7: Is Boredom Good or Bad?

Summary: The Sontarans are still in Space. The Time Lords are planning. The Third Zone is about to be very unhappy. Guess who has to clean up the mess?

Characters: Second Doctor, 2nd Doctor, Jamie McCrimmon, unspecified Time Lords. The CIA and Gallifreyans Galore. Ice Warriors, Sontarans, and Time Corridors, Oh My


Jamie collected his pipes; it gave his hands something to do and let him hide from the necessity of interacting with people in uncomfortable situations. Plus it gave him a reason to keep the Time Lords at a distance. They tended to be a little nervous about things they didn't understand.

Nervous. The Time Lords couldn't possibly be as nervous as himself.

The Doctor grumbled at the arrival of some unexpected mail (Jamie had long ago given up the hope that the Time Lord's relatives would ever try to contact him, so it was probably just the usual report forms and legal disclaimers that required the Doctor explain every inch and ell of his existence).

"You must be joking," The Doctor glared furiously at his last report, and promptly stuffed it into the nearest waste disposal bin. Jamie kept his mouth shut. He had see enough of the print to know this was yet another request for clarification on his predecessor-"the Original Doctor's"-past cases. The Doctor frequently complained that it was a struggle to remember much of being the old gentleman, which explained why he was happy to live in the present.

Still muttering, the little man turned a padded envelope upside down and perked up as his replacement SRD fell into his palm.

"Shame about Chessene ruining the last one," Jamie mused for the benefit of any eavesdroppers.

"At least she couldn't use it even if she got that Time machine fully operational." The Doctor smiled. "This will come in handy..." He hummed snatches of a children's lullaby under his breath as he pulled out the tiniest screwdriver Jamie had ever seen, and mucked about with the SRD for a few minutes, pleasantly distracted by something while Jamie prayed they wouldn't get in trouble for tampering with CIA property.

"Are we ready?" He stuffed the Device into one of his pockets. They produced their wrists and put up with the scanning by the wall computer. After a few seconds passed, the Doctor's expression of waiting anticipation darkened. He scowled and hammered a reset command. The machine garbled at him and he snorted. "Idiot machine," He said at last.

Jamie tried to think of how many times he'd heard the Doctor say that in the past few days. "What's wrong this time?" He asked wearily.

"Magnetic Storm." The little man retorted. "They could just let us use the TARDIS! They're taking too many precautions if you ask me. It's just a Magnetic Storm! We have them all the time!" Just as quickly his face changed. "Oh," he cleared his throat. "Drat it. Time Corridor."

"Time Corridor?"

"Spacetime Transduction Channel. They don't like magnetic storms past a certain amp. Grrr." The Doctor glared at the offending equipment. "The Conference must be on Xenobia."

Jamie knew enough of Gallifrey by now (and if you asked him, he would say too much), that he knew what that meant. "Och. So we're put on hold while they make sure all the non-Time Lords won't get lost on the way to the station."

"Very, very true, Jamie." The Doctor murmured. "Lost in so many different senses of the word..."

A snapping, popping sound finalized a program, and the Arch sent them through without warning. Jamie jumped slightly, clutching at his polished blackthorn pipes, willing his heart to settle. They were in a T-Mat Room three times the size of the Console Room in the TARDIS.

"Yes," the Doctor was saying. "Time Corridors are useful for getting a large number of people into a single point across different portions of time and space—practical too. All you need is a basic degree in Wormhole Engineering. Problem is the Daleks use Time Corridors. That's how they sent us from 1960's Heathrow to Victoriana to Skaro..."1

"Noo that reminds me, Doctair," Jamie hastily re-adjusted his pipes at his shoulder and waited for the boring scans to make sure they weren't armed with energy weapons, or were possessed by hostile life-forms or carrying unwholesome diseases, "Why were they so determined tae use ye for that muckabout on Skaro? Ye don't exactly have the best reputation o' doing what they want."

