Ticks & Tocks
Art by aimsleydale (LJ | e-mail | comment) and Neth Dugan (LJ | e-mail | comment)
Chapter 2
Inara quietly approached the door of Mal's room, her floral robe billowing behind her. It was early, and knowing her landlord he was up until the wee hours of the morning drinking. Of course, he would also have a terrible hangover, Inara concluded, her own head beginning to pound softly at the memories of similar previous encounters. However, she was a companion, and she had important business at hand that morning. Sighing, she knocked firmly on the metal door, the sound echoing against the walls of the ship.
The loud banging behind the door couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. Inara could practically see the captain stumble across the room, holding his head from the hangover she was now sure was there. She bit her lower lip when she heard a loud thwak. A string of obscenities followed, and she did her best not to laugh. Finally, the door slid open and the pained face of Mal appeared, staring back at Inara. He leaned against the threshold, still wearing his shirt from the previous day.
Inara smiled gently. "Good morning, Mal," she offered.
The captain raised an eyebrow, rubbing his head. "Mornin.' What seems to be troubling you in these early hours, princess?"
"Business matters, that's all," she replied. Mal's face hardened; it was a ship's rule that business wasn't to be discussed until he was dressed and had something in his stomach. However, before he could even open his mouth, Inara interrupted, "I noticed we were in close proximity to Beaumonde, so I sent out a notice. I received a wave from a regular client this morning and was wondering if we will be planetside long enough for me to... continue my line of work?"
Mal sighed, attempting to think only to be attacked by his hangover. He had had worse ones, but it was still a bloody painful, nonetheless. Memories of the previous night, and his discussion with Archibald Mathers, churned up. The possibility of the dangerous mission ahead of the Serenity lay thick in his thoughts and Mal grimaced.
"There's a job to be done tonight, and the minute we're through, we're leaving' port. I highly discourage it," he answered. Also, Inara's 'business' was not something he neither wanted to dwell on nor discuss.
Though she was always in control of her emotions, Inara allowed a moment of anger and disappointment to show on her face. She was tired of being cooped up in her shuttle while the crew ventured off onto the Border planets. A companion thrived on her clients, and really, she enjoyed the civility that was otherwise absent, thanks to the captain.
"You're committing crime tonight, I see," she spat, knowing full well she was right. It didn't take much figuring out; the captain would remain unusually tight lipped until things started catching up with him or going wrong. Inara really didn't mind travelling with thieves except that they often had the worst luck with their jobs; however it was becoming an ever increasing inconvenience for her.
Mal shrugged. "Puts food on the table," he replied, "so if you've really got a hankering to go and meet your friends, then be my guest. However, let it be known you won't be there for long." Stepping back, he closed the door, setting the lock shut.
Inara stared at the door for a moment, doing her best to stay rational. A companion was used to being in control, but every once in awhile, Mal threw her off course, usually depending on the day of the week. She wanted to bang on the door, shout through the metal at him for being an oaf and not letting her do her job properly. But she was better than that, she reminded herself, and this allowed her to walk away from the door in silence. However, Inara made sure that she would be slow paying the rent.
Suddenly, the locks clicked open and Mal stumbled back out, his hands coming to rest against the cool walls to balance himself. He grabbed for Inara's shoulder, causing her to jump and turn around in surprise. Mal straightened his back and crossed his arms, attempting to look the part of captain. He cleared his throat. "Would you be opposed to... taking on another job?"
The high pitched, spine tingling cry of the TARDIS echoed out as it materialized, the small light atop of its police box form flashing brightly. The hair raising screeches and electronic beeps ceased as the box's form stabilised.
Pulling open the door, the Doctor stepped outside, his wide brown eyes taking his surroundings. He grinned, every tooth showing as the bright neon lights reflected off his face. Video advertisements played loudly in English, Mandarin, and French, appealing to the native speakers. The fluorescent blues and oranges and purples of the factories and business towers lit up the polluted, grey skyline.
