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FRINGES: ONE OF THOSE DAYS
Olivia Dunham wasn't sure what to make of the strange man who had arrived at the scene of the latest incident. His credentials were impeccable, although not even Broyles had been able to ferret out any details regarding his background. She wasn't surprised; she'd heard odd things about UNIT even before she joined the Fringe Division. They were a closemouthed group, operating under the umbrella of the United Nations Security Council, but no one was quite certain what they did. That alone said a lot about this peculiar Doctor John Smith.
"I'm UNIT's scientific adviser," he'd said, in reply to Olivia's oblique queries. Then he had flashed her an enormous smile and proffered a bag of treats. "Care for a jelly baby?"
Of course, the Doctor and Walter got along like a house on fire. Both men were eccentric and both were, Olivia was convinced, geniuses. She'd walked into the lab and found them sipping milkshakes over the desiccated corpse.
"Agent Dunham!" enthused the Doctor. He flashed that enormous grin at her. "You'll be pleased to know this incident isn't a Fringe incident!"
Olivia eyed the corpse. "Really?"
"Oh yes," said the Doctor. "I'm quite certain." He gestured at the remains. "This is something quite different."
"Really?" Olivia deadpanned. "If this isn't a fringe incident, Doctor, then what is it?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said the Doctor. His wide smile lost some of its clownish sparkle, becoming something a little more feral.
Olivia felt a headache coming on. "Doctor, if you could. . . ."
Walter spoke, with a gleam in his eye. "It's an alien, Olivia."
She fought the urge to sigh. It was going to be one of those days.
* * * * *
“Is the Doctor serious?”
Astrid spoke, soto-voiced, to the Englishman’s companion. The dark beauty gave Astrid a wry smile.
“I’ve learned that the Doctor is always serious,” said Uhura. “Never more so than when he’s playing the clown.” She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled the scent of fresh coffee. “I think,” she continued, “it’s a kind of defense mechanism.”
“Like the way the Japanese smile when they give bad news?” asked Astrid.
Uhura nodded. “Something like that.”
Astrid shifted on her stool, letting her gaze flit from the trio by the dissection table to the woman seated across from her. She lowered her voice. “May I ask you a question?”
Uhura studied Astrid for a moment, before nodding. “You can ask. I can’t guarantee an answer.”
“What’s your relationship to the doctor? You don’t exactly seem to be business colleagues, but you’re not. . . .”
Uhura’s laugh was one of pure amusement. “No. We most definitely are not.”
“Then, what . . . ?”
“It’s complicated,” said Uhura. “The Doctor, he saved me from a difficult situation. I’m just traveling with him, doing what I can to help him, until I can get back home.”
“Oh. So, you wouldn’t mind if I . . . “
Uhura’s dark eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled with genuine warmth. “Not at all! Have at it, girl!”
Astrid ducked her head, and felt her face flush. She reached for the pot.
“More coffee?”
Astrid spoke, soto-voiced, to the Englishman’s companion. The dark beauty gave Astrid a wry smile.
“I’ve learned that the Doctor is always serious,” said Uhura. “Never more so than when he’s playing the clown.” She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled the scent of fresh coffee. “I think,” she continued, “it’s a kind of defense mechanism.”
“Like the way the Japanese smile when they give bad news?” asked Astrid.
Uhura nodded. “Something like that.”
Astrid shifted on her stool, letting her gaze flit from the trio by the dissection table to the woman seated across from her. She lowered her voice. “May I ask you a question?”
Uhura studied Astrid for a moment, before nodding. “You can ask. I can’t guarantee an answer.”
“What’s your relationship to the doctor? You don’t exactly seem to be business colleagues, but you’re not. . . .”
Uhura’s laugh was one of pure amusement. “No. We most definitely are not.”
“Then, what . . . ?”
“It’s complicated,” said Uhura. “The Doctor, he saved me from a difficult situation. I’m just traveling with him, doing what I can to help him, until I can get back home.”
“Oh. So, you wouldn’t mind if I . . . “
Uhura’s dark eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled with genuine warmth. “Not at all! Have at it, girl!”
Astrid ducked her head, and felt her face flush. She reached for the pot.
“More coffee?”
* * * * *
Doctor Tony Newman took a breath and hesitated on the threshold of the TARDIS. The thought of going outside made his flesh crawl, but the Doctor wouldn’t have sent for him if it wasn’t important. He took a breath, adjusted his tie, and walked outside.
Uhura was waiting for him, looking as immaculate as ever. With her was a young man she introduced as Peter Bishop.
Bishop glanced at the TARDIS, an amused expression on his face. “Do I want to know why you’re hanging out in an English telephone box?”
Uhura slid her arm through Bishop’s, smiled. “Probably not.”
Tony felt a bead of perspiration sliding down the side of his face. “Shall we go?”
Bishop led the way back to the car. Tony let Uhura take the front passenger seat, while he settled in the back. As soon as he was inside the car, with the doors shut, he felt better.
“What’s going on?”
“Your doctor thinks we’ve got little green men running around,” said Peter.
Tony glanced at Uhura. “What kind?”
“He’s being closemouthed about it,” said Uhura.
“That’s never a good sign.”
Peter listened to this exchange without saying a word, but his expression was incredulous. Without a word, he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
Uhura was waiting for him, looking as immaculate as ever. With her was a young man she introduced as Peter Bishop.
Bishop glanced at the TARDIS, an amused expression on his face. “Do I want to know why you’re hanging out in an English telephone box?”
Uhura slid her arm through Bishop’s, smiled. “Probably not.”
Tony felt a bead of perspiration sliding down the side of his face. “Shall we go?”
Bishop led the way back to the car. Tony let Uhura take the front passenger seat, while he settled in the back. As soon as he was inside the car, with the doors shut, he felt better.
“What’s going on?”
“Your doctor thinks we’ve got little green men running around,” said Peter.
Tony glanced at Uhura. “What kind?”
“He’s being closemouthed about it,” said Uhura.
“That’s never a good sign.”
Peter listened to this exchange without saying a word, but his expression was incredulous. Without a word, he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
* * * * *
“Aliens?” said Broyles.
He regarded the gummy-faced Doctor, who was reclining in the leather chair, absently fiddling with his long scarf.
“Ogri,” said the Doctor. “Silicon-based lifeform from Tau Ceti. They have the most appalling manners.” He fixed Broyles with a watery gaze. “They survive on hemoglobin, you know.”
“Blood,” said Broyles.
Behind the Doctor, Olivia stood with her arms crossed. “So basically we’re dealing with space vampires.”
The Doctor glanced behind him, frowning. “Goodness, no! And thank heaven for it!”
Before the conversation could continue, there was a wrap on the office door. Frowning, Broyles watched as his door was opened and his secretary stuck her head inside.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Broyles, but there’s a gentleman here who insists he speak with you right now.”
Broyles frowned. “Send him in, Jean.”
