A Doctor For Every (Re)Generation

Whether we admit it or not, we are all in need of a little rescuing. As children we hid under the covers hiding from things that go bump in the night. As adults, we hope to be saved from the banality of our grown-up lives. A part of you wished, and hopefully still wishes, that you hear the humming of the TARDIS landing (brakes still on, no less) in your darkest hour. You hope a mad man pops out of his blue box and invites you to see all that ever was or will be. Your answer is formed before the invitation has been made. The last Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey stands before you with a mischievous smile and says, "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

 

Tragedy dominated the media with the Kennedy Assassination but the following night, the BBC debuted a show that would offer generations as much entertainment as it would hope. Doctor Who was originally intended to be an educational family show to last only six episodes. But leave it to the Doctor to stretch that into fifty years of adventures becoming the longest running sci-fi television show. Not only does he save worlds armed with nothing more than his wits and a sonic screwdriver, but the Doctor shows us that all we need is an outside perspective to better appreciate the human condition.

Like many Americans, I was first introduced to Doctor Who when public broadcasting re-aired the classic series that ran until 1989. My first Doctor was Tom Baker in “The Pyramids of Mars” in which the Doctor had to stop a megalomaniac alien named Sutekh from destroying Earth. It was the first show I watched that mixed sci-fi with horror, humor, and just the right amount of drama to keep me invested.

While any fan of Doctor Who could provide a laundry list of reasons as to why its longevity has defied convention, the largest contributor is the Time Lord’s ability to regenerate. When the Doctor’s body is worn down or fatally wounded, every cell is reborn into an almost completely different person. The Doctor still retains the core of who he is but his tastes and personality are different. Not only does it keep the show fresh while staying true to the character, but it gives actors the opportunity to redefine the role. And as a result, there’s a Doctor for every situation and every generation.

William Hartnell portrayed the First Doctor as a frail traveler accompanied by his granddaughter, Susan Foreman, whose history and science teacher reluctantly joined in their adventures. Hartnell’s Doctor was sinister and at times ruthless, patronizing his human companions but eventually warming up to them and finally calling them friends. A final battle with the Cybermen wore his body out. He collapsed onto the TARDIS floor and regenerated into the Second Doctor, Patrick Troughton, who brought a touch of whimsy to the character that would become an integral part of the Time Lord’s personality. With a 60’s-style mop top and recorder, the Second Doctor had charm, humor, and the wardrobe of a silent movie comedian who saved the universe weekly.

Time Lord law and budget restraints decreed that the Third Doctor be exiled unto the planet Earth, but at least it was in color this time around. Jon Pertwee’s portrayal of the Third Doctor, the Dandy Doctor, was a master in Venusian Karate and worked with UNIT (United Nations Intelligence Taskforce) to protect Earth from alien invasions. The introduction of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart solidified Pertwee’s portrayal of the Doctor as an action hero. He would later meet a woman who set the bar for all companions to follow, the feisty Sarah Jane Smith who would go on more adventures both with the Fourth Doctor and her own spinoff show.

Played by the talented Tom Baker, the Fourth Doctor, with his ridiculously long scarf, is the eccentric and arguably most recognizable Doctor. Portraying the character for seven years, the longest for any actor to date, Tom Baker had swagger and wore the Doctor’s strangeness on his sleeve, diffusing tension with a bag of jelly babies. The show scaled back for the Fifth Doctor’s initial foray to ground the world in realistic science. Peter Davisson was the youngest Doctor at the time; his first few moments portrayed a confused Doctor wandering the TARDIS, a result of a failed regeneration. Davisson’s portrayal was more human in contrast to Baker’s more alien one. He was less authoritative but just as heroic wielding a cricket bat and sporting celery on his lapel.

Colin Baker returned to play the Sixth Doctor after appearing on the show once before. While the whimsy is toned down a bit this time, the Doctor’s quirkiness is reflected in his coat, loud and brash as his character. He was condescending to his human companions and intimidating but no more so than his Time Lord foes: The Master, Rani, the High Council, and the menacing Valeyard. Production issues unexpectedly cut the eloquent Doctor’s time short leaving no time for his more likeable qualities to bloom much to the disdain of Colin Baker.

