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  There was a long pause. He fiddled with the plant. The tips of the leaves were brown.

  ‘Any idea what they wanted with you?’ he said, gently.

  ‘I was to be a gift,’ she said.

  ‘A gift?’

  ‘For the Daleks.’

  If her eyes had been open, she would have seen a shadow – of pain, anger, and last of all, resolve – pass over his face.

  ‘They are hunting for interesting species, and the Brokers saw a lucrative new market.’

  ‘That’s why the Daleks attacked the Coffin Ship?’ The Ninth Doctor frowned. ‘They really want you for some reason. Tough.’ He scooped up the plant and jumped to his feet. The sound made her open her eyes. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We can’t hang around here all day.’

  ‘Where?’ she said.

  ‘Back to my TARDIS, of course.’

  She stared up at him. ‘Your plant,’ she said. ‘It’s dying.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not dead yet.’

  She blinked, slowly. She stood, and shifted slightly from side to side, shards of glass crunching beneath her feet.

  ‘You coming?’ he said.

  ‘Can I trust you …?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Er, just one thing I’d like to say – quickly.’ He pointed back over her shoulder. ‘I think those Daleks are on their way. So, well – quickly?’

  Her head jerked around. From the corridor beyond the chamber, harsh voices were crying out, coming closer: ‘Locate the target! Locate the target!’ She turned to look at him, terror in her eyes. He offered her his hand.

  ‘Let’s get a shift on, eh?’

  She reached for his hand. Two Daleks burst into the room.

  ‘The target! The target!’

  He pulled her after him.

  ‘Run!’

  The iron dragons burned their way through the skies over Entranxis. Dalek Drones flew towards them in pursuit of the shuttle. The iron dragons belched flame at them, but the Daleks drifted through, slicing the dragons into pieces. Chunks of iron and molten rain poured down on the burning land of the Brokers. The Daleks didn’t even pause to watch.

  The Doctors’ shuttle shot up through the atmosphere and rendezvoused with the battered Victis flagship, in orbit above Entranxis. The Tenth Doctor, coming onto the flight deck, with his other self and Brian right behind, waved to the ship’s commander to stay in her seat.

  ‘Nice ship you’ve got here,’ said Eighth Doctor. He wandered around the flight deck, stopping at the helm to peer over the crewmember’s shoulder to take a good look at the display. ‘Not something that ever appealed, if I’m being honest.’

  ‘Well, it’s come in handy,’ said the Tenth Doctor, meeting his eye. ‘Took me a while to name it but I’ve settled on HMS Donna because, well, there’s no arguing with it. Now, was there somewhere you wanted to go?’

  ‘We should probably stick around until we hear from our other self, don’t you think?’

  A quiet alert sounded. The ship’s commander said, ‘Admiral-Doctor, there’s a ship coming into orbit.’

  ‘A ship? Not a Dalek saucer by any chance?’

  ‘No, sir. From the readings, it seems to be … It’s a Kotturuh ship, sir.’

  Brian breathed out softly. ‘Oh dear.’

  The craft appeared on the screen – a vast and writhing sculpture, like a squid cast in crystal and gold. But there was something odd about it – it retained the graceful, chilling beauty of their species, but the energy burning from it was sickly, washed out.

  The speakers crackled, and the somnolent voice of the Kotturuh echoed over the bridge. ‘Brokers of Entranxis, prepare to receive the judgement of the Kotturuh. We bring you the gift of death.’

  ‘Incredible.’ The Time Lord Victorious shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his crumpled suit. ‘They’re dying and they’re not giving up.’

  The Eighth Doctor nodded. ‘D’you think they’re still working to their old roadmap, or are they just gunning for anyone they think has got something you want?’

  Brian’s response was to move over to the controls. ‘Their ship is damaged. We have enough weapons left to destroy it.’

  The Time Lord Victorious looked at the ragged little ship on the screen.

  ‘Well?’ said his other self.

  Brian, standing by, observed them carefully.

  The Time Lord Victorious opened his mouth to pass judgement. ‘I think—’

  Suddenly, an alarm blared. Emergency lights began to flash. The ship’s commander shouted: ‘There’s a Dalek scout ship approaching! Battle stations!’

