So this was a long time coming, and I feel like there's just too much that needed to happen in this and not enough time to give it detail. I did my best with balancing things; let me know how I did.
This is the penultimate chapter of the story. In a stunning turn of events, most of the final one—rather epilogue-ish—is already written, so you should be getting that fairly shortly, at least comparatively. It's been a fun ride, and I would like to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who ever reviewed, followed, or favorited—you really kept me going.
Donna had suspected that the Doctor would be needed to answer questions, but for the first hour the two of them were left almost completely alone as all the witnesses spread through the community, describing what they had experienced. And that was probably for the best. Donna might describe it in one way, but she didn't imagine there would be a single repeat in the combined efforts of the scores of Upper Cirulians to get their fellows to understand. There was so much to say, and even though the Doctor was probably the most qualified at the moment to provide scientific explanations, these people needed to hear about the practically firsthand sensory experience from their friends. The emotion they put behind it would start to change their minds even before they started learning the hard facts.
Wasn't that was some rhetorical device? Donna vaguely wondered. Pathos versus logos, or ethos, or something like that?
She and the Doctor were seated in what appeared to be a nice little inn. Somebody had paid for them to have a meal; Donna hadn't even been aware of this small act of charity until the perpetrator was gone, likely off somewhere being a good witness and telling somebody about what he or she had learned.
She noticed a few other patrons in the little restaurant had bowls of wotgei (though most were currently in heated conversations, their food forgotten). She wished for some herself, but she couldn't really complain about what she'd ended up with—something that vaguely reminded her of chicken pot pie, but with obviously foreign vegetables and meat. A bumpy cup, full of what she guessed was some kind of juice, had been brought out with it.
Across from her, the Doctor was making slow progress on an identical meal. His jacket and trench coat were back on, but she knew he still had those things on his arms.
The one on his ankle had been left behind. An understandable precautionary measure—if all else failed, if for some reason nobody came back, the Doctor's senses of smell and taste would be distributed among the craftsmen. And if he gave the slightest indication that he meant to do any harm, the seven left on his arms would start the process of draining the rest and doing everything within their power to take it back to the caves.
The Doctor didn't seem that bothered by it, except he obviously wasn't particularly excited about eating or drinking at the moment. She knew he had to be hungry, but the only thing this meal could do for him right now was provide him energy.
"It's a shame," he said after getting halfway through the faux pie and setting down his utensil, appearing to decide to take a break, "I bet this is delicious."
Donna nodded and shrugged at once. "It's pretty good."
After a couple seconds of silence had passed between them, she looked up at his face again and saw his eyes fixed on her, but not really seeing her. Another moment passed, and his eyes flickered slightly to meet hers, and he said, "Describe it to me."
She frowned in puzzlement. "What, the taste?"
He nodded.
She looked down at her food again. Immediately all manner of descriptive words sprang to mind—colours, textures, sizes and shapes, but little that the Doctor couldn't already perceive on his own. She looked back up to him, brows still drawn together in thought.
"Why are there so few words to describe taste?" the Doctor said softly. "About as many as smell, maybe even fewer. One might claim it's because they're not as important senses, but given the choice… would you give them up?" He rubbed one hand down the side of his face. "There's a language spoken on a planet not too far from where Gallifrey used to be that has eighteen synonyms for the word 'sweet,' each nuanced and oft-used. It's like that for every taste word, except the ones that don't even have any near-synonyms in English. The race it's spoken by are incredibly sensitive to taste—each and every one is a grade-A chef by human standards. I've tasted their most rudimentary snack, it's brilliant—no offense, but far better than anything humanity has come up with. Real artists of the taste buds, they are." For a moment he just sat there, chewing his lip. "Imagine if they were born tasteless. So much of that culture… gone. Oh sure, probably something else would fill the space, but… I can't imagine it would be anything quite as rich."
Donna leaned forward, searching his eyes, not sure if he was caught in the throes of worry, or just being his general gloomy self, or just being his general pensive self. "Oi. Doctor. They'll convince the others. This will all work out."
He met her eyes then, and a smile creased his face. And from somewhere else in the room, a voice came, following the sound of a closing door: "Donna Noble? Doctor?"
