Prologue
Once upon a time, at the far edges of the Eighth Great and Bountiful Human Empire, two planets went to war. The leader of the first had been killed, hit during space travel by a speeding starship. The people of that world came to believe, from their already appalling diplomatic relations, that it had been an assassination, that the people of the second planet had done it in an attempt to throw their society into disarray. The people of the second planet believed that those of the first planet had done it, an inside job, as an excuse to start a war.
In truth, both had been responsible for the war. The leader had been killed in orbit around the second planet, because the second planet had, out of pure spite, lowered its security. But they were correct in their assumption that the first planet was greedy for war: they seized the opportunity, and within a day had begun targeted airstrikes on major landmarks.
Yet it was the second planet that won the war. It went on through the airstrikes, cleared up the remains, and the people scattered so that no single place was more densely-populated than the next. Quietly and unobtrusively, they sought out their bravest and brightest, their smartest and fastest, and began to plan for themselves.
They formed a board of thirty: thirty of the finest military strategists, scientists, politicians and even criminals. The solution they reached was one of cosmic proportions.
One individual, Captain Mitzch, travelled back in time to before their planets were created, and infiltrated the leadership board of the Planet Makers. She sat silently and patiently through executive decisions, signed anything she was given, and approved the destruction of any planets infected by the Plant. There was only one thing she involved herself actively in: course planning. Every few meetings, so as not to arouse suspicion, she would suggest a different course and destination for each world, a different path of travel, or an extended orbit. The Planet Makers approved it. They only looked as far as the next few hundred years – Captain Mitzch, on the other hand, looked forwards another fifty thousand.
And so fifty thousand years later, long after the official abolition of the Planet Makers, Mitzch’s planets all crossed paths, suddenly and violently moving between her home planet and the world which fought against it, at the very height of their war. Four innocent worlds were caught in the blast, each officially-registered and members of the Etheridian Community. Or, to put it another way, protected.
The strikes of the first world were understood as an offense, and the government took immediate action, continuing to set the public standard for how such matters were to be resolved. It blasted the planet out of the sky, killing each and every one of its inhabitants. When Miztch returned home, she found her home planet not just free from attack, but from neighbours, too.
Eventually, the Temporal Secret Service caught wind of Mitzch’s operation. They contacted her in private, explaining the severity of her actions, and proposed an agreement: if she worked for them as the head of their special operations, she would be pardoned. If not, she would be executed.
Unsurprisingly, Mitzch accepted the offer. She was given a new team – the sixty quickest and most intelligent strategists known to the Empire. They all looked at her and, scared to the pit of their stomachs, knew who she was: the woman who had destroyed the planet of her enemies not with firepower, but with a pen, paper, and a loud enough voice.
That was how the crew of the Machiavelli was formed.
In truth, both had been responsible for the war. The leader had been killed in orbit around the second planet, because the second planet had, out of pure spite, lowered its security. But they were correct in their assumption that the first planet was greedy for war: they seized the opportunity, and within a day had begun targeted airstrikes on major landmarks.
Yet it was the second planet that won the war. It went on through the airstrikes, cleared up the remains, and the people scattered so that no single place was more densely-populated than the next. Quietly and unobtrusively, they sought out their bravest and brightest, their smartest and fastest, and began to plan for themselves.
They formed a board of thirty: thirty of the finest military strategists, scientists, politicians and even criminals. The solution they reached was one of cosmic proportions.
One individual, Captain Mitzch, travelled back in time to before their planets were created, and infiltrated the leadership board of the Planet Makers. She sat silently and patiently through executive decisions, signed anything she was given, and approved the destruction of any planets infected by the Plant. There was only one thing she involved herself actively in: course planning. Every few meetings, so as not to arouse suspicion, she would suggest a different course and destination for each world, a different path of travel, or an extended orbit. The Planet Makers approved it. They only looked as far as the next few hundred years – Captain Mitzch, on the other hand, looked forwards another fifty thousand.
And so fifty thousand years later, long after the official abolition of the Planet Makers, Mitzch’s planets all crossed paths, suddenly and violently moving between her home planet and the world which fought against it, at the very height of their war. Four innocent worlds were caught in the blast, each officially-registered and members of the Etheridian Community. Or, to put it another way, protected.
The strikes of the first world were understood as an offense, and the government took immediate action, continuing to set the public standard for how such matters were to be resolved. It blasted the planet out of the sky, killing each and every one of its inhabitants. When Miztch returned home, she found her home planet not just free from attack, but from neighbours, too.
Eventually, the Temporal Secret Service caught wind of Mitzch’s operation. They contacted her in private, explaining the severity of her actions, and proposed an agreement: if she worked for them as the head of their special operations, she would be pardoned. If not, she would be executed.
Unsurprisingly, Mitzch accepted the offer. She was given a new team – the sixty quickest and most intelligent strategists known to the Empire. They all looked at her and, scared to the pit of their stomachs, knew who she was: the woman who had destroyed the planet of her enemies not with firepower, but with a pen, paper, and a loud enough voice.
That was how the crew of the Machiavelli was formed.
The Eighth Doctor Adventures
Series 4 - Episode 11
Machiavelli and the Empty World
Written by Zoe Lance and Janine Rivers
“How long until landing?”“Roughly twenty minutes, ma’am. Now may be a good time to prepare – it looks to be a rough one.”
“Understood.”
Mitzch was reminded of a series of novels she had read once, about the crew of another spaceship. The captain of that ship would always be given a similar warning: we’re in for a bumpy landing, Cap’n.
She tried to remember what book it was. It was one of the old classics, something they probably taught to all the students of today. Richard’s Sun? No… that wasn’t it. The Last Planet of the White-Haired Beast? It may have been that one. All the details of the many books she had read were starting to blend together now.
She chose not to mull over The Last Planet of the White-Haired Beast. She had found a white hair the other day. Reminded of her hair, she reached up and tied it back in a pony-tail. She had curled it this morning, made an effort so as to practically scream to her crew that it was her birthday – but expectedly, they forgot. Those who never forgot a line of code in their lives never remembered a simple birthday card.
“Twenty minutes until descent!” she called down to her crew, over the sound of the engine out of her right window. She tried not to look out – she hated to see the planets she was about to land on, always so morbid and funereal. Each time, she wondered if she would end up buried there. If she did die on one of these worlds, she wouldn’t actually be taken back – the secret services had no time for sentiment, and the more weight the Machiavelli could lose, the better. “Prepare for landing.”
She continued along the walkway, holding onto the railings as she went. Her balance was not what it used to be. She found Bear in his usual spot, leant over his desk with his ray-ban sunglasses and iced tea.
“Morning, Bear.”
“Good morning, ma’am. Come to see the prisoner?”
“Yes.” Mitzch signed the log book. “Twenty minutes until landing, I thought it would be good to engage in a final interrogation. How has she been?”
“Quiet, still. I try not to watch her. It unnerves me.”
“I understand,” said Mitzch. In truth, she didn’t. She thought Bear was a coward. “Just forward me over the footage and I’ll take a second look.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mitzch nodded and walked up to the cell. It opened at the slightest touch of her hand, used by now to twenty-four years of fingerprint recognition.
The prisoner was sitting on the floor. Her bed was unslept in, and she stared out of the window in front of her, closing her eyes in satisfaction as she made her own quiet preparations for descent.
Mitzch examined her again. She was so young – Mitzch hated having people that young on board, it was a kind of affront to her these days. Her hair was long, black and curly; her face was pale white, and her lips were red, reddening more every day. There was no lipstick on them – they had checked that many a time before.
“Captain,” purred the prisoner. “Are you ready for touch-down?”
“After a three-year journey? What do you think?”
“You must miss your family.”
“I don’t have family.”
“I know.” The prisoner turned around, still on the floor, and rocked sideways. She knew that unsettled Mitzch. “I mean, you must miss the family you never got to have.”
The prisoner had learnt what unsettled each of the crew members, ever since they captured her in deep space half a year earlier. She had learnt about their lives, about the things that made them tick and the things that made them stop. The crew were trained against her, and generally she just lowered the mood as opposed to making any significant impact. Only one crewmember had been affected by her manipulation, and threw himself out of the airlock as they passed a dying sun.
“You will be allowed to join the expedition on the surface of the planet, with your handcuffs on, if you agree to help the operation.”
“Help the operation? Ooh.” The prisoner pursed her lips. “And just how do you think I could do that, Captain?”
“We know you possess certain… abilities. Inferences. All we ask is for your impressions, and we rely on you to inform us of imminent danger. It will be in your best interests, too. But this is only temporary – once this operation is over, as planned, you will be brought back to the Capital and given back to the Temporal Secret Service, who will decide what is to be done with you.”
“You should be nicer to me,” complained the prisoner. “You’ll have to face me in the end. Wouldn’t you like me to me nice to you?” She lurched forward, and Mitzch took a step back. The prisoner had pulled her chains as far as they could go, and pushed forward as far as she could to sniff Mitzch as much as she could, like a feral dog tied to a lamppost. “Not long now for you,” taunted the prisoner. “More than the others. You’ve noticed. Tick, tick, tick. Now’s the time to start saying sorry and I’ll be nice to you. Tock tock tock. Tick tock tick tock, crash.”
The ship juddered, and for one of the rare times in her life, Mitzch felt her heart skip a beat.
“Descent is starting. I’m going back,” said Mitzch.
“Bye bye, Captain. See you on the other side.” Mitzch slammed the door behind her and tried, unsuccessfully, to leave the prison wing without speaking to Bear.
“Another rough one?” asked Bear, and Mitzch turned around reluctantly. “She does that.”
“She’s terrifying,” said Mitzch. “But what else would you expect from keeping Death as a prisoner?”
***
The Doctor watched the warp drive engines powering down, as the ship made its landing in the muddy, uneven trenches ahead.
It was a large craft, the size of a hotel – one of those all-inclusive ones with its own pool, bar, restaurant, beach and shops. But it was ugly, too, just as many of those hotels were: it was a strange and many-sided shape, but all sharp corners and edges jutting out. It was devoid of curves, devoid of elegance, and its metallic exterior was beginning to rust.
The Doctor felt the whole planet shake as the ship touched down, and watched as his boots sunk further into the quagmire at his feet. The mud went on for the best part of a mile, more fatal in some patches than others. He wondered if it had ever been a problem for the race that lived here.
The ramp fell down, and soldiers began to dismount. The Doctor rolled his eyes, wondering what they were expecting to find, all guns blazing. There was one soldier at the back who the Doctor recognised: it took him a moment, and if he did not know who to expect, he probably would never have noticed at all. She was older, frailer, and harsher-looking, in an environment unsuited to a woman of her nature. He half-expected the other soldiers to raise a bridge over the ground, just so that she did not have to walk in the mud.
“HALT! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
The Doctor raised his hands in the air casually. “It would do you well to remember that you’re guests on this planet,” he muttered, and waited patiently for the woman to follow over. She examined him for a moment, and called off her troops.
“I know this man.”
“Ah.” The Doctor smiled. “I wondered how long it would take you. Hello Mitzch.”
“Everyone…” Mitzch took a step back to join her crew. “This is the Doctor. He was once an ambassador aboard the Epicurus. Always voted to save the planets from the Plant.”
“I thought our votes were confidential.”
“They were. But you were always particularly loud about your opinion.”
“Just as well I was. The one day I left it down to my companion to cast the vote, the planet got destroyed, and that led to…” The life of Autumn Rivers played out briefly in his head. “A lot of things.”
