AN: Happy Friday the 13th! The Twins return, as does Clara's very old "habit" of receiving very grisly injuries – much worse than a laser through a kidney. And, of course, they're going back to Vegas.
Atomic City
DAY 3,717 – 4th of September 2023
Clara's face appeared in front of her like a nightmare, and Oswin jumped. Had the computer screen gone dark and betrayed her own reflection? No. Clara was there, alright. Getting in between Oswin and her eight-hour Tetris binge.
"Get away," Oswin pushed her, "I'm about to beat my high score."
"I've been trying to talk to you," said Clara, "Didn't you hear me?"
"I'm playing Tetris," Oswin insisted, leaning right into the old screen. Even the Sphere struggled to recognise the coloured blocks after so many hours of staring at the rainbow-on-black patterns. Clara was sitting next to her on a chair she'd pulled up from the other side of the room, all behind Oswin's back because she'd been so absorbed in her game.
"Is this fun? Or are you going mad?"
"I'm already mad," Oswin said, tapping the arrow keys and directing a straight line down into a perfect space on the right-hand side. Four rows dissipated and she earned another bevy of points.
"I thought you prefer sexier games than this?"
"What's sexier than perfectly directing objects into tight holes?" she said, "That's all sex is, when you think about it."
"Mm… are you absolutely married to playing Tetris all day?"
"I'm married to beating my high score. Why? What do you want?"
"Just to proposition you, Os."
"My needs are being met adequately without you, and have been for the last month," she said dryly, "Are you already tired of your shiny, new wife?"
"She wants to spend the day with Jenny, so I thought, I'll go see what my favourite person in the world is doing," said Clara.
"Very arrogant of you," said Oswin.
"I know, I'm a cad. But I've been neglecting you – and you are my number one."
"Can't you spend any time on your own?"
"I am on my own, really, aren't I?" said Clara.
"Good one."
"Where's Adam?"
"Who?"
"Adam Mitchell."
"Oh, that Adam… Work things, I don't know, I wasn't listening. I've been playing this since four o'clock, couldn't sleep, couldn't be by myself."
"Really? You didn't ask for me," said Clara.
"I'm fine. I've been playing games. Calmed me right down. Wouldn't want to interrupt your five-week sex binge, anyway."
"Come out with me today, let's do something, the two of us."
"Why? Can't we stay on the ship?" said Oswin, "I don't like going out." She cleared two more rows.
"No, I have a plan. I'm celebrating."
"Celebrating what? Your thousandth orgasm since she regenerated?"
"No!" Clara went on arguing with her, "It's ten years this year, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know I'm a bit late, with the wedding anniversary and the regeneration – but it's September now. 2023. Ten years since the Dream, since you and me. We should do something."
"I'll keep you in my thoughts the next time I masturbate."
"Oswin, I'm serious. I have a plan, for something that'll be fun."
Oswin sighed, "Fine, what do you want?"
"Well, I was just doing some reading, and did you know that in Vegas, in the fifties, they had all these nuclear-bomb-themed beauty pageants? Where showgirls competed and atomic bomb tests went off in the distance?" said Clara, "I thought we could visit, the two of us."
"To look at bombs?"
"To look at showgirls. And I've heard about these cocktails." Oswin said nothing; three more rows. "Come on," Clara nudged her, "You like girls, don't you?"
"Yes, obviously I like girls. But I also like Tetris. And beauty pageants are misogynistic, why do you want to attend one? And in the 1950s? In the desert?"
"I spend enough time respecting women! Sometimes I want a break."
"From treating your fellow females like human beings?"
"Don't say 'females'."
"Why? Oh, is it misogynistic? Well, I'd hate for anyone to think I'm that." Clara glared at her.
"Will you come with me? It'll be fun. It'll be sexy. We can seduce them, the showgirls."
"I don't want to have an orgy with you and a bunch of showgirls," said Oswin.
"I don't believe you. What if we dress up? Period clothing. Just two young, bored-housewives-slash-identical-twins out on the town, hitting up the casinos – you know it sounds like fun."
"I'm not in a 'going out' kind of mood."
"Yes, but you never are, and how often do you come out with me and enjoy yourself, hm?" Clara challenged.
"I don't! You want to drag me around a boiling hot desert in the fifties? On Earth? With all that gravity, and able-bodied people too stubborn to build proper ramps for wheelchairs?"
"I'll levitate you around if you get tired."
"Brilliant… You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
"Of course not. You're my best girl, and I want to spend some quality time with you."
"You're a lot happier now you have this wife." Clara smiled at her. "I don't like it."
"Well, tough luck."
"Fine. But these showgirls, they'd better be extremely sexy. And you'd better not leer at them too much. If you leer, I'll hit you."
"I never leer."
"Ah-ha!" Oswin exclaimed, beaming for the first time that day. The computer had crashed. "Beat my high score."
"Did you break it?"
"Yeah. That's what happened last time, too, but I'm a hundred points up. It gets a bit upset when you play it for eight hours and don't make a single mistake."
"You're free then, aren't you? Come on," Clara got up.
"Yes, alright, I'm free." She pressed a few buttons on the arm of her wheelchair, which hovered around; she called it a 'floater', but Clara kept telling her to stop.
"Great! We're off to the wardrobe. I've got such a good idea for outfits."
"I'm not a doll, Clara. You can't just dress me up."
