by Cour M.
Usually life is complicated.
Usually politics is more complicated.
And the actions of the military ruled under the politicians is the most complicated of all.
Yet the world had seen too much—a star that bore the Racknoss, their planet being stolen, the pursuit for Prisoner Zero, America being ruled by the Silence (even though they forgot), the ice warrior in a submarine, and dinosaurs invading… the list was endless. All the powers of deception humanity could place on itself were now exhausted and at an end. Ergo, through much international cooperation, Kate was able to gain the agreement of Australia, and then to gather the Secretary of Defense on her side in Washington DC. On three different army bases in the three continents, soldiers who were curious, who did not fear the weight of the unknown, were gathered. Headed up they were, by three Generals:
In Britain, there was General Henry Dickens.
In Australia, there was General Archibald Shakespeare—who never heard the end of that being his last name.
In America, there was General Samuel Christie.[14]
Precisely at 2 in the afternoon—well, three different 2 PMs in the three different countries, the generals had all the soldiers placed on the separate bases, and they stood in front of them, with each having similar thoughts.
‘What if I was in error,’ General Christie considered, ‘what if we have all been deceived?’
‘Now that it comes down to it,’ Shakespeare thought, ‘I might have been too overzealous in my desire to do my duty.’
‘I did not think,’ Dickens acknowledged, ‘I just followed orders—because I wished for it. I secretly wanted to see the universe. I wanted to be the one who would become a legend. I was the one to order men to travel across the galaxy, for this greater good.’
‘But if all was in error…’
‘If I was blind…’
‘If I sent them all to their death…’
‘I failed them all.’
And then they recalled themselves. They had chosen this mission because they had to believe—and it was more than mere naivete. Besides, all things began with faith, and nothing was ever certain.
The moments ticked away, and they watched the clock wind down, where at 2:15, they were told that the moment would occur. All three men looked out over their soldiers, and were amazed. All of them were here, all willing to take that risk—all to do their very best.
Yet in their hearts, they knew that it was like any other engagement, and words were needed. Their soldiers were nervous, and they required a reminder of what they were hoping to achieve.
The first to speak over the radio was General Dickens, in England.
“Soldiers, I shall not say recall your duty now, because I know you’re always remembering it. For it is always in your hearts. Nor am I asking you to swallow your fear. In fact, only an idiot would not be afraid.”
In Australia, General Shakespeare began, speaking to all that were before him.
“Friends, soldiers, countrymen, lend me your ears!”
All his soldiers chuckled at this.
“No, but seriously, also, time to lend your faith. Time to believe that you can and you will be the first to do this. That you will be the first to become such heroes.”
In America, General Christie began addressing troops through the radios as well as they stood in their appointed positions.
“Any moment now, they are coming,” he began, “The Angels. And at this moment, one part of you is curious and can face anything. The other half is frightened that your courage will count for nothing and we shall be afraid. But any moment now, within you, something else is coming. And that is your courage. That part of you is that part that shall always be a soldier.”
“Fear means that you care,” Dickens continued in England, “fear means that you want to live. And that fear is what you shall turn into hope.”
“A tricky word: hero,” Shakespeare urged on, “Because it can be mistaken for being foolish, if your intentions to obtain it are incorrect. But you are not incorrect.”
“You are soldiers!” Christie boomed, “And you always will be. I know that you are wondering even more of what happened? Life was once so simple, there were no such thing as aliens, other universal forces, just the good old fashioned earthly disputes. But times change, and so must we.”
“Hope that you can make a difference,” Dickens voiced.
“It is never incorrect to do one’s duty,” Shakespeare confirmed, “no matter the outcome. And this day shall be known as the day of the great journey.”
“Change frightens us all,” Christie noted, “but change comes. We can’t go back to the time where there were no aliens in our lives, because we have learned that they will always be here. And we must keep moving forward. Changing ourselves.”
Suddenly, thousands of Angels appeared on the bases, near every soldier. The generals saw this on the screens. But the terror, the true terror rang true when they felt eyes upon them. All three generals turned around and saw a Weeping Angel staring at them. Many terrifying situations they had faced, and yet, this was indescribable. Each Angel was stone and was smiling. And it halted them all.
In Australia, the General stood up, moving the microphone from his lips.
“Promise that you come for help—and not to kill.”
The Angel moved forward and stopped within a foot of General Shakespeare.
“General,” the Angel declared, “we give you our word.”
Therefore, on faith, this had to be enough.
“Give me a moment longer with them,” Dickens said to his Angel. “That’s not a request, by the way.”
“Welcome to America,” Christie hissed to his, “Home of Walmart and Target—I think. And also Wendy’s, and the TV channels ABC, Fox, NBC, and CW. And I better see my home again.” Christie continued to speak to his soldiers. “It’s fine that we must change, that now the universe is vaster than we once believed. We all change, when you think about it.”
