Silence of the Fourteenth

Part Twenty-Four

Part Twenty-Four

Mister Grey

 

                        The atmosphere inside of the box shaped lift where the Silent was trapped began to crackle and spark with energy.  “Grrraaaaaaa!”  Mister Grey screeched with extended palms, lightning firing about wildly from his elongated fingers.   Slowly the metal tube inched up floor by floor towards its final destination, towards the forty-eighth level.  Towards the alien’s ship, towards his freedom, and his revenge.  If he could not subdue the Time Lord, he would destroy him; all concerns with a deviated timeline were now deemed redundant. 

                        The Holy Order of the Silence had taken great pains to monitor all of the incarnations of the Doctor throughout the vast era’s in which he sailed, always on the alert that if even one should answer the question, he could then be subtlety stunted.   But one aspect, one form, of the Temporal Tourist had always alarmed the fraternity more so than any of the others, the Valeyard.  They had observed various potential versions of this darker regeneration of the Doctor through out the years.  In one time period the Valeyard had served as the prosecuting attorney to his younger Sixth self, in another still he had gone mad and had emulated the crimes of the Victorian age serial killer Jack the Ripper.   This Valeyard was different from the others however, he was not insane, he did not care for lives or regenerations of his younger counterparts, and he seemed to take no interest in chastising or punishing them, as the other two may have.  All that he had wanted, all that he’d strived for was total power.  The power to break fixed points in time and rewrite them to his pleasure, the power to pull planets from the heavens and make them dance like puppets for his grand schemes. Utterly ruthless and without scruples’, Mister Grey noted to itself, and yet…now this last Child of Gallifrey had altered himself once more, regenerated if you will,  perhaps not physically but psychologically to be certain.  He’d taken up the mantel of the Doctor again, and that made him truly dangerous. 

                        Floor forty-five, forty-six, on and on the lift edged upward still, Mister Grey becoming taxed more and more with each level surpassed.  It seemed that the Time Lord creature had used his sonic device to dampen any ambient electrical fields in the premises, thusly hampering his inherent ability to siphon and redirect said currents.  No matter, the gargoyle thought to itself, the final chapter to this tale would soon be concluded, and Silence would fall upon this Fourteenth Doctor, as well as…the other being.  “Whhatt isss iiit?”  The Silent said to himself as he pondered the crimson haired one, it seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place its face.  It was almost as if it operated on a different level of existence altogether.  The Silent confessor recalled being blinded by its appearance before it had crashed through Templar’s office, yet unlike his human slaves it wasn’t the light on the invader’s vehicle which obscured his sight, but the man-animal itself.  He burned brightly, like a star going nova; he was a cosmic predator.  Mister Grey would be certain to report this to his superiors. 

                        Floor forty-eight, home.  As the doors to the lift opened Mister Grey stepped forward into the dimly lit time vessel.  All about him circular panels glared with purple electric-like displays.   Screens of all shapes and varieties streamed complex technical data, and on other monitors still, images of the Doctor’s past were conjured for scrutiny.  In the viewer before him, the Eleventh Doctor seemingly meets his end at the hands of River Song on the shores of LakeSilencio.  On the viewer to his left, the Second Doctor confronts the menace of the War Lords; and to his right Lucie Miller and the Eight Doctor must eliminate two rival factions of Daleks.  But the events of the past did not concern the Grey Confessor; this now, this moment was all that mattered.  With a few subtle manipulations of the ship’s control terminal a signal is sent, prepping an untold wave of death and destruction.  Then the Silent places its hand on a spherical looking control, willing the craft to take flight.  A mechanical sounding voice admonishes him instead. 

                        “Power levels are insufficient for this action.”  The ship’s AI replies.

                        “Wwhhhatt?”  If Mister Grey had eyebrows they’d now be in the twelve o’clock position. 

                        “Power levels are insufficient for this action.”  The AI repeats. 

                        “Dissssplay current energy output capacityyyy.”  He charges.

                        The Image of the Eleventh Doctor’s demise dissolves on the main monitor at the Silent’s eye level, and is replaced by what could be translated into human mathematical figures as two flashing zeros. 

                        “Artron energy levels at zero percent.”  The AI said matter-of-factly “Chronon energy levels at zero percent.”  It added.

                        “Poowwer drain!”  Mister Grey exclaimed.

                        “Affirmative.”  The AI affirmed.

                        “Locate the source.”  The Confessor snarled.

                        “…Time And Relative Dimensions In Space.”  The AI then faded out, along with all of the lights and buzzing sounds of the ship.

                        Mister Grey stood in the darkness for a second, and then, “GRRRAAAAWWWWRRRRA!”