Their Agreement

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

??: I am.

“And you understand. This is it. Your one request. No do-overs. No wishing for more wishes. My promise to you will be closed.”

??: I know.

“Very well. Let us begin.”

---

…..tick…..tick…..tick…..

The Westford. Imagine, how thrilled and enthralled I was to be back here again. But this is not the same time. In a number of ways.

One initial trip, going back a little bit more than nineteen years. Then, we waited. Drifting through time, and motionless in the void. Literally listening to the days tick by like seconds.

…..tick…..tick…..tick…..

No-Longer-Lady-Zephyros-But-Still-As-Yet-Unnamed was back in my reading corner, her nose buried into a book of poetry. She had declined my kind offer of favourites from which to choose her new designation; so I had brought in several tomes of poetry, some H.G. Wells, and every book on stargazing I could scrounge up. (I don’t have very many. I tend to just go, y’know, straight to the source material…)

…..tick…..tick…..tick…..

I meanwhile was at the central console, fixated on the main screen, silently – and ever-increasingly-impatiently – waiting for something to happen. I hadn’t been told what it was, exactly. Just to watch the Westford‘s airlock doors.

“And be ready to catch,” she had said.

Nineteen years ago. Nineteen years before Ethereal and I arrived – though no-one alive or dead remembers her except me – and proceeded to throw the biggest spanners into the finest works.

Father Phineaux Kane was in there, somewhere. All appendages still attached. Still hiding behind the Good Book, leading the Bad Life.

Without looking, I clicked onto surveillance cameras in the medical bay. Odyssey had moved the Fake-Kane not long after we’d left the interrogation room. There, his wound had been sufficiently cauterised – once more I declined his use of painkillers – and his time on this side of the abyss would last some time more.

He’d since been secured. Odyssey is an old War TARDIS, after all. Yes, there are prisons in the medical bay. There’s even a cell in the toilets.

…..tick…..tick…..tick…..

A dull thump behind me caused a glance over my shoulder. She-Who-Cannot-Be-Named-Just-Now had snapped the poetry book closed, tossed it aside, and taken up the nearest bound collection of all things astronomical.

“No luck so far?”

She gave a non-committal grunt. I didn’t press further.  Reading was happening. Little else mattered or existed to her right now.

Excepting perhaps the matter at hand.

…..tick…..

…..tick…..

…..ti-

HH. Movement in the furthest airlock.

One hand initiated localised synchronicity; the other switched back to external cameras. Time progressed as normal, and there, displayed on my screen, was the exterior of the Westford. A fairly unremarkable sight, little more than vents and piping, and four sets of double doors that were the rear airlocks. But Odyssey was correct. A murky blur was blocking the light in the glass panels of Airlock 4. Its shadows suggested it was something alive, and moving.

I dropped backwards without looking around, straight into my captain’s chair. It slid on its rail to the helm, while two joysticks folded out of each arm-rest. I wrapped both hands around them, each molded perfectly for me, alone.

“Taking manual control. I’ll get us lined up. Odyssey, prepare an oxygen chute. And,” I added, “just to be sure…Incognito Mode.”

While I was swinging Odyssey round, pointing his rear towards the ship, Name-In-Progress appeared by my shoulder.

??: Keeping your internet history a secret?

“Not quite.” I didn’t turn away from piloting. “My TARDIS can turn invisible.”

??: TARDIS?

“Oh. Right. Sorry. My ship can turn invisible.”

Simple logic really. (Though not simple technology to achieve it.)

Past-version of Father Phineaux Kane needs to believe that this person (whoever I’m supposed to be saving) has fallen into the suffocating void of space, and died. If he happens to look out and sees a ship catching them, that will undoubtedly change the timeline.

But. An invisible ship, a fair distance away, should overcome that.

See? Responsible time travel. I think I’ve earned myself a decent graded score of adequate.

I relayed the same to my newest associate, barring the last bit.

“Odyssey, hold interior atmosphere shell.” I adjusted some switches above me. “Lower rear hatchway.”

A pneumatic whir sounded, behind us, as the back ramp titled downwards. I distinctly heard her sharp gasp. Her hands instinctively moved, to try and find the nearest hold.

But we remained where we were. No sudden drop in pressure. No flying out to die in the breathless cold. I gave the briefest glance over my shoulder, through the open doorway. Our view of exterior space and the Westford was shimmering like heat-haze.

Invisibility field holding, but draining power. Reserves at 49% and falling fast. 

“It’s harder to hide the open doorway,” I quickly informed her. I’ve missed having someone to tell these things. “But the illusion has to be complete. Odyssey, divert power from elsewhere. Cut all the lights except in this room.”

She had left my side – her footfalls suggested she’d run to the back.

??: I think the airlock is opening.

I gave the smallest of adjustments upwards. We were in line with Airlock 4, just shy of a hundred metres away. Adequate distance for this victim, whoever they were, to believably disappear.

Oxygen tunnel in place. Target locked.

??: Here she comes!

Deploying airbag.

I had just enough time to digest the word she before realising Odyssey had remembered something I hadn’t. I palm-slammed the controls. My chair shot sideways along its floor rail. Then I leapt. With the momentum carrying me, I flew from the chair onto my feet and into a run, grabbed Ex-Lady-Zee round the waist, and hauled her away.

Just as an airbag the size of a decent bouncy-castle exploded out of the floor. We landed – her, onto beanbags, and I hit the floor – at the same time as our new arrival.

Ex-Lady-Zee was only down momentarily. She practically bounced back up again.

??: Mum!

That three-lettered syllable had the same effect on me as a quad-shot of espresso, six energy drinks, or several thousand volts to the right testicle. Possibly all three at once.

We don’t get parents in my TARDIS, y’see.

…except for me, anyway…

I was up, moving faster than the daughter, and she was moving fast. We both had to wrestle with this slowly-deflating marshmallow. But she was emotionally distressed. I, emotionally determined. While she grappled to get the airbag out of the way, I sacrificed one hand to retrieve what I needed from an inner pocket.

Ex-Lady-Zee got close.

I got there first.

The same instance the Mother was visible, I raised the dart gun and fired once. She had barely managed to sit up when a miniature blue dot appeared on her upper forearm. Then she fell back again. And she lay still.

??: WHAT DID YOU DO?

I watched her daughter battle with the urge to round on me, and fly to her parent’s side. Ex-Lady-Zee settled on a weird dance-move/mixture of the two, death-glaring at me before dropping to her knees by her slumbering mother.

“Graded sensitisation.” I stowed the dart gun anyway.

For anyone keeping score, I only started carrying a handheld tranquillizer weapon shortly after Father Kane came on board. Yes, it probably would have come in handy numerous times past. Hindsight is a spotless window.

I answered the daughter’s furiously puzzled look.

“This poor woman just had to endure airlock decompression, complete and utter terror over the entirety of space, was – I’m just speculating here – possibly murdered, and was saved at the last second by an invisible ship with an impossible interior. Leave the “I’m your daughter from the future” bit until later, no?”

There’d been a chance of her fainting anyway. But I prefer to be sure.

No room for hysterics, even in this interior.

HH

His Promise

When I returned to the console room, Lady Zephyros had claimed my reading corner and its wingback chair. I was neither surprised, nor annoyed. Consider it a lifeform taking to its natural habitat – or, the closest resemblance available – in a time of stress.

Thus, I took to my six-sided, time-travelling central console, and busied myself with altering controls, switching buttons, pulling levers and the like. In her situation, I wouldn’t want anyone speaking to me eith-

LZ: You don’t have to do that, by the way.

