"Somewhere Out There" - Part Four

 

Part Four

            “It may be out of your hands…but not mine.”

            Those were the last words Aznavorian told General Yvette Dwonch while in their ‘Skeeta Jenkins’ incarnation. Skeeta was the one who first saw it coming—the literal backfire of the Global Lockdown Protocol. He found out about it during a UNIT ordeal that required his consultation—Neas wasn’t available at the time. Classified information that he obtained through a hack so small that no one in the Pentagon would even notice. Yvette was the only one he told.

            They trusted her as much as she trusted them.

            Unfortunately, that trust only went as far as Global Lockdown.

            “This won’t go the way your world leaders think it will, Yvette! It won’t protect your planet…it will DESTROY it!”

            “I know you’re right, Skeeta. But what can I do? They’d rather listen to that idiot, Louis Holden, than me! And I outrank the jerk!”

            “Make them listen then!”

            “Ya think I haven’t tried, man?! If the white upper-crust government bigwigs have full control of the protocol, then it’s completely out of my hands!”

            “It may be out of your hands…but not mine!”

            After that, Skeeta was done with UNIT and the Earth he called home.

            Sure, things mellowed out more between the Tinkerer and the organization—thanks to Miya’s bubbly personality, Tiffany’s rational mind, and Scarlet’s sense of reason.

            But some of Skeeta’s headstrong thinking resurfaced in Rania on occasion.

            Discovering the emergence of the Global Lockdown Protocol filled her with rage and frustration, much like the feelings she had experienced when she lost Craig. She felt a deep, unsettling darkness creeping in—a sensation she hadn’t experienced since her time as a prisoner of war during the Last Great Time War against the Daleks.

            She wanted there to be suffering—justifiable suffering—for those responsible.

            “Rania?” Fievel’s small voice brought her back from that darkness. She had completely forgotten where she was—in the body of a mouse in 1885. She sat alone in the console room for God only knew how long, glaring a hole into one of the roundels on the wall. The ship’s door was left open, allowing Fievel entry. He looked very concerned for her. “You OK?”

            She cleared her throat and told him, “Of course, sweetie. What did ya need?”

            Fievel fidgeted with his hands, but with his long sleeves covering them, he was just rubbing the fabric. “Well, I…” He struggled to say what he needed; thankfully, Rania was very patient with him. “I was thinkin’ about your friend, Craig…I think I know where he is.”

            Rania beamed with hope. “You do? Where?”

            “Warren T. Rat,” Fievel said. “He took me when I got lost from my family. He could’ve taken Craig, too.”

            Rania hadn’t considered that possibility.

            It did inspire her to check the sweatshops in the city, as well as Warren and the Mott Street Maulers’ own hideout in the sewers—a location she knew from the repeated viewings of An American Tail with Kristin and Candace. “You may have given us a leg up in our search, Fievel!” She gave the mouse an appreciative kiss on the forehead before putting her attention on the TARDIS controls.

            “There’s something else,” Fievel continued. Rania looked away from the controls to give him her undivided attention. He was even more fidgety now, fighting to ask her, “Could I…stay with you and your friends?”

            This request took Rania by surprise. “Oh, Fievel…”

            One look at his sad little face was all it would have taken for her to say, ‘Yes.’ She was so tempted to take him in—let him join their group and explore other worlds across the infinite dimensional corridor. But deep within both of her hearts, she knew that she couldn’t. Once they were out of his realm and exposed to the nuage field again, they would no longer be mice but humans—four giant humans caring for one tiny mouse. No…Fievel’s real family was somewhere out there in New York City; they were practically under his nose.

            “We’d love to have you with us, honey,” Rania said. “But…your family is out there…and we will find them. I promise.” Fievel was initially disappointed by her kind rejection, but her reassurance helped soften things.

            A moment later, after searching many sweatshops in the city with young, orphaned mice children working their fingers to the bone, the TARDIS team’s last stop was the Mott Street Maulers’ lair. However, to their surprise, the sewer hideout had been left abandoned.

            “Not a single cat in the whole dang place!” Leeka observed.

            “Cats?” Fievel frowned at her. “Why would cats be here?”

            “Because Warren T. Rat’s not a rat, baby,” Jennifer told him. “He’s a cat.”

            This news blew Fievel’s mind. He thought back on the day Warren’s paths crossed with his own. He looked so much like a big rat that it convinced even Fievel. Of course, he should have figured the truth for himself—not even the rats back in Russia were as big as Warren pretended to be.

            “I’m picking up heavy traces of nuage energy,” Rania said, waving her sonic screwdriver across the empty space.

            “Me, too.” Leeka scanned with her vortex manipulator. “Wonder where it leads.”

            “Only one way to find out,” Rania smirked.

            They headed back into the TARDIS, inputting the data they had collected into the TARDIS mainframe. This permitted them a direct shortcut to the source of the nuage energy, which was at the Chelsea Pier—the spot that was to be the showdown between the Maulers and the mice. And, inside the building where the Giant Mouse of Minsk should have been, there was instead…

            “A Dalek?!” Jennifer cried. “How did a Dalek get here?!”

            “I’ve heard Rania and Craig talk about them before,” Tyler gulped, “but I never imagined they were so huge!”

            “They’re not so big from a human perspective,” Rania told him. “But, from that of a mouse, it’s more terrifying than usual.” She kept herself and her companions frozen in place for a moment long enough to determine if the Dalek was active. When she didn’t see any movement from its eyestalk, she confidently concluded, “It’s dead.”

            “Are ya sure?” Leeka asked.

            “It’s not moving an inch,” Rania indicated. “I think it’s just an empty chassis.”

            “I-Is it gonna h-hurt us?” Fievel cowered behind Rania.

            Rania gave him a reassuring pat on the head. “No. I think we’re safe. Nevertheless, we should get you back to Gussie Mausheimer, so you can tell her about the Mouse of Minsk.”

            Fievel’s ears twitched curiously. “How do you know about that?”

            Before Rania could offer some sort of explanation for her knowledge of the bedtime stories told by Fievel’s father, something fast and metallic sprang up from the floor they walked across—concealed by bits of straw. They were horrified to discover it was a cage. It appeared too advanced to be from the late 19th century, nor did it look to be of Earth.

            From several hiding spots emerged the cackling members of the Mott Street Maulers, including their boss, Warren T. Cat. “Well, well, well…what have we here, boys? It’s our little friend, Fievel…and he brought us a few snoopers.”

            “How’d you know we’d be here, Warren?” Rania asked. “This mousetrap’s too complicated for small-minded cats like you!”

            Her words hit a nerve with Warren. “Small-minded? Small-minded?! Small-minded?!?!”

            He intended to open the cage and yank Rania right out of it until…

            “Don’t let her inside your head, Warren,” a familiar voice spoke from the shadows—one individual who had yet to reveal themselves. “This Tinkerer knows how to push the right buttons.”

            Rania, Tyler, Jennifer, and Fievel looked to the spot where the hidden party spoke from. Slowly, it strode into the light. Another cat—except this one carried the features of a certain Promethean that Rania, Tyler, and Jennifer had not directly encountered since their Mississippi journey.

            “The Archivist,” Rania hissed.

            The Promethean feline grinned. “And so, we meet again, Aznavorian.”