Spiegel im Spiegel, Chapter 1
Nov. 7th, 2008 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fic_of_forkWord Count: 2357 by Open Office
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter, but there will be spoilers for Season 4 of Doctor Who, Season 2 of Torchwood, and references to Season 8 of the Benny audios and the Gallifrey audios.
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's note: Thanks to mtemplar_fic for the beta! While I draw upon the Benny and Gallifrey audios, one doesn't need to be familiar with them. This takes place five years after "Mykonos" (from the Doctor's perspective) or a few months after "Journey's End" (from the perspective of Torchwood or Donna.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
As the Doctor crawled through a tunnel, he had to wonder why it was that the scourges of the universe couldn't be bothered to make their lairs in sunny and temperate climates. No, they insisted upon secluding themselves away in the dankest, darkest spots. No wonder they were almost always hell-bent on domination and dominion over others, he thought. Perhaps if the Mindwights had their habitat on a sunny beach somewhere, they'd be known for their luxurious beach resorts, instead of their habit of enslaving other races and eating their brains.
Brain-eating was, of course, a bit of hyperbole, but as the Doctor picked his way through the slimy rocks, he didn't wonder that in just about every culture there was some sort of legend of a creature that ate the thoughts of others. Mindwights, the Doctor knew, were more considerate, since they preferred to use the bodies of those they fed upon as hosts and slave labor. Their preferred method of feeding was through telepathy, sucking a person's brain dry, thought by thought. The Mindwight would receive energy--as was the purpose of feeding--but also the thoughts, experience, and knowledge of the sentient being they fed upon. Fortunately for the rest of the universe, Mindwights didn't venture out of their subterranean caves very often, instead choosing to raise their own beings as livestock.
Truth be told, the life of a person intended to become a Mindwight's dinner wasn't a bad one, comparatively speaking. Mindwights thrived upon intellectual energy, so their stock were given access to whatever knowledge they most craved and were allowed to lead an ordinary life, so long as their lottery number wasn't called after they were placed into a pool of sufficiently-developed minds. Mindwight livestock considered their lot to be an honor, an entire culture built around a gruesome symbiosis. The Doctor emerged, slime-covered, into a wide cavern. Why was he getting involved, again? He double-checked the message he'd received on the psychic paper, "Help me. 57."
Biological symbiosis, the Doctor thought. No different than a Time Lord and a TARDIS. Or was it? On the one hand, a person raised by the Mindwights could pursue whatever intellectual pursuits he or she wanted: art, music, literature, science, philosophy. It was all theirs. On the other hand, their silken cage was still a prison and they were no freer than any other livestock. If one of them wanted to be free, he had a moral obligation to free him or her. Or so the Doctor reasoned with himself, as he walked along the cavern to the city carved out of the planet's bedrock.
The Doctor reached the massive gates into the Mindwight city. In any other context he'd be awed at the sheer scale of them, but when he saw the vapid, glassy stares of the mindless bodies that manned the lookouts around the gates, his hearts ached. One body--a woman--became animated when the Doctor approached. Even with the Mindwight consciousness inside of her, she had the angularity of a marionette.
"State your business," she said.
"Am I speaking to the Mindwights?" the Doctor asked.
"You are speaking to the Gatekeeper."
"Pleased, Gatekeeper," the Doctor said, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. It didn't hurt to be polite, and they had done nothing to him. Yet. "I'm here to visit one of your feeders. Number 57, specifically. Is he or she available?" The Doctor hoped his bluff worked, since he was assuming that the message came from one of them, and not one of the Mindwights.
A small door opened in the massive gate, and another animated corpse stood behind it. The first body said, "Follow Drone 623." Then the first body slumped over. It was rumored that Mindwights had no corporeal form of their own, being either pure psionic energy or a haze of telepathic residue. Any fear the Doctor might have felt was suddenly subsumed by a flame of curiosity.
