Friday, 31 December 2010

A World Without Angels – Part 2

Ok, so it's still not finished, but I thought, being that it's the last day of the year and all, I'd put a shorter part 2 out there (which means that there will now be a part 3 too!) so that you didn't all forget that I existed! It's been a very busy time of late (new baby, Christmas) which is why nothing's been written for a while. Still, hope you enjoy this bit for now!


A World Without Angels – Part 2

    River darted around the console with indecent speed, trying desperately to ensure that she was on the right course. The note she'd found in her pocket whilst they'd been in the wreckage of the Byzantium shouldn't have surprised her, but did. It was his handwriting, undoubtedly, but not him, not this Doctor. She wasn't sure when or how it had appeared there. Was it merely some temporal manifestation? Would it cease to be once she'd done what she needed to? At present, she wasn't certain, but all she knew was that she had to follow these coordinates.

    There was a name listed with them, not one that she'd seen before. She'd heard it, one of those words that had passed down through time, almost becoming legendary. She remembered the Pandorica, though her memories of that were starting to become confused. She shook her head, remembering what had occurred – later for this Doctor, but already in her past. How he'd saved the universe once again; how she'd nearly been stuck forever in the very ship she was now piloting to ensure that that very event still took place.

    She looked down at the paper once again. Was it his writing? She was certain at first, but certainly looked familiar. She'd seen his script a thousand times, she knew the games he liked to play with words. Yet this, this was different. The location in coordinates she didn't understand, but the ship seemed to. The flight was going smoothly, and she'd had time to change back into the elegant black number she'd been wearing when she'd met him this time.

    It hadn't taken her mind off the note for long though, and she stood, staring at it, at that word. Yet, just as the Doctor hadn't believed in the Pandorica, River had never thought of this as anything real. It was a myth, nothing more.

    The TARDIS began to land as silently as it had left Alfava Metraxis. River checked the environment outside; air was breathable, but it was artificial. She checked the scanner, unsurprised to find the enclosed environs of a teleport station.

    She opened the doors, stepping out elegantly into the abandoned metallic shell of what once had been a thriving enterprise. The power was evidently limited to life support and, by the looks of it, one teleport booth.

    Wasting no time, River stepped into the cubicle, punching in the word from the paper. The coordinates appeared, the booth powering up immediately. Seconds later River was gone, the last of the power draining out of the station though momentarily leaving her destination illuminated on the display.





    The lighting in the craft was minimal. Amy tentatively moved further into it, scanning around for any sign of familiarity. There was an ominous noise all around her, rather feint now though perhaps once stronger and louder. It sounded to Amy like a mirroring of her own beating heart, steadily thumping as she ventured into the unknown.

    As she looked around she noticed three immobile figures, the shapes of which were all too familiar. It seemed like only days ago – had it been longer? She wasn't entirely sure – that she'd first seen them.

    She kicked one experimentally. No movement. "Ha! Beaten already Dalek! From what the Doctor said you were supposed to be the most feared beings in....ever. And look at you!" Despite her rather bravura performance, she was terrified inside. She knew not to under-estimate anything she came across in her travels with the Doctor, and this was no exception.

    She walked around the other apparently dormant creatures – three in total – eyeing them warily. As she passed each one, she rapped on the upper part of the casing, fully expecting at least one of them to move or speak. She circled them, racking her brains as to why they hadn't moved or even flinched.

    "Something is definitely not right here." She paused. "What would the Doctor do?" Amy saw a heavy looking something on the floor, and with all her might hefted it up and swung it at the nearest Dalek. "C'mon, move! I know you're not dead!" She swung again and again, hitting the casing repeatedly. Still no reaction. "Ok maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong and you all died in this crash. But why here? Why now?" She used her foot to kick at a Dalek, immediately regretting it. Luckily, no one was around to hear the language that followed.

    Amy, nursing a bruised foot, slowly made her way to the control panel at the front of the ship. As far as she could discern, half of the instrumentation had been burned out in the crash, the rest indecipherable to her without the aid of the TARDIS. There was little light coming from any of the sections, save for one half-sphere shaped protuberance. In her mind she could see why it was shaped as such, allowing the Daleks the ability to 'touch' the control, to manipulate whatever system of the ship that it pertained to. Even though she knew deep down that she shouldn't, she felt inexorably drawn to it, as if it were reaching into her mind, willing her to place her hand on it. She shook her head to be free of the force, trying to think of the Doctor, Rory, River, anyone or anything to focus her thoughts elsewhere. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the object was still in front of her, and her hand was moving ever closer to it.

    Amy closed her eyes, desperately seeking to avoid touching that part of the ship. She had no idea what it would do, but it didn't feel in anyway safe or right or good. Opening her eyes, she could see that her hand was now hovering over it, her other arm gripping onto it, trying to pull it away. She knew that if she weren't so frightened of what might happen she'd laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene unfolding before her.

    Then, it happened. Her hand touched the control, fingers splayed around it. She stayed perfectly still, expecting the Daleks to move, yet they did not. The feeling that had forced her to reach out to the control in the first place was an overwhelming sensation throughout her body now, and her thoughts were shifting in perspective. Rory...that name meant something, but what was it? As hard as she tried, she could no longer focus on him, even picture his face.

    River Song...a name to be feared. Was that right? Surely not, they'd just been...what? No, it was fading, the memory dissipating the faster she tried to recall it. And then there was the Doctor. With his...striped, that wasn't right, his...leather jacket and cropped hair, no, that wasn't it...wavy hair, velvet coat....question mark umbrella...yellow trousers...fair hair....and....and....

    Amy's mind fought harder, attempting to remember him, the Doctor. She kept trying to bring him back in front of her, to imagine the picture of him that had been in her mind mere moments before...yet it wouldn't come.

    It was then that it happened, the image now clear. Not the actual visual likeness of the man, more what he represented. Burning deep into her brain were words that Amy had not known before, words that she had no reason to believe would ever relate to him. Yet, her perception was altered, memories shifted, changed, twisted to fit a new morality.

    The Oncoming Storm. The Enemy. He must be stopped. He must be EX-TER-MIN-ATED.




    The room was no different, save for the absence of the Doctor. The man stoked the fire, the embers floating in the feint breeze from the flue. In an adjacent chair to his own sat the other figure, the one the Doctor hadn't noticed before his abrupt departure. He was sat, a newspaper wide open, shielding himself from the view of any who glanced in his direction. It was no accident that he wasn't seen; that was exactly how he'd wanted it to be.

    The man stared across at him, waiting for the newspaper to lower, for his companion to speak about the events that he'd helped set in motion, but nothing was forthcoming. The screen that the Doctor had been watching was now shimmering, no fixed image visible.

    He thought about attempting a dialogue with the other, but thought better of it. He moved to the screen in an effort to resolve the problem, ready to pull wires or even use physical force should it be necessary.

    "It's not broken. The timelines are in flux. Until the Doctor does something you won't get any clear picture." The newspaper remained where it was, but the voice behind it was very clear; a trace of an accent possibly. "That's assuming he ended up in the right place. I have a feeling that things aren't as clear cut as they could be." The other paused. "And I should know."

    The man took a moment before responding. "And...and why is that?"

    The other rose, and pulled a small gun-like device from an inside pocket. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." It was the smile on his face that let the man know that he wasn't joking. That and the searing heat that burned into his body as the end of the weapon glowed red.


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