Chapter 12 – Running Away
Terror was freezing her blood; Rassilon couldn't know that she was already connected to the Master. She couldn't be married off to some crony of Rassilon's, not with bits of the Master's mind trapped inside of her own. If he discovered that she was already bound, that the Master had gotten there before him, he would not be pleased at all.
He might go into her mind himself to try to break the connections and he'd soon find the Final Vision and that must be prevented at all costs. To get to the power he imagined was locked inside of her, would he kill the Master to make her mind available to him? Of course he would, the man would stop at nothing.
"My Lord President, I appreciate your concern. You are right that the future must be considered and I shall be certain to do so, very carefully," she replied and then scampered from the garden before he could continue with the conversation.
Susan reached the Hospital in record time and was on shift, working, in moments of entering, making sure she was surrounded by patients, doctors, a flurry of witnesses around her. She didn't imagine that Rassilon would have her dragged away to be wed over a block, like their primitive ancestors once had, but he was obviously growing desperate and desperate men did stupid things sometimes.
Terry, whose specialty was Regeneration Crisis, waved at her as she came in to the patient's ward and she smiled and waved back. She was thinking fast, trying to figure out how she could protect herself from Rassilon.
She went to the hospital's terminal and keyed her Great Gran's office number. She could reach her telepathically without the call, but it was harder and this was already going to be hard enough for her.
"Susan? What a pleasant surprise!" the Lady Professor smiled at her from a view screen and Susan returned the smile with as realistic a simulation as she could manage.
"I'm having a really great day at the Hospital, Great Gran, and just had to tell you," she burbled. It was hard, but she allowed her mind to reach out, keeping a covering babble of cheerful nonsense running along as she did so. Limiting contact as best she was able to, she deposited the scene between herself and Rassilon into the older woman's mind. Great Gran slumped and seemed to age for a moment, suddenly looking her full two thousand years, before she straightened again and looked at Susan with grim understanding.
"I'm so happy that you're enjoying your work there, Susan. I'll call you again soon and we can have a nice chat." They nodded at each other and then Susan went back to work.
The Master sat down in front of the computers and typed in the codes at a rapid pace. As he had done at every station he'd been assigned to, he set in place over-rides and failsafes that would ensure his complete control of all systems, should he ever require them. He did all of this openly, since none of the people around him were clever enough to even realize he was doing it.
Nearby Darginian leaned against a wall, eyes sleepy, looking inattentive, but the Master wasn't fooled. The CIA agent could explode into action at an instant's notice, as the Master was well aware. That several instances had passed where that action hadn't been aimed at himself was still an interesting puzzle to him.
It seemed that despite everything, Darginian liked him. What was most interesting though was that the Master found he was growing accustomed to the hulking man's presence. On the occasions when Dar had to rest, or get food, the Master found that his absence was palpable. He wasn't sure quite what their relationship was, but it wasn't antagonistic.
"Are there still problems with the secondary lasers?" the calm deep voice asked him and he nodded.
"Yes, the damnable things were poorly constructed to begin with and the usage they've been put to has rendered them nearly useless," he answered. He was strangely comfortable around Dar. Not that he wasn't quite aware that Dar was there to spy on him, that he'd report him if he was forced to observe something, or that he wasn't perfectly capable of killing the Master to save himself, but even so, he felt at ease.
"So, you are obviously bypassing the control panels for them because they are flawed?" Dar asked and the Master froze for an instant. Dar was apparently a good enough programmer to see that he was working on systems outside of his job's parameters. Was he good enough to know exactly what the Master was doing? Possibly, but he was also giving him cover with that suggestion.
"Obviously," he answered. "The whole system is riddled with errors and even the sub-routines are faulty. I'm just writing a little extra code to make sure it doesn't crash under pressure," he lied smoothly.
"You might want to add a maintenance log as well," Dar suggested and the Master turned to look at his personal spy with a carefully neutral expression. A maintenance log would tell him if anyone came by and tampered with his by-passes after he'd left and he realized that Darginian was very subtly warning him that his work was being checked by the CIA after he was done. He wished he knew how far he could trust the agent. He could be setting him up, but somehow the Master couldn't quite believe that. Dar had had too many opportunities to either kill or betray him and he hadn't taken any of them.
"I'll do that, thank you Darginian," he answered softly and the big blond just nodded, his rugged features displaying no sign that he'd just cast his dice on the Master's side once and for all. The Master turned back around and began typing rapidly, trying not to feel warm and a little happy.
