BUFFY the VAMPIRE SLAYER
and the
Alien Tripods from Outer Space
Lost In Space / 004
Space. So barren. So empty. So cold and so silent…
Somewhere out in the far reaches of that deep and fathomless realm of outer space, half a dozen flying saucers erupted from the time vortex as they fled the wrath of the Earth. Not the weak easy prey they had expected, but a vengeful living planet!
The central domes of the saucers were no longer rumbling with the sound of grinding crushing machinery. They were almost silent but for the low hum of the furnaces burning away. In the belly of one, a pair of humanoid stowaways climbed up out of a crawl space and onto the main deck.
The Doctor paced quietly around the Tripod engine room. It wasn't a peaceful quiet. It was a tense one.
Buffy watched him from a distance.
All the computer interface terminals were now shut down. Cut off, and without power. It all seemed so lifeless to her.
She observed with pursed lips as the blue-suited man pulled sections of panelling from the workstations to access the inner circuits and wiring. He leaned in and almost disappeared. She heard his laser stick humming on and off for the minute and a half he was under there.
She was cold. Not because it was cold. The room was quite warm with the furnace above.
It was fear. Nerves. Where was Earth?
She wanted to ask.
Were they lost in space like Will Robinson and fam? She shivered, but kept quiet. She checked her hands. They were shaking.
The Doctor dragged himself up out of the electrics with rage in his eyes. He spun and threw his screwdriver against the control desk.
Buffy thought he looked like a wild animal caught for the first time in a cage.
"I've got to get back," he mumbled and paced. "Got to get back to Earth. Back to two-thousand and three."
If he didn't know how to get them home, if he had no plan… Buffy didn't know how the hell she was going to get out of this mess. "You said you were a Time Lord," she ventured. "Take us back."
"I can't."
"This thing travels through time, right?"
"Not exactly. Not anymore." He was speaking hard and fast. "In order to hold them in one place I had to collapse the artificial singularity–"
"Look. No more space-talk. Just… tell me why. Like a normal person."
He stopped and took a breath. Yes, he told himself, why not explain to her why she's God-only-knows when and where. "The time engine thing… I smashed it."
"Oh…great. Good job."
"Thanks. It worked quite well. Proper smashed." He put his hand on the cylinder where the black hole had once been. "Hopefully I did enough to at least influence the arrival point."
"But the others still have the time engine?" said Buffy. "We can use the dish and take another Tripod." She ignored the fact that power to the dish was out.
"Knock out one black hole it knocks them all out," he explained. "It's a multiple-entry black hole science thing."
She looked at him sideways. He was off with his technobabble again. "Okay, I'll regret this, but… how does that work, then?"
"That black hole was the same black hole used on all six Tripods. Like a wormhole – or a corridor – with six doors opening onto it. I closed the doors and the walls fell in. The corridor's lost."
And there was the regret. Because it actually made sense, and it wasn't good. "So how do we get back? And where are we anyway?"
"A long way from where we were," he replied, scanning the room. "From the look of these things they're only built for short-range flight. Without the black hole drive… we won't get anywhere close to Earth in them. Anyway, all the controls are locked out. I interfered and the Nomad cut me off. It's tied right into the system. There's nothing I can do to override it. This Tripod might not even work anymore without the Nomad as its brain."
He went quiet again and Buffy rubbed at her face.
Part of the engineering controls lit up with a low thrum.
They spun around. The teleport terminal!
The dish exploded with orange light and a figure appeared.
The Doctor jumped back. It was a Cyberman! And his sonic screwdriver was over on the controls right next to it.
"What's that?" demanded the Slayer, as the armoured space-knight clocked her and moved in.
"It's a Cyberman," he said. But it wasn't offering to delete them. "Or a Cyber drone. The defence guard from another Tripod."
She couldn't tell if it was a robot or a man but it was almost on top of her. "That a yay or nay on the slay?"
He waved her towards it. "Slay away. But don't let it touch you!"
She danced around the thing as it came for her. "Dare I ask why?"
"About three-thousand volts at two-hundred milliamps."
Fair enough.
She circled around the central cylinder to where the Doctor had found his strange three-fingered glove. There she found herself a pair. They were thick engineering gloves with rubber-like pads. She imagined they looked pretty electric-proof and put them on, sliding her middle two fingers into the same sleeve. She moved around the other side of the cylinder and stepped between the Cyberman and the Doctor.
