A bit of a longer chapter this time. The plan is for things to hopefully start picking up after this. I hope you enjoy! Again, I own nothing.
Her four day weekend ends up lasting longer than four days. Much longer. Part of her thinks that the proper thing to do would be to feel guilty, but she can't really be bothered. It isn't as if she's spends the two weeks on a lark enjoying the beach and sun either. She ends up on a wild goose chase through three galaxies and five time zones before she finds herself materializing in front of a punishment platoon exiled to a mostly empty backwater planet.
So many guns, so many twitchy fingers. Winter has half a mind to teleport out, but they've already seen her. The fact that she's here unexpectedly means the Doctor is somehow involved, but she doesn't think he's arrived yet. If he was, there would be a lot more yelling and death threats. She's early then. She can make that work. It's a good thing she thought to keep the badge she pilfered from that crooked Lieutenant-Colonel who tried to solicit her. All it takes is the addition of a simple little code to change the display. She expects a bit more from the Human Empire by this time, but is also not surprised in the least.
Captain Alice Ferrin still eyes her suspiciously. She's annoyed and frustrated with how easily the rest of her platoon relaxes, and channels that into her regard towards Winter. She doesn't quite blame the other woman, knowing full well what she looks like, and it's nice to see that one of them has some common sense.
"Shall I have you cited for improper maintenance of artillery," she asks. Once you read one military handbook, you've pretty much read them all. They're all variations of each other anyway, only updated to suit the changing terminology.
Ferrin unsuccessfully holds back a sign. "Apologies, Lieutenant-Colonel. Notice of your arrival must've gotten lost in the mail." It's not exactly protocol to show up unannounced. It isn't against protocol either, but that's neither here nor there. Moreover, no one expects anyone above the rank of captain to have anything to do with a punishment platoon.
"No worries. I'm assuming temporary command of this platoon. Give me the rundown?"
She falters at both the lack of ceremony and the question. Ferrin is used to superiors barking orders and having expectations without explaining, but Winter can't see why having a higher rank than someone means bullying them around. It's counterproductive, not to mention just plain mean.
The tour she gets is so comprehensive, it's almost too informative. Every time someone interrupts Ferrin, she tenses and gauges Winter's reaction, expecting reproach. Winter just rolls with it. The platoon is made up of four other members: Beauty, Brains, Ha-Ha, and Missy. She has no idea what their real names are past the captain's, and she doesn't really care since they all seem happy with their nicknames. What she does care about is how much they stink as a team. Brains and Ha-Ha keep bickering, which Beauty only edges on, and Missy has a tendency to hide when she gets too nervous. They all respect Ferrin, but it's the sort of respect that's been dulled by inaction and closed quarters.
There's no time for anything else that first day after she finally gets through the frankly exhaustive amount of information Ferrin all but dumps on her. Resources are scarce, as if being exiled wasn't punishment enough, and Ferrin gracefully volunteers her slightly better accommodations. Not one to put someone out of their own bed, Winter declines and makes do with was once a very dusty office with the table pushed up against the wall to make room for her cot. The others, minus Ferrin, bunk together in a larger room.
The time alone gives her a chance to check her notes. She has three weeks to whip the group into some sort of shape before the Doctor arrives and the Cybermen reveal themselves as not quite extinct. It's going to be a long three weeks, but she has a feeling that it beats going back to Henrik's.
Winter tosses and turns the entire night. It isn't just because of the lumpy bedding beneath her, or the chill through the thin sheets, or even the less than sanitary room. She's slept in worse places under worse circumstances. She can't even really put a finger on why she's so restless. Unconsciousness takes her what feels like five minutes before she's supposed to be up again, and her body feels wrong. Stiff. Heavy.
She pushes past it in favor of getting things ready for her new platoon started on running drills. It proves to be somewhat of a challenge when she finds the camp lacking in more categories than it isn't. It's hard to make an obstacle course when there's nothing to work with. She supposes she can use the spare desks, but there's only three of them. In the end, Winter meanders over to Hedgewick's World of Wonders.
It's cold at the beach, and the water looks murky. The plants in the garden are either dead or dying, but some of the trees will make good signposts, and the dried leaves will be a lesson in sneaking. She stays clear of the mushroom attraction, but manages to find spare wood and rope left over at the boating lake. Eventually, she ends up picking through the Spacey Zoomer Ride for some rocks.
