The Assassin had one of his many Sonic Pens out, waving people out of the way.
"Shoo! Shoo, humans! I need to use your camera. Or she does. Why am I doing this for you again?" The Assassin's helmet popped off so he could eat some of the candy he stole from the secretary.
A very angry Editor pushed him out of the way. Then she faced the cameras.
"Hello, good people of Earth. Or somewhat good. Some of you may have noticed your Ood acting strangely for a few moments. That's because they are no longer your Ood. If any Ood are watching this, please come to the large media tower as quickly as possible. Humans, do not try and interfere. Thank you."
"Too diplomatic," the Assassin grumbled. "You could at least promise to kill anyone who interferes."
"I believe you did that for me," the Editor sniffed.
"Hunh. Guess I did." The Assassin replaced his helmet, handing the rest of the candy to Korrie. The Koralwai, plucked out of Hawaii in 1893, had probably had little contact with such food. Sure enough, she held it up suspiciously before taking a tiny bite of the brightly colored candy. She quickly spat it back out into her hand.
The Editor took her eyes off of the native girl, looking back into the camera.
"I would prefer this be peaceful, but unfortunately, I don't control my friend here. So please, be compliant and allow the Ood to return peacefully to their home. Thank you." The Editor held up her Sonic umbrella and pointed it straight at the camera, turning it off.
Then she turned to the Assassin. "Now we wait."
"...wait," repeated the Assassin. "Well that sounds boring."
Korrie put a hand on his arm, looking up into his masked face. With an overly dramatic sigh, the Assassin faced the Editor again.
"Fiiiine."
"Brilliant."
So the Timelord, Timelady, and Hawaiian girl sat outside the Media building. Several Ood took no time at all to show up. They stood calmly beside the little group. When the Ood from the immediate area grew too large to fit on the sidewalks without causing trouble, the Editor directed them into her TARDIS, where they joined Delta 21. On one such trip, Delta 21 stopped her.
"I believe I have found a suitable name. It is not unlike a word sung in the Song of My Birth." He held up her book, pointing to the word Cathect.
"I think that will be very suitable," said the Editor with a nod.
It was hard to tell with an Ood, but Cathect seemed rather pleased. He even offered to join the Editor in waiting with the Assassin and Korrie.
They continued to wait and collect Ood until the Editor was certain that they had all had the proper amount of time to travel to this particular point on earth.
The Assassin huffed. "See? Boring. Not even a tussle."
"You may have spoken too soon," said Korrie in her very precise voice. A slender finger was pointing up the road at what appeared to be a convoy truck full of Ood.
"What in Gallifrey's name," the Editor murmured.
"YES. Government people! They're the most fun to kill."
"Hush," she commanded the Assassin. He, of course, continued to ignore her. "I'm going to try and solve this diplomatically first." The Editor walked towards the truck, heels clicking on the asphalt.
The man driving the truck pulled over as the strange looking woman approached.
"You're the lady from the news," he growled.
"You can call me the Editor. Where are you taking these Ood?" she demanded.
"We were ordered to bring them to a compound," said the man.
"Well that's not what I ordered. And to be perfectly honest, I'm currently the authority on Ood matters. Are there other shipments?" The Editor looked at the man rather like a grammar teacher would glare at a poor student, steely-eyed and armed with articulate words and all the authority of adults behind her.
The man felt like a poor student. Helplessly caught under that harsh gaze. "We're the only one, ma'am," he mumbled.
"Good. Release them." The Editor rapped her umbrella on the side of the truck for emphasis.
"I- I can't just do that."
"Normally I would be perfectly happy to comply with making meetings and filling out forms. But you see, I have several other planets to check for Ood, and I simply haven't the time to stay here and play by the rules." The blasphemous words spilled out before she could react.
Dammit, Doctor, she thought. You couldn't clean up after yourself on even one of these planets, could you?
"I- I don't think that we can j- just... I mean..." the man faltered.
There was a very distinct "flump".
The driver twisted in his seat, and the Editor turned on her heel.
Lying on the ground was a uniformed man, eyes still open.
And out the back of the truck was an Ood translator, still crackling with electricity.
"Oh dear," the Editor mumbled, eyes wide.
"DEATH," came a cry from across the street.