It had been a long time since he'd had a friend.
Great Gran pulled strings and got her transferred off world within weeks of Rassilon's little tête-à-tête with her and she was deeply grateful for it. Keeping away from him was vital if she was to keep her mind whole and intact. She did notice that his revenge was being felt though. She was off-world, yes, but she was being sent to the worst stations each time.
For instance, she thought with resignation, Thorandia, her latest posting.
She stepped off of the Trans mat with a professional stride, but it was obvious from the worn bulkheads and chipped paint that Thorandia wasn't a high priority in the war.
"Doctor Susanatrevalar?" a slender creature that looked like disastrous mating between a mop and a stalk of celery addressed her in Galactic Standard and she bowed politely, noting the station commander badge hanging slightly askew from its foliage. It was a Remyl, a race that was biologically somewhere between plant and animal and Susan was grateful for that minor in Xenobotany. Gender was tricky with Remyls though, they shifted gender as their mating cycles progressed and only the suffix of their names told you which they were at any given time.
"Reporting for duty, Commander," she answered. Two of the frond-like tentacles on its head waved in surprise. "Permission to come aboard?"
"You are a Time Lord, aren't you?" it asked.
"Yes," she responded, rather puzzled.
"Fair Water Falling, a polite Time Lord, will wonders never cease!" the commander muttered and led her off. Susan blushed and suppressed the urge to apologize for her people.
The sick bay was tiny and underequipped, but there was a type 90 TARDIS sitting in the corner. It wasn't as old as Grandfather's (nothing still flying was as old as Grandfather's), but it wasn't the latest model either.
"That was delivered yesterday, for you, it seems," the Commander informed her.
"This will be very helpful. I can set up a secondary sick bay in there to expand the amount of space we have here," she murmured, already looking around the room to see what else they would need.
"You would use your TARDIS to care for our soldiers?" The shocked tone the Commander was using made her turn and look at him in sudden sympathy.
"I don't know who your last medical officer was, Commander, but he was obviously a piss-poor excuse for a doctor." She spun on her heel, pulled out her data pad, and began opening the cabinets, jotting down the contents.
"What are you doing?"
"Making an inventory, so that I can requisition more medicines and equipment, of course. Do you have laboratory facilities?" she asked next and it shook its head, fronds bobbing. "Right, I'll need to set up a lab as well. Do we have any nurses?" Another negative shake. "Well, I'll make do."
"I am Fifz-it, Doctor Susanatrevalar," the commander informed her and Susan smiled.
"Just Susan, or 'Doc', will do fine, Ma'am," she answered and the Commander waved three fronds at her, the equivalent of a smile from a race that had nothing that a humanoid could define as a 'face'.
"You are a great improvement, 'Doc', I welcome you with open branches!" the Commander chuckled and withdrew to let Susan work. There was a lot to do.
She spent the first hour just running the nano-scrubbers over every surface, scouring the place to antiseptic cleanliness. She sent off her requisitions and then went to explore her new TARDIS.
It was a lovely lady and she wandered through the rooms with a small smile. Clean and antiseptic white was the default desktop, which wasn't a bad thing, but a bit off-putting for patients. She browsed through her options and chose something in soft beige and gold. She reconfigured it so that the medi bay opened off of the main doors and she shifted the console room back and behind the dispensary. She'd seen patients go insane and try to fly away from the battlefield, so she set up a lock for the console controls as well.
She patted the console and activated the Symbiotic Relationship Circuits, opening her mind to her TARDIS and feeling the symbiotic connection between them snapping into place. The warm gentle sentience of her TARDIS washed through her and Susan felt as though some long starved place in her soul was being fed.
She'd been raised in Grandfather's TARDIS, she'd spent half her life in it. His TARDIS had been her friend, her home, her refuge, for so long and being left behind on Earth had hurt for so many reasons, one of them being the loss of that home, the only home she remembered having. Now she wasn't quite so alone anymore.
She had a home again.
"…and so, I think I've got a fungicide that will work on the rot the Remyls have been suffering from, Grandfather, which is a great relief. My other problem though is far more perplexing, the Acazzi are an arboreal race, they've been losing fur, possibly from all the stress they've been under, and I'm having trouble finding a solution for that. I've been dumping anti-anxiety herbs into all of their food, but the regrowth of the lost fur has been slow…"
The Doctor switched off Susan's letter and smiled. His little granddaughter, the girl who used to scream and run into his arms whenever things got scary, was out there helping people. She was calm, resolute, and courageous, she was wonderful and he was so very proud of her.