Bringing back the scarf (normal length) was Sylvester McCoy as the Seventh Doctor who appeared bumbling at times. However, this Doctor became darker and more manipulative with each episode showing just how clever he can be making you grateful that he was one of the good guys. With his Panama hat and trusty umbrella at his side, the Seventh Doctor almost always managed to be five steps ahead of the enemy. Unfortunately, the show was cancelled before the Seventh Doctor had an official farewell but McCoy would have his chance seven years later.

In an attempt to appeal to a broader audience, the BBC hoped to welcome American viewers into the Doctor’s universe with a 1996 television movie. After an emergency landing, the Seventh Doctor found himself stuck in the crossfire of a gangland shootout in San Francisco. Regenerating inside the morgue, the Eighth Doctor emerged with to regain his memory and save earth from the Master once more. Paul McGann played a more optimistic Doctor who reflected the sentiments of those awaiting the new millennium. Unfortunately, the Eighth Doctor’s adventures ended with that one television movie.

Nine years later, Russell T. Davies would bring back Doctor Who for a new generation. Christopher Eccleston ushered in this new Doctor Who as the Ninth Doctor whose wardrobe is the most toned down save for a banana he keeps for emergencies. Only survivor of the last great Time War, this Doctor saved the universe with the lovely Rose Tyler. A final confrontation with the dreaded Daleks put their friendship to the test and revealed the mysteries of Bad Wolf. While Eccleston’s run on the show only lasted one season, it sparked the imagination of new fans.

Christmas Day 2005, the Tenth Doctor completed his regeneration and David Tennant stepped into a pair of sneakers, fulfilling a childhood dream. The Tenth Doctor continued on adventures with (and fell for) Rose until her untimely departure left him lonelier than ever. He would take along all kinds of companions: a time agent, a medical student, an ill-tempered bride, the mysterious River Song, and even Sarah Jane returned. While he outsmarts Daleks, Cybermen, and the Weeping Angels, the showdown between him, the Master, and President Rasillon of Gallifrey would push the Tenth Doctor to his limit. And he would delay his regeneration to say his final goodbyes.

Caught in the middle of an exploding TARDIS, the eleventh Doctor makes his first appearance as his youngest regeneration yet as actor Matt Smith. Literally crashing into the lives of Amy Pond and Rory Williams, this raggedy Doctor has the wisdom of an old man and the wonderment of a young child. With his new companions he discovers the identity of River Song, reboots existence, and escapes death. Now, the Eleventh Doctor is on to new adventures with his new enigmatic companion, Clara, whose very existence baffles the Doctor.

The Fourth Doctor said, “There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.” And nothing seems more childish than a television show with a flair for the impossible. The romantic notion of the show is not just escapism and adventures but the idea that humanity has great potential. This rogue Time Lord with all his eccentricities offbeat style offers that outside perspective of the human condition the only way great sci-fi should. He may be over a thousand years old, have two hearts, and is called “the oncoming storm” but the Doctor is just as human as the rest of us. Despite all he has seen, he is still capable of fear. Both his hearts break for family and friends lost and he has as much potential for destruction as he does for saving the day. Doctor Who is a show that reminds us that, despite all our faults, sometimes having faith in the goodness of other people is all the heroism that we need.

She Smelled of Lilacs

She smelled of lilacs. Nick wasn’t sure if the scent had come from Brooke’s shampoo, perfume, her soap, or if it was just her natural scent. It was one of the last things he continued to love about his wife even after he had managed to get rid of her body without arousing any suspicion. When he arrived home the morning he had committed the deed, soon after he had rid the house of all evidence of any wrongdoing on his part, Nick scrubbed the walls and the carpets to rid the house of that fragrance. Every possible avenue that would lead investigators to Nick had been thoroughly eliminated.

One day later, patrol officers knocked on Nick’s front door responding to a noisy neighbor complaint. What they found was a mystery that they believed solved itself with the exception of one clue; a clue that they nor anyone but you, the reader, could have even called a clue. The officers in question are veteran Officer Jacobs and the rookie Officer Shepard.

