Disclaimer: Dr. Who is property of BBC, as are the characters of the Ranee, Ace, and the Doctor. Also the Lakertians and the Tetraps are property of BBC. My characters Callom MacLaren and Trynia Merin, Fiona Vitreum, the Mantisans, the Androni and the Cybernami are my own creations. They are unique and written out of enjoyment for a good show.

If you wish to use them, contact me first and ask for my permission.

PART 1: Rescue

by Trynia Merin aka Theresa Meyers

Callom remembered waking up for the first time. Blinking open his eyes, he peered at a black haired man sitting beside the bed. Calmly the man sat there with crossed legs, leaning his elbow on his knee. His wise old turtle face scrunched into a pondering look, and wispy black hair suggested late middle age. Yet there was a childlike curiosity mixed into his features.

What seemed the strangest to Callom was the brightness of the man's eyes. Such an intensity he'd seen before in her eyes. No mental traces penetrated a formidable wall around this stranger's mind. Clearly he wasn't human.

Fear overtook Callom. Cold sweat plastered his blond hair against his smooth forehead. She possessed no thoughts he could discern. The unearthly intensity of the room's lights coupled with an eerie pulsing in the very fabric of the room, flooding his perception. Immediately he struggled to escape. Another collector had captured him.

"Steady on, lad," urged the man.

"You'll niver put me in yuir zoo!" shouted Callom wildly.

"You're amongst friends here . . . "

A pair of hands gripped Callom's shoulders. Pinned him to the bed with surprising strength. "N-no! Must get away . . . " stammered Callom. "I'll Na' be butchered by the likes of ye . . . "

"Professor, what's going on?" asked a soprano voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Callom noticed a teenaged girl also present in the room. "E's coming out of it."

"Sh. It's all right lad. No one can hurt you here . . . " soothed the strange man, gently grasping the sides of Callom's young face. Firmly he turned Callom's head and fixed his eyes into the young Scot's hazel ones.

"Don hypnotize me . . . I'll na' be controlled again . . . "

"Easy . . . trust me. You're too sick and delirious to go anywhere."

As Callom looked into the man's dark eyes, he sensed calm and concern. Something, the look in the girl's eyes, reassured him that he was truly safe. Her long brown hair flipped over her shoulder in a long ponytail.

"Where am I nau?"

"Safe," repeated the black haired man. Those creases in his forehead looked comical and sad simultaneously.

"Looks like a ship or some kind of craft . . . " muttered Callom, glancing around quickly. "Can't be on a planet cause I feel that same strange vibration . . . like before?"

"Where do you last recall being . . . where you last felt that vibration?" asked the man, pulling his question marked sweater down around his hips.

"It was a space ship . . . inside a small cabinet. There were so many rooms inside it. And there was a humming . . . like the drones on a piper's bag."

"And do you remember who was on board this ship?"

"Animals. And aliens n the like," recounted Callom. His head ached from the effort of remembering. "N' there was . . . a woman wearing red. Had long hair and bright eyes. Kept taking blood outta everyone, and poked needles with syringes full some drug int me. And she kept cutting mah hair."

"Woman in red?" he asked. Elbow resting on his crossed knees, he propped his chin intently on his left hand.

"Aye. Wore a red wraparound smock like Doctor Frankenstein in th' movies. She . . . she put drugs in Vitreum . . . and Vitreum screamed!"

"Who's Vitreum?" asked Ace, sitting on the end of Callom's bed. Immediately the man shushed her with a shake of his head.

"Vitreum's ma friend. She couldnae get away. Told me-- to save mahsel'-- couldnae help her,"

Callom choked as a tight band seemed to constrict his chest. Hot tears burned his cheeks. All he could do was sob when he remembered her laying on that slab of counter, helpless. Screaming to him to save himself.

An infinite sadness flashed across the man's lined face. He exchanged glances with the girl. Stern anger hardened her young cheeks as she frowned. "Bleeding' wench," she gritted.

Once again the man turned to Callom, pressing a paisley cloth into the lad's hand. "So do you remember anything else . . . anything at all that you might think it important to tell me?"

Dabbing his eyes, Callom struggled with a word. "There was this name. The woman called hersel'. A French or Indian word that mean queen. Ranee--or Randy--"

"Ranee?"

"Aye, that's it, lassie! Ranee!" cried Callom.

"The Ranee," repeated the man bitterly. Lowering his dark eyebrows, he rose from his stool. This time Callom felt pure anger radiating from him. Interestingly this was the first time he sensed anything at all from this stranger. He'd been able to discern some of the girl's thoughts. She seemed human anyway.

"Again she vivisects innocent sentient beings to further her research . . . not concerned with the consequences of her acts," he grumbled with disgust, with his back turned to them.

"Did ah say something wrong, mister?" wondered Callom, scratching his head.

"Who the heck's the Ranee, Professor?"

"Only one of the most brilliant minds traveling the Cosmos," snorted the man, whirling about. "Second only to my own intellect, Ace."

Callom realized he was addressing the girl as "Ace." "Is this Ranee person a Time Lord, Professor?"

"Does an Ice Warrior come from Mars?" snorted the man. "Does a Dalek ask you politely if he can exterminate you?"

"Ah take it ye ken her, sir," said Callom cautiously. For the first time he felt hope. "Then can ye help me save Vitreum?"

"We can hope," sighed the Professor, or at least that's what Ace called him. He returned to his stool.

"Then hurry . . . we can still catch them . . . "

"You're in no condition to go anywhere now," snapped the Professor. "You need rest, fluids, and nourishment."

"But we may have nae more time . . . " protested Callom. Ace shook her head, intimating the young Scot to silence. She grinned.

"My dear lad, we have plenty of time. In fact we have all the time in the Universe."

"There he goes again," moaned Ace.

"Wait a moment. Maybe we don't have all that much time, on the other hand."

"What are you babbling about, Professor?"

"Since the Ranee has them on board her ship, we might have a problem, Ace. But mayhaps I can buy us some more time."

"Dinna tell me you two can travel through Time as well," exclaimed Callom. "Tha's incredible."

"First thing, young man, it's Doctor, not Professor. Despite what Ace addresses me as. And second, you need to rest. So relax and leave the worry to me."

"Yeah, leave the time to the Time Lord," muttered Ace.

"Doctor, eh?"

"Just Doctor."

As if forgetting something, the Doctor snapped his fingers. "How silly of me. What is your name, young man?"

Straightening up, he said, "Callom Andrew MacLaren. From 1979 somewhere near... Edinbourough in Scotland. If you ken Earth time. I hope."

"Does he know earth time," laughed Ace. "A good job, squirt. He's always landing there every other time."

"Thank you, miss I'm from Perivale," sighed the Doctor, hands on his hips.

Turning over, he looked at the circles on the white walls. With effort he pushed himself to sit up, and swung his bare feet around to dangle just above the floor. Its flat smooth surface chilled his shaking feet as he stumbled across to the cabinet. One step, then another he took with growing strength.

To his surprise he spotted his clothing hanging in the wardrobe. The stains of blood and grime were absent from the freshly laundered kilt and shirt. Callom ran his fingers over the soft MacLaren tartan, and prayed he'd find Vitreum. All the rips were neatly sewn together in the soft wool.

There was a trick to putting on a kilt. Callom wrapped the tartan around his waist, holding it in place with one hand as he slipped the leather strap on the right hip through the hole in the waistband. He fumbled with the leather straps and buckles with shaking fingers. Apparently his strength had not yet returned. He slipped off the oversized night shirt and put on his own white button up, newly stiff with starch. Where did the Time Travelers do their laundry?

Bending over, he fastened the ornamental pins at the bottom corner of the kilt's opening. A ceremonial clansmen pin instead of the traditional oversize safety pin was fastened against red and forest green squares. Callom wore the pins for confidence. Something to remind him of his clan heritage. But not too fancy beyond the kilt.

Just who were these time travelers anyway? Callom wondered this while he pulled on his green pullover sweater. It matched the green in his plaid. They claimed to be time travelers, like the Ranee was. And the man didn't have a name, just a title.

