I hath returned with 2 more parts to repost.
Though, even after revising, part 3 still
doesn't agree with me, so feel free to give me
some of your opinions of it.  
Oh and BTW, this in no way is related to 
Dr. Who, a really cool BBC creation, sorry for 
any confusion.
Send C&C to bastion@ix.netcom.com

Now on with the show already. . . .

Timelords

Part 3: The Scent Strengthens



	"Okay Tracer.  Now strike!"  a man with graying light brown
hair who looked about thirty was holding a metal staff beckoning
an some unseen foe out in an endless field full of tall green
spring grass.  Suddenly a young man who looked to be in his mid
teens leaped from the protection of the tall grass at the older
man with a broadsword.  The older man repelled the young man's
strikes with a good amount of effort.  Finally the two got into
a stalemate when the older man's hands got a faint red glow. 
The dark haired young man unexpectedly fell backwards to the
ground and the older man held the staff at the fallen one's
throat.

	"Good you're getting better. Now I can't defeat you as easily,
an achievement of its own."  said the older man, "You have the
promise to be the best timelord that I ever trained."

	"Thank you headmaster Halebit."  said the young black haired
boy respectfully as his sensei helped him to his feet.

	"Oh forget the formalities, you'll soon earn the status of
timelord in just a few weeks.  Call me Halebit."  the older man
said as he put his hand on the younger man's shoulders, "We've
known each other for a long time and you're not always this
pensive."

	The boys face softened up to a smile and he chuckled, "Well
you're right.  I'm actually feeling elated right now.  I'm going
to be a timelord and I'm going to help get rid of those Society
scums."

	Halebit's expression changed for a moment to one of
disapprovement, but then changed to a smile, "Yes, yes you will."

	There was a moment of silence and then Halebit subtly changed
the subject.  With a trance of intrigue in his voice he said,
"You know Tracer you've been a son to me, even though your real
father is somewhere hiding from his responsibilities."

	Tracer's smile quickly diminished and looked down at his feet
feeling the emotional scars of past.  While Tracer looked down,
Halebit's smile broadened and he said tenderly, "Once I found
out, I promised myself I'd take care of you.  I'm going to make
sure that facet of your life won't come back to haunt you."



	Tracer awoke suddenly from his dream and jumped up out of his
narrow cot.   Dawn had come and light from the sun started
filtering into his decrepit, spartan room.  Tracer shook his
head, why was he dreaming about his memories of his training and
his old teacher?  Then Tracer wondered what ever happened to
Halebit.  

	"He's probably still training some timelords somewhere in the
wheat fields."  Tracer answered himself.

	"What Tracer?"  said a disembodied voice as a screen appeared
over his desk.

	"Oh, nothing, Avex." Tracer answered sleepily, "Did I get a
reply from Giro?"

	"Yes, he says that he'll meet you at his quarters, he'll talk
to you further there."  the monotone voice replied.

	Tracer picked up a black trenchcoat from a floating chair,
"Just like him to be paranoid." 

	Tracer walked to a blank wall which created a frame door frame
and opened.  As he was leaving he saw the sword lying next to
the desk.  It was glowing pretty brightly which lead Tracer to
comment, "Strange, very strange.  I think I'll let Avex do a
scan of the thing when I get back." 



	Tracer finally reached Giro's quarters easily spotting all the
'no trespassing' signs around his door.  Tracer knocked on the
blank wall in front of him in a certain pattern and a door frame
appeared and let Tracer in.  There at a desk similar to Tracer's
was a man with short radiant gray hair.  He was wearing light
armor and aggressively tapping away at a floating  keyboard with
a screen floating just above it.  Both were absent of any
physical hardware.  A square would light up under his fingers as
they flew around at a high rate of speed on the flat keyboard.  

	"You always spend your time being this eccentric?"  Tracer
asked amused.

	"No I do have a life outside conspiracy theories."  the man
replied.

