I have a message from another time... Eyrie Productions, Unlimited and Bacon Comics Group present UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT PROJECT PHOENIX "The Scars of the Future" Part 2 of a 3-part mini-series scripted by Benjamin D. Hutchins pencils & inks by your visual cortex letters by Benjamin D. Hutchins editors: The Usual Suspects Bacon Comics chief: Derek Bacon (c) 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited TYPE 66 TARDIS No. 182 INTERSTITIAL VORTEX RELATIVE TIME: FRIDAY, JANUARY 1, 2410, 4:45 PM AST While Don worked at the flight controls of his TARDIS, his face a stoic mask, his latest passenger looked around the cavernous white-and-chrome Control Room with a look of abject wonder. "Where -are- we?" Rachel Summers asked, her voice hushed. "It's the TARDIS," Scott said helpfully. Rachel gave him a puzzled look, and he realized she lacked any kind of meaningful context. "Time and Relative Dimension in Space," he said. "It's a time machine." "You guys are from the future?" "Well... " Scott scratched his head. "I'm not exactly sure. Where's Gallifrey relative to home, Professor?" Don finished adjusting a couple of things, turned, and said, "It's outside normal time and space - not in the future or the past. Gallifrey has a timestream all its own. That's why a TARDIS can't go into Gallifrey's -own- past or future - only those of outside universes." "Ohhh," said Scott, nodding. Then he gave Rachel a sheepish look. "Sorry. It's all kind of... complicated." You don't know the half of it, Don thought ruefully. "Rachel, would you excuse us for a second, please?" he asked. "Sure," she said, nodding agreeably. Don took Scott by the shoulder and led him a short distance away. "Scott. This is very important," he said, leaning closer to the young man. "Look at me. Are you listening?" Scott nodded. "Be -careful- when you deal with Rachel. She's... special." Scott glanced back over his shoulder at the girl, then grinned at Don. "I can see that." Don palmed his face. "... Oh, this is going to go wrong on -so- many levels," he muttered. "What I mean is, you shouldn't... " He hesitated, then tried again. "I don't think it would be a good idea to... " He trailed off again. "What?" Scott asked, utterly baffled. "(oh, the hell with it, plus or minus six meson variance -anyway-,)" Don muttered to himself, then shook his head and said, "Nothing. Never mind. Just... be careful. I'll explain it all when we get back." Scott's expression showed that he was still utterly puzzled, but he nodded all the same. "Uh... OK," he said. Don let him go, turned back toward the console, and said, "Sorry about that. I ought to introduce you two. Rachel, this is Scott. He's a student of mine. Scott, meet Rachel." Scott grinned and stuck out a hand. "Hi. Scott Summers." Rachel looked surprised as she shook it. "Really? Me too, or so they tell me. Summers, I mean." Scott's eyebrows went up. "Oh yeah? How about that!" "No relation... ?" Rachel asked. Scott shrugged. "Uh, not that I know of." Don, at the console, made a sound like a muffled groan of pain. "Professor? You OK?" "Oh, sure, peachy," Don replied. "You want something to eat?" Scott asked Rachel. "C'mon, I'll give you the nickel tour. And we can find you something better to wear than that... whatever that is," he added, gesturing to the white robe Rachel wore. "Sure, sounds good," Rachel said. They turned to leave, Scott leading the way to the double doors that led into the TARDIS's vast interior. "Scott!" Don called after them. "-Carefully-!" With a look combining mild irritation with continued confusion, Scott called back, "Right! I got it! (Jeez.)" Don watched them go; when the doors closed behind them, he slumped a little at the console, finished making some adjustments to the controls, then dragged himself to one of the white leather couches around the periphery of the room and sank into it, elbows on knees, head down, face in hands. He stayed that way for several minutes, completely motionless apart from his breathing. Then he seemed to pull himself together, got up, went back to the console, picked up the old-fashioned black telephone handset hanging on one side, and dialed. "Hey, it's me," he said. "No, I'm fine. Tobernel recalled me to Gallifrey. I'm OK, I'm on my way back now. What did he want?" Don chuckled darkly. "To mess with me, mostly. I have to admit, though, the old bastard really outdid himself this time." He considered matters for a moment, then said, "Actually... I'm heading to Xavier's. Meet me there? No, really, I'm all right. I just... want his perspective on something. It's hard to explain on the phone. Of course I'll explain when I see you. Uh, insofar as I can. You'll... understand. OK. Right. See you there. I dunno, ten minutes or so. Love you." Don hung up the phone, checked a couple of instruments, then frowned thoughtfully, reached up, and pulled down one of the overhead monitors on its articulated pneumatic arm. A few adjustments to controls later, he had a fisheyed overhead view of a TARDIS corridor. He turned a dial, flipping from one almost-identical corridor view to another, until he hit one showing Scott and Rachel as the former led the way deeper into the labyrinth. Rachel was looking around with an expression just to the left of childish wonder; every now and then Scott would glance up from his TARDIS compass, note his companion's expression, and grin a little before returning his attention to the instrument. "... somewhere right along here, I think," Scott's voice said tinnily from the monitor's speaker. They rounded a corner; Don twisted the dial and picked them up on another sensor, this time approaching. "Stupid of you not to check this before letting her on board, Don," he muttered to himself. "Any number of explanations, most of them sinister... " Without the aid of his eyes, his hand moved from the dial to a set of buttons, punching a couple down. The image froze, then zoomed in on the redheaded figure. Don keyed a few more commands into the console, then waited, gazing thoughtfully at the still image of Rachel's face. After a few moments, spindly Gallifreyan text scrolled across the screen over the frozen frame. MESON VALENCE MATCH: SUMMERS, RACHEL ANNE IDENTITY CONFIRMED "... and all of them wrong," Don mumbled, his voice tinged with faint disbelief. He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, put his glasses back, and stared at the screen for a few more long moments. "And I'm talking to myself," he