Held in Trust: Chapter 15
Title: Held in Trust (15/?)
Characters/Pairings: Duplicate Tenth Doctor/Rose, alt!Donna, various Tylers and Motts, and several OCs
Rating: Most chapters Teen (Adult chapters noted as such)
Series: Part of the Morris Minor 'Verse
Summary: An Alt!Ten, Rose and Alt!Donna Adventure! Join our heroes as they investigate a mysterious man from the future, an apocalyptic death cult, and the wonders of the internal combustion engine. Romance, action, adventure, sci fi, occasional smut Donna being awesome, as usual all par for the course.
A/N: Sequel to The One True Free Life. It's not entirely necessary to have read that, but if you're finding yourself at any point going, "Huh?" it's just probably something that was explained in that story.
Previous Chapters: Previous Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
On their walk together back to the vicinity of Crede's work unit, the Doctor debated how many of his various hunches and inductions to share with the lad. If Rose or Donna were with him, just talking to them would help him think, and then right on schedule they'd say something that would lead him inexorably toward the solution. But this boy looked like he couldn't be any older than sixteen, and the product of a repressive society that perhaps did not reward thinking outside the box. Perhaps.
"Tell me, young man," the Doctor began rather pompously, "has anyone gone missing from your work unit recently? Anyone just vanish or run away?"
Crede's long strides had carried him several feet in front of the Doctor as they walked, and he now slowed his pace and turned to look at him. "Not that I know of, but the Proprietors don't generally like it to get out when someone breaks contract."
"Quite," the Doctor mused. "The only thing that looks worse than a slave-owner is a slave-owner who can't keep their slaves."
Crede's youthful features suddenly crinkled in to a suspicious, sour expression.
"What?" the Doctor asked innocently, wiping a bit of sweat from the back of his neck.
"With respect, we're indentures, not slaves." He spat the final word like it had stuck in the back of his throat on the way out.
The Doctor gave a non-committal grunt and let an uncomfortable silence descend for a few moments. The second sun was rising, and he was beginning to realise that experiencing the climate of this planet was quite a different thing with a human physiology. The thought had never occurred to him before. In his day-dreams, as his hands worked mindlessly loosening a rusty ball joint or filing down a newly-machined part, he was always the Time Lord, hiking up the red-flecked hills or running through sterling forests, a creature fully suited to its environment. What need had he to ever contemplate what that same ground would feel like under human feet or the same hot wind against human skin?
He ran a hand over his face, brushing away some dust that had accumulated in the corners of his eyes. "So, you're all indentures then?" he asked finally, continuing the conversation from several minutes previous.
Crede tripped over a stone as he answered in the affirmative.
"Watch yourself. Can't save the world with a busted leg--believe me, I tried. Even the non-humans?"
"Pardon?" Crede asked, keeping his eyes on the ground now rather than turning to where the Doctor was still jogging along behind him.
"The non-humans are indentures as well then, yeah?"
The spindly young man seemed to be having trouble formulating an answer to what the Doctor had thought should be a very simple question.
"Please forgive my asking, but where are you from again?" Crede's tone was dark and suspicious though his words were outwardly polite.
"Does it matter?" the Doctor shot back.
"To not be familiar with the laws of the Empire, it's highly unusual. I...I'm not sure I should tell you any more."
The Doctor stopped walking, right in his tracks and put his hands in his pockets. Crede walked a few steps before he noticed but then halted himself and backtracked to come face-to-face with the Doctor again.
"It was just a simple question, lad. Are the non-human workers indentures or not?"
Crede gave him a sidelong look through narrowed eyes, saying tentatively, "No. It's against the law."
"Paid a fair wage then are they?" The Doctor's mouth settled in to a thin-lipped attitude of disapproval, already knowing the answer.
He shook his head.
"Slaves," the Doctor concluded grimly. "The Human Empire employing--no, decreeing--slave labour across the galaxy. And keeping an entire class of humans indentured for....how long is it Crede? When's your time up, eh?"
The boy's impossibly narrow shoulders relaxed a bit at being asked a question he could easily answer. "I'm in standard year six of my indenture, with twenty-four years left on my contract."
