Chapter Text
In the third quadrant of the Hexarchate system Trilios, there is a planet called Kalaya. In certain, idyllic parts of its timeline, it bears a strong physical resemblance to Gallifrey. In other ways—more important ones, depending on who you ask—it is very different from the home of the Time Lords. Its people have not discovered time travel. They have a strong sense of the communal good. And the planet’s people go to war only a few times during their long history.
The Doctor tells her companions none of this as she turns the levers and knobs to lock in their destination. She doesn’t mention that Kalaya is what she’d imagined her homeworld to be, in her youth—beautiful, peace-loving, appreciative of the cultural wonders of the universe.
She dances around the console and pulls one last lever, and the TARDIS lands. Ryan, Graham, and Yaz look at her like they always do when they’re about to step foot on a new world, with expectation and wonder. She grins, claps her hands once. She tells them only what they need to know. “Music festival!”
The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS. Red, waist-high grasses and rust-tinted skies strike her with a blow of deep loneliness, emptiness, and sadness. Surrounding her is an expanded sense of the rightness of time here, as if in all of time’s variations, this moment is the best of all possibilities.
It reminds her so much of Gallifrey. But behind her she can sense her companions’ eagerness to step out the door and experience this new world for themselves, so she takes a deep breath. “Ah, reminds me of my misspent youth,” she says. Just to the left of the truth, hopefully without a hint of the melancholy that drags at her.
Ryan, Graham and Yaz look with fresh, young eyes and the Doctor feels her age as an insurmountable distance between herself and the humans. There’s a weightiness to the sense of time around her now, but she knows it’s a weight she’s brought with her.
They all survey their surroundings wordlessly for a few moments before Yaz speaks up. Her eyes are bright in a way the Doctor thinks Yaz reserves just for her. “So you’ve been here before, then?” Yaz latches on to any mention of the Doctor’s past with an enthusiasm that’s just shy of frightening.
“Oh yeah, loads of times. This’ll be my 127th Festival of Continuation.” The Doctor grins. Yaz is hanging on every word, and the Doctor can’t help but extend just a few more breadcrumbs. “I just keep dropping in.. Must be because Kalaya looks a little like home.” The grasses sway and her stomach drops. She pushes the sadness down with another grin, but is fairly certain Yaz notices the lapse.
Ryan has tuned them out and is appreciating the view of Kalayans setting up for the festival in the valley below. They’re insectoid people, a full head taller than Ryan, with massive yet delicate wings sprouting from their backs that remind the Doctor of Earth’s dragonflies. The valley buzzes with the hum of wings alongside the verbal speech of the Kalayans.
Graham’s ignoring the scene below in favor of giving the doctor a cheeky, side-eyed look. “A little early, aren’t we, Doc?” He asks.
“Early? In a time machine, Graham? Never! Watching the crowds arrive is part of the fun!”
Ryan looks out into the mostly empty field, a skeptical half-grin on his face. He raises an eyebrow. “You sure we’re going to like this kind of music?” He’s picky about his music, and besides that, he never quite lets his wonder overtake him. The Doctor appreciates that, even as she shakes her head at his doubt.
“Trust me, Ryan, you’re going to love it.” Down below, the Kalayans are moving four large, conical devices onto the stage.
“Still think we should have done Woodstock,” Graham grumbles.
“Woodstock has nothing on this .” The Doctor starts walking, letting out a contented sigh at the soft brush of grass against her ankles. “Though I used to be a bit bitter about that whole thing. Still can’t believe Joan Baez didn’t like my guitar playing. Hendrix loved it. Good taste, Jimi.” She can practically hear the other three rolling their eyes behind her.
“Sounds to me like she’s still bitter, don’t it, Yaz?” Graham knocks his shoulder against Yaz’s and she laughs. The Doctor’s not sure she’s heard a more beautiful sound. She’s glad they finally have time to stop, relax, and enjoy one of their trips.
They skirt the lip of the valley until they can see a crowd that has already formed at the massive gates into the festival. The arches are covered with flowering vines—a little closer to a Woodstock vibe than she remembers, despite their being a dozen light years from Earth.
Up close, the Kalayans move so carefully, so gently, that it takes her breath away. The crowd of veritable giants slowly coalesces and then the stretches into an orderly queue in front of the gates.
“Best part about the Kalayans: their wings create a sort of psychic sub-language. Usually not something they bother to control much, just feelings and impressions, really. But in their music … well, you’ll see.” They’re close enough now that the Doctor can feel that background hum in her own mind. It should be grating against the psychic sense she doesn’t use often, but the Kalayans’ gentleness bleeds into her psyche. She feels cozy, safe.
