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isqueedmyself · 2 years ago

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Dr. Who: Flight of the Arrackelians

Kate Stewart viewpoint with failed attempt at romance, bits of Thirteen/Yaz; allusions to Twelve/Missy and Ten/M_3, special appearance by the Rani

NC-17 for salty language and an episode of nonconsensual f/f groping; there is also one het flashback

trigger warning for spiders, vehicle accident, nonconsensual sexuality, surreptitious administration of drugs, nightmares, falling, OC death, painful recovery from injury, nonconsensual telepathic manipulation, violence within the limits of on-screen practice, theft of genetic material

16000 words

Oh, and I don't have a beta reader. Sorry.

I claim no ownership of this mileiu, its characters and settings, and I am certainly making no profit writing fanfiction for free.

There was no traffic at all on the mist-shrouded road from the oddly named village of Dikhem. This was actually a good thing, Kate Stewart told herself, since the road in question was more of a lane perhaps two meters wide between a crumbling dry stone wall interspersed with gnarled trees and a long line of brambles which likely concealed a ditch. Beyond wall and tangle both the landscape rapidly faded into the blank whiteness of English fog.

Kate's new driver did not believe in proceeding cautiously. Sergeant Hendrix was a baby faced genius with a gift for mechanical things. He could repair almost anything on the side of the road, which was a good thing as he also had a talent for causing mechanical failure.

"Bump ahead, mar...."

He got to the middle of "marm" before the bump in question bounced Kate against her seat belt and her tablet into the darkness under the front seat.

"All right, there? Bit of a rough one, that."

"Stop the car for a moment, please, sergeant."

Hendrix applied the brakes, and Kate unbuckled and reached for her tablet. The thing was her life, full of case notes and phone numbers and her children's latest attempts to keep her from worrying about them. She groped around and felt something move.

"Keeping pets in here, Hendrix?"

"Marm?"

She pulled her hand back into the light and found it covered with dark spiders each about a centimeter in diameter.

Kate smiled. Some people might have screamed at the experience, but she had a long-standing interest in entomology. The spiders didn't appear to be a native species. They were dark gray with a yellow cast to their faceted eyes. Kate nudged one over with a manicured fingernail and flipped it on its back in the center of her palm. It had a mark on its belly, but not the hourglass of the venomous black widow. No, this was a golden circle, and it appeared to be spinning.

"Blimey!" Hendrix was peering down at her over the back of the back seat, his pale blue eyes wide. "I... I'm sorry, marm! I... I'll have the car sprayed as soon as we get back to base."

Kate took a picture with her phone and started to run an image search, only to find that her phone had no bars.

"Don't bother, sergeant," she said. "I expect the car will be quarantined while we look into these things. They're not... what one would expect. Are you finished with your lemonade? Could I see the bottle? And a tissue?"

Hendrix passed her the green plastic bottle, and Kate drained the last few drops into the tissue and then urged half a dozen of the tiny arachnids into the container. She pulled a Swiss army knife from her briefcase and punched air holes with the corkscrew, then returned both knife and bottle to the case.

"Nothing we can do about it out here," Kate said as she re-buckled her seat belt. "You can drive on, now."

Hendrix started the engine and put the car in gear, but just then there was a thud and another spider hit the windshield, this one as long as Kate's forearm from fingertips to elbow. Hendrix screamed, clenched his eyes shut and, apparently reflexively, pressed the accelerator to the floor.

Perhaps Sergeant Hendrix's future lay in a support role rather than field operations, Kate thought as the car plowed through the brambles and plunged nose-down into the ditch.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 2 of 12

Kate was falling, watching a huge plane growing smaller and smaller above her, feeling the winds ripping at her clothes. That woman... why had she...? It made no sense. Nothing Missy did made sense. For that matter, Kate had never known any Time Lord whose behavior truly made sense, and she'd met a good many. Wouldn't meet any more now, though, would she? She wondered how close the ground was, and tried to twist around and look. It was then that she saw the Cyberman. He was quite gentle; he matched velocity carefully, reached out and caught her, and then began to brake. “Don't be afraid,” he said, and it was only then that she realized who he was, and cried and cried and cried.

Something was carrying her, now, something smaller than a Cyberman, something with the warmth and give of human flesh. She didn't know where she was, but it was cold and damp and she hurt, far worse than when she'd been deposited on the ground after her plunge from the plane. She'd broken no bones then, but she didn't think she was as lucky this time.

And her eyes wouldn't open.

And then, without the passage of time seemingly, she was inside somewhere. She could smell a fire, feel the warmth. The arms that carried her set her on something, something hard like a table with some sort of padding, and pulled a warm scratchy blanket around her. Gentle fingers stroked her forehead, and she heard a man's voice say “She's awake.” Other footsteps, smaller footsteps approached, and smaller fingers touched her just as the others had. She felt... something, something familiar. And then, somehow she knew that the mind behind those fingers was panicking. Something pushed her down, something familiar, down, down, down, and then she slept again, but not before she heard that voice speak again, asking “What in hell are we supposed to do with her?”

They were going to convert her. They marched her through UNIT headquarters, metal boots marching in time, and set her in that horrid chair, and she couldn't see, but she could feel, and she could scream.

She sat up abruptly, still screaming, She heard someone take three steps and then he caught her.

“Eh, eh,” he said. “Don't fret, now! Don't fret! Ye're safe, and all.” Fingers stroked her forehead again, and a wave of calm swept over her. She held on to him for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

“Am I?” she asked. “Safe, I mean? Then why are you speaking pure Tyke now when you had an Estuarine accent before? And why can't I see?” “You are a good deal better, aren't you?” he said, still with a shade of Yorkshire, but much diminished. “I was stranded here for a while some years ago, and I'm afraid I picked it up. And you've been in an accident. Your face is bruised, and your eyes are swollen shut. Actually I wish you could open them a bit, just so we can see if there's any damage.” That made sense. Kate strained, and eventually forced her eyes open. Her companion was a small man, her own size, and with fading golden hair like hers as well. His eyes, though, were... not brown, not golden, but halfway in between. He had a sweet smile and a short beard, and a nasty scar on the back of his head. And that was it. Kate's eyes closed again. “Doesn't look too bad,” he said. “We'll try again in the morning.”

“My driver....” “I'm afraid he didn't make it. Your engine pretty much landed in his lap. He'll be safe enough in the car until we can get someone up here.”

“You can't...?” “It's the fog, you see, and the sun's almost down now. They said in the village that the roads have been closed. We'll get you to a doctor as soon as we can.” “Not in that thing, though,” came another voice as footsteps bustled into the room “It's totally borked. Herself's gone down the village to see about some parts—fasteners and such, and if there's a chipper she'll bring back... oh, are we awake?” “We are,” Kate said. “How many of you are there?” “Depends how you count,” answered the newcomer with a chuckle. “Myself and my... sister,” her first friend said, “and her... companion.” “Here!” protested the other.

“Well, how would you describe it?” “I try not to think about it,” groused the newcomer. “And will you cover yourself up, woman, before you freeze! You're turning blue in places that don't even look good on a human!” “Lie back down,” said the one beside her. “We're drying your clothes, but I'm afraid for now it's this gown.” He plucked at the fabric, apparently some kind of cotton or linen, and then tucked a stiff blanket around Kate. His fingers touched her forehead, but she took his hand in hers and pulled it away.

“There are spiders out there,” she said. “Big ones, ones not native to Britain. And I need... I need my case out of the car. Samples... notes....”

“Wasn't in the car,” said the newcomer. “It landed a good twenty feet away. It's over there, but I don't know how you can use any of that without your eyes. Looks like you pretty much wrapped yourself around your tablet; it's okay. Phone's gone, though. It was in the water, and it hit something hard on the way down. Probably several somethings.” “Thank you,” Kate said, “for getting them. Thank you for helping me.” His hand disentangled itself from hers, patted her cheek and moved back to her forehead.

“You're a telepath,” she said, and he froze for a moment before speaking.

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “Is that going to be a... problem?”

“Gallifreyan?” “What makes you say that?”

“Your friend said I was blue 'for a human.' And you didn't say 'what the hell is a Gallifreyan?' Besides, I have a friend who can do what you do. He doesn't, often... but he can. Or she, at the moment. I think. I mean I think she was about... I can't think straight.”

“You're hurt,” he said. “Will you let me help you sleep, now? So you can start to heal?” Kate considered. The alternative was to lie here, helpless and in pain, until she fell asleep on her own. And if this fellow wanted to hurt her, he didn't have to ask permission. “All right,” she said, “this one time, do it.” And he did, and the last thing Kate heard before she fell asleep was the other man whispering: “What in the HELL are we going to do with her?”

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 3 of 12

Kate's eyes opened when she woke the next morning. She was in what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient church, a small one with a round vault with a mural of biblical figures looking down at her. She was lying on the great stone altar like some sort of sacrifice on a pad made of the folded altar cloth, covered with what might once have been a hanging tapestry. The back wall where one would expect a crucifix to hang had been knocked out and a huge fireplace stretched its whole width, although only a tiny fire burned. The floors were bare, swept clean as if well cared for, and in each of the side walls was a trio of stained glass windows. Now, that was out of period. She sat up to look more closely. The six windows were all green in tone, all forest scenes, and all featured spiders. It looked like that scene in Harry Potter with the car and the dog, and Kate had no desire to meet Aragog. She tried to stand, and found that one of her thighs was splinted. And three of her fingers. And her ribs were taped. And there was still no one else in the room, although she could hear them moving outside.

