The Lords of Gallifrey
08-02-2008, 22:57
Romanadvoratrelundar, 413th Lady President of the High Council of Time Lords, Keeper of the Legacy of Rassilon, Defender of the Laws of Time, Protector and War Queen of Gallifrey looked at the deathly pale corpse that lay before her, that of Romanadvoratrelundar, 413th Lady President of the High Council of Time Lords, Keeper of the Legacy of Rassilon, Defender of the Laws of Time, Protector and War Queen of Gallifrey.
“No” she said, “I will not tolerate this…”
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A dark column of liquid fell from a ceramic nozzle, splashing down into a white fluid below. The Doctor watched closely, and when he judged the level right, cut off the flow by setting the black teapot back down on the table, and watching the steam rise from the cup. He took a teaspoon and dipped it in, twitching it in a languid circle.
He frowned at the dressing gown he wore, it was getting a bit frayed, he’d probably have to get another one soon. “Hey Doc,” he heard a chirpy, faintly aristocratic, voice say from behind him, as his current travelling companion, Destriianatos, wandered into the console room.
He’d given up trying to get her to stop calling him that. “Morning Destrii. Been up long?”
“Two hours,” she said, flicking up a small pendant from a table nearby, up around her neck, changing her appearance entirely from a tall, fish-like amphibian humanoid, to a dusky skinned, dark haired, human woman, dressed in a similar gown, “you’re getting far too lazy.”
“Me? Lazy. It’s only eight.”
“See, lazy.”
“Is this an effort to entice me for even more sparring?”
“Might be…”
At that moment, the rising and falling of the central column stopped, and the doctor looked up suddenly. He was in motion almost instantly, tearing across the ground to the hexagonal console. Destrii was there at the same time, despite a slightly longer run, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” the Doctor said, pushing several buttons firmly, and looking up at the screen above, “We’re caught in something; trying to break us free…” he said, turning a dial, “Locking in reserve power…”
The chamber began to shake with progressive greater energies, and they could feel the chamber vibrating under their feet.
“No use,” Destrii said, looking up at the screen, “Full power?”
“Right,” the Doctor said, flipping a switch forwards, “Full emergency power, now…”
The room began to shake, its structure seeming pulled apart, out of its natural shape; the teacup bounced and slid from the table. The cloister bell could be heard sounding in the depths of the time ship.
“No progress. We’re held fast,” the Doctor said, shutting off the engines, to avoid damaging them.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, “We could try half a dozen things, but we’re about to…”
The column stopped again, as the old ship hauled itself back to reality.
“Materialise…” he finished, “Don’t worry, nothing can get through that door…” he looked over at the atrium doorway, as he heard the sound of the outer doors opening, and moved behind the console, feeling very embarrassed.
The inner doors flew in and a column of armoured soldiers marched in, dressed in close fitting crimson helmets, over white cloaks, with guns – stasers, he recognised – of crystal and bronze. They weren’t quite the Chancellery Guard he remembered they moved differently, and they lacked the cloaks frequently worn by the ones in the Capitol.
“I am Castellan Tenion,” a woman said, stepping through the doors, in a wide, flared collar, her dark hair done up in a high bun behind her head, “Welcome Doctor,” she said, “to the New Time.”
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The small, practically intimate room beyond the Tardis doors was one he seemed to recognize, “Is this a time station?” he asked.
“The same one you were put on trial in, yes,” Tenion said.
“I thought it looked familiar,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets; they’d at least let him and Destrii get dressed.
“Trial?” Destrii asked.
“It’s a long story…”
“The Doctor is not under arrest on this occasion,” Tenion said,
“That’s good to know,” he said, “though it certainly did feel rather like that when I arrived.”
“You are famously intransigent regarding such matters,” Tenion replied nonchalantly, “Besides. Bringing you here directly has its reasons,” she said, walking past an open balcony, at which the Doctor stopped.
Below, was a sceptre-like shape in a frame of steel, over what seemed to be a darkness beneath it. “That’s no Tardis…” The Doctor said, “too many power rooms for its size surely. What is it?”
“That, Doctor, is the Paradox Engine.”
“What?” the Doctor said, “What is that thing for?”
“The President has asked that we not tell you anything,” Tenion said, “she said it would ‘spoil the surprise.’”
“I see…” The Doctor said, stepping away, looking down at the sceptre curiously.
Further strange sights were seen on the walk, including Time Lords; the Doctor could tell that they were to see them, but he’d never expected to see more than one or two engaged in such, militaristic training at any one time. Instead, there were hundreds there, firing stasers, practicing telepathic combat, even engaging in unarmed sparring.
“Huh. You never told me Gallifrey had this kind of thing,” Destrii said.
“It doesn’t,” the Doctor said, “or didn’t, at any rate.”
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The Presidential Office, this one outside the Capitol, in the House of Heartshaven, against Lake Abydos in a valley in the mountains of Wild Endeavour, was was a dome like chamber with windows on both sides, one way looking toward the Capitol, the other looking out into the valley, and down to the House itself.
“Welcome home Doctor,” Romana said, as she looked up, and walked over to where he appeared, with a slight flash of matter transmission over so many millions of light years.
