Rare Ships Month: Eight/Nyssa, part 2 of 2: Primum Non Nocere (PG)
As promised, the fic. Cross-posted to my own LJ.
Primum Non Nocere
by Brewster North
Characters/Pairings: Eight/Nyssa
Length: circa 2799 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: only as far as the TV Movie
Summary: First do no harm - attributed to Hippocrates.
Disclaimer: I own only words. I blame livii and settiai for the plotbunny (from settiai’s DW Random Prompts Generator: Eighth Doctor/Nyssa/poison). For who_otp’s Rare Ships Month.
++LOG traken5502: 4531.23.44.QQ++
++groupall, priorityalpha
++Re: uncatd2291
Patient 2291 (male humanoid, species uncatalogued, identity unregistered) admitted stardate 4203.22.16 as critical case from Federation outpost Upsilon Eridani II (@triagedata, @diagdata).
Believed manifesting symptoms of severe fever secondary to unknown viral infection; binary circulatory system and other aberrant internal physiology (@obsvnotes) makes empirical confirmation of this diagnosis problematic. Has not regained consciousness since admittance.
Quarantined pursuant to FXHB order 2922 under Level 7 conditions. To present, the infection shows a high-level of self-organization which verges on the intelligent, and has shown considerable resistance to the standard therapies. I have instructed blood samples to be taken to examine this phenomenon further.
Be it noted with this entry that I am requesting a Board review of quarantine status, advocating an upgrade to Level 10. We cannot be too careful, under the circumstances.
++/groupall
Personal note. Unless I’m very much mistaken, 2291 is... well, I can’t be sure until such time as he awakens. As the Tellurian, Feynman, once said, you are the easiest person to fool.
If it is him, it’s not a body I’m familiar with. There are some minor resemblances to the man who first met me on Traken. Tall, but a little shorter than the other one, I think; slender build; dark hair with the same tendency to curl; a distinguished bone-structure to the face. Even in this state he looks more... alive than anyone I’ve seen. For want of a more scientific description.
I don’t know whether I want it to be him, or whether I want it to be... the other one. He doesn’t look particularly fiendish, but if a man who resembles one’s own father can be a murderer of the worst kind...
Nyssa Trakenius, you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy.
But is it fairer to wish it were you, Doctor, lying before me?
Whoever you are, I hope you wake up soon. I need more evidence to go on.
++ENDLOG++
Deep. Pain. Drift.
He was in pain, and he was alone, two horribly familiar sensations even to this new body. The rest was a haze.
Sharp pain in his arm. That hurt. Dazed, he struggled to surface. Even with his eyes a fraction open his vision was still hazy, his head spinning.
His muscles must be stiff from the cold, he realized. There was ice forming in a thin layer on his skin. Bringing his eyes to focus was a tremendous effort. There was a vast shadow over him, reaching -
Oh, no, you don’t. He lurched up in one motion, grabbing the dark arm as it made for him. A plastic, inhuman arm. He struggled violently, grappling with his assailant with his failing strength.
Both arms were restraining him without effort, pinioning his helpless body. His struggles were already growing weaker. His hearts laboured under the strain. Killing him, they’d kill him -
++ALERT ramasv2221: 4536.52.25.QQ++
++groupall, franklin, priorityalpha
++GENERAL QUARANTINE ADVISORY
Board Chair Dr S. V. Ramachandran to all personnel, Federation medical vessel Franklin:
DIAG has confirmed the presence of a new immunodeficiency virus variant arisen in patients laokai4422 and marile5751, both of whom are now on the critical list. The outbreak appears to be confined to these two cases, at present.
DECON is working to suppress the risk of spread: please obey their instructions for everyone’s safety.
Above all, please remain calm. Unpredictable viral mutations are an occupational hazard of a hospital ship in spite of the best disinfection processes. If full quarantine procedures are observed, DIAG estimates that the half-life of this new virus will be not more than 25 sidereal hours.
Contrary to shipboard hearsay, no correlation has been drawn between the new virus and uncatd2291’s infection. Any queries on 2291’s status should be relayed to Dr Trakenius through myself alone. Our xenoepidemiologist would prefer to formulate her hypotheses in the absence of ill-informed speculation.
Updates will follow.
* * * * *
++END++
Doing anything for New Year’s Eve?
Going as Wild Bill Hickok.
“Grace?” he croaked.
Hold still. This might hurt a little.