They looked over at the same time, and there stood Ilseg at the entrance to the restaurant area. He'd changed from his leather-like armor to something similar to what he'd been wearing when she first spoke with him. And based solely on his sagging shoulders, he appeared bone-weary, but sounded lively enough when he said to them both, "They've got some questions for you."
Donna sent the Doctor on ahead. She spoke to the handful of Upper Cirulians who wanted to hear about her experience, but it was fairly obvious to the majority that she was not the more knowledgeable of them. The Time Lord stood at the top of the hill into which the community was built, where he could be heard easily by the large crowd—nearly the entire community, she suspected—while she took her place at the bottom, where some questions were put to her quietly and more privately. She answered as best she could, but had to say "I dunno" about as often as she'd have expected.
This went on for no more than an hour and was tapering into an explanation of the Doctor's tentative vision of sense-donating when incredibly, wildly, and wholly unpredictably, a Cirulian raised his hand in the air and said shakily, "I volunteer."
Donna stood there blinking as murmurs and small gasps rippled through the crowd. The speaker was near the back of the crowd, and she could tell that he was old. He was seated in something very similar to a wheelchair, situated on a small near-flat section of the hill. She could only see him from behind, but she read a certain alertness in his shoulders that was impressive.
"D'you know him?" Donna immediately whispered to her nearest listeners.
Most shook their heads, but one said, "I've seen him in the care facility. I don't think he ever gets any visitors."
She furrowed her brow, and returned her attention to the scene unfolding before the crowd. She registered the Doctor's question a few seconds after it had been asked: "What's your name?"
She didn't quite catch the response, but the Doctor was moving closer, and his voice was much louder. Still, instinctively she began to make her way slowly through the crowd to find a better vantage point—not normally an easy thing in a multitude this thick, but her recognizability proved to be an advantage in this case. As she moved, she heard the Doctor respond: "Tuln. What exactly are you volunteering for, Tuln?"
The old man coughed. "Sense donations," he rasped promptly. "What else?"
The Doctor nodded. "I just wanted to be certain." He continued on his way down the hill, and the crowd was parting readily to let him pass. Donna noted that he was moving fluidly and without assistance; whatever had hit him earlier, he'd bounced back from it quite quickly, as he was wont to do. "All right, next question. Why?"
Tuln shrugged. "I look to you like I'm doing much with my senses? I don't know if they'll want my sight or smell or taste, but the others are working just fine. My days are numbered, boy. Might as well pass on what I've got left to someone who can do something useful with it."
At this point the Doctor stopped directly in front of him, surveying him up and down. Donna was sure he was noticing the same thing she was: nobody was speaking out against this with any personal reason Tuln should reconsider. The implications of this were obvious.
"Your bravery is admirable," the Doctor said quietly. "I don't doubt that you've given this offer serious thought, but it's very big, so I'm just going to explain what will happen."
Donna came to a stop right by them as he took his arm out of his coat and jacket sleeves and pulled up that of his shirt, displaying four of the creatures in question. Though many Upper Cirulians nearby had crowded in to see what was happening, as these were revealed a large portion of them stepped backwards involuntarily.
"Can you see these?" the Doctor asked, stretching out his arm in front of Tuln.
The old Cirulian squinted a bit, and nodded. "Well enough."
"One of them will detach from me and attach to you. It won't take long before sounds start to seem muted, distant. Over a period between one hour and two, they'll fade entirely, and then you'll start to go numb. It will feel very strange. And then there will be no feeling at all. That will be it. Done. Over. No going back."
Tuln squinted again, but this time it had nothing to do with sight perception. "You trying to scare me off, Doctor? Isn't this what you wanted?"
"I wasn't finished," he said quietly. "You'll be given a short amount of time to become accustomed to your new limitations, and then led down to the caves, where you will be allowed to watch as your senses are given to the craftsmen. They'll thank you, and you'll stay down there for a bit as they start to work. It will be difficult for you. You won't be able to hear the voices of your fellows or touch the works of art the craftsmen create, much less walk on your own. You'll never hear music again or have any significant degree of independence. And the senses that remain will be just as impaired as they are now. Do you understand?"
