Act I, Chapter I: The Thief


Dear Friend.

When you find this letter, it is the end of our story. And what a great story it was!

I came to see you and I saw happiness. I am glad you found it, very few in this universe deserve it more than you. We have been through much, have we not? More than you know. There are things you don't know yet. When you read this, it means there is at least one meeting still to happen for you. Perhaps the last for you, and the first for me. Maybe soon, maybe in a while, you will find me and you will save me. That will be the end of our shared story and at the same time the beginning of it. You know how it is with time. It's a non-subjective, non-linear, rather incoherent and confusing thing. Everything happens every time, somewhere. Don't forget that. Our story ends, but it never really does.

When we first met, I showed you a book, remember? I never told you what was in it, just that you had written it. The truth is, it was a book with all your letters. All those letters you never gave me. Every single one, ever word, every line. You thought you'd never get a chance to show them to me, but you did. I read them all. Each one at its time.

You, Abigail Ellen McIntyre, have written yourself to my heart. Forever. These letters are immortal. You are never forgotten. Thank you for writing them, thank you for writing history, and our story.

Thank you. And even though I have a strange way of showing it, I want you to know that I love you.

Corsair


"Seize him!"

They yelled all across the courtyard, causing uproar among the people gathered there. What was supposed to be a day of celebration turned into chaos as armed guards rushed across the court of the government palace towering in the heart of the Citadel. The busy court, full of colourful market stands, was disrupted. Goods were flying, people screaming.

And he made his way through the crowd. A man, perhaps in his early thirties, very dark of skin, his hair cut very short. He was wearing the robes of a chancellor, way too much fabric to move properly so he had gathered the long, heavy, dark red robes in his arms while he was running. He had long since discarded of the impractical, stiff collar that usually went with these robes. And he was laughing. Oh he was laughing, the wild, careless laughter of a madman. Over one shoulder, he carried a document case, what was in it, no one knew. But they assumed. They assumed it was a painting, cut from its huge frame in the office of the President himself. Which might well be the reason why he was being pursued by council guards. Yes, stealing from the President of Gallifrey might cause such a pursuit.

The Time Lord known as the Corsair was known throughout the seven systems as a force to be reckoned with. He had always been unpredictable, always been different from other Time Lords. But this time he had taken it one step too far.

President Borusa was fuming. He was raving in his chambers, from where the painting had been removed. Now his men were chasing the culprit. Where he would run to, he didn't even know. He was just running, for his life probably. He had no intention of spending the rest of time in prison. There was one thing he could do. He needed to get into the hangars underneath the city and get his hands on a TARDIS. Off through time and space, no way for them to track him. There was just one problem. He couldn't get into the hangars undetected. If he used his own access card, they'd shut everything down instantly and he'd be trapped. Not going to happen. No, he had to get into the hangar some other way. Probably – while he was on a roll – he'd have to steal someone's access card. Although more often than not, he was actually handed things. Stealing was such a heavily judgmental term. He was really just borrowing things.

In one impressively elegant leap, he had flown across a stand, bringing some distance between him and his pursuers to re-evaluate his course. To get to the hangars, he'd have to get into the Academy. A building he knew very well, each tower and hallway looked essentially the same to a stranger but if one had spent their entire youth there, one learned to navigate it. And after all, he was one of the best, wasn't he? Stared into the schism, brave and true, rising above the madness that consumed many. Graduating the Academy with excellence. Commanding a fleet of Time Lords – back when they had still bothered to get involved – into battle against the Adarre. The final battle, the decisive battle, the last battle they had fought against their oldest enemy and he had come out of it victorious. A war hero. Now where had he ended up? Sneaking into the Academy to steal a TARDIS. His former mentor would turn in his grave if he knew. He probably did know, with time travellers one could never be all too sure.

He reached the entrance to the Academy. A very quiet place it was, the endless, bright hallways, the classrooms, he could see children sitting in neat rows, listening to their teachers. Teenagers, listening to their practice instructors, smaller research groups studying in small tutorial rooms.

Temporal research students of the Arcalian college in their green and brown robes. The Patrex students, the college of artists in their lightly purple robes, he had never taken them quite serious. And of course the Prydonians in their flaming scarlet robes – oh he remembered his own years in this college fondly. Engineers, navigators, pilots, physicists, mathematicians, linguists, there were many directions the study at the Academy could take and a bit of everything was needed to navigate a TARDIS. Briefly, he wondered whether he'd even be able to steal a ship, on his own. How would he fly it? But the calls of the council guard distracted him.

"There he is, don't let him escape!" one yelled. The Corsair laughed and was on his way again, running for dear life, trying to figure out where best to find the access card.


The bright hall of the central library lay deeply quiet except for the occasional swishing of long robes only graduates wore. Countless pupils were sitting on desks, hidden behind piles of books.

