The isolation of space was a friend to the crew of the Dominion, or at least for the fifteen months it had taken to painstakingly build. The universe's highest-quality hotel, it resembled a curved pointed cylinder, surrounded by a circular glass tunnel for viewing the beautiful galaxy around them. This large tube, jokingly referred to as the "Intestine", was connected by smaller tubes made of flimsy-but-safe plastic referred to as the "Bronchioli". The architect, the great Lupos Brown, had an obsession with body parts at the time and so had named everything, even the anus. Although the crew preferred to refer to it as the "bowel".

Jenkins Smith and Emilia Milio were in the middle of the pyramid when it came to ranking. Not quite important, but not dirt either. They had the authority to forcibly remove guests, and the authority to visit the gun-rooms (known as the E.Y.E.S for EnergY Emitting Sentries, although sometimes referred to as ionizers, which when prompted could shoot an entire planet from the sky), but not the authority to enter the main control area, or to enter an escape pod on the cusp of threat. It was an unfair disadvantage of monumental sacrifice, but it kept the families of each of them afloat, and brought to them new friends and new stories to tell, so who cared at the end? Either way, they got something out of it.

The Dominion worked on a cosmic storm basis. Any areas of the galaxy that was docile, and without stormy conditions such as solar flares or interstellar Artron lightning, they would vacation at. Other than that, they would simply drift in space, alone with their thoughts and a surplus of empty, dusty rooms that could never be entered without a guest pass. This pass cost about 50 Nargs extra, and in such times of economic deflation that fee was hard to come by. Nevertheless people came from far and wide in order to have the infamous claim to fame, from the various television adverts: "We Reign in the Dominion!"

Smith and Milio were about twenty meters from the entrance into the main bulk, walking through the lower end of the Intestine like it was a country garden. They both felt less full of energy and more full of sleep at this point, due to their various lives the night previous.

"Why do we always get stuck with this job? I mean, you can never be so stupid as to stow away on a glass tube where anyone can see you." moaned Jenkins, in that thick Edinburgh accent that everyone but Emilia found amusing. He had a slight limp, given to him after a door had accidentally slammed down on his leg.

"Well, Miriam is...well, Miriam. And she loves everyone else. So that's why. Now, could you stop moaning? I'm trying to keep a mental count of the cracks in the floor."

They shuffled along, turning the final round corner. Smith spotted something.

"What the hell is...oh no. Oh jesus run!"

The screams of Smith and Milio were all that could be heard in the Intestine, as they were ripped apart by the thing that lay within.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllll

The Doctor, in his eleventh incarnation, stood in the control room of his TARDIS with nothing to do.

"What should we do K9?"

In the space beneath the console was K9, the Doctor's computer which resembled a robotic dog without legs. The Doctor had picked up this mark, Mark VII, three weeks ago after parting company with his old companion Maxine. Ever since he'd found himself bored, slowly hopping from time to planet without any care.

"Data irretrievable master, I do not possess the necessary data to predict your thought patterns."

"I know, I was...now I see why I put you in storage. Eugh."

He held his head in his hands.

"What is the problem, master?"

"Nothing, just a headache."

"Searching data-banks for possible relief. Might I suggest a holiday, master?"

"A holiday...sounds good. Good dog K9!"

"Affirmative, master."

"I know just the place! Great big hotel in space, looks like an olive pit with a wedding ring. Hopefully it's dog friendly!"

He whizzed around the console, flicking a lever with a significant lack of care. He was smiling, excited for the first time in weeks.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllll

The chief security operator Niles Operhimer had searched high and low for the two missing officers, suspecting everything from foul play to eloping. He'd searched the whole of the main area, and had now moved onto the Intestine without a sufficient amount of energy left in him to care. He flicked up the "Door-Open" switch and stepped out to find a stream of dried, flaking blood beneath his boot-clad feet. He raised his cuff to his mouth.

"Get me an armed double now. NOW!"

He walked further along, finding himself in the midst of either an abstract masterpiece or a butchery. There were lungs and brains spread across the glass walls and normal floors, along with the half-stripped, exposed-bones body of Jenkins Smith. Next to him lay half a body, obviously that of Emilia Milio. He sighed, and raised his cuff again.

"Ignore that last order. We'll need medics instead. Thank god we're not hosting guests."

lllllllllllllllllllllllllll

The TARDIS stopped materialising in what seemed to be a tunnel.

"So, K9, you know where we are?"

"Affirmative. The Avilon galaxy. Approximately ten parsecs w-"

"Yeah yeah I know. But where exactly?"

"The Dominion, master. Five star galactic hotel."

"Good, at least your location systems are working."

He went outside, leaving the door open for K9 before closing it. There was a smell of cleaning agents and sweat, which made the whole experience quite unpleasant.

"K9," the Doctor whispered, bending down, "can you analyse what the smell is?"

"Affirmative, master." K9 whispered back. The Doctor chuckled at the level of vocal loudness. The computer/dog's ears moved left to right for two seconds.

"Analysis complete, master. Substance is a mixture of Acetic Acid and Sodium hypochlorite solution."

"Vinegar and bleach. Someone's trying to clean up."

He walked forward and found himself staring into the cold dead eyes of a bald man, who held a gun.

"Who are you?" he asked, a smoker's-growl.

"The Doctor."

"We don't have guests, so where did you come from?"

"Oh, just popped aboard. Y'know, just a quick holiday for my head. Kinda like Poirot in Evil Under The Sun. You ever read it? I digress."

"Well, Doctor, if you aren't a guest, then I'll have to presume the truth. You are a murderer, and shall be sentenced to death!"

The Doctor sighed. Not another death sentence.