Jailbreak!

"A Stark, a grey girl, and a PK tech girl, oh my!" I smile at B'elanna's singsong voice; I'm not sure she actually meant it to be loud enough for the rest of us to hear.

"I think we should split up," says Inquirer. "One group needs to find those pieces of Time Lord technology and make sure they're removed from Scorpius' grasp. Someone else should go and find the people who were with Crichton" -- that would be Chiana, who came with him from their ship, Moya; and Gilina, the "PK tech girl" who helped him get past security on the base -- "someone should go check out those explosions, and somebody should go see about rescuing--"

"Dibs on Stark!" I shout out, grinning.

Nobody looks particularly surprised. Well, in an earlier conversation aboard the TARDIS, I was the one arguing that, no matter what happened with Scorpius and the whole wormhole thing, I wouldn't consider this mission a success unless we also managed to rescue Stark. (Although I had my twin's full support on this point, of course.) Thinking back over my knowledge of the TV show, it seems that a lot of tragedy came from the events of this one particular episode. I'm glad that we have the chance to avert all that in this universe, but it would hardly be right if, in the process, we managed to undo one of the few good things that happened in it. Namely, the fact that at least the poor, tormented slave who, had we not interrupted things, would have been John Crichton's cellmate managed to escape with him. (And, OK, I admit it, I'm also a bit biased by the fact that Stark was always a particular favorite character of mine, even if he never did get very much respect, either from the majority of viewers or from most of the other characters.)

"You think you can find him?" asks B'elanna.

"I think so," I say, and close my eyes. I've learned quite a few little magical tricks in my years as a Champion, and I employ one of them now, reaching out with the same magical senses that allow me to communicate telepathically with my fellow Champions. Ordinarily, I'd have less than a needle-in-a-haystack chance of finding someone this way, but in this case, the person that I'm looking for is rather special, and I'm counting on--

Whoa. There we go! Major psychic hot spot! In fact, the guy is radiating so intsensely that, for just a moment, I can actually feel the inside of his fractured mind, partially unhinged from over a hundred sessions in the Aurora Chair, and I physically flinch. Wow, I think, No wonder Zhaan could hear him "talking" to her in "The Locket!"

My eyes fly open. "Got him," I say.

"Good," says the Doctor. "Can you--"

But I'm already out the door. "I'll meet you guys back at the TARDIS!" I yell as I leave. I can hear the Doc sighing in amused exasperation behind me. Probably thinking about the fact that, no matter how much things change, his companions still insist on going haring off on their own!

Similarly, I make short work of the door lock, and triumphantly fling open the door to the cell. A raggedly-clad humanoid figure hastily scurries away from me. I see him surreptitiously shoving something under the dirty blanket in the corner of the room. I know immediately what it is: the gadget he's built to work through the combinations on the door lock. If I hadn't known to look, though, I probably wouldn't have noticed the signficance of that gesture in among his manic, hunched-over scramblings. He's really a very clever little nutcase, Stark. It doesn't pay to underestimate him.

"Who are you?" he says, wild-eyed. "I don't want you here! This is my cell! Mine! Go away!" He slaps his hand against the wall, as if to emphasize the point, and curls his lips into a snarl, feinting toward me in a vaguely menacing gesture.

"Oh, quit pretending to be even crazier than you actually are! We don't have the time!" I'm trying to hide a smile, and I'm afraid I overcompensate, because it comes out rather harshly. But that may well be for the best. I do seem to have his attention now. "I'm here to rescue you."

He backs up a couple of steps and eyes me suspiciously. Hard to blame him; Scorpius is one devious bastard, and it wouldn't be remotely uncharacteristic of him to stage a phony jailbreak if he thought it had some kind of a chance of getting information out of a prisoner. "Who are you?" he repeats, without the manic routine this time.

I nod towards the blanket. "If you're waiting for that gadget of yours to get you out of here, you're going to be here for years -- uh, for cycles," I say. "You're going to have to trust me." I step aside, leaving the way clear for him to exit the cell.

His single eye widens in shock as I reveal that I know about his electronic "baby," but after a moment, he nods solemnly and joins me in the hallway. Even Stark isn't crazy enough to argue with a chance to get out of this place.

We hurry down the still largely-deserted corridors. Beside me, I can hear Stark muttering. I don't think he's actually talking to me. In fact, I'm not remotely sure that he's aware that he's speaking out loud at all. But he keeps casting sidelong glances at me. "Not right," he mumbles. "Not right. Out of place. You don't belong here." I wonder if he's somehow aware of the fact that I'm not from this universe. There's some evidence in the show that he's attuned to such things. "Time sensitive," the Whovian terminology would be. I'd like to ask him about it, but now really isn't the time.

As if to underscore that last thought, another explosion sounds, muffled with distance, but still enough to make the floor shudder beneath us. A siren shrieks briefly and an announcement sounds, ordering security crews to... somewhere. I'm not really paying all that much attention because, frankly, I'm staring to feel just a little panicky. I don't know what's going on, but it feels pretty damned big.

"Come on!" I grab Stark's hand and pull him forward faster. He's probably not used to the physical exertion, after two years spent in a cell, but he doesn't argue. Another explosion sounds as we go pelting towards where we left the TARDIS. Man, I really hope I haven't made any wrong turns this time...

1. Meanwhile...

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