"Be careful," warned the Time Lord. "They can be deadly if you– "
Buffy attacked and took the outstretched hands of the metal zombie in her own and locked her fingers. Twisting, she brought their arms down and tried to bend the thing's wrists backwards. She could hear energy discharging from the arms holding her, but felt no shock from it. That was lucky.
The Doc's eyebrows went in opposite directions. "Are you playing 'Peanuts' with a Cyberman?"
"I bet he says Uncle first," she replied. Then the Cyberman seemed to get wise to the game and began to push back. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Fingers."
The Doc slipped behind the robot and retrieved his screwdriver. "Do I hear an 'Uncle' coming on?"
She wasn't pleased and kicked the manbot in the chest, sending it reeling back with its arms still in her grip.
The armless drone stumbled along until the Doctor caught it. With his sonic screwdriver, he made an attempt at disrupting the signal from the other Tripod to its cyber brain – or whatever device they were using as a brain.
Buffy tried to shake the Cyber arms off her hands but the fingers were locked.
The Doctor sonicked away. It was beginning to work when the Cyber drone, in a desperate last effort, transmitted all its bodily energy into a single electrical discharge that fired out of its chest plate and across the engine room.
The lightening bolt cracked into Buffy and slammed her into the wall. She hit the floor smoking and didn't move.
The Doctor's mouth fell open at the sight. Then he recognised the overload signal the discharge had caused in the Cyber drone. He ducked away as its head exploded into pieces and the body keeled over and hit the deck.
He turned over to see their attacker motionless on the floor, its neck smoking like something out of an old cheap sci-fi movie. He looked to Buffy. She too was motionless and smouldering.
He scrambled up and ran over to her, patting her down to stop any potential fire and rolled her onto her back.
He wondered if there was any chance of recovering her at that point when her eyes suddenly popped open and fixed on him.
"Jeez," she croaked. "I feel like a fried weener."
The Doc let out a loud "Ha!" She was alive. He couldn't believe it. He'd heard of people surviving up to 340'000 volts in Earth's history but also dying of as little as 32.
"You're amazing," he squeaked finally.
"I'm the Slayer," she said, pushing herself up. "Superhuman privileges."
He helped her back on her feet. Her eyes were bloodshot, her clothes were steaming and her hair was a little puffy, but on the whole she was doing well to say she'd been severely deleted.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded and gave a pained smile.
The Doctor whirled around and got back to business. They still had power to the dish. "I'll have to cripple their fleet somehow so no more uninvited guests can pop in." What he really needed was for the Tripod saucers to be stuck right here for a long while so he could sort things out.
He'd barely set to it when he hissed at what he saw on the transporter display.
Buffy waddled over and tried to see what was happening. The screen was alien.
"It says our Nomad's just been beamed to another Tripod," he explained.
"I'm guessing that's a bad sign."
"Unless them blowing us out of the stars is a good thing, then yes. Very bad."
Buffy had no strength left in her to moan or feel fear. She sighed and managed a weak shrug.
The Doctor paced frantically with his hand to his head, mumbling incoherently about inversions and waves and scramblers. "EMP," he said. "EMP. EMP. But no electromagnetic devices! Damn, damn, damn. Think, think." He stopped. "Sonic waves conducted as a pulse in the electromagnetic frequency range! Ultrasonics acting as an EMP! Yes!" He stopped again. "But, but… need something that can sustain an ultrasonic charge and convert it to energy… something susceptible to ultrasonic disintegration…" He stopped again. "Glass!"
Buffy could only stare at him.
The Doctor looked around waving his sparkler. "No, no, no," he moaned. "No glass. Even the screens are a plastic alloy." He looked at Buffy and she could see. He didn't know what to do again.
The first day she'd really been out of the house since… since Dawn was turned… and this is her reward. "All I wanted was a nice quiet day on the beach," she grumbled tiredly.
The Time Lord wheeled about and grabbed her by the shoulders with a spark in his eye. "The beach!" he cried. The sand in his left trainer!
Back in the apartment he hadn't dared clean his other shoe out with Anya leering at him.
Buffy watched as he removed his sneaker and peered inside. He smiled and his tongue danced across his teeth. "Sand," he whispered. "…Quartz silica. …Glass."
"What are you gonna do with it?" she asked. He seemed far too excited about the glass.
"Ever heard of an explosively pumped flux compression generator?"
"Not really."
