Chapter Text
The disgraced Lord Varnus passed through the busied terminal of Port Lorrkel with irritated ease. Tourists, smugglers, shoppers, criminals were all visitors that flocked through the passageways of this alien planet. A spectrum of life and species and peoples all beamed through the pathways. It stunk of foul fumes and engines that burnt through oil as though it were a commodity as cheap as water – yet the stench of the unwashed clothes and simmering body odour of a million space travellers contended for the spot of worst smell.
“Oi! Watch it bud!” Exclaimed a creature, whose coarse green skin scratched against the clothes of Lord Varnus. The creature froze and stared at Varnus, outraged as the Time Lord barged through the crowd of oncoming traffic.
Varnus barely gave the man a wave of an apology, trying his best to keep an observant watch. His eyes eagerly searching every face, whilst his mind worked hard to remember the details.
It was a specific time and place that he was seeking. The 5th day of Orlo of 10983, Terminal X-47 of Port Lorrkel, at 14.59 pm – local time.
He could ignore the bellowing thrusters of ships and the chatter of a dozen alien tongues. He put aside the metallic tang to the air and the faint taste of iron that teetered on his lips. His eyes shunned the waving banners and flickering neon signs, because his focus was elsewhere. Somewhere here, in the busied ports, the crowded passageways, the stench-filled pits of the galaxies squalor, was a woman.
After sometime, as he felt himself growing more concerned with the specified time getting closer, he spotted terminal X-47. Stood beneath its dim active light, was a cloaked figure. The figure was bulky, clearly wearing cladded armour beneath the crimson robes. Despite her apparel, however, she was thin and, it wasn’t until Lord Varnus approached the woman, that he spotted her youthful face.
“Cascade?” Lord Varnus asked in hushed panicked tones. That was her designated codename – which Lord Varnus felt strangely familiar. Not as a codename, he hadn’t dabbled in espionage back on Gallifrey – that was rather the business of other agents and Councillors and Commanders and Coordinators and Cardinals. But the word itself, chosen as a name, felt as though it tease something in Lord Varnus’ mind.
Having little time to dwell on that notion, Varnus approached the woman. Jet black hair was shrouded beneath her crimson cloak, but her eyes were an unforgettable blue. Calming blues of oceanic greatness. They reminded him of his wife, before she died on Gallifrey. Often, he thought about Yellara. A kind, beautiful soul. Smiling constantly, singing beautiful songs, laughing at anything he ever said. Well, not exactly. She laughed at most things, whilst other things she found confusing and, as a result, would stare at him blankly.
Cascade paused as she spotted Lord Varnus. Freezing, practically with some form of shocked paralysis, she examined the face of the man she was expected to meet. Her shock was much more enamoured than anything else, which took a moment for Lord Varnus to make sense of.
“It’s… you?” She wondered, curious. Part of her doubted it, another part had suspected it was a ploy. But either way, she decided it best to ignore her sudden paralysis and pursue the meeting as planned.
“You seem surprised?” Lord Varnus gave a forced scoff, trying his best to ease the situation. His wry smile failed to reach his eyes, “I wasn’t aware my reputation extended out here in Port Lorrkel.”
“Reputation?” In Cascade’s voice was an attempt of a dry chuckle, but nothing followed. She simply raised her eyebrow and scanned the man’s face, “Last I heard, you were dead.”
Lord Varnus wasn’t quite certain how he could or should respond. His presence defied that report, but during the Time War, that was nothing out of the ordinary. People died and people were reborn, not to mention the state of being a Time Lord in this war meant constant regeneration.
“I know all too well that Gallifreyan records are not always accurate.” There was bitterness in his words. A seething frustration born from a betrayal long ago. His voice was dry, his eyes were fixed.
“Not here.” Cascade’s gloved hand seized his and, before he had time to object, she yanked him through the doorway of Terminal X-47. Behind them, the door slammed shut with a metallic clunk akin to a prison cell. Locks and gears clicked into place, and the muffled roar of the spaceport dimmed behind them.
