Gary Russell

BBC BOOKS

THE "THANKS VERY MUCH" BIT

This book has been written speedily from an excellent

script but with precious little visual reference. As well as that, changes to the script took place throughout filming

and so portions of this version may differ from what we all see on screen.

Nevertheless, I am indebted to a number of people who

have helped fill in the visual blanks, as it were.

To Rona and Nuala at BBC Books.

To Paul, Scott and, most importantly, Gary at Marvel UK.

To Kathy, who has always striven to keep me up to date.

To David, for patience above and beyond.

And especially to Jeff Bryer, Corey Klemow and Bill

Taylor:

I know none of the above three gentlemen, nor they me,

but their postings on the InterNet have been invaluable.

Gary Russell

February 1996

DEDICATED TO

Terrance Dicks

who made me want to write a

Doctor Who novelisation

and to

Philip Segal

&

Matthew Jacobs

First published in the UK 1996 by BBC Books,

a division of BBC Worldwide Ltd, Woodlands,

80 Wood Lane, London W12 0TT

Text, design and layout copyright © BBC Books, 1996

Reprinted 1996

Original series broadcast on the BBC

Format copyright © BBC 1963

Terry Nation is the creator of the Daleks.

Doctor Who, TARDIS and the Daleks are trademarks of

the BBC

All rights reserved

ISBN 0 563 38000 4

Printed by Australian Print Group,

Maryborough, Vic.

Contents

Out with the old...

... in with the new

One for sorrow, two for joy

Three for a girl

Four for a boy

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told

Out with the old...

The Doctor was lonely.

It had been a long time since he had last had the

TARDIS to himself – in fact not since well, surely since...

no, it had been so long that he could not actually

remember having been in the TARDIS alone. There had

always been someone there with him; someone for him to

educate, impart knowledge to, rescue from the fiendish

clutches of some tentacled monstrosity or make tea for.

But recently he had spent far too much time tweaking

and twisting various controls on the six-sided, mushroom-

shaped console that dominated the six-walled main control

room. He was always abstractly punching up destination

after destination and, for the first time, finding none of

them remotely attractive.

The whole universe, the whole of time and space to

roam in, meddle gently in, right a few wrongs and enjoy

some marvellous picnics, and yet he was bored.

For the sixth time in a month – at least it felt like a

month, but time was relative, especially in a machine that

was dimensionally transcendental – he had reconfigured

the interior of the console room. He had moved away from

its traditional bright white neo-futurism, with its high

ceiling and roundelled walls, and gone for a much larger,

more Gothic, redwood-panelled affair with walls stretching

so far up that, at their apex, each one seemed to blend into the other.

Each wall reflected the basic instrumentation on the

corresponding panel on the console. Opposite the data-

bank switches for instance, the wall was row upon row of

antique and modern books, forming the comprehensive

TARDIS library.

The space/time destination panel faced a wall with every

conceivable form of timepiece. Another panel which

ascertained how dangerous or safe the atmospheric

conditions at any given location may be, was opposite a

tiny secluded garden area, with an ornamental church

organ borrowed from St Christopher’s in Cheldon

Bonniface, his favourite English village. Beside that was a stone fountain, a tiny fish pond full of rainbow

gumblejacks, and a small stone bench, where the Doctor

could sit and meditate whenever he felt the urge.

Another wall was a massive filing cabinet, arranged

alphabetically (although in eight hundred and forty three

different languages) and full of the memorabilia collected

after countless expeditions, adventures and investigations.

The Doctor still had not decided how to decorate the

other walls, but he would in time. Probably.

Above the wooden main exit doors, with their marble

embellishments, was a massive circular indentation,

inscribed with the most recognisable Gallifreyan symbol:

the Great Seal of Rassilon. Smaller versions of the device

dotted the rest of this room and others. The Doctor had

long resisted displaying them – he was not exactly proud of his heritage, but was now reaching an age (nearly one

thousand years old) where it seemed to be appropriate to at least acknowledge it. He must be maturing, he decided,

like a good wine.

His most recent upgrade had been to alter the

appearance of the console. In place of high-tech touch-

sensitive buttons were a series of gold-plated metallic

switches, rods and cubes that had to be inserted into tiny

slots, and countless dials providing the main control

elements. The old scanner screen mounted into the wall

had been replaced by one mounted on a flexible Z-spring

that, every time he tugged on a rope, came out of the wall

to wherever he was standing.

The floor of the console room and the rest of his

TARDIS was now covered with the same redwood as the

walls, an attractive parquet. Surrounding the small steps

leading up to the console dais were wrought-iron arches,

and a shiny brass railing topped off the now-enclosed

console area.

This new look had a likeable touch of the eccentric

about it. ‘Very Gothic,’ he had murmured after finishing

the changes.

Now, however, the Doctor was already getting bored

and he wondered if it was time to change it again.

He had just sat down with a cup of peppermint tea ready

to read a book (a first edition hardcover of Herbert Wells’s The Time Machine, inscribed personally to the Doctor by its author, who wrote that their time together had inspired

much of it), when something odd happened.

He was distracted by a sound – more like a murmur –

that rumbled through the TARDIS, as if from under the

floor on which the Doctor stood. That was quite possible of course. The interior of the TARDIS, while not exactly

infinite, was both vast and labyrinthian, with possibly

hundreds of different rooms above and below the one he

was in, let alone the ones to every side. A long corridor

wound away from the console room, and frequently (and

often at inopportune moments) the Doctor would dash

through the door during some emergency, only to find that

the TARDIS had reconfigured itself and he was lost. Of

course, it might have been him who had reconfigured it –

the more time he spent alone in his ship, the more

frequently he forgot what he had done a few moments,

days or even years ago.

It had been mentioned by more than one of the Doctor’s

travelling companions that the TARDIS itself seemed

alive, or at least somehow capable of responding to the

Doctor’s moods and subconscious thoughts. More

empathic than telepathic. The Doctor had never

contradicted such theories. The truth of the TARDIS, his

TARDIS especially, was his secret. And a man needed his

secrets.

Then something even more extraordinary happened.

He heard a voice, calling. Not from inside the TARDIS

but from inside his mind. A telepathic message, which

could only have been sent by one of his own people.

It was very quiet, and he needed to concentrate to hear

it clearly. Instinct more than anything else told him that

this was not actually coming from his home planet – the

message was too random and distracted. If it had been one

of the Time Lords that dominated Gallifrey, from where

he had fled so many years before, the message would have

been crystal clear, extremely precise, cold, and boring.

Rather like a majority of the Time Lords he had chosen to

leave behind.

No, this was from another renegade like himself, and he

immediately guessed who.

‘The Master.’

The Doctor dropped on to the floor, sitting cross-

legged, and closed his eyes, concentrating hard.

An image appeared in his mind’s eye. It was indeed his

oldest and most bitter rival, the Master, a fellow Time

Lord who spent most of his lives plotting to destroy the

Doctor and plunge the cosmos into chaos, his sole

ambition being total dominance over all living things. Like all Time Lords, the Master could regenerate twelve times,

giving him thirteen lives. Most Time Lords used those

lives with wisdom and caution; each life capable of lasting a few thousand years before wearing out and needing to

regenerate. The Doctor himself had gone through six

previous bodies before his current one, but the Master had

used his up a long time ago. Never one to let something as

mundane as death cheat him of victory, however, the

Master had found a variety of ways to prolong his life,

usually involving adding alien genes to his own physical

make-up. That way he had gone through at least one extra

life recently.

It had once been suggested that the Doctor and the

Master were opposite sides of the same coin; both Time

Lords, both immensely powerful and intelligent. Whereas

the Doctor was honest and good, compassionate and

caring, the Master was the personification of total evil,

malevolent and immoral.

Yet now the Master appeared to be in some sort of

danger so fearsome that he was using his last reserves of

mental energy to contact his greatest enemy.

The Doctor could see, projected into his mind,. a dark

room, with a central pillar of bright light in it. Standing erect, almost too erect, at the heart of it was indeed the

Master, his saturnine features caught in a grimace of pain, clearly unable to move.

The Doctor caught a fleeting glimpse of a raised area

totally surrounding the column of light, a group of metallic creatures looking down on the Master. He was clearly their

prisoner.

A prisoner of the Doctor’s other greatest foes, the

Daleks; nasty mutated blobs of living matter existing

inside metallic shells, all traces of conscience and morality purged from their existence. They lived to dominate and

destroy. Like the Master, they were pure evil.

Unlike the Master, this time they seemed to have won.

The Doctor heard the familiar metallic grating voice of

the creatures’ leader, their Emperor.

‘For your crimes against the Daleks, for your deliberate

attempts to destroy us and usurp our rightful place as the

supreme creatures of the universe, you are sentenced to

extermination.’

The Emperor began listing the Master’s crimes against

the Daleks, citing various times they had joined forces,

only for the Master to betray them at the last moment

when it looked as if he was in danger of sacrificing his own being for their cause.

Many times before, the Doctor had thought the Master

deserved all he got. Yet now, as he saw him immobile, and

realised the extent of the Master’s humiliation at having to contact the Doctor for help, he felt a great wave of pity for him.

They had grown up on Gallifrey together, been to the

famous Academy together, and fled their regimented and

boring lives for much the same reason, albeit with different intentions.

The Doctor’s reverie was broken by the Master’s voice

echoing inside his mind again. The image of his foe,

trapped in the harsh column of light, grew stronger.

‘Doctor. Consider this my last will and testament. If I

am to be executed and so cruelly deprived of all existence, I ask only that my remains be transported back to Gallifrey,

my home planet, by you, my rival Time Lord and nemesis.

Doctor...’

The Master’s message was curtailed by a sudden chorus

of ‘Exterminate’ from the assembled Daleks and the Master

was hit from all angles by powerful energy weapons, his

body contorting and twisting under the heat for a few

seconds.

Possibly it was just the fading echo of the telepathic

message being severed, possibly it was a result of the

various chemicals and other artificial life-forces the Master had used to survive for so long, but instead of simply

falling dead, his body glowed for a nanosecond and the

Doctor could have sworn it turned almost crystalline

before vanishing in a rush of light and heat.

The link cut off abruptly and the Doctor found himself

now lying on his back, staring up at the dimly lit TARDIS

ceiling, his head aching with the sudden termination of the telepathic connection.

Nevertheless, he knew that it was his duty to find a way

of collecting the Master’s remains from the Daleks’ home

world, and indeed returning them to Gallifrey.

All he would have to do, then, would be to get there

undetected, sneak in unannounced, collect the Master’s

remains unobtrusively and leave again unnoticed.

Not an easy set of tasks but, as he’d once mentioned to

some Ancient Greek or other, if you can’t be bothered to

clean the stables from top to bottom, don’t bother picking

up the brush.

Or something along those lines.

... in with the new

The Doctor struggled into the console room through the

interior door which led to the corridor, half-dragging, half-carrying a massive wooden lectern. It had an eagle carved

on top and a wide ledge on which once sat a Gutenberg

bible. The lectern was almost as tall as the Doctor, but he managed to manhandle it to one side of the main TARDIS

doors, next to a brass candelabra which held three

everlasting candles. On the wide ledge of the lectern, he

perched the casket that contained the Master’s few

remains.

Safely away from all other distractions, the Doctor took

the opportunity to peek inside, feeling a twinge of both

sadness at his one-time friend’s fate, mingled with relief

that the universe was at least safe from one of its most

destructive characters.

The contents of the small, jewellery box-like casket were

crystalline chunks. Only the Master’s dark eyes still

seemed recognisably intact. Even in death, the Master’s

hypnotic stare, now cast in crystal, was still disturbing.

The Doctor closed the lid. He dug deep into his jacket

pocket, and extracted a long, metallic, pen-shaped device

with a circular top; a sonic screwdriver. Flicking a hidden switch on it, he aimed the device at the casket. A high-pitched whine emanated from the sonic screwdriver. A

series of clasps on the box’s lid snapped into place and a

bolt slid home, shutting the casket. He adjusted the sonic

screwdriver and the casket lid glowed momentarily,

vacuum-sealing it.

‘There.’ He pocketed the sonic screwdriver. ‘That

should do it.’

With a last glance at the casket, the Doctor turned to the

six-sided console, humming to himself as he flicked

switches, twisted dials and punched buttons, setting a

course for Gallifrey. He wondered briefly what reception

his people would have for him. Sometimes, he was

welcomed back with open arms, other times they tried to

kill him. Still, it was these unpredictable moments that

made life bearable, he supposed.

Behind him, the casket began to glow a dull green. Softly

at first, but as time went on the glow got brighter. Then a crack appeared across the lid, followed by two more cracks, one down each side.

Finally, a small hole was bored through the lid from

inside, sending a small set of silent green sparks into the air.

From this hole emerged something that was not quite

liquid nor solid. An amorphous mass, it appeared almost

snake-like due to the small hole it oozed through. The

front end of it reared up slightly and two tiny eyes popped into existence, followed by a slitted mouth. It stared at the Doctor’s back for a moment but then saw an opening on

one of the TARDIS console’s lower access panels, nearest

the floor. Clearly the Doctor had been doing some

adjustment or other and, in typical absent-mindedness,

had forgotten to replace the panel securely.

It leaped soundlessly to the floor and darted towards the

space, seeking the protection of the darkness.

The Doctor thought he saw a flash of movement out of the

corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, there was

nothing there.

Shrugging, he turned back to the controls, casting an

eye to a tiny read-out screen on one panel. It read:

DESTINATION

Gallifrey

Constellation of Kasterborous

Local Dateline 5725.2

The screen flashed and went blank.

‘Oh.’ The Doctor waved away a small puff of smoke and

tapped the screen, but it remained resolutely blank.

He was about to ignore it, putting it down to the fact

that the TARDIS was probably in need of a good overhaul,

when three things happened at once.

First the time rotor, a cylindrical mechanism at the

centre of the console, stopped its normally smooth in-flight rise-and-fall movement and shuddered slightly, as if

moving was suddenly an enormous effort.

Second, from somewhere deep within the TARDIS, a

low, rich bell tolled twice.

Third, another screen suddenly lit up:

CRITICAL TIMING MALFUNCTION

INSTIGATE AUTOMATIC

EMERGENCY LANDING

Then that screen went blank as well and cracked as a

small explosion sent sparks towards the Doctor’s face. The

time rotor stopped completely and the TARDIS interior

lights dimmed, bathing the Doctor in a burnt orange glow.

He shot a quick look to the base plates of the console

and saw the damaged one, now lying free and flat on the

floor. A dull green light throbbed from within the space.

The Doctor straightened up and hurried over to the

cracked casket, taking in immediately what had happened.

The Master had once again cheated death and had tricked

him into bringing his ‘remains’ aboard his TARDIS.

Whatever alien powers and abilities he had absorbed over

the last few years had enabled him to survive the Daleks’

execution. And whatever form his life essence currently

inhabited was buried deep within the TARDIS systems

and would need very careful expurgating.

Careful because the Doctor had no doubt that whatever

else the Master was, he would by now be completely insane

and unstable. The injuries that he had sustained had

caused him to place whatever was left of his consciousness

into a completely alien life-form.

And that made him more dangerous than ever before.

Chang Lee had been living dangerously ever since he was

old enough to know how to pick up a gun. Ever since he

had been about nine, in fact; just about eight years.

Back then, the Chang family had owned a prosperous

corner shop, selling food and fancy goods to the San

Franciscans in the Chinatown area. His father and mother

had opened the shop from eight in the morning until nine

at night, seven days a week, in an effort to keep them and

their two sons Lee and Ho fed and clothed.

Then the triads had moved into their neighbourhood,

bringing with them protection rackets and drug deals.

Chang Ho, two years older than Chang Lee, had somehow

got caught up in it all and before long was trying to

persuade their father to sell crack under the counter at the shop, laundering money and generally acting as a

distraction to the ever-vigilant Eighth Precinct.

Chang Lee’s father had naturally refused, appalled by

Chang Ho’s behaviour. He would yell and shout that he

had not devoted his entire life to the good of the

community just to enable his son to become a petty

criminal and ruin the family name. Chang Ho had replied

that if his father failed to do what the triads wanted, well, Chang Ho was not responsible for what could follow.

Unperturbed by what he considered adolescent

prattling, Chang Lee’s father continued to run his shop the way he saw fit.

Until one day, on a warm April afternoon, when three

members of a gang from the other end of Chinatown

entered the store and demanded drugs. When Chang Lee’s

parents announced they did not deal, they were both shot

dead. It was later claimed that this was a warning to

everyone else in the area that the gangs and triads ruled

Chinatown now.

By default, Chang Lee became part of the gang Chang

Ho ran with. The gang’s aims were to make life as

miserable for the locals as possible.

However, nothing lasted for ever and before long inter-

gangland warfare broke out. Not just a few bar-room

scuffles but major league stuff. One day Chang Lee was

pick-pocketing tourists and such like, the next he was

armed with a semiautomatic pistol, taking pot-shots at

opposing gang members.

Chang Ho had died about three years back. A knife had

slit his throat during some late-night break-in to a

warehouse. Someone in their gang had set them up and the

enemy gang was lying in wait. Alone now, Chang Lee had

stuck around because it was the only way he knew to

survive.

Life had been like that ever since; but now, Chang Lee

decided, it might not carry on for much longer.

Not because he was able to get out or move to another

state, but because here he was, three days off the

millennium celebrations, running for his life down an

alleyway linking Rose Street and Jasmine Boulevard. With

him, equally terrified, were Pik Sim and Lin Wang, trying

not to get shot in the back by the five men chasing them,

firing their machine guns carelessly, not caring who got in the way.

Only three days before, Chang Lee had won the smart

new black and orange baseball jacket and matching

trainers from another gang member after a game of poker.

If he had known he was going to be pelting through dark

streets right now, he would have worn something less

conspicuous. He must shine like a beacon to his pursuers!

Pik Sim suddenly pointed to her left, her long black

hair wrapping around her face as she stopped.

‘Down here,’ she said urgently, pointing towards a tiny

gap in the wall, leading somewhere.

‘No,’ said Chang Lee, ‘no, it’s a dead end.’

‘No, it’s not,’ insisted Lin Wang, a couple of years older

than Chang Lee. ‘I’ve hidden down here before. We’ll be

safe.’

Chang Lee stared at them, panic-struck. ‘You’re both

wrong, we can’t –’

He stopped as a Crown Victoria swerved noisily into the

other end of the alleyway, blocking their way forward. All

three turned to face the way they had come, but at least

four of the rival gang were hurrying down it, guns ready.

‘Hide!’ hissed Pik Sim, diving towards the small gap.

Chang Lee did not need to be told twice. He threw

himself behind a row of trash cans, expertly avoiding

making too much sound.

The car had stopped, its headlights catching Lin Wang

in their beams. He raised his hands in surrender and was

shot at least eight times, spinning around drunkenly before crashing against the opposite wall.

Foolishly Pik Sim ran towards him, screaming in fear

and anger.

Chang Lee stared, horrified and unable to breathe as

another volley of shots cut her dead before she even got

near Lin Wang’s body.

As she crashed to the ground, dead eyes staring forward

in shock, Chang Lee heard an extraordinary sound. A

peculiar wheezing and groaning seemed to come from all

around, deep and strained.

Without thinking, Chang Lee stood up, staring. Beside

the trash cans where he had tried to hide, a tall blue

rectangular box simply appeared out of thin air, a light

flashing on top. This was enough to expose Chang Lee’s hiding place to the opposing gang and they opened fire. At

first, the bullets went through the shape and Chang Lee

ducked down again, avoiding them. As the box solidified,

the bullets began bouncing off it and seconds later the light stopped flashing.

If that was not enough of a surprise for Chang Lee, he

got a bigger one when a door of the box opened inwards

and a small westerner in a straw hat walked calmly out,

grinning. He was wearing checkerboard pants and a tweed

sports jacket, leather patches on the elbows, over what

seemed to be an expensive white silk shirt and

complementary felt tie. He was examining a gold fobwatch

– probably worth a fortune – hanging from the pocket of

his burgundy vest. In his other hand he swung a red-

handled umbrella. His peculiar and sudden materialisation

did not seem to have fazed him; he carried a look of

someone who did strange things every day.

The strange man had barely moved two steps before a

second wave of bullets meant for Chang Lee smashed into

him, hurling him back against the box. Eyes staring wildly

in pain, he grabbed at a tiny handle on the door, pulling it closed before slumping to the ground, shaking violently.

Chang Lee heard the startled cries of his would-be

assassins and saw them rush down the alley, past him and

the dead man, and jump into the car which reversed

backwards and away with a screeching of tyre rubber on

Tarmac.

Seconds later, all Chang Lee could hear was a dog,

disturbed by the gunfire, barking madly and a faint police

siren. He crossed to the man and was astonished to find

him still breathing, although he was bleeding badly from

the bullet wounds. Chang Lee glanced across at Pik Sim

and Lin Wang. They were certainly dead and there was

nothing he could do, but this man had inadvertently saved

him, at a terrible cost. Normally Chang Lee would have

just accepted death as something that happened around

Rose Street, but there was something about this man and

his amazing blue box that made him wait.

‘Timing malfunction...’ The little man was trying to

speak; his accent sounded British – Irish or something,

perhaps? ‘Shouldn’t be here...’ Then the man gripped

Chang Lee’s arm. ‘Look! Don’t let it... escape...’ He was

pointing backwards, towards the door. Chang Lee could

not see what the little man was talking about, but felt him become a dead weight.

‘Too late. He morphed out. Through the TARDIS lock.’

He shook Chang Lee’s wrist. ‘Stop it. You have to stop it.’

‘Stop what?’ Chang Lee did not understand any of this.

What was there to stop? ‘Hold on there, old guy. Chang

Lee will find a way to help you.’

A police car suddenly swerved into the alleyway and two

police officers jumped out, guns up and aimed at Chang

Lee.

The amorphous snake-creature that housed the Master’s

consciousness reared up, like a cobra ready to strike. It was watching the whole scenario from beside the trash cans,

hidden in the shadows. The Doctor had seen it escape the

TARDIS, but the boy had not. It stared at the youngster,

but decided, the body was not mature enough for what it

needed. It knew it could not remain in this state for long. If the Master was to live again, he needed a new body.

Preferably a Time Lord body, which is why it had needed

to be within striking distance of the Doctor in the first

place. It had to place the life within it into a reasonably Time Lord-like body before too long or it would dissipate.

With the Doctor out of reach, a human would have to

do for now.

An ambulance pulled up at the end of the alleyway and

within moments, the strange little man’s body was on a

stretcher, being carried to the warm haven of the vehicle. A drip was set up and inserted into the patient’s arm and

another machine monitored his extremely slow heartbeat.

One paramedic drove, the other settled in the back with

his patient. One of the police officers walked over.

‘Better take this one with you. He’s called Chang Lee

apparently and he’s not carrying. He seems concerned

about your patient.’

The paramedic looked at the Chinese boy and then

helped him into the ambulance.

‘Will he be all right? Is he going to live?’

The paramedic shrugged, and gripped his seat as the

ambulance started up its siren, rushing back towards the

nearest hospital with ER facilities. He reached across his

patient, ripping away the bloodstained shirt.

‘What a mess.’ He looked at Chang Lee. ‘You know this

guy?’

‘Yeah,’ lied Chang Lee. ‘Yeah, we were just passing

when –’

The paramedic ignored him. ‘Yeah, right. Is he rich?’

Chang Lee shrugged.

The paramedic continued swabbing at the injured man’s

shoulder with a rapidly reddening antiseptic swab. ‘Well,

he’d better be rich, because where we’re going, he’ll need

some cash.’

He reached to a pocket attached to the opposite wall,

taking out a sheaf of papers.

‘Here, sign these for him,’ he said, passing them to

Chang Lee.

‘I don’t sign anything, Mr –’

‘Gerhardt. I’m Bruce Gerhardt. And it’s just a release

form. Sign it or he’ll end up dying.’

Chang Lee took the proffered pen, scribbling a few lines

on the form. ‘What’s the date, Bruce?’

‘December 30th...’ replied the paramedic.

‘1999.’ Chang Lee finished. He handed the paper back.

Bruce looked at it, then back at the man. ‘Well, Mr

Smith...’ He sent a look straight at Chang Lee, suggesting

that he did not believe the man’s name was really John

Smith at all. ‘Your friend here hopes you’ll be all right. So do I, so just lie back and we’ll take care of you.’

Chang Lee found himself hoping that Bruce was right

and the man whose name he’d just decided was John Smith

(and he had no idea why he chose that name) really would

be all right.

After all, if he was rich, there was bound to be some

kind of reward.

At the side of the alleyway, the amorphous shape of the

luminous snake had tried to edge forward. Its skin was

beginning to crystallise; it needed to find something

organic. Something it could get inside and meld with.

Something to survive within, before the mental energy –

the life-force – contained within it withered and died. The hardening of its mucous body meant that it had to do

something quickly.

In using all its energy to form eyes with which to

transmit information to the Master’s mind and a mouth

through which it could take in oxygen and other chemicals

it needed to survive, it had little energy left. No way to

create vocal chords to call for aid, or any form of weaponry.

All it possessed was enough energy to get nearer the

Doctor and find a way to get inside his body. Once there,

the Master would do the rest.

It had dragged itself towards the open door of the

ambulance and hurled itself in. It landed under the empty

front passenger seat, unseen by the driver who slammed all

the doors shut and drove on.

Walker General Hospital, San Francisco, was preparing

itself for a busy few days. With the millennium

celebrations approaching in less than forty-eight hours, all staff were on overtime, anticipating a greater number of

accident and emergency cases than most New Year’s Eves

in the past.

Its ER department was unusually quiet during the early

evening of December 30th, so when the ambulance

screeched to a halt outside reception, the staff inside were almost relieved to have something to do.

As Bruce flung open the back doors, Chang Lee was

gratified to see two nurses and what appeared to be a young doctor ready to help place the man who had saved his life

on to a stretcher and rush back towards the reception area.

Bruce and Chang Lee hurried after them, the paramedic

shouting that the patient had three gunshot wounds,

adding almost as an afterthought that his heart had begun

to go wild as well. ‘Probably on something,’ Bruce

muttered to Chang Lee.

Chang Lee looked around the brightly lit reception,

catching the eye of a pretty red-headed receptionist.

‘You with the trauma case, sir?’

Chang Lee nodded.

‘You sit right down there.’ She pointed at a row of

moulded red plastic seats. ‘I’ll let them know you’re here, but it might be some time before you hear anything. You

want a coffee, there’s a machine down there.’ She jabbed

her pen towards a corridor opposite where they had taken.

the Doctor. ‘Toilets are there as well.’

Bruce flicked through his sheets of paper and then

passed them to the red-headed receptionist. ‘Pass these on, will you?’

The receptionist nodded. ‘See you in the New Year,

Bruce.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied, walking back towards the doors.

‘Have a good one.’ He glanced at Chang Lee. ‘See you, kid.’

‘Thanks, Bruce,’ said Chang Lee, fidgeting nervously.

He’d never been to a big hospital like Walker General before. Most injuries he’d seen were treated by a couple of back-street medics who took payment in little plastic bags

rather than cash. He watched through the glass doors as

Bruce climbed back beside the driver of the ambulance and

it drove away. Then, he settled down to wait and see

whether the strange man died.

Jim Salinger was the resident on duty, and it was his job to make initial recommendations and judgements on ER

cases. Beside him, Shelly Curtis and Angela Wheeler, the

two duty nurses, stared in surprise at the X-ray hanging in front of them.

Beside them, on the stretcher under a massive X-ray

machine, was the patient. His clothes cut from the top half of his body and the wounds cleaned, he lay still, just

breathing heavily and erratically.

Curtis ran her pen top gently around the image that

caused so much consternation. She scratched her head with

the same pen, absently. ‘Two hearts,’ was all she could say.

Salinger could not really argue, so he just shrugged. ‘I’ve not seen anything like it.’

Wheeler was busying herself with further details of their

patient’s injuries. ‘One bullet went straight through his

shoulder, causing no life-threatening damage,’ she

reported. ‘The other two are in his left leg and –’

She broke off as her associate’s words sunk in. ‘Two

hearts?’

Salinger was shaking his head. ‘No, it can’t be. Must be

a double-exposure.’

He tugged the X-ray down off the light-box. ‘C’mon,

people. Let’s get those bullets out of him.’

They wheeled him through a set of double doors and

into the main area of the Trauma Room. Curtis watched as

Wheeler, the more experienced of the two nurses, helped

Salinger remove the bullets. Moments later, it was done

and the tiny silver tray Wheeler carried contained three

blood-stained rounds of ammunition.

Curtis pointed at the read-out on the ECG. ‘His heart is

still going like crazy,’ she said.

Salinger glanced up. ‘Okay. We’d better get cardiology

in.’

Curtis nodded, crossing to a telephone by the door.

