Apocalypse Rising (Book One)

Dalek

Rose followed the Apocalypse out of the TARDIS, into a dimly lit room. "So what is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," the Apocalypse replied. "Some kind of signal drawing the TARDIS off course."

"Where are we?"

"Earth, Utah, North America." She looked up. "About half a mile underground."

"And when are we?"

"2012."

Rose blinked as the Apocalypse tried to examine something in what appeared to be a glass case. "God, that's so close," she realized. "So I should be . . . " She did the math. "Twenty six." The Apocalypse flipped something, and the lights came on, revealing . . . "Blimey," Rose gasped. "It's a great big museum!"

"An alien museum," the Apocalypse corrected, going from case to case. "Someone's got a hobby. They must have spent a fortune on this! Chunks of meteorite, moon dust . . . " She pointed. "That's the milometer from the Roswell spaceship!"

"That's a bit of Slitheen!" Rose recognized, bending next to another case. "That's a Slitheen arm! It's been stuffed."

"Oh, look at you!"

Rose turned to see the Apocalypse closely examining a robot metal head. "What is it?"

"An old friend of mine," she replied before shrugging. "Well, I suppose it's an enemy. The stuff of nightmares reduced to an exhibit." She sighed. "I'm getting old."

"Is that where the signal's coming from?"

"Nah. It's stone dead. The signal's alive. Something's reaching out, calling for help." She looked around. "So, ready to meet the neighbors?"

"What?"

The Apocalypse touched the case, and alarms began wailing. She smirked. "The neighbors," she replied simply as armed guards ran in.

"If someone's collecting aliens," Rose laughed, "that makes you Exhibit A!"

***

"What does it do?" an older man was saying as they were led by a redheaded woman into an office.

"Well, you see the tubes on the side?" the boy asked in an English accent. "It must be to channel something. I think maybe fuel."

"You know, I really wouldn't hold it like that," the Apocalypse commented, examining the object the two were debating over.

"Shut it," the redhead ordered.

"I'm just telling the truth," the Apocalypse complained, giving her a look. "Really. That's wrong."

"Is it dangerous?" the boy asked.

"Nah. It just looks silly." She held out a hand for the object, but she paused when guns clicked all around her. She merely cocked an eyebrow, and the older man gave it to her. "You just need to be . . . " She stroked it softly and smiled at the note emitted from it. "Delicate."

The man watched greedily as she played a few more notes. "It's a musical instrument."

"And it's a long way from home," the Apocalypse agreed.

"Here. Let me."

The Apocalypse and Rose both grimaced at the harsh sounds he made. "I did say delicate," the Apocalypse said mildly. It reacts to the smallest fingerprint. It needs precision." She nodded after he finally got the hang of it after a few attempts. "Very good! Quite the experts."

"As are you." The Apocalypse winced as the instrument was thrown off to the side onto the floor, and she shook her head. "Who exactly are you?"

"I'm the Apocalypse," she replied. "And who are you?"