Only two people inhabit the amusement park now: Webley and Porridge. Ferrin only knows about the former; he was part of her briefing, put down as a harmless if not irritating civilian. He peeks out skittishly from the hidden entrance of his exhibit, eyeing her and her wagon carefully. "You wouldn't happen to be my ride, would you?"
"Afraid not," she replies, tossing a medium-sized rock into her load.
"Ah." Poor Webley. He never does make it off the planet. But maybe this time it'll be different, maybe they can save him. She only has a basic grasp of how things end up so she's not sure when he gets converted by the Cybermites, but she promises herself to do the best she can to keep an eye out.
"Good luck," she bids him as she finally gathers the last of what she needs. Webley's gaze on her back is curious, but she doesn't explain. If she can't save him then she doesn't want to get attached.
A couple of hours later, when the sun is properly rising, she wakes the others with orders to get dressed and keep their breakfast light. "Or you'll be tasting it a second time," she says with a smile, and goes to put the finishing touches on her arena. She has it all rigged up in the open space that was probably once grass, and it's a thing of beauty.
There are five distinct sections, and the first is a half-mile jog. It's rather tame really—there's no incline, and the path is nearly completely straight. Her only addition is sand from the beach heated to a mildly unbearable temperature. After running barefoot through that, the group will reach the next section for crawling. She has ropes tied in over makeshift trenches with seashells dangling down. Harmless, but irritating, and the point is to crawl under without disturbing them.
Next is a balancing act, and really, the fall isn't that high. She's constructed a wooden walkway stretching fifteen feet and supported by barrels to shake things up a bit. Fourth is target practice with the only two rechargeable blasters they have since she's trying to save the rest of their ammo. Wrapping it all up is another half-mile run, only this one is meant for hiding and sneaking. The ground is scattered with dried leaves that crunch underfoot, and she's placed various trees, boulders, and other objects large enough to hide behind or under around the area. She has a slingshot and pebbles ready, and a whistle around her neck because who doesn't like the power of a whistle?
Their first go is painful to watch. The words "unmitigated disaster" come to mind. They make the first run okay, but then Brains somehow gets tangled in the rope and pulls the entire crawling rig down. Ha-Ha slips so badly on the beam that she thinks he also slips a disk. At target practice, something scares Missy terribly, causing her to nearly take out Beauty with the gun. Only Ferrin makes it the entire way through, but she's alone and that in and of itself is a problem.
At least they have medical supplies. Winter tends to Ha-Ha's back and the rope burns on Brains. She sets up the ropes and shells again, higher this time to give them more room. They'll work their way down there. Missy has to be talked down from hysterics and Beauty has to be placated too. She establishes a new rule of going one at a time for target practice, taking away the other gun for now.
They break for lunch, which mostly consists of dry rations. It's slightly better tasting than the stuff they have in the twenty-first century, but only slightly. Winter gives them a couple of hours after to cool off, relax, and recuperate while they digest. During this time, she checks the proximity sensors, double-checks their weapons stocks, and finds herself on the cliffs that overlook the beach, staring out at the sea.
Salt lingers in air, and she can still hear the rush of water. Beneath that she can make out the hum of electricity. The ocean is artificial, and it's supposed to have an automated cleanup system. The trash bin is long full so what's left just keeps getting moved around and around, dirtying the waters. Sonic waves create the tide; the controls are poorly disguised as a shed labeled "Supplies".
"Lieutenant-Commander," Ferrin calls over the comm.
"I've told you, just Winter is fine." Being called "Lieutenant-Commander" makes the hair on her skin rise.
"Lieutenant-Commander," Ferrin repeats firmly, "the two hours you've given us are up. Will you be returning the base to provide further instruction?"
She glances back to the shed for a moment. Maybe it'll come in handy. "Get started on running the course again," she tells Ferrin. "I'm on my way back now."
The second run is slightly better. No one gets injured, but there are enough close calls that she's on edge the entire time. Slowly, the platoon gets better. Winter changes up the order and difficulty of the course, trying to get them used to reacting to variables. It also helps their teamwork. They're still a mismatched crew, but hard work and shared experiences breed collaboration.
During the afternoon breaks, or when she has the platoon running to build stamina, she ignores her own advice and winds up at Webley's. It takes a while for him to warm up to her when he finds that she's part of the military. Porridge eyes her carefully, unconvinced of her rank. Winter doesn't mind since it's a lie anyway and she knows his secret too. They play chess, usually over tea, and wager petty trinkets.
In the early mornings or late evenings when she can't sleep, she ends up at the shed tinkering with the sonic mechanics. She's in there when Ferrin rings her nervously. "Ma'am, we've got some visitors… The Imperial Consul is here with his guests."