“It’s always good to be back, in a way…” he said, “when I’m not being put on trial or being executed,” he added giving her a cautious look.
“Not this time, Doctor. The tortoises are stampeding. Things have changed around here…”
“So I have seen,” he said, “how and why?”
Romana smiled, “Tea, Doctor?” she asked, sitting down in a high backed golden chair, as another two, slightly lesser chairs, appeared by the narrow oval table, as well as the relevant accoutrements.
Destrii and the Doctor sat, Tenion having remained on the station with the guards, and Romana began to pour the drinks, “Quite recently, we encountered another Gallifrey, fundamentally the same as us, a few minor changes – they’d not rebuilt the Capitol recently, for instance – and one very important one. It had been devastated, by war with the Daleks.”
The Doctor froze, a little of the tea splashing forward onto his trouser leg, “Daleks?”
“We have not been able to detect the relevant Dalek time frame; the survivors of the War Gallifrey claimed that they had destroyed them, but I wouldn’t be so certain. Regardless, it was close enough that the experience of viewing it so closely was enough to generate something that we’ve not had for ten million years…”
“Serious debate.” The Doctor said.
“So, you guys have finally decided to ditch the Prime Directive nonsense?” Destrii asked.
Romana twitched, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“Primatrix Destriianatos of Oblivion,” the Doctor said, “Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar,” he added, nodding to the other Time Lord.
“Oblivion? Never heard of it.”
“Post-human colony in the relative future,” Destrii said, “It got its name from having been obliterated from all records in the universe.”
“All records?” Romana asked.
“Even ours,” The Doctor said with a nod, “Though I suppose you might be able to find it by looking for a hole in the Matrix.”
“Well, anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Destriianatos…”
“Destrii” she said.
“Ah, I go by Romana most of the time. Anyway. With a thorough investigation of the events that Gallifrey had suffered, there was pressure for an investigation into the CIA’s activities…”
“Central Intelligence Agency?” Destii asked.
“Celestial Intervention Agency,” the Doctor said.
“Quite. We finally had its records opened up to public view, and it was promptly dissolved in the resulting crisis. We think we’ve got all of the agents recalled…”
“But you don’t know?”
“They had provisions for acting without any records. In any case, the important bit, is that we’re changing our policies regarding interaction with other cultures, yes,” she said, nodding at Destrii, “Along the kind of lines you’ve suggested in the past. We’re also making a lot of progress in other areas; we’re finally ready to begin prototyping the type 102 TARDIS,” she said.
“Compassion?” the Doctor replied, thinking of a past acquaintance, an advanced, Paradoxical, human-exterior sapient TARDIS model.
“Exactly. Though we’re producing a one-oh-one model, too, without the sapient systems; we can’t exactly go around compelling one-oh-twos to provide transport as conventional vehicles,” the Doctor nodded at her comments.
“So, you want my advice?”
“That’s part of it,” Romana said.
“You don’t want me to tell you how to run whatever organisation you’re replacing the CIA with do you?”
“Actually,” a man said from behind them, “they’ve already got someone for that…”
“You!” the Doctor said, incredulously.
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The Keeper of the Matrix smiled, as he watched the small, frozen blue box interior of the Doctor’s ship moved into a large vault that arched high above like a vast cathedral. Two of the Chancellery Guard stood by the doors of the time ship, but they were facing away from him, towards the chamber’s entrance. And besides, he was a government official, he had every right to be there.
He stepped lightly up behind them, carefully, silently, drawing a slender gun from its holster. It wasn’t a staser, unfortunately, the use of such a weapon would set off alarms, instead, it was an archaic maser, a technology now being revamped, whose settings included a wide array of non-lethal effects, including ones that directly interfered with the brain of a subject. Unfortunately, the guards wore protective collars and helmets, which meant he had to try something else.
Carefully stepping around the outside of the ship, he moved with suddenness and speed enough to take the complacent guards by surprise, bringing the butt of his pistol down to the forehead of one with surprising speed as the other turned, pressing toward him suddenly, compact staser carbine swinging to bear. She didn’t get the chance, the Keeper shot her in the face, the beam so low power it didn’t register, except on a few nerve pathways; the woman dropped to her knees mouth opening mutely, and fell down.
A microscopic turn of a selector on the gun, and he shot both in the face with a setting called trance that would retroactively remove the last few seconds of memory, and let them return to their positions, before recovering fully and thinking nothing had happened. By which time, the Keeper would be done.
He took a key from his pocket, opening the TARDIS door and stepping inside, closing it behind him. He stepped into the console room and frowned at the lofty dark chamber of book cases, mementos and ornate, comfortable furniture, “Such clutter,” he sighed, as if in regret, walking across the room; it wouldn’t do to be here. There were alternate control rooms from which he could control the ship.
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“You can’t possibly trust him!” the Doctor said, accusingly.
“Would you rather have the job?”
“Rather than you, yes, this… fellow, is totally irresponsible, obsessed with self gratification, and too full of himself by half,” the Doctor said, “he sets out to interfere in history for his own benefit!”
“I do not,” the tall, pony-tailed Time Lord replied, “I interfere for the general good.”
“When it amuses you!”