At the bottom of the wardrobe sat his knapsack. He sorted through his belongings: two books, tissues, chewing gum, several socks and a turtleneck shirt. Then he carefully pulled out a leather sheathed knife. Slowly he turned it over in his hands, examining the blade. He could glimpse his sparsely freckled face briefly in its surface. The highland dirk belonged to his grandfather when he was Callom's age. Once more he slid it into its sheath.

Automatically Callom strapped the sheath around his right ankle. It had chafed him at first to wear it there. He complained it rubbed against his calf. Now if he didn't feel the dirk there, he was uncomfortable. The skeindu was a piece of family history to carry through his strange adventures.

Cautious, Callom exited the room. Those same indented circles lined the hallway. All over the walls they sat in a honeycomb pattern. As he walked, he felt his kilt swirling around his knees with each step. Step after step carried him down the humming corridors that seemed endless.

Ace had told him how to get to the Control Room. How large was this ship? It had a peculiar name, TARDIS. That's what the Doctor called it. Callom knew some science even though he was only eleven or twelve year's old. He had Vitreum to thank for that.

Slowly Callom opened the door. That humming was strongest from behind it. In a moment he found out why. Right in the center of a large high vaulted chamber sat a control table. Its slanted surface flickered with multiple lights and buzzed with digital readouts and small CRT screens. Right in sync with the humming flashed a glass cylinder that rose and fell every few seconds. The Ranee's ship had a similar console with a metal sculpture that spun instead of a column.

Sterile air filled his young lungs. The Doctor must have heard him approach, for Callom heard him say, "Hello," without even looking up.

"I'm feeling much better, sir," Callom reported.

Looking up from one of the six panels, the Doctor smiled. "Amazing what creature comforts can do, m'lad?"

"Must be, cause I feel less like a creature, n more like a lad again."

Was that a Scots burr Callom heard in the Doctor's accent? He found himself slipping into a heavy Highland accent, as he tended to do when he was nervous or upset or excited. "Yes, thank ye sir, but do y' ken where Vitreum is nau?"

"Let's jest say I'm working on it."

"Oh great, there 'e goes again," interrupted an English accented voice. Wearing a skirt shorter than Callom's kilt, Ace entered. Black spandex leggings rippled gracefully.

"Professor, when are you gonna give 'im the truth?"

"Whadda y mean, lass?" asked Callom.

"That phrase, 'I'm working on it,' means he's not discovered anything yet," explained Ace. "You'll learn that when you travel all around the 12 galaxies with him."

"Other than translating my every phrase, Ace, don't you have something more useful to do?" murmured the Doctor. "Like cooking up some Nitroglycerin or TNT?"

"That's Nitro 9, Professor," Ace corrected. "For your info, it takes a couple hours to cook."

"Why you bother blowing things up instead of trying to understand them is beyond me," muttered the Doctor, rounding the panel to another control.

Ace stuck out her tongue at him, and stood next to Callom. "I see you found the clothing store," she said. "Way cool kilt. Great colors. What plaid is it?"

"It's the MacLaren tartan."

"Can you wear other colors or just those?"

"Sometimes I wear the Black Watch..."

"That's the one with the black and the green right?"

"Aye. Ye know lots about it Ah see."

"I'm not up on the rules for plaids."

"I'm entitled to wear ma mother's clan, and ma own. And the Black watch. But that's it."

"What's that brill pin say?"

"It's the clan saying... a kind of motto. It's in Gaelic. I kin translate it if ye like..."

"Callom, can you come over here a minute?" interrupted the Doctor. "I need your help."

Pulling down his sweater, Callom went over to the control console. "What's up? Any trace of Vitreum?"

"I understand you're telepathic?"

"Aye. Vitreum was teaching me t use mah powers better when we left Earth. I dinna ken how strong I am, but she says I'm getting better wi' practice."

Ace winced. Callom sensed she couldn't understand his thick accent very well. Although she was trying hard. For a moment he sensed her thoughts. Confusion, and wariness. Thoughts of a small town in the middle of England. Nothing ever happened. People there spoke with thick Midlands drawl.

"I'd like you to picture the last image in your mind."

"What good's that gonna do, Professor? It's not like he can give you coordinates or anything. He says he doesn't know where the 'eck the ship was..."

"Callom, stand over by that one panel. No, not that one. See the one with the two hand-sized panels? Good. Stand there. It won't bite you."

"Now put your hands on those panels. Gently. Close your eyes."

"Wha is this Doctor?" asked Callom, extending his hands cautiously.

"The TARDIS has a telepathic relay system. If you concentrate, the TARDIS should boost your thought discerning powers enough to sense Vitreum's thoughts."

"But mah powers to scry are nae strong enau," protested Callom. "It'd be like tryin to find a needle in a haystack."

"A shark can smell blood miles away in the sea," said the Doctor. "And you claim to have a mental bond with Vitreum. The TARDIS will expand your perception over Space and Time. In fact the Ranees telepathic circuits will work against her this time."

"But you said the TARDIS's have a force field shielding them," protested Ace. "I don't think she'd let anybody just listen in."

"We have to try. Now, put your hands lightly on those panels in front of you. Gently. Breathe in and out. Slowly. Feel your mind unfolding, like a parachute. Around you is a vast void. Full of many sounds. A cosmic fugue. You know what piece to play. Call out to it..."

*Vitreum... please hear me.

Again he called. Nothing.

*Vitreum... can ye hear me nau?

He opened his eyes. "Och, I hear nothing! Not a single thought!"

"Perhaps you need to concentrate better. I want you to form a picture in your mind. Of Vitreum. Not just a physical appearance. Think of her mind. How it touches yours when you are near. Attune your mind to her pattern of thinking. Concentrate."

Ace jumped. Right in the room she saw a spectral image forming. By the console stood the young Scot, eyes squeezed shut as he thought hard. "Hey, Professor, what's happening?"

"Shush Ace. I do believe he's able to influence our visual cortexes... that's an image of Vitreum..."

The spectral image grew stronger. It shaped its angles and lights into that of a humanoid, hovering in an indeterminate place. An image of a woman wearing glasses with white streaked hair and a weary face. She lay stretched out on a slab, struggling against her bonds.

*Vitreum, It's me, Callom!

Weakly she came through... *Callom! You're alive!

*Aye! That I am! I'm safe and well. I'm trying to find ye.

*No... she'll hear you...

*I won't leave ye nau... Where are you going?

*She said something about a planet... Tetrad... Tetrabyria...

The Doctor watched the spectral images with growing interest. He saw a clear image of hundreds of glass cages of varying size containing a multitude of creatures. On one wall were scribbled strange figures. Strange bat-like creatures hung from the ceiling of a room...

A TARDIS control room. Bending over it was an image of a woman, haughtily pressing controls. She laughed scornfully at the figure on the slab writhing in agony...

Suddenly the images stopped. Callom cried out, and writhed in agony. "Professor, what's happening to the kid?"

"Some sort of mind lock... Callom! Break free, lad! Snap out of it..."

Ace moved toward him. "Stay away from him, Ace! His thoughts may stun your mind."

"You'll never take me... you unethical excuse for a scientist," gritted Callom, with a British accent. Clearly the pattern of speech was not his own. "Never... you're mad..."

The Doctor slid round the console toward Callom. Gripped the boy's shoulders. "Listen to me, boy! You are Callom MacLaren! You're safe..."

Ace watched helplessly as the Doctor writhed, struggling to pull the young Scot away from the control panel. "Professor! Snap out of it!"

Callom screamed in his treble voice. Then fell backwards as the Doctor wrenched him from the TARDIS console. Gently the Doctor caught the boy in his arms. "Easy lad, I have you," he soothed, wiping his brow with a paisley handkerchief.

"Is he..." asked Ace, crouching next to the Doctor. He clutched Callom's limp body against his chest, and balanced the boy's head and shoulders on his bent knee. Covered with sweat, Callom's skin was pale and clammy to the touch.

"Get me some water, please Ace. The boy's under tremendous strain..."

"Why'd you let him do that?" demanded Ace angrily. "You might have killed him!"

"If we have any chance of stopping the Ranee, we must take it."

"Even if it means sacrificing a kid to get it?"

"Ace, just do as I say, that's a good girl..."

Snorting, she scrambled to her feet. Muttered to herself angrily as she exited. A few seconds later she returned, carrying a plastic cup. "Here's your water, Professor," she reported sullenly.