The Doctor followed a few steps behind his lumbering escort into a set of smaller apartments that were carved on top of each other. Drone 623 stopped outside of one door, waited for the Doctor to catch up, then lumbered off. The Doctor examined the door but didn't find any kind of bell pull, doorbell, or any other kind of sign to indicate whose home he might be standing near. He knocked and waited for an answer. Hearing the sound of fast footsteps, the door opened, and a small human child answered.
He looked to be eight years old, and his dark eyes flashed with wonder at the Doctor towering over him. Getting down to the child's level, the Doctor said, "Hullo. I'm the Doctor. Do you know who sent this message to me?" He pulled out the psychic paper and showed the child.
"Wow..." the child breathlessly whispered in awe. "It worked." The Doctor noticed that the child was clutching a pulp novel. With a mixture of embarrassment and flattery, the Doctor saw that it was one of the hundreds of dime novels penned in the aftermath of his contact with other cultures.
"How did you know how to find me, love?" the Doctor asked. The child ran into the house and ran back to the door with another book in hand. It was labeled Telepathy for Dummies, and the book fell open to the chapter on sending basic messages.
"Is your mum or dad around?" the Doctor asked, as he straightened up, looking inside.
"They were taken," the boy said, as he let the Doctor inside.
"I'm so sorry..."
"They're gonna take me too, soon."
"Beg pardon?" the Doctor asked. "I thought the Mindwights preferred adults?"
"They're gonna take me soon. They like children now, too."
The Doctor thought for a moment that if the child's parents had been taken recently--while inwardly wincing at the euphemism for feeding--the child would be frightened out of his wits, thinking he'd be next. He wondered if the child's message had been ignored by his Mindwight masters, who considered it just the product of a child's emotions. Either way, he had an obligation to help him. "Okay," the Doctor said. "I can take you away from here. But do you have any other family?"
"No, sir," the child said, slipping his hand into the Doctor's.
The Doctor looked around the entrance room, which was now decorated in children's drawings on the walls and had toys strewn all over. It seemed to him that there hadn't been any parental authority inside the room in awhile. "Okay," the Doctor said. "Just take my hand and pretend like we're going for a little walk. Can you do that?"
The boy nodded in agreement and slipped his hand into the Doctor's as they made their way through the residences. The only sounds they could hear were their footsteps and the soft drip of water from the ceiling of the caverns. The Doctor's hearts pounded in his chest, and he took a brief moment to calm himself. If the Mindwights suspected anything, he'd have been a mindless husk before now.
What information on them in the TARDIS databanks hadn't been collected from his own people. Instead, accounts of the Mindwight race came from other explorers, who had the rotten luck to actually meet one. Reclusive and incorporeal, they lived in the dank places of countless worlds and preferred their own caverns and wouldn't attack, unless threatened. When they did attack, they unleashed an arsenal of psionic abilities, making any telepathy a weakness against them. The more telepathic a race was, the weaker they were against the Mindwights. The Doctor inwardly prayed that his bluff would work and the Mindwights would assume that he would do nothing wrong, since he was at a steep disadvantage against them, even with the abilities and training of a Time Lord. While cluttered, the Doctor thought to himself that he rather fancied his odd assortment of memories and knowledge. With any luck, he'd walk out of their caverns with his mind intact.
As they neared the gate, the Doctor saw the woman's body become animated once again.
"State your business with Number 57."
"We're just going for a little stroll, aren't we, moppet?" the Doctor said, cheerily, while only thinking about walking. He choked back a bit of nervousness, since he was only as shielded as he normally would be. Any more telepathic shielding, and he'd attract the attention of the Mindwights. The boy nodded, wide-eyed.
"Turn from this place and go back to where you came from, Number 57."
"Aw, but we just got here," the Doctor said, slowly reaching into his pocket. He felt better as his fingers curled around his sonic screwdriver. He tried to project his disappointment.
"Turn and return to your residence, Number 57."
In the space between seconds, the Doctor cleared his mind and aimed the sonic screwdriver at the body. With a tooth-jarring blast, the body slumped over, lifeless once more. "Run!" he yelled to the boy, as they pushed their way through the small door.
