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Vislor Turlough was drawing while the Ambassador from Regal was yelling about his dissatisfaction with the way the Trion Security Forces were "protecting" his planet from raiders. Politics bored him, so Turlough often used the Senate meetings to work on his drawing skills. Why should an astrophysicist have good drawing skills? Why, all astrophysicists should be able to diagram any component from any space craft he or she designs. And besides, Turlough thought, it was relaxing. He flipped noisily through the pages of his drawing pad. A little disruption to Ambassador Uklep's ranting never hurt. Lots of images and memories in this pad. Friends, enemies, family. Turlough sighed as he saw the picture of his mother that he'd drawn shortly after his return to Trion. He didn't have the likeness right. He'd tried and tried, but he couldn't remember enough of the details. What were her eyes like? What color were they? Turlough closed the art pad, and then closed his eyes. Why couldn't he remember what his own mother looked like? It's not like he was too young to remember her. He just couldn't remember her without seeing her die. Turlough shuddered. The Ambassador was finally done with his tirade and it was now up to the Trion representatives to wheedle their way out of an apology to the Regallan government. Turlough decided that he didn't wish to sit through more politics, so he got up and made his way to the exit. No one really noticed him go. "You're home early," Malkon said as Turlough entered his house. "You're here," Turlough replied. "What brings this brotherly visit on?" Malkon was usually off in the field, working through his Geology program. Turlough rarely saw him, though he was always welcome in his home. "Sunspots disabled half of our equipment so we had to bring it back for repairs. I figured you'd be at the Senate all day. Is that what they're calling it now?" The name of the Trion government seemed to change from day to day. One minute they were a Parliament, the next a Senate. Turlough had no idea what they were going to call it the next time elections came up. The only thing he could guarantee is being voted as Clan representative, again -- a post he despised, but one that the Clans approved of. And what the Clans wanted, they usually got. Turlough nodded. "More of the usual, so I decided to leave early." He went to the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked his brother. "No thanks. I don't know how you can drink that poison." Malkon was seated on Turlough's couch and was reading a vidpad that seemed to have details from Malkon's interrupted expedition. |
Turlough just chuckled. When his tea was finished, he joined his brother on the couch. "Do you remember Mom?" he asked. Malkon paused to think. Then he shook his head. "I can barely remember my father. I don't remember my mother at all. I envy you for having the chance to know them." Turlough shrugged. "Father and I maybe spoke five words to each other in a year. He was a botanist, I was a physicist. Our paths rarely crossed. Mother, on the other hand, was one of my teachers. She was the best physicist Trion had ever seen. You can ask several of the people from before the coup and they'd agree with me." "Must run in the family, since most people today would say that you were the finest physicist that Trion has ever seen." "I'm nothing compared to her. She was... I can't really describe it. She was a wonderful teacher. Her curiosity was equaled by none. And if there was an answer to be found, she could find it." Turlough reached forward and grabbed the art pad that he'd laid on the table before him. "I just wish I could remember what she looked like." Malkon looked at the drawing of his mother. He didn't recognize her. "Surely there are photographs? Or video clips?" "There are. I just don't want to look at them. I should be able to remember her without such aids." Turlough frowned at the picture, then ripped it out and crumpled it up. "I should be able to remember her because she should have never died in the first place." Turlough stood up abruptly. Then he tossed the pad back on the table and returned to the kitchen. "When you were traveling with that Time Lord, the Doctor, did you ever ask him to take you back? To see her?" Turlough laughed. "What good would that have done? If he knew my reasons, he wouldn't have done it. If we had gone back, he wouldn't have let me rescue her. So what good would it have done?" He remembered going up to the Doctor once, wanting to ask him to take him back. Then he remembered Tegan talking about that boy who'd been killed. The Doctor hadn't gone back for him, so why would he go back for Turlough's mother? Then another thought crossed his mind. One that had crossed it often, but he'd always pushed it away. His brother knew little of his work since they'd returned from Sarn. He certainly didn't know about the time machine that he'd built. No one knew. It was the one secret he'd kept from his own people, thinking that they just weren't ready for that technology. And now, as he was thinking of breaking the Doctor's "Laws of Time," he wondered if he was even ready for it. |