"Are you listening to her letter, again?" Romana asked with a laugh, prowling into the console room, still tousled from sleep.
"Maybe…" he drawled, and gave her an impish grin. She stepped into his arms and kissed him, wrapping a leg around his and moving against him in a decidedly suggestive manner. "Did you want something?" he asked with an expression of innocent enquiry.
"I think I need a Doctor," she growled and he laughed.
"That is the cheesiest line I've ever heard!"
"Feel free to use it," she purred, knowing him well enough to see how much it appealed to his vanity and sense of humor both.
"Maybe later," he growled and dived in for a kiss. Talking was quite overrated, after all.
They got out of bed again, some hours later, then showered, and pulled on fresh uniforms reluctantly.
"Where are we headed next?" Romana asked him and he shrugged. It was nice to be needed, of course, but he was getting tired of the way they were always being sent to the hot spots, like they were the High Council's Fire Brigade, sent to piss on any fires that sprang up.
"Colima Base," he answered. "They are having serious problems with Never-weres coming through."
"Is it my imagination or is there some sort of organization starting to happen between them all?" Romana commented and he groaned. "What?"
"I was really hoping it was just my imagination." He strode into the console room, with her on his heels, and together they began to set co-ordinates, flying the TARDIS like a well-oiled machine. He looked up at her and grinned. His best mate, his friend with many wonderful benefits, his companion and partner, who he loved so very much. She looked up at him and grinned back, catching his mood as she always did.
He was so glad that if he had to fly into hell, she was the one he was going with.
Susan was flung around the room like a rat being shaken by a terrier. The loud booms of incoming missiles breaking against the shield walls were deafening. She grabbed for something stable to hold onto and found herself clutching the operating table, her face inches from her patient's desperate wounds.
He was dying and she couldn't stop it. Her medical equipment was being knocked around the room, everything that hadn't been bolted down was tumbling with it, and she closed her eyes and held on tight.
She recalled a face from so long ago. Sarah Jane Smith. Her grandfather had brought the young woman to visit her on several occasions and Susan had grown very fond of her. Funny, full of spirit, ready to wade in and dig ditches, or haul down rubble with the rest of them; she'd endeared herself to everyone on the work crews.
One of Susan's favorite memories was sitting on a hillside with Sarah Jane, David, and her grandfather, eating a picnic lunch, watching the dredging crews as they worked on restoring the Thames to its former glory. They'd laughed so hard, as the petite brunette had told them stories of her travels with Grandfather. She'd been so vibrant, so alive, and so full of laughter.
"Please let them all be safe," Susan whispered.
Power faded, lights dimmed and then went out, gravity failed and the temperature began to slowly drop.
Her patient began to glow softly, the start of his regeneration. Using the light of that, Susan floated herself to a cabinet and found a Zero Crash, an emergency regeneration blanket. She hauled it back, kicking off the wall carefully, and catching herself on the edge of the operating table. She wrapped him in the silvery material, impregnated with tannins and other necessities for the process; it also blocked out energy emissions and acted as a second-rate Zero Room.
"I wish I could do more," she murmured.
The whole room jolted hard, she was flung back against a wall and pain erupted through her stomach. Anguish, hot and white, that dragged a scream from her that made her hurt, if possible, even more. She looked down and saw the twisted remnants of a surgical droid, its cutter attachment poking out of her gut.
She closed her eyes and wanted to weep. Killed by her own equipment, the irony was too great. With a cry, she wrenched free of the cutter, the agonizing pain like fire in her gut.
She found herself floating free, her blood pumping from her wound and forming tiny round droplets that floated through the air. It was getting cold now. Her breath was visible in the air. That's not good, she thought fuzzily. This wasn't a good place to go through regeneration. She needed things, warmth, tannins, a null environment, things that were not present just now.
A patch floated by her outstretched hand and she grabbed it to stop the bleeding. She could only seal the front part of her wound; the back was beyond her reach. She was thinking of what a mess it would make when the gravity came back, even as she was dying.
"I'm sorry, Grandfather, I don't think this is working," she murmured. There was no golden light around her and she could feel the darkness rushing in. Her last thought was of the Master, she hoped he'd forgive her.