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Chapter Text

From the russet slopes at the foot of Mount Cadon in the North, to the silver-leafed forests of the Three Minute Cities to the South, Gallifrey was a world at peace. Twin suns blazed in an umber sky above a world that understood the importance of order, and inside the grand citadel of the Time Lords, life continued at the same measured pace as it had done since the universe was but a fraction of its current size. Only today was different. For all their order and tranquillity, there was a growing sense of unease amongst the quorum of Time Lords. Whispers drifted along the corridors of the Panopticon, like the cobwebs that gathered in the depths of the Matrix Cloisters, and rumours fluttered like streamers from the highest turrets and spires.

Gallifrey's most wayward son, the renegade known as the Doctor was finally coming home.

Considering their interest encompassed all of time and space within its purview – whether it be the machinations of the Higher Beings and their litany of opponents, the rise and fall of Empires, right down to the smallest fluctuations in the quantum structure of the time vortex – the Time Lords had no need for, nor any understanding of, the concept of entertainment. To the High Council, the concept of celebrity was as alien as it was vulgar, and that the Doctor had achieved such a level of notoriety amongst his own people was particularly galling. His exploits had become the stuff of legend amongst the novices, the chancellery guards, and all the denizens of the lesser houses, his meddling in the sacred histories was a known threat to all their calm endeavours. He was an agent of chaos who danced across a universe they were content to sit by and observe.

The temporal buoys that glittered in the darkness of deep space and which carefully demarcated the constellation of Kasterborous, acting as the physical boundary between the material universe and the sanctified space-time of the homeworld, had detected the approach vectors of his TARDIS at dawn. The President had been informed, as had the Second and Tertiary Time Lords, the Castellan and the Lord Chancellor, a domino effect of deference that was stipulated in accordance with ancient contingency plans, set in motion at the moment his arrival was detected.

As the picosecond of his arrival drew nearer, the approach path of his TARDIS was monitored to ensure there was no deviation, no sign of treachery or threat, but also to negate any outside intervention from the CIA or other internal parties. The enmity between the secretive political faction and the renegade Time Lord ran deep, and there were still active agents that would happily see the Doctor dead or incarcerated. Whichever was easiest.

Gallifrey became as the surface of a pond. While on the surface all appeared calm and life went on as normal, the skies above the Shining World of the Seven Systems were abuzz with activity. The Quantum Baffles were raised like the drawbridge of a castle and the Transduction Barriers, those ancient lances that cut through the quantum foam in the substrata of existence, were slowly parted, to allow the Doctor's TARDIS safe passage through the vortex to his ancestral home. In the minutes after the announcement of his arrival, the Matrix had already made a number of staggering and outrageous predictions as to the purpose of his visit. Additional Chancellery guards were posted to strategic points within the Citadel, and the rest of Gallifrey went into in an unofficial lockdown. History told that the Doctor's infrequent trips home typically coincided with times of great turmoil and upheaval; if this was to be the case again it was hoped that at least this time they would be adequately prepared.

While the Time Lords fretted in their dusty chambers and their towers of glass, there were other natives of Gallifrey who observed the oncoming storm, and on the great plains and the freezing slopes where the Shobogans roamed, the Elders of the Outsiders nodded at the sight of something ancient approaching. The stars had forewarned them that an ancient power was shifting in its alignment and that the wanderer was due to return. Those who were old enough, and wise, made the ancient sign to ward against evil, a last hope that they could protect themselves from whatever misfortune was coming to pass.

They waited in furious anticipation for the arrival of Gallifrey's lost child, and though some were eager, many were afraid. There were only a select few who understood that he didn't come willingly, that he had been summoned. And then there were those who had long planned for this moment, those who knew that once returned to their reach, the Doctor would never leave home again.

Chapter Text

'Gallifrey. Wicked. Are we nearly there yet?'

     The TARDIS swayed like a bassinet, buffeted by the furious energy of the vortex as it splashed against the outer plasmic shell of the time machine, but so unlike their usual manic voyages. Their destination had been predetermined, their passage was not their own. With little else to occupy his busy mind the Doctor tinkered over the controls of his fantastically elaborate ship and wondered what would become of him. It was doubtful that the Time Lords were impressed by his recent attempt to destroy a TARDIS that he still maintained he'd only ever meant to borrow. Despite their recent ordeal in the Tigris system Ace bounced around the console room, entirely too energetically for someone who was medically dead only a few hours hence.

     'Will you please calm down,' the Doctor scolded. ‘You should be resting. Or perhaps some sustenance might help to balance your temperament. I could have the TARDIS kitchen rustle you something up if-'

     'Not hungry,' Ace announced, poking at the scanner control. He was surprised by how quickly the student-teacher dynamic had reasserted itself. His young friend didn't seem to be suffering any ill-effects, though he wasn't so sure the same could be said for himself. He'd nearly lost both her and the TARDIS. It was enough to set his twin hearts beating just that little bit faster, even if he was doing his best impression of irritable frustration.

     He took in his companion’s attire. Boots, black leggings, an oversized t-shirt with Nirvana on the front and her reliable bomber jacket. ‘You could always go and change into something more… demure,’ he suggested.

     Ace snorted. ‘What do you want me to put on, flowing robes? Hey, do the Time Lords have a dress code? 'Cos if I can blag the bouncers at Greenford disco to let me in wearing Doc Martens then the High Council have got no chance.'

     The Doctor sighed and tried again to adjust the flightpath indicator, which remained stubbornly unresponsive. They were going to Gallifrey and there was no way of avoiding the inevitable. If he wasn’t mistaken the TARDIS was giving him the cold shoulder as well, understandable given the circumstances. The machine burbled and groaned as their path through the vortex was adjusted remotely. It was all so demeaning!

     'They're not planning on throwing you in the clink are they?' Ace asked, suddenly serious.

     The Doctor fiddled idly with another of the inoperable controls and wondered how much to reveal. As ever there were factors in play he didn’t understand yet, couldn’t until they arrived and he had the opportunity to read the ley of the political land, and the last thing Ace wanted was a potted history of his dysfunctional relationship with his own people, she’s had enough family dynamics of her own to contend with recently. He opted for the potted history.

     ‘I doubt it. Though they have tried twice already.'

     'So the Time Lords tried to try you twice?’ she asked. ‘Blimey, try saying that five times fast.'

     'I'd rather not,' the Doctor sniffed. 'Twice around the merry-go-round was more than enough for me. The Time Lords have never been particularly litigious as a civilisation but my continued existence has proven to be a proverbial thorn in their side for almost a millennia. And there were mitigating factors of course.'

     'Oh, of course,' she said with mock gravitas.

     'Ace, will you pay attention. The Time Lords are a dull pack of cats but that doesn't mean they're entirely without claws. I sincerely doubt us being summoned is any indication that the red carpet will be rolled out. They could very easily wipe your memory and return you to Perivale at the point of your extraction. They've done it before!'

     She’d turned away from him, shoulders hunched tight, perhaps he’d said too much? It was a rare occurrence but when it came to his young friend he sometimes had a knack for saying the wrong thing entirely. The Doctor put his arm around her and tapped the end of her nose with the tip of his umbrella. ‘Promise me you'll at least try not to antagonise anyone in authority.’

     With that she was all smiles again, and gave an almost sincere attempt at a salute. 'Don't worry Professor, I'll be on my best behaviour.'

     The Doctor nodded and suppressed a smile, that was probably the best he could hope for.

     'Very well, we're on the final approach. Here be monsters...'

     Having Ace shake up Time Lord society had long been an amusing idea of his, though he’d hoped for a little more warning and a little more say to how events were likely to transpire. Being manhandled at a distance, dragging home by the ear like an errant child, it would undoubtedly take him some time to recover his innate sense of savoir faire.

     'Is it me or is it getting brighter in here?' Ace asked, turning on the spot, one hand shielding her eyes.

     As ever her instincts for danger were correct. Some external force was interfering with the interior workings of his time machine, some sort of transmat or time scoop building, turning the normally calm white interior of the console room into a furnace of light.

     The Doctor reached out his hand to his companion but the light was too bright, she was already getting further away. Squinting in the sudden glare he was reminded of an urgent piece of advice he'd yet to share.

     'Quickly Ace, listen to me, it's vitally important we don't-'

     The glare built quickly to a flash of white, as brilliant as a nuclear blast that blotted everything out. When it’d faded again the console room was empty, and the TARDIS bleeped mournfully at the occasion of its most recent return to its ancestral home.

Chapter Text

The materialisation chambers were a vast domed space that housed ring after ring of concentric circles of round pillared platforms. The chamber existed in the empty space beneath the Panopticon proper and was many leagues across, it was also as was traditional in Time Lord custom, significantly larger inside than the space it was supposed to occupy. At the circumference of the room (though even that description didn’t do justice to the majesty of the place), amongst the transduction clamps, docking arms and other transport craft, were statues of the less well-regarded or well-known figures from Time Lord history, nestled in the shadows. Rassilon, Omega and their cohorts might loom large in the hallowed halls upstairs, but down here there was space for the recognition of the Marnals, Pandoks and Lancels. Lesser Presidents of minor importance, but no less worthy of veneration in the opinion of Adjudant Coordinator Bilbeks.

