Doctor Who Fan Fiction ❯ A Growing Madness ❯ Chapter 8

Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the BBC, and we obviously don't have any right to them. Any and all fan fiction characters belong to their respective creators. Alas no one makes any money from this story, and it's all done out of love for a cheap-looking sci-fi show.

 

Chapter 8

A haze fogged his brain. He woke up running, ripping the sleeves of a shirt that had suddenly grown too tight. All Callom remembered at that second was the impulse to run like crazy. Strangely, the passages he ran through were silent. Not a threat in sight. Gleaming metal seemed to stretch for miles like some sectioned human gerbil tube. Rounding one section bend, Callom spotted a familiar blue box. Staggering, Callom slid in the isomorphic key pressed into his hand an eternity ago. It took him forever to cross the brightly illuminated flight -deck to reach the lounge. Wearily he collapsed onto a chair.

Safe for the moment, in the humming sterile atmosphere and soft white lights, he relaxed. Then, feeling the bind of his clothes, that seemed strangely tight, he tottered to his feet. Someone approached from the side. Just on the edge of his vision there was the doorway. Who could be in here with him? Startled, he backed away. As suddenly as the face appeared, it vanished. Stealthily, Callom crept towards the "doorway." Heart pounding in the silence, he lunged forward.

Instantly the strange figure leapt into view again. Torn clothing and long hair were smudged with dirt. Its chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Callom wondered who this man was, strangely dressed in a half torn shirt and inadequately short kilt.

"Nae! It canna be!” denied a tenor voice.

The character was none other than Callom himself.

Frightened, he froze there, gaping at his unfamiliar reflection. Long wavy hair came to his shoulders. No more were his cheeks rotund from baby fat. Now they'd stretched into the hard lines and angles of a man's. With shaking fingers he traced his firm strong jaw and nose. Taken aback he studied his enlarged strong hands. "It--it's jest na possible! How, by all the veterans a Culloden?"

Only images of a curious ray fired at him gave him any possible explanation. Didn't Raina say something about a Growth Accelerator back on the stolen ship they landed here in? This seemed the only logical explanation.

Remembering his captured friends, Callom snapped out of shock. It seemed best to accept his situation, and benefit from his unnatural growth spurt. How many years did the machine add to his age? Carefully he contemplated his body, now rounded with muscle. Judging from the height of the door, which he guessed was two and a half meters, Callom approximated his present height was 190 centimeters. His head was twelve centimeters shy of the mirror's top.

"That biology book, said something about hormones," he muttered, summoning up the chapters of the book Raina had given him on earth months ago. "Testosterone making the muscles grow and the bones shoot up like a weed. Gotta be at least seven years tacked on t' ma age! Na, that's crazy!""

"But what do I do nau?" he asked himself. What indeed? There were few options. He asked himself what his friends would do. Then threw out the answers. Strange thoughts filled his imagination, as he suddenly fantasized himself dashing off to the rescue like a hero in an epic poem.

"Wait!" he stopped himself. "What can I do? I may be stronger, but I dinna ken if strength is enau. It wasn't for Raina."

Growth spurts. That chapter in the biology text flashed through his clearing mind. If his body had matured, could his brain have along with it? Did his powers increase in strength as well?

"Whatever I do, I canna verra well go about get up like this," he decided, clicking his tongue at his reflection with distaste. "I look a sight. Na' worthy of a McLaren. Now where is that chamber Raina mentioned? Somewhere . . . ow!"

He winced, and grabbed his hip. He'd bruised it running in his gray out. And starved from the last few hours, just when had he last eaten? "Ugh. Have nae the strength to get there."

Slowly he squeezed his eyes shut. Wished he could get there in an instant. His mind wandered as he thought about the passages he'd have to pass through to get there...

A wave of nausea made him reel, and he blinked open his eyes. Then rubbed them. "Begorra!" he exclaimed. All around him raised racks and racks of clothes.

He had teleported. Without a booster module! Within the confines of the TARDIS. Before it had been so difficult to travel even a few feet. Callom stared a few meters ahead of himself, and concentrated. As if a switch fell, he felt the same nausea and reality blinked to the new scene around him. "Amazing! Ha, ha! This'll be just th' thing!"

Each time the nausea grew less. "Must be like flexing a muscle. Gets easier each time."

