Eleven: Loons and Lungbarrow I
AN: The song played by the transtemporal signal crystal is The Doctor's Theme/Flavia's Song (what, who did you think the Bad Wolf was? The Time Vortex is fused with Lady Flavia's mind, and that's what took over Rose!).
According to Murray Gold, he created The (9th) Doctor's Theme while imagining that Flavia, Chancellor of the Time Lords would be singing it in the Vortex, which is why it's original name is Flavia's Song. By the way, the Space-Time Telegraph is a relic of the 3rd Doctor, look it up!
As UNIT has been renamed due to copyright reasons, I am going to plain ignore the change.
The word Gallifrey means "walking in shadow", making every Gallifreyan a "Shadow Walker".
Imprimisque hominum est propria veri inquisitio atque investigatio. (The first duty of sentient beings is seeking after the truth and the investigation of it.) – Cicero
Meanwhile, in London… and the rest of the world…
UNIT Mobile Terrestrial HQ
Colonel Mace stared at his most trusted officer (and crush ) in dismay. "So you're telling me that the only man on Earth capable of finishing Project Timeless isn't answering his phone?"
Captain Marion Price bowed her blonde head. "I'm sorry sir. Whenever I call Torchwood Cardiff, the only thing that picks up is the answering machine."
The older man gnashed his teeth, resisting the urge to throw or hit something. "Harkness is a registered Group Captain of the RAF, and the guy can't even answer the phone. Right. Torchwood. They're probably still handling that thing with the DBs popping up all over the country. What options are left, Price?"
"Well…" Putting a heavy-duty steel briefcase on the table, she nodded at it. "There's still Project White Fire he left in case we needed, and I quote, 'someone just like the Doctor' and he was unavailable. I also got the second key. The first should be in your possession, sir."
Mace nodded grimly, pulling out a Tibbe-coded key, similar to a Ford car key, and inserted it into the left lock of the case, a move copied by the captain with the other lock. Together, they unlocked the case, and the colonel removed the small casket from its confines, while Price took the instructions. "Can't believe something that small is enough. What does it say?"
"'Connect the Doctor's Space-Time Telegraph to your main communication systems, take the crystal, plug it into the telegraph and wait for the Law of Gallifrey. Love and salutes from Cardiff, Group Captain J. Harkness, Torchwood.' I think he could have saved on the love, sir."
"You've never met Harkness, have you, Price?" Mace murmured as he removed the second device from it – the Space-Time Telegraph, which hadn't been working since the days of General Lethbridge-Stewart. I think the 8th Doctor disabled it, because that was the last one we ever could summon.
"No sir."
"Let me put it like that. It wouldn't be Jack Harkness without the love," he sighed, taking the two objects to the comm station. "Lieutenant. Proceed with Operation White Fire."
"Yes sir." Following the instructions, the communications officer connected the telegraph and the crystal, and was shocked as the system went seemingly haywire. Sirens blared.
"What the hell is going on?"
"Sir, we've lost control. The thing is dialling up every major UNIT station on earth!" the soldier reported, a little panicked.
"Could Torchwood have done that?" Price wondered.
"No. Not even with Toshiko Sato now working for them," Mace denied. "Besides. We're sending a message all across Time and Space. So…"
"We're just needing all that more power," the comm officer finished, calming down. Just then, the sirens cut out, and the screens showed the signal transcript: A complex sequence of interlocking circles and dots underlain with music was being sent. The only readable part was the word UNIT, and it was coloured mauve. "I swear, that one sounds familiar."
"How so, lieutenant?" Mace asked.
"I heard it during the time Torchwood London was destroyed and the London Rift was open. The weird thing is, it seemed as if the very air was singing," he explained. "You don't forget something as weird as this, even working for UNIT. Sir."
"True enough."
On cue, a strange sound filled the air, wheezing and scratching like badly oiled gears and scraping a piano bass string with a yale key, and a white, black-framed door materialised on the top deck. "What the hell…"
The door opened, and The Professor stuck her head through the frame. "Hello young ones. Where's the fire?"
[You may now play the Doctor Who Opening Theme, Series 4! It's a Hail the Companions episode!]
Mace blinked twice, not so much because of the woman – she fit the reports and the surveillance material of the Valiant of the Doctor's alleged mother, including the door-shaped TARDIS – but because he had underestimated just how white the uniform would be she wore. It was near blinding, the blue sash, black seams and black collar actually enhancing the glare, emphasising that out-of-time aura that many who had worked with the Doctor and the soldiers who had served back then on Valiant had sensed in the Time Lady. The cameras hadn't done the Time Lady justice. "Professor? You are the Professor, aren't you."
Leaving the door that doubled as the physically visible representation of her TARDIS, the Professor took a look at her surroundings. And stock of the timelines. Now this is going to be interesting. "I am. You're UNIT, right? I take it you tried to get my son, the Doctor?"
"Yes, but Torchwood isn't answering the phone. And Harkness–"
"Jack is the only one with the Doctor's phone number," the Professor finished. "That crystal calls the highest legal-transtemporal entity available. Which is yours truly. The Lord High Valeyard, the Law of Gallifrey. Well, I'm here. But you are not Alistair."
"No ma'am," Mace conceded. "You know General Lethbridge-Stewart?"
"It was a long time ago." 847 years ago to be precise, but no matter. I need someone I know. Or at least Theta knows. Where did he say is their companion right now? Oh, right, Chiswick. "Where is he?"
"Peru. Why…" He didn't get time to finish as the woman dumped a device from her left wrist into his lap. "What's that?"
"Advanced Vortex Manipulator. It's tuned into my TARDIS, but I doubt you'll need it. I'll be right back. And yes, before you ask. I am the Doctor's Mother." Vanishing inside her TARDIS again, the ship dematerialised – without a single sound.
"What the hell was that?" Marion managed after the ship was gone – the Time Lady was somewhat of a whirlwind. Or more like an wind-tossed sea.
Alan William Mace blinked again and sighed. "The Professor."
"Where are you going? And when are you going to get another job?" a rather grouchy Sylvia Noble screeched at her only child.
"Yeah, yeah," Donna grumbled, slumping to the door. "I'm going for a walk." I hope you two, sorry, three, come back soon. Outside, the ginger meandered through the streets, for once, truly drifting. While she didn't mind seeing her family from time to time, especially since her father's death, it didn't change the fact that her mother was something in between overbearing to just plain a piece of work. Rounding the corner, she was surprised to hear that sound out of nowhere – and no-when. You're back already? Running towards the grinding gears, she grinned widely as the blue box shape appeared in the side-alley. Finding the doors open, she pushed them aside and walked in. "Took you two long enough, Martian… what the hell?" This was definitely not the Doctor's and the Walker's TARDIS, Idris. While the desktop was extremely similar – coral columns and all – there were differences, most notably the fact the console was not attached to the big shiny moving pillar in the middle the Doctor had called Time Rotor (speaking of which, that one was also different, as it shone blue). The columns were also more elaborate, and the floor was a glass platform with stairs, not grating. But the pilot was someone she could recognise and did recognise, albeit from a painting she had seen of the woman after her first trip with the Doctor and the Walker, Pompeii. She looks just like… no way. How did they call her again? "Are you the Expert?"
"Nice translation, Miss Noble. Yes. I am the Professor." The woman in white and black smiled. "And since you are available, I could use your help with something."
"How did you know that I was 'available'? Martian Lady."
"First things first. You can make fun of my son, who is usually in way over his head, but not sad, ancient me. If you have to insist on a nickname – relic works quite well for me." She lifted an eyebrow. "As for you being on Earth, away from him, well. Every person who ever travelled in a TARDIS has a higher count of Artron energy, not counting Chronarchs and Antarians. Your energy signature is recent. Besides, he described you in quite vivid detail."
"Oi!"
"Nothing to fear." The Professor smirked. "Besides, anyone who can take down my son's ego without being an enemy is a chunk of solid awesomeness in my book. So. Are you coming or would you prefer to twiddle your thumbs and get yelled at by that charming exemplar of a woman you call mum?"
That didn't need much persuasion. "Let's go, Time Relic!" Donna smirked back, reaching for one of the pillars.
"Good." Closing Arara's doors, she launched the ship back into the vortex. "I'd say vamos, but before that, we have to collect someone else."
"And who might that be?" Donna was a bit surprised at the Professor's piloting – the TARDIS had taken off without as much as a sound.
"The founder of UNIT. These idiots in London sent him to Peru."
