Chapter Text
It had been a long, difficult night. Fixing the TARDIS had helped the Doctor keep his balance while the repercussions of the previous day settled. But he couldn't discern those repercussions yet, not even with the help of the TARDIS' instruments. The local future was unstable, multiple mutually inconsistent timestreams superposed, a complex time-snarl that could crumble in multiple directions. And in too many of those, this galaxy would enter into new eras of pain and death and suffering; a diseased island in the Universe's ocean of Life.
He struggled with a rusty junction while his mind replayed the possibilities, desperately trying to find an answer that would avoid those futures. The First Ones' game was abhorrent, but he couldn't see it stopping, short of destroying the ones that restarted it every cycle. They wouldn't be stopped by his arguments.
Past and future mixed in his mind's eye, the Time Lords' stubbornness that had almost led to the Universe's demise. His own failings which had resulted in so many deaths. The cacophony of his memories, so many crying from pain, terror, and despair, almost drowned him again. He shut the door over those memories, silencing them along with the few quiet voices claiming he was not to blame. He knew though that it would only be a temporary respite. The memories had grown more insistent lately, and he sorely needed a distraction.
He threw the last tool aside, stood, climbed out, and closed the hatch. It was early morning in the station, and there was plenty he needed to do to make things ready. His annoyance at being forced to act as a host in this reception had long since dissipated, since it would be a great opportunity for him to do something. But what?
He still had no plan, but that had never stopped him. Meet people, talk, and be ready to act when the opportunity presented itself. Staying true to who he was. He tried to shove the doubts away, but they kept creeping back. No matter. He's been doing it for how many lives? He wouldn't give up.
The Doctor stopped before the door. He needed one last thing for the reception, but his search of the previous four sections of his TARDIS' vault had turned up little he could use. He really didn't want to enter this room. The Room of Dangerous Things, he'd dubbed it. There was one other, but... If he couldn't find what he needed here, he'd excuse himself to Ivanova rather than brave that one.
He palmed the door open and grimaced at the view. Piles upon piles of boxes, crates, and jumbled artifacts, from the size of a thimble to large misshapen things that resembled nothing but abstract sculptures, many of which he had no idea what they've been made for.
He tiptoed in, carefully stepping around some of the smaller objects that must have rolled down their piles. He could glimpse a clearing of sorts further down the path, near the center of the storeroom. Something representing his culture, Ivanova had said. She had no idea what she'd asked for. At least he had something in mind, one of the most harmless truly Gallifreyan devices he could think of. He'd hoped to find one in the other rooms, he knew he had at least one of them. Maybe the archival mechanism had developed some fault. Yet another thing he'd never have enough time to repair.
Standing in the clearing, he glared toward the back of the room where the Gallifreyan objects had been stashed. He hadn't realized he'd collected that many already. It's not as if he went around searching for things of Gallifreyan origin. Except for that one time, a few bodies ago, when he'd decided his House's vaults were no longer safe and he took most of what had been there... If all the other Houses had as many dangerous things in storage as his own once had, then he really hoped everyone would continue to be oblivious to their existence.
"That one," he mumbled to himself, glimpsing a particular box on the top of a smaller pile, well within his reach. It was less decorated than he expected, but the traditional stamp in Old High Gallifreyan was recognizable, if somewhat less flowery than he was used to. Probably from one of the Pseudo-Atamarian eras then.
That was a hakishati. A holographic planetarium-like projector, its real function was to display and monitor the evolution of whole galaxies and their civilizations through time, including alternate timelines. Used as teaching instruments in the Academy, as entertainment and playgrounds for children, and as working tools in the Time Observatory, this sort of device was ubiquitous in the Capitol. A good example of Gallifreyan culture, at first glance resembling more art than anything else, it would also serve to remind the local ancient civilizations exactly what his people were capable of. Too bad he couldn't use it to help with the current situation, not after what happened yesterday.
There was a medallion resting atop the box. The Doctor picked it up, surprised. The object brought forth long-buried memories, but it was not pain that he felt. No, he realised, it was longing. That had been Mira's last gift to him. He'd said his goodbyes, but she'd asked him to come back once she was finished with what she'd set out to do. She'd like to travel with him again, even though she wouldn't have the same energy as in her youth. He'd promised, but it pained him, and he kept postponing his return. Now, however, knowing that she was still there, waiting for him, that was a comforting thought. He felt a little less alone.
Would she like Babylon 5? No, he scowled. The humans wouldn't welcome her once they realized what she was. Even if they didn't, she would be in danger at his side, and he couldn't put anyone else again through that kind of risk. Especially not her. Before yesterday, he might have risked it. Not now, though, when so many of the possible timelines ended in destruction and death, and he couldn't be sure of which.
He turned his attention back to the box, the medallion slipped into one of his pockets, forgotten for the moment. Where was the activation button? The box was covered in golden old-style cursive Gallifreyan, too faint against the copper-colored background to be noticeable from a distance, but his fingers could trace the words. The meaning, though, what little he could gather with the box inactive, baffled him.
