just_the_doctor | (no subject)

Ace watches with interest, amused that the Doctor managed to get a better ride out of what is essentially to her training an antique, while her TARDIS had been shaken like a misbehaving puppy both times.

She'd love to tape it and send copies to her classmates, especially the ones who had gone on for years, literally, about the mass advantages of newer technology.

Technology is all well and good, but experience counts for a lot, as does forming a good connection and understanding with one's TARDIS. It's just a pity that the Doctor had alienated too much of the University staff to have been invited as a guest lecturer.

He sets the TARDIS down right wherewhen they left it, and pulled the lever to open the door.

"After you, Ace," he says with a grin.

The Doctor as a guest lecturer.

The imagination balks.

Ace snags the scanner before waltzing out the door, giving the frame a friendly pat before heading off across the clearing towards...

Sigh.

It's still a giant statue head. Despite her best efforts, she hasn't been able to convince the computer that an Easter Island statue is terribly out of place.

The Doctor stands back, arms crossed, taking in the sight of Ace's TARDIS.

"It could be worse," he offers.

"... Please don't offer suggestions. I'm just thankful it only does this here." She shoots him a pleading look before getting the door open and ducking inside.

It seems she's gone with something more reminicant of the Doctor's old console room, all white and silver.

The Doctor follows.

"Very nice," he says, obviously impressed and flattered.

"Now, let's see what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Right." She'd been taking mental notes while the Doctor had set it up the first time, so she manages to get the scanner hooked up again without any major mis-steps.

The Doctor watches closely just in case, but smiles when he realizes that she really does have everything under control.

"Okay then," he says when the computer starts churning. "Let's see what we've really got."

There's a long moment of silence.

And another, for good measure.

"Well. The good news is there's nothing wrong with your TARDIS." Ace finally announces, giving the readout a despondant glare.

"What?" he blusters out, rushing over to the readout screen and peering over her shoulder.

"That's imposs--" he checks himself. "No, obviously it's not only possible, it's true. We'll save ourselves a lot of grief if we just start from there. Okay, Ace. How many classes of TARDIS fit the 4-Beta spectral range with a decay rate of 16 millirass?"

He grins at her sheepishly. "I copied off someone else's paper for the final. Sue me."

"... There has to be a lawyer in that bar crazy enough to take that case." She finally mutters. The master list is heavy enough, when folded correctly, to be used as a perfectly servicable blunt object.

"..F-----ive." She finally decides, with some last-minute deliberations. "If we allow that they might not all be in prime condition."

In one case, barely functional, but that's neither here nor there.

He sighs. "Too many for a general search. We might turn up hundreds of possibilities."

Then a thought occurs to him. "Which one of the five has the highest thermal bias?"

Ace contrives to give him a dirty look under the cover of examining the data again. He's the one that's been doing this for centuries.
"... The..." It's right there, the... "Phi class, mark II."

He thinks for a moment, tapping his finger against his pursed lips. "Ah yes, the old Mark II's. They weren't around very long. Try running a search for just those. My guess is you'll find somewhere in the neighborhood of 40, from your timeline's point of view."

There was something else about that model. Something to do with why they were retired. He just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Ace is just happy she remembered the bleedin' name, never mind what an obscure model that only got a special place in the ID chart because it kicked out abnormal amounts of radiation has on it's list of infamy. Quietly, she starts a search for operational Mark II's, and their owners.

While the search runs, the Doctor begins to pace around the control room. Something, something, something.

The Phi II's were retired and replaced with the III's only about 10 years after they were issued. Only 50 were ever even made.

He pushes his memory back, scrounging through the fog of regeneration haze to pinpoint the memory in his past.

Fifty were made. Where did he get the 40 from, then? One would have gone into the museum, obviously. Two... no, three were lost during the first incursion against Skaro. The rest... arrggh! He has to know.

His eyes close. He stops pacing. His breathing slows. His hearts barely beat at all. It's amazing he can even remain standing at this point, as he drops into a deep meditative trance.

