Part One

Namibia, 2012

Tegan was annoyed.

The Doctor had made some parting comment about that being Tegan's "default setting" and had then ambled off to lecture the group of students that trailed around him, hanging on his every word.

That only annoyed her further.

Tegan shifted the towel over her face to block out the glaring morning sun and wriggled in her sun chair. She was tired. And thirsty, and worst of all Nyssa had stopped coming round with fresh glasses of iced tea. She'd promised to come back, but it seemed as if Tegan's foul temper had managed to drive away the most patient woman that Tegan had ever met.

Tegan sighed, her breath poofing up the towel briefly before it settled back onto her face.

It had all started out so cute. It really had.

Studying the Suricata suricatta as the Doctor had called them would be a great way to examine mammal behaviour, while at the same time providing a 'lovely vacation.' With that introduction, Tegan had groaned inwardly. Nyssa, however, had seemed so excited that for once Tegan kept her mouth shut. A suitably rare event that did not go uncommented upon by the Doctor. Nevertheless, the TARDIS promptly plonked itself down in the middle Kalahari Desert. The Ship parked right beside a cluster of tents erected by students and volunteers who spent their vacations, and thousands of pounds, furthering science. None of the students, nor their leader, Dr Cavanaugh, so much as blinked at their arrival – which only furthered Tegan's suspicion that the Doctor had some sort of mind control powers, or at least some sort of spray-thing that made everyone love him. Well, nearly everyone.

Initially sceptical, the Suricata suricatta turned out to be meerkats, and they were absolutely adorable. Over the next few days Tegan actually found herself enjoying assisting the volunteers and students who were collecting behavioral data of the clan, taking notes of the little buggers as they foraged for food and mated. The furry guys seemed to forage all day, with a watchful sentry making peeping and other strange noises. While, the ability of the meerkats to munch on venomous scorpions was a little unnerving to watch, the sight of the baby meerkats, no bigger than mice, climbing out of their nests for the first time were so despicably adorable that Tegan actually squeaked with delight.

The creatures seemed used to the presence of the scientists, although Tegan was a little less than thrilled to find that her Armani bag was quickly 'marked' by one little guy who seemed to constantly be just out of arm's reach of the rolled up newspaper that she'd taken to carrying. She'd named him Adric for a variety of reasons.

That had been ten days ago. After a week in the desert and sleeping in tents with scorpions, snakes and other insects flitting about, adorable only went so far with Tegan. Boredom had set in. She'd been through all the good books in the TARDIS library and was down to leafing through a -probably very naughty- picture book dedicated to the lifecycle of the Acturan mega-donkey. As she slipped in and out of sleep in the chair, she felt the book slip off her lap and thump into the sandy desert floor. There was a brief pause, then the rustle of Adric scenting the new arrival and knocking over the dregs of her glass of tea, probably resulting in the ruination of Megadonkey text.

Under the safety of her face towel, Tegan found herself thinking that it was a good thing that the TARDIS library didn't have a librarian.

'Did you know that according to popular belief, the meerkat is also known as the "sun angel"? It was thought that they could protect the village from the moon devils, otherwise known as werewolves.'

Speak of the devil. 'You know, that info-blurb was utterly fascinating- the first three times you told me. Now, less so.'

'Do I get the impression that your enthusiasm has waned a bit?'

'Doctor, I get it. I do. This has been a great vacation after recent... events...' Tegan made a point of not mentioning anything about the giant snake in her head that had recently worn her body like a finger puppet. Again. 'But I'm fine, really.' She lifted the edge of her towel up and stared at him, partially blinded by the sun blazing overhead. 'It's okay. I'm okay... I'm ready. Let's move on. Literally.'

'Hmmmm...' The Doctor met her gaze for a long while, the only sounds in the air the peeping of the meerkats and the dull whine of insects. 'Indeed.' He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and turned to survey the horizon that was clumped with the many hills of the meerkat colony. 'We'll be off soon enough. Dr Cavanaugh seems to think the next batch of volunteers will be arriving in a day or two so we can push off then.'

'Another day of spag bol?'

