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Memories of a Time Lord (3/5)
Author's Notes: Obligatory I don't own Doctor Who, the BBC does disclaimers apply. The rest of the headers/prompts/etc. can be found on part one.
[chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five]
CHAPTER THREE
Rose was not surprised as the Doctor insisted on leading them to the TARDIS. He’d explained to her ages ago that he had a connection – a psychic bond, he’d called it – with his ship, making it possible for him to steer her. He’d described the connection as a lilting song, quietly chiming away in the back of his mind, meandering through melodies and pointless musical wanderings that existed in the fabric of time, the only part of home he could still hear.
Every now and then as they made their way through the winding streets of the city, he’d pause; closing his eyes and craning his neck as he listened for what Rose presumed was the song that only he could hear. On more than one occasion, he struggled, looking angry or flustered – or both – when he could not determine the direction. At that point, Rose grasped his hand, tugging him toward where she knew the TARDIS sat, biting back a smile as he laughed and lunged ahead, knowing that he’d once again heard it.
When they reached the TARDIS, the Doctor patted his hips, then his shirt, and then stared at Rose, his expression panicked. No pockets.
“No, no, Doctor. It’s okay,” she said, reaching around her neck to retrieve her key and showing it to him. “I have one. See?” She turned it in the lock, barely getting out of the way as the Time Lord rushed past her and up the ramp.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring up at the central column as she’d seen him do hundreds of times. She recognized it as one of his personal methods to focus and remove himself from the rushing buzz of his everyday existence. This time, however, the pleased expression he normally wore was missing. Instead, he blinked, agitated as he watched the column. And then he screamed, falling to the floor grates.
“Doctor!” she screamed, rushing to his motionless form.
“Where is the infirmary, Miss Tyler? We should get him there at once.”
Rose helped him lift the Doctor, supporting him in a fireman’s carry between them as they made their way across the console room toward the hallway that led to the rest of the ship. To her relief, the TARDIS moved the infirmary door immediately to the front of the corridor. They lifted the Doctor up onto the primary medical bed.
“We’ll need to take this tunic off of him,” Somilo stated as he supported the Doctor’s torso upright, allowing Rose to pull the sweater over the Time Lord’s head. “Do you know where the medical equipment is?”
“I’ll figure it out,” she replied, searching the room. With a mental nudge from the TARDIS, she found the appropriate equipment, placing the monitoring patches on each heart and on his forehead. A computer across the room beeped loudly as it roared to life.
Somilo pulled out a pair of small antennas, attaching one to the monitor and one to the tablet he’d been given at the hospital. “This should provide us with a more in-depth description of his current condition,” he explained.
“Are you a doctor, sir?” she asked.
The Metaxian nodded. “I studied as one. Decided to use it in the military when no posts opened up at the hospitals.”
“But you’re a commanding officer, yeah?”
“It’s preferred that our commanding officers have at least some medical knowledge,” Somilo replied as he glanced through the medical storage cabinet. “Most of the soldiers do, actually. We prefer to be prepared for anything. We tend to see… anything… particularly in my division,” he added. He thumbed through the supplies. “Any allergies or other things I should be aware of in case he deteriorates further? Besides his odd heart configuration?” His eyebrow went up as he read the readout on his clipboard.
“He’s deathly allergic to aspirin,” Rose replied, pointing it out on the shelf. At the commander’s confused look, she explained that it alleviated pain, and then identified the appropriate alternative. “Other than that, I don’t know. The TARDIS seems to be communicating with me a bit. If we attempt to do anything fatal to him, I imagine she’ll warn me.” At that, she felt the slightest brush in her mind, affirming her assumption.
As Somilo continued to read test results, Rose pulled a chair up to the Doctor’s bedside and took his hand, gently squeezing it to let him know she was there. With the exception of his facial expressions, he lay perfectly still. His arm dangled limply and heavily over the side of the table. Concerned, Rose positioned it back on the bed, checked the other arm, and straightened the sheet that covered him. His face resembled the ones she’d seen on the Metaxian hospital ward. She saw fear, anger, and pain spread across his features, signs that he, too, was trapped in some sort of nightmare. Instinctively, she tried to calm him, making soft shushing noises as she steadily brushed her fingers through his hair.
Oddly, it had a brief effect. When her fingers initially touched his forehead, she felt him move ever so slightly, pushing into her hand. He could feel her!
“Wait, Rose. Do that again!” Somilo said excitedly.
Rose repeated the motion, allowing her fingertips to graze his temple before raking slowly through his hair.
“There!” Somilo said, noting the spike in activity at her initial touch. “Just there. Hold your finger at the point where you first touched him.”
She did, and they both observed the readouts as his brain activity went wild for a moment, then steadied into a gentle, relaxed wave within what the TARDIS indicated was within his normal level.
“Fetch me a pillow, please?” she asked. “I won’t be able to touch him like this for long – my arm will begin to hurt.”
Somilo raced across the room to the storeroom closet, returning with both a pillow and a folded blanket. He moved it to support Rose’s arm weight before he continued his observations.
“It is fascinating. The virus has latched onto three centers in his brain used for memory, motor function, and psychic connection. What you’ve managed to do, Rose, is ease the strain on the psychic portion,” he explained.
“And why is that fascinating?”
“It’s the same virus, but it is affecting your Doctor far differently than it has my people. For Metaxians, only the psychic is weakened. He appears to be suffering far more extreme effects. I need to study these charts against the notes he’d been keeping.”
Rose stood up to stretch. “I think I’ll put the kettle on, then. Care for some tea?”
