Chapter 2: Who's Harvey?
The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and into the Leviathan's darkened cargo bay. As he roamed through the empty corridors searching for signs of life, he noted the damage done throughout the ship. Access panels had been forced open and cables had been purposely damaged. It was surprising the ship still possessed the power needed to starburst when it did. The crew had obviously performed some fancy footwork to keep Moya going despite all obstacles. He stopped to place a hand on the wall and sought to make mental contact with her. It was very similar to conversing with the TARDIS, and the main impulse that came across was the Leviathan's pain and fear of being further hurt.
"Moya, it's okay, girl," he spoke to her softly. "I'm not here to harm you. I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help. Zhaan sent me. She wanted me to make sure her family was okay." At those words, he heard and felt the ship softly sigh. "I'm so sorry I didn't make it here sooner. Probably could have prevented all this. But I'll do what I can to help make it better. You have my word."
The Doctor patted the wall reassuringly, then began walking again. As he turned a corner, he came upon what had to be one of the smallest crew members aboard the ship. He stooped down and waved his hand in greeting.
"Hello there. Moya send you to check me out?"
It was a Diagnostic Repair Drone , better known as a DRD. The little, yellow bug-shaped robot appeared to study him with its two light probe antennae. It extended its utility arm and pointed what was probably a scanner at him. After a quick inspection, it made a few beeping sounds then turned around and headed down the corridor. The Doctor stood back up and began to follow.
"By all means, take me to your leader."
A few twists and turns later, the guiding DRD stopped in front of an open doorway. It turned towards the doctor for a moment waiting for him to catch up, then pointed its utility arm towards the opened door as if suggesting the visitor enter the area.
"In here?" the Doctor asked as he peered inside the semi-darkened room. He received one beep from the robot, then it turned and headed back the way it had come. The Doctor stepped slowly inside, thankful that the door didn't slam shut behind him. He felt relieved that he had not been just lead into a prison cell. As he glanced about, he saw shelves lined with incense and candles, plus a large selection of bottles and vessels containing a variety of herbs and potions. As he moved around a table, he saw an open closet area housing several long robes, scarves and a few pairs of slippers. He recognized one heavy, very colorful robe as the type worn by Delvian priests. He realized that he was in Zhaan's room. There was a mirror just off to the side where he caught a glimpse of movement behind him. He spun around quickly and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
"Who the frell are you and what are you doing aboard this ship?" came the low growl of the gun's owner.
The Doctor raised his hands in surrender and looked past the barrel of the pulse pistol to the six-foot tall man dressed in a black T-shirt, leather vest and pants with a grim and deadly expression on his face. "Hello," the Time Lord replied in his most disarming voice, "there's really no need for that. I'm unarmed and completely harmless." He thought about that statement and shrugged. "Well, not completely harmless. I have been known to...." Destroy entire worlds with little more than a sonic screwdriver, he thought to himself but decided he shouldn't make that particular confession out loud. "Never mind. I assure you, I come in peace."
"You're a Peacekeeper?"
"I do try to keep the peace wherever I go, but I'm afraid it doesn't always work out."
The holder of the gun lowered it slightly as he looked the Doctor up and down, just barely able to make out the pinstripes of his suit in the dim light. "You're out of uniform."
"Oh, I don't do uniforms," the Doctor professed as he tucked his hands inside his pockets and struck a nonchalant pose. "Strictly suit and ties for me. Except for the occasional weekends and casual Fridays when I dump the tie and long-sleeve shirts for a bit more relaxed look."
The gun was raised to his head again as the person holding it began to lose patience. "I'm not going to ask again. Who the frell are you and what are you doing on this ship?"
"I'm the Doctor. Zhaan sent me."
The gunman cocked his head curiously. "Zhaan?"
"Yes. Or rather her spirit. I met Zhaan's spirit right after the Pathfinder ship exploded. She wanted me to look in on her family to make sure you guys were all right. And who might you be?"