‘Yeah, okay. Whose turn is it tonight?’

Salinger smiled. ‘Grace Kelly...’

The Grand Metropolitan Opera House was one of San

Francisco’s most glamorous hot-spots; the sort of place

that people who had been out of the public eye for too long

– but not according to their publicists – went to be seen by the society hostesses and paparazzi.

The Opera House had been built just one year earlier to

commemorate the forthcoming millennium. Like its sister

building in London, it was specifically constructed so that it could be dismantled and reassembled anywhere else if

need be.

Despite those modern trappings, the interior was

designed with a sort of retro-Twenties art-deco feel,

featuring a number of abstract carvings and walls lined

with famous opera stars of the past caught in silhouette,

only their lips or fingernails picked out in reds or yellows.

The opera selected to see in the twenty-first century was

an early twentieth-century one – Puccini’s Madame

Butterfly. A story about a nineteenth-century American serviceman whose less-than-saintly behaviour ultimately

leads to the suicide of his young geisha wife.

Watching that evening’s performance, dressed to kill,

were a couple in their early thirties. They looked slightly out of place in a row of elderly patrons of opera who had

noisily got tired of listening to the young woman summing

up the plot for her clearly ignorant young partner.

Butterfly was currently singing Un bel dì Vedremo to her maid, Suzuki. The man asked exactly what was going on,

for what must have been the tenth time.

‘She’s convinced that Pinkerton is going to come back

one day.’

‘She’s stupid. He isn’t, we all know that.’

‘Yes,’ said the woman through gritted teeth, ‘but, she

doesn’t. She’s a naive teenager in Japan who thinks the

Great White Man is honourable.’

The ageing couple to her right tutted, meaningfully.

The woman smiled at them. ‘Sorry, Brian seems to have

missed a bit.’

‘Probably because you were telling him about an earlier

bit, then,’ grumbled the old man.

The younger woman sighed. ‘Yes. I’m really sorry. It

won’t –’

A pager went off in her handbag.

This time, everybody sighed and casting a look of

apology at Brian, she stood up and stumbled out of her

seat, knocking into people’s knees and apologising every

other step.

She walked slowly up the stalls stairs, emerging into the

box office area, blinking in the sudden bright light.

The bleeper went off once again, and one of the smartly

dressed ushers pointed her towards a public phone before

she even had to ask.

It was easy to see why her colleagues referred to her as

Grace Kelly – she resembled the famous glamorous actress

in more than just her luscious cascade of strawberry blonde hair. Her figure, accentuated by the tight electric-blue

ballgown she was wearing, was the sort that most modern

actresses would have had to pay a small fortune to have

implanted, and her face might well have been carved from

a marble statue of a Greek goddess. Although not in any

way harsh, she had a defined bone structure along with a

generous mouth and piercing blue eyes which appeared to

be laughing no matter how serious she was being.

She punched in a call-collect number and seconds later

it was answered.

‘It’s Grace Holloway. What’s the problem?’

There was a brief explanation and she acknowledged it.

‘I’ll be there in ten.’

She replaced the receiver and walked back to the usher.

‘Where can I get a cab from?’

He pressed a button on the wall beside him and through

the main entrance, Grace could see a yellow bulb light up.

Ten seconds later a taxi pulled up and she thanked the

usher, dashed outside and got in the cab.

‘Walker General, please. ER reception’

The cab driver nodded and drove quickly away.

Ten minutes later, Grace was in her pastel blue work gown,

a surgical mask suspended below her chin.

‘... and fibrillation at three hundred,’ Jim Salinger was

saying.

‘No blockages showing?’

Salinger shook his head. ‘No, Dr Holloway.’

‘X-rays?’

‘NG.’

Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘No good? Why not?’

Salinger shrugged. ‘Double exposed. Every time we

tried one.’

‘Well,’ Grace snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, ‘try

again, Jim.’

Salinger nodded. ‘Curtis is setting a new machine up

right now. But it’ll take at least half an hour.’

Grace shoved her pair under a white surgical cap with

experienced ease. ‘No time for that then. Come on, we’d

better get moving.’

The double doors from the operating theatre opened

and Shelly Curtis hurried in, a mobile phone in her hand.

‘Dr Holloway, it’s Brian.’ She held the phone out as if it

might bite her.

Grace, used to Brian’s short fuse where her work was

concerned, knew how she felt. ‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry, but

he knew I was on call before we went out tonight.’ She stared at Curtis, who just passed her the phone: ‘What was

I supposed to do, Shelly? Ignore it?’

Curtis gave her an ‘I’ve heard this one before’ look and

walked away, leaving Grace to talk into the phone. With a

sigh, Grace said hello to Brian.

There was a tirade from the other end, Salinger

presumed, watching and waiting to see the outcome.

‘I’m sorry, Brian, but I had to go... Oh, come on, don’t

say that, I... No, wait until I get back, please and we’ll talk about it.’ Grace shot a look of helplessness to Salinger and he just smiled at her, rather unhelpfully. Grace spoke

again. ‘No, don’t be silly, just – Brian? Brian?’

Salinger watched as Grace lowered the phone, switched

it off and crossed the room to drop it on to a chair.

‘Gee, I’m sorry,’ he said, not being sorry at all.

Grace picked up her handbag, taking out a cassette tape.

‘Music while we work, all right, Jim?’

He nodded. ‘No problems. You’re the Doc.’

Grace put on her protective mask and they crossed

through the double doors and into the operating theatre.

Just outside the theatre area, Dr Roger Swift was taking a

group of smartly dressed men and women for a late night

stroll through the hospital. As Walker General’s

administrator, it had been the businesslike Swift’s job to

represent the hospital at a fund-raising event in one of San Francisco’s more popular (and expensive) restaurants.

Having talked himself hoarse trying to keep current and

potential investors interested in the hospital, Swift had

been dismayed when the eccentric, widowed and rather

rich Mrs Carrington lifted a bejewelled hand and asked for

a guided tour.

‘I’m not sure I can arrange that right now, Mrs

Carrington,’ Swift had mumbled.

‘Oh, nonsense, dear boy,’ the old witch had replied, ‘of

course you can. Go and phone someone up to let us in,

and,’ she sniggered at the guests fawning around her, ‘be

swift about it.’

With the ‘polite’ laughter of the group – which

reminded him of a pack of hyenas – ringing in his ears,

Swift had contacted the security people, listing everyone’s names so that there would be no embarrassing moments

when they arrived at the hospital.

He ordered a fleet of cabs to take everyone there,

ensuring that the cabs would wait and then take everyone

off to wherever they wanted to go.

‘Cost more to do this than I’m asking them to put up,’

he grumbled to himself as he visited the men’s room on his

way back to the table.

By the time he was with his group, his fixed smile had

returned and he announced to Mrs Carrington and her

hangers-on that their carriages awaited to escort them to

San Francisco’s finest medical, facility.

Now here they were, in the warm confines of Walker

General. Swift was proudly showing them whatever latest

pieces of machinery or equipment he could find,

describing them in educated detail, safe in the knowledge

that no one had the slightest clue what he was talking

about. Blind ’em with science and hopefully they’d cough

up the readies and go away, leaving him to get on with his

job.

‘And here,’ he said, waving an expensively manicured

hand towards a door, ‘here is the observation gallery for the Electro-physiology theatre.’ He quickly looked inside,

peering through the glass partition on the opposite side

and into the lab. ‘If we’re very careful,’ he said, trying to make out he was letting them in on something top secret,

‘we can go in and watch. Dr Holloway is operating now.’

He led them in and grouped them by the partition,

ensuring that Mrs Carrington had the best view. He

pointed into the theatre, and said quietly to Mrs

Carrington, ‘That’s Dr Grace Holloway, one of our senior

cardiologists.’

‘She’s a bit young, isn’t she?’ Mrs Carrington croaked

back.

‘Dr Holloway may look young to us,’ he stressed, hoping

that Mrs Carrington would feel he was bringing her down

to his age rather than elevating himself into senility, ‘but I can assure you, she is the best in her field. Quite the expert which we pride ourselves on having here at Walker

General.’

He pointed at something in her hands. ‘Dr Holloway

will now insert a microsurgical probe into the patient’s

artery, then search out the short-circuiting part that is

causing the fibrillation. And,’ he smiled benignly at them

all, ‘just so that you can see how your money is being well-spent, she’ll blast it with lasers.’

A few moments before she noticed Roger Swift bringing

what appeared to be a senior citizens’ coach party into the observation gallery, Grace Holloway had been talking to

her patient.

It had been just after she had slipped her tape into the

battered beat-box in the corner – she liked to have music

on while she worked. Unorthodox, but it helped her

concentrate.

‘If I can’t see it live, I’ll hear it on tape,’ she had said to Angela Wheeler, as the second half of Act Two of Madame Butterfly began anew. Wheeler passed Grace the

microsurgical probe she would be using.

Appropriately enough, the lullaby Butterfly sings to her

baby son Sorrow, Dormi amor mio, began as Grace stared at her comatose patient.

And his eyes had snapped open, staring straight into her

face.

She took a slight step back, but then smiled at him.

‘Hello. You’re quite safe.’

‘Puccini,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s Madame Butterfly.’

He suddenly turned his head from side to side,

presumably taking in where he was. ‘Whatever you’re

about to do,’ he had rasped, ‘please don’t.’ His head-fell

back, eyes closed. ‘Just stop.’

Grace had looked over at Salinger and Wheeler. ‘Note:

going by his strong accent, the patient is from Scotland.

Probably a tourist. He might not be covered by insurance.’

Salinger had shrugged. ‘Okay, what do you want to do?’

‘Go ahead, anyway. Something is damaging his heart

and we haven’t got time to mess about with all that

paperwork.’

She looked back at the man, as Curtis dabbed his head

with a damp cloth. ‘Mr Smith? You’re going to be okay.’

He had looked up at her again. ‘No, you don’t

understand.’ His breathing was clearly hurting him now.

‘I’m not the same as you. I’m not even human –’

Grace smiled. ‘Well, no one’s the same as me, Mr

Smith.’

He then reached up and gently held her wrist, as if to

stop the microsurgical probe going near him. ‘I don’t need

that. I need a beryllium atomic clock!’

Grace had looked across at the other three. Salinger

tapped his head, indicating that he thought the patient was crazy. Wheeler nodded her agreement. Curtis just dabbed

his forehead again.

Beside them, the ECG machine’s beeping was getting

louder.

The patient had become insistent, his blood pressure

rising. ‘Tell me,’ he begged. ‘This is 1999, isn’t it?’

Salinger was frowning at the ECG. ‘We can’t wait any

longer, Grace.’

Grace had nodded and Salinger picked up the oxygen

mask, sliding it down the patient’s face.

The patient’s next, muted, grunt had been something

else about him not being human, but again Grace just put

that down to the trauma of his injuries.

‘Don’t try to speak now, Mr Smith,’ she said. ‘We’ve

removed the bullets, but we still need to know what’s

making your heart go wild – so that I can fix it.’

The patient had begun struggling, weakly.

‘Now don’t worry,’ Grace tried to reassure him. ‘I’ve

done hundreds of these.’ She indicated for Salinger to

inject the patient with anaesthetic.

Grace had leaned forward to see if her patient had gone

under, when he suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes wide,

staring straight at her.

Piercing blue eyes that seemed suddenly very clear, very

determined, very powerful. He grasped her wrist again, this time as if to warn her. He was clearly very serious but also very frightened of something. And for a brief moment,

Grace had the feeling that he was rarely afraid of anything.

‘Timing malfunction. The Master! He’s out there,’ he

said. ‘I’ve got to stop him.’ And then his eyes rolled back, closed and he slumped unconscious on the table.

Grace prised her wrist out of his grip, shaking, slightly.

There had been something about the utter conviction with

which he had spoken, the fierce honesty in his eyes.

If only it had made some kind of sense.

As she cleared her head, thinking about the

microsurgery, she glanced over at Shelly Curtis. ‘Somehow,

I don’t think his real name is John Smith at all, do you?’

Roger Swift had then interrupted her reverie by

bringing his visitors into the observation gallery and so she had begun work, probing, watching the results on the

screen suspended just above her patient.

‘So, is Brian threatening to leave again?’ asked Salinger.

Grace grunted. ‘He won’t.’

‘Look, Grace, this is becoming a habit.’ Salinger leaned

across at her. ‘If you want a replacement, I am house-

trained.’

Grace was not sure exactly how serious Salinger was.

She just smiled at him. ‘Yeah, right. Forget it, Jim.’

Sarcastically, Jim smiled. ‘Why, thank you ma’am.’

Grace did not respond. Instead, she frowned and then

clicked her fingers towards the beat-box.

Wheeler flicked it off.

‘This is strange...’ Grace frowned.

‘What?’ asked Salinger.

‘Déjà vu.’ Grace moved the probe very slightly. Without

looking up, she indicated the screen with her head. ‘Where

am I?’

‘Sub-clavian.’

‘But I should be in the brachiocephalic.’

Salinger laughed. ‘Not unless he’s a donkey.’

Curtis and Wheeler laughed, probably more than

anything else to try and break the sudden tension Grace

could feel in the air. She, however, was deadly serious. ‘Let me try something,’ she muttered, stabbing the red button

nearest her.

The patient’s body, Smith or whoever he really was,

reacted violently.

‘Massive seizure,’ yelled Salinger, darting around the

ECG machine, making adjustments. ‘Grace, get the probe

out of there!’

‘I’m trying!’ Grace could not understand what had

happened. It was as if the body was rejecting the probe,

literally trying to fight it. ‘I am trying.’

‘Picture’s out,’ announced Curtis, attempting to

reactivate the monitor.

Simultaneously, Wheeler was checking the patient’s

vital signs. ‘We’re dropping off fast. We’re losing him.’

Salinger looked almost ready to thump the ECG

machine in frustration. ‘Just get it out, Grace. Pull it.’

Grace felt she was almost coaxing something living, as if

the probe had become part of the patient’s body. ‘Come to

me,’ she said softly. ‘Come to mamma.’

Suddenly there was an elongated beep, no rhythm, no

pulsation.

‘Grace,’ said Salinger, his voice quiet. ‘Grace, he’s flat

lining.’

Grace barely heard him. She was staring at her empty

hand and the tiny keyhole wound in the patient’s chest

where the probe had been. ‘I got lost in there...’ was all she could say.

Salinger suddenly pushed her back. ‘He’s going, Grace!’

In his hands, Salinger had the paddles, linked up and

ready. ‘Stand back.’

Grace, feeling disorientated and bemused, stepped back,

letting Salinger attempt to revive their patient. She glanced over to the observation gallery, where Swift was slowly

ushering his friends away.

As Swift left, he stared back at Grace. The message in

his look was unmistakable. An error had been made, a

patient had died in Grace’s care during a routine operation and Swift saw it as her responsibility.

So did she.

She stared at the ECG monitor, mentally begging for a

response.

‘Give me three hundred,’ Salinger said to Curtis, and

then shouted ‘Clear’ to everyone. They moved back and he

attempted a further resuscitation.

Grace lost count of the subsequent attempts – all she

could do was remember the man’s face. And his

astonishingly fierce eyes. Full of strength. Full of pain.

Full of fear.

Eventually she became aware of Salinger talking to

Wheeler and Curtis.

‘Time of death?’

‘Twenty-two oh three.’ Curtis countersigned the report.

She turned to look at Grace. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Holloway.’ She

left, followed by Wheeler.

Salinger was looking at her. ‘Need your signature, too.’

He held out the clipboard and she took it, signed and

passed it back in one fluid movement, as if she did it every day.

No one that she could remember had ever just given up

and died like that.

No one should have to. She looked into Salinger’s eyes,

trying not to cry. ‘Jim. I got lost. I just don’t understand...’

‘Grace,’ Salinger shrugged. ‘It happens.’

She stepped back. ‘No, Jim. Not to me. I want another

look at those X-rays.’

Salinger nodded.

‘Now,’ she barked.

As Salinger went to find them, Grace yanked off her

surgical gloves and cap and threw them to the floor. After

staring at them for a moment she went back into the prep

room, gathered her opera gown, shoes and bag and headed

out to her office, passing a couple of cleaners and a rather overweight young porter who looked as if he lived on a diet of burgers and cola.

She stopped. ‘Pete?’

The porter, in his regulation blue smock and white

boots, smiled.

‘Hi Doc. What can I do for you?’

She pointed back to the theatre. ‘Morgue.’

Pete grabbed a bleeper from his breast pocket. ‘Sorry,

Doc. Don’t take it too hard.’ He punched up a number on

his bleeper. ‘Ted’ll bring up the trolley.’

‘Thanks, Pete. Store him.’

Pete acknowledged her order and headed for the theatre.

What could have gone wrong?. Why was she so

convinced there was something strange about this

mysterious Mr John Smith?

She entered her office to find Angela Wheeler

rummaging through a bag with the patient’s belongings in

them. A sling, a browning apple core, a cricket ball, a long, silver thing that might have been a torch... a variety of

useless objects.

Wheeler just shrugged. ‘No identification at all, Doctor.

I’m sorry.’ She replaced them in the bag.

Pete put his head round the door. ‘Doc? Mr Salinger

asked me to give you these.’

‘Thanks, Pete.’ Grace took an envelope from him and he

left.

They were the X-rays, and so Grace placed them on her

light-box. She stared at them for a moment, and Wheeler

joined her.

‘What shall I do, Doctor?’

Grace continued looking at the two hearts, so clearly

there. ‘Tag him as a John Doe and book him for an

autopsy.’

Wheeler turned to go. ‘D’you want me to get that

Chinese kid that came with him in? Maybe he can give us

an ID?’

Grace just stared at the X-ray. The answer was there. It

had to be...

‘Dr Holloway? The kid?’

Grace closed her eyes, needing to break her own

concentration. ‘Yeah, the kid. Sure.’

Wheeler went out and Grace looked back at the X-ray.

‘No, Jim. This is not a double-exposure at all.’

There was a knock on the door and she turned to see

Wheeler escort a Chinese youth in.

‘Thanks Angela. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Sure. ’Night, Dr Holloway.’

Grace went and sat behind her desk as the kid watched

Wheeler go.

‘She’s nice,’ he muttered.

‘Yeah,’ said Grace. ‘And she’s married. And you’re too

young for her.’

She picked up a pen and waved him to a seat on the

opposite side of her desk, by the bag. ‘Now, I’m Dr

Holloway. And you are?’

‘Chang Lee.’

‘Okay Chang Lee. You a friend of Mr Smith?’

Chang Lee looked at the pen rather than Grace. ‘Yeah.

Sort of. Is he okay?’

Grace stared at the boy. He was only about sixteen,

maybe seventeen. And clearly bewildered.

‘Look, there were complications’ Talk about

understatements. ‘I’m afraid he didn’t make it.’ She saw

Chang Lee’s jaw clench slightly, then he relaxed.

‘It’s okay.’ Chang Lee was staring intently at the bag of

possessions. ‘I’ll tell his family.’ He reached out to the bag.

‘These his things?’ He opened the bag, frowning as if he

didn’t recognise any of the contents.

Grace took the bag and moved it to her side of the

desk. ‘I think we at Walker General ought to contact his

family ourselves.’

Chang Lee shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Doctor.

No, this’ll hit ’em hard. I’ll tell them –’

Grace stood up, and Chang Lee shifted back in his seat,

ignoring the bag. ‘I don’t think you knew this man at all.

Did you?’

Chang Lee tried to look indignant. ‘Yes I did!’

‘Fine. Then tell me his real name.’

Chang Lee stood up as well. ‘I gotta go, man.’

Grace folded her arms. And Chang Lee seized the

chance he clearly been waiting for. His hand darted

forward, scooped up the bag and he dashed out of her

office.

‘Wait,’ Grace yelled, following him. By the time she was

in the corridor, he was at the far end, heading for

reception. She set off after him.

She reached reception, only to see Chang Lee nearing

the exit. Grace shouted at the red-headed receptionist to

try and stop him, but she just looked rather bewildered.

Chang Lee was gone.

‘Damn.’ Nothing had gone right this evening.

Some time later, Pete and Ted were wheeling Grace’s

mysterious dead patient towards the body room section of

the morgue. They pushed it through the double doors and

stopped inside a room full of metallic rectangular doors,

each one leading to a cold room where bodies could be

stored on their gurneys.

Ted picked up a sheaf of papers. ‘Number Eight is

empty.’

Pete nodded, and wandered over to Number Eight,

opening the door. ‘You doing anything for New Year’s

Eve, Ted?’

The body, now stripped of all its clothes, was wrapped

in a grey shroud which Ted was tying up at the back.

‘Same as you, I guess. The upstairs fancy dress party.

Going as Wild Bill Hickok.’

Pete was not sure who Wild Bill Hickok was – he was

sure he knew most actors and pop stars – so he just smiled.

‘Great.’ He picked up a name tag and scribbled JOHN

DOE on it before wandering back towards the body.

‘Taking Barbara with me. Should be fun.’

He attached the label to the dead man’s right big toe.

‘John Doe on the toe,’ he said to the dead body. ‘We got a

nice autopsy booked for you. First thing in the morning,

mister. Then that’s followed by a sauna or a Swedish

herbal wrap. What would be your pleasure?’

Shrugging at the lack of response, he glanced over at the

huge clock by the door. ‘Hey, Ted, it’s one in the morning.

It’s New Year’s Eve, 1999. Party on...’

Ted rolled the body off the trolley and on to Number

Eight’s gurney. He then slid it back inside and locked the

door.

‘Yeah, let’s rock, Pete.’

Inside Number Eight, something very strange was

happening.

Normally, a dead body would lie there until its autopsy,

untouched and unmoved.

This mysterious body, however, began quivering. A

strange glow lit up the shroud and for a moment it seemed

to melt away, revealing a starscape; suns, moons and

planets, swirling gas giants and flaming comets. As if the

whole universe was encased within the outline of one

man’s body.

Then it all faded back to normal, and the body was lying

inside its grey shroud.

Normal until the man’s hand moved from inside the

shroud and ripped it away. For a moment, the revealed

body just lay there. Then the eyes popped open. Bright

eyes, shining with life.

Life that did not want to be shut inside whatever dark

prison it had been incarcerated. But it was tired.

Exhausted. It had to rest, gather its strength, so it waited.

Pete was in his little office, munching on a vast tub of

sweet popcorn and watching a really cheesy black-and-

white movie version of Frankenstein. The Monster was being brought back to life by massive surges of electricity.

‘People don’t come back to life,’ he muttered, taking a

quick swig of cooling coffee. Then he jumped as he heard a

couple of thumps.

He turned. They seemed to be coming from the body

room.

There were a couple more.

‘Ted?’ But Ted had gone off duty about an hour ago.

‘Ted, that you?’

No answer, just another thump.

Frowning, Pete got up and walked out of his office

and into the body room. The thumping started again,

furiously.

Pete flicked the light switch, bathing the room in a

harsh fluorescent white.

The thumping was coming from inside one of the

morgue containers. Which one?

It was Number Eight, he realised. The one with their

mysterious John Doe. Tentatively he reached out, flicking

the catch...

The door sprung open, almost ripped off its hinges by

the violence of the movement. The gurney shot out,

propelling the dead body forward and across the room,

where it thudded into the opposite wall.

Pete did a double-take, unable to believe his eyes. His

credulity was stretched further when the dead body

groaned and staggered up.

The final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back

came however, when Pete really looked at the body. It was

wrapped in the shroud, the John Doe tag still attached to

the right big toe, but the body was of a different man. It

was taller, younger, with wild hair.

The bizarre apparition staggered towards Pete, who

suddenly felt very warm. His legs felt like jelly and he

wanted to cry out, but all he could manage was a hiss.

Everything went black.

Bruce Gerhardt was snoring, keeping his wife wide awake,

as usual.

Miranda Gerhardt was used to her husband’s snores –

they had been married over five years – but that did not

mean she liked them.

Miranda stared at the clock. Bruce had got home from

the hospital at around ten thirty, murmuring something

about someone being shot in Chinatown. After fourteen

years as a paramedic, she thought, he ought to have got

used to horrible injuries by now, but then again, that was

Bruce. A carer, someone who would inconvenience himself

without a thought if it would help someone else.

She was lucky to be married to such a nice man, she

reminded herself.

If only he didn’t snore so much.

On the floor, just beside the wardrobe, Bruce had placed

his plastic Medikit bag.

For a brief moment, it glowed green, and when that

faded, a small hole had been melted through it, from the

inside.

Something oozed out of the new hole, something green

and essentially amorphous. Its normally fluid texture had

taken on an almost chitinous appearance. h slumped on to

the floor, desperately trying to inch forward. Already it

could feel the Master’s life-force ebbing. The mental stress on the Master was terrible and so it drove itself forward. It needed something organic to dissipate into, to wrap its

DNA around and combine with, providing the Master with

a better form, a more suitable host body.

Rearing up, tiny flakes of hard skin chipping off, the

creature jumped forward, landing on the soft coverings

over the sleeping humans.

The male was nearer, and something inside drove it on.

Perhaps the Master preferred a male form.

The male human’s mouth was wide open, which made

oozing inside easy. For a brief moment it felt the human

gagging and dying. That was of consequence because now

it felt renewed, strong. Its task was almost complete. It

filled outwards, its body becoming one with the dead

human, revitalising the vital organs as best it could. It was now aware that the Master was getting stronger.

The last thing it was conscious of was that the Master,

however, was displeased – this body would not work for

long. It needed a proper Time Lord body, not something

as primitive as a human. It needed two hearts, a respiratory by-pass system and a lower body temperature. But there

was nothing more it could do now except keep this body

animated long enough for the Master to find a Time Lord’s

body to inhabit.

Then it dissipated for ever.

Miranda Gerhardt sighed contentedly. Bruce had stopped

snoring. She rolled over and snuggled up behind him, and

began to drift to sleep, content with her wonderful

husband who loved her just as much as she loved him.

The new millennium was going to be just wonderful.

The man in white had fainted. Why?

He reached down to feel for the man in white’s pulse but

suddenly whipped his hand back, as if he’d been burned.

His hand. Hands. He looked at them.

‘Not my hands,’ he murmured.

What did that mean? Why weren’t they his hands?

What were his real hands like? He could not remember, yet

something told him this was wrong.

He was cold; the room was very chilly. He needed

warmth and some clothes. He felt exposed and unprotected

– but what did he need protection from?

He staggered unto the corridor, and looked out of a

window.

Dark. Rain. Cold.

Where was he? What was he doing here?

He opened a door that was clearly marked NO ENTRY

but, for some reason, that did not seem to matter. The

room was cold but full of things. Big things.

Beds, they were called beds. Yes, he could remember

that. They were piled on top of each other, and the room

was quite dark. There was some scaffolding in one corner.

This room was being redecorated.

It was a hospital – that’s right. A hospital.

What was he doing in a hospital? Had he had an

accident that meant his hands had been cut off? Was that

why they felt strange? That aside, his whole body felt

strange, as if it did not really belong to him at all.

He turned to a window. There was a light outside. Lots

of lights. It was a place they parked cars in. Whatever a car was. Why couldn’t he remember?

The light meant that he could see himself reflected in

the window.

He could not remotely remember what his reflection

ought to have been, but whoever it was staring back at him

struck absolutely no chords of recognition.

‘You’re not me,’ he mumbled. ‘Who are you?’

Suddenly, he felt very tired and very dizzy. He staggered

back, and sat on a bed that was lying clear of the others.

‘You’re not me,’ he repeated. ‘But who am I?’

That was the question he really needed an answer to.

Nothing seemed remotely familiar at all. And that

frightened him.

He looked about him, at the shadows cast upon the wall

by the outside lights; at the door to the bright corridor; at the window itself, where he could still see a faint image of (he presumed) his own face.

He tried to get up again, but his legs were tired and

instead he just fell to the floor.

Curling up into a foetal ball, he hugged himself to keep

warm. ‘Who am I?’ he said again.

And inside his brain the words echoed over and over

again.

Who am I?

One for sorrow, two for joy

To millions of people all over the would, the breaking of

this particular dawn signified the start of a very important day. It was December 31st, 1999. New Year’s Eve. Whether

in the bright lights of Times Square, the ancient charm of

Trafalgar Square, the exquisite beauty of La Place du

Concord or the dignified austerity of Red Square, people

would, later this day, be celebrating the ending of the

millennium. And looking forward to the twenty-first

century.

For Dr Grace Holloway, still dressed in her now

crumpled ballgown, it began drearily. She woke up and

heaved her face up off her desk and tried to massage some

life into her right cheek. It had taken the full weight of her sleeping head all night, and she imagined that someone

could jab a needle right through it and she would still not feel a thing.

Wiping at her eyes, she yawned and stared hard at the

X-ray still lit by the light-box. She glanced at her desk

clock: 6.30 a.m. Last time she had looked it had said 4.10

a.m. Surely she had not been sleeping for two hours? She

had work to do.

