"Genesis of War" - Part One

Part One

            The spiral, crystalline tunnel was a lovely sight to behold as the Doctor’s TARDIS barreled across. It always changed in correspondence with the latest desktop theme of the ship’s interior. The main console room underwent a brief refurbishment. When the Doctor, Leela, and K-9 returned to it, they found the area colored in a light shade of grey, with the wall roundels significantly shallower and corrugated grey columns placed in various corners. The monitor changed to a large, flat screen beneath an aperture that opened similarly to an eye, resting between the exit and the door leading further in.

            It was through this monitor that the Doctor detected fluctuations within the time vortex. “No…No…That’s not good,” he muttered to himself. “That’s not good at all.”

            “What isn’t?” Leela heard him.

            “Spatial anomalies forming in the vortex,” he told her. “Don’t you see them?”

            Leela’s eyes – once a dark shade of brown before being turned to blue after the incident at Fang Rock – looked to the monitor. She only saw the swirling image of the crystalline tunnel displayed on it.

            “I see nothing, Doctor,” she said in earnest.

            “Of course, you don’t,” the Doctor contradicted (himself mostly). “They’re virtually invisible to the naked eye. However, the TARDIS has identified several all through the vortex.”

            “The recommended action would be to dematerialize, master,” K-9 advised.

            “Yes, you’re absolutely correct, K-9,” the Doctor said, working his magic over the control console and dematerializing the TARDIS out of the time vortex. It wasn’t a simple task, especially not with massive turbulence coming over the ship and knocking the Doctor and Leela off their feet.

            As soon as they recovered, they discovered that the TARDIS had successfully rematerialized onto the rooftop of a tall building. The three travelers set off to investigate their new destination. They climbed down a few flights of stairs, arriving upon an executive floor where the overlapping initials “O.C.P.” were embroidered at one corner of the wall.

            “O…C…P?” Leela read them aloud, slowly and carefully. “What do these letters mean, Doctor?”

            The Doctor shrugged. “Obvious Complacent Poppycock?”

            Leela disapprovingly shook her head at his futile attempt at deduction. “That’s just a bunch of nonsense, Doctor.”

            “It stands for ‘Omni Consumer Products’.”

            “How do you know that, K-9?” Leela asked the mechanical dog.

            “From the central computer hub, mistress,” K-9 replied. “There is much technology within this complex.”

            “Does the central hub also tell you where we are, K-9?” The Doctor inquired.

            “Yes, master.” K-9’s scanning antennas (his “ears”) rotated momentarily. “According to the computer, we have arrived in Detroit in the year…”

            “Now I’d buy that for a dollar!”

            K-9’s spew of information was interrupted by a young businessman that approached the trio alongside a slightly older business gentleman. “How long did it take ya to build that thing?” he directly asked the Doctor, gesturing to K-9.

            “Only about a few weeks,” the Doctor responded, playing the part bestowed upon him by the young businessman.

            “Bob Morton,” he introduced himself before pointing to his associate. “This is Donald Johnson.” Johnson stoically nodded in greeting. “Don’t think we’ve seen you around here before. What division you work in?”

            The Doctor tried not to linger too long on his response. “The lower levels?”

            It seemed to have been a convincing reply, as it had Morton laughing in amusement. “Had you down there with those pencil-necked rejects, eh? Must’ve been one serious promotion the old man gave ya, if he’s got you up here with us.”

            The cover story was pretty much writing itself. All the Doctor had to do was let Morton talk till his mouth fell off.

            “Just one bit of advice,” Morton continued, wrapping an arm around the Doctor and leaning close to him in a whisper. “Leave the girl at home next time.” He nodded towards Leela. “No need letting the old man know you’ve brought your private life to work with ya.”

            Unfortunately for Morton, Leela was still within earshot of the conversation.

            “The girl can still hear you and suggests that you watch your tongue before she cuts it out!” She brandished her knife as a warning to the insensitive young executive, who was otherwise riveted by the savage.

            “Gotta find me another one of her,” Morton said. “You can fill me in on where you did, after the board meeting.”

            The board meeting in question was invitation-only, arranged by Senior Vice President Dick Jones; but none of the other executives in the boardroom questioned the presence of the Doctor, Leela, or K-9 there. And, if they had, Morton would’ve just vouched for them. Once the O.C.P. chairman (the “Old Man” as most called him) had arrived, Jones’s presentation began.

            He summoned the chairman and all the executives for the unveiling of his Enforcement Droid Series 209 (“ED-209” for short). “What a monstrous creature,” Leela gasped, though Jones tried not to let her commentary distract him from proceeding on with his demonstration.

            He called up a junior executive named Kinney, giving him a handgun and aiming it at the ED-209 unit. The machine ordered Kinney to drop the weapon and gave him twenty seconds to comply. Kinney complied, yet the enforcement droid experienced a malfunction, still sensing Kinney as a threat.

