Seven
For such a small community, they'd done an admirable job of creating a thriving, living nation down here below the surface. The Doctor had met with Broccan as soon as they'd returned to the Settlement.
Broccan had called a full council for the evening. In order for the Doctor to mount an expedition to the Citadel, the full cooperation of the Dann would be needed. Resources were precious and few. The community had a right to be a part of the decision to use them, even to their own benefit. Here in the Settlement, far below the top of the Rift, the atmosphere was more relaxed. The atmosphere of small town pervaded here, carved out in the rock. Some caves held small gardens, growing with the aid of some sort of electric light, others were homes, even a school. Still others seemed to be workshops, meeting rooms, common rooms and storage rooms. In some, it looked like an ongoing salvage operation was underway.
Bits of all manner of electronic things were spread amongst parts of vehicles, and heaps of scrap metal and radio parts. The Dann wasted nothing that couldn't either be used, or made into something else. He wondered were it had all come from. Even at a casual glance, it was obvious that some of it had been made since the "shift" had occurred. He had no reason to believe the Dann had any means of manufacturing new equipment, much less refining metal. Inwardly, he puzzled, but kept his expression bright, not wanting to stir up any more suspicion as to his identity and motives than had already been roused by Tristan and his gang of thugs. Based on the wary glances from some of the men in the workshops, the Doctor guessed Tristan had been working overtime to convince any who would listen that he and Rose were spies sent from the Citadel.
Rose was impressed with the city under the surface. There were more women here. Tall and wiry, just like the men, they were not what she would have considered pretty. Pretty was too delicate a word. Handsome, she decided. Not without beauty, certainly like the settlement itself. Olive skin and dark hair seemed the given characteristic of the Dann, both men and women. No wonder she stood out as such an oddity. As Rose understood it, women seldom left the Settlement. Too many of them had been taken by Reapers over the years, and either killed outright, or taken to the Citadel. The Dann would not risk losing any more. Rose did recall her basic biology from school and did the math. If these were all the women, then no matter how heroic their efforts may be, these people were facing extinction. It was a sad thought. In spite of the danger, life here seemed almost peaceful, if somehow more urgent than Rose was used to. All around her a community thrived. Some women wove a loose cotton fabric, working at looms clearly cobbled together from bits of whatever had been around. The fibre they worked apparently came from the squat prickly bushes that grew in the shady spots up above. Just gathering the course pulpy stalks was dangerous work. This was another function of the Riftrunners. Rose watched, fascinated, as one older woman spun a mat of loose fibers into long skeins of thread, while another worked a loom beside her. In the face of so much danger and adversity, life went on. It always did. She felt a respect for these people growing in her, even as she was aware that she was witnessing the slow, lingering death of a people.
It had been a bit awkward when they'd invited her to refresh herself in the women's baths. A small spring that sprang from the floor in one of the lower caves, invisible from all but the lower levels, and totally sheltered from the sky. The Doctor had been loathe to let her out of his sight, scowling darkly every time he caught sight of her bruised arms and face. One of the older women, Aisling, sensing the difficulty, had finally sent him to find her husband, Calbach, insisting that only he would know where to find fresh clothes and astringent for Rose. She chuckled as he stalked away, and caught Rose's questioning look.
"That should take care of him for a bit, my dear. Calbach has gone downrift to the closest relay point to send scouts out with messages about the council tonight. There are some families that live away from the Settlement. They should be here as well. He won't be back until evening. Does he always hover over you like that?" Aisling had kind eyes. They sparkled with good humour, and the sense of two women sharing secrets put Rose at ease.
"Only when he remembers I'm alive. And there's nothing more interesting happening. And sometimes after we've almost gotten killed. Otherwise, no." She smiled gratefully as the older women handed her a generous robe, towel and facecloth of the same coarse cotton she'd seen them weaving on the level above. It showed signs of use, but it was clean. The soap was pretty, purple, and delicately scented. Rose asked Aisling what it was made from.
"I don't know dear. No one does. It's one of the odds and ends that Lorcan has picked up in his travels at one of the Otherworld fall through spots. We never know what's going to come through or when. Sometimes it's people. Sometimes junk, sometimes an ocean. The Riftrunners scavenge what they can, when they can."
"Fall through spots." Rose mused, "Things falling through from other places. Bermuda Triangle. Like the Doctor said. I suppose what vanishes from one place must go somewhere. Are there a lot of them?"
