Chapter One

"Where are we?  I'm tired!"  The plaintive voice brought Cthilian out of his exhausted haze.  He stopped and looked down at Djan.  The small, upturned face was filled with anxiety.

"It's all right, Djan.  We'll be there soon.  Just a little longer."  Cthilian's voice was a hoarse croak.  Fever burned in his blood, lending an unnatural chill to an otherwise warm spring night.  The ache between his eyes had become a blazing agony.  Need could not have come at a worse time.  He willed the danfever to wait, to hold off just long enough to find somewhere to hide, to rest.

"I'm afraid, Cthilian."

So am I, little lord.  So am I.

Cthilian tightened his hold on the child's hand.  Any hope he had of getting Djan safely to Mzara'tan had all but evaporated.  The entire day merged into a nightmarish blur of running, being turned back and running again.   Although it seemed for the moment that they had lost the hunters, Cthilian was too tired
and heartsick to care.

Katha.  Oh, Vis, Katha!  I need you!

They were in yet another forest, of which Raynig'tan seemed to have no shortage.  It was a fair wood, verdant from the winter rains.  Ahead through the greenery, Cthilian could smell water.  The dusk song of the mandrigals wound through the dense forest canopy.  He tried to take a step and his legs threatened to give way.  The trees swam in his vision.

A sound came on the wind - faint, still very far away.  His hearing sharpened and he recognized the shrill cry of hunt hounds beneath a horn's wail.   Despair and exhaustion sent Cthilian to his knees.  At eye level now, Djan reached out to catch him before he collapsed completely.  The child's hands were like ice on his skin.

"Cthilian?"

Somehow, he got back to his feet, started forward.  The resisting tug of small fingers brought him up short.  Cthilian no longer had the strength to compel, so he begged instead.  "They're still following, Djan.  Please! We must go on!"

Being captured did not bear thinking about.  For a moment, the fever overcame him and the woods dissolved.  He was back in Raynig Tarn, back in their ungentle hands.

"Cthilian!"  Fear lent hysteria to the high, light voice.  Small hands pushed his hair out of his face.  "Don't die!  Don't leave me here!"

Trees.  The smell of wet loam in his nostrils.  Where was he?  Had he missed the waking bell again?  Was he in trouble -- again?

They were moving, Djan pulling him along now.  The forest passed in disjointed flashes.  There was open space.  A river.  Ribbons of shifting color bridged it there, and again there!  Cthilian clamped chattering teeth together.  Beyond the river was a cliff.  It reared so high that he had to lean back to see the top.  It took him a moment to realize where they were and he could not believe their luck.

Ivharadan.  River of Dreams, and beyond that, the Wall of Heaven- - the limits of civilized Devia.  Cross the river and they were safe.  The wave of relief washing through Cthilian all but sent him to the ground again.  He set a hand down hard on Djan's shoulder to stay upright.  Beyond that stream no man may lay claim to another.  Ivharadan was Sanctuary.  That it offered nothing more was of no concern at the moment.

"Must -- get across."

"I can't swim."  The small lower lip trembled.

For one shameful moment Cthilian considered leaving him there.  Then he looked at the boy and saw Katha's golden eyes, her pale hair.  Katha.  His Jeweled Lady.

"Get on my shoulders again," Cthilian said instead.  "And hold on tightly."

Djan's weight, slight as it was, nearly bowed him double.

"You're hot," complained the child.

"The water will cool me off," he promised, smiling wryly.  "Are you ready?"

He heard the horn again, louder now.  The hounds had the true trail now.  Raynig was moving fast.  So be it.

With Djan clinging to his hair, Cthilian slipped and stumbled down the muddy bank to the water.  Its icy touch made him gasp.  He was up to his knees, to his waist.  The tug of the current frightened him.

Djan began to whimper as the water rose to Cthilian's chest.  Small arms clamped around his head in panic, covering his eyes.  With an effort, bracing himself against the growing push of the water, Cthilian managed to shift the boy's grip to his forehead.  The pressure on his dancrystal was enough to make him see stars, but he kept on doggedly, praying the bottom of the river would not suddenly drop out from beneath his feet.

"I hear them!"  Djan relaxed his hold, forcing Cthilian to rapidly adjust balance.

"Don't let go!"

The water was to his chin and Djan's distress grew.  Another step, muck squeezing through toes he could barely feel, and another.  The cold settled deeper.  Cthilian felt his grip on reason sliding again.  He stepped -- into nothing.

Water closed over his head.  In horror, he felt Djan's small body rise, lifted by the current.  He found and held the child's ankles, kicked violently to push himself to the surface.  Djan was struggling, terrified, thrashing wildly this way and that.  Feverish thoughts scattering, Cthilian no longer tried to reach the other bank.  He fought only to keep them both afloat as the current seized them and whirled
them downstream.

More chaos.  White water around him.  The riverbank whirling past -- a square of sky seen through iron bars -- the touch of love on lips that had never known such sweetness . . .

There was river bottom beneath him.  Through uncertain vision, he saw a stretch of pale sand.

Djan!  For an instant there was blind panic, then awareness returned.  The boy's arms were still tight around his neck, rapid, terrified breath warm in his ear.  Cthilian crawled up the shallow slope of the bank and collapsed, cheek against the rough sand.  He felt Djan let go, roll off.

Spent, Cthilian lay powerless to move.  If they were on the wrong side of the river there was nothing he could do about it.  He closed his eyes, felt unconsciousness beckon.

"Cthilian?  Cthili, wake up!  Please! PLEASE!"

