Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2011-05-06 06:53 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2011-05-06 06:53 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Operation Juliet (Doctor Who, Canton-centric)
Oh, my God, this was such a headache to write. So many paradoxes! Remind me never to attempt anything with more than a passing mention of time travel again.
I hope it isn't as confusing to read as it was to write, but I can make no promises. (But, hey, it's got Canton Everett Delaware III in it!)
Title: Operation Juliet
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Canton, Eleven, Amy, others
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4,700
Summary: In which Canton Everett Delaware III finds his way onto the TARDIS and into quite a lot of trouble.
Warnings: Spoilers for 'The Impossible Astronaut'/'Day of the Moon'.
“You’ve got to make sure you’re the one who shoots them,” the Doctor says, handing Canton a gun. “They’ll look completely dead, but it’ll actually just knock them out for a bit; they’ll wake up in about twelve hours.”
Canton examines the gun. It looks like an ordinary revolver; there’s nothing obviously alien about it. He can use this without drawing suspicion. “Impressive toy.”
The Doctor grins. “I’ve named it Juliet.”
There is a pause.
“Juliet,” Canton says.
“It’s fitting, isn’t it?”
“Let’s hope it’s not too fitting,” Canton says. “You’re not a superstitious man, are you, Doctor?”
“Ooh, depends what planet I’m on,” the Doctor says. “There’s one in the Serket star cluster where the magnetic forces mean what’s lucky and unlucky changes every month. The people have to work it out by trial and error. Destroyed eight hundred years from now, of course, in an extraordinarily unfortunate series of coincidences when breathing turns unlucky.”
Canton takes a moment to consider that.
“Juliet it is,” he says.
-
Before the Doctor leaves, he takes Canton’s hand in his and waves what he calls his ‘screwdriver’ over it. It doesn’t look like any screwdriver Canton’s ever seen, but if he ranked everything he’s encountered in the past few months in order of strangeness he’d probably be an old man before he got down to that one.
“What’re you doing?” Canton asks.
“Modifying your nanorecorder,” the Doctor says. “If I can just... there.”
“Modifying it how, exactly?”
“Thought it might be an idea to have a way to keep in touch,” the Doctor says, going over to Dr Song and doing the same to her hand. “This way, they should be able to transmit messages to each other, rather than just recording onto themselves. Could just rip out your chip for the live transmission, I s’pose, but that’s not much fun for you, and we can’t listen to it all the time. Plus the FBI aren’t exactly going to welcome you back with open arms if they know someone out there can hear every word you say. Hold out your hand, Rory.”
“I’m not seeing the FBI welcoming me back either way.”
“Oh, they will,” the Doctor says. “And you’ll get married, too. We’ve got the President of the United States as leverage, after all.”
Canton doubts this, privately. Their leverage is good, but he’s not sure how willing it’s going to be to lever. “So when should I send a message?”
“If you’re in trouble,” the Doctor says, peering closely at Rory’s hand. “If things are happening, strange things, wrong things. If you think of a really good pun. Or a really bad pun. Any pun at all, really. It works just like it did before, but whatever you record will come to us instead of staying on your own recorder.”
“What about me?” Amy asks. “All my chip’s good for now is listening to my own voice in stereo.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want it for anything else,” the Doctor comments, and Amy shoots him a look that makes Canton think they’re going to need the body bags again. “All right, all right: give it to me and I’ll reconnect it.”
-
“Keeping a record of how many Silence I see,” Canton’s voice says from the Doctor’s hand. “Either the number is getting smaller or they’re getting better at hiding. I’ve written ‘dead’ next to some of the marks, so I guess some of them were just bodies. A couple times I’ve found myself in front of a fire and not been able to remember how I got there; might be burning them.”
Amy’s chip stops glowing when the message ends, she notices. It must somehow know she’s heard it, even if she didn’t listen to it on her own nanorecorder. That’s impressive, but it’s not her main concern right now.
“Hang on,” she says. “How can we be getting messages from Canton here? We’re in the sixteenth century; Canton hasn’t even been born yet.”
“You really think I’d go to all the trouble of coming up with that brilliant transmitter plan and forget to take time travel into account?” the Doctor asks, with affront that Amy feels may not be entirely pretended. “You think the man who lives in a time machine wouldn’t think ‘hmmm, what if the nanorecorders end up in different times?’ It’s all based on how long they’ve been linked; a recording three days after the linkup is going to beam out to all the others when they’ve been linked three days, no matter where they are in actual time.”
“Oh, my God, get a girlfriend,” Amy says.
The Doctor flushes and knocks over a chair.
-
Canton only sends occasional updates on what he can work out of the Silence situation at first, but Amy begins to send messages in response, telling him about things they’re seeing on their journey through time and space. “We just met you when you were nine; you were adorable!” is probably the strangest; when he thinks about it, he does remember meeting some adults who seemed to know a lot about him.
They’re in the middle of a nanorecorder conversation about the giant rats of Sumatra, which is apparently the name of a planet as well as an island, when Rory breaks in with a message of his own.
“Do you have to send so many messages?” Rory’s voice asks. “Not that I mind hearing from you, but I keep thinking I’ve just seen a Silent.”
Canton smirks and reactivates the recorder. “What’s that thing behind you?”
The reply comes a moment later: “That’s not funny.” But Canton thinks he can hear Amy snickering in the background, and he smiles.
-
Canton’s driving through the desert when the TARDIS materialises straight in front of him, half-on and half-off the road, and he nearly crashes into it in surprise. He pulls over and gets out of his car immediately. Screw the FBI. If the Doctor has come back for him, the investigation can wait.
“Canton Everett Delaware III,” the Doctor announces as he steps out of the TARDIS. “You are a terrible person.”
It’s not the first time Canton’s heard that sentiment, but it might be the first time he’s had no clue what caused it. “What?”
