Chapter Text
Part One
“How about new house slippers? Ultrawrench.”
“Got her those last Christmas.”
“What ‘bout a necklace? Spiralspammer.”
“Got her that last Mother’s Day.”
“You could just always make her breakfast in bed. Vectospike.”
“I did that last week!”
Craig wasn’t really sure what room he was standing inside the Type-Z TARDIS. It was wall-to-wall computers and blinking lights. There were two separate panels on the floor that opened to sublevel pits with even more computers and blinking lights. But, somehow, Seana and Miya understood all of it, being Time Lords. Craig could hardly guesstimate the tools that they requested from the tool cabinet they rolled in.
“No, sweetie, this is a Megallet, not a Vectospike,” Miya held up the alien tool. Craig could only see her hand holding it; the rest of her was buried deep in the pit where she worked.
“Sorry,” Craig said sheepishly, taking the Megallet tool out of her hand.
“It’s O.K.,” Miya forgave. “Just look for the thing that looks like a metal traffic cone – and be careful with the pointy end! It’s very sharp!”
Craig succeeded in finding the Vectospike, following Miya’s detailed instructions.
Sure enough, the tool bore a resemblance to a traffic cone, but it was in no way as light as one with all the components inside of it, including a long handle. It had the heft of a wrench. The pointed end of it was indeed sharp, which made Craig that much more uncomfortable handling it. He was amazed Miya even entrusted such a tool to a 10-year-old boy.
He carefully brought it to Miya’s open hand, still sticking out from the pit, making extra sure it was the long handle that she gripped first. “Thanks, Craigy,” she said sweetly before lowering her appendage with the desired tool. She immediately went to work, activating the tool with a loud whirring sound and blue sparks shooting out between it and the specific computer panel she focused on.
“If ya wanna give yer mum a surprise gift, Craig, how ‘bout a nice haircut, eh?” Seana suggested from her work area. “Ya curls have gotten curlier!”
Craig’s hands went to his hair, which did in fact grow into a full-blown afro.
“But she’s the one who usually cuts my hair,” Craig said.
“And tat be de surprise!” Seana told him.
Just as Seana emphasized on the word, she and Craig received quite the surprise when an explosion suddenly erupted from the pit where Miya worked. Smoke and sparks flew out, accompanied by a loud pop.
“Miya!” Craig cried. “Are you okay?”
A few coughs emitted from the smoking pit before Miya finally replied, “Yeah, I’m good, babe.” As she rose out, Craig gasped. Her long, flowing blond locks had frizzed into an afro that was bigger than his own. “I think you were right the first time. I should’ve used the Megallet.”
After they were all finished with maintenance, the three friends returned to the TARDIS console room, just as the main central console beeped. Answering the call on the console monitor, a young brunette with a beehive hairstyle appeared onscreen. From the 1950s style of her pink uniform, she could have passed for an airline stewardess.
“Oh, hello!” She gave a warm, friendly (albeit awkward) greeting. “Have I reached the ship designated ‘TARDIS’ and operated by the freelancer designated as ‘Gladiator’?”
Miya cringed. “Poor thing sounds artificial. She some kind of android?”
“Oh, no, I’m flesh and blood,” the woman clarified, overhearing Miya. “Sorry. We here at the Ouroboros Time Agency just aren’t used to contacting freelancers. But we’ve made an exception for the Gladiator, after their assistance in the Studio 54 incident with the Protectorate.”
“Ah, ol’ Al Squires recommended me, eh?” Seana surmised.
“In a way, yes, but off the books,” the Ouroboros representative said. “We require your assistance again in one of the 1970s timelines. We have reason to believe legendary singer Donna Summer is to be killed by an assailant from another time. Leroy, one of our agents, has been assigned to assist you.”
Seana rested her hands on her hips, nodding in approval. “Aye, dat’s all well and good wit me, lass – so long as my Pop-Pop comes wit.”
The representative frowned at the Irishwoman’s jargon. “Your Pop-Pop?”
“She means me.” Miya stepped into view, waving to the camera.
Finally seeing Miya, the representative applauded, “I see you’re already prepared for the mission! You Time Lords are good!” It took Miya a second to realize that she was talking about her accidental new afro. “I’ll notify Leroy that you two are on the way.” On that note, the representative ended the video call.
Immediately afterwards, Miya exploded with excitement. “Donna Freakin’ Summer! Can you believe it?!”
Seana was equally as thrilled. “Ya bet yer arse I believe it! It’s been a while since I’ve crossed paths wit a musical legend! But, dah Queen of Disco herself?”
“Queen of Disco?” Craig scratched his curled head. “Is that a thing in her world?”
“It’s a thing in every world where there’s a Donna Summer!” Miya told him, playfully picking at his afro. “Even in yours!”
Craig seemed very confused. “Really? Do we have a Donna Summer in my world? Who even is Donna Summer?”
Seana and Miya both gasped at his inquiry. “Who’s Donna Summer?!?!”
“Honey, Donna Summer is one of the greats!” Miya said proudly. “We’re talkin’ ‘Hot Stuff,’ ‘On the Radio,’ ‘Bad Girls’…”
“Don’t forget her cover of ‘MacArthur Park’,” Seana said.
Miya clutched her chest, feeling one of her hearts swelling with nostalgia. “Oh! How could I forget that one? Remember when we used to sing it on our road trips?”
Huddling close to each other, Seana and Miya sang, “MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark…All the sweet, green icing flowing down…Someone left the cake out in the rain…I don’t think I can take it…‘Cause it took so long to bake it…And I’ll never have that recipe again!”