'I'm afraid there are greater dangers in the universe than facing beef-based pasta dishes... besides, my bolognaise is considered quite a delight in some parts of Italy. '

Tegan pulled the towel back over her face and let out a long, dramatic sigh.

'And Tegan?'

'Yes?' She flipped up the towel, hoping he'd changed his mind and that they'd be on the first Gallifreyan time ship outta here.

'Please do clean that book up before you put it back in library would you? It's a first edition- and please remember to close the TARDIS door, the last thing we need is a bunch of space-travelling meerkats ...'

Wales, 1995

The PM grabbed a coronation chicken sandwich at Spartacus, wandered down Pier Street and strode the promenade of Aberystwyth. His wasn't really a PM, of course, but he found out that's what the local shopkeepers had dubbed him the Pigeon Man after ten months of coming here every morning to sit and stare at the sea and toss old bread to the birds. He liked the anonymity of it, and it was just as good as his name. There was no one left to use his proper name, not for a very long time. No one who mattered any way.

The wind, chill and gray, spat at the waves that broke upon the stony beaches on the shore before him. It was early November and the high season with its throngs of tourists had come and gone; the pier was virtually empty. This was how he liked it. Even if he hadn't intended to come here at all today. However, after a late morning spent perpetually shoo-ing his tabby, Susie, off his laptop keyboard, he had given up trying to draft some letters. He gathered up his bag and overcoat and headed slowly down to the little town for some lunch and the only thing that he could do lately: escape...

There was a woman on his bench today, bundled up in a checked coat and paisley scarf, intently focused on her book, ear buds dangling down into a radio or cassette player hidden by the folds of fabric. She looked up at his arrival and nodded her head in greeting although evidently annoyed. She went back to her book as he settled himself and his satchel on the bench and took hesitant sips of his scalding coffee.

The PM looked out to the sea. His eyes were drawn to the endless horizon and his thoughts, as they always did, found their way back to his wife. Grief, he found, passed away like a bruise, nothing but a dull ache that faded with time. Longing, however, persisted. A pain that drained his soul. Longing for her often burned with every step, often coming from out of nowhere, knocking him sideways sometimes. Today, it was the cold wind of the sea that brought him back, that sent him on his way once more. Aware of himself again, he pulled his coat tightly around him and reached for his coffee again.

The woman was gone, he noticed at last, and a slow patter of rain had begun to tap and patter lightly down around him. There were no birds today which, was odd although perhaps they sensed the oncoming storm. With a reluctant sigh, he pulled himself up and made his way along the promenade towards the rounded hilltop, Pen Dinas. Atop, lay his goal Castell Aberystwyth. Or what remained of it.

Once the greatest in all of Wales, the castle was built during the first Welsh War and completed in 1289, yet all that remained today was ruins. Castles could survive many battles, defeat many armies, defy many kings, yet they always lost to Time. Time, and the need for the town's population for handy building materials that plucked apart the castle block by block. Of course, being ordered to be blown up in 1649 speeded the process up a bit. He picked his way through the trimmed green grass, stepping over the stones of the inner walls and made his way towards the only remaining portion of the structure: the old North Tower.

Crossing the circle of bardic stones, one representing for each of the old counties, he paused to take a sip of coffee from his thermos. As he did so, he turned around slowly, ensuring that there was no one about. Satisfied, he tucked the thermos back into his satchel and continued towards the tower and nipped into its shadows. Pen Dinas had been the site of a fort dating as far back as the Iron Age, yet had he stepped inside it then, or today, he would have known the trembling sensation in an instant. He had felt it when he's first stumbled upon it here as a tourist visiting three years ago. He placed his hand on a familiar stone, felt the air shift around him, and stepped into another world.

The PM stepped out onto the floor of a cavern, its polished surface worn out of the rock as if by wind or water, although there were neither here in this vast room of choices. There were doors of all shapes and sizes, though most nothing more than the gaping mouths of darkened tunnels.

