Chapter Text
The ceiling of the High Council chamber was sprinkled with refracted starlight. A soft auroral glow diffused across the grand dome, which hung like a frozen wave above the convening assembly. Beneath it, Time Lords sat in semicircular arrangement, their robes cascading like still waterfalls over polished obsidian thrones. Voices were hushed but carried the unmistakable edge of unspoken challenge and allegiances shifting.
Siri sat tall, her spine straight despite the weight of fatigue pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her hands remained folded neatly atop her lap as one thumb softly rubbed the back of the other hand in slow, precise strokes. Her composure was well-kept despite the tension in the air and the raging back-and-forth that had been ongoing for the last two hours. The hall echoed faintly with the metallic resonance of a voice at the far end of the room.
"And I say again," rumbled High Councillor Quenlax, standing with his arms clasped behind his back. "Maintaining the task force protocol is not merely prudent; it is essential. We cannot allow bureaucratic hesitation to undo a safeguard placed between our order and the chaos festering beneath the Capitol's skin."
There were a few low murmurings of agreement, most notably from the individuals who aligned themselves with the Core Faction bloc. Siri eyed each one of them with a practised dispassion. As the opposing High Councillor looked around the room with a victorious nod, Siri took a deep breath and swallowed hard before quickly standing up, much to the surprise of multiple peers.
"I understand your concern," she replied evenly, her voice cutting through the chamber like a scalpel through silk. "But let us not confuse public visibility with security. The task force's Martial Officer has seen an increase in autonomy over the last six months since its foundation. This growing power, unchecked by the Council of Judiciary, is not safeguarding order - it is replacing it."
She turned her gaze to the centre of the room, where the Lady President sat quietly atop the highest throne. Livia Caralis had not spoken once since the debate began, but her dark eyes remained fixed on Siri with a look that was neither one of approval nor disdain. Siri shivered slightly, unnoticed by her colleagues. She found the Lady-President's unreadable glare unnerving if met for too long.
Another High Councillor, Velnis, leaned forward in her seat and projected with a warm voice. "If I may interject," she said. "I support the argument of High Councillor Siri. Gallifrey is not a militarised state. We have order through time. If we let fear dictate our procedures, we trade wisdom for reaction, and that is not a trade we can afford."
The air shifted. A stillness followed, like tension stretched taut across a harp string. High Councillor Hestara, draped in slate-grey robes embroidered with pale gold spirals, tilted her head in contemplation.
"Yet we've already seen two incidents in recent weeks," she said slowly, her voice was delicate. "Unrest has risen in Sub-Circuit District Four, and growing interference is reported within the Panopticon. Aren't we already at risk of appearing... passive?"
Siri resisted the urge to clench her jaw. Hestara was as predictable as a politician could ever be, mirroring whichever side of a debate had made sure to shout the loudest, but never truly clinging to an opinion of her own.
Quenlax scoffed, stepping forward again. "Appearing passive? We already are passive! We hover, we observe, and we pretend intervention is beneath us, all while subversives gain footholds against us. I say it once more, let the task force work. Let it root out the rot!"
"And what of transparency?" Siri countered, rising now to her full height. "What of justice, measured and proportional? How many 'lower-caste' Gallifreyans have been detained without documentation under this supposedly protective task force? What safeguards exist to prevent its power from being used to silence innocents? What stops them from turning their power inwards, against us?"
"Your concern for the lower sectors is noble," Quenlax said with a slight bow, his voice softened with rehearsed empathy. "But it is also misplaced. This High Council is the spine of Gallifrey, and a spine must be protected, even if it means discipline of the limbs."
A quiet stir passed through the chamber. Siri caught Velnis' glance. The other High Councillor gave a subtle shake of the head and pressed her lips thin, as though begging Siri not to retaliate with too much emotion, despite the weight of Quenlax's words rocking her to the core.
Hestara raised her hand again. "Perhaps a revised oversight committee could satisfy both-"
"We already have committees," Siri cut in, her voice sharp and emotional. "What we lack is restraint. You speak so highly of discipline as if it were a virtue to be imposed on others, yet never to be wielded by ourselves."
There was a long moment of silence that followed her outburst.
"Enough," said Lady President Livia, her voice smooth and absolute. "This chamber will not fracture itself into factions. Not today."