The Doctor holds up his hand – his own hand – and waves his screwdriver over it. His nanorecorder speaks in Canton’s voice: “I’m on the TARDIS now, so I guess you’ll have to pick me up if you don’t want this paradox to get worse than it already is.”
“Got that message a couple of hours ago,” the Doctor says. “That’s in our personal timelines, obviously. From an objective perspective, we got it three hundred years in the future. And Amy was being chased by carnivorous plantlife at the time, so we really had enough to worry about already.”
“I never said that,” Canton says, frowning.
“Of course you didn’t. You haven’t said it yet. What you’ve done, or will do, is create an ontological paradox. We have to pick you up because you’ve told us we’ve picked you up. It’s written into the timeline now.”
Canton takes a moment to try to understand that and concludes it’s going to need more than a moment. “Is that a problem?”
“Sort of. Not really. It’s a minor, self-sustaining paradox, so you’re not going to bring any ferocious time-monsters down on our heads. It’s just obnoxious.”
“Okay,” Canton says. “In that case, I’m sorry.”
“If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t be about to send that message.”
Canton shrugs.
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Well, no point worrying about it now; it’s done. Or will be done. Come on, into the TARDIS with you.”
Canton is already activating his nanorecorder as he steps through the doors. Amy’s messages have made it clear to him that there’s a whole lot more to experience out in the universe than he’d ever have guessed, and this is his chance to see it. No, he’s not sorry.
-
Over the next few – days? It’s tough to tell – he almost forgets about the nanorecorders; it’s strange how fast having alien technology fused into your hand becomes normal, although all the other incredible things he’s seeing might be related to that. When they’re resting in the TARDIS after visiting the third moon of t’kreer (the Doctor had very clearly emphasised that it didn’t have a capital letter), though, Amy, Rory and the Doctor’s hands all start flashing.
“Silence?” Canton asks, looking around, his hand on his gun.
“Nah,” the Doctor says. “Not in here.”
“I don’t have the message,” Canton points out, holding up his hand. “So I must have sent it, and I don’t remember doing that.”
“You can’t have. The nanorecorders don’t bother transmitting to each other if they’re in the same place. This is from somewhere else.”
“Then why didn’t it come to me?” Canton asks.
“Easy. You’re desynched.”
“Desynched?”
“Desynchronised. I had to come back to before you very unfairly left that paradoxical message to pick you up, so your recorder’s slightly younger than ours, timeline-wise. You’ll be getting this message a couple of hours from now.”
Okay. It makes a kind of sense, he guesses: the Doctor got his message about being on the TARDIS before he was there; Canton’s recorder is going to be slow to receive messages. He’s a little behind everyone else. Probably not healthy to think about it for too long, but Canton can understand that.
“You say it’s from a chip that’s not here,” Amy says. “River?”
The Doctor grins. “River.” And he activates his recorder.
“Canton,” says the recorder in Canton’s voice.
“Or, okay, not River. That’s the other thing about desynchronisation. I forgot.”
“I’m leaving this message to tell you not to open the door. But I already know you’re going to, because you did, so actually I’m leaving this message to tell you you’re an idiot.”
The recorder goes quiet.
There’s a moment’s silence, and then Doctor draws in a breath through his teeth. “Not very polite, Canton.”
“So I’m going to be leaving that message in the future?” Canton asks.
“Mmm,” the Doctor says, briefly taking hold of Amy’s wrist to check her watch. “In... about two hours and six minutes, I’d say.”
“Where’s this door I’m not supposed to open?”
“No idea,” the Doctor says. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”
-
Canton finds out sooner than he was expecting, because the last time he used the TARDIS restroom there definitely wasn’t another door right next to it. A door that’s appeared out of nowhere. It has to be the door he told himself not to open.
Yeah. About that.
Canton’s never been good with being told what to do, even by himself. A door that appears out of nowhere: that’s something that needs further investigation, right? And, well, if he doesn’t open the door, he’ll never know why he shouldn’t.
Can’t have that.
He opens the door, and
-
Canton wakes up in a small metal room. Putting a hand to his head, he sits up and looks around.
His first reaction is disappointment. There’s nothing in here. He would have expected to find something interesting through a magically-appearing door, especially one he’d already warned himself against going through, but the room is empty.
That or it’s full of Silence.
He gives the room another look-around, and that’s when he sees what’s wrong.
There’s no door.
How can there be no door?
Canton stands and walks around, examining what little there is to examine, feeling the walls. He even checks the ceiling for trapdoors. There must be a door. If there’s no way out, how did he end up in here?
If there is a way out, though, it’s keeping itself well-hidden.
He really shouldn’t have opened that door.
“Canton,” he says, already guessing as he activates his recorder that this isn’t going to work. “I’m leaving this message to tell you not to open the door. But I already know you’re going to, because you did, so actually I’m leaving this message to tell you you’re an idiot.”
Except he’s not an idiot for opening the door, he realises as he ends the message. He’s an idiot for leaving that message in the first place. If he hadn’t told himself not to open it, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed the disappearing door.
He thinks that makes it another paradox. The Doctor’s going to love that.
Can he leave himself another message? Be more specific about why not to open it? Would that work? He didn’t hear another message earlier, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try.
That’s when part of the wall slides open and a man walks in.
Canton’s relief at seeing that there is a way out immediately changes to suspicion when the man clicks his fingers and the wall slides back into place.
“So we understand each other,” Canton says, “am I a prisoner here?”
“Ooh, he’s quick!” the man says, sounding delighted. He looks Canton up and down. “You’re not his usual type, are you?”
-
“Right!” the Doctor says, running into the console room. “Rift planet of Tarlquoa, third phase of the eighteenth solar cycle post-incident. Everyone here? Amy, Rory? Canton?”
A pause.
“Canton?”
