Fan Fiction: Time Dies Chapter One

TIME DIES
A fan fiction by DJ Wilde

The console hummed consistently to the satisfaction of it’s lone operator. The press of a button, flip of a few switches, and dusting with a hand kerchief gave the Doctor reason to nod approval. As he tucked the kerchief away he surveyed his surroundings inside the golden glow of the TARDIS. TARDIS, an acronym for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space, the transportation of a Time Lord. He adjusted his dark pin-striped suit and shifted a little in his red tennis shoes. His skin pulled tight across his authorative chin as he thought to himself. Yes, all seemed to be in order.

A powerful lurch threw him to the floor so that, for a moment, all that could be seen of him were his red tennis shoes up in the air.
“What?” he bellowed as he leapt to his feet and started smacking at controls and spinning dials.
Another lurch, harder than the first, threw him again. This time a shudder ran through the TARDIS that kept him on the floor. From across the control room he saw the distortion wave coming at him. The floor and walls rippled in it’s wake like the view of a funhouse mirror. He rolled under the console and slid a panel open with a whip of a wrist. He plunged his hand through a tangle of wires as the distortion closed in on him and grasped at a wide handle. He gave the handle hard twist and the center of the console glowed red. The baritone ‘bong’ of the cloister bell echoed through the room. The center column rose and fell with a grinding sound as a ball of red light grew in it’s center. With the distortion inches from his face he gave the handle a pull with another hard twist. The red light pulsed through the room and the wave dissolved. The Doctor rolled out and scrambled to his feet. His mind raced at what occurred. He didn’t have time to think.

“Hello, Doctor.”
At the center console a large image of a man’s head floated above it, smiling at him. He didn’t find the face familiar, but the chuckle haunted him to both his hearts.
“Who are you?”
“You already know who I am, Doctor. You have merely to say my name.”
“That’s impossible, you died in my arms. I watched your funeral pyre.”
“You know better than that! How many times have I thwarted death? How many times have I returned to challenge you anew? Say my name!”
“ You’re the Master.”
“Yes, Doctor, I am. I’m contacting you so that you know it’s time to come home. Come home, Doctor and see what I have done. Oh, but before you do, I sent you some information on your scanners, you should take a good look at it. Then come home, Doctor, I’ll be waiting for you.”

The image vanished with that chuckle still ringing in the Doctor’s ears. He stepped over to the main console and switched on a monitor. He hoped against hope, it wasn’t what he thought it was.
“No,” he murmured, “It can’t be. I didn’t think even you were capable of that.” He stepped back in a stupor. He shook his head and shrugged it off.
“Well, we can’t just stand by and let that happen can we?”
He virtually attacked the controls in a frenzy of turns, twists and flips of switches. He pounded a panel with a mallet and gave one side a swift kick.
“Well, come on then, show me! Show me!” he slapped a hand across the side of a monitor and it flickered before showing him an image. “Alright then, off we go!”

* * * *
The white lab coat he took fit a little snug across broad shoulders. He didn’t have time to be choosy, he had a job to do. He walked briskly past like-dressed workers in the big meat packing plant near Hamburg, Germany. He only paid attention to them with his peripheral vision as he needed to look like he knew exactly where he was going. He crossed the catwalks with hardly a second glance and made it to the sausage section. That’s where he walked up to a back door and swiped a stolen passcard for entry. He moved into a new sausage section and a place with a pair of large vats of swirling fluid. He brought out his cell phone and flipped it open. The press of a few buttons activated the mini Geiger counter. The high red reading didn’t surprise him thanks to the smell. Dangerous chemicals were processing below him, his mission was half realized.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” the voice came to him from an opposite catwalk, “James Bond, you are hard to kill. Well you won’t be walking away from here. My men around you will see to that this time.”

Someone gave him a shove from behind. The cell phone toppled from his hand and into the chemical vat below.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I don’t stick around to see you cut up into little chunks. I have a delivery of our special sausage to make and about a hundred thousand people to kill.”

The current nemesis walked away as a chainsaw roared to life directly to Bond’s right. The man behind him backed away slightly with a revolver still aimed at the back of Bond’s head. The thug with the chainsaw made a wide swing, apparently expecting him to just stand there and get killed. When he ducked the saw hit the hand holding the revolver. Bond spun around behind that man and gave him a hard shove toward the chainsaw and the railing. Over he went and landed with a scream and splash. Bond immediately had to dodge another saw attempt that ended with the tool stuck in a piece of machinery. Bond kicked him in the back of a knee and shoved his face into the base of that machine. A narrow miss from a man swinging a long hook tore the lab coat and caught on it. Bond shrugged out of it and wrapped it around the man’s attacking hand. He jerked this new attacker into a line of machine gun fire. He threw the dead man down on the catwalk and raced across it with bullets singing off metal surroundings. The shooter kept well within good cover so he didn’t have a direct shot with his Walther PPK. Instead Bond took note of the hot pipes over the shooters head. One well placed bullet had the man screaming and leaping out of his hiding place. Another bullet finished the job. Bond ran down another line of catwalk, knowing he had to stop his target from making that fatal delivery. Outside, the truck already left the gate with his quarry in a sedan behind it. A man stepped out in the way ahead with another meat hook. A pile of chain made a good weapon of opportunity and it found it’s way into the new target’s face. Three men were gathering just below him. He threw the chain around a support pole and jumped on to it like a fireman with one leg around it and the other free to kick the closest worker in the face. The chain came away from the pole in perfect arc to hit the other two and leave them writhing in agony on the ground.

