"Ooh, hang on," the Rogue said. "We've got an emergency."
"Emergency?" Charlotte asked. The Rogue pointed at the screen, taking off to follow the emergency.
"Mauve."
"Mauve?"
"Universally recognized color for danger," the Rogue explained.
"What happened to red?"
"That's just humans. By everyone else's standards, red's camp. Oh, the misunderstandings. All those red alerts, all that dancing," the Rogue said with a laugh. "It's got a very basic flight computer. I've hacked in, slaved the TARDIS. Where it goes, we go."
"And that's safe, is it?" Charlotte wondered.
"Totally." Once she spoke, a loud bang went off. "Okay, reasonably," the Time Lord amended. "Should have said reasonably there. Or probably. Most likely. Any other word than 'totally.'" She glanced at the green and gritted her teeth. "No, no, no, no! It's jumping time tracks, getting away from us."
"What exactly is this thing?"
"No idea," the Rogue said happily.
"Then why are we chasing it?" Charlotte asked.
"It's mauve and dangerous, and about thirty seconds from the center of London."
...
The TARDIS materialized in a back alley between two terraces. The sort of crowded housing that no longer exists. The Rogue and Charlotte stepped out, the Rogue complaining about being on Earth.
"Do you know how long you can knock around space without happening to bump into Earth?" she complained.
"I think it's been five? Or is that just when we're out of milk?" Charlotte said.
"Of all the species in all the Universe and it has to come out of a cow," the Rogue muttered. "The Mauve thing must have come down somewhere quite close. Within a mile, anyway. And it can't have been more than a few weeks ago. Maybe a month."
"A month? We were right behind it."
"It was jumping time tracks all over the place. We're bound to be a little bit out."
"Yeah. How much is a little?"
"A bit," the Rogue said.
"Is that exactly a bit?"
"Ish?" she amended.
"What's the plan, then? Are you going to do a scan for alien tech or something?"
"Charlotte, it hit the middle of London with a very loud bang. I'm going to ask someone." She pulled out the psychic paper she had acquired on a distant planet.
"'Olivia Smith, Ministry of Asteroids,'" Charlotte read aloud.
"It's psychic paper. It tells you whatever I want it to tell you," the Rogue explained.
They came to a door marked 'Deliveries Only.' The Rogue pushed it open.
"Gonna go ask. Sorry," the Rogue said, not remotely sorry.
"Not very Spock, is it, just asking."
"Door, music, people. What do you think?"
"I think you should do a scan for alien tech. Give me something Spock. Would it kill you?"
"Yes, yes it would," the Rogue said, opening the door with her screwdriver. The Rogue raised an eyebrow at Charlotte's outfit that included a Union Jack shirt. "Are you sure about that t-shirt?"
"Not sure."
The Rogue made an odd gesture and stepped inside. When Charlotte didn't follow, the Rogue poked her head back out.
"Come on if you're coming. It won't be long," she said before reentering.
The Rogue followed a waiter through a bead curtain where a saxophonist and jazz band is accompanying a woman in 1940s clothes.
"1940s," the Rogue mused. "Interesting spot."
"For nobody else gave me the thrill. When I have uphold silence still, it had to be you, wonderful you," sang the singer. "It had to be you."
The Rogue ushered the singer from the microphone, taking her place.
"Excuse me. Excuse me," the Rogue said with a smile. "Could I have everybody's attention just for a minute? I'll be very quick." She waved at the crowd. "Hello! Might seem like a stupid question, but has anything fallen from the sky ...recently?"
The crowd was completely silent, then one person laughed then another until everyone was laughing.
"Have I said something funny? There's this thing that I need to find. Would've fallen from the sky a couple of days ago. Maybe a month," the Rogue tried. A siren started, and everyone filed out. "Would've landed quite near here. With a very loud-"
A man grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from the stage.
"Quickly as you can, down to the shelter," he said.
"The hell?" she asked. "What's everyone doing?" She spotted a poster on the wall with the caption of,
"Hitler will send no warning!"
"Bang," the Rogue finished with a sigh.
She exited the club to find that Charlotte had disappeared.
