The Doctor was two blocks away before he realized that he had seen the woman he passed in the hallway before.

"Persephone Sterling! She must work for Lessman." He paused midstride, remembering. "Hot drink in hand, bag, dressed well. She's his P.A woman. She might know something more about Mr. Snow than Lessman was willing to reveal. Including where I could meet him…"

The Doctor continued back to the TARDIS, musing. After using the TARDIS to do a search on local business men, he'd found that the mysterious Mr. Snow owned many of the companies, and had his fingers in even more, and he was in no way restricted by the Chicago city limits. With factories and office buildings in multiple countries and states, Mr. Snow was a big man.

However, he seemed to relish privacy, because there were no pictures of him in any records, though there had been a birth certificate and a very basic genealogy on record at a hospital, along with fingerprints and a DNA sample.

Despite owning the companies, the Doctor hadn't known how involved Mr. Snow really was. Judging by his conversation with Andrew Lessman though, Mr. Snow was very involved, if distant. Definitely the local business guru.

The Doctor was convinced Mr. Snow was a Drast. Records of stocks purchased, companies merged, and other take-overs were trademark signs the Drast had been at work. He had to admit, of all the ways aliens tried to conquer Earth, he liked the Drast's methods the best, if only for the reason people almost never died. And they were efficient and careful. It also made them very, very hard to remove.

"Unless I go through someone already on the inside, like dear Persephone," the Doctor said, ducking into the TARDIS and dashing round to the view screen, entering the information he knew on her. He didn't want to show up at her office building again; Mr. Lessman might not accept his presence, and the Doctor didn't know how much Mr. Lessman knew about the situation. Persephone wasn't in it yet, but had to hold future significance if that Drast last night was trying to kidnap her. To what end the Doctor didn't know yet, but he soon would.

When the TARDIS gave a flat beep, he frowned, puzzled. Persephone Sterling didn't exist. No pictures, no records, nothing.

"That's odd," the Doctor mused. "Not even a résumé or a paycheck. Even if she's faking it, there would be something…"

The Doctor pulled out his memory of when he'd met Persephone. Yeah, she was definitely the woman he'd seen going into Lessman's office. Had she given him the wrong name on purpose, hoping he wouldn't follow? She must have.

"Woman like that would have a very specific false name," he mused. "Something horribly probable. The singularity of the name makes it impossible for someone to miss, but she'd have a safety net attached in case someone really wanted to hunt her down. Maybe a name that sounds like Persephone Sterling. Then if they did find her she could play the political side and say that they misheard her. Unless I really did, which would be terribly embarrassing."

Entering his new supposition into the TARDIS database, a profile came up instantly, with everything he'd ever want to know about—

"Penelope Starling. Sounds like someone from an Agatha Christie novel. Definitely her though. Certainly her picture. Well then Penny. Let's find out who you are." Setting the slides to go by at his incredibly fast reading pace, he stared at the screen, eyebrows rising higher the more he found out about the woman he'd saved.

"Oh," he said quietly when he was done, decently impressed. "That's who you are."

Penelope saw Mr. Lessman safely ensconced in his car before heading back into the building and her office where her black overcoat was draped across the rolling chair. She'd likely be with Mr. Lessman if this was a business dinner, but when he was going to be with Mrs. Lessman, she stayed behind. Mrs. Lessman didn't allow work to travel home with her husband, something Mr. Lessman was only too happy to agree to. Secretly, Penelope was overjoyed as well, because it meant she had a general time that she could stop working, usually an hour after Mr. Lessman went home if it was a good night.

She flipped through the many notes she'd taken that day. Tonight didn't look like a good one though. Maybe two hours after she got home. She'd have to order in, unlike last night when she'd had a meeting in another restaurant near Uno Chicago Grill. She'd been returning to her car when she was grabbed.

Putting her coat on over her work clothes she picked up her large purse and turned off the light in her office. There were always people working in the building, even on this floor, but none she needed to speak to or take notice of. It didn't fit in with her schedule.

Penelope Starling was a woman who was, to put it lightly, extremely efficient and overly organized. She prided herself of being able to manage several lives at once, and make all of it work perfectly. Nothing entered her schedule or her life without her say so, and nothing was permitted to interfere with anything she put in the Notebooks, as her co-workers called the several planners she carried. Life rolled to schedule, or it didn't roll at all.

Penelope stepped into the elevator, which was empty as it usually was at this time of day, and pressed the button for the parking garage.

Her exactness alone didn't make her good—no, the very best—at her job. Equipped with a mind she had trained to remember everything and piece every fact together like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, she didn't really need to write things down to know what was supposed to happen. The planners were for appearance sake. Penelope was always certain to keep up on events around the globe, from fashion to politics to everything in-between.

