cut herself off the moment she realised she was starting to panic.

The Doctor was still looking at her somewhat blankly, though the edges of his lips were curling upwards. Her cheeks reddening, Donna slapped him on the arm. 'Oh, you—! You were just messing with me, weren't you?!'

'Weell…' the Doctor began, but she didn't let him finish.

'Don't do that! I really thought for a moment you'd gone and forgotten about me! Never do that, alright! I can't bear the thought…'

He looked sheepishly at her, then a bit sad. 'Sorry…' he said and with a short nod, 'nice… costume, by the way. You're very authentic.'

Donna gave him an uneasy smile in return before looking down at her pretty, 1920s flapper dress with all its loose beads and frayed edges. She sighed, throwing up her hands. 'Should've given Lady Edison the dry-cleaning bill.'

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, sucking his teeth. 'Agatha Christie was a peach, though the bizzzzz of that giant wasp wasn't the most fun to listen to. 'Specially when you've got an allergy like me. Sets the nerves on fire. Metaphorically speaking, of course.' He moved to stand. After watching him struggle for a moment, Donna gripped his arm, helping him up, before guiding his hand to the small metal guardrail behind them for support.

He rambled on, 'Here's the thing, though, that I'm still not quite understanding. Cos… I could've sworn I was just with Holly an—'

He cut himself off, but before Donna could ask who Holly was, he'd stepped away from the guardrail, that dazed expression back on his face as he began walking around the control room in awe. 'Ooh…' he breathed, 'look at you. You are gorgeous.'

The time rotor was pumping up and down at the centre of the console, the blue-green light it gave off reflecting onto the Doctor's face as he ran his hand over the odd buttons and levers surrounding it. Tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth in glee, he stooped over for a better view of the monitor, watching the alien symbols twist and turn within the screen.

'That is so clever!' he exclaimed.

'What's clever?' Donna asked, not following his train of thought.

'The walls for one thing.' The Doctor turned on his heels, gesturing widely at the rest of the control room. 'I saw a bit of this from the floor. Thought it was just a realistic lookin' backdrop if I'm honest, but wow,' he laughed. 'The rotor and monitor are all functioning—there's the coral, the cables, the rickety coat rack stand, the little phone on the door, and even the hallways from the books over there,' he pointed to each in turn, bouncing around like a kid in a candy store. 'This is a brilliant reproduction! I've never seen anything like it! Whoever's done this up should get an award!' He looked back at Donna with the brightest smile on his face, but she could not return it.

Donna realised she was more than a little sensitive to sound at the moment (some diode on the console was beeping irregularly much to her annoyance), so maybe it was just her imagination, but the Doctor's voice was oddly different. At first, she hadn't noticed, but the more he rambled on, the more she heard the aberrations in his tone and inflexion—even his accent was off, she thought. And going further than his voice, the way he held himself didn't look quite right, either. He was jumping about with his normal exuberance certainly, but he was also stumbling quite a bit; like a man who was trying out stilts for the first time. There was a change in his expressions, too. As if someone was trying to do their best impression of the Doctor, but not quite hitting the nail on the head.

Donna didn't understand it just yet, but she knew for certain something about the Doctor was completely and utterly wrong.

He seemed to notice too because his smile gradually faded and this time when he gazed around the control room it was with a troubled look in his eye. Leaning against the console, he folded his arms and stared down at his shoes, letting the heels support his weight, suddenly very adult in manner.

Donna could see him thinking and crept up beside him, taking a deep breath, preparing for him to tell her the worst news possible. Her mind ran through several theories while she did so. Maybe this entire time, the Doctor had actually been two aliens in a trench coat and the legs wanted a go at the mouth for once. It was possible that all this strangeness was normal for Time Lords after having been injured and he was coming down off whatever high he'd been on. Or—and this was the theory Donna liked the least—he wasn't the Doctor at all and her best friend had been replaced by something else entirely that was preparing to gobble her up the nearer to it she stood.

On the other hand, the Doctor could have been playing some big game with her, testing her to see how she would act in a crisis. That thought caused Donna to bristle. She didn't like games, not where his health was concerned.

He was speaking now. 'Not trying to be insulting or anything, but,' the Doctor paused, working his tongue awkwardly around his mouth until he finally managed, 'Did you kidnap me?'

Before he had a chance to blink, Donna gave him a good whack across the cheek. She watched shock flit across the Doctor's face as he did a double-take.