"Wilson?" she asked. A cat meowed in the distance, but no human answered. The Rogue sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against her TARDIS, which was back to being a blue phone box. "You know, one day, just one day, maybe, I'm going to meet someone who gets the whole don't wander off thing. Years of time machine that is now a phone box travel, it's the only thing left to surprise me."
The police telephone rang next to her ear. She jumped back in shock, then opened the small door to the phone. She folded her arms at the phone, staring it down.
"How can you be ringing?" she asked. "What's that about, ringing? What am I supposed to do with a ringing phone?" She pulled out her sonic, trying to scan it.
"Don't answer it. It's not for you," said a female voice. Not Charlotte Wilson though, to the Rogue's disappointment. Someone else. A girl in her late teens with straggly brown hair, dressed in rough clothing.
"And how do you know that?" the Rogue asked, unimpressed.
"'Cos I do. And I'm telling you, don't answer it," the girl said. The Rogue turned back to the TARDIS, staring down the ringing phone.
"Well, if you know so much, tell me this. How can it be ringing? It's not even a real phone. It's not connected, it's not-" the Rogue turned back around to find that the girl had vanished. Since she had, the Rogue spun back around and answered the phone.
"Hello? Hello? This is the Rogue speaking. How may I help you today?"
"Mummy? Mummy?" asked a little boy's voice.
"Who is this? Who's speaking?"
"Are you my mummy?'
"Who is this?"
"Mummy?"
"How did you ring here? This isn't a real phone. It's not wired up to anything," the Rogue said. "You couldn't have called me."
"Mummy?"
Then the child on the other side disconnected, resulting in the dialing tone. The Rogue knocked on the TARDIS door.
"Charlotte? Wilson, are you in there?" the Rogue asked. No answer. She heard a noise and sprinted out of the alley.
"The planes are coming. Can't you hear them? Into the shelter. None of your nonsense, now move it!" said a woman. The Rogue climbed onto a dustbin and looked over the brick wall into a back garden to see who had shouted. The answer was a well-fed middle-aged woman who was shepherding a young boy into an air raid shelter.
"Come on, hurry up, get in there. Come on. Arthur! Arthur, Will you hurry up? Didn't you hear the siren?"
An equally well-fed man, assumedly her husband, came out of the house, heading towards the shelter.
"Middle of dinner, every night. Blooming Germans. Don't you eat?" he complained, looking up at the planes.
"I can hear the planes!"
"Don't you eat?" the man shouting, shaking his fists at the plane.
"Oh, keep your voice down, will you? It's an air raid! Get in. Look, there's a war on," the woman complained, trying to push her husband into the shelter.
"I know there's a war on. Don't push me," the man complained, following his wife and son into the shelter. As soon as they were safe inside, the Rogue saw the girl from earlier enter the garden from a backdoor and enter the house.
Intrigued, she followed, entering through the same door the girl did. The house was extravagant with many windows in the dining room, food still on the table. Sitting at the table were a bunch of street urchins and the girl from the alleyway, each getting a slice of meat and mumbling,
"Thanks, miss," or "Thanks, Nancy," to the girl. Unnoticed by the group, the Rogue grabbed a plate, standing at the corner of the table. She took the plate from the boy next to her with a cheery,
"Thanks kindly, miss."
The children all panicked, trying to get away from the Rogue who pouted over exaggeratedly.
"It's all right. Everybody stay where you are!" Nancy said. The Rogue immediately brightened, rather comically.
"Rather good here. Who's got the salt? Never eat anything without a bit of salt," the Rogue said.
"Back in your seats. She shouldn't be here either," Nancy said, resigned.
"So, you lot, what's the story?"
"What do you mean?" one of the boys, Ernie, someone had called him, said.
"You're homeless, right? Living rough?"
"Why do you want to know that? Are you a copper?" a smaller boy asked, worriedly.
"Of course I'm not a copper. Why would I be a copper? I mean I live in a telephone box but definitely not a copper. What's a copper going to do with you lot anyway? Arrest you for starving? I make it 1941. You all shouldn't even be in London. You should've been evacuated to the country by now," the Rogue waffled on.
"I was evacuated. Sent me to a farm," one of the boys said.
"So why'd you come back?"
"There was a man there," the boy said.
"Yeah, same with Ernie. Two homes ago," said another one.
