Infinite DC
Chapter Twelve: Flawless Victory

A blood-stained karate gi was no look to sport for a newly regenerated body such as Lindsay’s. For that purpose, a trip to the T.A.R.D.I.S. wardrobe was just what she needed, while her newest companions – Raiden, Wirt, and Greg – congregated in the control room.

She spent purely half an hour in choosing the right look, settling on a white shredded, ribbed crop tee with ripped blue jeans, open-toed white pumps, and a red bandana over her head. As an added bonus, she tied her long, flowing black hair into pigtails, drooping down her tight shoulders.

It was a style that perfectly mirrored the young farm girl she once was long ago, when she was still known as “Candace.”

Their next destination being her old Georgia farmhouse also made it appropriate.

“Is this farmhouse like a safe house from whatever that thing was back there?” Wirt enquired the second Lindsay returned to the console room.

“Something like that,” the hopeful Time Lady ostensibly guaranteed.

“You look nice.” Greg complimented, in reference to her updated garb.

Lindsay smiled. “Awe! Thank you! It’s just something I threw together for when we meet up with my Ma and Pa.”

“You have a mother and a father?” An amused Raiden said.

“I do have parents, Raiden.” Lindsay wittedly remarked. “I’m a Time Lady, not a goddess – even though I can understand the confusion between the two.”

“It is merely the fact you have done much to convince me otherwise,” the Elder God stated. “For instance, this vessel of yours, which has managed to bend the logics of physics. I have borne witness to such a wonder in Outworld. What realm do you hail from?”

Lindsay shrugged. “Depends, really. I was born on Gallifrey but raised on Earth…before going back to Gallifrey when I was just a teenager.” She fleetingly sustained her left hand across her face. “Before I got this model, I had five others. Here, let me show ya…” She turned to the control console, turning a knob and flipping a switch that activated the view screen near them.

The face of a middle-aged woman with dirty blond hair flashed onscreen. Despite a few mild lines and wrinkles, she was extraordinarily attractive with a tanned complexion that accentuated her light blue eyes. This image of her exhibited a smile that had motherly warmth to it.

“This was you?!” A dumbfounded Wirt questioned.

“Yep,” Lindsay confirmed. “That’s the original me – Candace.”

Raiden regarded the image more closely. “You were more of a warrior in this incarnation than your preceding one.”

“The Time Lords reengineered me that way…turned me into something close to a god, or a ‘gladiator’ is what they eventually called me.” Lindsay reflected. “Heaven knows how I would’ve turned out, had I stayed on Earth and lived a normal life.”

She switched to another image on the view screen.

A much younger woman with silver hair, lighter skin tone, and rose-red lips popped up. She had the same blue eyes as the one previously, yet her smile conveyed an air of arrogance rather than amiability.

“She’s pretty,” said Greg. “Who’s she?”

“She decided to call herself ‘Ms. Mars,’ a clear reflection of the vanity she gained from that regeneration,” Lindsay divulged, her tone suggesting humiliation.

“Aren’t men from Mars and women from Venus?” Wirt elucidated.

Lindsay was too embarrassed to supply a return to his on-point analysis.

Again, she changed the image.

A woman of Portuguese descent, slightly older than Ms. Mars, was now displayed. Compared with the two previous women, her countenance hinted more humility and forbearance. No longer did she possess the eye color that distinguished from her original form; instead, hers was chocolate brown in correlation with her foreign ethnicity.

“This one went by ‘Isabel’ and, not to sound bias, a favorite of mine.” Lindsay documented. “I even got to learn a new language, thanks to a slight fault in the regeneration.”

Another switch. This had practically become a slideshow of her past lives.

The next woman was a dramatic change from the last one. A platinum blonde with a wacky surface complimented by dark eye shadow and a colorful smile, she was nonetheless a beauty.

“This next model went by ‘Cara’ and gave me quite the impressive upgrade to my stereo system.” Lindsay disclosed. “Thanks to her, I can listen to Bruno Mars from here down to the cloister room.”

She concluded the impromptu slideshow with one last image of a dark-haired woman just the same age as Cara – one that Raiden already knew.

“Margie,” he discouragingly identified. “She was your fifth incarnation.”

Lindsay nodded. “And the bravest, taking on all the nightmares she faced in the tournament, which made the Time War look like Sesame Street.”

“T-Time War?” Wirt inquisitively stammered.

“Maybe I’ll get to tell you guys more about it, as soon as we arrive at the farm,” Lindsay said, attending to the controls. “We’re almost there.”

