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“Everything ends and it’s always sad. But everything begins again, too. And that’s always happy.” – the Doctor
Tal-Rho was tired. His vision blurred to black spots at the edges. But then, everything in space was black, so what difference did it make? He let his eyes fall shut, exhaling the remainder of the oxygen he’d been holding for days – weeks?
Time had no meaning where he was.
Even a Kryptonian could not survive indefinitely in the vacuum of space, and he had drifted too far from Earth’s yellow sun.
It had been an accident. Sort of. Plausible deniability and all that.
The tunnel between universes had ejected him at a higher velocity than intended. He thought he was back in his own universe, but he’d gone spinning into space, far past the pale blue Earth. When he finally righted himself, everything around him was black and fathomless. Nothing but distant, icy stars, and they all looked alike.
Had there been star-charts in the lessons his father’s hologram had drilled into him? Perhaps. He was dimly aware that he didn’t wish to remember them. He’d been drifting for a long time, in and out of consciousness. It was peaceful in its way.
Tal was relieved to be out of that little cell with the red lights. The universe a sprawl around him. It was a luxurious amount of freedom, when you thought about it.
The longer he was at this distance from a yellow sun the more his powers faded. Perhaps they could have lasted longer in the void without all that time spent under the red lights of his prison cell, and then the red sun of the Inverse world, which had drained him further. And for what? He hadn’t been any happier on the Inverse world, with its cubes and its red sun and Inverse Tal’s relationship to a ruthless, super-powered Lana Lang.
The thing that he wanted – the thing that he’d always wanted – was still out of reach.
His brother didn’t want anything to do with him, would never forgive him. Even if Kal-El had come to trust Tal as a brother in the final battle, in peace times he was sure his brother’s noble streak would mean clapping Tal in irons and shipping him back to prison. So, even if Tal made it back to Earth, he would be forced to hide (and whether one could successfully hide from Kal-El was doubtful.) And he couldn’t face that tiny cell with its red lights again, and he couldn’t stay on the Inverse World anymore, either, and so he had missed them both and now, well –
It was a type of freedom. In a way.
Tal faded out.
He woke, somehow not dead yet, though close to it. A metal wall stretched across the horizon.
Even blurry and dim as his eyesight had become, the oncoming collision startled him into a state of semi-alertness. It took a few seconds for Tal’s brain to process what it was looking at – and then it snapped into focus: the wall of spaceship. It was a massive structure, miles long, and barreling straight towards him.
Upon being faced with the ignoble finish of being squished like a bug against a cosmic windshield, survival instinct finally kicked in. A surge of adrenaline caused the last remaining particles of yellow-sun energy to ignite in his metagenes, and Tal maneuvered stiffly, flying alongside the silver wall. His shoulder scraped the edge. A flare of pain shot through him.
His hand caught the handle of an outer door – airlock seal. There was no time to think about what this thing was and what sort of creatures he might find inside, the drive to live had overtaken him and his body acted on instinct.
The last dregs of super strength allowed him to pry open the screaming, protesting outer seal. He forced himself inside an airlock compartment before everything went black.
Another awakening.
Somehow, Tal had managed to shut the seal behind him – or else the ship’s computers had activated and done it automatically. His head throbbed and his mouth was painfully dry. He could barely move, but he was alive.
His heart thudded with the blood rushing in his ears. There was air circulation – oxygen, so whoever was on this thing needed to breathe. It was several minutes before Tal pulled himself into a sitting position, vision swimming like a disconnected film reel. His stomach lurched and he vomited a thin stream of bile along the metal floor. Breathing raggedly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Pathetic. Unimaginable. That a son of Krypton should be reduced to such a state. Disgraceful.
He didn’t allow himself to think about the lulling sweetness of the void, the calm he had felt in those last moments. He sensed it was shameful. Zeta Rho would have – no, best not think about his father, either. Still, Tal’s training demanded he get to his feet.