The PM sat in the center with his knees crossed, his jacket serving as a blanket, his satchel lying on its side. He chewed slowly savoring his sandwich, enjoying the soft warmth of the French bread and the cool taste of the chicken, broken intermittently with of sips of bitterly strong coffee. So many choices. Some of the doors he had marked with chalk: this one lead to a forest in the Upper Yangtze, another to Bethune's Gully in New Zealand, that one to the great Maiombe tropical rain forest in Angola. The door back home, however, he had marked in indelible ink 'HOME' to prevent any mistakes, and hewn a notch along the side with his pocketknife to be doubly sure he could find it even in the dark.

He had been through many of the doors and found they lead to many times and places across the history of both men and beasts. He had only ever returned to five however. Five particular doors that led nowhere but to quiet places that lay far from worlds of men and politics and monsters. There was one door that he always wanted to find, but knew he could never find. He had all that ever was, and all that could ever be at his feet, but none of that interested him anymore. He'd seen it all before and he was far, far too old for any of that nonsense. No. He came here only to do what he loved best, to do the only thing that provided any comfort to him anymore.

If only he could go back... if only...

Shaking himself back to the present, he scrunched up the remainder of his sandwich wrap and fumbled with his satchel, spilling his coffee in the process. He dropped the bag momentarily as he wiped away the coffee from his jacket, before he pulled out the bag's contents searching for napkins. In his confusion and haste, he didn't see the little marble roll out of his back, bouncing silently into the darkness. After sopping up most of the mess, and finishing the last of the coffee, he packed up his satchel, stood up slowly and walked through his favorite door.

After it closed behind him, there was nothing but silence. And then slowly, without a sound, another door began to form.

Namibia, 2012

'What drew you to study these mammals in particular?' Nyssa fiddled with the video camera, tilting the lens downward to get a better view of the burrow. Although there were at least fifteen entrances and exit holes scattered about the dusty red scrubland, Dr Cavanaugh had selected this one to be monitored. Dozens of other cameras covered the other openings, but she'd invited Nyssa to come observe this one, as it was the one where the pups frequently appeared. Only six weeks old, they often stumbled hesitantly out of the burrow and into the warm sunlight.

Dr Cavanaugh grinned from beneath a fringe the colour of charcoal, stained with ashen streaks of age and tinted with the red brown dust of the desert sands. 'Aside from the cuteness factor you mean?' She scribbled in her field book, making note of the time, weather and participants.

Nyssa frowned slightly. 'I'm not certain that a scientific scale that measures 'cuteness' exists, nor would cuteness be a logical factor in selecting a species for empirical observation.'

'In a purely objective world, that would be true,' Dr Cavanaugh replied, smiling at Nyssa's bizarrely Vulcan-eque response. 'However, cuteness attracts tourists, tourists bring money, money brings research and research gives results, and publications... which will let me keep my job at uni.' She glanced around the camp, squinting in the afternoon sun. Surrounding them were a mixture of students and wealthy tourists, all huddled around the meerkat colony, their energy and excitement still palpable even after nearly two weeks of dust and heat.

All around them meerkats bathed in the sun or foraged for food, doing their normal routine, normal everyday things, but extraordinary to their human observers. The meerkats were aware of their presence and kept the humans always in sight: the dark patches around their eyes served to reduce glare and increase their ability to see long distances, while the horizontal pupils provide them with a wide range of vision, yet they seemed not to be bothered. Not after so many years of teams that came again and again to document their smallest sneeze and snooze.

Even with scientific objectivity always guiding her observations, Dr Cavanaugh couldn't help but admit she was smitten with them, even after nearly twenty years of field seasons. 'Our uni does run another program that focuses primarily on slime eels, but shockingly, very few people are willing to shell out two grand to spend their holidays collecting hag fish...Meerkats, however, not only pay the bills, but are adorable to boot!'

Financial realities in regards to scientific research seemed absurd to Nyssa, and Dr Cavanaugh had heard her spout these opinions repeatedly. Nyssa had answered, more than once, with something along the lines of 'much of this world seems strange, and thanks to Tegan, I learned long ago not to probe too deeply into your society with logic.' Although this response was beyond strange, Nyssa seemed so completely convinced about it that Dr Cavanaugh let it go.