“Your Doctor kept mentioning this tea. He lamented our lack of it. So yes, I am curious to try this… tea,”
“The Doctor wanted…” Rose trailed off, her mouth dropping open. “Tea!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how could I be so stupid?” All I needed was a good cup of tea! she heard his voice echo in his head. She ran down the corridor toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back with tea!”
Somilo watched her form disappear into the darkness, astonished. “This beverage must be fabulous!” he exclaimed. Then carefully, slowly, he began to read every notation that the Doctor had made about the Burning.
Somewhere, there had to be a solution. He peered over the Doctor’s notes again. Among a myriad of strange circular doodles in the margins, he found medical observations that differed strongly from those of the examiners at the hospital.
~ ~ ~
The ropes of time frayed, each snapping sharply as they broke from the main cord. Their golden glows deadened to grey as they disconnected. With each one, the TARDIS gasped in pain. She knew instantly what was happening; the Doctor had taken a turn for the worse; with his life in danger, hers was now threatened due to the bond that allowed him to fly her.
She felt him cry out, flailing wildly as the connection grew weaker, stretching so thin. She shuddered and cried as mere threads were all that were left.
He screamed, willing every ounce of his strength to hang on to her. The connection could not be severed. It would be the end of both of them.
He could not lose her.
He felt the explosion before he heard it.
And then he heard nothing.
~ ~ ~
Groaning, Rose picked herself up from the kitchen floor. What had just happened? She glanced around the room, finding the two cereal boxes overturned that she’d brought onboard during the most recent stop home. The thermos she’d filled just before the collision had rolled under the table, still tightly closed although it had a sizeable dent on its side. The rest of the room appeared to be okay, more or less. Quickly pulling herself to her feet, she ran to the console room. They’d hit something – something big. The Doctor would be able to tell her…
Wait, no. They weren’t moving. The Doctor was in the infirmary. They were still on Metax.
She scrambled to the console room. The scene awaiting her stopped her cold. Gone was the green-blue glow in the central column. It stood silent and grey, as did the rest of the room around her. Much like when they’d crashed into the alternate London, the TARDIS appeared dead… except for that one sound – a steady deep thrumming chime that she’d heard only a couple times before. The Cloister Bell rang angrily, its notes echoing throughout the dark dome and down the corridor. The monitors were of no use. They sat dark from the power loss, and like most things attached to the center console, had no recognizable “on” switch. Rose dared not touch anything else on the console, particularly not now when the ship was in distress.
The Doctor. She needed to find a way to connect with the Doctor. He’d know what to do. She turned and ran down the corridor toward the infirmary.
~ ~ ~
The collision had not been as severe for Somilo. He’d certainly felt the crack and the violent shudder of the walls and floor around him, although unlike Rose, he hadn’t lost his footing in shaky aftermath. Experience through years of warfare over a dozen planets had trained his reactions well, allowing him to brace himself immediately upon the first shudder. Despite being past the prime physical years for military prowess, he’d kept his stocky frame in good health. Flexibility and dexterity allowed him to slide beneath a nearby door frame, protected from the medical reference books and personal journals that rained down from the bookshelf.
Hearing a piercing electronic alarm, he rushed into the intensive care room to find the Doctor’s vital signs monitor flashing all sorts of alerts. He skimmed the readouts, and then rushed into action, checking each electrode’s connection with his patient’s skin, reinserting the IV line that had broken loose. The basic alarms indicating lack of information switched off, resuming their steady data-gathering chirp. One alarm still remained, however, and its meaning was impossible for him to decipher.
“Commander Somilo!” He heard Rose Tyler’s voice call from down the corridor as her footsteps pounded against the floor grates. He eliminated that from his post-disaster checklist. If she were able to shout and able to run, she was, at least for the moment, not a primary triage concern.
The Doctor’s jerking body pulled his attention back to the bed. Somilo sprang into action, finding and positioning a bite plate in the Doctor’s mouth, treating his patient for the symptoms of seizure.
“Oh my god! What’s happening to him?” Rose gaped at the two men.
“Go over to that monitor and read what it says,” Somilo instructed, holding the Doctor’s head steady. “It’s in your language, and I cannot read it.”
In my language? But… Rose shoved down the panic that came from knowing that his words meant. The TARDIS wasn’t translating. If she wasn’t translating, then the ship had to be fatally wounded. She spun the screen around on its arm, and her heart sank. The words were not in English, but instead were the swirls and loops comprising the hieroglyphs of the Doctor’s native tongue.
“I can’t make it out,” she said, defeated.
“Then I’ll have to treat him the best I know how. Hold his head steady whilst I find the correct medicines,” he instructed. Once Rose was in place, he ran to the storeroom, finding vials of two separate medications labeled with universal symbols and chemical notations he recognized. He rushed back in, measuring out appropriate injections of each, and inserting them steadily into the IV stream.
As the medicine made its way through the Doctor’s vascular system, he slowly quieted. Shaky breaths eased into a gentle rhythm, and his vital signs balanced off. Shaking, Rose released a nervous breath, nodding at Somilo gratefully. He would be okay.
Somilo, for his part, also shook off the nerves of the moment, flopping wearily into a nearby chair. “I’m glad that worked,” he said. “There’s something to be said for cross-species similarities.”
Rose retrieved the thermos she’d tossed onto the bookshelf, pulled two paper cups from a dispenser near the sink, and poured the commander a cup. He took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and rolling the liquid over his tongue. It was good – slightly bitter, but with a hint of grasses and herbs much like an infused drink his grandmother had enjoyed. He felt the warmth of it run through his body, calming him.
“Thank you,” he said.
Rose smiled, sipping her own. “There’s something wrong with the TARDIS,” she explained. “I don’t know what happened. It was like something hit the ship. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor in the kitchen. I go out to the main control room, and it’s like the ship was knocked offline.” Rose chose her words carefully, keeping the fact of the TARDIS’ sentience quiet.
