Setbacks

The storm at last had passed, and calmer waves now lapped gently on the brilliant newly-washed sands sparkling in the last rays of the sun. A few seabirds were testing the breeze, soaring up from the rocks to hover aloft above the crescent-shaped bay for a few minutes before returning to the safety of their nests for the night. The usual army of crustaceans swarmed across the sand in search of one last meal among the storm wrack before plunging into their holes again.

The peace was suddenly rent by a strange sound: a rhythmic, mechanical wheezing. Had any intelligence been there to see, they would have been startled at the sight of a closet-sized grey-green boulder fading into view on the grassy bench several yards above the high-tide mark. And even more startled a few seconds later, as the side of the boulder split open into a door, and a humanoid male stepped out onto the empty beach.

He looked around hopefully, then visibly sagged at the vast emptiness; not a single sign that any higher beings had ever been there for as far as the eye could see. Sighing heavily, he wilted down onto his knees in the sand, exhausted; then suddenly pounded both fists on the ground with a strangled, wordless cry of frustration and despair. Chest heaving, he dragged himself back up again, turned, and trudged back inside the "boulder", closing the door behind him.

Inside, he stepped across the large single room and up to a glowing column surrounded by control panels in the center. "We overshot the mark," he muttered, as if to himself. "We came back too far. But we're so close... I can feel it. Just a few years. Just one more little jump. Can you do that for me?" He caressed the panel above the power readouts, so dangerously low. A ripple of lights flickered gently within the glowing column, and he seemed to take it for an affirmative, because he smiled. "That's my girl." Then he reached for the time target control and closed his eyes, spinning the dial slowly as if he could find the right date by feel alone. "Right... there. One last jump, and then you can rest again." He drew up the lever and worked the pump, and the boulder faded out again, leaving the seabirds and sandcrawlers alone in the sunset once more.

^..^

By late spring, six more babies had been born in the village of Hope, and although none of the mothers had it exactly easy, and all secretly (or not-so-secretly) wished they could return to looming children, they all survived, and were able to return to light work within a few days, carrying their newborns everywhere in slings fashioned from their own clothing. Tis'hania, the last of the first crop of pregnant women, wasn't due to give birth for another three months.

Really, she wasn't.

So when those first streaks of blood appeared on her thighs, followed by a stabbing pain, she knew something was wrong. Again. Sending the nearest person running for Dashok, she leaned heavily on Presonne's arm and walked slowly back to her corner of the communal house, nearly collapsing onto hands and knees on her pallet as the first full contraction hit.

Dashok had no way of stopping it, and could only stand by helplessly as the blessedly short labor took its course. Before nightfall, her son had arrived, stillborn.

There was too much blood. And it didn't stop. Taking a deep breath to quell his fear, Dashok pulled out the contraption he'd devised of very sharp, slender, hollow thorns and carefully boiled rockrat intestine, and began transfusing blood from willing donors, first Presonne, then Romana. Finally, with a third donation, the deadly seeping red began to slow and at last stopped. He finished the third 'unit' of ten minute's drip, and then wrapped a bandage around her arm.

Tis'hania's tear-streaked face was turned to the wall, eyes closed. She didn't respond to anyone, even telepathically, although they knew she heard them. She simply lay there, unresponsive, barely breathing, for several days, even when Romana lost her composure and yelled at her.

Immediately contrite, Romana dropped back to her knees beside Tis'hania and wrapped her arms around her, weeping. "Please, Tis. Please don't leave me like this. I need you. I need you. Please don't leave me..." Again and again she begged, until at last she felt the older woman stir within her arms, turning her head away from the wall and sobbing. She continued to hold her as the long-dammed tears fell.

She slowly recovered, though it was another week before she was strong enough to move from her pallet at last to sit in the sunshine for an hour. By the end of the month, she'd returned to work, but she didn't smile or laugh as often, and the shadow never left her eyes.

^..^

Later that summer, a strange malaise began to afflict some of the colonists. It came upon them slowly, picking its victims without any discernible pattern. Beginning with general fatigue, they lost their appetite, then began losing their hair, then suddenly all their strength fled for several days at a time, leaving them inert on their pallets. Mysterious pain affected various parts of their bodies, again without discernible pattern, stabbing or burning in one location for a few days before fading away only to attack a different area, joint, or limb a few days later. Then they slowly recovered and seemed fine, only to fall ill again a few weeks or months later.

That fall, the first one died, one of the oldest of the Councillors. A few weeks later, one of the younger women died, moaning in her sleep. Bewildered and supremely frustrated, Dashok spent every hour moving from one bedside to the next, offering what comfort and palliative care he could. "If only I had just one old-fashioned microscope; I might be able to discover what's causing this!" he moaned helplessly to Romana.