I stared at my console, hands frozen in mid-adjustment. My positioned fingers made it look like I was controlling an invisible marionette. What had I done?

Apparently, refrained from dusting this place, upon closer inspection…

“Do what, sorry?”

LZ: This……do-something-just-to-fill-the-silence bit. I appreciate the effort, but this isn’t where you gradually earn my trust and I tell you what happened in there. I’m fine.

I was impressed. And totally unable to hide that fact from her.

I even stopped what I was doing at the controls, and took a step backwards.

“Very well. But if I can state for the record? I wasn’t going to ask.”

LZ: Thanks.

“To be honest, I’m more interested in what your new name is going to be.”

LZ: My new-?

“Well, you’re not keeping Lady Zephyros Kane, are you? The name he gave you? Unless your mother gave it to you, but I assumed that ‘Zephyros’ came from a man unironically calling himself Phineaux.”

Her silence was all the affirmation I needed. I pointed to the shelves by her right elbow.

“In there are all my favourite books. Have a look through, and see if you can come up with a new name for yourself. I’d send you to the whole library, but I imagine you’d lose several decades. And still be nameless.”

She repaid me with a rather shrewd look.

LZ: You assume and imagine a lot of things.

“Because I know a lot less. It’s how I get by. But, go on. Have a look. And make it a good one.”

I’m well aware of my deflection. She’s more than welcome to take some shots at me. I am the man who just tore her Father’s face off. Figuratively speaking, of course. But nineteen years of isolation and introversion has just been broken outwards. Her mind will need a lot of rebooting – I know the feeling – so a few, insecure shots here and there are to be expected.

Welcomed, even. It’s positive. While it may feel immature, it’s not. It’s the first step towards fighting back. A sign of discovering strength, and self-confidence.

LZ: These are your favourites?

I performed a quick scan for sardonicism, but couldn’t find any. She wasn’t judging. Just asking.

“They are indeed. Why do you ask?”

Her expression softened as she turned back to me.

LZ: You’re happy for me to touch your favourite books?

I smiled back. “After asking that question, of course. Because now I know, we share the same respect for all things readable.”

A humble nod from her. Then she turned in my seat and ran a finger along their spines.

I have the gigantic library, of course, but keep my beloveds – Gaiman, Pratchett, King, Adams, Bradbury, VandeerMeer, Haig etc. – on deck and close by, where I can easily reach them. I never like to be too far from a copy of Fahrenheit 451, and Good Omens. Hence, pocket-book editions.

I happened to express all of this out loud to her. What I got in return was:

??: Can you rewrite Time?

I admit to being impressed again. Ask a leading question during a casual interaction. Disarm me with book-talk, and then go in for the kill.

And it partially worked. She had asked while inspecting the spine of Lud in the Mist. My head briefly ran rampant with brilliant naming possibilities. Then I caught up.

And my defences did, too.

“I can, yes. Although I don’t, personally.”

Well…

“Shush, Odyssey. I mean, I do have the ability to alter the flow of Time and alter its events. But, I take responsibilities, and only do so if I really have to.”

Well…

“Odyssey. At any rate, I certainly never alter Time for my own, personal gain.”

WELL…

“ODYSSEY!”

What? Do you expect me to apologise? Why are you lying like this?

The-Nameless-One-Formerly-Known-As-Lady-Zephyros was indeed considering me with even greater scorn interest now.

“Because you are giving the poor woman hope.”

Better that, than-

??: I’ll speak for myself, ta.

This, she said to the ceiling. Then she turned to me.

??: Why are you lying to me?

I leant against the console, my arms folded.

“I’m trying to be kind. It’s a new thing for me. Still a work in progress. But…basically, there was a point, many years ago, when I was where you are. Liberated from those in charge. Free to do whatever I wanted. And like you, I thought changing time would make me feel better, too. I could rewrite what had been a pretty crap life, into an amazing one.

“Because that’s what time travel really is. It’s forbidden fruits. An ultimate lure. It uses only the finest bait, and it’s what we call hope. Pure and simple. A possibility to make things better.

“And let me tell you. Right now. It doesn’t. You saw for yourself. All my meddling has ever done is create pain. Confusion. New timelines that aren’t how I imagined at all; sometimes, even worse.

“Which is why for once, I’m keeping my original promise, and sticking to it. I offered to you a new life. One trip, to anytime, any place, in the whole wide universe.”

She had abandoned her perusal of my bookcase and instead turned in my seat to face me properly. I read the expression in her face faster than the published works beside her.

“I’m not a genie. Okay? I’m not a fairy godmother or a spirit guide or even a trickster god. I’m just a Timelord. Flaws-wise, I’m on the same level as a human. But whatever past event you want me to fix, I can’t make your dreams come true.”

??: What if it isn’t my past I want to fix?

HH

Kane and Kane: Part Two

INT: ODYSSEY INTERROGATION ROOM.
TIME: FUCK KNOWS / DATE: SEE TIME

Father and Daughter sit across from one another. He, the gentleman con-artist, swindler, liar, trafficker, abuser and predator – turned Holy Man.

And she. The introvert, victimised by the man before her, and within reaching-distance of a gun.

PK: So what did he tell you?

LZ: He didn’t tell me anything.

PK: Then what’s there to discuss?

She falters. This is not her place, and the man sitting opposite is no longer her Father. Her paternal figure had never been one for love nor care before; but even so, the man sitting there was of a different atmosphere. Menace radiated off of him like heat haze. His general demeanour was one of a calm and quiet evil. His eyes were sharper, but the face relaxed. This man was less tense. As though he didn’t need to concentrate quite so hard anymore. 

Like an actor taking off their mask.

Credit where due, he had worn it well. She had never liked her Father. Only now did she actually fear him.

LZ: Who are you?

PK: Irrelevant. Next.

LZ: Why are you and the other guy enemies?

PK: Previous disagreement. Next.

LZ: Are you actually my Father?

What happens next frightens her. The actor replaces his mask. In a transitive shift, one which she can actually see, her Father is suddenly back with her.

FK: My dear child, I am everyone’s Father. To care and protect and nurture all who have lost their way. I am your Shepherd, to any who wandered from the herd.

His mask drops off; and the real man, whatever his name may be, tips back his head and laughs. It is a shattering, mocking sneer of a sound, one that the walls give back, for they don’t want it either.

PK: This faith game’s been the easiest, by far. Farming metaphors, some cash – instant religion. Just add Holy Water.

And the man laughs again. LZ refuses to acknowledge how cold she suddenly feels. All her story-loving mind can focus on is one thing. 

LZ: And I take it, I was part of that…character?

He grins at her. It is better than the laugh; in the same way that a snarl is better than a bite. But one usually becomes the other.

PK: My final piece.

PK: Man of God. Single Father. Widowed. Needs to take on two jobs. Raising a daughter.

PK: Innocence is just a magic trick, sweetheart. All about misdirection. I put myself right in the middle of the Hall of Mirrors. No-one sees my dark side when I’m so busy showing them theirs.

LZ: Clever.

PK: I don’t need you to tell me that. What’re you, anyway? A prop. That’s what you are. A prop in my story. About as much use to me as…well, that gun, for instance.

Both look upon the weapons in unison; then at one another. She casually reaches out and takes the gun. He watches her with cool interest.

PK: There is nothing you could say to convince me you’d use that. I am your Father, after all. I know what kid I raised. Cowardly. Quiet. Boring, to be quite honest. Surprised me that I could make someone that dull.

LZ: You didn’t raise me.