Somilo nodded. “That’s when the alarms went off here.” He paused, thinking back on what he’d read. “The Doctor mentioned a psychic link to his ship in his notes. Do you know anything about that?”
“Not really,” Rose said. “I know it exists, but I don’t know how it works. He never explained it to me.”
The commander stood up, observing the Doctor’s condition report once again. “There’s an increase in his psychic activity. It’s reached a dangerous level. It’s as if he’s screaming in his head. His memory and motor functions appear severely compromised – almost non-existent now.” He frowned. “That might be it, Rose.”
“What?”
“Before he succumbed, the Doctor had insisted on contacting the afflicted psychically. He said that the medication he had to offer had to be administered through thought.”
Rose frowned. “How can a medicine be administered psychically?”
“Not easily,” he admitted. “And the Doctor stated as such. He said that it was such a tricky situation that only someone who knew the afflicted closely would be able to do it successfully. It’s a matter of trust – requiring the person administering the drugs to push through the sick person’s protective blocks. You’re not familiar with these concepts, are you?” he asked, seeing Rose’s expression morph into complete confusion.
“No, sorry.”
“Forgive me, Rose, but I am troubled. How can you be traveling with the Doctor and not know these things? I would presume they’d be standard knowledge for all Time Lords.”
“Oh!” Rose exclaimed. “I’m not a Time Lord. I’m human. From Earth, which is over… well, I don’t know where it is compared to here. But, no. I just travel with him.”
The commander’s eyes widened. “Fascinating – you’re not the same species as the Doctor, yet you travel as equals?” He approached with the pad, placing it where Rose indicated with the slightest embarrassment at seeing her naked breastbone.
“Well,” Rose replied, shrugging. “Not quite equals. I mean, it’s his ship and all. I couldn’t steer it if I tried. He takes me places I’d not be able to see otherwise. My people aren’t quite so advanced.”
“I see. But you are not his concubine. He speaks too highly of you,” Somilo replied, confused.
“No! Definitely not that. We’re friends is all. Just friends,” Rose stammered.
The commander bowed his bald head. “Perhaps, Miss Tyler. Although forgive me for saying this if it is out of turn, but he speaks and writes of you far more fondly than that.” He paused, observing her. “And I think, if his notes are correct, that you must be the one to save him.”
“Me? How?”
Somilo retrieved the Doctor’s journal from the desk and handed it to Rose. She stared at its cover, running her hand over the battered leather book. Five Hundred Year Diary was printed in elegant embossed gold lettering on its cover. Two thin straps of leather wrapped around the book, gouges and kinks in their lengths from years of wrapping and tying the ends.
“You… read his diary?” Rose gaped.
“No,” Somilo replied. “Only the most recent pages where he’d been keeping notations about the Burning. He kept the patient notes stuffed in the book to mark his place. He wrote down all of his observations. Some ramble on for pages. I can’t make sense of all of his tangents.”
Rose smiled at that unsurprising bit of information.
“He talked at length about his surprise regarding the lack of damage to our patients’ two specific parts of the brain – the area that controls memory, and the area that controls motor skills. He was quite particular on that, in fact, and how it didn’t make sense to him. Interestingly enough, his symptoms follow exactly what he had expected to happen – telepathy, memories, basic movement. His symptoms match all three portions of the brain. Therefore, I think it appropriate to try his suggested response – delivering the medication psychically. Without treating the telepathic portion of the brain directly, he feels the illness would simply lie dormant, waiting for the right moment to re-emerge.”
“Well all right then, let’s do it,” Rose exclaimed.
Somilo touched Rose on the shoulder, looking at her with concerned, gentle eyes. “It’s not that simple, Rose. He also noted that it was important that someone who knows the victim must be the one to do it. That due to the invasive and personal nature of telepathic healing, too much additional trauma could occur to the victim with their mind wide open.”
Her eyes widened. While she didn’t understand much about telepathy, she did know that the Doctor was possibly the most insular, guarded person she’d ever met. He talked nearly non-stop, yet aside from her life and pop-culture references, he barely said anything at all. He never talked about his home world. All she knew was that it had been destroyed in the Time War. On rare occasion, he opened up about memories of his childhood, or silly adventures he’d had with Sarah Jane. Now that she’d met Sarah Jane, it was as if it were suddenly okay for him to talk about her. She treasured any of the stories he told, embracing them for the rare illumination into the Time Lord she loved.
“His mind is open to anyone?” She couldn’t imagine how horrible that would be for the Doctor, with all of his secrets.
“Yes. “
Rose looked Somilo straight in the eye. “Tell me what I have to do.”
Rose approached the infirmary with dread. What if this didn’t work? The idea of it made no sense to her, even if the TARDIS felt it would work. To walk through the mind of another being – it was something she’d imagined as a child, but even in primary school had dismissed as an impossibility. To be able to see through another’s eyes, to see the world as someone else saw it? Maybe purple wasn’t the same, or the smell of fresh cut grass stunk. Reality told her that such an action was impossible.
Yet here she was, walking toward the Doctor’s medical bed with the intent to do just what she’d dreamed all those years ago. How would that translate within an alien’s mind? How would she handle knowing that she would, at least for a short while, not be entirely herself? Her mind would be merged with the Doctor’s. Would that translate to them being, technically at least, the same person?
