"You're one of them. His people who're always interfering and never getting it right."
His lips curled so slightly that only the edge of his teeth could be seen. It was a suggestion of a smile, sweet but sad. "Indeed. Never getting it right."
She searched her memories for the right reference. The Doctor could be so vague about his past that she often doubted that even half of it could be true. "Something meddlesome." She narrowed her eyes to tease out the answer. "But, no, you can't be that lunatic the Master. You're too sad."
His bemusement vanished; he held up his palm. "Enough guesswork. The Master is gone, dead I'm told. But then he's been dead so many times before. More than enough times to still keep me worried.
"But one thing is correct. The gravity string was searching for me. Not your friend. A bit of primitive programming. Made it grab the nearest Time Lord. I suspect even a Gallifreyan Caprice would have been taken."
He turned back to the display. He analyzed the diagram of the sickening shape on the screen and seemed to forget her entirely.
Ace recognized the aloof behavior of a Time Lord. She had been right. Another adventurer like the Doctor. But more focussed, more aggressive. "We came to see if it could be controlled," Ace ventured.
He continued to tap the screen, rotating the image in three dimensions. "I'm sure you did," he muttered.
She reached out to touch his arm. She needed only the briefest bit of attention. "Then we could outthink the Daleks. Outwit them with their own thinking."
He rolled his eyes with pity. "I don't think so."
His stubbornness was starting to annoy her. She thought happy thoughts. "That was the plan. Use the Dalek 'brain' to get one step ahead of them."
He turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes sad. "I don't think that was your Doctor's plan. Is that what he told you, Ace?"
The familiarity took her by surprise. "We discussed it on the Tardis. Just me and the Doctor. You weren't there, thank you. The Alzarius Fleet. The Continuity Trap. It was all too baffling to him. To be honest, I still have no idea what it's all about. But we had to get an advantage over their own battle computers."
He drummed his hands on the screen, friendly again. "Can't be done, Ace. The Daleks don't even know themselves what they think from one second to the next. It's all instinct. A bit of bitterness and a lot of shouting. A bit like the Time Lords, but with more bitterness. And less shouting." His gaze drifted for a second. "Their computers are little more than adding machines that confirm the Daleks' own guesses. It's why they don't always win. And why they don't always lose."
She frowned and pointed limply to the illustrated brain. "But whoever put this thing together thought they could do it." She was less sure now. And she had not been sure before.
He pressed his thumb against the top corner of the screen. It cleared instantly and folded up to stow itself away. "No. Whoever did this is sick." He did not sound surprised. "And those who authorized it are even worse."
"Wasn't this a Time Lord prison?"
"No."
"The Doctor said…"
"Your Doctor says a lot of things. I doubt most of it could be true. Parts of this place were used by elements of the Time Lords. Subcontracting. Experimental techniques and technologies. And still no accounting for that damned cat flu. Ironic for the masters of time. Don't you think?"
Ace scowled and turned away. Now she needed a quiet corner to regroup her thoughts. The Doctor was trapped; this Warrior was infuriating her.
"Stop sulking," he said. "Give me that bag." He pointed into one of the remaining corners of the control pod. A rugged khaki colored pack lay slumped under a planning desk.
"What is it?" she grumbled. She went to the desk and pulled the pack into view. It was old and smelt moldy. She held the top of the pack with one hand and loosened the drawstrings with the other. Inside were unlabelled tin cans like old soup cans. She was not sure about the words scribbled on in marker pen. The Tardis translation matrix did funny things to her head. But she thought it might have been French. "Tinned peas?" She lifted out the top can and tilted it one way and then the other.
"Don't shake it, my dear Dorothy. They're explosives. And very primitive."
Her fingers stiffened around the object she was holding. She felt an angry heat glow again within her face. "You idiot. Why didn't you tell me?" She held the can level and placed it back in the bag. There were at least another ten. "And what do you intend to do with this lot? I hardly think you'll be able to terrorize the brain into submission."
"Well exactly," he replied. "If we can't control it - and I'm sure we can't - we'll have to destroy it."
She felt like lobbing one of the tins at him where he stood. She would almost take the risk of being in the same room as the tin exploded, as if her anger alone could protect her.
"The Doctor is trapped by that thing, Warrior. If you kill it, he may never escape." His indifference was all too clear now.
He puffed out his cheeks, the wrinkles around his lips becoming emphasized. "There are many casualties in war, Ace. And there are no rules about who survives and who does not." He scratched his head then patted down the wild hair. "But I have a feeling the Doctor will live to fight another day."
Ace frowned and drew the string closed on the bag of explosives. She lifted it up with her fist and passed it to the Warrior. "This is a very big, very quiet prison. Don't be wrong."