The Sound of Drums - Series 3 finale novelisation (e11, e12 & e13)

[Alexus]

I felt like starting a novelisation of the series 3 finale, and so I started a little while ago. I thought I'd post it up here, so you can all tell me it's great/tell me it sucks/offer constructive criticism (choose 2) I will be faithful to the episodes but I will add lines and maybe entire scenes. My hope is to flesh out some of the characters more by doing this.

I'd love it if I finished this and it were to end up somehow being published as like, an official novelisation, but I know that's about as unlikely as David Tennant coming round for a cup of tea and giving me brown envelopes stuffed with cash, so I won't hold my breath.

Without further ado and attempts at whimsical humour, I give you the prologue and first chapter of

THE SOUND OF DRUMS
Adapted from the episodes Utopia, The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords by Russel T Davies
Written by Alex Harvey

Prologue

Cardiff.

“Cardiff!” exclaimed the Doctor, hopping around the TARDIS console pulling levers, pressing buttons and working the bicycle pump. Occasionally he would gurn in surprise at a readout and give the Spitfire gyrometer a good whack with the toffee hammer.

“Cardiff?” Martha asked, incredulously, face contorted in genuine surprise. After seeing the Aardvark people of Delonis 12 and the Opal Citadel of Metebellis, and with the infinite majesty of the cosmos to choose from, for the Doctor to take them to Cardiff seemed ridiculous. Martha was sure the city was very nice, once you got to know it, but after all it was… well, Cardiff.

“Ah but,” the Doctor said with the genuine enthusiasm he got from seeing anything from a solid gold statue of President Schwarzenegger to a group of Nenelalian spice beetles floating down a river on a leaf, “Thing about Cardiff is, it’s built on a rift in Time and Space… just like…” he struggled to find a simile she could comprehend, “California and the San Andreas fault. But the Rift bleeds energy. Every now and then I need to open up the engines, soak up the energy, and use it as fuel.” He tugged a the bicycle chain and was rewarded by a hearty creak from the TARDIS as the engine vents slid open.

“So it’s a pit stop!” Martha said, grinning at the thought. Out of all of Time and Space, it made sense that the service station would be in Wales.

“Exactly,” the Doctor replied, monitoring another readout. “Should only take twenty seconds,” he said matter-of-factly, and then muttered to himself with a hint of surprise, “The Rift’s been active.”

Cardiff. A man running.

“Wait a minute,” Martha said, after a moment’s thought, “They had an earthquake in Cardiff a couple of years ago.” Something actually happening in Cardiff had been big news. “Was that you?”

Still looking at the energy readout, the Doctor mumbled something about having a bit of trouble with “the Slitheen”, whatever that was.

Cardiff. A man running. He was wearing an army issue coat, and slung over his back was an army issue bag. He panted with the exertion of his headlong dash.

“Long time ago…” the Doctor reflected, twisting a dial. “Lifetimes,” he said, smiling wryly to himself. “I was a different man back then.”

Cardiff. The running man in the army issue coat with the army issue bag opened his mouth, and yelled, “Doctor!” There it was. The blue box.

“Ready to go,” the Doctor announced, just as Martha had been beginning to tire of Cardiff. After all, they’d been there for nearly a minute. “All powered up…” With the energy readout gone, there was something else on the display screen; the TARDIS scanner was showing him an external view. The Doctor froze in surprise.

Jack.

He pulled the dematerialisation lever, and felt the TARDIS begin to shudder as she started to fade with that familiar sound that generations of Time Lord engineers had never managed to make into something more aesthetically pleasing.

Cardiff. The running man saw the blue box begin to fade, and the light mounted on the top started to flash. Oh no you don’t, he thought, and jumped.

With a spray of sparks from the central column, the TARDIS tilted dramatically, hurling the Doctor onto one of the seats and knocking Martha down. They both struggled back up, holding onto the console as the whole control room shuddered.

“What’s that?” Martha asked, seeing the expression on the Doctor’s face as he looked at one of the screens. There was another burst of sparks.

“We’re accelerating!” the Doctor said through gritted teeth. He’d planned a short hop of seven hundred years to the second Holy Roman Empire, but the TARDIS had already taken them sixteen millennia past that. “Into the future...” Time was racing past faster and faster. “The year one million. Five million. Five trillion. Fifty trillion! What?” His face contorted into an expression of intense bemusement. “The year one hundred trillion? That’s impossible!”

“Why?” Martha asked, “What happens then?” She was worried. Nothing ever seemed to faze the Doctor, not for long, and here he was without a clue what was going on.

“Bu…” the Doctor puffed, not believing the readings. He struggled to form the words, unable to articulate the thoughts whizzing through his mind, “We’re going to the end of the Universe.”

As he held onto the TARDIS with all his strength as it tore through the Time Vortex, Captain Jack Harkness could only scream.

CHAPTER ONE

There was a chime from the Radar screen, and with a glance toward it and away from his work, Professor Yana confirmed his suspicions. “Movement on the surface,” he said, pointing, “Another ‘Human Hunt’. Gods help him.”

Rising from her seat, expression as worried as ever, Chantho spoke, her mandibles twitching, “Chan – Shall I alert the guards? – toh.” Yana shook his head, walking over to the coffee machine in his sparse living area – small table and two worn leather armchairs.

“No, no,” he said, “We can’t spare them. Poor beggar’s on his own.” He located the coffee machine – had it moved? Or was he just getting old, his mind playing those tricks on him? “One more lost soul… dreaming of Utopia.”

“Chan – You mustn’t talk as though you’ve given up – toh,” Chantho replied, walking over to join him.

“Oh, no, no, indeed,” Yana lied, hoping to reassure her. He raised his mug. “Here’s to it; Utopia.” Chantho smiled, her mandibles settling down a bit. With blotchy blue skin, an enlarged cranium and that mouth ornamentation, she was the most ‘alien’ alien the Professor had ever seen. Still, she was dutiful, and kind, and quite sharp. The coffee did not inspire such feelings in him, though. “Where it is to be hoped the coffee is a little less sour, hmm?” he said. He motioned to the battered machine. “Will you join me?”

“Uh… Chan – I am happy drinking my own internal milk – toh,” replied the alien, smiling at the suggestion that she would drink such an odd beverage. Her brow furrowed in worry once again – she’d had this particular exchange with the Professor twice today already, and he seemed to have forgotten them.

“Yes, well,” the human replied, taken aback, “That’s quite enough information, thank you,” he quipped, setting down the foul drink himself.

“Professor Yana?” boomed the voice of Lieutenant Atillo over the comm system. The Professor started, and looked up at the speaker. “Don’t want to rush you, but how are we doing?”

“Uh, yes,” Yana replied, “Uh, yes… uh… working. Yes. Almost there,” he improvised.

“How’s it looking on the footprint?”

Yana looked at Chantho, his eyes filled with worry of his own. “It’s good,” he lied, nodding to himself, though the gesture was lost over audio, “Yes, fine. Excellent.” He sighed silently, blinking back a tear of frustration, then looked over at Chantho, urging her to participate in the fiction.

