Turlough, Turlough (SWF edit)

Chapter 1: Ten finds one

They were coming through the walls, the floors, the streets. Phantoms, out of ghostly burrows that left structures cracked and crumbling. The creatures rippled and came into sharp focus, shining black carapaces turning solid in the waves of time distortion. Their appearance stunned the population, derailing emergency responses. Everywhere, wild screams rang out the same, the name and the terror both dredged up from another age.

"Tractators!"

By the time the distortions passed, the giant copepods fading back into the planet's distant past, Trion had already surged off its orbit on a mighty graviton wave.

Eight increasingly cold months later it partially collided with the gas giant Sexton, and from there careened into interstellar space.

He hung in the void of the Zero Room as his ship hung in the space between stars, secreted in a field of asteroids. Together they drifted, with no destination, toward an unknown future.

He wasn't sure if he was healing or resting or sulking or what, and he wasn't he sure if he cared. He'd lost Rose, and it hurt, and it hurt that it hurt. His was a lifetime of entrances and exits, of departures with so much left unsaid. That was him, that was what he did, how he lived, how he liked it. It was supposed to be a little sad, a little melancholy, a quiet between storms of life and laughter and adventure.

It patently wasn't supposed to undo him.

Rassilon, why did this have to happen to him? Rose wasn't even his, not really - the him that belonged to Rose, the one whose love was raw and undeniable, the one who wouldn't have stumbled over saying so while the chance passed him by... That him was a year dead. Like it had been with Adric's friendship, the chemistry had gone long before the loss. But that didn't mean he didn't still care. He wasn't a psychopath.

He wasn't a psychopath.

And it wasn't his fault Sarah had missed him so much.

He hung in the void of the Zero Room and hurt, because he could, and refused to think about his friends, castaway, runaway, mislaid and lost.

The Corsair rocked with another uncomfortably close explosion, the crew's stomachs swooping as the gravity dipped, power diverted to anti-inertia and EMP shields. Turlough sighed. This poor, pretty little ship of his was not meant to take this sort of punishment.

"Why are we still setting off those mines? Steady, I said!" the captain bellowed, before turning to him. "This route of yours was supposed to be safe."

"Safer than skirting the Host's reserve wing," Turlough replied, unconcerned.

The captain clearly wasn't thrilled with his tone. "Turlough, if you don't-"

"I know. Look, you don't have to coerce me, you know, I'm here by choice and I am doing my job, and quite admirably, too, unless you suppose Command gave me this ship out of respect for my good name."

The captain frowned, but looked placated. "No, I don't suppose so. But do try to keep that arrogance out of your voice, Vislor. It won't win you any friends amongst the crew. Command and Council may have recognised your value, but to the people you're still just ex-elite, ex-exile, practically a war criminal. They don't trust you."

"Recognised my value," Turlough lamented despondently, half lounging in his seat. "...I want to help our people."

"I know you do, boy, I know you do." The captain squeezed his shoulder.

Turlough waved him off with an impatient scowl. He hated being called 'boy.' But to be fair, the captain was old enough to be an admiral, and Turlough soon found himself smiling.

He'd been very lucky to be teamed up with Captain Markony.

Whether it was premonition or luck, the Doctor had finally returned to the console room, his usual haunt, in time to see a ship bearing down on the TARDIS at what he could only call an unsafe speed. He was about to dematerialise to avoid a collision when he noticed the huge anti-craft mine that had drifted nearby on the opposite side, hidden from the approaching ship's view.

"Since when is the Celadon debris field mined?" he demanded of the TARDIS, dashing round the console. "You might've said!"

As he rushed to alter the TARDIS' defence screens to push the ship relatively safely to one side, there were no thoughts of Rose in his mind.

On the Corsair, stomachs were left behind again as the ship turned hard, engines whining with the strain.
"What?!" Markony shouted. "Andor!?"

"Sorry, sir," the navigator said calmly, even as he shoved several levers hard to the left with obvious power. "There is an object ahead whose mass was not correctly detected until we were nearly upon it."

"Not correctly detected?" the captain barked, peering hard at the starry blackness on the main display. "What the hell is it?"

A small blue box came into focus on one of the side monitors. Turlough jumped to his feet.

Markony glanced at him, back at the monitor. "Well, if we're not going to miss it, blast it out of our path!"

"No!" Turlough yelled, lunging to grab the weapons ops officer's wrist.

"Turlough!" Markony roared.

Andor announced his calculations. "Impact in two... One..."

The ship rocked again, but smoothly, shoved aside. They hurtled past the blue box, and past the Sontaran mine that had been in the blind spot behind it, spraying both with the full blast of their maneuvering thrusters.

The mine went off. So did the lights.

