Doctor Who Forgotten Suns Chapter Thirty One

After making sure to switch off the Tardis’ own speaker systems, the Doctor checked his microphone. Yes, it was still set to the pilot’s private channel… Jolly good! “Hello again, Null, thank you for your patience… perhaps we could continue where we left off earlier, do you think?”

“You will have to refresh my memory, Doctor. My talk with Palasar was quite surprising. Even though she knew that I am responsible for killing four of her people, she was willing to literally place her life in my hands… I imagine that the Specialist wanted to prove that she trusted me. It was very brave of her.”

“Oh, I totally agree with you there, Null,’ The Doctor said emphatically, ‘but at the moment I need to know more about your mission and this ship. What were you told about this vault of yours? From the schematics I have studied, one would almost think that your ship was built around it. It also appears to employ that temporal isolation that you mentioned earlier, but on a much larger scale - do you have any idea what’s contained within that barrier?”

As he spoke, the Doctor had been sorting out the files that the computer banks had managed to hack in his absence. He just skimmed through most of them, but one leapt out at him just as Null replied. “You are pretty much correct in thinking that the ship was built around the vault, I believe, Doctor.’ The pilot sounded very thoughtful, as if only arriving at these conclusions as he spoke them. ‘The official line was that she is a converted bulk freighter… We only ever flew combat craft - solo fighters mainly - but there were some larger types. Such as the one that was retrofitted to this vessel.

‘As I think on it now, I realize that I never actually served on anything that required more than six crewmembers. My creshe-mates and I were never separated, always serving as a unit - no matter the ship/crew ratio. On rare occasions we took part in combined operations with other units-of-six, but I personally never met anyone who would admit to having served on a heavy cruiser, or a dreadnought. Security was paramount, of course, but now I find it curious - we often picked up such ships on our sensors, but I never actually saw one…

‘Perhaps I should explain how we fought the war in space, Doctor. Your little blue box does not look like a combat craft… or am I mistaken? If so, I apologise.”

“That’s quite alright, Null…’ the Doctor replied, still diligently studying his screen, ‘the Tardis is many things, but it is not a combat craft. She is not - and never will be - a warship, although we have seen many faces of war in our travels. Still, in my experience, the only common factor that all forms of warfare share… is that people die. So if you think it will help, tell on.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I think that you will find it interesting. Keep this in mind - in all the time we spent fighting, we never actually saw the enemy. This war was fought with sensors and long-range weaponry. Whoever had the best would win the engagement… May I tell you a story, Doctor? It won’t take long, but I think it will give you a better idea of what I mean - and also why we all felt so privileged to be chosen for this mission.”

The Doctor, who had read all that he wished to for now, keyed in a few more commands as he replied. “Yes, Null, anything you can give me will prove useful in some way, I’m sure.’ He sank wearily into a plushly cushioned armchair, saying, ‘We have until the Oortelians information arrives. You have my full attention, Null.”

There was no discernable difference in the pilot’s voice as he began to speak, but somehow the Doctor suddenly felt colder.

“I am completely and totally alone.’ Null began. ‘I am flying a single seat interdict/strike fighter on a routine intersystem patrol sweep. The ship is little more than a combined weapons/sensor package attached to a massively overpowered drive unit, and my cockpit often seems like an afterthought. It certainly wasn’t made for comfort! (A comfortable pilot is a dead pilot.)

I am flying in a predetermined form pattern with the other five members of my unit, but I have no means of talking to them. If this patrol goes well, I will not even pick them up on my sensors, and I will not see my friends until we return to Home. We are a third of the way out from Home, searching for the Enemy, who are no doubt also searching for us. Their solar system is called Not-Home, and I don’t see anything odd about that. Everything is black, so I have no sensation of the speed at which I’m travelling, beyond the muted display of my readouts. My displays provide the only light I can see out here in the deep black - but I can’t help straining my eyes for a hint of anything out there.

I know that this is futile, but it is the only thing I can do to combat the tension - the sweat drenching, muscle clenching terror - of a mission such as this. We are flying the latest sensor packets, packing weaponry so complex I can’t even pronounce the name, let alone understand what it does. But what if the enemy has better kit? If they can detect me from even as little as one system-span further out, I will cease to exist before they show up on my sensors. So I continue to stare into the dark, whenever I am not checking my readouts.

Suddenly an alarm flashes. The only verbal component is my own scream, but even before I realise that I am still alive the alert is over. My head pounds in time with the vastly accelerated beating of my heart, my readouts blur in and out of focus. Weapons systems were not engaged, the identification abort cancelled activation before it could even start. I try to control my breathing, and concentrate on focusing my eyes on the ident code. It was Rho Zyanya. She must have strayed from her assigned flightpath somehow.

I get the shakes.

The operational limit of our new, improved sensor suite has been predicted at ten system-spans, three spans better than anything we had previously. She should never have been that close! Slowly I begin to calm myself down, repeating to myself, ‘I didn’t kill her! I didn’t kill her!’ until I start to believe it. The logical part of me knows that the failsafe’s would never allow such a thing to happen. Well, they didn’t, did they? (The ships are too valuable.) But the part of me that is suddenly aware of the fear-soaked stench of my own sweat, the residual ticks and tremors that are only now beginning to subside…  Will just have to deal with it. The mission isn’t over.

How long have we been out here this time? Probably not as long as it feels. Tension squeezes the mind, but stretches time. One would expect the endless monotony to become boring, but the mind fills the darkness with monsters, so boredom is impossible.

One more moment of excitement...

Sensors detect an orphaned object - a vanishingly rare encounter in the void between stars. I am offered the option to fire, as this is a low threat situation, but I choose to alter course to avoid it instead. It feels good to make a decision.