Jean stepped back, allowing an elderly man to step into the room. He must have been in his seventies, with neatly trimmed white hair. Dressed in an immaculate gray suit, he walked with the aid of a cane. Despite this, he crossed the distance to Broyles’s desk in swift strides, extending his hand.
“Mister Broyles. Please, forgive the interruption.”
He turned to the oddly dressed Englishman, seated in front of Broyles’s desk. “Doctor. It’s good to see you again.”
“You two know each other?” said Broyles.
“The Doctor and I have a history,” said the newcomer.
“I”m sorry,” said Olivia. “But, who are you?”
“Ah.” The white-haired man smiled at Olivia. “Of course. Forgive my manners. Napoleon Solo, head of UNIT’s North American Division.”
“And why are you here, Mr. Solo?” asked Broyles.
“I thought that would be obvious, Mr. Broyles. Effective immediately, UNIT is taking over this investigation.”
He regarded the gummy-faced Doctor, who was reclining in the leather chair, absently fiddling with his long scarf.
“Ogri,” said the Doctor. “Silicon-based lifeform from Tau Ceti. They have the most appalling manners.” He fixed Broyles with a watery gaze. “They survive on hemoglobin, you know.”
“Blood,” said Broyles.
Behind the Doctor, Olivia stood with her arms crossed. “So basically we’re dealing with space vampires.”
The Doctor glanced behind him, frowning. “Goodness, no! And thank heaven for it!”
Before the conversation could continue, there was a wrap on the office door. Frowning, Broyles watched as his door was opened and his secretary stuck her head inside.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Broyles, but there’s a gentleman here who insists he speak with you right now.”
Broyles frowned. “Send him in, Jean.”
Jean stepped back, allowing an elderly man to step into the room. He must have been in his seventies, with neatly trimmed white hair. Dressed in an immaculate gray suit, he walked with the aid of a cane. Despite this, he crossed the distance to Broyles’s desk in swift strides, extending his hand.
“Mister Broyles. Please, forgive the interruption.”
He turned to the oddly dressed Englishman, seated in front of Broyles’s desk. “Doctor. It’s good to see you again.”
“You two know each other?” said Broyles.
“The Doctor and I have a history,” said the newcomer.
“I”m sorry,” said Olivia. “But, who are you?”
“Ah.” The white-haired man smiled at Olivia. “Of course. Forgive my manners. Napoleon Solo, head of UNIT’s North American Division.”
“And why are you here, Mr. Solo?” asked Broyles.
“I thought that would be obvious, Mr. Broyles. Effective immediately, UNIT is taking over this investigation.”
* * * * *
“Is your friend okay?”
Uhura glanced up from the box of fresh donuts they had been sent to fetch.
“Tony?”
Peter grinned. “You have to ask which one I’m talking about?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “The Doctor’s wardrobe tends to send the wrong signal sometimes.”
“I can imagine.”
Uhura smiled. “No, I don’t think you can.”
“That never happens with you, though. Does it?”
She chuckled. It was a surprisingly earthy sound. “Sometimes my wardrobe sends out quite a different signal.”
Peter let his gaze sweep across Uhura. She wore a green lace blouse, black leather skirt, and knee-high black leather boots. It showed off her legs to amazing effect. He wondered if they were as smooth as they looked? Then, he pushed the thought aside.
“But your friend.”
“Tony.” Uhura’s face clouded over for a moment. “He has agoraphobia, but he’s fine.”
“He’s a physicist?”
Uhura nodded. “One of the best, according to the Doctor.”
“And was he agoraphobic before he joined UNIT?”
She made chiding noises. “Not very subtle, Peter. And you were doing so well.”
He grinned at her. “You can’t blame us for being . . . curious.”
“No,” Uhura admitted. “But it’s true what they say, Peter. Curiosity can kill the cat.”
Peter frowned. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” said Uhura. “Just the truth.”
They finished the rest of the walk back to the lab in silence.
Uhura glanced up from the box of fresh donuts they had been sent to fetch.
“Tony?”
Peter grinned. “You have to ask which one I’m talking about?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “The Doctor’s wardrobe tends to send the wrong signal sometimes.”
“I can imagine.”
Uhura smiled. “No, I don’t think you can.”
“That never happens with you, though. Does it?”
She chuckled. It was a surprisingly earthy sound. “Sometimes my wardrobe sends out quite a different signal.”
Peter let his gaze sweep across Uhura. She wore a green lace blouse, black leather skirt, and knee-high black leather boots. It showed off her legs to amazing effect. He wondered if they were as smooth as they looked? Then, he pushed the thought aside.
“But your friend.”
“Tony.” Uhura’s face clouded over for a moment. “He has agoraphobia, but he’s fine.”
“He’s a physicist?”
Uhura nodded. “One of the best, according to the Doctor.”
“And was he agoraphobic before he joined UNIT?”
She made chiding noises. “Not very subtle, Peter. And you were doing so well.”
He grinned at her. “You can’t blame us for being . . . curious.”
“No,” Uhura admitted. “But it’s true what they say, Peter. Curiosity can kill the cat.”
Peter frowned. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” said Uhura. “Just the truth.”
They finished the rest of the walk back to the lab in silence.
* * * * *
Walter Bishop was having the time of his life.
When Tony Newman had been introduced to him, Walter wasn't sure he liked this young man with the trembling hand and the rather, conservative, sense of style. Then, Newman took a look at the math problem Walter and the Doctor had been working on, before Agent Broyles summoned the Doctor away. It was like someone threw a switch. Newman walked up to the whiteboard, took a long look at the equations and seemed to become a calculating machine. He picked up a marker and began jotting down solutions that had, honestly, never occurred to Walter.
"This is absolutely amazing," murmured Walter, peering at a particularly elegant solution that Tony had just finished. "How did you come up with that, Doctor Newman?"
The young man answered without looking away from the board. "I've done this sort of thing before."
Walter arched an eyebrow. "You've calculated for specific variances in the local space/time field before?"
Tony's hand shook, and he stepped back from the whiteboard. "Yes."
"May I ask . . . ?"
Tony turned and looked at Doctor Bishop. The man was, in a biological sense, older than Tony, but, Tony decided, nowhere near as damaged. He felt a peculiar sense of comradeship with this man, which may have been why he answered honestly.
"I spent forty years trapped in a temporal anomaly, and calculating the space/time variances was the only way to escape."
Walter let this bit of information slip into his consciousness. He studied the young man, determined that he did not appear to be lying, then, in one of those staggering bursts of insight that had shaped and twisted his entire life, Walter Bishop suddenly knew.
"You're time travelers."
"The Doctor is going to kill us," said Uhura.
Peter glanced at the exotic woman. "Seriously?"
"We're not supposed to let the cat out of the bag. It gives people ideas."
"Seriously?" repeated Peter. "You're supposed to be time travelers?"