Since Steven’s “passing” a year ago, Kristin loved the opportune evenings when she could sit out on the front porch and look up at the twilight sky. The swirl of purple, blue, and orange, mixed with the moon and stars that welcomed in the night, was enough to take her mind off all the troubles of the world, hers included.

She imagined her husband – or the African American gentleman who used to be her husband – was out there somewhere, beyond the stars or beyond time and space, having adventures worthy of a retired inventor. She missed the days they and their daughter sat on that very porch together, taking in the breathtaking view.

Sitting there now, alone and cozy in her rolled-up jeans and red plaid shirt, she could only reminisce those good old times.

At least until five black SUVs trundled right along her front yard, their blinding headlights obstructing her view of the evening sky. She was urged to get up from the porch steps and approach the group of men that were akin to a S.W.A.T. team, with their black body armor and firearms.

“I ain’t dealin’ any drugs, if that’s what this is all about,” she stated for the record. “The only fields I’m growing here are for corn.”

“I believe you, Ms. Curtsinger.”

It was the voice of a woman speaking beyond the collection of men and headlights. Kristin squinted to see her before she ultimately decided to step forward and show herself.

She was a young brunette of forty years age, slightly pale skin, clear hazel eyes, and peach lips. Her tall, slender frame filled the skirted army service uniform she wore, pinned with a multitude of medals Kristin could not begin to ascertain.

“My name is General LeMarier,” she introduced herself. “I’m with the U.S. branch of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, better known as U.N.I.T.”

“Never heard of it.”

Kristin hated to fib, but she could not be certain these people were associated with such a high-profile military organization.

She knew of them from reputation, particularly through the Doctor, who was a known comrade of the late Brigadier Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart, one of U.N.I.T.’s founding members.

“We’re hoping you and your husband will be willing to cooperate, Ms. Curtsinger,” said LeMarier, non-threateningly. “Is he home?”

“No,” Kristin coldly answered. “He hasn’t been for quite a while now.”

“Are you two divorced?”

“No.”

“Has he passed?”

“Something like that.”

LeMarier paused, contemplating that last response.

Her hands cupped behind her, she moved to one side of the yard, staring away into empty space.

The ulterior motives of this young woman bemused Kristin.

“What is it that you want, Miss LeMarier?”

“General LeMarier, if you please,” she hissed. “And I think what I want is coming precisely…” She glimpsed at the smartwatch bound to her left wrist. “…now.”

Right on cue, heavy humming, grinding resonance – accompanied by a mild gust of wind – spread across the yard.

Kristin knew these effects as those commonly linked with a T.A.R.D.I.S.

To her immediate shock, one materialized right where LeMarier had been staring.

It was unlike any she saw on Gallifrey, yet she recognized it as the Type-Z model Steven once invented, back in the time they lived on the planet before Candace’s conception.

A set of doors materialized on the reflective black marble, sanctioning the exodus of its passengers – a white-garbed man in a coolie hat, two boys in unusual costumes (one of them holding a frog), and a young pigtailed Asian woman.

“Ma,” bellowed the young Asian, rushing to Kristin and embracing her. “Did ya miss me?”

Kristin’s brow furrowed. “Young lady, I think you might have me confused with someone else.”

The young woman let her go, distress settling in on her face.

“Ma, it’s me…Candace,” she said before coming to realization. “Oh, duh! You don’t recognize me ’cause I’ve regenerated.”

Hearing this, Kristin sensed the blood draining from her face.

“No,” she gasped. “Not you, too.”

Lindsay frowned. “What do you mean, Ma?”

“It happened…just like your father,” Kristin tearfully bemoaned.

“Ma, you’re scaring me,” Lindsay whimpered. “What happened to Pa?”

“I believe this is a conversation that can be shelved for a later time,” LeMarier interjected. “There are more pressing matters to tend.”

Lindsay noticed the uniformed official and her escort for the first time since her arrival. “Who’re you?”

“I’d rather not get into introductions again,” LeMarier griped. “So why don’t you ladies cooperate and come back to Washington with us?”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me who you are,” Lindsay demanded, standing protectively in front of her mother.

“She claims they’re from U.N.I.T., but I doubt that.” Kristin told Lindsay. “Whoever they are, I’m bettin’ they’re here for your father.”

LeMarier sighed. “Wish we could’ve done this the easy way.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Lindsay derided. “Get your firing squad back there to execute us? Well, good luck with that, ’cause we got a thunder god on our side.”

“Actually, I anticipated he would come just as you would.” The U.N.I.T. general then indicated her escort. “And these boys aren’t a firing squad. They’re more like a distraction from my real backup.”