It took longer than was ideal. His body weak and shaking with the loss of the yellow sun, the oxygen starvation, and the jolt of adrenaline.
Pathetic, repeated on a loop inside his head, battering against his temples in Zeta Rho’s rasping voice.
Tal staggered to the opposite wall, the hatch leading not into space, but further into the belly of the spaceship. He didn’t have the strength to pry open a second metal door. Not anymore. But there was a flashing screen with illuminated buttons. Alien writing scrawled by him – not Kryptonian, and not any Earth language he recognized. At a loss, he jabbed at it randomly with his fingers.
A negative-sounding beep trilled. He pressed a different button. Negative. A different one. The screen went blue. A pleasant chime sounded. The lock on the door rotated, hydraulics groaning, and the door popped open with a metallic whine.
Moving cautiously, Tal entered a long service corridor. He took his time, taking breaks to lean against the wall. It was warm, buzzing with electricity. Gradually he heard other noises, besides the thrum of the ship’s engines – voices, chatter. All in languages he didn’t understand.
He would have felt better about this if he’d still had his powers.
In fact, he may have lingered in the corridor, mentally regrouping, for far longer, except a series of doors opened all around him. Before he had a chance to react, dozens of alien beings bustled past him. They were bipedal, roughly human-shaped, but some had bright green, scaly skin, and jutting mandibles. Others were blue, with antenna. Others were – other – but none of them were human.
And they were all dressed as waiters.
One of them finally noticed Tal and paused in his journey, balancing an empty silver tray in one hand, and looking Tal up and down. His mandibles made a whirring clicking sound. The alien said something. Tal couldn’t understand it. It didn’t sound particularly hostile, but it kept buzzing and – speaking? – at him.
Other aliens continued shouldering their way through the corridor, and soon the one Tal had been ineffectively communicating with was carried away by the current of bodies. Others gestured at him though and made various noises, and he finally understood he was in the way. They all pointed him towards –
A ballroom.
The corridors opened into a large circular room with shimmering golden walls and draped fabric, potted plants in exotic colors and dangling crystal chandeliers. An orchestra was playing.
A ballroom. In space.
Tal’s head spun. Maybe he really had died out there in the void. Maybe he had gone mad.
Nothing he had seen on Earth, or the Inverse World, or in his father’s teachings, had prepared him for this. Glittering, chintzy, ballrooms in the middle of an alien spaceship. The humans were only barely starting to explore space, and he hadn’t thought much about alien civilizations apart from Krypton, which was gone.
Wandering through the massive, circular room, Tal let his eyes wander. There were round tables draped in pristine white tablecloths around the perimeter, the middle floor was cleared and populated by a handful of dancing couples. They were all as alien as the waiters, though in fancy dress.
He felt out of place in his black protective suit with the Kryptonian crest. The setting reminded him too much of fancy dinners he’d attended in his identity as Morgan Edge. He should have worn a tux.
At least there was a bar. Tal made his way over, head pounding. He got a few curious glances, but no one seemed put out that he was there.
When he got up to order, he made out through gestures that he wanted a drink and the bartender – a purple fellow with an assortment of tentacles - poured him one, gurgling something all the while.
“And cheers to you, my friend,” Tal muttered, knocking back the drink.
It burned, but it didn’t kill him, so he gestured for another.
“Oh, you speak English?” a voice – chipper, female, British-sounding – spoke behind him.
Tal turned.
A short, white human(?) woman with long brown hair done up in a messy sort of knot gave him a wave. Unlike everyone else, who was in fancy dress, she wore a pink coat and a long white scarf. She gave him a wide grin. “I’m the Doctor, by the way.”
His brow creased. “I didn’t think there were any humans out here,” his voice sounded rough, scratchy from disuse and he only realized how confrontational that sounded after he’d said it. Stupid to pick a fight with the only person here who could understand him.
She didn’t seem offended though.
“I’m not human. Don’t be rude.” Well, maybe a touch offended.
“If you’re not human, why do you sound so very . . .”