“I regenerated. Can’t be much worse.” No, that was what he’d said before. Hadn’t he?
Someone was screaming. Or was that some kind of siren? Or the wild wind blowing? In Hawaii, it has started snowing. And the people they are going, to a place there is no knowing. And the signs they are a-showing that the evil it is a-growing...
“Oh, no, not again.” Wasn’t that what he’d said before, too? But not his voice. Marvellous, now his gramophone had started talking to him. Next time, he was getting one of those wax-cylinder jobs. Ah, the sweet music of the spheres, the universe talking to itself, bleeping and blooping. Quite comfortable, this. Like that old joke about the nun and the glass of milk.
“Can you hear me?”
“And the Mother Superior said, ‘Don’t sell the cow’.”
“...delirious.” A sigh.
“That’s ‘Kasterborous’.” Honestly. Humans.
“Get some rest,” crooned the gramophone, warm and drowsy.
++UPDATE ramasv2221: 4540.59.58.QQ++
++groupall, priorityalpha
++Quarantine evaluation
Deceased (8 confirmed):
laokai4422, marile5751, mathim5451, zarot2422, tabira5499, kadual3480, anakk4867, baohe4893
Critical (129):
@DIAG
Infected (325, of which 121 medpers):
@DECON, @DIAG
Status: low containment/uncontained.
++/groupall
++traken5502: secure
Nyssa,
Tongues wag. mhrrak7471 in DIAG alleges a plot to eliminate species-hybrid personnel, in which you and uncatd2291 are complicit. Myself, I think the strain is getting to him. Poor Kerril’h is only human, even if his mother came from Catullus. Nevertheless, he’s got a following. Franklin is coming apart at the seams. The Board itself is at daggers drawn.
It’s tempting, in these circumstances, to scrub you out of that room, space 2291 and put you to work on Mhrrat’s Virus, especially considering its fatality and infection rate. (To say nothing of the symptoms in the critical phase.) But not even the needs of the many outweigh the value of the one. That much you did teach me.
Three requests:
I must ask you to observe livelog silence. My figures say you should have enough capacity on your slate for 100 more sidereal hours. Ask your Facilitator to carry data on oracles through DECON’s autoclaves. The one story of Ser Mhrrat’s that I was able to substantiate was the phenomenon of data going missing. He blames you, of course. I should hope I know you better than that.
In spite of which, please be forthcoming with whatever you have. Suppositions, circumstantial evidence, anything that could give us a lead. Flag it for my eyes only if you think it unfit for groupall. You seem to know more about uncatd2291’s species than the rest of us, for which I was thankful at the time of his admission; holding anything back now will make it harder on you in the long run. That’s not a threat, just a reading of the ship’s morale.
Your Facilitator will come to you at stardate 4541.22.10 bearing an oracle with the findings of PATH’s post-mortem on laokai4422, the first victim and our current primary, and any other data that DIAG and other departments have gathered by that time. Whatever 2291’s status by that time (last telemetry before livelog shutdown suggested steady improvement in his condition), please give the data on that oracle your first priority.
Vi
++END++
His fever had finally broken, but so, it seemed, had his body. There was moisture running down his face, and yet he was parched with thirst. His extremities ached with cold: whoever had tended to him must’ve frozen him almost solid in order to bring his fever down.
A very good idea, that. His immune system had taken the cold as a cue to hunker down into defensive mode. By that sort of aikido, whatever had infected him had been overthrown. Someone knew his physiology well enough. So why were there such clumsy puncture-marks in the crook of his left elbow?
He awoke, startled, at the touch of a bare hand to his shoulder, just above the collarbone. “Easy, easy,” said a familiar voice, soothingly. “You’re still recovering. You’re out of danger.”
He blinked and squinted. “Nyssa,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving the universe,” she said gravely.
He grinned in spite of his weakness. “A woman after my own hearts.”
Nyssa cleared her throat. “Yes. Well.” She’d swallowed any emotions she might’ve been feeling in a moment. “Let’s get you cleaned up, first of all. And, just for the record - who are you?”
++REPORT traken5502: 4541.23.41.QQ++
++ramasv2221: secure: oracle
++Re: 2291/4422
Vi,
2291’s recovery typically miraculous for species. Catalogue him as Time Lord of Gallifrey, constellation Kasterborous, revise his ID as quote “doctor2291” unquote. Further information to come. Has been of invaluable help in further investigation of Mhrrat’s Virus.