Each of the U.N.I.T. soldiers traded addled squints, wondering what their commanding officer meant by that sentiment.

A fierce thunderclap bid their attention skyward, as the beautiful twilight sky was suddenly plagued by a large, swirling purple cloud.

“Storm’s coming!” Lindsay cried.

“No,” Raiden negated, examining the vortex more narrowly. “It’s a portal!”

Certain enough, a penetrating white glow at the eye of the cyclone was validation to Raiden’s keen observation. They witnessed the emergence of a lone figure rapidly descending from it, landing feet-first in the middle of the gathering there on Kristin’s front yard and generating a brief but powerful tremor.

Joint gasps of horror met the grotesque, four-armed creature standing before them all, and only Lindsay and Raiden appeared to have known it by name.

“Goro!”

Impulsively, the U.N.I.T. soldiers opened fire on the otherworldly beast.

But Goro was quick to retaliate.

While the hail of bullets bounced from his inhumanly durable skin, he lunged at the soldiers, snatching two by their legs and a couple of others by their throats. Like a pair of nunchakus, he swung the soldiers he had by the legs against a few others. Blood sprayed from the gruesome impact of bodies crushing together.

As soon as he was through with his ravaged human weapons, he slammed them to the ground, turning them into nothing more than pancakes of flattened flesh and shattered bone in the dirt. Afterward, he snapped the necks of the two soldiers left in his grasp, killing them instantly.

The garish scene of violence concerned Lindsay of Greg, who had been watching it the entire time, open-mouthed in devastation.

“Ma, get yourself and the boys into the T.A.R.D.I.S. now!”

It took Kristin a short moment to obey, being as stunned as she was herself; but she did as Lindsay say, retreating into the ship with Wirt and Greg.

“Your execution has been arrayed!” Goro alerted Lindsay, pointing one bulbous finger her way, whereas his other three limbs tended to mash the life out of remaining soldiers’ skulls.

Lindsay and Raiden did not bother to question the Shokan’s mission and who sent him to accomplish it. They purely focused on ending the monster before it had the chance of destroying any more lives.

Charging at each other, the combatants engaged in the wildest two-on-one fight.

In her newest regeneration, Lindsay demonstrated to be much faster and stronger than her predecessor, holding well against Goro and his four destructive fists.

The conflict went in their favor before one fist connected to Lindsay’s cranium.

It was a blow forceful enough to throw her across the air, smacking viciously against one of the parked SUVs.

Slumped against the vehicle, her vision turned hazy, seeing Raiden standing alone against the Shokan warrior. Wandering into a state of unconsciousness, the last thing she saw was LeMarier, the snooty U.N.I.T. general she encountered earlier, crouching in front of her with a wicked grin.

“Gotcha.”

Flanked by the haziness in her vision and the throbbing pain in her head, Lindsay regained consciousness some minutes – possibly hours – later. The first face she had seen, from her horizontal position, was Wirt.

“Wirt,” she groaned. “Is everything okay?”

“E-Everything’s fine,” he stuttered.

Looking past him, she noticed a void white ceiling. “Are we back in the T.A.R.D.I.S.?”

“No,” Wirt replied, dispiritedly. “They’ve taken us aboard their…spaceship.”

“They?”

It was agony to even try, but Lindsay forced herself to sit upright to see where they were.

A white cell big enough to hold a number of people.

Both she and Wirt were there with three others – an aggravated Kristin, a stricken Greg, and a forty-something woman with light brown hair, dressed in brightly colored sports bra and black yoga shorts with a hot pink trim, consoling Greg.

Yet there was a visibly absent Elder God from the assembly of prisoners.

“Where’s Raiden?” Lindsay asked.

Wirt’s head hung low. “He…He didn’t make it.”

Lindsay shut her eyes in mourning, having predicted the worst.

“It was incredible,” Wirt began. “He fought that four-armed guy, Goro, like he was no competition at all. That general woman made us watch from inside the T.A.R.D.I.S. For a sec, it looked like there was no end to the fight. Then Raiden did this thing where he turned himself into one big bolt of living electricity and incinerated everything within a thirty-mile radius…your family farm, the crops, and even Goro.” He somberly concluded, “U-Unfortunately, after that, Raiden was nowhere to be found.”

“He sacrificed himself to save us,” Lindsay forlornly murmured. Her focus shifted to her mother, who stood by them, arms folded and scowling hard. “Ma, you alright?”

