An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
My contribution to the 2019 @dwsecretsanta. I was the Secret Santa for @tardiswardroberoom, who wanted The Valeyard and Sarah Jane Smith, and I did my very best to deliver. Enjoy!
Title: Try
Author: @tardiswardroberoom (Aietradaea on FFN)
Characters: Helen Sinclair and the Eleven mostly, plus River, Liv and Eight
Spoilers: Massive, MASSIVE spoilers for the end of “Doom Coalition” 4.
Genre: Friendship / Sci-fi
Rating: K+
Length: 5,500 words
Author’s Summary: "Caleera had left her here with him, but she hadn't left her defenceless."
Merry Christmas, @merrybrigadier! :D I know your prompt said going for coffee...but that turned into tea, because the lovely Helen Sinclair is oh-so-English...and then that turned into this. ^^; I tried my best to be fluffy, I really did! I hope you like it!
A @dwsecretsanta gift for @presidentromana, who requested fic of the Gallifrey audios - specifically, involving Romana and Pandora, among other things. Things yet to be revealed… ;)
Picks up about three-quarters of the way through the audio “Neverland,” and I have not the foggiest clue how long this thing is going to get, but I hope you enjoy it and have an awesome holiday season! \o/
Minor warning for potential character death.
“I can’t remember! I…can’t…REMEMBER!”
Some said that life was pain. No, pain was life.
The Matrix hadn’t felt such torment for tens of millennia, and those darker thoughts of the long-dead Time Lords that comprised it had rested quiescent, settled to the bottom like silt in the abyssal zone. Now, the silt was disturbed, the waters clouded - and something stirred. A creature, ancient, hungry, that had not seen the suns for so long that it had forgotten what they looked like.
It hadn’t been idle, down here in the dark. Like the silken threads of a spider, it still held strands that trailed the impossible distance up to the light. It had felt the vibrations along those strands, and it had tweaked and tugged in turn. The subtlest gene here, the most fleeting hesitation at a precarious moment there.
Its web was woven. All it needed now was to nudge its prey one last time, right into the sticky trap…
—
“Madame…I will serve you until the stars decay and the cosmos is naught but a dying ember in eternity’s fire.”
Vansell’s large, green eyes were thankfully clear of the static of antitime, and shone with sincerity. Of course, one didn’t reach the top of the Celestial Intervention Agency without considerable ability to lie; rumour had it, that was why he had been recruited, long ago.
Romana pursed her lips. What choice did she have?
“Well, the next five minutes will do. I need a distraction – time to get to the Matrix chamber, change the authorization codes of this ship before it materializes and destroys the Eye of Harmony. Now. If we can lower both these shutters simultaneously, our floaty friends there will be trapped between the shutters and the reactors.” It was hard to tell whether he was taking in her words; she could only hope so, despite the antitime still no doubt trying to wrest control of his brain – she didn’t have time to repeat herself. “And if I then raise the zybanium shields, they’ll be exposed to the reactor’s cores. That should sort them out. At least, long enough for me to reach the next deck down. I need you to raise the other shutter over there, exactly when I say. Got it?”
“I understand…my Lady.” The guilt was evident in his voice now, and he inclined his head in deference as he spoke. Just being obsequious, as usual? It didn’t matter – there wasn’t time. Every decision had to be made in the space of the blink of an eye.
Every smallest, most insignificant decision.
“Actually, you take this one.” She straightened up, allowing Vansell to take her place at the controls, and hurried across the reactor core chamber to the panel at the other side, behind the second shutter.
—
What? No! No – wrong, all wrong! Had a strand broken somewhere? Had it simply not pulled hard enough? Worse – was the other end pulling back now, aware of the subtle touch that had guided it into being?
This is not how it happened!
This will not happen!
This CANNOT BE HAPPENING!
—
“Are you not finished?” came the resonant voice of one of the Neverpeople, as her fixation on the reactor core lapsed and she turned her head towards Romana.
“Nearly, Taris, nearly…” Romana’s hands found the controls. One hand tightened around a pull-handle. “Are you ready, Vansell? After three. One…two…three…”
The handles slid down; the shutters unfurled, and across the chamber, Vansell’s slammed into place, sealing him behind the protective barrier. Romana’s, overhead, began to unfurl – and then, with a clunk and a grinding sound that set the teeth on edge, it came to a halt, out of reach and still gaping open.