PK: Oh, I’m sorry. Those clothes and books and telescopes were given out of charity, were they? Every con has its downsides…

LZ: Oh, I’m sorry. Your idea of fatherhood is shouting and a lot of frequent punishments, is it? Occasionally made up for by random gifts?

For the briefest of moments, each acknowledges in their own time just how similar – too similar – they had sounded. Each denied that thought.

LZ: If I’m quiet and boring, it’s because you made me that way.

PK: That’s decadence compared to the parentage I got, princess. Since the day you were born, I have harmed not one hair on your ungrateful head, have I?

She stares at him, for a few extra beats, as though seeing him properly for the first time.

In many regards, she was.

LZ: No. No, you didn’t. You couldn’t, could you? That would be……out of character. An unnecessary risk to your reputation.

He manages a smile. It is somehow more unnerving than the snarl. It suggests mild compassion, in a heartless body. Another skilful lie.

PK: Hmm. All right. Maybe a little bit of my brains got through.

She physically recoils to the pseudo-compliment.

PK: But Hell, you should’ve seen your Mother. You want quiet and boring? She had to have been built as a means to an end. Couldn’t blink and breathe without proper instructions.

He leans back in his chair, looking off and smirking, as though recalling a particularly beloved memory.

PK: Still. She made it easy to remove her, though, after you arrived. Those airlock instructions can be confusing.

LZ: You talk about murder as though it’s easy.

PK: It is easy, princess. It’s stupidly easy. Getting away with it is the hard part. Or so I’ve heard.

LZ: You’ve murdered a lot of people, then?

PK: You wearing a wire or something?

She shrugs, as though disinterested. Before her Father answers, however, she witnesses something amazing. The faintest dent appears in the man’s armour, by way of the briefest, cautious glance towards the door.

PK: What does it matter, anyway? At the mercies of a bloody Timelord now. Okay, yes. I, Father Phineaux Kane – fake name – have murdered. I’ve murdered, I’ve stolen, I’ve marketed illegal substances, I’ve sold underage minors to people not underage…though never partook myself, if that’s worth anything. Let’s see…I’ve sold weapons to both sides of a civil war….and I once punched a horse to death. Happy now? My little prop?

LZ: Moderately.

She moves the weapon at last. The gun hovers above the table held and supported by her right hand. Her arm is surprisingly steady. Her aim would put the bolt somewhere between his eyes.

The False False-Prophet barely registers the slightest of movements.

PK: Nice show. Decent bluff, too. But you still won’t do it.

LZ: Can you give me one reason why I shouldn’t?

He appears delighted by the question.

PK: No. But you can have one good one as to why you should. You do this and believe me, nothing else in the galaxy can stop you.

The gun trembles. Only once.

His words drip with temptation.

PK: One will lead to a thousand. You do this, someone smart like you…and you could become even better than I ever was.

Another tremble.

Even the silence itself seems to be shaking, afraid of the noise waiting to break it.

He sits back in his chair and sighs.

PK: Nineteen years I won’t get back.

She lowers the gun, resting it in her lap, aimed towards his feet. Her breaths are short and shallow, shaking on occasion. 

LK: I’m not your daughter.

PK: Nothing truer was ever said. You’re right. You’re not.

And he makes the transition once more. His body barely charges. But he does. Back into the persona of Father Kane.

FK: You’re still my daughter, though.

LZ: Thank you.

FK: But of course, my child.

LZ: No, I mean thanks for giving me the right one.

---

No person alive or dead has ever been at their most cognitively coherent when first awoken – especially when their unplanned power nap has been interrupted by a gunshot.

Stumbling only slightly, I threw the interrogation door open, expecting the worst – as always.

Father Kane’s chair had tipped backwards. His chains had come loose, but he himself was unaffected by this. I wasn’t too worried, either. Because he was too preoccupied with screaming and clutching at…something of great importance to himself. It, or what was left, was absolutely pouring blood.

I wiped some sleepy gunk from my eyes. “So, you shot him.” Again, not the most profound response ever made, but I was in an odd state of Post-Nap-Mode and Just-Heard-A-Gunshot-Readiness.

LZ: I did.

“Not,” I said, over his yelling, “entirely successfully, I might add.”

LZ: Well. It’ll be easier for him to keep any promises of celibacy from now on.

She vacated the room, leaving behind the gun, whatever had occurred within, and an old sinner dealing with the first blow of true repentance.

I reclaimed the small device she had left on the table.

“Just be thankful that she didn’t use this,” I told him.

Then I left as well.

HH

The Tired Timelord

The room was basic white and almost featureless – Odyssey isn’t the best at spontaneous interior design. But it suited. While the stage was nothing special, the play itself would be quite the spectacle.

Lady Zephyros sat on one side of a stainless steel table, on an equally stainless steel chair. Two of just the three pieces of furniture.

On the opposite side sat Father Phineaux Kane, wrapped in multiple chains and restraints, to the point where he could move his head, and nothing more. I’d had Odyssey undo some of the damage I had inflicted just so he could talk, and not sound like one of the Muppets with a head cold. He was insisted on cleaning off all dried blood, too.

I refused him any painkillers, though.

Between them, on the table’s shiny surface, was a gun. His gun, to be accurate. Next to this was a small silver disc, with a smaller button on it. If pressed, this would summon something truly horrific. But then, if the needs must…

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” I asked, standing between them.

Lady Zee nodded. Phin Kane tried to summon thunderbolts through his glaring eyes.

“You understand what I’m giving you here? Your nemesis. Vulnerable. Open to whatever you want to throw at him. Including a bullet. Not many people get this same opportunity.”

LZ: “I know.”

“Good. I’m not going to tell you what to do. You’ve had too many years of that already. But remember that some things can’t be taken back.”

Another nod from her.

“If it helps, do what I do. Take your time. Learn what you can. And act, accordingly.*”

With that, I left the room and closed the door behind me. I didn’t lock it, giving her full freedom should she need to leave. But Odyssey and I had insisted on it being sound proof. No cameras. No recording devices. Nothing. Lady Zee and her Father inhabited one of the few Black Spots of the universe.

Then I started strolling, with no destination in mind.

Within mere moments, I felt reassured to have Odyssey’s hallways and semi-infinite interior back. There was also a compelling need to enjoy them while I could. As though Erase( ) were just an illusion, holding a painted canvas in front of the real world. One it could drop at any time.

To think we’d get to see him again.

“Mmm,” I said, absently. “The horrific surprises just keep on a-coming, don’t they? Tomorrow we’ll find out that my parents were actually assassins, or….the Timelords kept catacombs full of dead puppies, or…..I’m actually married to a llama, or something.”

One of those is actually true.

I rubbed my tired eyes. “Not now, Ods. Find or make me somewhere I can sit down.”

The wall next to me slid backwards, widening the hallway. Panels folded upwards out of nothingness to make a new floor. And a sofa dropped out of the ceiling.

I yawned.

“IKEA?”

Obviously.

“Swell,” I remarked, and proceeded to slump.

I have accessed Father Phineaux Kane’s file.

I responded with my face pressed firmly into the thick sofa cushions. It sounded something like “murmurs onna girder.” I lifted my head off, letting my top hat drop. “How did you know?”

There followed a pause, in which I assumed the non-existent body of Odyssey to make a modest shrug.

I know these things. You’re also verging on hungry and 4 minutes, 51 seconds away from needing to urinate.

I pushed myself off my front and slumped again, this time into a semi-seated position. “I don’t need the whole file, I wrote most of the damn thing. When I left him, he was locked up in Cascade Gate.”

Correct.

“One of the best space station prisons in the whole universe. We need to know how he escaped. That knowledge may come in handy.”