	"But, Giro, I haven't seen you out doing anything in God knows
how long around here."  Tracer responded curiously.

	Giro grinned a little as he stopped tapping on the floating
keyboard, "Not in here, but out there."

	Tracer was surprised as the gray haired man continued, "I met
an ex-timelord outside of the Community, and she is one hell of
a hacker."

	"Oh so you have a mate now."  Tracer chuckled at which Giro
made a sneer and continued ignoring his last comment.

	"Well I'm glad you believe me about that thing I was telling
you about.  The others thought I was disturbed."  Giro hissed
that last part out as he turned back to his screen and resumed
his tapping, "And you better thank that ex-timelord for getting
you access to this archive."

	"Ok, tell her I am."  Tracer said as he walked over to the
screen that Giro had working.  Giro was the only timelord who
didn't have an AI because he suspected that the Counsule was
using them as a tool to spy on the timelords, but of course that
was Giro's perception about everyday things.  Most of the
timelords just thought he was eccentric and over reactive so no
one really paid any attention about what he had to say.

	"It's all yours, just touch the screen and you're in."  Giro
tapped his last strokes on the flat keyboard and made his way to
the door, "You have 5 minutes and then disconnect or they'll
trace the link back to here."

	"Wait aren't you going to stay here and help me?"  Tracer asked
confused.

	"I would, but that fake code I got, didn't come free."  Giro
said with a sly grin.

	"Hold on.  What could you possibly give someone who doesn't
need credits to time travel and has more inside info than you?" 
Tracer asked as he now was even more confused.

	"I just do."  Giro said quickly as he exited with the door
sliding closed and the door frame disappearing.

	Tracer thought for a moment and realized that Giro's
correspondent was female.  "Oh, I don't think I want to know."

	Tracer turned back to the screen and touched it.  Suddenly the
screen was full of writing concerning many different subjects, a
lot more than originally anticipated, "Crap!  They have an
entire great library of info."

	Tracer scrolled down the long list of subjects and found the
file he was looking for, Xendyte's.  Tracer was a little
disappointed that most of her bio info was virtually the same as
the public archive.  It was the same until Tracer got to the
details of her death.  Tracer found that her family was hunted
and killed by a group of timelords not Nomads.  The reason for
this, her father was an accused Society member.  According to
the file the timelords were in turn ambushed by a platoon of
Society soldiers and driven back.  All the more confirming their
suspicions.  Unfortunately Xendyte was considered dead anyway,
but this time they didn't have confirmation on her body.  

	"Bingo."  Tracer whispered to himself.

	Tracer closed her file, and curiousity got the best of him as
he milled idly through the other files.  Tracer randomly picked
a file from the list and looked at it.  It was blueprints of a
newest defensive weapon that was being developed in secret in
one of the restricted dimensions.  It detailed on how the
population there was being used as manual labor and how
resources from other dimensions were being transported in.  The
next file Tracer picked detailed the conditions of the
dimensions personalized to fit the pleasure of each Counsule
member.  

	"This is a total breaching of their own decree.  They can't do
that."  Tracer said to himself mesmerized.  The irony was the
Counsule breached their own Passive Travel Decree.   

	In utter disbelief, Tracer randomly picked another file, a list
of names of suspected Society members.  The message was
detailing on how most on the list were 'resolved' accordingly.  

	"They were orchestrating a witch hunt for Society members all
this time."  Tracer whispered hoarsely to himself.

	Then Tracer picked another random file.  It was more recent. 
It was a communiqu, from Nairb to the other Counsule members. 
Tracer read the short message:



	Head Counsule Member Nairb to fellow members; 

	Naes, Anna Esor, Fej, and Lehcar:

	Tracer must never know what really happened to his father.  

	For it is in our best interests.