Giving himself a moment of respite, Lord Varnus curiously surveyed the dimly lit hangar. It was home to a derelict old ship, one that resembled the most futile of ships back on Hestremia. It was rusted brown and cracked along the side, with a peculiar looking door which seemed out of place the more he stared. The engines were knackered, there was no nicer way to put that. They could probably serve a trip to the moon and just about fall into the orbit of the celestial body with the amount of capacity those engines had.
“This… is where you’re hiding?” He remarked, staring at the ship as it slumped at the far end. “I don’t think that’s flown since before this entire war.”
“It’s better than it looks,” She spoke defensively, straightening her cloak. “She’s disguised.”
“Disguised as what? Scrap metal?” He scoffed, almost admiring the heap of broken metal that once acted as a ship.
“Don’t mock,” Cascade was firm in her voice, although her tone was light and gentle. She stared at Lord Varnus, scanning his face still. Her eyes were lined with unease and distrust. “It’s kept me alive.”
“Alive, sure. But you’re hardly thriving.” Lord Varnus approached the hull of the ship, he ran his finger along a rusted seam in the metal. It’s rough coarseness scraping him like sandpaper riddled with tetanus. Hope fizzled and drained, before he turned back to Cascade. “That cannot be our transport.” He shook his head in disbelief, trying to morph his face in such a way that didn’t convey the pomposity of his voice.
“I’ll explain in due time – when he’s ready. But yes, it does still fly. Mostly.” Even her voice sounded youthful. Naïve, as though she had been snatched from the cradle of the old Gallifreyan Academy. By the time Lord Varnus had processed the young woman’s voice, she had already begun to continue.
“He?” Lord Varnus inquired, although was promptly met with a refusal of any answers by Cascade. Her oceanic eyes scowled at him, contempt for his question resonating in her eyes like an engine burning into flight. Lord Varnus got the hint, “How did you even know I was going to come here? This is all incredibly dangerous.”
Cascade shrugged, smiled gently and glanced across towards the Lord Varnus. “I knew you would. I’ve fought this war for a very long time, but I still know there’s hope. So thank you, Lord Varnus.” She spoke with sincerity, although with some shame she attempted to hide the smile that broke out across her face.
“Port Lorrkel isn’t exactly a common meeting place.” Now he continued to scan the room, only finding a few crates of disused cargo to scatter the far wall. “You know that, don’t you?” She frowned as he looked down upon to her, conscious of his voice still. His face contorted into some effort of sincerity, but he wasn’t quite sure if he had succeeded.
She frowned. “He said it was the best place to meet you undetected. Said Time Lords were… or could be… watching.” Cascade held a moment of silence between them, as if waiting and listening for any sign that their conversation had become anything other than private.
“He?” Lord Varnus snapped his head around, staring at Cascade with caution. “Who exactly is ‘he’?”
“You’ll meet him soon enough.” Cascade dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, before tending to the door lock and ensuring it couldn’t be accessed in the slightest. “The thing about Lorrkell, is that the Time Lords have probably never even heard of it. It’s full of smugglers and thieves and deserters. It’s a hodgepodge of chameleons.”
“Luckily for me, this was the galaxy I was stranded in. Wasn’t too difficult to reach here.”
“At least the Time War hasn’t hit this place yet.”
“Not yet.” Lord Varnus’ voice was cold and knowing. The Time War was bound to scorch everything in existence.
Cascade still seemed to be struggling to fathom Lord Varnus’ place here, staring at him as though she was trying to find an imperfection in his face. She sought some reason to doubt him, because most of the time, this war had given her reason to. But his face seemed a perfect replica of the notorious ‘Dalek sympathiser’ who had fled Gallifrey two years prior. He too had jet black hair, but his skin was coarse. He had a mole on the lower side of his neck, and wrinkled lines pushing deep into his forehead. There was a faint scar beneath his ears, which were small. His eyes, a faint green that warred with a fainter blue.
