realityshifted

Entry tags:

doctor who (d14) omega

07.

[Somewhere on the Plane, a TARDIS is faintly singing: it's a pleasant, lilting song that borders on telepathic and is unmistakably alien. The machine herself is located on the Plane's 'floor', next to the Markarian Chain of galaxies. Despite her unusually rapid growth for a TTC, she is in a state that can kindly be described as "not quite finished".

The exterior dimensions and the interior architecture have not been formed yet, leaving the raised, hexagonal dais the most prominent feature -- and the most important, as the TARDIS's heart is located within it. Spread around the silvery column are the circuits and parts that still need to be integrated into the main console, enabling both flight and time travel.

Omega is currently ducked under the console, sorting out the wiring with deft (and surprisingly gentle) hands. He's forgone the usual Gallifreyan robes for a much more practical coverall, and seems rather calm, if intent on his work. He is an engineer, after all, and he has missed his work. And the sooner his TARDIS is time travel capable, the sooner he can leave that old fool Ertikus behind.]

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[tossing the screwdriver between his hands as he considers]

If I attached that to the items that act as the real-world interface, I could do that without cutting me off from her if I need to leave quickly.

[with a nod] It would temporarily crystallise that moment in spacetime for her alone. The strain of the altered history would have no effect on her, provided she remains in the field until the damage to the timeline is reversed.

I'm sure that will be quite a relief for my sector of space-time. If they had any idea what danger they'd been in, anyway. So often they don't. I hope I'm not distracting you from your repairs with idle inquiries. That wasn't at all my intention.

[Omega stops his work, patting the TARDIS console with ill-concealed affection]

Construction, not repairs. And you are not.

Good.

[With that, Braxiatel actually steps back to take in more of the construction of the thing, still idly tossing the screwdriver between his hands, looking at the design to measure where it may be meant to go. In particular, he tries to guess what Type it would be. Slightly disoriented by the confusion of the physical presence and psionic deafness, Brax sits above the Markarian Chain to watch.]

[The Type of the machine is difficult to determine -- it doesn't conform to any of the standardised TARDISes. Instead, the architecture appears slightly archaic, obviously of Gallifreyan make, and the cool silver-blue console looks almost as though it has subconsciously been influenced by a Type 40.]

What is your plan to remove the your history-warping problem?

[something of a smile crosses his face when he recognizes its similarities to a Type 40]

Oh, go back and remove the distorting agents before they can do anything. It seemed the cleanest route.

And the Daleks?

[his smile changes]

I'll make certain that they can't try a similar trick any time soon.

[satisfied]

Good. Do you have the materials neccessary to construct a shield to protect your TARDIS?

I could... cobble things together, from what's here. A bit less efficient than I'd like, but we make do.

[dryly] The cobblings of a politician? I almost fear for her. Give me a moment.

[Omega vanishes for several minutes, then returns, holding several small pieces of equipment. he holds out his hand to Brax.]

The screwdriver?

[handing it over even as he replies] I'm not a politician; I'm a collector. Always have been. The politics is just a necessary means.

[using the screwdriver to adjust the machine] Politics is always a means to an end.

I wouldn't quite say that. As in all violence, some people care more for the battles than for the war.

But the battle is rarely the primary goal. Those who engage in politic want something, even if it merely to be the victor. [he may or may not be speaking from experience]

[he pocket the screwdriver then, and proffers the little machine]

To protect your TARDIS.

[he takes it easily] Thank you. [A smile plays at the corner of his mouth; he has an idea whom Omega means by his words.] Then if I may suggest that most of our people are politicians to some extent? We do love to mix our government with our science and education.

Of course they are. Even those who do not wish to be.

As indicated by the Doctor's Presidency. I try not to let him know I remember. I think he'd gloat about it.

[As he talks, he idly inspects what Omega made. Braxiatel is always curious.]

Undoubtedly. [with a sideways glance] As much as he does not care for the position, I have no trouble believing that he would hold the fact that he obtained it over you.

[Brax may recognise the machine as a temporal isolator, used in the growth of TARDIS capsules, modified to expand the range of the field. It is, in effect, a zero room for a TARDIS.]

[ignoring that glance in favour of looking over some of the particulars of the device] The Doctor would hold anything over my head if he thought I'd jump to try to get it. In this case, he'd be wrong.

Hm. Not even for the Presidency?

The Presidency? It's a nice title, I'll give it that. President of the Supreme Council of Gallifrey and all of her Dominions. How noble. How grand.

But you've seen what history tells us is the greatest being to ever take the Presidency. Do you really think that I would be suited for the role?

[with a touch of dry pedantry] Lord President.

If the Time Lords believe that the President must hold themselves to Rassilon's standard, I should think they've failed miserably. It is an unequal comparison from the start. As for whether you would be suited for the role...

[he looks at Brax, cocking his head]

Do you think you are?

[smiling] Oh, I doubt it. I really am a collector above all else. And a Collector President isn't what our home needs.

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