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Title: Redemption 32/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: When you have lost everything, what do you do to get it back?
Characters: The non-Doctor first glimpsed at the end of Name of the Doctor and a lot of old friends.
Part XXXII
“You sent for me, sir?”
From his corner in the back of the room, the Vadlott looks with interest at the newcomer, a man in a simple suit, wearing round eyeglasses and clutching the handle of a small suitcase.
“Going somewhere, Bracewell?” asks the Prime Minister gruffly.
The man gives an audible gulp. “N-no, sir,” he protests. “Not if you need me.”
“Oh, I think we do.” Winston Churchill glances at the Time Lord. “Don’t we, Vadlott?”
“Most definitely,” agrees that man, seeing as Edwin Bracewell turns towards him, clearly startled, not having realised that there was anyone else in the room. The Vadlott gives him a slight smile as he stands up and takes several steps forward. “Have you ever heard of dalekanium, Dr. Bracewell?”
“No, sir,” Edwin says at once, his expression wary, “I can’t say that I have.”
“No, I didn’t think you would have.” The Vadlott glances at the Prime Minister. “Winston?”
“Thank you, Vadlott.”
Scarcely have the words left Churchill’s mouth than a shot rings out, and the Vadlott’s hand moves swiftly, clasping his chest. Edwin turns, startled, to see that the gun being held by the Prime Minister is still smoking, and he stares at the Vadlott. That man smiles again and holds out his hand, in the palm of which is a bullet, which has bounced off his jacket.
“Very useful stuff, dalekanium,” the Vadlott remarks. “It’s resistant to almost everything, even bullets! And,” he raps his knuckles against Edwin’s chest, “it happens to be the very thing you’re made of, Dr Bracewell.”
“And it would seem that we are not the only ones aware of its incredible capabilities,” says Churchill as he puts down the pistol. “Tell him, Vadlott.”
“I picked up on some communications,” the Time Lord explains, waving Edwin to a chair next to the Prime Minister and taking one himself. “There are people in this country who are also aware of dalekanium’s capabilities – and they want to get their hands on the only ready supply of it.”
It takes a moment for Edwin to process this, but then his eyes widen. “Me?” he exclaims in horror, releasing his hold on the suitcase, which drops to the floor with a thud, as he sinks into the chair.
“Indeed,” agrees Churchill gravely, lighting his cigar. “The Vadlott, however, has a suggestion to prevent it - and keep it from falling into the enemy’s hands, which seems to be what those traitors have in mind.”
“I would like to take you with me, Dr Bracewell,” says the Vadlott, adding, “In my tardis. I can keep you safe, at least from humans who want to break you up and melt you down.”
“But why would you do that?” demands Edwin. “You don’t even know me! And if you knew what I’d done, or almost done...”
“I know what you were programmed to do,” the Vadlott tells him. “Why the Daleks created you in the first place. But I also know that it was your own emotions that overrode the detonation of that bomb. Not everyone could have done that, which makes you a remarkable man, Edwin Bracewell.”
“Yes, but...”
“And if you’re in the tardis,” he continues relentlessly, determined not to risk the future of the human race by giving Edwin a chance to refuse, “she can replace the dalekanium with other, less sought-after materials without killing you. She could even,” he adds, “give you something approaching a human body.”
Edwin has his mouth open to disagree, but at this he hesitates. “Really?” he asks in tones that are full of scepticism.
“A tardis is a remarkable thing,” rumbles Churchill.
“How would you know?” demands the Vadlott incredulously. “You’ve never been inside it!”
Edwin manages a half-smile at this byplay, and then turns to the Prime Minister. “But what about my work?” he asks nervously. He gives a rueful sigh as he adds, “That is, what’s left of it.”
“I think, under the circumstances,” Churchill says, “we can afford to grant you a little leave.”
“For personal reasons,” adds the Vadlott.
“But, Prime Minister...” Edwin is beginning, but that man impatiently flaps a hand in his direction, which silences him.
“Just get him out of here, Vadlott,” grumbles Churchill. “We’ll never talk sense into him. Take him away and show him something remarkable. That might make him reconsider.”