Turlough was knocked to the floor at several g's as the ship continued to turn wildly in the darkness. The captain was shouting for Andor, to no response. Turlough scrambled to the navigator's post and pushed Andor's heavy shape out of the seat. Taking his place, he pulled back on the thrusters as hard as he could, while the lights began to flicker back to life. A few moments later, Andor's hands joined his in getting the ship back under control.

Markony grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him out of Andor's position. "WHAT??..."

"It was a ship!" Turlough shouted back. "A friendly ship!"

"Friendly?? Masking a bloody great mine?"

"It must have been an accident!"

"You must be out of your mind!"

"Sir!" another voice piped up. "We have just been boarded, apparently via transmat. An object has appeared in the main gallery. It seems to be the thing we nearly hit."

"It's all right - It's the Doctor!" Turlough cried, and pelted out of sight down the connecting corridor.

The other officer stared after him, back up at the captain. "Sir?"

Markony sighed.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, you know, just an intergalactic nobody. Was your ship damaged badly? I'm really very-"

"Answer the question!"

"Please, it's all right, I just want to help - I'm the Doctor!"

Half a dozen hand weapons were pointed at him, a circle of khaki, grey, and black uniforms. Uniforms with garish stripes of color, in salmon pink, in teal. There was something familiar about...

Someone was laughing. Not snide, villainous, or even triumphant military laughter. This was relieved, happy... familiar. One of the black uniforms pushed to the front of the circle, broke through, froze in confusion, grin fading.

"Good grief. Turlough?"

"Is that you? Doctor?"

"Well of course it is, I just said..."

Turning to the crew, Turlough motioned for the weapons to be stowed. With some considerable hesitation, they began to comply.

"Turlough!" Markony's voice sounded over the intercom, "What in hell is going on back there?"

"It's fine, everything's fine here. Are we back up? The EMP restore-"

"FINE!? WHAT IS ON BOARD MY SHIP?"

The Doctor and Turlough shared a glance, and utterly beyond his control, Turlough started to laugh again.

Turlough couldn't stop glancing over at this new Doctor as they walked, idly wondering how many other faces had gone by since their last meeting. He thought about the two he'd seen since Sarn, the three he'd met so long ago in the Death Zone. It gave him a jolt, realising that place was gone now, where he'd once glimpsed so much of the man's history.

"Doctor." Turlough couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry about Gallifrey."

The Doctor's eyes were unreadable in any case. "I'm... sorry about Trion."

Turlough shrugged. "We had time to escape. Time to prepare, even. And I had a spectacular run of luck getting off the planet." He eyed the Doctor. "I'm sure that had nothing to do with you."

"It didn't." He swallowed. "Actually I thought you'd died."

"Oh." Long lashes flicked down.

The Doctor couldn't turn away from that face. "I'm glad you didn't..."

Turlough laughed once. "Thanks."

The Doctor caught his arm, got him to meet his eyes again. "I'm still... I still want you. To come. You know, with me. Anytime you want another adventure."

Turlough's laugh was natural this time. "The more you change, the more you stay the same, Doctor. I have responsibilities I care about now, I can't go. Most notably right now I have this ship to command."

"That's good though! That's good! Yeah..." The Doctor chewed his lip for a moment, thoughtfully. "But we could still go and have a.. er, talk about it."

Turlough smirked. "Maybe after we speak to the captain."

"I thought you were in command?"

"Well. I'm in command of the mission, but it's still his ship."

"Is it."

"He's a good man, Doctor. Try not to insult him."

"Ooooh, I don't know..." He made a pained face. "I'll do my best."

Turlough laughed again, and the Doctor was becoming infatuated with it already. There were still shadows in his voice, and it was worn with a little more age and care, but it was cut free of much of the calculated hesitation that had once been Turlough's hallmark. Clearly the dark heart of his old friend had been further tempered by the time between them.

That, or he'd got to be a better actor.

Out in open space, nervous for lack of cover, two long distance scouts and a high speed transport were limping back from their mission to collect the Galross work colony. Most of their gunship escort rode in the transport's cargo gallery, in ruined fragments, alongside the Galross colony's possessions.

In the much smaller cargo gallery of the lead scout, a young Trion in khaki with bright blue accents leaned on a bright silver Sontaran scout sphere, fingertips tapping it nervously. "I'm just saying I'd feel better if we had some of those robots with us."

His friend shrugged. "It's only one Sontaran. They're not that tough."

"Gyre's not officer class. He is that tough."

"That's the real question. Why are they sending a grunt if they want to negotiate?"

"Who knows if they even have any officers left? Gyre's the first Sontaran anyone's seen since the War."

"Maybe they're just laying low?"

"How else can a Sontaran lay?"

They laughed, full of nerves.

