Chapter XCIV
Mira
It was nineteen-sixty-nine. Again. But this time they weren't here by choice, nor somewhere in the US to watch a rocket launch. The Angels had the TARDIS, and they had spent the last days leaving the traces for Sally Sparrow to find so they could get the TARDIS back.
She had no idea how he did it – or how much he himself new of the oncoming events, as he pulled a sheet of paper from the depths of his pockets, telling them what to do. Nor did she know why he hadn't prevented all this from happening in the first place. She had a feeling about it, merely an intuition, but nothing she would act upon.
At the same time, and probably for the first time really, even after having been in his mind, she realised the extend of his abilities. Sure, he had the script telling him what to do, but that was only half of it. She knew he could see it all, timing their steps just right, leaving the traces just in the right spots, knowing what this Sally would do, think and say. She had not been aware how much he was holding himself back all the time, and she couldn't help to feel almost like an ant compared to him. Not only she herself, but humanity as a whole compared to his people, and it made her shiver to think about the time-war and how a species like this, with literally time and for this the very essence of the universe itself at their hands, could lose it – and what did that say about the Daleks? Sure, they had lost as well, but still.
After everything was done, they had nothing to do but to wait – the Doctor, using his psychic paper, got them a nice hotel room on the top of a high rise building in central London. Actually it was more of a suite with two separate bedrooms, a living area and a lovely, huge bathroom.
"Well, I don't know, at least they don't kill their victims," Martha said as they were sitting together in the living area of the suite.
"So you'd rather live in the past, suddenly, forced, with just the clothes you're wearing right now, then being dead instantly?" she asked, being aware that it was a rather theoretical question – who wouldn't prefer anything else above death?
"Oh, if it's for me, they could just leave them in peace, but that's not going to happen," Martha replied. "Doesn't make it any better, but I guess I could adapt...," she added and trailed off for a moment. "You did, didn't you? It was the future though, but still. At least you didn't lose all technical devices and stuff. Think it's pretty hard to do everything by hand again. And the medical advantages, don't even want to think of surgery without anaesthesia."
"Yeah, there were aliens and spaceships, so at least something I guess," she replied with a lob-sided smile. "Just don't underestimate what it means to lose everything – not just your friends, personal belongings, but also your whole cultural background. I never quite realised how many times we refer to recent or past events in our daily speech. How much really is about living in the same times, with the same past and the same time-frame means for a group of people. And how alienating it is to miss the last four-hundred-something years."
"But you had your father at least, hadn't you?" Martha asked.
"Uhm... yeah, didn't know that it was my father back then though," she replied.
"But you have his name?"
"Yes, I adopted it after a while – I had to assume a new name anyway, just to prevent people digging in my past. Not that I'd minded it – but I wasn't keen on it either, so we decided that's the best way. First it was Mira van Dyke, and then later he said it would be great if I want to adopt his name. So I did."
"But how did the two of you find out?" Martha asked.
"Well, you remember It? It told him. Him, not me, of course, and I'm never too sure if it's because of its weird sense of humour or some more serious reason. Well, it took half a year of so till we finally came clear."
~ Terrania, Earth, 2nd of February, 2388 AD ~
It had been three days since she had seen her psychiatrist about her issues with sleeping – or rather had she seen him so that everyone would stop nagging her about getting help. It had been his stupidity to leave his terminal unlocked whilst leaving the room to answer some important call. And, of course, she had had to look at it. Once she noticed that her file was opened it had only taken a moment to copy the contents to her comm-device. She couldn't really tell why she had done it – out of sheer curiosity or the nagging feeling of being lied to, being betrayed, a feeling she had no idea where it was coming from. But then, later as she was reading it in her flat, everything had fallen into place. She had not fully understood everything, even though she knew by then about the concept of mutants and psychic abilities, but she had never expected that she might be one of them. And that she, as an empath, was able to sense other people's emotions. Sure, she had wondered all her life why she was so weird at times, why she had always known when there was something wrong with someone, but no one seemed to care about her own feelings. Nor had she understood why they were constantly talking about their feelings as they did. But now it all became clear to her. Oh, and there was something about even more psychic abilities in it – at least now she knew why the telepaths couldn't read her mind.
Yet that wasn't the most shocking part of it – they had kept it from her intentionally. Upon orders from the Grand Administrator of the Solar Empire himself, Perry Rhodan.
