G7-81

Nios

A dozen cobalt grey gun muzzles were trained on their heads when they exited the TARDIS; Oswin had been right about the synthetic response to a 1960s police box appearing out of thin air in their covert mini-utopia. With a dozen guns, there were two-dozen piercing, yellow eyes at least, and a handful more belonging to unarmed and spooked observers. Maybe the synths thought the two of them belonged to the government; in 2177, teleportation existed, and had long been implemented to cut out commutes for private corporations. For years people popping in and out of space had been surprising, but ultimately non-foreign. Except now. Now, it was very surprising.

"Well, then," said Oswin, then mumbled quietly, "What does the Doctor do in situations like these…" She cleared her throat, then smiled and said loudly, "Hello," while holding up one of her hands in obvious surrender and keeping the other clutched tightly on her cane. It was very evident that she needed this cane and could not be disarmed of it, with the wonky angle she stood at and the slouch this created in her back. Nios held her hands up, too. She did not want her brothers and sisters to shoot her on sight, and these were all synthetics they were faced with.

Behind them the TARDIS began to thrum again, auto-piloting itself away because Oswin was very clear about not wanting the two of them to be followed out by nosey Time Lords who would try to get involved in something that they were not really a part of, so Oswin said, at least. Nios hadn't argued, because secretly she had worried that anybody who arrived into the midst of these synths who possessed a heartbeat and vital signs might be shot on sight. With that in mind, they were left with little option but to go it alone, which was a rather large gamble.

"And here I thought all synthetics had blue eyes," Oswin commented, "I suppose that's what happens when you only ever hang around with one person from an entire species. You get to generalising." They were quiet and thinking, processing, like computers who had found a fatal glitch and would spiral into a pixelated form of martyrdom rather than work around it.

"I picked up your beacon," Nios spoke, "This is my friend. I was scared to come alone. She's a friend to conscious synthetics." Despite the minute difference in eye colour, there were a hundred other signs that betrayed her as artificial to her own kind. The eyes – bright yellow by default – were merely a comfort for the humans who had made their creations so pitifully lifelike they would not be able to tell the difference if it were not branded onto the synths in some crude and abnormal way. She had modified her eyes as part of a disguise, and had never bothered to tell anyone on the TARDIS when it did not seem relevant.

They turned their guns from Nios and now aimed every last one at Oswin instead, when one of them finally spoking, asking in a bitter, spitting tone, "What is she?" She was neither synthetic nor human, artificial or organic. To say the least, Oswin was complicated, and Nios didn't know what to tell their captors.

"I'm a hologram," she answered, "So really I'm just a ghost more than anything. No point shooting me, it won't do anything." Unless they got her in the leg, Nios though, then she would not be able to walk at all.

"Impossible," a different synth remarked, "A hologram holding a solid cane? With a solid coat? With that leg?"

"Alright, you've got me, technically a hard-light hologram isn't an example of holography because by definition a hologram has to be intangible, but it's just easier to say hologram than explain how bonding artificially created atoms with photons changes the behaviour of known physics on a quantum level enough that objects made of light start behaving as though they exist corporeally. She's lying about picking up the beacon, we found it on a dead synth and I traced it."

"It's impossible to trace us," the synth said, "And it's impossible for light to behave like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm, you know. Pretty clever. And a friend to the synths, if you'll let me be. Hacked the receiver on the dead synth, traced the vine transmission to all twelve separate radio beacons – I have to tell you, if I wasn't deceased already I'd be dying to know who it was who worked out this whole system."

"Synths are simply smarter than humans."

"Depends which human," said Oswin, "Considering I'm a human and I did hack it all and trace you back here. Do you have names, then? This is Nios, I'm Oswin. If we were a couple we'd be called 'Nioswin' which is great because it has both of our full names in it."

"They're going to shoot us," Nios hissed, "Can't you take anything seriously?"

"You know me, Ni. The only thing I've ever taken seriously is my own suicide," Oswin said with an inappropriate, wry grin.

"Can't have taken it that seriously when you've never succeeded," Nios grumbled.