"Callom," he whispered. "Wake up..."

Callom's blond lashed eyelids flickered, and hazel eyes glanced up at the Doctor. "I saw her... I saw her..." he murmured.

"Easy... take a sip of this... all down... easy..." Gently, the Doctor touched the rim of the cup to the boy's lips. With the slightest drop passing into his mouth, Callom was able to take the cup from him.

Ace hovered nearby. Callom sensed apprehension from her, as if the Doctor had just done something he shouldn't have. Exactly what it was he couldn't discern. Cool water slid down his parched throat, banishing the dryness.

Whoever had pinned her to this specimen table didn't want her to die. She was being kept alive, a dozen tubes sticking into her. So slowly the liquids drained in and out. She didn't eat solid food for the last few hours. Just some nutrient broth percolated into her body. All around her were other cages occupied by other life forms. They too had tubes running into them at various points on their bodies.

"How do I get into these messes?" she griped. "All I want is a quiet place to postulate and study!"

"Look at it this way," said a smooth voice. "You will be participating in a great experiment. I thought you always wanted to contribute to the cause of Science."

"Not as the subject of the experiment!" she argued. "I wanted to be the researcher."

"You had certain reservations about my techniques. Therefore I thought it was fitting that you cooperate in a less, as they say, compromising capacity. All creatures are of use. It is a waste to destroy such an excellent specimen as you."

"Like you tried to destroy Callom."

"Humans are excellent test material. Pity about the human spawn. He has such telepathic potential, but the human genes are inhibiting it. I merely borrowed from your inheritance to enhance his abilities. Improve on the course of evolution. Hasn't your species done that for generations?"

"Yes, but if a culture did not wish to undergo the changes, they could choose not to. Evolution was a matter of choice."

"Ah, but some species do not know when they are well off. Your species has quite a good idea. But they, like many are too squeamish."

"You are just as bad as the Andron," sighed Vitreum. "To leave all this behind me, I said. No chance."

"Why stop the inevitable, Vitreum? You have the capacity for great power. Power beyond mere telepathy. Why, if the Time Lords knew what you were capable of, they would not hesitate to wipe you off the map of the Universe."

"I don't understand."

"You soon will. All too soon."

Through the lab came the wheezing groan of Dematerialization. "Accept your situation, Mantissan. I am doing you a favor. Your species is just years from becoming one of the most spectacular in the Universe."

"Under your control?"

"Pah, what limits you have to your views? Do you think I want mere power? I seek the glory of discovery, as you do. If you would share my vision . . . it is still not too late to join me. Few are privileged to work at my side."

"Like the Tetraps? Look what the poor Lakertians endured?"

"They were fools. Decadent weak creatures. Not worthy to serve me. They should have died out eons ago."

"All for your stupid Loyhargil!"

A sickening slap crossed Vitreum's face. "That is not to be referred to. If you value your consciousness. Privileges must be earned. Do you wish to be sedated?"

"No. I . . . was merely pointing out a possible problem."

"Experiments do tend to loose my interest. I seek something else. My time manipulator can still be constructed. By organic means."

Gesturing to one of the bat creatures, she uttered a command. A hissing slithering Tetrap fastened manacles around Vitreum's wrist. Its forked tongue waved provocatively.

"Now will you come, or does my assistant have to convince you?"

"No. There is no need for venom."

Both Ranee and captive trudged into yet another lab. The chill in the air did not bother the Time Lady. She rivaled in the sterile coldness of perfect atmosphere.

"Mistress, it is good to see you return..."

"Stop your driveling. Is the operating theater ready?"

"All is in readiness, for your great return."

"Good. Take the subject then. Be warned. She is not as frail as she seems."

"What is this magnificent creature?"

"It is not to be eaten, Yettab. That is an order."

Disappointment flashed around his four eyes. Vitreum narrowed her own two, and gritted, "If this were but ten thousand years earlier, you would be the eaten!"

In her room, Ace was packing away her chemistry set. Test tubes and racks disappeared into a wooden cabinet. She was stacking several deodorant cans into a shoulder bag when there was a knock at her door.

"C'mon in. It's open."

Slowly the door swung to. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No. Come in or go away, squirt."

The timid Scot tiptoed into her mess. Shirts and skirts were piled everywhere. Rock posters covered the walls. Here and there were stacked Ace's comprehensive collection of CD's. Silver and red disks weren't even in their covers.

"Doctor says we've landed. Wants to know if yuir comin or not."

"Of course I am. Come on in. Sit anywhere."

Callom plopped down on a chair. Sat right on top of the T-shirts, folding his kilt underneath himself. He completely ignored her messy room.

She turned to see uncertainty in his hazel eyes. That young thin face, slightly freckled was still wary of anything.

"Chill, kid. You look like I'm gonna bite you on the neck."

"I'm jest worried. What if we canna find her? How does yon Doctor even ken if this is the right planet?"

"We'll just move onto the next one. Till we find your friend."

"How can ye be so certain? I mean. This is a big universe n' all."

Ace sat down on the end of her unmade bed. "Listen to me, squirt. We are going to find her. Don't you worry. Okay?"

For the first time in hours, the scot actually managed to smile. "Wi' yuir confidence, we'd better not fail. Or else we'd be in real trebble."

"Got that right."

"Love the room. Makes me think of ma ain home."

"Best not to think about that too much."

"No, I guess not," he sighed. "Tha's the past. I'm a Time Traveler nau."

He sensed a resonance. Despite his efforts not to pry telepathically, he saw vague glimpses of the same confusion. Ace rarely thought of her parents, in the same way he rarely thought of his da, back in Scotland. She remembered the town she grew up in, but certain things were carefully filed into locked drawers. For example, Callom remembered the mountains and moors, but not the basement. Or Miss Fergussen's cooked meals, and not the nights he went hungry. Without food.

Or the sting of a leather belt. When someone was angry. The resonance was so painful it hurt. Was Ace more like him than he thought?

Life made you hard, or life made you scared. Ace was hard; Callom was scared. Afraid to leave the familiar. But dying for adventure beyond. That's why he'd started traveling with Vitreum.

"I'd better go get ma ain stuff together," he said hastily, rising from the chair.

"See you in a few, kid."

He realized someone was looking over his shoulder, from a distance. "Hullo, Callom. All ready to go?"

"Aye. But I'm still worried. What if this is the wrong planet."

"Don't worry," said the Doctor, still intent over one keyboard. "It isn't."

"But ma powers aren't tha predictable."

"Ace claims the TARDIS isn't either. But the old girl has a good instinct. Uncannily she can materialize in the right place at the right time. It's very frustrating."

"Like ye?" giggled Callom.

Hearing the scot laugh, he spun round. "I resemble that remark. Do me a favor. Go check the gravity readings across there."

Not touching the console, Callom circled to the panel across from the Doctor. His features were blurred staring through the Time Rotor in its center. "This one?"

"What's the output say?"

"Atmosphere about 18 percent oxygen, 60 percent argon. And some nitrogen thrown in fer guid measure. Doesna sound that safe, wi all that argon though."

"No problem."

"Wind velocity's about 150 kph. Pretty stiff. I dinna want to get caught in that."

"Gravity?"

"Bout 1 G. Same as Earth's I'd take it."

"Right. Good chance of keeping our feet well on the ground, lad. As long as none of us has fasted, that is."

Callom shook his head. Walked over to an old-fashioned coat rack near the double doors. Reached for a long herringbone jacket and scarf. Slipped it on, and wound the scarf several times around his neck.

"Wait up, you two," called Ace, walking into the room. She wore her usual jacket covered in pins and patches like a well-traveled steamer trunk.

Over his question mark pullover sweater, the Doctor put on a long brown coat. In the back it had a sort of belt, and handkerchiefs dangled out of the hip pockets. "Better put on something warm. It is a bit windy out there," he advised.

"Just as long as I don't pass out breathing the air, I'm fine," commented Ace, zipping up her jacket. She put on a striped stocking cap over her dark hair, and a pair of red woolen mittens.

Callom popped his highland bonnet on his head, making sure the ribbons hung down the back of his neck. Slipped on gloves tucked into his jacket sleeves.

"Won't you be cold without anything on your knees?" Ace asked him, before the Doctor opened the door. All Callom did was give her a withering look, and shake his head.