“Yes, your friend. Valerie, was it?”
The Doctor nodded. “Just me, now. So what are doing here, Mitzch?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
“You might have some other agenda. Just investigating?”
“Yes.”
“Me too, high-five!” The Doctor raised out his hand and Mitzch reciprocated it, before realising what a fool she looked. “Tell me then, what do you know?”
“This planet was never officially-registered,” recalled Mitzch. “It was naturally-occurring it seems, which is unusual in the Empire as you know. A low-level civilisation had developed here – move on beyond this point and you’ll be able to see what I mean. The government monitored them. Then one day, when it was conducting its checks, it found nothing. Every single person on this planet – that’s a population of two billion, by the way – had disappeared off the face of it. No technology for teleportation, no sign of rockets. They all just… vanished.”
The Doctor could almost taste the richness of this mystery, and tried not to enjoy too much the disappearances of two billion supposed innocents.
“And the government are worried, so they sent you. Because what better detective is there than a genocidal mathematician?”
“Ah, yes. I wondered how long it would take you to start on all that. So before you get too carried away with the ethical message of your arrival, Doctor, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” She turned to her men. “Bring her out.”
“Understood.”
Mitzch was reminded of a series of novels she had read once, about the crew of another spaceship. The captain of that ship would always be given a similar warning: we’re in for a bumpy landing, Cap’n.
She tried to remember what book it was. It was one of the old classics, something they probably taught to all the students of today. Richard’s Sun? No… that wasn’t it. The Last Planet of the White-Haired Beast? It may have been that one. All the details of the many books she had read were starting to blend together now.
She chose not to mull over The Last Planet of the White-Haired Beast. She had found a white hair the other day. Reminded of her hair, she reached up and tied it back in a pony-tail. She had curled it this morning, made an effort so as to practically scream to her crew that it was her birthday – but expectedly, they forgot. Those who never forgot a line of code in their lives never remembered a simple birthday card.
“Twenty minutes until descent!” she called down to her crew, over the sound of the engine out of her right window. She tried not to look out – she hated to see the planets she was about to land on, always so morbid and funereal. Each time, she wondered if she would end up buried there. If she did die on one of these worlds, she wouldn’t actually be taken back – the secret services had no time for sentiment, and the more weight the Machiavelli could lose, the better. “Prepare for landing.”
She continued along the walkway, holding onto the railings as she went. Her balance was not what it used to be. She found Bear in his usual spot, leant over his desk with his ray-ban sunglasses and iced tea.
“Morning, Bear.”
“Good morning, ma’am. Come to see the prisoner?”
“Yes.” Mitzch signed the log book. “Twenty minutes until landing, I thought it would be good to engage in a final interrogation. How has she been?”
“Quiet, still. I try not to watch her. It unnerves me.”
“I understand,” said Mitzch. In truth, she didn’t. She thought Bear was a coward. “Just forward me over the footage and I’ll take a second look.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mitzch nodded and walked up to the cell. It opened at the slightest touch of her hand, used by now to twenty-four years of fingerprint recognition.
The prisoner was sitting on the floor. Her bed was unslept in, and she stared out of the window in front of her, closing her eyes in satisfaction as she made her own quiet preparations for descent.
Mitzch examined her again. She was so young – Mitzch hated having people that young on board, it was a kind of affront to her these days. Her hair was long, black and curly; her face was pale white, and her lips were red, reddening more every day. There was no lipstick on them – they had checked that many a time before.
“Captain,” purred the prisoner. “Are you ready for touch-down?”
“After a three-year journey? What do you think?”
“You must miss your family.”
“I don’t have family.”
“I know.” The prisoner turned around, still on the floor, and rocked sideways. She knew that unsettled Mitzch. “I mean, you must miss the family you never got to have.”
The prisoner had learnt what unsettled each of the crew members, ever since they captured her in deep space half a year earlier. She had learnt about their lives, about the things that made them tick and the things that made them stop. The crew were trained against her, and generally she just lowered the mood as opposed to making any significant impact. Only one crewmember had been affected by her manipulation, and threw himself out of the airlock as they passed a dying sun.
“You will be allowed to join the expedition on the surface of the planet, with your handcuffs on, if you agree to help the operation.”
“Help the operation? Ooh.” The prisoner pursed her lips. “And just how do you think I could do that, Captain?”
“We know you possess certain… abilities. Inferences. All we ask is for your impressions, and we rely on you to inform us of imminent danger. It will be in your best interests, too. But this is only temporary – once this operation is over, as planned, you will be brought back to the Capital and given back to the Temporal Secret Service, who will decide what is to be done with you.”
“You should be nicer to me,” complained the prisoner. “You’ll have to face me in the end. Wouldn’t you like me to me nice to you?” She lurched forward, and Mitzch took a step back. The prisoner had pulled her chains as far as they could go, and pushed forward as far as she could to sniff Mitzch as much as she could, like a feral dog tied to a lamppost. “Not long now for you,” taunted the prisoner. “More than the others. You’ve noticed. Tick, tick, tick. Now’s the time to start saying sorry and I’ll be nice to you. Tock tock tock. Tick tock tick tock, crash.”
The ship juddered, and for one of the rare times in her life, Mitzch felt her heart skip a beat.
“Descent is starting. I’m going back,” said Mitzch.
“Bye bye, Captain. See you on the other side.” Mitzch slammed the door behind her and tried, unsuccessfully, to leave the prison wing without speaking to Bear.
“Another rough one?” asked Bear, and Mitzch turned around reluctantly. “She does that.”
“She’s terrifying,” said Mitzch. “But what else would you expect from keeping Death as a prisoner?”
***
The Doctor watched the warp drive engines powering down, as the ship made its landing in the muddy, uneven trenches ahead.
It was a large craft, the size of a hotel – one of those all-inclusive ones with its own pool, bar, restaurant, beach and shops. But it was ugly, too, just as many of those hotels were: it was a strange and many-sided shape, but all sharp corners and edges jutting out. It was devoid of curves, devoid of elegance, and its metallic exterior was beginning to rust.
The Doctor felt the whole planet shake as the ship touched down, and watched as his boots sunk further into the quagmire at his feet. The mud went on for the best part of a mile, more fatal in some patches than others. He wondered if it had ever been a problem for the race that lived here.
The ramp fell down, and soldiers began to dismount. The Doctor rolled his eyes, wondering what they were expecting to find, all guns blazing. There was one soldier at the back who the Doctor recognised: it took him a moment, and if he did not know who to expect, he probably would never have noticed at all. She was older, frailer, and harsher-looking, in an environment unsuited to a woman of her nature. He half-expected the other soldiers to raise a bridge over the ground, just so that she did not have to walk in the mud.
“HALT! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
The Doctor raised his hands in the air casually. “It would do you well to remember that you’re guests on this planet,” he muttered, and waited patiently for the woman to follow over. She examined him for a moment, and called off her troops.
“I know this man.”
“Ah.” The Doctor smiled. “I wondered how long it would take you. Hello Mitzch.”
“Everyone…” Mitzch took a step back to join her crew. “This is the Doctor. He was once an ambassador aboard the Epicurus. Always voted to save the planets from the Plant.”
“I thought our votes were confidential.”
“They were. But you were always particularly loud about your opinion.”
“Just as well I was. The one day I left it down to my companion to cast the vote, the planet got destroyed, and that led to…” The life of Autumn Rivers played out briefly in his head. “A lot of things.”
“Yes, your friend. Valerie, was it?”
The Doctor nodded. “Just me, now. So what are doing here, Mitzch?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
“You might have some other agenda. Just investigating?”
“Yes.”
“Me too, high-five!” The Doctor raised out his hand and Mitzch reciprocated it, before realising what a fool she looked. “Tell me then, what do you know?”
“This planet was never officially-registered,” recalled Mitzch. “It was naturally-occurring it seems, which is unusual in the Empire as you know. A low-level civilisation had developed here – move on beyond this point and you’ll be able to see what I mean. The government monitored them. Then one day, when it was conducting its checks, it found nothing. Every single person on this planet – that’s a population of two billion, by the way – had disappeared off the face of it. No technology for teleportation, no sign of rockets. They all just… vanished.”
The Doctor could almost taste the richness of this mystery, and tried not to enjoy too much the disappearances of two billion supposed innocents.
“And the government are worried, so they sent you. Because what better detective is there than a genocidal mathematician?”
“Ah, yes. I wondered how long it would take you to start on all that. So before you get too carried away with the ethical message of your arrival, Doctor, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” She turned to her men. “Bring her out.”
“We had stopped off on a starliner while we were repairing a fuel leakage,” Mitzch explained, turning back to the Doctor. “But we had to evacuate. The starliner was hit by some space junk, causing damage to the outer shell and the oxygen system. The air was drained the whole way through. We put on our spacesuits and returned to see if there was anything we could do, but by the time we’d come back, everyone on the ship was dead – apart from her. She was just sitting there, in the centre, singing some twisted song. It hadn’t even affected her, and she was taking a rest among their corpses.”
“She killed them?”
“No – she couldn’t have done. It was purely an accident. But she knew the accident was going to happen. She told us who she was, we took her prisoner, and we’ve been testing the validity of her claim ever since.”
“What claim? Who is she?”
Mitzch stepped to the side, so that the Doctor could see for himself. The prisoner stared at him. She was short in stature and had long, dark, flowing hair following her like a raven,
“She’s Death.” Mitzch let that one sink in. “Don’t worry, she’s perfectly safe. It’s not just hand-cuffs she’s got on – there’s an electromagnetic field around her, and she’s bound to Bear, who had a cybernetic implant a couple of years back. She has some free movement, but if Bear stands still, she stands still.”
“What on Earth do you mean? How can she be ‘Death?” the Doctor asked incredulously.
“I can very well assure you, she is the epitome of Death.” Mitzch replied exasperatedly.
Death, as Mitzch had so ignorantly titled her, tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to fit the jigsaw puzzles together. Her ruby red lips were a harsh contrast to her unnaturally gaunt and stark-white face. At the same time, the Doctor pondered the title and the meaning. Several seconds of silence washed over the group, punctuated by the nervous shuffles and breathing of the crew as they waited for something- anything- to happen.
“Time Lord.” Death stated firmly. Her voice was sickly sweet, darker and deadlier than sweet honey but far too devastating and toxic to be compared to the condiment. Her eyes narrowed slightly and the Doctor could have sworn their colour changed to a crimson red for the briefest of seconds.
“Am I?” the Doctor smiled slightly. “Thank you for identifying me right away. I must say, it is an honour to meet someone that can be harkened to Death by the tyrannical woman right next to me.”
“I am Death,” Death responded plainly. “Who else would I be, Time Lord?”
“You could be anyone,” The Doctor responded, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the exact probability that this was woman, in actuality, Death. “However would I know?”
“I can see you.” Death stated simply, her eyes turning a deep shadow of crimson. The Doctor noticed this and filed it away for further analysis. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mitzch make several obscure hand gestures but he didn’t comment. “I know all about you and all that is to come. The darkness. Back then and to come. So much darkness. It’s delicious.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, she does this sometimes.” a member of the crew, a slim female with striking blue eyes and brown hair, interjected hastily. Bear leapt into the air at the sudden sound of an additional voice and very nearly stumbled into Mitzch. To the average person, Mitzch would have appeared to be inherently unfazed by this stumble, but the Doctor was not an average person. He detected the anger she was struggling to contain, her darkened eyes and her stiff posture broad indications of her current state. He didn’t comment on it. “Hello! Ariana Allegro. I’m part of the catering staff.”