The Doctor rubbed his fingers over his scalp vigorously several times. "Because you see," he said, seemingly already in the latter part of a thought that he hadn't articulated the former half of, "it's not supposed to be like this. The Human Empire has it's problems, sure, but this is just...it's wrong. As in incorrect, a mistake, an error. And this is the key to the whole problem, I'm sure of it. This...system," he flung the word at Crede as if he couldn't get it away from him fast enough. "These laws, they've created a monster. He's a product of this, and for me to stop him I have to be a part of it too. But what created this, eh?" He paced and twitched, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, his hands flying through his hair, pinching the bridge of his nose, gesticulating wildly as he tried to put the puzzle together without having all the pieces.
Right at the point at which Crede was about to turn and run away from this seeming lunatic, the Doctor fell suddenly silent.
Crede cleared his throat quietly and the Doctor had to laugh. The below-stairs staff seemed to have the same techniques throughout all of time and space.
"Anyway!" the Doctor chirped. "Onward. We've got some washing to do."
Crede didn't make a move, however, even as the Doctor rocked back on his heels in preparation to continue his efforts to match the boy's long strides.
"Oh, don't listen to me when I talk all that nonsense. Just thinking out loud is all--it helps, sometimes."
The young indenture opened and closed his mouth uncertainly, clearly wanting to ask questions but wary that they might come out sounding like challenges. The Doctor found himself torn between losing patience with all of this subservient claptrap and wanting the boy to discover on his own that questioning was a good thing. Given the time constraints, however, he opted for the former.
"Go on then, out with it," he sighed, trying to hide his enthusiasm for subverting the society's dominant paradigm, even in a small way such as this.
"I was just wondering, what are you going to do once you get in to the unit? I'm not sure I'm terribly clear on that, and...." He shuffled a foot, kicking up a bit of orange dust. "Well, there's the paras -- the guards, armed. It would be dangerous to get caught, someone from outside the unit trying to sneak in. It's against the rules. I...I could get a beating. Or worse. And you--"
"Are you trying to imply that I might not go about this operation with the utmost care?"
Crede looked horrified at the Doctor's offended tone of voice, which just made the Doctor break out in to a toothy, manic grin and a hooting laugh.
"Never you fear; I'm a professional," he sniffed. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Now then, let's hop to it, I'm on a schedule."
***
Donna rubbed her hands together and blew in to them, her gloves off once again, seemingly in preparation for the great deeds to come.
"So, what's the plan?"
"Plan?" Rose asked, and while her look was quite innocent, there was a sparkle in her eye that Donna had not seen for a long time.
"Yeah, a plan. I'm not gonna go running down there willy-nilly--some of those people are armed! I saw them!"
"Oh, well, " Rose shrugged, "I just thought we'd improvise."
"Improvise?! The world is about to end and you want to improvise?" Donna began to shake her head vigorously. "Oh no, no way, I am not going anywhere with you until we have a plan. A fat lot of good we'll be able to do once we get nicked by the Men in Black down there. I've already been shot once for you, I'm not having that again. Now think, what would the Doctor do?"
Rose's shoulders shuddered in peels of silent laughter and she put a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to hide her smile.
"What?" Donna barked through clenched teeth. "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean that we can go off all half-cocked-- What is so funny?"
Rose wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and tried to compose herself. "Is that what he tells you?"
"Is that what who tells me?"
"The Doctor, when you go out and travel together. Does he actually tell you he's got a plan? Got it all worked out, yeah, in his head?" She began to clutch her belly in laughter again and Donna looked as if she was about to spontaneously combust.
"Well, of course he has it worked out! He's the Doctor!"
Rose let out one hooting laugh before stifling it again and looking around furtively. "Oh, what a snow job he's done on you! Ha!"
Donna's eyes narrowed and her lips drew in to straight, thin lines.
"Oh, don't worry about it," Rose chuckled. "That's just what he tells all the ladies to impress 'em. He's got no more of a plan at any given time than I'm Lady Di. Just don't tell him I told you, he'll never forgive me."
"Lady who?"
"Never mind. Now look, that shed down there is full of alien tech. I'm a former Torchwood operative, and my bloke is an alien--sort of. What more of a plan do we need?"
