Fanfiction: Doctor Who: The Fall 4/?
Title: The Fall
Author: Unknown Kadath, aka kadath_or_bust
Word Count: 4,300
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters: The Doctor (Eighth), Romana III, original characters
Summary: Long before Gallifrey burned, the Time War and so much more was lost in a single day-the day Arcadia fell.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, or any characters from the Chronicles of Narnia
Chapter One: Flight of the Wild Jailbird Chapter Two: Lords of Time Chapter Three: Voyage to Arcadia
Chapter Four: Convergence
17. Brave New World
“Approaching Arcadia, Ma’am,” said Elah. Then, stepping for a moment out of her role as the deferential Commander, “I’d like-I’d like to see it, if I may.”
Romana smiled, a little sadly. The time was coming when that role would end. Very soon. Elah would leave behind her promising career and all that went with it, heading for a new future.
Time to start letting go.
“Of course,” she replied. She nodded to the ensign manning the comm station, and he brought up the full visual array.
The pearly walls of the Skylark vanished, replaced by the dark of space, stars drifting under their feet as if they walked through vacuum. Even the sounds of the bridge seemed muffled, swallowed by a silence that was almost a sound in itself.
And before them … the Medusa Cascade. Swirls of gas and dust, softly lit by young stars and the particle excitation of the Great Rift, veils of color shrouding something like a gleaming flower. A delicate confection of silver filigree and spun glass, shining with all the colors of the nebula but magnified, and with a deep rose glow of its own at its heart.
Arcadia.
It was an artificial habitat, great crystal domes filled with forests, meadows, oceans, and deserts, all strung together. The rose glow was the light of a captive sun, held in a tiny fold of space at the center. It was still listed on the charts as the Bognor Regis system, a red dwarf star circled by a small planetoid. Once the planetoid had been home to a pre-Rassilon era Gallifreyan colony, before the gravitational stresses of the rift had broken it apart. The population had been evacuated to Arcadia station, which in turn had incorporated the debris as it grew. The star had become the heart of Arcadia. It gave the station its light, heat, and fueled its chrononic generators. Those generators, in turn, powered Arcadia’s shields, and made it an impregnable fortress guarding the Rift.
Romana stood and went to Elah’s side. She took the young woman’s hand. It no longer mattered if they maintained the public appearance of discipline. That part of Elah’s life was over.
“It’s very beautiful,” said Elah. The lights illuminated her face softly, making her look younger than she was. A wondering child, on the verge of her first steps into a new life. She soaked up the sight, drinking it with her eyes.
She would never see it this way again.
Romana didn’t look at Arcadia. She could see it again. And right now, she put far less value in fortresses than in the young woman at her side, the daughter of her lost friend and a friend herself. Friends were hard to come by for a President of Gallifrey, still harder for a President at war.
She was glad, now, that the Omicron had been delayed. She wouldn’t have dared to let the Doctor out of her sight, and he would have brooded and moralized, spoiling the moment.
At length, Elah turned to her. Tears had made shining tracks down her cheeks, but her voice was steady.
“I’m ready, Romana,” she said.
“All right.” Romana swallowed, fighting back tears of her own as if she were some sort of ape-descendant, and gave the order to take them in.
18. A Three-Hour Tour
“And then the Toclofane King returned to the Vortex, leaving little Thoralindalinor the magic data-crystals that told her how to build her very own TARDIS. And she did build it, and she flew it all the way home to Gallifrey, where she applied herself to her studies and never had any adventures, ever again, and she became a mid-level public servant and lived as a productive member of society ever after. The end,” said Loryan. “There. Are you happy?”
Arkeros, who had been listening with wide, rapt eyes, made a face. “I didn’t like the way it ended. Tell me another.”
Loryan sputtered. “If you think I have nothing better to do than sit her and tell nursery tales to savages-“
Arkeros made a low snarling noise in the back of her throat, curling up her lip just enough to show a fang. She hefted the distronic rifle.
Loryan’s jaw snapped shut. He gritted his teeth, struggling to control his temper. “What do you want to hear?” he ground out.
“There’s ‘The Five Hundred Hearts of Lord Barankarinin,’” suggested Drax.
Loryan looked like he was about to tell Drax to shut up, but another growl from Arkeros stopped him. “I wanna hear it,” she said.
The Doctor would have liked to have told Loryan to stop whining and humor her. After all, there was nothing worse than a bored ‘Puuka. But he supposed Loryan had already figured that out.
Anyway, his mouth was duct-taped shut.
His escape attempts had kept her amused for a few hours. There had been five in all. Some of them had almost worked. He was especially proud of the one with the rubber duck, the piece of string, and the time-loop.
The sedative had worn off much faster than Loryan had expected. The Doctor had always metabolized such things quickly. And he had a counter-charm in his pocket which protected him from Arkeros’ spell-fortunately, she wasn’t terribly good at magic.
In the end he’d gotten desperate and used the sonic neuro-disrupter. He’d built it in the tree on Malgeon, just in case, and he’d been as surprised as Arkeros when it actually worked. Well, as surprised as Arkeros had been in the brief interval before it rendered her unconscious. Unfortunately, Loryan’s enhanced nervous system wasn’t affected.
He and Arkeros had started to go through the Doctor’s pockets after they’d subdued him, making sure he didn’t have any more nasty tricks. “Rassilon,” muttered Loryan. “The dimensions of his clothes are worse than a derelict TARDIS. I think he’s in violation of at least ten safety regulations, and that’s only his waistcoat. We’re going to be here all day.”