The Doctor raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“She is also not permitted to distribute information to third party members!” Mitzch bit heatedly. “Know your place, Ariana Allegro.”
Ariana scowled at her boss but bowed her head and retreated to the back of the crew, muttering discreetly to herself. The Doctor continued to pretend he was unaware of the gesture Mitzch had made to Ariana when she thought he was distracted. She was testing him. She wanted to see if he would run away with the facts or digest it and continue with the crew. He noted the fact and turned his attention back to Death, but the woman seemed content just staring at him, her eyes returning to their normal shade.
“What species are you?” the Doctor asked curiously. He was always told that curiosity killed the cat, but he couldn’t help himself, and there were no cats present.
“I have no species.”
“Of course you do. Everybody has a species.”
“Like you do, Time Lord?”
“Right, that’s enough chat.” Mitzch cut in abruptly. “We have a job to do, Doctor. You can carry on with your silly own agenda but we have to scour the nearest town until even the faintest of hair wisps has been catalogued.”
“A town? How exciting! Can I come along?” the Doctor asked, never tearing his eyes away from Death.
“No.”
“What if I said please?”
“No.” Mitzch enunciated the word this time, making her thoughts on the matter known.
“I’m very insistent on this matter.” the Doctor smiled charmingly at the woman, who greeted his smile with a stone cold scowl. Her scowl was redirected to her group as they muttered amongst themselves. Mitzch couldn’t allow dissent to run rampant in her ranks. It would cost her the reputation she had spent time and effort developing.
“Fine,” the woman spat, “but don’t get in my way.”
With that, the woman moved away from the Doctor and ordered for final checks to be carried out. The Doctor watched as the crew members prepared with the ease and grace of seasoned explorers.
The night air was chilly, almost biting. The wind howled mockingly, almost dancing around them, ruffling their hair and clothing. It was freezing, but the Doctor didn’t mind. It added to the allure of the planet. The crew were seemingly unaffected. His eyes flitted over their specially designed equipment, the thermal vests. They had prepared meticulously for the occasion while he bounded out of the TARDIS in standard boots, just how he liked it.
Mitzch yelled out last minute orders. The sheer bark was strong enough to rival the howling wind. Her voice carried the strength and confidence of experience, brooking the crew’s attention and demanding the authority she so desperately craved, but there was something else, something hidden, that the Doctor couldn’t quite register. It contradicted the woman’s ferocity, it didn’t quite fit.
“We’ll travel to the centre on foot in one unified motion. We will split up and investigate as soon as we find signs of civilisation, but we stick together until then. We walk in Formation Fifty. No idle chatter, no lagging and no stopping to take pictures. We’re explorers, not tourists!”
“What’s the point of exploring if you can’t stop to admire your surroundings?” the Doctor interjected. He raised his hands nonchalantly when Mitzch fixed a glare on him, shrugging casually. “Just saying.”
“If I want a running commentary, I’ll ask for it,” growled Mitzch before turning back to her crew. “We’ve been preparing for three years. Try not to disappoint me.” The crew muttered half-hearted affirmations. “Now, let’s move.”
“Hardly an inspirational speech, if you ask me,” the Doctor uttered as the crew started to move. Formation Fifty consisted of Mitzch and ten crew members belonging to the military sector leading the exploration, with the scientific and catering crew flanking them, and Bear in the middle with their prisoner. Death hummed loudly, largely ignoring the fact that highly-trained military strategists surrounded her with intimidating futuristic looking guns.
“These people don’t need a rousing speech,” Mitzch growled, her hair fluttering with the wind. “They’ve had the briefing over the course of three years. They know exactly what they have to do.”
“You’re a very uptight woman.”
“And you talk too much.” A beat. “I prefer intuitive.”
“An intuitive woman spending her days walking through muddy trenches?” the Doctor smirked knowingly, gesturing to his sullied boots. “I know why you’re here, Mitzch.”
“Oh, do you?”
“If you really were stupid enough to do what you were doing, you should have had the good grace to be discreet.” the Doctor hissed, anger seeping into his words. Mitzch simply shrugged, uncaring of all the people that had died as a consequence of her actions. “Innocent people have died because of you.”
“They were going to die anyway.” Mitzch countered. “Besides, what were they doing with their life? Nothing. They just stood about like idiots, oblivious to the greater picture. People like that? They’re nothing. They’re not living life to its full potential.”
“To some people, that is life’s full potential.”
“How quaint.” Mitzch scoffed. “I don’t need you to lecture me, ‘Time Lord’, I can make whatever decisions I like.”
“Even the wrong ones?”
“There’s no such thing as a wrong decision. It’s all a matter of perception, isn’t that what you told us at the meetings?”
The Doctor scowled as the woman stomped ahead to complete her objective, the grip on her gun noticeably tighter. He diverted his gaze to Death, who was still cheerfully lumbering along the towering man she was tied to. Her nature unnerved and intrigued the Doctor. It was strange. She was looking at him now, her pale blue eyes like lightning. They reminded him of-
“Halt!” Mitzch barked. The Doctor staggered slightly, surprised by the sudden order. The troops halted obediently. The Doctor pushed his way to the front to see what the hold up was.
“Ooh, that’s not good.” Death hummed unhelpfully. Blocking their path was a ravine, carved deeply into the surface of the planet. The only way across was a rickety bridge with several planks missing, The bridge swayed dangerously in the wind, amplifying the crew’s silent unease.
“We’ll have to move in a single file.” Mitzch resolved, taking the lead despite her better judgement. The Doctor followed her. The bridge felt as unstable as it looked. It rocked violently and the planks dipped under their weight.
The Doctor peeked over the edge and noticed that it was a long drop down. He joined Mitzch on the other side, followed by several soldiers, Bear, and the unbearably and slightly disconcertingly chipper Death. There was a look in her eyes, something evasive that the Doctor couldn’t quite place.
His mind whizzed. It was…
Satisfaction. Nestled in those electric blue orbs was a feeling of pure fulfilment, undiluted and attached to some terrible secret. The Doctor registered the emotion, and then he realised.
He stepped forward, trying to fight the inevitable, but it was already too late.
The worn-out rope that held the bridge securely snapped, in an instant, under the added pressure, and the whole thing gave out. The bridge, along with the crew, was sent spiralling into the darkness below, their screams punctuating the air. They were silenced abruptly. Death stood to the side speechlessly, licking her lips with satisfaction. It might have been the Doctor’s imagination- though he never imagined anything - but her lips were a stronger shade of red, noticeable only to those that wanted to see it. Her eyes met his. Her expression was haunting. She didn’t care about those deaths, she adored them, condoned them, practically willed them to occur.
“Did you see that?” a crew member asked.
“They’re all dead!” whispered a second
“I didn’t sign up for this!” a third wailed helplessly. The crew continued to whisper fervently, peering over the edge of the canyon. Their whispers gradually evolved into slightly louder wails, the training and conditioning stripped away from them and revealing them for what they really were: people way out of their depths.
“Enough!” Mitzch roared, holding a hand to her chest. It was uncharacteristic of her, and it contradicted her stormy expression. Her breathing was laboured, a bead of sweat visibly trickling down her forehead. The crew continued their whispering. “ENOUGH!” the crew quickly lapsed into silence. “Look at yourselves, you’re absolutely ridiculous! WE CAME HERE TO DO A JOB, AND WE WILL COMPLETE IT. Understood?” Silence. “UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, ma’am.” the crew shouted back loudly, their bravado returning. Slowly, they returned to their previous formation- albeit with a few key differences- and began their journey away from the marshland and the death it was attached to.
“That was a better speech.” the Doctor admitted, slightly grudgingly. Their environment was shifting, the mud and grime of the marshland slowly replaced by sturdier ground.
“It seems they had to hear it after all.” Mitzch admitted scornfully. “Cowards, all of them.”
“They’re trained, Mitzch, they’re not immune. That could have been them.”
“It wasn’t. It wasn’t and they should be grateful.”
“They were on that bridge a second ago.”
“Well, then they should be glad they had that second.”
The Doctor scowled as Mitzch stormed ahead again. The marshland was behind them now. The ground was sturdier but worn. The acrid smell accompanied by marshes was replaced by something more potent, more revolting. Several of the crew members gagged, particularly a Topaz-skinned humanoid. There wasn’t a strand of hair on her head and her eyes were replaced with open flower buds. She was a Kuthari woman, one of the last at that. Kuthari Major was one of the planets blown up by the members of the Epicurus after it had been infested by the Krynoids. For the first time in a very long time, the Doctor was actually glad Autumn was not present. She would have slaughtered Mitzch on the spot.
“Are you okay?” asked the Doctor, gently grabbing the woman’s shoulder and steering her to the front of the crowd. Fumbling through his trouser pocket, he fished out a device that was reminiscent of an oxygen mask. He offered it to the woman, who took it eagerly. The object attached to the corners of her mouth and exuded a fixed amount of steam that was specifically designed to treat laboured breathing. The alien woman nodded, the corners of her lips tugging slightly. Her training wouldn’t even allow her to smile properly. Three years with Mitzch did wonders for the mind, apparently.
***
“She killed them?”
“No – she couldn’t have done. It was purely an accident. But she knew the accident was going to happen. She told us who she was, we took her prisoner, and we’ve been testing the validity of her claim ever since.”
“What claim? Who is she?”
Mitzch stepped to the side, so that the Doctor could see for himself. The prisoner stared at him. She was short in stature and had long, dark, flowing hair following her like a raven,
“She’s Death.” Mitzch let that one sink in. “Don’t worry, she’s perfectly safe. It’s not just hand-cuffs she’s got on – there’s an electromagnetic field around her, and she’s bound to Bear, who had a cybernetic implant a couple of years back. She has some free movement, but if Bear stands still, she stands still.”
“What on Earth do you mean? How can she be ‘Death?” the Doctor asked incredulously.
“I can very well assure you, she is the epitome of Death.” Mitzch replied exasperatedly.
Death, as Mitzch had so ignorantly titled her, tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to fit the jigsaw puzzles together. Her ruby red lips were a harsh contrast to her unnaturally gaunt and stark-white face. At the same time, the Doctor pondered the title and the meaning. Several seconds of silence washed over the group, punctuated by the nervous shuffles and breathing of the crew as they waited for something- anything- to happen.
“Time Lord.” Death stated firmly. Her voice was sickly sweet, darker and deadlier than sweet honey but far too devastating and toxic to be compared to the condiment. Her eyes narrowed slightly and the Doctor could have sworn their colour changed to a crimson red for the briefest of seconds.
“Am I?” the Doctor smiled slightly. “Thank you for identifying me right away. I must say, it is an honour to meet someone that can be harkened to Death by the tyrannical woman right next to me.”
“I am Death,” Death responded plainly. “Who else would I be, Time Lord?”
“You could be anyone,” The Doctor responded, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the exact probability that this was woman, in actuality, Death. “However would I know?”