"Please don't mention dolls…"
Oswin refused to wear a dress, but they compromised with a black-and-white floral skirt – with thick black tights – and a plain black t-shirt. Over the top was a rather decrepit, sukajan bomber jacket (also black-and-white) with a skull on the back and, finishing things off, wayfarers.
Clara, on the other hand, had gone all out in her mission to look like a housewife from a laundry detergent commercial; a red A-line dress with white polka dots and a halter neck, with white gloves, a white clutch, and red shoes. She had very period-friendly cat-eye sunglasses to match.
"You know, you're not actually blending in that much," said Clara, disembarking the TARDIS onto the Strip, Oswin limping behind her with her cane and fake leg.
"I don't need to blend in, Clara, because I'm a smokeshow. And failing that, I'm very funny. Whereabouts is your beauty pageant, then? I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible."
"I'm not exactly sure…" said Clara, glancing around. Tourists walked past them with tailored suits and large hats, shielding they eyes from the pink sunset.
"Don't tell me you didn't look it up before we came here."
"How many casinos can there really be?" Clara shrugged.
"How many-? It's Vegas! It's nothing but casinos."
"We'll find it, you worry too… blimey." Oswin turned to see what Clara was looking at. There were a dozen gaudy casinos in her line of sight already; the Flamingo, the Tropicana, and the Riviera all one after the other across the street. But the one Clara had found was a cut above the rest in terms of sheer tackiness.
The TARDIS had brought them down right outside the Stargazer; Oswin read the name in bright cursive above them. The name wasn't the thing, though; the thing was the fifty-foot-tall neon rocket ship standing to attention in front of it.
"How phallic," said Oswin.
"Come on, then. This is as good a place to start as any," said Clara, heading off inside.
"But you don't even know if it's the right casino," Oswin followed her through the front doors.
"It's a casino, there'll be showgirls. We can catch a matinee."
"I suppose that's slightly better helping you count cards again," she grumbled. Clara shushed her. Luckily, though, they had no cash and no way to get chips without stealing, meaning gambling – the most boring thing Oswin could think of doing – was off the table. "So, you've already lowered your expectations from a beauty pageant to gawking at the first group of women you see?"
Clara didn't answer her. She wove through the crowds of people clustered around craps tables, roulette wheels, and blackjack games, always keeping a close eye on Oswin so that they wouldn't get separated.
"Theatre, theatre…" Clara muttered to herself, "You'd think there would be signs, wouldn't you?"
"Like in a hospital?" Oswin suggested.
"A sexy hospital."
"Every hospital is a sexy hospital – you're just not meeting the right nurses."
"I've got one very sexy doctor waiting for me at home," said Clara.
"You're insufferable."
But they never did find the theatre, wherever it was.
All the lights cut out, plunging them into darkness. The chatter stopped, but the slot machines and roulette wheels kept rattling.
A flash of light in the middle of the room. They couldn't see the disturbance for the crowd, but that wasn't a worry for too much longer when the gamblers abandoned their games and started screaming in terror.
Clara grabbed Oswin's arm and pulled her out of the way. The gloom persisted, but through the chaos and panic, a mechanical voice spoke.
"You must abandon these premises. This area is no longer safe. Please evacuate immediately. You must abandon these premises. This area is no longer safe. Please evacuate immediately." It repeated.
The casino floor cleared in a matter of moments, people shrieking, running, tripping, and forcing their way through the doors to get back out onto the Strip. With the impromptu evacuation, Clara and Oswin could now see who – or what – was making all the noise.
"There you are," said Oswin, "I've found you a woman."
"Is that a ghost?" said Clara. It looked a lot like every other ghost she'd ever seen, an entity hovering a few feet above the floor. Its face was cast in shadow and it had no legs, fading away into nothing below the waist. Even the hands weren't really there.
It remained, eerily suspended above the gauche, star-covered carpeting, delivering its message on a loop.
"What would it be a ghost of?" said Oswin, hanging back while Clara stepped closer, "A haunted PA system?"
"It must be drawing power from something, though. That's what ghosts do, it's how they manifest."
"Yes, but I don't think it is draining anything," said Oswin, "I'm electronic, and I don't feel it." She hadn't yet managed to ghost-proof her Sphere; they had a knack for hunting down electromagnetic energy no matter how well shielded it was. When Clara neared the spectre, it didn't react at all.
Intrigued, Oswin leant on the last in a row of slot machines so that she could balance as she unscrewed her cane to take out the sonic probe built into the handle.
But before she could scan it, they were interrupted. Two people, hard to see in the dark, burst into the room, the one in the lead crashing through a side door.
"Candy, put that thing down," a gruff man ordered, panting after the leader, "You don't understand what you're doing!"
Though the light from the ghost wasn't very bright, the woman – Candy – was dressed in a glittering, feather-laden leotard, sparkling enough for her to be clearly visible. She was made even more visible by the machine in her arms. It was covered in blinking lights, faintly humming, and with a spinning radar dish on the top crackling with static pointing right at the phantom. She spotted the twins.
"You two might wanna stand back."
"Ooh, I'm really not sure you should activate that," Oswin warned, staring at the device.
"Why? What is it?" asked Clara.
"Prototype ghost trap," said Candy, flicking a few toggle switches.
"It's an electrostatic field enhancer, I'm guessing," said Oswin as the machine's humming intensified, the lights flashing wildly like a broken Christmas tree.
