Crossroads - Chapter Three

Winter silently came as it always did, snowflakes falling gently against the sapphire-leaves of the Bango Forest.  No one ever comprehended exactly how  the trees managed keeping their leaves, or endured the glacial atmosphere.

                Yet, it hardly mattered for the ones residing there.

                Kept warm within their underground dens, the Fangarian Clanstribe steadily resumed their daily living.  Customarily, like all Tombeurians, they would have been preparing for the Hibernation Season.  Storing up food reserves, some entering prolonged slumber, while others kept vigilant against natural predators of the snow.  Except this season, the dens were practically deserted.  As were the others nestled throughout the planet.  Not that they were outright abandoned, mind you, but the Clanstribes had gone out.

                Out to view the Citadel.

                Eighty-five stories high, it loomed over the landscape.  The dark structure resembled one of those foreboding towers one might read about in those forgotten tales.  From a lost kingdom beyond any being’s imagination, the Citadel stood tall, imposing its will over all.  Anybody witnessing this magnificent structure outside would have easily been impressed.

                Conversely, the Clanstribe Elders observed it as nothing more than a civilisation’s pomp and circumstance.  While the Clanstribe members gathered at the summit of Gallifrey’s highest mountain, the Elders conjured forth an Energon orb—part Paranormalicy and part technology—for secretly observing the Citadel Event.

                Rassilon graciously allowed them admittance into the Citadel, where they might afford a better view of the Event.

                But the Elders were extremely cautious of Gallifreyan Man.

                And for good reason.

                Encompassing the area of the Citadel were vast reminders of their coming.  Before the ice materialised, one perceived the ancient temples and amphitheaters, the remnants of a race basically ruled by the sword.  Constructing an empire, planet by planet, until it had spread across the universe.

                Recalling how the Ancients once dared this feat, with somewhat chaotic and catastrophic results, the Clanstribes hardly invested themselves with such mechanisations.  In truth, they envisioned themselves as explorers, educators, bringers—not takers—desiring on learning more about the Cosmos rather than conquering it.

                Many suspected the problem originated when Gallifreyan Man started establishing their own temples.  Transcendent knowledge gave them the foolish notion the Future had now become an open sea of opportunity.  Gallifrey had now been ruled by those remembering the Future as they remembered the Past.  Countless starships contained their own Manifest Destiny as their cargo.  Ancient prophecies were implemented within their charts used for circumnavigating infinity.  Explorers ventured beyond, apprised of their fantastic discoveries, aware of the perils involved.  Prospectors greedily rushed to the heavens, knowing where to discover gold.  Heroes (if you dared call them that) took incredible risks, ascertaining the possible outcome.  The future had illuminated brighter than sun or moon, and had just been as incorruptible.

                Therefore, it became rather perplexing to Gallifreyan Man when everything had gone horribly wrong, in only a few short years.  Statues and towers had crumbled, fleets had been scuttled, and the heroes had perished—blind and alone.

                Ironically the Clanstribes had never scoffed, nor rubbed the Gallifreyans’ faces in it, for these unanticipated failures.  In fact, they were scarcely dumbfounded when Rassilon himself asked the Tombeurian Clanstribes for reconstructing the forgotten pieces.   After all, they knew they both shared Gallifrey and knew unless they helped, Gallifreyan Man would probably end up destroying their Homeworld.

                Yet, the Clanstribe Elders sagely did not expediently rush into their decision.  They surreptitiously had concerns if they handed out their secrets and aptitudes, they might be easily betrayed.  They realised this when it had come to the Ancients. 

                Judging from their haphazard ventures, Gallifreyan Man was no exception when it came to deception and treachery.  Rassilon and Omega came to them as consecrated representatives.  They did not only establish the Al’Dali-Tombeur Sha’Drel, the most famous pact on Gallifrey, but they also provided an ingenious proposal for the dilemma.

                The Clanstribe Elders selected five groups for assisting with the Reconstruction:  the Fandraelians, Pandraelians, Locanshites, Corinthians, and Fangarians.

                These five would essentially utilise their skills and knowledge for helping the Gallifreyans safely restore their civilisation and planet.

                Consequently, as History customarily dictates, nothing ever quite goes according to plan.

Due to their recent setbacks, many Gallifreyans reconsidered the entire, modernised lifestyle.  Admiring how the Clanstribes existed beyond the anodyne realm of the Citadel, many selected rejecting the Time Lord way of life.

                Time Lord appeared more like an ostentation denotation back then.  For in reality, the Citadel residents knew extremely little about the ChronoSphere and its relative dimensions.

                Nonetheless, the Clanstribes officially designated the non-residents as Shobogans.  The Shobogans were educated by them on how to survive within the Gallifreyan wilds.  As expected, this class division had greatly affected the Gallifreyan social order.  Not mentioning on having a radical impact upon their socio-political index.

                In fact, some Gallifreyans blamed the Clanstribe for this disruption.  Whereas Rassilon simply noted this was sagely a precautionary motive, in case their experiments ended upon a catastrophic note.

Standing before the Energon orb, the Clanstribe Elder, along with some of their respective members, silently observed the displayed images.  During such functions, the Elders normally were decked in elegant robes bearing their corresponding Clanscrests.  But at this particular function, with their protective hoodies and subthermal attire, the Elders gave the appearance of a Wolf-Being Sports Team.

                One proclaimed the garments were indeed more practical than wearing billowy, ceremonial robes in this frigid weather.  Although the Locanshites had established climate-controlled devices round the gathering’s perimeter, the icy winds still managed creeping through the heated barriers.

                Dressed in his azure-crimson hoodie, the Wolf-Being felt the sharp winds whip through his sienna-brown hair.  Sideburns neatly melting into a goatee, the wind’s cold sting flowed through it as well.  Ears cocked slightly, he detected the warring, protest howl against the hum of the Locanshite’s machines.

                Taking a deep breath, he felt the gold chain rise as the inset sapphire emitted a soft glow.  His chest briefly stretched against the dark thermshirt.  It bore the silver F-Clanscrest, identifying him as a Fangarian.  Flicking his tail, he absent-mindedly rubbed his left hand against his aquamarine thermals.  Despite the machines and clothing, he still felt the bitter cold approaching.

                Stretching his toes, he privately speculated if wearing his enviro-sandals had been a sensible choice.  Though the images started taking shape upon the orb, the Fangarian’s attention diverted towards the ruins below them.

                Amidst the remnants, there was one structure he viewed with great interest:  the buried, immense clock face.  Cracked and worn from countless ages, its hands were permanently frozen.  The gears irreparably damaged, they no longer functioned.  And even if they did, they could not make the hands penetrate through the solid rock.

                Overall, the strange artefact served as an ambiguous monument from the Ancient Times.  When Gallifreyan Man had fashioned their kingdoms from the days of yore.

                ‘Mal’Chron,’ the words silently escaped from his lips.  The Tombeurian name given to the infamous metropolis of the once-forgotten kingdom.  The central kingdom which allegedly connected the other surrounding areas.  Recalling the clock’s former standing place, the Tombeurian Clanstribes vividly noted the giant tower which reached into the heavens.  Though Legends claimed Mal’Chron was the kingdom of prosperity  and opportunity, the Clanstribes perceived an entirely different tale.  Mal’Chron was a place no Clanstribe—not even the Corinthians—dared to tread, for it secretly contained nothing but endless misery and conflict.

                When the ancient tower had fallen after the last war, the Gallifreyans observed it as a prediction for the shape of things to come.  Out with the ancient and forgotten ways, paving the path for a brighter future.

                Regrettably, the Clanstribes considered it as nothing more than a dark omen.  One which might’ve herald the End Days for Gallifrey.

                ‘J’KALAHN, GENFARAJI!’

                The sharp, protesting voice abruptly shattered Genfaraji’s thoughts.  Returning back to Reality, his ears detected its source.

                ‘What madness is this?’ The complaint bitterly announced. ‘Do they not realise it’s Invin’Hivan?’

                Gripping the OmniStaff in his right hand, Genfaraji drew in a deep breath.  Recognising the annoying tone, he eloquently turned towards the source.  He already knew he would have to deal with him sooner or later.

                Dark-haired, sheathed within his ebony thermosuit hoodie, with the emerald C-Clanscrest upon the chest, the being sternly stood before Genfaraji.  Though he was physically well-built, his face bore slight signs of age.  Like Genfaraji, the being’s sideburns also neatly melted into a goatee.

                Silence filled the area, since no one dared standing up to him.  But Genfaraji was scarcely intimidated by the likes of him.

                ‘Indeed they do, Dante,’ he stared into his hazel-blue eyes. He coolly spoke. ‘Never knew the Corinthian Elder possessed such eloquence of our language.’

                Nobody acted stupefied by Dante’s behaviour.  The Corinthians were considered as one of the Cev’lte.  The veritable warrior Clanstribes of Gallifrey, who adeptly defends their planet against any probable menace.  Amongst with some other Clanstribes, the Corinthians perceived Gallifreyan Man as an oncoming threat.

                Many were perplexed on why Rassilon and the Elders had selected the Corinthians as one of the Cinq’Vertel.  If they apparently had their way, the Gallifreyans might have been completely eradicated before Rassilon’s Coming.

                Nevertheless, the Elders and Rassilon had their own reasons.

                Some believed it was due to the Corinthians being infamously known as the Ninjitsai Clanstribe.  They possessed deceptive cunning and stealth.  Legends claimed the Corinthians had once successfully driven back the Sontarans.  These invaders not only underestimated these defenders, but the Sontarans had never known what hit them.  Before one of these genetically-cloned soldiers had set foot upon Gallifreyan soil, the Corinthians had expediently dispatched the aggressors.

                Because of this notoriety, some believed if the Corinthians could thwart one of the most dangerous races undetected, then logically, they could covertly monitor Gallifreyan Man.  Hence accurately determining whether or not these beings were detrimental to the planet.

                Considering all of this, it was interesting Dante’s antipathy wasn’t completely focused upon the Gallifreyans.

                ‘So asserts the Fangarian,’ he effortlessly retorted. ‘Who presumes having a side-goatee establishes him as a proper Elder.’

                Genfaraji narrowed his eyes towards the obvious slight.  Despite the outlined facial hair, the Fangarian was essentially the youngest of the Clanstribes Elders.  Due to Ancient Tombeurian Laws, he ascended expediently at an early age.  After the enigmatic disappearance of his D’tei, Genfaraji had been appointed as his successor. 

                Since he was the oldest of his siblings, there was no alternative but accepting his Induction.  Otherwise the Fangarians would face Disparatri, Clanstribe dissolution.  Afterwards, came the possible Assimilation by another Clanstribe, which wasn’t uncommon within the Tombeurian society.  However, the Fangarians were one of the primogenital Clanstribes, and Genfaraji felt they could never deserve such a fate.

                Despite his age, Genfaraji proved he was definitely a worthy successor.  And why Rassilon and the other Elders had personally selected the Fangarian Clanstribe.

                At this critical point, the Clanstribe members there feared Dante and Genfaraji might engage another heated debate.

                ‘Your attempt at being derogatory is quite illogical, Dante.’ A voice interjected.  It sounded even and serene. ‘For if facial hair growth was a prerequisite, anyone could ascend directly to Elder.’

                Both Dante and Genfaraji turned, noticing the young figure approaching them.  Blonde, straight hair melting into the dark sea of ebony on the sides, he wasn’t what one might call a normal spectator.

                ‘In retrospect, I would essentially be deposed from the position, would I not?’

                Though possessing the typical attributes of a Wolf-Being—darkened, claw-tipped hands and tail—his physique appeared more humanoid than lupine.

