Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is copyright property of the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).
It is ignorance or misapprehension of the nature of reality which is at the root of our suffering.
The voice was faint, carried a great distance by the mute winds.
Holding an umbrella before him, the man rested his chin on its question mark shaped handle.
"Tell me," he said, his voice grim. "What have I overlooked? Where have I gone wrong?"
If we do not take into account human pain, human feelings and human compassion, there is no demarcation between right and wrong.
Suddenly, nightfall encroached on the peaceful setting. Menacing storm clouds filled the sky and eclipsed the sun. Like a drop of ink into a glass of water, the ocean turned opaque.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The man covered his ears in vain as the chime pierced his mind. The driftwood log beneath him reformed as metal grating.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The scene before him was pitch black, save for a flashing red light above. He could barely make out digits, flashing in decreasing order.
Silence.
The breeze died and the air grew hot. The man took a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Wiping the sweat that trickled down his brow, he clasped one hand in the other to cease its shaking. He took a deep breath.
The door slid open before him.
Men and women ran in a blind panic across the square, over crumbling streets, as concrete chunks and steel pillars pounded down around them, crushing metal and bone alike.
The little man exited the lift and the door clicked shut behind him.
The flames were bold and bright against the sky, a mesh of heat and fury, tightening as the seconds passed. Towering beams supporting the transparent dome above strained and buckled. A spreading latticework of cracks raced across the flaming sky.
A whoosh of air gusted down the square as the first shuttle was released. The citizens of Tranta cried out, begging the next silver craft to save them.
He covered his ears, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he fought to find some final solution, some last resort that would pluck the people from the path of the gas giant. The little man joined the mass of people weaving their way through the rubble, their flight hindered by the shaking ground. As the single moment approached--the moment at which the screams would stop forever, and one and a half million lives would end--the citizens of Tranta gradually realized that there was no escape, no final solution, no last resort.
One single word touched his cracked lips, one last ghost of an apology.
"Why?"
--Gandalf, The Two Towers
Her eyes were closed. She tilted forward and allowed herself to fall.
Two seconds later, there was a splash.
Seconds after that, Ace surfaced with a scream. "F-freezing cold!"
She swam to the edge of the pool and hauled herself onto the deck. She grabbed a towel from the base of a roundel and left the bathing room grumbling to herself.
Minutes later, she kicked open the door of the library and strode in, dripping defiantly on the hardwood floor. "Librarian!" she shouted. "Get out here!"
A wizened and translucent old man appeared out of nowhere, wearing spectacles and a tweed suit. "May I help you?"
"What the hell happened with the temperature settings?" Ace demanded. "I might as well have jumped into a block of ice!"
"That would be most impractical and dangerous, Miss McShane," said the Librarian. "Why would you want--? Oh. You meant that rhetorically."
"I set that pool for eighty degrees Fahrenheit," said Ace. "It wasn't anywhere close. Why?"
The Librarian shifted uneasily. "Have you any idea of the amount of energy required to heat that much water? The energy was needed elsewhere--"
"By the Doctor, right?"
The old man nodded reluctantly.
Ace huffed. The Doctor. It all came back to the Doctor. He'd locked her out of the console room for over a week, now. What was he planning?
Ace rounded on the Librarian. "I have to talk to him."
"Miss McShane," he said nervously. "I don't think I can do that."
"What did the Professor program you to do?" said Ace. "He told you to see to all of my needs. Well, I need to talk to him. Will you do that or not?"
This babysitter routine infuriated her. Considering all that I did for the Doctor while I was inside his head, she thought, surely he would realize by now that I can take care of myself. Something's wrong.
"Miss McShane, I--"
"Now look, you! I'm dying with boredom, can't you see that? Dying! Now do your duty and let me back in so you don't have my death to answer for!"
The Librarian shook his head. "The Doctor anticipated such a trick. You are quite healthy, according to your medical readings, so I can't let you go."
Ace started, looked around for medical scanners, found none, and drew her towel more tightly around herself. She glared. "All right, then. Call him up. I want to talk to him."