     On the only occupied platform, a phalanx of chancellery guards stood with stasers aimed at the very centre, the place where the TARDIS was imminently due to arrive according to Matrix predictions and the Temporal control nexus. Bilbeks glanced about the echoing space, wringing his hands behind his back. The materilisation chambers were normally fully staffed, filled with the cacophonous heralding of arriving and departing TARDIS’s. That they could be emptied so quickly and at such short notice was an obvious sign of the significance of the event, that the renegade President, the transgressor, was finally returning to Gallifrey to face the consequences of his unseemly and egregious actions. With the Second and Tertiary Time Lords informed of the Doctor’s recall, the Castellan and the Lord Chancellor all briefed ahead of time, a short but ugly power struggle had occurred regarding exactly who would be dispatched to greet the miscreant, with each claiming that either the honour was too great, while secretly not wanting to be associated with such a dangerous and notorious agitator. In the end the responsibility had fallen downward and landed on the desk of Adjudant Coordinator Bilbeks, who was promptly dispatched along with his subordinate Durlok, to monitor the arrival and ensure the necessary precautions were taken. He was supposed to act as a cautionary welcoming committee, demonstrating an appropriate degree of gravitas and decorum, while not quite rolling out a semblance of the red carpet. The materialisation platform had been chosen because it was safely out of the way of the capitol proper. It was also conspicuously, still empty.

     ‘Well, where is he Durlok?’ he barked at his subordinate.

     ‘I don’t know Adjudant Coordinator. His TARDIS is supposed to arrive here but-‘

     They were interrupted by a particularly dilapidated groaning noise and what looked like a large blue cabinet began appearing out of thin air. It was a battered old thing, showing obvious signs of damage but little of repair. The sign on the top said Police, though the purposes it’d been used for had made a mockery of even that description in Bilbeks opinion.

     Once it’d finished wheezing into existence, the phalanx of guards dropped into defensive positions and the Adjudant Coordinator decided he’d look more stately with his arms crossed in front of his Patrexean robes, rather than poised behind his back. All that was left was to summon up the sternest look he could muster, and ensure that this dangerous renegade knew exactly how much trouble he was in.

     Except the doors didn’t open. The TARDIS continued to sit incongruously on the landing pad.

     Before Bilbeks could bark a question at his subordinate, Durlok had already begun scanning the time capsule with his data tablet. ‘How strange. Though this is undeniably the Doctor’s TARDIS there are no life signs aboard, Adjudant Coordinator. The Doctor is gone.’

     Gone, Durlok? Gone where? Did the Shakri take him? Or perhaps it was the Toclafane?’ Bilbeks shook his head in apparent astonishment at the ineptitude of his subordinate, who he’d already decided was solely responsible for the Doctor being let loose on an unsuspecting Gallifrey. ‘Enough loomtales, Durlok. Inform the Presidency of your transgression. Oh and one more thing, if it isn’t too much trouble. Find me the Doctor!’

Dust and heat, a sore head and a dry mouth. Whatever the light had been that’d abducted her from the TARDIS it was still going strong. Ace kept her eyes scrunched tight closed as she fought to control her breath, her heartbeat. At some point she was going to have to open her eyes and it was really going to hurt.

     She flexed her fingers instead, mentally checking her extremities. The ground felt dry, not quite rock, not quite soil, warm but not uncomfortably so. She risked opening an eyelid. Everything was orange. Though her head still felt like she had the world’s worst hangover only with none of the fun, she managed to get herself off the ground and her eyes open to a squint.

     It was just so bright, probably on account of the two suns and the hundred mile desert.

     Ace had taken her jacket off and tied it round her waist but she had no other layers to remove, nor handy rucksack. No Nitro-9, no sunglasses, it was just her, alone in the Gallifreyean wilderness, a sulphurous amber desert that was the same colour as the streetlamps back home only less appealing. With no markings or obvious signs of habitation, no sign of civilisation of any kind, she’d started walking in the direction of a gnarled looking tree in the hope it might lead her to a source of water.

     So far Ace wasn't impressed with the Doctor's home planet, a dusty dump she'd been deposited in that somehow managed to be worse than Iceworld and Perivale combined. For all she knew this wasn’t even Gallifrey and she’d landed somewhere else entirely, though the twin suns were a bit of a giveaway. Whatever the Professor had been trying to warn her about he hadn't succeeded, instead she was hot, exhausted from walking, and she could murder a pint of cider and a bacon sandwich in that order.

     The tree turned out to be dead wood, as brittle and bleached as bones in the sun but there was higher ground in the distance so she headed towards it, running when she got too hot to walk, spraying up clouds of dust with her heels and swearing intermittently. At the top of the slope she’d climbed she saw it in the distance, the glint of sunlight catching against glass.

     Even from a distance it looked huge, what she presumed was the citadel of the Time Lords, a mess of towers, spires and minarets, an entire civilisation crammed into an upturned goldfish bowl a thousand kilometres across. It was too far to walk, she’d die of thirst before she even got a quarter of the way there and there were still no other signs of life on the horizon, no handy settlements, no lakes or rivers or forests even, just the same orange dusty ridges and valleys stretching as far as the eye could see. If the Time Lords had wanted her dead then there were quicker ways to go about it, so why had she been dumped so far beyond the city limits and left to fend for herself? Someone had obviously wanted to separate them, which meant getting back to the city was her best bet at helping the Doctor.

     Ace kicked at a scree of loose rock with the toe of her Doc Marten and sent it tumbling into the ravine below. Presumably the Professor had got into some sort of mischief during their recent trip to Shackleton's Splinter. She'd only got the edited highlights, what with being technically dead and all, but she understood that he'd gone to some pretty desperate lengths to save the day. Well, to save her.

     She had to get out of the sun at least, her skin was already started to tingle and prickle in the heat, there was at least shade in the network of gulleys and shallow valleys between her and the city on the horizon. Perhaps she’d even run into someone who might be able to help if she got moving.

     With a sight she skirted back down the slope she’d climbed and set off on the long walk. There was going to be no end of a lecture when they finally got out of this one.

Chapter Text

“That's the trouble with regeneration. You never quite know what you're going to get…”

     The mountain was as familiar to him as the insides of his eyelids. He could hear the musical tinkling sound of falling water from the river that skirted the foot of the slope, smell the pungent sweetness of the weanskrite and tristort that grew in tall bushels on the lower reaches.

     “Think about the homeless traveler and his old police box, with his days like crazy paving…”

There were other sounds, other smells, all his senses were firing at once. He could hear the secretive hooting of owls from the Lung trees on the higher slopes, the sound of children’s laughter from below. He could feel the texture of the rough ground beneath his fingers as he clambered up the every-steepening incline, one hand after another, as he pulled himself up.

     “One day I shall come back…”

     Except it wasn’t an incline anymore, it was a cliff face and he was clinging to while great birds wheeled about him, pecking and cawing. Claws scratching at his clothes, his hands and face. Did they want him to fall or just to stop climbing? What was at the top of the mountain that he wasn’t supposed to find? But the birds wouldn’t stop and he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember, couldn’t-

     Plop.

     The first indication that the Doctor was awake was the drip of water, large ponderous drips falling from a height of – he made a very quick rudimentary calculation based on the acoustic information available – approximately twelve feet, into a body of water less an inch deep. He was also sat in a reasonably uncomfortable chair with his arms manacled behind his back, a nostalgic touch given the Time Lords capacity for technological innovation and needless affectation. The manacles were significant, a reminder that he wasn’t in control of the situation. As psychological manipulation went it was a little on the crude side but he decided to play along if only to ease the boredom of being captured and imprisoned again. The Doctor sniffed, opened his eyes, and resolved to get himself a new hobby in future.

     There was an empty chair across the table from him and someone else was definitely in the room with him but he decided to ignore them for now and glean what other information he could from his surroundings.

     It was a dank stone chamber, high vaulted ceilings and echoing shadowy corners, very much like the Cloisters on a bad day and very similar to a dungeon created by someone who’d only read about dungeons but hadn’t ever been inside one. The dripping water was a clue, why was there water dripping from the ceiling? Where was it coming from? This was Gallifrey, the Morning Star, the cradle of Time Lord civilisation; they’d had no need for plumbers in millennia. No, the dripping water and the manacles, the very ambience of his environment had all been calculated to intimidate, another typically banal Time Lord interrogation technique. Wherever he was it was presumably subterranean, or at the very least what the Time Lords thought of as downstairs. A forgotten corner of the Capital of the dark and gloomy variety based on the temperature and ambient humidity, or at the very least it was a reasonably convincing facsimile of a subterranean chamber. It was so advanced that one could never completely rule out the Matrix, although he hoped it wasn’t. Mucking about in what inevitably turned out to be a micro-universal construct of the APC Net was always so needlessly portentous – signs and wonders everywhere one looked – but no, there was a coppery tang to the air and shades of violet still shifting in his peripheral vision that he’d come to associate with the aftereffects of a Time Scoop, though why he’d been recalled to Gallifrey and then abducted from his own TARDIS was anyone’s guess and a riddle he intended to solve. And there was Ace to consider of course; he'd could so close to losing her already that day, to risk it again didn't bear thinking about. Less alarming but no less frustrating, in the process of being abducted he’d mislaid his hat and his umbrella, both of which were presumably still onboard the TARDIS, wherever that was. No allies, no props, and dragged home by the earlobe like an errant schoolboy, it was enough to make anyone vexed.

     All the while he'd been taking in his surroundings and summarising events, a separate part of the Doctor’s mind had been busily working to analyse the nature and tensile strength of whatever material had been used to constrain him. It was beyond second nature for the Doctor to wake up and work out how to escape, before consciously comprehending exactly what it was he was escaping from. The manacles that bound his hands were made of an unknown alloy and showed no sign of yielding. That secondary part of his consciousness that was occupied looking for clues had already registered the sound of another person breathing behind him. In the moment of realisation his cognitive functions aligned and he decided the best course of action was to start talking. After all, at least a couple of seconds had elapsed since the moment he'd first woken up and it simply wouldn't do to start giving away his advantage away.