"Shut up, Jim. It's better on the streets anyway. It's better food," Ernie replied.
"Yeah. Nancy always gets the best food for us."
"So, that's what you do, is it, Nancy?" the Rogue asked, impressed.
"What is?"
"As soon as the sirens go, you find a big fat family meal still warm on the table with everyone down in the air raid shelter and there you have it! Feeding frenzy for the homeless kids of London Town. Puddings for all, as long as the bombs don't get you."
"Something wrong with that?" Nancy demanded, defensively.
"Wrong with it?" the Rogue repeated. "It's brilliant. I'm not sure if it's Marxism in action or a West End musical. Or both. Both is always good."
"Why'd you follow me? What do you want?"
"I want to know how a phone that isn't a phone gets a phone call. You seem to be the one to ask," the Rogue replied with a shrug, taking another slice of meat.
"I did you a favor. I told you not to answer it, that's all I'm telling you."
"Great, thanks," the Rogue said, sarcastically. "Otherwise, I want to find a ginger in a Union Jack. I mean a specific one. I didn't just wake up this morning with a craving or something. Anybody seen a girl like that?"
Nancy took away the plate, and the children's gazes turned cold.
"What have I done wrong?"
"You took two slices. No gingers, no flags. Anything else before you leave?" Nancy asked coldly.
"Yeah, there is actually. Thanks for asking," the Rogue said, brightly, ignoring the blatant sarcasm. "Something I've been looking for. Would've fallen from the sky about a month ago, but not a bomb. Well, not the usual kind, anyway. Wouldn't have exploded. Probably would have just buried itself in the ground somewhere, and it would have looked something like this."
The Rogue held up a rough sketch of the tube-like craft she and Charlotte had been following. Before anyone had time to answer, a knock on the door made everyone jump.
"Mummy? Are you in there, mummy?" a child asked from behind the door. The Rogue hopped up and peered out the closest window. There was a young boy in a gas mask standing outside. "Mummy?"
"Who was the last one in?" Nancy asked.
"Her," Ernie said, immediately, pointing at the Rogue.
"No, she came round the back. Who came in the front?"
"Me," a boy said.
"Did you close the door?"
"Er..."
"Did you close the door?" Nancy repeated.
"Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?" the boy called. Nancy jumped to her feet and ran down the hallway, bolting the front door. The Rogue followed casually, hands in her pockets.
"You know, it's never easy being the only child left out in the cold."
"I suppose you'd know."
"You would be surprised. Of course I know."
"It's not exactly a child," Nancy admitted.
"Mummy?" the boy asked again.
Nancy and the Rogue reentered the dining room, Nancy springing into action. This was obviously something that happened often, as all the motions seemed rehearsed like a scene in a well worn play.
"Right, everybody out. Across the back garden and under the fence. Now! Go! Move!" Nancy said. The children hurried to grab their coats, fleeing the room. Only one little girl remained. She couldn't have been more than four, just a child, with fear palpable in her gaze. Nancy kneeled in front of her, placing a soft hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Come on, baby, we've got to go, all right? It's just like a game. Just like chasing. Take your coat, go on. Go!" Nancy said. The little girl nodded mutely, taking her coat and running after the other children.
The Rogue watched the child go, then went back to find the boy in the gas mask.
"Mummy? Mummy? Please let me in, mummy. Please let me in, mummy," the boy said from the front door. A little hand came in through the letterbox, reaching out, trying to find some form of contact.
"Are you all right, kid?" the Rogue asked.
"Please let me in," the boy pleaded, reaching out.
Something hit the door, shattered, and the small hand withdrew. The Rogue looked around.
"You mustn't let him touch you!" Nancy cried, earnestly.
"What happens if he touches me?" the Rogue asked.
"He'll make you like him."
"Aaand what's he like?"
"I've got to go," Nancy said, hurriedly.
"Nancy, what's he like?" the Rogue demanded. The girl looked at the Time Lord, pain written in the already appearing lines on her young face.
"He's empty," she said.
Once again, a telephone rang.
"It's him. He can make phones ring. He can. Just like with that police box you saw," Nancy said.
"My police box," the Rogue muttered, picking up the phone.
"Are you my mummy?" the empty child asked. Nancy snatched up the phone, slamming back down on the hook. The sound of a radio starting up could be heard from the dining room.
