Get back to the TARDIS.

The Doctor's instruction was a litany in her brain.  The single command circled relentlessly - impossible to think of anything else.  Noise in the darkness.  Anna formed the light before even thinking about it. Danner stumbled into the open, breathless and pale.  He braced himself against a box, chest heaving.

"Where's the Doctor?"

"I don't know."  The blackstone was filthy, smudged with dust and cobwebs.  "I think they got him."

"Oh, God."

Danner acknowledged her horror with a weary nod.   "He said to go back to the TARDIS, right?. You remember where it is -- I hope?"

"Yes."

Panic was a heartbeat away.  She had taken the medication, her last dose, but still the fear was there.  He knew it and watched her with careful eyes.

"We'd better go, then.  They might question him and find out we're here."

He moved around her, poked his head out into the corridor.

"Which way?"

"To the right."

They ran - past the tumbled bodies of the skilke, through the dead, miniature landscape of the farm cavern. Anxiety squeezed her stomach, dragged at her breath.  Always she sensed pursuit
just beyond the reach of her senses.  Noises came to her, rustling and whispers she could never pin down.

Neurotransmitters on a bender, Anna girl. Hang on.

It was easy to retrace their steps;  the tracks were still clear in the dirt.  She veered when the trail did and quickly found the hatch -- a good six feet off the ground.   Damn!  Forgot about that.

"I'll go first."

Anna nodded, stepping aside.  Danner launched himself at the hatch, caught the edge and hauled himself out of sight.  His hand reappeared.  She took it, shivered as she sensed the energy in
him, then scrambled up into the tunnel.

"DOWN!" Danner seized her, pushed her down against the floor while, above them, laser fire cut a smoldering hole in the metal.

"That's it!"  He was already on his feet and pulling at her.  "They found us!"

She risked a look back through the hatch.   Skilke were pouring across the twilit cavern toward them.  Slamming the hatch shut with a kick, Anna ran to catch up with him.

Her anxiety was mushrooming.  Worse, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore her compulsions.  If they did not get to the TARDIS soon, it was possible Danner would never make it.

Together, they reached the shaft.   Danner tilted his head back, trying to estimate distance to the top.  Staring at the clean line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, Anna's will almost failed her.

"Hurry," she urged hoarsely.  "It won't take them long to get through the hatch cover!"

He nodded grimly and started up the ladder.  She waited as long as she dared before following him.

"At the top, go left!" she called.

The voices had returned, still infrequent whispers at the edges of her thoughts.  Soon enough they would become a shrill and irresistible.  Her mind leapt from one desperate idea to another,
refusing all her attempts to focus elsewhere.  And through everything, relentless, ran deep, sexual need.

Just a little bit longer.

Coming out of the shaft at last, she found Danner leaning against the wall, limbs shaking with fatigue.  He shook his head breathlessly.

"Out -- of shape," he gasped, grinning wryly.

His shirt clung damply to a lean, well-muscled chest.  He lifted a hand to push back his dark hair. His skin was smooth; sweat gave it the muted glow of fine silk. She realized she was reaching for him and snatched her hand back.  Turning away, she fled.

"Hey!  Wait!"

The impossible blue box was finally in sight.  As she approached it, Danner caught up to her. "I think we're surrounded," he said urgently. "I can hear them coming from all directions."

Anna heard nothing, but she believed him. She nodded and pulled the Doctor's key from her pocket. Her unsteady hands fumbled the task of unlocking the door.  Swearing under her breath, she finally got it open.  Danner came in after her.  Just past the threshold, he stood stock-still in amazement.

Anna had no time for questions.  As she had noticed upon first setting foot in the TARDIS, her relapse symptoms abated slightly here -- very slightly.   She quickly shut the doors, locking them again. Seconds later, something slammed hard against the outer walls and she heard rapid skittering on the roof.   Hurrying to the console, she tried to remember which control operated the viewscreen.

This one?  Good guess.  The screen came on, showing the exterior of the ship. There were skilke everywhere, swarming over the TARDIS like ants.  She remembered the Doctor saying something about it being invulnerable when the doors were locked.    Anna hoped devoutly that he was right.

