journalofthewanderers

[journalofthewanderers]

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Footprints on the Beach

The Homeworld, Within the Omega Barrier, The Time Vortex

888.7.7th Era of the Rassilon Cycle

Borusa’s chambers within the Cardinal’s Palace was one of the few places not bedecked in the Pandak Style of the rest of the building. Instead Borusa had opted for a Cogcrete aesthetic as it was called; stonework moulded into the shape of cogs and other mechanical timepiece parts.

Salyavin wasn’t a fan.

Her fellow Chronarch kept her waiting for almost half a span before sweeping into the room, a tall older man with richly dark skin and a mohawk of silver hair that hung down the left side of his head.

“New incarnation Preceptor?” he said with a smile as he sat down, “I like it, not sure about the brow though.”

And spack you too. Salyavin thought, “unfortunately, I was comfortable in my previous form,” was what she actually said with a returning smile of her own.

Guardians of Time, we are both as bad as each other, she thought, then blinked at how readily she admitted that, clearly she was more open minded than her predecessor.

“So what can I do for you?” Borusa asked.

“It’s about the crash, and what it means for my class.”

“Ye-es,” Borusa drawled, consulting his Datapatch, “A type 40.4 TARDIS wasn’t it?”

“40.1.”

Borusa blinked at her, then scoffed.

“A 40.1? You went out in one of them? Maybe you weren’t as comfortable in your previous form as you thought.”

Under the table Salyavin clenched her fists, but a long career as a Chronarch helped her maintain a neutral expression.

“I’m more concerned about what effect it will have on my students, their candidacy to become Elementals.”

Borusa made no reply, he simply leant on his hand and gestured for Salyavin to continue.

“To all intents and purposes, they’ve passed, they completed their final assessment,” she lied, “and before the accident everything was going smoothly.

“I second that,” the third individual in the room, Preceptor Androgar said, he had been overseeing the second TARDIS during the battle exercise. Now, as he sat beside Salyavin, he seemed entirely unrepentant for technically being the reason Salyavin now had hair to wash in the morning.

Even for you that’s unfair Salyavin thought, it was that spacking TARDIS.

“I understand your class made it back in good time Androgar, whereas yours only just made it Salyavin?” Borusa observed and Salyavin nodded.

“Only just still counts as far as I’m concerned.”

Borusa nodded back, then stood and paced to the window, Prydon sprawled out before him, the Lightposts illuminating the false late morning. It was as he stood there that Salyavin realised just how unwell the Chronarch looked, no that wasn’t entirely accurate, he seemed to be in good health despite being on his 9th incarnation.

But sometimes, his skin looked thin, translucent almost.

“Did you both know there was a break in the other night?”

“Yes?” Salyavin said, not understanding the non-sequitur.

“A Shobogan infiltrated this palace, even managed to open one of the inner doors.”

That made Salyavin sit forward, while Androgar merely grimaced.

“How is that possible? No Shobogan could have that kind of mental power…”

She broke off, her face flushing with anger.

“Are you… do…” she spluttered, but Borusa merely laughed.

“No Salyavin I’m not accusing one of your precious special students, nor am I suggesting you had something to do with it, the intruder clearly used a device according to the report.”

He moved back to his very padded chair and rested on the back of it.

“If you think, I’m sure you can hazard a guess as to who it was?”

Salyavin was still caught up in the revelation that someone could open an inner door without mental powers, meaning it was left to Androgar to answer.

“The Doctor.”

“The Doctor indeed,” Borusa smirked, “one of the more troublesome members of the Paradox Faction,” he sat back down and clasped his hands on the desk, “I tell you this because I can’t help but notice that two members of your class are also Paradoxicals Salyavin?”

“Two?”

“The Corsair, and Koschei.”

Salyavin had been a Chronarch for 200 Era’s, she knew how to hide her true feelings as good as any of her fellows, yet she still stood abruptly, face a perfect mask of shock and indignation.

“Koschei is not a Paradoxical!” she snapped.

Far from being offended, Borusa seemed to genuinely enjoy her outrage, “I only tell you what our reports say, that he’s a close friend of the Doctor and her clique, that he’s been seen at their meetings.”

“I don’t believe it,” Salyavin insisted, sitting back down, “he wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t disappoint me like that, besides he clearly hasn’t burned his name.”

“Yet.”

Salyavin shot a quick and venomous glance in Androgars direction before leaning forward.

“So… some of my students are Paradoxicals, your point?”

“My point,” Borusa replied evenly, “is that it might look bad to elevate… some, open Paradoxicals so recently after a breach in our security.”

“Well then punish the Doctor, it’s not unheard of for trouble makers to be taken from the streets with… just cause, besides no-one would miss her.”

“Exactly,” Borusas smile turned a degree more indulgent, “no-one would miss her, she’s a troublemaker, but much of what she does seems to be on her own initiative, she’s hardly even a cog in the Factions structure, and if we start picking off the smaller members our real targets scatter.”

Salyavin stared at him, mouth slightly agape, but then she closed her eyes and sighed, “alright Borusa, what do you want?”

The Cardinal smirked, “nothing too severe, as you say your class completed their assessment, so I’ll be kind.”

He held up one finger, and again Salyavin was struck by how thin his skin seemed to be, if only for a moment.

“You scapegoat one of your Paradoxicals, we can’t have it getting around that TARDIS’s can choose not to fire after all, so say one of them was at the defence panel, made a mistake, and for that they have to be let go.”

He dropped the finger and held his hands out, “the choice is yours.”

It was Salyavins turn to smile, as if it was a difficult choice.

“The Corsair,” she said dismissively.

~ ~ ~

“You have actually looked worse.”

Koschei opened his eyes, the medical centre attached to the Academy had a stark white, almost dreamy quality to it, which made the Doctor, with her wild hair and her garish waistcoat stand out even more. He smiled faintly, and she grinned back before loping into the room and holding out a small paper bag.

“Would you like a Jelly Bear?”

“Words I’ve been waiting to hear since I left,” Koschei said dipping into the bag and pulling out a yellow one.

“I did try and sneak you some before you departed, but it was no good.” The Doctor said sitting down besides the bed and taking out a green one.

“Ah well, I managed to survive,” Koschei said lightly popping the treat into his mouth, even if it was a yellow one it was good to taste a Jelly Bear again.

It was only after he swallowed it that he realised the Doctors mood had dropped as soon as he’d spoken, she noticed and smiled at him.

“Yes, you did, you had us scared there for a moment.”

“Us?”

“Alright me, the others didn’t care.”

Koschei chuckled and took out another Jelly Bear, black this time.

“They fixed my leg easily, but they tell me it will be a long recovery, I’ll have to wear a Heal-cast for a while.”

“Well I’m not carrying you.” The Doctor said with a wan smile, her mood lightening once more.

“What happened?” She asked, Koschei shook his head.

“Something went wrong with the TARDIS’s interceptors I think, they refused to fire, we tried to dodge, the wrong way, and the torpedo hit our port Warp Silo.”

“Drax thinks it was a Gravity Cascade?”

“Oof,” Koschei rubbed at his permanent stubble, “that would make sense, from what I can recall the torpedo wedged into the shell and drove us toward the planet before it became dislodged.”

“It surprises me anyone was actually injured, given that a TARDIS interior is its own private pocket dimension.”

“True,” Koschei said, “but do you remember Class 7c?”

“I was probably asleep,” the Doctor admitted, all the same she furrowed her brow and thought.

“As part of a stable cross-dimensional connection the external shell will transmit up to 50% of any inertial force acting upon it to the interior,” she quoted rapidly, “In layman’s terms hit a TARDIS hard enough and its crew will notice.”

“See I didn’t think I heard you snoring through that part.”

“I do not snore.”

“Class 7d would suggest otherwise.”

During their talk they had continued to eat Jelly Bears, Koschei scoring another black one followed by red, orange and green, whereas the Doctor had managed three red ones and two yellow ones.

“Salyavin regenerated,” the Doctor told him and Koschei blinked, then nodded.

“I’d heard, he hasn’t been to see me.”

“She,” the Doctor corrected, “and you expected her to?”

“Well, she is my teacher.”

“Ah,” the Doctor said with a mock sympathetic grin, “maybe you weren’t enough of a teacher’s pet last lesson.”

“Hey,” Koschei said, brow furrowing, “I just thought that… given how much she’s taught me personally…” he trailed off, the Doctors expression shifted into genuine sympathy.

“I know, but she is a Time Archon.”

“Well I will be too, soon enough.”

“An Elemental, she’s a Chronarch, she’s had all that time to let the power go to her head, to fall in love with it, like all Chronarchs.” The Doctor made to begin fishing in the bag for her favourites but then stopped and handed the bag to Koschei first, but he shook his head, both as a refusal of the offer and a denial of what the Doctor had said.

“You think I’ll end up like that?”

“No,” the Doctor grinned, “you’re not nearly dull enough.”

But Koschei didn’t smile back, “did you see her regeneration?”

“The Guards had her well screened when it happened so no,” the Doctor again made to reach into the bag but again she stopped, her eyes troubled. “I did hear it though, as they were pushing us away, it didn’t sound… comfortable.”

“They showed us footage of some of the different types in our last class.”

Koschei shuddered.

“One had fallen from a great height… he disintegrated, literally broke into pieces and fragments before reforming, another was drowned, they changed in a ball of fire, one was engulfed in electricity, another had their next incarnation claw their way out from under their skin.”

The Doctor set down the bag and gripped Koschei’s shoulder firmly but kindly, making him look at her even as the monitoring equipment indicated his rising panic.

“Hey, its okay,” she hesitated before continuing, making sure she was saying the right thing, “you know, you could still not go through with it.”

Koschei looked at her, then drew in a long breath, “I couldn’t do that, I’ve got this far, it’s just…”

He hesitated and pressed his lips together, “lying here it’s suddenly hit me, that this is happening, you know how they make you a Time Archon?”

The Doctor nodded without reply and Koschei continued.

“That’s going to be me before long, I’ve got to go through that.”

“’Got’ doesn’t come into it, you can still duck out.” The Doctor pressed, her hand still on her friend’s arm, but Koschei narrowed his eyes.

“I know you don’t want me to,” he said, the Doctor blinked then shook her head.

“What I want doesn’t come into it either-”

“It does,” Koschei interrupted, “it always does.”

The Doctor frowned and withdrew her arm, she shrugged.

“Alright, of course I don’t want you to, even without what you’ll have to go through, becoming one of them changes you, not just literally, we’ve both seen it.”

She waved a hand around at nothing.

“Pavo, Adelphi, Deliavatsud, they were all Paradoxicals, they all became Time Archons, and they all turned their backs on us.”

“The Hermit, The Professor, the Grandfather himself?” Koschei countered, “he’s a Chronarch, and he leads the movement.”

“But all they do is talk,” the Doctor replied flatly, “debating, lobbying, petitioning, all very polite, even when they oppose them they can’t stop being Time Archons.”

“Well I won’t.” Koschei knew he sounded more certain than he felt, or at least he hoped he did, “just talk I mean, listen…” he shifted himself into as much of a sitting position as possible, the Doctor made to help but ended up wavering between helping and not babying him.

“I know that you might refuse to believe this, but some of us truly want to become Time Archons, so we can be better, think of it; me, Cardinal Koschei, master of all my fields, someone for others to actually aspire to for the right reasons,” he chuckled, “it’s all about choice, and this is what I choose to do.”

The Doctor sighed and let out a groan of defeat, “you’ve been speaking to the Rani haven’t you?”

“Not at all, but I know you very well.”

He smiled and the Doctor smiled back and waved an accepting hand.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just afraid too, of how you’re going to change.”

“I’m not going to change, I’ll be different, but I won’t change.”

“You promise?”

Koschei smirked, “to the best of my ability, now show me this screwdriver.”

The Doctor laughed and produced the device for him to marvel at. As she explained how it had opened the doorway Koschei briefly considered revealing Salyavins deception regarding their final exam but decided against it. Instead they talked about her adventures and enjoyed Jelly Bears together.

Two Spans later, the news came in that their ascension was scheduled for tomorrow, and that the Corsair had been dismissed.

~ ~ ~

“They can’t be serious!”

“You will refrain from speaking out of turn Hussar.”

This meeting of the Paradox Faction had been running for half a Span, and nothing else had been discussed save for the Corsair.

The meeting place changed with every session, no actual restrictions had yet been put into place against the Faction, but that did nothing to prevent the paranoia of its leadership.

Though given the more subtle ways the Time Archons had found to curb their activities in the past, it was well warranted paranoia in the Doctors opinion.

This time a small old chapel to the Guardians of Time, run by a Pythian Sister sympathetic to the cause, had been selected as the venue. Now a good 30 people were crammed into the dimly lit space, outside the Lightposts were being reduced to an early evening. The Doctor, Koschei, the Rani, and Drax sat with the Captain, a short male with cropped silver hair despite his apparent youth, the Thinker, a shapely woman with extremely long red hair, and the Innocent, an Elemental who had regenerated into the form of an 11 Era old.

They were fairly close to the middle of the group, where the Other, the Professor and the Grandfather were clustered.

The Grandfather, leader of the Paradox Faction, got to his feet, he bore a similarity to the Professor, with a large grey moustache and an extremely defined face with pronounced cheekbones, he peered at the Hussar who was on their feet, through a pair of pince-nez perched on his thin nose.

“The Critic,” he gestured to the willowy dark-skinned woman who had just remonstrated the Hussar, “forgets that anyone can speak in this meeting, all that is expected is simple respect.”

“I apologise Grandfather,” the Critic replied stiffly, her eyes darting to the Hussar as she did.