The Librarian led a group of children through an aisle between high bookshelves. The children walked in pairs behind her, boys and girls in the uniforms of their respective colleges, the ones they had joined after passing their initiation. They had not chosen their names yet, were referred to by designated combinations of numbers and letters and the Librarian had taken to calling them by their very last designation.

Right behind her were two little boys in the red of the Prydonians and they were, as per usual for this college, up to no good. They were teasing the other scholars, trying to make them trip on their first introduction to the library system, but the Librarian had her eye on them, well aware of their mischief.

She was a woman who did not like to be messed with. Stern and proud, and she had her library under firm control. The Librarian was a tall woman, despite the several centuries she counted now, centuries one could barely see on her face, she looked like an average, late 50something, but had three regenerations to show for already. Her hair, put together in complicated knots and twists, was still flaming red like it was common for time-sensitive beings such as her. A woman who, if she wanted to, could be a player in the topmost levels of politics of Gallifrey. But that was not something she enjoyed. The Librarian was a Patrex, an artist, a woman of song, music, poetry, she did not like to worry for the politics of their grand empire. As long as her library was in order, she was content. Mess with her library though and she would turn into a tyrant.

The Librarian was wrapped in fine robes, purple and silver, her high collar beautifully decorated, the fabric of her robe covered in delicate stitches with a remarkable level of detail depicting a fairy tale like scene from her home regions folklore. She had come from a wealthy, influential family and of course her parents were disappointed that their only child did not follow their footsteps in the Arcalian or Prydonian colleges. But she was happy here.

"Ma'am, how are we supposed to access these books?" a girl eventually asked. The Librarian turned towards her.

"Well, Ushas, you are not supposed to access these books here at all. It will be years before you'll be able to make sense of them and when the time comes, when you're ready you will get the access codes to these shelves from me. Not a day sooner."

"How will you even know when I'm ready?"

"I'll know," the Librarian replied confidently. Just as she wanted to continue, she witnessed the two Prydonian boys teasing another pupil, great amusement in their voices, both boys looking every bit as if they wanted to climb up the shelves. She grabbed both of them by their skinny necks. "Theta Sigma, Koschei! Why is it when there is trouble, it's always you two in the middle of it?"

"We didn't do anything!" Theta Sigma - the smaller, skinnier boy with dark hair and freckles - protested.

"I will not have this behaviour in my Library. You two will be called to detention with the vice-dean later tonight and I expect to see an essay on behaviour in the Library by tomorrow. Do you know how to behave in a library?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" the other boy - slightly taller than his friend, and fair of hair - declared.

"Really? Because your behaviour suggests you have been raised by flubbles. In my Library, people want to work and study, so there should not be any talking, much less screaming and teasing and most certainly no run-"

Before the words fully left her lips, one warning finger raised at the two boys, a group of uniformed council guards ran behind her, past the library, screaming and shouting and their weapons clattering noisily. The Librarian, who had frozen in the very position she had been in while scolding the two boys, drew in a few deep breaths to calm herself as some of the older students sitting and reading in working groups looked up irritated. She was clearly just a few fuses short of a massive explosion and it took her a great deal of self-control to not forget her own rules. She forced a smile to her face when she let the two boys go. "Excuse me for a minute or two. Nobody moves!" she ordered, then turned and left the group of initiates to follow the council guards. The men had, by then, already left the central library and were storming down a corridor, yelling at each other:

"Find him! He can't hide in here, he can't have gotten far!"

"Gentlemen!" the firm voice of the Librarian cut through the corridor. The men froze, flew around and saluted.

"Good evening, Ma'am!"

The Librarian approached the men in quick, wide steps, her robe floating over the polished floor. "Gentlemen, you do all realise the Academy is a place for study. Our students are extremely concentrated and under a lot of pressure from exam committees to perform with the highest possible results. You do also realise that running around here, screaming, is extremely distracting and hence unacceptable?"

"Apologies, Ma'am. We're chasing a thief. A painting has been stolen from the President and we're trying to capture the thief before he can smuggle it out of the city."

"And it helps catching this thief by running around yelling? I would imagine this makes it easier for him to hide, knowing where and when you come for him because you've announced yourselves so very vocal, hm?"

The men gasped, exchanged confused looks, then bowed.

"I-indeed, Ma'am. Apologies again for the disturbance. If you see anything suspicious, please let the guard know."

"I shall. Now if you'll excuse me, I have two marauders to drag to the Dean."

The men bowed again when the Librarian turned and floated away, returning to where she had left the group of initiates. She placed her hands on the shoulders of both Theta Sigma and Koschei. "Now, you two."

And with little more than that did she escort the two young boys to the office of the vice-dean so he may decide about their appropriate punishment.