"I'm wearing mah wool socks. Wha else shuild I put on?"

Out into the climate of another world they trudged. Bitter winds whipped past their cheeks. A few bright stars twinkled overhead in a purple sky. On the horizon stretched a band of sherbet green. Slowly a green sun was rising. Already a large red disc loomed on the horizon.

"That's the planet Tetrabyria," said the Doctor, raising his voice over the howling wind. Crags and spires pointed toward a huge dome of night.

"Och, ye mean we're on a moon? And Tetrabyria is a gas giant... like Jupiter?"

"Yes, lad, that's right. You've learned your astronomy well."

"Thanks to Vitreum," said the young Scot sadly.

"Let's get a move on," shouted Ace, moving ahead. She pulled out her baseball bat. "I'll take the point."

The ends of Callom's ribbons swirled past his neck. He had to hold his bonnet on his head with one hand, and clutch his jacket collar shut with the other. "Wha a crazy place!" he called. "Who'd want to live here?"

"The inhabitants are under the surface, Callom," explained the Doctor. They walked together after Ace. Fumbling in his breast pocket, the Time Lord pulled out a pocket watch. Lifted the silver lid. Except the watch gleamed with tiny flashing lights.

"Some timepiece, Doctor. Doesna look like any watch I've seen."

"It's a space mystery. Tells me things that are more useful than just the time."

"Of course. What wuild a Time Lord need wi a watch," muttered Callom, shouldering his bag and following them.

If he shut his eyes, he could hear songs in the wind. Like the wind on the moors of Scotland. Such pretending was so tempting, so he focussed his mind on Vitreum instead. That resonance now sang in his brain. Back when they first met, she had placed a piece of her mind into his, and he had into hers. A permanent fixture, like a window or a door. A telephone line down which their communications drifted. Unlike many beings, her mind operated at a much different wavelength. He had to have her step up his thoughts through a psychic loudspeaker to let her hear his.

That's why she wore that headband. Called it a psychosideric modulator. Let her translate other creature's brain waves into a pattern she could discern. Also it served to focus her raw psychic powers. Without it, she'd go mad.

It also served to protect her from attacks. Mental attacks. Since she was one of the species that had genetically engineered itself to mimic humanoid brain frequencies. If she was a normal Jurrasican, she'd be immune to telepathic manipulation by humanoids. No one could read her mind, because they couldn't pick up her high frequency thoughts.

Time Lords didn't have this advantage. Even though their brains were more powerful, their minds still operated in the wavelength range close to humans. That's why some of them could discern human thoughts. Not always that well.

"Hey Doctor! Wait!"

"What?"

"I feel the resonance. Over that way!"

Both males ran to catch up with Ace. To tell her she was headed in the wrong direction. Now daylight was illuminating the landscape around them. High craggy mountains pierced the level horizon, higher than many on Earth. Glancing briefly at the ground around him, Callom thought he was walking on limestone. Certainly it was porous. Coral reefs could have built up this landscape. Or stromatellites. Callom recalled that calcium carbonate in limestone usually came from a biological source. But what had dried up the oceans?

Vitreum might know. If they could find her.

"Ace! Come back! Callom feels a lead . . . "

No Ace. The landscape was empty of her.

"Uh oh,"

"What d'ye mean, uh oh?"

"There are these creatures, called Tetraps. Nasty lot. Encountered them before."

"Wha do they look like?"

"Large, hairy, and batlike. But you don't get a good enough look till they're right on top of you."

"Ye ken they can fly?"

"Right. And they literally have eyes in the back of their heads."

"They'd make good teachers?"

"Well, mebbe she's just around the corner. Scoutin ahead, she said."

"Ace! Where are you!" yelled the Doctor, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Ace! C'mon out, lass!" cried Callom's treble voice against the base din.

A swishing noise enveloped the Doctor. Callom jumped out of the way of a crackling net that dropped from nowhere.

He spun about, smelling oily fur. A hissing grimacing muzzle was near him.

Instinctively, the Scots lad shut his eyes. A switch closed in his mind, a gland oozed a chemical.

To leave a batlike creature blinking its four eyes in confusion. Callom gripped the limestone spire from a distance of a few meters away. He could see the Doctor struggling inside a sparkling energy web. Valiantly he fought to get out.

"Those bat things, are they the Tetraps?" Callom wondered, squinting to get a better look. "They're no familiar wi' teleporting, luckily."

"ACE!" shouted the Doctor wildly, getting himself more tangled then ever. His eyes widened as the Tetrap reeled in the net. It was fired out of some sort of special gun.

Howling, a girl jumped from above. She swung her baseball bat. Unfortunately for her, the Tetrap's rear eye spotted her. All she succeeded in doing was grazing its shoulder.

Another Tetrap swooped down. Ace retreated, bat extended. Shoulder the weapon, and swung at the grasping claws. The Tetrap lunged, and she managed to score a hit.

A net gun fired, from the first Tetrap. Narrowly it missed the teenager. "You creeps won't get me that easily," she taunted.

However, the other recovered, and raised its net gun. Ace looked both ways at the creatures. Couldn't go left or right.

Callom felt sick. What could he do? "Wait a minnit. What is a tetrap scared of?"

Reaching out with his mind, he scanned. Their brains were chattering records in reverse. But their thoughts were discernable. The young Scot thought of the biology text. Bats ate insects, right?

"Try this, beasties!" he cried, putting his hands to his head.

Instantly the two Tetraps howled, and hissed. Ran about wildly flapping their membranoid wings. Ace clobbered the net guns from their hands.

"Htom! Htom!" they hissed, and disappeared in a flutter of oily fur.

"Mega!" cried Ace, glancing around. "Scared 'em off."

"Ace, once you stopped congratulating yourself, do you mind?"

"Oh, sorry Professor. Didn't see you there."

Indignantly the Doctor put his hands on his hips. Difficult to do, when you were laying spread eagled on the ground.

"This oughta keep you out of trouble," she laughed, trudging over to him as he struggled with the net.

"OW! Just extricate me from this entanglement."

"Don't get yourself wrapped up any more than you are," she said, trying to keep from laughing. "I'll find something to cut you out with."

"Do be careful, Ace. I'm not wrapped in twine, you know."

Callom rushed out to them both. "Are ye okay?" he asked.

"Where were you hiding, squirt?"

"Dinna blame me. Ye were doin fine, lass. I shuild ask ye where ye disappeared to, scaring us like that!"

"Spotted Batman's reject relatives, and wanted to catch them by surprise,"

"OW! Do you mind?"

"Stop groussing Professor. I'm doing the best I can here."

Reaching into his sock, Callom pulled out his knife. "Will this help?"

"Not against titanium strands," sighed the Doctor.

"Good job I was here to get you out of this mess," said Ace. She grabbed a piece of rock, and started to saw at the fibers. Callom tried his best with his serrated knife.

"I rather think it wasn't your antics," said the Doctor. At last he could move his legs.

"What are you on about? I showed up in the nick of time."

"They were terrified of something. And it wasn't a teenager with an aluminum sided rounders stick."

"That's the thanks I get for saving your butt," she griped. "Can you move your hands now?"

"Yes, thank you."

"So if I didn't scare them what did? Some high frequency ultrasonic thing you whipped up?"

"Not me. Callom."

"Callom? Get real," said Ace.

"I did, lass," said the young Scot shyly.

"How?"

"I thought of what a bat wuild be scared of."

"But I didn't see anything?"

"You didn't," said the Doctor, sitting up. Wincing, he dusted himself down with his handkerchief. "But they did."

"Stop speaking in riddles."

"Callom is as I suspected a psycho projector. His power is to tune into the cerebral cortexes of brains to imprint images."

"Aye. Tha's the scientific way o putting it, yes."

"Wait a minute," said Ace, putting a hand to her head. "You mean to tell me he's like a television broadcasting antennae?"

"Crudely, yes. He telepathically transmits images to brains. Most of the visual processing is in the brain, not the eyes. So it looks like there is something there, but it isn't."

"But what did they see?"

"A giant moth," laughed the Doctor, slapping his thighs. "Brilliant, my lad."

"Thank ye," smiled the Scots boy.

"Okay, guys. We got a lot of ground to cover," said Ace, helping the Doctor to his feet. "Let's get out of this wind storm."