Slipping out his knife, he cut away the remains of his outfit. Reached for a long sleeved shirt. Pulled the loose garment over his head and shoulder. It was one of those puffy sleeved ones with an open neck that showed his well muscled chest. Oh well, he'd have to make do. His eyes fell on several strips of tartan hanging out of a cabinet drawer. Unfortunately the tartan he saw was not McLaren, but Black Watch. Something inside him compelled him to wear tartans. It would inspire him to courage. A connection with the past that would not be severed.

A few minutes search yielded a long bolt of Black watch plaid. Callom consulted his memory. "Da was in the Scot's guard. I'd be too. Suppose I'm entitled t' wear regimental Tartan. I'm no exactly civilian if I'm goin' into battle nau."

"Guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way," he sighed. Intently he wrapped the swath around his waist. It was the only tartan he could find that would fit in such a hurry. Around and around his waist, then tucked in under one shoulder. Over his chest he flipped the end, and fastened it there with his clansmen pin. Just like he remembered some Highlanders did in history. Finally he slipped on a beautiful thick leather belt he scrounged up, with an ornate silver buckle.

The ends of his now long hair fell into his eyes. Grunting, he twisted some of it into small braids. Some fibers drawn from the plaid he used to tie off the braids out of his way. Further digging yielded leather boots and grey socks.

Surveying himself in the mirror he nodded. Then trotted off to look for some sort of weapons. One shortened highland dirk was woefully inadequate to tackle Karakulians. Rummaging through cabinets he found an eighteenth century cutlass, several fencing rapiers, and even two mighty claymores. No doubt all were obtained from some past journey. In the cabinet there were also several antiquated pistols, minus ammunition.

"Great snakes, ye'd think this Doctor wuild have something better than pirate stuff," he complained, holstering a full sized dirk at his hip. Finding a second leather belt, he slung it across his chest to carry the better of the two claymores.

He 'ported to the chemistry lab. There he found Ace's kit. He wasn't much up on chemistry, but he'd recalled seeing her cook up Nitro 9. Several canisters were stacked, ready for fill. "Ah, that's guid enau fer me!" he laughed, stacking them into his shoulder bag.

***

Ace despairingly glanced towards the lab. She had tucked herself into an alcove between a counter and a large cabinet just inside. The lab was an enormous space, dingy and dark with cold metal walls and floors. All that illuminated the darkness were the blinking lights on squat Karakulians and the instrument panels. Raina lay stunned, fixed in the sites of a Karakulian probe. If Ace dared reveal herself by attacking, they'd shoot Raina. In the few short hours Ace had begun to grow fond of this erratic scientist with remarkable compassion.

"Warning!" grated the chief Karakulian suddenly. "Heat patterns detected in proximity to laboratory."

"Suspect Alien female in vicinity. Rani's file indicated there were two females and one male human. And one male Time Lord. She was correct."

She swallowed hard, and searched for her Nitro-9. Yet there was no more. Raina still lay on a rubberized mat, her hands pressed flat as she tried to push herself up. Anger burned in her eyes as she glared up at the Karakulian scientist. However, she was unable to rise because of the restraining clamps.

Clutching the handle of her baseball bat, she gritted her determination. One last shot at them. She didn't know how yet. Many times Ace had rescued the Doctor. The stakes had now doubled, for he and the Earthling were both captives.

Where had their plan gone wrong?

***

They had reached the labs of the Karakulians, only to have to split up. One way went the males, and the other the females. Callom and the Doctor had been discovered, and immobilized. Far away in some lab they were taken. It seemed the best escapes had been exhausted. Now Ace struggled desperately to avoid capture, and free her friends. To do what? Get recaptured?

Slowly she made a move forward. They weren't scanning, just now. Again she glanced at the Karakulian covering Raina. Intently it set it probes for another scan. "Now or never," she whispered to herself.

Immediately a brawny hand covered her mouth. Reality blinked out of existence. She struggled against a strong captor. It felt humanoid. Reflexively she jabbed her elbow backwards to hit solid flesh. Whoever it was, she knocked the wind out of them. Then she ran like crazy in the opposite direction. Mind racing, she suddenly realized. Who on earth here was human? Didn't the Karakulians capture everyone on the space ship? Also was the Rani involved? Had she possibly known what would happen and alerted these creatures to capture them?