"Captain James T. Kirk."
"Pleased to meet you, Captain Kirk. Do you mind?" The Doctor nodded towards the gun, wanting it safely redirected away from his head. "I assure you I'm unarmed and mean you no.... Wait... did you say Captain James T. Kirk?" The Doctor questioned, realizing the significance of the name. "Were your parents Trekkies? Oh, I love Star Trek. I have the entire collection on micro disc."
The gun lowered completely as the man claiming to be Captain Kirk lifted his chin and eyed the tall, slim fellow in the pin-striped suit with less trepidation. An uneasy frown stretched across his face as he shook his head in disgust and holstered his pistol.
"Not funny, Harvey."
"I said, it's not funny. I'm not in the mood for your games, Harvey, so go away."
"I'm sorry. I think you may have me confused with someone else. I'm the Doctor, not Harvey, whoever he is."
"Whatever," the gunman sighed and turned away with sudden disinterest. He walked over to the bed where he lay down and flung an arm across his face to cover his eyes.
The Doctor cautiously approached and silently studied his new acquaintance for a moment. "You must be Crichton," he surmised, but received no type of response in return. "Zhaan said that you might be the most upset over her death," the Doctor continued. "She said that you felt responsible for the collision."
"Just had to get that wormhole data," Crichton confessed ruefully. "They're not like busses. You miss one, there's not another one coming in just a few minutes. It was suppose to have been just a quick flyby, thirty minutes tops to record data, then straight off to that planet to put Zhaan in soil so she could get better. Not sure what went wrong. Maybe we got a little too close and just got sucked in. Next thing you know... Pathfinder ship came out of nowhere."
"So you didn't purposely fly into the wormhole?"
"Of course not. I could do that with my Farscape module, but I would never have tried to fly Moya through that. She's not built for it."
"So, it really wasn't your fault then."
"Wish I could believe that. I've done nothing but screw up since I left Earth."
"When was that? What year?"
Crichton blew out a deep sigh and said, "Go away, Harve. I'm not in the mood."
"I told you, I'm not Harvey. I'm the Doctor."
Crichton moved his arm away from his eyes to look up at what he considered to be a new variation of his imaginary nemesis. He had to admit to himself that the image of the man in front of him looked nothing like Harvey who had always held the appearance of the half-Scarran Scorpius. Why Harvey would suddenly change into something completely human and not at all intimidating was a bit perplexing.
"You're a doctor now?"
"A doctor of sorts, but it's more my name than my profession."
"Right." Crichton folded his arms beneath his head and crossed his ankles in a more relaxed position on the bed. "Well, at least you're a lot less scary looking than Harvey."
"Thank you.... So, exactly who is Harvey?"
"You don't know who Harvey is?"
"Well, I have known some Harveys in my time and it's possible I might know your Harvey. But you'll have to narrow it down for me."
Crichton stared up at the Doctor for a moment, considering just who or what he was. He claimed to be a doctor of sorts and that Zhaan had sent him to help. Perhaps he was the opposite of Harvey. Whereas Harvey had only been interested in obtaining wormhole knowledge and passing it along to Scorpius, this new visual element seemed more interested in his mental well-being. Perhaps it was his mind's way of dealing with Zhaan's death and the oppressive guilt he felt over her loss. He saw the lips move and heard the voice question him once again in a very calm and soothing voice. "Tell me, Crichton, who's Harvey?"