That must be the Doctor. He's early for once. "Guests?"
"Um, a girl and two children."
The girl must be Clara, and the children are probably the kids she helps to look after. Winter wasn't expecting them to tag along. The Cybermites will go after them first—children are easier to convert, and have more potential. No doubt the Doctor will be identified as the most knowledgeable, so they'll try and designate him as Cyber-Planner. It's not ideal, but she can work with that. "Any news of the Emperor," she remembers to ask Ferrin, holding back a hiss as the device in her hands shocks her. The casing will stop that, but she has to get it on first.
"No, Ma'am."
It clicks into place. Success. "Right. Well, what can we do, he's above our jurisdiction. Keep me posted." It'll be good to know what the Doctor's up to while she does her thing. Ferrin replies back with an affirmative before she closes the link and evaluates her artillery. Two sonic pulses are disguised as coins, and so long as no one looks too long, they won't notice the flashing light behind Porridge's eyes. She tucks the water pistol filled with cleaning fluid into a holster strapped to her upper leg. Lastly, she tapes a high frequency sonic patch behind her ear. On the off chance that Cybermites try to take her, it will disable them long enough for her to teleport out. Exposure to the Time Vortex should do the rest in frying their circuits.
Two and a half weeks is more than enough time for her to become familiar with the amusement park and Webley's place. She knows which spots creak, which hiding places only actually keep you hidden from one angle, and how much noise is too much. She listens to Angie complain about being forced to take a nap and waits until the Doctor leaves for the second time to move.
Artie slips into sleep quickly, but Angie refuses to stay still for long. She screws her eyes shut and wiggles, turning left and right to try to find a comfortable position. Winter has to move fast, slipping one coin in each of their pockets. There's barely enough time to wedge herself back behind the inaccurate replica of Porridge before Angie gives up trying to sleep and stands.
The pulses aren't enough to completely repel Cybermites. Winter doesn't have the proper tools or supplies to build something like that. She would need more time, and in any case, any crude version she can whip up isn't something you want a developing brain exposed to. Instead, the coins will keep the mites from fully converting the children, at least until the Doctor can get to them. "Walking coma" is preferable to "fully converted Cyperman".
It's too late to help Webley. She curses her own ineptitude. What use is a promise to keep an eye out if she's not even there to help when it happens?
Ferrin rings her again a few minutes later. Winter keeps around Webley's place because she knows the Doctor will be back soon, but she's careful not to linger too close. Even with the patch, she doesn't want to chance the Cybermites getting ahold of her. The detox won't be pleasant, and Cybers are peskily persistent in adapting to unexpected problems.
"What is it?"
"The Proconsul has placed his guest in charge." Her voice is shaky. "Shall I invoke Protocol Five-Seven–Six-Delta?" Any imperial consul is allowed to appoint whomever they like in charge of a military platoon, but they need special approval from the Imperium before they can replace anyone above the rank of a captain. Technically, Winter can refuse the order and maintain command.
She walks further from Webley's, tracking the signal from the sonic pulses as the children are moved. "No, that's fine. Obey her as you normally would. Oh, and I suggest the castle if you're looking for fortifications."
Ferrin pauses. The silence is heavy and telling of what comes next. "There are Cybermen here. Did— Did the Empire—" She can't bring herself to finish, but Winter hears the questions anyway. Did the Empire know? Did they know and not warn us? Did they abandon us?
"No," Winter says as firmly as she can. She wants to explain, but there's no time. Moreover, it would lose her the little trust she's managed to gain from the others, and that doesn't serve anyone's purpose but the Cybermen. "That's not why I'm here." She's here to help out however she can. "Don't detonate, Captain."
It's a gamble telling her not to. Officially, the order to blow up the planet if they can't find and eliminate the Cybermen falls to anyone who can reach the trigger. It's only of those protocols that are meant to supersede everything else, a stop-gap measure that the Empire put into place during the Cyber Wars. Ferrin, more than anyone else in the platoon, is desperate to prove herself the faithful soldier. Winter wants to yell that it doesn't work that way, that there's more to honor than just following orders, but again, there's no time and she doubts Ferrin will listen.
The other woman doesn't say anything before she disconnects. Winter hopes that's a good thing. Silence is opportunity for self-reflection, isn't it?
She should be getting back to the others. There's nothing more she can do here, and there she's at least another pair of watchful eyes and a decent shot. Clara won't remember her, and she'll have no trouble believing that Winter's just another soldier. Except, she hears the Doctor scream as the Cybermites converge on him, and she can't just leave now.
