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“And why couldn’t we just bring the TARDIS again?” Yaz asks distastefully, thumbs hooked beneath the straps of her backpack to ease some weight off her shoulders. She grimaces ruefully when for the
third
time, she’s knocked to the side by a stranger’s inattention. “This is a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?.”
“You’re just used to flyin’ first class. I’ve spoiled you, I have. The both of you.” The Doctor struts on ahead, shouldering a path through the bustling crowd. “Come on, you’ve both been sittin’ around doing nothing for the past three weeks; I thought you wanted to see the Metagalactic Carnival? Biggest carnival in the universe, that one. It spans three galaxies.”
“And for some reason, we couldn’t just take the TARDIS.” Dan pipes from behind Yaz, and the Doctor sighs.
“I mean, obviously we could have, but I thought we’d try for something a bit more classic today, yeah? The Luminere Terminal is the biggest shuttle station on this side of the universe. There are flights to every corner of every standing galaxy crammed into this place — this is how everyone else gets about if they don’t have transport of their own. Thought you’d find it interesting, and it’s only a three hour flight!”
“So we get to go from sittin’ around at home to sittin’ around in a cramped space shuttle with dozens of other people, and — ” Dan’s gaze tracks a fish-like humanoid as it walks past him, decked in sea green and glistening scales. “People-adjacent things.”
“Tell me how you really feel, Dan.”
“I just have.”
Yaz shakes her head. “You’re complainin’ worse than Graham. You’re not a granddad, are you Dan?”
“Oi, I’m only forty-nine, and how many times do I have to tell you to stop comparing me to Graham? Makes me feel like a bargain basement stand-in.”
Yaz chuckles at that, trying to lean into the threat of a lightened mood, not keen on bursting the Doctor’s bubble but this — isn’t exactly ideal. It’s interesting, she’ll admit, seeing how those without the convenience of a TARDIS or even a little space hopper manage to get about. She’s brushed arms with all sorts of people since they arrived here; plump families in floppy sun hats striding proudly towards the Space Florida queue, dirt-streaked refugees with tattered bags on their backs looking oh so ready to be home. The occasional nomad, the odd businessman, all sorts of people. None of them seem to be capable of watching where they’re walking.
“I’m surprised you’re so okay with the idea of sittin’ around for, what was it? Three hours?” Yaz urges her distaste to not bleed through her tone too much, but it doesn’t abide. “Thought you hated that sort of thing.”
“I do, usually, but I got to thinking. Well, I got to reading. Well, it was only seven words, but they were framed words in the hallway of your flat so I figured they mattered. It said ‘It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson told me that once, way before he put it on paper and people for some reason started using it as interior decor. Never agreed with it in the past, can’t say I agree with it now, but again, it was in your flat. So, I was inspired.”
Yaz can only gape at that.
“So this is your fault, then.” Dan pipes, and she twists back to smack him in the arm.
“Doctor, that was just a cheap print my aunt got my mum from some art fair in Leeds. We only keep it on the wall because we know she’ll raise hell if she comes ‘round on holidays only for us to have chucked it in the bin. We make fun of it all the time.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad.” The Doctor sounds properly disheartened now, and Yaz has the space to feel a little sorry.
“Yeah, no, it’s not that bad.” Yaz is quick to assure, and twists back to meet Dan’s eye with a daring glare. “And I’m sure the shuttle won’t be that bad either, right Dan?”
His initial silence challenges her back, holding her gaze for a long beat of reluctance before bowing to Yaz’s intensity. He sighs. “Right.”
The Doctor shifts the bag on her back and leads them to the end of a queue, an upright tin sign reading Security Check towering above the crowded civilians. Yaz takes note of a dark-eyed, impractically-statured security bot scanning tickets and asking questions up at the front of the line. It appears aged and out of fashion, scuffed and dirt-streaked from a handler’s carelessness and its rounded base covered in the sticky handprints of curious children. It blocks the ajar shuttle doors until it gains the information it’s programmed to seek and as it rolls out of the way, two uneven eyes flash a welcoming green. ‘Enjoy your flight.’ Yaz picks up the monotone buzz above the chatter of the crowd.
“They’ve had a couple of instances of devious play around here.” The Doctor explains, unprompted. “ Stink bombs, prank calls, you name it.” Yaz snorts. “So they’ve had to up their protocols for, you know, safety reasons. Shouldn’t take long.”