                Ice-cobalt Bioglyphs etched neatly across his cheeks and nose, it appeared as if he applied zinc oxide upon his face.  The other anomaly was his attire.  Wearing the spotted Thermo-jacket with the fur-lined collar, the environ-trousers and boots, he remarkably was topless underneath.

                Upon his chest and abdomen, there bore the Clanscrest Bioglyph.  Mauve, it resembled two C-shapes—one inversed—interlocked skillfully within a yin-yang pattern.  Eyes deep blue, they contained serpentine pupils.

                At first glance, he gave the distinct impression of one of those snowskimmers.  The ones rushing down the Freji Mountains for sport.  In fact, one might have anticipated Dante and Genfaraji berating the upstart.  Instead they both respectfully bowed before him.

                ‘Greetings, Locanshite Elder D’lain,’ they both replied in unison to him.  Secretly they considered it a bit disconcerting witnessing D’lain’s new physiological structure. 

                Technically D’lain was well beyond 900 years old, possibly almost a millennia, but seemed more like a young adult.  There were rumours the Locanshites had long since developed a sophisticated, rejuvenation process.  They commonly denoted it as Regeneration.  Primarily it functioned as a means for instantaneously repairing—restructuring—one’s body whenever the former started failing due to age, fatigue, or fatal injury.

                Consequently since the procedure was decidedly experimental, D’lain sagely volunteered himself.  Overlooking the slight complications, the process was relatively successful.  Albeit a different persona and completely reconstructed physique, D’lain essentially was still the same being he had been before the process.

                Tranquilly observing the orb, D’lain reached into his jacket pocket.  Extracting a small tube, he casually touched its side.  As its top dematerialised, he gently applied the contents upon his lips.  His bottom lip subtly transformed into an arctic blue colour.  He briefly smacked his lips, ensuring they were sufficiently coated.

                Without diverting his attention away from the orb, D’lain dexterously activated the tube’s insta-sterilisation function.  Afterwards, he respectfully offered it to Dante and Genfaraji.  They both graciously declined.  D’lain promptly sealed the tube before returning it back to his pocket.

                ‘Corinthian Elder Dante,’ he addressed, turning towards them. ‘If you and your Clanstribe are discomforted, I can instruct my Techs on steadily increasing the Environ-Projectors’ output.’

                Dante was absolutely caught off-guard by D’lain’s nonchalant response.  With Locanshites, one never could tell what they were thinking.  Especially upon critical matters such as this.

                ‘No..’ he gradually replied. ‘I was merely questioning on the reason we are out here, when we should be..’

                ‘I can assure you, we have sufficiently established the essential preparations for Invin’Hivan.’ D’lain softly explained. ‘The Locanshites have been instructed on distributing necessary provisions for our brethren—including the Corinthians and Fangarians.’

                Before Dante responded, D’lain simply continued.

                ‘May I prompt your memory, Dante, at our last conference, an agreement was established. When the appointed day arrives, we would covertly hold an impromptu convocation, along with some of our Clanstribe members, at this designated location. The purpose behind our decision was so we could safely observe the Event out here, despite Rassilon’s gracious invitation.’ He briefly paused, glancing once at the towering Citadel. ‘Regrettably, the favourable conditions coincide with Invin’Hivan. Despite precautionary warnings we’ve made to Omega.’

                As Dante frowned towards D’lain’s cryptic statement, the orb suddenly sprang with life.  Almost as if it responded to D’lain’s clarification, the orb commenced shaping—and defining—the images into a coherent form.

The magnificent vessels appeared as if a long-forgotten fantasy had been transformed into a long-awaited reality.  They proudly stood at attention, awaiting their assigned roles.  D’lain acknowledged these crafts were an elegant amalgamation of Locanshite and Fangarian science and technology.

                Genfaraji, however, sensed the vivid, iridescent hulls gave the impression the ships didn’t quite belong on the Citadel’s departure centre.  They hung like tropical fish amongst the half-submerged clock towers and minarets.

                Dante observed illuminations pouring from the vessels’ portholes and hatches into the evening.  The ethereal glow was nothing like the planet had witnessed for a generation.  No wonder the crowds inundated the quays’ Observation Levels.

                Judging from the massive attendance, Dante reconsidered his earlier grievance.  Perhaps Genfaraji did implement a perceptive decision for holding this impromptu convocation.  Enduring inclement weather was far better than enduring incessant chatter.  The Corinthian Elder felt these Gallifreyans—these so-called Time Lords—discussed the most inane topics at hand.

                D’lain reached out with his left hand.  Performing a slight gesture, the Locanshite Elder tightened the image on one particular vessel.

                Onyx, silver-aluminum, the craft stood out amongst the other flamboyant ships.

                Standing at its port platform was a young man decked in his dark Omnisuit.  Set upon the upper right chest plate was the ancient, mathematical symbol identifying him.  He consistently waved as the crowds cheered.

                Unenthusiastic with the display, something instantly dawned upon Dante’s mind.

                ‘I take it, he still intends on heading to Qqaba, then?’ He grimly observed the man with great scrutiny.

                ‘Affirmative,’ D’lain confirmed. ‘While the Population III star has reached massive instability, Omega considers this juncture is extremely crucial for his experiment.’

                ‘Experiment?’ Dante ascertained he didn’t fancy where the conversation was going.

                D’lain casually expanded the orb’s visual scope, permitting the Clanstribes’ members on observing the Event.

                ‘Yes,’ a voice interrupted. ‘I fear this venture is a bit of our doing.’

                Ebony-haired, ice-azure eyes against dark sapphire, the figure arrived wearing his shinobi environsuit.  Also sporting a goatee, his wasn’t attached to his sideburns.  Headband adorned with arcane symbols, they reflected the mystic bioglyphs etched on his face, neck, shoulders and body.  Of course, these were simply not exotic body art, as these bioglyphs fundamentally served as Paranormal seals, keeping the figure’s force in check.  His Clanscrest originated from the Ancient Lupi’kalic text, which gave the peculiar similarity to the Roman lower-case ‘d.’  Appearing humanesque than lupine, one might have suspected he was a forgotten being from an Ancient Gallifreyan Race.

                But his darkened hands and tail told an entirely different story.

                ‘Fandraelian Elder D’kari,’ D’lain acknowledged the arrival without once diverting his gaze away from his orb. ‘Your admission proves curious, if not cryptic..’

                ‘In a sense, D’lain,’ D’kari opened his right palm, summoning forth a holographic cube.  It contained the infinite stars, galaxies, planets and a nebula, partially obscuring a faint star. ‘We were the ones who extensively searched, and located Qqaba.’

The Fandraelians were the furthermost, enigmatic Clanstribe of Gallifrey.  They lived within the unpredictable climate of the Syli’Dal-Chi.  Beyond the Age of the Ancients, the Fandraelians possessed the secrets behind folding space and other relative dimensions.  This enabled them instantaneous travel throughout every locale in the Universe—and Multiverse.

                Due to this specialised capabilities, the Fandraelians knew the precise location of every component of the Cosmos.  Therefore, it was hardly mystifying they knew of Qqaba—the last known Population III star within their Universe.

                ‘Strange,’ Dante analysed the cosmic image.  He perceived Qqaba had barely sustained itself for this long.  Apparently the nebula kept it alive through a steady feed of interstellar matter. ‘Why does Omega require a Population III?’

                ‘Population I’s are too common,’ Genfaraji recalled some basic astrophysics. ‘Besides being also, too heavily rich in metals, they contain planetary systems.’ 

                The Fangarian knew even sacrificing an uninhabitable system could produce arbitrary effects, resulting in catastrophic chain reactions.  He seriously doubted Omega and Rassilon favoured ravaging the Universe for this top-secret project.

                ‘Affirmative, Genfaraji,’ D’lain added. ‘Population II’s were also found as being equally inefficient. Though not their metallicity is sufficiently poor, their higher percentage of hydrogen and helium, makes them subsequently extremely volatile. For it’s believed they tend to ignite into quasars as they collapse into the singularity they form.’

                ‘Ah,’ Dante wondered how his comrades comprehended the Locanshite’s dissertation. He narrowed his eyes at the representation. ‘Surprised the Fandraelians were able to find a Population III. Aren’t they more prone to supernovae due to their lack of metal and dense mass?’

                ‘Indeed,’ D’kari nodded. ‘Imagine both Omega and our observers’ astonishment when Qqaba was discovered.’ He glanced towards the Locanshite. ‘Of course, D’lain, we did consult your astronomers for establishing a proper confirmation.’

                D’lain reciprocated with a nod. ‘Consequently, one does consider the fascination upon how Qqaba has not detonated long before now.’

                ‘Upon the Population III’s discovery,’ D’kari recalled. ‘Qqaba was teetering on the brink of death for aeons.’ He glimpsed at the image. ‘In fact, it was determined Qqaba could collapse at any time.’

                ‘Then how?’ Dante conjectured why they hadn’t perished from this dangerous phenomenon.

                ‘With Omega’s assistance, we simply reconfigured its interstellar structure. Keeping it alive, if you will.’

                ‘From using the nebula’s own interstellar matter,’ Genfaraji concluded. ‘I’m amazed you’ve sustained Qqaba without incident for so long.’

                Dispersing the cube, D’kari made another disturbing revelation. ‘We’re rather fortunate we found Qqaba when we did. Another week later, it might have been too late.’

                ‘Too late?’ Dante incredulously stared at the Fandraelian.

                ‘Considering both the quantum and physical mass of a Population III,’ D’lain astutely calculated. ‘When it enters the supernovae phase, the result is definitely catastrophic by astronomical proportions.  In other words, if Qqaba perished, it is highly definite Gallifrey—along with several planetary systems—would have as well.’

                The realisation rose throughout Dante’s body, making his blood turn cold.

                ‘Dare.. I.. ask,’ he slowly forced the words from his lips. ‘What Omega intends on doing with the Population III?’

                ‘Omega will head out and intercept Qqaba,’ D’lain openly responded, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘And he will extinguish it.’

                Silence momentarily filled the atmosphere as D’lain’s words sank in.

Omega, one of the original Time Lords of Gallifrey, was planning on annihilating a diminishing Population III.

                A dying star.

Precisely at this moment, Genfaraji sensed the shock from Dante would disperse.  The Corinthian Elder would obviously give way to an intensified, explosive reaction on this possibility.  Especially since technically what Omega was intending seemed more like cosmic suicide than saving their planet.

The golden chain Genfaraji wore round his neck was not simply just some ornate jewelry.  Besides providing an important symbol of his status, the sapphire stone was a rare Psichronomotric Gem.  Most geoscientists can tell you these exceptional gemstones are not esteemed for their extreme rarity.  Nor for the inexhaustible elements and energies they contain.  But instead, they are desperately sought after because their source comes directly from the ChronoSphere itself.

                In other words, Psichronomotric Gems are pure, chronal force carbonised and crystalised.  Secretly, nobody really knows quite how these precious stones came to Gallifrey.  Conversely, there were infinite legends claiming how these intradimensional artefacts wound up in our Universe.

                When the ChronoKnights fought the Ancients once, their battle had produced dimensional scars within the fabric of Time and Space.  Chronos’ Edge told of one such conflict, which ended up bringing forth the Untempered Schism.  Though the Fandraelian Clanstribe had helped stabilise the dimensional breach, they couldn’t prevent it from producing these curious minerals.

                Legends continued saying the Chronasi Clanstribe had refined and polished them.  Presenting them to the ParaCouncil, Shadow Proclamation, the Higher Evolutionaries and Rassilon, the Chronasi forewarned them about the Psichronomotric Gems’ powers.  Therefore, it was decided they would be given to the Tombeurian Clanstribes as the gems’ protectors. 

