The Anonymous Reviewer

An Eleventh Doctor Fanfic

Tracey reread the chapter one more time. She was sure there were no spelling errors, no grammatical errors, and most importantly, no factual inaccuracies. With a weary sigh, she hit "submit" and waited.

She used to enjoy writing fan fiction stories, and sharing them on various websites. She loved the worlds that the science fiction shows created, and her fantasies about the characters led naturally to her writing her own stories about them. She looked forward to the emails that informed her of comments and reviews that let her know people were reading and, mostly, enjoying her efforts. She had even struck up online friendships with some of the other regular users, sharing ideas and tips in community groups.

But just lately, some of her reviews had become markedly less friendly. Somebody was reading through her entire collection of Star Trek stories and adding reviews that were often scathingly critical. And they were doing so anonymously, their reviews showing up as "guest" where they weren't signing in.

Tracey had no problem accepting criticism, she welcomed a few constructive pointers, but she liked people to put their name, or at least, their online username, to it. Goodness knows, she had read through some tripe on the fan sites, and sometimes let the author know of her views (keeping her comments polite and constructive, of course), but never anonymously.

Her laptop pinged, letting her know there was a fresh email in her in-box. That was quick, she thought, and with a sigh, opened the message. Sure enough, it was a review on the latest chapter of her latest Star Trek story, the one she had submitted not two minutes ago.

*Not a bad effort,* it read, *but seriously - a memory modifying ray? Do you really think James T Kirk would use such a thing against somebody? Also, you must do your research properly - a Glock would not fire in the way you're describing. You must be thinking of something more like the old six-shooters.*

Tracey took a deep breath. That wasn't as bad as some. The author of these reviews (she could tell it was the same person by the tone) was often quite belittling in the manner of his criticism, as though he wanted her to feel stupid, as though he thought that he knew everything about everything and his opinions were incontrovertible.

In her mind's eye, he was a fat, middle-aged man still living with his parents - looking and sounding a lot like the guy who runs the comic shop in the Simpsons.

However, he was not getting away with saying these things. Tracey hit "reply."

*Thank you, guest reviewer, for your comments. Number one, I am sure that by the 24th Century, Glocks will have changed considerably, and the manufacturers may well have brought out a six-shooter. As to whether memory modifying rays are possible, let me point you to a key word here; science fiction. As in, made up. If I want a memory modifying ray, or an instant diet ray or any other type of ray, I'll have one!*

Hitting "send" more forcefully than necessary, Tracey stomped off to make a cup of tea.

By the time she returned, there was another new message.

*Tetchy, aren't we? Number one, I've been to the 24th Century, and Glocks are not six-shooters. The manufacturer went out of business centuries ago. Number two - you made a point number one but failed to follow it up with a number two, which is rather inconsistent, don't you think?*

Blood boiling, Tracey hit "reply" again.

*You haven't been to the 24th Century, you weirdo! Why don't you log on properly so I can see who you are, read some of your stories, return the favour with the reviews, maybe?*

Huh, I bet he won't, Tracey mused. I bet he doesn't even write. People who write are a bit more sympathetic to other people's efforts.

Several minutes passed. Tracey played a couple of games to calm herself. There was no point getting worked up over this guy; everyone was entitled to their opinion, however idiotic. She was just about to turn off her laptop and go do something else when her in-box pinged again.

*I can go one better than just telling you who I am,* it said, simply.

From behind came a loud VWOORP VWOORP, and, with a sickening crunch and a short but agonised squeak, a blue police box appeared where moments ago there had been a coffee table with a hamster cage on it.

Tracey just stared, gob-smacked, as the door opened and out stepped a young-ish man with over-long floppy hair dressed like her grand dad in tweeds and bow tie.

"Hello," he called cheerfully, as if materialising in a person's living room was entirely normal. "You're Trekkie793, I take it? I'm the Doctor."

In two long strides, he was across the room and pumping furiously on Tracey's limp and unresisting hand.

"Nice place you have here," he commented, seemingly oblivious to the destruction caused by his arrival.

"Nrrrg," was all Tracey could manage. She knew exactly who the Doctor was, had watched all the shows, but to find him in the flesh, in her living room, apparently real, was too much for her.

Finally realising his host was in shock, he indicated her half empty mug on the dining table, next to the lap-top.

"Drink your tea," he said gently, "it'll help."

"You're the anonymous reviewer?" Tracey asked, when at last she found her voice.

The pair were sitting awkwardly on the couch now, each squished up against opposite ends. The living room was quite small, and the Doctor found that he couldn't stretch out his legs without kicking the Tardis, so he had them tucked uncomfortably underneath him.

"Mm-hmm." The Doctor was wary now - he wasn't exactly getting the warm welcome he'd hoped for.

Tracey pointed at the blue box.

"You realise my daughter's hamster was under there?" she demanded.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. How am I meant to explain that when she gets home, eh?"

The Doctor sighed loudly.

"What now?" Tracey's voice was still hard, annoyed.

"This isn't how I pictured it," he told her. "I thought, I'd pop in, you'd give me tea and a biscuit - those little Garibaldi ones, maybe - and we'd talk Star Trek."

"Star Trek. You're a Trekkie?"

"The original. I'm Trekkie1, if you must know. And none of that Next Generation nonsense, either. And don't even get me started on Voyager…"

Tracey smiled despite herself. She could spend until Christmas listing everything that was wrong with that series, but she had a more pressing question.

"You read fanfic, though? Aren't you a bit too busy for that sort of thing?"

The Doctor pointed to himself.

"Time Lord? I've got all the time I want, and then some. I love to read. Especially sci-fi. I like to pull all the plots apart."

"I've noticed."

"You don't like a bit of healthy criticism?"

"To be honest, the way you say some of it is just plain rude."

"Oh."

"And far too picky. What does it matter whether the things are real or possible or factually accurate - surely you should just enjoy it, as it is?"

Tracey began warming to her theme. "Anyway, you can talk - look at you! Your assistants always wander off when you tell them not to; you always say you can't meddle, and then do exactly that; the Earth's had so many aliens hidden in its crust or its core it's a wonder the planet's not riddled with holes like a cheese…"

"Okay, I get it! Anyway, all that can be explained away by timey-wimey stuff. Each event creates its own reality, like a parallel universe…"

"Well, in Star Trek's parallel universe, Kirk finds a memory modifying ray!"

"Fine!"

"Fine."

The Doctor sighed again.

"Look, if I promise to log on, and be nice, can I carry on reading your stories?"

"Sure. It's a free world."

"And, can I be your friend on Facebook?"

"Seriously?"

"Well, I don't have many - people think I'm a hoaxer and refuse my requests…"

"Okay, you can carry on reviewing my stories - nicely - and I'll add you to my Facebook."

The Doctor's face broke into a happy, boyish grin.

"Excellent! Can I go on your laptop now and do my Candy Crush?"

A ping from the in-box startled Tracey awake. She sat up, wiped a bit of drool from the laptop's touch-pad, and looked around blearily. Her half-drunk tea was cold beside her. She turned, and saw her coffee table, intact, with her daughter's hamster happily running in the wheel. It was getting late - her daughter would be in from school soon.

With a yawn and a stretch, Tracey stood, planning to make a fresh cup of tea. When she reached over to turn the laptop off, she noticed there was a new message - another review - and sat down again to read it.

This time, it wasn't anonymous, it was from Trekkie1.

*Story's coming along nicely, well done - can't wait to find out what Kirk does with his memory modifying ray! I hope you wouldn't mind looking at a couple of my stories and giving an opinion - I'm pasting a link below.

Kind Regards,

The Doctor.*