He didn’t.

“Say again.”

He didn’t escape from prison.

“Well, that’s clearly nonsensical. What’s currently sitting in there, his stunt double? His identical twin? A Skrull? I can’t be dealing with that shapeshifter crap right now.”

HH. He never escaped from prison. Therefore, he is…

“An appalling impersonator of Andrew Dufresne?”

Still. In. Prison.

I waved a hand vaguely about my head. “Westford’s not a prison,” I mumbled. It was finally happening. I was losing control and concentration. My body had found something soft and comfortable and was releasing the codes for a long overdue shutdown.

34% of it is.

“So, you’re saying he turned the prison containing him, into his very own transportation company?” I snorted. Or snored. It was getting harder to tell. “That would take someone very rich, and very influential, and very…”

Manipulative?

“Mmm,” I grunted, jabbing a finger towards the ceiling. “Tha’s a good one.”

Yes. Because those are the precise words you put in the ‘Personality’ section of his file. You could have also had ‘dangerous’ or ‘intelligent’ or………. ‘bad at Uno.’

“Dun’t matter,” I said, between yawns, “he belongs to Lady Zee. She can do…whatever she…wants…”

HH?

“Was that kind, Odyssey?” I asked, softly. “That one too? I’m not sure.”

You’ve given a nineteen-year-old human one of the hardest moral challenges imaginable.

“A choice is better than none, Mr DeWitt.” I hadn’t meant to mumble the last bit.

“No matter what the outcome.”

“Ah huh.”

Then my chin hit my chest.

But I fell asleep all the same.

HH

* I freely admit that I opt straight for Option Three in the majority of situations**

** That’s why I had to give this one to her. I’ll never stop making mistakes. But perhaps I can stop someone else making the same ones. And that’s got to count for something.***

*** I might just be getting through to him, at last.

Kane and Kane

It took CAUSE – or presumably just CAUS by this point – all of several seconds to realise the Westford‘s shields were down. The first shot came next, decimating the engines.

Rule 1 in the Highwayman Code: eliminate all means of escape. Then your victims, and your cargo, aren’t going anywhere.

The placated crowd erupted into running and yells once more. I ran off just before the first impact rocked the ship, dodging a golden knuckle sandwich in the process. Mountainous Messrs Wind and Tide seemed lacking in enough grey matter to give chase. Father Phineaux Kane, meanwhile, came straight after me, bellowing like a dishonoured rhinoceros.

PK: “You don’t get to win twice!”

HH. I have a Lady Zephyros Kane waiting outside my door. She is clutching a suitcase.

I rose the Q.U.A.R.K to speaking-level, and spoke between breaths.

“Good! Let her in. I’m. Just behind. Get her. Away from the. Console room.”

My journey was mercifully short, and I had managed to claw my way ahead of the terrified crowd flowing towards the garage bays and escape pods. I assumed Father Phineaux Kane had fallen behind, lost among the screaming fortunes. I returned to Odyssey the Grandfather Clock, and opened the door.

Then something crashed into me.

Father Kane and I tumbled into my console room in a mad tangle of coat, limbs and obscenities – plenty coming from the “Holy” Man, I assure you.

Next came a substantial blow to the chin, served by my console walkway. I’d see a bruise, I’ll give Phin that much. But, a skinny, rehabilitated drug-abuser, in a flurry of punches pounding away at your shoulder blades, isn’t actually that effective.

I’ve always been better at shooting than scrapping, but that’s not to say I can’t handle myself when necessary; and when his 2 bodyguards are oxidising into the vacuum of space…

Underneath the Not-So-Good Father, I twisted and launched a punch upwards.

My knuckles connected.

Kane’s jaw clicked.

And the weight on top of me was lifted.

Unluckily for him, I had still been holding the sonic…

I wasted no time in getting upright and slamming the door closed.

“Odyssey, full shift. Now. Any time, any place. The Riptide’s about to pop this ship like a confetti balloon. Still,” I added, glaring down at Kane, “it couldn’t happen to a more deserving bunch.”

Phineaux Kane was on the floor, nursing his mouth. I applied my heel to the injury and made it a lot worse. There was a distinct tinkle of bone on metal. The pit-patter of falling teeth.

After the times I’d been having, it felt good. To be the one kicking back for once.

“Oh, Phin. I have to give you credit. I nearly bought it. The “I have repented and seen the light” routine. In fact, you played it so well, I almost left you behind! To your innocent new life of freighter ships and export aficionados. But then I had Odyssey here run a decent-sized search of your party-goers.”

Party-goers /slash/ psychopaths.

“More than 10,000 kills between them. Ten thousand. Even the staff! Were they just the budding psychopaths? The almost-serial killers? Serving canapes to those who burn star systems for a living? I’ll admit, it’s your best disguise yet. Who’d distrust an intergalactic haulage conference, hosted by a Holy Man?”

I knelt down beside him, interlacing my fingers. My foot was close to a small pool of blood, its source still drooling from a corner of his mouth.

“The best way to hide crimes in this universe isn’t it? Make them look dull.”

PK: You were on my VIP list.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” I said.

And for good measure, I broke the Father’s nose.

“Odyssey, can we have a bucket of water and a mop sent up here, please? Phin here can clean up this mess. Let him try some menial work for a change.”

PK: *a series of choking noises and slurs*

“Pick your next words with care, dear boy. You’ve got quite a speech impediment going there, and a great many teeth left to lose.”

LZ: Dad?

oh shit

Well, I think I can safely scratch yet another peaceful goodbye off the list. What better way to deliver Lady Zee off to her better life, than starting with me standing over her Father in a pool of his own blood?

Lady Zephyros rounded the central console, taking in the scene entire, her eyes widening with each step. It was getting a lot worse. She’d had time to change. Comfort had prevailed, which I respected. But now in more casual clothes of jeans and an oversized hoody, she could have looked less like a frightened teenager.

LZ: Dad?

I stepped forwards.

“Zephyros, I know how this looks. But I swear to you – look at me? Look at me, that’s it. I swear that no harm will come to you while you are on board my ship. But this,” I pointed at the sad, broken man beneath me, “is something long overdue.”

His daughter stared at him for several long, arduous moments, breaking only occasionally to glance my way. I did my best to prepare for the worst.

It wasn’t actually that hard. Most of the worst had already occurred very recently.

LZ: Did you do this to him?

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

LZ: Did he hurt you, Dad?

The bleeding deceiver at my feet nodded, with red dripping from his chin.

LZ: Good.

I don’t think I could have predicted what came next. That’s what I’ll continue to tell myself. But, perhaps I should have predicted it. Because Lady Zee and I have a lot in common. Repressed, most of our lives. Made to keep quiet. Forced to accept all that is handed to us. And consistently denied the freedom we read about in fiction.

Granted, I had several centuries of this; she had just nineteen years. But the duration of time matters little. When confronted with our tormentors – especially when they’re already weakened – that cord strangling our minds snaps. And then we discover something else we read about.

Retribution.

Lady Zephyros shot past me in a blur of brunette hair, and incoherent screeching. I watched, transfixed and too fascinated for my own good, as she descended upon her Father with nails bared. She got a few decent swipes in before my decency snapped its fingers, forced down my will to urge her on, and I waded in. I pulled the daughter away from him and deposited her into the nearest armchair. There she stayed, staring with interest at her own fingernails and trembling.

I knelt down again. Added to the missing teeth and broken nose, Father Kane now had a few jagged lines decorating his face, like a muddled game of noughts and crosses. Two lines, in particular, running from his cheek to chin had drawn blood. Upon inspecting the damage, I noted that he was fortunate to still have full working vision.

