'You know,' Fitz called after her into the weakly lit corridor, 'there are easier ways to faredodge.'

But she had already turned the first corner. Fitz listened for a while to the buzz of the Transtube rail behind him before hurrying after Tarra.

Chapter Eleven.

House call

The Doctor was faintly ashamed of himself. He couldn't remember when he'd last had so much fun playing with scientific equipment.

The laboratory he'd been assigned on the ninetysixth floor of the Penansulix Scientific Structure was filled with the most advanced new Gallifreyan technology. He was like a greedy boy let loose in a sweet factory. He caught himself getting excited at the sight of a pergestion funnel or a linked pair of elestoman matrices or a really flashy testtube holder, and remembering with a jolt that he should be worrying about Fitz. Or the threat to Compassion. Or the changes he'd observed in the Capitol since his last visit. Was this just avoidance, a refusal to admit he knew what was important, what needed to be done, what his priorities should be? Or was it an admission that he was confused, uncertain, unable to decide?

Or had Faction Paradox assumed control?

But then he'd go and examine another area of the huge room, and discover a lamaseric uncertainty conduit, and suddenly he was nosedeep in the truffle box again.

Thus he had continued for nearly twentyfour hours. The only things that were missing to make it the most perfect of laboratories were a kettle and a mug. A quick rummage in his pockets produced two Earl Grey tea bags, but he could find no simple way to boil water for them.

He'd felt parched since arriving at the Penansulix late on the previous evening. He had been delivered by Vice Presidential transport, much amused at the start of the trip by Vozarti's look of disgust as his driver had launched the flying car and left the Castellan to make his own way on foot.

The journey here had been swift, but the opentop vehicle had allowed the Doctor to take in some of the scenery as they zoomed at high speed through the vast hexagonal Panopticon. As they'd swooped down below cloud level, he had been dismayed to see the variety of hawkers, commercial displays, and ad hoc displays of unsafe technology that dotted the floor space all around the huge enclosed area.

Worst of all, he had noted, were the torn and wretched figures trying to scavenge a living by begging and stealing from wherever they could. He'd tried to protest, get the driver to set the vehicle down, when he'd seen Chancellery Guards shoot down a petty thief who was fleeing from a food stall. The vagabond had been attempting a zigzag escape through a thronging crowd of richly dressed Time Lords, but at a shouted command from the pursuing guards they had all dropped down low to expose the wretched man. Seconds later, the thief had been shot dead, and the crowds resumed their leisurely meanderings.

Before the Doctor had had time to press his angry protest further, the driver had banked them into an arc through the mistladen air and zoomed between the legs of the massive statue of Omega, which guarded the southern exit. The car had shot out of the Panopticon, scattering a handful of smaller vehicles plying their trade by the exit, and powered out into the heavy sulphurous fug of industrial Gallifrey. And now here he was, taking guilty pleasure in his privileged stateoftheart equipment, having briefly witnessed the other end of the scale.

Stay alert, Doctor, he tried to tell himself as his fingers caressed a Dyson container in its stand. Stay worried. (Oh, look, the dissected remnants of an amaranth such a pity that technology had been proved so catastrophically unstable.) Stay angry!

Perhaps it was fortunate, therefore, that his first visitor turned up just as he was decoupling the elestoman matrices.

'I see you've unpacked,' she called from the doorway. 'Don't forget to keep the original boxes, in case you want to return anything.'

'You took your time,' he replied, and didn't look up.

He could hear the swish of her beaded dress as she sashayed across the laboratory floor. It took her a full minute to reach him, and he didn't look up until she had stood next to him for a further thirty seconds.

'Let's be civil,' she said.

'An appealing option,' said the Doctor, finally allowing himself to meet her eyes.

'Particularly since I've already encountered your military, Madam President.'

'So formal, Doctor?' Romana's green eyes flashed in amusement. 'It's like our very first meeting. Though, on reflection, I seem to remember there was rather less respect on that occasion.'

'You've changed since then, Madam President.'

She flicked selfconsciously at her fringe of black hair. 'I've regenerated. And you can talk, Doctor.'

'A nice distinction,' he retorted. 'Though you're not as nice as I remember.'

Romana pouted prettily, and tossed her head. Ropes of pearls rattled at her neck like lustrous snakes. 'Well, be nice to me, Doctor, I've had a beastly day, what with your unexpected arrival and all this tiresome preparation for my Reaffirmation Ceremony. And I'd say we've both changed, wouldn't you?'

"The Romana I knew would not have tolerated this Gallifrey. Even less would she have governed and sanctioned it.'

She fingered one drop earring. 'You make it sound as if I died.'

The Doctor rounded on her, jabbing his hand at her for emphasis. 'I saw a man die today on the floor of the Panopticon, Madam President. In the very place where your tiresome Reaffirmation Ceremony will take place. That poor man died for the high crime of stealing a halfloaf of bread. Cut down by the ceremonial guard at the heart of your administration, and not a single person of the hundreds nearby lifted so much as an exquisitely gloved finger to help him.' He heaved an exasperated sigh. 'So, in short, whatever I remember of Romana does seem to have died.'

She arched her pencil brow, and walked a little distance away, still fiddling with her earring.

The Doctor remained where he was, feeling somewhat foolish to be brandishing an elastomanic coil in midair. He let his arm drop to his side. 'Your Reaffirmation Ceremony, eh? Well, forgive me if I don't congratulate you on your sesquicentenary, Madam President.

Though a century and a half in power would explain the change in you.'

Romana swivelled on one of her pointed heels to face him again. 'Really, Doctor. Whatever happened to trust? You must remember me well enough to know I'm rarely impressed by melodramatics. So let me be candid with you.You say you detect a change in me. Well, the change in you is all the more plain and alarming You have allied yourself with Faction Paradox, with the traditional bogeyman of your own people. No, no ...' She waved away his muttered protest. 'You are withholding information about the whereabouts of the Type 102 -'

'Compassion. She has a name -'

' the whereabouts of your equipment,' persisted Romana firmly, 'the Type 102 TARDIS the whereabouts of your equipment,' persisted Romana firmly, 'the Type 102 TARDIS that your own people, Doctor, your own people, need to survive the forthcoming War.'

'You know my views about changing the future course of history: you must at least remember that from the years we travelled together.'

'And I should look back on our travels together with nostalgicaffection?' she asked tartly.

'Affection didn't stop you from attempting to assassinate me when we cornered you in the Kasterborous ice rings yesterday. As for the Chancellor of Time Present, she was not so lucky.'

"That was Comp-' The Doctor bit back his excuse. "That was unfortunate.'

'Little comfort to the crews of the destroyed war TARDISes.'

'War TARDISes!' spat the Doctor. 'It took the Time Lords fifty generations before our travel devices were accepted as tools of exploration and investigation. And it took another twenty before we reach consensus that they could be used for participating, for interfering ... But in what insane universe did TARDISes become weapons of war? And you are, as I understand it, the "War Queen"?'

Romana gave the Doctor a look as cold as the ice rings. 'You can't even control your own TARDIS, can you? As ever. But I'm sure you will lead us to it. You know you must. We must possess the Type 102.' Her voice softened. 'I do hope that you're not going to tell me that you really have given yourself to the Faction. That would be too, too depressing.'

'The change to my biodata has only just been triggered,' muttered the Doctor, and immediately wanted to kick himself. The President knew how to winkle information out of him he was letting his guard down.

'Good, I knew it would be reversible,' said Romana. 'No matter what loyal dullards like Timon are advising me.'

The Doctor could see from her sly smile that this had got the reaction she wanted out of him.

He tried to compose himself by rigging up some equipment as an improvised water boiler.

Tea would be very calming at this point, he decided.

Romana raised her arms slightly, and with an easy movement of both wrists she flicked back the cuffs on her sleeves. Her long, glittering fingernails etched confident gestures in the air as she operated a nearby display.

Almost despite himself, the Doctor left his impromptu water boiler and walked across to read the details on Romana's display screen. 'Great jumping gobstoppers!'

'Very demotic, Doctor.' Romana's smile had faded. 'But I agree with your sentiment. That's a Code Chi Delta Epsilon class event you see happening, Doctor.'

'A Code Chi Delta ... are you just making this up?'

'It's a code phrase,' she snapped.

'No, I mean these results ... they have to be faked.'

Romana perched on a bench and watched the Doctor check through the display. 'No. There are massive anomalies occurring in the timelines. Terrible temporal pulses washing over Gallifrey, causing no end of frightful effects. Civil disorder, superstition ... And they are worsening exponentially as the Edifice grows larger. We're still only ten per cent along the time asymptote, and look at the effect already.'

After several minutes of further examination, the Doctor slumped down on the bench beside her, his face in his hands. 'I don't know what worries me more,' he said at last. 'the fact that this catastrophic exponential distortion is happening so rapidly, or the fact that you thought it so likely to happen that you already have a code phrase for it.'

He peered at her through his fingers. He knew what he had to do.

'Tell me about this Edifice.'

'You've seen the data. It's as if causality can't make up its mind what has happened and what didn't happen.'

'How can you possibly have decided that? Unless your temporal scanners have improved beyond recognition since I was last on Gallifrey.'

Romana gave an apologetic little cough, and dangled her shoes on the tips of her outstretched toes. She was studying the tattoo on her bare ankle as though it were the most fascinating thing in the whole room. 'Think of that scanner as untested technology.'

'Untested ...?' mused the Doctor. Suddenly he made the connection. 'Untested! This is from your own future!' he fumed. "That's terribly dangerous. It's madly perilous. Think of the potential ...'

He trailed off, embarrassed.

'Think of the potential paradoxes?' Romana was clearly amused. 'Well, you're the expert, Doctor. Oh, I'm sorry ...' She pretended to correct herself. 'I should say, you're becoming the expert.'

He scowled at her.

'Frowning spoils your boyish good looks,' she chided as she eased herself back into her stilettos. She flicked at one of her drop earrings with a glittering fingernail. 'Doctor, I'm prepared to put you in. the charge of an elite Gallifreyan research team.'

'That's very civil of you.'

'I'm afraid it would be a military research team.' She waved away his gasp of protest. 'You needn't look so miserable: you've worked with the military in the past.'

'It points towards a miserable future for Gallifrey.' He stared over at the temporal scanner again, and heaved another sigh. 'Very well.'

'There's no need to be so precious, Doctor.' Romana had already crossed the floor in a swift series of clicking steps. She flicked open the door, and called through it, 'You may enter now, Mali.'

A tall woman stepped into the laboratory, hefting a heavy metal box full of equipment. She was a good head taller than Romana. Her eyes were set wide apart on her squarish face, which was framed by closely cropped auburn hair. She stopped beside Romana, not quite standing to attention, like someone who was trying to unlearn the rules of the parade ground.

'Madam President,' Mali said. Her voice was husky, slightly sibilant. She was studying the Doctor, refusing to blink her darkblue eyes as though she might miss his reaction.

The Doctor realised his jaw was open in annoyed surprise, and decided he might as well speak to Romana. 'Don't tell me. You thought it would save time if you assumed my acceptance?'

'I trust your instinct.'

The Doctor was not convinced. 'You trust me so much that you need to carry a transmitter on you.' He wasn't impressed with her look of feigned hurt. 'In your earring. Don't pretend.'

'Well, don't be uppity with me, Doctor. I told you, I've had a beastly day.'

And she was gone, leaving Mali to stare at the Doctor.

'You'd better come in,' he said quietly.

Mali continued to stare at him, unblinking. She didn't seem to be struggling to hold the heavy box perfectly still. She must be a trained combat soldier with muscles like an Ogron.

He rolled his eyes at her and tutted. 'Should I salute?'

'I think she might quite like that,' said Uncle Kristeva.

The Doctor almost leapt out of his frock coat.

Kristeva was standing behind him, looking like a medieval death figure who had temporarily misplaced his scythe. The dead eyes were pointed towards the doorway. The Doctor followed their gaze, and saw that Mali was still frozen there. No wonder she wasn't struggling with that huge box.

The dry sound of Kristeva's laugh filtered across the laboratory.

'You're a laugh a minute,' said the Doctor. 'What are you doing here?'

Kristeva raised a skeletal finger to the sockets of his bone mask. 'Watching.' The jawline moved sideways into a leer. 'And I wanted to congratulate you on your progress, Cousin Doctor. Know we are near.'

The Doctor grimaced. "That's very comforting.'

'What is?' said Mali from the doorway.

The Doctor whirled back to see her moving across the room towards him. He twisted around to look for Kristeva again, but the skeletal Faction agent had vanished as unexpectedly as he had arrived.

An emphatic thump from behind him made him swivel back again. Mali had struggled to set the heavy box of equipment down on the nearest bench with the help of two newly arrived Chancellery Guards.

Water started to bubble in the boiler next to the Doctor. He smiled sheepishly at her, embarrassed at the manic spectacle he was creating.

'Call me hopelessly optimistic,' he said, brandishing a pair of tea bags, 'but have you brought a couple of mugs with you?'

Standing beside Mali, the two Chancellery Guards scowled back at him.

The hissing and gurgling noises from the dark corner of the warship set what was left of Kristeva's teeth on edge. The voice, when it came, crackled like static interference, echoed off the bone walls and off again into the darkness.

'He is ready?'

'He is progressing.' The opaque jellies that were his eyes could barely make out the ancient woman who clung to the far wall. 'He will be ready soon, Mother.'