Closing the TARDIS behind him, the Doctor locked it. He slipped the Yale key into his pocket and stalked off down the busy street .The area itself was home to inhabitants who relied on the tourists visiting the old factories to bring in money. The old industrial centres had closed years ago but remained standing, newly christened as 'historical sites.'
Steam billowed from the food vendors, the smell of sweet shrimp balls and ho fen fried with soy sauce adding a fragrance to the cloying smog. Old women shouted loudly in Chinese, attempting to woo customers into buying their cheap, identical trinkets. The Doctor looked down briefly at the multicolored, glimmering oddities before continuing on his way.
"You look very thirsty, sir." The Doctor paused, and turned to his side. In a small booth filled with bright red paper lanterns and flowered tapestries, a petite young woman stood there, smiling. The young woman was clearly of Caucasian and Asian ancestry, her almond shaped eyes focused on him as she leaned against the counter.
Curious, he stepped closer to the booth. Behind the fair skinned girl were large, wooden kegs with cheap nozzles attached. The Doctor read the Chinese symbols written on the red banner in black paint: Zh?nggúo píjiu, or Chinese beer.
He shook his head. "Not today, thank you."
The woman raised one hand, the other presenting a wooden mug. The Doctor's eyebrows burrowed, unsure of her motives. Placing the cup under one of the taps, the vendor filled the cup until thick foam reached the top. She closed the tap and placed the drink on the counter.
"A favorite in Dyton," she stated, pushing it closer.
"One, two, three!" The sweet alcohol stimulated both the Doctor and Donna's taste buds, as they sipped from their cups. Donna had initially been wary of alien foods, and had refused to try the foreign drink. Even after the Doctor had explained that xiang yi was of human origin, she wouldn't budge. He had to challenge her to finally get her to try it. And she certainly didn't regret it as the foam clung to their upper lips and noses. Defiantly, the Doctor attempted to lick his own foam off, barely removing any at all. Donna laughed, trying to do the same. She had only managed to remove the coat on her upper lip before admitting defeat and sipped from her mug again, smiling brightly.
The Doctor shook himself out of his memory, suddenly not in the mood to deal with the vendor. Leaning against his heel, he turned to leave.
Oh, stop it! It's only beer, Alien boy; are you trying to tell me you're too scared? Donna's voice inside of his head chided. It was enough to stop him in his tracks. He had kept himself so busy since the Dalek invasion, trying not to think of what he had done to Donna Noble, the first companion in many years who didn't look to him to be some superhero, who shared the same fervour for exploring the universe that he did. Donna Noble would never pass up a chance to try something new. Ever.
Digging through his deep pockets, the Doctor grabbed for some type of currency, only to let it go. It had been awhile since he had been in this era, and could scarcely remember the type of money system used.
He smiled at the girl. "Er, is there a specific form of money you accept?"
The vendor's smile stiffened. "Platinum only; no credits," she answered, all sweetness and friendliness gone. Money was not something to be toyed with, especially to the small merchants.
"Right, of course," he muttered, still feeling around his pockets. He had so much in them; he decided that a clean out was needed later on. His hands flickered over each object he came in contact with: a can opener, a yo-yo, a- neuron reconfigulator-
BEEP! BEEP!
Startled, the Doctor immediately reached for the noisy object in his coat pocket: he had been tracking the beacon of the Kluvian ship the TARDIS has picked before he landed, and was surprised that the gizmo had only now gone off. Holding the device outward, the Time Lord ran across the street towards the beacon, all but forgetting the vendor and her mug of xiang yi.
With his brown trench coat gliding behind him, the Doctor's hearts raced as the beeping noise became faster. His lanky frame twisted and turned around the throngs of vendors and tourists, dust from the gravel on the ground kicking up behind him and hovercraft flew above his head, all the while the beeping's rhythm remained steady. He cast about with device, twisting it at a 180 degree angle until the beeping quickened again as it pointed in the northern direction, his right.