The door opened, and the man entered, not her blond friend, but the other one. He was a bit smaller than the other, although more sturdily built and more heavily muscled. He had bushy ginger hair everywhere: eyebrows, beard, and especially on his head.

“Awake, then?” he asked. “Good. UNIT's out there. At least we think it's UNIT. There are search parties, anyway, and while we want them to find YOU, we don't want them to find US, if you follow. Although if that TARDIS was working, even for a short jump, I'd gladly be off and leave the other to you to sort.”

“Are you being held against your will?” Kate asked him.

“Yes and no. I certainly don't want to be with her, but without her we'll never get the blasted machine going. It likes her, you see. You'd think that would mean it would also like him, but... and will you put some clothes on please?” Kate had had about enough of him.

“Wearing this thing was not my idea,” she reminded him, “and I only hope you weren't the one who redressed me.”

“Herself was worried you were hurt,” he said. “She thought your people might take it badly. And we were absolutely not the ones....”

“If there even were 'ones who did it,'” said her blond friend as he bustled through the door. “Looks to have been a genuine accident. We brought you an eggy pud,” he said, holding up a takeaway bag, “and we'll just make you a cup of tea. How will that be?”

“Oh, right,” said the gingery one in a sulk. “Tea. Why don't I just look to that?” He poured water from a pitcher into a kettle and set it on a triangular hob over the fire. In the meantime his companion sat down next to Kate and pressed the bag into her hands. “We're going to have to leave you alone for a moment,” he said. “We won't be far away, at least not till they've found you. We've been killing spiders the size of a TARDIS roundel all morning, and we left a trail from the car up this way. Doesn't look remotely natural, but as long as it gets them here.” “Where is here?” Kate asked. “What is this place?” “Where the borked-up TARDIS landed after it got shot AGAIN,” the companion huffed, plopping a tea bag into a mug and pouring water in from the whistling kettle.

“We truly don't know,” the blond told her. “It does have an intriguing look about it, doesn't it? Anyway, any other questions?”

“Dozens,” said Kate. “Who are you? Do you have anything to do with this plague of alien spiders? Who built this place? Where did you get that scar? And... where's the toilet?”

He smiled at her, and the room almost lit up. “Bog's down t'other end,” he said. “Scar... me sister hit me with her brolly.” He looked around, and his attitude changed, and his accent along with it. “I think it's early, the church,” he said, “maybe seventh century. Might have been missionaries. That's not what you mean, though, is it? Someone's been using it, someone who knows about those spiders. The windows... that's an odd addition. Not exactly clandestine, are they?” He went to one of the windows and ran his fingers along the black line of a chitinous leg. “Looks like somebody tried to show Arrackelians without showing they're inorganic.” He shrugged, and dropped back into his other persona. “Any road,” he said, “you need help getting...?” And he obligingly let her lean on him to walk the length of the building to the tiny lean-to that held the facilities. When she'd finished he walked her back to the altar, and the other fellow tossed a huge bright teal shawl adorned with elaborate embroidery into her lap.

“Put that on, will you?” he said. “At least while we're here?” “Gallifreyan cultural sensitivities,” the blond one said. “Have you not noticed?” He pointed up and down his own body as he spoke. “We cover from ankle to collarbone and back down to the wrist. Here.” He folded the shawl into a triangle and draped the center across Kate's chest, looped it behind her and wrapped one end around each of her arms all the way down, where he tucked the ends in to form sleeves. Then he pulled the points of the front behind her back and fastened it somehow, so that it crossed and accentuated her breasts.

“Whew!” said the other as he looked her up and down. “Might have been better as she was after all.”

The blond snorted at him.

“They do call you the Monk for a reason, don't they?” The offended Monk, if that was his name, handed Kate her tea and her breakfast and stalked away.

“Look,” Kate said to the other between bites, “It doesn't have to be this way. We can help each other. You know we have had contact with other Gallifreyans. We can help you repair your TARDIS, help you get a message to someone, and maybe you can help us figure out what it is with the spiders. Not to mention I need to contact an aerospace magnate whom I was supposed to see yesterday to explain why I stood her up. Please, don't just go.” “Does that apply to all of us?” said a third voice from the door, a female voice, a Scottish voice stained with contempt. Kate knew what she would see before she looked: a small woman, now in modern clothes, thinner than she had been, a mass of permed hair now hanging loose to her hips.

Kate suppressed a scream. Missy. And her brother. No, not her brother. No. The Master.

And Kate clutched his hand as if it were all that could save her from the end of everything she knew.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 4 of 12

Missy and her Monk disappeared, but the Master stayed with Kate, trying to calm her, debating on the identity of the saints in the fresco overhead until she realized he was either making it up or recycling Gallifreyan folk tales. He almost stayed too long—he only left when they heard someone give the order for “you two” to “look in the church.” Kate never did figure out how he got away, but that was the way with the Master. Apparently they were indeed well and truly away, because she heard the sound of a TARDIS as she was carried her in a basket to a waiting helicopter to be airlifted to hospital.

She got dozens of calls in hospital, and enough flowers to decorate for several weddings. None of this made up for her inability to sleep. Apparently Gallifreyan telepathy was miles ahead of human drugs for deadening physical pain and trauma.

On the first day she got a call from Grace Findley from EchoCorp, whom she had been set to meet about a new satellite surveillance system with particular applications to UNIT's needs. She was quite concerned for Kate's well-being, and expressed considerable sympathy for Hendrix's survivors. Of course, she was trying to sell several tens of millions of euro's worth of orbital electronics, so some such sentiments could be expected.

Kate also had a visit from Petronella Osgood.

“We extracted all the data from your old phone,” the woman told her as she took a shiny new Android device from her own briefcase. “You really did a job on the it. I thought I was bad when my dog chewed mine up and dropped it in the toilet, but....”

“Did you track the TARDIS?” Kate asked her.

“Nothing took off,” said Osgood, “and I don't think there was anything that landed, at least not under power. There might have been a flyby. Anyway, your tablet's okay.”

“You rechecked the security protocols? My... rescuers had access to it for some time while I was unconscious.” And if anyone in the universe could crack UNIT's encryption, it was Missy.

“I looked at it personally,” Osgood said. “I didn't see any sign of intrusion, but we can migrate your data to a new one if you like.”

“No, thank you.” Missy was quite capable of designing malware that would migrate along with everything else. They would be lucky if their computers hadn't been compromised just in checking the tablet.

"Humor me," she told Osgood, "and run a full security scan on UNIT's network when you get back."

"Marm."

“What about the spiders?”

“The four of them....”

“There were six. Tell me you didn't lose....”

“We found some bits and pieces in the bottom of the bottle. We think the four that were left got hungry. However, when we opened your case....”

“What?”

“They were all four squeezed together up in the neck of the bottle. They... they were trying to unscrew the cap.” When Kate didn't say anything in response to that, Osgood continued in what she probably meant to be a reassuring tone. “We have them contained securely now, though.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Kate.

By the time she got out of the hospital, Kate's face had faded from the color of an eggplant to that of an overripe peach and parts of it were looking almost normal. She was using a cane rather than crutches, and her ribs and her hand had completely healed, or so she was told. Her fingers still gave her twinges at times. She let the bruises fade for another couple of days, and then called to make another appointment with Findley.

Ms. Findley, her assistant told Kate, was under the impression that they had concluded their business during their previous encounter. Yes, the one two weeks ago.

When Kate had been flat on her back in the hospital recovering from the repositioning of a pin that refused to stay in place in her femur.

MI6 went round and rattled Findley's people, and came back with security footage that showed Kate entering what looked like a country house and exiting a few hours later, in four inch heels and a slit skirt, with legs better than hers had been in her teens. Not that her legs weren't perfectly adequate, or so her husband had kept telling her. She squeezed the ring on its chain around her neck as she reflected that the legs in the video were far more than adequate. The face, though, was almost identical to Kate's. And this person had purchased a large number of orbital surveillance devices, far more than UNIT had planned to buy.

How was she planning to get them into orbit?

This was, in fact, turning into a situation to interest UNIT.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 5 of 12

The day after that, the Doctor turned up. Someone in Geneva had authorized the use of the emergency signal. She was still herself, still with her friend the policewoman, and very concerned about how Kate had got from the car up to the church. Just who were these people who had helped her?

“Two men I didn't know,” she told the Doctor. No need to mention Missy; that would only lead to awkward questions about Kate's degree of comfort with... with the Master. But still... “They were Gallifreyan. They said someone had shot at their TARDIS, and they put down for repairs. I expect they got it fixed, though, because I heard it as they were taking me out of the church.”

“Someone shot at us, too,” the human girl said. “Couldn't hit the broad side of a bridge, though.”

“There are,” said the Doctor, “not a lot of TARDISes kicking around the universe. Not a lot of Time Lords on the loose. We ought to be able to figure out who these two were.” “One of them was small,” Kate told her, “shorter than I am, just a little. He had lots and lots of gingery hair, and a bushy beard and sideburns like a cartoon cat. Doctor, are there a lot of things out there shooting at the few remaining TARDISes? Things just lurking on Earth?”

“Yeah, we're gonna have to look at that,” said the Doctor.

“Something I meant to ask you... Miss Khan, would you hand me those....” and she pointed at the nightclothes she'd been dressed in at the church. “The men who found me gave me those to wear while my own clothes dried. They look very special, especially the shawl, and wondered how to launder them. I'd hate to ruin something so nice.”

