File: Epsilon-Epsilon-Sigma-2//577-9
Subject: Interrogation of Unidentified Xenoform
Interviewer: Li-Quon Parapshapti
Preliminary Observations
Subject is a humanoid male, apparent age 27 to 30 standard units. Skin coloration, eye color, and hair suggest resemblance to the peoples of the old Europa Technocracy, but his physiology is clearly not Terran. The subject possesses two distinct cardiovascular systems with heart-rates of 170 beats per minute, and an internal body temperature of 15 degrees on the ancient scale. The Neuro-Inquisitor can make no sense of the subject's brainwaves, and the mind-probe was useless. Most intriguing is his DNA, with chromosomal structures unlike anything I have ever seen. Stranger still, his DNA seems to be in a state of flux that is gradually coalescing.
He has been unconscious now for 2 solar cycles.
Session 1
Interviewer (I): Do you know where you are?
Subject (S): Only recently recovered from unconsciousness, stares at the Interviewer.
I: Can you understand my words?
S: Perfectly. Jumps. Seems startled. New voice. Will take getting used to.
I: I would like to ask again. Do you know where you are?
S: Judging from the uniform, "Major," I assume somewhere in the middle of the Ninth Reformed Pan-Asian Matriarchy. Latter half of the 34th century. Which means your universe follows at least a similar course as mine.
I: What is your name?
S: Response is unintelligible.
I: Once again please?
S: Rolls his eyes, and assumes a disrespectful tone, as if speaking to a child. DAE-MI-IAN-DRAE-GOH-NE_ANDRO-LUVAN-MOH-GAR-YAH-MI.
I: "Damien Draegonne..." What was the third name?
S: That isn't what I said. Never mind. You can't register the telepathic component of it anyway.
I: You claim telepathic powers?
S: Look, why am I being held here? What exactly have I done?
I: I will ask the questions, Mr. Draegonne.
S: That isn't my bloody name.
Session 2
Subject was uncooperative. Sat in his cell motionless and refused to speak. The Pharmo-Inquisitor seems unable to find the right compound to make the subject speak. His resistance to all the standard methods is quite high. We will try pain next.
Session 3
Subject has gone without food, water, or sleep for three days. The Corporal-Inquisitor has used both the application of intense cold and heat to limited effect. Electric shock seems also limited. I ordered the other prisoners--the Europan Techno-serf and her two children--moved into an adjacent cell, hoping he might form some sort of link with them. But he never spoke or responded when they talked to him. This morning I went in and threatened to slit the throats of the two children, right in front of him, if he did not respond to my questions. He shrugged. "The Terran population is what...16 billion now? Who will notice two missing." The mother screamed for mercy. As I started to cut the youngest child, the female, the subject sighed. "All right. Fine. I will speak. But I could use something hot to drink."
I: Tell me about your craft. What is it? Some form of escape pod?
S: Laughing as if I had just told a joke. I suppose you could say that.
I: It would appear to be made of some sort of hardened plant fiber.
S: What? Are the trees already gone? You've never seen wood before?
I: It has resisted all our efforts to open it.
S: Good luck with that.
I: Mr. Draegonne, there will be consequences if you continue to avoid my questions.
S: Well why don't you ask some interesting ones then? And my name is not "Mr. Draegonne." Call me "Damien," at least.
I: All right, Damien. Tell me about that craft.
S: It's a Novatech Type 40 Time Travel Capsule, conceived and grown on Gallifrey...before... Subject seems troubled.
I: Before?
S: Before the War.
I: You mean the Afro-Arabian Rectification?
S: Laughs. No, I mean the Time War, you idiot. A conflict between the two greatest powers the universe has seen since the Osirians departed. Do you honestly think after seeing the Could-Have-Been-King lead the Horde of Travesties into battle that your little squabbles over patches of dirt could hold any interest for me?
Subject is still clearly not in his proper mind.
S: That is what my "craft" or "box" is. An infinitely complex and wonderful thing. But I suppose "escape pod" will do. Because I am a deserter. The Skaro Degradations were tearing us to pieces. I saw no hope. I stole The Fallen Hour and I ran. Here. Into this parallel universe of yours. My "second life," I suppose. But I was badly injured in the process. Hence the new regeneration. Do you like it? Any good?
Subject is now very erratic. Nothing he says makes sense.
I: It is clearly an advanced piece of technology. Why does is resemble such primitive materials?
S: Suddenly disgusted. That is because of Him. The Doctor.
I: The Doctor?
S: Subject nods. Look, you have to understand. For millions of what you call "standard units" we Time Lords had no interest in you lot. You had nothing of interest for us. We had figured out how to manipulate matter and energy at will, conquered the complexities of time, space, and dimension, even learned how to stave off old age and death. We had no interest in lesser species any more. Until Him. The Renegade. The Visionary. He changed us--or at least some of us. He convinced many in the Citadel that our great power and perception should be used to help the lesser species, to intervene. It started a whole movement...a movement that led us into conflict with the Daleks and the War. My ship's appearance...the former owner was an Interventionalist. Many of them made their Time Capsules look like the Doctor's in honor of him.
Subject is making little sense. Will resume interview at a later time.
No comments:
Post a Comment