Chapter Text
Sanjiandrovanri hardly saw her Father in the few days leading up to his friend’s wedding – he and the Brigadier were in conference a lot with men from the Ministry and men from Geneva. They all carried cardboard folders with ‘Top Secret’ printed in big, bold, capital letters, and she heard whispers of missing scientists and stolen electronics and metals.
Still, if her Father vanished after the wedding on some UNIT operation, what did she care, she was going home to the Academy? She didn’t want to be put in danger by him again, nor live at a base, which could quiet possibly be invaded, as Jo let out on their dress-shopping outing, much to the scowls of Carol, she even saw Carol kick Jo on the shin under the cafe table!
Jo had turned up the following morning, even more hungover than her Father. That first morning there had been no sign of Uncle Alistair or Benton or Yates. Apparently, from gossip in the Mess Hall over breakfast, Captain Yates had got very drunk, and demanded to know if Jo Grant was serious about going up the Amazon and if her love was real. Sergeant Benton had taken him away from the pub, crying.
Apparently.
Little ears, silently listening, most staff usually forget she was there. Sometimes Sanji even sat under the table. Today she sat on the table, her toys surrounding her, a pile of toast soldiers, boiled eggs, and toast and marmalade, as she had convinced the cook all her toys were hungry.
“Ah, of course,” she had said to a wink, then said, sure she was out of earshot, ‘Poor wee thing, so skinny. And imagine having the Doctor as ye Da!” Humans had no idea of how much better Gallifreyan ears were.
Of course, everyone needed help eating, and Sanji was beginning to feel quite like her stomach might explode, although it was a pleasant sensation. Her recent time in the Rey'ahxzi craft guest room had only served to remind her how hungry she had been the day Father ran away and Papa had been arrested.
“Hello darling,” said a new woman’s voice.
Sanji looked up and saw the glamorous woman who used to travel with her Father. She was with Carol Bell.
“Sanji, if you’ve finished eating, could you put your toys away and go and wash your hands and face please. I’ll clear your table for once,” Carol smiled. “Then we are going shopping for dresses.”
“Okay,” Sanji said. Often Carol was the one to remind her about washing and tidying up. Her Father would suddenly remember to run a bath or remind her to brush her teeth, but he was fooled by eating toothpaste or splashing water. Carol, who had three younger sisters, would check behind her ears, and brush her short hair into a neat elfin style when it began to stand-up. When not doing lessons or working on building her Sodor Island under the lab table, she would sit with Carol, who spent long hours monitoring radar, looking for alien incursions and meteors both. Many men officers, even those under her rank, would expect her to make the tea, which she did with a fixed smile and treacherous thoughts, easily transmitted to the high esper Time Tot.
She met the two women at the door of the Mess, and they tried to say goodbye to the Doctor, but he was apparently gone to Whitehall in Bessie without a word to anyone regarding his daughter. Carol’s lips thinned and Jo asked,
“Does he often do that?”
“He always assumes I’ll pick up the flack, but I’m not here 24/7 you know?”
“It’s okay, I think the TARDIS would not let anything happen if I am in bed, and I do go and sit with the guards in the guard room sometimes, they are teaching me poker,” Sanji said hurriedly. This Jo loved her Father tremendously, and didn’t want to be disappointed in her hero. “Things are different on my planet,” she added.
Jo ruffled her hair and smiled, “If you say so sweetie. Let’s go and get some dresses. We’re getting married tomorrow now.”
“Tomorrow? I thought it was Saturday?” Carol asked
“Oh, we’ve managed to get a special licence as we’ve got a berth on a ship out of Plymouth the day after tomorrow morning, at 5am. With the Royal Navy. I’ve chased and chased my uncle about the funding and shipping. I feel a bit mean, after all he did getting me this job,” Jo explained, linking arms with Carol. Carol took Sanji’s hand on her other side and they left the main building and crossed the quad to the car park to Carol’s car.
*
They had spent what felt like ages in Carnaby Street trying on dress after dress, at least the women did. They had talked about white over cream, as after all, Jo had been ‘living in sin’ with Cliff for weeks now. They also discussed yellow over peach for Carol and herself. She wanted red and gold, or green and gold, traditional wedding colours, or maybe the orange of a Prydonian, but the women didn’t really listen. They didn’t even seem to want to know about how things were done on her world.