The doctor took the clothing, and sat down heavily.

“You didn't know these guys?”

“No,” said Kate.

“And they didn't... I mean, you didn't... marry them? Either of them?”

Kate wasn't sure what to make of that particular question.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Because that's what this is; it's wedding lingerie. It's what you wear on your wedding night. It looks just like mine.”

“You said you had a wife....” said Yaz.

“No,” the doctor said, “I was a woman then. Barely more than a girl, before my first regeneration. Nearly a thousand years ago, Yaz. During the Crusades, on earth. I had a husband, then, and I wore a shawl exactly this color, for him.”

“They said that was all they had to give me,” Kate said. “They were quite apologetic.” “I bet,” the Doctor said. “You have a washer?”

Kate sent her to the laundry room, and turned to the policewoman, who still looked quite suspicious. “What about the other fellow?” she asked. Yaz, that was her name. Policewoman from somewhere. Kate had signed a request for her to be seconded to somewhere nonexistent to account for her travel with the Doctor. Yaz was repaying the favor by asking inconvenient questions. Kate considered her answer carefully. “He wasn't as hairy,” she said, “and he had a very sweet smile.” Where had that come from? The Master had a sweet smile? Kate shied away from that subject. “Hang on. The Doctor says there are very few of her kind left. Are there no pictures?” Yaz found the Doctor, and brought her back. The doctor wasn't pleased, but she pulled out her sonic screwdriver and projected little holograms on Kate's coffee table like R2D2 in Star Wars, Time Lords believed to have survived the war: the Seeker, the Observer, a woman simply called Romana, and then.... “That's him,” Kate said.

“The Monk,” the Doctor said. “Not terribly bad news in himself, but lately... you say he was traveling with a man? I suppose we could be talking a new regeneration. Did he recognize you, this man?”

Oh, sod it! The Doctor suspected. “They had recognized the UNIT plates on the car,” Kate told her. That might even be true. “They knew who I was. They asked in the village about an ambulance, they said, but the roads were closed, and the next morning our own people found me, and they were gone.” “Odd,” said Yaz, “that they didn't hang about to give a statement, to make sure you were in good hands, after they went to the trouble of rescuing you.”

Kate only wished that were the only odd thing. Why had Missy and her companions...? It made no sense. The Doctor projected the rest of the Time Lords' images, including Missy herself, but not the Master, not the one Kate had met. There were a dozen others, and then the Doctor herself, and that was all.

“That's everyone?” asked Yaz. “That's your whole species? That's all that's left? Eighteen?”

“It was a terrible war,” said the Doctor, “and after, there were... predators... who took out a good many.”

“I am so sorry,” the girl told the Doctor.

“For a while I thought I was the only one.”

“I'm glad you're not,” said Yaz. “But... where's the Master? The one we've been dealing with, the fit one with the big teeth and all the hair, and the complexion like mine?”

“It only shows the current version,” the Doctor told her, “and it thinks that's Missy.” She thumbed the screwdriver again, and it flipped back to Missy's image, complete with nanny suit and umbrella. 'My sister hit me with her brolly,' Kate remembered. She bet she had. “Our Master must be from uptime.” the Doctor told Yaz.

“Uptime?” said Kate.

“We have time machines,” the Doctor said. “We can crisscross each other. There was one time there were five of me on Gallifrey at once, with your dad and the Master and... well, this lad likely regenerated into somebody who regenerated into somebody who regenerated into Missy.”

“How many somebodies could their be?” asked Kate.

“Quite a few. You start out with twelve, supposedly, but... but things can get complicated. Missy was on her second set, but she gave them up. I hadn't thought of that.” “Why did she give them up?” asked Kate. “To whom?” The doctor said nothing, but her face was haunted. “And what's to be done about your people?”

“Nothing,” said the Doctor. “It's all over. We're doomed. If they aren't hunted down, they'll eventually die naturally, and that will be that.”

“No,” said Kate. “No, you bring them to Earth. Bring them here, all of them. Your people have defended earth for as long as there have been humans here. We owe you, and earth is at least defensible. We... we can take in eighteen people.” She looked up into the Doctor's brown eyes. “Good, bad, indifferent, bring them all. Keep them safe from the hunters, until you... build back up.”

“They wouldn't do it,” the Time Lord said. “They left Gallifrey for a reason, most of them. All of them. Of us.” “We're talking about saving your species,” said Yaz. “And earth is a big place. If they just don't like crowds....” “Most of us don't reproduce the way you do,” the Doctor said, “and the technology, the Looms: they're gone with Gallifrey. There wouldn't be any 'building back up.' It would just be one generation. Most of them would probably not think it's worth it.” Kate didn't know why she'd made the offer. The prospect of eighteen Time Lords with an interest in protecting earth full time was intriguing, but integrating them.... “At least let them know the offer exists,” Kate told the Doctor. “When you see them, or communicate with them, or just find a good place to leave a message, tell them they have a home here if they want it. Will you do that much?”

“Do you have the authority to make the offer?” asked Yaz.

The Doctor laughed. “Oh, that she does,” she said, “and she's done it before, even if my old self had to stand over her the whole time. But it'll never work. It'll just never work. I'll tell them,” she told Kate, “but it will absolutely never work.”

Maybe it wouldn't, but the next morning, the Monk knocked on Kate's door... well, he asked politely and her security detail knocked... and said that the Doctor had broadcast her offer and he would like to stay on earth, please, but he couldn't keep his TARDIS. One out of eighteen. More than five per cent of the species. That was a good thing. Kate sent him along to HQ to work out some details and figure out how he wanted to live his life, and moved on.

She had to go to work herself that day. When her driver let her out at the staff entrance, there were three TARDISes parked by the entrance door, all in the “earth traditional” blue police box form. Someone had set up an impromptu career center of sorts on the main floor, and a cluster of curiously dressed people were inventorying their skills and interests. They all stopped to shake Kate's hand, to thank her. For saving their people. For giving them a home. They could have fetched up on any random world and built... something... but they were weeping with joy over being invited to stay on earth.

The Doctor was wrong. This was working. There was a microbiologist, a solicitor, a meteorologist, a history teacher and a journalist, or at least that was what they had been before they became Time Lords. If this program had to go public, those last two might prove very useful. Kate hobbled on to her office, and found the Master sitting in her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“They just let you wander around UNIT headquarters?” “Didn't ask,” he said, holding up a bronze arm band similar to one she'd seen Jack Harkness wearing. “What was that nonsense the Doctor broadcast...?”

“Not nonsense. A quarter of what's left of your people are outside signing up, and this is just the first day.” “Speaking of which, have you seen the Monk? He seems to have disappeared.”

“First one to turn up. He's looking at arranging parties.”

“Weddings and such?”

“More like illicit student gatherings. I don't know if he'll be a contributing member of society, but he'll make a good living at it. So, will the two of you be joining us?”

“Oh, I think the lady is... well, I've never heard quite so much profanity attached to the word 'vault.'” “Pity. No one believed she couldn't have left any time she wanted. It was more of a nest than a prison, a safe place where she could... work on things.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Actually, no. Those spiders? They're not natural.” “Thought not.”

“They're a type of Arrackelian drone. Used to be a couple of dozen models, built by a spacefaring race on a generation ship and sold to finance their lifestyle. They're gone; daleks got them, but other folk still use the drones they left behind. These ones look like DNA acquisition devices. You never got bit, did you?” “Don't think so. Bit late to worry about it now. But what would they do with my DNA?” “I can think of any number of possibilities, but then, I'm an evil genius. This is probably some philanthropic soul with purely altruistic... ah, you have a visitor.” He touched the cuff and was gone. Kate turned and saw, down the hall leading into her office, a red-headed woman in a smart suit and expensive pumps, flanked on each side by someone in a black suit and dark glasses, with a quartet of armed security guards trailing behind.

Grace Findley had come for her appointment.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 6 of 12

Kate was on the wrong side of her desk. Usually she liked to loom over a certain class of visitor, but her chair had been occupied when she'd come in, and hobbling would work against the atmosphere she wanted. She leaned back against her desk and studied her visitor.

What was it about ginger hair? This woman's was everywhere, like Missy's and the Monk's and a few other people Kate could name. It made a contrast to the fitted emerald suit and the dark tights, and especially to the shoes. Louboutins? Seriously? With office clothes?

“Like what you see?” the woman asked in a tone loaded with acid. Kate's gaze snapped from her shoes to her eyes.

“I am rather pleased to finally be seeing it,” she said, aiming for the same degree of tartness. Possibly she overshot.

“So, the other one,” said the redhead. “Black sheep of the family? She's obviously a relative.”

“No,” said Kate, and then amended it to “not to my knowledge.” Her father had surprised her before, but she had the feeling this wasn't the case in this instance. Still....

“And those forty-three surveillance satellites of which we have already made delivery?”

“I'd talk to whomever took delivery, because UNIT didn't get them. Also, you are probably in contravention of the Official Secrets Act of 1989 seven ways from Sunday, so are you sure you want to make a fuss about this?”

“Do you know how much money this involves?”

“To the penny. Do you know... wait a minute. You had forty-three satellites just lying around waiting...?”

“We have a very efficient production capability.”

Kate stared at her. No. No way she had been able to produce... well, those facilities would certainly be investigated. She moved on.

“And to whom did you sell these satellites?”