	End message



	All of this new information made Tracer seethed with
bitterness.  Finally Tracer thought that he should see the file
about his father to put his suspicions to rest about his father
really being the leader of the Society.  Yet, as Tracer once
again searched through the files, the screen abruptly switched
off.  It took a few moments for Tracer to realize that his five
minutes were up and they had successfully traced back the line. 
Tracer immediately paniced and quickly went to the wall where
the door should have appeared, but it didn't.  Tracer flexed his
right arm and a his skin on his lower arm turned silver,
expanding to his finger tips.  The tips of his fingers kept on
expanding until they were sharp pointy tips.  Tracer punctured
the wall with his claw and tore a hole just big enough for him
to jump through.  Tracer dove through the hole and successfully
cleared it, but crashed into the opposing wall with his
shoulder.  Quickly getting up, Tracer ran out of the complex of
quarters.  

	'This can't be happening,' Tracer thought to himself desperately as
he ran down the hall.

Timelords

Part 4: The Lone Wolf



	The smell of smoke and ash filled Tracer's nose as he sat in
the saloon next to a soot covered window.  Tracer could barely
make out the primitive skyscapers and office buildings in the
distance through that window.  Tracer studied the saloon as he
took a sip of his watered-down whisky.  The architecture was
obviously rashly put together with ill fitted boards and
assorted mismatched decor.  Just off to Tracer's side a group of
dirty faced miners complained loudly about poor working
conditions and low wages.  Suddenly one voice called the other's
attention saying that the miners of Chicago deserved better for
all their hard work and if the company wouldn't give them
better, then the company didn't deserve anything.  The radical
miner argued further that the company ran them like slaves and
he thought they fought a bloody civil war thirty years ago to
rid themselves of it.  With all the passionate rantings the
miner gave made Tracer pondered if this person was a Society
member or just another frustrated miner of the time.  Tracer's
attention was brought back to the the very audible grumblings of
the other miners.  

	The other miners argued that if they striked, the company would
find replacement workers, and they would lose their jobs.  Or
another possible scenario could be if the company went under
because they striked, they would still lose their jobs.   They
had dug themselves into an inescapable  hole.  

	Even with an unanomous arguement against him, the radical miner
offered to help make the strike work.  He proposed they meet
with some of his friends in Houston, Texas.  The miners
responded surprised and said that the place was just a
shantytown in a swamp.  

	"Not now,"  retorted the radical miner quickly before
responding in a low tone, "Later."

	Even though the miners gave each other confused looks, Tracer
knew exactly what this stranger meant.  Tracer was certain this
man was a Society memeber and he suddenly felt the instinct to
attack the man, but resisted.  It had been a few weeks after he
had discovered the sea of secret information the Counsule had
hidden in their own vast personal archive.  The shock had worn
away by now but Tracer decided to lay low for awhile away from
the Community.  During his hiatus Tracer did some thinking and
decided he was going to find out about this Society alone. 
Tracer had gone to spots where he knew Society members hung
around from time to time putting him in his present location. 
The last thing he wanted was attention from the Counsule.

	The radical miner told them he would take them to meet his
friends at a place called El Mercado, or the marketplace, and
maybe even get recruited into his group.  Tracer had heard
enough as he left the shabby saloon with new knowledge as to the
Society's doings.  The disappointed radical miner glanced at the
dark haired timelord leaving through the poorly built doors of
the saloon, and a satisfied smile could almost be seen on his
soot smudged mouth. 



	Tracer walked down the alleyways of the Community once more,
but with a little more caution put into each step.  Being in the
dirt of Chicago annoyed him, but being in the Community made him
uncomfortable.  Tracer had new information on the Society
through the eaves dropping of the Society member he did earlier.
 From what he could fathom, they were trying to recruit the
others and gave potential recruitees the location and time of a
meeting.   Now with a location where at least some Society
members would be, he could make an appearance, but he couldn't
risk being identified.  Tracer headed towards the Headquarters
of the timelords as he pondered his plan further, keeping from
looking at the Counsule Building looming over Headquaters. 
Tracer went to the blank wall and voice from a comlink greeted
him;

	"Please identify."  the voice of the female seemed to be quite
friendly, yet stern.