“Yes, sir,” the Vadlott agrees, bending down to pick up the suitcase. “Come along, Edwin. We can’t disobey the Prime Minister!”
He forcibly drags Edwin out of his chair and then out of the room, and in fact they are in front of the tardis when finally the man seems to focus.
“Wh-where are we going?” he asks.
The Vadlott smiles. “To find Dorabella,” he replies simply, before pushing the door open and gesturing for Edwin to lead the way inside.
Edwin’s face brightens and he hurries into the box, forgoing remarks on its impossible interior dimensions. The Vadlott grins and follows him in, closing the doors before crossing the floor and putting the suitcase down at the base of the console. Then, once he has sent them into the vortex, he fishes in a section of the console covered by a plain panel. When he turns to his guest, he is holding a metal handle that is wired into the heart of the ship.
“What’s this for?” Edwin asks curiously.
“It’s for the tardis to get to know you so she can begin removing the dalekanium,” the Vadlott replies, offering the handle. “And for you to help her. Think hard about Dorabella – where you first saw her, when you talked to her, where you went together, and particularly where you last saw her. The tardis can clue in and find a destination from that. And don’t waste time trying to tell me that it won’t work because you’re not the real Edwin Bracewell,” he adds as that man’s mouth opens, “because – trust me – the tardis will make this work.”
Edwin is still clearly sceptical, but he nevertheless seizes the handle in his right hand, the one not blown off by the Daleks, and closes his eyes, drawing on the memories that the Daleks implanted in him and which the Doctor and Amy brought to the forefront of his mind.
The tardis whirs into life and the Vadlott watches as his ship forges a connection with her new passenger. A scanned image of Edwin appears on the screen, and the Vadlott arches an eyebrow when he sees the ship querying the data. He wonders what his old girl has in mind, and it is even clear to the newcomer on board that something is not quite right.
“What’s happening?” demands Edwin anxiously.
“Just hold still.” The Vadlott’s eyes dart between the screen and the man, and then he understands. “Oh, you’re going to love this!” he promises as he realises what the tardis is planning. “Just - don’t move or it could end up in the wrong spot, and you really don’t want that!”
A ripping sound fills the air, and Edwin looks down at the makeshift hand he created after the Daleks destroyed his previous one. It had been shoddy workmanship, so he had hidden it in a black glove, but now the seams of that are tearing apart, the loose fabric drifting to the tardis floor.
“Oh!” Edwin stares at his new hand, which closely resembles human flesh, and which moves and wriggles as naturally as the one created by the Daleks. “Oh, my!”
“Now, you’ll be needing this,” the Vadlott remarks, pulling a second connector handle out of the hole from which the first came and offering it.
Edwin’s eyes are still wide with astonishment and disbelief, but he reaches out his new hand and eagerly grasps the handle. For a moment he tests the sensation of it between his fingers, a beaming smile on his face, before he looks questioningly at the Vadlott.
“Dorabella,” the Time Lord says in response to the unspoken question. “Let’s find her.”
Edwin closes his eyes again, concentrating, and the tardis is quick to pick up on the thoughts, sending them spinning through the vortex, slowly locking in on a person and a place and a time. Gradually information about their destination fills the screen, the Gallifreyan letters dancing rapidly, and the Vadlott begins reading through it before an exclamation breaks from him.
“Oh, no!” He stares in horror at the details spinning across the screen, telling him the date, time and location of their destination. “No, no, no. Edwin – stop!”
It’s too late. The tardis materialises, fixing the moment in time and stopping the Vadlott from going back and changing things in the way he so desperately wants to. He tries to dematerialise them before they can consider themselves as having fully arrived, but the tardis is too far into the process to be stopped.
“What is it?” Edwin asks anxiously, but the words have barely left his lips when there is a massive explosion outside, which almost throws the man off his feet.
The Vadlott, who was more prepared, is already running for the door, and a moment later he hears Edwin’s footsteps pounding behind him. Throwing open the doors, the Vadlott finds himself staring at what was once a shop and is now a scene of devastation. Thick, choking dust fills the air and the Vadlott can hear screams from some distance away.
