Work Text:
From day one there’s a thing Yaz can’t understand about the TARDIS, and that is how she translates. Her dad has studied languages in college and during the brief time he’s worked as a Punjabi translator he’s never ceased to blabber about the intrinsic corruption of the contemporary market, as he called it, criticising the superficiality of machines against the competence of a real, human expert. He’s talked day and night about all the things computers can’t do, and about all the reasons why only a human being can truly do the job. Translation requires wit and experience and poetics and minds.
So how does the TARDIS do that?
She would want to bring in her father to ask. Of course, she can’t. So, instead, when one day the Doctor announces they will take a pause from their adventures while she fixes a faulty circuit, Yaz takes the opportunity to ask it herself.
“Doctor, how does the TARDIS translate?”
“Err”. The Doctor is laying on a sort of wheeled platform on the floor, with her head and torso stuck under the console in a way that makes her voice echo through the tubes and gears. “Well, she’s got seven exabytes worth of dictionaries…”
“What’s an exabyte?”
“About a thousand petabytes”.
“Right”. Yaz squats beside the Doctor, peeking from between the gears. Her face is barely visible behind all the metal, but Yaz can see the orange light of the column illuminating her skin. “But translation’s not only words. I mean, what about proverbs, or idioms? And what about poetry and music? You can’t do that with a machine. I mean, think of Google Translate - ”
The TARDIS suddenly wheezes loudly, and an abrupt quake sends Yaz falling against the console, bumping painfully against a protruding lever. “What the –”
“I know, I know!” The Doctor rolls out from under the console and shoots up to grab on some levers and buttons, but just when Yaz thinks she’s going to stabilise the TARDIS and offer an apology for the TARDIS’ misconduct like she often does, she sees that she’s just stroking the column and looking at it with remorse. “That is absolutely unbelievable. After everything we’ve done for her!”
Yaz shakes her head in disbelief. Unbelievable? Of her? As if she hadn’t just been thrown around like a ping pong ball - “What have I done now?”
“Google Translate! How could you compare her to Google Translate?”, and just like that the TARDIS wheezes again, more faintly now, and Yaz can’t help but think it sounds exactly like Sonja did when she pretended Yaz had hit her, just to get their mom’s attention. “That’s a proper insult, Yasmin Khan. No wonder she got angry”.
Yaz rolls her eyes and goes to sit on one of the steps. “Explain, then”.
“Well”, the Doctor begins, sitting down beside her, her legs brushing softly against Yaz’s, “the TARDIS’s not just a machine”. She pronounces that word almost in a derogative way, as if she hadn’t already specified it was offensive to her. “’S more like…”, but for once she’s having difficulties finding the right words, she’s gesticulating as if she’s hoping her hands are going to pull the words out of her mouth. “She’s more similar to you than she is to a computer. Or, well, more similar to me. The point is that the TARDIS is conscious, and she can make translation choices, just like you do”.
“But when I hear aliens talking, it feels like they’re speaking English. Even with the best translator, you can usually notice”. The Doctor nods. “How does she do that, then?”
“Mmh”. Again, the Doctor doesn’t seem sure of how she could explain this, and Yaz gets the impression that she’s never had to explain anything like this before, that this is the first time she’s tried to put it into words for a human. “Of course, there’s a base level. The bare meaning of words. But like you say, communication is not only that. So, that’s where the telepathy intervenes”, she explains. “When it transfers those practical units of information into your mind, she applies a filter. Usually, it’s an emotional one. Familiarity, safety”. She looks at her and smiles. “Affection. Everything you may feel if you too spoke that language. In a way, she helps you, us feel a bit at home, everywhere we go”.
Yaz feels convinced now, but there’s still something that doesn’t quite fit the picture the Doctor has woven. It’s that word she said, home, that makes her wonder, because if she’s saying this, if she’s using these particular words, then it means she, too, must experience those side-effects of the TARDIS’ translation circuits. “But you said the TARDIS doesn’t translate Gallifreyan”, she says.
The Doctor nods, but waits for her to continue.
“You must use another language to speak with us, otherwise we wouldn’t understand”.
The Doctor doesn’t look all too sure of where this conversation is going. She frowns, because this is not new information; Yaz knows she speaks English when she’s with them, they’ve talked about it briefly before, so why ask? “Learnt myself English when I started visiting your planet. That, and about thirty other Earth languages”. Yaz rolls her eyes. Boaster. “So what?”
“Does that work too, if it’s not your mother tongue?”, she asks. “The filter?”
The Doctor’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and in a second they’ve left Yaz’s face to land vacuously on the ground. For a second, Yaz fears she’s asked something she shouldn’t have. But then the Doctor shoots her a nervous glance, so uncharacteristic of her, and replies.
“I haven’t been home for a long time”, she admits. “Been more around humans than I have with anyone else in those last times, actually”.
Yaz’s eyes can’t stand the Doctor’s glances and wander through the room absently. She observes the Doctor’s naked ankles and her thigh, pressed against her own, and she wonders if she feels at home when she’s with them, if she really means it when she says they’re her family.
“It does feel the same way”, the Doctor continues. “Like I’m home, when I hear your language”.
Suddenly there’s the sound of something creaking and the tube the Doctor was fixing explodes, sending a thick, golden fog spreading through the room with a strong, high-pitched whistle.
“Ah!”, screams the Doctor, jumping up and running back to the console, “and that’s why you should never distract me from – oh, no, no, you don’t! You won’t leak on my floors!”
Yaz smiles and looks at her while she jumps from one side of the room to the other in a desperate attempt to activate the vents. She looks so ridiculously silly, waving her sonic in the air like a weapon, and Yaz catches her smiling, as if fixing the TARDIS wasn’t really that boring after all.
“I feel at home with you, too”, she mutters. She’s not sure the Doctor hears it.