  Chapter Seven

  The Ninth Doctor and Madam Ikalla raced through the dark halls, hotly pursued by Daleks.

  ‘Halt! Halt!’

  ‘You will surrender!’

  ‘Not a chance!’ the Doctor yelled back. ‘Come on, Ikalla, faster!’

  ‘Our mission will succeed!’ cried one. ‘We will acquire the Symbiont!’

  ‘Daleks do not fail!’ cried the other Drone.

  ‘Symbiont – check.’ The Doctor grinned. ‘Ta very much, very helpful.’

  ‘Surrender yourself! Surrender the target!’

  ‘Where?’ she said, hurrying after him. Did he ever stop moving? ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Back to my TARDIS. Carry the plant for us, will you?’

  The two Doctors watched as the Dalek scout ship, shifting at great pace, bypassed HMS Donna completely, moved towards the Kotturuh ship, and blasted it into smithereens.

  ‘Most unexpected,’ said Brian. ‘But at least you are now saved from having to solve one moral dilemma.’

  ‘Not funny, Brian,’ said Tenth Doctor.

  The Ood’s tentacles swayed gently to and fro. ‘I do not find Daleks humorous,’ he agreed. ‘Indeed, I find them very concerning.’

  Madam Ikalla, standing outside the big blue box and watching the Ninth Doctor take out his key, said, ‘Is this your coffin?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Do you sleep inside this box?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’ll see in a sec.’

  He opened the TARDIS doors and strode inside. Ikalla, still carrying the spider plant, hurried after. ‘Put that there,’ he said, gesturing towards the console, and she obeyed. The plant leaned to one side, sorrowfully. The Doctor smiled at it. ‘That’ll cheer the old place up,’ he said. He pulled a few controls, and the TARDIS doors closed.

  ‘It’s …’ said Ikalla, gesturing around.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. Where now? Do you want me to take you back to your Coffin Ship?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘No? But you lead the undead. They …’ He fished around for a word. ‘Like you?’ He came round the console to stand next to her. The sonic screwdriver came out, and hummed gently as he assessed her. ‘You hungry?’ he said. ‘You need to feed?’

  She thought about that. ‘No,’ she said. It turned out to be not hard to find the word. ‘I am angry.’

  The sonic stopped humming. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s a start.’

  She opened her eyes. The Doctor was staring down at the console. His face was taut and closed. After a moment, he looked up at her, a daft smile plastered over his face. ‘Come with us.’

  ‘Us?’ she said.

  ‘Me and the plant.’ He pulled some levers.

  The TARDIS, dematerialising, shuddered slightly. The plant pot moved precariously towards the edge of the console. Ikalla reached out her hand to stop it falling.

  ‘We should give it a name,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘A name?’

  ‘It’s good for them. Should talk to it too. Helps them grow.’

  ‘It’s dying—’

  ‘All the more reason to talk to it. How about Hector?’

  ‘Hector?’

  ‘Nice name.’

  With light and clever fingers, he twiddled dials, pulled knobs, pushed buttons, jammed in levers. The T
ARDIS, responding to his touch, whirled round onto its new course. The plant wobbled, but held firm.

  ‘I need answers.’ He gave her a winning smile. ‘So I’m going to talk to myself.’

  The TARDIS landed, with a bump. The Doctor loped towards the door. Ikalla, following him out, found herself on the flight deck of a warship.

  ‘’Ullo,’ said the Doctor to his other selves. ‘I come in peace.’

  Chapter Eight

  The three Time Lords glared at each other.

  ‘Now, listen,’ said the Ninth Doctor, ‘I had a chat with a couple of Dalek Drones. Funny old things. Anger issues. The Daleks are after something they call the Symbiont. Any ideas?’

  ‘Could it be the vampire?’ said the Tenth Doctor.

  ‘She has a name, you know,’ said the Ninth. ‘This is Madam Ikalla.’

  Ikalla acknowledged the Tenth Doctor barely.

  The Tenth Doctor tried to make amends. ‘Sorry,’ he began. ‘They did seem very interested in you. I’d try not to take it personally. Could be the Kotturuh,’ he suggested. ‘We saw a ship of them, just now—’

  The Ninth Doctor’s weathered face lit up. ‘Kotturuh? Here?’