The Grandfather merely waved in her direction, “I’m afraid they are serious,” he said, addressing the Hussar, “the Corsair has been summarily expelled, supposedly they were at the defence controls during the battle simulation, and they made several mistakes during the test, resulting in the crash and the regeneration of Preceptor Salyavin.”

“But that’s wrong,” Koschei murmured to the Doctor, he had been discharged from medical less than a Span ago, his leg encased in a protective healing-cast but otherwise he was on the arduous road to recovery. “Corsair wasn’t at the defence controls, Magnus was, and he did everything right, it was something to do with the TARDIS itself."

“Tell that to Borusa.” The Doctor murmured back.

“Tell that to the Grandfather,” Drax hissed, “so they can actually do something about it.”

The Other glanced over at their mutterings and the Doctor indicated to Koschei.

“Grandfather,” the Other spoke up, “both the Corsair and Koschei were aboard that TARDIS during the incident, they can attest as to what happened.” He gestured to Koschei and then to the Corsair, sitting opposite.

Koschei thought back to when that massively built figure, now hunched forward and almost foetal in their despair, had been a wild bastion of rebellion, both they and Drax had once stolen a Guard Skimmer for a joy ride into the Redgrass fields west of Prydon.

Rumour had it that they’d kissed–and a lot more besides–on that adventure.

“Koschei?”

He started and realised everyone was looking at him, he felt the colour rising on his neck.

“Er, yeh- yes, Grandfather,” he replied.

“You were on the TARDIS in question?”

“I, I was and the uh…” he bit his tongue intentionally, one to one he could easily argue his point, but with so many eyes on him.

“…Corsair- the Corsair wasn’t even at the defence panel,” he managed to get out.

“Is that true Corsair?” The Grandfather asked turning to the hulking figure, the Corsair didn’t respond.

“Corsair?”

It was Drax who spoke, the Corsair nodded.

“Well that is troubling,” the Grandfather admitted, “this represents a direct attack on the Paradox Faction.”

A murmuring passed through the crowd.

“I say,” the Professor declared, “do you think so?”

“What other reason could they have for barring their ascension? If as Koschei says, the Corsair truly wasn’t responsible for Salyavins regeneration, then this is an attempt to bar more than one Paradoxical from becoming a Time Archon, possibly due to recent, incidents.”

His eyes flicked disapprovingly to the Doctor, who held his gaze unapologetically.

“In any case, Hussar if you can put together a lobbying group and speak to our friends in the PRV about contesting this injustice.”

“Yes Grandfather.”

“Alright, on to other business, some of our members wish for us to push for the abolishment of the Great States, now I understand…” he continued as another murmur, this time of disagreement made the rounds, “…that this is a drastic proposal, but our demands for an end to the trapping of Pigbears and Vortisaurs, as well as the scaling back of the TARDIS birthyards due to environmental damage have met with some response, not a lot admittedly but some…”

The meeting continued in this fashion for another two spans, as they discussed, argued and debated the myriad of policies and mandates the Faction had accrued, from the general demand for greater transparency by the Time Archons, to the free and fair election of Castellans, as opposed to the cherry-picking the Chronarchs often exercised.

The Grandfather did most of the speaking, assisted by the Other, the Professor only chimed in a few times, to add an unnecessarily enthusiastic support to a motion.

“Hmm yes I highly agree about reforming the Guard,” he said at one point, “why just the other Term, when me and the Doctor-”

He stopped as the Other surreptitiously elbowed him in the side, and after a quick glance at the Doctor, lapsed into a silence punctuated with mutters of ‘I say my dear fellow, a little bit too hard’.

By the time they’d covered every issue, more than a few members were thoroughly bored.

“I believe that covers all important matters, save for one,” the Grandfather said at last.

Though he didn’t immediately elaborate, all eyes turned towards Koschei, who again felt his colour rising.

“Though Chronarch politics have interfered where the Corsair is concerned, one of our number will still join the ranks of the Elementals tomorrow, Koschei if you would stand.”

Unwillingly Koschei did as he was bidden, the Doctor, gave his arm a reassuring pat as he did.

“Though by this time tomorrow you will be something different than what you are now, we ask that despite the power and responsibility that awaits, you never forget you are of the Paradox Faction first. Our primary aim is always to ask why: why the Time Archons choose not to interfere in the suffering of the universe? Why they hold us to so many rules while they seemingly exist above them? and why we shouldn’t build a better Jewel, worthy of its place of primacy here at the mathematical centre of the Vortex? Koschei Born-of Patrex, will you remember that as you ascend?”

“I will Grandfather.” Koschei responded as clearly and as confidently as he could. The Grandfather nodded.

“Then the blessings of the Faction go with you.”

He began to applaud, as did everyone else in the chapel, the Professor adding in his own ‘bravo, bravo I say’. Koschei wished he could turn his Matter Compressor on himself and simply shrink away.

“With that we’ll adjourn this meeting, be mindful travelling home Paradoxicals, this recent action against the Corsair may be nothing, but it may represent the first of a new escalation against us.”

With that cheerful parting statement the crowd began to disperse, Koschei waved for the Doctor to wait and pushed through the crowd toward the Corsair.

“Hey, I’m… I’m sorry.”

The bigger Shobogan looked up at him and gave him a wan smile, “unless you had something to do with this I don’t see why you should apologise for anything.”

Koschei opened his mouth, then thought about what he was going to say.

“You know we all failed right?”

When the Corsair looked at him in confusion he continued.

“I was watching the countdown as we got back to the TARDIS, we ran out of time before we even got the door open.”

“But then-”

“Salyavin switched off the automatic transmat, he cheated so his class wouldn’t fail…so I wouldn’t fail.”

The Corsair stared at him, they briefly flicked their eyes over to the Grandfather, then they smirked.

“Is this the part where you tell me that you’ll refuse to become an Elemental because of that?”

“I-“

“Nah,” the Corsair cut in, Koschei wasn’t certain how kind they were being, “you won’t do that, even to get back at Salyavin, you’ve worked too hard to get this far.”

“So have you.”

The Corsair shook their head, “but Salyavin doesn’t like me, because I’m a Paradoxical, an obvious Paradoxical, with a burned name and an attitude.”

“All okay?”

The Doctor had joined them, Koschei didn’t reply nor did the Corsair as they rubbed at their hip and frowned. “Look I’m angry, there’s nothing anyone can do about that, if Salyavin did what he did to save face then that’s probably why she had me kicked out too,” they looked at the Doctor, “what you did the other Term can’t have helped either.”

The Doctor was only briefly taken aback but her defiance quickly reasserted itself, “what I did?” she asked challengingly.

“She didn’t do it to get you dismissed,” Koschei interjected.

“Maybe not,” the Corsair stood, towering over Koschei, “It doesn’t matter, you earned it, so you go, go and be a Time Archon, make us proud.”

With that they walked away, leaving both of them with a torrent of thoughts, the Corsair had intended to be courteous, Koschei knew, but the bitterness in their voice was undeniable.

“They’re not taking it well,” he murmured unnecessarily.

“What did Salyavin do?” the Doctor asked, Koschei shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” was the flat response, its finality enough to silence even the Doctor, instead she looked after the Corsair.

“Do you think they meant that?” She asked eventually, her voice uncertain, “that me breaking into the palace caused this?”

“Maybe? Who can say.”

“You can’t walk the beach without leaving a footprint,” the Doctor murmured quietly to herself.

Koschei reached out and held her shoulder, he smiled crookedly, “all okay?”

The Doctor snapped out of her reverie and smiled sadly, “just something the Other said to me earlier, it doesn’t matter.”

But Koschei took a long hard look at her, then shook his head, “they’d have found some other excuse somewhere.”

“But I was the excuse,” the Doctors mouth was a grim slash and she massaged the knuckles of her left hand, Koschei gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“You scared them,” he replied, “and they reacted, which is what you wanted.”

That coaxed a light chuckle from the Doctor, “it was.”

“The Corsair is right to be angry, but it’s the Time Archons who are to blame, the current Time Archons, that’s why I’m going to become one, so this never happens again.”

It felt like the final conclusion to their argument from before, the Doctor put her hand on his and looked at him levelly.

“Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“I have to go through with it,” He replied.

She looked at him, then nodded and smiled.

“You know what this means then?”

“That I’m going to alter my very self for the sake of societal reform?”

“Yes,” the Doctor admitted, “but more pertinently, it’s the Games of Rassilon tomorrow, so you’re buying all the snacks.”

[journalofthewanderers]

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Time Crash

The Homeworld, Within the Omega Barrier, The Time Vortex

888.7.6th Era of the Rassilon Cycle

“Am I intruding?”

Koschei turned from his place on the floor to face Salyavin, standing in the entrance to his small quarters on the TARDIS. The Chronarch, despite an obvious attempt at casualness, still carried himself like a Time Archon; back straight, hands clasped in front of him, chin high.

He looked young, lithely built, perhaps half as old again as Koschei, with sharp features, orange flecked grey eyes, large bushy blue eyebrows and moustache, a bald head and warm, light-brown skin.

“No please, come in Preceptor,” he said respectfully, standing up as he did, Salyavin stepped into the tiny space with considerable dignity and looked around as the door closed behind him.

The living quarters in a TARDIS were infinitely configurable, but the standard setting was for eight rooms, two per doorway on the first floor of the upper console room. The rooms themselves were small, sparse broom cupboards–also as standard–finished in that same bronze gold, with only a bed roll and fold out desk unit.

“I think it’s the Chula, in their 18th Solar Centenary, had a very nasty dictatorship, very tragic to watch, they’d put their prisoners in cells measuring a foot in floor space, often for Seasons, or even Eras.”

Despite the disturbing visual image, Koschei tried to laugh casually, “and you’re about to tell me that the Chula had it better?”

“Oh no,” Salyavin said with a laugh of his own, “I’m saying it could always be worse.”

When Koschei made no reply, Salyavin let his posture drop slightly, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

“Something you want to talk about?”

“Are we practicing mind reading Preceptor?” Koschei asked, perhaps a little archly, but if Salyavin took offence he didn’t show it.

“You don’t need a developed psychic capacity to see that you’ve been troubled since you re-entered the TARDIS, it’s just surprising given that you succeeded in your evaluation.”

“But that’s it though,” Koschei turned away, “we didn’t did we?”

He waited for the Preceptor to say something in response, to deny it, to chew him out for such an accusation, when no response was forthcoming he turned back to face the Chronarch. Salyavin was still leaning against the wall, a look on his face that simply said, ‘go on’.

“I was watching the chrono,” he continued, a little haltingly as he battled the urge to simply apologise and avoid any confrontation with his mentor, “we ran out of time, but there was no Transmat, and that’s an automatic system, only direct intervention could switch it off.”

“Not necessarily,” Salyavin said with a small smile, “Fluid links can still malfunction, and this,” he knocked on the wall, “was one of the first of this TARDIS lineage to be born, so not only is it getting on in age, but a lot of the design kinks that were smoothed out in its younger siblings are still present.”

He chuckled and looked away.

“But let’s say for a moment that someone did tamper with the automatic recall: had they not, then six promising students would have been denied the greatness they’ve worked so hard for, by a matter of seconds.”

Koschei thought about what had just been said, then replied carefully.

“Also their… wise teacher would lose face, especially if they’d put so much effort into developing the psychic capacity of one particular student.”

The Preceptors eyes flicked sharply back to him, then that fleeting look of anger was blotted by a broad, fatherly smile.

“We must be thankful for small malfunctions then.”

He turned with poise and made to leave but then paused and said over his shoulder.

“In any case as far as myself and this TARDIS are concerned, you all passed, now we just need to complete the battle trial when we return to the Homeworld, once that’s done, you’ll be ready to become a Time Archon, congratulations Koschei.”

The door opened and as Koschei watched, the rapidly pulsing light from the Time Rotor beyond seemed to catch Salyavin’s head–what he could see over his collar–in such a way that, for a second, his skin seemed oddly thin.

He brushed the trick of the light from his mind and turned back to the desk once again, focusing on what little he could do with the Matter Compressor, he was no mechanical genius like the Doctor, he had technical skill to be sure, but she was the one with the hearts of a tinkerer. In any case his mind just couldn’t focus on what little he could do to the device.

Eventually he gave up and sat back with a frustrated sigh.

So that was it, he was to be a Time Archon.

Because his mentor had rigged the system.

A Time Archon will pass a battlefield of a billion screaming victims to kill the butterfly that didn’t fly properly, he thought, remembering a saying that had been making the rounds of his fellow Paradoxicals.

He recalled what the Preceptor had said about the Chula.

“Spack,” he said aloud, breaking his usual abstinence from swearing, “and I want to be one of them.”

He blinked at that, then looking at his hands, he scoffed.

“The Doctor’s getting to you there, of course I want to be one, so I can show them how things should be.”

~ ~ ~

Through the swirling purple and black vastness, the tiny speck of their TARDIS flew, it’s middle dominated by the rapidly colliding suns of burning Artron Particles it required to traverse the Vortex. In a straight line before it extended the TARDIS’s own Omega Barrier; a long protective corridor of multicoloured membrane, perfectly hugging the shape of the TARDIS.

Every so often the corridor would be retracted, the time machine would quickly reorient itself, and generate a new corridor to traverse, perpetually shielding the machine from the fury of intermittent time winds of chronons, and everything else that lurked in the central axis of all causality.

One example of one of these ‘everything else’s’ was even now watching the TARDIS as it continued on its journey.

A Chronovore.

Hiding in a small temporal eddy, the creature looked like a large flurry of white fabric, wrapped around itself multiple times, but it tracked the time machines progress hungrily with something other than eyes. Surfing the time winds to filter out chronons had done little to sate its appetite, and there were no natural rifts into local space near enough to warrant the arduous and dangerous journey, even to feed on the raw potential time of some poor living creature in N-Space.