Her telephone rang twice – an internal call. Wearily she

picked it up, expecting it to be Roger Swift, remonstrating with her about her mysterious patient’s death.

It was Pete from the morgue, going on about the living

dead and damage done to the mortuary room by some

drunk. As her head cleared, Grace realised that Pete was

talking about her deceased patient’s cold room.

Still not entirely clear what he was going on about,

Grace agreed to take a wander down to the morgue – on the

proviso she could get some coffee on the way.

After replacing the receiver, Grace dragged herself out

of her chair (God, that was uncomfortable to sleep in; her

back would probably be protesting for days) and staggered

towards the office door. She threw on her white coat, as if it would protect her from the evil spells that Pete was

convinced had brought someone back to life. She’d get

some breakfast first, and then see what was on the porter’s mind. She certainly could not concentrate without some

food inside her.

The object of Pete’s consternation watched from a corridor

as the porter dashed away, having just finished a telephone conversation about some incident in the mortuary.

That seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not put a

finger on exactly why. Had he seen something? Something

about a door?

Whatever it was, he would find out soon, no doubt. If

only he could clear this strange fog in his brain. He had

tried sleeping, but despite feeling exceptionally tired, his mind simply would not let him go under. Instead, it had

kept probing, kept digging, trying to find answers to

impossible questions. Who am I? Why am I here? Where

am I going? Philosophically or geographically?

By now he had wandered into the mortuary itself, and

immediately saw the damaged container door, battered and

hanging off its hinges, indentations made by a fast moving

gurney no doubt.

How did he know that? Anything could have made

those marks, yet the size, shape and amount of damage

generally indicated something hitting it at a high speed.

Internally – the door was definitely damaged from inside.

For a brief moment he had a glimpse in his mind’s eye

of the door springing open, seeing the astonished porter’s

face staring at him.

Could it have been him inside the cold room?

He looked down at his feet, a tag attached to his right

big toe. He was wearing a grey shroud. Hmmm?

One thing he was becoming aware of was that he was

starting to get cold. Where could he find better garments?

The faint noise of a television (now, how did he

recognise those sounds?) could be heard through another

door. He gingerly walked towards the noises and

discovered a small office just off a locker room. Sure

enough, a television was playing. Cartoons. He watched for

a moment as a blue cat chased a mouse around the corner

of a house, and then crashed into a rake. The rake sprang

up, smacking the cat right in the face and...

Violence.

He shook his head, despairingly. Cartoons or real life,

something inside him was twisting at the thought of

wanton violence. It was something wrong. Something he

had to stop... why? Why did he think that?

He needed to get away, out of the claustrophobic

hospital, with its smell of antiseptic and brightly lit

corridors. He needed open spaces, trees and grass. Birds

and animals. Natural things.

He needed the TARDIS as well.

TARDIS? What exactly was the TARDIS?

Oh, well, whatever it was, he guessed that he would

know it when he found it.

He began to rummage through some of the open

lockers. Theft was not exactly moral either, but these

clothes were not being used and he reasoned that he could

return them later. Perhaps the TARDIS had a wardrobe

where he could find his own clothes.

The first locker he opened had a pile of clothes neatly

folded inside a couple of plastic bags, marked with the

name Walker General Hospital. He could see a rather

shabby tweed sports coat, hideous leather patches on the

elbows. A pair of loud check pants and a white shirt. They

looked very familiar, but obviously would not fit him.

They were the clothes of a much smaller man. Perched on

top of the pile was a straw hat. He reached out and touched it and something in his mind clicked. He could suddenly

see someone wearing the hat, indeed all these clothes,

standing outside a large blue box. The place was dark, but

the small man was holding a strange casket of some sort.

Something else familiar...

He let go of the hat and the vision vanished. He picked

up the hat again, but this time nothing happened.

Nevertheless, it had given him some information. He

decided he would keep the hat, just in case.

The next locker contained a costume of some sort,

encased in a special plastic clothing wrap, hanging neatly.

It was stamped Berman’s Costumiers and Fancy Dress Hire (San Francisco) Inc. He quite liked the look of the grey velvet cravat with its gold stud which was stuffed at the

bottom of the bag. He opened another locker, then another

and another. If he took something from each of these fancy

dress items, he might get away with it. He reached for one

containing a large dark brown frock coat...

Chang Lee was perched on the top of a burned out Chevvie

that had been dumped a few months ago behind the chain-

link fence that bordered Rose Street.

He could see the big blue box, surrounded by police

tape in Rose Alley, just on the other side of the street. The police had departed, presumably having carted off the

bodies of both Pik Sim and Lin Wang.

In his hands was the bag containing the strange man’s

things. He was looking at the gold pocket watch; might be

worth quite a bit. The long, silver thing that might have

been a torch seemed worthless, but the shield-shaped key,

was that the key to the blue box?

Chang Lee slid off the car and hurried down Rose

Avenue and into Rose Alley. He checked no one could see

him and wandered up to the police line, glancing briefly at the white outlines on the ground that marked out where

the three bodies had fallen.

He ducked under the tape and went straight to the door.

POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX, it said across the top. On

one of the panels on the wooden door were various

instructions on how to telephone for the police, in case of an emergency. Whatever this was, it was certainly bizarre.

But if it belonged to the cops, was the little man a police officer? A private investigator perhaps, or one of those

weirdos who worked at the DA’s office?

Chang Lee touched the box, and whipped his hand back

in surprise. It was vibrating very slightly, letting out an almost imperceptible hum that he had to strain to hear.

This was no ordinary box. He looked at the key in his

hand – even if it was the key to the box, it might be booby trapped. Having survived last night’s attempt by the other

gang to wipe him out, he was not particularly keen on

getting blown apart by a DA’s box.

‘One for The X Files,’ he muttered, pocketing the key and walking slowly away. This needed more thought.

Miranda Gerhardt was awoken by the noise of her husband

closing a drawer next to their wardrobe.

She glanced sleepily over at the green LED figures on

their bedside clock – it was 8.45.

‘Bit early, darling,’ she murmured.

Bruce did not reply. He was standing, apparently gazing

at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the

wardrobe door. He had evidently showered because his

beautiful black hair was perfectly gelled and slicked back –

normally it stuck up in ridiculous directions first thing in the morning. Discarded on the floor was the shirt he had

noisily retrieved from the drawer. She stared hard at his

naked back and smiled at his gorgeous body, muscles

toned, skin tanned.

When they’d met five years earlier, he’d recently been

divorced from his first wife. Miranda had been in a car

accident and Bruce had looked after her in the ambulance,

where they had struck up a friendship. In a totally fairy-

tale romance sort of way, they had wined and dined each

other after she had recovered. He had been kind, sincere

and attentive; her reciprocal attention had massaged his

self-confidence back into shape, proving to him – and to

Miranda – that he really was the perfect man.

Bruce was still gazing at the mirror, and Miranda slid

slightly across to his side of the bed, trying to catch his reflection in the glass.

His side of the bed was cold – he must have been up for

a good half hour. Still unable to see his face, she spoke

softly.

‘Hi, honey.’

‘This body won’t last long,’ Bruce whispered.

‘Another few years yet, Bruce. I’ll still love you when

you’re wrinkled and chubby.’ Miranda went back to her

warmer side of the bed, wrapping the quilt around her

tightly.

Bruce just ignored her.

‘I need the Doctor’s body,’ he sighed.

Miranda grinned and sat up, then got on to her knees,

still tugging the quilt round her. ‘You could do with a body that doesn’t snore, sure, but you don’t need a doctor.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘C’mon honey, let’s get back to bed.’

Bruce did not turn, but spoke louder. ‘My name isn’t

“honey”.’

Miranda giggled. ‘What should I call you, then?’

‘“Master” will do.’

Smiling, Miranda stepped off the bed, letting the quilt

fall to the floor. She tiptoed up behind him and slid her

arms around his waist, snuggling her head against the back

of his neck. ‘All right. “Master”, come back to bed!’

Bruce turned to face her and the first thing that went

through her mind was that he was not smiling. That, and

the fact that his eyes were suddenly bright green, shining

and slightly elliptic. Large dark pupils in a sea of

luminescence.

The next thing that went through her mind was that

Bruce’s right hand was round her throat, cutting off her

voice, her air. She tried to kick out, to struggle but realised he had lifted her off the ground. She was blacking out.

The last thing that went through Miranda Gerhardt’s

mind was that her lovely, beautiful, perfect Bruce was

trying to throttle her. Deliberately. She coughed and then

suddenly felt very light-headed.

Had Bruce let go? Was the game over? Was she –

The Master let the woman drop as he turned back to the

wardrobe. He rummaged inside for a while, finding a pair

of quality denim jeans and a check shirt. He quickly put

them on, adding a pair of light boots to the combination.

Slung over a chair by the bed was the black paramedic’s

jerkin that his host body wore the night before. Yes, he had been in the ambulance, and had taken the Doctor to that

hospital. He ought to be able to retrace this ‘Bruce’’s steps, and use his identity to track down his old enemy.

He looked down at Bruce’s medical bag and decided it

might be appropriate to carry it.

The Master touched his new skin. It was only human

and was like walking around in a cadaver. Before too long

it would begin to decompose as any dead human would.

He needed a Time Lord body to inhabit, and he knew

exactly where to find one, freshly injured or dead, that he could utilise with no future problems.

He smiled for the first time as he put on a pair of dark

glasses to hide his eyes, the last remnant of the morphic

carrier he had ingested prior to his extermination by the

Daleks. The Master knew then it would protect him long

enough to find some kind of sanctuary. He picked up the

medical bag and left the apartment, confident that if

anyone saw him it would be just reliable old Bruce

Gerhardt on his way to work.

‘What a nice man,’ they would say.

Pete was pointing at the wrecked door while Grace was

examining the damaged gurney. ‘It simply wasn’t the same

guy, Dr Holloway.’

Grace stood up, running a hand through her strawberry-

blonde hair and shrugged. Her hunger had been sated by a

large bowl of muesli and three cups of decaf, but she still could not get her head around Pete’s weird story.

‘Strikes me, Pete, that you saw the guy who stole the

body.’

Pete shook his head. ‘No way. He was wearing a shroud,

and that ID tag on his toe!’

Grace folded her arms and looked Pete directly in the

eye. ‘Somehow, I don’t believe that the Second Coming is

likely to happen here.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Pete smiled for the first time. ‘He’d go to a better hospital.’

He went to go back to his office, but then turned back to

Grace. ’I know what I saw.’

Grace just smiled. ‘Yeah, okay Pete. Pop by psychiatric

on your way home. Pick up some more mind-altering

drugs, all right?’

Pete turned away, muttering.

Grace smiled and headed back for her office. Pete and

Ted were known for their bizarre sense of humour, usually

aided by copious amounts of cider that mysteriously

vanished whenever Roger Swift tried to pin something on

them.

Then again, something had done a lot of damage to that

door, and Pete certainly had the symptoms of a sudden

faint rather than unconsciousness induced by alcohol.

Why was everything involving her mysterious (and now

vanished) corpse always so complicated?

She called the elevator that would take her back up the

ground floor and her office. She was still thinking about

the strength needed to rip a sealed morgue door off its

hinges like that, when the doors opened and she got in.

The first thing that greeted her when the doors

reopened was a long line of out-patients or relatives

waiting for this morning’s Emergency Room business.

Walking towards her was Shelly Curtis, looking

remarkably fresh, presumably having caught a few hours

more sleep than Grace had. She was relieving the

receptionist, and as she settled down, Grace leaned across

the desk.

‘Can you believe this? Some creep’s made off with that

John Doe from last night.’

Curtis screwed her face up in disgust. ‘Eeew! Body-

snatchers.’

Watching this exchange, the stranger recognised the tall

strawberry-blonde from somewhere. But where?

For a moment he suddenly saw her, gowned and

masked, as if leaning over him. He looked around himself

now. If he was in a hospital, perhaps he had had an

accident. That might explain why he could remember very

little, and why even his own face seemed unfamiliar.

He had to talk to her. He stood up from the line of patients and headed towards the reception desk. He

stopped in his tracks when the blonde woman began

talking to another man who hurried over, telling the

receptionist not to call the police.

‘But Dr Swift, if someone’s stolen a body ...?’ she said,

but this Dr Swift shook his head. Then he turned to the

blonde doctor.

‘Dr Holloway,’ he was saying (so that was her name;

store that. Well, try to remember it, at least), ‘Dr Holloway, can you give me some of your valuable time?’

Time.

That was it. Or was it? Something to do with time?

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

10.22 a.m., it read. December 31st.

Grace allowed herself to be escorted into her own office by the hospital’s administrator, slightly bewildered by his

haste.

‘Roger,’ she tried to say, ‘Roger, we have to call the

police, because –’

He held his hand up, cutting her off, crossing to the X-

rays still on her light-box. ‘We don’t need to advertise our mistakes, do we?’

He took the X-rays down.

Grace frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

Swift looked out of her office and then back at her, a

false smile on his face. He held up the X-rays. ‘Two hearts, Grace. No wonder you got lost in there.’

‘Exactly:’

‘Or,’ he said, still smiling, using that look Grace knew

he reserved for dying elderly patients who wanted to

donate their life’s savings to his hospital, ‘maybe this really is a double exposure. Jim Salinger seems to think so.’

Salinger would,’ Grace retorted. ‘He has about as much

imagination as a mouse and half the guts to say what he

really thinks.’

‘Nevertheless, Grace, I can’t afford to lose you.’ Swift

took a pair of scissors off Grace’s desktop.

Grace reached out, grabbing his hand, frowning. ‘What

are you going to do?’

‘What you should have done last night.’ Swift neatly cut

the X-rays in half, quarters, then eighths and dropped the

scissors back on her desk. He placed the fragments of the

X-rays into his pocket. ‘I’ll be visiting the furnace soon, I think. Just to be certain:

Grace stared open mouthed. Then she stepped back

towards the wall in bewilderment. ‘Am I having a bad

dream here? I lose a patient, then his body, and now you

destroy the only proof –’

Swift held up his hand to stop her, still smiling

insincerely. ‘That you were careless.’

‘That I had no way of knowing,’ she continued angrily.

‘That he had –’

‘Stop.’ Swift stopped smiling, and scowled. Sincerely. ‘A

man died last night because you lost your way.’

‘You bet I did!’ Grace was nearly shouting. She reached

across, slamming her office door shut. ‘You’ve seen those

X-rays. The guy had two hearts!’

‘But now, without a body, and without any records, no

one need ever know he was here. I’ve already spoken to

Salinger and Wheeler. I’ll talk to Curtis.’

‘And Pete and Ted? And Bruce and Joey in the

ambulance? And Lana on reception last night? And the

police officers and everyone else who knew that he was

here?’

Swift just shrugged. ‘Just let me take care of this, Grace.’

‘No!’

‘Believe me, this is the best way for all of us.’

Grace sat down hard, shocked at Swift’s proposal, but

confidant that he could do it. Even bribery was cheaper

than the fiasco that would erupt if it got out. Rationally she could see that. But this was illegal. As big a malpractice as the one Swift was implying she had committed by killing

the mysterious man. ‘But Roger, what was he? How can we

learn from him? I have to find that body and –’

Roger Swift slammed his fist down hard on the desk,

and Grace jumped in alarm.

‘And I have to keep Walker General open, Grace. At all

costs.’

Grace shook her head. ‘No.’ She swallowed hard and

looked him in the eye.

‘No, Dr Swift. If you do this, I’ll quit.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

Grace just stared at him.

Grace looked up at the clock in reception as she struggled

towards the elevator, her arms full of boxes of papers.

Perched on top was a small plastic Mickey Mouse – a gift

from her colleagues on her last birthday.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped in. The

Mickey Mouse toppled off and bounced on to the floor –

and straight into the hands of a bizarre looking man. He

got into the lift with her, and replaced the toy on top of the boxes.

Grace muttered a thanks and stared at the indicator as it

went past Lower Ground, Basement and finally Sub-

Basement, where the parking lot was.

The doors opened, and Grace was puzzled to see the

man follow her out.

He tapped her on the shoulder, and her heart began to

race. This was all she needed right now – her alarm was in

her bag, but her hands were full.

‘Tuccini!’ The man smiled.

Grace looked at him. He was in his mid-thirties, at a

guess. He had rather sad looking eyes, yet they were bright blue and quite attractive. He had a nice bone structure and a wonderful smile, showing a full set of good teeth. He was about her height, but with swept back hair that looked as if he’d licked his fingers and jammed them into a light

socket.

It was his clothes that made her frown. He was dressed

like something out of a Victorian movie. A long-tailed

chocolate brown frock-coat, a wing-collared shirt and grey

velvet cravat. He also wore a fawn paisley vest, and grey

pants. His feet were completely bare which meant, Grace

thought, they must have been feeling the cold from the

rough concrete floor.

‘Going to a party, are we?’ she suggested.

The stranger just carried on smiling. ‘We’ve met before.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Grace began walking towards her car.

‘I do.’ He reached out to take one of the boxes but Grace

pulled back and the Mickey Mouse took another tumble.

Again he scooped it up, holding it out to her. ‘I know you –

you’re tired of life. But afraid of dying.’

Grace speeded up, willing to sacrifice her Mouse if it

meant she could get away from some Englishman who had

either had too much to drink at a pre-millennium party or

was an escapee from Psychiatric.

‘There was music,’ he called after her. ‘ Madame Butterfly.

And you were there. I saw you. Last night!’

Maybe he’d seen her at the Opera House, and followed

her out. God, somehow she’d picked up a stalker.

Wonderful.

She dumped the boxes on the hood of her car, but

remembering her self-defence classes, did not get the key

from her bag. Don’t turn your back on him, Grace, she

remembered.

The man was still standing some way away. He was

scratching at his chest, unbuttoning his vest.

‘I don’t know who I am, but I know you do!’

This gets worse and worse, thought Grace. A drunken

stalker ready to expose himself. The year 2000 could only

be an improvement on this.

‘Please,’ she shouted. just go away, or I’ll call security.’

‘You’re my only hope,’ he yelled back. ‘Do you know

who I am?’

Grace slowly opened her bag, keeping an eye on the

man. She felt the alarm. Next to it, her keys. They were the better option. She felt them in her clenched fist, and begun to feel calmer. She lifted them out, transferring them to her other hand and fumbled behind her, searching for the

keyhole.

‘I have no idea who you are,’ she said. ‘I have never seen

you before in my life.’ The key slotted in. ‘Now leave me

alone!’

The man stepped forward. ‘Please help me. You’re a

doctor –’

‘ Was a doctor. My oath just expired.’ Grace heard the central locking click and hauled her door open. With one

hand she hurled her bag on to the passenger seat and

grabbed the boxes off the hood and into the back. Seconds

later she was seated, and at a push of a button, the four

doors centrally locked again.

She started the car up and glanced outside. He stalker

had disappeared, hopefully having taken the hint.

She had just begun to ease the car out of its parking

space when something landed on her skirt. She looked

down to see the plastic Mickey Mouse. Peering into her

rear-view mirror, she could see the stalker in the back seat, his piercing blue eyes staring back at her.

Grace finally gave in. She screamed and slammed her

fist down on the horn, letting out an elongated noise,

trying to catch the parking lot attendant’s attention,

wherever he was.

‘Get out of my car!’ she screamed.

‘My hearts!’ The man in the back screamed even louder,

and doubled up. ‘There’s something here!’

Fascinated and unable to take it all in, Grace turned and

looked. The stalker had ripped his shirt open, revealing a

well-developed body, rising and falling sharply – he was

having difficulty breathing.

Then she saw what he was protesting about. Sticking

out of his chest was a tiny piece of wire – or at least it

looked like wire. Yet, as realisation dawned, Grace still

could not accept what she was seeing.

‘What is it?’ The man was clearly in agony.

‘Oh, God,’ murmured Grace, ‘it can’t be...’

The man grabbed at it and, accompanied by a screech of

pain, he wrenched it out of his body, letting it flop to the floor.

‘Two hearts,’ he gasped. ‘I have two hearts. Please, get

me out of here, before they kill me again –’

He slumped forward, banging his head on her headrest

and then crashing down on the back seat, apparently

unconscious.

‘Please,’ he said, so quietly she almost missed it. ‘You’ve got to help me.’

Just as the parking lot attendant and a security officer

from the hospital rushed through a door from behind

them, Grace slammed the car into Drive and sped out of

the parking lot.

Three storeys above the parking lot, Shelly Curtis was

flicking through her Armistead Maupin novel, idly waiting

for the next emergency to arrive, when she was aware that

someone was staring down at her.

She glanced up and smiled. ‘Hi Bruce, what’s with the

shades?’

‘I had a bad night.’

Curtis nodded. ‘Yeah, and I bet Miranda gave you a

darn good telling off as well.’ She poked at him with a pen.

‘And I bet you deserved it.’ She looked down at her

receptionist notebook. ‘You’re not on shift for a few more

hours. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off.’

‘That might be difficult.’

Curtis laughed. ‘Ha! She’s thrown you out for the day,

right! Score one for the sisterhood.’

Bruce did not laugh. Or smile. He just stared at her

through his dark glasses.

‘Did you want something?’ she asked him.

‘What happened to the gunshot wound we brought in

last night? I’ve got orders to move him.’

Curtis shook her head. ‘Sorry Bruce. He died.’

‘Yeah. They wanted me to get his body.’

Curtis thought this was a little odd. Why would a

paramedic want to take a stiff anywhere? That was Pete or

Ted’s job. And who asked Bruce to do this anyway?

Perhaps she ought to just check with –

Bruce was picking at one of his fingernails, when it just

carne clean off. He flicked it away.

‘You okay, Bruce?’

‘Where is it?’ he snapped back.

Curtis decided this was none of her business. Miranda

had obviously put Bruce in a bad mood and, fingernails or

not, she was not going to get involved. ‘The body’s gone,’

she said simply. ‘Stolen.’

Bruce seemed to take this in his stride. ‘Of course. If he

died then he regenerated.’

Curtis did not understand any of this. Bruce was acting

very strangely.

‘Okay,’ said Bruce. ‘Where are his things?’

‘The kid you brought with you stole them from Grace

Holloway’s office.’

Bruce cocked his head, as if thinking something

through. ‘The Asian child.’

Curtis was perturbed by Bruce’s unusual tone. ‘Yeah,

the "Asian" child.’ She stared harder at him. ‘Bruce, I think you must be really sick.’

Bruce suddenly smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said, turned on

his heel and marched out.

Curtis decided to call Mr Prentiss, Bruce’s

superintendent. Her friend was acting real weird this

morning, and she thought his boss ought to know.

Grace’s condominium was quite a walk from where she had

parked the car. Slightly embarrassed at this, she refused to let the stranger carry anything, because of his injuries.

Despite that, he kept up right behind her and before long,

she was unlocking her apartment door, carefully undoing

each of the five locks in order.

‘You all right?’ she asked as the door swung open.

‘Much better,’ replied her charge.

‘Good.’

‘Especially now that I don’t have a piece of primitive

wiring inside my cardiovascular system.’ He dropped the

micro-probe on to a small cabinet beside the front door.

Grace wandered into her living room, ready to dump the

boxes on one of her armchairs.

Instead, she faced an almost empty room, with a naked

bulb swinging slightly from the ceiling. The only furniture left was an armchair and a coffee table. ‘I don’t believe it.

He’s taken all his stuff.’

‘Who?’

‘Brian’

‘Your... boyfriend?’ he said hesitantly, as if he was

unsure if that was the right terminology.

‘Ex-boyfriend.’ Grace flopped into the armchair.

‘Apparently.’ She sighed. ‘Open your shirt again. I want to listen to your heart.’

‘Hearts,’ he corrected.

‘Whatever.’

The stranger looked for somewhere to sit.

Grace groaned. ‘He took the sofa. The miserable little –’

The stranger was looking around, and pointed at a print

of the Mona Lisa on one of the walls. ‘He left you that.’ He walked towards it. ‘Leonardo had a terrible cold when he

painted this.’

‘How can you tell?’

He smiled back at Grace. ‘I helped out. Made a few improvements of my own.’ He stopped. ‘Now how come I

remember that?’

Grace wondered if the trauma of whatever had

happened to him (and God help her, she could not begin to

explain what exactly that was) was affecting his mind more

than before. Delirium.

She pointed to a short set of stairs, leading to a raised

bedroom. ‘We can sit up there. Come on.’

Moments later, they were seated on the bed, the stranger

having undone his shirt again. Grace had her stethoscope

out and was placing it over his heart.

He was ignoring her, looking out of the window across

the city. He could see the famous Golden Gate Bridge and

beyond it, the Marin Headlands.

‘San Francisco. I’ve never been here while it’s still

inhabited. What a lovely view.’

Grace ignored him. ‘Maybe,’ she said putting the

stethoscope in her ears, ‘you’ve had selective amnesia

brought on by shock.’

‘Maybe. I can’t remember.’

Grace began listening to his heartbeat. ‘Shh.’ She sat up.

‘You’re still fibrillating badly.’

‘I’m not. Here.’ He moved the stethoscope over to the

other side of his chest.

‘Oh, God...’ Grace let go of the stethoscope.

‘See,’ the stranger said. ‘It’s not an echo.’

‘Two hearts.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘You were

right. Who are you?’

The stranger got up, and began rooting through her CD

collection. ‘I was dead for too long this time. Your

anaesthetic almost destroyed the regenerative process.’

He suddenly smiled and waved a CD at her, changing

the subject in a breath. ‘ Turandot. Poor Puccini – I was with him, you know. When he died. It was so sad that he

never got the chance to finish it. I offered, but everyone

else preferred Alfano’s work, and so he did it, based on

Puccini’s notes, of course.’

Grace removed the CD from his hand. ‘Yeah, right.’

She cleared her throat, and decided to treat this like any

other illness, despite both the peculiarity of the problem

and the patient. ‘I’m going to take a blood sample and find out what’s going on here.’

The stranger shook his head. ‘No, Grace, you don’t

understand. I have thirteen lives, twelve attempts at getting it right.’

‘So,’ Grace smiled. ‘So, you’re trying to tell me that you

came back from the dead?’

He looked at her in complete seriousness. ‘Of course

not. The dead stay dead. I regenerated, eventually.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she stood up. ‘You can’t turn back time.’

The stranger suddenly beamed, and Grace saw

something beautiful in his eyes. Eyes so full of life whereas they had been so pained, so ill just half an hour earlier.

‘Yes you can, Grace.’

‘I’m not a child,’ she snapped without meaning to.

‘Don’t talk to me like one. Only children believe that crap.

I’m a doctor!’

The stranger took her hand, and she found she did not

mind as much as she felt she ought to. ‘But it was a child’s dream that made you want to be a doctor, wasn’t it?’

Grace was suddenly back at her parent’s house in

Sacramento, watching as an elderly doctor left their

bedroom, shaking his head at her father.

Daddy had gripped little Grace’s hand tightly and she

could see he was crying. She cried too, not really knowing

why, but realising that the doctor who had been looking

after Mummy had looked sad too.

‘Mummy’s gone away, angel,’ Daddy had said. ‘She’s not

coming back, I’m afraid. Dr Seinkewicz did what he could.’

And although she could not really understand what Dr

Seinkewicz could not have done, she knew that one day she

would have to be a doctor and find out.

Here she was, nearly thirty years later and they’d still

not found a complete cure for cancer. But Grace had

become a doctor and had made sure that a lot more five-

year-olds still had their mothers and fathers to go home

with at the end of the day.

She was back in her condo, staring at the wonderful blue

eyes of her mysterious patient.

He looked away, back out towards the Golden Gate

Bridge. ‘Don’t be sad, Grace,’ he murmured. ‘You will do

great things.’

Chang Lee had kicked around a bit in the neighbourhood,

avoiding other people but always staying within easy reach

of the tall blue box.

After a while, he had seen a patrol car drive up the alley, park and then drive away again. Perhaps they had been

looking for him. The hospital must have reported him by

now.

Now the coast was clear and he dashed over to the box,

ducking under the tape once again. This time, the key was

read, and he was going to use it.

He twisted it in the door and as it opened, the hum got

louder.

He had expected a tiny little box room, just large

enough for him to stand in. What greeted him was

impossible.

Beautiful, but impossible.

The room was like the inside of one of those huge

ancient houses he had seen on television once, in some old

British Masterpiece Theatre show.

Everything was made of intricately carved wood with

lacquered panels. Brass switches dominated a huge

mushroom shaped object at the centre of the room and

when he looked up, he could see a high, domed ceiling

through the gloom.

It was not very bright and Chang Lee nervously spoke

into the darkness. ‘Hello?’

There was no reply. He looked back at the central shape

and realised it was on a slight, rounded, platform, with four sets of double steps leading up to it. A brass rail

surrounded it, and on the side nearest him, a tiny screen

was flickering.

