Kinza [War Doctor/Ailla]

[Ailla]

The recall bracelet was an extremely cunning device, custom-designed by the CIA not only to monitor Ailla and her movements, but also those of her target. Of course, when it had been implanted into her body as an infant, it had been intended to oversee Koschei Oakdown. But she knew that wouldn't prevent them using it to track the Doctor.

Constructed from an organic bio-metal, meshed with her subcutaneous tissue, it was as much a part of her body as her hearts or her lungs. It grew as her body grew, even – as she discovered to her immense dismay – reforming intact on her wrist after the cellular rearrangement of her regeneration.

She had tried a thousand different ways to remove it while she was living in Koschei's TARDIS, and despite her inherent technical genius, a thousand times she had failed. Eventually, she had come to accept that the only way to get rid of it would be to slice her arm off. And because she was an empath, a being so utterly dependent on touch, the prospect of losing a hand was so abhorrent as to be unthinkable.

Only once had she come close to it, just after the Doctor himself had escaped from the Piri Reis, leaving her behind, empty-handed and desperate, to face the consequences of failure with her CIA masters. Still within the first fifteen hours after her regeneration, knowing the excess of artron energy flooding her body would regrow any limbs almost instantly, she had snatched up a blade and had been about to sunder her arm at the elbow. But she had left it too late and the bracelet had already been activated, inexorably summoning her back to the CIA headquarters to meet her fate.

She watched as the Doctor lifted her arm and examined the beautiful piece of jewellery, his fingers wrapping warmly around her wrist. The contempt and disgust she felt oozing from him confirmed that he recognised the bracelet for what it really was – a shackle, a symbol of imprisonment. The speculation she sensed allowed her to guess at the thoughts running through his head, dozens of burgeoning ideas on possible ways to set her free. As brilliant as she knew the Doctor to be, she placed no hope in that. But at least now there were no lies or deceptions between them. Unlike Koschei, he knew everything about her there was to know, from the first moment she set foot in his TARDIS.

"It seems they think they have thought of everything," he said wearily. After a short pause he added with more steel, "But they haven't.  They never do. There must be some way to countermand it.  If there was some way to keep them thinking the signal was still transmitting...then maybe we can stop them tracing you. At least temporarily. But not yet. That would show our hand much too early."

Ailla merely nodded, even though she knew that replicating a signal so uniquely attuned to her biodata would be next to impossible. There would be time enough for him to find that out. And there was always the remote chance that he would think of something she had failed to consider. All the data she had been given on him, back when she had been studying the profiles of Koschei Oakdown's close associates, indicated that he was a maverick genius, skilled at thinking outside the box and finding solutions previously undreamed of. Perhaps he could pull a tafelshrew out of a hat, who knew?

"Would you care to have one last inspection for anything else before we get underway then?”

She nodded. When it came to the CIA, one could never be too careful, and it was best to be sure. “If I may have access to your diagnostic systems?”

Without waiting for his assent, she stepped forward to the TARDIS console and began rapidly typing commands into one of the terminals, utilising codes only known to classified CIA operatives. The screen began filling up with something that appeared to be binary code, but wasn't. Her eyes swept back and forth, scanning for anomalies in the read-out.

“According to this, you have two more scintillating fibre detectors, attached to your lateral balance cones and your photon accelerator coils. Plus a standard tracking device hidden inside your friction contrafibulator. I think that's all.”

Behind her, the Doctor was busy replacing the mesh gratings in the floor, restoring the console room to order after his search.

“We're to go to Sarn...I hope you know that I have absolutely no intention of turning over these beings to the CIA for experimentation." His tone was moderate, almost conversational. But Ailla could sense the quiet, poised watchfulness underlying it. "Is that going to be a problem?"

The question was clear cut. He was asking where her loyalties rested. Given her background, she could hardly fault him for that. But there was no hesitation about her answer, her green eyes steadily meeting his faded hazel ones with complete certainty. After all they had done to her, she owed the CIA nothing at all, and never would again. “No problem whatsoever.”

