The Ark ~ Refugees
The shy small man stepped out into the light of the only home he was likely to know now. The little Runemaster was not accustomed to this sense of dread and fear. He was too young - now - to be cowed, though. That fighting spirit was there, and he’d make this work. “Home…?” It was a park, or seemed to be one. It was after all, really quite spacious and beautiful. He glanced back, and the tremendous spacecraft form of the vehicle they had all just been on, seemed to flicker if only for a moment, and change into a humble blue phonebox. Reichenbach frowned. What was this, then? The Doctor had saved these tattered and torn refugees from across the Universes - plural - and brought them here, to this place that he recognized as either another Earth or one very like it. There were, after all, so many Universes. Most of these people certainly did not speak the same language, and some did not even have one at all. But through his talented use of signing and rune symbols, he had cobbled out a rough way for them to all communicate. He was after all, yet another Jim Moriarty. Genius.
Well, this was pretty. And so what? It wasn’t going to work. “We’ve got attention.” News crews that looked human- and very much like Gaia back home, in fact - were already racing to get to them all first.
Rude glanced back and his eyes widened: the TARDIS appeared now as a titanic spacecraft, it likely looked to these people for all the world like some sort of massive invasion. But surely when they got closer and saw this ragtag group they’d understand - they’d have to realize – and there – shit! That was an army – had to be -and the sound of choppers - he knew that sound. “Seems close to Gaia. I hope.” Truth be told, Rude was nervous. Reno’s hand had delicately clawed its way into his, and he very gently - and carefully - pushed it off and away. “Not here. Not now.”, he whispered. God, it was too dangerous for that! Who knew how they might react. Same sex - anything - might get them executed or worse right on the spot. “Could be a crime.”
“Shit, sorry.” Reno murmured in return. He was simply nervous, though if truth be told it was closer to *terrified*. He and Rude had watched the destruction of their world through the porthole window of the TTC just before it had entered the Vortex, The loss had hurt, yes, but at least he and Rude were human enough to *pass* on this new world, and that was a relief in and of itself. The news crews sticking the mics in his face engendered a feeling between wanting to cringe and wanting to nail one of them in the face, especially considering he couldn’t understand what the Hell any of them were saying. Not that they could understand when he told them to back the fuck off either, though he was sure the expression on his face spoke volumes. It was one that very clearly said *back off*. “Christ on a cracker, haven’t any of these fucking people heard of *personal space*? I don’t understand what the fuck they’re asking me. Never had to deal with this bullshit back home.” The annoyance was obvious enough, even as another man, a big black man with short curly dark hair that held himself much in the way Tseng once had, approached with a truck and whatever he had said to the reporters made them leave in a disappointed huff.
“That must be the guy in charge.”
“All right, all of you, back off.” General Farnsworth had stepped up the crowd of newcomers. “There will be time for interviews later, Prime Minister Holmes wants to see them.” the reporters groaned and backed off as they were ordered away and he turned toward the group. “Do any of you speak English so you can speak for the group?” he asked, sharp dark eye peering over at each one in turn as he did.
He had not been able to understand the young man who had spoken just then, but he could certainly read the annoyance in the redhead’s *tone* and the last thing he wanted was to deal with a fight when the group had just now landed on British soil. It didn’t take much guessing to know it was about the microphone being shoved under his nose when he didn’t know what the clueless woman who had done so was saying.
“Step forward, anyone who knows English well enough to translate for me so I can communicate with these folk.”
“It is the closest to a home that we are going to get.” Sherlock smiled down at his lover. He watched the reporters mob the group and the military man that had come on the scene disperse them, his back straightening as Farnsworth spoke. “Reich and I do.” he spoke up as he stood to his full height. “Reich is a linguist and is able to communicate with the remainder of the group, he taught all of them sign language and he can translate for them.”
At the mention of Mycroft he exchanged a glance with Reich. His brother existed here too, it seemed, and had managed to rise quite high in the positions of power here in Britain. Not that Sherlock was particularly surprised, Mycroft was a very good leader, even if he had all of the social skills of a beached *trout*. “I should like to speak with my brother myself.” Sherlock said idly.
He did not yet realize that he *also* existed here and how much conflict that could cause later on.
“I may be able to help, yes.” Reich felt the old familiar clannish nervousness begin to kick in, and he was already starting to balk.
Everyone was going to want him to help with this and by all rights he needed to do just that. “I’m called Reichenbach or Reich but my real name is James Moriarty.” He wondered what reaction that was going to get from them all.
Sherlock seemed to believe there was a Mycroft here, apparently. Reich wondered what he was like, if he was, was he strong and with all the resolve of an ancient glacier? Yet why would Sherlock presume this, back home in their London there were at least a couple hundred Holmes merely in London Proper. “You want to speak to Mycroft? You’re reaching that this is, in fact, a Mycroft Holmes who is Prime Minister? Sherlock, I really think that’s a bit of a presumption. I highly doubt you happen to be related to this PM Holmes. Why, this could even be *you*!” Reich turned back around to look for Remial, worried for him. Oh, he looked so very out of place, he stood out so drastically, so dangerously! Would they treat the ones who stood out differently? Or even harm them?