Ace, meanwhile, stares at the 'searching' icon as if to make the computer work faster by sheer force of will.
"So Doctor, what do you... Doctor? Do... oh." She blinks at the nearly comotose Time Lord, thinking.

Then she heads off into the TARDIS.

A few minutes later she returns with a tray of tea and biscuits. He's going to need something to up the blood sugar after that stunt. She busies herself making tea.

The Doctor focuses inward. He forces the fog to clear, purposely calling out for the flood of memories that lay beyond. Over 900 years worth of recollections, remembrances, trivia, and minuitae. He opens the mental floodgate, and they rush out at him like a tidal wave.

He feels his mind blown away by the force of it, swallowed by the onrushing wall. He flails under the weight of it all. And then, suddenly, it's as if a hand grips his and pulls him clear.

The hand that pulls him out is very familiar, as is the face it belongs to.

"Steady, old boy," the Doctor, version 7.0 says to his later self. "I don't think you're quite ready for all of that just yet."

Outside his mind, the Doctor in Ace's TARDIS echoes the words, but the voice does not belong to that body. It belongs to one far more familiar to the other Time Lord in the room.

A teacup shatters.

Ace doesn't notice at all as she stares at the Doctor.

Eventually she's going to realize she looks rather idiotic, standing there with a teapot in one hand and the shattered remains of the cup at her feet, staring... but for now, she's too busy mentally scrambling for an answer to worry about all that.

"Professor?"

Back in the mental landscape, number Seven perks his head around at the outside voice.

"Is that Ace out there?" he asks of himself. "Please don't tell me that of the two of you, Ace is now the responsible one. I mean, really. These walls exist for a reason, dear boy."

Nine nods, grinning slightly. "Yeah, that's Ace. Time Lord now, as I'm sure you know." Then the grin fades and a steely expression replaces it. "That's why I did it. She's in trouble, and I need your help."

Another voice from behind them. Another Doctor coming through the mists.

"Ah, yes. It would have to be something like that, wouldn't it? I'm not usually this reckless otherwise." says Eight, smirking at his two companions. "Well, let's get on with it, shall we?"

"..." Just when she thought her life won the all-time weird award. Very carefully she sets the teapot down and, making sure not to make a bigger mess of the china shards, makes her way back to the console, leaning against it while listening in on the three-way conversation.

"A) I heard that, and B) Get on with what? You know it'll be terribly tragic and unhelpful if you get yourself... selves? Killed while finding an answer."

She's very proud at how steady her voice is.

The Doctor -- that is, the current Doctor -- looks up as Ace's words echo faintly in the headspace.

"I'll be fine, Ace," he calls out to her. "Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

It would be terribly out of character for Seven to facepalm at this point. So he doesn't. But just pretend that he does. "Don't answer that," he says simply.

Nine grins, shaking his head, and returns to the matter at hand. "Somewhere in this is the answer I need. What happened to the Phi II's that caused them to be retired so quickly? I know something did; something happened to at least half a dozen of them. But I cannot remember what."

Eight and Seven look at each other, as if sharing a private conversation, and then, as one, turn back to Nine. Seven hefts his umbrella and points at something behind Nine. "Why don't you ask him? He's the one that was on the board of inquiry."

And there's Six, all right.

"Why not ask me? Because I'm nutters. Off my rocker. Completely. You old fogeys probably don't remember that, though. Always the first thing to go, memory. I forget what the second is."

He barks a laugh.

"The Psi II's, you said? Of course. You were nearly there. You knew it when you saw the readouts; you just didn't understand what you were seeing."

Nine peers at him, confused. Six sighs in frustration.

"Temporal Bias. The Psi II's had a malfunction that caused them to lose control of it. It would shoot up without warning, and... well, you can imagine. Lost 5 before we figured it out. Here, this is the review board's findings."

He reaches down into the rushing mire of memories, hardly looking, and pulls out a small ball of crackling energy that he lobs at Nine.

That voice she doesn't recognize at all. She can take a stab at guessing, however.

...

And she'd like to take this moment to thank whatever gods might still be listening that she's human, and doesn't have this regeneration nuttiness to look forward to. And that it was Seven that found her, not Six. That would have truly been an explosive combination.