"No idea when it comes to Daleks. You'd think I was the last of the Time Lords with all their fuss!" The Doctor sniffed with a blitheness that he would come to regret with good reason centuries later, and hopped off the Mat to scamper down a long and gloomy corridor lined with showy displays of art.

Jamie followed as best as he could, aware that the Doctor wasn't really running off without him; it was just how they acted in uncertain situations. If anyone observed them at this time, it would give the impression they were more interested in their conversation than their surroundings. "...all 7 conduits have to be watched constantly. Otherwise we could have the embarrassment of a Conference with invited guests stranded in the docks with no means to get home to their rightful planet—or their rightful time zone!"


Keeping up with the little man was a workout on the best of days. "Warmed the blood," Ben would joke. Jamie found himself in a cold sweat as he stepped lively. Too late for second thoughts, he scolded himself. And he was right, wasn't he? If he was wrong the Doctor would have simply refused to go along with this plan.

The T-Mat had put them in a nearly deserted section of the station. The lights were dimmed; a few members from various castes passed them in both directions, their faces remote and clouded with troubling thoughts. They barely noticed the two newcomers enough to get out of the way.

"We're going to do quite a bit of walking, Jamie. Most of the actual activity is in the center of the Station; the outer sections are reserved for transportation and defense purposes..."

"Ere, Doctor, slow down for a moment!" Jamie scolded lightly. "Just how big is this Conference?"

"I've no idea."

"Well, how many people would be brought in?"

"I tell you, Jamie, I don't know. There's never been a matter like this in almost 500,000 years." The Doctor paused, spinning on the ball of his foot with his hands clasped behind his back. "A situation in which the Time Lords have been directly set up for intervening against other races...it just isn't done." His eyes were sharp on the Piper, and able to pass a message without talking or telepathy—just a knowing look: They do it, but they've never been framed for it before. I'll bet they're feeling pretty insulted by now...

"There's a first time for everything, Doctor." Jamie reminded him. "Wi' luck they'll recover."

"I hope you're right..." They rounded a right-angle corner (odd to see these inside a round space station), and almost drew up halt at a triangle of too familiar, remote-faced officials in sober uniforms with their hands clasped neatly before their fronts. Jamie's sense of coldness deepened to the chill of midwinter on the High Tor. He recognized them as the three at the Doctor's Trial: the ones that determined the Doctor die and live as an exile on Earth without his Companions.

"'Eaven and 'ell ain't this wunderful," The Doctor suddenly slipped into an eerily correct imitation of Ben's Cockney.

"Sorted, Mate." Jamie chimed in with his own voice but very much Ben's language.

As usual, the Tribunal was slow and serene in action, thought, and speech. They often communicated telepathically amongst each other, with different members demonstrating different personalities for the group. The Doctor had once warned Jamie that it was considered rude to bring that up in any sort of conversation.

"That gift they possess is considered a crippling liability to others." He'd said quietly. "They are the Tribunal because there is no other place for them in Time Lord Society. Don't ever forget that, Jaime. If they so choose they will destroy lives, planets, galaxies...remember that if you give them your courtesy, it will be more respect than they expect to receive in an eternity of lifetimes."


"Doctor." That one was the same man Jamie first heard. Sometimes, in his nightmares, Jamie re-dreamed that chillingly benevolent voice and the terror they all felt, so frightened it isolated them each in their own private hell...and the look on the Doctor's face. Oh, that look. Horror wasn't enough of a word for that. The Doctor had been terrified for his very soul.

The Doctor had stopped, of course. He was the smallest of the present Time Lords, and his face gave nothing away. "A Tribunal Hearing offworld? A bit odd, isn't it?" He asked with an even tone.

"It is our duty."

"I see."

Jamie hated how the Doctor always slipped into another identity when he was around certain of the Time Lords. Like the Tribunal. They had been prepared to calmly and regretfully execute him for his crimes, but in the end were instrumental in changing his punishment. At least they never tried to call him anything but Doctor. That was more than a lot of Gallifreyans ever did. Jamie was never sure if they were being courteous or if it was their version of kindness.

