The Dance [Oneshot]
The High Council had at least been productive today. New jobs cropped up for eager young Time Lords with every strange occurrence from the Tear. Smaller rifts were periodically being patched up by those XI affectionately dubbed ‘the Plasterers’; biohazard teams monitored any anomalous readings in the atmosphere originating from Arcadia, and even some of the nomadic tribes had been persuaded to patrol the wastes in the event that advanced technology threw up false data. The brightest and best of the Academies ran simulations in the hope of cracking the problem of the Tear though none yet could account for the unique damage it had inflicted.
XI made his way to his quarters, his head buzzing with thoughts on fixing his planet’s most urgent issue as well as keeping the military in line. They were getting itchy fingers, the General already having mooted the idea of venturing into the Tear to end the Time War beyond. XI had considered it himself but not through direct violence. Gallifrey was too underpopulated. An attack would reveal their presence to greater powers and the rest of the Council had no intention of plunging their people into anything of the sort ever again.
He stepped into the transmat platform, expecting to arrive close to his inner sanctum, and found himself staring at the mountains of Solace, the curved rim of the Citadel’s shell stretching beneath his feet. The wind tugged at his robes and hair, but it was not strong enough to overbalance him.
“Our people look so tiny from up here,” came a lilting Scottish from behind him. “A million little fleas, yet so much easier to squash. Honestly, have you tried squashing a flea? You have to get them right between your nails and press until … pop.”