                Due to the abundant importance behind these mystic stones, only a few chosen were permitted having them.

                And for exceptionally sound reason.

Genfaraji subtly adjusted his gold chain, positioning the sapphire gem.  Before Dante figured out what the Fangarian was doing, the stone’s azure illumination reflected directly into the Corinthian’s eyes.  Mesmerised by the radiance, Dante’s eyes became suffused with azure force.  Face now expressionless, he seemed oblivious to Genfaraji approaching him.

                ‘Dante,’ his voice resonated with an even and serene tone. ‘you shall listen and heed my advice.. no matter what you currently hear or learn here.. you will remain completely composed and level-headed.. do you comprehend, Dante?’

          Under the Fangarian’s enchantment, Dante gave a slight nod.

                ‘When you awaken,’ he firmly instructed. ‘You shall comply..’

                With a sweeping snap  of his fingers past his subject’s face, Genfaraji freed Dante from the bewitchment.

                Waves of relaxation permeated Dante’s body, drowning out any iota of infuriation from his body.  Moments earlier, he desperately would’ve vented his discontentment at the Fangarian.  Yet, he inexplicably noticed these intense emotions were no longer accessible.  It was like as if someone had come and extracted these components from his mind.

                ‘Apologies, Dante.’ Genfaraji hated resorting to these cheap tactics. ‘But you must realise, this convocation’s not just solely about us.’ He nodded towards the orb’s images of the ships. ‘Or the Event..’ he glanced over at the Tombeurians gathered in the distance. ‘It’s about them—the welfare of our Clanstribes.’

                Dante observed the festive scene before them.  The attendants made it appear as if their gathering was more of an outing, than a solemn convocation.  Mothers and fathers tending to their offspring, young adults practicing their training, and older ones discussing current events.

                The Corinthian Elder perceived it would be severely counterproductive if they witnessed their sacred chiefs fighting amongst themselves. 

                ‘Very well,’ Dante turned to Genfaraji. ‘Then, my dear Fangarian Elder, grant me this request.’ His emerald eyes bore down upon Genfaraji’s auburn. ‘What is really going on here?’

                Dante realised the ships nestled at the Citadel weren’t conducting some brief exploration and scientific expedition.  Earlier D’lain made it perfectly clear the Locanshites were having some minor dispute with Omega.  Not to mention their brief conversation about Qqaba, and why Omega planned on destroying it.

                Releasing the air through his cheeks, Genfaraji disdainfully glanced over at D’lain and D’kari.  After several years of secrecy, they decided it was time the Corinthian Elder knew the horrifying truth.

                Gallifrey was dying.

                Of course, this wasn’t quite as earth-shattering as they had expected.  The Fandraelians sensed the grave possibility about twenty years ago.  About the time the Syli’Dal-Chi had begun experiencing slight variations in their weather patterns.  Meanwhile, the Locanshite climatologists started acknowledging unusually prolonged seasonal weather.  Particularly with Invin’Hivan and the Saison O’rgai—when the coastal storms ravaged the planet—which normally were short and tolerable.

                Though the Citadel residents were oblivious by these climate changes, Rassilon, Omega and the Shobogans weren’t.  Then when the tremors started two years ago, that’s when Rassilon commissioned the Locanshites to conduct some geological and climate tests.  Shortly thereafter, they discovered Gallifrey’s core was gradually burning out.  Nobody comprehended how this could occur, except possibly the fact after the Last Civil War, when the war machines had relied too heavily on the planet’s resources.

                Genfaraji claimed the only reason his Clanstribe learned of the impending catastrophe, was because Rassilon had privately informed them.  Meanwhile, the post-hypnotic suggestion was proving more beneficial than the Fangarian had anticipated.

                With his mind cleared of irrational emotion, Dante started analysing the evidence before him.

                Gallifrey’s imminent disaster.

                Qqaba—The Population III star at the brink of extinction.

                Omega’s dubious intentions with Qqaba.

                ‘Wait..’ he suspiciously regarded the Elders’ verification. ‘You don’t mean…’ Dante recalled the theory he developed for a perpetual BioSphere source.

                ‘Well,’ Genfaraji admitted. ‘Your theory was proposed to Rassilon. He requisitioned the project to be initiated.’

                ‘Genfaraji,’ he subtly asserted. ‘Hypothetically, the process is plausibly functional. We can’t be sure it’ll successfully work with an actual planet.’

                ‘Affirmative,’ D’lain concurred. ‘However, our quantum and astro-technicians have performed several calculations. The probability factor behind this endeavour are exceptionally favourable, especially with the modifications.’

                ‘Modifications?’

                ‘Dante,’ D’kari replied. ‘Do you once recall when you asked if it was possible to fold a singularity—like, say—a black hole?’

                Dante raised an eyebrow. ‘D’kari, I was simply tossing about questionable possibilities. I never thought—’

                ‘Tossing about or not,’ D’kari somberly acknowledged. ‘The prospect is feasible—if space can be folded, a black hole certainly can be folded onto itself—thus acquiring an efficient, unlimited power source.’

                ‘However?’ The Corinthian sensed an unspoken complication.

                ‘In order to successfully perform the dimensional procedure,’ D’lain concluded. ‘One must do it at the precise moment the Population III enters complete gravitational collapse. Therein lies the perilous difficulty, however..’

                Dante didn’t require an explanation upon the true dilemma.  In retrospect, what Omega was attempting, was not unlike someone setting off an atomic device with only a three-second detonator.

                ‘All right,’ the Corinthian exasperatedly sighed.  Regrettably he realised there was no way round this oncoming madness. ‘Perhaps Omega accomplishes detonating Qqaba, and effectively escapes the gravitational collapse. Just how are they going to contain and manipulate the black hole?’

                The orb once again responded, refocusing its image.

                Revealing another craft, it sharpened on the cobalt and platinum colour.  Possessing an intriguing, streamlined design, one speculated how this one might survive the aftereffect, let alone ensnaring a black hole.  Nevertheless, another man came out on the port platform.

                Wearing his blue and silver Omnisuit, the brown-haired figure smiled towards the crowds.  Set neatly upon the suit’s chest was the sacred symbol:  a perfect circle with the hourglass design intertwined within it.

                The symbol deftly identified the man as Rassilon himself.

                The veritable architect behind Gallifrey’s Reconstruction.  The one who established the Time Lords, promising on taking the planet out of the Dark Ages and into a new tomorrow.

Genfaraji planned on explaining the technological aspects behind Rassilon’s ship.  Except he sensed he was forgetting something important.  Something critical with the vessel’s specs and schematics.  Frowning, he turned round and stared downwards from their raised dais.  Meticulously scanning the local crowds below, Genfaraji acted as if he was searching for someone.

                ‘Pardon me, gentlemen,’ he politely excused himself. ‘It appears I’ve once again lost track of one of my attendants.’

                Surreptitiously, he dared not informing them the truth.  The engineer behind Rassilon’s ship was absent from this convocation.

                Walking down the foothold steps, the Fangarian Elder observed the spectators’ area.  Efficiently set round the Main Orb Arena, the convocation seemed more like a festival than a serious occasion.  Entering into the crowds themselves, Genfaraji civilly smiled and nodded to the other members, concealing his annoyance.  Locating the Fangarian Section, he discovered it was slightly more difficult masking his displeasure.  He graciously acknowledged some of his relatives.  After a brief search, he finally located one particular relation:  a young-adult with blonde-hair.

                Dressed in a leather jacket and Techsuit, the young Fangarian was chatting up some of the females nearby, peacefully flicking his tail.  He was completely unaware of the Fangarian Elder’s presence.

                Approaching the young man, Genfaraji caused the females to respectfully curtsy before dispersing.  Obviously the young being sensed the occurrence would commence sooner or later. 

                ‘Murphael,’ Genfaraji promptly identified.

                Slowly facing his relation, Murphael inhaled deeply.

                ‘Sen’ti Genfaraji,’ he implemented the correct protocol, considerately greeting him.  He perceived this wasn’t a social call, since they were at convocation.

                ‘Where is your Frelan?’ He curtly demanded.

                Murphael felt a profound sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach.  He despised whenever this always happened.  His Frelan was regarded as the most innovative Fangarian.  Murphael, however, considered him the most irresponsible.  Especially when it came to attending other sacred functions and convocations.  And as per usual, he found himself performing damage control. 

                ‘Apologies, Genfaraji.’ He sighed, lowering his head. ‘He was instructed this was a mandated request.’

                Genfaraji lifted Murphael’s head.  Acknowledging his older relation’s expression, he knew the Fangarian Elder was in no mood for excuses.  Reluctantly he felt the best method was giving Genfaraji the truth.

                ‘Honestly, sir. You requested an early presence for preparations. Regrettably, I foolishly left the task for my Frelan’s attendance with our D’tei.’

                ‘I see.’ Genfaraji dryly responded.  He knew it was no sense getting upset with Murphael.  First off, whenever his youngest Sobrian started acquiring a Locanshite’s speech pattern, chances are the lad was speaking the truth.  Secondly, Murphael was also the most conscientious of his Generation.  Genfaraji believed his Sobrian couldn’t deceive him even if it was necessary.

                Murphael’s D’tei, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.  At the far outer rim, Genfaraji noticed the cluster of domed pavilions.  He speculated on why and the other Elders had consulted on having a nourishment area.  After all, it wasn’t like the other members wouldn’t have brought their own provisions and temporal shelters here.  Particularly because he knew amongst the pavilions there was one serving as a makeshift tavern.

                But he also knew Trask was a family friend, and times had been hard on Low Town.  He just wished a certain relation didn’t always have this appalling habit of sniffing it out.

                ‘Ricem, Murphael,’ he gave a slight nod.  Narrowing his eyes at the dark coffee-stained pavilion, he knew where he’d go next. ‘You may attend to the others,’ he turned back to him. ‘Inform them the Event is going accordingly, I must have a word with your D’tei.’

                While Genfaraji headed towards the pavilion, Murphael alleviated his fears with a reassuring exhale.  He was auspiciously grateful not to receive another sharp tongue-lashing for his Frelan’s negligence.

                Judging from the way the Fangarian Elder was walking towards the area, he suspected his D’tei would become inevitably ensnared by a tremendous explosion.

Silarji Beer and Alamandi Wine permeated the atmosphere as he drew closer toward the domed pavilion.  Mysteriously, he pondered over the architectural configuration of the place.  Genfaraji knew the proprietors had only set up this temporal spot about eight hours ago.  Except the empty barrel and casks set upon the side, the hovering sign bearing its name—Trask’s Lost Tavern—produced the illusion it had been established here for years.

                Genfaraji didn’t need detecting the bioscent to realise Murphael’s D’tei was here.  No matter where they traveled on Gallifrey, the Universe, his relation had this remarkable penchant for locating these gathering places.  Upon Low Town’s establishment, when Trask constructed the first pub, Genfaraji knew his relation was the first customer.  The only thing perplexing him was how his relation found the time between socialising and assisting Rassilon.

                Before entering the dubious establishment, the Fangarian Elder sagely peered inside, over the saloon doors.  The last time he dared haphazardly walked into a pub, he had found himself ensnared within a bar fight.

                Genfaraji perceived Trask had gotten help from the Clanstribes.  The architecture was transdimensional.  Meaning its interior was outstandingly spacious than its limited exterior.  The soft orb lights hanging from above, the wooden bar sporting various bottles of beverages and liquors upon its back shelves, and the patrons calmly drinking, seated at the table or the bar.  Overall, he discovered the place was civilised for a change, as they seemed interested with the remote orb’s transmissions.