And inside the sphere, Gyre rested, feeding deeply from it.

Captain Markony eyed the Doctor and the Doctor eyed him right back, until Turlough stood on his Chuck Taylored foot.

"Explain to me again what you're doing out here in the middle of a Sontaran minefield?" the captain demanded.

"Explain to me what you're... Ow, Turlough, stop it..."

"What my friend means to say is, he came here by mistake."

"I didn't ask you, Turlough-"

"I didn't come here by mistake!"

Turlough gave the Doctor a look of pure aggravation.

"...I just didn't know it was a minefield these days. Used to be a lovely spot, Celadon."

"Before or after it exploded?" Turlough wondered dryly.

"Well, both really..."

"All right! All right!" Markony cried, throwing a hand up. "That's quite enough of that. You are obviously well acquainted. Turlough, if you're sure you're vouching for this... person?"

Turlough nodded firmly, and then shrugged. "He's more trustworthy than I am, honestly." His glance flashed over to the Doctor, who looked happily embarrassed. He smiled at the floor.

Markony barked a laugh. "Fine then, if he's friendly, we need all the friends we can get. You have the rest of the shift off, Vislor. See what this Doctor's intentions are. You'll be back here in a damned hurry if anything comes up. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," Turlough echoed, taking extra care to act respectful, having just been shown such special treatment in front of the other officers. He didn't need to feed any grudges.

He needn't have worried. Markony turned to address the room. "Good work in a tight spot, boys. Anyone who wants it can have early end of shift. Andor, do you need to be relieved?"

Andor looked up from his work. "I have recovered, sir, thank you."

"Fine then..." He gave Turlough a hard stare. "Well? Get out of here, boy! And take your obstacle with you."

Looking properly chagrined, Turlough bundled the Doctor off the bridge.

With the doors closed behind them, the Doctor looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "Turlough..."

"Hm?"

"That man is an android, you know that, don't you."

"Andor?" Turlough nodded. "Movellan."

"What?!"

Turlough looked at him in sharp surprise. "What, what's the matter?"

"Well they're ruthless machines of war, aren't they!"

"Are they?" Turlough gave him a skeptical look.

"Well aren't they? You saw what they did to the Daleks!"

"I saw what their weapon did to the Daleks. When you used it." He didn't bother mentioning the Daleks' current state of affairs.

The Doctor looked urgent, angry, scandalised, all at once. "They're cold and cruel and militaristic machines, Turlough, no better than Cybermen. No better than... than Eternals."

"You mean they don't care about collateral damage, don't you."

"Collateral damage?!"

Turlough's eyebrow twitched. "You do. Doctor, they're cold, yes. Nearly as cold as our Trion generals. At least they're logical, which is more than I can say for half of Command."

"So you're allies with the Movellans, are you? Why? What for?"

"Well, now Trion's rogue, we're trying to contact and consolidate our, er... colonies, and establish a stronger presence on the worlds we have standing connections to. But there are Rutans everywhere in this sector since the War. And as the Daleks are gone, the Movellans are at a bit of a loose end. So we've convinced them to help us."

"A loose end? They're not busy enough tying up Dalek space? Expanding their empire?"

"They are. But they're not particularly violent, you know. Most of the former Dalek worlds are happy enough to be under the Movellan wing, at least for the moment. They are helping."

The Doctor was scowling at random bits of the floor. "But why would... They're not exactly a benevolent force."

"Listen, Doctor... The Movellans defer command to their battle computers. And all the machines at the top of their hierarchy were destroyed when the Daleks stepped up their aggression. A smaller pool of AI's proved to be more flexible, and their new situation demands that flexibility. I don't think they still think the way you think they do. They understand how to make concessions to human values, for one thing."

"They're dangerous... They've tried to kill me, you know!"

Turlough gave him a tepid look and blinked at him patiently.

The Doctor frowned. "That was different."

"And who were they really trying to kill?"

"Well. Davros. But they were going to burn the atmosphere of the entire planet! Which Romana and I - and a load of prisoners of war - just happened to be on!"

"What planet?"

"Well. Skaro. But-"

"So if they'd succeeded, Gallifrey, Trion, the others... might still be living worlds. Is that what you're saying?"

The Doctor's hair got a bit bushier, his hackles standing with a chill. If the Movellans had succeeded. If he'd felt he had the right. If he'd acted sooner, acted differently. If, if, if. "Who knows. If anything the Daleks probably would've been more successful without Davros's influence throwing them into civil war."

"More successful, without the changes and advances he brought them?"

"Yes, Turlough, more successful, without a demented megalomaniac who ended up destroying Skaro himself."