"Don't do it, Candy!" said the man, "I'm warning you!"
Clara backed away while Candy worked a crank on the side of her creation, winding it up.
"Listen," said Oswin, "A device of that size trying to contain a semi-corporeal apparition without a power source of the requisite size, you're going to risk-"
There was no telling Candy. She pressed a button on the machine in her arms and the 'ghost trap' activated. Its hum turned into a loud whine, it shivered with vibration, and all the lights flickered.
The spectre shimmered and, in an instant, disappeared.
The machine exploded and Candy was launched backwards, crashing into a row of slot machines, a cacophony of tumbling small change ringing out. All the lights came back on fully, the ghost gone, and Candy's broken machine hissing and smoking.
"…You're going to risk that," Oswin finished.
"Are you okay!?" Clara rushed over to help Candy, whose hair was standing on end. When she was back on her feet she flinched, dropping the machine on the ground and rubbing her back.
"What did I tell you!" the man protested.
"At least somebody's trying to solve this problem, Guy!" Candy came right back.
"You don't mean that this has happened before, do you?" said Clara, looking between them.
"It's been happening since our grand opening two weeks ago," said Candy.
"Don't tell them that, they're clearly tourists. We don't want this getting around," argued the man, Guy.
"It's already around, we're the most haunted hotel on the Strip and we just opened," she said, "I'm trying to do something real about it, with science, and what do you do? Call in a priest. Look how much that helped!"
"Oh, sure. Like I'm talking science with some showgirl who barely graduated high school."
"I was top of my class! And it's not my fault that Caltech won't accept women – MIT's let women in since the last century."
While Clara listened to the argument unfold, Oswin was doing her own thing, pointing the sonic probe at the air where the ghost had been just a minute ago. The readings she got were interesting, very interesting indeed, and confirmed her initial suspicions.
She touched Clara's arm and told her quietly, "We can probably resolve this for them, if you put a cover story together." Clara didn't need to be asked twice, taking her psychic paper out of her clutch and approaching the rowing couple.
"I think we can help you with this ghost problem."
"What?" said Guy.
"Your ghosts - we're parapsychologists, the two of us," she said, flashing the psychic paper at him. Guy squinted at it until Candy pushed him out of the way to get a look herself. She read it and frowned.
"I've never heard of the 'Torchwood Institute'."
"It's a British thing, we're British," said Clara, "Just taking a holiday. This is all coincidental."
"Isn't it always…" Oswin mumbled behind her, still scanning the air.
"Sounds like a con to me. I suppose you want something for 'helping' with this?" said Guy, "Name your price."
"Oh, we always ghost hunt pro bono," said Clara, "Just give us a day, what's the worst that can happen?"
"That depends on if you're going to cause anymore explosions on my casino floor," he said gruffly.
"I'm trying to help!" Candy protested.
"Candy, it's not your job to help. It's your job to keep the rest of the chorus line in check and pull in tips for the lounge."
"The trap wasn't meant to explode, it-"
"And what in the hell were you going to do with the ghost after you trapped it?"
"Are you kidding? That's a bridge between our world and the next! Proof of an afterlife! It could change my life, it could change everything."
"It's clear to me that you're not happy being a showgirl at the Stargazer anymore," he said. "You know what? You want to hunt ghosts, hunt ghosts. But don't expect to come here to work anymore. And you two? Get this thing out of my casino, if I see it again, there'll be trouble. Now, I better do damage control and try to stop anybody from running to the papers…" He went shuffling out of the room, wringing his hands, stinking of liquor.
"Losing my job over a ghost!" said Candy, kicking one of the slot machines in frustration. "That's the last goddamn thing I need!"
"I need a car," said Oswin, "That would be very good right now."
"You don't know how to drive, sweetheart," Clara told her. Candy looked between them. "Sorry, introductions are in order, aren't they? I'm Clara, this is my sister, Oswin."
"Charmed," Oswin smiled, a little toothily, still wearing sunglasses. "Do you have a car?"
"I – yes – but – who was that you said you work for?"
"Torchwood," said Clara, "Investigates goings-on like this. Bumps in the night, lights in the sky, so on and so forth. I'm really an occultist, Oswin's the-"
"I'm the clever one," said Oswin.
"I'm clever, just in a different way to you," said Clara.
"Yes, a tiny, insignificant, mindless sort of way," said Oswin.
"And the two of you are…? Are you twins?"
"Yes," they said together.
"Why do you need my car? And how did you know my trap wouldn't work?"
"Your trap would work, theoretically, and with a bit more finesse. You need a bigger power supply for something like that, much bigger, enough to keep a human electro-neurological cloud functioning. But your problem is that a), you didn't have a big enough power supply, and b), that thing isn't a ghost at all."
"It's not? What is it?" asked Candy, "And don't talk to me like I'm stupid."
"I'd never do that. But it's a hologram. I see why you're confused about the lights, though – woman shows up and all the lights go off, you think she's drawing power from them and that, obviously, if you can invert and isolate the charge with your field generator there, you can contain it, at least temporarily, using the basic principles of electromagnetism. But it's actually generating a refractional matrix and using the lights as a source, redirecting the beams. The lights weren't off at all."
"And a hologram is what, precisely? An optical illusion?" Candy hung onto Oswin's every word.
