Travels With Teddy. 1/1
Clive May
A fifth Doctor story
by Clive May (cl...@cj4386.demon.co.uk)
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The copy right of all things pertaining to the concept and characters of Dr
Who is the property of the BBC. This story is a work of fan fiction; it has
been written simply for the pleasure it gave me in writing it; and no money
has or will change hands with respect to the story.
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At the moment of crisis, there was an almighty wrench inside the Doctor's
mind. He clung to the console with one hand, whilst making adjustments with
the other. The floor tilted, sending Tegan sprawling across the floor.
Oddly, Nyssa stood unshaken by the perturbations. She put hands to her
temples, and peered around, wide eyed, at the dimming lights.
"Doctor!" Tegan cried from where she lay, entangled with the coat stand.
"It's alright, Tegan," the Doctor assured. "We're free...With no harm done."
As was becoming all too common with the Doctor, he was completely mistaken.
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Lucy awoke with a start from a most peculiar dream. She lay in the amber
glow from the street light streaming in through the window, and listened to
the strange noise dying away into the distant hum of traffic. She hugged a
threadbare teddy to her cheek, taking comfort from her most favourite toy.
Mr Teddy had never failed to bring her comfort, ever since he had arrived on
her fifth birthday, two years ago.
Over in the darkest corner of her room, a shimmering purple light was
unfolding like a blooming flower. Even as the un-curling petals were
settling into an eye-defying arrangement, the entire bloom was fading. Lucy
drew the duvet up to her chin, clutching at the edge, her fingers rigid with
fright.
Somehow, she recognised the purple flower as the beautiful woman she had been
talking to in her dream. The woman had been tall and slender, silvery
haired, with a face made of wise eyes and a laughing mouth. She had been
telling Lucy the most wonderful fairy story. Now, she was no more than a
misty patch of fading purple light. Lucy realised, too, that the horrible
noise which was filling her head, had been the woman's gentle voice.
Lucy tried to remember the story; but the details were slipping away even as
the flower faded. She desperately wanted to know how the story ended; but
the noise was dying into silence.
It was plain to Lucy that she was still dreaming, so she pinched herself.
The pinch hurt, which fooled Lucy into believing she was awake. Comforted by
her innocent certainties, and by the rasp of Mr Teddy's fur against her
cheek, she went back to sleep.
It was a whole life time before she finally awoke from that dream, and heard
how the story ended.
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Straining her eyes in the half-light, Tegan leaned down to peer over the
Doctor's shoulder. He was kneeling at the console. One of the side panels
was off, and he had his head stuck deep inside the workings. He was poking
half-heartedly at the complex circuitry by the light of a pen torch.
"You don't know what's wrong? Do you?" Tegan said, her breath misting the
chilly air.
The Doctor's back stiffened a little at the rebuke in Tegan's voice. He
continued to fiddle a while, before backing out to peer up at the Australian
woman over his half lenses. He made no immediate reply.
Tegan put hands on hips and gave him a sour look. "You don't, do you?"
"I do," said Nyssa confidently. Then, when two pairs of eyes turned to fix
her with an expectant glare, she added less confidently: "At least, I know
what it feels like?"
The Doctor got to his feet. "Well?" he demanded, his tone a trifle too
sharp.
Before answering, Nyssa glanced all around at the shadows crowding in where
the roundelled walls had, a few moments before, gleamed whitely in the
sourceless light. At last, her gaze came back to the Doctor. Taking a
breath of the enervated air, she explained what was in her mind.
Tegan sniggered.
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Lucy travelled constantly. It was not what she did; it was what she was.
Even when she could not move from place to place, she travelled in her mind,
traversing new mental landscapes. She tried out new ways of thinking, of
feeling and seeing. She discovered that if one looked at them from the
proper perspective, even the mundane possessed endless new planes of
intricacy.
She tried to paint them; and in so doing became a world famous abstract
artist. Her canvases exchanged hands for thousands; but the money never
interested her. Lesser mortals avidly sought her opinion on art; but the
fame and the fawning sycophants bored her. She was never satisfied with the
canvases she produced. They lacked something, some quality of perspective
unique to herself, which defied all attempts to transfer to the two
dimensional planes of the canvas. Dissatisfied, she gave up painting, and
turned to the written word in her search for a suitable medium of expression.