"That was him? But I thought it was a Gallifreyan weapon that destroyed Skaro? Surely that was what drove them to such-"

"All right! You have Movellan allies. I'm happy for you." And the moment they decided the Rutan Host was a manageable enemy, they'd turn on the Trions like tigers. He'd have to find some way to show them.

The tension up, they arrived in silence. Turlough opened a door and ushered the Doctor inside. His quarters were small but comfortable, enough space for a few guests to fit without feeling like sardines. He sat the Doctor on his couch (which was also his bunk) and occupied himself making tea on the other side of the room. "So," he began casually, "how have you been? Near death at every turn as usual, or are you getting old and sensible? Oh, no, you asked me out adventuring didn't you."

"...I did."

"I'm not used to being invited. Usually I insinuate myself."

"You'll go blind."

Turlough choked a little on the cup of tea he was testing. "Interesting defense mechanism, Doctor."

"Sorry. Was it a bit much? I'm a bit Tourette's this time around."

"It's all delivery. The last time I saw you, you'd have flown a line like that well under the radar."

"Sorry."

A look of concern came over Turlough, and he sat next to his new old friend, summoning a table out of the floor and setting the pair of cups on it. "Are you all right, Doctor?"

"Yes... No. Not really."

"You don't want to talk about it, do you."

"What a shock that must be."

Turlough chuckled. "We were never great talkers, you and I."

"Don't... Don't be charming, Turlough."

He shut up and waited for the Doctor to make the next move, sipping his tea, his fingers betraying his nerves, stroking the cup, slipping in and out of the handle. Then he got bored waiting. "You did say you wanted to talk to me, you know."

"You lost your world because of me. Felt the touch of evil because of me. Why don't you hate me?"

Turlough scowled. "Don't be a teenager, Doctor. The universe isn't a pretty place. I'll hate you when you stop wishing it was."

"That's very lenient thinking. Did your brother die?"

Turlough put his tea down. "You're not very good at being cruel."

"You have no idea," the Doctor said, more to himself than anyone else.

The Trion sighed. "Malkon died a long time ago. It was nothing to do with you."

Now the Doctor really did look contrite. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Turlough shook his head, picked up his cup. "It's lost its sting. What is it they say about time healing all wounds?"

"They say it does."

"And what do you say?"

The Time Lord frowned, half-shrugged. "Time makes all things possible."

"You sound like the sad-eyed Doctor in the cheap frock coat."

"I sound like me," he said sharply.

"Sorry..."

The Doctor scowled as if in pain, tipping his head back, and sighed.

Turlough fidgeted with his cup, noticed himself doing it, put it back down. "I won't tease anymore. I promise."

"...The one in the frock coat. He fell in love with a girl too."

"'Too?' You?"

He looked at Turlough, cast his eyes down and nodded.

So he'd lost another one. No wonder he was acting so strangely. "Is she alive, or..?" Turlough asked, tactless but at least gently.

He shook his head very slightly. "Alive, in an inaccessible universe."

"Inaccessible? Really?"

"Until someone finds a way to rejuvenate catastrophically threadbare patches of spacetime, yes, very inaccessible."

"Time not enough to heal that wound then?"

"Not nearly."

"And there's no chance you could reach her anyway? You won't test fate just that little bit more?"

"I know I say it every time, but I'm really not going to risk destroying everything like that, not again - not in cold blood anyway."

Turlough smirked to himself. No, not in cold blood. "It must be hard for you - to own all the tools, and find you mustn't use them when it counts most."

"Just slightly."

"Nice that she's alive though," he said, aiming at jaunty.

"Mmm..."

"And what became of that Earth girl I rescued? Peri, was it?"

The Doctor stared into his tea.

Turlough decided not to press. "I don't suppose you've spoken to Tegan."

He put the cup down. "...No."

The Trion let his gaze dance over the other man, pinstripes and slender limbs, a youthful face full of distant, vicious regrets. He knew the Doctor could see him, could see his lashes flickering, even as he was being ignored. "I never expected to see you again," he confessed, his tone carefully measured.

The Doctor looked at him. They were close now, very close, and Turlough angled his face delicately up, masking the movement with a showy, skittering glance. Almost - almost...

Lured and caught, the Doctor leaned forward and tilted his head just enough, just far enough to brush his lips against Turlough's.

For a moment there was nothing. But Turlough's eyes had dropped shut, and the Doctor could sense the Trion's strong single pulse beating faster. The Doctor felt warmer, himself. Very warm. Downright passionate.

One of his arms snaked round Turlough's back and he leaned closer, kissing him earnestly, and hard. Turlough positively melted, responding in kind, a soft growl of a moan rolling in his throat.

They broke apart, a little breathless. "It's you," Turlough murmured, pressing his forehead to the Doctor's.

The Doctor pulled him closer and wrapped both arms around him. "It's me," the Time Lord agreed.