But a TARDIS, burning Artron particles, themselves a refined from of Chronon, and emitting Artron Energy as it travelled was the most succulent of meals for a Chronovore, even just latching onto its wake to drink from its exhaust would sustain it for eons.

But if it was very lucky, or quick, it could even consume the whole machine and the temporal enigmas of its crew when it retracted the Barrier to reorient itself. That would give it enough sustenance to reproduce, giving rise to a whole host of new Chronovores to feed on causality.

It’s analogue of a mind made up, the creature made its move, sliding out of the temporal eddy.

But as it turned out this Chronovore was neither quick nor lucky, as the moment it did, a black thing from a schizophrenics’ scribblings pounced on it.

Itself also a thing of fabric, but tattered and leathery, imperceptible and unfixed in form, part terrible shadow, part nightmarish mouth, the Reaper ate the Chronovore in a single nauseating engulfment, before darting away back down the Vortex.

This small scuffle between Reaper and Chronovore–the Time Archons artificial guard dogs and the spawn of Fenric respectively–went barely remarked by the TARDIS as it travelled; such things had been the natural balance of the Vortex since its creation.

Moments, Spans or even Eras later they arrived at the Omega Barrier and were permitted to pass through by Homeworld Control.

In a reversal of its departure from the unnamed planet, the rapidly colliding miniature suns, each moving so fast they resembled a single pulsing column materialised first, followed near instantly by the TARDIS itself, the colliding lights began to slow, until finally they ceased, and the central burning glow extinguished.

The Homeworld loomed before them, still around 600,000 km away but still a vast sphere, a mountainous world of orange rock and broad oceans. The Lights were active over Wild Endeavour, midday in Prydon.

But the TARDIS wasn’t bound for the Homeworld yet, instead it glided to a point close to its place of arrival, where another TARDIS awaited 200,000 km distant.

As it moved it began to reconfigure; its sides extended outward revealing rows of Missile tubes, the curved cylinder atop extended upward on a long stalk, from which sprouted four heavy Staser turrets, and from its base a pointed Magnetron emitter extended.

The other TARDIS, already deployed into battle configuration, signalled its confirmation of arrival, some words were exchanged, then the two TARDIS’s began their battle exercise.

~ ~ ~

The Doctor was sitting on the steps by the Academy, digging through a paper bag of Jelly Bears, looking in vain for a red one, when the Other sat down beside her and dipped his hand into the bag himself.

“And have you washed your hands?” The Doctor asked, putting on her best faux affronted expression.

“Siblings have the same germs,” the Other said airily, munching on a whole handful of Jelly Bears, “everyone knows that.”

“But clearly not the same sensibilities,” she indicated the mauled Jelly Bears in his hand, “that’s disgusting.”

“Oh,” the Other looked down at the mess, “okay I’ll put them back then,” he said, actually trying to do just that.

“Spack off,” the Doctor retorted with an exasperated grin, standing up and holding the sweets as high as she could. She was taller than her brother, but other than that they were remarkably similar, he with the same dark bronze skin, same messy ginger hair though cut much shorter.

Only their eyes were different, the Others being a much darker blue and red than hers.

“Where are Rani and Drax?”

“Getting food from the canteen,” the Doctor sat back down and continued fishing for a red sweet, “the Jester’s brought in a new delicacy she stole on her TARDIS crews last mission, called a Kronk Burger, Drax is desperate to be the first to try it.”

“Is that just so they can be the trend setter?”

“…and accuse everyone else of being a mindless follower, yes.”

The Other snorted, and stretched out, the space around the Academy, itself a large hexagonal block of a building, was one of the few places Jewels redgrass was allowed to grow within a city, but always cut to a precision length, unless a student managed to build a temporal field projector and generated a small area of shrubbery.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” he said, brushing at his bright orange Trion-style jacket, his own contribution to the Factions quirky defiance of Shobogan dress codes, “that things have mostly died down at the Palace, some of our members were able to deal with any footage of you so that only leaves anyone that saw you.”

“I mean,” the Doctor thought back, “maybe a half dozen Guards who I couldn’t name, but there was one Elemental, blonde, light skin, female presenting I’d guess, about my age maybe younger.”

The Other consulted his datapatch then nodded, “probably one Spandrell,” he showed her the image and the Doctor nodded in recognition, “how close did she get?”

“End of a corridor, but she got a good look at me.”

“Right,” the Other sighed, the Doctor looked at him and rolled her eyes.

“Do I predict a lecture coming? Because the Rani already tried it.”

Without looking up from his Datapatch, the Other smirked.

“I long ago gave up trying to lecture you, the best I can do is try and damage control your flights of fancy.”

The Doctor exhaled, then reached over and took his arm, prompting him to look at her.

“I appreciate it I do, and I don’t try to be a pain in your backside, but I can’t leave stuff alone, if I see an envelope that needs pushing I’m gonna be right there putting my back into it.”

“I’m definitely not saying you shouldn’t, and things like that do help stir things up, which is what we want, well I think so anyway, it doesn’t change the fact that your outbursts of moral indignation have consequences, some not always apparent, you can’t walk the beach without leaving a footprint.”

“Mum really was fond of that saying,” the Doctor said, her mood dropping, the Other took her hand where it still held his arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Have you thought about going back to visit them?”

The Doctor shook her head, “I think they were pretty clear about their position when they packed us off down here, Lungbarrow wasn’t the place for us anymore.”

She turned and looked north, where the mountain of Lung loomed over Prydon, the small village of their birth was a tiny speck about halfway up but nothing more.

“No, it wasn’t” the Other murmured, then just as quickly seemed to disregard any thought of their distant parents, returning to his Datapatch.

“There, we’ll monitor her movements and make sure you two never meet, then eventually we’ll dress a few people in clothing similar to yours and let her see one or two of them at once every so often, after a little while the real you will disappear into the background of her memory, you could stand next to her and say boo and she wouldn’t recognise you.”

“No she’d just think I’m a mad person who says boo!” the Doctor said with a laugh, it was only a little forced.

She acknowledged the need for secrecy and precautions to prevent any Paradoxical from being caught out, and the Other as one of the founders of the movement knew how to do that better than most, still part of her dithered over the manipulation of someone this way, this Spandrell hadn’t done anything wrong really, but they were effectively going to gaslight her into forgetting the Doctor.

That’s the Time Archons doing Doctor, she scolded herself mentally, and Spandrell is still part of a system that would see you and the others dead or worse given half an excuse.

She was mulling this over, her hand finally drawing out a red Jelly Bear, the Other was tapping away at his Datapatch, and the Rani and Drax were coming down the steps towards them, the prized Kronk Burger held triumphantly in Drax’s hands, when the loud bang ripped through the area.

The Doctor was on her feet immediately, Jelly Bears tumbling to the floor, the Other fumbled with his Datapatch, the Rani and Drax hurried over to them, Drax clutching the Kronk Burger like a newborn child.

“The spack was that?” the Other asked, as emergency klaxons began to bellow across Prydon.

“A Sonic boom,” the Rani answered, the Doctor nodded, adrenaline was pumping through her and her mind was suddenly alight.

“Something just hit the atmosphere like a brick through a window.”

“Something, like what?” the Other said urgently, even irritably, but the Doctor held up a hand and stared hard at the sky.

“Over there, look,” she pointed.

Like the stroke of a brush, a long of flame was extending downwards, less than a mile away.

The Other raised his Datapatch and keyed the zoom feature. The screen was filled with a blurry image, but as the picture was refined, they could clearly make out a golden bronze box, a TARDIS in battle configuration. It was spinning end over end amidst a cyclone of smoke and fire, most coming from a massive section of damage on its left face.

“Koschei.” The Doctor heard herself say, fear welling up inside her as the time machine dived for the ground. 

“It might not be his,” Drax said gently, “maybe it’s the other TARDIS.”

But the Doctor only needed to look at the Other who was scanning the TARDIS’s transponder–not a normal function for a civilian Datapatch–and to see the look on his face when the result came back to know the answer to that.

She started running as in the distance the TARDIS fell.

~ ~ ~

The south side Magnetron emitter just managed to catch the TARDIS, steering it away from the main body of the city and into a field of redgrass, however in the 200 Eras since it had been built the Magnetron emitters had been used a grand total of twice, meaning the mechanisms had suffered from extended inaction and neglect, as a result the lock on was imperfect and the machine still slammed into the ground hard enough to partially bury itself in its own crater.

Despite the alarms being raised almost immediately the Guard were slow to arrive, nonetheless they made good time cordoning off the crash and beginning a rescue of the trapped crew.

Running as fast as she could, the Doctor arrived just as they finished the cordon, a good two thirds of her brain willed her to jump the fence and go help in finding Koschei, but that last third of her mind, and the hand of a very breathless Other, held her in abeyance.

She stood now by the fence the Guard had placed, unable to do more than wring her hands.

She hated it.

The TARDIS looked to be intact. Save for the massive damage to its left-hand missile tubes, or warp silos as they were known.

“That’s a torpedo strike,” Drax murmured from the Doctors right, “but no warhead, not an Entropy or Stasis one at least,” they gestured to the way the golden bronze outer shell had splayed out in places, clumped in others, “I’d say that was a Gravity Drive cascade.”

“Cascade?” the Other asked.

“If a Grav Drive goes wrong in just the right way it creates an area of alternating gravities, intensely high attraction and extreme expulsion literally a foot apart from each other. Imagine your left leg being crushed to the size of a Jelly Bear and your right shoulder being blown up like a water balloon.”

Their outstretched hand moved to indicate a point close to the main doors where the metal had spiralled, twisting about itself.

“That’s what happens when they interact, poor thing must be in so much pain.”

The Doctor had to stop herself from snapping at Drax that, at the moment Koschei and the others were probably in more pain, but she stopped herself; Drax was a TARDIS nut, and this was their way of coping, and in any case, the TARDIS would be hurting as much as her crew.

~ ~ ~

The Cloister Bell.

That was what Koschei could hear, some part of his concussed consciousness was glad that sound wasn’t just in his head.

The agony came next, he chanced a look down and immediately wished he hadn’t; his left foot, in fact everything below the thigh, was the wrong way round.

The Console room was pitch dark, he had no idea where the others were, or where the TARDIS had landed, if that could have been called a landing.

He remembered the halo effect on his screen as the other TARDIS had fired a dummy torpedo at them, then some panicked yell from Magnus, urgent commands from Salyavin, then a loud bang, the feeling of being thrown from his chair.

The Cloister Bell.

…

There was light now, beams cutting through the darkness, one came closer, the rattle of metal armour, rough hands pulled him up.

Someone screamed in pain.

Him, he was screaming.

~ ~ ~

“Let go,” the Doctor hissed, both the Other and the Rani continued to hold her back as the first figures were brought out of the TARDIS.

The spotlights revealed seven bodies, six in green jumpsuits, one in green robes.

~ ~ ~

“ID, now!” Commander Hildred ordered, pointing at the robed Time Archon corpse, her unit sergeant knelt down and scanned the figure with her Datapatch.

“Preceptor Salyavin, massive head trauma, must have collided with the console, caved in his left temple, he’s dead,” she said, Hildred nodded.

“Incarnation?”

“3rd.”

“Right, get him to one side and notify me when it starts,” she gestured to the other bodies they’d arrayed in a line, “these others are Shobogan?”

“Yes Captain,” another Guard replied.

“Triage.”

“On it.”

Her team were working well, which wasn’t surprising given how much she drilled them, she consulted her Datapatch as the sergeant dragged Salyavin, none too gently, further away. The rest of the unit were maintaining the cordon or triaging the wounded.

“A few broken bones and bruises but they got off light,” the Guard reported, “save for this one, Koschei, got a full rotation of the left foreleg.”

“Pain meds and get him to medical asap.”

“Yes Commander.”

“Commander, we’ve got Regeneration!” the sergeant called, Hildred turned quickly and hurried over, as she did she pointed to the gathering crowd and snapped, “clear them out!”

~ ~ ~

“This area is off limits,” one of the Guards bellowed, their voice amplified through their Datapatch, “vacate immediately.”

As if to punctuate that command his armoured fellows began herding the small crowd back from the cordon, what token resistance was offered by a handful of the more belligerent was quelled by a rough shove or a hand reaching for a Staser.

The Doctor was one who resisted and was pushed back hard for her trouble, it didn’t help that both the Other and the Rani were also pulling at her.

“You can’t help him Doctor,” the Other hissed, hand squeezing her arm, she held firm for another two Moments, before sighing and allowing herself to be led away.

The sudden crackling from beyond the line of Guards got her attention, and she craned her neck just in time to catch sight of the green robed body arch unnaturally.

~ ~ ~

“Back, back, spacking now!” Hildred half shouted as Salyavin began to contort.

Of her unit only two had seen a Regeneration before, their reports had described utterly different processes both times. To those of a higher rank it was common knowledge that the appearance of every Regeneration process varied, sometimes based on the circumstances that had triggered it, so she’d been prepared for anything, but as she and the others turned away and created a circle around the Chronarch, shielding him from prying eyes, even Hildred felt her own stomach twist as she glanced back.

Salyavins body seemed to disappear beneath a fountain of blood, a boiling, steaming torrent of red that erupted from him. The body shuddered and spasmed, bones crunched and snapped somewhere beneath the mess, hair, matted and wiry, sprouted from the head, more like vines… or tendons.

But as awful as it was, the process wasn’t a long one, after less than an Instant or two the bubbling blood seemed to evaporate, the fleshy hair crumbled away into nothing, leaving the real thing, newly grown, behind.

A woman, much younger than before now occupied Salyavins clothes, she had heavy features and a strong chin, ruddy skin and long night black hair.

Her eyes opened, the same orange flecked grey as before and she took a deep breath.