“Chan – There’s no problem… as such. We’ve accelerated the Calculation Matrix, but it’s going to take time to harmonise – toh. Chan – We’re trying a new reversal process… we’ll have a definite result in approximately two hours – toh.”

She looked away from the speaker, hoping for some praise or encouragement from the Professor, only to see he was leaning against one of the control stations, head bobbing slowly, skin pale. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. They were getting louder. Louder and louder.

“Chan – Professor! – toh,” Chantho shouted, and he realised she’d been asking after him for quite some time.

“Yes! Uh… yes! Yes! Yes, working…” he said, trying to cover his confusion with bluster.

“Chan – It’s the surface scanner, Professor,” said Chantho, indicating the Radar. Yana turned to look himself. “It seems to be detecting a different signal – toh.”

“But that’s not a standard reading,” Yana said, with bemusement, “Can’t make it out.” It looked almost like a box. But that was impossible. How could a box just appear on the planet? “It would seem something new has arrived.”

***

With a final jolt, the TARDIS had a long last landed. The lights were still dim from the power the journey had taken, the central column providing most of the illumination. The Doctor looked over at Martha, checking she was still in one piece, and then looked up at the scanners. “Well,” he muttered, “we’ve landed.”

“So what’s out there?” asked Martha.

“I dunno,” the Doctor told her, chewing over a phrase he had never had much use for. Martha let out a little cry of surprise.

“Say that again, that’s rare.”

“Not even the Time Lords came this far. We should leave. We should go. We should really, really… go.” His eyes darted over to look at her again, his face a mask of terror. His face split into a grin, and he bounded over to the door. Martha smiled and joined him, running after him as he dashed out, pausing to grab his coat. As he’d told her, time and again, it was a good coat.

They’d landed on a very rocky, barren world, the only distinguishing features being a bit of scrub or a particularly large boulder. It was also very cold, so cold that even the Doctor gathered his coat up around himself to keep in some warmth. He looked over to the left, wondering if there was a way out of the crater they’d ended up in.

Martha cried, “Oh my God!” and ran over to the right, crouching by the prostrate figure of a man. “Can’t get a pulse.” With trepidation, the Doctor leant over to get a clear look at the man’s face. Yep…it was him, alright. “Hold on,” Martha realised, dashing back into the TARDIS, “You’ve got that medical kit thing.”

As soon as the door had closed, the Time Lord took a step closer to the dead Captain. “Hello again,” he said, looking up and down his prone form. “Oh…” he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Martha ran back out, cradling the medical kit. “Here we go,” she announced, crouching back down next to the dead man, after giving the Doctor a shove and an annoyed yell of “Get out the way!” She began to take out various medical instruments, laying them on the ground next to her. “It’s a bit odd, though, not very ‘hundred trillion’. That coat’s more like World War 2.”

“I think he came with us,” the Doctor told her.

“How do you mean, from Earth?”

“Must have been clinging to the outside of the TARDIS. All the way through the Vortex.” He cocked his head. “Well, that’s very him.”

“What, do you know him?” Martha said, disbelieving, removing the stethoscope she had donned. The Doctor nodded, once.

“Friend of mine. Used to travel with me. Back in the old days…”

“But he’s…” Martha said, trying to get her voice under control, “I’m sorry,” she continued, sympathetically, “there’s no heartbeat. There’s nothing. He’s dead.”

With a gasp like a newborn infant, the body of Captain Jack Harkness shuddered into motion, his arms grabbing Martha’s as his eyes snapped open, the eyeballs themselves bulging alarmingly. Martha screamed in surprise as the man regained his breath, then regained her composure, turning to the Doctor, she said, “So much for me!” The Doctor didn’t indulge the joke with a smile, however. He just looked down, unhappy with the whole situation.

“It’s all right,” Martha was telling the Captain, “Just breathe deep. I’ve got you.”

The moment the Doctor had been expecting finally came. Life out of danger, breath sufficiently restored, Jack shifted gears from ‘Survive’ to ‘Flirt’. “Cap’n Jack Harkness,” he drawled in his familiar accent, raising a finger to stroke her chin tenderly, “and who are you?”

Martha thought for a moment. “Martha Jones,” she offered, once she’d remembered.

“Nice to meet ya, Martha Jones,” Jack said, grinning lecherously.

“Oh, don’t start!” said the Doctor, rolling his eyes.

“I was only saying ‘hello’!”

“I don’t mind,” said Martha, giddy as a schoolgirl. Shameful, the effect that man had on women. Shameful. Although, the fact that the Captain had literally risen from beyond the grave had probably thrown her off a bit, so the Doctor had to give her that.

Martha hoisted him up, and when she was sure he would be okay let the Captain stand unsupported. A few more deep breaths, and he was fine. After a trip that the Doctor knew was totally impossible.

Jack fixed his gaze on the Time Lord. “Doctor.”

“Captain.”

The other man nodded in recognition. “Good to see you.”

“And you; same as ever. Although… have you had work done?”

“You can talk!”

The Doctor’s eyebrows raised, not understanding at first, before he realised. “Oh yes!” he exclaimed, “The face. Regeneration. How did you know this was me?”

“The Police Box kind of gives it away. I’ve been following you for a long time. You abandoned me.”

“Did I?” asked the Doctor. “Busy life. Moving on.”

There was a moment of silence before Jack spoke again. “Just gotta ask,” he said, “The Battle of Canary Wharf… I saw the list of the dead. It - it said Rose Tyler.”

“Oh, no! Sorry! She’s alive!” the Doctor told him, happily.

“You’re kidding!”

“Parallel world, safe and sound. And Mickey, and her mother!” At this, Jack grinned, and with a cry of exultation grabbed the Doctor for a celebratory hug. They laughed with joy.

“Good old Rose,” muttered Martha, who hadn’t understood a word of the conversation.

***

Ambling down a barren path on the unknown planet, Captain Jack has been telling Martha about the battle on the Gamestation. Every twenty seconds, the Doctor would interject with an accusation of inaccuracy, meaning Martha didn’t have a clue what had actually happened. “So there I was,” Jack continued, after several minutes’ argument, “Stranded in the year two hundred one hundred, ankle deep in Dalek dust,” he looked over at the Doctor, “and he goes off without me.”

The Captain rolled back his sleeve to reveal an innocuous looking device on a thick leather strap. “But,” he said, “I had this. I used to be a Time Agent.” Martha looked suitably impressed. The old ‘Time Agent’ line always got the fishes biting. “It’s called a Vortex Manipulator.” He tapped it, then pointed at the Doctor. “He’s not the only one who can time travel.”

“Oh, excuse me!” The Doctor said, stopping and turning to point at the Manipulator, “That is not time travel.” He began walking again. “It’s like… I’ve got a sports car, and you’ve got a space hopper.”

Martha laughed. “Boys and their toys!” she quipped.

“Alright, so I bounced,” Jack said, looking slightly annoyed, “I thought twenty first century; the best place to find the Doctor. Except, I got it a little wrong; arrived in 1869, this thing burned out, so it was useless.”

The Doctor smirked. “Told you.”

Jack bristled. “I had to live through the entire twentieth century waiting for a version of you that would coincide with me. You had some odd ones, didn’t you? The one with the cape and the yellow car, what was that about?”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Martha, still smiling at the friendly argument, turned to Jack. “But that makes you more than a hundred years old,” she said, picking her way over a large boulder.