	Tracer responded distractedly, "Timelord Tracer, 10578."

	The next response was an outline of a door framed appeared
opening up to Tracer.  Tracer walked into the spacious
Headquarters as compared to the Counsule Building's small
tunnels, obviously in the simple style of late 20th century
Earth architecture where one could see the muti-levels from the
main entrance.  Tracer walked towards his destination near on
the other side of the main entrance, the technology supply
division, or what all the timelords called, 'the armory.'  This
was were all the newest devices and weapons that the timelords
could use were kept there ready to use.  Tracer entered the
division through another set of doors and approached a man
behind a steel cage window with a small slit at the bottom just
big enough for a medium sized item to go through.   Tracer
approached the man behind the cage.

	"Did you get my order?" Tracer asking in a rather distant tone.

	The man looked at him questionably and looked at a screen which
was floating next to him, "Sorry but I will need a name."

	Tracer now annoyed once again rattled off his identification,
but the once more asked to do it again citing that the audio
wasn't picked up.  Tracer now in an even more annoyed tone
rattled off his identification one last time.

	The man nervously grinned as he turned around making his way to
the back, "I'm sorry but these damn machines haven't been
updated in a long time.  Infact just about everything around
here needs updating."

	The man came to a square metal panel in the wall which had a
pad with buttons on the right of it.  The man pushed a sequence
of buttons and waited and then hit it a few times and the metal
panel opened up to reveal a small package wrapped in a type of
plastic covering.  The man brought the package over to Tracer
who was looking around cautiously as he took it and hastily
left.  When Tracer was making his way down one of the main
alleyways a hand grabbed him and pulled him into one the
deserted narrow side alleyways.  Tracer immediately found
himself face to face with a very dirty, very nervous, and very
mad Giro.

	"I should kill you right now!"  he exclaimed under hoarse
whispers, "I came home one day and I found a whole troop of
timelords around my complex.  I'm now officially excommunicated
and wanted dead thanks to you."

	"Hey I'm sorry I didn't mean for you to get caught."  Tracer
was taken off guard by him but still was rather distant in his
tone.

	"Sorry doesn't cut it.  I told you five minutes, but you had to
stay longer and let me take the fall."  Giro was holding Tracer
against the filthy, damp alley wall, "Do you know how it feels
to sneak around in the filth of the Community hiding from search
patrols of timelords?  Do you?"

	"Why didn't you just tell them you were not in the Community, I
mean the temporal network over the Community would prove that." 
Tracer offered.

	"Oh that'll come over well, seeing that if someone who could
break into the heavily protected files couldn't also find a way
to alter the records of the comings and goings through the
network."  Giro reprimanded harshly, "It doesn't work that way! 
I'm already guilty!"

	Suddenly sounds were heard from around the corner nearby and
Giro let go of Tracer.  Giro looked in the vicinity of the noise
nervously and started to run off in the opposite direction. 
Giro had a few parting words for Tracer as he ran, "Pray that I
don't run into you outside the Community."



	Tracer entered his quarters wearily as he saw his sword lying
next to his desk from last he left.  Tracer aggravatedly threw
the plastic wrapped package on his desk and turned on Avex as he
plopped down in his antigrav chair. 

	"It has been awhile Tracer.  There have been several messages
from the Counsule wanting to speak with you."  the AI informed.

	"Yeah, yeah, yeah."  Tracer had felt weak from traveling, but
hearing the news that the Counsule desired his assistance
sickened him.

	Tracer got up from the chair and ripped the plastic wrapped
cover off the package.   Tracer took out several items and
Tracer thought about his game plan.  Tracer had a location of a
recruiting meeting he got from the Society member earlier in
Chicago.  He decided the best to gain access would be to pose as
a recruitee.  To do that he needed a disguise thus the reason
for the package, a false identity kit.  Once he got all the
information he could, he could probably infiltrate further into
the Society.  Then something occurred to Tracer.