It feels good to fly.

Twenty system-spans later I drop back into my original flight path. I regret that there was no opportunity to find out what the object was, but only in passing.

That’s not why we are out here.

As I confirm that I am back in the correct path, I fumble a water pouch from my breast pocket and drain it in a few gulps before stuffing it back. At least there is no requirement to wear a vacuum suit in my fighter, which would make things even less comfortable!

No, my ship’s shields are perfectly capable of coping with interstellar particles: a shield capable of defending against the kind off firepower deployed against us, however… has yet to be invented. (Unless you want to fly a planet.) That’s when it happens. Just as I’m securing the flap on my pocket.

Blink.

That’s how fast it is, Doctor. It will take me longer to describe…

Sensor alert flashes.

Target lock confirmed.

Weapon fires.

Target destroyed.

My ship has just killed something.

That’s what it was like, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry.” said the Doctor, the craggy contours of his face looking much older than when the pilot had begun his tale.

“I said…”

“I know what you said, Null, I heard every word very clearly!’ The Doctor heaved himself from his chair, and looked sadly at the floor, reaching into a pocket for his handkerchief. ‘What I meant was… what you went through… what all of you went through… I’m sorry.”

“Ah. Thank you, Doctor. I… I hope…

‘Do you want to hear about the Vault of Memories now?”

“Yes,’ the Doctor replied, almost under his breath. As he dabbed his forehead with the hanky, he realised that some of his sweat had followed the deep furrows between his eyebrows, to run down the sides of his nose. He carefully wiped the moisture away from his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he declared more firmly, ‘I should like that very much, Null, if you please.”

The giant spaceman looked down at the small blue box thoughtfully, trying to compose his thoughts. He felt a little guilty at the sadness he had detected in the voice in his earphones; but now he could understand why Zoe held the Doctor in such high regard. He obviously felt things deeply - truly cared - even when he was in no way responsible for Null’s own experiences. “All I can tell you, Doctor, is what we were told…’ (Reminded of his new friend, the pilot glanced down at where she was sitting on the deck while he spoke. She appeared to be engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Jamie and Palasar, and all three looked comfortable and relaxed. Good.)

'There isn’t really that much to it, Doctor, so I will start with a little more background. When my unit returned from what turned out to be our last combat mission, we were directed into the orbit of Home Five, an uninhabitable gas giant that was parent to most of our orbital construction facilities. There we rendezvoused with this vessel, an ugly hybrid of two different ships. Before any explanation of the purpose of this strange, unwieldy looking craft was provided to us: we were first allowed to freshen up in the half that was to provide our living quarters and so much more. That proved just as well, because there then followed an intense - and seemingly rushed - briefing tour.

‘The Survival Pod, as the modified and hobbled ship was known, had originally been a one-unit light cruiser, but several changes had been made to its interior. We had many questions, of course, but the briefing officers and scientists - all Progenitors - wanted to show us where the actual flying would be done first. So we were introduced to this very flight deck.

‘All of the state-of-the-art sensors, all the computing capacity, all of the weapons systems of the survival pod could be controlled from here. Only when everyone was fully conversant with the operating systems were we given any indication of the nature of the mission. First of all, my unit had been selected because we were the longest surviving unit-of-six of our generation. We had the required skill sets, we had the deep space experience, and our loyalty was beyond question. Our task was nothing less than to ensure the survival of our race.

‘The war had been raging for longer than anyone could remember, but now it looked as if it was finally approaching an end. Unfortunately, given the technologies (which we didn’t need to know about) that were now being developed… Nobody could begin to guess at the eventual outcome. Nor was there any reliable intelligence as to what the status of the enemy was. Beyond combat engagements, there had been zero contact with them in generations. Given this uncertainty, a massive effort had been made to preserve and store enough information, both technological and biological, to allow our species - in all of its variations - to be resurrected should catastrophe strike.

‘That is basically what is in the Vault of Memories, Doctor… or so we were told.”

“Ah…” said the Doctor, his voice sounding rather uncertain to Null.

“Is that not enough, Doctor? All that there is left to tell is how we were taught to use our own isolation chambers - smaller variants of that which contained the Vault, as you surmised. And the long journey away from Home. Do you want to hear about that?”

“Er… No. Thank you, Null… but no…” the Doctor replied politely. “I had actually gathered much of that by reading between the lines, and I can confirm that you were told the truth about you’re precious cargo… Just not the whole truth, I’m afraid! I think, while we still have the time, there are one or two things that I should tell you…”

“Then you had better hurry, Doctor.’ Null announced as he detected movement from the ramp leading off the flight deck. “It appears that Faramandar has returned with another, presumably bearing the information you requested.”

“Oh Dear! That is unfortunate timing!’ the Doctor complained mildly. “Never mind, I do need that crystal and its contents, so I mustn’t complain! Do you have private access to your data chip, Null?”

“Of course, Doctor. Any information it contains can be displayed on the interior of my visor.”

“Perfect! Right… here is what I shall do! I am currently transferring decrypted data to replace the files on your chip. I am flagging a particular sequence for your immediate attention… Now! Of course, when I say immediate, I mean as soon as you can, as there is something that you need to know about the Oortelians… And about what some of them believe this ship - and yourself - to be…”

“Me?’ Null was puzzled. ‘But I thought that you were going out of your way to prevent any that had not already seen me, from doing so!”

“Ah… Yes. Yes, indeed…’  The pilot could almost picture the Doctor nodding emphatically, just from the tone of his voice. ‘But many of them have apparently built up a belief - from the flimsiest of evidence, I might add - that requires your existence. And I cannot deny that they were, essentially, correct. Which is really rather impressive… all things considered.

Unfortunately, they got it just a teensy bit wrong…”A