“Come on now Doctor,” the Monk said, “I’ve changed considerably since you last met me,” he frowned, “Which, as I recall, involved me running off cackling and promptly being killed because you didn’t bother to mention a certain Chronovore might be loose.”
“That was fairly self explanatory, besides, she was your own problem. How did you survive that anyway?”
“I didn’t. I died. Fortunately for me I was able to be a little more persuasive after regeneration. She’s still around somewhere. Anyway, as I recall, among your last words to me were ‘we’re not so different.’”
“Boys,” another voice said from the corridor behind them, and a tall blonde woman dressed in the same style of black-brown clothes – some lightweight armour – as the first newcomer, “can you manage to cool yourselves off?”
“Ah,” the first newcomer said, “Ceriana, my wife.”
“Your wife?” the Doctor asked, staring.
“Who is this guy, Doctor…” Destrii asked.
“This is the Meddling Monk. His actual name is Mortimus, or Mortimuseferinadar, but I like Monk. He’s a man who goes around changing history because he can-”
“Changing history for the better,” he said.
“And putting him in charge of anything is a bad idea…”
“Just wait until you hear what the President wants you for, Doctor…”
The Doctor sat down as the two newcomers took another two seats that appeared, “So, Romana, what do you want?”
“Your ship,” she said.
“What?”
“Specifically, I want the Master,” she said.
“What?” the Doctor said, again, shooting to his feet.
“I know. I’ll show you why…” she said, rising to her feet again, walking toward the door, “Come on…”
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The Keeper had left a ‘gift’ in the primary control room, an explosive one. Then he’d made his way to this control room, one of the older ones, where he could watch the exterior of the ship on the wall mounted monitor. The guards were getting up, a little disoriented, but firmly convinced that they’d never even been unconscious or on the floor. Just as planned.
He smiled narrowly, and pressed the buttons on the blank white mushroom shape of the console, there was work to be done. On a screen on the console, a layout of the ship’s corridors could be seen. He manipulated a sequence of buttons, and rooms began to vanish from the display, as they were cut loose.
If the Keeper’s guess was right, then narrowing the potential routes from the main console room to the cloister room down to one, but then, he could have misread the President, which was why he was programming this architecture re-write to be undone at the flick of one of the switches on the console.
If he could deal with her, and a few other elements, in such a convenient way, then he could make an effort to achieve real power. There were many people who weren’t happy with the way her reforms were going, but far more who thought that something had to be done, but weren’t sure she had the right idea. It would be a perfect opportunity for someone with an obscure but solid background, and the right skills, to direct that malcontent toward a very different attitude toward lesser races.
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The mausoleum was a chamber on the fringes of the Capitol, a smaller version of the Panopticon, the chief assembly chamber for state functions, this one intended for state funerals.
There were no Chancellery Guards here; they weren’t that common, and while this chamber would normally be guarded, Castellan Tenion had them doing other things. This chamber was rarely used, as when a Time Lord died, they normally disappeared entirely as the regeneration mechanism broke down, bodies, on Gallifrey, were inherently evidence of murder.
And murdered the figure who lay on the white altar was, despite the untouched nature of her clothes. She had shorter hair than Romana, but was otherwise completely identical, though the high collared, high backed white robes of state she had been dressed in was of the most formal style.
“Doctor!” a voice said from inside, and a woman dressed in a cross between the more practical designs of Gallifreyan robes, and the fashions of more barbarous worlds, with a long sword at her side, said, “Still the same?”
“Leela,” he said, looking surprised, “Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask… Where’s Andred?”
It was, he was surprised to find, Romana who answered, “Oh, he’s still Castellan of the Capitol. Tenion’s responsible for off-world operations.”
“You need two?” he asked.
“There’s a lot more going on in the old bases, and besides, someone’s got to be responsible for securing the CIA’s assets.”
“There’s that much stuff,” Mortimus said quietly, “even I didn’t know all of it. I don’t think anyone did.”
“So, Doctor, meet Lenity. Lenity, the Doctor…”
The other, somewhat younger, woman who had been waiting in the laying-in room was shorter than Leela, with ashy dark hair, and grey eyes, as well as a winning smile, dressed in the more mundane dark robes that tended to be used by much of Gallifrey for everyday wear.
The Doctor didn’t reply, he’d finally seen past his former companion to who lay before them. “So, that’s like, Mirror Romana?” Destrii said, suddenly, catching sight of the body at the same moment.
“You can’t possibly want the Master for this…” The Doctor said.
“The Master…” Destrii asked.
“A madman. He was obsessed, in the end, with extending his own life. He fell into the heart of the TARDIS when he tried to steal my remaining life…”
“Vampire?” she asked curiously.
“Not quite,” Romana said, “but he is the only person we know about who has any idea how to re-energise dead Gallifreyan tissue.”
“Whose idea was this?” the Doctor demanded.
“Mine,” Mortimus said.
“And it’s a terrible idea. I absolutely forbid it!” the Doctor said.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to do that,” the living Romana smiled.
“I can damn well challenge it legally. That’s my ship…”
“Which isn’t going to get flight clearance unless it has an overhaul,” Mortimus said, “nothing too drastic. But I believe that there’s a requirement about running a full clearing procedure on its power systems once very demi-millennium.”
“You wouldn’t!” the Doctor said.
