Hunting Dreams

AN: This is a one-shot with my character Nova from "Dreams May Come True", a Doctor Who fanfiction. Reading "Dreams May Come True" is recommended to better establish Nova's background, but is NOT necessary. This idea wouldn't leave me alone, so finally had to write it down.

AN2: I have no beta, all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine—other than the mistakes mentioned above—is Nova. All other characters I just wish to own, but belong to either Predators or Doctor Who.

Nova frowned as she thought she heard something behind her. Following her. Again. But, just like before, when she turned to look, she couldn't see anything unusual. Just a standard night in London. She turned back forward to see the Doctor, his usual energetic self practically skipping to Clara's door in order to retrieve the brunette governess.

The redhead whirled back around as she swore she heard a stick snap. There wasn't anyone on the street that she could see. The TARDIS was a block away, sitting in the lamplight. Nova could feel the slight unhappiness of the ship in the back of her mind, because the ship knew they were picking up Clara and the ship still held a grudge against the brunette companion.

However, other than the blue box on the corner, Nova couldn't see anything else. It was after nine in the evening, so most people were already at home. Lights were on in the various houses, casting dancing shadows. A car or two had come by, late for dinner.

Nothing unusual as far as she could see. Narrowing her eyes, trying to see whatever was there to keep making such a racket, didn't do any good. No cats, dogs, rabbits, or even squirrels could have made the noise. The birds were all bedded down for the night as well, so she didn't hear them chirping.

It felt eerie. Calm, yet tense. The wind played with the leaves above her head, rustling a melody.

She couldn't see anything…but she couldn't shake the unmistakable feeling of being watched. The hair on the back of her neck and arms were stiff. Like it had gotten whenever the Master had watched her all those years ago.

Nova looked back to where the Doctor had disappeared inside Clara's house, ready to dart after him as her heart hammered in her ears. The panic and fear urging her to find safety.

Her foot came forward…

…and she was falling!

Nova screamed in terror as actual clouds rushed by her head. But the air was going by so quickly she could barely hear herself, urging her to yell louder.

Her mathematical mind idly catalogued details as she fell, even as she screamed.

She was wearing the exact same outfit as before, which she supposed could be counted as a plus—no one had undressed her. But she was also wearing some kind of harness around her middle, similar to a high-tech parachute. It had a red light in the center that she tried to hit several times to deploy the chute, but no such luck. However, as the seconds passed—and she ran out of air to yell—the red light blinked in an ever-increasing pulse. Like a countdown or timer.

The wind made it impossible to hear her whimper of fear.

Just as the cloud cover disappeared to be replaced with greenery, the red light pulsed almost constantly and automatically deployed the parachute. It was more triangular than anything else, but what did she know of parachutes? She travelled in a time machine, not out of aircraft!

Whatever type of chute it happened to be, or from what species, was superfluous at the moment. It did its job of decelerating her and she was eternally grateful to the designer.

She landed on the forest floor. It was extremely hot and even more humid. She started to sweat immediately. The bushes and foliage were interesting, but unassuming. The trees were taller than any she had ever seen, though she did recognize the smell in the air. It rained here often.

"Where am I? The Amazon?" she whispered to herself, looking around in amazement. For all the fear she had experienced in the last few minutes, it was beautiful here.

"Maybe."

Nova gave a surprised yell, spinning in place to face the newcomer. A female, pointing a weapon at her. The other woman was really pretty, even with her dark brown hair matted to her head with sweat. Nova bet she would even be beautiful if the woman smiled, which she didn't.

Her voice was matter-of-fact as she kept speaking to the redhead. "It's too humid for this time of year for Africa or Asia. And the topography's all wrong."

Nova stared at the barrel of the rifle in fear. "Can you stop pointing that at me?" She waited a beat. "Please?" When the gun lowered slightly, she continued hesitantly with, "Do you know where we are?"

"I don't recognize this jungle. And I've been in most."

"I'm Nova," the girl offered.

"Isabelle." A heartbeat after she answered, the brunette swung her rifle up again and around, pointing it at a new male, who stared at the pair of them implacably.

He raised his hands in a pseudo-surrender, showing black fingerless gloves. "Easy," his tenor was gravely, or possibly just hoarse from screaming on his own way down. He wore an outfit designed to blend into a temperate environment, beige-y green shirt and black fatigue-looking pants. His brown hair was very short, a bit of a scruffy beard, and his hazel eyes held so much weight to them Nova wondered if he had lost count of how many people he'd killed. He had some type of really big gun on his back, ammunition in a holder-vest across his chest, and she could see two knives on him; one under his left armpit and another strapped to his ankle. She also could see a handgun at his left hip. Skinny and muscular, he was definitely a soldier. Or had been.