“Preceptor Salyavin can you hear me?” Hildred asked formally, Salyavin the 4th sat up quickly before putting a hand to her head.

“Can hear you just fine Commander,” she said, her voice a surprisingly gentle soprano when compared to the stockier build she now sported.

“You were involved in a crash, your TARDIS…” Hildred gestured to the still half buried machine, “can you remember what happened.”

Salyavin shook her head and closed her eyes, when she opened them again her expression was twisted in rage, “the spacking thing refused to fire!”

She climbed unsteadily to her feet and stalked over to the TARDIS and glared down at its mangled warp silo.

“They told me, the techs, they warned me that this TARDIS had never used its weapons, they worried that it might have become unaccustomed to fighting, and now look,” she gestured to herself, “a Regeneration wasted because this thing is a spacking coward!”

She spat the last word and made to kick out at the TARDIS, but stumbled instead and clutched her head, Hildred wavered by her side.

“Preceptor you need to do the rundown,” she said as politely as possible. Salyavin inhaled sharply through her nose.

“Fine,” she said irritably and put her hands to her head, feeling the long hair, “well that’s a change,” she remarked, she continued a quick inspection of her new body, down her face, feeling both her ears, her nose and mouth, before moving to her neck and shoulders, then her breasts and stomach.

“Not been female presenting since my second incarnation,” she murmured more to herself.

Next came her hips and legs, then back up to her muscular arms.

“Much stronger than before, let’s see,” she took off her Datapatch, switched it to mirror mode and regarded herself.

“Good chin, I think I can live with this, not sure about the brow though.”

She frowned at her face, turning it to see herself from different angles, finally she was satisfied and returned the Datapatch to her hand.

“My name is Salyavin Born-of Prydon,” she said in an even tone, “I am a Time Archon, Chronarch, age 432 Eras, this is my 4th Incarnation and…” she stopped and pondered, “…this incarnation identifies as female,” she finished.

“Logged and stored,” Hildred said, turning off her own Datapatch’s recorder, Salyavin nodded, seeming more in control now that she had acquainted herself with her new form.

“Now regarding the others,” Hildred continued, Salyavin looked at her entirely non-plussed before her eyes widened.

“Oh the others! Yes, are they all alive?”

Hildred gestured for Salyavin to accompany her over to the others, they were all sitting up now being tended to by Guards, save for Koschei who was being stretchered onto one of the Skimmers they had used to arrive at the crash.

Salyavin walked past the others, even as they stared up at her new appearance and stopped beside Koschei, she avoided glancing at the mangled mess of his leg.

She realised that he now looked older than her, he, of course was the same; a long face with soft features and light tan skin, a pointed chin, curly brown hair, and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow.

“Will he recover?” She asked.

“We’ll get him to medical right away.”

Salyavin nodded, “do so, and get the others back to their dormitories once they’ve been cleared, I need to speak to Cardinal Borusa.”

“What about the TARDIS?” Hildred asked.

Salyavin barely spared the crashed time machine a second glance.

“Breakers, where defects like it belong.”

Images of the Type 40.1 Temporal And Relative Dimensional Interaction Ship or TARDIS, in normal and battle configuration.

[journalofthewanderers]

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Day of Reckoning

Uncharted planet, Pharhan Galaxy

124th Turn of the Holy Calendar of Kroll

Koschei tugged on one of his black leather gloves, the left one this time, a nervous habit he’d developed not long after receiving them.

Before him stretched a grey landscape, an uneven series of rocky depressions, nothing but dreary boulders of the same colours and varying sizes, which was the most unique thing the landscape had to offer.

The mind-numbing boredom the setting provided was doing little to subdue his anxiety, however.

The nudge startled him from his musings, and he turned to see Darkel waiting for him, he was a lanky youth, but she was even taller than him, copper skinned and hair almost as wild as the Doctors, though hers was a platinum blonde.

“If you’re finished admiring the…” she cast a critical, yellow-flecked brown, eye over the same scene he had been staring at with such avid intensity, “…picturesque landscape, he’s about to start.”

“Thanks,” Koschei nodded, Darkel folded her arms and gestured to the small boxy device he’d been holding in his left hand.

“New toy?” she asked, Koschei smiled a little shyly and held it out for her to see.

“It’s supposed to be a Matter Compressor, the Doctor helped me put it together.”

“Supposed to be?”

“I-“Koschei began then bobbed his head, “haven’t tested it yet, the theory is that it could stand in for a Time Archons Transmigration ability, by shrinking an object down.”

“Nice,” Darkel smiled evenly, “come on, but we’re about to start.”

“Oh, of course, sorry,” Koschei blushed and gestured for Darkel to lead the way back to the others. There were six of them altogether, their other four classmates–dressed in the same quilted, one-piece jumpsuit–were gathered around a Time Archon, who’s heavy layered robe and curved golden collar, with a semicircle of metal suspended between its prongs, marked him as a Chronarch.

Preceptor Salyavin, the Chronarch in question, waited patiently for Koschei and Darkel to join the group.

As they came over he fastidiously smoothed the stole that hung from the shoulder pads of his collar–another part of Chronarch adornment–decorated with the Seal of the Time Archons, below which was the symbol of the Great State of Prydon, reflected also in the green of his robes, and lastly at the bottom, his name written in High Jeweliform script.

Koschei took in all this with the attentive eye for detail that always emerged when he was anxious, as Salyavin began to speak.

“Firstly notes on the journey here: Magnus and Rowellanuraven your piloting of the TARDIS was highly professional, Darkel you did well compensating for that temporal drift, Koschei and, Corsair…”

Salyavins tone shifted slightly as he named the last member of the group, a statuesque deep-brown skinned and freckled Shobogan with nose, ear and brow rings, each of a different make from a myriad of different worlds.

The name ‘Corsair’ in place of a conventional Shobogan name identified him as a full member of the Paradox Faction, something the Chronarch found exceptionally distasteful. Of course Koschei was also a member, but having yet to discard his own name–something he doubted he would ever do–that connection remained less apparent, and he was sure the Chronarch was unaware of that fact.

“…a little more awareness next time,” Salyavin continued, “those eddies can sneak up on even the most competent of pilots, but it pays to remain vigilant.”

The Corsair merely looked back, unflinching in the face of Salyavin’s palpable disapproval.

The Preceptor drew his attention away from the Corsair and steepled his hands in front of him, regarding the students under his care, and his observation, for this final examination.

“Your task here may seem simple, yet assuming simplicity is one of the great follies of any life form: a piece of anachronistic technology has been pre-placed somewhere within this region, in 29 Turns of their Holy Calendar, a survey ship from a neighbouring civilisation will land here, if left unrecovered this anachronism will have a ripple effect on that civilisation, representing an unacceptable change in the web of time. You will locate and retrieve the anachronism, then return to the TARDIS which has blended with the environment adding another layer of challenge to this examination, you will have exactly one rotation of this planet to achieve that task, failure will result in automatic Transmat back to the TARDIS and will count as a failure, once you succeed we will return to the Homeworld and meet with a fellow TARDIS and engage in a live fire exercise to test your combat expertise.”  

Salyavin looked at each of them in turn to ensure that they understood their objectives then turned and held up his Datapatch.

“You may begin.”

With a press he was outlined in the reddish glow of a Transmat beam before his form faded from view and his newly acquired halo dispersed into nothingness with him.

Immediately the group huddled together, drawing out their Datapatches.

“This is what we’re looking for,” Magnus told the group, immediately assuming the lead, a rendering of the device appeared on their screens, a large boxy machine with three diamond shaped rings suspended via gravitic field in a row at one end, Koschei recognised it even as Rowellanuraven continued.

“A small probe fitted with a Gravity drive, the Balhoonians who will land on this planet aren’t able to develop gravity technology for another 498 Turns of their Holy Calendar, that’s an unacceptable contamination of their timeline if it were to be discovered.”

“What options do we have for locating it?” The Corsair asked, Koschei took this chance to add his own voice to the discussion.

“Do we know what TLC level this probe comes from?”

“Level 9 I think?” Darkel replied, “so that’s what? Particle weapons almost standard issue, frequent Transmat usage, Gravity drives become standard obviously and unpurified Zeiton-4 reactors.”

“Well,” Koschei mused, “if it has a Zeiton reactor we can track it’s radiation signature, should stand out amongst all this.”

“Don’t be daft Koschei,” Magnus replied more than a little dismissively, “it’s a probe, something that small won’t have a full reactor, probably a low-level thermoelectric generator.”

“That’s… that’s not true for every species though.” Koschei argued meekly, he gestured at the image of the probe, “those gravity rings, a diamond shape is inefficient but when compared to the rest of the design it creates an aesthetic style that wouldn’t work with any other shape, this probe is a statement as much as a machine, a way for this civilisation to show off, and nothing shows off more than a Zeiton reactor built into a probe.”

The others considered the design again and all began to nod and look at each other, but Magnus shook his head.”

“Setting up a scan for Zeiton will take time, time we don’t have, especially if your logic doesn’t pan out.”

“Well what’s your solution for finding it then?” Darkel shot back before Koschei could attempt to reply, Magnus didn’t answer immediately, then he smirked.

“The probe will be putting out a signal surely, if not a greeting message then the remnants of a control signal.

His reply prompted a scoff of derision from Darkel, “even if there is a signal, I was in charge of the exterior monitoring terminal of the main console, this planet’s atmosphere is charged as spack, a signal would get bounced around like crazy.”

But Rowellanuraven waved a dismissive hand, “We can filter that out, Magnus plan makes the most sense.”

Is that just because he thought of it? Koschei thought, but he said nothing even as the group’s opinion swung, as it often did, in Magnus’ favour, it came with the territory of being the top pupil of their class. Darkel shot him a half encouraging, half exasperated look, but when he made no attempt to argue his case further she rolled her eyes.

The group began fiddling with their individual Datapatches, sure enough a faint control signal was detectable from the north, Magnus couldn’t help but shoot a superior look at Koschei as he set off confidently, just before having do turn east as the signal glitched and altered position by a matter of several hundred kilometres.

~ ~ ~

As the lightposts began to gradually increase their intensity, bathing Prydon in the false glow of an imitation sunrise, the Doctor breakfasted quickly before making her way to their usual meeting place under the Dead Evertime.

No one knew why this particular tree, of a species that never withered or even lost its leaves, had achieved both, but it had, long before any of them had come along. The Rani and Drax were sitting side by side at the base of the tree below the many carvings upon its twisted, almost branchless trunk.

The Rani was holding a fully unfolded Datapatch, the small discs of golden metal were ubiquitous across Jewel as Shobogan personal computers, slightly dimensionally transcendental, it could be unfolded into a full-sized computer pad. The stylistic decorations and stickers on the back identified it as belonging to Drax. Hey grey eyes with purple streaks were intently focused on the screen even as she spoke animatedly to Drax.

They couldn’t have looked more different, the Rani was almost a picture perfect Shobogan, dressed in the appropriate red, her rich dark hair was cut short in the vogue Shobogan style, a style that actually complimented her sculpted and refined features and almost white skin. The only mark that she was part of the Paradox Faction was a small square of blue stitched onto one of the sleeves.

Drax by comparison, had looked into the great archives, found the term ‘punk’ and had proceeded to embody its description completely; their hair was long, very long, reaching down to their knees, dyed white and tied in a ponytail accentuated with metal ringlets and string, contrasting wildly with the deep copper shade of their skin and their orange-streaked purple eyes. Even their style was radically different, studded leather frock coat over checked trousers and a bright blue shirt, and not a trace of red colouring anywhere on their attire.

Drax saw the Doctor first and waved.

“Come help us Thete, Rani is determined to drill these answers into me, and I don’t mean figuratively.”

The Rani gave Drax a withering look and put down the pad.

“If you want to keep dancing on the edge of expulsion from the academy, you can at least do well in your written exam before that happens, you won’t get anywhere without a qualification.”

“Where is it written that an artist needs qualifications?” Drax replied coiling their hair about their wrist.

“So you’ll be content to wander around like a cosmic tramp?”

“Tramp no, hobo maybe.” Drax grinned at the Doctor who chuckled and shook her head.

“I suppose you agree with them?” The Rani addressed the Doctor critically, the Doctor shrugged.

“I mean it depends on what you want to do, but we are trying to change the system remember.”

The Rani sighed.

“Doctor, the Paradox Faction needs capable, learned, and qualified people to argue it’s case, how else do you change a system?”

“Well if you ask Drax the answer would be spray painting ‘Spack off’ over every inch of the Capitol.”

“Thete! How could you assume I’d be so crude and crass?” Drax interjected, their tone hurt, “It’d be ‘Spack right off’ anyway” they added a beat later.

The Doctor stifled a laugh and settled down beside the Rani as she rolled her eyes and continued to study Drax’s Datapatch.

It was a quiet morning in Prydon, above the Vortex swirled past. Jewel still rotated, and to look up at the moment was to look straight ahead along the churning tunnel of all time and space, into the future.

“There was some… commotion last night.” The Rani said airily after an instant or two of silence, the Doctor didn’t look at her, choosing instead to toy with some tufts of redgrass.

“A break in at the Palace.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.”

The Rani set down the Datapatch and looked at the Doctor.

“What were you thinking?” she asked harshly, the Doctor drew in a long breath and leaned forward to face her.

“I was thinking that I’d finally finish my project and annoy the Time Archons in the process.”

The Rani’s face was a picture of incredulity, “you risked your life, to be an annoyance?”

The Doctor narrowed her eyes. “No I broke into the Cardinals Palace and ran away from the Guards for my binary vascular health,” she replied acidly.

“Did you use Venusian Akido on any of them?” Drax interjected eagerly, even as the Rani shot a vicious look at them.

