Doctor Who: The Time Splicer: The Imitation Games

by Cour M.

  General Vander leaned forward, squinting.

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Give me some time, and I’ll think of how, but I would so much like it if you told me. Truly, it would save a great deal of time.”

  “No,” General Vander responded, leaning back. “I will not. I can’t change the past, but at least I can gain the satisfaction of seeing you wallow in ignorance while we here in Draconis can change the future.”

  “And what does that mean?” Martha asked.

  “Oh, it means that you shall be executed tomorrow morning just after sunrise.”

  ⌛

  “What?” The Doctor and Martha exclaimed in unison.

  “I thought I spoke with perfect clarity. Doctor, you and your companion have been found guilty and shall be executed tomorrow morning.”

  “Guilty of what?” Martha remarked, “and you can’t execute someone without a proper trial.”

  “He is guilty for being the Doctor!” The General shouted, “and you, Miss Jones, just got caught in the crossfire.”

  “Let her go,” Ten stated simply.

  “Never. She followed after you, so she gets her punishment for it.”

  “She’s already been punished for travelling with me many times over. So, you don’t need to trouble yourself on her behalf. Truly, killing me should be redundant enough to satisfy you.”

  “We never got the chance to kill you the first time. We shall not make that same mistake.”

  “What did I look like?!” Ten roared at the General, “when you first met me, what did I look like?!”

  General Vander smirked.

  “I won’t speak.”

  “Give us a fair trial,” Martha encouraged.

  “Any consideration to give you an appeal has been overridden by the Mecrellan Plebian Government. I would know, for I’m the one who supported it.”

  “Of course you did, and I shall say once more, let her go,” the Doctor demanded.

  “And once more, Doctor, no.”

  General Vander stood up and allowed the hologram replay of the Imitation Games of the 1948 Olympics to carry on.

  “Enjoy the rest of your meal,” he offered, “We always believe in giving a person the right to the best food that Draconis has to offer at this time of year.”

  “It tastes like rubbish,” The Doctor insulted.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  General Vander began to walk out.

  “Time is complicated,” Ten announced suddenly, “and complex. The murder of the wrong man at the wrong time can lead to catastrophic events later. Time is as vast as the universe, General Vander, and it’s complex. And meddling with it is dangerous. So terribly so. Therefore, if you plan to kill us now, I promise that you will feel the repercussions of it eventually.”

  “Trying to save your own skin?”

  “Come on, when do I ever do that? Yes, in fact, now looking back on this incarnation of myself,” he pondered, amused, “I just realized that I have a bit of a suicidal streak.”

  “That took you way too long to figure out,” Martha interjected.

  “Oi!” Ten retorted, “don’t help me.”

  “What?” Martha inquired, “I was agreeing with you.”

  Martha shrugged and looked away from them both.

  “But truly,” Ten continued to General Vander, “Everyone has their time, and we all must leave the universe eventually. I know this more than anyone. Yet to leave before one’s time, it leaves a scar. And I’m not ready for my companion and me to become scars in the universe just yet. No, I am prepared to fix rather than break. Are you about to get in the way of that?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” General Vander sneered, “I am.”

  “Then I will just have to stop you.”

  “How?”

  “And why would I tell you that? Hm? And I see it in your eyes: fear. Fear that you don’t know what I’m capable of. You’re afraid that I’ve still got something up my sleeve![4] And you will spend your hours this night always wondering what it is that I plan to do.”

  “On the contrary, Doctor, I shall sleep well tonight. After all this time, I shall finally get revenge on you. You only have eight hours.”

  “And if there’s one thing that you know, I can do a lot in eight hours. What if I get bored, and need a television, a couple of books? Anyone for chess? Bring me knitting!”[5]

  “What’s knitting?”

  Ten bit his lip.

  “You’re making me angrier by the minute,” he declared, “go whenever you will.”

  General Vander nodded and left.

  Ten paced back and forth, angry and bitter. After a moment, he recalled that he was not alone. He froze, turned, and looked at Martha. Martha looked down at her plate and finished eating. Ten’s shoulders slackened, then he walked back over to his food and continued to eat food.

  “I don’t know what’s worse,” Ten announced.

  “What?”

  “The fact that I don’t have a plan, or the fact that the food is actually very good.”

  “Yes, the food is good,” Martha laughed, and her raised spirits made Ten feel a little lighter. “But if you’re asking me…”

  “I’m not.”

  “And I don’t care that you’re not,” she jabbed, and it made Ten laugh.

  “But if you ask me, I enjoy that the food is actually quite good. Funny! You would think the news of us dying tomorrow would dampen the tastiness of it for me, but no, I’m good.”

  “Are you going to eat all your beef slices?”

  “Yes, I am!”

  “Ah.”

  Ten eyed it and could not resist begging.

  “Martha, please…”

  “Oh fine! But only one slice.”

  Ten reached over and took one slice from her plate, eating it voraciously.