Lucy travelled further and further, always having an uncanny instinct for
knowing what would lay round the next corner, or over the next rise, or
across the next burning desert. The foreknowledge did nothing to dull the
wonder at each new experience, for the child Lucy remained within. Her eyes
drank in the sights, and her graceful hands poured them down onto paper in a
whole series of fantastic stories. All of the stories remained unfinished,
for Lucy could not know then how the story ended.
One drizzling day in London, when she was old and weary, she got a glimpse of
the ending. She turned a corner in an east London street... And it was
there before her, the shape which defined her un-nameable longings. They
were not an uncommon feature of London in those days; but Lucy had never run
across one before.
She stopped dead, her heart suddenly in her throat. Lucy had a word for the
strange mental sensations thrilling along her nerves, though she had never
experienced it quite so strongly before. It was deja vu.
It was there, all there, everything she had been seeking in the shape of a
dowdy London Police box, standing in the rain.
Why had she not known this before? She had travelled the world around, and
not found that elusive magical thing which completed her, only to stumble
upon it in a drab London street.
The way her heart thudded in her chest, and the way her breath had stalled in
her throat, alarmed her.
"Are you alright, dearie?" inquired an elderly woman, concerned at Lucy's
obvious distress. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"A body," Lucy said distractedly. "Not a ghost... A body... My body..."
And now that it was there before her, she became suddenly possessed of the
conviction that it would fade away... With a wheezing sound the blue box
would fade away... And she would die without ever knowing how the story
ended...
Letting out an inarticulate cry, she began a tottering run at the blue box.
Her tired old heart thudded fit to burst. If only she could get there in
time?... Before... Oh. Please just let her reach the box in time... But
it was going to fade; and she would never know...
She lunged for the box, stretching out her hands to the blue, knowing in her
heart that it was too late. Her fingers brushed the blue. Her tired old
heart burst within her chest; and, finally, Lucy reached the end of the
story.
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The ambulance man hesitated before he laid the red blanket over the woman's
face. There was such happiness in the face that he could not hold back a
small smile. He could feel the woman's joy right down inside his heart.
This was certainly the happiest corpse he'd ever had to deal with.
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"Lost her Soul, is perhaps a rather metaphysical way of putting it, Nyssa,"
the Doctor said, "but essentially correct." At Tegan's frown, he went on to
explain. "When we broke free, the Attractor must have been holding on to her
life force tighter than to her physical substance. When we tore free, I
think her sentience was wrenched apart from her physical form."
"Is she dead?" Nyssa asked, peering around at the darkness. The notion that
she might have to spend eternity in this limbo, sent shivers down her spine.
The Doctor regarded the girl in thoughtful silence a long moment. "TARDISses
are hard to kill, Nyssa," he said; but he did not sound convinced.
"But can she live as a , a ghost?" Nyssa asked. "I mean, can she exist as a
disembodied spirit?"
The Doctor did not answer at once; but Nyssa could see the answer in his
eyes. At last he spoke. "Normally, when she comes under overwhelming
stress, she can retreat back into the Matrix, and be safe there..."
It was left to Tegan to add the inevitable "but?"
"But the link to the Matrix was severed in the moment of break out," the
Doctor said. "From that moment on, she would have been alone, for the first
time in her existence, she would have been completely alone...And, no Nyssa,
the TARDIS cannot exist as a disembodied spirit."
"Then we're stuck here in this limbo, forever," said Tegan's shaky voice from
the gathering shadows.
"There may be a way," the Doctor said, even without the sentience of the
TARDIS to steer a course back to reality."
He turned from where the shadowy forms of the two girls hovered in the dark,
back to the lifeless console. "Maybe if I could..." He got down on hands and
knees, and began to fiddle uselessly with the innards.
There came, very softly, the sound of a TARDIS materialisation. A soft
silver radiance glowed by the door, lightening the gloom. In its heart stood
a little girl, clutching a thread bear teddy to her cheek. The girl peered
around with wondering eyes. Then a brilliant smile lit her face; and she
shimmered, and faded away. The familiar source less light, soft and silvery,
brightened the console room. The air hummed gently.
The Doctor withdrew slowly from under the console and stood up. The Time
Rotor was moving up and down. The motion was a little jerky, as though the
motivating spirit was feeling its way uncertainly; but even as he watched,
the motion eased into an assured rhythm.
Propped atop the rotor was a threadbare teddy, its button eyes bright. The
Doctor took it down. Holding it gently to his chest, he gazed all around at
the white roundelled walls in wonder, his expression radiant.
"Welcome home, Old Girl," he whispered.
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The End
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