Oracle containing your promised data from PATH/DIAG et alii materialised late and contained corrupted data. The Doctor and myself have managed a partial reconstruction and
Iebtosuhs emtnsb askngkjshetkhskfn ,sm
*****ERROR*****+++++
S. Vishnu Ramachandran was not a man prone to panic, but the sudden descent of the message into gibberish caused concern. Was this, too, a trap? Or had even his quarantine of the information coming out of 2291’s isolation room failed against some other virus altogether?
There was a ‘psst’ sound, as of a hypospray, behind him. He froze.
Before he could call out for his Facilitator, a large hand had gripped him, muffling his mouth. “Quiet, Vi,” came Nyssa’s urgent whisper, “it’s me. This is the Doctor.”
“Sorry about that,” said the owner of the hand as he withdrew it, patient 2291, still dressed in the scrub-suit in which he had entered Isolation, “we’re in a bit of a corner. We only just managed to transmat out of Isolation in time.”
“The robots, Vi,” Nyssa hissed. “The Facilitators. They’re the vectors.”
“Impossible -”
“Why?” said the Doctor. “Because they’re only mechs, isn’t that it? You can tolerate having five of them for every non-robot crewman aboard because they’ll do what you ask. You assume that they’re answerable to you alone. But you forget that they can be reprogrammed.”
“By whom?”
“You had a war of machines, centuries back, didn’t you?”
“Yes -”
“There’s a band of robot terrorists who want to refight it.”
“If the Doctor hadn’t fallen ill, we wouldn’t have known about it,” Dr Trakenius stated. “The virus that infected and reprogrammed the Facilitators is entirely harmless to humans.”
“Yes, very clever. The selfish gene incarnate. Grab more virus from me to infect more Facilitators; set aside a part of the hold as a laboratory to convert samples of their own virus into the one you know as Mhrrat’s Virus; infect anyone they come into contact with; eliminate or deny all evidence that it took place.”
“Including yourselves?” Ramachandran was distinctly alarmed.
“Including ourselves. We’re the most significant material witnesses. Mhrrat’s Virus would probably catch up with us sooner or later: it’s quite the equal-opportunities disease. But they’ve come for you, haven’t they? They’ll murder and maim, but their real target is being saved for last, forced to watch as the Organics to whom he’s sworn loyalty die around him.”
“How did you -!?”
“Never mind. Nyssa, you’re quieter than usual. Nyssa?”
Dr Trakenius had vanished.
“Oh, no.”
“My Facilitator must have taken her.”
“Can your transmats lock onto her location?”
“Within a few metres.”
“Good enough.”
“Come no closer, traitor,” the Facilitator called out, “or your precious human dies.”
“She’s not human,” said the Doctor, “she’s a very dear friend of mine. I’d rather like her back if you don’t mind.”
Nyssa had to restrain a gasp. The Doctor was holding Vi at the point of a hypospray clearly loaded with the most potent toxin in the formulary - usually only used in nanoscopic quantities. She hoped she hadn’t made a serious miscalculation.
“Illogical,” sneered the Facilitator. “Destruction of a Soul Machine is not part of human programming.”
“Wrong again, Facilitator,” the Doctor grinned back, “I’m not human either. Well, not fully.”
“All Organics are superfluous, regardless of species,” declaimed the Facilitator.
“Oh, yes, yes. But d’you know something?”
The Facilitator looked stony.
“They say the same about you. Let me kill this one for you. Logically, you’ll have to tidy up after yourselves, won’t you, once the job’s done? It would be terribly bad form if word got about that you had a top-secret bioweapon, and blowing up the Franklin would just draw unwanted attention. You made that virus, so logically you made an antivirus, didn’t you?”
The Facilitator cogitated for a bit, before responding, “Correct.”
“With, of course, the same ability to propagate as the original. Goes without saying. You’d waste no time covering your tracks.”
“Correct.”
“Let’s call that bluff, shall we? On three.”
“Doctor, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Nyssa urged, but a Facilitator dragged her back.
“So do I. One,” said the Doctor.
“One,” confirmed the Facilitator. One of its fellows had already moved into position.
“Two.”
“Two.”
“Three -” The Doctor’s fingers clenched over the hypospray.
“Three.”
Several things happened at once. The Facilitators were in a flurry of movement. Nyssa’s ears were fixed on only three sounds in the confusion.
“-oops, butterfingers,” said the Doctor, grinning sheepishly as the hypospray discharged harmlessly into the air, before it fell to the floor with a clatter. “Vi - ‘scuse me - run.”