	"Avex call up the image of the aged Xendyte and print it." 
Tracer commanded as he laid out the items from the kit onto his
desk.  

	One of the items rolled off the flat surface of his desk and as
Tracer picked it up his eyes came upon the sword.  Picking up
the sword with his other hand, he told himself, "I have a
feeling I might need you."



	"Back to this city again."  a white haired but oddly young
looking man muttered to himself as he walked across the dark and
empty parking lot outside an old rundown warehouse.

	The white haired man noticed that the area in front of the
warehouse much more resembled a park than a lot, with benches
every few feet and small areas where wry trees thrived, both of
which seemed to be long forgotten by the city and its
inhabitants.  He then looked towards the bright lights of the
tall buildings towering over the decaying warehouse, that stood
out against the humid Houston night, a sight he became all too
familiar with.  

	The white haired man shook his head as he grumbled, "Is the
Society fond of 20th century Houston or something?"

	The white haired man adjusted his white jacket and gray pants, 
and rubbed his clean shaven face.  He finally checked his
brilliant sword with a crystal blade and wooden hilt hung from
the side of his pants completing his proper image.  As the man
got closer to the run down warehouse he saw the faded name
painted on the wall, El Mercado.  As the man got to the entrance
of the El Mercado he pulled the skin on his face a little.

  	'This disguise better hold up or I am screwed,' he thought.  

	Walking further, he ran into an invisible barrier.  A man in
heavy armor carrying a large gun appeared in front of him on the
other side of the barrier.  

	"Who are you?"  the guard asked in a suspicious tone.

	The white haired man paused a moment and finally in a heavy
accent he answered innocently, "I kompt fuer dee Zoziety
recruiting meetung."

	The guard's eyebrow raised, and the white haired man
reverberated, "I vas em-s Deustchland, ahh, Germany recently."

	"It was how do you say, meinen bruder ga-borts-tag, ahhh."  he
paused to translate in his head and went on, "My brother's
birthday.  He has become zehr old and they may always be his
last." 

	The white haired man gave out long and deep laughs, thinking
himself clever.

	The guard looked at him for a minute and smiled as he reached
over to the wall on his left and pushed a button.  With that
action, the invisible barrier disappeared letting the man
through. 

	"Danskst du."  the white haired man said passing the guard.

	'This was too easy,' he thought to himself as he passed a few
more guards dressed in heavy armor, 'Or maybe they just are
going to keep a close eye on us.'

	The white haired man made his way through the inside of the
warehouse, bustling with activity.   The guards made passes up
and down the catwalk keeping an ever vigilant eye on the group
standing in the middle of the open warehouse.  The group
composed of about 20 people of various physical features and
wardrobe, and all were chatting nervously as they kept their
eyes on the guards on the catwalks above.  One imparticular
didn't interact with the rest.  He wore a large overcoat that
covered entire upper body easily and just scanned his
surroundings intricately.   Tracer felt the man's actions
screamed timelord plant.  He gave all the signs of one,
following some timelord procedures; minimal interaction,
cautious to everything, and scope the surroundings.   Tracer
tagged him as the suspicious one.

	When the white haired man finally made his way to the group and
settled in, a group of guards escorted them into one of the
offices on the main floor.  In the spacious office a blond woman
was standing in front of an old and rotting desk that was pushed
against the wall looking over what looked to be blue prints of
some kind.  She had long hair that was tied in a pony tail
behind her head, was also dressed in light armor unlike the
guards lurking in the warehouse.  Her wide eyes were a dark
blue, and the expression on her face seemed content, but
unsettled, something that made her unique in comparison to the
expressionless faces of the guards around her.  The white haired
man reached in his jacket pocket and took out a photo of a blond
haired girl with short hair but looked uncannily like the woman
sitting on the desk in front of him.   The only difference was
the face, in the photo she looked very friendly and cheerful,
and the face in front of him was also cheerful and friendly, yet
it had signs of weariness and stress upon it.  All in all though
the woman struck the white haired man as very beautiful and
attractive.  The man shook his head at the thought, 'Come on
Tracer you're here to capture and terminate her. There is no
gain in having an infatuation with her.'