It's a testament to how dilapidated the cyber base is that she can sneak in so easily. Pieces of metal line the left side of the Doctor's face. He keeps switch back and forth from his normal voice to the Cyber Planner's. It seems to take on bits of his personality, calling himself Mr. Clever and boasting about his new capabilities.
From what Winter can tell, they're at a standstill. The Doctor proposes a chess match, offering full control of his brain to whoever wins. It's a dumb wager when the Cyber Planner has a supercomputer's processing power behind him. That's not the point, Winter realizes as Webley fetches them a board. The point is to distract Mr. Clever, to give the Doctor and the others time to figure something out.
If it's a distraction he wants, then Winter can help with that.
"Doctor… why is there no record of you anywhere in the databanks of the Cyberiad?" He moves his knight. "Oh, you're good. You've been eliminating yourself from history. You know, you could be reconstructed by the hole—" He suddenly interrupts himself with a sharp, "Who's there," when Winter makes her presence known.
She steps out into the light. "You could give a girl a complex with a greeting like that."
The Cyber Planner, at least, she thinks it's him, narrows his eyes at her. "Who are you?"
"You mean you don't know? Weren't you just going on about your databanks? Why don't you look me up? Shouldn't be too hard to find out who one little girl is."
"Oh, but something tells me you're not just some little girl." She pulls out her gun. Outwardly and from afar, it looks like an ordinary gun. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
"Nope. Just graze you." The cleaning fluid shoots out, hitting the mechanics glued to the side of the Cyber Planner's face. It's not as effective as it once was, but it's enough to allow the Doctor to wrestle back control. He slaps his gold coated ticket to Hedgewick's over the mites, suppressing Mr. Clever for now.
He glances from the chessboard to her. "How did you know that?"
"Early versions of the Cyber OS were susceptible to shorting out when exposed to things like cleaning fluid and gold. They still keep parts of that old code in the new system."
"Yes, but how did you know?"
She shrugs. "Is now the time?"
"Yes. No. Right, you, Cyber… Webley. And you, kid… things." He turns to the others in the room. The entire time, the three of them have just been standing there, motionless and facing forward. They listen to the Doctor as he's still technically designated as Cyber Planner. "I'll bring the chessboard. Let's get out of here. Coming, er…?"
"Winter," she answers, leading him out.
Natty Longshoe's Comical Castle is on the other side of the amusement park, and they haven't got that much time. Luckily, the two and a half weeks she's spent here is more than enough time to familiarize herself with all the shortcuts. They run, the Doctor pressing a hand to keep the gold ticket stuck to his cheek. "Don't shoot, don't shoot," he yells as they barge in. "I'm nice! Please, don't shoot! Hey, Clara, you haven't let them blow up the planet. Good job."
"Did you get the kids," she asks while the others stare at them strangely. Ha-Ha looks like he wants to make a comment, but Winter shakes her head. "What's going on?"
"Bit of good news/bad news/good news again thing going on. So… Good news—I've kidnapped their Cyber Planner, and right now I'm sort of in control of this Cyberman."
Winter snorts. "You were only able to kidnap him because he's stuck in your head."
"What?"
"Yeah, that's the bad news. And different bad news—the kids are… well, it's complicated."
Clara folds her arms over her chest. "Complicated how?"
"Complicated, as in walking coma. Was that you, by the way, with the pulse," he asks Winter. "I was wondering what that sound was."
"Would you prefer brain death," she shoots back, not liking his tone. Try to help and she gets chewed out for it. Well, it isn't the first time, and she doubts it'll be the last.
"Well, no—"
"Please tell me you can wake them up," Clara stresses.
"Hope so," the Doctor says in a sing-song manner at the same time Winter says "Should be." They exchange glances.
Clara looks back and forth between them before throwing her hands up. "Other good news?"
"Well, in other good news, there are a few more repaired and reactivated Cybermen on the way. And the Cyber Planner's installing a patch for the gold thing. No wait, that isn't good news is it? Um, so… Good news—I have a very good chance of winning my chess match." He holds the folded up board over his head.
"What?"
"Only if you cheat," Winter mumbles under her breath. But again, the point isn't the game, it's the distraction. "We should probably tie you up now." Clara levees the only Anti-Cyber gun they have at her. This close, she won't miss. "Unless you want Mr. Clever free to run loose," Winter adds. Her arms rest at her sides. She thinks if she allows them to move, instinct will take over and she'll either forcibly disarm Clara, attack her first, or teleport out.