With a brief, respectful glance her way, I lowered my voice to its minimum.

And most dangerous.

“What was she, to you?”

Father Phineaux Kane had gone from a smartly-dressed and well-spoken gentleman to a wounded, haggard and gibbering idiot in a matter of minutes.

I didn’t pity him. Nor would I, until I knew his answer.

He mumbled and muttered and spat blood several times, but we struggled through, and he told me. When he finished, I paid another quick look at Lady Zee. She wasn’t looking. I hoped, with all I had left to hope with, that she hadn’t heard, either.

“I see,” I said.

My hands were made into fists; an instinctual reaction. His injuries weren’t even close to fair.

But I sighed, stood up, forced myself away from him, and all that I believed he deserved.

BEcause whatever I believed, this was not my retribution.

I went to Lady Zee, and perched on the armrest beside her. Juxtaposed to my speech before, I went for the gentlest, softest voice I could. It’s not one I use often.

“The last time we spoke, you were afraid, and appalled with yourself, for trying to kill your Father. And when it came down to it, you took the decision back. I told you that was a good thing. It is. I’m not refuting that. But…”

And there, my voice shook, causing her to turn her head – though she still failed to meet my eye.

“Given what I’ve just heard……would you prefer that I kill him instead?”

HH

Familiar Infamy

I stepped free of Odyssey’s grandfather clock disguise – looking very bizarre, I’m sure – and back into the Westford for what I hoped to be my final time. Too much had happened here, with too many bad memories.

I didn’t even get to eat all those miniature burritos…

The floor trembled beneath my Converse; from behind the Grand Hall doors beside me, several people screamed. My head turned before I could stop it. Even after the day/week/however-long-period-of-time I’ve had, the side of me that foolishly does these things could not ignore somebody in peril.

I launched myself through the double doors, into a large room of panicking wealth. A heavy crowd of tuxedo-clad servants intermingled with well-dressed business patrons was surging around the polished floor, like a flock of penguins and emus unsure where to go. Most seemed locked in an internal struggle of wanting to look out the window, and run away from it.

That’s just humanity for you. Fascinated and fearful of the thing that’s trying to kill it.

I was under no illusions, here. Stressed-out beyond belief and in need of several consecutive naps, sure, but my memory still works – if not even better, in this state. I knew precisely what they were frightened of. I knew precisely which ship’s engines were tearing past the windows.

I fished into a pocket for my sonic and performed a basic scan.

“Security defences still online,” I muttered. Good. The Riptide wasn’t getting in here. That suited me just fine. I felt incredibly UNcompelled to see them all again.

The Riptide being here did at least prove one thing. Ethereal, and all that she had done, had been completely Erased.

Including Odyssey’s memories of her, I thought. That had shaken a few surviving nerves. I couldn’t delete parts of Odyssey’s memory, even if I wanted to, and nothing sees more of the infinite Time curve than a TARDIS; their perception is sharper than their creators’. They effectively are Time incarnate.

Erase( ) had come in and removed some of it. A powerful entity. Too powerful, to delete every last trace from every dusty corner of creation.

With one exception, of course. One doesn’t get to play God without getting a receipt*. It was its caster’s curse, and theirs alone, to carry on with the last echoes of their Erase( )-victim’s memory. Because after all, they were the one to decree it.

I’m almost starting to see why our Elders didn’t let us have these powers. For the first time in my 1500+ years, I feel more powerful than a TARDIS…

“Homeless Helper.”

Why do these moments of self-fulfilment never last?

I turned left to the well-spoken disruption. In a grand hall of anxious affluence, one man remained clear of the manic crowd. One man, and two small mountains which could be mistaken for security guards.

The painfully tidy man was strolling nearer, quite oblivious to the yells and screams going on around him. He was wearing a suit several sizes too pricey. There was a glass of champagne in his right hand. And a gun in the other.

“Phineaux Kane.”

PK: “Please, call me Father.”

“Not on your freaking life, Phin.” I savoured the crack in his resolve at the utterance of his most despised nickname. “I was hoping I wouldn’t bump into you.”

PK: And yet, in His infinite grace and guidance, He has brought you back to me.

“So it seems. And here you are. You’re a long way and an even longer time from your congregation.”

PK: “Oh, I wouldn’t say so. These are my flock, now.” A well-manicured hand gestured to the crowd. I looked round to the sudden decrease in noise. The rushing about and babbling hoard had settled down. Now, having accepted the fact that the Riptide wasn’t going to make an effective attack, a thick mass of bodies had amassed by the windows, keen for watching it fail. No-one was paying us any mind. We had the other half of a whole grand hall to ourselves.

PK: “They are all the followers I could ever need.”

“Seems the galaxy needs more delivery boys, than Devoted. Faith, and first class delivery. Your CV must be worth a read. Each entry barely lasts more than a few months.”

PK: “Anyone looking to make their way in this universe has to be open to a little…variety.”

“Quite. If I recall, the last time we met, you had a successful career in human trafficking and slavery, with a bit of the drug trade on the side.”

PK: “Ah, yes. Earth illegality. How quaint it was.”

Spoken in the nostalgic tones of a gentleman reminiscing a particularly enjoyable cup of tea, or trip to the bowling grounds. He carried this new persona well, and to give Father Kane his due, his composure remained upright. But I saw it. The first, tiniest flash of anger that flicked his right eyelid.

Nobody else seemed to have heard my list of accusations. The room had a decent echo, and the observant crowd was quiet.

So, say that they had heard me, maybe they didn’t care. I hadn’t had the chance to scope the room yet. Just because the sign says “Storage and Haulage Expo International/Interdimensional 5054″ that doesn’t have to make it true.

I’m no expert on the subject, but I doubt that galactic import/export business would make this many people this rich.

A good front is still a front, after all.

Under the pretence of scratching my wrist, I put a request through the Q.U.A.R.K to Odyssey.

PK: “So fitting you should bring up last time. As you might recall, I made a vow those years ago, that should our paths ever cross again, I would-”

“Let me burn in the infernos of oblivion, as I had done to you’ – give or take a pronoun. Funny thing about vows-”

PK: “Like the vow you made to my daughter?”

It was my turn to falter, and the Unholy Man smiled. He treated himself to prim sip of champagne.

PK: “Nothing happens on this ship without my knowing about it. I know about your little offer, to my good Lady Z. What interest, I wonder, does an ancient Timelord have in a nineteen-year-old Earth girl?”

“I’ve asked the same thing about the Doctor, multiple times.”

Father Kane raised a perfect eyebrow.

“I assure you, my Falsest of Prophets, that whatever interests you believe I have in your daughter do not exist. I promised her a better life. One away from the likes of you. And, to a lesser extent, me.

“Also, while we’re throwing judgements, nineteen years is a lot older than the ones I found in your records. All right? A lot older.”

PK:  “He moves in mysterious ways. I have been blessed to find the better path.”

“Yes. And does “He” know how many bodies are buried under it? Better yet, does she?”

There is a special telepathy which exists between crime lords and their goons. Father Kane glared at me, and Muscle-bound Escort No. 2 – standing behind him, unable to see said facial expression – unfolded his arms. His hidden right hand, now on show, was encased in a golden knuckle duster.

My gaze trailed off. “It takes a lot more than some skin-wrapped steroids to scare me these days, Phin.”

PK: “I have no doubt. But Messrs Tide and Wind here can still break your bones, in any number of imaginative ways.”

“Appalled as I am to admit this, I’m not here for you this time.”

