Archive of Our Own

One thing Leela hates about the Panopticon is all the doors. There are multiples on each side, making it impossible to see all entrances at once, at least from the center of the room, where she’s standing. Some doors are hidden, and she’s certain there’s at least one secret passageway into the room. It goes against all of her instincts to be in a place like it, and it makes her wonder how any species could be so intelligent but so lacking in common sense.

She has to be there, however, because that’s where Romana is. Leela wouldn’t be a very good presidential bodyguard if she weren’t with the president at all times. And Leela is an excellent bodyguard.

She scans the room, trying to keep as many doors as possible within her sight. She takes note of the people in attendance, trying to memorize the faces, keep track of how many people represent each Time Lord chapter. There are many Prydonians in the crowd, and although Leela should be used to them by now, they always remind her of her husband, Andred. Her dead husband Andred.

She shakes the thought away, not allowing herself the luxury of grief. Her attention is diverted by Romana, who has cleared her throat, alerting the Time Lords that she is ready to begin her speech.

The president smiles tightly at the assembled crowd and the PR cam. “My colleagues, members of the High Council, fellow Time Lords, and people of Gallifrey,” she begins, her voice composed.

Leela does not know the particulars of Romana’s speech, only that it is important and has something to do with the Time Lord academy. Romana did not share the details with her bodyguard, nor did Leela have any strong interest in it. She continues to watch the crowd, as an eagle watches its prey. They are watching Romana, whispering among themselves about the address. Leela finds it rude. Should they not be listening silently when their leader speaks?

“It is my––” The unmistakable sound of a staser blast echoes through the Panopticon.

Romana staggers backwards a step, and then collapses.

There is a long moment of silence, and then pandemonium erupts. Braxiatel and Leela both run to the president with cries of “Romana!” The latter brandishes her knife, trying to support the collapsed president while also searching for the would-be assassin. Inquisitor Prime Darkel’s face is...surprised, and she quickly arranges her features to look properly worried. Narvin opens and closes his mouth like a fish until roused to action by Braxiatel.

Romana revives amidst the disarray, supported by Leela and Braxiatel. “Did I really faint?”

Braxiatel nods, for once speechless.

“How embarrassing,” Romana says, as her eyes roll back into her head.

The medics arrive within a few microspans and hurry Romana out of the Panopticon. The PR cam still records, the Commentator watching the scene in shock. Leela follows the medics, despite their protestations. To them, she is a primitive alien: dirty, dangerous.

As she leaves, Leela walks past CIA agents making their way into the Panopticon. She is sure Narvin summoned them. The Chancellery Guard seems to be out of their depth. They begin searching Time Lords for a hidden staser before she has even left the room.

But her primary concern is Romana. The president is not as injured as Leela had feared, but she can see plainly that Romana is in great pain. The blast hit her in the leg, or so the medics have informed the president. At least, Leela thinks that’s what has happened. They use large words that Leela can’t quite understand, and she doesn’t want to ask Romana for clarification, not when she’s hurt like this. But the medics seem cheerful, relieved that the president is not badly hurt, and they soon patch up the leg.

“I’m afraid it won’t heal for another several hours at least,” the Chief Medic tells romana. “And you really should rest for the next few days.”

Romana gives a long-suffering sigh. “That can’t be right,” she replies. “You must be wrong. I feel fine.”

“Madam President–”

“In fact,” Romana continues, brushing aside the medic’s protestations, “I’m going to head back to my office now.”

“Madam President, I really must protest–”

“You’re not stopping me,” Romana says sharply.

The Chief Medic falls silent, and she rewards him with a smile that looks slightly too sarcastic. “Thank you. I can get up myself.” She moves to stand, but one step on her injured leg sends her falling into Leela.

“Sit, Romana,” Leela orders. She––rather forcefully––helps Romana sit back down on the bed.

“Did you just order me, Leela?” Romana asks. She sounds faintly amused, like she’s too tired to actually get annoyed.

“I  did not order you. I strongly suggested.” Leela pronounces the last words carefully. Romana’s fairly certain that she learned them from K9.

“In that case, I strongly suggest that you help me back to my office. I have work to do,  and catching this would-be assassin is first priority.” She pauses. “That is, if he hasn’t already been caught.”

The entire walk back, Romana leans heavily on her bodyguard. Leela is uneasy about the situation. She’s Romana’s personal bodyguard. If the president is wounded, it’s her fault. She’s not sure Romana is wise to continue trusting her.

When they get to the president’s office, Braxiatel is already there, waiting for them. He’s still in his ceremonial robes, an unusually grave look on his face. Leela would call it anxious, except she’s not sure if Braxiatel ever gets anxious.

“My lady,” he says, standing up and bowing. It is made awkward by the heavy collar. “I was very––concerned. How are you?”

“In pain,” Romana replies, collapsing in her chair (a handsome leather chair that can spin around really fast, a trait Romana admires). She eyes Braxiatel. “Well? Why are you here?”

He adopts an expression of perfect innocence. “Can I not be concerned for your health and safety with no ulterior motive?” he asks, sounding offended.

“No.”

“Well.” Braxiatel sits down again. “Your injury has not affected your mind. Still as sharp as ever.”

Romana sighs, hand on her forehead. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Brax. What do you want?”

“Only for your utmost safety and happiness,” Braxiatel replies.

Romana groans, and Leela stifles a laugh.

“But really, that is what I’m here to talk about,” he adds.

“I’m safe. I’m fine.”

“You’re injured and the person who wants to assassinate you got away, so we both know that’s not strictly true,” Braxiatel says.

