Friday 18 March 2016

Torchwood: Origins (4)

So, there we were, being threatened by comically clichéd corsairs. Ten minutes with the Doctor and my life was in peril. I was beginning to understand the track record of his companions.

"Yarr, ye'll be telling me maties and I what yer business is here, buckos, or it'll be keelhauling!" There's no sound in space, but this captain could probably still be heard on the planet below. I've heard explosions quieter than this guy.

"Honestly, a keelhauling in zero gravity doesn't sound too bad, as long as the forcefield extends that far." I quipped.

"Actually, the keel is a thermal exchange, you'd be roasted alive." The Doctor clarified.

"Haha, indeed. You'd do well to heed yer elders, boy!"

As the crew descended into another bout of laughter, the captain's parrot began to squawk.
"Information available, captain."
"Out with it then, Polly!"
"Records indicate that that this man is the Time Lord known as The Doctor."

"Oh, I always preferred robot dogs to robot avians." sighed The Doctor.

"The Doctor? THE Doctor? the DOCTOR?!" bellowed the captain. "Yarr, laddies, we've got quite the prize here."

"Ah, good to see my reputation precedes me."
"Ye know, Doctor. The people of my homeworld have a name for you. Do you know what it is?"
"Lots of people have names for me. The Daleks call me 'The Oncoming Storm', the Sontarans call me 'Mortal Foe', the mechnomancers call me 'The Virus'. On Earth, some called me Merlin. Basically, I'm a very poor target for intimidation, and an incredibly dangerous person to cross."

"AHHHHAAAAHAHA! Such spirit! No, Doctor, we call you 'The Hypocrite'. 'The Genocide General'. 'The Betrayer'. You are the man who abhors violence, yet you have killed billions. You claim a moral high ground, but have slaughtered countless innocents. Just how much blood is on your hands? How many lives? How many have died in your name? You fought in the Time War, you destroyed your own people to achieve victory. YOU ARE A MAN OF CONTRADICTIONS, DOCTOR!"

"What I did, I did out of necessity. In the name of peace, and sanity. The whole universe stood on the brink! I took decisions, wrong, regrettable decisions to prevent the slaughter of trillions. I made impossible choices, so others would never have to face those horrors. That's my burden to bear. Remorse is the difference between you and I."

"Arr, ye talk a good game, Doctor. But your actions are mired in the blood of your enemies, just as mine are. What makes your morality better than mine? Baring your hypocrisy..."

The Doctor stood against the captain, with a hard, defiant look in his eyes.

"Speaking of actions..."

In an instant, The Doctor reached into his coat, and withdrew his sonic screwdriver. Aiming the device at the parrot perched on the captain's shoulder, it began to emit an oscillating warble and a blue glow. The parrot began to shriek and spark, while any of the crew with cybernetic implants doubled up in pain.

"Downside of linking your neural networks to the ship's main terminal, no protection against feedback! Ha!"

Using our brief window of opportunity, The Doctor beckoned me to follow him back along the deck of the ship. We both grasped ropes hanging near the ship's wheel, and swung along the length of the ship, landing less than gracefully at the rear of the vessel.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." said The Doctor, with a wink.
"What now? This hasn't gone as planned." I asked.
"That's why I never devise a plan until it's over, then I can do it retroactively."
"We still need to find out of the Shadow Sails visited me as a child!"
"I'm working on it. Quick, below decks. The crew are coming round from their disorientation."

With another flash of his Screwdriver, The Doctor unlocked and entered a hatch beneath us. Following his lead, we entered the bowels of the ship. Things seemed much more modern here. More technology, with chrome piping and blinking lights adorning most surfaces. All pretence of the nautical theme buried by functionality.

We crept deeper into the vessel, occasionally having to hide and take cover as angry armored pirates ran through the corridors. While our path appeared random, we did seem to be converging on our goal.
"Aha, through here" whispered The Doctor.
""Where are we? What is this room?"
"This is the trans-warp drive, also containing the main computer access."
"How do you know that?"
"Most spacecraft follow simple routine layout patterns. If you're been around as long as I have, they start to repeat. Now, you take the computer, I'll inspect the engines. Quick as you like!"

With that, he bounded off behind some machinery to do... Something. I approached the computer terminal, with some trepidation. How would I know how to operate it? Or to know what to search for? Thankfully, the one common tendency among any group of designers is one of simple and clear user interfaces. It didn't take me long to figure out the mechanics. I did mention I'm a computer nerd.

After a few minutes of searching, I found records of several visits to Earth. Most of them seemed to match my location, right down to an exact address. Whatever these pirates wanted from me, they had gone to great lengths to watch me. I was just thinking I'd like to ask the captain about it all when the doors to the chamber slid open. The captain store in, his beard and belly fat swaying hypnotically as he continued to rave.

"Aha! Here we are boys, the catch of the day! Converge on my location, laddies. And as for you, my boy..."

This last comment was directed at me. I stood there in fear of the man, unsure of his intentions, but my curiosity and indeed disgust at his interest in me outweighed my frightened thoughts.

"What's so special about me? Why scan me? Why follow me? What do you want?!" I yelled, running on shear adrenaline.

"It's not what I want boy, I font care about ye. But you're relevant to me benefactors."

"And who might they be?"

"Couldn't be saying, laddie. Discretion is a professional courtesy in me line of work."

"Fine. But why me in particular?"

"There's nothing special about you. It's what's contained in your head that interests them. Apparently, someone beamed a hyper-compact encrypted data stream into your mind. Some kind of long lost secret that my employer needs. Why you, no idea. We've been scanning you along your timeline, searching for the ripe moment. Mental information buffers decompress organically. To extract the data, you need to be of the right frame of mind, so to speak."

"So, when will I be ripe? What will happen to me then?"

"Glad you asked, boy. You're close to optimal brain development at your current age. You coming to us just saves us the hassle. My employer is dying to finally meet you! COME TO ME CURRENTLY, YOU CUR, I CRAVE YOUR CRANIUM! I'LL GET A FORTUNE WHEN I DELIVER YOUR HEAD! YARR!!"

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