Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, in another universe…

1.

It would have been like a fairy tale – forest glade, golden sunshine falling through the canopy, white blossom drifting on the breeze, woman in a pretty frock marrying the actual stuff of legends only a few feet away – if only Clara could have enjoyed the ceremony without constantly feeling the need to glance over her shoulder and check where the Doctor was and what he was up to. Another flash of movement caught her eye and she turned to find him wandering over to a tree, where a small, red squirrel had climbed down the trunk. For all the world it looked as if the two of them, Time Lord nutjob and nut-obsessed rodent, were deep in conversation.

Still, he wasn’t causing any trouble. Ignore him, she told herself. He wasn’t pleased because he wasn’t centre of attention, that was all. 

She went back to watching the wedding. Clara had always loved a wedding. Always watched the royal ones on TV even though she pretended not to when Danny went all cynical about them. Not at all annoyed, either, that the handsome – make that very handsome – blond man getting married had been flirting with her a couple of days earlier. Or that he was marrying someone he obviously adored while she stood there, on her own. Again. Not bothered. 

After all, who could really hope to come between Robin Hood and Maid Marian? Still, would be nice if it was her one day. Get out that old scrapbook she used to keep when she was in first year, though the dresses she thought were amazing back then would probably look ridiculous nowadays. Or in her own time. Since at that moment, “nowadays” was the twelfth century. 

The Doctor was on the move again. He had the squirrel in his hands now, cupping it gently and as Clara watched, wondering whether she needed to intercede, he tucked the animal into the pocket of his coat. It sat with its two front paws over the edge of the pocket and sniffed at the air. The Doctor straightened and finally saw her watching him, but just looked back with an expression that said, ‘what?’ then wandered off through the trees.

Clara sighed. She should go after him, make sure he wasn’t doing anything that might blow up a planet, but they were just getting to the vows. Friar Tuck grinned at both parties and it was as if the whole forest held its breath to hear what Marian and Robin would say to one another, how that love that would inspire generations to come would find its voice. Part of her waited for King Richard to turn up as well, though she supposed if he did, he wouldn’t look like Sean Connery. The paintings she’d seen of the real historical figure, he looked more like Peter Sellers. Stuff the Doctor. She wasn’t going to miss this. He had a squirrel to talk to. He seemed happy.

The Doctor was not happy. They’d been stuck in this time and place for ages, and it wasn’t even a very interesting time and place, at least, not now that the killer robots had gone. He’d had to endure days of mindless chatter and interminable laughing and watched Clara fawning over the idiot Robin Hood, and it was getting very boring now. He almost hoped another alien species would try to take over the planet, just so he’d have something to do, but of course there was never an invasion when you needed one. He’d thought of a few ideas, telling Clara the TARDIS was sick and needed to leave at once or that there was a crisis on some other planet that he’d only just heard about, but when he had got her to finally stop grinning and giggling at everything the idiot said, she’d dismissed him without even listening. It was really quite irritating. 

He spread a chamois leather out on the ground in front of him and sat cross-legged on the forest floor, then set down the radio he’d taken from the TARDIS and idly began to dismantle it. In the distance, cheers still rose up with annoying frequency from the wedding, then little spatters of applause. He’d known wars that had been over faster than this ceremony. The squirrel, whose name, he’d learned, was Sylvester, sat on a branch nearby, watching him work, but as the crowd in the glade whooped and clapped again, the little animal cocked its head to one side and scratched its ear. 

‘Humans,’ the Doctor said. ‘Feel the need to congratulate themselves on the slightest thing. Look at birthdays. Idiotic concept. Congratulations, you’re not dead. Have some cake and a piece of colourful cardboard.’

Sylvester regarded him sceptically.

‘No,’ the Doctor said, ‘I don’t care. She can do what she wants. I don’t need company. I’m a Time Lord. I can hear the rhythm of the universe. I can sense the history of this planet all around me like a web and feel all its nexus points and possibilities. I don’t get lonely.’

The squirrel clambered down the tree with lithe little movements and clawed its way up his back and onto his shoulder. The Doctor ignored it and carried on working, enjoying the mental challenge of working out the structure and mechanics of his project. The radio lay in pieces now on the chamois and he picked at its innards, choosing each piece with care, before fixing it into its new position with his sonic screwdriver.

‘I know,’ he told Sylvester quietly, ‘it makes a noise, I’m sorry. But it is sonic.’

Finally, after only about seven and a half minutes, he was done, and he sat for a moment inspecting his work. Sylvester scurried down the Doctor’s arm and circled the strange object on the chamois, sniffing at it. 

‘What d’you think?’ the Doctor asked.

He picked the thing up and twisted the small key-like device set in its back, feeling the gears crunch and the springs tense. Then he let it go, and the little clockwork squirrel bobbed and nodded to itself and chewed at an imaginary nut. Sylvester gave him a dubious look.

‘What?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Don’t you like it?’

‘You are the Doctor, you must die,’ said a deep, mechanical-sounding voice that did appear to have come from Sylvester.

The Doctor frowned. ‘Oh, come on, it’s not that bad a likeness!’

‘You are the Doctor, you must die,’ the voice repeated. 

Sylvester gave a shriek and darted away, milliseconds before a bolt of energy fizzed against the tree root where he’d been sitting, leaving a streak of charred bark. The Doctor shoved the clockwork squirrel in his pocket and got to his feet, screwdriver held out defensively as he scanned the woods for any sign of movement. One of the Sheriff’s robot knights, he thought. It must’ve been left behind when the rest of them took off in their ship. Voice sounded different though. Higher pitch, different timbre. 

Another blast hit the tree inches away from his face and he dived for the undergrowth, landing with a painful thud against some thick roots and a clump of nettles. That was going to sting in a minute. He saw it then, a flash of movement between the trees ahead, something moving steadily towards his position. He kept low, hoping the weeds would hide him for a while until he could get a proper look at whatever it was. Footsteps crunched over dry twigs, about two metres away now, he guessed, and risked a look through the leaves. 

A humanoid figure stood between two birch trees, turning its faceless, silver head slowly from side to side. Scanning, the Doctor decided. It stopped suddenly, focused on a point behind him and slightly to his left. Just then, another cheer rose up from the wedding party and the Doctor realised what the robot had locked onto. One thought then blotted out the rest. Clara. He pushed himself up onto his feet and circled around to the right.

‘Hello,’ he called out. ‘I’m the Doctor. I believe you want to kill me.’

The robot aimed its hand at him and fired, the bolt coming directly from its fingers. The Doctor threw himself to the ground again as the blast sailed over his head and split a nearby tree in two. As the cloud of sawdust dissipated, the Doctor scrabbled down a slope covered in fallen leaves and beech nuts, then tumbled the rest of the way into a gulley below. Another shot nearly hit his leg, but he kept moving, getting back onto his feet just as the creature, the robot, whatever it was, reached the top of the ridge. The Doctor ducked behind a fairly stout chestnut tree, the only one with a trunk thick enough to give him some cover, and risked a longer look at the creature.

It was completely featureless, not just its face but its body as well. If it hadn’t been moving so slowly, the Doctor would’ve thought it was a Raston Warrior Robot. Maybe it was the shell of one, repurposed, just as deadly in terms of armaments but slower.

‘If you’re going to kill me anyway,’ he called out, ‘at least tell me who sent you.’

‘You are the Doctor,’ the robot replied. ‘You must die.’

‘Tell me why,’ the Doctor tried. Buy some time, get it talking, figure out a plan. ‘What are your orders? Who gave you your orders? Tell me!’

‘You are the Doctor,’ the robot said. ‘You must die.’

It fired at the tree and the Doctor stumbled backwards as the blast hit. Splinters flew in all direction and he coughed as a cloud of wood smoke caught the back of his throat, but it also meant for a second, he couldn’t see the robot. On instinct, he turned and ran, taking as random a route as possible not just because of the uneven terrain but so as to, hopefully, confuse his pursuer. He had no idea where the robot was now, didn’t dare stop to get his bearings, but it wouldn’t be too far behind.

Clara. That was the important thing. He had to get back to her somehow. Then their only hope would be the TARDIS. That meant leaving the humans in danger, perhaps, but if the robot was after him and called him by name, chances were it would follow. Hopefully.

He tripped over a root and landed face-first in the leaf mulch, where he lay, winded, for a few precious seconds. An energy bolt hit the ground by his hand and sent a clod of earth up into the air to fall back as a cascade of fine dirt. Lucky this thing wasn’t a very good shot, the Doctor mused, then he grabbed the nearest tree to pull himself up. As soon as he put his full weight on his right ankle though, pain shot up his leg, into his spine and filled his brain. He let out a cry and fell forward, clinging to the tree to keep himself upright. Come on, Doctor, he told himself. Doesn’t feel like it’s broken. Just twisted or sprained. It’ll hurt but so will dying. 

Lurching away from the tree, he gritted his teeth and limped off, following the sound of music up ahead, someone playing a lute very badly. Seconds later, he saw the group of humans milling around, congratulating the two who’d got married, and he scanned them until he spotted the bright red material of Clara’s dress. 

Clara threw a handful of petals at the happy couple as they passed by and cheered with the others, though secretly she still felt a little disappointed that neither King Richard nor Sean Connery had appeared. Still, she had just watched Robin Hood and Maid Marian get married. Annoying that she couldn’t tell anyone back home without ending up on a very long hospital stay, but that was one of the downsides to travelling with the Doctor. All that wonder and no one to share it with. Maybe one day, she’d introduce Danny to him. Maybe they could travel together. It might be nice to have an ally when the Doctor was in one of his moods. And imagine holding hands with someone really special and looking out over a supernova or something. Had to be better than a Nando’s and the pictures.

Just on the edge of her senses, she thought she heard someone thrashing about in the woods and instantly wondered what the Doctor was up to, but after a couple of minutes it went quiet again. He had been gone for a while, she thought. Maybe she should see what he was doing. He did have a habit of wandering off and finding his way into trouble if left unsupervised. But this was Robin Hood’s wedding. Not going to happen again. If she missed it, she couldn’t exactly pop back and try again. And someone had just handed her a goblet of mead. It would be rude to refuse and disappear.

The sound came again, though, like someone running through the forest, and this time there was another noise, a series of low whooshes and thuds like fireworks going off. Maybe it was fireworks. Did they have fireworks in the twelfth century in England? She could actually smell something metallic on the air, along with wood smoke. Then the thrashing noise was right behind her. She turned and saw the Doctor, lumbering at her through the trees. All the chatter around her stopped abruptly at the sight of him and a little flare of anger shot up through Clara’s nerves. But then she saw the strain on his face and how badly he was limping.

‘Doctor…’ she began.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the bushes, moving with far more grace and agility through the terrain. Gasps and screams went up from the wedding guests and in the next second, Clara felt someone dart past her. Robin dashed forwards, sword in one hand, and with the other, he reached down and took the Doctor’s arm, then helped him limp towards the group. The figure, meanwhile, paused and seemed to be assessing them, maybe trying to figure out if there were too many of them to take on, she thought. 

‘Is it another one of those devils?’ Robin asked.

‘No, it’s different,’ Clara replied without thinking. 

Because it was. It was completely silver and smooth, no details at all anywhere on its body, like an artist’s mannequin only without the joints. 

‘What is it?’ Clara asked.

‘No idea,’ said the Doctor, ‘but…’

‘You are the Doctor,’ said the robot. ‘You must die.’

‘..Was just going to say, I think it’s here for me.’

‘Leave it to me, Doctor, you get the others to safety,’ Robin said. He started forward but the Doctor pulled him back. 

‘Not this time.’

The robot raised its hand and shot a bolt of brilliant blue light from the tips of its fingers. Clara jumped aside and shoved Robin in the opposite direction. He and the Doctor fell into a heap but the robot’s shot flew harmlessly over their heads and hit the garland of flowers set up for the wedding. It exploded in a burst of singed petals. The guests scattered in all directions, screams filling the forest air.

‘It’s after me,’ the Doctor said again. ‘Which means it probably has no interest in anyone else. Get your people away from here. I’m going to lead it off.’

‘You can barely walk,’ Robin pointed out. 

‘The TARDIS isn’t far. If we can make it there, I think we’re safe. It should leave you alone once I’m no longer in the vicinity. Now go!’

Robin didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded and hurried away, shepherding his friends out of the glade. Clara draped the Doctor’s arm over her shoulders and tried not to swear as he leaned against her. For someone so skinny, he wasn’t exactly a lightweight. 

Sure enough, as they moved, the robot’s faceless head swivelled and tracked their progress, ignoring the fleeing humans, but that was the last time Clara looked back at it. She knew the TARDIS was just down by the riverside and thundered towards it until her calf muscles burned from the effort. She heard the bangs and crackles as the robot fired again and again but tried to focus only on her legs, on keeping them moving. Once, the Doctor let out a cry and jostled into her as if he’d lost his footing, but she just grimaced, took even more of his weight on her own shoulders and carried on. 

Then she spotted the flash of blue directly ahead and the sight sent a surge of energy to her aching limbs. The robot was only a few metres behind, but the TARDIS was within reach at the side of a stream. The ground sloped downwards to meet the stream bed and so Clara tumbled rather than ran towards the ship. While the Doctor fiddled with the lock, she glanced over her shoulder for the first time since leaving the glade and saw the robot still striding after them, unhindered by the thorns and branches that had torn the bottom of her dress to rags. When the TARDIS door finally opened, she shoved the Doctor through, ignoring his protests.

For a long while, she leaned against the railing around the console room while the Doctor dragged himself up to the controls. He swung one of the monitors round and, still out of breath, Clara went to his side to look as well. On the screen, the robot stood framed by the trees, exactly where it had been when Clara last saw it. Its arm was by its side. It wasn’t going to fire on the TARDIS. Perhaps it knew that would be futile and was reassessing its plans. Then a globe of pinkish light swelled around it. When the light faded, the robot was gone.

The Doctor set the controls the TARDIS engines groaned as the ship took off, then he flopped down onto one of the seats with a groan and closed his eyes.

‘Doctor, what was that thing?’ Clara asked.

‘Looked like a converted Raston Warrior Robot,’ he replied without looking up. He sounded exhausted, as if every syllable took great effort. ‘Or a damaged one. They’re not normally such dull conversationists, if you can survive long enough to actually get one to talk, that is.’

He winced and dabbed his fingertips against his arm, opening one eye to examine the results. There was blood. Clara hurried to his side and found a small tear in his coat and the shirt beneath where the robot’s weapon must have winged him, or maybe one of the splinters from the trees had caught him. Either way, there was a small wound. Not serious, but bleeding. She left him for a second to fetch the first aid kit from under the console.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she set about cleaning the wound. 

‘I set the co-ordinates for a planet I know,’ he answered. ‘Somewhere safe. Kornephoros Three. Peaceful civilisation but not too overpopulated. We should be able to find a quiet spot to figure out what’s going on without endangering too many people.’

‘You think that thing’s going to follow us?’

‘It found me on Earth in the twelfth century. It’s able to travel through time and space. Chances are it’s homing in on me somehow. This time, I’d like to meet it where the odds are a little more in my favour. I would drop you off first, but it might follow us to Earth, to your time, and…’

‘I know,’ Clara said. ‘Draw it away. Figure out what it wants. Got it.’

‘We know what it wants,’ the Doctor answered. ‘The question is, who sent it and why?’ 

They sat for a while in silence after that, with just the pulse of the engines to fill the void. Clara worked slowly and carefully, cleaning the blood from the Doctor’s wound then dressing it, before moving on to check his ankle. He didn’t protest as she removed his boot. He didn’t actually seem to notice. He was staring off at some point in middle distance, deep in thought, and she knew he was running through the list of enemies who might have sent the robot after him. It was a long list, Clara suspected, so he’d be quiet and occupied for a while.

She didn’t exactly have much medical training beyond a Red Cross first aid certificate she’d taken through Coal Hill school’s HR department, but she didn’t think his ankle was broken. Just twisted a bit and starting to swell. But she knew from experience there were dressings in the TARDIS kit that would have it fixed in an hour or so. She’d used plenty of them during her time with the Doctor. Flashes of memory came at her like moths hitting a lightbulb when she unwrapped the light blue bandage. Things that happened long ago. It seemed like another lifetime. She supposed for the Doctor it was. He’d been different then. Younger. A completely different person in fact. 

As she wrapped the Doctor’s ankle, she studied him and thought about that other Doctor, the one she’d watch grow old then change right in front of her. For a long while, she’d mourned him, but realised that wasn’t fair. The thin, stern, grey-haired figure slumped on the seat in front of her now was still the Doctor, the same man, just wrapped in a different case and she’d seen glimpses of the old Doctor now and then, enough to reassure her that he was still him, still her friend. But it was difficult sometimes. 

The other Doctor had been fresh-faced, handsome even, or at least she’d thought so. But actually, he could be just as stubborn and as moody when he wanted to be. Perhaps it wasn’t that the man had changed, just the balance of his personality had shifted. Those parts that had only surfaced now and then in his former self had bubbled up and become the dominant traits, but the other stuff, the kindness, the empathy, the sadness too, were still there. She saw it whenever she looked properly at him. Especially in these quiet moments. 

There was a dull clunk as the TARDIS landed and its engines stopped, and the Doctor sat up suddenly like a puppet whose strings had just been tugged. He slipped on his boot, crouched to tie the laces without looking, then headed to the console. After checking the instruments, he strode off towards the doors, not even looking back to see if she was following. Clara chose to ignore the insult. He was distracted, thinking about the problem at hand.

She followed him outside and stood next to him as he surveyed the landscape. The TARDIS had landed on a rocky plain, studded with ruins that stretched off in all directions, right to the horizon. Storms raged in a green sky that turned everything a sickly shade of lime, and every few seconds, a vein of lightning cracked the sky and silhouetted the skeletons of towers and minarets amongst the rubble.

The Doctor headed off towards a low stone wall directly ahead of them and stooped to pick something up from the dust. He brushed the dirt away from the object and Clara saw that it was a gun of some sort, something high-tech and made of clear plastic or resin with circuitry visible inside. The barrel was broken, though, snapped in half. 

‘Thought you said it was a peaceful civilisation?’ Clara remarked, looking at the devastation all around her. With a shiver, she wondered if there were bodies out there too, or if there were enough survivors to bury the dead. Looking around, there wasn’t a soul in sight and it was easy to believe the planet was derelict.

‘It was,’ the Doctor replied. He let the gun drop back into the dirt. ‘That’s a Gallifreyan staser rifle.’

‘Gallifreyan?’ Clara bit her lip. She hadn’t made her mind up yet about the Time Lords. On the one hand, they were the Doctor’s people so she felt she should consider them the good guys, but then again, he’d run away, and he rarely had a good word to say about them. Her own experience with them was limited, but they had given the Doctor new lives. Surely they weren’t that bad then? 

‘Why would the Time Lords want to wipe out a planet?’ she asked. ‘And how could they? I thought you and… well, the other yous locked Gallifrey away in another universe?’

‘They’re more than capable of engineering a way back,’ the Doctor said darkly. ‘But as for this, I have no idea. This is… this is…’ He grimaced and covered his face with his hands, letting out a low moan. Clara put her arm around his waist and caught him just as he staggered towards the wall and slumped down on top of it.

‘What is it? Did that robot hurt you worse than we thought?’

She did a quick check of his body, looking for injuries she hadn’t noticed, but didn’t find any.

‘No,’ he replied, then inhaled deeply. He let his hands fall but kept his eyes closed. ‘It’s just… there’s a wound in the fabric of time here. A little overwhelming if you’re not prepared for it, and I wasn’t. Time is… This wasn’t supposed to happen. This planet wasn’t supposed to be wiped out. Not here, not now. Not until its star turns nova, so why is it dead? The only explanation is that the Time Lords have been here and have interfered with the Web of Time but why? What could they want with this place?’

‘Were they enemies of the Time Lords?’ Clara asked. 

‘Back in the Dark Times,’ said the Doctor. ‘The days when the Time Lords thought they could rule the cosmos, before they isolated themselves on Gallifrey and took to non-interference. Rassilon loved a good scuffle with an alien civilisation and the early inhabitants of this planet were powerful telepaths, more than a match for a Time Lord, mentally speaking. Rassilon wanted to know how they did it, and wanted them to give up the secret, but they refused. There was a fight, but neither side got very far and in the end they decided to call it a draw and go home. The Kornephoreans went the same way as the Time Lords. Kept to their own planet, kept away from other species. They developed their powers but they used them for good, for meditation and studying the secrets of the universe. Legend had it they were the only beings in existence to truly understand the plan beneath it all, the point the universe is driving too.’

‘Maybe the Time Lords wanted that secret?’ Clara suggested.

‘Maybe,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘Rassilon returned to lead Gallifrey through the Time War. It could be he’s decided to start campaigning again across the universe, but even he would think twice before altering the timeline to this extent.’

‘Could this Rassilon have sent the robot?’

‘Possibly.’

The Doctor got to his feet in one sudden movement and looked around. 

‘That’s a point,’ he said. ‘Our shiny friend can’t be too far behind us.’

Before he’d finished the last syllable, Clara heard a low, buzzing sound and then the crunch of feet on rubble. She turned and saw the silver figure standing about twenty metres away, in the broken doorway of a small, crumbling tower. It looked around, scanning, then faced them and raised its hand. 

‘Wait,’ the Doctor called out, waving at it. 

The robot fired. Clara hauled the Doctor out of the blast’s path and the two of them hit the ground hard. The jolt rattled Clara’s bones and left all of them aching but she got up and ran with the Doctor towards a nearby wall that was high enough to provide cover. 

‘I just want to know who sent you,’ the Doctor shouted. 

A crack of lightning overhead and the pursuant growl of thunder were the only replies.

The Doctor peeked over the top of the wall then ducked back down again. They were inside the skeleton of a building and ahead was a square opening in the ground, surrounded by broken but still ornate blue and white tiles. Clara could just make out stairs headed downwards into the darkness below. 

‘If we make a run for the TARDIS, we’ll be out in the open,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘Easy targets.’

‘What about that?’ Clara suggested, pointing to the hatch in the floor.

‘We don’t know what’s down there. It might be a dead end. It’s me it’s after. I’ll head for the western edge of the ruins, draw its fire. You make for the TARDIS.’

‘No,’ Clara hissed. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’

‘There’s no point both of us getting shot. The TARDIS manual is somewhere in my room. I think it’s propping up a table leg. Get that and read the chapter on setting co-ordinates. That’s all you really need to get home.’

‘I am not going anywhere,’ Clara told him, grabbing his arm as he made to run off. 

A blast hit the wall right above their heads and showered them with brick dust. Clara cried out in fright, then cursed under her breath. Her heart felt like it was going to burst if it beat any faster. The Doctor headed off through a doorway, now just a free-standing arch in the middle of the haphazard brick walls, and Clara went after him into what must have been a hallway when the building was intact. Part of a staircase rose up into thin air on one side but there was a niche beneath it where part of the wall the stairs had clung to still stood. The Doctor ducked into the recess and Clara squeezed in behind him. 

She had a good view of the robot from there, still some distance away, standing by a fragment of a statue and just as still. Something about the way it kept stopping and watching them before carrying on its pursuit gave her the impression it was enjoying this. Playing with them like a cat with a mouse. 

‘That thing on its wrist,’ the Doctor said. 

Clara looked. She hadn’t noticed before, but the robot wasn’t completely featureless as she’d thought. The Doctor was right. It had something on its wrist, like a wide bracelet made of silver leather.

‘Vortex manipulator,’ the Doctor explained. ‘Or something made from the innards of one. Cheap and nasty time travel.’

‘I know, you’ve said before. A lot.’

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver.

‘Need to get a bit closer,’ he muttered as he fiddled with the settings, then he handed the screwdriver to her. ‘When I say, “now”, press that button there. But not before.’

‘What are you going to do?’

The Doctor rose to a crouch and started to slip out from beneath the stairs. 

‘Get its attention,’ he said. ‘Remember, only when I say. We need to time this right.’

He stood up properly and waved at the robot.

‘Oi, Metal Mickey. Thought you wanted to kill me?’

The robot, which had been scanning the ruins again, turned to face him.

‘You are the Doctor. You must die.’

‘Not a very big vocabulary you have,’ the Doctor remarked. ‘Did whoever sent you pull out a few of your neural circuits? Or did he build you from a kit and there were a few bits missing? That always happens.’

‘You are the Doctor,’ said the robot. ‘You must die.’

It fired at him, but he dodged the shot and it hit the stairs instead, throwing a shower of dust and debris down onto Clara’s hair. She coughed then clamped her hand over her mouth, unsure whether the robot knew she was there or not, or even if it cared. 

‘You’re a rubbish shot too,’ said the Doctor, getting up again. ‘Targeting mechanisms second hand as well? Whoever put you together did a pretty shabby job.’

‘You are the Doctor. You must die.’

The robot strode towards him and fired again, but again missed and hit the stairs. A lump of stone the size of a skull tumbled down and Clara pressed herself against the wall to avoid being brained. Come on, Doctor, she thought. Whatever you’re up to, get a move on!

‘Why?’ the Doctor asked. ‘If I’m to die, I have the right to know why. Whoever sent you must have programmed that into you somewhere.’

‘You are the Doctor,’ said the robot. ‘You must die.’

‘But why? Answer me.’

Clara waited to hear the robot’s standard response, but then it stopped, a couple of metres away from the Doctor now.

‘You must die,’ it said, ‘so that he will not be.’

‘He? Who’s he?’ asked the Doctor.

The robot stayed silent for a long while. Clara wondered if the Doctor had found some glitch in its programming by asking the question, or if the robot was just considering its next move.

‘The Doctor must die,’ the robot said, then Clara heard its footsteps on the dirt again.

‘Now,’ the Doctor shouted. He threw himself to the ground and Clara pressed the button. The screwdriver squealed. There was a low buzz, like the sound she’d heard earlier, then the robot was swallowed up in a pinkish glow. It disappeared.

The Doctor let out a long breath and sat up, brushing dust off his sleeves, though his trousers and jacket were covered in dirt too. 

‘What did we just do?’ Clara asked. She offered her hand to help him up.

‘Activated its vortex manipulator,’ said the Doctor. ‘Sent it back to where it came from. Probably Earth.’

‘Won’t it start killing people there?’

‘It hasn’t bothered with anyone else. It’s been sent for me. Probably has my face in its memory banks. Interesting though.’

He got up and started back for the TARDIS.

‘You have to die so he will not be,’ Clara said.

‘Exactly. What does that sound like?’

‘Like, there’s someone in the future they don’t want to be happen.’

‘Something I do will bring about something so terrible, they’re willing to risk a grandfather paradox to stop it.’

‘They could just tell you,’ Clara said. ‘Say, “oi, don’t do this, because if you do, the universe will explode”, that sort of thing.’

‘Time often doesn’t work like that,’ the Doctor replied. ‘The more you try to avoid the future, the more you spiral towards it.’

‘It said, “He will not be” though. That’s a person. Someone they want to erase from existence.’

‘Maybe I’ll have psychopathic children one day,’ the Doctor said, opening the TARDIS door. 

‘So, what do we do?’ Clara asked. She followed him into the console room, where he stood, staring down at the controls, deep in thought. He inhaled slowly then bustled around the console, tweaking switches, and threw the lever to set the ship into flight.

‘Leave here for a start,’ he said.

‘And go where?’

She tried to look over his shoulder at the monitors but could make no sense of the symbols twirling away there. The Doctor, though, continued to tap switches and study the results on screen with a sombre expression.

‘I’m trying to find the source of the temporal disturbance,’ he said. ‘It’s not just Kornephoros Three.’ He pointed at the screen, which now displayed a star map, with several read blobs flashing over the top of some of the stars.

‘All across this galaxy,’ he said, ‘someone’s interfering with history. The history of a dozen worlds. Kornephoros was a recent victim. The damage is still fresh but these…’ He tapped the screen. ‘Time’s trying to heal itself, resolve the paradoxes, like a broken bone trying to knit back together. There’s a trail. He started with Shada, the Time Lords’ prison planet. It should be here, in this sector, but according to the instruments now, it doesn’t exist. There’s only a temporal cyst in its place. A little pocket of time, ghosts of a planet that should be there but isn’t.’

‘Time Lord gun, Time Lord prison,’ Clara said. ‘I’m not a detective but I’d say that’s pretty conclusive evidence.’

‘But why?’

‘Could this “he” the robot talked about be this Rassilon fellow?’

‘Possible, I suppose, though I don’t see how killing me now would stop him from doing all this. Unless something I do in the future enables him to do this, or even sets him on this course.’

‘Shame you can’t just go to Gallifrey and ask him.’

‘Would make things easier,’ the Doctor said. ‘But getting to Gallifrey isn’t exactly an option right now. We don’t even know where it is.’

As Clara watched the screen, another red blob appeared and started flashing.

‘Doctor.’

He followed her gaze and watched the display for a long time in silence, then burst into a flurry of movement, setting the controls.

‘It’s happening in this time zone,’ he said. ‘Right now. The 14 Andromedae system.’

‘We’re going to catch them at it?’

‘Red handed.’

Chapter Text

Although human astronomers had given the planet the rather dull name, “14 Andromedae b”, they had also once called it “Veritate”, after the old name for its star, which meant “where there is truth”. Its inhabitants, aware of humanity’s scrutiny and interest in their world, preferred that appellation. They themselves had no name for their home planet, or nothing that could be translated into words. They knew it by the sense of it, by the way it felt in their minds, not by any proper noun. 

The surface baked beneath the light of its giant sun, gas clouds swirling across the rocky landscape, turning everything a dull yellow-grey, though the land itself was blood red, like the cragged mountains that rose up through the mist to stab at the orange sky. Cradled in a valley beneath these mountains and swathed in cloud stood a pale golden pyramid. 

The Lord President of Gallifrey considered the pyramid, or an image of it at least, projected onto the heads-up display of his ship’s bridge. Veritate was an unappealing sight. The gas clouds were the colour of vomit and, according to the readings, toxic even to a Time Lord’s advanced respiratory system. The gravity was a problem too. The planet had twelve times the mass of all the planets in Earth’s solar system put together. The ship would be crushed if it tried to land, not to mention what would happen to the crew. Time Lord jam, the President thought with a smile. And yet he had business on Veritate.

‘Send down the probe,’ he ordered. 

One of the crew, someone whose name he’d never bothered to learn, muttered, ‘Yes, Lord President’, then thumped a few switches on his console. On the screen, the President watched as the probe, a silver, egg-shaped device with a flashing blue light, descended towards the pyramid in the mist. It halted about a mile above the pyramid’s apex and hovered there, then projected a dome of shimmering silver and blue that stretched downwards and surrounded the pyramid and a little of the land around it.

‘Set conditions to Gallifrey-normal,’ the President ordered.

‘If there are any life forms within the shield area, sir,’ said a crewmember down the front, turning from his console to regard the President with a worried frown, ‘they’ll be destroyed.’

‘And?’ the President asked.

The young Time Lord bit his lip, then muttered, ‘Nothing, sir,’ and faced the controls again.

‘Conditions reading Gallifrey-normal,’ said another man a little further along the same bank of consoles, ‘but the probe’s struggling to combat the natural physics of the place. The bubble won’t last long.’

‘How long?’

‘About one hour, sir.’

‘That should be enough,’ said the President. ‘Transfer the co-ordinates of that thing to the transmat.’ He indicated the pyramid with his right hand, which was curled in on itself, scarred and broken.

He waited, still watching the poison clouds swirling around the pyramid, which remained silent, no signs of life at all, though the President knew the planet’s inhabitants were not only skulking inside that pyramid, but they would already be aware of his arrival. They liked to watch things, the people of Veritate, especially the future, and they would have seen the time ship coming long before the President and his army arrived.

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted movement in the far corner of the bridge and turned to find Missy skulking towards him, dressed in those ridiculous human clothes again. On Gallifrey she’d started adopting the traditional fashions for a Time Lady but here she’d made herself look like a Victorian governess. 

‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked. ‘I’ve dealt with these creatures before. They’re powerful.’

‘So am I,’ said the President. 

‘Transmat’s ready, Excellency,’ said one of the crew.

‘Fine,’ the President muttered, then turned to Missy. ‘Are you coming or staying behind?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll come. In case you need me.’

‘I have no need of you at the best of times.’

‘Let’s see if you’re still saying that after we meet these people,’ Missy said. She flashed an icy smile and the President wanted to kill her more than ever, but resisted. She was useful to him, a good mediator between himself and the high council, and she always knew which of his advisors were loyal and which were plotting his downfall.

‘Very well,’ he said, and headed for the transmat cubicle. He paused en route and picked up his ceremonial collar, which was getting more battered and scarred every time he looked at it, but he refused to give it up. He had taken it from Rassilon’s shoulders himself and it was a symbol of his power. Like the Aztecs, he thought, wearing the skins of their defeated enemies.

The transmat put him inside the pyramid, in a vast chamber bathed in a dull, blue glow that seemed to emanate from the smooth stone walls themselves. He checked that Missy was still with him then wandered a little further into the room and looked around, listening for any sign of life, but then these creatures, if the Matrix’s files were correct, could change shape at will and move as silently as a thought.

‘No reception desk,’ Missy remarked. ‘Not even a little bell to ring.’

‘I am the Lord President of the High Council of Gallifrey,’ the President called out, his voice echoing through the passages and chambers of the pyramid. ‘I demand you show yourselves.’

‘That’ll do, I suppose,’ Missy muttered. ‘Listen, I met these creatures once on Riga-Priam. They can choose their shape at will, take over a whole planet in a matter of minutes. Are you sure…’

‘You were not always known by that title,’ said a rasping, hollow voice behind them. 

The President turned sharply and found himself facing a hideous figure in crimson robes, its face barely more than a skull with a few strands of grey, decaying flesh clinging on. It looked like something left out in the desert heat after death, dried up and leathery. 

‘Perhaps not, but now I have no other,’ said the President. ‘Are you the leader?’

The creature didn’t answer.

‘No matter,’ said the President. ‘What I say to you will no doubt be passed on to your brethren. I come here seeking knowledge. There is something I need and your people know where it is. I want you to tell me.’

‘You seek the Queen,’ said the creature. 

The President nodded.

‘Long ago,’ said the creature in the red robes, ‘our people worshipped her.’

‘All across this sector, people worshipped her,’ said the President. ‘Her name appears in some of the earliest records on Gallifrey.’

‘She was old when your people were still in their infancy.’

‘They say she has the power to reshape reality.’

The creature bowed stiffly. The President took that as an affirmative. 

‘So where is she?’ he asked.

The creature fell silent once again. People never just co-operated, thought the President. Always made things difficult. 

‘If you don’t tell me,’ he went on, ‘I will destroy your entire solar system. Does that provide a little incentive to be more forthcoming?’

The creature cocked its desiccated head to one side, but said nothing.

‘I have a device on board my ship,’ said the President. ‘It’s known as the Hand of Omega. Have you heard of it?’ He noticed a slight tension in the creature’s emaciated body and he smiled. ‘I see you have. If you continue to ignore me and do not answer my question, I will use the Hand to destroy your sun. You’ll find yourselves headed into the event horizon of a newly formed black hole. So tell me where she is. Your people were once part of her entourage, or so I’m told. You and the Angels flocked to her back in the day and flung yourselves at her feet.’

‘We are her children,’ said the creature. ‘She created us and our sisters, the Angels, and taught us how to use the power she gave us. Before she came, we were only mindless creatures bound to physical form. She elevated us. Destroyed us so that we might live again in better forms. More powerful forms. Others saw her power and raised great temples to her. They sang her hymns in the Citadel of Karn when the Sisterhood was still a madwoman’s dream. We worshipped the Queen because she is our source, our Mother, and she is all powerful.’

‘Not any more,’ the President countered. ‘According to the Matrix, Rassilon himself placed her in a time lock and buried her away somewhere. Unfortunately he… expired before he was able to give me the location but surely you, her most devoted followers, know where she was imprisoned.’

‘If we knew,’ said the creature, ‘we would have freed her.’

The President hesitated. That actually made sense and he hadn’t thought of it, which angered him. His brain was so slow these days, so foggy. It was as dense as the mists outside that pyramid. And the pain, the headaches, were so bad now, some days he could barely see. But he pushed those thoughts aside. 

‘You must have some idea,’ he said.

‘If you find her, you will not free her,’ the creature said. ‘You intend to enslave her.’

‘I intend to make a bargain with her,’ the President retorted. ‘Offer her control of some parts of the galaxy in exchange for her allegiance.’

‘The Queen bows to no one.’

‘She will bow to me if she wants out of that time lock.’

‘We do not know where she is,’ the creature said. ‘And we are tired of this conversation.’

The creature raised its hand. The Lord President saw the energy build in the centre of the alien’s palm then a bolt like lightning shot towards him. It bounced harmlessly off his personal shield and he enjoyed the way the creature’s body language changed. Although its face remained the same, mummified husk, he could sense its bemusement in the way it titled its head to regard him.

‘Nice try,’ he said. ‘But this is your last chance. Tell me what I want to know, or this will be the last day you ever see.’

‘We do not know where she is,’ the creature insisted. ‘But if you free her, we will be by her side when she sets forth to rule the cosmos. She will turn your pathetic world into dust.’

‘Will she now? Well, on that note…’ The President tapped his wrist communicator. ‘Activate transmat.’

Seconds later, he was back on the bridge of his ship, and cursed as he headed back to his chair. Missy followed after him but he did his best to ignore her. He didn’t need her “I told you so’s” at that moment. Settling down into what was, if not the most comfortable, at least the biggest and most impressive chair on the bridge, he glowered at the heads-up display and its image of the pyramid on the surface below.

‘Activate the Hand,’ he said.

‘You’re actually going to do that?’ Missy asked, frowning at him.

‘I don’t make idle threats.’

‘That does remove any chance of getting the information from them, you realise that?’

‘They know nothing,’ the President said. 

‘Tell me you’re not going after the Angels again to ask them.’

‘There are only a handful left,’ said the President. ‘And they’ve gone mad. No. Weren’t you listening? They sung her hymns in the Citadel of Karn.’ The President grinned. ‘We’re going to see the Sisterhood.’

He sat back in his chair and watched the screen as below, the orange giant, 14 Andromedae, began to swell and turn nova. The destruction of a star was always beautiful, the President thought. One of the most spectacular sights in nature. Strange how death could hold beauty too. But then, without the threat of death, there could be no poetry in life. Only the thought that things could be lost made you appreciate their value. Unbidden, an image of Clara came to his mind and he closed his eyes to push it away. For a second then, he was back in the castle, running down a stone-flagged corridor in total silence and dusty sunlight, the shambling, fly-ridden creature always at his heels. Always. Four and a half billion years. He felt the heat through his body as if he were dying there again, as he had done so many, many times and he covered his face with his hands, trying to make the memories stop.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Missy standing over him, giving him a look of sympathy that, for once, didn’t irritate him.

‘Even if you find this creature,’ she said in a low voice, ‘what then? You don’t really think you can bargain with it? If it’s as powerful as everyone says… You’re talking about something people worshipped as a god.’

‘I’ve killed gods before,’ said the President. ‘What makes this one any different?’ He stood up and in doing so, brushed Missy’s hand away. 

‘Set a course for Karn,’ he ordered the pilot.

Chapter Text

‘The atmosphere on Veritate is lethal to humans,’ the Doctor explained as he busied himself at the TARDIS controls, ‘and to Time Lords for that matter, so I’m parking us in orbit for the time being. We’ll just take a look at what’s going on and…’

A loud crash cut him off and the TARDIS lurched violently, knocking Clara off her feet. She hit the floor and all the bruises she’d got from Sherwood Forest and Kornephoros flared up to remind her they were there. By the time she got back onto her feet, the Doctor was wafting smoke away from the console and an alarm somewhere beeped out a warning. Seconds later the great, solemn boom of the cloister bell, the TARDIS’s own alarm system, filled the console room.

‘I know, I know,’ the Doctor muttered, still fiddling with switches and buttons.

‘What happened?’ Clara asked.

‘Shockwave,’ the Doctor replied. ‘We came out of the vortex just in time to take the brunt of a massive explosion.’ 

He switched on one of the monitors. Symbols and graphs appeared but as usual, Clara couldn’t make anything of it. The Doctor’s expression, however, told her it wasn’t good.

‘It’s gone,’ he said.

‘What is?’

‘Veritate.’

‘The planet? How could a planet just disappear?’

‘It didn’t,’ the Doctor said.

He flipped a switch and one of the screens flickered into life, showing a starscape littered with debris. In the distance, a star burned at the heart of a haze of gas, but there was something off about it. Its colour was too sickly.

‘Its star just became a supernova. The planet burned. The whole system burned. It’s gone. Lucky the TARDIS shell is fairly hardy or we’d be gone too.’

‘But… that’s a natural thing, right? You can’t make a star go supernova.’

‘The Time Lords could.’

The Doctor walked away from the console. Clara had never seen him look so worried before and stood rooted to the spot, unable to think what to do to help. At least when there were other humans involved or even other aliens, she felt like she could contribute something. The problems might be weird and scary, but if people were mixed up in it, they were generally understandable. She could relate and that meant she could think of ideas. This stuff, though, people blowing up stars and changing the future, this was so hard to get her mind around. 

There was one thing she could do, however. She went to his side and, as he stood in a trance, staring at the instruments as if just looking a little harder would change what they had to say, she laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. He straightened and glanced round, offered a faint smile, then shook his head.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘This planet and its star system were destroyed before their time. Someone is using technology from the darkest part of Gallifrey’s history and I want to find out who and why.’

He was off again before she could question or protest and flung the TARDIS controls back into flight mode.

‘We’re going after them?’ Clara asked.

‘They’ve gone back into the vortex and we’re too late to pick up their temporal wake. Must’ve just dropped in, destroyed the place, then disappeared again. Whoever they are, they’re not wasting time, just meddling with it.’

‘So, we go to Gallifrey?’ Clara suggested. ‘Go to the source. Find out what’s going on.’

‘Not yet,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Even if I knew how to get there, I’d like to know more about what I’m blundering into, for once. If you’re coming with me, you’ll need something warmer than that.’

He nodded towards her long gown, which she’d forgotten she was still wearing. The hem was filthy and torn in places after the run through Sherwood Forest anyway and she figured it would make sense to find something more practical, so headed off towards her room to change.

She wasn’t surprised when she got back to the console room and found him in the same dark suit and wine-coloured shirt as before. He never seemed to feel the cold. Sometimes she wondered if he was immune or if he was just so distracted that he didn’t notice. Maybe a couple of hours after he got into the TARDIS he suddenly shivered and realised it’d been parky out there. It was definitely a “distracted” moment now. She waited for five minutes, watching him as he studied the controls, but he didn’t speak and didn’t even look at her, until he turned to step away from the panel and almost fell over her.

‘How long have you been standing there?’

‘Two weeks.’

Not even a flicker of a smile. The ship had landed from the state of the controls and he did a circuit of the console, glancing at monitors, then strode off towards the door. Since there’d been no “stay in the TARDIS” order, Clara went after him. She would’ve gone, let’s face it, even if he had told her not to, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him wander off when he was this caught up in his own thoughts. He might not admit it all that often – or at all – but he needed someone, another pair of eyes and ears, to focus on the mundane things while he solved the problems of the universe. After all, a bus is pretty ordinary but it can still hit you if you’re not looking.

He hadn’t been joking about the cold. Clara stepped out into ankle-deep snow and a driving blizzard that stung her eyes and burned every patch of exposed skin. She pulled her scarf up over her nose and mouth and tugged her fur-lined hood a little tighter around her face, but the wind buffeted against her, making it an effort to maintain her footing, and after only a few steps through the brittle, ice-coated snow, her toes were on fire. 

At first, the snowstorm made it impossible to see anything apart from a curtain of uninterrupted white, but as she trudged after the Doctor, who didn’t seem bothered by the weather at all, she started to make out details in the distance. They were headed for a large, white dome with a couple of twisted, spiralling towers around it. If it had been on Earth, Clara would’ve guessed it was a mosque, but there was nothing here to say what it might house. The ground nearby was scarred with footprints and tyre tracks so there was a constant stream of traffic in and out of the place. 

The Doctor made for a doorway at the base of the dome, beneath a large archway that Clara was sure had once been the bones of some enormous animal. Two creatures, both about seven feet high and similar to a praying mantis in shape, stood by the door. Their hides were transparent, like glass, with organs pulsing underneath and veins appearing in flashes as a dark liquid passed through them. As the Doctor approached, they scuttled together to block the doorway, but he drew out the leather wallet he kept his psychic paper in and flashed it at them.

‘I’m here to speak to the Seer,’ he said, then nodded over his shoulder at Clara. ‘She’s with me.’

The two creatures made a series of loud clicks and angled their heads as if in conference, then finally moved aside. The doors, two slabs of heavy, reinforced steel, slid open with a low hiss. A dark hangar lay beyond, containing only a few clunky vehicles with heavy caterpillar treads. To Clara’s relief, it was heated and she finally managed to unzip her coat and throw back her hood. 

‘What is this place?’ she asked.

‘Jahati Five,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Humans colonised it a couple of decades ago, hoping to find rare metals beneath the permafrost, then they found out the place wasn’t as uninhabited as they thought.’

‘Those things outside?’

‘Native Jahati. Perfectly adapted to the cold. Highly telepathic species too. The human colonists found themselves awake each night, sweating, plagued by nightmares. Didn’t know what was causing it.’