She had wanted to confront him immediately, getting some – hopefully good – answers from him. He with his constant talking about honesty and that she could trust him and blah blah blah. But he had not been on Earth, and not expected back within the next three days. Days she spent sleeping even less, hardly eating and getting more and more enraged about it.
Finally, when he was back, she basically stormed into his office on a late evening.
"Mira," he said and lifted his head, "You wanted to talk to me? Something important?"
"You could say so," she said, thumping the print-out on the desk he was sitting at and working on something.
"What is that?" he asked and grabbed the plastic sheets, confusion written all over his face.
Actually, not only over his face. Oh, if she had only known. She watched how realisation dawned on his face.
"Where did you get that from?" he asked sternly.
"Does it matter?" she replied, standing in front of his desk, her arms crossed, shivering over her whole body.
He looked down at the sheets again, putting them carefully back on the desk.
"More important though, why do you know what's in there?" she asked, unable to hold herself back any longer. She had hardly ever felt so hurt, so betrayed, so powerless and at someone's mercy as these days. "Does such a thing as medical discretion not exist any more here? What else do you know about my medical history, hm?"
"Mira, why don't you sit down? We can discuss everything, but-"
"I don't want to sit down!"
If he would only stop staring at her like that. With this calm, confident and slightly lenient look in his grey eyes as if there was nothing for her to say that would cause him to lose his composure.
"Fine," he replied. "I'm really sorry, but someone had to make a decision. And I thought it's best for you to just find some time to... arrive. Acclimatise. Later there would have been enough time to get to all the rest, and-"
"Fuck you! You don't get it, do you? It's not on you to decide! It's not even on you to know, because it is none of your business!" she yelled at him, not caring too much to whom she was speaking to right now. Not that she cared about much these days anyway.
"To be fair, it was pretty clear once Gucky told me you were essentially blocking his telepathic abilities, that you're a mutant, and-"
"Oh, so he lied to me as well? Great, just great."
"Yes, because I asked him to."
"Asked? You mean, ordered? So you – and probably everyone else but me – knew it the whole bloody time? Oh, and it obviously didn't occur to him to tell me first and not you?"
"Mira, we had to know how far your abilities go, if they might pose a threat to-"
"WHAT? A threat? Seriously?" she laughed hysterically. "And that gives you the right to decide over my life like that? For months now? What sort of totalitarian regime is this? Must be build on very shaky ground then if-"
"Mira, that's enough!" he interrupted her and stood up.
"Oh, hit a nerve?" Well, maybe there was something getting to him after all.
"I said we can talk about it, but honestly I don't think that right now you're in the condition to do so. Why-"
"So now you're questioning my sanity? Well that fits in."
"I am not questioning your sanity," he said. "I'm only saying that right now is probably not the time to discuss such matters. Have you looked at yourself recently? When have you slept the last time? You're shaking all over! I'm really worried, so-"
"Oh for God's sake! Spare me your worries. Wasn't just enough worry to not lie to my face the whole time, was it?"
"Mira, I told you, I had my reasons. And I wasn't aware that it is obviously that important to you, so-"
"Oh, really, you couldn't know? I guess that essentially pretty much boils it down, doesn't it? You do not know me!" she yelled, emphasising every single word of her last sentence. "You have no bloody idea who I am, how my life has been so far, nor what's important to me or anything like it! I haven't talked to you about any of these things. I don't even want you to know and most of all I don't want you in my life! One more time, to get it clear: I don't know you. And neither do you know me. So what do you think gives you the right to decide if and when I am allowed to know things that concern me and only me?"
For a moment she stared at him in silence, trying to catch her breath and finally stop shaking, but in vain. Hell, she knew she was absolutely rattled and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and she also knew that he could see it.
She watched him walking around his desk, realising how much this massive, somehow antique, desk hat not only physically kept him at distance, but also at a more metaphysical level. Even now, raging and, as she later learned, in the middle of a full blown manic phase, triggered by the chronic lack of sleep and the mental stress during those last months, she found his mere presence intimidating, wishing he would have stayed behind the desk. But she would not back down. Not now, not this time.
He leaned heavy against the desk with his back, his arms crossed, looking down as if considering what to say next.
She tried to figure out how he was feeling. It was a whole new thing she had discovered over the last days. She still had no idea how it was working nor did she trust in this newly found ability, still somehow believing she was just making stuff up, but it seemed to be there. And not just in her imagination. There was something, but she was way to confused to sort it. It would take her a few more years to get her abilities to the point where they were now.