When the winds faded to a background white noise, the Doctor stopped everyone. They could hear him fumbling through his pockets. "Must have a torch here somewhere," he muttered.

Seconds later his face appeared in a small shaft of light. He clutched a rectangular hand flashlight, the type you could buy in a gas station. "Are you goin to tell a ghost story?" Ace asked him.

"Whatever makes you ask that?"

"I dunno. Swing the flashlight outta your face, and let's see where we are."

The beam swung around in a circle. Gradually their eyes were adjusting to the reduced light. No outside light penetrated this far down.

Impatiently, Ace pulled a more substantial flashlight out of her backpack. It was one of those heavy metal ones a camper would take. The type with a fluorescent panel in it. She beamed it the opposite direction as the Doctor.

"How far d' ye think we're under?" asked Callom.

"Oh, off the bat I'd say six meters. Enough to stop and consider what we're about to undertake."

"Please, dinna mention the word 'bat', Doctor."

In the rectangle view they saw the red rock walls. Small spongy holes glittered with tiny rock crystals in the rusty matrix. "Hmm. Looks like sedimentary rock to me," muttered the Doctor. He pulled a small geological hammer out of his pocket, and chipped at the walls.

"Ere, there's time for that later," said Ace.

Hand on his shoulder strap, Callom glanced forwards and backwards. The hair on his knees stood on end, and he shivered. "Er, ken we get movin?" he asked. "The psi trace is stronger t' the left."

"Very well. Lead on, McDuff," said the Doctor.

"Mah name's MacLaren, if ye please," snapped Callom, highland pride aroused.

"Just a saying, lad."

Further down they trudged. The cavern floor angled gently downwards. Umbrella in one hand, the Doctor held his flashlight in the other. He brought up the rear of the party. Up ahead, Callom carried Ace's large fluorescent lantern. Each step filled him with further dread. To have darkness in front of him was just as unnerving as to have it behind him. Behind him, Ace walked, eyes flicking back and forth on the narrow passage walls.

A pungent smell grew stronger. "Phew, what's that?" asked Callom, wrinkling his young nose.

"Smells like bird caca," muttered Ace to herself.

"We are in a live cave," commented the Doctor. He appeared as calm as a professor walking into a lecture hall before class.

" You mean I'm smelling bat droppings?" asked Callom. "I ken guess who made 'em."

"Better cover your mouths, children. We could be walking into a rookery."

"Not of those Tetraps, I hope."

"No. The smell would more closely resemble human excrement."

"How can you be so blasted calm?" asked Ace.

"I'll take the point, if you don't mind," sniffed the Doctor, hurt. Clamping a handkerchief over his nose, he handed his umbrella to Callom and strode into the room.

In here, the ceiling soared much higher. Thin translucent stalactites, called soda straws, nestled next to huge dripping pillars.

"Phwagh," gasped Callom, pulling his tartan scarf over his mouth and nose. "What a stench!"

Ace trudged ahead, pulling her jacket collar around her mouth. Underneath their feet, a white paste carpeted the cavern floor. Tiny squeaks echoed from the ceiling. Normal bats fluttered and jockeyed for position on the various gallery roofs. They didn't notice the Doctor and his two companions. Only when Ace beamed her flashlight up directly onto the roof did the clouds disperse and flap around them.

"Hmm. Must be their plasma source," muttered the Doctor.

"What?"

"I'd reckon they either eat these bats, or make another use of them entirely." He gingerly tiptoed through the white mass, occasionally lifting his black and white shoes to stare at the bottoms.

"This white stuff," said Ace, squatting down on her haunches. "Looks a lot like potassium nitrate."

"How'd it get here?" asked Callom.

Hand clamping the handkerchief, the Doctor pointed up at the ceiling. "Och, gross!" winced the Scot.

"Just be glad you're wearing a hat," quipped Ace.

All three dashed through the chamber, as fast as their legs would carry them. Fortunately, none were gifted with the raw potassium nitrate. "Am I glad to be out of there," sighed Ace. "That place pongs worse than Liverpool."

Callom once more stood in one place, eyes blinking shut. He stood quite still through the dark. The Doctor could discern the stretching of his psychic probes as he listened for Vitreum's thoughts. "So far so guid," he announced, after a few moments. "Right on track."

"I was thinking, Professor."

"What about?"

"Those two Tetraps on the surface. Why would they be out there, if they're bats, when the sun was coming up?"

"Routine patrols. The Ranee leaves nothing to chance."

"Does tha mean she was expecting us?"

"Not necessarily."

"But they could be reporting us to her right now, Professor," pointed out Ace. "We'd better shake a leg."

"Right. Come on, lad. Don't fail us now. Listen like you've never before."

Black light was beamed at intervals, transforming dull minerals into a rainbow fantasy of hidden colors. Oranges, ghostly greens, and reds shone out in the purple hued environment. White appeared phosphorescent purple, and black the darkest shade of violet. No normal light existed down here to show the "true colors" of this world.

Thousands upon thousands of Tetraps fluttered amongst the spires and stalactites. Aside from the alien environment, it seemed like a normal bustling population. Tetrap markets sold tetrap plasma in squirt bottles. Tetrap males and females bustled to and fro from work to cave home. Tetrap babies clung close to their mother's oily breasts and suckled tetrap milk. Except when everyone landed, they fastened upside down.

To a Tetrap, there was no sky. Human notions of up and down were not applicable. Their entire moon was honeycombed with similar underground cities. Only when they needed to hunt did they venture to the surface.

Yet this civilization had a ruler. A great scientist who had brought their planet domination and the marvels of science. As before they flapped to their halls of leaning, but with a difference. Now science was a part of the curriculum. Strange new plants and creatures thrived on the planet's surface above. Tetrap scientists and technicians toiled away to produce devices to make life simpler.

But their lives were incredibly more complex. In one generation they'd graduated from living in caves, hunting bats to stabbing computer keys and sucking refined plasma. Such a quick transition did not come without a price.

A price paid to the Ranee.

How cleverly they'd absconded her from Lakertia. Yet how cleverly she'd plotted against this contingency. She well knew they'd bite the neck that fed them. And wove her counter measures accordingly. She'd given them their trinkets in exchange for her freedom. And it worked well. What better place to base her operations than a subterranean moon hurtling around a gas giant in some obscure star system?

Clad in scarlet, she rested hands upon slender hips. Allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. It had taken much time and energy to resume her research after the Doctor foiled her plans on Lakertia. But she'd learned from the experience. There would be no more mistakes. No more Loyhargil or Helium Two. From now on it was biogenetic.

She'd courted with Dastari and the Third Zoners. Learned their precious techniques. Flirted with the opportunity of enslaving androgums, but abandoned that plan. They were simply too stupid to serve as good help. Too driven by their basic appetites. Yes, they possessed the necessary strength and energy, but they were obsessed with pleasure. Too much like the Lakertians. Genetic augmentation failed miserably.

The tetraps were another story. They were intelligent enough to understand her science, yet not so driven by basic lust. A tetrap could appreciate what technology brought.

Until she heard of the Mantissans. A race that manipulated its own genes to evolve. She just had to get her hands on one. Such a race was developing time travel and means of temporal manipulation beyond machines like a TARDIS. Some were rumored to have woven time travel ability into a psionic power akin to teleportation.

Carefully had she researched the more humanoid races, the Mantissans. Their genes were easier to manipulate. Normal Third Zoners were just too difficult to achieve what she wanted. As soon as she could change them, they'd adapt to change her programming.

But she'd done her research. Like the Time Lords, there were renegades from Mantissan society. One such person came to her attention when she landed on Mantissa. A young scientist named Fiona Vitreum. She taught telepaths to use their powers, conducted temporal research. And she had an insatiable hunger for science.

A hunger that the Ranee exploited. Innocent, Vitreum became a good assistant. Tetrapbyria was fast becoming the center of the known academia. As a research center and arising galactic power.

Vitreum, one time assistant to the Ranee, looked up from her console. Miserably she glanced at the oily muzzles around her. They all hung upside down in relation to her frame of reference. She sat up, pulling her violet sash with its metallic pins across her chest. Brushed off her violet quilted jacket. The white streaks in her hair glinted purple under the ultraviolet light. Luckily, it didn't hurt her eyes.