                Gingerly pushing the doors open, Genfaraji crossed the threshold, casually greeting the customers as he headed towards the bar.

                ‘Hello, Trask,’ he waved to the bartender, who was polishing a glass.  The man had ginger hair and was dressed in his usual attire: brown jumpsuit with crimson apron.  Next to his staff, he was the only Gallifreyan at the convocation.

                ‘ ‘e’s in the Backroom,’ Trask remarked, not diverting his attention from the glass. ‘Also rang up quite a tab on Solari Draught.’

                ‘How much?’ Genfaraji sighed, reaching into his pocket. He wondered why his relation had to have such expensive tastes.

                ‘Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it, ‘Raji,’ Trask examined the glass before replacing it upon the shelf.  He claimed Murphael had already paid in advance. ‘Apparently ‘e don’t mind if ‘is ol’ man ‘ang’s about ‘ere. Does keep ‘im out of your hair, tho.’

                Genfaraji rolled his eyes. ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you?’

                Trask smiled, realising it hadn’t taken long for his customer to get into hot water again.  He glanced over towards the oakwood archway.  The one inundated with smoke rising up to the ceiling.  Detecting the sweet-sour scent assaulting his nose, Genfaraji recognised the Selai cigars.  Personally he hated the smell, wondering why did the Gallifreyans ever take up growing tobacco, both Man and Tombeurian.

                Nonetheless, he inhaled a bit of clean air before reluctantly penetrating the acrid smoke.  Even with his infravision, Genfaraji knew it’d be impossible finding anyone in this man-made smog.  Since sight and smell were out-of-the-question, he decided on utilising the next best thing: his sensitive hearing.

                One thing he ascertained about his prey, the being loved spinning elaborate yarns about anything and everything.  No matter how exaggerated they sounded, and this tavern was the perfect atmosphere for it.  Sure enough, his ears picked up on someone prefabricating a wild anecdote.  About battling some wild Crands whilst lost in the Syli’Dal-Chi, and the inflection indicated the person had been imbibing enough Draught to knock out several Citadel Guards.

                Entering the Backroom, he acknowledged the instant silence.  Most sitting in their comfortable chairs, the plush kind he once saw on Terra.  Edwardian, he thought, wondering how this lot had acquired them.  The quiet atmosphere made it easier for him to zero in on the person.  Mainly because the being had kept right on telling the story.  Genfaraji witnessed the storyteller’s reflection from the side mirror. 

                Oblivious to the Fangarian Elder’s visitation, the being was wearing an overcoat and black suit.  He had been holding a crystal goblet of Draught and smoking a Selai.  He hadn’t a care in the world, enjoying having a row with the fellas.

                That is, until Genfaraji stepped behind his chair.

                Placing his left hand upon the storyteller’s shoulder, the Fangarian Elder sternly gripped it.  The reaction caused the man to nearly drop both his cigar and goblet.

                ‘Intriguing account, Danielcha’lam,’ he gently uttered, deftly restraining his aggravation. ‘Considering Crands have been extinct for about several years. And the last time you were in the Syli’Dal-Chi, what were you doing?’ Lifting up his head, he narrowed his eyes in the atmosphere, as if he was searching through the Past. ‘Ah, yes,’ he cast a cold gaze at Daniel. ‘You were attempting to sell that Elixir of yours to the Fandraelians.’

                Daniel nervously envisioned Genfaraji’s glistening fangs.  He was partially relieved his relation didn’t teleport in here.  The last time the Fangarian Elder performed that stunt, it had gotten Daniel banned from Trask’s for several months.  Notwithstanding, he finally regained control of his vocal chords.

                ‘Sen’ti Genfaraji..’ he quietly spoke. ‘Didn’t see you come in. Otherwise I’d order you a—’

                ‘Save it, Danielcha’lam,’ he dispersed Daniel’s cigar and goblet. ‘I wish to speak with you.’

Genfaraji coolly walked out of the ersatz tavern.  Despite his growing displeasure, he promised he dare not make a scene.  After all, it would not bode well for the Clanstribes witnessing an Elder losing it in a tavern, of all places.  Daniel apprehensively followed his relation, with his tail twitching slightly.

                ‘Genfaraji,’ he called out, attempting on catching up with his relation. ‘Genfaraji.. ‘Raji… please.’

                The Fangarian Elder promptly stopped.  Spinning round, his expression immobilised Daniel.  In fact, Genfaraji’s stern glare could’ve brought fear to both a Sontaran and Rutan. 

                ‘Daniel..’ he gradually spoke under heated breath. ‘In the Past, I’ve endured many of your schemes, your deceptions—and yes—even your fantastic adventures. Because in some demented way, you’ve helped Rassilon offer some iota of hope for this planet’s salvation.’

                ‘Why.. yes..’ Daniel puzzlingly spoke, wondering why Genfaraji hadn’t outright punished him. Usually by now, the Fangarian Elder would’ve cast some mystic reprimand.  The last time Daniel received the anti-alcoholic touch, where all beverages he came into contact with transformed into tea.

                ‘So I ask you this, Daniel?’ he accusingly stared. ‘Why is it too much for you to once help your Clanstribe out?’

                ‘But.. Genfaraj—’

                ‘I requested the presence of your immediate family, did I not?’

                Daniel frowned, probing his addled memory. ‘Yes, and we came as per request.’

                ‘Did you, now?’ Genfaraji swiftly examined the crowds, giving the air a brief sniff. ‘Then could you explain the whereabouts of your Hijan, Daniel.’

                ‘Murphael was quite diligently assisting the others setting up this convocation,’ Daniel innocently explained, scratching his head. ‘In fact, that’s why he came up here early..’

                ‘Daniel,’ Genfaraji hissed. At this point, it required every ounce of his being from losing his composure. ‘You know that’s not whom I am referring to.’  Eyes transfixed on Daniel, he spoke in a low, demanding tone. ‘I want to know, where is Harrison?’

Everything was quiet inside the Bango Forest’s underground dens.  Yet, the Fangarians residing there would tell you ‘dens’ was an inadequate description.  For the vast networks of tunnels and caverns made the place more like a subterranean village than concealed cul-de-sacs.

                Sophisticatedly networked, these tunnels and caverns interconnected the residential areas with their business district.  Remarkably if Gallifrey’s surface did become uninhabitable, the Fangarians could easily live self-sufficiently for centuries without discomfort.  The architectural configuration produced the optimum climate control, no matter the weather conditions outside.

                The residential area were hardly what one viewed as compact.  Cavernous, their interiors were designed more like a house:  distinct, specific areas, including a living room, bathroom and culinary area.  Amazingly the structures gave the illusion one was inside an oakwood house than an underground dwelling.  Even the furnishings enforced the belief one was visiting an elegant home.

Within one particular bedroom, two beings were serenely asleep under the fur-lined blanket.  The somnamattress felt cool and relaxing against their skin.  After working through a double-shift, they wanted to just enjoy their slumber uninterrupted.  Since the entire underground realm was practically empty, the only sound echoing against the walls, was the rhythmic pulse from the Holo-Chron.

                Setting upon the far nightstand, the simulated numerals automatically moved into position.  Reaching their appointed destination, the device’s alarm instantly sprang to life.  The Holo-Chron’s central orb levitated and emitted soft, iridescent light.  Slowly rotating round, it strobed its beams upon the bed’s occupants.

                The right being stirred as the light’s warm glow brushed across his cheek.  Brown-hair bangs hung down over his forehead, while his nose twitched.  His mauve bioglyphs on his cheeks revived with its own gentle illumination.  Eyes snapping open, he revealed they were golden-brown and serpentine.

                Breathing steadily, he observed the mahogany-finished ceiling above him.  The organic texture and patterns seemed far more intriguing than the apathetic steel, and polished silver, ceiling in his room at the Techn’Cothi.  If you really wanted to refer to it as a room. 

The Locanshite Clanstribe were exceptionally advanced beyond any known science and mathematics.  Being a chromosomal module from this Clanstribe, he perfectly acknowledged the Techn’Cothi served as a symbiogenetic network.  Far from being a standard living facility, beds were considered highly illogical and inefficient for rejuvenating one’s bioelectric force.  Constructed inside the smooth, nanocircuit walls,  the Locanshites utilised hyperbolic chambers connected directly into their personalised symbiocomputers.

                 Besides intricately recording and storing their BioData Extract codes, these systems functioned as a sophisticated electrocardiograph and electroencephalograph.  By regulating one’s cardiovascular and encephalic activity, these devices enabled the chambers to provide the proper bioelectric force for optimum rejuvenation.

                Nevertheless, the being discovered he sort of enjoyed the sensation of resting upon a somnamattress.  The cool, soothing sensation felt remarkably exhilarating.  There was something interesting about entering a slumber phase naturally.  Being bombarded with alpha-rhythmic waves always made the process seem forced.  One captivating aspect behind this natural sleep was experiencing this inexplicable hallucinatory effect.

                He privately wondered if this effect was what other beings denoted as ‘a dream.’

                Re-orienting himself, he surveyed the Fangarian domicile with rapt fascination.  He recognised how the place possessed an intriguingly organic atmosphere.  In contrast, the Techn’Cothi was clean, organised and had a purely antiseptic architectural.  Smooth, polished walls, stainless steel floors, and  integrated nano-biocircuitry connected within an advanced network.  Overall, the Locanshite complex’s architectural configuration was effectively the logical and practical design for sustaining biological organisms.

                Still, this particular Locanshite preferred the archaic mode of slumber.

                Such a wealth of sensations and experiences! Perhaps there were some advantages for being illogical.  He even discovered the being gently resting against his chest somewhat pleasant.

                Dark auburn hair, he was about an inch shorter than the Locanshite.  Although they were both Tombeurians, they enigmatically had humanoid bodies. 

                The Locanshite’s physique was well-built and svelte. As with his relations, he bore the Clanscrest Bioglyph on his right shoulder.  The simulated skin lacked the fur, but still had some slight hair on his lower arm.  His chest was smooth and bare.  But his Companion’s body was rather odd.

                First off, he noticed the Fangarian had some facial hair, but not like the way the Elders did.  It was like a subtle growth and some under his nose.  Upon his chest was also some fur, but nothing like the Locanshite had seen.  Subtle as well, it grew at the chest’s center, leading delicately down towards the abdomen.

                The Locanshite noted the follicle composition was not short and matted like the standard furskin.  Inexplicably, it bore a strong resemblance to hair, but he realised this couldn’t be logical.  Hair normally appeared on one’s head, face, lower arms and legs, not to mention the replicative areas.  He never found it growing elsewhere.  And this fur felt exceptionally soft against his skin.  Enthralled with these unexpected sensations, he couldn’t resist reaching over and stroking the Fangarian’s ‘chest-fur.’

                Feeling the claws gently glide over his chest-hair, the Fangarian slightly stirred.  Tail flicking a bit, his nose crinkled momentarily.  As the Holo-Chron re-directed its strobe light towards him, he felt the warm glow land against his face.

                Squinting, he sensed it was time to return from his slumber.  Secretly he wished it was Hibernation Season, he didn’t really feel like removing the alluring blanket from his body.  Until his body informed him he wasn’t alone in his bed.  Eyes snapping open, he revealed they were hazel-blue.  Gingerly realising his Locanshite comrade was stroking his chest, he first cautiously scanned their environment.  Locating the Holo-Chron, he deactivated it with a twitch of his nose.

                Yawning deeply, he gently pushed back from his comrade, giving his muscles a good stretch.