“I don’t think anybody’s home,” Shepard said.

“That’s unlikely,” Jacobs responded, “The call came in less than 20 minutes ago.”

“Maybe they think we’ll go away if they keep quiet.”

“Ha, if only that were the case; the ironic thing being that that’s probably what we would have told them to do anyway.”

“I don’t want to come off sounding bored or anything,” Shepard continued as he pounded on the door again, “but is the job usually this quiet?”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve got an itchy trigger finger already.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just feels like my first week has been more about wagging my finger at noisy neighbors than protecting people.”

“You’ll be fine kid. This neighborhood isn’t exactly known for its crime rate.”

Officer Shepard knocked one more time on the door and yelled out that it was the police.

“Looks like we just missed them somehow,” Jacobs commented, “Let’s go get some coffee.”

Shepard walked towards the car when he noticed a splatter of red on the wall through the window. Upon closer inspection he could just make out a hand on the floor just beyond the door that led to the study.

“Jacobs! Come here! I think there’s a body in there!”

“What are you talking about?” Jacobs ran up to the window and peeked where Shepard was pointing. “Oh, my God! Get your gun ready and let’s get this door opened.” The two officers kicked down the door, guns drawn and found that the house, other than Nick’s corpse, was empty.

“Hey, Jacobs, check this out,” Shepard said as he approached the body.

“What is it?”

“His fingers look like they’ve stiffened around the weapon. It looks like one of those letter openers.”

“I guess you can’t say your first week was totally uneventful. Hey, look at this on the desk.”

“Looks like a note.”

“Suicide note. And what looks like some sort of confession,” Jacobs added. Shepard looked over his partner’s shoulder and read the note to himself.

“Jesus… Killed his wife in cold blood and ended up killing himself out of guilt.”

“That’s what it looks like. Gruesome way to go though. I’ve never even heard of stabbing yourself to death except maybe in samurai movies. I’ll go call it in.”

“No, let me. Please. I need the fresh air anyway.”

Shepard rushed outside and nearly threw up into the hedges but instead took a few deep breaths before alerting dispatch of the corpse they had found.

“You okay, rookie?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. But I don’t think I’ll be transferring to homicide anytime soon.”

“I worked homicide a few years back. You never get used to it. There are a couple of things that were a little off though.”

“Like what?”

“The neighbors complained about the noise. I could have sworn it was just a domestic abuse call. And did you see the state of that office?”

“He was pretty messy.”

“Looked more like there was a struggle.”

“Maybe he stuck that letter opener in his chest and realized too late that he didn’t have to. I mean he did have a note and everything. Unless we don’t find the body, all the pieces seem to fit.”

“Maybe. Then there was the smell.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. I mean, I knew corpses would wreak but this one seemed different.”

“’Different’ is definitely the right word.”

The detectives from the homicide division arrived a few minutes later followed shortly by the ambulance to take away Nick’s lifeless corpse. While rookie Officer Shepard patted himself on the back for spotting the corpse on what would be a memorable first week at work, veteran Officer Jacobs finally got himself that cup of coffee. Jacobs sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car spending the rest of the day thinking about the peculiarities of that crime scene. He wondered why a man committing suicide would have to put up such a physical struggle to keep from killing himself and where such a strong scent of lilacs had come from.

Stranded

The following was transcribed from the recordings found in Wreckage Site 20226:

Given the current trajectory of the space station and the computing power installed in her systems, I can calculate to a fraction of an inch and a fraction of a millisecond when and where I will finally crash into earth. This is, of course, assuming that life support systems don’t fail or food rations run out before then. The latter is unlikely as I have more than enough food to feed a crew of three, after all. I started on the calculations a few days ago but decided that there was little point in knowing exactly when one was going to die. I suppose it could be right now if I really wanted it to just end. It’s funny; when the government issues you a cyanide pill you never think you would ever find yourself in a scenario where you would use it. But I’ve found such scenarios repeatedly over the course of the past few weeks. To what do I owe my hesitancy in taking the pill? Is it my natural cowardice or the hope of a fool? Do I fear death or have I deluded myself into thinking that I will hold my family in my arms again?