Crichton rested his hands on his chest and focused his eyes on the ceiling as he spoke. "Harvey is the remnants of a neural implant Scorpius stuck in my head to retrieve the wormhole information that the Ancients placed in my mind without my knowledge. People just love to mess around in my brain. Don't know what the big attraction is. Guess cause I'm the only Earth man in the entire galaxy. On one hand they all think I'm inferior and on the other hand, they seem to all think I got what it takes to master wormholes. That frelling neural implant wormed it's way through my brain searching for something buried so deep I didn't even have a clue it was there. Then it took over my thoughts, made me hurt people I cared about, made me kill...." Crichton's voice trailed off, not wanting to go into details about that last part. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and continued telling his story. "Scorpius removed the implant and I thought Harvey went with it. But, he stayed behind or got trapped inside my head. He can be a pain in the ass at times because he doesn't really like me and he knows I hate him. But he can also be helpful. I can bounce ideas off him, ask for advice. It's weird. I thought I could control him, have him come out only when I wanted him to, but... guess that's not the case anymore."
"I take it only you can see or hear him?"
"That's why I named him Harvey, after the 6 foot tall, invisible rabbit in an old movie from Earth."
"That Harvey!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Now I get it. Jimmy Stewart starred. Loved that movie. Harvey was Elwood P. Dowd's giant pooka friend that no one else could see, so his family tried to have him committed to a mental...." The Doctor paused, suddenly realizing what it all meant. "Wait, wait, wait! You believe I'm a variation of Harvey, don't you? You think I'm a pooka, that I'm not real."
The truth was obvious in the despondent eyes of the poor soul in front of him. Crichton's mind had been fractured to the point he couldn't tell reality from fantasy. He was a man far from home, victimized by alien technology and left to pick up the pieces on his own. It still remained a mystery why the Ancients would have chosen him to impart wormhole technology especially against his will. There had to be something very special in this human, something that the Ancients saw immediately and something Zhaan felt needed to be nurtured and protected.
Crichton kept his eyes on the ceiling. There was no point in responding to the Doctor's recent comments. Or perhaps there was. Apparently, his mind was trying to analyze itself. Still, it wasn't really necessary to answer aloud. The thing that was a part of his mind would know what he was thinking anyway without him having to verbalize it. "I am real," he heard it say. "You can touch me if you like. See for yourself." Crichton glanced over at him, recalling their first unpleasant meeting when Harvey had come forward to help save him from the Scarran who had been using him for experimentation. Even though Harvey lived only inside the walls of his mind, Crichton could still touch him. They'd had a good fist fight recently which had felt quite real.
Crichton sat up slightly, turned onto his side and propped his head on his opened palm. "So, Doctor, you said Zhaan sent you?"
The Doctor withdrew his right hand which had been offered out for contact. He leaned against a nearby column and folded his arms across his chest. "Yes. She thought that I might be able to help you heal emotionally. I tried to tell her that I'm rubbish at this stuff, but... well, she just seemed to think so highly of you and the rest of your group -- by the way, where are the others?"
Crichton gave a minor shrug. "Wherever I'm not. Don't think anyone wants to be around me now."
"You think they blame you for what happened?"
"Of course they blame me. Even I blame me. This amazing ship nearly destroyed, beautiful Zhaan.... She believed my life was more important than hers. Don't know where she got that stupid idea."
"Doesn't matter where she got the idea. The question is, are you just going to lie there, wallow in your own self-pity and do nothing with the gift she's given you?"
"What's there to do?"
"To start, Moya looks like she's in dire need of repairs."
That was the first sensible thing his abstract mind had come up with so far. Of course, Moya needed repairs. They had done just the minimum to keep life support going and engines online. There was so much more needed to be done that it had felt overwhelming and virtually impossible to get a handle on. Everyone had drifted off to different parts of the ship to mourn Zhaan and deal with their grief in their own way. Crichton sat up, took in a deep breath, and shook off his despair.
"You're right, Slim Jim. Need to stop moping around, feeling sorry for myself and start looking after Moya."
Crichton stood up, ignoring the Doctor's confusion over his new nickname, and headed out of the room. He didn't seem to notice or care if his imaginary friend trailed him or not. The Doctor followed as far as the entrance to Zhaan's room, then merely stood in the doorway trying to decide if he had actually done enough or if he should stick with Crichton a bit longer. If nothing else, he should probably seek out the other crew members. Hopefully, the rest of them would not assume he was merely a figment of their imagination. Before he could decide which direction to take next, he heard a deep, male voice booming over the intercom. "Aeryn, Crichton, Chiana come to the forward storage bay, now! There's something strange going on here."