Arkeros had rolled her eyes. “No we ain’t,” she said. “An’ they says Time Lords is clever. Pfah!”
“What?” said Loryan.
“Just take off his clothes,” sighed Arkeros.
So he’d ended up in his underthings, wrapped in duct tape from head to toe to keep him out of trouble.
That left Arkeros with nothing to do. She tried arm-wrestling with Loryan (who had reminded her that her neck was broken, and been informed that it had got better) and lost. She knew Loryan was stronger than her, so the Doctor wondered if she’d done it just to put him off his guard.
Shortly after that, when Loryan wasn’t looking, she’d shifted into the little cat (it seemed no one had bothered to tell the lieutenant that she was a shapeshifter) and darted under a chair behind him. And while he was looking around, trying to figure out where she’d gone, she’d gone back to humanoid form and whacked him over the head with the chair. It had only stunned him for a moment, but Arkeros only needed a moment. Loryan found himself staring down the wrong end of his own weapon. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d done it.
And the festivities had commenced.
The Doctor started humming the theme from “Gilligan’s Island” behind his duct tape. Loryan glared at him, but Arkeros laughed, and started to sing along.
19. Utopia
The Docks of Arcadia were in the top half of a bio-sphere, more artificial than most, with carefully maintained parks above and levels of machinery below. The main concourse was a vast area, high-ceilinged and open, with one wall a great curving pane of transparent titanium through which the nebula could be seen. Spurs of metal protruded from it at intervals, providing mooring and airlocks for larger ships, and double-layered ports allowed smaller vessels to come inside. Far beyond the window, the force-shields shimmered as dust was atomized against them. Nothing could get through; not dust, not Daleks.
The Docks were decorated in the Arcadian style-bright colors, vibrant purples and teals and golds, lines more simplified and abstract than any Gallifreyan structure. But there were signs everywhere of an empire at war. Battered ships and injured soldiers, black uniforms and battlecruisers. Silver servo-droids bustled among them, pushing float-pallets of cargo and supplies.
Elah stared around her in wonder. She’d already lived longer than her mother, Romana realized with a pang, and she’d seen so much less of the universe.
The War would end soon, she caught herself thinking, maybe then-but no.
“My Lady President.” A tall, thin woman of middle years in a body-suit of magenta and aquamarine swirls approached them, trailed by a phalanx of functionaries with data-pads. Jaelin Thross, Arcadia’s Chief Administrator.
“Administrator,” said Romana.
“Welcome back to Arcadia,” said Thross, grabbing a data-pad from the man at her left. She had a clipped, no-nonsense manner, and hair as steel-gray as her skin. “The Charalin, Movellan, Drorsh and Qanuk delegations have arrived. The Ganedans are en route and will be here within the hour. No word on the Hewans.”
“I see,” said Romana. This could be another job for Palanzar. Though in truth, the Hewans were not as important to the war effort as the Ganedans. “Any reports from the Special Research Project?”
Thross’s lips compressed briefly. She was not privy to the details of the SRP, which irked her, but she would live with it. “I believe there are several routine reports awaiting your attention. And Commander Xyritu would like you to inspect the Vault.”
“Thank you. Tell her I’ll meet with her this evening, if the negotiations permit. In the meantime, I’d like to greet the Ganedans personally.”
“Of course,” said Thross, inclining her head. “If you’ll come this way, Madame President?”
Elah pulled her eyes away from the scenery and made to follow, but Romana held up her hand. “Go explore,” she said. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it, you know.”
The young woman hesitated just a moment, torn. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Thank you.”
20. The Vault
The Vault was only a small section of the SRP, but it was the most heavily guarded. The entire project had its own small sphere of Arcadia, most of it devoted to security, a fortress within the fortress. And the Vault was another fortress within that.
The Vault was buried at the heart of the SRP sphere, surrounded by empty corridors. It was constantly guarded by two soldiers, no less, no more. The soldiers didn’t know what was inside. Only a few select researchers had permission, or indeed any legitimate business, to enter this section of the sphere; anyone else was to be shot on sight.
Relgan and Durok were the two guards currently on duty. It was a difficult assignment, combining unending boredom with the unending fear of something … interesting … happening. Relgan wished it were someone else’s job. After all, it was supposed to be impossible to get into the Vault.
More importantly, from his perspective, it was supposed to be impossible for anything to get out.
“Do you feel that, Durok?” he asked. The air felt like … like an ionizer going wrong. It prickled, and he could taste something like metal and electricity at the back of his throat. It had been building up for weeks, but it was worse than ever today.
“Feel what?” said Durok.
“Like … never mind.” Relgan didn’t want to mention that sometimes he thought he saw things moving out of the corners of his eyes. Or flashes of pale blue light, like sparks, dancing over the doors.
Durok didn’t seem bothered by it. Or maybe he was, it was hard to tell. He’d become very withdrawn the last few days. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and then he responded in monotones and monosyllables. Probably the stress, getting to him.
Damned corridors. They had bright lights, but somehow they just made the place seem darker, full of shadowed corners. But that was all it was. Just shadows, even if sometimes they seemed to move. After all, if anything were really there, the scanners would have picked up on-
There was a distinct crackle from behind Relgan. He spun, and saw energy sizzling over the triple-layer duralinium doors.
“Durok!” he said. “Look out! There’s-no! No!”
From the shadows of the corridor emerged shapes that were not shadows.
