Achieving Escape Velocity
by ALC Punk!

And after one too many councilors talked deliberately over her head, she gave in to her original instincts, and left.

To Rodan she left her second-best knife. The woman needed something to give her courage in the infernal place. For herself she took the weapons she could use and a bag of the energy bars the Time Lords liked to eat. They weren't particularly tasty, but they would see her through many months (eked out with what she could barter, steal or buy).

For two months she wandered the space lanes, using the skills she'd been taught by the Doctor and her own instincts. Slowly, but surely, she began to respect her choice. It no longer felt like running away.

In a way, it felt like she had simply become who she was supposed to.

A ship here, a berth there, and she found herself back in a galaxy that felt oddly familiar. Mention of an Earth and a Federation drifted to her while she drank harsh liquor with smugglers and pirates.

--

The next evening she's back, eager and somewhat interested. Federations mean something, she recalls. Not quite religion, but harsher than a governing body. The talk moves carefully around her, flowing from one subject to another until none of them are quite sure what they're actually saying.

Until a man stands up. He's tall and well-built, and has probably seen more than one type of fight in his life.

As if they'd been waiting for it, they're silenced. He half-smiles.

Perhaps it is about religion, after all, Leela thinks. There's scorn in the thought, she's learned long ago that religion is only a tool used by those in power to control the masses. And Leela of the Sevateem prefers never to be swayed so easily again.

The man talks, and for all that he knows he's right, he still couches things in terms that stir the blood. That call to the warrior within speaks of something greater than one person alone. Leela begins to feel even her blood stirring, but this is nothing that she hasn't heard before in one form or another. And even as the charisma slowly works its way through the crowd around her, she quietly slips to the edge and leaves.

It takes her two streets of the sleepy city before she notices. And she curses her own lack of attention, the awareness that should have warned her sluggish in this midnight time and cold air.

As if the notice was a cue a woman steps from a doorway further up the street and watches her approach.

Leela slows as she comes closer, eyes roving the woman. Lithe figure wrapped in red leather (much warmer than Leela's own shipsuit, borrowed from someone a month before), dark brown hair, dark eyes, slim face that for a moment looked as gaunt as a death's head. And then the life returned to it as if a switch has been flipped.

The other eyes her back, then nods once. "And what will you say of tonight?"

"Speak plainly."

"Riddles confuse you?" Slight mocking in her tone, and the eyes flash topaz for a moment.

"Confusion, obfuscation, these are the tactics of someone unwilling to part with the truth," Leela retorted. She might have left most words and learning on Gallifrey, but the Doctor's planet had had its uses.

Eyebrows rose, "Then I suppose plainly I shall speak." There was still an edge of mockery, but it was now muted. "I am Cally of Auron, what will you do with the words you heard tonight?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Recalling courtesy, Leela half-smiles, "I am Leela of the Sevateem."

"Then we are both..." Cally shook her head, "Why did you leave?"

"Your Blake speaks so much--codswallop, the Doctor would have said. Rubbish."

Cally laughs, the sound sudden in the crisply cool air. "It is his way of gaining these people's trust."

"So I gathered. But I am no sheep to led by the nose, Cally of Auron."

"Neither am I."

Considering this, Leela tilts her head to the side. "Shall we be friends, then?"

"If we be but friends..." Cally pauses, considers, "Yes. I think we might be."

Sound hits them, an explosion shattering the still night. Both women curse and instinctively dive for cover. Leela steals a moment to admire the form Cally has, and is slightly surprised that she has the time to even consider such a thing. But that thought becomes moot as another exposion rocks the town.

"Federation." Cally grates out, ducking into a doorway.

"You sure?"

A cough from the rising dust, then an answer in a dry voice, "I recognize the stench of corruption."

Leela snickers, then moves to check that the next street is safe. There's no one about, apparently the danger sent those who would run into hiding. And those that would fight were probably hiding as well.

