Future of the Daleks by deathman

Summary: If reinforcements run out in the present day, why not get some from the future?
Rating: All Ages
Categories: Tenth Doctor
Characters: Original Companion, Other Character(s), Rose Tyler, The Doctor (10th), The TARDIS
Genres: Action/Adventure
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: Deathman - Chronology
Published: 2007.05.12
Updated: 2007.05.16

Future of the Daleks by deathman
Chapter 1: Short Cut
Author's Notes:

Carol sat at the centre of the room, as voices babbled frantically around her. Surely she wasn’t going to be punished badly. She’d only stolen a few Nastapukar vegetables, for God’s sake. They couldn’t execute her. She was just worrying... Yet what frightened her most was that anything was possible. She didn’t know the extent of the Supreme Court’s harshness. Times had changed since she had last seen the court. Before it had been more messy and homely, with squashed sofas lying haphazardly around the entire circular floor space.

Now there were tall glass sheets dividing sections of the court, posh, sleek leather sofas arranged in lines, roughly carpeted balconies spiralling neatly upwards like in a stadium. In the ceiling was a large oval panel which, at the end of the session, would inevitably open and the Supreme Judge’s voice would boom forth, speaking Carol’s sentence. She shivered in her chair at the cold bottom of the stadium-court, the centre of attention for all those calm faces and bickering voices.

For the next half an hour or so the lawyers talked on and on, and Carol lost track of their arguments. Although she did vaguely note that they were not disputing about whether she should be executed or not, but what the manner of her death should be.

Carol had gone past caring. Her large brown eyes darted back and forth, trying to find something interesting to look at, but there was nothing. Only endless lines of identical leather seats, rotating upward in a boring, clinical fashion. Only thousands of drab, black-suited lawyers, crossing their legs and adjusting their ties, waffling on about the importance of Law Precinct A, Section F 47-56, or the moral high-grounds of their arguments.

She wanted be free from this synthetic hell-hole, be her escape route death or simply the back door. She looked through this exit and saw the reception, reeking of wood polish, heard the ringing of unanswered telephones and the simpering of smooth female voices.

At last the clamour of the lawyers ceased, and across the hundreds of balconies there was complete silence. The clean PA proclaimed. ‘The Supreme Judge Viron has heard your respective arguments on the fate of the thief Carol, charged of the robbery of ten Nastapukars from the Market of Viros. Let us now hear the opinion of the Judge himself.’

Carol gazed upwards, not expecting to be spared. There was a slow, smooth humming sound and the oval panel in the distant ceiling clicked and rolled open.

‘Sentence?’ the PA spoke.

There was a long, tense silence.

‘Execute,’ came a drawling male voice above. A beam of white hot energy slashed from the open panel and through the air into Carol’s body. She screamed as electricity seared through her nerves and her throat and her head and OH HELP and then her whole form collapsed in on itself, imploding into a pile of dust on her leather swing-seat.

There was silence again.

Then, without any further speech from the Supreme Judge, the panel hummed once more, and slid shut.

‘Case closed,’ declared the PA. And all of a sudden, thorughout the nexus of balconies, there was a mass shuffling as lawyers straightened their jackets, brushed themselves off, filed away their speeches and opened the gates of their balconies, walking out onto the carpeted spiral ramp that led down past all the gates to the door at the bottom of the stadium.

Matt felt a pair of warm lips on his, and sighed. ‘Isabel, we’re meant to be cleaning the floor, not snogging. Monway will be here at any moment...’

Isabel pulled away, smiling sheepishly, her blonde locks bouncing around her slim face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. Excitedly. ‘It’s not every day we get some time to ourselves though, we’re normally in different sectors, and so...’

Matt nodded, reluctantly accepting the truth of this. ‘But still...’ he held his mop in a steady way. Isabel tilted her head seductively at him. He groaned. ‘Oh come on then,’ he said, and kissed her, his short black hair contrasting with the gold of her head.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Monway gazed in at the two, kissing. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, smiling slightly. They were inseparable.

Matt and Isabel parted. Matt looked embarrassed, but Isabel smiled at Monway, hoping he would be understanding. The lawyer’s eyes twinkled with humour. It was not for nothing that he was nicknamed the only living thing in the court. The rest of the officials who often gathered for trials were stuffy, clamouring businessmen. Monway was simply a middle-aged man, quick to anger, quick to laugh, instantly likeable.

‘Sorry,’ Matt said quickly, picking up the mop that he had dropped. ‘I trust you will excuse us. Isabel and I have been extreme-‘

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ Monway laughed. ‘Yes, you’re excused, I can understand, insert forgiving sentence of your choice, etcetera...’ Isabel laughed, and so did Matt, albeit hesitantly. ‘Seriously though, you’d better get that floor cleaned. I’ve heard this hall’s going to be used tomorrow.’

Monway turned to leave, tapping his watch. ‘You’ve got an hour to finish it. You can have a good snog later.’

The lawyer reached the door, just as it swung open once more. A tall, burly man wearing sunglasses barged thorugh into the hall. ‘Mister Monway.’ The man bowed. ‘I bring news from Supreme Judge Viron. This hall will not be in use tomorrow, and these cleaners,’ he gestured at Isabel and Matt, ‘are free to leave.’

Monway looked dismayed, as Isabel punched the air. Matt restrained his excitement, merely slipping an arm around Isabel’s waist, waiting to hear the rest of the man’s news. Surely there had to be a drawback. But the man merely intoned dully, ‘Come with me.’

He marched away, expecting to immediately be followed. Isabel, taking Matt’s hand and dragging him with her, ran up to Monway, who was standing uncertainly in the centre of the hall. ‘Who is that?’ she whispered to the lawyer. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’

‘I don’t... know,’ Monway replied uneasily.

Isabel was dumbfounded. ‘But.... you know everyone, you’re an official!’ she exclaimed.

Monway shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s a new recruit.’

Matt drew a hand up to his mouth and bit the nail of his index finger. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why I’m so suspicious, it’s just something about him.’ Isabel nodded gravely in agreement. ‘And why’s he wearing sunglasses? It’s not as if it’s particularly sunny at midnight in the Supreme Court!!!’

The man called to them from the door on the opposite side of the hall. ‘Come on,’ he spoke, in a drawling monotone.

Monway shrugged, and walked forward. Isabel and Matt, whispering conspirationally to each other, followed more tentatively, gripping each other’s hands tight.

When Monway caught up with the man, he asked, ‘Where are you taking us?’

The man smiled thinly. ‘A short-cut to the exit.’ Monway nodded, unsure of the truth of this, then walked through the door that the man was holding open. The sunglassed man beckoned to Isabel and Matt. They hurried slightly, making a visible effort to get through the door that the man was obviously beginning to close.

All three of them were through. The man smiled sinisterly to himself, walked through the archway, and closed the door behind him.


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