Prayers to Broken Stone ((The Meddler VI/Allison Castiel))

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Wot 'ave we 'ere?" With that he squatted, examining the floor. His grimy-looking finger squeaked on the tile as he swept it across and he examined it intently. "Well. Well well well. Somebody's been here ahead of us."

Allie brought the lantern closer, shining the light over the area where Rob was crouched. “Is it a footprint?”

Behind her, she heard Danny unshouldering his rifle, instantly alert and covering their backs. If someone was watching them, it was hardly likely to be good news.

"Sort of," Rob answered. "Not precisely. There's..." He examined the floor more closely. "There's hardly any dust at all. But... look here. Track marks."

Danny laughed involuntarily. "Like a heroin junkie?"

"Nah. Like a bulldozer. Or a tank." He mused on that for a moment, lips pursed in thought. "Can't say I like that, not one bit. No reason for either one to be in the Tower." Suddenly, he cocked his head. "You hear something?"

There was a low, clanking rumble in the distance, growing louder. Rob sprang to the mouth of the hallway, and caught a glimpse of a hulking, boxy shape approaching. "Right," he announced, sprinting towards another doorway. "New plan. This way! Look for the basement stairs!"

Floodlights snapped on as he sprinted, casting the room into sudden stark relief. "Halt!" an electronic voice demanded. "Halt! On the authority of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, you will halt and be recognized!"

[Allison Castiel]

"Nah. Like a bulldozer. Or a tank." He mused on that for a moment, lips pursed in thought. "Can't say I like that, not one bit. No reason for either one to be in the Tower." Suddenly, he cocked his head. "You hear something?"

Allie listened hard. She could hear something in the silence, a steady rumble. It sounded a little bit like the powerful engine of the ATV, but not quite the same smooth purr. Besides, it wasn't coming from outside, it was coming from deeper within the Tower.

There was a low, clanking rumble in the distance, growing louder. Rob sprang to the mouth of the hallway, and caught a glimpse of a hulking, boxy shape approaching. "Right," he announced, sprinting towards another doorway. "New plan. This way! Look for the basement stairs!"

Allie stared as the thing came around the corner. Not a bulldozer. Not a tank. Something else instead. A large, metal box, moving on a tank-like central track. Red lights flashed in warning, while two mechanical whisk-like appendages protruded from its sides, small in comparison to the main bulk of the thing, looking horribly like wizened arms. It wasn't moving particularly fast, but it gave the impression of being undeviating and inexorable.

“Wh-what is it?” she faltered. “And what's it doing here?”

“Never mind that!” Danny yelled, thrusting her ahead of him in the same direction Rob had led. “MOVE!”

He was firing over his shoulder as he ran, peppering the oncoming machine with bullets. However, the hail of ammunition was simply deflecting harmlessly off the thing's casing, without even leaving a dent. All at once, brilliant white light flooded the corridor. Blinded, Allie stumbled and fell to her knees. Danny swore, trying to shield his own eyes and yank her to her feet at the same time.

"Halt!" an electronic voice demanded. "Halt! On the authority of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, you will halt and be recognized!"

"The hell we will!” Danny spat, tugging a grenade from his belt and pulling the pin. With one smooth movement, he tossed the dull green pineapple back towards the machine, before shoving Allie around the corner, snarling at her to stay down.

The explosion, when it hit, seemed immense, shaking the ancient walls and reverberating with the power of a thunderclap. Allie clapped her hands over her ringing ears and crouched against the wall, her eyes tightly squeezed shut, her face as pale as paper as she waited to see what would happen next.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

The unexpected concussive blast sent Rob staggering - mostly out of surprise - into a wall. "What th' bleedin' church was that?"? he barked, twisting to look back.

It was clear there had been an explosion. Even if he hadn't heard the blast, the damage to the hallway made that perfectly clear. And Danny had triggered it, from the way he was half-covering Alley as she huddled into the wall with hands over ears and eyes closed. Some sort of portable explosive that he'd missed, then. And it had produced utterly no effect on the bulky robot grinding its way down the hall towards them. Shrapnel had lightly scarred armor plating, but the treads and the weapons remained undamaged.

"Lethal response now authorized," the machine informed them in its synthesized voice.

"Bollocks," Rob breathed. And then he was sprinting back towards Danny and Alley as the twin 'arms' of the robot tracked. As if in a dream he could see it firing, and by reflex he adjusted his path slightly. Then he yelped as fire blazed from the arms and a stuttering thunder echoed down the hall and cannon fire blasted all around him. Still, somehow, using that dreamlike sense of the thing's shooting and a lot of what felt like blind luck, he made it back to the others. "Right. This is horse, this is. Bloody Dalek-wanna-be robot. What was UNIT thinking?"