"... If they're so volitile, how can there be any still in operation? And near a time rift? You'd have to be bloody suicidal to do something like that." She pipes up, adding her own two cents.

Six looks out across the landscape.

"Who is that out there?" he asks, somewhat miffed. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls back, "Must you belabor the obvious, young lady? Naturally you would have to be suicidal to attempt such a stunt. Most people underestimate the number of truly suicidal people in the cosmos."

Nine, meanwhile, allows the energy ball to absorb into him, reawakening those memories in his new form. "They're still operating," he explains to Ace, "because they're used only for spacial transport now. Escorts and patrols, that sort of thing. The temporal circuitry was removed from them entirely."

Then he turns back to the others. "Except that one of them is still moving in time. But the temporal bias is too high on it. It shouldn't be possible."

"It isn't. Can't be. Must be a malfunction." Five decides to join the party at this juncture, apparently bringing his unique brand of optimism along with him.

"I've checked it on two scanners," Nine explains. "And Ace's is almost brand new."

Five shakes his head. "Nevertheless. It can't be done. The calculations required to keep the TARDIS stable at that level of bias are unsolvable. At least, not in the time before the material stream would lose cohesion. No one could work out the shifting variables and input corrections fast enough."

All of the Doctors look at each other shiftily. The thought occurs to all of them at once, but it's Nine who voices it. "Adric could."

Five bristles. "Perhaps Adric could. But he was unique. He's also dead."

Nine nods slowly and replies, "That's true, but it doesn't seem to have slowed him down much. But the fact remains. If Adric could, someone else could, too. The problem is narrowing down who."

The Doctors come to a decision collectively.

Seven pats Nine on the back and nods knowingly. "Go. You've got what you came for. We'll sort this mess out."

The rest of them look appraisingly at Nine. In turn, each one gives a curt nod of approval, and then fades back into the mists, sealing away their set of memories as they go.

Finally, Nine is alone in his mind once again, and, with a shuddering breath, blinks himself out of the trance and back into Ace's TARDIS where the 'search complete' light has just begun to flicker.

He looks at his former Companion and gives a sheepish grin. "Family's always embarrassing."

She'll sort out how she feels about all that later. For now, she shakes her head at him and heads back over to the abandoned tea.
"Y'know, there's nothing quite like warning a gal when you're about to do sommat like that." She grouses, pouring another cup of tea and offering it, as well as one of the biscuits, to her
friendfathermentor
Doctor.

He looks at her ashamedly when he takes the cup. "Er. Sorry. Never done that before; didn't know what to expect."

He quickly changes the subject. "Now, let's take a look at these search results." As expected, there are 41 Phi II's listed, all marked as 'Temporally Inactive'.

The Doctor scans down the list. His eyes catch a name and his entire body freezes. He very carefully sets the teacup down.

"Who do we know, Ace, who has an aptitude for 5-dimentional maths, is capable of hacking a TARDIS console, is gifted enough to restore long disabled circuitry to an unstable class TARDIS, is probably just unstable enough to do it, and moreover, doesn't like you very much?"

Ace could, if she were so inclined, stand on her tip-toes and be just able to see the name that has so completely caught his attention. She doesn't need to, however.
"Gentaro." Somehow she manages to turn it into a four-letter word. "Bloody hells, I told you he was completely off his rocker!" It's probably a good thing her former classmate isn't here right now.

"I never said you were wrong. Unfortunately, he fooled most everybody else enough to stay in."

The Doctor shakes his head.

"His evals had to have reflected something wrong. It's probably why he was given a spacer instead of a fully-operational TARDIS. But they underestimated him. They're good at that."

It's possible the Doctor is recalling an old classmate of his at this point.

His eyes go hard, his jaw sets, and there is steel in his voice when he speaks. "Finish your report. Don't say anything about this yet. When the council summons comes, we'll make our move. We'll get him, Ace."

His gaze has not moved from the screen, where the single name blazes out at him, almost mockingly.

Gentaro