He hadn't learned a thing, had he?

Ace kicked petulantly at the base of one of the handrail poles and peered over. Michael followed her gaze. It was weird to think that, frozen in time, deep beneath them were Sooal and the Annarene, trapped there in a long, unending now now. The power supply, the Doctor had a.s.sured them, would last for ten thousand years. Maybe, a hundred centuries from now, the power would fail, the stasis sphere would cut out, and the three of them would suddenly be under forty yards of water, as if they'd beamed straight into it from the transmat. Drowned rats.

'Oi! Dorothy!'

Ace whirled around to see Alexander smiling at her. He threw himself at her in a bear hug, lifting her feet off the deck and whirling her around.

'I didn't think we'd see you again,' he said as he let her go.

As she opened her mouth, he raised his hand. 'And I don't want to know how that police box thing got in the ship. And before you start explaining don't.' He paused and frowned, glancing past her, back out to sea... to the island. 'Hang on..' he said cautiously. 'If you're here, how come you're '

It was Ace's turn to shush him. 'It's The Wizard of Oz The Wizard of Oz all over again,' she smiled. 'It's either all a big con, or it's magic. I haven't decided which, yet.' all over again,' she smiled. 'It's either all a big con, or it's magic. I haven't decided which, yet.'

Alexander shook his head and suddenly remembered something: he rooted around in his pocket, and produced the envelope that Ace had asked him to post. 'Does this mean I don't have to post this, or that I do do have to post this?' have to post this?'

She took it from him, her face creasing into a grin at the consequences that posting or not not posting this simple little note could have, and slipped it into her pocket. posting this simple little note could have, and slipped it into her pocket.

'Let me think about it,' she said slyly.

Michael stood silently behind the Doctor, drawing deeply on his cigarette as quietly as he could. And still he wasn't surprised when the little man said: 'If I tell you it's bad for your health, you'll probably accuse me of mothering you, won't you?'

'One mother's quite enough,' Michael replied, moving to stand at the Doctor's side.

'How is she?'

Michael gave a cautious shrug. 'She's taking it all well. I'm not sure who she's blaming for Gran not being able to finish her treatment. Probably me for dragging her away.'

'It wouldn't have made any difference. Tell her that. I'm sure Doctor Menzies could operate the equipment in the treatment room, but this isn't the time or the place.'

Michael turned and pulled a surprised face. 'That's not like you! Not tempted to give history a helping hand? Reshape the future? Give the world an early cure for Alzheimer's? Save a few lives into the bargain?'

The Doctor continued to stare out to sea.

'Sorry,' Michael said after a few seconds. 'A low shot.'

'Better than your higher ones,' answered the Doctor, rubbing his nose. Michael flicked the b.u.t.t of his cigarette over the side of the boat to an accompanying tut from the Doctor.

'Isn't there enough rubbish out there?'

'Talking of which John says that Moby's out as far and as deep as he can get it. D'you want him to cut the power?'

'I think so. Once it's turned off, the static shield I put in will make it totally inoperable as long as the stasis chamber's still out there. As long as Moby and the control sphere sit quietly on the bottom, the chamber will stay sealed.'

'Okey dokey.' Michael turned to look for John.

'And what about you?' the Doctor asked before he could disappear. Michael spun on his heel.

'What about me?'

The Doctor tipped his head back his hat miraculously staying on, even upsidedown. 'Decided what you're going to do?'

'About UNIT?' He sighed thoughtfully. 'I'm doing what I have to do,' he said and then laughed at the pretentious way it came out. 'I'm going to go back, face the music, and leave.

Court-martial, dishonourable discharge. Whatever.'

There was a long, long silence. One of those silences, thought Michael, that no one knows how to end. It was the Doctor who broke it.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'For everything. It's no excuse, I know; no justification.' He looked back out to sea. 'I wish you could see it through my eyes, Michael. If the Talichre hadn't been driven off. . well, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. Remind me to tell you about a planet I know. Anima Persis. Just one of the many worlds that the Talichre. . played with.' He paused.

Maybe for effect. Maybe he was really thinking. Michael doubted it. 'And I'm sorry about Andrew. I really am. I do what I do to make sure there are fewer Andrews. And fewer Michaels.'

Michael took a breath. 'His name was Andy,' he said. 'Not Andrew.'

The Doctor checked Ace's watch and shushed them all, pointing out to sea with his umbrella. The flat, grey ocean, glinting with sun-speckled highlights, spread out all around them. Suddenly, the water began bubbling a few hundred yards away, a mound of white froth, rising, like some vast kraken awakening.