It was at this precise moment that I received a reply from Odyssey. It came straight to my head, no reading required. I received a list of names and a corresponding list of numbers.

I emitted a low whistle.

“Even the staff, too?”

Father Kane eyed me, concerned.

PK: “I think you’ve gotten your timelines wrong once again. You need to be punched in the head before you start babbling.”

Messr Wind (or Tide) took one floor-shaking thump forwards. I was slightly cross-eyed, busy internally reading.

Then my attention snapped like stretched elastic.

“Sorry, did I just say I wasn’t here to stop you?”

I was still holding the sonic. I held it aloft. Bereft of a flaming sword as I am, this ancient artefact would have to do. Once more I play my role of the False God, smiting an even more false Prophet.

“Forgive me, Father.”

WARNING. ALL SECURITY COUNTERMEASURES: OFFLINE.

“But you have sinned.”

HH

* The Universe doesn’t like sharing its toys.

Unlikelihood

I turned to the past version, and seeing her properly for the first time brought with it that striking half-beat of a breaking heart. The strength and tenacity, the bitterness and determination which Ethereal had built up, that had yet to arrive in this two-years-younger, alternate self. Standing beside me was a woman just barely entering her twenties. Two decades of living in another’s shadow, confined to the cruelly huge prison of space, and only finding friends in stories and stars.

She was absolutely, suitably, terrified.

I studied her, and decided that I couldn’t leave behind another one scared of me. Not now. And not when, in another parallel, in another life perhaps, she and I might have been friends. As fellow readers, and star gazers, and dreamers of better lives.

If I weren’t….this. All of this.

“Please, don’t be afraid.” If only it were that easy. “It’s difficult to explain, but, all that you saw in there…who you saw in there, that isn’t going to happen to you.” I had no doubts about that, especially now she had seen it first hand.

I find the best way to change the future is to actually go there.

LZ: You said that she’s me.

“She’s not you. She’s a you, and believe me, there’s a multiverse of difference. She is an alternative version, of an alternative version, of an alternative impossibility. Whereas, there is, and only ever will be, one you.”

I was having some form of an effect. The air of anxiety surrounding her was definitely still there, but lessening . The knot of her folded arms loosened, ever so slightly.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in. We haven’t even done the ‘your-ship’s-bigger-on-the-inside’ procedure, nor a demon in the engine bay bit yet – and frankly, I’m keen to get back to my ship.” I was positively itching to get back indoors, and set to repairs. Without Odyssey, I was just another straggler.

Stuck at a party to which I wasn’t invited.

But I couldn’t let the story end this way. Not again. I can’t walk away knowing I’m leaving behind somebody else scared of me. That isn’t the point of all this, and I really hope that it isn’t the point of me. I’ve never wanted to be a hero. But I’m not meant to be the villain.

I then realised, much to my chagrin, that I’d been thinking aloud.

LZ: Nah. You’re pretty sensitive, for a villain. What’s there to be scared of about you, anyway? If you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it last week, or something.

I smiled. The first faint chip appeared in a vast block of ice.

“Well then, as I said, you don’t need to worry about her, she isn’t-”

LZ: I’m not.

I let a frown slide into place above my eyes. “Then, what…?”

LZ: I tried to kill my father.

Her folded arms drew tighter, and she outright refused to meet my gaze. Suddenly, a plant pot in the corner was the most compelling item in the universe. It didn’t have the capability of judging her back, for one thing.

I understood. Oh yes. And with 1500 years of experience leading me on, I began to speak. Whether she wanted to listen was her business. But I wasn’t going to leave just yet.

“No, you didn’t. And I don’t think you were ever going to. First chance you got, without hesitating for a single second, you put those shields back up, and raised an alarm. It was her,” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder, back at Odyssey, “all her, that did the rest.”

Nor was it the choice between killing him, or not, which made Ethereal the way she was. That had been me. Well-intending meddler and creator of my own enemy.

It’s depressing how often that occurs…

She still wouldn’t look at me. Nor did I need her to.

“Your father upset you tonight, didn’t he? I don’t need to know how, or why. But Kane did something to annoy you, or offend you, and you wanted to teach him a lesson. Lower the defences, give the party a bit of a scare, was that the idea?”

Lady Zephyros had drawn tightly into herself, like a spring being coiled, but still managed one, trembling nod. Her mouth moved. The spoken words were little more than a shaking whisper – but I heard could’ve killed him all the same.

“But you didn’t. I can’t stress that enough. You didn’t kill him. You made a rash decision, led on by anger – which believe me, far worse people have done, and with far worse effects – and you took it back. Listen to that, okay? If you remember nothing else from today, just listen to that. You took. It. Back.”

Not a lot of people can say the same.

The good ones wish that they could.

Her head turned, letting her hair fall in curled cascades past her shoulders, and down her back. She looked at me. There were no tears. But there was acceptance. Some bravery. And a smile that told me all I needed to know.

“There.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m so sorry you got mixed up into all this. None of this was ever meant to happen. You were supposed to reactivate defences, and re-join what had to be, and I’m sorry, one of the most boring parties in the galaxy.”

She laughed. Just a small one, captured behind the teeth but there all the same.

“That’s what happens when a Timelord gets tricked by an Anomaly.”

They’ve been our enemies since the beginning, and today, I learn first-hand why. In some other parallel, I imagine I exist as little more than a fairy-tale. The Homeless Helper and the Ethereal Anomaly. Moral of the story: trust no-one, and trust evening gowns even less.

“Let me make things up to you. I’ve got one broken time machine to sort out, plus a poor version of your good self. Once I’ve done that, I promise you one trip. Just one, and that’s it, but to anywhere, and anywhen, in all of time and space.”

Lady Zephyros paid a dubious glance between myself, and the grandfather clock that was Odyssey – little more now than a shell containing an intricate and majestic lump of dead machinery.

I followed her gaze. “Don’t start doubting me now. You’ve seen a lot more impossible things today.”

LZ: Then it must be nearly time for breakfast.

I grinned back at her. “Well played. Let me see.”

I checked the Q.U.A.R.K for localised date and time.

“Give me…..mmm, an hour. Gather your belongings, pack a bag – bring all you need, I’m not exactly short on space – and have a good think about where you’d like to go.”

LZ: You expect me to run off with an eccentric stranger?

“It’s either that or spend your life looking at tax returns and hearing the same trucker jokes over and over. What’s the best galaxy song? A Nep-Tune.“

I actually gagged slightly.

“It’s entirely up to you, Ms Kane. But once-in-a-lifetime opportunities? They’re pretty self-explanatory.”

I returned to Odyssey, slamming the door closed behind me.

Three seconds later, the same door re-opened and I poked my head out*.

“Actually, we’ll make it two hours. You’ve got a big choice to make. It’s only going to affect the rest of your life.”

HH

* Imagine a full-grown man’s head sticking out of a grandfather clock. Timelords aren’t magicians, but only on paper.

Aftershocks

I flicked on the sonic, lighting the way by its orange glow, leading us back to the engine bay, and the Chamber of Eternity. We hesitated outside the door – or that is to say, I did. I didn’t know what I was about to see. Nor did I want to.

I heard it, before anything else. The same moment the hatch had swung even marginally open, we heard it. That primal, agonised howl that pierced the soul and cast ice in its wake, never halting, never ceasing, echoing throughout the eons and across the parallels. If all else ceased to exist, that scream would still remain.

I gritted my teeth and stepped into the room, making sure that Ethereal and Lady Zephyros joined me.