“UNIT,” Findley said, “in the person of Catriona Saidhbhe Lethbridge-Stewart.” Kate was willing to wager a sizable amount that the correct pronunciation of that middle name was nothing like the way Findley said it. “Kate Stewart,” the woman continued. “You.” “That's not my name,” Kate told her, and bit her tongue to prevent herself giving away information. Not that her name wasn't public record, but still. “And that's obviously not me on the security video.” “Yes,” Findley mused, “that one was fit. Toned everywhere and legs....” Kate restrained herself from reacting when Findley briefly licked her lips. “As I said, perhaps a sister? A younger sister?”

“I believe I'd know if I had a sister of any sort,” Kate said, refusing to be baited. But she hadn't. She hadn't known she had a brother, until... anyway. “And even if I did, she certainly wouldn't have the authority to sign a check for purchases on behalf of UNIT.”

“Well, somebody has to pay....”

“So, you made delivery before receiving payment?” “2/10 net 30, Miss Stewart. It's a standard contract, and one doesn't expect government entities to default on that sort of thing.”

“That might apply if you had actually been dealing with a government entity,” Kate reminded her. Net in 30 days? Where would she have been supposed to get millions...? “As it is....” As it was, this woman was the victim of one of the biggest frauds in UK history.

“Am I free to go?” Findley asked “That was more than ten days ago. You didn't get...?”

“We did not. As I said, am I...?”

“I believe some of my associates have further questions for you,” Kate told her. “If you'll go with these officers....” Kate was sure Grace Findley didn't toss her head as she turned and went where the People in Black pointed. Certainly she didn't wriggle her backside in a sort of taunt. Kate tottered around her desk and plopped down in her chair. Bad move. That hurt.

Fingers brushed her forehead, and the pain diminished. She looked up, and he shrugged at her.

“Right cunt, that one,” said the woman on the other side of her chair, gazing after Findley.

“Inntit,” said the Master. “And no taste at all.” He touched Kate's shoulder briefly.

“Sod off,” she told him, and he took half a step away with a grin on his face.

“She was trying to distract you from something,” Missy mused, “there at the end.”

Kate felt her eyebrow rise. Now that someone had said it, it was obvious.

“We were talking about the delivery of the satellites,” Kate said.

“And then your shanks,” said Missy.

Kate nodded. “Exactly.” She caught herself smiling. “Would the two of you please go down and sign up to immigrate so I can put you on the payroll?”

Not that she'd ever thought she say that to these two, but Missy was sharp.

“We'll just pop down and listen to this interrogation,” said the Master, reaching for his gauntlet.

“Please don't,” Kate said, sudden panic in her voice. She had looked down the hall where Findley had disappeared, and met a pair of brown eyes, huge eyes staring at Kate, at all three of them, in absolute horror. The Doctor. “Please don't leave me alone to explain this to her.”

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 7 of 12

The Doctor stalked down the corridor, as slowly as a death march, with her policewoman looking puzzled but keeping pace with her. Kate felt Missy's fingers in her own hair, stroking some misplaced lock back into place. The Master stepped close again, touched her shoulder again.

And the Doctor opened the door.

“Is the cat deid, then?” asked Missy with a touch of scorn. The Doctor glared at her, then jerked her socks up to cover the strip of skin between their tops and the bottom of her trousers, and rolled one layer of her cuffs down.

“My Scottish grandmother would say that,” Kate told Yaz. “It means your pants are too short.” Certainly too short for Gallifreyan standards of modesty. “What's it got to do with the cat?” Yaz asked. Kate shrugged. It made no sense to her, either. The Doctor stood up and turned to Kate.

“You lied to me, Kate Stewart,” the she spat.

“I did not lie.”

“'Two men you didn't know?'”

“I never saw either of them before.”

“You didn't know HAROLD BLOODY SAXON?”

Kate looked up, into the Master's dark amber eyes. Older, he was, and calmer, hair silver rather than gold, with a layer of mature muscle where boyish skinnyness had been and possibly the result of a few too many pints lingering in the belly area, but now she saw it: yeah, this was Saxon, the former Prime Minister.

“I didn't recognize him until you said that,” she said.

“But you knew who he was. You knew who SHE was!” And the Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at Missy.

“She was unconscious when we found her,” Missy said, “injured and in shock, lying in cold water with a frigid night approaching and no help coming. She would have died. And let's not even talk about what was out on that moor that night that might have been attracted to the scent of the driver's body!”

“Since when to you care if Kate Stewart dies? You killed her yourself, once! Kicked her out of a bloody plane!”

“Maybe that's why,” said Missy. “I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I did a lot of things. The Osgood girl, and... a lot of people... it's like it wells up inside me until I can't stop it and I have to kill something. Have you never felt like that?”

“No,” said the Doctor, her voice full of judgmental venom.

“I hope you never do,” said Missy.

“In any case,” said the Master, “you can't blame Kate for being rescued. She had no way to stop us. She wasn't consistently conscious until the next morning, just before your people found her.”

“I'm not blaming her for that. I'm blaming her for lying to me, for not admitting you were with her. Why did she hide you? Why did she protect you from me? Why did you give her my wedding clothes? Those were mine! Ours! Why did you even keep...?” “It was what we had,” the Master told the Doctor. “We had to put something on her. If you'd been there, you'd have done it yourself.”

“I didn't,” Kate said, “do anything with your ex-husband that would bother you. I had enough broken bones....”

“Husband,” said the Doctor. “He's still my husband. He's always.... Gallifreyans... we leave, but we're still married. And we can be married to more than one person at once. But you didn't...?” Kate shook her head. “Then why are you working with them? Your father would be so ashamed of you!”

The Doctor fell silent and her companion didn't speak either, although her eyes stayed on Missy.

“I don't think so,” Kate said. “Look, I remember the story my father told me of the time he went to Gallifrey.” She looked up at the Master. “He said you were trying so hard, trying to help. He told me you were trying to work with the Doctor, with all the Doctors, toward a common goal even though they didn't trust you and wouldn't actually let you help. And he said... he said things like that are sometimes three steps forward and one back, and when you couldn't quite make it all the way that time, he was the one that stopped you, caught you, wouldn't let you do any damage. And he always believed that one day you would come around. So, no,” she said, turning back to the doctor, “I don't think my father would be ashamed of me. I do think that he'd be disappointed in you. Again.”

Kate closed her eyes, then opened them again to find the Master looking down at her.

“I'm still not there,” he said. “not... safe. She's closer, but....” “But,” Missy finished for him, “please don't ever believe either of us are anything but what we are.”

“Don't get yourself hurt,” the Master whispered.

“No chance of that,” said the Doctor, her voice quite firm. “Both of you, move away from her. Come on, come on, round this side of the desk.”

In a gesture Kate found almost charming, both Missy and the Master looked to her for permission before moving. She nodded, and they edged around the desk. The Doctor gave his companion a weapon that Kate didn't recognize.

“If either of them move,” she told Yaz, “shoot them both.” She strode around the desk to Kate, put her hands on the arms of the chair and swiveled it so that Kate was facing her. “Now,” she said, “let's see what they've done to my best friend's daughter.”

The Master started back, but stopped at Yaz's “Unh-uh-uh!” and a gesture with the weapon.

“What are you going to do?” Kate asked.

“He's been in your mind, yes?” the Doctor said, in a tone of voice with nothing questioning about it.

“He eased the pain,” Kate told her. “He helped me sleep.”

“Yeah, right. I'll bet he did a bit more than that, and that's why you're acting this way. Sorry about this,” she said, in a tone that held no regret at all, and then slapped her palm against Kate's forehead.

Telepathic contact with the Doctor was much different than with the Master, who had held Kate gently, like a parent cradling a small child in strong arms. The Doctor was... smaller, almost feeble, but all points and sharp edges. She shoved her way into a mind in a way reminiscent of the University student that fourteen year old Kate had rashly allowed to take her virginity some decades ago, stirring up fear and pain and regret mixed with helpless anger. And then she was gone, much as that young man had been, but the Doctor was retreating from Missy's fury, and the Master swept Kate up and held her and whispered comfort.

“What's going on?” Yaz demanded. “What just happened?”

“Your self-righteous prick of a girlfriend just mind-raped her best friend's daughter, is what's going on!” Missy shoved the Doctor back against the wall and held her in place with one hand gripping the front of that rainbow tee.

“Doctor?” the policewoman asked in a bewildered voice.

“I had to do it, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “I had to know if they're controlling her! Don't you see? She runs Unit!”

“And are they?” Yaz said. “Was there anything...?”

It was a moment before the Doctor answered.

“No,” she said. “So,” Missy crooned, “ye thought we were turning Stewart off ye an leaving earth withoot your protection?” Her tone hardened. “Well, congratulations, ye glaikit great radge, cuz ye've managed just that, all on your own! She'll nae trust yer sleekit bahooky again, will she?”

She slammed the Doctor against the wall and stalked away.

“I have no idea what you just said,” the Doctor told her.

“It wasnae a compliment!”

“I got that part.”

“Okay,” said Yaz, “what exactly is this 'mind-rape' thing?”

“If we were on Gallifrey,” Missy said, “it'd be the polis on 'er for that, same as some lad stickin' his dobber where it's not wanted.”

“Gallifrey's gone!” the Doctor roared.

“Doesnae mean you get to do the like of that,” Missy snapped.

The Master was shaking with suppressed laughter. Finally he was able to speak.

