OBSIDIAN IX, 2257 CE
It had only been just over a month since the TARDIS crew's misadventures began on Obsidian IX, and things were not seeming to get any better. The Obsidinites were beginning to run out of manpower and were now down to just over 5000 soldiers. The Doctor had asked Erida what the number of troops had been at the start of the war, and the medical technician had responded that it had been somewhere just over ten billion.
Twenty years. Nine billion plus dead, and that didn't even factor in civilians. This is what a long-term war against the Daleks looks like.
And it looks sickening.
To the Doctor, this was a nightmare he didn't think he'd have the strength to stomach should he experience something like it again in the future.
"I'm going to have a cigar," Z-1 told him. "Would you care to join me?"
"Sorry. I don't smoke," the Doctor responded.
Z-1 threw up its hands. "Organics. Always having something internal to worry about."
"Just try not to blow up anything this time," the Doctor hollered as the android walked out of the research lab, recalling an incident the previous day where Z-1 had been caught smoking in the laboratory and had accidentally ignited a hydrogen canister.
The android flipped its middle digit in response as the doors closed.
The Doctor sighed, shaking his head. "Droids." He turned…
…and suddenly wished he hadn't.
The blonde woman's psychic projection was back, crouched down on the ground. The hood was up on her light blue trenchcoat. It looked stronger than previous times, as it appeared somewhat less ghostlike. Encircling her were faint images of Weeping Angels.
Except, as he'd heard before from this person, those images were actually the real thing.
The Doctor stood unblinkingly, uncertain as to how he should react. The woman noticed him, motioning for him to exit the room. The Doctor hesitated, but her gestures became more insistent. He had no choice.
He fled.
The Doctor had no idea how much time had passed. The only thing on his mind was the need to keep running.
"Doctor?"
The Time Lord paused, seeing Benton and Lethbridge-Stewart nearby. A glance around at his surroundings told him that he was in a hangar on the other side of the building.
"Ah, good," he responded, catching his breath. "Did you happen to see a ghostly blonde woman on your way over here?"
"Not since a few hours ago," the Sergeant responded. "There's something we want to talk to you about."
"Is it related to this issue?"
"Yes, actually," Lethbridge-Stewart responded, exchanging a glance with Benton.
No need to panic.
Breathe.
Just. Breathe.
The Doctor looked at Benton, concerned. "And you're certain she said twenty-first century?"
Benton nodded.
"Did she say anything else?"
"I tried asking, but she refused to divulge much," Benton said. "I did what you said for getting into contact with her, but we lost her in the middle of the conversation." The Sergeant raised an eyebrow. "Who is this mysterious woman, anyway?"
The Doctor shrugged. "No idea. If we had even an inkling of who she was, it wouldn't be so mysterious, now, would it?"
"I guess not, sir."
Lethbridge-Stewart put his cap back on. "How long has it been since you made contact?"
"About half an hour, sir."
The Doctor exchanged a glance with the Brigadier. Benton straightened. "Is there something wrong, Brigadier?"
"Not that I can think of," Lethbridge-Stewart responded. "Do you know if Yates has encountered this woman yet?"
"I don't think he has, sir," Benton admitted. "I can go check in with him if you want me to."
The Brigadier nodded. "Do that, Sergeant, and have the both of you report back here."
"Yes, sir!" The Sergeant exited the briefing area, leaving the Doctor and the Brigadier alone. The Time Lord sighed. "This isn't good."
"I agree," the Brigadier remarked. "Things are getting too weird around here for this to be a normal battlefield. Just what is so special about this star system, anyway, for the Daleks to be stuck in a war for two decades?"
"Beats me," the Doctor said, leaning back against a crate. "It never takes the Daleks this long to get anything. And I doubt even the Obsidinites are strong enough to withstand them. Whatever they want, it's something big." He groaned. "It was never my intention to get you involved in something like this."
"I know," the Brigadier said. "You've been apologizing to us about it for the past week."
The Doctor frowned, chastened.
"We need to come up with a plan for how to get out of this alive," Lethbridge-Stewart continued.
"We also need to figure out how that woman fits into all of this," the Doctor pointed out. "Who is she? What is she? And, more importantly, how does she know who we all are? As far as I know, none of us have met anyone even remotely like her."
"What makes you so worried, Doctor?"
The Doctor leaned backwards, running a hand through his hair. "She's very powerful, whoever she is. Powerful enough to be psychically projecting herself here from the twenty-first century. If those Angels attempt to piggyback on that signal, then those Daleks will be the least of our worries."
The Brigadier nodded, sighing. "Should we trust her? I get that she's right about the fact that we're in danger, but what makes you think she isn't a threat to us as well?"
Now that's a good question. "Without more information about her, I'd err on the side of caution," the Doctor responded after a moment.
"Agreed." The Brigadier stood, stretching. "So. Now what?"
Jo walked into the war room, finding Matri leaning over a desk. She paused, wondering if he was busy.
"Do you need something, Grant?" the General asked, looking up.
Jo straightened. "Just a few things to clear up, if you don't mind." Because there are some things bothering me about this place that I do not understand.