One of her eyebrows arched.
Tal pressed his lips together for a moment, exhaling through his nose. “. . . very British.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I could say the same to you!” she pointed at his chest. “That’s a Kryptonian crest you’re wearing, unless I miss my guess.”
Tal was begrudgingly impressed – and caught off guard. This person - Doctor Something? – didn’t seem to recognize him, and yet she recognized Kryptonian?
She stunned him further when her next sentence was spoken in flawless Kryptonian: “It’s been a long time since I’ve met a Kryptonian.”
Her expression softened. “Sorry. I know. It’s not easy being a survivor.”
The bartender passed her a drink with one of his purple tentacles, and she said something back to him – in his own language, Tal realized. A similar drink was swiftly handed over to Tal. He took it. Stared at it for a moment, before glancing back at her.
This crazy, strange, impossible woman. “I’m sorry – who did you say you were?”
“I’m the Doctor.”
Tal’s frown deepened. “Right. But – where – what planet -”
“Oh, that’s boring,” she waved him off with her free hand.
Impertinent. Maddening. And she still hadn’t given him a proper name.
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off abruptly: “tell you what though, why don’t you come sit with us? Since you’re here all alone.”
Tal’s spine straightened. Did he truly cut such a pathetic figure these days? “How do you know I’m alone?” he asked stiffly.
She blew a stray hair out of her face. “I don’t. I don’t know anything about you, even your name. Which, again, is quite rude.”
The Doctor turned and started walking away from him. She looked back over her shoulder. “The offer’s still open, though.”
Tal sighed, he downed the drink she’d ordered for him, put the glass back on the bar, and followed her.
There was nothing else to do, he told himself, and she was his best source of information.
But what name should he give her? Morgan Edge had been a façade, and she already knew he was Kryptonian. It might be prudent to lie until he knew more about her, but honestly, he was tired of lying.
“Tal-Rho,” he said, at her shoulder.
She glanced up at him.
It was a bit insulting to his pride that he was chasing after her, but, well, the grin she gave him was ecstatic. Ear-to-ear and infectious. It almost made him stumble and he couldn’t help it when his own lips twitched in return.
“Fantastic. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
The Doctor led him to a table. There were two others waiting for her – a pale, bald, bespectacled man in a lumpy coat and a young Black girl who looked about the same age as his nephews. “These are my companions, Nardole and Bill. Bill is human, since you were so concerned about humans before.”
Was he? Tal frowned. Had he sounded concerned about humans? Also – “I didn’t think ordinary humans had made it to space.”
The Doctor shrugged. “She’s with me,” as though that answered anything.
“Nice to meet you,” said Bill.
“And Nardole is . . .” the Doctor’s eyes squinted, and she huffed. “Well, Nardole is . . . just Nardole, really.”
The bald man rolled his eyes. “Oh, now who’s being rude?” he reached for a pitcher of something that was on the table between them. It looked rather like fizzing lemonade. “She’s the one who put me together,” he said, with a pointed look at the Doctor.
At Tal’s horrified-yet-intrigued expression, the Doctor shrugged. “What? You’ve never been bored?”
“I’ll have you know she adores my company,” Nardole shot an annoyed look at the Doctor. “I’m from Mendorax Dellora, by the way,” he said to Tal, “and yes, I’m a cyborg.”
“Ah,” said Tal, pretending he knew what any of that meant.
Silently, he cursed Zeta-Rho for not telling him more about the wider universe. The universe beyond Krypton. A universe that had such people in it.
“This is Tal-Rho,” said the Doctor, as though suddenly remembering she was supposed to be making introductions. “From Krypton.”
Nardole let out a low whistle.
Bill’s eyes opened wider in surprise. “Krypton? Isn’t that where Superman’s from?”
The Doctor nodded, absently flicking her scarf. Tal watched her carefully.