With him were two more obvious males. One was definitely a soldier. Scandinavian descent by his bone structure. He looked stocky and he carried some weapon that probably weighed as much as she did. However, when Nova looked into his eyes, they were surprisingly gentle. Scared, certainly. But those blue depths held a gentleness in dissention with his large form.

The other man may not be a soldier, but the scars across his face definitely announced him as dangerous. Extremely so. He had two guns. Automatics maybe? His appearance was more toward South American Latino.

"You want to lower the weapon?" The first one spoke again.

Nova took a step back, half hiding behind Isabelle as the older woman shook her head. She listened as Isabelle repeated what she had already told the redhead when the man asked. "I saw more parachutes."

"Which way?" The first one seemed to be doing all the talking for the triad of males.

"Why?" Nova countered softly from behind the woman, drawing the full attention of the others. She wanted to squeak in protest, only barely holding herself silent. She was only 67! It was normal to be scared when someone was only 67, right? She wasn't a coward. Okay, maybe a coward…

He stepped forward, causing Isabelle to re-aim her rifle, but he didn't seem disturbed by it. His manner was confrontational, yet calm. The only evidence of his anger was in his eyes and his voice. "So I can figure out who threw me out of a fucking airplane."

Isabelle seemed to take him at his word, sort of. She indicated with her chin the direction. He took it and set off, the other two behind him.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Isabelle looked at the woman beside her and wondered how odd it was to see her. The redhaired girl, perhaps in her mid- to late-twenties, was a little on the skinny side, but obviously a runner of some type. Her physique and attire matched such pursuits with the blue jeans and black sneakers. Her loose purple blouse though was both stylish and pretty. It wasn't made for anything athletic. And the denim jacket was for a far colder climate than their current surroundings, much less extended exercise.

The main feature though were the girl's vivid blue-purple eyes that seemed to see way more than the surface. However her attitude was more scared civilian, frightened at every sound.

The male fighters certainly hadn't helped settle the girl.

And also, no matter how old this 'Nova' appeared to be, Isabelle couldn't stop herself from thinking of her as a 'girl'. A child. A teen at most. Isabelle wasn't able to put a finger on the reason either, but instinctively knew she was more correct than not. Long ago she had learned to trust her instincts.

Isabelle acknowledged to herself that she had a duty to protect the innocent, of which Nova qualified. "Fuck," she whispered to herself. She angled her face towards the girl and spoke in a louder voice to be heard, "Stay close."

The auburn head nodded seriously and emphatically as the pair of females began to follow the group of males. In only a few steps though, Nova sucked in a sharp breath, tugged her sleeve, and said in a fierce whisper, "Behind us."

Isabelle turned without question to see an Asian male in a pale blue suit watching them. She identified two slight bulges, giving away his shoulder holster. If she didn't know what to look for, she'd have missed them. It was a well-made bespoke suit.

When he stepped forward to follow the little trail they had made, she watched as he gave a resigned expression, glaring down at his feet. They were dress shoes. Definitely not for the jungle as she could see they had sunk nearly an inch each into the mud. She kept going as he bent down to pull them off, untying the laces.

Isabelle looked over at the redhead with a raised eyebrow. "How did you know?"

Nova returned her gaze with a small shrug. "I heard him."

Isabelle didn't want to call the girl a liar, but how could she have possibly heard him?! Isabelle had been trained and was on high-alert given the situation, yet even she hadn't heard him!

It was something else that didn't quite add up with the redhead.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Nova listened intently as Isabelle, and the newly named Royce—the self-appointed leader—discussed what they remembered. Apparently, all of the members of their merry little band woke up in freefall with no memory of being captured or transported. Just like her own memory.

And so far all of them were dangerous. Fighters and soldiers. She wasn't sure about the Asian, but his eyes had held a dead-calm even in this scenario. Since she knew her own periwinkle orbs had to be holding a large dose of scared panic, she figured he qualified. Well, his eyes and the sword handle she could see.

Nova's ears perked up when Royce commented on Isabelle being I.D.F. Nova swallowed, but she couldn't help but ask, "What's that?"