"Well, it creates an EMP by compressing magnetic flux using high explosives, accelerating objects to extreme velocities, and compressing things to very high pressures and densities. I can do something similar to this glass with sonics and Time Lord wizardry."
"That's really great." She sounded less than enthused.
"It will be if it works." He checked the display again. "One of the Tripods is bringing its cannons online." There wasn't a lot of time. He ran to the beam cupboard, emptied his shoe out on the dish and closed the door, then set about adapting the control panel for his screwdriver.
"Buffy – Go to the replomat back there and see if you can generate us some non-perishable foods. It won't work after I do this so make as much as you can. …There's no telling how long we'll be drifting around out here."
She waddled off, assuming he meant some kind of Star Trek replicator system. She didn't care so much. Her brain was a boiled egg.
When she returned with a bunch of stuff wrapped in an oily sheet, the Doctor was tying metal plates to the soles of his sneakers with his shoelaces.
"Quick," he said, "do the same. These magnetic plates will act as mag-boots."
She didn't know what he was babbling about but she did what he said. He seemed to have everything in hand.
The Doc's screwdriver was plugged into the working console. "Just need to charge the quartz in the sand with an ultrasonic frequency from my screwdriver…" He bashed a button and checked the screens. The cannons were charged and online and locking onto them. "…And beam it to the other ships…" He flipped the switch.
Buffy heard the whine of the transporter.
"Initiating pulse," said the Doctor as he hit the button one more time.
Out there, on the five alien saucers, tiny beads of sand materialised and, like magnifying glass, transmitted a sonic pulse that vibrated through their electrical systems, eroding wires and fusing circuits. Within seconds their power was gone.
Unfortunately, as the Doctor knew, there was still sand in his trainer, and around the dish and all around the floor of the engine room. There simply hadn't been any time to do anything about that.
The first Buffy knew of it was when the lighting went out, plunging them into darkness. Then she felt her body try to leave the floor. The top of her feet stopped when they hit the ceiling of her shoes. The magnetic plates were doing their job. Her mind started to clear now that things were getting real.
The entire dome was now in absolute and total silence. It left a hum in her ears.
She heard the Doctor fumbling around for a few seconds, then a small overhead light came on. She looked up to see him floating on the ceiling with his sonic sparkler plugged into the light mechanism and his shoelaces hanging loose off his feet.
"I can run this light on the screwdriver's power cell for a few hours," he said, trying to straighten out.
"Are we dead in the water?" asked Buffy, with a little life back in her voice.
"Yes. There was no other way. I'm sorry. I'm afraid this means we've got no life support either. But there's enough air in here to last us a few days I expect." He shoved himself to the floor and tied his shoes back to the plates. "It'll get cold in here, though. And quickly."
Buffy dragged her heavy feet to a chair and made an effort to sit down. It didn't work. "How many levels of worse can there be in the universe?" she grumbled.
"At least you made us dinner," he said cheerily. "What culinary delights do we have in store? I'm famished."
What food did she end up with? Buffy reached into the sack of weightless packages and pulled one out.
He read the label and cringed. "Dungwead snot? Ugh." He shook his head.
She let the packet fly away and took out the next thing.
"Balazord skin flakes?" he quickly put a fist to his mouth to keep from vomiting. He composed himself and waved it away.
She released the packet into the air and lifted out a box.
The Doctor groaned loudly. "Oh, you're rubbish. You're not in charge of meals ever again and that's a fact. Didn't you manage to make anything edible?"
"Hey, the screen was all in stupid fuzzy hieroglyphs," she argued. "I didn't know what any of it was." She reached in for one more item. "The only thing I got out of it that looks remotely edible was this thing." Buffy waved a big floppy carrot thing at him.
He pulled a face like none she'd ever seen. "I'm not even prepared to tell you what that is, but it isn't touching my lips." He crossed his legs reflexively with a pained expression.
"Oh," she realised and let the thing go right away.
"So much for dinner," said the Doc.
Buffy was shivering with cold and half-asleep, with no sense of how much time had passed, when a loud clang sounded from beneath their feet. She looked to the Doctor and mouthed the words 'What was that?'
"I wouldn't want to jump the gun," he said, "but it sounded like a shuttle craft docking."
"Who could that be at this time?" she joked.
He laughed and wondered the same. "A rescue party?" But… "…That was quick."
"What if it's the space police?" she asked, stiffening up. "I've got no I.D. I don't even have my passport."