So, she knew about Earth and Superman, but she wasn’t acting like Tal was the villain who tried to destroy the world using the Eradicator, so it was possible they hadn’t been there in a while. And he didn’t really want to tell them.
It was nice to be someone else for a while.
“Do you and Superman know each other?” asked Bill.
Tal shrugged, shaking his head, “can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” He reached across the table to help himself to whatever the weird fizzing thing was they were all drinking.
Bill sat back, disappointed. “Oh, I was hoping maybe there was, like, a society of lost Kryptonians defending the Earth in secret, or something. That would be badass.”
Tal snorted. If they thought it was odd that a survivor of Krypton had been to Earth (after all, he spoke English, there seemed no point in denying it) and hadn’t bothered meeting Superman, they were too polite to say it. An awkward silence fell across the table for a moment though.
“This is the life,” said Nardole, changing the subject. “Nice drinks, no one trying to kill us for a change.”
Bill offered Tal a nervous smile. “There’s usually a disturbing amount of people trying to kill us on a weekly basis. I was almost turned into a cyberman last week.”
Tal wondered – not for the first time – what sort of people these were. Possibly, they were annoying do-gooders like his brother. In Tal’s experience, people often wanted to kill such types.
“The Doc’s recently regenerated,” said Nardole, raising his glass. Fizz spilled over the side, splattering the table. “Cheers to the new you and all that.”
Tal gave her a questioning look – regenerated?
“Yes,” the Doctor looked down at her outfit. There was a moment of respectful silence from her companions. Tal glanced at them, not sure what was happening.
“I’m a woman now,” she said.
Tal’s brow wrinkled further in confusion.
She looked up at them, grinning. Then her eyes went around the table. For some reason, her gaze settled on Tal last. “Well? Do you think it suits me?”
He was too lost to properly respond.
He didn’t think he’d ever been in a more confusing conversation in his life.
“You look great,” said Bill when Tal’s perplexed silence stretched on a bit too long. “It is a bit to get used to, though,” she admitted. “One minute, you’re looking like my grandad, the next -”
“Oi. I was proper handsome,” said the Doctor, studying her reflection in the back of a spoon. It was less vanity, more like she really wasn’t sure what she looked like anymore.
Putting the spoon down she sighed and tugged a loose strand of hair in front of her eyes, nearly going cross-eyed examining it. “Still not ginger, though.”
Before Tal could unpack any of that, the waiters were back, bringing plates of steaming dishes, platters of strange alien fruits, and crunchy things that were vaguely like crisps, but wriggling around the plate. That was unsettling.
He waited a minute to see if the others would eat and when they started to tuck in, he realized how hungry he was. Without the yellow sun to nourish him he felt real hunger. They were all eager to share the meal with him, though. Nardole pointed out which bits he liked best, told him to steer clear of the wiggling crisps (he had planned to.)
While they ate, they chatted, and Tal found he couldn’t remember the last time he’d just . . . chatted, easily, like this: no secret plans, no manipulations. Just casual small talk. He learned Bill had been working at a university in Bristol and attending some classes there. He still didn’t see how a young human from Bristol ended up in space, but he supposed there were stranger things at hand.
The band really kicked into gear at some point, and when they’d all stuffed themselves, the Doctor sat back in her chair and looked around at the ballroom, the dancers . . . and shook her head. “I can’t believe no one is trying to kill us right now.”
“You almost sound disappointed,” said Tal.
Nardole answered for her: “usually, it’s about this time that a really nasty villain would show up.”
Bill nodded in agreement. “Try to blow up the planet – or the ship, in this case, I s’pose. Or maybe take someone hostage? Or open a dimensional rift?”
“Right?” the Doctor nodded, tilting her chair back.
“Lots of running and chaos -” said Nardole.
“Shenanigans,” offered Bill.
“Maybe the occasional hijinks,” said the Doctor. "Is that too much to ask?"
Tal felt his eyebrows steadily climbing higher as he placed his napkin on his plate.
He tried not to think very hard about how he was – from a certain point of view – just such a villain as they were waiting for.