People liked to think of her Father as a magical creature from the stars sent to save them, she made them uncomfortable, they didn’t want to know about his home life, his being a parent, or married, or living a normal life on another planet. He was magical, and other aliens were monsters, and she didn’t fit into their minds. Humans minds were getting louder and louder, it was beginning to give her a bad headache a lot of the time, it was why she loved reading in the TARDIS bedroom or staying under the workbench with her trains. Sometimes the headache was so bad she could feel her double pulse banging in her brain, like a drumbeat.
After Carnaby Street and Liberties were no good, they went to Harrods, after all ‘Mummy is paying’. In the end, Jo chose a long silk white dress with layers of fringed lace, with lace gloves and veil, and Carol and she had blue velvet dresses. Carol’s was low cut and fitted, pulling her in like a corset, with long, tight sleeves. Sanji's was short, puffed sleeves, and came to the knee. The women chose white, chunky heeled, boots and got her some white Mary-janes and some white patterned tights.
They ate lunch in one of Harrod’s restaurants, Sanji opting for chips and salad, as vegetarian children’s food seemed thin on the ground, or child friendly meals at all, really. She had preferred Little Chef, if she had been honest, if anyone bothered to ask, and best of all, the teashop in Old Amersham that the Brigadier, Sergeant Benton, or Corporal Bell took her to. She wished for the third time she had brought a book. Carol had made her leave her backpack behind, and she was twitchy about that, it was left in the mess, her toys, and special things, and snacks. What would happen if she never got back to them?
She was the only child in there, and Carol was the oldest and least fashionable adult. It was obviously the restaurant for the groovy young things. The music was playing very loud.
A song was being played several times they were there, it had entered the charts just as she opened the watch, but Cassandra’s Daddy had it on an album for a couple of years before. Cassandra’s Daddy had liked his music.
Her hearts were heavy, she missed the love of her human ‘parents’ when she thought about it.
She didn’t mean she didn’t care about Father going away. She tried to listen to the music and not Jo reminisce about Autons, whom her Papa had been trying to re-contact when Cassandra had met him, nor about her Papa hypnotising Jo. Apparently, the rumours in some of the more popular newspapers about lizards in blue string vests on the beach was true, though. It seemed UNIT HQ was invaded on a regular basis and soldiers killed all the time.
She didn’t want to stay! She didn’t want to lose Alan, Gary, and Steve, she didn’t want them vaporised! Even if they were, as Uncle Brax called them, mayfly species, or pets, as Papa taunted Father.
Papa seemed to actually have had had respect for Jo in the end, even rescuing her when she was imprisoned in the twenty sixth century, even if he betrayed them for the Daleks.
Daleks! Papa liked playing with fire!
Did she want to go home, to the never-ending, unchanging, security of Gallifrey? Would she get bored, as her parents did?
It's a God awful small affair
To the girl with the mousey hair
Sang David Bowie, who Cassandra’s Daddy loved, whom she now, thinking about, wondering if Bowie was a renegade Time Lord himself?
Her life felt awful.
Was there life on Mars? Hadn’t they left centuries ago? Perhaps they left a few nests behind in suspended animation, in which case, the human explorations in a few decades will annoy them. Which explained the stories Father had told her about him and Jamie fighting off invasions of ‘Ice Warriors’. Wasn’t that a racist term? As she has been put through the Chameleon Arch her Uncle had been visiting Nova Martia a lot, negotiating rights to add the entire written history and poetry and philosophy of the Martians to his growing Collection. He’d even visited Mars a few times, a long time before a monkey thought of standing upright on this neighbouring planet.
They favoured long, rambling poetry, which Braxiatel had read to her before bed, when she had wanted stories.
Would she stay with Uncle Brax in the long vac, or must she remain alone at the Academy? Now she had the letter about Susan, would Hypatia let her stay with her?
So many questions. She felt sick and pushed away her chips and began to shred the napkins, while she rocked herself for comfort, swinging her feet under the table. Father said it was okay to rock and flap, and damn and blast detachment and control and convention!
She would miss him and his funny moods and stories. He was so different to the white-haired frail man, the angry young man trapped in a fast-failing loom body centuries earlier than his Academy year alumni, she had lived with so long ago now, two small child lifetimes ago. She has lived twice as long as she should, and although she felt small and young, in some way she could not explain to herself, she felt the weight of the human life on her tiny shoulders as much as the unwanted years on Gallifrey and the half-neglected, even abused, infancy, before that.