"I have to find the infirmary,"  she told Danner.  "Wait here."

He ignored her, of course.  Across the control room a door opened, letting them into a long corridor.  Halfway along it, another door stood ajar.  Inside, white and gleaming with chrome, was a small doctor's office.  In this odd place, it was reassuringly normal and Earth-like.  An examining table, cabinets filled with equipment and bottles of various sizes, blood pressure cuffs, oxygen masks and an assortment of other vaguely familiar items filled the room.   There was a counter against one wall holding a computer, a number of weighty medical tomes and a bowl filled with lollipops and jelly babies.  Above the counter was a large viewscreen.   As they looked around, there was a gentle chiming and the screen lit up.  A man with wide eyes, lots of teeth and tangle of curls looked down on them.  In spite of herself, Anna responded to his infectious smile with one of her own.

"Hullo, there!  I gather that I'm deep trouble somewhere and that you, my current companions, have been injured either in body, mind or both.  Right so far?"

"Who are you?"  Anna asked.

The image looked momentarily disconcerted.

"It's been that long, has it?  I'm the Doctor, even though I may not look like myself by this time.  Would you like a jelly baby?"

"Sure," said Danner and rooted around in the bowl for red ones.  "You've regenerated?"

"Exactly!" beamed the Doctor-Image.  "Bright lad."

Danner smirked.

"In case I neglected to inform you earlier -- this program is linked into the TARDIS' main memory banks.  Shortly, this recording will cease.  Although my image will continue to speak to you, the words will be spoken by the TARDIS medical program.  Good luck."

There was a shimmer on the screen, a subtle change in the image's expression and tilt of the its head.  When it spoke again, the voice was a bit deeper, the syllables more crisply enunciated.

"Would the affected individuals approach the diagnostic unit, identify themselves, and place their hands -- or the equivalent -- on that transparent square beside the computer?"

Another exchange of glances.  Then Anna walked up to the counter and placed her palm on the square.  It lit up.  "Anna Taylor," she said.

The image on the screen gazed off into space.  The lighted square went dark and Anna stepped back.

"Thank you, Anna.  Your data are being processed.  Next?"

So Danner placed his hand on the glass and gave his name.  He was also duly thanked and told to wait. The screen darkened briefly.  When it came back on, the toothy Doctor was grave.

"This is very disturbing.  You both have been deliberately infected with a  class one xeno-virus, aritificial and extremely sophisticated.  It has, in effect, made the two of you symbiotic.  A thorough search of my memory reveals no background information on this infection.  It appears to be unique."

"Way to go, Sherlock," Danner muttered.

"What did you mean  -- symbiotic?"  Anna wanted to know.  "There is no symbiosis - only parasitism."

"Danner manufactures an unusual biochemical complex that is stored in his cranial tumor.  You require the energy given off by that substance to maintain the integrity of your altered neural system."

"How is that symbiosis?  I don't get anything in return."  Danner pointed out.

"Once the charge is drawn off, the substance is reabsorbed into your body and the cycle begins again.  If the charge is not drawn off, if the substance not reabsorbed, you become ill, very ill if I read this correctly.  Regular transfers would eliminate this unpleasant side effect."

"That's a benefit?"

"Well," Anna said drily, "let's not count your super-immune system, heightened senses, indefinite life span . . ."

He glared at her.

"I understand what you're saying -- I think."  She  turned back to the screen, "But if we're meant to be symbiotic, why are my, er, encounters with blackstones always fatal?"

"They shouldn't be," the TARDIS replied.  "I estimate a ninety- three point four-zero-nine percent chance that males should survive transfer.  Possible exception: The virus, like many others, mutates slightly as it moves from host to host.  Perhaps your previous transfers had the mutated forms.  Theoretically, such a situation could cause this problem."

Yeah.  Problem.

"Can you cure us?"  Anna bluntly asked.