"I have this," he answered, pulling a wallet from his inner jacket pocket.
"What is it?"
"Psychic paper. Well, slightly. It says whatever I think." He showed her the white sheet inside.
"It's blank."
"Look again."
She did. And now it appeared she was trapped on a dead flying saucer in outer space with John Smith; President of the United States of America, and psychiatrist to the rich and famous. "Wow, let me see."
He handed her the wallet.
"Huh?" Buffy frowned and shook it. She showed him the paper. "It's gone blank again."
He saw what appeared on it and gasped. "Ooh, you dirty… give me that." He snatched the wallet from her. "Come on, let's go say hello." He slipped out of his magnetised shoes, pulled his screwdriver from the ceiling light, and propelled himself toward the floor hatch.
Buffy slid out of her own grounded shoes and floated after him in the dark. She couldn't begin to imagine who they were going to find down there. This Doctor fella was either totally reckless or brave to the point of insanity.
A faint fiery light, like that of sunlight at dusk, rose up through the docking hatch at the base of the flying saucer. There was no lifeboat there, but something else had taken its place.
Buffy saw the Doctor's face in the deep orange glow as they waited. She wasn't sure what they were waiting for but the man looked… she wasn't sure of that either. Excited? Intrigued?
He turned and smiled at her.
The hatch slid open beneath them and the Doctor turned to find a heat-ray blaster in his face.
Hanging off the handle-end of the gun was a stocky chap with a scruffy beard.
"Who," the man said, aiming at Buffy. "What," he said, aiming back at the Doc, "and why?"
The Time Lord went cross-eyed as he saw the barrel of the weapon on the end of his nose. "I was hoping for 'We come in peace,'" he said.
A petite young brunette floated up behind the man in the hatch. Buffy noticed their matching uniforms – his a military green sci-fi jacket and pants, hers in salmon pink.
The bearded man let his finger off the trigger. "If that's how we're received, then that's how we come, my friend."
"Then we receive you in peace," beamed the Doctor.
The chubby man tucked his weapon away. "Chuffed to meet you both. We tried to transmat you out but there's too much ultrasonic interference. Haven't seen readings like that in an age."
"Well, I'm the Doctor and I am very chuffed to meet you," he said with genuine relief.
Buffy was surprised to see they not only looked, but sounded like normal humans. They were looking to her expectantly. "Buffy Summers," she offered. "Equally…uh…chuffered."
"Chuffed," said the Doctor.
"Chuffed?" she asked.
"Right," he said. "Chuffered? That's not even a word. In any time."
"Fine," said Buffy.
"Lovely," said the Doctor.
The man waited until it was clear they were done. "Krik Steeplechin," he said and offered a salute. "I'll be your taxi pilot for today."
The Doctor saluted back enthusiastically and Buffy copied. She wondered what kind of name was 'Krik Dimplechin'.
"This little minx is Liliaeth Cyberwulf," the man continued. "Medic First Class."
"Anyone hurt?" she asked.
They shook their heads.
"Well, come on then," said Krik. "You'll catch your death in here."
Inside the small shuttlecraft, lit by a single orange bulb, the two hitchhikers found warmth and gravity again. Buffy thought the craft looked like something from Star Wars – old and used.
They were soon off across open space and the stars and black outside the windshield quickly clouded into a deep red mist.
Fog in space?
"Where are we?" asked Buffy.
"Out in the Bare Barrens of the Demon Nebula," Krik answered.
She looked blankly to the Doctor.
"About thirty-thousand light years from California," he told her.
That didn't sound particularly promising.
"California?" said the female medic. "That's only three-thousand lights away on Hollywood Prime."
"Oh, not New California-Two," the Doc explained. "Old California. Well, old-old-old California." He turned and whispered to Buffy, "You're a long way from home."
"Cringe," she replied, and pouted.
Beep beep went the shuttle dash.
"There's the beacon," announced medic Liliaeth.
"Following her in." said Krik, using the beacon signal like a lighthouse.
Outside in the running lights of the shuttle, the thick red fog suddenly darkened until a great metal wall appeared just a couple of metres ahead.
To the Doctor, it looked like a big ship or a station of some sort.
"Lill, open docking clamps. I'm swinging us around."
"Aye, Skipper."
They docked with a bump and a whoosh of air as Lill opened the hatch. Krik stayed behind to put the shuttle to sleep as they scaled the ladders with their bare feet and disembarked.