Tuln's eyes were wide, but so were Donna's, just trying to place herself into that scenario. She did not for one second see herself willing to make such a sacrifice, and Tuln was clearly wavering.
After several long seconds of silence, the Upper Cirulian raised his eyes to meet the Doctor's, and said, "Can I hear my favourite song one more time?"
It took less than an hour to assemble a small group of musicians and play some folksy-sounding music that Donna didn't much care for but that Tuln clearly profoundly enjoyed. As Donna stood watching, she glanced back in the direction of the building that the Doctor had likened to a nursing home in their brief exchange before he was taken there to talk to one of the residents, who apparently was interested in the cause in the same way Tuln was.
They were the only two in the community of over a thousand who had spoken up, but when the Doctor emerged, he told her quietly that the old Cirulian woman inside had perfectly fine senses but was deathly ill, expected to live no more than another month. She did have two children who were still alive, but she was willing to give it all.
"So at the moment, we've got two perfectly good offers for hearing," the Doctor said. "But since Algara has offered absolutely everything, the gatherers for the colony we found want her. I'm going to take Tuln to find another colony; the gatherers have described to me the layout of the caves, and have expressed that as long as their own colony is being taken care of, they will in fact provide senses to others. They'll still be psychically connected to the ones here and poised to drain me just in case," and here he grinned, "but I think they're finally starting to trust me."
"Other colonies," Donna echoed, and her limbs suddenly felt leaden. "How far?"
"Not very, and you don't have to come. In fact I want you to stay with Algara. I and a small group of volunteers will be making the journey to bring Tuln to the nearest colony; he'll be drained along the way. We're leaving ideally as soon as they're finished playing," and he nodded to the musicians, who seemed to be wrapping up. "I'm going to leave a gatherer on Algara, a few will detach from me and stay in these parts of the caves as insurance, and then we'll head off. Honestly I still worry for the safety of Algara's gatherer if one of us doesn't remain nearby. Will you do this for me?"
She met his eyes as he waited for an answer, giving her the clear option to say no. Of course she never would. She looked him up and down, noting his deep breathing, how flattened and slightly ruffled his normally carefully styled hair now appeared, the slight tremor in his hands. He was exhausted—just as much as she was, and probably would have been much more so if he were human. But when she looked into his eyes, all she could see was how bright they were.
"Of course," she said.
Algara's last wish was to see the sunset.
Donna had seen the Cirulian sun, of course, but never seen it set. When they'd first arrived here, it had been very early in the morning, and she had no idea how Cirulian seasons worked or low long the day usually was, but as luck would have it, the day was finally drawing to a close. Algara was helped to the top of the hill into which the community was built, and there she stayed with her two children, daughter-in-law, and three grandchildren.
Donna waited at the bottom of the hill, talking with various friendly Upper Cirulians passing by, until the sun actually began to dip below the horizon. She vaguely recalled the Doctor mentioning on the way here that it was a significantly smaller sun than Earth's, but as Cirula was much closer to it than Earth was to its sun, it wouldn't appear that different in size. As far as what she'd seen while wandering the hills, that seemed to be accurate.
The Doctor had disappeared some time ago. The group bringing Tuln into the caves had consisted of the Doctor and five Upper Cirulians apart from Tuln, Ilseg among them. Donna had tried her best to read his mood, but his melancholy expression and energetic mannerisms clashed in a way she couldn't really reconcile.
When she realized the steady light had actually begun to disappear, another realization hit her rather out of the blue: she had never stopped to watch something as simple as a relatively unremarkable extraterrestrial sunset. It was always "Donna, let's float above the uninhabited planet Selkoj as it experiences its largest earthquake in recorded history, it would best be translated to a 12 on your Richter scale!" and "Donna, how do you fancy seeing a planet's core that's not only more habitable than that planet's surface, but also the most beautiful and productive mine in its solar system?" and "Donna, did you know that it takes Earth till 250 years after you were born to develop and commercialize efficient, individualized flight technology?" Everything was spectacular, everything was beautiful and historic and destination-worthy. And when the event was over, it was time to run to the next thing. The Doctor had never said, nor could she picture him saying, "Donna, want to stop at a small hilly planet that's not known for its sunsets and just sit and watch a sunset?"