She stopped her mind from wandering through the what-ifs that could go wrong with this plan, reminding herself that she was doing this to save the Doctor and the TARDIS. Taking a deep calming breath, she pushed forward again, her steps more confident. She could do this. She could…
Her confidence wavered as she saw the Doctor’s pale form in the infirmary. He lay silent on the thinly padded bed, covered by linens to his waist, and was dressed in a hospital johnny that had been tied backward to allow access to his chest. The patches she’d attached to him earlier were still in place, and an IV tube had been inserted into his right arm. His skin was waxy, his freckles and beard stubble glaring brightly against his white skin. His hair lay flat, bereft of the persistent spiky personality it normally held. His breathing was shallow and quick, an occasional rasp escaping his throat. Even if she hadn’t known the medical report on his condition, she could tell he was in very poor shape.
“Doctor?” she said, taking his left hand gently in hers. “It’s Rose. I’m here.”
Somilo entered the infirmary, nodding quietly at her before walking to the computer terminal that displayed all of the monitoring results. His eyes skimmed over the information, never stopping nor showing a change in emotion. Rose couldn’t tell whether that was a good or bad thing, but decided it was better to lean toward optimism. She needed to think positively to allow herself the chance to succeed.
“He appears to be stable, Miss Tyler,” Somilo said. “We should start soon.”
Rose nodded. “I’m ready.”
“There are strange symbols on the screen. I cannot make sense of them. Perhaps you can?”
She walked to the monitor, seeing the interlocking, rotating circles and glyphs on the screen that the TARDIS never translated. “It’s his native language,” she explained. “I can’t read it. The TARDIS translates almost every other language, but never that one. I don’t understand… why.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw the pictographs begin to morph, curving into three dimensional figures before her eyes. They expanded deep into the screen, showing distance and time and condition, wrapping around corners of meaning that seemed impossibly deep in their description. She could read them! She could understand them. She gasped, marveling at its complexity.
“She’s translating it for me,” Rose whispered.
Yes. The melodic voice sang in her head, causing her to jolt in surprise. Given the emergency, I’m disobeying his instruction to keep the Gallifreyan language untranslatable.
Gallifreyan. So that was the name of his native language. Not Time Lordian, then.
Gallifrey is his home world. Time Lords are but a part of it. But this is not the time for a history lesson, Rose Tyler! the TARDIS sang, nudging Rose to read the monitor. She followed a wave of reassurance that all would be explained later, when the time was right for Rose to understand.
But how… you don’t talk to me! Why are you talking to me? Rose asked.
It is difficult, the TARDIS admitted, her gentle voice strained from effort. I have no choice now. If you cannot reach him, we will both die.
Rose dropped her head and closed her eyes. No matter what it took, she needed to succeed. She pushed away her selfish worries about seeing her mum again or seeing new worlds with the Doctor. Right now, none of that mattered. Saving his life and the TARDIS’ life – two beings that were completely unique in the universe, was far more important.
Steadying her breath, she read the instructions to Somilo, who dutifully entered each variable into the computer. When finished, new Gallifreyan script on the monitor glowed an eerie green colour, spinning slowly and purposely around the screen. Rose read the glyphs, then read them again, worried that she had made a misstep and cause the entire plan to collapse. But she could see no errors, and the TARDIS insisted on sending her soothing thoughts.
“We’re ready.”
“Very good,” Somilo replied. He handed her a pile of crisply folded linens. “Your hospital clothes. I’ll make sure the other bed is prepared whilst you change.”
Five minutes later, she returned to the infirmary, feeling awkward and naked beneath the hospital gown. She shivered and pulled the thin dressing gown tighter around her, grumbling because she knew it would do no good – it was for little more than modesty and ease of cleaning. She hoped Somilo would have remembered to add a blanket to her bed as well.
She was pleased to find a pile of extra blankets at the foot of the standard bed that he’d moved next to the Doctor’s. She climbed up, pulling the blankets over her as she lay down, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the steady beeps of the monitors and the shaky nature of her own breathing. As the time ticked on, she found herself relaxing, and looked over to the Doctor and took his hand in hers. Unsurprisingly, he did not look back at her, but she did feel the slightest squeeze against her fingers. She smiled – he was in there somewhere, and he knew she was there. With that knowledge, she felt ready. She could do this.
Somilo returned to the room with two additional monitoring wires. “The ones with the medical system had frayed wires,” he explained, apologizing for the delay. “I felt it best to bring replacements. These looked generic enough.” With a grunt of satisfaction when the wires connected easily to the medical device, he turned to Rose. “These will monitor your hearts’ rates whilst you find him.”
Rose smiled. “Oh, you only need one of those for me. Just one heart.”
The commander nodded apologetically, his lips pursed as he positioned the electrodes and switched on the computer. “Your blood pressure reads 120 slash 80. Is this good?”
“It’s a little high for me, but probably stress. I’m fine.”
“Very well, Miss Tyler. I shall inject the serum into him if you are ready to begin. You will need to lead him to a place in his mind where he’ll realize what it is. Otherwise, it cannot take effect.”
Rose nodded, turning on her side and stretching for the Doctor’s temple, placing her fingers just as she’d seen him do to Reinette months before. As she touched, she felt the slightest flicker of sound, and then another, and then suddenly a bright golden light flooded her mind, drowning out all awareness of Somilo or the infirmary.
- End Chapter 3 -
[to chapter four]
[chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five]
CHAPTER THREE
Rose was not surprised as the Doctor insisted on leading them to the TARDIS. He’d explained to her ages ago that he had a connection – a psychic bond, he’d called it – with his ship, making it possible for him to steer her. He’d described the connection as a lilting song, quietly chiming away in the back of his mind, meandering through melodies and pointless musical wanderings that existed in the fabric of time, the only part of home he could still hear.
Every now and then as they made their way through the winding streets of the city, he’d pause; closing his eyes and craning his neck as he listened for what Rose presumed was the song that only he could hear. On more than one occasion, he struggled, looking angry or flustered – or both – when he could not determine the direction. At that point, Rose grasped his hand, tugging him toward where she knew the TARDIS sat, biting back a smile as he laughed and lunged ahead, knowing that he’d once again heard it.
