Back to it! The Doctor Who world feels like home to me, hokey as it seems, and even though I love branching out into other fandoms, there is nothing like writing for my favorite Time Lord (and his lovely, lovelorn companion).

For the first time ever, I am working on a story that is a team effort, a collaboration, a meeting of the minds! The idea/premise for this story is solely that of my good friend Miggs, who has been so nice in turning the actual fun part over to me, and letting me run with it, and offering her wisdom along the way. I am soooo looking forward to this journey! I usually find that I wind up writing a completely different story than I set out to write, and it will be so interesting to see what happens here, given that my writer's conscience is currently sort of answering to someone else.

As such, this story starts from scratch. It is a stand-alone, not associated with any of my others, which I'm finding very freeing! There is something to be said for sticking to canon, even if it's frustrating!

So I hope you enjoy the ride!

Prologue

President Bouthilette Hadran stood on the balcony of the Presidential Palace and watched as ship after ship after ship blasted away from this, her beloved planet, never to return. She was comforted that the ships were each carrying at least fifteen thousand inhabitants, and that so many of her subjects would be safe. But that comfort was only momentary, as another wave of nausea shot through her, a common occurrence over the last few weeks, as the citizens of the planet Asmei had had no choice but to evacuate.

"Madame President," said her aide, the very worthy Ives Mitke. "You should know… according to the ships' manifests, forty-eight million, seven-hundred-twenty-one thousand, four-hundred and six individuals are sleighted to leave the Western sector of the planet. Including us, the clergy, the science conglomerate, the prisoners from Mount Akesi, hospital patients, and the children from that school way out in the mountains that got forgotten."

Hadran closed her eyes for a few seconds, and whispered. "I know."

Ives continued, "That leaves approximately half a million souls left behind."

She repeated, "I know."

"Are we going to do anything about them?" asked Ives.

"I don't know," she told him. "If I knew what to do in a crisis this size, we wouldn't have to evacuate."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't do that to yourself. You know you can't be expected to save the planet on your own."

She sighed, watching yet another wave of evacuation ships leave the atmosphere. "I can't even save this half of the planet, the half I was elected to protect."

"You did protect us. You called in the militia, you asked those who could be useful to hang back… you're not a god. You can't do everything, so you delegated. It's what a good leader does."

There was a long silence as Hadran continued to stare at the sky. "I suppose," she said finally. "Thanks, Ives."

"Madame President?" a voice said from behind her. It was her military advisor.

"Yes?"

"Major Fendono is prepared to give her report."

"I'll be there in a few minutes," the President promised.

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, I need everyone seated," Major Fendono called out. "Quickly, please."

The sombre crowd took their seats in the small auditorium, relatively quickly. The Major paced back and forth in front of a lit-up screen, with moving images. Once each person, including the President and her aides, had found their places, she began to speak.

"As you know, we have perhaps thirty-six hours to go," she said. "That's two days before life as we know it is obliterated. Your President Hadran, and President Kala of the Eastern Sector, have done everything they can. It was a wise idea to call in our militia – we have the strongest battle cruisers and the fastest fighter jets in the galaxy. We have the best-trained infiltration and combat units this side of the Aedelek Star Field. But we have all but swarmed the neighbouring planet, to no avail."

There was a low murmur in the room. Everyone knew she was right, but they had been hoping she had called them into the conference for good news.

She continued. "The science conglomerates from both hemispheres have stayed behind in the wake of mass exodus, to measure the gravitational changes, to monitor the ground quakes, see if there's anything to be done about the boiling from the inner reaches of the planet. They have learned much. They have learned that the gravitational pull of the planet is letting go, the ground quakes do not originate from inside the planet, and the boiling is increasing at an exponential rate. And there is nothing that can be done about any of those things in the next two days."

Another murmur fell over the room, and then died out.

"And your President, and President Kala, have been so kind as to ask the clergy cells to stay behind, the gardners, cultivators of your planet and your souls, in order to provide comfort, and spiritual reassurance both to you, and to the planet itself. This is a lovely gesture, and helpful, but not even the gardening priests and priestesses can save your beloved Asmei now."

A man stood up from the crowd. "Erm, hi, Senator Hanni Olfang from the Green Bog Territory. Did you just call us all here to tell us that there's no hope?"

"On the contrary, Senator Olfang. Because there's one thing we haven't tried," said Major Fendono.

She turned and touched the screen behind her. Seven faces appeared.

"You see here seven faces, my friends. Seven different visages of men, seemingly of different ages and ilks, and to look at them, from different eras of history," she said. "We have followed records across time and space and found these images linked with stories of great feats of strength. Time and again, the Daleks were dispatched, Cybermen defeated, Sontarans ran away with their tails between their legs, all courtesy of these men, and we wondered : do these men belong to a secret agency? A super army? The answer is: no, they don't."

The Major took a pregnant pause for effect.

"These faces all belong to one man, and all of these awesome feats can be attributed to him. He is our hope, my dear Asmeians."

There was a murmur, and Major Fendono did not take time to wait for it to subside.

"We know a great deal about him, and yet not enough. We know that he is born of a regenerating race, and that these seven faces do not comprise the full length of his life. We don't know how many different faces he has had, and we do not know in which order these faces appear. We know that he is the only one of his species in the universe, and that he has strong ties to actual humankind and the original, now-defunct planet Earth, so our time is not really his time. But it does not matter – this man will reach us from across the ages."

"How do we acquire him?" someone asked from the crowd.

"It's already done – he is on his way."

"Who is he?"

"No one knows," said the Major with a shrug. "He simply calls himself the Doctor."