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bluecastleAuthor/Artist:
valancy_joy Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Pairing/Characters: Gerald Carter, Dr. Charles Quinn, Douglas Caldwell [Torchwood 1919], Ianto, Jack, Gwen [Torchwood 2009], Assorted Daleks.
Warning/Spoilers/Notes: This is what happens the plot bunnies have a ménage à trois in my brain. Post Exit Wounds. ~3700 words.
Disclaimer: The BBC and RTD own the sand and the sandbox. The sandcastles are mine.
Summary: Ripped from the laboratory he was born in, he was sent along the time streams like a message in a bottle flung from the deck of a ship.
written for the dalekinthepond challenge.
CARDIFF, 1919
"Damn it all, Gerald! I'm telling you this for your own good, as your doctor. You need to get away from this place for a while. A couple of weeks at least." Charles tucked his stethoscope back in the pocket of his lab coat, and stared doggedly at his boss.
Gerald stopped doing up his shirt buttons to protest. "Nonsense, Charlie, I can't simply ..."
"You have to. Running yourself ragged chasing after rift debris and little blue men isn't doing any of us any good. You need time to recuperate. Influenza is nothing to mess about with. Is there somewhere you could go, someplace quiet where you could rest and get your strength back? We'll handle things while you're gone. Torchwood needs you well, Gerald. Hale and hearty as ever."
"When have I ever been hale and hearty?" Gerald grumbled, going back to his buttons.
A new voice floated in through his office door. "Come, come, old man. More than one of us saw you this past Boxing Day, down at the pub, chasing after that girl from the butcher's with your sprig of mistletoe. Maybe you don't remember too well after all those rum punches..."
"I never kiss and tell, Caldwell. Isn't that rather your specialty?" Gerald replied with an indulgent smirk at the man leaning languidly against the door frame.
"You might as well give in, Squire. When's the last time Torchwood took no for an answer?"
And so it was that Gerald Carter found himself on a train leaving Cardiff on his way to spend a fortnight at his Auntie Muriel's guesthouse in Hampshire. Tucked in his rucksack along with a few packets of sandwiches and a thermos of tea were get well gifts from his co-workers. Charles had given him a course of vitamin powders to take. Douglas had supplied him with a bottle of really excellent brandy. Lydia had knitted him a pair of warm socks. And Harriet had slipped a copy of "Country Rambles in England," and a pair of field glasses into his bag, knowing that Gerald wouldn't be entirely sensible about resting during his rest cure.
The journey to Hampshire was a great deal less civilized for the Dalek designated as Beta|Apple.
Ripped from the laboratory he was born in, he was sent along the time streams like a message in a bottle flung from the deck of a ship.
Beta|Apple, and the others of his cluster, were the creation of that rarest and most dangerous of things, a Dalek with a mind of it's own.
If this Dalek, originally designated Unit Theta.0197, had been born human, it would have been described as "clever," or "sharp." But a Dalek is not human, and such descriptions count for little. A Dalek can be "functioning properly," or it can sometimes "exceed standard specifications," but no Dalek is supposed to stand apart from the others.
But rules are made to be broken. And Theta.0197 was created unique.
Unit Theta.0197 processed things more quickly than the others of its batching. It's processors functioned more efficiently than the others, and it advanced through Elementary Conditioning with a speed rarely recorded in the Dalek memory banks.
It wasn't until Theta.0197 was placed in Tertiary Conditioning that it displayed its greatest, and ultimately most dangerous talent. Theta.0197 was a Dalek who could THINK. It drew inferences. It made leaps of logic. Once or twice it manifested actual emotion, although this state was hardly recognized as such. Theta.0197 developed a sense of self. Discovered that his Kaled symbiont was male, and began to think of himself that way as well. Then he took for himself a name, "Thay." He saw all that was Dalek, and wanted more for himself.
When his masters discovered the twisted pathways of his neural framework, he was put in stasis until his circuits could be studied prior to re-conditioning or deactivation.
His batching was glad to be rid of the freak. All Dalek's aspire to conform. Secure in their inherent superiority, there is no need to seek for more. The different are reassigned or stripped for parts, used for target practice in war games or sporting events, or simply deactivated.
Fortunately for Theta.0197, there were others of his kind, who had been clever enough to band together and protect themselves from detection. Clever enough to rise to levels of power without revealing their true uniqueness to those around them. Only to each other did they admit their true natures. They formed an inner circle, and called themselves The Cult of Skaro. They dedicated themselves to improving Dalek kind, of thinking like their enemies in order to vanquish them in battle. They named themselves, engraving their chosen name symbol under their eyestalks. They even indulged their nascent imaginations. One of two of them even attempted writing some rudimentary poetry.
And it was a great day when one of their own ascended to become Emperor of the Daleks.