“What is this?!” Finally jerked from their reveries, the two Neverpeople turned in alarm, and their black-hole eyes blazed with anger as they began to move, advancing on Romana. “What is happening?!”
“My shutter!” Panic involuntarily raised the pitch of Romana’s voice, as she threw the handle back and pulled it down again, and a third time, to no effect. “My shutter’s jammed!” Leaving her exposed – to the reactor core, and to the wrath of the Neverpeople as realization dawned that they had been tricked. Furthermore, at any moment, they could telepathically communicate with Sentris back up on the bridge, and the whole game would be up.
There wasn’t time.
“I’m opening the zybanium shield now,” she called. Her voice sounded muted and distant to her own ears, but at least didn’t belie the tremor in her hand as she reached for the lever. Her critics had always said she didn’t take enough time to think through decisions; perhaps that was fortunate, in this case – fear might make her slip, given enough time to process what was about to happen. “And…Vansell? Don’t do anything stupid.”
“No, my Lady!” The staccato of a door denying access – Vansell was trying to get out of his control booth, into the corridor that connected their two booths behind the reactor core. But the Neverpeople were closer.
“No! Do not open the shield, Romana!” they protested as one, discordant rage swelling into an echoing cry. “Romana – we are your fr-…”
“Madame President, wait – I’ll-…”
The lever came down far too easily, and with it, the shimmering, translucent zybanium shield. Iridescent blue filled Romana’s eyes, filled the chamber, filled her head, and she knew no more.
—
“Power surge in the temporal reactors, Sentris,” the Undercardinal reported from the wall of monitors. “The time station is back online.”
“Good, Undercardinal.”
It wasn’t as though Sentris needed to praise the Undercardinal’s work, the Doctor thought cynically. The unfortunate fellow was completely under her thrall, as evidenced by the fizzing timbre to his placid voice from raw antitime, crackling in his throat.
“Prepare to-…ohh…” Sentris faltered, raised a translucent hand to her head. Interesting. The wrench in the Doctor’s hand paused, lifting off the bolt it was tightening. “I sense that something is wrong… Rorvan and Taris! They are gone from us!”
“Well done, Romana-…” the Doctor began to mutter, feeling a lifting in his hearts at last.
“And…the President too…”
It was a wonder the Doctor didn’t drop the spanner in his hand; rather, his fingers tightened around its handle, so hard that he felt his joints crack. A lie? Oh, he wouldn’t put it past Sentris…but, straightening up, he felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, into a whirlpool of black ink. A maelstrom inside him. That alone told him it was true; the telepathic presence of his old friend and fellow Time Lord had fallen, further than he could reach.
“What did you say?” Practically nose to translucent nose with Sentris, his voice was low and dangerous.
“Doctor?” a voice cut in, from somewhere behind, across the bridge. Charley, still bound tightly in the chair that linked her to the proton accelerator. “Doctor, what’s happening? I can’t see!”
“Silence!” Sentris snapped. “Doctor, you will continue your work.”
A maelstrom inside him, and a tempest in his deep blue eyes. Fingers tighter around the spanner.
“What if I say…NO!” On the last, his voice rose to a shout, and he flung the spanner to one side – seemingly, to any outside observer, without aim or purpose, an action of passionate rage. It bounced – once, twice, thrice – and struck the exposed circuitry at the base of the proton accelerator chair. Startled, Charley yelped, as sparks sprayed like a firecracker – but all of a sudden, the electric hum from the headpiece clamped around her temples had fallen silent, and the cuffs around her wrists and ankles rattled, chinks appearing at their teeth.
“No, Sentris! I’m not playing your game any longer!” With both hands, the Doctor brushed down the front of his velvet coat and stepped away from the open control panel he had been working on. “We’re doing things my way from now on.”
“Levith!” Sentris commanded. “Raise your stasar.”
“Yes, Sentris-…ah!” Cut off abruptly, even the static seemed to pause in Commander Levith’s fizzing voice, and there was the sound of the stasar clattering to the floor. Surprised, both the Doctor and Sentris turned, to see Levith blinking, flexing and inspecting an empty hand with her static-filled eyes. Behind her stood a satisfied Charley, shoe raised.