Amy looks at her watch; it’s not much use most places they go, but it can at least tell her how much time has passed. “It’s been more than two hours since we got that message.”
“Which means he’s opened the door,” the Doctor says, frowning. “Whatever ‘the door’ is. But he can’t have left the TARDIS; the front’s locked.” He hits a few buttons.
SCANNING, says the TARDIS screen, and then, NOT FOUND.
-
“If you’re on the TARDIS, why do you need me to bring him to you?”
“I’m not on the TARDIS.”
“I was on the TARDIS. If this isn’t the TARDIS, how did I get here?”
“You opened a door,” the man says. “A door that only appeared sometimes. It’s a teleportation trigger, really. I had possession of the Doctor’s TARDIS for a while, so I installed it in case I ever needed a bargaining chip; I knew it was exactly the sort of thing the insatiably curious breed of human he particularly favours wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“So what’s stopping you from going through that door yourself?”
“It’s one-way,” the man says. “The Doctor’s TARDIS has defences against people getting in uninvited; it’s much easier to take things out.”
Canton nods. None of this sounds like good news, but he’s going to stay calm. “Why do you want to see him? I’m guessing you’re not a friend.”
“Well,” the man says, “I suppose that depends on how you define ‘friend’.” He grins. “I can’t guarantee he’ll be happy to see me again. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I did once kill a tenth of the Earth’s population; it’s the sort of thing he gets very uptight and tedious over. And he does have rather a habit of making my life inconvenient.”
Canton moves his hand down toward his holster, and then he hesitates. This man hasn’t incapacitated him in any way, which means either that he’s careless or that he doesn’t consider Canton a threat. He knows the Doctor. Is he human? Will guns do anything to him? A tenth of the Earth’s population: if it’s true, he can’t be normal.
Still, Canton’s not going to sit here and do nothing.
He closes his fingers over the handle.
“This is how this is going to happen,” the man says. “The Doctor is going to come to find you, and you’re going to have your life endangered like a good hostage, and then you can run off and play while the Time Lords discuss personal matters.”
“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you,” Canton says.
And he shoots himself in the head.
-
“Hey,” Amy says, walking into the console room, “I think my chip’s stuck.”
The Doctor is standing at the console, his head down. He doesn’t turn around.
“It just keeps broadcasting. I don’t even know who’s talking.”
“I do,” the Doctor says, quietly. Now that Amy listens, she can hear the same voice coming from his hand.
“Who is it?” she asks.
The Doctor is silent for a moment, and then he straightens up and turns around. “One of the nanorecorders has been removed,” he says. “It’s defaulted to a constant live broadcast, like yours. What we’re hearing is what the person it’s connected to is hearing. And that person obviously isn’t prepared or able to talk, if we’re not hearing their voice.”
“Canton?”
The Doctor doesn’t answer.
“It sounds like he’s talking to himself, most of the time,” Amy says. “I mean, I don’t know, but I think he’s talking to himself.”
“A fine effort, Juliet,” says the voice on the recorder.
“Juliet,” Amy echoes. “Do you think it’s River?”
A smile breaks through the Doctor’s too-serious expression, and he turns to flip a couple of levers. “River’s not Juliet,” he says.
“How do we know where—” Amy begins, but she cuts herself off when a very familiar noise starts coming through on the chips.
-
When Canton comes back to consciousness, he’s still in his prison. The man is leaning against a wall, idly comparing his revolvers.
“A fine effort, Juliet,” the man says, “but I think you’ve got some seducing to do before that makes me kill myself in grief.”
Shit. He wasn’t fooled. Canton should have used the real gun when he had the chance; at least he wouldn’t be going out a coward.
“And I don’t know what you thought you were going to do with this,” the man says, holding up a tiny flashing cylinder. Canton suddenly becomes aware of the stinging sensation in his hand as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “A nanorecorder? Really?”
That’s what he should have used when he could have, Canton realises, trying not to show it on his face. He was putting too much on his plan: seemingly kill himself, the man drags his body out or at least leaves him unguarded, and then when he wakes up he’ll be able to ask the Doctor for help privately. Now he’s lost his chance to contact the Doctor at all.
His regret only lasts a moment, though. Of course he can’t call the Doctor here; that’s what this man wants.
“So,” the man says, “as I was saying before my conversational partner so rudely shot himself, I want the Doctor. You’re going to bring him to me.”
Canton raises his eyebrows. “Am I?”
At that moment, a wind sweeps past from nowhere and a noise Canton has heard before fills the room. He doesn’t know how, but apparently he is going to bring the Doctor here. Kind of ruins the impression of unruffled resistance he was going for.
“Hello!” the Doctor says as he steps out of the TARDIS, brightly. “Star reference 145.575, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not because those were the coordinates I just used to get here. Two-hour, four-minute jump.”
“How did you know where I was?” Canton asks. He’s very aware that the man trained his real gun on him the moment the TARDIS started to appear, but he isn’t going to give away any sign of fear right now.
“Heard myself say it.”
Canton blinks.
The Doctor grins. “See, you’re not the only one who can exploit ontological paradoxes, Canton.” Then he looks at the man who brought Canton here, and his smile falls away. “Master.”
“Doctor,” the man says.
“You see,” the Doctor says, “Canton here is my friend, and if you could not shoot him I’d really appreciate that.”
“You’ll need to offer me a little more than your appreciation,” the man says. He tilts his head. “What’s your nanorecorder saying?”
The Doctor looks down at it. The man’s voice is coming from his hand: “...settled the score?” “Oh, that’s the conversation we’re having right now,” he says. “It’s very slightly ahead of us, though. Better put it on mute.” He waves his screwdriver above the recorder, and it goes quiet. “As another friend of mine would say: spoilers.”
“Transmitting,” the man says. “Of course. It wasn’t exactly how I expected to bring you here, but the ‘how’ isn’t really the important part, is it?”