The two paused to look at her, then kept going. Royce a second faster than the other woman. Isabelle was the one who answered. "Israeli Defensive Forces."

Nova nodded her understanding—even though she really didn't—and Isabelle kept moving. Nova made sure to stay close, but behind, the woman, as they came across two more males.

These were obviously fighters because they were currently doing their best to beat each other, possibly to death.

One was a large African; his accent giving him away. The other was more concerning with his stereotypical prison-orange jumpsuit proclaiming 'San Quentin'. He was also swearing a lot. Enough to make her wonder if his IQ was low enough he just didn't know that many curse words. That or it was a habit. He grabbed a nearby branch and held it above his head, ready to bash the African male's head in when he noticed them. "You with him?" he half-yelled due to exertion.

Isabelle wasn't having any of it and gave a nonplussed reply, "No." She didn't even have her gun pointed at them. But her eyes and face were tight as she had observed the fisticuffs. Ready to move if it became required.

The African used the jumpsuit's inattention to get the upper hand. The two carefully got to their feet. Nova thought it almost looked like they were facing off to go again. "Then why don't you mind your own fucking business?"

Nova really had to admire how Isabelle just wasn't showing much emotion in her voice. "We have bigger problems right now." Though she could see the barely held contempt and scorn in the other woman's body language, there for any who knew how to look.

"Okay, boss." The convict nodded. "Whatever you say." Then his eyes flicked to Nova and she ducked behind Isabelle as the look in his eyes made her want to run. His were more filled with lust than aggression, but given her age, she'd avoid him all the same.

The bigger African grabbed the jumpsuit by the collar and hissed in his face, "I will finish what you started." Then he forcibly pushed the convict away from him.

"Strength in numbers, huh?" The convict asked breathlessly.

Isabelle answered again. Seemed she and Royce were the leaders of the little party as it was. "Something like that." Nova didn't really mind the leadership so far. Though she wished with every fiber of her being that the Doctor would find her quickly. Her connection to the TARDIS should give him at least a vague direction to follow. Hopefully.

"Okay. Then maybe we should get that guy out of the fucking tree." He pointed over to the right with his thumb. As Nova stayed close to Isabelle's back, so she was closer to the convict since the older woman moved towards where he had indicated. Which meant that she physically jerked and darted out and over to Royce when the convict said almost conversationally, "I'm Stans."

Royce simply looked at his new tag-along, glanced at Stans, gave one stern shake of his head, and motioned Nova ahead of him. The redhead took half a second before giving Royce a brilliant smile and going forward. He may have lost count of those he had killed, but there was still some honor in his soul. Not as much as the Doctor had—who had also lost count of the amount of blood on his hands—but it was still present. His actions spoke louder than his words.

She shivered as the felon yelled after her, "Hey! I was just being nice!"

The group came across a pond of water, above which was a man hanging upside down, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Help me! Help! I'm trapped in a fucking tree!"

What was with all these people cussing? Didn't they know other words? Or was it just stress? Nova could understand stress. But seriously, the amount was starting to grate on her nerves. If they were really feeling such, couldn't they curse instead? Some of the Chinese and Arabian curses were quite inventive.

"Stop that. You're breaking the branch." Isabelle told him.

Nova saw that the other woman was right. "Can't you cut yourself down?" she asked, trying to be helpful. After all, all these other people had guns and/or knives. Chances were he did too.

"What? No." He seemed almost affronted at her suggestion. "Do something!" he demanded.

Nova giggled when Royce immediately shot the branch, dropping the man into the water below. "You were taking too long," Royce explained at Isabelle's expression. He noted the redhead's amusement and felt a small inward warmth, but knew nothing showed in his outward expression. He also had enough previous experience to warn him away from trusting first instincts, no matter who inspired them. The only person he could truly trust was himself.

"Help! Help!" The new man said as he floundered in the pond.

Nova blinked at him in surprise. "Stand up, silly." She could see the depth of the small pond from where she was easily, given the light bouncing through the leaves above.

He did as he was told and seemed to blush. "Oh." He was soaked to the bone now, but his outfit was very casual. A dark hooded jumper, tan shirt, and jeans. "I'm a doctor. Edwin." He introduced himself as he pulled out a pair of glasses.

When he was fully upright, Nova couldn't help herself. She took a step backward, her nearest hand coming up to grab Royce's lower arm and squeezing in sharp warning. Her wide eyes never left Edwin as he climbed out of the pond.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Royce's eyes flicked down at the girl with his same implacable expression. Her entire form was tense with terror. All of which was aimed at the doctor. His eyes went over to the older woman's, who tilted her head slightly to acknowledge she had noticed.