The inner circle was quietly elevated to the highest levels of Dalek society. They kept alert for others like them, and so when the sport, the misfit Theta.0197 was brought out of stasis in the labs of Station Alpha, he found himself among sympathetic beings who taught him how to harness his skills, and how to be just superior enough to pass successfully through the ranks.
Before long he was leading research projects, and helping develop more efficient methods of conquest and warfare. He hadn't been at Station Alpha for many solyars before he rose to become known as Theta Prime, Commandant of Station Alpha.
By then he had learned well the power of secrecy.
Dalek Thay believed in the superiority of his race. He believed that they would emerge from the current Time War triumphant. But Thay also believed in being prepared.
And so, in a secret lab, he replicated himself. Created a group of warrior scientists whom he programmed with cutting edge temporal shift devices copied from pilfered schematics which attempted to explain the inner workings of Time Lord vessels.
He dedicated himself to programming them with a list of coordinates throughout time and space where the Dalek's greatest enemy, The Doctor had been spotted.
Thay wanted his "children" to survive at all costs, to seek knowlege, and to resist capture. He encouraged them to observe, to ask questions, to be open to many different kinds of input.
And when Skaro fell, and Station Alpha was in flames, before he went to join the others in their void ship, he did the only thing he could think to do. He assigned each of the children one of the coordinates where The Doctor had visited, and sent them off with the hope that if all else failed, that perhaps one of his kin would one day find a way to exterminate The Doctor.
HAMPSHIRE, 1799
On a bright and sunny afternoon in March, on the edge of a great forest in the south of England, there appeared a traveler from a distant land. If there had been anyone there to witness this being's arrival, they would have seen the air above a small pond shimmer golden in the sunlight as the newest inhabitant appeared as if out of nowhere. The echoing screams of a dying planet were it's only companion on this journey across time and space.
It had been dispatched in some haste to preset coordinates. But there must have been some error in the programming. As the creatures atoms solidified, its base became part of the streambank.
Dirt and Dalek had become one intertwined, and this Dalek, called Beta|Apple by his creator, could find no way of escape.
Ferndale
Beaulieu, Hampshire
April, 1919
"Dear Hattie,
I find myself on a bit of a busman's holiday. There are reports of a mysterious marsh near here which the locals (and the local wildlife) are known to avoid as there have been reports of strange lights and voices coming from out of the dark waters. I'm sure it is nothing but rural imaginations grown stronger by time, however I feel compelled to explore this area, and discover if I can ascertain any irregularities that we ought to be worried about.
It will do me good to get out of the house. Auntie Muriel, while the kindest of women and surely destined for an easy Heaven, is making life here on earth a bit tiresome for me with her fussing. I know I am recovering from a bad case of influenza, but this does not mean that I must be watched and coddled like a fractious infant.
I must finish this letter before luncheon so it can go in the post. I hope after lunch I can beg off the usual Wednesday afternoon visit with the Vicar and go for a walk. Poking my nose into a strange swamp will be infinitely preferable to hearing once again about the wholesomeness of country living, the state of the roads, and the fascination of raising chickens, which appear to the the Vicar's major interests in life.
Tell Douglas and Charles that I am partaking of both of their bottles of medicine. I'm sure they can guess which bottle I have found the most enjoyable. As I'm sure Lydia is reading this over your shoulder, she should be pleased to know that her socks are very welcome in this damp and drafty old barn.
But I hear the dinner gong, and so must close. I am feeling stronger every day, and look forward to being back with you all very soon. Please wire if I am needed. I feel very removed from our daily toils out here in Hampshire.
Cordially,
Gerald
Throughout luncheon, Gerald wheedled what information he could out of his Aunt about the mystery of the haunted swamp, and became more determined than ever to see it for himself.
Gerald slipped out the back door as the Vicar was coming up the front walk. He stopped in for a pint at the Fox and Hound, which did him far more good in his estimation than all the beef tea and jellies he was getting from his Aunt and her cronies. Feeling himself fit, he set off to take a look at the supposedly haunted wood.
He slipped off through the fields and down the hill to the cart path that wound between Beaulieu and Furzey Lodge. He followed that for a while, and then headed off to his left down an embankment in order to more closely follow the stream. The ground was a bit mucky what with the spring thaw just getting under way, but there were birds and squirrels dashing about and wild ponies wandering around in search of new spring grass, or drinking daintily from the stream.
Eventually, the stream emptied into a pond. At that point, there was a rustic bridge built across it, and Gerald walked out to survey the pond.
As he crossed the bridge, the tinkling of Gerald’s pocket watch suddenly interrupted the stillness of the spring afternoon. His was not an ordinary watch, although it told the time like all watches. But Caldwell, who liked to keep his hand in with his Engineering background, had been tinkering with developing a rift energy detector. He’d managed to miniaturize the detector, and had made for Gerald, Charles, and himself, specially outfitted fob watches. Harriet and Lydia had been given the same device, but encased in silver powder compacts.