Several days later, Turlough was seated in his ship. He was staring at the box that sat just in front of the main drive control. It was called the ARTEMIS Drive, named by a Time Lord that had been there when Turlough built the first one. And it was a fully functioning time machine. The Doctor had always interfered in the past and nothing bad ever seemed to happen. Was that only the case for Time Lords? Could other time travelers change things and get away with it too? Would it cause the Time Lords to notice him (since the one Time Lord who knew about his time device had promised to keep his mouth shut)? As a scientist, he knew that experimentation was the best way to get answers to his questions. He also knew that experimenting without knowing all the facts had sent several scientists to their graves. He started preparations for take-off and informed traffic control that he was ready to leave. Once the skyways were clear, Turlough launched his ship, getting into space rather quickly for a ship as small as his. He stared out at the scanner towards the sphere that was Trion. He smiled at the pink deserts and then at the contrasting green rainforests that dotted his planet. Trion always impressed him from space. He set coordinates to set him in a solar orbit between the eighth and ninth planets in his solar system. He needed time to think. Hours had passed, and Turlough was only becoming more and more depressed. From this distance, his suns looked like tiny balls of fire. He couldn't even see Trion. Trying to get onto Trion during the coup would not be easy, he decided. Landing safely would be difficult enough. Plus, his face might be familiar to some people (though they'd probably wonder how he'd aged so quickly). He set the temporal coordinates without thinking. He'd planned and plotted them ages ago, but had never actually entered them into his time machine. Turlough thought about what he was doing, how risky it was. Then he looked over at the guard's uniform he'd picked up at a museum exhibit that was documenting the coup. He'd already made sure that it fit. The map of the government building at the time, plus the guard's routes, was also in order. He even knew which holding cells held him, his father and brother, and his mother. He checked the route again, making sure that he knew exactly where to go. Then Turlough turned the time machine on. Most of the original governmental headquarters had been converted into cells for "political dissidents." In other words, Clansmen who refused to help the new regime. The hallways that once were full of the sounds of traveling dignitaries and Imperial ministers now carried the screams of people being beaten, tattooed with Misos Triangles, or watching their family members die of starvation and abuse. Turlough was walking toward the wing where the most prized prisoners were kept. These were the people who would never see the light of day again. They were deemed too difficult to convert and too important to keep alive. Most of the other prisoners here would be exiled to former prison planets and similar planets. One of the prisoners here would eventually end up on Earth to be subjected to that hell known as a British Boys' School. Several of the guards saluted him as he went by. He'd made sure to choose a rank that had free reign throughout the government building. He was grateful for the helmet, too, since it hid his face almost entirely. He turned a corner. Cell 19. This was a name that was branded on his brain for life. His mother was just behind the door. He looked at the two guards in front of the door. They hadn't seen him yet. He thought about what he was doing. Would he be able to get her past the guards? Get her off the planet? Would she want to go? |
This is madness, he thought to himself. He was only five corridors away from his past self. If he were to meet himself... Turlough remembered when two timeline versions of the same person met himself one other time. The energy expelled to try and prevent the meeting was phenomenal. He shuddered to think what would happen if that occurred here, now. Turlough turned around to get out before he was caught and caused any more temporal distortions. Even now he felt an itching at the back of his neck. "Oi! Who's out there?" said a voice from behind. Turlough jumped at the sound. "Guardleader Imhet Vander, on a routine check," Turlough replied, when he'd composed himself. He walked out of the shadows towards the two guards. "I'm here to check on the prisoner. Has she given you any trouble?" "No sir. She's been quiet as a simsy. You, ah, wanna go in and question her or anything?" The guard was implying something, and Turlough had a bad feeling about what. He'd heard rumors that some of the special prisoners had been victims of rape. "You will refrain from any speculations, soldier. I need to check on the prisoner. I'll let you know when to let me out." Turlough waited for the guards to let him in. What was the Earth expression he'd heard once? In for a penny, in for a pound? The first guard merely shrugged as the second entered the code to open the door. Turlough walked in, not really sure what to expect. The room had once been one of the guest bedrooms in the original government house. Turlough was expecting it to be bare of all furniture and trimmings like the room he'd stayed in before his exile. But nothing had been removed from the place. The carpet was velvet red and there was a huge plush chair of the same red fabric. Artwork by the classical artists (not reproductions) was hanging on the walls. There was even a very impressive food tray with several Trion delicacies on it. Of his mother, there was no sign. He walked over to examine "The Garden of Sarqay" by Alos Machime. It seemed so out of place in a room where one would await death. Turlough turned around to see his mother coming out of the bedroom. She was dressed in her usual style of blue-green jumper with flowing scarf tied around her neck. She didn't look as if she'd been abused by the regime, but she had a way of hiding her feelings. He knew she refused to give the regime the satisfaction of seeing her cry or scream or even look as if she suffered. She would smile at them until the end. "So what are you crying for, guard? You're not the one to die tomorrow. Although it's safe to say that 50 percent of the people in this room will not be around next week." She smiled as she moved over to the plush chair. Her long red hair draped over the headrest of the chair and clashed a bit with the red velvet. Turlough moved so that he could see her better. To memorize every feature. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her again in his mind. But still he could only see her death throes. He opened his eyes again, still hardly believing that she was before him. "So you're one of the quiet ones. I think I prefer you to that one who comes in here and yells, trying to intimidate me." She chuckled some more. A light and airy sound that reminded him of the birds that sometimes sang when he stood on the balcony of his home. "When death is looming over your shoulder, there really isn't anything else that can intimidate you." |
