Jamie McCrimmon raised his fist in triumph as the arena erupted into mixed reviews. He gave a curt bow towards the Emperor's box, then turned and walked back to his niche at the side of the pit. Behind him, people in yellow robes and golden masks scurried out and stretchered away the unconscious warrior, the second of the Emperor's champions to fall to the Scotsman's hand.

"Well done, Jamie!" The Doctor clapped and bounced on the balls of his feet as Jamie rejoined him. The semi-circular cutout held weapon racks, a water bucket, one exuberant Time Lord, and a chair, which Jamie now collapsed into gratefully. The Doctor scooped a ladleful of water from the bucket and held it up to Jamie's lips for him to drink. "You were magnificent, my boy! I knew you'd do us proud."

Jamie emptied the ladle and pushed it away. "Aye, well, it were closer than it looked. He nearly had me once or twice. It's a good thing you told me about his bad knee."

"Oh, I'm only the messenger, Jamie." Grinning, the Doctor tapped the microspeaker in his left ear. "Zoe's doing a bang-up job getting us the inside scoop on the Imperial Champions."

Jamie grimaced. "It still doesn't feel right, Doctor. I know Zoe's trying to help, but all this creeping about, eavesdropping… where's the honour in that?"

The Doctor put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'd prefer a fair fight too, Jamie, but it's all of our lives on the line if we don't pass the Emperor's challenge. We need every advantage we can get."

Jamie looked out at the arena - the sand, the ancient bloodstains on the walls, the seething crowds, the purple sky with its midday moons, and at the centre of it all the Arcturan Emperor, Shaolere MCMXX, as gaudy as a Christmas tree and just as prickly. Jamie shook his head. "All this, just because the TARDIS interrupted his coronation?"

"Emperors can be sensitive about these things, Jamie. Now, let me get you some more water." He leaned over the bucket, hiding his face. "You'll need to stay hydrated for the, ah… next one."

"Another one? Ah, come on Doctor! Why do I have to do all the fighting?"

"Now, Jamie, you know you're much better at this sort of thing than Zoe or I," the Doctor reasoned.

"Oh, aye, and how's that again? You've been floating around all creation for God knows how long and you've never learned how to fight?"

The Doctor stood up, bashfully fidgeting with the ladle. "Yes, well. Truth be told I have been meaning to take up Venusian Aikido. I just never can seem to find the time."

But Jamie was no longer listening. To universal acclaim, the third champion was entering through a portcullis at the far side of the pit. Jamie's mind boggled as he took in the creature's dimensions. Even at this distance…

"Will you look at the size o' that, Doctor!" The older man turned pale as he followed his companion's gaze.

"Yes, Jamie," he said, "It certainly is a -"

The crash of an enormous gong cut off the rest of the Doctor's remark. The final battle was about to begin.

Zoe Heriot hurried through the halls and corridors that filigreed the Imperial Palace, walking as fast as she could without running. She focused on slowing her breathing, trying to achieve calm by maintaining its appearance, but her hands kept balling themselves into fists and her eyebrows kept knitting together like magnets. She was becoming very worried that something terrible was going to happen to her friends.

And she had been doing so well.

It was all the Emperor's fault. That rotten little greasy-haired so-and-so! Who did he think he was, locking up the TARDIS and forcing them to fight for their lives? Arena combat indeed!

The three of them had stayed reasonably calm at first - they had wriggled out of worse scrapes before, after all. But even the Doctor's confidence had waned when the Emperor announced the contest would take place that very afternoon, and gave the entire city the rest of the day off to come and watch. It had quickly become clear there would be no avoiding it. One way or another, they would have to fight.

Two enormous guards had escorted them to the sumptuous guest quarters and left them to prepare themselves, confidently leaving the doors unlocked. The Doctor had nearly paced a groove in the pocked marble floor before he came up with a plan. It was a fairly simple one at that: Jamie would fight on their behalf, with the Doctor coaching from the sidelines, while Zoe, too young to enter the arena, worked the palace staff for intelligence on the fighters - anything that would give them an edge.

The Doctor had fished around in his pockets and pressed one of a pair of micro-speakers into her palm like it was a family heirloom. "They're thought activated," he had told her, Jamie excitedly doing warm-up punches in the air behind him. "Just concentrate and I'll be able to hear everything you hear."

"But Doctor, won't they detect the signal?" she had asked, affixing it to her ear.

The Doctor had shaken his head. "This is an empire in sad decline, Zoe. Though the Arcturans possess advanced technology, they have all but forgotten how most of it works."

It seemed the Doctor had been right. She had been nervous as she wished him and Jamie luck and ventured out into the palace, but not a single person had asked her about the device - though her jumpsuit did attract a few quizzical looks.

It hadn't taken Zoe long to strike gold. Owin, an elderly guard outside the third of the seven ballrooms, had proven to be a veritable fountain of information about the Imperial Champions, right down to their birthdays and favourite songs. Far from Zoe having to draw the details she needed out of him, Owin had seemed to delighted just to meet someone willing to listen.

"Terrible shame about Mirkys," he had said, leaning heavily against the wall and taking yet another swig from his flask. Zoe had no idea how he'd worked up such a thirst just standing still. "Used to be a brilliant fighter. Still very quick with his hands, but ever since he took that arrow in his knee…" Owin had let a sigh which turned into a modest belch.