Night fell over the shining Citadel of Time Lords, the city under the dome. The Academy was quiet, almost entirely abandoned. There was light in the office of the vice-dean, where he had two boys sitting and writing their essays in detention. And light in the office of the Librarian, who was going through the track records of borrowed books to formulate reminders to the younger students to return the books, because the student in their final years of training might need them to prepare for their final examination.

Her office overlooked the central library, a wide front of windows allowing her to see the library below her like a landscape, mountains and valleys of the history of the universe, collected in the arguably oldest library. Arguably, because the Adarre claimed the same about their library. An old feud they liked to tease each other with nowadays over canapés or dinner at diplomatic meetings.

She thought she saw the door to her office move but when she looked up, she was alone. A moment she quietly stared, waiting, making sure there really was no one there. Only then did she return to her work. She sent an order to the printer and just got up from her huge office chair when someone caught her, a hand over her lips. The Librarian gasped.

"Shhhhh, I just came to borrow something from you," a smooth voice declared and before she knew it, he had taken the access card she wore around her neck. The man stepped away from her and she caught a glimpse of him. Tall, athletic, handsome, a lot younger than her but not as young as his appearance suggested. She rolled her eyes.

"Hoban. Also known as the Corsair. i should have known when the council guard stormed my library today. War hero, now thief. How the mighty have fallen."

He grinned, his teeth a bright, white, perfect row in his dark face.

"You always were my favourite teacher, Ma'am."

"Where do you hope to get with that?" she asked, rolling her eyes even more at his flattery.

"Into the hangar. I know you have access to it. You are, whether you like it or not, a council member."

"Why would you do something so foolish? What did you even steal?"

He smirked and took the document case off his back. He quickly opened the lid, pulled out the scroll in it and bowed closer so the Librarian could inspect the bounty he presented so proudly. She knew the colour pattern, the brush technique, he didn't even have to unroll it. She raised a ginger brow.

"The Rassilon portrait? From President Borusa's office?"

"The very same," the Corsair confirmed, his pride unclouded in his voice. The Librarian could not suppress the slight chuckle as she shook her head in disbelief.

"You are an impossible man, Corsair."

"Cannot be tamed," he confirmed with a youthful smirk and spark in his eyes. Then he winked at her, with the key card between two fingers. "Thanks for this, Ma'am."

And gone he was.


Access to the hangar was so easy it bordered on the ridiculous. He almost missed the challenge. But he should have known that the Librarian would report the theft. He should have seen it coming.

The hangar was abandoned, before him stretched a giant hall, filled with ships. The best ships. TARDIS' ships, the very best of the batch. Grown over centuries. The outdated models were on the floor below, the ones up here were fine, new pieces, the equipment the best they could get. He walked down the corridors of blunt, boring looking metal blocks, deceiving of the magic inside them. He walked past them, one hand gently brushing the cool outside walls. He was waiting for a sign, knew that he couldn't just take any TARDIS. He had to find the right one for him. TARDIS' ships were like cats; They chose their owner, not the other way around. And he –

A door slid open. He stopped and turned, found a ship had opened up to him, the lights from inside visible. A smile curled up his lips as he wandered closer.

"Hello beautiful..." he whispered as he stepped into the ship. She was a marvellous TX type 9, mark 10. One of the finest, he dare say. Beautiful to look at. The console room, the first room stepped into, was a large dome supported by pillars, the central console a gigantic, circular terminal marked with circular-gallifreyan writing. It had never been used. She was brand new, probably just out of breeding. "Oh, we're going to have a great time together, you and me..." he whispered to the console. Then, with quick steps, he left the ship to release the brakes still on it. And the next thing he knew, he was face first on the floor, a guardsman sitting on his back, weapons pointed at him.

"Corsair, you are by the laws of President Borusa under arrest for breaking and entering the presidential quarters and stealing the President's property. You have right to legal representation at court, but you will spend at least the next month under arrest."

He didn't respond, just laughed, almost disappointed in himself. He was losing his edge, wasn't he?

"What gave me away?"

"Shouldn't have used a council member's access card."

He nodded weakly. He really shouldn't have.


Author's Note:

Woohooo! We're on Gallifrey! I hope I didn't mess it up too much, I haven't seen much of Classic Who, all I know of Gallifrey is what we've seen on New Who and what I could research on the internet. But since the Doctor reset the Universe anyways, I figured things might be different on Gallifrey as well. Bear with me.

I will write this fanfiction in nine Act's - one for each regeneration of the Corsair. Every Act will begin with a letter. The letters will make sense later, promise!

If you like what you're reading and you want to read more, see how the story of the Corsair continues, let me know in a review or a message.


Disclaimer: I do NOT own Doctor Who or the Corsair but I love everything about it.