11
Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath, General of Her Majesty's Army (ret., well, officially), nicknamed The Brigadier/the Brig, and occasional companion of the Doctor, stared with distaste at the report his 2IC for this stunt had given him. "So you are saying we are stuck. The world is probably in peril and we're stuck in the Nazca Desert." They were in his tent in base camp.
"I'm sorry sir."
Alistair knew where to lay fault, and the man in front of him was not. "Not your fault, Captain. Go back to your post."
"Sir." Snapping a salute, the young man left.
Shaking his head at the utter bizarreness of the situation, the old soldier sat down again, reaching for a small, well-read book bound in blue leather, idly thumbing through its pages. He knew these words by heart, but they had never failed him so far. I wonder what's really going on. And where are you, old friend? As if someone had chosen to answer his prayers, his tent was suddenly filled with the telltale sound of grinding gears, just a lot softer than he was used to, and the air wasn't half as stirred as normally. Still, in the end, the familiar shape of the 1963 Police Public Call Box solidified half a metre from him, causing him to drop the book again. Grinning, he waited for the doors to open. "Doctor! How nice of you to drop by again… who are you…? No, wrong question, right. I know you. Why do I know you…?"
The Professor stood in the door, silently thanking Arara for changing from her favourite shape (doors) to the one Idris was stuck in, straightening the Lungbarrow-blue sash around her waist into a new double eight knot. She smiled fondly. "It has been a while. Alistair. Defender of the People, one who holds off the enemies. Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. Last time I saw you, you barely stood up to my sash."
"Your sash… no. No. It can't be, but then again… Professor Lungbarrow?"
"Whatever you do with your life, the choice is to be yours, young one," she repeated her old words, smiling.
"And let no-one else take that from you, for your choices are what make you what you will be," the man finished the quote hoarsely, getting to his feet.
Donna, who had been standing beside the lithe Time Lady, turned to the ancient woman. "You know each other?"
To her surprise, it was the Brig who answered the question. "I met her when I was but a boy. She said she has a son about my age, and one day, I'd meet him, walking the same road as him." A near desperate question was on his face. "What is your real name, ma'am?"
"To most people, I am Lady Lungbarrow, The Law of Gallifrey, The Lord High Valeyard. But… frankly, my title-name is simply The Professor." She smiled. "So you do remember, despite it having been some time. More for us than you, but relatively speaking, it was the same."
"Why? How long was it for you?"
"847 years, give or take a few months. Relatively speaking, as I said." Seeing Donna's confusion, the Professor smiled. "I basically crashed a Christmas party his militaristic grandfather was holding."
"And for that, I will always be grateful."
11
Flashback
December 24, 1938
Alistair stared in dismay at the box of toy soldiers that made his grandfather's Christmas gift to him. He had hoped for a boat, a train, coloured pencils or, if he had been good enough, a book, but instead, he had to deal with this. On top of that, the man he had been named for had asked him the impossible question, 'Now… what do you want to be when you grow up?', knowing the man would accept no answer but 'a soldier'.
To his surprise, it was neither his grandmother nor his father who stopped the question, but his father's mystery guest, Professor Megan Lungbarrow. "I think the boy is a bit young for such a heavy question, sir, don't you think?"
"He's old enough to ask for things. At his age, I…"
"As you might have noticed, he is not you, sir, and thus, it is not your life nor your choice, don't you agree, sir?"
The beautiful woman in the white frock coat smiled in a way that made it impossible to resist, but Alistair felt as if he was the only one who sensed the warning. Maybe it was because he was a kid, and thus far more used to being chastised, but it was a dressing-down for his grandfather all the same. Thank you, madam. The wind taken out of his sails, the older Alistair could do nothing but nod numbly and turn around.
Thus, he was not privileged to see what was come to pass. The Professor walked over to the fire, where the boy sat on the floor, still with the damned box of toy soldiers. "May I sit, young one?"
Surprised at the high manner – she was speaking to him as if he was an equal, not a child – he nodded. "Sure."
A well-practiced gesture, and the tails of her frock-coat were lying flatly behind her as she sat down cross-legged beside him, the wide front tails preserving propriety. "Not a very thoughtful gift, is it?" She nodded at the box.
"He…" He searched for the right word, and settled on, "confuses me. Why does he want that I become a soldier?"
"He is one. His father was one. So he hopes you carry on the tradition. And, being as he is, he'll insist on it." The Time Lady shook her head. "I'd never do that. Not with any of my children."
"Why? What is it you do anyway?"
"I'm police, but don't tell them that. It's a secret," she whispered, smiling conspiratorially.
Alistair smiled back in the same manner. "I can keep a secret. You have children?"
"Two boys and a girl, in that order. My eldest, well. I admit, I hope him to take my place one day, given my daughter doesn't quite measure up to him, but I'd never make the cardinal mistake your grandfather did and ask such a stupid question." She smiled fondly, and not only because of the thought of her family. There was something about this human child that drew a Lungbarrow in…
"Really?"
"Hm-hm." And then she saw it. The boy's timelines had a complexity to them you only saw in the Higher Races… or Time Travellers. By the Founders. If I read this right… nonsense. The last time I'd been wrong about that stuff was 12.000-and-something years ago! This boy is to meet Theta one day and work with him… Arara, is this why you crashed us here? It made too much sense. Arara, her TARDIS, had to have sensed the boy, who was, essentially, a low-level temporal convergence zone, and decided he was worth their time. And Rassilon and Omega, he is. I wonder if I can cheer him up though; oh, yes, that should do it. Digging through her endless pockets, she pulled out a small, leather-bound book. "I seem to have forgotten the most basic of rules for Christmas, and that is bringing gifts. Merry Christmas, Alistair."
Reaching out, the boy's face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree behind him as he took the tome almost reverently. "Thank you," he whispered. "How did you know I wanted to have a book?"
"Just a wild guess. You seem to think a lot about everything… so here's something to think about." She nodded at the book. "That's a collection of poems I've translated a while ago."
"Songs of Time and Space," Alistair read aloud. "Thank you!" He smiled, as only a child could smile, bright and free of all worries.
"You're quite welcome, young one." Smiling mysteriously, she cocked her head to the side. "You've been named for your grandfather, right?"
"Yes ma'am." She's really nice.
"But I bet that not even he knows what the name means. Do you want to know?"
"Oh yes, please?"
"Alistair. Alistair is a Scottish variant of Alexander, and means Helping Man, Defender of the People, one who holds off the enemies." Suddenly, the strange woman's face wasn't so funny and gentle anymore, and it felt as if she was ages older than she looked. The sharp cut of the face that made her so pretty now had a sad, grim air to it, making it clear how important it would be whatever she would say next. "It is a very strong name, and should not be given or borne lightly. Well, technically, a soldier, such as your father and grandfather, does exactly that… but…"
"You frighten me ma'am."
Ancestors, I slipped! He's not a Time Lord! Shaking her head, she willed her intensity down a few notches. "I'm sorry, young one. I tend to forget myself sometimes…"
"Oh. So you do think I should become a soldier too?" He was hugging the book unconsciously.
"Not exactly." She shook her head again. "I told you I would never make the monumentally stupid mistake your grandfather just did and try to force you into a decision that isn't completely your own, especially since it's about your life. No. I made the decision that protecting people was the most important to me, so someone else wouldn't have to walk this road, a long time ago, but I would never expect anyone else to make the same decision. Of course, I would be proud if my children followed in my footsteps, but they don't have to. And neither do you. You can be anything you want. Doctor, Painter, Soldier, whatever you feel is right for you. Just one thing you should always remember about it when you make that choice."
Alistair was hanging on every word she was saying. "What is it?"
Now, the Time Lady's eyes were practically glowing, blue from the ages. "Whatever you do with your life, the choice is to be yours, young one. And let no-one else take that from you, for your choices are what make you what you will be. Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart."
"I won't forget this, ma'am," the boy vowed solemnly.
The Professor got back to her feet, turning away. Well, I've done what I am here for, haven't I. Time to get back for Otherstide. Great. I have to shovel my way down Mount Lung again. Oh well, it's just once a year. (On the coldest, darkest night in the year! Mercy, Ancestors!) "Take these words, and keep them close to your heart. Make your own choices, and live without regrets. That shall be enough if you do so. Merry Christmas."
"You're leaving?"
"I have three children, remember? I should at least try and be in time for Christmas Day." She smiled. "Maybe, one day, you'll meet one of them."