Angel Demon was still contained inside Morpheus’ time field, and had hardly moved since I’d left. They had adopted the pose of crucifixion, head tipped back and mouth agape, wailing an infinite death throe. Their body was convulsing and racked in spasms of agony, but, due to the time dilation, they happened so slowly as to barely happen at all.

I endured their endless, tortuous note as long I could, in so doing keeping the others here as well. Then, at last, I swept from the room, allowed them out, and slammed the door closed. Even though the sound was stopped, still, we heard it. Scratched into my ear drums forevermore and carved into the surface of the universe.

I found my voice at last.

“Do you see?”

Two separate shakes of one similar head.

“Before I sent away the rest of CAUSE, I trapped Angel Demon in an entirely separate time field, generated by my engines. When they went in, they were alive, and would be quite literally until the end of time. Thanks to your intervention, E, Angel Demon is now also dead – and has been for about two years.”

“And unfortunate AD here perceives both.”

Morpheus will not let up his consumption, nor would I know how to do such a thing. Angel Demon shall be perpetually confined to a place outside Time, where there exists little more than the greatest insanity, the deepest level to madness, of a conflicted mind caught between existent, and not. A mind cannot, is not built to cope when it is both alive and dead. There are memories there, an entire two years of life to prove it, overlaying what should by now be a long-standing empty space in the continuum.

And somehow, both are true. This, my dears, is Schrödinger’s theory made real. Angel Demon actually can be perceived as both alive, and dead, and it is all AD has left to do but to scream.

I fixed Ethereal with a very level, very pointed, and very cold glare.

“Sound familiar?”

I received in turn an obvious so what? gesture.

“A perfect tormentor. You take the damage inflicted upon you, and gift it to somebody else.”

E: You say that like I’m supposed to care.

“Ethereal-“

E: What?! What kind of sympathy are you expecting here? I hated that ship, I hated that crew, I hated that indecisive unholy thing the most. And I hated those two wasted years looking for you. I thought I was free from my Father, and in for some grand adventure. Did you know the Daleks had you down as some nightmare war hero, some walking doomsday weapon? Not the glorified lost little boy, who’s only made it this far by luck alone.

I recoiled from her. “Wow. You know, you’re right about what you said earlier. People do change, although it doesn’t take 1500 years and twelve regenerations to learn that. All I needed was the time between the Riptide medical bay, and right now.”

A grotesque and terrible smirk then lined her face.

E: Got you good, didn’t I? I saw enough parallels to know that to get through to you, all it took was a helpless victim, and a cry for help. You may be a hapless and fortunate idiot, HH, but you do deliver. Now there’s no Riptide, no bandits, and Angel Demon gets my headaches. Finally, the universe cuts me a break.

“That’s what you think,” I muttered. “Perhaps I didn’t get across the severity, of the situation. My TARDIS is now infected with parallel probabilities and possibilities. I’m not going to stand here and explain to you why that’s such a bad thing, but there’s a reason we Timelords never perfected the means to travel between different worlds. Time travel within one universe is complicated enough. What you’ve done to Angel Demon, and so to my engines, has the unstoppable and downright certain capacity to break this time machine. And when a time machine breaks, things tend to go wrong…on an apocalyptic scale.”

I felt it, then. The floodgates had not opened, but permitted enough flashes of anger, and I had my first taste of it. FutureHH’s astronomical glare. When the fire and fury of an infinite and merciless universe roars through your chest, and your eyes blaze like new-born galaxies.

Ethereal took a step back.

I sighed.

“Anyway. Doesn’t matter anymore. Too late for you anyway. But you,” I said, pointing at Lady Zephyros, “have a lifetime of export invoices, freighter unions, office parties and crushing unfulfillment ahead of you.”

LZ: Wh-?

I brushed my hand against the nearest wall, reached out and found a door where there had previously been none. A section of piping and panelling swung outwards, and I lightly pushed the good Lady Zephyros back into the Westford toilets corridor.

I stepped out and joined her, letting the door close on Odyssey and Ethereal. Neither was a threat to the other. Both were equally as dead.

She just didn’t know it yet.

HH

Decision

Lady Zephyros seized the Q.U.A.R.K, and deactivated Pause( ). Hesitating not a moment, before I could even react, Ethereal lunged forwards and activated the defence mainframe. LZ, beside her, was busying herself with reactivating all shielding, and initiated a lockdown alarm.

I fell back, away from them, mouth working and unable to say anything. We three saw and observed, in unison, as the grotesque and gaudy Riptide bore down on the Westford, screaming towards us like a fallen demon ready to strike – and then, it was blasted into atoms. A thin white beam cast by some unseen weapon struck the underside of the Riptide, and it dispersed like a popped bubble full of smoke. Full obliteration, in one shot.

Nothing hit the windows. Not even dust. There was nothing left of that ship that had once carried me. Nothing left of its loot. Or its crew.

I didn’t raise my voice.

“Both of you. With me. Right now.”

Whether it was the seriousness of my voice, whether it was the lack of anything better to do, I don’t know – but both versions of Ethereal/Lady Zepheros followed me out of the flight deck and back towards the main hall. Everyone had shifted to one side of the room, doing their level best to peer out of the windows at the sudden entertainment of atomised bandit ships. It did at least make our journey easier.

On my way I passed a rather bemused waiter, bearing a loft a tray of miniature burritos. I relieved him of the whole tray. He didn’t even notice. His hand remained where it was, fingers splayed upwards, holding nothing.

I’d already scoffed half of them by the time we returned to, and re-entered, Odyssey. They were annoyingly good. I would’ve eaten them all, were it not for what lay in waiting when I stepped back into the console room.

The tray clanged to the floor, scattering Mexican food. I ran forwards two steps before being forced back, an arm thrown across my face to protect from the flames. Odyssey’s console room had descended into a personalised pocket of Hell. Each and every light burned a warning and sinister crimson; several parts and features of the control panels had shattered into pieces of casing, wires and glass; and then there were the fires.

“Odyssey!”

HH…………help……………..me…………….

I went to run forwards again, but almost the entire hexagonal console was engulfed in fire, one growing and building strength in each passing second.

“Odyssey, shut down all power! All of it! Sever each and every connection with Morpheus!”

But-

“Do it! NOW!”

The lights died; the light did not, as the flames continued blazing. I wrenched a fire extinguisher from its designated pocket within the wall, and plunged forwards at the inferno, spraying white foam everywhere I could reach.

Moments later, the emptied extinguisher thumped to the floor beside me, and I, breathless, stood before my doused handiwork. One emergency light, powered by AA batteries, poorly lit the room a sickly, grey-blue. Our shadows rippled and blurred like cloth puppets against the far wall.

We were safe, and everything but.

I was doing my best to hold back fully-fledged maelstrom-worthy wrath of a Timelord. The words I just wanted to help will have to be etched on my tombstone, while I’m buried six feet under with nothing left to my name but a time machine which is – as of now – just a glorified cupboard. A huge and beautiful and dead thing.

The Westford had been under threat from the Riptide. With this level of anger surging through each available vein, I could make every person here dream of something so kind and merciful as death…

They were lucky I’d eaten.

Hangry is far worse.

“This,” I gasped, “is why we leave altering time to the professionals.”

Ethereal snorted, somewhere behind me.

E: If you’re the professional, I fear for the amateurs.

The floodgates holding back fury bowed outwards. I kicked the empty extinguisher aside and rounded on her.

“Hilarious. Abso-fucking-lutely hilarious. Do please continue to make jokes while I try and sort out this shit show you’ve started.”

E: Which you started?

A second fire almost broke out on my forehead. I spoke through clenched teeth. “How’s that?”

E: You stopped time.

“You asked me to.”