Even this didn't make her the Penelope Starling. She'd braved a lot, taken risks, and put her name on the line time and again in years previous, but even at the relatively young age of thirty years Penelope knew the names of everyone who was anyone, and was on a first name basis with most of them. She was well connected enough that she chose the people she worked for, not the other way around, and could request almost any salary, though she was kind enough to keep it reasonable.

Once you factored in the time she labeled 'professional upkeep,' which included a weekly massage, a monthly mud bath, daily exercise, and a visit to the salon every two weeks, it was an exhausting life. Still, Penelope was proud of where she was, and intended to keep it that way.

As she exited the elevator and made her way over to her 2012 dark blue Roadster, she spared a moment to think about the mysterious Mr. Snow. If Penelope ever met the man, she thought vaguely, he'd likely be the only man she'd consider marrying: private, successful, and in control.

She reached into her purse for her keys and happened to look at the window of the car near her, catching sight of someone walking up behind her.

Another one she thought with irritation. First that strange metallic man yesterday and her even stranger rescuer, and now…what? A mugger? Likely.

Pretending she'd never seen the figure, she released her keys and located her can of pepper spray, expertly popping the top off and situating it in her hand for a quick draw.

Penelope continued to fiddle with her purse as she stood by her car, watching the person come steadily nearer in the reflection from the window. Soon, they were close enough.

One, two,

Turning sharply around Penelope let loose with the spray, catching her assailant square in the eyes. He let out an absurdly feminine shriek of pain and covered his face, turning away. Penelope still recognized him; she'd only come across one person with such an ancient dress code.

"Dr. Michael Jones," she greeted him, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

"What did you do that for?" the self-named Doctor shouted at her, eyes watering furiously as his face started to turn red.

"You were following me. I don't appreciate it."

"You could have said something first!"

"What do you want?"

The Doctor kept his head down, trying not to rub at his eyes. "I need to talk to you."

"I can give you ten minutes on Friday of next week."

"No! It's too important. I have to speak to you now. It's about Mr. Snow."

"If you're trying to find him—"

"I don't think he's real," the Doctor said in a rush.

Penelope blinked, silent for a moment. "That's not possible. I think you're deranged. Please don't bother me again."

"No, I don't mean he's not real, he's just not him!"

Penelope ignored him, instead pressing the button on her keychain to unlock her car. As soon as she did there was a sharp whine and the door clicked shut again.

"What?" she exclaimed, turning back to the Doctor. "Did you do something to my car?" She looked at the strange green flashlight in his hand. "What is that thing?"

The Doctor, now extremely red faced and eyes still streaming, tried vainly to face Penelope. "Penny, I need your help—"

"My name is Penelope Starling, not Penny."

"Penny, I need your help, but first I need you to listen to me. Five minutes. Please."

Penelope looked at the annoying man. She'd sprayed him, and he was still here, so he wasn't trying to attack her. And she did owe him for helping her out last night…

"You have one minute, only for your assistance last night."

"Your planet is being overrun by an alien race called the Drast. They work by economic takeover. It started in Japan years ago, but now they've gotten to America. One of them attacked you last night so they have to consider you important. I think Mr. Snow is one of them, and I need your help to find him and stop him before he owns every company in the States."

Penelope gave him a calm look that mimicked the boredom of a cat. "I think you're mad. I'm on a schedule that you have already set askew. I strongly suggest that from now on you leave me alone and check yourself into a sanitarium." She unlocked her car, manually this time, and got in. "Good evening Dr. Jones."

The Doctor didn't bother to watch her drive off. He was too busy trying to find the way out of the parking garage. He needed to wash his face of the pepper spray before figuring out what came next.

After his face no longer looked like an over-ripe tomato and his eyes stopped watering like an over-zealous gardener, the Doctor was able to think clearly again.

"That could have gone better. Note to self: never creep up behind her again. But I'm still certain I need her help. Penny's got connections all over the place, so she has to have some way to get to Mr. Snow, or at least find him. He has to be a Drast! Or a group of them, that's possible too."

He scratched the back of his head. "But why are they up here so fast? It takes generations for them to move over that much land. Unless they found a way to make use of the current economic crises." The Doctor shrugged with his eyebrows. "It's possible. I've never been very good at business, and they might have sent a group up here. They're still down in Japan, that's for certain. But if I can get them out of this city, that'll slow them down, if not get rid of them. Once detected they'll leave, if past behavior is any indication."

The Doctor gave a sigh of irritation. "That still requires me to find Mr. Snow. I have to meet them head on, like…like business men. I don't know; I've never had to face a Drast. They hardly ever wave guns at people, everything has to be done in meetings. I hate meetings. Another reason I need Penny Starling. She'll have an idea of what to do, can always give me pointers."

This time the sigh was tired, resigned. "Which means I have to get her to listen to me and believe me. That means I need to get creative."

He frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder what route she takes to work in the morning…"

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*