“Oh dear, Sentris – have the tables turned?” the Doctor drawled, turning a shoulder to the Neverperson and taking a step towards Charley.
“Not at all, Doctor.” Sentris was regaining her composure quickly. “If you ever want to escape this land of the lost, you will now have to repair the proton accelerator, as well as the time station. And you will do so.”
“Now that’s where I’m going to have to disagree with you, I’m afraid,” said the Doctor, reaching Charley’s side and turning back towards Sentris. “Oh, I won’t deny that I might be temporarily stranded here – but as for repairing your means of getting out? No, that’s just not going to happen. Not now, not ever.”
“Oh, Doctor…” That cold, dispassionate laugh of hers, that never reached the two inky pools in her colourless, translucent face. “You’ve played your last card. But I…well, as you yourself like to say…I still have an ‘ace up my sleeve.’”
—
“I can’t remember! I can’t remember! I can’t REMEMB-…wait…wait – I do remember.”
Romana…Romana…
“So. This is the Matrix. And what a mess! Disorder, chaos, fragmentation…lucky I’m here, then.”
Romana…Romaaanaaa…
“Who’s there?”
We’ve been waiting for you, Romana.
We waited for so long.
We will wait for an eternity.
But you are here now.
“Ah. Pandora. Funny how some things become clearer with hindsight, isn’t it?”
Hindsight?
Foresight?
No – now you can see. That was us, Romana. Look – can’t you see it?
The past…every moment of every life of every last one of your ancestors, leading up to…
…the present – you, Romana. You, who should have been…
…our future.
“Were, are, will be…and I’m could-have-been, is that right? Your Could-Have-Been President.”
Could be. You still could. We have not waited an eternity to surrender so easily…
Here you are, @mskamalakhan - a DW Secret Santa fic for you! I’m so sorry it’s so late - I can offer no excuses I shouldn’t have anticipated. I went for your prompt “some of the things that happen to Martha during that year” - this is just the first chapter, but there will be more to come! Hope you like it, and hope you’ve had an awesome holidays!
Martha Jones wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting when her contacts in Kelmis had spoken of a “castle.” A large, grim, grey stone affair perched atop a fog-shrouded hill, perhaps, damp and gloomy, full of cold and dust and ghost stories.
She had encountered local folk legends, passing through Ukraine, Belgium and Poland - stories whispered by the old as families huddled in cellars and boarded-up cottages, and increasingly by the young in barracks and slave quarters as the hope faded from their weary eyes. With each passing day, it seemed that there could be nothing left waiting around the corner save for the imps, goblins and witches of the black forests and dark places of the world. To many, that would have been the preferable option, having seen their families and neighbours shredded by the whirling blades of the Toclafane.
Now, though, they had a new legend to pass among themselves when the work shifts ended.
Now, they told each other of the man from beyond the stars who had protected them from the imps and goblins.
Now, each and everyone one of them could help that man to save the world.
Schloss Herzberg looked nothing like Martha had imagined. In the fresh autumn sunlight, it gleamed crisp and clear like a new acrylic painting, all red and white and black timber trimmings against the cloudless, azure sky and emerald-green mountainside. To drink in that postcard-perfect sight, one could almost forget, just for a moment, what had happened to the ruined and ransacked township that lay in the periphery.
She wondered at what point she had started expecting only darkness around every corner.
Just as her contacts had told her, she found a rucksack at the bottom of the mountain road, containing a flask of fresh water and a grey-green-brown woollen blanket. Gratefully, she gulped down a few mouthfuls of the water, before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, folding it over her head. Then, keeping low and slow, she began to trek up the slope through the thicket. She kept her perception filter strung about her neck. It wouldn’t do to take risks.
By the time she neared the castle itself, she was short of breath and her calves were aching. Having seen no sign of any Toclafane, she removed the perception filter and stowed it in an inside pocket of her jacket. Until she could be sure of anything here, she had no intention of letting on that she had approached with any disguise other than the camouflaging blanket.