And then, just as undramatically, it subsided.

'Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?' John said, deadpan and clearly unimpressed.

'You are sure we got everyone out of the ship, aren't you?'

Ace said worriedly. The Doctor threw her a 'trust me' look. 'I notice you made sure we left before we got swamped with awkward questions,' she said wryly as the others started wandering away. 'Although that woman that Joyce called Matron would have been enough to scare me away.' She stared out at the sea for a few moments, remembering the looks on the faces of the sleepers as they'd been awakened and the Doctor had removed their implants. Joyce had helped by telling the residents on the ship that it had all been part of their treatment, whilst the Doctor had been saying goodness only knows what to the ex-staff. It gave the term 'brain drain' a whole new meaning. 'So our work here is done, then?' she said finally, wondering if there were any other loose ends to tie up.

'Almost, Ace. Almost. Just the small matter of finding a certain someone a new family.' He glanced down at the cardboard box which sat by his chair. A miaowly squeak came from it.

'How'd you do that?' Ace asked. 'Turn that dog thing dog thing into... into...

well, into a p.u.s.s.ycat?'

'Landines are programmed genetically and chemically conditioned to be loyal to their owners, as well as being shapeshifters. And with the Arinarene gone, I was obviously

the natural choice. And cats are so much nicer than dogs, don't you think?' He reached down and wiggled his fingers through the gap in the box lid. Ace winced and raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'If you think I'm sharing the TARDIS with that that...'

'No, no, no. It's harmless now.' He smiled at her. 'I had a little word with it. Told it to forget its bad old ways. And I think I know just the new home for it.'

'Well as long as I never see it again, that's fine.'

'No, Ace. You'l never see it again again. And talking of again the trick with the postcard. ?' He gave her a long look. 'I think once is quite enough for that particular get-out-of-jail-free card, don't you?'

Ace grinned. 'Good though, wasn't it?'

He raised an eyebrow as he reached down to gather up the cardboard box. 'Come along, Ace. Time to be off, I think.'

Ace followed his gaze down the length of the deck: John and Alexander were trying their best to be civil to each other; Michael was gazing out to sea. She hoped she'd remember to tell him to call and say goodbye to Claire before he left but she wasn't making any promises to herself. They were consenting adults after all, old enough to sort their own love lives out; she didn't always have to play Cupid.

'What about Doctor Menzies and the treatments, and Norma and everything?' she asked as they headed for the stairs down to where the TARDIS awaited them.

'Oh, I've had a word with Doctor Menzies told him that here and now isn't the place or the time for a cure for Alzheimer's. I think he understands. Actually, I think he's quite relieved. I put all the stuff from the treatment room on board the ship so apart from what he's got in his head, I don't think the web of time has much to worry about.'

'And Norma?'

He sighed. 'She's much better. Not cured, but much better. I think Joyce accepts that. She's staying on in Muirbridge for a couple of weeks before she takes her back down to London.'

There was an awkward pause.

'And what about us?' Ace asked.

He c.o.c.ked his head on one side and gave her a wink. 'Butch and Sundance, Ace. Butch and Sundance.'

She slapped him playfully on the back of his head and his hat fell over his eyes. 'Call me Butch again, and you're dead.'

The Doctor played with the TARDIS's controls as Ace said proper goodbyes to everyone. Not really his sort of thing, he'd decided. He was still trying to work out whether he felt proud of Ace's ingenuity or annoyed at her duplicity. A little of both, he suspected.

But what really worried him, still, were the memories that Sooal's array had triggered. The one with Leela in the snow was fine, he remembered that one. But the other. He'd thought and thought and thought about it, but had got nowhere. He tried to write it off as something purely external, delusional, created by the probe's intrusion into his head. But he couldn't be sure. It had the taste of a memory, the scent of something real.

For the hundredth time, he closed his eyes and tried to take himself back there...

Away across the water, incongruously perched on the pebbled sh.o.r.e, was the familiar blue shape of the TARDIS.

Ace hadn't been able to resist the temptation, after all. With the Doctor waiting for her in the other TARDIS, she watched from the boat through binoculars and smiled. He'd taken the TARDIS back in time a short while, when they'd come from Graystairs, to make sure that the signal from the control sphere overlapped itself and didn't make Scotland go boom. But his choice of exactly the right amount for her to witness her own departure from Kelsay seemed more than just a vague, temporal whim. Had the Doctor brought them to this point in time deliberately, just so she could see herself? It wouldn't surprise her.