“And looking good, don’t you think?” He laughed. “So, I went to the time rift, based myself there, ‘cos I knew you’d come back to refuel. Until, finally, I get a signal on this,” he pointed at his backpack, “Detecting you, and here we are.”

“But the thing is,” Martha started, “How come you left him behind, Doctor?”

“I was busy.”

“Is that what happens, though?” Martha asked, “Seriously? Do you just get bored of us one day and disappear?”

“Not if you’re blonde.”

“Oh, she was blonde! Oh, what a surprise!”

“You two,” said the Doctor, stopping and turning to face them both, “We’re at the end of the Universe. Right at the edge of the knowledge itself, and you’re busy…” he struggled to find the right word, “…blogging.” They looked at him sullenly, like chided school children. “Come on.”

After several minutes’ walk, and cresting a hill, they stopped at the brink of a cliff that seemed to stretch down for miles below them. Far below, in the wide, deep canyon, there were bridges stretching the width of the great chasm, and great buildings scooped out of the rock itself, smooth steps leading up to bold arches.

“Is that a city?” asked Martha, amazed.

The Doctor was equally impressed. “City or a hive. Or a nest,” he remarked, and searched for another adjective. He found one he liked. “Or a conglomeration.” He liked that. Nice word. Conglomeration. “Looks like it was grown… but look, there.” He pointed. “It’s like pathways, roads? Must have had some sort of life.” He inhaled sharply. “Long ago.”

“What killed it?” asked Martha, softly.

“Time. Just time. Everything’s dying now. All the great civilisations have gone…” he waved a hand at the black and empty sky. “This isn’t just night. All the stars have burned out and faded away. Into nothing. The Universe is an old and dark place now, full of memories of past glories and devoid of anything fresh or new.”

“They must have an atmospheric shell,” said Jack, “We should be frozen to death.”

“Well… Martha and I, maybe,” the Doctor ruminated, searching the sky for any features. He looked back down at the Captain. “Not so sure about you, Jack.” From the Time Lord’s eyes, Jack could see that the Doctor knew.

Martha had been in a reverent silence, trying to comprehend the sheer scale of the nothingness they’d stumbled into. She finally spoke. “But… what about the people? Does no one survive?”

“I suppose…” guessed the Doctor, “We have to hope.” He looked at he reassuringly, but she was just gazing at the dead city.

Jack noticed something, and his arm went up to point it out. “Well, he’s not doing so bad,” he said. They looked at where he had indicated to see a man, a human, unshaven and in rough clothes but definitely human. He was running.

Before they could call out to him, there was a harsh, guttural cry of “Human!” Behind the running man dozens of creatures carrying flaming torches ran in pursuit, growling fiercely like animals.

The Doctor’s scowled. “Is it me,” he said, “or does that look like a hunt? Come on!” He dashed away down the slope, searching for a way to the running man, Martha and Jack following him as fast as their legs could carry them.

Laughing with the sheer joy of some real excitement, his arms flailing and his legs burning, Jack could only cry out, “Oh, I missed this!”

CHAPTER TWO

Before he’d met the Doctor, Jack would have questioned the wisdom of running toward a man being pursued by a pack of ravening aliens. A few months of travelling with him had definitely changed the Captain’s philosophy; he was the first to reach the running man, grabbing him with a cry of “I got you!” and passing him to the Doctor.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” the man gasped, scared out of his wits. The creatures following him were now clearly visible; they looked almost human, but their long, matted hair and viciously sharp teeth dismissed any notion that they might be. Many of them had painted or tattooed faces, or huge studs in their ears and mouths. Jack thought they looked like a Grunge band. Still, they were clearly hostile. Almost before he’d resolved to draw it, the pistol was in his hand. He steadied it on one arm and took aim: the one at the front first, then the one with the club…

“Jack!” the Doctor roared, “Don’t you dare!” Jack looked back to see that the he was deathly serious. With a roar of his own, this one in annoyance and an unwillingness to break decades of training, the Captain pointed the pistol at the sky and fired three times. The horde of aliens stopped.

With this temporary lull, Martha took the opportunity to ask, “What the hell are they?”

The unkempt looking man merely urged, “There’s more of them, we’ve got to keep going!”

“I’ve got a ship nearby,” said the Doctor, reassuringly, grasping the man by the shoulders so he didn’t dash off of his own accord. “It’s safe. It’s not far, it’s over there.” He turned to the direction of the TARDIS, only to see another band of creatures approaching from that direction, yelling and waving yet more flaming torches. “Or maybe not.”

“We’re close to the Silo,” said the man, slightly calmer but still shaking, face beaded with sweat, “if we get to the Silo then we’re safe!”

The Doctor turned to Jack. “Silo?”

“Silo.”

“Silo for me,” offered Martha, raising a hand.

They ran, the creatures once again in pursuit, until after several minutes they came within sight of a large compound ringed with guard towers and searchlights, all surrounded by a sturdy looking chain-link fence. At the sight of this, the man they had found ran even faster.

“It’s the Futurekind, sound the alarm! They’re coming!” he yelled as several guards with reassuringly big guns stepped up to the fence, looking concerned.

“Open the gate!” screamed Martha, Jack fervently echoing the sentiment.

The guard at the gate just shouted, “Show me your teeth!” When they reached the gate, Martha a few yards behind everyone else and wishing desperately for some breath to swear with, the guard repeated the phrase; “Show me your teeth! Show me your teeth!” The creatures – the Futurekind, as the man had called them – were not far behind.

“Show him your teeth!” he urged, as the guard looked on, helpless. They did so, confronting the soldier with a row of gurns.

“Human, let ‘em in!” yelled the guard, once he’d checked, “Let ‘em in!” Another two guards pulled open the gates, and the four of them hurried inside. With repeated cries of “Close! Close!” the gates were quickly pushed shut again. Just as the Futurekind were within a dozen yards of the fence, the head guard shouldered his weapon and squeezed the trigger, letting out a wild burst of fire. Bullets struck the ground at the feet of the pack leader, and the creatures ceased their pursuit and retreated several steps, snarling.

“Humans,” the head of the group rasped, pointing, “Humani. Make feast.”

“Go back to where you came from,” said the guard, fingers white on his gun barrel. The pack leader walked forward another two steps. “I said: go back! Back!” He raised the gun threateningly.

Jack turned to the Doctor. “Well,” he said, “don’t tell him to put his gun down.”

“He’s not my responsibility.”

“And I am?” The Captain gave out a hollow laugh. “That makes a change.”

“Canny one see you,” the head Futurekind interjected, swaying and pointing again. A larger member of the pack with a spiked collar let out a loud roar to support this. “And hungry.” There was silence as he stared at the guards for several seconds, before gesturing at the other creatures with a harsh cry. They cautiously retreated away from the Silo, snarling.

“Thanks for that,” said the Doctor, as the guard led them away from the gate.

The human ignored the thanks, pragmatically saying, “Right, let’s get you inside.”

“My name is Padrafetch Shave-Kane,” said the unshaven man to the guard, “Tell me. Just tell me, can you take me to Utopia?”