In the meantime, the Doctor's green eyes were going narrow. "Was there a reason why you spoke to me?" He asked it very quietly, like a man about to walk into a snake's pit.

"The Conference requires your presence as well as ours. We will not be idle observers; we are participants. Instead of your usual position in the court you will be on our platform."

"So I gathered when I received the formal invitation on pure gossamer, delivered by albino flying squirrels with mandolins." The Doctor snapped and sounded just exactly like a querulous old man at that moment. "What tune did yours play? Mine did a bang-up rendition of 'Pandaks From Pythia.'"

The Time Lord's face flickered. For a crazy instant, Jamie thought the taller man was going to smile at the Doctor, but no, he had to be crazy himself to think such a thing. Thankfully the moment passed quickly, and all was calm and controlled.

"The unfortunate loss of life on the Chimera is not the only reason for our attending."

That was a surprise. The Doctor and Jamie blinked at each other. "The Year's End, Doctair," Jamie mused, knowing the Doctor would get the full context of the proverb: Is is the Year's End that shows the Fisherman's luck.

"Quite right, Jamie." The Doctor's mouth quirked to one side.

The shortest man, who reminded Jamie a bit of Borusa, turned his head quickly to one side as something caught his attention. "They are coming." He announced quietly.

The Doctor sighed. "After you," he said to the Tribunal. He gave Jamie a significant look. "Ready for a good retreat?"

"With you? Always." Jamie grinned. "Better than a bad charge."


The first Time Lord to react to the Doctor's appearance was (unfortunately), Madame Supervisor.

The Tribunal led the way to their usual position in the courtroom—which they used even when they were not on duty (It was a fine point; their roles demanded they be on duty at any time). In concession to the non-Tribunal parties, there were chairs but the Doctor pointedly ignored them, choosing to stand. Jamie shrugged and followed suit.

The Tribunal member Jamie thought of as "the Tall One" had noticed. "You may sit if you wish."

"Thank you." Jamie said courteously. And remained standing.

The Tall One glanced at the Doctor. "The trial may last for hours."

"He's used to walking for hours on end." The Doctor said calmly. "Standing still is quite a luxury."

The point was not pressed, mostly because the Tribunal was the least intrusive of all the Time Lords in Jamie's experience, but partly because the Madame Supervisor arrived at just that moment.

She drew herself up—all six feet of her—resplendent in her robes of office. Behind her the honor guards froze as well. The face she wore was not one for amusement.

"Doctor," She said coolly, and everyone could tell she was frustrated at not being able to refer to him by his Parolee Number in public... "You were granted in mufti permission for the upcoming delegation, not this function."

"Oh, dear." The Doctor didn't miss a beat. "I must have skimmed over that. I don't know how I could have been such a silly old idiot."

"Flying squirrels, Doctair." Jamie said wisely. "They distract ye every time."

This time, Jamie decided he was well and truly cracked in the head, because he was almost willing to swear on a Bible the Tribunal was trying not to smile.

So this is madness. Or they really don't like the CIA. Ah, well.

The Madame Supervisor kept calm, but matters boded no good for the Doctor later. "You will attire."

Jamie wasn't sure what was so special about that particular choice of wording, or the way it was said, but it was clearly a mistake on her part.

Amongst the slow-filling courtroom of pressing bodies, the Doctor squared back his shoulders and stuck his thumbs into his lapels, his jaw coming out as his eyes narrowed. Jamie thought of the older man the Doctor used to be. Under the skin of a younger body, that old, grumpy academic was coming out and showing what he was made of.

"I," he answered back in a voice of stone that was very low and yet carried like the ripples of a pebble into a calm pool, "am a renegade, a convicted criminal, and an exile. I will not conform to pretense, Madame Supervisor." His eyes hardened to stone. "You will see me attire when I am a proper member of this society."

Which would be when the sun froze stiff and you could paint a rainbow plaid.

The woman glared down at the Doctor, but the Doctor merely tipped his head up so he could look down his nose at her. It was beautifully done, but Jamie was worried. The level of anger rising from the harridan was not encouraging, though the Doctor was cool as a cucumber.