"If they wish to use this prion from the Gyns'abu to infect the Dalek Pathweb and destroy the Daleks, then it looks like we're going to have to find a way to do it that won't kill the last remaining members of the species." He put both hands on the console. "First things first though, get to Sarn and locate them."

Sarn. She had never heard of the planet and she had no idea what to expect. She had never heard of this Gyns'abu either. Just one more insignificant race, she thought bitterly, their future being torn apart and destroyed by the omniscient Time Lords for the greater good. How many times had she seen that happen in the course of her duties, only to have it all hushed up and history carefully rearranged to make it seem as if it had never happened? The story changes, the ending stays the same. It wasn't the CIA's modus operandi for nothing. To them, everything was dispensable, provided the Web of Time remained intact.

“Yes, by all means,” she agreed quietly. “The quicker we get to Sarn, the quicker we can find out what they have in store for us this time.”

[Deleted]

She nodded. When it came to the CIA, one could never be too careful, and it was best to be sure. “If I may have access to your diagnostic systems?”

Without waiting for his assent, she stepped forward to the TARDIS console and began rapidly typing commands into one of the terminals...“According to this, you have two more scintillating fibre detectors, attached to your lateral balance cones and your photon accelerator coils. Plus a standard tracking device hidden inside your friction contrafibulator. I think that's all.”

"They were quite determined, weren't they?" He took the time to search and find the detectors and the one standard he'd missed. Who put things on the friction contrafibulator? Did they want his breaks to fail and for them to crash on Sarn? Along with the lateral balance cones, he'd be lucky to crash with the TARDIS oriented on the right axis. He channeled his irritation into destroying the devices, returning to a control panel to run a final scan before they left. Hands hovering over the panel, he decided to check the local intel for the Dalek Emperor's latest movements in and around Sarn's space.  They were still going to have to get through...he would need something to distract them. It was ironic. Usually, he -was- the distraction, but this took a change in tact.

He turned to her with a sudden spark of enlightenment in his eye. "We're going to take a little detour to Earth. There's something that I need to pick up to throw off the welcoming party."

He began the materialisation sequence, taking them to the Avoncroft museum in Midlands. There were plenty of call boxes there, he knew and one looked distinctly like his TARDIS. Or, his TARDIS looked distinctly like it, having likely patterned itself after that exact model. It would take more than a paint job to trick the Daleks, but they only needed to infuriate and confuse them for just so long. The capsule materialised in the darkened museum, enveloping the police box that looked most like itself like a nesting doll, seamlessly blending into place as one of the many in the line.

[Ailla]

"They were quite determined, weren't they?"

The question was a rhetorical one, she knew, but she answered it anyway. “The CIA takes determination to its utmost level. They are unrelenting.” Her voice held the complete certainty of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about.

Quietly, all her movements precise and controlled, she assisted him in locating and destroying the remaining devices. No doubt the CIA would view her actions as further evidence of her rebellion and treachery, but at this point, she no longer cared.

Once the TARDIS systems were as free from interference as they could make them, the Doctor busied himself at one of the panels, flicking through screens and scrolling through lines of data. Ailla moved to peer around him, to see what he was doing. She was quick to recognise the information as an intelligence briefing. Details of troop movements, enemy positions, availability of weapons and supplies - all the facts required to fight a war.

He turned to her with a sudden spark of enlightenment in his eye. "We're going to take a little detour to Earth. There's something that I need to pick up to throw off the welcoming party."

She raised an eyebrow. It appeared he had some sort of clever idea, a plan to get them past the enemy lines. But what he expected to find on Earth that would help against a battalion of Daleks, she couldn't imagine. Before she could find her voice to ask, he was already initiating the de-materialisation sequence.