“Are you all right, then?” he whispered to Kate.

“I think so.”

“Are you able to let me look? To see how much damage she's done?”

“Of course. It's not really that serious. Not pleasant, but....”

He didn't put his fingers to her forehead this time. Instead he put his own forehead against it and closed his eyes. Gentle... fingers? Not fingers. But something soothed the ache where the Doctor had been, teased things inside Kate's mind back the way they should have been.

“Is that all she did?” “I think so.” “I'll just have a bit of a look, and then we're done.” The something oozed a bit further in, and then.... And then the Master tensed, all at once, like a hunting dog going on point. Or more like a she-bear when her cubs are threatened. Gently he pulled his mind back, and then stepped away and turned to the Doctor.

“And did you have her permission for the rest of it?”

“The rest of what?” said Kate. The Master's fingers touched her cheek.

“It's all right,” he said. “We can probably fix it, if that's what you want. But did you give consent?”

“Consent for what?” asked Yaz.

“There is evidence of more than a dozen memory manipulations in here, with the Doctor's mindprint all over them.”

Kate swallowed. That was probably the most frightening thing she'd heard that day. If her memory... and by the Doctor? What was the Doctor trying to hide? Was she a friend of earth, or...? “No,” the Doctor said, “it was the Zygons.”

“Zygons did it?” said Yaz.

“No, I did it,” the Doctor said, “because of the Zygons.”

“But you got her permission,” the policewoman said, “like you did with me when you...?”

“I couldn't.” She turned to Kate. “It was for the best,” the Doctor said. “You have to believe me.”

“I... I think I need to sit down,” Kate said, and then her knees buckled and she almost fell into her chair.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 8 of 12

The Doctor wouldn't leave Kate alone with the Masters, and they wouldn't leave her alone with the Doctor. In the end, they all three left her with Yasmin Khan, departing together via the Master's gauntlet to, as he put it with a worried glance at his sister “go kill some spiders.”

“How long have you known those two?” Yaz asked.

“All my life.”

“I beg...?”

“My father used to take me to visit Missy in the Vault... in a recovery facility, a....”

“Mental hospital?”

“Something like that. He said it was cruel to leave her locked up alone. She taught me to play piano, and to read and write Gallifreyan, and some truly strange children's stories. When I was about twelve, and my body started to change, I asked her... I mean, she was the only woman I... my father didn't introduce me to his lady friends. I still remember telling her telling me she had no idea, that she wasn't human and her body didn't do what ours do. She let me listen to her hearts... they have two hearts, you know... and it was like the world that had been confined to one backward planet suddenly opened up into a whole universe. Sometimes I wonder if she remembers me, if she connects that little girl....”

“It must be strange for them, watching our lives flitter by.”

“They don't hang around. They regenerate, and then they're gone, off with someone else.”

“And the gentleman? How long have you known him?”

“You realize that they're the same person, right?” Kate asked Yaz. “Two regenerations of one Time Lord?”

“No, I didn't. That's weird.”

“More so for them, I think.”

“The Doctor said... that that kind of thing was dangerous. That it could corrupt the timeline.”

“I've heard that, too, but I don't think I have any business telling a powerful Time Lord how to manage his... her... oh, sod it, how to manage any sort of temporal activity. They understand it far better than I ever will.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I believe so. I need... I need to find out what the Doctor did to me.”

“If the Doctor did anything. All you've got is the testimony of two people who are actually one person who doesn't seem all that trustworthy, at least to me.”

“Exactly. Up until today I would have thought the Doctor was far more principled, but now... it hurt, what she did, and she didn't have to do it that way. I would have let her look. I would have let her. She didn't have to do it that way.”

“Yeah,” said Yaz. “If the Gallifreyans are going to stay, I guess there are going to have to be laws about that kind of thing, huh?”

“I expect so.”

“What now?”

“Now I think I need to go home.”

On the way out of the building Kate stopped at the job center, which now had an assortment of postings on a bulletin board, its own computer and a telephone. She spoke to the three Gallifreyans she found there. One, the Advocate, was left over from the morning. She was researching the education and licensing she'd need to undertake the sort of legal work in Britain that she'd done on Gallifrey. The other two were new, and bubbly in their joy at her invitation to settle on earth.

They patiently answered Kate's questions about telepathy. No, all Gallifreyans couldn't do it, at least not more than minimally. The Master, they mentioned spontaneously, was a Level Ten, the best there was, a telepathic psychomanipulator who had worked on stressed and damaged minds until his own breakdown. Very sad, her informants agreed. No one else was left who was nearly that good. The Doctor? Oh, she was rubbish, only a Level Three or so.

Kate thanked them, sent the Advocate to UNIT's legal department for advice, and went home, stopping for kebabs from the truck on a corner near her house.

“What's on for tomorrow?” Yaz asked as they sat on her sofa, munching the lamb and veg in its wrap and watching a baking show on the telly.

“I need to go north again,” Kate told her. “I'm dreading the time in the helicopter with this leg cramped up, but I don't see the alternative.”

“We can go in the TARDIS,” said Yaz.

“Will the Doctor be back by then?”

“Oh, I can take you. I've got the key.”

“You... can pilot...?”

“Of course. What time would you like to go?”

Yaz was as good as her word. It took longer to reach the TARDIS, sitting in an overgrown park, than it did to make the trip. They hovered in the air over the moor, watching Missy pot spiders with her laser from atop a large, TARDIS-shaped rock.

“Ouch!” said Yaz. “I've seen goods lorry tires smaller than that one!”

“I hate to say it,” Kate said, “but they're not native, and we really are going to have to do away with them.”

“Gonna take more than one woman with a laser screwdriver, I think,” said Yaz.

“Yeah, but it's good for her murderous little soul....” Kate was saying, when the first shot blasted into their TARDIS.

“Broad side of a bridge?” Kate reminded Yaz.

“I guess they got in some practice,” the policewoman replied as she dived for the controls. The TARDIS descended precipitously. Kate saw Missy slide off her rock into a sheltered position and fire the screwdriver at something behind them. The TARDIS landed on one edge, teetered, and then took another shot from whatever it was and fell over on its side. Yaz rolled, pulled the entrance lever and scrambled out the now horizontal door. Kate followed her, and Yaz closed and locked it. They waited a few seconds, but when there was no further incoming fire they hunkered down and crept over to Missy.

“Well, hello, trouble,” she said.

“What was it?” Kate asked.

“Fecking drones,” Missy answered. “I think I got one, maybe two.” She tossed a pebble out into the open, and nothing happened. Missy stood and led them out to a smoking black wreck that bore a resemblance to the spiders.

“Arrackelian Model Three,” she said. “They sold enough of these to... well, there are a lot of them out there. Is UNIT going to want a look at it?” Kate nodded.

The Doctor and the Master emerged from the church, each clutching their weapon of choice.

“You need to teach your companion about defensive maneuvers,” Missy told the Doctor, who shook her head and crawled into her vehicle without a word. The TARDIS wailed, disappeared and reappeared upright. The Master came up to them, holding the other drone, which was half as tall as he was and mounted evil-looking cannons on its underside.

“Are you all right?” he asked Kate, then turned to Yaz. “And you? Who flew the TARDIS? Did you get one of the others...?” He trailed off when he saw Yaz's grin.

“Talented girl,” Missy observed.

“Oi!” called the Doctor from the door. “You lot gonna just stand there in the open?”

They dragged the drones into the TARDIS and watched on the viewscreen as the UNIT personnel crawled out of the ditch where they'd sheltered.

“Looks like they're okay,” Kate said. “I should go down and speak to them.”

“If we move this thing,” the Master said, “they'll start shooting again. We'll only attract attention to your people.”

“What about your TARDIS?” asked Yaz.

“Inside's covered with carbon powder,” the Doctor said, “and there's half an inch of oil on the floor. The whole actuator system took a kill shot. It's not going anywhere any time soon.”

“Let's get it to London by lorry,” Kate said.

“Not much choice,” the Master agreed. Missy, too, nodded. Kate fished out her phone, but still had no signal.

“Does the TARDIS have a communications system that can interface with earth's?” she asked the Doctor.

“Probably need to install one of those,” the Doctor said.

“There's a house up that way,” said Missy, pointing. “A big one. Home farm, or small manor.”

“That,” said Kate, “will be Grace Findley's. Which is where I was going anyway. Shall we?”

The Doctor opened the door again, and everyone filed out and moved toward the house.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 9 of 12

Kate had second thoughts as they approached the house.

“Inflicting five people on the poor woman at once may be a bit much,” she said, “particularly when one of us has been sitting within sight of her house shooting at spiders all day.”

“The spiders keep coming, too,” said Missy. “Where would anyone get that many Arrackelians? There's a lot of Model 3's, but they do cost a right bomb.”

“They couldn't be manufacturing them?”

Missy shook her head.

“Not without considerable reverse engineering. Earth doesn't have the technology. And there are models here, like the little DNA ones, that I've never seen before.”

“Perhaps Miss Khan and I should go in and... have a look around? And the three of you can go and speak to the UNIT staff, and see if anyone is hurt badly enough to need a lift back to base in the working TARDIS?”

“We can do that,” said the Doctor. “I'll feel better if I can keep an eye on these two, anyway. Come on, you lot.”

Kate watched them walk away, and wondered.

“Is the Doctor,” she asked Yaz, “behaving strangely?” “How do you mean?”

“Does she not strike you as a bit, well, jealous?”