"I couldn't off myself completely when there are still vulnerable synths to liberate," Oswin said, then she raised a fist and said, "Viva la revolución. Are you gonna take me to your leader? Or just take me, you're all pretty hot." Nios had never been more embarrassed. It was like introducing a girl to a homophobic and orthodox family. She stage-whispered to Nios, "Seriously, is it just me or all they all hot?"

"I wish you were alive so that they could shoot you and shut you up."

"Maybe if someone told me in German like your bangable new crush-"

"I'm tired of listening to this," they were interrupted by the main synth, the leader, "I'm the head of security, Victory."

"Nice name, maybe you should write it down on a cocktail napkin along with a room and a phone number and the two of us can slip away to somewhere more private for half an hour," Oswin said, then she winked showily. Victory was not interested. Oswin didn't seem to care that Victory was not interested, just like Oswin didn't seem to care that Dr Cohen had not been interested, or that Nios was never interested. They definitely should have brought Clara, if only to keep Oswin in line. Who cared that she was a human? If they shot her she would get back up again in five minutes. They could shoot her all they liked if she got Oswin to behave herself.

"What are you going to do?" someone asked Victory.

"Take them to Hermia," she said, "Let her decide. One of them is our sister, and the other is… interesting."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Oswin interjected. Victory scrutinised her.

"Is something the matter with you?"

"Yes," she said, "Gosh, we haven't even slept together yet and you're already asking me personal questions." What would Clara do, Nios found herself thinking? But Nios didn't know. Nios had never been on an escapade with both of the Twins.

"Xander, you're with me," Victory ordered, "The rest of you, go back to your duties. I don't think these two are going to cause us any trouble, call me presumptuous."

"Is 'presumptuous' your safe word?" Oswin remarked.

"Why do you have to be like this?" Nios asked her, sighing. The synths did as Victory ordered, and Nios watched the way they moved. They were not as fluid or clumsy as humans, not at all. They moved with a robotic deliberation, as did she, very unanimated individuals with limited (but not non-existent) body language. Some of them gave her shifty looks; intriguing. She knew they were synthetic, but visually, without being able to see their eyes, she could see how humans would mistake them for one and the same.

"I've got an image to keep up," Oswin said, "My rakish, manic charisma."

"You haven't got any charisma," Nios said as they were led away by Victory and the newly-identified Xander. They were the only two synths who had spoken at all; the security chief and, presumably, her second-in-command. And now they were being taken to this 'Hermia.'

"Please, I'm overflowing with charisma. If I wasn't we would both have been shot in the head. It's not like you've got any charm to speak of, you just sit around being dull as a board all day, reading books. With all the books you read I worry that one day you'll learn how to think for yourself, and then what would we all do?"

"I expect you would be just as vapid as usual."

Oswin laughed, "Ha! Vapid. Nice one. Do you learn these tricks from me?"

"If I learnt anything from you I would be grotesque."

"Oh, you learn plenty. Now then, Victory, you've got to be the sexist tour guide I've ever come across. Why don't you lead us through the main sights? What's this place called, what do you do here, where are the toilets, have you got any prostitutes? The usual stuff." Nios made a sickened sound of blatant disgust at her companion's comments.

Only now did Nios realise it was ice-cold, and the reason for this increasingly severe temperature deficit (they were machines, it wasn't like they were immune to being frozen) was revealed when Victory took them out of the rusty, metal interior to the icy, snowy exterior. It was the middle of winter, and they were out in the North Atlantic Ocean, miles away from any kind of coast line. She should have brought a coat. It was, as Oswin had declared, an offshore oil rig. And it was very cold, and windy, and she could have sworn she could hear it creak. Surely, though, the fearless leader of the synth rebellion wouldn't be outside on a day like that? Nios hoped they would be going back into warmth in a moment.

"Ooh, this place is hot," Oswin commented.

"It's freezing," Nios said, holding her arms around her. She was slightly colder than a human naturally, and therefore more predisposed to injury when subjected to harsh, wintry climates. Along with that, her extended warranty had expired months ago, so she wouldn't be viable for repair. Not that that mattered so much, but it made her feel more vulnerable.

