The Changeling
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,733
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,733
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dr. Who, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Changeling
Disclaimer - I do not own any rights to the Dr Who franchise or any charecters from it and make no money from this. However there are some charecters i have created and they are mine to use.
The Changeling
Summery -The 9th Doctor and Rose investigate a plot to assassinate a major leading scientist in the field of alien research, and to stop it happening.
Please read and if you like it review.
Prologue
She hated these meetings but it was an essential part of the job.
The seemingly endless minutes between being told that she would be seen ‘momentarily’, and actually being granted an audience. Listening to the seconds being brutally separated by the antique clock tucked away discreetly in a corner. Observing the hideous abstract art portrayed on the walls looking less like a brilliant masterpiece and more like an unimaginative child had scrawled absentmindedly on the canvas. The waiting room was a mesh between conservatively old world and soulless modernism.
Eventually she was informed by the personal assistant that she would be seen. She barely gave the woman in her severe dark suit and iron hard bun a second glance as she strode into the adjourning room.
The man that was her contact was sitting behind an immaculately tidy oak desk, inspecting her through steeple fingers. It was at times like this she was thankful that her face was as unmemorable as possible. It was a face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd and wouldn’t be given a second glance. Much better for when the authorities ask for any identifying features that the witnesses are as vague as possible. Even the hair and eye colour were hard to identify.
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to why you were summoned here,” the man briskly said, not wasting any words and taking control of the conversation.
She didn’t say a word, the look she gave him expressed her feelings exactly.
‘I am not here because you summoned me, you are a lowly flunky. The only reason I am even meeting you is because the real clients can not be seen to be involved in this kind of business in any way. You are here to do the dirty work, and are, if needed, a handy scapegoat’.
She smiled as his eyes flicked and cleared his throat suddenly dry from nervousness. He rallied himself quite well and pushed a picture across the desk towards her.
“This is the target, you will find him at the Cambridge Observatory, one Doctor Abraham Green,” he informed her.
She picked up the picture between two perfectly polished nails and examined it.
The photo was of a man in his late fifties, grey hair with a moustache and beard. He was studying some papers through wire rimmed spectacles, his face scrunched up on concentration. To his left was a young woman also wearing glasses, with her hair pulled severely back from her scalp. She was looking directly at the older man but he appeared not to notice.
“And the girl?” she wanted to clarify whether the girl in the photo was important, two people would cost more and she didn’t want to be ripped off.
“Not a threat, not important,” the man replied.
She slide the photo back across the desk, her memory for faces was infallible.
“Payment?” if he wants to speak in few words that suited her fine. So often the contacts would ramble on using flowery language that they thought would hide the true meaning of the business at hand. This one she observed was smarter then most.
“The usual fee, the remainder to be collected on completion,” he said, sitting back in his chair to draw the meeting to a close.
Holding his gaze for a fraction longer then was comfortable, she turned and strode purposely out of the office. Now the fun could begin.
The Changeling
Summery -The 9th Doctor and Rose investigate a plot to assassinate a major leading scientist in the field of alien research, and to stop it happening.
Please read and if you like it review.
Prologue
She hated these meetings but it was an essential part of the job.
The seemingly endless minutes between being told that she would be seen ‘momentarily’, and actually being granted an audience. Listening to the seconds being brutally separated by the antique clock tucked away discreetly in a corner. Observing the hideous abstract art portrayed on the walls looking less like a brilliant masterpiece and more like an unimaginative child had scrawled absentmindedly on the canvas. The waiting room was a mesh between conservatively old world and soulless modernism.
Eventually she was informed by the personal assistant that she would be seen. She barely gave the woman in her severe dark suit and iron hard bun a second glance as she strode into the adjourning room.
The man that was her contact was sitting behind an immaculately tidy oak desk, inspecting her through steeple fingers. It was at times like this she was thankful that her face was as unmemorable as possible. It was a face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd and wouldn’t be given a second glance. Much better for when the authorities ask for any identifying features that the witnesses are as vague as possible. Even the hair and eye colour were hard to identify.
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to why you were summoned here,” the man briskly said, not wasting any words and taking control of the conversation.
She didn’t say a word, the look she gave him expressed her feelings exactly.
‘I am not here because you summoned me, you are a lowly flunky. The only reason I am even meeting you is because the real clients can not be seen to be involved in this kind of business in any way. You are here to do the dirty work, and are, if needed, a handy scapegoat’.
She smiled as his eyes flicked and cleared his throat suddenly dry from nervousness. He rallied himself quite well and pushed a picture across the desk towards her.
“This is the target, you will find him at the Cambridge Observatory, one Doctor Abraham Green,” he informed her.
She picked up the picture between two perfectly polished nails and examined it.
The photo was of a man in his late fifties, grey hair with a moustache and beard. He was studying some papers through wire rimmed spectacles, his face scrunched up on concentration. To his left was a young woman also wearing glasses, with her hair pulled severely back from her scalp. She was looking directly at the older man but he appeared not to notice.
“And the girl?” she wanted to clarify whether the girl in the photo was important, two people would cost more and she didn’t want to be ripped off.
“Not a threat, not important,” the man replied.
She slide the photo back across the desk, her memory for faces was infallible.
“Payment?” if he wants to speak in few words that suited her fine. So often the contacts would ramble on using flowery language that they thought would hide the true meaning of the business at hand. This one she observed was smarter then most.
“The usual fee, the remainder to be collected on completion,” he said, sitting back in his chair to draw the meeting to a close.
Holding his gaze for a fraction longer then was comfortable, she turned and strode purposely out of the office. Now the fun could begin.