Scott Keller, who had been in Bridger's quarters with permission to access Professor Martinson's databanks, was about ready to give up on finding the location of the Doctor's home planet.

And then he heard the strangest sound, unlike any other he'd ever heard before. Spinning around, he watched as a tall blue box—police box, he saw as it solidified—materialized in front of him. Before he had a chance to wonder, the door in the front opened, and the Doctor came out.

He was soaking wet.

"Not the storeroom, I take it," he said, looking around, his suit and hair still dripping slightly. He'd shut the door to the box—his ship, Keller realized—behind him. "Captain's quarters, then?"

Keller managed to nod, but he couldn't contain his grin.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked. "I expected Bridger would've told you, of all people. I thought that's what he planned to do once I left that meeting." A pause. "Er, how long ago was that meeting?"

"Not quite an hour ago," Keller answered, finding his voice. "And you were—?"

"Realizing that this—" and here the Doctor produced from his pocket what must have been the meteorite fragment Dr. Westphalen had shown him "—isn't what it looks like. At all. And that it's active, which I didn't really expect, though I suppose I should have expected it, given how things tend to go when I'm around." He caught Keller's look and explained, "It's a bit of technology that shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be anywhere, really; all of these things were supposed to be destroyed. But some races aren't as strict with regulations as others are."

"And who created that?" Keller asked, eager to learn more.

"You lot did," the Doctor replied. "Well, you will. With a bit of help. But not for a long while yet. 51st century, or thereabouts. You didn't do a very good job. Too difficult to control. Didn't get past preliminary testing. Well, most didn't. Someone apparently thought they'd try this out again, and got a little more than they bargained for, I expect. Explains why there's only one half, though. They used the other to get back. Or tried to. Not sure if it worked; I can't trace it. But they were too sloppy to take this with them, so it remained here, and who knows what it went through." He paused, but it wasn't a long enough pause for Keller to remark on that. "And, yes," he added, "I know I'm wet. Give me a few hours and I'll dry off." Another pause. "Didn't have time to change, let alone look for another towel after the one I already had got soaked through. I was in a bit of a rush." He hesitated one more time, then asked, "You don't think the salt water will ruin this suit, do you? I love this suit."

Keller looked him up and down again. "What happened to you?"

The Doctor sighed. "I was thrown back about four months. Unintentionally. And, well, seaQuest was sinking, and I ended up getting a little bit more than just my feet wet." He stopped for a moment. "Fortunately," he continued, drawing out the word, "I was very lucky, and I managed something that's a bit more tricky than you'd expect, and I managed to get the TARDIS to come to me. That doesn't always work, though, what I did. You tend to need a very special set of circumstances. And something that's meddling with time, usually. Namely, this." He tossed the meteorite fragment that really must not be a simple meteorite fragment into the air and caught it. "It's a temporal intentionality recreator—a TIR. Except, only part of it is here, as I said, and all it can do is send you back in time. But, once you're there, you're stuck. Unless you're brilliantly clever like me, of course, and happen to have a time machine of your own."

"So you really are a time traveller?" Keller asked, wanting to hear it for himself.

The Doctor gave him a look that told him, in no uncertain terms, that the man thought he must be thick for asking. "Of course I'm a time traveller. I'm a Time Lord. It'd be a bit embarrassing not being a time traveller." He nodded towards the video screen upon which Keller had been looking at various star charts, the latest of which was still displayed. "You won't find Kasterborous on there. It's too far away. You lot haven't discovered it. And that means, before you ask, that I can't tell you where to look. Introducing things before their time can get a bit messy. Well, that, or it can liven up a party. I love parties. I was at a brilliant one in 17th century France a while back. They really know how to party, those French. Lovely people. Can't make a banana daiquiri as well as me, of course, but that's something I expect they'll pick up on in time, don't you think?"

It took Keller a moment to understand everything the Doctor was saying. "You've been to various periods in Earth's history, then?"

The Doctor grinned. "Oh, sure. I've been all over. Spent loads of time travelling. Haven't stopped since I started, not really." But then his expression sobered and he glanced down at the—what had he called it? A TIR?—again, adding, "Seen a lot worse than this, too, in all that time. I'm just lucky I found it. Can you imagine the trouble you lot would get into with something like this?" He shook his head. "Normally, I'd just take this and be on my way, but there's still something that isn't quite right here, and I need to figure out what that is. And, since it started here, looking around here first would be my best bet." He pocketed the device. "Has seaQuest picked up anything else that doesn't belong on Earth, to your knowledge?"

Keller's brow creased. "Besides that hologram of the last alien species she encountered, you mean?"

"It wasn't a—" The Doctor stopped, and waved off whatever he was going to say. "Never mind. Yes. Besides that."

"I brought back some geologic core samples from Mars," he answered. "Some minerals, even a few fossilized Yullenia bentleyi."