Once outside, the Doctor scooped up the boy and ran as fast as he could. It was only a few yards to the hole he crawled out of, but he could feel a slight itching in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it, reasoning with himself that it was only psychosomatic. He fought against his own conditioning--if he raised his full defenses now, he would attract the attention of the combined Mindwight host, something not even a high-ranked Time Lord could withstand. Reaching the hole, he pushed the boy into it. "Crawl through as quickly as you can. I'll be right behind you. It's a straight shot from there."
The Doctor winced at the pain blossoming in his mind as he tried to bolster his telepathic defenses. There was no doubt that the Mindwights were after them. He squeezed into the hole after the boy and began the climb back to his TARDIS. The pain in his mind burned as he crawled after the boy. Willing himself to keep up with the child, the Doctor could make out the gloom in the cavern in which he parked the TARDIS. The boy crawled out of the hole and peeked in after the Doctor, stretching his tiny arm in as far as he could to try to help him along.
The boy's act gave the Doctor a rush of hope, and for an instant the pain wasn't as severe. Panting, the Doctor hauled himself out of the hole and stumbled towards the TARDIS, hoping he masked the fact that he had almost fainted. Fumbling with the key, he pushed the door open and escorted the child inside. The Doctor slammed the doors, and the pain started to fade, although his entire mind seared with agony.
Stumbling to the console, he leaned heavily on it. Something within the TARDIS tried to gather around him, like a cocoon. "Emergency Protocol Three," he whispered.
On first glance, a middle-aged human Catholic priest in the middle of the Citadel of the Time Lords was an incongruity, even one who was an occasional companion of the Doctor's. But the quiet greetings and respect paid to Mike by those he met on his way showed how integral he had become to the community, especially in the years following the Time War. Mike smiled and waved to the figure in green, whose haste in closing the gap between them was in sharp contrast to their surroundings, which were carefully designed to evoke a sense of contemplation.
"Give me your key," Vardan, the Castellan, hissed.
"Which?" Mike answered, surprised with Vardan's bluntness. Mike knew the Castellan quite well, since he was married to Mike's niece. "I'm kind of in a hurry. You remember Hector? Arcalian? He got himself baptized while changed by a chameleon arch. I just got word that they've ruled that his baptism was valid, so he needs to make up his mind about being confirmed."
"The Doctor's TARDIS key. I need it now."
"Whoa, hang on. What's up? Is he in trouble again?"
"Mike, we don't have time for questions. If we did have time, then I'd look for the proper cipher indent key."
"I'm coming with. His TARDIS might not let you in, depending on her mood," Mike responded.
Vardan would've been happier running, even though it betrayed a horrible lack of decorum. Briefly, Vardan related to Mike how the Doctor's TARDIS had just appeared outside of Vardan's office. Quietly saying a prayer, Vardan went to put the key in the door, but it swung open on its own. As the door opened, they could hear the hysterical wails of a child.
Mike reacted instantly to the child's cries, pushing past Vardan. Although he didn't have children of his own, there was something primal about how the child's howling conveyed fear and sadness. "Shh..." Mike cooed, as he got down on the child's level on his knees. "Hey, buddy. I'm a friend of the Doctor's." At the mention of the Doctor, the child quieted into heaving sobs.
"Mike..." Vardan said with a hint of panic in his voice.
"Not now," Mike whispered, slightly unnerved by Vardan's reaction. He choked it back, concentrating on the child. "We're here to help you, my friend and I. You're safe with us. What's your name?" The child was silent, still crying softly.
"Oh my gods," Vardan whispered, as he pushed past Mike and the child, making the child cringe out of fear.
"Watch it," Mike said to Vardan.
Ignoring Mike, Vardan flipped a few switches on the console and said, "This is the Castellan, and I require immediate medical assistance at the Doctor's Type 40 outside of the Castellan's office."
Mike's blood ran cold, as he heard Vardan's message. Getting up so as not to scare the child, he slid away from them and moved around the console. On the floor of the TARDIS, the Doctor had collapsed, unconscious. Mike could barely detect any signs of breathing from the Doctor, whose skin was cold and pallid.