“And years from now, those of you that shall live this day,” Shakespeare said, “and see old age—every year on this day, you shall say ‘this was the day of the Great Journey’. Then you will strip your sleeve and show your scars from travelling through space and say 'These wounds I had on this day.'”
“But know this, soldiers,” Dickens confirmed, “when you travel through time and space: you are not alone. Your soldier is beside you, for you are one unit, not strangers on your way to the grave, but fellow passengers on your way to something greater. Trust to your cause, and bless it—everyone!”
“But it’s fine that we must change now and adapt,” Christie confirmed, “that’s good, we all move—as long as you remember the person that you used to be. You are the best of humanity. And soldiers?”
“This story shall the good man tell his children,” Shakespeare promised his men, “And the day of the Great Journey shall never be forgot. From this day to the ending of the world, it shall be remembered. We few, we brave few, we band of soldiers.”
“And now that you look at your Angel hosts,” Dickens finalized, “the part of you that is afraid is saying to yourself, ‘I don’t want to go’.”
“Well, soldiers,” Christie ended, “no matter where I end up, be it death or where we were promised, I will never forget this, not one moment. Nor will I forget any of your names. And nor shall you. Tell yourselves, this day, ‘I shall never forget when that soldier was me’.”
“Men, it’s time to go,” Shakespeare concluded, “you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And you know what? So was I.”
“Remember your courage,” Dickens said at last, “And now… blink! Good luck.”
The three generals and the thousands of soldiers blinked and were sent hurled through time and space.
And through time and space, the thousands of soldiers arrived on the open plains of Uxarieus. Waiting for them in the sky was Captain Nestor.
“By the light
of the Cressians,” Nestor swore, “The Doctor really got them to do it.”
She raised the space phone to her lips, leaned out of the window of her hovercraft and cried down to the Earthlings.
“Good day, sons and daughters of… the lands of America, Australia and Britain! I am Captain Nestor, and welcome to Uxarieus!”
Nestor breathed out and in.
“Doctor,” she grunted under her breath, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Down on Earth, Twelve had just received news of the successful teleportation of the military volunteers. After the report, he rubbed his eyes.
“I hope I know what I’m doing,” he sighed to himself.
The Real Culprit
This part was one I had debate over for some time. I knew that I wanted Nine and Clara to encounter the Sea Devils, and to have to destroy the same machine the Doctor and the Master made, but the means through which I had the machine survive made me torn. I enjoyed the idea, but I worried that no one else would. Yet the real villain behind it all was crucial. Especially since he actually was originally from Classic Who, but was a villain that was often forgotten until he was used again in New Who. Also, I felt that he was the only one that I thought could have found a way to retrieve the machine before it was blown up in ‘The Sea Devils’. Personally, I liked his return to the show. Also, I thought it would be fun to see that he was there since the show began with the Ninth Doctor. Just as his first companion meeting the villain as well. So, here is the true villain that gave the Sea Devils the machine to help them take over the planet.
When finally arriving back in the time period that Rose remained in, Nine rolled his shoulders, and looked at his consul unit. He wondered what Clara was up to for a moment, and how she and his future self was getting on. He even considered finding a way to go back to 2013, and watching them from a distance. For some reason, he wanted to know the Timelord that he would turn into one day. It was a different feeling. One that he had never experienced. To be curious in that sort of way. But something in the winds had changed for him. He actually cared about having a future. Clara and he had spoken of their failures and he finally wondered that maybe he could put them all behind him. Human and Timelord—neither was perfect. Then he shook off his curiosity, for there were some things he should never know. But he felt more like his younger self, so he arrived right below Rose’s apartment complex and just thought ‘Ah, what the hell’.
He opened his TARDIS doors and felt that she would be able to hear him. For no matter how far they moved away from each other, they perhaps would always be able to hear one another.
“Rose!” He cried up at the apartment, “Rose!”
He saw a head of blonde hair emerge at a window and he smiled up at her.
She smiled down at him.
He moved back in the TARDIS and awaited her.
The Doctor had returned at last! Rose wondered when he would arrive, for he was later than she had expected him to be. Then again, he had been known to be late before. Or better yet, the TARDIS was known for it. She reached into her closet, looked at some clothes and considered a shirt with the Union Flag on it—after all, why not? She packed it, slung the bag over her shoulder and rushed down the steps.
Emerging out of the front door, she was eager. Too eager. For she had not noticed the man walking in the opposite direction. She stumbled into him and knocked his briefcase on the ground.
“Oh, sorry!” Rose apologized as she saw the papers fall out of his bag. She reached down and helped him pick it up.
“Do not touch them!” The man boomed, his voice as cold as ice.
“I said I was sorry,” Rose groaned, and as she collected, she noticed one paper that had the design of a machine on it. Beneath the image, it said ‘Sea Devil Operation’—Failure.
“Sea Devil?” Rose read, but the paper was snatched out of her hand by the gentleman. “Hey!”
She froze when she beheld his face.