Craig sighed impatiently. “O.K., I think I get the…”
Seana and Miya held out their index fingers towards him, shushing him long enough to finish singing with another “Againnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!”
“I get it, I get it!” Craig bellowed. “But what I don’t get is why I can’t go with you to the 1970s? I got an afro, too!”
“And what a cute widdle afro it is!” Miya sweet-talked him before taking on a more serious tone. “But, with Donna’s killer runnin’ around there in the 1970s, the only place you and your lil’ ‘fro will be is in this TARDIS.”
“What?!” Craig protested.
He looked to Seana for some support, but the Irishwoman was obligated to agree with her father. “Pop-Pop’s right, lil’ brotha. It’s too dangerous fer ya out dere.”
“What am I supposed to do while I’m waiting for you guys?” Craig asked out of desperation (and a bit of dread).
“Why not keep brainstorming on your mother’s birthday gift?” Miya recommended.
Craig folded his arms in a huff. “Yeah, that’ll be more fun.”
After a couple of hours in the TARDIS wardrobe room, Seana and Miya were able to find the perfect attires to help integrate them into the climate that awaited them in 1978 Midtown Manhattan. Seana opted for a sparkling green jumpsuit, while Miya went for a white one with a black leather waistbelt. As far as hairstyles, Miya’s was already set, while Seana styled hers in a way that resembled female 70s icons like Farah Fawcett or Jaclyn Smith.
Being 1978, the Studio 54 club had recently been renovated, which was evident from the fresh scent of paint in the air. “If the drugs don’t intoxicate the guests first, these paint fumes will,” Miya noted sardonically.
At the midnight hour, the club was packed to the gills with a variety of patrons from socialites and suburbanites to a few recognizable celebrities like Andy Warhol and Faye Dunaway. Seana bumped into a tall, blond pouty gentleman wearing a pressed suit. “Pardon me, hon,” he told her.
Seana and Miya caught only a fleeting glimpse of the gentleman, but they felt as if they recognized him. “Was that Donald Trump?” Miya inquired.
“Aye, I think it was,” Seana verified. “And I think he caught ‘imself a feel of me arse, too!”
Literally moving on from the uncomfortable encounter, Seana and Miya proceeded further into the club. The dance floor was crowded with provocatively-dressed (as well as cross-dressed) dancers, their bodies lit in a rainbow of colors by decorative neon lights, while a silvery disco ball hung above, spinning and glistening. It was like a scene straight out of Saturday Night Fever.
“Any sign of our Ouroboros guy? Leroy, I think his name is?” Miya asked.
Seana looked over the crowd, singling out anyone who came across as an undercover agent that showed the obvious signs – stiff as a board, acting a little too casual in a nonchalant environment, and (every now and then) touching one of their ears where the earpiece was tucked in.
It wasn’t very long in her scanning that she noticed one man – a portly black fellow with a small afro – who looked rather nervous at the bar. He attempted to blend in by performing a bit of shimmying, but his moves came across as clumsy; he lacked an ounce of rhythm.
“I’ve found ‘im,” Seana pointed to the man’s location.
Miya followed her finger and saw the nervous wreck for herself. “Wow,” she uttered in disbelief. “Well, he looks like a Leroy.”
Seana and Miya headed towards the man, and he pretty much confirmed Seana’s assumptions as he grew even more nervous upon seeing the two beautiful women approaching. “Play it cool, Leroy,” he said audibly. “Play it cool.”
“What up, brotha!” Miya greeted with a raised fist. “You must be the man we’re lookin’ for.” She held out her hand to Leroy, who shook it with a sweaty grip. Miya tried not to look too revolted as she retracted her hand, wiping the sweat off along the side of her right pant leg. “You seem a bit anxious, dear.”
“Sorry,” said Leroy, who noticed Miya’s reaction to the sweaty handshake. “This is my first field assignment, and I’m a little nervous. On the plus side, I get to work with the Freelancer herself!” He gestured to Seana. “It’s truly an hour…I mean honor, ma’am.” He reached out for a handshake.
Seana recoiled respectfully. “I’m good, mate. And tanks. But dere’s really no need tah be so neirbhíseach.”
“Near-what-now?” Leroy mumbled in confusion.
“She speaks Gaelic every now and then – one of the quirks of this alter-regeneration,” Miya excused. “Basically, what we’re saying is that there’s no reason to be nervous. We’re just two ordinary freelancing Time Lords.”
Leroy nodded, somewhat understanding. “Gotcha. I’ll be cool as a…”
Suddenly, all the lights in the club blinked a few times as an announcement was made over the PA: “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s performance by the Queen of Disco, Donna Summer, will begin onstage in just three minutes!”
Leroy looked to have grown even more anxious, following this announcement.
Seana and Miya walked with him to the dance floor, which was adjacent to the stage from where the Queen herself, Donna Summer, emerged. The 29-year-old legend was dazzling in her revealing, see-through evening gown that looked to be made with nothing more than strings.
“God, she’s more gorgeous in person,” gasped the starry-eyed Miya.
Summer walked onstage, harmonizing the tune of ‘Last Dance’ to the adoring crowd. She then addressed the audience in her soft, gentle voice, “I wanna thank ya’ll for comin’ tonight. Before we start, I wanna introduce you to a very special child I met backstage. The lil’ fella told me that he wants to help some friends of his that are here at 54. I’d like to invite him onstage, if that’s solid with ya’ll.”
The crowd gave their consent with a round of applause, whereas Seana and Miya were confused as to who Donna was referring. They soon got their answer when the ‘very special boy’ turned out to be someone they knew…
“CRAIG?!?!”