"Are you certain this is where you lost trace of the Host?"

The reply crackled over the audio link. "I am certain, Field Marshal."

Stieg raised his hands in annoyance. There was no further evidence to be found in an area like this, muddied with the energies of battle. And every mention of his meaningless rank was a prod at an unhealing wound.

"Shall I scan for Subcommander Gyre's signal, Field Marshal?"

"Vost! Let us dispense with formalities."

There was an obviously uncomfortable silence from the audio link. "You are my Field Marshal, sir..."

"Then I command you to address me simply as 'sir!'"

"Yes, sir..."

"And scan for Gyre's signal."

"Sir."

With a sigh, Stieg closed the link. Hordes of Rutans hunting them like rats; cloning centers in ruins, and now he'd lost both Gyre and the accelerator they'd come out here to collect in the first place. How had it come to this?

He barely felt like a Sontaran at all.

The Doctor looked on, combing his fingers through his fringe, a twinge of disappointment crossing his face as Turlough shrugged back into his uniform. He didn't like uniforms. Even snappy ones. And next to so much black the man's skin just looked ghostly.

"I always thought," the Trion was saying, fixing his seals, "if this was going to happen, it would've been with Sad-Eyes. Figured I'd missed my chance, when he went."

"Funny," the Doctor tried to rejoin, "So did I."

"You know, that other time... Just because I called you a garish mad bastard didn't mean we couldn't have tried."

He smirked. "Yes it did."

"Might've done anything to get you out of that coat you know..."

"Honestly if I had a penny for every time I've heard that."

"Some people must like loud and arrogant. It takes all kinds."

"It certainly does."

"And you are all kinds," he added, smirking.

"I suppose I am," he said, preening a little.

Turlough laughed. "By the way - don't fool yourself; your ego's no smaller than his."

"It's not my fault," the Doctor retorted, "just my life's been very epic lately."

"Lately."

"Well. Yes. Millions of Daleks instead of five. Millions of Cybermen instead of ten. It's like my budget's gone up."

"Not to mention the Time War."

"That was... That was Sad-Eyes actually."

"Him?" Turlough shook his head. "You have the worst timing. He was already a living ball of tragedy when I met him."

"He'd lost a lot."

There was a long, soft silence.

"I've lost my name, you know," the Doctor said quietly.

"Sorry? Your name?"

"Yeah, I know - s'funny isn't it? I spent so long trying to leave it behind. And now I just miss it. Like a few things I could mention," he sighed.

"You mean you can't remember it?"

The Doctor laughed. "I haven't even thought about it in yonks." He leaned close to Turlough and gave a manic smile. "I even froze it out of my mind at some point. How's that for dedication?"

"Worrying?" Turlough suggested.

He waved his hand. "But my name was safe enough with everyone who knew me from Gallifrey. And of course, in the Matrix. I could have gone and found it out any time I pleased. Any time at all." He looked out the simulated window at the simulated stars flashing by. "Any time at all."

"But Doctor? Why don't you just go back and ask your younger self your name?"

"Well. That would be bending the laws of time pretty severely for a silly little thing like a name. Besides. I'm not sure I'd tell myself."

Turlough rolled his eyes and tried to be patient. "And I don't suppose you might have anything at all with your name written on it?"

"Don't be silly, Turlough, how would I know it was mine?"

"You're being difficult. Why did you even bring it up?"

He shrugged wiry shoulders. "Don't know. Nervous?"

"Pity you never told it to me," the Trion observed.

A little crease of pain formed between the Doctor's eyebrows. "I just can't bear to break my own stupid little traditions."

"They're all you are, is that right?"

He shrugged, his eyes still on the floor. "Maybe once. I don't know. Maybe now more than ever."

"Vislor!" Markony's voice rang over the intercom.

Turlough cursed, keying off the mute. "Sir!"

"We've just had a message from the Imperion. Rendezvous will be in one hour."

"They've made good time," Turlough muttered, then, more loudly, "I'll be prepared. It, ah..." he glanced over at the Doctor, who immediately gave him a slightly suspicious scowl. "It might be a good idea to move the Doctor's craft out of the main gallery. It might be.. recognised."

"The hell do you mean by that, Vislor? Is this Doctor friend of yours so infamous?"

Turlough shrugged. "Yes."

"Well, we'll get it out of sight. But see your friend doesn't interfere with your negotiation, boy. It'd be a terrible thing to see you live up to all those crass rumors about the Elites. I'll expect you up here in thirty."

Turlough punched the mute back on. "Sir," he said, with dark annoyance. He turned around to find the Doctor practically in his face.

"So! Who might recognise me?" he asked casually, as if it wasn't a demand.

Turlough's eyes lit on half a dozen points in the room.

The Doctor sighed. "Turlough, really.."