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter, but there will be spoilers for Season 4 of Doctor Who, Season 2 of Torchwood, and references to Season 8 of the Benny audios and the Gallifrey audios.
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's note: Thanks to mtemplar_fic for the beta! While I draw upon the Benny and Gallifrey audios, one doesn't need to be familiar with them. This takes place five years after "Mykonos" (from the Doctor's perspective) or a few months after "Journey's End" (from the perspective of Torchwood or Donna.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
As the Doctor crawled through a tunnel, he had to wonder why it was that the scourges of the universe couldn't be bothered to make their lairs in sunny and temperate climates. No, they insisted upon secluding themselves away in the dankest, darkest spots. No wonder they were almost always hell-bent on domination and dominion over others, he thought. Perhaps if the Mindwights had their habitat on a sunny beach somewhere, they'd be known for their luxurious beach resorts, instead of their habit of enslaving other races and eating their brains.
Brain-eating was, of course, a bit of hyperbole, but as the Doctor picked his way through the slimy rocks, he didn't wonder that in just about every culture there was some sort of legend of a creature that ate the thoughts of others. Mindwights, the Doctor knew, were more considerate, since they preferred to use the bodies of those they fed upon as hosts and slave labor. Their preferred method of feeding was through telepathy, sucking a person's brain dry, thought by thought. The Mindwight would receive energy--as was the purpose of feeding--but also the thoughts, experience, and knowledge of the sentient being they fed upon. Fortunately for the rest of the universe, Mindwights didn't venture out of their subterranean caves very often, instead choosing to raise their own beings as livestock.
Truth be told, the life of a person intended to become a Mindwight's dinner wasn't a bad one, comparatively speaking. Mindwights thrived upon intellectual energy, so their stock were given access to whatever knowledge they most craved and were allowed to lead an ordinary life, so long as their lottery number wasn't called after they were placed into a pool of sufficiently-developed minds. Mindwight livestock considered their lot to be an honor, an entire culture built around a gruesome symbiosis. The Doctor emerged, slime-covered, into a wide cavern. Why was he getting involved, again? He double-checked the message he'd received on the psychic paper, "Help me. 57."
Biological symbiosis, the Doctor thought. No different than a Time Lord and a TARDIS. Or was it? On the one hand, a person raised by the Mindwights could pursue whatever intellectual pursuits he or she wanted: art, music, literature, science, philosophy. It was all theirs. On the other hand, their silken cage was still a prison and they were no freer than any other livestock. If one of them wanted to be free, he had a moral obligation to free him or her. Or so the Doctor reasoned with himself, as he walked along the cavern to the city carved out of the planet's bedrock.
The Doctor reached the massive gates into the Mindwight city. In any other context he'd be awed at the sheer scale of them, but when he saw the vapid, glassy stares of the mindless bodies that manned the lookouts around the gates, his hearts ached. One body--a woman--became animated when the Doctor approached. Even with the Mindwight consciousness inside of her, she had the angularity of a marionette.
"State your business," she said.
"Am I speaking to the Mindwights?" the Doctor asked.
"You are speaking to the Gatekeeper."
"Pleased, Gatekeeper," the Doctor said, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. It didn't hurt to be polite, and they had done nothing to him. Yet. "I'm here to visit one of your feeders. Number 57, specifically. Is he or she available?" The Doctor hoped his bluff worked, since he was assuming that the message came from one of them, and not one of the Mindwights.
A small door opened in the massive gate, and another animated corpse stood behind it. The first body said, "Follow Drone 623." Then the first body slumped over. It was rumored that Mindwights had no corporeal form of their own, being either pure psionic energy or a haze of telepathic residue. Any fear the Doctor might have felt was suddenly subsumed by a flame of curiosity.
The Doctor followed a few steps behind his lumbering escort into a set of smaller apartments that were carved on top of each other. Drone 623 stopped outside of one door, waited for the Doctor to catch up, then lumbered off. The Doctor examined the door but didn't find any kind of bell pull, doorbell, or any other kind of sign to indicate whose home he might be standing near. He knocked and waited for an answer. Hearing the sound of fast footsteps, the door opened, and a small human child answered.