“We would,” Romana said, “you’re going along with us, or you’re going nowhere.”
“Fine. Have him. If you can do this, and provided you imprison him immediately for his crimes.”
“You don’t think we’d let him go anywhere, do you,” Lenity said, “That would be insane…”
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It was the most people the ship had had in it for decades, its doors swung inwards, admitting the Doctor, Destrii, Romana, Lenity, and an entire platoon of guards, followed by dozens of technicians followed by mannequins of some strange living wood native to Romana’s home of Heartshaven bearing biers of complex, shining, equipment. Strange wood, that moved as flesh, or cloth…
The Doctor stopped, “There’s something wrong here… Has anyone been in?”
“No, Doctor,” Romana said, “come on. I don’t like this idea, but it is important. The other Gallifrey has returned to its own frame of reference, and the only way we can get the most information that we want is by questioning the only tangible piece of evidence left…”
“And the fact that this only piece of evidence is a disquieting reminder of your own mortality?” the Doctor said, deciding his unease was at the whole situation.
“Is a distinct factor in my reckoning, yes, besides, it would be nice to have two of me…” Romana said.
“I wouldn’t think so,” the Doctor said, considering the past, and walking onwards, the doors from the console room opening slowly, at his approach, like the doorways of memory.
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The Keeper smiled. It was indeed as he’d expected. How predictable.
He punched in another of the Doctor’s codes, and switched primacy of console room for a moment, once the procession was out of it. Where he stood now was the central command chamber for the ship, the same room, but shifted, he walked over to the doors, locked them, and then back to the console, double locking the outer doors; he switched back, the doorway going dark again.
There would be no escape now.
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The Cloiser Room was the ‘deepest’ room in the bare-bones ‘Time-Sceptre’ design for a TARDIS, and it was from here, that all power flowed. The accessible top of the ten meter sphere of the Eye of Harmony, a duplicate of the great construct that powered the capitol itself, from which it drew power, was the main notable feature of the room, down two flights of stairs, under which hung the great Cloister Bell, the ceremonial yet functional final distress signal of the craft, overlooked by balconies, under a great sky-scape with ornately worked ceiling struts.
The procession came through a great set of double doors, and the Doctor paused again, “You know, Leela would have been your best bet, the ship’s re-configured for a human eye-print still.”
The Lady President smiled. “I’ve thought of that, Doctor. Leela’s eyes aren’t normal enough to act as a master print. That thing with the Rutans.”
“Of course,” the Doctor said, “and Destrii looks the part, but it won’t stand up to this kind of analysis.”
“But I will,” Lenity said cheerfully, pressing between him and Destrii, and began to walk over toward the Eye.
The Doctor frowned, but restrained the urge to ask how, as the group made way for hordes of technicians, and their golem servants.
There was a raised platform around the top of the sphere, gently lit from below, the spherical tip of the iron sphere, covered in tile work representing the seal of Rassilon, dominated this area, and it was around it that they set up their machinery, bringing it up a ramp facing the doorway.
Romana nodded at the red cloaked guard captain, and his men spread themselves around the room, on balconies, stairs, and around the eye itself, rifles and larger weapons at the ready.
“Is this strictly necessary?” the Doctor said, walking up the steps, dry leaves crunching under his feet, “I try to avoid having small armies in my home.”
“Hey, from what you’ve said about this ‘Master’ nut, seems like a good idea,” Destrii said, slinking over to one of the Chancellery Guards on a balcony, looking closely at his weapon.
Hours passed. Eventually, they were done, and a dome of struts surrounded the entire structure and conical projectors, yard after yard of thick cables and massive time-space metric alteration machines. Reflector staves and pulsar fields were mated together in a complex structure that almost entirely obscured the Eye.
“We’re ready,” one of the technicians said, and Romana nodded at the captain.
“All non-essential personnel stand clear!” he barked, “Soldiers! At arms!” More than thirty soldiers moved forwards, or down, resting their weapons where they could.
Lenity walked up the ramp toward the Eye, and firmly grasped one of the baroque, leafed staves, leaning slowly and deliberately down into the shaft of light the speared up from it; the Doctor didn’t expect it to work, to him, she seemed like a Time Lord,
The iron sphere cracked, opening, changing, a shaft of light emerging from its centre, and the machines around it sprang into life around it, the light bending, twisting, and changing.
“Isn’t there some kind of radiation risk?” Destrii asked, standing next to the Doctor.
“It’s not that kind of reactor,” he said, looking drawn, even pale.
Streamers of silver and golden particles shot from the abyss, into machines arrayed around it, circulating, twisting, bathed in the energy from beneath.
“Initial removal complete…” one of the technicians intoned, looking up at Romana, who nodded.
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The Keeper smiled, watching the figure appear above the Eye, on the main monitor. He pulled his sleeve up. “All present and correct,” he muttered, pressing three buttons in sequence, “and, armed…”
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Consciousness. A demi-eternity of damned consciousness, without form, almost without sensation, aside from the occasional fragment that could be gleaned from the environment. He had been trapped for years, centuries, maybe, in silence, blindness, the absence of everything but the sound of drums, a double-heartbeat in a never-ending nightmare.