“I brought myself here,” the Doctor says. “Don’t start thinking you can control me.”
“Oh, of course,” the man says. “You just decided to visit, and it’s a coincidence that I happened to have your friend here at gunpoint. Funny how these things work out, isn’t it, Doctor?”
“Tell me what you want, Master.”
“Oh, I do love hearing you say that.”
“It’s his name,” the Doctor says, aside to Canton. “Just so you know. I just realised that the ‘don’t think you can control me’ part gets a bit undermined if I turn around and call him Master.”
“Good to know,” Canton says. “Don’t think it’d help my chances of getting out alive if that was your boss with the gun.”
“You are getting out of this alive,” the Doctor says. “I promise.”
“Do I need to state my terms, then,” the ‘Master’ asks, “or should I just assume they’re accepted?”
“All right,” the Doctor says: “why did you want me here?”
The Master smiles. “You’ve watched me die entirely too many times. Don’t you think it’s time we settled the score?”
There is a brief silence.
“You’re asking me to let you kill me?” the Doctor asks.
“Not immediately. I’m even generous enough to let you carry on with your intergalactic sightseeing trip for as long as you like. All I’m asking – well,” with a twitch of the gun, “demanding – is for you to be in a certain place at a certain time.”
Canton is going to die. Of course he is; the Doctor isn’t going to offer himself up to be killed in his place. He can’t blame the Doctor for it. The Doctor has only known him a short time. He needs to prepare himself now.
“When?” the Doctor asks, very quietly. “Where?”
Except it sounds like the Doctor might actually be considering this. Which is insane. Canton may not be prepared to die, but he’s even less prepared to let someone die instead of him.
“Utah,” the Master says. “2011.” And then he gives a set of precise coordinates, but Canton isn’t listening; he’s thinking.
The Master is completely focused on the Doctor; he’s hardly looked at Canton since the TARDIS landed. In his right hand, he holds Canton’s revolver, pointed at Canton; in his left, hanging by his side, Juliet. If Canton can get a little closer while the guy’s distracted...
“I assume you’re not planning to let me regenerate,” the Doctor says.
“A very sensible assumption,” the Master says.
The Master said that ‘the Time Lords’ needed to discuss personal matters. If that means that the Master and the Doctor are the same type of alien... well, Canton was able to pin the Doctor to the floor of the Oval Office.
Canton leaps at the Master, knocks him to the ground, stamps as hard as he can on his left hand. The second he’s wrenched Juliet free, he rolls – there’s the sound of a gunshot; Canton doesn’t think he’s been hit, but if he has been he guesses it’ll make itself known soon enough – and he swings Juliet up and he fires.
The Master slumps to the floor. Thank God, Canton almost says, but after a manoeuvre like that he doesn’t want God to get all the credit.
“No!” the Doctor shouts, and then, “Oh, wait, is that Juliet?”
“It’s Juliet,” Canton says, breathing hard. His eyes flicker to his real gun, still in the Master’s hand. “Should I kill him?”
“No,” the Doctor says, immediately. “No, don’t do that. He’s a Time Lord, anyway: different cardiovascular system, makes things a bit complicated. But don’t try.” His eyes flicker over the Master’s unconscious body. “Er, good work. Well done.”
Canton gets to his feet, dusts his suit down, nods toward the TARDIS. “Shall we?”
-
“Hold on,” the Doctor says as they enter, and he passes his screwdriver over Canton’s head.
“Controlling my mind?” Canton asks, dryly.
“Goodness, no. I’m just cutting the telepathic link to your nanorecorder. Not to say you’re not saying things worth hearing, but ours aren’t much use if all we can hear is your live feed. Plus the Master probably still has yours, and he’s not the sort of person you want listening in.” The glow in the Doctor’s hand dies away. “There.”
There’s a clattering of feet, and Canton looks up. Amy is running to meet them, looking very pale.
“I heard you,” she says, holding up her hand. “You can’t go to Utah.”
“I don’t have to,” the Doctor says. “Did you not hear the part where our friend Canton managed to get out of the situation himself?”
Amy narrows her eyes. She doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”
“Really! He doesn’t have his hostage any more; I’ve got no reason to go and let him kill me.”
“Okay,” Amy says. “Make sure you don’t.” She looks at Canton. “Did he hurt you?”
Canton shakes his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
-
They stand side-by-side at the edge of the chasm. It’s wider and deeper than any rift Canton has seen before, and even by the light of seven moons he can only see part of the way down. Houses are built into the side, entire tiny villages suspended above an endless drop. Rory and Amy are a short distance away, talking to one of the winged inhabitants.
“It goes all the way down to the core of the planet,” the Doctor says, next to him. “The Sterroac took a massive bite out of this one.”
“Something ate this?”
“Centuries ago. Well, what you would describe as centuries. The people here weren’t – oh, what’s this?”
Canton turns to see that the Doctor’s hand is glowing. “Is it Dr Song?”
The Doctor activates his nanorecorder.
“I should have guessed it would be transmitting, really. I’m almost ashamed of myself. It’s such an obvious modification, isn’t it?”
It’s the Master’s voice. The Doctor goes very still.
“Well, I’ve connected it to myself now, and I have a message for you, Doctor. Your pet may have escaped, but I still have a bargaining chip. One way or another, a Time Lord is dying in Utah. I expect to see you there.”
There is a moment’s silence when the transmission ends.
“You said he was a Time Lord,” Canton says.
The Doctor doesn’t look at him. “He is.”
“He thinks you’ll do what he wants if he threatens to kill himself?”
“Canton,” the Doctor says, after a moment. “You’ve got someone in your own time, haven’t you?”
“Not in any way the law will recognise,” Canton says, “but yes.”
“So you’ll want to go back there.”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
“Oh, you can stay. You can stay as long as you like. I’m just... speculating.”