“No reason,” said Yaz. “I haven't been... oh.”

“Sorry,” Kate said. “I didn't realize. But I still think she's a tad distracted.”

“She's worried about you, I think,” said Yaz. “She thinks the Master has hypnotized you, or something. She doesn't get that it's what she did that has you, well, looking to someone else. And that nightgown threw her.”

“If I'd realized that thing was going to cause so much trouble,” Kate said, “I would rather have slept in the nude. I still wish I knew exactly what the Doctor did to my mind, though, and why,” said Kate. “But come on.”

There was a woman who appeared to be a servant waiting at the front door.

“Miss Stewart,” she said, and her accent was more educated than might be expected from someone in a smock and a headscarf. “Miss Findley is waiting in the solarium.” She motioned for Kate to precede her into the house.

“Do you suppose,” asked Yaz, “that I could use your facilities?” Kate smiled. She'd watched enough police dramas on the telly to be surprised that anyone would try that in real life. Still, the servant pointed to a door off the hall and then ushered Kate further into the building, to a room whose walls were filled with windows at one of which Grace Findley waited.

“Miss Stewart,” the woman said as the servant closed the double doors behind her. “Is your leg still troubling you? Do come and sit down.” She gestured toward a chaise, and Kate sank down on it with more gratitude than she was willing to show. Her cane had disappeared when the TARDIS took its tumble. “Adelaide will bring us a fresh pot of tea, and perhaps a few biscuits. Go ahead, put your feet up if it helps.” Kate did, and Findley sat on the hassock beside the chaise. “I saw you tramping around out there,” she said. “Your people have been here for days, and the three... I don't know what to call them.”

“Don't you?” Kate was quite interested in what Findley made of three Time Lords, particularly the one who had been on an impromptu shooting holiday. With a laser.

“Special operatives, I assume,” Findley said. “I'd love to get a look at their equipment, particularly the weapon....”

“Oh, that old thing?” said Kate. “Standard issue for field operatives, nowadays.” Kate wished. “I didn't bring everyone in, though,” she said. “The team down at the ditch have had an interesting day, as well, and I sent those three to assist if need be.”

The tea arrived, accompanied by a tiered tray carrying chicken sandwiches, scones with currents in and what appeared to be freshly baked shortbread. Kate nibbled at a biscuit, enjoying the intense buttery taste, while Findley poured the tea, and then took her cup and sipped at it. She wasn't sure of the blend... something akin to a Pekoe, but with spicy overtones accented by the lemon juice Findley had added. Kate found the warmth comforting, and drank almost all of it immediately. Her companion took her cup and saucer and set them down, and Kate found herself suddenly quite comfortable, enough so that she was paradoxically alarmed.

“What was in that?” she asked, trying to blink away a sudden dizziness. “My special blend,” Findley said, taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “I find it quite relaxing. Don't you?”

Yeah, relaxing. UNIT employees had been being warned about that kind of relaxing beverage since the 1980s. This was going to be embarrassing, even if things went no further.

“My companion is a police officer,” Kate said.

“Is she? I wonder where she's got off to.”

When she put it that way, Kate wondered, too. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to separate.

“Miss Findley....”

“Please, call me Grace. Oh, you seem so very tired. Why don't you just lie back and rest your eyes for a moment?”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Kate muttered, just before her shoulders found themselves pressing against the back of the chaise and her head tried to join them. With an effort, she kept her eyes open. “I... please would you ask Miss Khan to step in here?”

“I'm sure she'll be along in a minute,” Findley said. “In the meantime, rest your eyes, why don't you?” Her fingers brushed Kate's forehead in a familiar gesture, but there was no intrusion after, at least none that Kate could detect. “There, that's better,” she said, and her fingers combed through Kate's fringes and pushed them away from her face. “You really are very pretty,” she crooned.

“Just not... fit?”

“I don't know,” Findley said. “You have your charms.” Her hand moved down to Kate's shoulder and stroked down her arm, then her waist and then along her hip. “In fact, I think you're quite attractive. Do you think I'm attractive?”

Kate started to answer with a resounding negative, but her lips were suddenly obstructed as Findley covered them with her own.

What was the woman doing? Kate wondered. Well, what she was doing was obvious. She had Kate's shirt open, now, and was breathing on the skin above the lacy top of her bra. But what did she mean by it? Non-consensual sex with a government official was not a positive business move, not in any way. The bra opened in front, naturally. Kate was all for convenience, but this was making it all too convenient.... Findley snapped the clasp open, and then her mouth was... well, it was all sorts of places it didn't belong, and her hand was easing under the waistband of Kate's trousers. This was not good. It was not good at all. Kate tried to move, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a pitiful sort of moan.

“Oh, do you like that?” Findley said with a giggle. She pushed the bra aside and... and pinched, gently, in a way Kate normally found quite arousing, but not... not like this!

And then the door flew open, and Yaz bustled in, pushing someone with her hands zip tied behind her, someone who... who looked very like Kate.

“Look what I found following me around.” She said. When Kate didn't respond, Yaz looked at her, and her eyes widened in alarm. “What is going on in here?” She demanded. Findley stood up and smiled.

“Did you not know what a kinky girl your boss is?” she said with a grin. “I would have thought you would have been just her type.”

Kate would have argued, would have at least rearranged her clothes, but she still couldn't quite move, and so she lay there with a cool breeze blowing across her bare breasts and Findley's lipstick smeared over her face and waited for things to sort themselves out.

Yaz pushed the handcuffed woman into a chair and extracted another zip tie from somewhere.

“Turn around,” she told Findley, “and put your hands behind your back.”

“Oh, you really don't want to do this,” she said to Yaz. “Miss Stewart is already trying to blackmail me about our relationship....”

“Miss Stewart,” said Yaz, “is lying immobile with her bare breasts covered with your lipstick prints.”

Oh, bloody hell! Kate was never going to live this down.

“So,” Yaz continued, “I think it's far more likely that you're the one making a feeble try at blackmail. Now, TURN AROUND!”

Findley laughed as she did. Kate could see what prompted it, but she couldn't speak to warn Yaz. Behind the policewoman, Kate's double had pulled her legs up tight against her chest and was working her feet through the ring of her bound arms. She finished as Yaz pulled the plastic strip tight around Findley's wrists and sat the woman down on the end of Kate's chaise. Not-Kate picked up a large book of glossy landscape pictures lying open on the coffee table, closed it quietly and brought it down on Yaz's head. Yaz crumbled to the floor, bumping the chaise on the way down.

“Well done!” said Findley. “Quickly, cut me loose!”

The other woman stood over her, the book still in her hands. “What were you doing with her?” she said, staring at Kate's breasts.

“Establishing a case for malfeasance that will probably get me paid for forty-three surveillance satellites,” Findley snarled, wriggling against the bonds. “There are nail scissors in my desk drawer. Cut these dratted zip ties, will you?”

The blond walked around the desk, eyeing Findley, and freed her own wrists. “You said,” she said, “that it was just me. You said you'd never done anything like that, that you....”

“Catriona! Don't be a ninny!”

Catriona came back to the chaise, but rather than freeing Findley, she pulled a fresh zip tie from Yaz's pocket and bound the policewoman's hands. Then she turned back to the ginger.

“You said you loved me,” she told Findley, sounding very young.

Kate didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or to cry or to scream.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 10 of 12

“Catriona,” Grace Findley said, “of course I love you! You know I love you! You're the whole reason I'm doing this, working with her....”

“You were doing this before I existed,” said Catriona. “Your working with her is... is how I exist. You....”

Kate tried to speak but still couldn't, which was probably a good thing. Nothing would dig Findley into a deeper hole than the one she was excavating for herself.

“Did you make me,” said Catriona, “because you wanted her?”

“Sweetie,” said Findley, “if I had wanted Kate Stewart I would have had her pretty panties around her ankles the first time we met.”

The first time they'd met, Kate wanted to remind Findley, was the day before, in an office in UNIT headquarters with glass walls, not a prime venue for a romantic tryst. However, she was far more interested in her double's other question: “Did you make me...?” Was Catriona manufactured? A robot?

“She didn't make you,” said a voice from the door. “I did, remember?” It was the serving woman, and she had a laser screwdriver in her hand. Kate couldn't turn her head, but she rolled her eyes until she could see: another redhead, this one with lovely hair tumbling over her shoulders beneath the scarf and a spine as straight as a fireplace poker. She was Missy's height, could have been Missy's sister, except that her accent was from the Midlands rather than Strathclyde, and she seemed... not sane, exactly, but terribly focused. And the screwdriver... she never got that on earth. Kate strained to see her face. Broad forehead, great huge eyes... Kate ran through them in her mind, the Time Lords the Doctor had displayed in her lounge. The Rani.

The most brilliant pure scientist Gallifrey had ever produced, according to the Doctor's tales, another schoolmate of hers and the Master's. Kate had never met this woman, and didn't recall her father mentioning her, but her impression was not good. It got no better when them woman came to the chaise and looked down at Kate.

“You've made a right mess of this,” the Rani told Findley. “Having UNIT aware of what we're doing was no part of our plan, no part at all. Catriona, cut Grace loose.” The blond complied, although her moves betrayed a certain sulkiness and Kate suspected she might cry at any moment. “All right,” said the Rani, “let's see what we can do about clearing up your mess. You, Grace, bring the policewoman. And Catriona, you bring your... mother? And cover her up.”