  They continued to watch the Imitation Game of the 1948 Olympics, and the last moment was of a Draconian citizen pretending to be King George VI of Great Britain, offering the gold medal to the actress who played Alice Coachman.

  “While it may not be the real thing,” Martha admitted, “it is still beautiful.”

  “Yes, and I get the sense that the next thing that they shall imitate will be very ugly.”

  The footage eventually came to an end. The lights returned to normal, then a guard entered, carrying some yarn and knitting needles. He walked up to them both and placed them on the table.

  “The General told me to inform you that he researched knitting while you were eating. Doctor, there you go.”

  He nodded his head and exited.

  Ten and Martha just stared down at it.

  “What a git!” Martha scoffed, referring to General Vander.

  “I know!” The Doctor agreed, “now that is just too rude.”

  ⌛

  “I can’t believe that you can knit!” The Doctor noted. It had been an hour later, they were both allowed to sleep in the same cell since it was the night before their execution. They were both laying on opposite sides of the room in their cots. Martha had the lamp on next to hers while she lay there, knitting away. On the other side of the room, the Doctor was watching her, shrouded in darkness.

  “Well,” Martha commented, “it was actually very helpful for me, when I was growing up.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, first of all, it dealt with the stress. You’ve seen my family life, Doctor, and it was ALWAYS that way. Always chaotic, Tish and Leo always needing help. And it led to me having rage issues. Knitting helped me, because it has a calming effect. It also helped so that I could say that I was good at something.”

  “What are you referring to?”

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  “Martha?”

  “Oh well, all right. When I was a kid, I tried many things: dancing, singing lessons, piano lessons, guitar lessons… you name it, and I tried it. And I sucked every time.”

  Ten laughed at this.

  “Oi! You’re not supposed to l
augh.”

  “I know I’m not, but believe me, Martha, I’m laughing because it’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Oh, you weren’t there, Doctor. You didn’t see all the embarrassing things I went through. The awkward phases that seemed like they would never end! And let’s not even get started on my teenage years, and my early twenties. You weren’t there to see my humiliation.”

  “No, but I was there to see all of mine. When I was younger, I mean.”

  “Younger?” Martha looked away from her knitting as he began to confess this. “When you were my actual age, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you like?”

  “Oh god! I was so young. And everything was so frightening. I had the whole universe before me and Timelords were always telling me that I couldn’t touch it. To see the stars, Martha, and then to be told that you would never be allowed to touch them. Well, it can lead to a young person having some… development issues.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “Well, I can safely tell you… those parts of your life, that seem so large, are actually small in the end. I know it seems like the memory of those moments will last forever in you, but they won’t.”

  “I hope not,” Martha smiled, “or else I shall have to keep knitting.”

  Ten laughed at this.

  “I just realized something,” Martha continued, “back when we were trapped in 1969, when we had to live together, we never got this far into telling each other things.”

  “No, we didn’t. Well, you were often too tired from working all the time, so by the time you got back to the flat, you didn’t care to talk, which made it easier.”

  “So,” Martha hinted, “Are you ready to talk about Gallifrey a little more now?”

  Ten looked up at the ceiling.

  “Martha, no. Not at all.”

  “Right,” Martha bit her lip, upset. “Whatever you like.”

  Ten saw that she was upset, but there was nothing for it. He didn’t want to talk about it, so tough! Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and he burst out laughing.

  “Want to share your thoughts with the rest of us?” Martha encouraged.

  “I just realized that we’ve almost been in this situation before.”

  “Really? When? I don’t remember the whole cell and execution thing myself.”

  “This is the second time that I am being pushed into execution for something that I have not done yet.”

  “Oh yeah, the first time was with Elizabeth I.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Doctor! We’ll still never find out what you did to upset her.”

  “I know.”

  “I really did want to find out.”

  “Oh, me too, Martha. I really did.”

  He looked back at her and saw that she was knitting something in particular.

  “Are you making a scarf?” He asked.

  “Yes, I am. It’s the only thing that I ever fully mastered. I used to make scarves for everyone in my family—like five times.”

  “Well, if we survive this one, you can make me one.”

  “Oh, it would be my pleasure,” Martha jested, sassy.

  “But if you do, make sure it’s a short scarf.”

  “Just for that, I’ll make it long.”

  “Ah, wise girl, eh?”

  “Yes.” A look fell over Martha’s face and Ten noticed it.

  “What’s that face for?” He asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Well, it is something. I mean, we’re about to die tomorrow, and I should feel something. But I don’t. I just feel… like a large blank space. Nothing seems to be working.”

  “It’s what the body does when it’s preparing for a terrible outcome. It freezes, and it waits till a more convenient time to feel any sort of pain.”

  “But we don’t have a more convenient time. We only have tonight.”

  “Martha, get some sleep.”

  “Yes, I should be well-rested for the last day of our lives.” Martha looked at him gently to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get some sleep, Doctor. I’ll fall asleep eventually.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know you’re only staying awake because of me. Really, it’s fine. Besides, at least we know that Weldon Jinn is dead at this point.”