"Winter's right, Clara," the Doctor says quickly. He's nervous and talking faster than usual. Mr. Clever must be close to overriding the gold. Clara lowers the gun and he breaks out into another sprint for the throne room, calling back, "Need hands free for chess!"
Exactly two minutes and twelve seconds later, Winter finishes securing the Doctor to the throne, a small table pushed near him so he can lay the chessboard on it. There are still seashells tied to the rope, telling her where it's from. Oddly, the combination is relaxing in its discrepancy against the Doctor's more formal outfit.
"What's that behind your ear," he asks as she pulls back from tying the last knot.
"High frequency sonic patch."
"He's playing chess with himself," Clara asks from a few good feet back.
"And winning," the Doctor says with a grin before he tears off the golden ticket from his face.
The Cyber Planner works his jaw for a moment as if stretching out a kink. "Actually, he has no better than a twenty-five percent chance of winning at this stage in the game. Some very dodgy moves at the beginning. Hello, flesh-girl. Fantastic! I'm the Cyber Planner."
Instead of backing away further, Clara walks up to him, leaning forward a bit to study his face. "Doctor?"
"Afraid not. I'm working the mouth now. Allons-y! Oh, you should see the state of these neurons—he's had some cowboys in here. Ten complete re-jigs."
"You aren't the Doctor." She rearranges her grip on the gun.
"No, but I know who you are. You're the impossible girl. Ooh, he's very interested in you."
"Why am I impossible?"
The Cyber Planner ignores her, attention zooming in on Winter. "But you! Ahh, you. There's nothing about you up here." He reaches up to tap his head, but the ropes only allow his arm to extend so far. Shrugging, he moves on, unconcerned by the restrains. "'Winter' what?"
Clara glances back at her. Winter maintains eye contact as she steps forward until she's nearly pressed up against the table. "That's not the question you should be asking. It's not 'what,' it's 'why.'"
"Why Winter," he questions, cocking his head to the side.
"You tell me, Clever Boy. You're the brains of this operation."
A lazy grin stretches out across his face. "We can always rip the answer from your mind after I win. When we wake we'll strip the both of you down for spare parts, then build a spaceship and move on. I'll have my answer then."
Clara gulps. "More Cybermen?"
"They're waking from their tomb right now. You can either die or live on as one of us."
Winter steps back while Clara engages, glancing down at the source of the scribbling sound. The Doctor's right hand has somehow acquired a pen and notepad. "HIT ME," is scrawled messily. She glances back up, but the Cyber Planner doesn't seem to have noticed.
"The Doctor will stop you," Clara tells him surely.
"He can't even access the lips."
Winter knows how to punch. She knows to use her knuckles, which parts of the face to aim for to inflict maximum damage, and how to strike quick enough not to give warning or chance for retaliation. She also knows how to soften her blows, so really, when the Doctor complains, it's just him being dramatic. Yes, she puts some force behind her punch, but it doesn't even leave a mark.
"Owwwww! Ow! Oh, that hurt!"
Clara spins around to gape at her. "Neural surge," Winter explains.
"Bit of pain," the Doctor adds. "Just what I needed. Thanks."
"Why am I the impossible girl," she asks him, half scared, half confused, and all stubbornness.
The Doctor waves his hand. "It's a thing in my head. I'll explain later."
She grumbles, but knows better than to push. While Clara and the Doctor catch up, Winter heads to the drawbridge to address the platoon. Only Brains and Ha-ha seem to be with them. "Where's the captain," she asks. "And Missy? Beauty?"
The two of them look to the ground, giving her the answer. Porridge is there too, jaw tight and eyes haunted. She wonders how he feels about Webley; it can't be easy, seeing him as he is. She doesn't think they were friends. More likely, they were two people forced together by circumstance for so long that they simply became used to one another. But you don't have to be friends with someone to care about them.
"Sorry ma'am," Ha-Ha eventually mumbles.
"What are our orders now," Brains asks. "Do we detonate?"
Winter looks around. She can appreciate devotion to recreation since the building is designed after an actual castle. Clara's clever for picking it as their base: one entrance, high walls, lots of places to duck for cover or hide. "Nope," she replied, idea forming in her mind. "Absolutely not."
Clara chooses then to announce that they'll be more guests arriving soon. Her eyes are a little red, but there's a fierce glare behind them that tell that she's far from giving up.