Donna continued to look sceptical.
"Oh all right. You handle some sort of distraction, I'll tinker with the tech. Is that plan-y enough for you?"
"What kind of distraction?"
"That I leave entirely up to you. Though you should know, at least three quarters of the security team are sleeping with one another. See that chap down there?" Rose pointed to a curly-haired man dressed from head to toe in black and carrying a side-arm. "A few well-placed winks in his direction might set off a jealousy chain-reaction that could open up a rift in time and space." She looked back at Donna appraisingly. "And he fancies ginger."
"If I get shot and we all get sucked in to a black hole, I am going to kill you," Donna said, glaring at her as they both stood and prepared to move out.
"That's the spirit!"
***
"That's a laundry hamper?" The Doctor stared down at the grim conglomeration of squat buildings that made up Crede's work unit from atop a nearby bluff. The laundry hamper turned out to be a lorry passing through the gates and being waved at by several armed guards.
"We do a lot of laundry," Crede said, unironically.
"I can see that. Well then, it looks like I can probably jump on top of the heap from that ledge there. When's the next one due to come in?"
The boy squinted in the bright orange light of the twin suns towards what passed for his home. "I see two in there now, so I'd expect another three some time in the next little while. Soon. We've normally got all five processed by the lunch break."
The Doctor stood and buttoned up his suit jacket, shaking his limbs and cracking his neck, as if in preparation for a fight. "It's up to you then. Are you sure you can do this?"
Crede certainly did not look sure, but he nodded slowly. "Is everyone from your world like you?"
"Rather not," the Doctor laughed. "No. But they're worth saving. Even at your worst, you're all worth saving. I'll be in the next lorry through then. I don't fancy being irradiated, so please be prompt."
"Can I ask you a question first?"
"Sure. Anything."
Crede furrowed his brow and for the first time truly met the Doctor's eyes. "How do you know I'll help you?"
One corner of the Doctor's mouth quirked up in to a sly little smile. "I guess I'll have to trust you."
And with that, he turned on his heel and jogged off to the ledge to await the next laundry hamper, never looking back and never hesitating.
(To Chapter 16: Project Ochre)
Characters/Pairings: Duplicate Tenth Doctor/Rose, alt!Donna, various Tylers and Motts, and several OCs
Rating: Most chapters Teen (Adult chapters noted as such)
Series: Part of the Morris Minor 'Verse
Summary: An Alt!Ten, Rose and Alt!Donna Adventure! Join our heroes as they investigate a mysterious man from the future, an apocalyptic death cult, and the wonders of the internal combustion engine. Romance, action, adventure, sci fi, occasional smut Donna being awesome, as usual all par for the course.
A/N: Sequel to The One True Free Life. It's not entirely necessary to have read that, but if you're finding yourself at any point going, "Huh?" it's just probably something that was explained in that story.
Previous Chapters: Previous Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
On their walk together back to the vicinity of Crede's work unit, the Doctor debated how many of his various hunches and inductions to share with the lad. If Rose or Donna were with him, just talking to them would help him think, and then right on schedule they'd say something that would lead him inexorably toward the solution. But this boy looked like he couldn't be any older than sixteen, and the product of a repressive society that perhaps did not reward thinking outside the box. Perhaps.
"Tell me, young man," the Doctor began rather pompously, "has anyone gone missing from your work unit recently? Anyone just vanish or run away?"
Crede's long strides had carried him several feet in front of the Doctor as they walked, and he now slowed his pace and turned to look at him. "Not that I know of, but the Proprietors don't generally like it to get out when someone breaks contract."
"Quite," the Doctor mused. "The only thing that looks worse than a slave-owner is a slave-owner who can't keep their slaves."
Crede's youthful features suddenly crinkled in to a suspicious, sour expression.
"What?" the Doctor asked innocently, wiping a bit of sweat from the back of his neck.
"With respect, we're indentures, not slaves." He spat the final word like it had stuck in the back of his throat on the way out.