said. Then he blanked the screen, swung it back up out of the way, and adjusted the flight controls. Picking up the black phone, he punched a green key next to the cradle, then announced, "May I have your attention please, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing in the year 2410 of the Galactic Standard Calendar in 30 minutes. Passengers are requested not to swipe absolutely everything in Wardrobe Room 74 in that time. Thank you." Having kept up appearances, he cradled the phone again, went back to the sofa, and this time stretched out full-length upon it, hands behind his head, keeping an eye on the pulsation of the arc within the Time Rotor as his mind raced in time with it. Scott Summers stood with his back against a roundel-covered wall, hands in his pants pockets, talking to the door of a changing cubicle at the back of Wardrobe 74. "So, seriously, you don't remember -anything-?" "Nope," Rachel's voice replied, slightly muffled, from within the cubicle. "Well, I mean, I -know- plenty. I can talk, I know the names of things, how to tell time, how to ties shoes, all that stuff. But anything that's happened to me? Most of it's a blank, and the rest is just a blur." "Huh. That must be weird." She laughed wryly. "You think? Just a little?" "Sorry. I didn't mean to... you know, minimize what you must be going through or anything... " He took off his visor, careful to keep his eyes squeezed shut, and slipped on his shades, then tucked the visor away in his jacket pocket. "I guess you wouldn't know what's eating the Prof, then." "No clue. He looked pretty shocked when the fat guy brought him to my room. I think I must have known him once, but... I dunno." She gave the wry laugh again. "Hell, maybe he's my dad." "I don't think he has any kids," Scott mused. "Besides, why wouldn't he just say so?" "You're asking me? -You're- his student. Student of what, by the way?" "Well... lots of stuff. I mean, I have him for honors physics in school, but he knows all kinds of cool stuff that's not on the curriculum. I mean, they don't exactly teach time travel at Beiwiru District High." The cubicle door clicked, then opened, and Rachel stepped out. She'd picked through the racks of clothes lining Wardrobe 74 for several minutes before selecting a few different things to try on, and what she'd settled on was pretty basic - a dark green sweater, black jeans, and tennis shoes. After the shapelessness of the Gallifreyan robe, though, the effect was striking, and not lost on Scott; nor was the fact that she'd taken her bright red hair down from the tight braid it was in when she arrived. On a few occasions in his life, Scott had had cause to feel a little glad for the unusual condition that required him to wear his ruby crystal shades at all times. It was a pain in the butt most of the time, but there were times when it was good that nobody around could tell quite what he was looking at. Rachel seemed to know anyway, though; she gave him a slightly wry little grin and said, "You said something about food? I don't have any idea when I last ate, but I would guess it was quite a while ago." Scott levered himself away from the wall. "Right!" he said, only slightly flustered. "Uh, this way." Half an hour after lying down, when the TARDIS signaled that it was nearng its destination, Don Griffin had come to no useful conclusion. He sighed, got up, and worked the controls. The growling pulse of the rotor arc shifted into a higher, more urgent register for a few cycles; then, with a sound almost like a mechanical sigh of relief, the gleaming metal balls at the top and bottom of the rotor retracted partway into their housings and the arc between them dimmed to idle. In the snack room a few hundred yards into the maze of corridors that made up the TARDIS sector around the Control Room, Scott felt the familiar vibration that told him the vessel was materializing. "Something's happening," Rachel said suddenly, looking around with a look of interest mingled with mild concern. "We're landing," Scott explained. "Or, well, arriving. The TARDIS doesn't really fly. Most of the time. Looks pretty silly when it does." "Oh. Should we go back?" "Ah, plenty of time for that," Scott said with a dismissive gesture. "Might as well finish up here first!" XAVIER INSTITUTE FOR THE GIFTED JERADDO, B'HAVA-EL SYSTEM 2:20 PM Justinia Houseman had seen some odd things in her eleven years; she was, after all, the possessor of an unclassified psionic talent and had been a Psi Corps fugitive for seven months before her parents found and enrolled her at the Xavier Institute. She was, therefore, not entirely concerned, but a bit nonplussed, to see a Pepsi machine materialize out of nowhere in the corner of the student lounge with a loud, rhythmic electrical noise. As it happened, the student lounge already -had- a soda machine - one dedicated to the competing brand, to boot - but it had been on the fritz for the last couple of days. Still, that was an awfully odd way for the vending company to deliver a new one. Odder still, a few moments after it arrived, the front of the machine opened up and a man stepped out. He wasn't dressed like the man who usually maintained the other machine, either; this one wore a long green coat over dark pants and a white dress shirt with a bright orange-and- crimson-striped tie. He shut the front of the Pepsi machine behind him, then turned, saw Justinia gazing curiously at him, and paused with a faintly embarrassed smile, as though she'd caught him doing something impolite. "Oh, hello," he said. "Are you here to fix the Coke machine?" Justinia asked. The dark-haired man blinked in surprise. "Um... not as -such-," he said after a moment's pause. "Is Professor Xavier around?" When Charles Xavier glided into the student lounge in his hoverchair a few moments later, he was slightly bemused to find his old student Don Griffin repairing the Coke machine. "I would have thought that was outside your areas of specialty," Xavier remarked dryly. Don finished applying a sonic screwdriver to one of the Coke machine's internal mechanisms, then glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. "Eh, it's a simple enough transmat," he said. Turning back to his work, he added, "Though why they have to be transmats at all I couldn't tell you. What was wrong with the old way?" Recognizing the question as rhetorical, Xavier didn't answer. He waited patiently for the keening of the screwdriver to cease and for Don to extricate himself from the guts of the machine, shut the front, and punch a key to test it. There was a pause while the machine considered its options, then disgorged a can of Coke. "And there we are," Don said with satisfaction, pocketing his screwdriver. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Professor." He took the can of soda out of the machine, gave it a puzzled look as though it had just occurred to him to wonder what to do with it, then set it aside. "I need your help," he said. Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What with? Having a problem with one of your students?" "No, no - everything's under control on that end," Don assured him. "But... I was recalled briefly to Gallifrey earlier today, and... well, maybe it's better if I just show you." They went into the TARDIS. Don pulled down the monitor he'd used earlier, adjusted it so that Xavier could see it from his chair, and fiddled with the security panel until he picked up Scott and Rachel. They seemed to be on their way back to the Control Room, chatting amiably as they moved up a corridor toward the sensor's point of view. The two young people had, in fact, raided Wardrobe 74, as he'd expected they would, but at least this time Scott hadn't swiped all the 20th-century rock band T-shirts for his sister. And, admittedly, Rachel did seem more comfortable in a sweater and jeans than she had in that acolyte's robe Tobernel had dressed her up in. For a moment Xavier looked baffled; then his expression changed to one of amazement. "Good Lord," he murmured. "You remember Tobernel?" Don asked. "He was Cardinal of the Prydon Chapter when I was on Gallifrey." Xavier nodded. "We never met, but you mentioned him many times." "He's Lord Chancellor of the High Council now," Don said. "He claims a research team under his direction found a new block transfer computation technique that makes it possible to retrieve items lost in the Vortex. Like I was. Like... like Rachel was." Xavier was not an expert on temporal mechanics by any means, but he was a clever man and Don had given him the basics years before. He raised an eyebrow at the claim. "Can that be true?" he asked. "I wouldn't have thought so... but I ran a meson valence scan, and the result is indisputable. That -is- Rachel. Not some kind of clone or copy... not a DC, besides which there -aren't- any of her. Everything I know about block transfer and the Vortex says Tobernel must be lying... but the hardest evidence I have says it's true." "That's... extraordinary," Xavier said, choosing his words with care. "She looks very young," he added, examining the monitor image closely. "When Rachel left our world, she was a grown woman, but this girl seems little more than a child." Don nodded, switching off the monitor. "Tobernel said there was 'a slight loss of temporal fidelity,'" he said, bitterly imitating the senior Time Lord's pompous tone. "It's worse than that, though. She has no memory. None at all. She didn't even know what her name was. I had to tell her." "Ah. That's why you brought her here," Xavier said, nodding. "There's no one I trust more," Don told him. "And only one other I trust as -much-... but I can't ask Jean to do this." "Yes, quite," Xavier agreed. "Of course I'll help any way I can." "Thank you." "Not at all. If she -is- Rachel... well, then she's part of our family. I couldn't do anything else." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Has she demonstrated any of her powers?" Don shook his head. "Nothing. Of course, I wouldn't know it if she has her telepathy, but she's shown no evidence of telekinesis, anyway. It's possible the trauma's suppressed them for now, along with her memories. Or maybe it's all lost." He gave a disconsolate sigh, running a hand angrily through his hair. "I don't know anything about the procedure Tobernel's team used to bring her back." The double doors opened and Scott and Rachel entered the Control Room. Their conversation halted as they saw that Don wasn't alone. "Hello, Professor Xavier!" Scott said, sounding surprised and pleased. "We've had a pretty weird day." Xavier smiled dryly. "So Donald has told me," he said. "Rachel," Don said, "this is Professor Charles Xavier. He's an old mentor of mine." Rachel hesitantly extended a hand, which Xavier shook. His keen eyes scanned her face for any spark of recognition, but there was nothing - just curiosity and faint puzzlement. "Um... nice to meet you," she said. "The pleasure is mine," Xavier replied, his smile becoming a touch sad. "Enjoy your tour?" Don asked mildly. "Oh yes!" said Rachel, brightening. "I've never seen anything like it." She looked faintly puzzled. "... At least I don't think I have," she added, a little bit lamely, after a moment's thought. Scott reminded himself sternly that, despite Rachel's charmingly wry delivery, it really wasn't funny. Don gave the redhead a look that Xavier recognized as sharp pain mostly camouflaged by compassion. "Well, we'll soon get that sorted out. Professor?" Xavier gave Rachel his most unthreatening smile. "I'm a telepath, Rachel - as are you, though you may not know it. You don't remember me, but we've met before, some years ago. You and Don were students at my school together." Rachel eyed Don skeptically, but said nothing, only returned her attentive gaze to the professor. "If you like, I can use my abilities to try and recover your lost memories," Xavier told her. "It's an area I have considerable experience in, and I think the chances are very good that I can help you." Rachel hesitated, then looked at Don, who nodded. "I trust him with my life," he said without hesitation. Rachel bit at her lip, thinking it over, then shrugged. "Well," she said, "I guess I might as well too, then. I mean, I trust -you- for no reason, after all." She turned to Xavier. "What do we do?" "My office is much more conducive to the kind of peace and concentration we need," Xavier said. "In for a penny," Rachel mused, half to herself. Then she looked at Don and said, "You'll be here when we're done?" "I'm not going anywhere," Don replied. "Good. I'll probably want to talk with you once I remember who the hell you are," she said with a wry grin. "Lead on, Professor." Don watched the two of them leave the TARDIS, then sat down with a deep sigh. "Professor, what's wrong?" Scott asked. "You've been out of it since Gallifrey. Who -is- that girl?" "She's my wife," Don replied. Scott stared at him. "My first wife," Don added. "I probably never told you about her. You heard