"Oh, I bet I know what that's about," the Doctor mused. He saw Crichton near the end of the corridor do a sudden u-turn and began running full speed in the opposite direction, passing by him without a second glance. "Oooh, running!" the Doctor grinned with anticipation. "I love running." He took after Crichton, easily matching his fast stride and already knowing where they were heading. Undoubtedly, the TARDIS had just been discovered and an investigation of its appearance and intent was underway. The Doctor stopped just short of the doorway of the storage bay. Considering the unfriendly welcoming he had received from Crichton, he decided to take a moment to gage the mentality of the rest of the crew from a safe distance. He peered around the corner of the opened door and saw his beloved TARDIS surrounded by a small group of aliens, each representing a different species.
The pretty, young, gray girl he recognized as a Nebari, a race of aliens that were considered to be the ultimate control freaks. With the Nebari, you either conformed or they would make you conform. Standing next to the young Nebari in a protective stance was a Luxan, holding a long, pointy weapon at the ready. Luxans were a warrior race not normally known for playing well with others. On the opposite side of the TARDIS was a slender, dark-haired, attractive woman who appeared to be very much human. The Doctor knew that looks could be deceiving. He himself was always being mistaken for a human. The possibly human woman had a fierce expression on her face as she stood with her gun drawn and pointed cautiously at the TARDIS. Floating several feet above the floor on a small, motorized throne was a Hynerian, a self-indulgent, amphibian race that enjoyed the finer things in life.
The Doctor smiled to himself, totally amazed at the variety of species present, knowing that they had come together as strangers and ended up a tight knit family. They may have been temporarily driven apart due to the events of Zhaan's death, but they had quickly put away their own personal problems and banded together to rally against the perceived threat of an unknown entity. He folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the door to listen to the crew's reaction to the strange, blue box in their midst.
"What the frell...?" was Crichton's response. Not quite as wary as the others, he was the only one willing to walk up and make contact with the box. He ran his hand along one edge and asked, "Where did this come from?"
"Was hoping you knew," said the Luxan. "Rygel discovered it while sneaking around looking for his secret food stash."
"I wasn't sneaking," said Rygel indignantly. "Crichton, these symbols at the top, they look like some of the writing on your space module."
Crichton stared up at the words at the top of the blue box and shook his head in confusion. "Police Call Box?" He stepped back and took a good look at the box. "This looks like one of those old-fashioned telephone booths from the sixties over in England."
"Are you saying that this thing is from Earth?" asked the dark-haired female.
"I don't know. Maybe it was aboard the Pathfinder ship and somehow got left behind when we separated."
"Maybe it's some kind of weird escape pod holding their research," the Nebari suggested. "Something they want their people to find."
"Then we should get rid of it right away," the Hynerian spoke up. "Drag it to the nearest hatch and shove it out."
The Doctor didn't like where the conversation was headed. He decided it was time to make his presence known. Just as he was about to step inside the room, he heard the voice of a female mumbling angrily as she came from just around the corridor behind him. "Where is everyone? No one cares if I --"
The voice abruptly stopped as its owner, a red-headed female of an unfamiliar species came face to face with a tall, slim stranger. The Doctor put on a big smile and held out his hand to shake. Before he could utter his friendly greeting, the redhead opened her mouth wide and let out an ear splitting scream. The Doctor covered his ears as the scream became steadily louder and higher pitched. The shrill screech pierced through his hands and into his skull causing unbearable pain. He dropped to his knees in agony, his senses completely overwhelmed by the dizzying noise. By the time the screaming had finally stopped, the Doctor lay unconscious on the floor of the living ship surrounded by its confused, alarmed and well-armed crew.