Her pulses throbbed loudly on the side of her temple.
Carol mouthed, “I told you,” to Jo, nodding subtly at her rocking and shredding of paper napkins.
“Of course,” Jo said quite loudly, “most of the time at UNIT it’s quite boring really. Can’t wait for the excitement of exploring the Amazon.”
Sanji continued to shred the napkin. Carol silently passed her hers and Jo’s to shred too.
Sanjiandrovanri of No House had mousy hair, and it was a God-awful small affair, her life. Pushed from person to person, no one really wanting her, doing duty, or refusing duty. The only one who seemed to want her she could barely remember, and he hit her and a few years later disappeared into an oubliette and turned up ready to slash her throat.
Did she really want to go to the Academy?
Did she even have a choice?
And was there even still life on Mars?
*
Father woke her early the next morning with a bowl of porridge and orange juice on a tray.
“Come along my dear, hurry up and eat. I shall run your bath and wash your hair for you.”
There were bubbles and plastic ducks she’d not seen before.
“I found them while looking for the wardrobe room,” he said as she climbed in the bath.
It was lovely, her Father amused her with various wedding stories from planets he’d been on, humanoid and non-humanoid, the dances, the clothes, the traditions. He even recited the wedding vows from a planet which spoke entirely in eyebrow movements, which was so funny, even though she knew it was impolite to laugh at another species evolution or culture. Her Father was beginning to realise she loved learning about cultures and histories and peoples, even if she didn’t quite like the idea of travelling and seeing them for herself, the way he was desperate to do so again.
It seemed like her Father never really saw and observed, though, he always landed in times of trouble, then had to interfere. If Papa was the cosmic child who poked a stick into an ant nest or burnt them with a magnifying glass for fun, Father was the child who would pick up the ladybird from the pavement and put it on a leaf, whether it was the right plant or not.
Sanji began to giggle at her thought, and as her Father looked at her and smiled, she quickly built a wall of balloons ten rows deep, as the Lady Hoolie had taught her, to keep the thoughts to herself.
Father left her to get dressed, taking her breakfast tray to the kitchen. While he was gone, some fear made her pack all her toys, her underwear, clothes, books, and some more drinks and food from the kitchen he had wandered off from, distracted.
He was in the console room, wires trailing out from under one of the panels.
“Father?”
“M’hm?”
“Can I have that box?”
“M’m?”
“So I can pack up Sodor and the trains and people and animals and my dimension gate? Father? Are you listening? You promised!”
“H’m?”
There was a loud bang and a lot of smoke, and her Father emerged from his head under the console, his face blackened with smoke.
“Oh, Sanji, my dear girl, there you are. Come on, come on, I have to get you to Corporal Bell’s house.”
“Father! Did you even hear a word I said?”
“Of course I did. You’re excited about being a bridesmaid.”
“Oh Father!” Sanjiandrovanri stamped her foot. “I want the box, the trans-dimensional storage box for Sodor! You said!”
“Oh, my dear girl,” her Father booped her nose. “We have at least four days now before they come for you.”
“After the wedding, they said.”
“Well, that was when Jo and Professor Jones were getting married on Saturday, now they are getting married, today, Tuesday. Come along. Put that old bag down, my dear, you won’t need that.”
“I do!”
“Don’t be silly, come along, we are running late,” he implied this was her fault, and had nothing to do with his sudden interest in the inner workings of the console. He pulled the bag out of her hands and put it down in front of the open inspection panel under the console side that dealt with movement within actual space rather than time.
“I need it!” Sanji yelled, trying not to cry. Her father scooped her up and swept her out of the TARDIS, and hoisted her over his shoulder, and carried her through the laboratory and UNIT HQ, kicking and screaming, all the way across the car park to Bessie.
Throughout the journey, Sanjiandrovanri wondered if she should tell her Father that he had a blackened, smoky, face, but decided not to. Sadly, he noticed at some traffic lights in the windscreen mirror and whipped out a hanky from his pocket.
*
“Doctor!” Jo ran flung open the door of the tiny Victorian terrace in the town of Chesham near enough to UNIT to commute, cheaper enough to rent, that Carol Bell had found herself. She was proud of her house, talked about it a lot to Sanji, about sofas and carpets and wallpaper.
Jo was in her dress and boots, but her hair was wild, and half full of fat rollers, as if it was only half done.