“Yes,” Canton says. “I don’t want to give up the universe yet, but I’d like to go back eventually.”
“Right,” the Doctor says. “Forty years in your future, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”
I hope it isn't as confusing to read as it was to write, but I can make no promises. (But, hey, it's got Canton Everett Delaware III in it!)
Title: Operation Juliet
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Canton, Eleven, Amy, others
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4,700
Summary: In which Canton Everett Delaware III finds his way onto the TARDIS and into quite a lot of trouble.
Warnings: Spoilers for 'The Impossible Astronaut'/'Day of the Moon'.
“You’ve got to make sure you’re the one who shoots them,” the Doctor says, handing Canton a gun. “They’ll look completely dead, but it’ll actually just knock them out for a bit; they’ll wake up in about twelve hours.”
Canton examines the gun. It looks like an ordinary revolver; there’s nothing obviously alien about it. He can use this without drawing suspicion. “Impressive toy.”
The Doctor grins. “I’ve named it Juliet.”
There is a pause.
“Juliet,” Canton says.
“It’s fitting, isn’t it?”
“Let’s hope it’s not too fitting,” Canton says. “You’re not a superstitious man, are you, Doctor?”
“Ooh, depends what planet I’m on,” the Doctor says. “There’s one in the Serket star cluster where the magnetic forces mean what’s lucky and unlucky changes every month. The people have to work it out by trial and error. Destroyed eight hundred years from now, of course, in an extraordinarily unfortunate series of coincidences when breathing turns unlucky.”
Canton takes a moment to consider that.
“Juliet it is,” he says.
Before the Doctor leaves, he takes Canton’s hand in his and waves what he calls his ‘screwdriver’ over it. It doesn’t look like any screwdriver Canton’s ever seen, but if he ranked everything he’s encountered in the past few months in order of strangeness he’d probably be an old man before he got down to that one.
“What’re you doing?” Canton asks.
“Modifying your nanorecorder,” the Doctor says. “If I can just... there.”
“Modifying it how, exactly?”
“Thought it might be an idea to have a way to keep in touch,” the Doctor says, going over to Dr Song and doing the same to her hand. “This way, they should be able to transmit messages to each other, rather than just recording onto themselves. Could just rip out your chip for the live transmission, I s’pose, but that’s not much fun for you, and we can’t listen to it all the time. Plus the FBI aren’t exactly going to welcome you back with open arms if they know someone out there can hear every word you say. Hold out your hand, Rory.”
“I’m not seeing the FBI welcoming me back either way.”
“Oh, they will,” the Doctor says. “And you’ll get married, too. We’ve got the President of the United States as leverage, after all.”
Canton doubts this, privately. Their leverage is good, but he’s not sure how willing it’s going to be to lever. “So when should I send a message?”
“If you’re in trouble,” the Doctor says, peering closely at Rory’s hand. “If things are happening, strange things, wrong things. If you think of a really good pun. Or a really bad pun. Any pun at all, really. It works just like it did before, but whatever you record will come to us instead of staying on your own recorder.”
“What about me?” Amy asks. “All my chip’s good for now is listening to my own voice in stereo.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want it for anything else,” the Doctor comments, and Amy shoots him a look that makes Canton think they’re going to need the body bags again. “All right, all right: give it to me and I’ll reconnect it.”
“Keeping a record of how many Silence I see,” Canton’s voice says from the Doctor’s hand. “Either the number is getting smaller or they’re getting better at hiding. I’ve written ‘dead’ next to some of the marks, so I guess some of them were just bodies. A couple times I’ve found myself in front of a fire and not been able to remember how I got there; might be burning them.”
Amy’s chip stops glowing when the message ends, she notices. It must somehow know she’s heard it, even if she didn’t listen to it on her own nanorecorder. That’s impressive, but it’s not her main concern right now.
“Hang on,” she says. “How can we be getting messages from Canton here? We’re in the sixteenth century; Canton hasn’t even been born yet.”
“You really think I’d go to all the trouble of coming up with that brilliant transmitter plan and forget to take time travel into account?” the Doctor asks, with affront that Amy feels may not be entirely pretended. “You think the man who lives in a time machine wouldn’t think ‘hmmm, what if the nanorecorders end up in different times?’ It’s all based on how long they’ve been linked; a recording three days after the linkup is going to beam out to all the others when they’ve been linked three days, no matter where they are in actual time.”
“Oh, my God, get a girlfriend,” Amy says.
The Doctor flushes and knocks over a chair.
Canton only sends occasional updates on what he can work out of the Silence situation at first, but Amy begins to send messages in response, telling him about things they’re seeing on their journey through time and space. “We just met you when you were nine; you were adorable!” is probably the strangest; when he thinks about it, he does remember meeting some adults who seemed to know a lot about him.
They’re in the middle of a nanorecorder conversation about the giant rats of Sumatra, which is apparently the name of a planet as well as an island, when Rory breaks in with a message of his own.
“Do you have to send so many messages?” Rory’s voice asks. “Not that I mind hearing from you, but I keep thinking I’ve just seen a Silent.”
Canton smirks and reactivates the recorder. “What’s that thing behind you?”
The reply comes a moment later: “That’s not funny.” But Canton thinks he can hear Amy snickering in the background, and he smiles.
Canton’s driving through the desert when the TARDIS materialises straight in front of him, half-on and half-off the road, and he nearly crashes into it in surprise. He pulls over and gets out of his car immediately. Screw the FBI. If the Doctor has come back for him, the investigation can wait.
“Canton Everett Delaware III,” the Doctor announces as he steps out of the TARDIS. “You are a terrible person.”
It’s not the first time Canton’s heard that sentiment, but it might be the first time he’s had no clue what caused it. “What?”