Relgan tried to raise his gun and go for his comm unit simultaneously, fumbling both. And then Durok had grabbed him, pushing him face-first against the doors of the Vault.
As the energy surged through his body, his last coherent thought as Relgan was that now he knew what was hidden within.
It was the end. Of everything.
21. Honored Guests
“We have the Orange-Crimson and the Omicron on approach, Madam President,” said Thross, checking her wrist-comm. “Omicron materializing now.”
A soft scraping noise, like the fabric of space and time being gently eased aside, sounded from further down the concourse. A silvery orb appeared and split open. A technician emerged, pushing a blue wooden box on a gravity sled.
Thross raised an eyebrow.
“He’s a bit eccentric,” explained Romana. She always seemed to be explaining the Doctor. “Hail the-“
Four more figures had emerged from the Omicron.
“Er, wait just a moment,” she amended.
There were two Time Lords, one in a technician’s uniform and one in Spacefleet black with a Lieutenant’s stripes, each carrying an end of a length of plas-steel conduit. Attached to the conduit, like the guest of honor at a cannibal’s dinner party, was a figure with familiar chestnut curls and angry blue eyes. The hair, eyes, and nose were the largest exposed area of the captive. The rest was swathed in a silvery-gray utility tape, like a mechanic trying to turn into a butterfly. But he didn’t appear to be wearing much under the tape.
Behind this spectacle swaggered the leather-jacketed little ‘Puuka. She was carrying a distronic rifle of Gallifreyan military make, eyeing the Docks from under the brim of her hat like she was thinking of moving in.
“My Lady President,” said the lieutenant, obviously a bit overwhelmed by her presence. He tried to salute and accidentally dropped his end of the pole. The Doctor made a muffled sound of protest as his head hit the floor.
“Lieutenant …” sighed Romana.
“Loryan, ma’am!” He saluted again as he tried to pick up the pole, and dropped it again.
“Loryan. Are you familiar with the concept of decorum? No, on second thought, I don’t want to know,” interrupted Romana as he started to explain. “ I said I don’t want to know. Take him to Conference Room Three and give him back his clothes,” she raised a despairing eyebrow at the bundle of green-stained garments Arkeros was carrying, “and I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Yes, my Lady President!” said Loryan. This time, when he saluted, he managed to keep hold of the pole.
Arkeros doffed her hat in passing. “Romana,” she drawled.
“I will be with you shortly,” repeated Romana, “to settle the matter of your fee.”
The ‘Puuka nodded and continued on her way. Romana shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. No matter what she did, anything involving the Doctor always turned into either a disaster or a circus-usually both.
“All right,” she said, as the Doctor and his escort retreated from sight. Thross said absolutely nothing, with the air of one being too polite to comment. “Hail the Ganedan vessel.”
Thross flicked a button on her wrist-comm and stepped back discretely as a hologram-window appeared before Romana and a sonic exclusion-field flickered into being around her. The Archon of Ganeda blinked at her with a single pearly eye, its facial tentacles flushing in greeting.
“Archon Vermillion,” said Romana. “Welcome to Arcadia. It is an honor to have you here.”
“Lady President,” hissed Vermillion, spots of orange swelling and receding across its skin. “The honor is mine. Especially if you have a bottle of Arcadian whiskey for me.”
“Would I forget?” asked Romana, smiling. “I’m glad to see you, old friend.”
Vermillion reached out and hit a control out of sight. A flashing icon in the corner of the hologram indicated that the line was now secure. “I would not abandon you,” it said. “But I have sacrificed much that the Senate would agree to offer you aid.”
“I’m grateful,” said Romana. Through the hologram, she could see the red gleam of the Orange-Crimson approaching the Docks. “But were they that strongly opposed?”
The orange patches faded, turned a pale blue. A sign Vermillion was troubled. “This is an ugly war, and growing uglier. It was not meant to take so long, or to cost so much. You told us the Daleks could not prevail against the might of Gallifrey.”
“They can’t. I promise you that. We’ve destroyed all of their strongholds, now, it’s only a matter of time before the remnants of their forces follow.”
Vermillion nodded. “My people are still willing to trust in you. For the moment. But there are rumors your power is not secure. There are rumors of a vote of no confidence, of a special election. And Kolthan, no one trusts.”
“Lord Kolthan,” said Romana shortly, “is the leader of a small minority of radical dissidents, and I intend to make sure he stays that way. The High Council may talk of backing his bid for power, but it’s an idle threat. He’s far too much of a loose cannon for them. They dislike me for being a radical; they’ll never accept him.”
A sudden vibration ran through the floor under Romana’s feet. She craned her neck to see if there was a ship docking, but saw nothing. Then an alarm began blaring, the lights in the concourse flashing orange.
22. Family
“Ow! Ow, that hurts! No no no no, not like that, use the sonic screwdriver!”
“All right, all right. Quit yer moanin’. It’s got a settin’ for duct tape?”
“I would hardly carry duct tape if I didn’t have a setting for removing it, now would I? Five hundred and twelve. Ow!”
“Oops …”
The guard outside the door finished checking Elah’s ID. “You can go in, Commander,” he said, giving her a look that plainly said, But why would you want to?
Inside, she found a technician and a Spacefleet lieutenant watching as Arkeros helped the Doctor out of an imprisoning cocoon of tape. She appeared to have gotten the settings wrong, initially; his hair was still smoldering.