'OW!' he cried, holding onto his reddening cheek, and backing away from her. 'What the hell was that for?!'

Donna narrowed her gaze and sucked in her cheeks. 'Do I have to spell it out for you? "Did you kidnap me?" What sort of joke is that?! Not a very good one, I'll tell you! God, you had me worried sick!' and she still was as she turned away from him, palm placed against her forehead, the other supported on her hip. She could hear him sputtering behind her.

'What else am I supposed to think?!' he cried. 'A moment ago, I was… was just… Well, that doesn't really matter—but now I'm in some sort of, by all means, brilliant TARDIS reproduction. Got all sorts of cuts and bruises on me from who knows what! And people have been going missing, haven't they? I was at the convention centre! I can only assume you saw me—thought "Oh! That bloke would be a fine addition to our control room", had a bit of a tousle with my mates, and then carried me off like the crazed lunatic fan you are! And-and then—to top it all off—you go and SLAP me!' He rubbed at his cheek to emphasise his point. 'Man alive, that hurt!'

Donna turned back around to face him. The Doctor had gone completely mad. 'Am I the one that's missed something?' she asked him. 'Did you pop off and get drunk with some space hippies or something while I was flipping unconscious?!'

'Space hippies?'

'WELL, I DON'T KNOW!' hollered Donna. 'You're basically an outer space hippie! Maybe you all have a club or something!'

Words once again escaped him as he sputtered on. 'Seriously! Who are you?!'

'DONNA!' Donna shrieked, too angry with him to care if he remembered her or not. 'Donna Noble! Who else would I be?! Reece Witherspoon?!'

A vacant expression filled the Doctor's face. He started nodding and said 'alri',' in such a Welsh tone, that Donna finally realised why he sounded so strange. He sounded Welsh! Why was he sounding Welsh of all things?!

'Where are you going now, you daft Spaceman!' Donna cried as he started walking towards the TARDIS doors.

'Look, this is all very well and good, but I've got a promise to keep, so you can continue this game of yours with-with someone else, cos I—' the words caught in the Doctor's throat as he threw open the TARDIS doors and looked out. Instantly his expression softened. 'That's not possible.'

There was nothing below them, but the starry stretch of the cosmos, pin-pricks of light decorating every corner of view with a wider array of colour than the films ever showed. There was even a galaxy—a swathe of blue and red colours with strokes of oranges and purples—cutting across the upper corner of the panorama.

Despite the air shield around the TARDIS, the frostbiting chill of space still managed to creep in when the doors were open. Donna shivered. Beside her, the Doctor couldn't be bothered by the cold, too enamoured by the stars.

'But that's brilliant,' he said, a smile drawing on his lips. 'It's impossibly brilliant. I mean that can't be real, can it?'

'It is,' said Donna, despite herself. 'We're in space. Outer space. Nothing else quite like it.' Donna had felt it on her first day aboard the TARDIS; when she'd opened these self-same doors to the now familiar spacescape. Deep down, she'd known what she was looking at was real. It was the shine, she thought. A camera or CGI couldn't quite capture the way those giant balls of gas shimmered in a human iris.

The Doctor seemed to be going through a similar, first-timer experience, eyes widening into saucers. 'But if that's real, then… I thought you were just a... But that means you're the real Donna and I—' His knees buckled. Donna managed to catch him before he fell, holding onto the sleeves of his suit jacket tightly.

'Oi, watch it! Don't go passing out on me again!' she exclaimed.

His long legs kicked out underneath him as she pulled him away. Seconds later he was back on his feet, pacing across the gantry, muttering to himself as Donna closed the police box doors.

'It can't be, it just can't. This doesn't just happen—well,' he briefly glanced at Donna, 'it happened to her, but that was because of Huon particles and I'm pretty sure the coffee I made this morning wasn't tampered with by a Racnoss Queen.'

The Doctor began running a hand through his hair furiously, his other hand gripping his elbow. 'I just can't believe it. I refuse. I'm going insane. I hit my head or it's got to be a dream somehow or-or…' Both hands gripped at the side of his head now, elbows raised into the air. In anger, he kicked at the console before finally plopping down in the jump seat, his expression drawing a blank.