"You don't believe us?" asked Tony.
"Well, not until you can introduce me to Ben Franklin."
Tony and Uhura shared a look. Peter blinked.
"You've met Ben Franklin?"
"Some of us," said Tony, archly, "have done more than meet him."
Peter looked at Uhura, who was giving Tony a dirty look. The physicist shrugged and went back to work on the whiteboard.
"So," said Peter. "You met Ben Franklin. What was he like?"
Uhura's smile was the slow, satisfied grin of a contented cat. "Well, let's just say that Mr. Franklin's reputation with the ladies is very well deserved, and leave it at that."
Peter, to his embarrassment, felt his face flush.
When Tony Newman had been introduced to him, Walter wasn't sure he liked this young man with the trembling hand and the rather, conservative, sense of style. Then, Newman took a look at the math problem Walter and the Doctor had been working on, before Agent Broyles summoned the Doctor away. It was like someone threw a switch. Newman walked up to the whiteboard, took a long look at the equations and seemed to become a calculating machine. He picked up a marker and began jotting down solutions that had, honestly, never occurred to Walter.
"This is absolutely amazing," murmured Walter, peering at a particularly elegant solution that Tony had just finished. "How did you come up with that, Doctor Newman?"
The young man answered without looking away from the board. "I've done this sort of thing before."
Walter arched an eyebrow. "You've calculated for specific variances in the local space/time field before?"
Tony's hand shook, and he stepped back from the whiteboard. "Yes."
"May I ask . . . ?"
Tony turned and looked at Doctor Bishop. The man was, in a biological sense, older than Tony, but, Tony decided, nowhere near as damaged. He felt a peculiar sense of comradeship with this man, which may have been why he answered honestly.
"I spent forty years trapped in a temporal anomaly, and calculating the space/time variances was the only way to escape."
Walter let this bit of information slip into his consciousness. He studied the young man, determined that he did not appear to be lying, then, in one of those staggering bursts of insight that had shaped and twisted his entire life, Walter Bishop suddenly knew.
"You're time travelers."
"The Doctor is going to kill us," said Uhura.
Peter glanced at the exotic woman. "Seriously?"
"We're not supposed to let the cat out of the bag. It gives people ideas."
"Seriously?" repeated Peter. "You're supposed to be time travelers?"
"You don't believe us?" asked Tony.
"Well, not until you can introduce me to Ben Franklin."
Tony and Uhura shared a look. Peter blinked.
"You've met Ben Franklin?"
"Some of us," said Tony, archly, "have done more than meet him."
Peter looked at Uhura, who was giving Tony a dirty look. The physicist shrugged and went back to work on the whiteboard.
"So," said Peter. "You met Ben Franklin. What was he like?"
Uhura's smile was the slow, satisfied grin of a contented cat. "Well, let's just say that Mr. Franklin's reputation with the ladies is very well deserved, and leave it at that."
Peter, to his embarrassment, felt his face flush.
* * * * *
There had been another incident.
Although the matter was now under UNIT's jurisdiction, despite Broyles's protests, Olivia had been invited to accompany the Doctor and Napoleon Solo to the site of the latest attack. This time, there wasn't just a victim, but a suspect in custody as well. UNIT had cordoned off the site, and was keeping everyone at bay. Napoleon Solo moved briskly, although it was obvious he was favoring his good leg. The Doctor sailed along, hands tucked into the pockets of his overcoat, long scarf fluttering behind him.
They passed through the security cordon, entering an opaque plastic tent. There, the victim of the latest attack had been sealed in a bodybag. His killer lay on a table, restrained by heavy straps, an IV stuck in his arm.
The man was smallish, with bony features and dark hair cut in a style Olivia thought of as a Moe. He had sharp features and, surprisingly, ears that tapered to sharp points. His clothes consisted of a grayish-silver tunic, trousers and dark gray boots. The front of his tunic was sticky with dark green fluid.
"Well, Doctor?" said Solo.
Frowning, the Doctor leaned forward to peer at the figure. The wounded man's eyes opened and he muttered something in a guttural language. The Doctor nodded and responded in kind, then the assailant closed his eyes again.
"Doctor?" prompted Solo.
"He's a Romulan," said the Doctor. "Humanoid natives of a heavy gravity world. Their blood is copper-based."
"I'll pass that on to the medics," said Solo. "Any idea what he's doing here?"
"None at all," admitted the Doctor. "Isn't that interesting?"
Olivia was examining the Romulan. The expression on her face was one of stunned surprise. She touched the alien's hand.
"This man is an alien?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "Surprised?"
"Surprise isn't the right word, Doctor. I'm . . . staggered." She drew her hand back from the Romulan's, unconsciously wiped it on her slacks. "What are they going to do with him?"
"Contain him for the moment," said Solo, rejoining the duo. "We can't let a dangerous extraterrestrial wander around, eh, Doctor?"
"No," admitted the Doctor. "Which reminds me. Someone aught to be looking for the Ogri."
"Someone is Doctor," a gravelly voice informed them.
Olivia turned, saw that two men had entered the tent. One was older, with craggy features and eyes like flint. His companion was younger, African-American with a neat mustache. Both men wore black suits that wouldn't have looked out of place in a funeral parlor.
The Doctor bridled. "Agent K." He glowered at Solo. "What are the MIB doing here, Napoleon?"
"UNIT asked for our assistance," said Agent K. "Isn't that right, Mr. Solo?"
"Napoleon!" The Doctor looked scandalized.
Solo sighed. "We're a bit thin on the ground, Doctor. We need all the help we can get."
"But . . . !"
"No buts, Doctor," said Solo, firmly. He looked at Agent K. "We've got a hostile silicon-based lifeform on the loose, Agent K. An Ogri. I'd like you and Agent J to oversee the search and capture of it."
"Of course, Mr. Solo," said Agent K, flatly.
"Alive, please," said Solo.
"If possible," said Agent K. He glanced at the Doctor. "I'm not making any promises."
The Doctor scowled, jammed his hands into his coat pockets and stormed out of the tent.
Although the matter was now under UNIT's jurisdiction, despite Broyles's protests, Olivia had been invited to accompany the Doctor and Napoleon Solo to the site of the latest attack. This time, there wasn't just a victim, but a suspect in custody as well. UNIT had cordoned off the site, and was keeping everyone at bay. Napoleon Solo moved briskly, although it was obvious he was favoring his good leg. The Doctor sailed along, hands tucked into the pockets of his overcoat, long scarf fluttering behind him.
They passed through the security cordon, entering an opaque plastic tent. There, the victim of the latest attack had been sealed in a bodybag. His killer lay on a table, restrained by heavy straps, an IV stuck in his arm.
The man was smallish, with bony features and dark hair cut in a style Olivia thought of as a Moe. He had sharp features and, surprisingly, ears that tapered to sharp points. His clothes consisted of a grayish-silver tunic, trousers and dark gray boots. The front of his tunic was sticky with dark green fluid.