"Just an image, you can bounce photons off atmospheric atoms in a certain pattern and it'll draw a picture. That one wasn't very sophisticated, though; you can tell by the face, or lack thereof. Chameleon shimmers can never get the faces right."
"It's a hologram demanding people leave this casino?" said Clara.
"It's a warning system. Like an air raid siren, when they drop those bombs," said Oswin, "But it's transmitting from about thirty miles northwest of here. Crashed spaceship is my best guess, and it can't very well broadcast an alien message safely, so it picks up the language and basic shape. Local fauna. That's why we need the car. To drive out and see what it is."
"US Air Force will be all over it by now," said Clara.
"She said the ghost has been turning up for two weeks already," said Oswin, "And it's still there. Besides, you're giving them too much credit, things crash here all the time and they don't do a thing – look at that debacle with the Zuar shuttle."
"Well, I suppose if we have to investigate…" said Clara, smirking at Oswin.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just, I told you you'd have fun," she said smugly.
"Please don't accuse me of enjoying myself," said Oswin, "I don't get off on mysteries like your wife does."
"You do remind me of her sometimes."
"That's repulsive. And she would have taken a lot longer to work it all out than me – that was record time. I'm serious about the car, though," Oswin reiterated.
"What? Now?" said Candy.
"Ideally," Oswin smiled again, "So, if you could lead the way, because I'd really like to get this all wrapped up within the hour so I can top myself before dinner."
"I love this car," said Clara, leaning over the backseat of Candy's convertible Buick Roadmaster as they barrelled out of Vegas. "It's a great colour. Candy apple red, right?"
"My favourite," said Candy, "That's why I chose 'Candy' for my stage name." Oswin was in the front seat on account of needing more space for her legs and cane, while Clara was stuck in the back, keeping an eye on her from afar. Candy went on, "Are you sure it's safe to be doing this?"
"I'm sure driving is perfectly safe, unless you lied about having a licence?" said Clara, and then she laughed at her own joke.
"Sorry about Clara," said Oswin, "Her husband just died. Makes her behave like a wanker."
"Why is alright for you to laugh at your own jokes, at not me?" said Clara.
"Because I'm charming, and you're annoying."
"Should you be out here gambling if you're grieving?" said Candy, "I've seen people lose a lot of money here because they didn't come with the right mindset."
"We didn't really come for the gambling," said Clara.
"Then why come all the way to Vegas? At this time of year?"
"She wants to ogle women," said Oswin, "She's a degenerate. Then again, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Candy gripped the steering wheel like she'd die if she let go, white knuckles and rigid fingers.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Lavender nail varnish doesn't really match that outfit, does it? But you did put it on fresh this morning, clearly," said Oswin, "Plus, you do have that string of photobooth pictures of you and another woman sticking out of the glovebox there, and a suspiciously small love-bite on your collarbone now the concealer's coming off a bit." Candy blushed furiously, but she was also clearly frightened.
"…Don't mind her," Clara intervened, "She's not going to tell anybody. If she's right, that is."
"I'm always right, Clara. There's also the tinfoil wrapper of a home-made sandwich down there in the footwell, with a little note signed in a very feminine hand by the letter 'L'."
"Oswin," said Clara, "You can't go around outing people."
"Outing her to who? I know you've got a wife now, but surely she hasn't changed so much that she's made you homophobic?" said Oswin, "That would be ironic."
"Well, now you're outing me," said Clara, "But, yes, I have, by happenstance, found myself in a committed, intimate relationship with another woman, Candy, and if Oswin's wrong and you're not of that particular persuasion, I rather hope you won't judge me terribly."
"God," said Oswin, "Could you maybe have said that in a less English way?"
"Probably not, I'm rubbish at languages." Clara laughed at her own joke again, then went on, "Actually, I wanted to do German at school, which would have come in handy, because I once met a girl who was wearing a dirndl."
"…Is that the end of the story?" said Oswin.
"Well, she very promptly took the dirndl off, if you want me to finish?" Clara suggested.
"She took her clothes off and you didn't even finish? Isn't that a little rude?" said Oswin.
"Where are you from where you can be open about those sorts of things?" said Candy, "Being with women. Is it like that in Britain?"
"No, not at the moment," said Clara, "Give it fifty years for things to be sorted out."
"Better a century," said Oswin, "All that business with trans people in the 2020s really set you lot back a few decades – bigots that you are."
"I'm not a bigot," said Clara, "But, you could have a point about all that… Anyway, you're American, they'll legalise same-sex marriage here nationwide in 2015."
"What?" said Candy. "How the hell would you know that?"
"We're from the future. Time travellers."
"No, you're not," she scoffed, "That's some kind of joke."
"It's not! I'll prove it. Maybe. How can I prove it, Os?" Clara asked.
"Show her your phone," said Oswin.
"What, while she's driving? In a car with no seatbelts? I'm not that irresponsible. I'll prove I'm from the future when we get to the alien spaceship."
"Finally, a sensible suggestion," said Oswin.
"…What's she like, then?" asked Clara, grinning at Candy in the rear-view mirror after managing to catch her gaze, "Your girl. 'L'."
Candy sighed, "Lisa. She's wonderful."
"She makes you sandwiches?"
"She's a waitress. We have an apartment, tiny. She came to Vegas two years ago, hitchhiking on her way to San Francisco."
"And I'll bet she never made it to San Francisco, eh?" said Clara, "If you swept her off her feet."
