The Editor closed the slanted eyelids of the last Ood. All the corpses had been arranged according to species, in case humans chose to come retrieve the remains of any loved ones. Should no one return... the snow would see to a proper enough burial.

As the Doctor was off celebrating those who had been freed, the Editor mourned those who had died. She could hear the mourning song of the Ood, ringing in her head. At first, it was a few "voices". But soon, it overpowered the Freedom Song until they there was just a trickle of the elation beneath the grief for the dead. But the Editor didn't mourn for too long; she had more practical things to get on with.

"Do you know if there's anyone else here? From Ood Operations?" The Editor asked Delta 21.

"If any humans are left, they will be in the Complex," said the Ood in his overly-polite voice.

"I'm going to check," said the Editor. "Would you be willing to wait by my TARDIS? I'm afraid I'm not very used to telling apart individuals in your species, and I'd hate to lose you."

"I can accompany you into the Complex," the Ood said, ball flickering off at the end of the suggestion.

"That would be greatly appreciated," said the Editor as warmly as she could.

It must be terrible, she thought, to be turned into a slave, stripped of all your former self, then forbidden the opportunity to rejoin your brethren. Her heart twisted at the thought of it.

The Editor walked towards the cluster of warehouses, the Operations headquarters in the middle. There were no cries for help; only the sound of shoes and heels crunching in the blood-splattered snow. No human blood; the Ood had even killed kindly. No, this was the work of human bullets. The Editor sighed softly. It wasn't enough to imprison the poor creatures, rip our their brains, turn them into high-functioning vegetables. No. Humans had to kill them if they revolted.

Granted, she thought, the Ood were killing them too. But still, human greed ever at the heart of things.

She pushed open a door and stepped into the dark complex.

"Hello? Is anyone in here alive?" She called. Oh dear. There are more bodies in here too, she thought.

"Is... is it safe?" whispered a voice from behind a counter. The Editor strode across the room and peered over the side of the desk to find a middle-aged woman crouching there.

"You'll be safe with me," the Editor promised, uncertain as to whether or not the Ood would still be violent towards their captors.

The woman stood up. Her hair was a mess, and her hands shaking.

"Hello..." The Editor peered at the nametag pinned to the woman's blouse. "Kyren? I hope I pronounced that properly. Kyren, please follow me. I want to see if there are others still alive, and then I'll return you to a human-populated planet."

The Editor could see her work was cut out for her; not only did she have to return the humans, but she would have to find Ood that were still slaves on other planets, on spaceships, on spacestations... it would be a busy next few months.

"There's another one of those things! Behind you!" Kyren half-yelled half-whispered.

"Ah, yes. This is Delta 21. We're going to have to find you a better name, dear. It's horribly impersonal."

"You're working with them," Kyren hissed. The fear-crazed woman backed up against the wall, heels scraping against the metal.

"Calm down, dear," the Editor said in her most soothing voice. "The Ood aren't evil. Just rather... susceptible. Particularly without their hind-brains. Which the likes of you ripped off in the first place," she added rather coldly. "In any case, they won't harm you any longer. Particularly not Delta 21. Now come, I need to get you and the others home."

Kyren looked between the two.

"They killed him. Them. All of them. Dead." Her voice came out in a horrified whisper, eyes trained on Delta 21's translation ball.

"Are you the only person left?" The Editor asked.

"I don't know." Kyren looked down. "I've just been... here."

The Editor sniffed. "Well, no matter. Come along! Or if you're feeling brave, go stand by the steamer trunk outside."

"I- what?"

"My spaceship, so to speak. Although technically, it's also a time-ship. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. It's larger on the inside... the outside is just a lovely steamer trunk." The Editor began picking her way around debris and any dead bodies on the floor.

"Where are we going?" asked the frantic woman.

"Upstairs, of course. I need to check for other people. Hello? Is anyone up here?" The Timelady jogged up the stairs, heels clicking against the metal loudly. The nervous Kyren and serene Delta 21 followed suit.