"So long as it's not classified, I can answer you," the General responded.
Jo blinked. "What's so important about this star system, anyway? It never takes the Daleks this long to do anything, based on what the Doctor and I have experienced of them. Why is it different here? Why now?"
Matri paused, sighing. He looked up, and Jo saw weariness written on the old man's face. "So no one's ever told you."
Jo's eyes narrowed. "Told us what?"
Matri blinked. "The story. The story of the War."
Jo shook her head, confused. "Sorry. No."
The General sighed. "Take a seat, Miss Grant."
Jo obliged, sitting at the chair in front of his desk.
Matri took the seat on the other side, looking at her intently.
"Seven centuries ago, in the year 1517, the Weeping Angels came to this star system to feed. They were in an extremely dangerous state of mind, and their motives, to this day, remain unknown to us. My people fought them, but ninety percent of our species was wiped out. Those who were left buried the Lonely Assassins underground, underneath where this base is now, actually, making sure to line the cavern with reflective surfaces to ensure that the quantum lock remained. A lot of us fled to Obsidian one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and thirteen as refugees; my grandmother among them, when she was barely younger than Scout Addeis. Very few remained here—only soldiers, to guard the spot where the Angels are buried. This base was built ten years ago, after the first eight planets were lost to the Daleks. We've been hearing strange whispers ever since, and sometimes we've had people go insane or be killed after hearing the voices after a period of time. None of the medical technicians or their androids have been able to figure out the cause."
"Do you think it could be the Angels?" Jo asked.
"It's…likely," Matri admitted. "We didn't think to check and see if the construction had inadvertently broken the quantum lock, considering those creatures had been buried sixty metres underground."
Jo frowned. "But that still doesn't explain how the Daleks fit into all of this."
"Obsidian Thirteen is the galaxy's major financial hub," Matri explained. "If that planet falls, the entire galactic economy tanks. That's why we've been fighting so hard here for the past two decades. Not just for our people, but for the entire galaxy. We are the Vanguard now. Most of the Obsidinite military has been deployed to this planet in an effort to stall the Daleks. We've had assistance from other nearby star systems to protect the Thirteenth Planet, but we have to stop the Daleks here and now."
"But isn't this the ninth planet, though?" Jo queried.
"Yes," Matri responded. "But Obsidian Ten and Eleven are gas giants, and their moons, like Obsidian Twelve, are uninhabited save for wildlife. And the Twelfth Planet is designated as Level I status by the Shadow Proclamation, so it is illegal for any race to invade, even the Daleks. The most people have really done there is research a local biological phenomenon known as the Fjords of Light."
"The Fjords of Light?" Jo echoed, curious.
"Fjords encompassing most of the planet's continental landmasses. There is very little daylight on Obsidian Twelve due to its distance from the sun, so its moons act as luminary bodies instead. Something in the water acts as a bioluminescent agent, lighting up the fjords with starlight. It is quite beautiful, from what I have heard from various scientists, but I have not personally witnessed this phenomenon."
"Sounds fascinating," Jo said sincerely. But I wish we could have known about this earlier. It would have likely saved us a lot of grief.
"It is," Matri agreed. "It would be better if we could live long enough for this war to end and visit it. But that doesn't look likely."
"Look on the bright side," Jo responded, earning herself a cynical look from the General. "At least we're not going down without a fight."
Matri put his head in his hands. "With all due respect, Miss Grant, I do not see how that is a bright side." He looked up at her, dropping his hands back on the desk. "Are you familiar with the concept of unrealistic optimism?"
"Somewhat," she admitted. "Psychology isn't my field of study, sir."
"Do your best to learn some, then," he advised sternly. "It'll help you in the future." He straightened. "Unrealistic optimism is a cognitive bias that causes one to believe that they, and those around them, will be less likely to experience a negative event. For example, our defeat in this war. While there is no way in hell we are surrendering to the Daleks, the fact that we also have Weeping Angels in the area seriously complicates things. We have very little manpower left. We are outnumbered and outgunned. We cannot retreat."
Jo frowned, gears turning in her mind. "There has to be a way."
"As much as I'd like to agree with you, Miss Grant, there isn't one," Matri retorted, resigned. "We are losing. It is only a matter of days before we are annihilated. The question is, whether it will be by the Daleks or by the Angels. Or both. Who knows if we'll even be able to flee the system to begin with."
"There has to be some hope left," Jo said confidently.
Matri's tail lashed. "I disagree."
Jo put her hands on her hips. "With all due respect, General, being pessimistic about the situation isn't going to get us anywhere."
"But there is also the need to accept the inevitable, Miss Grant," Matri pointed out. "If we run, we die. If we don't run, we die. Either way, this is a no-win scenario."
"So, what?" Jo retorted. "Are you just going to give up like this?!"
Matri stood, eyes blazing. "We are not giving up! Even if all options point to a suicide mission right now, we are still going to fight."
"I didn't mean any offense," Jo said cautiously.
"It didn't come off as such. But if we don't think realistically about the conflict at hand, we are going to fail. This is what everyone must understand, whether they want to or not."
