On the Comforts of a Pyramid-Shaped Tent, Part Three
“Hey Desdemona! So what gives?” the Master quips as he hangs in the big doorway leading onto the control deck of Flaminarixodaparcaftion’s TARDIS.
Flamina turns from the sculpted controls just long enough to glare at him, her typical -shut up I’m concentrating- sort of gaze.
“I was right, there was a release of chronon mines into Gallifreyan space earlier this morning. All signals to and from the planet have ceased, spatial, temporal and otherwise. Not good.”
The Master blinks at her now short bobbed shoulder length red-gold hair, frowning at her delicious morning ensemble of red half-dress, black cycling shorts and combat boots. “Agreed. Have you extrapolated the cause yet from the remaining data? Alice?”
Flamina taps a button; of course, she doesn’t need to, he knows that. He also knows she enjoys the nostalgia of having all those useless flashing buttons, just like her mother. Father. Whatever.
“You noticed! Yes, in the last five minutes, there were three recent signals just before Gallifrey went dark. Rosette?” She turns to the white console board, touching here and there to grow a screen from the stuff of it.
The white material screen shows three colored blips- one marks the location of a silvery shuttle on an outbound trajectory, the second shows a small black single-pilot orbital pod, and a… green, box-shaped bit of fuzz moving back and forth like a pong geek on tournament day.
The Master sticks his finger at the fuzz, trying to wipe it off. But it’s on the screen.
He leans in, and nearly snorts himself to death. There’s a solid green line, then a little top bit, with a little white dot shooting out of it…
“That’s not lint. That’s a vintage pixel sprite from Space Invaders. I imagine if we search the area where it disappeared, we’ll find residual artron with the Jade Pagoda’s signature; she’s the TARDIS’ escape pod.” The Master sighs, then scratches his head. “Fucking fanboy. You let him smoke something illegal in here, didn’t you? What was it, gingersnaps? Must be. Or, wait… I bet he got high just off the machine oil…” he murmurs, stabbing a finger at the screen until a smudge appears.
Flamina snorts, too, a perturbed unicorn. “Oh Koschei, you can’t believe that. Since when did father need any outside help to be an idiot?”