He headed for a set of metal stairs that twisted upwards to the darkened ceiling of the hangar. 

‘And, let me guess,’ Clara said, ‘some weirdo alien in a blue box turned up and sorted it out for them?’

‘Got a message on the psychic paper,’ the Doctor told her. ‘Just said, “They have invaded, please help”. Course, I arrived, and the colonists decided I was an industrial spy and had been drugging them all to sabotage the operation. Left me chained up in the snow to die of hypothermia. The Jahati found me, took me back to their hive and explained what was going on. Took a bit of doing, but I managed to contact the authority that sent the miners in the first place, got an inspector sent down.’

‘And that sorted it?’ Clara asked. They’d reached a long, industrial-looking corridor with a grille floor and multi-coloured cables strung along the walls, between red-tinted lightbulbs that barely pushed away the shadows. At first, Clara thought she heard the thud of industrial equipment coming from the heart of the complex. The vibrations passed through the floor and into the soles of her feet, like a pulse, but as she and the Doctor progressed along the passage, she realised it was music, a bass beat throbbing through the fabric of the place.

‘Well, no,’ the Doctor replied. ‘The inspector who arrived turned out to be the Master. Wanted to find the Jahati and harness their psychic power to charge up a device he’d found on Origar-Gravis that would let him control the minds of an entire planet. Got the miners on his side within five minutes by promising to get rid of the creatures causing them trouble and convinced them they’d been right the first time and I was an industrial spy. Had me transferred over to his personal custody, where he decided I’d be the first one to sample his newly charged machine.’

‘So, what, he turned you into a zombie or something?’

‘No. The Jahati and I fought back, managed to beat the machine’s influence, turned it around and had the Master and all the humans agree to sign a peace treaty stating they’d stop mining in any areas where the Jahati had their hives. Left the Master gaily heading back to the mining bosses to tell them how clever he’d been, though he’d find a little dossier waiting for him when he got there, explaining who and what he was. The humans moved their mines, the Jahati stopped sending nightmares. Everybody happy.’

At the end of the corridor, the Doctor veered off through a low doorway. The music was much louder now, and for the last few metres, the sound of voices mingled with it, so Clara had expected to see a crowd when they passed through into this next section. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so diverse. There were humans, but dotted amongst giant bipedal lizards and things that looked like rhinoceroses, things that glowed in tanks and creatures like crystal trees in small planters. There were more of the glass mantises, the Jahati, Clara thought, though most of them seemed to be working, carrying trays of drinks or manning the long bar at the far end. Another was in charge of a rack of equipment up on a platform. Maybe that one was the DJ.

‘Everybody seems to be getting on okay now,’ Clara shouted over the music. 

Whether the Doctor didn’t hear or just chose to ignore her, he didn’t respond, but stood for a moment looking out at the crowds, then fixed on a point away at the back of the room and was off again. Clara grabbed his arm to keep hold of him and they started through the mass of bodies. Hands, claws, tentacles, and other limbs she couldn’t begin to identify groped at Clara as she jostled her way through, but she wasn’t letting go of the Doctor. If he had to drag her through the place, so be it, but she wasn’t going to lose him.

He finally stopped by a semi-circle of leather couches in the corner, where a human man and several cat-like aliens sat together, arms draped over shoulders, trays of empty or partially empty drinks all over the low table before them. The man glanced up and straightened, a wary expression flashing across his dark eyes. 

‘Doctor,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time. I had hoped it’d be longer.’

‘The feeling’s mutual,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Still, you seem to be thriving, Marek.’

‘No thanks to you. Are you here to pull this place down too? What’s the objection this time? Is our music bothering some native plantlife or something?’

‘Only the ones with good taste,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m not here to shut you down. I wasn’t here to shut you down the last time. In fact, if memory serves, you’d all be slaves right now, part of the Master’s army, if I hadn’t turned up.’

‘What do you want? Should I get down on my knees and drool in gratitude?’

‘I want to talk to the Seer,’ the Doctor said. ‘You built your outpost over his hive. I’m just being polite. Asking permission before I go down.’

‘And if I say no,’ said Marek, ‘you’ll ignore me and go down there anyway?’

‘Yes, but then you’ll send your guards and there’ll be some kind of confrontation, and I might end up saying something that upsets them, and they’ll be unhappy in their work and that might affect the quality of their work and then it’s not such a challenge for me to get past them and go where I’m going. So we’ll all benefit from keeping things civilised, won’t we?’

‘I should’ve shot you when I had the chance.’

‘Yeah, well you didn’t. We all make mistakes.’

Marek glared at the Doctor for a long while. Clara felt the others round about tensing up, ready for a fight, and saw a couple of burly looking men and one of the rhino-creatures edging slowly nearer to the seats, but then Marek sighed and sagged. He waved his hand towards a curtained doorway to his right.

‘Be my guest,’ he said. 

The Doctor, ignoring the way the rhino-creature snarled at him, strode off towards the door.

‘Oh, but Doctor,’ Marek called.

The Doctor paused on the threshold and looked over his shoulder. 

‘Be careful,’ Marek said. ‘The passages around here can get pretty slippery. Lot of guys trailing snow in on their boots. Be a shame if you were to, say, trip and crack your skull.’

‘You’ll find I don’t crack easily,’ the Doctor retorted, then carried on through the door.

Clara let out the breath she’d been holding once they were in the next stretch of corridor and finally let go of the Doctor’s arm. For the first few metres, she kept expecting to hear footsteps behind them, to see the rhino-thing tailing them, or for a couple of goons to step out in their path, but no one came.

‘Take it not everybody was happy with your peace agreement,’ she said.

‘Marek was the commander of the mining operation here. Lost his job when his bosses found out he’d ignored obvious signs of intelligent life on the planet just to carry on with his contract.’

‘And this hive thing is still underneath the base?’

The Doctor led the way into a stairwell that seemed to go downwards into the bowels of the planet, the temperature rising with every level they passed until Clara started to regret choosing to wear her heavy parka.

‘The Jahati were happy to allow the humans to stay here. They just wanted them to stop drilling down into their nurseries,’ the Doctor replied.

They came to a cavernous chamber with dripping stalactites that glinted in the light from veins of naturally luminous minerals in the rock walls. The chamber itself was empty, save for boulders and rubble, but several caves branched off and disappeared into the shadows. The Doctor seemed to know where he was going, though, and headed for one of the caves without hesitation. 

The next chamber was just as large as the first, but right in the centre was a structure made of glass or ice, a mass of fine tubes that knotted together to form a sort of nest. Several of the glass mantis creatures circled around it, rubbing their serrated forelimbs together to produce a high-pitched tone that reminded Clara of those buskers who made music by running their fingers around glasses of water. In the centre of the nest sat a larger Jahati, its head more heart-shaped than the others and its abdomen twice the size. Unlike the others, though, when it moved and caught the light from the glowing veins in the walls, Clara saw it had patterns in its skin, like blue ink stains forming intricate designs across its body. 

The Doctor bowed low, and Clara wondered if she was meant to do the same, but then the other Jahati scuttled off in all directions, leaving them alone with the Seer, and by the time she turned her attention back to the nest, the moment was gone.

‘Welcome, Doctor,’ it said. Its voice was mellow, deep and smooth. At first, Clara couldn’t figure out how it produced speech with no mouth or obvious vocal cords, but then she remembered that the Doctor had said they were telepathic.

‘You know why I’m here,’ the Doctor said.

The High Seer of the Jahati titled its head back and forth. Its equivalent of nodding, Clara thought.

‘The threads of the universe are broken,’ said the creature. 

‘I know. Someone is destroying planets. I need to know who. What have you seen?’

‘We have tried to see,’ said the Jahati, ‘for many moons now, we have studied the whispers of Time, but there are walls between us and the truth.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘We see what is, what was, what will be, but only what is intended. These things are not intended. They are not part of the web. We cannot see them clearly. We know only that there is one at the heart of it, one whose mind is twisted and who acts out of fear. The lost soul who lives forever now in darkness.’

‘Who?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Who is it?’

‘We cannot see. We feel only the emptiness, the rage. Yet we see oblivion in his path.’

‘Can you at least tell me where I might find him?’

The Seer of the Jahati let out the same strange clicks the other creature had done and flexed some of its long hind limbs. Its claws scraped against the transparent tubules forming its nest. 

‘We see a city beneath a sky that bleeds. A great mass of metal beings that once flew, but which lie forever in the dust, drawn down from the stars like moths with broken wings. A host in crimson who have held a secret prayer in their hearts for millennia. Whispers in the dark. He craves the power they keep hidden.’

‘Thank you,’ the Doctor said. To Clara’s surprise, he bowed again. Apparently the audience was over.

‘We see also,’ the creature went on as the Doctor turned to leave, ‘what must be if the light is to survive. Two men, the same yet different, enemies yet of one mind. The great unravelling of all that has been corrupted. A white world, born of death yet bringing hope and an end to the darkness. Two men will stand and both will fall. One will choose it yet there will be no choice.’

‘I don’t understand,’ the Doctor said.

‘We see you, Doctor,’ the creature continued, gesturing towards him with one of its forelimbs. ‘There were once many paths but now this darkness has stripped away the threads, there remains only one. And that path must lead to your destruction.’

‘I’ve been told that before. I’m still here.’

The Seer gave a gesture with its forelimbs that for all the world was like a shrug. 

‘We can say only what is clear to us. It is not for us to choose the words that stay with you.’

A moment of silence passed and Clara guessed the Doctor was waiting to see if the Seer would be any more forthcoming, but then he bowed again and turned to head out of the chamber.

A couple of the mantis creatures scuttled out of the way as they started back through the cave, disappearing through low arches set into the walls. The place seemed eerily silent once they were gone.

‘So, did any of that make sense?’ Clara asked. ‘Because I didn’t understand a word.’

‘Some of it,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s the problem with mystics. Never give you a straight answer. Just once I’d like to meet a psychic who said, “right, on Thursday at three o’clock, you’ll fall and sprain your ankle, so watch out for big tree roots”.’

Clara glanced down automatically at his feet and noticed for the first time that he was still limping, though not as badly as before. She’d forgotten about his injury and felt a twinge of guilt. Then again, probably so had he until the trek through the cave.

‘I think I know what planet they were talking about,’ the Doctor said. ‘If we can get there before our mysterious friend, maybe we can stop him before he does any more damage.’

They’d reached the stairs again and the Doctor swung himself around to start upwards, but halted so abruptly, Clara walked right into his back.

‘What…’ she asked, then heard him cough, and for the first time, she looked up and saw the figure standing above him on the stairs.

The silver robot had him by the throat. He clawed at its hand but it stayed completely motionless. Clara looked around for any sort of weapon but saw only rocks. She grabbed one that looked large enough to give a good whack but still small enough for her to lift and heaved it towards the robot. The rock bounced off its face and clattered away into the darkness. The robot didn’t even turn to look at her. She launched herself at its arm and tried to prize its hand away but it was like tugging on a steel girder. She felt something tear, then fell backwards onto the floor with a painful thud. Pushing her hair out of her face, Clara saw the robot hadn’t moved, but she’d managed to pull off the bracelet thing it wore, its vortex manipulator. At least now it couldn’t disappear and take the Doctor with it.

The sonic, she thought. Clara ducked beneath the robot’s arm and reached into the Doctor’s jacket pocket until she felt the screwdriver, then she fumbled with the buttons, pointed it towards the robot and hoped that it would do something. 

The robot turned its head without relaxing its grip, then raised its free hand and fired a blast of energy at her face. Clara ducked just in time and heard the shot crackle against the wall behind her. The screwdriver dropped and rattled across the floor. By the time she’d scrabbled back to her feet, the Doctor’s attempts to fight had grown weaker. He gave a few last swipes then closed his eyes, falling limp in its grip. 

The robot let him fall to the floor then stood for a second considering him, maybe scanning to make sure he was dead, Clara thought. And he did look dead. Clara swallowed and tried to ignore the pulse threatening to burst every vein in her body. He couldn’t be dead. The robot climbed down the last couple of stairs and stepped over the Doctor’s prone form. Clara figured he was looking for the vortex manipulator. She shoved it into her coat pocket on instinct and ducked down behind the nearest large boulder. 

Come on, Doctor, she thought. This is where you jump up and do something clever.

Risking a glance over the top of the rock, she saw he hadn’t moved. The robot was a few paces nearer and still coming towards her.

Then its head was no longer on its shoulders. Sparks flew from its neck and the head rolled across the cavern floor, coming to a halt near Clara’s boulder. She let out a shriek before she could stop herself, then watched as the robot’s body first dropped to its knees then flopped forward. It twitched a few times then fell still. 

A Jahati scuttled over to the robot’s body, cocked its head to one side, then stabbed one of its forelimbs into the robot’s chest, giving a few hard thrusts that produced more sparks. Then it turned and disappeared back into the caves as if nothing had happened. A deep silence fell, broken only by the occasional drip of water somewhere in the dark, and the distant pulse of the music upstairs. Clara sat a moment longer, taking it all in, then with a shudder, she remembered the Doctor and hurried to his side. 

He was so still. She watched him for a few seconds, hoping to see even the slightest rise and fall of his chest but there was nothing. For a while, she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, fearing he’d be cold and lifeless. There were already bruises forming around his throat.

‘Doctor?’ she tried, though her voice faltered and she had to inhale slowly to steady herself and try again. ‘Doctor?’

He didn’t respond. Clara took his hand and felt exactly what she’d feared. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch. She knew sitting there wasn’t achieving anything. She should go and find help. Maybe try that guy Marek or something. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her eyes warmed as the tears began and she clutched his hand tighter, bringing it to her face. He was gone. Her Doctor. All the things she’d said to him over the last few months came flooding back at once, all the things she’d complained about, all the insults and mean things. She knew she hadn’t only said those things but her brain refused to repeat anything else and over it all, her mind kept chanting that he was dead. She’d never have a chance to take those things back, or to tell him how much she loved travelling with him or how she’d hoped those travels would last forever. 

‘Your eyes are leaking. Are you damaged?’

Clara’s breath caught in her throat. She stared down at the Doctor, sure she’d heard him speak, but he was just as motionless as before and his eyes were still closed. Then he inhaled deeply and sat up, coughing, and rubbed his throat. Clara tumbled backwards and sat, unsure whether to laugh or scream or try to strangle him herself.

‘Seriously,’ the Doctor went on, getting to his feet. ‘You all right?’ 

‘Fine,’ Clara answered automatically.

The Doctor wandered over to the headless robot and kicked its corpse.

‘You were dead,’ Clara said. 

He coughed again and stooped to pick up the robot’s head. 

‘Respiratory bypass system,’ he said. ‘Handy if you get strangled a lot. What happened to our friend?’

‘Had a run in with a Jahati,’ said Clara.

‘Jahati won, I take it. Shame.’

‘Shame? That thing was trying to kill you.’

‘No, I mean shame the relays are so damaged. I was going to try and plug it into the TARDIS and see where it came from, but I doubt there’s much left that we can use.’

Clara sighed and got to her feet. More bruises to add to the collection, she thought, as a few muscles protested the movement. She was still shaking after her run in with the robot and wrapped her arms around herself to try and slow her heartbeat. The Doctor gave the robot’s head one last glower then tossed it into a corner.

‘At least it’s not after you any more,’ Clara said.

‘Whoever sent it might try again,’ replied the Doctor. ‘I need to know where it came from.’

It was only when she slipped her hands into her pockets that Clara remembered the vortex manipulator. She pulled it out and offered it to the Doctor.

‘What about that?’

‘Where did you get this?’

‘Pulled it off, trying to save your neck.’

‘Should have the co-ordinates stored. Come on.’

‘Well done, Clara,’ Clara said, trailing after him. ‘Good thinking under pressure, Clara.’

‘Do you always talk to yourself like that?’ the Doctor asked over his shoulder. ‘First sign of madness, you know.’

Clara sighed but chose to ignore him. Sometimes it wasn’t worth the energy and besides, he was already halfway up the stairs. By the time Clara caught up, he was on his way back through the arch onto the club floor and she made sure to grab his arm again rather than lose him in the crowd but found she didn’t need to worry. He’d stopped only a few paces beyond the door.

Marek and two of his rhino pals stood facing them, another couple of men and a pair of the cat-faced humans just behind, all of them forming a wall that blocked the way in all directions. The Doctor straightened. Clara felt his muscles tense through his coat and she looked up, a flash of concern passing through her. He was getting ready for a fight. She could see it in his eyes and the way his jaw was so tightly set. All right, she hadn’t known this version of the Doctor for long, but it still didn’t seem all that in character.

‘I’m busy, Marek,’ the Doctor said. ‘You’ve tried these tactics before, back when you were in charge, and it didn’t go well for you.’

‘Only because my team lost their nerve,’ said Marek.

‘You mean they followed procedures? Didn’t want to wipe out an entire race just to get a better profit margin?’

Marek gave Clara a long, appraising look that made her shiver in its intensity. He was a small man but solidly built. The short-sleeved shirt he wore showed off his well-developed biceps and he was one of those men whose head seemed just an extension of his neck. He would be pretty scrappy in a fight, she decided.

‘The girl can go,’ he said finally. ‘This is between us.’

‘The girl’s got a name and she’s not going anywhere,’ Clara said.

‘Clara, be quiet,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Do as he says. Go back to the TARDIS.’

Clara searched the Doctor’s expression, trying to figure out what he was up to, but he looked as hard and stern as Marek.

‘You don’t want to do this, Marek,’ the Doctor warned, his tone darker than Clara had ever heard before. ‘Get out of the way and we’ll be gone. Not your problem any more.’

‘You are my problem, Doctor,’ Marek retorted. He raised his hand to gesticulate and Clara saw he was shaking. That was when she noticed the redness around his eyes, the way he swayed slightly as he stood there. He was blind drunk.

‘I worked for the company ever since I left school,’ he went on. ‘They took me in, trained me, fed me, gave me something to work for when no one else would give me a second glance. I gave them fifteen years of my life, then you turn up and everything’s gone in the space of a week!’

‘You tried to wipe out an entire species,’ the Doctor said. ‘Not to mention the fact that you tried to kill me. I fail to see how any of what happened was my fault.’

‘Because no one would’ve known!’ Marek shouted. A few of the clubbers had stopped dancing now and gathered around the group to see what was going on. ‘Some insects in the snow, who would’ve cared?’

‘I imagine they would’ve.’

‘I had respect,’ Marek continued. ‘I was in line for promotion to commander if this operation went well…’

‘My hearts bleed for you,’ the Doctor shot back. ‘Poor thing. You’ve had to deal with the consequences of your actions. Well guess what? That’s what life is. It’s just that people like you think you can skulk around in the shadows, bullying everyone else into covering up for you, and avoid actually owning up to what you do, but then suddenly you find it’s too late, and someone else has to come in and clean up the mess. And then it’s everybody else’s fault and you’re the victim. Not this time, Marek. Now, out of my way.’

Marek turned to his group and gestured to them to stay back, then cracked his knuckles and stepped forward. The Doctor sighed.

‘Really?’

‘This has been a long time coming, Doctor,’ Marek said.

Clara reached out to tug the Doctor’s sleeve, trying to get his attention before this bizarre confrontation escalated any more, but he shook her off and darted forward just as Marek lunged at him. It was all over in seconds. The Doctor moved so quickly, Clara could barely keep track of him, but the next she knew, Marek was on the floor on his back, the Doctor kneeling over him. The Doctor had his hands around the other man’s throat. The rest of the crowd, the rhinos and the dancers and the cat people, glanced at once another, obviously trying to figure out whether to intercede or not, but no one moved forward. The Doctor’s expression was so alien, Clara felt a shiver pass through her but she forced herself to go to him.

‘Doctor,’ she said. ‘Doctor, let him go. You’re killing him.’

Marek gargled and clawed feebly at the Doctor’s hands. Clara tried giving the Doctor a shove but he simply righted himself and carried on without loosening his grip for a second.

‘Doctor!’

She looked around, wishing one of the others in their little audience would help but no one would move. Then she spotted the glass decanter on the table by Marek’s seat. She dashed forward and grabbed it then tossed the contents into the Doctor’s face. He let out a cry and fell backwards, finally letting Marek go. One of the cat people scurried in to help her boss back to his feet and she and Marek disappeared off into the crowd, the rest of the group drifting after them, and slowly the dancers who’d stopped to watch the fight wandered off too. 

The Doctor wiped his face and stared at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. Clara couldn’t bring herself to go any closer to him, but just stood, watching him.

‘Doctor, what the hell?’ she asked. 

‘I wasn’t…’ he began but trailed off. He looked horrified, Clara thought, and finally approached him. He didn’t protest this time as she took his arm.

‘Let’s get back to the TARDIS,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better once you’re there.’

He nodded without actually looking at her but allowed her to lead him away. They travelled the rest of the way in silence, and even when they reached the TARDIS, he just headed for the console, moved robotically to the controls and flipped a few switches. Clara stayed by the door for a while, arms wrapped around herself, then she took a deep breath and went to his side.

‘All right, what the hell was that?’

The Doctor inhaled and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’ve felt it ever since we came to Kornephoros, something building up inside me. I thought I could control it.’

‘Something like what?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said again. ‘Anger. It’s like… so much pain and anger and for some reason it’s affecting me, I don’t know why. I’m sorry.’

‘Not me you should be apologising to,’ Clara said, forcing a laugh she really didn’t feel. ‘Poor old Marek’s going to have a sore throat for a while.’

‘We need to find out what’s going on,’ the Doctor said after a moment’s thought. ‘Do you still have that vortex manipulator?’

Clara wasn’t convinced yet that he was back to normal. He was still avoiding eye contact. But she handed him the vortex manipulator then stepped back as he busied himself connecting the device to the controls. After a moment, he buried his face for a few seconds in his hands and let out a deep sigh, then shook himself and started tapping commands into the panel.

‘Got it,’ he said.

‘You know where the robot came from?’

He nodded. ‘Makes sense, I suppose, if our friend’s from Gallifrey.’

‘Why, where’s it from?’

He swung the monitor round to let her see. 

‘Karn,’ he said. ‘Gallifrey’s closest neighbour.’

Chapter Text

‘So, do you want me to tell you a story?’ 

His hand was already broken but he hit the wall again. Every beat of his hearts brought waves of pain through his arm and shoulder. A couple of times, he’d nearly passed out and wasn’t really sure how he’d managed to fight away the dizziness and keep standing. Necessity perhaps, some deep-rooted will to survive. He paused, hunched over, until he could push back the urge to be sick, then, shaking, he squared himself for the next blow.

‘The Brothers Grimm,’ he went on, ‘lovely fellas. They’re on my darts team.’

He didn’t have the strength to hit the wall with any great force, but he managed to graze it all the same, leaving a smear of blood across the stone. He couldn’t feel his fingers. 

‘According to them, there’s this emperor, and he asks the shepherd’s boy, “how many seconds in eternity?”’

It reached him then. He felt its presence at his back a fraction of a second before it touched him, and the pain in his hand suddenly didn’t seem to matter any more. Every nerve in his body screamed. He screamed. This time he did pass out for a while. 

When he finally awoke, it took a while to order his thoughts and force his brain to work despite the constant waves of agony washing over him. Every breath hurt. Getting up off the floor was impossible. The world turned red as soon as he tried and he lost consciousness again for a moment. Nothing for it then. He let himself have a few more seconds, then began the slow crawl back to the teleport room. 

It took him about a day and a half to get to the tower and by then he’d lost all sense of who he was. All he knew was where he had to go and what he had to do. Now and then he’d feel a tingle in a part of him that had been ignored until that point, pushed aside by all the injured limbs and organs vying for attention, or he’d see the faint glow start to rise from the charred flesh of his hand and knew his body was trying to regenerate, but he also knew it wouldn’t manage. Back on Gallifrey, they’d simply sedate him and let him die in a drug-filled haze. Here, alone in this castle, he had to try and fight through it. A few more metres. 

The sight of the teleport controls gave him a slight boost and the strength to make it across the room, but by the time he’d connected the power-input leads to his temples and programmed the computers to start the machine automatically, he could barely see. He was so tired.

Seven thousand years so far, and who could tell how many more to go. The only good thing was, when this body burned and a new copy appeared in the teleport, that version of him would know nothing about all this. At least, not to begin with. 

One Doctor burned. Another appeared and drew in breath as if for the first time. Technically for him, it was the first time. He opened his eyes, took in his surroundings, and stooped for a moment to gather up a handful of what he thought was dust at his feet. 

‘If you think because she’s dead…’ he began, then stopped and stared at the dust, letting it run through his fingers. For a moment he’d turned cold. He thought he knew this place. Felt a sudden rush of déjà vu, so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet. A memory flashed across his brain and blotted everything else out. A sea full of skulls, hundreds of thousands of them. A castle that moved. A wall he could never hope to break through, not in a million or even a billion years. Then it was gone. He straightened, cleared his throat, and got a grip of himself. 

‘If you think because she’s dead, I am weak, then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her and you’re not afraid, then you understand nothing at all. So, for your own sake, understand this. I’m the Doctor. I’m coming to find you. And I will never, ever stop.’ 

The Lord President traced the gold pattern along the edge of his robes with his finger and mentally repeated the words those symbols represented. It was an old poem from back in the Dark Times, something Rassilon himself probably chose, with all the usual stuff, glorifying the power and wisdom of the Time Lords, the beauty of Gallifrey and the intricacy of Time, but the words didn’t really mean anything to the President any more. They were just a useful way to calm his thoughts when the memories threatened to overwhelm him again.  

He lay on the king-sized bed he had installed in his quarters on board the time ship, listening to the hum of the engines around him. It had taken a long while to get used to silence, but he was coming to appreciate it. It was only when he was alone and everything was quiet that he could slow his brain down and didn’t feel like an earthquake was rattling through his body. 

He ran his finger around the circles of the same stanza he’d read a million times, but then froze. There was someone else in the room with him. Someone who hadn’t been there seconds before. He knew which corner they were standing in, but he didn’t dare look. It was always the corner just out of sight, just on the edge of his peripheral vision. She never appeared anywhere else. Never stood directly in front of him, and if he did catch a glimpse of her rather than just sensing her presence, she always had her back to him. 

Of course, she wasn’t real. He knew that. She was just another symptom of a broken mind, something left over from those days in the castle when he tried to see her, tried to talk to her to stay sane. Only as the millennia passed, he found it harder and harder to conjure her image, or that of his TARDIS for that matter. No more safe places. 

Every time he stepped out of that teleport, he remembered it all a little earlier than the last time and each time, it grew harder to carry on. Imagining her and the TARDIS had helped in the beginning but doing the same thing over and over, he found he couldn’t even remember what the TARDIS console room looked like.

Some cycles, he’d just sat on the floor by the door to Room Twelve and wept until the Veil caught up with him and burned him all over again. Sometimes he took the spade left for him in the corridor and smashed every window and painting and bit of furniture, smashed the skull he found in the teleport room which he knew now, as soon as he found it, was his own. 

Once, he climbed to the very top of the tower, as he often did, to look at the stars. By their position that night, he guessed the whole thing had been repeating for about a hundred thousand years already and the thought of another hundred thousand stretching out before him was too much to bear. He’d climbed onto the battlement, knocking over the skull, which he found he often set down there without really knowing why, and considered the ocean rippling below like a sheet of black silk. 

No rapid thoughts to save himself this time. Just let the water take him. Let him become another of those skulls heaped up against the castle’s foundations. Let it finish. That was the first time he saw Clara when he hadn’t deliberately imagined her. When he tried to look properly, she was gone, but when he turned back to stare down at the water, there she was, on the edge of his vision, back towards him. Judging him. He staggered, grabbed hold of the stonework and steadied himself, and realised he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give up. Not yet. By the time he climbed back down, Clara was gone. Only the Veil stood there, waiting.

After that cycle, he saw her regularly in the castle, always just out of reach. Perhaps she was a ghost. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Perhaps both. He knew why she was there, though. To remind him why he had to keep repeating these events over and over, no matter how long it took. Why he had to keep shattering the bones in his hand punching a wall he could never hope to break through in a million lifetimes. Because she was dead, and the people on the other side of that wall were responsible. 

He hadn’t promised not to seek revenge. All right, Clara had ordered him not to, but when had he ever followed orders? And it wasn’t for her to say. She wasn’t the one who had to live with her own absence. She was gone. He was the one who had to stare at her portrait in that godforsaken castle and know that he would never see her again, not for real, and it was their fault. The people who had brought him here. Who were torturing him. So he made a promise to himself. He would make them pay.

It had taken just over four and a half billion years to escape, and Clara had been there when he did, just out of sight, facing the azbantium wall, while the Veil stalked slowly towards them.

‘…How many seconds in eternity? And the shepherd’s boy says, “There’s this mountain of pure diamond. It takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it.  Every hundred years, a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiselled away, the first second of eternity will have passed.” You must think that’s a hell of a long time. But personally, I think that’s a hell of a…’

The wall cracked. So did several metacarpals. The skin had split and blood ran in sticky rivulets between his fingers but for once he didn’t notice. The wall cracked. For a moment, the light was blinding, though he was still aware of Clara at his side. He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined she was pleased. Behind him, the Veil collapsed into a mass of threadbare shroud and clanking cogwheels.

The man who had once called himself “The Doctor” straightened.

‘Personally,’ he said, ‘I think that’s a hell of a bird.’

What happened afterwards tended to blur in his memory, becoming one long montage of staser fire, screams and endless posturing between the two sides, but he remembered her being there too, always off in some corner he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at, but always there to remind him why all this had to be done, why Rassilon and his generals had to pay. The fact that none of them seemed to care that a human had been killed as collateral in their plan to imprison him just made it easier. 

When he finally stepped out to address the new High Council as their President, he’d looked for Clara, tried to sense her amongst the crowds come to watch the inauguration, but she wasn’t there. She was satisfied, he told himself. He’d avenged her, and now he could bring a bit of order to Gallifrey, uproot the old, corrupt systems that were part of the reason he left in the first place. He set about making the universe safe, getting rid of the Cybermen, the Sontarans, as many of the Weeping Angels as he could coax out of the shadows. The Daleks were proving harder to wipe out, but then they always were like dry rot. Every time you thought you’d seen the last of them, there they were again. But he was working on that. All he needed was a bit of extra firepower. 

It was only now things had calmed a little, now he was on board his ship and had a plan to deal with the Daleks and anything else that threatened his authority for that matter, that Clara had started to appear again. He was sure by that point that she wasn’t a ghost. He was the only one aware of her. He’d seen people walk right past the spot where he knew she was standing and none of them reacted.

Now she was back again, over in the corner of the room and like all these recent visitations, he wished she’d go away. Nothing had changed in her demeanour or appearance. She still wore the same dove-grey jumper she’d had on the day she died, but the Lord President didn’t want to see her any more. Where before he’d been desperate to get a proper look, not just that shadow a few steps behind him, now he felt cold when he sensed her nearby. He wasn’t sure why. 

‘I don’t know what you want,’ he said to the corner where she stood now, without looking directly at her. ‘But if you have something to say to me, out with it. No more judgemental looks, not that you ever look at me.’

He shifted his weight and tried to turn a few millimetres on the bed to see a bit more of her, see if she reacted, but she always stayed the same distance, just out of sight. A dull ache in his wrist and shoulder told him he was leaning too hard on his right hand and he cradled it for a moment, debating whether it was worth another dose of painkiller. He was taking too much lately, but then the hand and arm had been hurting more these last few weeks, not to mention the headaches. 

Looking down at his right hand, he started to trace the lines of his scars the way he had done with the pattern on his robe. He should’ve had it fixed, he supposed. Gallifreyan medicine could’ve sorted out a few broken bones, a few cuts and bruises, in a matter of seconds, but somehow he had never been able to do it. Now it was too late. If he skulked along to the surgeon and asked to have it repaired, he’d seem weak. He felt the spectre’s disapproval at that. She would have made him fix it, but then she would have made him forgive Rassilon and the others for what they did. She would have made him leave Gallifrey, return to his old life, his old name, and forget all of this. So what did she know? 

‘You have no idea what it’s like,’ he said. ‘You’re dead. You don’t have to get up every day and miss you.’

The door chime rang and he gritted his teeth, cursed under his breath, and closed his eyes, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the chime sounded again, and again. When he looked up, Clara was gone. The corner was empty. The chime repeated, and finally the President swore aloud and flung himself off the bed.

‘What?’ he shouted.

The door slid open and Missy stepped in. She gave him a look that had too much sneer in it for his liking, then bowed. Funny how she could show all the proper deference and yet it still seemed sarcastic.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

‘Who were you talking to?’

‘Myself,’ the President lied. ‘Why, are you worried I’m losing my mind?’

Her expression seemed to say, “Do you really want me to answer that?” but she said nothing and simply swept around the room. Checking to see if there was someone else there, the President decided. 

‘We’ve just come into the system and are in geostationary orbit over the old citadel of Karn,’ she said. ‘Or have you seen a bit of sense and decided not to bother with this nonsense?’

‘And what, exactly, is your alternative?’

Missy shrugged. ‘You have Gallifrey. You have all the power of the Time Lords at your disposal. Leave the Daleks. Let them stew in their own little tin cans. If you keep chasing after them, sooner or later you’re going to lose. What do you want, another Time war?’

‘If that’s what it takes to make this universe safe.’

He flung off his robes and grabbed a more practical, three quarter-length coat from the chair where he’d tossed most of his clothes when he first took up residence on the time ship. Though it was a Gallifreyan garment, it reminded him a little too much of the way he used to dress, but needs must. Most of the surface of Karn was covered in rubble and the wreckage of ships scuttled by the Sisterhood, but the ruins of the citadel were particularly rough terrain. 

‘You don’t even know if there’s anything down there,’ Missy said. 

‘By all means, stay here and make a catalogue of all the things you don’t like about this plan, but I’m going down. If there is even a chance this creature exists, I want it on my side.’

‘And you really think you’ll get that? This being - assuming it isn’t a myth, which is a pretty big assumption, but never mind – nearly bested the entire fleet of the Time Lords back in the days when the Time Lords’ fleet was actually something, and not a collection of clapped-out war TARDISes and ships held together by string and hope. I know you have an ego the size of a planet, Doc… Lord President, but have you considered, even for a millisecond, what you’ll do if this all blows up in your face?’

He hadn’t. He had deliberately avoided thinking about that possibility. What was the use? Whatever happened, he’d deal with it.

‘We’re already here,’ he said. ‘I can’t back out now.’

‘Leaders can change their minds, that’s why they’re leaders. They can do what they want.’

‘Well, I want to go down there. I want to find this creature. And I will find it, with or without your help.’

He strapped his holster onto his belt and checked his staser’s charge before slipping the weapon into place. He usually preferred to carry his dagger, a ceremonial blade he’d had carved out of a piece of azbantium, just for old times’ sake, but it wouldn’t be practical on the planet’s surface. As he turned to head for the door, though, he spotted Clara again, just on the edge of his vision, a few paces behind Missy. 

‘What?’ Missy asked, then turned to follow his gaze. She gave him a bemused frown and he made an effort to keep his expression blank.

‘Nothing,’ he said. 

‘What happened to not carrying guns?’

‘Times change,’ the President replied, then realised as soon as he spoke that Missy hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t heard voice. It had only been in his head. That was new. He’d never heard Clara speak before, at least, not this Clara.

Missy moved closer, scrutinising him, so he ignored her and took a painkiller patch from the box he kept by his bedside. He peeled off the one already stuck to the back of his ruined hand and replaced it with the fresh patch, aware that Missy was watching him just as judgementally as Clara’s ghost. Warmth spread through his veins and eased a little of the ache in his hand and wrist and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy it.

‘Is it her?’ Missy asked in a low voice, loading the last syllable with meaning.

Before the President could respond, a jolt of pain exploded in his chest, both his hearts suddenly beating twice their normal speed. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, Missy kneeling beside him with her arms around his shoulders.

‘You’re using too many of those things,’ she chided and peeled the patch off his hand. 

The President felt around his neck. He was sure the skin was bruised. It felt tender and constricted, like someone had tried to strangle him. For a moment it had been hard to breathe and then, just as quickly as it had come on, the episode was gone. Was this some new stage of his decline? Panic seized him at the thought of something else going wrong with this body. The last thing he wanted to do was regenerate. Firstly, it would leave him utterly vulnerable to his enemies on Gallifrey and beyond and secondly, he had no guarantee that his next persona would have the same resolve as he did. What if he - or she – was too weak to cope with all the memories and pain and lost their mind? What if they used the measures he’d taken to secure the Time Lord’s safety to exert control over the universe instead of protecting it? 

‘Are you all right?’ Missy asked. ‘Should I call for a medic?’

‘I’m fine,’ he replied with a growl and shook her off as he got to his feet. His hand hurt again. He must’ve jarred his wrist and shoulder as he fell. He fetched another patch from the box and, ignoring the look she gave him, pressed it onto his skin.

‘Are you coming?’ he asked.

Missy sighed and stood up. ‘Someone’s got to keep an eye on you, don’t they?’

Chapter Text

Lightning cracked across a wine-coloured night sky and lit up the terrain for a brief moment, showing the wreckage of dozens if not hundreds of spaceships spread across a valley below the path the Lord President and Missy now followed with their little cohort of guards. The Sisterhood of Karn had supposedly given up luring ships to their deaths many years before, but the President was sure there were more wrecks than the last time he’d visited. He wondered if they’d adopted any other old habits recently. Telepathy perhaps. Had it been one of the Sisters who’d reached out to him earlier? It felt logical, but he didn’t believe it. Whoever he’d made contact with, they had felt male. They had felt familiar. Without thinking, he rubbed his throat. It was still sore, though he’d checked in the mirror before leaving his quarters and saw no sign of any bruises. Someone was out to get him, though. A telepathic assassin perhaps. He’d have to make sure he kept his psychic barriers up, but that had been so difficult lately. The headaches made it hard to think let alone take care of his mind.

Their path took them around the edge of another valley reached by a series of hexagonal basalt columns that formed a natural staircase. The thud of drums and the whine of reed instruments fought against the growl of the thunder in the distance. Pyres made of intricately stacked wood burned thirty feet high, sending showers of sparks into the night air. Around them stood the Sisters in their blood-red robes, some waving lighted torches to add to the smoke and heat. 

As the President and Missy’s entourage paused on the path, a group of Sisters broke away from the rest and started towards them. Despite his earlier resolve to keep his attire practical, the Lord President had, once he persuaded Missy to stop fussing over him, changed back into his ceremonial robes and collar and he was glad of the extra height and gravitas the outfit gave him. Not that it would matter much to the Sisters. People who could see into your soul rarely noticed what you were wearing, but it made him feel larger and more present. 

The leader of the group headed up towards them was a small, elderly woman in a red and gold headscarf. She wore ceremonial makeup, gold paint on her cheeks and around her eyes glinting as she passed the burning torches. She smiled as she came nearer, but there was nothing warm about it. She looked more like a manager sent out to deal with a difficult customer than a leader of her people come to meet her neighbour.

‘Ohila,’ the President greeted her. ‘Are you having a party?’

Ohila bowed stiffly. ‘Tonight is the winter solstice. We celebrate the beginning of the new year.’ She didn’t say, “as well you know” but it was there, hanging in the air in the silence after she’d spoken.

The Lord President gave her an icy smile. ‘Isn’t it your tradition that whatever happens tonight sets the tone for the rest of the year?’

‘Our ancestors used to believe so, yes,’ said Ohila. ‘We may not be as superstitious these days, but we still believe tonight should be a time to practice those behaviours one wishes to see continue for the rest of the year. Kindness. Honesty. Justice.’

‘None of which are traits I’d usually associate with your Sisterhood, but then we do tend to get off on the wrong foot quite a lot, don’t we?’

‘What can I do for you, Lord President?’ Ohila asked. The President could see the strain it took to maintain her smile and was pleased.

‘Well, you’ll recall a few months ago, you and I had a conversation about a certain creature from Time Lord mythology, a creature you assured me didn’t exist.’

‘I remember it well,’ said Ohila. ‘And I meant what I said.’

‘I believed you were lying then but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.’

Ohila scoffed. 

‘However,’ the President continued, ignoring the disrespect for now, ‘I now have it on good authority that not only did you lie when you said the creature didn’t exist, but there’s a strong possibility it’s here on Karn, and has been on Karn all this time. You can understand my frustration. And so, in the spirit of the season, I would suggest you tell me the truth this time, otherwise what happens tonight might set a very bloody precedent for the rest of your year. Do you understand me?’

He saw the old woman flinch just ever so slightly but she did a good job of maintaining her dignity. He also noticed how she glanced towards his guards, counting them. Assessing her position, he decided. Well, let her. There might be more of the Sisterhood but his guards were armed, and he’d made sure to bring only those who wouldn’t be intimidated by the Sisters’ mysticism.

‘Won’t you join us for the feast?’ Ohila said. ‘There was a time the High Council would have always sat at our table at this time of year.’

‘I don’t recall getting an invite,’ said the President. 

‘I offer it now. Will you come with me? Whatever you wish to discuss, let us at least speak in comfort.’

‘And in a place where you have the tactical advantage.’

‘I’m an old woman, Doctor. I leave such things to you and your guards.’

The name brought a surge of rage and guilt that twisted inside him and he wondered if the slip had been deliberate on Ohila’s part. He stepped closer, taking advantage of his greater height.

‘That is not my name,’ he said. He didn’t add, “as well you know” but he let it hang between them for a while.

Ohila gestured towards the basalt staircase.

‘Stay here,’ the President ordered the guards. ‘Keep your guns trained. If I look at all uncomfortable, start shooting.’ 

He followed Ohila and her Sisters down to the valley and the heat of the bonfires blasted against his skin, drying it out. It wasn’t the best place to hold a meeting. The flames cast weird shadows round the rocky walls of the hollow and turned the Sisters into wraiths that were never easy to pin down. They wouldn’t be easy to shoot from a distance either, but hopefully the threat would be enough to make Ohila behave. She led Missy and the President to a long table beneath a velvet canopy where several Sisters were already seated, picking at golden platters of fruit and meat in front of them. Ohila slipped into a high-backed wooden chair at the middle of the table and gestured towards benches opposite her. The President swept back his robes and sat down but waved away the Sister who came to his side with an offer of wine. 

‘I can assure you it’s not poisoned,’ Ohila said. ‘It is traditional to share a drink with friends at the solstice as a gesture of that friendship’s continuance through the year.’

‘You and I are not friends, Ohila, you made that very clear the last time. Now can we dispense with this nonsense and get onto the matter at hand?’

‘I did not lie to you before, Doc… Lord President, when I told you I have no idea where the Queen is hidden. I know the stories as well as you do, that Rassilon had her imprisoned somewhere during the Dark Times in an eternal time lock, that a small group of our ancestors millennia ago once worshipped her, but they were one small faction and were probably wiped out when Morbius arrived here. What makes you think the Queen would be here?’

‘Because if I were Rassilon,’ the President said, ‘and I had to dispose of one of the most powerful beings in existence, something which very nearly destroyed my entire fleet and my entire planet, I would want to keep her close, somewhere I could keep an eye on her and make sure no one came along later to set her free. And somewhere I could study her if needs be, in the hope of finding a way to make her obey me.’

‘Perhaps you and Rassilon are more similar than you would care to admit,’ Ohila suggested.

‘I choose to ignore that. My point is, Karn is the obvious choice. Close enough to Gallifrey to be monitored, and yet still separate from Gallifrey if things go horribly wrong. There were always rumours that Morbius chose to centre his rebellion on Karn because there was something here he wanted. As a former member of the High Council, he’d be in a position to know exactly what he was looking for and where it was. And even before the civil war between his followers and the Time Lords, the population of Karn wasn’t exactly thriving, so this would be a nice, quiet spot where there’s very little chance of anyone stumbling across the prison accidentally. Now, even if I choose to believe you personally have no knowledge of the Queen’s location, you must have an inkling where it might be. There must be places on Karn that people talk about. Places full of shadows and whispers. The place you warn your children about. The place no one wants to go after dark.’

‘Between Morbius and the Time Lords who came supposedly to save us from him, Doctor, Karn has been left with countless places that would fit that description.’

The President drew his staser and saw several Sisters tense, reaching into their robes for weapons, though none of them dared come too close.

‘I should warn you, this is the personal sidearm of the Lord President of Gallifrey,’ he said. ‘There are no stun settings. Call me by that name once more and it will be the last word you’ll ever speak, is that clear?’

Ohila nodded and swallowed. For the first time, the old woman looked rattled, though again she tried to hide it.

‘As you say,’ she began in a measured tone, ‘the indigenous peoples of Karn died out long before the Time Lords began coming here and our ancestors settled. All that remains of their civilisation are a few standing stones, a few ruins in the dust. That is why we call it ‘The Time of the Stones’. Because the stones are all that remain.’

‘What about the old citadel?’ the President asked.

Ohila shrugged. ‘That was built by the early Gallifreyan settlers.’

‘In the age of Rassilon?’

‘Towards the end of his reign, I believe. But it was burned to the ground during Morbius’s rebellion. Nothing but rubble remains now.’

‘And no one talks about it? You don’t tell each other stories? See strange lights in there at night?’

‘There are some children’s stories, but that is to be expected, given the amount of devastation Morbius’s followers caused.’

‘Was Morbius particularly interested in the citadel?’

Ohila shifted her weight. The President could practically see the neurones in her brain over-firing as she tried to come up with a lie. 

