This chapter ended up a lot longer and wider-ranging than I'd initially planned. I actually had a lot of trouble starting this one, but it just all kind of... rushed out once I got into it.

CHAPTER 7. General Pond: 11-12 October 2010

The infinite void of deep space was a perfect place for self-contemplation.

The robed man leaned on the railing, inspecting the vast jutting prow of gleaming steel before him, illuminated by rows of powerful lights along its length. Countless dagger-shaped starships, just like his own flagship, cut silently through the perfect blackness of space on either side, superimposed over the tiny beacons of light that dotted the everlasting night.

Soon they will be one less in number.

Like the rest of the remnants of his race, he had no name. Personal pronouns and personal names had died long ago – no one even knew what his race was originally called. The only distinguishing features he had was his great height, pearly white hair and fierce blue eyes. A gold-leaf stripe on his robe marked him out as the leader of Them. They had one purpose, and one alone – to avenge the countless numbers of their ancestors who had been tricked, suffered and died at the hands of Stroyet.

And now, at last, Stroyet would pay.

Soon.

"Seriously, hear me out. This is all a big, big mistake," Amy pleaded.

How many of those have there been in the last few months?

"Stop pulling our fingers. We scanned your DNA: a perfect match with Time Lord. We scanned your ship: Type 40 TARDIS in the shape of a 20th century Earth police box. You even have a sonic screwdriver... although the aesthetics could use some work. Maybe later."

"It's a sonic phone!" Amy snapped back at Heviniye. She'd sat down on one of the very comfortable chairs in the Central Office, trying earnestly to explain that whilst she might seem to be the Doctor, she really, really wasn't. Heviniye had been briskly back and forth in front of her, but paused at her tone of voice.

"Sorry." Even in this stressful juncture, Heviniye's natural politeness was irrepressible.

"Look, I know this looks weird. And I get why you'd think I'm the Doctor. But I promise you, I'm not him. If we have time, I'll tell you the story, but it's complicated."

Heviniye gave the ginger an appraising look. "So have you even ever met him? How do I know you haven't killed him and stolen his TARDIS?"

A bolt of indignation shot through Amy at the suggestion. "Of course I haven't! I travel with him. He's my friend – my best friend."

"So where is he now, then?"

"No idea. I'd love to tell you, but we got separated. He's not within a mile of this place, I can tell you that."

Heviniye sighed. "All right. Fine."

Amy stood, relieved to be off the hook. "So, can I go? I mean, I'd love to explore this city. And find the Doctor and my fiancée."

To her surprise, Heviniye shook her head. "Oh no. If we had time, I'd let you go find him, but we don't – he could be anywhere in this city and it could take days. No, we have a planet to save."

Amy turned white as a sheet.

"But – but I'm not–" she stammered.

"You might not be the Doctor, but you're still a Time Lady, you've got access to a TARDIS and you've got a sonic screwdriver - sonic phone, sorry. You'll do."

They'd been searching for hours, and already the sky was beginning to redden as the blue star edged towards the horizon.

"Sunrise already? How long have we been looking for her?"

"About eight hours. A Stroyet day is half the length of an Earth day," the Doctor replied, as they dashed down yet another skyscraper-lined street.

They'd run straight back to the TARDIS, but she was nowhere to be found. The Doctor knew she wouldn't be there from her lack of psychic presence, but he'd had to be sure – more importantly, he wanted to check the scanner records. They'd showed her dashing out of the TARDIS with her sonic phone and straight into an armed group of stroyeteli. After a brief struggle, Amy seemed to depart with them quite willingly.

At least they're not trying to hurt her, he consoled himself, knowing that his red-headed companion's instincts were just as good as his own.

This, however, didn't comfort Rory.

"Great. So my fiancée has spent the night as the prisoner of a bunch of alien architects. Thanks."

"Rory, I promise you I will do everything in my power to get her back. I swear I will protect her, whatever it takes."

Rory seemed mollified, but his expression remained dark.

"I wonder what's getting everyone down around here. Stroyeteli are supposed to be a happy bunch," he mused.

"Do you really think that's important right now? Really?" Rory had no time to think about the odd behaviour of the planet's inhabitants – not whilst there was a possibility that Amy was in the slightest danger.

"These things are related, Rory. They always are. They knew we were coming somehow."

"And so...?"

"And so I don't think they're kidnapping Amy as a prisoner. No, more likely they've mistaken her for me and are trying to get my help with something. If I can just find out what they need my help with, then that might lead me to her."

"So why don't you just ask one of them?"

The Doctor stopped abruptly in his tracks, an expression on his face akin to that of someone who'd just been unexpectedly smacked in the face. He'd gotten so worked up in his own world, trying to both find his best friend and come up with theories explaining what the dilemma plaguing the locals was that that simple idea had completely escaped him.

"I could do that, couldn't I?"