This was not a Pseudo-Atamarian era artifact. They always kept the external decorations as minimal as they possibly could, and that was their main distinguishing characteristic from other traditional Gallifreyan eras. The Atamarians had invented the hakishatis, as so many other Time Lord devices, and gave definitive forms to even more of them. It was no wonder later Time Lord eras tended to go back to them. Maybe this was a true Atamarian device then, before their supposed style was codified and abstracted.
His fingers found a small plaque, and he turned the box to examine it. The terse writing explained a lot. One of his House's most revered ancestors, Lord President Zoromakaiy of the High Council, who oversaw the Great Revision of the Time Laws that resulted in the clear formulation now current. She'd also, at some point, ordered the collection and lock-up of all devices that violated said Laws. At least half of the objects he'd taken from his House's vault had been originally placed there by her.
The plaque's stamp contained the formulaic proclamation of her edict. That wouldn't stop him, he knew the Laws, and he'd already violated most of them anyway, at one point or another... He wasn't about to misuse the device; he only needed something representative of his culture. Though what would his many times removed great aunt have against a simple hakishati? Even if a true Atamarian one? Unless it wasn't-
The plaque fell off on his hand, and there was another behind it. A name he didn't recognize, but he wasn't surprised, since his knowledge of ancient Time Lord History was spotty at best. It had probably been one of the ancient forgotten Lord Presidents who'd originally ordered this specific device locked up. The plaque identified this as the original prototype from which all hakishatis were later derived. And it was from the Late Mikovian era, before Rassilon's final departure, not Atamarian. Another feat wrongly claimed by the Atamarians then. It gave him the shivers, and an explanation of why this device was here in this room. Realizing that the archival mechanism was not at fault did little to relieve him.
Removing the second plaque was much harder than the first, but he had no time or patience to look for something else. The device wasn't faulty. The plaque explained that the prototype had resided, and been used sporadically, for generations in the High Council Vaults. But after the events that resulted in the Second Revision of the Time Laws (Second Revision? Only the Great Revision was still remembered and taught, how many had been before that?), and the cleanup of the Vaults that came from that, it had been removed for permanent deactivation. But here it was, and still apparently intact.
He finally managed to pry the plaque off, after resorting to his trusty sonic for help. The activation glyph underneath glowed an innocent light purple once the plaque's stasis field was lifted and the device could feel his presence nearby. He touched lightly just above it, commanding the self-test function, but the box just bleated back at him. Annoyed, he touched another smaller glyph to the side, and the box floated silently, following after him as he left the room.
Pain. Desperation. The Doctor's mind was filled again with the glimpses of thousands of dying civilizations, trillions of sentient beings slaughtered or left for dead, a galaxy in agony, in too many of the possible futures he'd glimpsed before the fog descended upon his temporal senses. The paths to these futures were all different, but their ends were dreadfully similar, all equal in death.
His face hardened into a mask of determination. 'I can't let it happen again,' he thought to himself.
'You don't know what to do,' a voice mocked in his mind. There was a reason neither side of the First Ones' abhorrent game had a detailed gameplan. No plan would survive for long. Both sides had been adjusting their strategies for eons, through innumerable cycles of life and death. 'No matter how intelligent, not even a Time Lord can outplan this situation.' He already knew that, he grumbled.
'We need to be careful,' he said to himself. The First Ones' goals were abstract, ideological. Most of the time, they weren't even fighting one another directly. They wouldn't concede defeat to their opponent. Much less to him. He had no idea how to end their game once and for all.
All he could think of doing was trying to batter away, disentangle, disarm the multiple conflicts the First Ones' strategies would seed throughout the galaxy. But he was only one. He'd known that since he'd decided to intervene. Then, it had seemed a thing worth doing, and fun. Right now? With the fog constricting his senses, he feared making things even worse than they were. If only he could see...
'You don't need to see things clearly to save the situation,' a small voice tried to reassure him as he finally turned into one of the hallways of the TARDIS' residential area, not bothering to check on the box floating after him. 'How many times, with even higher stakes, and no plan beyond rough guidelines, have you managed to defeat the odds?' But he couldn't fully trust it, himself, right now.
'You've faced far more difficult situations before, this shouldn't have pushed you so far out of balance,' the same small voice murmured in the back of his mind. It was ruthlessly pushed away with the memories and the other voices as he shook himself, straightening as he climbed a last flight of stairs.
He glanced back at the box containing the hakishati prototype bobbing after him. Galactic simulator would be a rough translation of the Gallifreyan name, if overly simplistic. He'd never liked the things when he was young. In the Academy, his head would hurt from the telepathic overlays that forced themselves upon his conscious mind, communicating the accumulated data from the event they were studying, when he'd rather try to reach his own conclusions. Not many of the races here would be able to withstand the telepathic projection, so he'd have to restrict it to the holographic one, use it as a backdrop for his words. Though maybe he could also use it to help set the mood-
His words. He suddenly remembered one story from his youth, and the many times he and his friends had reenacted and discussed it. That was significant enough as a sample of his culture. And, to the ones who knew to look for deeper meanings, it would also serve as a reminder of what his people were capable of. He smiled, trying to reassert his self-confidence. Keep the opposition unbalanced, that was always a good strategy.