"I can't."
"He's not even on board, is he?"
Silence. Ace smiled triumphantly and turned on her heel.
The Librarian started after her. "Wait! Where are you going?"
Ace strode on. She began pulling off her swimsuit as she neared her room. She halted at the door, rounded on the Librarian and said curtly, "Sorry! Members only!" Then she slammed the door in his face.
Moments later, she re-emerged wearing her black tights, skirt, shirt, Doc Martins and the badge-riddled jacket with "Ace" emblazoned across its back. She hauled her rucksack over her shoulder and strode around the Librarian on the way to the console room.
"Miss McShane!" he cried, following her. "This isn't productive! The console room door is locked!" He vanished and reappeared in Ace's path. "I won't let you humiliate yourself!"
Ace hesitated only a moment and strode through him. The hologram huffed. "Why didn't he program me as a block transfer computation instead of a collection of light beams?"
He followed Ace to where a door blocked their path. Ace set down her rucksack and tied her hair back in a ponytail. She produced a canister of Nitro-nine from the rucksack and affixed it to the door handle.
"Miss McShane, don't do this," said the Librarian. "The door can take a canister of Nitro-nine. You'll just make a loud noise and fill this corridor with smoke."
Ace took out two more canisters and affixed them to the door's hinges.
"Three canisters of Nitro-nine," continued the hologram without missing a beat, "will just make a louder explosion. It won't blow the door down."
She took out two more and affixed them to the edge of the door, as near to the hinges as she could, and wired the fuses together.
"Even five won't do it. And I know for a fact that you only had five canisters of Nitro-nine when the Doctor locked you in here last week--"
Ace returned to her rucksack and pulled out her sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth canister.
The hologram stared. "Oh dear."
"What did you think I did to pass the evenings?" asked Ace. "Read a book?"
"Well, I had hoped--"
"Right, I'm taking cover. As you're a hologram, you don't have to. Your choice." She strode down the corridor trailing wires and ducked into a side-room.
"Now, see here!" the Librarian shouted.
He was enveloped in the explosion.
Ace emerged from the room and nodded, satisfied. The door had been blown open. Debris littered the corridor. The holographic librarian stood in the middle of the blast area, his legs apparently buried. She stepped past him and into the TARDIS console room.
The room was quiet. The central column was still. The Doctor's brown coat, panama hat and umbrella were hanging on the hat stand, but otherwise the room was empty.
Ace sighed. "I knew it. He's not here."
"Well, that's good to know," said the Librarian. "Now that you have this information, perhaps you can come back and repair the damage you did to the door--"
"But he's planning something," said Ace, peering at a display on the console. "Twelve landings in the past week? Where's this place, Tranta?"
"Why not wait here and ask him yourself upon his return?" suggested the Librarian.
Ace pushed the door handle. The Librarian stared in horror as the TARDIS doors opened.
"Didn't bother to lock the front doors, I see," said Ace. "Lucky for the TARDIS."
"Miss McShane, this is highly--" the Librarian stammered. "You can't just--The Doctor said--You could be killed--"
"The Professor's in over his head this time," said Ace. "I know it. It's like a sixth sense to me. Besides, I've already been dead once." She turned on her heel and stepped through the TARDIS doors, leaving the protesting hologram behind.
Ace found herself beneath a fire escape in a dimly lit back alley. It could have been any city on Earth, but something made her keep to the shadows. Looking around, she saw a street to her right and made towards it slowly.
As she crept forward, she tried to piece together what felt wrong about this place--then she realized that it wasn't any one thing. She felt lighter than normal. The air carried none of the freshness of Earth, but none of the smog, either. It smelt anti-septic.
Then Ace looked out onto the street, and she had to stop and stare. It was night and the sky was clear--too clear. Billions more stars shone in the sky than she was used to. And, off in the western (if it was western) sky, the profile of a gas giant, made up of swirls of blue and violet, poked up from the horizon.