"Of course.  But not without more data.  I will need to conduct a number of tests and review the medical files for similarities to other infections.  The immediate problem, Miss Taylor, is the significant increase in the levels of certain neurotransmitters.  I see you have been self-administering some primitive antagonists."

"They work, thank you, but tolerance develops too fast.  Can you help?"

"I could synthesize a compound that would work somewhat better than yours,  but the logical thing to do is transfer energy from Danner as soon as possible."

Danner's mouth dropped.  Anna sputtered.

"Absolutely not! I'll take the drug, thank you!"

"As you wish."  The face on the screen looked bewildered.  "But be warned, Anna, like your own medication, this will only delay the inevitable.  It is advisable that you be completely recovered as soon as possible.  The Doctor may need assistance."

"Count on it," sighed Danner.

*   *  *

The Doctor gasped, abruptly awake and oppressed by a sense of danger.  He lay on a hard, flat surface, his face upturned toward blazing light.  Whispers wrapped him in sibilance.  Steely bands locked around his wrists and kept them fast by his sides.  His shirt was gone.  The air was cold on his skin, the confining bands even colder.  Unable to bear it any longer, the Doctor closed his eyes against the painful brilliance.

"What are you?"

Hearts racing,  he drew a deep breath, and another. "I'm the Doctor, a Time Lord."

"What is a Time Lord?"

"Another species.  Can you turn off that light, please?"

"We have made an extensive study of this world and no reference  to Time Lords occur in any of its recorded data.  Yet you are clearly hybrid, which suggests some commerce with humanity."

The Doctor was becoming aware of other things in a slow unfolding of senses. So - they had hit him with a stunner.  Better than a disrupter, he supposed.

"The light!" he shouted, abruptly out of temper.

It dimmed markedly.  He raised a tentative eyelid.  The ceiling was white, festooned with cables, extension arms, shiny, bell- like structures.   He tried lifting his head and discovered this was permitted.
 

Three skilke stood at his right elbow, unmoving, staring blankly forward.  His toes were in the appropriate place and his trousers were still on.  Spared that indignity, at least.  A number of ominous patches were stuck on his chest, sprouting small tubes that connected to the tangle of equipment above.

"Where is your colleague?"

He turned his head, but the skilke blocked his view of the speaker .

"I'm here alone."

"Lies.  You may have disabled the skilke in Section Four, but you neglected to retrieve their data recorders.  Furthermore, I have just received a report that two humans were seen in one of the maintenance tunnels.   Both the report and recording speak of a female and a Feeder belonging to us.  What is the Time Lords' interest in this?"

"None, unfortunately.  It's my personal project.  I object to you destroying this planet," he replied.  "Is it necessary to tie me down?  What are these things in my chest?"

"What makes you think we wish to destroy this planet?"

The Doctor drew another deep breath and wondered why his hearts continued to pound.

"It's inevitable," he replied. "When you leave orbit, the gravitational upheaval will pull this planet apart."

"It certainly will now," returned the voice, sharpening.  "Programming the paradox loop into the interface has effectively shut down the psi drive."

"Good."

Rasillon, it was cold!.  The skilke shifted slightly and a figure stepped between them.  Long, gaunt face, sunken eyes -- red-rimmed and unhealthy -- looked down on the Doctor.  A thin-lipped mouth twisted grimly beneath a hooked nose.

"I am Commander Lermor of the Devian High Clan v'Shylian.  This is my ship you have dared to sabotage."

"If you're waiting for an apology, you won't get. . .Ow!"

The Commander reached down and plucked a patch from the Time Lord's ribs.  It left a spot of blood.  He plucked another.  The Doctor winced.

"No apology is needed.  Ironically, you may have sealed Earth's fate.  Had we used the drive,  its phasing unit would prevented complete destruction.  There would have been considerable damage, true,  but the planet would have survived.  This is a very fertile world; in the future we hope to seed it again."

All the patches were gone.  A skilke came forward to release him.  The Doctor sat up and the room tilted. He found himself gasping for breath, and for the first time, real fear nibbled at him.

"What have you done to me?"