‘It was the first site they occupied when they arrived on Karn. Morbius based much of his command operation from there. That was why it was destroyed. It was the main focus of the Time Lords’ action against him. His execution took place on the cliffs overlooking the ruins.’

‘So he was there for quite some time, then,’ said the President. ‘I wonder what he was up to.’

‘None of us will ever know. Morbius is dead. You saw to that.’

‘Yes, I did. Still, we’ve come a long way from “I don’t know what you’re talking about, there’s nothing here at all,” haven’t we?’

‘You are making a great leap in logic, Doc… Lord President. Besides, the lands around the citadel are not safe. Once, our people kept the wild beasts of this planet at bay but since their destruction, nature has overtaken much of our lands. Few venture into those valleys and return.’

‘Then I’ll want an escort, someone who knows the terrain and can take us to this citadel.’

‘There is nothing…’

‘Do not try my patience any more than you already have,’ the President warned. ‘Someone who knows these ruins and can lead my people and I to them, safely. A few of my guards will stay here, in fact, just to make sure we do get there safely and get back again in the same state, because those guards will have orders to wipe your Sisterhood out if anything untoward happens.’

‘What do you want with the Queen?’ Ohila asked.

‘None of your concern.’

‘It is my concern. If you release a being with such power, you could destroy all life in the cosmos. If Morbius was trying to find her, then he evidently failed. Long before that, she came close to destroying the galaxy and even Rassilon struggled to hold her back…’

‘And in case it slipped your notice,’ said the President, ‘I came here in Rassilon’s flagship. I wear his collar of office. I sit in his big, fancy chair whenever we have meetings. Rassilon isn’t around any more. He couldn’t cut it. I am what you have to deal with now. I am what the Queen will have to deal with if she exists too. I feel quite confident that I will succeed where Rassilon nearly failed. And as for Morbius, well… you said yourself what happened to him.’

Ohila turned and glowered at Missy, who’d stayed suspiciously quiet throughout the exchange and simply prodded at one of the platters with the end of a silver fork.

‘And you?’ Ohila asked. ‘Are you willing to risk the universe just to pander to his ego?’

‘Enough,’ the President said. ‘You have my demands. Give me your answer.’

Ohila considered the matter for a long while, but the President knew as soon as he saw the old woman exhale, her shoulders sagging just a little, that he’d won.

‘We can lead you to the citadel,’ she said, ‘but I will escort you myself. I won’t risk any of my sisters for your folly.’

‘I don’t care.’ He swept up out of the chair and grabbed a piece of fruit from the table as he did so. ‘Right then. Are we going?’

‘Now?’

‘Is there any point in wasting time?’

Ohila scowled but she got up and threw a few glances at the other Sisters, who scurried off in all directions. Again the firelight made it hard to track where each one went but the President hoped none of them would risk attacking while he still had his gun trained on their leader.

‘It is dark now,’ Ohila said. ‘Travelling would be dangerous. We can leave at first light. Until then, come, enjoy the ceremony. Let your people join in the feast. They are most welcome.’

‘They have their own rations, thank you,’ said the Doctor, though out the corner of his eye, he saw Missy sitting back down. She glanced briefly at him then started at the platters of food again.

 He bristled at the thought of having to wait and considered sticking to his original order, insisting that they left immediately, but he had to admit Ohila had a point. Karn might not have much by way of human population any more, but there were still animals around. With a sigh, he returned to his seat and sat down. The music that had played as they approached the valley and which had stopped as soon as the Gallifreyan party appeared on the path, started up again, a wailing, discordant melody played on some kind of reed instrument, accompanied by bells and skin drums. Ohila returned to her chair and the President felt her watching him, so deliberately played with the piece of fruit he’d taken, peeling a bit of the skin off to reveal the blood-red flesh beneath.  

‘If you had come to us,’ Ohila said, ‘we could have healed you. We can still heal the…’

‘You think I’d trust my life to a bunch of scheming old women? You’ve tried to kill me once and I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t in on this latest scheme by the High Council to imprison and torture me. Did they let you watch? I suppose all four and a half billion years’ worth might’ve been a bit much, but they must’ve shown you the edited highlights.’ 

‘I had no knowledge of that,’ Ohila said. ‘Whatever Rassilon did to you, he did it of his own volition.’

‘See, that’s the problem with proven liars,’ the President replied. ‘You can’t believe anything they say ever again.’

Ohila considered him for a long while. The President picked at the fruit then finally set it down on the table and simply stared at it. Over by the bonfire, a group of Sisters had started a dance, reeling around the flames as if they’d lost their minds. The President hated dancing. A ridiculous waste of energy.

‘You danced with me once,’ said a voice nearby. 

The President straightened, a chill rippling down his spine. Neither Missy nor any of the Sisters at the table reacted. They didn’t seem to have heard. Then he saw her. She was standing by the wooden pole that supported the awning covering their table. Like always, she had her back to him. He thought about getting up, approaching her, even trying to touch her to see what would happen. She’d never been directly in his line of sight like this before. Maybe she was manifesting more fully now. And this was the second time he’d heard her speak. And in his mind, a memory stirred. Holding her hands, dancing like idiots with a bunch of Vikings in a place that stank of straw and manure and ale. For a moment, his hearts ached.

He got up slowly, aware that Ohila was still watching him, and wandered as casually as he was able around the end of the table. The figure didn’t move. She didn’t disappear. He approached her one tentative step at a time until he was within arm’s reach of her. Then he just stood for a moment, watching. He couldn’t see the subtle movements of a human body that betrayed its life mechanisms, the gentle rise and fall of the shoulders as the lungs took in air, the tiny movements of the jaw as the person swallowed. There was nothing. She was as still as a statue. The President reached out to her, thinking he would try laying his hand on her shoulder, but he hesitated. What if his hand passed right through her? What if he felt only stone or worse, the cold, dead flesh of a corpse?

‘Lord President?’

At the sound of Ohila’s voice, the President turned and looked over his shoulder at the table. Everyone was staring at him. Missy’s expression was grim, the same glare of concern she’d worn when he nearly passed out on the ship. 

‘I…’ He began, but when he turned back to the figure, she was gone. 

‘Are you quite well?’ Ohila asked.

The President looked around at the valley beyond the table and its tent, but could see nothing in the constantly shifting shadows and firelight. His head hurt again and he stood for a moment with his hands pressed to his temples until the pain subsided. A hand fell on his shoulder and he pulled away instinctively. Missy stood by his side, still looking worried.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘So we have to stay here for a bit. We’ve got provisions. Sit down, have something to eat and rest for a few hours.’

‘There is nothing wrong with me,’ the President insisted. He brushed past Missy and returned to the table. She waited a moment, then wandered back to her own seat, watching him all the while.

‘Something the matter?’ Ohila asked.

‘No,’ the President growled. ‘Thought I saw something, that’s all.’

‘Our ancestors believed this was the time when the barriers between realities were weakest and things might cross over,’ said Ohila. ‘They would’ve said you saw a ghost.’

‘Well, they got themselves wiped out, didn’t they? So forgive me if I don’t value their opinion very much.’

‘There is something strange about you,’ Ohila went on unperturbed. ‘Something I cannot quite discern, but you are wrong, Lord President. Something has been altered. You should not be here.’

‘Really?’ the President asked, feigning disinterest. 

‘Your timeline should not exist,’ Ohila said. ‘Someone has changed the past, your past, and created you. I wonder why?’

‘In case you’d forgotten, I came here from Gallifrey. If anything had been altered in my timeline, the Time Lords would know about it.’

‘Assuming it wasn’t one of them who was responsible.’

The President stifled the retort he was about to give and sat back, pondering the idea. Would he feel it if someone had altered his past? He should, surely? But if he was the result of the change, the aberration, perhaps he wouldn’t be aware of it. Of course, the most obvious answer was that Ohila was lying, trying to unnerve him. He made sure, therefore, not to show any reaction to her revelation.

‘Supposing I believe you,’ he said, ‘what is there to do about it now? I am who I am and I know what I must do to protect my planet, my people. My universe.’

‘By destroying any enemy who crosses your path?’

‘If that’s what it takes.’

The company sank into uneasy silence after that, and the President finally allowed himself to sample some of the wine and food, since Missy had got through a whole plate load already and wasn’t dead yet. The dancing went on, the music curling up into the night air with the smoke from the bonfires. The President tried to judge from the skies how long it might be until dawn. A couple of hours, he thought. He’d only have to bear this for another couple of hours.

Chapter Text

Clara kept her distance from the Doctor but watched him closely as he busied himself at the controls. She got the feeling he knew he was under observation and was making a show of not bothering. A couple of times, she thought she caught him sneaking a glance over his shoulder to see if she was still there, and she did consider leaving him alone for a while. It would’ve been nice to get away herself, let out a huge, deep breath and swear a few times until she felt more in control of herself again, but she didn’t want him out of her sight for the time being. Her heart had calmed down since his attack on the miner, Marek, but the adrenaline was still coursing about in her veins, looking for something to punch or run away from.

When the time rotor finally stopped moving, the Doctor disconnected the robot assassin’s vortex manipulator from the console and tucked it into his pocket, his expression stern. Then he checked a few monitors again. He didn’t normally take this long to go over the environmental settings and the rest when they landed. Maybe he was putting off going outside.

Clara couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer.

‘So what’s Karn like then?’ she asked, making her voice as cheerful as she could. Like they were discussing a new restaurant that had just opened down the road.

‘Hm? Karn? Mostly dead nowadays, though there was a fairly healthy civilisation here once,’ the Doctor replied in a funereal tone.

‘What happened? The Time War?’

‘No, actually. They were in this state long before that. Though it was a Time Lord at the heart of it all. Fellow called Morbius. Back in the days of Rassilon, he objected to the idea that only certain families, Rassilon’s favourites, were allowed to regenerate. He wanted it made available to all Gallifreyans, regardless of rank.’

‘Doesn’t sound that bad.’

‘He wasn’t, not at that point. But somewhere along the road he got the idea that the Time Lords were squandering their power by just sitting around, watching everything, and that we should go back to the way it was in the early days, conquering the universe, using other species as playthings. And he decided the only way to make any changes on Gallifrey was to lead an armed coup against the regime. That led to factions, people taking sides, two armies tearing holes out of each other all across Gallifrey. Morbius was defeated at first and forced into exile, but he set up a base of operations on Karn and the fighting moved there. Most of the settlers were wiped out in the crossfire. The ones thet were left only keep themselves alive by drinking an elixir that slows their natural ageing. Once they’re gone, Karn will be a dead planet.’

‘But these survivors,’ Clara said, ‘they must be the ones who sent the robot.’

‘Possibly,’ the Doctor replied. ‘A lot of people came to Karn to watch Morbius’s execution there after he was finally defeated. A few stayed on. I met one of them once. Nasty fellow. I suppose it’s possible there could be others dotted about the place, though it seems a long shot. The Sisterhood are a much more likely candidate, though I’d love to know why. We’ve never exactly been best of friends but the last time I was there, we parted on good enough terms. Certainly can’t remember saying anything that would make them want to kill me.’

He played with the controls some more. Definitely avoiding the moment, Clara thought, but at least he was a bit more talkative, a little bit more like himself, as much as she’d been able to decide what this new Doctor was actually like in the short time they’d been together since his regeneration. She finally approached him and laid her hand on his arm. He flinched at first, but didn’t push her hand away. 

‘You said this is Gallifrey’s closest neighbour, right?’ she began. ‘So what if it wasn’t the people here who sent the robot? What if it’s just the Time Lords using Karn as a base?’

He shrugged. ‘Could be.’

‘Not going to find out from in here, though, are we?’

He inhaled deeply and straightened.

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose not.’

He headed for the door with such a sudden burst of speed, Clara had to jog to catch up with him. Then they both stepped out of the TARDIS onto a rocky landscape that reminded her of the desolate planet they’d visited earlier. The area reminded her a little of pictures she’d seen of Iceland, and though she’d never really found geology all that interesting, she thought that probably meant the place had been fairly active at one point. There were a load of mountains on the horizon that looked as if they might be dormant volcanoes. Hopefully dormant, anyway. Columns of hexagonal basalt, like the Giant’s Causeway, rose up from the otherwise flat terrain like the towers of some evil castle in a fantasy novel. These and a few trees with jagged, razor-sharp leaves and twisted trunks were the only things to break the monotony of the area. 

‘Lovely,’ said Clara. ‘Surprised this place isn’t more popular, beautiful view like that.’

‘It was lovely once,’ the Doctor replied, staring off into the distance as if he were seeing a different landscape entirely. ‘Before Morbius, this would have been orchards. They organised the plants by the colour of the flowers, so in spring this whole valley would have been a rainbow. A little further that way was a resort built into the side of the valley wall beneath a waterfall that always caught the sun no matter the time of day.’

‘A resort?’

‘After the non-interference decree was put in place and the Time Lords were barred from travelling without very good reason, this was one of the few places anyone was allowed to go. A lot of Time Lords came here to rest after a regeneration, or just after a stressful few centuries. The water here was supposed to have some restorative property, so people came here just to drink it.’

‘You’re saying this was basically Bath but for Time Lords?’

That got a ghost of a smile. ‘You should’ve seen the bathing costumes.’

‘Glad I didn’t, thanks. So where do we start? You said the population’s small, so shouldn’t be too hard to track down someone who knows something.’

‘We’ll find Ohila,’ the Doctor said. ‘If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.’

The Doctor started off down a slope covered in reddish sand and Clara picked her way carefully after him.

‘Doctor,’ she began hesitantly. She didn’t really want to ask the question that had gnawed at her for the last hour but at the same time, she knew she’d never get rid of the antsy feeling in her bones until she had an answer. One way or another.

‘What?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘I meant before. What happened at the club. Are you sure you’re okay?’

He stopped and whirled around and for an instant she thought he was going to lunge at her. Instinctively she skipped a few steps backwards to put some distance between them, then she saw the hurt look that spread over his face.

‘Are you afraid of me?’

Clara swallowed and shook her head. That didn’t look convincing, she thought, and tried to smile, which only made her look even more nervous.

‘No, of course not,’ she said and hoped she meant it. ‘It’s just… was it a regeneration thing? What happened I mean?’

He thought on this for a long moment, long enough to get Clara’s pulse thudding in her throat again. 

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said finally. ‘Things have been settled for a while, or as settled as they can be when you wake up one morning and find your entire appearance and personality have changed and you don’t know who you are any more.’ He kicked a stone and watched it rattle off then thud against the trunk of a nearby tree. ‘What happened in the club, that was… that was different. It felt more like something touched my mind for just a second and spilled all its hate and rage into me. I felt…so angry at the world and at the same time, there was this grief, this despair that left me hollow and it didn’t matter how much rage and fury I kindled, it could never fill that void. I made contact with something, someone, and not someone I’m keen to get to know.’

He started off again and this time Clara kept apace and took his arm. 

‘I’m not proud of what happened back there,’ he said without looking at her. 

‘It wasn’t your…’

‘Even if I wasn’t directly in control of my actions, I allowed someone to press themselves on my mind,’ he interrupted. He stopped again and turned to face her. ‘It could just as easily have been you I…’

He glanced away and Clara suddenly understood what had kept him brooding all the time they’d been in the TARDIS, what had really shaken him, and her heart ached.

‘You wouldn’t,’ she said. 

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do. Look, whatever affected you back there, you fought it off. You can do it again. And if all else fails, I can always give you a swift right hook if you start looking dangerous.’

‘It’s not funny, Clara.’

Clara gave a wan smile. ‘I’m not really trying to be. Just trying to tell you not to worry.’

‘This regeneration may have settled in terms of my physical body,’ the Doctor went on, taking up the path again, ‘but it’s not just the outside that changes.’

‘Noticed. Old you would’ve been the one making the jokes.’

‘My whole personality is different. You have to learn who you are and do all that soul searching over again. How do I know that’s not who I am? Angry… violent.’

‘Because you don’t change that much,’ said Clara. ‘Sure, you’re different, and yeah, it took a while to get used to because quite frankly, I lo- I liked the old you. You were funny and kind and a bit weird admittedly but a gentle soul and a good man.’

The Doctor sneered, so she squeezed his arm a little tighter. 

‘But those things are still there. That kindness, that compassion. Look at Robin Hood. He got on your nerves from the minute you met him yet you still went and found Maid Marian for him.’

‘I thought if he was busy kissing, he couldn’t laugh,’ said the Doctor, then added, darkly, ‘I was wrong.’

‘My point is, bits change, you get a little different with every regeneration – remember that’s four of you I’ve met now – but there’s always that same core running through the lot of you. The thing that makes you who you truly are, deep down. The thing that makes you the Doctor. And that would never let you hurt me. You might not want to believe in that, but I do.’

‘I just don’t want that belief to be the thing that gets you killed, Clara.’

‘It won’t,’ she said. ‘Now come on. Haven’t we got some nuns to find or something?’

‘Sisters,’ the Doctor corrected. ‘They’re not nuns. More like priestesses.’

‘What do they worship then? What’s their thing?’

‘Not sure they worship anything, although a few millennia ago, a group of them swore allegiance to the Queen of the Night.’

‘What, the Whitney Houston song?’

‘The Queen of the Night was one of the beings Rassilon fought with in the Dark Times,’ he answered, ignoring her. ‘No one really knows exactly what she was or where she came from, but she was a being of immense power. Could reshape matter at will, create pocket universes with a thought, snuff out whole empires with a wave of her hand. Power like that attracts a lot of followers who want to ride in the wake.’

‘But Rassilon beat her?’

‘Eventually,’ said the Doctor. ‘And only just. He managed to trick her into accepting Gallifrey’s surrender, only whilst he had her distracted, his pal Omega caught her in a time loop. Then they imprisoned her in some elaborate trap Omega had made, hid the trap somewhere and erased all knowledge of it from the Matrix so no one would ever find her. After a while though, people start to whisper, a few idiots try to search for her, and little cults start to spring up here and there, people claiming she’ll come back one day. The group on Karn was one of those cults.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘They were wiped out along with most of the population when the Time Lords swept in to deal with Morbius. A lot of them joined him, you see…’ The Doctor paused and frowned. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have put it past Morbius to try and find her and use her power against the Time Lords. I wonder if that’s why he let them hang around.’

‘But these ones we’re going to see?’ Clara asked.

‘They were Gallifreyan settlers originally. Some of them were Morbius’s supporters. Others just moved because they liked the place. The indigenous population were already long gone by then. No one even knows what they were called or what killed them. All they left behind were a few carvings and standing stones. But remember I said this was a resort at one time? Well, a lot of people came to study the waters and minerals that were supposedly so good for you, and one of them, a Time Lady named Oneka, found out that one of the mineral sources didn’t just improve your health, it could actually prolong life and had all these remarkable restorative effects. The only problem was the source didn’t yield all that much by way of the chemical and so she decided it needed to be guarded, and only those and such as those could use it.’

‘And thus the Sisterhood was formed, I take it?’

‘Right. Oneka and her assistants weren’t a cult as such to begin with but over the years, the story of the chemical’s discovery faded into legend and all the Sisters were concerned with was preserving their elixir. They became almost addicted to it. Living longer and longer lives, never doing anything else, never making or exploring anything else. A complete waste, if you ask me. And I told them as much. They retreated into their own little grotto and cut themselves off from the rest of the Gallifreyan settlers and the visitors. Centuries went by and nothing in their rituals or lifestyle changed. Not even Morbius’s civil war shook them out of themselves. He tried to attack them, but they had their little cave well-protected and kept him out. And once he was gone, they went right back to their rituals and their hymns and their stagnant little world.’

‘And are they any different now?’

‘After the Time War, their leadership started having more contact with Gallifrey again, but nothing much else has changed. They’re still living in the same caves. If we’d landed last night, we’d’ve seen them dancing around to the same tunes their ancestors liked.’

‘Why? What was last night?’

‘Winter solstice. If we’re lucky, they’ll all have hangovers and won’t be wielding any kind of telepathic power at us…’ He trailed off, stopping just at the edge of a ridge that went around the lip of a steep valley. ‘Of course, I suppose there’s always the possibility one of the Sisters tried to reach out to me back then… Didn’t feel like it though.’

He started off along the rim of the valley and Clara followed like a tightrope walker, struggling to keep her balance on the uneven terrain, and with that nearly vertical slope off to her right to remind her why she needed to stay upright. She’d never been bothered by heights, but she didn’t like drops that would lead to certain death. She thought that more a survival instinct than a phobia. 

The suns had just started to rise above the horizon and so the light was pink and ethereal, choruses of hidden birds whooping and cawing somewhere amongst the fronds of the trees. Out in the distance, the sunlight glinted now and then on something metallic amongst what Clara had thought were foothills or rock formations until then, but now that they had changed the angle of their path and the day was a little further along, she started to make out tail fins, large, bullet-shaped engine coils and silver, metal wings.

‘Are those spaceships?’ she asked, tugging on his sleeve.

The Doctor gave a disinterested glance without pausing in his stride. ‘Another hobby of the Sisterhood’s. They used to be so scared that people would come and take their elixir, they’d scuttle any ship that got too close to the planet.’ He stopped and finally looked properly at the wreckage. ‘You know, I’d swear there are more here than before. I thought I told them to stop doing that.’

‘And it’s not like anyone’s ever ignored you when you’ve told them to stop doing something, is it?’ Clara said, but he didn’t laugh. 

He’d gone on a few paces and was standing by the very edge of the valley, gazing down at a spot near an outcrop of basalt columns as large as a city, which jutted out from the valley wall and formed a natural cove beneath them. Following his line of sight, Clara spotted several figures moving around, most in crimson robes. A few were obviously clearing up after the festival the Doctor had mentioned, rolling up carpets and tent cloths and gathering up discarded cups and plates from the dusty ground, but another, smaller group stood separate from the rest near the tip of the basalt outcrop. 

Clara had never seen a Time Lord, besides the Doctor of course, save a brief glimpse on the TARDIS’s screen back when she and three of the Doctor’s former incarnations had got together to save Gallifrey rather than seeing it destroyed as history had seemed to intend. Several other of the Doctor’s other selves had come to join the fray, including one the Doctor at the time claimed to have never seen before, and which Clara strongly suspected might have been her current companion, though she’d never asked him about it. But she remembered that short look at the Doctor’s own culture simply because it was the only real look she’d had at his planet, his people – a group of them around a table in what was probably a cabinet room or war room, and she’d remembered the strange outfits they wore. Especially the collars, because she’d had the stray thought at the time that it couldn’t be comfortable and had to be really bad for the neck, all that weight on the shoulders like that. 

So when she spotted the familiar-shaped, golden collar and deep red robes in amongst the Sisters below, she knew, even though the figure had his back to her, that he had to be a Time Lord. She nudged the Doctor and pointed, though she figured he already knew. When she looked up at him, his expression was grimmer than she thought she’d ever seen.

‘Could that be him?’ she whispered, not sure how far sound would carry across this landscape. ‘Is that Rassilon?’

‘Hard to tell from this distance, but definitely the right Chapter. No staff of office, but then he might be travelling light.’

‘And…’ Clara went on, frowning, ‘Mary Poppins?’

Trailing along behind the figure in the high collar was a slim woman in a plum-coloured skirt and jacket, hair drawn back into an intricate bun, and with a black straw hat, covered in fruit and flowers, poised at a jaunty angle on her head. 

‘Never ages,’ Clara said, ‘bag that’s bigger on the inside, total narcissist… Is Mary Poppins a Time Lord?’

‘No, she just stole Gallifreyan technology. Had to buy her a villa in the French Riviera and promise there were no kids under eighteen within a twenty-mile radius of it just to get everything back before she did any real damage. I have no idea who that is,’ the Doctor replied. 

Along with a couple of the Sisters, the Time Lord and the woman started off along a path of broken ceramic tiles that snaked off around the basalt and out of sight.

‘Wonder where they’re off to?’ the Doctor said.

‘Well, we’re following them, right?’

Clara grinned at him and finally saw him smile. They had something now, something solid they could chase. She felt just as relieved as the Doctor surely did.

‘These hills carry on for another few miles,’ the Doctor said. ‘We can probably cut them off up ahead.’

Before she turned to follow him, Clara gave the valley one last look, just as the Time Lord and his companion disappeared beyond the outcrop. There was something about the way the other Sisters, those who were clearing up, watched that party go. They were all wary and exchanged brief glances and nudged each other as if that was the first time anyone had dared speak until then. 

Then Clara saw the man in the red and gold armour. He was on the path ahead, on their level, and must have been behind one of the trees moments before. At first his attention was fixed on the valley below but then he glanced up. Clara saw him straighten as he spotted them and she called out to the Doctor just as the flash of energy from the soldier’s rifle flared. A fraction of a second later, she heard the squeal of the blast and the Doctor shoved her aside. She tumbled and hit the ground, then the Doctor gathered her up in his arms and got her to her feet. He took her hand but before either of them could choose a direction to run in, the soldier fired again. Clara heard the Doctor cry out in pain, then the two of them were falling down the steep side of the valley.

Chapter Text

The Lord President ordered three guards to accompany him and left the rest to guard the Sisterhood, with orders to shoot if anything seemed suspicious. He didn’t like the way those women seemed to say a thousand things with just a glance. They always had the air of conspiracy about them, and Ohila was being too quiet, too accommodating. He would’ve thought she of all people would know better than to cross him. She’d been there, after all, when he returned to Gallifrey. Come for the fireworks, or so she’d said. She’d been there when, having ignored the General and the guards, the President, not known by that name then, had faced Rassilon in the Drylands. He hadn’t intended to kill the former ruler but Rassilon had left him no choice. Rather than simply leave and make things easy, the old fool had tried to fight. The President had heard the whine as Rassilon charged his gauntlet and had turned to face the old man, thinking that would be it, since he stood there unarmed. But the soldiers had all dropped their weapons nearby. Without thinking, the President had grabbed the nearest rifle and fired. It had been instinct, albeit fuelled by rage and hurt. 

His memory of those times were still a little hazy. He hadn’t exactly been himself back then. Things were a blur of fighting and guns and lots of people shouting. But Ohila had been there, caught in the middle of it all, and yet she would still think to defy him. And they called him arrogant!

That little quip of hers about the timeline being altered, that annoyed him too. As he followed Missy and the old woman along the ancient, broken path, he mulled it over repeatedly. All right, he’d made an error in his calculations when he had the idea to bring Gallifrey back from the end of the universe, brought it back a little too early relative to his own timeline, but he’d been careful not to cross paths with himself. And yes, he would’ve changed things by his efforts to secure the universe against threats, but that was for the greater good. He was tired of putting out fires, stopping one petty invasion then another, then another, while the bigger problems, the planets that sent those monsters, still existed and just regrouped to fight again. Better to pull the problem out by the roots. That would alter a few timelines, change a bit of history here and there but not his own. And Ohila hadn’t said he’d altered his own past. She’d said he, as in this version of him now, shouldn’t be there. Implying someone else had changed things to make sure events played out this way. But who?

They’d only got a few metres down the path when, behind them, the President heard the squeal of a staser blast and glanced over his shoulder to see what had happened. The curve of the canyon wall blocked the Sisters’ festival site from view, however, so instead, he tapped the communicator on his wrist.

‘What’s going on? What are you firing at?’

‘Two intruders, Lord President, look like they’re from offworld. We’re just going to investigate now. But we…’

The President didn’t catch the end of the sentence. Both hearts erupted into a flutter of arrhythmic beats and his chest seized with sudden pain. He clutched at the front of his robes and felt his knees buckle, though someone caught him before he hit the ground and lowered him gently. The pain blinded him, turning everything red then searing white before it finally subsided, leaving only a strange, empty sensation at the very core of his being, and an overwhelming instinct that something was very wrong with Time. He felt the usual patterns of Time around him start to unravel, tendrils grasping for one another to try and anchor events into something that made sense. Though eventually the storm died down, he could still sense the tenuous connections all around him, how weakened the Web of Time was. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Missy and Ohila staring down at him. Missy brushed his hair back from his face. His head, he realised, was in her lap. Ohila, meanwhile, deftly undid the fasteners at the neck of his tunic. He tried to bat her hand away but didn’t have the strength. 

After a few more seconds, though, his breathing slowed, his hearts returned to normal, and he was able to sit up, though his head ached and every beat of his pulse brought a fresh wave of pain through his skull. 

‘What happened?’ Missy asked.

‘Same as on the ship,’ he said. ‘Something made contact. Or someone.’

An idea hit him and he remembered the call to his guards before he’d collapsed. He tapped his wrist communicator again.

‘Lieutenant, I asked you who you shot at. What was the answer?’

There was only static from the other end.

‘Communications are always a source of difficulty here,’ Ohila said. ‘If you’re unwell, perhaps…’

He shoved both women away and scrabbled to his feet, but his collar unbalanced him and he stumbled, until Missy flung an arm around his waist and steadied him again. Embarrassed, he made a show of straightening his robes and glowered at Ohila until she wandered off along the path.

‘She has a point,’ Missy whispered. ‘I don’t like these creepy old harpies any more than you do, but you are not well. That’s twice in the space of a few hours. If something is trying to attack you, shouldn’t you focus on that and not this ridiculous monster hunt of yours?’

‘Don’t you think it’s an awful coincidence that these attacks started just as I decided to find the Queen?’ he asked her, keeping his voice low and his gaze fixed on Ohila up ahead. ‘Someone is trying to stop me, and that makes me think we’re on the right track. I’m fine. Whatever it was, it caught me by surprise, that’s all.’

‘Twice,’ Missy said again.

‘You’re welcome to go back to the ship.’

‘And what happens when you get yourself killed?’ she hissed. ‘How long do you think I’ll last on Gallifrey without you there?’

‘Oh, I see. Self-preservation first and foremost. How very in-character.’

‘What, you thought I stuck with you because I was besotted with you or something?’ Missy sneered. ‘I heard about you from the Daleks, I saw they were afraid. Figured standing next to you was probably the safest place to be in that moment. I still think so… although that resolve is wavering slightly now. The fact is, you are showing weakness, and that is something someone in your position cannot do. If you’re determined to have a go at this all-powerful ruler thing, though I still say it doesn’t suit you, then you need to do it properly. There can be no more compromises, no more compassion. No more letting them see that you’re hurt. None of the things the Doctor might do. If you’re determined to leave him behind, then you have to leave all of him behind. So, it’s not just about saving my own skin any more. To do that, I have to make sure you keep yours intact as well.’

She flounced off after Ohila, but after a few paces managed to affect her usual, unhurried saunter as if nothing of any importance had happened. The President brushed the last dust from his robes then followed, aware that his guards were lingering a few paces further back, looking nervous and bemused by the whole exchange.

The road was barely visible beneath the sand, but had once been paved with intricately carved tiles, covered in knotwork and geometric designs. Most of the tiles were smashed now, sticking up out of the sand, but it must have looked grand once, the President thought. Now, there was such a strange air about the place. It was too still, too quiet. He had the impression as they walked that there were eyes all around them, people hiding amongst the rocks on the steep sides of the canyon.

Soon, though, the path began to slope upwards and the suns, too, rose above the horizon fully and glared down on the landscape. After an hour or so, the air was oppressively hot, and the Lord President once again wished he’d gone with his first instincts and worn something more practical. The one-piece garment he wore beneath his robes was made of leather woven like armour across his chest and he could feel the sweat pooling at the small of his back and beneath his arms. He’d not be pleasant company by the end of this expedition.

A loud, wailing cry cut suddenly through the silence and the group halted in unison, the guards clicking the safeties off their rifles, but Ohila held up her hand.

‘I told you there were animals,’ she said. ‘That’s simply a carrion beast on the plains. They’re more dangerous at night, don’t worry.’

‘Shoot the bloody thing if it comes too near,’ the President ordered the soldiers.

‘Really not keen on wildlife these days, are we?’ Missy said under her breath. 

‘Would you rather be mauled?’

Missy flashed a smile. ‘Are you asking?’

The President sighed and glared at her, but as always, the Time Lady seemed immune to any threats. He found it particularly hard to trust her when she tried to be playful with him. It seemed too obvious a way to hide what she was really up to, and he wasn’t entirely convinced by her reasoning as to why she’d chosen to ally herself with him. Or said she was his ally, at least. 

There was no one, he realised, whom he could really trust. Even those left amongst the Time Lords who bowed and claimed to adore him would do exactly the same for the next idiot who came along. He had never wanted to rule. He’d run away so many times from the idea of the presidency and all he wanted to do at that moment was run away again, go back to his old life. 

He closed his eyes briefly and pushed away the thoughts. Those ideas came so often these days, when he least expected them – the thought of just getting into a TARDIS and leaving, exactly as he’d done before, and this time never looking back. But he was too involved now. He couldn’t leave his work unfinished. That was the problem with grand schemes. You couldn’t settle for half measures. If he stopped now, the Daleks, one of the few enemies he hadn’t managed to eradicate, would swoop back in and use the void left by his activities to take control of the universe. A second Time War. Not in his name, and not for his sake. He would have to finish what he’d started.

They finally reached the top of the ridge and began along a narrow path that stayed close to the edge of the canyon. More basalt columns rose from the crimson sands, palms and scrubby bushes clustered around their bases. A few languid-looking reptiles basked in the sunlight on the rocks and birds with bright yellow plumage roosted in the shade beneath the fronds. There was no sign of whatever animal had cried out earlier.

It was only as the path finally veered away from the edge and started across the plain that the President noticed the mounds dotted across the landscape, hundreds of them, casting long shadows in the morning sun. Each one was formed from a heap of stones, covered with a fine layer of red sand, but each had a group of three white rocks on top, all in the same arrangement.

‘What is this?’ he asked.

Ohila paused and gave the field of tumuli a brief glance before moving on again.

‘A burial ground,’ she said. ‘For those who died in Morbius’s war. A few of them, at least. After a while, they gave up trying to dig individual graves and settled for pits. Otherwise the entire surface of the planet might have looked like this. Tyrants rarely consider the difficulties of burying those they slaughter.’

She gave the President a pointed look. 

‘Oh,’ he said, feigning surprise, ‘was that supposed to be a subtle dig? Maybe you’ll have to be clearer next time.’

‘It’s nearing midday,’ Ohila told him, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘It will be too hot to continue soon. We should seek shelter for the next few hours. There are some caves just beyond the mounds.’

She gestured towards a line of rocky hills. The President couldn’t see anything, but shrugged and nodded. The thought of getting out of the heat was appealing, he had to admit. The twin suns were bad enough on Gallifrey but already, he felt it was twice as hot as a summer’s day there. A few times, he’d noticed his vision shimmer slightly and felt lightheaded, but had fought to stay conscious. The last thing he needed now was to faint in front of them all. 

He sent the soldiers on ahead in the direction Ohila indicated and after a few minutes they returned to report that there were, indeed, a set of large caves a short way up the face of the hill. The climb up to these proved arduous, as the path was covered in shingle and the steep incline brought the danger of sliding all the way back down again with every step. But after a while, they made it into the shade and the group let out a collective sigh in the cooling darkness. One of the soldiers set a halogen lamp down on the floor and the place filled with a blue-white glow that showed huge columns of basalt supporting a ceiling dripping with stalactites. Bioluminescent algae glowed neon pink in abstract patterns on the walls and in the rivulets of water that trickled down over the polished black hexagons that formed the floor. 

Ohila knelt beside one of these streams and cupped her hands to drink. The Lord President heaved off his collar and dumped it on the ground, then peeled off his robes and unfastened the front of his tunic until a little air circulated over his skin. One of the guards appeared at his side with a bottle of water and he drank eagerly, feeling like his throat had been sandpapered. In the dark, though, the headaches faded slightly.

Their voices echoed around the lofty ceiling along with the faint murmur of the streams, and the President thought of Fingal’s Cave on Earth, which he’d visited once in the mid nineteenth century, heading out across the choppy grey waters of the Atlantic on a precariously creaky rowing boat from Mull. The thought of the sea breeze against his face that day helped soothe a little of the discomfort from the heat.

‘How much farther is it?’ he asked.

‘Another few hours’ walk at least,’ Ohila answered. ‘But we should reach it before nightfall if we make good progress.’

‘Fine,’ the President muttered. He exhaled deeply and lowered himself to the floor, to sit with his back to one of the rock columns. He only had a second of peace, however, before Ohila was at his side, seating herself next to him. Without asking for permission, she took his right hand into hers and examined the scars across his knuckles and the misshapen, badly healed bones.

‘Surely Gallifreyan technology could mend this,’ she remarked.

The President snatched his hand away. 

‘It’s a reminder,’ he said.

‘Of what they did to you.’

He nodded.

‘Do you really need one?’ Ohila asked. 

‘It’s not to remind myself,’ said the President. ‘It’s to remind them. Let them remember what happened the last time they tried to hurt me.’

He buried his face in his hands for a moment as his headache came back for a redoubled effort, and let out a low moan into his palms.

‘Here,’ Ohila said quietly. 

Glancing up, he saw her reach into her robes and pull out a small pot made of etched bronze. She unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers into the contents, something thick and gelatinous like petroleum jelly, then she made to touch his forehead but he shied away and gave a warning glare.

‘It will help,’ Ohila said. ‘The heat on this planet can be debilitating.’

She wouldn’t try something with three armed guards standing by, he mused. Ohila gave a faint smile, and, reluctantly, the President allowed her a second attempt. She daubed whatever the ointment was on his temples and forehead and he had to admit that it felt better at once. The tension drained away and most of the pain with it.

‘I am not your enemy,’ Ohila said, putting the bronze pot back wherever it had come from. 

The President took another long swig from the water bottle and listened to the trickling of the water in the streams for a moment.

‘Last night,’ he began, just as Ohila gave up and was about to leave. ‘You said someone had altered the timeline. That I shouldn’t exist. What did you mean by that?’

Ohila sat back down. 

‘I thought you weren’t concerned about it?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve given it some consideration and I’m more inclined to be interested now,’ the President replied. ‘What did you mean?’

‘Just a sense,’ Ohila said. ‘I look at you and I can see… perhaps you would call it a ghost – of the man you ought to be. And it is not the one I see before me now.’

She fumbled again with something inside her robes. She had to have some kind of bag or reticule in there, the President mused, all the while pretending not to be too interested in what she was doing. In the end, she brought out a battered, grubby pack of cards, larger than normal playing cards, and shuffled the deck.

‘Please don’t tell me you intended to read my fortune,’ the President scoffed.

‘My ancestors have used this method to hone their psychic ability for centuries. But, if you do not wish the answer to your question then…’

‘Fine, fine, whatever. Let me guess, first one out’s the Death card? Right? That’s what happens in all the films.’

Ohila cut the cards the laid out a few in an arrangement on the ground before her. They weren’t like any tarot cards the President had seen on Earth, with pictorial designs and lots of religious and occult imagery. These were decorated with geometric and naturalistic patterns, some of which almost formed faces or figures, but that might have been imagination. A trick of the light. She studied them for a long while in silence, sometimes closing her eyes for a moment, sometimes pausing to examine the large ring she wore on her right hand, a ring the President knew was passed down from leader to leader throughout the Sisterhood’s history. 

‘There is something playing out here,’ she said at last, ‘far greater than you or I, Doc… Lord President. The universe functions on such a delicate balance of cause and effect, but there is someone… something playing with those elements like pieces on a game board. Setting things into motion whose effects ripple down throughout the entire cosmos. The alteration to your timeline was just one move in that game.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

She gathered up the cards and left them in a pile beside her and stared down at her ring again. ‘I see a room. Walls of pale stone and narrow windows. At the very centre is a machine, far more modern than everything else, incongruous in fact, and its control panel nearby. A…’ She waved her hand as if searching for the right word. ‘A doorway, made of glass. And all is still. Everything waits. Across the floor, there is sand, yet it is not sand, it is…’ She grimaced, closing her eyes again. ‘I can feel it through my hand.’

Ohila held out a fist as if cupping a handful of this sand she was describing and opened her fingers slightly, letting the invisible grains trickled through the gaps. The gesture triggered a memory in the President’s brain and he shivered, despite the midday heat. 

‘The castle,’ he said. ‘That sounds like the teleport chamber. What about it?’

‘There is…’ Ohila studied her ring again, then cut the cards and glanced the one she’d turned over. ‘There is a skull on the…’

‘I know,’ the President interrupted. ‘It’s mine. I know all this. This happened. What about it?’

‘And in a moment,’ Ohila said, ‘it will begin again. The same cycle, repeating and repeating.’

The President closed his eyes and tried to blot out the mental image of that room, of that feeling as, each time, he stepped out of the glass tube of the teleport mechanism and realised he was back there, with an eternity of imprisonment and endless repetition still ahead of him.

‘But there is someone else there,’ said Ohila, shaking him out of his memories.

‘No, there isn’t,’ he said. ‘There was only me. And the Veil, of course, but she wasn’t real.’

‘There is someone else there,’ Ohila insisted. ‘A figure. It has taken human form but that is not its true self. It usually prefers to hide. It stands alone in that chamber, and it adjusts the controls. A few switches, a few instructions added to the programme. A few minutes’ work and then it is done. It feels satisfied. Things will play out how it needs them to. Then it leaves.’

‘There was nothing else in that castle,’ the President said, though he felt the doubt creeping in. He could only explore the castle a bit at a time. There could well have been someone else, or something else there, keeping out of sight.

‘That prison was created by the Time Lords,’ he said. ‘Getting out took four and a half billion years. Getting in would take enormous power.’

‘Rearranging the universe to suit your own ends is not something undertaken by those lacking in power, Doctor.’

He noticed the misstep but let it slide. He was too interested in this to break her concentration by insisting on his proper title.

‘They altered the teleport?’ he asked. ‘How?’

Ohila shook her head and went back to consulting her cards, but an idea had already formed in the Lord President’s mind. Everything had started to go wrong around the seven thousand year mark, he recalled. That day he’d stepped out of the teleport and it had all been familiar. Before that, he must’ve been oblivious to his imprisonment and the truth of what was going on around him until much, much later, when he worked it out from the clues left lying about. The teleport derived nothing but power from his dying body each time, and yet he emerged, eventually, with a hint of memory from one of those dead Doctors who had gone before. If someone had deliberately altered the mechanism to imprint that knowledge on the fresh copy being created in the teleport, that would explain a lot.

‘You’re saying someone deliberately tried to drive me insane?’ he asked.

‘All I sense is that that consequence was a mere trifle in the scheme of things, just another set of circumstances that had to be in place for the plan to work.’

‘Whose plan?’

‘I do not know,’ Ohila said. ‘I have tried to look, believe me, but whatever it is, they are keeping themselves hidden from the likes of me. But it would appear that something out there needed you as you are now, to follow the path you have chosen since you broke free from that castle. Perhaps you’re playing their game exactly as they want it right at this moment.’

‘Well,’ the President muttered, still deep in thought, ‘they might find me less easy to manipulate than they think.

Chapter Text

The fall seemed to last for hours. Clara grabbed for anything to slow her tumble down the rocky slope, but the stones were smooth and too slippery to hold. She clawed at scrubby plants and hauled them out by the roots. Dirt pushed up under her fingernails. Then finally she hit something solid and let out a cry that took all her breath with it. The jolt rattled through her skeleton and sharp pain stabbed her in the small of the back. Oh God, she thought, what if it was broken? What if she ended up lying on an alien planet not able to walk? She tried moving her legs and to her great relief, though it was painful, her knees did bend and she could flex her toes. She saw her tights had torn to shreds and so had the skin beneath. Blood ran in streaks down her shin bones. The heels of her hands were grazed and stinging. She sat up with a great effort and groaned again at the pain in her back. She could reach round now and feel the spot that hurt the most. There were no bones sticking out and her hand wasn’t bloodied, so she’d probably just bashed against the rocks and would be nice and purple with bruises in a few hours. 

But where was the Doctor? She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about him while she was checking her own injuries but now she looked around frantically. She’d landed on a ledge about halfway down the side of the canyon, formed by bouquet of basalt columns that came together in a honeycomb pattern to create a level area about two metres squared. The Doctor lay on his stomach, head turned away from her, by the side of the canyon wall. His clothes were streaked with red earth and his short, grey hair was dishevelled, but she couldn’t tell if he was hurt without turning him over. 

Gingerly, she went to his side, mindful of the soldier who’d shot at them in the first place, but he didn’t seem to be around. She looked up at the side of the canyon and thought that possibly the angle of the wall, since it curved a little inwards in the middle, hid her from anyone above. She hoped so, anyway.

She tried shaking the Doctor gently by the shoulder and calling his name, but he didn’t respond. Should she move him, to check he was okay? If he’d broken anything she could make it worse, but then leaving him and doing nothing was probably more dangerous. She remembered something her first aid tutor had said about firemen, breaking people’s arms as they carried them out of burning buildings, because it was more important to get the person to safety. Did that apply here?

Resolved, she took hold of his shoulder and pulled him over onto his back. It took a bit of effort. Her arms ached and for someone so skinny, he weighed a ton. He’d hit his head and a large cut ran from his hairline down to his right eyebrow, and the blood had smeared all over his face and matted his hair. His hands, too, were bloodied, but nothing looked broken. She gave him a quick pat down all over, looking for bones that were out of shape, but probably wasn’t doing it hard enough because she was too scared of hurting him. What was she going to do if he didn’t wake up? She couldn’t carry him and sooner or later, that solider was going to come down looking for them. 

‘Doctor?’ she tried, shaking him. ‘Doctor, come on, wake up. We can’t stay here.’