"A space city," she muttered. That made sense. Then she realized another thing that was giving her bad signals about the place. There were no noises of traffic. The city was filled with the silence of curfew.
Curfew? The Professor would land us on a planet with a curfew.
Ace ducked further into the shadows when she heard footsteps approaching. A girl ran past and paused momentarily at the entrance to the alleyway, looking about her desperately. Then she darted into the alley, losing herself in the shadows.
Ace peered after her, but her attention was brought around by the sound of more footsteps, in marching formation. Pulling back into the shadows, she waited and watched until she saw a group of soldiers in riot gear run down the street and past the entrance to the alleyway.
Ace waited until the sounds of their footfalls disappeared around the next corner. Then she stepped from the shadows. As she stopped to consider her next move, her attention fell upon a spot on the ground. It was a small, red stain, sticky to the touch. Another drop of blood could be found in the alleyway a few feet on.
Following the trail of blood, Ace walked cautiously up the alleyway for some distance until the trail curved, and she found herself approaching a dumpster. A bloody handprint could be seen on the dumpster's side. Stepping as quietly as she could, Ace crept up to the dumpster and looked inside.
She found herself face to face with a gun barrel.
A young woman was holding it. She was definitely human; her features were Asian. She had dark hair and wore battered fatigues. A stream of blood was trickling down her cheek from a cut on her forehead and she was staring at Ace with fear and lack of focus.
"Hey," said Ace quietly. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Liar!" the woman spat. "You're a guard, or a whistleblower!"
"No," said Ace, facing the woman and her gun calmly. "I'm on your side."
The woman's face clouded with disbelief and hope. "You're a rebel? I don't know you."
"Yeah," said Ace. "A rebel. Joined yesterday. I'm in the explosives division. Look, I'll show you."
She reached for her rucksack, making no sudden moves as the woman's finger tightened on the trigger. Ace drew out her last canister of Nitro-nine and passed it to the woman. "Have a look at that," she said.
The woman's eyes flickered over the canister, focusing on the detonator.
"Nice work," she said at last. "How did you find me?"
"First things first," said Ace. "What's your name?"
"Ikuko."
"I'm Ace. Do you have a safe house nearby?"
"I was heading back for base when a troop almost caught me," said Ikuko. "I was going to head back through the sewers, but I had to rest. I couldn't go any farther."
"You're hurt," said Ace. "I'll help you. Where's the sewer?"
Ace helped Ikuko out of the dumpster and they approached the centre of the alleyway. A sewer grate sat in the middle of wet and broken pavement. Ace wrinkled her nose. "There?"
Ikuko nodded.
Ace shrugged. "Well, let's get this open."
Ace tried to pull up the sewer grate, but Ikuko refused to be coddled and kept shoving forward to help. Ace eventually relented, but made sure she did most of the lifting. Once the grate was away, they climbed down the ladder, Ikuko first. Ace slid the grate back into place above her and crawled down the rungs until she entered the sewer tunnel. She ignored how the foul water submerged her Doc Martens beyond her ankles. She concentrated her attention instead on Ikuko and caught her up just as she was about to faint.
"We've got to get you to a doctor," said Ace. "Which way do we go?" Ikuko pointed and Ace led her in the direction indicated.
They splashed through the sewer tunnel for some distance until Ace could hear the sound of rushing water growing louder. The sewer emptied out into a large cavern, where a number of other tunnels joined together in a large pool. There was a group of men and women here, dressed in combat fatigues and hoisting machine guns nervously. They turned on the pair as they approached, but relented at the sight of Ikuko.
"You made it," said a mousey-haired woman, rushing forward and taking Ikuko by the arm. Another man followed her to help Ace, then stopped at the sight of her and her unfamiliar clothes. "Who are you?"
At once the guns went up. Ace held up her hands.
"No," said Ikuko. "She helped me. She's a new recruit--her name's Ace."
"How did she get here?" said a tall, dark-skinned man, firmly gripping his firearm. "She wasn't with our group when we transported over."
Ace hesitated a moment. "I-I live here on Tranta. I'm working on the inside--a spy."