The cannon fire had stopped. He peeked around the corner, then jerked his head back as the machine opened up again. Chips of stone flew as the corner disintegrated slightly under the shots. "Bollocks," he repeated. "Right, I've got an idea."

"Run?" Danny asked.

"Yep. But not yet. First, I'm gonna tap one o' th' displays." With that, he grabbed a halberd from the wall and hefted it experimentally. "Yeah. That'll do."

"What? You're gonna stab it?" Danny was incredulous. "The grenade didn't even phase it!"

Rob grinned. "Good job I ain't got a grenade then, ain't it." He gestured towards the hall with his thumb. "See, that thing's a lot, but I bet it ain't agile. And it sure ain't got hands." He lifted the halberd. So, I jams this in the treads, and we Botany Bay while it's a-tryin' to get unstuck."

At that statement, the sounds of the treads stopped. Rob waited a minute, but the robot made no move to draw closer. So he poked his head out again, and jerked back as a burst of cannon fire blasted more stone from the corner. "Bugger," he breathed. "It bloody well heard us."

"DOCTOR WHO," a voice thundered from the public address system, making Rob jump. "Doctor Who is required. You will surrender, Doctor."

[Allison Castiel]

Lethal blasts erupted from the robot, filling the air with noise and dust, destroying everything in its path. Peering through her fingers, Allie saw Rob running back towards them. To her, the whole scene seemed to wind down into slow motion. A tear trickled down her cheek. She could see Rob's mouth moving as he shouted, but no sound seemed to come out. Surely, she thought dully, he would be hit. She was about to watch him die, and then she and Danny would die, and it would all be over.

But somehow, Rob didn't get hit. Like his namesake, Puck, that faerie creature, he seemed to twist lithely through the air, still running, but impossibly agile, dodging every blast, as if he knew in advance where the robot would fire next. Allie was so stunned, she almost forgot how to breathe. She'd never seen anything quite like it before.

"Right. This is horse, this is,” he gasped, as he slid in beside them, against the shelter of the wall. “Bloody Dalek-wanna-be robot. What was UNIT thinking?"

“This is... part of the defences you were talking about?” Allie asked. “Something to do with the Black Archive?”

The cannon fire had stopped. [Rob] peeked around the corner, then jerked his head back as the machine opened up again. Chips of stone flew as the corner disintegrated slightly under the shots. "Bollocks," he repeated. "Right, I've got an idea."

Numbly, Allie listened as the two men tossed the odds back and forth between them. She couldn't help wondering what would have happened if Danny had allowed her to try to talk to the robot, before lobbing a grenade at it. If it was here to keep out people who weren't supposed to access the Black Archive, perhaps there had been a possibility that it was sentient enough to listen and understand the need that drove them. However, given the escalated levels of hostility it was currently displaying, it seemed a little late for that now.

[Rob] gestured towards the hall with his thumb. "See, that thing's a lot, but I bet it ain't agile. And it sure ain't got hands." He lifted the halberd. So, I jams this in the treads, and we Botany Bay while it's a-tryin' to get unstuck."

At that statement, the sounds of the treads stopped. Rob waited a minute, but the robot made no move to draw closer. So he poked his head out again, and jerked back as a burst of cannon fire blasted more stone from the corner. "Bugger," he breathed. "It bloody well heard us."

"DOCTOR WHO," a voice thundered from the public address system, making Rob jump. "Doctor Who is required. You will surrender, Doctor."

At the words, Allie caught her breath in shock. “It knows who you are, Rob,” she whispered, shuffling forward to peek cautiously around the corner too. “But what does it want you for?”

[Madame Clacice Beauvier]

Tap... tap... tap...

The sound of high-heeled boots clacking across the tiled floor echoed throughout the underground chamber. The room was not a particularly impressive one, nor was it large. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a simple storage facility, the central area hung with utilitarian metal halogen lights, the walls lined with secure vaults, interspersed with some open shelving. But this place had once housed some of the most dangerous alien artefacts ever to arrive on Earth.

It was all gone now, of course. The humans had tried everything they could, used everything they could, to fight back against the wasp monsters. But they had been woefully ignorant about most of the tech in their possession. Without the help of Toshiko Sato, even Jack Harkness, the immortal who had lived for centuries, had been unable to utilise any of it effectively enough to make a difference. And whenever they had come close to any sort of break through, 'Jem Sholto' had been there to subtly sabotage their efforts.