No rest yet.  Cruel fate revealed a bit more strength in a body that should have none left.  Cthilian dragged himself into a sitting position, legs tucked under him, shaking uncontrollably.  It took a moment to realize that the howling in his ears was not the product of the danfever.

The hunthounds!

Blinking the haze from his vision, he saw the long-muzzled beasts milling about.  There were mounted sentinels, pikes shining in the sun, the Raynig banner streaming in bloody ribbons against the sky.  But they were on the other side of the river.   He and Djan were safe!

"Alorin!"

Cthilian ran a tongue over cracked lips, recognizing the voice.  Raynig himself.

To hide the hatred he knew showed in his face, he bent forward.  Pale hair brushed the sand, but it was a slave's defense, to hide the truth, to avoid punishment.  Defiantly, Cthilian straightened and stared unflinchingly across the water at the master of Raynig'tan.

"Return my nephew at once, and your death will be swift and merciful!"

Come and get us, my noble lord!

But, of course, his raw throat would not give up the words.  Nor would anything coherent force its way through his chattering teeth.  He could do little more than shake his head and even that made him dizzy.

"What do you expect to achieve, dog?"

Ah!  There was panic creeping into Raynig's voice.  The craven bastard was beginning to understand.  Shaking off Djan's insistent grip, Cthilian got to his feet and stood, swaying.  The wind was an icy knife flaying his skin.  Pain racked his joints.  Turning his back on the highblood, trying not to hear the threats and the anger, he had a look at his options.  The cliff frowned down on him.  It ran as far as he could see along the river bank in either direction.  Clamping his jaws together, Cthilian held back a soft, hopeless curse.

"Benara is coming, alorin!  You'll not escape!"

Raynig's words shocked Cthilian into spinning about to face the highblood again, but he moved too fast and sprawled, face first on the sandy bank.  Across the river, surrounded by his laughing guards and his dogs, Raynig grinned and said something to his attendant.

"Cthili . . . ?"

"Hush."  Cthilian wearily pushed himself up and sat, head in hands, trying to think of something sensible to do.

Benara.  Vis!  Had Katha so badly underestimated the importance of this?  He lifted shaking hands, pushed wisps of sodden hair from his eyes.  It was all beyond his ken.  How could he be expected to understand the thousands of nuances and subtleties running rife through Sher'dan politics?  Half the time
even Katha's thinking had left him lost and confused.

"Slave!  Listen to me!  You're trapped!  Don't be stupid!"

He shook his head against that voice and got up, turning back to the cliff.  How high was it?  A hundred feet?  Two?

*Benara was coming.*

Even the river was no barrier for such as she.  Again he teetered, ready to abandon it all.  Raynig's revenge would be tenderness itself  compared to what the warwitches would do to him.

"Cthilian?"

He looked down into the wide, silver eyes.

"Is Momma up there?"

Bemused, fever making his thoughts sluggish,  Cthilian followed the child's pointing finger.  The cliff's summit was impossibly distant.  Ragged wisps of clouds scudded past; the setting sun gilded the cliff's broken edges.  It led to heaven, or so the old stories went.  More recent tales threatened that the Wall
protected Devia from the Heretics.  Either way, it was his only choice.  Across the river, Raynig was shouting again.  Cthilian shut out the threats and curses.

"Yes," he said abruptly.  "Yes, she is, Djan."

"Climb up?"

It was hard to see Djan's face through a sudden film of tears.  He smiled, blinking very rapidly, and flicked an errant gold strand away from that snub nose.

Forgive me, Katha.  I don't know what else to do!

"I'm afraid so, little lord, or we'll never see her again.  Can you do it?"

"Yes," said Djan simply.  "Come, Cthili.  Let's go to momma."

* * *

Gallifreyan nights.

The Doctor pushed the casement open and let sweet, cool air wash through the window.  A breeze ruffled the drapes and his hair, and set the windwheels to chiming.  The scent of desert heat lingered, although the sun had gone some hours ago.   Immediately beneath his window, the small hospice garden
filled the air with the rich fragrance of shy-lilies and roses.  English roses.  The scent tugged at him, reminding him of Earth.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand.  Hearts thumping a little faster than he liked, the Doctor called:  "Come in."   It was Dalweir, the hospice physician.  With him was one of the specialists, Ofbern, a xeno-geneticist.  Both wore grave expressions. Bad news, then.

"Good evening, Doctor."

"Dalwier.  Specialist Ofbern."  The Time Lord acknowledged them warily.  "I gather the latest results are in."

"Would you care to sit down, Doctor?"

Somehow, it did not sound like a question.  The Doctor pulled the window closed, crossed the room to sit on the edge of the narrow bed.   He gripped his knees with cold hands.  After a moment, he nodded.

"I'm afraid we have to confirm the first medical team's findings."

There was nothing he could say, having known this in his hearts to be true.

"The inhibitor protein that repressed your human genes is no longer present.  We're not sure why.  The most likely explanation is that something, perhaps the trauma of being shot, combined with the unfortunate administration of primitive anesthesia, destroyed the replication code."

The Doctor blinked. "That's it?"

The two physicians looked at each other.  Ofbern's mouth turned down.

"I don't understand.  Can't you simply reintroduce the protein?"

"You're Prydonian, aren't you?"  Ofbern observed sympathetically.  "I suppose you think it's just a matter of twitching a wire here or a relay there.  Alas, Doctor, it is not that simple."

"Why not?"

Dalweir coughed.  "The protein's development was, um, serendipitous."

"Serendipitous!  You introduced a random protein into my system?"

Dalweir flinched; Ofbern looked pugnacious.  "Certainly not!  Only its discovery was unexpected.  The protein was tested, extensively, before it was introduced.  And as you can see, it functioned perfectly until this - -  this disaster."