what Professor Xavier said just now? Rachel was a student at his school back in my home dimension. One of the X-Men, like me, Kitty, Kurt Wagner, Logan... you've met most of them. She was... lost in the Vortex a few years ago, not long before I came across to this universe." He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tobernel claims he found a way to get her back. Sift the scattered bits that made her who she was from the mathematical chaos of the Vortex." "But she's so young," Scott replied. "She can't be any older than... I dunno, Kitty P, or Kyra." Don nodded. "I know. There's a lot about it that doesn't add up, but... " He sighed. "Maybe we'll know more when Professor Xavier's done helping her with her memory. But... look, there's something else about her you ought to know. This part's kind of complicated... " Scott chuckled. "Because what's come before has been -dead simple-," he said wryly. He was gratified to see that get a little grin out of Don before the Time Lord went on, "... OK, this part's -really- complicated. See, when I first met Rachel... when she was a student at Xavier's back home? She was, herself, from a parallel timeline. She came from about 30 years in our future, the early 21st century. Her parents were the future versions of a couple of the X-Men." A quiet bell started ringing in the back of Scott's mind. "Oh yeah?" he asked. "Who?" "Her mother was Jean Grey... and her father was, well, that timeline's version of you." Scott had been half-expecting that by this point, but his eyebrows went up anyway. "So that's why you said she was special," he said. Don nodded. "Mind you, you're several levels of dissociation from that Scott Summers, but all the same... things could become... awkward." Scott uttered a low whistle as another thought occurred to him. "I guess that explains why Ms. Grey gives me those weird looks sometimes when she stops by your place." Don nodded again. "It's hard for her. I didn't really want to get into this, but the version of you we all knew back home was... difficult sometimes." He got up and sighed. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you now, Scott. I suppose I should've told you about it all earlier, but I never dreamed it would ever become relevant." "No, uh... that's OK," Scott said. "It's just... a lot to take in, is all." He gave a wry, self-mocking laugh. "Besides, compared to what -you're- up against... " Don raked a hand back through his hair and echoed the laugh. "Tell me about it," he said, then blew out a breath. "I'm-a go get some air." "I think I'll see if I can round up a ballgame or something," Scott said. "Is it still Friday?" Don nodded, looking at his watch. "I'm sure the usual gang's up for just about anything." He was lying in the grass in his shirtsleeves, tie loosened, top button undone, watching fluffy clouds scud across the sky in front of the hanging blue-green crescent of Bajor when a familiar face suddenly blocked out most of the sky. "Oi," Kitty Griffin remarked. "You scared me half to death on the phone, and now I get here and find you daydreaming in the garden?" Griffin smiled. "Just trying to get my thoughts in order," he said. Kitty dropped down beside him, sitting cross-legged, and regarded him. "What's going on? You look freaked out." "I am a bit." "Why? What did Tobernel pull this time?" He told her. She sat staring at him for a full minute, completely silent. Then: "You're messing with me." Don raised himself up on his elbows and gave his wife a reproachful look. "Would I -joke-... about -that-?" he demanded. "Me? -Ever?-" Kitty looked duly abashed. "No," she said. "Sorry. No, you wouldn't." She shook her head and grabbed his nearest hand. "I just, my God, Don. I can't imagine - where is she?" "She's with the professor," Don said. "She had no memory when Tobernel reintroduced us. Didn't know her name. Didn't know me." He lay back down, hands behind his head, and sighed. "I think that was actually worse." "So... now what?" "Now we wait, I guess." So they waited. Kitty flopped down next to Don and watched the clouds with him, and there they lay for an hour or more, each wrapped up in private ruminations. It was supposed to be winter, but here at the Xavier Institute, climate was a thing that followed different rules than were in force elsewhere on Jeraddo; so they spent the time under pleasant, springlike sunshine. Their silent thoughts were interrupted not by a summons from the school behind them, but instead by a strange - and to them, instantly recognizable - grinding, wheezing, metallic noise. Both Griffins were on their feet by the time the source of the noise, an object in the shape of a 20th-century British police callbox, had finished materializing under a willow tree a few yards away. A moment later the box's door opened - but the figure who stepped out wasn't quite what Don and Kitty were expecting. The new arrival was a woman, shortish and slim, with long, straight honey-blonde hair and a bright-eyed, pointily pretty face. She was dressed in an outfit that made her look rather arrestingly like a Napoleonic sea captain, brass-buttoned blue jacket, snug white breeches, buckled shoes and all. "Hullo!" she said cheerily. "I thought I might find you here." Don blinked, then grinned. "Romanadvoratrelundar," he said, unfurling the name rhythmically off his tongue. "Trokhaimartolgriffin," she replied, rolling the Rs with relish. "(My head hurts,)" Kitty put in wryly. "(Sorry,)" Griffin said out of the side of his grin a moment before Romana hopped into his arms for a hug and a very Continental kiss on both cheeks. "And Mrs. Trokhaimartolgriffin, of course," Romana added with a smile. "Or shall I call you Katherine?" "Kitty is fine. So you're the famous Romana! I missed you the last time I was on Gallifrey." "Oh, yes, I heard all about it from the Doctor afterward. Beastly business. For such an advanced civilization, we Time Lords can be positively uncivil sometimes." She turned to Don. "Speaking of which, Ace tells me Tobernel is at you again." Don nodded. "You could say that." He glanced past her at the TARDIS she'd arrived in, but no one else was emerging. "Speaking of the Doctor," he added. "Oh, he's not here," Romana said. "I've borrowed his TARDIS for old times' sake. He doesn't need it right now anyway. He and his new ladyfriend are spending two weeks on Barcelona Prime." Don arched an eyebrow. "The Doctor has a 'ladyfriend'?" Romana made an airy gesture. "Oh, well, they're not admitting it