Now that he'd collected what he'd need, sent most of it ahead and brought the rest with him to the wardrobe, the Doctor spent close to one hour browsing through the Gallifreyan section. He finally found his traditional robes, hidden behind a shelf. He grimaced. Well, they would at least help him manifest the Time Lord persona the others would be expecting from him.
After dressing up he looked at himself in the mirror, face twisted in disgust, before picking up Mira's medallion and hanging it around his neck. The small oval medallion perfectly complemented his formal dress, as if it was part of it, and he felt slightly better at the sight. He really missed her.
Then the Doctor noticed his old dress cap, a simple scarlet cap with gold trimming, conspicuously sitting upon a tall table that wasn't there a moment ago.
"No, I don't want it! It's already more than enough that I have to dress up for this reception! You're not helping, Old Girl." He tossed the cap aside, and turned away, just for it to appear upon the hakishati box.
He sighed, and instead of tossing it away again, he rested it carefully upon a nearby chair, and began examining how to carry the unwieldy box. He didn't want to use the inbuilt floating mechanism in public, that would attract too much attention. He opened it, hoping that the device inside could be detached and would be small enough to carry under his arm.
Inside, resting above a complicated asymmetric thing that resembled none of the hakishatis he'd ever seen, sat another cap, this one gaudily decorated in gold and silver around several large colorful gems.
"Of course," he mused. "I've forgotten. I'll need a control interface for a proper show." The Gallifreyan caps were one of the primary means of interfacing with their tech, with every Time Lord having their own customized ones. "I guess my own cap is less awful than this other one, and I'll only need basic controls after all." He carelessly tossed the device's cap aside. However, even while on standby, most Gallifreyan tech was still at least semi-sentient, and the telepathic grunt of complaint was enough to make him wince.
The device seemed fixed on its box. Even if it could be detached, it was too oddly shaped for easy grasping. He dragged his fingertips across one seam. The sides folded out and the box reshaped itself as a podium, with the device at the top. He gave up, switched it back to box-shaped, and closed it with his own cap inside. He'd have to look for a carrier, but as he turned to leave, there was a foldable wheeled carrier next to the door, something easily recognizable by the Humans on the station. Murmuring thanks to the TARDIS, he began tying the box to the carrier, something easier said than done. It was a few minutes before he was finally able to drag it away.
Sinclair looked out of the Control Room windows one last time, trying to ignore the harried commands from Lt. Corwin and his crew, as they struggled to coordinate the bunch of merchant ships jockeying for a better place in the docking queue. It was sobering to think how much he'd come to depend on Lt. Cmdr. Ivanova. In fact, how much the whole functioning of B5 depended on her. She would soon deserve a promotion. Well, he couldn't recommend that, because that would mean losing her... No way they'd promote *him*, he was still resented by too many in Earth Dome, and they wouldn't let him have another commander under him. And he couldn't afford letting her leave to another command. He wasn't sure the station would survive that. Did that mean he was too self-serving to push for what she deserved?
He turned and left the room, pulling, tucking, and trying to adjust his dress uniform for the new ambassador's reception. Ivanova was probably still there, all because the new ambassador had no assistant. Yet. Sinclair grinned. After today, Ivanova would be on the ambassador's case to make him find an assistant, or she'd turn his life into a living hell. She knew how to ensure her suggestions were not ignored.
Though, if anyone could, the Doctor might be the one to dispute that assertion. That is, if he cared enough about it. Sinclair shuddered, remembering the otherworldly face the Gallifreyan had sported just before Kosh came into the brig. However, beside that single moment, the Doctor could have been mistaken for a normal, if sometimes weird, human. Non-human, Gallifreyan, he repeated to himself yet again. He must not forget that; it was so very easy to forget with the Doctor, and he wasn't yet certain that the Gallifreyan wouldn't turn out to be a problem. Kosh's first reaction to the man had been startling. Maybe observing the new ambassador interacting with others at the reception would reveal more aspects of him and the civilization he represented. Unlike most other first contacts, they had no other example of Gallifrey apart from him.
That they knew of. It would be so easy for another Gallifreyan to disguise themselves as human. Maybe the Minbari would be able to tell him something? They acted so secretive, maybe they did know something about Gallifreyans that they "forgot" to admit earlier. It wouldn't be the first time. Delenn would surely be present at the reception; she was responsible like that. Would Kosh be there too? If he deigned himself to be present, maybe Sinclair would be able to extract something else about the new race. The Minbari might not, but at least the Vorlons admitted they knew about the Gallifreyans, and that recognition had gone a long way to help make the Doctor's request accepted by the Advisory Council.
He had no doubt almost all the other ambassadors on B5 would be present at the reception, curious about these never-heard-before Gallifreyans. Sinclair himself had been questioned by other representatives. Most of them didn't seem very convinced the Doctor wasn't human, and he could bet they'd be looking for any telltale slip in the newcomer's façade.
Earth Dome wasn't fully convinced either. He had already received a number of questions from various senators, who seemed concerned that old conspiracy theories about alien interference on human affairs might resurface now. Questions from whether it was the Gallifreyans who built the pyramids to whether the humans were genetically engineered Gallifreyans themselves and their former overlords might want to resume their domination. There were also more reasonable queries on possible technological trades that the Gallifreyans might be willing to consider.