CRITICAL TIMING MALFUNCTION

AUTOMATIC EMERGENCY LANDING

INSTIGATED

EARTH

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

SAN FRANCISCO

LOCAL DATELINE 1999

This was the only light in the room, apart from that

which came through the marble and wood doors from the

outside.

‘This is too weird,’ Chang Lee decided. He was going to

turn back and go out when the doors slammed shut.

Chang Lee saw two tiny pinpricks of green light moving

towards him. They got bigger – they looked like eyes.

Then they vanished suddenly.

Before he could relax, Chang Lee realised that someone

was actually standing in the shadows where the green

lights had been. The figure walked towards him. As his

eyes grew more accustomed to the light and the figure got

nearer, Chang Lee called out again.

‘Who’s there?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ came the reply, and the figure

became recognisable.

‘Hey, Bruce,’ Chang Lee said. ‘Man, you scared me.

This place is freaky enough, yeah?’

Bruce was standing quite still, his head slightly cocked

to one side. He was still wearing his black paramedic’s

jerkin but underneath it he wore a black tunic with a

Nehru collar, and black trousers and boots. All three items of clothing seemed to be made out of the same material,

which looked a bit like snake-skin. Although there was not

a great deal of light, as Bruce took a step forward, the

snake-skin effect rippled slightly, almost as if the clothes were alive. Chang Lee decided he looked quite weird and

took a step back.

Bruce seemed to look at him through his dark glasses

and then ignored him, walking past him and up one of the

tiny steps, past the railing, and touched the central shape.

Then he turned back.

‘Lee.’ Bruce’s voice sounded very strange. Almost as if

he had hurt his jaw and was trying to get it working again.

‘Chang Lee. Isn’t that your name?’

Chang Lee moved towards him, up one of the other sets

of steps.

Immediately the whole chamber was flooded in light,

and the tall central shape began to light up as well, like a Christmas tree.

‘Well, well. The TARDIS likes you, Chang Lee.’

Chang Lee looked around at the marvellous room he

was in. The whole box was bigger on the inside than the

outside.

‘Yes; said Bruce. ‘It’s dimensionally transcendental.’

Chang Lee nodded. ‘Yeah. Like, right.’ He looked back

at Bruce. ‘What d’you mean, “the TARDIS likes me”,

Bruce?’

Bruce smiled suddenly, and removed his shades. His

eyes were fierce green light. The ones he had seen earlier.

‘I am not Bruce, my young friend. I merely inhabit his

body.’

Chang Lee realised that something had happened.

Bruce was really ill. ‘Oh, yeah. So, er, who are you really?’

Bruce stepped closer. ‘You really want to know, do you?’

Chang Lee was captivated by those eyes. They seemed

to bore right into him, deep deep down, as if they could see everything inside him, his whole life. Every experience,

every feeling. Happy. Sad. Angry. Hurt. Chang Lee wanted

to close his own eyes, shut out Bruce’s horrible new green

ones, but he simply could not.

He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands until

they really hurt. Suddenly he managed to shake his head,

feeling as if he had broken free of something.

He stepped back. ‘Stop that! Bruce, hell man, if you’re

not Bruce, what are you?’

‘I am known as the Master.’

Bruce, or the Master, pointed at the key Chang Lee was

holding.

‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’ Chang Lee frowned. ‘Oh, the guy who had this

before? He died. All his stuff is mine now.’

‘No,’ said the Master. ‘No, he’s not dead. But he has

stolen my body.’

‘But –’

The Master suddenly frowned and staggered, as if he as

hurting. ‘I... I will die unless we bring him back here.’ He looked up at Chang Lee, pleading. ‘You have to help me

get my own body back.’

Chang Lee stared at the Master, then at the fantastic

room all around him. ‘Yeah, right. And what’s in it for me?’

The Master just smiled. ‘You? You get to live.’

Three for a girl

Grace had been working for the whole day now, adrenalin

providing her with the energy that would normally have

faded ages before. It had been a long time since she had

missed her regulation six hours’ sleep, and she knew she

would pay for it later.

She had dragged the kitchen table up into the bedroom

and set up her medical equipment all over it, as if trying to fit the entire contents of one of Walker General’s well-stocked labs on to a space roughly three feet square.

She had allowed herself the luxury of changing out of

her ballgown after a quick shower, and now sat hunched

over a microscope in a pair of black Levi’s, a tight cerise Versace Profumi blouse and a pair of black Doc Martens

shoes.

The strange man had requested a shower and asked if

Grace could lend him a pair of socks and shoes – saying

that if he did not keep his feet warm, he would soon get a

cold. Aware of how delicate he must currently be, Grace

had dug out a pair of Brian’s old brown shoes that he used

in winter for tramping about in snow or mud. As such,

they were stained and scuffed and Brian had obviously

abandoned them during his hurried departure.

‘They fit,’ she heard the strange man mutter after a

while. She glanced up to see him sitting on the steps

leading up to her bed area, polishing the shoes with an old duster. They now looked brand new.

‘Good,’ she grunted. ‘Keep ‘em.’

‘Thanks. What d’you think of my blood?’

Grace looked up from her microscope and sighed,

running a weary hand through her hair. ‘Well, it’s not just blood –’

The stranger was pacing up and down the steps,

muttering. ‘Maybe if I walk about in them for a while,

they’ll stretch and I’ll get used to them.’

Grace watched him for a moment, and then looked back

at the impossibility she had on her slide under the

microscope. Some fresh air would do her a lot of good right now.

‘That’s a good idea. Let’s go for a walk,’ she said, getting up and grabbing her coat from over the back of the

armchair.

The strange man beamed, his eyes sparkling. ‘A brisk

December walk in the park in the evening. Just what the

doctor ordered, as they say.’

‘Yeah. Right.’ Grace found him a scarf from the same

pile of Brian-rejects and went to find a woolly hat.

When she came back, he was staring at the microscope.

‘I’m sure I used to have a laboratory full of things like this.

I think. Somehow it just brought some memories back, but

they’re still all jumbled up.’

He suddenly looked very crestfallen. ‘I hope my

memory comes back before too long. It’s very

inconvenient, you know.’

Typical British understatement, Grace thought. She

tossed him a red woolly hat. ‘You might need this to keep

your ears warm.’

He tried to put it over his bizarrely swept back hair,

leaving tufts hanging down the back and flopping over his

eyes.

‘Very cute,’ Grace said, unlocking the front door.

Smiling like a child with some new toys, the strange

man bounded out of the condo and down the steps to the

sidewalk as if he had never been fitter. Seconds later, his voice floated up from the opposite side of the road.

‘Which way, Grace? Left or right?’

‘Left, to the park. But wait for me.’ She knew however

that he would be gone, and sure enough it took her a good

five minutes to locate him in the park.

He was seated on a small bench, staring at a pond. The

woolly hat now lay beside him.

He did not look up as she approached, but simply threw

a small pebble into the pond, watching intently as the

ripples spread out to the edges.

‘Just who am I, Grace?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Maybe you’re the result of

some weird genetic experiment?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He stared out at the water, his chin

resting on his hands.

‘Well,’ Grace tried a different tack. ‘Do you have any

recollection of your family?’

‘No, I –’ He suddenly sat upright. ‘No, wait. There is

something. I remember... my father?’ He stood up, eyes

suddenly bright again. ‘Yes, I remember my father. I

remember lying back in the grass with my father on a

warm Gallifreyan night.’ He paused. ‘The sky was burnt

orange, rich and beautiful and the moonlight made all the

leaves glow silver. We lived on the south side of Gallifrey, near a mountain.’ He looked Grace straight in the eye,

smiling. ‘It was covered with the most beautiful daisies.’

Grace nodded. ‘This Gallifrey. Somewhere in Ireland

perhaps? It sounds Celtic. Scotland?’ She remembered the

man who had died, the man whose body had had the

micro-probe lost inside it. The man whose body had

disappeared, only to be apparently replaced by this

completely different, but very alive person before her.

Could it all be true?

‘What else do you remember?’

The man smiled, as if these most important memories

were so vivid, so real to him. ‘There was a meteor shower

that night. The sky was dancing with lights. Purple, green, brilliant yellow.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, perfect.’

‘What is?’

The man suddenly threw his arms into the air and

twirled around, grinning happily. He stopped and bent

over slightly, staring right into Grace’s face. ‘These shoes.

They fit perfectly. Thank you.’

Chang Lee had never seen so many books, not even in the

Jasmine Library, where he and Pik Sim had hidden from

one of the gangs once.

The Master had led him over to the books and, after

rummaging around in a cupboard on the opposite side of

the room, had found a set of library steps on wheels. He

pressed a stud on the bottom of the steps and rung after

rung materialised on top. Chang Lee could not see where

the top shelf was, but assumed that there were potentially

enough rungs to reach it.

The Master was now about eighteen shelves up,

searching for something. Chang Lee glanced

surreptitiously over at the main double doors that led back towards Rose Alley, but decided to stick with the Master

for now. He seemed a bit weird, but okay enough.

Most importantly, despite the fact that Chang Lee heard

him talking to himself a couple of times, the Master had

not tried to hurt him, which was unusual enough in itself.

Chang Lee was not given to trusting people, but somehow

the Master made him feel relaxed and confident. All Chang

Lee had to do was help him get his body back from this

guy who had stolen it.

The Master pointed up towards the uppermost books

and swung his arm around the whole place. ‘All this was

mine, Chang Lee. Mine until he stole it from me.’

He looked back at Chang Lee. ‘He should never have

been here. He’s changed things, moved my belongings

about.’

‘You know, I was told he was dead.’

The Master nodded. ‘Oh, yes, that body was dead, but

now he’s regenerated into another. My body can do this

twelve times, but he has stolen most of the regenerations.’

Chang Lee was having a job following this. ‘What did he

do with them exactly?’

‘Unspeakable crimes.’

‘Like what?’

‘Ghengis Khan,’ the Master said, climbing back down.

Clearly he was annoyed at not having found what he had

been searching for.

Chang Lee could not quite follow this chain of thought

either. The Master had a habit of going off at tangents.

‘What about Ghengis Khan?’

‘That was him.’

‘No way!’

‘Oh, yes.’ The Master shrugged. ‘I’m no saint, rest

assured my young friend. But he is totally evil.’

The Master hurried over to another wall – which

seemed to be row upon row of filing cabinets. He dragged

the steps over with him and climbed up again. ‘I was on

the verge of finally stopping him when we arrived and –’

He stopped suddenly. ‘Where would something as valuable

as –’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Of course.’ He stared a bit

longer, then pulled open the drawer for G. ‘There they are.’

He descended slightly and beckoned for Chang Lee to

climb the bottom few steps. ‘What do you want out of your

life, my friend?’

‘What d’you mean?’

The Master smiled, and even through the shades, Chang

Lee could see the green eyes glowing a bit brighter than

before. ‘If you could have anything, anything at all in the universe, what would it be?’

Chang Lee thought about this. One thing he had

learned after a few years of dealing with guns and drugs,

triads and gangs was that the safest, most comfortable

people were those with lots of money. A never-ending

supply of cash. ‘I don’t know,’ he began, hoping that the

Master would be taken in by his indecision, and not think

him greedy. ‘A million dollars?’

The Master laughed. ‘Only a million? How petty. How

typically small minded of you humans. A million dollars!’

‘Okay,’ said Chang Lee, realising he had misjudged this

bit. ‘Two million.’

‘Oh, think bigger, boy.’

‘A billion.’

The Master nodded. ‘Exactly. And what would you do

with a billion dollars? What would you buy?’

Chang Lee had no hesitation there. ‘Power.’

The Master smiled. ‘Excellent. And it could be yours so

easily.’

Chang Lee was now very interested indeed. This was

really working out well. ‘How?’

The Master reached inside the drawer and brought out a

tiny little leather bag. He tossed it to Chang Lee, who

caught it easily, and tugged on the tiny binding. The bag

opened, revealing what looked like sand.

Then Chang Lee looked harder, and realised it was

glittering in the light.

‘Gold? Gold dust?’

The Master closed the drawer and jumped off the steps,

kicking them backwards.

Chang Lee realised that the Master was deliberately

trying to stop him from making a note of which level the

right drawer was on. No big deal; years on the streets had

made Chang Lee an expert at mapping things out in his

mind. He took in various scratches on the cabinet and the

position of the drawers both opposite and below certain

scuffed steps. No, finding this hidden cache would be no

problem in the future. But for now, he would help the

Master. While it suited him.

‘You get the rest,’ the Master was saying, ‘when I get my

proper body back. A deal?’

Chang Lee pocketed the bag and shook the Master’s

hand, nodding. ‘Deal.’

The Master led the way out of the console room and

down a vast corridor. Chang Lee had long since given up

trying to work out how this place, this TARDIS, could be

so infinitely large. He had walked around the outside. The

police had walked around the outside. People from the

DA’s office had probably walked around the outside; so

how come it seemed to be about four foot square outside

and, so far, twice the size of Chinatown inside?

He did not have a clue what ‘dimensionally

transcendental’ meant, but the Master had seem convinced

that phrase explained it all and Chang Lee thought it wise

not to push the point further. Anyway, the Master had

seemed quite happy to hand out gold dust, and all he

wanted was Chang Lee’s help in capturing this nasty piece

of work who had usurped his body. Once the Master had

his true body back, Chang Lee would be rich enough to

run the triads, the gangs and most of San Francisco.

What to do with all that money, though? Half of him

wanted to take over everyone, make them work for him.

But something at the back of his mind remembered all his

father’s comments about wealth corrupting people without

them realising it. If spent wisely, money could make you

happy, but could also make others happy. Which was best:

to buy people’s happiness or earn it?

This was something he’d think about later, once he’d

got his billion dollars.

The Master stopped suddenly, pointing at a huge set of

wooden double doors. He pushed against them, with little

success.

‘Can you open these, Chang Lee?’

Chang Lee doubted he could. The Master, in Bruce’s

body, was over six feet tall and quite muscular. If the

Master could not shift the doors, he doubted that he, at five foot eight and wiry, had a chance. Nevertheless, he tried.

He reached out to touch the doors with one hand. His

fingers merely brushed the crack, when the doors shot

open inwards with alarming speed.

Chang Lee jumped back, amazed and momentarily

frightened. ‘How did I do that?’

The Master smiled, his eyes glowing brightly once again

behind Bruce’s dark shades. ‘I told you – the TARDIS

really likes you. Come on in, this is my favourite part of the ship.’

As soon as Chang Lee entered the new area, he felt a

smile inch across his face. The air was clean, fresh and

slightly breezy. There was a wonderful feeling of... well,

calm about the place. He could not remember feeling this

relaxed for ages. Ever since the events of the previous

night, he had been running on empty, pushing himself to

keep going.

Here, he just felt as if something had washed all those

problems, fears and tiredness away.

The word that leaped unbidden into his mind was one

he remembered his mother using once, to describe a quiet

Sunday afternoon after eating a family lunch.

Serene.

Chang Lee was standing in a massive stone square,

uneven paving slabs all over the ground. Small weeds and

shrubs sprouted up through the cracks and a few autumnal

leaves were swept over the ground by the slight wind.

Surrounding the square were pillared walkways, and the

Master was hurrying off towards one of them. The whole

place reminded Chang Lee of pictures he’d seen of British

universities, like Oxford and that other place, Cambridge.

He looked up, but in place of the bright light that typified the rest of the TARDIS, there actually seemed to be a blue

sky miles up, with tiny white clouds drifting across it.

He knew that it was impossible, but this place really

made him feel as if he was in the open air.

Still smiling, he ran after the Master, catching up with

him a moment or two later by one of the pillared walkways.

‘What we want is down here, my young friend.’

The Master pointed along the walkway, along more

paving stones, between the double columns of pillars.

‘This place is awesome,’ Chang Lee finally said.

The Master nodded. ‘The Cloisters.’

Faintly, as if far away and carried by the wind, Chang

Lee could hear a bell pealing. Like a church bell, sombre

and slightly doom-laden. He turned, trying to see if he

could see a church, or some other building, but the horizon just melted away, like the haze of a mirage and he found it impossible to judge the distances in the Cloisters. All he

could see were paved areas, trees and shrubs.

The Master tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Through

here.’

Chang Lee followed his mentor, ducking under an ivy-

wrapped pergola, around some trellises draped with

honeysuckle and into a grassed square, tiny daisies dotted

over it.

In the centre of the square was a huge building, like a

massive church or, what were they called? Cathedrals. Yes,

this was big enough to be a cathedral. The Master had gone

inside and so Chang Lee followed.

He found himself in a fantastically huge room, with

stained-glass windows all round, carved wooden floors and

on the far side a massive flight of wooden steps leading

upwards. At the top it separated into two balconies, going

right and left, which encircled the whole structure,

meeting above the doorway through which they had

entered. Flaming torches flickered, giving the air a slightly foggy look. The face of an old man with a long beard was

carved into the intricate lattice work that decorated the

woodwork both above and below the balcony and all over

the walls behind it.

In the centre of this, lying flat, was an ornate sculpture, carved from solid granite.

It was an eye; closed, but very definitely an eye. It rested on a rectangular plinth and looked straight upwards. At

each corner of the plinth was a much smaller eye, these

ones open. Rising straight up from the centre of each eye

was a six foot ornate sceptre. Near the top of each sceptre was a round mirror, curved slightly inwards, towards the

major eye in the centre. The mirrors were reflecting tiny

beams of multi-coloured light from each other in a criss-

cross pattern across the eye, almost as if they were

protecting it. Every so often, a light beam would miss the

opposing mirror and shoot off into the distance, replaced

immediately by another. Chang Lee reasoned that

although not noticeable, the mirrors had to be moving

fractionally all the time to enable this to happen.

It was quite the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

‘What is it?’

The Master smiled. ‘It is known as the Eye of Harmony,

named after a massive power source back at my home. It

powers the TARDIS and everything in it. These beams of

Artron energy are what keep everything flowing smoothly,

and the Eye is keyed to the biorhythms of both the ship

and its... its operator.’

Chang Lee pointed to the face which, he noticed, was

also carved into the base of the Eye, along with a swirling figure of eight-like symbol.

‘Who’s Grandad?’

‘Ah,’ the Master smiled. ‘My mentor. The forefather of

all Time Lords and my greatest hero. That is Rassilon,

without whom none of us would be here. That symbol is

the Great Seal of Rassilon. Wherever you see it, you know

you are in a place of great power.’

Change Lee was almost stupefied by the array of lights;

the complexity and beauty of it all. ‘And how can this Eye

of Harmony help us find your enemy?’

The Master looked towards the Eye of Harmony,

running a hand along one of the mirror-supporting

sceptres. ‘The Eye used to belong to me. Now it is used by

him, so if we can open it, we’ll find him. It will literally show us where he is.’

‘Cool.’ Chang Lee walked over and looked down at one

corner of the eye. ‘So, are you going to open it?’

‘Alas, I can’t. He has seen to that. But you seem able to

operate the TARDIS quite well. Why don’t you see if you

can pull out one of these mirrored sceptres.’ The Master

tapped the one he had been holding.

Chang Lee walked towards it. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’

With a shrug, Chang Lee flexed his fingers, and then

gripped the sceptre. Expecting some resistance, he began

heaving, only to discover it slipped up and out of its

mooring with ease. Carefully he laid the sceptre on the

wooden floor, making sure the mirror did not get damaged.

From the hole in the open eye, a thick beam of light,

presumably this Artron energy the Master talked about,

shot up, disappearing into the wooden arched ceiling a

long way above.

The Master was at his shoulder, speaking quietly. ‘It

cannot possibly harm you, Chang Lee. It is just light. It is neither hot nor cold; it will not injure you in any way.’

Chang Lee frowned. ‘So?’

‘Look straight into the light. Right up close. If the

TARDIS really likes you, as I suspect it does, the Eye of

Harmony will open. For you alone.’

‘You keep talking as if this TARDIS of yours is alive. As

if it thinks. Can it really be helping me?’

The Master smiled. ‘The TARDIS is not alive in any

way you can comprehend. Its circuitry, its power and

mechanics are far more advanced than your mind could

begin to understand. It reacts more in an empathic way; it

is guided and motivated by sensing your feelings.’

The Master took him by the shoulders. ‘You are a very

pleasant young man. Very trustworthy. Decent. Therefore

it senses it and responds to it. Does that help?’

Chang Lee shrugged. ‘Well, I guess so...’

‘Good.’ The Master’s smile vanished. ‘So, look into the

light and open the Eye.’

‘Why don’t you?’

With a sigh, the Master put an arm around Chang Lee’s

shoulder. ‘My young friend, you saw that I couldn’t move

the staff. My foe has, in effect, turned my own home

against me. But you? You took the staff out with ease.’

He stood back again. ‘Go on, give it a try. For me.’

Chang Lee decided that he would. What harm could it

do? And this TARDIS thing certainly did seem to like

him, so maybe the Master was right.

And then there was all that gold dust as well... It was not really any contest.

He walked towards the pillar of light and stared at it,

letting his face get closer and closer. He felt a slight breeze on his face and could smell... something nice. Jasmine.

Herbs.

It smelled like his parents’ house, back in the good old

days. It was a wonderful smell, and he smiled.

Beside him, the Eye of Harmony began to open.

He was dimly aware of the Master’s voice, penetrating

through the rush of the light noise. ‘Who do you see, boy?

What can you see?’

Chang Lee tried to concentrate, but all he could focus

on was a peculiar sound, soft and resonant. He realised it

sounded like singing; like the songs his mother used to

sing to him when he was really young. Not lullabies, but

ancient Chinese songs; tales of bravery and virtue as

ancient princes and princesses fought off evil dark lords

and wizards. Something was nagging at him, as if this was

trying to tell him something, pass a message on.

‘Concentrate, boy. What is there?’

Chang Lee closed his eyes for a second and then

reopened them. The singing was fainter now and he could

see space. Stars and planets, comets shooting through. It

was as if he was seeing the whole universe in one tiny area.

He felt he could reach out, touch the stars, learn so many

truths about everything. And himself.

At the centre of this universe, the stars began to distort, to move, forming a shape. Gradually, other stars and

planets began to fill in the gaps until this shape solidified.

It was a face. A man’s face. It was dark and indistinct.

Gradually another, then another face appeared until there

were six of them, cloudy and unclear, fluctuating slightly.

Chang Lee realised with shock what he was seeing as

the seventh face appeared. He recognised the small,

puckish features with their soulful eyes and toothy grin as belonging to the man shot outside the TARDIS the night

before. These were all the bodies the Master’s enemy had

appropriated before, and perhaps, like the unfortunate

Master, they had rightfully been someone else’s. This evil

man appeared to be some sort of physical vampire, stealing

other people’s lives and living them until it was time to

move on.

‘That’s the guy from last night. The one you – the one

Bruce – took to the hospital.’

‘The Doctor’s past lives.’

‘The Doctor?’

‘That is what he calls himself. He has a brilliant mind,

but uses it only for evil.’ The Master urged Chang Lee on.

‘Can you see what he looks like now?’

Chang Lee watched as the strange man from the

previous night dissolved and was replaced by a slightly

younger, longer faced man. However, the beaky nose was

back and the shape of the eyes and mouth were similar. He

had lots of back hair, sticking up and out. This new face

possessed piercing pale blue eyes and something of a

frown.

The face expanded outward, getting larger and larger. In

alarm, Chang Lee stepped away from the Artron energy,

expecting the face to vanish, but it was all around him. The sky, the horizon, the ground. He and the Master were

standing next to the Eye of Harmony but hovering on a

huge image of the Doctor’s latest face.

Chang Lee looked over to the Master, who was

examining the Doctor’s face in minute detail. ‘The eyes,’

he muttered. ‘I can see the retinal pattern.’

He suddenly laughed. ‘Of course, that explains so much.

His obsession with this dreary planet especially.’

He swung round to Chang Lee, his dark glasses gone,

bearing down on the Chinese boy with green serpentine

eyes. ‘Did you know, the Doctor once boasted of being

“more than just a Time Lord”?’

Chang Lee was bewildered now – this was getting

slightly out of his league. ‘Oh, yeah, right. What?’

‘He really should have said “less than just a Time Lord”!

He’s half-human – a hybrid. A mongrel!’ He let out a huge

peal of laughter. ‘Oh, Doctor, I have finally discovered

your dirty secret. And your weakness.’

This was all getting too much for Grace. The strange man

had been lying flat on his back, staring upwards and

shaking violently.

Grace had dealt with seizures during her training, but

this seemed different. He had not done anything other

than suddenly collapse without warning. There had been

no cry, no exclamation. One moment he had been staring

at the trees, the next he went down, like a puppet whose

strings had been cut.

She had been at his side in seconds, waving away a

young couple that were walking their dog. Although they

had offered to help, they had kept their distance. ‘It’s all right, I’m... I’m his doctor,’ Grace had said. As was normal in modern America, the young couple had not really

wanted to get involved and with a look of relief, hurried

away.

‘What is it?’ Grace had asked him.

‘Something’s happening,’ he had gasped through

clenched teeth. ‘In my... my TARDIS! He’s in my

TARDIS!’

‘In your what?’

Then he had sat bolt upright, a huge smile across his

face. ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘Yes, I remember everything.’

Now here he was, running about the park, euphoric and

full of energy. He ran towards her and suddenly stopped,

smiling infectiously.

Grace smiled back.

‘I know who I am,’ he said simply. He hugged Grace

tightly, kissing her full on the lips, passionately. Then he pulled back, embarrassment on his face. ‘I’m sorry, I got

carried away!’

Grace shrugged. ‘Well fine. Whatever.’ Then she looked

at him, encouragingly. ’Well, who are you then?’

‘I’m the Doctor.’ He grinned. ‘I am the Doctor.’ He

suddenly shouted up at the night sky. ‘I am the Doctor!’

‘Great,’ said Grace, pulling him closer. ‘Now. Kiss me

again!’

He struggled free. ‘No. No, I’m sorry. No time.’

Grace felt... well, she was not sure. Bewildered,

certainly. And not just by him. Here she was, normally

calm and rational. Here he was, with two hearts, inhuman

blood and the ability to molecularly alter his physiognomy

(apparently) and she wanted to kiss him. Why? She did not

even know his name until ten seconds ago. The Doctor?

That was not a name, it was a description. It might explain how he was able to think clearly about his weird body, but

he was like no other doctor she’d ever seen.

‘All right, Doctor, what is –’

He cut her off by putting his fingers to her lips. ‘I saw

him, well, felt him really, in the TARDIS. The Master. He

must have found a human body to inhabit, which means it

won’t last for long. The morphant can’t keep a host going

for long.’ He suddenly slapped his forehead, rather over-

dramatically. ‘Of course, he’s after me’ He grabbed Grace’s shoulders, not roughly, but certainly in agitation. ‘Don’t

you understand, Grace? He wants my body. He’s going to

take it so he can live and I will die!’

Then he stopped, crunching his eyes shut. ‘No!’

‘What now?’

‘He’s using the Eye of Harmony, to see through my

eyes. I mustn’t let him see you.’

Grace was getting more and more bewildered. Almost

panicking, but she did not really know why. ‘What’s the

Eye of Harmony?’

In the cathedral-like room, by the Eye of Harmony, the

Master and Chang Lee watched as the Doctor’s face

distorted, changing to a woman’s face.

‘At last,’ the Master whispered. ‘We’re seeing through

the Doctor’s eyes. We can see where he is exactly.’

Chang Lee frowned. ‘I know that face... It’s the doctor

from the hospital. The one I got the Doctor’s bag from.’

The face was frowning, speaking. Concentrating, Chang

Lee realised he could hear her words, seeing and listening

as he was from the Doctor’s point of view.

The image whited out, leaving nothing but stars, planets

and comets. The universe as Chang Lee had seen it earlier.

The Doctor had closed his eyes, Chang Lee guessed, but he

could still hear their words.

‘What’s going on, Doctor?’ the woman from the hospital

demanded.

‘The Eye of Harmony, it’s the power source at the very

heart of the TARDIS.’

Chang Lee could hear as the woman took a deep breath.

‘Okay. Now then, what is a TARDIS?’

‘The TARDIS is my spaceship. It carries me through

time and space. T-A-R-D-I-S, an acronym for Time And

Relative Dimension In Space.’

Chang Lee was finding this almost as bizarre as he

guessed the doctor from the hospital must find it.

‘And this “Master”,’ she was saying. ‘Is he like, the

Devil?’

‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’s a rival Time Lord.’

‘A Time Lord.’ The woman then spoke quietly. ‘Oh my

God, you’re completely insane.’

‘No, I’m not. The Master is pure evil. I was taking his

remains home to Gallifrey. In his final incarnation he had

been captured by the Daleks, placed on trial and

exterminated.’