"True. And I'll be looking forward to it. Merry Christmas, Professor."
"Blessed be, young one."
11
Present (2009)
"I still have that book, milady." Alistair held the original, handwritten version of Songs of Time and Space up. "It always brought me luck. Or solace when I needed perspective."
"You're welcome."
"You call that crashing a party?" Donna was a little surprised at the tale.
"Well, you should have seen the face of old Lethbridge-Stewart. It was priceless," the Time Lady snickered; then, she sobered up. "So you took the knight's path too, hm?"
"I couldn't just turn my back on it, could I." He smiled. "Besides. That way, I did meet your son. And he did call you the Law of Gallifrey. Although, the way he spoke of you, when he actually said something that is, I had my doubts you were an actual person."
"Oh that." The Professor waved it off. "If your entire people have a bad case of hero worship with the person that is your mother and worse, you're from a matrilineal society, you end up… idolising janayi." She smiled sadly. "I am the Head of the House of Lungbarrow, the Lord and Mistress of the Clan. On Gallifrey, the old quote from Vanity Fair about mothers was absolutely true. It was, in many ways, actual law."
"I can see that. I can see that." Alistair nodded. "So, what do you need me for?"
"Your successors have summoned me for some kind of problem since they cannot get a hold of Theta Sigma. Problem: They strike me as a bit too gung-ho. By Gallifreyan standards, I am a fairly violent person, but humans may not quite get that vibe. I don't mind a gun – I know you can pick up a weapon to protect – but violence is the least preferable answer. If I resort to it, it means that I have already sacrificed much of what makes me a Time Lady."
Alistair nodded sadly. "I know what you mean. People are way too trigger-happy these days. And you would prefer to work with someone who has at least an inkling of the brand of pacifism a Time Lord would sport, right? Rest aside that, I told it your son already, but I am sorry for all your loss."
The Professor turned her head away. "Thank you. Now. Shall we?"
Despite his recent ailments, he couldn't help but smile at the prospect of another adventure. "It will be my pleasure. Ma'am." He saluted. "General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, at your service, ma'am!"
The Time Lady gave them both a curt but ceremonial bow. "Welcome aboard, young ones. I am The Professor." As the doors closed behind him – he had left a short note for his 2IC that he was off with The Doctor (which was as close as you could get to the truth without a lengthy explanation) – the Time Lady immediately sent them off through the vortex with a loud yell of "Vamos!"
They exited the now again door-shaped TARDIS outside of whatever facility UNIT had been targeting, Captain Pierce already waiting for them. "Took you long enough. Ma'am." The blonde handed her back the Advanced Vortex Manipulator.
"Why? It's been only ten minutes for you." Shaking her head, she replaced the tool on her left wrist. "I just picked up some backup. And your old boss, for the matter."
The Brigadier smiled wanly. "Don't fight it, captain. I never could stop the Doctor – do you think you or Mace will be able to stop the man's mother?"
Suitably chastised, Pierce ducked her head. "Point taken, sir. Speaking of fighting." The officer lifted a radio to her face. "This is Greyhound Four. Operation Blue Sky is a go, repeat, this is a go." As if something had roared to life, the compound was flooded with UNIT troops, most of them of the Royal Parachutist Regiment, followed by the armoured Pantechnicon truck that contained the mobile HQ.
"I thought I missed by a bit, but this is a little embarrassing," the Professor muttered.
"Actually, you didn't, ma'am, we just moved the truck to the convoy." Pierce led the trio of Time Travellers to the plant which was in the process of being stormed.
"United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Raise that barrier, now!" a soldier yelled as they reached the entrance. "Leave those safeties on, lads. They're non-hostiles." The same officer picked up a megaphone and called, "All workers, lay down your tools and surrender."
"Greyhound Four to Trap One. B Section, go. Search the ground floor. Grid pattern delta," Pierce ordered.
Recognising the pattern, Alistair asked, "What are you looking for?"
"This is a UNIT operation. All workers lay down your tools and surrender immediately."
"Illegal extraterrestrials, sir." The blonde turned back to the operation. "B section mobilised. E section, F section, on my command." And then she was off.
"Which by definition is anything that is not a member of the Higher Races," the Professor finished, a little fishing-ly.
"Correct," the Brig nodded. "Gallifrey and Antares are exempt from the definition due to their general benevolence. If I remember correctly, Earth is also a watched world."
"What does 'watched' mean?" Donna asked. "The Doctor mentioned this too."
"Watched means there's an Antarian Watcher-Guardian residing on a world and watching its development, as its potential evolution is similar to that of Antares VII itself, and is worth recording. Non-Antarian, non-authorised interference with such a world can have dire consequences," the Professor explained. "But according to the galactic news, Earth's status is about to change to stewarded, which is when an Antarian World Maker makes her or his home on a world and protects it, which is even worse for attackers. Is this enough, Alistair, Donna… is first name alright with you, Donna?"
"No problem." Donna shook her head. "The Doctor used to work for you, general?"
"Only in name most of the time," Alistair answered. "And if I understood it correctly, he didn't have much of a choice back then."
"No, he didn't." The Professor turned away from them, the eyes full of might-have-beens. "They banished him, forced him into regeneration, not even a decade after his first, just because he did what he believed to be right (and stole a TARDIS). Cut 1200 years off his normal legal lifespan, and denied him the knowledge how to fly a TARDIS. And you know what's worst? I couldn't do anything. It started a pattern…" She stopped herself, albeit just barely. Regrets and her didn't do too well together. Again, she shook her head and turned back around. "Well, that's about it."
"Professor…" Alistair was at a loss what to say. And I thought her son was the king of guilt, but actually, she's worse: she blames herself for might-have-beens.
The moment was broken as Captain Pierce came back to them. "We're ready now. We're establishing a field base on site. They're dying to meet you properly, ma'ams, sir."
"Just get on with it," the Professor sighed, shaking off the melancholy and refocusing as they followed the blonde into the Pantechnicon truck.
Inside, the captain saluted to her superior. "Operation Blue Sky complete, sir. Thanks for letting me take the lead. And it looks like she's back, together with some help. Professor, Sir Alistair, Colonel Mace."
Finally able to greet the woman properly, Mace saluted. "Ma'am, sir."
"Hardly necessary, Colonel," the Professor declined. "My title-name is more than sufficient. And far more fitting."
"But it's an honour, ma'am." Mace looked as if he'd met one of his biggest idols, mixed with the kid-in-the-candy-store look and an overdose of hero worship for both his predecessor and the Time Lady. "I've read all the files on your son, ma'am. Technically speaking, he's still on staff. He never resigned. And if anything he's ever said about you is even remotely true…"
"Despite what people might think, my son is not prone to exaggeration if it comes to me – I'm simply too old for it."
"So let me get this straight: the Doctor used to work for them?" Donna interjected, as the others had not been exactly forthcoming with the situation.
"Yeah, long time ago. Back in the 70's. But it was all a bit more homespun back then from what he told me in his 8th life." She frowned.
"Times have changed, ma'am. You've seen it. You've been on board the Valiant. We've got massive funding from the United Nations, all in the name of Homeworld Security. A modern UNIT for the modern world," the current commander of UNIT UK finished proudly.
"What, and that means arresting ordinary factory workers, in the streets, in broad daylight? It's more like Guantanamo Bay out there," the Doctor's ginger companion snarked. "Donna, by the way. Donna Noble, since you didn't ask. I'll have a salute."
Shooting Alistair and the Professor a questioning look and receiving a nod from the latter, Alan William Mace saluted sharply to Donna. "Ma'am!"
"Thank you."
"So if you don't mind, Alistair…" the Professor murmured.
"Not at all. They called you after all. I'm just here to keep them from shooting too quickly." The old soldier smiled.
The Lord High Valeyard (former) stepped forward. "So, what's going on in that factory?"
Nodding at his 2IC, Mace started a presentation on the situation. "Yesterday, fifty two people died in identical circumstances, right across the world, in eleven different time zones. Five a.m. in the UK, six a.m. in France, eight a.m. in Moscow, one p.m. in China."
Translating what these times meant was literally child's play for a Gallifreyan. "They died exactly at the same time."
"Yes ma'am. Fifty two deaths at the exact same moment, worldwide," Mace confirmed.
"There's no such thing as coincidence. Anything they had in common?" the Professor asked, the eyes never leaving the map showing the deaths.