"Whoever she is, let's get out of here!" the mousey-haired woman told the others. "We can question her back at base."
A loud screech filled the cavern and the rebels pointed their machine guns at the tunnel entrances around them. Ace breathed deeply, content to be the centre of attention no longer. Dozens of rats flooded into the chamber and darted towards the group through the murky water. One or two of the rebels became squeamish and took potshots; the vermin exploded in bursts of sparks. Splashing footfalls echoed up the tunnels.
"Robotic tracking rats?" suggested Ikuko.
"Clever. Fire up that transmat already!" cried the dark-skinned man. Another man removed his backpack, pulled out four retractable metal staffs and set it down on a pile of rubble. Inserting the staffs into the backpack's frame, they lit up and extended five feet in height.
The rats dispersed as footfalls neared the tunnel entrances.
Ace kept close to Ikuko. "What's going on?" she whispered.
"Rixx's guards--they've found us."
"All of you, into the transmat!" cried the mousey-haired woman. "I'll hold them off!"
"Not on your own, Hunter," said a redheaded male, who took up arms beside her.
Ace's eyes lit up. "Ikuko, I can help."
"How--?"
"Wait!" shouted Ace. She yanked out her Nitro-nine canister, twisted the fuse and tossed it down one of tunnels as far as she could. "Everyone down!" There was an explosion and the methane in the air flared. The guards screamed and fell back. Ace wrinkled her nose as the sewage began to burn.
"Everybody, into the transmat!" the dark-skinned man yelled.
Her eyes watering from the acrid smoke, Ace led Ikuko to the lights of the transmat. The girl stepped between the staffs and disappeared. One by one, the others followed suit.
The guards were recovering enough to fire. Laserbolts penetrated the curtain of smoke. A shot caught the redhead in the leg and he collapsed. He collapsed. Hunter provided covering fire and helped drag him against the wall.
"Thompson, Hunter, come on! In!" shouted the dark-skinned man. He started forward to help, but Ace noticed the couple were too far away and there was no cover. The man glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Get out of here, Ace!"
She winced as a section of cavern wall exploded. Rubble and dust now obscured her view of the others. Ace backed up till she was surrounded by the four glowing staffs.
The world around her disappeared with a flash.
Deep male singing voices washed over the pews with a roar, while female voices resonated with an angelic majesty to the vaulted ceiling. While the choir performed Nearer My God to Thee, Prentis eyed his congregation from a seat near the pulpit: families in their Sunday best with ears pricked up, several older men and women with heads bowed in prayer or sleep, and a lively toddler struggling in his mother's grasp. Morning light, painted with rich red, blue and green by stained glass windows, warmed the concrete walls and silhouetted Bishop Mahoney, who fixed him a stern glance from the back of the church.
The hymn over, Prentis asked the congregation to stand for a closing prayer. He asked for a bountiful harvest season and solutions to the Morestran energy crisis, and added a silent prayer for courage in the face of authority. The pews vibrated gently as a joyous organ melody signalled the end of the service. With choir in tow, Prentis exited to the lobby and shook hands with the departing congregation; the farmers would be eager to commence Sunday chores before the forecasted rain in the afternoon.
"A pleasant, simple service, Reverend Hayden Prentis. This rural population is fortunate that the present energy crisis means only fewer off-planet flights."
Prentis turned to catch a glimpse of Mahoney's fleeting smile. His arms were crossed over his stocky frame and his ornate grey robes defied his drab tone. Composing himself, Prentis asked, "Will you be staying the night then? I'll have the Gardeners prepare the spare bedroom--"
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary: my shuttle departs in an hour. This is a priority visit, after all."
Prentis swallowed. "Shall we retire to the rectory?" Mahoney agreed and the two men exited the lobby through a sidedoor and walked up the stairs to Prentis' private office and living chambers. The wooden door at the head of the stairs opened onto darkness and the bishop followed the reverend inside. Flinging open the heavy drapes to the right of the door, he winced briefly as light filled the small room. Specs of white-tiled floor gleamed through strewn papers, maps and articles of clothing.
