for charmandsmiles;
Cerdellia was a beautiful planet. From orbit, the light from the binary suns coloured the lone landmass a warm, comforting orange. If it weren't for the oceans that covered most of the planet, it would almost remind the Doctor of Gallifrey -- peaceful, unchanging, timeless.
All of which were true, in the worst possible sense.
The Doctor eyed the TARDIS scanner wearily. They had arrived far too late to save the natives. The planet's timestream had been so warped an altered by the Daleks that it would have taken years of effort to unravel -- years the Time Lords, frankly, did not have. He'd been ordered to finish it, and to move the battalion of war TARDISes he led to Arcadia. He'd pleaded with them, of course, begged for more time, just a little longer -- he could sort things out, untangle the timeline, make things right again -- but no. Cerdellia became, as so many other had, another statistic in the War.
The Doctor had time-looped the planet.
Cerdellia was destined to repeat the same day over and over for an eternity, until the heat-death of the universe shattered the temporal locks that now surrounded it and dragged everything into oblivion. The natives that were left after the Dalek attack would degenerate and die a million times over, mutated into twisted, half-Dalek hybrids. All because they had been too late, all because the Time Lords were favoring efficiency over lives.
The TARDIS made a ringing, disconsolate noise, and the Doctor gave the console a halfhearted pat. They were both so tired. This War was dragging on, with nothing to show for it. They were matching the Daleks, not beating them, and more and more worlds were succumbing in the process. They were falling behind the Daleks, and they knew it.
The Doctor sighed, pushing those thoughts away. He had to prepare, after all -- Arcadia was waiting. He set the new coordinates, before turning away, intent on taking a few moments to rest before the next battle. He didn't even make it out of the console room, however, before there was another deep, echoing ring -- the Cloister bell. Something was very wrong.
The TARDIS gave a great shudder, and the Doctor dashed for the console, suddenly panicked and fearing an ambush. Another wave of Vortex turbulence sent him tumbling, and he just managed to haul himself up when the he saw what was wrong: a Time Storm.
He didn't have time to do anything more than give a startled curse and reach for the controls before the main wave of time distortion slammed into the ship, sending it roiling through spacetime. The rotor wheezed futilely as the TARDIS was hurtled through a tear in the fabric of reality, tumbling (rather violently) into an entirely different universe.
It was over in a matter of minutes -- but the Doctor couldn't know this, because he had been knocked about a bit too roughly and was unconscious, sprawled on the console room floor.
...It was, ironically, the best sleep he'd had in weeks.
All of which were true, in the worst possible sense.
The Doctor eyed the TARDIS scanner wearily. They had arrived far too late to save the natives. The planet's timestream had been so warped an altered by the Daleks that it would have taken years of effort to unravel -- years the Time Lords, frankly, did not have. He'd been ordered to finish it, and to move the battalion of war TARDISes he led to Arcadia. He'd pleaded with them, of course, begged for more time, just a little longer -- he could sort things out, untangle the timeline, make things right again -- but no. Cerdellia became, as so many other had, another statistic in the War.
The Doctor had time-looped the planet.
Cerdellia was destined to repeat the same day over and over for an eternity, until the heat-death of the universe shattered the temporal locks that now surrounded it and dragged everything into oblivion. The natives that were left after the Dalek attack would degenerate and die a million times over, mutated into twisted, half-Dalek hybrids. All because they had been too late, all because the Time Lords were favoring efficiency over lives.
The TARDIS made a ringing, disconsolate noise, and the Doctor gave the console a halfhearted pat. They were both so tired. This War was dragging on, with nothing to show for it. They were matching the Daleks, not beating them, and more and more worlds were succumbing in the process. They were falling behind the Daleks, and they knew it.
The Doctor sighed, pushing those thoughts away. He had to prepare, after all -- Arcadia was waiting. He set the new coordinates, before turning away, intent on taking a few moments to rest before the next battle. He didn't even make it out of the console room, however, before there was another deep, echoing ring -- the Cloister bell. Something was very wrong.
The TARDIS gave a great shudder, and the Doctor dashed for the console, suddenly panicked and fearing an ambush. Another wave of Vortex turbulence sent him tumbling, and he just managed to haul himself up when the he saw what was wrong: a Time Storm.
He didn't have time to do anything more than give a startled curse and reach for the controls before the main wave of time distortion slammed into the ship, sending it roiling through spacetime. The rotor wheezed futilely as the TARDIS was hurtled through a tear in the fabric of reality, tumbling (rather violently) into an entirely different universe.
It was over in a matter of minutes -- but the Doctor couldn't know this, because he had been knocked about a bit too roughly and was unconscious, sprawled on the console room floor.
...It was, ironically, the best sleep he'd had in weeks.