Rory simply rolled his eyes.

Amy had expected many things when she'd joined the Doctor to see all of time and space. She'd expected even more when she learned what her attempted resuscitation had turned her into.

Planning a war, however, was most definitely not on the list.

"So let me get this straight. In two – I mean, four – days, there's going to be a whole bunch of spaceships coming here to blow up your star? How are they supposed to do that?"

"Our military simulations predict They will use highly concentrated atomic iron lasers to destabilise the core of the star, causing it to supernova. This entire system will be annihilated." General Gordost spoke in matter-of-fact tones, as was befitting of his military status.

Amy blinked. She'd been decent at school, but that was years ago now, and astrophysics was way beyond anything she'd ever learnt there. She'd hoped her new-found technical wizardry would help, but clearly that only extended to Gallifreyean technology.

"Er – right. Out of curiosity, what are these baddies called?" Despite having kidnapped her, she couldn't help but like the twelve-fingered inhabitants of Stroyet. It probably helped that they'd fed her two helpings of the most delicious steak and kidney pie she'd ever tasted. Plus there was the fact she felt just a little sorry for them, what with having a day and a half before their planet and its ten billion inhabitants ceased to exist. Even though she felt wholly inadequate for the task at hand, she'd quickly resolved to do everything in her power to help.

What good is it being a Time Lady if I can't?

"Them," Gordost answered her.

"Not very descriptive, is it?"

Even General Gordost, with his strict military discipline, had to smile. "Their true name was lost years ago, General Pond. So we just refer to Them now."

A laugh bubbled up from within Amy, falling from her lips as she took in the odd moniker. "General Pond. Now there's a new one." Her expression returned to its previous seriousness. "So They will be using their... laser thingies to blow up your star in four days. Okay..." She leaned forward, the wheels of her modified brain clicking into gear.

The first couple of people the Doctor had asked had just looked at him as if he was mad. He didn't even get that far with a few – they'd taken one glance at his outfit (specifically, the bow-tie), gave him a disbelieving glare and stalked off in the opposite direction. Unperturbed, and very much used to it, he continued to approach anyone who he felt might be able to divulge what precisely was casting such a uniform shadow over the mood of the world's inhabitants.

"Hello! Sorry to interrupt," the Doctor said, barging in on one shopkeeper who was in the middle of unpacking a various array of futuristic looking gadgets. He whipped out his psychic paper and held it less than a foot from his face. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rory. We're from the, uh..."

"Universal Travelling Emotional Support Group? What on Stroyet is that?" The shopkeeper asked, staring at the paper with an eyebrow raised.

"Does it really say that?" The Doctor turned to look at the psychic paper, eyes wide with surprise. He quickly reverted back to his normal bright expression and pocketed the paper. "Er, yes, well, that's us. We, uh, travel the universe, supporting people. Emotionally."

"I see. I suppose that means you're not from this planet then. Welcome to Stroyet, in that case. Sorry you couldn't have seen it in happier times. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for opening," the shopkeeper told him, returning to his packing.

"I was just going to ask about that, actually. I've been here before, and I'm not used to seeing everyone so glum."

The shopkeeper looked up, surprised. "You mean you don't know?"

A pause.

"Ah, sorry. Another planet. My mistake."

"Don't worry about it. Do you mind if we have a little chat?"

The shopkeeper sighed, standing up from his packing. "I suppose not. It's not like unpacking is particularly useful when the world is going to end in a few days anyway."

"Sorry, what? The end of the world?" Rory spoke up at last, his voice laced with surprise.

The shopkeeper placed his hand on his forehead. "My deepest apologies. I keep forgetting that you're from elsewhere and don't know about Them. It can be difficult not to assume that people know when it's been part of your life for so many years. Come out the back, I'll fetch you a steak and kidney pie and tell you everything."

"Much appreciated," the Doctor replied sincerely, his eyes sparkling with anticipation at being about to taste the famed pastry. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Nadezhda." The two shook hands, his six-fingered hand wrapping itself around the Time Lord's.

"Are you absolutely sure this will work?"

"Got any better ideas?"

"Not really," Heviniye admitted, "but charging into a fully armed fleet of war with fifty armed troops doesn't strike me as a plan that fills me with optimism. Some of the finest in the universe, to be sure, but fifty nonetheless."

"Trust me, it's a damn sight better than some of the plans I've seen the Doctor come up with, and they work out all right." Forefront in Amy's memory was that terrifying ordeal on the Byzantium where she'd been forced to walk blind through a forest of Weeping Angels. But he'd come through for her. He always did. "Besides which, we're not charging at them. We're sneaking. With a little help, and those plans you dug up, we should get in somewhere in a storage compartment on the flagship.

I hope, she didn't add.

"And then?"