Mostly they carried them out of habit. Gerald sometimes forgot that it wasn’t just a watch that he tucked into his waistcoat every morning. But now, as he heard the chiming notes of Chopin’s Opus 53, he knew that he was dealing with something more than local lore.
TELEGRAPH OFFICE
CARDIFF BAY
HARRIET.
PACK YOUR KIT. GETTING ODDEST READINGS FROM CALDWELL’S TEMPORAL ENERGY DETECTOR. COULD USE YOUR EXPERIENCE. COME SOONEST. TIME AND TIDE AND ALL THAT. WILL MEET YOUR TRAIN.
GERALD.
CARDIFF
MARCH 2009
"Jack! We've got a problem!"
"What is it, Ianto?"
"There's an picture in this morning's Telegraph you need to see."
Jack strode over to Ianto's workstation, reading the headline "Mystery object found in Hampshire pond" over his shoulder.
And there on the screen was a picture of a council groundskeeper standing in a shallow weedy pond uncovering the head of a Dalek which was matted with sedge grass and weeds.
Ianto felt Jack's fingers tighten on his shoulder.
"I'll have to go..."
"Gwen can help you pack the SUV. I'll see about a cover story."
By the time the SUV was ready for the journey and the three met back in the conference room, Ianto had a complete cover story ready to go.
"I've hacked into the BBC Archives and planted bogus information about a children's series done in the early sixties called "Doctor Know," Ianto explained.
"DOCTOR KNOW?" Jack asked spluttering, having just taken a sip of coffee.
Ianto simply handed him a napkin, winked at Gwen, who giggled, and went on.
"The BBC database now includes a description of the show, the main character of which was a Doctor, an old duffer of indeterminate age who went around in a frock coat finding answers to questions kids wrote in to him about. He, being of a scientific turn, built for himself a sort of clockwork companion, which is what we are saying was found in Hampshire. Our fictional show ran for a couple of years in the early sixities and then went off the air owing to the death of the actor playing the doctor. Fortunately for us, large amounts of film and video from the 60s and 70s stored in the BBC archives has been either lost or detroyed so the fact that no film or photos of this series exist works to our benefit. I've indicated that the sets and props were sold off as scrap. The mysterious object, therefore, must simply have fallen off a truck on its way to be destroyed."
"And how am I supposed to know all this?" Jack asked, his brain spinning a bit from this subtle reinterpretation of what passed for reality in Torchwood.
"Simple. I've repurposed one of my aliases. Easier that way, as we're about the same in terms of height, weight, and coloring. Fewer documents to fake when our time is so limited. This alias is one I've used mainly for buying potential alien artifacts from on-line auctions, so it should suit our purposes admirably. You -- as John Shawcraft -- are the son a BBC prop master, who actually built the doctor's mechanical man-servant. You can say you recognized it from pictures you found when you cleaned out your Father's house after he died. You didn't know what the sketches were until you saw this picture in the paper. Certainly you can play on their sentiments and get them to give the Dalek to you as a souvenier of your old dad."
Ianto pushed an envelope across the table in which Jack found a full set of ID's, everything from a drivers license to a public library card. Also in the envelope were a set of maps, directions to the small village in Hampshire, and the phone numbers of the local mayor and council members.
"Hopefully this will give you everything you need, I only had twenty minutes..."
Jack gathered his gear, and paused on his way out of the conference room only long enough slip into his greatcoat and murmmer "Cheeky bugger" to Ianto.
"Ok, kids, play nice while I'm gone, and maybe I'll bring you back a pony," he said as he headed for the cog door.
"Stay on your comm, Jack!" Gwen yelled after him.
"He's mad, that one," she added turning to Ianto. But Ianto had retreated to his workstation, and Gwen watched him as he carried on a softly spoken conversation over his comm unit while his fingers danced across his keyboard.
And indeed, some hours later, when all was explained to the Lord Mayor over lunch at the local, he was only too happy to give Jack the “damnable rubbish.”
After lunch, the pond warden took Jack to the shed where the Dalek was being stored. To Jack, it looked like every other Dalek he’d ever seen, except that it appeared to have three “ears.” He kept waiting for it to show some signs of life as he and a couple of the council lads loaded it into the back of the SUV. It appeared to be dead, but Jack wasn’t taking any chances, so he activated the portable alien prison device he’d slipped into his coat pocket before leaving the HUB and slammed the rear door of the SUV shut.
It wasn’t until he got back to Cardiff and the three of them wrestled it down into a cell that Jack had a chance to examine the Dalek more carefully. What had seemed at first to be a third “ear,” turned out to be what he recognized as a 27th century portable stasis unit.