“Doctor! You’re late!” she squealed, and grabbing hold of Sanji’s arm, she ushered them inside and Sanji up the stairs to a bedroom. Carol was sitting in front of a dressing table in a dressing gown, her dress hanging on a door, Jo’s veil was on the bed, and Sanji could see her own dress on the back on an easy chair in the corner by a window.
“You get dressed, please, little Doctor, and I’ll sort out your Father. Really, he looks like he’s climbed up a chimney! Not been having adventures, have you?”
But before Sanjiandrovanri could answer, Jo was got again.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do your hair,” Carol said, standing up and wafting her hands about to dry her nails.
Soon they were all ready to go downstairs. Jo had come back and let Carol help her finish getting ready.
Jo had her hair piled high on her head, the veil hanging down her back, but,
“Look! Da da!” Jo had shown Sanji upstairs, pulling it over the fancy, almost Time Lady, hairstyle, so that it covered her face. “I hope Cliff doesn’t change his mind when he lifts the veil,” she had joked.
“I hope he has got you a chunky wedding ring to match all the others,” Sanji has come back at her, admiring greatly all the ornate silver rings that adorned every finger but the third finger of Jo’s left hand.
“He did, I made sure of it,” Jo replied, “only it’s gold, not silver. Do you think it will stand out?”
“I think it will stand out on purpose, being more important,” Sanji replied solemnly. Marriage was a solemn occasion after all, a joining of two people, two Houses, two minds.
Jo went to ruffle her hair, but changed her mind – Carol had brushed and styled it into the elfin cut it should be, and added a clip of a plastic daisy on one side – and booped her nose, as Father did. “I wish I had more time to get to know you, you’re so like your Father, you know. But I have to find this fungus to save the world, and you have to go home to school.”
“Let’s go. Look at the time!” Carol said.
The two women and the little girl walked down the stairs, where the Doctor was waiting, clean, wearing a black velvet morning suit, a pink frilly shirt and dark pink bow tie. He held a black cloak with pink lining in his arms. His face lit up and he smiled up at them,
“Jo, you look stunning. Absolutely beautiful.” He spoke as if overcome with emotion, with a catch in his throat.
“What about me?” Sanjiandrovanri jumped down the last three steps and twirled in front of him.
“Yes, you too my dear girl. And that dress is wonderful, you look lovely too Corporal Bell. Shall we?” he held out his arm for Jo.
Outside, Bessie stood, resplendently sporting white ribbons on her bonnet in a V-shape.
“Oh, Doctor!” Jo said, giving him a hug.
Carol locked her house door and she and Sanji walked down the path to the car together, getting in the back, while Jo sat in the front.
“Ready for the best adventure yet Jo?” the Doctor asked.
“Yes!” she replied, happily.
“Then let’s get you to Professor Jones,” he said, gunning Bessie, and they drove off, fast.
*
Mike, all dolled up in his Army dress uniform and medal ribbons, met them at the door to the registry office, along with a woman in an orange patterned full length caftan and crocheted poncho. She had long, dark, straight, hair and a smiling face.
“Hello Nancy!” Jo said, going to hug the woman, carefully, so not to mess up her ornate hairdo.
“Lovely to see you again,” the Doctor said, shaking the lady’s hand.
“Come along, everyone is waiting,” Mike said, with a fixed grin, his eyes sad as he looked at Jo.
“Yes, poor Cliff is going mad with waiting,” Nancy added with a laugh in her voice.
“I am so sorry, the fact we are late is entirely my fault,” the Doctor said.
Sanjiandrovanri stared, sorry was not a word often to come from her Father’s mouth. Or even mind. Nor her Papa’s either, if she thought about it.
“We’re upstairs, in the smaller room,” Nancy said, and they all followed her and Mike through the large, fake gothic, Victorian, lobby and up the circular staircase, walking past and through a large crowd of milling people, obviously a larger wedding party. Two girls in peach frilly bridesmaid dresses watched Sanjiandrovanri as she walked past, following the adults, her new white shoes slipping on the polished ties. One of the girls stuck her tongue out at her; so, remembering being Cassandra and being bullied in the school playground, she flipped them the V-sign. Carol was suddenly behind her and ushering her to catch up with the adults.
At the top of the stairs, Nancy and Mike opened the doors, and there was a little shuffling, as Carol fixed the veil over Jo’s face, and handed her the largest of the bouquets of flowers.