E: “That doesn’t make me liable.”

“You then unpausing it, destroying the ship and disrupting the natural progression – that, you are liable for.”

E: Disrupting the natural…? I say again, you stopped time.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists a few times. Took a deep breath. Blew air through my lips.

“And what about you? Lady Zephyros. Was this your intention all along?”

It took once glance at her to see the answer, even before she shook her head. She met neither of our gazes, staring resolutely at the floor.

How I wished, there and then, she had discovered Odyssey under entirely different circumstances. There were libraries in here to last her lifetimes; a chance to meet her favourite poets; to return to Earth; to indulge in the perks of a time machine much like H. G. Wells had wanted. Instead she was a young adult with the heart of a petrified child, trapped in the presence of two impossible horrors.

I released a long breath, and tried to soften my voice.

“You weren’t going to make an attack.”

Her hair ruffled and danced across her shoulders, led by one shake of her head.

“You just wanted to alert your Father, didn’t you?”

LZ: Yes.

My eyes panned left. To her future. “How times change.”

E: Oh, fuck off your ivory tower. People change, sweetheart. I’d have thought Mr Thirteen Lives would understand that.”

“Oh, Mr Thirteen Lives does. In fact there are a great many things which Mr Thirteen Lives understands. Things which you, clearly, do not.”

E snapped back at me.

E: Such as?”

“For every action, there is an equal, and opposite, reaction. Newton’s Third Law. Lovely guy, Newton. Able to see beyond the limits of intelligence and turn a falling apple into a scientific theory, and a nice crumble. Let’s apply that rule to you, shall we? You wanted your own life back, and what you’ve actually done, is achieve the exact opposite. That’s one thing which you can never have.”

I registered her blank expression, and savoured drawing it out a few extra moments. When I spoke, it was barely loud enough to put a dent in the silence.

“I shall come to accept the consequences of my actions here today. If you refuse to acknowledge yours, then I’ll just have to show you.”

I turned on my heel, forming an internal route in my head; one I had made very recently. It was a source of great irritation that Odyssey’s shut down meant I couldn’t turn on the extractor fans. The interior stunk of ozone and burned wires. My desire to repair him superseded almost everything else.

Except this.

“Come with me.”

HH

Options

Ethereal physically recoiled, even throwing up her hands as though to shield herself.

E: You told me—!

“No, I didn’t.”

And, without truly thinking, I waved my hand and then activated Pause( ). Properly this time. The Riptide locked into place, suspended in space like a science fiction prop, and precisely as harmless.

“There. I have now.”

E: If you’re lying again-

“I’m not. Not this time. But I wanted you both to hear this, because this is it, E. Literally your ‘make it or break it’ moment.”

LZ: Who are you?

E: Er-

“She’s you. Just two different chapters ahead.” I strode in between them. “I on the other hand am a bad Samaritan, with good intentions.”

Two pole-positioned, identical confused expressions came my way, and I could not help but smile.

“Do you see, Ethereal? I didn’t need to Pause( ) anything. You took so long to decide, and you’re still deciding, even now.”

I stood alongside Zephyros and the security controls. “Either you raise an alarm, alert everyone, save the party and your father’s reputation…”

As one, we all glanced beyond the glass cockpit. The Riptide was (was) due to arrive any second.

“Or you don’t.”

LZ: What happens then?

I silently praised her for being the one who asked. These things are so much easier when they’re open-minded. Plus, that level of involvement meant for once I might be getting something right.

I held up my index finger. “The Riptide disembowels the main hall. Every party-goer, every employee and every member of your family dies – and that’s including you, I’m afraid – and they get a defenceless space station to plunder. And the wheels and cogs of economy and crime just keep on a-turning.”

“Or,” I said, holding up the opposite finger, “you take back your misdeed. The shields go back up, the Riptide fails to make a dent, and you return to the party. The universe won’t so much as blink. You accept a lifetime of grooming to be your Father’s successor, and live out the rest of your days unfulfilled and vehemently denying anything to do with some switched off shields.”

Ethereal stood a little straighter. Her dubiousness was falling away. With the pseudo-twins Ethereal and Zephyros staring at one another, like some poor attempt at a 3D mirror, my train of thought switched tracks.

“And then, a few years from now, rather than being kidnapped at Jyrrasi, the Daleks’ll probably send some other, unspeakable escort service after me.” I was bitterly reminded of the number of times Ethereal – in full chaos spectrum mode – had uttered the phrase ‘one dead Timelord.’

LZ: If you’re supposed to be dead…how can you be standing there?

I swept back into the conversation.

“Two choices. Two outcomes. In my universe,” I gestured to Ethereal, “you perceive choosing both. That’s what you’ve been deciding between for so long, E. A life you don’t want. And no life at all.”

My voice trailed away from me. I glanced off into the middle distance, just barely aware of absolutely anything. It hadn’t sounded quite so wrong until I’d said it out loud. I’d somehow finished a few crucial points early. I was still missing something. I made a brief, panic-stricken glance at Ethereal. Lady Zephyros, though, that forward thinker, lover of poetry, akin fan of classic sci/fi; she was the one who got there first.

LZ: That doesn’t make any sense.

“No. No, it doesn’t, does it? Sorry. I’m usually better than that. It has been a long time since I had a rest. Any chance I could get a pot of tea?”

E: HH.

“Alright, I’ll focus, I’ll…just, give me a minute.”

The Westford control deck fell away from me. Heavy concentration, for me, is a like a parallel universe all on its own.

Two different timelines fused together with one poor girl caught in the middle of that crude splice. Parallel possibilities are only ever birthed at the moment of decision, one line dividing into two or more.

This line had changed back into one.

But then….what unthinkable concept had the devastating power to do that? To create a third parallel, where neither of the decisions were made? An existence made from the purest uncertainty. Not the Daleks. Not even the Timelords, I don’t thi-

Then, I heard it. That terrible, rumbling twang. Like the ripples of a gigantic spring resuming its shape. Like steel cables snapping. Like striking a frozen lake.

I stared in horror at my hand. The right, the one that wore the Q.U.A.R.K.

The one that had Paused( ).

It was my turn to look guiltily at Ethereal.

E: What?

“Me. It was me, I think……I think I did this to you.”

She believed. Oh yes, she believed me. Almost immediately. Beings as old and pained as we are on a constant hunt for someone to blame. Confessions are well received, but when confronted with those responsible for our suffering, there’s minimal reserves of mercy, and swift turns to anger. Hers was much like my own, inflicted upon Angel Demon mere hours ago. I didn’t deserve sympathy; nor did she seem willing to provide it.

E: Talk fast.

I always do.

“It’s only a theory, but the best I’ve got going to far. When I hit Pause( ), time froze on a dividing moment in the timeline. As of right now, we’re teetering on a knife’s edge, unable to fall one side or the other.”

A second creak, louder this time, and exponentially more threatening. I swallowed, and kept going.

“Time wants to crack in half, and I’m holding that back. That build up of causality energy, that damage, has to go somewhere. Time needs to right itself. My guess is, either Time breaks, or you do – and in my great and endless experience, I think I know which option it will choose.”

Ethereal was reaching an impressive concoction of baffled rage. Lady Zephyros, by comparison, appeared to be attending a rather amusing science lecture.

I held up two index fingers again, their sides pressed together.

“This one timeline was meant to become two.” I moved my hands apart. “I’ve just forced them back together,” I said, pressing both digits together until my hands shook, “with you in the middle.”

I lowered my hands. “And I’m sorry. I truly am. But, I don’t know what to do.”

LZ: I do.

HH