When they reached the TARDIS, the Doctor patted his hips, then his shirt, and then stared at Rose, his expression panicked. No pockets.
“No, no, Doctor. It’s okay,” she said, reaching around her neck to retrieve her key and showing it to him. “I have one. See?” She turned it in the lock, barely getting out of the way as the Time Lord rushed past her and up the ramp.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring up at the central column as she’d seen him do hundreds of times. She recognized it as one of his personal methods to focus and remove himself from the rushing buzz of his everyday existence. This time, however, the pleased expression he normally wore was missing. Instead, he blinked, agitated as he watched the column. And then he screamed, falling to the floor grates.
“Doctor!” she screamed, rushing to his motionless form.
“Where is the infirmary, Miss Tyler? We should get him there at once.”
Rose helped him lift the Doctor, supporting him in a fireman’s carry between them as they made their way across the console room toward the hallway that led to the rest of the ship. To her relief, the TARDIS moved the infirmary door immediately to the front of the corridor. They lifted the Doctor up onto the primary medical bed.
“We’ll need to take this tunic off of him,” Somilo stated as he supported the Doctor’s torso upright, allowing Rose to pull the sweater over the Time Lord’s head. “Do you know where the medical equipment is?”
“I’ll figure it out,” she replied, searching the room. With a mental nudge from the TARDIS, she found the appropriate equipment, placing the monitoring patches on each heart and on his forehead. A computer across the room beeped loudly as it roared to life.
Somilo pulled out a pair of small antennas, attaching one to the monitor and one to the tablet he’d been given at the hospital. “This should provide us with a more in-depth description of his current condition,” he explained.
“Are you a doctor, sir?” she asked.
The Metaxian nodded. “I studied as one. Decided to use it in the military when no posts opened up at the hospitals.”
“But you’re a commanding officer, yeah?”
“It’s preferred that our commanding officers have at least some medical knowledge,” Somilo replied as he glanced through the medical storage cabinet. “Most of the soldiers do, actually. We prefer to be prepared for anything. We tend to see… anything… particularly in my division,” he added. He thumbed through the supplies. “Any allergies or other things I should be aware of in case he deteriorates further? Besides his odd heart configuration?” His eyebrow went up as he read the readout on his clipboard.
“He’s deathly allergic to aspirin,” Rose replied, pointing it out on the shelf. At the commander’s confused look, she explained that it alleviated pain, and then identified the appropriate alternative. “Other than that, I don’t know. The TARDIS seems to be communicating with me a bit. If we attempt to do anything fatal to him, I imagine she’ll warn me.” At that, she felt the slightest brush in her mind, affirming her assumption.
As Somilo continued to read test results, Rose pulled a chair up to the Doctor’s bedside and took his hand, gently squeezing it to let him know she was there. With the exception of his facial expressions, he lay perfectly still. His arm dangled limply and heavily over the side of the table. Concerned, Rose positioned it back on the bed, checked the other arm, and straightened the sheet that covered him. His face resembled the ones she’d seen on the Metaxian hospital ward. She saw fear, anger, and pain spread across his features, signs that he, too, was trapped in some sort of nightmare. Instinctively, she tried to calm him, making soft shushing noises as she steadily brushed her fingers through his hair.
Oddly, it had a brief effect. When her fingers initially touched his forehead, she felt him move ever so slightly, pushing into her hand. He could feel her!
“Wait, Rose. Do that again!” Somilo said excitedly.
Rose repeated the motion, allowing her fingertips to graze his temple before raking slowly through his hair.
“There!” Somilo said, noting the spike in activity at her initial touch. “Just there. Hold your finger at the point where you first touched him.”
She did, and they both observed the readouts as his brain activity went wild for a moment, then steadied into a gentle, relaxed wave within what the TARDIS indicated was within his normal level.
“Fetch me a pillow, please?” she asked. “I won’t be able to touch him like this for long – my arm will begin to hurt.”
Somilo raced across the room to the storeroom closet, returning with both a pillow and a folded blanket. He moved it to support Rose’s arm weight before he continued his observations.
“It is fascinating. The virus has latched onto three centers in his brain used for memory, motor function, and psychic connection. What you’ve managed to do, Rose, is ease the strain on the psychic portion,” he explained.
“And why is that fascinating?”
“It’s the same virus, but it is affecting your Doctor far differently than it has my people. For Metaxians, only the psychic is weakened. He appears to be suffering far more extreme effects. I need to study these charts against the notes he’d been keeping.”
Rose stood up to stretch. “I think I’ll put the kettle on, then. Care for some tea?”
“Your Doctor kept mentioning this tea. He lamented our lack of it. So yes, I am curious to try this… tea,”
“The Doctor wanted…” Rose trailed off, her mouth dropping open. “Tea!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how could I be so stupid?” All I needed was a good cup of tea! she heard his voice echo in his head. She ran down the corridor toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back with tea!”
Somilo watched her form disappear into the darkness, astonished. “This beverage must be fabulous!” he exclaimed. Then carefully, slowly, he began to read every notation that the Doctor had made about the Burning.
Somewhere, there had to be a solution. He peered over the Doctor’s notes again. Among a myriad of strange circular doodles in the margins, he found medical observations that differed strongly from those of the examiners at the hospital.
- The oddest thing is the disconnect between memory and psychic ability. Given the connection between a creature’s psychic ability and the power of memory to hold one’s sanity when using it intensely to ground one’s self, I’m surprised to see that this virus is leaving the Metaxian minds virtually unscathed, with the exception of their empathic and/or telepathic abilities.