The girl was definitely odd. She didn't fit. Which was part of the reason he wanted to keep the girl close. Watch her.

All of the group were fighters of some sort. Except for her. And the doctor. He didn't fit either. Yet, the short unarmed female was afraid of him most of all. She had taken in the others with only a small wariness, sticking close to Isabelle as well as Royce himself. However this new man, this doctor, absolutely terrified her…

As if the doctor's name was a trigger, all of the others began to introduce themselves. As if Royce cared. It didn't matter. He ignored them as much as possible as he focused on the more important task.

The Russian had already said his name, but did it again. Tapping his chest, "I'm Nikolai." The South American was Cuchillo. The Asian Hanzo. Mombasa the African.

"What about you, little girl?" Nikolai asked almost gently.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Of the group so far—and she was really starting to hope that this was it, there were enough dangerous people already!—Nova felt that only four of them could be trusted even a little. In order they were Isabelle, Royce, Nikolai, and Mombasa. And she wasn't 100% certain about any of them other than Isabelle.

"Nova." She said it anyway, because they all had.

Royce looked at her with his same implacable expression. She wondered if he always looked like that, or only in emergency situations. "You didn't say what you remember."

She shrugged carelessly. "I was in London. I felt something watching me, but I couldn't see them. Heard something behind me. I turned to look… then I was falling." She then noticed that Hanzo had stopped and was staring at something, making her frown in confusion. She didn't want to say the cliché 'what are you looking at?', so instead broke from her place beside Royce and moved towards Hanzo instead.

When she was close enough, she couldn't help the small gasp as she caught sight of what was worthy of staring.

A really large four-sided pillar-esque thingie was set in the ground. As wide at the base as her spread arms, tilted at an approximate 27.5 degree angle to the horizon about six inches above her head, tapering to a sharp point. It was also old enough that vines and moss were growing on it, from base to point.

But that wasn't the bad part. Oh no.

At the base were human skulls. Lots of skulls. Bloody. Some still had bits of hair and entrails on them. There were other bones too. She thought she could identify several tibia. One ulna. A scapula. More than a few femurs.

She had to swallow several times in an attempt to avoid being sick.

"What is that?" Stans and Edwin asked almost simultaneously. She hadn't even noticed when the others had joined her.

Isabelle's voice held more emotion than she had heard before. "Who would do this?"

Nova tried to push aside her disgust. She recognized the African accent. "Whoever did this takes trophies." There was a pause. "In my culture, the warrior with the greatest trophies commands the most respect."

"Narrows it down," Nova muttered to herself, though she didn't bother trying to be quiet. She could feel their eyes on her as she stepped forward, swallowing several more times against the smell, trying to push away the knowledge of where such bones had come from. She moved to the furthest non-pointy end of the monolith, where there weren't many 'trophies', and got as close as she could. Stepping carefully to avoid the bones.

Close enough to touch the swirly patterns in the pillar. "It's not metal," she narrated her identification. "At least none that I've ever seen." And as a student of the Doctor for the last fourty-three years, that was definitely saying something. Not that she would mention it.

"Copper ages like that. Green." Isabelle commented.

"Doesn't smell like copper," Nova countered. She resisted the desire to lick her fingers, since it was something the Doctor would do. Her heart ached, wanting her friend/mentor/teacher/foster-father. Her fingertips followed the swirls with a frown as she pushed her emotions to the side. "It's not writing." Writing would have…trans…lated… "Oh Rassilon!" This time it was a scared whisper that escaped her as she half-turned to face the others, stumbling back several steps, only to be stopped by a tree at her back. Its presence kept her upright as her mind spun.

They all frowned at her in various degrees of confusion, disbelief, and concern. Isabelle was the one that came toward her. "Nova, what's wrong?"

"Other than the obvious?" Stans chipped in sarcastically.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Nova was almost hyperventilating as she realized what was wrong. She had noticed immediately, but it didn't occur to her exactly what was the cause because so many things were wrong all at once. Now that she had noticed, she couldn't believe she had missed it.

The TARDIS was far away. So very far away!

Nova had always had a unique connection to the Doctor's ship, since birth. It was how she dreamt of the Doctor every night. She could feel her in her mind, communicate to some degree. Emotions and images mostly. It was one of the aspects specific to her Gallifreyan House—at least according to the Doctor, who had been training her ever since she had become his ward after the Year That Never Was.