The lights flickered slightly and there was a small bump. The time rotor stopped oscillating, and suddenly, a tall blue box shimmered into existence inside the control room, not far from the console itself. Ailla's eyes widened as she examined it, walking in a circle around its circumference. Clearly, he had intentionally materialised around it.

“It looks just like your TARDIS,” she said wonderingly.

The Doctor's constant adherence to the peculiar blue box shape was well-documented by the CIA, even if they'd never been able to come up with a rationale for his behaviour. For some reason, he simply refused to repair his chameleon circuit. In his file, it was chalked up to stubborn eccentricity. From the little she'd come to know of him, Ailla suspected that it might have more to do with sentimentality – but why, she couldn't guess.

The bottom line, however, was that if his TARDIS had been so recognisable centuries ago, back when she was an agent, it was logical that it would be even more distinctive after such a long time had passed. So distinctive, that these Daleks would most likely know of it, and be on the look-out for it.

Her eyes met his and she smiled in understanding. “The perfect decoy.”

[Deleted]

“It looks just like your TARDIS,” she said wonderingly....Her eyes met his and she smiled in understanding. “The perfect decoy.”

He gave Ailla a little nod. "My capsule looks like it. Well known to the Daleks. With adjustments, we can make this simple box resonate more like my TARDIS." He reached out and gave the telephone box a solid pat with a calloused hand. "I've got spare parts that we can use to give it a shield signature, give it the right markers. Just enough to lure them in and give us the opportunity to get by the worst of their attentions. No doubt there will still be patrols, still be dangers -but- if they are so distracted looking for the Doctor, they might just miss -us- if we play our cards just right."

He pulled the doors open and looked in at the antique telephone system. "It will take a little handiwork, so roll up your sleeves. We can rummage around in the stores after we pull all this nonsense out so we can put our gear inside it." He scrambled over to retrieve the toolbox again.

[Ailla]

He pulled the doors open and looked in at the antique telephone system. "It will take a little handiwork, so roll up your sleeves. We can rummage around in the stores after we pull all this nonsense out so we can put our gear inside it." He scrambled over to retrieve the toolbox again.

Ailla had never been afraid of a little hard work. And having a methodological task to concentrate on was oddly comforting. Stripping out the primitive Terran communication device and assembling the necessary components to replace it. Tinkering with the designation emanators, until they replicated the shield signature of the Doctor's TARDIS. The process was all so clear-cut, the goal so straightforward. For every step, there was a right answer and a wrong answer. Sometimes she thought that was why she had always excelled in the manipulation of technology. It was a refuge from the emotional maelstrom of her empathy, the calm at the eye of the storm. In this case, it served to distract her from the complications of her new relationship with the man that worked beside her.

As her hands moved, her thoughts seemed to clarify, dropping into more logical slots, along with the components she was splicing together. Fragments of their conversation filtered back into her head, unremarked at the time, but now sparking her curiosity.

“You said that in this regeneration, you were different – a warrior, in place of a doctor,” she spoke up eventually. “Indeed, you refer to 'the Doctor' as if he were another person, completely separate from yourself. If that is no longer your name, what title have you chosen to go by?”

She paused for a moment before speaking again, her voice tentative, almost shy – which, she told herself sternly, was ridiculous for a trained CIA agent. Nonetheless, she couldn't help feeling a little awkward. There was an odd sort of longing inside her, one which she had never experienced before, and which she did her best to crush. He was her father...but she wasn't sure he would want to be reminded of that fact every time she spoke to him.

“What am I to call you?”

[Deleted]

He'd been quietly and contentedly working away at retrofitting the telephone box for some time before Ailla chose to break the silence. The work itself was going smoothly, only a few mishaps or parts that he'd had to cobble together from extraneous spare parts to get the right connectors. Mostly, it was not unlike any other repair work that he'd done on his TARDIS and he'd been doing quite a bit of it throughout the War. There were, after all, often no convenient places for a pit stop. At any rate, it only had to work for a few minutes at worst. He kept an eye over Ailla's work but there wasn't anything to correct so far. She knew what she was doing and what they were after. Now and again he'd hand over a part that he'd finished soldering so she could fit it into place. There wouldn't be room to turn around inside the box by the time they were through, but it was going to be remotely piloted anyway so it wasn't an issue.