Lill led them through a hatch into the docking bay area, a sparse and dirty metallic room, greasy and leaking steam and moisture from a number of pipelines running through and up the walls.
A large round door, thick and tough-looking, split in half and separated. Behind that, an iris-like division circled open and an armed team marched in.
They were cornered by three grey-clad men and a fourth guy, mean and rugged with a scarred chin and bottom lip, wearing one of their sci-fi uniforms in a dark shade of grey-blue.
The rugged man with the buzz-cut and scar spoke up with authority; "Dragonelf Thunderblain, station's Second. And you are?"
The Doctor gave a gush of admiration. "Thunderblain? That's a good old tenth-phase Highland name! The name of a warrior clan, isn't it?"
"It is. And I honour that warrior spirit with every action I take," he warned, one hand resting on his heat-ray.
"Good," said the Doc with a wary nod. "That's…that's… very good. So you should. Um. When exactly is this?"
"When?" echoed Lill. "Then that was a time vortex you came out of?"
Thunderblain cut in firmly; "I must ask that you state your name and affiliation."
The Doctor flashed his psychic ID and medic Lill peered at it.
"Time Agent in charge of temporal anti-terrorism," she read out.
He said of Buffy: "And this is my… apprentice. Actually she's on work experience."
Buffy frowned. The scar-faced boss man looked her over.
"Time Agents?" he said. "We've had a few of those show up before from the five-thousands."
"First one was a tall dark stranger," said Lill. "Kinda crazy. I think he might have been bi."
That sounded like a certain Jack Harkness, but from a time before he took that name.
"Oh, I think I trained him," the Doctor lied. "Handsome chappy speaking Americano. Twinkle in his eye. Holds a gun like a girl."
"That's the fellow," answered Thunderblain.
"Flirts with anything that breathes," added the Doctor.
Lill swooned: "That's definitely the guy."
Buffy tugged at his sleeve. "What does this mean?"
"It means an old friend was here," he said quietly. "Only, before I knew him."
"And that means?"
"…Nothing. Well, other than they're familiar with Time Agents." He turned his attention back to the future people. "So, when are we?" the Doctor asked again.
Lill replied; "It's the fiftieth of June on the second year of the third phase of the ninth sun of Triton."
The Doctor worked it out on his fingers. "Ninety-one twenty-one? That's not too bad. The Earth's still there. It's a little earlier than I'd have liked, mind you."
At least, he thought, if Earth was still there, maybe his TARDIS was too.
Thunderblain gave orders to his security team, sending most of them back to other duties.
In the meantime, Buffy whispered to the Doc; "Why is it too early?"
"They don't have space gates yet. Or wormhole drives," he whispered back.
"Is that good or bad?"
"It means there's no quick way to Earth from here. Imagine a road trip to all 60 American States. Only…on foot."
"Fifty."
"What?"
"Fifty States."
The Doc puzzled it over. "Oh. Right. Year two-thousand and three."
"We're getting ten more States? When does that hap–?"
"I'm…going to change the subject now." He addressed the station crew; "What exactly is this? A space station? A fuel port? A shipping centre?"
"All that and more," replied Krik Steeplechin as he rejoined them from the shuttle.
Thunderblain began to lead the group from the docking bay and through a cold metal corridor.
Krik went on; "If you have a cargo run, this is the place you take a break. If you're lost, this is where you find your way."
"More than anything," Lill continued, "this is a place of sanctuary."
Krik guided them out into a massive open area with a glass ceiling that opened up to an image of a summer sky where fantasy clouds drifted overhead. There were market stalls, trees, a lake and a small park, all woven together by the metal plated floor of the station deck. The area was like some naturalistic, albeit artificial, airport lounge. There were hundreds of people walking, shopping, eating and even children playing in the park.
The Doctor was smiling at the joy of it all. Buffy was agape.
Krik Steeplechin put out his hands. "Welcome to Angel City."
"Remarkable," said the Time Lord after a moment. "A floating city in a red nebula." He quickly got over the novelty of it. "This's all fine and dandy but… what we really need is to get to Earth. Pronto and sharpish."
"And shoes," added the Slayer under her breath, wiggling her naked toes.
"Oh, yes," said the Doctor, "and some shoes."
"I'll get onto that," said Lill, and toddled off down a corridor.
