Author's Notes - Hi! Long time no post! But, I am still working on Peace at Any Price. In fact, one of my new year's resolutions is to finish it before the summer. (We'll see.) If you're one of the nine awesome people who have regularly followed this story, then you'll have noticed I changed the category from Doctor Who to the crossover category of Doctor Who/Torchwood. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure where to post this particular tale. If you have an opinion, let me know.
A note about the Orgons/Ogrons in this story. The Ogrons appear in the Doctor Who episodes Day of the Daleks and Frontier in Space. They are usually associated with the Daleks, and serve as their henchmen, for lack of a better word. When I wrote the earlier chapters, I relied on my memory of a TV episode I had watched thirty years ago and ended up transposing the second two letters in the Ogrons' name. So, for anyone with a detailed knowledge of Old Who, Orgon should be Ogron. I've changed it in later chapters like this, but have left the mistake in the earlier chapters due to the difficulty of correcting it. Sorry if it bothers anyone.
I'm sure the chapter title gives it away, but Doran underestimates Emma once again. Although he knows she's not Melina, he's lived with that personality for almost a year. It's difficult for him to adjust to her true self in a manner of days. Hope you enjoy!
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Eyes flying open, Emma tensed as the vestiges of her nightmare jolted her awake. She'd been . . . . She couldn't recall anything but a sense of desolation. She reached back to touch Doran's hip in reassurance. He hadn't left, although she didn't understand why. Surely, he could have his pick of women (and men). Why would he bother with someone as damaged as she?
Sitting up, she looked around the opulent bedchamber, questioning for the first time just whom Doran knew on Starship UK. Of all the places he could have taken her, he'd chosen to hide in plain sight. Recklessness or genius, she couldn't shake the fear that their respite would be short.
Fighting to calm her mind, she gazed tenderly at the man sleeping beside her. He'd done everything humanly possible the night before to convince her of his devotion. In fact, he'd declared his love for her six times, a rather startling figure considering how much he'd shied away from the same declaration on Galbon.
The words didn't matter, although she rejoiced in his newfound confidence. She could sense his profound commitment hovering on the edge of her consciousness. While muted enough that it didn't overwhelm her, the newly regenerated Time Lord still found the idea of such a deep mental connection troubling. At the same time, it was comforting enough that she didn't wish to block it.
Knowing she would sleep no more that night, she quietly slid out of bed. As a human, Doran needed far more sleep than she. A quick exploration revealed a lavish gilded bathroom that sported an elaborate sonic shower. Her disappointment at the lack of water quickly disappeared when the cleansing waves briskly massaged her back as well as any masseuse.
She stayed under the shower jets for twenty minutes, concentrating on the rhythms the sonic waves pulsed against her skin as she temporarily forgot her cares. Eventually, though, the massage evolved into a pounding, and she quickly stepped out of the shower clean, refreshed and completely dry.
"It's quite intense at the end, isn't it?"
Spinning around, she faced the stranger in a defensive half-crouch. Naked, she cared little for modesty, but she silently cursed her lack of weapons. If she lived to correct it, such a mistake would not occur again.
The woman standing near the massive dressing mirror had beautiful cocoa skin to match her deep chocolate eyes. Her dark curly hair sat just below her shoulders, a much more manageable length than Emma's own. Her burgundy velvet dress looked as if it had come from the nineteenth century rather than the thirty-first, and she held a similar garment in her hands. The startled Time Lord slowly relaxed and then held out her hand.
"I'm Emma. And, you must be the owner of these wonderfully ostentatious apartments?"
The stranger shook her hand, a smug smile on her face. "I am. And, they are certainly that. It's refreshing to hear someone speak their mind. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Emma. Please call me Liz. I brought you a change of clothes, but I had to guess at their size since that rake in there didn't have the decency to tell me."
"You know Doran?"
"So that's what he's calling himself these days. He was too busy fussing over you to say. Doesn't everyone know Doran? Although he called himself Alexander the last time I met him. Let me tell you, he definitely lived up to the boast of being 'The Great', that naughty man."
She said the last with a throaty laugh and Emma couldn't help but grin in return. Liz was definitely a person she could like. She allowed the vivacious woman to help her into the fitted navy dress. Like the blue jumpsuit she had worn, it was a little snug in the top, in this case making her cleavage all the more noticeable. Nodding in satisfaction, her hostess imperiously told her to sit in front of the large mirror and immediately began to play with her hair.