“I can see you.” Death stated simply, her eyes turning a deep shadow of crimson. The Doctor noticed this and filed it away for further analysis. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mitzch make several obscure hand gestures but he didn’t comment. “I know all about you and all that is to come. The darkness. Back then and to come. So much darkness. It’s delicious.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, she does this sometimes.” a member of the crew, a slim female with striking blue eyes and brown hair, interjected hastily. Bear leapt into the air at the sudden sound of an additional voice and very nearly stumbled into Mitzch. To the average person, Mitzch would have appeared to be inherently unfazed by this stumble, but the Doctor was not an average person. He detected the anger she was struggling to contain, her darkened eyes and her stiff posture broad indications of her current state. He didn’t comment on it. “Hello! Ariana Allegro. I’m part of the catering staff.”
The Doctor raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“She is also not permitted to distribute information to third party members!” Mitzch bit heatedly. “Know your place, Ariana Allegro.”
Ariana scowled at her boss but bowed her head and retreated to the back of the crew, muttering discreetly to herself. The Doctor continued to pretend he was unaware of the gesture Mitzch had made to Ariana when she thought he was distracted. She was testing him. She wanted to see if he would run away with the facts or digest it and continue with the crew. He noted the fact and turned his attention back to Death, but the woman seemed content just staring at him, her eyes returning to their normal shade.
“What species are you?” the Doctor asked curiously. He was always told that curiosity killed the cat, but he couldn’t help himself, and there were no cats present.
“I have no species.”
“Of course you do. Everybody has a species.”
“Like you do, Time Lord?”
“Right, that’s enough chat.” Mitzch cut in abruptly. “We have a job to do, Doctor. You can carry on with your silly own agenda but we have to scour the nearest town until even the faintest of hair wisps has been catalogued.”
“A town? How exciting! Can I come along?” the Doctor asked, never tearing his eyes away from Death.
“No.”
“What if I said please?”
“No.” Mitzch enunciated the word this time, making her thoughts on the matter known.
“I’m very insistent on this matter.” the Doctor smiled charmingly at the woman, who greeted his smile with a stone cold scowl. Her scowl was redirected to her group as they muttered amongst themselves. Mitzch couldn’t allow dissent to run rampant in her ranks. It would cost her the reputation she had spent time and effort developing.
“Fine,” the woman spat, “but don’t get in my way.”
With that, the woman moved away from the Doctor and ordered for final checks to be carried out. The Doctor watched as the crew members prepared with the ease and grace of seasoned explorers.
The night air was chilly, almost biting. The wind howled mockingly, almost dancing around them, ruffling their hair and clothing. It was freezing, but the Doctor didn’t mind. It added to the allure of the planet. The crew were seemingly unaffected. His eyes flitted over their specially designed equipment, the thermal vests. They had prepared meticulously for the occasion while he bounded out of the TARDIS in standard boots, just how he liked it.
Mitzch yelled out last minute orders. The sheer bark was strong enough to rival the howling wind. Her voice carried the strength and confidence of experience, brooking the crew’s attention and demanding the authority she so desperately craved, but there was something else, something hidden, that the Doctor couldn’t quite register. It contradicted the woman’s ferocity, it didn’t quite fit.
“We’ll travel to the centre on foot in one unified motion. We will split up and investigate as soon as we find signs of civilisation, but we stick together until then. We walk in Formation Fifty. No idle chatter, no lagging and no stopping to take pictures. We’re explorers, not tourists!”
“What’s the point of exploring if you can’t stop to admire your surroundings?” the Doctor interjected. He raised his hands nonchalantly when Mitzch fixed a glare on him, shrugging casually. “Just saying.”
“If I want a running commentary, I’ll ask for it,” growled Mitzch before turning back to her crew. “We’ve been preparing for three years. Try not to disappoint me.” The crew muttered half-hearted affirmations. “Now, let’s move.”
“Hardly an inspirational speech, if you ask me,” the Doctor uttered as the crew started to move. Formation Fifty consisted of Mitzch and ten crew members belonging to the military sector leading the exploration, with the scientific and catering crew flanking them, and Bear in the middle with their prisoner. Death hummed loudly, largely ignoring the fact that highly-trained military strategists surrounded her with intimidating futuristic looking guns.
“These people don’t need a rousing speech,” Mitzch growled, her hair fluttering with the wind. “They’ve had the briefing over the course of three years. They know exactly what they have to do.”
“You’re a very uptight woman.”
“And you talk too much.” A beat. “I prefer intuitive.”
“An intuitive woman spending her days walking through muddy trenches?” the Doctor smirked knowingly, gesturing to his sullied boots. “I know why you’re here, Mitzch.”
“Oh, do you?”
“If you really were stupid enough to do what you were doing, you should have had the good grace to be discreet.” the Doctor hissed, anger seeping into his words. Mitzch simply shrugged, uncaring of all the people that had died as a consequence of her actions. “Innocent people have died because of you.”
“They were going to die anyway.” Mitzch countered. “Besides, what were they doing with their life? Nothing. They just stood about like idiots, oblivious to the greater picture. People like that? They’re nothing. They’re not living life to its full potential.”
“To some people, that is life’s full potential.”
“How quaint.” Mitzch scoffed. “I don’t need you to lecture me, ‘Time Lord’, I can make whatever decisions I like.”
“Even the wrong ones?”
“There’s no such thing as a wrong decision. It’s all a matter of perception, isn’t that what you told us at the meetings?”
The Doctor scowled as the woman stomped ahead to complete her objective, the grip on her gun noticeably tighter. He diverted his gaze to Death, who was still cheerfully lumbering along the towering man she was tied to. Her nature unnerved and intrigued the Doctor. It was strange. She was looking at him now, her pale blue eyes like lightning. They reminded him of-
“Halt!” Mitzch barked. The Doctor staggered slightly, surprised by the sudden order. The troops halted obediently. The Doctor pushed his way to the front to see what the hold up was.
“Ooh, that’s not good.” Death hummed unhelpfully. Blocking their path was a ravine, carved deeply into the surface of the planet. The only way across was a rickety bridge with several planks missing, The bridge swayed dangerously in the wind, amplifying the crew’s silent unease.
“We’ll have to move in a single file.” Mitzch resolved, taking the lead despite her better judgement. The Doctor followed her. The bridge felt as unstable as it looked. It rocked violently and the planks dipped under their weight.
The Doctor peeked over the edge and noticed that it was a long drop down. He joined Mitzch on the other side, followed by several soldiers, Bear, and the unbearably and slightly disconcertingly chipper Death. There was a look in her eyes, something evasive that the Doctor couldn’t quite place.
His mind whizzed. It was…
Satisfaction. Nestled in those electric blue orbs was a feeling of pure fulfilment, undiluted and attached to some terrible secret. The Doctor registered the emotion, and then he realised.
He stepped forward, trying to fight the inevitable, but it was already too late.
The worn-out rope that held the bridge securely snapped, in an instant, under the added pressure, and the whole thing gave out. The bridge, along with the crew, was sent spiralling into the darkness below, their screams punctuating the air. They were silenced abruptly. Death stood to the side speechlessly, licking her lips with satisfaction. It might have been the Doctor’s imagination- though he never imagined anything - but her lips were a stronger shade of red, noticeable only to those that wanted to see it. Her eyes met his. Her expression was haunting. She didn’t care about those deaths, she adored them, condoned them, practically willed them to occur.
“Did you see that?” a crew member asked.
“They’re all dead!” whispered a second
“I didn’t sign up for this!” a third wailed helplessly. The crew continued to whisper fervently, peering over the edge of the canyon. Their whispers gradually evolved into slightly louder wails, the training and conditioning stripped away from them and revealing them for what they really were: people way out of their depths.
“Enough!” Mitzch roared, holding a hand to her chest. It was uncharacteristic of her, and it contradicted her stormy expression. Her breathing was laboured, a bead of sweat visibly trickling down her forehead. The crew continued their whispering. “ENOUGH!” the crew quickly lapsed into silence. “Look at yourselves, you’re absolutely ridiculous! WE CAME HERE TO DO A JOB, AND WE WILL COMPLETE IT. Understood?” Silence. “UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, ma’am.” the crew shouted back loudly, their bravado returning. Slowly, they returned to their previous formation- albeit with a few key differences- and began their journey away from the marshland and the death it was attached to.
“That was a better speech.” the Doctor admitted, slightly grudgingly. Their environment was shifting, the mud and grime of the marshland slowly replaced by sturdier ground.
“It seems they had to hear it after all.” Mitzch admitted scornfully. “Cowards, all of them.”
“They’re trained, Mitzch, they’re not immune. That could have been them.”
“It wasn’t. It wasn’t and they should be grateful.”
“They were on that bridge a second ago.”
“Well, then they should be glad they had that second.”
The Doctor scowled as Mitzch stormed ahead again. The marshland was behind them now. The ground was sturdier but worn. The acrid smell accompanied by marshes was replaced by something more potent, more revolting. Several of the crew members gagged, particularly a Topaz-skinned humanoid. There wasn’t a strand of hair on her head and her eyes were replaced with open flower buds. She was a Kuthari woman, one of the last at that. Kuthari Major was one of the planets blown up by the members of the Epicurus after it had been infested by the Krynoids. For the first time in a very long time, the Doctor was actually glad Autumn was not present. She would have slaughtered Mitzch on the spot.
“Are you okay?” asked the Doctor, gently grabbing the woman’s shoulder and steering her to the front of the crowd. Fumbling through his trouser pocket, he fished out a device that was reminiscent of an oxygen mask. He offered it to the woman, who took it eagerly. The object attached to the corners of her mouth and exuded a fixed amount of steam that was specifically designed to treat laboured breathing. The alien woman nodded, the corners of her lips tugging slightly. Her training wouldn’t even allow her to smile properly. Three years with Mitzch did wonders for the mind, apparently.
***
The wind continued to pull at the group, but, after an hour of walking, a haven was close. On the horizon, the peaks of rooftops was barely visible in the darkness, but visible nonetheless. The group found themselves at a winding path. Beyond it led to a decrepit looking village. Mitzch turned to her crew.
“You know the plan, we split off into two groups. Team A with me, we’ll take the other side of the village. Team B, you’ll take this side. We meet in the centre, understood?”
The crew nodded and quickly splintered off into their respective groups. The Doctor glanced at each team, mentally deliberating over which one he wanted to join. He noticed where Death was and, eventually, decided to join team B to stay close to her.
“Doctor, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I’d rather join this team.” the Doctor shrugged. “Mingle with the others, I’ve seen enough of you to last a lifetime.”
“Charming.” Mitzch drawled. To the Doctor’s surprise, she simply skulked off with her designated team instead of protesting. He watched her go further along the path in silent confusion, having expected a protest.
“Alright, let’s move.” a gruff looking man barked, his training was clearly kicking in. The Doctor willingly obliged, following the crowd as they hunkered down the winding pathway. The path was steep and worn with age; clumps of soil had been pulled up and soil mounds lay haphazardly, acting as surrogate potholes waiting for the crew to trip and hurt themselves.
When they crossed the proverbial barrier keeping them from the village, the motley crew paused, taking in their surroundings.
“It’s so surreal.” a crew member whispered. “My son would have loved this.”
“Don’t be so sentimental, Jonas,” the gruff pseudo-leader scoffed. “I don’t think your son would appreciate the smell. It stinks here.”
The Doctor couldn’t help but agree. The smell was pungent, annoyingly heightened by his Time Lord senses. He couldn’t see where it originated from. It hunt in the air like an unwashed blanket, making him slightly nauseous.
“Even so,” Jonas breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s creepy.” the Kuthari woman countered worriedly. “Look at it, it’s silent. It’s dead!”