"Infected you with the danvirus, Doctor - a particularly interesting and accelerated version of the original.  Crystal formation is complete within hours instead of days.  We have learned a great deal about humans over the past few of their centuries."

"But I'm not human."

"Not completely, no.  But you have the critical genes."  The Commander smiled, revealing large, yellowed teeth.  "You will get very ill, Doctor - soon, I'm afraid- but it won't last long. When the symptoms disappear, you will be a Feeder."

"Why?  For revenge?"

"No," the Commander replied softly.  "Practicality.  The Feeder you and your partner helped to escape is likely bonded to our Prime, a dana of rare and extraordinary strength. Thanks to your interference, the psi drive is no longer viable.  We will have to integrate her into the Core in order to escape orbit.  The reactivation is a massive process that will require multiple rechargings.  With access only to incompatible Feeders, a single recharge will require the energy from at least ten of them -- of which you are now one.

"Therefore, Doctor, you have three choices.  You can attempt to terminate the paradox loop, although I doubt even you could do such a thing.  You can give us back the Feeder, saving not only your life, but the lives of nine other humans. . ."

"Or?"

"Or you and the others can die, and in more agony that you could possibly imagine.   You do know what happens between danae and incompatible Feeders?  Ah, I see you do. "

"You're bluffing."

"I don't need to bluff." replied the Dev. "How are you feeling, Doctor?"

"Fine."

It was a lie.  His joints ached with dull persistence, and he had to concentrate to keep his teeth from chattering.  Both hearts banged relentlessly against his ribs.  More unnerving yet, a small throb had begun between his eyes.

"It will be interesting to see how the virus affects your hybrid physiology.  Right now, I should imagine your temperature has begun to escalate.  You are experiencing tachycardia and hypoxia.  Cooperate with us, Doctor."

The Doctor had to struggle not to explode into outrage.  The best he could manage was a strangled: "No!"

"As you wish.  In the meantime, the rerouting of the power web from the psi interface to the Core has begun.  Can you still walk?"

"Of course."    Maybe.

The Doctor slid from the table.  Again, the room rocked.  He forced himself to remain upright, took careful stock of his surroundings.  Skilke moved in to surround him.

"I don't suppose I might have my shirt back?"

"You'll lose what's left of your garments when the Prime takes you, so why bother?"

The constructs shepherded him across the lab and into a corridor.  Clean, utilitarian, it was well-lit and ventilated.   There were humans coming and going, skilke and more Dev.  None of them more than glanced at the Doctor and his escorts.

"Why do all the Dev look alike?" asked the Time Lord.

Commander Lermor shrugged. "When the last of our danae gave out, we were forced to seek other sources.  There being no historical precedent for such a thing, we had no idea how to proceed.  Our first alien danae were inferior in crucial ways.  The initial attempt to switch the system over resulted in a massive power outage.  Thousands of my people were killed --decompression,suffocation, toxic shock -- a host of lethal effects.  In the general catastrophe, the freezers in the gene banks were down for nearly two weeks.  We lost most of our stored genetic material.  What you see now was the only sample that survived.   I agree that it quickly loses whatever small novelty it had."

"Why did your danae die?"

They had come to a large room, the hub of several radiating corridors.  There was a round platform in the middle, a small computer unit standing to one side.  Transmat, most likely.

"We have been on our journey of exile a long, long time, Doctor. Even danae do not live forever."

"Exile?"

Commander Lermor stepped aside, allowing the skilke to hustle the Doctor onto the platform.  He ignored the Time Lord's last question.

Braced against disorientation, the Doctor discovered that coming out of transmat was harder than it should have been.  Briefly, he fought against losing consciousness.  When the bad moment passed, he had a good look around.

This section of the ship was much older than the other.   Its walls were darker and unexpectedly ornate, almost baroque.  The trans-mat chamber, although small, had a high, domed ceiling, its four curved trusses cast to resemble flowering vines.  Small bits of crystal were nestled among the leaves, catching the low light with muted sparkles.  At the dome's apogee was a woman's molded face.  It bore a superficial resemblence to Lermor -- sharp features, harsh, angular bone structure.   But the sculptor had caught real mirth in the smile, a certain sweetness in the set of the eyes.