"Where did you take your samples?" the Doctor asked, not looking at all surprised by the news of the fossilized snail. Keller wondered what else he knew about.

"Tharsis Bulge, Olympus Mons—all over the surface, really."

The Doctor closed his eyes from a moment. "That was Earth's first manned mission to Mars, then, yes? Spent about a month collecting samples and then headed back? Nothing long term?" He frowned and opened his eyes. "Well, yes, of course nothing long term. I already know the answer to that. Don't know why I asked. But you lot came back before seaQuest was attacked, and since I was just there, I would have felt something if this had anything to do with that. Well, that's a bit of a relief, then. Didn't need to encounter traces of another hostile Martian species in such a short time. If I missed the last one, who knows what else the Ice Warriors contained?" He shook his head. "Never mind. I think I know what I'm missing. I just can't put my finger on it. It'll come to me." And without another word, he spun on his heels and left the room.

Keller stared after him. He was a real alien, an intelligent, sentient species from another planet—the sort of thing Keller had always dreamed of discovering. The Yullenia bentleyi fossils had been impressive, yes, and proof that Mars must have had water on it for quite some time for the evolutionary process to advance so far. The discovery of the alien spaceship a few weeks ago had been both thrilling and humbling, and the interaction with the alien hologram was not an experience he would ever forget. But now he had met another alien, not a Martian, and not, according to him, from anywhere near the M-100 galaxy, where the last intelligent life had come from. He'd called himself a Time Lord, and he had, apparently, been visiting Earth for years, undetected because of his physiological similarities.

He had also, if Keller was interpreting things correctly, come across something on Mars recently—recently for him, at least, if not for anyone else—that had threatened him, and presumably others. Something Keller had, thankfully, missed in his explorations.

But something that, he would guess, would turn up in forty years. In 2059.

The Doctor was a time traveller, and he admitted that he had visited various parts of Earth's history—and, clearly, her future. He knew what happened. He knew what happened on Earth, the where and when of anything important. He'd known about the first manned mission to Mars, and he'd remembered a few details about it. If he knew about that, and about whatever happened in 2059, what else did he know?

If it was anything terrible, would he tell them? Or would he let them face whatever they would meet in the future unprepared, unprotected? And if he couldn't tell them that, would he consent to telling them other things? Not important things, nothing about major future events or advanced technology, but would he consent to tell them stories about other life out there, then? About his own race, for instance, or more about the race they'd encountered before? Had he even met them? He seemed knowledgeable, but no one would know all the life in the universe. Had the species forayed to his planet as well, or vice versa?

And what exactly was he doing? Travelling, he'd said. But why? To what end? Was he just studying them, or did he and his people have other plans in mind? And how many others like him were there, visiting Earth, disguised as humans? Surely he wasn't just visiting, dropping down to Earth for the pure enjoyment of it so frequently, not when there was an entire universe out there to be explored. Why try to protect them from whatever he'd found? It wasn't as if he could be trying to pay off a debt to them; they had nothing to offer someone who had access to the entire universe—and, presumably, the entirety of time—as compensation for his trouble.

But, no, maybe that wasn't right. He was too short-sighted. Earth had had her troubles in recent years, yes, and no doubt she would in the future, but if someone like the Doctor visited her so often, he surely must have a liking for both her features and her inhabitants, despite their shortcomings. So perhaps his travelling was all for the thrill of it, and when he found something that was wrong, he righted it, and that was that.

Keller glanced at the Doctor's ship again, finding that he really had to concentrate to keep it in sight. A police box. It wasn't very big, or didn't look that way from the outside. He rested a hand on the side, then knocked on it, testing. It still sounded like wood, and felt like it—wood that had been warmed in the sun. He tried the door, but it was locked. He should have known. Perhaps the Doctor would consent to letting him in if he asked.

But now, unfortunately, was not the time for asking. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he'd be able to glean something more while the Doctor carried on his investigations. And if that were to be the case, then he wasn't going to spend his time in here anymore. He needed to be out to join the party.


Dr. Kristin Westphalen was the first person to run into the Doctor after he left the captain's quarters. "What ha—?"

The Doctor didn't let her finish. "This," he said, brandishing the meteorite fragment at her, "is not what you think it is. At all. When did you get it? How long ago?"

"Not terribly," Dr. Westphalen replied, wondering what he was after. "A few days ago, that's it."

The Doctor frowned at her words. "Days?" he repeated, as if he didn't believe her.

"Days," she confirmed, somewhat disconcerted.

"But I thought…." The Doctor closed his eyes. "I thought Captain Bridger said you'd returned over a week ago."

Dr. Westphalen laughed. "I think I know my own schedule," she said.