“Heck naw, I’m not alright!” Kristin boomed. “I was havin’ such a wonderful evening ’til you all showed up on my yard with that crazy woman and whatever in God’s name that thing was! Now the farm – our home – is gone, and we’re stuck on a Dalek spaceship!”

Her last couple of words pricked at Lindsay’s ears. “Did you say ‘Dalek spaceship’?!”

“That’s exactly what she said.”

All eyes shifted to the woman sitting beside Greg.

“Who’re you?” Lindsay interrogated.

“U.N.I.T. General Yvette Dwonch of the U.S. branch.”

Lindsay knowingly smirked. “So you’re the real general of U.N.I.T., which makes LeMarier…”

“A wolf in sheep’s clothes,” Dwonch finished. “Late one night, I was out jogging. Next thing I know, I get ambushed by a tall, skinny chick and placed up in this cell. Got no idea what her motive is in all this – just that she wants Neas.” She worriedly exhaled. “God help that kid. He’s probably the best hope we got, if the Daleks are involved in this.”

“You know Neas?” Lindsay said, her curiosity peaked over the general’s familiarity of her, despite only just meeting the woman.

“Tall, dark, good-looking young guy in a black hoodie, purple shirt, and loose necktie?” Dwonch described. “Yeah, I know him well enough to count the many times he’s saved my booty – this one being number five hundred.”

Her recollection of “Neas,” specifically the difference in sex, befuddled Lindsay.

Of all the faces she could remember, none of them fit with Dwonch’s description.

Could it have been a future regeneration?

She had no additional time to ponder on the issue, just as the cell door slid open, exposing a small portion of the Dalek ship’s interior, its grim design utterly the opposite of the white holding cell.

A restrained young dark-haired woman in a lime green karate gi was shoved inside by LeMarier, whose bruised and bloodied face pronounced the result of whatever altercation it took to bring in the next occupant – Margie.

“Don’t think for a second you’ll get away with this!” She roared to her captor.

“I am getting away with this!” LeMarier countered. She then scoped on Greg and mockingly queried, “How’s our littlest inmate doing?”

“You leave him be, witch!” Dwonch barked through gritted teeth. “You got no right bullying this child any more than wearing my uniform!”

LeMarier sneered. “Oh, but I think I look good in it.”

Dwonch was tempted to rush at her, give her one good right cross to the face.

She was only subdued by the mangled voice that supplemented a hydraulic whirr on its way inside the cell.

“If you are done prattling with our captives, LeMarier, we can proceed with our plans,” it said.

Lindsay and Margie gulped on their air, seeing the familiar figure that strolled in.

“Davros,” they acknowledged the visitor.

The Kaled humanoid mutant, and creator of the Dalek race, was just as they remembered him from the Time War.

Sitting in a life-support chariot that resembled the base of a Dalek, his skin was discolored and his body was crippled by an accident in his past, reducing use in his legs and left arm.

A blue lens in his forehead replaced his lost vision, allowing him a semblance of sight. By appearance, it mirrored the look of a Dalek’s eyestalk lens.

A metal brace was attached to his head, and wires were plugged into his skull.

A throat microphone implant enhanced his damaged voice.

The only usage of his body was maintained through his right hand, which he used to operate controls on his chariot.

He arrived in the cell, with Dalek Vec strolling close from behind.

“At last, we have two of the Gladiator’s regenerations,” he gloated. “As well as their T.A.R.D.I.S.es.”

“What’s your game this time, Davros?” Lindsay grilled. “Wasn’t the whole point of having Vec around to exterminate us one-by-one?”

“Extermination was one phase of our goal,” he attested. “But then we discovered the vital key to an even greater one – interdimensional conquest. The power of your T.A.R.D.I.S. surpasses others, including the Doctor’s. With many, we can harness the energy to channel the infinite dimensional corridor and reign over endless worlds. We shall be unrelenting!”

“So you gather our T.A.R.D.I.S.es and us with them,” Margie inferred. “Not only is your ‘greater goal’ crazy, it’s incredibly stupid.”

Lindsay cackled. “Yeah, there’s a reason the infinite D.C. is infinite, Davros. It would take centuries before you could collect all of us and our T.A.R.D.I.S.es.”

“Unless there was a beacon,” Davros assuredly contradicted. “Much like the one your father has established in one of the worlds.”

Margie and Lindsay’s bolstered fronts fell on this.

“Yes, your father…the Tinkerer…intends to collect all of your incarnations to ambush and defeat Dalek Vec.” Davros revealed. “Only now, with two Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S.es in our possession, we have the technology to break through the dimensional barrier and exterminate you and your father in the name of the Dalek Empire!”