His stomach lurched. He didn’t want to fight these people. They were like him, in a way - out of place in the universe. And he’d been lonely for such a long time.
“Everyone’s just getting along,” the Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Oh God, it really is a proper holiday!” she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “We had a meal and drinks, and no one even screamed for help. What am I going to do?”
Bill gave her an amused look. “Relax. We’ve been safe for, like, two hours.”
The alien orchestra was making an awful racket, at least in Tal’s opinion, when the Doctor lowered her hands, smiling.
“Oh no, I don’t like that smile,” said Nardole.
“What? I was just -”
“No,” the bald man insisted.
“Just thinking -”
“Never a good sign,” the cyborg muttered.
She leapt to her feet so fast the chair toppled backwards.
“What is it?” asked Bill.
The Doctor surveyed them with an uncanny glint in her eye. “Do you think I could get them to play some Glenn Miller?”
Alright. Tal really didn’t think his eyebrows could rise any further.
It turned out that the alien orchestra did, in fact, know Glenn Miller.
They spent the rest of the night dancing. The Doctor took turns with Tal and Bill. Nardole, for reasons inexplicable to Tal, had no difficulty lining up a roster of his own dance partners from among the guests.
When the Doctor was teaching Bill how to jitterbug and Nardole had decided to take a break (disappointing his admirers,) he sat back with Tal at their table.
Tal had worked up a sweat, and was wiping the perspiration from his forehead, when Nardole nudged him with his shoulder. “She won’t always be this wired. It’s the post-regeneration high, that’s all.”
Tal nodded, even though he still didn’t really understand. “This term you all keep using . . . regeneration, what is it, exactly?”
“The Doctor’s a Time Lord,” said Nardole. At Tal’s blank look, he sighed. “What do they teach you on Krypton these days?”
“Nothing,” Tal replied stonily, feeling his body tense. “It’s gone.”
The dumpy little man grimaced. “Right. Sorry. I forgot about that. My people never had much dealings with Krypton. Found you all too serious and, well, a little off-putting, to be honest. Um, well,” he cleared his throat hastily at Tal’s expression. The odd little man was certainly lucky Tal didn’t have his powers right then. He forced himself to be calm, though. He wanted to hear more about the Doctor and Nardole finally obliged:
“Time Lords have this thing they do. When they’re mortally wounded, every cell in their body changes, undergoes a metamorphosis. They keep their memories, but everything else about them – body, personality – changes. Bill and I, we’ve been traveling with the Doctor for over a year now. But this version of the Doctor is brand new, born in battle on a world ship. We don’t really know them yet. Who they are. Who they’ll turn out to be.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Course, she doesn’t know that yet, either.”
Tal turned this new information over in his mind. The Doctor had told him she wasn’t human. He didn’t know what a Time Lord was, but Nardole implied that the Kryptonians had known them, or at least of them. “So . . . what? You’re saying she’s like a child?”
“No,” Nardole huffed, “aren’t you listening? She has all her memories. It’s just . . . this part of her life is brand new. It’s all very shiny and new and I’m sure she’s very excited.” He was looking meaningfully across the dance floor, where the Doctor was twirling with Bill, long white scarves flying around her, coat flaring.
Tal felt something stir in his chest, and quickly squashed it.
“I’m just saying -” Nardole patted his shoulder. “Be careful.”
Tal laughed without humour, knowing that if anyone should be careful it was these cheerful, friendly, innocents around him. He was the Eradicator. He was the villain. This was all very fun, but the night was going to end and then he’d be – where would he be? Right back where started from – lost and adrift.
The thought tightened his chest, and before he realized it, Tal found himself clenching his fists. He forced his hands to relax and placed them on his knees, taking in a deep breath.
Nardole toddled off to join the party once more, and Bill made her way over to their table, all wide smiles and shining eyes. “Alright, you’re up,” she said, laughing. “I need a drink and to sit down for a second.”
