Glitch in the Process

A Thursday Prompt story
© 2019 by Walter Reimer


The Seventh Doctor and associated characters are © The BBC.


Prompt: defect


“Ripples.”

The sugar cube hit the surface of the cup of tea with a soft plop. The impact caused ripples.

“Cause and effect, effect and cause, a never-ending circle – but suppose that could be changed?” the man mumbled. He was a bit short of being medium height, with an expressive, mobile face that was now drawn into a pensive frown. His eyes looked sad, full of sorrows older than some civilizations, and he was aiming the glum look at the cup of tea on the desk before him. He wore a jumper with a pattern of zigzags and question marks, with his suit jacket and Panama hat hung up on a coatrack by the door.

The other man in the room, about the same height as the first, with straight brown hair and a mustache, looked up from his paperwork with a frown and a raised eyebrow. He wore a British Army uniform with the insignia of a Brigadier on his epaulettes and a circular patch on the shoulder that read U.N.I.T. “Doctor?”

“Hmm . . . I suppose it’d involve changing some universal constant . . . but if the only constant is change, why are my socks unraveling?”

“Doctor?”

“It might be something deeper, like the granular nature of space-time – “

“Doctor!”

The alien known as The Doctor stirred and looked up, blinking owlishly for a moment. “Oh, hello Brigadier. What brings you here?”

Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart suppressed a sudden desire to roll his eyes and call for an MP. “Doctor,” he said patiently, “you’ve been here, in my office, ever since our last encounter with the Rani. Are you going to drink that tea, or watch it grow cold?”

The Doctor smiled. “It won’t ‘grow’ cold, Brigadier, it just surrenders to entropy – you say I’ve been here since we defeated the Rani? Goodness me. How long ago was that again?”

“Three days.”

“Three days! Time does fly, doesn’t it? Not as well as a barn swallow, but there you are. Let's talk about that nice fellow Kincaid, shall we?”

This time the sigh escaped just before the eyeroll, and Lethbridge-Stewart pulled a file folder from under the pile of other folders on his desk. It was a conversation that he and UNIT’s Science Adviser had had several times over the past three days. "Doctor, I know that Lance-Corporal Kincaid's done a remarkable job. Commended twice, and was a great help to you during the last . . . incident. But there is one slight problem - "

This was waved away with a dismissive gesture; again, it was something witnessed over the past three days. "Yes, yes, yes, he's a six foot five inch rat. Brigadier, your superiors in Geneva are far too human-centric."

The Brigadier shot The Doctor a glance. It had taken most of the past three days to explain to Geneva (and the Ministry of Defence) just who the Rani was and what she had been up to. Then there had been the matter of the civilians aboard the missing Underground train. The Doctor assured him that the passengers were still alive and were building new lives for themselves under London, but Lethbridge-Stewart hadn’t been convinced.

He glanced down at the file again, concentrating on the two colour photographs inside. One showed a tall man with red hair and a pale, clear complexion, while the other – well.

A finger touched his arm and he turned as The Doctor said, “It’s the right thing to do, my dear Lethbridge-Stewart, and you know it.”

Another pause, and a deep breath. “Well, we’ll have him in, then,” and the Brigadier raised his voice slightly. “Sergeant Major Grey?”

The door opened and a stocky man looked in. “Yes, Sir?”

“Ask Lance-Corporal Kincaid to come here, please.”

The sergeant cracked a grin. “King Rat, then? Yes, Sir,” and he started to close the door.

“Grey.”

The man opened the door again, and one look at the Brigadier’s face had him at attention in an instant. “Sir.”

“Sergeant Major, the Lance-Corporal has been commended for defending the East Finchley Tube station in order to enable his fellow soldiers to retreat from the Rani’s genetic mutations. He deserves the respect due to his rank – or I might just promote him over you. Now. What are your orders?”

“To get Lance-Corporal Kincaid for you, Sir.”

“Straightaway, please. Dismissed,” and Grey closed the door. “I can’t fathom how they nicknamed him so quickly.”

“Look on the bright side, Brigadier,” The Doctor said, “they could have picked a worse one.” That failed to mollify the human, and he shrugged.

The door opened. “Lance-Corporal Kincaid, Sir,” Grey said as the man entered. At Lethbridge-Stewart’s nod, he closed the door, leaving Kincaid standing at attention.

The Rani’s gene splicing hadn’t done too shabby a job, The Doctor reflected. The man’s build and bearing was the same, but the now-rodent fur was the same shade as the human’s hair had been. He was dressed in fatigues and kept his tail up to avoid trailing it in the dirt.

“Kincaid reporting, as ordered.” The ratlike incisors gave his speech a very slight lisping quality.

“Stand easy, Lance-Corporal,” and the once-man relaxed. Lethbridge-Stewart put on his glasses and glanced at the file before looking up at the rat. “You were already up for promotion to Corporal before this happened.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, you have a very earnest, if not insistent , advocate in your corner,” and the Brigadier glanced at The Doctor, who smiled sunnily, “who feels that in light of what you did and what happened to you that you should be promoted to Sergeant.” The rat looked surprised. “Yes?”

“Well, um, begging the Brigadier’s pardon, it’d be a great honor, and the wife and I could use the extra pay – “

“You’re married?” The Doctor interjected. “Have you told her yet?”

“No, Sir.”

There was that sunny, almost impish smile again. “You’ll have to tell her sooner or later, you know. She’s going to notice.” The rat looked troubled by the prospect. “Still, you should consider yourself a very lucky man, Lance-Corporal.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” The smile fled, like the sun hiding behind a cloud. “All the other people caught down there are now feral rats. You just caught the edge of the Rani’s twisted ‘experiment.’”

Kincaid’s jaw worked and he finally asked in an almost anguished tone, “Isn’t there anything you can do to switch me back, Doctor? Please?”

“I wish I could, and change both you and those others,” The Doctor said quietly. “But without detailed knowledge of the Rani’s methods, I could very well make things a lot worse. Don’t lose hope though, I’ll keep working on it, and maybe I’ll be able to help the other victims.” He glanced at Lethbridge-Stewart.

The Brigadier picked up his pen, jotted a note, and signed his name. “Lance-Corporal, I am recommending that you be promoted to Sergeant, based on your commendable actions three days ago against an alien incursion.” He looked up at the rat. “You may regard this as a battlefield promotion, and I’ll get it approved by the MOD somehow.”

Kincaid came to attention. “Thank you, Sir.” The Doctor nodded, smiling and leaning back in his chair.

“And I’ll have UNIT’s Science Adviser go with you to explain this to your wife.”

There was a startled cry as The Doctor overbalanced and pitched backward out of his chair and onto the floor.


end