"Step down from the unit.  Make no attempt to leave."

The man standing by the control console also had Lermor's face, but the Doctor was beginning to identify subtle differences in each of the Dev.  This man, for instance, radiated a stronger vitality than Lermor, an impatience very different from the latter's cold self-possession.

The Doctor jumped to the floor and shivered, while the Dev made some adjustments to the console.  He tried to focus on the walls instead of his growing discomfort.   The dark metal was pitted and streaked with ancient mineral deposits.  There were faint etchings here and there, delicate, flowery designs mirroring the vines overhead.  Four doors, arched like the ceiling, led out of the chamber.  They looked like wood, age-blackened and covered with intricate carving.  All were closed.

"This is the Core, the heart of the danship and of the Clan l'Shylian."

Lermor had arrived, and without the skilke

"Well, Doctor?  Still with us?  I'm impressed."

The Time Lord shrugged. "So am I.   This is an astonishing place. How old is the Core?"

"I have no idea how your species measures time, Time Lord, but in human terms the Core is two thousand years old.  This was howwe started, we Dev, in tiny ships powered by a single dana.  A humble beginning for an Empire."

"Empire?"  The Doctor allowed some disbelief into his voice.

The Dev ignored him. "Callifer?"

The other Dev nodded, not raising his eyes from the console.

"The Feeders are in place.  I've restored atmosphere, Commander, and gravity.  But control is uncertain, sir."

"No matter. Where is the Prime?"

"Coming through now."

A lone figure materialized on the platform - rigid, eyes straight ahead and blank as coins.  Her head was circled by a fine gold band inset with tiny gems alight with a deep, ruby fire.  Lermor extended his hand to her.  Palas took it, not looking at him, and was drawn off the platform.

On the other side of the room, one of the carved doors opened.  A current of air, dank and icy, rushed into the transmat chamber.  The ache in his joints became stabbing pain.   Grimly, the Time Lord forced it back.

"Doctor?"

It was increasingly difficult to concentrate.  Hearts hammering, knees like water, the Doctor stumbled after the Commander, aware that the other Dev was right behind him. Fever burned in his blood.   His impressions became vague -- a close corridor, very dark.  Palas, a white flame that danced always out of his reach.  There was a blank moment.

"Get up!" a harsh voice was urging.

His head hurt, a fierce, tearing pain.  There was something warm and wet in his eyes.  He wiped at it with shaking hands and found his fingers covered with blood.

"Congratulations, Doctor.  You're holding up unusually well."

Hard to hear above the buzzing in his ears.  Another door in front of him framed by the carved, leering faces of his enemies.  He saw the Rani, cruel eyes taunting him, the tentacled countenance of a Jagaroth.  The Master's mad laughter echoed in his head.  There was another extended period of disorientation.

Finally, too slowly, his head began to clear.   Pain receded, taking most of the confusion with it.  He had no idea how far they had come, how long since he had been infected.

"No living being has set foot in the Core for almost nine hundred years."  Lermor said at his shoulder.  "I'm delighted you should be clear-headed for such an occasion."

The Core -- this part at least -- had the look of an ancient temple.  Columns of stone supported a heavily carved ceiling of the same substance.  Beneath a layer of fine dust, the floor was tiled in tiny squares laid out in a pattern that was, the Doctor suddenly realized, a star map. The humid air was thick with the smell of mold.  A lackluster breeze stirred cobwebs draped from column to column.  Between them he saw another door, the only other visible exit from the chamber.

Palas stood nearby, and within her reach was a coffled line of blackstones.  Bound one to the other by strands of light, most were naked.  Two or three still wore the disintegrating remnants of clothing.  Dull-eyed, they seemed indifferent to their surroundings, bunched together, staring at the floor.