“He got away?” Romana asks, eyes widening. “But wasn’t the Panopticon sealed? Weren’t the Time Lords searched? This is–”

“Disgraceful, yes,” Brax agrees, interrupting her. “And unsafe. That is why I am here suggesting that you––take a holiday. I hear southern Gallifrey is nice this time of year.”

“I will not cower in hiding while I have so much to do!” Romana exclaims, bringing her hand down on her desk. “Not only will the opening of the academy to offworlders be stalled––which is something my enemies will be more than happy about––but we need to investigate this assassination attempt! I just can’t go anywhere, not now. I’m needed here.”

Braxiatel sits in silence for a moment before answering. Finally, he says, “Both the Acting Castellan and the Coordinator have agreed that it would be for the best, as have many other members of the High Council. There’s no need to leave the planet. And, of course, no one need know where you are. Meanwhile, we can continue to investigate.”

“No. I refuse. I will not skulk in the shadows when my planet needs me!” Romana insists. “Besides, I am your president! You can’t make me do anything.”

“But if I get the unanimous approval of the High Council, I can.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “And you’re of no use to Gallifrey dead.”

Romana slumps in her chair. “Even if I did leave, I wouldn’t know where to go. Heartshaven is abandoned, unsafe. Probably swarming with pig-rats. And anyway, that would be the first place an assassin would look, isn’t it?”

“May I make a suggestion, my lady?” Brax says, then pauses. “Do you want Leela in here?”

Romana looks offended. “Cardinal, I trust Leela with my life! She can hear whatever it is you have to say.”

Braxiatel sighs, and Leela’s not sure if it’s because she’s still there, or because of the president’s temper. “Very well. Southern Gallifrey.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Southern Gallifrey,” he repeats. “There’s an ancient, abandoned monastery on the slopes of one of the mountains.”

“But that’s so...distant.” Romana struggles to come up with a word that properly expresses her opinion.

“You have travelled much farther than Gallifrey, Romana,” Leela says. “Why does this distance worry you?”

Romana sighs. “Physically, it’s not too far. But it’s...it’s less than ideal.” It’s clear from the way she speaks that, to her, it’s actually much worse than less than ideal. “Barely anyone lives there. Just a few smaller Houses. I’d say they’re inconsequential, only they produce renegades whose exploits make the Doctor’s transgressions look like child’s play. Why anyone would willingly spend their time there is beyond me.”

“That’s the point,” Braxiatel counters. “No one would think to look there. It’s perfect.”

The argument continues for some time, and the suns begin to set before romana finally agrees. She asks Leela to come with her, but to her surprise, Leela shakes her head. “I would be of more use here.”

“Yes, but I want some good company,” Romana complains.

“I will visit you,” Leela promises, and the deal is sealed.

Preparations begin immediately, and romana is physically ready to leave within a few spans. Mentally, she’s still resigning herself to her fate. Once she has finished recording an explanatory speech (and sent it to the proper people to be broadcast immediately), she takes braxiatel aside.

“My lady?” he asks.

“I know it’s not under Narvin’s jurisdiction, but put him in charge of the investigation. The Acting Castellan is utterly incompetent. Whatever Narvin’s character flaws, he is at least able to do his job properly.”

Braxiatel bows slightly. “As you wish.” He pauses, seeming to search her face. “Be careful, my lady,” he tells her earnestly.

Romana smiles ruefully. “It’s a funny thing. No matter how careful one is, it’s terribly difficult to survive a dedicated assassin. Still, I’ll do my best.” She steps into the transmat, disappearing in a barely visible blue flash.

Once she is gone, Leela turns to Braxiatel. “Now what do we do?” she asks.

Braxiatel sighs. “Now you need to find Narvin,” he says, ignoring the indignant noise she makes in response. “Help him with this investigation. I’ve got some matters of my own to attend to. I imagine I’ll see you in the morning.” He turns and walks out of the office, leaving Leela alone. In the growing darkness, Romana’s speech is broadcast to the people of Gallifrey.

When Leela gets to Narvin’s office, she is surprised to see that he is already leaving. “Why are you leaving?” she asks. “Should you not be working to keep your president safe?”

The permanent scowl on Narvin’s face deepens. “Why would you be surprised?” he asks irritably. “I have to sleep sometimes, you know. I’m already working late, since that incompetent Castellan–– Acting Castellan––can’t seem to do anything without help. I don’t think he’s actually done a thing to contribute to this case.”

“It is not that late,” Leela replies, her voice cold. She still hasn’t forgiven Narvin for Andred’s death. Her knife still thirsts for Torvald’s blood, but Narvin has kept that evil, lying, twisted, weasel-mouthed killer away from her. “Besides, you should be trying to find out who shot Romana.”

“And you should have kept her from getting shot in the first place!” Narvin glares at her, expecting a retort.

But Leela is silent, and he only has to glance at her face to see how much his words upset her.

“I’m...sorry,” he says. The words sound strange coming from him, like he isn’t used to apologizing.

“It is alright,” Leela says, even though it really isn’t. “It is true.”

There is an awkward pause, in which both Narvin and Leela desperately hope the other will introduce a new topic of conversation. Finally, Narvin says, “I’ve compiled a list of witnesses who need to be interviewed.”

“That is good,” Leela says.

“And I’ve been working on obtaining the PR video. They haven’t yet made Chancellery or CIA copies, so it’s been difficult, but we should have it by tomorrow morning.” He pauses. “...and I’d like you to look over it, see if you notice anything...strange.”

“Romana is staying somewhere else until we are done,” Leela tells him, providing another change of subject.