"Well, Doctor?" said Solo.
Frowning, the Doctor leaned forward to peer at the figure. The wounded man's eyes opened and he muttered something in a guttural language. The Doctor nodded and responded in kind, then the assailant closed his eyes again.
"Doctor?" prompted Solo.
"He's a Romulan," said the Doctor. "Humanoid natives of a heavy gravity world. Their blood is copper-based."
"I'll pass that on to the medics," said Solo. "Any idea what he's doing here?"
"None at all," admitted the Doctor. "Isn't that interesting?"
Olivia was examining the Romulan. The expression on her face was one of stunned surprise. She touched the alien's hand.
"This man is an alien?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "Surprised?"
"Surprise isn't the right word, Doctor. I'm . . . staggered." She drew her hand back from the Romulan's, unconsciously wiped it on her slacks. "What are they going to do with him?"
"Contain him for the moment," said Solo, rejoining the duo. "We can't let a dangerous extraterrestrial wander around, eh, Doctor?"
"No," admitted the Doctor. "Which reminds me. Someone aught to be looking for the Ogri."
"Someone is Doctor," a gravelly voice informed them.
Olivia turned, saw that two men had entered the tent. One was older, with craggy features and eyes like flint. His companion was younger, African-American with a neat mustache. Both men wore black suits that wouldn't have looked out of place in a funeral parlor.
The Doctor bridled. "Agent K." He glowered at Solo. "What are the MIB doing here, Napoleon?"
"UNIT asked for our assistance," said Agent K. "Isn't that right, Mr. Solo?"
"Napoleon!" The Doctor looked scandalized.
Solo sighed. "We're a bit thin on the ground, Doctor. We need all the help we can get."
"But . . . !"
"No buts, Doctor," said Solo, firmly. He looked at Agent K. "We've got a hostile silicon-based lifeform on the loose, Agent K. An Ogri. I'd like you and Agent J to oversee the search and capture of it."
"Of course, Mr. Solo," said Agent K, flatly.
"Alive, please," said Solo.
"If possible," said Agent K. He glanced at the Doctor. "I'm not making any promises."
The Doctor scowled, jammed his hands into his coat pockets and stormed out of the tent.
* * * * *
The Doctor was in a foul mood when he returned to the lab. Peter was still not buying the whole time-travel thing, but his amusement was short-lived when he saw Olivia. She looked shaken to her core. Frowning, Peter went to her.
"Liv? What is it?"
She sat in the lab's second-best chair and looked at Peter. "I just saw an alien, Peter."
Peter frowned. "Tell me."
She did, starting with the news that UNIT was now heading the investigation, and then recounting the second incident, the one involving the humanoid that the Doctor had identified as a Romulan. When she was done, Olivia looked at Peter, waiting for him to say something. What he said next, Olivia could never have anticipated.
"Aliens, huh? Well, I can beat that." He turned to where the Doctor was fiddling with his scarf, sulking. "Apparently, the Doctor is a time-traveler."
The Doctor spun to face Peter, a frown on his face. "What?" Then he spun, just as quickly, to glower at his companions. "All right, who spilt the beans?"
"Doctor," said Uhura, with just a touch of irritation. "Is that really important right now?"
"Ah," said the Doctor. His expression grew grave. "So it was Tony. Well, Doctor Newman, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Tony frowned at the Doctor. "This isn't right."
"What?" asked the Doctor. He glanced at the whiteboard and frowned. "Hmm. I see."
"What?" asked Olivia. "What isn't right?"
"My initial assumption," said the Doctor. He stroked his chin. "I had assumed that someone was bringing these aliens to Earth from other times. But, that can't be. Not once we factor in the time and location of the latest incident."
Uhura frowned. "Perhaps they aren't from other times, Doctor. Perhaps someone is simply transporting these creatures across space."
"No," said the Doctor. "There's a definite temporal component to this mess, but. . . ." He paused, stared at Uhura. "Of course. I'm a complete idiot. The answer has been staring me in the face this entire time!"
"What?" asked Tony.
"These creatures aren't being brought from other times," said the Doctor. "They're being brought here from other timelines!"
“Other timelines?” said Olivia.
The Doctor nodded. His pale eyes were wide and thoughtful. “Other universes. Alternate worlds.”
“You’re joking,” said Peter.
“No,” said Uhura. She had crossed her arms and looked uneasy. “He’s not.”
“It’s a fascinating theory, Doctor,” enthused Walter, “but what do you base it on?”
“Math,” said Tony. He nodded at the whiteboard. “Our initial assumption was that someone was transporting these creatures through space, but the site of the incident with the Romulan blows that theory out of the water. If you look at it as a purely spatial phenomenon, the math doesn’t make sense.”
“But,” said the Doctor, smiling benignly, “if you factor in temporal and multispatial geometry . . . ”
Tony erased a large section of the board and began to replace the original equations with new formula. Walter watched Newman’s work with rapt fascination.
“So, am I the only person here who is sort of freaked out by all of this?” asked Astrid.
“No,” said Uhura. “You aren’t.”
“Done,” said Tony. He capped the marker and stepped back from the board.
Olivia frowned. The whiteboard was covered with complex equations, but none of it made any sense to her.
The Doctor grinned. “Well done, Tony!”
“How does this help us?” asked Olivia. “Doctor?”
“Coordinates,” said Walter. He tapped the board. “These equations provide map coordinates for the source of the incidents. Correct, Doctor?”
“Precisely, Doctor Bishop!”
“Great,” said Peter. “So, plug ‘em into Mapquest and see where they lead.”
“We won’t need Mapquest,” said the Doctor. “Doctor Bishop, could I borrow an atlas?”
Walter blinked. “Oh. Astrix?”
Astrid reached into the clutter covering Walter’s desk and drew out a book. “Will this do?”
“Perfect,” said the Doctor.
He took the book, glanced at the whiteboard, then pursed his lips and began flipping pages and murmuring to himself.
“What’s he doing?” asked Peter.
“Calculating the position of the source of the incidents,” said Tony.
“Impressive,” murmured Walter. “I suspect this may take a while. Who wants a milkshake?”
"Liv? What is it?"
She sat in the lab's second-best chair and looked at Peter. "I just saw an alien, Peter."
Peter frowned. "Tell me."
She did, starting with the news that UNIT was now heading the investigation, and then recounting the second incident, the one involving the humanoid that the Doctor had identified as a Romulan. When she was done, Olivia looked at Peter, waiting for him to say something. What he said next, Olivia could never have anticipated.
"Aliens, huh? Well, I can beat that." He turned to where the Doctor was fiddling with his scarf, sulking. "Apparently, the Doctor is a time-traveler."
The Doctor spun to face Peter, a frown on his face. "What?" Then he spun, just as quickly, to glower at his companions. "All right, who spilt the beans?"