The light was fading much more noticeably, much more quickly, than it would on Earth. As soon as that thought flashed through her mind, she was on her feet, scrambling up the hill, racing against the dying light to see something the Doctor, with nine hundred years under his belt, didn't ever seem to have time for.
She came to the hill's zenith, where Algara was seated with her family, but stood just far enough away that she wouldn't hear their conversation. Because the sun was going down, and this was one of the taller hills in the area, and the white light against the navy sky in association with a sunset was not something Donna had ever seen before. It wasn't the sky lighting on fire with hues of orange and pink like on Earth… It was more like blue watercolours being washed off a blank canvas, only to surge back in full force and… Wow, the sky was already almost black.
A cough came from behind her, followed by a question: "Where are you from?"
She turned around. Algara was looking right at her, though most of her family was still talking idly amongst themselves. She was a slight thing; probably about half Donna's height, with thin hands and greying hair cut very close to her head. Still something about her looked strong. Donna had to remind herself that this lady had no more than a month to live. She certainly didn't look it.
Donna pointed at herself, silently asking Me?
Algara laughed, though it turned into a minor coughing fit, and nodded.
"Earth."
The Cirulian pressed a hand against her chest as the ability to speak returned to her. "You get sunsets like this?"
Donna chuckled. "No, ma'am. Sunsets, yes. But they're not remotely similar to this one."
Algara smiled, and absently reached her right hand towards her left arm before stopping short. Donna's eyes fell to the dark spot on her forearm, and she wondered if Algara had lost her sense of smell just yet. She was supposed to say something when taste was gone, so she could be taken somewhere safe before she went blind. Though the cup of juice she had at her side to continually test this appeared to already be empty.
"Why are you doing this?" Donna suddenly asked.
Algara raised one eyebrow.
"You realize you'll never see this again, right?" she continued, turning and stretching her hand in a wide gesture to indicate the surrounding landscape and the dying streaks of light receding from the sky. "This is the last sunset you'll ever see, the last night sky you'll ever see. Don't get me wrong; a whole lot of intelligent creatures will be able to experience it for the first time and so many more because of you, and I know you only have, pardon my saying it, but you only have so many sunsets left and that's at least part of why you're doing this, but…" She shook her head. "Thank you. Let me make my gratitude on behalf of the cave-dwellers perfectly clear. Thank you so much. But… my question is… how did you manage to convince yourself it was worth it? Giving up what little experience of the world you have left?"
All of Algara's relatives were silent now, and Donna wasn't sure if it was simply because of the weight of the question, or they actually hadn't asked her this yet. Either way, they were eagerly waiting to hear her answer.
Algara didn't smile, but her expression was gentle as she said softly, "Since I found out just how sick I was, I've been turning things over in my head. My life, my choices, the differences between the world I was born in and the world around me now, and in which of those differences I had a hand. I decided… I didn't do a lot to change the world, but I'm okay with that. I made my own family, and they are my world. And I know that if I do this… theirs will be safer."
One of the children, a little boy with a long braid and huge eyes, stood up at these words and wrapped his arms around his grandmother. She hugged him back, and Donna waited silently, realizing she probably ought to give them their space back after Algara finished speaking. The children didn't seem to quite comprehend what was happening. All the adults were obviously doing their best to hold back tears.
When she released the child, she patted her lap, and he climbed into it carefully. Algara held him close to her, and looked again to Donna. "I'm not going to be able to watch them grow up," she whispered, "and I've made my peace with that. You tell me this is the last sunset I'll ever see, but I've treated every sunset in the past several weeks as my potential last. They've only become more beautiful. I wish it hadn't taken this illness to start to see things like this. And this sunset?" She smiled widely, and Donna saw the first fat tear trail from the corner of her eye. "It's the best yet."
Donna wracked her mind for an appropriate response, but came up dry. She only blinked at the Upper Cirulian who was about to lose everything, and looked up at the blackened sky and the swath of unfamiliar stars.