The Doctor looked at her then, and she didn't like the look in his eyes. "Do you?" he queried, in the most serious tone of voice she'd heard him use yet. "Do you really?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," the Doctor answered. "It doesn't make sense. TIRs don't do that. They just don't. It's not in their capabilities."

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Westphalen asked, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about now. What in heaven's name was a TIR? Not, she figured, the product of lachrymation, since even though tears cleanse the eyes, they certainly don't affect the memory, as the Doctor seemed to be implying.

The Doctor looked agitated now. "It doesn't make sense," he hissed again, still ignoring her. "It should, but it doesn't. Why doesn't it?"

"Doctor, would you mind explaining yourself?" Dr. Westphalen asked, deciding it was better to break in now than to let him ramble on.

The Doctor stopped his mutterings and sighed. "I thought I had this figured out," he said. "I really did. It made sense, all of it. A TIR. That's it. Just…a TIR, a bit of technology that shouldn't be where it is, one that manipulates time, creating shortcuts to the past. But that's all it does. Create shortcuts. Ways there and back, no stops in between. That's all it does. That's all it can do."

"Then why doesn't it make sense?" she quizzed practically, knowing he wasn't telling her something.

"Because you've had it for over a week," the Doctor answered.

"But I haven't," she protested. "I can't have. I only discovered it a week ago. I certainly haven't had it for longer."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment. "Did anyone else touch this, besides you and me?" She shook her head, but when she began explaining, he interrupted her. "No. Don't bother. I know what you think. What I need to know is what everyone else is saying."

"But it'll be the same," she said, still trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Everyone knows that. Mine was the last launch to arrive, before you and Commander Keller came and the rest of the crew was taken to the surface vessels. We haven't had contact with anyone else."

"Maybe the story's the same," the Doctor allowed, "but the timing's not." And before she could question him further, he took off at a run down the corridor.


It didn't make sense. It ought to make sense, but it didn't, not a lick of sense in the whole situation. Not terribly unusual, for him. Things didn't always go the way they should, as they ought to or as he expected. But this was different. It had to be a TIR. He knew it was. He'd analyzed it, after all. His analysis had confirmed what he'd expected: that it was a TIR.

Except it couldn't be, not if it was doing what he thought it was doing.

Granted, he didn't know for sure what it was doing. He just had a very, very strong suspicion. Trouble was, that suspicion didn't line up with everything else, which was why he couldn't give his suspicion enough credence to call it a good guess—at least not until he got a few more facts by confirming other, more minor, suspicions.

The most disturbing thing was the time discrepancy. He was sure Nathan Bridger had said it had been a week since Dr. Westphalen had returned with the TIR, no matter what the good doctor herself had insisted. But one person's word wasn't all he could go on, not if there was a chance that the person in question was being influenced, or affected, or infected, or something. He needed to check with other people, and check their word against the logs, and then he might admit that he could have, just possibly, misheard.

Maybe.

Unlikely, but…not impossible.

The first person he ran into was one of the science staff who had known about the encounter with the N'zyritian, but it wasn't someone he recognized. The man would do perfectly for his little experiment, then. Pulling up short, the Doctor whipped out his psychic paper and waved it at the man before pocketing it again and saying, "Dr. John Smith. May I ask you a few questions?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "General things first. When, exactly, did seaQuest find that alien ship?"

The man—Dr. Levin, according to his nametag—started, and for a moment, he looked flustered. Then he said, apologetically, "I don't recollect the exact date, but it was a month or two ago now."

The Doctor frowned. "You don't remember the day you had undeniable proof of extraterrestrial life?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dr. Levin hesitated. "Seven weeks ago, I think," he clarified.

"You think?" the Doctor repeated, letting a hint of disdain creep into his voice. Best to let the man think him a stickler for details; once that was established, he'd get as much accurate information as he could.

Dr. Levin shrugged apologetically. "I never did have a good memory for dates. And down here, the days seem to flow together."

"I'll bet you don't even remember when your head scientist returned," the Doctor said in a tone of voice he ordinarily would not have used for someone like poor Dr. Levin. It was that same jeering tone he'd used to irritate Davros back on the Crucible, something that had happened so long ago and not so very long ago at all.

"Oh, well, that was only two days ago," Dr. Levin answered, unaware that the Doctor wasn't paying him much mind anymore. "I do remember that, yes. And then we were informed of your visit the next day."

Something that had happened so long ago and not so very long ago at all.

That was it. It had to be.

Oh, he'd been so thick not to realize that immediately.

"And when," the Doctor asked carefully, "did seaQuest perform the experiment using the hull siphons to refloat a sinking ship?"

Dr. Levin looked surprised. "That must've been eight months ago. Why ask about that?"

"Because it happened a lot more recently than eight months ago," the Doctor answered grimly. "Do you know what that is? That swelling and shrinking? It's all twisted out of proportion, days and weeks and months not getting their full value or getting more than their share."