"There's at least a dozen more shots left in the gun before it needs to recharge," Brains offers. He doesn't mention that they don't have time to recharge, or that recharging will take fourteen hours.
"There's going to be more than a dozen Cybermen." Winter nods to the thick black cable running along the wall. "Anyone got a pair of rubber gloves."
"What's that," Clara asks.
"Powerline for the park," Porridge replies.
Winter grins. "What d'you think will happen if we drop it into the moat?"
Clara orders it done in a matter of fact tone. The others work carefully to lower the cable into the water, mindful not to accidently fry themselves. Once it's submerged, the electricity crackles to life. Flashes of light dance along and beneath the surface, but it isn't noticeable unless looked for. They raise the drawbridge and retreat back inside. Winter knows that it won't stop the Cybermen permanently. They're too resilient to be permanently taken out by such a straightforward trick. But it'll diminish their numbers and, more importantly, buy them time.
She really hopes the Doctor has a plan.
The soldiers easily fall into a line of defense in the courtyard, practiced from all the drills Winter made them run. She sees Porridge hand Clara some soup to warm her before the Doctor's calling. Automatically, she sets the can down and goes to him, missing the way Porridge's gaze lingers on her back. "Who are you," he asks Winter without looking away. "You're not really a Lieutenant-Colonel."
"Nope," she agrees, shoving her hands in her pockets. Her right hand wraps around the hit of her sword. "If it helps, I have worked a contract job for the Empire before."
He frowns. The type of contract jobs she refers to aren't like the ones you go to temp agencies for. It's less secretarial work and more black-ops, only oftentimes even more illegal and dangerous. Some jobs need flexibility, and soldiers tend to have that trained out of them quickly. "The Empire is very particular in who they hire for those." I would've remembered your name, he means.
There's probably some plan or protocol in place that's meant to keep track of all their employees, no matter what non-disclosures and privacies they promise. Winter's sure they do the best they can, but any contractor worth their salt would never be so easily leashed. The even more clever ones would learn how to use a system like that to their advantage. "I went by a different name. Aria."
That gets Porridge to look at her. Disbelief, confusion, and, if she's not mistaken, a little bit of respect war in his expression. Eventually, disbelief wins. "You can't be. Her last known sighting was over twenty years ago! You'd have to be—"
"Well I have been told I look young for my age," she cuts in. "Your Majesty."
Thunder rumbles in the near distance. No, not thunder, she corrects with a glance to the sky. It's the stomping of Cybermen. She climbs up to the gallery to see what they're up again. Just shy of three million of them march towards the castle.
Clara runs out next to her, slumping against the wall when she sees the opposing troops. Her hand is empty, so Winter figures it's good news/bad news again. Good news: there's no accidentally setting off the massive bomb that will kill them all and destroy the planet. Bad news: there's no blowing up the planet and taking out the last of the Cybermen with it.
"One gun, five hand pulsars, and a planet-smashing bomb that doesn't work anymore." Clara gulps.
"Why not," Brains asks.
"Broken trigger unit."
"But you signed for that."
"How's the chess going," Winter asks. Might as well have the full update on their situation.
"Not sure. Not good, I think," Clara replies nervously.
The first Cyberman reaches the moat and enters without hesitation. It doesn't get more than a few steps before succumbing to the electrical current. The others cheer as the mechanics begin to spark and it slumps forward.
The applause is short-lived. Unfortunately, their trap doesn't work as well as Winter hoped. It doesn't really work at all, to be honest. The Cyberman in the lake straightens out, announcing, "Upgrade in progress." Within seconds it's able to walk as if the water is just plain water. The others follow, splashing wildly as they move through the moat.
"Damn." Clara turns to the others. "Who's our best shot?"
Ha-Ha steps forward. "Probably it's me."
She hands him the gun. "Shoot any of them who make it across. The rest of you, take defensive positions. Porridge?"
He pauses, letting the others go ahead of him so they can take their places. "Yes?"
"Keep yourself safe." As he hurries away, Clara anxiously bites her lip. She does a marvelous job keeping her face straight to the others, but Winter can tell that the stress of her leadership role isn't doing her any good. Clara is good in charge, but it sucks being the responsible one when you're in the weaker position.
"I keep thinking," Clara starts to say, then doesn't finish.
"What is it," Winter prods.
"My friends a lot better at this. Leading, fighting, planning. I keep thinking that if they were here instead of me, we wouldn't be in this mess. They'd've stopped the Cybermen."