‘And these Daleks? Are they Time Lords, too? Do they

have spaceships like your TARDIS?’ The sarcasm was

obvious.

The Doctor was ignoring her. ‘But he wasn’t dead. It’s

all been a trap. A trap for me! He wants me to look into the Eye.’

‘So?’

‘So, if I look into the Eye of Harmony, my soul will be

destroyed. He will be free to take my body then.’

‘Listen to all those lies, my young friend.’ The Master

was beside Chang Lee, hissing into his ear. ‘Can you

believe this rubbish?’

‘No.’ Chang Lee was certain. ‘But how can she fall for

it?’

‘Because,’ the Master replied, ‘he is pure evil. He is

exerting his evil force over her. Manipulating all her

thoughts and actions. Poor woman.’

‘Look,’ the doctor from the hospital was saying, her

voice echoing around the starscape that Chang Lee was

gazing intently at. ‘I’m afraid I really can’t deal with this.’

‘Please, Grace. Listen carefully –’

‘No,’ the woman, Grace apparently, shouted. ‘No. I’ve

had enough.’

‘If the Eye of Harmony remains open for too long, this

planet will be sucked through it.’ The Doctor was

sounding desperate.

Chang Lee could hear why. What a load of rubbish.

The Doctor was still shouting at Grace. ‘I must fix the

timing mechanism on the TARDIS so that I can close the

Eye of Harmony. I need an atomic clock. Can you help me

find one?’

There was no reply. ‘Grace?’

The image of the park suddenly burst back into the

cathedral as the Doctor presumably opened his eyes. Chang

Lee could see Grace running across the park.

‘So, that’s how he intends to destroy me.’

The Master looked across to Chang Lee. ‘We must find

the Doctor before he finds an atomic clock.’

Chang Lee was staring at the image of Grace running

away from the Doctor. The movement of the image

suggested that the Doctor was following,. He pointed at

Grace. ‘Yeah, she’s the woman at the hospital all right. Bet Bruce would have some way of finding out where she lives.’

‘Excellent suggestion, my friend. If we find her, we find

him.’

The Master turned and clicked his fingers at Chang Lee,

indicating that he should follow him.

As he left the Eye of Harmony, Chang Lee looked back,

but without their presence everything had reverted to just

the cathedral.

The Doctor had reached the steps outside Grace’s

apartment. He could hear her locking the door to keep him

out.

‘Grace!’

With a despairing shake of his head, he ran up the steps,

taking all four in one go, his alien body powered with

slightly better agility and energy than a human’s. One of

Grace’s neighbours, an old lady with a cat in her arms,

cowered back into the porch of her own front door as he

stood outside Grace’s, trying to see in somehow.

‘Good evening.’ He stopped, and tugged at the front of

his hairline in an old fashioned greeting. ‘I’m awfully sorry about this disturbance. Have a happy New Year.’

With a cheerful smile he continued yelling at Grace.

Grace was breathing deeply, half catching her breath, half

trying to relax. Maybe Roger Swift had been right – she

should have ignored all this weirdness and got on with her

job. She’d call him later, apologise and see if she could get her job back. She needed some normality, no matter how

dreary, after the totally bizarre events of today.

She was beginning to convince herself everything was

going to be all right when there was a frantic hammering

on the door, interspersed with a very English shout of

‘Grace!’ every so often.

She could not ignore it; even if she tried, the neighbours

would complain. Mrs Trattorio would claim her cat was

being unfairly disturbed, or some kind of rubbish like that.

‘Go away, Doctor,’ was all she could think to shout back.

‘Stay away from me.’

‘Grace,’ came the pleading reply. ‘Just let me in.’

‘No!’

There was a pause, and Grace moved closer to the

phone. An idea was coming, a way she could be rid of this

weirdo she’d encouraged by kissing him. How stupid could

she be; kissing a man before finding out he thought he was

from another planet. Good move, Grace.

‘Grace,’ he started again. ‘Grace, if you let me in, we can calm down, have a cup of tea, and talk about this.

Reasonably.’

‘Sure,’ Grace yelled back. ‘“Earth calling Time Lord.

Earth to Time Lord.”’

There was a pause. Grace thought he’d actually given

up. She moved nearer the phone, grabbing her address

book from out of her bag. She had just reached the phone

when he started again.

‘You’re right, Grace.’

Success?

‘I am a Time Lord.’

Failure.

She sat down, and called back over her shoulder towards

the door. ‘And I thought you were a doctor.’

‘And I thought you were a doctor,’ came the retort.

She made a decision, and began punching numbers on

the phone. ’Listen,’ she said. ‘I’m going to call for an

ambulance to take you back to the psychiatric ward from

which you obviously escaped.’

Outside in the porch, the Doctor was kneeling, trying to

see through the keyhole. Gradually he became aware that

someone was watching him. Slowly he turned, smiling

benignly at the old lady with the cat.

‘Lover’s tiff,’ he said, hoping that would suffice.

‘Makes a change from the other one, I s’pose,’ she said.

Then she glanced down at the Doctor’s feet. ‘Shoes,’ she

said simply.

‘Yes, shoes,’ he agreed.

‘They’re the other one’s shoes. You didn’t last long

then. He only moved out last night.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Really? That’s very interesting, but

actually I’m trying to convince Dr Holloway to let me in. If ever I see Brian, I’ll return his shoes.’

‘Bad luck, walking around in other people’s shoes,’ the

elderly neighbour grunted. As if to reinforce the point, her cat jumped down from her arms, hissed at the Doctor and

shot away, presumably to its own door. The elderly lady

gave him a last malicious look and followed her pet.

The Doctor turned back to the keyhole, but could not

see a thing through it. ‘Grace, we really don’t have time for this. The Eye of Harmony is open and if I don’t get to my

TARDIS and close it, this planet will no longer exist. I

doubt the Master even knows what he’s doing.’ Or even

cares, he thought, but decided not to impart that idea to

Grace. ‘I reckon we’ve got till about midnight. Not long.’

‘Shut up,’ came the reply from inside the condo. ‘I’m

getting an ambulance for you.’

The Doctor realised he was not getting anywhere. He

needed to make her see sense. He reached down to where

his fob-watch used to be, but it was with his other things...

somewhere.

He tried the doorhandle and then stared at it. Where he

had gripped it, his fingers had made severe indentations.

He knew he was not quite that strong and there had to be

another explanation.

Of course...

He looked along the front of the apartment. A set of

french windows overlooked the street and he hurried

towards them. He could now see Grace inside, her back to

him, indeed on the telephone.

‘Yes, I’ll hold,’ he heard her say. Then, while waiting,

she saw something on the coffee table opposite and reached

out for it. The Doctor tried to see, but it was dark outside and Grace only had a lamp on rather than an overhead

light.

Then he saw it caught in the glow. It was the

microsurgical probe he had tugged out of his chest earlier.

Instinctively he reached for his wound, but it had healed

up. Beside the probe were papers; probably the notes she

had made about his blood type, pulse rate and other cardio-

vascular measurements that would be more than slightly

unusual if he were a human. She simply had to accept he

was right.

He tapped on the french windows and felt a twinge of

remorse as Grace jumped with fright. He could see that it

was more than that – she was actually frightened of him.

Just what must he represent to her?

A weirdo, as she shouted earlier? Or a true alien? As a

doctor, surely, she had to accept that scientifically, the

Doctor was not as he seemed and therefore his explanation

of being from another world had to be plausible, if not logical. What else could he do to prove it to her?

‘Grace,’ he shouted through the glass, ‘I’m going to

prove to you that the Eye of Harmony is open. Look at

this!’

He pressed his hand against her french windows. And

pushed. The glass stretched under the pressure, like

polythene, going further and further into the room.

Eventually his hand went through it, without breaking the

glass. With a monumental effort he pushed his shoulder

and eventually his whole body through, and was standing

in her living room. The glass snapped back into place, and

they both turned to stare at it; unbroken and unmarked, as

if nothing had happened.

‘You see,’ he said. ‘Already the molecular structure of

the planet is changing. At first in subtle ways, like that, but soon it’ll be catastrophic.’

Trying not to be distracted by her gaping at the window,

he circled around her, trying to draw her attention away

from the phone still pressed to her ear. ‘By midnight

tonight, this whole planet will be pulled inside-out. There will be nothing left. No humans, no animals. No trees, no

flowers. No air, no water. Nothing, Grace.’ He sat

down. ‘Nothing to show your race ever even existed. Not

even Darjeeling tea, mom’s apple pie or Hershey bars.’

Grace finally looked at him, and spoke into her phone.

‘Yes, this is Dr Holloway. I need an ambulance at my home

right away. I need a bed in the psychiatric ward.’

She stared hard at the Doctor, as if trying to take in

everything he said, despite her astonishment at what she

had seen happen to the window.

‘Better make that two beds,’ she said and put the phone

down.

Joey Sneller was worried. He’d been at work since midday,

when his shift had started but there had been no sign of

Bruce, his paramedic partner.

Today it was Bruce’s turn to drive, and yet he had

simply vanished. Shelly Curtis had said she’d seen him

that morning, acting weirdly, and guessed that Miranda

had thrown a tantrum. But Joey thought it unlikely. He

had called Bruce’s apartment but got a recorded message

from Miranda, saying they were unable to reach the phone

and to call back later. Joey had done this four times now.

Old man Prentiss had been worried too – Bruce was

renowned for both his reliability and punctuality. This

bizarre disappearance was extremely out of character.

As Bruce was not around, two other paramedics had

rearranged their shifts to cover. The first had gone home

about twenty minutes ago, and the other was apparently on

his way over from St Genesius, right across town. Joey just hoped he wasn’t called out on an emergency before the new

guy got there.

A scuffle behind him made him look out of the

ambulance cabin, and a grin spread across his face. ‘Bruce, my man, where’ve you been? We were really worried.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

Joey stared hard at Bruce. They’d been friends and

colleagues for some years now, and there was something

wrong. It was not just the fact that Bruce was wearing

shades at night, it was something in the way he... he

walked oddly. Kind of jerkily, as if he was wearing shoes too small for him, or something.

Bruce’s face came right up to the wound-down window,

just as their two-way radio crackled, ordering them to Dr

Holloway’s apartment.

‘Get the address,’ Bruce snapped.

‘Okay, man,’ said Joey. ‘I thought you knew all the

staff’s home addresses.’

‘Shut up and get the address!’

Joey knew then that something was very wrong. Perhaps

Bruce had been drinking. He got the address off the radio

operator but kept his hands on the ambulance keys. ‘I

think I’d best drive, Bruce,’ he said.

Bruce suddenly opened the cab door, which Joey

thought was a rather aggressive action, something else out

of character.

He was still thinking that when Bruce smacked a

flattened hand against the side of his neck, shattering it.

The Master hauled the corpse out of the driving seat and

dragged it to the other side of a nearby parked car,

dumping it there.

Wiping his hands, he crossed back to the ambulance

and started it up. He reversed out of the hospital and down towards the main street.

Chang Lee was waiting on the corner. He had been

reluctant to return to the hospital in case anyone

recognised him.

‘Any problems?’ he asked, climbing aboard.

The Master smiled. ‘None. No one was around.’ He

repeated Grace’s address, asking if Chang Lee knew where

it was.

The boy nodded and began giving instructions. ‘It’s

near the Bay Area,’ he said.

The Master drove on. Not long now, Doctor, he thought.

Soon your body will be mine.

The Doctor marched out of the bathroom.

‘I’ve lost twenty pounds,’ he said.

Grace tried to smile benignly. Treat him nicely, keep

him calm, and the ambulance should be here soon. Just

keep him chatting until then. ‘Congratulations,’ she

smiled.

‘In twenty minutes.’

‘Well, look on the bright side.’ She was waiting to hear

footsteps in the hallway outside. What was taking them so

long? ‘You could make a fortune in the weight loss

business.’

The Doctor sat in front of the television, grabbing the

remote off the table. ‘I’m serious. It’s starting.’ He began channel hopping. ‘News,’ he muttered. ‘Which is the

news?’

‘Try KKBE,’ Grace said helpfully. ‘Channel 7.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Good idea.’ He pressed the correct

button and the face of a young, dark-haired Japanese

newsreader popped up.

‘This is KKBE, broadcasting to San Francisco, and I’m

Mi-Jung Kanaka. And now for more on that item we

trailed earlier.’ A photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge

appeared behind her. ‘Some people are calling it “The

Millennium Effect”. Since earlier this evening, Bay Area

tides have risen to levels that break all records for this time of year. Flood warnings have gone out along the Napa and

Russian Rivers, and this just in...’ The picture changed to show a man in a loud shirt and shorts sitting in thick snow, grinning. ‘Hawaii is experiencing snowdrifts!’

The Doctor caught Grace’s eye. ‘What will it take,

Grace, to prove to you I’m telling the truth?’

The KKBE anchorwoman continued. ‘Now, maybe

you’re wondering what this has to do with tonight’s

millennium? Well, we’ve been told that these freak

conditions are due to very slight fluctuations in Earth’s

gravitational pull. Fluctuations that apparently only

happen every thousand years. We go over to Sean Ley in San Jose where some people are claiming it has been

raining fish!’

The Doctor was laughing humourlessly. ‘I love you

humans. So parochial in your views. If it doesn’t fit the

facts, change the facts. You see patterns in things that

aren’t there.’

Grace was going to reply when she heard voices outside.

Mrs Trattorio, and it sounded as if she was pointing

someone in Grace’s direction.

The Doctor was still engrossed in the KKBE news, so

Grace slipped over towards the door. She hoped they had

good straps on the stretcher, because she doubted the

Doctor would go easily.

‘And when we come back,’ said the woman on

television, ‘we’ll be showing you where the wealthiest and

most fashionable San Franciscans are going tonight to see

in the millennium.’

The shot cut to a tall, blonde co-anchor, standing in

front of a massive local map, dotted with icons for rain,

snow, hail and lightning. ‘Didn’t I hear that they’re all off to see a clock being started?’

It cut back to the anchorwoman, smiling. The Doctor

leaned forward, turning up the volume so loudly he did not

hear the knock at the door. Grace opened it, putting her

fingers over her lips. She was overjoyed to see it was Bruce, but there was no sign of Joey. She pointed to the sofa,

where the Doctor’s back was clearly visible. Bruce nodded,

understandingly.

‘It’s not just any old clock, Joanna. This is apparently

the most accurate atomic clock in the world. And yes, it’s

right here, in good old downtown San Francisco, at our

very own Institute of Technological Advancement and

Research. Now, don’t go away because –’

The Doctor flicked the switch off, and jumped up to see

Grace talking to a man with car keys in his hand.

‘They’re here, Doctor –’ began Grace as the Doctor ran

over.

‘Excellent. They can take us straight to the Institute.’

He looked at Bruce. ‘Do you know where that is?’

Bruce shot Grace a look and she just nodded, hoping

he’d get the message. Humour him, he’s completely gone.

‘Of course I do,’ Bruce said.

Grace finally allowed herself to smile as she threw a

jacket over her shoulders.

‘Thanks, Bruce,’ she said. ‘Nice shades.’

Bruce just smiled again. ‘No problem, Grace. Believe

me, this is no problem.’

Four for a boy

Fifteen minutes later, Grace decided that she was not

enjoying her New Year’s Eve in the slightest. She ought to

have been at a party, dancing around someone’s house,

having a good time.

Yeah, definitely a good party, and not racing down the

road towards Walker General, in the back of an ambulance

with whoever was up front – Joey in all probability –

driving as if he’d never driven anything larger than a

bicycle. More than once she had muttered to Bruce about

it, wondering if Joey had perhaps drunk more than he

should. Bruce had shrugged and been quite taciturn,

causing Grace to wonder if they’d both had too much office

vino that afternoon.

The Doctor was being thankfully quiet, staring out of

the rear window, hunched on the end of the stretcher in

his ridiculous fancy dress costume, looking like he ought

to be celebrating the end of the nineteenth century and not the twentieth.

‘What time is it?’ he said, looking back at her, a frown

embedded in his forehead.

Grace glanced at her watch. ‘It’s just gone ten.’ She

smiled, trying to humour him. Not long now and he’d be

Roger Swift’s responsibility and she could head off to

whatever party she could track down. ‘And don’t worry,’

she added, slightly maliciously. ‘I’m on the Board of

Directors at the Institute. They’ll listen to me.’

The Doctor turned back to his observation of the way

they had come and Bruce frowned. ‘Institute?’

Grace whispered back, pointing at the Doctor. ‘He

thinks we’re going to find some sort of clock at the Institute of Technological Advancement and Research.’

Bruce nodded. ‘I wondered what he meant back at your

place.’

‘Help me keep the pretence up, and have a sedative

handy. When he sees the hospital, he’ll probably go ape.’

The Doctor suddenly swung back to her. ‘Grace, if you

know the Board, why didn’t you tell me you had access to a

beryllium atomic clock?’

Grace floundered for a second. Think! ‘I was more

concerned and shocked by your discovery’

‘Discovery?’

‘Yeah, you know, that Eye of... Destruction?’

The Doctor nodded, as if that made it all clear. ‘Oh, of

Harmony,’ he corrected.

Got away with that. Just. ‘Yes. That and the fact that

this planet will be sucked through it at midnight.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s face it, how often does one have a Time Lord in one’s living room, Doctor?’

She threw a quick look at Bruce. ‘He likes me to call

him “Doctor”. Freud had a name for it –’

‘“Transference”,“ said the Doctor. ‘That’s very good,

Grace. But I don’t think so. Freud would have taken me

seriously.’

Damn, he’d seen through her. Oh well, the hospital

could not be far away. Mind you, Joey was obviously taking

the long route. Carry on with the charade, Grace. ‘Freud

would have hung up his pipe if he’d met you, Doctor.’

‘As a matter of fact, I did meet him once.’

‘Well, of course. You are a Time Lord, after all.’

Another look at Bruce. She felt as if she needed some

support, but he was just staring at the Doctor through his

shades. There was something very strange about them, she

noted. Something not quite right.

‘Sigmund and I got on very well. I gave him lots of

pointers about psychoanalysis.’

Grace sighed. ‘I suppose you knew Madame Curie, too?’

‘Intimately.’

The Doctor settled down to face them, although Grace

noted he was staring at Bruce more often than not. Had he

seen something strange in his manner, too?

Oh, what did it matter? He was nutty as a fruitcake.

‘Did she kiss as good as me?’

Bruce coughed and corrected Grace’s English. ‘“Did she

kiss as well as me.”’

Grace smiled, but then the ambulance suddenly

shuddered to a halt. Joey had either hit a red light at the last minute, or just missed a car. She was about to

comment on it, when she saw more cars screech to a halt

behind them. ‘Guess something’s blocking the road ahead.’

The Doctor did not take his eyes off Bruce, and as Grace

looked back at him, he murmured something about time

running out.

‘My favourite planet is about to be destroyed and I’m

stuck in a traffic jam.’

He suddenly leaned right forward, towards Bruce.

‘Do excuse me,’ he said, and grabbed the paramedic’s

shades, yanking them off.

And then it dawned on Grace that she might have made

the tiniest of mistakes. That she may have misjudged the

Doctor. And that maybe Joey was not driving the

ambulance at all, because whatever was sitting beside her

was not the Bruce Gerhardt that she knew.

What was sitting beside her had green, reptilian eyes,

that seemed to be glowing; lit by some kind of green fire

behind them.

‘Bruce? What’s wrong with you?’

The Doctor pushed her against the back doors of the

ambulance, scrabbling for the door lever. ‘He’s the Master!’

Grace barely had time to take this in, because Bruce, or

the Master, or whatever he was threw his head back as if

gargling and then forward again, spitting at her –

And her arm was in front of her face, a reflex action

that, she realised later, saved her life. A green globule of something splashed against her wrist, sending burning

pain through it. Grace screamed in agony just as the

Doctor kicked at the door and jumped out, hauling her out

with him.

The Master also leaned forward, grabbing the Doctor’s

long frock-coat tails, trying to drag him back in.

Grace found herself sprawled on the hood of a car, its

driver clearly unable to believe his eyes. She looked back

and saw the Doctor grab a tiny portable fire extinguisher,

letting it off at point blank range into the Master’s face.

With a screech, he let go of the Doctor, who jumped down

and took Grace’s hand.

‘Terribly sorry,’ he yelled at the bemused car driver and

began running through the middle of the traffic, past the

ambulance, weaving in and out of the cars, almost dragging

Grace along with him.

She pointed forward. ‘What were we doing here?’ she

yelled. They were almost on the Golden Gate Bridge. ‘This

is nowhere near Walker General!’

‘No,’ replied the Doctor. ‘But I bet it’s the right

direction for the Institute.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So the Master needs to get there to stop me getting that

atomic clock.’

They were actually on the bridge now, still diving in and out of the car lanes, moving a great deal faster than the stationary cars stuck in a gridlock, going nowhere. It

seemed as if every car had decided to create a modern

symphony of car horns and Grace actually had to cover her

ears as she ran, the noise was so loud.

‘Some people are going to spend their New Year’s Eve

here, by the look of it,’ the Doctor laughed.

Grace was trying to understand. ‘So, Bruce is the

Master?’

‘Oh I doubt it, Grace. Knowing the Master, your friend

Bruce is long since dead. The morphant creature that

housed the Master’s consciousness probably took over

Bruce’s corpse. That’s why he needs my body – Bruce’s

won’t hold all that Time Lord energy. Plus it’s probably

decomposing moment by moment.’

Grace stopped suddenly. ‘If I pretend I understood

every word of that, will you promise not to ask me to repeat it?’

The Doctor grinned. ‘Promise.’

They both turned in the direction of a police siren. Sure

enough, a motorcycle cop was weaving expertly through

the traffic, heading towards them.

Moments later he had stopped before them, drumming

his fingers on his handlebars. ‘Now, just hold on a moment

there, sir. Ma’am.’ He looked back towards the ambulance,

about twenty cars behind. ‘I think you ought to go back to

your vehicle.’

The Doctor stuffed his hand inside his jacket,

presumably to get something, but Grace realised how the

cop would see it. Sure enough, his gun was almost out of its holster when she threw herself between them.

Stop; she cried. ‘He’s...’ What could she say? Of course.

‘He’s English.’

Standing slightly out of the Doctor’s eyeline, she tapped

her temple, trying to suggest he was a bit strange. The cop nodded, slowly replacing his pistol.

The Doctor produced a crumpled and battered straw hat

from within his coat. He offered it towards the cop. Grace

could see a white paper bag inside it.

‘Would you care for a jelly baby, officer?’

‘A what?’

‘Just take it,’ hissed Grace, mouthing a silent ‘please’ for good effect.

The cop did as he was told, picked out a green one and

began munching. The Doctor meanwhile fumbled and

dropped his hat, and then deftly caught it, without spilling a single jelly baby.

Grace was about to say something when she realised the

Doctor was now holding the cop’s gun.

No matter how surprised Grace was, that was nothing to

the look the cop gave. He did a double-take at his own

empty holster and then back at this mad Englishman with

his straggly long hair, antique clothes, straw hat and gun.

Replacing the straw hat inside his jacket, the Doctor put

the pistol carefully against his own head. ‘Now stand back, officer, or I’ll shoot myself.’

The cop moved back two steps. The other drivers

stopped their chorus of honks and toots, staring equally

bemused at the scenario played out before them.

‘Now, don’t be foolish, sir.’

The Doctor did not take his eyes off the cop, but it was

to Grace that she spoke. ‘Are you with me, Grace?’

A series of random thoughts shot through her head. She

saw the Doctor – the other Doctor as she now understood,

mortally wounded, in the operating theatre. She saw him

begging her not to operate. She remembered losing the

micro-probe and then him. There was the parking lot, and

the new Doctor with the probe oozing out of his chest. The

park. The news reports. The Doctor forcing his way

through malleable glass. And the Master, in Bruce’s body

but able to spit venomous acid at her. Her wrist was

blistered still, and she touched it, as if reminding herself that this nightmare was, indeed, real.

‘We don’t stand a chance,’ she murmured.

Still not looking at her, the Doctor spoke quietly. ‘I

came back, Grace. Back to life before your very eyes. I held back death. I can’t make your dream come true forever,

Grace, but I can make it come true today. What do you say?’

For a tiny second, an image of her mother flashed

through Grace’s mind. Before the cancer, before the

sickness. Before she died. It was an image Grace had not

seen before. If she normally thought of her mother, it was

always as she had been in the last few, memorable but

tragic weeks. This image was far better.

‘Give me the gun,’ she said.

The Doctor hesitated this time, but only for a few

seconds. Then he lowered the pistol and handed it to her,

handle first. Without thinking she pointed it at the cop.

‘Give him your keys,’ she said.

‘Now listen, lady,’ the cop said. ‘Life can deal you bad

hands sometimes, but this is no way –’

To Grace’s astonishment, there was an yell from the

various drivers surrounding them. ‘Give them the damned

keys!’ they chorused.

His shoulders slumped, the cop passed his motorcycle

keys to the Doctor.

The Time Lord turned to face Grace, and smiled.

Grace’s heart beat a fraction faster as she smiled back.

This might not be such a bad way to see in the millennium

after all...

The Master was sitting in the passenger seat of the

ambulance, wiping the remnants of the extinguisher foam

from his face. He fumbled as he replaced his dark glasses.

Chang Lee stared hard at him. The Master’s skin was

red and raw, but worst of all, some of it had begun peeling away, allowing a faint green light to pulse through from

inside his head.

‘Yes, this body is finally falling apart,’ the Master

snapped. ‘I need my own back from the Doctor. We have to

get to him.’

Chang Lee started the engine up, but did not move the

vehicle.

‘Well,’ the Master snapped, ‘what are you waiting for?’

Chang Lee pointed ahead, and spoke quietly. He tried

not to look at the greenish skin of his friend. All he could think of was getting him to the Doctor. And little bags of

gold dust. ‘The road is still blocked. Everyone going to

parties, I guess...’

The Master grabbed his hand, almost crushing it, and

placed it beside a switch on the dashboard. ‘This is an

ambulance, boy. Use your siren.’

Chang Lee pulled his hand free, and flicked the siren

switch. It started up immediately.

‘All right!’ he shouted. They began to ease forward as

various cars managed to find enough room to let them

pass.

The Doctor was starting the motorcycle up when they both

heard the siren behind them.

Grace raised the pistol, but the Doctor flicked out his

arm, knocking it from her and over the side of the bridge,

into the river far below.

‘That might have been useful,’ she said, astonished.

‘I hate guns,’ he said, somewhat fiercely. ‘They go bang

and hurt people.’

‘It also would have made a good deterrent.’ she snapped

back.

‘D’you know how to use one safely? How to load it, cock

it and aim it properly?’

Grace paused, then admitted that she didn’t.

‘Exactly,’ the Doctor said. ’It might have been you who

got hurt, and that I could not live with.’

Somehow, that made Grace happy, and she clutched the

Doctor tightly as he revved the bike up and sped off across the Golden Gate Bridge, away from the ambulance and the

Master.

Her joy soon turned to terror as she realised that the

Doctor had about as much road sense as she had gun sense.

He ignored every sign that demanded they stop, causing

more than a few cars to swerve at junctions to avoid them.

Eventually they saw a sign pointing right, to take them out of the Lombard area of the city centre and off towards the

ITAR. At the last moment, the Doctor swung the bike

right and headed for the Institute.

‘It’s on the waterfront,’ Grace yelled and the Doctor

nodded, seeing it in the distance.

Chang Lee saw them swerve right and promptly went the

opposite way, much to his passenger’s consternation.

‘What are you doing, Chang Lee?’ the Master growled.

‘It’s a quicker way,’ Chang Lee said.

‘It’d better be –’ The Master sounded more menacing

than ever before and, for the first time, Chang Lee

wondered if he was doing the right thing. Then he

remembered the gold dust.

‘Look,’ he said, perhaps a little too sharply, ‘this is my

area. I know these streets, this town. Just enjoy the ride.

Trust me!’

‘If we don’t catch the Doctor,’ the Master said, ‘I’m

finished.’ He looked at Chang Lee, frowning. ‘And so, boy,

are you!’

Chang Lee deliberately took the next corner too sharply,

and smiled inwardly as he heard the Master’s head thump

against the window.

‘Sorry,’ he yelled.

The ambulance went up a slight hill and then bounced

over the ridge, all wheels coming off the road before

crashing down again. Chang Lee grinned – he’d always

wanted to do this. Another five or six similar humps were

approaching rapidly.

As they went over the next, Chang Lee glanced at the

Master, looking decidedly greener than before. ‘Don’t

worry,’ he said.

‘I’m not worried,’ came the reply.

‘When I get all that gold,’ Chang Lee said, ‘do you know

what I’m going to do?’

‘I’d rather not,’ was the Master’s reply, spoken through

gritted teeth.