By genetic identifiers, the Doctor said Nova was naturally 25% Gallifreyan from her paternal grandfather. When the Master experimented on her, attempting to make her genetically compatible enough to carry Time Lord offspring, he had increased her Gallifreyan genetics to 52%.

One of the side effects was her telepathic connection to the TARDIS became tighter than ever. She always felt the ship in the back of her mind. Like an old friend, a big sister, or a mother depending on the time machine's mood and occasion.

Now, even while concentrating, Nova could barely feel the ship. That comforting presence far enough away the closest she could compare it to was a photograph. Instead of tasting a lovely bite of chocolate raspberry cheesecake, all Nova had was a picture of one. She whimpered at the loss.

When she looked up, she saw Isabelle giving her a very worried expression and realized that the other woman had probably been calling her for a minute or more.

Nova didn't know how to explain, but did the best she could. "I've never been so alone," she whispered. Not for years. Not for decades.

Isabelle frowned harder, her forehead creasing. "You're not alone." She gestured with one hand to the seven others. Thinking perhaps it was a matter of gender or honor, Isabelle whispered gently, "I won't leave you." She made sure to do so out of the hearing of the others, knowing the rest of the group could see her promise as a weakness to exploit.

Nova shook her head, eyes morose. "You don't understand."

"We've got bigger problems. Let's head out." Royce called, knowing that they needed to get to higher ground. In most conflicts, those that controlled the high ground won.

As they moved through the forest, Nova barely heard as the eight discussed whether the whole thing was a test of some sort. A ransom. An experiment. Drugs. Each was shot down with a logical reason against. Apparently several had been in combat at the time of their abductions.

"This is hell," Cuchillo determined with grave finality. His thinking that they had died during battle and this was their punishment.

"Last time I checked, you don't need a parachute to get there." Isabelle's quick response made Nova choke on a giggle, shaking her out of her misery enough to focus again. "And I've never done anything really extra bad to go to hell," Nova added her own two cents. While she had been present during several incidents that involved genocide, she'd never done it herself. The Doctor had always kept her safe, as adjacent to the violence as he could have her. Even from making the tough decisions to kill a few to same many.

"It doesn't matter what happened, or why." Royce countered, turning on them abruptly. "The only question is, how do we get out?" He turned back around and once again began to lead the group.

Nova made sure to stick close to him, Isabelle on her heels. Isabelle asked where he was going, saying they should stick together.

Nova didn't pause her steps. She was going to follow Royce. She trusted Isabelle more, but Nova knew a warrior when she saw one. She'd met several species that gloried in battle. Even if she meant nothing to the man, if she stayed close enough to him, he would defend her by association when someone attacked him.

Nova wanted to say that who had done this to them was a good question, because it would determine how to get out, but she kept her mouth shut. These people were all humans. None of them held any insignia of UNIT or Torchwood, so their reactions to 'aliens' would be nebulous at best.

Not to mention what they would possibly do to her. Humans were terrifying when scared!

Nova turned though when she heard Latin.

"Yup. Archaefructus liaoningensis. Very poisonous." Edwin said as he put a small scalpel in the center of a yellow spikey flower. Some type of slime came with the blade as he pulled it back. "All it would take was one scratch to cause total paralysis." The spines reacted slightly, curling inward to capture what the plant perceived as a juicy snack.

"Thank you. I'll look out for you—" Nikolai was interrupted by Nova herself. The girl was glaring at the bespeckled man. "I thought you said you didn't have something you could cut yourself down with."

He met her gaze calmly. "I forgot about it."

"Why are you carrying around a scalpel?" she shot back at him.

"I'm a doctor."

"Not even the best Doctor in the universe habitually carries around surgical implements." Well, that wasn't true. His bigger-on-the-inside pockets let him carry around whatever he liked. However, he didn't have such primitive medical supplies. And he hated standard weaponry. Though one could argue that a scalpel didn't qualify as 'standard weaponry'. Still, she felt sure that the Doctor did not have a scalpel—much less a folding one!—in his massively deep pockets.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Nova stuck close to Royce. Perhaps a step or two behind. After running after the Doctor for the last fourty plus years, it wasn't that difficult to keep up. Now that they were on a rock plateau of sorts, it was even easier. Even with the divots filled with water every which-a-way.

However, she was apparently the only one who was thinking along those lines because she turned when she heard Isabelle's, "Hey, we need to rest."