“Oh, my...” exclaims Edwin behind him. “Dorabella!”
“We have to find her!”
The Vadlott fishes in his pocket before remembering that he has not had a chance to build a new sonic screwdriver since its destruction by the Master. Cursing, knowing the value of every second, he runs for the console, scanning the piles of rubble for signs of life. At last he spots a faint flicker and heads back out towards it – only to find himself confronted by a massive beam that is laying across the heap of brickwork at a shallow angle.
Edwin moves beside him and stares at it. “No human could lift that!”
“And you’re not human,” the Vadlott points out. “Neither am I. So let’s do it. Dorabella’s under there!”
Almost before the last words have left his lips, Edwin’s fingers are curled beneath one end of the beam, and the Vadlott is quick to take his position at the other. He nods and, breathless and grunting with effort, they lift the huge structure out of the way, placing it down the road. The Time Lord turns back to the space they have cleared by doing so, but Edwin is quicker, already kneeling beside a body that the Vadlott knows must be Dorabella.
“Dora...” he chokes out, before turning tragic eyes in the Time Lord’s direction. “Help her.”
“Get her in the tardis,” the Vadlott orders, hearing the sound of sirens in the distance. If they are to change what happened here, it needs to happen out of sight of witnesses who will make any such alteration to the natural progress of time all but impossible.
Edwin gently lifts Dorabella into his arms and turns towards the blue box where the Vadlott is already waiting in the doorway. As soon as the other man has crossed the threshold, the Time Lord slams the doors shut and sends them into the vortex before leading the way into the medical bay.
Once Dorabella has been put on the bed, the machines in the room turn on, scanning her and measuring for signs of life. Edwin’s eyes are full of fear.
“Is she – dying?” he asks at last.
“No.” The Vadlott is speaking more from his own desperation than from the information he is receiving from the tardis. He won’t let this happen. The end of all those memories implanted in Edwin Bracewell will not lead to this. “No, she’s not dying today,” the Vadlott promises, to himself as much as Edwin. “I won’t let her.”
Next Part
Author:
katherine_b Rating: PG
Summary: When you have lost everything, what do you do to get it back?
Characters: The non-Doctor first glimpsed at the end of Name of the Doctor and a lot of old friends.
Part XXXII
“You sent for me, sir?”
From his corner in the back of the room, the Vadlott looks with interest at the newcomer, a man in a simple suit, wearing round eyeglasses and clutching the handle of a small suitcase.
“Going somewhere, Bracewell?” asks the Prime Minister gruffly.
The man gives an audible gulp. “N-no, sir,” he protests. “Not if you need me.”
“Oh, I think we do.” Winston Churchill glances at the Time Lord. “Don’t we, Vadlott?”
“Most definitely,” agrees that man, seeing as Edwin Bracewell turns towards him, clearly startled, not having realised that there was anyone else in the room. The Vadlott gives him a slight smile as he stands up and takes several steps forward. “Have you ever heard of dalekanium, Dr. Bracewell?”
“No, sir,” Edwin says at once, his expression wary, “I can’t say that I have.”
“No, I didn’t think you would have.” The Vadlott glances at the Prime Minister. “Winston?”
“Thank you, Vadlott.”
Scarcely have the words left Churchill’s mouth than a shot rings out, and the Vadlott’s hand moves swiftly, clasping his chest. Edwin turns, startled, to see that the gun being held by the Prime Minister is still smoking, and he stares at the Vadlott. That man smiles again and holds out his hand, in the palm of which is a bullet, which has bounced off his jacket.
“Very useful stuff, dalekanium,” the Vadlott remarks. “It’s resistant to almost everything, even bullets! And,” he raps his knuckles against Edwin’s chest, “it happens to be the very thing you’re made of, Dr Bracewell.”
“And it would seem that we are not the only ones aware of its incredible capabilities,” says Churchill as he puts down the pistol. “Tell him, Vadlott.”
“I picked up on some communications,” the Time Lord explains, waving Edwin to a chair next to the Prime Minister and taking one himself. “There are people in this country who are also aware of dalekanium’s capabilities – and they want to get their hands on the only ready supply of it.”