The Doctor holds up his hand – his own hand – and waves his screwdriver over it. His nanorecorder speaks in Canton’s voice: “I’m on the TARDIS now, so I guess you’ll have to pick me up if you don’t want this paradox to get worse than it already is.”
“Got that message a couple of hours ago,” the Doctor says. “That’s in our personal timelines, obviously. From an objective perspective, we got it three hundred years in the future. And Amy was being chased by carnivorous plantlife at the time, so we really had enough to worry about already.”
“I never said that,” Canton says, frowning.
“Of course you didn’t. You haven’t said it yet. What you’ve done, or will do, is create an ontological paradox. We have to pick you up because you’ve told us we’ve picked you up. It’s written into the timeline now.”
Canton takes a moment to try to understand that and concludes it’s going to need more than a moment. “Is that a problem?”
“Sort of. Not really. It’s a minor, self-sustaining paradox, so you’re not going to bring any ferocious time-monsters down on our heads. It’s just obnoxious.”
“Okay,” Canton says. “In that case, I’m sorry.”
“If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t be about to send that message.”
Canton shrugs.
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Well, no point worrying about it now; it’s done. Or will be done. Come on, into the TARDIS with you.”
Canton is already activating his nanorecorder as he steps through the doors. Amy’s messages have made it clear to him that there’s a whole lot more to experience out in the universe than he’d ever have guessed, and this is his chance to see it. No, he’s not sorry.
Over the next few – days? It’s tough to tell – he almost forgets about the nanorecorders; it’s strange how fast having alien technology fused into your hand becomes normal, although all the other incredible things he’s seeing might be related to that. When they’re resting in the TARDIS after visiting the third moon of t’kreer (the Doctor had very clearly emphasised that it didn’t have a capital letter), though, Amy, Rory and the Doctor’s hands all start flashing.
“Silence?” Canton asks, looking around, his hand on his gun.
“Nah,” the Doctor says. “Not in here.”
“I don’t have the message,” Canton points out, holding up his hand. “So I must have sent it, and I don’t remember doing that.”
“You can’t have. The nanorecorders don’t bother transmitting to each other if they’re in the same place. This is from somewhere else.”
“Then why didn’t it come to me?” Canton asks.
“Easy. You’re desynched.”
“Desynched?”
“Desynchronised. I had to come back to before you very unfairly left that paradoxical message to pick you up, so your recorder’s slightly younger than ours, timeline-wise. You’ll be getting this message a couple of hours from now.”
Okay. It makes a kind of sense, he guesses: the Doctor got his message about being on the TARDIS before he was there; Canton’s recorder is going to be slow to receive messages. He’s a little behind everyone else. Probably not healthy to think about it for too long, but Canton can understand that.
“You say it’s from a chip that’s not here,” Amy says. “River?”
The Doctor grins. “River.” And he activates his recorder.
“Canton,” says the recorder in Canton’s voice.
“Or, okay, not River. That’s the other thing about desynchronisation. I forgot.”
“I’m leaving this message to tell you not to open the door. But I already know you’re going to, because you did, so actually I’m leaving this message to tell you you’re an idiot.”
The recorder goes quiet.
There’s a moment’s silence, and then Doctor draws in a breath through his teeth. “Not very polite, Canton.”
“So I’m going to be leaving that message in the future?” Canton asks.
“Mmm,” the Doctor says, briefly taking hold of Amy’s wrist to check her watch. “In... about two hours and six minutes, I’d say.”
“Where’s this door I’m not supposed to open?”
“No idea,” the Doctor says. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Canton finds out sooner than he was expecting, because the last time he used the TARDIS restroom there definitely wasn’t another door right next to it. A door that’s appeared out of nowhere. It has to be the door he told himself not to open.
Yeah. About that.
Canton’s never been good with being told what to do, even by himself. A door that appears out of nowhere: that’s something that needs further investigation, right? And, well, if he doesn’t open the door, he’ll never know why he shouldn’t.
Can’t have that.
He opens the door, and
Canton wakes up in a small metal room. Putting a hand to his head, he sits up and looks around.
His first reaction is disappointment. There’s nothing in here. He would have expected to find something interesting through a magically-appearing door, especially one he’d already warned himself against going through, but the room is empty.
That or it’s full of Silence.
He gives the room another look-around, and that’s when he sees what’s wrong.
There’s no door.
How can there be no door?
Canton stands and walks around, examining what little there is to examine, feeling the walls. He even checks the ceiling for trapdoors. There must be a door. If there’s no way out, how did he end up in here?
If there is a way out, though, it’s keeping itself well-hidden.
He really shouldn’t have opened that door.
“Canton,” he says, already guessing as he activates his recorder that this isn’t going to work. “I’m leaving this message to tell you not to open the door. But I already know you’re going to, because you did, so actually I’m leaving this message to tell you you’re an idiot.”
Except he’s not an idiot for opening the door, he realises as he ends the message. He’s an idiot for leaving that message in the first place. If he hadn’t told himself not to open it, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed the disappearing door.
He thinks that makes it another paradox. The Doctor’s going to love that.
Can he leave himself another message? Be more specific about why not to open it? Would that work? He didn’t hear another message earlier, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try.
That’s when part of the wall slides open and a man walks in.
Canton’s relief at seeing that there is a way out immediately changes to suspicion when the man clicks his fingers and the wall slides back into place.
“So we understand each other,” Canton says, “am I a prisoner here?”
“Ooh, he’s quick!” the man says, sounding delighted. He looks Canton up and down. “You’re not his usual type, are you?”
“Right!” the Doctor says, running into the console room. “Rift planet of Tarlquoa, third phase of the eighteenth solar cycle post-incident. Everyone here? Amy, Rory? Canton?”
A pause.
“Canton?”
Amy looks at her watch; it’s not much use most places they go, but it can at least tell her how much time has passed. “It’s been more than two hours since we got that message.”