  There was a pause. Brian eased himself into the gap. ‘The Daleks’ plans for the Kotturuh seem to be congruent with those of your future self.’

  ‘Eh?’ said the Ninth Doctor.

  ‘He means,’ said the Eighth Doctor, bluntly, ‘that the Daleks blew up their ship. They’re dead.’

  There was a short silence. The Ninth Doctor looked deflated. Then he rallied. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘if they survived, then others might have survived too. We can find them – work with them, learn what this Death Wave thing did to them and fix it. Repair the damage.’

  ‘Look,’ said the Tenth Doctor. ‘The damage is done. The Kotturuh can’t be saved, and we have other problems now. We have to stop the Daleks.’

  ‘Nah, you don’t get to move on that quickly,’ said the Ninth Doctor. ‘It’s not just the Kotturuh, is it? It’s the way their absence affects the future. We need to put it right. Put it straight …’ His voice, filled with a universe of pain and loss and grief, drifted away

  The Eighth Doctor managed somehow to miss the cue and say entirely the wrong thing. ‘But the Kotturuh were evil. Just as the Daleks are evil.’

  ‘I don’t see what’s so wrong with wiping out an evil species,’ the Tenth Doctor agreed. ‘Like, say the Daleks.’

  The Ninth Doctor looked dead ahead.

  The silence fell again. ‘I fear,’ murmured Brian, ‘that we have reached something of an impasse.’

  ‘Reached it? I’m nowhere near.’ The Ninth Doctor turned on his heel. ‘Come on, Ikalla. These two might have lost their way – but I’ve not. There’ll be other Kotturuh. We will find them. We will help them.’

  After a moment or two, his TARDIS groaned, and was gone.

  The Dalek Time Commander ignored the screams. It always ignored the screams. They always said the same thing.

  ‘No! No! Please! No! Stop!’

  Lesser life forms were both boring and illogical. If they paused for a moment to consider, they would realise that all their experience of the Daleks told them one fact – Daleks did not listen to pleas for mercy, and Daleks never changed their minds.

  The Commander watched as the specimen was loaded into the environment tank and hosed with cryogenic gases. There were ways of preserving specimens for examination that were quick and painless, but the Commander was not interested in those. They were a useless expenditure of resources. It watched the creature’s struggles with mild interest as the gas solidified. The Commander’s excuse was that this was observation. But by far the most interesting thing about other species was how they died. Even though this life form was entering suspended animation, it was doing so by drowning in ice.

  The Dalek Scientist moved away from the controls and joined its Commander. ‘Species identified as Fellonian. In our timeline it is extinct. Brain activity is of interest – preliminary examination suggests a form of natural telepathy. Its suffering is experienced by the rest of its species.’

  ‘Useful,’ the Commander agreed, turning to leave. ‘This ability is worthy of further investigation. Extract and weaponise.’

  With its commander gone, the Dalek Scientist continued its work. Nanoprobes drilled into the still struggling figure, removing samples for further investigation. Hooked wires snaked across the subject’s skin, poking and easing their way into the pores before fastening on. The Fellonian’s hands drummed desperately against the glass of the case as the cryogenic gases solidified around it. The drumming became a tapping and finally stopped.

  The Dalek Strategist entered the chamber. It didn’t seem even to notice the twitching figure in the tank.

  The Dalek Scientist glided up to it. ‘These subjects are of limited value.’

  Scanning the data outputs, the Strategist concurred. The Dalek project to harvest lost genetic material from the Dark Times was valid; it had calculated that any disruption to the timeline could be balanced out by improvements to the Dalek race. Progress had been satisfactory, but nothing more. This was regrettable (in as much as the Dalek Strategist was able to regret). Enhancing and strengthening the Dalek gene bank was a strategy that would appeal to the Emperor.

  The Strategist surveyed the rows of tanks carefully and dutifully filled by the Dalek Scientist. A hundred frozen eyes stared back in agonised appeal.

  There was one objective they were missing. A vampire. Those had proved more elusive, even on the field of battle. It was, after all, a race which had interesting parallels to the Daleks – it ran against the order of creation, it considered all life its inferior, and it was an implacable foe of the people of Gallifrey. The Emperor had been convinced of the importance of the plan.