“Ianto, have a hunt in the database and see if you can find anything on portable stasis units. This one was manufactured by the Talandians if that helps your search parameters at all. Gwen, stand by with the big gun. I'm going to deactivate the stasis unit and see if there is any response."
"If it even thinks about being a threat, Jack, I'm shooting first and asking questions later."
"Understood Gwen, but let's take this one step at a time.”
Jack tapped his comm channel open, saying, “Ianto, stand by to lock us down if necessary."
"I'm standing by, Sir."
Jack detached the stasis unit and stepped back out of the cell. He slammed the door shut, and heard the locks engage as he pulled a scanner out of his pocket and began to take readings on the Dalek.
They were all surprised when it spoke.
CEASE SCANNING, HUMAN.
"You can speak?"
The thing moved its eyestalk back and forth before declaring.
YOU ARE PRIMITIVE, HUMAN.
“Funny, some people tell me I’m a man ahead of my time.”
HUMANS ARE PRIMITIVE. HUMANS CANNOT HELP ME TO FULFILL MY MISSION.
"How can you be so sure humans are unnecessary?" Gwen asked, challenging it.
MY DATABANKS ARE SECURE. THIS UNIT IS NEVER WRONG. YOU ARE HUMAN. HUMANS ARE NOT NECCESARY.
I WAIT.
"What are you waiting for?" Jack asked, curious in spite of his caution.
I WAIT FOR THAY.
"Who is Thay?"
THAY CREATED ME. THAY IS MY COMMANDER. I WAIT FOR THAY. I REPORT TO THAY.
“Sir?” came a voice over Jack’s comm. “Since when do Dalek’s call each other by name?”
“I was wondering that myself, Ianto.”
I HAVE WAITED MANY SOLYARS FOR THAY TO RETRIEVE ME. I HAVE SURVIVED FOR MANY YEARS AND HAVE KILLED SHARP-TOOTHED MAMMALS, ECTOTHERMICS, AND HUMANS ALIKE.
"You sound like you're proud of yourself, Dalek."
I AM DESIGNATED BETA|APPLE.
I AM PROGRAMMED TO SEEK KNOWLEDGE, TO EVADE CAPTURE, TO RESIST ASSIMILATION, TO KILL MY ENEMIES.
WHAT IS THIS PLACE?
YOU WILL NOT RESIST MY QUESTIONS!
Jack stepped toward the Perspex. “You’re in my house now, Dalek. You follow MY orders.
“Jack? Could you come up to your office for a few minutes? I found some files in the archives that shed some light on things.”
Leaving Gwen to guard their prisoner, Jack headed for his office. Ianto handed him a file merely labeled “Hampshire" which contained a blank postcard of “Bealieu’s Haunted Wood” tucked into a letter written in April 1919, some incident report notes written in shorthand, a telegram indicating some trouble and requesting additional personnel, a letter of resignation signed by Gerald Carter, and the ‘Disposition for the Deceased’ paperwork for Miss Derbyshire.
Jack flicked through the papers, as Ianto described what he’d found.
“From what I’ve managed to gather, in 1919 Gerald Carter was taking a few weeks vacation and he stumbled upon this Dalek. He telegraphed for backup, which I assume was provided by Miss Derbyshire. She arrived with her scanning equipment, and together they tracked down the alien. She also brought with her the stasis unit which the Rift had supplied them with. Plans were to subdue the creature and transport it back to Cardiff for study. Unfortunately in attempting to attach the stasis unit, Harriet was attacked and died ten days later at the age of 24. Gerald took full responsibility for Harriet’s death, and resigned shortly afterwards. He’s on the books off and on for years after that as a consultant, but he appears to have taken her death very much to heart.”
"He was never quite the same afterwards," Jack said softly.
"It appears that in the wake of Harriet's death and Gerald's resignation, that no one ever got around to going back and taking care of loose ends."
"We can take of those, right now," Jack said, getting up from his desk chair.
"I'm as anxious as you are to be rid of it, Jack. But should we attempt to debrief it first?"
"Is there anything you need to know other than it killed one of our own?"
"I suppose if this Thay really wanted to find it, it would have done it by now. I hardly think he would simply have abandoned it."
The two men stared at each other, willing themselves not to think what they were thinking, when suddenly they heard, "Jack! Get down here! I need you!"
They tore down the steps to the cell where they had left Gwen. They arrived just in time to see the Dalek disappearing before their eyes. Gwen had tried to shoot at it, but she had only succeeded in melting the Perspex.
Ianto pelted back up the steps to the tech workstation, and tried everything he could think of to track the Dalek. But there was no sign of it, anywhere, and they were forced to conclude that for today at least, the Dalek called Beta|Apple would remain an unsolved mystery...