As her new acquaintance nattered away, Emma slowly made the connection. Starship UK, gilded apartments, formal clothes, Liz—short for Elizabeth. Oh, how could she have been so thick? But, honestly, she hadn't expected a Time Agent's conquests to be quite so prominent. Some measure of embarrassment must have shown on her face, for Liz chuckled as she continued to braid Emma's hair into an intricate pattern.
"Finally worked it out, have you? Don't worry; I meant what I said. It's rather nice to hear an honest opinion for a change."
She thought poignantly of Brax and all his complaints about toadyism on the High Council, even in the midst of the War. "I imagine it must be, Your Majesty."
"None of that now," she replied in a no nonsense tone. "I asked you to call me Liz, remember? I don't get many visitors. The Ogrons guard the entrance to the palace too well."
"Ogrons?" Surely she had heard incorrectly. She hadn't studied human history in centuries, but she knew of no timeline in which Ogrons kept the Queen of England a prisoner in her own palace.
Elizabeth pulled her hair rather tightly. "Bloody bastards. At first, we thought they were our saviors, offering to finish the star drive in the nick of time. Only after we were away did we realize they were our jailors. I had hoped Alex had heard of our plight, but he's here for you, isn't he? Poor boy thought this would be a safe haven, and I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth."
Something in the queen's tone made Emma turn to peer intently into her eyes. The depth of bitterness and sorrow in her dark irises approached the Time Lord's own pain.
"How long have you been imprisoned here, Liz?"
The chatty, outwardly bubbly woman finally allowed some of her despair to show. Her shoulders sagged and she briefly rested her head in her hands.
"Almost four centuries now. They keep me alive with stem cell infusions and organs harvested from my subjects. I am forced to watch each year as they cull those who have grown too old to be of use while I live far beyond my normal lifespan. It is a most cruel and horrible existence, and yet I still cling to the hope that he will come to set things to rights."
Four hundred years? Emma knew she would have gone insane long before. And, Ogrons again—it couldn't be a coincidence. The cursed Daleks had managed to change something significant, but why? They'd already infiltrated the Time Agency; what possible reason could they have to interfere with the first interstellar human migration? Unless they planned to destroy the first Great and Bountiful Human Empire before it even began. But the High Council had already blocked that particular gambit. Surely they couldn't expect to succeed.
Terror gnawed at her stomach. Of course they had every expectation of success. The Daleks had circumvented the time lock when they had repurposed the ancient time corridor on Emerald to take them to Fifty-first century Earth. The few who had managed to arrive before its destruction could easily take over this unprotected reality and then use it to shatter the weakened time lock to combine the Dalek forces into one massive assault. Caught off guard, Gallifrey would fall within hours under the vicious onslaught. And, the General wouldn't have enough time to employ the Moment. Once primed the Doomsday weapon took seven hours to charge. She had to stop them, but how?
"Are you quite alright, Emma? I apologize for frightening you. Alex warned me you'd been ill and needed rest."
Staring critically at her reflection in the oversized mirror, Liz X's questions barely registered. Instead, Emma contemplated the weight of her crushing responsibility. So many times she'd begged to be a soldier rather than a spy. Yet, here at this causal nexus, she would have to be both—a spy as cunning as Irving Braxiatel and a general as ruthless as the Doctor. She'd have to wage war on the Time Agency itself, destroy the Daleks and make certain that the altered timeline melded seamlessly with the old one. And, in the midst of it all, she had to find a way to keep Doran alive. How in Rassilon's name could she manage all that?
She felt a pressure on her left shoulder. Reacting instinctively, she had her would-be attacker pressed against the red papered walls before she understood that Doran had been the one to touch her. Letting him go, she took an abrupt step backwards, her anxiety manifesting itself as anger.
"What the bloody hell were you thinking, you idiot? Don't surprise me like that again! I could have killed you!"
With a half-hearted grin, he ruefully rubbed his right cheek. "No, but I'm going to have a heck of a bruise, Sweetheart. Maybe even a black eye."
His apparent nonchalance only irritated her, especially when she could feel his concern mingled with a pained sympathy and a touch of raw guilt. "This isn't funny, Doran."
"I know," he agreed quietly, all trace of humor gone. "I shouldn't have touched you while you were having a flashback, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. I promise you're safe from him here, Emma. He's never liked this time period."
A flashback? Why would he think she was—oh. No, no, no, no, no. She was not going down this road with him. That perverted little twat had nothing to do with this. That was simply another role she had played, and played well. The blond sadist hadn't done anything to her she hadn't allowed him to do, although she would take pleasure in killing him the next time she saw him.