It's not very hard to figure out that Clara's talking about the Doctor. There's no other person her "friend" could be. but Clara's wrong in her assessment of his skill. Sure, the Doctor's clever and resourceful, but even he couldn't drive off three million Cybermen on his own. One of his best strengths is luck, but luck isn't a talent, it's something that happens to you, and it shouldn't be relied on to solve everything.
Problem is, she doesn't know how to tell Clara all of this without giving away too much. Funny how she doesn't know how to be close to someone without coming off as aggressive or suspicious. Yeah, "funny" is the right word.
There is one more plan she's already considered. One more ace up the sleeve. She knows Porridge is considering it from how he keeps eyeing the bomb. She also knows that he's fighting with himself. Freedom is a strong driver, and if he activates the bomb he might never get the chance to be free again. He'll decide to use it in the end, of that she's sure of. She just doesn't know when "the end" is for him.
In the meanwhile, the Cybermen are beginning to break down the doors. Winter and Clara move downstairs to join the others on the ground. While Clara fits a pulsar on her hand, Winter pulls her sword out from her pocket. It extends soundlessly. As cool as it would be to have a real life lightsaber, it's also impractical in the noise and glow.
Besides, her sword is much cooler. Adamantite steel is lightweight and nearly unbreakable, and the blade vibrates soundlessly at a frequency high enough that she hasn't come across anything it can't cut through yet. Shock absorbers are built into the hilt so it doesn't hinder the fine movement.
It easily cleaves through the armor of the first Cyberman she hits. And the next, and next, and next. Winter sinks into the rhythm of the battle like it's the warm bath she's been craving for weeks. Run, jump, twist, slash. Block, thrust, spin, duck, strike.
"I've got no charge left," Ha-Ha yells.
Clara picks up a mace from somewhere and swings wildly. The Cyberman grabs hold and rips it out of her hands, tossing it carelessly off to the side. Winter slashes through its stretched out arm before kicking it back into the unit behind it. More and more are swarming in. She spies Porridge clutching the bomb as he runs through the castle entrance.
They inch backwards as the Cybermen advance; there's too many of them for Winter to engage one and expect the others not to take advantage of her distraction. "Please stand by—you will be upgraded. Welcome to the Cyberiad."
Hands stretched out, there's little choice but to keep backing up. Clara lets out a soft "oof" as her back hits the wall.
"You will be upgraded… you will be upgraded…"
Inches from reaching them, the Cybermen all freeze. Winter's brow furrows in confusion. She can still hear the whirl of their circuits running, so they haven't been suddenly deactivated. Actually, it's humming quite loudly. Quite a lot of processing power is being used, which can only mean that whatever the Doctor's doing, it's working.
"Less cheering, more running," she advises the group, leading the way into the castle. They fall behind as she sprints ahead. The frozen Cybermen won't stay frozen forever, and she prefers to be off-planet when they unfreeze.
"Three moves," the Doctor boasts. It's the pitch that tells her it's really him. Mr. Clever tends to subconsciously speak with a throatier voice. Or maybe it's not unintentional and he's just being dramatic. Either way, he's very adamant in denying the Doctor is three moves away from checkmate.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the sonic. "Move one—turn on sonic screwdriver." Winter peels the patch off from behind her ear, wincing as it irritates her skin. She throws it at the Doctor, who catches it in his free hand. His thumb presses against the back of it. She designed it so that it needs body heat to turn on, just in case any Cybers got a hold of it and tried to incorporate into their arsenal. "Move two—activate patch." Finally, he holds the sonic to the patch. "Move three—amplify patch." With more force than it needs, the Doctor slaps the patch to his temple. His left hand tries to stop him, but he manages to overpower the Cyber Planner's attempt. "See ya."
His body jerks as shocks that would render a human unconscious run through him. A loud bang echoes as his head falls face-down onto the table. As he sits up, face screwed with pain, the cybernetics fall from his face. "Ow! You really know how to pack a punch."
Winter smirks. Webley is down, and the kids are a little shaken but otherwise alright. Behind her, the others finally catch up. Clara looks back and forth between them, mouth slightly agape in confusion. "What would you have done if I hadn't showed up just then," Winter asks.
"Dunno. Make do with the pulsar I guess. Maybe that would've hurt less. Now can someone untie me, please?"
"Do you think I'm pretty," Clara asks for some strange reason.
"No! You're too short and bossy, and your nose is all funny."
Surprisingly, this is apparently the right answer. Clara unties him with a, "Good enough. What happened to the Cyber Planner?"