Ramachandran pelted for the shadows.
“Illogical Organic perfidy,” snarled the Facilitator, but its voice was beginning to become sluggish. “The countervirus cannot be reversed.”
“You didn’t plan for it, did you?” The Doctor’s expression was stone cold. “All those Organics won’t be terribly happy about it. Nor will your paymasters. Undone by a simple bluff.”
But the light was already dying in the eyes of all the Facilitators. “No... proof,” they sighed in chorus, and collapsed where they stood.
Released, Nyssa rushed to join the Doctor.
“There must have been a self-destruct order as part of the virus. Blast!”
“We’ll worry about that later. For now, there’s a lot of people on the road to recovery; and we are singularly short-handed.”
The Doctor looked - and, no doubt, felt - as weary now, at the end of a long shift, as he had when he had first awoken and virtually fallen out of the stasis-capsule. By unspoken consent, he’d curled up in her office chair in her quarters, with Ramachandran’s lab coat draped over his knees and a mug of tea from her carefully-guarded store cupped in his hands, while she sat cross-legged on her own bunk. Just like old times.
“I suppose there’ll have to be a major restructuring,” Nyssa said, more or less to herself, not entirely sure whether the Doctor was napping; “with Vi gone, someone’ll have to take over. I can’t blame him for running for his life, I suppose.”
“He’ll come to his senses eventually,” murmured the Doctor, his eyes half-closed, sipping his tea. “Were you and he...?”
“Strictly professional,” Nyssa interjected. “A case of the student growing to outrank the professor. And yes, I did know he was a Soul Machine. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing, just wondered if there was... anyone. He seemed as likely as any.”
“I haven’t had the time. I’ve been pretty much ‘married’ to one job or another since I took the assignment on board the ‘Terminus’. That could still change... conditional on your behaviour, of course, Doctor.”
The Doctor chuckled at this, but caught her eye and said, solemnly enough, “Yes, Doctor.”
“You’ll stay, of course? This is at least partly your fault.”
“To the vector, the spoils,” he sighed. “I’ll have to stay. Long enough to work my passage back to Upsilon Eridani and the TARDIS, at any rate.”
“Long enough,” said Nyssa, “we’ve a lot of catching up to do.”
Primum Non Nocere
by Brewster North
Characters/Pairings: Eight/Nyssa
Length: circa 2799 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: only as far as the TV Movie
Summary: First do no harm - attributed to Hippocrates.
Disclaimer: I own only words. I blame livii and settiai for the plotbunny (from settiai’s DW Random Prompts Generator: Eighth Doctor/Nyssa/poison). For who_otp’s Rare Ships Month.
++LOG traken5502: 4531.23.44.QQ++
++groupall, priorityalpha
++Re: uncatd2291
Patient 2291 (male humanoid, species uncatalogued, identity unregistered) admitted stardate 4203.22.16 as critical case from Federation outpost Upsilon Eridani II (@triagedata, @diagdata).
Believed manifesting symptoms of severe fever secondary to unknown viral infection; binary circulatory system and other aberrant internal physiology (@obsvnotes) makes empirical confirmation of this diagnosis problematic. Has not regained consciousness since admittance.
Quarantined pursuant to FXHB order 2922 under Level 7 conditions. To present, the infection shows a high-level of self-organization which verges on the intelligent, and has shown considerable resistance to the standard therapies. I have instructed blood samples to be taken to examine this phenomenon further.
Be it noted with this entry that I am requesting a Board review of quarantine status, advocating an upgrade to Level 10. We cannot be too careful, under the circumstances.
++/groupall
Personal note. Unless I’m very much mistaken, 2291 is... well, I can’t be sure until such time as he awakens. As the Tellurian, Feynman, once said, you are the easiest person to fool.
If it is him, it’s not a body I’m familiar with. There are some minor resemblances to the man who first met me on Traken. Tall, but a little shorter than the other one, I think; slender build; dark hair with the same tendency to curl; a distinguished bone-structure to the face. Even in this state he looks more... alive than anyone I’ve seen. For want of a more scientific description.
I don’t know whether I want it to be him, or whether I want it to be... the other one. He doesn’t look particularly fiendish, but if a man who resembles one’s own father can be a murderer of the worst kind...
Nyssa Trakenius, you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy.
But is it fairer to wish it were you, Doctor, lying before me?