This absolutely does not make sense, particularly with the Metaxian culture. If they were a strictly telepathic race, such a virus would be devastating. The loss of psychic ability would render the victim essentially deaf and dumb, unable to communicate within the society without learning a new, rudimentary method of communication, such as the sign languages that exist on Earth and Halopia Four.
Keptrazine, which the Metaxians are already using, appears to be the compound with the most promise. However, a combination of physical and psychic administration is necessary to stabilize all areas of the brain necessary for psychic abilities. The brain needs not only physical healing, but emotional connection to sooth the psychic pathways that allow us the ability to connect with our minds. Without this treatment, I don’t doubt that the virus would readily reattach to the damaged pathways and lie dormant until personal crisis sets off the perfect hormone balance for them to feed.
There is a catch to this, however – safe administration of a psychic drug is rarely actually safe, and it requires a less than textbook approach. The only way to safely administer the drug psychically is to have someone that the patient already knows and trusts do it. Psychic drug delivery will almost certainly leave the mind wide open and vulnerable. The drug administrator will be in a position where he or she could control the victim with the merest whim, planting false memories and statements to manipulate the victim at his or her most private place in the soul.
It’s a horrific disease to be sure. Had this found its way to Gallifrey, I can only imagine the lasting damage to our society.”
~ ~ ~
The ropes of time frayed, each snapping sharply as they broke from the main cord. Their golden glows deadened to grey as they disconnected. With each one, the TARDIS gasped in pain. She knew instantly what was happening; the Doctor had taken a turn for the worse; with his life in danger, hers was now threatened due to the bond that allowed him to fly her.
She felt him cry out, flailing wildly as the connection grew weaker, stretching so thin. She shuddered and cried as mere threads were all that were left.
He screamed, willing every ounce of his strength to hang on to her. The connection could not be severed. It would be the end of both of them.
He could not lose her.
He felt the explosion before he heard it.
And then he heard nothing.
~ ~ ~
Groaning, Rose picked herself up from the kitchen floor. What had just happened? She glanced around the room, finding the two cereal boxes overturned that she’d brought onboard during the most recent stop home. The thermos she’d filled just before the collision had rolled under the table, still tightly closed although it had a sizeable dent on its side. The rest of the room appeared to be okay, more or less. Quickly pulling herself to her feet, she ran to the console room. They’d hit something – something big. The Doctor would be able to tell her…
Wait, no. They weren’t moving. The Doctor was in the infirmary. They were still on Metax.
She scrambled to the console room. The scene awaiting her stopped her cold. Gone was the green-blue glow in the central column. It stood silent and grey, as did the rest of the room around her. Much like when they’d crashed into the alternate London, the TARDIS appeared dead… except for that one sound – a steady deep thrumming chime that she’d heard only a couple times before. The Cloister Bell rang angrily, its notes echoing throughout the dark dome and down the corridor. The monitors were of no use. They sat dark from the power loss, and like most things attached to the center console, had no recognizable “on” switch. Rose dared not touch anything else on the console, particularly not now when the ship was in distress.
The Doctor. She needed to find a way to connect with the Doctor. He’d know what to do. She turned and ran down the corridor toward the infirmary.
~ ~ ~
The collision had not been as severe for Somilo. He’d certainly felt the crack and the violent shudder of the walls and floor around him, although unlike Rose, he hadn’t lost his footing in shaky aftermath. Experience through years of warfare over a dozen planets had trained his reactions well, allowing him to brace himself immediately upon the first shudder. Despite being past the prime physical years for military prowess, he’d kept his stocky frame in good health. Flexibility and dexterity allowed him to slide beneath a nearby door frame, protected from the medical reference books and personal journals that rained down from the bookshelf.
Hearing a piercing electronic alarm, he rushed into the intensive care room to find the Doctor’s vital signs monitor flashing all sorts of alerts. He skimmed the readouts, and then rushed into action, checking each electrode’s connection with his patient’s skin, reinserting the IV line that had broken loose. The basic alarms indicating lack of information switched off, resuming their steady data-gathering chirp. One alarm still remained, however, and its meaning was impossible for him to decipher.
“Commander Somilo!” He heard Rose Tyler’s voice call from down the corridor as her footsteps pounded against the floor grates. He eliminated that from his post-disaster checklist. If she were able to shout and able to run, she was, at least for the moment, not a primary triage concern.
The Doctor’s jerking body pulled his attention back to the bed. Somilo sprang into action, finding and positioning a bite plate in the Doctor’s mouth, treating his patient for the symptoms of seizure.
“Oh my god! What’s happening to him?” Rose gaped at the two men.
“Go over to that monitor and read what it says,” Somilo instructed, holding the Doctor’s head steady. “It’s in your language, and I cannot read it.”
In my language? But… Rose shoved down the panic that came from knowing that his words meant. The TARDIS wasn’t translating. If she wasn’t translating, then the ship had to be fatally wounded. She spun the screen around on its arm, and her heart sank. The words were not in English, but instead were the swirls and loops comprising the hieroglyphs of the Doctor’s native tongue.
“I can’t make it out,” she said, defeated.
“Then I’ll have to treat him the best I know how. Hold his head steady whilst I find the correct medicines,” he instructed. Once Rose was in place, he ran to the storeroom, finding vials of two separate medications labeled with universal symbols and chemical notations he recognized. He rushed back in, measuring out appropriate injections of each, and inserting them steadily into the IV stream.
As the medicine made its way through the Doctor’s vascular system, he slowly quieted. Shaky breaths eased into a gentle rhythm, and his vital signs balanced off. Shaking, Rose released a nervous breath, nodding at Somilo gratefully. He would be okay.
Somilo, for his part, also shook off the nerves of the moment, flopping wearily into a nearby chair. “I’m glad that worked,” he said. “There’s something to be said for cross-species similarities.”