Cascade’s sharp gaze daggered Lord Varnus for long enough, until she finally broke the silence between them. “Did you really…” Her voice trailed off, curious and cautious. The last thing she wanted to do was cause offense to one of the few willing to assist in this mission.
“Sympathise with Daleks?” He scoffed. “I’ve heard the story. It’s as laughable as it is tediously outrageous. I lost my two children during the Belogrovia assault – Dalek sympathy is as much an oxymoron as the word itself. Nobody could sympathise with the Daleks, especially not the Daleks themselves. Compassion is negated by their presence. It’s eradicated, or more aptly, exterminated.” Now his voice teetered into bitterness as he recalled the outlandish stories perpetuated across Gallifrey.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to-”
“No, of course not.” Lord Varnus waved her apology away. “It’s just… most Time Lords have formed a particular opinion of me.”
“To be fair, most Time Lords are busy fighting a war that feels like it will never end, and that we’re slowly losing.” Cascade commented, although she realised as she uttered the words, that none of it really went anywhere.
“Regardless,” Lord Varnus pivoted the conversation away. “Your contract seemed to imply this was an urgent situation.”
“Yes, sorry sir. It is important. Very important.” For an agent with a specified codename, she seemed rather cautious and tepid. Lord Varnus wondered why, but he disregarded his intrigue. It was irrelevant for the subject at hand. “What do you know about Project Snowdust?” Optimism glistened in her eyes, skimming along the calm oceans that swelled in the depths of her stare.
Lord Varnus frowned as he shook his head, “Project Snowdust?” He pondered, searching his memory for any sense of recognition he had to the name; ultimately finding nothing. The name was meaningless. Shrugging his shoulders, Lord Varnus finally spoke. “Is that some kind of Dalek weapon? Time Lord research?”
“We had hoped you would know.” Cascade admitted, “But now realising that you’re you… I realise it was quite – well, optimistic…”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lord Varnus scoffed, arching an eyebrow and now ensuring that his faced matched the outraged and offended pomposity of his voice. He leant in closer, trying to catch a glint in the girls’ eyes – but he found nothing. Cascade clearly didn’t mean to offend him, but she had.
“I just mean that…” She flinched, searching for an answer. “Well, you weren’t exactly a military man back on Gallifrey, were you, sir?” Her voice trembled with a flicker of terror, as she started to regret the words she had chosen.
Between them lingered a momentary silence, which gave enough of a break for them to hear the sounds that bellowed through the port. Beyond the metal doors, life prevailed. Criminal life, at that, but life regardless. For a moment, as their intrigue caught the better of them both, they caught the sound of a spice trade.
1900 credits for a half gram of Sriltan, a difficult spice to retrieve from this side of the galaxies – best favoured in expensive meals… or seamless assassinations.
“Sir?” He let out a dry, harsh laugh. “I’m not some old relic from the Citadel. I was - am – a scholar. A medical professional. Most of my effort was concentrated on the regulation of Time Lord survival. Hospitals for the wounded, cures for diseases, temporal science for temporal diseases. My war was fought in wards and laboratories, not battlefields.”
“So, probably the least helpful Time Lord to answer the contract.” Cascade muttered to herself, her words still pricking the ears of Lord Varnus. She sighed, the weight of which seemed to signify that the world was crushed.
Hope was lost.
The War was damned.
Although, despite the heaviness of her sigh, something teemed in her eyes. An unfettered optimism, which seemingly could survive the worst the universe could offer her.
“Regardless of my knowledge, I still came here to complete the contract.” Lord Varnus’ attitude had now lost the pomposity, as he made an effort to reclaim his place on the mission he had drafted himself into. “You needed help against a dangerous plot in this war.”
The mission itself had been picked up across the universe, but it’s specific details of meeting time made it finetuned to a specific type of agent. Only, Cascade had hoped the applicant had more military background than Lord Varnus had. That said, Lord Varnus had two things an agent for this mission needed – a poor reputation on Gallifrey and nothing to lose. All Lord Varnus knew he needed though, was a time machine and a sense of determination.