“You worry too much, Azar.” Jonas dismissed her anxieties.
“Chooti, you worry too little.” the woman clicked in her native tongue. The Doctor winced slightly at her language. He was slowly growing repulsed by swearing. Maybe it was because he was growing old. “Just stop idolising and look at it! It’s empty!”
She was right. The town was deserted. Beyond the howling wind and the revolting smell, there was nothing. No laughing children, no couples yelling, no guns blazing. Even the river bank was dried up; there wasn’t a drop of water.
“We’re in the corpse of a town that died a long time ago.” the Doctor mumbled.
“Well consider this the autopsy, then.” Rick muttered.
“Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?” the Doctor asked as he spared Rick a glance.
“I know this is an expedition, and I’m an explorer.” Rick replied ignorantly. He started moving, the Doctor followed. They both walked further along the beaten path. The silence was deadly, even the wind had stopped. The only thing they had left was silence.
“You’re very sure of yourself.” said the Doctor as they reached a row of broken houses on the outskirts of the village. Bear, Death and the rest of the crew were lagging behind them.
“If I’m not sure of myself, this team and expedition would fall apart.” Rick countered. “I’m just doing my job, and you’re keeping me from it.”
“You shouldn’t interfere.” Jonas advised as Rick stormed into the house. “This is our mission, not yours. You’re just a tag along.”
“Of course.” the Doctor replied breezily, eyeing Death intently as she walked into the house with her guard. “I understand.”
He ignored the rest of the crew’s mutterings and examined the row of houses. They were multicoloured, and must have looked magnificent once upon a time. Now the paint was peeling and the doors were so brittle they fell out of their hinges with the slightest of touches. The Doctor followed Rick and his group into the darkened house. The dim moonlight cast an ethereal glow on the tiny house. It was a two-storey house. The hallway wasn't particularly marvellous and the stairs were old and creaky. The paint was peeling and clumps of mould clung to the walls. The awful stench continued to hang in the air.
He walked further into the house, finding the crew already examining everything inside the house. Stepping into the kitchen, the Doctor’s eyes flitted over the ancient plates and coffee cups full of stale liquid. The pipes were rusty and the window glass was broken, allowing the cold night air to filter through. His eyes were drawn to the animatronics that were stuck to the kitchen board. Their design was strange; it had the general appearance of a humanoid but there were modifications. The eye sockets were blank, almost hollow, and metal parts replaced the right arm and leg, giving it a roboticised appearance. The circuitry and sleek metal was in peak condition, a stark contrast to the ravaged world around them. He reached over to touch the animatronic, to feel it, to study it.
“Oi,” Rick barked, catching the Doctor’s attention. “Don't touch anything, we're moving on.”
“Already?” the Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“The house has already been searched. There's nothing of interest here. We're moving on.”
“I'd quite like to have a look around myself.”
“You're not authorised to share your opinion.” Rick growled. “I don't care if you were part of the Planet Makers, I've been preparing for this expedition with the Machiavelli for years, and you get to tag along because of your reputation as soon as we get here!”
“What's going on in here?” Bear demanded, stepping into the room, Death at his heels. The Doctor wondered what it was like, having your every movement decided by somebody else. He realised he knew, to an extent, and scowled bitterly. Bear glared at them both. “If you two are done, we have a time limit to adhere to.”
Rick nodded minutely and left the room. Death resumed her awful humming as Bear dragged her out of the room. She hadn't contributed to the expedition thus far, clearly preferring to watch the chaos from a distance. The Doctor hated that. He much preferred diving into the chaos and figuring out what to do after that. He took one last glance at the animatronic, storing the intrinsic design to memory, and contemplated the meaning as he joined the crew.
***
The more they explored the village, the more the Doctor’s analogy to a corpse felt more plausible. They had left the original row of houses behind them, delving further into the village, leaving only an uneasy silence. There were no owls hooting in the night air. The crew’s breathing was measured, a feat achievable only through extensive training.
They continued down the worn path, passing a row of houses that were identical to the original house bar the personal items that adorned them. They examined numerous houses and the constant item the Doctor found, regardless of how deep they ventured into the village, there was always an identical replica of the metal man animatronic.
Eventually, the houses were replaced by different buildings. One such building was a fast food restaurant. The Doctor and the crew wandered inside. They were greeted by the sight of tacky wallpaper, dusty tables and food that passed its expiration date long ago. A cleaning droid lay limp beside a table, the power drained from its chassis a million years before. Clearly not a five star restaurant.
The Doctor spun on his heels, examining every facet of the room. When he completed that, he walked over to a table and brushed his hand along the top while the crew dispersed to search the building, his eyebrows furrowed, and his mind whizzing as he tried to fit the pieces together.
“Is there something wrong?” Bear asked as he approached the Doctor, Death by his side.
“Maybe,” the Doctor shrugged casually, forcing a smile. “I'm not sure yet. More the pity. You're Bear, aren't you?”
“Yup.” Bear confirmed, fiddling with his bracelet absentmindedly. “I'm her guard for the trip.” He gestured towards Death. “I thought it would be awful, being stuck with her, but she’s been good. Surprised me!”
The Doctor smiled thinly. Bear was nice, but he was also capable of shooting a person down without a moment's hesitation. That made him- and the rest of Mitzch’s little crew- dangerous. He turned to the raven haired woman. She was gazing directly at him, her electric blue eyes silently calculating, hiding another buried secret he couldn't decipher.
“You're awfully quiet.” The Doctor mused. The corners of Death’s ruby red lips curved upwards.
“Words are a waste of time, Time Lord. Why waste time with words when you can convey exactly what you want with a single stare?”
“Words provide comfort.”
“Words can also pierce the heart.” Death countered, her blue eyes shifting to a shade of crimson. “You know all about death, don't you, Time Lord? On that chilly autumn day.”
“Oi, that's enough out of you.” Bear ordered, tapping her with the butt of his gun. He flinched when Death looked at him with a withering stare.
The Doctor smiled, despite his underlying anger. She was taunting him, coaxing him to be rash in front of Bear. He wouldn't succumb to her mind games.
***
Soon, the moon disappeared and prompted the Machiavelli crew to use their emergency flashlights. The Doctor fished out his own flashlight from his pocket.
The village was more sinister in the torchlight. The darkness became profound, potent. It engulfed them and cast malevolent illusions for the sake of entertainment. The houses and shops dotted their path. The group was quiet, examining every facet of the street. A neon sign teetered back and forth on a shop front, stuck in an endless motion of forwards and backwards.
The Doctor stopped.
“Did you-”
He was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, followed by a scream. The crew jolted into action, running towards the source. They passed more houses and broken shops, their only source of light streaming from waning flashlights. Turning the corner, they found themselves in front of a large corporate office block, all glass and steel, with Team A in disarray in front of it.
“What happened?” Bear asked, eyeing the crew nervously. The Doctor was more focused on Mitzch, who was noticeably kept at a distance. She was waving her gun haphazardly in the air, her eyes wild with a cocktail of emotions: anger, fear, dread.
“You won't get me again! You won’t...no, stay AWAY!”
“She's gone mad!” Jonas gasped.
“What's wrong with her?” Azar asked.
“Maybe she's lost the plot.” speculated Rick.
The Doctor ignored them, edging closer towards Mitzch. The woman was too absorbed in her own ramblings she failed to notice the Time Lord. As soon as he was at arm’s length, the Doctor raised his index fingers and placed them on Mitzch’s temples, determined to cure whatever was ailing her.
The memory came in hot flashes. He saw Autumn Rivers, converging on a cowering Mitzch like a predator, a dark expression etched onto her face. The memory jumped and Autumn was suddenly kneeling in front of Mitzch, leaning in close to whisper:
“I won't kill you this time. I'm going to stand back and watch as something else kills you, nice and slowly. Your unbeatable enemy. And it'll be glorious to watch.”
The Doctor jerked out of Mitzch’s mind violently, but not so violent that it would cause permanent damage. The woman panted slightly, regaining her composure. The Doctor noticed the way her eyes continued to survey her surroundings wildly.
“Mitzch?” Rick called out cautiously. The woman jumped at the voice, but refrained from shooting them all on the spot. Her breathing slowed gradually, and her eyes softened.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?” the Doctor asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” the woman snapped. The Doctor detected the slight crack in her voice. Mitzch gestured towards the large corporate office building, eager to divert the attention. “We still haven’t explored this building, and seeing as we’re all here, we might as well regroup.”
The troops nodded obediently, faithful to her until the end, it seemed. The Doctor kept close to the woman’s side as they all stepped into the office. He rolled his eyes when they all raised their guns instinctively. The office was relatively dark, their flashlights their only solace. The crew fanned out, exploring the floor.
“Ma’am,” a soldier called out. “This room has light.”
“Weapons raised.” Mitzch ordered. The crew obliged and raised their weapons, converging on the room. The Doctor crept alongside them, with nothing but a flashlight and his Sonic Screwdriver for protection.
After a precise countdown, Rick dramatically kicked the door open, stepping inside cautiously. The Doctor and the rest of the Machiavelli followed after him. They paused, examining their surroundings for a second, stupefied.
Azar gasped. “This is a-”
“Public ballroom.” Rick concluded.
“But how?” Mitzch whispered rhetorically. “This is an office block!”
The Doctor ignored them. He took another look around the room and nodded with approval. It was less ornate than the ballrooms he was used to on other planets; it had a simple wood flooring, and the shiny surfaces had clogged up with dust. But they had done their best: the patterns on the doors were, if not perfect, at least inventive. A chandelier hung over their heads, and the curtains were still shut. They left them closed – it was the night anyway, and they may just have crumbled to the touch.
“Well, they had music.” Bear examined a record player in the corner, trying to figure out how to use it. The Doctor rushed over before Bear decimated it, brushed the dust off, and gently set the disc turning. It soon crackled into action, albeit at a pitch a few semitones too low.
“You know the plan, we split off into two groups. Team A with me, we’ll take the other side of the village. Team B, you’ll take this side. We meet in the centre, understood?”
The crew nodded and quickly splintered off into their respective groups. The Doctor glanced at each team, mentally deliberating over which one he wanted to join. He noticed where Death was and, eventually, decided to join team B to stay close to her.
“Doctor, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I’d rather join this team.” the Doctor shrugged. “Mingle with the others, I’ve seen enough of you to last a lifetime.”
“Charming.” Mitzch drawled. To the Doctor’s surprise, she simply skulked off with her designated team instead of protesting. He watched her go further along the path in silent confusion, having expected a protest.
“Alright, let’s move.” a gruff looking man barked, his training was clearly kicking in. The Doctor willingly obliged, following the crowd as they hunkered down the winding pathway. The path was steep and worn with age; clumps of soil had been pulled up and soil mounds lay haphazardly, acting as surrogate potholes waiting for the crew to trip and hurt themselves.
When they crossed the proverbial barrier keeping them from the village, the motley crew paused, taking in their surroundings.
“It’s so surreal.” a crew member whispered. “My son would have loved this.”
“Don’t be so sentimental, Jonas,” the gruff pseudo-leader scoffed. “I don’t think your son would appreciate the smell. It stinks here.”
The Doctor couldn’t help but agree. The smell was pungent, annoyingly heightened by his Time Lord senses. He couldn’t see where it originated from. It hunt in the air like an unwashed blanket, making him slightly nauseous.