He ran up the path, his pulse beating quicker and quicker. He ran blindly, bumping into several pedestrians. The tracker's beeping became high pitched and extremely fast as the Doctor approached a tall building. He noted its likeness to a pagoda, with its multiple eaves which pointed out and curved upward. Unlike those of the past, the modern pagoda was made out of steel, each eave painted in red and gold. An electronic ticker hung from an upper tier, feeding information to the masses:
TONIGHT - ULYSSES PROCTOR OPENS HIS HOUSE TO UNVEIL THE NEWEST MODELS FOR PROCTOR AIRCRAFTS - IMPORTANT FIGURES, INCLUDING BEAUMONDE GOVERNOR LLOYD SHILLING, WILL BE IN ATTENDANCE...
Adjacent to the pagoda the Time Lord was surprised to see the end of the city- or that was what it seemed, where tall, numbered light poles stood at the edge of a flat, steel area. He smiled slightly.
"Landing pad; haven't seen one of those in years." The light posts didn't surprise him; with all the pollution in the city, arriving spaceships had to be able to see where they're landing somehow. And, sure enough, sitting there were several large ships, lined up in a formal row.
The Doctor turned slightly in their direction, causing the tracker to race faster. He stepped closer toward the pad, observing the ships carefully. The first three looked completely ordinary- for the time period, that is. Placing his black rimmed glasses on his face, he looked at the ships from another angle. One was different from the others; that much he could tell. A closer look and sure enough, there it was: the Model MMC892-44 Kluvian ship, sitting right out in plain view.
Curious, the Doctor looked over at the other ships; while there were similarities, the vessels were sufficiently different and would go unnoticed. It still bothered him that Kluvians were even in this time period at all. If he called correctly, the Doctor believed that the Kluvian race was still in the midst of civil wars on their home planet of Velux; they wouldn't start piecing together any impressive technology themselves for another 200 years.
The beeping of the tracker continued to reverberate against his eardrums and the Doctor finally switched it off. He sidled closer to the landing pad, hands in his pockets. By chance, his brown eyes flickered to the side: a small device rose from the smooth side of the landing pad, attached to the base of the building. The Doctor immediately paused, eyeing the electronic equipment. Digging into his pocket, he produced the sonic screwdriver and, flicking it on, pointed it in front of him. Nothing happened. Frowning, he stepped closer; bright sparks erupted from the device on the land pad, partially showing the security force field that was in use.
Turning off the screwdriver, the Doctor placed it back in his pocket. He sighed, staring at the electronic fence as it faded back into camouflage. The only way around it was via the landing on the runway, or possibly going through the building. He looked back at the entrance: two burly men stood there, talking to each other and laughing heartily. In their arms, huge machine guns were on display. The Doctor gulped slightly: no one was entering without permission. Or invitation. As the Doctor looked up and read the prompter's message once more:
... SELECT MEMBERS OF THE PRESS WILL BE INVITED - THE SHOW BEGINS AT 7:00 P.M., GUESTS ARRIVE AT 6:00 P.M. FOR DANCING - TONIGHT - ULYSSES PROCTOR OPENS HIS HOUSE...
"I see," he said to himself, stepping backwards. He checked his pockets once more, this time pulling out a silver pocket watch. It wasn't Time Lord technology- the Doctor couldn't even remember which planet he had picked the device up on. But it had proved useful; no matter where in the universe it was the watch would tell the correct time according to each planet. Flicking the top open, he checked the time: 4:17 P.M., nowhere near the time of the event.
"Seven o'clock it is," he repeated the time, walking into the alley that hid the TARDIS. Fishing the key from his pocket, the Doctor unlocked the door stepped inside and closed it quietly behind him.