"Cally!" The voice comes from the wrist communicator Cally's wearing, and she irritably pushes the button, "I'm fine. I'll catch you later, Cally out."

"And if they're in trouble?" Leela asks, her eyes busily scanning the blocks ahead while her ears listen with the tenseness they've always had, and the nerves along her skin dance in anticipation of what could be to come. Danger. There. The scent of burnt flesh, and a moment later they find the body in an alleyway. He'd made it nearly to safety, but now one side is blackened and burnt, the other half-broken from being smashed into un-yielding plas-crete.

"Then I suppose they'll have to get themselves out of it."

Wind slides along her skin, and she's turning before the Federation guard is fully around the corner. The knife in her hand is already in the air as he clears the wall. And he's down two seconds later, the rifle falling from his hands while Cally gasps in surprise.

"Your friends," Leela says conversationally as she retrieves her knife and cleans it, "Are they the sort to get themselves into trouble?" She pokes the rifle, eyes it for accuracy and tosses it to the side with a grimace. The sights weren't even properly aligned. No wonder these Federation troopers died so quickly.

"Without a doubt."

--

Leela doesn't really recall how they've gotten to this point. There was alcohol and violence and more alcohol, and sudden firey lust that skittered along her veins and made her pin Cally to a wall as they walked down an alley. She knows that Cally's friends are free again, and that they're back on their ship and that Cally told them to go without her.

But she isn't certain if the reason is as clear-cut as the other woman makes it to be. But she's distracted, and so she's perfectly willing to go along with a plan that cuts the Federation off the planet.

In less time than it took for them to take a breath they've found an alcove, hands and lips tangling. Cally tastes like wine and harsher liquids and smells like smoke and ash. Leela doubts she's much better, but she's not really worried because Cally knows exactly what to do with her hands, and she's suddenly shivering as they trace patterns under her tunic.

She pulls back long enough to get a breath of the fetid air around them, and decides this is not where she wants this to happen. "Come back to my room."

"Is that an offer I can't refuse?" But she's panting, too, her eyes looking slightly glazed as she licks her lips.

"Only if you want to stay unsatisfied."

"Not something I planned on."

No more words, then, because they keep stopping to kiss and it isn't long before Leela discovers how easy it is to slide a hand inside that red leather she's been admiring all night. The skin underneath is soft and coated in sweat, it shivers at her touch. And that causes them five minutes in the middle of a public thoroughfare that might have gotten them arrested for indecency if the police in the small town weren't still in hiding from the Federation attack.

Somewhere, she knows that Cally's friends are escaping. She's all right with that, and thinks Cally is.

But there are other things on her mind.

Almost too long to get the door to her small room open, and they stagger in, hands still stroking and groping and grabbing. One of them kicks the door shut and then they're falling to the floor, nails and fingers tugging at clothing.

When they're kissing, she stops thinking, and only feels. The first few minutes are almost awkward because there are boots and zips and ties and bras and leather to remove. And then there's only skin and she takes the initiative, skimming her hands down Cally and leaning in to lick at her collarbones.

She spends several minutes learning the taste of Cally's skin, the way the muscles flex when she scratches her nails lightly across sensitive nipples. Then Cally is pulling at her hair, one hand dragging her mouth back for a long and searing kiss. And then they roll, Cally on top now, and Leela lets her. Because this could be about dominance, but it can also be about other things.

Cally takes her time, too, sliding down and down, licking and suckling and scratching and nipping until she almost can't take it anymore and then fingers slide in quick and hard and there.

It's been a long time, and Andred never quite understood what she really needed. Oh, he could make her shatter around him, could make her cry his name. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't this, fingers inside of her and breasts pressed to her chest and lips at her throat and teeth biting so very ungently as she arches. She wants to scream, wants to beg, and some last vestige of pride holds it in while Cally torments her, slowing her hand.

Leela has wanted something like this for too long, and didn't know how to make Andred understand. He didn't drive into her with an innate undeniable need that left them with bruises in the morning and the smell of sex on the sheets for weeks.