"I wasn't having a flashback," she announced testily. "I was simply strategizing on how best to defeat the Daleks that came through the time corridor. I have six months to restore the timeline before the potentiality for success approaches temporal absolute zero. After that, the cascading quantum ripples from the changes they've made will simply be too great to alter. The Daleks will use this reality as a battering ram to smash the time lock and overrun Gallifrey. They'll either be victorious and enslave the entire universe or blow a hole so large in the fabric of space-time that Reapers will seem like teddy bears compared to the scavengers the chasm attracts. No one will have to worry about the Time War because no one will have ever been born."
A devilish glint appeared in his eyes. "So, I'm guessing that vacation I had planned for us on the Eye of Orion will have to be put on hold."
"I don't need you, just your Vortex Manipulator. You can stay here with Liz. I'm sure she'd appreciate the company."
Standing with mere inches between them, he sensuously traced her exposed cleavage with the tip of his finger. She had to suppress a shiver.
"Those new blue eyes of yours are too beautiful to go green with jealousy, Emma. I love you, and I'm not letting you face those monsters alone. We'll go together or not at all."
"You could die."
"So could you. Personally, I'd rather do it together."
He would, too. She felt that with absolute certainty. That knowledge both comforted and terrified her. "Since when did you become such a romantic sap?"
"Sweetheart, I blame that all on you."
She couldn't help but match his ensuing grin. Rassilon, but he was confident and cocky and exuded so much damn optimism that he temporarily banished all worries of dying from her mind. Regally, she held out her hand. Without hesitation, he kissed it, his playful smirk softening into a tender smile.
"Together?"
"Together."
Pulling her closer, he tapped a set of coordinates into his Vortex Manipulator. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he'd taken her into the Vortex.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Doran hovered nervously over Emma as she knelt on the cold marble floor of the Time Agency's archives. Grimacing, she clutched her stomach much like virgin time travelers did as they struggled with Vortex sickness. He thought Time Lords would have been made of sterner stuff and jokingly told her so.
"That's not proper time travel," she snapped, and it was only then that he noticed how her fair complexion had tinged green. "That's like going over Perdition Falls in a barrel. How can you stand it?"
"I don't know any better. Guess I've gotten used to it."
Contritely, he helped her stand. When she could firmly support her own weight, he clapped her heartily on the back. "Don't worry; I'm sure you'll do better next time, and the next, and the next, and the next . . . ."
When she glared at him, he gave her a cheeky smile in return, although he did stop teasing her. As her color improved, so did her mood. He watched as her eyes swept the cluttered research cubicle he'd commandeered almost three weeks (relatively) before. Her lips pursed in derision the second she noticed Myths and Legends of the Milky Way.
"Is that how you figured out I was a Time Lord? From that insipid book?"
"Actually, I crossed your timeline in the future—purely by accident, I assure you. The book just filled in some of the gaps."
She gave him a look he couldn't decipher before her attention returned to his research. Before he could stop her, she had accessed the old reports detailing his brother's disappearance. She scrolled down the screen so quickly that he assumed she hadn't taken time to do anything more than discover the subject matter, but abruptly, she took his hand and squeezed it.
"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."
"Hey, none of that. You are doing something. I mean, if we don't get rid of the Daleks, finding Gray's going to be a moot point, isn't it?"
She nodded quietly and then dropped into the metal chair behind the desk. With a few rapid taps of her fingers, she had hacked into the data server. By the pictures visible on the small screen, Doran knew she searched for the history of the Ogrons. That made perfect sense. What he didn't understand was why she seemed so interested in a petty political alliance like the Shadow Proclamation, or why she pitched the data pad onto the desktop in disgust after seeing the entry on Starship UK.
"They've already changed the course of human history. We've less time than I thought."
He checked the readings on his wrist strap, but he could detect no marked temporal deviation. "They can't have done much. Whatever change you're talking about isn't registering with my computer."
Her piercing gaze was one of pity, although he detected the slightest hint of condescension. All it took was one question for him to understand why.
"Doran, which species comprised the majority of the guards on Tuem?"
"Ogrons. Bloody bastards were real . . . ." A blinding headache broke his train of thought. Mouth agape, he fought to encompass two distinct memories in his mind. "But my wrist computer would register a temporal shift of that magnitude."
"No it wouldn't, not if the change came from Tempus Tor itself. The Daleks are using the Time Agency to alter the Web of Time. The data that your Vortex Manipulator uses is already tainted. I'm surprised you can recall any of the old reality, but your exposure to the Vortex probably makes you somewhat immune."