He looked older than the last time she’d seen him. She wondered if it was from the passage of time (you never knew anymore how much had passed for the other person) or strain. Or perhaps it was only the bitterness in his expression.
“Doctor,” she said, suddenly a bit shy.
“Elah!” he exclaimed. His face suddenly lit up, and he bounded over to her, half-hopping and trying to get the last of the tape off his legs. Apart from the tape, he was wearing only a pair of question-mark boxer shorts. He flung his arms around her. “Elah, it’s been too long! Look at you, all grown up!”
She hugged him back. “Uncle! I was grown up the last time you saw me.”
“Yes, but look at you now!” He held her out at arm’s length, brushing his fingers against the commander’s insignia on her uniform. His expression darkened as he looked at it.
“And look at you,” she chided. “What happened to your clothes?”
The Doctor scowled like a sulky child and pointed at Arkeros. “She took them.”
Arkeros grinned, picked up a bundle of clothes from a chair, and tossed them to him. Elah decided she didn’t want to know. She hadn’t expected the little alien to succeed in bringing in the Doctor, although Romana had thought she’d stood a good chance.
“Ma’am,” said the lieutenant, saluting a bit stiffly. Elah was used to this; she was half-alien, and very few pureblooded Time Lords liked the fact that she was serving with them-even the ones she didn’t outrank. But most of them, like this man, gritted their teeth and kept military discipline. “Is the Lady President coming to take custody of the prisoner?”
He sounded slightly desperate. Elah wondered what the Doctor had been up to.
“Shortly,” she said.
“Prisoner,” snorted the Doctor, straightening his cravat. The look he gave Elah now was accusing, a disappointed how-could-you frown. He’d used to be very good at that look, the picture of innocence betrayed. It was less effective now. Elah didn’t know if it was because she was older, or because he’d lost his innocence. She hoped it was the former.
And two could play at this game. “You left,” she said. “We needed you. People are dying.”
“So?” he said. “They’ll die whether I’m here or not. I’d prefer not to be a party to it.”
Now there was another kind of accusation in his eyes. “At least I’m trying to stop it,” she said.
“Oh? Is that what Romana’s been doing?” He made a scoffing noise and turned away.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to argue with him any more. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t let’s talk about her.” They were too much alike, really, the Doctor and Romana-and she loved them both dearly. They weren’t blood relations but they were still family, the only family she had anymore. She didn’t want to listen to the arguments between them. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
His expression softened. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but then he stopped, frowning. “What’s that?”
“What-“ But then she felt the vibration in the deck, and an alarm began blaring. “I’ve got to go!” she said, and turned and ran for the door.
23. The Beginning
“Is there something wrong?” asked Vermillion, concerned, but Romana had dropped the sonic exclusion field to ask the same question of Thross. The claxon became abruptly louder.
“Unauthorized docking disengagement,” said Thross shortly. “The Charalins!”
She hit another button on her comm, and a ring of holograms sprang to life around her, a mobile command station. There was a confused babble, half a dozen departments trying to report at once.
“Stop! External Security, report!” she barked.
“They’re not responding to hails. Integrity of the docking spur at sixty percent and falling.”
“Get a damping field on that ship! Shut them down!”
“What in Rassilon’s name are they doing?” whispered Romana.
“Romana!” said Vermillion. “We’re detecting a power surge. Unknown weapons system-“
“Damping field having no effect--”
The vibration in the deck had turned to an uneven shudder. “Administrator!” snapped Romana. “Release the docking clamps before they tear free, and target particle cannons!”
“But-“ said Thross
Romana was already contacting the Skylark on her comm, giving orders to mobilize available Gallifreyan forces. The Omicron whined out of sight a moment later.
Thross had ordered the docking clamps to disengage, not entirely in time. The Charalin vessel tore one clamp free, damaging its own hull and making the docking spur lash alarmingly. There was a puff of vapor as one of the other docked ships, damaged by either the motion or by debris, lost hull integrity and decompressed.
A flash of light backlit Vermillion’s image, which shuddered, flared and went out just in time to reveal another, larger flash-an expanding ball of flame. “Weapons stations, fire on that ship!” yelled Thross. “I don’t care if you can’t get a lock, aim it manually if you have to!”
“Vermillion!” said Romana, watching the chaos outside the window. She couldn’t see the Orange-Crimson behind the flames and debris, and more flames and debris were appearing. A massive explosion that seemed to happen in slow-motion and more than the usual three dimensions signaled the death of a TARDIS-where had the Charalins gotten the technology to do that?
As her wrist comm began to chirp casualty reports, she saw a chunk of red hull come spinning at the shell of the sphere, and realized that the first explosion hadn’t hidden the Orange-Crimson after all.
It had been the Orange-Crimson.
Elah came running up beside her. “What-“
“Charalin vessel on collision course!” said Thross, in disbelief. “They’re going to ram us!”
“Off the concourse, NOW!” bellowed Romana, grabbing Elah’s arm and running for the nearest exit, shouting orders into her comm the whole way. She glanced back over her shoulder as they dove through the doorway. Thross was behind them, slowed by her attempts to mobilize station security. Behind her, the Charalin vessel, trailing flames and atmosphere, hurtled towards them.
At the last second, a silvery blur came shooting in from the side. Romana had just time to witness it strike the Charalin vessel, merging with it into a massive ball of flame, before it struck the sphere.
The impact knocked her off her feet before the explosive decompression could. The very last thing she saw before the automated systems slammed the interior doors shut was Thross, lifted off the deck and rushing away with the air.