The worst torment of all; he’d chosen it. He could remember it so clearly. His hated rival had been standing there, offering his hand, to try and save him. His own screamed ‘never’ and then… this.
Then, abruptly he felt a pulling, tearing, formless sensation.
And then there was light. Light, life sound, and pain…
The Master lived once more…
“No” she said, “I will not tolerate this…”
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A dark column of liquid fell from a ceramic nozzle, splashing down into a white fluid below. The Doctor watched closely, and when he judged the level right, cut off the flow by setting the black teapot back down on the table, and watching the steam rise from the cup. He took a teaspoon and dipped it in, twitching it in a languid circle.
He frowned at the dressing gown he wore, it was getting a bit frayed, he’d probably have to get another one soon. “Hey Doc,” he heard a chirpy, faintly aristocratic, voice say from behind him, as his current travelling companion, Destriianatos, wandered into the console room.
He’d given up trying to get her to stop calling him that. “Morning Destrii. Been up long?”
“Two hours,” she said, flicking up a small pendant from a table nearby, up around her neck, changing her appearance entirely from a tall, fish-like amphibian humanoid, to a dusky skinned, dark haired, human woman, dressed in a similar gown, “you’re getting far too lazy.”
“Me? Lazy. It’s only eight.”
“See, lazy.”
“Is this an effort to entice me for even more sparring?”
“Might be…”
At that moment, the rising and falling of the central column stopped, and the doctor looked up suddenly. He was in motion almost instantly, tearing across the ground to the hexagonal console. Destrii was there at the same time, despite a slightly longer run, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” the Doctor said, pushing several buttons firmly, and looking up at the screen above, “We’re caught in something; trying to break us free…” he said, turning a dial, “Locking in reserve power…”
The chamber began to shake with progressive greater energies, and they could feel the chamber vibrating under their feet.
“No use,” Destrii said, looking up at the screen, “Full power?”
“Right,” the Doctor said, flipping a switch forwards, “Full emergency power, now…”
The room began to shake, its structure seeming pulled apart, out of its natural shape; the teacup bounced and slid from the table. The cloister bell could be heard sounding in the depths of the time ship.
“No progress. We’re held fast,” the Doctor said, shutting off the engines, to avoid damaging them.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, “We could try half a dozen things, but we’re about to…”
The column stopped again, as the old ship hauled itself back to reality.
“Materialise…” he finished, “Don’t worry, nothing can get through that door…” he looked over at the atrium doorway, as he heard the sound of the outer doors opening, and moved behind the console, feeling very embarrassed.
The inner doors flew in and a column of armoured soldiers marched in, dressed in close fitting crimson helmets, over white cloaks, with guns – stasers, he recognised – of crystal and bronze. They weren’t quite the Chancellery Guard he remembered they moved differently, and they lacked the cloaks frequently worn by the ones in the Capitol.
“I am Castellan Tenion,” a woman said, stepping through the doors, in a wide, flared collar, her dark hair done up in a high bun behind her head, “Welcome Doctor,” she said, “to the New Time.”
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The small, practically intimate room beyond the Tardis doors was one he seemed to recognize, “Is this a time station?” he asked.
“The same one you were put on trial in, yes,” Tenion said.
“I thought it looked familiar,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets; they’d at least let him and Destrii get dressed.
“Trial?” Destrii asked.
“It’s a long story…”
“The Doctor is not under arrest on this occasion,” Tenion said,
“That’s good to know,” he said, “though it certainly did feel rather like that when I arrived.”
“You are famously intransigent regarding such matters,” Tenion replied nonchalantly, “Besides. Bringing you here directly has its reasons,” she said, walking past an open balcony, at which the Doctor stopped.
Below, was a sceptre-like shape in a frame of steel, over what seemed to be a darkness beneath it. “That’s no Tardis…” The Doctor said, “too many power rooms for its size surely. What is it?”
“That, Doctor, is the Paradox Engine.”
“What?” the Doctor said, “What is that thing for?”
“The President has asked that we not tell you anything,” Tenion said, “she said it would ‘spoil the surprise.’”
“I see…” The Doctor said, stepping away, looking down at the sceptre curiously.
Further strange sights were seen on the walk, including Time Lords; the Doctor could tell that they were to see them, but he’d never expected to see more than one or two engaged in such, militaristic training at any one time. Instead, there were hundreds there, firing stasers, practicing telepathic combat, even engaging in unarmed sparring.
“Huh. You never told me Gallifrey had this kind of thing,” Destrii said.
“It doesn’t,” the Doctor said, “or didn’t, at any rate.”
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The Presidential Office, this one outside the Capitol, in the House of Heartshaven, against Lake Abydos in a valley in the mountains of Wild Endeavour, was was a dome like chamber with windows on both sides, one way looking toward the Capitol, the other looking out into the valley, and down to the House itself.
“Welcome home Doctor,” Romana said, as she looked up, and walked over to where he appeared, with a slight flash of matter transmission over so many millions of light years.
“It’s always good to be back, in a way…” he said, “when I’m not being put on trial or being executed,” he added giving her a cautious look.
“Not this time, Doctor. The tortoises are stampeding. Things have changed around here…”
“So I have seen,” he said, “how and why?”