All voices ceased. Even Quenlax, who had opened his mouth to respond, slowly closed it and bowed his head before sitting.
Livia stood, her crimson robes glinting faintly beneath the room's radiance. "This is not a matter for a rushed vote. Emotions are high. Positions are entrenched. We will reconvene in a future session when minds are less clouded by ideology."
None of the High Councillors spoke up in opposition or agreement. Livia's eyes passed over all of them like a blade sliding against skin.
"Until then," she said. "The protocol remains active."
The Lady President turned. Her attendants rose as one and swept out behind her, robes whispering like falling banners in her wake. The chamber fell into the muted rustle of motion as others gathered their files and data rolls. Siri remained seated for a moment longer, watching the Lady President's retreating silhouette. She finally stood, quietly, and left through the side doors into the Capitol lit by dual sunsets.
The corridor opened onto an arched observation walkway suspended like a thread of silver across the Capitol skyline. Soft and violet twilight had descended, casting the glass panels in long blue shadows. Beneath Siri's feet, the crystalline causeway glistened faintly, as though the starlight itself had been woven into the floor. She walked alone, as was often her preferred way to travel.
It was always quiet there, above the city. It existed in a place far beyond the murmurs of debate and ideological fury. The great domes and towers of the Capitol rose like coral out of the gold-lit sea of the lower districts. Distant glowfields blinked like thought patterns on the skin of a sleeping mind.
Siri exhaled slowly. The chill evening air bit at her cheeks, not quite cold enough to be bracing but definitely sharp enough to ground her. The debate still turned in her head, looping in nested spirals of doubt, anger, and shattering hope. Quenlax's words were laced with entitlement. Velnis' steadfast solidarity was an appreciated change to the norm in a room where she often stood alone as the one voice challenging the biases of group agreement. The Lady President's refusal to choose is what bothered her most. They were stewards of time, yet none could decide what kind of present they wanted to live in.
Her breath fogged the glass. She stopped walking, resting her hands against the transparent railing, and looked out at the stars. It wasn't the stare of a scientist, nor the look of a navigator, that she gave the blinking lights. Instead, it was the look of a quiet, distant woman, yearning for something greater. Gallifrey was fracturing. She could feel it in the tone of the debates and the tightening of the task force's leash on the planet. Even the silence she enjoyed had begun to feel monitored.
A single star pulsed red, lower on the horizon than seemed physically possible. She stared at it, unblinking. Suddenly, there was light. A thin line of energy stretched silently from that point. It passed through the space where her throat had been just a second earlier. She dropped. Her body slammed against the floor; instinct moved her before thought could. A gasp was torn from her lungs, unbidden, and her limbs shook violently.
A smell of ozone and burning hit her. The scent of hot metal and fractured air raced into her nostrils. Her face twisted up, her eyes frantic, scanning the rooftop towers, the high antennae of the city's edge, and the shrouded places beyond the Capitol's curve. There were multiple footsteps, fast and clattering, but Siri didn't get up as they approached.
Two guards sprinted into view, charged rifles at their backs and their emergency wrist transponders flashing red. They spread out quickly. One knelt beside her, speaking, but despite seeing his mouth move, the sound didn't reach her ears as blood rushed to Siri's head and disoriented her. She barely pointed to the spot on the wall behind her. The guard followed her direction and looked over. There it was, a scorched ring the size of a clenched fist. It was still warm and smoking slightly.
"An attack has targeted High Councillor Siriadeynn," the guard said into his transmitter. "Repeat. A precision shot was taken at High Councillor Siriadeynn. No injury sustained. We require containment and escalation protocol, now!"
She closed her eyes, but the stars still burned bright in her mind, and that beam flying towards her replayed again and again. Her two hearts were hammering. Her hands would not stop shaking. Somewhere, in the static haze of her thoughts, she drifted to her dear friend and wondered what he'd have done were he still there. Before she could wonder much more, her vision blurred, and everything went black.
The teacup rattled softly in the saucer as Siri set it down. Her fingers were still trembling. After fainting, the security personnel had moved her inside to a quiet room and helped her slowly come around from the shock. The room was too quiet. It was sheltered and soundproof, lit with the soft, warm glow of the artificial lighting above. All of it was designed to comfort the powerful, but comfort felt like a lie now.