“Yes, I saw her speech. I rather thought you’d be going with her,” Narvin says stiffly. “You are the Madam Presidential bodyguard, after all.”

“I can be of more use here,” she replies. “Romana asked me, but I said no.”

“And where is she?” Narvin asks, irritation all too apparent in his tone. He is, Leela can tell, insulted that no one consulted him about the location.

“I cannot tell you,” she replies.

“As head of the CIA, I have a right to know!” Narvin explodes. “More right than a savage like you!”

“Maybe Romana has a reason to trust me, instead of a snake like you!” Leela hisses back.

“Yes. Well.” Narvin tries to force a smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. Leela has to resist the urge to pick him up by his uniform and throw him at the wall. She’s confident she could do it. She has no idea how heavy he is, of course, but Time Lords tend to be weedy.

“I’m leaving. Maybe Braxiatel will be more helpful. He’s actually intelligent, as much as it pains me to admit it.” Narvin glances sidelong at Leela. “Unlike some people I can think of.”

This time, Leela does lose her temper, and she launches herself at Narvin, who is caught by surprise and doesn’t have time to react.

A few minutes later, the fight is over, Leela emerging victorious. Narvin has a blossoming black eye, and Leela’s wrist is minorly sprained, from a miscalculation on her part when punching him. Once he has recovered his breath, Narvin storms away. Leela soon follows suit, but in the opposite direction.

As it turns out, they both went to Braxiatel’s office by different routes. Narvin bursts in before Leela, forgetting to knock, so she takes extra care to knock before walking in, something she has in common with civilized people. When she walks in, Narvin is being berated by Brax about knocking before entering. She allows a pointed smile in Narvin’s direction.

“Now, why are you two here?” Braxiatel asks. In the short time since Leela saw him last, his looks have changed remarkably. The color is drained from his face, his eyes wide, like a hunted animal. Leela wonders why. Brax does a double take, staring at Narvin’s face so intensely that Narvin blushes angrily.

“I’m here to find out where our president has disappeared to,” he says, still angry. “Since this savage refuses to say anything.”

“Whatever happened to your face? Braxiatel inquires, leaning closer. It’s an easy sidestep to the question, and Narvin is distracted for a moment.

“That savage attacked me, of course,” he replies, jerking his head at Leela.

“‘That savage,’ as you so eloquently put it, must have been provoked,” Braxiatel says smoothly.

“That’s beside the point,” Narvin says, before Brax can continue. “Where is the–”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Braxiatel interrupts. “The president commanded that you and Leela take the Acting Castellan’s responsibilities in regards to the assassination attempt. Yes, she’s aware that it does not fall under your jurisdiction. No, she will not listen to any complaints, formal or otherwise, about this decision. Thank you for coming, have a good night, and all of those other, equally tiresome pleasantries.”

“But–”

“Shh.” Braxiatel is clearly not having it tonight. Narvin continues on in this vein for some while, stammering protestations, only to be cut off each time by the increasingly tired-looking Cardinal. He at last gives up and leaves, followed by a reluctant Leela. Brax sinks down with a sigh, head in hands.

You see, Braxiatel has been shaken. Very badly. Enough to make his mustache tremble when he thinks about it. (Although Braxiatel will adamantly deny all claims that his lips are quivering instead. He maintains that his mustache has some low-level degree of sentience and, furthermore, is empathically connected to him. Most people would scoff at such a claim, but this is Irving Braxiatel we’re talking about. Stranger things have happened).

The long and short of the matter is this: Irving Braxiatel, Cardinal of the Prydonian Chapter, close colleague of Romana, and brother of––well, that part doesn’t really matter. Point is, he’s being blackmailed. There was a handwritten note on his desk when he walked in. His first thought was how quaint. His second thought (which came after reading the note) was a sort of incoherent screaming, coupled with a growing sense of panic. Not really a thought, more of a feeling. How dreadfully abhorrent.

The note detailed its knowledge of his...illegal activities. Furthermore, it went on to say, it would bring these matters into public knowledge unless he does three things. Those three things are more dear to Braxiatel than his life. (By that, he means he’d regenerate for them if he had to. He wouldn’t actually die for any of those things.) He sighs again as he rereads the note. It’s going to be a long night.

Narvin and Leela bicker the entire way back to Narvin’s office, mainly about the location of the president. Leela begins counting how many times Narvin calls her a savage. He’s certainly in a foul mood tonight; he usually contents himself with saying those things behind her back.

Finally, she stops walking and crosses her arms. “Maybe Romana does not trust you because you hate me so much,” she says, looking at him squarely.

“I don’t hate you,” he protests. He begins to say something else, but Leela cuts him off.

“You have called me a savage eleven times already.”

“I thought you’d rather hear the truth from me,” Narvin replies stubbornly.

“I already have many reasons to kill you, Narvin,” Leela tells him. “Do not tempt me.”

“Are you threatening me?” he asks indignantly.

Leela gives a low laugh in response, one that is harmless but certainly unnerves Narvin.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Narvin sufficiently perturbed. Conversation does not resume until they are back in his office, once they start summoning witnesses. They have a long list of Time Lords to get through. He informs her that he’s interviewed the PR Commentator without her. They still have to interview the selected members of the Chancellery Guard, the High Council, and other high-ranking Time Lords and Ladies who were in attendance.

The work goes slowly, or maybe it just seems slow, the way time seems to slow when it’s the middle of the night and you just want to sleep, but can’t. Person after person is interviewed. To Narvin, they’re all detestable because he’s suspicious of them; to Leela, they’re detestable because they’re all suspicious of her. The Time Lords being interviewed find the pair detestable because Narvin is CIA and Leela is a savage offworler. It doesn’t help that this is all taking place in the middle of the night. No one likes being dragged to an interrogation in the middle of the night.

