"The Class of 2012"
9. Seeking, Sought
The Phisto Hub
The man they had come to call on was called Teller Fink. From the Doctor, Gemma had been brought up to speed with any terminology she might need to know, while dealing with people of the Phisto Hub. Tellers were fairly low on the roster when it came to authority, but for anyone looking for information, they were as near to the top as one might hope to find. They were something halfway between a steward and a tour guide. It was their job to ensure the potential clients brought here had a pleasant experience, by any means necessary, so that they might be convinced to go through with whatever deal those above them were in the process of putting before them.
Coming to the Phisto Hub and finding people who would know what they needed to know was complicated even before they stepped off the ship and started searching. It was in the place's nature that coming upon any given time in the hub's history, which had no years in any way that the humans would understand, was near to impossible. It was their luck then that the Doctor specialized in near to impossibility… and that they had Sugar and the others among them. If they had put a trace on the girl, then it could be followed both ways.
But now they had Teller Fink. The man was not in his prime, that much could be seen easily enough. Yes, his hair had gone gray, but it was the unruliness of it that told on his character. Fink had done his best to make the gray mess presentable, they could tell, but this had not been accomplished with any amount of success. In equal measure, his clothes showed their years of wear, of gentle care, yes, but of inevitable wear and tear as well. He was a nervous man, thinly disguised as one who had everything in control.
"Listen here, Teller," the Doctor got up in his face, which was easy, seeing as he was a good head taller than the gray man, "I've brought Miss Harrison along on the good promise that we might be able to grant her the ability to cure a terrible ailment which has fallen on the children of her people. All I ask of you is to reassure her we have dealt in such things before, with notable success."
"O-Of course, yes," the man told the Doctor, who tipped his head to indicate Fink should be saying these things to Gemma. Fink blinked, then turned to her. "Please, won't you sit," he guided them to a small triangle-shaped table, surrounded by three seats. Two of them were stools, but the third, where Fink invited Gemma to sit, was a chair with a back, easily the most comfortable thing in this place: the client would always have the seat of honor, while tellers and sellers took all that remained. The table's form spoke volumes as well. Each of its occupants found himself or herself the center of attention, with two others honed in on them, with whatever need or task they carried, be it to attain, to sell, or to facilitate.
"It's been such a nightmare," Gemma instantly wept, tipping her head not so she might hide a lack of tears – she could thank her grandmother for teaching her how to bring them forth on demand – but so to further sell the story, letting the teller scramble to pass her a tissue to dry her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "I was a teacher, you see, but the last of my charges were taken to quarantine only a week ago. We've buried half of them, and we'll bury them all before this is done, unless… unless… Oh, please, mister, if there's anything I can do…" Her sobbing increased, and the Doctor could barely keep himself minded, between playing into her story and being utterly impressed by her performance.
"Cures, yes… We deal in cures, naturally," Fink told her. "There is nothing we can't provide, nothing at all." The Doctor had been certain they'd been doing well, and if it had been up to him, he might even have been fooled by her, if only at first. But he had underestimated one thing in Fink and it was the speed with which suspicion could take root in him. It wasn't that Fink didn't know his face, he knew, the sellers came from such varied times that at any time they could expect meeting a seller for the first time when they had been on the job for years already. And Gemma… Gemma was flawless as the weary schoolteacher. So what was it? Were they so alert on the matter of the plague cure they were attempting to wrench from Padra… Sugar? Whatever it was, something in the man's voice told the Doctor they were not doing nearly as well as he would have hoped. If anything, they might have been in trouble.
"Do you see then, Ginny? Nothing to worry about," he told her. She looked at him. They'd agreed he would only call her by her true first name if he felt it was safe. So for him to press on to using her fake name was all the signal she needed: they had to be cautious.
"Where did you say this awful, awful sickness took place?" Fink asked Gemma, who was all ready to invent her story until her ear twitched, catching on to distinctively sounded like a bolt turning heavily. They were locked in.
"I didn't," she frowned. "It's…"
"Bexen," the Doctor cut in. "Bexen Arbor," he told Fink. "Let me ask you this, Teller Fink: have you got children?" The man only stared. "No, I didn't think so. Had you had children, you might find yourself more sympathetic to Miss Harrison's predicament. Instead, here you are, treating her as though she were…"
"Seller, what is your base license?" Fink asked the Doctor, who stopped, turning to Gemma, who tried to hide her cluelessness, then back to Fink. He sunk his hand in his pocket, pulling out his psychic paper and presenting it.
"Here."
"There's nothing there," Fink sat back.
"No… No, I'm afraid there isn't," the Doctor breathed, putting it back in his pocket. "Well, I do believe I've misplaced it. I'll just go ahead and…"
There was a sudden thudding against the door, like someone had attempted to open it in haste and found themselves locked out. The sound repeated, followed by a few seconds of silence. Then it was ripped from its spot, hinges and lock together. Gemma rose and fell in at the Doctor's side, ready to run or surrender as need be – she'd much rather run.
When the dust settled, there were three people stood in the hole where Fink's door had just stood. The teller for his part had stumbled to the ground when he'd tried to take cover. The man and woman were partially obscured by the glare of the lights outside for a moment, but the third of them was seen immediately, for having stood before the others; his height, or lack thereof, had helped.
"Trouble again, Doctor?"
"Dex?" the Doctor straightened up. He may have looked like a long-haired ten-year-old boy, but the short one was centuries old and a long-time friend. Only hours ago they had been trapped together in the circus where Quinn Fabray had found herself transported. "What are you doing here?"
"There's time enough to explain, what do you say we relocate?" the tall man behind Dex spoke, and now the Doctor recognized Noah Puckerman's descendant.
"Jaime?" And the girl… She'd only been a child the last time he'd seen her, but he knew her as young Padra's Mercer friend almost immediately. "And Nira… How…"
"Now, Doctor!" She looked to be only a few years older than Sugar and the rest of the McKinley group. They didn't have to be told again. The Doctor and Gemma left the baffled Fink scrambling to stand, and they followed the trio. They ran, the five of them, and it was the unlikely trio who led the way, until they landed at the door to a broken down stall and slipped inside… skidding to a stop before they could collide into any of the more than a dozen of them packed inside. Gemma knew she recognized them all, from one place or another, trailing after the Glee Club as they travelled in turn with the Doctor, but there were two she spotted, and after that she couldn't be minded to look at the others.
Before she could choke out their names, her mother and father had their arms around her.
TO BE CONTINUED (TOMORROW)