As the last of the symptoms faded, everything seemed so much clearer and sharper.  The Doctor could smell a myriad subtle odors -- the mold, of course, stagnant water, rotting vegetation, stone ancient and mildewed.  It was noisier, too.  He heard the deep, even respiration of the humans, the Devs' shallow, whistling breath.

The second Dev, the one called Callifer, passed between the pillars and pushed open the single door.   "Come," he ordered the blackstones.

They shuffled forward, awkward in their bonds, through the door and out of the Doctor's sight.

"Go," Lermor ordered him.

The Doctor stepped over the threshold and caught his breath at the familiar tingle along his nerves.  Unless it was some trick of the illness, he had just crossed the boundary of a time displacement field!

He lingered in the doorway, examining the sensation.  It persisted - definitely a TDF.  Hearing Lermor behind him, he hurried through, but his excitement grew.  The puzzle was now nearly assembled.  He was a fool not to have figured it out right away.

The interface room was their first back-up system, psi-powered and formidable in its own right.  Psi was an unusual power source, but not without precedent.  One could make respectable progress across the universe using psi energy.  The Dev had obviously been doing so for a long time.

Something caught at the Doctor's foot and tripped him up.  He kept his balance, but the stumble reminded him of where he was -- in trouble.

They walked along a root-tangled path.  Vegetation grew thick around them.  Vines strangled emaciated saplings while taller trees, dripping with moss, spread wide, sparse-leafed branches in all directions.  Above it all was a gray arch of clouded sky.

Illusion, he told himself.

But if it was illusion, it was very good.  As he followed Lermor out of the trees, he saw the land fall steeply away into a fog-shrouded swamp.  Rotting trees lifted their trunks from scummy water.   Small islands were flung scattershot across the bog, several of them connected by ancient stone spans.  The Doctor could make out a structure on one of the more distant isles - but it was too far away and the atmosphere too dense to reveal any detail.

"You're curious," Lermor said softly.

The Doctor started, then nodded.  He watched as Callifer motioned the blackstones forward onto the first span.

"Each danship carries within it the heart of its clan, the source of its power.  There, midway across the Waste, is what remains of l'Shylian Keep.  We are impossibly far from that world, and yet, we touch it in this place.  The soil beneath your feet is l'Shylian soil.  The air you breathe filled the lungs of my most distant ancestors.

"Our first dana was Prime, as were the danae of all the Clans.  It was a Prime who discovered how to step outside real space.  The danships were small in those says, nothing more than this Core and a rim circling it that contained the electronic and mechanical interfaces.  We were traders and conquerors, and as our power grew, so did the ships."

"What happened?  Why did you revert to psi power?"

The Commander shrugged. "As the centuries passed, fewer and fewer Primes were born.  Danae continued, but they had a fraction of their forerunners' power and intelligence.  No one knows why this happened, although our scientists spent a millennia searching for explanations.  When the last Prime passed on, nearly all Clans had converted their dandrives to accept psi power.  So it has been for hundreds of years."

"But you call Palas a Prime."

Lermor turned and his expression chilled the Doctor. "Oh, yes, Doctor. Now, alone among the Dev, v'Shylian have a Prime.  Very soon now, we will also have a fully functioning danship.  You have no notion, Doctor, what that truly means."

"How do you know she's the only Prime?"  the Doctor asked reasonably.  "How long has it been, Commander, since you've had contact with other Dev?"

Lermor's grim face darkened; he did not answer.  Callifer and the chained humans were already at the waters' edge.  Palas stood beside the Dev, her gaze never wavering from some unseen point on the horizon, moving only under Callifer's direction.  His hand on her elbow, he herded them all onto the first section of bridge.  The Commander motioned the Doctor down the hill.

"Move along, Time Lord.  Our destinies await us."

The bridge was a work of art.  Beneath a film of grayish slime were beautiful carvings of flowers, odd animals and smiling Dev faces.  The vanished sculptor had imbued each with such life that the Time Lord half expected to see them move. Worked cleverly into the pictures were hieroglyphs.  The TARDIS' translations came slowly and with difficulty through the Dev's erratic TDF:

"Joy," said one glyph.

"Peace," exhorted another.