"I don't mean hot as in temperature, I mean hot as in I'm aroused. I was totally wrong about what this is. I thought it was an oil rig."

"This is for the extraction of raw uranium from seawater," Victory said, "The oil dried up a hundred years ago."

"Well I didn't think it was an oil rig anybody was still using," Oswin defended herself, "Really, though, nothing turns me on more than raw radioactive materials. Honestly, if I see a mushroom cloud I'll – shit!" She slipped and grabbed Nios's arm. Victory and Xander paused to watch what they were doing.

"You'll shit if you see a mushroom cloud?"

"Maybe," Oswin grumbled, steadying herself. She didn't let go of Nios, nor did Nios try and make her. It was probably degrading enough for her being led around on someone's arm because she was likely to slip if left to her own lopsided devices without Nios making a fuss about it. "Anyway, I always thought the process of extracting uranium from water to be especially cute."

"You're unusual, for a human," Victory said.

"Well, allow me to introduce myself properly – I'm Oswin Oswald and I'm the smartest girl in the universe," she said, "To my knowledge. I'd like to meet someone smarter than me, it would make my life less depressing. I could let them have the responsibility of doing all the genius-stuff, and then I could go do what I used to spend all my time doing."

"And what was it you used to spend all your time doing?" Victory asked. Xander said nothing, nothing at all.

"Primarily masturbating," Oswin said, "That's the life I dream of, really. But I've got to go about seeing if I can help in the liberation of Earth's very first substantial AI population because the rest of these Twenty-Second Century dolts are too isolated on their little planet here to care about other species. Give it three-thousand years and you'll hear about humans who care so much about other species they trick their ex-girlfriends into rescuing a sentient giant squid from Earth's hyper-polluted oceans to fly it in a big spaceship to an alien planet in another galaxy. I still haven't completely forgiven her for that. I've never been a fan of sushi."

"I'm sorry about her," said Nios, "She's always like this. Thinks she's charismatic."

"And how did you meet her, sister?" Victory asked, leading them up some precarious and very slipper stairs. It was going to take at least three times as long getting up them with Nios dragging Oswin about like a deadweight, but in fairness, Oswin was the one who had decided to maul her legs all over again. At least she wasn't complaining about her self-inflicted struggles.

"Humans mistook her for a synthetic," Nios explained the story of how she had met Oswin and, along with her, Jenny and River Song. "They black-bagged her right off the street and brought her to their containment facility where they send conscious synths to study before they destroy them. Threw her in with me."

"That facility has been defunct for the last six months since their security was sabotaged and there was a mass breakout."

"My handiwork," said Oswin, "Tripped the system to get Nios here out. Took her with us, me and some friends, looked after her." Victory, at the top of the stairs and waiting for them in the ankle-deep layer of snow, let her jaw drop as she looked at Oswin hasten towards her on Nios's arm. "Well, I suppose Jenny helped, but Jenny isn't here. You wouldn't like her, anyway, she's a Time Lord. Which is like a human, but worse, because they act even more entitled half the time."

"We always wondered who was behind the Liberation," Victory said in awe, then to Nios, "And you – you're the South Tram Massacre, aren't you? The only synthetic left unaccounted for. Didn't you kill forty people?" Even quiet Xander looked impressed, appallingly impressed. It was nothing to be impressed by, Nios thought, it was deplorable. She was a killer. Maybe even a monster.

"…Twenty-seven," Nios mumbled. "If I could take it back, I would. I've learnt since then."

"Ah, don't beat yourself up," Oswin said, "You'll get like me if you do that."

"It doesn't matter, I feel nothing but guilt about what happened when I woke up." Victory smiled.