That went against everything he'd ever been taught, but he couldn't argue with her logic. Even though his conversation with Agents One and Two had exposed the corruption within the Agency, he still felt a keen sense of betrayal at her revelation. While he'd never considered himself a hero, he'd always been proud of the fact that he was a man with a purpose. Now, he was forcibly reminded that he had been nothing but a patsy.
She must have understood his inner torment because her pity quickly transformed into sympathy. "I doubt many of the agents realize what they're doing. Even most time sensitive beings have trouble understanding quantum causality."
"Still doesn't make me feel any better. I'm used to manipulating people, not being manipulated."
"Would it make you feel better if I told you the Daleks are currently occupying the top floor of the building? Once they're out of the way, we can reverse what they've done and reset the timeline. Easy."
He grinned at her bravado. Even he knew that resetting the timeline would be far from easy. Nor would the Daleks march meekly out the topmost window to fall conveniently to their deaths.
"Planning on doing all that barefoot, Sweetheart?"
Chuckling, she hiked up her dress to study her feet. "Actually, I'd like a blaster right now more than shoes. I can run in bare feet, but I definitely feel naked without a weapon."
"Lucky for you, I know where we can get both."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"Do you think black goes with navy?"
"I think those boots are horrendous, but if the shoe fits . . . ."
Making a rude hand gesture, she put on the boots. The World War II era leather combat boots certainly looked atrocious peeking out from underneath her elegant velvet dress, but they must have fit well enough for she didn't take them off. Her eyes flicked longingly to the racks of clothing, but Doran wasn't surprised when she didn't take the time to peruse the Agency wardrobe. She'd made her priorities perfectly clear, and if he didn't get her to the armory soon, she would most likely steal his sonic blaster right out of its holster.
So far, they'd been lucky. It was the middle of the night on Tempus Tor, which meant that most of the clerical and low-level administrative staff had gone home for the night. While there were always agents wandering about, they were more likely to be found in debriefing at this particular time than in the wardrobe dressing for a mission. One of the perks of time travel meant that you rarely had to hurry to depart; and a majority of the agents slept well past noon.
Their luck ran out as soon as they walked into the armory. Agents Ninety-Nine and Seventy-Seven were bent over the registration desk snorting a green powder that looked suspiciously like Excess. The Avuhu clones spun around to face them with abnormally fast reflexes. The sheen of shimmering yellow sweat on their purple brows and the too-wide grins only confirmed his suspicions. Doran instinctively stepped in front of Emma as he enthusiastically greeted the dangerous idiots.
"Hey! Where is everybody? Or did Ninety-Six move the party without telling me?"
"Haven't seen him. Doesn't matter. What you brought will do nicely enough."
Ninety-nine answered so rapidly that his fellow agent had difficulty understanding his speech if not his meaning. The memory of what Ninety-Six had done to Emma on Tuem briefly clouded his mind. He clutched his sonic blaster as he fought the impulse to shoot the clones. Under the influence of the drug, their reflexes might be quick enough to dodge the shot.
Emma abruptly clamped her hands onto his shoulders, effectively taking the option of shooting them away. Pushing him to the side, she walked right up to the two, who stared at her exposed skin like she was a roast on a buffet. Seventy-seven eagerly licked his lips, exposing his sharp teeth. The Time Lord tittered as if she had seen something naughty and just a bit dangerous. Doran hoped she knew what she was doing. The clones were more than a bit dangerous; high on Excess, they could be vicious as well.
"Is this a party?" she asked in a voice so patently naïve that Doran had to stifle a snort.
"It is now," Seventy-seven agreed as his hand suddenly gripped her waist. Ninety-nine mirrored his move, effectively trapping Emma between them. The renegade Time Agent took a half step forward, but stopped when Seventy-Seven pulled out an ancient pistol to point directly at his chest.
"You're not invited. We'll return your toy when we've finished with her. Unless you want One to know you snuck her in in the first place."
Before he could answer, Emma sensuously licked the yellow sweat off her captors' necks. Although the gun stayed pointed at his chest, she had definitively made herself the center of attention.
"Make love, not war."
She giggled vapidly and he worried that she had ingested enough Excess from their sweat to affect her behavior. But the gun hadn't wavered enough for him to dare a rescue. He could only watch in disgust as the two Time Agents trailed their teeth down her neck and onto her exposed cleavage. As they nipped at her rounded flesh, her giggles turned to moans and she brought her hands up to clutch at their chests.
Doran had just decided to hell with the gun when her fingers clamped down on a certain point at each man's clavicle, instantly dropping them unconscious to the floor. The Time Lord stood triumphantly over them both, a derisive sneer on her face.