"Doctor," said Uhura, with just a touch of irritation. "Is that really important right now?"
"Ah," said the Doctor. His expression grew grave. "So it was Tony. Well, Doctor Newman, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Tony frowned at the Doctor. "This isn't right."
"What?" asked the Doctor. He glanced at the whiteboard and frowned. "Hmm. I see."
"What?" asked Olivia. "What isn't right?"
"My initial assumption," said the Doctor. He stroked his chin. "I had assumed that someone was bringing these aliens to Earth from other times. But, that can't be. Not once we factor in the time and location of the latest incident."
Uhura frowned. "Perhaps they aren't from other times, Doctor. Perhaps someone is simply transporting these creatures across space."
"No," said the Doctor. "There's a definite temporal component to this mess, but. . . ." He paused, stared at Uhura. "Of course. I'm a complete idiot. The answer has been staring me in the face this entire time!"
"What?" asked Tony.
"These creatures aren't being brought from other times," said the Doctor. "They're being brought here from other timelines!"
“Other timelines?” said Olivia.
The Doctor nodded. His pale eyes were wide and thoughtful. “Other universes. Alternate worlds.”
“You’re joking,” said Peter.
“No,” said Uhura. She had crossed her arms and looked uneasy. “He’s not.”
“It’s a fascinating theory, Doctor,” enthused Walter, “but what do you base it on?”
“Math,” said Tony. He nodded at the whiteboard. “Our initial assumption was that someone was transporting these creatures through space, but the site of the incident with the Romulan blows that theory out of the water. If you look at it as a purely spatial phenomenon, the math doesn’t make sense.”
“But,” said the Doctor, smiling benignly, “if you factor in temporal and multispatial geometry . . . ”
Tony erased a large section of the board and began to replace the original equations with new formula. Walter watched Newman’s work with rapt fascination.
“So, am I the only person here who is sort of freaked out by all of this?” asked Astrid.
“No,” said Uhura. “You aren’t.”
“Done,” said Tony. He capped the marker and stepped back from the board.
Olivia frowned. The whiteboard was covered with complex equations, but none of it made any sense to her.
The Doctor grinned. “Well done, Tony!”
“How does this help us?” asked Olivia. “Doctor?”
“Coordinates,” said Walter. He tapped the board. “These equations provide map coordinates for the source of the incidents. Correct, Doctor?”
“Precisely, Doctor Bishop!”
“Great,” said Peter. “So, plug ‘em into Mapquest and see where they lead.”
“We won’t need Mapquest,” said the Doctor. “Doctor Bishop, could I borrow an atlas?”
Walter blinked. “Oh. Astrix?”
Astrid reached into the clutter covering Walter’s desk and drew out a book. “Will this do?”
“Perfect,” said the Doctor.
He took the book, glanced at the whiteboard, then pursed his lips and began flipping pages and murmuring to himself.
“What’s he doing?” asked Peter.
“Calculating the position of the source of the incidents,” said Tony.
“Impressive,” murmured Walter. “I suspect this may take a while. Who wants a milkshake?”
* * * * *
Peter studied Uhura over his milkshake.
“So, what’s the future like?”
Uhura smiled at Peter. “How do you know I’m not from the past?”
“California,” announced the Doctor.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, to turn and stare at the man. The Doctor was standing, tapping a page in the atlas.
“San Francisco, California,” he said. “Near here.”
Olivia went to him, peered at the section of the map that the Doctor was tapping. It was an inset of San Francisco.
“That looks like California University,” said Olivia.
Walter put down his milkshake and tilted his head to the side. “Did you say CU-San Francisco?”
“Yes, Doctor Bishop. Do you know it?”
“I knew a physicist there,” said Walter. “It was years ago, before my difficulties. A fellow named Maximilian P. Arturo.”
Walter was looking thoughtful. Olivia and Peter both recognized that look. It made the pit of Olivia’s stomach flutter, as if it were about to spawn a cloud of butterflies.
“Do you think he could be involved with this, Walter?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know,” admitted Walter. “But Max did have an interest in superstring theory.”
“I’ll check the college records,” said Astrid. “See if this Professor Arturo is still there.”
“And if he is?” said Tony Newman. “What then?”
“It’s been ages since I’ve been to San Francisco,” said the Doctor, smiling brightly. “Not since the Gold Rush.”
Not only was Professor Arturo still teaching at CU-San Francisco, he was Regents Professor of Cosmology and Ontology.
“I’ll arrange for transportation,” said Olivia. “And let Mr. Solo and Broyles know what we’ve found.”
“Doctor, couldn’t we just use the TARDIS?” asked Uhura.
The Doctor shook his head. “Far too risky. The quantum morass that drew us to this location has effectively mired the old darling. Until the situation is resolved, she won’t be going anywhere. Well, not without ripping a hole through time and space.”
“I’m guessing that would be a bad thing,” said Peter.
“Oh yes,” said the Doctor, wide-eyed and solemn. “Incredibly bad.”
“So, what’s the future like?”
Uhura smiled at Peter. “How do you know I’m not from the past?”
“California,” announced the Doctor.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, to turn and stare at the man. The Doctor was standing, tapping a page in the atlas.
“San Francisco, California,” he said. “Near here.”
Olivia went to him, peered at the section of the map that the Doctor was tapping. It was an inset of San Francisco.
“That looks like California University,” said Olivia.
Walter put down his milkshake and tilted his head to the side. “Did you say CU-San Francisco?”
“Yes, Doctor Bishop. Do you know it?”
“I knew a physicist there,” said Walter. “It was years ago, before my difficulties. A fellow named Maximilian P. Arturo.”
Walter was looking thoughtful. Olivia and Peter both recognized that look. It made the pit of Olivia’s stomach flutter, as if it were about to spawn a cloud of butterflies.
“Do you think he could be involved with this, Walter?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know,” admitted Walter. “But Max did have an interest in superstring theory.”
“I’ll check the college records,” said Astrid. “See if this Professor Arturo is still there.”
“And if he is?” said Tony Newman. “What then?”
“It’s been ages since I’ve been to San Francisco,” said the Doctor, smiling brightly. “Not since the Gold Rush.”
Not only was Professor Arturo still teaching at CU-San Francisco, he was Regents Professor of Cosmology and Ontology.
“I’ll arrange for transportation,” said Olivia. “And let Mr. Solo and Broyles know what we’ve found.”
“Doctor, couldn’t we just use the TARDIS?” asked Uhura.
The Doctor shook his head. “Far too risky. The quantum morass that drew us to this location has effectively mired the old darling. Until the situation is resolved, she won’t be going anywhere. Well, not without ripping a hole through time and space.”
“I’m guessing that would be a bad thing,” said Peter.
“Oh yes,” said the Doctor, wide-eyed and solemn. “Incredibly bad.”