                ‘Ma’tain, Tsi’Drael.’ He sleepily replied.

                ‘Correction, Harrison,’ Tsi’Drael glanced over at the Holo-Chron. ‘According to your chronological apparatus, the current phase is now Sor’ain.’

                Deciphering the illuminated numerals positioned on the Holo-Chron, Harrison regrettably knew Tsi’Drael was correct.

                ‘Nine Bells,’ he sighed, putting his dark hand against his head.  ‘Overslept again.’  With all the scientific and mechanical abilities at his fingertips, he found it mystifying he could never properly set the alarm on those things.  He originally wanted setting it for RetroNine Bells, so he could get Tsi’Drael cleaned up, back to the Techn’Cothi and to the convocation before anyone suspected anything was wrong.  Regrettably Harrison knew this option was already gone, and sensed Genfaraji would no doubt detect his absence.

                The Fangarian concluded it was futile getting anxious, or needless upset, about the incident now. 

                ‘Oh, well,’ he put his hand down, ‘nothing for it, I suppose.’

The first thing Harrison intended on doing was getting out of bed.  Reaching for the blanket, his legs were suddenly caught in a tight, scissors-hold grip.  Next came a soothing brush of a tail against his lower leg.

                ‘Harrison,’ Tsi’Drael drew closer, seductively kissing the Fangarian’s shoulder.

                Smiling wryly, Harrison faced the Locanshite, raising an eyebrow.

                Tsi’Drael whispered softly in his native tongue, which came out with indecipherable, electronic sounds.

                Hazel-blue eyes establishing contact with the golden-brown, serpentine, Harrison perceived the Locanshite was attempting on being romantic.  Before he fully comprehended Tsi’Drael’s intention, the Locanshite promptly embraced him intimately.  Closing his eyes, Harrison accepted the erotic move.  Impressed with Tsi’Drael’s spontaneous action, the Fangarian didn’t have the heart revealing the truth to him.

                Absolutely nothing had happened between them last night.  In fact, they were currently wearing slumber shorts.

                The truth behind last night was an ordeal Harrison would have soon just as well forget.

When Rassilon and his Consortium established the Citadel, they had already started conducting several experiments.  One specifically focused on time and relative dimension travel.  In order for these achievements becoming a reality, Rassilon considered it practical—if not diplomatic—for working in tandem with the Locanshites and Fandraelians.

                Though some Fangarians were involved, it was Harrison’s distinctive aptitude for developing specialised innovations, which caught the Consortium’s attention.  Thus, it was hardly overwhelming when Rassilon appointed Harrison the title of Parachronistic Engineer.

Briefly, Harrison realised the Citadel itself proved in being a physical contradiction in perspective.  Naturally the outer interface definitely was fabricated as a forgotten monument from the Ancient Times.  As if it had originated from one of the surviving archives, many believed Rassilon had extracted the tower from Gallifrey’s Past, just before Mal’Chron had fallen.  The Citadel even had a simulated drawbridge.  Except Harrison doubted the Ancient Gallifreyans used retracting walkways for a proper drawbridge.

                But when one crossed through the stone archway, one would enigmatically find themselves inside an advanced, scientific complex.  Harrison recalled that’s how it was when he first arrived at the Citadel.  Vaguely reminding him of the Techn’Cothi, he observed the immense domed ceiling, the infinite cubicles set against the smooth, curved walls, the antigravitic lifts, and technicians and residents rapidly moving about the place.

                And all of this was merely the Main Lobby!

                Notwithstanding,  Harrison was given his own personal Workshop and an associate.  A Locanshite TechConsultant known as Tsi’Drael.  Privately he noticed something a bit off about this Locanshite.  As he last recalled, Locanshites weren’t exactly quite the athletic type, but Tsi’Drael seemed as if he worked out at the Citadel’s Fitness Centre.

                Other than this anomaly, the Locanshite indeed proved invaluable with Harrison’s work.  Generally Harrison and Tsi’Drael developed both an intrinsic, productive professional, and personal, relationship.

Currently, last night’s incident was still burning in his thoughts.  Decked in his Techsuit, with his Clanscrest set upon his right shoulder kit, Harrison was at the North Hangar.  When Rassilon informed him about the current project, Harrison wasted no time attending to his assignment.

                Inspecting the newly-constructed vessel, he recollected it required several months producing it.  Originally Rassilon simply wanted a modification performed on the older crafts.  Harrison and Tsi’Drael revealed they were severely outdated.  Essentially the circuitry barely could contain the voltage needed, let alone efficiently power the necessary equipment.  Thus Rassilon commissioned them for craft reconstruction from the ground up.

After enduring many, industrious late-shifts, excruciating live-in days, they finally had successfully accomplished the impossible.

                Touching his data-pad, Harrison had been conducting some last-minute systems check with Rassilon.  Using the pad to reveal a holographic schematic of the elaborate drive, he explained the craft could withstand the astronomical gravity forces without probably hull deterioration.

                ‘Tsi’Drael calculates the safe operational window will remain for about 3.571 heures.’

                ‘Yes..’ Rassilon studied the image. ‘So that’s when your system will automatically engage?’

                ‘Correct, sir.’ Touching another section of the pad, Harrison converted the image into the Main Control Panel. ‘That’s when your control system will activate the transduction warp inverter. I regret it’s not been properly tested, but using Tsi’Drael’s mathematical computations, I’ve devised a feasible time table.’

                ‘Indeed.’ Rassilon became fascinated with the image. ‘Just how feasible are we talking about, Harrison?’

                Tightening up on the emulated panel, Harrison zoomed in on the display. ‘Had one of the Fandraelians given me an educated projection, since they’ve more experienced with such events. This display will appear on-screen when the Population III detonates.’  He indicated once the radiation emissions were recorded, the gauge would immediately come online.  Pointing to the oblong, vertical image, Harrison explained how it functioned. ‘When the indicator reaches at this point here,’ he moved his finger at the gauge’s centre. ‘That’s when you must engage the inverter. At this juncture, the Population III will have entered complete gravitational collapse. I can’t stress this enough, Lord Rassilon.’

                ‘And the inverter shall do the rest,’ Rassilon concluded. ‘Excellent, Harrison,’ he smiled. ‘Your team has performed exceptionally well.’

                Deactivating the tablet, Harrison replaced it back to his side pouch. ‘Not so sure, sir. The procedure doesn’t leave an ample margin of error, I fear.’

                ‘Desperate times usually call for desperate measures, Harrison,’ Rassilon sighed. ‘If there was a safer alternative, I would not hesitate initiating it.’

                Removing his goggles, he intently looked at Rassilon.

                ‘May I be completely honest, Lord Rassilon?’

                Rassilon nodded.

                ‘Why must you make this journey? I know you’ve probably have your reasons, but this is more than some calculated risk. If you do not succeed..’

                Rassilon comprehended the young Fangarian’s foreboding.  Placing his hand upon Harrison’s shoulder, he told him how Gallifreyan Man’s ancestors had thoughtlessly embroiled themselves with near intergalactic conflicts.  How they believed the illusion they could forge empires throughout the galaxy, when they could barely manage their own civilisation here.

                He remembered the Tombeurian Clanstribes had altruistically stepped in, performing crucial damage control for the sins of his people.  Consequently, Rassilon perceived his people could no longer permit the Clanstribes on being Gallifrey’s diplomatic, clean-up crew.  For once, he realised the time came for his people to take responsibility for their actions.

                ‘If it means self-sacrificing everything to do it, so be it.’ Rassilon declared, but then he smiled at Harrison. ‘But I have faith in your fellow Clanstribes, Tsi’Drael, and you, Harrison. Together, we shall not only usher in a New Age, but also save our planet as well.’

                Harrison still wasn’t convinced about this, however, he placed a reassuring hand on Rassilon’s shoulder and smiled.

                ‘Ricem,’ he softly spoke. ‘I hope only the best for you, Lord Rassilon, and Gallifrey.’

In retrospect, Harrison considered he had been somewhat dismissive with Rassilon.  Secretly, he realised it was more important for the Gallifreyan to concentrate upon this precarious experiment.  Harrison identified his own personal apprehensions weren’t quite proactive for Gallifrey at the moment.

                For now, he would simply finish up here and return to the tranquil atmosphere of the Bango Forest.  His muscles greatly desired a soothing, aqua sonic shower.  He also preferred sleeping in his own bed, for a change, than those alpha-rhythmic cots here.  Even if Tsi’Drael was accustomed to them, Harrison found it disturbing having sleep forced on you.  Overall, he thought being in familiar surroundings might disperse his qualms.

                Regrettably, while Harrison continued tidying up at the hangar, he never anticipated a sudden detour in his plans.

Sealing his shoulder kit, the Fangarian’s supersensitive hearing picked up a disturbing conversation down the hall.  In the private sector, where Rassilon and the Consortium resided.

                ‘What do you mean, “you’ve a communication” for Lord Omega?’ the stern voice demanded. ‘He cannot be disturbed. Give it to him tomorrow!’

                Registering the Citadel Guard’s brusque tone, Harrison promptly identified him.

                ‘Griff..’ he bitterly hissed under his breath.

                Ever since the Fangarian had worked in the Citadel, Griff was one of the most ill-tempered soldiers of the Citadel Guard.  Besides having this appalling habit of throwing his weight around, Griff cast no illusion with his feelings about Tombeurians and Shobogans.  Whenever he was in the area, Harrison always maintained complete restraint round Griff.  Despite times when the Fangarian would’ve loved giving the guardsman a well-placed Parakinetic jolt.  There were other times Harrison speculated on how such a disagreeable sort had ever been inducted into the Guard.

                Accustomed to Griff’s standard behaviour, Harrison was about to ignore the heated conversation.  Except when the Fangarian heard whom Griff was arguing with, Harrison became instantly concerned.

                ‘Negative.’ The uniformed voice responded. ‘Raising your tone is irrelevant. I have been directly instructed by C’ial D’lain to deliver this—’

                Tsi’Drael. Preoccupied with his own devices, Harrison had forgotten his associate was also working late as well.  He also forgot Griff despised the Locanshites more than any of the Clanstribes.  One reason was arguing with a Locanshite was like debating with a computer.  Basically they integrated pure logic and practicality in their culture, they rarely gave into demonstrative reactions based on emotion.  Meaning insults, epithets and other negative reactions were impervious to a Locanshite.

                In fact, most Locanshite’s found it incessantly perplexing when others’ tempers flared over their composed temperament.  But what occurred next, was something Harrison doubted any Locanshite dared anticipate.

                ‘Git on, you!’ Griff growled, followed by a loud, discerning smack. ‘Bloody walkin’ machines..’

                Harrison immediately left the hangar like a shot.  Utilising his remarkable attributes, the Fangarian sprinted through the endless corridors, triangulating the source of the sound.  With amazing accuracy, Harrison expediently stopped between Griff and Tsi’Drael.

                Reviewing it in slow-motion, Harrison turned his right shoulder towards Griff’s next oncoming blow.  The padded toolkit deftly blocked Griff’s assault, while the Fangarian entered in a defensive stance.  Claws extracted, eyes suffused with crimson, Harrison eerily whispered with a deadly hiss.

                ‘s’reti..’  He accusingly stared at the Citadel Guard.

                Griff smiled amusingly at the defender, while Tsi’Drael was recovering from the earlier attack.

                ‘What?’ he amusedly noted. ‘So the little lupic has come defending the living computer, has he?’

                Harrison’s blood boiled at the phrase Griff used describing the Fangarian.  Instinctively, his first priority was checking on Tsi’Drael than settling things with Griff.   Without letting down his guard, Harrison gingerly glanced at his associate.  Slowly straightening up, Tsi’Drael turned.