"That is a shame," Zoe had agreed, wondering exactly how much sympathy she was supposed to show for someone who would shortly be trying to kill her friend. Innocently, she had brushed her hair back from her face, angling the microspeaker towards him. "So… which knee was it, exactly?"

Clever, clever Zoe. I'm such an idiot, she thought.

A buzzing in her ear snapped her back to the present. "Everything's going swimmingly at our end, Zoe," came the Doctor's voice through the microspeaker. "Jamie's squaring up to the third Champion now. And quite a whopper they are, too. What does your helpful friend have to tell us?"

Zoe came to a halt by a stagnant fountain and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Doctor, Owin's gone. He ran off to see the fight the moment his shift ended. " Of course he did, she thought to herself. As if a fanatic like him would miss it for the world. "All I could get from him was that the third fighter is named Virkill." But if I'd just asked sooner…

"'Virkill'," said the Doctor. "Well, that's a start."

"I'll figure something out. Just tell Jamie to play for time. I won't let you down, I promise."

"I know you won't, Zoe." The Doctor's voice betrayed not a trace of doubt. Then, in the background she heard an almighty roar. "Ah, but sooner rather than later, yes? I'll let you get on with it." He broke off the connection, leaving her very much on her own.

Could she keep her promise? she wondered as she set off again. Uncertainty was gnawing away at her as she turned another corner into a hallway lined with faded tapestries and non-functioning vidscreens. Nearly everyone who could spare the time was off watching the fight now, and those too busy to attend were too busy to talk to her. All these stern faces with their robes and beards and braids, she wanted to beg them, throw herself down, beat at them with her fists - but then the game would be up, and it would be her fault. And if she didn't find someone willing to talk to her, and Jamie lost the fight, that would be her fault too.

Zoe stopped in a doorway, scrunching her eyes shut. Her heart pounded, as if beating out its own accusation. Your-fault-your-fault-your-

Zoe felt a tugging at her sleeve. She opened her eyes and saw a kind-looking middle-aged woman standing before her in a dark green smock and apron. The woman held a strange folder of card paper in one hand. "Hello, my dear," she said, her voice soft. "I am Xacosma, of the Mothers of the Board. Will you be staying in the palace long?"

She sighed. "I'm Zoe. And I think I might be here for the rest of my life."

The woman's face lit up. "Oh! If you are staying that long then we must Enter you immediately." She opened the folder and began pecking away at the topmost card with a stylus, knocking neat little holes at precise intervals.

Zoe stared, disbelieving. Could it be? She reached out for the folder, but the robed woman snatched it away, holding it close to her chest with a suspicious glare. "No! You would profane the Blessed Wafers!"

Zoe drew her hand back. "Forgive me," she said, as contritely as she could. "I meant no harm, I was just curious about the ca - about the Blessed Wafers." Then inspiration struck. "In fact, I was thinking of… heeding the call myself."

"You hear the call?" gasped Xacosma, clearly impressed. The Mothers of the Board probably weren't the most popular choice of career for girls Zoe's age. Almost immediately she made herself stern again, making a point of not being a pushover. "Well, you have a lot to learn about the Sacraments of Entry, my child. Only those who have received their Permissions may touch or puncture the Wafers. But," she smiled generously, "you may watch what I do."

She angled the folder towards Zoe, who moved in next to her and finally got a proper look at the cards. Her heart leapt. Punch cards, she thought. Computer punch cards. And not for just any computer - for a Trafnor DataBarn.

Zoe autonomically recited her personal details to Xacosma while the rest of her mind whirled with the memories of every museum exhibit, documentary and text book entry about the Trafnori she had ever seen. A race of notorious over-engineerers, their computers were legendary - not for their power, which was laughable, but for their durability. It was said that a Trafnor could keep running through anything short of a direct nuclear strike, which would sometimes necessitate a hard reset.

A Trafnor DataBarn. And they had one here, somewhere in the palace. But how long had it been since they even knew what a computer was? Long enough, it seemed, for data entry and record keeping to become ritualised. But wasn't there a chance…?

"Seventeen years," she said, returning her full attention to Xacosma's task. "And this rite is performed for every inhabitant of the palace? Even the Imperial Champions?"

The woman looked at her as if she were simple. "Of course, my child. Did you not learn these things at your mother's knee?"

"I mustn't have been paying attention," Zoe said, with some difficulty. "But I'm very keen to learn now. Would you permit me to witness the Entering of this Blessed Wafer?"

Xacosma looked uncertain. "This is not forbidden, but it is unusual."

Zoe crossed her fingers behind her back. "I promise not to touch anything!"

"Well…"

"Oh, thank you!" Zoe put her arm around the woman's shoulders, gently pushing her forward. "I'm so excited, I don't think I can wait! Why don't we go now and you can finish my Wafer on the way? You're really good at Puncturing, you know."

The woman blushed. "It is much harder than it looks," she chattered as they began to walk. "So often the acolytes do not appreciate the skill involved, why if a single mistake is made it can take hours to…"

Doctor, Jamie, please be alright, Zoe thought. Only a little longer and I might just pull this off.