Annoyingly, Lord Varnus only had the sense of determination, and his arrival for the specific timeframe offered to him was pure chance. His TARDIS had been… out of use when he’d been stranded on this planet – Felsana.
“He’s ready.” Cascade smile was almost giddy, excited for the reaction that Lord Varnus would have moments later.
“He? Who-”
The door of the scrap metal ship screeched open, scraping against its own hinges, releasing a scratching sound that cut deep into the eardrum.
Silence resonated amongst them for a moment, as Cascade’s giddy eyes watched a man emerge from the door – a gruff old man, whose weathered expression was clearly scarred by decades and centuries of war. His hair gave the signs of his age, as it began to transcend beyond the age of grey and into the growths of white. Donning a worn brown leather coat and a velvet waistcoat that contradicted the strapped bandolier across his chest, the man was clearly a soldier.
This was ‘he’.
“I had hoped we’d find a more…” The man examined Lord Varnus sceptically – a look promptly returned moments later. “Suited candidate.”
“This is Lord Varnus-” The man waved his hand, dismissing Cascade’s introduction.
“I know who he is. All rather too well.”
“Sorry,” Lord Varnus chuckled nervously. “Have we met before?” He watched, expecting an answer to quickly follow.
He assumed the options were easy – yes, they’d met before but for some reason the man looked different, or no, but somehow the man knew him.
“Nowadays, I find that meeting somebody isn’t as conventional as it once was. Because when you’re not being chased down by Daleks, you’re encountering some fracture in the flow of time.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, having accepted the reality of this war long ago. “But no, we haven’t met before.”
“Then introductions have to be in place.” Lord Varnus corrected his posture and shot forward with his hand reached out to shake the mans, “I’m Lord Varnus, and you are?”
“We’re in a time of war. Names aren’t important.” Grumbled the man, as though some buried resentment dug deep into him.
“I call him Warrior.” Cascade smiled with a youthful eagerness resonating in her eyes. “If you ever face a fleet of Daleks, this is the man you want at your side.” The Warrior shook his head in frustration, almost hating the name but refusing to accept any other. Cascade rolled her eyes and smirked, returning her attention back upon Lord Varnus. “He’s the contractor.”
“But it said to meet you?” Lord Varnus exchanged puzzled looks between the two.
“I have a face that I don’t want many people recognising. Especially not at a moment like this.”
“Why would somebody recognise you?” Asked Lord Varnus, now intrigued by the teetering granules of intrigue that this Warrior seemed to shroud. He raised his eyebrow curiously, with a gaze which interrogated the man without uttering a word.
The Warrior stared, his eyes were aged by the war. Time was lost behind them. “I’ve seen too much of this war and I’ve done things that I am ashamed of. But that shame also comes from the knowledge that the universe knows.” His voice was soft and grieving.
“He’s also saved planets and timelines. Entire legions of Time Lords were saved because of him.” Cascade interjected. “He’s a hero, afraid of the fact that he’s a hero in a war like this.” Cascade spoke quietly, but loud enough for the Warrior to hear her words. Lord Varnus watched as the man stared bitterly at the pair, as though ashamed of what they were whispering. “He saved my life.” She commented.
“That was a lucky accident.”
“His entire life is a series of lucky accidents.” Cascade scoffed, “The whole reason he’s still alive is because of lucky accidents.”
“Will any of that luck be joining us on this mission?”
The Warrior grumbled, “It will have to. With you knowing nothing about Project Snowdust, then we have to go about this another way.”
“But you sai-” Cascade’s words broke off into a strangled gasp. Her hands shot to her chest as agony bloomed deep within her ribs. With each passing second she felt the pain grow sharper and larger and more alive. The sound that tore from her throat was a raw, broken cry. She squealed and squirmed, “H- H- Help!”
Her entire body shuddered with violent convulsions that overcame her body. Like a snapped string of a violin, she wobbled and flung forward, collapsing as she did so.