"Mistress Ranee wishes you well, and gives you this gift of her affections," hissed Yettab, his tongue flicking between yellow fangs. In his claws he held a microcomputer bracelet, identical to the Ranee's.

Slowly Vitreum reached for the bangle. Yettab slipped it over her thin wrist. "Ow!" she cried, feeling tiny pricks into her skin. Twisting the bracelet, she could not remove it, for it bonded molecularly to her epidermis. Just like the headpiece she always wore, she could not remove the device.

"Now you cannot leave us," he said.

"Where would I have to go?" she asked him, sadly. "It's my own fault this. Always messing things up for people."

She shuddered under the soft caress of a tongue against her cheek. Shivered as she half expected the tip to penetrate and hurl her into paralysis. Yet he was toying with her, as a cat is toyed with when its owner dangles yarn before its pouncing claws.

It was a psionic nullifier. Vitreum despaired as her psionic link crumbled. Perhaps it was just as well. If Callom couldn't find her, he'd have the sense to stay away and not be recaptured.

In her mind she saw him, frail and weak. Yet brave beneath the human frailness. He'd give his life to save hers, such was human self sacrifice. She had a responsibility for his safety, and took it upon herself to ensure his escape. It was she who bundled him into the long range transporter, urging him to teleport. To her terror she saw him dematerialize, only to fail to reappear to the coordinates she'd set.

The Ranee sighed at the loss of her experiment. An anti-escape device was triggered, hurling the occupant of the chamber into hyperspace. It was as if Callom was trapped in the dimension through which he teleported. A half 'port.

Hours ago she could swear she heard him. In their special rapport. But she was half drugged at the time. How could he possibly reach her when the Ranee's TARDIS wound its way through the Vortex?

The Doctor rushed to his side. "What is it?"

"Something burning... in ma arm," he gasped, twisting his hand over where the pain spread. "The burning traveling up . . ."

"He's too young to have a heart attack,"

"Do be quiet, Ace!"

Callom struggled to stop the tears flowing from his eyes. Slowly the pain died down, and he let go. On either side of him, Ace and the Doctor glanced at each other puzzled. "She . . . she's gone," he croaked.

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I canna feel her in ma mind anymore."

"That doesn't mean she's," began Ace.

"Shush, this is important."

"Oh, all right."

"Why else woulna I feel her?" asked Callom.

"Someone might have blotted out her thoughts, and terminated your psionic link. A local psi-damping transmitter would have that effect."

"It felt like pain, and then nothing. As if someone cut a phone line," gasped Callom, catching his breath. "Niver have I felt her so strongly, then so suddenly was it cut off."

"You're mind's accustomed to her presence. You were suffering withdrawal symptoms," explained the Doctor, gently. "The Ranee must know we're onto her trail. Otherwise she would not bother to silence the transmission of Vitreum's thoughts."

"So what now, Professor?"

"We must rescue her, of course," said the Doctor.

"But how are we going to find her?"

"Simple. We let the Ranee capture us."

"What? Are ye daft!" cried Callom. At almost the same moment Ace cried, "Are you mad?"

"How else are we going to find her?" asked the Doctor.

"But she'll experiment on us and kill us, won't she," snapped Ace.

"Not necessarily. She may be ruthless and amoral, but she is still a scientist. And most scientists can be reasoned with, on some level."

"How are you going to reason wi' someone who's your worst enemy?" asked Ace.

"I didn't say that she was my worst enemy, Ace. Just that we've crossed swords in the paths of our journeys. She seeks knowledge for its own sake. Not for power, but because she is who she is. Unlike the Master, who wishes merely to rule the universe, the Ranee wishes to understand it and make it in her own image."

"I dinna ken how yuir goin t' help Vitreum by sellin out to the Ranee."

"I won't be selling out to her, Callom. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"A daft chap."

"Got that right, squirt."

Right into Tetrap central they blundered. All three of them strained their necks taking in the height of the Great Chamber. The roof was so high they could barely make out the variations in the rocks. Scant crystals gleamed a gentle green.

"Wild!" gasped Ace, glancing around the chamber. "Like a discotheque in here!"

"It's the ultraviolet light the Tetraps use," explained the Doctor, kneeling by one rock. His straw hat glowed pale purple, as did the tips of his shirt. Alternating red and white squares on Callom's Highlander bonnet shone purple and light purple around his head.

"Psychedelic!" she gasped. "Totally phat!"

Ghostly shapes fluttered far away. Metal struts held up small spherical units with tiny holes in them. In and out poked the heads of Tetraps. This was their version of skyscrapers, only the stacks of spheres were like houses.

Small hovercraft buzzed by, filled to the gills with dozens of Tetraps. Squeaks and shouts echoed as they raced from platform to platform. No one took notice of the three strange creatures standing on the vast cavern floor. Mighty stalactites and stalagmites partitioned off the views of adjoining caverns. Each stretched for miles and miles into a homogenous gloom.

Yet, like a modern city the reds, oranges and greens of the fluorescent minerals lit up the dwellings like neon signs. Paints made of the minerals plastered cave walls in weird Tetrabyrian writing. "Look Doc, they even have graffiti!" laughed Ace, pointing to them.

The Doctor just shook his head. "Unbelievable. This shouldn't be!"

"They look like they're in London!" exclaimed Callom, scratching in front of his ears. "Complete w' pollution an hover cars. If I didna ken better, I'd feel like I was George Jetson!"

"Why don't they notice us?" asked Ace.

"Perhaps we should draw some attention to ourselves. Sure you can manage that, Ace?"

"Yes," she answered, then stopped herself and glared daggers at him. "Hey!"

Callom covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Hey! Bat face!" shouted Ace, to a parked hovercar. "Over here! Your mother was a blacking brush!"

"TahW?" hissed some of the Tetraps in the hovercar. Through their multiple eyes they fixed on Ace.

"Namuh?" said one, pointing to Callom and Ace.

"Amsalp!" called the Doctor, cupping his hands. "Eerf amsalp! Ees Eenar!"

"Tahw!"

Again the Doctor shouted, this time, jumping up and down, "Eerf amsalp! Eenar eht ees oot tnaw I!"

"Amsalp!" they cried in unison. Wheezing the engine up, the car sped in their general direction. Ace reached for her bat, but the Doctor stopped her.

Inches from them the car stopped abruptly. Hissing and licking their fangs the four Tetraps exited the car. Ace and Callom shuddered as they encroached. The teenager protectively wrapped her arms around the young Scot's shoulders. Callom gripped her hand tightly.

Calmly the Doctor doffed his hat and smiled. "Olleh! Eenar eht ees ot hsiw I."

"What the heck kind of language is that?" asked Ace, still clutching hold of a trembling Callom.

"Try English, spoken backwards," he stammered.

"You, will come with us," hissed the tallest of the Tetraps, spreading out its web arms to their full span.

"It's okay, squirt," she whispered. "The Doctor knows what he's doing. I hope."

Grimly Callom nodded. Lowered his eyes and withdrew into himself. He didn't even notice Ace's arm across his shoulders, jammed as they were together on the car seat.

Consulting his mystery watch, the Doctor grunted in self approval. He slipped off his half moon glasses and replaced them in the inner pocket of his jacket. Calmly as ever he crossed his plaid pant knees and rested both hands on his question mark umbrella handle. "Ah, now we shall get to the bottom of this mystery, Ace," he said.

"Whatever. But you just remember why we're here, Professor."

"Not even for a minute will I forget," he assured, her, raising one finger and touching the side of his nose.

Dim blue lights outlined a door. The tall Tetrap gestured to another standing next to the passage. He raised a claw in salute. With a squeak, the guard raised his web gun to cover the hovercar passengers.

"Get out," he hissed.

Ace, Callom, and the Doctor obliged. With hands raised above their heads they marched into a long narrow passageway. Tetrap guards followed from behind them. A grunt for left and right guided them past small round doors lined with some sort of flexible rubber.

"Och, this looks verra familiar, Doctor," said Callom, speaking at last.

"Does it, now?"

"Aye. I think I was here before."

"Oh great," grumbled Ace.

Finally they were escorted through a large set of double doors. That same blue light reflected off its cold metal surface. One Tetrap guard raised his wrist, and spoke into a mini-computer bracelet.