“You said that in this regeneration, you were different – a warrior, in place of a doctor,” she spoke up eventually. “Indeed, you refer to 'the Doctor' as if he were another person, completely separate from yourself. If that is no longer your name, what title have you chosen to go by?” She paused for a moment before speaking again...“What am I to call you?”

He sighed. It was such an old question, one that he had asked himself. Now, he simply didn't call himself anything. He was the man who would help to stop the War now. So, what was one to call him, when nothing satisfied?

"When I was the Doctor, I lived a promise, one that I have not been able to uphold in this War.  Whenever I give that name to another, I am swearing that I will hold myself accountable to them and stand by the words that I chose. As a man unfit to hold the title, I now choose not to use it. As a man who does not see how they can keep such a promise in this war, I have forgone making any other oath. That hasn't stopped others from bestowing the name of Doctor upon me, despite what I say, nor others from calling me all manners of things. But I will not give them that name. The Daleks call me the Predator, the Oncoming Storm. To the CIA, when they were still able to call -themselves- that, I was and probably still am called the Renegade. The Time Lord who ran away and yet returned to fight when I saw there was no other choise. And now I am the man that will do what it takes to end this War, treacherous times indeed and not a time for a Doctor, promises that can't be kept, or ideals that will suffer torment upon torment. Until this War is over...." 

He looked at her with tired eyes, still speaking quietly. It was clear that he did not believe he would live through the War, that his hope to reclaim his former name was nearly, but not entirely, utterly spent. That now, he was not worthy of being the Doctor but instead had one goal only. "You may call me what you wish, so long as it isn't the Doctor. Though, I suppose if you still call me that as others do, I will tire of correcting you. Eventually." There was a subtle tinge of dry amusement in his eyes as he turned back to his work, pushing a metal panel into place and shutting it with the sonic screwdriver.

[Ailla]

"You may call me what you wish, so long as it isn't the Doctor. Though, I suppose if you still call me that as others do, I will tire of correcting you. Eventually."

The words stung, although she wasn't sure why. What had she expected? That he would suggest that she called him 'Father'? Was that what she had wanted, when she asked the question?

Ailla hunched her shoulders against the thought. She had been without a father all her life. She hardly needed one now. A biological relationship meant nothing. And that was all they had, a biological relationship.

They were two strangers, brought together to undertake a task. Nothing more, nothing less.

She bent her head back down to her work, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Very well,” she responded woodenly. “Then since I had the pleasure of being brought up by the CIA, I expect I shall call you 'Renegade'. That ought to suit both of us.”

Was she trying to hurt him with her words, the way he had just hurt her? She wasn't sure. This was all untrodden ground for her. The only thing she knew was that the hand she had tentatively offered him had been rejected – and she would not make the mistake of offering it lightly again.

[Deleted]

Ailla hunched her shoulders against the thought....They were two strangers, brought together to undertake a task. Nothing more, nothing less....She bent her head back down to her work, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Very well,” she responded woodenly. “Then since I had the pleasure of being brought up by the CIA, I expect I shall call you 'Renegade'. That ought to suit both of us.”

He'd appeared to have offended her somehow, given her body posture and tone. He couldn't quite see how. What answer had she been expecting? Perhaps she wanted to call him the Doctor. Perhaps she wanted him to fix everything...fix her situation, perhaps. And he'd like to, that much was sure. And if it could be managed, then he would. He owed her that much, if no more could be achieved.

"Were you expecting me to give you a different answer?" He squinted at her slightly, his own voice not accusing, merely questioning. "Something else that you'd prefer, then?" It was as if he hadn't heard her call him the Renegade at all.