“Oh, yes sir,” the guard said, happily, “Yes, I can.”

***

“Professor?” boomed the voice of Lieutenant Atillo yet again. Yana jumped as he always did, and looked up at the speaker. “We’ve got four new humans inside.” The Professor looked back down, not seeing how this was relevant to him at all. “One of them is calling himself a doctor.”

Yana’s head snapped back up. “Of medicine?”

“He says ‘of everything’.”

The Professor looked back down again, thinking, and then realisation struck him. “A scientist!” he exclaimed, “Oh my word!” He turned to Chantho and thrust a Triaxilation Capacitor Matrix made of scrap into her hands, so excited he couldn’t form words to tell her to take it. “I’m coming!” he yelled at Atillo, making for the door with speed that surprised him. Chantho sighed.

***

“I need you to help me,” the Doctor said to the man who had greeted them as they entered the Silo and called himself Lieutenant Atillo, “My ship is still out there, I was wondering of you could help fetch it for me.” He stopped as the Lieutenant motioned for another officer to hand him some supply forms. “It’s like a box, a big blue box. I’m sorry, but I really need it back, it’s stuck out there.” Atillo was ignoring him, and when he finally handed back the forms, Padrafetch butted in, leaving the Time Lord standing there with his mouth half open.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, still nervous and trembling from exhaustion, “but my family were heading for the Silo, did they get here? My mother is Kistane Shave-Kane, my brother’s name is Belto.”

“Computers are down, but you can check the paperwork,” replied Atillo, turning to the right. “Creet!” he called. A small boy, no more than six years old, poked his head round a piece of machinery. “Passenger needs help.”

“Right,” said the boy, walking forward with a clipboard bigger than this head, “What d’you need?” Padrafetch stooped down next to him, looking down the list of names.

“A… blue box, you said?” Atillo mused, turning again, this time to face the Doctor.

Not sure how else to describe the TARDIS, he just said, “Big. Tall. Wooden. Says ‘Police’.”

“We’re driving out for the last water collection, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” said the Doctor, earnestly.

Martha had been watching Padrafetch and Creet go over the list, and after several readthroughs the unshaven man was looking quite dejected. “I don’t think I’ve got them here,” Creet said, pointing at the scrap of paper, “but we can still take a look. Come on.”

“Sorry,” said Martha, walking toward the boy, “but… how old are you?”

“Old enough to work,” he replied, sounding almost irritated at the suggestion he was too young. “This way.”

After several corridors of clean concrete and shabbily dressed but still smart officers and men, the travellers were shocked by the state of the inner Silo. Pictures and notes had been pinned up on walls, parents imploring their Gods for some word of their children, husbands and wives seeking each other, and some written in a script that not even the TARDIS could translate. Past these scruffy desperations, there were people living in the Silo’s corridors for as far as the eye could see, making their beds and living spaces wherever they could, sleeping on old rugs, or coats, or jackets. Babies wailed in the distance.

Creet walked through all of this with an accustomed ease, knowing instinctively where to put his feet without tripping over a sleeping man’s legs, or standing on someone’s last loaf of bread. The Doctor, Jack and Martha stumbled along behind him, with Padrafetch a little way ahead, looking at everyone he saw, desperate.

“Is there Kistane Shave-Kane?” Creet called out in a surprisingly loud voice, “Kistane and Belto Shave-Kane? I’m looking for a Kistane and Belto Shave-Kane…”

“The Shave-Kanes, anyone?” Padrafetch said, looking from left to right. Creet echoed the cry, but no one knew. They struggled forward.

“It’s like a refugee camp,” said Martha, as they picked their way over a group of sleeping women and past a man holding a baby in each arm while his wife cooked a potato over a tiny gas stove.

“It’s stinking of…” Jack began, and stopped when he saw the looks he attracted. “Oh, sorry,” he said, as a grim looking man in a grey cardigan scowled at him. “No offence, not you.” The man nodded and lurched off, muttering to himself.

“Don’t you see though?” said the Doctor, grinning exuberantly, “The ripe old smell of Humans. You survived! Oh, you might have spent a million years evolving into clouds of gas… and another million as downloads. But you always revert to the same basic shape; the fundamental Human. End of the Universe, and here you are.” He grabbed Martha’s ponytail, making her jump, and exclaimed, “Indomitable! That’s the word.” She smiled at him, bemused by his constant optimism. “Indomitable!”

“Is there a Kistane Shave-Kane?” Creet called yet again, and this time a woman stood up from next to a cardboard box.

“That’s me,” she said, and when she saw Padrafetch she inhaled sharply, disbelieving.

“Mother?” he said, smiling, and ran forward.

”Oh my Gods,” she said, “Padra!” They hugged, and another man came up shake Padrafetch by the hand. He greeted him with a cry of “Belto!” and gave him a hug as well.

Martha smiled. “It’s not all bad news.” No one was listening; the Doctor was using the sonic screwdriver on some locked door he’d found – and locked doors made him antsy. Jack had strolled over to a big, strapping, blond man in a scruffy cardigan and rumpled beige shirt.

“Cap’n Jack Harkness,” he said, smiling, offering the man a hand, “and who are you?” The grimy Adonis smiled and took his hand, shaking it firmly. Jack’s eyes twinkled.

“Stop it…” the Doctor said, warning. Jack turned round to complain, but before he could form words the Time Lord continued. “Give us a hand with this.” Jack sighed and joined the Doctor, who pointed at the door. “Half deadlocked. See if you can override the code. Let’s find out where we are…” Jack started punching in numbers, and after a short while the door slid open, revealing…

… a sudden drop. The Doctor grabbed the doorframe to avoid falling, as Martha and Jack cried out in surprise at the sheer size of the room they had opened a door into; it stretched for miles above them and miles below, filled with steam and baking hot.

“Gotcha,” said Jack, pulling the Doctor back into the corridor.

“Thanks.”

“How did you ever cope without me?”

“One day at a time.”

“Now that,” Martha said, approvingly, “is what I call a rocket.”

“They’re not refugees…” the Doctor said, smiling, “they’re passengers.”

“He said they were going to ‘Utopia’,” Martha reminded him.

“The ‘perfect place’.” the Doctor said, “A hundred trillion years, and it’s the same old dream.” He looked down at the bottom of the rocket, which was barely visible. “Do you recognise those engines?”

“No…” said Jack, “Whatever it is, it’s not rocket science.” He smirked - he’d been wanting to say that for a hundred and fifty years. “But it’s hot, though.”

“Boiling.”

After a few seconds the oppressive heat of the launch tube was too much, and they closed the door, stepping back into the Silo corridor.

“But if the Universe is falling apart,” asked the Doctor of no one in particular, “Then what does Utopia mean?” Jack had been about to say something sarcastic when an old man in a waistcoat and shirt that looked a hundred trillion years out of date wandered over to them, smiling, and began pointing first at the Doctor, and then at the Captain. After several rounds of this he finally settled on Jack.

“The Doctor?” he said.

“That’s me,” said the Time Lord, as Jack raised a hand to point at him.