Yaz goes to slip her bag off her shoulders in preparation, but notices those at the front of the queue aren’t doing the same. “They’re not checking bags? Is there a scanner built into the robots or something?”
“Nah, they just ask you questions.”
Dan huffs, disbelieving. “Seriously? Just the honor system then, is it?”
“No, you’ll wish it were, though.” She smiles thinly. “Hope you haven’t committed any crimes in the past six hundred days.”
Dan and Yaz swap muddled, concerned glances. Before they can hurt themselves trying to understand what she means, it’s their turn in the queue.
Up close and personal, Yaz decides these security bots hold the record for the most horrendous color scheme she’s ever seen. Sky blue and pale grey should be reserved for a toddler’s bedroom, not the machines responsible for the safety of thousands of people.
“Please step inside the square.” The bot says levelly, and only then does Yaz notice the box that’s been painted onto the floor. When she glances left and right at the other shuttle queues and their assigned bots, she sees the same square mirrored all the way down.
The group complies, the three of them barely fitting inside without having to force the robot out. Yaz stands stiffly, shoulder to shoulder with the Doctor and Dan and winces into the beady, wonky eyes in front of her.
“Hiya!” Thumbs tucked beneath the straps on her shoulders, the Doctor rocks on her heels with an eager grin. “Off to take my friends to the Metagalactic Carnival. Today’s the seventy-second anniversary, did you know that? They add a new attraction every year to celebrate. This year they’ve added Dodgems! Have you been? Oh, you’d love it, it’s good fun. This’ll be my seventeenth visit, although only my third through this method of transport. You see, I’ve actually got quite a nice set of wheels myself, perhaps not quite as nice as yours, mind,” She ducks briefly to give the set of two rustic, half-flat wheels a disapproving grimace. “Actually, quite a bit nicer than yours, I’m afraid. Sorry, that was rude. I’m—”
“— Please contain all answers to under fifty characters.”
The Doctor frowns, nonplussed. “Is Marcy not in, today? She’s far more chatty. Ooh, how are the kids, do you know? Give her my love, will you?”
The bot doesn’t entertain her rambling, and even those stagnant, expressionless eyes manage to communicate an impatience that it likely isn’t programmed to feel. “Please contain all answers to under fifty characters.”
She sighs. “Fine. C’mon you two, don’t be shy, say hello.” She elbows Yaz and Dan in the side, who each mutter an unhappy ‘Hello?’
Predictably, the bot does not return the greeting, instead jumps straight into questioning. It’s tone of voice changes when it does, and it’s a bit jarring; the way it would be if the voice of Siri were unexpectedly replaced with that of an elderly man. It speaks with seasoned ease and with static filtering through the dotted speakers on its mouth as if a paid actor is reading a script from home and recording their lines on their mobile.
“Please state your name, age, and occupation clearly for our records.”
Yaz goes first, ready to get this over with. “Yasmin Khan, twenty-two… former PC for Hallamshire Police.”
Satisfied, the bot rotates its head towards Dan.
“Er… Dan Lewis, fifty-five, independent plasterer.”
Yaz doesn’t catch his inconsistency immediately, but when she does, she whirls on him with bewildered eyes. “You said you were forty-nine!”
Dan stutters, tips of his ears red, and attempts to backtrack. “I am! I’m fifty— blimey. Fifty-five. Fifty five. ”
“Give it a rest, Lewis.” The Doctor leans in with a knowing glint in her eye. “Truth field. Can’t lie, no matter how hard you try. Ooh, that rhymed, did you hear that? Whoop— sorry.” She roots herself when she notices the security bot pointed her way expectantly. “The Doctor, no idea, and, uh — professional water slide tester, officially registered on three planets.” She says confidently.
“ Truth field?” Dan balks, comically late, and Yaz fails to hold back a tickled grin as he struggles to catch up.
“Listen up, you two, it’s not finished.” The Doctor reprimands.
“What is the reason for your travels today?”
“The Doctor takes things too literally,” Yaz says. Not what she meant to say. Luckily, the Doctor doesn’t react.
“Just wanted to get out of the ‘ouse, really.” Dan says carefully, inspecting every word that comes out of his mouth.
“For fun, obviously.” The Doctor smiles.
“Where are you traveling to?” The bot asks.
“The… it’s some intergalactic carnival.”
“No that’s not it, she called it the metal- galactic carnival.”
“The Meta -galactic Carnival , guys. Only told you about a dozen times.”