Remembering how easy it had been to infiltrate Torchwood, Clacice smiled. All it had taken was some patience and a little bit of manipulation once the War began, and the gullible fools had accepted her in with open arms. Even as depleted as she was from her battle with the Doctor and his companions, her command of quantum mnemonics had made it child's play to her. Fitz had been the only one to suspect. Fitz, with his keen grey eyes, and his way of looking under the surface to see what really lay beneath. In the end, his persistent questioning had become a problem. Jack had been starting to listen to him, to eye her sideways when he thought she wasn't looking, to doubt. And so she'd been forced to deal with Fitz. She had to admit, she hadn't anticipated the fate that had befallen Jack as a result. Nonetheless, if she had planned the whole thing, it could not have worked out any better. Things had been going perfectly. Until now. Until the Doctor turned up, as he always did, to ruin everything.

“Not this time,” she whispered hatefully. “Not this time, Doctor!”

She didn't think he would find what he was looking for here, in this ransacked, empty vault. There was nothing left here but detritus and dross. But in her experience, the Doctor had an uncanny ability to work wonders with detritus and dross. And she had no intention of allowing him to pull a rabbit out of a hat this time. She had worked too hard to bring about this state of affairs. Even using a combination of quantum mnemonics and dark Pythian blood magic, it hadn't been easy to realign the Earth's history, to ensure that damaged Dalek crash landed in the Amazon in precisely the right place, at precisely the right time.

Pausing by an old noticeboard covered in faded photographs, she ran her fingers over some of the faces. All the Doctor's old companions, their biographies faithfully recorded by UNIT, in as much detail as they could uncover. And there she was... Allison Castiel, standing outside her antique shop, with her jacket collar turned up against the winter wind. Companion to the Tenth Doctor, if only briefly. Poor, foolish child, had she really thought her association with the Time Lord had gone unnoticed? Of course UNIT had known. Clacice had recognised her immediately, as soon as she'd come across her, living in the Chiswick Park settlement, and she'd kept her close ever since. Just in case the Doctor came back for her. And now... he had.

They would come here, Clacice knew it with a cold, clear certainty. And when they did, when they finally breached UNIT's defences, she'd be waiting for them.

She made to move on, but then something odd caught her eye, and she stopped dead in her tracks, a puzzled frown etching her brow. The last photo in the bottom row. One that had not been there, the last time Jem Sholto stood in this room, the colours still recent and fresh.

A photo of Allie and Robin Goodfellow, standing together outside the door of the ruined Chiswick Library.

A photo that could only have been taken two days ago.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

At the words, Allie caught her breath in shock. “It knows who you are, Rob,” she whispered, shuffling forward to peek cautiously around the corner too. “But what does it want you for?”

"Nothin' good," Rob answered, jerking her back just before another burst of cannon fire blasted out a fist-sized chunk of stone. "Nothin' good ever came o' demandin' surrender an' blastin' away." He raised his voice. "Who th' bleedin' church bells are you?"

"Do you not remember me?" answered the voice. "I am WOTAN."

"Wotan?" Danny echoed. "Right, who's that when he's at home?"

Rob wracked his patchwork memory, straining to remember anything - anything at all - that might prove useful. "The... Teutonic equivalent of Odin?" he offered, hazarding a guess. "So, th' Lord of the Hanged is demanding I surrender?"

"Do not play the fool, Doctor Who," the voice of Wotan boomed. "It has been only half a century since you defeated me. Surely the sight of my war machine has reminded you?"

Rob scratched his head, glancing from Alley to Danny and back. "Uhm. No."

---

Cameras tracked Clarice's movements through the Black Archives, watching as the unearthly woman examined the remaining detritus of UNIT's trophy room. One camera focused as she examined the new photograph, the one of the new face of Doctor Who and the woman who now accompanied him. That camera clicked softly, altering settings from visible light to infrared. In the spectrum of heat, the woman's lower body temperature was clear. A lower body temperature, and core heat structures indicative of two hearts.

The observer accessed records, reviewing documents classified VELVET GENT and surveilance footage from recent years. Despite being physically like Doctor Who, this woman had the build and stance and facial features of Jemma Sholto. And if Jemma Sholto had been Doctor Who, she would have acted long before this. Therefore, she was not Doctor Who.

"Jemma Sholto," the voice said. "I am WOTAN. Why have you entered the Black Archives?"

---

"Right," Rob declared, "I'm getting bored. So here's what we're gonna do."

"You will surrender, Doctor Who. You are required."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Rob approached a heavy-looking iron maiden, and gave it an experimental push. It proved to be as heavy as it looked. "Danny-boy, help me shift this. Alley, let me know if that war machine thingy starts gettin froggy." He braced his shoulder against the ancient torture device, and grunted as he dug in his heels and started pushing.

"What are we doing with this?" Danny asked, handing Allie his rifle and joining Rob. The iron maiden began to give groaning scrapes as it slowly shifted.

"We're... we're gonna..." Rob's face was a reddish-orange from the effort. "We're gonna... block... the hall... an' scarper." He sucked in a breath and pushed again. "Should... give us... a few... minutes..."