"Wait there, lass!" hissed a voice in her ear, gripping her arm.

"Let me go," she almost cried aloud, dashing down the hallways.

Just in front of her, out of nowhere, appeared a figure. Six feet, wrapped in a green and black toga. Long blond hair hung around his shoulders, and he clutched a long-sword. "Ace! Wait. It's me," he whispered, clutching his stomach in pain.

"Who the blazes are you?" she demanded, backing away.

"It's me I tell ye! Callom McLaren."

"Callom? No way," she gasped, still keeping her distance. Sickness twisted her stomach. Somehow she'd become nauseous. "How? "

"That growth accelerator. They fired that device at me, and I grew. I swear t' ye."

"Alien detected! Pursue and recapture for testing! The Mistress MUST have her subjects returned!"

"Och, ye gotta believe me!" The stranger grabbed her wrist with lightening speed, and pulled her along behind him. "C'mon, lass! We gotta get otta here!"

"What, and leave the Doc and your friend? Are you crazy?"

"I've got a plan!"

Ace couldn't help but dash behind the man. Sure he was humanoid. But how in the name of Time and Space could he be who he claimed? Callom was a thirteen-year-old boy, and this person was at least twenty. Nevertheless, his tenor voice had the same thick accent. Also, the clothes he was wearing were sure not futuristic, like any Thal from Skaro would wear. Not even twentieth century. He looked like Duncan MacLeod or someone straight out of the movie Highlander, with his loose peasant shirt and the tartan swath wrapped around his waist and over his shoulder. A sturdy thick leather belt was fastened around his waist, with a second strap going across his shoulder like a pirate's sword belt. Metal pins gleamed in the scant lighting of the corridor. She recalled they looked exactly like Callom's McLaren clansmen pins he wore on his kilt. But why was he wearing Black Watch? They ducked behind a low panel. Just how had they come here?

"Rest easy," he whispered, propping her up against the wall.

"I just don't get it," she muttered. "How did I get here? Out of that lab?"

"I'm sorry if ye feel sick. I guess mebbe that's a side effect of 'porting. Should go way in a few minnits."

"Ugh! I feel like I wanna hurl."

"Jest dinna hurl on ma tartan," he joked. She saw him reach into a leather shoulder bag, and produce a canteen. "Try and get some of this doon ye. It may help."

"I was just about to rescue them when you botched it," she snapped, between sips.

"I saved yuir life, lass. How inna name of St. Brigid were ye goin t' save em without the right weapons?"

"Okay. You gotta point." Grimly she shook her head. "If I only had some Nitro-9 about now. . ."

"Is this what yuir looking for?" he asked, opening his shoulder bag. Several deodorant cans were stacked inside.

"Oh brill," she sighed, feeling better for the first time in hours. "You're okay after all, Callom."

"So I take it you believe me?"

"Who else would know where to get my Nitro-9?" Nevertheless, he still sensed she was not totally convinced.

"Where's the Doctor hid? I saw Raina in there, right enau. But I didnae see him."

"He's in another lab," she breathed, trying valiantly not to throw up.

"I managed to get this away from them," he said, pulling out the Doctor's map.

"Before they nicked him?"

"It was sitting in a Karakulian lab. I dinna ken how to read it though. Still, I figured out the scale."

Ace took it from him, and glanced at it. Then she leaned her head back against the wall. "Uh, the room's still spinning," she muttered. Still she was a little shaky.

"What do ye suppose they're doing to them?"

"Heard those creeps saying that they wanted to drain his brain or something."

"If the Doctor's a deadly enemy, won't they jest kill him?"

"Eventually, they'll off him, I guess."

"But what about Raina? I saw her pinned down under some ray."

"They think that she's a good specimen. I think from what they were saying, that she's gonna be dissected or something. And they mentioned the Rani!"

"Och no! Nae wonder! She mentioned somethin' aboot other races doin' her dirty work! At least what Vitreum said! But they'll no turn us in while I'm around!"

"I think that's what they did to the crew of the ship. They must have them down here somewhere, as guinea pigs for their experiments. And if they're working with the Rani, it explains a lot!" Ace muttered.

"Didn't the Doctor say these Karakulians conquered other planets?"