Turlough realized he'd been holding his breath, and carefully inhaled so it didn't sound like he was gasping. He also realized that his throat was so constricted he didn't think he could speak. "Do you know how they're going to kill me? I know it sounds morbid, but I am curious as to how I'm going to die. Considering that I've annoyed the head of your regime to no end, it'll probably be very painful and take a long time." "Is death all you can think about?" asked Turlough, finding his voice at last. "I like to think about the future. Right now, death's about the only thing in it." "What if someone rescued you?" Turlough was doing best to speak quietly enough so that his mother couldn't recognize his voice, but could still hear him. His mother laughed. "They say that it helps to have hope when you are in a hopeless situation. I'm not so sure that's true. I first dreamed of escape, of a rebellion against the new regime. But it didn't come, and I only became more and more depressed. Then I realized that I was going to die, and I even knew the date. And ever since then I've known peace." "What about your family?" Turlough knew he was taking a risk with that question. Guards rarely were concerned with the family unit in the same way that the Clans were. She smiled. "I have high hopes for my family. The regime has decided not to kill the children of my people. I think they fear that this would be going too far in the minds of their followers. So my two sons will survive." She looked up at the guard standing in front of her, but he looked away. |
She was puzzled. The guard seemed genuinely touched by what she was saying. It wasn't another ruse put on by the cruel new regime. "Do you have family of your own? Or were they killed in the coup?" The guard continued to look away. "I lost most of my family in the coup. I've often wished I could go back in time to rescue them. I wonder what they would do if I could." "If they had any sense, they'd refuse. We Clansmen may not have much experience with time travel, but all of our theory dictates that disastrous things would occur if the timelines were interfered with." "What sort of disasters?" Turlough couldn't help looking at her for the answer. It was how he was trained. When one asked a question, one listened for the answer. "Oh my..." she uttered. She stood up and then removed the helmet from his head. "I kept thinking it was just my imagination," she said. "The voice sounded like my son, I thought." She ran her hands through his unruly hair. "It had to be my imagination... But it wasn't." Turlough didn't say anything, he just hugged his mother. He didn't want to let go, for fear she'd vaporize like a dream. She eventually pulled away from him. "How?" She didn't need to finish the question. "Time travel is a wonderful thing," he replied. "It's a long story on how I discovered it. And I think you'd find the theory behind it most fascinating. But I don't have a lot of time here." His mother nodded. She was very curious as to how he'd done it, but she knew it would take too long for him to explain. But there was one thing she had to know. "Why did you come here?" "To get you out of here. You're too young to die." Turlough's eyes were full of tears again. "I was too young to watch you die," he whispered. She hugged him again. "You know that's not possible. It's already happened, so it will happen. Apparently my death had a great effect on you, perhaps even catalyzing you to build a time machine. You can't change your history for that. If you change your history, Turlough, you'll change yourself." She pulled away again. "And from what I can see, you've become a very impressive young man." She smiled. Turlough looked down at his shoes. He knew she was right. He could create a temporal paradox with himself as the center. He wasn't sure exactly what would happen, but he was sure it wouldn't be pleasant. |
"But I'm glad you came all the same." She lifted his head up. "I've been dreaming about what you'd turn out like. And I'm happy to say that I think I got it right." Turlough smiled a little. He traced the line of tears on her face with his finger. "I'm very proud of you, Turlough," she said as she hugged him again. "But you really must go. I have a destiny to fulfill. And so do you." Turlough nodded as he dried his eyes then put his helmet back on. "I love you, mother," he said quietly. "I love you too." She smiled broadly, her teeth gleaming white. She looked so angelic with her flowing hair and scarf. Turlough's mother waved goodbye as he walked out of her prison. Turlough said nothing to the guards as he left the room. They may have said something to him, but he didn't hear it. He walked quickly, but not so fast as to cause suspicion. The route came naturally to him for all the memorizing he'd done. He was back in his ship before he knew it, and out of this planet's atmosphere before any sensors could detect it. Turlough ripped off the guard's uniform after he'd gone back into solar orbit. He didn't care if the museum curator would be mad at him later. He got onto his small bunk and then cried until he ran out of tears. When the time machine beeped to say that he'd returned to his own time, he didn't even react. Malkon couldn't really explain the change that came over his brother. One day he'd been depressed and moody. A couple of days later and he was smiling and whistling and even being nice to politicians. But he had noticed one change to Turlough's house. On the wall where there used to hang a reproduction of some obscure Trion artist there was now a drawing of a woman. Malkon recognized the artist as his brother, and with the help of a photo album he'd found, he saw that the woman was his mother. The likeness was remarkable, especially the smile that seemed to radiate from the drawing. |
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