“Really relieved that sumbitch showed up, but I wish I had even the slightest what the hell he’s saying. Reich and Sherlock are chatting enjoyably and no one is signing, so I have no freaking idea. Look, we seem to look just like the natives here. So that’s good, maybe we can pretend we do understand, at least so we aren’t singled out. Being singled out is probably the worst thing that could happen to us.” There was a lot going on, some of it Rude could simply visually understand, and the rest, was lost in the differing languages being used. There were, after all, a lot of people here, standing and milling around, and some attempting to just leave the scene - which got them very sternly blocked from the soldiers that now seemed to fill the area up completely. Shit. “They don’t know who or what we really are. You know what we need? We need the fucking Doctor!! Where the hell is he, to come explain all this!!” Rude considered heading back into the craft and was shocked when the entire thing very suddenly sank down into the size and shape of the old blue phonebox - leaving its appearance as a mighty spacecraft far behind. Likely as not, so these assholes would realize that it was the Doctor. “Ok Doctor. Any time now.” No pun intended.
The door to the TTC opened just then and the tall, lanky man in a brown suit walked out of it, waving in a somewhat cheeky manner to Farnsworth, a small device in his hand that would extend the capsule’s translation field for as long as he was outside with it. “This should help.” he told them. “I can’t be out here with it forever, but it will at least allow you to understand each other long enough for the explanations that are in order to be made.”
“Now, sir.” he looked straight at the General “I am fairly sure you know who *I* am, and I think I do owe you some explaining. I brought these people here because they had nowhere else to go. They are no threat to you, or to your people, though I am sure that those in charge would wish to be certain of that first, and I can understand that. Quarantines to be certain they aren’t carrying exotic microbes, that sort of thing. But things will go so much more smoothly if these sorts of things are explained *now* while I can still extend the translation field so that you can understand one another.”
Relief flooded over Remial’s face as he realized the others could now understand the language as well. One of the reporters reached out in curiosity to touch his ears and tail and he shot her a fierce look. “Ma’am, excuse me, I understand that I am a guest on your world, but could you *not*? I would not reach out and touch your ears or arse, I would appreciate it if you would not do that to me. It is *rude*.” He did give her a reassuring smile that said he wouldn’t harm her once she withdrew her hands though, the miqo’te was far from being a mean person, he just did not want to be touched without his consent, something that was perfectly understandable. “Sir.” he directed that toward Farnsworth. “I think all of us understand that the people here are either scared or worried about us all suddenly just landing here, but I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’re not going to simply attack someone if we are not attacked first. None of the ones I have met are the sort.”
Reno’s expression went from annoyed to an actual, genuine smile. “Doctor, thank the *Gods*.” he muttered, and with the arrival of the extender he could pick out some of the words that the reporters were saying, and some of the questions. He *knew* they would eventually have to learn. ..whatever the language these people were speaking but having a virtual Babelfish in the midst of this very confusing situation was a gift horse that he was not going to look in the mouth, he was going to simply be grateful for it. “Look, sir, what he said, ok? None of us wanna hurt anyone here, we just got nowhere else to go. Every single one of us watched our homes go boom, up in smoke, kablooey, nothin’ left. And I daresay every single one of us is willin’ to learn the language an’ learn to fit in, all any of us want, any of us *need*, is to be given a chance. In return, if you need help, call on us. I won’t speak for Rude, he’s a big boy, he can speak for himself, but I can speak for me, an’ I say I’ll help out if ya need it. I just don’t wanna end up on the streets because I got no where else to go. An’ I don’t want it to happen to these people that kinda became my *family* on the trip here either.”
Out of the depths of the ttc a man very slowly walked out through the crowd directly towards the Doctor and the ones speaking with him. He was dark, swarthy perhaps it might be described, with eyes the colour of cacao and hair the colour of onyx. He pushed roughly through the throng, and stood directly in front of the tenth regenerated Doctor. He was pleased to hear that a hush went down in the entire crowd, and the reporters as well as the soldiers were eyeing him warily. “Earth.”
It was a bare bones statement. Simple, too simple, but he knew what he meant. “You don’t remember me, except in little snippets of urban legend and story. Your large adventure at my feet, you do not recall. But I do. I remember every iota of it. I am the Master, and it’s so good to be back with my subjects again. How I have missed the stench of this zoo, with the apes throwing their own feces in random bursts of - crapulence - oh you get the joke, right? Crapulence? Get it? Well you will.” His eyes scanned them all, some were recoiling. “Oh.” Master smiled a little. Just a very little bit. “You do know me.”
“They are no longer your subjects, Koschei.” The name was *not in the least bit* affectionate, oh no. It was cold, cutting, her refusing to call him Master, instead cutting him down to size, reminding him that he was no longer to have that place, not when she was around. “It is about time you *remembered* that, or am I going to have to remind you in a way you won’t enjoy, yet again.?” Thirteen’s voice was a low, vicious snarl. Her attitude *had* to be, in order to deal with this newly feral, vicious, nasty Master. “You will *never* own these people again, and as you can see, if you even try it I won’t be the only one who will cut you down to size. I am not the only Doctor in the house, so to speak, anymore.”
“Ma’m, I suggest you keep your boyfriend under *control* if you don’t want him arrested” Farnsworth spoke in a sharp, British accented tone. “There will be no more *emperors* here, we won’t allow it.” This Master had *no idea* who Farnsworth truly was, no idea who he was dealing with, or the *power* that he had at his fingertips if he ever had a need to call upon it. Not his own power, granted, but power that he could borrow from some other *very* powerful people, but still. To underestimate him simply because he may happen to be *human* was a very very bad idea, and that arrogance was going to get the man into a great deal of trouble. He then turned to the rest of the group. “Doctor, you’ve always been good to us, and I trust you. But I will be forced to quarantine these people for fourteen days, as is standard procedure, as I am certain you already knew. But the Prime Minister wishes to see a small delegation of these refugees first and speak to them personally, which was why I asked for translators. But if you can bring that handy gadget with you it may make things a bit easier.”