Whoever you are, I hope you wake up soon. I need more evidence to go on.
++ENDLOG++
Deep. Pain. Drift.
He was in pain, and he was alone, two horribly familiar sensations even to this new body. The rest was a haze.
Sharp pain in his arm. That hurt. Dazed, he struggled to surface. Even with his eyes a fraction open his vision was still hazy, his head spinning.
His muscles must be stiff from the cold, he realized. There was ice forming in a thin layer on his skin. Bringing his eyes to focus was a tremendous effort. There was a vast shadow over him, reaching -
Oh, no, you don’t. He lurched up in one motion, grabbing the dark arm as it made for him. A plastic, inhuman arm. He struggled violently, grappling with his assailant with his failing strength.
Both arms were restraining him without effort, pinioning his helpless body. His struggles were already growing weaker. His hearts laboured under the strain. Killing him, they’d kill him -
++ALERT ramasv2221: 4536.52.25.QQ++
++groupall, franklin, priorityalpha
++GENERAL QUARANTINE ADVISORY
Board Chair Dr S. V. Ramachandran to all personnel, Federation medical vessel Franklin:
DIAG has confirmed the presence of a new immunodeficiency virus variant arisen in patients laokai4422 and marile5751, both of whom are now on the critical list. The outbreak appears to be confined to these two cases, at present.
DECON is working to suppress the risk of spread: please obey their instructions for everyone’s safety.
Above all, please remain calm. Unpredictable viral mutations are an occupational hazard of a hospital ship in spite of the best disinfection processes. If full quarantine procedures are observed, DIAG estimates that the half-life of this new virus will be not more than 25 sidereal hours.
Contrary to shipboard hearsay, no correlation has been drawn between the new virus and uncatd2291’s infection. Any queries on 2291’s status should be relayed to Dr Trakenius through myself alone. Our xenoepidemiologist would prefer to formulate her hypotheses in the absence of ill-informed speculation.
Updates will follow.
* * * * *
++END++
Doing anything for New Year’s Eve?
Going as Wild Bill Hickok.
“Grace?” he croaked.
Hold still. This might hurt a little.
“I regenerated. Can’t be much worse.” No, that was what he’d said before. Hadn’t he?
Someone was screaming. Or was that some kind of siren? Or the wild wind blowing? In Hawaii, it has started snowing. And the people they are going, to a place there is no knowing. And the signs they are a-showing that the evil it is a-growing...
“Oh, no, not again.” Wasn’t that what he’d said before, too? But not his voice. Marvellous, now his gramophone had started talking to him. Next time, he was getting one of those wax-cylinder jobs. Ah, the sweet music of the spheres, the universe talking to itself, bleeping and blooping. Quite comfortable, this. Like that old joke about the nun and the glass of milk.
“Can you hear me?”
“And the Mother Superior said, ‘Don’t sell the cow’.”
“...delirious.” A sigh.
“That’s ‘Kasterborous’.” Honestly. Humans.
“Get some rest,” crooned the gramophone, warm and drowsy.
++UPDATE ramasv2221: 4540.59.58.QQ++
++groupall, priorityalpha
++Quarantine evaluation
Deceased (8 confirmed):
laokai4422, marile5751, mathim5451, zarot2422, tabira5499, kadual3480, anakk4867, baohe4893
Critical (129):
@DIAG
Infected (325, of which 121 medpers):
@DECON, @DIAG
Status: low containment/uncontained.
++/groupall
++traken5502: secure
Nyssa,
Tongues wag. mhrrak7471 in DIAG alleges a plot to eliminate species-hybrid personnel, in which you and uncatd2291 are complicit. Myself, I think the strain is getting to him. Poor Kerril’h is only human, even if his mother came from Catullus. Nevertheless, he’s got a following. Franklin is coming apart at the seams. The Board itself is at daggers drawn.
It’s tempting, in these circumstances, to scrub you out of that room, space 2291 and put you to work on Mhrrat’s Virus, especially considering its fatality and infection rate. (To say nothing of the symptoms in the critical phase.) But not even the needs of the many outweigh the value of the one. That much you did teach me.
Three requests:
I must ask you to observe livelog silence. My figures say you should have enough capacity on your slate for 100 more sidereal hours. Ask your Facilitator to carry data on oracles through DECON’s autoclaves. The one story of Ser Mhrrat’s that I was able to substantiate was the phenomenon of data going missing. He blames you, of course. I should hope I know you better than that.