“Wasn’t an opportunity,” the Doctor replied, prompting Drax to throw up their hands in disbelief,

“Well what did you learn it for then?”

“Do you actually take any of this seriously?” The Rani snapped hotly, she climbed to her feet and walked a few steps away, arms folded.

“Of course we do,” the Doctor said to her back, only for her to round on him.

“Really? Seems to me like you’re more interested in spacking about, playing games.”

“Rani…”

 This isn’t the Deca, Drax, this is the real world, what if the Doctor had been caught, or shot?”

No one said anything as she glared at both of them, finally the Doctor got to her feet.

“What’s my name?”

The Rani sighed and rolled her eyes, “the Doctor,” she replied archly.

“And why is it the Doctor?”

“Because you Burned your Name, what’s your point?”

“Exactly,” the Doctor leant back against the Dead Evertime.

“Whatever my name was before is gone, the Grandfather erased it from time, I am and always will be the Doctor, every other member of the Faction has done the same.”

“So your saying im not a full member because I didn’t?” the Rani shot back, the Doctor held up her hands and shook her head.

“No…”

“Drax didn’t choose a title when their name was Burned.”

“I had no interest in following the herd, even a herd of rebels,” Drax said, mostly to themselves.

“You’re right, you didn’t Burn your name,” the Doctor cut in, ignoring Drax, “you’re still Ranidvoratnelundar, you just shortened your name, no-one begrudges you that, no-one is doubting your commitment because it was your choice, that’s what our end goal is, choice.”

She drew from her pocket the Sonic Screwdriver and held it up for them both to see.

“Last night, I proved that their power is not absolute, I opened a psychic door with this, crossed a threshold that no Shobogan has been capable of crossing, not without a Time Archon to condescendingly hold their hand.”

She smiled, “and it pissed them off, oh it definitely did that, and that’s the point, I defied them.”

The Rani was standing with her arms crossed and her eyes set, the Doctor stowed the Sonic, walked over and gave her shoulder an affectionate rub.

“Look, we do take this seriously, you know that, it’s why we Burned our names, and maybe you’re right and trying to fix things from the inside should always be the best option, but… when you’re fighting a system like ours, more often than not you do have to spray paint ‘Spack right off’ on the Capitol.”

The Rani’s small snort of a laugh was reluctant, but a sign of acceptance, nonetheless.

“Well,” she said after a breath, “I don’t agree, but at least it all worked out for you.”

“It almost didn’t, if not for the Professor,” the Doctor admitted evenly, choosing not to continue the argument and sitting cross legged on the ground.

“He showed up again?” the Rani resumed her original place, taking up Drax’s Datapatch once more, while Drax themself was weaving a long strand of grass into their hair.

“He did,” the Doctor confirmed, “no idea how he does it, manages to show up at just the right time to cover for us.”

“You more than us,” Drax observed, the Doctor shrugged.

“He’s either got a Time Space Visualiser, or he’s a secret Time Archon agent who’s organising all our… my close shaves to ingratiate himself into the Faction.”

“He helped found the Faction?” The Ranis tone still held her usual strain of irritability, but only to a slight degree, the Doctor shrugged again.

“He’s playing the long game,” she said with a grin, prompting the Rani to sigh, though more good naturedly than before.

“It’d be new levels of stupidity even for the Time Archons to send one of their own as a spy.”

“Maybe, but then again, you have seen their collars?”

Drax sniggered while the Rani chose to immerse herself in the Datapatch, a more comfortable silence settled over the three of them as a gust of wind caressed the bare branches of the dead Evertime like absent fingers.

“How do you think Koschei’s doing right now?” the Doctor asked, as her thoughts turned to the missing member of their group.

Drax smiled. “Knowing him, they’re probably considering creating the position of King of the Homeworld for him, that or President Archon or something equally gauche.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have more of an opinion about him becoming a Time Archon.” The Rani said, lowering the Datapatch to look intently at the Doctor, who waved a hand in dismissal.

“Koschei’s his own person, besides a high achiever like him becoming a Time Archon and being a member of the Paradox Faction? Didn’t you say something about working within the system?”

Her own argument turned back on her, the Rani simply made the face version of ‘fair enough’ and raised the Datapatch back over said facial features. Though neither her nor Drax had missed the uncertainty hiding in the Doctors response.

The Doctors eyes wandered, away from her two friends, up to the Dead Evertime looming over them, where its lower branches had been stripped away, its trunk had slowly been festooned in carvings across the Eras; Androgar loves Rodan, Gastron was here, Gat is a Vortisaur kisser were some of the newer ones.

Her eyes fixed upon one carving in particular, much older yet still perceptible: EHITAED.

Everything has its time, and everything dies.

No one knew who’d carved that one, but everyone knew what it said, a fact passed from person to person without ever being altered or misremembered.

The Doctor reached up and absently traced the letters with a finger, many a Paradoxical had looked at those words, and agreed with their message.

~ ~ ~

Half a rotation.

They had been stumbling around for half a rotation without getting any closer to the elusive, ever-changing signal. Koschei had been tempted to check the archive file on the creators of the probe, just to see if in fact, they weren’t in fact sentient radio waves that liked to taunt aspiring Time Archons, but to do so would have marked them down if not outright disqualified them.

They’d get no more than a few dozen kilometres in one direction before the signal would jump, now coming from almost the opposite direction. Everyone was becoming ever more desperate and irritated, especially Magnus as, with each passing moment, and each time the signal moved, he became increasingly aware of how wrong he’d been.

Not that that was helping, the slow realisation went hand in hand with an irrational stubbornness not to admit his mistake, even if it cost them all their qualifications.

Darkel kept shooting looks of encouragement at Koschei, trying to prompt him to speak up, to convince the others to try his idea, but he couldn’t do it. He could state his case as he’d done initially, but he was no debater, he couldn’t argue his case, and no matter how he tried, how he practiced with the Doctor and the others, it was a glitch in his psyche he couldn’t shake.

Nor unfortunately could Darkel, though her reasons were different.

Both her parents were Chronarchs heavily involved in the politics of the Great State of Patrex, they’d sent her off to Prydon with a stipulation that she not do anything to embarrass them.

One of those stipulations was that she not speak her mind too much, due to the fact that she had the opposite problem to Koschei; she was overly argumentative and was incapable from keeping from descending into a litany of swear words and more than a few punches and kicks if she came to loggerheads with someone.

So her parents, ever supportive, had passed a note to Salyavin, requiring her being held back, if not entirely dismissed from the programme if she blackened anyone’s eye during her final assessment.

Koschei could see how much keeping her temper in check was grating on her.

It had begun to rain as they’d clambered across the rough landscape, and a slurry of greyish mud had begun to bubble up from between the rocks, staining the lower half of their green jumpsuits.

Darkel dropped back to trudge beside Koschei as they altered course for the umpteenth time.

“Spacking. Say. Something.” She hissed.

“You know he’ll just shut me down,” he replied quietly, causing Darkel to scowl.

“If you don’t we all fail, and I’d quite like to have all the work I’ve put in pay off.”

Ahead Magnus had stopped at the edge of a small cliff, which had the effect of framing him quite dramatically against the desolate landscape.

Darkel dug an elbow into Koschei’s ribs, and he sighed heavily.

“Magnus,” he called out, walking towards the dramatic silhouette. Magnus ignored him and he called again.

“Magnus.”

“We’re nearly there, I know it.” His classmate snapped back.

As it turned out, Magnus’s conviction was only slightly less steady than the ground he was standing on, as with a sudden wet crunch, the cliff began to sag.

“Magnus!” Koschei yelled, but the ground suddenly slid downwards, carrying Magnus with it even as he frantically made to dive to safety. Fortunately the cliff turned out to be more of a steep incline, nonetheless Magnus still rolled hard down to the ground. The others gathered at the new edge in a panic, Rowellanuraven called down to him, taking the lead as best she could, below Magnus was moving but had found himself in a small pit of the grey slurry, which was hampering his ability to pull himself free.

Almost unconsciously Koschei found himself perching on the edge and sliding down himself on his back, his own landing was far more controlled than Magnus’s but no less filthy.

“Over here,” he called throwing himself flat beside the muddy ditch and holding out his hands, Magnus scrambled over and grabbed hold, together they pulled and soon enough Magnus was free.

“Thanks,” Magnus spluttered, his reluctance audible even through the mud.

“Don’t you think it’s time to try something different,” Koschei said quietly.

For a moment it looked as if the other Magnus was truly considering, then he shook his head sharply.

“I know, what I’m doing.”

A sharp sting of anger twisted Koschei’s insides, followed by a sudden cold awareness. He looked up at the figures still clustered above them.

“I-! think this hill comes down a few yards that way,” he pointed to his left, “take the safe way and we’ll-we’ll meet you.”

Darkel, or he thought it was her, waved in confirmation and began leading the others in the direction he’d indicated. Once they were on the move, he turned back to Magnus.

“Look at me Magnus.”

Irritably the other Shobogan did as he was asked, then his mud caked features softened slightly as he met Koschei’s gaze.

“Look into my eyes,” Koschei said gently, his voice would be barely audible over the downpour, but Magnus would hear it in his mind.

When Salyavin had met him privately after class one day and informed him that he would give Koschei personal tutoring in the art of psychic projection, he had been at a loss for words, but Salyavin had merely smiled and told him…

“Magnus and Rowellanuraven may be the best students in this class, but accolade can be a poor indicator of ability, and I perceive that you have the most potential out of your fellows, the question is, do you have the drive to fulfil that potential?”

The process of unlocking one’s telepathic power was arduous, even for Shobogans with their inherent latent psychic awareness, and sessions of meditation, practice and rigorous concentration had followed.

“Time Archons,” Salyavin had explained as Koschei had concentrated on pacifying a captive Pigbear, “have their natural mental abilities greatly expanded upon their creation, full telekinesis only manifests in older Chronarch’s and Eternals of course, but even the newest Elemental can influence lesser beings when necessary, convince them of things untrue and deny the evidence of their own eyes, however developing one’s powers before ascension has a myriad of advantages, with the right level of mastery you can control the minds of others.”

Even if Koschei had reached that lofty height before his ascension, controlling another Shobogan was no easy task, and he would have refrained from doing so regardless.

But what he could do, and what he did now, was influence.

“Listen to me,” he said, “you know my idea was right, if we keep trying we’ll fail, and then all our efforts getting this far will be in vain, you know I’m right.”

Magnus said nothing as the rain slashed down, then he blinked and shook his head.

“Alright,” he said, “alright Spack it, we’ll try it your way.”

The others joined them an Instant later and after some discussion they set to work. Retooling their Datapatches to scan for Zeiton radiation was an arduous and lengthy process, just as they’d feared, involving stripping down the devices, before adapting and overclocking their wavelength receivers. Homeworld technology relied on Fluid Link circuitry which at least meant they didn’t have to worry about the rain getting into the machinery, but the process of squatting in a circle, ankle deep in mud and with rain lashing at them wasn’t one they wished to repeat.

By the time they had finished they were soaked, miserable and running out of time. Koschei could feel the fulminating despair in the others, Magnus, despite being unaware of his actions was resentful, Rowellanuraven equally so.

Koschei pushed his not insubstantial doubt aside and turned his Datapatch on, instantly a single signal, strong and unmoving, appeared to the west. Taking a deep breath he began walking, trudging carefully through the mud, but no matter how far he walked the signal remained constant.

Doing his best to hide his relief, and perhaps a sense of satisfaction, he turned back to Darkel and nodded, she made no effort to hide her emotions and gestured to the others to follow. They moved quickly, more than once they slipped and stumbled, their jumpsuits more grey than green now. We look like we’re from the Great State of Dromeia instead of Prydon, Koschei though with amusement, what little amusement he could derive from their situation.

The signal remained a steady pulsing blip on his Datapatch screen, but the rangerscope indicated it to be several kilometres distant, he checked the distance against the rotation of the planet; it was doable, but they were running out of time.

Jewel, or the Homeworld, or even the Planet, had a notoriously thin atmosphere, even at sea level, as such the early Shobogans had adapted their respiratory bypass system in order to subsist off of minimal oxygen supply. Coupled with their binary vascular system it gave them exceptional endurance, something that the group put to good use as they upped their speed to a steady jog, as much as possible across the still treacherous, mud sodden ground, in the direction of their target.

Three quarters of a rotation had passed by the time they finally sighted the probe; it wasn’t particularly large; double the size and weight of an average Shobogan, but as they staggered to a stop around the device, their elation–reluctant though it was on the part of Magnus and Rowellanuraven–quickly gave way to consternation and more than a little despair.

“There’s no way we can drag this thing all the way back to the TARDIS,” the Corsair murmured, he stood just behind the probes diamond shaped gravity coils, rubbing his left hip which Koschei knew sported an ouroboros tattoo.

“If we all lifted and moved as quickly as possible?” Rowellanuraven suggested, going so far as to reach down and grab onto a corner of the machine, she remained there expectantly, even as none of the others made to join her.

“One wrong stumble, that thing slides down a particularly steep incline, and we’re finished,” Darkel replied, unable to resist a glare at Magnus, who gave as good as he got.

“We can but try,” he replied archly, deciding now to help Rowellanuraven, the Corsair joined them, as reluctantly did Darkel and Koschei, but no sooner had they found a handhold on the probe, when a new problem joined the long queue of issues already waiting.

“It’s stuck,” Darkel said, not to any of the others in particular, more to the universe at large, an admonishment regarding its current tomfoolery.

Try as they might, with more than one of them slipping and falling into the mud, the probe refused to be pried free from the sludge clinging to its underside.

“Spack!” Magnus shouted, aiming a kick at the infuriatingly uncooperative device.