“What do I do?” Sanji whispered to Carol, nervously.
“Just walk behind me – if you are really scared, just hold my hand.”
Sanji nodded numbly, as Jo took Father’s arm and they began to walk slowly through the rows of seats, UNIT people on one side, a small, motley group of hippies the other side – although her Father had told her these hippies were not the usual drop outs, they were scientists experimenting with and inventing alternative forms of energy and food, to stop the use of fossil fuels and plastics and meat, to lower human carbon creating biproducts into the atmosphere. They all seemed lovely, with friendly with kind auras, and she almost wished that if she couldn’t go home, rather than go to the scary Torchwood Institutive or stay at UNIT with Father, she could live with them. Even with her basic Kindergarten science, she was sure she could be some use to them, and the rest of the time, she could look after goats or something.
Professor Jones was waiting at the table at the end, with a man with a big black bushy beard. Both men were in generic, off the peg suits, and looked uncomfortable in them – the Professor wore brown pinstripes with flared trousers and white lapels, the latest trend, while the man – best man, Cassandra’s knowledge told her – was in an older, dark blue, suit, from the sixties, tight drainpipe legs and thin lapels. Behind the table a lady stood, smiling, with winged glasses with diamanté in the corners, wearing a purple paisley dress and pearls.
The Doctor’ smile was a little too wide and frozen as he took Jo’s hand from his arm and put it in Clifford Jones’ hand. Jo and Cliff had eyes only for each other, their love shone like a blazing light. The Doctor sat down in the front row, next to Mike, the Brigadier, and Sergeant Benton. So did Carol. Sanjiandrovanri went to sit next to Carol, but her Father pulled her on to his lap and buried his face in her short hair. She thought he might be crying. She thought it was traditional for mothers to cry at human weddings, and as her Father came from a planet where fixed binary gender roles of parenting, or even identity, were meaningless, and Jo had been like a daughter or granddaughter to him, she supposed he had every right. She wondered sadly, whether he would keep his promise, and if he did, whether he would cry at her own wedding. She wondered too if he had cried at Hypatia or Portia’s weddings. She had yet to be loomed when her big sisters married.
It was a short service, the bride and groom promised to love each other, forsaking all others, and look after each other in sickness and in health, then they gave each other the gold rings, and then they kissed, and people cheered and clapped, and then they walked up the aisle with everyone getting up and following.
*
The wedding breakfast was upstairs at a café, the building was old, Tudor or Stuart, with black painted oak beams between whitewashed plaster for a roof, and a long trestle table was laid out. The food was vegetarian as the venue was owned by a friend of Nancy, who was trying to launch a wholefood, vegetarian, restaurant in the small county town. She wasn’t doing very well, by the empty café downstairs.
She had been very inventive – there were strips of roasted peppers and tomatoes in Marie Rose sauce served in glasses on a bed of lettuce with brown bread and butter on the side, to imitate the perennial popular starter prawn cocktail. Following that there were huge flat mushrooms cooked like steaks or a nut roast, each with all the usual trimmings. To end was the wedding cake, a small one tier fruit cake, but iced white with sugar figures of a little Jo Grant and an equally tiny Clifford Jones holding hands.
“I suspect this young chef is ahead of her time, and will do well in her middle age,” the Doctor whispered to his daughter.
Sanjiandrovanri nodded, without really understanding. There had been a flurry when she first arrived, and the Champagne and wine glasses whipped away, and a glass of milk brought for her.
“No one told me there was a child too, I hope she likes the food, children can be so conservative,” Nancy’s friend had fussed to her. Sanji wished she could explain her human avatar’s parents had been vegetarian too.
“No one told me either, she’s the Doctor’s daughter,” Nancy had whispered back, significantly, and both women had stared at her in awe.
“An alien child makes it more real, somehow,” Nancy’s chef friend muttered, but quickly looked away and continued serving, as if she had sensed that Sanji’s hearing was much better than humans.
Sanji kept quiet and concentrated on her food, wishing she had been allowed to bring her bag, so had a book, and that her Father would let her slip under the table and sit, hidden and quiet, there.