Dr. Levin was clearly confused now. "I thought you were here to question us about the alien," he said slowly.

"What, and you think that just because the alien you encountered was humanoid, it must have no more control over time than you do?" the Doctor asked. He paused, reconsidering, and added, "Well, most of the time I suppose you'd be right. However, that's not true in all cases, not even in this one, and believe me, I know—no one knows better than me. That is a more apt explanation of why I am here, don't you think, if I'm an expert in the very thing that seems to be going wrong?" Another pause. "Well, that's not to say that I'm not a bit of an expert in alien encounters, too. Had loads of those, myself. There's probably no one else on Earth who knows more than me at the moment." The Doctor stopped, then added, "That's not really bragging if it's true, is it?"

"Let me get this straight," Dr. Levin said. "You think that the alien we encountered not only can manipulate time but did?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, that's not right at all," he admonished. "Can't you listen? What I think is that something—something other than the N'zyritian you ran into, mind—is manipulating time, right here, right now. Through this," he added, pulling out the TIR-that-might-not-be-a-TIR-after-all.

Dr. Levin frowned. "The meteorite fragment Dr. Westphalen brought back?"

The Doctor brightened. "Oh, you've seen it before, have you?" Dr. Levin nodded, and the Doctor continued, "Ooh, that's a bit of a relief, then. I'd been thinking that it just affected those who'd touched it, but then you came along, and I was starting to think that the effects must have spread, but if you've seen it, then maybe that's the pattern I should have been looking for." He paused. "Who else has seen it? Do you know?"

"Most of the scientists," Dr. Levin answered carefully. "I mean, we all have our own pet projects, our interests on the side, and Dr. Westphalen was hoping one of us might be able to help her determine what its constituents are."

"And could you help her?" the Doctor asked, though he doubted the answer would be affirmative if Dr. Levin hadn't come in physical contact with the TIR.

Predictably, Dr. Levin shook his head. "No, I'm more interested in hypnotic regression."

"Are you, now? We really must have a bit of a chat, then, at a better time. But, right now, I think it would be better if I tracked down anyone on board who could have helped Dr. Westphalen."

"You'd have a time trying to do that," Dr. Levin informed him. "There wasn't anyone who thought they knew enough to help. All they could do were the same things she was doing, and even when she showed us her analyses, no one saw anything different than she did."

"And what about the military staff?" the Doctor pressed. "Did any of them know anything?"

Another shake of the head. "No. That's why Dr. Westphalen asked Commander Keller to come aboard. He knows more than any of us about that sort of thing."

The Doctor frowned. "I asked that Commander Keller be here, to aid in my questioning. He's not here because Dr. Westphalen asked."

This time he was met with a shrug. "Maybe you did request that, but probably the only reason they complied was because Dr. Westphalen wanted the same thing."

"Is it now?" The Doctor's frown deepened. This was all a bit more complex than he'd thought if small things like that were actually changing. Of course, considering how many times his opinion had evolved over the course of the conversation with the good Dr. Levin, that really shouldn't have been at all surprising. He wasn't entirely sure if what he had was a TIR anymore. Loads of evidence pointed to it being one, but there were a few things that stood out, a few things that were wrong, that didn't line up as they ought to if it was just a TIR. But if it wasn't, he wasn't entirely sure what it was, yet.

Well, whatever it was, one thing that he had to find out very quickly was whether or not it was here intentionally. If seaQuest and her crew were targeted, for whatever the reason, then he was, likely as not, dealing with something who wasn't making itself known yet, but what was biding its time, watching and waiting, to see what he'd do. And if they weren't targeted, then he'd have to find out what, really, had made Dr. Westphalen pick the TIR up in the first place, and whether or not anyone else would have been sufficient if they'd taken her place and picked the TIR up in her stead, taking the unsteadiness of time somewhere else entirely.

He'd track down one of the military personnel, then, and ask them a few questions. If he got the same response that he was getting from Dr. Levin, then he was in a spot of trouble, no question about it. If not, then the effects of the spread did follow a pattern, and a predictable one, so it wouldn't take him long to sort it once he figured out what was initiating the pattern and how.

Easy.

Well, easy in theory.

Might be a tad more difficult in practice, though.

But he was good at this sort of thing. It wouldn't be anything he couldn't handle.

Or, at least, it shouldn't be.


A/N: And now the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place. Well, nearly into place; they don't quite fit yet, or at least not where the Doctor's been putting them. Now, it may come off as a bit odd to have the Doctor almost certain that the fragment is one thing (ie, a TIR) and then have him questioning that certainty, but frankly, if he's not second-guessing himself after The Waters of Mars, I'd be quite surprised. Also, thank you to everyone who has read my story thus far and found it interesting enough to comment on.