Feeling awkward and not knowing what else to do, Donna tried to lighten the mood, leaning up against the console in front of him. 'Look, I'm sorry for the space hippies' crack. I don't really think you would have left me for a caravan.' The Doctor glanced up at her briefly but said nothing. He looked impossibly young, Donna realised, like all that age and wisdom in his eyes had been sucked right out, leaving only a shell. 'Doctor, please,' she then begged. 'Just let me know what's going on with you. Who's Holly? Why do you sound Welsh and—'

Donna stopped when he suddenly sat up, looking at her as if he'd just worked out the biggest, darkest secret to the entire universe. 'You just called me Doctor.'

Donna stared back, remembering that theory of hers she hated, and politely asked whoever might be watching that whatever was wrong with the Doctor not try to eat her before she said to him: 'What else would I call you? You haven't exactly given me a proper name, have you? If you've even got one.'

Her sass didn't seem to faze him, which only worried Donna more.

The Doctor's mouth dropped into an O shape. 'So, if you're really—and that's…' he lazily gestured to the doors and then clenched his teeth, standing and talking to the room. 'Oh, I'm so thick! I really am! It's been staring me right in the face this whole time!'

His voice was shaky. Pained.

'It's been so obvious! I didn't even think... I mean, it's not like...' At a loss for words, the Doctor looked at his hands, before dragging his fingers down his face, leaving streaks of red behind. 'God, I should have known. I should've—'

'Known. What?' Donna interrupted, taking large gulps of air between words.

He turned back to her, his deep brown eyes wide and panic-stricken. 'I look like him?' he asked, sincerely. 'I do, don't I? I have his face.'

'What kind of—'

'Just answer me, Donna!' he interrupted rudely and then in a much gentler tone, explained, 'You haven't found my presence here strange at all. Is it because you think I'm him?'

Donna looked at the Doctor, knowing all her anxieties and fears were sitting plain as day on her face as she shook her head. 'But you have to be.' She swallowed tightly, placing a shaky hand on his arm, begging him to say no. 'Are you… are you not the Doctor?'

Before he could answer, however, the TARDIS groaned and turned on its side.

At the same time, on Eternis Station, Feric Burkinn watched through a dirty port hole as the station's tractor beam grabbed hold of the TARDIS and began pulling it towards docking bay four.

He had never seen anything like it and at first, assumed it was an escape pod of some sort, then some decorative piece that had been lost in transit between star systems. The commander wouldn't waste resources—such as the tractor beam—on such frivolous things, however. It had to be important. Calling for action 12B seemed a bit paranoid, though. If the authorities were going to turn up, Feric didn't think they would do so in a wooden box.

The door at the other end of cargo bay ten opened and two men in coveralls and baseball caps entered the bay. Between them was a cart carrying something heavy draped in a white cloth.

'That's right—this way, Lou. Keep it steady! We don't want this thing fallin over and breakin',' spoke one of them.

'I am keeping it steady, Aske. You're the one with two left feet!' cried the other. 'Hey! Hold on! I think the wheel is—'

Something metal snapped, launching the front-left, rubber wheel of the cart off into the depths of the bay. It bounced across the metal floor and through the aisles at high speed, hitting a pair of wooden boxes and causing them to fall off their shelf. The things inside them went crunch as they hit the floor. Feric, who'd been standing precariously on a ladder to clean the porthole, watched as the rubber wheel careened over the next series of shelves, hurtling in his direction. Exchanging hands on the ladder, he locked his left arm tightly around the rung and reached out with his right hand, catching the rubber wheel before it struck a Draconian Urn sitting on the shelf next to him.

Feric breathed a sigh of relief.

Clutching the wheel close to him, he climbed down the ladder, picked up the toolbox next to the base, and headed over to Aske and Lou. He found them with their arms stretched out, supporting the weight of what Feric realised to be a statue underneath the white cloth as it leaned forward off the cart. Seeing Feric approaching with the wheel, they looked sheepish.

'Mind giving us a hand here, scrawny?' said Aske.

Feric put down his toolbox and pocketed the wheel, grabbing the cart handle. Aske left Lou to support the front of the statue while he moved to the back. With a nod from Aske, Feric pulled the cart out from underneath the statue and the men lowered it safely to the floor.

'Thanks,' said Lou, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.

'This what the Monks dropped off?' asked Feric, looking over the shape of the cloth.

Aske smiled. 'Oh yeah, you'll want to keep an eye on this one when you're cleaning round here, scrawny. It's got an RF level of 8. Who knows what it's capable of.' He then elbowed Lou. 'Oi—got an idea. Let's lift this thing in front of them, debtors. Give them something pretty to look at while they're rottin away, won't it?'