It was the first time Alistair actually worked with a Valeyard rather than hearing about them, but he couldn't help but notice the similarities in her body language and style to a high-ranking law enforcer, which was the literal translation of Valeyard: her mind was already making connections that would trap the truth in a web of evidence. Her son is a genius in finding the truth, but this… woe betide he who is stupid enough to do something for her to warrant attention, he thought, suppressing a chuckle.
"They all died inside their cars."
"They were poisoned. I checked the biopsies. No toxins. Whatever it is, left the system immediately," a third, new voice added. "Major Mason Reed, UNIT CMO, Professor, ma'am." The UNIT CMO was a man of circa 35 years, and, contrary to his very English name, clearly of East Indian heritage.
"And what have the cars got in common?" Alistair wondered – after all, accidents happened all the time, and statistically no other human invention has taken as many lives as the automobile so far.
"Completely different makes. They're all fitted with ATMOS, and that is the ATMOS factory," the doctor continued with Mace's approval.
"ATMOS?" The Professor lifted an irritated eyebrow.
"Oh, come on. Even I know that. Everyone's got ATMOS," Donna scoffed as they followed the UNIT commanders back into the factory.
"Hello? Higher-species alien here?" The woman made a face. "Combustion engines haven't been seen on Gallifrey for at least four billion years. If I was Antarian, it would be even longer."
"Oh."
"Stands for Atmospheric Omission System. Fit ATMOS in your car, it reduces CO2 emissions to zero, ma'am," Reed supplied.
Now both eyebrows of the Time Lady made an impressive attempt at climbing over the woman's high hairline. "Zero? No carbon dioxide, none at all?" Why does that sound so fishy?
"You get sat-nav and twenty quid in shopping vouchers if you introduce a friend on top. Bargain," Donna added.
"And this is where they make it, Professor. Shipping worldwide. Seventeen factories across the globe, but this is the central depot, sending ATMOS to every country on Earth," Mace explained as they walked down a gallery over the main production hall.
"And you think ATMOS is alien," the Time Lady stated, half a question in it.
"It's our job to investigate that possibility." Mace pushed back a plastic strip curtain. "Professor?"
"I'm coming."
They entered what was clearly a demonstration room: One ATMOS was laying on a table with a few polycarbonate models of cars and an engine. "And here it is, laid bare. ATMOS can be threaded through any and every make of car," the Colonel explained.
"You must've checked it before it went on sale," Alistair frowned.
"We did. We found nothing. That's why we thought we needed an expert," Reed admitted.
Meanwhile, the Professor had put on a pair of Gallifreyan technician's goggles, reminiscent of biking/ shooting goggles if not for the odd colour (cyan). "Really. Who… oh yes, me. Okay."
The UNIT commander and CMO left.
11
Steepling her fingers, the Professor stared intently at the 'revolutionary' contraption, the goggles acting as scanners. No traces of Tritanium or Tritanium imitate, so it's not Antarian or Gallifreyan, or derived from one of both. Time signature is also from this place and time frame, so it's not from the future either. Weird.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Donna. "Okay. I got a question. Why would aliens be so keen on cleaning up our atmosphere?"
"Very good point," Alistair agreed. "In my experience, doing it that way usually has an ulterior motive. Professor?"
And that's why I brought you two, she smiled inwardly. "Precisely. And the only race I know of who'd do this for free has very different and far more permanent methods. As a matter of fact, it has been done already."
"What?!" Donna yelled, causing the other two to wince. "Sorry."
"No problem, Miss Noble," Alistair assured her. "But really, Professor, shouldn't we have noticed already then?"
"Yes, at least you two… damn, she's good." The Professor grinned ironically. "I thought people accustomed to a perception filter wouldn't fall to it."
"Professor?"
"Donna, have you been to Kesh'at yet?"
"Yes. After having to deal with the Oodsphere. Marvellous place."
"Did they take you to the shop of the Order of the World Makers?" the woman continued, now having taken the screwdriver to the ATMOS core device.
"As a matter of fact they did, why… oh. They do that too?" Donna's eyes lit up.
"Ma'am?" Alistair was a little confused.
"I'm getting there. Antarians – the slightly older and spatial equivalent to Gallifreyans – have an elite class order of scientists called World Makers, like the Time Lords of Gallifrey. Basic service level is actually Planetary Maintenance, restoring ecosystems and healing civilisation-based damage, followed by Terraforming, Planetary Formation, Planetary Construction, Solar System Engineering, Galactic Sculpting and Space Weaving." She looked up. "Now, planetary maintenance on an inhabited world that is at large unaware of alien life – Level 5 and lower – is tricky because it has to be concealed from the inhabitants in a way that will allow it to be noticed gradually so it will be pretty much irreversible."
"And how do they do that?"
"Evolution has granted Antarians energy-matter conversion abilities. The application of these on such a large scale is usually achieved through a combination of applied block computation, multidimensional mathematics and music, together with serial amplification technology. It's called applied musimathics, since for Antarians, only music allows a correct, compact display of the 11-planar space, the numbers are just for precision and dumbing down. Usually, you strip the air and the oceans of pollution as material, convert it to chaos-and-law sub-quark particles, and then grow new forests. Afterwards, you saturate the atmosphere with regenerative energy. All of this is done by playing and singing a musimathic 'song'. Adding a layer of anti-perceptive psychic energy to the 'song' is not that difficult, but that not even people accustomed to perception filters like you two notice takes a master at World Making. A Space Weaver," the Time Lady explained. "And well, I mentioned earlier that Earth's status is about to change from Watchpost to Stewardship. The World Maker that took residence on your world? She's a member of the imperial household. A legitimate genius related to one of the rulers of the Empire. And as she's considering Earth her home now, she's going to maintain it with all knowledge and power available."
"Oh my god," Donna exhaled.
"Amazing," Alistair agreed. "But it just proves that this ATMOS device isn't something good."
"Yes."
"But maybe they want to help. Get rid of pollution and stuff too," Donna mused.
The Professor smiled sadly and painfully. The strategic value of the device laid in the objects it was fitted for. "Do you two know how many cars there are on planet Earth?"
"Not really," Donna admitted.
Strength in numbers. "Eight hundred million. Imagine that. If you could control them…"
The Brig's eyes widened in horrified understanding. "…you'd have eight hundred million weapons. Good Lord."
"This is crazy." Donna shook herself and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm not good with the tech stuff, remember? What I am good at is paperwork. I see you later," she called over her shoulder.
"Good luck then." She shot Alistair a look. "You might want to take a seat. This might take a short while."
"Alright."
As Mace and Reed returned to the office, the Professor was just finished with the device. "I take it you want to know what I found, Reed?"
"Please? Because this mess is giving me a headache," the human doctor admitted.
"Alistair."
The man in question got up from his seat. "What is it, ma'am?"
"Old friend will suffice, young one." She turned the ATMOS over. "Ionising nano-membrane carbon dioxide converter. Which means that ATMOS works. Filters the CO2 at a molecular level and binds it."
"We know all that, but what's its origin? Is it alien?" Mace asked.
"No. Decades ahead of its time." Irritated, the Time Lady shot the UNIT commander a look. "Look, do you mind? Could you stand back a bit?"
"Sorry, have I done something wrong?"
"How about invading my personal space? I'm hyper-telepathic, Colonel," she gnawed out.
Turning slightly pink for forgetting all good manners, Alan Mace took a few steps back. "Oh. I'm sorry, I'll be back." The duet filed out again.
The Brigadier shot his successor and his Time Lady friend alternating looks. "A bit tetchy, Professor?"
"I'm a widow, Alistair. The last man I allowed invading my personal space without question is long gone." The Professor glared and then grumbled, "And as I said, I don't mind guns that much, but I'd rather have them not around, because most I had to deal with who chose to pick one up as the first answer were people I had to arrest or enemies."
"I chose to wear a gun, remember? So am I any better or worse?"
"I know."
"It's all right for you and your son. You can just come and go, but we stay behind. So we work from the inside, and by staying inside, maybe we stand a chance of making them better. That's why I haven't refused a single request of helping UNIT yet," he declared.
The Time Lady slowly dropped the glare and smiled. "Spoken like a true companion of the Doctor and a student of my words."
"I had the best of friends and teachers. And the best possible schoolbook."
"Thank you."
Just then, Donna – and Mace with Reed again – rushed in, in her "Eureka-listen-up" mood. "Oi, you lot. All your storm troopers and your sonics. You're rubbish. Should've come with me."
"How so?" the Professor lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. "Where did you go exactly anyway?"