Finally arriving at the reception, behind the Arklanir delegation, and just ahead of two others, Sinclair recognized the man on the Doctor's right at the room's entrance. He was one of the junior assistants in the Diplomatic Office, and he seemed harried and out of place. Sinclair watched as he introduced the Doctor to the three Arklanir, and the Gallifreyan ambassador bowed slightly, waving his head in the Arklan custom, recognizing each individual Arklanir. Sinclair was taken aback with the Doctor's apparent familiarity with other aliens' customs. The Arklanir had always had a bit of contempt toward the human representatives, including himself, because humans never seemed to grasp the correct communication protocol with them. And the Doctor, apparently without even trying, seemed to nail it perfectly. He noticed the different posture the Arklanir were showing, more akin to the one they've always sported toward Delenn than any they'd ever shown him.
Then, as the Arklanir moved aside, it was his turn, and he was shocked by the Doctor's gaze. Now he understood what the Arklanir had seen. The Gallifreyan ambassador's posture was regal, and Sinclair had to fight an instinctive urge to grovel. The Doctor's semblance was cold, domineering, and arrogant, but also knowing.
"Next, Ambassador Doctor, is Commander Sinclair," said the assistant. Sinclair recalled his name was Julian.
The Doctor looked into Sinclair's eyes, and Sinclair felt as if the Doctor was looking through him, at something behind him, and he had to restrain the reflex to turn.
"Welcome, Commander Sinclair. I look forward to talking with you later," the Doctor said, but the words sounded simultaneously imperative and strangely flat and without emotion. He didn't sound like the Doctor Sinclair thought he was beginning to know. Is that how the Gallifreyans usually spoke? Perhaps his human mask had slipped.
Sinclair shook hands with the Doctor in the usual human diplomatic greeting, but regardless of the Doctor's firm handshake, the commander was left with the impression that the Gallifreyan ambassador was somehow not fully present. Then the Doctor's gaze switched to the two Gaim representatives behind Sinclair, without changing expression. Sinclair had the sudden sense that there might be something wrong with the Doctor. His left eye was slightly pinched as if in pain, but his gaze seemed absent of soul.
Worried, the Commander sought out Ivanova. There weren't many guests present yet, but he noticed both Kosh and Delenn were already there, watching the entrance. He found Ivanova next to the table, where the food was being laid by a couple of busy attendants.
"Hello, Commander," she called when she noticed him approaching. "Good that you arrived early, I need to change this uniform."
"How long since you've been here?" he asked.
"Since this morning," she said, exasperated. "Too many things to fix, and I'm the only one that knows how he," she pointed to the Doctor, "wants things done."
"Wait," Sinclair called, before she could leave. "Have you noticed anything strange in his behavior?"
"Who, the Doctor's? You want a list?" She sighed, seeing his face. "Yes, I know. He seemed fine this morning, a bit stressed perhaps, when he stopped by earlier to leave the boxes of cake." Cake? "But now, he seems a different person altogether. Though much more ambassadorial, if you get my meaning." He did. She left, and he was left to sample the little pieces of something, maybe the cake Ivanova mentioned. It tasted somewhat like a Swiss nut cake, dense and flavorful, though he couldn't begin to guess at the ingredients. Probably something from the Doctor's homeworld then. He hoped Ivanova had cleared the thing with Franklin that it was safe to eat... Oh, of course she had.
He watched the doors, nibbling a piece of cake, and holding a glass of some refreshing drink. The Doctor's formal dress was unlike any in which Sinclair was acquainted. The robes were deep red, with silver decorations on the trim, and a cloak of slightly brighter red with wider silver trimming and two large circular seal-like decorations on either side of the chest. The Doctor also had a red cap on his head, under which his hair seemed to be trying to rebel. Some tufts had already escaped and were sticking out on the back of his head. He wondered how comfortable the Doctor would be under those clothes, he who would rather use a very different set day in and day out, at least according to Garibaldi.
Sinclair observed as the Gallifreyan ambassador greeted more guests, each one in the manner adequate to their culture, and doing so perfectly as far as he could see, even when the gestures wouldn't have been easy for the human body. Most of the guests, in turn, seemed impressed and pleased by the greeting, and they often exchanged a few friendly words with the new ambassador. He guessed the other ambassadors wouldn't be coming to him with questions about the Doctor any longer. At least that.
He turned to the device placed in the center of the room. It was a strangely shaped thing, looking like an abstract sculpture upon a podium. There wasn't any mechanism or cable visible, but it was apparently some sort of projector. There was a cloud of small, faint lights floating right above it, rotating slowly. Though it hadn't drawn much attention yet. A hologram of a star cluster? Possibly. It's a pity Ivanova had already left, or he'd have peppered her with questions.
He looked at the Doctor again, who was now greeting the Nosiran delegation. Yes, one of his eyes seemed pinched as if in pain, and Sinclair's worry grew. Maybe the Doctor did need some help. He noticed that after greeting the latest guests with both hands, his left hand, perhaps unconsciously, grasped tightly something hanging from a chain around his neck. How hadn't he seen it before?