A stunningly attractive young girl, Ace thought despite her obvious limp was. .h.i.tching her rucksack onto her shoulder and stepping through the open door of the blue box. As she entered, she paused and looked back, straight at Ace. At herself. And then, as if she'd been ordered inside, she disappeared. Seconds later, the TARDIS faded away.

For once, thought Ace with a certain degree of smugness, I know more about where we're going than the Doctor does.

It was a rather nice feeling.

Epilogue.

The rain poured down, forming glistening, smokey cones beneath the amber street lamps. Rivulets streamed down the walls of the buildings, overflowing from gutters and washing over windows.

In a Portakabin somewhere off the Mile End Road, surrounded by long-unopened lockup garages and sc.r.a.p yards, a small, middle-aged woman was leafing through a card index, muttering to herself as she listened to what sounded like pebbles battering against the roof. As the thunder cracked overhead and rolled across the city, she gave a little shudder. With a tut, she closed the lid of the card index box and took out a huge bunch of keys from the pocket of her Chanel trouser suit.With the caution of six months' living and working in the less-than-salubrious environs of the Portakabin, she glanced round, checking that the blinds were down. Then she found one particular key, inserted it into a keyhole on the underside of the desk and turned it.

Above the surface of the desk, above the clutter of coffee-cups and paper-clips, bills and old envelopes, and a desk calendar that read November 4th 1976, a shimmering blue virtual display sprang up. With deft, practised strokes, she stabbed at the air, bringing up a stream of records. Quickly cross-referencing them, she set up a couple of new accounts for two clients had contacted her earlier that day. In a few minutes, she'd finished, and reached for her mug when she heard a gentle tapping on the door.

Visitors at all hours of the day and night weren't unusual, so she wasn't unduly worried. She quickly turned off the display, pocketed the keys and crossed to the door. With a casual wave of her hand, she activated a concealed sensor in the doorframe, and the one-way door rippled to transparency. Outside, in the darkness and rain, there was only... well, darkness and rain. No, wait: at the foot of the door, rapidly darkening in the downpour, was a cardboard box.

She deactivated the shield and cautiously unlocked the door.

Rain and wind lashed against her as she quickly stooped and lifted the box. For a moment, something inside it seemed to move, and she almost dropped it. But she managed to hold onto it and brought it inside, where she placed it on the seat of her typist's chair.

The box wriggled wriggled.

For a horrible moment, she imagined that she was going to be one of those women who discovered abandoned children on their doorsteps. The rain had stained and softened the top of the box where it was folded in on itself. She watched as whatever was inside the box began to nose its way out, pushing up the soggy cardboard.

It's a cat, she thought, with an odd thrill of excitement, as a faint meow came from inside the box; the nose and then head of a sleek, black cat poked out, blue eyes shining. She helped it from the box and cradled it against her bosom as it began to purr, rubbing up against her chin. Miss Gallowgla.s.s reached down with her free hand and opened the box. In the bottom, crumpled up where the cat had been sleeping on it, was a handwritten note.

Give this little orphan a good home, would you?

We all need a bit of mothering now and again.

The Doctor

Acknowledgements

Big thanks to everyone on who_ink for all their comments, suggestions and crits; to Gary Russell and Paul Cornell, Shaun Lyon and Mark Phippen and Jay Eales for having faith in me for the short stories; and Justin Richards for having faith in me for the big one; to Kate Orman for urging me on and to Jon Blum for UNIT suggestions. Hugs to the very patient Vicki Vrint.

Thanks to Matt Kimpton for the wonderful t.i.tle, Sietel Singh Gill for bizarreness beyond the call of duty, Henry Tickner for arias, and Sheelagh Parker without whose help this book wouldn't be the slightest bit different.

Even huger thanks to my read-through team who spotted far more mistakes and offered far more suggestions than I'd ever hoped: Carolina Denning, Simon Forward, Michael Robinson and Dave 'Backrubs.l.u.t' Whittam.

And, most of all, to the wonderful Ian Potter. Ta, matey!

About the Author.

Mark Michalowski lives in Leeds.

Having dipped his toe into the murky waters of Doctor Who Doctor Who writing with the very last story in writing with the very last story in Bernice Summerfield and the Dead Bernice Summerfield and the Dead Men Diaries Men Diaries, wet his ankles with stories in the Missing Pieces Missing Pieces and and Walking In Eternity Walking In Eternity collections, he's finally jumped in up to his neck with this, his first novel. Whether he swims or drowns is up to YOU! collections, he's finally jumped in up to his neck with this, his first novel. Whether he swims or drowns is up to YOU!