"I guess I see your point," he finally said carefully, looking at her again. "And I can't undo what has happened. You're right, we need to get to know each other, so what if we try it again with being honest this time?"
And there and then any hint of restraint, of intimidation and fear of backing down went out of the window. She couldn't even say what annoyed her the most, his willingness to talk to her in a reasonable way; even after all she had said, or his diplomatic way of telling her that he still didn't consider her quite in her right mind right now, or her inability to tell both possibilities apart.
"Honest? How do you expect me to trust you ever again after this? How am I supposed to know what else you're keeping from me?" she said and stepped back. "With all the best intentions, of course," she added, her voice drenched in cynicism.
And there it was. A change in his face, and she could feel something, filling the space between them like a solid wall, a feeling of strong unease coming over her, choking her, turning her blood to ice. Much later she should learn that this is exactly how it feels when someone was about to get caught red-handed, and yet hoping to be able to further deny it.
"Is there more you're keeping from me? And don't you dare lying to me now."
"Mira, please, we can talk about everything later. This is really not the right moment now."
"At least something we agree on," she said quietly. "That's indeed not the right moment. And I'm afraid it will never come, for it has passed when you discovered whatever it is now."
"What?"
"You've understood me very well. Keep it to yourself, I don't care. It's too late now, you had your chance. You see that door? When I walk out there, that's it. I'll do what I should have done the moment I came here. Live my life on my own again. And I don't want to see you ever again. I never wanted to be here in the first place, and I don't owe you or anyone else a thing. I'm done! And don't you think I don't have a plan. If I have to leave Earth or even the Solar System, I don't care."
She was surprised about how calm her voice had sounded, but then again, it was true – she had had three days to work things out, and was in the – for once in a cynical way pleasant – situation of having nothing left to lose.
He must have realised that as well, because as she turned around she felt his hand on her arm.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled and flung around, ready to slap his hand away, but he had already backed away. "And don't try to stop me."
"I- I won't. Just listen. There's no need to hurry. Let us talk tomorrow, when you've had some rest."
"Forget it."
"Please, Mira, it's important. When we've talked and you still want to leave I won't keep you, I promise."
"Important for what? Your consciousness?" she spat, yet feeling weirder and weirder each moment. She somehow wanted to know, and yet she was almost scared. Or was it him who was scared? She couldn't tell. "And why would I trust your promises?"
"Important for us. I may have made mistakes – but give me a chance to explain before you walk out of that door."
"Fine," she said, "Go on then. I honestly don't want to hear it, but you won't leave me alone, will you?"
All she wanted right now was getting out of here, away, somewhere, anywhere, but deep down inside she knew there was no place in this whole universe that would feel like home to her, or safe, ever again. But at least she could chose the people around her, gaining back some sort of control.
"Let's sit down," he said, pointing to a seating arrangement.
"Seriously? Just say it," she said, but something in his eyes made her walk over to one of the chairs.
He sat down opposite of her, watching his hands for a long moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. Her heart was beating in her chest like crazy, and for a moment she thought about just jumping up and running for the door – why would she care what he would think.
"I- Mira, whatever you may think once you- I didn't do it for... well- It was just my decision, and-"
"What?"
"And if you then hate me more than you probably already do, I can understand that, but please-"
"What is it?"
He sighed and tried to evade her eyes for a moment, before looking back at her. "I- I am your father."
For a moment there was nothing but static noise filling her head. Not a single thought was forming, and even though she had heard the words, they didn't make any sense. And yet it felt as if he had just pulled the rug out from under her feet.
"What?"
"It's true," he said quietly. "You're my daughter, and-"
"Fuck you," she said just as quietly. "That's impossible."
"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I was born in nineteen-thirty-six. I- I remember her. Your mother. It's not impossible. I can give you proof if you-"
"Keep your proof, I don't want to see it," she said in lack for anything better.
As she stared into his eyes it was as if looking into a mirror, and the scales fell from her eyes. She wouldn't go as far as to say she looked a lot like him, but she definitely had his eyes. Eyes which didn't look much like her mother's nor her father's. She couldn't stand to sit opposite to him any more, so she jumped up.
"And I don't want to hear of it ever again. Why in hell did you tell me right now of all times? What's that supposed to be? Revenge for the 'totalitarian regime'? Congratulations on that one then. How long do you know it?" She asked, afraid her words would turn into sobs, and she could already guess the answer – and was not so sure that she wanted to hear it.
Well, at least that answer he spared her, but the look he gave her spoke volumes. "Do you really believe that's what it is? Revenge for what you said to me?"