"I'm opening talks to determine whether we should assist one of the races driven nearly to extinction in the Time War."

"Oh? Sounds commendable." The Doctor's voice was cold. "Which one?"

Turlough tried to think of ways to make it sound better, but they all rang hollow. He cursed to himself. "A Sontaran long distance scout came to the assistance of one of our-"

"Sontarans."

"He came to the assistance of one of our convoys and-"

"Sontarans! You're joking! You want to help the Sontarans?"

"He single-handedly chased off a Rutan strike fleet that was destroying a Trion colony convoy! All he wants to do is talk. I don't trust him either! But I have to give it a chance."

"Movellans, Sontarans.. I've found the odd Dalek survivor knocking about here and there. I should send them your way from now on then?"

Turlough scowled right back at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one who had been so crushed at the destruction of the Silurians. So he was the final word on a race's nobility, was he? "Sontarans aren't Daleks. They've never made an alliance before to betray it. There's simply no precedent. I have to at least hear them out."

"You're no Sontaran expert, Turlough. They've made and betrayed alliances in their bids for control over time. You may have a point about the Movellans. But Sontarans? They love war! In their own words, they're a warrior race. They live for nothing else."

"Well then help me," Turlough pleaded angrily. "You know them, Doctor. We're already negotiating from strength. With you on board, they would never be able to turn this situation to our disadvantage."

"You don't want to help the Sontarans, Turlough."

"They're desperate. Who knows what terms they might agree to? We must try."

"Honestly! You don't know what you're getting yourself into!"

Turlough gave him that sly, winning smile with the mean streak just beneath its surface. "Never stops you."

The audio link spat static and fuzz. Stieg blinked at it in rising irritation, licked his lips in a nervous effort to stay calm.

Finally, Vost spoke. "Field M.... Sir. The signal has improved. I now have a strong trace on Subcommander Gyre's ship. We will be locked on shortly."

"Excellent."

"The distortion pattern suggests it rests within another vessel."

"Ah. Not of the Host, I trust."

"I would have informed you immediately were that the case, Sir."

"I presumed no less."

"The distortion pattern is typical of the ion drives in common use among the lesser humanoid races."

"Humans!" Stieg smiled, feeling immediately better. Humans he could deal with. They were like pathetic little sisters to the Sontaran race: warlike and violent, but always whining about treaties and ceasefires and conventions of war. Being around humans made Stieg feel proud to be Sontaran. It was just what he needed.

Against his better judgment, Turlough allowed the Doctor to stay for the meeting. The Time Lord had promised to stand at the back and not make a fuss. Turlough didn't believe that for a moment, and neither did Markony.

But at least he'd promised.

Gyre was under the escort of the Corsair's other two Movellans, Kesmet and Jarast. He'd arrived with his helmet on, apparently just for the hell of getting to take it off in front of them.

The Doctor frowned contemplatively at the Sontaran. It had been a while since he'd seen one of the soldier class, short and thick, to match his face. His bluster was arrogant as theirs always was, but he was pale with nerves. The Time Lords really had done quite a number on the Sontarans. The Doctor smirked. Maybe he'd be able to keep his promise after all.

"I will not prevaricate," Gyre was half-hissing. "The Sontaran position is poor. Our cloning centers have been destroyed; our forces all but wiped out. We cannot afford to sustain any conflicts outside our war with the Rutan Host."

"You are proposing a ceasefire, then?" Turlough prompted.

Gyre nodded, a half-bow. "We must avoid all aggression which fails to lead to the destruction of the Host!"

"And the other Sontarans, behind you all the way are they?" the Doctor piped up.

Turlough shot him a filthy look, and almost missed Gyre's poker face slipping.

"My Sontaran brothers would not court peace so openly. But they see the truth."

"What is our advantage?" Turlough asked. "What do you have to offer, in exchange for such immunity?"

Gyre dropped a sheaf of plastic prints on the conference table. "We have ships and weaponry by the planetful, and no troops to use them. Sontaran craft, however, require pilots capable of great endurance..." He looked at the Movellans standing on either side of him. "It occurs to me that members of this noble android race might make ideal pilots."

The Doctor uncrossed his arms, but Turlough and Markony gave him such dark stares that he crossed them again without speaking. The two Movellans shared a look.

Gyre was looking right at the Doctor, in clear suspicion. "I propose one of your androids evaluate my craft-"

Jarast spoke with a tone of sharp, quiet rebuke in her voice. "We are not their androids. Truly, you should have come directly to us with your proposition."

"I intended no insult."

Jarast nodded. "I would be pleased, then, to test your craft for suitability. I understand Sontaran craft are already designed to supply the pilot with energy directly... It is quite possible they would, as you say, be ideal for our use."