It takes a moment for Edwin to process this, but then his eyes widen. “Me?” he exclaims in horror, releasing his hold on the suitcase, which drops to the floor with a thud, as he sinks into the chair.
“Indeed,” agrees Churchill gravely, lighting his cigar. “The Vadlott, however, has a suggestion to prevent it - and keep it from falling into the enemy’s hands, which seems to be what those traitors have in mind.”
“I would like to take you with me, Dr Bracewell,” says the Vadlott, adding, “In my tardis. I can keep you safe, at least from humans who want to break you up and melt you down.”
“But why would you do that?” demands Edwin. “You don’t even know me! And if you knew what I’d done, or almost done...”
“I know what you were programmed to do,” the Vadlott tells him. “Why the Daleks created you in the first place. But I also know that it was your own emotions that overrode the detonation of that bomb. Not everyone could have done that, which makes you a remarkable man, Edwin Bracewell.”
“Yes, but...”
“And if you’re in the tardis,” he continues relentlessly, determined not to risk the future of the human race by giving Edwin a chance to refuse, “she can replace the dalekanium with other, less sought-after materials without killing you. She could even,” he adds, “give you something approaching a human body.”
Edwin has his mouth open to disagree, but at this he hesitates. “Really?” he asks in tones that are full of scepticism.
“A tardis is a remarkable thing,” rumbles Churchill.
“How would you know?” demands the Vadlott incredulously. “You’ve never been inside it!”
Edwin manages a half-smile at this byplay, and then turns to the Prime Minister. “But what about my work?” he asks nervously. He gives a rueful sigh as he adds, “That is, what’s left of it.”
“I think, under the circumstances,” Churchill says, “we can afford to grant you a little leave.”
“For personal reasons,” adds the Vadlott.
“But, Prime Minister...” Edwin is beginning, but that man impatiently flaps a hand in his direction, which silences him.
“Just get him out of here, Vadlott,” grumbles Churchill. “We’ll never talk sense into him. Take him away and show him something remarkable. That might make him reconsider.”
“Yes, sir,” the Vadlott agrees, bending down to pick up the suitcase. “Come along, Edwin. We can’t disobey the Prime Minister!”
He forcibly drags Edwin out of his chair and then out of the room, and in fact they are in front of the tardis when finally the man seems to focus.
“Wh-where are we going?” he asks.
The Vadlott smiles. “To find Dorabella,” he replies simply, before pushing the door open and gesturing for Edwin to lead the way inside.
Edwin’s face brightens and he hurries into the box, forgoing remarks on its impossible interior dimensions. The Vadlott grins and follows him in, closing the doors before crossing the floor and putting the suitcase down at the base of the console. Then, once he has sent them into the vortex, he fishes in a section of the console covered by a plain panel. When he turns to his guest, he is holding a metal handle that is wired into the heart of the ship.
“What’s this for?” Edwin asks curiously.
“It’s for the tardis to get to know you so she can begin removing the dalekanium,” the Vadlott replies, offering the handle. “And for you to help her. Think hard about Dorabella – where you first saw her, when you talked to her, where you went together, and particularly where you last saw her. The tardis can clue in and find a destination from that. And don’t waste time trying to tell me that it won’t work because you’re not the real Edwin Bracewell,” he adds as that man’s mouth opens, “because – trust me – the tardis will make this work.”
Edwin is still clearly sceptical, but he nevertheless seizes the handle in his right hand, the one not blown off by the Daleks, and closes his eyes, drawing on the memories that the Daleks implanted in him and which the Doctor and Amy brought to the forefront of his mind.
The tardis whirs into life and the Vadlott watches as his ship forges a connection with her new passenger. A scanned image of Edwin appears on the screen, and the Vadlott arches an eyebrow when he sees the ship querying the data. He wonders what his old girl has in mind, and it is even clear to the newcomer on board that something is not quite right.
“What’s happening?” demands Edwin anxiously.
“Just hold still.” The Vadlott’s eyes dart between the screen and the man, and then he understands. “Oh, you’re going to love this!” he promises as he realises what the tardis is planning. “Just - don’t move or it could end up in the wrong spot, and you really don’t want that!”