There was instant panic. Humans screaming, soldiers shooting. Somehow, the Assassin had gotten a hold of one of the soldier's guns, sending bullets flying into the caravan.
"No no NO that's NOT how this is supposed to happen," the Editor yelled. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. There was rarely glory in war, but this didn't even have that. It was genocide.
In a sudden fury, the Editor stamped over to the Assassin, ripping the gun out of his hand.
"You coward," she seethed.
The Assassin tilted his head, like "So? What's new?"
The Editor hurled the gun into the street, where it skidded till it clattered to a stop against the curb. Nearly as suddenly as the panic had ensued, the panic died down.
Blood was everywhere.
Madness. Absolute madness. What were people capable of when compelled by fear? It seemed too much.
Korrie put a hand on the Assassin's arm. She looked up at him with large, dark eyes. He turned to look down into her face. Then he simply slumped against the wall.
"Go," came his muffled voice. "Get the Ood out of here."
The Editor looked between them with pursed lips. Korrie began to gently lead the Assassin towards their own TARDIS.
Cathect was very, very still.
"It was supposed to be over," the Editor snapped. "The killing part. The part with chaos. That's the Doctor's job, not mine. Mine is to clean up after."
"Killing parts are never over," said Cathect. "There is no war to end all wars, there is no everlasting peace. There will always be chaos, so long as there is life. It is not a human aspect. It is an aspect of living."
The Editor looked into his slanted eyes, manner still so serene in spite of seeing his own brethren murdered in front of him. In spite of seeing his own brethren murder. Was it just because of the voice coming out of his translation sphere? Or were Ood naturally so collected? Did they simply expect the worst, after years of enslavement to that awful, awful race of humans?
"Let us go," said the Editor. "We need to make sure this doesn't happen again."
A cup of tea and inter-planetary trip later, the Editor was a little less furious.
Now she was just sad.
"I'm so sorry, Cathect," she murmured over the lip of her tea-cup. "I shouldn't have allowed him to stay."
"He was not yours to control," said Cathect. It appeared that Ood could cry; there were streaks running down the wrinkled sides of his face.
The Editor was standing at the top of the staircase, the lid of the steamer trunk open so that she could see the stars and planets drifting past as the TARDIS slowly rotated in space.
"I love doing this," she whispered. "Everything so orderly. Everything follows the rules of physics, biology, chemistry. Humans are so good at making up rules to fit the world into. I used to think that's why the Doctor loved them so. But now I think it's because they break their own rules. Constantly. He loves the excitement, the chaos. The fact that they can fool even themselves. Because the Doctor wants to fool himself."
"Perhaps everyone wants to fool themselves," said Cathect. "We all wish to run from who we are."
"Even the Ood?" asked the Editor, turning away from the vast universe before her to look at Cathect.
"Even the Ood. But we cannot run forever. We may be able to fool ourselves, but we cannot fool those we are connected with." He was silent for a moment, his translation sphere dim. It flickered back to life. "I am the last Ood with a secret."
He was the only Ood that could run.
"Which way do you like better, Cathect?" The Editor asked. "Being connected, or being alone?"
"I wish to be reconnected with the Circle of Song," he replied formally.
"Then that's just what I'll help you do," the Editor promised.
"First, we must find the other Ood," Cathect said. "We do not want more bloodshed on the other planets. Then we can return them all to the Ood Sphere."
The Editor closed the lid and walked back down the stairs. The Ood were all in one of the Go-Betweens of the TARDIS; massive rooms filled with machinery and catwalks that were mostly there to lead to other rooms.
"Off we go then," said the Editor, methodically running her hands over the TARDIS controls, flicking the switches and pressing buttons. "Everyone hold on!" she said into a speakerphone, sending her voice ringing all over the TARDIS.
The TARDIS' engines started up as it took off
As it disappeared from it's spot in space, the Editor looked into Cathect's inversely-tilted eyes.
"You'll be reconnected to the circle of song," she mouthed over the sounds of the engine. Cathect's sphere lit up, although the Editor couldn't hear what he was saying.
Not one more Ood would be kept from where they belonged.
cathect (kuh-thekt)
verb.
[1] To invest emotion or feeling in a particular idea, object, or person.