To make matters worse, no one is quite sure what happened. Political opponents are using it as an opportunity to cast blame on each other. Some Time Lords have been so thoroughly traumatized that they’re working on completely excising the event from their memory. One Patrex was apparently regenerating from the trauma and could not be interviewed.

As the first sun begins to rise, Narvin and Leela are finally, wearily interviewing the last person (Inquisitor Darkel, who not only implies to Narvin that the president faked the attack to gain public support, but also tries to instigate a disagreement between Narvin and the Acting Castellan over jurisdiction, which Narvin ignores). After this, Narvin and Leela were hoping to get at least an hour or two of rest before continuing, but at that moment, the PR Commentator walks in with Braxiatel.

“Good morning!” the Cardinal says, practically singing. “We brought that video you need.” He puts a hand on Leela’s shoulder and mutters, “Don’t forget to visit Romana. She’s been flooding me with communications all night.”

“What are you talking about?” Narvin asks suspiciously, shooing the Commentator out of the room. “I think I have a–”

“–a right to know, yes,” Brax says, and it’s impossible to tell whether he’s being sarcastic or not. It’s Braxiatel, though, so it’s probably sarcasm. “I was just asking Leela where her K9 disappeared to. He might be useful in the investigation.”

“I’m sure that Leela will be more than helpful.”

“Be careful, Narvin,” Leela says. “You may find yourself complimenting me!”

“I’m not complimenting you, I’m just stating a fact,” Narvin replies. He’s trying to sound annoyed, but his voice comes out a little too high for that, and he ends up just sounding embarrassed.

Leela just laughs, although she sounds tired. Narvin can hardly blame her; after all, he’s just as tired. Still, he has to sneer at her barely repressed yawn, if only to display his Time Lord superiority.

“May I suggest that you both rest––for a few spans, perhaps––and then resume?” Braxiatel says. “Romana is our president, and while we must resolve everything as soon as possible, she would not want us to work to death on her behalf.”

Narvin makes a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat, and Braxiatel shoots him a warning glance, before putting his hands on Leela’s shoulders and steering her out of the office, oblivious to her protestations.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks him, squirming out of his grip so she can walk beside him.

“My office,” he replies shortly. “I’ve got a zero room. That’s a sort of––well, it doesn’t really matter what it is. I set up a transmat in there. A nice, private way to bypass Time Lord security. I set it up after you and Narvin left last night.”

“And where will it take me?” Leela asks.

“To Romana, of course. Where else?”

Braxiatel seems unwilling to talk after that. Leela wonders why, but doesn’t ask. He even sets the coordinates for the transmat silently. It’s all very odd. Braxiatel likes to explain things. It reminds Leela of the Doctor.

When she steps into the transmat, she disappears in a flash of barely visible blue light, with only a momentary tingling up her spine to show for it. Still, it makes her shudder.

The first thing she notices upon her arrival is that she’s in a courtyard. The second thing she notices is how cold it is. She screams Braxiatel’s name, but her words are snatched away by the wind.

Braxiatel’s customary obsequious (he likes to think of it as ‘deferential’) smile disappears along with Leela. His ramrod posture sags, he sighs, and even his mustache seems to droop (lending credibility to his theory about its sentience). He didn’t help Narvin and Leela with the investigation, but that doesn’t mean he got a good night’s sleep. The business with the anonymous note kept him up. Not that he was tossing and turning, more that he was trying to do some detective work. The problem is that no one was paying attention to the area around his office because of the small matter of an assassination attempt. Funny how things like that happen.

To make matters worse, the public surveillance footage of the area is missing. typical. he could go to the Chancellery Guard or the CIA for their private surveillance footage (the Time Lords are a paranoid enough race that they feel the need to have records of their public surveillance in triplicate), but then he’d have to fill out paperwork and explain why he needed it. he just doesn’t have the time.

This isn’t the first time Braxiatel has had problems of this nature (you can’t regularly flout the Laws of Time without getting the occasional blackmail), but this is the first time it’s ever happened on Gallifrey. It’s only natural that he would be slightly worried. Alright, reasonably worried. Extremely worried. Gallifrey is so well-defended from the outside world that it’s quite literally unthinkable for the blackmailer to be non-Gallifreyan, and it’s usually non-Gallifreyans who want to blackmail him.

What all of this really means is that there are only three people on the planet who could be blackmailing him, because there are only three people on the planet who know about his less-than-legal habits. There are only two people who might actually follow through with blackmailing him. Braxiatel just has to figure out if it’s Narvin or Torvald.

Easier said than done, especially with the president gone. He would normally ask Leela to help him––he knows she trusts him––but he can’t be certain that she wouldn’t accidentally give something away. Besides, Narvin has been keeping Leela away from Torvald, and for good reason. Brax is of the opinion that Torvald should be tried for murder, and that Leela shouldn’t go out of her way for revenge, but in all likelihood, neither of those things will ever happen. But all of that is beside the point in the face of this blackmailing business.

What Braxiatel is going to do, then, is keep a close eye on either Torvald or Narvin, and he’s decided he’s going to choose Narvin. Torvald is offworld most of the time, nowadays, ever since the inquiry. Narvin deemed it safest for him. And anyway, he thinks Narvin is the more likely culprit. Torvald is too spineless to do something like this on his own. Probably.

He heads back to his rooms to get a bit to eat and to quickly contact his other selves, warning them to not contact him for some time. In this trying time, he must actually uphold the law, rather than merely give the appearance of upholding it. How exhausting.