I’m still not sure why I’m still recording these logs but on the off-chance that this is retrieved by someone, that is if this means anything, I think we had a great run. We humans are always bickering and fighting. Sometimes over large and important things, but in the grand scheme of it all it usually ends up being over small trifles. If you think about it, my scenario is no different than any other human’s ever was in the short history of our planet. We all die, eventually, and a majority of us never know when or in what manner. My situation is just at a different scale… and with a wholly different point of view.

The fragility of our human lives was made all the more apparent on my launch day. Strapped in with my back parallel to the earth I can still feel my heart beating, pounding against my rib cage. I didn’t know if I was more anxious or excited. Ground control counted us down but that did little to calm my nerves so I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and remembered the night before. I remembered feeling my son in my arms, the sweet fragrance of my wife’s hair and their warm embrace. We shared my last meal on earth, my wife’s meatloaf. It was almost too perfect, like everyone knew that this would be my last flight. But it’s difficult to say if it was truly that perfect, or nostalgia has found a way to anesthetize my final days.

When ground control finally said “lift off,” the crew and I let out one last exhale as the entire structure rumbled. You can instantly feel the propulsion of the engines lifting you into the air as your body fought against the force of gravity multiplied by our takeoff. The pressure on my chest felt like the weight of a pickup truck parked on my chest. In flight school, they had taught us to combat the g-forces that would otherwise cause you to black out. A few jolts to the spacecraft and a visual confirmation from ground control meant the stages had successfully decoupled. Earth’s mighty hold had finally let go of us after a few minutes of skyward thrust and I was finally brave enough to open my eyes.

The clear Florida sky surrounded us with few sparse clouds speeding by like wisps of smoke, ghosts of condensation. High into the atmosphere, the sky was at its clearest, the bluest that any human eye has ever seen growing bluer as we reached beyond the stratosphere. They sky was dark velvet pierced by brilliant pinpoints of light in a view that could not have been fathomed by the planet’s most gifted artists. To see the earth and the moon and the sun in a graceful ballet with the stars in the distance is the easiest way to make one feel smaller but in the best possible way. And that first sunrise as it hits the surface of the moon is awe-inspiring. You can always tell who is on their first flight by the tears rolling down their cheek. The gigantic curve of the earth’s horizon shines like pure silver and you witness the draping of the sun’s rays stretch across the Atlantic towards home. This was my fifth launch and I never tire of this view.

While it was my fifth launch, it never gets any less lonely on that first day in space. Imagine your first day at school or work or away from home. Fate has placed you with all these new people that know you as well as you know them, that is to say not very much at all. Fortunately, Colonel Vostok of Russia and Captain Isaacs from Illinois are very reputable in their respective fields and I was right to trust them with my life. Floating in the vacuum in space does little to reduce the longing for human contact, however and it’s usually in the thirtieth hour or so that I miss my wife terrible. We have been inseparable since we first met in college so you can imagine the toll of being separated by miles of sky between us.

Our work in the ISS (International Space Station) Bradbury, while not classified, is still considered highly sensitive information so rather than delve into those sordid details I will tell whoever ends up hearing this that it kept any of us from talking to our loved ones for the first 72 hours of our orbit. When the time finally arrived, we each retreated to our own personal communication stations (a luxury that was ill-afforded to previous ISS generations) and we finally got to make our first comm-call. I don’t remember what was said. All I remember was the sound of her sweet voice and the laughter of my little boy making me ache to get back to earth sooner than I should. I suppose I am though, returning to earth sooner than anticipated that is.

The Event occurred just a few hours after the first waves of meteors knocked us out of our trajectory. Vostok and Isaacs suited up and refused to let me go on the spacewalk with them. Isaacs said it was because we needed someone to relay the situation to ground control from inside the space station just in case another wave were to hit. Vostok confided in me that it did not look safe out there and they had decided that I had to be the last survivor. He intimated that it was because I was the only one with a family waiting for me on earth. I spoke with ground control and told them that our piloting systems were decimated and that Vostok went out to fix it. The communication systems had taken damage as well and Isaacs felt Vostok’s age would prevent him from fixing both before the next wave of meteors came crashing into the station. She rushed outside and managed to get our communications operational again just before the second wave hit. The signal was very weak but it was enough to serve its purpose

“Bozhe moy,” Vostok said through the static. I peeked out of the window and could see him frozen in space. Isaacs looked up and saw the meteors heading right for them.