yet, you know how he is with humans, but." She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "She's not like his usual bits of fluff. Nor even like Ace, for that matter. A very special sort of girl." "She'd have to be, to get that kind of praise out of you," Don said, impressed. Romana laughed. "I'm not -that- critical. Goodness, you never met me before my first regeneration! Now -there- was a Romana who didn't suffer fools gladly." She thought on it for a moment, then added, "Didn't suffer -anyone- gladly, really." Something seemed to occur to her; she turned and eyed Don a trifle dubiously, then said, "And talking of regeneration... " "Twice since we parted, I'm afraid. It's been a very busy decade and a half," Don said. Romana nodded. "I didn't notice at first. You haven't changed much." She smiled. "Can you control it? I can. The Doctor's ever so jealous. He just gets whatever he gets, you know." Don shrugged. "I've been unconscious both times," he said. "I think it's just automatic. I just get a little taller and my hair gets darker." He grinned. "Kitty thinks I'm slowly evolving into Alec Baldwin." Romana considered this, giving Don a long, appraising look. "Could do worse," she opined after a moment's thought. Then, rubbing her hands briskly together, she went on, "So! Ace said you were having some sort of problem. How can I help?" Don laughed. "You already have," he said. "Beyond that, you can help me try to figure out how Tobernel managed to do the impossible." Romana looked intrigued. Evening was gathering when Piotr Rasputin came out of the mansion and looked around for Don and Kitty. He could hear a low murmur of conversation from some point further into the garden, but the speakers weren't visible from the door. The dark shape of the Doctor's TARDIS was, though it was so unexpected that it took Rasputin a few moments to figure out what it was. He went into the garden, past the TARDIS, and around the end of a hedge. At the far end, sitting on the bench next to the fountain pool, he could see Don and a blonde woman he didn't recognize. They were deep in discussion and didn't notice him. Rasputin blinked, looked back at the TARDIS, looked at the blonde, and looked back at the TARDIS again. The second time, he was mildly startled to see Kitty leaning against it. "Katya!" he whispered, walking closer. "Must you do that? You and Kurt, always appearing out of the shadows. One of you will give me a heart attack one day." He angled his head toward the bench. "What happened to the Doctor?" Kitty smiled thinly. "That's not the Doctor," she said. Rasputin tilted his head in puzzlement, looking at the TARDIS, then gave Kitty a skeptical look. "You're not telling me they all look like that," he said. Kitty shook her head. "She borrowed it. Doesn't have one of her own, I guess." "She's another Time Lord?" Kitty nodded. "What is she doing here?" "Ace sent her. Couldn't get hold of the Doctor, I guess. I assume you heard about Rachel?" "Da. The Professor sent me to fetch Don - he has something to report, I suppose. I can hardly believe it." He chuckled. "It's silly, I know, for anyone who has done and seen as much as I to be surprised by anything, but there you are. I'm... stunned." "So is Don," Kitty said. "According to everything he knows - and that's quite a bit - there's no way she could be who she is. Romana over there is trying to help him figure out what Tobernel did." She scowled slightly. "Time Lords talking shop." Rasputin gave her a long, puzzled look, then blinked. "Katya. Are you -jealous-?" "What? Don't be ridiculous." "You are! I can see it in your face." Kitty folded her arms. "Peter." Rasputin shrugged. "It is nothing to be ashamed of. A bit silly, in a woman your age - " "What's -that- supposed to mean?" she demanded, slugging him in the shoulder. Even with him in his normal human form, it felt a little like punching a rock wall. Rasputin winced slightly for show. "Temper, Katya," he chided her gently. "Sorry," Kitty said. "I just... I guess I -am- jealous, a little. She seems nice enough, but... " She sighed. "Pete, I'm a genius," she said, and it wasn't any kind of boast, just a statement of fact. "I'm one of the smartest people I know - but that woman over there, she understands the stuff that goes on inside Don's head better than I can ever dream of. All those things he can... can see and feel since he became a Time Lord, she knows exactly what he's talking about. I know, I know, he's the same Don we've known since we were kids, but... he's also someone else. He hides it from us most of the time, but I know there are parts of him that operate on levels we can't even imagine. She -can-. No - she doesn't -have- to. She's on that level too. She's one of them. His genuine peer." She shook her head. "No matter how much I love him, I can never be that." Rasputin's brow furrowed. "That's ridiculous," he said. "You know him on levels she can never understand. You knew him when he was just a boy. In large part, you made him the man he became. Don't argue with me," he cut her off as she opened her mouth to disagree. "I watched it happen. When he came to Xavier's he was shy and awkward, all potential. He made himself into the hero he became for -love of you-, Katya. To live up to the example he felt you set for him." "What? Don't be silly," Kitty said. "I wasn't an -example- to anyone in those days. I could barely get out of my own way." "But you -tried-," Rasputin said. "You tried, and you learned... and you inspired him. Not just him, either. You inspired all of us in one way or another." The Russian put his big, strong, comforting hand on her shoulder. Kitty reached up and touched his hand, then sniffed a little and looked up at him. "You always know exactly what to say," she said. Rasputin grinned. "I know -you-," he said. "And I know -him-." He shrugged. "Rachel's return has rattled you a little. It's understandable. Just remember: He is what he is today because he loved you from the moment he met you." He shook his head with a little smile. "I can't believe you didn't know this already." Kitty wiped her eyes and hugged him. "Thanks, Pete," she said. "Listen... don't mention this to Don, will you? He's got enough on his mind without worrying about me wigging out on him," she added with a self-deprecating grin. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said; then, patting her once more on the shoulder, he crossed to the fountain and passed on Professor Xavier's message. Don got to his feet, brushed some grass from his pants, and excused himself. Moments later, he entered Professor Xavier's office to find Rachel stretched out on the leather sofa in the corner of the spacious room, apparently asleep. Xavier was sitting by the bay window, a glass of water in his hand, looking pensive. He turned when he heard Don shut the door. "How'd it go?" Don asked, keeping his voice down. "No need to whisper," Xavier replied. "You won't wake her. I've put her in a deep delta state; she'll stay that way for 12 hours or so while her synapses heal." Don raised an eyebrow. "That bad?" Xavier nodded. "It was... difficult," he said. "But once we unearthed the first fragments, she was determined to continue until we'd recovered everything we could." Don went slowly to the side of the sofa, crouched down, and took a closer look at Rachel's sleeping face. Her eyes were dark-rimmed and her cheeks blotchy; she'd been crying, though she looked peaceful enough now. He turned back to Xavier. "What did you learn?" Xavier pivoted his chair and moved closer, taking a sip of water. "Not as much as I would have liked," he admitted. "We were able to recover most of her early memories - enough that I'm satisfied she really is who Tobernel said she is. I know your meson scan was conclusive," he added, raising a hand, "but under the circumstances I'm glad of the corroborating evidence." Don nodded. "You won't get any argument from me," he said. "So what went wrong?" "Well... I'm not sure anything went -wrong-, as such," Xavier replied. "She was suffering from simple traumatic amnesia - not too surprising, all things considered." Don nodded again. "I have a great deal of experience recovering memories lost in that way," Xavier went on, "and it all seemed quite straightforward, but... her memories just -end-, quite some time before they should." Don's brow furrowed. "Erased?" Xavier shook his head. "I don't think so. Memory erasure always leaves signs; they can be minimized with enough skill or enough technology, but they're always there. In this case... if I didn't know better, I'd say her memories beyond the age of about fifteen were simply never formed. Could that be a side effect of the process?" "Tobernel's 'slight loss of fidelity'?" Don rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wouldn't think so," he said. "Not to that extent. Normally that kind of thing affects the body a great deal more than the mind. I was regressed to my early teens by a temporal stabilizer malfunction once, but it was only a physical change. Good thing, too, or I'd never have been able to figure out how to get back." He looked at Rachel again. "Fifteen... she does look about that age." He turned back to Xavier. "So she still doesn't remember me." "No. Nor me, for that matter. Her memories end quite some time before she jumped to the twentieth century." Don took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then blew it slowly out. "Well... that simplifies things a bit," he said with a faintly bitter chuckle. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, reached out, and gently brushed a hand over her smooth cheek, thoughtfully regarding the younger version of a face he had so adored once - known every curve and plane, laugh line and scar... ... wait. "... she's... she's not scarred," Don murmured. "Pardon?" said Xavier. "Her face," Don said. "It's not scarred." He looked up, meeting the professor's eyes. "She's not a Hound." Xavier blinked. He honestly hadn't noticed that, but of course Don was right. The girl's face was perfectly smooth, unblemished. The Rachel both of them had known bore the scars of a brutal indoctrination, undergone in the twisted alternate future she came from. Her face had been marked with a pattern of straight black lines, radiating outward on cheeks and forehead. She was in the habit of using her telepathic abilities to mask them, making her face appear normal to onlookers, but Professor X was a more powerful telepath, and Don... /-- "Hey. Griffin. Can I ask you something?" Don looked up from his notes and was vaguely surprised to see the new girl, Rachel, regarding him pensively. "Uh... sure," he said. "Do I make you... uncomfortable?" she asked. Seeing him wince slightly, she went on, "Only, you know, since I got here it's like you've been... -avoiding- me. And I know I didn't -do- anything... so... what's the deal?" "Uh, well," Don said, then stopped. He was bad at talking to girls at the -best- of times, and this was not the best of times. "I just don't... ah... think we have all that much in common," he said awkwardly. "I mean, I don't think I'm into anything you'd find very interesting." She tilted her head, looking partway between puzzled and miffed. "What do you base -that- on?" she asked. "I mean, you've barely even talked to me. How do you know what I'd find interesting?" Now it was Don's turn to look a little confused, and also a little annoyed, as he began to suspect she was messing with him. How the hell could she not know what his first clue was? "Well," he said, then hesitated. Then he decided what the hell, he'd just spit it out: "I mean, I just don't figure anyone who's into facial scars is all that likely to think -I'm- cool. You know?" He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd been expecting - anger, probably, or just a snarky dismissal. He was completely unprepared for the reaction he actually -got-, which was a look of shock quickly dawning into horror. "You... you can -see-... ?" Rachel said, her face going pale behind the angry black lines of her Hound stripes. Then, without another word, she turned and ran from the study, bumping and nearly bowling over a just-arriving Kitty Pryde in her blind rush to be gone. "What was -that- about?" Kitty asked, but Don just gave her a dumbfounded look. "I have no idea," he said. Then, shaking his head, he went back to his notes. "I don't get that girl at all." Or any other one, really, but that one especially, he didn't add aloud. --/ Don pulled himself back from his reverie and looked down at Rachel's sleeping face again. Apart from the lack of markings, she looked almost as she had when she'd first arrived at Xavier's. She was younger and less hard-traveled than even the young Rachel of his memories, but by the same token she was surely not the grown woman he'd finally parted from in the Vortex. Then something sparked at the back of his head, a half-forgotten memory from his academy days, and he blinked. "Wait," he murmured. "She's -younger- than she should be... her memories run out -before- she first traveled in -time-... she's not a -Hound- yet... " A look of horror settled onto his face. "No, he -couldn't- have. Even Tobernel couldn't be that reckless." Don got up from the couch and bolted from the room, paying no need to Xavier's curious look. He nearly ran to his TARDIS, yanked open one of the circular panels on the control room wall, and hauled out a small toolbox, then ran back into the mansion, this time with Kitty and Romana voicing unanswered questions at his heels. Ignoring them, ignoring everything, he knelt at Rachel's side, rummaged in the toolbox, and pulled out a small device that looked a little like a hypodermic syringe. He pressed this to her arm and depressed the plunger, painlessly extracting a small tissue sample. A little more digging produced a tool that resembled an electrician's multimeter. He plugged the syringe into a socket on top of this, adjusted a couple of dials, and studied the numeric readout for a few tense seconds, his face grave, almost as if carved in stone. Then he handed the device to Romana. "Backcheck my math," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Romana peered at the readout for a few moments, frowning, then recoiled in shock, nearly dropping the device. Don took it from her and met her eyes. She nodded. "Great Rassilon," she whispered. "I can't believe it." "I can," Don said, stowing the valence meter back in the toolbox. Instead of rising, he remained where he was for a few moments, face in hands, glasses pushed up into his hair. Then, straightening, he dragged both hands down his face, shook his head, and repositioned his glasses. "I should've realized it sooner, but I was too stunned by what he -claimed- he'd done," he said, clenching a fist. "Damn, -damn-, he played me like a -harp-." "Don?" Kitty said, putting a hand on his arm. "You want to share with the rest of the class?" Don turned, looking for just a moment like he might say something sharp, but then he caught himself and softened, giving her a slightly wan smile. He covered her hand with his and patted it, then dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. "Tobernel didn't come up with some heretofore-unknown process to retrieve Rachel from the Vortex. That's impossible. Just like we've always been taught it is." He paused a moment longer, as if unwilling to come right out and speak what he'd just discovered. Then he gathered himself and plunged on: "He used the Time Scoop." The Time Scoop. The most celebrated - and deplored - relic of Gallifrey's expansionist period: that perilous time between the development of time travel technology, with all its attendant wonders, and the establishment of the institutions that provided for the (more or less) responsible use of that power. To the Gallifreyans of the pre-Rassilonic age, before the Laws of Time, there was no greater sport than to use the Time Scoop, an instrument of phenomenal and unsubtle power, to settle the most ancient of arguments. The lure of its power is easily understood by anyone who has ever been ten years old. Who would win in a fight: Muhammad Ali or Goliath of Gath? With the Time Scoop, you can find out. And that was exactly what the proto-Time Lords did. They plucked great warriors - often whole armies - from their proper contexts in history and pitted them against each other in a vast walled arena fittingly called the Death Zone, for no better reason than their amusement. Needless to say, these were often one-way trips. How, then, did the Scoop avoid altering history? How could it remove its subjects from their normal place in the flow of time without negating all that came after the point of extraction? No one knew, save perhaps its creator, a man so long-dead his name was forgotten even by the Lords of Time. All that was known - or at least all that would be revealed by the modern Time Lords - was that it placed tremendous strain on the fabric of spacetime to do it. It was primarily for this pragmatic reason, not out of humanitarian concerns - for all their harrumphing about the "barbarity" of it all - that had led the first true Time Lords, led by the revered Rassilon, to seal the Death Zone and ban the use of the Time Scoop. Under Time Lord law, the Scoop was a forbidden object. None were permitted to use or even study it. All this Don and Romana tried to explain, haltingly and with occasional backtrackings, to Professor X, Kitty, and a late-coming, baffled-looking Scott over the course of the next hour or so. "So, wait," Kitty said at length. "If this thing is so dangerous and forbidden, why wasn't it dismantled?" "Because it's a priceless relic," Romana said. "It's one of the only surviving pieces of proto-Time Lord technology, a link to the Age of Rassilon. To most Time Lords, destroying it would be... well, literally unthinkable." "Despite the fact that no one's allowed to go near it, even to study it." Romana shrugged. "We can be a peculiar people at times." With a slightly wry little smile, she slanted her eyes toward Don and added, "I'd have thought you would be accustomed to that by now... " "... Okay, fair enough," Kitty said. "So you think Tobernel used this thing to grab Rachel out of her home timeline." "We don't think it, we know it," Romana replied. "The data support no other conclusion. She was certainly abducted by the Time Scoop, and Tobernel is the only one who could have done it." "Well, then I'd say he's in some trouble, wouldn't you?" Scott opined. "I mean, I assume you Time Lords have -cops-." "Yes. Well, of a sort," Romana allowed. "If I were to inform the Castellan - he's what you would think of as our chief of police - Tobernel would be subject to the severest discipline. The High Council might even strip him of his remaining regenerations... or worse. The last person to abuse the Time Scoop faced a terrible penalty." She shivered slightly despite herself. "But we can't do that," Don put in. He stood on the far side of the room, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the gardens. Now he turned to face them, his expression grave. "You know we can't do that, Romana." Romana looked incensed. "I know no such thing!" she said. "Tobernel has violated one of the most ancient of Time Lord laws! That cannot go unreported. One of my duties as president of the Council - " Don raised his eyebrows. "You're president of the Council? I thought the Doctor was still Lord President." Romana seemed thrown off, slightly flustered, by the change of subject. Reddening slightly, she said, "I - I was named president pro tem the last time he attended a session of the quorum. I serve in his stead." Then, recovering her stride, she continued, "And as -such-, it's my duty to - " "Romanadvoratrelundar," Don said, his voice quiet but commanding, cutting her off more effectively than any shout would have. "Look at that child. -Look at her.