'Alright, but remember: lift from your legs. I don't want a repeat incident of that time with the Raxacoricofallapatorian's eggs. Those baby-face freaks threatened to turn me into their next skin suit cos of you!' said Lou.

Aske shrugged and squatted, reaching for the bottom of the statue. Lou did the same. Feric watched them go, then bent down next to the cart with its rubber wheel in hand and opened his toolbox. The debtors, he thought with a scoff, had enough problems to deal with. Those two jokers were just making captivity that much harder on them. Like that blue box, Feric didn't understand what could be so important or dangerous about a statue—but if it belonged to the Monks, there wasn't much point in questioning it, he just knew it was best to keep away.

'Oi, scrawny. You should come take a look-see at this piece of work!' called out Lou, his voice echoing down the aisles of endless shelves. Feric sighed. Of course, those two idiots were cocky and didn't seem to understand how dangerous most of the stuff stored on the station could really be. It was all some fun game of looky-loo to them.

'Give us a mo',' Feric called back, deciding he should at least make sure Aske and Lou weren't going to cause the debtors any real problems with that statue. The wheel wasn't worth trying to repair anyway as the metal bolts had snapped in two under the weight of the statue and whatever backwards maneuverer dumb and dumber had performed. He made a mental note to call for disposal later as he closed his toolbox and headed deep into the aisles.

When he arrived, Aske was marvelling at the statue now presented in its full glory with the white cloth piled at its feet. 'What do you think?' he asked Feric, motioning broadly as if to present the statue to a potential buyer.

It was a female figure. She wore a floor-length dress with thin, shoulder straps akin to something worn by the ancient Greeks. From her back protruded two, large wings that stretched out at either side of her. Feric could not tell if she was beautiful or not, for her hands were cupped over her face, hiding her stony expression.

'It's an angel,' said Feric.

'Observant one, isn't he?' snarked Aske.

'Why's it covering its face?' continued Feric, much more interested in the statue than Aske's snide comments. 'Is it supposed to be crying?'

'Saw your ugly mug, didn't it? I'd be crying too if I was a woman,' said Lou. He then turned to look behind them. 'What about you, lot? What do you think of your new playmate?'

Inside their dog-like cage, the debtors looked up at Lou, blankly. Feric kept his eyes glued to the statue, but he could picture those eight, sad, broken faces eyeing their jailers steadily. Three were women; the other five were men. None were married or related, but they all had something in common: the debt they owed to their home planet's King. Feric didn't know much about their home, but a debt there was—until paid by their families—a life sentence. Nothing else aboard Eternis sickened Feric more than their imprisonment, but the commander couldn't care less what cargo was on board as long as he was compensated for housing it.

'Don't talk much, do they?' said Aske, sniffing loudly. He then clapped Lou on the shoulder. 'Time we be goin'. Got dinner in a couple of minutes and they're serving steak in the cantina." He looked to Feric. "You can join us when you fix those faulty lights, scrawny.' He motioned to the ceiling where a small, flickering lamp hung down between the aisles. Feric frowned, knowing he'd just put new lights in recently.

As the two men began down the aisle, Feric stayed put, observing the statue while he waited. Once he heard the bay doors close behind them, he turned to face the debtors. They were huddled around each other, trying to keep warm. All they had in the way of clothes were some old rags that were barely keeping together. Each face was sunken in, their bodies thin and brittle.

Feric took a deep breath as he bent down in front of the cage. It took him a few moments to gather his courage, but eventually, he found his voice. 'I found her,' he whispered. 'I've got her somewhere safe and warm with plenty of food and… Look, just know I'm trying to figure a way to get her down here without anyone noticing. As soon as it's safe, I'll bring her to you, and after that… Well, I'll try to get her home on my next shore leave just as I promised.'

Feric was looking down at his hands as he spoke, twiddling his thumbs. Slowly, a hand from the group reached out from between the bars and Feric allowed it to grasp his. It was an old hand, he noted. Prune-ish and fragile. 'Thank you,' muttered the owner.

Though he did not look up at the woman, Feric smiled and squeezed her hand as lightly as he could. He then let go and stood. Before he left, however, Feric faced the statue one last time. It hadn't moved and he wondered why he thought it would have.

The light above cut off for a moment, before flickering back on. Feric sighed, knowing there was more work to be done as he went to grab his toolbox.

Behind its stone fingers, the angel statue smiled after him.