“Even so,” Jonas breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s creepy.” the Kuthari woman countered worriedly. “Look at it, it’s silent. It’s dead!”
“You worry too much, Azar.” Jonas dismissed her anxieties.
“Chooti, you worry too little.” the woman clicked in her native tongue. The Doctor winced slightly at her language. He was slowly growing repulsed by swearing. Maybe it was because he was growing old. “Just stop idolising and look at it! It’s empty!”
She was right. The town was deserted. Beyond the howling wind and the revolting smell, there was nothing. No laughing children, no couples yelling, no guns blazing. Even the river bank was dried up; there wasn’t a drop of water.
“We’re in the corpse of a town that died a long time ago.” the Doctor mumbled.
“Well consider this the autopsy, then.” Rick muttered.
“Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?” the Doctor asked as he spared Rick a glance.
“I know this is an expedition, and I’m an explorer.” Rick replied ignorantly. He started moving, the Doctor followed. They both walked further along the beaten path. The silence was deadly, even the wind had stopped. The only thing they had left was silence.
“You’re very sure of yourself.” said the Doctor as they reached a row of broken houses on the outskirts of the village. Bear, Death and the rest of the crew were lagging behind them.
“If I’m not sure of myself, this team and expedition would fall apart.” Rick countered. “I’m just doing my job, and you’re keeping me from it.”
“You shouldn’t interfere.” Jonas advised as Rick stormed into the house. “This is our mission, not yours. You’re just a tag along.”
“Of course.” the Doctor replied breezily, eyeing Death intently as she walked into the house with her guard. “I understand.”
He ignored the rest of the crew’s mutterings and examined the row of houses. They were multicoloured, and must have looked magnificent once upon a time. Now the paint was peeling and the doors were so brittle they fell out of their hinges with the slightest of touches. The Doctor followed Rick and his group into the darkened house. The dim moonlight cast an ethereal glow on the tiny house. It was a two-storey house. The hallway wasn't particularly marvellous and the stairs were old and creaky. The paint was peeling and clumps of mould clung to the walls. The awful stench continued to hang in the air.
He walked further into the house, finding the crew already examining everything inside the house. Stepping into the kitchen, the Doctor’s eyes flitted over the ancient plates and coffee cups full of stale liquid. The pipes were rusty and the window glass was broken, allowing the cold night air to filter through. His eyes were drawn to the animatronics that were stuck to the kitchen board. Their design was strange; it had the general appearance of a humanoid but there were modifications. The eye sockets were blank, almost hollow, and metal parts replaced the right arm and leg, giving it a roboticised appearance. The circuitry and sleek metal was in peak condition, a stark contrast to the ravaged world around them. He reached over to touch the animatronic, to feel it, to study it.
“Oi,” Rick barked, catching the Doctor’s attention. “Don't touch anything, we're moving on.”
“Already?” the Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“The house has already been searched. There's nothing of interest here. We're moving on.”
“I'd quite like to have a look around myself.”
“You're not authorised to share your opinion.” Rick growled. “I don't care if you were part of the Planet Makers, I've been preparing for this expedition with the Machiavelli for years, and you get to tag along because of your reputation as soon as we get here!”
“What's going on in here?” Bear demanded, stepping into the room, Death at his heels. The Doctor wondered what it was like, having your every movement decided by somebody else. He realised he knew, to an extent, and scowled bitterly. Bear glared at them both. “If you two are done, we have a time limit to adhere to.”
Rick nodded minutely and left the room. Death resumed her awful humming as Bear dragged her out of the room. She hadn't contributed to the expedition thus far, clearly preferring to watch the chaos from a distance. The Doctor hated that. He much preferred diving into the chaos and figuring out what to do after that. He took one last glance at the animatronic, storing the intrinsic design to memory, and contemplated the meaning as he joined the crew.
***
The more they explored the village, the more the Doctor’s analogy to a corpse felt more plausible. They had left the original row of houses behind them, delving further into the village, leaving only an uneasy silence. There were no owls hooting in the night air. The crew’s breathing was measured, a feat achievable only through extensive training.
They continued down the worn path, passing a row of houses that were identical to the original house bar the personal items that adorned them. They examined numerous houses and the constant item the Doctor found, regardless of how deep they ventured into the village, there was always an identical replica of the metal man animatronic.
Eventually, the houses were replaced by different buildings. One such building was a fast food restaurant. The Doctor and the crew wandered inside. They were greeted by the sight of tacky wallpaper, dusty tables and food that passed its expiration date long ago. A cleaning droid lay limp beside a table, the power drained from its chassis a million years before. Clearly not a five star restaurant.
The Doctor spun on his heels, examining every facet of the room. When he completed that, he walked over to a table and brushed his hand along the top while the crew dispersed to search the building, his eyebrows furrowed, and his mind whizzing as he tried to fit the pieces together.
“Is there something wrong?” Bear asked as he approached the Doctor, Death by his side.
“Maybe,” the Doctor shrugged casually, forcing a smile. “I'm not sure yet. More the pity. You're Bear, aren't you?”
“Yup.” Bear confirmed, fiddling with his bracelet absentmindedly. “I'm her guard for the trip.” He gestured towards Death. “I thought it would be awful, being stuck with her, but she’s been good. Surprised me!”
The Doctor smiled thinly. Bear was nice, but he was also capable of shooting a person down without a moment's hesitation. That made him- and the rest of Mitzch’s little crew- dangerous. He turned to the raven haired woman. She was gazing directly at him, her electric blue eyes silently calculating, hiding another buried secret he couldn't decipher.
“You're awfully quiet.” The Doctor mused. The corners of Death’s ruby red lips curved upwards.
“Words are a waste of time, Time Lord. Why waste time with words when you can convey exactly what you want with a single stare?”
“Words provide comfort.”
“Words can also pierce the heart.” Death countered, her blue eyes shifting to a shade of crimson. “You know all about death, don't you, Time Lord? On that chilly autumn day.”
“Oi, that's enough out of you.” Bear ordered, tapping her with the butt of his gun. He flinched when Death looked at him with a withering stare.
The Doctor smiled, despite his underlying anger. She was taunting him, coaxing him to be rash in front of Bear. He wouldn't succumb to her mind games.
***
Soon, the moon disappeared and prompted the Machiavelli crew to use their emergency flashlights. The Doctor fished out his own flashlight from his pocket.
The village was more sinister in the torchlight. The darkness became profound, potent. It engulfed them and cast malevolent illusions for the sake of entertainment. The houses and shops dotted their path. The group was quiet, examining every facet of the street. A neon sign teetered back and forth on a shop front, stuck in an endless motion of forwards and backwards.
The Doctor stopped.
“Did you-”
He was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, followed by a scream. The crew jolted into action, running towards the source. They passed more houses and broken shops, their only source of light streaming from waning flashlights. Turning the corner, they found themselves in front of a large corporate office block, all glass and steel, with Team A in disarray in front of it.
“What happened?” Bear asked, eyeing the crew nervously. The Doctor was more focused on Mitzch, who was noticeably kept at a distance. She was waving her gun haphazardly in the air, her eyes wild with a cocktail of emotions: anger, fear, dread.
“You won't get me again! You won’t...no, stay AWAY!”
“She's gone mad!” Jonas gasped.
“What's wrong with her?” Azar asked.
“Maybe she's lost the plot.” speculated Rick.
The Doctor ignored them, edging closer towards Mitzch. The woman was too absorbed in her own ramblings she failed to notice the Time Lord. As soon as he was at arm’s length, the Doctor raised his index fingers and placed them on Mitzch’s temples, determined to cure whatever was ailing her.
The memory came in hot flashes. He saw Autumn Rivers, converging on a cowering Mitzch like a predator, a dark expression etched onto her face. The memory jumped and Autumn was suddenly kneeling in front of Mitzch, leaning in close to whisper:
“I won't kill you this time. I'm going to stand back and watch as something else kills you, nice and slowly. Your unbeatable enemy. And it'll be glorious to watch.”
The Doctor jerked out of Mitzch’s mind violently, but not so violent that it would cause permanent damage. The woman panted slightly, regaining her composure. The Doctor noticed the way her eyes continued to survey her surroundings wildly.
“Mitzch?” Rick called out cautiously. The woman jumped at the voice, but refrained from shooting them all on the spot. Her breathing slowed gradually, and her eyes softened.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?” the Doctor asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” the woman snapped. The Doctor detected the slight crack in her voice. Mitzch gestured towards the large corporate office building, eager to divert the attention. “We still haven’t explored this building, and seeing as we’re all here, we might as well regroup.”
The troops nodded obediently, faithful to her until the end, it seemed. The Doctor kept close to the woman’s side as they all stepped into the office. He rolled his eyes when they all raised their guns instinctively. The office was relatively dark, their flashlights their only solace. The crew fanned out, exploring the floor.
“Ma’am,” a soldier called out. “This room has light.”
“Weapons raised.” Mitzch ordered. The crew obliged and raised their weapons, converging on the room. The Doctor crept alongside them, with nothing but a flashlight and his Sonic Screwdriver for protection.
After a precise countdown, Rick dramatically kicked the door open, stepping inside cautiously. The Doctor and the rest of the Machiavelli followed after him. They paused, examining their surroundings for a second, stupefied.
Azar gasped. “This is a-”
“Public ballroom.” Rick concluded.
“But how?” Mitzch whispered rhetorically. “This is an office block!”
The Doctor ignored them. He took another look around the room and nodded with approval. It was less ornate than the ballrooms he was used to on other planets; it had a simple wood flooring, and the shiny surfaces had clogged up with dust. But they had done their best: the patterns on the doors were, if not perfect, at least inventive. A chandelier hung over their heads, and the curtains were still shut. They left them closed – it was the night anyway, and they may just have crumbled to the touch.
“Well, they had music.” Bear examined a record player in the corner, trying to figure out how to use it. The Doctor rushed over before Bear decimated it, brushed the dust off, and gently set the disc turning. It soon crackled into action, albeit at a pitch a few semitones too low.
“That thing still works?” asked Mitzch.
“I’d hope so,” replied the Doctor. “After all, mine’s three-hundred and still doing fine.” He listened to the music, and closed his eyes in satisfaction. “It’s a waltz. I’ll grant you, it’s no Chopin, but it’ll definitely suffice.”
Death gave the Doctor an imploring look, and he realised what she was asking him.
“Bear,” said the Doctor. “Would you mind releasing Death, just for the duration of the song?”
“Not a good idea,” interrupted Mitzch. “She’s dangerous.”
“You’ve also asked for her help,” pointed out the Doctor. “Surely if you’re going to trust her to be honest, you have to trust her with this too?”
Bear undid Death’s handcuffs, before pressing a button on his own bracelet, allowing her free movement.
“Go on then, you lot,” said the Doctor. “Clear off.”
The troops reluctantly moved outside, but he instinctively knew that they were already surrounding the ballroom.
Death placed her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders, and looked up at him. Her eyes were dark blue, and staring into them was like watching the ocean. They were beautiful – it was just important to keep a distance, so as not to end up caught in the tide and drowned.
The Doctor gently placed his hands on her hips, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re a dancer, Time Lord.”
“I’m many things.”
“Whereas I, of course, am one.”
“Waiting for us at the end of everything,” recited the Doctor. “Very intimidating. You make time look like a straight line, that’s what’s so scary. But you’d be nothing to them, if they knew what time really looked like – if they knew that you could be negotiated.”