In spite of which, please be forthcoming with whatever you have. Suppositions, circumstantial evidence, anything that could give us a lead. Flag it for my eyes only if you think it unfit for groupall. You seem to know more about uncatd2291’s species than the rest of us, for which I was thankful at the time of his admission; holding anything back now will make it harder on you in the long run. That’s not a threat, just a reading of the ship’s morale.
Your Facilitator will come to you at stardate 4541.22.10 bearing an oracle with the findings of PATH’s post-mortem on laokai4422, the first victim and our current primary, and any other data that DIAG and other departments have gathered by that time. Whatever 2291’s status by that time (last telemetry before livelog shutdown suggested steady improvement in his condition), please give the data on that oracle your first priority.
Vi
++END++
His fever had finally broken, but so, it seemed, had his body. There was moisture running down his face, and yet he was parched with thirst. His extremities ached with cold: whoever had tended to him must’ve frozen him almost solid in order to bring his fever down.
A very good idea, that. His immune system had taken the cold as a cue to hunker down into defensive mode. By that sort of aikido, whatever had infected him had been overthrown. Someone knew his physiology well enough. So why were there such clumsy puncture-marks in the crook of his left elbow?
He awoke, startled, at the touch of a bare hand to his shoulder, just above the collarbone. “Easy, easy,” said a familiar voice, soothingly. “You’re still recovering. You’re out of danger.”
He blinked and squinted. “Nyssa,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving the universe,” she said gravely.
He grinned in spite of his weakness. “A woman after my own hearts.”
Nyssa cleared her throat. “Yes. Well.” She’d swallowed any emotions she might’ve been feeling in a moment. “Let’s get you cleaned up, first of all. And, just for the record - who are you?”
++REPORT traken5502: 4541.23.41.QQ++
++ramasv2221: secure: oracle
++Re: 2291/4422
Vi,
2291’s recovery typically miraculous for species. Catalogue him as Time Lord of Gallifrey, constellation Kasterborous, revise his ID as quote “doctor2291” unquote. Further information to come. Has been of invaluable help in further investigation of Mhrrat’s Virus.
Oracle containing your promised data from PATH/DIAG et alii materialised late and contained corrupted data. The Doctor and myself have managed a partial reconstruction and
Iebtosuhs emtnsb askngkjshetkhskfn ,sm
*****ERROR*****+++++
S. Vishnu Ramachandran was not a man prone to panic, but the sudden descent of the message into gibberish caused concern. Was this, too, a trap? Or had even his quarantine of the information coming out of 2291’s isolation room failed against some other virus altogether?
There was a ‘psst’ sound, as of a hypospray, behind him. He froze.
Before he could call out for his Facilitator, a large hand had gripped him, muffling his mouth. “Quiet, Vi,” came Nyssa’s urgent whisper, “it’s me. This is the Doctor.”
“Sorry about that,” said the owner of the hand as he withdrew it, patient 2291, still dressed in the scrub-suit in which he had entered Isolation, “we’re in a bit of a corner. We only just managed to transmat out of Isolation in time.”
“The robots, Vi,” Nyssa hissed. “The Facilitators. They’re the vectors.”
“Impossible -”
“Why?” said the Doctor. “Because they’re only mechs, isn’t that it? You can tolerate having five of them for every non-robot crewman aboard because they’ll do what you ask. You assume that they’re answerable to you alone. But you forget that they can be reprogrammed.”
“By whom?”
“You had a war of machines, centuries back, didn’t you?”
“Yes -”
“There’s a band of robot terrorists who want to refight it.”
“If the Doctor hadn’t fallen ill, we wouldn’t have known about it,” Dr Trakenius stated. “The virus that infected and reprogrammed the Facilitators is entirely harmless to humans.”
“Yes, very clever. The selfish gene incarnate. Grab more virus from me to infect more Facilitators; set aside a part of the hold as a laboratory to convert samples of their own virus into the one you know as Mhrrat’s Virus; infect anyone they come into contact with; eliminate or deny all evidence that it took place.”
“Including yourselves?” Ramachandran was distinctly alarmed.
“Including ourselves. We’re the most significant material witnesses. Mhrrat’s Virus would probably catch up with us sooner or later: it’s quite the equal-opportunities disease. But they’ve come for you, haven’t they? They’ll murder and maim, but their real target is being saved for last, forced to watch as the Organics to whom he’s sworn loyalty die around him.”
“How did you -!?”