Again, the Piper had the sensation that the Doctor that used to be was present more than the Doctor he knew. He even carried himself like a stiff-limbed old gentleman, his mouth set forward and his brow aiming at the reddening face above his.

"We will discuss this after the proceeding."

"I am, of course, at your disposal."

"Och, Doctair," Jamie broke in. "Where be ye manners? The Lady should always have the last word!"

"So she should." The Doctor smiled sweetly. "My apologies, Madame Supervisor." And he kept the smile fixed on his face like a thick layer of paint, never changing it as she changed through several colors.

The Piper did not imagine the air of relief when she left for her post on the opposite side of the room.

"Well done, Jamie." The Doctor said under his breath. The moment was gone; he was back to the Doctor Jamie knew and loved.

"Just savin' ye from y'self as usual." Jamie shook his head fondly. By this time he was noticing the glances at the Doctor—and the askance expressions—were getting more and more common. A few elbows were nudging into ribs. Eyebrows were floating skyward. And the Doctor was looking at them right back. Jamie hadn't a clue. The suit was a copy of the Doctor's best-loved choices: a dark blue tie holding a bright blue shirt at the throat, black frock coat and a green handkerchief hanging loosely from his front pocket. The Piper had finally selected a McPhee print for the trousers—unless one was up close it looked solid grey; the black and white threads blended well.

Victoria had often mused, charmed and puzzled, that the Doctor always chose the cool colors of Earth and Water, but his personality was all Fire and Air. It was not the only contradictory thing about the little man, who was an insolvable puzzle to even his own people.


"Is something wrong, Piper?"

Jamie jumped slightly. "Just confused at your people again." He said honestly. "They're staring at him like they've never seen him before."

The Tribunal Lord's mouth twitched. This was the medium-height Time Lord, and Jamie couldn't help but think of him as Two as he thought of his compatriots as One (the shortest and brun) and Three (the tallest and towheaded). "It is a mannerism of the Celestial Intervention Agency that their agents dress...as invisibly as possible and that usually means their House Robes." Just as Jamie was thinking that explained the 'in mourning' colors, the man added, "He is announcing to everyone that he exists. The CIA is not pleased, and people will be curious."

Jamie sighed. "Ye people can be very complicated."

"They are also confused that he wears green. It is not an historically auspicious color. It is the color of the Death Zone."

"Ye Arcalians have Green in yer colors, and they're healers!"

"That is related. You should ask him someday."

Jamie paused, and looked at the man. Really looked at him. "Why is it," he asked impulsively, "Ye place yer own people under more laws and regulations than ye do others?"

"It is the way we are. We do not decide the fate of lives lightly. The weight of our laws makes the decision clearer."

"But no lighter."

They nodded at each other and by mutual consent, drew back to their own personal spaces.


Jamie wasn't comfortable at all with being near the Tribunal...or the fact that they had to associate with them tonight...but his instincts were telling him it was the safest place to be right now.

The Doctor was just thinking that they should have had one last trip to the Zero Room when it finally started. A combined shuffling of bodies and settling predated the swell of long-familiar music. The little man felt his eyes glaze over at the fanfare of the Gallifreyan Anthem. Oh, Rassilon. And in the appropriately solemn long-beat measure, too. This was going to take forever.

It is considered gauche to not play all the stanzas of the Gallifreyan Anthem.

There are many stanzas.

Somewhere between the part that saluted the fields of redgrass and violescent dusk and the part about the Novaya Zemlya Effect upon the mountains, the Doctor felt the first warning creep of stupor slide over his brain. He caught himself with a start, horrified that he might fall asleep standing on his feet—but he was also impressed with himself that he had put up with this pomp and ceremony for centuries before finally running away.

The self-congratulatory mood kept him awake through the praise of the iridescent clouds and icebows of the North. It wore off by the time the anthem got to the parhelic circle raptures.