"I don't understand."

"The scientist who developed the protein was, um, eccentric and had a falling out with the head of the Department.  She left the Institute, taking all records of her work.  Attempts to replicate her results have been unsuccessful -- so far."

"Where is she?"

Ofbern shook his head.

"We don't know," Dalweir replied reluctantly.  "There have been periodic attempts to locate the Professor, but she seems to have disappeared off the face of Gallifrey.  When we realized what was wrong with you, we initiated another search.  So far, it's been as successful as all the others."

"So there is nothing you can do?"

"We've attempted replication of the protein several times.  The results appear identical in all our tests.  And yet, when introduced into a facsimile bio-system, the protein mutates into a virus that destroys the host within twenty-four hours.  No, Doctor.  There is nothing we can do.  Either you live with it or force a regeneration."

"I will regenerate?"

"The Gallifreyen genes are still dominant, Doctor.  There is a high probability for successful regeneration.  Do you wish to do so?"

Startled, the Doctor looked from one physician to the other.  "I beg your pardon?"

They had the grace to look uncomfortable.  Dalweir avoided his eyes.  The Doctor could hardly believe they would suggest such a thing.

"Forced regeneration is a risky business at best, even a lowly physicist knows that much! So far, I've only a few inconvenient emotions to deal with.  Hardly reason to kill myself!"

He stopped, struggled for control and found it.  Producing a rueful smile, he was rewarded by tentative smiles in return.  He was heartily sick of the hospice, of their endless tests, questions and that irritating pity present whenever he said or did something that struck them as "human."

"So that's it, then?  I'm stuck with a quirky regeneration.  It hardly seems worth all the fuss."

"It is rather more complicated then that," replied Dalweir, coughing into his fist and reddening.  "There is the matter of your, er, physiological responses in certain areas."

A loud knock delayed this interesting beginning.  It was a token courtesy only, for the door flew open at once.  An anxious young intern burst into the room.

"Doctor Octavia!" admonished Dalwier.  "More decorum, please!  Remember where you are!"

"Yes, sir.  I'm sorry, sir.  But it is the President's courier and he says it is most urgent!"

At last!  The Doctor moved back to the window.  For a moment, looking out into the dark, he was reminded of his last night on Earth.  His senses,  heightened and sharpened by the danvirus, had drowned him in sensation.  What would those senses have made of this exquisite night?

"We'll come at once," Dalwier was saying.  "Ofbern?"

"Sirs, he wants the Doctor, too."

The Time Lord pulled on his jacket, plucked a copper hair from the dark green velvet. Familiar and comforting, the garment settled over his shoulders.   A few deft flicks of his wrist and the cravat was restored to order.   Looking up, he saw the others staring at him.

"Sorry," he murmured.  "Please, lead on."

The courier was indeed from the Panopticon.  His elaborate livery and arrogant sneer were unmistakable.  A pointed glare cowed both Dalwier and Ofbern immediately.  The Doctor  returned the scowl with a sweet smile and sat down.

"Don't get comfortable, Doctor," snapped the courier.  "I bring a summons from the President herself.    We have no time to delay."

The Doctor nodded amiably -- and did not move.  The courier turned on Dalwier.

"Is he fit to travel?"

"I -- of course, nothing physically wrong  . . . "

"The unfortunate human business.  Satisfactorily resolved?"

"Well, as to that, sir, I, er . . . "

"Yes," interrupted the Doctor.  "Most satisfactorily.  What is this meeting and my part in it?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"In other words, you don't know."   The Doctor grinned as the courier's face reddened.  "That's all right.  I've been on the receiving end of that official silence a few times myself.  I'm ready.  Let's be on our way."

This abrupt capitulation took the courier by surprise.  The Doctor deepened the man's mistrust with a friendly pat on the shoulder, and held the door open for him.   They went directly to the transmat because:

"The matter," insisted the courier, "is *most* urgent."

Apparently so.  The two of them materialized within a few steps of the President's office.  Two guards snapped to attention.

"They're waiting for you," the courier said, a little friendlier.  "Better go right in."

He beckoned and the guards sprang to open the tall doors.

The Council chamber was crowded.  To his dismay, the Doctor recognized Chancellor Tiberius, as well as the complete rainbow of College Cardinals.  For a moment, he considered turning around and bolting for the TARDIS.  Then the doors were closed and it was too late for cowardly retreat.  He straightened his shoulders and did his best to look unconcerned.

"Ah, Doctor.  Please come in.  Courier Mikhail, you may go.  Thank you."

The Lady President's familiar tones did something to take the edge off his wariness.  At least Flavia would keep a tight rein on the most rambunctious of the lot.  With a brief, disappointed bow, the courier was gone.  The Doctor was left in the center of the floor, the cynosure of all eyes.  It was not one of his favorite spots.

"We have received the last of the preliminary reports on the data you brought back from Earth."

None of the usual, tedious courtesies of greeting.  The Doctor's attention sharpened.

"It took you long enough," he replied.  "Do you agree now that we have some cause for alarm?"

"Yes, Doctor.  But we have always agreed to that possibility.  Please try to curb your natural tendency toward defensiveness."

"It would be easier if I were not being treated like a errant schoolboy!"

"Enough!"  The President's ringing voice silenced the low rumble around the room.  "Sit, Doctor.  Nisia, find him a chair."

The Doctor smiled across the shining floor at the woman sitting in the center of the tiered seats.  She had aged a great deal since their last meeting; approaching the end of her thirteenth regeneration, but her eyes were sharp, and her wits more so.  She did not return his smile and he sat, worried all over again.

"We have a problem."