"Mummy? Please let me in, mummy," said the child's voice, now coming from the radio. A clockwork monkey on a table next to the phone started up next, cymbals clapping as it repeated in a child's voice,
"Mummy, mummy, mummy."
"You stay if you want to," Nancy said.
"I'd love to stay. Care to join me? Two's a company." Nancy didn't answer, only left through the back door. The Rogue sat down in front of the front door as the boy put his hand through the letterbox again. This time, she noticed a scar on the back of it.
"Mummy? Let me in please, mummy. Please let me in," the Empty Child pleaded.
"Your mummy isn't here," the Rogue said.
"Are you my mummy?"
"No mummies here. Nobody here but us chickens. Well, this chicken," the Rogue said with a small laugh.
"I'm scared," the child said.
"You're not the only one, kid. Why are those other children frightened of you?"
"Please let me in, mummy. I'm scared of the bombs," the child said. The Rogue stood up and said,
"Okay. I'm opening the door now." The boy withdrew his hand and the Rogue unbolted the front door, pulling it open.
But when she did, she found that the boy had disappeared and the entire street was deserted.
...
The Rogue tracked Nancy to a shack that was falling apart in some railway sidings. Nancy was hiding food there. The Rogue walked up, the girl not immediately noticing her appearance. When she finally looked up, she seemed surprised.
"How'd you follow me here?"
"I'm good at following. I've been told I've got the nose for it," the Rogue explained.
"People can't usually follow me if I don't want them to."
"Say my nose has special powers."
"Goodnight, Miss," Nancy said, turning to leave. The Rogue grabbed her shoulder.
"Nancy, there's something chasing you and the other kids. Looks like a boy and it isn't a boy, and it started about a month ago, right? The thing I'm looking for, the thing that fell from the sky, that's when it landed. And you know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
"There was a bomb," Nancy admitted. "A bomb that wasn't a bomb. Fell the other end of Limehouse Green Station."
"Take me there."
"There's soldiers guarding it. Barbed wire. You'll never get through."
"I've met my fair share of soldiers. Hell, I even was one once. Try me."
"You sure you want to know what's going on in there?"
"I really want to know," the Rogue replied, a mad grin spreading across her face. "I love it when I don't know things."
"Then there's someone you need to talk to first," Nancy said.
"And who might that be?"
"The doctor."
...
The Rogue and Nancy went to Limehouse Green, conveniently where both the hospital and the bomb were.
"The bomb's under that tarpaulin. They put the fence up overnight. See that building? The hospital," Nancy said, pointing each of them out.
"What about it?"
"That's where the doctor is. You should talk to him," Nancy replied.
"For now, I'm more interested in getting in there."
"Talk to the doctor first," the teen said, firmly.
"Why?"
"Because then maybe you won't want to get inside." Nancy stood up and started to walk away.
"Where're you going? Thought I'd finally have some company. Not that it matters, I did some of my best work alone. Inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, actually."
"There was a lot of food in that house. I've got mouths to feed. Should be safe enough now," Nancy explained.
"Can I ask you a question? Who did you lose?" the Rogue said.
"What?"
"I've seen the look in your eye. And the way you look after all those kids. It's because you lost somebody, isn't it? You're doing all this to make up for it," the Rogue said.
"My little brother. Jamie. One night I went out looking for food. Same night that thing fell. I told him not to follow me, I told him it was dangerous, but he just. He just didn't like being on his own."
"What happened?"
"In the middle of an air raid? What do you think happened?" Nancy scoffed.
"Amazing," the Rogue breathed.
"What is?"
"1941. Right now, not very far from here, the German war machine is rolling up the map of Europe. Country after country, falling like dominoes. Nothing can stop it. Nothing. Until one, tiny, damp little island says no. No. Not here. A mouse in front of a lion. You're amazing, the lot of you. Don't know what you do to Hitler, but you frighten the hell out of me. Off you go then do what you've got to do. Save the world," the Rogue said. "You are the people I wish I could have been."
Nancy gave an appreciative smile, and walked away.
...
The Rogue used her sonic screwdriver to open the padlock on the ornate metal gates to the hospital grounds. Inside the long, dark wards, every bed has a very still patient in it, and they are all wearing gas masks. The Rogue looked at them closely. Each mask was identical.