"…We want to move there together, we're saving," said Candy. "I've heard it's better there for, you know. People like us."
"I've heard that, too," said Clara. "I hope it works out. Keep your chin up, it's the world that needs to change, not you."
"Yeah, tell that to the Caltech admissions desk," she grumbled. "Since 1920, women have had the vote, but they still can't get into the best schools."
"Show them your ghost trap, that'll get them interested," said Oswin, "I've not met too many people who'd be able to put together a field generator like that together on a hunch, even if it did explode."
"I wish. If you don't have a dick, they don't wanna know – and why should I have to go to a worse school because they're living in the past? Times are changing."
"Mm, I'd wager they'll change quite a lot over the next ten years," said Clara.
"Why should a time traveller need to make a wager on the future?" said Candy.
"Easy money," said Clara, "I know things will change a lot – but I wouldn't want to spoil much more for you. I'm sure, though, that if you're set on Caltech, they'll change the rules eventually."
"Maybe I'll hold you to that."
"Turn off the road here, and cut the headlights," said Oswin, "Drive slowly."
"This car isn't really designed for off-roading," said Candy.
"Ah, you'll be fine. Clara will pay for any damage with her gambling winnings – she's very good at roulette. It's almost like she's cheating."
"Why do we need to turn the lights off?" she said, turning off the road carefully and onto the desert flats. The car rocked when she did and Clara put a hand on Oswin's shoulder, making sure she was okay.
"Taking the stealthy approach," said Oswin, shrugging Clara off.
"It's desert for miles and a full moon, we're not exactly invisible," said Candy.
"The USAF is preoccupied," said Oswin.
"Are they? What with?" asked Clara.
"Do you never listen to the Doctor? You're lucky I remember everything and read the TARDIS archives. In 1958, the Tenth Doctor was busy gallivanting around Area 51 with some bimbo he met in a café," said Oswin, "They're not concerned with ghosts showing up in Las Vegas."
"Don't call women 'bimbos', Os," said Clara. "I hope you're right, though."
"What's the worst that can happen? If they arrest you, you can just walk out. And I've got a built-in teleport."
"Teleport?" said Candy, "Instantaneously moving from one point in spacetime to another?"
"Yes."
"You can do that?"
"It's possible. Actually quite simple using a quantum-link, but you can't do that until humanity discovers true tachyons, and you'll be getting married to Lisa way before that happens."
"So, answer me this," said Candy, "How do you account for the Earth moving through space when you do it? Or when you travel through time, for that matter. You could only accomplish it with a singularity, otherwise you'd leave the Earth at one point and end up in outer space."
"That's why you need the quantum-link, so that you can always find the destination properly – like a phone call. But, yes, you do generally need a singularity for true time travel, but time doesn't work the way you think it works, there's the time vortex."
"The what?"
"There," Oswin pointed through the window. Something bright shone in the moonlight, growing as they approached. The ship they were looking for, undoubtedly, a big, pale thing shaped a bit like a space shuttle only with a shorter body and longer wings.
"Oh my god," said Candy, "That's a spaceship! A real one! And it doesn't look like a saucer at all!"
"Most of them don't," said Oswin.
"Well, it's not big enough to be any sort of warship, looks like transportation," said Clara as Candy stopped the car and cut the ignition.
"Yeah, but transporting what?" said Oswin, "Let's go see."
"You're not normally so active," said Clara as they got out.
"I know, but Jenny's the only one who has a pair of the remote glasses," she said, "Plus, what's the point of sending you in alone? You don't know the first thing about using a computer."
"Yes, I do," said Clara, "You get your computer genius from me because of what I had downloaded into my brain."
"Yeah, but…" Oswin began, "You're not allowed."
"One time it snows indoors, and now I've had ten years of this carry-on," Clara grumbled, shutting the car door behind her.
"Won't it be radioactive?" said Candy, enthralled by the spaceship.
"Just a bit," said Oswin, "Let Clara have a look, it won't do her any harm."
"Radiation won't do her any harm? I know the government says that about the tests, but I've heard stories about the fallout going all the way to Utah," said Candy. But Clara had already strode right up to the thing, hands on her hips, poking around.
"There's a hole," she said, "Looks like the airlock, but something's opened it. Hm…"
"What?" said Oswin, approaching.
"Is it just me," said Clara, pointing at the ground, "Or does it look like something's dug its way out?"
"Something survived this crash?" said Candy.
"They had a relatively stable landing," said Oswin, "If they'd completely lost control, it would have mostly broken up in the atmosphere, and the impact would have been much more severe if the reverse-thrusters hadn't been working. Even in the dark you can see the scorch marks," Oswin pointed them out when she talked. "Makes me wonder why they crashed at all."
"Are you sure it's not an invasion?" said Candy, "I've seen Earth vs. The Flying Saucers."
"Funny kind of invasion that comes here in a tiny ship and then warns everybody that they're knocking around while considerately using a nice disguise and learning the language," said Oswin.
"In fairness," Clara began, "I've also seen Daleks disguise themselves as humans and learn the local languages." Oswin stared at her. "Not you, obviously. The other ones, the normal ones."
"You're saying I'm not normal?"
"For a Dalek? If you were normal, they wouldn't have locked you up in that cage, would they?"
"You're a real arsehole sometimes."
"I don't mean it in a bad way!" Clara protested. "It's just, you know, because you're-"
"Insane?"