While Leela is off visiting the president––no doubt complaining about Narvin––and the coordinator (presumably) sleeps, Braxiatel receives his third very nasty shock of the past several hours.

Next to his food machine, he discovers a note with his name on it. Enclosed is a picture of himself, standing with...himself. A previous incarnation. The other Braxiatel would still be recognized, then. The other is his current incarnation, but probably later in his timestream. He can tell by the lack of his dapper, sentient/empathic mustache. His face looks so odd without it that Brax temporarily forgets the blackmailing problem because he’s too busy making a mental note to never shave, the Web of Time be damned.

Leela returns rather sooner than Braxiatel would have liked ,mainly because Narvin is still sleeping, so she’ll be bothering him with questions when he could be investigating. She has several things to tell him, including something that she’s very annoyed about.

“You said Romana wanted me and Narvin to work together,” she says practically spitting. “She did not say that!”

“Are you saying that she doesn’t want you two to work together?” Braxiatel asks innocently. 

“She does now. But only because she found out that we are working together.”

Braxiatel had wanted Leela to be working with Narvin since yesterday’s assassination attempt. It would ensure that the matter is thoroughly investigated, but without Leela’s strong need for vengeance. He also thinks it’ll be very funny to force Narvin and Leela to work together, since they do seem to hate each other so much. And it means that Narvin won’t have time to sneak threatening anonymous notes into his office, if Narvin is the one doing that.

“Well, if Romana is fine with it, then you had better carry on, hadn’t you?”

She contents herself with glaring at him, then stalks off to Narvin’s office, with its incongruous dripping noises and exposed pipes and stray wires hanging from the ceiling. She arrives at the same time as a bleary-eyed Narvin. His CIA robes are twisted and wrinkled, as if he had slept in them. 

“Are you ready to look over that PR video?” he asks, his voice surprisingly alert. He would sound pleasant if his voice weren’t always so insufferably superior. “You’re good at seeing things that are out of the ordinary. Perhaps you can help in that respect.”

“You will have to be careful, Narvin,” Leela says, as he sets up the video. “If I did not know better, I would say that you have now given me two compliments since Romana left yesterday.”

“Even savages are useful sometimes,” he retorts.

“I may be a savage, but at least I am not a coward.”

“Let’s just watch this,” Narvin says stiffly, pointing at the screen. “Let me know if you see anything unusual.”

The video is, of course, an exact repeat of what happened yesterday in the Panopticon. Leela sees herself standing behind the president, hand on knife, a stony expression on her face. Once more, she looks at the assembled Time Lords, searching for the glint of a staser.

“Stop it!” she suddenly cries out. “There it is!”

Narvin obliges instantly. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you not see it?” Leela cries. “Right there!” She leaps forward and points out a figure in Dromeian robes. There, too, is the staser, halfway out of the person’s pocket. The person’s back is to the camera, though, so they can’t see who it is.

“So they’re Dromeian,” Narvin says. “But the ceremonial collar is effectively hiding the face. Anyway, how did they get rid of the staser? We searched everyone.”

But Leela is still staring at the screen, her fingers tracing over the Time Lords, murmuring words under her breath. “How many Dromeians did we interview? I thought it was sev–”

“It was seven,” Narvin says, not realizing he’s interrupting her. “There’s another on the High Council, but he couldn’t make it to the speech. Something to do with his House.”

“Yes, I see,” Leela murmurs. She grabs Narvin’s arm and pulls him up next to her, startling him. “This is the would-be assassin. They used the staser. But look–” She gestures with her other hand to the crowd. “There are seven other Dromeians here. We interviewed all of them, did we not? This one was not here.”

Comprehension dawns on Narvin’s face even as he yanks his arm away from Leela disgustedly. “They couldn’t have hidden in the Panopticon,” he says. “There’s nowhere to hide there. It’s completely open.”

Leela nods in agreement. “Look––they are standing near a door. They are far from you or the Acting Castellan. When Romana was shot, everyone looked at her…”

“...and the person left, unnoticed,” Narvin finishes. He resumes the video, and they watch the figure in silver. The person turns immediately after the blast is fired, keeping their head down as they rush out of the room. All that can be seen is long, dark hair in a braid over the shoulder.

“That was...not pointless, but certainly less helpful than I’d hoped,” Narvin states flatly.

“It is obvious what we must do,” Leela says.

“Visit Lord Madak?” Narvin suggests.

“Who is that?”

“The eighth Dromeian,” says Narvin, exasperated. “The one who supposedly missed the speech. Try to keep up.

Leela doesn’t bother pointing out the hypocrisy in Narvin’s remark. She can sense the end is drawing near. She even lets him change into fresh robes before they set out for Lord Madak’s room.

Braxiatel is getting more and more nervous. The first two threatening notes had been in his office and his rooms. He’s never bothered with surveillance of his own, relying instead on the Citadel’s security systems. But he can find no records whatsoever of anyone being near his office or rooms. It’s like a ghost has suddenly started blackmailing him. Now, he’s found for more notes: one on his bed; another in a favorite overlook in the Citadel, high up, near the top of the Dome; there was one in a secret passage that he often takes to get to High Council meetings; the fourth was slipped into a briefing about the opening of the Academy to offworlders.