* * * * *
Napoleon Solo made arrangements for them to have access to a private jet. He also informed them that MIB had captured the Ogri.
“Apparently, it was hiding in a statue garden,” said Solo.
“Clever old thing,” murmured the Doctor. His tone became sharp. “Is it alive, Napoleon?”
“Yes, Doctor,” said Solo. “It’s fine. So is the Romulan.”
“Good,” said the Doctor. “See to it that they stay that way.”
They departed for the airport, stopping at the Doctor’s police box along the way. Walter and Astrid were remaining behind, and Tony had asked to be returned to the TARDIS.
“I don’t think I’m up for an extended jaunt from the TARDIS, Doctor,” Tony had said. His hands were shaking as he spoke and a trickle of sweat ran down his face.
The Doctor was solicitous and so they had stopped to drop Tony off at the TARDIS.
“It’s just as well,” said the Doctor. “I don’t like to leave the old girl on her own too long. You never know what she’ll get up to.”
Olivia wasn’t sure if the Doctor was joking or not. She watched Doctor Newman climb out of the car and vanish into the police box.
“Will he be all right on his own?”
“He’ll be fine,” said Uhura. “Tony just gets a little fragile sometimes.”
Olivia nodded. Right now, she could empathize with the man.
“Apparently, it was hiding in a statue garden,” said Solo.
“Clever old thing,” murmured the Doctor. His tone became sharp. “Is it alive, Napoleon?”
“Yes, Doctor,” said Solo. “It’s fine. So is the Romulan.”
“Good,” said the Doctor. “See to it that they stay that way.”
They departed for the airport, stopping at the Doctor’s police box along the way. Walter and Astrid were remaining behind, and Tony had asked to be returned to the TARDIS.
“I don’t think I’m up for an extended jaunt from the TARDIS, Doctor,” Tony had said. His hands were shaking as he spoke and a trickle of sweat ran down his face.
The Doctor was solicitous and so they had stopped to drop Tony off at the TARDIS.
“It’s just as well,” said the Doctor. “I don’t like to leave the old girl on her own too long. You never know what she’ll get up to.”
Olivia wasn’t sure if the Doctor was joking or not. She watched Doctor Newman climb out of the car and vanish into the police box.
“Will he be all right on his own?”
“He’ll be fine,” said Uhura. “Tony just gets a little fragile sometimes.”
Olivia nodded. Right now, she could empathize with the man.
* * * * *
The trip to San Francisco was fairly quick. Olivia spent most of the time reviewing background information on Professor Arturo and CU-San Francisco. The Doctor produced a portable game of Scrabble which he and Uhura spent the trip playing. Peter watched and learned that Uhura had an impressive knowledge of languages. Occasionally, she and the Doctor would argue, good-naturedly, over whether or not a word was ‘terrestrial’ or not.
“We only play using Earth languages,” explained the Doctor.
Peter looked at the word in contention. “Are you saying Velcro isn’t an Earth word?”
“The word, yes,” said the Doctor. “But the material. . . .”
“Doctor,” chided Uhura. She waved an elegant finger at him. “No spoilers.”
“It happened in the past,” complained the Doctor. “Not the future. So it wouldn’t be a spoiler!”
“We only play using Earth languages,” explained the Doctor.
Peter looked at the word in contention. “Are you saying Velcro isn’t an Earth word?”
“The word, yes,” said the Doctor. “But the material. . . .”
“Doctor,” chided Uhura. She waved an elegant finger at him. “No spoilers.”
“It happened in the past,” complained the Doctor. “Not the future. So it wouldn’t be a spoiler!”
* * * * *
A car was waiting for them at the airport with a local UNIT agent to act as driver. As they approached the CU-San Francisco campus, the Doctor produced a slender silver tube from his coat. He fiddled with it for a few moments. The device released a teeth-grating whine.
“Well,” muttered the Doctor, squinting at the device, “we’re definitely in the right place. The area is flooded with quasitrons. There is definitely some sort of temporal-spatial leak around here somewhere.”
The car slid along the streets, finally stopping in front of a large, ugly building made of concrete and exposed steel. A sign out front identified it as the Masado Bonzai Physics Center.
Inside, guards at the reception desk informed them that Professor Arturo was in his lab, in the sub-basement. They were hesitant to take them down until Olivia produced her credentials.
“We need to speak with Professor Arturo,” she told the men, smiling faintly. “It’s a matter of national security.”
The words ‘national security’ galvanized the guards into action. One stood and led the party toward a secure elevator, while the other contacted Professor Arturo to let him know that he had government visitors.
The elevator opened onto a dim corridor. Lights flickered overhead. The air smelt of ozone and had a strange, greasy feel to it.
“You guys forget to pay your electric bill?” asked Peter.
“No,” said the guard. “The sub-basement has its own generator. Mad Max insisted when they built the place.”
“Mad Max?” asked the Doctor.
Realizing he might have misspoke, the guard sighed. “That’s what everybody calls Professor Arturo. Mad Max. He’s. . . .” The guard hesitated then drew tight circles with his index finger near his head.
“Ah,” said Peter. “Eccentric.”
“Crazier than a bag of assholes,” the guard countered, bluntly.
He nodded down the corridor.
“Straight ahead. You can’t miss him.”
Without another word, he turned and headed back to the elevator.
“I’m getting the impression Professor Arturo isn’t well liked,” said Peter.
“True visionaries seldom are,” said the Doctor. He flipped his long scarf over his shoulder and grinned. “Shall we?”
They continued down the corridor, which opened into a large room illuminated by a harsh white light. The light poured from a large swirling vortex floating above a bank of bulky-looking equipment.
“My God!” exclaimed Peter, staring at the wounded air. “What is that?”
“An interdimensional vortex,” said the Doctor, grimly. “An extremely unstable one.”
Olivia swept the room. “I don’t see Professor Arturo.”
“Who are you people?”
A man emerged from the other side of the blazing white vortex. He was stoutly built, his dark hair streaked with gray. The man wore a soiled white lab coat and a florid expression.
“What are you doing in my lab?”
“Professor Maximilian Arturo?” Olivia produced her credentials and handed them to the man. “I’m Special Agent Olivia Dunham. These are my associates.”
She glanced at the vortex.
“We’d like to speak with you about your work.”
“Oh hell,” moaned Arturo. He handed Olivia’s credentials back to her. “I knew you people would show up one day.”
The Doctor had moved closer to the vortex. He was peering at it with childlike interest. “I say, what have you been up to, Professor Arturo?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” said Arturo.
“Really?” The Doctor rounded on the man; his expression was grim. “Because it looks as if you’ve created a breach in the local space-time continuum. You really should be working on sealing it.”
Professor Arturo rocked on his feet as if he had been slapped. He recovered quickly, though, and glowered at the Doctor.
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do, you blistering idiot?”
“You’ve been trying to seal it?” said the Doctor, frowning.
“Yes! For days! But nothing I’ve tried has worked!”