She turned around at the sound of uneven footsteps, followed by a third click. An elderly man stood behind her, brow seemingly permanently furrowed, leaning on a twisted walking stick.
"You'll find them everywhere. In every bed, in every ward. Hundreds of them," said the man.
"Yes, I saw. Why are they still wearing gas masks?"
"They're not. Who are you?" the man replied.
"I'm, er... Are you the doctor?" the Rogue asked.
"Doctor Constantine," said the man. "And you are?"
"The Rogue. Nancy sent me."
"Nancy? That means you must've been asking about the bomb," Doctor Constantine said.
"Yes."
"What do you know about it?"
"Nothing. Why I was asking, obviously. What do you know?" the Rogue replied.
"Only what it's done," Constantine said.
"These people, they were all caught up in the blast?"
"None of them were."
Doctor Constantine chuckled, then coughed violently, collapsing in a chair by the desk where the ward sister would usually be.
"You're very sick," the Rogue commented.
"Dying, I should think. I just haven't been able to find the time," Constantine said. The Rogue cracked an appreciative smile at that.
"I know the feeling," she said.
"Are you a doctor?" Constantine asked.
"No, but I had a friend who had his moments," the Rogue said.
"And what happened to him?"
"He's gone," the Rogue said shortly. "About these people here. You said none of them were caught in the blast?"
"Have you examined any of them yet?" the doctor asked.
"No."
"Don't touch the flesh," Constantine warned.
"Which one?"
"Any one."
The Rogue pointed her screwdriver at the nearest patient, then checked the readings.
"Conclusions?"
"Massive head trauma, mostly to the left side. Partial collapse of the chest cavity, mostly to the right. There's some scarring on the back of the hand and the gas mask seems to be fused to the flesh, but I can't see any burns," the Rogue said.
"Examine another one," Constantine instructed. The Rogue did so, then checked the readings in shock.
"This isn't possible," she said.
"Examine another." She did so.
"This isn't possible," the Rogue repeated.
"No," Constantine agreed.
"They've all got the same injuries."
"Yes."
"Exactly the same," the Rogue breathed.
"Yes," Constantine repeated.
"Identical, all of them, right down to the scar on the back of the hand. How did this happen? How did it start?" the Rogue asked.
"When that bomb dropped, there was just one victim."
"Dead?"
"At first," Constantine said. "His injuries were truly dreadful. By the following morning, every doctor and nurse who had treated him, who had touched him, had those exact same injuries. By the morning after that, every patient in the same ward, the exact same injuries. Within a week, the entire hospital. Physical injuries as plague. Can you explain that? What would you say was the cause of death?"
"The head trauma?" the Rogue suggested, spotting out of the corner of her eye, a scar on the back of the doctor's hand identical to the ones on the patients.
"No."
"Asphyxiation?"
"No."
"The collapse of the chest cavity?"
"No."
"All right. I don't know. What was the cause of death?" the Rogue asked.
"There wasn't one. They're not dead," Constantine said.
"Hate to break it to you, mate, they look very, very dead."
Undeterred, Constantine hit a waste basket with his stick. With a loud noise, all the patients sat up with a jolt. The Rogue took a careful step back.
"It's all right. They're harmless. They just sort of sit there. No heartbeat, no life signs of any kind. They just don't die," Constantine explained.
"And they've just been left here? Nobody's doing anything?" the Rogue asked as the patients lay down again.
"I try and make them comfortable. What else is there?"
"Just you? You're the only one here?"
"Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather. Now I am neither. But I'm still a doctor," Constantine said.
"Yeah. I know the feeling," the Rogue sighed.
"I suspect the plan is to blow up the hospital and blame it on a German bomb," Constantine said.
"Probably too late."
"No. There are isolated cases. Isolated cases breaking out all over London," Constantine said. He waved back the Rogue. "Stay back, stay back. Listen to me. Top floor. Room 802. That's where they took the first victim, the one from the crash site. And you must find Nancy again."
"Nancy?"
"It was her brother. She knows more than she's saying. She won't tell me, but she might-" Constantine said. Suddenly, his voice changed, high pitched and scared. "Mummy. Are you my mummy?"