  “Yes,” Ten looked ahead, uncertain, “yes, we do.”

  “Go on, get some sleep.”

  “Yeah.” Ten rolled over and closed his eyes. While he drifted into slumber, Martha stayed awake a little longer, knitting away. She even got to the scarf being a foot long, then she changed the yarn colors and continued. Now that she thought about it, she had never knitted when she was on the TARDIS with the Doctor. Looking back on it all, it would have helped if she had.

  Then again, there was never much time.

  “Amazing,” she whispered to herself, “we had a time machine and never did it feel like there was any time. And now, there was no time left.”

  Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she placed the scarf down on the ground, turned off the lamp and then tucked herself into the bed.

  “Goodnight, Doctor,” she voiced.

  She got no response as he was sound asleep.

  Following his example, she closed her eyes as well, fell asleep and began to dream. Or to nightmare.

  For while the Doctor was resting away, Martha found there was truly no rest for the wicked, as her nightmares were filled with the Master. Only this time, there was a different adventure between them.

  Yet every now and again, out of the corner of her subconscious eye, she saw a figure shrouded in black—with a galaxy in his hand. However, each time she turned, there was nothing there.

  Chapter 5

  The Execution

  Martha opened her eyes to see Ten staring out of the cell, his face pressed in between the bars. She rubbed the morning crust from her eyes and looked at him.

  “Let me guess,” She assumed, “you’ve been up for a while, thinking about all the ways to get us out of this mess.”

  “Yup. Fifty-two.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve thought of fifty-two different ways to get us out of this. But you know what they say. Fifty-three is the charm.”

  “Too bad that you won’t have the time to find out,” Lieutenant Crissian announced as he entered, “the hour of your execution has arrived.”

  “Lieutenant Crissian,” Martha smiled, “it’s really not nice to see you again.”

  “Defiant to the last?”

  “Did you expect anything less?” The Doctor questioned, “so, time for us to go then?”

  “Yes, you shall be taken to the Halls of Justice, where you shall be lined up in front of the firing squad, then dispatched accordingly.”

  “The death of a soldier,” Ten observed, “well, at least you gave us that bit of respect.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “Why do I get the sense that this shall be televised?”

  “Because it shall be. Draconis has captured the Doctor at last, the enemy of Mecrellas, and I think the entire planet shall wish to see it.”

  “So that you can celebrate and then maybe, just maybe, two hundred years later, or three hundred years later, you can mimic the event, and some poor unfortunate souls will have to play Martha and me.”

  “We don’t imitate our own history.”

  “Oh, that’s right, because you all don’t have the imagination to have one,” Martha pointed out.

  “You’re a human, Doctor Jones. What we play at on minor scales, you do for real on larger ones. How sad. Now come. Time to face the people.”

  ⌛

  In handcuffs, Martha and the Doctor were escorted out of the precinct, and were immediately met by jeers and boos from the throng. Some even threw some items at them, for which the Doctor did his best to shield Martha from the onslaught.

  They were driven from the building on hover crafts. As they had been driving along, they were finally able to see the city
in full. If she was not being taken to her death, Martha would have been impressed. The buildings were high towers and they were lovely to behold. The architecture was unforgettable, and all over the city, there were transportation vehicles. Martha labelled them as flying cars and flying vans, because traffic was everywhere. There were the cars that drove on the street, as well as what appeared to be higher tech motorcycles. Then there were vehicles in the air, flying around the buildings.

  “It’s like we’re back at New Earth,” Martha realized.

  “Yeah, it is,” Ten smiled, “only it’s like the traffic of the undercity met the beauty of the over-city.”

  “So, this is what New New New New New New New New New New New New New York really did look like,” Martha said, “before the disease spread over it.”

  “Yes, well, if we were not about to die, I would say that I liked the look of this place more. Unfortunately, we are about to die, so yeah, New Earth was prettier.”

  As they drove past a flying ‘car’, Martha noticed a little girl in the back seat. The little girl turned to her and Martha smiled at her. The girl smiled in return. Martha waved, and the girl echoed the action. As she looked at Martha, her eyes widened in recognition.

  “Wait!” She yelled so that Martha could hear her through the car, “it’s you!”

  “Me who?” Martha pointed to herself.

  “You’re one of the two people who is about to be killed on the monitor-vision.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Brilliant!”

  The other people in the car also realized this and they began to take pictures of Martha as she was in the security van. The Doctor leaned in to be a part of the pictures.

  “Smile and wave, Martha,” The Doctor offered, “this is for posterity.”

  Martha obeyed, to look strong. Ten and she waved at the ‘cameras’ flashing from the car.

  “Doctor, in truth, this is not funny at all,” she spoke through her smile, “that girl is being trained that death is amusing.”

  “I know,” he still smiled, “the horror. And I’m still thinking of the fifty-third plan.”

  “Well, it hasn’t worked already, so start thinking of the fifty-fourth one.”