"Personnel. That's where the weird stuff's happening, in the paperwork. Because I spent years working as a temp, I can find my way round an office blindfold, and the first thing I notice is: an empty file." She grinned triumphantly, holding up a very empty folder.
"Why? What's not there?" The Professor frowned, deactivating the scanner goggles.
Donna turned the file so everyone could read its back. "Sick days." She opened it. "There aren't any. Hundreds of people working here and no one's sick. Not one hangover, man flu, sneaky little shopping trip, nothing. Not ever. They don't get ill."
Mace stepped forward and took the file. "That can't be right."
"I concur," the Professor stated, frowning. "I mean, even the Valeyards had such a file. Usually, it didn't hold much more than the few hours you'd need to go to a healer, but still… even I, who can't get sick that easily, logged over 3000 days over my entire career."
"Mostly for family emergencies I take it," Alistair added, getting a nod in answer.
"You've been checking out the building. Should've been checking out the workforce," the ginger gloated.
The Professor chuckled. "I can see why my lareshannaue has taken a shine to you."
"Me too." Alistair smiled. "You're good, Miss Noble."
"Super Temp," Donna dismissed.
Mace turned to his CMO. "Doctor Reed, set up a medical post. Start examining the workers. I'll get them sent through."
"Yes sir."
After the medic had left, the Time Lady and the older soldier followed the UNIT commander out. "So, ATMOS. Where'd it come from?" the Time Lady wondered.
"Luke Rattigan himself," Alan answered, as if that would answer everything.
"Hello? Extraterrestrial, remember? I can tell you the names of the councillors of the Shadow Proclamation. But this?"
"Sorry." Mace led her back to the truck where they had access to the UNIT database. "Child genius. Invented the Fountain Six search engine when he was twelve years old. Millionaire overnight."
"Oh, I've heard of him," Alistair remembered. "Child genius alright. With a nasty personality."
"True enough," Mace agreed. "Now runs the Rattigan Academy. A private school, educating students handpicked from all over the world."
"Fountain Six… oh, that one I remember." The Professor made a face that conveyed clearly how unimpressed she was. "Just for reference. If you think Google Inc. isn't big already these days, try them in 20 years. Things like Rattigan are the typical one-hit-wonder. Or dangerous. And it doesn't help he's keeping a hothouse for geniuses."
Mace blinked. Most people he knew would be in awe of someone like that, but the Time Lady reacted extremely… jaded, that was the word. As if she was wary of child prodigies. (Not that he knew that, but she was, with ample reason.) "Right. Well, if you have more questions, ask Pierce." Saluting, he left.
"Have a problem with prodigies, my friend?" Alistair wondered as they made way to the woman's TARDIS outside.
"I'm from a Great House of Gallifrey made up of late bloomers in its entirety, and still managed to become a seven-times Polymath of the High Academy of Prydon. Rassilon was a child prodigy, and so was the Master. You tell me," she muttered to the Brig.
"Oh. That is a reason." The woman's mental equation was easy enough to deduce: Child Prodigy=Madman, and rang true all too often.
Donna noticed however that the woman was somewhat distracted by her own thoughts. "Something the matter, Time Relic?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." The Professor turned towards her TARDIS. "We need to get my toolbox." Snapping her fingers, the door swung open.
"I didn't know you lot could open your ship doors like that," Donna gaped, following her inside.
"It takes a long and strong bond between pilot and TARDIS to do that, Donna. And Arara and I have been working together for more than an entire generation. For reference, a Gallifreyan generation is 10.000 years. I've had Arara as TARDIS since I was 182."
"Wow," Donna breathed, remembering the casual remark of the Doctor about his mother's actual age (15.638) and inability to age at all, down to a point she didn't need regeneration (another shock – the 'him' he was now was actually his 10th version).
"Something the matter, my friend?" Alistair asked carefully, noticing her countenance.
"I'm not sure actually." The Professor went to the console, the worry on her face betraying her age. "What I found is just that the damn thing is uncharacteristically sound resistant."
Alistair caught on immediately. "But that would mean that your sonic screwdriver would be pretty useless then."
"Well, not completely, it's an Infrared-Sonic combination, but it would not be very effective… why, beyond the usual motives of grandeur, would that boy build such a thing, I wonder…?" It was clear that she was more musing over things than answering the question. Shaking her head, she bit her thumb knuckle and then pulled out a white box marked with a black hourglass. "I have the how, where and the who, but I lack the blasted why and when…"
"Driving you mad, huh?" Donna added. "What are you looking for?"
The Time Lady dug through the contents and came back with a rather cumbersome metal rod that looked suspiciously like an enlarged, glorified version of a sonic. "Eureka. There we go."
"What's that?" Donna asked, puzzled.
"Is that what I think it is?" Alistair stared with raised eyebrows.
"If you think what I think that you… okay, stopping right here. That is so much easier to say in Gallifreyan," the Professor rambled, cutting herself off. Using the carabiner on the end, she hung it onto her tool belt that, as far as the two humans could see, was actually under the tails of her coat. "Sorry if I confused you."
"No problem," Alistair declined. "And you think it will help?"
"Well, better than nothing." Closing the box again, she led them back outside. "Let's do this."
"Indeed," the Brig confirmed. "I take it you want to go see Rattigan?"
"Yes. And I need you to keep an eye on these kids, if you don't mind." They left the TARDIS.
"On it." Alistair turned to leave. "Anything else?"
"Watch your back, my friend. Something's not right, and not the entirety of the scenario alone."
Donna caught on immediately. "Are you seeing something, Professor?"
"More like feeling. Something in the atmosphere, some kind of… vibration so to speak, but it's like its true nature is out of my range." She frowned, frustration settling into her features. "Just watch out."
"I will if you will watch for yourself."
"Always." Parting ways, she turned to Donna. "Let's find Mace."
"Okay."
Somewhat predictably, said Colonel tried to insist on coming with them, only to find that the Professor in work mode was more difficult to convince than moving an ocean with a teaspoon. "You are so not coming with me. I want to talk to this Luke Rattigan, not point a gun at him."
"Ma'am, I am trying to help."
"Best way to help a policewoman – stay out of my train of thought, Colonel, no offence."
"It's ten miles outside London. How are you going to get there?" the man countered.
"How about getting me a jeep?"
"According to the records you lot travel by TARDIS."
"I second that," Donna cut in. "Why taking the long road?"
"If there is a danger of hostile aliens, I think it's best to keep a first-class time machine capable of rewriting history away from the front lines, don't you agree?" the Professor sniped back.
"I see. Then you do have weapons, but you choose to keep them hidden. Jenkins?"
A young, eager-faced private stepped forward. "Sir."
"You will accompany the Professor and take orders from her," Mace ordered.
"Fair enough," the Time Lady agreed.
"Any sign of trouble, get Jenkins to declare a Code Red. And good luck, ma'am." Mace saluted to her.
"I told you before, there's no need to salute. I'm just the Time Police."
"Then consider it a courtesy." Mace just shrugged, saluted again, and left.
"So we're going out to the country, hmm?" She shot a smirk at Donna. "Fresh air and genius idiots, what more could you ask for?"
"Listen, I'm not coming with you. I've been thinking. I'm sorry. I'm going home," Donna denied.
"Really… oh. You want to check on your family, right?"
"Bingo. Damn, you're good. I bet the Doctor would have gone off on some speech about wanting to show me the universe since he'd misunderstand me, but not you."
"I'm the mistress of my clan. As I said earlier, most sick days I've logged in my career were for family emergencies. Need a lift?"
"Lead the way, Time Relic."
Dropping off Donna on her home street, the remaining occupants of the jeep approached Rattigan Academy. "UNIT's been watching Rattigan Academy for ages. It's all a bit Hitler Youth. Exercise at dawn and classes and special diets," Jenkins, whose first name was Ross, explained.
As if to mock them, an ATMOS device GPS announced that they now should "Turn left."
The Professor made a dark face at the box. "Ross, one question. If UNIT think that ATMOS is dodgy…"
"Go straight on," ATMOS interrupted.
Ross chuckled, a little sadly, knowing exactly what the ancient Time Lady was thinking about. "How come we've got it in the jeeps? Yeah, tell me about it. They're fitted as standard on all government vehicles. We can't get rid of them till we can prove there's something wrong."
"Turn right."
"Drives me around the bend," the young soldier continued, just as he turned a bend.
"Nice timing," the Professor grinned.
"Thanks. I've been waiting for that for a while now," Ross admitted.
"Who wouldn't."