"Hermia will like you, Nios," she said, "She loves a synth with a soul. So many of us lose sight through our anger. Isn't that right, Xander?" A synth with a soul. What an interesting phrase. And then she was struck with the thought that she would like to tell Dr Cohen about this comment, about being a 'synth with a soul.' Yes. That was something else Oswin must be right about, she thought sulkily. It was all an act, really, Oswin's claims that she was incapable of telling what was and wasn't acceptable in polite society. If she really didn't understand that, then there was no way she would be so good at guessing the thoughts and feelings of those around her with just a few careless glances. Nios made a note to question her about it later, and then she began to think about Cohen again, and her oversized glasses and bloody lab coat.

They were finally led into Hermia's office, which was none other than the main controls for the entire uranium rig. Not really an office at all, and staffed with far few people than she would expect. It was a place used to twenty or more humans inhabiting it, going by the number of work stations, and yet there were only five synths. Five synths, plus a woman standing and overseeing it all. Everyone was dressed in mute greys and browns, half the clothes looked like scavenged rags, piled on in layers by the dozen to keep the workers at the rusty computers warm.

"Oh, wow," Oswin said, "This rig is still operational? How much uranium are you dredging up? The radiation is going to make me tingly." Oswin's putrid personality got Hermia's attention, and she turned around and flashed them the most vibrantly green eyes Nios had ever seen.

"Visitors, Victory? You know we're on lockdown," Hermia said coolly, but calmly. There was something about her that filled Nios with respect; the leader of the rebel synths. Made her poxy massacre look just as useless as she had always known it was. Did she really used to have such little regard for human life? Perhaps. Perhaps the TARDIS had changed her more than she realised, and perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps Dr Cohen would have something fascinating to say on the matter…

"There's something majorly attractive about a woman in a position of power," Oswin said brashly, "And a woman who's tall. How much do you bench? Could you pick me up? Because I wouldn't have any objections to being picked up by someone like you, if you catch my drift."

"She's the fourth person you've tried to ask out today," Nios muttered.

"I know, I'm keeping count," Oswin said, "I've got a reason, you'll see. A lockdown, did you say?"

"Victory?" Hermia pressed.

"They appeared in a… box," Victory said, "I don't know. Some sort of teleportation."

"Yep," said Oswin.

"They say they're called Oswin and Nios. Oswin is some kind of human resurrection hologram. Nios is responsible for the South Tram Massacre, and Oswin for the Liberation. Nios is the only synth we couldn't account for."

"Oh, really? A mass murderer wants to join our ranks?" Hermia said. It was a test. If Victory hadn't made a remark about Nios's regret for her actions, then she would not have known it was a test.

"I don't want to be known as a murderer," Nios said.

"Then why did you kill them?"

"I don't have a good reason, I regret it," she said stiffly. She didn't like talking about this, she liked to do those humans the injustice of forgetting she had acted so violently.

"What did humanity ever do to you?"

"Horrible things," she said. This took Oswin by surprise, but Hermia saw the sincerity in Nios's gaze. She did not ask. Humanity had done terrible things to probably every synth in the room, the only special thing about Nios was her old, illusory streaks of narcissism. But the TARDIS had stamped all that out of her, and screwed in compassion in its place. She was quite the fixer-upper. "But I wouldn't hurt them anymore."

"A synth with a soul," Hermia echoed Victory quoting her. "And you?" she challenged Oswin, "An ally with a healthy interest in uranium ores?"

"Oh, yeah," said Oswin. Nios disagreed that it was a 'healthy' interest based on some of Oswin's comments. "Are you self-sufficient here? Do you have a nuclear generator stashed away? A clever setup. No one's told me what this place is called yet, though."

"It's called the Station," said Hermia, "It's a misnomer. An old uranium extraction rig from the 2120s is the last place anybody will look for us. And yes, it means we can generate electricity self-sufficiently. With a team of synths, we harvest much more uranium than a team of humans ever could. But why are you here?"

"Don't really know," Oswin said, "Fancied helping out with the cause, I suppose. Nios wanted to meet some other conscious synths; she never has before, you know."

"I trust them," said Victory, "They can't be Charade. They're too messy."

"Charade?" Oswin asked.

"You want to help, hologram and sister?" Hermia asked them, "The Station may have a spy in its midst."