	The blond woman smiled softly at the group and spoke with a
careful confidence, "Hello everyone.  It's nice to know that
others feel the Counsule's corruptness has proven them
inefficient leaders.  I thank you for coming."

	Her attitude subtlety drained to a more serious one, "Now let's
get down to business.  All of us have a reason for being here." 

	Then her serious attitude changed to one darker and pained as
she spoke with steady aggression, "Me. . . my family and I were
ambushed and destroyed by a group those blood thirsty timelords."

	Xendyte paused as she caught herself staring intently at her
clenched fists.  She quickly put her hands in her lap and
immediately smiled to hide the fact that she was blushing, "Um,
and since the Society tried valiantly to save their lives, I am
forever indebted to them."

	Her expression of pain, shown in the form of her instablility
in her moods, made the group feel somewhat uncomfortable, but
simultaneously made them sympathize with her.  The white haired
man's eyes softened.  For once Tracer saw the depth of Xendyte's
pain.  She became more than just another target, she was a
living being, a lonely living being, wanting to fill her
emptiness, like his. . . .

	'No, Tracer.  There's no room for sympathy for the Society. 
They are trying to rebel against the order the Counsule keeps.' 
he thought to himself.

	Then Tracer remembered sea of secret files telling of all the
information and technology the Counsule was hoarding. 
Information and technology that would help out the people
suffering in the Community.  Next he remembered all the
injustice they were spreading.  Finally he remembered the short
communiqu, from Nairb;

	"Tracer must never know what happened what happened to his
father.  For it's in our best interest."

	'In their best interest, not mine.'  Tracer thought.  Then
Tracer was left facing a question he didn't want to face, what
was he fighting for?

	Tracer's thought process was interrupted by the questioning
voiced of a woman, "And you.  What's your name?" 

	The blond woman was pointing at the white haired man who
coughed nervously, "My name. . . is, uh iz Hans."  

	The blond woman looked at him curiously and then gave a weary,
yet playful smile, entertained by his heavy accent, "Now that
we've all been introduced, let me show you all around."

	The guards helped in the movement of the crowd of recruitees. 
The blond woman was leading the group across the main area
towards a set of stairs leading into the large basement area
below.  

	From a catwalk overlooking the group on the floor was a huge
metal monstrosity.  The monstrosity had shoulders flaring out
passed the head, a left hand controlling a claw, the other
controlling a devastating charge cannon that clung to its arm,
and a face seen only through a thick visor.  The face in the
visor glanced off into the shadows nearby;

	"General, the recruits are going to see the machine.  What's
our next move?"  the face asked the darkness formally.

	"We wait for the timelords to make their next move,"  a voice
from the shadows replied, "One is probably amongst the recruits.
" 

	A red aura came from the shadows as the voice paused and
noticed something, "That sword, on that recruit, its familiar. .
. its. ."

	The monstrosity searched the group and found a white haired man
with a sword hanging from his belt.  The voice trailed off as it
pondered the familiarity of the sword and called out to the
metal suit, "Malance bring that recruit to me.  I must find out
how he got possession of that sword."

To be continued. . . . .

Short Author's Note:
I really had a problem with Tracer's reaction to the secret archive, so
I can understand your reaction, and I'm open to suggestions on that.
Nothing more to say but. . .

Thank you once more my loyal audience for reading my work, 
[an unknown figure way in the back claps].
Remember all original characters and this story belong to me, Bastion.
Merry Easter to you all, and to all a good night!

Bastion
(Want a gumdrop?)