The Doctor gave a non-committal grunt and let an uncomfortable silence descend for a few moments. The second sun was rising, and he was beginning to realise that experiencing the climate of this planet was quite a different thing with a human physiology. The thought had never occurred to him before. In his day-dreams, as his hands worked mindlessly loosening a rusty ball joint or filing down a newly-machined part, he was always the Time Lord, hiking up the red-flecked hills or running through sterling forests, a creature fully suited to its environment. What need had he to ever contemplate what that same ground would feel like under human feet or the same hot wind against human skin?
He ran a hand over his face, brushing away some dust that had accumulated in the corners of his eyes. "So, you're all indentures then?" he asked finally, continuing the conversation from several minutes previous.
Crede tripped over a stone as he answered in the affirmative.
"Watch yourself. Can't save the world with a busted leg--believe me, I tried. Even the non-humans?"
"Pardon?" Crede asked, keeping his eyes on the ground now rather than turning to where the Doctor was still jogging along behind him.
"The non-humans are indentures as well then, yeah?"
The spindly young man seemed to be having trouble formulating an answer to what the Doctor had thought should be a very simple question.
"Please forgive my asking, but where are you from again?" Crede's tone was dark and suspicious though his words were outwardly polite.
"Does it matter?" the Doctor shot back.
"To not be familiar with the laws of the Empire, it's highly unusual. I...I'm not sure I should tell you any more."
The Doctor stopped walking, right in his tracks and put his hands in his pockets. Crede walked a few steps before he noticed but then halted himself and backtracked to come face-to-face with the Doctor again.
"It was just a simple question, lad. Are the non-human workers indentures or not?"
Crede gave him a sidelong look through narrowed eyes, saying tentatively, "No. It's against the law."
"Paid a fair wage then are they?" The Doctor's mouth settled in to a thin-lipped attitude of disapproval, already knowing the answer.
He shook his head.
"Slaves," the Doctor concluded grimly. "The Human Empire employing--no, decreeing--slave labour across the galaxy. And keeping an entire class of humans indentured for....how long is it Crede? When's your time up, eh?"
The boy's impossibly narrow shoulders relaxed a bit at being asked a question he could easily answer. "I'm in standard year six of my indenture, with twenty-four years left on my contract."
The Doctor rubbed his fingers over his scalp vigorously several times. "Because you see," he said, seemingly already in the latter part of a thought that he hadn't articulated the former half of, "it's not supposed to be like this. The Human Empire has it's problems, sure, but this is just...it's wrong. As in incorrect, a mistake, an error. And this is the key to the whole problem, I'm sure of it. This...system," he flung the word at Crede as if he couldn't get it away from him fast enough. "These laws, they've created a monster. He's a product of this, and for me to stop him I have to be a part of it too. But what created this, eh?" He paced and twitched, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, his hands flying through his hair, pinching the bridge of his nose, gesticulating wildly as he tried to put the puzzle together without having all the pieces.
Right at the point at which Crede was about to turn and run away from this seeming lunatic, the Doctor fell suddenly silent.
Crede cleared his throat quietly and the Doctor had to laugh. The below-stairs staff seemed to have the same techniques throughout all of time and space.
"Anyway!" the Doctor chirped. "Onward. We've got some washing to do."
Crede didn't make a move, however, even as the Doctor rocked back on his heels in preparation to continue his efforts to match the boy's long strides.
"Oh, don't listen to me when I talk all that nonsense. Just thinking out loud is all--it helps, sometimes."
The young indenture opened and closed his mouth uncertainly, clearly wanting to ask questions but wary that they might come out sounding like challenges. The Doctor found himself torn between losing patience with all of this subservient claptrap and wanting the boy to discover on his own that questioning was a good thing. Given the time constraints, however, he opted for the former.
"Go on then, out with it," he sighed, trying to hide his enthusiasm for subverting the society's dominant paradigm, even in a small way such as this.
"I was just wondering, what are you going to do once you get in to the unit? I'm not sure I'm terribly clear on that, and...." He shuffled a foot, kicking up a bit of orange dust. "Well, there's the paras -- the guards, armed. It would be dangerous to get caught, someone from outside the unit trying to sneak in. It's against the rules. I...I could get a beating. Or worse. And you--"
"Are you trying to imply that I might not go about this operation with the utmost care?"
Crede looked horrified at the Doctor's offended tone of voice, which just made the Doctor break out in to a toothy, manic grin and a hooting laugh.