Turlough realised with a sinking feeling that the whole thing had just got out from under him.

Captain Markony was pacing in front of his post again, running scenarios through his head. He thought about the Sontaran scout ship, parked incongruously next to his dark, angular shuttle in the Corsair's docking bay, and the Movellan that was ostensibly one of his crew, busy inspecting the damned thing. Turlough and his idiot friend were down there too, hopefully finding something to salvage from the situation that might actually be helpful to Trion.

He tried not to show how disgusted he was at the way they had been squeezed out. The entire diplomatic mission, it now seemed, was just going to be a shopping trip for the Movellans.

"Sir, we're getting a transmission on medium range-"

"Sir! Two small craft are approaching at high speed!"

But it was true that things could always get more interesting.

"Sir, it's a Sontaran officer, he's demanding to speak to you immediately!"

"Hell on wheels," Markony grumbled. "I always knew politics would be the death of me... Put him on!"

A very pleased-looking Sontaran appeared on the side screen. "Humans! This is Field Marshal Stieg of the Sontaran Empire! We know you have one of our vessels on board your ship. We demand its return at once!"

Markony had never minded standing up to Sontarans. He put on his best 'righteously offended' face. "We are not humans! And Subcommander Gyre is here of his own free will," he shot back. "If you want him, you can come and get him. Our docking bay is always open." He motioned for the link to be cut, and Stieg's incensed face was replaced by another view of the starfield.

"Sir?" the comms officer said, looking at the captain in shock.

"Seston. The only thing a Sontaran likes more than a fight, is a good opponent. If you don't have them outgunned, it's vital to keep them interested."

"Sir.. he's contacted us again. He says- Sir, he's saying Subcommander Gyre was killed by Rutans, weeks ago!"

"What?! Hell. Sess, get me the docking bay!"

Seston snapped to it. "Sir!"

"Vislor! You horrible little rodent, are you down there?"

"What?" Turlough's voice came through, plainly offended.

"Get your arse up here right now, Vislor! And I want that bay cleared out, you hear me? I don't want any mishaps with that test launch."

"But I-"

"Now, Vislor!"

"Sir!"

"Seston! Give me back the Sontaran."

The ugly face reappeared on the monitor. "We demand-"

"Field Marshal! We are throwing the impostor out with your ship this very moment! Have them and welcome!"

In the docking bay, the Sontaran was at the door of his spherical ship, halfway inside it, adjusting banks of controls, while a handful of technicians prepared to supervise its launch and test flight.

Jarast had just left Gyre's side and approached the Doctor and Turlough to discuss their intended flight plan when Markony's message came though. Turlough stood in mild bewilderment, the Doctor by his side wearing a look of confused offense. Even Jarast looked a little surprised.

"That was a bit brusque," the Doctor observed.

"Something is wrong," Jarast said, very quietly. "We should clear the bay as he says."

"You heard the captain," Turlough called, turning to the room in general. "Clear out, everyone."

With sidelong glances at one another, the various technical personnel and the meaty security guard left their posts and filed out. This, at last, got Gyre's attention, and he gave up his flight check to approach the three of them. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

Turlough shrugged. "Safety precaution. Captain's orders."

"The launch is not delayed?"

"No. You already have the green light. You can launch at your pleasure. I'll be on the command deck," he answered, and turned to leave, tugging the Doctor with him by the arm.

"Wait a minute," the Doctor protested, looking back over his shoulder at the Sontaran, who was now completely focused on the Movellan.

Over her internal radio, Jarast had just received Captain Markony's intel.

She drew her weapon and fired on Gyre. Gyre grimaced and dropped, but instead of falling to his knees, he began changing shape. And turning very green.

"He's a Rutan!" The Doctor shouted, just as Turlough dragged him through the door and sealed it.

Jarast's weapon was not ideal for this. She dashed to a maintenance bay and chose a very big bolt thrower, lifting it straight off its track and levelling it at the shiny green blob. The first bolt punctured the Rutan straight through, and it yelled in mortal fury. Before she could fire again, it had whipped two of its deceptively long tentacles out at her, catching her around the waist.

It poured electricity through her with anger and rage. It only barely restrained itself from damaging her to the point of uselessness, but it hadn't come this far to fail now. Painfully, it dragged the rigid and sizzling Jarast along with itself into the Sontaran sphere, and began the launch sequence.

Moments later, the sphere lifted from its pad and shot out of the Corsair's docking bay.

The Rutan laid in its course and bled happily all over the place, attaching itself to the ship's power outlets, feeling the pain subside. It basked in its glory. It had captured a Movellan intact.

That was when the proximity alarms went off, and it realised it was already being chased by two Sontarans. Flailing a little, it felt around the tiny interior space. These ships were usually identical, but when they had captured Gyre, he had been carrying a very unusual drive component. They had done their best to install it in the small craft. That was its only chance now.