The Editor methodically checked every room in the rest of the Complex. There was a young-looking man playing dead in one of the larger rooms, and an older man in an office. Each responded more or less like Kyren.

"Now," said the Editor when she'd finally gotten the three in the same room and calmed down. "I'm going to take you to Earth. There, you should be able to return to whichever planet you call home. And I never want you on the Ood Sphere again. In fact, I might put a law in place. Come along!" She turned and marched out the door of the Complex, back into the bitter cold.

"Will I be going to earth as well, Editor?" asked Delta 21.

"No, you'll be staying in the TARDIS with me. If you would like to, of course. There just might be something in there to help me help you." The Editor opened the lid of the steamer trunk to reveal a set of stairs, leading infinitely downward. "Everyone follow me." She carefully stepped over the edge of the steamer, then walked downward, ducking to avoid the end.

She heard gasps of shock as the three humans watched her simply disappear into the snowy banks below. Delta 21 followed, unfazed.

"That's- this is ridiculous! I'm not going in that tiny box!" ranted the old man.

"I would like to request that you not insult my "tiny box", sir," called the Editor. "Do come down, I'd hate for you to freeze to death."

Kyren shook her head, hair whipping in the wind. The older man just stared, looking angry. The younger man glanced around, as though hoping for another option.

"Ood!" he cried. Then he jumped into the TARDIS and ran down the stairs.

"Shut the door behind you!" the Editor added. "It could go very badly otherwise."

The older man ran after the younger, still looking gruff. Kyren came in after, pulling the trunk lid down as she went.

"It's... impossible," said the old man stubbornly, as though if he simply refused to believe it it would comply.

"I have a rule, sir," said the Editor. "If something is proved to be what it is, don't make yourself sound idiotic by claiming the opposite."

"I- what?"

"Welcome to the TARDIS," said the Editor politely. "If you'd like tea, that can be arranged in a moment. For now, please hold onto any railing available. I'm afraid she isn't terribly steady." The Timelady was flipping switches and pressing buttons and pulling levers, methodically going clockwise around the console in the massive room they'd come down into. "We'll be arriving on Earth shortly."

"Impossible..." the old man mumbled.

With the squawking, yet organic sounds of machinery, the TARDIS vanished from it's spot on the Ood Sphere. It spiraled through time and space, defying every law known to man before landing safely on Earth.

The shaken occupants, call clinging to railing and furniture, had no idea that they'd hopped from planet to planet in mere seconds. They had no idea who they were traveling with.


No one had taken the Editor up on her offer of tea. They seemed very eager to be done with the whole ordeal. The Editor had no idea how the Doctor managed to keep finding people that were curious, brave, or smart. She seemed to find humans that were simply the epitome of everything other races despised about humans.

"Maybe it's because you keep cleaning up their crap... you always end up near the arse," the Inventor had once suggested. Crude analogy aside, it was a fair point.

"Up we go!" said the Editor cheerfully. The humans were idiotic, but they hadn't broken any rules. She might as well be polite.

"But... we're not on earth. That's impossible. It's been no more than 60 seconds!" cried the Angry Man.

"What have I told you about the impossible?" scolded the Editor. "Now up the stairs." She made shooing motions.

The young man was first again. He darted up the stair-case, throwing open the top of the steamer trunk. He crawled outside.

The Editor didn't see him again.

Kyren was next. She went up nervously, looking back for reassuring nods from the Editor from time to time.

"Dammit, woman!" said the Angry Man. He pushed past the Timelady and began prodding Kyren up the stairs more quickly.

"Dear me," the Editor commented. "Rather rude of him."

"Perhaps he has not been forced to rely on methods other than aggressiveness in his lifetime," added Delta 21, translation ball casting slight shadows in the very dimly lit control room.

The Editor turned and considered Delta 21's observation. "Very astute," she said.

"When the Ood are interconnected, we see from everyone's point of view," Delta 21 said. "We are capable of understanding how each person thinks. We can adjust to each person, accommodating them, or help them see from our perspective in a way they will understand. Humans are individuals who crave union, but find it difficult to connect properly, often putting themselves first assuming others will will adjust to them."