Sinclair approached the Doctor before the next guests' arrival.
"Ambassador, what is that thing?" the commander asked, pointing to the device in the center of the room.
The Doctor turned to him, and replied with a frown. "Lieutenant Commander Ivanova has asked for something from my culture. I'll demonstrate it later, but put simply, it's a galactic simulator." Short and to the point, almost brusque, Sinclair noticed. "Similar to a planetarium but for galaxies," he added after a moment, his gaze softening slightly at Sinclair's surprise.
"Are you all right, Doctor?" He was now certain there was something wrong.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Wide eyed, the Doctor seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.
"Your left hand, whatever it is you're grasping, are you in pain?"
"Oh," the Doctor looked at his hand, as if noticing it for the first time. He slowly opened one finger per turn, until it showed an oval silver medallion upon his open palm. He stood there for a long moment, looking at the medallion, before raising his eyes again.
"It was a gift," the Doctor said wistfully, then his gaze unfocused as if remembering the distant past. "Her name was Mira, and she saved me, when I was alone." His hand closed upon the medallion again, and the focus returned to his eyes, which were now looking into Sinclair's. "She gave it to me before we parted ways. A family's heirloom, she said, so that I wouldn't forget her. Or myself."
"It's beautiful," Sinclair said, at a loss for words.
The Doctor dropped the medallion, letting it dangle from its chain around his neck, and took his cap from his head with both hands. His hair sprang up, free from the thing, as he shifted the cap in his hands, absently examining it, before throwing it toward the device in the center of the room. The cap hit one of the fence posts separating the device from the guests and hung there. Satisfied, the Doctor turned back to Sinclair. "Thank you, Commander."
"For what?" he replied, puzzled.
"For helping me remember myself." The Doctor seemed thoughtful for a moment, and threaded his fingers through his hair, but Sinclair noticed his hair stuck up again even more than he'd seen it do before.
"What was wrong, Ambassador?"
The Gallifreyan grinned, and replied, "Commander, have you heard that old Human saying, the clothes make the man?"
"Yes?"
"Well, it's more true of Gallifreyans than most other sentient species, humans included. That's one of the reasons I prefer Human clothing."
Sinclair felt there was a deeper meaning to it, but whatever it was, he couldn't guess. "That's why you removed the cap?"
"Oh, it wasn't just that." The Doctor scowled, looking down at his robes. "These are what you'd call ceremonial robes, rarely used outside Gallifrey itself. I had these made for my first official duties before the High Council. They were made for a younger me, and I've changed much since then. Usually, we have the clothes readjusted to reflect who we are at a given moment, but I've never had the need to use these again. And I seldom had to arrange for other formal wear. Most of the situations I was sent as an ambassador to, I didn't need formal clothes to introduce myself. Until now."
He couldn't say he understood what the Doctor was talking about. The robes seemed to fit him well, though they were perhaps a bit too heavy for his thin frame. Maybe it was something else? The decorations? If those were words along the trim, maybe they told some story the Doctor was no longer comfortable with? It didn't seem they'd reflect a younger Doctor. If anything, the Doctor he'd met earlier had acted more childish than the impression of power and arrogance these robes suggested. Or maybe it was the other way around? These clothes certainly seemed more flamboyant than even the Centauri's. "These are very different from the others you were using yesterday," he finally said.
"Ah, the Lieutenant Commander told you?"
"Yes, she did."
"Those grey robes were given to me by my wife." His face dropped slightly at these words, but the change was so fleeting that Sinclair wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't paying as much attention as he was. "They're Gallifreyan day to day work clothes adequate for my rank and post, and she'd kept them adjusted until her death."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Anyway, they're not formal Gallifreyan dress, these robes are, but I'll be thankful if you'll forgive me for never using these again while here as the Gallifreyan ambassador to B5. I'll have to arrange for something else later."
"Of course."
"It's not even complete. I didn't bring the collar since it only has to be used before the High Council. The full dress code, it's awfully pretentious."
"Even more than Mollari's?" The Centauri ambassador was loudly showing off to another delegation in the other side of the room.
"Exactly!" He grinned again, and Sinclair noticed that despite so many physical differences, that grin was very similar to Mollari's. And yet not.
The Doctor's gaze moved to the side. Sinclair followed his gaze and saw a flustered Julian next to a growing gaggle of guests that were waiting to be greeted outside the doors. Apparently, Julian had been discreetly trying to call their attention for a while now, and the Doctor had finally noticed him.
"It seems I have duties to perform, Commander. I hope we can talk again later, or if not today, please send me a note telling when you'd be free for a more private conversation."
"Certainly, Ambassador. In fact, I have a number of Senators very curious about you and your people, who are pestering me with questions I don't know how to answer."
"You're far from being the only one, apparently," the Doctor commented, a resigned look in his eyes. Then he straightened and nodded to someone behind Sinclair, before turning with a slightly exaggerated enthusiasm toward the newcomers. Sinclair turned to see who it was and found Kosh standing right behind him.
"Ambassador?" Damn, the Vorlon knew how to move silently.