Just outside he found a motorcycle and jumped on it without hesitation. He did this with a kick to the owner and tore off for the gate. The security arm came down and a man came out with a machine gun. If he only had a dollar for every time someone tried to block him off this way. He revved the bike to as fast as he could push it on the distance. To block the machine gun fire, he pulled the bike into a wheelie and revved even harder. The small motorbike propelled off the mans body just enough to clear the security arm. This left the security guard moaning on the concrete. Bond still had to make up some serious distance in order to catch the shipment of toxic meat on it’s way to be shipped to dozens of unknown locations around the world. Only the mastermind of this crime knew those locations. Because of damage to the industry, Bond was supposed to destroy the operation like an industrial accident. It got a little out of hand. Speaking of industrial accidents, as Bond crested a hill almost a mile away from the plant, his cell phone vibrated at the bottom of the chemical vat. The resulting fireball engulfed that entire section, leaving none of the poison behind. Good thing that the division was able to test it first.

Bond’s reputation in a chase didn’t often involve caution. As he raced between cars, down the middle line and the sidewalks, he served it well. He actually caught up with the sedan and truck in fairly short order. He didn’t bother to note the expression of surprise on the mastermind’s face has he streaked past to the cab of the truck. With another rev of speed, Bond jumped a foot up onto the seat and used that to jump onto the side of the truck’s cab. He found a place to brace his foot on the back of the cab and ripped the door open. Before the driver could respond he found himself falling through the air to the road below. Bond entered the cab with a propelled double kick to the passenger’s jaw, rendering him unconscious. He took the first side road he found and pressed the gas. The sedan followed suit. No doubt, they wanted their shipment back.

They followed the truck into an open scenic area away from the highway. To their surprise it came to a stop almost calmly.

“Now, once and for all, we kill James Bond,” the boss said to his driver. They split up to either side of the truck and met on either side of the cab. They both threw the doors open to find no one within. “Impossible! Find him!”

The driver walked back along the side of the truck. About halfway, Bond landed on him from above. Fortunately, their approach with the car only allowed them to see one side of the truck. Bond climbed on top from the other side. In one swift movement, James broke the driver’s neck and rolled under the truck to his final target. A low kick to the leg brought the crime boss down and he dropped his gun. Bond set on him in a flash and punched him in the face several times. He yanked the boss to his feet and slammed the man against the side of the truck.
“Now I wonder, if you’d like to have some dinner with me? I wonder if you’d like a nice mouthful of the poison you were about to slaughter innocent families with?”

Suddenly the wind rose and stirred up dust around them. A helicopter? He didn’t hear any ‘whupping’ noise and the sky appeared clear. Bond punched out the crime boss and drew his gun. A strange grinding sound filled the air. For a moment he saw nothing, then, like a ghost out of the ether, the tall blue police box materialized. Bond shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was the chemicals? He kept his weapon trained on the box as the door opened.
“You won’t need that,” said the Doctor as he stepped out.
“Who are you and what is going on here?”
“I’m the Doctor. You are James Bond and I need your help.”

Bond paused, still trying to process the fact that an antique police box just materialized out of thin air. As a general rule, not much startles James Bond, but the TARDIS would test that to it’s limits. He put his gun back in it’s holster and walked back over to his original quarry, lying unconscious on the ground.
“What are you going to do with him?” the Doctor asked.
“He was about kill thousands of families with tainted sausage to crash the meat industry. I think I’m going to send him off with his precious poisoned meat.”
“Don’t kill him.”
Bond spun with a jerk, “Are you kidding?”
“No. I don’t kill and for a while, I don’t want you to kill either. Call your people or who ever and have them come and get him, you can destroy the meat any way you like.”
The fire Bond set could be seen for miles. Once he set everything up he couldn’t deny his curiosity about the Doctor and his machine. He stepped up to the door and the Doctor opened it.
“So what did you do with him?”
“I tied him up.” Bond paused to take in the sight of the interior of the TARDIS.
Outside, the crime boss woke on the hood of his car, tied spread eagle with a sausage in his mouth. He spit out the meat and cringed at how close the flames where.
“Mr. Bond!” he screamed, but the TARDIS had gone. He felt something vibrate at his beltline, a cell phone. “What? MR. BOND!”