Royce didn't even pause. "So rest."

"You look like you could use it too." She said, sounding winded. When she saw that the man wasn't going to stop, she finally mentioned her clincher. "You wanna see something fucked up?"

Nova watched intently as the IDF soldier—member? agent?—carefully put a pin in a leaf and set it in one of the many puddles. All three of them observed as the leaf went round and round and round. It was supposed to be a bushman's compass, aligning with magnetic north and south. The whirly-bird routine shouldn't be happening.

"Narrows it down," Nova whispered. A good hundred planets had just been shot down expertly as possibilities, while also shoving humans definitely off the list of assaulters/abductors. Well, assuming that the race doing the kidnapping weren't a time-travelling variety that abducted fighters from only one era of the past, admittedly very low probability, all members of their group being from the twenty-first century. Around 2010 if her nose was correct. (Though admittedly, she was still shaky on that aspect of her education. Her last test on the subject, she'd made an 83.)

Royce either was ignoring her, or hadn't heard her. He just watched the leaf spin before looking up at the sky. "Well, between that and the sun, I'd say we have a real problem."

"What's wrong with the sun?" Isabelle asked.

Nova answered instead, startling them both. "It hasn't moved."

The two looked at her. Isabelle was the one who voiced the question both had been contemplating for the last several hours. "Who are you?"

Nova sighed, shaking her head. "I'm the odd one out." She jerked her head at Royce, because she knew he had noticed.

Isabelle focused on him, and he nodded. He counted off as he observed the other resting members of their rag-tag group. "Spetsnaz, Alpha Group. Los Zeta, cartel enforcer. R.U.F., Sierra Leone death squad. Yakuza, Inagawa-kai. Former F.B.I.'s Most Wanted. You. And...him." He looked away, towards the opposite horizon. "They are all heavy hitters. Edwin and Nova don't belong."

Nova shook her head instantly, contradicting him. "No, he belongs." They refocused on her. "I know that you can't see it, but I can. Don't turn your back on him. Not ever. Don't trust him." She shivered. "I'll take any of the others over him. At least they aren't trying to hide what they are."

"What about you?" Isabelle asked. The question made even Royce stop.

The redhead shook her head again. "I'm not dangerous. I know people who are dangerous. One in particular more than the others, but I myself am not. I don't belong."

"Belong to what?"

"This group. We were all chosen. 'For what' is the question." Nova said softly. Suddenly the others were startled when Nova's head jerked up and to the left as she became aware of something. A split second later, the whole group jumped as a sonic BOOOOOM! echoed over their heads, gaining all of their attention.

Royce wanted to know how the redhead had noticed before himself, knowing how good he was. Good enough that he had been the only one to keep his feet when the shock wave had hit them, though he had only barely been able. It shouldn't have been possible for a little know-nothing civilian, one who hadn't been able to keep her feet and carried no weapons, to notice first. Yet he couldn't deny the evidence. She had clearly been reacting to whatever had entered their area. Had she seen it crossing in front of her field of vision, since she was facing the other direction? Unlikely, but possible.

Isabelle was remembering when the girl—for she couldn't help but keep thinking of the other woman as a child—had heard the Japanese 'businessman' Hanzo when Isabelle herself hadn't. The IDF agent took this extra bit as proof positive that the redhead had extraordinary hearing.

"Aircraft?" the African accent gave away who had hesitantly offered an explanation.

The Russian answered, "Had to be military to be so low. Landing close."

Royce just set off again, intent on finding whomever had invaded their space, going fast enough to catch even him off guard. He didn't say anything, as he thought his 'companions' constant need to state the obvious was idiotic. Their constant talking was giving away their position. He'd be inclined to shoot them to shut them up, but he didn't have enough information yet to know if he would be getting rid of extra weight, or losing a valuable resource.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

Royce was hacking away at the underbrush when he finally spotted something. He used military hand signs to tell them all to stop and get down. Honestly, Nova had no idea what he was trying to say, she just followed Isabelle's lead and mirrored the Israeli's movements.

She peeked around the tall man to see a large crate with a beige tarpaulin over it; its door hanging by only the top pivot, hinged open. She could tell that even with the tarp blocking the view of the inside. As the others went forward to see what could be in the box, she stayed back, letting them do their thing.