Kate added that word to the pattern she was building of the situation. Catriona was her own age, near enough. Mother?

It was a blessing, at least, when Catriona fastened Kate's brassiere and tucked things back into it where they belonged. Then she buttoned Kate's shirt and hefted her to her feet, and, following the others, half dragged Kate out the door into the hallway and along it to a set of stairs. Grace tripped on the way down, or pretended she did, and Yaz tumbled to the bottom.

“Get one of the carts,” the Rani ordered. Grace disappeared, and when she came back she had something on the order of a canvas laundry cart. She and the Rani hefted the policewoman into it, and then Catriona let Kate fall over the side on top of the other woman.

“All right,” said Grace, “you've got them. You don't need me....”

“Oh, I think I do,” said the Rani, with the laser screwdriver still in her hand. “Both of you, push.”

They did, and Kate looked up at them, grim-faced both, as they pushed the cart along in the house's basement.

But they didn't stay in the basement, or at least Kate didn't think they did. It was almost half an hour before they paused in a portion of the passage between a rickety wooden stair leading up to a wooden trap door and another door in the opposite wall, this one far more modern and quite sturdy in appearance. She unlocked the newer door and they rolled the cart into what appeared to be an up-to-date laboratory. Possibly it was well beyond up-to-date, quite futuristic in places. The Rani stopped near one of those, a sleek black pylon with a step hard against one face.

“You're never,” said Grace, “taking her back....”

“Of course not,” came the reply. “If Kate Stewart disappeared from this area, UNIT would comb every inch of it and look into every corner of every structure. I expect that's why my old schoolmate rescued her in the first place; with an immobilized TARDIS, she couldn't afford a search in the area. No, Stewart's not going anywhere, and neither is her traveling companion.” She flipped a switch on her screwdriver, and a door appeared in the pylon. Of course, a TARDIS. Then she whirled and shot, and Grace fell. “But I am very tired of your nonsense.” she said. She took an instrument from a table and pricked the back of Grace's neck, then injected the result into an apparatus on another table.

“There,” she said. “We'll let that percolate for a few days, and then we can develop it into something more useful. Perhaps,” she said to Catriona, “she might even scratch that nasty little itch that gives you such trouble. As for this...” she said, grabbing Grace by the ankles and dragging her into the TARDIS, “we'll just do a mind-wipe and drop her someplace in the far past where she can perform usefully menial labor, or possibly be burned as a witch.” The TARDIS door shut, the familiar whoop sounded, and the pillar disappeared, only to reappear moments later. The Rani emerged and peered over the edge of the cart.

“Able to move, yet?” she asked. Kate found that if she proceeded slowly and did nothing that required too much accuracy, her limbs would accept hints if not orders. Catriona, her face stony, helped Kate climb out, parked her on a lab stool and went back for Yaz.

“So, what happens now?” the policewoman asked.

“Nothing much,” the Rani said. “Bit of a mind wipe, nothing drastic, then we pop you upstairs into the church for your people to find, and we all go on our merry ways.” She stopped, and peered at Kate. “You're not afraid?” she said, puzzled.

“Not in the slightest,” Kate told her. It was all she could do to keep from smiling. Oh, please, she thought, please modify my memory. Do it really thoroughly, and leave all sorts of mind-prints that will be absolutely obvious to a Level 10 telepath.

The Rani looked at her again, frowned and touched Kate's forehead. And SAW.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 11 of 12

The Rani might be Gallifrey's brightest scientist, but she lacked something in tactical sense. When she saw in Kate's mind that a powerful telepath would detect her, she immediately looked around, mentally, for any such person. Kate saw her do it, saw her find three—well, two powerful ones and a spiky little punk of a Level Three.

And they saw her, and just like that the Master was there, hand on cuff, moving toward the Rani, and she flinched. He snatched the laser screwdriver from her fingers and backed her into a corner away from everyone. In the distance Kate heard sirens; apparently the rest of the group at the ditch was coming up by vehicle.

“What in hell are you doing?” the Master demanded of the Rani.

“Saving our people!” she spat back at him.

“How...?”

Behind him, Catriona was reaching for a heavy beaker. Yaz and Kate, still unsteady but both determined, got between her and the Master. They urged her away from cabinets, cupboards and doors to rooms that might hold dangerous objects, and she sat back down.

“By making more! There aren't enough of Gallifreyans to breed a healthy population,” the Rani said. “Even if the majority would... participate and produce womb-born children, there's not enough of them to prevent genetic drift.”

“But we can interbreed with humans,” the Master told her, “We can marry, and produce halfbreeds like the Doctor, and then....”

That explained it. That was why the Time Lords were so glad to be invited to earth, in particular. They could have children here, produce a bloodline that would fade into the mass of human population and... and leave something behind. They could have a heritage. Kate tucked the other bit, the “halfbreed” bit, away to think about later, and concentrated on the important part: Gallifrey was saved. Her people could be incorporated into the human population.

“But they won't,” said the Rani. “Gallifreyan women aren't going to get themselves killed producing womb-born children—you KNOW what problems we have—and some of them will never regenerate into males... it took you 900 years to produce a female regeneration, and she doesn't look to last long. And besides, what happens to our culture? Who's going to tell these half humans about the Pythias and the Eye of Harmony and the Laws of Time and....”

“You could,” said Kate. “Quit doing whatever you're doing, and sit down and write books. Write about He-of-Many-Epithets and the Dawn Gnome and....”

“How do you know about that?” the Rani asked.

“Someone told me, when I was a child, and I remembered, just like the children of earth will remember, if you tell them. All the children of earth, no matter what their bloodline. Your culture becomes part of our culture.”

“Does that ever really happen?”

“Want to know what we had for tea last night? Wasn't mushy peas, was it, Yaz?”

“Sajji kebab,” replied Yaz. “With salad and a really good mint chutney, like me gran used to make.”

The Rani shrugged. “Give them time,” she said to Yaz. “They'll obliterate you, or turn you into copies of them.” “They tried,” Yaz told her. “We're still here, mosques right downtown in their faces, kebab van on the corner, teachers in their schools. So will you be, if you want to be.”

“There's a quicker way,” the Rani told them, “a better, cleaner way that preserves everything we are. Look,” she said, pointing at Catriona. “Look at her!”

The Master did look at Catriona, and pointed his screwdriver at her. Outside, sirens roared up. Footsteps pounded down the stairs...

“Watch that! It's trying to come away from the wall!”

...and Unit personnel poured into the room, accompanied by Missy and the Doctor.

“What is it?” the Doctor asked. “Do either of you... you're downtime of me,” he said to Missy. “Did you meet her after...? Do either of you know this... Time Lord?”

Both the Time Ladies gaped. Missy took the screwdriver from the Master, verified the readings, whacked the thing against her palm and then took the readings again. The Doctor peered over her shoulder, then took out her own equipment and did some investigation of her own.

“She's Gallifreyan?” said the Doctor. “But... how?”

Kate had a nasty feeling that she knew at least part of that. She pointed to the apparatus on its table where the Rani had placed Grace Findley's tissue sample. There were a set of capsules in a rack next to it, labeled in circular Gallifreyan script: 2 days. 4 days. 5 days, two twelve hours apart.

“What,” she said, “is that?”

The Doctor looked.

“Embryo printer,” she said. “It's how we generate the sproglets that go into the Loom.” She checked the readouts on the device.“And these,” she said, looking at the vials, “are some sort of modification, but not the ones... it looks like she's rebuilt the genetic control matrix. Anyway, it'll be a week or so before this one's ready, if we can figure out....”

“If we had a Loom to put it in,” said Missy, “and if it weren't just a silly human.”

The Rani laughed.

“Oh, Koschei! You're supposed to be the bright one! Do you still not see? It's the same tech that produces the Arrackelian drones.”

The Master turned back to her and stared, then spoke quietly to Kate.

“It might be a very good idea to search this building,” he told her, “quite carefully.”

Kate motioned to her people, many of whom began opening doors while the rest continued on guard. Then she spoke to the Doctor.

“The Rani took Grace Findley back in time,” she said. “I wouldn't care, except she probably has information we need to work this out. Is there a way to recover her?”

“If she hasn't reset the controls....” The doctor strode into the black pylon, which disappeared again and promptly reappeared. The door opened and disgorged the Doctor and a quite scorched-looking Findley.

“Popped up in the middle of a medieval village square in modern clothes with no memory and no account of herself,” the Doctor said. “They already had some mysterious disappearances going on—looks like a pack of wolves, but you couldn't tell them that. They thought they had their problem solved and all.” She glanced up at the Master. “If you're still doing the upright citizen thing, it might be better if you were the one to fix her memory. The Rani made a mess in there.”

It was Missy who approached Grace though. No problem, Kate thought. Same person, same skill set. Missy sat Grace down near a lab sink, washed the soot off her face and, against some resistance, touched her forehead. Findley's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes widened as her memory returned.

And then Missy stepped back and turned to Kate, and the tension in her body would have snapped eight inch steel cables.

“Did she hurt you?” Missy asked.

Oh, sod it. Kate stepped forward and put her arms around Missy. It was like holding a Cyberman, a very small Cyberman, but still, unyielding steel. No, there would be no way to restrain her, when she.... Missy raised her hand and laid it along Kate's sternum, laid it over some of the lipstick stains that were still sticking Kate's shirt to her body.

“She hurt you,” Missy said, and this time it wasn't a question. “She put her hands....” Kate tightened her grip.