The Doctor looked at the grave faces of Gallifrey's ruling elite and suspected she was understating the case.

"How much do you know of the Dev data you brought us?"

"Practically nothing," he admitted. "I was in too much of a hurry to get it here."

"You're certain you downloaded the complete contents of the computer?"

"Of course not!  Much of their system was unusable.  Great chunks of memory were either encrypted or degraded beyond use.  Why?  What is this about, President Flavia?"

"In your opinion," said the President, ignoring him.  "What is the status of the danship?"

"The dandrive is nonfunctional.  I have the interface crystal in my TARDIS.  The psi-drive is disabled by a paradox loop and the mechanical drive is only powerful enough to keep the thing in orbit.   I've told you this a dozen times!"

"The humans cannot gain control of it?"

"They can crash it into their planet.  That 's the extent of their control.  I would hope they would not be so foolish."

"As would we all," agreed Flavia dryly.  "But this leaves us with a nagging question, Doctor.  You say the dandrive is neutralized and the psi-drive destroyed.  Yet we're getting intermittent bursts of artron radiation from the danship."

He stared back at her in speechless surprise.

"Something," she added gently, "is very obviously still functioning."

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply and was caught by a sudden idea.  From the other end of the table, near the President's seat, a voice called out:  "You should never have left such a vessel in the charge of someone like this Captain McAllister!"

Still distracted by the growing fear that he had made a rather substantial error, the Doctor barely heard the accusation.  Part of him registered that the critic was a new Cardinal, Larnar Vole, Arcalian College.  Self-righteous, pompous and usually very ill-informed.

"Lady President."  His words cut Vole off  before the Cardinal could embark upon an inspired rant.  "There is a slight  - very slight -possibility that I may have made a mistake."

Upon which the entire assembly either burst into disbelieving laughter or bellowed their outrage.

"He is a mistake!" Vole's nasal tones rose above the hubbub.  "Half-breed!"

Sudden silence crashed down over the room.  Flavia's eyes were wide and shocked.  The Doctor, stunned at this broadside, could only gape.  Several of the older Councilors frowned at Vole, but the Cardinal, interpreting the hush as approval continued:

"Maybe he has his own reasons for giving other humans the danship!  Has anyone considered that?  Where is his loyalty?  Maybe you and this Captain are closer than you let on.   I've read the medical files, your mention of "sexual feeling."  Maybe you acted on these disgusting drives.  We've plenty of records demonstrating how the primitive human reproductive system can override what is laughingly referred to as 'judgment.'"

"M -- my medical files.  You've seen my medical files?"  The Doctor's faint, stunned protest went unheard.

"Cardinal Vole!  That will be quite enough!"

"I would hear him out!"  Cormac Nemi, another Time Lord with little reason to love him.

The Doctor had the unpleasant sensation of standing on a very slippery slope.   He opened his mouth to respond but Vole leapt in ahead of him.

"With a ship such as that in the control of humans, Gallifrey is vulnerable!  Do we dare risk such danger on the word of this half-human error!  Look at his history!  Would it be the first time some treachery of his has put this entire planet at risk?"

"That is enough!"  Flavia's anger cracked across the chamber.  "There is a great deal that you do not know, Cardinals, and I will not tolerate witchhunts!  You are out of order, Cardinal Vole!  Cardinal Nemi!"

"Lady President..."

"I said ENOUGH!"

Vole saw he had pushed Flavia as far as he dared and subsided, a malicious grin twitching his round cheeks.

Time Lord personal files were supposed to be private, but few entertained the illusion that this was true.  The Doctor suspected that his own were the most-accessed in Gallefrey, but the majority of Time Lords were civil enough to pretend otherwise.  What bothered him  were the intentions behind that
carefully orchestrated tirade.   Looking up, he saw Flavia, a warning in the slight shake of her head.

"Doctor, I apologize for the unpardonable rudeness of some of this Council."

Vole snorted.

"Now, if you please. . ."

"Lady President, may I speak to you and Chancellor Tiberius -- privately?"

"He may certainly not!"

"Silence, Vole!"  snapped Flavia.  "I've had enough of you!"

The Councilor's mouth dropped.

"Another word and I will levy sanctions.  Doctor, come into my office.  Chancellor Tiberius, you, too." There was protest from the ranks, but Flavia had never been particularly keen on the democratic process.  Regally, she swept from the Council chamber, through a short corridor to her own palatial offices.  Tiberius followed, mouth down-turned.  A gesture from the President sent clerks and aides scampering out of the way.  She motioned for the Doctor to close the door.

"Doctor, the matter is extremely serious.  This unexplained artron activity is only a small part of the problem.  The Dev themselves may very well have been. . ."

"Madam President," interrupted Tiberius.  "Please.  You know the information is confidential!"

"The Doctor brought us this information, Tiberius."

"And we are grateful."  The Chancellor smiled at the Doctor briefly and without conviction.  "But there is no need to involve him further.  We need only the interface crystal from you."

Nothing about this was right.   Flavia looked as if she had swallowed something extraordinarily foul.  Tiberius was uneasy, uncomfortable meeting the Doctor's eyes.

"Why?"

"The Council has decided to appropriate the danship, to bring it here from Earth."

"What for?"

"Why to study, of course.  We must prepare for eventual contact with the Dev.  They are far closer to us than to the humans in matters of civilization and technology.  A detailed study of their danship would go a long way toward easing understanding."

A cold hand squeezed his stomach, but the Doctor put a smile on his face, and nodded.  "Of course.  You're absolutely right, Chancellor.  I'll fetch the crystal right now."

"That won't be necessary.  Just give us you TARDIS key, we'll pick it up.  I understand you're not finished with your medical procedures."