“Ah…” said the old man, and then grabbed one of the Doctor’s arms exuberantly. “Oh, good! Good!” he cried, happily, tugging the Time Lord down the corridor. “Good!” he repeated. “Good, good! Good good good good good. Good.” The Doctor grinned, Martha assuming he was happy to find someone as relentlessly keen as he was.

Still being pulled along by the old man, he turned to face his two companions. “It’s good, apparently,” he said, and grinned again.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’m Professor Yana, by the way. It’s good, isn’t it?” the old man was saying, breathlessly, as he and the Doctor sped down the corridors of the Silo, with Jack and Martha in hot pursuit. “The rocket. It was an old Amber Legion Galaxy-Decimation missile, but we gutted it to use as our transport. The problem is the propulsion system; the missile had a Quadrasenatic Slip Thruster system, and it rotted away beyond repair. Do you follow?”

The Doctor adjusted his glasses, then hitched up his coat so he wouldn’t trip over it. “Um… possibly,” he said. They came to a large door, which rumbled open to reveal a large and very messy laboratory, filled with control panels and bunches of wires and screens displaying data, with heaps and heaps of paperwork scattered liberally about the room. A woman of a species the Doctor didn’t recognise stepped forward, only for the Professor to rush them both past her.

“Chan – Welcome – Toh,” she said. The old man tugged the Doctor over to a device he didn’t recognise – which was odd, in itself.

“Now, this is the Gravitissimal Accelerator,” he said, “It’s past its age, but I’ve got it working again.” He dashed over to another piece of machinery to show it to the Doctor as Martha and Jack stopped at the door to catch their breath, and entered the lab. Martha smiled in amazement when she saw the alien woman who was to greet them; she had always enjoyed meeting different species. Jack smiled when he saw her too, but Martha reflected that this was probably for a different reason.

“Chan – Welcome – Toh,” repeated the alien, with a sincere, welcoming smile.

“And over here is the Footprint Impeller System,” the Professor told the Doctor, running over to yet another piece of exotic technology, pointing, “If you know anything about Anti Gravity Etheric Finessing you should see what I’m hoping to achieve here…”

“Um… hello. Who are you?” Martha asked the alien, who smiled again.

“Chan – Chantho – Toh,” she offered. In the background the old man was saying something about not being able to make something harmonise. The Doctor put on his glasses and bent over to study something intently.

“Cap’n Jack Harkness,” Jack said, offering Chantho his hand and giving her his trademark smile.

“Stop it,” warned the Doctor, looking up from the machinery he’d been investigating.

“Can I say hello to anyone?”

“Chan – I do not protest – Toh,” said Chantho, flattered and smiling even wider than before.

“Maybe later, Blue.” A wink. “So whadda we got here?”

“All this feeds into the rocket?” the Doctor asked of the professor, looking up at another tangle of wires.

“Yes…” replied the human, “It’s just, without a stable footprint, you see, we’ll never achieve escape velocity.” He turned in a quarter-circle, waving his hands in the air to illustrate his point. “If only we could… harmonise the five impact patterns and unify them…” he looked round a picture of the rocket drawn in crayon by one of the passenger children, which he’d taped over a monitor. “Well, we might yet make it. But, I-uh… w-what do you think, Doctor?” He faced the Time Lord again, “eh? Any ideas?”

The Doctor looked down at another screen, up at another bundle of wires, and took a deep breath. “Well…” he said, finally, pensively, “Um… basically… sort of…” he slowly span round, looking at everything once more. Yana stood, his expression rapidly growing less hopeful. “Sort of… not a clue.”

Yana frowned. “Nothing?”

“I’m not from round these parts, I’ve never seen a system like it,” said the Doctor, bemused, and looking back at Yana to see the old man was devastated. “Sorry.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” the Professor said, waving off the Time Lord’s concerns, “It’s my fault. There’s been so little help, I…”

A voice said, “Oh. My. God.” They all turned to see it was Martha, who was lifting something out of Jack’s bag in the lab’s meagre living space. When it was clear, she held it up, to the shock of everyone in the room except the Captain, who was looking rather sheepish. Martha laid the item down on a crate as everyone else clustered round it. “You’ve got a hand. A hand in a jar.” Yana was looking thoroughly bemused, Chantho had reverted into her worried expression, and the Doctor crouched next to the jar with a look of intense surprise on his face, mouth open. Martha was forming every word carefully to try and make some sense of what had happened. “A hand. In jar. In your bag.”

“W- bu- but- that’s my hand!” said the Doctor, as if Jack had stolen one of his books and torn the cover. Jack nodded.

“I said I had a Doctor Detector,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Chan – Is this a tradition among your people? – Toh,” Chantho asked, nervously.

“Not in my street!” said Martha, shocked. She turned to the Doctor. “What do you mean that’s your hand? You’ve got both your hands, I can see them.”

“Long story. I lost my hand. Christmas day. In a sword fight.”

“What, and you grew another hand?” Martha said, mockingly. Her mouth curled into an involuntary smile at the absurdity of the idea.

“Um… yeah. I did, yeah.” The Doctor raised his right hand and waggled his fingers as Martha’s face slowly fell. “Hello.”

“Might I ask,” said Yana, “What species are you?”

“Time Lord,” said the Doctor, leaning back. Yana merely looked blank. “Last of.” Silence. “Heard of them? Legend, or anything?” Yana and Chantho shook their heads apologetically. “Not even a myth? Blimey, end of the Universe is a bit humbling.”

Chantho looked at him, Jack and Martha in turn, and said, “Chan – It is said that I am the last of my species too – Toh.”

The Doctor leant forward, interested, and said, “Sorry, what was your name?”

“My assistant,” said Yana, placing a hand on her shoulder, “and good friend,” he added, “Chantho - a survivor of the Malmooth. This was their planet, Malcassairo, before we took refuge.”

“The city outside, that was yours?” asked the Doctor.

Chantho nodded, impassive. “Chan – The Conglomeration died – Toh,” she said, gravely.

“Conglomeration! That’s what I said!”

Jack murmured, “You’re supposed to say sorry.”

“Oh…” the Doctor said, sheepishly, “Yes. Sorry.”

“Chan – Most grateful – Toh,” replied Chantho, looking down at her feet.

Martha, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, spoke. “You grew another hand…” she said, still disbelieving, staring at the Doctor’s arm.

Another waggle of the fingers. “Hello again.”

He stood up. “It’s fine.” He extended his hand. “Look, really. It’s me.” She grasped the hand and shook it, slowly, then let out a little shocked laugh.

“All this time and you’re still full of surprises,” she said, nervously. The Doctor winked and smiled proudly.

“Chan – You are most unusual! – Toh,” said Chantho, amused. The Doctor cocked his head and smirked.

“Well…” he said, as if he was being flattered.

“So,” said Jack, addressing the Professor, “What about those things outside, the Beastie Boys. What are they?”

Yana uh’d for a moment before saying, “We call them the Futurekind.” He shrugged. “Which is a myth in itself. But, uh… it’s feared they are what we will become.” He paused, before saying, as if it was a distant memory, “Unless we reach Utopia.”

“And Utopia is..?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, every human knows of Utopia!” said the Professor, incredulously, “Where have you been?”

“Bit of a hermit.”