"These are remarkable," the Doctor said, "and obviously created by a rich and thoughtful culture."

The iron-gray eyes brushed across the carving of a particularly graceful sprite dancing on a wide-petaled flower.

"They are pleasing," was the disinterested response.

On the islet at the end of the first span, a fragment of statuary winked at the Doctor from a clump of matted weeds.  When he would have stayed a moment to examine it, the Dev pushed him impatiently forward.  Onto the next span; there was more of the haunting stonework. Silence lay heavy above the rank water.  Even his footsteps seemed muffled.

How far did this TDF extend?  How stable was it?  Was this l'Shylian's past?  Its present?   Future?

And, with considerable apprehension, there are more of these ships out there somewhere?

The symptoms of the illness were completely gone.  The Time Lord felt good, extraordinarily so.  It seemed that with each step his senses sharpened and extended.  He could make out more of the islands through the mist, see broken pieces of vine-smothered walls beneath their dying trees.  Nothing moved but a fitful breeze.  There was no sign of animals or birds, he'd seen nothing in the water.

An island larger than all the others loomed before them.  The bridge was joined by two more appearing unexpectedly out of the mist.  From their convergence, a wider bridge proceeded on to land.

They passed between towering pylons at the end of the bridge and onto dry ground.  Here the decay showed only subtle hints of its inevitability.  Trees were still sturdy and their leaves had a healthy, glossy shine.  Flowers grew thick among the riot of greenery flourishing beneath their graceful branches.

The overgrown path quickly resolved itself into a proper walkway.  A pool came up on their left.  Something deep blue and faintly luminescent flashed away beneath the clear water.  The Doctor watched as it vanished among the roots of fragrant, aquatic lilies, setting them to rocking gently.

Amid this tranquil beauty, the abject huddle of humans was a jolt of hard truth.  Their faces were dull, unresponsive to the changes around them.  Years, perhaps decades of captivity could crush the spirit of the strongest being.  Anger ran through him.  He pushed it away deliberately, not needing the distraction.

Ahead, ornate walls lifted above compact, golden shrubbery.  Tiny mosaic squares in jewel colors formed a sweep of hillside, upon which small white animals grazed.  Stylized clouds swept a pink sky.  The roof of this fanciful structure was transparent, only its outlines visible as slight threads of opacity in the air.

The path curved, presenting them with broad, shallow steps that led into a building circled by a colonnade.  Callifer and his captives vanished inside.  The Doctor prepared to follow, but footsteps along the path behind him made him pause.

A Dev ran through the foliage, agitated, moving fast.  The Doctor leaned casually in their direction as the newcomer and Lermor engaged in a brief, hushed, conversation.  He caught fragments, but what he did hear was enough to ease his mind somewhat.  Danner and Anna were in the TARDIS, and the Dev were unable to get at them.

After another whispered exchange, the Dev nodded and hurried off.   Lermor turned back to face the Doctor, and his face was dark with fury.  Startled, the Time Lord took several hasty steps backwards up the steps.  Lermor followed, hostile stare never leaving the Doctor's face.

"I have just been informed," Lermor told him very softly, "that your ship also has a dan field."

"I wouldn't call it that . . ."

"SILENCE!  I should have realized what you were from the first!  Which Clan sent you to hunt us down?  Sidhain?  Mzara?"

"You already know that I'm not Dev, and I was not sent by anyone!"

The Commander's grim expression did not change. "Lie if it comforts you.  It won't change your fate.  When the ship is completely activated, your masters will know soon enough what awaits them.  Move!"

Up the steps and into cool darkness he went, Lermor hard on his heels.  They hurried through a line of doors into a spacious, circular room.  The danship's perpetual dusk filtered through the sheer roof.

In the exact center of this chamber stood a rectangular slab.  It was made of stone, the sides covered with minute engraving.  A single pole rose from the floor at one end, also heavily engraved.