She did notice that the box was—relatively—empty. Sections of some type of organic matter was stuck to the walls and floor. Nova also scrunched up her face as several bugs crawled out. "Doesn't narrow it down at all." The bug was the most common variety of cockroach in the entire universe, across a dozen galaxies at this time frame. The generic standard crate itself was just as unhelpful, used in at least six galaxies that she knew of; its color, design, and size all very standard for shipping anything from material parts to animals.

Of course, she was also going on the assumption that she had only been moved to another planet, based on the other's clothing and speech patterns, instead of also being transported through time. There weren't many species that could time travel. And all of them should know well and good to leave the Doctor's companions alone! Heck, with what happened at Demon's Run, she thought that it had been enough of a warning even the Cybermen would stay away!

Of course, that had occurred in the fifty-fourth century, come to think of it…

"You said we were chosen." Isabelle looked over at Nova, who met her gaze without hesitation despite her tumultuous thoughts. "You figure out for what yet?"

"Oh shit." Stans voiced vehemently, interrupting Nova's head shake. He was eyeing the trees above their heads.

Nova did the same, as well as the others, and swiftly counted. "I got nine."

"Nine?" Royce asked without inflection.

She pointed to each one she had spotted. Once you knew what to look for, it wasn't difficult. "…Seven. Eight." She pointed back at the one which had originally drawn their attention. "Nine." She blinked as she saw another way off in the distance that she had previously missed. "Ten."

"I'm starting to wonder about you, girl." Stans said. "You're weird as shit."

She shrugged. She had been called worse. "I'm still the only one in this party that doesn't have a weapon of any kind."

"With those eyes of yours, doubt you need one."

Nova blinked at him, not sure what to make of his statement. After a second she said, "I'll take that as a compliment." At least she thought it was one. Or supposed to be one.

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

They were—still!—walking along when Mombasa tripped on a root.

Nova frowned in confusion as a vine suddenly snapped up on the ground by the African's head. Then a giant log lifted into the air to their left. "Get down!" someone yelled, and she was pushed to the side.

Everyone seemed to scatter in various directions as they tried to escape the trap.

Nova's eyes were drawn to the treetops as sharpened spikes came down right in front of her. Striking the ground hard enough to bury half their length.

As the student of the Doctor for over four decades, Nova had been trained on many topics. One of the first was timing. She still didn't have the knack of knowing what year she was in just by tasting the air, but when it came to a pulse, or following a patterned metronome, she had mastered the subject. She had always found them fun actually. It was like dancing.

So when faced with a timed trap of dropping sharpened spikes, Nova naturally fell into the mindset where the world around her shifted as things seemed to slow around her. As if the earth itself was drawing breath and she could feel it in the air. Feel everything go through her at a bone-deep level. She saw the next one drop ever so leisurely, taking its time.

Like a player in a choreographed production, Nova glided out of the way. Again. And again. And again. Twirling in place, her feet gracefully guiding her through the leaves, unconcerned with the lethal danger. For a few of them, mere millimeters from making contact, letting her feel the breeze of their passing. She smiled in exhilaration at the exercise.

Over and over until they stopped falling. She still couldn't estimate time with pinpoint accuracy, nor know when she was. But when it came to tracking objects… No, she had no problems.

When the spikes stopped, it did take Nova a few seconds to recognize the end of the game and her mind to again shift back into a more normal speed. Though she did turn at the awed accented, "How did you do that?" Wonder and fear in those brown eyes.

She knew that telling him the truth would probably be bad. So she settled for a different kind of truth, "My guardian taught me." Considering that they had been kidnapped by aliens—she knew that Royce had figured it out or at least suspected, though she wasn't sure about the others—then admitting that she was slightly more than half non-human probably wasn't the best way to go.

Mombasa didn't look like he believed her, but he didn't keep asking either. After a few moments, he nodded incrementally. "Must be special."

Nova grinned, still full of happy adrenaline. "He is." There was no other like the Doctor in the entire universe…and there never would be. Even among his own people, the Doctor had been unique. Uniquely good or uniquely bad was a matter of opinion.

The rest of the group was over by a decaying corpse, doing the best analysis a group of mercenaries, mafia, and soldiers could. It wasn't bad. Using their group experiences to outline an idea of what had occurred. A dead man's trap set by a Navy SEAL and the man's quarry had at most five times less mass than the half a tree trunk that had fallen on Mombasa.

Nova did some quick estimations and calculations in her head to get a rough guess. Before she had come into the world of her dreams, before the Year That Never Was, she had been in her last year of a Master's degree in Mathematics. Numbers and timing was easy for her. Logic and reason had been trained into her. It was everything else that she had difficulty understanding.