Rose retrieved the thermos she’d tossed onto the bookshelf, pulled two paper cups from a dispenser near the sink, and poured the commander a cup. He took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and rolling the liquid over his tongue. It was good – slightly bitter, but with a hint of grasses and herbs much like an infused drink his grandmother had enjoyed. He felt the warmth of it run through his body, calming him.
“Thank you,” he said.
Rose smiled, sipping her own. “There’s something wrong with the TARDIS,” she explained. “I don’t know what happened. It was like something hit the ship. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor in the kitchen. I go out to the main control room, and it’s like the ship was knocked offline.” Rose chose her words carefully, keeping the fact of the TARDIS’ sentience quiet.
Somilo nodded. “That’s when the alarms went off here.” He paused, thinking back on what he’d read. “The Doctor mentioned a psychic link to his ship in his notes. Do you know anything about that?”
“Not really,” Rose said. “I know it exists, but I don’t know how it works. He never explained it to me.”
The commander stood up, observing the Doctor’s condition report once again. “There’s an increase in his psychic activity. It’s reached a dangerous level. It’s as if he’s screaming in his head. His memory and motor functions appear severely compromised – almost non-existent now.” He frowned. “That might be it, Rose.”
“What?”
“Before he succumbed, the Doctor had insisted on contacting the afflicted psychically. He said that the medication he had to offer had to be administered through thought.”
Rose frowned. “How can a medicine be administered psychically?”
“Not easily,” he admitted. “And the Doctor stated as such. He said that it was such a tricky situation that only someone who knew the afflicted closely would be able to do it successfully. It’s a matter of trust – requiring the person administering the drugs to push through the sick person’s protective blocks. You’re not familiar with these concepts, are you?” he asked, seeing Rose’s expression morph into complete confusion.
“No, sorry.”
“Forgive me, Rose, but I am troubled. How can you be traveling with the Doctor and not know these things? I would presume they’d be standard knowledge for all Time Lords.”
“Oh!” Rose exclaimed. “I’m not a Time Lord. I’m human. From Earth, which is over… well, I don’t know where it is compared to here. But, no. I just travel with him.”
The commander’s eyes widened. “Fascinating – you’re not the same species as the Doctor, yet you travel as equals?” He approached with the pad, placing it where Rose indicated with the slightest embarrassment at seeing her naked breastbone.
“Well,” Rose replied, shrugging. “Not quite equals. I mean, it’s his ship and all. I couldn’t steer it if I tried. He takes me places I’d not be able to see otherwise. My people aren’t quite so advanced.”
“I see. But you are not his concubine. He speaks too highly of you,” Somilo replied, confused.
“No! Definitely not that. We’re friends is all. Just friends,” Rose stammered.
The commander bowed his bald head. “Perhaps, Miss Tyler. Although forgive me for saying this if it is out of turn, but he speaks and writes of you far more fondly than that.” He paused, observing her. “And I think, if his notes are correct, that you must be the one to save him.”
“Me? How?”
Somilo retrieved the Doctor’s journal from the desk and handed it to Rose. She stared at its cover, running her hand over the battered leather book. Five Hundred Year Diary was printed in elegant embossed gold lettering on its cover. Two thin straps of leather wrapped around the book, gouges and kinks in their lengths from years of wrapping and tying the ends.
“You… read his diary?” Rose gaped.
“No,” Somilo replied. “Only the most recent pages where he’d been keeping notations about the Burning. He kept the patient notes stuffed in the book to mark his place. He wrote down all of his observations. Some ramble on for pages. I can’t make sense of all of his tangents.”
Rose smiled at that unsurprising bit of information.
“He talked at length about his surprise regarding the lack of damage to our patients’ two specific parts of the brain – the area that controls memory, and the area that controls motor skills. He was quite particular on that, in fact, and how it didn’t make sense to him. Interestingly enough, his symptoms follow exactly what he had expected to happen – telepathy, memories, basic movement. His symptoms match all three portions of the brain. Therefore, I think it appropriate to try his suggested response – delivering the medication psychically. Without treating the telepathic portion of the brain directly, he feels the illness would simply lie dormant, waiting for the right moment to re-emerge.”
“Well all right then, let’s do it,” Rose exclaimed.
Somilo touched Rose on the shoulder, looking at her with concerned, gentle eyes. “It’s not that simple, Rose. He also noted that it was important that someone who knows the victim must be the one to do it. That due to the invasive and personal nature of telepathic healing, too much additional trauma could occur to the victim with their mind wide open.”
Her eyes widened. While she didn’t understand much about telepathy, she did know that the Doctor was possibly the most insular, guarded person she’d ever met. He talked nearly non-stop, yet aside from her life and pop-culture references, he barely said anything at all. He never talked about his home world. All she knew was that it had been destroyed in the Time War. On rare occasion, he opened up about memories of his childhood, or silly adventures he’d had with Sarah Jane. Now that she’d met Sarah Jane, it was as if it were suddenly okay for him to talk about her. She treasured any of the stories he told, embracing them for the rare illumination into the Time Lord she loved.
“His mind is open to anyone?” She couldn’t imagine how horrible that would be for the Doctor, with all of his secrets.
“Yes. “
Rose looked Somilo straight in the eye. “Tell me what I have to do.”
Rose approached the infirmary with dread. What if this didn’t work? The idea of it made no sense to her, even if the TARDIS felt it would work. To walk through the mind of another being – it was something she’d imagined as a child, but even in primary school had dismissed as an impossibility. To be able to see through another’s eyes, to see the world as someone else saw it? Maybe purple wasn’t the same, or the smell of fresh cut grass stunk. Reality told her that such an action was impossible.