How quickly these strangers accepted him as a friend. Well, it was simple enough to be friends for one night. He forced himself to smile back at Bill. She was inoffensive as far as humans went.
Tal stood, pretending to some form of gallantry. “Well, I shouldn’t keep the lady waiting.”
Bill laughed more. “You really shouldn’t,” she advised. “She’s very particular about time.”
That sounded pointed.
Tal wondered about it as he found the Doctor on the floor. She grabbed his hand immediately. He felt an irrational flair of annoyance – how dare she not even worry that he might be a dangerous maniac? – war with a flair of longing – how long had it been since anyone held his hand?
His father had discouraged any genuine connections among the humans, and even if he hadn’t, Tal couldn’t trust them. He’d seen how violent and sadistic they were. Even when he became Morgan Edge, billionaire CEO, the humans in his orbit only wanted something from him. They were nice in an ingratiating, false way.
The Doctor wasn’t human. And the Doctor wasn’t like that. Even though he’d only just met her, he somehow knew.
Her left hand touched the side of his face, startling Tal out of his thoughts.
“You’re scowling,” she said, shouting over the music. “Am I bad at this?”
He shook his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Not at all.”
Push the thoughts away. Put your arms around her. Move your feet.
Spoken in perfect Kryptonian: “Penny for your thoughts, Tal-Rho.”
. . . and she preceded to do the slight-of-hand magic trick that every street magician on Earth could do – pulling a penny from his ear. She grinned and it was so unbelievably stupid that Tal couldn’t help relaxing a little.
This person was not his enemy. Of that, at least, he was certain.
He looked at her in the soft light of the alien ballroom. She was soft and breakable and not like someone who could be meant for him. She looked like any one of the humans he might have destroyed in his quest to resurrect the ghosts of his people. Someone he wouldn’t have even noticed, a year ago.
“I didn’t have great experiences on Earth,” he said suddenly.
He hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all. His heart thudded louder, although he wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, exactly.
“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor, and she sounded sincere. Her eyes were large and dark, studying him. For some reason, Tal wanted very badly to look away from the intensity of that gaze. But he was Tal-Rho and he did not look away.
“Where are you going now?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. So quiet she shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the music, but she did.
Their right hands were still joined. She tightened her grip ever so slightly. He wouldn’t have even been able to feel it, if he still had powers, and he was irrationally grateful that he did not.
“So, why don’t you come with me?” she asked.
Tal could fall into those eyes.
“If you’ve got no where to be.”
He shouldn’t, Tal thought, be so desperate to accept the kindness of strangers. But the part of him that had been a little boy, alone and afraid on an alien world, still wanted friends. Family. A place to belong.
“And where are you going?” Tal asked, voice rough.
The Doctor’s smile widened. “No idea,” she said. “Trust me. ’s better that way.”
Yes, Tal thought. Not Earth, not the Inverse World, just somewhere . . . else. Anywhere else.
His throat tightened. He nodded once, sharply. Like he would have done a lifetime ago in a business meeting. The Doctor just laughed.
Eventually, the band stopped playing and the lights went up and the guests started to go back to their rooms. This was some sort of cruise-ship, Tal surmised.
He’d been lost in his thoughts, leaning against a pillar just watching all the aliens sweep and clear the tables – all of the different types of people he’d never known about, when Bill found him. She tapped his arm gently. “Hey . . . It’s Tal, right? We’re going now. The Doctor says you can come along, if you still want.”
Tal looked at the little human. If his plan had worked, she might have been the last of her kind in all of existence, seeing as she wasn’t on Earth. He shook the thought out of his head. That wasn’t going to get him anywhere. And yet he felt a tendril of dread uncurl inside him that the Doctor and her friends would discover what he was – what he’d done. That they would be as distant from him then as his own brother was, throw him back in a tiny cell with red lights and too few books.
“Hey . . .” the human’s voice was gentle. “Are you alright?” She peered up at him.