He mumbled something without opening his eyes, but Clara couldn’t make it out. She leaned over him and tried to listen.

‘And the Shepherd’s boy says, “There’s this mountain of pure diamond,’ he whispered. ‘”It takes an hour to climb it and an hour to go around it.’

Clara frowned. ‘Doctor?’ 

She tried shaking him again but he didn’t respond.

‘”Every hundred years, a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiselled away, the first second of eternity will have passed.”’

Clara wracked her brains, knowing the words sounded familiar but it took a lot of searching to place them. It was a fairytale, she thought. The Brothers Grimm.’

‘Doctor?’

‘How long can I keep doing this, Clara?’

‘Doing what?’

The Doctor let out a slow, deep breath and fell silent. 

A trickle of stones from above brought Clara back to the moment at hand with a jolt and she got to her feet. She had no weapons, nothing on the ledge that she could fight with either. Not even a rock to throw. Then she realised there were sounds approaching from below as well as the movement overhead. She ventured to the edge and looked down into the canyon. The women in red robes were still clearing away their party or whatever had been going on there, and the soldiers remained positioned amongst them, but two of the women were headed up a steep, wending path towards her, their movements hurried and furtive. Both women looked over their shoulders every few steps as if they expected someone to be chasing them.

When they reached Clara’s level, they both stood for a moment, taking in the scene, and she finally got a good look at the two of them. They were tall, slim, one blonde, one dark, and both wore gold and silver makeup with their deep, red robes.

‘Who are you?’ Clara asked.

The women ignored her and went over to the Doctor’s side, where they knelt and seemed to be examining him.

‘He is wounded,’ said the dark-haired one.

‘Yeah, makes two of us,’ Clara retorted. 

The woman ignored her and carried on checking the Doctor. Then from above came the whine of a weapon charging up.

‘Who are they?’ demanded a male voice. Clara shielded her eyes against the suns and could just make out a silhouette at the top of the cliff. Probably the soldier who’d shot them, she guessed.

‘They are merchants,’ answered the dark-haired woman haughtily. ‘They come regularly to bring us provisions. How dare you attack them!’

‘We have orders to shoot if anything looks…’

‘You have orders to shoot us if we seemed to be a threat to your President. How are two merchants coming to ask us what we want to eat next quarter a threat to him?’

‘The rifle was only set to stun,’ the soldier replied. Clara almost felt sorry for him. The woman in red reminded her a headteacher she’d worked with right at the start of her probation, who could turn the whole room to ice with one glare. 

‘And the only advantage in that is that he was unconscious as he hit every boulder on his way down,’ the woman retorted. ‘Nevertheless, he is badly injured and if he dies, I shall pass on the identity of his killer to the people he works for, rest assured. Now, come, we must get him back to our chambers.’

She went to the edge and waved at the women below, gesturing to them to come up, then returned to the Doctor’s side.

‘Is he really badly hurt?’ Clara asked.

‘All I can tell at the moment is he has broken several ribs,’ the woman replied. ‘Though there maybe be more damage beneath the surface. Do not be concerned. It is nothing we cannot deal with.’

Four more women in red appeared on the ledge and stood, taking in the situation.

‘Take him back to the sanctum,’ the dark-haired woman ordered. The four, along with the blonde woman who’d accompanied the one Clara assumed was in charge, gathered around the Doctor but then froze. One, who looked far younger than the others, threw the dark-haired woman a wary glance but the older Sister just smiled.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘We can discuss it later when we are not so… replete with outside company.’

With a nod, the young girl turned back and the five of them lifted the Doctor. 

‘My name is Danai,’ said the dark-haired woman. ‘In the absence of our leader, Ohila, I am the head of the Sisterhood.’

‘Clara Oswald, and he’s…’

‘We know who he is,’ Danai said. ‘But it would be best not to discuss it here. Come.’

The Sisters moved off like a funeral procession, but Clara tried to shove that comparison away as soon as she thought of it. Walking along behind, she kept glancing over at Danai and a dozen questions bounced around in her head, but she saw the soldiers dotted about amongst the other Sisters and remembered what Danai had said about keeping quiet. From the way Danai had addressed the soldier who’d shot them, Clara figured the guards weren’t from this planet, or weren’t part of the Sisterhood anyway. They had to be with the Time Lord she’d seen earlier then. The Doctor had implied the Time Lords and the Sisterhood were on fairly good terms, but then if that Time Lord had been the one responsible for all the damage the Doctor had mentioned, maybe that relationship was on the rocks. 

They went down to the canyon floor and then to a narrow pass in the rock wall, invisible from the ledge and hidden from sight from ground level too until they were almost on top of it. The path cut through the cliff and was barely wide enough for three of them to walk shoulder-to-shoulder, and existed in a twilight world where the suns’ light couldn’t fully penetrate. 

After a few metres, the Sisters veered sharply to the right and went through a doorway carved into the side of the pass, flanked by columns and with an ornate lintel above. It reminded Clara of a History Channel programme she’d seen on Petra in Jordan, although this was carved from slate-grey basalt rather than rose coloured stone. Inside, the cool air was immediately refreshing after the searing heat. 

They were in an enormous chamber whose roof was supported by a forest of black columns, all highly polished and etched with patterns, or perhaps they were a form of writing. A system of dusty mirrors on the floor passed the sunlight around and so, although there were still deep shadows everywhere, there was enough light to see by. As they marched through, Clara glimpsed flashes of red between the columns as another Sister darted past, sometimes stopping to give them a quizzical look. Somewhere in the distance, voices echoed in a rhythmic chant, though Clara couldn’t make out the words.

They passed through a rectangular opening in the wall and followed a corridor for a long while, taking so many turns that Clara had no idea which direction she was headed in now, and passing doorways that led into rooms she was only able to get the briefest look at, but which all seemed to have been gouged directly out of the rock. Finally, the passageway opened out into another chamber, twice the size of the first and circular, with an open fire in the centre, in a pit sunk into a stone dais. More columns stood around the outer edges of the room, reaching up to a ceiling that was studded with gold and blood-red stones. Clara gazed up at the design, trying to interpret it, but gave up when she nearly tripped over the base of one of the columns.

The Sisters carried the Doctor over to a bier between two of the columns and laid him down, then stood back, hands clasped, obviously awaiting orders.

‘Leave us, and speak of this to no one,’ Danai said. The Sisters disappeared in all directions. They moved without making a sound, Clara noticed. 

Danai walked over to the far wall, where a part of the stone had been left in its natural state rather than polished smooth. Set into it was a hinged metal plate, which Danai opened with a key she wore on a chain around her waist. Inside, Clara saw a tall, white-hot flame burning inside a small grotto behind it. In front of the flame sat a golden cup. Clara saw Danai reach for it and instinctively wanted to call out, warn her against touching something metal that had been sitting right next to an open fire, but the other woman picked the cup up as if it were perfectly cool. She inspected the contents, closed the metal door again and locked it again.

Clara had drifted in the meantime to the Doctor’s side and noticed that he’d begun muttering again. Although she wanted to keep an eye on what Danai was doing, she crouched beside him and leaned in to listen. Like before, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘And the Shepherd’s boy said…’

Why that? Why was he fixated on that one Grimm’s fairy tale? In the next instant, though, Danai was back and nudged Clara out of the way, taking her place at the Doctor’s side. She held the golden cup to his lips and supported his head with her other hand so that he could drink. 

‘What is that?’ Clara asked. With a shudder, it suddenly hit her that she had no idea whether these women were on her side or not. She’d just assumed they were okay because Danai had saved her from the soldier. 

‘The elixir of the Sisterhood of Karn,’ Danai said with deep reverence in her voice. She stood up and watched the Doctor for a moment, then gave a slight nod before heading back to the niche to return the cup. Clara watched her do all this out the corner of her eye, while keeping her main attention focused on the Doctor. He coughed and grimaced and she took his hand automatically, but then he relaxed, sighed and finally opened his eyes.

‘That was a little too close, Sarah-Jane,’ he said.

‘Who’s Sarah-Jane?’ Clara asked. The Doctor didn’t answer. He let out a growl of pain and felt at his ribs, then tried to sit up but she caught him in time and held him down.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said. 

‘No, doesn’t feel like it,’ he agreed. ‘Where are we?’

‘You are in the Sanctum of the Sisterhood, Doctor,’ said Danai, returning to them.

The Doctor scowled at her as if trying to work out who she was, then dabbed at his lips with his fingertips.

‘You gave me the elixir. I’m grateful.’

‘It should aid your recovery. Though I would counsel you to rest for the time being.’

‘Where’s Ohila?’

Danai looked uneasy and threw a quick glance towards the doorway. ‘She has been compelled to lead a party to the old citadel. She may be gone for some time.’

‘Compelled? Compelled by whom?’

The Sister took a long time over her answer and again, Clara thought she looked decidedly shifty, like she was weighing up the most politic way to phrase her answers before she spoke.

‘The Time Lords,’ she said at last.

‘Why are the Time Lords interested in your citadel? It’s a ruin, isn’t it? Wasn’t it destroyed when Morbius was defeated?’

‘That is true,’ said Danai. ‘But the Lord President believes there may be something buried beneath the citadel and he has gone to find it.’

‘Like what?’ Clara asked. ‘Treasure?’

Danai straightened. ‘He believes it is the resting place of the Queen of the Night.’

The Doctor’s eyes widened a little and he tried again to sit up, managing this time to prop himself up on his elbows. Clara reached behind him and repositioned the pillows to give him some support.

‘He believes?’ the Doctor repeated. ‘He doesn’t know where she is? Although I suppose it must get like that if you’ve lived as long as Rassilon has. Probably thought he’d put her in a safe place, that’s a sure-fire way of never finding something again.’

‘Rassilon is not here,’ said Danai.

‘You just said the Lord President…’

‘Rassilon is no longer President of Gallifrey, Doctor.’

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Well that’s new. What happened? They finally get him to go back to the Tower and have a little lie-down?’

‘He was killed,’ said Danai, ‘and his rival has assumed the mantle of power.’

A moment of silence passed. The Doctor looked stunned. Clara knew how rarely he was lost for words and so decided whatever had happened, it was big news.

‘Rassilon’s dead?’ the Doctor said finally.

Danai nodded.

‘That’s no mean feat. People have been trying to kill him for millennia. So who’s in charge now? Who defeated him?’

Danai had looked away and seemed more awkward than ever. In the end, she just looked sadly down at the Doctor and exhaled.

‘Oh,’ the Doctor said. ‘But that makes no sense. I’ve no desire to take the presidency. I never have. And I certainly wouldn’t kill for it.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Danai. 

‘You’re sure it’s me? Which face? What do I look like?’

‘As you do now,’ Danai replied, ‘perhaps a little older.’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘It’s not possible.’

Clara, struggling for the first while to keep up, put the pieces together and felt suddenly cold. ‘Wait, so that bloke down there in the big collar and robes…’

‘It can’t be,’ the Doctor insisted. ‘If he’s me, then how can we both be here, at the same time?’

‘How can there be Time Lords here anyway?’ Clara asked. ‘I was just going to say this before chummy back there shot at us, but Gallifrey was locked away in a pocket universe, wasn’t it? How can they all be wandering around here?’

‘The Time Lords managed to remove themselves from their hiding place,’ Danai said, ‘and repositioned the planet at the very end of the universe for a while. That was where your future self began his rise to power, I believe. Once installed as President, he found a way to bring the planet back into a position relative to his own time stream, although it would seem he miscalculated a little.’

‘A little? Have I turned into an idiot? Or more of an idiot I should say? Bad enough that he’s here now, but bringing a whole planet back to the wrong temporal position…’ The Doctor broke off, his expression dropping into one of horror and understanding.

‘All those planets we found,’ he said. 

‘The ones that’d been destroyed?’ Clara asked.

The Doctor nodded. ‘All of them gone before their time. Was that him? At least tell me it was collateral damage in his cosmically stupid scheme to bring Gallifrey back. Tell me none of it was deliberate.’

Danai lowered her gaze. ‘We only know what we have heard and what our gifts allow us to see, Doctor, but yes, I believe it was his doing. The Lord President began a campaign soon after Gallifrey’s return, to rid the universe of those races he believes are a threat to life. He found it less easy to rid the cosmos of the Daleks, however, and this is why we believe he has come here to find the Queen.’

‘Why, how’s she going to help him? I thought she was in prison,’ Clara said.

‘She is,’ Danai answered. ‘Rassilon left her in a Time Lock sealed by his blood and will, hidden in a place where only death can bring light. Still, the President intends to look for her.’

‘How?’ the Doctor asked, his voice faint. ‘What could possibly have happened to make me think this is a good idea? What went wrong?’

‘I don’t know, Doctor.’

‘Maybe it’s a trick,’ Clara suggested. She could see the thoughts racing round the Doctor’s mind as clearly as if they were coming up like subtitles beneath him. The idea that he could’ve been responsible for all those deaths, even if they were aliens who’d probably tried to invade a few planets in their time. ‘Maybe he’s playing some sort of long game and we just don’t know all the facts yet.’

‘If he releases the Queen of the Night,’ the Doctor replied, ‘then it’s not going to be a game, Clara. It’s going to be the end of everything in this universe. Rassilon barely managed to defeat her the first time, and that was with the full strength of the Time Lords behind him. Gallifrey’s army hasn’t been anywhere near that level of readiness since the Dark Times. If that creature returns now, she’ll slaughter everything in her path and there’ll be no one strong enough to stop her. ‘The robot that tried to kill us, remember what it said? You must die so he will not be. Sounds like a pretty fair summation of a grandfather paradox. Someone believes I’m dangerous enough to risk unravelling the timelines in order to stop me. But there is no way any sane version of me would want the Queen set free. What’s he playing at?’

‘I wish I knew,’ Danai admitted. For the first time, her stony façade cracked a little and Clara caught a glimpse of an actual person beneath all the makeup and ceremony. ‘The rumours were he fought a civil war on Gallifrey after Rassilon’s death and secured his position with the help of the army. There were stories… whispers that the Time Lords had done something to him, something horrendous, but I cannot claim to know the details. However, if he succeeds in finding the Queen…’

‘If he succeeds,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘What makes him think she’s even here? Karn’s far too close to Gallifrey to risk keeping her here.’

‘But Rassilon wanted to keep her close, Doctor,’ said Danai. She sat on the end of the couch at his feet and clasped her hands. ‘The Time Lords were afraid of the Queen but they were fascinated by her at the same time. It was the belief that they could tame her, make her some trained beast of war for their cause that brought about their conflict with her in the first place. They tried to abduct her and introduce her to your Death Zone on Gallifrey for the games.’

‘There’s a contender for stupid idea of the century. The millennia even! The aeon!’

‘There’s an actual place on Gallifrey called “The Death Zone”?’ Clara asked. ‘Is it down the road from the “Big Mountain of Stuff That’ll Kill You”?’

‘No,’ said the Doctor, as if he hadn’t registered her sarcasm, ‘it’s a dimensionally engineered valley in the heart of the largest continent. Back in the early days of Time Lord society, Rassilon and his pals used to abduct sentient life forms and set them against one another for fun. A sort of early precursor to Pokemon and on a universal scale. Morbius was very keen on it as well, as I recall. Eventually, though, public opinion was so against it that Rassilon banned the practice then made himself out to be the great, beneficent leader, even though the whole thing had been mostly his idea in the first place. But the Queen of the Night would wipe the floor with any other species, if the stories about her powers were true. They said all the Pantheon of Discord – the Toymaker, the Trickster, Hecuba, the Dream Lord – all of them were her offspring, and she was the great primordial being of chaos that spawned them. That she existed since the very dawn of time…’

‘All true,’ said Danai. ‘And the attempt to capture her went about as well as you’d expect. So Rassilon was forced to muster his entire army and Time Fleet to contain her and only succeeded by sacrificing many of his own ships. But, he still regarded the Queen as of potential use to him and so wanted to be sure he could return to her easily if needs be. The Queen remained here, at the heart of a labyrinth, over which Rassilon ordered the construction of a scientific research station. His reign, however, ended soon after the building began and so, rather than a scientific base…’

‘The people of Karn built a citadel,’ the Doctor finished. He gave another push and this time managed to sit up properly, although it seemed to pain him. ‘So he’s right? She’s actually there?’

Danai nodded gravely. 

‘Then he… I’ve got to be stopped.’

‘It may well be a moot point, Doctor,’ Danai said. ‘Rassilon did not leave the prison unguarded. He installed defences in the labyrinth, traps and also creatures transplanted from the Death Zone. Several expeditions have attempted to get to the heart of the maze and have never been heard of again.’

‘How many of them led a coup against the most powerful Time Lord in history?’

‘Right,’ Clara said, ‘so how do we stop him… you, then?’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about this,’ the Doctor said to Danai. She looked suddenly uneasy again, then he added, ‘How long were you a member of the cult?’

‘My mother raised me as a worshipper,’ Danai admitted. ‘I left the order long before Morbius arrived. I did not… agree with some of their eschatology.’

‘But you still know how to get to this labyrinth?’ Clara asked.

‘I know the stories. Whether those are true or not, I cannot say. Only the most senior members of the order were permitted to enter the lower levels of the citadel. I have never actually been there.’

‘But do you know a way to get there from here?’ the Doctor asked her. 

‘There is a passageway that leads to the gates of the labyrinth. I can show you… but you are in no fit state yet to travel…’

The Doctor had already made an attempt to get to his feet. Clara only just caught him before he collapsed to the stone floor, but he managed to stay upright with her support. She could feel the tension in his muscles though, the effort it was taking to fight the pain.

‘There isn’t time,’ he said. ‘If we’re right, Idiot-Me already has a head start. The elixir should speed up my recovery. I’ll be fine in a while. And I’d rather there was still a universe left by that time.’

Chapter Text

‘Personally, I think that’s a hell of a bird.’

He couldn’t believe he was free. He tumbled forward, collapsing onto red sand, and breathed in the hot, dry air, so different from the damp chill of the castle. 

His hand ached. He looked down and saw the mess that was left of it. One blow had split the knuckle at the base of his right index finger and the blood trailed down his wrist and onto the cuff of his shirt. His index, middle and ring fingers were broken. He couldn’t move them, and they were all weird angles. It was already starting to swell and every beat of his hearts brought another wave of pain.

But he was out. Behind him, there was a clatter. He turned and saw that the Veil had fallen, becoming nothing more than a few shreds of cloth and a load of clockwork. He regarded it without interest, the same way he’d inspected his injuries. He didn’t care. He’d stopped caring a long time ago. Maybe a billion years ago. He couldn’t quite remember. When he’d stopped trying to smash the castle to pieces and stopped wailing like a wild animal and stopped curling up, waiting to die, in that last room. Something finally snapped, and he became a creature of purpose. Repeating actions without any interest or emotion. His mind, everything he once was, had retreated deep within his brain and wouldn’t come out. It didn’t want to face the truth of the situation, how long this was going to take, how much pain he’d have to endure in order to win.

But he had won. And he felt nothing. No, that wasn’t true. There was an emotion broiling away inside him, faint at first but soon rising to fill him completely. Fury.

He stood up and took in the desert around him, recognising it with a shudder that came from the bottom of his soul. An instant connection with the place that he couldn’t ignore or push away. Home. Then he saw the doorway he’d created, which now looked like a mirage hovering above the sand, disappear, leaving only a small, bronze disc on the ground. He picked it up with his good hand, and then was sure. A confession dial. Gallifreyan technology. He’d always suspected, but now he knew. The fury became white hot and so powerful he thought he might explode if it wasn’t let out soon.

The sands behind him shifted and he heard the hiss of little footsteps coming towards him. Turning, he saw a boy. Not yet ready to look into the Vortex. Perhaps not destined to become a Time Lord at all. His clothes were Shobogan, native Drylander. He blinked, waiting, perhaps thinking he’d get food or a trinket he could barter. Usually these children came in gangs of ten or twelve, surrounding you and reaching out their grubby little hands. He wondered why this one was alone. But he didn’t have anything to give. Instead, he crouched down to the boy’s level and stared him directly in the eye. 

‘Go to the city,’ he said. ‘Find somebody important. Tell them I’m back. Tell them I know what they did and I’m on my way. And if they ask you who I am, tell them I came the long way round.’

At that the boy ran off. Perhaps the tone was enough to make him go without getting any reward. 

The man who was once known as the Doctor lurched a little way down the path, the same direction the boy had taken, towards the collection of bronze spires, glinting inside their protective dome, that stood just beyond the next ridge. He held the confession dial in his left hand and looked down at it, wanting to throw it as far away as possible, though he contained the urge for now. 

‘You can probably still hear me,’ he said to the dial. ‘so just between ourselves, you got the prophecy wrong. The Hybrid is not half Dalek. Nothing is half Dalek. The Daleks would never allow that. The Hybrid destined to conquer Gallifrey and stand in its ruins…is me.’

He looked again at the citadel, knowing they were in there, the ones who’d done this, who’d kept him in that torture chamber for billions of years and watched him suffer. In that moment, he wanted to kill them. All of them. It was a sensation he’d never experienced before, but it was pure and strong. He wanted to see that city burn. 

As he started off down the path again, another scuff sounded behind him. He paused and looked over his shoulder. Then froze. 

She was standing a few metres away, her back to him, dressed just as she was the day she died. It seemed like yesterday and yet it seemed a billion, or four billion years ago. Clara. He remembered then. The promise he’d made. No revenge. 

But this was different. This was not revenge, this was justice. Those old fools in the citadel had to be punished. 

‘I must do this,’ he told her. ‘You have to understand. I have to do this.’

She said nothing. She didn’t look at him. He reached out to her and moved closer, but she was so still. He couldn’t even see her breathing.

‘They have to pay,’ he said. ‘They have to be taught, and this is the only way. I’m sorry.’

She didn’t reply. Yet somehow she still projected a sense of disappointment.

But it was still so raw in his mind. All those days and nights, running through that castle, all the deaths. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘But that has changed things. I can’t promise I won’t take revenge. Not any more. But I will promise to be just.’

She still said nothing. He let out an anguished cry, torn between the rage and the memory of that last conversation with her. To follow the urges that were pulling at him like hungry wolves or honour her memory. He buried his face in his hands and felt the throbbing ache in his right hand as soon as he moved it. When he looked up, she was gone.

They had killed her, he thought. And they had made him live that torment for so, so long. Yes, this was justified. He had to act. It was the right thing to do.

He resumed his path and headed, once again, for the citadel.

He hadn’t wanted a war, but that was what he got. And every day, he’d feel her there, watching him. Whenever he gave an order. Whenever he had to make a decision, there she was. In the midst of it all, he had an idea. An extraction chamber. Get her out the moment before the Raven made contact, draw her out of time and save her life. To hell with the consequences! Who cared if the timeline was damaged or a paradox ensued. She would be back again. Alive, or at least held in a semblance of life.

He’d even gone as far as sneaking off when he should’ve been at a war council and went to the chamber, stood at the controls, but then he paused. An alarm tolled around the citadel and somewhere down the corridor, he heard staser fire. He’d had to clamber over rubble to get into this room and had, for a moment, been afraid it would be too damaged by the fighting to be useable. What would she say if she saw the carnage all around? How could he look her in the eye and justify starting a civil war? He had closed his eyes and sank to the floor beneath the console.

The equipment was probably damaged by the fighting, he told himself. It was too dangerous to try and bring her back. She might disintegrate, or be erased from time completely, never having lived at all, or she might appear torn to pieces or half of her aged by decades or any number of horrible things. You heard about accidents with these machines all the time and there had been fighting just outside. The door had been damaged. Parts of the ceiling in here had fallen. Perhaps it had just shaken loose when a large mortar went off nearby, but equally there might have been a skirmish in here. Perhaps someone tried to use the chamber to bring someone to Gallifrey, someone to help their side of the cause. 

No, it was too dangerous to try and bring her back. It was a foolish idea, prompted by affection he would have to keep at bay if he was going to put an end to this war. He had to be hard. He had to be seen to be untouchable. No weak spots. No Achilles’ heels. He was the Lord President of Gallifrey now and his people looked to him to be a role model for them. 

If he brought her back, he’d be tempted just to run away with her and try to get things back to how they were. It might even work. Maybe if he brought her back and ran away with her, the headaches that plagued him constantly would stop. Maybe the nightmares where he saw the Veil bearing down on him would stop. Maybe the dreams where he woke up again in the castle and was convinced, until he woke up properly, gasping for breath, that he had been transported back there to do another four and a half billion years. 

But he couldn’t run. He had started this war. His anger had started it. He told himself it wasn’t his fault, that Rassilon had forced his hand, but he could’ve ducked the shot, or even let the old man kill him and had it over with, but he’d chosen to grab the gun and hadn’t he, as he picked up the rifle, felt that hatred and anger surge through him like it was charging the weapon up? Hadn’t he felt that warm spread of satisfaction as the old man died? Hadn’t it felt right? This war was his fault. And it was up to him to see it finished. He couldn’t bring her back.

‘I’m sorry, Clara,’ he said as he stood in the doorway and gave the chamber one last look. ‘Things have changed, and this is how it has to be. But I will always…’ He felt tears warming his eyes and took a moment to steady himself. He could not be seen crying. 

Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself, squared his shoulders, shuffled slightly to adjust the collar he’d taken from Rassilon’s body, and then left the chamber to stride through the corridors of the citadel and attend his war council.

He refused to show it, but the Lord President felt as though he’d been walking for days and the heat was making him feel nauseous. He’d left his collar and robes with one of the guards, who followed along behind him now like a valet, but it was still too bloody hot on this planet. He’d left his collar loosened but that didn’t really help. Missy didn’t seem bothered. She still wandered around, looking at everything like it was the 1920s and she was some aristocrat on a guided tour. Ohila walked slowly on ahead, never seeming to get tired despite her age. Probably an effect of the elixir, the President thought. Maybe he should’ve demanded a dose before they set off. 

He still had that pain in his side, too. Just now and then. He’d be fine and then a sudden ache would flare up, but he said nothing. He’d already shown too much weakness in front of these people. Admitting he was hurting was not an option. He would just have to deal with it. Occasionally, he spotted Clara, standing by a rock or beneath a palm tree, always facing away. He ignored her as best he could. 

Then finally Ohila led them to the top of a small ridge, but the drop on the other side was far steeper, and below, spread out across the desert, was the city. Its ruins looked like children’s building blocks left out after a particularly violent play session. Huge chunks of the pink granite used in most buildings in this part of the planet lay strewn around, some fallen and leaning against each other like dominos. The main gate sat directly before them, nearly fifteen metres high and still mostly intact, save some of the decoration on the lintel. The Seal of Rassilon was still visible in the centre of the lintel and the President could even make out a few of the Gallifreyan inscriptions down the two sides and along the hefty blocks of granite at the bottom that supported the gate. 

Through the opening, the ground sloped upwards, probably dust from destroyed stonework, the President thought, as it was all gravel and scabrous little plants poking up here and there. And then at the top of the slope, lay the shattered remains of a great statue that must have once stood waiting to great those entering the citadel. Its head lay beside the plinth, which now held nothing but a pair of feet. The rest of the body was unrecognisable, just chunks of stone. But the President knew the face that was staring at them from the sand. He’d seen a sculpture of that face once before on Karn, many, many regenerations ago, when he’d thought a long scarf and Bohemian attitude was fashionable. 

‘Half sunk, a shattered visage lies,’ he said softly, ‘whose frown and wrinkled lip, and sneer of old command, tell that its sculptor well those passions read, which yet survive, stamped on those lifeless things, the hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; and on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Morbius, rebel Time Lord; look upon my works ye mighty and despair.’

Missy rolled her eyes and started off down the ridge, having to slide on her backside in places where it was too steep to walk. The President smiled at the indignity of it, then realised he’d have to do the same. Then he saw Ohila veer off to the left and head a few metres away from the gate. The President followed her and watched her pick her way down a set of stairs, which had been hidden by the contours of the slope. Sneaky old bat, he thought, then ventured down the stairs after her.

By the time they reached the bottom, Missy was dusting herself off by the gateway. She looked up, saw them effortlessly stepping down onto the level ground, and looked murderous. The President flashed her a smile, which only made her expression grow more ferocious. Go on, he thought, attack me. The guards would shoot her before she got within an inch of him. But she knew that, perhaps, or just didn’t think it was the right time, because she controlled herself and straightened, making a pretence of being unfazed. 

The broken statue of Morbius lay at the centre of what had once been a vast, circular plaza, with pink granite buildings in an arc around it, all ornate and grandiose, or at least they had been before their columns snapped and their roofs fell in. Now they were just the skeletons of buildings, their empty windows and doorways like the vacant eye sockets of a skull. For an instant the President felt the creepy, too-smooth texture of a skull as if he held one in his hands and the image of one, staring back at him with two power couplings still attached to its temples flashed before him. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand, instantly regretting it as he bent one of his injured fingers and the resultant pain shot up his arm. The pain, though, drove away the memory and brought him back to the present.

The stumps of stone columns that must once have been about twenty metres high, from the debris lying around and the size of the bases, sat in rows on either side of the Morbius statue, forming an avenue that led them naturally towards the one-time dictator of Karn, and the President saw that the plaza had a raised area in the centre, about a metre higher than the surrounding areas, which carried on around it, possibly as a covered walkway, looking at the lines of broken columns. 

The steps leading up to the raised area and Morbius’s statue were hidden by rubble and sand, the dune they’d seen from the gate, but it was easy enough to walk up. The slope was relatively shallow and soon the President was circling the disembodied Morbius, thinking about the bizarre creature the man had become. Ridiculous looking, with that clear globe for a head and its two sensors sticking out, looking like little trumpets, and yet that creature had been terrifying up close. 

Behind the statue, there had been a grand building. It was just a ruin now like all the others, but he could still see the traces of its former glory. The remains of statues stood in niches along its façade, and there were still snatches of intricately decorated stonework here and there. He stood in the shade of a broken doorway and turned to face the others.

‘Where’s the entrance to this labyrinth then?’ he asked Ohila. 

She made a “how would I know” sort of face and shrugged. ‘I know nothing of that, Lord President. I only know there were rumours that it lay somewhere within the Citadel. Only the heretics who worshipped the Queen know the precise location and they are all dead now.’

The President sighed and looked around. Just from the plaza he could see how extensive the ruins were. The Citadel was huge. It would take years to excavate it all. But Rassilon had made this prison for the Queen and Rassilon liked puzzles. The Tower in the Death Zone was proof enough of that. He liked to feel clever, to have the answer there all the time, right under the noses of those seeking the thing, so he could watch them search and feel superior. There would be something here, some kind of clue. 

He tapped the communicator on his wrist. 

‘Lord President?’ answered a voice, sounding nicely clipped and efficient. That would be Ozolin, the ship’s captain, who’d accepted the President’s presence and authority without complaint and showed nothing but patience and loyalty. The President had grown quite fond of him.

‘I need a scan of my current location,’ the President said. ‘Use the data to produce a ground plan of the area and send it to my comms unit.’

‘At once, Lord President,’ Ozolin said. 

A few seconds later, the President’s wrist communicator bleeped and an icon twirled to tell him it had received a file. He tapped it and the holoprojector in the unit produced a glowing map of the citadel in the air before him. It was jumbled in places where the damage was obviously so great that no sense of the original city plan was obvious, but for the most part he could make out the streets and buildings laid out as they’d been intended. He gestured at it and turned it around, considering it from different angles. Many of the buildings had been circular, he noticed, as were some of the open spaces, though there were straight streets running through them, sometimes connecting two places or buildings, sometimes just clipping the top of them or sometimes cutting right through the middle. It took him a few minutes to see the pattern, but when he did, he smiled.

Written in Gallifreyan, on a massive scale, the letters created by buildings and parks and boulevards spelled out, “Beware”. Or it almost said that. One of the letters was slightly off. In the imperative case, relating to all timezones, past, present and future, there should have been a stroke right across the middle of the central letter. Instead, this one had an additional circle formed by a ring of what he assumed were columns around it. That turned it into an entirely different letter, and one that, as it began the Gallifreyan word for “here” when it was used to mean something existing in all timezones, a general sense of place rather than referring to a place in the past, present or future specifically, was often used as an abbreviation for the word. Public signs on Gallifrey had that letter on the map to show you where you were. It was the universal Time Lord symbol for “You are here” or “X marks the spot”.

‘He could’ve made more of an effort,’ Missy said, sounding bored. ‘A Time Tot could work that out.’

Letting him know she’d figured it out too, the President mused, or maybe she thought he was still trying to find the answer. 

‘The building should be that way,’ he said, pointing. ‘About thirty metres.’

‘If it is still standing,’ Ohila said. ‘It’s possible it’s been reduced to rubble.’

‘Then we’ll be doing a lot of digging, won’t we? Did you bring your spade?’ the President retorted, then he jumped back down onto the lower level of the plaza and followed one of the paths around the side of it, leaving the others to follow in his wake. 

He had to clamber over rubble in places, but the thought of finding his prize had pushed away his tiredness and pain. Solving the puzzle had sparked a little flame of wonder inside him, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. The joy of the unknown, of the challenge. For a brief instant, he almost felt like his old self again. But only for an instant. 

He glanced over his shoulder as he climbed over a column that had fallen at an angle to block the road and saw the others watching him, that sly way Ohila regarded him, like she knew something he didn’t, and the suspicion on Missy’s face too. It was obvious she thought he would crack, and she was just waiting for the moment. So he recovered his façade, made sure his own expression was stern and gave nothing away.

As he jumped down on the other side of the column though, he saw Clara again, standing by one of the smaller buildings up ahead, facing its wall. He’d have to walk past her to reach the little round building he’d seen on the map. He braced himself and tried not to look at her as he drew nearer. He imagined her turning to face him, only her face would be distorted, or it wouldn’t be there at all, or it would be frozen in that look of agony she’d worn in her final moments. 

But she didn’t turn as he passed her, even though he was so close he thought he could reach out and touch her. He tried not to look at her in case the others saw. They wouldn’t see Clara. They’d only see the President going slowly mad. 

The little round building was directly ahead, still standing and surrounded by broken columns. The President paused, knowing Clara was just behind him but the sight of the building chased away a little of the terror and shame he felt around her. It was there. The labyrinth had to be beneath that building, although Missy was right, Rassilon had made that fairly easy which meant that from here on in, things would get difficult. Rassilon, on one level, wanted people to find the maze, but only so he could watch them be devoured in it. There would be traps and dangers in there. More puzzles probably. Just the sort of thing he used to love.

‘So why not let yourself love it again?’ Clara asked. It had to be inside his head but he heard it as if she’d spoken right by his shoulder. 

‘I can’t,’ he whispered.

She didn’t reply but he could almost sense the “why not?” in the air.

‘Because if I let myself become that man again, even for a second, I have to acknowledge it all, let it all out of the room it’s locked away in, and I don’t think I can do that, Clara. I don’t think I can remember those things. I don’t think I can remember how I… how felt when I was him, because then I’ll have to remember how it felt to lose it all, and I think that would kill me.’

‘That it?’ Missy asked. 

The President jumped slightly in fright and turned to face her. Clara was gone. Missy stood in her place, looking over his shoulder at the building.

‘I think so,’ the President replied. 

For a moment, Missy looked as if she was going to say more. She gave him a long, scrutinising look that was tinted with something very like concern, but then she brushed past him and headed towards the building.

‘Right then,’ she said. ‘Who do we send in first to find out where the traps are?’

‘There are no traps at this stage, Mistress,’ said a voice behind them. It was a male voice, but it didn’t belong to any of the soldiers he’d brought along. 

The party turned and the President pushed his way through them so he was at the fore again. 

A man stood by the spot where the path they’d followed from the plaza joined this little square. Or circle, rather. He was tall, pale, with shoulder-length dark hair and bright blue eyes. His clothes were Gallifreyan, but simple robes, the sort worn in private at home, rather than the formal wear of the High Council and upper echelon Time Lords. Something about his bearing, though, made the President think he was a Time Lord of high rank. His face was vaguely familiar, though the President couldn’t place it. They hadn’t met before, he was sure of that, but he had seen it somewhere.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. 

The man smiled. ‘You may call me the Custodian.’

‘That’s not what I asked,’ the President snapped. ‘I asked who you are. Or were…’

That was what was odd about the man, he realised. There was no telepathic trace at all. Even if they both had their defences up, a Time Lord could still sense another Time Lord. There was always a hint of it around them. But this man had nothing. And yet he was a Time Lord, of that the President was convinced. Conclusion: he was not real. And when he realised this, he saw the little patches where the hologram or psychic projection or whatever it was couldn’t maintain its form completely, and so had turned a little transparent. Something like that had to have been left over from the Citadel, which meant this man was, in all likelihood, dead. A Cloister Wraith with better tailoring.

‘Who I was isn’t important,’ the man said. ‘I am the Custodian, that is all you need to know.’

‘Custodian of the Citadel?’

‘Of the Citadel and its secrets, yes.’

‘Rassilon’s guard dog.’

The man cocked his head to one side as if considering this idea. ‘In a sense, perhaps.’

‘So you’re here to stop us going after the Queen?’

‘I cannot stop you,’ said the Custodian. ‘But I must warn you against this course, Lord President. Or should I call you “Doctor”?’

The President straightened. ‘You know who I am.’

‘I know all of you.’ He held out his hand towards Missy. ‘The Mistress, once the Master, the one who for so long was Rassilon’s conduit, even though it drove her mad. The renegade whose brilliance has always been her downfall.’

‘I stopped listening at “brilliance”,’ said Missy, ‘so I take all that as a compliment.’

‘Ohila,’ the Custodian continued, ignoring her, ‘who thought her sister Ohica would be leader for the rest of her days, and never wanted the position for herself. Who every day both mourns her sister’s untimely loss and despises her for leaving her this burden.’

Ohila stared at the ground. The President thought he saw a stray tear on her cheek but wasn’t sure.

‘And you, Doctor,’ said the Custodian, ‘who should not exist at all, not in this form. Right now, Time says you should be on Earth, your favourite planet, at a university, where for the last seventy years you have guarded the Mistress in her Vault, in the hopes she might turn good.’

Missy spat out a laugh, then looked towards the President as if to say, “can you believe this?” but the President stepped closer to the Custodian. 

‘You’re not the first person to tell me I’m an aberration,’ he said. ‘Someone altered my timeline.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Custodian. ‘A servant of the Queen. You believe you’ve come here of your own volition, but they have planned this for aeons. Her children and her servants move you around like pieces on a game board. They watched through Omega’s Mirror and saw all possible variations. They knew that if you were nudged onto this path, you would serve their purpose. You have been their puppet ever since you left that castle.’

‘Their purpose?’ the President asked.

The Custodian held out his hands. ‘To free their Queen, what else? They have thought of nothing else since Rassilon imprisoned her. Her children are powerful, but they cannot break through the seals Rassilon placed around her. They need you for that.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because that is what they saw. That if you were this man, you would come here and you would find a way to release her. Then the universe, all the universes, will be theirs for the taking.’

‘I have no intention of letting the Queen go free.’

‘No,’ said the Custodian, ‘you think you can tame her. Rassilon thought the same, and nearly died for that assumption. You will come close to death yourself if you continue on this course.’

‘Close to death,’ the President said with a wry smile. ‘That’s still better than actual death.’

‘Oh no,’ said the Custodian, deadly serious, ‘your life will go on after this, as will the damage your existence causes to Time and Reality. At least until the girl arrives.’

‘Girl, what girl?’ With a shudder, the President thought of Clara. Was there some way she might find him? He imagined her before him, the disappointment on her face at the sight of him, what he’d become. He swallowed.

‘The girl who should be your friend, your protégé, if Time were as it should be.’

‘If I was at a university on Earth,’ the President said, loading his voice with sarcasm, as if he didn’t believe a word of this, although he did, even though he didn’t want to. Somehow he knew it was true. It resonated right through him into his hearts.

‘Precisely,’ said the Custodian. ‘If you continue on this course, you will meet her, but she comes as a psychopomp. She will signal the end of your era.’

‘She’s going to kill me?’

‘No. You will do that yourself.’

‘I’m not suicidal,’ the President said. 

‘When the time comes, you may feel differently.’ The Custodian looked off to the side, wistfully. ‘Perhaps it is the burden of knowing you are responsible for the end of all life in the cosmos.’

‘So you say, but then if your job is to frighten people away from going down there, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re hardly going to tell me I’ll succeed.’

‘Because you won’t,’ said the Custodian. ‘All you will achieve if you go into the labyrinth is your own destruction.’

‘It’s been tried before. I’m still here.’

‘Your arrogance, Doctor, will bring about the end of all things.’

‘I am not the Doctor any more,’ said the President. ‘He might’ve listened to you, though I doubt it. I certainly will not.’

He turned his back on the apparition and marched towards the building.

Chapter Text

At first, Clara thought Danai had led them into a trap. The chamber she strode into was empty, no other doors or windows, just a plain box of black granite. Then Danai pushed against one of the stone blocks in the wall and the whole thing swung outwards, as easily as if it were made of paper. It had to be on some kind of mechanism that helped take the weight because it was about a foot thick and solid stone. Behind it lay a long passageway of the same black, glittering rock, the walls polished to a shine. Danai’s torch only chased away the shadows at the entrance. The rest lay in complete darkness. 

 The Doctor ventured in first, looking around with a wary expression and the slightest hint of disdain, like a tourist stepping into his hotel suite only to find the décor was outdated and there were no tea-making facilities. 

‘Who uses this tunnel?’ he asked.

‘No one,’ said Danai. ‘Only the Cult of the Queen even knew it existed.’

Clara could imagine the place had been shut up for centuries. The air smelled bad. An unpleasant tang caught the back of her throat every time she took a breath. A thick carpet of dust and detritus lay on the ground, which was natural rock, not polished like the walls, and so was difficult to navigate in the unsteady light from Danai’s torch. 

Just as she was thinking about the light and turned to glance at it, Clara saw the flame flicker violently, then behind them, the huge slab of a door swung shut with a tomb-like thud. It had been quiet in the tunnel before, but the door closing accentuated the silence, so that the hissing of the oil on Danai’s torch became the loudest sound, besides the tattoo Clara’s own pulse had started drumming in her ears. 

If the Doctor was unnerved, he didn’t show it. He was still looking round the place with that hawklike air, as if he could pounce at any second, and Clara followed along behind him, just close enough to grab hold of him if he did look like disappearing off into the dark.

After what felt like an hour, but might have only been ten minutes, they came to the first bend in the tunnel. It turned a sharp, ninety-degree corner and carried on into the shadows ahead, still featureless and grim. Once, when the Doctor was his former self, he’d taken Clara to Giza to visit the pyramids, only he’d said it was boring to visit in the twenty-first century when you could only see a few bits and pieces and dangerous to visit when they were new as the Egyptians were a bit iffy about people wandering around in their sacred monuments, so they’d gone in the mid-thirty-fourth century, by which time the entire Giza plateau had been placed under an enormous dome to prevent further environmental damage to the site. 

The Doctor had used his psychic paper to convince the staff that he had a VIP pass for the place, and so was able to show Clara every tunnel and chamber, ones the tourists of her time didn’t even know existed, that were only discovered when deep-cut sensors were invented. There had been the same atmosphere in the Great Pyramid as there was here in this tunnel on Karn, a sense of being out of the normal world, detached from whatever was going on in the desert outside. It was as if as soon as she’d stepped through the entranceway, she’d gone into another dimension, one charged with energy and mystery. The walls emanated antiquity, and they did that here too. 

The tunnel, Clara thought, was ancient, and in Egypt that had made her a little uneasy. It was when she sensed the great age of the pyramid that she felt, for the first time, like a trespasser, liable to be caught in a trap at any moment. It was the same here. Only here, it was far more likely there’d be traps. At least in Giza, the tour guides did their best to avoid anything deadly. Most of the time. Of course, when the Doctor arrived, they discovered that some of the guides had formed a cult dedicated to the Osiran and former Egyptian god Sutekh trying to resurrect their idol, after the Doctor, in another incarnation, had disposed of him back in 1911. But that wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on at that moment. 

‘No one’s been down here since the fall of Morbius?’ the Doctor asked suddenly, jolting Clara out of her memories. It was the first time any of them had spoken since entering the passageway.

‘The last of the Cult of the Queen were executed by Morbius for refusing to give away their secrets,’ said Danai. ‘I only survived because I’d fled beforehand. No one else knows about this place and I certainly haven’t been here.’

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and switched it on, though Clara thought he was only using it as a flashlight. He aimed the green light towards the ground at his feet.

‘Then who made these?’ he asked.

A cold shiver trailed down Clara’s spine when she saw what he was talking about. The ground was covered in fine dust or sand, and there were footprints, heading away into the shadows ahead of them. 

‘About half a dozen people by the looks of it,’ the Doctor concluded, and put his screwdriver back in his pocket. The silence seeped back in as soon as the screwdriver stopped whirring and Clara almost wished he’d put it back on just to stop that eerie quiet from pricking at her ears.

‘Half a dozen strangers,’ she said. ‘Great, just what you want to find in a spooky tunnel made by a crazy death cult.’ She flinched as she remembered Danai had once been a member of the Queen’s order, and so she glanced over her shoulder at the other woman and added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Danai said. ‘The followers of the Queen were fanatics. I am glad I was able to escape when I did.’

‘And lucky,’ said the Doctor. ‘Given that Morbius disposed of your sisters shortly afterwards.’