He didn’t. Instead he made a speech, praising Jo, talking about how brave and clever and resourceful she was, and how she and her new husband would have splendid adventures on the Amazon river and in its rainforest. He told the story of her first time off-world, and how quick she had adapted, of her diplomacy, wit and charm in the court of Peladon, or her dealing with Drashigs and Ogrons and Daleks, all the while the Brigadier, scowled and shook his head, and told the Nuthatch people how they must all sign new OSAs now. The Doctor also talked of how impressed he had been with Professor Jones and how they were about to begin on the best adventure, one of love and friendship and togetherness. He then presented the Metabelis 3 blue sapphire crystal that Sanji had chosen from that cave a few weeks ago to Jo, to many oohs and aahs of the assembled alternative scientists and military friends around the table. He finally asked everyone to raise their glasses. Sanji wasn’t sure if milk counted as a toast, but she did raise her glass anyway, along all the adults.
She wished she could be like Jo. Even if he gave her away, would he make such a fine speech? Time Lord weddings could have speeches that went on for days, caught in a philosophical point of the joining. She would rather a quick speech praising her like that. She was proud, anyway, that she had chosen the crystal, and hoped it would amplify Jo and her new husband’s love bond, and perhaps bring them luck with their search for a protein rich fungus.
Then it was Clifford’ friend to make a speech. He talked of how Jo’ sparking personality, her passion and bravery, had endeared her to all the hippie scientists at Wholeweal, but how she had obviously captured Cliff’s heart. He talked with passion of their mission to find this amazing source of fungus protein and how it would change the world, cut carbon emissions, and encourage people to think of new ways in everything, and stop the dead end of fossil fuels and animal proteins. He too raised his glass to the happy couple, wishing them success.
Sanji had run out of milk, but she raised her empty glass again anyway. She hoped they were successful, she gave the planet another few decades if the acceleration of rain forest depletion and carbon emissions continued, and she liked Earth. As her Uncle had books from Earth in the far future, she was sure that they would change to renewable clean energy and protect the environments, its habitats and biosphere.
By the end of the meal and speeches, all the adults, even her Father, who would have made the conscious choice to do so, were very drunk, staggering about, bumping into furniture, and slurring their words. A lot of hugging, and back-slapping, also went on.
The table was cleared, and moved to under the window, and a record player and more drinks put out. Jo and Cliff danced together, then many of the guests – mostly the Nuthutch, but Benton and Carol at least – danced. Mike sat in a corner, brooding, drinking, nursing a broken heart, while the Brigadier and the Doctor sat together, looking on at Jo with the fondness of parents who had done a good job and now the fledgling was flying the coop.
The loud minds of the drunken happy humans swamped her head, the double-pulse banging and banging, louder and louder, the music creating a discordant counter single beat rhythm. She crawled under the table, under the record player, thinking it would either be too loud and block her own internal rhythm, or the noise, pointing the other way, would be quieter, and she would only have this headache to deal with.
*
She must have fallen asleep. It was dark outside, people were saying goodbye, Jo was panicking that they would miss the Paddington sleeper train to Plymouth.
“I’ll take you. Bessie can go very fast, and has a way of not being seen by the police as speeding,” she heard her Father offer.
“What about Sanji? Carol’s three-sheets to the wind, I don’t think she could look after her,” Jo fretted.
“It’s alright, if someone can take her back to her bed in the TARDIS, the old girl will keep an eye on her.”
Sanji imagined all humans but Jo looking confused, but the way Jo replied, “Of course,” obviously reassured them. “Now, who can take her?” Jo then asked.
It was agreed that Benton had to drop the Brigadier home, and they were driving past the UNIT HQ, so would take her.
The Doctor scooped her up in his arms, and kissed her forehead. She was still so tired and headachy, she pretended to be asleep.
“Goodbye, my dear,” he said, “be good.”
She was handed to the Brigadier and they left, her swaying gently in his arms as they went down the stairs. She heard Bessie power up with full artron energy and speed off, and she was laid on the back seat of the Land Rover, her head in Uncle Alistair’s lap. She only had four days left on Earth, and now she wasn’t sure she wanted to go home, despite the loudness of human thoughts giving her headaches. She was sure her Father could tell her how to block it. The Lady Hoolie would know, it probably involved reinforcing the balloon wall of the mind with something heavier, as you didn’t need to bring it down for sharing with humans. But she wouldn’t see the Lady Hoolie anymore, she would be going to the Academy now. She wanted Kindergarten and the kindness of Hoolie, more than anything. Or to live with Nancy and help her with her mathematics and statistics to save the Earth from human stupidity.