End Part One
Chapter Five: Crisis on Arcadia
Author: Unknown Kadath, aka kadath_or_bust
Word Count: 4,300
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters: The Doctor (Eighth), Romana III, original characters
Summary: Long before Gallifrey burned, the Time War and so much more was lost in a single day-the day Arcadia fell.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, or any characters from the Chronicles of Narnia
Chapter One: Flight of the Wild Jailbird Chapter Two: Lords of Time Chapter Three: Voyage to Arcadia
Chapter Four: Convergence
17. Brave New World
“Approaching Arcadia, Ma’am,” said Elah. Then, stepping for a moment out of her role as the deferential Commander, “I’d like-I’d like to see it, if I may.”
Romana smiled, a little sadly. The time was coming when that role would end. Very soon. Elah would leave behind her promising career and all that went with it, heading for a new future.
Time to start letting go.
“Of course,” she replied. She nodded to the ensign manning the comm station, and he brought up the full visual array.
The pearly walls of the Skylark vanished, replaced by the dark of space, stars drifting under their feet as if they walked through vacuum. Even the sounds of the bridge seemed muffled, swallowed by a silence that was almost a sound in itself.
And before them … the Medusa Cascade. Swirls of gas and dust, softly lit by young stars and the particle excitation of the Great Rift, veils of color shrouding something like a gleaming flower. A delicate confection of silver filigree and spun glass, shining with all the colors of the nebula but magnified, and with a deep rose glow of its own at its heart.
Arcadia.
It was an artificial habitat, great crystal domes filled with forests, meadows, oceans, and deserts, all strung together. The rose glow was the light of a captive sun, held in a tiny fold of space at the center. It was still listed on the charts as the Bognor Regis system, a red dwarf star circled by a small planetoid. Once the planetoid had been home to a pre-Rassilon era Gallifreyan colony, before the gravitational stresses of the rift had broken it apart. The population had been evacuated to Arcadia station, which in turn had incorporated the debris as it grew. The star had become the heart of Arcadia. It gave the station its light, heat, and fueled its chrononic generators. Those generators, in turn, powered Arcadia’s shields, and made it an impregnable fortress guarding the Rift.
Romana stood and went to Elah’s side. She took the young woman’s hand. It no longer mattered if they maintained the public appearance of discipline. That part of Elah’s life was over.
“It’s very beautiful,” said Elah. The lights illuminated her face softly, making her look younger than she was. A wondering child, on the verge of her first steps into a new life. She soaked up the sight, drinking it with her eyes.
She would never see it this way again.
Romana didn’t look at Arcadia. She could see it again. And right now, she put far less value in fortresses than in the young woman at her side, the daughter of her lost friend and a friend herself. Friends were hard to come by for a President of Gallifrey, still harder for a President at war.
She was glad, now, that the Omicron had been delayed. She wouldn’t have dared to let the Doctor out of her sight, and he would have brooded and moralized, spoiling the moment.
At length, Elah turned to her. Tears had made shining tracks down her cheeks, but her voice was steady.
“I’m ready, Romana,” she said.
“All right.” Romana swallowed, fighting back tears of her own as if she were some sort of ape-descendant, and gave the order to take them in.
18. A Three-Hour Tour
“And then the Toclofane King returned to the Vortex, leaving little Thoralindalinor the magic data-crystals that told her how to build her very own TARDIS. And she did build it, and she flew it all the way home to Gallifrey, where she applied herself to her studies and never had any adventures, ever again, and she became a mid-level public servant and lived as a productive member of society ever after. The end,” said Loryan. “There. Are you happy?”
Arkeros, who had been listening with wide, rapt eyes, made a face. “I didn’t like the way it ended. Tell me another.”
Loryan sputtered. “If you think I have nothing better to do than sit her and tell nursery tales to savages-“
Arkeros made a low snarling noise in the back of her throat, curling up her lip just enough to show a fang. She hefted the distronic rifle.
Loryan’s jaw snapped shut. He gritted his teeth, struggling to control his temper. “What do you want to hear?” he ground out.
“There’s ‘The Five Hundred Hearts of Lord Barankarinin,’” suggested Drax.
Loryan looked like he was about to tell Drax to shut up, but another growl from Arkeros stopped him. “I wanna hear it,” she said.
The Doctor would have liked to have told Loryan to stop whining and humor her. After all, there was nothing worse than a bored ‘Puuka. But he supposed Loryan had already figured that out.
Anyway, his mouth was duct-taped shut.
His escape attempts had kept her amused for a few hours. There had been five in all. Some of them had almost worked. He was especially proud of the one with the rubber duck, the piece of string, and the time-loop.
The sedative had worn off much faster than Loryan had expected. The Doctor had always metabolized such things quickly. And he had a counter-charm in his pocket which protected him from Arkeros’ spell-fortunately, she wasn’t terribly good at magic.
In the end he’d gotten desperate and used the sonic neuro-disrupter. He’d built it in the tree on Malgeon, just in case, and he’d been as surprised as Arkeros when it actually worked. Well, as surprised as Arkeros had been in the brief interval before it rendered her unconscious. Unfortunately, Loryan’s enhanced nervous system wasn’t affected.
He and Arkeros had started to go through the Doctor’s pockets after they’d subdued him, making sure he didn’t have any more nasty tricks. “Rassilon,” muttered Loryan. “The dimensions of his clothes are worse than a derelict TARDIS. I think he’s in violation of at least ten safety regulations, and that’s only his waistcoat. We’re going to be here all day.”