If the bot could sigh, it probably would be.
“Do your belongings contain anything harmful or illegal?”
“No.”
“I’ve got a pair of worn socks that might fit the bill.”
“Yes. Wait. Yes. Wait. ”
The Doctor presses her fingertips to her temples, distressed.
Yaz chuckles nervously, holding some equivalent of eye contact with the bot as she leans in to whisper, “What did you bring?”
“Nothing harmful!” She insists, incredulous, and that’s obviously the truth. “But… I might have forgotten about the recent increase in temporal warfare that’s rendered certain… devices illegal. It’s not a weapon though, definitely not a weapon.”
“The hell is it then?” Dan asks.
“It’s a second trapper!” The Doctor announces excitedly, gaze bouncing from Yaz’s face, to Dan’s, to the bot’s, who all appear equally unimpressed. “No? A second trapper?”
“What is the purpose of this device?”
“Exactly what it says on the tin, it traps seconds!” Enthused and truth-fielded, the Doctor can’t be stopped. “So Ventrel VII is part of the second quadrant of the carnival, and there’s this magician there, right? Lovely bloke, bit arrogant, brilliant at what he does, but just a bit too brilliant and I promised myself I’d make a point to one-up him next time I was in town. So. The second trapper. Pockets a single second out of time and stores it right…” She shoulders the bag into reach and after unzipping the top, withdraws a rusted bit of machinery no larger than a matchbox. “Here. Useful for party tricks or one-upping your magician arch nemesis. Whether you’re snagging a second mid-performance to use as training wheels for your sleight of hand or pulling it out when you need an extra moment to polish up your grand finale, it does the job. Personally, I’ll be using it for both. Or maybe just to throw him off his game. It’s a bit disorienting, losing or gaining a second in time.”
The bot is unconvinced. “Temporal-disturbance devices have been banned from this galaxy in lieu of recent events.”
The Doctor sighs. “Come on, it’s quite good actually, just watch.”
When she twists a little knob on top, Yaz blinks, or she doesn’t blink, or she inhales, or maybe she exhales. She fast-forwards, and it’s just barely noticeable enough to note, but only because the Doctor’s pitch could rival that of the second trapper’s marketing team.
Reliably aloof, the bot still doesn’t respond, instead outstretches an ominous claw in a request for possession of the device.
“Come on, it’s not dangerous at all. I’ve been practicing for months and still haven’t nailed what I’m going for, and I need this thing to bridge the gap! Or create one. Or take away one, depending on how it goes. Please?”
“Temporal-disturbance devices have been banned from this galaxy in lieu of recent events.” The clawed hand rotates, insistent.
“Doctor, we’re holding up the line.” Yaz chides, but truthfully, she doesn’t really care. She’s just ready to get on the shuttle so they can get off of it.
One might think it was the end of the world, the Doctor having to give up her beloved device. Her shoulders sink and she emits the most dramatic of all sighs, head bowed as she hands the second trapper over. “Fine.”
The bot crushes the device in its ruthless grip like a tin can, and the Doctor winces as if physically pained. The claw begins to glow a fiery red, the item disintegrates, and the Doctor sighs again.
“I had to snog the Emperor of Ephemeron for that.” She muses. “Was a one-time deal.”
“Final question.” The bot carries on. “Have you ever breached an article implemented by the Shadow Proclamation?”
Yaz senses the Doctor stiffen next to her.
“Of course not.” Yaz replies confidently.
“The shadow what?” Dan squints.
“You’re meant to ask if in the last six hundred days we’ve breached any articles implemented by the Shadow Proclamation.” The Doctor insists.
The bot rotates a bit on its wheels, skeptical. “Please answer the question.”
Yaz casts the Doctor a knowing, pinched look, and is met with a flattened smile and an apologetic squint.
She presses her lips together even tighter, some last-ditch act of resistance.
“What did she do?” Dan whispers, and Yaz just shakes her head.
“Yeah.” The Doctor admits, finally, some sorry strain of hope hanging on for dear life in the depths of her narrowed eyes. “A little bit.”
“Which articles?” The bot prompts.
“You… might want to ask me which articles I didn’t breach.”
“Doctor, seriously?” Yaz rubs her forehead tiredly.
“What? Just being honest.” The Doctor shrugs. “We aren’t boarding at this point, anyways. Think I lost them with my second trapper. Unless…” She smiles sweetly, tilting forward on the balls of her feet and cocking her head to one side. “Our friend here is feeling softhearted?”