Four days. She would ask Father is they could visit Wholeweal, and on the last day, have a tea party for all the UNIT staff who were her friends, even the soldiers, if they were allowed in the Mess.
The car and the Brigadier stroking her hair lulled her back into a deep sleep.
*
Benton unlocked the TARDIS and the Brigadier paused on the dimension threshold, and although half asleep, Sanjiandrovanri could feel his apprehension and mistrust of the alien, the inexplicable, transition from one dimension to the other. He then followed Benton across the console room, carrying her gently.
“Good lord, there’s more,” he exclaimed in a whisper, so not to wake her.
“This door, I think. First on the right, the Doctor said to me,” Benton said.
“This must be her bed, the little truckle one at the end,” the Brigadier whispered.
Benton pulled back the quilts, while the Brigadier laid her gently down and pulled off her shoes and plastic hair clip.
“Sweet dreams, my dear,” he whispered, then the two soldiers left, switching the light off and closing the door behind them.
Sanjiandrovanri fell into a deep sleep, despite all her toys still being in her bag in the console room.
*
Sanji awoke a couple of hours later. She had just had a frightening dream in which she was with her Father, hiding from Daleks, when he had kissed her forehead and said, “Goodbye my dear, be good,” and locked her in a cupboard with his sonic device he ridiculously called a screwdriver. Uncle Braxiatel had broken the door and lectured her on how Daleks could be reasoned with and then they had been shot!
Sanji had never seen a Dalek in her life, but had heard enough of them to think Brax was as naïve as father always said.
Her hearts beat too fast, her skin felt like it was on fire, as if she had been shot. In her dream, Uncle Brax had begun to regenerate, but she was far too young.
She reached out for Teddy and Doggie and Tatty Bear, but no one was in bed with her. She fished for her torch under her pillow. She could have asked the TARDIS for lights, but she still felt scared. As the dream receded, the anxiety and heightened senses did not, and she felt something wrong with the TARDIS.
She sat up and pulled on her new shoes and crept out, slowly and silently, to the console room.
Two tall people were standing by the door, which was open. She crawled, careful not to be seen or heard, and slowly pulled her bag to her.
Both were male looking, one tall and thin, dark haired, wearing black and silver, a long tunic over tight trousers and boots, a bag on one shoulder. The other man wore yellow and ochre ropes, the collar of a Coordinator.
Time Lords. No wonder they could just enter the TARDIS.
But it was too soon! Her Father said she had four more days! He wasn’t even back yet. She let out a small whimper of fear.
One of the men turned. “Lady Sanjiandrovanri. Is that you child?” he asked.
She wriggled her backpack on properly, she had never worn it so before, carrying it or hanging over one shoulder like a handbag. Once securely on, she ran for the open door.
“Sanjiandrovanri dear!” the other Time Lord called, turning to run after her. Meanwhile, the other one moved his hand to the door control on the console.
She made it through the door as it was closing, and then it did not open. Perhaps the ship was helping her? With a longing, sad glance to her Sodor under the workbench she was yet to pack, she ran out of the lab, turning the key before she legged it down the corridor. She no longer wanted to go home, she did not belong, she was out of time, she was wrong, she had no House, she was the daughter of the Doctor and the Master, and had no place, would be watched, judged, never trusted. With no House, how could she marry, who would sponsor her career, what could she do?
Why did she not think of these things before?
It was adrenalin, that was what it was, toxic, addictive adrenalin, she should practice detachment and control. She wished the Lady Hoolie was with her, telling her how to control her emotions, not give into them, to accept the inevitable with grace and detachment.
As a good Time Lady about to go to the Academy should do so.
She made it out of the main building and began to head for the woods at the back of the manor house, where she could hide until her Father came back from Paddington Station in London,
“Hey, little lady, where might you be off to this early in the morning?” Steve called from the guard house.
“Aliens,” she puffed out, trying to shout as loud as she could, and failing, “Time Lords! Don’t let them take me!”
The wood was pitch black and she had left her torch in the console room. Branches and leaves crashed into her face, shoulders and arms, disorientating her. Her Father had promised they would build a tree-house together. That would never happen now.
She smashed into the huge trunk of an oak tree and fell backwards, and as she did, space-time was ripped apart by the sound of a time travel capsule dematerialising behind her. Suddenly light streamed over her as the door opened.
“Sanji-anna, please get up,” one of the males said.
