A short time later, a rather more presentable-looking Rory re-entered the
console room, finding it looking much the same as when he’d left it; Amy
slouching in a seat with a bored look on her face and the Doctor poking and
prodding at the underside of the console. Occasionally, either the whirr of the
sonic screwdriver or the Doctor’s continual inaudible muttering would fill the
silence, but otherwise it was surprisingly quiet.
Suddenly, a massive jolt shook the control room and hurled the occupants to
the floor. The Doctor stood up and straightened his tie. He looked
disapprovingly at his companions. 'One of you thought about something really
dangerous, didn’t you?'
Rory looked sheepish, Amy even more so. They looked at each other.
'It wasn’t me,' they responded in unison.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. 'One job, just one thing I ask you to not do,
and you do it. Or rather you don’t not do it, when you shouldn’t do it. So stop
not doing it.'
Amy and Rory looked at each other and shrugged.
He hammered a few buttons on the console. 'Right, I’ve realigned the
shielding for what good it’ll do, but do try and think of fluffy kittens from
now on.'
For what felt like an eternity, the two of them stood there, both trying
desperately not to think of anything more dangerous than a soft cushion.
'Aha!' the Doctor finally announced, raising his arms in jubilation. His
companions sighed in relief.
'You fixed it?' Amy asked.
'No!, but I have an idea. Well, more an idea of an idea; an inkling of a
suggestion even,' the Doctor explained. 'We need a lynchpin, a fixed point in
the universe, an indisputable fact in time and space that we can grab onto and
drag ourselves out of this hole. And I think I know just the man.'
'A man?' Amy repeated.
'Yes. The problem is I don’t know where he is, and with the TARDIS scanners
not functioning outside of the bubble, I’ve got no way of finding him.'
'No idea? Not even a guess?' Amy asked.
'Guess? I can’t just guess. The TARDIS will be torn apart if I anchor us to
the wrong point. Fixed spatial coordinates are a combination of over a dozen
values that change constantly. The chances of me hitting the right value
are...'
He paused.
'FISH!' He suddenly exclaimed, turning on Rory with an accusing finger.
'You were thinking about fish!'
'I was not,' Rory replied defensively.
'Not just then, in the pool, when you were swimming. You were thinking
about fish, weren’t you?'
'I’m not sure, I can’t remember. No, wait. Yes, I was remembering diving in
the sea on holiday. We ended up in the middle of a gigantic shoal.'
'These fish, were they blue?' the Doctor demanded.
'I’m not sure...I...no, wait, they were. They were bright blue, just like
the ones in the pool.'
'The bubble is in flux, so thoughts can influence reality,' the Doctor
considered, almost to himself. 'Both your thoughts and mine can influence this
tiny little bubble of reality,' he continued, turning slowly on the spot. 'We
alone decide what is real and what is not.'
He stopped and raised an arm, pointing his finger into the distance. 'And I say, he’s that way.'
He stopped and raised an arm, pointing his finger into the distance. 'And I say, he’s that way.'
After skipping across to the console, the time-traveller ferociously began
tapping away at a brass keyboard, a look of concentration furrowing his brow.
'Are you sure?' said Amy.
The Doctor snapped back at her. 'I have to be sure, that’s the whole point.
I think, therefore he is. If I’m right, we now exist in a reality where I can,
through sheer chance alone, guess the exact temporal and spatial coordinates of
a man I haven’t seen in nearly fifty years.' He tapped in the last coordinate
and placed his hand on the control lever.
'My people have an old saying,' he said. 'It doesn’t matter whether you’re
right or wrong in life, as long as you’re certain.' He paused, and for a
moment, a look of doubt appeared to cross his face. Looking at his two
companions, he said quietly, 'But If I’m wrong, we die.'
Amy extended one hand and clasped Rory’s outstretched palm. Extending the
other towards the Doctor, she smiled.
'Geronimo,' she commented.
Taking her hand, he grinned, then slammed the lever forwards.
~~~
Elsewhere...
Running a bar on an isolated trading station was not the most exciting job
at the best of times. Tonight was proving to be no exception. The usual
galactic traders had retired for the evening, leaving the bar near empty, but
despite this, a few hangers on still sat nursing their drinks and showed little
intention of leaving. Isac stood behind the bar, idly passing the time between
serving his customers by making a crude sketch of one of his patrons. His
artistic skills weren’t exactly top-notch, but at this time of night he didn’t
really have much else to do. His subject for the evening sat a short distance
from the bar, quietly drinking on his own like pretty much everyone else. What
set this man out from the others was his rather unusual attire.
Dressed in a blue shirt with a long grey coat slung across the chair next
to him, he stood out from the pilots and workers who usually came to the bar
still dressed in their overalls. His outfit was clearly old, marked with a
number of stains and what looked like scorch marks, but it was worn with the confidence
of a favourite outfit someone had no intention of giving up any time soon.
As the stranger spilled his glass, Isac rolled his eyes and reached for a
cloth. His irritation rapidly turned to concern, however, after seeing the look
of pain on the stranger’s face. The patron was clutching at his chest and
gasping, his face rapidly turning pale. Grimacing in pain, the man pushed back
his chair with a struggle and staggered to his feet. With little control, he
stumbled a few steps before being caught in the outstretched arms of the
barman.
'I’ve got you,' Isac reassured him, as the stranger leaned heavily against
him. After a few seconds, the stranger’s breathing gradually recovered. Isac
allowed himself to relax his hold, and after a few moments the man stood once
again on his own two feet.
'Thanks,' the man said. 'You know, for a moment there I thought I was
finally done for, and I mean finally.'
'What’s wrong?' Isac asked.
'No idea, it felt like someone was trying to drag me half way across the
galaxy by my heart. Seems to be gone now though.' He raised his eyebrows and
grinned. ‘Weird, eh?’
'Sit down and I’ll grab you a drink, mister...'
'It’s Captain actually, Captain Jack Harkness.' The man turned round and
smiled mischievously, the colour rapidly returning to his face. 'And who, might
I add, are you?'
written by
NICK WHEELER
copyright 2013
artwork by
artwork by
COLIN JOHN
copyright 2013
Dedicated to the memory
of Douglas Adams