Yet here she was, walking toward the Doctor’s medical bed with the intent to do just what she’d dreamed all those years ago. How would that translate within an alien’s mind? How would she handle knowing that she would, at least for a short while, not be entirely herself? Her mind would be merged with the Doctor’s. Would that translate to them being, technically at least, the same person?
She stopped her mind from wandering through the what-ifs that could go wrong with this plan, reminding herself that she was doing this to save the Doctor and the TARDIS. Taking a deep calming breath, she pushed forward again, her steps more confident. She could do this. She could…
Her confidence wavered as she saw the Doctor’s pale form in the infirmary. He lay silent on the thinly padded bed, covered by linens to his waist, and was dressed in a hospital johnny that had been tied backward to allow access to his chest. The patches she’d attached to him earlier were still in place, and an IV tube had been inserted into his right arm. His skin was waxy, his freckles and beard stubble glaring brightly against his white skin. His hair lay flat, bereft of the persistent spiky personality it normally held. His breathing was shallow and quick, an occasional rasp escaping his throat. Even if she hadn’t known the medical report on his condition, she could tell he was in very poor shape.
“Doctor?” she said, taking his left hand gently in hers. “It’s Rose. I’m here.”
Somilo entered the infirmary, nodding quietly at her before walking to the computer terminal that displayed all of the monitoring results. His eyes skimmed over the information, never stopping nor showing a change in emotion. Rose couldn’t tell whether that was a good or bad thing, but decided it was better to lean toward optimism. She needed to think positively to allow herself the chance to succeed.
“He appears to be stable, Miss Tyler,” Somilo said. “We should start soon.”
Rose nodded. “I’m ready.”
“There are strange symbols on the screen. I cannot make sense of them. Perhaps you can?”
She walked to the monitor, seeing the interlocking, rotating circles and glyphs on the screen that the TARDIS never translated. “It’s his native language,” she explained. “I can’t read it. The TARDIS translates almost every other language, but never that one. I don’t understand… why.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw the pictographs begin to morph, curving into three dimensional figures before her eyes. They expanded deep into the screen, showing distance and time and condition, wrapping around corners of meaning that seemed impossibly deep in their description. She could read them! She could understand them. She gasped, marveling at its complexity.
“She’s translating it for me,” Rose whispered.
Yes. The melodic voice sang in her head, causing her to jolt in surprise. Given the emergency, I’m disobeying his instruction to keep the Gallifreyan language untranslatable.
Gallifreyan. So that was the name of his native language. Not Time Lordian, then.
Gallifrey is his home world. Time Lords are but a part of it. But this is not the time for a history lesson, Rose Tyler! the TARDIS sang, nudging Rose to read the monitor. She followed a wave of reassurance that all would be explained later, when the time was right for Rose to understand.
But how… you don’t talk to me! Why are you talking to me? Rose asked.
It is difficult, the TARDIS admitted, her gentle voice strained from effort. I have no choice now. If you cannot reach him, we will both die.
Rose dropped her head and closed her eyes. No matter what it took, she needed to succeed. She pushed away her selfish worries about seeing her mum again or seeing new worlds with the Doctor. Right now, none of that mattered. Saving his life and the TARDIS’ life – two beings that were completely unique in the universe, was far more important.
Steadying her breath, she read the instructions to Somilo, who dutifully entered each variable into the computer. When finished, new Gallifreyan script on the monitor glowed an eerie green colour, spinning slowly and purposely around the screen. Rose read the glyphs, then read them again, worried that she had made a misstep and cause the entire plan to collapse. But she could see no errors, and the TARDIS insisted on sending her soothing thoughts.
“We’re ready.”
“Very good,” Somilo replied. He handed her a pile of crisply folded linens. “Your hospital clothes. I’ll make sure the other bed is prepared whilst you change.”
Five minutes later, she returned to the infirmary, feeling awkward and naked beneath the hospital gown. She shivered and pulled the thin dressing gown tighter around her, grumbling because she knew it would do no good – it was for little more than modesty and ease of cleaning. She hoped Somilo would have remembered to add a blanket to her bed as well.
She was pleased to find a pile of extra blankets at the foot of the standard bed that he’d moved next to the Doctor’s. She climbed up, pulling the blankets over her as she lay down, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the steady beeps of the monitors and the shaky nature of her own breathing. As the time ticked on, she found herself relaxing, and looked over to the Doctor and took his hand in hers. Unsurprisingly, he did not look back at her, but she did feel the slightest squeeze against her fingers. She smiled – he was in there somewhere, and he knew she was there. With that knowledge, she felt ready. She could do this.
Somilo returned to the room with two additional monitoring wires. “The ones with the medical system had frayed wires,” he explained, apologizing for the delay. “I felt it best to bring replacements. These looked generic enough.” With a grunt of satisfaction when the wires connected easily to the medical device, he turned to Rose. “These will monitor your hearts’ rates whilst you find him.”
Rose smiled. “Oh, you only need one of those for me. Just one heart.”
The commander nodded apologetically, his lips pursed as he positioned the electrodes and switched on the computer. “Your blood pressure reads 120 slash 80. Is this good?”
“It’s a little high for me, but probably stress. I’m fine.”
“Very well, Miss Tyler. I shall inject the serum into him if you are ready to begin. You will need to lead him to a place in his mind where he’ll realize what it is. Otherwise, it cannot take effect.”
Rose nodded, turning on her side and stretching for the Doctor’s temple, placing her fingers just as she’d seen him do to Reinette months before. As she touched, she felt the slightest flicker of sound, and then another, and then suddenly a bright golden light flooded her mind, drowning out all awareness of Somilo or the infirmary.
- End Chapter 3 -
[to chapter four]