Kosh replied something in his musical language, much too long in Sinclair's opinion for the single word, "Commander," that left his translator. Then he turned his head, following the Doctor as he greeted the newcomers.
Sinclair decided the opportunity was too good to be wasted and tried to entice the Vorlon to talk. "He's a curious one, isn't it? The clothing sense does seem similar in a way to the Centauri-"
"No!" The Vorlon shifted his eyehole to look at Sinclair, before returning to the Gallifreyan. "They like you." They? Like me?
"Well, he's one easy to like, I guess."
"They are the Storm."
"Storm? That sounds ominous. Dangerous."
"They bring change." The ambassador himself or his people? Who is Kosh talking about?
"Okay, people are afraid of change."
"Yes."
"And his people? Have you met them before?"
"Yes." After a pause, Kosh continued, "A very long time ago."
"If they've been around for so long, why haven't they come forward before?" But Kosh didn't reply to that.
After a while, the Vorlon finally said, "They haven't come for you, you need not be afraid."
Sinclair wondered if maybe it's the Vorlon who was afraid. The he noticed Delenn approaching the pair of them. She inclined her head before the Vorlon, who replied in the same way before returning to watch the Gallifreyan ambassador. She seemed confused for an instant, then she turned and approached him.
"It's good to see you, Commander."
"And you, Ambassador."
She nodded her head to the side, and he took the hint, following her to a quieter corner of the room.
"What do you think of our new Ambassador, Delenn?"
"That's what I came to ask you, Commander."
"Ah." What was it with the Gallifreyan that the older the civilization the more curious, no, the warier, they were toward him? And why did they turn to him, a human, for answers? The physical similarity couldn't be the only reason, though that was strange in itself.
"I heard you had him in your brig when he first came to the station." At least she doesn't refer to the Doctor as a 'they'.
He nodded. "It was a mistake, we weren't expecting another human-like species around, beyond the Centauri. He said he came here by chance."
"And you don't believe him."
"I'm not sure what to believe, but he seemed sincere in that. He was very curious about everything, and not at all threatening."
"I see." Her face was pinched, and he could guess her experience with the Gallifreyan ambassador was very unlike his own.
"Did he threaten you?"
"No. Not really." She sighed. "Yesterday, when we met, he was more like how he was when I came in, but now, after talking to you, he seems... different. Almost like another person. What did you talk about?"
"Clothes," he said, waiting for what she'd get from that.
"Clothes?" Ah, she was just as puzzled as he himself.
"Ivanova mentioned that his, um, 'work clothes' are more similar to Minbari ones, in fact."
"Perhaps," but she didn't elaborate. Maybe Mollari would be the one to help him with that, then.
"When I talked to him before today, he was just like how he seems now. Which makes me wonder, who's the true Doctor?"
"Commander, you seem to assume people can be simple. They're almost never simple. Maybe both are the true Doctor. Or neither. Or just not all of him." He was still pondering that when Dr. Franklin found him alone in the corner.
Sinclair was talking to Dr. Franklin and a couple other guests when he noticed Ivanova surrounded by alien ambassadors and looking angry and exasperated. She threw her arms up and yelled something. They stepped back, but they were still surrounding her. He excused himself and approached.
"Commander," she acknowledged him briefly, before glaring back at the small, intimidated crowd around her.
"What do they want?"
"What do they want? What would they want? To talk to the new ambassador!" She exclaimed, pointing to the Doctor a few meters away, apparently happily talking about something with G'Kar. "But he doesn't have an assistant. So, who the others come to when they want to talk to him? Me!" she screamed at the end. The Doctor turned an apologetic face at her, but G'Kar continued gesticulating enthusiastically, drawing his attention back to whatever they were talking about.
"Isn't he going to get an assistant?"
"Every ambassador has at least one assistant! But not him." She sighed and drank from her glass. "He said no one else is coming. His people aren't much interested in others, it seems. The few who might have come are busy already. Can you do me a favor, Commander? Gently ask G'Kar to release the Doctor. I've already tried."
"Of course. It's time, anyway," he replied. "Almost everyone is here, and there's our small ceremony to perform. G'Kar can talk to him again later if he wants."
"Great, thanks. I need to munch something," she said, making a beeline toward the table, with half the ambassadors following her. The rest waited to see what Sinclair would do.
Sinclair approached the two. G'Kar was talking animatedly about the book of G'Quan, and when he saw Sinclair approaching, he tried to include him in the conversation.
"Ah! Commander! I'm explaining to the Doctor the history of the book of G'Quan! He's telling me he's very interested-"
"That's great, G'Kar," Sinclair cut him off, "but I fear you'll have to continue your conversation later. Right now it's time to welcome him into the ambassadorial corps on Babylon 5."
"Ah, I see! Ambassador Doctor, you're really privileged to be welcomed to this station by the full Advisory Council. Not all members take their duties as seriously as us Narn," he completed, growling toward the Centauri ambassador who was now approaching.
Luckily, Ivanova intercepted Londo and dragged him to the other side of the line-up being formed, with Delenn and Kosh already flanking the spot where Sinclair would stand and say his words.