“Ah,” said the Doctor. “I see. Well, that has put us in a pickle, hasn’t it?”
“Doctor, what are you talking about?” asked Olivia.
“Well, Agent Dunham, it seems that the good professor has punched a hole through reality and now other universes are bleeding into ours. I’m afraid the Ogri and the Romulan are just the tip of the iceberg.”
“What are you saying?” asked Olivia.
“He’s saying that reality is going to collapse like a house of cards and we’re all going to die,” snapped Professor Arturo.
“Not necessarily,” said the Doctor.
“You have a plan,” said Uhura, smiling.
“Well, I have an idea,” said the Doctor. “We need to seal the breach.”
“How?” asked Olivia.
“Impossible,” said Arturo. “I’ve been trying to seal the damned thing for days!”
Olivia ignored the professor. “Doctor, how do we seal the breach?”
“We need to patch it with a multidimensionally charged object.”
“The TARDIS,” said Uhura.
“No,” said the Doctor. “Not the TARDIS. By the time we could get the TARDIS here, it would be too late.”
Uhura stared at him. “You don’t mean. . . .”
“I’ve had a good, long run,” said the Doctor. “If it ends here, well, there are worse fates I suppose.” He frowned at Uhura. “I’m just sorry, my dear, that I won’t be able to get you back where you belong.”
“Doctor, you can’t!”
“I don’t understand,” said Olivia. “How are you a multidimensionally charged object, Doctor?”
“It’s because I’m a time traveler,” explained the Doctor. “When you travel through time as much as I have, well, it leaves its impression on you.”
“There has to be another way, Doctor,” insisted Uhura. “Something else we can do!”
He smiled and shook his head. “Not in the time we have left.”
Peter was frowning. “Doctor?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“You said passing through time is what makes you charged. Right?”
The Doctor nodded.
“What about your clothes?” said Peter.
The Doctor blinked.
Olivia looked at him. “Doctor, would that work?”
“It might,” admitted the Doctor, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“What have we got to lose?” asked Uhura. “Quick, Doctor! Strip!”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the Doctor. He plucked his battered brown hat off his head and regarded it fondly. “Ah well. We’ve been through a lot together, old friend. Bye-bye.”
He turned and flipped the hat into the swirling, white vortex.
There was a spectacular flash of light.
“Well,” muttered the Doctor, squinting at the device, “we’re definitely in the right place. The area is flooded with quasitrons. There is definitely some sort of temporal-spatial leak around here somewhere.”
The car slid along the streets, finally stopping in front of a large, ugly building made of concrete and exposed steel. A sign out front identified it as the Masado Bonzai Physics Center.
Inside, guards at the reception desk informed them that Professor Arturo was in his lab, in the sub-basement. They were hesitant to take them down until Olivia produced her credentials.
“We need to speak with Professor Arturo,” she told the men, smiling faintly. “It’s a matter of national security.”
The words ‘national security’ galvanized the guards into action. One stood and led the party toward a secure elevator, while the other contacted Professor Arturo to let him know that he had government visitors.
The elevator opened onto a dim corridor. Lights flickered overhead. The air smelt of ozone and had a strange, greasy feel to it.
“You guys forget to pay your electric bill?” asked Peter.
“No,” said the guard. “The sub-basement has its own generator. Mad Max insisted when they built the place.”
“Mad Max?” asked the Doctor.
Realizing he might have misspoke, the guard sighed. “That’s what everybody calls Professor Arturo. Mad Max. He’s. . . .” The guard hesitated then drew tight circles with his index finger near his head.
“Ah,” said Peter. “Eccentric.”
“Crazier than a bag of assholes,” the guard countered, bluntly.
He nodded down the corridor.
“Straight ahead. You can’t miss him.”
Without another word, he turned and headed back to the elevator.
“I’m getting the impression Professor Arturo isn’t well liked,” said Peter.
“True visionaries seldom are,” said the Doctor. He flipped his long scarf over his shoulder and grinned. “Shall we?”
They continued down the corridor, which opened into a large room illuminated by a harsh white light. The light poured from a large swirling vortex floating above a bank of bulky-looking equipment.
“My God!” exclaimed Peter, staring at the wounded air. “What is that?”
“An interdimensional vortex,” said the Doctor, grimly. “An extremely unstable one.”
Olivia swept the room. “I don’t see Professor Arturo.”
“Who are you people?”
A man emerged from the other side of the blazing white vortex. He was stoutly built, his dark hair streaked with gray. The man wore a soiled white lab coat and a florid expression.
“What are you doing in my lab?”
“Professor Maximilian Arturo?” Olivia produced her credentials and handed them to the man. “I’m Special Agent Olivia Dunham. These are my associates.”
She glanced at the vortex.
“We’d like to speak with you about your work.”
“Oh hell,” moaned Arturo. He handed Olivia’s credentials back to her. “I knew you people would show up one day.”
The Doctor had moved closer to the vortex. He was peering at it with childlike interest. “I say, what have you been up to, Professor Arturo?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” said Arturo.
“Really?” The Doctor rounded on the man; his expression was grim. “Because it looks as if you’ve created a breach in the local space-time continuum. You really should be working on sealing it.”
Professor Arturo rocked on his feet as if he had been slapped. He recovered quickly, though, and glowered at the Doctor.
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do, you blistering idiot?”
“You’ve been trying to seal it?” said the Doctor, frowning.
“Yes! For days! But nothing I’ve tried has worked!”
“Ah,” said the Doctor. “I see. Well, that has put us in a pickle, hasn’t it?”
“Doctor, what are you talking about?” asked Olivia.
“Well, Agent Dunham, it seems that the good professor has punched a hole through reality and now other universes are bleeding into ours. I’m afraid the Ogri and the Romulan are just the tip of the iceberg.”
“What are you saying?” asked Olivia.
“He’s saying that reality is going to collapse like a house of cards and we’re all going to die,” snapped Professor Arturo.
“Not necessarily,” said the Doctor.
“You have a plan,” said Uhura, smiling.
“Well, I have an idea,” said the Doctor. “We need to seal the breach.”
“How?” asked Olivia.
“Impossible,” said Arturo. “I’ve been trying to seal the damned thing for days!”
Olivia ignored the professor. “Doctor, how do we seal the breach?”
“We need to patch it with a multidimensionally charged object.”
“The TARDIS,” said Uhura.
“No,” said the Doctor. “Not the TARDIS. By the time we could get the TARDIS here, it would be too late.”
Uhura stared at him. “You don’t mean. . . .”
“I’ve had a good, long run,” said the Doctor. “If it ends here, well, there are worse fates I suppose.” He frowned at Uhura. “I’m just sorry, my dear, that I won’t be able to get you back where you belong.”
“Doctor, you can’t!”
“I don’t understand,” said Olivia. “How are you a multidimensionally charged object, Doctor?”