     The Doctor cleared his throat. 'As far as welcomes go, I've had warmer. Why don't you stop skulking about back there and say hello.' Whoever it was had him bound and captured they made no move to show themselves. Cautious, thought the Doctor, or scared? Either way, no answer was an answer in itself.

     'I mean you no harm,' he continued. 'Though given I'm the one in chains that might be a somewhat redundant statement.' He gave a desultory rattle of his manacles to illustrate his point and leaned back in his chair to wait. It didn’t take long.

     With a flash of light that made him wince, a Time Lord appeared in the seat opposite, smiling at him beatifically. Her robes were a stately cream and gold livery of the Inquisitorial judiciary but there was no obvious indication of her House or Chapter, so there were no obvious clues as to her political allegiance or function. An intricate knot of brown hair was coiled on her head, pulled back sharply from a high forehead and clear green eyes. He didn’t recognise her, though that meant little on Gallifrey, but neither was there any familiarity with regards her composure, her countenance, any of the million subliminal signals Time Lords had developed to identify each other. She was a mystery, but the short range teleport definitely suggested a flair for the dramatic.

     'Welcome Doctor. Welcome home, the High Council of Gallifrey bids you-'

     'No. No, no, please,' he interrupted her, rattling his manacles deliberately. 'I'm afraid I’m deathly allergic to theatrics unless they're of my own devising.’ If his captors (though not for long, he thought, working at the lock on his manacles) thought him impertinent, she managed to hide it behind the same bland smile.

     'Very well. After your attempted intentional and wanton destruction of a stolen TARDIS you were brought home as a precaution against any further “mishaps”.’

     'I demand a mistrial!'

     ‘All in good time.’

     The Doctor harrumphed to disguise the sound of the manacles clanking together while he worked at the lock with a hairpin he’d found up his sleeve. ‘I'm aware that as a long-lived species we're prone to “waffling on a bit,” as my young friend would describe it. Do let’s cut straight to something approximating the chase. First things first, where’s Ace?’

     'Perfectly safe, for now,’ she replied. ‘We thought she might be more comfortable with the other savages.’ She steepled her long fingers together. ‘The High Council have been watching your... exploits for some time. We were wondering what you hope to achieve from all this gadding about.'

     The Doctor bristled. 'Gadding about!? I right the wrongs your dainty fingers dare not touch. I nudge history back on the course it was meant to be on.'

     'You interfere, meddling in the timelines in direct contravention of your own people's policy of non-intervention.'

     ‘But of course. What a tedious universe it would be if we all did as we were told all the time.’

     She raised an arched eyebrow and regarded him regally. ‘Be that as it may, your actions have consequences.’

     'Please don't tell me I'm on a trial for a third time, I'm not sure my ego could cope with a hat trick.' The Doctor placed his unmanacled hands on the heavy stone table and grinned. If his inquisitor noticed that he'd freed himself from his bonds then she gave no sign.

     ‘This isn't a trial,' she said. ‘Think of it as more an informal chat on your motives, methods and modus operandi.'

     'Are you suggesting, madam, that you’ve dragged me halfway across the universe and outside of my own personal timestream for a Performance Review!?’

     She weighed the question up then smiled brightly. ‘It’s not the terminology I’d have chosen but yes, I suppose you could call it that.’

     The Doctor glanced around at the dungeon the Time Lords had selected for their “informal chat,” wiped a finger across the table pointedly. 'You could have at least tidied up a bit first. Maybe got the duster out?'

     'Orders from the powers that be I'm afraid.'

     'Of course. Well, I must say, it’s all terribly intimidating,' he said. 'So, what grubby little mission is it you need my help with this time?'

     'Well.’ The Inquisitor's smile widened, displaying small neat white teeth. ‘It’s rather more how we can help you…’

Chapter Text

There was a plume of dust on the horizon. It could be a sandstorm but Ace was certain it was getting larger, which meant it was more than likely heading in her direction. She perched on a ridge, feet dangling over the drop, with one hand shielding her eyes from the glare she watched the dust plume to see which way it was moving. She held up her other hand and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, positioned it so that the plume was surrounded. If it got larger than the circle then her suspicions would be confirmed. Despite walking for hours the suns didn’t seem to have moved in the sky and the glass bowl of the Capital was still stubbornly stuck to the horizon. What was it the Doctor was always saying? A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Which was all very well and wise but wouldn’t help when she collapsed from exhaustion or died of thirst.

     Ace squinted through her fingers. The plume of dust was definitely getting bigger.

     Assuming whoever had dragged the Doctor back to Gallifrey was also responsible for her going walkabout in the wilderness then it stood to reason the powers that be knew where she was, or would at least have ways of monitoring her. She could feel it as well, a thundering in the ground, making small stones clatter and shaking Ace’s bones through her boots as it approached.

     When the dust plume got closer she realised it was the desert sand being whipped up into the atmosphere by a caravan of men and women on horseback, travelling at speed, and heading straight for her. The Doctor had warned her about not annoying the locals but from what she knew of the Time Lords, she doubted very much they travelled anywhere on horseback. This was obviously something else but from the ground they were covering to get to her, it didn’t feel much like a welcoming committee.

     ‘Yee-haw,’ she muttered to herself, and settled in for the wait.

     The caravan was obviously larger than she’d estimated, it took another hour sat in the blistering sun for them to get close enough to make out much detail. When she estimated them to be about a mile away, Ace stood up, brushed the dust from her hands and leggings, and did her best to appear formidable. Above the thundering of hooves she heard the scream and whinny of alien horses that sounded almost familiar. It reminded her of the travelers who’d camp sometimes on the industrial estates and scrubland in west London. She’d never had much time for horses, not like some of the girls at school who all went pony-mad at the same time and covered their pencil cases and schoolbooks in unicorn stickers. Ace had been too busy with her first tentative experiments with explosives. Blowing up old paint tins with a mixture of sugar and fertiliser, experimenting with the initial fundamental formula that would one day yield her very own holy grail, Nitro-9. What she wouldn’t give for a can right now. Being without always made her feel a bit naked.    

     'Oi, over here,' she shouted. They obviously knew where she was but if she was going to do what the Doctor normally did, that meant taking control of the situation.

     She met them at the foot of the slope in the basin of a wide valley.  The sweaty flanks of the animals pressed around her, snorting and staring, though it was their riders Ace was more interested in. Once, she and the Doctor had visited eighth century Wisconsin and spent a week of winter with a group of Native Americans that would go on to be called the Oneida Nation. That was who the men and women on horseback reminded Ace of. Suspicion and pride in equal measure, all wrapped up in shammy leather. Despite the heat they wore animal skin cloaks of black and white fur, embroidered with careful, intricate patterns of scarlet and grey thread. Other than their rough spun, homemade cloth they wore headbands and thick-soled leather boots, braids threaded through their long hair. They all looked like they needed a decent scrub in the shower too, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the horses she could smell. Beneath their cloaks and attached to jerkins and trousers she spotted tools and knives, some of them wicked-looking blades, as well as axes and what Ace could only assume were scythes, judging from the curve of the handle. The woman who was carrying it attached to her belt noticed Ace staring and grinned at her. To Ace's eyes they looked like hippies crossed with Metalheads, stick them in a decent leather jacket they could probably pass for Guns N Roses. The Doctor had once told her about a race of outsiders on his home planet called the Shobogans so she decided to take the noble savage approach and see where it got her. No one had disemboweled her yet so that was a good start.

     Ace squared up to the man at the head of the herd, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back, that she hoped was the leader. 'Greetings. I am Ace of Perivale. I mean you-‘ at this she gestured widely at the group with her index finger – ‘no harm.’  The horses continued to stare at her, wide-eyed and stupid and chewing on nothing. Their riders weren’t much better. Ace wondered if the TARDIS’s gift of intergalactic translation had finally conked out. ‘I also bring, er, tidings of great importance, and a warning, from across the stars.’

     Eventually the man with the bow frowned at her. ‘What are you speaking like that for?'

     'Like what?' Ace bristled.

     'Like you swallowed a dictionary and keep burping up adjectives. Speak normally child.'

     There were some smirks and a snirt of laughter from his companions but Ace bit her lip and remembered the Doctor’s advice.

     ‘Perhaps the star child came to warn us of the dangers of standing under the suns without water or shelter?’ one of the others called out.

     They were laughing at her, Ace realised. Sitting on their funny alien horses, looking down on her. Only if she was such a joke why had they ridden all that way just to get to her? All the alien cowboys and girls going out of their way to make her feel small obviously meant she was important in some way. Diplomacy be hanged, she was Ace. Dalek-killer, cat-girl, AKA Fenric’s last mistake, and no poundshop Planet of the Apes wannabe was about to make her look stupid.

     ‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘My bad. I wasn’t sure if speaking in full sentences might be too confusing. Now, are you going to take me to your leader or what?’

     The man with the bow stopped laughing and the rest followed suit. As a show of force it was subtle but not unimpressive. ‘Enough child. Its we who should be asking you the questions.’

     ‘Oh yeah, what’s that then.’

     ‘The only question of importance of course. Do you know the Time Lord who calls himself Doctor?’