[Ailla]

She could feel his mild puzzlement, tempered with curiosity. It seemed to fill the air between them, making her falter slightly over her work. If she could have visualised the sensation, she would have imagined it as a gentle hand reaching for her, the fingers questing and exploring.

"Were you expecting me to give you a different answer?" He squinted at her slightly, his own voice not accusing, merely questioning. "Something else that you'd prefer, then?" It was as if he hadn't heard her call him the Renegade at all.

He didn't understand...but he wanted to.  The realisation lightened her hearts, just a little.

Nonetheless, what was the point? She couldn't explain to him what it had been like, growing up in the Facility, especially for an empath. So cold and bleak and impersonal. Deprived of emotion, starved of touch. Nothing more than a tiny cog in an enormous machine, valued only as a tool to be used. How, as an adolescent, when things were at their worst, she had lain awake at night and woven beautiful fairytales in her head of the parents who would suddenly turn up one day to save her. To take her home. To love her for who she really was.

How could she explain that when she had discovered that it was her father who had rescued her from her cryo-confinement – that he had been the shadowy figure leading her to safety through the driving snow - for a few fleeting moments, it had seemed like one of those fairytales come true?

She pushed the foolish thought away, flexing her fingers and forcing them to steadiness. She wasn't a child any more. If, in fact, she had ever really been one. The Facility hadn't catered to childish things and anything whimsical in the Elite trainees had been soon stamped out, with efficient zeal. She hadn't dreamed those dreams in a very long time. And she no longer believed in fairytales.

“Your name is your own,” she replied quietly. “I was merely seeking your preference on the matter.”

She finished splicing the wire she was working on, using the sonic probe to seal the component.

“There. I think that's the best we can do, at least at short notice.”

[Deleted]

“Your name is your own,” she replied quietly. “I was merely seeking your preference on the matter.”[i/]

He nodded to her, still feeling as if his question had not been answered. His name was his own....the words ran in his mind. Was it really? He'd taken the name of the Doctor but could no longer lay claim to it. And so he would be the Renegade. People would continue to call him the Doctor, under many circumstances. This wasn't going to be one of them. Still, he wondered what had irked her so, what she would have liked to call him. It took him a moment before the obvious became obvious to him, and he felt a flash of anger towards himself, an irritation for missing what was in front of his face.

He would have liked to have called her daughter but could in no right do so. She'd been taken from him and brought up by the CIA, hidden from him. They had kinship, yes, but he could not say he was her father. He had not raised her. He had raised someone else. But he recalled her saying that he had earned the right when she had awakened from the cryochamber.

Hesitantly, he turned to her, eyes questing for the real answer. "You said, before that I had earned the name of father from you. If that is true, then you may call me that. Though I'm not sure I've earned that right. Not yet."

She finished splicing the wire she was working on, using the sonic probe to seal the component. “There. I think that's the best we can do, at least at short notice.”

"It will have to suffice. Just give the harmonics a little tweak...figure out where best to deploy our decoy, few moments to make the TARDIS safe and on we get." He was talking to himself as he moved over to the console, inputting changes to the shields. He'd have the decoy use shield signatures that would match a Type-40, match -his- TARDIS. He reviewed the latest data from the airspace around Sarn, hoping for an inkling as to the Dalek Emperor's security and fleet arrangements. The data was not the freshest...things were ever changing of course but they would have to make do. He continued a few moments working, going over everything, making minute adjustments to the TARDIS.

"I'd imagine that the Daleks orignally took Sarn for its numismaton gas...the active volcanoes of the planet fueled its formation. It had regenerative properties..."

He began laying in a course just outside of the patrol area, thinking he would dematerialise, leave the police box, and then dematerialise...wait and then dematerialise again. It was a risky plan but a good one.

[Ailla]

The cogs were still turning over in his brain, those mental fingers still sifting for understanding. Ailla kept her eyes on her work, adding nothing further to the discussion. It was a conclusion he would either reach on his own or not at all.