Cally's tongue licks along her throat, and she chuckles, the sound adding a new dimension of vibration to already over-heated skin.

"Please." The word slips past her lips before she can stop it, and the last of that pride is now stripped as she writhes and arches and pushes and pulls and tries desperately to make the woman on top of her work that much harder. Teeth nip at her shoulder.

The descent into pleasure is a swift jolt off a balcony. Her back arches, her eyes open wide. Cally's fingers thrust in, there, like that--exactly perfect.

Leela lets out a cry as she falls forever.

--

It's much later, dawn is breaking outside and she is draped around Cally, both of them awake again after several hours spent asleep from satiation. A hand trails along her arm, pale skin against bronzed flesh and Leela tilts her head to watch its meandering journey. "Cally?"

"Hrm?"

"Where are you from?" There were introductions earlier, but they now feel incomplete in some way. She knows there are things about this woman that she will probably never quite understand. But there are things she can know. And would like to.

"I am Cally from nowhere." There is a stillness to the words.

Leela meets her eyes unflinchingly, accepts the solemn pain, and admits to her own. "Then I am Leela from nowhen."

--

They planned for two days, watching the garrison as it settled in. Locating strategic points, finding the weapons cache Cally's people had been told about. Setting up their post-op identities so that when it all came down they would be safe and clear. Cally was quite good with a computer, and Leela had to assume she'd learned it elsewhere.

She watched the agile fingers move over the keyboard and considered things other than printed plastic slips and triple-signed immigration documents.

Four days after Blake left them at Cally's request, an explosion rocked the night.

It was over in hours, the Federation garrison in shambles and the planet's leaders firmly back in control of their populace.

--

They spent a week laying low, building their cover and assembling the last of the supplies for getting off world.

Then they got dressed.

Cally looked like a high-priced hooker, including gold eye-adornments and lapis lazuli tracery up the skin of her legs (the skirt she wore was nearly indecent, but it worked). To complement her, Leela was in pink, so tightly laced against her skin that you really didn't need an imagination. Patches of what was underneath showed through in enough places.

It was highly possible that the port guards never even looked at their papers.

Neither did those they encountered over the next three days.

At Barnard's Roundabout, they dropped the disguises of high-class call-girls and opted for something a little more low-key.

A pair of spacers exited that massive crowd.

--

It's late at night somewhere in the Magellanic Cluster that Leela understands something. "You're leaving."

"Soon. I..." Cally stops pacing, looks guilty, then looks away.

"It's all right." There isn't bitterness here, she knew this was something transient, something not-quite-real. "Will I see you again?"

"Maybe. I need to meet back up with Blake, find out what's been happening." A slight smile crosses the Auron's lips. "There's a revolution out there, you know."

"Yes." Leela tilts her head to one side. "Come back to bed."

--

It's starkly cold on the nameless planet Cally arranged to meet her friends on. Leela stands as close to one of the buildings as she can, wishing she'd worn warmer clothes. Or maybe insisted they wait inside one of the port bars. Cally stands next to her, breath torn away before it can mist out.

A sudden sound makes them both tense, and Leela holds her gun steadily on the man that's appeared in front of them.

"Cutting it a bit close, Blake." Cally's tone isn't angry, but she moves with a strange energy as she steps away from the building. "The Federation has nearly gotten a foothold in this sector."

"So I've heard. Are you ready?" The man -- Blake -- glances at Leela. "Is she coming with us?"

"No. I don't have much use for figureheads." The gun slips back into its holster. "I'll be seeing you, Cally."

The woman turns back and they share a swift, but chaste kiss, cold lips against icy ones. Dark eyes meet one last time, and then Cally steps away. "Teleport."

Leela doesn't wait for them to disappear. She's stopped being impressed with technology long ago. Once you've traveled in a TARDIS everything else seems rather pedestrian. Either that or she's simply too cold to stay outside any longer.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!