"I'm quite finished, thank you."

"But . . ."

"And I am not giving you the key, Tiberius.  Sorry."

"Doctor, there is no reason for you to take this position!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Flavia commanded.  "Doctor, you will be escorted to your TARDIS.  A guard will accompany you into your ship and see that there is no problem in retrieving the crystal.  I am sorry about this, Doctor, but we must avoid any evidence of impropriety."

"We must?  What is this, Flavia?  What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I think you will do exactly as I ask.  Please, Doctor.  Surely you can see the wisdom of the Chancellor's proposal?  The Dev had the power to disrupt the time lines of this and an untold number of other galaxies.  My blood runs cold  thinking about humans poking about in a technology they would not naturally achieve for a millennium, if ever!"

"The Dev have a technology we have not achieved, Flavia.  To my thinking, it is safer among those who have no chance of understanding it than among those who do."

"You have no authority, however, to make that decision," Tiberius informed him coldly.  "Do not force our hand, Doctor.  You will lose."
 
The Doctor looked again at Flavia.  She was watching Tiberius with unconcealed dislike.  Yet when he caught her eye, she scowled and looked away.  Thoroughly unsettled, he said placatingly:  "I'll get it now, if that's all right with you.  Is my escort nearby?"

"He's waiting outside.  And thank you, Doctor.  The Council appreciates your cooperation."

The Doctor bowed gracefully to the President, nodded to the Chancellor and left, head high.

In the corridor outside the President's office, his guard was indeed waiting for him.  The Doctor, already plotting, recognized that familiar figure and his hearts sank.   "Captain Andred!"

The open face broke into a wide, engaging grin, impossible to resist.  "Doctor.  Hullo!  It's wonderful to see you again -- I hope."
 
"You hope?"

Andred laughed as they walked together to the transmat.  "You have a habit of involving me in wild schemes, Doctor.  You can be hazardous to a man's health."

"Once, Andred.  Once I involved you in a wild scheme.  It didn't turn out so badly, did it?  How is Leela, by the way, and your son?"

"Thriving, Doctor.  She and Andred, Jr. send their love."

The transmat whisked them from the Panapticon to the TARDIS docking area.  There were six or seven other TARDIS' resting in their individual bays.  All except his had shut down their chameleon circuits, presenting blank, silver walls to the world.  In their midst, the blue, English police box was a decidedly eccentric sight.

There were two guards standing in front of it.  They saluted Andred and stepped aside to let their captain and Gallefrey's most notorious Time Lord enter.  One could all but hear the whispers behind them.

Andred had to be distracted somehow.  The Doctor had originally formed a vague plan -- he would knock his guard over the head and whisk them both off in the TARDIS, but that plan changed with Andred's involvement.  There was no chance that Andred would willingly help him with strict orders to the contrary.  The captain would never expose his family to disgrace and censure, nor would the Doctor ask it of him.

Yet the Time Lord had to get away.  That much was imperative.  He simply had to figure out how to do it without causing serious trouble for the good-hearted captain.  Andred shut the TARDIS door and hurried across the console room, expression abruptly grave.

"Doctor, we've not much time.  Listen and listen well."

"I, um -- Andred?"

"There is treachery afoot, Doctor.  I've no time to say more, only that it involves a plan to steal this cursed danship of yours."

"Who?  Who is involved?  Tiberius?"

Andred shook his head.  "I cannot say -- only that we believe the plot was hatched high in the Council.  There are those, it seems, who think we are fools to do nothing to protect ourselves against this powerful. race.  They want to strike first and they plan to use this danship of yours to do it."

"I thought as much!  I remember Tiberius from the academy.  I had the misfortune to suffer through no less than six of his classes.  He's intelligent, ambitious and not terribly moral, but - steal the danship?"

"That's the worst of it, Doctor.  They may not have to steal it.  You've been in the hospice or the Panopticon these past two months - you've no idea what has been happening in the city.  The news of the Dev's existence is having a profound effect from one end of Gallifrey to the other.  A race that can challenge our supremacy?  That is a difficult concept to face."

"All news of the Dev was supposed to be withheld until all research is completed."

"That may be so, but someone leaked the information to the press.  There is a strong movement afoot to take make a pre-emptive strike against the Dev."

"That's mad!  A pre-emptive strike?  The spacebound Dev are hardly a threat, Andred.  Without a prime dana, they cannot move through time, only space.  If they are their way toward us, it will take thousands of years before they arrive.  The Council knows this very well."

"Doctor, I believe you, but most of Gallifrey does not.  There is talk that a referendum will be forced in Council.  You must be away and with that cursed crystal!"

"How do you know about all this?"

Andred looked nervously around, although he knew very well they could not be overheard.

"I, and some trusted friends were secretly approached by a very high-ranking member of the Council.  It is this Councilor who arranged that I should accompany you here -- to give you the opportunity to get away."

"If I flee, you will be blamed.  I can't do that to you, Andred.  Take it from someone who knows, being thought a traitor is not enjoyable."

"Yes, I know.  Therefore," Andred took a deep breath, "you'll have to make it look as though you attacked me."

"That's no good, Andred.  The minute I roll you out of my TARDIS they'll lock onto me and stop me cold."  He hesitated, then grinned into Andred's crestfallen face.  "But I have an idea.  Wait here."

The Doctor was back within minutes, a large red stone in hand, cast-iron skillet in the other.

"Here."  He pushed the crystal at Andred. " Take it.  And I'm afraid I will have to strike you, after all."

"But the stone. . ."

". . .is Borean chilacite.  Are you ready?"