"This is you final destination."
"What kind of idiot comes up with such a final for navigation?" she muttered as they left the jeep.
"How about him, ma'am?" Jenkins nodded ahead at the teen standing on the lawn, observing the pupils running around the building.
"So this is what you call PE, huh? Personally, I'd rather shovel my way down Mount Lung. On Otherstide."
"How is this trying, if you don't mind the question, Professor?"
"It's done through three metre high snow. In a blizzard. In the dark. And it's a 20 click trek."
"Ouch."
Luke Rattigan turned around. "I suppose you're the professor." And, just like Mace, he blinked when the woman's uniform came into his full sight.
"Hello."
"Your commanding officer phoned ahead," the teen explained.
"Ah, but I haven't got a commanding officer. Have you? And this is Ross." The Professor smiled genially.
"Good afternoon, sir."
"Let's have a look, then. Seriously, this place is teeming with too much brainpower to be healthy…"
11
Rattigan took the duet to the laboratory of the academy, where, for the first time today, the Professor's professional manner slipped – the place was teeming with ideas. However, her enthusiasm was still tempered by a very jaded manner. "Oh, now, that's clever. Look. Single molecule fabric, now that's thin. You could pack a tent in a thimble." Hurrying from lab table to lab table, she took in the works of the pupils. "Gravity simulators. Terraforming, biospheres, nano-tech steel construction. Quite brilliant, I must say." She smirked, having at least one motive of Rattigan. Well, well, well. Looks like someone doesn't like his own home world, huh? Shaking her head, she put her professional persona back in place, the eyes hard and cold as ice, making it a jarring contrast to her ironic smile. "Do you know, with equipment like this you could, well, I don't know, move to another planet or something?"
"If only that was possible," Luke sighed.
Bingo. And looks like someone's in need of a sound dressing-down. "Well, it's conditional clause, so I am afraid it's 'were possible', young one."
Annoyed at being caught with a trivial mistake, the teen millionaire nodded his head at the next door. "I think you'd better come with me." He led them to his office/private quarters, which had every luxury a teen could wish for, including a private swimming pool. "You're smarter than the usual UNIT grunts, I'll give you that."
Foregoing the insolence, she turned to Jenkins. "He called you a grunt. Don't call Ross a grunt. He's nice. We like Ross. Look at this place." She turned away from them, taking the room in with a smile.
Exasperated, Rattigan lifted both hands into a 'stop it' gesture. "What exactly do you want?"
The Professor whirled around, sporting a curious expression. "I was just thinking. What a responsible eighteen year old, inventing zero carbon cars? Saving the world."
"Takes a man with vision."
"Hmm, more like with blinders. Because ATMOS means more people driving. More cars, more petrol. End result, the oil's going to run out faster than ever. The ATMO-system could make things worse." Seeing the boy's annoyance, she smirked. "Come on. Say it, say I can't say ATMOS system because it's a redundancy. But, oh, right. I didn't say that. So you can't criticise me for it." She shook her head, getting close enough to tower over the teen. "Must be tough, being that clever. You look at the world and you connect things, random things, and think, why can't anyone else see it? The rest of the world is so slow." Rattigan was stunned. "But here's the thing – there's one thing more frustrating than that, and that's meeting someone smarter than you."
"I doubt you are–"
"Try me. I'm a seven-academic-degrees-polymath. It's been a long time since anyone said no to you, isn't it?" The Time Lady chuckled. "I like that type of idiot the most. Bet you can't even remember. I can remember when someone told me off the last time, it was about work I didn't want to do. I ended up doing it nonetheless." Getting no answer, she lifted an eyebrow. "My, my. I've talked him speechless."
"More like you stole all the air, ma'am," Ross joked.
"Hardly. I can go without it for a long time." Stopping, she finally noticed that in the heat of things, she'd engaged respiratory bypass, and took a deep breath.
"I remember that one."
"Do you even breathe?" Luke finally managed.
"Usually." She snorted. "But really. It's hard, being a prodigy, isn't it. You're all on your own with your thoughts."
"I know," the teen answered, the mind still spinning from the woman's rapid analysis of his person.
"But not with this." She lined up for the metaphorical kill and pulled out the ATMOS she had worked on in the factory. "Because there's no way you invented this thing single handed. I mean, it might be Earth technology, but that's like finding a mobile phone in the Middle Ages. No, no, I'll tell you what it's like." Turning around, she tossed the ATMOS to Ross and went to a big cube with a cylindrical recess in its middle, big enough for an adult to stand in easily. "It's like finding this in the middle of someone's front room. Albeit it's a very big front room."
Ross frowned. "Why, what is it?"
"Yeah, just looks like a thing, doesn't it? People don't question things. They just say, 'oh, it's a thing', and leave it be."
"Leave it alone," Rattigan protested weakly.
"I don't take orders from brats," she muttered, stepping into the cube. "I make these connections in my sleep. And this looks suspiciously like a teleport pod."
"Don't!" Too late.
Slamming down her hand on the control panel, the Professor activated the teleporter and vanished… reappearing on a spaceship high above the Earth. "Orbit now holding at five five six point three, sector two seven zero," the ship's computer announced.
"Oh." Looking around, she noticed that the room was filled with people all only about 1.4m tall, wearing armour and closed helmets that added another 20 cm. Oh no… potatoheads! It just has to be potatoheads.
Cue in, the troops turned around, the one carrying a command rod yelling, "We have an intruder!"
"Oh, and how did she get in, tru da window, huh?" she joked, hitting the controls.
11
The Professor hit the ground running. "Get out of here!" she yelled at Ross, grabbing Rattigan by the shoulders, who, due to being unconcerned, got knocked on his bum. "What in the nine hells…" Oh no. He's in on this with the potatoes. Reaching under the front tails of her keetu (Valeyard frock-coat), she pulled out the rod-like tool from earlier and aimed it at the control panel, frying it. Unfortunately, just after the rod-carrier from the ship had teleported down after her. Lifting his own rod, he aimed it at the Professor. "Hold on for a second. Sontaran! That's your name, isn't it? You're a Sontaran. How did I know that, hey? Fascinating isn't it? Isn't that worth keeping me alive?"
Dutiful and loyal, Ross had reacted immediately, aiming his sidearm at the helmeted figure. "I order you to surrender in the name of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce."
"Ross…" the Time Lady shook her head, "that's not going to work. Cordolaine signal, am I right?" She leant towards the young soldier. "Copper excitation, stops brass-jacketed bullets."
"How do you know so much?" the Sontaran demanded to know.
The Professor shrugged.
"Who is she?"
"She didn't give her name," Rattigan answered.
She scoffed. "This isn't typical Sontaran behaviour, is it? Hiding? Using teenagers, stopping bullets? A Sontaran should face bullets with dignity. Shame on you."
"You dishonour me, woman!"
"Then how about you show yourself so we can introduce each other properly and with honour?" She glared.
One had to give it to the Sontaran – he didn't flinch. "I will look into my enemy's eyes." With this, he removed his half-spherical helmet, revealing his face.
"Oh my god," Jenkins breathed, slowly holstering his useless gun. He knew the Professor to be an alien, but this was… very different.
The Professor didn't show a single emotion, despite the fact that Sontarans had the very opposite view on her sex compared to Gallifreyans, that is, chauvinism. "And what is my opponent known as?"
"General Staal, of the Tenth Sontaran Fleet. Staal the Undefeated," Staal intoned proudly.
Oha. The 10th. Well, that makes things… bizarre actually… and… "Just for reference, that's a very bad epitaph. Usually, one chooses an epitaph after something you are like or something you have done already, not something you haven't done yet," she rattled down nonchalantly, at a speed that left Luke's ears ringing again. "What if you do get defeated? Staal the Not-Quite-So-Undefeated-Anymore-But-Never-Mind…"
"He's like a potato. A baked potato. A talking baked potato," Ross muttered.
"I'd berate you on the comment, but unfortunately, the higher species pretty much think the same thing – Sontaran potatoheads." She snickered briefly. "Well, to be fair, to them, near-Alkaloid Humanoid species – chronarchs and humans for example – look like pink weasels." She cracked her neck and rehooked her tool. "Now, General Staal. I am The Professor, Lord High Valeyard of the Seven and Law of Gallifrey. Also known as The Raging Sea and the Engineer of Eternity."
"Who?" Staal froze for a moment, not trusting his hearing.