"…Unique," said Clara.
"Oh, yeah. There's no one quite like me, is there? I'm an original."
"Sweetheart, I – no, Candy, wait, we should at least scan if before we-" Clara interrupted herself when she saw Candy making her way into the spaceship through the hole in the hull, "I guess we're going in, then…"
The twins followed, Clara helping Oswin over the threshold and keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn't trip or get stuck.
"I left my flashlight in the car," said Candy.
"I've got mine," said Clara, opening the clutch again and pulling out a giant, metal torch.
"How did that fit in there?" asked Candy.
"It's bigger on the inside," said Clara, turning it on. "Cockpit's down there, I reckon."
"Should I have brought a weapon? I probably could've got one from one of the girls at the casino; I don't have my own," she said.
"We'll be alright," said Clara. It was narrow, low-ceilinged corridors, lined with pipes and wiring, and only a few doors on either side until they reached the cockpit. "Maybe there's a mothership orbiting and this is just a shuttle."
"Could be," said Oswin quietly, "But they'd probably have salvaged it by now, or done something about the message getting everybody's attention."
"So, what do you think it is?"
"Discreet transporter, like you said. Transporting something that shoots giant spikes, I imagine."
"What?"
"There, see," she pointed them out, covering the mangled door into the cockpit. It was almost torn completely off, with a funny smell of halitosis coming from within. Clara examined one of the spikes with her torch. Black and shiny, like it had come from the world's biggest porcupine.
"…You two wait here a second," said Clara, "I'll check it out."
"On your own!?" hissed Candy.
"I'd just let her," said Oswin.
Clara took her torch and crouched to climb underneath the broken-down door, where the smell got even stronger. But some of the systems in there were still up and running, screens displaying the traditional mauve warning messages. However, the three occupants of the ship were all dead in their chairs, and it didn't look like it had been a nice death, either; all of them had been ripped apart, green innards across the floor, chairs, walls, and even the ceiling. The aliens were, however, familiar.
"It's safe," said Clara, "But, brace yourselves."
Candy and Oswin followed, Candy covering her nose.
"My god… what are these things?"
"Raxacoricofallapatorians," said Clara, "These ones have blue skin, though. I've never seen blue ones before." But their black eyes, small mouths, and enormous claws made them easily identifiable. "That smell in here, bad breath, it's calcium decay. They're calcium-based organisms."
"And something's eaten them," said Oswin.
"Looks that way," Clara agreed, "The same thing that shoots spikes, broke down this door, and dug its way out. Never known them to send polite warning messages, though."
"Clara, it's an entire planet, they can't all be con artists like the Slitheen," said Oswin.
"Then why were they so close to Earth at all?" said Clara, as Oswin limped past her to get to the computers, leaning over a dead alien to reach the keyboard, covered in unknown symbols that the TARDIS wasn't translating properly for Clara. Candy was preoccupied starring at the aliens.
"Who knows. It's a good place to refuel, get some food," said Oswin.
"Oh, yeah, and I know what kind of food they eat."
"I think you're being judgemental. Surely they can't all eat humans," said Oswin, typing with one hand and leaning on her cane with the other.
"They eat humans!?" said Candy.
"Here," Oswin pulled up a window, "Earth's right in the middle of their route from Korix back to Raxacoricofallapatorius."
"Korix? The smuggler's den?" said Clara.
"Yes, and they intended to stop on the moon to replenish their water ice supply," said Oswin, "It's called a Muproseer."
"What is?"
"The creature."
"What creature?"
"Keep up, Clara! They were transporting a creature on here, obviously; a Muproseer. According to these logs, it's an endangered species and a specimen was stolen from Raxacoricofallapatorius for sale on Korix, and this lot went and got it back to return it to the wild – they're the Kirtheen, and it was taken from their family's personal hunting ground. Except, it's broken out."
"And killed the whole crew."
"Yes. And bit off the steering wheel there," Oswin nodded at it, a big mess of wires and broken metal with visible bite marks. "So, they're dead, they crash the ship, but all the systems keep working – mostly – just, without any crew. It cushions the landing properly and starts automatically transmitting the evacuation message you've been hearing."
"But why the Stargazer?" said Candy, "Why only that casino and not the whole city?"
"Well, it's the only casino that's got an enormous, fuck-off rocket standing right next to it, would be my guess," said Oswin. "Everybody go on down to the giant rocket and evacuate the planet to get away from this thing."
"It's that dangerous?" said Clara.
"Alright, you know how humans are carbon-based organisms with teeth made of calcium?" said Oswin.
"Yes."
"Well, this thing is a calcium-based organism with teeth made of carbon."
"Oh, right," said Clara.
"By which I mean diamond."
"Sorry," said Clara, "I thought you said diamond."
"I did."
"But you couldn't have said diamond, because I can't phase through diamond, because it's too dense."
"Well, let it bite you and then we'll see whether the teeth are diamonds or not, won't we?" said Oswin, as if this was a good idea. Clara glared at her.
"Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS," she said, "Jenny will know how to lure it out and set a proper trap, safely."
"No need," said Oswin, "I have a fool-proof way to find it."
"What's that?"
"Take two ripe-smelling humans and drag them into its den to stink the place up," said Oswin. "Should've worked by now. Especially when it heard the engine of the car pull up, it's not like there were many other sounds to listen to. Tell me, Candy, have a higher than usual number of hikers been going missing out here lately?"