            It began its countdown for the moment it would open fire on its intended target.

            The Doctor leaped into action right away, pushing aside the technicians who frantically tried to shut ED-209 down. He managed to do it himself, using his sonic screwdriver, with merely two seconds to spare. Thanks to his efforts, Mr. Kinney was still alive – albeit now wearing soiled polyester pants.

            “Nice work, son,” the Old Man complimented the Doctor. “A man of your talents should be working as ‘Senior Advisor’ to O.C.P.’s Law Enforcement Program.”

            “But that’s my position,” Jones refuted.

            The Old Man scoffed. “Not after that show we just saw.”

            “Sir, with all due respect, this is unnecessary,” Jones said. “It was just a glitch.”

            “Glitch?!” The Old Man stormed. “You call that a ‘glitch’?! We’re scheduled to begin construction on Delta City in six months! Your ‘temporary setback’ will cost us fifty million in interests alone!” His tone changed from that of frustration to optimism, regarding the Doctor. “However, because of this young man, we might be able to make up for lost time and finances.”

            “I wholeheartedly agree, sir,” Morton stepped in. “In fact, it’d be a tremendous help if our new Senior Advisor oversaw production on the RoboCop program. We have a list of prime candidates based on risk factor. We can begin with a prototype within ninety days.”

            “Very well,” the Old Man approved. “I’ll leave you boys to it.”

            The collaboration between Morton and the Doctor commenced – much to the resentment of Dick Jones.

            Sometime later, Jones retreated to a sublevel of the OCP building that only he had access to, consulting with a figure shrouded in the shadows and swarmed by the blinking lights of a few towering supercomputers.

            “You were right,” Jones told the figure. “He’s here. The Doctor. You said he’d show, and he did. Now he’s been given access to the very thing I’ve spent months and viable resources preparing for. So what’s our next plan of action against this guy?”

            Jones’s mysterious contact spoke in a deep, automated voice:

            “Monitor the Doctor and standby for further instruction. Our Cyber-Force will deploy at the affirmative time.”

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            The site of an abandoned steel mill served as the welcome mat for a tall, black rectangular solid that materialized in the space. Neas, a thousand-year-old Time Lord that currently took the appearance of a young African American man of substantial height in a black hoodie and a loose necktie, stepped out of his Type-Z TARDIS along with his companion, Al-Lee Kirsch. Al-Lee herself was from Gallifrey, although not a Time Lord like Neas; in fact, she was once the only living human on the planet.

            “You don’t think Fawn will catch whatever Suzanne has, do you?” she asked him.

            “The flu, you mean?” Neas said while scanning the area with his trans-temporal sonic screwdriver. “Doubt it. Her Barasinghan DNA makes her immune to such ailments.” He ceased in his scanning, feeling troubled over something he had neglected to talk with Al-Lee about since they left Themyscira. “Why are you here?”

            “I’m sorry?” Al-Lee puzzlingly reacted to his inquiry.

            “Why are you still traveling with me?”

            The clarification of his question just made her even more confused. “You don’t want me to?”

            “No…I mean, yes, of course I do. It’s just…I said some really awful things to you, when I was under the influence of that Regen-8 serum. Things about you and your family…things that I wish I could take back.”

            The guilt and shame in his demeanor had Al-Lee sympathizing him.

            “Neas, you have nothing to apologize for,” she said, putting a warm, caring hand to the side of his face. “It was the serum that drove you to act that way.”

            Relieved, Neas smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”

            “You’re all I have left, my friend.”

            They shared in a long, loving hug that was soon disrupted by a woman who shouted, “FREEZE!” Disengaging from each other, they turned to the speaker and held up their hands as soon as they discovered her to be a policewoman, holding them at gunpoint.

            “We’re not trespassing, Officer…” Neas glimpsed at her badge number and nametag. “Officer Lewis.”

            “Enough messin’ around,” Lewis barked. “Where are Boddicker and the rest of your gang?”

            Neas and Al-Lee frowned. “Officer,” the former said. “We don’t know—”

            Suddenly, a hail of shotgun blasts and agonized screams echoed throughout the steel mill. Lewis responded to them, forgoing her arrest on Neas and Al-Lee, who joined with her in inspecting the horrifying sounds. They came upon an unsettling scene: another police officer being brutally gunned down by one of Boddicker’s gang members, while Boddicker and the rest of his cronies cheered him on.

            “Murphy,” Neas heard Lewis quietly gasp, witnessing her partner’s murder before her very eyes. As grueling as it was to watch, Neas was more interested by the one committing the act – an imposing man clad in leather, sporting a pair of sunshades.

            “Wait,” the Time Lord realized. “I know that guy.”

            Out of nowhere, a few rounds were fired on the assailant’s face from an outside shooter. The shots tore away flesh, revealing a cybernetic endoskeleton underneath.

            “He’s a Terminator!” Neas exclaimed in terror.