Tal dragged himself away from the pillar. “Yes. Please, lead the way. I place my life in your hands, Bill the human.”
Bill looked concerned but ended up shrugging it off. “Oh-kay then . . .”
They met up with the Doctor and Nardole in the hanger bay. The Doctor’s face lit up when she saw him, and Tal instantly felt relieved that he was making the correct choice.
She grabbed his hand again, and Tal did not pull away, allowing her to drag him not towards the shuttle docks, but in the direction of – from what he could tell – baggage claim.
He tried to ignore the fact that Nardole and Bill were trailing behind them, whispering. Even without his super-hearing, he could make out enough to know they were talking about him.
Bill: “. . . I dunno, seems a bit moody.”
Nardole snorted. “Sound like anyone we know?”
Soon they were standing in what had to be a mile of suitcases, crates, trunks, and other baggage. “And what are we looking for?” asked Tal.
The Doctor glanced at him. “My ship.”
“Your ship is in with the luggage?”
“Don’t scoff,” she said.
“I’m not scoffing.”
“You are. That was a scoff.”
“It was never!” Tal insisted.
The Doctor gestured at his face. “No, no - there is some definite scoffing going on here.”
He grabbed her hand, intending to simply move it out of his face, but then he forgot to let go.
Nardole coughed loudly behind them. Tal and the Doctor turned to see Bill and Nardole looking at them with exasperation.
“Doctor!” said Bill.
“. . . he was scoffing,” she repeated.
“Over there,” Bill pointed across the bay.
Tal followed her outstretched finger, but the only things he could see were a bunch of nondescript metal boxes stacked in piles and a phonebooth-sized blue wooden box. A blue wooden box that said, in English: POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX. It the kind of police box that had gone out of style in Britain decades ago. “What . . . is that?” he said, voice withering.
The Doctor slapped his arm. “Hey! That’s my ship!”
Tal’s eyebrow twitched. Don’t be rude, he told himself sternly. “That . . . thing . . . is your ship?”
Bill was looking at him, head cocked, hands on her hips. “You know, Nardole. I think he’s a bit of a snob.”
“A wee bit, yeah,” Nardole sniffed. “Typical Kryptonian.”
Great, he had offended them.
The Doctor nudged his side, taking his left arm and looping it through her right. “Come on, Krytpon.” Her lips were pressed together tightly, but her eyes were sparkling, crinkling at the corners like she was fighting back a laugh. The three of them started dragging him in the direction of the blue box.
“But it’s – it’s made of wood,” Tal insisted.
He wasn’t sure if they were joking – hazing the new guy, or, the more sinister, cynical part of his brain suggested: planning to leave him in a wooden box in the baggage hold while they ran off without him.
Nardole took a small silver key out of his pocket and opened the door for them.
It was a joke, right? Maybe they had something in the box they needed to get before they went to their actual ship? But it was taking the gag a bit far to actually go into the box, as Nardole did. Then Bill. The Doctor released his arm, and looked up at him, one eyebrow peaked as though to say well?
“But – I –” he sputtered.
For one thing, there was no way the four of them would all fit. At least not comfortably.
Without another word the Doctor slipped around him, skipped past the wooden doors and vanished into the shadow of the box.
Tal stood in the stillness and the silence of the luggage bay for a moment. He was too proud to walk straight into a prank, but at the same time he didn’t want to turn around and leave in a huff, which seemed to be the only other option.
Well, who knew? Maybe the box really was some kind of capsule or teleporter. It wasn’t larger than the vehicles that had sent himself and Kal-El to Earth, and those had been designed to hold one infant or child each. So, this wouldn’t be comfortable, but, well, he wasn’t a billionaire anymore. Maybe it was time to embrace his bohemian side.
With a sigh, Tal squared his shoulders and gripped the flimsy wooden door. A tattered paper notice was even tacked to the front. Unbelievable, Tal thought, rolling his eyes. Well, in for a penny . . .
He took a deep breath and stepped through the doors.