“You say that, Time Lord, but their lives are straight lines. I can see them.”
“I gathered that.” The Doctor frowned disapprovingly. “I notice the way you speak to Mitzch. She’s nearing the end, isn’t she?”
“Lung tumour. Late stages, and she has a tremendous fear of the dark, it triggers such awful memories. There’s no negotiating with me now. You just have to remember that I’m not the killer.” She led the Doctor across the room, commanding the dance with large gestures and precise movements. The Doctor tried to keep up with her steps. “I don’t come and take them, I wait for them to come to me. After all, they all do, in the long run.”
“So you... what? Feed on them? Is that what it is? The best theory I can come up with is that it’s the actual process of death, the moment the brain dies, that gives you energy.”
“Ever the rationalist. You’re approaching this all wrong, Time Lord.”
“But you’re not Death,” insisted the Doctor. “I’m sorry, but you can’t be. Death doesn’t exist in isolation from other things – it’s just the natural outcome of the laws of physics. Things don’t last forever, cells die, and the human mind cannot survive independently without the involvement of a considerably higher power. But Death isn’t a monster that comes and eats you up, or a beautiful young woman who comes along and takes your hand. It’s just a thing that has to happen.”
“Then what does that make me?” murmured Death. “Other than a beautiful young woman, who came along and took your hand?”
“You’re the embodiment of an abstract concept.” The Doctor removed his hands from her hips and walked back over to the record player. “Just look at yourself – you’re every cliché in the book. You’re nothing more than an idea. So for what it’s worth, I think I have the measure of you.” He gestured for the door. “You can carry on without your handcuffs.”
***
“Is this a good idea?” Mitzch hissed furiously. They had left the ballroom behind them and decided to investigate a little more. Parallel the room they had entered was a set of creaky steps that they were currently climbing.
“Oh, human. I’m harmless, you saw it for yourself.” Death cooed, directly at the Doctor’s side now that she was free. “What could I possibly do to you? Jump out at you from the dark?”
Mitzch didn’t say anything, opting to press onwards. The Doctor turned to Death.
“Did you have to do that?”
“I told you, Time Lord, words can make or break a person. You didn’t listen.” Death shrugged carelessly.
“So you decided to show me by preying on her fears?”
“Halt!” Mitzch exclaimed, standing right outside a set of double doors on the other side of the hallway. “Come look at this.”
The Doctor frowned, traipsing across the hallway to join the woman, the crew and Death right behind him. Once they reached the leader of the expedition, the Doctor noticed the intricate patterns on the doors. The swirls were precise. They formed the perfect mould for a human face with hollow eye sockets, the same thing he saw in the houses.
“They resemble their gods.” Death explained, almost as if she had read his thoughts. The Doctor turned to her. Her electric blue eyes were quizzical but they retained the steely secret deep within the orbs. He figured she must have read his mind. “They weren’t pagans, quite the opposite. Such a fascinating culture.”
“Well then, what are we just standing out here for?” Rick growled, grabbing the handle of one door.
“I agree.” Azar piped up, grabbing the handle of the other door. Together, the pair pushed the doors open. Beyond the massive doors was a room the size of a courtroom. Candles were spread across the floor as far as the Doctor could see. He stepped inside, immediately noting the drop in temperature.
“Bloody hell, it’s cold.” Jonas grumbled. He too had felt the drop in temperature, apparently. The Doctor stepped into the room, brushing his hand along a dusty wooden bench. There were more of them, all placed in separate rows spanning towards a pew on the other side. Above the pew was a mural.
“This is a church,” the Doctor realised.
“A church inside an office building?” Mitzch uttered. “How does that work?”
“Budget cuts? Lack of space?” Bear speculated.
“Does it really matter?” Azar inquired.
“Hmm.” the Doctor hummed, his attention elsewhere. He gazed at the mural. In the dim candle lighting, he could identify the distinctive figure of a man. There was the same unnerving quality to the mural that was present in the animatronics.
“Fear was a big part of this civilisation, you know,” Death mused. “They admired their gods and ancestors, yes, but they also feared. Feared their future, fearing the murky black river that lay ahead of them.”
“What happened to them?”
“Some died naturally, others were murdered. They all lived normal lives, Time Lord. Do you recall that house we walked into? It belonged to a merchant and his family. They were expecting a new baby. They were all so happy, and then they lost him. Car accident. Or as I call it, brunch.”
The crew stopped their rummaging to stare at Death. Her posture and tone oozed confidence. She wasn’t lying.
“Remarkable,” the Doctor muttered. “You really are Death.”
“Life and death- they are a part of life, as big as honesty and lies. Tell me, what do you see when you look at yourself in the mirror, Time Lord? What sort of man do you see?”
A loud rumbling disrupted any further conversation. The creaky old walls shuddered violently and plaster sprinkled onto their hair and clothes.
“That's not going to hold,” Mitzch realised, turning to her crew. “Fall back! Get out of this building!”
One by one, the Doctor and the party quickly pushed their way out of the temple, down the two flights of steps and out the open doors. As soon as they had reached the covers of relative safety, the Doctor turned back to the office building.
“It's not collapsing.” he said, frowning in confusion. The horrid air was making it difficult to think.
“Yeah? Well, that wasn't there before.” Mitzch breathed. Following her gaze, the Doctor laid eyes on a strange building. He stepped closer without hesitation, eager to examine the new building. As he got closer, he could make out the rustic exterior illuminated by the first crack of moonlight. The double door windows were muddy, revealing nothing about the building within.
Grabbing hold of a worn handle, the Doctor pushed the door open. Taking a cautious step inside, he spun on the balls of his feet. It was a theatre, akin to that of a British one, with their fancy red lined chairs and boisterous stage. Disused lights lit up an empty stage, forming a pool of light.
“I'm not registering any life forms,” Mitzch announced, fishing out a scanner and eyeing the results, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “So why are the lights still functional?”
“You're missing the big question,” the Doctor chided Mitzch. “Have you thought about it? Have any of you?”
“What are you on about?” Rick demanded.
“We are standing on an unregistered abandoned planet, the inhabitants have mysteriously disappeared and the entire planet has fallen into disrepair.’
“So?”
“So, why were there nothing on the roads?” the Doctor questioned. All eyes were on him. They hadn't realised. “The roads were old, worn, but they were relatively clean and free of congestion. No cars strewn about the place, no burning houses. It's peaceful, in an unsettling way. I didn't come for the planet, I came to see Death-”
“What?” Mitzch interrupted, never moving her eyes away from her screen.
“-but I stayed when I noticed the village. Something's not right. It's as harsh and brutal as a thunderstorm and we are merely at the cusp of discovering it. But what? What is it? And has anybody else noticed it's awfully quiet?”
“Wha- where’s she gone?” Rick demanded. There was only person he could be talking about. The one person who was not present within the group.
The Doctor looked around frantically, and Mitzch looked up from her scanner. All the soldiers straightened their backs, opened their eyes wider, knowing they had started to let themselves slack.
“Death?” called the Doctor. “Death! Where are you?”
“I know we shouldn’t have let her free,” hissed Mitzch. “You stupid idiot.”
“This isn’t my operation Mitzch, any mistake here is yours.”
Mitzch glared. The Doctor, still just as quick as ever to shift the blame onto the next available person.
“I’d hope so,” replied the Doctor. “After all, mine’s three-hundred and still doing fine.” He listened to the music, and closed his eyes in satisfaction. “It’s a waltz. I’ll grant you, it’s no Chopin, but it’ll definitely suffice.”
Death gave the Doctor an imploring look, and he realised what she was asking him.
“Bear,” said the Doctor. “Would you mind releasing Death, just for the duration of the song?”
“Not a good idea,” interrupted Mitzch. “She’s dangerous.”
“You’ve also asked for her help,” pointed out the Doctor. “Surely if you’re going to trust her to be honest, you have to trust her with this too?”
Bear undid Death’s handcuffs, before pressing a button on his own bracelet, allowing her free movement.
“Go on then, you lot,” said the Doctor. “Clear off.”
The troops reluctantly moved outside, but he instinctively knew that they were already surrounding the ballroom.
Death placed her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders, and looked up at him. Her eyes were dark blue, and staring into them was like watching the ocean. They were beautiful – it was just important to keep a distance, so as not to end up caught in the tide and drowned.
The Doctor gently placed his hands on her hips, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re a dancer, Time Lord.”
“I’m many things.”
“Whereas I, of course, am one.”
“Waiting for us at the end of everything,” recited the Doctor. “Very intimidating. You make time look like a straight line, that’s what’s so scary. But you’d be nothing to them, if they knew what time really looked like – if they knew that you could be negotiated.”
“You say that, Time Lord, but their lives are straight lines. I can see them.”
“I gathered that.” The Doctor frowned disapprovingly. “I notice the way you speak to Mitzch. She’s nearing the end, isn’t she?”
“Lung tumour. Late stages, and she has a tremendous fear of the dark, it triggers such awful memories. There’s no negotiating with me now. You just have to remember that I’m not the killer.” She led the Doctor across the room, commanding the dance with large gestures and precise movements. The Doctor tried to keep up with her steps. “I don’t come and take them, I wait for them to come to me. After all, they all do, in the long run.”
“So you... what? Feed on them? Is that what it is? The best theory I can come up with is that it’s the actual process of death, the moment the brain dies, that gives you energy.”
“Ever the rationalist. You’re approaching this all wrong, Time Lord.”
“But you’re not Death,” insisted the Doctor. “I’m sorry, but you can’t be. Death doesn’t exist in isolation from other things – it’s just the natural outcome of the laws of physics. Things don’t last forever, cells die, and the human mind cannot survive independently without the involvement of a considerably higher power. But Death isn’t a monster that comes and eats you up, or a beautiful young woman who comes along and takes your hand. It’s just a thing that has to happen.”
“Then what does that make me?” murmured Death. “Other than a beautiful young woman, who came along and took your hand?”
“You’re the embodiment of an abstract concept.” The Doctor removed his hands from her hips and walked back over to the record player. “Just look at yourself – you’re every cliché in the book. You’re nothing more than an idea. So for what it’s worth, I think I have the measure of you.” He gestured for the door. “You can carry on without your handcuffs.”
***
“Is this a good idea?” Mitzch hissed furiously. They had left the ballroom behind them and decided to investigate a little more. Parallel the room they had entered was a set of creaky steps that they were currently climbing.
“Oh, human. I’m harmless, you saw it for yourself.” Death cooed, directly at the Doctor’s side now that she was free. “What could I possibly do to you? Jump out at you from the dark?”
Mitzch didn’t say anything, opting to press onwards. The Doctor turned to Death.
“Did you have to do that?”
“I told you, Time Lord, words can make or break a person. You didn’t listen.” Death shrugged carelessly.
“So you decided to show me by preying on her fears?”
“Halt!” Mitzch exclaimed, standing right outside a set of double doors on the other side of the hallway. “Come look at this.”
The Doctor frowned, traipsing across the hallway to join the woman, the crew and Death right behind him. Once they reached the leader of the expedition, the Doctor noticed the intricate patterns on the doors. The swirls were precise. They formed the perfect mould for a human face with hollow eye sockets, the same thing he saw in the houses.
“They resemble their gods.” Death explained, almost as if she had read his thoughts. The Doctor turned to her. Her electric blue eyes were quizzical but they retained the steely secret deep within the orbs. He figured she must have read his mind. “They weren’t pagans, quite the opposite. Such a fascinating culture.”