"What else? Or why on Earth tell me just now? You could have just let me walk out here, and keep it to yourself..." Her legs were no longer supporting her so she collapsed on the small couch on the other end of the room, burying her face in her hands. She heard his steps through the room and then felt him sitting down next to her.
"That's not how it is," he sad slowly.
"No?" she asked, trying to keep herself from starting to sob, putting her hands away from her face – she found it hard enough to get enough air anyway right now.
"I wanted to tell you. I just- I thought there will be a right moment sometime... I guess I was afraid."
"Afraid? Afraid? You? Seriously? Whatever. I need to get out of here," she said and tried to get up.
...
"I don't know much of what happened next," she said and shrugged. "I woke up in hospital."
"Ouch," Martha said, compassion on her face. "Not exactly how you want to find out things like that, huh?"
"Well, honestly, I still don't approve of him keeping all of it to himself, but probably better to tell me back then then to let me walk out this door. I had things planned out – Who knows what trouble I'd have gotten myself into. I guess he was aware of that – telling me even though I was already pretty much done when I first walked into his office. But he has a way of handling people. Even young me who thought I know everything and everyone else knows nothing." She cracked a smile. "But that's just who he is. Always feeling responsible for everything, and sometimes forgetting about that not everything is his problem. Though I'm not sure he would behave like that again right now. We all grew older since then."
"But still," Martha said, "He should have been honest from the beginning."
"Yes, but you have to know that he had a son, and things did not work out well. I can understand why he did what he did. But that's another story."
"And then how did you end up in this Mutant Corps and the Solar Fleet? I wanted to ask you since we were in that school, but there was really no time. If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Nah, I don't mind," she replied. She was actually glad, at least right now, that she could tell it to someone. It seemed more real then, less like a story, she herself felt less story-like and more substantial in some weird way. "Well, we worked out our differences eventually. We're not that different after all. Just in some parts, but then again, not that much. And probably it was also me finally growing up. I mean, all that hippie and pacifism thing is fine, but hardly stands up against reality. Not that there is anything essentially wrong with pacifism," she added as she felt the Doctor's look on her. "But it just doesn't work very well if not everyone is as pacifistic as you are. I took a look at humanity's history; they had been forced to fight. Not that we willingly attacked our neighbours. It was either that or getting killed, and with it all our ideals. Anyway, I think everyone has to answer this question for themselves – fighting for your believes and somehow betraying them, or stick to them and let them go down with you. Because the winner seldom cares about your high believes afterwards. And, even back then, in the more expansive times of the Solar Empire, we never fought wars for the sake of fighting and conquering."
~ Terrania, Earth, 17th of August, 2399 AD ~
She stood in front of the large window in her flat in Antares-City, district of Terrania, where she had moved to not quite two years ago. It was a beautiful huge flat almost on the very top of one of the round, over two-hundred meters high, round buildings, taking up half of the story with a lovely huge balcony which was almost a garden. Space hadn't been an issue then in Terrania, and the architects had long since recognised that you could not store living beings in flats hardly larger than shoe-boxes. At this time she had had no idea that not quite forty years later this building, along with Terrania and most other bigger cities in the Solar System, would get destroyed -if asked she would have denied the very possibility that anything could attack the Solar System and manage to reach Earth – and destroy a good part of the surface, taking countless lives.
But just now she was only a few hours away of taking the oath on the Solar Empire to become an official member of the Mutant Corps and, in some way, the Solar Fleet.
She watched her reflection as she plucked critically at the close-fitting uniform. It still did not feel quite right; probably just because the pastel-green uniform was so different from her usual black clothes. She couldn't help it, but she looked so formal in it, so official.
"Well, that's the point of a uniform, isn't it?" her father, who who had been sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in her living area replied after she had voiced her issues, got up and stepped behind her. "Stop plucking at it, it looks fine."
"That's not the problem," she replied, pulling a face to the mirror and sighed. "I don't know."
"You're not getting cold feet, do you?" Atlan asked, in his usual, mockery way.