He’s put video surveillance in all of the locations he can think of––hidden, of course. He just wishes he knew who the blackmailer was. He can only fight opponents he knows. He’s decided that it’s not Narvin himself sending the blackmail. It might be sent on Narvin’s orders, but the CIA coordinator is not the courier. Narvin’s been busy all day with Leela, at the same time the notes have been appearing. He checks his security footage again, noticing that Narvin and Leela are now leaving the office, clearly on some kind of mission. Normally, he’d find it interesting, but right now he’s too preoccupied with his own struggles. He tries to read the briefing about the Academy, but ends up absentmindedly tugging at the corner of his mustache with immaculate fingernails, his thoughts tied up with the notes.

While Braxiatel is worrying, Narvin and Leela are almost running through the corridors of the Citadel to get to Madak’s rooms. Narvin isn’t pleased about it––it’s not very dignified to run after a savage, panting heavily. If he had known they’d be running across the entire Citadel, he wouldn’t have bothered to change his robes.

Lord Madak is just leaving his rooms when Narvin and Leela get there. He’s in Dromeian day robes and looks flustered at seeing the pair. He’s small and frail, with watery blue eyes and wispy white hair forming a halo around his head. “Can I help you?” he asks, eyeing their clothes with suspicion.

“Yes, you can,” Narvin says firmly, trying to appear imposing, even though his hair is now messy and he’s out of breath. “But it’s private. CIA business. Official investigation.”

“Yes, of course,” the Time Lord replies, and ushers them into his rooms. “I actually was going to find someone right now to ask about this–”

“Is this important?”

Judging by the looks that both Leela and Madak are giving him, that was rude. Narvin doesn’t really care, but he’s no fool, and fully understands the old Earth adage, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Too bad Narvin’s no good at being sweet.

“I was going to ask if I’m being framed for the attempted assassination,” Madak replies tightly, obviously offended. “Because I have both an alibi and a very strong suspicion that someone is trying to implicate me.”

Leela leans closer to Narvin. “He is not a suspect,” she whispers. “The person we are looking for has very long hair, dark as night. He is almost bald!” To Madak, she says, “What were you saying? I am sorry that Narvin is rude–”

“Leela!” Narvin interjects.

But Madak laughs, and he stops looking at them with such suspicion. “I was going to let the relevant authorities know that my ceremonial robes were stolen while I was visiting my House––there was a funeral and a looming all in one day, and as the head of the House, I can’t really miss it, can I? Anyway, I have some very good personal security in my rooms––some of the books I have in here are priceless!––and I caught the woman on video. I can show you–”

“Yes, thank you,” Narvin says, sounding unsure of himself now that he’s not getting annoyed at anyone.

The old Time Lord gives them footage in his own time, tottering around his rooms, telling them stories, and striking up friendly conversation. Narvin finds it terribly dull, but Lord Madak talks so much that a word couldn’t really be said in between.

“By the way,” Madak says, as he hands Narvin the data disc, “what’s the CIA doing investigating this assassination attempt? Shouldn’t this be a matter for the Chancellery Guard unless conclusively proven to be an alien?”

Narvin grimaces. “I am personally working on this case, along with the Presidential Bodyguard, by special orders from the president. With the Chancellery Guard going through the upheaval of finding a new Castellan, the president deemed it best for the work to be given to–”

“Oh,” Madak interrupts. “I thought it was perhaps because the Acting Castellan is so terrible at his job.

Narvin chokes suddenly, and Leela has to hurry him away from the confused old Time Lord. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying not to laugh. But it’s Narvin, so there has to be a different explanation.

Back in his office, Narvin calms down enough to access the Matrix, looking for data files on the young woman who stole the ceremonial robes. Narvin is certain that it’s the same woman who shot Romana; the hair is exactly the same.

“That’s...strange,” Narvin says.

“What is it?”

He takes a moment to reply. “There isn’t anyone in our records who looks like that woman,” he finally says. “But there would have to be. The Matrix has files on every sentient, rational being on Gallifrey.” He glances at Leela. “And you too, I suppose.”

Leela lets out a huff of breath. “I will ignore that, but I will rip off your toenails if you insult me one more time. Do you understand?”

Narvin doesn’t need threats to be afraid of Leela. He awkwardly clears his throat and changes the subject. “I wasn’t able to find any actual records, but I did find footage from the Citadel’s surveillance cams. We can get an idea of when she first showed up, if she’s colluding with anyone, and perhaps find a pattern to her movements by which we could catch her.”

He has, the entire time he’s been talking, been going through surveillance footage on a data disc. “What a waste,” he mutters, forgetting about Leela.

“What is?”

“She was in Low town, beneath the Citadel, a few nights ago, at the same time I had Torvald down there for a mission.” He sighs. “There was a terrorist threat there. Turned out to be nothing, but since Torvald was the one who brought it to my attention, I thought it best to be safe. His reports are usually accurate.”

“Perhaps Torvald and this woman met,” Leela suggests, saying Torvald’s name with malice. “Perhaps he is behind the plot. He does not like Romana–”

“No,” Narvin replies wearily. “Torvald is too dependable an agent to do something as stupid as that. I know you’re upset by–”

“Do not say his name!” Leela hisses. “And do not ever patronize me. Torvald is a lying, twisted, sneaking murderer who killed my husband and then pretended he knew nothing. He could look me in the eyes as I grieved, and act like he was innocent. Just as you did! You watched me grieve, you saw me work with the man who killed my husband, and you did nothing. You covered up his death and kept a killer from coming to justice. And yet you call me a savage! How can I know that Torvald will not continue to kill those I love? He is behind the plot to kill Romana, I am sure of it.”

Her words sting more than her fists ever could. Narvin isn’t sure that there’s anything he could do to make up for that awful day, all those months ago. But he is certain that Torvald is completely trustworthy. He always has been. His most trusted operative would never attempt to assassinate the president. He only killed Andred in self-defense. He continues looking through the footage in silence, Leela’s words still ringing in his ears. And then he stops.

