The following document was delivered to the offices of New Gallifrey Public Record. We have been unable to trace the provenance. If Lord Mirraflex himself wishes to contact us privately, or to comment here on the blog in confidence, we will be happy to broadcast his authorship … or his rebuttal.
We shared this document with the Lord President, who is best positioned, some might argue, to verify the truth or falsehood of the allegations in this sensational document. The Lord President refused to comment.
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+++ PERSONAL JOURNAL: DAVIDABBOTREMIRRAFLEX +++
+++ INTERCEPT AUTHENTICATION CODE: 5897/54a246n-7982c45BLUE-OMEGA +++
+++ DESIGNATION: SECRET +++
So, the Lord President screwed us. After Rassilon the Batshit’s performance at the end of the war I should have known better than to trust his chariot’s word, but there’ll be time to kick myself over that later.
The plan was shaky to start with, I admit, and relied too much on Sen playing his part, although Other knows I’ve risked worse in the past. But with recent events I was… well, I had a slowly-growing bad feeling about things, and that’s saved my neck too often to ignore.
The operation ran smoothly enough to start with. The declaration set tongues rattling and tempers flaring, and as response after response came along the war drums started to beat. Once Sen put his own statement out, with all the right holes in it for me to pick at, the kicker was a simple move. Doubts sown, we were ready for the meeting. Textbook stuff, but I have to admit it was rather fun.
Seriously, if you want to yank a Time Lord’s chain, just mention Rassilon. Gets them every time. It’s more than a little embarrassing, really, when I think about how much effort it usually takes to pull this kind of thing off.
But there was still that bad feeling. Kharma and Thursday had both already voiced their concerns about Sen’s good faith before we got there, and I was edgy enough on my own account to want a little insurance, so I found myself pulling Old Faithful out of my desk at the last minute and tucking her into my robes. She was enough to buy time for our people to Time Ring out in case Sen decided to burn us – and since she could get past the weapon sensors at Central back home, I knew she’d be good for this. Old habits die hard, and Other bless the people who made it so.
There was waffle. Point, counterpoint, some sniping… the expected performance. The vote was close, nice and tense, just right. The Lord Chancellor put in a beautiful defence, too.
And that’s where Sen went off the rails.
The plan was simple: state that he’d let our capsules decide whether we’d be marooned, and wait for that as the final sentence. Sure it’s a bit hokey, but it suits Sen’s style and should have kept people happy while we were shuffled neatly out of view. But no, he pulls some stunt with a light show and announces right there and then that our capsules will abide by the vote. Right in front of everyone, so there’s no chance of escape. No slack. None of that carefully-prepared smokescreen in which we were to vanish.
So by now, I’m calculating the exfil. The Ordinal was briefed on procedure and the rest knew to run if things went wrong, so the question was down to making the hole for us to run through. The Sub-Castellan watching us from the back was off-balance, not expecting a big play, and as Sen started in on sentencing it was just a matter of how he was going to move. One last chance for him to make it right and kick us on to the next stage.
“Lady High Castellan Solis, you are hereby directed to strip House Prydon of New Gallifrey of all official standing in this chamber. Remove the dematerialization circuits from their Capsules, and turn all official relics over to Lady Judy and the official House Prydonian.”
First part was right on the money: get us out from under the Council’s eyes so we could move forward. The rest of it? No. He was supposed to go after Kharma as Cardinal and me as mouthpiece, but instead he was taking out the entire Chapter.
The son of a reaper was screwing us.
Well, two can play at that game, sunshine, and you might be the Chariot of Rassilon but I’m not exactly fresh out of the loom. I signalled up the line that it was time to consider Plan B, got the nod back, and the speeches began. I could see the Chariot smirking as he sat back down, thinking he’d pulled us out and nailed us down… and that’s when I saw the opening.
See, here’s the thing: Sen’s got a great mouth on him, and does the standing up front thing very nicely. But he’s not the brains of the operation; that’s the Chancellor. Engineered to be the brains, and way smarter than the Chariot. Two things were pretty solid assumptions: that screwing us was part of a larger plan, and that plan had been laid out by Sputnik. And there indeed he was, standing right in my line.
One good turn deserves another, Sen – have a corporate lobotomy.
Kharma gave the order to pull out, and as the Chapter winked out it was time to do the deed. I’ve already seen the news claim that I was shooting at Sen, but seriously – what kind of ham-fisted moron would have missed him from that range? I might actually get around to finding that offensive when things calm down a bit. Same as it ever was, the story changes…
I played it simple, brutal and old school, just the way Herself and I pulled them back in the day. One well-placed round and a Time Ring in the confusion. The Chancellor was going down before half of them had realised I’d stopped talking, and the last thing I saw was Sen’s smug grin sliding right off his face as he realised we’d shafted him right back.
We were ready to play our part, and give Sen exactly what he wanted, but when he came to making good on his word he decided he’d rather screw us than play it straight. It’s a pity; we could have done something truly worth the risk and forged New Gallifrey and Olyesti into a solid, secure foundation for all of our people.
Okay, break it down:
1. I’m burned and in hostile territory.
2. I have my RV – it’s simply a matter of getting there at the appropriate time.
3. I’m rested, equipped, trained and motivated.
4. The enemy is in disarray, and its Command & Control is no longer running at full capacity.
5. The enemy leadership is emotionally unbalanced, and coming after me personally, plus one other. Whether they’re assuming we’re together or have split up cannot be determined at this time.
6. The enemy leadership is going to want rid of us, to cover their tracks. Being taken alive seems unlikely.
Three immediate options come to mind:
1. Turn myself in and let them hit me with the Mind Probe, on the condition that it’s done in front of the entire High Council. If I broker it right Sen won’t be able to stop me in time and all his nasty little schemes will come out. While I doubt I’m likely to survive the process, I should live long enough to see them move Sen into the next cell along.
2. Give them a war. I’ve gamed enough OPFOR scenarios to give me ready-to-play options straight out of the box, and the enemy won’t be expecting it.
3. Lay low and hope they don’t find me.
When pinned down, press the attack. Defeat numbers with audacity. And seriously, it’s not like I’m dealing with Daleks here, for all the Dromiean’s cries of “Exterminate!” Their ignorance is my weapon. Grief, I know I gave them the “We are coming” treatment, but I wasn’t expecting it to come true!
No time for regrets now, though: it’s time to get a copy of this log to the cache so it can go public if Sen takes me out, and then I’d better get to work.
What a mess.
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