This was a holy place.  The Doctor could see it in the faces of the Dev as they looked around.  Callifer was the first to shake off his bemusement.  He took hold of Palas' arm again and led her across the room to the slab.  He hesitated  a moment, directed an unreadable look at Lermor.  Then he lifted her onto it, laying her flat, and crossed her arms over her breast.  Backing away, he joined the Doctor and Lermor.

At first, nothing happened.  The Time Lord realized he was holding his breath.   On the slab, Palas stared sightlessly through the roof.

Then the ground shivered.  It was a subtle movement, barely detectable. The atmosphere brightened - again, a slight but perceptible change.

On the slab, a fine beam of white light blazed from Palas' biocrystal.  Impossibly, it bent, struck a point on the pole above her head and split into a thousand tiny bright threads.  The Doctor flinched as the beams, criss-crossing the room, struck his eyes and blinded him.  He flung up a hand to deflect them and felt a kiss of warmth on his skin where they touched.  Then each of the beams connected to small, round sensors set high in the wall.

A breeze moved through the chamber, fresh and sweet.  The gray blanket of clouds began to pull apart.  Pink sky peeked coquettishly through.  Rumbles and the sound of distant crashing broke the silence, coming from all directions.

Section by section, the ancient leviathan began to awake.

*     *     *

The console room was very quiet.  Danner leaned back in the armchair, staring up into the spectacular view.  A line of comets hurled by and, for a moment, he was surrounded in cold brilliance.  Then the black velvet of infinite space reasserted itself.

He should get up, go back into the infirmary and agree to the "transfer."  If both the Doctor and the TARDIS claimed he would survive, it must be true.  So why didn't he?

Danner knew the answer.  He still had dreams about it.  The memory of that night, once resurrected, remained painfully fresh, and so vivid that every muscle cramped in response.  He drew a shaking breath and made the deliberate effort to open clenched hands.  His fingernails had left deep welts in the palms.

Another comet blazed past.  Danner tried to focus attention on the view.  Did the Doctor still gaze on it with wonder, or did familiarity truly breed contempt?

"THIS IS A MESSAGE TO THE DOCTOR'S COMPANION!"

His heart faltered.  Across the console room, the door flew open and Anna burst in, eyes wide.

"YOU HAVE PRECISELY FIFTEEN OF YOUR MINUTES TO SURRENDER THE FEEDER OR THE DOCTOR DIES!  DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE.  SURRENDER THE FEEDER AT ONCE."

The message repeated.

"Turn it off!"  Danner cried, appalled.

The stentorian tones died in mid-utterance.  Silence settled over the room.

"I'm going after him," Anna was saying.  "The TARDIS synthesized a drug that should help.  You stay here."

"What?"

She was pushing something into her bag, was halfway to the door.  Pale, but determined, she smiled at him.  It was not in the least bit convincing.

"The TARDIS said any drug it made wouldn't be much better than the one you used,"  he said.

"I'll be fine.  Honest.  They must not get their hands on you!"  She hesitated.  "Damn it - I must not get my hands on you!  Stay here!"

And she was gone.

Danner sank back into the armchair and glowered up at the cosmos.  It took a moment to register, but something moved out there.  He blinked and narrowed his eyes.

A spot among the stars shimmered -- as if something invisible approached.  For a second, he was overwhelmed by the sensation of presence that had long been sleeping but was now completely, alertly, aware.   It was gone almost at once and another presence took its place, this one familiar.

"I don't need you to tell me what I should do!"  he shouted at the TARDIS.

In the last one hundred and seventy-five years, the only people to show him kindess, to accept him for what he was, were about to die.  And for what reason?

To protect a creep who had forgotten what it was meant to be a friend -- who was sitting here in this impregnable fortress letting them lay their lives on the line for his -- again. He deserved none of it.

Stomach in knots, every finely-honed survival instinct shrieking protest, Danner somehow managed to push himself out of the chair and run from the console room.  He flung open the door to the infirmary.

The Doctor's earlier regeneration was gone.  There was another face on the screen.  It was not human, he could not even see it very clearly, but he knew what it was.   Power hummed around him.

"I know you don't like me very much, TARDIS," he said.  "But this is what I need."

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