                Not demonstrating any discomfort, the Locanshite revealed his left eye was severely bruised.  Curiously, the tip of the Bioglyph, under his eye appeared damaged.  Harrison noticed it mysteriously was sparking, like a damaged circuit, spewing forth bioelectric energy.

Yet, as he turned back towards Griff, the Citadel Guard enigmatically had a staser pistol aimed at him.

                ‘So,’ Harrison noted the crystalline barrel’s unusual silver glaze. ‘Never knew you’d resort to your weapon.’

                ‘Oh, this isn’t just a standard issue weapon,’ Griff purred. ‘This, mate, has been specifically designed for the likes of you and your witchy lot.’

                Magnalite.. Harrison recognised the Paranormal’s bane.  Designed for suppressing supernatural forces, he knew this element had been used during the War of the Ancients and the Sorcerion Conflict.  Even if it didn’t kill him, he knew the burning sensation definitely was something he didn’t want to endure.

                ‘Right, then,’ Griff contemptuously gazed. ‘You just shove off on your merry way, Harrison. This is between me and the walkin’ mainframe over there.’

                ‘Or you’ll what?’ Harrison remained on the defensive. ‘Shoot us in cold blood? Wonder what the Castellan might say about that?’ His eyes darted to the staser, then back on Griff. ‘Or about having an illegally-modified arsenal in your possession?’

                Griff nearly laughed at Harrison’s suggestion.  The security monitors were temporarily off-line at this hour, and as far as anyone cared, these Tombeurians were aggressive beings. ‘I’ll report you lot ganged up on me. And I got this off of you, and defended myself. Who are they going to believe, eh?’ He glanced at Tsi’Drael and Harrison. ‘Two lupics who’ve absolutely no business in here…’

                ‘Or perhaps an overzealous Guard who thinks he’s got to shoot the messenger, hmm?’ The gentleman responded as he came into the hall, prompting Griff to stand down.

                Dressed in his robes, the man had been taking his late constitutional when he detected the disturbance.  Harrison immediately bowed to him as Tsi’Drael.

                ‘Sigma,’ Harrison identified. ‘Apologies if we disturbed you,’ he cast an icy glare towards Griff. ‘Seems I caught Tsi’Drael and Guardsman Griff having a difference of opinion.’

                Sigma nodded, briefly examining the Locanshite’s damage. ‘I see.’ He turned towards Griff. ‘What was the problem, Guardsman?’

                Realising he might be caught, Griff weakly explained Tsi’Drael wanted to see Omega.  But Omega instructed he was not to be disturbed.  Tsi’Drael calmly rebutted the statement, by indicating D’lain wanted him to give Omega an important communication.

                ‘Ah,’ Sigma sarcastically added. ‘And fearing it might contain something inflammatory, Guardsman, you deemed it necessary to apply unnecessary force on our dear Tsi’Drael, did you?’ 

                Griff hesitated while Sigma sharply looked at the man. ‘Sir, it was nothing like…’

                ‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Sigma curtly stated, walking past him.  Heading towards the door, he touched the entry pad.

                The holoscreen materialised with Omega looking out. ‘Yes? Who is it?’

                ‘Apologies for disturbing you, Lord Omega.’ Sigma addressed the image, gesturing towards the Locanshite. ‘But it seems young Tsi’Drael has a communication from the Locanshite Elder D’lain. One of great concern, I might add.’

                Harrison watched as the door opened, revealing Omega in his robes.  Tsi’Drael did not brook any time giving Omega the data cube.

                ‘Apologies, Lord Omega,’ he graciously bowed. ‘D’lain realises you require proper rest, but feared you needed learning about the infodata you requested about tomorrow’s agenda.’

                ‘Yes,’ Omega graciously took the crystalline cube. ‘Thank you…’ he then noticed the Locanshite’s injury. ‘Tsi’Drael, what happened to..’

                ‘An unfortunate incident, Milord,’ Sigma interrupted. ‘Young Harrison was taking him to the MedCentre, when D’lain made the entreaty.’

                Meanwhile Griff automatically returned the staser into his concealed holster.  The last thing he wanted was Omega discovering his augmented pistol.  Though Magnalite weapons weren’t directly illegal, even the Citadel Guardsmen needed a specialised permit having them.

                Before Omega left, Sigma made another observation.

                ‘Seems you might want to dismiss Guardsman Griff, Milord,’ he noted. ‘I fear, he is in dire need of some relief.’ He stared into Griff’s eyes. ‘Perhaps a three-day leave, might be in order.’

                Omega activated his comlink. ‘Castellan, this is Omega. Do you have anyone available for late-cycle shift?’

                ‘Affirmative, sir. Guardsman Drias, is available.’

                ‘Please send Drias to relieve Guardsman Griff for the night.’

                ‘Affirmative, sir. Castellan to Guardsman Drias, please head over to Lord Omega’s quarters and relieve Guardsman Griff.’

                ‘Clear, Castellan, Drias out.’

                Omega smiled, looking at an astonished Griff. ‘Now then, Guardsman, when Drias relieves you, you may return to your private chambers.’

                Realising he had been outwitted by Sigma, Griff had no option but to bow politely and accept the order.

                Before Omega returned to his chamber, he added he wanted Griff to remain at his post until Drias arrived.  Afterwards, he politely dismissed Harrison, Sigma and Tsi’Drael.

Harrison recalled after Griff left, Tsi’Drael suddenly became disoriented.  Sigma immediately examined the damage, stating the Locanshite needed medical attention immediately.  Otherwise, Tsi’Drael could suffer complete biosystem shut down, and then there would be an investigation pending from it.  Ironically, this was the reason Harrison didn’t want admitting Tsi’Drael into the MedCentre.

                Sigma comprehended the Fangarian’s reluctance.  By Gallifreyan Law, the MedCentre would most definitely contact either D’lain, or Tsi’Drael’s next of kin.  Keeping this incident from Omega was one thing, but preventing it from reaching the other Clanstribes and Rassilon was another thing entirely.  Fortunately, Harrison knew some temporal first aid.

                Extracting his personal medkit from his shoulder pad, he found the appropriate equipment for Tsi’Drael.  Applying a bioelectric repair patch over the damaged Bioglyph, Harrison managed delaying the damage’s effects momentarily.

                Sigma then recalled one possible solution, while Harrison put up the medkit.

                ‘Harrison, you’re going back to the Bango Forest, I take it?’

                ‘I was.’

                ‘Then, m’boy, you need to go and take Tsi’Drael there as well.’ Sigma examined his pocket watch. He then did something Harrison never expected.  Sigma activated one of the private emergency lifts. ‘This will take you both directly out of the Citadel. If you both head back now, you’ll meet up with Eli.’

                Harrison wasted no time getting himself and Tsi’Drael into the lift.  He knew if anyone could help the Locanshite, it was Eli.  Thanking Sigma, they watched as the door slid closed and they rushed downwards.

                Still disoriented, Tsi’Drael turned to Harrison.  ‘Harrison, why… why did you.. intervene?’

                Observing the Locanshite’s innocent expression, with the discolored patch and bruised eye, all Harrison was able to do was something unexpected.  He reached over and intimately kissed the Locanshite.  At the time, Tsi’Drael was ultimately bewildered with this behavioral response.  From his perspective, although intriguingly pleasant, he failed on comprehending how erotic affection could provide an acceptable solution.

Harrison racked his brain for applying a sensible reason behind the spontaneous move.  Ironically, he realised if he had been able in doing so, the entire incident obviously wouldn’t be ‘spontaneous.’  Concerned with Tsi’Drael’s condition, he feared he was sympathetically acquiring the Locanshite’s thinking process.

Reaching the Bango Forest seemed like miles than the usual sprints Harrison took when he used the secret path.  Providentially, the frost winds hadn’t summoned forth the seasonal snow.  Enchanting orchid scents indicated they were nearing their destination.

                ‘Hang on, Tsi,’ Harrison reassured him. ‘We’re just about there. Hopefully we haven’t missed Eli.’

                ‘Affirm..ative..’ Tsi’Drael attempted reserving his strength.  The damage wasn’t severe as he anticipated, but his mind began activating emergency power down procedures.  He speculated on why he hadn’t sensed Griff’s motives and appropriately defended himself.  Perhaps it was due to the directive D’lain had given him.  The one pertaining he never assault anyone within the Citadel for any reason.  If Eli managed repairing his biostructure, Tsi’Drael decided a revision for this directive would be in order.

Entering within the Bango Forest Oak’s central hub, Harrison scanned the symmetrical coves and dens.  For once, he was relieved they hadn’t initiated the Seasonal Reconfiguration this year.  The Osp’Dal Alcove was at the far right.  With everyone preparing for the convocation, Harrison knew they’d have no problem going through the vast area undetected.  The last thing he needed was Genfaraji finding out about this before the Event.  He knew the Fangarian Elder had invested heavily in organising this impromptu gathering.  Especially during this time of year, and at the last-minute.  He found it amazing Genfaraji hadn’t gone out his mind, especially not only contending with Dante, but Daniel’s nonsense as well.  Harrison speculated on how Daniel ended up being his D’tei.

                Guess what the Ancient saying rings true, he thought. One cannot select one’s relations.

            Astonishingly Sigma was indeed correct about Eli being there.  With Hibernation Season approaching, he was ensuring the Clanstribes were sufficiently well-stocked with biomedical supplies and pharmaceuticals.  Besides the arrival of the deep snows, Invin’Hivan was infamous for its flu and viral seasons.  Meaning searching for medicinal herbs and plants was extremely difficult this time of year.

                Ebony-haired and brown eyed, Eli didn’t rightly give the impression he was a symbiomedical technician.  Nor the fact he was an incredible apothecary.  In fact, with his ivory lab coat and onyx biosuit, one might have easily mistaken Eli for a displaced assistant.   His outfit curiously concealed his true physique, though his muscles skillfully filled into his suit. 

                Once Harrison had caught Eli out of his standard attire.  It was when the Fangarian had joined him at the Syli’Dal-Chi.  Witnessing his well-developed figure, Harrison thought Eli looked more like a forgotten, primeval warrior.  The only thing entirely out-of-place was the being’s head.  Although he did wear an orange headband,  Eli’s head didn’t quite blend in with the illusion.

                Rather than having a long, flowing mullet, cascading down to one’s shoulders, his hair was neatly combed and cropped short.  Another thing was Eli’s face wasn’t stocky, nor burly, but youthfully smooth.

                Enigmatically, Eli sported similar, claw-tipped hands and tail.  Conversely, his hands were light gray, and his tail possessed an abnormal, flesh-coloured tint.  But these discrepancies were straightforward enough:  Eli was the first, organic Genet hybrid between Tombeurian and Gallifreyan.

                His chromosomal make-up proved it challenging for determining which Clanstribe he once originated from.  Or which of the parents was the Tombeurian or Gallifreyan.

                Consequently, Eli’s background didn’t matter to either race, since they both revered him as one of the Gran R’halee.

                An Ancient Gallifreyan Healer.

                His extensive knowledgeable skills of the medical sciences and pharmacology proved it.

                Therefore, it didn’t require a genius for one realising whenever you needed expedient medical attention, you went directly to Eli.

When Eli observed Tsi’Drael’s condition, Eli instructed Harrison on taking the Locanshite into the back examination area.  Once inside, Eli assisted Harrison with placing the Locanshite upon the table.

                Carefully manipulating Tsi’Drael in a sitting  position, Eli then directed Harrison to safely back away.  Harrison knew Eli wasn’t being rude, while the being reached inside his biosuit.  Nonchalantly extracting an amulet, he revealed its opulent design:  an antediluvian sun with a polished stone for its centre.  Gold spires stretching out from it, connecting the perfect circle which they orbited it.