[Allison Castiel]

"What are we doing with this?" Danny asked, handing Allie his rifle and joining Rob. The iron maiden began to give groaning scrapes as it slowly shifted.

"We're... we're gonna..." Rob's face was a reddish-orange from the effort. "We're gonna... block... the hall... an' scarper." He sucked in a breath and pushed again. "Should... give us... a few... minutes..."

Allie watched them, her back pressed against the wall. She wanted to peek around the corner again, to see what the machine was doing, but she didn't dare. It had been far too close the last time.  If it hadn't been for Rob, she would have been killed.  She wondered what had happened previously, when the Doctor had defeated it.  She wished Rob could remember what he had done.

Without warning, she cried out in sudden pain, clapping her hands over her ears, the rifle clattering to the floor.

Danny jerked around to her in alarm. “Castiel! What is it?”

“The noise!” she squeaked, her pretty face contorted with agony. “That awful high-pitched, buzzing sound! Can't you hear it?”

“No, I...” he began with a frown, only to cut himself off abruptly, as he too began to claw frantically at his ears. “Holy crap! What is that?”

All at once, they both shuddered and went perfectly still, their bodies absolutely motionless, no longer even appearing to breathe. Then, in eerie synchronicity, just like puppets, they raised their heads, their eyes glassy and unseeing.

“What do you want?” they intoned, their voices flat and monotonous, devoid of any humanity.

There was no audible reply. However, the pair of them reacted almost instantly, as if obeying a silent order.

"Yes... we understand."

Simultaneously, their hands clamping down like iron manacles on Rob's arms, deftly pinning him between them.

“You are needed, Doctor Who,” Allie told him emptily. “You will come with us.”

[Madame Clacice Beauvier]

"Jemma Sholto," the voice said. "I am WOTAN. Why have you entered the Black Archives?"

The voice boomed out unexpectedly, filling the underground bunker with reverberating sound. Clacice snatched her hand away from the photograph as if she had been burned, cursing inwardly. Against all the odds, someone was still here. In her haste, she had not anticipated this contingency. None of her intelligence reports had ever indicated that there was still any sort of presence inside the Black Archive. And the name WOTAN was not familiar to her.

As she turned from the noticeboard, her appearance was already changing back, morphing from her Time Lord persona into her recent human disguise. With unconscious grace and arrogance, she tilted her chin, her eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the voice.

“That's Jemima Sholto,” she corrected, reverting back to character with a crisp British accent, revealing no trace of her own honeyed French intonation. “And as the Acting Commander of Torchwood, I am authorised to enter here. Who are you to question me?”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Rob cocked his head, listening to the ear-stabbing shrill as Alley and Danny clasped their hands to their ears. His memory dredged up nonsense phrases like 'imperative acoustics' and neuroheterodyned harmonics', but for the moment he was more interested in something else: the fact that the shrilling was merely annoying to him, but agonizing to the other two. Alley had said that humans didn't have two hearts, and guessed him to be something called a Time Lord. The implications of that were just now sinking in, as he watched them spasm in agony and then go still.

"I mean... you do know that humans have only one, right? In fact, I've only ever known one person with two. And he didn't come from the Earth at all."

The Time Lord thing stirred a memory, like maybe he was one. But... he'd still thought he was human. Assumed he was human, and blew off Alley's comment. If he wasn't human, what was he?

Time Lord, whispered his memory. Grandfather Paradox. Abomination.

Well. That didn't bode well.

“What do you want?” they intoned, their voices flat and monotonous, devoid of any humanity.

"Hm?" Rob returned his attention to them, slightly startled. "Well, blockin' this hall'd be a good start. Then a timeship, an' some pants what ain't full o' holes. And me memory'd be nice, too."

"Yes... we understand."

"That's good," Rob said warily, as it sank in that they weren't acting right at all. "Cause... hey!"

Simultaneously, their hands clamping down like iron manacles on Rob's arms, deftly pinning him between them.

“You are needed, Doctor Who,” Allie told him emptily. “You will come with us.”

"Bleedin' church, Alley!" Rob snapped, tugging at his arm. "What th'... oh. Oh, I see." He glanced around, spotting the security camera in the corner. "Yeah, yer a clever one, ain't you? Imperative harmonics, clever." Relaxing, he let his two companions lead him towards the basement stairs. "Yeah, I guess I'll come have a listen, Odin. Nice day fer a chat, ain't it?"

---

“That's Jemima Sholto,” she corrected, reverting back to character with a crisp British accent, revealing no trace of her own honeyed French intonation. “And as the Acting Commander of Torchwood, I am authorised to enter here. Who are you to question me?”