‘Indeed, Doctor. I am well aware of that. I only wish I could have convinced some of the others to come with me. There were some who… They were not as tightly wound up in the mythos and rhetoric of the cult and might have been persuaded to see sense. I always intended to work on them, find safe places for them to stay in case the Queen’s followers sought revenge. Fate, however, intervened.’

‘Morbius intervened,’ said the Doctor. ‘Fate had nothing to do with it.’

The passage suddenly widened and spilled out into what looked like a natural cavern inside the cliff. The roof was so high, Danai’s torchlight only grazed the heavy shadows that hung like storm clouds above them. Around the sides of the cavern, some of the natural basalt columns had been carved with hieroglyphs and symbols. The TARDIS didn’t translate it. Perhaps it was too old. Clara had heard the Doctor say that could happen. 

Or perhaps the language was some form of Gallifreyan, because he’d also told her the TARDIS often didn’t translate that, either because it was too difficult to convert the oddities of four-dimensional, multi-regenerational grammar into English (he once told her there were separate pronouns for different regenerations, future or past, and different verb conjugations depending on whether that regeneration had done something in the past, present or future relative to your own timeline, as well as another set of conjugations for if you wanted to talk relative to that other regeneration’s timeline, and others that Clara didn’t remember because her head had started to hurt at that point), or because the TARDIS just couldn’t be bothered.

The Doctor wandered off to have a look around, using his screwdriver as a light. Clara stayed close to Danai so as not to be left in the dark, and the two of them walked slowly behind. Danai was watching the Doctor, like a butler following a guest around a stately home, frightened they’d touch the fine china, but Clara wanted to see the place. This wasn’t just an alien planet, this was where the Time Lords used to come on holiday, where some of them retired. It was a part of the Doctor’s history as well and she wanted to take it all in. 

Heaped against one of the columns was a grey object. Clara thought it was a sack at first. Then she saw the skull. It lay on its side, jawbone detached and drooping against what had once been the figure’s chest, so that it appeared to be screaming. The rest of the “sacking” was the corpse’s clothes, heavy robes that had turned grey with age and dust. Skeletal hands lay on the floor at its sides. There was even a heavy gold ring lying near one dislocated finger bone.

‘Doctor!’ she called. 

The Doctor was at her side in an instant and waved the screwdriver over the body. The green glow made the shadows inside the empty eye sockets even darker and made the skull seem, suddenly, to be laughing at her. 

‘Is that one of the half dozen people?’ she asked. ‘If so, where’s his five mates?’

‘I don’t think so. He’s been here a long time. Those footprints were fresh,’ said the Doctor. 

He stooped and picked something up from the mess of robes and bones. Clara would once have been disgusted at the thought of touching the corpse, but she’d been travelling with the Doctor long enough now that she didn’t even feel a lurch in her stomach. He’d found a round medallion, about five centimetres in diameter, and as he brushed the dust away from its surface, his long fingers traced the lines of an intricate engraving. Gallifreyan script.

‘One of Morbius’s followers,’ the Doctor said. ‘Might have been trying to hide down here when the war took a turn for the worst, from their point of view at least.’ He held the screwdriver so that the light caught on the medallion’s engraving. ‘”We are all Time Lords”. One of their slogans. A remnant from the days when Morbius called himself an egalitarian. Before he got the idea to try and promote his politics by just killing off his opponents and declaring himself ruler of the cosmos.’

He turned the medallion over and Clara saw that on the reverse, there was a portrait of a man in profile, like the head on a coin. 

‘That him?’ she asked. ‘Morbius?’

The Doctor nodded, then slipped the medallion into his pocket. 

‘Looked a little different the last time I saw him,’ he muttered, then moved on.

Clara caught up and took his arm. The shadows were closing in around them again and she didn’t want to stumble over another skeleton. 

‘It’s this way,’ Danai said, gesturing towards the other side of the cavern. ‘But be careful. There is a fissure just up ahead. It’s hard to see until you’re right on top of it.’

‘Great,’ Clara muttered. 

They moved more slowly after Danai’s warning and, sure enough, just as Clara noticed the Sister veering sharply to her right, the Doctor halted and grabbed Clara’s arm, pulling her back a step. He held his screwdriver out ahead of them and she saw the deep chasm in the rock floor. Danai had been right. It was practically invisible until you were about to step into it. It was wedge-shaped, with the point facing the spot where Danai had altered her path, widening to about a metre further on. Clara couldn’t see anything but darkness inside it.

She realised the Doctor was still at her side and hadn’t tried to move her on or follow Danai. She looked up from the fissure and found the barrel of a gun level with her eyes. A tall, gaunt man with narrow eyes and a deep scar down one side of his face stood before her, while five others, two men and three women, surrounded the Doctor and Danai. All were dressed as if they’d grabbed whatever clothes they could find, no matter what the style or colour. And all of them were armed.

‘Easy now,’ the man said, keeping his gun absolutely level with Clara’s head. ‘Do as you’re told and no one needs to get hurt.’

Chapter Text

There was no obvious “X” to mark the spot inside the building indicated on Rassilon’s plans, so the Lord President decided the dead centre was as good a place as any. The structure turned out to be a small rotunda, perhaps thirty metres in diameter, with marble walls and an oculus in the roof that let the sunlight tumble down onto the rubble-covered floors. As soon as they were inside, the President had set his guards onto clearing away as much of the debris as possible to see if there was any pattern on the floor, something to give a hint as to where the entrance to the labyrinth might be, but although they’d uncovered beautiful decorations, mosaics and inlaid semi-precious stones, nothing seemed to have any particular meaning. 

So now the guards were busy prizing up the slabs right in the centre, while the President sat on a marble ledge inside a niche in the outer wall. Behind him was a dusty but still impressive mosaic of Omega and Rassilon standing on either side of the Eye of Harmony, the black hole that had been harnessed to provide Gallifrey’s power and access to the Time Vortex. All highly stylised, of course. Both Time Lords looked more like Greek gods than the sour-faced old men in robes the President remembered. But then since Rassilon probably commissioned these pictures himself, he probably wanted to look his best.

Missy approached him at a slow, cautious pace, never once actually looking him in the eye, and sat on the ledge beside him, hands clasped in her lap. 

‘Chancellor Admetus just called,’ she said. ‘Wondering when you might be back.’

‘Has something happened?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Then he’s just panicking. He thinks everyone he passes in the corridors of the Capitol is a secret follower of Rassilon.’

‘Just because you’re paranoid…’

‘They’re hardly going to mount a coup when I’m not there, are they? Leave me to come and blow them to pieces with a fully armed warship? No, they’ll wait until I’m back, ‘til things have calmed down and I’m not expecting it. Right now, my guards are all around the citadel and they’re all ready for a fight. They’ll wait until we think we’ve won completely. That’s why we can’t ever be complacent. Anyway, if Admetus has a problem, why’s he calling you rather than me?’

‘Maybe he likes me better than you.’

The President glared at her though he knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him. Missy cocked her head to one side and continued to watch the excavation work in the middle of the chamber with a slightly bored expression.

‘You really think there’s something down there?’ she asked, with a nod towards the guards who were prizing up marble floor tiles and smashing at the stone beneath with whatever tools they’d been able to find.

‘This would seem a little pointless if I didn’t.’

‘And you really think you can control her?’

‘Why are you here, Missy?’ the President asked with a sigh. ‘I’ve put up with this constant nannying out of curiosity and because I had better things to deal with, but it’s verging on annoying these days. What do you want?’

Missy shrugged. ‘Why should I want anything? I heard you’d gone bananas and taken over Gallifrey. And I thought, “Well, this I have to see!” because I thought it would be a laugh more than anything, but here you are, utterly bananas and in charge. I suppose I’m just watching to see what happens.’

‘Waiting for a chance to kill me and take over yourself?’

‘Waiting for you to stop expecting it, maybe?’ Missy looked directly at him for the first time and flashed a coquettish smile.  

A loud crash came from the centre of the chamber and echoed for long seconds afterwards. The President felt the vibration through the stone ledge. The whole building had shaken. For an instant, he watched the ceiling, waiting for it to fall, but besides a few trickles of dust coming down inside the shaft of sunlight, nothing else stirred. He got to his feet and hurried over to the guards, who were standing now around a large hole in the floor, peering down into it. The President looked too but could see only darkness.

‘We’ve got through,’ the guard said, ‘but it sounds like a long way down.’

‘About a hundred metres,’ said another, whose uniform marked him out as a lieutenant. ‘By my reckoning.’

‘But there is a chamber down there?’ the President asked.

‘Sir,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘If you’re going down, you’d have to use a line. I had one packed with the equipment just in case, knowing how steep some of the cliffs on Karn are.’

‘Good thinking, Lieutenant…’

‘Demitra, sir.’

The President laid a hand on Demitra’s shoulder. ‘Well, when we get back to Gallifrey, I’ll buy you an ice cream and we’ll talk about giving you a raise. For now, set me up some way to get down there.’

He peered into the hole again but the light from the chamber wasn’t strong enough to pick anything out. The smell of dust and stale air rose up, and the President suddenly thought of Howard Carter, that day they’d gone to watch the opening of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Who was with him then? Was that Charley? Or Nyssa? He couldn’t remember. Facts about his earlier life were becoming harder and harder to recall these days. Maybe that was old age. Perhaps a side effect of being remade time and time again for four and a half billion years. 

When he straightened, he found Missy by his side, watching him, and saw her draw in breath to speak.

‘You’re not actually going down there, are you?’ he said in a poor imitation of her voice, before she had the chance to say anything. ‘There, I said it so you don’t have to, and you can take my reply as given. Stay here if you want. Go plan your coup. Do you have a notebook or something? Or is it easy to remember? The best plans are pretty simple ones, remember. Though don’t leave it to the mice. They’re rubbish at planning.’

‘I have several notebooks,’ Missy said matter-of-factly. ‘Colour-coded. One is Hello Kitty. It’s true, I have made a huge number of plans for your death, Doc- Lord President. So I’ll come, just to make sure nothing else beats me to it.’

Demitra, meanwhile, had corralled a couple of the guards into setting up a winch system above the hole, with a drum of heavy-duty cable attached. A hundred metres, the President thought. That would be a lot of dangling in mid-air.

Across the chamber, he spotted Ohila moving forward to have a look at the opening they’d made in the floor. He’d almost forgotten about her, she’d been so quiet since they came into the building, ever since that man, that “Guardian” or whatever he called himself had appeared. The President was still unsettled after that little encounter. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the man from somewhere, but his memory just wouldn’t get up to speed. It was like knowing the information he wanted was on a disk but he didn’t have a working drive to read it. 

He was sure, though, that Ohila knew who he was. Or rather that she knew what he was, what he represented. That was why she’d been so quiet, he felt certain. He’d tried, just after they found the rotunda, to question her on the subject, but she’d fobbed him off, saying she knew nothing. He didn’t believe a word of it. Interestingly, as she ventured nearer to the hole in the floor, she looked afraid, for the first time since they’d set off. Perhaps she never believed they’d get this far. Perhaps that Guardian was supposed to kill them first and had failed for whatever reason. But whatever was going on, the President felt that Ohila was no longer in control of it. 

‘Are you coming?’ he asked her, and saw her flinch slightly at the sound of his voice. Admittedly the high, domed ceiling of the building amplified his words and against the silence that had filled the place seconds before, they were as loud as a gunshot.

‘I would rather return to my sisters,’ Ohila replied.

‘And I’d rather you were where I can see you,’ said the President. 

‘I’m an old woman. How am I supposed to get down there?’

‘I’m an old man,’ the President retorted, ‘so you can go down the same way as I do. Grab a rope, Ohila, it’ll be fun!’

‘You’ll have to go down one at a time,’ Demitra told him. ‘The opening isn’t wide enough for any more. Plus, we only have the one mechanism.’

‘Better make sure you don’t break it, then,’ said Missy.

‘You had to say that, didn’t you?’ sighed the President. ‘You know if that thing breaks now, I’m blaming you. You’ve jinxed it.’

He meant it as a joke, but Missy just stared at him, as if he’d spoken in an unintelligible language. Were they all so unused to him trying to be light-hearted? But yes, he supposed they were. It was strange, but he felt lighter in himself now. He didn’t know if it was the prospect of finding the Queen or just the thrill of exploration, but he felt almost like his old self, just now and then, in the briefest instants. Once or twice he’d almost stepped out of himself, seen himself as if from some third party’s eyes and felt a shudder of horror at his appearance, his attitude, though the moments only lasted a second at most. He supposed that was the problem with losing your mind. It was an ongoing process, and you never knew which part of yourself was going to fail next, or if it already had and you just didn’t know it. 

Eventually, Demitra and his guards finished setting up their equipment and stood back to let the President inspect their work.

‘I’ll send Zentis down first, Lord President,’ Demitra said, indicating a fresh-faced guard, a first-regeneration kid by the looks of him, standing to attention on his left. The President nodded and folded his arms.

‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Take it slowly. We don’t know what’s down there.’

‘We’ve fitted a comms unit to his helmet,’ said Demitra. ‘So you should be able to see what he sees as he goes down.’

‘Excellent work, Lieutenant,’ said the Lord President, then he watched as the guards helped strap Zentis into a harness attached to the end of the metal cable. He shuffled backwards towards the lip of the hole, then, with a guard on either side of him to help, dropped down into the darkness and let the cable take his weight. The President watched the drum turn slowly for a moment, then activated his wrist comms so he could watch the video feed from the young soldier’s helmet.

Zentis had activated the lights on his uniform but all the President could make out were the young man’s gloved hands on the cable and his feet dangling below. 

‘The chamber looks huge, sir,’ Zentis reported. ‘I can’t see any walls or the floor yet.’

‘Just take it slowly,’ the President ordered. 

‘It’s so quiet,’ Zentis said. ‘Like being under water.’

For a long while, he continued down the line in silence. The President watched the image on his comms, though there was nothing much to see. Then the view switched, so quickly at first that it took the camera a second to refocus, but now the President could see Zentis’s torchlight falling on a pillar of stone. Once, it might’ve reached right up to the roof of the chamber, but it had broken some time in antiquity, part of it sheared off at an angle. 

‘I can see some stonework,’ Zentis reported. ‘There’s writing on it. It’s Gallifreyan.’

‘Our picture’s not clear enough,’ said the President. ‘What does it say?’

‘It’s…’ The picture from Zentis’s helmet changed angle slightly as the soldier tried to get a better look. ‘It says… “Rassilon sealed this place. By blood and by will, it stays sealed. Seek not to trespass, for that way lies death”.’

‘Cheerful,’ muttered Missy.

‘Pompous,’ said the President. ‘Typical Rassilon. Why not just say, “Keep out”?’

‘There’s…’ Zentis continued. ‘There’s something on the stone. Some sort of residue. It’s like… Weird, it smells...’

The young soldier held his hand in front of the camera and the President was able to see what he was talking about. The fingers of his crimson glove were covered in a mucus-like substance. In the poor light it was impossible to make out its proper colour, though it seemed pale and translucent. As Zentis splayed his fingers, the substance formed webs between the digits.

‘Smells of what?’ the President asked. ‘Zentis, smells of what?’

The hand came momentarily nearer to the camera. 

‘Eh… It’s like, well, roses, sir. I know that sounds odd but…’

‘Get him up,’ the President ordered. ‘Now, get him out of there!’

Demitra and the other guards launched themselves at the winch and started hauling up the cable. 

‘What is it?’ Missy asked.

‘There’s a…’ Zentis began, but he was interrupted by a loud cry from somewhere below him. A mixture of a roar and a scream, as if the creature had more than one set of vocal cords. The picture swung around and the President caught a brief glimpse of a huge, elliptical maw with several rows of teeth, before Zentis screamed and the feed cut out. The soldier working the winch handle kept on turning it, and after a moment, the end of the cable appeared. The harness was still attached. Zentis was not.

‘Oh well,’ said Missy, ‘there’s a monster. Better just go home then.’

‘It’s a zobrat,’ said the President. ‘Native to the southern continent of Karn. If it’s still alive after all this time, then there must be a nest of them down there. Hiding away in the shadows, breeding. There could be thousands of them by now.’

They were all watching him. The President felt the pressure of their stares as they waited for him to come up with a plan. It really did feel like the old days. And thinking of his old self, his old adventures, brought a memory that might even be useful.

‘Do we have any emergency flares?’

Demitra nodded and gestured to one of his guards, who scurried off to check their equipment packs.

‘Who exactly do you think will come and help us?’ asked Missy dryly.

‘Zobrats live in the dark. Their optic nerves are designed to function in low light and absolute darkness. They can’t stand anything brighter than a candle.’

The guard returned with an armful of small cylinders, then stood awaiting orders. The President reached over and took one, then held it above the hole in the floor.

‘These are full of vionesium. Exposed to oxygen it’ll produce carbon dioxide and an awful lot of light.’

‘It’ll blind them?’ Missy asked.

‘Worse. It’ll probably burn out their brains.’

The President tossed the cylinder into the hole. After a long while, there was a crack like breaking glass, then the hole filled with piercing white light. The President covered his eyes with his arm until the light subsided, while below, the creatures squealed, a whole chorus of them. When the light died, the sound faded too.

‘Chuck another one down just to be sure,’ the President ordered. ‘We’ll keep the rest in case we meet anything else down there.’

Demitra took another of the flares and threw it into the hole.

‘What is it with you and wildlife recently?’ Missy asked. 

The light from the second flare died. There had been no screams this time.

‘Right,’ the President said, ignoring Missy completely. ‘I’ll go next.’

‘But sir…’ Demitra began.

‘One person’s already died for this plan,’ the President replied.

‘One person and an awful lot of animals…’ Missy muttered.

‘I’m not asking anyone else to risk their life for something that’s my idea.’

Demitra looked uneasy, but he nodded, then helped the President into the harness. The President stood for a while, looking down into the darkness. Demitra came to his side again, this time with a couple of small lights he could stick to his clothing, but then everyone else stepped back. The President realised they were all looking at him again. Was it awful that he was enjoying the moment, the feeling of jumping into the unknown?  

Chapter Text

Clara raised her hands and tried to look calm, even though the gun was so close to her face, she couldn’t focus on it properly. Behind her she felt the Doctor taking a step towards her and she hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash. He had an awful tendency, since this regeneration, of saying exactly what he thought and this was not the perfect situation to do that.

‘We’re unarmed,’ the Doctor said. ‘We’re no threat to you.’

‘You’ll pardon me if I don’t take your word for that,’ replied the man.

‘Who are you?’ Danai demanded. ‘Why do you defile the sanctum of the Sisterhood?’

The man gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. We didn’t even know if this planet was inhabited.’

‘This is all very fascinating,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I have this thing where, if someone’s planning to kill me, I like to know who they are and why.’

‘Look,’ Clara said, ‘we don’t mean you any harm. Why don’t you put the guns down, we’ll find somewhere to have a seat, and talk about this, eh? You lot look like you’ve been through the wars already. Do you really want more fighting?’

After a moment’s consideration, the man lowered his gun. His companions did the same and Clara let out the breath she’d been holding.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Good start. I’m Clara, by the way. This is the Doctor and this is Danai.’

‘Rysard,’ said the man. ‘This is all that’s left of my crew.’

‘What, from a spaceship?’

‘We were part of a patrol along the borders of the Galskorro system. We broke formation to investigate a blip on our scanners, on fast approach to the fourth planet, our most inhabited. Turned out to be a warship. It was caught up in a firefight with what looked like a Dalek cruiser. If they saw us, they didn’t think us important enough to change course. We were hit by a stray blaster shot. The rest of our patrol were wiped out when the two ships careered through the system. Our engines were damaged. We were dead in space. But comms worked. We could tune into the fourth planet’s information network and we watched on their news feeds as the two ships carried on their battle in the lower atmosphere. In the end, the Dalek ship was destroyed, but not before it released a weapon that detonated the planet’s atmosphere.’

‘Your whole planet?’ Clara asked. Her voice had fallen to a whisper.

‘Eight billion souls, wiped out in the space of a heartbeat,’ said Rysard. ‘The warship moved off as if nothing had happened. We got our engines working and went after them, followed in their wake. They used some kind of strange propulsion system, nothing Ollan, my engineer there, had ever seen, but we were able to ride the slipstream. They came out in this system and made for one of the planets but before we could go after them, a flotilla of smaller ships came to intercept. Our ship was already damaged. We didn’t hold out for long. We were lucky this planet was here. We were able to crash land and found these tunnels. We thought perhaps they might come looking for survivors. Thought it best to have a defensible position.’

‘The ship went back to Gallifrey?’ the Doctor said, sounding like he was thinking aloud.

‘I told you,’ said Danai. ‘The Lord President has been on a campaign to rid the universe of any threats.’

‘And making a universal hash of it by the sounds of things.’

‘We were no threat,’ said Rysard. ‘Our civilisation was peaceful. We’d survived a Dalek invasion centuries ago, saw our people enslaved, and afterwards, we vowed our nations would work together to ensure a safe and dignified way of life for all of us. We never thought they’d return. Our armaments were no match for them.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the Doctor. ‘But the man I believe was responsible for what happened to your planet is after something in these tunnels that, if he finds it, would give him unlimited power and make him the biggest threat this universe has ever seen. I need to make sure he doesn’t get it and every second I’m delayed, that possibility becomes more likely.’

‘What thing?’ asked Rysard.

‘An alien lifeform,’ Clara said. ‘Something very powerful that’s trapped down here somewhere.’

‘And he’s here? The one who flew that ship? You’re sure?’

‘I can’t say absolutely that he destroyed your planet,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I can say with complete certainty that whatever’s left of your society and every other society in the cosmos will be at risk if he isn’t stopped.’

Clara watched Rysard as he thought it over. She realised how weird it must look, the three of them, on their own, planning to stop someone who blew up planets for fun. If the roles were reversed, she probably wouldn’t believe it. 

‘He’s the Doctor,’ she said on impulse, laying a hand on the Doctor’s arm. ‘This is what he does, trust me. People like… the guy who destroyed your planet, he stops them. We can’t help your people, but we can make sure this guy never gets to destroy another civilisation, but only if you let us go.’

‘You can’t trust them, Rysard,’ said one of the women, coming to stand behind the leader. ‘That girl’s one of that cult who roam around here. We saw her before.’

‘The Sisters don’t mean you any harm either,’ said the Doctor. ‘You leave them alone, generally they’ll leave you alone. Unless they think you’re here to steal their elixir, in which case they’ll probably try to set fire to you, unless you’ve grown past that nowadays?’

He turned and looked at Danai, who scowled back at him. Clara nudged him and gave him a look she hoped would tell him to shut up, but he didn’t react.

‘So go on,’ he continued, ‘wave your guns at us, hold us prisoner here by all means. But while we’re doing that, the person responsible for your species’ genocide is getting closer to his goal. He’s not going to wait while we stand around here hoping you’ll figure out where real danger is.’

Rysard stroked the white stubble on his chin and narrowed his eyes. 

‘Where is he headed? This person you keep talking about? And who is he?’

‘He…’ The Doctor hesitated. ‘He calls himself the Lord President of Gallifrey. And he’s headed for a chamber beneath the old citadel of Karn. That’s where we’re going. Or we would be if you weren’t in our way.’

‘Then we’ll all go,’ said Rysard. ‘You can take us to him.’

‘Out of the question.’

Rysard raised his gun again and the rest of his crew followed suit. Clara saw three guns aimed at her out of the six.

‘I don’t think you’re in a position to dictate,’ Rysard said.

‘Course you can come with us,’ Clara interrupted. ‘Can’t they, Doctor? After all, maybe they can help? The Lord President’s got a whole spaceship full of guards plus, when we saw him, he was with some of the Sisterhood as well. This way, the numbers are a bit more even.’

‘All six of these…’

‘Nice people,’ Clara said before the Doctor could say anything that would get them shot.

‘All of them together would be no match for a Time Lord who’s set his mind on carnage, Clara. If they come with us, we’re just leading them to their deaths.’

‘That’s my decision to make,’ said Rysard. ‘We’ll go with you. And if, when the time comes, we find we’re outmatched against this enemy, we’d gladly give our lives in the attempt. After all, what do any of us have to go back to? Our planet is dead.’

‘Like you said, Doctor,’ Clara went on, ‘he’s got a head start on us. We’re wasting time. Just let them come with us.’

‘Fine,’ said the Doctor, looking less than pleased. ‘But if you get in my way, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you.’

Rysard gestured with his gun. ‘After you, Doctor.’

Danai let out a deep sigh then walked past them to take the lead again. 

‘This way, then,’ she said wearily.

Clara went after the Doctor and kept close behind him, even though that meant letting the six armed and angry humanoids behind her. She wanted to watch the Doctor. Ever since they’d left Earth, since the first time they’d seen that robot, the Doctor had been acting oddly. Now, a pace or two ahead of her, he was still strange. True enough, she hadn’t known this version of him for very long but she felt she’d got a sense of him at least. And true, he could be irascible at times. Downright rude at others. But this felt different to her. She could see the tension in his jaw muscles, the way he kept glancing round at the humans and the fury in his grey eyes, as if it took all his resolve to hold back his anger. After they’d gone a few more metres down the tunnel, she noticed he started rubbing his right hand, too, as if it hurt, flexing the fingers and staring down at it sometimes, like he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. 

Chapter Text

The Lord President tapped the torch app on his wrist unit and flashed the beam around the cavern. The remains of several dead creatures lay heaped on the floor and filled the air with the stench of burned garlic and spoiled meat. He didn’t even dare point the beam at the floor to see what he was stepping in. The cavern itself was roughly circular, its roof domed, with light tumbling down from the hole they’d made, so that it mimicked the rotunda above, but everything was hewn from the raw stone. There were several openings leading into tunnels, nothing to say which one would be the correct one. Rassilon would’ve laid traps, the President mused. There could be any number of horrors down here. Well, he thought, I was once the man who stopped the monsters. Perhaps I could be again. 

Behind him, Demitra dropped down off the rope and wandered in a small circle around the centre of the cavern, taking everything in, before he came to stand at the President’s side.

‘Which way, sir?’ he asked.

There was a crunch of gravel and a squelching sound, then Missy let out a cry of disgust. The President turned to find her standing with the rope still in hand, but she’d dropped down right onto the corpse of one of the creatures, and was now trying to wipe the gore off her boot by rubbing it against a nearby stone. The President couldn’t suppress a smirk.

Once the whole party was down, including Ohila, who had to be helped by one of the guards, the President strode off towards the nearest passage and glanced down it without actually crossing the threshold.

‘Which one?’ he said aloud, as Missy came to his side, still scowling. He waved his injured hand at each of the five possible ways out of the cavern. They all looked the same, just tunnels hewn out of the bedrock, some with a little phosphorescence in the walls to light the way, if dimly. 

The President brought up the scan the ship had sent him of the area and considered the topography. 

‘I would imagine the prison is directly beneath us,’ he said, pointing at the display projected from his wrist unit. ‘But any one of these could lead down there.’ 

He turned to the group of guards, who were huddled around Ohila as if she was their mother. Sending one guard down each tunnel so they could report what was down there was the easiest way, he thought, but then that pang hit him again. There would be traps. He’d be using them to suss out the danger and probably sending one or two of them to their deaths. It made him wince inside. That hadn’t happened for a long time. He’d thought he’d grown numb to death so why was it bothering him now?

‘You,’ Missy shouted to Demitra. ‘Sort yourselves out. One guard to each tunnel, comms open. Report back and tell us which is the right one.’

The President opened his mouth to protest, then decided against it. He’d already made himself look weak in front of these people. He had to recover a little of his authority. But he still did not like the idea of sending them into the unknown, even if it was their job, and the fact that he was unnerved by that made him all the more concerned. He could feel something happening to his mind, his personality subtly changing, and he didn’t like it.

‘Be careful,’ he called to the guards, who’d already spread out and headed towards the tunnels. ‘There’ll be traps. Watch where you put your feet. Don’t touch anything. Use smoke canisters if you have them to look out for laser triggers. There could be anything down there, but hopefully one of these tunnels has a set of stairs that’ll take us down to the prison.’

The guards muttered their assent then headed off. Their footsteps rang out in the cavern but gradually faded away. The President waited, expecting screams at any moment, but none came. He couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or if it made things worse.

‘Lord President,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Demitra standing a metre or so away, frowning at him in concern. There were also five guards with him, the five the President had just seen go down the tunnels.

‘What are your orders, sir?’ Demitra asked. ‘Shall I send a scout down each of the tunnels to survey them?’

The President looked around for Missy. Her expression told him she recognised the strangeness of the situation, and that calmed him slightly. He wasn’t losing his mind. Or if he was, he wasn’t alone.

‘Time loop,’ Missy said, surveying the cavern with the keen eyes of a predator. ‘Just a small one. Try again.’

‘Yes,’ the President replied distractedly. ‘Yes, Demitra, send them down.’

He watched the guards fan out again and head into exactly the same tunnels as they’d gone down before. Again, he waited, listening out for the thud of bodies hitting the ground or the shocked intake of breath as someone was skewered on a spike – he really wished he’d never let River drag him to all those Indiana Jones movies back in his last regeneration. 

‘Sir!’

The President turned around again. Demitra was still in the same position, standing nearby, but this time the five guards with him were hunched over, their faces deeply lined and their hair white. Twisted strands stuck out beneath their helmets. One stumbled forward and collapsed, but the President was near enough to catch him before he hit the ground. He knelt slowly, lowering the guard down onto the rock floor of the cavern. The President hadn’t paid too much attention to the guards before, but this man didn’t look familiar. A different regeneration, said a voice at the back of his mind. 

‘Which regeneration was this man on?’ he asked Demitra.

‘His fourth, I think.’

Something had made that man run through all his remaining regenerations, leaving him this weary, broken shell, close to death. Indeed, as the President watched, the guard took a shuddering breath, let out a low moan, and his head drooped to one side, all the life gone out of it. The President closed the man’s eyes carefully and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then he turned his attention to the others. They were still on their feet but looked as worn out as the dead man had done. 

‘Let these men rest until we can find out what’s causing this,’ the President ordered. Then he went back to Missy’s side.

‘If it’s a time loop or a time field,’ he said, ‘there must be something at the centre of it, controlling it. If we don’t find that, we can’t leave this place. Bit of an anti-climax after all we’ve done so far, don’t you think?’

‘I’d put it in here,’ Missy replied. She threw another suspicious look around the cavern. ‘Something central, spreading out to reach all the tunnels.’

‘Let’s hope Rassilon thought the same way you do.’

The President took his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and ran a few scans. The results didn’t make much sense, thanks to the temporal distortion, but he could see that Missy was right. There was a dead spot right where they were standing, covering a radius of about six metres. Step beyond that boundary and you get caught in the trap. But there was also a spike in energy emissions right in the centre of the cavern. The President followed the trail to that exact spot, the sound of the screwdriver echoing around the chamber, and found a flat-topped slab of pale rock. 

‘I need this moved,’ he called to Demitra, who immediately signalled to a couple of his guards, the ones who hadn’t aged, and they came to the President’s side. Within a few minutes, they’d lifted the slab and set it to the side, revealing a void beneath. Someone had hollowed out a perfect circle in the rock and left a little tangle of equipment tucked inside. It resembled the dematerialisation circuit of his TARDIS, though it was covered in Gallifreyan writing and far more complex than the circuit, as well as being about four times larger.

He studied the thing from a distance at first, crouched on his haunches by the edge of the hole, then he ran a scan with his sonic but the readings were gibberish. Poking around at it might be the best way to get blown up, but he couldn’t see any other way of finding out how it worked.

‘Seen one of these before?’ he asked Missy quietly.

‘No. That’s old tech though, very old.’

‘You’re the engineer. Can you switch it off?’

Missy considered the thing. ‘It looks as if the main controls are there…’ 

She reached out to it but the President caught her wrist and held her back.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘It’s too obvious.’

‘The main controls?’

‘The whole thing. Took us what, five seconds to find this thing? Rassilon wouldn’t have made it so easy to find. It’s a trap.’

He got up and looked around, studying the cavern. For the first time he spotted Clara, once again in the corner of his eye, standing over by the chamber wall, her back to him as always. He turned away. This wasn’t the time. There had to be an answer somewhere in that cavern and everyone, the guards, Missy, Ohila, they were all looking at him to work it out. That was the problem with being in charge. Perhaps long ago he would’ve solved this, back when he was the… well, that person, but his mind was so jumbled now. Just trying to think was an effort. And he… he had to admit he missed having someone to show off to. Missy didn’t count because nothing impressed her. Ohila, same problem. He closed his eyes as a wave of emotion washed through him, a mixture of fear and longing and guilt that all jumbled up until none of it made sense. What he really needed, right at that moment, was Clara. She’d ask the right questions, get his mind working. But then again, if she were still here, none of it would’ve happened. 

The thought of her made him look about until he spotted her again. Still in the same place, by that patch of bare wall between two of the tunnel mouths. A surprisingly clean part of the cavern. The rest of it was filthy, covered with guano and the remains of the creatures that had lived down there until the President arrived. But there was nothing in that area, no filth or slime where Clara stood. Why? What about that section didn’t the creatures like?

‘Are you telling me what to do?’ he whispered.

‘What?’ Missy asked.

The President ignored her and hurried over to that area. Now that his attention was fully on it, of course, Clara was gone, but he’d got the message. His subconscious must still function, working away in the background, and it had found the solution. Whatever that was.

He inspected the ground and the wall. The stone was smoother than everywhere else. He’d thought it was a natural feature before, but now he wasn’t so sure. It looked more like someone trying to imitate nature. A fake stone.

‘This one as well,’ he called to the guards. ‘I need this lifted.’

Demitra and his soldiers were there at once. It took a lot longer to prize the stone up but when they did, the President grinned. He’d expected circuitry, something that contained the machinery controlling the time loops in that room, but instead, underneath the stone, was a set of stairs heading downwards.

Chapter Text

Just when Clara thought she’d never see anything but tunnels again, the passageway opened out onto a vast cavern, with large basalt shelves forming different levels and a large chasm in the centre. A rope bridge spanned the gap, looking like it was held together with dust and willpower. 

‘We’re not going over that?’ she said, and Danai, still leading the party, stopped and looked back at her as if she had no idea what Clara was talking about.

‘Just…’ Clara went on. ‘That doesn’t look exactly…safe.’

‘Who put it there?’ asked the Doctor. 

‘The followers of the Queen,’ said Danai. ‘Many years ago.’

‘Exactly,’ said Clara. ‘When was the last time anyone checked it?’

‘It’s perfectly fine,’ Danai told her. She turned and picked her way down the natural steps formed by the basalt then slowly stepped out onto the bridge. For all her reassurances, Clara noticed how carefully the Sister picked her way from board to board, the ropes and wood creaking under her weight. Clara found herself calculating how much Danai might weigh, and figured since the other woman was a foot taller than her, that she was probably heavier as well, so it would most likely be safe enough. Most likely.

‘It would seem to be the only way,’ said the Doctor, ‘unless you’re really good at jumping.’

He brushed past her and followed Danai over the bridge, taking it with far more confidence than she had. The boards sagged and protested but the structure held together and soon he skipped off and onto the rock ledge on the other side. Aware that Rysard and his party were still behind her, Clara forced herself to go on. There was something about the group of humans, the way they kept together and never spoke, that unnerved her. Rysard in particular had a way of staring at her like he could see right into her soul, and he gave the impression that he didn’t like what he found there. She didn’t want to be left alone with them for long, so it was good motivation to brave the bridge. Before stepping out, though, she stupidly looked over the edge of the rock shelf and saw the drop below. The darkness made it look bottomless, and as she approached the bridge, she nudged a pebble accidently and it skittered away over the edge. She heard it clatter against the sides of the crevasse, but she didn’t hear it hit the bottom. 

‘Are we going to stand here all millennia?’ Rysard said. His voice was low and Clara thought he might’ve intended that to be under his breath, but then again, when she looked over her shoulder at him, he was glaring at her so perhaps she had been meant to hear. Anger boosted her confidence and she stood up a bit straighter, took hold of the ropes on either side of the bridge, and started across.

The bridge began to swing as soon as she put her weight on it and she held the ropes so tightly, the fibres cut into her palms, until she could muster the courage to step onto the next board. In the films, this would be where one of the planks would split and fall away. She kept waiting for it and at the same time cursed every film that had ever had that happen, but the bridge stayed whole, and though it groaned every time she moved, in no time she was stepping onto solid ground again. 

She exhaled, feeling like she’d been holding her breath for ages, then looked around the ledge she’d come to. The Doctor and Danai had moved a few metres further on and were near the back of this shelf, which was about six metres squared, with the next ledge about two metres higher up. Clara instinctively started looking for some way to get up there but then realised that the Doctor and Danai were staring downwards, at something on the floor. Coming over to the Doctor’s side, Clara tried to see what was so interesting, but the light from Danai’s torch flickered and for a second the shadows danced across the floor and made it hard to make anything out. Then as the light steadied, she thought she saw cables, long, silver rods with sharpened ends, like javelins, and a few bits of circuitry. The Doctor crouched down and lifted one of the javelins.

‘What are those, weapons?’ Clara asked, picking one of the javelins up. It was lighter than she expected, although it felt like brushed metal. She tested the sharpness against the pad of her thumb and winced as it broke the skin easily. A bead of blood swelled up and she sucked her thumb until it stopped stinging.

‘For a Raston Warrior Robot,’ replied the Doctor.

Clara dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘There’s another one?’

‘I doubt it,’ said the Doctor, also keeping his voice low. ‘They don’t usually go off for a wander and leave their arsenal lying around. This belonged to the one we saw.’ He picked up a few of the wires and circuits, turned them over in his hands, then dropped them again. ‘Someone did a very primitive reprogramming job then sent him on his way.’ He turned the javelin over in his hands, looking grave and thoughtful, then nudged Clara and nodded towards a gap in the rock wall a metre or so away. ‘That looks like another tunnel. Head down there. I’ll catch you up.’

‘But what are you…’

Before she got an answer, the Doctor stood up and faced Danai, and Rysard’s group as well, as the last of them made it across the bridge.

‘Odd thing to find in a tunnel that hasn’t been used for centuries,’ the Doctor said, holding up the javelin. ‘Then again, finding a bunch of humans down here is a bit weird too, isn’t it?’

Clara backed away from him, trying to head for the tunnel mouth without making it too obvious. 

‘The robot that attacked me had a vortex manipulator,’ he said. ‘A bit like the ones you’re wearing… or five of you are at least.’

He was right. Clara had noticed the chunky, leather bracelets that all but Rysard himself were wearing but they fitted in with that sort of “Mad Max” vibe they all exuded, she hadn’t paid them much attention, but now she looked closer, they were the same as the one in her pocket. She found herself reaching on instinct to check the one she’d taken from the robot was still there, and felt the rough leather beneath her fingers. 

Rysard raised his gun and aimed it at the Doctor, who gave him a look a disappointed school master might give a pupil who’s let him down again. 

‘Only one was still working,’ Rysard said. ‘You should be flattered. We gave up our last chance of getting home to kill you.’

‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ Danai said.

‘Since when have the Sisterhood employed mercenaries?’ asked the Doctor.

‘We’re not mercenaries,’ said Rysard. 

‘What they told you is true,’ Danai added. ‘Their planet was destroyed in one of the Lord President’s battles with the Daleks. Their ship crashed here and they told us what happened. Although the Sisterhood already knew of his… of your descent into madness. We had felt the injuries to Time.’

‘So you decided to play assassins?’ asked the Doctor.

‘The Lord President is always well protected,’ said Rysard. ‘He has the army on his side and keeps a cohort of soldiers around him at all times. This way, we can wipe him out before he has a chance to destroy the galaxy. This way, none of his crimes will have happened. Our planet will live again…’

‘For about five seconds before the resulting paradox twists Time and Space in on itself and you either wake up the next day in a nightmare realm where the laws of physics have just given up, where you can die and live again all in the same second, over and over, for all eternity, or else you’ll just blip out of existence altogether.’

‘The Gallifreyans have methods to contain such paradoxes,’ said Danai.

‘On Gallifrey,’ retorted the Doctor. ‘There’s nothing they can do about it here. You kill me now, then yes, you’ll assassinate the other me, but in the process, you’ll turn the galaxy inside out. You said yourself, he’s interfered himself with the history of dozens of worlds. You try to undo that, it’s like trying to repair a watch with a pneumatic drill.’

‘Maybe so, Doctor,’ said Rysard, ‘but we swore an oath to avenge our people and stop that madman committing more atrocities. We knew the robot would either kill you or bring you here. Either way…’

‘Run, Clara,’ the Doctor said. ‘So it’s vengeance, no matter the cost? Do you humans never learn anything? Run, Clara.’

Clara was at the mouth of the tunnel but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. Half of her wanted to do what the Doctor said and the other, louder half wanted to find a way to help him.

The Doctor stood very still for a moment, then with a sudden whirl of movement, he flung the robot’s javelin towards Rysard. It landed at his feet but burst into a hail of sparks and smoke as it hit the rock and then there was chaos. Rysard’s people fired, bolts of energy from their weapons lighting up the cavern and producing more smoke, until all Clara could see were shadows dancing, like the torchlight. 

She heard a scuffle and the smoke began to clear. Two of Rysard’s followers had the Doctor between them, an arm each, and Rysard himself stood a couple of metres away, gun raised.

‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ he said, and fired.

Chapter Text

The Lord President activated the flashlight on his wrist unit and aimed it at the stairs ahead. There was no handrail – typical Time Lord engineering, no conception of health and safety – and there were a lot of steps. They’d already gone down at least four storeys, if he’d kept count, so he picked his way carefully and was glad he’d dumped his collar and robes up top. All very well looking impressive but it wasn’t exactly practical for down here. You didn’t see Indiana Jones wearing a gown, did you? 

Missy had evidently started down directly after him and was a little too close for his liking, constantly bumping into him whenever he paused for a moment to get his balance or check the way ahead for traps, and he got a waft of perfume every few seconds as well. His theory was she’d never really got used to using scent since her regeneration and was still slapping it on as if it were aftershave. Must be difficult though, especially for someone like them, or how he used to be anyway, travelling alone, having to learn everything by yourself. 

‘You don’t think this is a bit suspect,’ she said. 

‘What is?’

‘How long have we been going down here?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t been counting.’

‘Seven minutes and forty-three seconds,’ said Missy.

‘Though obviously you have.’

‘Seven minutes and forty-three seconds,’ Missy repeated, ‘and none of us are dead yet.’

‘You’re complaining?’

‘No, but where are all these traps and clever puzzles Rassilon was supposed to have left? You’re not trying to tell me that nursery toy up there is it. There has to be something more impressive.’

‘More impressive…well, I’d hate for you to be killed by something mediocre,’ the Lord President said with a dry laugh.

‘This creature is one of the most dangerous organisms to exist in our universe,’ said Missy. ‘Not that she does, exactly… exist in our universe that is, but you know what I mean.’

‘Are you jealous, is that it? Think she’s knocking you off the number one spot?’

‘I’m serious,’ Missy said. The President stopped and turned to face her. She bumped into him again, not anticipating his move, and the perfume caught the back of his throat. He tried not to grimace.

‘What worries me,’ Missy went on, ‘is why you’re not.’

‘Why I’m not what? Terrified we’re going to get eaten? I’m checking the way ahead, I’m scanning for tech and looking for trip wires or light beams or sensors or whatever. There’s nothing.’

‘And you don’t find that odd? Why would he just leave the place unguarded. If it was me, and I’d captured the most dangerous beastie in the cosmos, I would want to make sure no one was getting down here.’

The Lord President sighed. He’d actually thought the same thing back at the chamber above. That time trap was nasty but it was hardly unbeatable. It had taken them, what, about fifteen minutes to work out the solution? Then again, they were Time Lords. Perhaps the traps were only meant to keep out lesser races. Or…

‘All right,’ said Missy, looking slightly annoyed, ‘you already thought of this and you’ve got an idea. I can see it on your face, that irritating “I got there an hour ago” expression. I used to think those people who travelled with you were a bit whiny but I’m really starting to see what they were getting at now.’

‘The Queen is an extradimensional being,’ the President said. ‘A predator from the Six-Fold-Realm, that’s all they really knew about her. The Eternals and the Chronovores were scared of her. Some of the beings like the Toymaker and the Trickster hung onto her apron strings, so to speak, but other than that, even Rassilon didn’t know exactly what she was or what the true extent of her powers were.’

‘Thank you for that excerpt from The Idiot’s Guide to Space Monsters but I know that…’

‘I know you know that,’ said the President patiently. ‘My point is, something like that, you’re not just going to put it in a pet carrier or a cage and lock it up, are you? Whatever he used to contain her, it has to be something pretty extreme. Maybe there are no traps, or no decent traps at any rate, because there don’t have to be. Maybe it’s impossible to get through whatever defences or barriers he put up to imprison her.’

‘Then what is the point in going down here? My skirts are covered in alien goo and I really want a cup of tea. And you’re telling me we’ve not even got a chance of collecting the big bad alien we came here for?’

‘Most people won’t be able to get to her. I’m not most people.’

Missy snorted. ‘Putting yourself on a level with Omega and Rassilon now are we?’

‘Remind me, who’s president now.’

Missy glowered.

‘Exactly,’ said the Lord President. ‘And who was president before? Rassilon was always ninety per cent propaganda. The trouble was he started to believe it himself and that’s what killed him in the end.’

‘Oh, I thought that was you.’