Romana smiled, “Tea, Doctor?” she asked, sitting down in a high backed golden chair, as another two, slightly lesser chairs, appeared by the narrow oval table, as well as the relevant accoutrements.
Destrii and the Doctor sat, Tenion having remained on the station with the guards, and Romana began to pour the drinks, “Quite recently, we encountered another Gallifrey, fundamentally the same as us, a few minor changes – they’d not rebuilt the Capitol recently, for instance – and one very important one. It had been devastated, by war with the Daleks.”
The Doctor froze, a little of the tea splashing forward onto his trouser leg, “Daleks?”
“We have not been able to detect the relevant Dalek time frame; the survivors of the War Gallifrey claimed that they had destroyed them, but I wouldn’t be so certain. Regardless, it was close enough that the experience of viewing it so closely was enough to generate something that we’ve not had for ten million years…”
“Serious debate.” The Doctor said.
“So, you guys have finally decided to ditch the Prime Directive nonsense?” Destrii asked.
Romana twitched, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“Primatrix Destriianatos of Oblivion,” the Doctor said, “Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar,” he added, nodding to the other Time Lord.
“Oblivion? Never heard of it.”
“Post-human colony in the relative future,” Destrii said, “It got its name from having been obliterated from all records in the universe.”
“All records?” Romana asked.
“Even ours,” The Doctor said with a nod, “Though I suppose you might be able to find it by looking for a hole in the Matrix.”
“Well, anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Destriianatos…”
“Destrii” she said.
“Ah, I go by Romana most of the time. Anyway. With a thorough investigation of the events that Gallifrey had suffered, there was pressure for an investigation into the CIA’s activities…”
“Central Intelligence Agency?” Destii asked.
“Celestial Intervention Agency,” the Doctor said.
“Quite. We finally had its records opened up to public view, and it was promptly dissolved in the resulting crisis. We think we’ve got all of the agents recalled…”
“But you don’t know?”
“They had provisions for acting without any records. In any case, the important bit, is that we’re changing our policies regarding interaction with other cultures, yes,” she said, nodding at Destrii, “Along the kind of lines you’ve suggested in the past. We’re also making a lot of progress in other areas; we’re finally ready to begin prototyping the type 102 TARDIS,” she said.
“Compassion?” the Doctor replied, thinking of a past acquaintance, an advanced, Paradoxical, human-exterior sapient TARDIS model.
“Exactly. Though we’re producing a one-oh-one model, too, without the sapient systems; we can’t exactly go around compelling one-oh-twos to provide transport as conventional vehicles,” the Doctor nodded at her comments.
“So, you want my advice?”
“That’s part of it,” Romana said.
“You don’t want me to tell you how to run whatever organisation you’re replacing the CIA with do you?”
“Actually,” a man said from behind them, “they’ve already got someone for that…”
“You!” the Doctor said, incredulously.
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The Keeper of the Matrix smiled, as he watched the small, frozen blue box interior of the Doctor’s ship moved into a large vault that arched high above like a vast cathedral. Two of the Chancellery Guard stood by the doors of the time ship, but they were facing away from him, towards the chamber’s entrance. And besides, he was a government official, he had every right to be there.
He stepped lightly up behind them, carefully, silently, drawing a slender gun from its holster. It wasn’t a staser, unfortunately, the use of such a weapon would set off alarms, instead, it was an archaic maser, a technology now being revamped, whose settings included a wide array of non-lethal effects, including ones that directly interfered with the brain of a subject. Unfortunately, the guards wore protective collars and helmets, which meant he had to try something else.
Carefully stepping around the outside of the ship, he moved with suddenness and speed enough to take the complacent guards by surprise, bringing the butt of his pistol down to the forehead of one with surprising speed as the other turned, pressing toward him suddenly, compact staser carbine swinging to bear. She didn’t get the chance, the Keeper shot her in the face, the beam so low power it didn’t register, except on a few nerve pathways; the woman dropped to her knees mouth opening mutely, and fell down.
A microscopic turn of a selector on the gun, and he shot both in the face with a setting called trance that would retroactively remove the last few seconds of memory, and let them return to their positions, before recovering fully and thinking nothing had happened. By which time, the Keeper would be done.
He took a key from his pocket, opening the TARDIS door and stepping inside, closing it behind him. He stepped into the console room and frowned at the lofty dark chamber of book cases, mementos and ornate, comfortable furniture, “Such clutter,” he sighed, as if in regret, walking across the room; it wouldn’t do to be here. There were alternate control rooms from which he could control the ship.
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“You can’t possibly trust him!” the Doctor said, accusingly.
“Would you rather have the job?”
“Rather than you, yes, this… fellow, is totally irresponsible, obsessed with self gratification, and too full of himself by half,” the Doctor said, “he sets out to interfere in history for his own benefit!”
“I do not,” the tall, pony-tailed Time Lord replied, “I interfere for the general good.”
“When it amuses you!”
“Come on now Doctor,” the Monk said, “I’ve changed considerably since you last met me,” he frowned, “Which, as I recall, involved me running off cackling and promptly being killed because you didn’t bother to mention a certain Chronovore might be loose.”
“That was fairly self explanatory, besides, she was your own problem. How did you survive that anyway?”
