In Central Control, a shift neared its end. The Doctor had identified a long time ago that Jantuc surveillance tailed off in the last hour, with the Jantuc employees longing to go home and bored, so it had always been the best time of the day to get on with his real task. Not that he wasn't extremely careful even then. The only thing anyone would ever see on his screen was what was supposed to be there, as he was capable of continuing his reprogramming without anything visible on the monitor in front of him. What needed to be done he mapped out in his head in advance, and the programs he was using were hidden behind innocuous records and data.

Working nearby was a young man who had come to the Enclave only in the last week. He and his wife had been newly weds on their way to their honeymoon when the ship they'd been travelling on was attacked by Jantuc of the Siphi chapter. The man was an extremely experienced programmer and his intelligence made him a choice for Central Control. He seemed to spend most of his time worrying about his wife, which was fair enough, the Doctor thought, except that if he didn't concentrate more on what he was doing he was going to get hurt.

He was looking particularly agitated on this day as one of the guards strolled past, obviously bored. Suddenly the man, to the surprise of the other chattel, moved from his seat and bowed before the Jantuc. "My Lord, I have something to report."

"What?" growled the guard, just as surprised and completely disgusted.

The Doctor, with an uneasy feeling, poised his fingers to input a preprogrammed command into his terminal, for emergency use when he needed to shut down what he was doing instantly. "That one is not doing his work!" babbled the man, pointing at the Doctor. He must be good to have worked that out, thought the Doctor, still apparently working away like all the others while he input the preset commands. He couldn't help a feeling of dread for what he knew was going to happen next, but he also knew the alternatives were worse.

"You!" snarled the guard. "Stand away."

The Doctor rose silently and stepped back from the terminal.

"My Lord," begged the man. "Extra food for my wife …"

"Animal!" snarled the guard, striking him. "Get back to work!"

Whimpering, the man crawled back into his seat, and the guard, with a suspicious glance at the Doctor, approached his terminal and peered at it. He pressed a button, and the screen suddenly filled with meaningless gibberish. "What?" The guard whirled to face the Doctor.

He carefully kept his eyes lowered, feigning surprise. "Apologies, my lord, I must have made a mistake in coding, the terminal has crashed, I'm sorry …"

The guard twisted his arm viciously and slammed him into the wall, the right side of his face and his shoulder impacting with considerable force. He screamed as he felt his shoulder dislocate from the socket. He was held there as one of the priests approached along with a Jantuc technician. "What has occurred?" said the priest.

"This clumsy animal has broken equipment," said the guard.

The technician checked a few things, and nodded. "A wrong coding," she said. "Fixable."

"Just as well," said the priest. "Perform your sacred duty and punish the chattel."

The guard pushed the Doctor to his knees and took out his baton.

A small group of prisoners, including Jack, were returning from the pumphouse wheeling a cart between them, on the back of which sat a large container they'd just filled with water. As they manoeuvred it into its usual position, a woman approached them, who Jack recognised as one of the Central Control workers. She looked worried, and Jack had a sinking feeling even before she spoke.

"Shaku wanted you to come as soon as you got in," she said. "It's the Doctor."

Jack left the others and followed her. "What happened?"

"Stupid new chattel thought he saw him up to something. Thought he could sell it for extra food rations. Got a punch for his pains, but the Doctor crashed his terminal, and you know how they'd react to that."

"Where is this guy?" said Jack angrily.

She pointed as the man approached them, wringing his hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't …"

He didn't finish the sentence when Jack punched him, and he fell to the floor. Before he could do more than cry out, Jack grabbed the front of his tunic and hauled him to his feet. The man's wife had appeared on the scene by then, sobbing for Jack not to hurt him. Some of the watching prisoners held her back. Jack ignored her, pulling the man close and speaking slowly and deliberately. "Listen very carefully. The Jantuc don't care about you. You cannot bargain with them. They will not trade. You are nothing to them. All you do is hurt someone else, and yourself, and you will have nothing to show for it. Do you understand me?" The man nodded, terrified. "One more thing," Jack continued in the same cold tones. "All we have here is each other. If I hear of you doing this again the Jantuc will be the least of your worries." He dropped the man at that point and moved on.

He dropped to his knees next to the lower bunk on which the Doctor was lying, his eyes shut. He was extremely pale, and his right cheek was swollen into a huge bruise. Suddenly Jack was reminded of the recording he'd seen at Torchwood. This was what he looked like, he thought. Less swelling, but otherwise this was it.

Shaku, sitting nearby, said, "Shoulder dislocating putting back needing?"

Jack had already noticed it, and grimaced. "Yeah, it does."

The Doctor opened his eyes. "Have you ever done that before?" he asked faintly, his voice shaking with pain.

"So long as your joints are the same as humans," Jack replied. "Anything broken?"

"No," the Doctor replied. "I don't break that easily."

Jack nodded, and reached up to the Doctor's bunk, drawing out a parcel from under the mattress. He unrolled it, revealing several pouches. "Which one's the pain killer?"

Several onlookers were waiting in the vicinity, offering help, and Jack sent one of them for water and another for some bandages. Once he had everything he needed, he sent the rest away, as he didn't think any of them needed an audience. He and Shaku lifted the Doctor til he was sitting up against Shaku, who was holding onto him from behind. Jack took hold of his arm.

"Ready?"

"Not really," admitted the Doctor.

Jack gave a small encouraging smile, and yanked. The Doctor screamed, convulsing in Shaku's grip, and collapsed.

"Got it," said Jack in considerable relief.

"Passing out, Doctor?" asked Shaku, holding the now limp body against him.

Jack lifted his head and peeled up one eyelid. "Yes, he's out. And before he comes round, that lot in Central Control are very good at cracking ribs. I just want to make sure." With Shaku's help, he pulled up the Doctor's tunic, wincing in sympathy at the black bruises covering his back. "I know he said nothing was broken," he explained to Shaku as he probed the Doctor's ribs carefully, "but he's not always truthful when it comes to his own health." He nodded, satisfied. "But he's fine." They used the bandages to bind the Doctor's arm to the shoulder, immobilising it, then they laid him back down on the bed. The Doctor regained consciousness a few minutes later, and bit his lip in pain. "Want some more of this stuff?" said Jack, holding up the herbs. The Doctor nodded, and Jack prepared another cup, holding up his head so he could drink.

"It was a close call," whispered the Doctor, as Jack laid his head back down. "Fool nearly ruined everything."

"He won't be doing it again in a hurry," said Jack.

The Doctor looked at him in worry. "What did you do?"

"Had a conversation," said Jack innocently.

The Doctor frowned at him for a few moments, and shut his eyes. "I don't think I want to know." He sighed. "Thank you," he whispered, and within a minute Jack realised he was asleep.

Jack looked at Shaku, who was still sitting quietly nearby. "Doctor being well now?" Shaku queried.

Jack didn't answer immediately. In the short time he'd been there he'd seen the Doctor getting weaker and more exhausted, despite Jack's best efforts to take care of him. He was terrified the Doctor would succumb to one of the many diseases currently present among the chattel population, especially given his insistence on giving medical aid to the sick. Too stubborn, that's the problem, Jack thought glumly. He'll do whatever he thinks he should do no matter what anyone says. "I'm sure he'll be fine," he told Shaku, wishing he could believe it.