Kaylee pushed out her lower lip as she sat back from Serenity's engine, smearing grease on her forehead as she attempted to wipe away the sweat which coated her brow. Just once, she'd like to get a brand new part instead of having to salvage the broken and impossible pieces of her beloved ship. The mechanic placed her hand on the gravboot- it had taken her two days to repair it but, by God, she'd done it. How long it would last at that point, well, she wasn't quite sure.
"It'll be fine." Kaylee turned her body fully around, staring at the tiny figure of River sitting behind her. Her finger covered in slick grease, River drew floral patterns with the substance onto her bare legs, coloring them in. She was a bit... kwong-juh duh, but Simon had told Kaylee about his medical examination of her; explained that academy they sent her to had done insurmountable damage, and Kaylee had always done her best to make River feel accepted.
Rubbing her nose, Kaylee smiled brightly. "So, River, will the Cap'n be getting' me a new gravboot anytime soon?" She asked, hopeful; Jayne had joked about her 'sixth sense' during one of his usual rants about River one day, and, after thinking about it for a while, Kaylee concluded there must have been some truth to it.
River snorted, her laughter echoing through the engine room. She covered her mouth, attempting to quiet herself. Looking up, she saw Kaylee's surprised expression. "Sorry, Kaylee, but even the girl-man can see the odds of that happening," she apologized, managing to throw in an insult at Jayne in the process.
Kaylee sighed, and looked back at her poor ship's engine. It was worth a shot, though it didn't make it any less disappointing.
"Mei mei, you in there?" the gruff voice of the captain called out, footsteps accompanying it. Mal appeared in the doorway, now fully dressed in a fresh change of clothes, his face giving off the slightest hint of anxiety. He was satisfied to see his mechanic right where she should be; he was not so happy to see River. She always gave him a heap of trouble, from her crazy outbursts to the Alliance's desire to obtain her and send her back to her whacko school, which constantly got him into hot water. She also made business very scarce for his crew.
Pushing back the stress that the youngest Tam gave him, Mal turned his attention back to Kaylee. "Get cleaned up; we've got work."
Running her greasy hands against her jumpsuit, Kaylee stood up. "Aye, Cap'n. We're heading off to anywhere interesting?"
Allowing Kaylee to walk out of the engine room first, Mal followed behind her. "Beaumonde, but I figure we should be looking like decent folk first so we blend in," he explained before pausing. He turned around and peeked back into the engine room where River sat. Her large, brown eyes gazed at the machinery, completely entranced by its complexity.
"River, how 'bout you go play with your brother? I'm sure he's missing you." Mal didn't know if Simon really did- the last he saw of the doctor was in passing by the Tams' room, reading some small, thick volume. But River was unstable, that much he knew, and he didn't want any of that instability to rub off on his ship's engines.
"I have to be here," the troubled young girl insisted, moving closer to the engine, "Kaylee will be gone, and I'm the only other person on the ship who has any idea how to run it properly. Dong ma?" Her hand grazed the sleek metal, stroking it.
Mal's face turned flustered, blushing red; the only person who gave orders on his ship was himself, and he certainly wasn't taking any from the resident loony. Without missing a beat, he felt Kaylee's hand on his shoulder. Behind the grease coating her face, she smiled optimistically.
"It's no problem, Cap'n," she said encouragingly, "We'll only be gone for a little while, right? I don't see her causin' a ruckus."
After a moment of deliberating, Mal sighed. "Fine," he relented slightly. Mal turned back to River, his brow pushed together, adding, "Unless Serenity's broke down, don't go touching nothing, got it?" The Captain bit his lip; the thought of River the Mechanic turned his stomach.
"I'll ask the Sheppard to check the engines. Now c'mon, Cap'n," Kaylee urged, pulling him away from the engine room. He paused slightly, before continuing in to the heart of the ship.
River never moved from her seat, the palm of her hand flat against the machine. She placed the side of her face on the surface, leaning her body against the metal. Her eyes fluttered closed, feeling the engine's vibration as she shushed it. "We need to be brave- aliens are running about."