No such luck, clearly. The bot’s eyes turn red and a low-frequency alarm blares from its speaker of a mouth.
The Doctor sighs. “If Marcy were here this wouldn’t be happening.”
Dan mutters disdainfully when someone shoulders him aside. “If we weren’t here this wouldn’t be happening.”
Yaz is forced out of the way as well as two burly, humanoid security guards clad in all black remove the Doctor’s bag from her grasp, toss it to the side, and hook their arms beneath hers to lift her away.
“Always with the lifting — I can walk, you know? Two perfectly functional feet right here, primed for walking? No? Alright, then.” She drops her head to one side in defeat. “Hang tight, you two. I’m sure I can talk my way out of this.”
Yaz and Dan are left to watch on impotently as the crowd bends to allow the security guards and their disgruntled cargo through.
She does not, in fact, talk her way out of anything, and Yaz and Dan are stuck making up for it.
They were fortunate enough that for once, instead of pocketing it, the Doctor had stored the psychic paper in the front pocket of her discarded backpack. A couple additional members of security had rummaged through it briefly before returning it to her companions, who were given no instruction or where to wait, how long to wait, or if there was even any point in waiting.
Not that they were going anywhere without her though, even if they wanted to. Yaz can’t remember where the cupboard is that they stashed the TARDIS in.
They infiltrate the detention center tucked into a corner on the fifth floor of the station, bypass three security drones, sweet talk one humanoid officer, knock the second one unconscious, and create a mutual pact to never tell the Doctor.
When they find her in a technologically unimpressive, unguarded holding cell, it’s been just under three hours that she’s been stuck there alone. But with the way her whole face brightens and she springs to her feet, barrelling towards the bars and gripping them with grateful hands, one might think she’d been there for three weeks. There’s already an entire wall marred with tallying scrapes, and she must have been ticking off every single minute, if not every single second. Yaz doesn’t stop to count.
“‘S about time you were the one needing rescuing.” Dan seems a bit pleased by the sight of her so contained. “Been a bit.”
“It’s about time you two showed up!” She says, bouncing once. “They’re runnin’ a background check now and I’d rather not still be around once they’re finished. It’s a bit embarrassing, really, it was all childish bouts of impulsivity or the occasional moral debate. Well, the aftermath of that debate. Those debates.”
“Be lucky we showed up at all.” Yaz beelines for the keypad next to the cell door, eyes slitted, attentive. “We almost didn’t find the place in time.”
“Thought I was gonna lose my mind in here. Been a while since I was that bored.” The Doctor stretches her arms over her head, rolls her shoulders and works out a crick in her neck.
Yaz has to pause her operation. “Didn’t you last, like — a few years in the Judoon prison?”
“Yeah, that was different, though.” She explains.
“Different how?”
“Sometimes they gave us cake! Cake will keep you going. Cake is the purest form of hope I’ve ever encountered.”
Dan hums thoughtfully, as if in agreement, while Yaz just narrows her eyes skeptically before returning to her work.
“After all this we can just take the TARDIS, yeah?” Dan, hands in pockets, leans against the bars. “Seeing as your wanted poster is probably about to be plastered all over the place.”
“Yeah, sorry guys, today ended up bein’ a bust.” The Doctor says mournfully. “We’ll try again tomorrow if you still want to go.”
“Yeah, I’d love to.” Yaz succeeds in unlocking the cell door, the keypad emitting an affirming beep.
“It sounds neat. Bit more appealing without the process of a couple thousand sweaty aliens runnin’ me over.” Dan pushes off the bars as the Doctor swings her cell door open, flattening out nonexistent creases and brushing imaginary dirt off her coat as if she’s just emerged from the wars.
“Fair enough.” She accepts at last. “Right. Let’s get out of here. Is the coast clear outside?”
“Clear enough.” Yaz provides, thankful they thought to slide the unconscious guard behind a service desk. “Should be fine.”
The Doctor pulls open the door, pokes her head out experimentally, then darts through with Yaz at her heels. Dan goes to step through, but catches his funny bone on the doorway and falters, cupping his elbow gingerly.
“ Ow, blimey. Hold on, need just a second.”
Instantly, excitedly, like she’d just been waiting for the opportunity, the Doctor braces her palms against the doorway and tilts just barely inside, a tempting grin split across her face.
“Well then. Perhaps it’s time I introduce you to the Emperor.”