Up at the window, she caught a flicker of movement - an indistinct figure ducking out of sight. It was deliberate, she knew - not enough to present a target, but just enough to let her know she was being watched as she stepped out from the trees and approached the arched stone gatehouse. She had no doubt that there were weapons of some sort pointed towards her slender, vulnerable form as she approached the barricade - but it was precisely that vulnerability that would reassure them. The Unified Containment Forces - the Master’s private army - tended to come in more heavy-handed. Like their esteemed overlord, they wielded fear and intimidation like they wielded their MP5s and Glocks; and they arrived in numbers and in force, to the roar of army vehicles and the rattle of machine-gun fire.
No sooner had she reached the gate than a small slot opened, at about eye height, and a voice sounded.
“Mein Gott!” it exclaimed. “It’s her! It’s really her!”
“The ripe old smell of humans…” The Doctor’s words echoed in Martha’s head as she moved through the narrow passageways of the castle, the blanket now rolled up under one arm. Every room seemed to be occupied by at least one family, beseiged here. The windows were boarded up with planks and iron grills, and museum pieces had been pushed to one side or dismantled for their usefulness - curtains and tapestries provided warmth, and picture frames and books fuelled braziers and flickering torches to light the way and heat water in old iron pots and pans.
Her contact Jannik was a tall, lean fellow, young of face but with weariness in his blue eyes. Those eyes were alight now, though, as he eagerly showed Martha around and introduced her to everyone who caught their eyes. He also slid aside a bookcase and showed her a tunnel that apparently emerged in the woods just outside the town. They had been sending people in pairs through the tunnel every day, to loot from the town and nearby farms, tend to some potatoes they had planted under cover of the trees and search for more fugitive survivors or work-camp escapees in need of shelter.
“And you did all of this?” Martha said eventually, as they passed through the castle kitchen where half of a thin sheep roasted slowly on a spit.
“Well, we all did it, really,” Jannik replied, as though the question surprised him. “I mean, I thought of some parts, and I try and keep track of things, but no - I was just a tour guide here, before...you know.” His German accent, Martha noticed, was thicker than the TARDIS’s telepathic translation circuit would usually have let it seem. Before the paradox machine.
That evening, after some much-needed sleep and a bowl of hot stew, Martha took up position on the platform in one corner of the Knights’ Hall that had been used for live bands when weddings were held here in happier times. Jannik had gathered every last one of the fugitives into the hall, and they sat, an attentive audience on blankets and cushions on the floor, their eyes on her. Jannik hung his jacket over the shoulder of a suit of armour against the wall, and sat down on the edge of the platform as Martha began to speak.
“I’ve got a story to tell you all. It’s not a very long story, and I’m not going to ask you to believe all the details...I’m not sure I believed it myself, at the time, and I was there! But it’s important. All I’m asking you to do for now is listen. See, there’s this man…”
---
The River Rhine was visible even through the rolling fog - a glittering, blue ribbon winding its way through the green countryside. Standing on the deck of the Valiant, arms folded, the Master was unmoved by its beauty. His quick, hazel-brown eyes roved the landscape, assessing and planning...a launch platform on that plain, a supply port and labour camp at that inlet, a statue on that hilltop…
“Sir?”
His navigation officer was standing to attention at the bottom of the flight of steps, that familiar apprehension that so satisfied the Master shadowing his features. Navigation officer - a superfluous title, really - the Master knew perfectly well where he wanted the Valiant to travel, and how to get there. But the illusion of having some authority did so help retain the loyalty of the more cocky little apes to the one doling out that authority, like morsels to starving dogs.
“There’s...good news, sir,” the navigation officer continued. “The UCF have tracked Martha Jones. We’ve got a suspected location...and a bolthole of fugitives the work-camp officers have been trying to sniff out for months. Sir.”
The Master took in the navigation officer’s words with a single raised eyebrow - and then, abruptly, his handsome features broke into a grin of anticipation, and he clapped his hands sharply.
“Stop the engines,” he ordered. “We’ll move in when it’s dark. They won’t see us coming. Ohhh, brave Martha Jones...how much longer can you keep on running?”
Okay so here is One part of the dwsecretsanta project i'm working on!
This is for my recipient Tardiswardroberoom! It is of the valeyard and Ainley!master. I am still working on the next part but I figure I should upload the first part. (you can probs guess what the next part will show)