“Leela…” he says tentatively. “I don’t think it’s Torvald behind the plot. Come look…”

Braxiatel has just finished making a report to the High Council (and is trying to ignore the new blackmail notes that appeared while he was gone) when Narvin and Leela come to visit. Their faces are unusually grave, and his hearts almost stop as he tries to figure out why. “Hello,” he says, trying to sound jovial. “What’s going on today? Are you any closer to finding the assassin?”

“Somewhat,” Narvin replies. Braxiatel notices the glance he suddenly shoots at Leela. If Braxiatel didn’t know any better, he’d say that Narvin is worried about her.

“Braxiatel,” Leela says. Her voice is soft, uncertain. “What do you know about the assassination?”

“What?” Brax isn’t certain what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“Did you try to kill Romana?” Her eyes are wide, but a hard edge has crept into her voice.

“Of course not! That would be absurd. What makes you think that?”

“In other news,” Narvin cuts in, “we found the would-be killer.” He’s studying Brax’s face intently as he speaks.

“That’s excellent!” Braxiatel enthuses. “Who is it?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Why has the assassin been visiting the places you frequent?” 

Oh. Oh dear. “...How do you know the places I frequent?” Braxiatel asks Narvin slowly. “My schedule is private.”

“I fail to see how that pertains to the subject at hand,” Narvin snaps back. “Answer the question.”

“Not until you answer.”

“I asked first.”

“Oh, you are both useless!” Leela bursts out. “Braxiatel, Narvin has been watching you ever since the inquiry. He does not trust you. He knows where you go.”

“Coordinator?” Braxiatel’s stare is uncomfortably intense. Narvin wishes he would maybe tone it back a little.

“The CIA has had a special interest in you since the revealing of your––indiscretions,” Narvin finally admits. “We had to be certain you wouldn’t continue, not while you’re here on Gallifrey.”

“And you said the assassin has been–”

“After the attempt, she went to your office. She’s been in and out of places you frequent all day. I can put two and two together, Cardinal.”

“That’s a matter of personal opinion,” Braxiatel mutters, clearly thinking hard about something. “There’s just one problem: I haven’t anything to do with the attempt.”

Narvin sighs. “I can’t just take your word for it, not when the evidence is stacked against you.”

And that’s when Braxiatel’s face lights up with a grin, so smug that Narvin suddenly finds himself imagining, in vivid detail, shaving off the Cardinal’s mustache just to get that arrogant look off the bastard’s face.

Braxiatel shakes Narvin’s hand enthusiastically and plants a kiss on Leela’s forehead. Narvin revises his impromptu daydreaming so that he’s ripping the mustache off. The last thing he wants is to have his hand shaken by the man he’s trying to arrest.

“I think you may have just brought the answer to all my problems,” Braxiatel says, making Narvin even more irate.

“Would you maybe stop speaking in such vague terms and give me a straight answer? No,” he adds under his breath. “That would be too easy.”

“Well…” Braxiatel pauses, apprehensive. Then he shrugs. “Why not? I suppose I’ll have to, anyway. Besides, you can fully appreciate my brilliant idea this way.” He takes the notes he’s received out of a desk drawer. “Read this.”

Narvin takes the top letter, confused. “Dear Irving,” he reads, his voice halting. “This handwriting is terrible,” he adds, as if trying to excuse his stammering.

“Continue,” Leela says.

He clears his throat. “Dear Irving, it would be absolutely terrible if the people of Gallifrey found out about how frequently you break the Laws of Time. I feel that it is my duty to inform them about a number of things, including (but certainly not limited to) the amount of communication you keep with your other selves, as well as your art adventures. I could be persuaded to leave you alone if you renounce your title of Cardinal, retire from politics, and…” Narvin’s voice catches in his throat. “...and if you give up the location of the president. Leave a note on your desk with the coordinates. Don’t worry. I’ll see it. I see everything. You have three days.”

Narvin lets out a heavy sigh, handing the note back to Brax. “You’ve certainly gotten yourself into a mess.”

“I’m aware,” Braxiatel replies shortly. “But I see a way around it. And I see a way to end this investigation.” He turns to Leela. “Would you be able to deliver a message to the president? Oh, and Narvin, don’t tell anyone. Keep it between the three of us. Someone had to help this person out, and we still don’t know who. But I’d bet my life that it’s a higher-ranking Time Lord with high security clearance, and probably someone within either the CIA or the Chancellery Guard.”

Romana readily agrees to the plan, although she can’t help but complain about it a little bit. It’s in the job description. Still, she’s got Leela with her, and she totally trusts Leela.

Leela, however, isn’t quite so confident. She still can’t get around the fact that she failed the president––failed her friend––once already in the past few days. She’s not used to failure. She can’t afford to get used to failure.

She waits calmly, near the president but just out of sight.

And waits.

And waits.

Just as she is beginning to lose hope that anything will happen, there is a flash of blue light, so sudden it’s almost invisible, existing as an afterimage in Leela’s mind, and a woman appears. She looks younger than Leela thought she would be, although she knows that people on Gallifrey do not always look their age. Her hair is as it was in the Panopticon, the long braid hanging over her shoulder. She would be pretty if Leela didn’t know of the blackness of her heart. Leela’s grip on her knife tightens. She will redeem herself before the day is done.

Romana raises her eyebrows at the woman. “Welcome. I expect you’ve come to assassinate me.”

The young woman is surprised, but recovers her composure with remarkable alacrity. “I didn’t realize you knew I was coming,” she says.