Arkeros had rolled her eyes. “No we ain’t,” she said. “An’ they says Time Lords is clever. Pfah!”
“What?” said Loryan.
“Just take off his clothes,” sighed Arkeros.
So he’d ended up in his underthings, wrapped in duct tape from head to toe to keep him out of trouble.
That left Arkeros with nothing to do. She tried arm-wrestling with Loryan (who had reminded her that her neck was broken, and been informed that it had got better) and lost. She knew Loryan was stronger than her, so the Doctor wondered if she’d done it just to put him off his guard.
Shortly after that, when Loryan wasn’t looking, she’d shifted into the little cat (it seemed no one had bothered to tell the lieutenant that she was a shapeshifter) and darted under a chair behind him. And while he was looking around, trying to figure out where she’d gone, she’d gone back to humanoid form and whacked him over the head with the chair. It had only stunned him for a moment, but Arkeros only needed a moment. Loryan found himself staring down the wrong end of his own weapon. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d done it.
And the festivities had commenced.
The Doctor started humming the theme from “Gilligan’s Island” behind his duct tape. Loryan glared at him, but Arkeros laughed, and started to sing along.
19. Utopia
The Docks of Arcadia were in the top half of a bio-sphere, more artificial than most, with carefully maintained parks above and levels of machinery below. The main concourse was a vast area, high-ceilinged and open, with one wall a great curving pane of transparent titanium through which the nebula could be seen. Spurs of metal protruded from it at intervals, providing mooring and airlocks for larger ships, and double-layered ports allowed smaller vessels to come inside. Far beyond the window, the force-shields shimmered as dust was atomized against them. Nothing could get through; not dust, not Daleks.
The Docks were decorated in the Arcadian style-bright colors, vibrant purples and teals and golds, lines more simplified and abstract than any Gallifreyan structure. But there were signs everywhere of an empire at war. Battered ships and injured soldiers, black uniforms and battlecruisers. Silver servo-droids bustled among them, pushing float-pallets of cargo and supplies.
Elah stared around her in wonder. She’d already lived longer than her mother, Romana realized with a pang, and she’d seen so much less of the universe.
The War would end soon, she caught herself thinking, maybe then-but no.
“My Lady President.” A tall, thin woman of middle years in a body-suit of magenta and aquamarine swirls approached them, trailed by a phalanx of functionaries with data-pads. Jaelin Thross, Arcadia’s Chief Administrator.
“Administrator,” said Romana.
“Welcome back to Arcadia,” said Thross, grabbing a data-pad from the man at her left. She had a clipped, no-nonsense manner, and hair as steel-gray as her skin. “The Charalin, Movellan, Drorsh and Qanuk delegations have arrived. The Ganedans are en route and will be here within the hour. No word on the Hewans.”
“I see,” said Romana. This could be another job for Palanzar. Though in truth, the Hewans were not as important to the war effort as the Ganedans. “Any reports from the Special Research Project?”
Thross’s lips compressed briefly. She was not privy to the details of the SRP, which irked her, but she would live with it. “I believe there are several routine reports awaiting your attention. And Commander Xyritu would like you to inspect the Vault.”
“Thank you. Tell her I’ll meet with her this evening, if the negotiations permit. In the meantime, I’d like to greet the Ganedans personally.”
“Of course,” said Thross, inclining her head. “If you’ll come this way, Madame President?”
Elah pulled her eyes away from the scenery and made to follow, but Romana held up her hand. “Go explore,” she said. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it, you know.”
The young woman hesitated just a moment, torn. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Thank you.”
20. The Vault
The Vault was only a small section of the SRP, but it was the most heavily guarded. The entire project had its own small sphere of Arcadia, most of it devoted to security, a fortress within the fortress. And the Vault was another fortress within that.
The Vault was buried at the heart of the SRP sphere, surrounded by empty corridors. It was constantly guarded by two soldiers, no less, no more. The soldiers didn’t know what was inside. Only a few select researchers had permission, or indeed any legitimate business, to enter this section of the sphere; anyone else was to be shot on sight.
Relgan and Durok were the two guards currently on duty. It was a difficult assignment, combining unending boredom with the unending fear of something … interesting … happening. Relgan wished it were someone else’s job. After all, it was supposed to be impossible to get into the Vault.
More importantly, from his perspective, it was supposed to be impossible for anything to get out.
“Do you feel that, Durok?” he asked. The air felt like … like an ionizer going wrong. It prickled, and he could taste something like metal and electricity at the back of his throat. It had been building up for weeks, but it was worse than ever today.
“Feel what?” said Durok.
“Like … never mind.” Relgan didn’t want to mention that sometimes he thought he saw things moving out of the corners of his eyes. Or flashes of pale blue light, like sparks, dancing over the doors.
Durok didn’t seem bothered by it. Or maybe he was, it was hard to tell. He’d become very withdrawn the last few days. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and then he responded in monotones and monosyllables. Probably the stress, getting to him.
Damned corridors. They had bright lights, but somehow they just made the place seem darker, full of shadowed corners. But that was all it was. Just shadows, even if sometimes they seemed to move. After all, if anything were really there, the scanners would have picked up on-
There was a distinct crackle from behind Relgan. He spun, and saw energy sizzling over the triple-layer duralinium doors.
“Durok!” he said. “Look out! There’s-no! No!”
From the shadows of the corridor emerged shapes that were not shadows.