Chapter Text

Though the hour was still only a shade after Noonfast, Bilbeks of House Ganuflex, the Adjudant Coordinator of the Temporal Coercion Division (domestic), proud alumni of the Arcalian Chapter found himself standing on another podium, in his second vast hemispherical chamber of the day, dry-mouthed and fidgeting with the heavy collar that weighed against his shoulders. The noise in the council chamber was a cacophony of protests, a wave of sound that echoed and reverberated over the speaker’s podium in the middle of the room, not all of it audible. There was as much mental unrest as their physical and in addition to the chorus of protest that rolled down from the Councillors themselves, a low-level hum of anxious mental chatter that itched and wriggled in the corners of the mind.

     The High Council were unhappy, of that much he was certain, though what was less clear was what he was expected to do about it.

     ‘My Lords, please, a moment. The transduction records confirm it. The Doctor is on Gallifrey, he has merely been temporarily…  misplaced.’

     A fresh chorus of psychic outrage splashed like scalding water about the podium. Bilbeks felt his knees begin to buckle under the weight of disappointment and set to distracting himself by imagining how he was going to torment his subordinate Durlok when he was finished. Eventually the Speaker of the Chamber took pity on him and slammed his heavy golden rod against the flagstone floor three times quickly. The chamber fell into an uneasy silence. Bilbeks squinted again up at the concentric rows of councillors, castellans, and cardinals all glaring down at him. It was impossible for him to see them all, some of the upper echelons were shrouded in a low layer of indoor cloud, but he was certain the President wasn’t in attendance.

     Before he could continue a lone voice called out. ‘The renegade must be found before he can cause any harm. Ask the Agency where he is?’ This announcement led to a low rumble of agreement. Eventually another stood, Bilbeks recognised the robes of the Castellan. ‘I’ve been informed that the Agency no longer has any interest in the activities of the renegade who calls himself the Doctor.’ This was met with more outraged blustering and a fair amount of laughter.

     ‘Meaning they don’t know where he is either,’ some wag called out.

     ‘The Agency couldn’t find the second hand on a clock,’ someone else interjected. ‘They’ve lost their touch!’

     ‘Where is the Doctor?’ The cry was taken up again by the massed ranks of august Tine Lords, braying like timetots in a playground. Until a new call was taken up, no less urgently than the first.

     ‘And where is the President?’

It wasn’t particularly professional but the Special Inquisitor had allowed her mind to wander while the Doctor protested, pontificated and prevaricated, his hands fluttering madly in search of a hat and an umbrella that were both conspicuous by their absence. All the while his mouth was moving incessantly, doing the most unspeakable things to every word with an r, so that the elongated consonants rolled like thunder about the room.

     ‘…though it shouldn’t come as any surprise that the High Council is as rrremiss in its rrrresponsibilities and as corrupt as ever!’

     It was an impressive performance in one so diminutive, no wonder he had the Daleks quaking in their domes. It was all in the eyes she decided, grey and occluded at one moment, a steely flash of blue the next. It was as though he couldn’t tell who he was supposed to be either. The Time Lords were a species that had long ago surpassed vanity and the limitations of outward appearance, so it was an unusual experience to be confronted by someone so physically undemanding but who took such efforts to create a presence. Was it all ego, or something more deliberate?

     Who was the Doctor? Even the High Council had their doubts. There were as many legends, rumours, stories – all largely apocryphal, many started by the Doctor himself. He’d become their very own riddle of the sphinx, and for the Time Lords, who watched all of creation, who measured the progress of their plans and observations by the lifespans of stars, not to know something about one of their own was an admission they despised.

     ‘I seem to have lost your attention.’

     The Special Inquisitor snapped her attention back to the present. ‘My apologies Doctor.’

     They’d reached something of an impasse in their negotiations and she could tell he was still unconvinced that he hadn’t fallen victim to some CIA plot again, no matter how much she protested. The CIA in its current form was an aging cabal of old done men, an embarrassment to modern Time Lord society. He’d have understood that if he ever came home. The Doctor had been protesting his treatment again, bemoaning the events of his second trial, the treatment of his friends Perpugilliam and Mel, the involvement of the other renegade who called himself Master (though many of the High Council couldn’t tell the difference between the two of them), even the activities of the Valeyard, while she’d been attempting to reiterate that the Ravolox incident had been nothing more than a misunderstanding.

     'It must be wonderful to take such a revisionist view of history while also possessing the capacity to change it,' he said with a great guffaw of laughter. 'How ever do you keep the history books up to date? It must cost you a fortune in tipex.'

     She sighed, again. 'May I remind you we're here to discuss your current methods, not the recent past but if you insist. In your most recent exploits, your human companion was technically dead! Without our assistance you would have destroyed your TARDIS, a TARDIS which you stole.'

     'Desperate times call for desperate measures. An old adage but one I've found to be consistently truthful.'

     'You put the very fabric of the universe at risk, all so you could save your friend.'

     'Oh hang the universe,' he said, slamming his palm on the stone table. 'Its old enough to look after itself. Ace needs me.' And I need her, he thought to himself, wondering again where they'd put her while he underwent this ridiculous charade.

     That got the Inquisitor’s attention, that he’d allowed her to observe his thoughts, however fleetingly.

     'What is it about the humans that you find so fascinating?’ she asked, changing tack. ‘They flare and die like summer flowers. So brief. It’s a wonder you’re even able to get attached to them.'

     The Doctor leaned back in his chair. 'And yet when they cooperate they’re capable of greatness, of feats that will outlive them for millennia to come. And what do Time Lords achieve for all their longevity? Years spent in empty contemplation of the mysteries of the universe but never actually accomplishing anything. The humans live more in their short lifetimes than we do in centuries.'

     'You almost sound in awe of them.'

     'And why shouldn't I, if we Time Lords could only learn from them, imagine what we could become?'

     'A hybrid?' She asked nervously. 'It's forbidden! The legends tell-‘

     'I’m familiar with the histories thank you. I should be given I wrote most of them down on a wet Wednesday afternoon. No, I want to know why I'm here,’ he said, gesturing at the dim expanse of the barren stone chamber. ‘I was recalled to Gallifrey to face whatever pompous music the High Council saw fit to make me dance to. Instead I’m down here, with you, why? …Am I in danger?’

     The Special Inquisitor adjusted her collar but declined to answer, not that she needed to. If the prospect of murder alarmed him then he gave no outward sign, in fact the Doctor looked the happiest he’d been all day.

Elsewhere in the citadel, a shadowed figure lurked in a thickly ivied alcove somewhere near the Cloister levels. ‘Attention my brothers. It’s imperative we find the Doctor before the authorities do. Our hour of glory approaches.’

     The communicator was whipped away into a inside pocket of the robes of the speaker who didn’t need to wait for an acknowledgement. The brotherhood were ready to activate at a moment’s notice, occupying their positions in secret at every level of Time Lord society, waiting for the day they would emerge from the shadows.

     They were the new power rising on Gallifrey, more devious and agile than the CIA and less bogged down in bureaucracy than the High Council of Time Lords and their retinue of librarians. As for the Presidency, it was now a hollow office, all power having slowly leaked away over the preceding millennia, till the President was little more than an archaic figurehead, crumbling under the weight of aeons of tradition, blinded to the truth that the future belonged to those with the ambition to imagine a change in the order of things.

     This would be their time to wield power, not only over Gallifrey but over the universe itself, and the Doctor was the only thing that stood in their way.

Chapter Text

It was one hundred minutes to Second Setting when Bilbeks folded himself into the chair in his office, ready to admit defeat. It was a small room with only a desk and without even a window, located some hundred levels below the Capital proper and entirely unbefitting to his station and status, not to mention his ambitions, ambitions which were currently being thwarted by his lack of success in what was arguably the most important task he’d ever been appointed to. Though squads of chancellery guards were patrolling every corner of the Capital, the search for the Doctor had so far been fruitless. The Capital, Arcadia and all the Second Cities to the East were still on high alert. Hologlyphs of the Doctor’s current form were displayed on every walkway and corner, urging the citizens to be vigilant, but there was no trace of him. The High Council remained locked in session until a solution could be found, bickering and heckling each other to little effect, though the President was still conspicuous by her absence. The Quantum baffles were in place as well as the Transduction barriers, no craft had entered or left Gallifrey in the many hours since his TARDIS had first arrived in the materialisation chambers where it still stood, a solemn blue monument to all the renegade’s misdeeds.

     There were other, stranger rumours circulating as well. It was said that at Dusktide in Olyesti, a manifestation of Grandfather Paradox, one of the darker figures of Gallifreyean mythology, had appeared above the city, leering and posturing in a most menacing fashion. At the hour of thirteen o’clock it’d begun raining inside the Panopticon – itself not an unusual occurrence, the building was large enough to generate its own weather systems – until a hail of live fish began falling on the citizens passing below, causing several accidents and an embarrassing incident involving a Cardinal. What was either a carnival or a riot had begun in the outer rings of the Capital, venerating the fly-by-night renegade and styling the Doctor as Gallifrey’s Lost President, and demanding he be reinstated to that office. Elsewhere there was panic, bolstered by an unexpected lunar eclipse, when Pazithi, Gallifrey’s widow moon, wobbled out of its previously stable orbit and passed in front of the suns. The Time Lords weren’t a superstitious people, they’d excised such fascination with the cosmos when the universe was still in the first flush of its expansion, but even they couldn’t ignore the obvious.

     ‘More signs and portents,’ Bilbeks grumbled. ‘Even absent he’s causing trouble and it’s been less than a day.’

     ‘The High Council is requesting an update?’ Durlok said from his customary place by the door. He always stood there when they were at work, Bilbeks was adamant that no second chair be provided, so that should anyone enter they would instantly understand the power dynamics within their professional relationship. Not that anyone did ever visit.

     ‘And do you have any suggestions as to what I should tell them? Of course you don’t. Cretin.’

     ‘There is another option, sir,’ Durlok simpered.

     ‘What are you blathering about?’

     ‘There’s always the APC network,’ he said. Before Bilbeks could point out the stupidity of the suggestion, Durlok produced a datacube from inside his robes. ‘I… accidentally retained a copy of the Castellan’s security codes after the incident with the Tellurians. It’s entirely probable that the High Council have consulted the Matrix to understand what the Doctor might be doing but if he hasn’t escaped and has instead been abducted there might be a trace we could follow. A solitary transduction beam could explain his absence on arrival and might have gone unnoticed unless one knew what to look for.’

     It wasn’t an entirely foolish suggestion. Bilbeks imagined himself explaining the brilliance of his idea to the High Council once the situation was satisfactorily resolved. ‘Very well, but make sure that any unauthorised Matrix incursion is in no way traceable to my office.’

     ‘Of course, Adjudant Coordinator. Your wish is my-‘

     ‘Just get on with it!’

The hoofbeats were as loud as war drums, a wind that whiplashed Ace’s hair about her face as she clung on to the waist of the woman on horseback she was riding with. She’d said her name was Jaspek, she was the woman carrying the scythe who Ace had noticed earlier, and the first to offer to share her horse with the woman from Perivale who’d somehow wound up abandoned in the Drylands – an apt name for such a barren place. ‘You must have annoyed someone important to have ended up here,’ Jaspek had told her.

     It’d quickly become apparent – once they’d established that yes, Ace did in fact know the Doctor, quite well as it happened – that the Shobogans didn’t really go in for leaders. Dagfinn, the man with the bow Ace had initially clashed with, was more of a spokesperson than anything. He’d seemed less imposing once he and the rest of his, (what, tribe?) had dismounted from their horses. There were at least fifty of them, all armed if not armoured, milling around her curiously, staring at the woman who’d fallen from the sky like she was the new kid at school and talking about some prophecy that had led them to find her.

     Except Ace didn’t think it was a prophecy, she thought it was a message, and she had a pretty good idea who it was from.

     ‘By the Gods Time and Pain, the Elders foresaw the Doctor’s return,’ Dagfinn told her. ‘A message written in the stars and on the stones, the wind in the trees and the patterns of the leaves. As though Mother Gallifrey herself had etched the tidings on every surface of the world. We found the message that led us to you, written on the wall of a sacred cave.’

     That sounded about right. Ace was used to some of the Doctor’s more unorthodox habits, leaving messages to himself and managing events either before or after they were due to take place. Stage-setting, he referred to it as, though Ace in her unkinder moments thought of it as cheating. A mysterious message scrawled on the wall of a cave sounded right up his street.

     ‘The Doctor is a rogue, an agent of chaos. His presence is the catalyst for great change and upheaval. Its why his own people despair of him.’

     Fine, Ace decided, have it your way. ‘I get that he helped you in the past but what’s so special about the Professor that you’d go to all this trouble?’

     ‘You are his companion, don’t you know?’ Dagfinn shrugged. ‘He walks outside of time. Never cruel and never cowardly. He is the man of a thousand stories, the hermit, the warrior, the timeless one.’

     ‘I never knew he had a fan club.’

     Dagfinn adjusted the saddle and cut her glare. ‘Outsiders recognise one another, child. We’re united in our disdain for the Lords and their glass halls.’

     'So you're outcasts?'

     ‘We were here before them,’ Dagfinn explained. ‘Though they don’t like to admit it. We’ll be here after their domes shatter, their towers crumble and all their rules and regulations are no more than dust on the wind.’

     It’d taken an hour or so for Dagfinn and the others to feed and water their horses, unloading their supplies from great leather flasks, tying up the various bridles and hackamores, securing weapons and baggage. Ace had no idea how long she’d spent wandering the wilderness but the suns had finally started to move, inching closer to the horizon where they looked to set behind the dome. There’d been a lot of talk of prophecy and legend but little on what their actual plan was, and Ace was working up to asking for a lift to the Capital. If it was where the Professor was being held then it was where she needed to be, and she was fully prepared to steal a horse and get there under her own steam if she had to.

     It was then that Jaspek introduced herself, somewhat timidly and offered for Ace to share her mount. Ace hadn’t ridden since the Cheetah Planet and was still a bit uncomfortable around horses, alien or otherwise, but a lift was a lift and it would be daft to look a gift horse in the proverbial.

     While Dagfinn was occupied rallying his people, she asked Jaspek where they were taking her, hoping it wasn’t for a vision quest or some similar nonsense in the magic cave.

     ‘Why, to the Capital of course.’

     ‘Oh brill. The way you all talk about the Time Lords I thought you’d take more convincing.’

     Dagfinn whooped as he launched himself up into his saddle and the rest of the Shobogans replied, a rallying cry that rolled around the dusty hills and made Ace want to clamp her hands over her ears at the noise of it. It was a joyful sound, vibrant and defiant, and the horses were whinnying and shifting, eager to be away again. With a swift kick to the flanks, Dagfinn was off, the head of the phalanx. Within seconds the rest of the tribe was away and galloping after him. Jaspek spurred her own horse and they were off too, hooves drumming on the dry ground, the herd moving as a single organism through the Drylands, kicking up a trail of dust the Time Lords could spot with their naked eyes. Despite the heat of the day Ace was glad of her bomber jacket as the cool wind whipped around them, clinging awkwardly to Jaspek’s waist.

     ‘You misunderstand,’ the Sobogan called over her shoulder in answer to Ace’s question, and she had to lean forward in the saddle to hear her. ‘Today is Otherstide, we were always going to the Capital.’

     ‘But why?’ Ace called back.

     ‘To remind the librarians that there’s more to existence that books and plots. To bring some chaos back into their careful order.’

     Which was how Ace came to discover she was about to help her new friends storm the Capital.

Chapter Text

The Doctor cleared his throat, as if testing the acoustics for gravitas. ‘So after kindly and unnecessarily assisting me without asking in banishing a parasitic dimensional anomaly back from whence it came, I was automatically summoned here by the High Council-’ at their mention the Doctor aimed a grimace at the stone buttressed ceiling ‘-in the knowledge that I was likely to be attacked or killed by factions unknown, while my young friend was abandoned in the Drylands and left to fend for herself. Have I adequately summarrrised the situation or should I go on?’

     The room felt smaller in the wake of his outburst, colder, gloomier. Even the insistent drip, drip, drip of water had begun to grate at the Inquisitor’s nerves. She could tell from the gleam in his eyes that it wasn’t his safety that concerned him, but she made a mental note to check on his young friend. Removing her from the Capital had been a calculated risk but it was probably worth checking up on her. First, she had to get the conversation back under control, if such a thing was even possible.

     ‘Please Doctor, I must insist you answer my questions if we’re to be of aid to you.’

     ‘This court is a sham!’

     ‘For the last time, it isn’t a court.’

     ‘No its worse, it’s an apprrraisal. If you’re about to ask where I see myself in five years’ time, I would suggest in the most strongest terms that you resist the temptation.’

     ‘If we can get back to recent events.’ She summoned a holoscreen from thin air and began scrolling. ‘Terra Alpha, Segonax. You have been busy.’

     ‘I’m glad you’ve no complaints with my level of productivity,’ he muttered.

     ‘What we’d really like to know,’ – and yes, she made sure to deliberately stress we – ‘is how you gained control of the Hand of Omega, and the Validium!’

     ‘So you’ve brought me here to scold me? You’ll excuse me if I don’t start fretting.’

     ‘That an individual should be able wield such power without jurisdiction,’ she shook her head. ‘It’s unthinkable, even if you are a former President. Rassilon’s Ghost! It’s no wonder your own people are afraid of you!’

     ‘Are they?’ he asked sadly. Gone was the fire and the bravado. ‘I don’t mean for them to be.’ He produced a pair of slim, rounded metal implements from inside his jacket. ‘Would it help if I played the spoons?’

     For a moment the Inquisitor was tempted to take his hand, he looked so forlorn. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be different?’ he asked. ‘To feel out of place, out of time. Always either out of step or falling behind. It’s difficult to be different. Its lonely. I once asked a dear friend if they knew what it was like to be wanderers in the fourth dimension. They didn’t of course, how could they? But to not even be understood by my own people… Is it any wonder I found friends elsewhere?’

     The Inquisitor tilted her head to what she hoped was a sympathetic angle. ‘And what about Susan, your granddaughter?’

     The Doctor’s face immediately darkened, his eyes like chips of ice. Gone was any trace of vulnerability. ‘She’s none of your concern.’

     ‘She left Gallifrey with you and now-’

     ‘She’s safely beyond your reach,’ he said. ‘Moving on.’

     ‘Well, this is getting us nowhere.’ The Inquisitor waved a hand and summoned a tray of refreshments. An untidy pile of fruit, a decanter of water so cold it was beaded with condensation and a plate of delicate looking finger sandwiches, it was all quite different from what the Doctor was used to. ‘Two trials, a forced regeneration, exile, and now a buffet? What an unusual day I’m having.’

     ‘We’re not enemies Doctor, we never have been. The High Council, appreciates, your efforts to maintain the web of time, even if they don’t always approve. That’s what we brought you here to discuss.’

     ‘I’ve long found approval overrated,’ he sniffed. ‘But I would like to know if Ace is alright.’

     The Inquisitor waved his question away as though it was an irrelevance. Fine, he thought to himself, but I’ll remember that, and added it to the list of intelligence the Inquisitor had already let slip.

The wind whipped at her hair, she had dust in her mouth and despite the chill she was sweating through her jacket but Ace felt more alive than she had in ages. They’d been approaching the Citadel for about half an hour and Ace still couldn’t tell how far away it was, the dome just kept getting larger the closer they got. The tip of the dome must be grazing the upper reaches of the atmosphere at least, and if – like the TARDIS – it was larger on the inside, then it was no wonder the rest of the planet was abandoned. The Shobogans had been travelling at speed and she was beginning to feel saddle sore and her thighs were aching from the effort of gripping on. Surely, they had to slow down soon.

     Something else was bothering her too, a niggling doubt she couldn’t quite reconcile. For all the Time Lord’s apparent peace and tact and diplomacy, their Citadel reminded Ace of a fortress. She’d heard the Professor’s stories of course, about the dark times and the eternal wars against the vampires and the like. Perhaps every civilisation was doomed to endure a period of bloodshed and empire, no matter how peaceful they became.

     Finally the horizon was coming into focus, she could see the line of demarcation where the dome met the ground. There was a city beyond the Capital she realised, as grand and sprawling as the towers within were sleek and massive, embedded in the bedrock of the planet. They were surely only a couple of kilometres away now, yet the Shobogans showed no sign of slowing down.

     ‘Anywhere you want to drop me is fine,’ she called to Jaspek over the thundering sound of hooves but the herd rode on without slowing. The glass wall of the dome loomed above them so high, Ace nearly fell off the back of the horse while craning her neck. It was so large it dwarfed the mountains that framed it, and Ace realised that the dome was still only a city within a city, the outlying buildings were protected by a defensive wall they were still riding full speed towards. ‘Alright D’Artagnan, what’s the plan?’ Ace shouted over the din of hooves. ‘Shouldn’t we be slowing down?’

     In response, Dagfinn slipped from his saddle, rested a knee on the horse’s back and took aim with his bow. A couple of well-placed arrows made swift work of what Ace could only assume was a forcefield generator. A shimmering section of empty space opened up just in time, and the herd poured through the gap. What had first seemed like a cave gave way to a darkened tunnel, so low and narrow Ace and Jaspek had to duck and the herd thinned to a single stream.

     ‘The Capital is largely undefended, ‘Jaspek said over her shoulder. ‘The Time Lords have no fear of attack from the ground, we’ll be upon them before they realise.’

     ‘I thought they knew the future?’ Ace called back, wondering if it was possible to surprise a race of immortal psychic god-like time kings.

     She urged her horse onward, riding in pitch blackness with only the sound of hoof on metal and the wind whipping past. ‘The future perhaps, but they wouldn’t know who was riding into their own cloisters unless the Matrix deemed it worthy of note.’

     ‘So we’re just going to bust in?’ asked Ace, remembering the time she and her mates tried to climb the fence at the Valley stadium in Charlton but got chased off by the security guards before they could even touch the pitch.

     ‘Haven’t you heard child? Today is Otherstide, and while our cousins in the Capital may no longer celebrate, we were on our way to remind them of their dues when we picked you up.’ Jaspek peered round at Ace and her face was a picture, grinning like it was Christmas morning.

     ‘We ride,’ she shouted. ‘And remind these Watchmakers what it means to be alive.’

‘Sir, I’ve located him,’ Durlok announced, removing the wire crown from his head with a smug little smile. He seemed to be enjoying the suspense, eventually Bilbeks had to slam a hand on his desk, making all his trophies and awards – both of them – clatter and dance, and not for the first time that afternoon. The moon’s newly unstable orbit was causing localised earthquakes. The Panopticon itself was shaking periodically and there was a general air of suppressed panic in the corridors and turrets of power.

     ‘Well? Must I wait till the Blue Shift is upon us to have your answer?’

     ‘Oh yes, sorry. He’s in the catacombs, a sealed section. Beyond top secret. What’s more interesting is that he was taken there by a transduction beam bearing Presidential access codes. This has her fingerprints all over it, sir.’

     ‘Nothing would surprise me. Ridiculous woman.’

     ‘I’ve arranged a priority teleport sir. When we find him we can ask what in the Seven Systems is going on?’

     ‘Oh we shall,’ Bilbeks crowed, gathering his emerald robes of office about him. ‘In fact, we can do a lot more than ask.’

Chapter Text

‘I think we’re done here,’ the Doctor announced. He’d been sitting up straighter in his chair and smirking for some time, as though aware of some private joke the Inquisitor couldn’t fathom. ‘Though I’m grateful for the High Council’s offer, I already have Ace and my TARDIS. What more can I possible need?’ Though the stone chamber was sealed, there wasn’t even a door, he rose as if preparing to leave, as though he was planning to walk through solid stone walls. Who knew, perhaps he could.

     ‘That would be a little extravagant even for me,’ the Doctor said. ‘Before I go, are you going to ask me the question you’ve been avoiding?’

     ‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’ Varnax, Catavolcus, the Timewyrm. Faction Paradox. The War…Help us Doctor, save us from what’s to come.

     ‘This charade, summoning me back home, reviewing my methods, threatening myself and my friend-

     ‘You’re here at our behest and you remain at our leisure,’ the Inquisitor explained.

     ‘I’m here because you need my help, only you’re too proud to ask for it. Pathetic.’

     ‘There are dark days ahead, great tests and terrible threats. Your people need you. If we are even your people…’

     Before he could protest, there was a popping sound and a flash of light, and a man in a skullcap and emerald green robes appeared in the corner of the room, beside him was a man all dressed in the black uniform of a minor subordinate. Presumably this was the source of the APC deep scan that’d been searching his location for the last hour, resulting in a slight headache and an urge to sneeze. The mental tickle of the Matrix’s attentions had been irritating but he had a vague notion that whatever Machiavellian plots were being enacted, this latest pair would be involved in some way. The Special Inquisitor looked horrified at the intrusion, and the Doctor reflected that it was a rare pleasure to be caught up in someone else’s plan for a change. He only wished he’d brought popcorn.

     ‘Who in the blue blazes are you and what are you doing here?’ the Inquisitor asked, more flustered than she let on. ‘This area is restricted. I’m here on the President’s orders and-’

     ‘Be quiet,’ spat Bilbeks, along a tiny froth of spittle.’ I’ve spent all day searching for this miscreant on the orders of the High Council. You’ve had him tucked away down here all along on the orders of a President who hasn’t even bothered to show her face. I’m taking jurisdiction of the prisoner and he will answer for his many crimes.’ He folded his arms with an air of self-satisfaction, undone only by the sheen of perspiration on his top lip.

     ‘Oh dear,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip. I never intended for this to be a social call and I really must be going.’

     The little man in green bristled, his assistant beside him was almost invisible against the shadows but the Doctor couldn’t help noticing him, the way he watched, eyes glinting, almost manic. ‘You’re coming with me to answer for your many crimes,’ said Bilbeks. ‘On the orders of the High Council, I, Adjudant Coordinator Bil- Durlok, what are you doing?’

     The man in black had shoved his superior aside and was staring at the Doctor with a wolfish grin. The Inquisitor had noticed too and withdrawn to a safe distance. She caught the Doctor’s eye, but he shook his head, slowly. No. Let the fox see the rabbit, he thought to her. Though it was all but imperceptible the room had begun to shake. A thin trickle of stone dust dislodged from the ceiling and scattered over the tray of uneaten sandwiches. It was nearly time, but the Doctor decided to keep the attention in the room focussed on the man in black.

     ‘So, am I to take it that I am under arrest?’

     Durlok ignored him, relishing his opportunity to command the room. ‘Long have I waited for this moment, Doctor. I Underhive Overseer Subcommander Durlok. Long have my brothers and I toiled in the shadows, planning for your return. And with your death, all on Gallifrey shall know of the power and the might of the Temporal Accessions Bureau!’

     There was an anticlimactic silence after his outburst, even the Inquisitor was frowning, as though it was a name she’d heard but forgotten. The Adjudant Coordinator at least had recovered his composure at least. He shook the dust from his robes. ‘Enough of this nonsense. Doctor, you’re to be presented to the High Council without further delay. Durlok, have you take leave of your sen- Argh!’

     The little man in black produced a chancellery staser from an inside pocket. The execution was quick, there was a diamond flash of light, a puff of smoke, and the Time Lord slumped to the floor in a tangle of green robes, quite dead.

     ‘That was unnecessary,’ said the Doctor.

     Durlok turned the staser on the Doctor, aimed at both his hearts. ‘On the contrary, after a millennium of his browbeating, that was merciful.’

     Despite spending as much time as possible away from his homeworld, it was obvious to the Doctor what was happening. The CIA having shrunk in both power and influence had left a vacuum that the President was attempting to fill by recruiting him to assist in Gallifrey’s more nefarious plots, meanwhile every other ambitious, amoral faction in Time Lord society had decided the time was ripe to fill the void. An example would have to be made, but the timing would need to be exactly right. Fortunately, he was well-equipped in such matters, he thought, brushing a sliver of dust from his lapel. But first, some baiting.

     ‘The CIA, for all their egregious interventions were at least effective,’ he announced. ‘You’re nothing but a man with a clipboard.’

     ‘And a gun.’

     ‘Of course,’ said the Doctor. ‘How tedious. If it weren’t for the weapon, I might have already forgotten you were there.’

     ‘I’m in charge of your fate now, Doctor.’

     ‘Enjoy it while it lasts,’ he growled, then more brightly said, ‘Madam Inquisitor, I’ afraid I’ve misled you somewhat. All those questions about my companion were something of a ruse. I know exactly how she is, and more importantly, where.’

     ‘What are you prattling about?’ Durlok spat.

     ‘How about a riddle, Durlok. Kings and Queens may cling to power and the Jester has his call. But as you may discover, the common one outranks them all…’

     The staser faltered. ‘What does it mean?’

     The rumbling and shaking had reached a crescendo it was now impossible to ignore. From somewhere above came the anxious wail of an alarm. The Doctor removed his pocket watch from inside his jacket. ‘You’re about to find out,’ he announced. ‘And thank goodness. Right on schedule. I do so detest exposition.’

For self-imposed exiles, the Shobogans certainly knew their way around. They’d ridden in furious darkness through a network of twisting tunnels, maintenance or ventilation corridors if Ace had to guess, until they spilled out into the daylight inside the dome, and a city unlike any that she’d ever seen. It was a city that looked more like sculpture than architecture, that seemed to defy not just logic but gravity as well. In the centre was the Panopticon, the largest structure in the goldfish bowl, buttressed and vaulted, twisting to an impossibly high point above, crowned by a network of spires that connected with the spherical surface of the dome and even extended beyond it, jutting towards the twin suns which lit everything the same brilliant burning shade of gold. Ace had seen cities before, more than she could count – twenty-first century London, twenty-eighth century New New York, even the Vertical Conurbations on the asteroid of Eternal Return – but this dwarfed them all. It was the grandest, the most bizarre, certainly the most self-important.

     ‘Woah,’ Ace breathed.

     They had come up from below, what was presumably a service tunnel beneath the Capital, and into a courtyard that was possibly also a library, open air shelves of dusty books and scrolls arranged in concentric rings around a fountain. Between the towers the rest of the surface of the dome was levelled, a maze of walkways and platforms, floating ornamental gardens, statues. What had she been expected, Ace wondered, a high street with a McDonalds and a Woolworths? The Time Lords probably ate pills for dinner and had no need of bus stops or newsagents or anything so mundane.

     Speaking of Time Lords, several librarians had already spotted the Shobogans and were running to and fro with obvious alarm, their ornate collars bobbing and flapping with the effort. Ace wondered how long they had till the alarms sounded. The herd were whooping and cheering again, the horses scattering in every direction, leaping the canyon-like drops between courtyards and thundering down walkways. Ace clung on to Jaspek more tightly, her embarrassment forgotten, as their horse turned in a tight circle, snorting and tossing its head and threatening to rear.

     Dagfinn had taken a small tubular device from his pocket and held it aloft, and fireworks were now streaking noisily up into the dome, bursting with a bright flash and showering the city in sparks. Many others were now doing the same. It was like a riotous carnival, it reminded Ace of her yearly pilgrimage to Notting Hill, all that was missing was a steel band and decent sound system.

     ‘Come on,’ she said to Jaspek, lets ride about and see if we can find the Professor.’

     In reality she had no idea how to track the Doctor down, and was hoping that if they made enough noise that perhaps he’d come and find them.

     ‘Of course,’ the Shobogan replied. ‘This is all in his honour after all.’

     ‘What?’

     ‘Your friend is the Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God, the Destroyer of Worlds. All this is by his design.’

     Fine, thought Ace. Next stop ground floor, perfumery, stationery and leather goods. Going Down.

The roof of the dungeon was shaking violently now and shedding dust at a worrying rate. With the distraction of the alarm, the Inquisitor made a lunge for Durlok’s weapon but the smaller man was too quick and shrugged her off. ‘I’m not here for you.’

     ‘No it’s me you want and you have me,’ said the Doctor. ‘Get on with it.’

     ‘Oh I intend to kill you, but first I have a question that needs answering. The oldest and most important. Who are you, Doctor?’

     ‘Not this again.’

     Durlok pressed the staser to the Inquisitor’s head. ‘Tell me or she dies. I want to be the man who exposes you for what you are. A cuckoo. An alien spy. A disruptive dissident.’

     ‘Or all of the above? Very well, it seems I have no choice.’

     ‘Indeed you don’t,’ he replied. ‘With this information I will set myself up above President and her council of cronies. I will be the man who saves Gallifrey from your scourge.’

     The Doctor took a step forward. For such a solemn occasion he wished he had his hat with him to remove but he was still pleased to see Durlok flinch. Up close the man was nondescript, another Time Lord bureaucrat with delusions of grandeur and a homicidal streak. The man all in black placed his hand against the Doctor’s temple. His fingers were sticky with sweat.

     ‘Contact,’ they said.

Chapter Text

They’re standing on a vast plain a thousand leagues across, orange with dust and littered with bones picked clean by time and carrion, the weapons of a thousand wars lie around them, smashed spaceships, bows and arrows, the ruined gold casing of a Dalek. From the sand, the handled head of a Cyberman emerged, as red with rust as the ground it was slowly sinking beneath. In the distance he could see the mountain from his memory, and above the same birds wheeled across an ugly grey sky, filled with smoke and dust and other regrets.

     The Doctor patted his pockets down to see if they contained anything useful, though it was as much a test of his environment as anything else. He could be inside the Matrix or some other sort of virtual environment, or someone else’s mind entirely. Full pockets would suggest he was still within his own consciousness, or that he at least had control of his own memories. Finally, after much searching, he located his pocket watch and smiled.

     There were other mountains on the horizon, and the shattered ruins of a familiar dome, so it was more likely to be a Matrix projection. One of the Inquisitor’s blighted futures perhaps, though why she thought he could help her was anyone’s guess.

     At the toe of his spats, a familiar gunstick was half buried in the sand. ‘Alas poor Dalek, I knew him well,’ said the Doctor.

     They’d caught the attention of the birds overhead, probably starved of both nourishment and entertainment, the poor dread creatures. Lightening crackled in the sky causing the birds to wheel even lower. They were calling, screeching at the newcomers, a noise that sounded like a name, but try as he might the Doctor couldn’t understand it.

     ‘Well, this is all very metaphorical, I must say. Would it have killed you to tidy up?’ he shouted at the sky.

     Durlok was crumpled in a heap, panting into the dirt. There was no sign of his weapon on whatever plane of existence they found themselves. It hadn’t been quite what he was expecting, the Doctor mused, the ambience was a little more austere than he was expecting. But what had he been expecting, a mental tour around the ancestral manse? ‘Where are we? What is this place?’ echoed Durlok but the Doctor ignored him because he’d realised where they were and why. It was a battlefield of course, a metaphorical battlefield but a battlefield nonetheless.

     ‘Home, sweet home.’

     The birds wheeled lower, talons out and screaming. If something was to be done to remedy the situation, this was usually the time to do it. Durlok was still kneeling in the dust before him. ‘Remember, you chose this,’ the Doctor said, and pressed a finger to his forehead.

     ‘How far, Doctor? How long have you lived?’

     It was like looking at a very large painting, thought Durlok, as thoughts that weren’t his own trampled unbidden across his mind, a painting that moved and told a story. A tapestry perhaps, large enough to tell a story that contained aeons and galaxies within the weft of its threads. The story was an idea and the idea was The Doctor.

     Never cruel or cowardly. Never give up. Never give in.

     The idea hurt. It burned. It was like looking at the sun. He wanted to screw up his eyes and turn away but he couldn’t because they were already closed.

     The Doctor’s the thing monsters have nightmares about.

     It was vast and magnificent, a monument a mile high, presiding over a plain littered with the dead and weeping, weeping for the senseless loss of it all. But it was also laughter, the simple joy of experiencing the beauty in the universe, of laughing in the face of one’s enemies and offering them a jelly baby. It was courage, and conviction, a rage barely contained within the small form of the man who looked at injustice and wanted to watch it burn.

     I shall tell them of Gallifrey, tell them of the old time, the time of chaos.

     There was more of course, much more, hidden in the shadows like a guilty secret, but Durlok was distracted by the sound of someone screaming in pain. It took him a moment to realise it was him. When he opened his eyes, the screaming had stopped. The birds had gone, replaced by giant faces that crowded the horizon, as tall and as wide as mountains. Some he recognised, some he didn’t, but it didn’t matter. They were all laughing and frowning, some were eager, some were solemn but they were all the same. There were other faces in high-collared robes, judging and tutting – it was the Matrix after all – but they were somehow the Doctor as well. On and on he went like a train of thought, more paradigm than person. The unarmed man, the Lonely God, the Oncoming Storm, they were all the same idea, an idea he’d made very cross indeed.

     And there in front of him was the little man with the sad grey eyes, the one who called himself-

     I am information, I’m noise. I’m the background hum of radiation from the creation of the universe, said the Doctor, his lips unmoving. I’m the Father of Time, the Ka Faraq Gatri, the Alpha and the Omega. From somewhere he’d produced a Panama hat and the most outlandish example of an umbrella.

     ‘Does that answer your question, Durlok? Now, stand up straight when you’re in the presence of the Doctor.’

There was a flash of light too bright to register and Durlok curled himself into a whimpering ball on the dank stone floor of the interrogation chamber. The Doctor hadn’t moved, though he was now wearing a dusty cream hat and carrying an umbrella. The Inquisitor hadn’t seen where they’d appeared from and was disinclined to ask. Durlok continued to moan, shuffling across the floor backwards, edging his way into the corner of the room, sniveling.

     ‘Keep away. Keep him away from me!’ he moaned, slurring his words. The Inquisitor noticed he was drooling slightly.

     ‘What did you do to him?’ she asked.

     The Doctor planted him umbrella on the stone. Perhaps it was shame he was experiencing, in reducing Durlok to a gibbering wreck, a state he was unlikely to recover from at least a handful of centuries. But no, as ever shame was an illusive absence, an indulgence he lacked both the time and the patience for. Would it always come back to this, he thought crossly, endlessly pointless questions of pedigree. He caught the Inquisitor’s eye and held it until he was sure she understood.

     ‘Nothing he didn’t ask of me. I believe the phrase Be Careful What You Wish For would be a sound adage. Poor brute.’

     The Inquisitor was still struggling to adjust to the new reality. But we can’t just leave him here?’

     ‘Why not? I think you’ll find he’ll be no more trouble now his ambitions have been adequately curtailed. And anyway,’ he announced. ‘We’ve an insurrection to appease.’

By evening Ace was saddle-sore, exhausted and hopelessly lost. The Shobogans had washed through the Capital like a tidal wave, flushing stuffy old Time Lords out of every nook and cranny they’d spent the previous centuries toiling in. They’d even reached as high as the old Council Chambers apparently and Ace had been treated to the incongruous sight of men and woman on horseback and wrapped in animal skins, ascending to the heavens in sleek glass turbolifts and antigrav platforms, but for all their posturing, they’d done little other than let off a few fireworks and ring a few dusty old bells. When it became obvious that the revolution wasn’t about to happen today she’d found herself an empty balcony to admire the spectacle. Chaos meets order, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. It was right up Ace’s street, even if it was a bit tame for her liking. Space hippies do Glastonbury, she decided, only without any decent bands.

     It was beautiful inside the dome but in a cultivated sort of way, austere without affectation but undeniably stylish.  What a place to grow up? She got the impression that today was probably the most exciting thing to happen in several centuries. It was no wonder the Professor stole a TARDIS and ran away. She was sort of hoping that he might bump into some old friends when they finally found each other – she wasn’t worried, he’d be around here somewhere – just someone who’d known the Doctor before he became the big mythical hero. Of course, that was assuming the Time Lords didn’t slap her on the wrist and send her back to Earth for breaking in and busting the place up a bit. Still, she was nothing if not an optimist.

     As if on cue she felt a hand on her shoulder that meant home, safety, family. ‘Whatcha Professor,’ she said, without turning round.

     ‘You’ve been making new friends I see.’

     ‘I only asked for a lift, think I might have started a revolution.’

     ‘I should have known you’d have something to do with this racket.’

     She turned to face him. ‘You know what they say, a pessimist’s never disappointed. Though I think I’ll stick to the TARDIS in future, way more comfortable.’

     He laughed and it made her smile. She got that he had secrets, everyone did, but there were times when it frightened her how little she really knew. As always, he managed to read her mind.

     ‘That’s quite enough excitement for one day. Come along, its high time I had a reckoning with an old friend.’

After the day’s events, it was enough of a rare pleasure to stroll through the Capital, arm in arm with Ace, pointing out the various statues to minor dignitaries and giants of legend. For all their flaws the Time Lords kept a close grasp on their history. But of course, we made enough sacrifices to secure it, he thought, and then wondered where that voice memory had come from. It was beautiful, he realised, the way the sky was lit in the soft amber glow of Second Evening. Above the din he could hear the old Arcalian Chapterhouse clocktower chiming fourteen. Perhaps he should visit more often? But so many unhappy memories. He shivered, eager to turn his attention away from the past.

     With Durlok pacified, he’d followed the Inquisitor through a maze of identical stone corridors. ‘The catacombs?’ the Doctor protested, finally getting his bearings. ‘You may as well have invited me for an informal catch up in the larder!’ She was a much less imposing figure once she was shuffling along, heavy robes trailing on the ground, though she’d taken swift control of the situation when they finally reached the surface and a scene of chaos. Riders on horseback were sweeping across the lower levels, thundering along gantries and walkways, charging through the plazas, squares and chapels. She’d begun barking instructions into the concealed communications device in the collar of her robes. ‘Omega’s goat, it’s pandemonium. Seal the council chambers if you have to. Inform the President-’

     ‘Inform the President,’ the Doctor said loud enough for whoever was listening to hear over the din. ‘Tell her that a very old friend has been very poorly treated.’

     The Inquisitor frowned at him. ‘I meant what I said. You have a natural flair for conflict resolution. There are... dark rumours of the centuries to come.’

     ‘I’m nobodies lackey.’

     ‘There is still the question of your own history. Such a mystery and such a muddle. We had to know if we could trust you. And then there’s still the unanswered question. Who are you?’

     Fortunately they’d been interrupted by a number of whooping Shobogans. For all their noise and bluster, they were harmless enough. The Doctor remembered celebrations past when the Shobogans had entered the city as honoured guests to celebrate Omegeddon, the Moon of Flowers, and Rassilon’s Remembrance. Perhaps it was a tradition they were attempting to revive in their own inimitable style. It’d taken some time and the President’s judicious oversight – once she’d deigned to intervene – to get the situation satisfactorily resolved. A quartet of Chancellory guards were dispatched to round up the remaining Shobogans and persuade them to return to the Drylands. It’d never been a real coup, merely a display of force, a reminder that there were other powers at play on the old home world, and mysteries that were still worth protecting. He’d asked Dagfinn to pass on his regards to the Elders, no doubt he was overdue a visit.

     A Panopticon turbolift took him and Ace to the offices and residences that perched on the surface of the dome, where the real power resided, above the juvenile hectoring of the Council Chambers and all the other petty rivalries and intrigues that accumulated at the heart of government like limescale in a kettle. The President presided over all, even when she wasn’t seen to be doing anything, there’d been strings pulled behind the scenes all day. He was that proud, it was enough to bring a tear to the eye,

     The lift doors opened and there were no guards, just a blond woman, beaming at him.

     ‘Well,’ said Romana. ‘You took your time in getting here.’

When they were safely back onboard the TARDIS, they allowed themselves a sight of relief neither Ace nor her friend realised they’d been holding in. It’d been a funny end to the day, anticlimactic but satisfying. The President of the Time Kings had turned out to be an old friend of the Professor’s, someone he used to muck about with way before Ace. Probably even before she was born, however many hundreds of years ago it’d been. It’d been weird watching them, all the shared jokes and stories Ace had no place in. She’d sat all stiff and formal in the corner of the Presidential office, a sphere of marble and glass at the very top of the Capital, while Romana served them tea in bone china cups Ace was afraid she was going to break. The older blonde woman seemed nice enough. She was a bit jolly hockey sticks for Ace and she was very interested in what they’d been up to. Ace tried not to give too much of the big stuff away but couldn’t resist throwing in the occasional brag.

     ‘Really?’ Romana had said. ‘With a baseball bat you say?’

     Ace’d just shrugged like it was nothing, and tried to ignore the Doctor’s frown. It sounded like he’d had a bit of a rough trip. She got that, even felt a tiny bit glad after what he’d put her through with Gabriel Chase and then Fenric. Score definitely settled, she decided. And just like always, she’d pestered him for answers, asking questions he was reluctant to answer. Always that teenage desire to be treated like a grown up weighing on her mind. It’s not that she didn’t get it, hell her own relationship with her family was screwed up enough. But the Doctor had shown her that hatred was just another kind of love and if she could so the same for him then maybe that’d mean something.

     The Doctor and Romana were chattering away. She got the impression that what was not being said was more telling. ‘And did you have to go and blow-up Skaro?’ asked Romana. ‘You’ve put the Daleks in quite a tizzy.’

     ‘They started it!’ he protested before moving the conversation swiftly on. Ace got the impression, the less he had to answer about Nemesis or the Hand of Omega the happier he’d be. But then it was all farewells and transmats and they were back on the TARDIS as though they’d never left. The Doctor was happily pottering at the console in silence, back in charge of his ship, piloting it onwards to whatever danger awaited them, while Ace loitered, with questions that were equally as tricky to ask.

     ‘What was it you were going to say to me?’ she settled on. ‘Right before we got jacked by the time scoop whammy in the TARDIS. You said, “It’s vitally important we don’t...?”

     ‘Ah yes,’ he smiled sheepishly. ‘I was trying to suggest that we didn’t get separated. I didn’t want to lose you again. Nor would I ever.’ He turned to the console suddenly, awkwardly tinkering with the flightpath indicator.

     ‘Oh come on Professor.’

     ‘No but they do, they always leave in the end. All my friends.’ He abandoned the console and Ace saw the look he sometimes shared, as though all the hundred of years he’d lived were weighing on him in a way she could never comprehend. ‘ I just don’t know if... I  don’t think I’m ready to...’

     And Ace knew what he was trying to say without him having to say it. Her best friend in the whole entire universe, the funny little time traveller in his police box. When would he realise that this was forever, that he was never going to lose her? She could tell him of course, she’d told him time and time again, but perhaps it was one of those things that just had to be seen to be believed, like a city inside a dome in the desert, riding horseback beneath an alien sky, or taking tea with the most powerful woman in the universe.

     An explanation would be too easy, so she settled for bopping him on the nose instead. ‘Not a chance.’