"I don't know." The older woman said again. "I don't know how much the 'runners were able to explain. The landscape changes all the time. Not inside individual territories, but the way they sit next to each other. Like a child's game of sliding tiles. Where once we found a house and all it's contents to scavenge in a jungle, the next week may be a field of nothing but grass, with the fall through moved away or simply gone. As far as anyone knows, each new territory has it's own fall through. Ours is on the surface in the middle of the desert, over half a mile from the closest rift. You can see it from the spires if you're brave enough to be on the surface. It's how we keep going sometimes. Things from Dana, the real Dana, just appear in the desert from time to time. It gives us hope, knowing that somewhere, Home is still out there." Rose caught the wistful tone in the older woman's voice.
"How do you…"
The older woman cut her off gently, steering her toward the spring.
"Refresh yourself now, child. You've come a long way. Everyone will be eager to meet you tonight. There will be plenty of time for questions when the council is assembled. You and your Doctor are an important development for us Rose. You should rest while you can."
Aisling busied herself nearby, finding a fresh shirt and proper headscarf for Rose, while Rose slipped into the cool spring and pulled her hair loose. Actually, these people were quite civilized, she thought, as she drew in a deep breath, and ducked under the water.
In spite of himself, the Doctor smiled a little. You didn't get to be over nine hundred years old without recognizing a wild goose chase when you were set on one. Still, he took the hint. In spite of his lingering guilt over having failed, once again, to watch over Rose, she appeared to be in good hands. Women did not change overmuch across the universe. Aisling would take care of her for a while, listening at the entrance for a few minutes had assured him of that. He had noted with slight irritation that the Dann had all been aware of the existence of the "fall throughs" and yet no one had mentioned them to him. He wondered what else the Dann were keeping from him. He set out in search of Broccan, and, hopefully, answers.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye, and watched with interest as a tiny lizard, no longer than his finger started on the ledge it had been watching him from. It coughed a tiny spark, then vanished into a crack in the wall. The lingering smell was similar to sulfur. Would be mistaken for sulfur by anyone who'd never encountered Terranium.
There it was again, that feeling of déjà vu.
He'd arrived in the grand chamber early, with the council, and watched while the hall had gradually filled up. A murmur that began near the main entry and spread through the room caught his attention. Rose had entered, laughing, accompanied by the woman he recognized as Aisling, and several children of different ages. They were peppering her with questions, and Rose was laughing as she patiently answered as many as she could. She had changed into the native dress of the Dann women for the evening. The Doctor was pleased to note that it offered better protection from both sun and heat than the jeans and tank top she'd been wearing when they arrived. It included an almost knee length tunic of pale cotton, over matching loose fitting trousers, and a matching scarf, covering her hair, and framing her face. From the colour, the Doctor guessed that the Dann had used the fine pink sand of the desert to colour the fabric. While looking much improved for having cleaned up, the pale fabric threw purple bruises on fair skin into sharp relief. Surrounded by these people, Rose did indeed seem pale and tiny by comparison. It was no wonder Aigon thought of her as frail. She was anything but, he knew, but he could see how these people might have that impression.
They'd never seen her stand toe to toe with a Dalek.
Aigon was likely to figure out the hard way that Rose Tyler could look after herself. He grinned at the thought. The story of her remarkable trip across the desert had spread through the afternoon, and the children, some not much smaller in stature than she was, were eager to hear it told by Rose herself. There were groans of protest when Aigon appeared at her side to escort her up to the dais, before reluctantly joining Lorcan and the other Riftrunners at their own table.
The council meeting was a grand affair. The entire Dann population, down to the last child, seemed to be filling the council chamber. Long tables made of an assortment of different materials were arranged in long rows throughout, with the council of elders seated on a raised dais at one end of the hall. Space had been made on the dais for the Doctor and Rose. Positions of honour, he supposed, to the right of Broccan.
The rest of the room reminded the Doctor of the feasts he'd attended on Earth in Elizabethan times. The Riftrunners were seated in a group, as a King's guard might have been. The rest of the room had arranged themselves in family groups and households. The notable difference here was that there were no servants. Members of each household took turns serving food, and clearing dishes. All the members. Everyone did his or her share here. If there was a class system, he couldn't discern it. Everyone had a purpose. He smiled wryly. George Orwell would have been fascinated. They'd discussed the nature of civilization many times over drinks.