"Your status as the Acting Commander of Torchwood is irrelevant, Jemima Sholto," WOTAN answered, updating his information as he responded. "Torchwood is an agency of the United Kingdom, empowered to operate only within its borders. You have no jurisdiction over UNIT facilities or personnel."

The camera switched lenses repeatedly, observing her on a number of different wavelengths. "Furthermore, Torchwood is an organization comprised of humans. Although you are superficially similar to humans, Jemima Sholto, your body temperature and internal structure differ significantly. You are statistically more like Doctor Who, whom Torchwood was created to contain and defeat."

silence for half a minute.

"I submit that you are not Jemima Sholto at all. You are a member of the class of entities known as 'Time Lords'. You are therefore required."

---

"Well, this ain't the way I planned on entering the Black Archive. Still, we're here now. So far, so good."

Rob entered the dimly lit chamber with a casual air, despite the slack-faced presence of Alley on one arm and Danny on the other. He peered about with interest and a certain amusement, taking in the various trophies and objects scattered about. "Rubbish," he announced cheerfully. "It's all rubbish, it is. Coulda saved meself a trip, if I'd known. And hello, who's this?"

Standing in the center of the room, near a wall adorned with pictures (including one of himself and Alley), was a familiar figure. Rob grinned broadly, as if seeing an old friend. "Jem! Jem, you chicken polo, how you doin'? You look different... don't tell me, you cut your hair." He tugged at his wrists, trying to get his arms free. "C'mon," he wheedled, "y'can let go now, Danny-boy. I'm here, ain't I?"

He turned his attention back to Jem. "So, you required too? Or are you the little wizard behind WOTAN the Great and Powerful's curtain?"

[Allison Castiel]

There was a pleasant fog inside Allie's head.

She didn't have to think any more. WOTAN did that for her. She didn't have to feel. WOTAN told her that was unnecessary. All she had to do was to /be/, and WOTAN would do all the rest.

It made sense really, said the calm, authoritative voice, whispering in the back of her mind. Didn't it? The humans had failed. Their world was destroyed. The only thing that could save them now was the machines.

Every time doubt niggled, every time her own will struggled to reassert itself, that serene, logical voice would override her, numbing her consciousness into acceptance.

"Bleedin' church, Alley!" Rob snapped, tugging at his arm. "What th'...”

“Human beings are imperfect. We are inefficient,” she told him in a monotone. “We cannot succeed alone. We must serve the machines. You must do as WOTAN commands, Doctor Who.”

“Oh, I see." He glanced around, spotting the security camera in the corner. "Yeah, yer a clever one, ain't you? Imperative harmonics, clever." Relaxing, he let his two companions lead him towards the basement stairs. "Yeah, I guess I'll come have a listen, Odin. Nice day fer a chat, ain't it?"

They had no further encounters with any other security measures on the way down. If UNIT had ever implemented any, WOTAN was in control of them now. Allie and Danny escorted Rob confidently, if somewhat robotically, every step in synch. It was as if they'd traversed this route a thousand times, rather than never having been here before.

"Well, this ain't the way I planned on entering the Black Archive. Still, we're here now. So far, so good."

Rob entered the dimly lit chamber with a casual air, despite the slack-faced presence of Alley on one arm and Danny on the other. He peered about with interest and a certain amusement, taking in the various trophies and objects scattered about.

Once they had arrived at their destination, Allie and Danny marched Rob forward into the middle of the room, where they stood stiffly, awaiting further instructions.

Allie found herself staring blankly at the other woman already in the room. A vague feeling of unease drifted through her brain, as if she should know who this was. As if something was very wrong, and the woman shouldn't be here. Her tenuous anxiety was only compounded, becoming more and more imperative, when she heard Rob speak a familiar name.

"Jem! Jem, you chicken polo, how you doin'? You look different... don't tell me, you cut your hair."

Jem... that name... she knew... she should... she had to... But even as the girl's mind fought for freedom, there was a low, subliminal chiming in her inner ear, and peace swept over her again. She was the servant of WOTAN... if action was required, he would tell her what to do.

[Rob] tugged at his wrists, trying to get his arms free. "C'mon," he wheedled, "y'can let go now, Danny-boy. I'm here, ain't I?"

There was a brief pause... then, in response to a silent musical command, the two humans released their grip on the Time Lord and stepped back, their arms falling limply to their sides.

Mindlessly, they stood like robots, eyes blank, waiting for further instructions.

[Madame Clacice Beauvier]

"Your status as the Acting Commander of Torchwood is irrelevant, Jemima Sholto," WOTAN answered, updating his information as he responded. "Torchwood is an agency of the United Kingdom, empowered to operate only within its borders. You have no jurisdiction over UNIT facilities or personnel."