Atlan, one of her father's oldest and closest friends, didn't move from his chair as he watched her out of his deep red eyes, making her blush. She always felt a bit self-conscious when he was looking at her like this. Well, he was an attractive man, attractive and charming, even though looking a bit alien with his white hair, red eyes yet slightly tanned skin, clearly setting him apart from humans with albinism. Well, he actually was an alien. Not that she minded it – she minded much more that he was so much older than herself. She was also sure he was flirting with her occasionally, but then again, he found a nice word for all women he was talking to. So no reason to let it get to her head. The reason for him being here was, as he had put it, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to finally join the Mutant Corps, and for that a rather military organisation, for anything in the universe. And yes, she couldn't blame him for it, remembering all to well the countless discussions they had had over the last years – she would consider him a good friend by now, although a rather attractive friend nevertheless. And yet it was so out of question to even think about it. He was so much older than she – and immortal. And she certainly didn't want to grow old and wrinkly at his side. Apart from that he, him being such a close friend to her father – even a blind man would be able to see the problems arising out of this looming on the horizons.
"What if I'm getting cold feet?" she asked quietly and more seriously than she had intended to. "I mean, it's quite a commitment, isn't it?"
"And that didn't occur to you during the last years of training?" he replied, a lob-sided smile on his face.
"You probably can't imagine, but it actually occurred to me little barbarous human," she replied in the same mockery tone. "But right now – well, it's suddenly a bit more... real."
"You're not planning to run off, do you?" her father fell in.
"No! Just let me have some doubts, will you? Both of you!"
Oh well, had she only known how the evening would end, maybe she would have done just that. Even though, when asking around, most people would have strongly disagreed about running off when one was offered immortality on a silver plate, so to speak.
The ceremony itself was rather unspectacular, even though the whole corps was gathered, along Perry, Atlan and even Bully had made it. John Marshall, who had been head of the corpse back then, had her taken the oath, sign some paperwork, and afterwards they had went back to her flat for a few drinks and conversation, enjoying the time when most of them had managed to escape their duties. Then, literally out of thin air, she had heard the all to familiar laughter in her head, and shortly after that the well know shape appeared out of nowhere. It, the superior intelligence having once been an entire people, and now mere consciousness, leading not only humanities fate but the fate of this part of the universe. Well, more or less. Sometimes it was obviously not superior enough to not need humanities help.
And, before she could muster even one more or less witty sentence to comment his sudden appearance, he had the little egg-shaped cell-activator around her neck.
"What? Wait!" she said as he was about to vanish again.
"You always wanted an answer why you're here, didn't you? Well, that's it!" he said laughingly.
"That's not an answer!" she replied. "Don't you dare vanish again! Why me?"
But he – or rather it, even though even to her, who wasn't able to clearly see his face as it seemed to resemble a million faces at once, it seemed to be male, was gone already. She had tried to find an answer to this question ever since, but in vain. Sure, she had done some rather important things over the next centuries – some of which she was everything but proud of, and yes, she had prevented some bad decisions by being able to at least feel if it would end well or not – or what was meant to happen in the future, leaving them able to act accordingly. And she had given wanted and unwanted advice in all possible and impossible situations. But still, that was not reason enough to earn immortality, was it?
...
Later she stood on the little balcony, looking over London. It was early morning, very early, hardly later than three o'clock; Martha was sleeping in her bed, pretty much like the whole city did at this early hour.
"You're not cold?" the Doctor asked quietly as he stepped out in the fresh night air behind her.
She felt him coming closer, putting his arms around her and she leaned against him. She still wasn't really used to this side of him; probably he neither. True, they had been as close as two people could get, long before they had spent that night together in an oh-so human way. Well, not only human way, but definitely not Time-Lord. She would have been fine without it though – rather than him doing something he wasn't into just to do her a favour. And even though it didn't seem as if it would repeat itself very often, just being close to him like she was right right now, not only mentally but physically, was such a wonderful thing – certainly it didn't take away all memories stirred up by her conversation with Martha, but at least gave her some sense of security and safety.
"We should talk to her," she broke the silence.
"Yes," he murmured. "To whom?"
She could almost feel the frown forming on his forehead, even without looking at him.
"Martha."
"Oh, yeah. About what? We're talking with her a lot actually."
"You know what I mean. Us."
"Why?"
"Oh come on. Try to see it from a human perspective, just for a moment. I know you can."
"Okay, but again, why? It's none of her business what's between us, as you would say."
"But it is. She has a crush on you, and she still thinks she has chances with you. And allowing her to go on believing that is not fair. I know how that feels, I hate it, and now I'm behaving just like it."
"But why does she have a crush on my? She said she's only into humans."
She sighed before responding, "She was flirting."
"Was she? Well, if you want to talk to her, then you probably should. Tomorrow... maybe," he replied and it was clear that it was her job because he had no intention of doing so.