The bishop chuckled under his breath and stood at the window. Prentis offered him his padded desk chair, but he shook his head and gazed out the window. The reverend sat on the corner of his bed and made an attempt to gather up some strewn papers.
"This will be a big step in your career, Prentis," Mahoney said, peering intently at something down below. "You're keen to establish relations and have been preparing for your visit to Tranta for some time now."
"Yes, of course." Prentis set down his papers. "I've been reviewing trade logs, conference minutes, historical documents for months--anything I can get my hands on. I aid the Gardeners with their duties and pay visits to parishioners as well." He looked at the mess and smiled. "Organization is often overlooked, I'm afraid."
"Well you'd best get things in order soon, Prentis. Martin Rixx has agreed to a meeting on Tuesday--"
"That's only two days away!" Prentis went pale. "I could be ready in a month, a week at the earliest."
"Rixx set the date. Ambassadors for the Empire have trouble enough meeting the man, so I don't think the Church is in a position to negotiate." Mahoney turned from the window and fixed him a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry, Prentis."
"A big step indeed." The reverend took a deep breath.
"These are trying times for the Church. Attendance in the cities is low--the energy crisis is trying everyone's patience and faith. By establishing a presence on Tranta, we could make a difference."
"My research shows Martin Rixx to be a very private man and that extends to his leadership. Unless it serves him a purpose, he's quick to resist outside political and religious influences."
Mahoney's robes stirred up papers and dust in his wake as he crossed the room. He sat on the corner of Prentis' desk. "And how do you think the civilians of Tranta react to leadership from someone so introverted?"
"A healthy economy, a high standard of living, a crime rate that's next to nil, no poverty or disease, fertile farmlands, an effective waste recycling system, remarkable education programs. He's pushing the right buttons from behind the curtains, that's for sure."
"I don't doubt for a minute he manages Tranta with due care and diligence," Mahoney said. "But he is just one man--one mortal man. He may have created a utopia, but the civilians need assurances it will last beyond his lifetime."
Prentis lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. A swarm of shadows fluttered about the plaster as a breeze stirred branches outside the window. On such a tranquil Sunday, he would have looked forward to researching in the garden. But his priorities had changed. He had never expected his prayers for prosperity to be answered so suddenly.
The bishop rose from the desk. "I must leave you now, Prentis, if I'm to catch my shuttle. My driver will be waiting at the gates."
"Let me escort you." The young reverend joined Mahoney at the doorway, and together they descended the stairwell and made their way out the front entrance of the church.
They passed through a magnificent courtyard, lined with tall, flowering trees and lush gardens. Mahoney's eyes rested on the figures in crimson robes tending to the flowerbeds. Cowls covered their faces, but reptilian claws could be seen grasping hoes and trowels.
"In all your time among the Gardeners, Prentis," the bishop whispered, "have you ever heard their song?"
Prentis glanced at his companion with a hint of dismay. "You believe in that hearsay?"
"A few years ago, I came across century-old survey logs of the Mining Corporation. They spoke of ethereal singing from the Gardener reservations." A smile crept across the man's face. "Described it as combination of whalesong and Mozart."
"Ruthless misers," the reverend muttered. "I doubt they had enough sophistication between them to recognize eighteenth century classical music."
Mahoney's smile faded. "You champion the Gardeners' cause and I admire that, Prentis. It is true the Church were quick to turn a blind eye in the past." He gave Prentis a look of concern. "But be wary: I fear the Gardeners--the Shly-Ka--are far more powerful than they let on."
They reached the end of the courtyard, where a grey shuttle car awaited them. The side door lifted open as the bishop approached and he climbed inside. "Be at the space port first thing Tuesday morning. The Church is counting on you, Prentis. Good luck." He nodded to the driver and the door closed. Prentis stepped back as the car rose several feet in the air and hovered for a moment before speeding away.
With a sigh, the young reverend returned to the church. As he passed by, the Gardeners looked up from their work and watched him intently.