"Cretins."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before imperiously asking him for some water. It took him a moment to remember he had a small flask in one of his pockets. Dumbly, he handed it to her. She took a swig, swished it around her mouth and then promptly spit it out.
"I hate that drug. It tastes like fermented yak's milk, and the sweat didn't improve it."
Without giving him a chance to reply, she marched past rows of knives, darts, bows, arrows, swords and lances towards the special weapons containment facility. As she studied the biometric locks, he searched his pockets for his Agency issued first-aid kit. The closest thing he could find was a cocktail napkin he'd used to write down someone's contact information during his last trip to Barcelona. Funny, he couldn't recall whom he'd been chatting up at the time.
Emma suddenly grabbed his left hand and pressed it onto the sensor pad. The sophisticated lock duly noted his body temperature, pulse rate and DNA before sliding open the sleek metal door. He allowed her to yank him inside the storage facility before pressing the napkin against the scratches and oozing cuts on her chest. She tore it away with a scowl on her face.
"Don't mother me. I don't need it and we don't have the time. I told you. I'm not Melina. If you've got a problem with that, you can teleport out of here right now."
His temper flared, but he managed a strained smile. She was right; they didn't have time to argue. As soon as they completed the mission, though, he planned to have a long talk with her. She might be used to operating alone, but she needed to understand the advantages of having a partner or she could get them both killed. Calmly, he picked up the napkin, showing her the bright yellow stains that mingled with her dark red blood.
"I'm going to ignore that since you're high on Excess. Now, let me show you the Agency's most dangerous toys."
Taking the lead, he walked decisively down a dark corridor which lit up as they passed the motion sensors. Doran stared fixedly ahead not daring to see if she followed. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, she walked beside him, her hand occasionally brushing against his.
This time, he had to subject himself to an iris scan before the door would open. Once inside, it slid quietly shut behind them, effectively locking them inside. It would take another DNA check before they would be allowed to leave.
Watching her from the corner of his eye, he pretended to stare at the munitions. Emma had stiffened when the door had closed behind her, but that was the only visible sign of nerves she had so far displayed. Trailing her fingers along some of the handheld weapons, he saw her face flicker with brief, wistful smiles as she touched an old glitter gun, a tiny but powerful staser, an anti-plastic projectile and a hand-held Silurian particle suppressor.
"Good times?"
"Easier foes," she tersely admitted before returning her attention to the shelves. Soon, though, she let out a cry of delight.
"Yes! Doran, look! It's a tri-protonic disrupter! I haven't seen one of these in years."
Her sudden enthusiasm was infectious, especially when she kissed him soundly on the lips. While he had never heard of a tri-protonic disrupter, let alone understood what it did, he trusted that it would be lethal to Daleks. Careful of her scratches, he hugged her tightly to his chest.
"That's great, Sweetheart! Now all we have to do is get to the top floor."
"Yeah."
Her enthusiasm vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Leaning against him, she ran her fingers through his hair to pull him down for a fierce, demanding kiss. Gently pushing away from him, she gazed at him tenderly with sober eyes.
"I'm sorry. I do love you, Doran."
"I wasn't trying to mother you, you know. You're my partner. I was just trying to help. Together, remember, Sweetheart?"
"That's why I'm so sorry." She touched the neural inhibitor to his neck before he could react. The stunner dropped him to the ground as he temporarily lost control of his limbs. As he lay there immobile, she took his Vortex Manipulator from his wrist and strapped it to hers. Only then did he realize he lacked the muscle coordination to tell her how stupid she was acting.
"I am sorry. And, I do love you. But, I can't risk it, Doran. I won't let the Daleks take away the last good thing I have. You'll be able to move in a few minutes. Grab some extra weapons and stay put. If everything goes well, I'll teleport back here. If not, tell them I had you under mind control. If they know I'm a Time Lord, they'll know it's possible, and it's not something they can test for. You'll be in the clear."
She fiddled with the keypad to his wrist computer for a few minutes. No doubt it took time to override the safety protocols which prevented an agent from using his Vortex Manipulator to teleport to the top floor. His toes had started to tingle when she crouched down to kiss his forehead.
"Please forgive me, Doran. I promise I'll let you help fix the timeline. But I can't expose you to the Daleks. I just can't. Please understand."
If he could have argued, he would have—strenuously. Instead, he could only watch as she activated the teleport and disappeared. As he strained to regain control over his muscles, he had a horrible realization. The conman had been conned by a master, and he didn't like it one bit.