"Never you fear; I'm a professional," he sniffed. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Now then, let's hop to it, I'm on a schedule."
***
Donna rubbed her hands together and blew in to them, her gloves off once again, seemingly in preparation for the great deeds to come.
"So, what's the plan?"
"Plan?" Rose asked, and while her look was quite innocent, there was a sparkle in her eye that Donna had not seen for a long time.
"Yeah, a plan. I'm not gonna go running down there willy-nilly--some of those people are armed! I saw them!"
"Oh, well, " Rose shrugged, "I just thought we'd improvise."
"Improvise?! The world is about to end and you want to improvise?" Donna began to shake her head vigorously. "Oh no, no way, I am not going anywhere with you until we have a plan. A fat lot of good we'll be able to do once we get nicked by the Men in Black down there. I've already been shot once for you, I'm not having that again. Now think, what would the Doctor do?"
Rose's shoulders shuddered in peels of silent laughter and she put a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to hide her smile.
"What?" Donna barked through clenched teeth. "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean that we can go off all half-cocked-- What is so funny?"
Rose wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and tried to compose herself. "Is that what he tells you?"
"Is that what who tells me?"
"The Doctor, when you go out and travel together. Does he actually tell you he's got a plan? Got it all worked out, yeah, in his head?" She began to clutch her belly in laughter again and Donna looked as if she was about to spontaneously combust.
"Well, of course he has it worked out! He's the Doctor!"
Rose let out one hooting laugh before stifling it again and looking around furtively. "Oh, what a snow job he's done on you! Ha!"
Donna's eyes narrowed and her lips drew in to straight, thin lines.
"Oh, don't worry about it," Rose chuckled. "That's just what he tells all the ladies to impress 'em. He's got no more of a plan at any given time than I'm Lady Di. Just don't tell him I told you, he'll never forgive me."
"Lady who?"
"Never mind. Now look, that shed down there is full of alien tech. I'm a former Torchwood operative, and my bloke is an alien--sort of. What more of a plan do we need?"
Donna continued to look sceptical.
"Oh all right. You handle some sort of distraction, I'll tinker with the tech. Is that plan-y enough for you?"
"What kind of distraction?"
"That I leave entirely up to you. Though you should know, at least three quarters of the security team are sleeping with one another. See that chap down there?" Rose pointed to a curly-haired man dressed from head to toe in black and carrying a side-arm. "A few well-placed winks in his direction might set off a jealousy chain-reaction that could open up a rift in time and space." She looked back at Donna appraisingly. "And he fancies ginger."
"If I get shot and we all get sucked in to a black hole, I am going to kill you," Donna said, glaring at her as they both stood and prepared to move out.
"That's the spirit!"
***
"That's a laundry hamper?" The Doctor stared down at the grim conglomeration of squat buildings that made up Crede's work unit from atop a nearby bluff. The laundry hamper turned out to be a lorry passing through the gates and being waved at by several armed guards.
"We do a lot of laundry," Crede said, unironically.
"I can see that. Well then, it looks like I can probably jump on top of the heap from that ledge there. When's the next one due to come in?"
The boy squinted in the bright orange light of the twin suns towards what passed for his home. "I see two in there now, so I'd expect another three some time in the next little while. Soon. We've normally got all five processed by the lunch break."
The Doctor stood and buttoned up his suit jacket, shaking his limbs and cracking his neck, as if in preparation for a fight. "It's up to you then. Are you sure you can do this?"
Crede certainly did not look sure, but he nodded slowly. "Is everyone from your world like you?"
"Rather not," the Doctor laughed. "No. But they're worth saving. Even at your worst, you're all worth saving. I'll be in the next lorry through then. I don't fancy being irradiated, so please be prompt."
"Can I ask you a question first?"
"Sure. Anything."
Crede furrowed his brow and for the first time truly met the Doctor's eyes. "How do you know I'll help you?"
One corner of the Doctor's mouth quirked up in to a sly little smile. "I guess I'll have to trust you."
And with that, he turned on his heel and jogged off to the ledge to await the next laundry hamper, never looking back and never hesitating.
(To Chapter 16: Project Ochre)