General Gordost answered for her. "We expect that whilst the fleet will contain vast numbers of ships, they will almost all be automated, controlled from a central command centre on the flagship. They simply do not have the personnel to man each ship properly - like us, their strength is in technical expertise, not manpower. We simply need to take command of the flagship to save our people."

"How many of Them will be on the flagship?"

"In all likelihood, close to a thousand. So twenty of Them for every stroyeteli. Oh, and Time Lady."

Heviniye sighed. "You know, maybe we really should go find the Doctor..."

Amy glanced at the display of her sonic phone. Seven in the morning on the 12th of October. "Trust me, I wish I could, and I know he and Rory are gonna kill me for this, but there's no time. Not if we want to save your people." There was a good reason for the rush - there was less than thirty-six hours until Their estimated time of arrival.

Heviniye nodded. "All right. Are we all ready?"

"Secretary Heviniye," Gordost suddenly spoke up. "You should stay. This is a military operation, you're not a military person."

"Hey, neither am I, despite my title," Amy pointed out.

"You're our way in," Gordost replied simply.

"General, this is our one and only chance to save our people, our planet," Heviniye said firmly. "It's my job to be here."

"No, Secretary. Your place is here. Someone will have to guide our people when-" he didn't say if, but it hung unspoken in the air nonetheless "-we succeed. I don't need to add that we might not return."

Slowly, Heviniye nodded, swallowing her pride, knowing that he was right. "All right. Just remember, all of Stroyet is with you." She extended to her fullest height and whipped a full military salute, which was returned by equal vigour by the assembled men around her.

"As always, Secretary."

Heviniye nodded and left. Amy rubbed her hands together once she was gone, shaking slightly from nerves and no small measure of fear, yet filled with excitement.

"Alright! We all ready? Good to go?"

"Whenever you are, General Pond."

She'd always laugh whenever she heard that. "Right then! Let's do this thing!"

They'd been talking with Nadezhda for a few hours, and the Doctor was just beginning to come up with the vague outlines of a plan to stop Them when he suddenly stood up, knocking his chair to the ground.

"Doctor, what is it?" Rory asked, taken aback by his sudden change in mood.

"Stay here. Stay right here."

"Doctor, what is it? Doctor? Doctor!"

But he had already raced out of the back garden, through the shop and out onto the street beyond. Rory shook his head.

"That man, seriously. God knows what goes on inside his head. Well, except maybe my fiancée..."

Nadezhda smiled warmly. "I can see you love your fiancée dearly. When are you two going to marry?"

Rory frowned slightly. "Well, we were going to get married tomorrow, as of-" he did a quick count in his head "-three and a half months ago." Nadezhda leaned back in surprise, his eyebrows raised.

"So why haven't you?"

"It's complicated," Rory said, using Amy's favoured phrase for the whole situation.

"It surely must be extraordinarily complicated for it to have gotten in the way like that."

"Trust me, it is."

He paused for a moment. "Do you not love her any more?"

Indignation and annoyance rippled through Rory. "No, no! Absolutely I still love her. It's just that..." He swallowed and paused before continuing. "It's just that sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by her by marrying her. I mean, she's not like me any more. If everything goes well, she's going to live for hundreds and thousands of years and I won't, obviously. I don't want to burden her by forcing her to have a husband who's going to wither and grow old and die while she doesn't."

Nadezhda was silent for a moment. "I can see why that would be a problem," he began slowly, "but if the bond between you two is as strong – from your side, anyway – as I think it is, I'm sure you'd be able to work around that." He paused for a moment, contemplating. "You fear she wants the other one. The Doctor."

Rory opened his mouth, then closed it. The kindly old shopkeeper had managed to stumble across his deepest misgivings, doubts that had lain at his core ever since he was just nine years old. A hot surge of irrational jealousy and mistrust raced through him.

He's the Doctor, and you're Rory, the voice said from deep within. He's mad, funny, has a time machine and can show her all of time and space. He was just a nurse in an English village, one he was well aware that she quite openly despised. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that to her, he was the alien now. How can you possibly compete?

He couldn't answer that. He couldn't possibly answer that. Ever since he was nine he known he couldn't compete, that he was merely secondary to the man she'd been waiting for ever since that warm summer evening when she was seven.

Give up, Rory, the voice hissed maliciously. If you love her, truly love her, you know that he can offer her so, so much more. Will offer so much more. Is offering so much more. Why do you think she ran away on the night before her wedding?

He was sinking deep into a pool of despair when a thought suddenly occurred to him. A response. Well, if that's so, then why did she make him promise to take her back? Why did she ask me to stay when I was going to leave? Before the voice could come up with an answer, however, a hurried stomping of feet announced the Doctor's return.

"Doctor? What was that? Where did you go?"

"The TARDIS," he replied, breathless, his face bereft of all colour. "It's gone."

An atom laser, by the way, is a real device, working pretty much as the name suggests. A laser-like beam of atoms.

Reviews, advice, all that good stuff appreciated.