"So, um, do you… want a tour?" Cora asks.
The Doctor is a pair of boots, deeply buried in the ruined console. He ignores the question.
"I think he's probably busy," Clara says apologetically, "But I'd love one."
"I imagine your TARDIS is a bit bigger than this one," says Cora, as they slip back into the corridor, "We had to jettison a lot of rooms after the crash to prioritise resources. Hygiene and sanitation are just down there; you've already seen the infirmary. This is the kitchen," she continues, pushing open a reluctant sliding door.
"Hey," says a woman sat at the long table, absorbed in her data-pad as they enter, "How are the repairs coming?" She glances up, eyes widening in surprise to see the twin copies. "You're awake!" She stands, knocking her stool over with a crash, and enthusiastically pumps Clara's hand. "I'm Gryf. Or maybe you already know that? Sorry-"
"No, it's ok. I'm Clara. It's nice to meet you."
"I should wake the others; do introductions properly."
"Oh, no, you don't have to wake anyone-" But Gryf is already gone.
"Don't feel bad," says Cora, smiling for the first time, "It's time they were up for patrol anyway. Tea?"
"I would love a cup." She takes a place at the table as Cora finds the kettle. "What's all the patrolling for?"
"No long range sensors," explains Cora, pouring water, "So anything we can find. Other people. Resources to help repair the TARDIS." She pauses. "Food."
The return of Gryf precludes further questioning on this worrying topic. "Clara?" she says, smiling, "This is Evin, my co-pilot."
The two are chalk and cheese; Evin is gangling tall and rather horse-faced. "Charmed," he says drily, immediately filing himself under 'A for arsehole' in Clara's internalised system.
"This is Horas, our temporal physics specialist," Gryf continues, reaching up to clap the shoulder of another young Lord.
"And I'm Miri," says the final member of the quartet; her kind eyes creased in a welcoming smile as she holds out her hand. "Technically the weapons specialist, but as we haven't got any weapons it seems a bit pretentious to introduce myself by that title."
"Clara," she repeats, shaking the proffered hand, "I travel with the Doctor." She is not used to this statement being followed by the kind of reverent hush it receives from the young Gallifreyans. "Er, he's in the console room at the moment but I'm sure he'll come and say hello." Miri and Horas exchange an excited glance at the prospect.
"Tea," says Cora, passing Clara her mug and breaking the awkward silence. "Gryf, you're off this swing. The rest of you should get suited up."
"Actually, I'm going to head out again," says Gryf, "I have a good feeling about the ridgeline just past where we found Clara and the Doctor. Want to check it out."
"Okay," accedes Cora. "But stay in pairs, please." The group nods solemnly; a curiously sober reaction to a simple instruction that prickles Clara's interest. She takes a sip of her tea as they troop out to prepare themselves for more time in the desert.
"I guess I should show you the sleeping quarters," says Cora. "Assuming you're both going to stay here with us?"
"We'd be very grateful-"
"No, I didn't mean for that to sound so… Look, the desert out there is death. You're very welcome to stay. Especially if you can help with repairs. It's been… hard. Only me having any real idea of what needs doing."
Clara gives her duplicate a sympathetic look. "Did your TARDIS drag you here too?"
Cora laughs hollowly. "My TARDIS? She's a repair shop rusted hulk that I was working on after hours. The six of them came looking for a joy ride, and the next thing I know we're crashing into the side of a mountain."
"Six?" Clara prompts.
Cora looks away, shamefaced. "Kinil died in the crash. And Faris… never came back from patrol. We searched, but there's no sign of him."
Clara nods gravely, her suspicions confirmed. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Cora shakes her head. "TARDISes aren't toys. We try to teach the Academy intake that when they're young and impressionable, but once they've got themselves a regeneration cycle you might as well−" She stops, colour suddenly flooding her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"I'm not a Time Lord," Clara reassures, "I'm human. Didn't the Doctor say?" Cora's expression of shock indicates otherwise. "Yep, that sounds like him. And assuming he's in any way representative, I'd say your assessment of Time Lords is spot on."
There is an eeriness to the dark console room; a place that should tick and whirr with light and life made still and silent. She shivers. "Doctor?" No answer is forthcoming. "Doctor, we need to have a serious talk about sleeping arrangements. I'm revoking the top bunk agreement."
Reopening hostilities on that old chestnut should be enough to draw him from whatever mechanical challenge he is working through. Instead there is only silence.