He looked to be eight years old, and his dark eyes flashed with wonder at the Doctor towering over him. Getting down to the child's level, the Doctor said, "Hullo. I'm the Doctor. Do you know who sent this message to me?" He pulled out the psychic paper and showed the child.
"Wow..." the child breathlessly whispered in awe. "It worked." The Doctor noticed that the child was clutching a pulp novel. With a mixture of embarrassment and flattery, the Doctor saw that it was one of the hundreds of dime novels penned in the aftermath of his contact with other cultures.
"How did you know how to find me, love?" the Doctor asked. The child ran into the house and ran back to the door with another book in hand. It was labeled Telepathy for Dummies, and the book fell open to the chapter on sending basic messages.
"Is your mum or dad around?" the Doctor asked, as he straightened up, looking inside.
"They were taken," the boy said, as he let the Doctor inside.
"I'm so sorry..."
"They're gonna take me too, soon."
"Beg pardon?" the Doctor asked. "I thought the Mindwights preferred adults?"
"They're gonna take me soon. They like children now, too."
The Doctor thought for a moment that if the child's parents had been taken recently--while inwardly wincing at the euphemism for feeding--the child would be frightened out of his wits, thinking he'd be next. He wondered if the child's message had been ignored by his Mindwight masters, who considered it just the product of a child's emotions. Either way, he had an obligation to help him. "Okay," the Doctor said. "I can take you away from here. But do you have any other family?"
"No, sir," the child said, slipping his hand into the Doctor's.
The Doctor looked around the entrance room, which was now decorated in children's drawings on the walls and had toys strewn all over. It seemed to him that there hadn't been any parental authority inside the room in awhile. "Okay," the Doctor said. "Just take my hand and pretend like we're going for a little walk. Can you do that?"
The boy nodded in agreement and slipped his hand into the Doctor's as they made their way through the residences. The only sounds they could hear were their footsteps and the soft drip of water from the ceiling of the caverns. The Doctor's hearts pounded in his chest, and he took a brief moment to calm himself. If the Mindwights suspected anything, he'd have been a mindless husk before now.
What information on them in the TARDIS databanks hadn't been collected from his own people. Instead, accounts of the Mindwight race came from other explorers, who had the rotten luck to actually meet one. Reclusive and incorporeal, they lived in the dank places of countless worlds and preferred their own caverns and wouldn't attack, unless threatened. When they did attack, they unleashed an arsenal of psionic abilities, making any telepathy a weakness against them. The more telepathic a race was, the weaker they were against the Mindwights. The Doctor inwardly prayed that his bluff would work and the Mindwights would assume that he would do nothing wrong, since he was at a steep disadvantage against them, even with the abilities and training of a Time Lord. While cluttered, the Doctor thought to himself that he rather fancied his odd assortment of memories and knowledge. With any luck, he'd walk out of their caverns with his mind intact.
As they neared the gate, the Doctor saw the woman's body become animated once again.
"State your business with Number 57."
"We're just going for a little stroll, aren't we, moppet?" the Doctor said, cheerily, while only thinking about walking. He choked back a bit of nervousness, since he was only as shielded as he normally would be. Any more telepathic shielding, and he'd attract the attention of the Mindwights. The boy nodded, wide-eyed.
"Turn from this place and go back to where you came from, Number 57."
"Aw, but we just got here," the Doctor said, slowly reaching into his pocket. He felt better as his fingers curled around his sonic screwdriver. He tried to project his disappointment.
"Turn and return to your residence, Number 57."
In the space between seconds, the Doctor cleared his mind and aimed the sonic screwdriver at the body. With a tooth-jarring blast, the body slumped over, lifeless once more. "Run!" he yelled to the boy, as they pushed their way through the small door.