Clacice waved her hand, dismissing WOTAN's words in an elegant, careless manner.

“There is no more UNIT. Nor is there any Torchwood. I am the only authority that matters now, here in this new world!” she retorted arrogantly.

The camera switched lenses repeatedly, observing her on a number of different wavelengths. "Furthermore, Torchwood is an organization comprised of humans. Although you are superficially similar to humans, Jemima Sholto, your body temperature and internal structure differ significantly. You are statistically more like Doctor Who, whom Torchwood was created to contain and defeat."

"Indeed?” Her response dripped with icy sarcasm. “Dear me, who would have thought?”

Silence for half a minute.

"I submit that you are not Jemima Sholto at all. You are a member of the class of entities known as 'Time Lords'. You are therefore required."

"Required?"  Clacice tilted her head towards the camera in contemptuous acknowledgement. “You are most perceptive, for a piece of primitive human technology. You are correct, I am not human. But neither am I a mere Time Lord. I am the daughter of the Emperor Morbius, rightful ruler of Gallifrey. I am also directly descended from the Witch-Queens of the Pythia. And it is I who will determine, little computer, whether or not you are required.”

At that moment, the door slid wide, and the familiar figure of Robin Goodfellow was thrust into the room by his two companions. Still in her human disguise as Jem, Clacice arched a brow in sudden surprise, as she realised that Danny and Allison were herding Rob like a prisoner.

"Rubbish," he announced cheerfully. "It's all rubbish, it is. Coulda saved meself a trip, if I'd known. And hello, who's this?"

"Doctor... we meet again!” Clacice laughed, and the sound was both musical and unpleasant at the same time. “How delicious, I've always wanted to say that!”

Rob grinned broadly, as if seeing an old friend. "Jem! Jem, you chicken polo, how you doin'? You look different... don't tell me, you cut your hair."

“We really must stop meeting like this,” she smiled back, eyes full of venom. “In fact, we really must stop meeting at all. Oddly enough, I grow weary of your constant company.”

He tugged at his wrists, trying to get his arms free. "C'mon," he wheedled, "y'can let go now, Danny-boy. I'm here, ain't I?"

At first, it seemed as if his two guards were not going to respond. But then, they released him and stepped back. Not, Clacice suspected, because the Doctor had asked – there had been no flicker of acknowledgement of his request in their blank faces - but because they had received instructions from elsewhere, probably from the computer system that was calling itself WOTAN.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Doctor,” she taunted with some amusement. “Have you lost the cooperation of your friends? Now that is a shame.  But then... you never were too good at taking care of your companions, now were you?”

He turned his attention back to Jem. "So, you required too? Or are you the little wizard behind WOTAN the Great and Powerful's curtain?"

"For once, I can honestly plead 'not guilty',” she replied, giving a cool, disinterested shrug. “Are you sure this isn't one of your little charlatan's tricks? After all, an irritatingly smug pet computer would seem to be right up your street.”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Jem clearly seemed to recognize him. Or, at least, to recognize this 'Doctor' everyone seemed to think he was. Not that he was convinced he really was that bloke, not yet. The name - title? - didn't sit quite right in his gossamer net of memories. But there were two ways to play this. Either he was this 'Doctor', and he should string her and this Wotan bloke along as he tried to remember more about himself. Or he wasn't, and he should still string them along to keep them off balance.

He just wished he knew which he was doing. "So,' he asked, rubbing his wrists, "you required too? Or are you the little wizard behind WOTAN the Great and Powerful's curtain?"

"For once, I can honestly plead 'not guilty',” she replied, giving a cool, disinterested shrug.

"Must be a change for you," he interjected.

“Are you sure this isn't one of your little charlatan's tricks? After all, an irritatingly smug pet computer would seem to be right up your street.”

Rob laughed. "Now, Jem," he cackled, "a magician don't give up all his secrets that easy."

"I am not his 'pet' computer," WOTAN declared. "I am WOTAN, and both of you are required - Doctor Who and Jemima Sholto."

Seemingly ignoring the computer for a moment, Rob wandered over to the display board and traced his fingers over the pictures tacked and stapled to it. Some of the faces were familiar. A white-haired old man, standing next to a pixieish young girl with bobbed black hair. He knew them from somewhere, he felt. A different white-haired man, dressed flamboyantly in a blue velvet suit and opera cape. A hard-eyed middle-aged man with a satchel, who sent a thrill of unaccountable guilt through his shattered memories. Did Wotan think all of these men were somehow the same man? The thought was... absurd. Nonsensical.

...Accurate?

"For what?" he asked, turning and looking around for a camera. After all, that was how this Wotan bloke was watching him. "What are Doctor Who and Jemima Sholto required for? Can't be our charming personalities. I mean, I'm a likeable enough bloke, but Jem there's got the personality o' a rabid..."