So many people came to the camp on holiday, all seeking to escape their humdrum lives, their dull jobs, to live a more exciting reality- if only for a short time- that she'd learn to let many comments go unremarked upon. She noticed Nyssa's eyes flicker back to the den and Nyssa let out a little 'oooooo' as the five tiny pups emerged from the burrow as another meerkat approached, something odd dangling from her mouth.

'That's the mother,' Dr Cavanaugh explained, 'bringing a scorpion back to the pups so that they can learn how to feed. Notice how she jumps about about, tempting the pups to take the food from her mouth. She's bitten off the stinger until they're old enough to hunt them on their own.'

"I have seen this act several times already Dr Cavanaugh," Nyssa replied evenly. "I am aware of the relevance of the act.'

Dr Cavanaugh could detect no trace of irritation in Nyssa's voice. She was merely stating a fact, in a calm and patient tone. It was the reason that Nyssa was the favourite of all of the members of the camp. Nyssa was completely drama free. It was very refreshing. "Nyssa, please I've told you before, please call me by my first name, Oshadagea, or Osha at the very least. While my father was English, my mother was Iroquois."

"Oh," replied Nyssa with a blank look.

Osha had come to the conclusion several days ago that when Nyssa was faced with anything that did not have strict scientific relevance to a conversation, she would shut down. As if she was trying not to draw attention to herself... Which, Osha considered, was fairly comic given the fact that Nyssa walked around the desert in a crushed velvet suit and high heeled boots. It also more than a little odd was odd how Nyssa never seemed to perspire, and how the fabric never seemed to get dirty. Sand just fell away from it, as if they'd just prefer be somewhere, anywhere, else.

Osha jotted down some more notes. Before several, dramatic, life events, Osha had been an industrial psychologist, and while the members of camp always provided good material for her mind to chew on, the three latest arrivals were unlike anything she'd ever encountered. She might get more out of this expedition that just another meerkat publication.

Osha, having seen the scorpion display numerous times, turned her gaze back to the camp where the Doctor stood over Tegan's reclining form, a chair she'd rarely left in several days. 'You know, I had an uncle once,' Osha began hesitantly, 'still have one I suppose, but he stayed with us in Canada, after he came back from the war... just for a while, but a few months after he got back, he seemed... dull to the world, couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate and was irritable all the time...' Osha had only been a teenager at the time, but her uncle's stay had left quite an impression, particularly the shouting in the middle of the night. The same muffled shouting she'd heard Tegan cry out when she was asleep. 'Which reminds me of Tegan...'

'Not surprisingly,' Nyssa nodded. 'Although it would be difficult to discern given that those character traits are pretty much Tegan's baseline. However, you are correct in your deductions; Tegan has recently suffered... a traumatic event. I am quite concerned for her. The Doctor, of course, insists that all she needs is time. He's usually right about these things, although admittedly, interpersonal communication could hardly be considered his forte.' Nyssa fiddled intently with the camera, snapping off shot after shot.

It seemed that Nyssa was not going to be more forthcoming in regards to Tegan. However Osha had another line of inquiry to follow... Tegan suffering from PTSD was one thing, but then there since there was the young blond man with the bizarre pyjama trousers and the salad lapel, and this seemed as good a segue as any. 'Ah, yes. The Doctor...'

'What is that sound?' Nyssa cut her off. The constant, low peeping sound of the watchman had abruptly stopped, followed by a frenzied barking sound. The pups had already vanished back into the burrow. Tourists and students started to scatter, running in all directions in panic.

'A warning call, but I really don't know- I've never heard anything like it before.' Osha scrambled to her feet, her eyes casting about the sky looking for falcons or eagles, the meerkats constant predators. It was then that she became aware that the sound was coming from that odd blue box. The box that she was only noticing now because the light on top was flashing in a frantic strobe of panic. The box that she'd never really ever noticed even though she'd walked past it hundreds of times. What the hell was that box doing here in the middle of the desert? Next to my tent?

'The Cloister bells,' she heard Nyssa gasp. Then to her astonishment the timid little woman was up and running, sprinting, going faster than seemed possible. Osha found herself following, struggling to catch up as first Tegan, then the Doctor, then Nyssa stumbled through the narrow wooden doors.

Then, carried by her own momentum, she found herself falling into the darkness...

... and emerged somewhere else.