"What about all those saucer ships out there?" Krik said to his rugged leader. "Must be half a dozen of 'em. We should bring 'em into the garage and fix 'em up?"
"Oh, I'd leave them well alone if I were you," the Doctor advised.
"Why?" asked Krik. "Perhaps they can be repaired."
"You know the plight of Ventus-Nine?"
"Of course," replied the portly pilot.
"They were responsible," said the Doc in a secretive tone.
Thunderblain snapped up, body tense and rigid. "If that is so, then we should take them into custody at once."
"You can't," insisted the Doctor. "They're contaminated with a deadly virus. Quarantine protocols apply to all six ships."
"Then they should be destroyed," decided the tough scarred warrior.
"I can't allow that."
"On whose authority?" demanded Thunderblain.
"Hers."
Buffy saw his finger pointing in her direction. "Mine?"
"Hers?" Thunderblain repeated suspiciously.
The Doc turned to her so she would notice his next words clearly. "She's with the PDC."
"The…PDC?" she muttered.
He reached behind and secretly handed her his psychic wallet. "Yes. The Planet for Disease Control. Where you're their senior bio-analyst."
She concentrated on that lie and pretended to remove the wallet from her jeans pocket.
The Angel City team leaned in and looked over her ID, before leaning back, satisfied she was who her companion claimed her to be.
All but Krik, who read the smaller print and rubbed his rough beard. "Why is the colour of your underwear relevant?"
She groaned at herself for not having better mental control. She couldn't think of any excuse other than the one she was already experiencing. "That's the future for ya. It gets weird."
Krik nodded. "I can see that happening." He pulled out his own civilian card. "We even have to tell them our religious and political affiliations these days." On the card he was just as rotund but with more hair and about ten years or so younger. "And those rectal bobbles really can tell if you're lying."
"Bobbles?" Buffy repeated with a frown.
"Probes," muttered the Doctor.
Buffy squirmed, a suddenly undesirable taste in her mouth.
Lill returned with 2 pairs of uniform boots.
Thunderblain saw fit to grill the blonde girl further. "You're with the PDC, yet you're a trainee Time Agent?"
Oh, great. Thanks, Doc… "Yes…apparently." She tied on her boots. They were almost a good fit. "I'm juggling two jobs. Money's tight. Got bills to pay."
Lill sighed. "I hear that."
Another man showed up. An older guy with a firm build, maybe in his fifties, with a horseshoe of dark silver hair and a curly grey moustache. He wore a brown version of their uniform.
"Who's this?" he asked in a deep gruff tone.
"Time Agents," said Liliaeth "This is Buffy…"
"Summers."
"Buffy Summers. And the Doctor."
"Doctor whom?" he asked.
The Doctor blinked. "That's a first."
"Don't worry about Vandermart," said Lill, "he's a retro."
"Vandermart Grinagain, Chief of the Armoury," said the old chap with a short lazy salute. He moved closer to Thunderblain. "Second, the relief vessel Golden Moon failed to depart on schedule."
"Another one?" his scar twisted as his face soured over. "The way things are going we'll have to start giving ships away." He gave it some thought and said; "Bring the No Claims Clause into effect, Chief."
"Sir?" The old man frowned.
"It is Station policy, isn't it? Any property within or attached to Angel City unclaimed for time exceeding twenty-four hours becomes subject to Management discretion." He looked about at the busy station – full of people. "We need to clear docking space. If they're overdue, give them away."
Vandermart replied; "Second, there are two ships already twenty-four hours overdue."
"Ahem." The Doctor drew their attention. "I don't suppose they're deep space sleepers?"
"Well, Yes," answered the old Chief.
Thunderblain narrowed his mean eyes at the Doctor. "You're willing to take one off our hands?"
"I rather am."
Thunderblain snapped his fingers and a young docking technician approached. "Has the General returned yet?"
"He's due in any second now, sir."
Thunderblain turned to the older officer. "Vandermart – look into the whereabouts of the Golden Moon's commander and inform the General as soon as he reports in. Also, inform him we have a quarantine situation with a group of vessels outside the Nebula."
"Aye, Second."
The old curly-tash headed off again and Thunderblain explained to the Time Agents; "We've got two ships in dock capable of automated stasis flight that seem to have become available. I believe one's a heavy machinery freighter and the other's running cattle. The cattle-driver just made its drop and was heading home, and the machinery hauler's got a few outstanding items onboard. The equipment's no good to us so they're forfeit with the ship."