It activated the accelerator.

"Such impertinence!" Vost was nearly frothing. "Shall I destroy them, Field Marshal?"

"First, our mission. There will be time enough later, for punishing those who show disrespect." Stieg began to laugh. "Time enough..."

"Gyre's ship has exited the vessel," Vost announced, feeding the information to Stieg's navcom.

"I see it!" Stieg agreed.

"It has seen us, sir. It is attempting to flee."

"I can see that, Vost! Come in from the oblique... I will approach directly. We will disable the drive and capture the Rutan alive."

But just as they came into position to fire on the small sphere, it stretched straight out from itself, a strange line with no other end in sight.

The Rutan shivered with delight. Success! Success again! With bluntly impossible speed, it had left the Sontarans behind.

Except that they were still on its proximity screen.

And then all hell broke loose.

From the command deck, Markony, Turlough and the Doctor watched events unfold. The Doctor forgot about his outrage at being dragged bodily up here by the security officer instead of going back in to help Jarast (even if she was a Movellan).

Gyre's ship warped away and stayed put, simultaneously. The Doctor knew space was bending painfully around the phenomenon. "Get us away, Markony," he said with confident urgency.

"Andor, I think I agree," Markony nodded. "With all speed? Sess, tell the Imperion and her escort to move away as well."

"Yes sir. And the bay is reporting, sir: Jarast is missing."

"We'll deal with that in a moment, Seston."

As the larger ships ponderously changed course, space finally let go. Gyre's ship began to follow its own line; the two Sontaran ships in its wake were pulled into long trails. The three lines waved a little and disappeared after themselves.

Then nothing.

The Doctor dashed for the door.

"What the hell just happened?" Markony demanded.

"Time travel. The very crudest kind. I absolutely have to go. Goodbye."

"Vislor," the captain prompted as the Doctor pelted away.

"Sir," he nodded and followed the Time Lord.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor asked as Turlough caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

"Well, for a start, the TARDIS is through here now," the Trion informed him, opening and ducking through a door into the auxiliary gallery. "Why, what are you doing?"

"Those ships have just broken through into the vortex, the hard way," he explained, unlocking the TARDIS door. "Anything biological will have been turned to soup. But the ships themselves will be awful hazards, shooting straight back through time until they hit the far wall. Are you coming?" he asked, paused halfway through the door, which Turlough's foot was in.

"I have to try to rescue Jarast, Doctor," he said, and managed to match his gaze, level and steady.

The Doctor looked away. "Come on then."

His heart hammering, Turlough stepped back on board the TARDIS.

In the throes of some epic disturbance, the ship shook about as hard as Turlough remembered. He watched the Doctor run around the odd round console, hauling on levers and slapping buttons, until finally the TARDIS settled down.

The Doctor scowled hard at a flat panel display. "Oh. Hm."

"What do you mean by that, Doctor?" Turlough said dutifully, leaning back against the padded guard rail he'd been clutching. He looked up and was honestly a little disoriented by the infinite-perspective projection ceiling.

He wasn't sure what to make of the redecoration. The blue light did nothing for his complexion, and the grated floor around the console would be just terrible for sex. But at least the Doctor had added a few things to hang on to. He watched the new time rotor moving, missing the old one.

Its lights had been pink.

"Well, they're not a navigational hazard anymore. They've crashed."

The time rotor stopped as they materialised. Turlough walked around the console to stand close beside the Doctor. The controls were completely different, though, and he wasn't sure what he was looking at. "Where?"

The Doctor looked up with that strange guilty expression again.

Turlough cocked an eyebrow. "Trion."

"How did you-"

"Lucky guess. How hard could it be to hit in this part of the vortex? It must be the largest disturbance in this area, anyway."

The Time Lord frowned thoughtfully, scanning for and locking down the exact location of the Sontaran wrecks. "Yes, but they did miss the War. We're in the past. Your past, at least."

"Mmm. I'm... not sure I should go with you, Doctor. I've only just got used to it being gone."

The Doctor gazed into the time rotor with an introspective sigh, and nodded. "I understand. You can stay here, Turlough. I'll do my best for Jarast."

"Thank you, Doctor. I know you will."

He stopped at the door and turned back, looking as though he were trying to find the words to say something.

"Go on," Turlough prompted, "she may have actually survived, you know!"

With another nod and a slightly awkward wave, the Time Lord left the Trion alone in his ship.

Turlough stared after him for a long moment, listening to the quietly idling console. With a lopsided smile, he dug in his pocket and pulled out the slim steel case he always carried with him. He flipped it open and turned it over.

His old TARDIS key fell into his palm.