“I didn’t. I died. Fortunately for me I was able to be a little more persuasive after regeneration. She’s still around somewhere. Anyway, as I recall, among your last words to me were ‘we’re not so different.’”
“Boys,” another voice said from the corridor behind them, and a tall blonde woman dressed in the same style of black-brown clothes – some lightweight armour – as the first newcomer, “can you manage to cool yourselves off?”
“Ah,” the first newcomer said, “Ceriana, my wife.”
“Your wife?” the Doctor asked, staring.
“Who is this guy, Doctor…” Destrii asked.
“This is the Meddling Monk. His actual name is Mortimus, or Mortimuseferinadar, but I like Monk. He’s a man who goes around changing history because he can-”
“Changing history for the better,” he said.
“And putting him in charge of anything is a bad idea…”
“Just wait until you hear what the President wants you for, Doctor…”
The Doctor sat down as the two newcomers took another two seats that appeared, “So, Romana, what do you want?”
“Your ship,” she said.
“What?”
“Specifically, I want the Master,” she said.
“What?” the Doctor said, again, shooting to his feet.
“I know. I’ll show you why…” she said, rising to her feet again, walking toward the door, “Come on…”
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The Keeper had left a ‘gift’ in the primary control room, an explosive one. Then he’d made his way to this control room, one of the older ones, where he could watch the exterior of the ship on the wall mounted monitor. The guards were getting up, a little disoriented, but firmly convinced that they’d never even been unconscious or on the floor. Just as planned.
He smiled narrowly, and pressed the buttons on the blank white mushroom shape of the console, there was work to be done. On a screen on the console, a layout of the ship’s corridors could be seen. He manipulated a sequence of buttons, and rooms began to vanish from the display, as they were cut loose.
If the Keeper’s guess was right, then narrowing the potential routes from the main console room to the cloister room down to one, but then, he could have misread the President, which was why he was programming this architecture re-write to be undone at the flick of one of the switches on the console.
If he could deal with her, and a few other elements, in such a convenient way, then he could make an effort to achieve real power. There were many people who weren’t happy with the way her reforms were going, but far more who thought that something had to be done, but weren’t sure she had the right idea. It would be a perfect opportunity for someone with an obscure but solid background, and the right skills, to direct that malcontent toward a very different attitude toward lesser races.
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The mausoleum was a chamber on the fringes of the Capitol, a smaller version of the Panopticon, the chief assembly chamber for state functions, this one intended for state funerals.
There were no Chancellery Guards here; they weren’t that common, and while this chamber would normally be guarded, Castellan Tenion had them doing other things. This chamber was rarely used, as when a Time Lord died, they normally disappeared entirely as the regeneration mechanism broke down, bodies, on Gallifrey, were inherently evidence of murder.
And murdered the figure who lay on the white altar was, despite the untouched nature of her clothes. She had shorter hair than Romana, but was otherwise completely identical, though the high collared, high backed white robes of state she had been dressed in was of the most formal style.
“Doctor!” a voice said from inside, and a woman dressed in a cross between the more practical designs of Gallifreyan robes, and the fashions of more barbarous worlds, with a long sword at her side, said, “Still the same?”
“Leela,” he said, looking surprised, “Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask… Where’s Andred?”
It was, he was surprised to find, Romana who answered, “Oh, he’s still Castellan of the Capitol. Tenion’s responsible for off-world operations.”
“You need two?” he asked.
“There’s a lot more going on in the old bases, and besides, someone’s got to be responsible for securing the CIA’s assets.”
“There’s that much stuff,” Mortimus said quietly, “even I didn’t know all of it. I don’t think anyone did.”
“So, Doctor, meet Lenity. Lenity, the Doctor…”
The other, somewhat younger, woman who had been waiting in the laying-in room was shorter than Leela, with ashy dark hair, and grey eyes, as well as a winning smile, dressed in the more mundane dark robes that tended to be used by much of Gallifrey for everyday wear.
The Doctor didn’t reply, he’d finally seen past his former companion to who lay before them. “So, that’s like, Mirror Romana?” Destrii said, suddenly, catching sight of the body at the same moment.
“You can’t possibly want the Master for this…” The Doctor said.
“The Master…” Destrii asked.
“A madman. He was obsessed, in the end, with extending his own life. He fell into the heart of the TARDIS when he tried to steal my remaining life…”
“Vampire?” she asked curiously.
“Not quite,” Romana said, “but he is the only person we know about who has any idea how to re-energise dead Gallifreyan tissue.”
“Whose idea was this?” the Doctor demanded.
“Mine,” Mortimus said.
“And it’s a terrible idea. I absolutely forbid it!” the Doctor said.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to do that,” the living Romana smiled.
“I can damn well challenge it legally. That’s my ship…”
“Which isn’t going to get flight clearance unless it has an overhaul,” Mortimus said, “nothing too drastic. But I believe that there’s a requirement about running a full clearing procedure on its power systems once very demi-millennium.”
“You wouldn’t!” the Doctor said.
“We would,” Romana said, “you’re going along with us, or you’re going nowhere.”
“Fine. Have him. If you can do this, and provided you imprison him immediately for his crimes.”
