Chapter Eighteen, Part One: On the Comforts of a Pyramid-Shaped Tent, Part ThreeMature

“Hey Desdemona! So what gives?” the Master quips as he hangs in the big doorway leading onto the control deck of Flaminarixodaparcaftion’s TARDIS. 

Flamina turns from the sculpted controls just long enough to glare at him, her typical -shut up I’m concentrating- sort of gaze. 

“I was right, there was a release of chronon mines into Gallifreyan space earlier this morning. All signals to and from the planet have ceased, spatial, temporal and otherwise. Not good.” 

The Master blinks at her now short bobbed shoulder length red-gold hair, frowning at her delicious morning ensemble of red half-dress, black cycling shorts and combat boots. “Agreed. Have you extrapolated the cause yet from the remaining data? Alice?” 

Flamina taps a button; of course, she doesn’t need to, he knows that. He also knows she enjoys the nostalgia of having all those useless flashing buttons, just like her mother. Father. Whatever. 

“You noticed! Yes, in the last five minutes, there were three recent signals just before Gallifrey went dark. Rosette?” She turns to the white console board, touching here and there to grow a screen from the stuff of it. 

The white material screen shows three colored blips- one marks the location of a silvery shuttle on an outbound trajectory, the second shows a small black single-pilot orbital pod, and a… green, box-shaped bit of fuzz moving back and forth like a pong geek on tournament day.

The End

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