                Removing his specs, Eli touched the amulet’s stone.  The top circle spire illuminated with mystic force.  With perfect synchronisation, the light danced from each spire’s circle, rhythmically orbiting round the central stone.  The movement was almost like viewing an archaic clock.

                Eyes suffused with golden energy, Eli stared directly into Tsi’Drael’s eyes.

                ‘Tsi’Drael..’ his voice resonated with an alluring tone, echoing into the Locanshite’s mind. ‘Inhale deeply for me… Concentrate upon my amulet.’

          The amulet’s light pattern  captivated the Locanshite.  Before Tsi’Drael realised what was going on, the amulet’s influence had mesmerised him.

                Satisfied with the initial result, Eli imperceptibly focused his amulet with his left hand.  Strobing its pulsating light directly into Tsi’Drael’s eyes, he noticed how it elegantly swam within the golden pools.  Eyes dilating, the widening slits indicated the Locanshite was becoming instantly relaxed.

                ‘Excellent.’  Eli indelibly smiled.  ‘Exhale slowly, Tsi’Drael. All discomfort, pain and concealed anxiety shall completely drain itself from your physical body. Do you comprehend?’

          ‘Affirmative.’ Tsi’Drael automatically responded.  Entranced, he didn’t once divert his attention away from the amulet’s hypnotic movements.

                ‘from this moment on,’ Eli smoothly commanded. ‘You shall only acknowledge the sound of my voice, Tsi’Drael. You will listen and accept only my suggestions. Do you comprehend?’

                ‘Affirmative.’

                Closing his eyes briefly, Eli relaxed  with a comforting smile.  At this juncture, he realised it best on being extremely cautious with how he phrased his words.  Performing somnolent induction upon a Locanshite wasn’t exactly the same as performing it on another subject.

                ‘Now, Tsi’Drael,’ he cautiously instructed. ‘You will mentally count backwards from five. As you reach each regression.. your body will become more and more relaxed.. also you shall find it difficult maintaining consciousness.. when you reach one.. you shall enter a deep, peaceful slumber. Do you comprehend?’

                ‘Affirmative.’

                Eli approvingly nodded. ‘Begin.’

Harrison had been observing Eli’s specialised treatment from a safe distance.  Instinctively, he knew Eli rarely implanted his amulet on patients.  Similar with Genfaraji’s gem, its effects were a bit unpredictable.  And he seriously doubted Eli wanted two beings entranced for an emergency examination.

                Nevertheless Eli discovered it was a better alternative when he couldn’t administer anesthetics on certain patients.

                Tsi’Drael’s body reacted as he initiated the mental countdown.  His muscles started relaxing, then his eyelids gradually lowered, until they were closed.  Inexplicably, the Locanshite was ultimately under Eli’s enchantment.  Harrison seemed mystified at such an impossible feat.

Delicately placing his right hand under Tsi’Drael’s chin, Eli lifted the Locanshite’s head.  Though Eli was certain he had successfully put his patient under, it was important he reinforce the effect.  It wouldn’t help matters if Tsi’Drael unwittingly came out of it while he was conducting the examination.

                Eli, however, knew he no longer required the charismatic intonation.

                ‘Tsi’Drael,’ he softly whispered. ‘You are now within a deep, restful slumber. No longer cognisant of your surroundings except for my voice. You no longer experience pain or physical discomfort. If you acknowledge this, nod once for me, Tsi’Drael.’

                The Locanshite compliantly nodded once.

                With dexterous precision, Eli activated the diagnostic syscomp on his right arm.  The connection wires awakened as they traveled upwards to his index and middle finger bioscanners.  Reaching towards Tsi’Drael’s face, he moved the bioscanners over the injured area. 

                His clawtips emitted soft, azure light, sweeping about the Locanshite’s left eye and Bioglyph.

                ‘Shh..’  Eli soothingly spoke while obtaining the medical readings. ‘You are now within total slumber, Tsi’Drael, oblivious towards all outside forces. You shall no longer feel any negative stimulus of any kind.’ Slowly reacting his arm from his patient, Eli inspected the syscomp’s built-in display. ‘You shall not awaken until I suggest it.’

                Releasing his amulet, Eli deftly performed a swift sleight of hand.  Producing sound diffusers, he promptly inserted them into Tsi’Drael’s ears.  Checking they were tightly secured, he then made a resounding clap.

                ‘AWAKEN!’  Eli forcefully commanded.

                The Locanshite didn’t response.  Tsi’Drael didn’t even flinch in the slightest.  Surveying his proficiency with some satisfaction, Eli relievingly sighed.

                ‘All right, Harrison,’ he called, replacing his amulet back under his biosuit. ‘You can now safely enter and assist me with Tsi’Drael.’

Touching the examination table’s inset panel, Harrison converted it into a recliner shape.  Eli gradually leaned Tsi’Drael back, placing the mesmerised Locanshite onto the headrest.  The inset, examination light automatically activated with a slight hum.

                ‘Apologies, Hare,’ Eli replaced his specs while heading towards the far-end desk.  Touching the datapad screen with his finger bioscanners, he downloaded the diagnostic BioData. ‘I rarely implement the PsiChronas for anesthetic induction.’ Picking up the datapad, he started operating the holo-touch screen controls. ‘Problem with Locanshites, they can repress emotion, yet, they can’t control autonomic reactionary functions.’

                Generating a holographic diagram of Tsi’Drael’s face, the datapad applied the BioData from Eli’s syscomp.  Expanding the injured area, Eli subtly removed the epidermal layer from the image. 

                Harrison acknowledged Tsi’Drael’s cranium structure.  On first glance, it appeared normal enough, as what any Tombeurian would have.  Except when Eli scrolled down towards the Bioglyph, Harrison witnessed something rather disturbing.  Nanocircuitry intricately networked itself into an organised pattern, pulsing elegantly with bioelectric energy.

                Interestingly enough, these circuits weren’t grafted upon Tsi’Drael’s face.  If Harrison didn’t know better, it appeared as if the nanotech was biologically grown.  He wasn’t certain how this was possible.  Then again, the Locanshites were known for always making the impossible possible.

                ‘No structural damage to the skeletal system,’ Eli deciphered the symbols flashing across the image. ‘A few broken vessels near the optical area. Definitely Griff’s work.’ Dispersing the holographic image, he headed towards one of the upper cabinets. ‘I swear, I think the man’s addicted to hyperstims, last week alone, I had to treat another one of his victims.’

                Harrison grimly viewed his slumbering associate.  He didn’t fancy having Tsi’Drael being categorised as a victim.

                While extracting some phials and equipment, Eli sensed his slight faux pas.  Placing the stuff upon the operating tray, he apologised to Harrison.

                ‘Been so busy lately,’ Eli admitted. ‘I forget myself and tend to ramble on.’

Harrison recalled why Eli had used the PsiChronas on Tsi’Drael.  Apparently when Locanshites feel threatened, their body undergo a brief self-defensive mode.    However, Locanshites don’t simply tense up their muscles and brace themselves for the worst.  Due to their symbiotic neurosystems, Locanshites will perform one of their two self-defense processes.

                One deals with them generating an intense bioelectric force throughout their body.  Eli once unfortunately discovered this when he examined a Locanshite for the first time.  Luckily, his biosuit absorbed most of the force, leaving him only enduring a nasty shock.  The other method dealt with what Sigma had described earlier to Harrison.

                ‘Actually,’ Eli produced his medkit, ‘Their personal symbiocomp detects possible threats, including physical harm, and immediately places them under standby mode.’  Selecting a few items from the medkit, he placed them along with the items on the tray.  ‘The problem is, you can’t establish any medical help until you can return them back to their symbiocomp for instant revival.’

                ‘That’s why you used the PsiChronas, then,’ Harrison concluded.  He noticed a strange packet containing a mauve-gel substance upon the tray.

                ‘Well,’ Eli studied the items on the tray. ‘It also helped Tsi’Drael was temporarily disoriented, otherwise, I’d doubt it would’ve worked. Locanshites have incredibly-strong psi capabilities.’  Producing two ear-pod devices from his side pack, Eli put one on, giving the other one to Harrison.

                Touching the pod, it created a surgical Energon mask over Eli’s face.  Harrison instinctively followed suit.

                Eli approached Tsi’Drael, inspecting Harrison’s first aid. ‘I’m rather impressed with the temporal patch,’ he noticed how it kept the bioelectric force from leaking out. ‘You managed in successfully establishing a brief circuit link.  However, I fear the impaired nanocircuit’s will need to be replaced immediately.’  He stood up looking dubiously at Tsi’Drael’s body. ‘You wouldn’t know how old Tsi’Drael is offhand, would you?’

                Harrison thought for a moment and frowned. ‘About my age.. 170, I think.’

                Returning to the tray, Eli conducted some last-minute preparations. ‘Ah, that explains it.  Apparently his Bioglyphic membranes haven’t been fully developed.’ Scanning amongst the equipment and vials, he ensured he hadn’t forgotten anything. ‘Locanshites’ Bioglyphs aren’t just specialised birthmarks. In reality, they’re nanocircuit-neuro interfaces. Because of their ultra-sensitivity, the Clanstribe doesn’t normally permit their young out until they reach 190. That’s when their protective membranes come in.’

                ‘If that’s true,’ Harrison speculated. ‘Then why did they—’

                ‘Probably thought Tsi’Drael’d be perfectly safe performing as your Citadel assistant. Guess they never anticipated someone like Griff.’

                Harrison nervously observed the tray’s items. ‘So what exactly are you going to do, Eli?’

                Eli inspected the vials. ‘We are going to perform the replacement operation.’ He glanced at the packet. ‘But as a preventive, I’m also going to strengthen Tsi’Drael’s membranes as well.’ He hesitated momentarily. ‘Oh, crap.’

                Harrison promptly went over to him.  He feared Eli might have forgotten something important.

                Eli was now holding up a vial of crimson liquid.  It resembled pomegranate tea, but gave off a sickly-sweet scent.

                ‘Thought I’d brought animode, but it seems I accidentally packed silanidrine instead. Guess I never imagined I was going to need it.’

                Recognising the biochemical, Harrison incredulously stared at Eli. ‘I though you couldn’t use anesthetics on Tsi’Drael.’

                ‘That was only for placing him under, Harrison.’ Eli smiled. ‘In order for us to operate on him, his neuro-net must be temporarily disabled.’

                ‘So what’s wrong?’ Harrison glanced at the vial.

                ‘Animode functions more effectively on Locanshites.’

                ‘And silanidrine doesn’t?’

                ‘Not quite,’ Eli thoughtfully noted. ‘Both work practically the same, but silanidrine produces an unexpected side-effect in them.’

                ‘Side-effect?’ Harrison raised a quizzical eyebrow.

                ‘It’ll make ‘Drael… more relaxed,’ Eli realised he had no time retrieving the animode. ‘This’ll work, I suppose. C’mon, Harrison, we need to make that repair.’

Harrison’s memory had become vague at this moment.  The operation had only taken several minutes to perform, but it felt more like several heures.  Remarkably the procedure was a success as Eli waited a few minutes before bringing Tsi’Drael out from his trance.  Harrison immediately discovered why the Gran R’halee had been reluctant using silanidrine.  Evidently more relaxed must have translated from aphrodisiac, because all Tsi’Drael wanted was to embrace Harrison.

                Or as the Locanshite referred to is as ‘intimate stimulation.’