He felt Jamie shift close to his side, his warm Human body clouded in his natural aura. Moving discreetly, the Piper shifted his pipes at rest and wordlessly put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor was glad of the contact; Jamie's mind was cool and calm at the core, while at its surface level it was annoyed, bored, impatient and worried about the future.

Oh, finally. That was the last of it. The Doctor inhaled and exhaled very quietly.

"Doctor, why are the Shobogans here?"

The Doctor's gaze snapped across the room. Oh, my word. Jamie wasn't joking. He counted at least twenty of the Outsiders huddled in a surly little knot in the room—and wouldn't you know, right next to them, another twenty of the regular Outsiders, all skins, leathers, and Stone Age weapons at hand, trading friendly glares with each other and scaring the delegates stiff. Grown men cowered behind their beards in far corners, convinced the proceedings would end in disgrace and bloodshed.

"I've no idea but things just got a lot more interesting." The Doctor whispered back. Ten minutes later, he thought to himself: In a way, it is reassuring to have a bad suspicion confirmed. It not only means you are right, it means your instincts are still in working order.

And then the Martians showed up in what they had come to think of as "Full Ice Warrior Regalia."

"I do believe I'm just about run out of surprise." The Doctor mused.

"Do ye remember seeing them
on the Space Station?" Jamie wondered. He seemed to remember a few green-scaled corpses, but they might have been another species...

"I have no idea. It was all a blur after I told you to run." The Doctor cringed at the admission. He tried not to think of how his last clear recollection of the Station was that of a Stontaran staserifle aiming at his hearts.

"Aye, well, I can't remember that much either." Jamie said simply. Not only did he not remember much of the weeks of going mad in a rotting tomb...he didn't want to remember.

The Doctor felt his throat tighten at the notion that his piper, who loved music so much, had gone as mad as a bard of the old legends. As if to echo this thought, Jamie's fingers tightened slightly upon the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor absently reached up and rested his hand over the boy's—the man's, now.

Gracious, how much time had passed. Jamie had been so young in those days...

And I was young too. So very young. And Jamie knew I was 450 years old, but he still didn't...believe me in a way. Now he believes me, because I act older. I suppose he thinks I should act this way; I wonder if that's it? The side of his mouth twisted up by a fraction, thinking wistfully and ruefully and ironically about how Time twisted them all like so much taffy in the end.

I do miss those days, he admitted to himself. I miss having the fun of being younger. I miss being able to play... in the beginning I was re-living all those lost chances to be a child again, but it felt so good...I felt so much like me. The Original Doctor never got that chance to be what I was doing...The Time Lords broke him before he could learn the way a child learns...

He swallowed again, trying to muddle through his thoughts before the dark cloud of longing finished descending upon his mind. ...The way they broke me. And they'll break me again before they turn me into that big tall Light Bulb in velvet and frills...

As always, the thought hurt. He'd had such hopes for himself in the future, but all those years of starting at the very bottom and re-working his way up...oh, heavens. To only achieve his own apex while he was dying of radiation...there was something both terrifying and triumphant in that; he could only draw comfort on the fact that his future self had finally, completely been in control of his own destiny when he collapsed and turned into the Booming Bohemian...

...But the Time Lords are the entire reason why I died in the first place, he mused with no small bitterness. Caged for so long, he was so hungry when he was finally free in the TARDIS...and she was free...they were both finally...free. That hunger led him to take that crystal and set the events in motion...

The fingers tightened again, sending warmth through his skin. Jamie was whispering his name, worried. The little Time Lord glanced to the Piper, momentarily confused. His awareness with the present cleared up; his gaze re-focused on the confused face before his own.

And behind him, the Tribunal was quietly watching them both, their faces calm and remote and ever-so-gently compassionate...compassionate in the way those who live on a distant mountain are compassionate about the small, short lives living beneath them in the city far below. Something clenched up and roiled in the Doctor's stomaches, and he forced himself to hold still—mentally, physically, and emotionally. Everything went stop. Just...stop for now. You can never let them know you know so much of your future lives. They'll end you for certain.