-" Romana trailed off, then turned her head and regarded the sleeping girl for a few moments. "If we report Tobernel's crime," Don went on, "the CIA will insist on sending her back to the point from which she was taken." He walked slowly across the room, looking not at Romana but at Rachel as he spoke. "To a world where, very soon after that point, she'll be hunted, tortured, turned into a weapon... and that's just the -start- of the suffering she'll be in for." Xavier nodded, eyes closed, remembering. He had seen all of the horrors to which Don was alluding in the mind of the older Rachel, years before. Don had not - she had never been able to make the telepathic contact required for that sort of communion with him, and verbal accounts didn't have the same impact. All the same, he had an insight into the matter that even Xavier lacked. Of the two men, only Don had been subjected himself to treatment similar to what awaited Rachel if she were returned to her time. The remembered pain of that experience added years and lines to the Time Lord's face as he stopped next to the couch and stood looking down at his old paramour's younger self for a few moments. Then he turned, his eyes invisible behind the glint of his glasses, and regarded Romana steadily. "I won't send her back to that," he said flatly. Romana blinked. "Martol, you -must-," she said. "It's - " "I know. It's the law. But I won't do it." He smiled slightly, bitterly. "I've been on the wrong side of a lot of laws in my time." "... I -was- going to say it's too -dangerous- not to," Romana said primly, folding her arms. "As you might recall, I've spent my share of time as an outlaw as well. But beyond the laws of Gallifrey, her continued presence outside her proper context violates the Laws of Time." Don shrugged. "The Time Scoop doesn't cause paradox." "Yes, but no one understands how that can be - or what consequences it might have if left uncorrected." "Don't you think I know that? You tutored me in that class, Romana. You don't think I've forgotten it?" Don made a helpless gesture. "Don't you get it? This is Tobernel's trap. Either I turn him in and condemn Rachel to the hell that will have been her life... or I don't, and effectively become complicit in his crime." He shook his head. "I'm sorry it conflicts with your idea of your duty, Romana, but my mind's made up." Romana opened her mouth to try once more to get him to see reason, but before she could speak, Kitty said, "There's no use arguing with him when his mind's made up." Then, with a slightly dark smile, she added, "I'd have thought you would have learned that by now." Romana turned a scowl to her, then smiled ruefully. "Fair enough," she said. "All right, Martol, you win. I'll keep this secret... for as long as I can. But it's going to cause problems sooner or later. You -know- that. Tobernel won't be satisfied with just dragging you into a crime that he can't reveal either. You must be very, very cautious." "Where Tobernel is concerned, I'm always very, very cautious." Don sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then regarded his fellow Time Lord with a fond, tired smile. "Thank you, Romana. I'm sorry you got mixed up in this." "I'll just blame the Doctor," Romana replied with only slightly forced breeziness. "It's always worked for me before." "I guess that only leaves one question," said Scott, who actually had a mental tally of roughly 10,000 questions, but was trying to be positive. Everyone turned to regard him curiously. Scratching awkwardly at the back of his head, he asked, "What now?" "An excellent question, Scott," Xavier said gently, "but not, I think, one that any of us should try to answer right now." The professor turned to regard Don with thoughtful eyes. "We should rest, Donald. All of us, before trying to make any sort of decision... and Rachel should be involved in whatever decision is made. It is, after all, her life." Don nodded. "You're right." He smiled wearily. "You're always right." Xavier's smile was modest. "Oh, not always," he said. "No more than 95 percent of the time." Then, more seriously, he added, "You're welcome to use our spare rooms if you like." Don was about to say that was all right, plenty of room in the TARDIS, when Kitty pre-empted him by taking his arm and saying, "That would be great, Professor. Thanks." "Heh. My old room," Kitty remarked as she turned back to coverlet on the bed. "Or as close as we can get. Yours was... two doors down the hall on the left?" Don nodded absently. "Hey," she said, walking through the bed and rematerializing behind him to put her arms around him. "It'll work out. One way or another." With a muted laugh, she added, "It always does." Don patted one of her arms where it crossed his chest. "Yeah, I know. I'm just... " He turned around in her arms, putting his hands on her hips, and regarded her face thoughtfully, groping for some way to summarize his feelings. "... overcome with nostalgia," he finally decided. Kitty grinned wryly. "Why do you think I took Professor X up on his offer? We may be big, bad grown-ups now... but I still feel more like things are under control when I'm under his roof." Don chuckled. "Yeah." Then, smiling, he nodded and repeated it with more conviction, adding, "You are -also- always right." Kitty laughed. "Oh, not always," she said. "No more than 99 percent of the time." Then she leaned up and kissed him gently. "C'mon, time bandit. Let's get some sleep. Maybe some of this stuff will make sense in the morning." /* Joe Satriani "Made of Tears" _Super Colossal_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited and Bacon Comics Group presented UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT PROJECT PHOENIX "The Scars of the Future" Starring Donald E. Griffin Scott Summers Rachel Summers Justinia Houseman Charles Xavier Kitty Griffin Romanadvoratrelundar Piotr Rasputin Written by Benjamin D. Hutchins Aided and abetted, as always, by The Usual Suspects PROJECT PHOENIX Vol. 1 No. 2 BACON COMICS GROUP 2410 To be concluded in: The Eye of Harmony E P U (colour) 2007