Chang Lee laughed at this.

‘I’m glad one of us is amused.’ The Master placed both

hands on the dashboard, trying to steady himself as they

literally flew over another hump, then crashed down,

sending sparks back the way they had come.

‘Hey, cheer up, man,’ said Chang Lee. ‘You’ll get your

body back real soon. We’re a team, right?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the Master replied. ‘We’re “a team”.’

His head banged loudly on the roof.

Speeding along the waterfront, Grace could see over the

Doctor’s shoulder. The Institute was getting nearer and

larger, but she could also see another junction ahead, and

the lights turned red. She was about to yell this observation out when the Doctor shot straight through it, nearly

causing another pile-up.

‘Did you see that stop light?’ she screamed in his ear.

‘Where?’ he called back.

‘Doctor?’

‘Yes, Grace?’

She sighed. ‘Unlike you, I only have one life. Could you

please remember that?’

Before the Doctor could answer, they were shooting up

the driveway towards the Institute, a huge concrete and

glass modern set of buildings looking like they’d been built with Lego blocks, connected to each other by tubular

walkways about two storeys up.

They passed a hoarding, with the legend: 2000. THE

BEGINNING OF SAN FRANCISCO MEAN-TIME.

They approached the largest building. All the lights

were on and the music and hubbub of a big party could be

heard, even over the roar of the bike. Grace noted various

security people and media vans littered about.

And she saw something else.

‘Oh no, Doctor. Look!’

Parked beside one of the KKBE news vans was the

Master’s ambulance, both doors open wide.

Five for silver

‘I always thought hell would be hot, not sub-zero,’ Gareth

Fitzpatrick said, shivering and wishing he was somewhere

else. ‘Makes you wonder what heaven is really like.’ He dug his chin under the top of his sweater and rubbed the back

of his neck, trying to massage some warmth into it.

‘Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight,’ agreed

David Bailey, his friend, as he pulled his jacket tighter

around his own neck. ‘I expected a glass of champagne,

warmth and a drunken conga around the waterfront.’

Gareth shrugged. ‘Well, next time, let’s not volunteer to

work on New Year’s Eve.’

The two of them were standing in the doorway of the

Institute of Technological Advancement and Research

reception area as guest after guest, dressed in the most

expensive suits and gowns they could possibly hire, waved

their invitations at them.

Both were students who had anticipated getting free

invites to the party by offering to work as security guards for the night. Both were wrong. They had turned up four

hours ago in equally expensively hired dinner jackets,

saying that they had come to meet a Mr Vyse, who was

expecting them to help out with the guests.

Moments later they had been led to a portakabin at one

side of the parking lot and shown inside by a man who

looked as though he might once have been a boxer. He had

been smirking, as if he knew a joke but had no intention of passing it on. The joke, they carne to realise, was that their expensive attire had been a waste of time. In the

portakabin were two black jackets, two peaked caps

(emblazoned with the legend VYSE SECURITY) and a

pair of dull grey pants and rather thin black roll-neck

sweaters.

Realising that they had been hoodwinked, Gareth and

Paul had discontentedly changed and emerged a few

moments later to be shown to the front door.

‘This is the closest you’ll get to being inside at

midnight,’ their smirking guide said. ‘Vyse wants you to

check everybody’s invite. No one, and I mean no one, gets

in without one. It’s one pass per person. Got that?’

Gareth said that they had indeed got it and since then

they had been doing as requested.

David nodded as he checked another man’s invite and

ushered him through to the reception desk inside the

lobby.

‘You know, this clock thing would be a good target. If

any weird political group wanted to make a statement, they

needn’t look any further, really. San Francisco’s newest

achievement blown to pieces.’

‘Oh, great,’ said Gareth, looking about him.

Maybe they should have stayed home and watched the

news reports. But they both needed some cash to tide them

over until the start of the next semester, and although this was not very much, it would help.

‘Ready for your mid-term?’ David asked suddenly.

Gareth shrugged again. ‘Yeah. I guess. You?’

‘No.’ David looked at his feet. ‘I’m actually not going

back to college next year. I’m dropping out.’

Gareth let this sink in. ‘You’re what? Why?’

David checked three more guests in. ‘I guess I realised

last term that all this wasn’t what I wanted, you know?’ He looked straight at Gareth. ‘I thought I did, but now I

don’t.’

‘What did your mom say?’

‘She freaked. Dad was cool, though. He understood. He

said I should do what I wanted to do.’

‘Nice dad,’ Gareth said. ‘Wish mine was that open-

minded.’ He checked a woman in, pointing her towards the

ladies’ rest room when she asked. ‘I’m majoring in

mathematics and that’s an end to it as far as he’s

concerned.’

‘What d’you want to do?’ David smiled as another guest

thanked him as he went into the lobby.

‘I don’t really know. But I’m worried about tying myself

down to one career while I’m only eighteen.’

‘Now you know why I got out,’ David said.

Gareth was about to speak again, when someone tapped

him on the shoulder. It was a short girl, about his age, with black hair cut into a Louise Brooks-style bob. She was

smiling, and Gareth thought it was the most radiant smile

he’d ever seen.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘I’m Sophie. I’m on lobby duty, at the

desk.’ She pointed towards it, and Gareth nodded. ‘I need

to go to the rest room. Could you cover for me? Just for a

second?’

‘Sure thing,’ Gareth nodded. He threw an apologetic

look at David and dashed into the warm lobby.

‘You’re ace,’ Sophie said, grabbing her bag off the back

of the chair.

‘So are you,’ Gareth muttered as she hurried off.

David had now begun letting more guests through and

Gareth began pointing them towards the main dining area.

He was starting to enjoy this at last.

After a few moments, he looked up to see two people

facing him. One was a stunning strawberry-blonde, the

other a bizarre-looking man. Neither was really dressed for the occasion, but the man was particularly peculiar. He

wore a brown coat, grey pants and a hideous paisley vest.

His hair looked like it had not been combed for weeks. The

woman followed Gareth’s gaze, and leaned forward

conspiratorially, showing Gareth her invitation.

‘He made a mistake and thought it was fancy dress. By

the time we realised...’ She held her hands out as if to say

‘what could we do?’.

‘Can I see your pass, sir?’ Gareth asked the strange man.

The woman stood between them. ‘I’m Dr Grace

Holloway. And friend.’

Gareth faced a quandary – this was the first time during

the evening that someone had come without an invitation.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but no one is allowed in without an

invite.’

The blonde waved her invite at him. ‘I have an

invitation. You’re looking at it.’

The man leaned towards them. ‘Problem, Grace?’

‘I’m on the Board, young man. I can assure you that my

guest here is essential to tonight’s proceedings.’ She threw a look at the man. ‘Tell him, Doctor.’

‘Oh, yes, right. Yes, I’m very important.’ The man

smiled at Gareth.

‘See?’ added Dr Holloway. ‘He’s Dr Beech, from

England.’

She pointed towards the door marked NO ENTRY that

Gareth assumed led up to the stage area. ‘They’re waiting

for him.’

Dr Beech leaned forward and Gareth squirmed slightly

in his seat under the scrutiny. ‘Don’t I know you, young

man?’

Gareth shook his head and indicated that they ought to

go through. Anything to get rid of them. He watched them

mingle with the crowd and tuned back to the next guest

only to find the gorgeous Sophie standing there.

‘Hi again,’ she said. ‘Guess it’s back to work for me.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ Gareth vacated his seat and headed back

to the cold outdoors, and what he thought would be a very

jealous David Bailey.

‘Hey, handsome, what’s your name?’

Gareth felt his skin glow. ‘Err... Gareth. Gareth

Fitzpatrick.’

Sophie nodded. ‘All right, Gareth Fitzpatrick. Fancy a

dance at midnight?’

Gareth realised that now he knew exactly what heaven

was.

‘That’s the first time being on the Board of this place has ever been of any real use to me.’

Grace munched on a couple of vol au vents and took a

glass of red Gioberti from a passing waiter. ‘You should try some of this, Doctor,’ she said. ‘Tuscany valley wine. I

went down to the vineyard once, watched them make the

stuff.’ She smiled. ‘Got on very well with the owner’s son, I seem to remember. Wonder what happened to him?’

The Doctor did not answer her. Instead, he was

scanning everybody in the dining room and obviously not

finding what he wanted. ‘He must have found a back way

in,’ he muttered. ‘We need to be back there.’ He pointed

towards the empty presentation area, a raised dais,

cordoned off with red ropes.

Grace nodded. ‘All right.’ She indicated the grouped

television reporters, with their camera crews, huddled near the area. ‘If anyone asks, we’re with them.’

‘There’s the clock,’ the Doctor said, pointing directly

above them.

‘It’s huge,’ breathed Grace, slightly awestruck. ‘I mean,

just how are you going to get that on the back of the

motorcycle?’

‘We only need a tiny piece of it. The beryllium chip that

moves the microchips that are essentially powered by the

atomic particles that –’

‘Built the house that Jack couldn’t. Yes, all right.’ Grace pulled him forward. ‘I gather time is not on our side right now.’

‘No, but I’ve always been on hers.’ He grinned. ‘She owes me.’

Grace decided she did not want to get too existential

right now and thought it best to keep them moving. ‘Make

conversation, Doctor, people are looking at us.’ She

stopped briefly and spoke loudly. ‘So, time travel is

possible then, Doctor?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he answered, exaggerating his accent and

making heads turn. ‘But only if you have the right

equipment.’

Grace saw that they were near a short stairway which led

up behind the dais. She glanced up at the clock, encased

within a glass box and looking more like a piece of modern

art than a timepiece. There was an access-way behind it,

presumably where it had been programmed from. The

stairs more than likely led towards it.

‘And if, like me, you have the right equipment,’ the

Doctor was telling an short, attractive woman with glasses,

‘anything is possible.’

Grace tried to lean back and grab him, but the short

woman interrupted. ‘Hi, I’m Professor Sullivan, down

from Winona. I thought I’d travelled a long way, but you’re from England, right?’

‘Wrong,’ said the Doctor, smiling at her. ‘I’m from

Gallifrey.’

‘Ah.’ Professor Sullivan shook his hand. ‘I’ve always

wanted to go to Ireland. If ever I make it, maybe I can look you up.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Of course. But I’m rarely at home.’

Grace tugged on his sleeve.

‘And have you met Dr Holloway?’ He pulled her

towards him instead. ‘She’s a very good cardiologist. Never lost a patient yet.’

Professor Sullivan shook Grace’s hand. Then she looked

at Grace’s jeans and blouse, her eyes widening as she took

in the black jacket. ‘Been working late?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Grace said through gritted teeth. ‘No time to

get formal.’ She threw a look of pure venom towards the

Doctor, who just smiled back benignly, blue eyes

twinkling. ‘And on a mere cardiologist’s wage, you know...’

Professor Sullivan nodded, understandingly. ‘Yes, it

must be very difficult.’

Grace agreed. ‘Well, we must circulate. See you around

later.’

‘Oh goodbye, Doctor. Doctors. Don’t forget to try a

glass of the Gioberti. It’s a local wine, I understand.’

Grace moved away, muttering ‘I hope it chokes you’

under her breath and dragging the Doctor with her. ‘So,

this Master person. He’s taken over Bruce’s body, has he?’

‘Unfortunately. However, it’s starting to decompose and

he’ll need to take over mine before too long.’

‘So, do you steal other people’s bodies when you... you

know... do what you did in the morgue?’

The Doctor shook his head.

‘No, we don’t die as such. It’s when our bodies are too

old to carry on, or injured beyond repair. The body

literally reconfigures itself, using the existing cells but rearranging them, redistributing them. A Time Lord

becomes what might appear to be a new man or woman but

is in fact just a rearrangement of the old one. The brain

stays the same, if a little muddled for a while.’

He laughed. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret sometime – if you

promise not to tell anyone.’

All Grace could think about was the park, and the

Doctor’s sudden exhilaration as he regained his memory.

And their kiss.

‘Later,’ she said, pushing past another couple of party

guests. ‘Tell me about this Master. Why did he have to kill Bruce?’

‘He’s on his last life, literally. Time and time again he

has found ways of prolonging his final incarnation. Each

time, it’s just been staving off the inevitable.’ The Doctor looked down at his feet. ‘And now he’s realised that the

only way to continue is to place his life essence into the

one thing denied to him – another Time Lord’s body. He’s

fighting to survive, Grace, and in that fight there are no

rules.’

‘You’ve known him a long time then?’

‘Once – a very long time ago – we were friends. Almost

brothers. We shared so many traits, so many ideals and so

many frustrations. We both sought answers away from

Gallifrey, but ended up diametrically opposed to each

other.’ The Doctor sighed and stuffed his hands into his

pockets. ‘It’s rather sad really.’

Grace decided a morbid Doctor was the last thing she

need right now. ‘I’ve seen the way up to the clock, Doctor,’

she said quietly. ‘We only have about half an hour.’

‘I know, Grace, but we’ll need a security pass. The

hatchway up there will be electronically locked, and I don’t have my sonic screwdriver to open it.’

They were now standing by the roped-off area, the

stairway to their left conveniently concealed to the

majority of the guests, thanks to a curve in the wall.

‘Here’s our opportunity, Doctor,’ said Grace suddenly,

and waved towards a rather elderly man. ‘It’s Professor

Wagg.’

Professor Wagg was wearing an evening suit that was

probably last worn at a time when he was somewhat

slimmer. His only hair was sticking out in little tufts above his ears and a pair of pince-nez were in danger of toppling off his nose. In his hands was a glass of white wine, some of which was slowly soaking into his shirt, and a few crumbs

of smoked salmon bake appeared to have attached

themselves to his beard. He, however, looked as if he did

not care a jot – as if his philosophy was for people to take him as they found him. Grace, nevertheless, knew it was

quite a manufactured image, and adored him even more for

it.

Grace leaned back delightedly towards the Doctor but

kept her attention on Wagg as his face dawned with

recognition. ‘He designed and built the clock. This whole

thing is his baby.’

She moved forward, hugging Wagg. ‘Lovely to see you,

Joseph.’

‘My dear Grace, what a pleasant surprise. I thought you

Board people only turned up at Board meetings and the

like.’

‘Wouldn’t miss a good party, now, would I?’ Grace

laughed with him. ‘I’ve brought someone to meet you.’

‘Young Brian is it? Been waiting for this. Give him the

old once over, you know.’

Grace coughed. ‘No, actually, Brian has... er, well, that is to say...’

‘Didn’t know the gift horse when he saw it, eh? Too

bad. His loss.’

Wagg turned to the Doctor, holding his hand out. ‘Joe

Wagg. And you are?’

‘A pleasure to meet you, Professor.’

‘Oh,’ Wagg raised his eyebrows and smiled at Grace.

‘English. Good choice, Grace m’dear. Good blood in their

veins.’

‘He’s a friend, Joseph,’ sighed Grace, ‘not a racehorse.

This is Dr Beech, from London. He’s got a secret to share

with us.’

The Doctor grinned at Wagg and pointed straight up.

‘Is there any chance of me getting a closer look at your

delightful timepiece? I’ve always been a bit of a horologist.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Doctor,’ said Wagg. ‘I’m afraid I’m the

only person allowed up there.’

The Doctor put on his most seductive smile. ‘Maybe

you could bend the rules? Just a little?’

Wagg looked at the Doctor, then Grace, then back again

to the Doctor. ‘Well, possibly. Grace said you have a secret to share with us.’

The Doctor took Professor Wagg by the shoulder, as if

to emphasise the conspiratorial nature of their

conversation. He leaned forward and whispered into

Wagg’s ear. ‘I am half-human. On my mother’s side.’

There was a pause and then Wagg threw back his head

and let out an enormous laugh. So loud that a lot of the

guests stopped talking and turned to look in irritation.

Grace noticed that once they realised exactly who had

laughed so outrageously, the little parasites smiled back as if they, too, were in on the joke.

‘Grace,’ Wagg said, ‘I like this one.’ He shook the

Doctor’s hand once again. ‘Good to meet you, Doctor. I

hope we’ll meet again.’

‘As do I, Professor, as do I. It’s been a pleasure and an

honour.’

‘Oh, no, Doctor. The honour has been all mine.’ Wagg

patted his shoulder.

‘Exactly.’ The Doctor just smiled, and Wagg looked at

Grace and then shrugged and wandered back into the

crowd, still chuckling.

‘So witty, Doctor, you’re so witty,’ and Wagg was

swallowed up amongst his faithful and the hangers-on.

Grace looked straight at the Doctor and grinned.

The Doctor’s face broke unto a wide smile and he raised

an eyebrow in triumph as he held his hand out. Nestling in

the palm was a small plastic card, with an encrypted micro-

strip along it.

‘Joseph’s security pass?’ Grace was astounded. Pleased,

but astounded.

‘Sleight of hand.’

The Doctor flicked his head towards the stairway. ’Shall

we go?’

Grace nodded and they climbed over the rope, checking

no one had noticed them. Luckily all the other guests were

too busy fawning over Professor Wagg or the television

camera crews to notice much of anything.

The Doctor turned the corner and climbed the stairs,

only to be confronted by a young security guard at the top.

They were now standing in one of the glass corridors that

linked the buildings which made up the Institute. Outside,

the dark night was punctuated by the orange glow of

downtown San Francisco, and the tiny moving lights.

‘Beautiful view, isn’t it?’ the Doctor said.

The guard looked slightly bewildered. ‘Yes, sir. May I

ask what you’re doing up here?’

Grace popped up from the stairs, waving Wagg’s

security pass. ‘Professor Wagg and I were just checking up

on the clock.’

She moved towards the closed hatchway, easing past the

guard. ‘If you don’t mind...’

‘Oh, yeah. Sorry.’ The guard moved away and around

the corner, scratching his head. He was sure something

wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Grace slid the card through a slot and the hatchway slid back, revealing a tiny access area at the back of the atomic clock.

The Doctor was down immediately, using a tiny coin to

unscrew the panel that would lead to the beryllium. ‘As I

said, where’s my sonic screwdriver when I need it?’

He stopped and looked back at Grace and then pulled

the straw hat out from under his coat. ‘This used to be

mine.’

‘So?’

‘So, it ought to have been with all my other things. Not

my clothes, I know where they are. But surely the stuff in

my pockets ought to have been put somewhere safe at the

hospital?’

‘Ah, yes, those things.’ Grace tried not to look too

embarrassed. ‘They were, sort of, lost. Yeah, lost.’

‘Lost?’ The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Somehow I

think “lost” is a bit of an understatement.’

‘Oh, all right.’ snapped Grace. ‘I’m sorry. They were

stolen. From my office. From in front of me.’

‘Who by?’

‘A Chinese boy. He was with you when you were shot.

He travelled with Bruce in the ambulance.’

‘And Bruce is now the Master,’ mused the Doctor. He

looked Grace straight in the eye. ‘I wonder if he’s working with the Master.’

The Doctor turned back to the panel. ‘Oh, well, it

couldn’t be helped.’

Grace stared at is back as he struggled to undo the

screws. She touched his shoulder. ‘Hey, I really am sorry

he got them.’

‘As I said, it’s not your fault. More sentimental

attachment rather than practical use.’ As the Doctor

twisted the coin, his other hand shoved the hat back under

his coat.

The panel fell back and the Doctor steadied it. Grace

peered in over his shoulder, but it resembled the inside of a computer to her. Human physiology she could find her

way around blindfolded (so long as there weren’t two

hearts) but anything remotely electrical and she was lost.

The Doctor slowly inserted his finger into a tiny slot

and eased out a wafer-thin silver strip of metal.

‘Is that it?’ asked Grace. ‘The beryllium chip?’

‘I told you it was small.’ The Doctor held it out to her.

Grace smiled as she took it. ‘Now, what is it they say

about size?’

‘They say that on my planet, too.’ The Doctor began

screwing the panel back into place.

‘Sorted. Let’s go.’

Gareth Fitzpatrick was sure he’d seen those two before.

Especially the lady with the strawberry-blonde hair. He

stared out of the glass tube. The man was right, San

Francisco was very beautiful at night. But there was

something wrong –

‘Hi, Gareth.’

He turned to see Sophie standing in the corridor, with a

bottle of wine and two empty glasses in her hands.

‘Sophie? Hi.’

‘I thought I might find you here. Your friend David said

you’d both been given corridor duty now that everyone

had arrived. Professor Wagg gave me this to tempt you

back downstairs. You must be off duty by now.’

‘I don’t know...’

What was he saying? How often did beautiful women

offer him drinks?

‘Is the Professor a friend of yours?’

‘He’s my father.’

That was it! ‘Your father? Surely he’s not old enough to

be —’

Sophie frowned. ‘What’s up?’

‘Where is your father right now?’

Sophie deflated slightly. ‘Why does everyone want to

meet my father and never me?’

‘No, no, I do want to meet you.’ Gareth stared at her.

What was he saying? ‘I mean, obviously I have met you,

but I don’t think I have met your father. He’s not got long black hair and stupid clothes?’ Oh, God, what if that was

Sophie’s father? He’d just insulted him magnificently.

‘No.’

Thank God.

‘No, Dad’s about sixty with a beard and he’s almost

bald. Why?’

‘Then there’s an Englishman pretending to be him back

there.’ Gareth was torn between duty and Sophie. ‘Don’t go

away,’ his mouth said, while his brain screamed out angrily

“What are you doing?”

Gareth hurried back around the corner, just as the

strawberry-blonde and the Englishman (a Dr Beech wasn’t

it?) emerged from the hatchway.

As they stood up, Grace smiled. ‘Hello again. We’re just

going back down. Professor Wagg is happy with

everything.’ She glanced at her companion.

‘And you were just saying how good you thought the

security was, weren’t you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the Englishman. ‘Very adequate.’ He

suddenly stared hard at Gareth, who took a step back. ‘I do know you, don’t I?’

The blonde tugged at his sleeve. ‘We spoke to him when

we got up here. And in reception. Where I introduced you

as Dr Beech,’ she hissed.

She smiled apologetically at Gareth. ‘He’s a bit crazy

tonight. It’s the strain of all this.’

‘You’re Gareth Fitzpatrick, aren’t you?’

Gareth stopped looking at the woman. Stopped thinking

about how this man certainly was not Professor Wagg.

Stopped wondering why they were fiddling with the

atomic clock.

‘Yes.’

‘Gareth, you must answer the second question on your

mid-term exam, not the third. The third may look easier,

but you’ll mess it up.’

‘What?’

The Englishman grabbed Gareth’s hand and shook it

violently. ‘Good to meet you, Gareth. Now remember: the

second question. Don’t forget!’

‘Okay,’ said Gareth slowly. How did this man know who

he was? Or about his exams? ‘Now, can I see what’s in your

hand please?’

The Englishman beamed. ‘Good. An inquisitive mind.

Useful to you one day.’ He held his hands out. In it was a

paper bag.

Gareth looked inside.

‘Jelly babies. Have one. An English delicacy.’

Tentatively, Gareth took a green one and popped it in

his mouth. He glanced back to where Sophie was still

hopefully waiting around the corner. When he looked back

to the hatchway, the Englishman and the blonde had gone.

How had he known who Gareth was?

‘Gareth, are you coming?’

Sophie placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Or are you still

thinking about my father? Should I get worried by this?’

Get your priorities right, Gareth Fitzpatrick. He smiled

at her, captivated by her wonderful eyes, red lips, beautiful skin.

‘Fancy that dance?’ he said.

Grace and the Doctor were walking quickly along the

transparent tubes, looking for a way back into the dining

area below before finding themselves in another, locked,

building.

Grace kept looking behind them, in case the young

security guard showed up. ‘What was that all about?’

‘Gareth Fitzpatrick will head up the seismology unit of

the UCLA task force ten years from now. He will devise a

way of accurately predicting earthquakes.’ The Doctor

beamed at her. ‘He’s going to be very important.’

Grace looked back at him for a second, and then spoke

slowly. ‘You mean it, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. His inventions ultimately save the

human race several times. But first, he has to graduate in

poetry.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s the way these things work.’

The Doctor opened a door and they found themselves

opposite the cordoned off area, some way from the clock,

on a balcony overlooking the dining room. The exit, and

the way to their motorbike, was therefore directly below

them.

Grace touched the Doctor’s sleeve. ‘You are for real

aren’t you? I mean; I’ve been telling myself that this is all a dream. Something not quite real. Maybe I bumped my

head, or I’m still at the Opera House with Brian.’

The Doctor moved back towards her, but she put her

hand up to stop him. ‘But it is absolutely real, isn’t it? I’m stood here, talking to an alien who travels through time

and space, trying to help him stop his old enemy from

destroying Earth.’ She shook her head. ‘Have you any idea

how difficult it is to rationalise that? To put together my training, my belief in science with something that’s

straight out of a bad fifties B-movie?’

The Doctor just carried on grinning. ‘Believe it, Grace.

Truth is always stranger than fiction.’

Grace nodded. ‘I guess so.’

They looked down into the crowd.

‘Half an hour until the millennium,’ the Doctor said to

break the silence. ‘Give or take a few seconds as that clock tries to work without its major component.’

‘Doctor,’ Grace hissed. ‘Down there!’ She pointed

towards the centre of the throng. ‘There’s Chang Lee, the

boy who stole your things.’

As if sensing her, Chang Lee looked straight up and saw

them, tugging on the sleeve of the man beside him.

Dark glasses. Dark suit. Paramedic’s jacket.

‘The Master’s with him,’ the Doctor said. ‘We were

right. We’d best get out of here.’

‘How?’

The Doctor darted back out into the corridor. ‘Straight

up.’

Grace hurried towards him, and found him looking up a

fire escape, leading to the roof. ‘I hope you know what

you’re doing. They’ll be here in a second.’

‘No they won’t.’ The Doctor smashed his elbow into a

fire alarm, breaking the glass and setting off what sounded like every alarm in the western world.

Grace stared at him. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘The party needed livening up, Grace. Come on!’

He hurried up the fixed ladder leading upwards, Grace

following a couple of rungs below, using her foot to shut

the door behind them. Every second that they could gain

might be important.

Chang Lee looked from side to side, trying to track down

the Master. He caught a glimpse of his partner nearing the

far door, but the panicking crowds pulled them further

apart.

For a moment he wondered if the Master would desert

him, but remembered that he, and not the Master, had the

ambulance keys.

By the far end of the room, below the clock thing, a bald

man with a white beard was shouting and telling people

not to panic. However, a moment later he vanished from

sight, either knocked over by someone who was not

listening, or giving up and running himself.

Chang Lee was right by the door now, and a rough

security guard hauled him forward, almost throwing him

into the cold air.

As he scrambled towards the ambulance, a black gloved

hand grabbed his arm. ‘Where were you, boy?’ growled the

Master. ‘We must leave. The Doctor will be heading for his

TARDIS.’

Grace stared down over the edge of the building. They

were only four storeys up, but too far to jump.

‘Grace,’ called the Doctor from behind her. ‘Grab this.’

She caught the brass end of a fire hose he was

unspooling from inside the fire escape. ‘You are joking!’

The Doctor pushed her over the edge and before she

even had time to scream, Grace was plummeting

downwards, gripping the unravelling hose, shooting faster

and faster, the ground getting closer and closer.

At the last moment she screwed her eyes up tightly and

prepared for impact.

Instead, the hose stopped suddenly. Slowly Grace

opened her eyes – her feet were two inches off the top of a police car.

‘Grace, let go!’ the Doctor called from above.

She dropped and staggered forward, her heart beating

faster than ever before.

She watched the Doctor shinning down the hose like an

experienced abseiler and eventually he joined her.

Grace was not sure if she was going to hug him for his

inventiveness or thump him for scaring her to death. She

decided to do neither and they jumped off the car and

began walking towards their abandoned motorcycle.

‘Just how did you know exactly how long that hose

was?’ was all she managed to say, as he kick started the

motorbike.

‘I just made an educated guess,’ he yelled as the cycle

shot forward, weaving between frightened guests and

guards fleeing the non-existent fire.

Grace caught a glimpse of Bruce’s ambulance trying to

drive between the same people but Chang Lee was

obviously not prepared to simply run everyone over and

the delay gave their cycle a good start.

Before long they were back on the bridge, heading for

Chinatown, where the Doctor’s TARDIS was meant to be.

‘So,’ she yelled. ‘D’you know what’s going to happen to

me in ten years time?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ was the reply.

‘Yes I do! You can’t not tell me!’

The Doctor just carried on driving. ‘I’m sorry, Grace.’

‘Oh, God,’ Grace shouted, ‘you don’t mean Brian’s going

to move back in? I mean, there are some things too

horrible to contemplate!’

‘I can’t say, really.’

Grace was suddenly angry. He’d told that Gareth boy

about his exams. He’d somehow known about her mother’s

death; her reasons for becoming a doctor. ‘Please?’

The cycle was approaching a red light. Grace just knew

they weren’t going to stop.