She spoke her reasoning aloud, wondering at her numbers. She'd never been comfortable estimating anything, preferring exact concrete calculations. So she deliberately over-estimated and hoped it would be enough. "Assuming an average hardwood density of 0.75, and given the diameter and length for a rough volume of approximately 1700 cubic meters, based on the length and width, with pi at 3.14, then I get a conservative estimate of about 1275 kilograms total mass."

She bit her lip, staring at the deadfall to re-gauge her estimates on length and width several times, as she continued absently, not noticing how she was suddenly the center of attention again. "If a deadfall is, as Royce said, supposed to be five times that of the target, then that makes what he was hoping to trap approximately 255 kilograms." That definitely narrowed down the list of potential species, given what she already knew, from a several dozen to only a handful, with fingers left over. There just weren't that many species with the capabilities of space travel, invisibility, warrior/hunter societal structure, and that large a mass. Much better!

"What's that in English?" Stans asked.

"Five hundred sixty pounds," Royce answered quietly. His eyes were boring into Nova's, who blushed with embarrassment and shrunk back a step as she was startled out of her thoughts. Finally he asked, "How much leeway are we talking?"

Nova contemplated the deadfall again and tugged on her braid. "At least one order of magnitude? Give or take?" Her voice conveyed how hesitant she was to even give that much of an answer. She really didn't like estimating.

"English?" Stans demanded again, exasperated.

"Fifty-six pounds," she blinked at the man in confusion. While she understood not knowing the conversion between pounds and kilograms, she had thought she had been much more clear with her second answer. She had actually been aware of them listening to her about halfway through and had catered her response with that in mind. Or she thought she had. In an effort to be even more clear, if it was needed, she kept going after a couple seconds. "So the target was approximately between 504 and 616 pounds, or between 230 and 281 kilograms." Well, with an insanely uncomfortable amount of rounding error, but it was as good as she could get out here without even something to write with! Not to mention all the assumptions she had done for length and guess at the density of the wood… "Probably more." She couldn't help but add the last, knowing just how much guessing she had truly done. "And that's mass, not weight." If they didn't understand orders of magnitude, maybe it was good to also mention that bit?

"What?" Stans was staring at her, but they all were. He was just being the loudest about his thoughts. "What does that even mean?"

Isabelle and Royce were looking at her seriously, understanding more than the others. Royce was more focused on what her calculations actually meant though, while Isabelle was wondering what kind of life the girl before them had led to enable her to perform such feats.

"So…" Royce looked up at the tree in which the deadfall had lay in waiting. "Did the target animal weigh more than he thought…? Or was it smart enough to avoid the trap?" he muttered mostly to himself. "Got past the trip wires…to do this." He again looked at the two-weeks-dead Special Forces officer, whose chest had been ripped open. Strength had done that.

"If it had weighed more, that means that the trap would've already been sprung when we got here." Nova commented hesitantly, "Right?" Which left enough intelligence and training to avoid a hidden trap, created by a trained professional.

Royce reorganized his mind to accept the data he had been given. They still had to find a way out of this jungle. "Let's move." Over any revenge he wanted to obtain—and he certainly wanted that!—his first priority was survival. Food and water being at the top of the list, then shelter. Getting back to some type of civilization would obtain all of the above.

The rest began to follow behind him obediently, including Nova, but she paused when she realized that the black man was staring intently at something. Almost as if he was too afraid to move. She blinked. "Mombasa?" she asked softly. When he didn't answer her immediately, she followed his gaze to the trees… up in the trees. In the canopy.

At her side, she heard as Isabelle came up to the pair of them. "What is it?" she asked in a small semblance concern. She still wasn't sure if Nova was someone to be concerned for or be concerned of. She tried to follow the pair's eyes, tracking what they both were seeing.

Nova's eyes tracked along the canopy until she saw what the African had already found and froze. "Rassilon above," she whispered. It was huge. She already knew intellectually its approximate mass, but the reality was quite different. Even a shimmer in the air gave her dimensions. "That certainly narrows it down."

Isabelle looked at the redhead. "Who is Rassilon? Narrows down what?"

Nova swallowed and knew her eyes were full of fear. "I know who took us."

+++++HUNTING++DREAMS+++++

I'm trying to get a gauge on how interesting this is. The less response I have, the less likely I'll finish it. So reviews please!