"Yes. But these Karakulians here have been left behind as a kind of . . . Blast, what's the word?"

"Rear guard."

"Thanks."

"I wonder. Were those Karakulians the ones that made that ray gun in the first place?"

"What ray gun?"

"I mean that weapon that stopped the Cerise, and the TARDIS. Raina said that the ship reported flashing lights at one time. Before the madness started. And if they were working with the Rani, it would explain a great deal."

"Great, but if it's the same weapon, why didn't we get paranoid?"

He ignored her question. "Why they're wasting time with that Growth Accelerator when they could build one of their own wi' their know-how?"

"Beats me."

"I was jest thinking, lass."

"What about?"

"That crew. D'ye suppose that they all died? Or some may have survived an been brought here, mebbe?"

"Cripes!" she exclaimed. "How can you sit there and ask naff questions while Prof and your friend are in it deep?"

"It might help us figure out what they're doin t' the Doctor. For all we know the answer could come from it."

"You and your stupid daydreaming!"

"At least I'm thinking about this."

"Like I'm not? Look kid, there's times for asking questions, and time for acting! This isn't the time to be sitting on our butts chattering!"

"Fiona Vitreum when I knew her first was always teaching me to ask questions, an make observations!" argued Callom. "Tha's what a good scientist does."

"You aren't Einstein, squirt! Did you take Chemistry at A level? You're a kid!”

 

"Don't ye want t' get to the bottom o' this mystery?"

"We can do that after the Professor and your friend are free, if we can get them away from those Karakulians."

"Oh, all right," he grumbled. "But I still think..."

"Look, I'm still older than you. And I know what I'm doing. We'll get the Professor to brainstorm later. Clear?"

"Ye may be older, but can ye teleport?" he asked her. "I ken see what ye wanna do. Jest barge in there wi explosives blazing."

"Have you got a better idea?"

"As a matter of fact I gotta plan. That is, if ye want to listen to a kid like me."

"Okay, let's hear your brilliant plan then,"

"I was thinking, we cuild use some strategy. Wi ma teleportin and yuir nitro-9."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I cuild read yuir mind, telepath that I am, but that's no proper."

"Oh dry up," she said, grabbing his shoulder. Her fingers felt the soft tartan swath draped over it. It was still hard to believe he was Callom McLaren, but their verbal sparring was starting to convince her. That same wisecracking he had. "What's on your mind?"

"If I create a diversion, ye can get in and free Raina."

"How are you doing that?"

"By ma teleporting."

"I thought that knocked you silly. That's why we had to carry you before."

"No anymore. Ma powers have increased. I can teleport guid enau wi'out tiring. At least not so fast. Those Karakulians won' know what him em."

***

Raina writhed. Just the slightest movement sent pain into her leg. Still the burn had not yet completely. Even with her new quick healing abilities it could take more hours for such a severe burn to begin to mend. Pieces of her tissues had been sampled and placed into culture dishes. A few blasts from the Growth Accelerator were applied, and the tissue slowly grew.

Raina wished they'd test it on her burn. At least to facilitate the healing process. But they were instead testing her response to pain. Needles were inserted into her leg, near her nerve endings. Each time she'd flinch, the pain would register in a computer database. So she remained still. Escaping was out of the question too, if she tried to run, the Karakulian gun would exterminate her. And with a lame leg, there was little chance even with her quick reflexes, that she could escape alive this time.

"Studies indicate that female's response to pain is lower than first humanoid specimine."

"Psi-scans indicate negative. Fe-male is psinull. The Rani's data is thourough.”

"Scans on Doc-tor indicate index of 5 on psi-scale. Proceeding to total drain of rel-e-vant knowelge. All will be transmitted to the Rani's central database when we are through for processing."

 

“Will she want the subjects turned over to her care?”

 

“Affirmative when she establishes contact.”

However, back in the cell she had somehow crippled the Karakulian. She had stunned it into submission. That wasn't a psycho blast. A psycho blast utilized psionic energy to send an overload into its system. Channeling her anger and hatred, Raina had grabbed the baseplate. Her fingers tore through metal and plastic with contemptuous ease. Mere strength had boosted her ability to destroy.