The Lord President took his turn to throw a filthy look, but Missy just smiled back at him, so he carried on down the stairs, pretending not to bother. None of them believed him, he knew that. He could see it in their faces. He knew they probably made fun of him behind his back, and it wouldn’t be long before the odd snicker here and there turned into open criticism and then revolt. They’d had hope in the beginning, thought he’d be better than Rassilon. Revolutionaries always thought that. Then pretty soon they realised the guy they put in power was just as bad as the one they ousted, and the Lord President reckoned most of his soldiers and councillors were reaching that stage. They expected him to bring about a utopia, without understanding that it took time, that he was trying to do that, to make the universe safe for them, for all of them. 

Only, so many things had gone wrong. Bringing Gallifrey back from the end of the universe should’ve been impressive but he managed to get his sums wrong with that and landed earlier in his own timeline than he meant to, and it took a while to figure out that was why things were getting messed up when he tried to change anything, but he was trying to fix it. He would make it right. He just wished they could see that. So they all probably thought he was leading them on some pointless little field trip and he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe that’s just what he was doing. It had all been so much easier when he wasn’t alone. Instinctively, he looked around for Clara, but she wasn’t around. Only showed up when it suited her. Nothing changed. Then again, he could hardly talk.

The roof of the stairwell ended abruptly and then instead of following the steps down a narrow little space, they were hugging the wall of a vast chamber built of enormous blocks of basalt, polished so much they felt damp to the touch and the torchlight gleamed against their surfaces, casting eerie reflections of the group. The Lord President still couldn’t see the floor and swayed slightly as a wave of vertigo hit him when he gazed into the abyss. There was some sort of mist at the bottom, making it seem endless, and eventually the stairs disappeared into the haze. 

He signalled over his shoulder to the soldiers to take things slowly and carefully, then carried on. Once they hit the mist, it was only a few more steps to the bottom and soon they were walking on solid ground again, on a floor made of the same smooth stone as the walls, only laid out in a black and white checkerboard pattern, but even with their torches, they could barely see a few centimetres ahead of them. The mist moved on a breeze the President couldn’t feel and coiled around them like a living thing. Of course, he thought, you couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was a living thing. He’d met a few mists in his time. One of them had even proposed. Though it would never have worked out. The mist had liked improv jazz of all things.

The torch beams darting about made it seem like the mist was full of shadows and the President found himself reaching for his sidearm as he glimpsed phantom movements around him. Then he heard Clara’s voice in his head again. What happened to not carrying guns? Even an imaginary Clara could still make him second guess himself, so he left the staser in its holster. The sensation of things circling them, just a few paces away through the fog, didn’t go away though, and after walking a short distance from the stairs, the President realised they had no way of telling where they were or where they were going. 

‘All right,’ he said, ‘scan the room. Look for any exits. Give me a three-D topographical model.’

One of the soldiers replied with a curt “Lord President”, but he couldn’t see which one. He couldn’t see anyone except Missy, who was right by his side. Anyway, if he lost her in the fog he could always follow the perfume. He reproached himself for being unkind and admitted he was glad to be able to see someone clearly. It would be something else, to be down here alone. In that chamber, there was a real sense of how deep underground they were, though the Lord President wasn’t sure why. It was as if he could feel the weight of the earth and rocks above the chamber ceiling and how precarious it all was, how easy it would be to become trapped down here. Buried alive. Now there’s a cheerful thought, he chided himself.

‘Map, sir,’ said Demitra, coming close enough that the Lord President could actually make out his face through the mist. He held up his wrist comms and projected a wire mesh model of the chamber onto the air above his hand. It didn’t look that big – a rectangle about a nine metres by fifteen, with no nooks or niches, and only one door, set into the middle of the longer wall directly opposite the stairs. The President turned until, according to the scans, he was facing the door, then with Demitra and Missy still keeping close, started to walk towards it. Demitra held the map just in front of the President’s line of sight so he could keep himself on a straight path, so that the President couldn’t shake the image of the three of them headed across the room like the group of friends in the Wizard of Oz. He nearly started singing “We’re Off To See the Wizard” but stopped himself just in time. It probably wouldn’t go down well. Especially with Missy. Wizard of Oz was a touchy subject with her for some reason.

‘Come on,’ the President called to the rest of them, Ohila and the other guards. ‘This way. Don’t go wandering off or…’

There was a sound like the beating of large wings. The President stopped, as did Demitra and Missy, and he heard a couple of other feet scuffling to a halt just behind them. Then the chamber fell silent, save for their breathing and the rustle of their clothes. 

‘Sounded like it came from that direction,’ said Demitra, pointing to the corner ahead of them on the left. 

‘Flew right to left,’ the President agreed, gesturing. 

‘I really don’t want to say “I told you so”,’ Missy whispered.

‘Well, now you can be happy,’ said the President. ‘You’ve got your monster. If we’re really lucky, it’ll be something impressive and we can all die in an interesting way.’

The flutter came again, this time sounding as though it was right above their heads, going left to right. The President looked up but saw nothing. Just the mist. 

‘What kind of bird could survive down here?’ Demitra asked. 

‘Could’ve adapted to the darkness,’ said the Lord President. ‘In which case it probably hunts by echolocation or by sound. Then again, what would it feed on?’

Whatever the creature was, it flew past them once more, sounding so low that the President ducked instinctively and felt Missy and Demitra do the same, though he still saw nothing.

‘It sounds huge,’ Demitra whispered.

‘Sounds like a hell of a bird,’ said the President, half-smiling at his own joke, which no one else would get. Then it hit him that he had just joked about what happened. He couldn’t remember doing that before. He was being flippant about it. Usually any mention of something related to his ordeal would make him freeze inside, or conjure up ghost sensations in his mind, pains in his injured hand, the feeling of being followed, but this time, nothing. 

‘You’re assuming it is a bird,’ said Missy, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Could be a quantum shade.’

And there was the ice in his stomach. He swallowed and pushed away the image of the thing that took the form of a raven, soaring down a narrow London back alley. He closed his eyes to get rid of the mental image and recited the poem inscribed on his robes inside his head. What would Clara say anyway? Focus on the problem at hand. Now wasn’t the time for grief. But then when did grief ever know when it was welcome or not? It was like dry rot. Every time you thought it had gone, you’d move a piece of furniture and there it was, back again. But she would be right to say that. Now was not the time. Focus.

‘If it is, then it must’ve been let loose in here,’ he said. ‘Maybe Rassilon made a bargain with it that if it guarded the place it could kill anyone who came down here.’

The great wings beat above their heads again. Definitely bigger than a raven this time, the President concluded.

‘Why isn’t it attacking then?’ asked Missy.

There was a crunch off to the left. The President turned in time to see one of the soldiers stepping forward, though he was only visible thanks to the lights on his helmet and rifle. As he moved though, the mist cleared a little, at least around the soldier’s feet, and the President for the first time thought to look at the floor. 

‘The mist,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘Why have a room full of mist when it’s probably in darkness anyway?’

‘Because anyone coming down here would bring a torch,’ said Missy, ‘unless they’re extremely stupid in which case they would’ve died back up there with the monsters you blew up.’

‘So why have mist unless there’s something here you don’t want people to see? Everybody stand still!’

The soldier off to the left froze mid-step and wavered slightly as he made the split-second decision between putting his foot down where he’d intended to or going back to his starting position. He lost his balance and stumbled a few centimetres forward. At once a screech filled the room and the wings swooped down from somewhere near the centre of the ceiling. Through the fog, the President saw the soldier raise gun, though he didn’t have a chance to fire. He threw out his arms, screamed, and fell back as something large and black dived towards him and sank into him, as if his body had absorbed it. Exactly like… Not the time, Doctor, not the time.

‘Stand still,’ the President called again. ‘It’s the floor. It’s on the floor.’

He shone his torch towards the ground. The mist still swirled around them but the pattern was just visible. Rassilon’s old favourite – a checkerboard. He should’ve noticed it earlier. 

‘It can’t be just black or white squares,’ said Missy. ‘We’ve walked about three metres across this room and it hasn’t bothered with us.’

‘Unless it only activates at a certain point.’ The President, careful to stay exactly on the spot, twisted round to look behind them, but the mist was too thick to see how many squares they’d already passed over. Then he grabbed Demitra’s wrist and pulled his hand over.

‘Show me that map again.’

Demitra pressed his wrist unit and the display appeared on the air again. 

‘Right,’ said the President. ‘We’ve come about, what, you reckon three metres?’

‘Three metres twenty-three centimetres,’ said Missy without hesitation.

‘I do actually want to ask how you’re doing that but maybe now’s not the time. So three metres twenty three. And each of these squares is about a quarter of a metre each side.’

‘Twenty-five centimetres exactly,’ said Missy.

‘So about a quarter of a metre then,’ the President muttered, raising an eyebrow. ‘So divide three point two three by zero point two five, you get about…’

‘Twelve point nine two,’ said Missy.

‘So we must’ve come about thirteen rows in,’ said the President, ‘assuming the pattern goes wall to wall, and looking at the scan, this room’s nine metres or so across. So maybe it only kicks in once you’re a third of the way across.’

Missy groaned. ‘If it’s pi again, I’m not hopping across that.’

‘Do you have any money on you?’ the President asked.

‘Why would I have money on me? What would I  buy? “My deranged former enemy turned dictator went to Karn and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”?’

‘You could just say “no”.’

The President crouched down, making sure not to move off the square he was standing on, and felt around the floor for any grit or gravel. They’d just come down a set of old and unswept stairs so there should be something. Once he had a few pebbles in hand, he straightened and tried to make out the pattern through the mist. He tried pi, just to rule it out, aiming for the squares next to the ones that would be safe if that were the right formula, but the pebbles landed and the room remained silent. After a few seconds, the shade swooped past again but didn’t attack. It seemed to make a sweep of the room every minute or so.

Then he aimed at random squares ahead of him, expecting to hear the clatter of stone against polished stone then nothing. Only as the fourth pebble hit, landing on a black square about a metre and a half to their left, the shade let out its battle cry again, tearing through the silence. The President still couldn’t make it out, but he saw the huge, dark shape make straight for the square he’d hit. This time it landed. He heard claws scratch the stone, and a few clacks, as if it were moving the pebble about with its beak, trying to work out what it was perhaps, then it launched itself into the air again with a disgruntled shriek and disappeared somewhere near the middle of the ceiling.

‘Even if we could work out what the pattern is,’ said Missy, ‘we can’t see where we’re going.’

‘Sir,’ said a soldier just behind them, ‘if there is only one shade, sir…?’

The President got what he meant and felt cold. ‘I can’t ask anyone to do that.’

The soldier shrugged. ‘It’d be my honour, Lord President.’

‘No it wouldn’t, it would be your senseless death. I am not risking anyone else for this. If we can’t figure out a way forward, we go back. Simple as that.’

‘But sir…’

‘No arguments.’

‘He’s got a point,’ said Missy.

‘No he hasn’t…’ the President began, then stopped as a thought struck him. ‘Actually he has. If there is only one shade, we know at least two squares that’ll set it off.’

‘Firstly,’ said Missy, ‘we don’t know there is only one shade and secondly, we don’t know how fast it can move from one target to the next. It might’ve cottoned on to the pebble trick. It might not even fall for it next time.’

‘Quantum shades aren’t that intelligent,’ said the President. ‘They follow orders. And that one’s been told to attack anything that hits those squares.’

He looked down at the collection of stones in his hand. Only three left. So he’d better make this work. He aimed at the same square he’d hit before and watched the pebble bounce onto the polished basalt, wincing as it nearly rolled over the edge of the black square and onto the neighbouring white but it stopped just in time. The shade cried out and descended, but just as it landed, the President tossed the other stone towards the square where the soldier had been killed. The pebble landed at the unfortunate man’s feet. The shade twitched slightly. Through the mist it was hard to tell what it was doing but the President thought it had raised its head to have a listen. Then it took off again and headed for the other square.

It was close enough then for them to get a look at it. This one had taken the form of a vulture, with patchy grey feathers and huge, black eyes that searched around it for the prey it had hoped to find. Then it stretched out its threadbare wings and took off again, returning to its roost above them.

‘There you go then,’ said the President, knowing he sounded a little smug but he felt he’d earned it. ‘Looks like there’s only one and it’s not too fast either. Took it at least five seconds to adjust to a second target. We’ve got about six metres to that door. A good sprint should do it.’

‘You hope,’ said Missy.

The President took the last stone and aimed for the square ahead, judging that it was far enough away from their path to the door to give them a clear run.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Demitra’s got the map, so everybody follow him. No pressure, Lieutenant.’ He smiled and patted Demitra on the shoulder. ‘Ready?’

He tossed the pebble and even before it landed, shouted, ‘Run!’

He heard the shade call out but fought the urge to look around for it, keeping his eyes on Demitra’s back as they raced across the room. Soon he spotted the door, appearing like a slab of pure darkness through the fog. Even as Demitra reached it and his torchlight spilled onto the walls, the shadows remained thick. Then behind them someone screamed. The President heard the thud of a body and wanted to look back but he forced himself to run on, knowing there were others behind him whose way would be blocked if he hesitated. Once he was safely through the door he risked a look over his shoulder and, just before the mists coalesced again, he saw the shade emerge from the fallen body of another soldier. The President couldn’t make out who it was. He realised then that he didn’t know who the other one was who’d died. They’d have to do a headcount. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

It was only then that he noticed the door had led not to another tunnel as he’d assumed but to a jagged corridor with dozens of branches and archways leading off. While he’d been watching the shade make its kill, the others had hurried off without him, probably hadn’t paid attention to which way they went, and now he was alone, though he could just hear some distant footsteps coming from one of the archways, or was it that little side corridor snaking off just to his left? 

‘Missy?’ he called out. ‘Ohila? Demitra?’

A vague, ghost-like call came back, a female voice he thought, but indistinct. Surely they weren’t that far away already? Then the President looked back at the doorway and saw that, although he’d only taken a step or two away from it, it was now several metres down a length of passageway behind him. He cursed under his breath. Of course, Rassilon had played with the dimensions in here as well. Why not? 

‘Well, you wanted a better trap, Missy,’ the President muttered, then chose a direction at random and headed off.

Chapter Text

The Doctor saw the blast coming and refused to close his eyes or flinch. Strangely, as the bolt of energy filled his field of vision and made his eyes ache, he wasn’t afraid, he was angry, both at the ridiculous human for his betrayal and at himself for walking into the trap. What a stupid way to die! After everything he’d done, after all his battles and all his last minute survivals, to be shot by some nobody in a dank old cavern nobody but a few crazy Sisters of Karn knew about! As he fell, all he thought about was how much he wanted that human and his little friends to pay for this. But then Clara had said no revenge. No – that wasn’t right. She hadn’t said that to him, so why did it feel like a memory? Images flitted across his brain, where he would’ve expected a replay of his life – that’s what all the books and films said happened. Instead, he saw Clara in some narrow little street lined with Victorian-looking shop windows and high walls, and with the image came the absolute certain knowledge that she was dead. But that wasn’t right either. Clara was there. He’d just seen her. She’d run, hopefully. For a while everything swirled around, out of order, scenes playing that he recognised and others that felt like his memories but were unfamiliar. He felt himself at one point dressed in armour, scarred by laser-fire, taking cover behind a fallen pillar in the ruins of some vast chamber. From the architecture, it was Gallifrey, and it was Time Lord armour he was wearing, but the Doctor didn’t remember that ever happening.

Then for a while things went black. The constant motion in his head ceased, and it was like being lost at the centre of a huge, dark room in complete silence. Before a spark winked into being a short distance away, then became a globe of light that sputtered for a moment then settled down to form the gently wavering flame of a candle. That was odd. Did they not have electricity in the afterlife? The candle rose suddenly and moved towards him, and its light picked out the hand of someone gripping its holder, though that was all the Doctor could see at first. He sat up – had he been lying on the floor or sitting or standing? He wasn’t sure. But now he had the sensation of pushing himself up off a surface so he could face the newcomer. He found, when he got to his feet, that there was no pain. He was dressed in his usual clothes, his navy suit and button-down shirt, and there was even still the small tear in the sleeve where the Raston Warrior Robot had shot him in Sherwood Forest. But there was no big, charred hole over one of his hearts or anything else you’d expect from a death by laser fire. 

‘Relax, Doctor,’ said a male voice, coming from the direction of the candle, so the Doctor assumed this was the person holding the light. ‘You’re not dead.’

‘Oddly, I don’t find that as reassuring as you’d think,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Because that means either I’m in a coma, my mind’s been extracted from my body and placed in some kind of psychic construct or even a computer simulation, or else I’ve just gone plain mad.’

‘None of the above,’ said the man. He set the candle down on what, the Doctor could now see, was a small wooden table. The light flared and suddenly there was light enough to fill about the space of a small room, though the rest of the space remained in darkness and was obviously much larger. The man facing him was tall and lean with shoulder-length dark hair, and dressed like a Gallifreyan in a very traditional tunic with a V shaped pattern on the front. 

‘You’re unconscious,’ he said. ‘Rysard has to make sure you can’t regenerate first before he kills you, so they’ve only stunned you for the moment. Though I’m afraid they are rather set on your execution.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about it,’ said the Doctor. ‘And if I’m unconscious, then what does that make you anyway? An hallucination? A few mis-firing neurones? An undigested bit of beef?’

‘I’m merely using your altered state of consciousness to contact you,’ said the stranger. ‘The closest analogy might be a psychic transmission.’

‘Transmissions usually come from somewhere. You’re dressed like a Time Lord. Are you on Gallifrey?’

‘Not any more. Where I am is both hard to explain and of no consequence to the matter at hand. Things are precariously close to oblivion and it is my purpose to protect against that outcome. Therefore it was necessary to make contact.’

‘If you’re talking about the other me,’ said the Doctor, ‘I already know about him. In fact, I was on my way to try and stop him when your friend Rysard interfered.’

‘I have no connection with the humans, Doctor.’

‘Then who are you?’

‘You may call me the Custodian.’

‘That is not a direct answer to my question.’

‘It is the best I can do.’

‘Custodian of what?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Of this prison,’ said the stranger, and the Doctor understood it all then. It came like a wash of warm water through his mind.

‘You’ve been left behind to guard the Queen,’ he said. ‘Rassilon’s doing I imagine, or Omega’s.’

‘Rassilon’s,’ said the Custodian with a slight smile, as if he were proud of the statement or amused by it. ‘But again, that is irrelevant to the matter at hand.’

‘If you want to stop the Queen being released,’ said the Doctor, ‘wouldn’t you be better talking to the other me? After all, he’s the one actually trying to release her. I think the Earth phrase for what you’re doing here is “preaching to the choir”.’

‘I have tried to warn him,’ said the Custodian. ‘He refused to listen. And so I thought I might take advantage of this culmination of events.’

He held out his hands and the light brightened again, expanding the visible area around them. Four wooden chairs with peeling paintwork sat in a circle, facing each other. None were occupied, but the Custodian gestured towards the one nearest the Doctor, and he assumed he was meant to sit down. Curiosity more than anything else made him comply. He folded his arms and leaned back.

‘So who are we waiting for then?’ he asked.

‘The other players on the board,’ the Custodian replied.

Clara was lost within seconds of leaving the chamber. She’d intended just to get out of sight until she could think what to do and she’d figured out how to maybe get back and use the discarded armaments in the cavern to try and save the Doctor in case there was just the slightest chance he’d survived that shot, but she couldn’t find the chamber. She’d retraced her steps exactly, even followed her own footprints in the dust, and ended up in a passageway she’d never seen before. It led her eventually to a flight of steps that seemed to descend into the abyss. A low mist covered the stairs from about twenty metres down and so she had no idea how far they went. And going down there would take her even farther from the Doctor. She didn’t understand how she’d gotten so disorientated so quickly, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting back. 

When she followed the passageway back the way she’d come, she found it led to a completely different room to the one that was there originally. This, again, was unfamiliar, covered in deeply carved hieroglyphs similar to the writing that was all over the TARDIS. It made her think of an Egyptian tomb, with that same sort of stillness in the air she imagined Howard Carter had found when he stepped into Tutankhamun’s burial chambers for the first time. Air that hasn’t been moved by a sound in thousands of years and now didn’t want the disturbance, pushed it away. 

‘It can be unnerving,’ said a voice behind her.

Clara let out a cry then a curse and turned around. A man stood facing her, dressed in some kind of long tunic and holding a candle in an old-fashioned iron holder, the sort Clara would have pictured Dickensian characters using to light themselves to bed. He smiled benignly, but there was something more intense in his blue eyes, like he had a definite purpose.

‘The silence,’ he said, and gestured around the room. His candle flame danced. ‘There are parts of this complex that haven’t been visited in millennia. It can be quite humbling to walk through them. I am sorry I startled you, Miss Oswald.’

Clara had been about to ask him who he was and what he wanted but hearing her name, she faltered and the words died in her throat. 

‘Yes, I know your name,’ he said and gave her another smile. He had that strange thing she used to feel with the Doctor – the old Doctor, or rather the young Doctor – where his face was that of a man barely into his twenties and yet he seemed so unfathomably old. So how would the Doctor tackle him? What would he do? The problem was, with this new version of the Doctor, she could never be sure.

‘Seems only fair that you tell me yours then,’ she replied.

‘I am the Custodian.’

‘Custodian? Custodian of what?’

‘There is very little time, Miss Oswald,’ said the Custodian, dodging the question entirely. ‘I’m afraid I need your presence.’

‘My…’

Before she could protest more, he blew out the candle. Although there’d been a faint glow from something embedded in the rock walls before, now the room fell into complete darkness and Clara had the brief sensation of twirling around as if she were about to faint, though she caught herself and stayed upright, trying to shake the dizziness and the feeling that she was being buffeted about by strong winds. Then everything settled down. The world stopped spinning in the dark, and a little way away, she heard the scratch of a matchstick against its sandpaper. A little ball of light appeared and then a bigger, brighter one swelled into existence, another candle. Though this lit up a huge area, as big as her living room. She saw the Custodian again, now setting the candle down on an occasional table standing in the middle of the area they were in. And around the table were four chairs. The Doctor sat in one of them, looking cross, with his arms folded and his brows knitted, though he sat up straighter as he saw her.

‘Clara?’

The sudden thought hit Clara that something had happened and she’d died, that this was the afterlife, and she wondered, with calmness that surprised her, what she would do about it if that were true.

‘You’re not dead, Miss Oswald,’ the Custodian said. ‘I’m only taking your mind on a small journey for the moment, so you might help us.’

‘Will you stop reading my mind?’ Clara retorted. ‘And did it not occur to you actually ask if I wanted to have my mind taken off on a field trip?’

‘My apologies, but time is of the essence.’

‘Are you here?’ the Doctor asked. He held out his hand and Clara took it instinctively, and felt his skin and his muscles and bones, all very real. Then he turned to the Custodian.

‘How have you brought her here? Where is she in the physical world? Is she safe?’

‘Quite,’ the Custodian said.

‘Good to know,’ Clara muttered.

‘I must fetch the others,’ said the Custodian, already moving towards the area of the space that was still in darkness. 

‘Are we just seriously having a meeting? In the middle of all this?’ Clara asked. ‘There’s people with guns roaming around these tunnels, shooting people…’

‘Tell me about it,’ said the Doctor.

‘..And supposedly some other version of him swanning about trying to destroy the universe or something…’

‘I am well aware of the situation,’ replied the Custodian. ‘That is why you are here.’

Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Missy looked for a way out. Forget the Doctor or the “Lord President” or whatever pretentious nonsense he decided to call himself. This was getting too dangerous and much though she would’ve loved to have seen the Queen of the Night in all her glory, seen the wonderful chaos such a being could cause, things were getting out of hand. The Doctor didn’t know what he was doing. He was going to get them all killed and she wasn’t going to be at his side when it happened.

It had seemed a good idea at the time. There had been a price on her head, a lot of people who wanted to see her captured and executed, just because she’d killed a few populations here and there on a couple of planets that nobody was interested in and nobody would miss. It was only a matter of time before they would catch up with her. So when she heard about the Doctor’s new regime, this changed, vengeance-addled Doctor laying waste to all his enemies and holding Gallifrey in thrall, it sounded like the perfect place to be. No one would touch her if she were the Doctor’s right hand woman. 

At first, she found it harder than she’d expected to deal with this new version of the Doctor. The one she knew, the one she’d known almost all her lives, was easy to handle. He was predictable. He was good. He’d do the right thing and so you would always know which move he’d make. This one was impossible to fathom. He lost his temper in an instant, often without much provocation. He talked to himself, stared off at nothing for minutes on end, and then there was that nonsense with his hand. A couple of broken knuckles. Five minutes in the Capitol infirmary and he’d be fine. But no. He’d rather have it hurt all day and all night, have his right hand practically useless, just because the Time Lords did something bad to him. She wanted to slap him. How many times had they played with her life? Treated her like a walking science experiment. Used her as a means to their ends? And all the while spouting moralistic diatribes about her personality and behaviour. She was abhorrent, a thing gone wrong, and all society was to see how undesirable she was. Only then they’d need her for something.

While the Doctor… well, all right, they’d used him to do a few jobs here and there for the CIA and the likes, but what harm had they really done to him? Forced him to regenerate once. Oh poor soul! Locked him up for a while. All right, Missy hadn’t been in the confession dial, but she was fairly sure she could’ve reprogrammed the teleport to operate in reverse and send herself back out again, though that didn’t seem to have occurred to the Doctor. No, he’d rather he died fifty gazillion times or whatever it was just to prove a point. And now the whole universe was having to pay because some people were mean to him! Sometimes she really wanted to kill him, and no matter how many times he might regenerate before he finally croaked. She’d be patient. Maybe she’d use different methods each time. But at least then there’d be a foreseeable end to his tantrums and self-pity. So what if, in a way, it might’ve been her fault? How was she supposed to know that’s where the plan was headed? And anyway, she hadn’t actually put him in that dial, even if she may have guided him towards it.

Now though, she had no idea where she was. These tunnels had undergone some kind of dimensional re-engineering by the looks of it and so she could be anywhere now. She let out a deep groan and wanted to punch something, preferably the Doctor – sorry, Lord bloody President. But there had to be a way out. Unless she’d got herself caught in a recursion loop. In which case she really hoped the Doctor wandered into it as well so she could really, painfully kill him.

‘There is a way out, Mistress,’ said a voice behind her. She recognised it but it took a second to place it, and by then the speaker had walked around her into view. The Guardian or Custodian or Sentinel or whatever he was. Something that sounded like an opinionated Earth newspaper.

‘Then be a dear and let’s get going,’ she said, spreading the sarcasm on each word like a generous helping of butter.

‘Not yet,’ said the man. 

‘I should warn you,’ Missy told him, ‘I was just contemplating a violent murder and since the person I had envisaged killing in an excruciatingly painful way isn’t here I am looking for an alternative.’

He smiled and let out a short laugh, though the look in his eyes was one of sadness. So he had some kind of weakness then. Missy marked that off on a mental note.

‘You might find killing me somewhat difficult,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve been dead for a very long time. But now, I would ask you to attend.’

‘Attend what?’ 

Even as she asked the question, Missy had no intention of attending anything, except maybe a few funerals once this was over. She turned to walk away, leave the lunatic to his games, when the dim, phosphorescent light that had let her see the way so far suddenly snuffed out and the whole place was in shadows and a silence so complete it pressed right into her ear drums. Then she blinked and there was light again, only this time it was golden and unsteady, coming from a candle on a table in the middle of… of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, perhaps a room, a space, but something vast anyway. Most of it was lost in darkness, with only this little patch of light from the candle.

It illuminated a circle of four chairs. Missy straightened at the sight of the two that were occupied. It was the Doctor, only not the knife-edge, megalomaniac one she’d ditched a few minutes ago. He looked so young, like he had done years ago, with his hair cut short and neat, not that mass of unruly fluff he called a hairstyle nowadays, and he was so clean cut in that suit. He’d lost that, steadily, over the course of this regeneration. The stuck-up-ness of his early days had eased off and as he loosened as a person, so his dress sense had slipped back to that slightly Bohemian, scruffy, member of a band no one’s heard of look so many of his incarnations had sported. So what was this? His essence? Was this how the Doctor still pictured himself inside? Or was she actually seeing the past? 

And beside this neater, younger Doctor was the girl, Clara, alive and well by the looks of it and just as alert and eager and obnoxious as ever. Of all the Doctor’s companions, perhaps this one annoyed Missy the most. In the beginning, Missy had enjoyed watching the previous version of the Doctor and Clara growing closer, knowing that their relationship would end in tragedy, but back then Clara had been like all the other simpering little humans who’d followed in the Doctor’s wake, wide-eyed and just happy to have some attention. Since then she’d changed. She’d grown… well, more arrogant for a start, though Missy was amazed that was possible. The girl had always had a big opinion of herself, even when she was scraping together a living as a nanny and trying to finish her PGDE so she could go and show all the little kiddies how clever and pretty she was. But with the Doctor, it was as if the two of them… they accentuated each other’s flaws to the point where the two of them became unbearable. 

And in the end, she hadn’t even had the reward she’d been promised. Bring them together, he’d said. “If you do, you’ll have power beyond your imagination.” Beyond the imagination because it doesn’t exist. “You’ll have civilisations to choose from, conquer any world you like, if you are in our favour.” If she was honest, she hadn’t liked the look of that fellow from the very beginning. She’d been running a very successful war on a planet in the Allorian Cluster when he’d turned up. Sauntered into her chambers like he owned the place. Bypassed all her security. And she’d set herself up as an ambassador from the neighbouring system there to arbitrate a peace, so she’d had a lot of security. He’d been dressed in the most hideous suit she’d ever seen, even counting that coat of the Doctor’s a few regenerations back, and for a second or so she’d actually thought it was the Doctor wearing a face she’d never seen before but then she realised the bearing was all wrong. This fellow thought the absolute universe of himself, shoulders back, head up, full of authority and power, even if he was dressed like a complete idiot. The jacket and trousers were a nice, traditional cut but they were covered in stripes of blue, black and silver that crossed his body at an angle and wound around his legs. The shirt and tie beneath the jacket were in the same pattern and the stripes even matched up with the ones on his lapels. Even his shoes were painted the same colours.

An outfit that bad, he was either a Time Lord, which she dismissed as there was no sense of telepathic presence, even one with barriers up, or an immortal of some kind. An Eternal maybe, or one of those beings who wandered back and forth across dimensions as if they were just fields and all you had to do was climb a stile or duck under a fence to reach a different reality. Things like the Toymaker and the Trickster. She’d never really liked those beings. You couldn’t trust a creature that wasn’t from the same universe as you, racist though she realised that sounded. They thought on so many levels and so many moves ahead, manipulating forces that, even to the Time Lords, were mere abstract concepts, a couple of letters in an equation. And Missy didn’t like not being the most powerful or omniscient being in the room.

He’d shown her a vision of Clara, a little like this weird scenario before her now, like an hallucination though it felt utterly real at the same time, and he’d shown her how, if she could just tweak things a little, make it easier for this Clara and the Doctor to meet, fate would lead them inevitably to a little hodge-podge group of alien refugees in London, to a quantum shade, to the girl’s death and the Doctor’s imprisonment. When she’d asked why this being cared what the Doctor did, he’d answered simply that the Doctor had his part to play in events, but if everything was to turn out the way the being and his allies wanted, then the Doctor had to watch Clara die in London and then head off to meet his fate in the confession dial. After that, the being said, things had been arranged.

Though as far as Missy could see, little had been achieved. Other than the Doctor losing his mind and going off on a genocide spree across the galaxy, messing up the timelines of dozens of planets and causing general chaos. But then, perhaps that’s what the being wanted. If so, where was her promised reward?

Unless this was it, the final test. Presented with Miss Oswald alive and kicking and looking all innocence and naivety over there, Missy wondered if she had one last move to make, perhaps. If so, it would’ve been nice to have some idea what that was.

‘Please be seated,’ said the Custodian. ‘We have one more guest to welcome and then we can begin.’

‘Begin what?’ Missy demanded. ‘You’re using some sort of psychic link to bring me to… where are we? Someone’s mind. Probably his…’ She nodded towards the Doctor. ‘The girl’s is far too small for all of us. Unless neither of them is real, in which case…’

‘We are using the Doctor’s mind for the moment,’ said the Custodian. He sounded like he was getting annoyed. Good. People who were irritated let things slip. They made mistakes. So with her sweetest smile that at the same time had all the warmth of a scalpel, Missy sat on the chair opposite the Doctor and watched as the Custodian disappeared into the darkness.

‘Well,’ she said to the two unexpected people in front of her. ‘Did anyone bring biscuits?’

The Lord President was bored of this now. He’d wandered for what felt like hours in this maze of tunnels and rooms, all of which changed and switched around every time he tried to backtrack. There had to be a pattern to it, he reasoned. Rassilon would have left a path to the centre, a way he could get back to the Queen’s prison if he ever found a way to control her. He just had to think the way Rassilon would’ve thought. 

He was in a long passage, hewn straight out of the rock and going on so far into the distance that it seemed endless. No doubt when he reached the end, though, he’d be back in a room he’d seen a hundred times before. This was a disaster. The rest of his team were probably dead by now and it was all his fault. Just like all the other deaths were his fault. Suddenly weary, he buried his face in his hands and exhaled deeply. Half a galaxy burned and still the threats kept coming, nothing was safe. Every solution he found produced a million more problems, and of course it did – he was an idiot. 

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked himself aloud.

He’d never been so uncertain before and couldn’t fathom why he felt so different, just in these past few hours, since he’d come to Karn.

‘You know why,’ said a voice. 

The President’s spirits dropped even lower. The Custodian or whoever he was. The President was still trying to work out where he’d seen the man before, but he really didn’t need any more enigmatic warnings or impossible conjectures about other realities, and so turned to face him now and tried to look as unimpressed as possible. 

‘You know in most cultures it’s considered incredibly rude to read minds without permission?’

‘In most cultures, the minds make for very disinteresting reading,’ said the Custodian.

‘Well, you’re definitely a Time Lord then,’ replied the President with a sneer. ‘Or were. Hard to mistake that lofty disdain for other species.’

‘This from the man responsible for the genocide of more than a dozen races.’

The Lord President fought hard not to flinch at that, though he was sure a bit of the regret and guilt that made his stomach drop would show on his face. 

‘Where do I know you from?’ he asked to change the subject. ‘I’m sure we’ve met before.’

‘We haven’t.’

The President shook his head. ‘Your face is too familiar.’

‘Then perhaps you’ve seen my image before.’

The Custodian said that with such a smug smile, the President knew that had to be the truth, but that wherever that image was, it would be something so obvious, he’d kick himself once he got to the truth. He could actually feel the answer just there, a little bit out of reach.

‘That is something for another time, perhaps,’ the Custodian said. ‘I require your presence.’

‘My presence? What is…’

The President’s vision blurred and for a brief second the world spun, before everything went black. Now he felt as if his whole body were falling, then suddenly he snapped awake and his limbs twitched like a puppet whose master just lifted the strings. He was in another place, perhaps a room or just a construct, he couldn’t tell. Only a small section of it was lit while the rest stayed in shadow. A candle burned on a small table, providing that pool of light by which he could see, though the light was far brighter than one small bit of wax should produce. Three people sat around it and there was one empty chair remaining. Two had their backs to him while Missy sat primly opposite, hands clasped on her lap. She sat up a little straighter as he approached. 

This had to be an hallucination, the President decided, because he recognised the other two, even from the back. One was Clara, his ever-present reminder of his failures, but beside her this time was another figure, one with short grey hair. He’d never seen himself from that angle before, but he recognised the suit. He’d worn it once, long, long ago. The Custodian meanwhile went over to the empty chair beside Missy and stood there, watching him, evidently waiting for him to take his place, but the President found it difficult to move. It had occurred to him that if he went to that chair and sat, he would be facing Clara. Would he actually see her face for the first time since… 

‘Lord President,’ the Custodian prompted him, gesturing to the chair.

And at that, both the image of his younger self and Clara turned in their seats to look over their shoulders. He saw her. He saw her face. For the first time in years. He expected a sour look of condemnation and disapproval but instead, while she was frowning at him, it was almost as if his appearance surprised her. It didn’t look like something an imaginary person would do, it seemed genuine. So perhaps the Custodian was controlling these visions rather than his own subconscious. As for himself, well, there was the disapproving glower. One of those impressive eyebrows raised as his grey eyes took in what he’d look like in a few years’ time, sneering as his gaze swept from head to toe. 

‘Please, Lord President,’ the Custodian said.

Wishing he had his full robes and collar now, so he could make a proper entrance, the Lord President went over to the chair indicated and sat down. He felt suddenly, painfully aware that, wearing only the leather, close fitting jumpsuit that was good for protection from stab wounds and blows that might get through the energy shield he wore, and which was usually hidden under his robes, he looked like he should be teaching scuba diving and to make it worse, the leather creaked as he crossed his legs, far too loud in the nearly silent room. This was definitely not his own mind creating this scenario. He must have been hijacked somehow. 

Across the room, Clara tapped his other self on the arm and whispered something, though she never took her eyes off the President. So they were talking about him. This was all so new. His visions had never actually acknowledged him before, let alone been this animated. It was like seeing her again for real and it made his hearts physically ache.

‘Thank you,’ said the Custodian. ‘And now that we’re all here, we can finally begin.’

Chapter Text

Clara watched as the man she assumed was the future version of the Doctor came into the little pool of light and took his seat. The first thing that struck her was how gaunt and tired he looked, a good day’s stubble on his chin and bruise-coloured shadows under his eyes, and the second was that he was dressed head to foot in black leather, which wasn’t really how she’d imagined a dictator-version of the Doctor. The way he was looking at her, though. It sent shivers rippling down her back, and for the first time since Danai had told them about this other Doctor she wondered what had happened to her. Or what would happen to her. Surely if she were still around, she wouldn’t let him swan about dressed like that for a start. But that’s not how he looked at her. It wasn’t, “oh, there’s my old friend, haven’t seen her in ages”. He looked terrified and miserable and horrified all at once. 

‘Is that him, d’you think?’ she whispered to the Doctor, her Doctor, but he didn’t answer. Just glowered across the room at his mirror image.

Then as the other Doctor sat down, Clara noticed he rubbed his hand in exactly the same way her Doctor had been doing lately, only his was actually injured. She could see that at least his index and middle finger of his right hand were misshapen as if they were broken, and she glanced automatically at her own version to see if he was still having trouble with his, but the Doctor had his arms folded so it was impossible to tell. 

‘Thank you,’ said the Custodian. ‘And now we’re all here, we can finally begin.’

‘Is there no tea?’ asked both versions of the Doctor at once, then they both looked slightly awkward then annoyed at themselves and glowered at the floor instead.

‘There’s no biscuits,’ said the woman beside the other Doctor. ‘I already asked.’

And who was she? Was that her replacement? Clara studied the woman, trying not to compare herself and the stranger but it was hard not to. She was dressed like Mary Poppins and sneered at everyone and everything, including the version of the Doctor who sat next to her, and he didn’t acknowledge her or hug her or anything like that, so it was possible they knew each other but not well. Was it wrong to be bothered about this?

Weirdly, she looked a bit like the woman who’d been working in the computer shop that day and given Clara the number that, somehow, connected to the Doctor’s TARDIS. God, that seemed so long ago. But Clara couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t really paid attention to the woman in the shop. That was probably bad, she thought, but then who, in all honesty, really looked at people when they only met them for a couple of seconds? But maybe that’s why the woman had the Doctor’s number. Maybe they knew each other, and eventually she’d end up travelling with him. 

Clara told herself it was stupid to be jealous, not that she was jealous, but if she were, it would be stupid. For one thing, she didn’t know how far into the future this other Doctor was. Maybe she’d found someone and got married, let the Doctor go off on his own adventures. Maybe that new guy at school, the maths teacher… Not really the place to be thinking about that though. 

‘What exactly do you hope to achieve with this?’ asked the Doctor opposite her, the one in the weird outfit – seriously, what was with that? He gestured towards the Doctor, her Doctor, and then got up and slowly approached him. Before Clara could stop him, her Doctor was on his feet too and the pair of them faced each other, like a couple of boxers before a weigh-in. 

‘Am I supposed to remember the better times?’ the Doctor in black went on with a bitter smile, ‘stand in front of the man I was and feel ashamed, is that it?’

‘He’s so young,’ said the woman. Her accent was like the Doctor’s, Scottish, though a bit haughtier. ‘I forgot you used to look like that.’

She got up and went to her Doctor’s side, taking his arm, though he didn’t react. He didn’t even seem to notice.

‘Do I know you?’ Clara’s Doctor demanded.

The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘That young? I take it I haven’t kissed you yet then?’

‘Why him?’ asked the other Doctor. ‘Why this version of me? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Then he turned and studied the woman at his side. ‘You see them too, I take it?’

‘Oh, we’re all mad here,’ said the woman with a sigh. 

‘And I take it you’re the one with the bright idea to liberate the Queen of the Night,’ said the Doctor. ‘What was it, some kind of head injury? Or do I just slowly lose my mind over time?’

‘Second one,’ said the woman.

‘Enough, Missy,’ the other Doctor hissed. He was still looking deeply into his earlier self’s eyes as if trying to fathom how the Custodian had pulled off the illusion. ‘I remember him. Of course, I remember him, but it’s hardly relevant now. The universe he inhabited is dead. Lovely though it would be simply to say, “I wish it were all fine again”, it wouldn’t actually achieve anything, so I’ll ask again, why are you showing me this?’

‘It’s not an illusion, Lord President,’ said the Custodian, ‘at least not in the sense you mean.’

‘Well, they can’t actually be here…’ The other Doctor, the “Lord President” turned away to face the Custodian and Clara saw his face go slack for an instant as a few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. ‘The way I’ve felt lately, the phantom injuries… that was you.’

‘It’s only natural you should influence one another,’ said the Custodian. ‘But it isn’t relevant at the moment. Please, Lord President, sit down.’

‘Whatever you intend to say to me, it will make no difference.’

‘Are you so hell bent on destroying everything that you can’t spare five minutes to listen?’ asked the Doctor. He shrugged. ‘I’m about to die and I’m quite happy to sit down for a minute. Though it’d be better if someone thought to bring tea.’

‘And biscuits,’ said Missy.

‘Die? Die how?’ The Lord President turned sharply on the Custodian.

‘As I said,’ the Custodian replied, ‘time is of the essence. Will you please sit down, Lord President?’

‘Assassins? Another of Rassilon’s lot or more mercenaries? Admittedly, going after me earlier in the timeline shows more imagination than their previous attempts…’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said the Doctor. ‘What’s it matter who’s trying to kill me when, even if I somehow survive, I’ll only end up dead thanks to you anyway?’

‘Anybody else got a headache?’ Clara muttered.

‘Try working with it,’ said the woman, Missy, sauntering back to her seat. ‘Will you sit down? Otherwise we’ll probably be here all day.’

With one last glower at the Doctor, the Lord President finally turned and headed back to his chair. 

‘Thank you,’ said the Custodian. ‘And now, I must apologise for bringing you all here, but if you will insist on continuing to the prison level, Lord President, I thought it best to warn you what you were up against.’

‘I know what I am up against,’ replied the Lord President.

‘Well, I don’t,’ Clara said, getting her word in before the Doctor had a chance to sling another insult, which would no doubt start a slanging match back and forth between him and the other him and like the woman said, they’d be there all day. ‘I don’t even know what this Queen of the Night’s supposed to be. Why’s she so dangerous? I mean, the Time Lords beat other aliens before, right?’

‘Early in the history of the Time Lords, some of the pioneers of temporal engineering created a device known as Omega’s Mirror,’ said the Custodian. ‘The Mirror was a living creature found during explorations into the Time Vortex, an enormous non-baryonic lifeform that had the ability to exist simultaneously in several universes at once, and even to travel between them on rare occasions. It was found near a rift in spacetime, where it was feeding on raw temporal energy. Rassilon and Omega contained it near the rift so it could continue to feed, then used it to open doorways to other realities.’

‘By contained, he means enslaved,’ said the Doctor.

‘Yeah,’ said Clara, who’d been thinking the same thing. ‘Poor creature.’

‘They wanted to observe how small changes, say to a planet’s history or a person’s timeline, could affect their development, so that they could then use their newly honed skills as time travellers to alter their own history and create a better Gallifrey,’ the Custodian went on. ‘But what they hadn’t realised was that the Mirror was not a solitary creature. There were more of them and the captive one was able to cry out across the vortex to its fellows.’

‘In other words,’ said Missy, ‘it shouted for its mummy.’

‘Whether the being which became known as “The Queen of the Night” was of the same species as the Mirror or was just another denizen of the same realm, no one knows. But she came in response to its cries, using the same rift. And she brought an army with her, creatures known as chronovores. Usually they existed in the time vortex or the Six-Fold-Realm and had no interest in this universe, but once here they were more powerful than anything even Rassilon and Omega could’ve imagined. They had the ability to sense temporal nexus points, where the threads of a particular timeline are unfixed and several possibilities are present, although the Web of Time prefers one over the others and that will, under normal circumstances, become the course of history. They were able to divert that thread at the nexus and create a new timeline, even a new, parallel universe and could feed off the resultant artron and temporal energy.’

Across the room, Clara saw the other Doctor frown at that.