Leaving the Professor to turn to her driver. "The Sontarans are the among finest fighters in the galaxy, dedicated to a life of warfare. I say among because otherwise, I'd be insulting the Antarians. And the Daleks for the matter. A clone race, grown in batches of millions with only one weakness." She picked up a squash racket and ball, mentally thanking the fact that the human game was so similar to the favourite racket game of every adult Gallifreyan, Wrane.
"Sontarans have no weakness!" Staal hissed.
She smiled. "No, it's a good weakness."
"Aren't you meant to be clever? Only an idiot would provoke him," Rattigan stated.
"Shut up, Rat-a-touille, I'm holding a lecture," she cut him off before turning back to the UNIT soldier. "The Sontarans are fed by a probic vent in the back of their neck. That's their weak spot. Which means, they always have to face their enemies in battle. Quite brilliant indeed. They can never turn their backs on someone."
"We stare into the face of death," Staal proclaimed proudly.
"Yeah? Well, stare at this then." Throwing the squash ball into the air, The Professor smashed it into the back of the teleport, where it rebounded and hit Staal right on the probic vent, causing him to go down in pain. Dropping the racket, she grabbed Jenkins by the arm. "Run!"
"What have you done?" Luke yelled after the retreating duet. "What has she done?" he asked the groaning Staal, helping him to his feet.
Staal shrugged him off. "Don't touch me. A Sontaran would rather be court martialled than show pain. I must return."
"But she broke the teleport."
"Ha. Primitive sonic trickery." Aiming his staff – a modified rheon carbine – at it, he attempted to fix the control panel, only to… "I must reevaluate. She is definitely not a normal female."
"Why? What did she do?"
11
Inside the Jeep, the UNIT duo sped away from the academy, towards London Chiswick, and Ross couldn't help but notice the gleeful expression of the Time Lady. "You look like you've just got an extra treat of chocolate."
"Just imagining the face of that idiot potatohead when he finds out I didn't just sonically disable his teleporter," she answered, grinning.
"Why, what did you do? What was that thing anyway?"
Holding up the rod, she chuckled. "Ultraviolet Laser spanner. To quote an old enemy, 'Laser. Who'd have sonic'. I messed up the circuitry of the control panel. Setting 66, Crash and Burn. I bet he thought I was using some kind of sonic tool, like the screwdriver, but Sontarans are clever enough to counteract that, so…"
"So you went one step up. In other words, it's the Time Lord variant of a power tool, right?"
"Quite." She snickered. "He's going to need to put a teleport beacon on himself to be transported like freight."
Ross guffawed a laugh. "Ouch."
Shaking her head, the Professor grew sombre again. "Enough laughs. Let's hurry before they'll turn the car against us."
"Gotcha."
11
Indeed, with the wiring being trash, a pissed Staal had to return via cargo teleport, Luke Rattigan (who still smarted from being cut down to Sontaran size) in tow. Staal's 2IC, Commander Skorr (aka Skorr the Bloodbringer) awaited them. "Our presence is known. Soldiers, we move to a war footing," Staal ordered with gritted teeth – being humiliated by a female was not on his list for today.
"I see you face battle open skinned, sir. Might I share that honour?" Skorr asked eagerly.
Bringing his anger under control, Staal nodded. "You may."
"Thank you." Skorr took off his own helmet, revealing a face that was, to Luke, the same as Staal's.
"How do you tell each other apart?" he wondered aloud.
Staal shook his head internally. "We say the same of humans."
"Tell me, boy. How many ATMOS devices have been installed?" Skorr interrupted.
"Er, they've gone worldwide, but only about half," Luke recounted.
"Which means four hundred million cars converted. A fine arsenal," Staal noted, satisfied with this part, even while his mind was still wrapped around the woman's odd introduction.
"Is it sufficient to trigger the conversion?" Skorr demanded to know.
"More than enough, yeah. And the test signal proved that it works!" Rattigan was elated to say the least. "Fifty two deaths in the same second. Man, that is just so cool."
Staal shot him an irritated look – he was trying to think! "Is the temperature significant?"
"No. That, that's just a phrase. But I'll get my people ready, General. Just tell me where and when," the boy pedalled back.
They had reached the bridge. Staal turned to his 2IC. "Have we infiltrated UNIT?"
"The process is about to begin," the commander reported.
"Then you'll see it completed, Commander Skorr. Get to it."
"Yes sir." Skorr teleported out.
Luke Rattigan turned away, towards the main observation window. Soon.
"Sir?" A Sontaran tech officer called towards Staal.
"What is it, Skree?"
"ATMOS devices operating at one hundred percent efficiency. Orbit now holding at five-five six point three, sector two seven zero."
"Very well. Continue, lieutenant." He joined Rattigan, intending to find the last pieces to his white-clad enemy's identity. "War can never come too soon. Take your last look, boy."
"It was never big enough for me," the teen scoffed.
Smirking on the inside at the boy's naivety, Staal nodded. "I like your ambition."
Switching gears, Luke said, "That professor, she was in a UNIT jeep. It should have ATMOS installed."
So I wasn't mishearing things? "You said you didn't know her name."
"I don't. She just said professor. Does that mean something?" The thing confused Luke a little – "professor" was just the title of a senior university teacher after all.
So it is really her. Things are getting interesting. "There is an enemy of the Sontarans known as The Doctor. Member of a race of face-changers, known as the Time Lords, enemies of Sontar as a whole. And the name of his mother is The Professor. The Immortal Menace of Time. She was considered so dangerous her own people called her The Raging Sea."
"Do you mean she's an alien too?" Rattigan was shocked – the woman looked human by all accounts, even if she had a thing for somewhat dramatic (but practical) clothing.
"Children of Ancient Gallifrey," the Sontaran explained. "A Shadowwalker. A Time Lady."
"But she looks human."
"She would rightfully say you humans look like her kind, for they are older than you."
"So who is she exactly? You make her sound like some kind of superwoman. And why do you have to mention her son so explicitly?"
"As I said, her own people considered her a living legend, nearly on par with the founders of their society. She is the measure by which to hold the Doctor standard by. Remember, she called herself Lord High Valeyard. This is the title of the highest time-related law enforcer in the universe." The eyes glazing over with glee, Staal continued the universal history lesson. "Historical record states that the Doctor led the battle in the Last Great Time War. The finest war in history since the Last Celestial Civil War and we weren't allowed to be a part of it. And she… was amongst those who made sure that war could continue at all, leading the High Office of the Valeyards for more than 14.000 years, longer than an entire Gallifreyan generation. Oh, but this is excellent. We will be the ones who defeat the one Time Lady not even the Daleks could stop." He grinned at the prospect. "The Last Valeyard of Gallifrey will die at the hands of the Sontaran Empire, in the ruins of her family's precious Earth!"
Meanwhile, said Time Lady and her current sidekick were racing towards Chiswick. "Greyhound Forty to Trap One. Repeat, can you hear me? Over," the Professor called into Ross' radio, only to be met with static.
"Why's it not working?"
"It must be the Sontarans. This is bad. If they can trace that, they can isolate the ATMOS, and then…" She pocketed the radio.
"Turn left."
I have a bad feeling about this. "Try going right."
"It said left."
"I know. So go right."
Jenkins tried to steer and was met with resistance. "I've got no control. It's driving itself. It won't stop." Trying the door, he found the same resistance. "The doors are locked."
The Professor was currently struggling with the ATMOS sat-nav box, using her IR-sonic. "By the Nine Hells. It's deadlocked. I can't stop it."
"Let me–" Ross took his sidearm and smashed the glass on the box with no effect.
"The sat-nav's just a box. It's wired through the whole car."
The private's eyes went wide as he saw where they were going. "We're headed for the river!"
Think, think, think! Okay, that thing is programmed to do the exact opposite of what I'll ask of it right now, but there's a chance it will ignore me completely… She grabbed the front tails of her keetu, touching the laser spanner. Wait, that's it. "Lean back!" she ordered, aiming the 'power tool' at the hinges of the driver side door, causing it to fall out of its frame. "Go!" As the soldier did as he was told, she did the same with her own door, jumping out and rolling away, just in time to see the jeep go down into River Thames. "Ehhr. That was a little close."
Ross Jenkins got to his feet, cracking his shoulders. "Ouch. What the hell was that?" He pointed at the spanner.
The Professor brushed herself off, taking the offered hand and then, she stood up. "Setting Number 260, Disassemble. Normally needed for quick dismantling of faulty wiring in my TARDIS. I aimed at the hinges – they may have deadlocked the car, but it doesn't change the fact that these doors have hinges."