What had she done? If the Rani had done some genetic engineering, what was the affect of it? It seemed as if her instincts were awakened, and she could sense things few others could. Her body seemed to be healing at a phenomenal rate now, far and above what these injuries would normally take to heal. What new powers existed with this body? She was able to communicate with Callom. It could just be a psionic bond with him. Change had limited her sensitivity, similar to deafening someone's hearing. When she could use her telepathic powers, she had none. Some Earthlings were psionic. The Rani had said that hundreds of years after her generation, the previous species had psychic abilities. They communicated solely through chemical transmitted messages through the atmosphere. In fact, many Earthlings, the more primitive types, could actually absorb psychic energies and dampen them in the centuries to come.

By the twenty fourth century, the Rani had said that Earthling civilization encompassed many star systems. System by system they had colonized a stellar cluster. In some of those systems, the government set up special preserves. Planets on which members of previous evolutions were kept, as a genetic race-bank. A living library set to represent the past, so the ruling species would not forget from whence they came. Was Raina now a psycho damper? No longer just a normal Earthling? Karakulians moved with Psycho kinetic power. She somehow must have jammed the Karakulian's ability to move, back in the cell. Slowly she reached out with her mind. To reach out to Callom. Through the courtyard of her mind she felt his presence, somewhere close by.

*Raina . . .

*Callom! Are you all right?

*Aye. Ace 'n me r coming to save you 'n the Doctor.

*If you try and come in, they'll shoot me. I've got some sort of booby trap attached . . .

*Ace says she'll try and deal with it. I'll be creatin a distraction. You'll have to slip away with her. . . .

*Where are you now?

*Safe 'n well.

"Where did you say those labs were?"

"I thought you knew, sport," she said, hands on her hips. He streaked past her in a blur of black and green, almost sliding like a runner into home plate. "Come back here."

"I dinna remember the coordinates," he admitted.

Ace sighed. Shook her head. "It's that way."

Callom narrowed his eyes. Stopped still. "Sh. I hear something. One of them Karakulians is coming our way."

"Come on, man, don't hang about!" she cried, grabbing his arm, and pulling him along for a change.

Begorra, could she run fast! This eighteen-year-old gal tugged a Highland Scot after her down a bare metal corridor. Her Doc Martins pounded faster and faster, followed by the thump of his rough leather shoes and argyle socks. In the backpack slung over her shoulder rattled the cans of Nitro-9 he had brought her.

Shadows slid down the wall ahead of them. Ace threw her arm back, pressing him against the wall next to her. Five tense minutes they pressed close together, listening for the eerie soundless gliding of the mini-tanks.

"Nearly had us there," she whispered. "Good going, kid."

"Feels like they dinna ken we're here."

"They have an infrared scanning device," said Ace. "I saw it in the lab. They'll catch us sooner or later."

"How much further to the labs?"

"About fifty meters," she said, glancing at the plastic map.

Now and then Callom would catch himself looking at her. A funny hot flush would rise in his cheeks. That type of looking where he found himself watching the sway of her hips as she ran. Or how her breasts curved under her T-shirt. How her thighs smoothly filled out her spandex leggings. Physically she was really nice to look at. What he'd call, bonnie. He was uncomfortable with these thoughts. Yet he realized somehow they must be part of the pushed maturation. An overwhelming instinctual attraction to the opposite sex.

He sensed from her thoughts that she was looking at him similarly. Such thoughts were difficult to screen out. They were so loud underneath her conscious ones, despite the urgency of their situation. Here they were, trying to save two people's lives, and they were thinking of how attractive the other looked. Using her as a mirror, he caught a visual image of how she saw him. Peculiar. Mirrors can lie, but a person's perception told him volumes. Callom looked great in those tartans. She thought the way his kilt swirled around him as he walked was . . . well, sensual. In her decade, men with long hair were common. He'd pulled his back into a braid like Johnny Tremain.

Callom was impressed. She actually had read that book. The same lass who didn't bother reading old stuff, off a scholastic list. In contrast, he devoured every classic he could lay hands on.

Scolding himself, he struggled to block out the pictures he was receiving. As a side effect, his telepathic discernment was increased. What his culture referred as the scrying ability or discernment.

"Hey, kid! Wake up!"

"Sorry. Where's the Doctor being held?"

"In a lab near Raina's. . ."