“When does the show start?” Yaz asks.
“Sundown,” the Doctor says. “If we get inside early I’m sure there’s plenty to do before it starts.”
“All right,” Ryan says. “I know this part.” He ambles down the hill, tripping on the uneven footing and barely managing to stay upright. He shows no hesitation in joining the end of the queue, despite how tiny he looks next to the Kalayans. The Doctor knows she’s a good judge of character, but she is especially proud of her newest friends.
“Shall we?” The Doctor gestures wide with one arm, meeting Yaz’s gaze as she turns her whole body to follow. The younger woman follows the gesture, appraising their surroundings with an attentiveness the Doctor has come to expect.
“I hope no one minds if we cut a bit,” Graham says. More Kalayans are crowding in now, practically burying Ryan halfway through the line.
The Doctor squints down the slope and waves to Ryan. “Nah, I doubt it. Why don’t you catch him up, Graham. Yaz and I will get to the back of the queue.” She adds a little flourish with her hand and sees her companions smile out of the corner of her eye.
“We’ll find you two when we get in!” Graham heads down the hill, angling for Ryan and dodging between the Kalayans with good-natured “Excuse me”’s.
The Doctor grabs Yaz’s hand and steers her away from Graham, down the hill and to the end of the queue.
The Kalayans speak softly amongst themselves. This close, their emotions buzz a little louder in the back of the Doctor’s mind. It’s a relatively calm affair, despite the excitement in the air, and she takes a moment to enjoy the warmth of Yaz’s fingers entwined with hers.
They stand like that for a few moments, watching the hubbub around them, before they pull apart to face each other. Yaz’s eyes are bright, and she can’t seem to decide whether to look at the Doctor, the Kalayans, or the beautiful surroundings. She eventually meets the Doctor’s eyes. “Can you hear it? Their… sub-language?”
The Doctor makes a face and watches the slight smile it brings to Yaz’s lips. “Ehhh, sort of.” She tilts one hand back and forth. “’Hear’ isn’t quite the word. But of course there isn’t a better word in your language. Would be in Kalayan, but that’s beside the point. It’s more of a background buzz, anyway, not words so much as feelings.”
“That’s amazin’.” Yaz says. So matter of fact, so accepting in her awe at the universe.
The queue moves quickly enough, and before long the Doctor and Yaz find themselves passing under the flowered gates. Yaz’s eyes are shining again, this time at the exotic flowers hanging from the massive frame. The Doctor tries not to stare at Yaz, but fails spectacularly. She hopes Yaz doesn’t notice.
There’s a sudden crush of people on the other side of the gate, and the Doctor can see quite a few other species mixed in with the Kalayans now. She points out the more interesting ones to Yaz, raising her voice a bit now to be heard over the crowd.
“Doctor—“ Yaz’s hand on her sleeve interrupts a particularly interesting anecdote on the anatomy of the Sarians. “What’s going on over there?” She points.
Near the center of the festival grounds a crowd has gathered. The Doctor feels a minute change in the psychic atmosphere. There’s tension now, a bit of anxiety, a smattering of fear.
“Come on, let’s have a closer look.” The Doctor takes off with long strides. Yaz barely keeps her hold on the Doctor’s coat as they weave their way through the people all around.
The crowd has formed a circle. In the center stand six small groups of Kalayans, shouting good-natured insults back and forth. The Doctor stands on tiptoe to see better, and notes the undercurrent of friendly competition among the groups. The anxiety is still part of the psychic field, but she chalks that up to nerves over what’s taking place.
The Doctor waits for Yaz to slip in next to her, then speaks right into her ear. Did the younger woman just turn a little red? Must be the heat; it’s getting warm with so many bodies in one place. “It’s a competition!” the Doctor explains. “Sort of a cross between gladiatorial combat, an auction, and a dance-off, to see which group will perform first.”
Seemingly at random, one group starts to vocalize a low hum. The largest member steps into the middle of the crowd and begins to sway. The others build on the hum, adding tones and rhythms until a gentle song takes shape. Throughout the crowd, Kalayans shout various sums of money. The song raises into a crescendo, the dancer’s moves becoming more and more wild until … it stops. No slow let-down, no crawl back to that baseline hum.
The Doctor feels a smile break across her face. Her hearts are beating hard, her mind reeling just a bit with the Kalayans’ emotions.
The Doctor turns to Yaz. The younger woman stares transfixed, pupils dilated, a grin on her own face. She licks her lips. She’s never looked more beautiful, and the Doctor has to tear her eyes from Yaz’s mouth.