Once outside, the Doctor scooped up the boy and ran as fast as he could. It was only a few yards to the hole he crawled out of, but he could feel a slight itching in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it, reasoning with himself that it was only psychosomatic. He fought against his own conditioning--if he raised his full defenses now, he would attract the attention of the combined Mindwight host, something not even a high-ranked Time Lord could withstand. Reaching the hole, he pushed the boy into it. "Crawl through as quickly as you can. I'll be right behind you. It's a straight shot from there."
The Doctor winced at the pain blossoming in his mind as he tried to bolster his telepathic defenses. There was no doubt that the Mindwights were after them. He squeezed into the hole after the boy and began the climb back to his TARDIS. The pain in his mind burned as he crawled after the boy. Willing himself to keep up with the child, the Doctor could make out the gloom in the cavern in which he parked the TARDIS. The boy crawled out of the hole and peeked in after the Doctor, stretching his tiny arm in as far as he could to try to help him along.
The boy's act gave the Doctor a rush of hope, and for an instant the pain wasn't as severe. Panting, the Doctor hauled himself out of the hole and stumbled towards the TARDIS, hoping he masked the fact that he had almost fainted. Fumbling with the key, he pushed the door open and escorted the child inside. The Doctor slammed the doors, and the pain started to fade, although his entire mind seared with agony.
Stumbling to the console, he leaned heavily on it. Something within the TARDIS tried to gather around him, like a cocoon. "Emergency Protocol Three," he whispered.
***
On first glance, a middle-aged human Catholic priest in the middle of the Citadel of the Time Lords was an incongruity, even one who was an occasional companion of the Doctor's. But the quiet greetings and respect paid to Mike by those he met on his way showed how integral he had become to the community, especially in the years following the Time War. Mike smiled and waved to the figure in green, whose haste in closing the gap between them was in sharp contrast to their surroundings, which were carefully designed to evoke a sense of contemplation.
"Give me your key," Vardan, the Castellan, hissed.
"Which?" Mike answered, surprised with Vardan's bluntness. Mike knew the Castellan quite well, since he was married to Mike's niece. "I'm kind of in a hurry. You remember Hector? Arcalian? He got himself baptized while changed by a chameleon arch. I just got word that they've ruled that his baptism was valid, so he needs to make up his mind about being confirmed."
"The Doctor's TARDIS key. I need it now."
"Whoa, hang on. What's up? Is he in trouble again?"
"Mike, we don't have time for questions. If we did have time, then I'd look for the proper cipher indent key."
"I'm coming with. His TARDIS might not let you in, depending on her mood," Mike responded.
Vardan would've been happier running, even though it betrayed a horrible lack of decorum. Briefly, Vardan related to Mike how the Doctor's TARDIS had just appeared outside of Vardan's office. Quietly saying a prayer, Vardan went to put the key in the door, but it swung open on its own. As the door opened, they could hear the hysterical wails of a child.
Mike reacted instantly to the child's cries, pushing past Vardan. Although he didn't have children of his own, there was something primal about how the child's howling conveyed fear and sadness. "Shh..." Mike cooed, as he got down on the child's level on his knees. "Hey, buddy. I'm a friend of the Doctor's." At the mention of the Doctor, the child quieted into heaving sobs.
"Mike..." Vardan said with a hint of panic in his voice.
"Not now," Mike whispered, slightly unnerved by Vardan's reaction. He choked it back, concentrating on the child. "We're here to help you, my friend and I. You're safe with us. What's your name?" The child was silent, still crying softly.
"Oh my gods," Vardan whispered, as he pushed past Mike and the child, making the child cringe out of fear.
"Watch it," Mike said to Vardan.
Ignoring Mike, Vardan flipped a few switches on the console and said, "This is the Castellan, and I require immediate medical assistance at the Doctor's Type 40 outside of the Castellan's office."
Mike's blood ran cold, as he heard Vardan's message. Getting up so as not to scare the child, he slid away from them and moved around the console. On the floor of the TARDIS, the Doctor had collapsed, unconscious. Mike could barely detect any signs of breathing from the Doctor, whose skin was cold and pallid.
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 02:07 am (UTC)That line really hit.
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Date: 2008-11-08 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-23 05:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-23 07:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-26 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-26 06:30 am (UTC)