Koschei took a step back, toying with his gloves as he wrestled with his own mounting despair, he put his hands to his hips. His fingers brushed against the small box attached there, and his low mood was shattered by a sudden fierce, bright glimmer of hope.

“What if we could make it smaller?” He said quickly.

The others turned to him, Magnus shook his head.

“We’ll that’d be great,” he muttered, massaging his foot, “but how likely is that?”

Koschei drew out the Matter Compressor in response, and showed it to him, to them all.

“You think you can compress the probe?” Darkel asked, his sudden excitement infecting her too.

“Hopefully,” he replied, pressing the small controls on the device, “if I can all we need do is simply put the probe in our pocket and hurry back to the TARDIS.”

“Theres no grantee that will-” Magnus started but Koschei was already aiming the devices emitter at the probe.

“Clear away,” he called, the others scattered, and he pressed the activator.

There was a hissing sound, and the probe was bathed in a faint reddish light.

The probe began to shrink. Barely noticeable initially, but as they all watched, their reactions ranging from impressed to resentful, the device became smaller and smaller with ever greater speed.

Koschei stopped the device before it went too far. He walked over to the Probe and picked it up.

It fit perfectly in his palm.

“Okay,” Darkel said to the others, “now we need to spacking book it.”

~ ~ ~

A single rotation of the planet was a considerable amount of time, not as long as other planets but still substantial, Salyavin had used that time judiciously. He’d swam several length in the TARDIS’ recreation rooms swimming pool, then he’d treated himself to a light lunch followed by a bowl of Jelly Bears which he enjoyed as a treat sitting back in one of the rooms armchairs. Regulations clearly stated that any food was to be consumed only in the Galley, he smiled at the thought, popping a green Jelly Bear into his mouth. Such rules were intended more for the discipline of Elementals and Shobogans, especially when someone was looking, and a small bowl of sweetmeats wasn’t going to undermine all of Time Archon society.

A Paradoxical might wish it were that easy.

The sour thought came unbidden into his mind, perhaps inevitably given the train of his thoughts and the connection to the much-maligned Paradox Faction. He scowled and swallowed bitterly.

The Corsair wasn’t the only one, there had been a marked increase in the number of younger Shobogans and even some older and supposedly wiser Time Archons, ‘Burning their Names’, a childish and disrespectful act in his opinion.

He let out an exasperated sound and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He wasn’t a fool; it was hard to be an academic and not be perceptive. Jewel wasn’t perfect; but name a society that claimed it was.

The ones that did had more often than not resorted to eugenics to achieve such ‘purity’.

Maybe he was biased; as a Chronarch he had nearly unrivalled power in their society, save of course for the Eternals. But he believed–he knew–that his lofty position gave him and his fellow Chronarch’s a view of Jewel that a mere Shobogan simply couldn’t comprehend, and no matter the issues their world faced, civil disobedience and borderline insurrection were not the way to go about solving those issues.

The beeping of his Datapatch drew him from his introspection, a full rotation was all but concluded, his brows knitted together in the first flicker of concern he’d felt since the assessment had begun.

Was it possible his class would fail?

He popped another Jelly Bear into his mouth but it’s sweet taste–a high amount of glucose being essential for a Time Archons diet–did nothing for him.

He lurched from the armchair and began to pace, the Recreation room, like most TARDIS rooms, was a vast cylinder, almost as big as the Console Room, divided up into several distinct sections, a swimming pool and exercise area, a cloistered garden, and a comfortable sitting area. The walls were an almost granite colour, regularly interspersed with large blocky projections in the golden bronze colours that appeared across much Time Archon architecture, especially the Type 40 TARDIS, each projection was framed by Pandak style pillars and bore twin columns of five oval insets.

He stopped by one of these outcroppings, the warm, whitish-yellow light emanating from the top, middle and bottom rows casting his shadow across the floor.

The impact it would have on his students if they failed, the work they’d all put in.

The impact it would have on his reputation.

The conclusion came to him in a flash of inspiration, it was a daring idea.

It was also not allowed.

Salyavin glanced back down at the bowl of Jelly Bears and smirked.

No-one was looking.

Resolving himself to his decision, he hurried towards the connecting doorway that led to the Console Room, the doors whirring open to receive him.

~ ~ ~

It was remarkable, Koschei thought as they struggled through the increasing downpour, how adversity really did breed comradeship, if only briefly.

They were almost back to the TARDIS landing site, and any of the animosity that had existed between them had clearly decided to take a temporary leave of absence, at one point Rowelanuraven had fallen and Darkel of all people had been the one to help her back up, Rowelanuraven had then returned the favour by supporting Darkel and the Corsair as they navigated a treacherous piece of terrain.

Even he and Magnus had mutually agreed to help each other, both of them were in the lead–Datapatches opened to their fullest–and were coordinating like mad to locate the concealed time machine.

“My coordinates show the TARDIS as being half a mile in that direction,” he said, gesturing down a slope.

“Mine concur,” Magnus said, wiping a layer of rain from his screen, “You know, I think this rain might save the day actually.”

“How so?”

“A chameleon circuit allows a TARDIS to blend in with its environment on a general level, it can mimic an objects shape, texture and basic characteristics,” Magnus explained, “but it can’t mimic specifics, all the rocks around here seem to produce this mud when they react with water, either an internal chemical process or the mud builds up over time and we just got unlucky, either way the TARDIS won’t be able to mimic that.”

“I thought newer circuits had changed that?”

“They have, but this is a Type 40 we’re looking for, and they’re approaching the end of their service life.”

“Good point,” Koschei conceded, inwardly surprised that being corrected by Magnus didn’t annoy him nearly as much as it would normally.

The reason why was all too obvious to everyone.

They weren’t going to make it.

They had a mere handful of Instants to find the TARDIS, and the assessment would only be a success once the last of them had stepped over its threshold.

So a form of morose fatalism had settled upon them, they would keep trying down to the last microsecond to succeed but deep in their hearts they all knew it was impossible.

They trekked down the slope to a small collection of large boulders and sure enough one was conspicuously not vomiting up a constant stream of greyish sludge, just as Magnus had predicted.

Good old Magnus Koschei thought sadly as they hurried forward, Darkel reached the TARDIS first, reaching to her belt she drew out the small arrowhead shaped ‘key’ but in her frantic urgency, and the weather numbing her muddy hands, she fumbled and then dropped it.

There were no recriminations from the others, Magnus dropped down to help Darkel search while Rowelanuraven and the Corsair began fumbling for their own keys. Koschei instead glanced down at his Datapatch and watched silently as his timer ticked down the final Moments towards failure.

3

2

1

0

…

1

2

3

Nothing happened. There was no whirr of the Transmat, no red glow. No sudden transition to the Console Room.

Koschei merely stared as the clock showed the first few Moments of the planets next rotation, Darkel found her key, scrambled to her feet and began tracing the opening pattern before the TARDIS, in their eagerness and their drive, none of them had noticed that they’d already failed.

Except, apparently, they hadn’t.

It wasn’t a matter of them being right at the TARDIS doorway making the Transmat superfluous, it was an automatic process. Koschei had read an account where the last member of a class had been just about to enter their TARDIS when time had run out, and the entire group had been transmatted a mere foot forward despite being already inside at the time.

Darkel completed the pattern, and the boulder cracked open, revealing an antechamber larger than the boulder could possibly be, a pair of double doors, each inlaid with 3 oval shaped insets, projecting a warm whitish-yellow light, stood beyond.

As one, even Koschei, his mind still racing in a mix of confusion and relief, piled inside.

The Boulder resealed itself behind them, and for a little while nothing happened.

The rain poured down; the mud bubbled up.

Then after perhaps 10 Instants, twin spheres of gold light like miniature stars appeared at the top and bottom of the rock and rushed towards each other, meeting in the middle. A second pair of lights followed them, then another and another, colliding in the middle, adding to the bright star slowly growing there, each new pair moving and colliding with increasing rapidity.

With it had come the sound of something close to a distant impact, the sound of a machine much larger than the rock could possibly hold building up to full power.

The intensifying star, fed by a constant stream of smaller stars, now moving so fast they had become twin pulsating strings of light, flared brighter and brighter, and for a moment the boulder shed its disguise, in its place stood a tall box, golden bronze in colour, with a large flat curved cylinder on top and four oval shaped intends on each of its four sides, two of each emitting a warm whitish-yellow light.

That image only lasted for a moment before, with a final, wheezing groaning bellow, the box, and it’s frantically expanding star simply disappeared. Leaving the grey rainy planet empty and quiet once more, save for the sound of the rain.

Seal of the Time Archons

[journalofthewanderers]

Chapter 1

1st Compendium

The Time Warrior

Chapter 1

The Incorrigible Meddler

The Homeworld, Within the Omega Barrier, The Time Vortex

888.7.5th Era of the Rassilon Cycle

Prydon’s Cardinal Palace had altogether too many corridors, the Doctor kept thinking as she kept to the shadows, avoiding the gaze of another Guard patrol.

Too many corridors and too many guards she corrected herself.

Said corridors were almost all uniform and identical, all quartz walls and cream curtains and predictably regular intervals. Though this regularity was by design, the Doctor found herself developing an irrational loathing for the mundane repetition of Pandak style of architecture.

Time Archon architecture.

Finally she came to what she was looking for, an empty guard post and at the far end of the room, a workbench all laid out, just for her it seemed.

The much-maligned quartz and cream motif continued in here too, though at least some of it was covered with the uniform racks, most bearing the heavy and imposing segmented armour of the Guard, painted a deep mauve, the universal colour for danger.

These she disregarded, and made straight for the workbench, 6 Stasers in various states of disassembly were arrayed upon it, along with the myriad of tools used to keep the sonic weapons in working order.

Delving into her satchel she took out two chunky tubes of metal, laying the first; burnished silver with its setting dials and finger guard, upon the table. The second device was darker in colour and had an adjustable red ringed emitter at the top, the same emitter was fitted to the front of all the Stasers which was where she had stolen it from on a previous adventure.

The latter device was a common Sonic Lance, just of her own making. But the former, the silver tube was her own invention, the result of tireless work; the Sonic Screwdriver.

No matter what Koschei may think she stuck by the name.

As carefully as she could, she used the lance to cut the power cells out of each of the Stasers, glancing over her shoulder as the device began its mid pitched whirring, and shushing it unnecessarily as it did.

Soon she had 5, the last one was without a power cell, she pocketed four and slotted the last into the Sonic Screwdriver. Finally it was finished, she held it up and pulled the trigger within the finger guard.

Nothing happened, with a frown she checked the device, gave it a good slap and tried again.

The whirring sound was much higher than the lance, more of a buzzing sound. The grin that spread across her face was wide and toothy, pure joy at her success.

“What was that.” A none too distant voice said from just down the corridor outside. As quick as a cobblemouse the Doctor dived into the cupboard beneath the workbench, pulling it shut just as two Guards entered the room, she watched through the narrow opening as their heavily armoured feet walked purposefully over to the bench, the metal plates rattling as they moved.

“Bah, this stuff was supposed to be cleared away,” one of them muttered, sifting through the equipment on the table just above the Doctors head, she held as still as she could, hand clasped over her mouth.

“…and where are the power cells?”

“Oh leave it Andred,” the first Guards companion said dismissively as she moved away and sat down upon a chair, from the sounds of it she was adjusting her armour. “It’s someone else’s problem, one of the techs, probably.”

The first Guard, Andred was his name apparently, continued to bother the mess of Stasers for a moment more then with a sigh moved away, allowing the Doctor to remove her hand from her mouth.

“Oh I was going to ask, are you slated for patrol or off duty in three Terms?” The second Guard asked.

“On duty, no reason why I wouldn’t be.”

“No reason- Andred it’s the Game.”

“Oh,” Andred said, his tone conveying his opinion all too well, “That.”

The second guard finished her adjustments and let out a sigh, both of relief and exasperation.

“Come on, the PRV says they’ve got something special lined up, a recreation of some great warrior species and their enemies, a perpetual conflict that devours the Isop Galaxy all across the 15th aeon.”

She said this last part like she was an announcer at some great wrestling bout, for all the good it did to sway Andred’s mood. She made a sound of resignation and got to her feet.

“Well there’s nothing here, I’m going back on patrol.”

Not waiting for Andred to reply she departed, her rattling footsteps receding as she rounded the corner, the Doctor held as still as possible as Andred remained sitting for a few more agonising double heartbeats before he too stood and exited the room.

The Doctor remained where she was for a full instant more before she emerged, she stretched away the stiffness that had crept into her arms and legs and let out a long breath. Moving to the doorway she peered out; the coast was clear. She stole from the room and stealthily continued down the corridor, keeping to one wall, the curtains adoring the walls would do little to conceal her, but should another patrol appear at a junction, clinging to the walls kept her out of their peripheral vision.

Finally she arrived at her second destination, a doorway, or rather a corridor that apparently ended at a solid wall.

This was the way to the inner sections of Prydon’s Cardinal Palace, accessible only to Time Archons, who’s psychic powers were the sole way to open these doors, even the lowliest Elemental had access.

But for normal Shobogans, like the Doctor, they were impenetrable barriers; not even the Guards could pass by without a Time Archon present.

The Doctor drew out the Sonic Screwdriver and held it up, she paused and listened carefully, making sure that there was no hint of the rattle of a nearby Guard.

The screwdriver whined as she activated it and began to trace it slowly across the doorway, nothing happened. Undaunted she made some adjustments to the dials and tried again, still nothing.

Frowning crookedly she made a few more adjustments and tried again, the door remained shut.

With a flicker of frustration and worry she made a final turn of the bottom-most dial and tried one more time.

Silently and smoothly the doorway dropped into the ground, revealing more Pandak style corridors beyond.