Maybe. Oh hell, she really was quite like her father, even though she hated to admit it for this particular trade. Quite good at everything but personal issues – those mostly turned out to be even more disastrous after dealing with them with the best intentions.
Doctor
He allowed himself to wallow a little in his new found ability to enjoy moments like this – when place and time didn't really matter, Mira, the one person who had become so important to him in such a short time, in his arms, nothing but peace around them, and not much to worry about. At least nothing that couldn't wait. He was sure Mira would talk to Martha, she was much better at these things than him anyway. Not even the fact that he had lost the TARDIS worried him too much – he was confident everything would work out just fine, and all they had to do now was to wait. It had worked out once, or it would – depending on one's point of view. No reason – or even possibility – for it to go wrong. So yes, he was on the verge of a serious attack of boredom, and he hated having to wait, but there had been some nice conversations with Martha about medicine, Mira had told some things from her life, they had even discussed some moral implications and stuff – as said, it had been nice, all in all.
"Say, do people ever really die for you?" he heard her asking.
"What? Well, that's a change of topic if I've ever seen one...," he replied.
"You know what I mean. Even when they die, you can always travel back and at least see them again, if not speak to them. So they are not really dead, are they?"
"Well, I guess you could say so..."
"So, but as all time-streams more or less exist parallel, is anyone ever really dead?"
"Mira, why those questions now?"
"Don't know, I've thinking about that for a long time now. They aren't, are they?"
"Well, technically, in their time-stream, they are."
"But that's only fur us then, isn't it? For us, trapped in one time-stream, forced to move forwards and only forwards. But not for you. So are they not rather out of our reach than dead?"
"But where's the difference then?" he asked, growing more and more confused.
She was right, sort of. But what did it matter?
"Maybe it's easier to think someone is just gone, out of my reach, instead of... dead? I don't know. It just always confused me. How can we say someone is dead when – theoretically – we could travel back in time and see them again? They would heavily deny being dead... Sorry, I'm just ruining the moment, aren't I?"
"What? Oh, no, not at all. Well, actually yes, a bit. But never mind, it's okay," he replied.
She turned around to him, in her eyes countless unspoken questions – questions probably not even he could give an answer to.
"What do you think is the possibility that the speed of time in my universe is in sync with this one?"
"Mira, I don't know, and you know that," he replied quietly. "I would tell you if I knew, but I don't."
She leaned against him, burying her face against his chest.
"I just don't want to think they're all dead by now, I guess that's all. I just want them to happily go on living their lives, and I want to know that they do so."
And he would really love to give her an answer, but that was something not even he could do. And, honestly, he didn't even think it made a big difference. Whether one could just not see someone any more, or they were really dead, one had to somehow live on with the whole they left. There was no way around it, no escape, no tricking oneself into believing that the loved one might return some day.
N/a: One of those chapters I would have normally skipped if it wasn't for the weeping angels and how important they get later on. (I like it, but not from a writer's point of view ;-) ) So I filled it with a bit of background. I hope it was not too boring; I know not everyone likes flashbacks.
E-man-dy-S, OneWhoReadsToMuch, heroherondaletotherescue, bored411, and unknown Guest: Thanks for leaving a review :)
d0ct0rwh0l0ckf4n: Probably. It's a long way to 13 (all I can say now is that I wouldn't rule it out just because he's female then), so we'll see :-) I'll definitely start with 11 though, which wasn't planned at the beginning.
VileG: Thanks for taking the time to write that review. I somehow see your point, and I guess part of the problem is indeed that the only one really pro-active in Dr Who, even more so in the seasons with 10, is the Doctor himself. So I find it a bit hard to find the balance between Mira acting and not breaking too much of the stories, because they don't really leave much room for changes. Probably I'm just not trying hard enough and have to be a bit more open minded about changing the episodes and maybe even the outcome, getting out of my comfort zone. But I definitely got the same feeling whilst writing the last chapters – there's some action missing. Good to get it confirmed here.
But: Yes, she is quite outspoken, and yes, Perry Rhodan and humanity in that universe was and is more pro-active, but even he got a bit calmer over the years. I find it was really extreme in the earlier years, but later the Storm and Stress times are definitely over. They all got older in the end, and maybe that's just me trying to find a balance between her loose tongue and being so old and inevitably more reasonable and considerate.
Thanks anyway, I really thought about what you brought up the last day, and I'll hopefully find a way to have her being more pro-active, which I would be more satisfied with as well. Sometimes it just needs a little push from the outside I guess.