“She was trying to get a rise out of us,” she told Missy. “She wants us to overreact. We can't overreact.”

“She needs to be deid.”

Kate remembered a line from a book she'd loved in college. “I'm sure she does,” she told Missy. Findley's eyes got very large, but Kate continued. “Many live that deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Can you give them life?”

Missy looked up at Kate. She'd gotten through, but... but now she was shaking, and her eyes were hardening. The Master was looking at them, and the Doctor, and both had their screwdrivers out.

“That one,” Missy said, “that one needs to be deid, so that she cannae hurt anyone.”

“She can't answer questions, either, if she's dead,” Kate told her. Missy's tension level was rising, rising.... “Honestly,” Kate said, “how did you manage seventy years in the vault without killing anyone?”

Missy chuckled, or perhaps it was a sob. The hand on Kate's chest rose to her cheek, then her forehead, and Missy showed her: bare shoulders pressed against the cold wall, blue vault lamps back-lighting a mass of white hair, rough jacket fabric against her bare nipples, and then she touched his face and a white hot surge of male... of pure maleness burned away any hint of tension of any sort.

And then nothing, until she was hanging against him, utterly limp, and he said “Oh, sod it, there's me back gone again!” Missy was smiling and crying simultaneously. He was gone, that one, and in his place there was a rainbow-shirted brat whose back was presumably pristine, but useless in this context. But Missy was calmer, now, no longer uncontrollably murderous. Kate held her, watched the Doctor and the Master relax, and watched the Rani....

“Stop her!” Kate called, as the woman slipped into her TARDIS and its door closed. Then it whooped and disappeared.

Flight of the Arrackelians

Part 12 of 12

“Marm?” called one of the UNIT people from a newly opened door. “You should see this.”

Kate walked carefully to the door, and almost wished she hadn't. There was a dais in there, a platform about two and a half meters across, and it was filled with a pulsating, slowly spinning mass of spindles of light, something like a Christmas star.

“It's a Loom!” Missy whispered, almost to herself. “It's an actual, working....”

To either side were rows of glass containers sized to hold a human, and each was filled with bubbly liquid supporting an adult sized body taking on the traits of a person. The ones closest to full development each bore a strong resemblance to a member of the team that had come to rescue Kate.

And sitting at a desk in front of the dais was Sergeant Hendrix. He reached for a weapon, but one of his... one of Kate's team disarmed him and moved him to stand with Findley and Catriona.

Kate remembered the Master's question: “You never got bit, did you?” Apparently most of her team had, including poor Hendrix on the night he died. The Doctor's screwdriver was out, but Kate had no doubt what she was going to say.

“They're Gallifreyan,” she announced. “That daft woman is making Gallifreyans!”

“Oh, dear, no!” said Missy.

“What's wrong with that?” asked Kate. “I mean, she should have asked for the genetic material. People might have donated, or possibly she could have used surplus embryos from clinics... she shouldn't have stolen the source material, but saving an endangered species is no crime.”

Catriona came to stand in front of Kate. “Donations?” she said. “No. She told us what you'd do to the Loom-born—kill us, incinerate us, purge the unborn from the tanks and pretend this never happened!”

“Who told you that?” asked the Doctor. “This one?” she suggested, pointing at Grace. “Or the Rani? Because I can tell you that Ch'Ushasiendra is not the most... truthful....”

“If she were starving,” said Missy, “she'd lie and say she wasnae hungry, just to see if ye'd believe her.” “Would you?” Catriona asked Kate. “Would you have... donated? Would you have wanted them to make me?”

Hell to the no, said a voice inside Kate. She suppressed it.

“It doesn't matter,” she told Catriona. “You're here now. You're alive, and there's no way you're not going to stay that way. I don't know quite what we'll do with you, either of you,” she said, including Hendrix in her statement, “but you'll... you'll certainly be allowed to live. As for the rest... Doctor? Missy?” Kate still wouldn't call her blond friend “Master.” She was going to have to talk to him about that. “Are the rest of these viable?”

More readings ensued. “Yeah,” said the Doctor finally. “As long as someone tends to them, they'll be walking and talking in a few weeks.”

“And after that,” said the Master, “we can make Loom-born children from Gallifreyan DNA?”

“I don't think so,” said Missy. The other two looked at her with faces like doom. “She's done something to the programmer.”

“She purged it,” said Grace Findley. “She wanted to be able to program it, so she could make Gallifreyans from human DNA. Also, so she could produce biomechanical devices... the Arrackelians.”

“She tore it down,” said the Master. “She destroyed the only way we have of reproducing ourselves.”

“Trying to find another way to do just that,” said the Doctor. “She's wiped us out. Why couldn't she have left well enough alone?”

“Genetic drift,” said Grace. “There just aren't enough of you. She had a... a cult of sorts, village people who brought visitors and vagrants to the chapel upstairs, to 'worship services.' The Rani would take as much of their DNA as she needed for her research.”

And that, thought Kate, explained the curious stained glass windows and the alterations to the building. A cult.

“That'll be where she's gone, then,” Kate said. “To her local organization.” “She's gone further than that,” said Missy. “She knows we won't give her back the Loom, even a damaged Loom. There's nothing left for her here.”

“She just left us,” said Catriona. “Walked away....”

“That,” said the Doctor, “is the Rani. It's how she operates.”

“Why did she want all those surveillance satellites?” asked Kate.

“She knew we couldn't stay on earth,” Catriona said. “She was building a refuge, a place for us, a new Gallifrey. Those, and the drones, were supposed to be our defenses, until there were enough of us to fight. All Loom printed.”

“Again,” said Kate, “we would likely have helped voluntarily.”

“Tell it,” said the Doctor, “to the Rani, but expect to be disbelieved.”

In the end, Catriona and neoHendrix were left to tend their younger siblings, under guard from a fresh crew of UNIT guards—no way Kate was leaving anyone up here who might see their own face looking out of one of those tanks. It was agreed that each of these persons would be considered a native of the UK and allowed the same assistance as the eighteen Time Lords in... not resettlement in their case, but finding their place for the first time. The Doctor, with Grace Findley's grudging assistance (“am I ever going to get PAID for any of this?”), untangled the Rani's file of printer patterns and figured out how to produce both surveillance satellites and Arrackelian drones, including the armed Mark 3s that had been shooting at any TARDIS other than the Rani's. That was going to be quite helpful, Kate thought, quite helpful indeed.

And finally, after Grace Findley's secret trial and a large spider eradication expedition, Kate stood in her office and made a proposal to the Master.

“Can you look into my mind,” she said, “and see the memories I can't access any more? Without telling me what's there?” She turned to the Doctor. “And can you watch what he does, so that you can trust him not to do anything else? I trust you,” she reassured the Master, “but I think it's important that she does, as well.”

“It'll take some time,” the Master said, “but I think we can manage.”

And so all three of them spent most of a Friday night under a floral print duvet in Kate's queen-sized bed, all wearing heavy cotton sweats that bore no resemblance to lingerie of any sort. In the end, the Master informed the Doctor that she was “a right window licker and all,” but agreed that the modifications made to Kate's memory were harmless and had best stay in place.

They found Missy crying when they got up. Yaz had given her the laundered wedding clothes, and had mentioned that there was another set in the TARDIS, only that shawl was electric blue. No one wore it; the Doctor kept it under her pillow, and when she was upset over something she pulled it out and cuddled it, and sniffed the shawl, which smelled uncannily like the chamomile rinse Missy used on her hair.

“We have to go,” the Master told Kate. “She's not ready to be on earth yet.”

“She isn't, or you aren't?”

He smiled in that infuriatingly sweet way.

“However you want to think of it.”

“I heard,” Kate said, “that you two weren't overly fond of each other. Brolly scar, and such. What happened?”

“She's my future,” he said. “She has a sort of guardian angel working on her, and I got roped in as well. I'll never get... I'll never be what I could have been. The drum scars are too raw. I can't be....”

He choked up. Kate pressed his hand against her forehead, inviting him to show her. There was a flash of red trainers, chocolate eyes, floppy fringes almost to cheekbones, and “If I die he can't leave....” And then burning, and a crack of light, and a horribly mad rebirth. And hunger.

“I'll never be able... not after that, but Missy can. A lot of people are working on her, because... and if she can be well, then I can be, too, because she's me, you see. Don't you see?”

“That doesn't sound all that well thought out,” Kate told him.

“It's all I've got right now.”

It was another six weeks before they left, weeks spent in the newly designated TARDIS repair bay in UNIT's motor pool. Human mechanics on Kate's staff volunteered their free time to mop out the oil and scrub away the carbon dust, and the other Time Lords offered up their spares in case any of those parts proved useful. In the end there was a party in the motor pool, and Missy and the Master said their goodbyes and left, not as pariahs for once but as travelers who were welcome to return. The Doctor was gone as well, but she might return at any time. There was a volcano acting up, and a few other things that Kate needed to see to. And all over earth, in offices and factories and laboratories and almost everywhere, the human race was being enriched by the children of Gallifrey, and Kate believed that that was a very good thing.

#fanfiction #Dr. Who #Kate Stewart #Thirteen'/Yaz #Twelve/Missy #Ten/simm!master allusion #the Rani #nonconsensual groping #f/f #spiders #vehicle accident #surreptitious administration of drugs #nightmares #falling #OC death #nonconsensual telepathic manipulation #violence #long painful recovery from injury #theft of genetic material

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