The Doctor had to stop herself from literally jumping for joy. But then the elation of success, that bright spark of triumph, over the Time Archons and their ridiculous mental powers that blocked off a good third of this city, faltered as she took in the corridor beyond. It was the same as the one she stood in, the same as the ones she had been stealing through for the last span, she had expected a great reveal, the inner workings of Prydon, not more bland architecture.

She took in a breath and mentally shrugged, be realistic she thought, of course it was just a corridor, if the Time Archons were known for anything it was a sense of utter stagnation and lack of imagination. That wasn’t the point.

This corridor, these walls, this piece of Pandak styling was something no Shobogan had seen before, at least not without a Time Archon present, but here she stood, not counted among their illustrious number, before a door she had just opened without one iota of their powers.

She had cheated the system, and that was victory enough.

Which was good, because at that moment a squad of Guards turned into the corridor, headed by a Time Archon.

She looked even younger than the Doctor, who at 29 Eras was certainly young by Shobogan standards. Dressed in the long black and green greatcoat over a quilted patterned jumpsuit, and a ceremonial collar; a wide structure of gold that rose up behind her head, coming to just above her ears, she could only be an Elemental, something of a relief, but still…

“Spack,” the Doctor swore as the Time Archon called to her, she raised her sonic.

~ ~ ~

Spandrell blinked as she saw the figure at the end of the corridor; a young woman, slightly older in appearance than herself, with a tangled mess of ginger hair, dark olive skin and sharp features. She was dressed strangely, certainly the more muted reddish tones of a traditional Shobogan were there in her shirt and dark red almost black, trousers but these were worn under a waistcoat of the most garish yellow, with a grey scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

No matter what she looked like, she was definitely a Shobogan, though a Time Archon and a Shobogan looked physically similar—or at least that was true for an Elemental—right down to the eyes with their plus shaped pupils and four additional streaks of colour around the iris, a Time Archon could sense another. And this Shobogan was standing before an open hatchway that should have been closed and only accessible by a fellow Time Archon, Spandrell felt a wave of irritation as she anticipated having to fill out the necessary datawork for Cardinal Engin about this breach of security. When she found which fool had left this door open…

“You there, come here this instant.” She called commandingly, but the Shobogan chose not to do as she had been asked, instead she cursed and raised a small silver tube, the device whirred, and the door slid shut even as she turned and ran.

Her accompanying Guards were already moving as Spandrell stood dumbfounded.

How had that Shobogan shut the doorway without mental powers?

As confusion raced through her brain, it took her several critical seconds to realise that her Guards were calling for her to open the hatchway again for them, regaining her composure she stalked forward and reached out with her own mind to the mechanism, the doorway slid downwards once again, and the Guards ran forward with a clattering of armour.

~ ~ ~

Too many spacking corridors the Doctor thought as she sprinted, her mind swinging somewhere between exhilaration and panic, and I still hate this décor.

They were close behind her, either that or it echoed more than she thought in here. She ducked left then right, putting some distance between them before she came to an intersection, turned left, made it three steps before another group of Guards rounded the corner in front of her and she was forced to double back. This proved to be the right decision as she quickly sighted the double doors that she had first entered through on her personal mission. Coming to them still at full speed, she put her full weight against them, bursting out into the open air of Prydon. Though she glanced around for an avenue of further escape, part of her mind still marvelled, in that way that never seemed to get old, at the hostile beauty of Jewel, or the Homeworld as the Time Archons preferred to call it.

Prydon was built into the lower plateau of the Mountain of Lung, not too far from the Capitol. The boulevard that led to the Cardinal Palace was lined with Evertime Trees, tall conical plants heavy with silver leaves all the way to the trunk. Like all cities on the Homeworld, the seats of authority; the Cardinal Palace, the Castellan’s Tower, the Temple of Pythia and the branch of the Academy, were clustered in the relative centre, with homes and recreational centres radiating out from there. The only exception to this repetitive design was of course the Capitol, where the Citadel took up pride of place.

It was late evening, in as much as the concept of day and night meant anything on Jewel, for the Homeworld had no sun, instead the majesty of the Time Vortex, a swirling vertigo inducingly vast tunnel of purples and blacks dominated the sky as their world made its ponderous journey along the exact mathematical middle point of the Vortex.

All this was in the Doctors mind as she ran for the Evertimes and hid herself within their dense foliage, the eternal night they all lived by helping to conceal her along with the leaves. The second group of Guards were almost right behind her emerging into the open air.

“She has to be nearby,” their leader said to the other four, “find her.”

As carefully as she could, the Doctor began easing her way through the Evertimes, moving as quickly as discretion allowed, she peered back through the leaves as the second Guard group, along with the Elemental she had so rudely disobeyed, emerged from the Palace.

The boulevard was relatively deserted, only a few bystanders on the opposite side of the line of trees from what the Doctor could see, she might be able to pull this off without more prison time, or worse.

The Guards and the Elemental seemed to be bickering, the Doctor took her chance to dart across a gap in the trees. The Guards were being methodical; spreading out and checking every nook and cranny they could, which just meant she had more time to get as far from them as possible, she took the time to check behind her once more.

The Elemental finally finished arguing by jabbing a finger at the lead Guards wrist, with a nod they lifted it to their mouth and began to speak. An instant later light as bright as day illuminated the boulevard, the overhead lightposts cranking up to their full strength, the shadows that had been all about were dispelled and the Doctor flung a hand over her eyes, her cross shaped pupils contracted as fast as they could, but she still winced as the flash blindness hit her.

Cursing quietly, she tried to open her eyes but the sudden increase in brightness was still too intense, which coupled with the splotches now dancing in front of her vision, did a fine job of disorienting her, through her confusion she realised that it might have had the same effect on the Guards. The blindness was fading fast, but her eyes still refused to accept the sudden influx of photons, even with her eyes shut the light was painful. Focusing on her hearing she felt a stab of panic as she heard the clattering of Guard armour, picturing the space in her head she knew that she was standing amidst a more sparse cluster of Evertimes, closer to the outer edge of the boulevard, with the Temple of Pythia right next to her, the Guard sounded like they were also on the outer edge, walking in her direction, perhaps no more than 15 steps distant.

Something large and fabric was suddenly thrust into her arms, and she stumbled in surprise, she managed to crack her eyes open enough to see an indistinct figure moving past her, why hadn’t she heard them?

“I say, I say you there, Guard.” The figure called, in a blustering and slightly pompous tone.

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and crouched low, she recognised that voice, it belonged to the Professor.

“Can I help you?” The Guard said from just behind the tree she was beginning to make out beside her.

“Ah give me your arm there young man, this sudden light change has me all giddy.”

The Doctor tried to peep again and thankfully her vision was starting to recover, her eyes still hurt but it was more bearable now, she peered round the tree, and sure enough the Professor was leaning heavily on the Guards arm, drawing his attention away from her hiding place.

“Now then, what’s occurring here?” The Professor asked.

“Incident in the Palace, some Shobogan.” 

The Professor adjusted his glasses, they were such an incongruity for anyone on Jewel that he stood out like the sorest of thumbs, but then everything about him seemed purpose made to achieve such an effect, from his heavily thinning curly white hair, contrasting with his thick black eyebrows and pencil moustache, to his plaid shirt and baby blue neckerchief.

“A Shobogan?” He echoed, “but surely that’s impossible? Only Time Archons can access the Palace.”

“That’s just what we were told,” the Guard’s tone was stiff and straddled the line between respect and impatience, the Professor was a Time Archon himself, though no one had ever worked out how much authority he had, the general consensus was that he was a Chronarch; the middle rank of Archon, either that or a very powerful Elemental or even a low-level Eternal.

The Doctor mentally shook her head, even she couldn’t make up her mind.

Either way the Guards served the Time Archons and so this particular Guard was bound to obey the Professor, even though he clearly knew his identity and unfavourable status in Jewel society.

“Well no matter, no matter,” The Professor continued with a wry chuckle, “did you happen to see the felon?”

“No but the description has them wearing a yellow waistcoat with a scarf.”

“Well that’s quite the coincidence,” the Professor exclaimed, “I saw someone matching that description.”

“You did?” The Doctor heard the Guards voice pick up with sudden interest.

“Indeed, over there.”

The Doctor chanced a peek and saw the Professor pointing, not toward her hiding place but in the direction of the opposite side of the boulevard. She caught the Guards barely concealed look of annoyance before he went running off, cutting through one of the walkways between the Evertimes. The Professor took a few steps and leant to the side to look at the Doctor, he winked, his eyes a similar blue with red streaks as her own and gestured to the bundle in her arms. She had almost forgotten about it and looking down realised she was holding the robes of the Pythian Sisterhood, the Professor leant heavily on his walking stick as the Doctor pulled the robes on over her own clothing and adjusted the headdress.

“Good enough for the Pythia?” She asked spreading her arms, the Professor chuckled.

“Not even for the Karnites my dear,” he replied and continuing with his impish chuckle led the way up the steps of the Temple.

Inside the incense hit their nostrils, a pungent mix of herbal smells and a slightly acidic tang. The Doctor had never visited the Prydon Temple, and she’d been compelled to darken the doorway of the small chapel in her hometown of Lungbarrow only thrice in her 29 Eras, always for ceremonial reasons. The main chamber was dominated at its centre by the ever-swirling sphere of black and white; the shrine to the Black and White Guardians of Time had pride of place in any Pythian Temple, inset around the mostly circular chamber were alcoves to other gods. Most prominently were the Trio of Will, it was to one of these the Professor and the Doctor moved quickly, kneeling before the representation of the Great Intelligence, patron of the Academy, the Professor took a little longer wincing and holding his bad leg. The Doctor refrained from offering help, knowing full well it would only earn her a flapping hand and a ‘no need my dear no need’.

They remained kneeling for almost two instants, arms crossed in prayer, or the appearance at least, before the clattering of Guard armour broke the reverent silence, neither of them looked round but from the sound of it only one Guard had entered.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The voice was harsh and commanding, it could only belong to one of the High Priestesses and was accompanied by purposeful footsteps in the direction of the Guard.

“Apologies Sister, but we’re looking for a Shobogan who breached the inner sanctum of the Palace.”

The Doctor resisted glancing around, she recognised the voice of Andred, the Guard who had been less than enthusiastic about the upcoming games.

“You know on-duty Guards aren’t permitted in the Temple do you not?” The Priestess asked archly.

“I apologise Sister, but we have our orders.”

Despite the fact he was looking for her, the Doctor had to marvel at Andreds thick headed dedication to his duty, even if it meant angering the Sisterhood. She heard the Priestess sigh.

“Do you have a description of this Shobogan?”

“Dark skin, reddish hair, yellow waistcoat and grey scarf.”

“Well as you can see no one here matches that description and I can testify that no one has entered wearing that attire.”

“Nonetheless…”

“Nonetheless nothing.” The Priestesses tone was resolute in its firmness, “I won’t have you clattering around disturbing this holy place or anyone seeking guidance here, you will leave. Now.”

There was a double heartbeat of hesitation before Andred turned and stormed out, he tried not to, attempted to retain his air of professionalism, but the Doctor could hear the frustration in his footsteps.

“Should we go?” She asked the Professor; he chuckled and shook his head.

“A few more instants, I don’t think my knee will survive without a rest.”

They lapsed into silence again as the somewhat oppressive atmosphere pressed down on them, during which the Doctor sneaked a glance around at the other worshippers. Most were gathered round the Animus and Nestene shrines, avatars of the Guards and the Pythia itself respectively, but a handful were praying at the smaller alcoves to the Tricksters; the Celestial Toymaker and the Gods of Ragnarok, one didn’t give offering to them unless they sought to ward against them, currying the attention of the Toymaker was never a desirable situation.

“So from all the ruckus I take it your project was successful?” The Professor asked, the Doctor grinned and drew out the Sonic Screwdriver from beneath her robes.

“I doubt they’d be chasing me so intently if it hadn’t.”

“Splendid, splendid.” The Professor exclaimed, a little too loudly, he took a quick glance around, but no one had taken any real notice. The Doctor smiled and rolled her eyes, the Professor was well meaning and kind, but he could be a few fluid links short of a circuit sometimes.

“How did you know to find me?” She asked, the Professor shrugged.

“Oh I was simply passing, taking back some washing for the Sisterhood, then those terrible lights came on and I saw you, I have been known to think on my feet from time to time.”

He winked at her, and the Doctor was struck again by the similarity of their eye colour, blue with red flecks, she shook her head.

“Well thank you, for thinking on your feet.”

She chanced a look around, the temple was quiet, no Guards in sight, “I think we’re in the clear now.”

The Professor nodded, he gestured to her appropriated robes, “I’d keep those on for a street or two.”

As it turned out the Professors advice was spot on, one street away from the boulevard they almost ran headlong into another Guard, but she took one glance at the Doctors attire and moved on without a word.

“Will you be going to the meeting in two Terms?” The Professor asked as the Doctor ducked into a side street and pulled off the robes, stuffing them somewhat unceremoniously behind a waste container.

“Of course,” the Doctor replied brightly, “I’ll be meeting the others tomorrow morning, once Koschei gets back the Rani and Drax are set on going to the Games, but the meetings still the Term before that right?”

“Ahh the games,” the Professor looked thoughtful, then nodded, “ah but yes, yes the meeting will be more than finished before the Games, do enjoy yourself.”

“I always do,” the Doctor smiled then added, “and thanks, for your help, I don’t know how you did it, but you did, so… thanks, again.”

The Professor chuckled indulgently and waved his stick, “we Time Archons work in mysterious ways.”

“If they all worked like you we wouldn’t need meetings would we?” the Doctor reasoned.

“Very true, very true.” The Professor observed, then with a nod and a grin he turned and limped away into the crowd, he stood out as always amidst the sea of red clothed Shobogans.