“DO you really think me that stupid?” Romana asks. “I’ve been waiting for hours. You’re later than I expected. And I’ve been so looking forward to it.”

The woman falters. “I’m here to kill you,” she says rather redundantly. “Your regime must be stopped. The Time Lords must be–”

“So who are you working for?” Romana interrupts. Leela wonders if the president is perhaps enjoying herself too much. “Surely not a Time Lord. The Monans? The Nekkistani?”

The woman pauses, trying to work out what’s going on. This was not what she had been expecting. “I’m a member of–”

“Free Time?” Romana guesses. “How tedious.”

The woman swallows. “Your stooge, that Cardinal Braxiatel, led me straight here,” she informs Romana. She seems intent on gloating. “And when you are dead, I shall kill him, too.”

Romana rolls her eyes. “You’re so busy talking that I’ll probably regenerate from boredom before you get around to killing me. By all means, take your time. I have all day. What’s your name?”

The woman, who had been raising her staser, drops it. “My name is Hanne?” Her voice rises in confusion.

“Are you sure? You sound awfully uncertain.” Romana takes a step forward. “You don’t have to assassinate me, you know. Or Braxiatel. He’s not so bad, once you get used to him. I’ll even make a bargain with you. If you drop your staser, I’ll let you go free.”

Hanne shakes her head. “I will not listen to your lies and duplicity. I kill you in the name of Free Time!” She raises her staser once more, finger tightening on the trigger.

“Leela, now!” Romana shouts. The staser blasts and Romana ducks. Leela leaps out from her hiding place and grapples with Hanne, wrestling for the staser. The young woman is not skilled in combat; it takes Leela only a few well-placed blows for her to drop the weapon. Leela kicks the staser over to Romana, who picks it up and pockets it, while Leela stands Hanne up, keeping the woman from wrenching out of her grasp.

They march her to Romana’s transmat and back to the Citadel, where they restrain her in a spare chair that they bring into the president’s office. It’s a green thing that looks like it’s made of plastic, and it greatly offends Romana’s aesthetic sensibilities.

They are soon joined by Braxiatel and Narvin. They look questioningly from Hanne to Romana to Leela.

“She is human,” Leela informs them, breaking the heavy anxious silence. “I felt the single heartbeat in her wrist when I fought her for the staser.”

Narvin almost looks relieved. “That explains why she wasn’t in the Matrix.” He looks at Leela. “You’re the only recorded human on Gallifrey. Although,” he adds, brow furrowing, “I would like to know how she arrived on the planet. Nothing can get past the transduction barriers without our knowing.” 

Romana coughs. “Actually,” she says, embarrassed, “if something is in an approved TARDIS, it’s quite easy to smuggle something onto Gallifrey.”

“Then we can just ask her who it was who helped her,” Narvin replies.

Hanne laughs hysterically. “If you think I’ll tell you anything, you’re stupider than I thought. I will never betray anyone. Free Time! Free Time! Free–”

“Oh, get her out of here,” Romana says. “Narvin, I believe she falls under your jurisdiction.”

Narvin opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. “Very well, Madam President.” He hauls Hanne to her feet and begins marching her out of the room, none too gently. Before he leaves, he turns back to Romana. “I understand that you’ve outlawed its usage, but in this case, would you be willing to make an exception to the ban on the mind probe?”

“No,” Romana sighs. “Not the mind probe.”

After he leaves, Romana turns to Braxiatel. “She was blackmailing you?”

He nods. “She had to have gotten the information from someone who knew about––everything. I know I’ve never seen her before in my lives. And after this, I’ll certainly avoid her if I see her in my future. He pauses. “I think––and this is only a theory, but my theories often tend to be true––but I think she found out about everything from the person who smuggled her onto Gallifrey. But I can’t prove anything without exposing my––indiscretions, which you have so kindly overlooked.”

“You know who it is?” Leela asks.

“I have my suspicions, but I am afraid they must remain just that. But I really can’t see who else it might have been. Think about it. There are three Time Lords who have high security clearance, leave the planet frequently, and know about my...illegalities. And one of them is you, my lady,” he adds, turning to Romana. “And of the others, I believe one would never ally himself with Free Time to get rid of you, even if he doesn’t care for you. That leaves...well, work it out for yourself.”

He goes to leave the office, but before he does, he pauses, looking at Romana. “My lady, the danger is not yet over for you, I’m certain of it. The Time Lord collaborator is still at large, and we can’t catch him without exposing me. Be careful.”

Once he leaves, Romana turns to Leela. “I want to thank you, Leela,” she says solemnly. “You saved my life today.”

“I am your bodyguard,” Leela replies. “That is what I am supposed to do. And I failed you before, when Hanne tried to assassinate you in the Panopticon.”

“But I didn’t die, did I? You’ve more than made up for it. You uncovered who Hanne is, and you stopped her from shooting me again.” Romana pauses. “Leela, you’re an admirable bodyguard. If the Chancellery Guard were half as good as you, I’d never have to worry about security ever again. You know,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, “I should make you the new Castellan.”

Leela’s eyes grow wide. “Then Narvin will hate you even more!” she says, almost laughing. “But I would not wish to be Castellan. I would not get to see you as often.”

“Don’t worry,” Romana assures her. “I want you to stay close by my side for a very long time. Now come on,” she adds. “I’ve got a business dinner with that loathsome little toad, Mephistopheles Arkadian, on Earth in the year 1939, and it would be unforgivable if my bodyguard didn’t come with me. There’s a new presidential TARDIS, with some new features that I really want to try out…”