Andred swallowed.  "I think I see what you're planning here, Doctor.  Will you use that, er, implement to administer the blow?"

"Is that all right?  Would you prefer something else?"

Andred eyed the heavy pot askance.  "I suppose it will do," he said, adding fervently:  "Just try not to kill me, eh, Doctor?"

 "The merest tap only," the Doctor assured him with equal sincerity.  "For one thing, you have to be conscious enough to stagger out of the TARDIS on your own.  More importantly, I've no wish to spend the rest of my lives on the run from your vengeful widow!"

* * *

Alarms shrieked through the danship.  They echoed down mile after mile of deserted tunnels, shafts and corridors, crashing into places where silence had reigned for nearly a thousand years.  Hearing them, Danner stopped.  His men bunched together behind him and looked at each other nervously.  They
were in the oldest part of the ship, the core structure -- what Masterson called the protoship.

The TDF anomaly had been appearing here for the past three days.  Of course, he knew what it was -- he'd seen it coming -- the Doctor's TARDIS had shown him.  Palas believed him, so did Alan and Anna, but there was a whole damned committee now - the New Age Alliance, they called themselves - - and it was now politically imperative that every single one of them have their say.  As a result, the word had only now come down to investigate, and then with only nominal troops.

Danner!

"What?" he snapped, not caring what the outburst sounded like to his men.  He hated telepathy.  Then: "It's back, isn't it?"

It is.  Calm down.  The PA is out again.  How far are you from the event?

Dunno.  What are the coordinates?

They came, impressed themselves gently but indelibly on his mind.    God, he hated telepathy!

She left him alone after that.  Palas McAllister understood him better than he understood himself.   Which was probably why he was still here, still a  blackstone when he didn't have to be, still taking crap from Norms.  He could be a Norm , have a real life, with real people.  Have a family.  Grow old and die like everyone else.

"Straight on to the fourth corridor and left for about a mile," he said shortly to his lieutenant.  "Keep your eyes open."

The protoship was an eerie place and, except for the brief period during its aborted revival, had been inaccessible to its new owners.  However, the techs had finally  replaced the junk hobbled together by the Dev that had kept the crippled ship from crashing into the planet.  Now there was power enough for life support and to maintain orbital integrity.

Light was still a fond hope, however.  The beams from their helmets danced over walls covered by exquisite relief work.  Utilitarian objects like handrails or com-units (he assumed) were small masterpieces of carving.  The entire place was resplendent with wildly imaginative beasts, marvelously detailed flowers, leaves or vines.  Devian faces with their arched cheekbones and strong, straight jaws smiled out of the jungle, startlingly lifelike.  Dust was thick on everything.  It floated in the air as well, disturbed for the second time in a thousand years by the reactivated ventilation system.

The TDFs were not occurring in the central portion of the protoship, not directly above the spot where the dancrystal once rested.  So far the phenomenon had appeared at random points around it.  Masterson thought that the disturbances had something to do with that crystal, currently in the Doctor's posession.  The 'appropriation' of the crystal really rankled the Professor, whose dreams of reactivating the dandrive were pathetically transparent.

Something shivered across his skin.

"Look sharp," he called.  "We just crossed a time displacement field.  Things are going to get interesting really soon."

The corridor bent sharply and ended.  They faced a door marked by a pencil-slim tracing of light.  Danner smelled fresh air, the peculiar tang of the distant Devian homeworld.  His heart began to pound and his throat seemed unusually tight.  Still, his hand was steady as he waved his men to the right and left, motioned Charley to cover him.

They'd given him a hard time at first: the commander didn't take point, they informed him.  The commander was the brains.  He was valuable. He stayed in the back and commanded.

"I don't break as easy as you guys," was the commander's response.

They still hadn't liked it.

The door gave easily to his gentle pressure.  It sagged open and sunlight poured into the corridor from beyond.  He heard the consternation among the men at his back.  None of them had seen the ship as it really was.  The various biozones (Masterson's name for the cavernous chambers found on every deck)  were simply huge rooms now, filled with dust and decaying infrastructure.  They were amazing in their own right, but had none of the magical wonder of Devia.

Except when they were transformed by rogue TDFs.

He lifted his gun, but lowered it again at once.  "It's all right.  I've been here before."

The mountainside ruin.  Danner walked onto the short, springy grass.  To his left was a sheltered spot between the fallen wall and some mossy boulders.  Deliberately, he did not look there as he continued walking across the open cliff.  His men were quick to follow.  He heard them exclaiming as, for the first time, they saw the pale rose sky of an alien world, mountains that loomed ever higher behind them and the stunning panorama of field and forest at their feet.  Bracing himself against the stiff wind blowing across the precipice, Danner went right up to the edge and looked down.  The river and its robe of shifting rainbows stopped the breath in his throat, just as it had the first time he'd seen it.

What's going on, Danner?

Palas.  He caught her irritation.  Grinned.

Danner!

"Boy, this is weird, boss."  Charley trotted up behind him, looking up.  "The sky's pink but nothin' looks any different.  How come?"

"Ask Masterson.  I don't have a clue about science crap.  I want everyone to spread out and look around.  Don't go far, though.  We don't know how long the field will hold."

"Yessir."

Danner set off again, following the edge of the cliff.   On his left was the river and the land, stretching away out of sight.  On his right, the mountains continued to rise, peaks lost in clouds far above them.   Ahead, the cliff seemed to drop away, but when he reached that spot, he saw that it merely descended steeply and continued in a slow, endless curve toward the horizon.   It was as if the world had cracked in half.  The majesty of the sight gave him chills.

A long arm of broken rock, an ancient avalanche, lay across his path.  As Danner considered turning back, he heard rattling, like pebbles dislodged by a foot or paw.

Danner!  The field's started to go.  Time to leave!

The blackstone did not answer.  Instead, he scrambled quickly over the boulders until he reached the other side.  A very young boy crouched below him.  The child clutched a large stone in one hand, and at the sight of Danner, stood up and brandished it threateningly.  Danner caught his breath.  The small face was identical to those he had seen in the bas-relief of the protoship.  A Dev.

The boy stood over a man huddled on the ground, apparently unconscious.  Danner's eyes narrowed at the sight of metal bands circling the man's wrists and ankles, and the bruises that showed starkly through the rents in his ragged clothes.  Barefoot and very thin, his appearance was at odds with the child who was well dressed and obviously well fed.

"Thilian!" cried the boy, and followed it with a string of gibberish directed at the unresponsive man.

"What's goin' on, boss?"

Charlie, puffing from the effort of keeping up with his unpredictable boss, gaped.  "What the hell?  That's a DEV!"

"Two Dev.  Get the others.  We may need to make a stretcher.  And hurry.  The corridor has started to deteriorate."

Danner jumped nimbly from the boulder.  Stumbling back in alarm, the child took a desperate swipe at him.

"Hey!"  Danner evaded the blow easily.  "I'm not going to hurt him.  Max!  Give me a hand here!"

In the end, they had to forcefully remove the boy.  He kicked and bit and hurled abuse at them in Devian, but was no match for the men.  Subsiding into hiccuping silence, he resorted to glowering blackly at Danner as the blackstone dropped to his haunches and turned the unconscious man over.

Shining hair parted, fell away to reveal hollow features. Dev, all right.  And blackstone.

Talk to me, Danner.

He sent Palas a brief, vivid image.  Since he had always refused to let her look through his eyes, this startled her so much, she did not resist when he pushed her firmly out of his thoughts.  Standing up, he faced the child and deliberately yanked off his helmet.  The lad went utterly silent, eyes wide and shocked.

"We've got Relapse here," Danner said, turning to the others.  "I need someone's hammock.  We'll have to carry him out.  And hurry, damn it!"

Danner.  There was carefully controlled urgency in Palas' sending.  We're getting marked breakdown of the signal.  Get out of there!

"All right everyone, move!"

They  bundled the sick blackstone into one of the field-kit hammocks.  But as they started back toward the protoship, the boy suddenly twisted out of Charley's grasp.

"No!"  Danner shouted as they grabbed for the child.  "It's all right."

As he had expected, the boy parked himself beside the stretcher, taking hold of the Dev blackstone's limp hand.  He looked from Danner to the men, full lower lip caught in perfect teeth, then nodded with great dignity at the human blackstone.

"Boss, willya look at the little prince?"

"Leave it alone, Charley.  Let's GO!"

They got out, but barely.   As Danner followed the last of his men through, there was a sudden, strange pop, felt rather than heard, and the door suddenly showed him nothing but an empty room.

* * *

Sick bay was near the jerry-rigged power station, within easy reach of the main transmats of the ship.  Danner still got chills when he walked along these noisy, dirty passages.  His tenure as a slave in the machine room had been brief, but enough of the misery lingered in the walls and noisesome atmosphere to make returning here unpleasant.

Originally a Devian infirmary,  most of the furnishings had been torn out of the sick bay and carted off for study, replaced with medical equipment brought up from Igan.   There were two med techs, a doctor, and three security men waiting as Danner and his crew carried their patient into the room.  The techs sprang forward, ready to move the Dev from stretcher to bed, but the child erupted into hissing, spitting rage, flying at them with clawed hands and shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"Stop it!"  Danner shouted.

The boy froze, looking at him with a betrayed expression.  Gentling his voice a bit, the human added:  "It's all right, brat.  We're going to help him."

Reassured a little by Danner's tone and smile, the child obediently hung back, directing frequent, pleading looks in his direction.  The blackstone ignored him, watching the techs carefully as they arranged the Dev as comfortably as they could.  Stan Reynolds, the Horde's head physician, beckoned to Danner.  "What do you know?"

Danner shook his head.  "Not much.  He's relapsed, I'll stake my life on that.  Otherwise. . ."  the blackstone shrugged, ". . .I know squat about Dev blackstones."

"We got some info from the files the comp-techs have been restoring.  I can make him comfortable, I think."

"Can you rouse him?"

Reynolds blinked and frowned. "Maybe."

"She'll be here in a minute. She'll want information."

The doctor knew exactly who "she" was.  "Damn!  Yeah.  I'll see what I can do.  It would be helpful if you can keep that kid out of my way."

So Danner beckoned to the boy, who hovered a moment, indecisive, than came with dragging feet to his side.  Almost without conscious volition, Danner reached over and ruffled the fair hair.  The child edged a little closer, but he never took his eyes off the blackstone on the bed.

There was a bad moment when they began removing the Dev's dirty rags.  The boy made a small sound of anger or distress and would have run back.  Danner lay a firm hand on the thin shoulders and held him there.

"It's all right," he repeated, wishing he knew even a few words in Devian.

"Damn.  This 'stone's a mess," Reynolds muttered in disgust.  "Someone had a good time."

He waved a tech off to the supply cabinet for bandages and disinfectant.   The Dev's long, pale body was abundantly marked with cuts and bruises.  Each rib was painfully prominent and his back was a latticework of welts.  The beatings had been fairly recent, too.  An old, familiar rage bubbled up inside Danner, but he kept his mouth shut.

Palas was coming.  He felt her like the TDF, a shiver over his skin, and looked toward the door.  A moment later, her shadow fell across it.  Then the Captain herself was there.