Ivanova spent the short ceremony watching out for anything that could disturb the proceedings, with special attention paid both to G'Kar and Mollari, the two most likely troublemakers. She'd already been part of dozens of similar proceedings, so she didn't pay special attention to the Doctor's words, until he began explaining the device he'd brought from Gallifrey. She was curious about it, and the brief description the Doctor had given her had left her with the impression he was deliberately playing down its importance or capabilities. His explanation right now seemed hardly more informative. Apparently, he intended to use it to illustrate a story he was going to tell. A children's story, to boot.
She had to admit it might be a good way to present the cultural background of a civilization, though none of the other ambassadors had so far thought of doing something similar. She watched as the Doctor took center stage next to the device and put his cap back on his head, before turning to his audience who was waiting with various degrees of boredom and anticipation.
Then her attention was caught by the display. The cloud of brilliant pinprick spots of light expanded to fill up the whole room, above their heads, while the room lights dimmed to near darkness. For Ivanova, the points of light representing stars now seemed even more real than when she was in space looking at the real things. The stars moved slowly around the center of the display, but each one had its own trajectory, and she could see their paths coming close and interfering with one another. It was incredibly sophisticated for a holographic projector. As she watched, one of them reddened as the corresponding star expanded into a red giant, and she could almost feel it engulfing its inner planets, one by one.
Ivanova was still trying to reason about the display when the Doctor began telling his tale, in a soft voice that somehow seemed to reverberate and be heard across the room. The speed of the display slowed accordingly, with the stars almost stopping in place as time passed at a rate of only a few years per minute.
She couldn't say she paid attention to the story. She'd certainly be unable to recount it later in any sort of detail. But she did get some impressions. It reminded her of Romeo and Juliet. An ancient conflict between two civilizations, which fought successive wars for the right to control and exploit their small satellite galaxy and the less developed races that also inhabited it. Their borders changed back and forth, and her eyes followed the movement of their fleets across the display. She shook her head. There was no symbol, line, or even a point of light, to show where that fleet was, or where their borders met, but she somehow knew where they both would be.
Cold fear dripped down her spine for a moment. But Ivanova couldn't feel any sign of telepathic intrusion. She did try raising her shield, to little effect. The display still drew her eyes around. With some effort she finally broke the trance and looked around, at the other guests, illuminated by starlight as if under a clear night sky. Most of them seemed mesmerized by the display. The Doctor's hypnotic voice probably added to that effect. A handful of the alien ambassadors, though, were staring at the Doctor, apparently in awe. And a couple of the human attendants too, though she couldn't read their blank faces. What did they see that she couldn't?
Ivanova couldn't see the Doctor's eyes, but it didn't seem he was looking at her. She made a mental note to interrogate him about this display later, and allowed herself to follow the story again.
It was a gripping tale of tragedy and loss, of planets ravaged by spite and greed. And of love, as two youngsters emerged, one for each of the contenders, and fell in love with one another. When they finally overthrew their elders and assumed leadership of their respective peoples, they signed a peace treaty and founded a new capital, on a planet orbiting a brilliant star, right between the territories of the former enemies.
But then the Doctor's story took a dark turn. Instead of brightening with the expected start of a new era, the mood in the room darkened, and Ivanova knew the story wouldn't have a happy ending. There was a soft, alien music accompanying the display, but it hadn't changed, and she wasn't sure where this dread was coming from. Sure, the Doctor was saying that even more planets were being ravaged, though now not by armies and fleets, but by the merciless exploitation of the galaxy rulers, who didn't have to worry about their subjects' fealty any longer. But the dread was visceral, more premonition than reasoning, and Ivanova found herself tense with expectation.
There was a prophecy, a command. Both civilizations had once worshipped the same gods, eons earlier. Now the gods returned, and ordered them to abandon their new capital. The leading couple resisted. Their shining capital was the cornerstone of their new empire, and they knew that, without it, all their efforts would be for naught.
The gods left, and they were relieved. But not for long. The star their capital planet orbited suddenly exploded into a supernova. For a couple of seconds, its brilliance outshone all the other stars of the galaxy together by at least a couple orders of magnitude. Ivanova had diverted her sight an instant earlier, so she wasn't blinded by the flash and could watch the room become illuminated by the explosion. The projected supernova was bright enough to cast perfectly defined shadows on the floor. That couldn't be a hologram, no hologram could do such a thing.
The story finally came to a close, though Ivanova wasn't paying attention to the ending. She was worriedly checking the nearby guests, some of which showed signs of temporary blindness. Luckily everyone soon recovered without a problem. They were all talking animatedly about the show and ignored her and Dr. Franklin's fussing.
So she looked around and noticed the Doctor, who seemed intent on leaving the room before anyone else noticed his retreat, dragging the device's box behind him. She rushed to intercept him.
"Calm down, Doctor, leaving so soon?"
"I've done my part, now they'll want to talk, but it's late and I need to rest." He half-turned to consider her as he strode down the corridor. "I tried to make it as brief as I could, but this little show still lasted the better part of an hour, and I'm not a showman. It's not easy to control a hakishati properly."