A ripping sound fills the air, and Edwin looks down at the makeshift hand he created after the Daleks destroyed his previous one. It had been shoddy workmanship, so he had hidden it in a black glove, but now the seams of that are tearing apart, the loose fabric drifting to the tardis floor.
“Oh!” Edwin stares at his new hand, which closely resembles human flesh, and which moves and wriggles as naturally as the one created by the Daleks. “Oh, my!”
“Now, you’ll be needing this,” the Vadlott remarks, pulling a second connector handle out of the hole from which the first came and offering it.
Edwin’s eyes are still wide with astonishment and disbelief, but he reaches out his new hand and eagerly grasps the handle. For a moment he tests the sensation of it between his fingers, a beaming smile on his face, before he looks questioningly at the Vadlott.
“Dorabella,” the Time Lord says in response to the unspoken question. “Let’s find her.”
Edwin closes his eyes again, concentrating, and the tardis is quick to pick up on the thoughts, sending them spinning through the vortex, slowly locking in on a person and a place and a time. Gradually information about their destination fills the screen, the Gallifreyan letters dancing rapidly, and the Vadlott begins reading through it before an exclamation breaks from him.
“Oh, no!” He stares in horror at the details spinning across the screen, telling him the date, time and location of their destination. “No, no, no. Edwin – stop!”
It’s too late. The tardis materialises, fixing the moment in time and stopping the Vadlott from going back and changing things in the way he so desperately wants to. He tries to dematerialise them before they can consider themselves as having fully arrived, but the tardis is too far into the process to be stopped.
“What is it?” Edwin asks anxiously, but the words have barely left his lips when there is a massive explosion outside, which almost throws the man off his feet.
The Vadlott, who was more prepared, is already running for the door, and a moment later he hears Edwin’s footsteps pounding behind him. Throwing open the doors, the Vadlott finds himself staring at what was once a shop and is now a scene of devastation. Thick, choking dust fills the air and the Vadlott can hear screams from some distance away.
“Oh, my...” exclaims Edwin behind him. “Dorabella!”
“We have to find her!”
The Vadlott fishes in his pocket before remembering that he has not had a chance to build a new sonic screwdriver since its destruction by the Master. Cursing, knowing the value of every second, he runs for the console, scanning the piles of rubble for signs of life. At last he spots a faint flicker and heads back out towards it – only to find himself confronted by a massive beam that is laying across the heap of brickwork at a shallow angle.
Edwin moves beside him and stares at it. “No human could lift that!”
“And you’re not human,” the Vadlott points out. “Neither am I. So let’s do it. Dorabella’s under there!”
Almost before the last words have left his lips, Edwin’s fingers are curled beneath one end of the beam, and the Vadlott is quick to take his position at the other. He nods and, breathless and grunting with effort, they lift the huge structure out of the way, placing it down the road. The Time Lord turns back to the space they have cleared by doing so, but Edwin is quicker, already kneeling beside a body that the Vadlott knows must be Dorabella.
“Dora...” he chokes out, before turning tragic eyes in the Time Lord’s direction. “Help her.”
“Get her in the tardis,” the Vadlott orders, hearing the sound of sirens in the distance. If they are to change what happened here, it needs to happen out of sight of witnesses who will make any such alteration to the natural progress of time all but impossible.
Edwin gently lifts Dorabella into his arms and turns towards the blue box where the Vadlott is already waiting in the doorway. As soon as the other man has crossed the threshold, the Time Lord slams the doors shut and sends them into the vortex before leading the way into the medical bay.
Once Dorabella has been put on the bed, the machines in the room turn on, scanning her and measuring for signs of life. Edwin’s eyes are full of fear.
“Is she – dying?” he asks at last.
“No.” The Vadlott is speaking more from his own desperation than from the information he is receiving from the tardis. He won’t let this happen. The end of all those memories implanted in Edwin Bracewell will not lead to this. “No, she’s not dying today,” the Vadlott promises, to himself as much as Edwin. “I won’t let her.”
Next Part
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