“Rogers, tell my dad--” She never got to finish her sentence. Bullet-sized meteors ripped them to shreds and one the size of a softball managed to crack Vostok’s helmet. The last I remember of him was the terrified look on his face through the cracked visor of his helmet as his body lifelessly floated by the window. I’ll never know what Isaacs wanted me to tell her father. But I can speculate it’s something along the lines that she loves him. But if her dad ever gets to hear this, then he should know that his daughter is the reason this message got to him. She was right. Vostok never finished his repairs but she did. Captain Isaacs along with Colonel Vostok are heroes. I couldn’t be here creating this final transmission if it wasn’t for them.

It would be approximately eleven hours before The Event occurred and while I can’t imagine the wanton destruction that such massive meteorites could wreak, I can only hope that enough of you survived so that humanity’s book is not yet quite ended. I watched helplessly as the three gigantic asteroids (I’m not sure what you on the surface ended up calling them) tore through the Earth’s atmosphere and absolutely decimated North Africa, much of the northeast of North America, and into the oceans which created waves that I could see from my vantage point. The sheer shock of the witnesses breaks my heart as I can see the earth consume itself. The oceans would have engulfed much of the coasts in the gargantuan tsunamis that would have ensued. The dust that would have kicked up in the Sahara would blot out the sun for most of Europe and parts of Asia. And that final asteroid must have taken out some of the most populous cities in the world with one fell swoop.

From the moment I witnessed the destruction of the planet below me to this very moment the one single memory I will take with me is one I wish I could forget. While, it seems, the worst was over the barrage of meteorites was not. There were numerous showers that could have caused further damage but it’s difficult to tell. The chaos that ensued from the three large meteors had caused me to forget about the communications systems. The only reason I had the wherewithal to record this was that not 45 minutes ago a faint signal buzzed in through the static. It struggled repeatedly and eventually snapped me out of the state of shock I was in. But it wasn’t until I heard my wife’s voice that I found the strength to make my way to my communication station.

“Clark?! Are you there? Please, if you can hear this please let me know if you’re still up there!” she implored. Her voice was breaking, partially due to the static, partially due to crying.

“I’m here, Maggie! I’m here! Oh, God! Can you hear me?!”

“Yes! Yes, I can hear you! Baby, I can hear you! WE can hear you!”

“I love you so much!”

“I love you too! It’s so good to hear your voice!”

“What’s happening down there?”

“All hell’s broke loose! It’s mass panic and rioting! I’m so, so scared!”

“You’re going to be okay!” I didn’t know if it was going to be okay. “You need to find someplace to hide. There’s nothing as big as what’s already struck down headed your way. But there seem to be waves of meteors headed your way. I don’t know when it’s going to stop.”

“Daddy!” my boy called out.

“Daddy’s here, Phillip! I’m right here!”

“I’ll do my best to stay safe. You come home! You hear me? You come home safely!” Maggie was holding back the tears. I heard it in her voice. Phillip was crying his eyes out, at what, I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

“You got it, Maggie! I’m coming home! And Phillip? You take care of your mother until I do! I love you, Maggie! I love you, Phillip! Your daddy loves you and don’t you forget that!”

“I love you, Clark!”

“Daddy,” Phillip hesitated, “I lov--”

And that was it. Another small meteor took out my communications systems for good. Perhaps that was the best way it could have ended. I had said my goodbyes and told them I loved them. There was nothing else to say I suppose… except everything. For all I know, they’re still alive and I just have no way of knowing. In my mind they made it to somewhere safe, somewhere with endless supplies, somewhere where one day they’ll start a new life. Some might call it delusion but I think I’m owed that being stranded in space. Those might be the best kind of endings because it can end anyway you’d like it to. I don’t know if this will ever be found but if it has, this is Captain Clark Rogers of the ISS Bradbury, husband to Maggie Rogers and father to Phillip Rogers. And son, I lov--