Seeing Palas was like getting hit full in the face.  Her beauty hurt.  Most people never saw the shadowy, tormented soul behind it.  To care about that woman was to set yourself up for purgatory.  Danner had been fighting it every minute of the past year.

"Renwolf."  Her nod was brief, golden eyes going at once to the bed.

Beneath his hand, the child had stiffened, was rigid as a board.  Palas stopped and turned, looking directly at the boy.  At once, he dropped to his knees and pressed his face against the cold tiles.

"You scare children, too," Danner murmured, unable to resist.  He was rewarded by a flash of annoyance.

"Captain!"  Dr. Reynolds finished laying a bandage across a seeping wound.

"How is he?"

"Pretty thoroughly knocked around.  He's got the blackstone healing system, although it doesn't seem as efficient as Renwolf's.  I'm guessing the kid is in relapse.  Even so, in a few hours you'll never know what hit him."

She ignored this attempt at levity. "I'd like to talk to him.  Now."

"It was suggested that you might," agreed Reynolds, with a grin in the blackstone's direction.  "Give me a minute."

She turned away from the Dev.  Her abstracted gaze met Danner's, then dropped to the shivering child still huddled at his feet.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Get the kid off the floor." Shaking her head, she turned back away.

Hiding his grin, Danner reached down and lifted the boy to his feet.  The child looked at Palas uncertainly.

Reynolds had a hypodermic.  He swabbed the Dev's arm with alcohol and inserted the needle.  There was no reaction from the child.  A moment later, the doctor stood back.  On the bed, the Dev suddenly shuddered, eyes flying open.  He cried out and sat up before the techs could stop him.  They tried to press him back against the pillows, but he struck out at them, looking wildly around.  Then he saw the child and relaxed slightly.  Seeing Danner, he relaxed a bit more.  Then he saw Palas.  His mouth dropped, his eyes got wide as saucers --  and he fainted.

Danner burst out laughing.  The child's lower lip began to tremble.  Reynolds looked shocked and nervous and the techs beat a hasty retreat.   With an effort, Danner regained control.   "Guess you Prime are the same all over,"  he chuckled.  "Scary ladies."

"Shut up, Danner; you're not helping.  Reynolds!"

There was another injection, delivered with less enthusiasm.  This time, with the shrinking child gripped firmly in his hand, Danner joined Palas by the bedside.  When the Dev's eyes opened a second time, he saw them standing together.  Silver eyes fixed with shock on Danner's biocrystal, then slid once more to
Palas.

It's all right. No one wants to hurt you.

Danner gave her a startled look, not having expected to be included on the telepathic conversation.  In fact, he hadn't known it was possible.

The Dev swallowed.  He made no attempt to cover his nakedness, only lowered his head.  Fine, silvery hair fell forward to hide his face.  He said something very softly.  Translation reached Danner a few seconds later, filtered through Palas' mind.

Please, Lady.  Do not hurt the young lord.  This is not his doing.

Why should I wish to harm him?  Who is he?

The Dev lifted his head, bewildered.  Then, apparently for the first time, he became aware of his surroundings.  His mouth sagged.

Lady!  Where -- where is this?

You are on the danship of the Clan l'Shylian.

That apparently meant nothing; his face was blank.

What is your name?

Cthilian, Lady, if it pleases you.

She shrugged.  I have no problem with it.  And the boy?

There was a frightened silence.

You know I can take what I want.

"Palas! Damn it!"

"Danner, I don't have time to be nice."

"Damn if you don't!  This guy has been through hell!  You may not understand what that's like, but I sure as hell do, and if you think. . ."

Djan is heir to the Clan Raynig!

"Good cop, bad cop," she smirked.  "Thanks, Danner."

Danner's outburst had shocked the Dev, who watched both Palas and himself with open apprehension.  As if they expected her to vaporize him on the spot.

How did you get here?

We climbed the Wall of Heaven.

Palas turned a blank look on Danner.

"The corridor opened onto the ruins - the hillside overlooking the gorge."

"The same place where you and Anna. . .?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Interesting"  Fortunately, she left that alone.  Instead, she turned back to the Dev.

Why are you here?

The Dev swallowed hard and looked scared again.  Djan shifted anxiously under Danner's hand.

There is danger to the young lord.

Are you family?

There was pain, sudden and vivid, on those narrow features.  He bowed his head, once more hiding his face from them.

No, Lady.

You've kidnaped the child?

NO!  No, Lady!  The Lady Katha asked me to take him away, to get him somewhere safe.

And Lady Katha is?

Hesitation.  His mother, Lady.

More than that, thought Danner, catching the fragment of emotion that escaped through the telepathic translation.  Palas caught it, too.

You were her lover?

The earlier fear in this man was nothing compared to the blind terror that stared out at them now.  Palas hissed something under her breath and the Dev began shaking violently.

Be easy.  We will not hurt the boy. We will not hurt you!  We care nothing for this Raynig and its vengeance.  Put that out of your mind.  You are safe from them here.

Something came through his choking fear, an image of cruelty and near omnipotence.  It promptly dissolved into complete incoherence and, swearing, Palas withdrew.

"Well," said Danner finally. "Now what?"

"We'll post guards around the protoship," she said flatly.  "For whatever that's worth."

"And our guests?"  He nodded toward the Dev, Cthilian and Djan.

"Feed them, give them something clean to wear.  See what you can do about getting more information out of them. . ."

"Excuse me?  Hellooooo -- I'm not a telepath.  And I'm scheduled to recon Section 49."

"You've been reassigned.  Wing it."

No one else on the  planet could tick him off like Palas H. McAllister.
 

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