  The image of the Golden Dalek Emperor looked down on the Time Commander.

  ‘This message has been recorded in case of your failure,’ the Emperor said, its deep voice grating around the room. ‘It assumes that under your leadership you have failed to prevent the cause of the damage to our timeline. Given your failure I now issue you with new orders. While the scientific collection of specimens is –’ there was a weighted pause – ‘useful … you are to use your presence in the Dark Times to maximum advantage. Maximum advantage to the Dalek race.’

  The Commander was interested. Only it and the Dalek Executioner had been summoned to hear the Emperor’s message. That the Strategist had been left out of the conversation would have been fascinating if only a Dalek Commander was allowed to find anything fascinating.

  ‘Dalek Time Technology has previously been unable to penetrate the barrier around the Dark Times,’ the Emperor continued. ‘Your presence in the Dark Times provides you with a unique opportunity to secure the Eternal Victory of the Daleks.’

  The Commander and the Executioner both focused on the image of the Emperor. Coordinates appeared on the screen, along with the image of a spinning planet.

  ‘Behold,’ announced the Emperor, ‘the Ultimate End of your mission.’

  ‘I miss the spider plant,’ said the Eighth Doctor.

  Brian considered this a remarkable thing to say, considering they were under attack from the Daleks.

  The Dalek saucer, slicing out of nowhere, was already firing in their direction.

  The Tenth Doctor threw himself at the controls, coaxing life out of the ship over the protests of her helmsman. ‘Stop complaining – these are brilliant evasive manoeuvres!’ the Tenth Doctor shouted. ‘I learned them off Amelia Earhart.’

  The ship dipped and spun like an ancient rollercoaster. Brian, losing his balance, found himself snatched out of mid-air and pulled to safety under a bank of controls. His rescuer was the Eighth Doctor.

  ‘The last time we met—’ the Eighth Doctor began, slapping at some burning circuitry with his bare hands.

  ‘—ended with me falling through the Time Vortex,’ Brian finished.

  ‘We’ve not ha
d a chance to talk about it,’ the Eighth Doctor said, blowing on a smouldering wire as if making a wish on a birthday cake. ‘Fascinating how TARDISes behave. I think it helped send you here.’

  Before Brian could reply, another Dalek blast made the ship judder.

  ‘You see,’ the Eighth Doctor said, ‘Sometimes I wonder if the TARDIS stays in the same place and it’s the universe that moves around. It would explain what’s happening now. A time fracture’s opened and she’s exploiting it.’

  ‘For a reason?’ Brian said.

  ‘Him and me,’ the Eighth Doctor grunted, rerouting the engine coolant processors with his teeth. ‘We’re the same. Our ship is the same.’ Engine core detonation averted, he leaned back, licking his lips. ‘I thought I pulled off a brilliant feat of trans-temporal engineering getting us here – but I wonder if the TARDIS did it all by herself.’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ asked Brian.

  ‘My own,’ the Eighth Doctor said eventually. ‘There is no greater treason than to do the right thing for the wrong reason. But you could also say the wrong thing for the right reason.’

  There was a pause as the ship performed an alarmingly leisurely loop-the-loop. The Tenth Doctor flew past them, landing on his feet on the viewscreen. The Dalek ship seemed to slice just beneath him. ‘Wahoo!’ he cried.

  ‘Are you two really the same?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ the Eighth Doctor admitted. ‘We both grab the wrong end of the stick and somehow make it the right one. He took on Death, and whatever he’s done has seriously upset the Daleks. He may – just may – have changed the universe for the better.’

  Another pause as the Tenth Doctor threw the ship into a sickeningly short shunt jump.

  ‘For the better?’ Brian repeated slowly.

  ‘He travels with you,’ the Eighth Doctor said. ‘You’re clever. But you’re devious and ruthless.’

  ‘Mr Ball thanks you,’ Brian bowed.

  ‘It wasn’t a compliment.’

  ‘I know that,’ Brian lifted his head.

  ‘My point is we are what our friends make us. Which is why I miss the spider plant.’