Cruise of Death

[Nihilio]

Kόσμος(Σύμπαν): Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

Είδος: επιστημονική φαντασία

Βία; Behind the Sofa (όχι)

Σεξ; Όχι

Αυτοτελής; Ναι

Σχόλια: Κι άλλες ανασκαφές, το συγκεκριμένο από πέρσυ το καλοκαίρι για έναν διαγωνισμό σύντομου fanfic.

Και φυσικά ένας φόρος τιμής στον 10th και στις 3,5 απολαυστικές αυτές σαιζόν...

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“This! Is! Not! Happening!” I exclaimed, lighting a smoke. “There can be no aliens!”

“Oh yes they can,” a strange man answered as he rushed in the cabin, lighting a terminal with a strange blue flash light. He was lean, with spiked hair, a pair of glasses and a trench coat. Behind him a young, attractive girl with dusky skin and an eccentric hairdo. Not that, given the situation, that was the weirdest thing around.

“Come on,' I said, “you can't expect me to believe this! This is the 21st century.”

“Actually this is the 25th ,” he replied, while he was examining the terminal he had just lighted. “Seems it'll do,” he said.

“You must be joking,” I told him. First our cruiser is surrounded by a weird electric storm, then a hologram in the sky shows an alien being demanding our surrender. “And what seems it'll do?”

“Well, you have just fallen in a time rift caused by, well, let's say temporal shifting alien pirates and I am trying to get us out of here. As for what'll do, I am re-tuning the terminals so they will emit tachyons to get the ship out of the temporal rift.”

“What are you,” I replied, “some sort of freak scientist?”

“I am the Doctor,” he said, “and this is my companion, Martha Jones.” The girl nodded a “hi”.

“Doctor Who?” I asked.

“Just 'the Doctor',” he said.

“And how the hell are you taking us back to the 21st century?”

“Well,” he said in a faster-than-sound pace, “the tachyons emitted will curve back the divergent timeline we are in into a loop which will allow us to enter back the main timeline by breaking the loop feeding it with a second blast of tachyons in about...” he checked his watch, then turned his eyes back to me and said, “Oh, my, we must go now. More stuff to do and little time. See you in twenty five years, mr. Vanders. Oh, and cut down on smoking,” and he dashed off to another terminal, leaving me dumbstruck. How did he knew my name?

 

Our strange adventure ended as abruptly as it has begun. He returned to the harbour, with only five people missing. The aliens were a mass illusion, we were told, but it was for me to believe it. And, searching the passenger list, no doctor or Martha Jones appeared to be on board.

It was a mystery I could not ignore. The next years I spend them searching for the mysterious doctor. And he appeared to have been and to keep being, literally, everywhere all the time. He had not always the same face, but I often glimpsed at photos of the man that I met on the ship. There was must talk about him on the internet. That he always appeared on times of crisis or mass destructions, that he was a time-traveller, an alien, a herald of destruction or an angel of salvation. Either way, I followed his advice and quitted smoking.

We met again twenty five years later, as he had told me, when I was in my late seventies and doubted I'll live to that day. I was lying on a hospital bed, counting down the days. Too many years smoking had caused me lung cancer and it was slowly eating at me.

I don't know if I was dreaming or not, but he barged in a hurry, this time accompanied by a blonde girl. He was exactly like when I had last seen him.

“We must hurry,” he said, “unless the Slaveen think of taking over.”

“Doctor,” I rasped at him, “do you remember me?”

He paused and examined me carefully.

“Sorry, but no,” he told me.

“We were on that cruiser together. When we fell out of time. It's me, Frank Vanders, don't you remember? And how is Martha?”

“Martha?” he asked me.

“Martha Jones, your companion,” I reminded him.

“Oh,” he said as if realising what was I telling him, “sorry, but I've not met you yet, in my timeline. You understand how all this woble wobbly mess time travelling can be.”

“I do,” I smiled at him. “Goodbye Doctor. Oh, and next time we meet, tell me to quit smoking.”

“I will,” he told me, “see you later.” And then to the girl “Let's go, Rose.”

In my timeline, it was the last time I ever saw him.