“Never mind. Nyssa, you’re quieter than usual. Nyssa?”
Dr Trakenius had vanished.
“Oh, no.”
“My Facilitator must have taken her.”
“Can your transmats lock onto her location?”
“Within a few metres.”
“Good enough.”
“Come no closer, traitor,” the Facilitator called out, “or your precious human dies.”
“She’s not human,” said the Doctor, “she’s a very dear friend of mine. I’d rather like her back if you don’t mind.”
Nyssa had to restrain a gasp. The Doctor was holding Vi at the point of a hypospray clearly loaded with the most potent toxin in the formulary - usually only used in nanoscopic quantities. She hoped she hadn’t made a serious miscalculation.
“Illogical,” sneered the Facilitator. “Destruction of a Soul Machine is not part of human programming.”
“Wrong again, Facilitator,” the Doctor grinned back, “I’m not human either. Well, not fully.”
“All Organics are superfluous, regardless of species,” declaimed the Facilitator.
“Oh, yes, yes. But d’you know something?”
The Facilitator looked stony.
“They say the same about you. Let me kill this one for you. Logically, you’ll have to tidy up after yourselves, won’t you, once the job’s done? It would be terribly bad form if word got about that you had a top-secret bioweapon, and blowing up the Franklin would just draw unwanted attention. You made that virus, so logically you made an antivirus, didn’t you?”
The Facilitator cogitated for a bit, before responding, “Correct.”
“With, of course, the same ability to propagate as the original. Goes without saying. You’d waste no time covering your tracks.”
“Correct.”
“Let’s call that bluff, shall we? On three.”
“Doctor, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Nyssa urged, but a Facilitator dragged her back.
“So do I. One,” said the Doctor.
“One,” confirmed the Facilitator. One of its fellows had already moved into position.
“Two.”
“Two.”
“Three -” The Doctor’s fingers clenched over the hypospray.
“Three.”
Several things happened at once. The Facilitators were in a flurry of movement. Nyssa’s ears were fixed on only three sounds in the confusion.
“-oops, butterfingers,” said the Doctor, grinning sheepishly as the hypospray discharged harmlessly into the air, before it fell to the floor with a clatter. “Vi - ‘scuse me - run.”
Ramachandran pelted for the shadows.
“Illogical Organic perfidy,” snarled the Facilitator, but its voice was beginning to become sluggish. “The countervirus cannot be reversed.”
“You didn’t plan for it, did you?” The Doctor’s expression was stone cold. “All those Organics won’t be terribly happy about it. Nor will your paymasters. Undone by a simple bluff.”
But the light was already dying in the eyes of all the Facilitators. “No... proof,” they sighed in chorus, and collapsed where they stood.
Released, Nyssa rushed to join the Doctor.
“There must have been a self-destruct order as part of the virus. Blast!”
“We’ll worry about that later. For now, there’s a lot of people on the road to recovery; and we are singularly short-handed.”
The Doctor looked - and, no doubt, felt - as weary now, at the end of a long shift, as he had when he had first awoken and virtually fallen out of the stasis-capsule. By unspoken consent, he’d curled up in her office chair in her quarters, with Ramachandran’s lab coat draped over his knees and a mug of tea from her carefully-guarded store cupped in his hands, while she sat cross-legged on her own bunk. Just like old times.
“I suppose there’ll have to be a major restructuring,” Nyssa said, more or less to herself, not entirely sure whether the Doctor was napping; “with Vi gone, someone’ll have to take over. I can’t blame him for running for his life, I suppose.”
“He’ll come to his senses eventually,” murmured the Doctor, his eyes half-closed, sipping his tea. “Were you and he...?”
“Strictly professional,” Nyssa interjected. “A case of the student growing to outrank the professor. And yes, I did know he was a Soul Machine. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing, just wondered if there was... anyone. He seemed as likely as any.”
“I haven’t had the time. I’ve been pretty much ‘married’ to one job or another since I took the assignment on board the ‘Terminus’. That could still change... conditional on your behaviour, of course, Doctor.”
The Doctor chuckled at this, but caught her eye and said, solemnly enough, “Yes, Doctor.”
“You’ll stay, of course? This is at least partly your fault.”
“To the vector, the spoils,” he sighed. “I’ll have to stay. Long enough to work my passage back to Upsilon Eridani and the TARDIS, at any rate.”
“Long enough,” said Nyssa, “we’ve a lot of catching up to do.”