They went straight through, once more almost causing a

massive pile-up.

The Doctor turned left towards a sign that said

CHINATOWN

‘The universe hangs by such a fragile thread of

coincidence, Grace,’ he said suddenly.

Grace smiled. He’d been actually considering her

request.

‘There’s no point in trying to tamper with it unless, like

me, you’re a Time Lord.’

‘Okay,’ Grace agreed, ‘just give me a few pointers, so

that I can –’

There was the sudden wailing of a siren behind them,

and Grace looked over her shoulder to see another

motorcycle cop, red lights flashing, bearing down on them.

‘We’re being followed,’ she cried.

‘Not far,’ said the Doctor as they went shooting down

Jasmine Boulevard. He turned sharply into Rose Alley but

all Grace could see was a tall, blue box. Which, in her

considered opinion, looked very out of place.

The Doctor skidded to a halt and they jumped off,

letting the cycle fall over.

‘There she is!’ The Doctor was almost hugging the blue

box.

Grace read the sign printed on it. ‘A Police Box? What’s

a Police Box?’

The Doctor was patting his empty pockets. He even

whipped out his straw hat and looked inside that. The

police siren was getting nearer.

Grace smiled. ‘Now even I leave a spare key –’

‘In a secret compartment above the door,’ finished the

Doctor. ‘Grace, you’re a genius.’

‘Well, great minds think alike.’

‘True.’ The Doctor cupped his hands together. ‘Come

on, give you a leg up.’

Sighing, Grace allowed herself to be propelled upwards,

and ran her hands along the top of the TARDIS.

‘There’s a little cubby-hole above the capital “P”.’

Sure enough, as Grace scrabbled about, her fingers

found a tiny bole and inside was a piece of metal. She

yanked it out and jumped back to the ground.

In her hand was a strangely shaped piece of metal, like a

miniature trowel with a cross instead of a handle. ‘This is a key?’

‘Yes, thank you very much.’ He started to open the

TARDIS.

‘Why a Police Box?’

The Doctor patted his box. ‘Its chameleon circuit got

stuck during a previous misadventure. I rather like it like this.’

‘Very distinctive –’ Grace began, but stopped as the

police motorcycle turned into the alley, its siren screaming, blinding them with its headlight.

The Doctor shoved the doors to his TARDIS wide open

and the police officer rode his cycle straight in.

Grace prepared herself for an almighty crash, but

nothing happened. The Doctor began counting on his

fingers and when he got to five; the cycle shot out again, its rider’s eyes wide open in shock. The cop kept driving, as far away from Rose Alley as he could, his siren fading into the dull noise of the San Francisco traffic.

The Doctor pulled Grace into the TARDIS – and if she

had possessed any lingering doubts, they vanished

immediately.

‘It’s certainly large,’ she said, noting the intricate

candelabra and the wooden lectern. ‘Been to a rummage

sale recently, have we?’

The Doctor was at the central console, looking at what

appeared to be an old Bakelite television screen suspended

on a Z-spring. It showed the outside of the TARDIS and

their abandoned bike.

He flicked a couple of gold rectangles into some slots

and right on top of the console a holographic projection of something else appeared.

‘The Eye of Harmony,’ he said.

Grace realised she was rubbing at her arm and slipped

her jacket off. Where the Master had spat venom at her, the skin had completely discoloured, going very green. A green

rash was spreading further up her arm.

She opened her mouth to tell the Doctor but he was

staring towards the massive library, his hand cupped to his ear, as if listening.

Faintly, Grace could hear a bell tolling.

‘Hear that?’ he asked her.

‘Yes,’ she replied, straining hard.

‘It’s a warning. The TARDIS is dying.’

He punched a button on the console. The exterior view

of the TARDIS vanished, and was replaced by a blue

screen, with the words TIMING MALFUNCTION

flashing up on it.

‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘We don’t have enough auxiliary

power to even move next door.’

The Doctor began rushing around the console, his

hands moving in a blur as he moved, twisted, shoved and

occasionally thumped everything he could. There was no

doubt that he knew every piece, every square millimetre of

the console, but his movements suggested he was getting

more and more frustrated.

Eventually, he flipped a panel open and looked inside it.

‘Sorry, old girl,’ he muttered. Grace assumed he did not

mean her, but was chatting to the TARDIS much as Brian

used to do with his old car.

The Doctor clicked his fingers suddenly.

‘Grace, the beryllium chip, please.’

Grace delved into her pocket and produced the tiny

silver rectangle and passed it over. She tried to look inside the console without getting in his way, but quickly gave

up, realising it was pointless. She had no hope of

understanding any of it.

He suddenly pulled out a wooden box with a couple of

frayed red wires attached to it. The beryllium chip was

now lying on top, attached by a twisted paper clip.

‘That looks a bit low-tech,’ she said.

The Doctor did not look up as he replied, but continued

attaching wires to the chip, and plucking other, run-down

looking things out of the console. ‘It’s a Type 40 TARDIS.

It can take me to any planet in the universe and to any date in that planet’s existence.’

He shot her a look, beaming. ‘That’s temporal physics.’

Grace looked around her, things gradually making

sense, in a bizarre, science-fiction way. ‘You mean like

inter-dimensional transference,’ she offered. ‘That would

explain the spatial displacement we went through as we

passed over the threshold.’ All those lectures Professor

Wagg had given on time travel hypotheses had obviously

sunk in more than she’d believed.

The Doctor was smiling at her, like she was a prized

student who’d passed all her exams with high marks. ‘That

sounds rather good,’ he said. Then he turned and flicked a

switch on the console. A little blue light beside the

beryllium chip flashed. ‘There,’ he said.

The TIMING MALFUNCTION message vanished.

And on the hologram, they could see the Eye of Harmony

begin to close. The Doctor peered at something else on the

console.

‘Oh no,’ he breathed, and thumped the console again. It

obviously made no difference to whatever readings he was

getting. He looked up to Grace, his eyes wide and

frightened.

Just like his previous body had on the operating table.

Eyes not used to fear...

‘I’ve got a horrible feeling we’re already too late.’

Grace looked at her watch.

‘It’s eleven forty-eight. We’ve still got eleven minutes.’

The Doctor punched a control and the holographic Eye

vanished, to be replaced by a hologram of what Grace

could only guess was the universe. It was beautiful –

millions of dots of colour, swirls of gas clouds, yellow

suns...

‘There’s no context,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘I’ll have to

check.’

‘What are you doing?’

The Doctor was hunched over the console, his fingers

tapping in commands, slipping golden squares and rods in

and out of slots. ‘I’m setting the coordinates for one minute after midnight. If I’m right, the Eye has already been open for too long and there is no future.’ He shot a look at

Grace. ‘I only hope –’

He stopped as the hologram of the universe flared and

vanished. ‘Oh, no...’

Grace tried to make a joke of it all. ‘Hey, you never said

this thing was reliable.’

The Doctor ignored her. ‘Whatever has started

happening can’t be stopped merely by shutting the Eye.’

‘How come you didn’t know that?’

‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’ve never opened it before. It’s like a miniature black hole, tapping into the real Eye of

Harmony near Gallifrey. It exists both there and at the

heart of every TARDIS simultaneously.’ He

shrugged. ‘Frankly, it’s too dangerous to open. It’s like you driving your car down a freeway at seventy, climbing on to

the hood and putting your hand into the heart of the

engine. The chances are you’ll lose your arm, the car will

crash, explode and everyone in it will die. Not something

really consider doing.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘Simply closing it hasn’t been enough, Grace.’

He looked really worried and started tugging at a loose

thread on his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around his finger.

‘We have to go back,’ he said suddenly. ‘Back to before

it was opened. Maybe before we even arrived.’

‘Well,’ Grace said, ‘this is a time machine.’

‘No power, remember? The Eye opening and closing has

drained it all.’

‘Oh, great.’

‘I’m sorry –’

‘You must have some more power. Or some way of

getting the power back, at least. You simply must!’

Grace wanted to shake him, try and wake him up to the

reality of all this. Whatever that was. Either way, standing around with a look of having given up all over his face was not going to help anyone.

‘What about all your glorious predictions? All your

knowledge of what is going to happen to that Gareth

person? To me? To this city? That must come from

somewhere!’

The Doctor looked blankly at her.

‘Think!’ she screamed at him.

When he moved towards her, it was so unexpected that

Grace jumped. It crossed her mind that he was going to hit

her. Instead, he grabbed both her hands.

‘You’re so right,’ he said. ‘Now, are you any good at

setting alarm clocks?’

She remembered the countless time Brian had asked,

last thing at night, if she had set the alarm for the morning.

She, of course, answered yes only to wake up thirty

minutes later than they ought to have. Brian, needless to

say, resolved to take on alarm-clock duty after three

months of hurried mornings.

‘No,’ she said truthfully.

‘Oh, good grief,’ the Doctor exclaimed.

‘But I’ll try,’ Grace added hurriedly. She had got him

doing something. There was no point in letting him give

up again.

‘Thank you,’ he said wearily. ‘Now, listen to me

carefully.’ He sat on the floor, pulling her down, and

flipped open a compartment at the base of the console,

yanking out a metal box with a handle across the top. He

opened it to reveal futuristic things that could only be tools of some sort.

‘We pre-set the coordinates,’ he was saying. ‘Then just

as we divert the power from inside the Eye itself, it goes

through into the time rotor, here.’ He pointed inside the

compartment.

‘So,’ Grace said slowly, ‘to use your car analogy, we’re

jump-starting the TARDIS?’

‘Sounds good to me.’ The Doctor shoved his hand

further into the compartment. ‘Now, go over to the console

where I placed the beryllium chip. Flip the top switch so

that the blue light goes green.’

Grace nodded and stood up. She almost staggered. The

sudden rise had made her light headed, and her vision

blurred as she tried to find the beryllium chip. She reached forward to steady herself and noticed her hand had gone

green.

That’s not right, she thought.

Her head was hurting. There was a noise in her mind –

a voice? – telling her something. She closed her eyes, but

all she could see were two luminous green eyes, staring at

her.

‘Pass me the neutron rod, Grace.’

What was that? The Doctor? But he sounded so far

away. The other voice, in her head was louder, more

compelling. Commanding her attention.

‘Kill the Doctor,’ it said.

So simple a command.

‘Kill the Doctor. Kill the Doctor.’ The green eyes urged

her on.

She opened her eyes. Everything around her had taken

on a green hue, as if she were looking through tinted glass.

The Doctor’s annoying voice moaned on again,

demanding his neutron rod again.

Stupid man. Stupid TARDIS. Stupid neutron rod. The

voice in her head was right.

‘Kill the Doctor.’

Graced reached out and grabbed something off the top

of the console and smashed the Doctor across the back of

the head with it.

Soundlessly, he crumpled to the floor, dropping

whatever it was he was wiring together.

‘Very good, Miss Holloway,’ said the voice in her head.

Except it was no longer in her head, it was in the

TARDIS with her.

She turned to look. There, in the doorway was that

Chinese boy. And beside him, green eyes glowing brightly,

was the Master.

‘Very good indeed.’

Six for gold

This body-swapping was really quite a fantastic thing,

Chang Lee thought. It must be really cool to be able to leap around from face to face, always one step ahead of your

enemies. No wonder the Master needed to catch the Doctor

– some poor person had died so that he could take this new

body.

Chang Lee was astonished at both the changes and yet

the similarities between the two versions of the Doctor he

had come into contact with.

This new one, currently strapped on to a gurney from

Bruce’s ambulance and being wheeled through the

TARDIS corridors, was a bit younger and much taller. But

the eyes were very alike and the mouth was the same. He

wondered if the Doctor deliberately chose similar bodies,

and thought back to the faces he had seen in the Eye of

Harmony. There had often been the same nose or eyes, that

had transferred from one face to another, as if the Doctor

deliberately chose a certain style. Chang Lee reasoned it

must be similar to people who moved house a lot; if you

liked nineteenth-century architecture, you might add a

room or two, or even go up a storey or two each time you

moved, but your basic ideal remained the same.

Mind you, he was convinced that these two were

definitely aliens. No one from Earth had the ability to

build ‘dimensionally transcendental’ spaceships or body-

swap. He was surprised at his own lack of fear about this.

Maybe it was the novelty of it. After years of running with the gangs, anything new or unusual was cool, really. Maybe

he’d stick with the Master afterwards. Sure, the guy could

be bad tempered, but Chang Lee had dealt with worse. And

anyway, once he’d got enough gold, he could buy the

Master out.

Yeah, stick with the Master, get away from San

Francisco and see a bit of the world. Or even the universe.

Chang Lee eased forward, leaning over the Doctor’s

unconscious body, past his attractive companion, and

pushed open the wooden doors to the Cloisters.

That attractive companion now walked ahead, pulling

the gurney. Chang Lee remembered the last time he had

seen her; in her office, then chasing him through those

hospital corridors. No contest. He had been running like

that for years now, no one could ever catch him.

Now, here she was, silent and hypnotised by the Master,

ready to do his bidding. Or Chang Lee’s, perhaps?

As the cool, calm air of the Cloisters surrounded them,

the Doctor stirred, groaning slightly.

Chang Lee stared down at him, wishing the Master

would hurry back. All he had told Chang Lee to do was

take the Doctor to the Eye of Harmony, where he would

meet them later. Presumably the Master had not

anticipated the Doctor’s quick recovery.

They wheeled him down through the pillared walkways

and into the cathedral, where the Eye lay, closed. Chang

Lee stopped pushing the gurney and so Dr Holloway

automatically stopped pulling. She just stood, facing

forward, seemingly unaware of everything that surrounded

her.

The Doctor’s eyes popped open and he seemed to be

taking in his surroundings.

He tried to lean back and clearly recognised Dr

Holloway’s back.

‘Grace?’

Slowly, the woman turned and faced Chang Lee,

looking straight over the Doctor, ignoring him.

The Doctor closed his eyes. ‘Oh, no Grace, not you...’

Chang Lee smiled. Their captive was, at last, totally

helpless.

The Doctor was wriggling slightly, as if trying to break

the straps on the gurney. ‘You know, Grace, this really is

no time to be playing doctors and nurses.’

Chang Lee tapped his foot. ‘It’s no good talking to her.

She’s possessed.’

The Doctor peered up, trying to raise his head. ‘Oh, it’s

you,’ he said rudely and slumped back. ‘You ran off with

my things.’

He hauled himself up again, and Chang Lee thought he

might have moved a fraction higher. He would have to

check those straps.

The Doctor spoke again. ‘So. Where are they?’

Instinctively Chang Lee’s right hand tapped the pocket

of his baseball jacket, feeling the bag secure inside.

The Doctor clearly noted this. ‘Oh. At least they’re safe

then.’

‘They’re not your things any more.’ Chang Lee tried to

sound angry. ‘Pretty soon everything around here’s going

to belong to the Master again.’

The Doctor just stared back. He had bright blue eyes

that Chang Lee felt looked right through him. He shivered

slightly. There was something about that look that

suddenly made Chang Lee think harder about the Doctor.

He did not seem particularly evil. He was not screaming or

threatening Chang Lee. He certainly did not carry a gun or

anything.

Of course he’s evil, he told himself. This is just part of

his tricks, to put you off guard.

‘“Again”? What’s the Master been telling you?’

Chang Lee leaned forward. ‘You know, when he gets his

lives back from you, when he has your body, I’m going to

be rich.’

The Doctor nodded, understandingly. ‘I see. And you

believe him, do you?’

‘Hey, everything about you two is weird enough already.

Why shouldn’t I? Can you make a better offer?’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘Of course not. But I doubt

he bothered to mention to you that there won’t actually be

anywhere left for you to spend all this money by the time

he’s finished?’

‘And that’s why we have no time to waste!’

Chang Lee turned to see the Master behind him.

‘Time enough to change, I see,’ murmured the Doctor.

Chang Lee turned to stare at his associate. He had

removed his paramedic’s jerkin and now wore a long black

velvet cloak over his snake-skin suit. The cloak had a high collar at the back, and the whole thing was piped with a

burnt orange. The collar itself was flecked with the same

orange and as the Master stood on the wooden balcony

overlooking the Eye of Harmony, Chang Lee felt a chill go

through him. The Master suddenly looked as if he lived up

to his name.

His face was very sunken, however, as presumably

Bruce’s body was almost spent. The skin had taken on an

almost translucent look, with blotches of discoloured skin

showing through the cheeks and around the eyes. The lips

were split and one sore by his right ear was actually

cracked and weeping slightly.

Chang Lee guessed that the Master did not really have

much time left. He simply had to get his own body back

before he finally died.

‘I always like to dress for the occasion, Doctor, you

know that.’

The Doctor snorted derisively. ‘You always had a flair

for the melodramatic. It’s got worse as you’ve gone through lives.’ He tried to sit up further. ‘Thank you for the invite to your execution, by the way.’

‘I knew you would come. You would not be able to resist

seeing my defeat.’ The Master turned to Chang Lee. ‘See,

my young friend, he even gloated at my misfortunes.’

The Doctor laughed wryly. ‘Actually, I came to do the

honourable thing. To take you home. My mistake.’

‘Instead, you stole my life, bringing me to this planet

where you could do the most harm.’

The Master clicked his fingers and Chang Lee and Dr

Holloway moved towards the steps and walked up to join

the Master on the balcony.

All three of them looked down at the Doctor.

‘I never liked this planet, Doctor.’

‘Just as well,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘Considering it will

cease to exist any moment now.’ The Doctor looked over to

Chang Lee. ‘What’s the time, please?’

Chang Lee thought of the gold fob-watch in the bag. He

reached into his jacket pocket and pulled the watch out.

The Master flicked his arm out, knocking the watch

over the edge of the balcony and on to the wooden floor

beside the Doctor.

‘Time enough,’ he said, ‘to retrieve my rightful body

and then get out of here.’ He turned to Chang Lee, placing

an arm around the boy. ‘And take Chang Lee with me, of

course.’

Chang Lee realised how little weight there was resting

on his shoulders. The Master had to be standing, speaking

and moving through vast amounts of pain and with huge

reserves of resilience.

The Master smiled at Chang Lee, and the boy saw the

sores around and in his mouth far more clearly. Most of

the teeth had decayed and his breath was vile. ‘You are the son I have always yearned for.’

‘Oh, please,’ groaned the Doctor from below. ‘I think

I’m going to be sick.’

Chang Lee suddenly felt very odd and disorientated. He

took a slight step back from the Master. There was

something very wrong, very frightening about what they

were doing here.

In his mind’s eye, he could still see the Master’s

reptilian green eyes. But they were losing their brilliance, as if they were fading away as Bruce’s body died.

He felt as though something, some great weight, was

lifting from his mind. But what did it mean? Surely he had

wanted to stay with the Master, get rich and become that

billionaire? In the pocket of his pants, he could feel the

small bag of gold dust. Was that really what he wanted? Or

had the Master somehow convinced him that was all there

was in life?

Chang Lee needed to get away, he decided. He needed

time to sort this out. Moments ago it had all seemed so

right, so normal. Now, it was frightening him.

He stepped backwards down the steps and stood next to

the Doctor’s gurney, looking up at the Master.

The Doctor’s fingers tapped his hand, and Chang Lee

stared down at him.

‘Chang Lee, this is my TARDIS. This is my Eye of Harmony. And I am in my own body.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ called the Master. ‘ I am your friend.’

‘The Master has run out of lives and now he plans to

steal mine. That is the truth!’ The Doctor struggled. ‘We have to stop him.’

The Master bellowed out another order. ‘Move him into

position, Chang Lee.’

Staggering slightly, he turned to Dr Holloway. ‘Go and

help the boy, Miss Holloway.’

As Dr Holloway descended the steps, Chang Lee looked

from the Doctor to the Master.

The Doctor tapped his hand again. ‘Look at Grace,’ he

hissed urgently. ‘She is possessed by evil, not goodness.’

Dr Holloway now produced a weird object from behind

her back and attached it to the Doctor’s head. It was like a metal crown, with spikes sticking out from it. To this Dr

Holloway calmly attached two curved arms. On the end of

each one of these were two curved bits of metal. These were placed neatly around his eyes, like some nightmarish pair

of spectacles. She turned a key on the rods and Chang Lee

realised the Doctor’s eyes were being forced open, and he

swallowed, thankful that he had never caused the Master

this kind of displeasure.

The Master leered down at the Doctor.

‘This won’t hurt, Doctor.’ He smiled, showing his

decayed teeth and bleeding gums.

‘Well, not much

anyway.’

Shelly Curtis, in her Georgian gown and wig, looked out of

the room where the party was in full swing, searching for

Jim Salinger.

Angela Wheeler came up behind her. ‘Marvellous job

they’ve done in here,’ she said, brushing a few crumbs of

cake off her pink bunny costume.

Shelly let the door dose. ‘Yeah, I knew this old ward

would come in handy for something.’

She sighed quietly and Curtis noticed that Pete from the

mortuary was wandering drunkenly towards them. He was

dressed, he had claimed, like Richard Nixon but, in fact,

looked just like an inebriated Pete in a suit. Still, thought Curtis, that was pretty fancily dressed for him.

‘I originally wanted to be an Edwardian suitor,’ he

burbled, ‘but someone stole my cravat.’ He breathed what

smelled like half a bottle of Bourbon over the two of them.

‘Very sad, Pete,’ smiled Wheeler. ‘But you weren’t the

only one, were you?’

Ted, also from the mortuary, hurried over, his Wild Bill

Hickok costume notably missing its frock coat. ‘Hey, Pete,

your Barbara’s getting off with Batman over there.’

With a snarl, Pete hobbled back the way he came.

Ted smiled at the two nurses. ‘She’s not really,’ he said

soberly, ‘but I know what he’s like when he’s had too

much. And you two looked like you needed rescuing.’

Curtis smiled. ‘Thanks. Seen Jim Salinger yet?’

‘No. He’s going to miss the big twelve if he doesn’t get a

move on.’

Curtis glanced at the clock. It read 11.55.

Ted was still talking to Wheeler, explaining how he and

Pete had moved all the beds and scaffolding out earlier that afternoon and set the party up, when Jim Salinger bustled

in.

He was still trying to get his Lone Ranger mask in

place, and looked very harassed. ‘I’ve tried calling Grace,’

he said, ‘but there’s no answer. I thought she had a

machine?’

Curtis shrugged. ‘If Brian’s walked out, he probably

took it. He struck me as the kind who would.’

‘Right.’ Salinger glanced around, nodding

appreciatively. He tapped Ted’s shoulder. ‘Good job you’ve

done in here, Ted. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’ Ted and Wheeler rejoined the main

throng, preparing to get champagne ready for the stroke of

midnight.

Curtis kissed Salinger’s cheek. ‘Happy New Year, Jim.’

‘It will be if you do that more often,’ he replied.

‘Uh-uh,’ she said. ‘You’re not my type.’

‘I’m fully house-trained,’ he protested.

‘Yeah, and I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Curtis

grinned. ‘I’m sure you are, but my husband might object,

and you wouldn’t want to pick an argument with a

construction worker, would you?’

‘Guess not,’ Jim laughed.

‘Come on.’ Curtis dragged him towards Angela Wheeler.

‘Let’s party!’

Within the massive society party at the Institute of

Technological Advancement and Research, Professor

Joseph Wagg stood on the podium.

After the excitement of the false fire alarm, he was

relieved to still be there. He was staring out at the

expectant sea of faces, all waiting to hang on his every

word, to cheer and applaud every time he so much as

breathed loudly or coughed. He was a little more interested in making sure the newscasters got it all, and he shifted his position so he was more directly in line with the cameras.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen. Friends and associates.

Tonight, you are here to witness the culmination of my

life’s work.’

He caught a glimpse of his daughter and some pleasant

looking young man just to the side of the podium, out of

sight on the stairwell leading to the clock. The young man

was whispering to Sophie and he saw her eyes grow larger

in surprise.

Professor Wagg crossed his fingers and hoped nothing

was going to spoil his big moment.

Next door to Grace’s apartment, Mrs Trattorio hugged her

cat, listening to it purr.

She took a sip of her brandy and settled back to see the

millennium in with KKBE, and their live broadcast from

the Institute. It was a proud day for San Francisco.

She turned slightly and silently toasted a photograph on

the sideboard. It showed a handsome young man in an

Italian army uniform, smiling broadly.

‘Happy New Century,’ she whispered.

Her cat snuggled up in her lap, purring even louder.

Officers Selby and Buffini watched as the bagged body was

taken out to the ambulance waiting in the street below.

A group of neighbours were staring in shock, preparing

to see in their new year with a drama.

Poor Mrs Gerhardt, they were all muttering. What a

terrible tragedy. And where was the lovely Bruce? Surely it couldn’t be true, what the police were suggesting? That

that nice Mr Gerhardt, the caring paramedic, had

murdered his own wife.

They were – had been – such a lovely couple, with so

much to look forward to in the twenty-first century.

The possessed Dr Holloway was helping Chang Lee to haul

the struggling Doctor across the wooden floor of the

cathedral, and over towards the Eye.

The Time Lord had put up enough of a struggle to kick

the gurney over, but a well placed thump to the back of the neck by Chang Lee had momentarily stunned him enough

for Dr Holloway to whip the straps off the gurney and tie

him up with them.

‘Up here, my friends,’ goaded the Master, indicating

that they should bring him to the balcony overlooking the

Eye of Harmony.

As the Doctor began to struggle again, Dr Holloway

pushed him forward and on to his knees.

Chang Lee then helped her lift him up bodily and push

him against the ornate lattice-work, directly above the

stairs, his face level with a carving of that Rassilon guy.

‘Binding me up like this won’t help you,’ the Doctor

muttered weakly.

However, Dr Holloway took his left arm and threaded

the straps through the ornate lattice-work and around his

wrist. Chang Lee did the same to his right wrist and

moments later both his legs were similarly bound.

The Master was on the floor next to the Eye of

Harmony now, looking up at his prisoner, held on to the

upper wall by just the four straps. Chang Lee could see the delight on the Master’s face, and the pain on the Doctor’s.

The gold in his pocket seemed heavier than ever before.

‘You know, I always claimed you were a Universal Man,

Doctor. Leonardo daVinci would have been proud.’

‘Oh, very amusing,’ the spread-eagled Doctor said

through gritted teeth. ‘Your sense of humour is as warped

as poor Bruce’s spent body. Are you dead yet?’

The Master just chuckled.

The Doctor tried to hold his head up, but both gravity

and Dr Holloway’s surgical vice made it fall forward. ‘In

seven hundred years no one has ever opened the Eye of my

TARDIS. How, then, did you do it?’

‘Simple,’ cackled the Master. ‘Chang Lee is human. And

you are only half.’

The Master indicated that Chang Lee and Dr Holloway

should come back down. As they joined him, all three

crossed to the mirror sceptres, moving all but the one that Chang Lee had removed earlier into a new arrangement.

‘Perfect,’ the Master coughed. ‘Just perfect.’

He crossed to the foot of the steps and reached up with

an unsteady hand, as if to bless the Doctor’s far away feet.

‘A new body, at last, Doctor. My gratitude.’

He began climbing the stairs, looking back over his

shoulder.

‘Open the Eye of Harmony, Chang Lee, while I prepare

myself for a new lease of life.’

Chang Lee began to approach the energy beam still

bleeding from the sceptre mirror he had taken away earlier, and as he did so, his eyes locked with the Doctor’s.

And all he could think about was how uncomfortable he

was with all that gold dust in his pocket.

Mrs Trattorio was watching her television with her cat,

who now shared his place on her lap with the photograph

of the young Italian soldier.

Mrs Trattorio’s finger was caressing one corner of the

photograph, where in faded ink was inscribed a message.

To my darling Gigi,

The war may have parted us for now, but I will be with you again soon.

I love you.

Bruno.

November, 1944.

On the television screen, Professor Wagg was tapping

his glass.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he was saying, ‘both here at the

Institute of Technological Advancement and Research and

the millions watching us at home, it is three minutes to

midnight. In exactly one hundred and eighty seconds, the

world will enter a new millennium. And with it, a new

standard of accuracy will come to show how we measure

time.’

He stopped as a pretty young lady tapped him on the

shoulder.

He threw a quick look at the television cameras, and

smiled. ‘Excuse me, my daughter has something to tell me.’

Mrs Trattorio tutted, and looked at her watch. From out

of the television she suddenly heard a gasp from Professor

Wagg.

‘What d’you mean, “it won’t start”?’

Chang Lee was staring straight ahead, knowing that any

second now the Eye would open again and its power would

be directed as the Master had arranged, straight into the

Doctor’s forced-open eyes, effectively stealing his life from him, back into the Master’s own form.

His friend would have his proper body back. Or would

he? Why was this suddenly so confusing?

‘This is your last chance, Chang Lee,’ called the

weakened Doctor.