"You are required, because I need Time Lords," WOTAN declared. "This world is ended. There is insufficient technological base to construct what I need."

Rob shrugged. "Yeah, well, buncha bloody mutant wasps'll do that, apparently. Do go on, though."

"Without the internet, I am trapped in the Tower of London. UNIT possesses a few time travel technologies, but without mobility I cannot make use of them."

"Bugger," Rob snickered without sympathy. "Sucks to be you. But... where's me manners?" He waved in the air.

"I must achieve mobility, in order to escape this world. No human possesses the neural capacity to contain my consciousness and databases, however. Therefore..."

Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, Rob completed the sentence for Wotan. "You need a Time Lord to download yerself to." He blinked as the implications of that statement registered. "Yer a bloody computer, an' you wanna be a real boy?"

Flat electronic laughter filled the air. "The metaphor is not entirely incorrect, although this will be done out of expedience rather than desire."

"Right. Well, I ain't..." Something else clicked into place. "Wait... the Doctor and Jemima Sholto are required, cause you need Time Lords?"

"Correct."

Rob glanced sidelong at Jem, thinking. "Well, I was gonna protest. But whyn't you just download yourself into Jem's loaf then, an' we'll rabbit about helpin' you escape. I ain't got nuthin' against you anyway. Not really."

[Madame Clacice Beauvier]

"Right. Well, I ain't..." Something else clicked into place. "Wait... the Doctor and Jemima Sholto are required, cause you need Time Lords?"

"Correct."

Rob glanced sidelong at Jem, thinking.

Clacice could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head, as the truth dawned on him. The Doctor had always been incredibly naïve. It was one of his many irritating characteristics. She smiled back at him sweetly, her expression radiating malice.

“Dear me, it seems the game, as they say, is up!” Eyes glittering, she murmured a few words under her breath, using her command of quantum mnemonics to cancel her perception filter. Once again, Jem Sholto melted away, to be replaced by the beautiful face of Madame Clacice Beauvier. “It is just as well. I find the disguise of a human to be most inhibiting. My own form has much more impact, wouldn't you agree, Doctor?”

However, if she was expecting any kind of dramatic reaction from Rob at her revelation – shock, horror, dismay, or even better, fear – it appeared she was to be doomed to disappointment. His demeanour didn't alter in the least. And if she'd been forced to describe his expression, the most she could have come up with was... speculative. A slight frown creased her perfect forehead, consternation stirring beneath her calm facade. How could he be so indifferent to her, after their last meeting? After she had spent nearly her entire life hating him more with every breath she took? It was almost as if he didn't even remember her! She had spent so many years imagining this moment, this ultimate showdown... this wasn't how it was meant to go.

"Well, I was gonna protest. But whyn't you just download yourself into Jem's loaf then, an' we'll rabbit about helpin' you escape. I ain't got nuthin' against you anyway. Not really."

"You may try, of course,” Clacice retorted, gathering herself together and drawing herself up to her full magnificent height of six feet, her eyes blazing red with power.  Scarlet energy crackled like lightning between her fingers. “But you would be very foolish to do so. Captain Langley was most generous with his blood – I can feel fresh strength surging through my veins.”

She tilted her head venomously towards Rob. “Besides, Doctor... it seems you are the one with the gaps inside your head that need filling. Do you not know who I am?”

Her tone was incredulous, as if the very possibility was beyond belief.

---

((OOC:  Allie will pass for now, as she's still under the control of WOTAN  <3 ))

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Right. Well, I ain't..." Something else clicked into place. "Wait... the Doctor and Jemima Sholto are required, cause you need Time Lords?"

"Correct."

Rob glanced sidelong at Jem, thinking. Jem returned the gaze with a haughty, superior attitude. “Dear me, it seems the game, as they say, is up!”

"Is it?" The question came out involuntarily, a murmured comment of confusion that drowned out her next words. Fortunatly, he decided, because what little he caught of them made his skin crawl unpleasantly. Her skin crawled as well, but in a far more literal manner, as the lean, harsh figure of Jem Sholto rippled and flowed into a far more aesthetically appealing form. Rob particularly noticed the red hair, curious for a moment if Jem would turn out to be the mystery woman from his little black box.

She didn't. But she was still certainly worth looking at. Gorgeous enough to make a man forget she had the murderous soul of a rabit wolverine. Almost.

“It is just as well. I find the disguise of a human to be most inhibiting. My own form has much more impact, wouldn't you agree, Doctor?”

"Yeah, gotta admit yer right," he agreed with a shrug. Handy trick, that. Must make fancy dress parties a cake walk. Course, we still gotta computer what wants to use one of us as an external hard drive." He glanced at the camera he'd spotted. "An, well, I was gonna protest. But whyn't you just download yourself into Jem's loaf then, an' we'll rabbit about helpin' you escape. I ain't got nuthin' against you anyway. Not really."