Relgan tried to raise his gun and go for his comm unit simultaneously, fumbling both. And then Durok had grabbed him, pushing him face-first against the doors of the Vault.
As the energy surged through his body, his last coherent thought as Relgan was that now he knew what was hidden within.
It was the end. Of everything.
21. Honored Guests
“We have the Orange-Crimson and the Omicron on approach, Madam President,” said Thross, checking her wrist-comm. “Omicron materializing now.”
A soft scraping noise, like the fabric of space and time being gently eased aside, sounded from further down the concourse. A silvery orb appeared and split open. A technician emerged, pushing a blue wooden box on a gravity sled.
Thross raised an eyebrow.
“He’s a bit eccentric,” explained Romana. She always seemed to be explaining the Doctor. “Hail the-“
Four more figures had emerged from the Omicron.
“Er, wait just a moment,” she amended.
There were two Time Lords, one in a technician’s uniform and one in Spacefleet black with a Lieutenant’s stripes, each carrying an end of a length of plas-steel conduit. Attached to the conduit, like the guest of honor at a cannibal’s dinner party, was a figure with familiar chestnut curls and angry blue eyes. The hair, eyes, and nose were the largest exposed area of the captive. The rest was swathed in a silvery-gray utility tape, like a mechanic trying to turn into a butterfly. But he didn’t appear to be wearing much under the tape.
Behind this spectacle swaggered the leather-jacketed little ‘Puuka. She was carrying a distronic rifle of Gallifreyan military make, eyeing the Docks from under the brim of her hat like she was thinking of moving in.
“My Lady President,” said the lieutenant, obviously a bit overwhelmed by her presence. He tried to salute and accidentally dropped his end of the pole. The Doctor made a muffled sound of protest as his head hit the floor.
“Lieutenant …” sighed Romana.
“Loryan, ma’am!” He saluted again as he tried to pick up the pole, and dropped it again.
“Loryan. Are you familiar with the concept of decorum? No, on second thought, I don’t want to know,” interrupted Romana as he started to explain. “ I said I don’t want to know. Take him to Conference Room Three and give him back his clothes,” she raised a despairing eyebrow at the bundle of green-stained garments Arkeros was carrying, “and I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Yes, my Lady President!” said Loryan. This time, when he saluted, he managed to keep hold of the pole.
Arkeros doffed her hat in passing. “Romana,” she drawled.
“I will be with you shortly,” repeated Romana, “to settle the matter of your fee.”
The ‘Puuka nodded and continued on her way. Romana shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. No matter what she did, anything involving the Doctor always turned into either a disaster or a circus-usually both.
“All right,” she said, as the Doctor and his escort retreated from sight. Thross said absolutely nothing, with the air of one being too polite to comment. “Hail the Ganedan vessel.”
Thross flicked a button on her wrist-comm and stepped back discretely as a hologram-window appeared before Romana and a sonic exclusion-field flickered into being around her. The Archon of Ganeda blinked at her with a single pearly eye, its facial tentacles flushing in greeting.
“Archon Vermillion,” said Romana. “Welcome to Arcadia. It is an honor to have you here.”
“Lady President,” hissed Vermillion, spots of orange swelling and receding across its skin. “The honor is mine. Especially if you have a bottle of Arcadian whiskey for me.”
“Would I forget?” asked Romana, smiling. “I’m glad to see you, old friend.”
Vermillion reached out and hit a control out of sight. A flashing icon in the corner of the hologram indicated that the line was now secure. “I would not abandon you,” it said. “But I have sacrificed much that the Senate would agree to offer you aid.”
“I’m grateful,” said Romana. Through the hologram, she could see the red gleam of the Orange-Crimson approaching the Docks. “But were they that strongly opposed?”
The orange patches faded, turned a pale blue. A sign Vermillion was troubled. “This is an ugly war, and growing uglier. It was not meant to take so long, or to cost so much. You told us the Daleks could not prevail against the might of Gallifrey.”
“They can’t. I promise you that. We’ve destroyed all of their strongholds, now, it’s only a matter of time before the remnants of their forces follow.”
Vermillion nodded. “My people are still willing to trust in you. For the moment. But there are rumors your power is not secure. There are rumors of a vote of no confidence, of a special election. And Kolthan, no one trusts.”
“Lord Kolthan,” said Romana shortly, “is the leader of a small minority of radical dissidents, and I intend to make sure he stays that way. The High Council may talk of backing his bid for power, but it’s an idle threat. He’s far too much of a loose cannon for them. They dislike me for being a radical; they’ll never accept him.”
A sudden vibration ran through the floor under Romana’s feet. She craned her neck to see if there was a ship docking, but saw nothing. Then an alarm began blaring, the lights in the concourse flashing orange.
22. Family
“Ow! Ow, that hurts! No no no no, not like that, use the sonic screwdriver!”
“All right, all right. Quit yer moanin’. It’s got a settin’ for duct tape?”
“I would hardly carry duct tape if I didn’t have a setting for removing it, now would I? Five hundred and twelve. Ow!”
“Oops …”
The guard outside the door finished checking Elah’s ID. “You can go in, Commander,” he said, giving her a look that plainly said, But why would you want to?
Inside, she found a technician and a Spacefleet lieutenant watching as Arkeros helped the Doctor out of an imprisoning cocoon of tape. She appeared to have gotten the settings wrong, initially; his hair was still smoldering.
He looked older than the last time she’d seen him. She wondered if it was from the passage of time (you never knew anymore how much had passed for the other person) or strain. Or perhaps it was only the bitterness in his expression.