"…Maybe," said Candy, getting panicked, "We were supposed to be going to Red Rock, but Lisa heard something on the radio and wanted to cancel. Mountain lion attacks near the canyon."
"And we're quite close to the canyon right now, aren't we?" said Oswin. Candy nodded.
Outside, in the distance, something roared. It sounded like a lion, but a deeper, darker sound that made Clara erupt in goosebumps.
"If it's made of calcium like the Slitheen," Clara began, whispering, "Can't we just squirt some vinegar at it?"
"Have you got any vinegar?" Oswin whispered right back.
"No… Candy? Any vinegar?"
"I don't like it," said Candy, "Sorry."
"In that case, no, you probably can't squirt vinegar at it," said Oswin, "Take that massive gun on the floor there." One of the Kirtheen had dropped it, a huge laser firearm. Clara picked it up gingerly, not even really sure which was the right way to hold it; her hands were much smaller than a Raxacoricofallapatorian's.
"The massive gun didn't help any of them, though," said Clara. The creature outside roared again. It was only a matter of time before it found them. "I suppose I'll go deal with this, then, shall I?"
"I can't do anything," said Oswin innocently, "And it was your idea to come out today. I was perfectly happy masturbating and playing Tetris. But, hey, if all else fails, why not try pissing at it?"
"Why would I do that?"
"You had fish and chips last night," she shrugged, "The amount of vinegar you put on it, you're bound to have some left over."
"Great. I'm so glad I've got the most intelligent human who ever lived to advise me." Oswin smiled at her. Clara shook her head and turned to leave, giving her torch to Candy and skulking away.
Out in the moonlit desert, she didn't see anything. The lights of Vegas were distinct, miles and miles away, but where they were – nestled at the foot of a mountain – she saw no signs of movement. She turned intangible, not wanting to risk solidity, straining her ears and half-walking, half-gliding over the dry earth.
She didn't go too far, needing to keep the hole into the ship in sight so that it didn't go after Oswin – or, more importantly, Candy, who couldn't teleport in an emergency. Sure, Oswin's prosthetic leg would fall off if she disappeared like that, but that was much better than getting mauled by a monster.
There was a roar behind her.
She wheeled around, expecting to see something, but it had come from the other side of the ship. Slowly, she backed away, holding up the gun with her hand trembling. If the gun was intangible, the laser mechanism wouldn't fire properly, but if she was intangible, she couldn't pull the trigger, and she wasn't going to rely on using telekinesis for such a fine movement; for ten years, she'd been trying and failing to learn to play the piano with it.
"Are you out there…?" she said, quietly. Maybe it was intelligent? "Listen, I'm not sure carbon-based lifeforms are really the best food for you…" She heard growling.
The Muproseer leapt onto the roof of the ship, and Clara finally got a look at it. Like a tiger, but twice as large, covered in spikes, and green. It had large, black eyes like the Kirtheen and glared at her in the darkness with its diamond teeth bared.
"Oh, hello," said Clara, "You know, if you want to back down, I can probably get you all kinds of things to eat while we take you back to-" It arched its back and shot a bevy of foul-smelling spikes at her. There was something acidic coating them, and even as they sailed through her and lodged themselves in the ground, she felt a sting as if she had heartburn. "Now, that wasn't very nice, was it?"
The Muproseer didn't like that its spines had failed to hurt her, and it leapt with its claws fully extended and mouth open to make the kill. It sailed straight through Clara, though, who ducked just enough to avoid its impermeable teeth, landing on the ground behind her and turning quickly. She took the opportunity while it was confused and trying to close its jaws around thin air to, for the briefest second, turn solid again and aim the gun. She shot a bright-green blast of laser at it, but the gun was so powerful she was thrown backwards by the recoil. She hit it in the hind leg but dazed herself in the process.
The creature, meanwhile, paced back and forth in front of her. Though she'd hit it, she wasn't sure the gun had caused too much damage. But she still had to keep it away from the ship entrance while she worked out a viable strategy.
Not wanting to give it another chance to pounce, since her plan of trying to talk the big cat into surrendering wasn't working, she raised the gun again and this time braced for recoil. Except, it stuttered, and a mauve light started flashing on a little battery icon.
"You're kidding me!" she said. It was out of charge. Fruitlessly, she kept pointing it and trying to fire, but got nothing in return. The Muproseer obviously learnt that her one weapon wasn't working, and got ready to charge at her again, gathering itself onto its haunches and leaping, lightning fast. Clara dropped the gun and sent a wave of telekinesis in its direction, knocking it onto its back. It writhed in the dirt, confused but ultimately uninjured. Now, Clara paced, directing it away from the ship.
Her last resort would be trying to crush it to death, but really, it was only following its instincts, and being crushed alive was a horrible way to die. Plus, she'd seen snakes do that, and it took a while; she wasn't sure she could maintain it for long enough.
"Listen," she said, "It's not your fault, you're just following your nature, but I can take you home where you can be back among your own species, and-" It roared again, coming for her, and Clara retreated, bumping into Candy's Roadmaster. She phased through the door and fell onto the backseat right as the beast drew its claws, slashing through the paint and metal and creating a violent screech, like nails on a chalkboard as it did.
After that, it all happened in an instant. The cat climbed over the edge of the car, trapping Clara, shimmering teeth coated in drool and ready to tear her head clean off with those impossible fangs – and no nanogenes in the world could rescue her from that.