Yaz looks like she’s about to say something, but is interrupted by a familiar voice that rings out above the ongoing haggling.
“Hey, mate! No need for that!” It’s Ryan. His words are punctuated with a jolt to the feelings of the nearby Kalayans, a psychic force that taps a hard staccato note before settling into the background. Without hesitation the Doctor runs in the direction of Ryan’s voice, sidestepping bodies and ducking beneath Kalayan elbows.
Ryan stands between a Kalayan and a smaller, compact alien. He holds a hand up to each, an unyielding gesture to stop.
“Ryan. What’s up?” the Doctor asks.
As the Doctor speaks, the smaller alien lunges toward Ryan. The Doctor jumps forward, one hand outstretched. Hopefully this person’s nervous system is not too unlike a human’s. Her fingers find what she seeks, a bundle of nerves at the base of the throat. She pinches. They halt mid-stride. Outstretched arms drop to their sides.
The Doctor sees Graham out of the corner of her eye, half a step behind her, slower to react to the potential danger, but not by much. He speaks up before the tension in the air can grow any higher. “Well, Doc, these two had a bit of a disagreement, but were about to go their separate ways. Isn’t that right, folks?”
The Doctor removes her finger from the smaller alien’s throat. They gasp at the sudden relief. Two eyes, a long furry snout, and a tiny mouth align themselves into what appears to be, in her vast experience, a glare. The Doctor has been on the receiving end of so many that she can read the expression on almost any face. She returns eye contact, letting calm suffuse her own expression. The alien gives up after a few moments. They make a disgusted noise and stomp off.
Ryan looks put out. “I had that,” he says.
“Sure you did.” Yaz’s voice chimes in from behind the Doctor, so close her breath tickles the fine hairs at the back of the Doctor’s neck. She hadn’t realized the younger woman was hovering behind her.
Ryan opens his mouth to protest, but Graham sets a hand on his shoulder. “Accept the help, son. We know you could’ve handled it. But we stick together, we help one another.”
“Fine.” Ryan doesn’t sound fine, but he’s at least willing to drop the subject for now. Which is good, because there’s something itching at the back of the Doctor’s mind. She’s missing something, or forgetting something, or maybe a bit of both.
“What was that all about?” Yaz asks. “Don’t have to be psychic to pick up on the tension here.”
She’s right—the Doctor turns her attention to the psychic field. It feels fragile now, tension rippling out from this incident, a remembrance of deep hatred spreading into the rest of the field.
“Yes. Very tense. Which is unexpected, because the Kalayans are one of the gentlest people I’ve had the honor of knowing.” The Doctor turns to the Kalayan still standing next to Ryan. “Right, then. Who was that, and what’s the problem?”
A buzz of wings, and the Doctor feels the mental equivalent of a shrug through the psychic field. “They were Onckra. Reason enough. Don’t know why those ones are being allowed in this year.”
The Doctor feels a bit indignant at that. “But this is the largest festival dedicated to peace and prosperity in this galaxy!”
The Kalayan’s wings buzz again, this time expressing agreement. “So you see why the Onckra are not welcome here. The massacre at Galvos demonstrates their lack of commitment to peace in our quadrant.”
Galvos… there’s something on the tip of the Doctor’s mind at the mention of that name. She taps her foot, thinking, long enough that the Kalayan loses interest in the conversation. He turns with a small wave of his hand and word of thanks to Ryan, then disappears into the crowd.
“What is it, Doctor?” Yaz asks. From the proximity of her voice it’s obvious that she is still pressed closely behind the Doctor.
“Galvos, Galvos.” A memory works its way from the recesses of her mind. She snaps her fingers. Yaz blinks and backs up a step, perhaps expecting the Doctor to indulge in a bit of mad hand-waving. “That’s it! Galvos was a Kalayan colony. It was destroyed only a year after being established.”
She refrains from the hand-waving but takes two steps away from Yaz before turning and taking in the expressions of all three companions. Yaz looks curious and interested, as usual when the Doctor explains something new. Ryan is half listening, half watching their surroundings with caution. Graham is listening, but his eyes stray to Ryan every now and then, gauging his grandson’s reaction. “The massacre has often been cited as a very early opening incident in …” She trails off at the thought forming as she speaks.
The Doctor makes eye contact with Yaz, Ryan, then Graham in turn. “We may have ended up a few decades further into Kalaya’s timeline than I planned.”
“And what’s all that mean, then?” Graham asks.
“They’re on the brink of war.”