“Which means he’s opened the door,” the Doctor says, frowning. “Whatever ‘the door’ is. But he can’t have left the TARDIS; the front’s locked.” He hits a few buttons.
SCANNING, says the TARDIS screen, and then, NOT FOUND.
“If you’re on the TARDIS, why do you need me to bring him to you?”
“I’m not on the TARDIS.”
“I was on the TARDIS. If this isn’t the TARDIS, how did I get here?”
“You opened a door,” the man says. “A door that only appeared sometimes. It’s a teleportation trigger, really. I had possession of the Doctor’s TARDIS for a while, so I installed it in case I ever needed a bargaining chip; I knew it was exactly the sort of thing the insatiably curious breed of human he particularly favours wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“So what’s stopping you from going through that door yourself?”
“It’s one-way,” the man says. “The Doctor’s TARDIS has defences against people getting in uninvited; it’s much easier to take things out.”
Canton nods. None of this sounds like good news, but he’s going to stay calm. “Why do you want to see him? I’m guessing you’re not a friend.”
“Well,” the man says, “I suppose that depends on how you define ‘friend’.” He grins. “I can’t guarantee he’ll be happy to see me again. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I did once kill a tenth of the Earth’s population; it’s the sort of thing he gets very uptight and tedious over. And he does have rather a habit of making my life inconvenient.”
Canton moves his hand down toward his holster, and then he hesitates. This man hasn’t incapacitated him in any way, which means either that he’s careless or that he doesn’t consider Canton a threat. He knows the Doctor. Is he human? Will guns do anything to him? A tenth of the Earth’s population: if it’s true, he can’t be normal.
Still, Canton’s not going to sit here and do nothing.
He closes his fingers over the handle.
“This is how this is going to happen,” the man says. “The Doctor is going to come to find you, and you’re going to have your life endangered like a good hostage, and then you can run off and play while the Time Lords discuss personal matters.”
“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you,” Canton says.
And he shoots himself in the head.
“Hey,” Amy says, walking into the console room, “I think my chip’s stuck.”
The Doctor is standing at the console, his head down. He doesn’t turn around.
“It just keeps broadcasting. I don’t even know who’s talking.”
“I do,” the Doctor says, quietly. Now that Amy listens, she can hear the same voice coming from his hand.
“Who is it?” she asks.
The Doctor is silent for a moment, and then he straightens up and turns around. “One of the nanorecorders has been removed,” he says. “It’s defaulted to a constant live broadcast, like yours. What we’re hearing is what the person it’s connected to is hearing. And that person obviously isn’t prepared or able to talk, if we’re not hearing their voice.”
“Canton?”
The Doctor doesn’t answer.
“It sounds like he’s talking to himself, most of the time,” Amy says. “I mean, I don’t know, but I think he’s talking to himself.”
“A fine effort, Juliet,” says the voice on the recorder.
“Juliet,” Amy echoes. “Do you think it’s River?”
A smile breaks through the Doctor’s too-serious expression, and he turns to flip a couple of levers. “River’s not Juliet,” he says.
“How do we know where—” Amy begins, but she cuts herself off when a very familiar noise starts coming through on the chips.
When Canton comes back to consciousness, he’s still in his prison. The man is leaning against a wall, idly comparing his revolvers.
“A fine effort, Juliet,” the man says, “but I think you’ve got some seducing to do before that makes me kill myself in grief.”
Shit. He wasn’t fooled. Canton should have used the real gun when he had the chance; at least he wouldn’t be going out a coward.
“And I don’t know what you thought you were going to do with this,” the man says, holding up a tiny flashing cylinder. Canton suddenly becomes aware of the stinging sensation in his hand as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “A nanorecorder? Really?”
That’s what he should have used when he could have, Canton realises, trying not to show it on his face. He was putting too much on his plan: seemingly kill himself, the man drags his body out or at least leaves him unguarded, and then when he wakes up he’ll be able to ask the Doctor for help privately. Now he’s lost his chance to contact the Doctor at all.
His regret only lasts a moment, though. Of course he can’t call the Doctor here; that’s what this man wants.
“So,” the man says, “as I was saying before my conversational partner so rudely shot himself, I want the Doctor. You’re going to bring him to me.”
Canton raises his eyebrows. “Am I?”
At that moment, a wind sweeps past from nowhere and a noise Canton has heard before fills the room. He doesn’t know how, but apparently he is going to bring the Doctor here. Kind of ruins the impression of unruffled resistance he was going for.
“Hello!” the Doctor says as he steps out of the TARDIS, brightly. “Star reference 145.575, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not because those were the coordinates I just used to get here. Two-hour, four-minute jump.”
“How did you know where I was?” Canton asks. He’s very aware that the man trained his real gun on him the moment the TARDIS started to appear, but he isn’t going to give away any sign of fear right now.
“Heard myself say it.”
Canton blinks.
The Doctor grins. “See, you’re not the only one who can exploit ontological paradoxes, Canton.” Then he looks at the man who brought Canton here, and his smile falls away. “Master.”
“Doctor,” the man says.
“You see,” the Doctor says, “Canton here is my friend, and if you could not shoot him I’d really appreciate that.”
“You’ll need to offer me a little more than your appreciation,” the man says. He tilts his head. “What’s your nanorecorder saying?”
The Doctor looks down at it. The man’s voice is coming from his hand: “...settled the score?” “Oh, that’s the conversation we’re having right now,” he says. “It’s very slightly ahead of us, though. Better put it on mute.” He waves his screwdriver above the recorder, and it goes quiet. “As another friend of mine would say: spoilers.”
“Transmitting,” the man says. “Of course. It wasn’t exactly how I expected to bring you here, but the ‘how’ isn’t really the important part, is it?”
“I brought myself here,” the Doctor says. “Don’t start thinking you can control me.”
