NLoT: You Can't Go Home Again

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The Archivist moved with speed, the pounding of her hearts filling her ears. That sound pounding in her mind and making her twitch for a moment. He was speaking about the old days, and part of her wanted to shut down. She stared head, slipping on the guise of that cold unfeeling Archivist that had existed for so long. "I am sure he knows of them, but disuses leads to bad memories. Not all Time Lords are like me. I am cursed with memory..." She stated simply as she moved with a rapidness that was born from the desperation of the moment.

"We need to get out of here, get out of the city. And get to the Keeper you wish to see about those machines..." She stated simply as she skidded to a stop and stared at the four way. Her eyes switching back and forth as she gathered her memories and clicked her tongue in the back of her throat. "Got it, this way." She said as she started forward down the third one, keeping her eyes out for signs of anything hidden out of the way.

--------

The Librarian twitched in the arms of her lover as the energy seemed to ripped across her flesh. Age melted away and a young form emerged, though not quite as young as when they first met. Probably a woman in her mid fourties. Her hair peppered ginger colored and her eyes a deep brown that was almost black. She gave a cough as she came too, grimacing for a moment at the remembered pain. "We should never trust those from this Time." She stated simply as she drew in a shaking breath.

[Koschei]

Memories swam up - distant, fuzzy memories of secret meetings in ages past. "No, I rather suspect he does. Not all of them, but... well... we did use them with some frequency. Back in the Academy."

"I am sure he knows of them," the Archivist answered, "but disuses leads to bad memories. Not all Time Lords are like me. I am cursed with memory..."

A shrug. "Memory is only a curse if you feel regret," he replied. "I prefer to think of it as a tool, or a weapon." He smiled in a predatory fashion, teeth white in the darkness. "Which would make you the most dangerous weapon of all." Memories or no, the layout of the tunnels was no longer familiar to him. He stared at the four-way intersection before him. "Which way should we follow?"

"We need to get out of here, get out of the city. And get to the Keeper you wish to see about those machines..." She stated simply as she skidded to a stop and stared at the four way. "Got it, this way." She said as she started forward down the third one, keeping her eyes out for signs of anything hidden out of the way.

Checking the weight of the primitive firearm he had driven the Cornucopia to weave for him, the Master followed. "The Keeper of the Orrey of Vertumnus. We met him when we met the High Council of this Shadow Gallifrey." He chuckled slightly. "Their version of that lunatic that calls himself the Meddler. I feel confident that, if anyone on this Gallifrey is involved in highly unorthodox - not to say utterly insane - temporal experiments, it will be him."

---

The Master opened the door a tiny sliver and peered through. After the gloom of the tunnels, the amber radiance of the Gallifreyan sky was blindingly bright. He blinked, several times, and finally his vision adjusted to the shining expanse of the Square of the Circle and its dominating sculpture of the Monument of the Three holding aloft the Spiral Politic. Beyond, dwarfing the hundred meter sculpture, loomed the onyx and obsidian monolith of the Great Library and the gold and marble Halls of Eilethya. "It occurs to me," he commented, "that as much as I appreciate the clean lines of this suit, I'd have been better served to adorn myself with the trappings of a Prydonian."

He scanned the knots and clusters of Time Lords and Artisans that drifted along the square, contemplating. "One of them seems likely," he said, gesturing at a trio of Artisans in the green and brown of the Arcalian chapter.

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"Ahhh The Meddler, such interesting twists that man places in my brain. It was quite a thing to try to learn about him. "The Archivist whispered, feeling that pulse in the back of her mind but ignoring it. The issues with her 'systems' were going to be the death of her, most likely. But then again she was made this way, and she was not made properly. There was always fail safes for the dangerous creations of the Council.

Leaving the tunnels was easy and she noticed exactly what he was talking about. "Shall we lead them away and abscond their clothing for our own uses? I would like to get this done as quickly as possible. The longer I am here the more I - ... The more I wish that I could end this place completely." She said finally her eyes hardening. There was too much unease here for her. She could never be happy in this place.

"I wonder what their Specialist is like, I wonder what joys she has experienced. Their version of me definitely seemed to have had the charmed life." She muttered as she braced herself and looked around. Wearing just the shift of the gown she had the machines craft for her - she probably looked quite strange. But she just rolled her shoulders back and stared ahead. Yes, yes indeed, this was going to be interesting.

[Koschei]

He scanned the knots and clusters of Time Lords and Artisans that drifted along the square, contemplating. "One of them seems likely," he said, gesturing at a trio of Artisans in the green and brown of the Arcalian chapter.

"Shall we lead them away and abscond their clothing for our own uses?" the Archivist asked, examining them. "I would like to get this done as quickly as possible. The longer I am here the more I - ... The more I wish that I could end this place completely."

"As would I," he agreed, noting the odd phrasing of her speech. "And ending this place, or at least driving it away, is certainly the objective." He found himself wondering about that, though. By rights he should be scheming to conquer this Gallifrey, not return it to the ash heap of history. What was he...

"I wonder what their Specialist is like, I wonder what joys she has experienced. Their version of me definitely seemed to have had the charmed life," the Archivist mused.

"What does it matter?" the Master answered with a shrug. "You and she were the same woman, once. A long time ago, until you and she made different decisions. If you envy her that life, then take it. Usurp her, and reign over this Gallifrey as Queen with her Doctor. Or slay him as well, and reign alone." Squaring his own shoulders, he stepped out of the passageway and approached the Arcalians. "Ho! You, there!"

They faltered a little, hesitating at the note of command in his voice and baffled by his dress. "Yes?" one of them asked, baffled.

"I was hoping you might do me a bit of a favor," he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. The next words he spoke were laced with fierce, authoratitive harmonics that reinforced the scalpel of his Will. "I am the Master, you see, and you will obey only me."

"I... will obey..." they each repeated, slowly.

"Yes, yes, excellent," he assured them with a smile. "Now, as to my commands..."

---

Ten minutes later...

The Master shifted the green and brown robes a little, settling them better on his shoulders. The Artisan closest to his own size had been slightly shorter and thicker, making the garment hang unflatteringly on him. "There," he said with a sigh, "I suppose that will have to do. And they will remain where they are for a time, yet."

Something in him - that damnable sense of empathy that had grown to fill the silence of the drums - had balked at the simple expedient of killing them. Oh, no doubt he could have done so had it been required. But it was just as simple to command them to disrobe and then remain in seclusion for several hours. "When you are ready, my dear, we shall venture forth to the Orrey."