"I'm all right, Jamie." The little Time Lord murmured.

"Ye don't look it." Jamie said stubbornly.

"Shush, they're finishing," he whispered hastily.

The Anthem finished and the displeasure of the public was barely under control. The Doctor watched the heads in the crowd. Dastari's people were here as well, and at least ten from every representative of the species slain on the Station, except-

-surely they wouldn't...

...but what if...?

No; outrageous. Impossible.

But what if...?

He started to breathe a little too deeply as his hearts pummeled his interior ribs.

"Easy, Doctair," Jamie whispered.

The Doctor was damping his mind down, filtering his memories, separating neurochemicals in his brain to lower his reaction time. "I don't see any Androgums, do you?"

"Nae." Jamie was glad to report.

Conscious of being where anyone could watch them, the two quieted down, but their nerves were rattled.

Androgums...they had reason to attend. Why weren't they?

Would it be because of their lowly status as menial servants? Ridiculous. The Doctor had reason to despise them, but logically, they should be attending.

What if...they were refusing the Council Session?

Oh, he hoped that wasn't the case! The possibilities to that would be...!

One thought flipped to another, too fast for his control and he felt himself grow a little pale about the cheeks. Jamie's hand on his shoulder was his anchor, holding him back, grounding him in place.

It didn't help that the Tribunal was acting as though an offplanet meeting with the three grouchy factions of Gallifrey (four if you counted the CIA) were present and under the same roof as their Third Zone ex-colony.

Hmnnn wonder why Karn isn't here? The Doctor leaped eagerly into this newly discovered question. Karn had more right to be here than anyone else! Their longstanding treaty with the Time Lords was solid as bedrock. They might dislike the current state of affairs on Gallifrey...but they were still valued for their counsel, and anything that affected the Third Zone would affect them in even the smallest of ways.

The Doctor paid only surface attention to the opening preliminaries; he kept his wits open to notice if anything was different or out of the ordinary; so far so good—or no good. He pondered the multitudinous currents running under the strange waters of the station. All these people present had significant Historical ties with Gallifrey. Except for the absent Karn. Interesting. Karn was especially interested in communicating with the Time Lords now...thanks to one of his future selves...well. Technically this body was a temporal anomaly, exactly like it had been an anamoly to his Third Self over Omega's business. Just an anomaly in another aspect of Time.

He wondered again if his "keepers" knew he was aware of his future incarnations. Even a little bit of foreknowledge would make them very unhappy. As if it was his fault the Temporal Tides kept washing him ashore here and there...or that he liked a bit of astral travel.

Astral travel had saved his sanity more than once in his early years of incarceration, when days to weeks, even months could pass with him in isolation, completely alone and with no one to talk to...his body had been trapped but his mind had craved freedom to the extent that it had been less risky to journey mentally—it was that or worry about his sanity.

Astral travel, alas, meant procuring information that was always hard to retrieve and not always clear. It was also quite dangerous when you had things like The Great Intelligence or the Valeyard still mucking about.

Of course, the so-called Great Intelligence had stopped attacking him in the astral plane after that last mishap...the Doctor quietly and fervently hoped its disembodied brains were still whimpering with psychic migraines. Nothing like a little help from the Brigadier when you want to teach someone or something a good lesson...

A Silence slipped over the room.

Finally.

The Tribunal never moved, but all attention slithered to them. The Doctor was glad he and Jamie were a good two yards away.

He was a good sight more grateful when the air thickened, a wheezing hum rang in their bones, and an extremely angry Sontaran High Fleet Commander appeared inside a transparent force field cube.

Well. Now we know why the Sisterhood of Karn aren't here, don't we? The Doctor asked himself with painful irony. If there was anything that would send the Sisterhood into a fury, it would be a Sontaran. Around him a muted variation on chaos was racketing about the Courtroom, bouncing and bouncing off gabbling tongues and mouths. Stone-faced Castellans moved to make themselves visible as the level of control wavered.

And to think I was bored to my back molars just a minute ago... I miss being bored...


1Evil of the Daleks