She takes a tentative step forward. "Doctor?" His boots have disappeared. She sighs, hoping he hasn't fallen victim to some sort of trans-dimensional malfunction. "Are you even in here?" She crosses to the front door of the capsule, hoping to let some light into the dark space to aid her search.
Outside the sun is setting; a huge orange disc sinking towards the horizon. The blowtorch heat is waning with the light. Curiosity has the better of her and she takes a few more steps, out onto fine white sand that stretches away to a hazy horizon. Cora's TARDIS has landed at the foot of an enormous mountain, one that finds no parallel on Earth. It reminds her instead of the dead ranges of Mars; no green, no snow caps, just sloping sands giving way to walls of reddish rock.
He is sitting upslope of the TARDIS, an incongruous black stick figure against the white and red. The sand makes walking uphill an effort, her head a little woozy by the time she reaches him. His expression of misery makes her heart plummet; he looks as if he may even have been crying.
She sits next to him on the warm powder. There has been a fire here recently, a few pieces of scorched wood marking the edges of a patch of vitrified sand. She traces patterns in the glassy remains, waiting for him to speak.
"I grew up near here," he says, when the sun touches the edge of the dune sea before them. "I used to play on the slopes of this mountain. The barn I bought the Moment to should be somewhere in that direction." He waves a hand vaguely eastwards.
"What happened?"
He shrugs. "The War. Gallifrey's climate has been maintained by artificial stabilisers for centuries."
"I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am." He sighs. "Clara; their TARDIS is dying and I can't save her. The damage is too much. There's no power to use the architectural reconfiguration system, and no mechanical parts to use as a temporary work-around."
"Okay, that sounds bad."
"It gets worse. She reduced herself to core architecture when they crashed, and used the energy from the collapsed rooms to produce emergency rations."
"But she can't make anymore?"
"No."
"Or collect them from elsewhere?"
"Not with a broken rotor."
"Okay, that sounds very bad."
"We've got about six months," he says quietly, turning to look at her at last.
"What do you mean, six months?" She scowls at him; things are bad enough already without resorting to histrionics.
"Before we die. I mean, assuming before then no one resorts to cannibalism-"
"Doctor, no. Don't. Don't say things like that. I'm tired and cross and still a bit concussed. I can't imagine how terrible this is for you, to find your home like this, but stop being so morbid."
"I'm not being morbid," he argues, "I'm being realistic. I can't fix their TARDIS. I can't find our TARDIS. We're trapped."
"The whole of Gallifrey can't be a desert, Doctor. I've seen your cities, inside that painting. We just need to find other people."
"Clara, a downed TARDIS is not something my people would just ignore."
"Okay! So something terrible has happened. I get it. But we're not the only living things left on this planet. We can't be."
He gives her a shrewd look. "What makes you say that?"
"Faris. The missing Time Lord. Cora said he disappeared on patrol and they couldn't find him."
"So? He could have fallen down a crevasse, wandered off and dehydrated somewhere. It's hardly proof."
"I've seen the maps they've made, Doctor. There's no crevasse near here to fall down. And they searched a long way from his last known position. Something happened to him. Other people, or maybe some sort of predator. In either case that means there's some way to survive here. And that we need to be careful."
His mouth twitches. "Clara, Clara, Clara. What would I do without you?"
"I'm insulted that you even ask." She leans her throbbing head against his shoulder.
After a while he relaxes enough to rest his own against hers. Together they watch the moonrise.
Cora sighs, wiping the worst of the ever-present engine lubricant from her hands. She cannot concentrate. There are too many questions that need answers. Talking to Clara is uncanny, but the itch to learn more about her parallel life is unbearable.
The TARDIS doors are open. She suspects they have gone outside, probably to make the most of the pleasant cool at twilight; before night falls proper and the desert becomes bitingly cold. She follows them out, pausing for a moment under the majesty of the night-time sky. Perhaps she should ask them how many of the star systems twinkling overhead they have visited−
Her questions are forgotten in a sick swoop of her stomach when she turns. They are sitting on the hill, close to where they cremated poor Kinil, resting easily against one another. She spins, face burning with embarrassment at having interrupted their moment of casual intimacy. Stupid, stupid! she chides; although why she is so angry with herself she cannot explain. She should head back inside, for some more tea perhaps, before curling up to sleep. A good plan; and yet her feet seem stuck, planted here outside the front door.
"Hey," says Clara, greeting her warmly as they return to the ship. "We were going to come and find you. We think we have an idea that might help with the patrols."
"Excellent," she replies. She forces a wide smile, trying to drown with enthusiasm the tiny part of herself that sneers of course you do at her human counterpart. "I'm all ears."