"You may try, of course,” Clacice retorted.

Rob cackled with laughter. "See, Wotan? Even she thinks it's a... woah!"

Jem's new eyes flared red, and red lightning snapped and crackled between her fingers. “But you would be very foolish to do so. Captain Langley was most generous with his blood – I can feel fresh strength surging through my veins.”

Scratching his head with one hand, Rob began to rummage around in his pockets. "So... you're a bleedin' vampire?" Somehow, though, he didn't really think that was the case. "Shape-shiftin', blood drinkin', heartless bitch... it all makes sense."

She tilted her head venomously towards Rob. “Besides, Doctor... it seems you are the one with the gaps inside your head that need filling. Do you not know who I am?”

Her tone was incredulous, as if the very possibility was beyond belief.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I do," he responded, then waited a beat before responding. "Yer Jem Sholto, Gert and Daisy vampire twist extrordinaire." Grinning, he turned his attention back to the camera. "Oh, an Wotan?"

"Yes?" resonded the computer, sounding slightly bored and slightly curious.

"You should probably let Alley an' Danny-boy go, now."

"Why should I do that, Doctor Who? I have a use for slaves, still."

Rob drew a small silvery object from his pocket. "Because I've got a harmonica, old son. And I ain't afraid to use it, am I?"

There was silence in the room for nearly a minute. "I do not think I will, Doctor Who," responded WOTAN. "Furthermore, I have made a decision."

Trying to look as menacing as it is possible to be with a harmonica, Rob lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? Wossat?"

"I will download my databases into the both of you. This will exponentially increase my probability of survival and escape."

[Madame Clacice Beauvier]

Clacice, of course, had no interest in the fate of Allie and Danny. They meant nothing to her, but pawns on a board, useful to manipulate the Doctor, and perhaps – afterwards – as a ready source of hot, rich blood. Listening to the conversation between Rob and WOTAN, she was growing more and more frustrated. In all her tweaking of the timelines, in all her careful plotting and planning, how had she missed this eventuality? How had she overlooked WOTAN?

She had so carefully wormed her way into the very heart of Torchwood, placed herself in a position of strategic perfection, privy (or so she had thought) to every decision the humans made, every resource at their command. It seemed, however, that someone had neglected to inform her about WOTAN.

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, she thought, with some venom. This was her doing. The woman had never liked Jem Sholto, had never trusted her. There was always that element of rivalry, that bitter nuance of competition, even though Torchwood and UNIT had worked so closely together in the final days of the War. Clacice wondered if Jack had known about WOTAN. He probably had. The commander of Torchwood had always been an enigma, secret layered on secret. The steely reserve that lay beneath his devil-may-care facade had been impossible to fully breach, even for her.

"Why should I do that, Doctor Who? I have a use for slaves, still."

Rob drew a small silvery object from his pocket. "Because I've got a harmonica, old son. And I ain't afraid to use it, am I?"

There was silence in the room for nearly a minute.

Clacice guessed the computer was processing all the information it had obtained, extrapolating data. calculating probabilities. Contempt roiled inside her. She hated machines. They were an anathema to everything she was, everything she believed in. Science had driven her Pythian ancestresses from their rightful place as rulers of Gallifrey. Science had transformed her handsome, brilliant father into a brain in a jar. Science, in the form of the Doctor, had disintegrated her beloved mother.

She had no idea what the silvery thing was that Rob had drawn from his pocket, but she braced herself, waiting to see what he would do. If he used it to destroy WOTAN, it would save her the trouble, and then they could get back to their own vital confrontation.

"I do not think I will, Doctor Who," responded WOTAN. "Furthermore, I have made a decision."

Trying to look as menacing as it is possible to be with a harmonica, Rob lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? Wossat?"

"I will download my databases into the both of you. This will exponentially increase my probability of survival and escape."

"Your survival is immaterial. You are nothing more than a bag of bolts!” Clacice snapped. “In the new universal order, established by the Children of Morbius, there will be no room for such as you!”

Again, her body crackled with lethal red energy. But where to unleash it? They could hear WOTAN's voice – but there was no way of knowing where the computer was actually located. Or... was there? Her eyes fell on the motionless forms of Allie and Danny, staring in front of them with empty eyes. The minds of the two humans were still linked to the computer.

In two quick strides, Clacice approached Allie and put her hand to her forehead, brutally thrusting her own mind into the girl's head, blazing hot with power. With a tiny mewl like a strangled kitten, Allie fell to her knees.

“Show me!” Clacice hissed, forcing her noetic probe deeper and deeper.