Yana opened his mouth to say something before processing what he’d just heard, meaning he stood there for a moment with it hanging open, before he said, disbelieving, “A hermit? With, uh, friends?”

“Hermits United. We meet up, every ten years. Swap stories about caves. It’s good fun.” He inhaled sharply. “For a hermit.” Yana was smiling at him oddly, almost indulgently, probably not swallowing a word he’d just said. “So, um… Utopia?”

The Professor raised a beckoning finger and left the living area, walking over to a large computer terminal. The readout informed them of its purpose: it was a Gravitational Field Navigation System, which to Martha made little sense and to the Doctor was rather old fashioned even for a hundred trillion years ago. It showed a dense network of contours and whorls, which the Doctor assumed were gravity shadows of some kind.

“The call came from across the stars, over and over again. ‘Come to Utopia’. Originating from that point.” said Yana, indicating a red dot in the top right of the screen.

“And where is that?” asked the Doctor, contemplating the screen with his head resting on one hand, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Oh, it’s far beyond the Condensive Wilderness. Out towards the Wild Lands and the Dark Matter Reefs. Calling us in. The last of the humans, scattered across the night. Hard to think we were once greater in number than the stars themselves… we made our homes in ten billion Galaxies, and now look at us.”

“What do you think’s out there?”

“We don’t know…” murmured Yana. “A colony? A city? Some sort of haven? The Science Foundation created the Utopia Project thousands of years ago to preserve Mankind… to find a way of surviving beyond the collapse of reality itself, and perhaps they found it. Perhaps not.” His worn old face creased into a grin. “But it’s worth a look, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes,” said the Doctor, returning the smile, eyes glinting with the prospect of adventure.

What the strange man said next the Professor didn’t hear, because at that moment they started again. Pounding away in his mind. He’d hoped that the last time they did it was the last time he’d hear them, as he’d always hoped. But they always came back. They never, ever stopped. Inside his head. In his mind he shouted, screamed, raged against the noise. Leave me alone! With his eyes shut, biting his lip. But it never stopped.

“Professor?” They were getting louder and louder. The next time the Doctor addressed him it was muffled. Yana felt himself going under. “Professor!” urged the Doctor, breaking through the fog. The noise faded, and Yana’s head jerked up, eyes snapping open.

“I-uh-um-I-yes-right.” He said, briskly, “That’s enough talk, there’s work to do. Now, if you could leave, thank you.” He limped away from them over to another terminal, his leg having fallen asleep from standing in one place too long.

“You alright?” asked the Doctor.

“Yes, I’m fine!” snapped the Professor, and then turned round to face the uneven row of concerned faces. “And busy!”

“Except,” said the Doctor, in the tone of voice that Martha had learned to recognise as the voice he used before he was about to reveal something important or interesting that would solve whatever fix he’d gotten them into – and he got them into a lot of fixes – or reveal something vital to unravelling a mystery, “That rocket’s not going to fly, is it?” Yana paused, and swallowed, looking down. He ran a hand through his short, silver hair and sighed, deeply. Chantho looked equally despondent, her mandibles curling into lightly touch her jaw. “This ‘Footprint’ mechanism… thing. It’s not working.”

“We’ll find a way!” Yana insisted, once he’d controlled his emotions, forcing them down and covering them up with a veneer of stern hope.

“You’re stuck on this planet.” Chantho’s gaze turned to the Doctor, disapproving but also full of forlorn agreement. “And you haven’t told them, have you?” Yana looked down again, studying the floor for some imaginary concern. “That lot out there. They still think you’re gonna fly.” The Professor, devastated, sank into a chair. It was obvious he and his assistant had known for quite some time that there was no hope, but to have their suspicions confirmed had sapped whatever stubbornness they’d possessed.

“Well, it’s better to let them live in hope,” said Yana, voice breaking.

“Quite right too!” exclaimed the Doctor. “And, I must say, Professor,” he continued, taking off his coat, “Um. What was it?”

“Yana.”

“Professor Yana. This new science is well beyond me, but all the same, a Boost Reversal Circuit in any timeframe must be…” he paused, searching for an eloquent way to express himself, and giving up. “A circuit which reverses the boost. So… I wonder, what would happen if I did…” he pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, switched it to setting 1338-C and waved it over a control switch which he’d grabbed from the floor, “This.” He ripped a microchip from the interface, and with a loud hum of power the lab was bathed in golden light from energy indicators.

Chantho and Yana’s expressions instantly changed, eyes widening in surprise, mouths opening in wonder. “Chan – It’s working! – Toh,” exclaimed the alien, as the Professor leapt from his chair, walking around slowly, checking every screen he could and finding they all gave him a positive result.

“But how did you do that?” asked the Professor, completely stunned by what had happened.

“Oh, while we’ve been chatting away, I forgot to tell you,” said the Doctor, wryly, before breaking into that enthusiastic grin, “I’m brilliant.”

***

Lieutenant Atillo’s voice boomed out over the PA system, as the countless refugees in the bleak concrete of the Silo’s corridors gathered up their tattered possessions, smiling with expectation of what awaited them. “All passengers, prepare for boarding. Repeat: all passengers prepare for immediate boarding.”

Seconds after informing Atillo of the rocket’s readiness, every one of the five in the lab were frantically preparing the instruments for their task, snatching up discs, programming coordinates and calculating equations, splicing together wires. “Boarding will commence,” Atillo announced, voice filled with hope, “Destination: Utopia!

In the command centre, the Lieutenant set down his microphone, dashing down the long room past banks and banks of archaic machinery, flicking switches and turning dials on the jury-rigged computer systems.

When Atillo returned to his desk, Sergeant-at-Arms Kolta had taken up the microphone “All troops, report to Silo,” he announced, “Repeat…” The commanders of the various platoons that had been defending outer perimeters and collecting fresh water for the flight radioed back that they were en route. As soon as they were inside, the compound would be abandoned, the high fence the only thing stopping the animalistic Futurekind.

When Kolta had saluted and departed for the rocket, Atillo took up the microphone again. “All passengers, report for immediate boarding,” he repeated, before running back down the room to look into the Rad Chamber. The thought of anyone going in there made his blood run cold, despite the sweltering heat from the chamber itself. Still, it was necessary.

***

Martha and Chantho, both laden down with crystal datasheets, had been Excuse me-ing their way through the throngs of grubby but hopeful refugees for fifteen minutes already – there were hundreds of thousands of them, perhaps millions, all shuffling past and into the rocket itself by way of hundreds of gangways that stretched the distance between the ship and the walls of the silo chamber. Chantho passed the journey in silence, eyes darting from left to right at all the humans walking past her, looking down in embarrassment when a young child would stare and ask their mother or father what “the blue thing” was.

“Hey!” said Martha, when she saw a familiar face several feet below the others. It was the little blond boy who’d helped Padrafetch find his family. “What was your name?” She searched for it for a moment before finding it. “Creet.”

“That’s right, miss.”

“Who are you with, Creet? You got a family?”

“No, miss. There’s just me.”

Martha’s face fell, and she was silent for several seconds as she thought what approach would work best on the boy, before saying, “Well, good luck. What do you think it’s gonna be like? In Utopia?”