“Well then, what are we just standing out here for?” Rick growled, grabbing the handle of one door.
“I agree.” Azar piped up, grabbing the handle of the other door. Together, the pair pushed the doors open. Beyond the massive doors was a room the size of a courtroom. Candles were spread across the floor as far as the Doctor could see. He stepped inside, immediately noting the drop in temperature.
“Bloody hell, it’s cold.” Jonas grumbled. He too had felt the drop in temperature, apparently. The Doctor stepped into the room, brushing his hand along a dusty wooden bench. There were more of them, all placed in separate rows spanning towards a pew on the other side. Above the pew was a mural.
“This is a church,” the Doctor realised.
“A church inside an office building?” Mitzch uttered. “How does that work?”
“Budget cuts? Lack of space?” Bear speculated.
“Does it really matter?” Azar inquired.
“Hmm.” the Doctor hummed, his attention elsewhere. He gazed at the mural. In the dim candle lighting, he could identify the distinctive figure of a man. There was the same unnerving quality to the mural that was present in the animatronics.
“Fear was a big part of this civilisation, you know,” Death mused. “They admired their gods and ancestors, yes, but they also feared. Feared their future, fearing the murky black river that lay ahead of them.”
“What happened to them?”
“Some died naturally, others were murdered. They all lived normal lives, Time Lord. Do you recall that house we walked into? It belonged to a merchant and his family. They were expecting a new baby. They were all so happy, and then they lost him. Car accident. Or as I call it, brunch.”
The crew stopped their rummaging to stare at Death. Her posture and tone oozed confidence. She wasn’t lying.
“Remarkable,” the Doctor muttered. “You really are Death.”
“Life and death- they are a part of life, as big as honesty and lies. Tell me, what do you see when you look at yourself in the mirror, Time Lord? What sort of man do you see?”
A loud rumbling disrupted any further conversation. The creaky old walls shuddered violently and plaster sprinkled onto their hair and clothes.
“That's not going to hold,” Mitzch realised, turning to her crew. “Fall back! Get out of this building!”
One by one, the Doctor and the party quickly pushed their way out of the temple, down the two flights of steps and out the open doors. As soon as they had reached the covers of relative safety, the Doctor turned back to the office building.
“It's not collapsing.” he said, frowning in confusion. The horrid air was making it difficult to think.
“Yeah? Well, that wasn't there before.” Mitzch breathed. Following her gaze, the Doctor laid eyes on a strange building. He stepped closer without hesitation, eager to examine the new building. As he got closer, he could make out the rustic exterior illuminated by the first crack of moonlight. The double door windows were muddy, revealing nothing about the building within.
Grabbing hold of a worn handle, the Doctor pushed the door open. Taking a cautious step inside, he spun on the balls of his feet. It was a theatre, akin to that of a British one, with their fancy red lined chairs and boisterous stage. Disused lights lit up an empty stage, forming a pool of light.
“I'm not registering any life forms,” Mitzch announced, fishing out a scanner and eyeing the results, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “So why are the lights still functional?”
“You're missing the big question,” the Doctor chided Mitzch. “Have you thought about it? Have any of you?”
“What are you on about?” Rick demanded.
“We are standing on an unregistered abandoned planet, the inhabitants have mysteriously disappeared and the entire planet has fallen into disrepair.’
“So?”
“So, why were there nothing on the roads?” the Doctor questioned. All eyes were on him. They hadn't realised. “The roads were old, worn, but they were relatively clean and free of congestion. No cars strewn about the place, no burning houses. It's peaceful, in an unsettling way. I didn't come for the planet, I came to see Death-”
“What?” Mitzch interrupted, never moving her eyes away from her screen.
“-but I stayed when I noticed the village. Something's not right. It's as harsh and brutal as a thunderstorm and we are merely at the cusp of discovering it. But what? What is it? And has anybody else noticed it's awfully quiet?”
“Wha- where’s she gone?” Rick demanded. There was only person he could be talking about. The one person who was not present within the group.
The Doctor looked around frantically, and Mitzch looked up from her scanner. All the soldiers straightened their backs, opened their eyes wider, knowing they had started to let themselves slack.
“Death?” called the Doctor. “Death! Where are you?”
“I know we shouldn’t have let her free,” hissed Mitzch. “You stupid idiot.”
“This isn’t my operation Mitzch, any mistake here is yours.”
Mitzch glared. The Doctor, still just as quick as ever to shift the blame onto the next available person.
“Welcome, welcome!”
They turned to the voice. It was Death: she had emerged on the stage, in a long black dress and a blonde wig. She even found the time to dab a bit of makeup on. Mitzch almost admired her efficiency.
“I order you to get down from there right now!” commanded Mitzch.
“Oh, do be quiet baby,” Death said in a startlingly good deep-south accent. “The show’s about to start.”
“Death,” warned the Doctor. “What are you doing? This wasn’t our agreement.”
“And you dear,” she continued. “Hush. This is a very special moment, and I’ve planned to have us all in this room together for longer than you would ever believe.”
“Why?” asked Mitzch. “Why are we here?”
“Because my word is final, baby. And because my name is Death.”
Mitzch shuddered. Death danced over to centre-stage.
“We’re going to open up with a little dance for you today,” she announced. “So give it up for the cast of today’s show!”
The Doctor watched as they began to file onto the stage soundlessly. It had been so long since he had seen them like this. It must have been a mistake. A trick.
It can’t be.
Their silver, reflective bodies were as thin as ever, but propped up at the front by square, bulky machines wired into their chests; and their faces were hidden by a cloth material which pressed so hard that he could still see the shape of them. Their eyes were black, like buttons, and another object, like a flashlight, rested on top of their heads, supported by framework on either side.
It is. It’s them.
“You will all remain still,” spoke the first. Their voices were like a cheap translation app gone wrong. “You will all remain in this room.”
The Cybermen.
They had formed an arrangement on the stage, surprisingly well-choreographed, with Death at the front and the others further out from her, forming a triangular shape. The Doctor tried to make sense of it.
It took him the best part of ten seconds.
“Of course,” he murmured, before realising the implications. “Oh…”
“What is it?” cried Mitzch. “I don’t understand.”
“You know why this planet was unregistered?” asked Death.
“Because it was naturally-occurring.”
“Nu-uh. Because it was made by someone else.” She outstretched her arms. The curtains by the windows parted, so that the troops could see outside. “The Cybermen created this planet with a Cybernetic core. They allowed a civilisation to develop here across millions of years, and once the population had reached an appropriate level, the ground rose up and converted them all.” She jumped up and down on the stage. “Below our feet, two billion Cybermen wait for the day that’s coming.”
“You’re going to take over the universe with two billion Cybermen?” questioned Mitzch.
“No, baby. We’re going to take over the universe with two billion and sixty.”
I don’t…
“Get out!” cried the Doctor, the truth dawning on him. Everyone, get out of here!” He picked up a chair and threw it at the window, but it bounced straight off.
The ground below them was starting to open up: floorboards lifted up mechanically, and switching, sliding, slicing contraptions began to take the soldiers from their feet, their necks, or wherever they could find a hold.
The Doctor tried to free one, but it was no use. He ran to the window and pounded on it. There was no way out, but it would not make a difference if there was: outside, the same machines were rising up from the mud, pulling the other soldiers beneath as they felt the moonlight touch their skin for the final time.
When he turned back around, he saw Mitzch being dragged below the planet’s surface.
“Come on then!” yelled the Doctor. “Why haven’t you taken me?”
“You are to be kept alive,” replied one of the Cybermen.
“On whose instruction?”
“Mine.” Death waltzed to the edge of the stage and leant down, blowing a mocking kiss to the Doctor. Half of the soldiers had gone; now it was only the real strugglers who fought to stay above ground.
“Two billion and sixty Cybermen, a whole planet full of resources, and a universe of corruption waiting for justice to come and take effect. Which means today, Time Lord. It’s time you and I sorted out our little problem.”
They turned to the voice. It was Death: she had emerged on the stage, in a long black dress and a blonde wig. She even found the time to dab a bit of makeup on. Mitzch almost admired her efficiency.
“I order you to get down from there right now!” commanded Mitzch.
“Oh, do be quiet baby,” Death said in a startlingly good deep-south accent. “The show’s about to start.”
“Death,” warned the Doctor. “What are you doing? This wasn’t our agreement.”
“And you dear,” she continued. “Hush. This is a very special moment, and I’ve planned to have us all in this room together for longer than you would ever believe.”
“Why?” asked Mitzch. “Why are we here?”
“Because my word is final, baby. And because my name is Death.”
Mitzch shuddered. Death danced over to centre-stage.
“We’re going to open up with a little dance for you today,” she announced. “So give it up for the cast of today’s show!”
The Doctor watched as they began to file onto the stage soundlessly. It had been so long since he had seen them like this. It must have been a mistake. A trick.
It can’t be.
Their silver, reflective bodies were as thin as ever, but propped up at the front by square, bulky machines wired into their chests; and their faces were hidden by a cloth material which pressed so hard that he could still see the shape of them. Their eyes were black, like buttons, and another object, like a flashlight, rested on top of their heads, supported by framework on either side.
It is. It’s them.
“You will all remain still,” spoke the first. Their voices were like a cheap translation app gone wrong. “You will all remain in this room.”
The Cybermen.
They had formed an arrangement on the stage, surprisingly well-choreographed, with Death at the front and the others further out from her, forming a triangular shape. The Doctor tried to make sense of it.
It took him the best part of ten seconds.
“Of course,” he murmured, before realising the implications. “Oh…”
“What is it?” cried Mitzch. “I don’t understand.”
“You know why this planet was unregistered?” asked Death.
“Because it was naturally-occurring.”
“Nu-uh. Because it was made by someone else.” She outstretched her arms. The curtains by the windows parted, so that the troops could see outside. “The Cybermen created this planet with a Cybernetic core. They allowed a civilisation to develop here across millions of years, and once the population had reached an appropriate level, the ground rose up and converted them all.” She jumped up and down on the stage. “Below our feet, two billion Cybermen wait for the day that’s coming.”
“You’re going to take over the universe with two billion Cybermen?” questioned Mitzch.
“No, baby. We’re going to take over the universe with two billion and sixty.”
I don’t…
“Get out!” cried the Doctor, the truth dawning on him. Everyone, get out of here!” He picked up a chair and threw it at the window, but it bounced straight off.
The ground below them was starting to open up: floorboards lifted up mechanically, and switching, sliding, slicing contraptions began to take the soldiers from their feet, their necks, or wherever they could find a hold.
The Doctor tried to free one, but it was no use. He ran to the window and pounded on it. There was no way out, but it would not make a difference if there was: outside, the same machines were rising up from the mud, pulling the other soldiers beneath as they felt the moonlight touch their skin for the final time.
When he turned back around, he saw Mitzch being dragged below the planet’s surface.
“Come on then!” yelled the Doctor. “Why haven’t you taken me?”
“You are to be kept alive,” replied one of the Cybermen.
“On whose instruction?”
“Mine.” Death waltzed to the edge of the stage and leant down, blowing a mocking kiss to the Doctor. Half of the soldiers had gone; now it was only the real strugglers who fought to stay above ground.
“Two billion and sixty Cybermen, a whole planet full of resources, and a universe of corruption waiting for justice to come and take effect. Which means today, Time Lord. It’s time you and I sorted out our little problem.”