“Come now,” he stated flatly, “one mustn’t read what doesn’t belong to them.”
His voice was hard, his face was immovable, and Rose thought that he reminded her of stone—better yet, the man was ice.
“Well,” Rose said, gathering her courage, “since you’re not going to say thank you, then I don’t have to say I’m sorry for reading that, mate. And learn some manners.”
“Pretty words,” the man said, his face still motionless. His face still… ice.
“Then listen to them,” Rose declared, “And have a nice day.”
Glad to be away from him, she left him immediately and went into the TARDIS. The man watched her as she went, wishing to find a way to get within and destroy the Doctor. Rose had the instinct that his eyes were still on her, so she turned, and before she closed the TARDIS doors behind her, she looked at him.
“It’s rude to stare,” she criticized.
“So it is.”
Rose had been looking into the face of the Great Intelligence. And she would never know it.
The Great Intelligence watched Rose disappear behind the TARDIS doors. His eyes turned a little colder—if that were possible. Then he turned and began walking down the street. All his careful scheming, his ability to retrieve the Doctor and the Master’s plans for the machine, and then giving it to the Sea Devils once more, had been thwarted. This was beginning to aggravate him. Jumping into the Doctor’s timeline so far had proven to no avail. He failed when covering the world in snow and ice, he failed to kill Ten when he found the alien insect that he gave the fortune teller to place on Donna’s back that made her turn right and not ever meet the Doctor—that was the one that he thought for sure he was successful at. Clara Oswald be damned for giving Rose the knowledge of how to open portals through space! He also failed when the Academy of the Question was unable to kill the Doctor even after he helped them learn of Amy’s pregnancy. Now he failed with Nine. His next attempt could possibly be to find a way to keep Eight from ever turning into the War Doctor, but he had to find the right part of the timeline to fall into. Either way, he was thwarted again—but next time, he would succeed. After all, he had eight more regenerations to chase after. And he had all the time in the world—now that he was dead.
Into thin air, he dissolved, dispersing into oblivion.
Mozart and Salieri
In this segment, I had a little thought of what Mozart would have done when he returned to his time and he had to see Salieri again. Now knowing that Salieri’s name would forever be marked as the one who killed him, he would have wished to have spoken to Salieri at some point. Mind you, again, there is no solid evidence confirming or refuting Salieri’s innocence from killing Mozart. Yet all my research on the matter has led for me to believe that either Mozart died of natural causes, or if he was killed, it was by someone other than Salieri, who at the time, had absolutely NO motive. Again, this is just an idea of what I think they might have said to each other if Mozart invited Salieri to his home before he died. Enjoy.
On his sickbed, Mozart waited. Nearby his wife, Constanze sat there, resigned.
“My love,” Constanze voiced, “I do not think he shall come.”
“He might,” Mozart responded, his voice hoarse. “He does not fear being near sick people.”
“But why do you want him to come? I just don’t understand the importance of it. Of course, I know that you are not enemies, but neither are you great friends.”
“There is something that he must know,” he insisted, “And—”
A servant entered and bowed.
“Senior Mozart,” the servant informed, “Senior Salieri is come, sir.”
“Excellent,” Mozart nodded, “please show him in.”
The servant left, Mozart nodded to Constanze, they smiled at each other, she understood and then she left him alone. Trying to look his best, Mozart raised himself up in his bed. In short time, the door to his room opened and his contemporary Antonio Salieri
entered.
“You may want to cover your mouth,” Mozart instructed him, “so you don’t get infected with my disease.”
“Nonsense,” Salieri replied, dismissive. “I have had your symptoms before, have survived them and therefore I suppose that I am immune. Then again, I’ve been told that is my very problem,” Salieri laughed, “I believe myself to be indestructible.”
“I suppose we all do that.”
Salieri pulled up a chair and sat down beside Mozart’s sickbed.
“So, how are you feeling?” Salieri asked. “I know that seems like a strange question. Or a superfluous one, but I must ask.”
“I am dying.”
“Nonsense,” Salieri dismissed, “you shall survive this, Wolfgang. And I am not belittling your circumstance, but merely encouraging you. Gathering health is just as much about the mind as it is about the body. If you believe that you will die, then, you will. But if you believe that you shall live—then you may have a chance. Therefore, shake off this mortal fear, man. Truly, you are Mozart! Where is your fighting spirit?”
“You believe me to be stronger than that I am,” Mozart answered simply.
“I simply say what I believe.” Salieri bit his lip and leaned forward, “Wolfgang, I was told that you expressly sent for me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, I have come and I wonder, at this late hour, why is it me that you want to see?”
Mozart coughed, Salieri handed him the glass of water that was on his nightstand, Mozart took it and drank.
“Thank you,” Mozart offered, “And for coming. Well, it is just, I had to tell you something.”
“What?”
“It is just… well, I always loved your music.”
Salieri smiled bashfully.
“I know, and thank you. And as you know, I have admired yours.”