She was there, vulnerable and terrified for her life. The Muproseer launched itself and Clara, unable to think of anything else to do in that moment, plunged her arm into its chest above her, just as its jaws were about to find her head.
The pain in her arm when she solidified was blinding, but the Muproseer froze, its heart obliterated, Clara's arm now stuck inside its body. It collapsed onto her.
Clara phased her hand again, barely able to pull it out, and there was an expulsion of blue-green gore that lurched out of the cavity where her hand had been as if it had vomited. Telekinetically, she threw the corpse off her and back into the desert, as if she'd swatted away a fly, and it landed in a heap in the dirt.
Her right arm was a mess. A lot of the skin down to her elbow had sloughed off, blood and exposed muscle glistening in the moonlight, most of the bones crushed. Her pinky finger was gone completely. She whimpered at the sight of it, gasping with pain. The nanogenes emerged, clustering around the limb to rebuild it. Clara leant against the passenger door and breathed deeply, holding up her arm as it dripped.
Oswin must have been watching through the mind-patch; she and Candy arrived quickly.
"Holy shit!" said Candy when she saw Clara's injury.
"Don't worry," said Clara through her teeth, "I think most of the blood and guts are stuck to my dress, your car doesn't look too bad."
"Wouldn't be the first time you've made a mess on someone's backseat," said Oswin. She was joking, but she smiled at Clara in a way she so rarely did; with the genuine warmth and affection she usually refused to admit she felt.
"I don't care about the car, what happened!?" said Candy, "I'll get the first aid kit, maybe we can bandage it up on the way to the hospital." She popped the trunk open and started rifling around inside.
"Are you okay?" asked Oswin seriously.
"I'll be fine in a minute. I'm lucky it didn't bite me."
"No, you just punched its heart out and almost pulled off your arm in the process," said Oswin. "You could have lost it completely, you know."
"It works when the Flash does it," said Clara, wincing.
"Because he vibrates, it's different," said Oswin.
"Here, just stay still," said Candy, bringing a roll of bandages over.
"No, it's healing," Clara insisted, keeping her arm elevated. "Nanomachines. Fifty-first century technology." The golden aura around her, billions of microscopic fireflies, intensified.
The nanogenes weren't the brightest things in the desert that night, though, and Vegas had one final surprise for them.
Far north, a brilliant light erupted. It was like the sun had risen at midnight.
But then the light gave way to the unmistakable shape of a mushroom cloud, burning with orange hellfire and grey smoke and, inevitably, sending radioactive dust in their direction.
"Well," said Oswin, "Here we are watching a nuclear bomb test with a showgirl in the desert. That's everything you wanted, Clara, so I suppose we can consider this trip a success."
Dr Joan 'Candy' Taylor had never been happier than to call Lisa Harlow her wife. She'd already been calling Lisa her wife for decades, but now she'd have the legal right to do so, and they could share everything properly – like they'd always wanted.
It was a Tuesday, the fourteenth of July 2015. They'd finally tied the knot that afternoon at a small church in San Francisco. Candy was seventy-nine and Lisa eighty. Very few people attended, just some staff at the LGBT retirement complex they lived in to be the witnesses. But Norm Jackson, Candy's old friend from her Caltech days in the wild seventies, had come all the way down from Portland.
It was, Candy had thought, completely perfect. Everything she'd wanted her wedding day to be when she'd started dreaming that such a thing could be possible, after one fateful meeting nearly sixty years ago.
They left the church together in a shower of rainbow confetti, courtesy of Norm, and Candy felt like it was the day she and Lisa had met, that not a minute had gone by.
But then she saw two strangers. Old friends, friends she'd almost convinced herself couldn't have existed at all – even though they'd been right about everything. Then she knew what the perfect day really was.
"It can't be…" She stared, squeezing Lisa's hand.
The twins looked just like she remembered. Oswin was even wearing the same clothes, bizarrely, leaning against the side of a large, blue box that Candy had never seen before. Clara grinned at her and walked up the church steps with a carefully wrapped box. She was wearing an old sweater with the sleeves rolled up in the summer heat, looking like she'd only just gotten out of the shower. Her fingernails were stained with blood.
"Far be it from me to show up to a wedding without a gift," she said, handing it to Candy. "Go on, open it." Hands shaking, Candy did, undoing the soft, fabric bow and lifting the lid. It was a crisp receipt, freshly printed.
"You remember, in 1960, an aunt you'd never heard of left you a small fortune…?" said Clara.
"Yes?"
"Well, there was no aunt, I did that. Got a winning lottery ticket, that's the receipt."
"You… I used that money for Caltech! We bought a house, we-"
"Please, it's nothing," said Clara, and Candy really believed her. "It's usually my wife who pulls stunts like that, but why should she have all the fun?"
"Who are they?" asked Lisa, staring at them.
"Clara and Oswin. I told you about them, remember? 1958?" said Candy. "But why are you both at my wedding?"
"It's just what we were talking about a few hours ago, before I had to go get changed and popped in to get that ticket," Clara smiled, "I never did get around to proving to you that I'm a time traveller, did I?"
AN: That's all I have! But stay tuned to Retrograde for the next storyline there, where the Lightning Girl needs to help them solve a dangerous, lunar mystery. And maybe I'll be back one day to celebrate the 20th anniversary.