“My mum used to say the skies are made of diamonds,” said Creet, smiling at the thought of it, eyes shining.

“Good for her,” said Martha, and patted him on the head, “Go on, off you go. Get your seat.” He joined the crowd and was soon out of sight. Chantho started off without her, and Martha remembered how strange it had to be for the woman to be the only one of her kind on the whole planet. She followed.

If she had looked back for just a second, she would have seen a woman emerge from behind a crate. A woman with viciously sharp teeth.

[Alexus]

CHAPTER FOUR

In the lab, the Doctor and the Professor had been rewiring the Footprint datasheet for nearly an hour, until finally the Time Lord had plucked up the gall to confirm his suspicions. He licked one of the wires. What? “Is that…”

“Yes,” said Yana, “Gluten extract. Binds the Neutrino Map together.”

“But that’s food,” the Doctor replied, amazed. “You built this system out of food and string and staples.” He paused, realising the enormity of Yana’s task – civilisation had collapsed, but he and Chantho had single-handedly coordinated the construction of the most daring, audacious and brilliant space conveyance in a billion years. “Professor Yana,” he said, “You’re a genius.”

Yana smiled. “Yes, says the man who made it work.”

“Oh, it’s easy for the man at the end. But… you’re stellar.” Yana seemed half disbelieving and half shocked to hear it. Chantho was always nice to him, so he’d become desensitised to it, and Atillo just demanded and demanded and demanded more progress. “This is… this is magnificent.” Yana smiled and adjusted a control slider. “And I don’t often say that, ‘cos… well… ‘cos I’m me.”

“Well, even my title’s an affectation,” said the Professor, “There hasn’t been such a thing as a University in… oh, over a thousand years. I’ve spent my life going from one refugee ship to another.”

“If you had been born in a different time,” the Doctor told him, “You would be revered.” Yana chuckled. “I mean it. Throughout the Galaxies.”

“Oh, those damn Galaxies. They had to go and collapse.” He nodded. “Some admiration would have been nice, yes. Just a little. Just… once.”

“Well, you’ve got it now,” muttered the Doctor, threading some copper wire in between two control nodes. He looked up at Yana. “But that footprint engine thing. You can’t activate it from onboard. It’s gotta be done from here.” He grabbed another wire and plugged it into the control board. “You’re staying behind.”

“With Chantho,” replied the Professor, nodding. “She won’t leave without me. Simply refuses.”

“You’d give your life so they could fly.”

Yana smiled. “Oh, I should think I’m a little too old for Utopia. Time I had some sleep.”

“Professor?” It was Atillo again, Yana knew, voice booming out of that damn speaker. “Tell the Doctor we’ve found his blue box.”

“Ah!” said the Doctor, happily.

“Doctor?” asked Jack, looking down at a screen. The Doctor went over to join him, Yana following.

“Professor,” said the Doctor, pointing at the TARDIS on the screen, sitting among a pile of supply crates, “It’s a wild stab in the dark, but I might just have found you a way out.”

Yana stood in shock, staring at the screen, and the noise started again.

***

Yana was sitting down on a computer terminal, mind spinning, when the Doctor emerged from his blue box holding a thick power cable. The box had just… appeared in the lab. The Doctor had run out, mumbling something about a short transitive leap, and a few minutes later, with a noise that sounded like someone scraping keys over a piano wire, the box just… appeared!

“Extra power!” exclaimed the Doctor, running past Jack, who had been programming launch vectors. “Little bit a cheat, but who’s counting?” He reached a large enough outlet, and plugged in the lead, which fitted perfectly – it was lucky that the TARDIS’ power leads had chameleon properties that were still functioning. “Jack, you’re in charge of the retro feeds.”

“Oh, am I glad to see that thing,” said Martha, entering the lab with Chantho, both of them laden with datasheets.

“Chan – Professor,” said Chantho, going over to the Professor without delay, “Are you alright? – Toh”

“Uh… yeah, I’m fine,” mumbled the Professor, opening his eyes and nodding at the concerned woman reassuringly. “I’m fine. I’m fine! Just… get on with it.”

Jack pointed at Martha. “Connect those circuits into the SPA, same as the last lot,” he said, his finger moving down to the datasheets and then over to a bank of computers. His look became one of sternness. “But quicker!”

“Ooh, yes sir!” Martha replied, mockingly. Still, she ran over to the System Propulsion Accelerator computers and started slotting in the datasheets as fast as possible. The Doctor bumped past her and over to Yana, bending down to have their faces level.

“You don’t have to keep working,” he said, concerned. “We can handle it.”

“It’s just a headache, it’s just… this noise,” murmured Yana, as the Time Lord crouched down, looking even more concerned. “Inside my head, Doctor. Constant noise, inside my head.”

“What sort of noise?”

“Uh… it’s the sound of drums,” said Yana, after some thought, “More and more, as though it was getting closer.”

“When did it start?” asked the Doctor, taking off his glasses and tucking them away in his pocket.

“Oh, I’ve heard it all my life,” replied the Professor, “Every waking hour.” He inhaled sharply. “Still, no rest for the wicked,” he said, smiling. He stood up, and the Doctor smirked, rising himself and following Yana to one of the machines with a complicated acronym no one could remember the meaning of.

***

Martha and Chantho had been placing the circuits inside their holders for several minutes in silence before Martha tried to once again start up some kind of discourse. “So, how long have you been with the Professor?” she asked.

“Chan – Seventeen years – Toh,” replied the alien, taking another circuit sheet and placing it with a click into the machine.

“Blimey, long time,” Martha replied, wondering how Chantho could bear it.

“Chan – I adore him – Toh,” replied Chantho, as if she had always wished to say it and had never been able to, avoiding Martha’s gaze.

“Oh right, and he..?”

“Chan – I don’t think he even notices! – Toh.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Chan – But I am happy to serve – Toh,” Chantho said, her mandibles waving around in a most alarming manner.

“Do you mind if I ask,” Martha said, knowing that Chantho probably would, but would never say, “Do you have to start every sentence with Chan?”

“Well, Chan – Yes – Toh,” Chantho replied, amazed Martha thought there was another way of speaking.

“And end every sentence with…”

Chantho smiled at Martha’s naiveté. “Chan – Toh – Toh,” she told her. Humans and their funny ways, honestly.

“What would happen if you didn’t?” asked Martha, thoughtfully, wondering if Chantho would explode, or have a breakdown, or mutate into a giant wasp or something equally bizarre and alien.

“Chan – That would be rude! – Toh,” Chantho replied, astonished at the suggestion. She glanced to her left at the rest of the lab, hoping no one else had heard the exchange.

Martha did the same, then leant in slightly, and said, with a cheeky look on her face, “What, like… swearing?” She smiled.

“Chan – Indeed – Toh,” Chantho whispered, eyes darting to the left again.

“Oh, go on. Just once.”

Chantho was struggling to suppress laughter. “Chan – I can’t! – Toh.”

“Oh, do it for me.”

One more check that they were entirely alone, and Chantho was silent for a second or two, almost saying something and then stopping several times. Eventually, she whispered, “No!” She giggled.