"Nice thinking!" He looked around. "We're not far from Miss Noble's home. Maybe they have a car without ATMOS."
"Let's go then."
11
When Donna opened the door, she was met with a somewhat ruffled and annoyed Professor. "You would not believe the day I'm having," the Time Lady sighed.
"Try me, Spacewoman."
"ATMOS? Well, it is alien. Very alien. Sontàran to be precise. And it nearly killed us just now."
"Okay. That accounts for a shitty day. So you don't have the jeep any longer I take it?"
"Nope. Do you have a car?"
"Yes, but you won't like it." She led them to the parked, purplish-blue Peugeot 206 of the Nobles. "Check it out."
Doing so, the Valeyard found why: The car was fitted with ATMOS. Making a face, she got back to her feet and shook her head. Am I the only one who's vary of prodigies?
Seeing the dismay, Ross turned around. "I'll requisition us a vehicle."
"Anything without ATMOS. And don't point your gun at people!" she called after him as he was sprinting off. "Open that please."
"On it."
After the engine bay was laid bare and the Professor had put on her scanner glasses again, she got to work on the installed ATMOS. Just then, an old man came out of the house. "Is it him? Is it him? Is it the Doctor?" he called, only to be disappointed. "Oh… I'm sorry, I thought…"
The Professor looked up and smiled. "I am not, but the Doctor is my son." She offered him her hand, which he shook enthusiastically but firmly. "I am The Professor. Pleased to meet you."
"Oh, an alien hand." Shaking the bewilderment off, Wilf introduced himself. "Wilf, ma'am. Wilfred Mott. You must be one of them aliens."
"So it seems." Pulling out the radio again, she flipped her sonic out of her sleeve. "Let's see how these stupid potatoheads deal with universal roaming," she muttered, readjusting the communication device. "There, that should do it. Universal roaming and deadlock coding. Donna, please call Sir Alistair. Callsign is Greyhound One, ours the same with a 40."
"Okay. What was it again, Sontoruns?"
"Sontàrans, with two 'A's. They're in the Doctor's files. But there's got to be more to it. They can't be just remote controlling cars. That's not enough. Let's see…"
"Greyhound 40 to Greyhound One, come in, Greyhound One," Donna called while the other woman dove back into the engine.
'This is Greyhound One, I am receiving you loud and clear, Greyhound 40. It is Miss Noble, isn't it?' Alistair's voice called from the other end.
"Yes. Look, the Professor is somewhat busy right now, but she told me you should look into the Doctor's files for some alien race called the Sontarans."
'That's… not good. Miss Noble, please…'
Wordlessly, the ginger held the radio close to the Professor's face so she could continue working while talking. "As she said, Alistair. Tell Colonel Mace it's the Sontarans. They're in the file. Code Red, Sontarans. But if they're inside the factory tell them not to start shooting. UNIT will get massacred. We'll get back as soon as we can."
'Why can't we shoot if I may ask?'
"Cordolaine signal, jams the bullets in the barrel. Look, I don't have the time right now. I'll think of something as soon as we get back. Please, just trust me on this."
'I do, milady, but I wonder if Mace will take it that easily. Nonetheless, I'll do it. Could take a while though. Greyhound One over and out.'
"Well, there's that." Taking the radio back, she shoved it down one of her bigger-on-the-inside pockets and started working with her sonic on the ATMOS in the car.
"Wait, didn't you try sonicking it before and not finding anything beyond being rather soundproof?" Donna wondered.
"True, but now I know it's Sontaran, I know what I'm looking for." With a touch, she set the goggles to the according parameters.
"The thing is though, Professor, Donna is my only grandchild, and I can't help but worry about her. Will your son and the Walker she talked about really take care of her?" Wilf asked.
"From what my son said, it's more the other way around. She's keeping their wild thoughts in line," the ageless Time Lady mused, smiling, sensing a kindred spirit in the old man.
"Oh yeah, that's my Donna. Yeah, she was always bossing us 'round when she was tiny," Wilf laughed.
"Yeah, don't start," Donna groaned.
Suddenly, spikes shot out of the ATMOS. "There we go. Basic temporal pocket. I knew there was something else in there. It's hidden just a second out of sync with real time." The Professor smirked.
"And what's it hiding?" Donna frowned; as she'd said, tech stuff wasn't her realm.
Just then, Sylvia Noble chose the inopportune moment to show up. "I don't know, men and their cars. Sometimes I think if I was a car… who the hell? It's you, isn't it, Doctor what was it…"
In answer, The Professor calmly rose to her full height, pulled the sticks out of her hair to let the ponytail fall back to her waist and smiled sarcastically. "That's the first time someone mistakes me for my son in over 750 years. No ma'am. I am the Professor. You met my son?"
"Dad, The Doctor is the man from the wedding. When you were laid up with Spanish flu. I'm warning you, last time that man turned up it was a disaster," Sylvia protested.
In answer, the Time Lady repinned her hair and went back to work – and suddenly, the sticks started giving off gas. "Get back!" she yelled, engaging respiratory bypass (thanking once again her combat training). A flick of the IR sonic, and the mess stopped, at the price of a few wires losing it with a 'bang'. "That will stop it," she panted – switching in between breathing systems was troublesome business, even with training.
"I told you. She's blown up the car! Who is she, anyway? What sort of professor blows up cars? You're worse than that so-called son of yours! How can you be his mum anyway?"
"One, I didn't blow it up. Two, I don't age whatsoever, Mrs. Noble." The Professor glared.
Donna knew this would get ugly very quickly – the Professor was, according to the Doctor and from what she had seen so far, not a pleasant person in work mode. "Not now mum."
"Oh, should I make an appointment?" Sylvia snarked before leaving, muttering insults under her breath.
Finally getting back to normal breathing, the Professor took a sniff of the dispersing gas, the expression turning dark. "That wasn't just exhaust fumes, Some sort of gas. Artificial gas."
"And it's aliens, is it? Aliens?" Wilf asked carefully.
"But if it's poisonous, then they've got poisonous gas in every car on Earth." Donna shuddered.
The Professor looked around, the hazel eyes an eerie shade of jade through the cyan goggles. Around them, car upon car was stacked with ATMOS. Shrerelutera! Humans!
Skorr, who had returned to the ship, noticed an alert on his screen. "A converter has been activated," he called, causing Luke and Staal to turn around.
"Show me where," the fleet commander demanded.
Skorr activated a holographic map of Earth that quickly zoomed in on the location. "London. That's Chiswick," the human teen stated, recognising it.
"But who could have such knowledge?" Lieutenant Skree wondered.
"Only the Professor. She survived. Excellent!" Accepting the survival as a fact might have bewildered Rattigan, but most of the Sontarans had at least an inkling of what their opponent was capable of, and took it with growing excitement instead. "Then battle will be joined. Glorious warfare. Tenth Sontaran Battle Fleet, we move to the final phase. Prepare the subjugation of Earth for the glory of Sontar." He activated the battle alert.
"Announcing Battle Status One. All soldiers to positions. Repeat, we are now at Battle Status One. Rejoice!" Skree called into PA.
"Trigger the converters, and deadlock every single one!" Staal ordered with glee. War! War!
While the Professor was still trying to analyse the whiff of the gas she'd had earlier – not easy if you had to do it from memory – Wilf decided to take action, and got into the purplish-blue car. "It's not safe. I'm going to get it off the street." Unfortunately, the moment he got behind the wheel, the car locked him in, starting the engine. Thick gas streamed from the exhaust pipe.
Horrified, Donna snapped around, rushing over to the driver side door. "Hold on! Turn it off. Granddad, get out of there!"
To her shock, Wilf held up his car keys. "I can't! It's not locked! It's them aliens again!"
Just then, his menace of a daughter chose to make an appearance again. "What's she doing? What's she done?" she accused.
"Shrererun! They've activated it!" the Time Lady cursed as she tried to stop it, this time unsuccessfully.
"There's gas inside the car! He's going to choke! Professor!" Donna begged her to do something, anything.
"Help. Get me out of here," Wilf begged.
But it wasn't just this car. Around them, every car fitted with ATMOS was expelling the same foul white cloud of fumes, all while the Time Lady met frustration with another deadlocked car. She looked up and around, feeling the convergence in Time running a storm in her mind. "They're choking the entire world."
"Professor!" Donna yelled. "Professooor!"
TBC
AN: Next part coming August. Warning - it's the last we've finished so far. Review please…