The Editor was floored. The Ood were considered to be little more than animals. Not geniuses for certain.

I've fallen into the same trap as the humans, she thought. I was polite to Delta 21. But I didn't treat him like a very self-aware thing.

"I think," she said after a few moments. "That you're going to need a better name than Delta 21."

The Editor was off to look for any Ood being kept as slaves on Earth. She had left Delta 21 behind with a book. It was, in fact, a book of her favorite words. Most were obscure, and all were chosen for their meaning or sounds.

He's certain to find something he likes, she thought. If Ood are capable of being into the whole "reinventing yourself" thing.

The Editor was very much into "reinventing yourself". She had done so two regeneration ago and never looked back.

For the most part.

She shook the thoughts away and strode towards the tallest building on earth. It was home to the fourth branch of government: media.

"Hello," she said to the lady at the front desk. "I'm going to need to send a broadcast."

"...what?" The lady blinked at the strangely dressed woman.

"I'm going to need to send a broadcast," the Editor repeated. "I assume that you've recieve reports of Ood gone violent?"

"That's impossible," the lady scoffed. "Ood are naturally peaceful."

"True," the Editor agreed. "But they're also rather susceptible. And besides that, no telling me something's impossible when it's already happened."

"So I suppose you want to send a broadcast to send everyone into a panic in the hopes that they'll free your precious Ood," said the woman sarcastically. "Look, you're not the first friend of the slaves to try and free 'em. Also, most are cleverer than just waltzing up and demanding to broadcast something. Now scram."

"I could have been clever," said the Editor sharply. "Except that would be lying and breaking the rules. And the broadcast isn't for humans. It's for the Ood."

"Oh, you're gonna tell the Ood to rebel? Sure. That'll go just dandy," the woman drawled, going back to typing.

The Editor sighed. "What do I have to do to get an appointment of some sort?"

"Just give up, lady. You're never getting in that broadcast room."

"Now look here-" the Editor started.

"Editor?" called a voice.

The Timelady turned to see a girl who fit in nearly as much as she did. But rather than a WWII era suit, she was dressed in a grass skirt and a top that showed far more of her very tan skin than was acceptable in this era.

"Oh, hello Korrie," said the Editor. "What a pleasant surprise. Is the Assassin here?"

"I seem to have lost him," said the girl.

Korri was a native of Hawaii, plucked out of the era when it was being colonized by the Timelord named the Assassin. The two couldn't have been more different. The Assassin was insane. He preferred chopping off heads to any other method. He infuriated the Editor to no end; no one could have more disregard for the rules than the Assassin.

Korrie was calm and collected. She had a soothing way about her, which was probably why the Assassin kept her on in spite of her pacifist ways.

"Oh dear," the Editor said with a sigh. Losing the Assassin usually meant losing several innocent civilians.

"He heard complaints about Ood becoming violent, and... well. He's fond of that environment." Korrie tugged at her dark hair.

"If he touches one tentacle of those Ood I will have his head. Again," the Editor growled.

"Oi. I'm not going to kill the Ood. They're the ones killing. I'm joining them!"

The Assassin strode over to the two ladies, his futuristic armor glinting in the harsh lights overhead.

"This is entirely inappropriate. Take this meet 'n greet outside!" barked the lady at the desk.

"Shove it." The Assassin held up a highly polished metal gauntlet in her face. "So, Korrie! Broadcast room?"

"It's on the fifth floor according to the signs," said Korrie.

"You're not going to just burst in there," said the Editor indignantly.

"Yes we are. Because sitting around "making appointments" and "asking nicely" and "following rules" will maybe get what you want done in... oh, fifty years?" said the Assassin. He reached over the desk and scooped out a handful of candy from the lady's bowl. "Thanks."

Then he took off running towards the stairs.

The Editor huffed. "That incorrigible bastard."

Korrie just smiled serenely, then took off running after him.

Before she could say anything else so crude, the Editor stiffly followed.