Doors glided open with a metallic clanking. The Doctor raised his eyebrows, saying, "Rather melodramatic, isn't it?"

"No kidding, Sherlock," retorted Ace.

Huge glass cages were set into a series of walls. It was like walking into a natural history museum. Inside enormous jars floated life size dinosaurs and woolly mammoths. Along one wall were a series of bizarre squid creatures. The Doctor froze when he saw them.

"What are they?"

"Nestines," he gritted. "In their natural form. And those over there are Sontarans."

Callom followed his gaze to several short squat creatures, with massive limbs. Their domed heads with lipless slits sat on short necks. Each looked identical to the other. Metallic threads were worked into their skins.

"How'd she get her hands on them, I'd like to know? Sontarans are some of the most militaristic creatures in the Twelve galaxies! Here they are, minus their armor."

"This looks just like a zoo," said Ace.

"Aye," muttered Callom, shivering. His bare knees under his kilt felt like they were knocking together.

"Hang on, squirt." she soothed.

"I hate lookin at dead things flotin in jars," he gasped, turning pale.

"I'm not crazy about it either," she admitted. "I weaseled my way out of Biology, A-Level."

They came at last to a central chamber. Huge tubes bubbled and surged with a strange blue fluid. Many of them ran directly into the tanks. "Mm, large scale cryostasis," commented the Doctor, looking on in admiration.

Before them, with her back turned to them stood a shapely figure. Long hair rippled down its back. Her short tunic flared to a bell skirt over well muscled legs. "Ah, Doctor. I should have guessed you'd visit me again."

"You've surpassed yourself again, Ranee," said the Doctor calmly.

Whirling about, she folded her arms across her chest. Ace stared at the severe face and aristocratically chiseled features. "She's wearing too much mascara," she muttered to herself.

"Too kind, Doctor. I may return the compliment, but I won't. I do tire of your unexpected visits to my laboratories."

"You mean visits to your killing jar," coughed the Doctor. Lowering his hands, he marched right up to her.

"As always, your limited vision bores me, Doctor."

"Let's cut the crap," snapped Ace, walking up beside the Doctor. "Where the hell is Vitreum?"

Amusement crossed the Ranee's features. "Who is this spirited creature?"

"Er, this is my companion, Ace," stammered the Doctor. "She's young."

"I can see that," chortled the Ranee.

"I'm not scared of you," said Ace, narrowing her young eyes. "Or all this stuff."

"I don't believe you are, human. I am certain the Doctor has said many unflattering things about me. But that changes nothing. I will not be stopped by him again. Too many times has he meddled in my affairs."

"But why are you always doing experiments on people?" asked Ace, despite the Doctor's attempts to shut her up.

"Do your earth scientists ask the rabbits and bacteria if they can experiment on them?"

"That's different!" said Ace. "We're sentient. They're not."

"To me, you are as monkeys," said the Ranee. "Intelligent monkeys."

At these words, she seized Ace's chin in her long manicured fingers. "You are an excellent specimen, human. I can see you were well bred. Such drive to survive. Typical of your species."

"Let me go, you witch!" she snapped, raising her hands and bashing them down on the Ranee's.

Instantly a Tetrap smacked the teenager to the floor. Callom cried out in anger, knife drawn as he charged the Tetrap. "You leave her alone, y' beastie!"

So quick was his reaction, that his dirk drew blood. Angrily, the outraged Tetrap guard spanned his wings to engulf the young Scot.

. The Ranee lifted a restraining hand. "Do not damage the humans, Yettab. I will have use for them."

"Like you have use for every life form other than Time Lords?" asked the Doctor.

Spitting blood, Ace shook her head. The whole room slowly orbited. "Oh, cripes what a blow!"

Instantly the Scot came to her side, and crouched on his haunches. Callom was disturbed that the Doctor sat back and watched the exchange without any concern for Ace's immediate safety. Gently he took her head and shoulders onto his kilted knees. "Rest easy, lass," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I'll nae let them hurt ye."

She spat blood again, and coughed. Apparently her nose was bleeding. Carefully, the young Scot took a handkerchief and pressed it over her nose. Still stunned, she huddled against him.

"A typical human response to another human in danger. As I predicted," smiled the Ranee, looking at Callom and Ace.

"We seek Vitreum," said the Doctor simply. "This human boy says that you are experimenting on her against her will. I have come to take her away. Whatever you're doing here on Tetrapbyria is your concern."

"True. But what gave you the idea Vitreum is here against her will? Or being experimented upon?"

"She said so hersel!" snapped Callom.

"Ah, yes, she may have said that at one point. But I assure you she is here because she wishes to be."

"What?" asked the Doctor, raising an eyebrow.

"Just show us where she is," coughed Ace. Callom tightened his grip on her protectively as he glared at the Tetrap guards.

"Right here," said the Ranee. "Vitreum, why don't you come out. You have some visitors who are anxious to see you."

From behind one tank walked another woman. She was clad in a quilted jacket and tight pants. Her mop of brown hair was streaked with a few bleached white locks that hung over her eyes. Light flashed off the multiple pins adorning her velvet sash and the glasses on her nose. Her eyes were weary and tired. The face was soft and pale, with a pointed chin and freckles.

"Hello, Doctor," she said in a British accent, english crisp and precise. "I have heard much about you. It is a great honor to finally meet you in person."

"Tell them," said the Ranee, folding her arms across her chest. "They accuse me of kidnapping you."

"Are you being held here against your will?" asked the Doctor.

"No," she said simply. He eyed the microcomputer bracelet on her wrist.

"What do ye mean, no?" cried Callom, confused. Still he crouched next to Ace.

"I was afraid you'd come after me," she said dispassionately. "I thought I told you to leave."

"Ye said fer me to save mahself! Before ye stuck me in that transporter!"

"Do you think I want to be burdened with you?" she asked, flatly. "You, always tagging along at my heels like some lap dog? You had your chance, and you failed me. I didn't want you to come back."

"Nae, it canna be true," protested Callom, distressed.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Doctor.

"The Ranee let me help him escape. She knew you'd be at those coordinates."

"I don't believe this!" cried Callom. "You canna mean what yuir sayin!"

"Doctor, I am the Ranee's assistant. I am helping her to build a better world for the Tetraps. Is it too much to ask to be let to help a civilization flourish?"

"Yes it is! I mean, no it isn't," stammered the Doctor, tapping his umbrella.

"You after all, interfere in the affairs of other people,"

"Yes, and that's what I do well. I'm just concerned about the direction in which the Tetraps are evolving!"

"So you are against interference?"

"No, that is to say, I support what you are doing, Ranee and Vitreum. I would love to hear what you're doing. Lately I have seen the error in my ways poking my nose into your experiments."

"I seek to assist the Tetraps in building a better society," said the Ranee.

"And I am helping her. I don't want to come back with you."

"But I want to help too!" snapped the Doctor, stamping his foot in frustration.

"No, Doctor," said the Ranee. "Your loyalties exist elsewhere. If you leave now, my Tetraps will guarantee your safe conduct. You may even take these two humans. But the longer you stay, the more I am convinced you are meddling in affairs that don't concern you. I no longer wish to reshape the Universe, only study it."

"That may very well be but,"

"Doctor, take this boy, and leave me," said Vitreum.

"No Vitreum!" cried Callom, in anguish. "Yuir daft! She's controllin yuir mind!"

"Stop your whimpering, boy," snapped Vitreum. "I never wanted you to come along with me in the STAGE! You just got in the way!"

"But the training you gave me . . ."

"Your powers are useless, and you are too. Your father was right about you."

"No!"

"Doctor, I ask you kindly to leave me. It is unfortunate that you wasted your time and energy to find that I am unwilling to come with you."

"I understand, Vitreum," he said, rasing his hat. Turning to the Ranee, he said, "Sorry to have troubled you. Must be going."

"What the hell?" coughed Ace. Callom helped her to her feet.

"We're leaving. If Vitreum doesn't want to come, that's her decision."

"We canna leave her," sniffed Callom.

"Look, the Ranee's not endangering anyone. I see no evidence that she's working on anything threatening right now. So we'd better get back to the TARDIS."

"I'm not going till you explain . . ."

"Just for once in your short life, do what I say, Ace!" he thundered.