Then she felt the quick, sharp surge of irritation from him, directed at himself, not at her.

Hesitantly, he turned to her... "You said, before that I had earned the name of father from you. If that is true, then you may call me that. Though I'm not sure I've earned that right. Not yet."

She was silent for a moment. How did one earn the title of 'father' in a situation like theirs, she wondered. Easy enough, if he had been there in her life from the beginning. But where did they start from, after so many years? Perhaps, if any sort of bridge was to be built between them, the name needed to come first.

“It's my right to grant,” she replied, with the quiet dignity that was such an innate part of her. “But only if you are prepared to accept it...Father.”

She hoped it was a step in the right direction.  She hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

She finished splicing the wire she was working on, using the sonic probe to seal the component.

“There. I think that's the best we can do, at least at short notice.”

"It will have to suffice. Just give the harmonics a little tweak...figure out where best to deploy our decoy, few moments to make the TARDIS safe and on we get." He was talking to himself as he moved over to the console, inputting changes to the shields.

She followed him, satisfied that together, they had done good work. Now it remained to be seen whether it was good enough to fool the Daleks, at least long enough to get them down to the surface of Sarn safely.

"I'd imagine that the Daleks orignally took Sarn for its numismaton gas...the active volcanoes of the planet fueled its formation. It had regenerative properties..."

He was meticulously cross-matching his intel with his navigational data, which gave Ailla a certain amount of relief. If this plan was to work, they had to leave as little to chance as possible. She couldn't be sure how accurate his information was, but if it had been provided by the CIA, she was confident that there could be no better. As much as she loathed the organisation that still ruled her life, they knew their jobs.

“You've been to this... Sarn... before?” she questioned.

She had never heard of the planet until now – or the numismaton gas he was speaking of.

[Deleted]

“It's my right to grant,” she replied, with the quiet dignity that was such an innate part of her. “But only if you are prepared to accept it...Father.”

She hoped it was a step in the right direction. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

His eyes filled with trepidation as he felt a wave of sorrow wash over him. This War did nothing but take, that was why he chose to fly alone. "I feel I should warn you that though I might be prepared to accept it, might under circumstances less dire embrace it with far less reserve, it won't be a boon for you. You'll only be targeted all the more, for your associations with me. Even if -you're- prepared to accept that consequence...it is not one that I would wish upon either of us. Still, I would not take that right from you. Daughter." The word felt strange in his mouth, old and dusty. He hadn't thought to use it in so long, had not allowed himself that kinship.

“You've been to this... Sarn... before?” she questioned.

"Yes, several lifetimes ago. The TARDIS landed on Earth to respond to a distress call it picked up from an artifact. The item soon sent the ship to that very planet where we found a colony of Trion refugees." And the Master...always the Master. He turned his thoughts away from him before they took over, leading his mind to places he did not wish to visit. Especially now. "The colony was in danger; there was an evacuation due to the volcanic activity..."

Thinking about those times, about that life and the people he knew, travelled with, he couldn't help but feel that those times were so much simpler. Perhaps not better, but simpler. That man would not have the War to stand between him and his daughter. He could not say with certainty that there would have been nothing else to stand there instead. He was a man who could shake the hand of his fellow travelling companion and bid him well, continue on with to new adventures with a new companion. But this wasn't -quite- true. No, he knew deep in his hearts, that his companions had always suffered for knowing him. Suffered but he'd hoped also seen wonders, seen the good in the world. There was nothing good about this War.

"It's not likely that there will be much of Sarn left, not the Sarn that I knew anyway." He finished his calibrations and adjustments and reached out to take them to a spot in Sarn airspace, shooting the loop in the patrol sequences. In, out and then to Sarn. "Hold on, this might be a rough ride."