“It will take some getting used to,” the Doctor said.
“I can see that. So what did you need with me?”
“I’ll explain all that once we’ve picked up just two more people. Ah! We’ve landed.”
They stepped out of the TARDIS and into a room of older style. Two comfortable looking chairs faced a cold fireplace. A score of décor and books lined up on the mantle. Between the chairs a tea tray held a container of pipe tobacco. A newspaper on a desk read 1880. The Doctor nodded at the sight of it.
“To what do I owe the intrusion?” The tall man in the doorway wore a red smoking jacket and held a cup of Earl Grey on a small saucer. His long narrow face housed eyes that made even Bond feel exposed from every angle.
“Hello,” the Doctor said, “we’ve come to ask your help.”
“With what?”
“Aren’t you just a little concerned with the big blue box in your study?” Bond asked, “You seem very calm for something this strange.”
“My good man, the blue box is what you arrived here in. It’s obvious. It’s also clear to me that you didn’t come here to rob or attack me, you would have done it by now and been gone. You are both a very long way from home and that tells me this is of the utmost importance. You in particular, (he pointed at the Doctor) wouldn’t have come here otherwise. I’ll get my things.”
Bond stared in confusion.
“James Bond, meet Sherlock Holmes,” the Doctor introduced them.

The dimensions of the TARDIS un-nerved Bond and he didn’t trust either of his new companions. Holmes came across as far too cool under the circumstances. He walked into the TARDIS and hardly batted an eye at the dimensional change. Walking into an object that’s massively larger inside than outside reminded Bond of gaining his “sea legs” in the Royal Navy. It’s a disconcerting thing that requires getting used to. With one more person to pick up, Bond couldn’t help but wonder what he walked into this time.

Africa, deep into the west coast, where the jungle knows no mercy. In 1910 and even to this day, there lies unexplored areas of these jungles that accept the foot fall of no common man.
“Look, we didn’t want any trouble, we’re just missionaries,” said the man, begging for his life. He and three others brought bibles and sought out tribes along a dark river to spread the good word. What they got was a crew of river pirates who could care less.
“It’s okay,” said one with a mouth of crooked teeth and breath that could wilt foliage, “We aren’t offended by you, we just want to watch you die.”
A long familiar jungle howl snapped the smile off his face and made him search the scene with frantic eyes. He pointed his sword at another pirate, “You said he doesn’t come here!”
“I didn’t think he would,” said the skinnier pirate with even less teeth and gnarled facial hair.
Before the missionaries could look to each other in confusion, a large muscular body landed on the deck with a heavy thud. The pirate who spoke of their dying was the first to fly off the boat to the waiting crocodiles. He stood tall and powerful with muscle rippling in places you couldn’t imagine. Long brown hair flowed about his shoulders with bits of vine and grass in it. A loin wrap and knife were all the beastial man wore. He beat his chest and threw back his head for another mighty howl that sent hardened pirates leaping from the boat in terror. None of them made it to the banks, thanks to the crocodiles. What kind of man could inspire such terror in hardened killers? Only one in those jungles.
“Tarzan! NO! Please!” begged the second pirate as he backed away and dropped his blade.
The man, known as the great white ape, glared. He back handed one charging pirate with the ease of shooing a fly away, sending a body tumbling across the deck. He leapt over and snatched that pirate into the air with one powerful arm.
“No? Please?” Tarzan asked in his fury, “You were warned, and now you beg? I told you to stay away, I told you to leave. It is too late to beg.”
He threw the man over his shoulder as if tossing away a piece of rotten fruit. Over the edge and to his end he went.
Tarzan walked over to the wide eyed captives, “Relax, I will not harm you.” He broke their bonds and brought them to there feet. “Now take this boat and follow the current of the river to the ocean. Leave, and do not come back.”
“Mr, Tarzan, sir, we brought bibles and we..”
Tarzan cut him off with a powerful glare that made the man wet himself, “NO, leave. I can only guarantee your safety for that. If you return, the jungle will kill you.”
Tarzan leapt from the boat and vanished into the jungle. He watched them take control of the boat and do as he asked. He followed them to the ocean, occasionally making his presence known to a predator that these people were not on the menu. Few things in the jungle ever crossed the will of Lord Tarzan. He watched the boat float out onto the ocean and that’s when he heard the strange grinding sound on the air. The sand on the beach stirred about oddly and the blue box appeared from nowhere.
“Sorcery!” muttered Tarzan and he continued to watch as three men stepped out of the box.

“So where are we now?” Bond asked.
“1910, the jungles of Africa,” the Doctor swept an arm in presentation.
“Do you think he will come willing to you?” Sherlock asked.
“Oh you are good, I didn’t even say who we are here for, Mr. Holmes. Very good indeed. Oh, I’m sure he’s around close, probably watching us right now. Unless I missed, and I usually don’t, he just sent a group of missionaries packing in that boat out there.”
“Who are you, sorcerer, and why are you here?” thundered a voice from the trees.
“Ah, there he is. I’m the Doctor and these men are James Bond and Sherlock Holmes. We’ve come to seek out the Lord of the jungle.”
Tarzan stepped out into view, “I am here. What do you want of me, Doctor?”
“Tarzan, I need your help against something more terrible than any one of us can handle. We need your strength.”
Tarzan walked up to the men, “Explain.”
“Alright, now that we are all standing here together, I think it’s high time I told you all what we are dealing with. Brace yourselves, because what we are dealing with is a murder, the murder of time itself.”