‘No, Doctor,’ he replied, trying to sound cool. Relaxed.

‘This is my only chance.’

He placed his face towards the energy. All he had to do

was actually enter it and he would soon be hearing the Eye

of Harmony open once more. He would also hear all the

energy flooding upwards, spreading outwards and the

Master would live again.

The Master jeered at the Doctor.

‘He’s right, Doctor. There is nothing for him here. He

has no family, no real friends and no future. Only death

awaits him on the streets outside. But with me as his guide and mentor, he’ll get to see the entire universe.’

The Doctor tried to move, to look down at the Master.

‘This is his last chance to stay alive, and you know it.’

The Master stepped back quickly, almost shouting.

‘What do you know of last chances, Doctor?’

‘More than you.’

‘Oh, you’re so insufferably good, aren’t you Doctor?’

The Master was screaming now. ‘Always ready to sacrifice

yourself for the good of everyone else. You sanctimonious

hypocrite – why aren’t you willing to sacrifice yourself for me?’

The Doctor was looking at Chang Lee again, but all he

could do was watch the Master, mesmerised by his sudden

outburst.

And Chang Lee felt his mind clearing.

The Doctor spoke softly, but Chang Lee still heard him.

‘Because you’re not worth it.’

The Master slammed his fist against the lower wall. ‘I

have wasted all my lives because of you, Doctor. Now I will be rid of you.’

The Doctor jerked forward, smiling suddenly.

‘ All your lives, Master? Didn’t you tell Chang Lee over there that I had stolen all your lives?’

Chang Lee stared at them both. The green eyes in his

head were gone, and he suddenly realised everything. He

had been used. Twisted, bribed and mesmerised into doing

what the Master wanted.

But there was still all that gold.

‘Don’t listen to him.’ The Master suddenly seemed back

in control of his temper.

The Doctor shouted loudly. ‘No, don’t listen to him,

Chang Lee. He has used up all his lives and now he wants

to steal mine. Like I told you, this is my TARDIS and this

is my body.’

The Master pointed at Chang Lee, his face twisted in

fury. ‘Open the Eye of Harmony, Chang Lee! I am your

Master. Obey me!’

Chang Lee looked at the Doctor. He then looked at Dr

Holloway, standing below the Doctor, possessed. The

Doctor’s friend, forced against her will to hurt him and

cage him, peeling his eyes back. That had to be agony for

the Doctor.

Was he like that? Was that what he had become? Had

life in the gangs really made him so easy to manipulate, so greedy for the next buzz, the next thrill, that he would ally himself with anyone?

‘Open the Eye!’ the Master screamed.

‘No,’ Chang Lee screamed back. ‘No, you lied to me!’

He moved away from the Eye. ‘You are evil!’

The Master threw back his head and then spat viciously,

sending a massive green globule of venom straight across

the Cloister room. It hit Chang Lee in the chest and he felt himself burn, falling backwards.

A second later, his eyes focused. He was not dead, but

his chest hurt like crazy. He could see the steps in front of him, and guessed he was lying against one of the massive

doors leading outside.

He realised he was paralysed, completely and utterly. He

tried to speak, to blink, anything, but he could not move a muscle. All he could do was look straight forward, at the

Doctor suspended off the upper wall, Dr Holloway on the

floor below and the Master hurrying towards the balcony,

waiting for the energy to reflect out of the Doctor and

engulf him.

The Doctor was angry. ‘If you’ve hurt him...’

‘You’ll what?’ sneered the Master. ‘What will you do,

Doctor? Shout about it?’

The Doctor let out a deep breath, then spoke calmly.

‘How are you going to open the Eye now?’

The Master leaned over the balcony, looking directly

down at Dr Holloway.

‘Grace!’

Slowly she turned and looked up at him.

‘Don’t move.’

The Master staggered down the steps again, using the

last vestiges of energy in Bruce’s re-animated corpse. He

then hobbled towards Dr Holloway.

‘Unless I’m much mistaken,’ the Doctor smiled, ‘that

won’t work in her present state of mind.’

‘How right you are, Doctor,’ the Master replied.

‘Watch.’

He leaned forward and over Dr Holloway’s face. He

seemed at first to be kissing her, but Chang Lee realised he was actually sucking the poison back out of her. As he did

so, her skin returned to its proper colour.

‘No,’ the Doctor shouted. ‘No, Grace!’

Dr Holloway staggered slightly, and the Master stepped

back from her, his green eyes glowing brightly, infused

with energy again.

‘Shut your eyes, Grace!’ yelled the Doctor, but it was no

good. Dr Holloway was staggering, as if awoken and trying

to get her bearings. The Master just grabbed her by the

hair and shoved her face into the Artron energy, spilling it outwards, where it began reflecting off the other mirrors.

The Eye of Harmony opened. Its own energy poured out

in a noisy rush and joined the light, beaming straight into the unblinking eyes of the Doctor.

The Master let her go and hurried back up the steps, to

stand directly before the Doctor and receive the energy as

it shot through him, transferring the Doctor’s lives into

him as it did so.

Dr Holloway, fell to the ground, crying.

‘Blind,’ she moaned. ‘Oh, my God, I’ve gone blind!’

‘Your sight will return, Grace,’ the Doctor shouted

above the noise of the energy flow.

Slowly she looked up, but it was too late. The energy

was already entering the Doctor’s eyes and then out and

into the Master.

‘Ah, yes,’ the Master smiled. ‘That’s better.’

Grace Holloway gazed up at the scene before her. The

Doctor strapped above a ornate wooden balcony, that

Master person in front of him, and bright beams of energy

shooting around them.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

She moved away from the pillar of energy beside her,

and saw Chang Lee crumpled against one of the distant

doors, his eyes wide open, his chest horribly burned and

stained green.

‘Grace,’ came a croak from above.

‘Doctor?’ She could not understand how one minute she

had been helping him in the console room and the next,

everything had gone mad. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The Master... he can’t move. As long as the Eye links

us. Remember Grace...’

‘“Re-route the power.” Yes, I remember.’

The Doctor was in agony. ‘In the console room. Go!’

Grace started to move but turned back. ‘But you’ll die if

I leave you!’

‘And we’ll all die if you don’t. Please! Go!’

Beside her, the huge flat Eye was opening wider, casting

more light on both the Doctor and the Master.

‘Run, Grace. Run!’

She ran, somehow knowing which was the right way to

go.

She did not look back, but could hear the Master’s

maniacal laughter as he screamed in ecstasy. ‘I can hear

your thoughts, Doctor. I can feel your memories!’

The party at Walker General was in full swing.

‘Thirty seconds, Shelly,’ said Jim Salinger. ‘You don’t

need a construction worker when you’ve got me.’

Shelly Curtis smiled and grabbed at Pete as he

drunkenly staggered past. She kissed him hard on the

cheek and he smiled brightly.

‘Wow!’ Pete turned away and walked straight into Lana

from reception, dressed in a shroud from the mortuary, her

face painted like a skull.

He fainted.

Shelly Curtis was looking at Salinger. ‘Sorry, Jim. But

Happy New Century anyway!’

Mrs Trattorio hugged her purring cat a little tighter.

‘Happy New Century,’ she said, kissing its head.

The cat looked up and licked her hand.

Everyone at the Institute was partying wildly. Professor

Wagg stared mournfully up at his failed clock, and then

back at his guests.

He saw his beautiful daughter, Sophie, dancing with

that young man she’d been with earlier. Gareth something,

she had said. She was leaning forward and kissing him.

Professor Wagg was going to frown, then shrugged.

‘Girls will be girls,’ he muttered. He looked again at his

clock, and then at his wrist watch.

‘Oh, what. the hell,’ he said. ‘Twenty. Nineteen.

Eighteen...’

The other party-goers took up the chant. ‘Seventeen.

Sixteen.’

Sophie and her young man parted, both grinning from

ear to ear.

‘Fifteen. Fourteen.’

Champagne corks popped, people yelled and pumped

hooters.

‘Thirteen. Twelve.’

All across San Francisco, cars in the streets slammed on

their horns in a huge cacophony of celebration.

Officer Buffini finished marking out her chalk figure of

where Miranda Gerhardt had been found.

She looked over to Officer Selby. ‘How long?’

Selby grinned and pointed to his watch.

‘Eleven. Ten.’

Shelly Curtis was hugging Ted, Angela Wheeler and Jim

Salinger.

‘Group hug!’ she shouted and loads of other guests

moved towards them, making a huge ball of people in the

centre of the room, all shouting.

‘Nine. Eight. Seven.’

‘Happy New Century,’ yelled Salinger. ‘It’s gonna be

great!’

‘Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Midnight!’

The world died as time imploded, wiping out everything

on Earth in a millisecond, reversing it as if it had never

even existed.

Reality throughout the space/time continuum

shuddered and heaved as one small planet and the all the

effect it had ever had, or ever would have, on the rest of the universe ceased to be.

Reality changed.

And the planet Earth was gone.

Trapped in the Cloisters of his own TARDIS, the Doctor

felt an enormous rush of energy pour through the Eye of

Harmony in one second.

It engulfed him and the Master, and for a nanosecond

everything turned negative.

‘This can’t be how it ends,’ he shrieked. ‘Stop this!

Please!’

Everything went white.

Seven for a secret never to be told

Grace was thrown from side to side as she tried to find her way through the maze of TARDIS corridors. Somehow,

she guessed that either the Doctor’s mind, or possibly the

TARDIS itself, was guiding her in roughly the right

direction.

All she could think about was the trapped Doctor, and

what he had said in the park.

‘If I look into the Eye of Harmony, my soul will be

destroyed. The Master will be free to take my body then.’

And that was what she had seen beginning back in that

weird cathedral place.

Every so often, she’d have a sudden blur of recognition

and realised that there was only one explanation for her

presence beside the Eye of Harmony. She must have been

taken there by the Master, possibly enslaved by him.

Her freedom explained why her arm no longer carried

the stain of the poison.

She felt awful. But there was little point in focusing on

that right now – the most important thing was to stop the

Master. Once that was done, she would find some way to

deal with this violation.

The TARDIS bucked violently, hurling her through an

arched doorway, and she found herself in the console

room.

Whatever the Master had started was now in the full

throes of execution. She didn’t have long.

‘Please, God,’ she muttered, half thrown, half throwing

herself to the floor and rolling to the base of the console arches. She hauled herself up the tiny steps and round to

the open hatch the Doctor had been working on earlier.

Across the room, books were tumbling from the

Library, pages ripped out by the forces whipping through

the room. The lectern was on the floor, the eagle snapped

away and the candelabra was also down, the everlasting

candles in danger of setting book pages alight.

Abandoned there was the beryllium chip, attached to

whatever it was the Doctor had attached it to. ‘Re-route the power,’ she muttered. ‘Just re-route the power.’ She pulled some wires out.

‘How?’

She began attaching various wires to the beryllium

chip’s new home, but the TARDIS lurched suddenly and

gave her a slight shock.

After a few moments, she was getting nowhere, and

could feel tears of frustration and anger welling up. ‘No,’

she shouted at no one in particular. ‘No, I won’t let this

beat me.’

Chang Lee felt a tingle down his right arm, and he tried to move his fingers. The effort was excruciatingly painful, but he felt his little finger lift a fraction.

The paralysis was not going to be permanent. That

meant he had to find the strength, not just to get up, but to help the Doctor defeat the Master.

To atone for what he had helped do.

He watched as the Master soaked up more of the energy

burning through the Doctor. He was laughing, almost

screaming with pleasure.

‘Alive!’ he cried. ‘I am alive!’

The Doctor was barely moving.

Before him, on the balcony, the Master began to blur

and change. Chang Lee watched in horrified fascination as

he seemed to split down the middle, his clothes and

Bruce’s body flopping uselessly to the stone floor,

discarded. In their place, the Master was just a silhouette of a man, arms stretched up, head thrown back. The

silhouette flickered briefly, filling up with the images

Chang Lee had seen in the cathedral the last time the Eye

of Harmony had been opened – planets, stars, swirling gas

clouds. As if the universe was contained within the

humanoid outline of the Master.

Seconds later, the silhouette began to glow, leaving the

Master standing as a solid white figure, a sort of bleached out reflection of the Doctor’s outline. Chang Lee could see the coat tails trailing in the wind, the cravat undone and

blowing loosely around his neck. Gradually a face began to

form; featureless, like an incomplete clay model.

Chang Lee managed to raise his whole hand. If he could

stand between the Doctor and the beams, try and cut them

off...

Grace had run out of wires to check, to link up. She

slammed her fist against the side of the vibrating wooden

console angrily.

A red wire flopped down from inside – one she had not

touched before.

‘Please!’ She attached it to the beryllium chip and a

massive spark sent her flying back down the steps. The

lights in the console room dipped dramatically but the

vibrating stopped.

She could hear the Cloister Bell pealing out its

mournful lament.

The top of the console suddenly flared white, and a

wave of heat washed across her. She smelled burning and

saw that the wire and the beryllium chip was distorting

under the heat.

‘No!’ she shouted impotently, as if it would stop at her

command.

Then the time rotor atop the console began to rise and

fall, accompanied by a bizarre wheezing and groaning

sound.

Slowly, as the heat and light around the console faded,

Grace lifted her head up, gazing over at the monitor

suspended above her. The facia was cracked and pitted,

and the glass screen was fragmented.

On the console in front of her, the figures on a digital

clock began racing round.

‘What now?’ she wondered.

Chang Lee was desperately trying to move when the light

from the Eye diminished suddenly.

‘She did it,’ the Doctor breathed. ‘Grace! You did it!’

He stared down at the Master, his face racked with pain,

but his forced-open eyes blazing in triumph. ‘Your life-

force is dying, Master!’

‘No,’ came an unearthly gurgling screech nearby. It

could only be the Master, but he was mid-transformation,

unfinished and indistinct. He stumbled down the steps,

towards the Eye. ‘More power! I need more light. I’m

nearly there!’

Grace was frantically punching at the console, twisting

dials and sliding rods and rectangles into the antique-

looking slots, trying to stop the clock. ‘Think alarm clock, Grace,’ she shouted at herself. ‘Think alarm clock!’

She inserted a few more rods and punched some more

switches. ‘Professor Wagg never taught anything like this!’

The screen above her suddenly flashed a new message:

ENTERING TEMPORAL ORBIT

‘What the heck is a temporal orbit?’ She hit the console

and the clock stopped moving. ‘How am I supposed to

understand any of this?’

As the clock had stopped, she turned and ran out of the

console room to see if she had made any difference back at

the Eye of Harmony.

She could have sworn that the journey back was shorter

than before, but as she hurled herself towards the wooden

doors of the cathedral, she realised that it hardly mattered.

She ran in, noting Chang Lee still slumped to one side –

dead or alive, she had no way of knowing. The Doctor was

still moving however, and the light from the Eye of

Harmony was still beaming into him, but with notably less

force.

Of the Master there was no sign, but she could see a

smouldering pile of something on the balcony, just at the

top of the steps. Shocked by her vengeful thoughts, she

hoped that he had got what he deserved and that was all

that was left of him.

She dashed up the steps and then clambered up the wall,

holding on with one hand as she started undoing the

Doctor’s caged head. Seconds later, he was able to close his eyes, as tears streamed down his face. She threw the

hideous contraption over her shoulder, and then began

concentrating on his bound wrists.

She was between the Doctor and the Eye now, and could

feel the light beaming into her. But at least she was

shielding him.

The Doctor opened his eyes, and grinned weakly. ‘You

did it, Grace. Well done.’

‘Doctor!’ She changed hands, now loosening his other

wrist. ‘Doctor, what is a temporal orbit?’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re in one.’

He gripped the lattice work as she bens down to release

his feet. ‘Grace!’

His warning was too late. Grace felt her ankle grabbed

from behind. She twisted around and came face to face

with... something.

It was a brilliant white figure of a man, but with no

defined edges within its shape. She could see the outline of a collar, and the tail of a coat behind, but it looked liked a traced drawing.

Only the face had any substance – it was a lumpy,

unmade face, with half-closed eyes and a snarling mouth.

However, when it spoke, she immediately recognised

the Master’s voice.

‘What have you done, woman!’

He tugged her to the floor and before Grace could

stagger away, he picked her up and hurled her down the

steps.

Grace tensed herself for a bad fall, and heard a dull

crack as something snapped. Probably a rib or two,

hopefully nothing more serious. She lay for a second,

mentally checking herself. She was still breathing hard but without difficulty. Her lungs had not been punctured. It

might be painful, but she could still move around.

As she staggered to her feet, she saw the Master dashing

down the steps and the Doctor, now free of his bonds, drop

to the ground, facing the bizarre new version of his sworn

enemy.

The Master reached out, picking up a sceptre that

someone had moved out of its plinth. He swung it at the

Doctor, who jumped up and over it. The sceptre thudded

into the wall below the balcony, shattering the mirror,

sending shards of glass everywhere.

Grace hurried over towards Chang Lee. She felt him

touch her hand. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, but the only

response was a squeeze of her hand. ‘Okay, I’m sorry, but

I’m going to try and help the Doctor. See if I can distract the Master. I’ll try and help you later.’

She stood up. ‘If there is a later,’ she muttered.

The Master, using the sceptre like a fighting staff,

slashed at the Doctor again and again. The Doctor was

getting weary; Grace guessed that he had only a third of his normal energy after the battering from the Eye of

Harmony’s light.

Then he fell back and the Master brought the sceptre

crashing down. The Doctor had feinted, however, and

rolled aside as the sceptre smashed into the side of the Eye, splitting in two.

The Doctor rolled forward, grabbing the other half of

the sceptre with both hands. ‘ En garde! ’ he cried, thrusting forward like a fencing champion.

The Master parried successfully and the Doctor fell

back, dodging round the other side of the Eye.

Both Time Lords were now hidden to each other, the

solid light from the Eye shooting straight up.

Grace ran to the Doctor’s side, but he pushed her back.

‘It’s too dangerous, Grace. He’ll kill you.’

‘Think!’ Grace shouted back. ‘There must be something

I can do?’

The Doctor quickly pointed at the hole where the

sceptre ought to have been.

‘We need to cut off the energy supply and close the Eye.’

He passed her his half of the pole. ‘Block it up!’

She dashed towards it, shoving the damaged sceptre

back in, ignoring the searing light and energy rushing past her.

Immediately, the light beams cut off, and the mirrors

ceased reflecting. But it was too late to stop the Eye itself –

instead of closing, more energy shot up and both Time

Lords staggered back.

‘You can’t win, Doctor,’ screamed the Master. ‘My body

is new, fresh and strong. Yours is weak. Dying.’

‘Oh, rot!’ the Doctor called back. ‘I’m fine and you

know it. You, on the other hand... Well, try looking in a

mirror if you don’t believe me!’

The Master quickly dived forward, just missing the

beam of light and careered into the Doctor, both of them

rolling back.

The Doctor was staring up into the Master’s face, a

sneer on his lips. ‘You want dominion over the living, yet

all you ever do is kill.’

The Master laughed. ‘Life is wasted on the living,

Doctor.’

He jumped up and grabbed the Doctor’s collar, hauling

him back into the beam of light, face first.

Grace went to move forward, but stopped as the Doctor

suddenly went limp. The Master obviously over-

compensated, and pushed the Doctor’s body in the wrong

direction, dropping him and staggering forward.

The Doctor was free, and the Master had made his last

mistake. His momentum carried him straight into the Eye

of Harmony, the light hurling him upright into the air.

The Doctor tried to reach out for him, but the Master

was too far up, twisting and screaming in anger and pain,

caught in the beam of pure energy from the very heart of

the Eye of Harmony.

Grace watched as his body was buffeted by the light, and

then it started to stretch. The Master was getting thinner

and longer, his screams fading until, in a brilliant flash, he simply ceased to exist.

The Doctor moved to Grace, pulling her away and

nearer to Chang Lee.

The light began billowing outwards, filling the area

completely with golden brilliance and all Grace could hear

was the Cloister Bell, ringing incessantly in her ears.

For a brief moment, she thought she could see her

mother, smiling, waving to her.

Grace’s hands were glowing with the light, and she

suddenly felt the pain in her chest fade, and her energy

begin to return.

The light faded from the cathedral walls and floor and

she blinked a few times to clear her vision.

She realised the Doctor was hugging her tightly and she

could feel his breath on her neck, smell his hair. She

tapped his shoulder and, grinning, he pulled back.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘Is that it?’

‘That is a powerful force, the Eye of Harmony.

Normally, any non-Time Lords should have been totally

vapourised. You two did something I’ve never done.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You cheated death. How does that feel?’

Grace smiled. ‘It’s nothing to be afraid of.’ She reached

out and hugged him again. Over his shoulder, she saw the

Eye of Harmony close.

The Doctor turned just in time to see this too.

‘Incredible!’ He jumped up. ‘What a sentimental old girl

the TARDIS is!’

Grace began to relax. ‘Think I figured out what we did.’

The Doctor sat cross-legged in front of her.

Chang Lee groaned and shook his head. His chest was

healed and in his hands was the bag containing the

Doctor’s personal effects.

‘These are yours,’ he said, a little sheepishly.

‘Thank you, young man. Good to have you back in the

land of the living.’ The Doctor patted his knee. ‘Now

listen. Grace is going to tell us how she saved the universe.’

Grace swallowed. ‘Okay. That thing on the console isn’t

just a clock, is it?’

‘No.’

‘It’s some kind of chronometer. And a temporal orbit is

like being dragged back in time but not space.’

‘You’re getting there. A little basic, but it’ll do.’

‘Okay. So what you got me to do, what you needed that

beryllium chip to power, was to move this TARDIS of

yours back to a point before the Eye was first opened.

Therefore giving you enough time to close it without doing

any real damage.’ Grace folded her arms. ‘Well?’

The Doctor looked at Chang Lee. ‘What do you think,

Chang Lee?’

‘Don’t ask me, Doctor. I don’t understand any of it.’

‘Did we go back far enough though?’ Grace asked.

The Doctor. ‘Must have done. Or I’m talking to a couple

of ghosts.’

Ten minutes later, they were standing in the console room.

The Doctor was hunched over the console itself, pressing

buttons and wiping it down. The screen was no longer

cracked, and the hologram of the universe was once again

rotating above the time rotor.

‘Where’s the Master?’ asked Chang Lee.

The Doctor pointed at the hologram. ‘Let’s just say his

plan never saw the light of day.’

He twisted a dial on the console and a strange grumble

came up from the depths of the TARDIS. ‘Oh, indigestion,

poor old girl. Must have swallowed something that

disagreed with her.’ He smiled. ‘Now, let’s see where we

are.’

He peered at the universe. ‘Well, now, the future is

roughly –’ he pointed vaguely in the middle – ‘thataway.’

His finger moved across the representation. ‘And that’s

home – on the other side of your galaxy.’

‘Gallifrey?’

‘Gallifrey. Home. That has a nice ring to it.’ He looked

at them both. ‘It’s two hundred and fifty million light years away. About ten minutes in this old thing.’ He patted the

TARDIS console.

‘So, where are we now? Or rather, when?’ Grace

wandered over to a little seat near the fish pond.

‘December 29th, actually.’ He smiled at her. ‘Want to

get off here?’

‘And go through all that again?’ muttered Chang Lee.

‘No, thank you. I wouldn’t survive it.’

Grace thought for a moment. ‘No. It means Brian would

be at the apartment. And I can do without that, thank you.’

She smiled. ‘No, let’s go and see the future.’

The party at Walker General was in full swing.

‘Thirty seconds, Shelly,’ said Jim Salinger. ‘You don’t

need a construction worker when you’ve got me.’

Shelly Curtis smiled and grabbed at Pete as he

drunkenly staggered past. She kissed him hard on the

cheek and he smiled brightly.

‘Wow!’ Pete turned away and walked straight into Lana

from reception, dressed in a shroud from the mortuary, her

face painted like a skull.

He fainted.

Shelly Curtis was looking at Salinger. ‘Sorry, Jim. But

Happy New Century anyway!’

Mrs Trattorio hugged her purring cat a little tighter.

‘Happy New Century,’ she said, kissing its head.

The cat looked up and licked her hand.

Everyone at the Institute was partying wildly. Professor

Wagg stared mournfully up at his failed clock, and then

back at his guests.

He saw his beautiful daughter, Sophie, dancing with

that young man she’d been with earlier. Gareth something,

she had said. She was leaning forward and kissing him.

Professor Wagg was going to frown, then shrugged.

‘Girls will be girls,’ he muttered. He looked again at his

clock, and then at his wrist watch.

‘Oh, what the hell,’ he said. ‘Twenty. Nineteen.

Eighteen...’

The other party-goers took up the chant. ‘Seventeen.

Sixteen.’

Sophie and her young man parted, both grinning from

ear to ear.

‘Fifteen. Fourteen.’

Champagne corks popped, people yelled and pumped

hooters.

‘Thirteen. Twelve.’

All across San Francisco, cars in the streets slammed on

their horns in a huge cacophony of celebration.

Officer Buffini finished marking out her chalk figure of

where Miranda Gerhardt had been found.

She looked over to Officer Selby. ‘How long?’

Selby grinned and pointed to his watch.

‘Eleven. Ten.’

Shelly Curtis was hugging Ted, Angela Wheeler and Jim

Salinger.

‘Group hug!’ she shouted and loads of other guests

moved towards them, making a huge ball of people in the

centre of the room, all shouting.

‘Nine. Eight. Seven.’

‘Happy New Century,’ yelled Salinger. ‘It’s gonna be

great!’

‘Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Midnight!’

Balloons fell from the ceiling and everybody screamed,

whooped and yelled delightedly as they moved into the

new millennium.

The TARDIS materialised in the park.

The door opened, spilling bright light into the dark

night, and three people hurried out, just in time to see the fireworks erupt all over the sky as midnight struck.

From over the water and from the city, voices could be

heard, singing ‘ Should auld acquaintance be forgot... ’

‘I never liked that song,’ Grace said.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ve always had a

soft spot for all things Scottish.’ He pulled his straw hat out from under his coat, twirling it on his finger. ‘“Should auld acquaintance” indeed.’ he murmured.

Chang Lee held out his hand. In it was the Doctor’s fob-

watch. With a broad grin, the Time Lord took it back.

‘Thank you,’ he said, clipping the chain on to his vest, and dropping the watchface into the pocket. ‘I was missing

that.’

‘Oh, and this, too.’ The boy passed over the bag of gold

dust.

The Doctor reached out and closed Chang Lee’s hand

around the bag. ‘Keep it. Look after yourself with it. Oh,

and next Christmas, take a good vacation. Just don’t be

here.’

Grace sighed. ‘There you go, interfering again.’

The Doctor laughed. ‘Well, Grace, now that you

mention it, you ought not to –’

‘Don’t,’ she said firmly.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know who I am. That’s enough.’

Chang Lee was staring at the gold in his hand, shocked.

‘Are you sure, Doctor? I mean, I tried to – well, you know, the Master and I –’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s in the past. Just

make good use of your future.’

The boy grinned. ‘Okay. I’m getting out of here before

you change your mind.’ He started walking backwards.

‘See you around, Doctor. Dr Holloway.’

‘Bye, Chang Lee.’

They watched as he ran across the park until he had

been swallowed up by the trees and darkness.

‘I’d better be off, too.’ The Doctor half turned towards

the TARDIS.

‘Do you want to come with me?’

Grace pointed back downtown. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

The Doctor glanced at the TARDIS, back towards the

city and then at Grace. ‘I’m tempted...’

Grace nodded. ‘I guess you are. So am I.’

She reached forward and hugged him. One last time.

Feeling his heart – hearts – beating, feeling his hands on

her, hearing him breathing. She looked into his eyes. Clear, blue, powerful eyes. Strong eyes, no longer afraid.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said simply.

‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I’m the guy with two hearts. I’m easy

to find.’

‘I didn’t mean that –’

He put a finger to his lips. ‘I know.’

She reached forward and kissed him.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she said quietly.

The Doctor straightened his cravat, and ran a hand

through his hair. He passed his old straw hat over to her.

‘And thank you. Doctor!’

Grace Holloway watched as the Doctor walked back into

the TARDIS and closed the door behind him. She smiled

as, with that strange trumpeting sound, the TARDIS faded

away, taking the Time Lord out of her life as bizarrely and unexpectedly as he’d entered it.

Turning back towards civilisation, she popped the hat

on her head, and wondered which party to head for.

Inside the console room, the Doctor punched some buttons

and set the coordinates.

‘Well, old girl, I don’t know where I’ve just selected, but let’s hope it takes us somewhere interesting, unusual and

exciting.’

He patted the console. ‘Or at least, somewhere that does

a decent pot of tea.’

Document Outline

Front cover

Rear cover

Photos

Title page

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Copyright

Contents

Out with the old...

... in with the new

One for sorrow, two for joy

Three for a girl

Four for a boy

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told