[Valeyard]

Long ago, Sarn had been a sparsely populated planet. From space, its crimson surface was veined with the glow of volcanic trenches and mottled with gigantic dust-storms that ripped their way across its barren surface. A violent eruption or three could send an ash plume into the air that cast a shadow over the land for perhaps a few days at most, but the planet's thin, clear atmosphere was suited to this, and warm convection currents quickly dispersed the clouds before the lifeforms on the surface could sustain too much damage.

Those lifeforms - humanoid, most of them - eked out their existence in the harsh climate. They forgot where they had come from within just a few generations, just as they were all but forgotten by the rest of the universe. It was more the story of the planet than of the people; settlements came and went over the millennia - died out, rescued, departed or perished in fire and ash.

Until the Daleks came. Perhaps the Daleks had always been there these days - after all, in a Time War, time was as much of a resource as any regenerative numismaton gas, so who could pass on a few thousand years of the past?

Channelled heat from the planet's core had melted long strips of rock and rubble into smooth glass, along which the Daleks could glide, or their slave armies could march with greater efficiency. Joined together by these obsidian highways, the iron frames of towering rigs - thousands upon thousands of them - pumped rhythmically, draining the planet of its valuable gas; and cylindrical chimneys rose from the ground, belching out impurities which were burned off in flickering shades of blue and purple into a thick, ugly green smog.

It was at the base of one of these chimneys that the ground stirred. Rocks shifted, lifted aside from underneath to reveal a small opening. Like a worm emerging from the ground, a figure wriggled free and then flattened itself back against the chimney. A humanoid figure, barely recognizable as feminine shrouded in layers of cloth the greys and blacks of ash. Hair of a similar grey and black hung from under a hood over a chalk-white face that had not seen the sun for a long time, and a tied piece of canvas across her nose and mouth concealed most of her features.

[Ailla]

"I feel I should warn you that though I might be prepared to accept it, might under circumstances less dire embrace it with far less reserve, it won't be a boon for you. You'll only be targeted all the more, for your associations with me. Even if -you're- prepared to accept that consequence...it is not one that I would wish upon either of us. Still, I would not take that right from you. Daughter."

She wondered how much he knew about her. She wondered if he was aware of the extent of her empathic abilities.

Back when they had first met, on the Dark Heart colony, she had been undercover for the CIA, pretending to be human. It had been her most closely-guarded secret, just how much she could read from the emotions of the people around her, one she had never revealed, even to Koschei.

But the reason she had been selected for this mission – the only reason the CIA had permitted her to be freed from her stasis – was because her gift was needed to communicate with these Gyn'sabu. She could only assume that he had now been fully briefed.

Perhaps he knew then, that she would feel the sorrow welling up inside him. The fear of claiming her as his daughter, not for himself, but for her. The constant expectation of loss that weighed on him, as heavy as a mantle, bowing his shoulders.

Her hand reached for his, her slim, strong fingers wrapping around his calloused, battle-worn ones.

“You don't understand,” she said quietly. Centuries had marched on while she slept. Time had passed her by and she no longer had a place in this universe. Koschei was lost to her, her people were at war. The only thing she had left was servitude to the CIA, and that was something she could no longer bear. “I have nothing left to lose.”

The Doctor went on to explain about his previous association with the planet Sarn, as he moved around the console, fine-tuning the controls. She listened intently. A volcanic planet. Which meant the terrain would be, at best, inhospitable, and at worst, perilous. That would make things even more difficult. As if the task before them wasn't hard enough, slipping through enemy lines in the middle of a Time War.

"It's not likely that there will be much of Sarn left, not the Sarn that I knew anyway." He finished his calibrations and adjustments and reached out to take them to a spot in Sarn airspace, shooting the loop in the patrol sequences. In, out and then to Sarn. "Hold on, this might be a rough ride."

After travelling for such a long time in Koschei's TARDIS, she knew better than to ignore that sort of warning. Bracing herself, she clung tightly to the edge of the console, as the ship began to buffet violently back and forth within the Time Vortex.