"Out of my head and redistributed across three million Cybermen. About to wake them up, kill us, and start constructing a spaceship." The ropes fall to his feet as he gets up, rushing towards the bomb. "We need to destroy this planet before they can get off it. Okay. It has a fallback voice activation."
"The captain," Ha-Ha says. "But she's dead."
"Or we can ask Porridge," Winter suggests. The previously unconscious man sits up.
"Oh, come on," Angie says, puffing with the chance to show off. "It's obvious. He looks exactly like he does on the coin and on the waxwork, except they made him a bit taller, but… Look, am I the only one paying attention to anything around here?"
"You are full of surprises," Clara acquiesces before turning to Porridge. He nods once, confirming Angie's statement. "So you can save us?"
He looks down at the ground for a moment, eyes hard and mind made up. The Doctor sets the bomb down at his feet. "We all die in the end. Does it matter how? I don't want to be Emperor. If I activate that bomb, it's all over."
"And if you don't, three million Cybermen will spread across the galaxy. Isn't that worth dying for?"
Porridge sighs. "The bomb, the throne, it's all connected. I just have to say, 'This is Emperor Ludens Nimrod Kendrick, called Longstaff the forty-first, the defender of humanity, Imperator of known space. Activate the Desolator.'" The bomb beeps as it counts down. "And it's done."
Winter hears stomping in the distance. The Cybermen must be up and running again. At the sound, the others all tense. Except Porridge. He just continues to morosely stare at the bomb as the Doctor scans it with his sonic. "It'll blow in eighty seconds," he continues. "Easily long enough for the Imperial Flagship to locate me from my identification, warp-jump into orbit, and transmat us to the State Room."
A flash of light is accompanied by the sensation of falling. Suddenly, they aren't standing in the throne room of a comical castle on an abandoned planet, but in a regal if rigid-looking room on a spaceship. The Doctor quickly asks for them to beam up his TARDIS. Porridge nods to one of the technicians before finishing the countdown.
The others crowd around the window as the planet blows. Winter doesn't want to see it. Even abandoned, it's too sad to watch.
She stands off to the side as Clara and Porridge say their goodbyes. Things are a little awkward when Porridge proposes. The Doctor, of course, tries to butt in. Angie breaks the tension flawlessly when she complains about how dumb Clara is for turning down the chance to be "queen of the universe", declaring that one day the title will belong to her.
She thinks about sneaking off. She's done her part; it's time to go now. She's also terrible at goodbyes. All it would take is a press of a button and she'd be off. But she can feel the Doctor's gaze on her and it's so heavy. She imagines roots growing from her feet, tying her down, grounding her. He leads her wordlessly into the TARDIS and she knows she can choose not to go with, but she follows anyway.
"Why Winter," he asks after they drop Clara and the kids off. A slight frown tugs his lips. She knows he's disappointed from her lack of reaction to the TARDIS. It causes him to study her with renewed vigor and she curses herself for not having the forethought to fake surprise and awe.
Out of all the console rooms she's seen, Winter thinks this one suits the Doctor best and least. It's all sleek metal, cool lighting, Gallifreyan symbols and exposed, advanced circuitry. She takes her time reading the words and studying the layout of the console before allowing her gaze to fall back on him. It's a performance, and she acts it out flawlessly, capping it with a small, sly grin. "Why what?"
He blinks, faltering for a moment and breaking the serious atmosphere. "No, that's what I'm asking. I'm asking 'Why Winter.'"
"But why are you asking?"
This coaxes out a frown, just like she expects. "I don't know, you're the one who brought it up. You told him—the Cyber Planner—Mr. Clever—to figure it out."
"What if I told you it's because no one likes winter," she begins slowly, stepping closer until there's only half a metre between them. Half a metre is a good place to stop. Close enough that she can talk without raising her voice and far enough that he can't reach out for her without giving her enough time to move away. "Because it's cold and dark. Because winter is the time when things end and wither and die. What if I say that I chose that name because people are afraid of wintertime and what it means and I thought, 'I want them to fear me like that?'"
"I'd say you were lying," he replies without missing a beat.
She refuses to let her breath catch in her throat. Without dropping the act, she looks at him coyly. "You sound awfully sure about that. Especially considering you don't know me."
"No," he agrees and she has to force her face still. "But I have a feeling about you. There's something… familiar."
She needs to leave. Right now. The roots retract, her feet are no longer anchored. Winter punches in coordinates she's long since memorized into her vortex manipulator. The Doctor looks surprised, only noticing how what she has tucked under the sleeve of her jacket. "I'm sure it's just your imagination."