“You don’t think we’d let him go anywhere, do you,” Lenity said, “That would be insane…”
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It was the most people the ship had had in it for decades, its doors swung inwards, admitting the Doctor, Destrii, Romana, Lenity, and an entire platoon of guards, followed by dozens of technicians followed by mannequins of some strange living wood native to Romana’s home of Heartshaven bearing biers of complex, shining, equipment. Strange wood, that moved as flesh, or cloth…
The Doctor stopped, “There’s something wrong here… Has anyone been in?”
“No, Doctor,” Romana said, “come on. I don’t like this idea, but it is important. The other Gallifrey has returned to its own frame of reference, and the only way we can get the most information that we want is by questioning the only tangible piece of evidence left…”
“And the fact that this only piece of evidence is a disquieting reminder of your own mortality?” the Doctor said, deciding his unease was at the whole situation.
“Is a distinct factor in my reckoning, yes, besides, it would be nice to have two of me…” Romana said.
“I wouldn’t think so,” the Doctor said, considering the past, and walking onwards, the doors from the console room opening slowly, at his approach, like the doorways of memory.
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The Keeper smiled. It was indeed as he’d expected. How predictable.
He punched in another of the Doctor’s codes, and switched primacy of console room for a moment, once the procession was out of it. Where he stood now was the central command chamber for the ship, the same room, but shifted, he walked over to the doors, locked them, and then back to the console, double locking the outer doors; he switched back, the doorway going dark again.
There would be no escape now.
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The Cloiser Room was the ‘deepest’ room in the bare-bones ‘Time-Sceptre’ design for a TARDIS, and it was from here, that all power flowed. The accessible top of the ten meter sphere of the Eye of Harmony, a duplicate of the great construct that powered the capitol itself, from which it drew power, was the main notable feature of the room, down two flights of stairs, under which hung the great Cloister Bell, the ceremonial yet functional final distress signal of the craft, overlooked by balconies, under a great sky-scape with ornately worked ceiling struts.
The procession came through a great set of double doors, and the Doctor paused again, “You know, Leela would have been your best bet, the ship’s re-configured for a human eye-print still.”
The Lady President smiled. “I’ve thought of that, Doctor. Leela’s eyes aren’t normal enough to act as a master print. That thing with the Rutans.”
“Of course,” the Doctor said, “and Destrii looks the part, but it won’t stand up to this kind of analysis.”
“But I will,” Lenity said cheerfully, pressing between him and Destrii, and began to walk over toward the Eye.
The Doctor frowned, but restrained the urge to ask how, as the group made way for hordes of technicians, and their golem servants.
There was a raised platform around the top of the sphere, gently lit from below, the spherical tip of the iron sphere, covered in tile work representing the seal of Rassilon, dominated this area, and it was around it that they set up their machinery, bringing it up a ramp facing the doorway.
Romana nodded at the red cloaked guard captain, and his men spread themselves around the room, on balconies, stairs, and around the eye itself, rifles and larger weapons at the ready.
“Is this strictly necessary?” the Doctor said, walking up the steps, dry leaves crunching under his feet, “I try to avoid having small armies in my home.”
“Hey, from what you’ve said about this ‘Master’ nut, seems like a good idea,” Destrii said, slinking over to one of the Chancellery Guards on a balcony, looking closely at his weapon.
Hours passed. Eventually, they were done, and a dome of struts surrounded the entire structure and conical projectors, yard after yard of thick cables and massive time-space metric alteration machines. Reflector staves and pulsar fields were mated together in a complex structure that almost entirely obscured the Eye.
“We’re ready,” one of the technicians said, and Romana nodded at the captain.
“All non-essential personnel stand clear!” he barked, “Soldiers! At arms!” More than thirty soldiers moved forwards, or down, resting their weapons where they could.
Lenity walked up the ramp toward the Eye, and firmly grasped one of the baroque, leafed staves, leaning slowly and deliberately down into the shaft of light the speared up from it; the Doctor didn’t expect it to work, to him, she seemed like a Time Lord,
The iron sphere cracked, opening, changing, a shaft of light emerging from its centre, and the machines around it sprang into life around it, the light bending, twisting, and changing.
“Isn’t there some kind of radiation risk?” Destrii asked, standing next to the Doctor.
“It’s not that kind of reactor,” he said, looking drawn, even pale.
Streamers of silver and golden particles shot from the abyss, into machines arrayed around it, circulating, twisting, bathed in the energy from beneath.
“Initial removal complete…” one of the technicians intoned, looking up at Romana, who nodded.
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The Keeper smiled, watching the figure appear above the Eye, on the main monitor. He pulled his sleeve up. “All present and correct,” he muttered, pressing three buttons in sequence, “and, armed…”
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Consciousness. A demi-eternity of damned consciousness, without form, almost without sensation, aside from the occasional fragment that could be gleaned from the environment. He had been trapped for years, centuries, maybe, in silence, blindness, the absence of everything but the sound of drums, a double-heartbeat in a never-ending nightmare.
The worst torment of all; he’d chosen it. He could remember it so clearly. His hated rival had been standing there, offering his hand, to try and save him. His own screamed ‘never’ and then… this.
Then, abruptly he felt a pulling, tearing, formless sensation.
And then there was light. Light, life sound, and pain…
The Master lived once more…