[Deleted]

Her hand reached for his, her slim, strong fingers wrapping around his calloused, battle-worn ones.

“You don't understand,” she said quietly. Centuries had marched on while she slept. Time had passed her by and she no longer had a place in this universe. Koschei was lost to her, her people were at war. The only thing she had left was servitude to the CIA, and that was something she could no longer bear. “I have nothing left to lose.”

"I'm looking at you right now; there's certainly -something- left, isn't there? Potential, if nothing else. The potential for more than this." He looked down at their hands for a moment, quietly. Maybe he was speaking for himself as well as his hopes for her. His hope, so battered and beaten, that she would be able to shed her restraints, her shackles and escape to something better. That it might give him something worth fighting for, when every reminder was regularly traded to another dreary battle full of death and destruction.  "The CIA and this War have not yet taken you, not all that you are. And where there is something -essential- that remains, from that..." He could not say there was hope, not for him, but...he could hope to hope for others still. At least that.

After travelling for such a long time in Koschei's TARDIS, she knew better than to ignore that sort of warning. Bracing herself, she clung tightly to the edge of the console, as the ship began to buffet violently back and forth within the Time Vortex.

The Time Winds screamed around the TARDIS, tossing it and its occupants roughly. The War had not been kind and the Vortex churned sickeningly myriad twists and pulls threatened to destabilize the warp and weft of time. Time storms were common and deadly, ferocious enough to rend an unsuspecting TARDIS apart. Within the console room, the Doctor's hands worked the controls, shifting feet in sympathy with the timeship's frantic maneuvering as the throttle pulled wildly away from his iron grasp. The TARDIS juttered, staggering along in micro-materialisations as the Vortex violently ejected the ship out into Sarn airspace only to suck it back in as a time eddy intersected with their exit point. It was not the best arrival that he could have wished for but it had the added benefit of drawing attention. Thankfully, they were only going to be long enough to drop off the decoy.

"Ailla, check the internal dampeners...something's going very off and I'm afraid we're about to lose the gyroscoptic stabilizer when we go through again...which is..." He looked down to a panel that lit up in bright red dots, some overlapping one another and turning into a pox across the screen. Oh yes, the Daleks knew they'd arrived, all right. No mistaking that many targeting arrays locking on. Daleks. Many, many Daleks. "Very soon! Too soon..." He muttered to himself as he began the process of depositing the faux TARDIS for the Daleks to threaten at will. And how they would. The trick was to dematerialise the TARDIS as the other came to view, normally nearly elementary chicanery. But his controls were not responding and he could only blame the yoke of the CIA and their hasty work for it. He hit the controls to put the decoy ship outside at their specific coordinates in the planetary airspace, just seconds...it had to be timed..."We've got to go, countdown in ten, nine, eight, seven...six..."

The ship was slammed with something that made the room ring like a gong. He listened for the death knell sound of the cloister bell with half an ear as he pushed the button and put the decoy out. Clinging to the console, he hit the fast return again and again, hopscotching the TARDIS back into the Vortex like a skipping stone in reverse. The Vortex pulled the ship in undertow and the Doctor fought it, calling for Ailla's assistance as the internal dimensions of the TARDIS swam, leaving them with the sense that up was down, right was left as the orientation to 'down' shifted in a relentless chase to fix itself to one and finding no purchase. Reaching down, he realigned himself with difficulty and pushed in the preset coordinates for Sarn again, to the planet itself; the planet was gracious enough to accept them though the ship itself tumbled over itself, throwing the Renegade clear into the side wall.

As the rolling stopped, he opened his eyes to look to the right at the console's dimmed time rotor. Disoriented, he next looked for Ailla, listened to the sounds of his beloved ship. Gathering his wits slowly, he realised he was laying on the exterior doors and pulled himself up, touching the now darkened roundels and holding on to a cable for support. "Ailla?" he called out, looking to see what had happened to her.