She did so, turning around, tipping her chin to look up, trying to appear detached and in control, unafraid of going home and unembarrassed by her running. She saw that the Time Lord was her Uncle, Irving Braxiatel as she was to later learn he was now calling himself. He was taller in this incarnation, like Father had got taller, and he had the same kind of beard around his mouth that Papa seemed to always favour.
“It’s not time to go yet,” she said, trying to sound calm. She could hear the wobble and tears in her voice.
“The wedding of Miss Josephine Grant to Professor Clifford Jones has happened,” Uncle Brax said, holding out his hand. “Where is your Father?”
“He drove them to London.”
“Selfish idiot! He could never stand goodbyes. Come on, this is Coordinator Aris, come to take you to the Academy. I am so so sorry, my dear, that my attempt to protect you from the Master backfired.”
“It’s okay.” Was it? Did she regret her life as Cassandra or spending a few weeks with her Father, or even meeting with Papa? She wasn’t sure. Until he pulled the knife and abandoned her, Papa had been so kind, and Father was so much more attentive and fun in his way now than he had been when she had last seen him. However, taller, thinner, darker, Uncle Braxiatel seemed exactly the same as before; arrogant, patrician, detached, in control, just as a Time Lord ought. Sadly, she followed him into the T-T Capsule. Aris stood, waiting, leaning on the console.
“Hello Sanjiandrovanri,” he said, kindly, then looked at her pointedly but gently, as if waiting for something from her.
It took a moment, but then she bobbed a curtsy, remembering life on Gallifrey, so dull and formal compared to Cassandra’s childhood or her brief time with her Father. “Hello my Lord Aris. Congratulations on becoming Children’s Coordinator.”
“What is in your bag?”
“My favourite toys, Coordinator. And some human children’s story books I find amusing, along with 'The Worshipful Tales of Gallifrey for Children' and 'Colour In The Vortex: Maths for Time Tots'. Is it acceptable for me to take them to the Academy?”
For a second, Aris struggled to control his features. “Of course, child, of course. Your uncle, Lord Irving Braxiatel, has business with The People, and interrupted an important business schedule to bring me to fetch you, so you will be at the Academy term and vacations both, I am afraid. Lady Hoolie had expressed an idea of ‘fostering’ you – I use the human phrase correctly, I believe. But she took a Capsule some time ago and has not returned. There are reports she has settled on this planet on a small northern island of the west coast of this one some few Earth decades hence and is refusing to come back, happy teaching human children. I find that a ridiculous notion. No doubt she will return when she hears of your return. But in the meantime, more toys and books than the average first year can be permitted, providing they stay within your bag during term time. One soft toy will be permitted then, for the first few years at least.”
How could she choose between Doggie, Teddy, and Tatty Bear, even if she left Bunny and Dolly in the bag? It was crippling! However, she was the daughter of the Doctor and the Master, something she had always been taught to be ashamed of, to bury, to hide, to resent, but she decided, as she was their child, so she would find a way to break a rule to be with her family. She would!
“Of course, Coordinator Aris,” she said, bobbing another curtsy.
Meanwhile, her Uncle had programmed his console, and the time rotor began to rise and fall and with it the build-up of the noise and feeling of leaving space-time and entering the Vortex. For show, Uncle Braxiatel kept them in part space-time for some of the materialisation, and with his large monitor switched on, she watched Earth recede, and they passed the moon, and then Mars, and the asteroid belt before Saturn and the Oort Cloud, until they fully entered the swirling patterns of nothingness of the Vortex.
Was it just Olympus Mons which caught her eye, or giant pyramid temples of Sutekh? Were there still Martians there, was there life on Mars?
Cassandra’s Daddy’s favourite song played in her head, a sensitive, politically passionate, shy man who loved his daughter with simplicity and commitment, never getting bored, or killing people, or running away… how he would be amazed to know in some small way she was still alive, passing Mars. She wanted to treasure than memory, despite the centuries and millennia ahead, where who knew where or what Papa, or Father, or even Uncle Brax, was doing...
But her mummy is yelling, "No!"
And her daddy has told her to go…
But one day, she would return to this system, Mars and Earth both, Venus before them even, and study their beliefs. She would study hard, specialise in xeno-sociology or something, and get her own TARDIS, and go too.
Because there was once Life of Mars, and that made her feel happy for Cassandra’s Daddy!