Eerily, disgustingly, starting with the mouth, Doctor Constantine's face melted and distorted, turning from a human face to a gas mask fused into the flesh. Within moments, his injuries seemed identical to the patients. The Rogue walked away from the doctor. Two voices rang out from the hallway, one male, one female.
"Hello?" said the male voice. He was American.
"Hello?" asked the female voice. That was Charlotte Wilson.
"Hello?" asked the male voice again.
...
The man and Charlotte met the Rogue in the hallway. The man was handsome with dark brown hair and eyes, a strong jaw and charming smile that could have made almost anyone fall for him in a matter of moments. She immediately hated him.
"Good evening," he said with that charming smile. "Hope we're not interrupting." He stuck out his hand and the Rogue reluctantly shook it. "Jack Harkness. I've been hearing all about you on the way over."
"He knows. I had to tell him about us being Time Agents," Charlotte said.
"And it's a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Tarzan," Jack Harkness said, walking into the ward.
"Miss Tarzan?"
"What was I supposed to say? You don't have a name."
"I have a name! I'm the Rogue. 900 years and I'm coping with it."
"But it's not much of a name, and I wanted you to do something risky so I just-" Charlotte cut herself off. "You're just giving me a hard time, aren't you."
"Yep," the Rogue said. "But where have you been? We're in the middle of a London Blitz. Hardly the time for a stroll."
"Who's strolling?" Charlotte asked proudly. "I went by barrage balloon. Only way to see an air raid."
"What?!" the Rogue demanded. "How could you have done something so stupid?!"
"I thought that was why you liked me."
The Rouge didn't have a good answer for that, and Charlotte's smile grew.
"Listen, what's a Chula warship?" Charlotte asked.
"Chula?" the Rogue repeated.
"Hey, you two lovebirds want to help me out?" Jack Harkness asked, using a wrist tricorder to examine the patients.
"Oh, we're not-"
"Just friends-" The two women said, stumbling over one another. Jack didn't grant that an answer, instead returning to scanning the patients.
"This just isn't possible. How did this happen?" he asked.
"What kind of Chula ship landed here?" the Rogue asked.
"What?"
"He said it was a warship. He stole it, parked it somewhere out there, somewhere a bomb's going to fall on it unless we make him an offer," Charlotte piped up.
"What kind of warship?"
"Does it matter? It's got nothing to do with this," Jack said.
"This started at the bomb site. It's got everything to do with it. What kind of warship?" the Rogue demanded.
"An ambulance!" Jack cried. "Look." He produced a hologram of it from his wrist device. "That's what you chased through the Time Vortex. It's space junk. I wanted to kid you it was valuable. It's empty. I made sure of it. Nothing but a shell. I threw it at you. Saw your time travel vehicle, love the classic look, by the way. Threw you the bait."
"Bait?" Charlotte asked.
"I wanted to sell it to you and then destroy it before you found out it was junk," Jack admitted, angrily.
"You said it was a war ship."
"They have ambulances in wars," Jack pointed out. "It was a con. I was conning you. That's what I am, I'm a con man. I thought you were Time Agents. You're not, are you?"
"Just a couple more freelancers," the Rogue admitted. "Hopping around in time and space."
"Oh. Should have known. The way you guys are blending in with the local color. I mean, Flag Girl was bad enough, but Trench Coat and those pants. Doesn't even match," Jack complained. "Anyway, whatever's happening here has got nothing to do with that ship."
"What is happening here, Rouge?" Charlotte asked.
"Human DNA is being rewritten by an idiot," the Rogue grumped.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Some kind of virus converting human beings into these things. But why? What's the point?" the Rogue asked. All of a sudden, every single one of the patients and Doctor Constantine sat up, chanting,
"Mummy. Mummy. Mummy? Mummy?"
"What's happening?" Spitfire asked.
"I don't know," the Rogue said.
"Say that again, that's rare," Charlotte said. The patients and Doctor Constatine all stood up, walking towards the trio, encircling them.
"Mummy," the patients drawled.
"Don't let them touch you," the Rogue warned.
"What happens if they touch us?"
"You're looking at it."
The patients continued to circle the group.
"Help me, mummy," the patients crooned. "Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy."