He was in no rush to leave. He couldn't be interrupted in here, and Marnal was still in his garage or in a police cell. Either way, he wasn't going to harm anyone.

The Doctor headed back to the control room. He was feeling dulled. Every so often he would pause, kidding himself that he was checking the nearest room. The air was dry, with a faint acidic feel to it. The whole TARDIS smelled of ash.

The third time he stopped the Doctor realised that he'd lost his bearings.

The TARDIS was big, and every distinguishing feature had been seared away by the atomic blast. There had been a large pirate's chest marking one particular fork in the corridor. There had been things like mirrors and sculptures dotted around. Odd machines some very odd indeed had nested in alcoves that were now totally bare. The Doctor hadn't realised just how much he'd used these little landmarks to navigate around his own ship. Without them, every corridor looked exactly the same.

140.

Except the one he found himself in now. This corridor led to nowhere but a blank wall. The Doctor quickened his pace. He'd wanted to come back here.

No evidence of Fitz's cigarette stubs remained.

The wall had been blasted and was cracked, some hairlines, some half an inch thick. The only part of the ship's structure that he knew of, at any rate that had been damaged in the explosion. Standing here he couldn't see what was on the other side, but if he got closer, and peered in, he might be able to get a look.

Some instinct warned him not to.

He'd cheerfully walk under ladders or break a mirror. He wouldn't throw a pinch of salt over his shoulder if he spilt any, he firmly believed a rabbit's foot should stay attached to its rabbit whenever possible, he'd never pa.s.sed on a chain letter. This made him suspect that, whatever he was feeling, it wasn't superst.i.tion. He didn't need to stick his hand in a fire to realise it would be a bad idea. The world would have been a better place if Pandora hadn't opened that jar, as he distinctly remembered saying the time he met her.

Now that he knew he was at the back wall, it was easy enough to find his way to the control room.

What was done was done, though, wasn't it? Gallifrey was gone.

He'd seen what had happened. At the crucial moment he'd had limited choices, and he'd spelled them out. Those choices hadn't changed. Run or submit? Choosing either would have been worse. Better that no one had the power of the Time Lords than it fell into the hands of those who would use it to destroy, or those who couldn't fully control or understand the forces they'd unleash. It wasn't a question of coming up with the brilliant, lateral solution with hindsight. He'd come up with the 'neither of the above' option straight away.

There was always another way, wasn't there?

That one time, no, there hadn't been.

It wasn't a very satisfying answer, but there didn't seem much purpose in picking away at it. What was done was done. If there was a better way, even with hindsight and time to mull over the problem, he still couldn't think of one.

The Doctor was back in the control room. He stepped up to the console.

The room had a damp smell, but a fresh one. He was in no mood to leave the TARDIS and go back to the garage. Marnal had got into the TARDIS before, and the Doctor wasn't sure he couldn't repeat the trick.

The power levels were nominal. The Doctor dialled in the dematerialisation codes. The central column started rising and falling, sluggishly, and the time engines engaged. The TARDIS slipped into the time vortex, heading away from Earth but not towards a specific destination at the moment. He needed 141 somewhere to get a bit of peace, not to mention some help in finding answers.

It needed to be somewhere quiet for the TARDIS to recuperate.

'Klist,' the Doctor said out loud.

It was in the North Constellations, between Anquar and the Santine Rift. It was a planetary string, home to an immeasurably ancient civilisation. The Ruling Mind wasn't expecting visitors, but the Doctor was sure the Mind wouldn't. . . mind. He programmed the coordinates. The TARDIS was moving, but very slowly. It would take far longer than normal to get anywhere.

Everything was working everything that usually worked, anyway but at reduced power. Checking the instruments, it was clear that there was still some power getting to the repair circuits.

'You'll have good care once we get to Klist,' the Doctor told the TARDIS.

He was going to have some time to think.

'Perhaps I'll write that novel,' the Doctor joked to himself.

Then the thought struck him that this would actually be a very good idea.

He patted his pockets, but didn't have anything to write with. It didn't take him long to locate a fountain pen in one of the nearby rooms. A blank notebook took a little longer. He sat himself down at a desk in one of the surviving libraries.

'Right,' said the Doctor.

'Instead of banging my head against a brick wall, trying to remember what happened, I'm going to tell a story It's semi-autobiographical, about a man called the Doctor who is faced with an impossible situation. He's facing his future self, and he's just pulled the lever that destroys his home planet, and he thinks he's going to die, and instead he hears footsteps and then. . . Well, I'm going to imagine what would have happened next.'

He put pen to paper.

A full minute later, the pen hadn't moved across the paper.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

The lamp on the top of the police box started flashing and the strangest grinding, roaring noise filled the air.

'No!' Marnal shouted, running towards the police box. By the time he'd reached the corner of the garage he was the only thing there.

He looked around, suddenly terrified. 'Can you feel that?' he asked.

'No,' Rachel admitted.

Marnal was making adjustments to his ray gun.

'What are you doing? You're not planning on shooting anyone?'

He considered the question. 'I need to be prepared. There's only one way out of here now.'

'There are dozens of police, a lot of them have guns.'

142.

'Yes, but this is a maser.'

'Maser. What's that? Is it like a phaser?'

'I've never heard of phasers.'

'They're off Star Trek Star Trek.'

'Oh. I wrote an episode of that once, but they changed it so much I took my name off it.' He finished what he was doing. 'This is an advanced weapon. It uses microwaves to work on the nervous system.'

'Yeah, I saw you use it on the Doctor.'

Marnal shrugged. 'That was a crude stun. The Doctor is a cunning opponent, and the irony is that means any attack on him has to be swift and brutal enough to render him helpless before he can try his tricks. But this weapon has more subtle settings.'

Rachel frowned, looked at the gun properly for the first time. 'Subtle? What use is that?'

'It can induce emotional effects ranging from intense euphoria to deep depression.'

'You're kidding! Where did you get it, the planet Prozac?'

He was clearly trying to place the name. 'No. It's an old Gallifreyan weapon, military issue. Making your enemy shy or aphasic can be far more effective than a bullet.'

'And if you don't kill people it doesn't affect the time lines.'

Marnal's mouth flickered into a smile, clearly pleased with her reasoning.

'No, at least not as much.'

'What are you going to do to the police?'

'I've set it to Serious Indifference. Anyone I shoot will have no real interest in their surroundings or situation for an hour or so. They won't understand why they feel that way '

' or care,' Rachel noted.

'Indeed. So we should be able to exploit confusion in the police ranks. If it comes to that.'

He looked distracted.

'What is it?' Rachel asked.

She felt strange now. A funny feeling in her water, as her nan would say. It felt like a panic attack was coming, but. . . like it was biding its time.

'Something very weird is happening,' she concluded.

She had the sense this had nothing to do with the police; it was far bigger than that.

The Doctor had finished his novel. It was about thirty thousand words. That sounded about the right length, he thought. It had taken him just over two hours to do.

143.

He'd drifted off the subject a little.

It opened at a literary festival, where a pair of young English professors, Edmund and Julia, were lecturing about Jane Austen. They were approached by a famous entrepreneur called Sir Thomas Bertram, and paid a great deal of money to go to his stately home on a mysterious a.s.signment that he insisted only they could complete. On the helicopter ride there they met Rushworth, a post-structuralist who dressed in black and spouted drivel. They went on a tour of the facilities. Bertram had established a theme park in his grounds.

He'd used the latest memetic engineering techniques to re-create some of his favourite fictional characters and he wanted the experts on literature to make sure he'd got it right, then to write nice things about him for the travel section of the Times Literary Supplement Times Literary Supplement. Edmund and Julia were amazed when they saw Mr Darcy rise from a lake it was magnificent. But then it all started going wrong during a heavy storm, a whole pack of Mrs Bennets got out, and started marauding. Before long Edmund and Julia and a couple of s.p.u.n.ky kids were being chased by wave after wave of predatory Collinses, Willoughbys and Elliots. It took all the academics' wits, and not a little luck, to avoid becoming terminally betrothed. Finally, they boarded the helicopter and made their escape.

He closed the notebook. Mansfield Park Mansfield Park, by Doctor This really wasn't helping.

The Doctor found a sc.r.a.p of spare paper, and began scribbling.

There was nowhere either of them could run. Nothing either of them could do.

The die had been cast, and now the two of them had to simply wait for oblivion.

It felt like defeat, not a victory. He could hear the energies of the Edifice gathering together for one final, inevitable, release. together for one final, inevitable, release.

Why could he hear footsteps?

He paused.

Someone else was coming towards them. It was a tall man with a lot of hair.

The Doctor thought about this for a moment, then crossed out everything after, and including, 'a'.

a short, bald woman.

No, this didn't strike him as very likely either. He crossed it out too.

It didn't matter what this mystery person looked like. What would he do?

That was the purpose of the exercise.

'We don't have much time, and I need your help,' the Doctor said.

'Obviously.'

The Doctor read this back to himself. Yes. So. . . picture the scene.

Grandfather Paradox was still in his corner, but by now he was barely the ghost of a ghost. His howl was so faint it was barely audible. The new arrival walked of a ghost. His howl was so faint it was barely audible. The new arrival walked straight past him without even noticing he was there; and then he wasn't. straight past him without even noticing he was there; and then he wasn't.

144.

What would the Doctor ask?

'Where's Fitz?'

Concern for his companion, that seemed fair enough. Logically, that meant the new arrival wasn't Fitz.

'Safe and sound.'

'Excellent. Quickly, I need you over here.'

'In about fifty-five seconds, there won't be an "over here".'

'Good, good. Plenty of time.'

She he'd decided it was a she stepped over, sighing theatrically.

'For what?'

'I'm not sure yet. Give me a minute to think. No, second thoughts, make it not quite a minute. That's the trouble with memories. All that deja vu. All those not quite a minute. That's the trouble with memories. All that deja vu. All those things you don't want to be reminded of. It's excess baggage, you know. I envy things you don't want to be reminded of. It's excess baggage, you know. I envy you. What possible relevance could it have if I remember Ace's visit to Paradise you. What possible relevance could it have if I remember Ace's visit to Paradise Towers?' Towers?'

'What are you talking about, Doctor?'

'Just talking to myself. The important thing to remember is '