"There's something strange about how she acted," said Ace, breaking the silence at last.

"Later, Ace," snapped the Doctor, intimating the guards to her.

"Okay, everyone wants me to shut up, I may as well," she snapped sullenly.

Through the small gap in the rocks they squirmed. Still Callom said nothing. Like a robot, he walked stiffly towards the distant spires. Ace shouldered her pack, and followed in silence. Last came the Doctor. Turning to the Tetraps, he said, "I think we can take it from here, thank you very much."

Nodding, the three guards turned and departed in a few flaps of their membranous wings. They were alone on the moon, with the wind howling in their ears. A few minutes walk brought them back to the familiar Police Box with its flashing blue light on top. As the Doctor produced his key, he muttered to himself.

"Well, that was a wasted trip," Ace said.

"Come on, let's not hang about, shall we," said the Doctor softly.

"Why should you care what I think," she snorted.

His hand rested on her shoulder. "Coming?"

Into the control room they walked. Two double doors banished the howling winds outside. Tossing his hat onto the rack, the Doctor touched the three control levers for dematerialization. Callom headed right for the door leading to the rest of the TARDIS.

A wheezing groan vibrated the room. They were off.

"Ace,"

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, back in the cave. Things weren't going according to plan."

"According to plan?" laughed Ace bitterly. "According to plan? I get my nose busted, Callom is crying his eyes out, and all you care about is that things aren't going according to your plan!"

"I didn't think Vitreum would want to stay."

"She can take her broom and ride on it, for all I damn the hell care," snapped Ace. "I'm going to bed."

"Ace, please stop and talk to me."

"Why? You never listen to me anyway."

"That's not true. I was trying to discover the Ranee's plan."

"Does it occur to you she may not have one? You're so used to fighting monsters you think somebody is trying to take over the universe every place we land."

"I know the Ranee, Ace. She's got something up her sleeve. And the way Vitreum was speaking to Callom proves it."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice that she was going out of her way to make him hate her? Saying all those nasty things to him, when she simply could have told him to leave. That emotion stemmed out of concern."

"Some concern. She doesn't give a flying flamingo about him."

"She does. She wanted Callom to be safe. Away from the Ranee. That means that Callom was once important to the Ranee's plan."

"Oh, so you mean she was just putting us on?"

"Yes. Trying to tell me something. But she did it too well. I only wish I knew what she was up to."

"A double cross?"

"Exactly, Ace," smiled the Doctor, touching his finger to her nose.

"Sometimes I just don't get you, Professor."

"Yes, Ranee," said the Mantissan flatly. "I have no choice. I'd rather die a scientist than an experimental subject."

"Be sure. I demand obedience. Failure has a high price."

"I will not fail."

"Good. Then we will proceed with schedule."

"Yes. But I was thinking, that the Doctor will try to come back for me, despite what he says. Callom can be very persuasive."

"Even after you rejected him?"

"He's foolishly loyal. A trait all humans possess. He'd lay his life down for mine."

"Pathetically human."

"Yes. I was thinking that you should put the Doctor out of action, permanently."

"Really?"

"After all, he could ruin any other number of your experiments."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking your genius could come up with an appropriate end. And still get data."

"To tell you the truth, there is an experiment I've been meaning to try. The effects of Time Wind exposure to biological material. Here is where you will prove your loyalty to me, Vitreum."

"Me?"

"Yes. You will take your craft, loaded with a special device of mine, into the Vortex. There you will detonate a certain sequence."

"What is the theoretical principal behind this?"

"You will track the TARDIS through its telepathic circuits. Then materialize near him in space time. Jettison this canister."

"What does it contain?"

"It operates on the same principal as a tumor. It feeds off a TARDIS's force field. Then a second device sets off a chain reaction in time space, creating a Time Wind."

"A Time Wind," gasped Vitreum. "That could destroy the structural integrity of the TARDIS relative dimensions."

"Exactly. And as the ship compresses, the life forms inside do not. Either they will die from the penetration of the chronion particles bombarding their bodies, or they will be crushed."

"What's to stop me from being affected as well?"

"I have taken the liberty of coating your STAGE with a neutralizing agent. You will have five minutes of rell time to escape the Time Wind."

"When do I start?"

"There's no time like the present."

Carrying the violin, he made his way back to the room assigned to him. He spent hours playing scales, up and down. His nimble fingers caressed the ancient strings with a passion that would not be denied. Chords and runs gave way to abstract expressions of the conflicitng emotions storming through his heart and soul.

Ace heard the sweet music echoing down the corridor. She was on her way to the chemistry lab to cook up more explosives. Vivaldi's four seasons rippled in massive choking waves to touch her. Not up much on classical music, she wondered what the piece was. And who was playing it.

Opening the door softly, she saw the young scot standing. He rested one foot on a stool, violin tucked beneath his chin. Firm young fingers pressed strings like a master. He was oblivious to her presence, as his mind was consumed by his music making.

Sure, he was a telepath. But the Doctor said he wasn't the best at discerning thoughts. Except for human thoughts and visual images from humanoid species. He stopped, and looked at the door.

"Is that you, Ace?" he asked.

"Sorry to bug you, squirt," she apologized.

"Come on in, or go away," he said, lowering his violin and bow.

Ace entered. She wore a loose white blouse and biker tights. Her hair was pulled back in a french braid. Small earrings dangled from one ear, out of balance with the hoops in the left.

Her full lips pressed close together. For an awkward moment she stood just inside the doorway, not sure of what to do next. "I'm not really good a psychiatry, or anything, but if you like, need to talk or something..."

"Yuid be happy to listen. Verra well. I guess I do need someone."

Figeting, she sat on the bed. Already Callom had placed some personal touches in the room. A tartan swath was draped on the bed. His bonnet was hung over the end of a chair. Several classical books were piled on a beside table from the TARDIS collection of books.

"I jest canna believe that she'd mean all that," he sighed.

"Grown ups say weird things sometimes," Ace said.

"I thought she loved me. I refuse to believe she doesn't."

"Angry people say things they don't mean. At least I think they do."

"She's like, a parent or something," said Callom. He sat down on the bed next to her.

"I don't need any parents," said Ace hastily, then stopped herself. "At least not any mum or dad."

"My da never really cared if I was there or not," Callom admitted.

"Was there, anyone else that took care of you?"

"There was Ms. Fergussen, mah nanny. She was also the housekeeper. And ma uncle Andrew. He was nuts about me. Tha's where ma middle name comes from."

"Cool."

"And then there was Vitreum. Did ye kne she was the first person who said tha I cuild do whatever I wanted when I grew up? Tha I didnae have to be what my Father thought? Anything I chose was okay."

"She really means that much to you, doesn't she?"

"Aye. Tha's why I hurt. Does everyone I love hurt me so?"

Ace sniffed back tears. "No way, kid. Don't you believe that rubbish for a second!"

"I don't know what to believe, nau."

"Come here, Callom. You look like you seriously need a hug."

Ace held out her arms. Callom leaned against her, and they held each other for a long time. Two lonely children seeking comfort in their common histories.

The TARDIS and its occupants hurtled through the endless Vortex.

Tentatively he nibbled a digestive biscuit. Dunked it once or twice before slipping it into his mouth once more. It had taken him forever to program the food machine to get them right. Still, once in a while he'd tiptoe down to the food stores and dust off an old can of Walker's Scottish shortbread. He lay in a good supply the last time he'd touched down on Earth, the same place he'd obtained the darjeeling. Few things perished in the TARDIS, outside of time and space.

He sat down in the Louis XV chair, propping his feet on an ancient hassock. Took cup and saucer in hand, and sipped. Each time he took tea, he dimmed the lights in the TARDIS lounge.

For one blissful moment he let himself slip away. Let his mind rest on the throbbign pulse from the TARDIS generators. Like a heartbeat steady and strong.

Something felt very wrong. He set down his cup, frowning. Jumped to his feet and paced. Then rushed out of the room. "Good gracious me, I should have guessed!" he exclaimed, slapping his forhead.

"He said she was trying to get you to be angry with her, so you'd leave more easily. Make you hate her."

"That didna work too well."

"I know. That's what was fishy. He's seen lots of people, and lots of behaviour. When he does pay attention that is."