STORIES

EIGHT

Wil Beinert found herself once again astonished at the kindness and generosity of the Orolo people.

When unannounced and unexpected she delivered over 50,000 refugee children into their safekeeping, the Orolo were gracious, caring, sympathetic and welcoming. There was no hesitation; no furtive glances or covert whispers. The warm sentiments and unwavering willingness to help were immediate and unquestionable.

It was a tremendous relief.

If Wil had witnessed much of the good that existence had to offer, she'd also witnessed much of the bad as well. It didn't matter which universe you were in – there was always selfishness, cruelty and a too-quick willingness to overlook the pain and suffering of others in deference to one's own well-being. Even on her own much beloved home planet she'd often been amazed and ashamed at the callousness, hatred and brutality that one group of humans would unthinkingly and uncaringly inflict upon another. Never mind how unkind humans could be to non-human animals.

When she'd first encountered the Orolo, back before the Aedui were known to her, before they were even a blip on the radar, she'd realized immediately that she was in the presence of something special. They were a large, ebony-skinned race that appeared to be remarkably serene, stable and happy. The Orolo had managed to prosper and flourish, but not at the expense of any other living creature nor, indeed, at the expense of their environment or their planet.

Of course no one and no race was perfect. The Orolo were understandably worried about the Aedui, although in truth the phenomenal distances that separated them from the invaders' current path provided a fair amount of reassurance. Still, Wil couldn't find too much fault there. Perhaps for the first time ever, because of her own ability to move about the galaxy unimpeded and invisibly, the Aedui were more than just murmurs and innuendo. They were a known, identifiable threat. They were a verifiable fact.

Not that it helped. In reality, as she'd so painfully learned with the Gnel, such information was a two-edged sword. Nevertheless, the scientist in her had to believe knowledge was always better than ignorance, even if – God forbid – such knowledge included intelligence about one's own impending demise. She shuddered even now when she thought about the Gnel. She was having a terrible time reconciling what had happened to them and her role in the disaster. It gnawed at her and, she realized anxiously, weakened and preoccupied her. It gave her nightmares. The bad dreams made her think she was truly not suited to be an intergalactic superhero, not like The Doctor, Jack or John…

Thank goodness for John, she thought. When she became uncertain, he became strong. When she became fragile, he became potent. When she became unsteady, he became firm. She felt her breath catch and her heart swell. Her relationship with him had been sudden, admittedly quick even for a 'liberated' and 'independent' twenty-first century female. But she'd never felt more sure of anything in her life than her love for that strange, intense, unpredictable and admittedly sometimes spooky man.

Unlike John, Jack, or even The Doctor himself, she was prone, if not susceptible, to deep – some might say interminable – introspection. But in this case, with the strength of her feelings for John driving her so fast and so furiously, such mental acrobatics seemed unnecessary.

It was funny. When she had been involved with Jack Harkness, she'd somehow known from the start that their relationship would never last. Had she been self-defeating? Maybe… But try as she might, she could never envision them moving in lockstep inextricably into the future. It had something to do with his immortality, to be sure. Who would not be intimidated by that? Intimidated by the certain knowledge and comprehension of how the future would relentlessly unfold? To imagine growing old and dying in the eyes of a lover who would not? So yes, perhaps that had been a failing of hers, to not be able to accept Jack and his remarkable gift without some small (or not so small) amount of misgiving. But beyond that, it'd had something to do with The Doctor as well.

The Doctor was so much more than a mere convenient excuse and obvious justification for her apparent fickleness. She knew with more confidence than anything else she knew, with more certainty than anything else she'd ever learned, that The Doctor and Jack Harkness were meant to be together, and that she was not and never could be anything more than a peripheral part of that story. Their story. There was something almost intangible about them when they were together – something strong and stable like a covalent bond in chemistry, resisting decomposition: although they vibrated mightily at times, the two men had achieved a fixed configuration of equilibrium. This realization, as difficult as it was, had trumped everything else. It had been a revelation – something akin to when she'd learned the universe was teeming, crawling and bursting at the seams with life. It had been breathtaking and undeniable, and also, for her heart, incredibly sad.

And yes, she had loved and still loved Captain Jack Harkness and Jack Harkness had loved and still loved Captain John Hart; so why would it be surprising to anyone that she would fall in love with that same John Hart? There was a sort of unassailable logic to it, if love could ever be called logical, which of course it could not. The irrational rationality of it made her smile. The two of them falling in love was eminently understandable, at least in her own mind, and she thought she'd seen that same understanding and acceptance reflected in Jack's eyes as she and John had stood before him, separated only by the vast chasm of space and time. His acceptance, yes! His approval? Maybe not so much. His blessing? Well, no, that might be asking for more than was reasonable…

Moreover, with John she saw – or at least she believed she saw – a future stretching far off into the distance. The two of them laughing and loving and occasionally getting into and out of trouble. The vision was so pronounced she could taste it. The vision was so effortless it took her breath away. The vision was so incredibly desirable it almost made her afraid.

Of course she had no idea if John saw the future painted in similar colors. Commitment was not something he spoke willingly about. She knew his reticence should set off all kinds of warning signals, but it was already too late. Her heart's path was decided.

Without John Hart she might've, probably would've died that fateful day when the Aedui fleet descended on Gnel. The attack took her by such surprise that she was essentially incapable of acting or even thinking properly. It was John who convinced her to, well… to put it bluntly, basically run away – and thereby save themselves and the unfortunate group of stricken souls who'd happened to be aboard Grasshopper at the time. Running away was not an idea that would've naturally occurred to her, and she realized in retrospect this was perhaps her deficiency, not his. Because thanks to John Hart, and John Hart alone, a small handful of people managed to escape the dreadful killing grasp of the invaders. The Gnel survivors had howled in pain and despair. She would never forget the sound of their cries. Could she blame them? She and John had wept, too.

But certainly it was better to be alive, wasn't it?

So now she was venturing out to meet with those same Gnel, the last of their civilization, the last of their kind. Crade, one of her Orolo acquaintances, and someone who seemed to be nominally in charge of his genial society, had explained the Gnel wanted to express their gratitude and show her that they were doing well. After what they'd been through she sort of doubted they were actually doing all that well, but still… Although she was in a hurry to get back to John, Wil was happy go out of her way in order to briefly visit with them again. She found herself fervently hoping that at least they'd settled into their new life comfortably and were not dreading the future. Hoping that they were indeed happy to be alive.

When she arrived at the Gnel settlement she was ushered by Ganelial into one of their brightly lit portacabins. The entire group was there waiting for her. The surviving Gnel numbered six in total, including the lumbering Ganelial, who'd briefly paused and fallen back in order to quietly close the door behind them as the other five refugees rose to greet her.

Six, Wil thought sadly, the emotions bubbling to the surface and once more nearly overwhelming her. Just six…

That was her final thought before being struck on the back of the head by a heavy, blunt object. She never saw it coming. Wil Beinert toppled facedown to the floor, the palette of her universe reduced to black.