Triptych II : The Appointed Time
Aranea lay on the grass, looking up at the clouded sky. The entire valley had been designated as a historical heritage site decades ago, ever since archaeologists found the ruins of the temple to the Goddess of Time.
The planet was called Choron, the people Choronen. They ventured into the stars two hundred years ago, and had made first (official) contact with other races about fifty years after that. Not bad for a race that had been tilling fields manually only five hundred years ago.
The Severn family were a religiously devout, upper-middle-class family. Egreon Severn, the stern patriarch of the family, had been a minister in the Choron Senate; his eldest son, Verpius, was a renowned journalist. Aranea had seen the birth of Verpius' second child, Sigius, only days ago. The Choronen had a place in the Coalition of Galaxies, a place acquired less than two decades back. Now Choron was a thriving trade planet, and due to its agreeable weather, a prime tourist spot as well.
There had been bloody wars, more aliens attempting to invade, and various complications that made Aranea almost lose hope in the past five hundred years. That was all past now, and something in her unwound and relaxed when she saw the tiny baby being wheeled into the nursery. Sigius Severn, Premier of the Coalition in fifty years' time. He would tear down the puppets and lackeys that the crime organisations had placed in the Coalition; replace them with real people who cared about whether their planets thrived or sunk. And the Coalition would become strong.
The sun came out. On the other end of the valley, the archaeologists were taking a midday break; she could hear the canteen bell ringing. Only couple hours more, she estimated. Aranea sat up, feeling the grass beneath her hands. She would miss this place; for five hundred years it had been home. The White Wraith was an old myth now, with history and religious academics writing reams about whether she really existed, and why people found it necessary to create a story about an immortal woman who killed tyrannical rulers.
She had not killed anyone, of course. Not deliberately, at least.
Too soon, it seemed, the sun went down, and after a while the spotlights from the worksite opposite went dark too. Aranea felt mildly concerned. It was well past the appointed time.
The night breeze picked up suddenly, whipping her dress about. Aranea stood up, looking expectantly in the direction of the wind. A wailing sound faded in, echoing in the valley bowl; with a flashing of light, the blue box materialised. The door clicked and opened. Aranea walked in.
Rose stood on the gangway, her face full of misgiving. Aranea immediately felt something was wrong. Behind her another figure came forward and stood abreast of Rose. He was wearing a dark brown trenchcoat, tie and waistcoat, matching pants and trainers. He looked familiar….
"Doctor?" Aranea said hesitantly.
The Doctor grinned.
"That's a bit of a relief," he said in a clipped accent, "I was worried about how many lives I'd have gone through before your first meeting with us."
Rose looked at them in turn, baffled.
"Nya, you mean…you've seen the Doctor before?" Rose asked, "like he is now?"
"When I first met the Doctor, he looked just like this," Aranea answered, nodding towards him, "What happened? What went wrong?"
Rose and the Doctor fell silent. The feeling of wrongness grew.
"Did something happen on Earth?" Aranea asked.
She looked around.
"Where's Jack?"
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It was not the first time she wished for tears. Aranea stood on the gangway, still and silent, when she was told. She could not even repeat to herself what Rose said, not even in her mind. There was only this blank void in her now, as she stared at the pair.
Rose came forward and hugged her. The younger woman was already crying; she looked as if she had cried too much already.
"I'm sorry, Nya," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I wish…"
Aranea did not know what Rose wished, because she did not continue. In a daze, Aranea gently pushed herself out of the hug and walked to her room.
The kimono was there, hung out on a wooden rack that displayed the fabric in all its finery. It was beautiful. Aranea could not bring herself to even touch it. She curled up, her back against the wall opposite the kimono, staring at it.
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Hours - days? - later, Rose came by again, standing awkwardly at the door.
"You all right?" she asked.
Aranea did not answer.
"If you want anything…" Rose faded off, not knowing how to continue, "You can just tell me, all right?"
As Rose turned to leave, Aranea spoke.
"I want to go to the Gamestation," she said in a dead voice.
"What?"
"I want to go back to the Gamestation," Aranea repeated, standing up," I want to pick up Jack's body and…and….give him….a proper…."
Aranea had no tear ducts, but she had blood. Her human organs needed nutrients, and though her heart was not in the same place as it would be in a human body, she did have one. Her head had veins and arteries, to feed the blood to her brain.
As Rose looked on in shock, Aranea's face collapsed in grief, and blood flowed from her eyes.
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"How long has it been?" Aranea asked.
The Doctor looked at his watch.
"About an hour after we left," he replied, "Best I can do. The distortion caused by the vortex makes pinpoint accuracy a little hard."
Aranea nodded.
"I'd like to do this alone, please," she said, taking up the large body bag the Doctor had scrounged up from somewhere. Probably the medlab, Rose guessed.
"We'll wait inside," Rose agreed, giving Aranea's hand a quick squeeze before letting go. She had not told the Doctor about the half-human's breakdown in her room earlier.
She was gone for almost an hour. Rose was a bit concerned, but did not want to go see if she was all right; she could be weeping next to Jack's body right now. The Doctor assured her that there was nothing - no one - alive in the station, and all the security lasers had been deactivated by the Daleks earlier. With her forcefield, Aranea would not have fallen down any elevator shafts or stairs, or hurt herself in any stupid ape fashion. Rose muttered something uncomplimentary in reply.
The door banged open, and Aranea stood there, her face for the first time since she rejoined them alive and spirited.
"He's not here!" she said, "Rose, Doctor; Jack's not here!"
They searched the entire Gamestation again, to be sure. Aranea had laid the bodies out in a more dignified manner; it was the only thing she could do for them here. The Doctor had stayed on Floor 500, walking around and staring at the floor.
"I think someone came and picked our dear Captain up," he finally said, when Aranea and Rose returned, exhausted from searching through 500 floors, although there had really only been several dozen bodies on Floor 0, and the defenders scattered between Floors 495 to Floor 499.
"Was Jack alive when they came?" Rose asked, her tone tentatively hopeful.
"Yes."
"How do you know?" Aranea asked.
"Look here."
They stared down at one of the piles of white dust on the ground, behind a panel of controls. It had been disturbed. One almost complete footprint was imprinted in the dust.
"There's no one alive to have made any footprints after the Daleks were eliminated," the Doctor said, "And looking at the size and degree of pressure of this imprint, it should have been made by some of Jack's size and weight."
"But who could have picked him up?" Rose asked, "Could we have come back in a later timeline, or… what?"
"No idea," the Doctor admitted cheerfully," But right now I don't really care. Jack's alive!"
They laughed and hugged, in this place of death, and ran for the TARDIS. They did not know where Jack was, but that was all right. They would find him.
He was alive.
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AN: Apologies for the delay. Will have to do this rather slowly, as I am in the homestretch for my dissertation. Hope you're enjoying this so far!