Chapter 22

Time Lords were creatures of fairytales. Or at least it was what the Q'Uartar had been told ever since the crib. Once, they had been one of the mightiest races in the universe, benevolent watchers over time and space who studied all but never interfered. That was before the Daleks and before the Time Lords had become the most dangerous beings in the universe. And now, it was watching one fix its ship for no apparent reason and the Q'Uartar didn't quite know how to ask the question that was on the tips of its tongue.

"I've released the boys," it said instead, watching the Doctor tinker with the controls of the ship as he disabled the perception filter for testing. "Just like you told me to."

There was a hint of an accusation in its voice. Why let some of the boys remain here on this doomed and dead planet when they could sail on to a better world? When they had the space to house so many more? It didn't make sense, but the Doctor had insisted.

"Some might come back," he replied as if he could sense its thoughts. The Doctor dropped his tool and turned took look at the Q'Uartar. The optimistic smile he had worn on his face faded instantly. "I'm sorry, could you-"

He made a gesture with his hand, waving it up and down in front of his face. The Q'Uartar frowned at him, not really knowing what he wanted it to do.

"You wearing Clara's face is a little distracting," the Doctor explained.

"Oh," the Q'Uartar uttered immediately and shifted its appearance, hoping to find something that might please the Time Lord a little more. After all, he was helping to fix the ship and any distraction would be counterproductive.

But instead of seeming pleased, the Doctor's frown only grew deeper.

"What?" the Q'Uartar enquired. "Your own face does not please you?"

The Doctor lifted his eyebrow and hesitated for a moment. "We Time Lords are shapeshifters, too, in a way. Only we do it once every few centuries and I'm afraid I haven't grown fond of that face yet. Just stick to your natural shape."

With a sigh, the Q'Uartar dropped the pretence and it felt as liberating as taking off one's clothes. While it was used to taking on the shape of whatever race it was interacting with, nothing was quite as comfortable as its own skin. Most species were confused by the fluctuating nature, but the Time Lord didn't seem to mind it at all. They truly were the mighty race from the fairytales.

"I'm going to need you to hold this lever while I go to the engine room and switch everything back on. It should all be working then," the Doctor promised, nodding towards the large, black lever among the control buttons. "And I'm sorry for blowing it up in the first place."

The Q'Uartar was already impressed with the Doctor's skills and when he had gone out to fetch a few spare parts from his own ship, it had tried to question the purpose but understood nothing. But it was only the pilot, not the engineer. Without his help, the Q'Uartar would be stranded here forever, so it did as it was told and grabbed the lever.

"I'll hold it," it promised.

The Doctor gave a quick nod and vanished into the back of the ship while the Q'Uartar waited patiently, silently praying that everything was going to be alright.

When their world began to die, the evacuation had started quickly and one ship after the other, all of them filled to its capacity, had taken off, emptying the planet to take the people to their new home. The first reports had looked magnificent and the Q'Uartar felt its chest ache at the memory of the footage. All of its people were already there, settling into a new, wonderful world full of life and possibilities. This ship was one of the two last ones to leave and even before the crash, the Q'Uartar has missed its people terribly. Now, it could finally go back home.

Holding on tightly to the lever, the Q'Uartar let its gaze wander to the monitors and the readings looked good to the point that it was starting to feel hopeful again. However, a glance at the cameras startled it. At first, it thought the boys had come back follow the Q'Uartar on its journey, but the closer they came, the more it realised that it wasn't the Croatoan boys. There were too many and they looked ready for a fight as they marched towards the ship, weapons raised and shouting angrily. These people hadn't come to join them, they had come to attack. If only the Doctor hadn't switched off the perception filter.

From one moment to the next, the Q'Uartar dropped the level and instead, jumped over to the other side of the control unit to flick a switch. With a sudden thud, the doors closed.

"What's the matter?" the Doctor's voice came from the engine room. "Everything's gone dark again. I was just about to finish."

His steps followed his voice after only seconds and while he approached the cockpit, the Q'Uartar thought of a way to explain to him what was happening - if only it understood.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor demanded to know when he came to a halt next to the Q'Uartar. He sounded angry as well.

In response, it only pointed at the monitor that plainly showed what was going on, but as it soon turned out, explanations were no longer necessary when the banging on metal started and their angry voices could be heard on the inside of the ship.

"Ah," the Doctor said, followed by a sharp hiss as he sucked the breath in through his teeth, "that is a problem."

"We were offering them space on our ship," the Q'Uartar said in disbelief. It couldn't quite grasp why they would attack when their offer had been a friendly one and they posed no danger to the local people whatsoever. It was completely incomprehensible. "Why would they answer our offer with violence?"

The Time Lord uttered a long and heavy sigh, his eyes still fixed on the monitor and what was going on outside the ship. He seemed to contemplate his answer for a long moment, bitting down on his thumb as he was thinking.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I swear, not all humans are like that," he said, his voice somewhere between apologetic and angry. "But then there are those who want to kill what they don't understand."

The Q'Uartar frowned. "We won't take those with us to the new world."

"Good thinking," the Doctor remarked. "But what do we do about this? How strong is that door?"

"They won't be able to breach it if that's what you're worried about," it replied in all honesty. "But we won't be able to take off with them right outside. It would scourge them."

Once more, the Doctor took a deep breath and reached up to rub his hands over his face. The Q'Uartar didn't fully understand the gesture, but it seemed to be one of despair. The Time Lord didn't know what to do. And neither did the Q'Uartar.

"So, it's a siege," he concluded eventually. "We'll have to wait it out. Eventually, they'll retreat because they realise they can't get inside."

Something happened on the monitor as the angry crowd parted and both the Q'Uartar and the Doctor bent closer to get a better look. The people were mostly men, angry, waving sticks and old-fashioned pistols at the ship, but someone made his way through the crowd, pushing a smaller figure ahead of him. When the woman stepped closer, the Q'Uartar recognised her because she had worn her face before. It was the Doctor's companion. Clara.

It glanced towards the Doctor and the expression on his face changed. He was furious.

"There are two ways this could go," the tall, impressive man in front of the ship said, "either you open these doors or we kill your friend and take the ship by force."

The Q'Uartar scoffed. "They can't take it by force. The hull is impenetrable."

"They don't have to," the Time Lord replied instantly and when he reached for the controls, the Q'Uartar had no time to stop him from opening the doors. "I'm not going to risk Clara's life under any circumstances."

It wanted to protest, to tell him that their work was more important than a single life, but the look on the Doctor's face made it think better of it. The doors opened with a rattling sound and on the monitor, they could clearly see as the angry mob entered the ship. It was over.