"We'll take the machinery hauler," said the Doc, turning to Buffy. "I'm not a fan of cattle poo."
The Second spun to the young technician again. "Show them to the ship," he ordered before he, Krik and Liliaeth made their way to the command level.
It wasn't long before a pair of scruffy docking Techs were leading them back along the ring of the port bay.
The younger Tech was short, noted Buffy. Even shorter than her. And the other was tall – much taller than her time-skipping companion.
"You all right?" asked the Doctor as they walked. "You seem to be handling all this rather well for a Californian."
"I was just thinking," Buffy replied dreamily, and quietly. "If flying saucers are real… and these truth-detecting anal-probing bobbles that Dimplechin was talking about… Does that mean future people, and not aliens, are actually visiting Earth? My Earth?"
"Well, I'm a future alien and I've visited a few times." She looked up at him. "Though I don't have a flying saucer. Not anymore. …And I've never probed anyone's bum. Honestly."
They stopped when they came to the port where their vessel awaited.
"It's not much but it should get you where you're going," said the short Tech. "Earth, wasn't it?"
"That's the place," said the Time Lord.
Buffy was pretty sure that 30'000 light-years was quite a long way. "And how long will that take exactly?"
The Doctor's face curled up at the question. He was hoping she wouldn't ask.
The short Tech considered. "With two five-thousand series megallon drives…and only a level one subspace paddle?" He turned to his taller mate. "What would you say?"
The tall Tech shrugged. "…Three and a half years?"
"Sounds about right," agreed the short one.
For a second there, Buffy struggled to make words. "Three? And a half? Years?"
"Hey, relax," said the tall one. "It's no worries. It's fully automated with a dozen sleepers."
Shorty nodded. "Yeah, relax. What's the worst that can happen?"
"It's an old ship," a grizzled old mechanic said in the background. "Their nav-com could give out and fly them into a sun."
"And on that note," said the short Tech, "…bon voyage."
"Thank you," beamed the Doc.
"Don't thank us," replied the tall one. "Thank Captain Anglebloc. He's the one gone n' vanished."
Buffy had other concerns. "Do you have any food or coffee or something for the trip? I'm dying here and three years is a long time to go hungry."
The short Tech waved her away. "Oh, that's all taken care of intravenously in sleep. You'll be supplemented with liquid nutrients and enzymes during flight."
She stared back at him. "…Sounds delish."
Another mechanic came striding by. "Hey, I just heard from the upper levels. Looks like we've got another vanishing."
"That's the third one this cycle," Shorty called after him. "Who is it?"
The mechanic continued on down the corridor. "Brigadier Steamcleaner failed to report to the Golden Moon this morning. There's no sign of him anywhere," and then he was gone round the corner.
The Doctor watched after him. Three missing captains and three abandoned ships? He was certainly intrigued. But he had no time to wonder about it. They had places to be and much to do.
And then, as he turned back the way they'd walked, he saw a sight that shocked the hairs of his body into needles and sent a cold sharp shiver down his spine.
A docking technician passed by them wheeling a trolley.
Tied to the trolley with chain was a solid stone statue.
The statue's face was hidden behind open hands, like a crying child. Its wings tucked tightly behind its back.
A feeling shot through him. It was a sensation he rarely ever had, and one he even more rarely heeded.
The Doctor saw the Weeping Angel and suddenly wanted to get the heck out of dodge.
The short Tech saw his expression as the statue rolled by them. "Yeah, that." He groaned. "Angel City. Someone thought it was cool to have these angel statues in the docking lounge but now they're shipping them out. Too damn ugly."
The Doc turned to Buffy with a face more grave than any she'd seen. "It's time to go."
"Not about to argue with that," said Buffy. She'd had enough of this place. Home was all she wanted.
The Doctor practically manhandled her through the docking seal. They were barely through when he punched the red mushroom switch that controlled the door.
"Hail the leader of the Luminarian Guard!" came a rousing cry from across the corridor. It sounded like someone important had arrived.
Buffy turned and, as the iris closed, she saw a sight of her own that sent a shock through her.
As their door to the docking seal closed, another opened opposite them and Buffy saw a tall dark officer in a deep maroon uniform. A number of people moved in on him, handing him reports.
Her mouth dropped loosely and a whisper left her lips. "Angel?"
Then the iris was closed and the thick heavy doors snapped shut.