“Oh, of course,” the man says. “You just decided to visit, and it’s a coincidence that I happened to have your friend here at gunpoint. Funny how these things work out, isn’t it, Doctor?”
“Tell me what you want, Master.”
“Oh, I do love hearing you say that.”
“It’s his name,” the Doctor says, aside to Canton. “Just so you know. I just realised that the ‘don’t think you can control me’ part gets a bit undermined if I turn around and call him Master.”
“Good to know,” Canton says. “Don’t think it’d help my chances of getting out alive if that was your boss with the gun.”
“You are getting out of this alive,” the Doctor says. “I promise.”
“Do I need to state my terms, then,” the ‘Master’ asks, “or should I just assume they’re accepted?”
“All right,” the Doctor says: “why did you want me here?”
The Master smiles. “You’ve watched me die entirely too many times. Don’t you think it’s time we settled the score?”
There is a brief silence.
“You’re asking me to let you kill me?” the Doctor asks.
“Not immediately. I’m even generous enough to let you carry on with your intergalactic sightseeing trip for as long as you like. All I’m asking – well,” with a twitch of the gun, “demanding – is for you to be in a certain place at a certain time.”
Canton is going to die. Of course he is; the Doctor isn’t going to offer himself up to be killed in his place. He can’t blame the Doctor for it. The Doctor has only known him a short time. He needs to prepare himself now.
“When?” the Doctor asks, very quietly. “Where?”
Except it sounds like the Doctor might actually be considering this. Which is insane. Canton may not be prepared to die, but he’s even less prepared to let someone die instead of him.
“Utah,” the Master says. “2011.” And then he gives a set of precise coordinates, but Canton isn’t listening; he’s thinking.
The Master is completely focused on the Doctor; he’s hardly looked at Canton since the TARDIS landed. In his right hand, he holds Canton’s revolver, pointed at Canton; in his left, hanging by his side, Juliet. If Canton can get a little closer while the guy’s distracted...
“I assume you’re not planning to let me regenerate,” the Doctor says.
“A very sensible assumption,” the Master says.
The Master said that ‘the Time Lords’ needed to discuss personal matters. If that means that the Master and the Doctor are the same type of alien... well, Canton was able to pin the Doctor to the floor of the Oval Office.
Canton leaps at the Master, knocks him to the ground, stamps as hard as he can on his left hand. The second he’s wrenched Juliet free, he rolls – there’s the sound of a gunshot; Canton doesn’t think he’s been hit, but if he has been he guesses it’ll make itself known soon enough – and he swings Juliet up and he fires.
The Master slumps to the floor. Thank God, Canton almost says, but after a manoeuvre like that he doesn’t want God to get all the credit.
“No!” the Doctor shouts, and then, “Oh, wait, is that Juliet?”
“It’s Juliet,” Canton says, breathing hard. His eyes flicker to his real gun, still in the Master’s hand. “Should I kill him?”
“No,” the Doctor says, immediately. “No, don’t do that. He’s a Time Lord, anyway: different cardiovascular system, makes things a bit complicated. But don’t try.” His eyes flicker over the Master’s unconscious body. “Er, good work. Well done.”
Canton gets to his feet, dusts his suit down, nods toward the TARDIS. “Shall we?”
“Hold on,” the Doctor says as they enter, and he passes his screwdriver over Canton’s head.
“Controlling my mind?” Canton asks, dryly.
“Goodness, no. I’m just cutting the telepathic link to your nanorecorder. Not to say you’re not saying things worth hearing, but ours aren’t much use if all we can hear is your live feed. Plus the Master probably still has yours, and he’s not the sort of person you want listening in.” The glow in the Doctor’s hand dies away. “There.”
There’s a clattering of feet, and Canton looks up. Amy is running to meet them, looking very pale.
“I heard you,” she says, holding up her hand. “You can’t go to Utah.”
“I don’t have to,” the Doctor says. “Did you not hear the part where our friend Canton managed to get out of the situation himself?”
Amy narrows her eyes. She doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”
“Really! He doesn’t have his hostage any more; I’ve got no reason to go and let him kill me.”
“Okay,” Amy says. “Make sure you don’t.” She looks at Canton. “Did he hurt you?”
Canton shakes his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
They stand side-by-side at the edge of the chasm. It’s wider and deeper than any rift Canton has seen before, and even by the light of seven moons he can only see part of the way down. Houses are built into the side, entire tiny villages suspended above an endless drop. Rory and Amy are a short distance away, talking to one of the winged inhabitants.
“It goes all the way down to the core of the planet,” the Doctor says, next to him. “The Sterroac took a massive bite out of this one.”
“Something ate this?”
“Centuries ago. Well, what you would describe as centuries. The people here weren’t – oh, what’s this?”
Canton turns to see that the Doctor’s hand is glowing. “Is it Dr Song?”
The Doctor activates his nanorecorder.
“I should have guessed it would be transmitting, really. I’m almost ashamed of myself. It’s such an obvious modification, isn’t it?”
It’s the Master’s voice. The Doctor goes very still.
“Well, I’ve connected it to myself now, and I have a message for you, Doctor. Your pet may have escaped, but I still have a bargaining chip. One way or another, a Time Lord is dying in Utah. I expect to see you there.”
There is a moment’s silence when the transmission ends.
“You said he was a Time Lord,” Canton says.
The Doctor doesn’t look at him. “He is.”
“He thinks you’ll do what he wants if he threatens to kill himself?”
“Canton,” the Doctor says, after a moment. “You’ve got someone in your own time, haven’t you?”
“Not in any way the law will recognise,” Canton says, “but yes.”
“So you’ll want to go back there.”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
“Oh, you can stay. You can stay as long as you like. I’m just... speculating.”
“Yes,” Canton says. “I don’t want to give up the universe yet, but I’d like to go back eventually.”
“Right,” the Doctor says. “Forty years in your future, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”
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