Broccan nodded to him as he pulled out a chair for Rose to sit. She smiled winningly, clearly enjoying a more civilized atmosphere after two days trudging through the desert. The older man himself poured their drinks. A cool sweet liquid of some sort of fermented fruit, he guessed. Dishes were passed hand to hand and everyone served himself. As people settled in to their meals, gradually the small talk and gossip subsided. Sensing the change in the atmosphere, the Doctor regarded the other men seated at the council table, making eye contact with each in turn.
While Rose was resting, he had sought them out to discuss his theories on what had happened to bring all these worlds together, and what, if anything, could be done about it. If he were going to be able to help, the Doctor would need to get to the Citadel, and fairly quickly. He would need men, equipment and transportation. All of which were highly valued resources, and irreplaceable should anything go wrong.
The community would have to agree to take the risk together. Failure, under any other circumstances, would mean the end of the Dann civilization here in this place. In these harsh conditions it was unlikely that a factionalized Dann could continue to survive. Even if he could find a way to reverse whatever had been done to bring them here, there was no guarantee that it would be perfect. There was still a great risk, and these people had lost so much already. Worse, the Doctor suspected the scenario had been repeated many hundreds of times over, with pieces of different worlds being added to the puzzle all the time.
Wordlessly, Broccan and the rest of the council stood. The assembled Dann turned their attention to the dais and waited silently, expectation clearly written on every face. The Doctor had managed to convince the council that his suspicions were correct. The presence of Terranium in the rock here had proved that. That was what was being mined at the Citadel, he was certain. Now they had to convince the Dann.
Broccan spoke first.
"My friends, for over forty seasons, the Dann have struggled to survive here in this place. Each of you has lost loved ones to this place, either to the desert, or to the ones who watch from the skies. We have all lived every night wondering if our friends and family yet survive in the mines, with more taken every season. Each of you has carried the burden of responsibility for our continued survival here with courage."
As he looked at the assembled faces, the man's eyes shone with genuine affection and the kind of pride a father might have looking at his assembled progeny. The Doctor was certain this man knew the name and birthdate of every man, woman and child assembled here, and likely the names of their missing loved ones.
He waited as Broccan continued.
"We cannot, however, continue to thrive in this place. We are too few now as it is, and we are fewer each year. Almost since we arrived in this place we knew that if we could not return home, the Dann in this world would face inevitable extinction. We are here, my dear friends, because we have a new hope. Our esteemed guest, the Doctor, believes it may be possible to return the Dann to Dana. The risk is great. The choice must be yours as well as the Council's. Men and equipment will likely be lost. The alternative, however, I believe is a far bleaker and far more definite outcome. If we continue where we are, as we are, the Dann will perish. Doctor?"
The Doctor stood to address the assembled Dann. He was about to ask them to trust him; someone they'd known for all of three days, with the few able bodied young men they had left. Also all of the remaining working vehicles, and some of their most valuable finds from the fall through sites in order to mount an offensive on the Citadel. At the same time he would have to admit that while he was beginning to suspect at least the what and how of what was holding this place together, he had no idea as to who was behind it, or why, and no concrete plan for how to fix it. This was his life. He knew. If not this, than what other purpose did a Time Lord who'd outlived his own timeline have besides saving the world. Helping those who had fallen afoul of Time through no fault of their own. The thought of someone preying on these, and who knew how many other innocent people from across time and space galvanized him. He reached beside him, and gave Rose's hand a quick squeeze. He turned to address the faces, all of which were turned towards him. All of which reflected the same hope.
All but one.
His eyes skimmed over Tristan's face as the big man moved swiftly from the entrance toward the dais. The Doctor registered the ugly curl of the man's lip at the same moment as he saw the weapon raised and leveled at him. In a second he had pushed Rose backward in her chair and caught Broccan in a tackle as he yelled for the other assembled council members to get down. The Riftrunners were on their feet already, but the cavern that served as the council chamber was massive. Tristan advanced on the dais. The weapon flashed several times. The crowd erupted into chaos, and, not waiting to see whom he had hit, Tristan turned, and bolted for the door, the Riftrunners charging after him.
On the dais, behind the now overturned table, one man lay very still.