She took the two artisans who remembered the most about the ancient art of glassmaking and put them to work trying to rediscover it, in order to fashion the lenses he needed – though they all knew the quality and clarity needed would be years away. "We did it once, we can do it again!" she told them grimly, through gritted teeth.

With no answers available, the colony struggled on, under the constantly-looming fear of this new threat. It abated somewhat during the cold, hungry winters, but then returned each spring, striking a new batch of victims seemingly at random, proving fatal about half the time. By their sixth summer, a full third of their original number had perished. As yet, no one had regained their ability to regenerate, and now it seemed lost forever.

Worst of all, the malaise took most of the few fertile women. In those five years after it first appeared, only three more babies were born.

Romana, the only one to bear a second child, had another girl, naming her Belanna, bringer of joy. She'd made the very odd decision to sleep with three different men on successive nights, and if she knew which one was the father, she kept it to herself.

The fourth summer, Romana and Tis'hania moved into one of the new small houses in the second circle with her two daughters. Only with her closest friend, in the lonely midnight hours as the girls lay sleeping a few feet away, did Romana share her fears for the future. "I'm so afraid that I've brought these two precious lives into the world for a short, miserable, lonely fate," she whispered in the dark. "How long will we all survive? Will they be all alone before they're even adults? Will they even live that long themselves? Oh, Tis! What have I done? What have I done?" All Tis'hania could do was hold her as she wept.

^..^

Early on, the colonists had decided that every tenth day should be a day of, well, if not exactly rest, then at least a lighter workload, everyone puttering around their homes or staying close to the village rather than going out onto the bay or into the woods or fields or forge. It was one such restday, late in the sixth summer, on such a fine, glorious morning that they were able to (mostly) forget their constant fears and relax. A bonfire had been planned for the evening, to celebrate nothing in particular, and Romana was slowly making the rounds to see who could donate a rockrat or seabird or varigoat for the evening's barbecue (wondering idly where the word had come from; was it the Doctor who'd called it that?).

Carrying two-year-old Belanna, she met up with Tis'hania and Tasheira (who had covered the other half of the village) in the margin between the first rings of houses and the Council Tree to compare numbers. A great many others were also meandering idly around, gossiping and enjoying the sun.

Suddenly a shockwave went through the telepathic network, with a single verbal word: *Strangers!* Almost as one, everyone turned to stare at the four unknown people who had appeared out of nowhere near the corin's apron: two young men, a slightly older man, and a blonde woman who looked the elder's contemporary. Colonists further away from the square came running at the mental cry and joined the staring ring, mouths agape.

Romana found herself staring at one of the younger men in particular, the dark-haired one, who seemed so familiar... when suddenly his identity screamed across her brain and came gasping out of her mouth: "Joshua?" There was no doubt in her mind; this was the young Time Lord who had stood with her and the Doctor in the Chamber of Harmony, setting then destroying the Time Lock.

He turned and gaped back at her, visibly searching his memory and then recognizing her in return. "Romana?"

Before she could reply, she heard Tis'hania beside her, in a shaken, emotion-wracked voice she hadn't heard since the miscarriage. "Doctor? …. Son?" Romana shifted her focus to the older man who was staring back, not recognizing him – but then she felt more than saw Tis'hania begin to fall in a faint, and she whirled around to try to catch her, only partially succeeding with Belanna in her arms. She caught her head, though, easing it to the ground – and then the man was there, too, gathering Tis'hania up tenderly.

"Mother?" came his broken, unbelieving whisper.

Her eyes fluttered open again, and she reached a hand up to his cheek – then faltered, unsure. "But... is it you? Corin? Chethonal? Is that you? You seem..." she couldn't put a finger on it, but he was somehow changed.

Romana glanced up at the other three, who had dashed over just behind the Doctor, if it was him. "Joshua?" He nodded. She struggled to her feet, and he reached a hand to help her up. Glancing at the woman, a long-forgotten piece of their old conversation came back to Romana, and she gasped. "These are the duplicates, aren't they? Your parents? Not the original Doctor and his bondmate?"

He nodded again, while giving her a sidelong admiring glance for her remembering that detail.

Tis'hania, in Corin's arms, heard and gasped too, her hand faltering. Corin caught it, though, and held it tightly. "Yes, I'm a duplicate of the original Corin, created in a metacrisis moment, with all his memories up to that point, in his tenth life. All his memories, Mother. I'm him, too."

Her hand moved again, and he released it. She touched his cheek softly... and gave in, accepting it. "Chethonal..." she whispered again, joyously; her old childhood nickname for him. His face twisted, and he pulled her close, burying his face in her shoulder.

Joshua gazed at the pair on the ground, stealing glances sideways at Romana, when suddenly Rose's voice came from behind him. "Joshua!" He turned to her, puzzled – she'd said his name like he was forgetting something.

A wide, teary, sunrise smile lay on her face, and she half-laughed at him. "This is it!" she said emphatically, then... "Go get the Doctor!"