“Doctor,” she said, suddenly a bit shy.
“Elah!” he exclaimed. His face suddenly lit up, and he bounded over to her, half-hopping and trying to get the last of the tape off his legs. Apart from the tape, he was wearing only a pair of question-mark boxer shorts. He flung his arms around her. “Elah, it’s been too long! Look at you, all grown up!”
She hugged him back. “Uncle! I was grown up the last time you saw me.”
“Yes, but look at you now!” He held her out at arm’s length, brushing his fingers against the commander’s insignia on her uniform. His expression darkened as he looked at it.
“And look at you,” she chided. “What happened to your clothes?”
The Doctor scowled like a sulky child and pointed at Arkeros. “She took them.”
Arkeros grinned, picked up a bundle of clothes from a chair, and tossed them to him. Elah decided she didn’t want to know. She hadn’t expected the little alien to succeed in bringing in the Doctor, although Romana had thought she’d stood a good chance.
“Ma’am,” said the lieutenant, saluting a bit stiffly. Elah was used to this; she was half-alien, and very few pureblooded Time Lords liked the fact that she was serving with them-even the ones she didn’t outrank. But most of them, like this man, gritted their teeth and kept military discipline. “Is the Lady President coming to take custody of the prisoner?”
He sounded slightly desperate. Elah wondered what the Doctor had been up to.
“Shortly,” she said.
“Prisoner,” snorted the Doctor, straightening his cravat. The look he gave Elah now was accusing, a disappointed how-could-you frown. He’d used to be very good at that look, the picture of innocence betrayed. It was less effective now. Elah didn’t know if it was because she was older, or because he’d lost his innocence. She hoped it was the former.
And two could play at this game. “You left,” she said. “We needed you. People are dying.”
“So?” he said. “They’ll die whether I’m here or not. I’d prefer not to be a party to it.”
Now there was another kind of accusation in his eyes. “At least I’m trying to stop it,” she said.
“Oh? Is that what Romana’s been doing?” He made a scoffing noise and turned away.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to argue with him any more. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t let’s talk about her.” They were too much alike, really, the Doctor and Romana-and she loved them both dearly. They weren’t blood relations but they were still family, the only family she had anymore. She didn’t want to listen to the arguments between them. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
His expression softened. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but then he stopped, frowning. “What’s that?”
“What-“ But then she felt the vibration in the deck, and an alarm began blaring. “I’ve got to go!” she said, and turned and ran for the door.
23. The Beginning
“Is there something wrong?” asked Vermillion, concerned, but Romana had dropped the sonic exclusion field to ask the same question of Thross. The claxon became abruptly louder.
“Unauthorized docking disengagement,” said Thross shortly. “The Charalins!”
She hit another button on her comm, and a ring of holograms sprang to life around her, a mobile command station. There was a confused babble, half a dozen departments trying to report at once.
“Stop! External Security, report!” she barked.
“They’re not responding to hails. Integrity of the docking spur at sixty percent and falling.”
“Get a damping field on that ship! Shut them down!”
“What in Rassilon’s name are they doing?” whispered Romana.
“Romana!” said Vermillion. “We’re detecting a power surge. Unknown weapons system-“
“Damping field having no effect--”
The vibration in the deck had turned to an uneven shudder. “Administrator!” snapped Romana. “Release the docking clamps before they tear free, and target particle cannons!”
“But-“ said Thross
Romana was already contacting the Skylark on her comm, giving orders to mobilize available Gallifreyan forces. The Omicron whined out of sight a moment later.
Thross had ordered the docking clamps to disengage, not entirely in time. The Charalin vessel tore one clamp free, damaging its own hull and making the docking spur lash alarmingly. There was a puff of vapor as one of the other docked ships, damaged by either the motion or by debris, lost hull integrity and decompressed.
A flash of light backlit Vermillion’s image, which shuddered, flared and went out just in time to reveal another, larger flash-an expanding ball of flame. “Weapons stations, fire on that ship!” yelled Thross. “I don’t care if you can’t get a lock, aim it manually if you have to!”
“Vermillion!” said Romana, watching the chaos outside the window. She couldn’t see the Orange-Crimson behind the flames and debris, and more flames and debris were appearing. A massive explosion that seemed to happen in slow-motion and more than the usual three dimensions signaled the death of a TARDIS-where had the Charalins gotten the technology to do that?
As her wrist comm began to chirp casualty reports, she saw a chunk of red hull come spinning at the shell of the sphere, and realized that the first explosion hadn’t hidden the Orange-Crimson after all.
It had been the Orange-Crimson.
Elah came running up beside her. “What-“
“Charalin vessel on collision course!” said Thross, in disbelief. “They’re going to ram us!”
“Off the concourse, NOW!” bellowed Romana, grabbing Elah’s arm and running for the nearest exit, shouting orders into her comm the whole way. She glanced back over her shoulder as they dove through the doorway. Thross was behind them, slowed by her attempts to mobilize station security. Behind her, the Charalin vessel, trailing flames and atmosphere, hurtled towards them.
At the last second, a silvery blur came shooting in from the side. Romana had just time to witness it strike the Charalin vessel, merging with it into a massive ball of flame, before it struck the sphere.
The impact knocked her off her feet before the explosive decompression could. The very last thing she saw before the automated systems slammed the interior doors shut was Thross, lifted off the deck and rushing away with the air.
End Part One
Chapter Five: Crisis on Arcadia