Alone again the Doctor continued to stroll along the street which she identified as Meddhoran avenue, named for one of the great Time Archon lineages. Despite the late span the street was still packed with people, Jewels 40-Span rotation made for long days, or Terms as Shobogans called them.

Having grown up in a small village perched even further up Lung, the Doctor had never quite grown accustomed to the sheer critical mass of people a city could accommodate.

No that wasn’t quite right, she thought, it’s not crowds, I love being around people, it’s the lack of life.

It was true, no-one on the street with her was perusing any storefronts, for there weren’t any, they were simply travelling, moving from one place to another, looking harried or preoccupied, all dressed in the same mix of reds, a dye derived from the clay all across Jewel.

All Shobogans wore red, it was cheap and easy to produce.

She scowled and scuffed one of her worn boots–left unbuckled due to the thick socks she wore that kept them in place–on the pavement. It was the reason she found begrudging enjoyment in the Games of Rassilon, watching simulations of aliens fighting was one of the few times her civilisation actually showed it had a pulse.

She wandered for another Span and a half before making her way back to the student accommodations. Being as quiet as she could, she felt her way up the stairs and to her room in the darkness, it was only once she slipped inside and pulled off her boots that the adrenaline rush finally settled, and she sat on the bed, replaying the events of the last few Spans.

She could have been caught, or worse, all to satisfy her urge to stick it to the Time Archons.

But what was remarkable was, that she would do it again, even if it earned her a Staser shot to the back of the head.

She laughed, a side effect of the adrenaline come down, and lay back on the bed, arms behind her head.

What had one of the tutors at the academy called her, after she’d changed one of the parameters of an already rigged computer test to benefit both her and her classmates?

An incorrigible meddler.

That sounded about right.

Rough sketch of Time Archon clothing, (left to right, Chronarch, Guard, Elemental) Note: Artist unable to sketch Eternal as they are rarely seen outside the Capitol.

[journalofthewanderers]

Prologue to Archon Journal of the Wanderers, Book of the Time Archons

Prologue

The Child and the Skalek

Skaro, Alvegan System, Seriphia Galaxy

81ANW (Triumvirate Council Era)

Picture of a courtyard, wreathed in smoke, like a crown of destruction and shame, all about lie bodies; blue skinned, lavender skinned, greyish brown skinned. Other forms too, various machines and mechanisms, broken and smashed, from within some, hideous creature’s crawl, and writhe in their last moments. Dals, Thals, Tharons and Skaleks, united in death.

Through the nightmare scene, figures–alike to the fallen–move with careful precision. At their lead is another mechanism, a Skalek; a tall cylindrical body with two pincered arms and a squashed sphere for a head. The casing is covered with radiator vents and diamond shaped sensors, in the middle of the ‘head’ a camera swings back and forth, an articulated lensed sphere within flicking this way and that, its yellow lit eye steady and contracted.

Movement ahead, another form emerges from the smoke, another casing like the leader of the first group. The only difference being that the newcomers casing is gunmetal grey with black diamonds and copper accents, while the first groups leader is stark white with individual red patterning.

The red and white Skalek acts first, raising the weapon carried in his pincers, the barrel is cage-like and at the pull of the trigger sends a beam of electric fire straight into its target with an ear splitting, sizzling zap. The newcomer is pushed back, smoke pouring from its seams adding to the noxious cloud all about them.

More electrolaser beams streak from the opaqueness about the dead casing in response, the red and white Skaleks’ companions duck for cover, two are unlucky, their bodies writhe as they are bathed in a negative glow, their skeletons visible through their skin, they collapse smoking to the ground.

The red and white Skalek snarls in anger, his voice is modulated, ever so slightly grating, and when he speaks the four lights atop the head glow in time. He moves backward, sliding behind the cover of the large statue that takes up the centre of the square, he fires again and again without even aiming. But their opponents advance now; four more Skaleks, identical in shape and colour to the one just killed, identical in design to the red and white one.

“Tervras.” One yells, her illuminators flashing as she spoke, “By order of the Triumvirate Council you will surrender.”

“Clyffil,” The red and white Skalek­–Tervras–called back sarcastically; the word meant ‘I understand you but do not agree with you’, it was frequently used in Brindigulum sessions.

Their opponents responded by directing their weapons fire in Tervras’s general direction, sizzling beams digging chunks out of the statue.

Tervras’ other associates were armed with a series of older assault rifles, SMG’s and pistols, effectively useless against the polycarbide bonded Dalekenium metal, but they still contributed their share, dousing the left most Skalek in a hail of bullets.

An illuminator shattered and the Skalek quickly pivoted their eye away, more forces began filing into the square, not Skaleks but Dals and Thals, even a few Tharons, done up in the grey overalls of the Mensvaat Guard.

The Supremo’s finest. Tervras thought sarcastically, his compatriots were now seeking cover around their side of the square. Tervras raised his weapon, but now he paused and assessed the situation. The Guard were using their Skaleks for cover, letting the incoming bullets ping off their armour, while the Skaleks themselves directed their electrolaser fire in Tervras’s direction.

The dead Skalek, the one felled by Tervras’s stolen weapon, had turned slightly as it had died, and now Tervras could spy a large dish mounted to the back of the casing, his eye trailed to the ground and contracted in vicious satisfaction as he took in the stone tiling. Not necessarily for its craft though it was certainly a very tasteful piece of stonework, but it meant that the opposing Skaleks were using a signal relay to receive power, by comparison Tervras had a large power pack mounted to his own casing.

“Naldren,” He called to one of his Dal allies, “Jammer, now!”

The short, blue skinned Dal, her upper head ridged, almost segmented, hauled the large device she was carrying on her back and began fiddling with it as the others upped their firepower to cover her. A few buttons pressed and the effect was instantaneous; the opposing Skaleks began to slow, their movements becoming decidedly more sluggish.

“We’re being jammed!” One of them declared, the one who had previously called for their surrender.

No, really? Tervras thought acidly.

“Pull us back, now!” She yelled, frantically, this time to her walking compatriots who, in an impressive display of tactical competency, maintained a steady rate of supressing fire while a handful of them grabbed the immobilised Skalek casings and began hauling them bodily from the square. Tervras gestured to his own side, they didn’t let up their own fire but made no effort to pursue or impede the enemy from retreating.

Now with the courtyard clear of hostiles, Tervras looked about properly, his eye expanding in sadness as he took in the ruin about him.

This had been a peaceful protest less than 1500 Rels ago, both sides respecting the rules set down, the Mensvaat Guard holding a steady but calm line, the protesters with their signs and their chants there only to make their voices heard.

He and his crew had been loitering a street away, as one of Mensvaat Esc Drammankin’s more disreputable citizens, with a claw in everything the Triumvirate Council would rather see stamped out, it wouldn’t have done to associate with the demonstration too closely, no matter how much he might agree with its aims. Was it cynicism or foresight? That despite the orderly and ‘respectable’ nature of the protest, he and his crew had come armed.

So when the flash of white that reached above the rooftops followed by the thunderclap of an explosion had hit them, shaking dust from the buildings around them, Tervras couldn’t help but feel a sense of vindication. All the battle that had followed on reflection almost felt automatic; the motions of violence from those all too familiar with it’s routine.

Spack, he cursed mentally, that could be the by-line for our entire sorry planet.

“Tervras,” Naldren’s voice broke him from his internal monologue, and he turned his eyestalk on her, she was crouching amidst a sea of debris and scorch marks that, even to his untrained eye, could only have been the epicentre of the detonation.

The Dal’s face was grim as she took in the blast marks, her technical knowledge letting her understand what was before her.

“Dalekenium explosion.”

Tervras’ eye expanded in disbelief, “Dalekenium?” he repeated, “one of the Skaleks exploded?”

“Setting off at least one other,” Naldren confirmed.

“But that shouldn’t happen,” Tervras said, casting a wary eye down at his own casing, “Dalekenium is supposed to be stabilised before casting.”

“It’s more common than you think, it’s supposed to be stabilised by the polycarbide, but it only takes a small manufacturing error, or impurity, for some poor spack to be riding round in a time bomb, jolt it too much and it goes off.”

Naldren lifted a charred piece of metal, twisted and scorched beyond recognition and her grim expression grew, if possible, even more so.

“Which raises a worrying question; was it one of the protesters or one of the Mensvaat Guard that went up.

She tugged at the right sensory tentacle that sprouted from the sides of her head, like all Dals it branched into three at the end, though she had adorned hers with rings of false Flidor gold.

“Why should that matter?” Arnalax asked as he walked over, he was a Thal, the youngest of the group, the three lines of hair that came down to just above his own racially distinct brow ridge were highlighted with streaks of green that contrasted poorly with his purple skin and the natural patches of blue and gold above his eyes.

Naldren gave him a patient-yet-condescending look, “a Mensvaat Guard going up is just a simple error, but if it was one of the protesters, then it was a Skalek in a Yarvelling Mk2 travel machine,”

She indicated Tervras, who’s own casing was of the make she had described; the Mk2 Travel machine, designed by the ‘great’ Dal scientist Yarvelling as a way to provide affordable and robust casings to all the Skaleks (or Muto’s if one was feeling derogatory) on Skaro, a replacement for the ramshackle life support carriages, broadly referred to as the Mk1, many of them were forced to construct and inhabit. That was the official intention, but given the pitiful number of Mk2s that had actually made it to the average Skalek—the Terrorkons share conveniently ending up with the Mensvaat Guard­–one had to wonder how true that was.

“Given how rare amongst the citizenry Mk2’s are,” Naldren was explaining to Arnalax, “is there a chance that others are similarly compromised? That the Council are lumping us with their defective cast-offs?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Tervras murmured.

Arnalax nodded stiffly, as a Thal his own sensory tentacles consisted of a pair of five, longer and thinner than a Dals, he absently scratched at the right cluster before moving quickly away. Tervras could tell he was half chagrined for not knowing the answer to his question and half resentful at how Naldren had explained it like she was talking to a child, even though at 16 that’s exactly what he was.

They didn’t have long, the Mensvaat Guard would regroup and come at them again, either putting out a counter-jammer to negate Naldrens device or fitting the Skaleks with power packs like his own.

“How do we work out which side had the bad casing?”

“We get as much wreckage as we can carry and hope we find the piece that tells us,” was Naldren’s reply as she began scooping up battered metal. Tervras twitched his eye in conformation and then gestured to the others to do as Naldren said before casting his view about. A particularly large section of debris caught his attention, a section of scaffolding that had collapsed in the initial detonation. Carrying his electrolaser in one claw he trundled over and seized the twisted mass of metal and wood and hefted it up.

There was a body beneath.

Tervras halted mid movement as his vision perceived the form, a tiny greyish brown Tharon child.

He found himself frozen in that moment, a painful, gnawing, sadness and pity clawed at him, the real him; the mutated ruin of his body that lurked within this shell, the part of him he tried not to think about, preferring to view himself as only the casing, the Skalek.

The child stirred feebly and Tervras jerked backward slightly in surprise, almost losing his grip on the debris he still held ominously over the child, quickly he shoved it to one side, the crash of metal drew the others attention even as they packed fragments into their bags.

The child opened her eyes, yellow sclera and grey iris, one of two shared characteristic of all Skaros races, along with the different types of sensory tentacles, or sensories on either side of their head. The sight of a white and red Skalek looming before her, electrolaser in hand seemed not to be the unnerving sight it might otherwise would have been, dark red blood trickled from a nasty wound on her ridged head. Like all female Tharons she sported two pairs of the long whip like sensories, compared to the three slightly shorter ones of males, the two on the left side were badly mangled with one almost completely severed. Tervras also registered a concussion, bad enough on its own, but the injury to the sensory tentacles would be its own issue.

“It’s okay,” He heard himself saying, so consumed with pity for this wounded child that he barely heard Naldrens call of ‘Guards on their way back, Tervras we need to go!’

He felt the electrolaser fall from his claw, the heavy weapon falling with a bassy clatter.

She seemed to clear her thoughts enough to flinch back as he reached out for her, he stopped and drew his arm back.

“My name’s Tervras, what’s yours?” He asked.

The child tried to pull herself up but failed, she cast her bleary eyes around, not yet comprehending.

“Galatrex,” she said, not a Tharon name but a Dal one, one of the colonised, maybe even two or three generations free from slavery.

Tervras also looked around, there were other bodies beneath the fallen scaffolding, all of different races, he couldn’t tell if Galatrex’s parents, parent or caretaker were amongst them, or if the girl had been alone.

Either way, she was alone now.

“Galatrex, it’s not safe, I need to get you out of here, will you come with me?”

Again the fog parted in Galatrex’s eye but this time she became more aware of her surroundings, she began to breathe heavily, fear welling up in her. Until she looked back at Tervras, took him in, that was when she seemed to calm slightly, she nodded.

“Tervras!” Naldren called urgently, and now Tervras could hear the distant sounds of the Mensvaat Guard, calling to the civilians to keep order and to their compatriots to secure the area. He reached again for Galatrex and this time she did not shy away as he carefully lifted her from the rubble.

The others exchanged confused glances as he turned, cradling Galatrex in his telescoping pole-like arms. Only Naldren would be bold enough to question why he’d decided to suddenly adopt an injured Tharon child, and he was glad that, after a look at his eye she decided against it. He wasn’t sure he had an answer other than, she needed help.

Quickly Tervras and his crew, the young Galatrex in tow fled the scene of devastation, disappearing back into the shadows of Mensvaat Esc Drammankin even as the Mensvast Guard, Skaleks now fitted with power packs, moved in just as rapidly to secure the scene and begin helping the survivors.

Rough sketches of the three races of Skaro.

A plan of the Yarvelling MK2 Travel Machine, with important notes from the great Dal scientist.