‘The Queen herself had similar abilities,’ the Custodian went on, ‘and could create realities from temporal nexuses, but she could also resurrect what are known as unrealised temporal potentialities, timelines whose nexus point passed and which did not come into being, leaving only the “might have been”. She could summon a version of a world or a person that shouldn’t exist. At one point, she sent an army against Rassilon composed entirely of versions of himself that had never come into being, hoping to drive him mad.’

‘Worked then,’ said the Lord President under his breath.

‘With that ability,’ the Custodian continued, ‘the Time Lords could never defeat the Queen in regular battle. If they destroyed part of her army, she could simply summon their temporal potentialities, who had been robbed of the chance to exist by their destruction. And soon other races flocked to her side – the Weeping Angels, some of the Eternals, the Monks, even some of the Time Lords and members of the Sisterhood of Karn. The only possibility for Rassilon then was either to destroy the Queen or to place her somewhere she could no longer affect our reality, or rally others to her cause.’

‘How, if she could just bring a load of time zombies to fight for her?’ Clara asked. 

‘They created a parallel universe within a pocket of space in this universe.’

‘Like… the painting,’ Clara said, looking to the Doctor for confirmation. He nodded, not really paying her much attention, but Clara was pleased with herself for figuring that out. 

‘Exactly like the painting, Miss Oswald,’ said the Custodian. ‘Only for a while, Omega allowed the pocket universe to exist simultaneously in time and space with this one, in order to lure the Queen inside. Then it was sealed and secured here on Karn within a time lock to prevent any of the Queen’s followers finding it and opening it.’

‘Sealed by “blood and will”,’ said the Lord President. ‘At least, according to the stories.’

‘A fanciful description,’ replied the Custodian. ‘All it means is there is that the controls for the time lock were genetically coded so that only a Time Lord could open it.’

‘And the “will” part?’

The Custodian gave a faint and slightly doleful smile.

‘The mental essence of a Time Lord,’ the Doctor said, sitting up straighter. ‘Instead of being transferred to the Matrix on Gallifrey, it was left here as a guardian. The most complicated key imaginable – the mind of a Time Lord! I know where I’ve seen you before. You were one of Omega’s engineers. Your name was…’

‘Long forgotten, I’d imagine,’ said the Custodian. 

‘I’ve seen your picture in the history books, that’s it,’ said the Lord President. ‘But none of them mentioned this.’

‘Deliberately so. Rassilon did not want to draw attention to the Queen’s final resting place. He suspected there were still those on Gallifrey, like Morbius for example, who might try to free her.’

‘So he left you here as a sort of advanced AI, with some access to the Matrix, I take it, since you’re able to monitor events and know so much about us?’

‘Restricted access, yes.’

‘You said someone altered my timeline. Was that someone working for the Queen?’

‘There have been several beings, at least some of whom I believe are chronovores, who suddenly started appearing some time ago,’ said the Custodian. ‘I believe they were drawn by the temporal damage and the massive amounts of temporal potentialities created by the Time War. Then one of the chronovores, who calls himself Attis, began to take an interest in you. At first I thought it was simply because of your connection to the war. Until Attis began to change things.’

‘Wait,’ said Clara, ‘are you saying this is the parallel one? That they created this reality?’

‘His reality,’ replied the Doctor, with a nod towards the Lord President. 

The Custodian nodded. ‘At first their alterations were only slight. I thought it was their usual method of producing a little more food, but they didn’t seem interested in the energy produced by the divergent timeline, only the outcome of it. Since we know they’re capable of seeing how possibilities might play out if things are altered, I wondered if they were working towards some sort of goal. And I was fairly certain that whatever they were doing, it would involve the Doctor. And you, Miss Oswald.’

‘Me?’ said Clara. She felt suddenly cold at the idea of some ethereal being playing around with her life.

The Custodian threw a very pointed look at Missy, who looked uneasy and actually averted her eyes to avoid his stare. 

‘You are her!’ Clara said ‘You’re the woman from the shop!’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Missy in a tone dripping with venom.

‘What woman from what shop?’ asked the Doctor.

‘The one who told me to phone you about the wifi, remember?’ When the Doctor shook his head, she went on. ‘You turned up at my door dressed as a monk, then we got attacked by a girl with a spoon for a head…’

‘Oh, that.’

‘She was the one who gave me your number. I thought she looked like her but it is her.’

The Lord President turned and glared directly at the woman, who looked like she was trying to think of a way to talk herself out of this, then gave up, huffed, and shook her head.

‘I didn’t know he was a chronovore. All I saw was a bloke in a dodgy suit who asked me to do him a favour, that’s all. And all I did was give her your phone number. And ran her boyfriend down, but that’s only because it looked like she was going to give in and stop travelling with you because of him.’

‘You ran him down?’

‘Ran who down?’ Clara asked. ‘I don’t even have a boyfriend.’

‘What’s his name,’ said the Lord President, ‘the PE…’

‘He taught maths, not PE,’ said Missy.

‘The new maths teacher?’ Clara was aware that her voice was going up half an octave every time she spoke right now but couldn’t help it. She couldn’t decide whether to be furious, confused, terrified or all three at once. ‘You killed the new maths teacher? He… he was going to be my boyfriend?’

‘Oh, look see what bit bothers her the most,’ said Missy. ‘Not, “poor old Danny’s dead”, but “oh, he fancies me”. If you ask me, I did him a favour.’

‘Why would my meeting the Doctor lead to this Queen being released?’ Clara asked. She wanted the conversation back to something she could at least follow, if not completely get her head around, and could feel things starting to slip out of control.

‘Everything is connected,’ said the Custodian. ‘You meet the Doctor, you travel with him, you grow closer to him. Then… forgive me, this may be unpleasant for you, but the circumstances are too grave for social etiquette...’ He glanced over at the Lord President, who in turn looked directly at Clara, for the first time since he’d come in, she thought, and she saw the look in his eyes, just before he averted his gaze.

‘I die,’ Clara said before the Custodian could go on. She could see the way he was already thinking how to phrase it, what would be the least brutal way of saying “and then you’ll be dead”.

‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ 

No one answered. The Lord President got up again and walked away, keeping his back to them, but the way he paced about, she could see the tension in his muscles, the barely contained emotion, and another thought chilled Clara.

‘Are you doing this because of me?’

‘Egotism, anyone? Told you Danny dodged a bullet,’ said Missy quietly.

‘Not a car, though, apparently,’ Clara snapped, ‘and I don’t think I was talking to you. Doctor? Don’t ignore me or I swear I’ll come over there and slap you so hard you’ll regenerate.’ She strode over to the Lord President and took his arm, forcing him to face her. He pulled away and stood, cradling his injured hand to his chest.

‘Did you destroy all those planets,’ Clara went on, ‘cause all that devastation, all that death, for me?’

The look of sheer weariness and guilt and misery that she saw then in his pale, grey eyes sent a jolt down her back and she almost faltered in her rage, but not quite. Her own eyes were getting warm, a sure sign she was on the brink of tears.

‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘If you have ever cared about me, you can’t do this any more, do you hear me?’

‘It’s too late,’ he replied, so quietly she barely heard him.

‘No it isn’t!’ She gasped and rubbed her eyes, turning to her own Doctor, who looked as stunned as she felt. ‘None of this has happened yet, not for you. So if I say this to you now, right now, there’s still time. You can change things. Whatever happens, whatever is done to me, I do not want this…’ She pointed over at the other Doctor. ‘I do not want you to become this…’

‘You told him that as well,’ said Missy wearily, nodding at the Lord President. ‘See how much good that did. I think you overestimate how much anyone actually listens to you.’

‘But you’ve seen him,’ said Clara to her own Doctor. ‘You’ve seen what can happen. You can change it. You can make sure you don’t become this…’

‘It’s not A Christmas Carol,’ said Missy.

‘I am not talking to you!’ Clara shouted, annoyed that her tears were still coming and that she was shaking so badly and they’d all be able to see, but then maybe the Doctor would see that too, no matter how unfeeling he’d seemed at times since he’d regenerated, perhaps he would see her suffering like this and maybe he’d listen.

‘I’m afraid, even if the Doctor could make such a promise,’ said the Custodian, ‘it’s not that simple. The being called Attis and those in league with him see the possibilities and anticipate any divergent outcome before it has a chance to develop. The Mistress is right, you will make the Doctor swear to you he won’t avenge your death, and had things progressed along their proper paths, it would have been your influence that prevented him from doing so.’

‘The Mistress?’ said the Doctor, glowering at the woman, who shrugged.

‘Couldn’t exactly call myself “The Master” any more, could I?’

The Doctor looked horrified, but Clara could only concentrate on one problem at a time just then.

‘So… why didn’t that happen?’ she asked the Custodian. ‘What went wrong?’

‘Your death was part of a plan by the Time Lords to capture the Doctor and interrogate him,’ said the Custodian. ‘That plan was carried out, though the Doctor eventually escaped…’

‘You say “eventually” as if four and a half billion years was…’ Missy began.

‘Four and a…’ Clara interrupted. She looked to the Lord President for an explanation but he just glanced away and rubbed at his injured hand again.

‘It’s a long story,’ he replied.

‘Four and a half billion years’ worth, apparently! How could… how could anyone be locked up for that long?’

‘The way things were originally set up, I only really experienced a couple of days at a time, then everything was reset,’ said the Lord President. ‘So the first seven thousand years or so, it didn’t really feel like much.’

He was trying to be flippant, Clara saw, trying to shrug it off, and for the first time since he’d turned up, that version of the Doctor reminded her of the one she knew. A tiny glimpse of the man he once was shining through. 

‘Had history been allowed to progress as normal,’ said the Custodian, ‘that would have been the case for all of it. You would have broken free, made an attempt to save Miss Oswald, and she would have kept you from exacting revenge.’

‘So I could be a university lecturer?’ asked the Lord President with a sneer.

‘Exactly. But Attis altered things to ensure that Miss Oswald did not return and therefore had no chance to influence you for the better.’

The Lord President’s sour smile faded and his expression grew more thoughtful. He was still rubbing his right hand, and now he’d come a little further forward, Clara got a better look at the injuries. He’d definitely broken a few bones, his fingers and maybe his knuckles as well, and it hadn’t healed properly, so that now his thumb, index and middle finger were all crooked. 

‘How?’ he asked.

‘Does it matter?’

‘I would like to know.’

‘The teleport used to take you to the confession dial was a Gallifreyan design,’ said the Custodian. ‘It automatically saved a copy of the user’s memories and brain pattern in case there was an accident, in which case, the information could be uploaded to the Matrix. Attis simply programmed the machine to take a second imprint, when you connected yourself to it to power up the mechanism, and set it to override the data stored in the buffers if the teleport was activated again.’

‘So every time I died, it uploaded what I’d known,’ said the other Doctor.

‘You…died? What?’ asked Clara. ‘So, what, we’re both dead?’

‘Like I said, long story,’ replied the Lord President, distractedly.

‘The ordeal would still have taken its toll, had you been unaware for the most part of what was happening, how much time had passed and how much needed to pass still,’ said the Custodian, ‘but not as much. I had no idea why Attis would want you to suffer like that, but when you finally freed yourself and came to Gallifrey, I was finally certain that the chronovores were working to free the Queen, though I didn’t know exactly how they intended to use you until you mounted your expedition to find her, I must admit. I take it the point was to ensure your reason was impaired.’

‘If he’s as insane as you’ve implied,’ said the Doctor, ‘telling him all this isn’t going to stop him.’

‘He is actually standing here, you know,’ the Lord President snapped.

‘Well, technically you’re not, you’re in an unconscious heap somewhere,’ Missy muttered. Then she evidently remembered she was still in the bad books and pretended to be interested in the candle on the table instead.

‘This was the only way to speak to you all in safety,’ said the Custodian. ‘Here, we can be sure Attis and the others are not listening.’

‘If this Attis can see how things will play out,’ said the Lord President, ‘then surely it doesn’t matter what I say or do? If I change my mind and head for home, he’ll just alter something else until things work out his way, send someone else in my place… which is why you brought us here where he can’t hear us, of course, because you have some way to fool him into thinking he’s won so he’ll stop trying.’

‘Perhaps,’ said the Custodian. ‘But my idea relies on your abandoning your plan to release the Queen. I must be sure you won’t betray me.’

The Lord President hesitated. 

‘He’s just told you you’re being used, man,’ said the Doctor. ‘That you’ve been moved around like a chess piece, and you’re still thinking of doing what this creature wants?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘How is it not? Do not let loose a creature that can kill all of us then resurrect our unfulfilled possible selves in order to kill us all over again. How is that not simple?’

‘Because that would still leave the Daleks,’ said the Lord President, ‘and all the others…’

‘This creature will not make a deal with you,’ the Doctor told him. ‘Were you listening to songs in your head while he was talking earlier? This is a creature from another universe that hates the Time Lords. Why would she want to work with you? What could you possibly offer her?’

‘Her freedom,’ said the Lord President. ‘I only intend to release her if she agrees to do as I say.’

‘Oh, because there’s no chance she’ll betray you! Yeah, you’re right, good plan. Great plan. Almost as clever as bringing Gallifrey back from the end of the universe and landing it slap bang into the middle of your own time stream. And almost as good as going on a rampage across the galaxy wiping out whichever races looked at you funny. You’re on a roll here!’

‘The corruption that Rassilon allowed to warp the High Council left Gallifrey open to attack,’ said the Lord President, ‘potentially another Time War! One of the Matrix prophecies claimed the Cybermen would destroy us…’

‘Oh well, yeah, I get it then,’ said the Doctor. ‘Wipe out Mondas and Telos and all the others before the Cybermen have a chance to develop. That makes perfect sense. Except we had all this with the Daleks! Or were you not paying attention back then either? Despite the destruction they’ve caused, the Cybermen have affected the histories of dozens of planets, brought civilisations together to fight them, prompted technological advances, all of which you’ve undone! Same goes for the Sontarans, the Great Intelligence, and whatever else you’ve wiped out on your quest to be Gallifrey’s craziest president and there’s some stiff competition for that title! Every time you’ve interfered, you’ve done nothing but cause a string of paradoxes all across the cosmos. Keep going and this entire universe will collapse! We won’t have to bother about the chronovores or the Queen. You’ll destroy this reality for them. All that temporal tautology, it’ll probably taste great to them!’

‘I’m just trying to make it right!’ the Lord President shouted. ‘Are you so thick you can’t see that? Everything I’ve done, I’ve tried to make it right. This is my fault! Do you think I intended any of this?’

The Doctor sighed. ‘No,’ he said, calmer now. ‘No, I don’t. But I don’t think that burning up what’s left of this universe is a very clever way of fixing things, do you? And that’s what will happen if you let this creature go free.’

‘But there has to be a way,’ the Lord President said, turning to the Custodian. ‘There has to be a way to repair the damage, and to stop these beings getting to the Queen?’

‘We don’t stop them,’ said the Doctor. ‘We do what Omega did.’

A moment of silence followed. Clara watched the Doctor and waited for him to elaborate, but he just exchanged a meaningful look with his other self, who straightened. 

‘A pocket universe?’ the Lord President asked. 

‘Universe within a universe. We let them reach the Queen, then trap them inside.’

‘And where do we get the equipment to do that?’ asked Missy. ‘Or did Rassilon and Omega leave a convenient kit lying around?’

‘Shame we didn’t bring the TARDIS,’ said the Lord President.

‘Mine’s on the surface,’ the Doctor told him. 

‘Same TARDIS?’

The Doctor nodded.

‘Then my men should be able to access it. There’s a spare key on board my time ship.’

‘Have one of them bring it down here,’ said the Doctor, then he turned to the Custodian. ‘Can you give us the co-ordinates of the prison?’

The Custodian glanced to one side and looked hesitant.

‘I would need your solemn promise, Doctor, that is truly what you intend to do, that you do not intend to use the Queen for your own ends…’

‘Then tell me,’ said the Lord President. ‘Show me how I can restore this universe to its proper path without the Queen. There must be a way. Can’t I just alter things in the past somewhere, prevent myself from…’

‘Well, don’t we have the solution here?’ asked Missy, gesturing to the Doctor. ‘Mr walking grandfather paradox? Bump him off and that stops this universe appearing.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ said the Doctor.

‘All that’ll do is cause more chaos,’ said the Lord President, though Clara thought he looked like he was actually considering the idea. She wished she could contribute something, but figured anything she might suggest would sound ridiculous. Still…

‘Don’t the Time Lords have something that can fix it?’ she asked.

‘Like what?’ replied Missy. ‘A magic wand we can wave and everything’ll be all unicorns and daffodils again?’

‘There are mechanisms in place on Gallifrey to contain paradoxes,’ said the Doctor in a low voice. ‘The Scarlet Protocols.’

‘When was the last time that was used?’ sneered Missy. ‘Probably doesn’t even work any more.’

The Lord President, looking deeply pensive and a lot more level-headed than Clara had seen him so far, turned to the Custodian. ‘You mentioned something about a girl earlier. So you’ve seen something. What is it?’

‘Only what the Matrix can show me,’ replied the Custodian.

‘Now is not the time to start being enigmatic again. What did you see?’

‘I did see an end to this universe, where things could be resolved without further damage to the multiverse at large,’ the Custodian admitted. ‘It may only be one possible future…’

‘But it’s a future where things work out the way we want it to,’ said the Doctor.

With a sigh, the Custodian wandered over to the table with the candle and wafted his hand through the flame.

The world around Clara changed instantly. The dark room where they’d been sitting disappeared and instead, she saw a large chamber, spread out over multiple levels, with ornate railings and staircases winding from one landing to the next. At the very top, surrounded by velvet drapes, was a heavy desk. The Lord President stood in front of it, in his Time Lord collar and heavy robes, and Clara let out a short cry in fright. He was holding a girl in front of him like a human shield, pressing a knife to her throat. Clara instinctively stepped forward to grab his arm, pull the blade away, but her hand passed right through him. 

She stumbled and had to shuffle to recover her balance, then she was face to face with the girl. She was slightly younger than Clara, but in casual, Earth-style clothes, from the twentieth or twenty-first century, and she looked more angry than scared, like she’d happily punch the Lord President if he only gave her the chance. Missy was there too, in an ornate dress with a high lace collar. All three of them were staring at something on the lower landing, so Clara followed their gazes and saw her own Doctor, dressed as he was now in his black shirt and navy coat. In his hand was an old-fashioned revolver, and he was aiming it at his other self. 

The scene dissolved like mist and they were back again in the chamber with the small table and its flickering candle.

‘That is all I was able to see,’ said the Custodian, ‘but the Matrix seemed certain that this was the correct ending for this universe, a way to erase the anomaly.’

‘That was Gallifrey,’ said the Doctor. 

‘The Lord President’s office,’ the Lord President agreed, though Clara noticed that he didn’t say “my office” and wondered if that had any significance. 

‘We’ve no way of knowing how far into the future that is,’ said the Doctor. ‘Or what we’d need to do to get there.’

‘We can make an educated guess,’ the Lord President replied. 

‘I have fulfilled my side of the bargain,’ said the Custodian. ‘Do you give me your word that…’

‘Yes, yes, you have my word as the Lord President of Gallifrey…’

‘That is meaningless to me.’ The Custodian stepped closer to the Lord President and stared him directly in the eye. ‘I require your word as the Doctor.’

The Lord President straightened and threw a brief glance at his other self, and then a longer one at Clara.

‘You have it,’ he answered finally.

Chapter Text

The Doctor awoke, feeling like he’d been underwater and just broken the surface. He took in a long gasp of air and fought for a second to remember where he was, what he’d been doing before the Custodian summoned them all for their little tea party, not that there had been tea. Oh yes, about to die! As soon as he remembered, he felt the ache all throughout his body from the stun blast. It made his muscles stiff and sore, like he’d been exercising for the first time in ages, and so it took an effort for him to raise his head and look around.

Rysard was on one knee beside him, preparing what looked like a hypodermic, while the others milled around in the background, readying some sort of apparatus from parts they took out of their backpacks. Sister Danai, meanwhile, looked on impassively, like a teacher supervising a field trip.

The Doctor tried to sit up and realised his wrists and ankles were bound, but the movement had attracted Rysard’s attention. He continued to fiddle with the syringe but had looked up and watched the Doctor with a strange, faraway look.

‘Try to relax, Doctor, this is nothing personal.’

‘Really? Because I’m taking it rather personally.’

‘I promise you, it’ll be quick and painless.’ He held up the syringe. ‘Regeneration inhibitor, courtesy of the Sisterhood of Karn. A good thing they kept a few medical supplies still from the days when your people came here to regenerate. Of course, the drug has been sitting idle for some time. Though if it does have side effects, you won’t have to endure them for long. This is only a precaution, in case the weapon we have doesn’t fire properly or there’s some other malfunction. If all goes well, you’ll have no chance to regenerate. Your body will be completely disintegrated. Which regeneration are you in, may I ask?’

‘You’d find the answer a little too complicated,’ said the Doctor. ‘And you realise killing me will only make things worse? We have a plan to fix things…’

‘We? So you admit you’re in league with him?’

‘We have an idea. There is something on this planet far more deadly than him, and if we’re not careful, there are forces at work that will release it from captivity and let it wreak havoc on the universe. If you think things are bad now, wait ‘til she gets out…’

‘He’s lying,’ said Danai. ‘He only wants to save himself.’

‘And there are agents at work here,’ the Doctor went on, aiming the comment at Danai, ‘who want to make sure that creature goes free, and who aren’t above using the likes of you to make sure they get their own way.’

‘No one is using me, Doctor,’ said Rysard. ‘What I do, I do for my people.’

‘I’m sure you believe that, but I can also assure you that if you kill me, what’s left of your people will suffer in ways you could never imagine.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘It’s a warning. Kill me and you’re playing right into their hands. For all you know, it was these creatures who nudged the Dalek ships towards your planet, made sure it would be left dying, so you’d come here and do what they want you to. These creatures play with lives like children with dolls, Rysard.’

Rysard hesitated, obviously considering his options. The Doctor tried a telepathic nudge to push him towards the right option, but he was too old now to generate a good psychic prod and didn’t think he’d achieved anything. Eventually, Rysard exhaled and rolled up the Doctor’s sleeve to expose his forearm.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Rysard, don’t do this.’

The Doctor felt the sting of the needle then a slow, steady warmth spreading towards his wrist, gradually filling his whole body. Rysard stood, disassembled the syringe and put it back in a small case, which he stowed in his pack, then he watched the others for a while as they continued working, building their device. The Doctor could make a little of it out now, and it looked scarily like a quantum destabiliser, albeit a fairly clunky, makeshift-looking one. 

Rysard went over to the others and one of them handed him the finished device, which was the size of a rocket launcher, only shaped like a laser rifle, all made of battered silver components.

‘You’re not taking any chances then?’ the Doctor asked.

‘The weapon will destroy the bonds between your body’s atoms, Doctor,’ said Rysard. ‘You’ll be dead in an instant. It won’t be painful.’

‘Oh, well, that’s a relief!’

Rysard took the weight of the gun on his shoulder and manoeuvred his body into place to get a good aim. 

‘Rysard, think about what you’re doing,’ the Doctor said. He looked around for something that could help him pull off one of his daring, last minute escapes, but all he saw were rocks, a few handfuls of red dirt, and the flash of red velvet on the other side of the cavern… 

‘Stop!’ shouted a deep, female voice, and at the same time, the Doctor heard the whine of a staser weapon charging.

‘Put it down,’ said another unfamiliar voice, this one male, sounding fairly young, but with unwavering confidence. ‘I guarantee you, I’m a faster shot.’

Rysard looked from the newcomers to the Doctor and back again, and then came the shriek of an energy blast. Rysard stiffened then collapsed, the heavy gun clattering to the rock floor beside him.

‘The rest of you over there,’ the young man commanded.

Someone ran over to the Doctor’s side. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows and turn enough to see her properly, just as she reached him.

‘Ohila?’ he said. 

Ohila, kneeling by him, set about untying his bonds.

‘I would say it was a surprise to see you here, Doctor,’ she said, ‘but today, nothing is surprising any more.’

‘Why are you down here? And…’

Once he was free, the Doctor was able to stand up and get a good look at the man Ohila had arrived with. He was in the uniform of the Chancellery Guard, and was busy disarming Rysard’s people.

‘You’ve got an escort, I see,’ the Doctor remarked.

‘He’s one of the Lord President’s men,’ said Ohila. ‘A Lieutenant Demitra. Our party were separated in the tunnels but Demitra and I managed to find each other. We’ve been looking for everyone else. Doctor, this may be difficult for you understand, but…’

‘There’s another version of me, from a little while into my future, who’s set himself up as a despot, ruling Gallifrey and laying waste to anything he thinks could be a threat, and in doing so he’s caused absolute chaos until the universe is more paradox than matter, and now he wants to try and bargain with an ancient, all-powerful creature to finish off the enemies he can’t quite get rid of and repair all the temporal damage he’s caused, only the creature is inimical to the Time Lords and perhaps to all life in this universe. Am I more or less there?’

Ohila frowned. ‘More or less. So you’ve heard, then?’

‘Bits and pieces. And I’ve met your Lord President. As a matter of fact, I need to find him too. He’s not the only one down here trying to free the Queen. Her lackeys are about, interfering. For all we know there could be some of them among that lot.’ He nodded towards Rysard’s group. ‘Though I doubt it. Not subtle enough. So we need to reach the prison chamber. Crazy-Me is supposed to be ordering his soldiers on the surface to bring my TARDIS down here, but we’ll see if he keeps his word.’

‘The only problem, Doctor, is the dimensional engineering in these tunnels,’ said Ohila. ‘They change constantly. We’ll never find the Lord President, let alone the prison chamber.’

‘Rassilon would’ve left a safe route. I imagine those of your sisters who worshipped the Queen would know where.’ The Doctor looked around for the Sister, but there was no sign of her. ‘Where did she go?’

‘Who?’

‘The Sister. The one who led us down here.’ He strode over to Rysard, who stood glowering, hands tied behind his back, with the rest of his group, while Lieutenant Demitra packed their weapons into one of the bags.

‘Where is she?’ the Doctor demanded.

‘I don’t know. She was there a second ago.’

‘Which Sister?’ asked Ohila. ‘You mean one of the Sisterhood of Karn?’

‘Of course that’s what I mean,’ the Doctor said. ‘She said she’d been a member of the cult of the Queen once. She was supposed to be taking us to the prison. She was there, just before the two of you arrived. Her name was…’ He rummaged around in his memory for the name, then snapped his fingers. ‘Danai. Her name was Danai.’

Ohila shook her head slowly. ‘There is no one in the Sisterhood with that name, Doctor.’

‘But she was. She stopped the President’s guards from shooting Clara and I earlier. She brought us down to the inner sanctum. Tall woman, dark hair.’

‘I know all the Sisters, Doctor, and there is no one called Danai. There never has been, to my knowledge. And there are no more members of the Cult of the Queen. My sister and I made sure of that.’

‘Then if she wasn’t one of your people,’ said the Doctor, ‘who was she?’

But he already knew, or at least suspected the answer. He and Clara had been saved from the guards, shown the way to the caverns, led right into Rysard’s trap, perhaps so this very meeting with Ohila could take place, or perhaps because, years from that moment, the Doctor would have to do something that would be vital to the Queen’s return. But he knew he’d been manipulated. And, whoever Danai really was, she was out there somewhere.

Chapter Text

The Lord President found himself sitting on the floor in one of the rock tunnels, though there was no sensation of waking up, gradually coming to. He was just suddenly there, and it took a second to get used to the sharp change in circumstances. The events of that “meeting” ran around his head, but the one thing he came back to time and again was Clara. They’d seen her, spoken to her, as if she was really there. It had taken him a moment but then he’d figured she must be real. She must have come there with his other self. So she was here, somewhere. So close he could almost convince himself he felt her presence telepathically. 

What would he do if he actually met her? Turned a corner in this tunnel and came face to face with her? His stomach churned at the thought. How could he explain what he’d done? Even in the dream, he’d seen the disappointment and worse, the disgust, in her expression. He had thought his hearts had shrivelled up long ago but apparently not, because they’d broken all over again at that.

Then again, that was assuming everything that just happened had actually happened. It was entirely possible his mind had gone completely. He’d worried that could happen for the last few years. He was already seeing things. What if his last bit of reason just snapped, stretched too thin over the growing mass of bad memories and regrets? Could he have imagined everything that was said? It all seemed very feasible but then if he were making it up, then it would, wouldn’t it? Internal logic. He buried his face in his hands. What was he supposed to do? Call his guards and tell them to look for a TARDIS that in all probability didn’t exist?

A scuff of footsteps nearby made him look up at last and he watched down the tunnel, waiting, braced to get up and fight if he needed to. But it was only Missy. She appeared from a side tunnel and looked about, spotted him then hurried over. The President rose to meet her, brushing the dust off his knees. In doing so, he forgot his injuries for a moment, until his right hand started to ache. He really should get it seen to when they returned to Gallifrey. He wanted an analgesic patch to take the edge off, but knew he didn’t have any left. He’d gone through his supply in the first hour or so of their trek across Karn, swapping one patch for another as soon as he felt the effects wear off. He had to do something about that too.

‘So,’ said Missy sharply, ‘what are we doing? Are we keeping to this plan of his to bring the TARDIS down?’

The President stared at her. 

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I was there. It was real. In case that’s what you’re worried about. Unless of course you’re hallucinating me right now the same way you dream up your little imaginary friend.’

‘My…’

‘Do you really think people haven’t noticed?’ Missy smiled icily. ‘And I saw the way you looked at that girl in there… wherever “there” was. You tried so hard to ignore her at first, pretending you couldn’t see her, until the cold, implacable fact of her existence drilled its way into your brain. So that’s who you’ve been seeing all this time? I thought as much. Who else would it be, I suppose?’

She glanced away for a moment then when she met his gaze again there was a hint of contrition in her expression, though only slight. 

‘I didn’t know that’s what they intended to do,’ she said. ‘All he said was you should meet the girl, and I should make sure you stayed together. I didn’t know they planned to kill her, or that they would… put you through that.’

‘Is this your version of an apology?’

‘Take it or leave it. Are you going to bring that TARDIS down or not? You realise if you follow his plan, we lose all hope of bringing the Queen on side, and then what do we do about the Daleks?’

‘We’ll find a way,’ the President said. He tapped his wrist communicator. ‘Anyone up there?’

‘Lord President, sir,’ answered a clipped, efficient sounding male voice. One of the soldiers he’d left behind, no doubt.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Sergeant Rebane, sir.’

‘Rebane, I need you to get a party together and do a search for a TARDIS. It’s close to the site where we met the Sisters, but a quick scan for artron energy should show it up. Have the ship send down my spare set of keys and that should open it. It’ll be disguised as a blue box with “Police” written on it. Then I need you to bring it to the following co-ordinates.’

He recited the list of numbers the Custodian had given them before sending them all back to reality, and could hear the sergeant tapping them into his notepad app at the other end. 

‘Got that, sir. Anything else?’

‘That’s it. Thank you.’

There was a slight pause, then the sergeant said, ‘Thank… you, Lord President.’

When the connection was cut, the President frowned. Did he really say “thank you” so infrequently that it threw his men off their stride when he did? 

‘We’re doing this, then,’ Missy muttered, rolling her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

‘Yes, we are doing this,’ the President said wearily. ‘And we’re going to follow his plan to bring this universe to its end as well. Because I’m tired. I’m sick and tired of all of it and I want it to stop. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.’

‘I rather liked existing, that’s the only thing.’

‘You will,’ said the President, ‘only you’ll be in a timeline where things are right.’

‘You hope.’

‘We need to find this location. We don’t have time for this.’

The President looked around, trying to remember what the Custodian had said at the end of the meeting about finding the proper path through this maze, but his mind was in such a tempest, it was hard to think. He’d been so clear before, but he suspected something about their little psychic meeting had undone some of the progress he’d made in the last few hours. He heard himself say the words, that he wanted to follow the other Doctor’s plan, but a huge section of his brain fought against that, still wanted to do what they’d come here to do, and the two ideas clashed and snarled at one another until he couldn’t think about anything else. So he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, putting all his energy into controlling his mind, until the noise subsided.

‘Any room or corridor with a star,’ he said, quoting the Custodian’s instructions. ‘If we can find one of those, we just follow the stars and we’re out.’

‘You’re assuming our ghostie friend is telling the truth and not just leading us into another trap.’

‘Do you have a better plan to get us out?’

Missy glowered, but said nothing, so the President took that as a no. 

It took a bit of time and a lot of wandering in and out of rooms that often changed without warning but finally they entered a small chamber with roughly hewn rock walls and only two other exits, but one of these archways had a small, five-pointed star carved into the lintel. The corridor on the other side looked empty at first, but then the President noticed the ceiling was covered in stars, like an Egyptian temple, and it led into a room where again, they found a star on the floor by one of the seven doorways leading out. After about an hour, they came to the largest chamber they’d seen yet, so big that the President’s light on his wrist unit could only fight off the shadows in a small area, leaving the edges in darkness, but right at the centre was a hole perhaps ten or fifteen metres in diameter. 

Heading to the edge, the President looked over and saw the chasm disappear into the shadows, impossibly deep. He tried throwing a pebble over but after a couple of minutes he still hadn’t heard it hit the bottom. And above them, clouds gathered around the ceiling, which was perhaps a hundred metres high, and lightning cracked across the swirls of grey, followed by growls and rumbles of thunder. The heart of the storm was centred over the pit, and when the lightning flashed, for a brief instant, the glow caught on the outlines of something in mid-air, something that was completely invisible when the light died. Even those short glimpses, though, showed the President what it was. He saw the outline of a massive cube, made of bars of energy, with a sphere at the heart of it. The prison.

‘This is it,’ he said, staring upwards in the hope of seeing the cube again.

Then, he turned to look at Missy, to see what she was thinking about all this. He couldn’t shake the thought that she had worked for Attis. She had made a bargain with him, but how far did that arrangement go? Had it ended when Clara died and he was imprisoned, the way they wanted history to turn out? Or was she still in thrall to him right now? He couldn’t tell from her expression. She was gazing up at the spot where the cage appeared, but her face was blank, or perhaps was tinged only with a touch of awe.

As he looked over at her, though, the President spotted something he’d missed earlier, lying in the shadows a few metres around the edge of the pit. He brushed past Missy and went towards it. 

At first glance, it was only a stone obelisk, though quite a short one, only coming up to the President’s waist, but he’d seen that sort of technology before. The sides of the pyramid on the top were covered in old Gallifreyan writing and he walked around, checking each inscription, until he found one symbol that was out of place. He pressed it and watched as the top of the obelisk opened, revealing the small computer inside. Lights blinked and a small screen displayed the system’s status. 

‘There you are,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ Missy called over.

‘The Custodian, I presume.’

The President felt something push against his arm and he saw Missy was now at his side, uncomfortably close and leaning in as if to share a conspiracy, although her gaze was fixed on the obelisk.

‘You know,’ she began in a low voice, ‘if that thing were to malfunction, or, heaven forbid, be destroyed, there’d be nothing to stop you addressing the Queen, presenting your case to her. You could still succeed here, instead of crawling back to Gallifrey and waiting to die.’

‘I know.’

The President considered the obelisk for a long while, running the scenarios over in his mind. When he’d set off for Karn, he’d been so sure, so determined, but since he’d been here, or more correctly, since his mind had been contaminated with thoughts from his earlier self, he’d started to doubt. The other Doctor’s idea made sense, to trick the Chronovores into thinking they’d won so they’d leave this universe alone. Then it would be just a case of waiting for the right circumstances to execute, excusing the pun, their plan. He could wait a few years, put up with this mess of a life for a while if there was a promise of a swift conclusion not too far away. 

But standing there, so close to the prison and with the answer so obvious there in front of him, he thought about his original plan. How much he’d wanted it to work because if it did then all of his mistakes could be repaired. The universe could be put right and no one would have to wait. He could persuade the Queen to return to her own universe. The beings who crossed over from the vortex or the Six-Fold Realm rarely wanted to stay here. They disliked the three-dimensional space in this universe. He could offer to take her back to where she belonged, if only she would help undo his handiwork. He closed his eyes again. The maelstrom was back in his mind again and it rivalled the one growling above them. 

Either way, it wasn’t certain that things could be put right. There was no easy solution. So which one was the more likely to work?

‘One staser blast should do it, on full power,’ Missy said. 

The President looked up at her and found her smiling at him now.

‘You have no guarantee that anything that “Custodian” or whatever he calls himself was true,’ she said. ‘You can only rely on what you know. This was your plan. You thought this out and you were in control of it. Why relinquish that control now and put all your bets on fate? The answer is right there.’

She gestured towards the obelisk, her eyes wide, urging him to do it, and he realised his left hand was on his holster, undoing the clasp. 

‘Hey!’ shouted a voice across the din of the storm. The Lord President ignored it. He knew if he tried to look over his shoulder now he’d see Clara standing there, back to him, showing him how disgusted and disappointed in him she was, and he didn’t need to see her. 

I know releasing the Queen is a bad idea, he thought, pushing the words towards that part of his brain that kept conjuring Clara’s ghost. But it could stop the Daleks before they destroy anything else because of me. It could rewrite history so that none of the death and destruction ever happened. It could even change things so that you were really here, not some half-seen, judgmental shade of you.

‘Hey,’ Clara’s voice said again. ‘What’s going on? What’s that thing?’

You’re in my head, so you know what that thing is. That thing is at the centre of everything.

‘Oh, impeccable timing,’ said Missy with heavy sarcasm and a loud sigh.

The Lord President straightened. He must’ve twitched or perhaps even spoken out loud without realising it, but she’d guessed he was seeing his “imaginary friend” again.

Then he heard the footsteps on the rock floor, someone light approaching them at a wary pace.

He turned and he saw Clara. Not the ghost Clara he was used to. Not standing there facing away from him and never letting him see her face again, to the point where he’d started to forget exactly what she looked like, until that meeting with the Custodian where…

It hit him like a bucket of ice going over his head and he instinctively backed away from the obelisk. Missy was looking at her too. Missy could see her too. This wasn’t the ghost. This was her, from before. She was real.

She looked at him, evidently expecting a reply, but the President couldn’t formulate words. What did you say to someone who had haunted you for years but who was now flesh and blood in front of you? 

‘Is that the controls for the prison?’ Clara asked, pointing at the obelisk.

‘It’s where the mental imprint of the Custodian is stored and projected from,’ said Missy. ‘And well done you for interrupting us just as we were deciding whether to blow it up.’

‘Blow it up?’ This new Clara, real Clara stormed towards the President and he backed away until she finally came to a halt.

‘How can you blow it up?’ she asked. 

‘Easy, one quick blast and “oof” no more Custodian,’ said Missy.

‘I meant how can you think about blowing it up,’ said Clara, not to Missy but to the President. She kept staring at him, and a stray thought crossed his mind that he pitied any pupils in her class who found themselves pinned by that stare. You’d hand your homework in on time, that was for sure.

‘It’s just…’ he began, and it came out as a bit of a croak.

‘You gave your word,’ said Clara. ‘Or was all that just for show, so you and your new girlfriend here could carry on with your plans to destroy the universe?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ the President said, then realised how silly that was. Of all things, that’s what he responded to.

‘I thought you and the Doctor had a plan? I thought you were going to fix this?’

‘That’s just it,’ the President said. ‘That’s all I want, to make this right, but…’

‘Then do what you said you would,’ Clara ordered. ‘Have you told them to bring the TARDIS down here?’

‘Yes, but it’ll take them a few minutes to find it. I…He… Your Doctor was a bit vague on where you landed.’

‘Mainly because your toy soldiers shot at us five minutes after we came out the TARDIS doors!’

It was strange but standing there, unable to get out of that fearsome gaze, like a rabbit caught in the lights of an oncoming car, the President realised he couldn’t think about releasing the Queen or following the other Doctor’s plan. All he wanted was to get out of the headlights.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, it hurt like hell for a moment. Psychic link, I suppose…’ He gestured vaguely towards his temple in illustration but Clara did not seem impressed or moved.

‘The TARDIS should be here any minute now,’ he went on. 

‘Good,’ said Clara and she softened slightly. The President exhaled, feeling like he’d held his breath for the duration of their conversation so far. ‘Then we just have to hope the Doctor… my Doctor that is… can follow that star trail thing and find this place.’

‘Doesn’t take a wise man to follow a star,’ said a voice behind them. His voice, though not coming from his larynx. Or actually he supposed it did, only not there, in that body, but the version of him from earlier in his timeline. From not too long after his regeneration, judging by the short hairstyle and the abrupt manner. He liked to think he’d mellowed a bit… at least before things started to go wrong. 

The other Doctor strode in through an archway a little further round the chamber, with Ohila close behind him and that lieutenant, Demitra, who was definitely getting a promotion if they made it back to Gallifrey, just for surviving this insanity for so long. Clara turned and beamed at him for a moment before returning her attention to the obelisk, and the President found himself wishing she’d look at him that way, though he supposed she never would again, and the pain in his hearts swelled again.

‘What happened to Rysard and the others?’ she asked.

‘Having a little lie down,’ said Demitra. ‘Corporal Tarvas managed to find his way to the chamber with a couple of guards, so we’ve left them there to keep an eye on things.’

The Doctor, Ohila and Demitra joined Missy, Clara and the President by the obelisk and they all considered it for a moment.

‘So,’ said Clara. ‘Now what? We’re just waiting for the TARDIS?’

As if in reply, the wheezing, groaning sound of the TARDIS’s engines mingled with the roar of the storm above, and the old police box faded in and out of view before materialising a few metres away from them. After a second, two soldiers came out, started towards the Lord President, but then spotted the Doctor and froze, looking confusedly between the two.

‘It’s fine,’ said the President. ‘Hazard of time travel. Well done, thank you.’

The two soldiers looked even more bemused at that, but nodded then stood by the TARDIS as if guarding it. He really would have to start being nicer to his guards, the President decided.

‘So,’ said the President, ‘that’s all of us. Are we doing this?’ He looked directly at his counterpart, who furrowed his brow, but nodded. Then the President turned to Missy. ‘And what about you?’

‘I think you’re missing out on a great opportunity to shape the cosmos however you want, but go ahead, it’s your funeral. Literally if you carry on with this ridiculous plan.’

‘Fine,’ said the President. Somehow, with all of them there, it was easier to make the decision, and it occurred to him in that moment that he was glad Clara had arrived when she did. Once again she’d stopped him doing something stupid. Even from beyond the grave. Or sort of. He kept looking over at her, wanting so badly to talk to her alone or better still, to gather her up in a hug. But it wasn’t the time and anyway, she only looked at her Doctor. 

So he took a deep breath, gave each of them a stern look in turn, and said, ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

‘Stop!’ called out a woman’s voice and the six of them turned in unison. The guards by the TARDIS became suddenly alert and their guns whined as they were charged and primed. Then Danai emerged from an archway in the chamber wall, walking slowly and casually. And behind her came Rysard, followed by his group. He and one of the women with him, held Gallifreyan staser rifles.

‘I suggest you step away from the controls,’ said Danai. 

But before anyone had the chance to decide whether to listen to her or not, Rysard aimed his gun at the obelisk and fired.

Chapter Text

The obelisk exploded in a hail of sparks. Clara jumped back on instinct and grabbed the Doctor’s arm, pulling him down just as the firing began. The President’s guards and Rysard’s men exchanged blasts and the screech of energy weapons filled the cavern. Overhead, the storm clouds boomed as if to encourage the fighting. Clara saw the guards fall, saw some of Rysard’s men drop too, but the smoke from the blasts made it hard to tell how many were left on either side. Then it fell quiet. It wasn’t a slow diminuendo, the blasts fading gradually away as the firing stopped. The noise just stopped. 

Clara hadn’t realised she’d closed her eyes when she and the Doctor had dropped to the floor, but now she opened them slowly and looked about. 

Everything was frozen. The air was streaked with staser blasts, glowing red against the smoke, but none of them moved. Bodies littered the floor – all but Rysard from his group and both the guards who’d brought the TARDIS were dead, but Demitra stood with his gun poised, the shot from it frozen in the air before him, aimed at Rysard. Both of them were as still as statues. 

A creak of leather off to her right made Clara turn, and she felt a flood of relief as the President stood up slowly, looking unhurt. Beside him, Missy did the same and then Clara’s Doctor rose too, so she stood up as well. Danai, meanwhile strode slowly towards them through the frozen battle and smiled, though there was no warmth in her expression. Then behind her, Clara glimpsed a flash of red, and saw Ohila emerge from behind an outcrop of rock in the cavern wall, though she paused, still metres away from them all and out of Danai’s line of sight, and stayed there, watching.

Danai held out her hands, gazing upwards at the prison, which still only appeared as the lightning flashed.

‘Forgive me, Lord President,’ she said, finally turning to look at him. ‘But I feared you had too many doubts. So my man has made the decision for you.’

She then looked over her shoulder at Rysard, who shuddered and looked around, blinking, as if he’d just woken up. Then he stared at the staser blast from Demitra’s gun that would probably have killed him had Danai not intervened. He walked warily past it and joined her. Danai made another gesture and time resumed its normal speed. The staser blast flew across the cavern and hit the wall. Demitra frowned, confused, then looked to the President, who gestured to him to stand down and wait. 

‘Is that it?’ asked Rysard. He went to the edge of the chasm in the centre of the chamber and stared upwards at the spot where the cage kept appearing.