Ivanova had no idea how he had been controlling this hakishati at all, but she could guess. So she asked, "Is this device in any way telepathic? Because that wasn't just lights and music."
"What you felt wasn't telepathy," he answered. "It manipulates your perception. You can easily overcome it, once you're aware of it, but it's necessary. Gallifreyan children would hardly stay put for the duration otherwise. This kind of technology is ubiquitous on Gallifrey, we use it like you use your visual displays."
There was a slight droop on the Doctor's shoulders, and Ivanova could believe he was exhausted, but she had one more thing to say to him. "Doctor, I know you're tired. But I am as well. Today I had to do both my job and yours, fixing everything so your reception would go as you wanted it." The Doctor had stopped once she began speaking and was standing there with a sheepish look on his face. "There better be no next time. Unless you find an assistant, you're on your own. Understood?"
"I am grateful, indeed I am. How can I repay you for all your help?"
"Find an assistant!" He flinched, so Ivanova backed off a bit before continuing, "Look, Doctor, I know you've explained it, but there's no way you can do your job without an assistant. Not here on Babylon 5. So hire someone, if there's no other way. I can give you a list of humans that have done similar jobs before, any of whom would be able to help you with basic scheduling and such."
He sighed. "I'll consider it. Thank you for all your help, Lieutenant Commander."
"You better do more than consider it, Ambassador Doctor." She frowned at him, until he nodded. "Good evening." She didn't look back.
The Doctor was taking a few minutes to rest in one of the armchairs in his room. His cap had been stashed in the hakishati box, but he'd been too drained to change his clothes. It had taken a lot from him, keeping a tight leash on the hakishati, when it seemed eager to put all its capabilities to use after being in stasis for so long. He had barely recovered when he heard someone knock on the door.
No one had sent a request to ask for a meeting that night, but there were a few possibilities as to who would be outside. None of which he wanted to face right now. Sighing, he stood and faced the door, before commanding, "Enter!"
"Good evening, Lord Doctor. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Morden was bravely trying to appear cheerful, but it was clearly just a mask, and a poor one at that.
"Ah, it's you, Mr. Morden. All by yourself. Where are your masters, then?"
Morden smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "I've been sent with a proposal. Information."
"Aren't they afraid of me taking you over for myself?" The Doctor asked, as if Morden hadn't said anything.
"I'm loyal to them," Morden replied stiffly.
"What did they offer you, to make you join them, hm?" Morden didn't reply, but it wasn't necessary. The Doctor was examining him, one eyebrow raised. "They offered you what you wanted most. Tsk. Humans," he said in disgust.
"I hope I'm not disrespectful, but you look human yourself, my Lord."
"No," the Doctor snapped. "You have it backwards. You look like us." Morden shivered at the implication.
"And what would you offer me then, to convince me to join you?" He replied defiantly.
"Certainly not what you think you want. You should know, Mr. Morden, the Universe is not nice. If you get what you want, it's all too often to regret you ever asked for it. No, they aren't afraid I might offer something you couldn't refuse. Well, not quite, no. They expect me to give you no choice in the matter."
"What?"
"You're not their envoy. You're their offering, in exchange for an alliance. They've heard I'm looking for an assistant, hm? They'd have me take you, so you would serve me as a link with them. You would be mine, and they would have their alliance."
"I've brought you this data crystal, with all the information you may need," Morden tried, but the Doctor was tired of dealing with First Ones' expectations.
"Thank you, but that's not the information I need. Your masters can't give me what I need. But I'll take this anyway." The Doctor picked up the data crystal and pocketed it. "Now, you, go tell your masters I'm not that Time Lord. There are others who would take you, and squeeze every last drop of information from you, before discarding you. Or, perhaps, using you as their slave. No, I won't bother doing that. I have no need for a slave. Go back to your masters. And I'm sorry," he said with contempt.
"Sorry? For what?"
"You don't know what Time Lord means? Haven't they told you?"
"No, what?"
"Exactly what it says. In no future I can see, it'll end well for you, Mr. Morden. They were willing to let me take you, but they'll never let you go by yourself. You chose this life, so I won't save you from it either. Therefore, I'm sorry." The Doctor turned his back to him, as the human scampered away.
Once Morden left, the Doctor grimaced. "Stupid, stupid!" He'd almost let his temper get the better of him. His tiredness was no excuse. How un-Timelordy of him. And how dangerous.
He couldn't save the human, not if he didn't want to be saved. And he was aware that Mr. Morden was too tied up with the Shadows plans to be easily removed from them anyway.
He sighed. Yes, he couldn't afford continuing without an assistant. Mira had said he needed someone, he shouldn't travel alone. Mollari and Ivanova had said it too. Maybe all of them were right. Maybe he needed an assistant, if not a companion, to help him keep his balance. If for nothing else, then at least to tell him when he was being stupid.
Someone from this time, then. They would already be at risk, and he could limit their involvement, avoid them being dragged along with him.
He went to the wardrobe and nearly tore his formal robes away, before getting the new Human-designed suit he'd chosen to be his skin in this time period. It was late, but that was the perfect time to inspect the seedier parts of Babylon 5's venues. He didn't know yet what he was looking for, but he hoped he'd find them there.