***

In the command centre, which was now empty of all but the most essential personnel, Atillo leant over a vacant chair to the communication station. “Professor!” he demanded, and sighed. The screen was filled with static, the cyan bar at the bottom which told him who he was talking to blank. “Systems are down…” he muttered to himself, and typed in ‘YANA’ before saying again, “Professor, are you getting me?”

An image of the old man faded into view. “Yes, I’m here, we’re ready!” he exclaimed, urgently, “Now all you need to do is connect the couplings. Then we can launch.” In the lab, Yana watched as Atillo’s image vanished into static. “Gods save us, this equipment!” he complained, turning round to make sure his rant was fully received by everyone else in the room. Martha ran over to assist him. “Needs rebooting all the time!”

“Anything I can do? I’ve finished that lot,” the girl told him.

“Yes, if you could,” replied the Professor, getting out of his seat so Martha could take it, “Press the ‘reboot’ key every time the picture goes.”

“Certainly sir, just don’t ask me to do shorthand,” she replied. Yana considered asking what that was, but thought the better of it.

“Right,” he said, dashing off to make a last minute check.

“…Are you still there?” asked Atillo, fading back into view.

“Ah!” exclaimed the Professor, and rushed back to the screen. “Present and correct. Send your man inside. We’ll keep the levels down from here.” The screen faded out again, this time replaced with a view of the inside of a chamber bathed in red light, with five metal rods in the centre of it, suspended in a complicated system of wires and struts and supports.

“So, what are we doing?” asked Martha.

“For the rocket to launch, we need to unblock the Stedt Impeller System,” said Yana, trying to keep it sounding as simple as possible, “To do that, Corporal Jate there is going to suit up and enter the Rad Chamber, then release the five couplings. We have to do it just as the rocket I about to launch, or the radiation will overflow, the system will undergo a catastrophic feedback pulse, and the rocket will explode. Do you understand?”

“… sort of,” said Martha, who didn’t. “Thank you, it’s all much clearer now.” They watched as the door to the chamber opened briefly enough for a man in a bright yellow environment suit to slip in. He walked gingerly over to the five rods.

“He’s inside…” announced Atillo, quieter than usual, “and good luck to him.” Yana, whose leg had fallen asleep again – damn thing! – hobbled over to Jack and Chantho.

“Captain,” he said, pointing at a piece of machinery, the use of which temporarily eluded him. The only thing he could remember about it was the advice he gave Jack. “Keep the dials below the red.”

“Where is that room?” asked the Doctor, who was watching the Rad Chamber monitor.

“It’s underneath the rocket,” the Professor told him, “Fix the couplings and the footprint can work. But,” he added, “the entire chamber is flooded with Stedt Radiation.”

The Doctor looked confused. “Stedt? Never heard of it.”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to. But it’s safe enough, if we hold the radiation back from here.”

Jate had reached the first coupling and was undoing the powerful seals that protected it, typing in the release code. He grabbed the top of the cylinder, carefully, and slowly pulled it out of the metal tube encasing it, before twisting it to the left and dropping it. It clicked into the new position to the sound of blaring alarms. Yana muttered, “Nought point two…” he turned round, and yelled, “Keep it level!”

Jack said, “Yes sir.”

Yana turned back to the screen to see that the Corporal had slid the second coupling into place. Atillo watched breathlessly, knowing how thoroughly in danger the brave soldier was.

…And the woman with the pointed teeth, senses whirling in the strange stone world in which she had found herself, hissed with satisfaction when she found a funny metal box bolted to the wall, opened it, and pulled down some strange little plastic things inside it.

The lights dimmed in the lab. “We’re losing power!” Chantho said, shocked, before hurriedly adding, “Toh!” Jack placed a hand on her shoulder, partly to reassure her and partly to reassure himself. The alarms blared louder.

Tired of fiddling with the plastic things and turning the big circles on the metal boxes, the Futurekind woman picked up a nice large metal thing, roughly as big as her torso, and effortlessly heaved it into the row of funny boxes. There was a satisfying explosion of sparks, and the lights dimmed yet again.

“Radiation’s rising!” yelled the Doctor, as the lab was filled with frantic activity, everyone trying to think of a way to halt the flow and failing.

“We’ve lost control!” roared Jack.

“The chamber’s going to flood!” said Yana.

“Jack!” that was the Doctor, pushing every button he could on one of the computers as he waved the sonic screwdriver over it, “Override the vents!”

Inside the chamber, Jate saw the warning lights, heard the alarms, and felt his skin begin to crawl with heat, as if thousands of tiny creatures were devouring it. Ignoring Atillo’s screams of “Get out!” he continued his work, punching in the code for the third coupling. “Get out of there!” roared Atillo, “Jate! Get out!”

In the lab, Jack realised what had to be done to halt the radiation. He grabbed a lead from one power socket, then tore out another. “We can jump start the override!” he informed the Doctor, frantically, and touched the two wires together.

“Jack it’s gonna fry-” the Doctor yelled instinctively, but stopped when he saw it was too late – the Captain’s body was spasming wildly as thousands of volts of electricity passed through it, frying synapses in the man’s brain, bursting blood vessels, cauterising his entire cardiovascular system. He screamed with agony long past the death of his brain, until he finally slumped down to the ground, dead.

Jack’s sacrifice had come at too late a juncture; Atillo looked away from Jate for a moment to see the radiation levels revert to normal for a moment, and then soar back up. “Jate, get out of there!” he yelled, “Get out!”

Jate’s eyes closed, his mouth opening – but no sound came out, as his tongue dissolved before Atillo’s eyes. The young man literally vanished in a blaze of heat, his radiation suit falling empty to the floor as the Lieutenant roared “No!”

“I’ve got him!” Martha said, crouching down next to Jack, checking his pulse.

“Chan – Don’t touch the cables! – Toh,” Chantho warned her, pulling the sparking ends of the power leads to the side of one of the computers.

“I’m so sorry…” Yana told Martha, voice full of regret, as she checked the pulse again, finding nothing.

“The chamber’s flooded with radiation, yes?” said the Doctor, quietly.

“Yes,” said Yana, and sighed. “Without the couplings the engines’ll never start. It was all for nothing!”

“Oh, I dunno…” replied the Time Lord, pensively, as Martha gave Jack the kiss of life for the third time. “Martha…” he muttered. “Leave him.” He walked over to where she was crouching, and taking her firmly by the shoulders pulled her away.

“You’ve got to let me try!” she protested.

“Come on, come on,” he said, as if she was a naughty child who wanted an extra helping of ice cream. “Just listen to me.” He released her, and looked into her eyes. “Now leave him alone.” She was silent, looking down at the Captain’s lifeless body. “Strikes me, Professor,” continued the Doctor, “you’ve got a room which no man can enter without dying. Is that correct?”

“Ha, yes,” Yana replied, sadly.

“Well…” said the Doctor, and with an almighty gasp Jack’s body was wracked with another great spasm, his lungs drawing breath once more, eyes snapping open – completely undamaged. The Doctor took off his glasses nonchalantly. “I think I’ve got just the man.”

Martha, Chantho and Yana were looking down at the Captain in utter disbelief as he struggled to lean up, supporting himself on his elbows and taking in as much air as he could. “Was someone kissing me?” he gasped.