Danai beamed up at cage, then walked to another spot along the edge of the hole. She held out her hands and closed her eyes, and before her, the air began to shimmer. A tongue of rock, reaching out towards the centre of the chasm, appeared slowly in front of her. It was long and extremely narrow, and at the very end was a pyramid of a dark green stone like marble. Rysard hurried forward and gingerly tested the rock with one foot before stepping onto it.

‘Rassilon thought keeping things hidden meant they were no longer a threat,’ said Danai. ‘The only regret is that he is no longer here to see how wrong he was.’ 

She threw a smile at the Lord President, whose brows furrowed into a glower. Glancing between him and the Doctor, Clara noticed how similar the two of them were now, both concentrating their anger at this creature, the chronovore who’d taken the form of a Sister. 

‘Do you intend to release her?’ Rysard asked. He paused halfway along the ledge and looked back. 

‘She has waited so very long for her revenge,’ said Danai. ‘My Queen! Your children have stayed loyal all these aeons! And now, we shall rejoice at your return!’

‘Why do insane lackeys of ancient, all-powerful beings always have to shout nonsense like that?’ asked Missy, though she did keep her voice down.

‘Is the Custodian dead?’ Clara whispered. Beside her, she could see the obelisk and though a large section was charred and chunk the size of a teacup missing from one of the circuit boards, the wires and switches underneath looked undamaged.

‘He already was,’ said the Missy.

The Doctor leaned past Clara and studied the obelisk, though they all kept an eye on Danai too. She was still occupied in gazing at her mistress as if she’d forgotten them.

‘You know what I mean,’ Clara hissed. ‘Can he not help us?’

‘The chipset containing the mental imprint is gone,’ said the Doctor. ‘Our Custodian’s gone. For good, this time. But the mechanism looks intact.’

‘Exactly,’ said Clara. ‘So can’t we just, like, generate another one?’

‘It’s not that simple,’ said the President. ‘He wasn’t just some computer program. He was an imprint of an actual Time Lord. He gave up his mind, his soul if you like, to guard the prison.’

‘Those must be the controls,’ Danai said. She gestured to Rysard, who started along the ledge again towards the pyramid. He reached the very end and turned as if to speak to her but froze. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, though he didn’t cry out. As Clara watched, the lines on his face grew deeper, dark hollows appearing on his cheeks. His whole body shrivelled until he was little more than tanned skin over a bone frame. Then the skin decayed, in a matter of seconds, and left only the skeleton behind. The loose bones clattered down onto the stone. 

‘The time field Rassilon put around the cage must extend down there,’ whispered the Doctor. 

‘They did say there’d be traps,’ said the President. 

‘What do we do about her?’ asked the Doctor. 

Danai, meanwhile, cursing loudly at the air, or at Rassilon’s ghost perhaps more accurately, was patrolling around the edge of the chasm, looking for the hidden controls. After a moment, she paused, waved her hands as she had done before, and another pyramid appeared, this time right on the edge.

Clara saw the Lord President move and frowned, trying to figure out what he was doing, then realised he was drawing a staser pistol from a holster on his left hip.

‘Since when do you use guns?’ she whispered at him.

At that, the President froze and stared at her, wide-eyed and, she thought, a little afraid, but then his expression hardened and he nodded towards Danai.

‘Do you have a better idea?’

‘Than shooting her?’ Clara faltered. She didn’t have an idea. But she looked sadly at the gun in the President’s hand and then at him, unable to believe her Doctor could ever become this person.

‘At last,’ Danai said. She pressed something on the pyramid and one of its sides slid down into the floor, revealing a panel of instruments inside. She pressed a series of buttons and the lightning overhead flashed brighter than ever. Clara got a good look at the cage this time and could see a sphere inside it, covered in Gallifreyan writing. Before it faded again, she thought she saw parts of it moving, like a puzzle box, pieces clicking and sliding apart as the locks slowly disengaged. 

Then again, a flash of red cloth caught her eye and she looked up in time to see Ohila appear from the shadows at last. She approached Danai, scowling.

‘How dare you defile the sanctity of our Sisterhood!” Ohila hissed. 

Danai laughed. ‘Your pathetic group of harpies! You were nothing more than a momentary distraction. The Queen needs no one but her true children.’

‘Creatures of Time,’ said Ohila, with a quick look towards the Doctor, ‘who can only be controlled by Time. I have spent my life protecting this planet from harm. And I do not intend to let it fall prey to the likes of you.’

‘Time does not control us,’ said Danai. ‘We are the masters of it.’

‘Oh, not quite,’ said Ohila, and she strode forward at a sudden, brisk pace.

Danai laughed and looked ready to throw another pithy remark, but the old woman stretched out both arms and enveloped her in an embrace. Ohila kept on moving though and at first, Clara had no idea what was going on, until she saw the angle Danai had been standing at and saw the two women in red head straight down the narrow ledge out over the chasm. Within a few seconds, they were both directly beneath the cage. Ohila stiffened. Though her back was to them, Clara saw how her robes suddenly seemed less substantial, then she heard the clack of bones hitting stone, and the robes fell into a crumpled heap at Danai’s feet. Danai was frozen, a look of horror and fury on her face, but then she faded completely and in her place, Clara glimpsed something white with huge wings, but only for a second, then there was nothing.

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Where did she go?’

‘Caught in the time field,’ said Missy. ‘She hasn’t gone anywhere. Just reverted to her proper form. Too many dimensions for you to see.’

‘Your pal Attis tell you that?’ muttered the President.

‘We don’t have time for bickering,’ said the Doctor. He was already on his knees by the obelisk. ‘Danai began the unlocking sequence. We’ve only got a matter of minutes before the Queen is free. We can reverse it but without a key, the lock’s useless.’

‘But you said the mechanism’s pretty much still there, right?’ Clara asked.

Above them, the storm growled and Clara glanced up in time to see the cage again. The sphere inside it was opening up in segments now, and she was sure she heard a sound from it, something between a cackle and a scream, though it might just have been the storm.

‘It’s mostly intact,’ said the Doctor, taking out his sonic to adjust the circuitry. ‘Trouble is, without a pattern, it’s pretty much worthless to us. I thought maybe I could trick it into thinking it had a Custodian by creating a copy of my brain print but it’s not going to work. It needs the complete mental imprint or it won’t be able to think quickly enough, counter anything the Queen tries and keep resetting the locks.’

He got up and hurried over to the pyramid containing the controls and again played around with the controls.

Clara sensed someone standing nearby and next the President was at her side, gazing thoughtfully at the obelisk. He sank to his knees and peered inside it at the circuits, their green and red lights casting weird shadows over his face. 

‘I’ve reversed the opening sequence but it won’t hold,’ called the Doctor.

‘Is there anything I can do, sir?’ asked Demitra, approaching the President. ‘If… if the device needs an imprint…’

‘No,’ the President said in a low, distant voice. 

‘Why not?’ said Missy. ‘That would work. And he’s just a soldier.’

‘No one is just a soldier,’ the President replied. 

‘What would work?’ Clara asked. 

The President let out a long sigh. ‘He wants to volunteer to be the next Custodian.’

Clara glanced up at Demitra.

‘I’m happy to do it, Lord President,’ he said.

‘Ah, but then I’d need to order you to do it, and I’m not going to do that,’ the President replied.

‘It wouldn’t be an order, sir, it…’

‘I’m your commander, lieutenant. If I knowingly let you do this, what’s the difference whether I ordered it not? It’s not your place.’

He carried on fiddling with the controls. Missy hitched up her skirts and knelt beside him. ‘It’s not yours either. Do you know what kind of chaos Gallifrey will be in if you go through with this?’

The President shrugged. ‘It’s hardly paradise as it is.’

‘Things are hanging on by a thread. If news hits the Citadel that you’re dead, there’ll be an all-out civil war again. Your followers and Rassilon’s old guard will…’

‘I’m sure you’ll manage to survive,’ the President said icily. ‘You always do.’

‘Wait,’ said Clara. ‘What do you mean if they hear he’s dead?’

‘Oh, be quiet, will you?’ sneered Missy. ‘The grown-ups are talking.’

‘Doctor, what are they doing?’ Clara called.

The Doctor hurried over and took one glance at the obelisk.

‘That’s ridiculous. She’s right. If you do this, you’ll leave Gallifrey vulnerable to attack, as soon as word gets out around the cosmos that you’re gone. Out the way.’

He bustled in between Missy and the President and nudged him away from the controls.

‘And how exactly can you help?’ the President asked. ‘Anything you do, the paradox resulting could destroy…’

‘And when has the threat of paradox stopped you doing something stupid?’

‘What is going on?’ Clara shouted. 

‘The prison needs a lock and the lock needs a key,’ said the Doctor. ‘We just need a new key.’

‘But the Custodian was…’ Then it hit her, and she stared at the Doctor in horror. The world seemed to stop the way it had for Danai, only this time it was only in Clara’s mind. She grabbed the Doctor, shoving the President out of the way in the process, and hauled him around so he couldn’t avoid her gaze.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You can’t do this.’

‘Someone has to,’ said the Doctor.

‘Not you.’

‘Would you have me ask someone else? Really? Do you think I’m the kind of man who could do that? Even he couldn’t do that!’

Clara struggled to find an answer, knowing he was right but at the same time, panic beat against her chest like a hummingbird at the thought of what he was planning to do, what she’d have to watch. 

‘There has to be something else,’ she said, feeling the warmth of oncoming tears. Then she looked at the blinking lights inside the obelisk. She had no idea how it worked, but she thought she understood the basic principle of it. There had to be another way. There had… Then it hit her. 

‘Does it have to be a Time Lord?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘The Custodian, does it have to be a Time Lord?’

The Doctor and President exchanged glances and both shrugged.

‘It needs a complicated mind,’ said the President. ‘And I’m sure Gallifrey can survive without me.’

He reached over and tried to take the sonic from the Doctor’s hand, but the Doctor turned away. For a second, Clara thought they were going to start squabbling like children over it. So she stood up, swept around behind the Doctor and then pushed in between him and the President so she was directly facing the obelisk.

‘So, how does it work?’ she asked.

‘That would take a really long time to explain,’ the Doctor answered.

‘I don’t need the technical details, just how does it get the mental imprint? How does the person connect to the machine?’

‘The device here reads the intended volunteer, from what I can make out,’ the President said. ‘This technology is a bit beyond me, to be honest, but after it makes a psychic connection, I think you’d just have to, well…’

‘Die,’ Clara said, nodding. ‘What button makes it scan or whatever?’

The Doctor pointed at one, moving automatically, but then he checked himself and glared at her. 

‘No,’ he said.

‘What choice is there?’

‘No…’ The Doctor moved to close the cover of the obelisk but Clara was nearer and she got there faster. He’d shown her which switch was the right one before he’d realised what he was doing. Now she hit it. She waited to feel pain or discomfort but there was nothing, at least for the first second or so, then it felt like someone had wrapped their hands around her brain inside her skull. It was the weirdest sensation, and at the same time, the lights inside the obelisk changed from green to pink.

Clara took a deep breath, then stood up. The two Doctors were with her instantly, one on either side, but her attention was on the cavern itself, looking for something quick. Something painless. Could she really do this? She glanced up at the cage and heard the roaring, laughing sound again and told herself, this isn’t about you, this is bigger than you. Get it done and do it quickly, before you have the time to think, but if you do think, remember it’s for everyone out there. Everyone in the entire universe. What could be more important than that? And after all, it’s what the Doctor would do.

She made for the chasm, but the Doctor, her Doctor blocked her path.

‘No, we’ll find some other way,’ he said. 

‘Like what? You’ve both been trying to find something for the last five minutes and what have you got? Eh?’

She looked from one Doctor to the other. The Lord President stared back at her, pale with horror. He looked close to tears. Her own Doctor looked ready to punch something.

‘Clara, you can’t do this,’ the President said.

‘Already done it.’ She gestured to the obelisk.

‘We can overwrite the imprint,’ said the Doctor. 

‘Who can?’ Clara retorted. ‘The Custodian said there was only one way to sort this universe out without the rest of the Queen’s gang finding out and causing trouble and all of you were in that little preview he gave. All of you. Even you.’ She glared at Missy. ‘Only person that wasn’t…’ She gave a light shrug and tried to look calm, even though her heart was racing. ‘So where was I? When this universe ends, where am I? Why aren’t I there? It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘No, it isn’t. Clara…’

‘Clara, I…’ The President began, but when she looked at him, he just shook his head.

‘This has to be done. We’re running out of time,’ Clara told him. Then she turned to her own Doctor. ‘Please, for once this isn’t something you can solve with a wave of your sonic or a few clever words. This is where you need me.’

‘Clara, I can’t do this again,’ the President said. He jostled his other self out of the way and stepped forward. To Clara’s surprise, he took her hand. The weight of the hurt in his eyes hit her in the chest. Silent tears streaked his face. He looked so lost, her resolve faltered for a moment, but then the lightning cracked overhead again and brought her back to the problem. 

‘You’ve got your own battle to fight,’ she told him, forcing herself to push aside the oddness she felt, looking at so different a version of her Doctor, so she could step closer. She laid her hand against his cheek and he closed his eyes as if the gesture had actually hurt. Worse, it looked as if it were killing him. But she swallowed and carried on. 

‘You have to make sure this universe runs its course, and the Queen’s followers don’t get wind of what went on here. Both of you.’

She threw the last comment at her Doctor. ‘Both of you need to work together on this to make sure things are put right. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

The President nodded, but kept his eyes closed.

‘Then you do whatever it takes,’ Clara went on. ‘But whatever you do, you learn from this. Both of you. You do not become him.’ Her Doctor grudgingly nodded. ‘No revenge, no power trips. Just help him do what’s right. And you…’ She squeezed the President’s hand tighter. ‘I don’t believe for one minute that there’s nothing of the old you left. So go on from here, take my memory with you and know that this was my choice. No one forced me. No one did this to me. I decided. So there’s no one to blame. Nothing to avenge. Go from here and fix Gallifrey. Fix everything. The Custodian showed you all how. And above all, go from here and be a Doctor.’

The President sniffed, trying to control his tears. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then whispered her name.

Clara backed away from them, slipping her hand out of the President’s grip, and steeled herself. She looked at the ledge leading out across the void, the bones of Rysard and Ohila already turned to dust in the time field. Would it hurt, she wondered, then pushed the thought aside. What was a little pain if it meant saving the universe? Wasn’t that what the Doctor had taught her? That sometimes, you had to put others before yourself. Sometimes you had to do bad things if it prevented even worse things. She started out along the ledge. 

The chasm surrounded her as if it wanted to grab her and draw her down. She tried not to look at the drop, but concentrated on each step along the narrow strip of rock. As she got closer to the little pyramid at the end, she thought she could actually feel a wind against her face, perhaps from the cage or the storm. Or perhaps it was the edge of the time field. She wouldn’t know, would she, when she’d crossed the boundary. But this was it. No going back. She wanted to look back, to see the Doctor one last time, but she knew if she did she might start having doubts and there wasn’t time for that. 

‘Please,’ she whispered, to the universe or anyone else that might be listening, ‘let me be brave.’

Then she stepped onward, into the time field.

Chapter Text

Several years later…

Captain Demitra paced around the bridge of the patrol flyer, listening to the hum of the instruments and the murmurs of conversation from the two officers at the helm. The heads-up display showed the landscape before them, orange desert dotted with skinny trees whose silver leaves glittered as they trembled in the wind. It was so strange to see the landscape free of debris and crashed ships, but the last Dalek fighter that broke through the defences had been tiny, easily destroyed, the couple of Daleks who managed to teleport down to the Citadel, though they’d caused a bit of damage, had been dealt with by the President’s guard. Now the place looked like the country of Demitra’s childhood. Peaceful. The sort of place where nothing at all happened. He preferred that.

‘Sir.’

But of course, peace could never last.

He turned to the officer down by the scanner controls. ‘What is it?’

The officer gestured towards his screens, which displayed the land immediately below in a brightly coloured wire mesh. A more solid shape flashed green in the middle of it. 

‘Someone with no Matrix ID, sir,’ said the officer. 

‘More Daleks?’ asked Demitra, feeling his hearts sink low in his chest.

‘No, sir. Humanoid. Readings say Terran human.’

Demitra frowned. All at once his hearts forgot how heavy they’d just been and started to race. ‘Stop, take us back there.’

‘Aye, Captain,’ said the helmsman.

‘Rebane, Kostar, you’re with me,’ Demitra ordered, already on his way to the transmat. ‘And someone bring a hand scanner.’

They landed in the desert in the shade of a large tree which was dropping silver leaves all over the sand as the wind snaked past and shook its branches. Beneath it stood a girl, the unidentified human, in a striped top with thin straps and black trousers that had perhaps seen battle, as they were torn across the knees. She had a pale blue jacket tied by the arms around her waist. She was sweating and looked a little dehydrated, so not used to the heat of the Drylands, obviously.

‘Hands in the air,’ Demitra commanded, though none of them had actually drawn their weapons yet. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to. He kept thinking was this it? But then the Daleks sometimes used humans. Would this girl’s forehead suddenly split open to reveal a Dalek-style eye stalk? Best to be careful. 

She complied and raised her hands, though Demitra could see she had something scrunched up in her left fist. A bomb? Looked more like crumpled up paper, the heavy sort, more like thin plastic, that came from the Citadel.

‘I…’ she began.

‘Silence,’ Demitra snapped. He took the scanner from Rebane and ran it over the girl. Human, no signs of Dalek augmentation. After the last infiltration, they’d managed to calibrate the scanners at least. A bit late, after a lot of people had died, but it was there now. This girl looked to be clean.

‘You’re human,’ he stated, and watched her to see her reaction. She frowned as if to say, “well, what else would I be?” The Daleks also had spies who weren’t augmented, people who, for whatever reason, actually volunteered to work with them, but Demitra’s instincts told him this wasn’t one of them either. A growing, icy chill spread through him. Was this it? He’d always thought he’d know when it happened. But so many battles, so many incursions, he had to be cautious.

‘Yeah, I was trying to tell you,’ said the girl. ‘I’m a friend of the Doctor’s.’

Demitra fought hard not to smile. He frowned instead and tried to look serious.

‘The Doctor?’

The girl let the paper in her hand unfurl a little and she waved it at them, then, perhaps when she was happy they weren’t going to shoot her, she stepped forward and offered it to Demitra. When he flattened it out, he saw it was a bit of paper, with a moving picture of the President in the centre. It was one of those flyers that went out a day or so ago, telling anyone who’d been affected by the Dalek attack on the Citadel, that they could claim aid from the High Council. This had to be it. Demitra glanced over at Rebane and handed him the flyer. The other guard gave a faint smile, then quickly hid it behind his usual scowl.

‘You’re his friend, are you?’ Demitra asked.

‘Well, it’s complicated,’ replied the girl.

‘He did like humans, sir,’ offered Kostar, trying to be helpful. He hadn’t been on the Karn expedition. He didn’t know. ‘Before…’

‘Yes, but how did she get here?’ Demitra mused. ‘He didn’t bring her. He hasn’t been off world in decades. Transmat her to the flyer and we’ll take her to the Citadel. Maybe the Chancellor will know what to do with her.’

‘Wait,’ the girl said, but Rebane and Kostar went over and took her arms so she wouldn’t try to run or something and end up hurting herself after she rematerialised on the ship. 

‘Hang on a minute,’ protested the girl, but then Demitra felt the usual, uncomfortable tingle of the transmat beam. The next moment, they were all back on the ship.

‘Take us home,’ he told the helmsman. Then to Rebane and Kostar he said, ‘If she tries anything, kill her.’ No harm in being vigilant. Even if in his hearts he was convinced this girl wasn’t a Dalek spy, Demitra had to be cautious.

‘I need to call Chancellor Admetus,’ he added, then headed to his ready room. 

Once the door was securely closed and he could be sure no one would overhear, Demitra activated the comms channel and dialled the Chancellor’s code. 

‘Admetus. What is it?’ barked the voice from the other end. He sounded like he’d just woken up.

‘Chancellor, Captain Demitra, sir. I thought you’d want to know. We’ve just picked up a girl…’

‘I’m not interested in your private life, Captain…’

Demitra ignored Admetus’s attempt at humour. ‘A human girl, sir. She says she’s a friend of the Doctor.’

The slight pause from the other end told him Admetus had cottoned on to what he was talking about.

‘Oh,’ said the Chancellor.

‘We’re bringing her in now. I thought… I thought he should know.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ said Admetus, then cut the connection.

The Lord President of Gallifrey sorted through the pages of information in front of him. Damage reports, casualty lists, Matrix predictions for future attacks, defence upgrades put in place. Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair. All the statistics and buzzwords had started to blur into one amorphous mass. He listened to the silence instead. It felt peaceful enough in the Citadel, and true, that last attack had been small, but the Daleks never seemed to stop. Just when you thought you’d got the last of them, up popped another faction from a forgotten corner of the universe. That last lost had got right through the sky trenches and into the Citadel. Using a small craft and only a couple of Daleks, obviously thinking they could slip through unnoticed. All right, they’d been easily dealt with, but they’d caused a great deal of damage too. Years of this, the President thought. He’d been promised an end to it, so where was that? He covered his face with his hands. 

He really needed to speak to the dimensional engineer and have some windows put in this office, he mused, when he looked up at the dark, gloomy interior laid out before him. The office was constructed, in this incarnation, of several different landings linked by stairs with ornate banisters, but although there were heavy velvet drapes all around, there were no windows. It really needed some sunlight. He scribbled a note on his desk to remind himself to speak to the engineers.

Across the desk from him, the Doctor sat staring at the bottom of his wine glass. He’d been quiet for a long while, obviously tired of all the disasters and planning as well. Noticing this, the President lifted the decanter and held it up as an offer, but the Doctor waved it off and set the glass back down on the desk.

‘That wine’s terrible,’ he said.

‘It was a gift,’ the President told him. 

‘Whoever gave you it didn’t like you.’

‘Well, that could be anyone then, couldn’t it?’ The President gave a weary smile.

‘I’d empathise more with your self pity if I didn’t know it was a load of rubbish,’ said the Doctor, looking around the office. ‘You’ve done a good job of getting them on side. Just shows, Time Lords don’t care who’s in charge so long as they don’t have to do anything and they get what they want.’

‘Thanks,’ said the President. ‘But it was from our mutual friend, as it happens.’

‘Missy? Did you check it for poison?’

‘Of course. And nanites. And pathogens. And anything else that might kill me. But she seems to have mellowed these last few years. You know, she even said to me she remembered some of the people she’d killed? Might’ve been an act, of course, but she seemed genuine. The first pang of conscience in such a long life. And imagine if she does begin to feel the impact of what she’s done. I imagine that’ll kill her, if she does allow herself to consider it.’ He sighed and closed down the documents he’d been studying. ‘There’s still a lot of damage to the sector near the security section. I might go down and see how they’re getting on with repairs. A couple of guards were killed there too. I should speak to their families.’

‘Fine,’ said the Doctor. ‘And I’ll go back to looking for shapes in the clouds or re-reading Nineteen Eighty-Four…’

‘You know why you have to stay here,’ said the President, sweeping past. He stood over his other self and tried, with the telepathic link they shared, to impress on him the full weight of what he felt every day – the mess the universe was in, the constant threat of attack from the Daleks, but through it all, the hope that one day the Custodian’s prediction would come true.

The Doctor glowered and folded his arms, but didn’t offer a response, so perhaps the message had hit home.

The President only got as far as the stairs though when the comms on his desktop bleeped. He gestured to the Doctor, who was nearer, to hit the switch and put it on speaker.

‘Lord President?’ said Admetus’s voice.

‘What is it, Chancellor? It’s before noon and you’re awake. That sounds serious.’

‘Captain Demitra is on his way back from patrol, sir. He’s found a human girl wandering around the Drylands.’

The President felt his veins turn to ice and looking at the Doctor, he’d had the same reaction.

‘He’s bringing her into the Capitol,’ Admetus went on. ‘We thought you’d want to know.’

For a while, the Doctor and President just stared at each other, but then the President composed himself, cleared his throat and went over to his desk.

‘If it’s her,’ he said, ‘then you know what to do, Chancellor.’

‘Yes, sir, but…’

‘But what?’

‘It’s just… this really isn’t my strong suit, sir. I’ve never done anything like this before and…’

‘You stand up in the council chamber and lie your head off every day, Chancellor. All I’m asking is that you be a bit more creative. Until we’re sure, just treat her as any suspicious alien. You never know. I mean, we’re assuming this is her, but it could still be a ploy by the Daleks.’

‘Yes, Lord President,’ said Admetus, sounding less than convinced.

The President steeled himself, then resumed his course towards the stairs.

‘You’re ready,’ he said to the Doctor as he passed, ‘if it does turn out to be…’

‘We’ve had years of going over this. So long as your girlfriend sticks to the plan.’

‘For the last time,’ the President called back as he reached the office door, ‘she is not my girlfriend.’

Once he was out of the office, the President headed for the residential quarter, shoving his plans to see the damaged sector to the side for the moment. If what Admetus said was true, there were more pressing things to deal with. He followed the corridor round the various apartments until he found the one he was looking for and pressed the call button by the door.

For a long while nothing happened, and he wondered if no one was home, but then the door slid open. Missy had taken to wearing traditional Time Lord clothing in the last few months. The President didn’t know why. She appeared this time in a low-cut green dress with a high, lace collar, something of the Elizabethan about it, in the style and also the fabric, which was heavy, green jacquard, covered in flowers that only appeared when the material caught the light in the right way. With another shiver, he realised he’d seen it before. In the Custodian’s prediction.

She looked back at him sadly and then nodded at the room behind her. She went back inside but the left the door open for him to follow.

The President had only been in Missy’s apartments a few times, more so lately since she’d started actually inviting him, always with a tone that suggested she was trying to sound more casual than she actually felt. It was a relatively plain set of rooms, and hadn’t changed in layout since his last visit, which was odd for Time Lords, who usually liked to move things around from time to time. 

Missy went over to the area she used as a lounge and study and gestured to a pair of leather wingback armchairs flanking a marble fireplace. In the grate was a statue of a hydra, in green marble to match the mantlepiece, where a green and yellow ormolu clock ticked loudly at the centre. Behind it, The president sat in one of the chairs and waited for Missy to join him. 

‘Are you here long?’ she asked, gesturing towards a cabinet full of bottles and crystal glasses next to the fireplace.

‘Not that long,’ said the President. ‘Demitra thinks he’s found her.’

Missy’s eyes widened slightly. 

‘Her, her?’

The President shrugged. He realised he was the one trying to look casual now, when inside his body was on fire. ‘Possibly. We need to be ready just in case. And I need to know where you stand.’

Missy turned and stared for a moment at a window on the far wall, which looked out over the towers of the Capitol. Outside the suns gleamed on the bronze and gold and glass, and the occasional dragonfly hovered for a moment just on the other side of the pane, looking in at them before buzzing away. For a moment, the only sound was the clock, chopping away the seconds. Then Missy inhaled and came over to join him. She sat delicately in the other chair but didn’t look directly at him.

‘I said I would go along with this,’ she said.

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘If this is her, do you think this will work? Do you think it really will be over?’

He nodded. ‘I hope so. Because I’m tired.’

Missy said something but spoke so quietly, the President could barely hear. He thought she said, “no more dreams” but couldn’t be sure.

‘One wrong move and this could all have been for nothing,’ the President reminded her.

‘I know that,’ Missy snapped. Then she softened and gave a miserable smile. ‘I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve done…’ She covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face away from him, closing her eyes as if to stifle her tears. When she recovered herself she sat up straighter and said, ‘These last few years, stuck here with you and your evil twin – actually I’ve never managed to work out which one of you is the evil one, you’re both obnoxious – but there’s been nothing to do except reflect. It’s been hell. And I’ll be happy for it to be over.’

‘So,’ he said, getting up. ‘Are you ready to come and play your part? Assuming this is our call to the wings, of course?’

After a moment of silence, Missy nodded and stood up. She went over to a cabinet by the door and plucked an umbrella out of one of its compartments.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Of course, you’re assuming this is your little student or whatever she is. It might just be another bloody Dalek spy.’

They left the apartments and headed to the High Council chamber. As he crossed the room, the President noted the two guards standing sentry at the far end. Both from his own personal guard. Both briefed. He assumed Demitra would have passed on their orders, but as he walked by, he deliberately caught their eyes and both of them nodded, with a knowing look. Reassured then, he carried on up the steps to the dais in the centre of the room, bypassed the chair and monitors that sat there, pushed aside the drapes that partitioned off half of the chamber, and went into the small annex at the back, which the council used as an office and the President used as a place to gather his strength before he faced the High Council. He went over to the little cabinet in the corner by the chaise longue, where he knew Admetus kept a stash of Arcadian Red. He poured himself a glass and downed it in one. It was better than the stuff in his office, and he enjoyed the way it burned his throat and warmed him, though it did little to fight off the nervous energy coursing through him. 

Then he went to the wall and pulled a drape aside to reveal a small safe, which he opened by tapping in a combination and letting it scan his retinas. Inside was his staser and his azbantium knife. He took the latter out and strapped it onto his belt. 

‘You’re not actually going to kill her?’ Missy asked. ‘Doesn’t that negate the whole thing?’

‘She needs to think I’m dangerous,’ said the President. ‘Otherwise, if she really does know a version of me somewhere out there, she might try to intervene. She might try to save me. If she thinks I’m a monster, she’ll be less eager to do that.’

Missy shrugged. ‘You’re in charge.’

Footsteps sounded on the floor beyond the drape and then a guard pulled the curtain aside, looked sheepishly in and cleared his throat.

‘Forgive me, Lord President, Mistress, but Chancellor Admetus is outside.’

‘Right, thanks,’ the President said. 

The guard smiled and withdrew.

Missy exhaled deeply and straightened the bodice of her dress. Then, clutching her umbrella in both hands, she walked, with the rigid posture of a Victorian schoolmistress, through the gap in the drape and disappeared.

The President waited in the shadows behind the curtain, his hearts beating a tattoo in his chest. He kept telling himself not to get too excited. There was no guarantee this was it. They’d had false alarms before. Missy seemed to be gone for half a century though it could only have been a few seconds.

Then she returned. Her expression was unreadable. She stood and looked directly at the President and he wanted to shake her and ask her “Well?” but he restrained himself.

Missy allowed a faint smile to cross her lips and a look passed over her pale, blue eyes that could almost have been excitement, hope even, and the President’s hearts beat even faster.

‘It’s her,’ Missy said.

‘If Omega’s Mirror exists,’ the President said, ‘I can find it. There has to be information in the Matrix. If it truly isn’t a myth, I can have it. I can control the universes, stop the traitors gaining a foothold. I can have whatever I want from any reality I choose. I could destroy this miserable excuse for a planet and find a new one, a better one, one where there isn’t corruption and treachery in every corner. Better still, why not erase this whole universe from existence and move on? There’s nothing here that isn’t degenerate, loathsome…’

The girl and Admetus stood in the middle of the council chamber, both watching him with wary expressions. He worried for a second that he’d gone a bit too far, and it scared him a little how easily he fell into this role. At the same time, his hearts ached a bit for the girl. Though he didn’t know her, he kept thinking that somewhere, out there in the multiverse, he cared about her. Or a version of him cared about her. So every time he lunged at her or raised his voice and saw her flinch away, it felt like such a betrayal of that trust she evidently had in him, in her Doctor, and of everything he’d worked to become himself. But it was necessary, he told himself. She had to think he was irredeemable. 

‘You’d destroy everything?’ Admetus asked. 

The President drew in a deep breath.

‘This universe had its chance and look what it did with it,’ he growled. ‘Daleks, Cybermen, the Great Intelligence… Nothing but evil and darkness. Who would miss it?’

He’d turned his back on the council chamber, and while he couldn’t see the girl or Admetus, he willed the Chancellor to remember what he was supposed to do.

‘No,’ Admetus said. Good man. Finally got something right. He was going to do it. This would work.

The President straightened but didn’t turn around. ‘What?’

‘I said, “No”,’ Admetus replied. 

Missy, who’d been standing by the curtain partition as if someone had sculpted her there, finally moved and came to the President’s side. She laid her hand on his shoulder and as he turned, he caught the glint in her eyes. She felt the same exhilaration as him. This was it. They were at the end.

Now he was facing the council chamber again, the President saw that Admetus had drawn a staser from within his robes and was pointing it at him.

‘I’m disappointed in you, Chancellor,’ the President said. ‘You could’ve done great things.’

‘Not if you destroy everything,’ Admetus retorted. ‘I helped you depose Rassilon because I believed you were right, that he was poisoning our society and abusing his power, but this… I’ve watched you these last few years, the way you’ve treated people, even those who stood by you through the struggles. Friends of mine have disappeared, after they spoke out against you. High ranking Time Lords exiled from the city because you suspect them of treason. Others arrested in the middle of the night by your pet guards. You are ten times the monster he was.’

‘Then shoot me,’ said the President said. ‘If you have the stomach for it.’

Admetus swallowed and shifted his weight. The President flashed a faint smile of encouragement, and Admetus nodded, though he looked like he was about to be sick.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘But I do this for Gallifrey.’

He fired.

Even though he knew his shield would stop the blasts, the President still braced himself as the staser screeched, but each shot dissipated a couple of centimetres away from him. He gave what he hoped was his most maniacal laugh and looked to the guards at the back.

‘Kill him.’

‘Wait…’ Admetus began, but was interrupted by staser fire. Both guards fired at once. Admetus’s face contorted in a look of surprise and nausea, then he crumpled to the floor beside the girl. The President sent out a telepathic apology though didn’t think it was received.

The girl, meanwhile, stared down at the Chancellor, a look of abject horror on her face. Again, the President felt a wave of guilt wash over him but he kept it hidden. He found the more he spoke to the girl, the more he wanted to be friends with her. He wanted that life the Custodian had given him a glimpse of. If this worked, would he be there? He had to think so. It was the only thing that gave him the strength to keep doing this.

‘Get that out of here,’ he ordered the guards, ‘and find out who he’s spoken to in the last few days. Have them arrested and questioned.’

‘Lord President,’ replied both guards, then they moved in and carried the body out.

A moment or so after they left, two more guards entered the chamber, Demitra and Rebane. They both exchanged glances with the President and he nodded subtly to them.

‘One of you take her,’ he said, turning away from the girl. He couldn’t bear to look at her any more and know that he’d caused that fear and disgust. ‘Put her in the detention area with him, and we’ll see how he reacts.’

He climbed the steps up the dais and listened as the guards jostled the girl out. When he heard the hiss of the door closing behind them and the room grew silent again, he went to his chair and its array of monitors and hit the comms switch.

‘Well?’ asked the Doctor.

‘It’s her.’

He heard the Doctor draw in breath. ‘Right. I’ll get down there.’

‘Demitra’s taking her by the scenic route. I told him to go via the sector that’s still under repair from the Dalek attack. Makes our civil war story a bit more believable.’

‘I still don’t know why we need so much playacting,’ said Missy.

‘Because it’s got to be right!’ the President told her, and heard his voice echo around the hall. He hadn’t realised he’d shouted. But they were so close. A few more hours and it would be over. They couldn’t risk getting anything wrong and he wished Missy would feel as strongly about it as he did.

He cut the comms channel and swept away behind the curtain, heading into the back office again. 

Admetus lay on the couch beside the drinks cabinet, one of the guards who’d carried him out of the council chamber kneeling by his side, keeping watch. The President walked up to the Chancellor’s unmoving form and leaned over him, looking for any twitches or tiny movements. Then Admetus let out a cry and sat up, nearly headbutting the President in the process. The President jumped back, landed clumsily, lost his footing and fell on his backside on the floor. The guard looked from one of his superiors to the other in utter bemusement. 

Admetus pressed his hand to his chest and frowned. ‘That hurt! You said a stun shot wouldn’t hurt!’

‘Well, I said it wouldn’t hurt “much”,’ said the President. ‘But it’s done now. You played your part well. Thank you.’

Admetus huffed out a sigh and his expression softened slightly. ‘Has it worked?’

The President still hadn’t bothered to get up off the floor but he realised he was actually quite comfortable sitting there. ‘I don’t know. Hopefully. But it’s up to him and Missy now.’

Around an hour later…

It was happening. Standing by his desk in his office, the President held the girl, Bill Potts - a name that seemed to resonate with him even though he’d never seen her before that day - and pressed his knife against her neck. It was so blunt it wouldn’t even have cut through butter but it still looked nasty. Missy stood a few metres away, and the President kept her in his peripheral vision in case she made any sudden moves, but so far she’d gone along with the plan exactly as they’d discussed. Was it too much to hope she really was on his side this time? 

Below, on the next landing, the Doctor drew a revolver from his coat pocket. It was an old British Army issue thing, left by the Brigadier centuries ago when he was in the TARDIS. Something to do with Omega, if the President remembered rightly. He’d put it in a chest in his office along with a load of other weapons that had been lying around the TARDIS, left over from previous invasion or hijack attempts. He’d been meaning to get rid of it. 

‘Then we have to do it this way,’ the Doctor said. ‘Let her go.’

The President laughed. ‘Really? You forget I know you, Doctor, better than anyone. You can’t shoot me in cold blood, let alone risk hitting the girl. Put the gun down and surrender. This is over.’

The Doctor’s aim didn’t falter. ‘Will you give up on this idea to find Omega’s Mirror? Rule Gallifrey peacefully, without threats or coercion? Will you even consider the idea?’

‘No one will accept me without those things, Doctor. You know the Time Lords.’

‘You could try.’

‘And have them kill me? Or worse, send me back… there?’

‘So nothing I can say will change your mind?’

‘To be quite honest, Doctor, I stopped listening to you a long time ago.’

The Doctor nodded. His jaw tightened.

‘Then you leave me no choice,’ he said.

‘You can’t kill me,’ the President replied. His hearts were beating so hard he thought everyone in the room must be able to hear it. ‘Even if bullets could penetrate my personal shield, which, by the way, they can’t, I’ll only regenerate. And then I’ll kill you and Missy and the girl and I won’t make a mess of it, you can count on that.’

With his free hand, the Doctor reached inside his jacket and brought out an empty vial.

‘What is that supposed to be?’ the President asked.

‘Regeneration inhibitor,’ said the Doctor. ‘In the wine.’

The Lord President let out a dry chuckle. He liked this part of the plan best. ‘The wine you saw me throw against that wall. The wine I didn’t drink?’

A faint but still deeply sad smile passed across the Doctor’s lips. For a moment, time seemed to stand completely still. The President braced himself. This was it. This was the moment he’d seen. It was over. Just one more act to make things right. 

Below, the Doctor shook his head.

‘I didn’t say it was in your cup.’

He pressed the gun to his temple and fired.

Missy and the girl both cried out. The President released his hold on the girl and let her rush forward to the stairs, where she stared down at the Doctor. He lay on the landing, arms outstretched, a pool of blood growing on the marble floor beneath his head.

Glancing at Missy, the President saw her flash the same “what happens now?” look he knew he was wearing. It was as if the whole universe was holding its breath.

‘Well, you’ve done it now,’ said Missy, heavy with sarcasm.

The girl picked her way slowly down the stairs, approaching the Doctor’s body. She knelt by his side and the President saw her try to find his pulses. The gesture was so tender, so caring, his own hearts ached. That should’ve been his life. Travelling with her. Seeing the universe with her. Instead he was here, in a broken city, spending every day in misery and grief. And nothing was happening. How was this the moment that ended the universe and nothing was happening! Then a dark thought spread across his mind and he turned to Missy. He let out a curse and lunged at her, pointing with his knife.

‘You set this up,’ he hissed. 

Missy didn’t even flinch as he leaned over her. 

‘Actually, I think you’ll find you did that yourself,’ she replied. ‘I told you this would never work. You’re not cut out to rule, you never were, and sooner or later you’d bring your own destruction crashing down around your ears. Just never thought it’d be so literal.’

The President was about to say, “but it’s not, is it?” when he noticed the light in the office was growing brighter. It was as if his request for windows had been accepted and suddenly the light of the two suns was streaming in. But there were no windows. The light was seeping in from the corners of the room, forming a kind of glowing mist. For a while the President just stared at it. He’d heard about the Scarlet protocols. He’d never seen them work before. Was this going to hurt? But then what did that matter? He’d spent years in pain and at least there was an end in sight.

‘You’ll be erased from existence just as much as I will,’ the President said, relief flooding over him. He was still holding his knife out towards her but his arm sagged.

‘True,’ Missy replied. ‘But I’ll be back in some form or other, in some new timeline, one where you never existed, not like this anyway. And everything you’ve destroyed, everything that’s turned to dust because of you, will have another chance. There was no other way.’

She smiled, and possibly for the first time in the relationship, the Doctor saw genuine warmth there. 

‘What’s going to happen?’ the girl asked, panic pushing her voice up a couple of semitones. The mist was only a few metres away from her on all sides. With a shudder, the President realised he hadn’t thought about the girl in this. She didn’t deserve to be erased from existence. He cursed himself. He should’ve planned for this. Then an idea hit him.

‘You,’ he shouted, ‘Omega’s Mirror, where is it? There’s no more time for games, girl, I need to know.’

‘I told you, I don’t know,’ the girl said. 

‘Gallifrey has mechanisms in place to prevent a paradox like this,’ Missy said. ‘In a matter of minutes, if not seconds, those systems will have wiped out all trace of this timeline. Even if the girl knew where Omega’s Mirror is, do you really think you could reach it in time?’

‘What about me?’ the girl asked. ‘I’m not from here. I’m not part of this!’

‘You’re part of events,’ Missy said. ‘Unless you can come up with a magic doorway back to your own universe, you’ll be as thoroughly erased as the rest of us. Maybe you’ll pop back too, once the new timeline is in place. Maybe we all will. Perhaps you’ll even remember what happened. Remember him. And maybe…’

The President glanced around. Missy was gone. There was only the mist, creeping closer. Well, he thought, wherever you are now, I hope it’s better than here.

‘Maybe what?’ the girl asked, looking around for Missy. Who had been right, of course, reaching the Mirror and sending the girl back would take too long. His time was up. But then another idea pushed to the fore.

‘The TARDIS,’ the President said, thinking aloud. He ran to the girl, grabbed her hand, and pulled her across the office. ‘We can still stop this.’

‘But what…’

He dragged her down to one of the few remaining levels and threw aside one of the drapes. Behind it was a deep niche, in which stood his slightly battered TARDIS. In there, he thought, they’d be protected from the Scarlet Protocols, at least for a while, until he could think of another plan. It meant he’d have to continue existing for a short while more, but he could at least get the girl to safety. And eventually Time would catch up with him and wipe him out. He was an anomaly now, more so than ever before. It would look convincing to the chronovores too, if they were watching, that he’d try to escape. It was the best idea.

‘You’re going to show me where that Mirror is. I’ll use the telepathic circuits. You’re going to take us there and…’

In the near-silence of the rapidly diminishing office, suddenly he heard the wheeze and groan of a TARDIS’s engines. He and the girl both turned to stare, and the President tightened his hold on her, unsure what was going to appear. This hadn’t been part of the Custodian’s vision. Then, the outline of a police box appeared across the landing. For a moment, the President was bemused, but then it hit him. Of course. If any friend of his had stumbled through a gate into another universe, he would do anything he could to track her down. 

The TARDIS door opened and a version of him looked out. Longer-haired, wearing a hoodie and a wine-coloured shirt beneath his velvet coat. 

‘Is it the right one?’ called a voice from inside the ship, not someone the President recognised. 

‘Not sure,’ the Doctor replied.

‘Yeah, it is,’ shouted the girl.

The Doctor came fully out into the office and looked around, spotted the President and frowned. The President looked over at the mist, how close it was. There wasn’t time for pleasantries.

‘If I ask what’s going on here, am I going to end up with a headache?’ the Doctor said.

‘Out of the way,’ the President said. ‘Or she dies.’ He looked again at the mist, creeping ever nearer, and hugged the girl closer, though there was no way to draw her away from it. It was approaching on all sides. 

 The Doctor came towards him, hand outstretched. ‘Let her go. We can talk about this. Whatever this is.’

‘There’s no time,’ said the President. ‘This…’

He sensed something wrong behind him and glanced over his shoulder. The mist had reached the TARDIS. It licked at the police box, shying away at first but then returning with more vigour. 

The girl elbowed him hard in the stomach while his attention was distracted. The blow knocked the wind out of him, then as he tried to straighten, she landed a swift right hook on his jaw. He staggered backwards, but managed to recover his balance just before he hit the mist. And through the pain, he couldn’t help but feel proud. He still travelled with people with spirit then, even in other universes. And he hoped, once this mist consumed him, that he’d find himself in some university office, looking over that girl’s essays on paradoxes and time travel. 

The Doctor grabbed the girl and pulled her towards his TARDIS, and the President watched them go, his head still throbbing from the punch, and smiled faintly. Then his arm began to tingle. He realised he couldn’t feel his hand any more and looked down. The mist had reached him. It coiled around his arm and his hand was already gone. He looked up towards the back of the office and saw one small patch still remaining. That part of his office where he’d hung the portrait, something he’d painted from memory. So as the mist continued to envelope him, he looked to Clara and smiled. Until she, too, disappeared. Then it began to hurt. He felt like every fibre in his body were being prized apart and he screamed, but as he did, through the pain and the blinding light that filled his vision now, he heard the groan of the TARDIS engines. They had got away. And he was about to disappear. 

It was done. It had cost everything. But things, from now on, would be right.

The End.