“It’s because I’m a time traveler,” explained the Doctor. “When you travel through time as much as I have, well, it leaves its impression on you.”
“There has to be another way, Doctor,” insisted Uhura. “Something else we can do!”
He smiled and shook his head. “Not in the time we have left.”
Peter was frowning. “Doctor?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“You said passing through time is what makes you charged. Right?”
The Doctor nodded.
“What about your clothes?” said Peter.
The Doctor blinked.
Olivia looked at him. “Doctor, would that work?”
“It might,” admitted the Doctor, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“What have we got to lose?” asked Uhura. “Quick, Doctor! Strip!”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the Doctor. He plucked his battered brown hat off his head and regarded it fondly. “Ah well. We’ve been through a lot together, old friend. Bye-bye.”
He turned and flipped the hat into the swirling, white vortex.
There was a spectacular flash of light.
* * * * *
Napoleon Solo placed his fingertips together and peered over them, at the Doctor.
“You saved reality with your hat.”
Just saying it made it sound even more incredulous.
The quartet had returned from California and was ensconced in Solo’s office at UNIT’s American headquarters.
The Doctor just smiled, modestly, and fiddled with the end of his long scarf.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to file a report, can I?” said Solo.
“I think Agent Dunham can take care of that,” said the Doctor. He turned and gave Olivia his brightest smile. “Can’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Olivia.
“What’s going to happen to Professor Arturo?” asked Peter. “He didn’t mean to cause any harm.”
“Right now,” said Solo, “UNIT is taking all of the professor’s research and equipment into custody. As for Arturo himself, we’re thinking of recruiting him into UNIT’s think tank organization. One of our science advisors, a Welshman named Malcolm Taylor, has been chomping at the bit to speak to Arturo. It seems the professor is something of a celebrity in the scientific community.”
Solo didn’t sound pleased with the notion.
“As for you, Doctor. . . .”
“We’ll be leaving,” said the Doctor. “I really do need to get Uhura and Tony settled.”
“As you like,” said Solo. “Will we see you again any time soon?”
“Perhaps.” The Doctor grinned. “I did promise Walter a trip in the TARDIS.”
Peter blinked. The idea of his father let loose on all of space and time made gooseflesh break out across his body.
“Until then, Doctor.”
Solo stood and extended his hand. The Doctor shook it, grinning broadly at the other man.
“Wait a minute,” protested Olivia. “What about the aliens? The ones from the other timelines?”
“Gone,” said the Doctor. “Returned to their own realities when the breach was sealed.”
“That’s convenient,” said Peter.
“The universe doesn’t like a mess,” said the Doctor. He shook Peter’s hand. “Goodbye, Peter. Goodbye, Agent Dunham. Give my best to your father and Astrid.”
Then, in a swirl of coat and scarf, the Doctor had left.
Olivia shook her head. “What an incredible man.”
“Infuriating as well,” said Napoleon Solo. “Now, Miss Dunham. Mister Bishop. I’d like to have a word with you about your Fringe Division.”
“What about it?” asked Peter.
“The incidents you’re investigating clearly fall within UNIT’s mandate,” said Solo.
“Meaning what?” asked Olivia.
“Meaning, Miss Dunham, that as of noon today, the Fringe Division and all relevant personnel have been transferred to UNIT.”
Olivia frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Agent Broyles will operate as our liaison with the U.S. government,” continued Solo. “But Fringe Division will no longer report to him. You’ll be reporting directly to me.”
Solo saw the shock and anger on their faces. He smiled and settled back into his chair.
“This is not a bad thing, Agent Dunham. Your team will remain intact and I think you’ll find UNIT better equipped to respond to these fringe incidents than the FBI.”
Olivia took a breath. “Do we have a choice in this, Mr. Solo?”
“Of course,” said the gray-haired gentleman. “You can always choose to leave.” His eyes hardened. “Whether you stay or go, however, Fringe Division is now part of UNIT.”
“You saved reality with your hat.”
Just saying it made it sound even more incredulous.
The quartet had returned from California and was ensconced in Solo’s office at UNIT’s American headquarters.
The Doctor just smiled, modestly, and fiddled with the end of his long scarf.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to file a report, can I?” said Solo.
“I think Agent Dunham can take care of that,” said the Doctor. He turned and gave Olivia his brightest smile. “Can’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Olivia.
“What’s going to happen to Professor Arturo?” asked Peter. “He didn’t mean to cause any harm.”
“Right now,” said Solo, “UNIT is taking all of the professor’s research and equipment into custody. As for Arturo himself, we’re thinking of recruiting him into UNIT’s think tank organization. One of our science advisors, a Welshman named Malcolm Taylor, has been chomping at the bit to speak to Arturo. It seems the professor is something of a celebrity in the scientific community.”
Solo didn’t sound pleased with the notion.
“As for you, Doctor. . . .”
“We’ll be leaving,” said the Doctor. “I really do need to get Uhura and Tony settled.”
“As you like,” said Solo. “Will we see you again any time soon?”
“Perhaps.” The Doctor grinned. “I did promise Walter a trip in the TARDIS.”
Peter blinked. The idea of his father let loose on all of space and time made gooseflesh break out across his body.
“Until then, Doctor.”
Solo stood and extended his hand. The Doctor shook it, grinning broadly at the other man.
“Wait a minute,” protested Olivia. “What about the aliens? The ones from the other timelines?”
“Gone,” said the Doctor. “Returned to their own realities when the breach was sealed.”
“That’s convenient,” said Peter.
“The universe doesn’t like a mess,” said the Doctor. He shook Peter’s hand. “Goodbye, Peter. Goodbye, Agent Dunham. Give my best to your father and Astrid.”
Then, in a swirl of coat and scarf, the Doctor had left.
Olivia shook her head. “What an incredible man.”
“Infuriating as well,” said Napoleon Solo. “Now, Miss Dunham. Mister Bishop. I’d like to have a word with you about your Fringe Division.”
“What about it?” asked Peter.
“The incidents you’re investigating clearly fall within UNIT’s mandate,” said Solo.
“Meaning what?” asked Olivia.
“Meaning, Miss Dunham, that as of noon today, the Fringe Division and all relevant personnel have been transferred to UNIT.”
Olivia frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Agent Broyles will operate as our liaison with the U.S. government,” continued Solo. “But Fringe Division will no longer report to him. You’ll be reporting directly to me.”
Solo saw the shock and anger on their faces. He smiled and settled back into his chair.
“This is not a bad thing, Agent Dunham. Your team will remain intact and I think you’ll find UNIT better equipped to respond to these fringe incidents than the FBI.”
Olivia took a breath. “Do we have a choice in this, Mr. Solo?”
“Of course,” said the gray-haired gentleman. “You can always choose to leave.” His eyes hardened. “Whether you stay or go, however, Fringe Division is now part of UNIT.”
TO BE CONTINUED?