Nevertheless Eli helped the Fangarian bring the disoriented Tsi’Drael into Harrison’s bedroom.  Although everything was hazy, Harrison had found himself in bed with Tsi’Drael.  He attributed this to possible fatigue, since he was completely unprepared for this incident. Mysteriously, a pungent aroma invaded his nose, shattering his memories and teleporting back to Reality.

                ‘Erg..,’ Harrison grimaced, pushing himself away from Tsi’Drael.

                The Locanshite appeared perplexed. ‘Was it initiated incorrectly? Perhaps I overlooked—’

                ‘Uh, no, Tsi,’ Harrison casually pulled off the blanket. ‘Don’t you smell us?’

                ‘Affirmative,’ Tsi’Drael innocently remarked. ‘I presumed the scent invokes stimulation. As with other creatures utilise for luring favourable mates.’

                Harrison rolled his eyes. ‘No, Tsi’Drael.’ He walked over to his wardrobe. ‘That scent is not a pheromone. It means we haven’t bathed since yesterday.’  Locating the onyx attaché case, he pulled it out.  He was glad Murphael hadn’t found it.  Despite his time at the Citadel, he still hated it when his Frelan invaded his room.

                Murphael had this constantly-annoying habit of borrowing his stuff.  Harrison wasn’t concerned about not getting it back in good condition.  Instead he pondered on why his Frelan never replaced anything back in its proper place.  He once recalled his So’ran T’cshiba had miraculously save one of his Techsuits from the Laundromat.   Apparently Murphael had foolishly put it into the Lavira hamper rather than the soniclean cabinet.

                Infuriated by his Frelan’s absent-mindedness, Harrison knew very well Omnimorphic fabric wasn’t hydrogen-friendly.  And the last thing he wanted doing was explaining to Rassilon on how he disintegrated an expensive outfit.

                Not to mention why Murphael needed one.

Meanwhile Tsi’Drael was left to his own devices.  Regaining full control of his motor skills, he successfully sat up in bed.  Self-diagnostics activated, informing him his disorientation was now alleviated.

                Previous biological injuries were now minimised, as healing functions commenced.  Bioglyph nanocircuits were repaired and operating normally.  He sensed his Bioglyphs were mystifyingly reinforced.  Strengthened, in fact, which made him speculate how Eli managed obtaining the proper biocompound.

                Olfactory senses returning, they automatically confirmed Harrison’s earlier hypothesis.  He definitely realised the bioscent’s pungent identification wasn’t designed for mutual attraction.

                ‘Apologies for my gross misassumption,’ he placed his feet against the floor’s cool surface.  Another intriguing sensation, Tsi’Drael distinguished the texture was different than the tiles at the Techn’Cothi. ‘Apparently I am inadvertently responsible for our.. unhygienic state…’

                Taking the case over and placing it upon the bed, Harrison warmly smiled at the Locanshite. He acknowledged Tsi’Drael’s left eye. It was less discoloured than before and you could hardly find any damage near the Bioglyph. ‘Seems it’s healing up nicely.’

                ‘Affirmative,’ Tsi’Drael replied. ‘Eli and you have sufficiently repaired my injuries. Yet,’ his voice trailed slightly. ‘Curious.’ 

Harrison placed his hand against the case’s glossy surface.  The case responded by sliding open and revealing its contents hidden inside.  Tsi’Drael frowned, gingerly observing the items:  two pairs of liquid-metallic shorts and a crystal flask of glitter.  Analysing the contents, the Locanshite suspected it was some kind of cleansing agent.  Taking one of the shorts, he rubbed the silvery fabric against his fore and middle fingers.

                ‘SoniWave..’ Tsi’Drael perceived the cloth was designed for withstanding intensified sound waves.  Logically, he knew there was only one specialised place where one was bombarded by such waves. ‘You’ve an Aqua Sonic Chamber?’  Observing the organic composition of the entire complex, he considered it rather inconceivable.

                Taking the remaining shorts, Harrison indicated towards the recently-constructed, interconnecting corridor. ‘Installed a series of them into our Bathing Centre last month.’  Neatly folding the shorts, he walked towards the corridor’s archway. ‘You recall last Hibernation Season?’

                Tsi’Drael did.  Unlike the other Gallifreyan seasons, Invin’Hivan always produced Severe Hydron Rationing.  Due to the snow and ice being unsuitable for conversion, and safe consumption, water would start becoming scarce.  Meaning all liquid baths and showers were deemed highly impractical.  Even with a Hydron still recycling unit.

                As a result, many utilised the public ASCs.  But as they both knew, due to the relative mass of Clanstribes, and constant usage, the ASCs would inadvertently overload without fail.  Then came the fact that for some Clanstribes, the journey required was much too far and hazardous for embarking on a simple cleansing.

                Reaching over to the archway’s right side, Harrison tapped on the concealed etherpad.  Illuminating the corridor, he casually entered it. ‘My chamber’s the one over on the first right.’ He called out. ‘You may use the other available chambers.

Decked in his mercuric shorts, Harrison flicked his tail while entering the Aqua Sonic Chamber.  The chamber itself was completely opaque with deep, inset roundels on its curved walls.  Its interior was reminiscent of those transdimensional prototype capsules they were designing at the Citadel Research & Development.  Hardly overwhelming, since D’lain helped Harrison with the initial architectural configuration.  Antiseptic scents invaded his nose, speculating if ASCs were genuinely designed for cleansing one’s body.  Despite the fact they felt much better than hydro showers, using them at the Citadel, and conducting several test runs here, Harrison never got used with the ASC’s preliminary functions.

                For instance, when Harrison’s feet touched the floors, the tiles were abnormally warm than cool.  Summoning up the etherpad, he keyed in some codes. Fifteen minuti should ought to do it. The only other anomaly was wearing the SoniWave shorts for a personal ASC.

                Apparently they emitted alphabetronic pulse waves rather than the low-key frequencies used for public ASCs.  Therefore, these waves disrupted the molecular structure of standard—including Omnimorphic—fabric.  Harrison learned this when Murphael had performed this gross mistake.

                Naturally, Murphael did not fancy being instantaneously stripped of his shorts.  Auspiciously Harrison figured this out before he discovered his younger Primlans running about the place in their birthday suits.

                Harrison’s finger touched the upper-left etherpad key.  The chamber’s light slightly dimmed, while he acknowledged the moderate, infrared illumination.  This was followed by the resonating, cadence hum throughout the room.

                Sensing the emanating pulse from the showerhead above him, he closed his eyes.  Azure mist subtly rose from the floor, clinging to his skin.  It relaxed his muscles, melting all the tension from the Fangarian’s body.  Enthralled with these tantalising sensations, Harrison almost forgot about the intense massage he was receiving.  Until he realised he never installed a pulse massage function for those ASCs.

                ‘Harrison.’

                Turning round, he faced Tsi’Drael.  Harrison intended on scolding him for the intrusion. Until the Fangarian witnessed him without his standard attire.  Of course, Harrison had always seen a few of these Tombeurians topless, but they were usually nothing special.  Essentially because Locanshites weren’t renowned for their athletic skills. In fact, it was amazing they possessed any muscles at all, since they focused more on mind development than physical fitness.

                But here, Tsi’Drael’s form indicated he and D’lain were obviously exceptions to this rule.

                Hair raised from the combination of the mist and sound waves, Tsi’Drael’s physique was indeed svelte, elegant and reminded Harrison of his Olympian relation, Adonis.  Not stocky like Eli, of course, but Tsi’Drael was still mystifyingly, alluringly handsome.  If it wasn’t for the Bioglyphs, serpentine eyes and the Clanscrest glyph upon the right shoulder, Harrison would’ve never taken him for a Locanshite.

                Captivated with Tsi’Drael’s structure, Harrison became oblivious towards the Locanshite’s next move.  Producing the crystal flask, Tsi’Drael opened the top.  Taking the Fangarian’s hands, he poured the translucent, sparkling matter into them.

                Curiously, the glittering liquid hardly felt damp, nor slippery, nor sticky.  Harrison detected a tantalisingly-warm sensation, coupled with the subtle scent of fresh orchids.  Tsi’Drael also poured some on his hands.  Rubbing them slightly before sealing the flask, the Locanshite replacing it safely inside the inset compartment.

                Approaching Harrison, the Locanshite effortlessly smiled, placing his hands directly upon the Fangarian’s chest.  Almost like feeling a sharp spark, Harrison’s chest quivered from Tsi’Drael’s touch.  But Tsi’Drael continued softly tenderly moving his fingers over Harrison’s chest hair.  Sensing an inexplicable warm force travelling throughout his chest hair, Harrison never determined if it was the chamber, the glittering orchid-fluid, or Tsi’Drael.

                Surging intensely into his body, the warmth convinced Harrison to place his hands upon Tsi’Drael chest.  With almost perfect synchronisation, both of them commenced massaging one another, intensifying the exotic scent of the orchid glitter.  Tsi’Drael’s golden eyes penetrated profoundly inside Harrison’s azure-hazel.

                Empty your mind of all anxious and apprehensive thoughts. Tsi’Drael’s instructions echoed within Harrison’s mind. Permit the chamber’s serene atmosphere to completely enthrall your senses.

                Indescribable sensations flooded every molecule of Harrison’s being, causing him to forget about the previous ordeal.  Ensorcelled by the strange, floating perception while they massaged one another, Harrison was no longer cognisant of his surroundings.  Nor the fact the ASC was totally inundated with the azure mist.

                After performing several circular motions, their hands automatically glided upwards towards their shoulders.  Clinging to their skin, the fog not only cleansed their bodies, but their minds and souls as well.

                Enveloped by these potent forces, Harrison’s mind became rather dodgy from this moment.  Gliding their hands from each other’s shoulders down to their arms. Tsi’Drael drew closer to Harrison.

                Reaching round the Fangarian, the Locanshite held him and whispered something in his ear.

                Harrison couldn’t make out what Tsi’Drael was saying, though he knew it must have been something important.  Before he realised what was occurring, Tsi’Drael passionately embraced him.  Body stiffening, Harrison alleged this motive was far from being amorous.  He felt as if his entire genetic makeup was being revitalised.

                The effect resulted in a temporal storm.  Azure mists gathered, swirling about them like a tempest.  However, just as the induced enchantment reached its peak, the Aqua Sonic Chamber slowly descended its cleansing program.  Releasing its grip upon its , occupants, the mist then escaped downward into the dispersal vortex beneath them.  Afterwards, the infrared lights promptly deactivated.

                Sensing the showerhead unit ceased its pulse transmissions, Tsi’Drael ended his embrace, calmly releasing Harrison.  Disoriented, the Fangarian staggered slightly away from him.  He almost lost his balance when the Locanshite swiftly caught him.

                Attempting to regain his senses, Harrison witnessed the showerhead retreating back into its ceiling partition.  He snapped back to attention when he heard Tsi’Drael whistled.

                Tsi’Drael indelibly smiled.  Assured Harrison recuperated his balance, the Locanshite released him.

                ‘The ASC has sufficiently cleansed us from bio-contaminates, has it not?’

                Harrison blinked. ‘Uh.. yes, Tsi’Drael..’ he couldn’t ascertain why his cheeks were flushed. ‘Best we get dressed..’ Gingerly he headed out of the chamber, speculating on why his body felt so refreshed.  Usually the ASC gave you an exhilarating impression of being hygienic, but here it was like as if he had awakened from a stimulating slumber.

                Observing the Fangarian leaving the chamber, Tsi’Drael admirably smiled. ‘Affirmative, Harrison,’ his Bioglyphs pulsed, while he narrowed his eyes. ‘My Sha’Kalin.’