Outside the reinforced windows, the Capitol's glass curvature reflected its own light back at itself. The city was nothing but an echo chamber of greatness and control. The tea had long gone cold. She exhaled shakily, trying to centre herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. That had been the mantra when she first joined the High Council as an advisor. Now, it just sounded like counting time until something else exploded.
The door slid open. Theojan entered in his standard black and deep-crimson uniform, adorned with the insignia of the Martial Office. He moved like an edict made of flesh, eyes scanning before his boots even touched the floor. A pair of his enforcers flanked him but did not enter.
"Report," he said to the guards.
One of them stepped forward and briefly whispered in his ear. They confirmed the scorch marks, trajectory alignment, and the detection of the spatial compression signature. It had been a clean shot, not a malfunction or a misfire. With that kind of weaponry, no one should have missed at that distance. Theojan waved them away and sealed the door behind him once he was sure they had left. He crossed to Siri in three slow steps and sat opposite her. She didn't look up.
"I've locked down the sector," he said flatly. "Scan barriers across all radial vectors. No one in or out without biological clearance.
Siri didn't speak. He leaned forward slightly, his face unreadable, but a faint flicker of concern passed behind his eyes before burning itself beneath command and protocol.
"I trust you're not hurt?" he said at last.
"Not physically," her voice was paper-thin. "But no, not entirely intact, either."
Theojan nodded once. "You were outside the recommended perimeter. Was there a reason?"
"I needed air."
"Unscheduled movement makes protection difficult. I'll note it in the ledger and add that causeway to the perimeter."
That pulled her head up. "I didn't ask for protection."
"You received it anyway."
They stared at each other. There was no affection, just long familiarity that had transformed into procedure.
"I needed space to think," she explained. "We had finished a long debate. We argued about how close we are to turning Gallifrey into a fortress."
"We already have," Theojan smirked. "Some of us just haven't accepted it yet."
The door slid open again as someone entered, bypassing the seal. The feeling in the room immediately changed. Livia entered, robed not in ceremony but in deep, unpatterened grey. It was the colour of mourning, clearly in reaction to the news of what had transpired. Two advisors lingered behind her, faceless beneath their hoods.
"High Councillor," she said, with a dip of the head. "Martial Officer."
Theojan stood instinctively. Siri tried, but the shock had still claimed her legs.
"I've read the preliminary reports," the Lady President's words carried no empathy. "You are fortunate, Siri."
"I don't feel fortunate."
"Feeling is not a requirement for survival," she remained neutral.
The Lady President moved to a terminal in the corner of the room, flicking through data packet after data packet. The information detailed was the same report Theojan had already received from the guards.
"This is the second targeting of a High Councillor in six months," she sighed. "Valyss, and now you."
Siri's eyes dropped. Whether the Lady President intended it or not, the tone of her words gave Siri an immense feeling of guilt. Theojan did not break his gaze from Livia, standing at attention the whole time.
"I am invoking emergency directive Rassilon-Seven."
Theojan straightened, and even Siri went pale.
"The Silicon Ghost initiative," Livia continued, without fanfare. "Full planetary surveillance. Suspension of High Council oversight and convention until the threat is neutralised. Congratulations, Martial Officer, your task force has complete autonomy."
"Lady President," Siri began. "You can't be serious?"
"I am."
There was a pause for breath.
"You've granted him total control," Siri whispered.
Livia turned to her. "I've granted Gallifrey a reprieve."
Theoja bowed his head slightly, accepting the authority like a blade he'd been waiting to unsheathe. "I thank you, Lady President. I shall ensure the power bestowed upon me is used in the best interest of Gallifrey and the High Council, to silence these threats and neutralise whatever rebellious spark has put this grievous attack into motion."
Siri's communicator chimed. She glanced at it and saw a short message. She didn't react, not at first. Her eyes merely stared. Finally, her voice returned to her, but she remained looking at the device.
"Theojan. You'll want to see this."
He stepped behind her, eyes narrowing. Even Livia's brow twitched as she looked over and saw what was there. On the screen was a simple message written in glyphs of glowing monochromatic grey.
That was a warning shot. The next won't miss.