In honor of the upcoming U.S. premiere of Series 3 tonight at 8 p.m. (7 Central) on the SciFi Channel—and because they're running a Doctor Who marathon and it really is impossible to concentrate on schoolwork with a Doctor Who marathon going on (I've been trying all morning and so far I've written only about three useful sentences plus a doodle of the TARDIS)—I've broken my school-imposed fanfic hiatus and written out a little more than the first half of Chapter 10. I can't write any more because an awful, twitchy guilt has very cruelly decided to inhibit my muse—I really do have to get at least some work done before five—but this first part is chock full of vital background informatory stuff. It mixes past and present Who, inspired mainly by the episodes Logopolis and School Reunion. I'm going to put up everything I've got, so far as that goes. Any possible inconsistencies or over-generalizations are my own, so if you have any questions or criticisms, please let me know. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and who sent me comments and theories--I really appreciate that--and thank you all so very much for your patience with me. And to all you American fans out there: Happy Who Day! Hooray!

Chapter Ten, Part I

Long ago, in a galaxy very far away, there was a planet called Logopolis. It's not there now, and if anyone inquired they'd be told it never was there, except in myth. But it was present once, and when it was it was home to an extremely unique, tragically underrated, and vitally important race of people.

The Logopolitans of Logopolis were revered mathematicians of the highest and purest order. In appearance and manner, they were Platonian—that is, their dress and outlook was reminiscent of the ancient Greek philosopher Plato. They lived in caves, wore simple robes and sandals, and walked about with far-away eyes, as though they and they alone could see that solid matter was merely an illusion, a shadow of the deeper reality which was always hiding just beyond the light. And in truth, their vision was adapted to a brightness so rich and pure it transcended the material world, allowing them to view the intricately woven threads of reality from a higher plane, where all matter was spun at will out of filaments derived from perfect mathematics.

The Logopolitans were best known for practicing a deeply complicated branch of mathematics known as block transfer computation. Basically, block transfer computation grew from the premise that structure is the essence of matter and that the essence of structure is mathematics.

Logically, then–for the Logopolitans were always logical in their thinking–it followed that with the right calculations, mathematics could be used to provide the structure necessary to create matter. In other words, through their discovery of block transfer computation, the Logopolitan mathemagicians had essentially found their own Rosetta Stone: the decryption key which allowed them to unlock the language of the universe.

They called this key the Skasis Paradigm, and with this paradigm the fabric of reality itself, of infinity and nothingness, of time and space and matter, life and death, entropy and order–it could all be modeled mathematically. And because mathematics is the essence of structure, whatever they modeled would take physical form. The power of creation was theirs to control.

Or, more precisely, to protect.

The Logopolitans were a logical, contemplative race. Greed, ambition, profit, envy, all were foreign concepts to them. The Logopolitans worked collectively, each with a specific unquestioned function. Their minds were linked through multiple, intricate, powerful telepathic bonds, making each individual, in a very real sense, a single component of a vast computer–quite possibly the most powerful computer ever to exist in any reality, anywhere. The bonds were forged of imagination and analytical skill and, although Logopolitans rarely spoke aloud or even left their solitary caves, none were ever lonely.

Logopolis was a specially designed and terraformed world. To someone observing from space, it rather resembled a sophisticated spherical circuit board writ on a planetary scale, with the cave-like dwellings of the individual Logopolitans arranged on the surface like integrated circuits, or microprocessor chips. Each cluster of dwellings was connected to other clusters in a vast, elaborate network very few outsiders could fathom. This included outsiders as mathematically advanced as the Time Lords of Gallifrey.

The creation of Logopolis was necessary if the Logopolitans hoped to harness and control their newfound power with precision. The planet was constructed entirely through the power of pure mathematical thought, according to the exacting specifications of the Logopolitans' leader, the Monitor. Like the monitor of a computer, the Monitor of Logopolis was the Logopolitans' living point of interface: the face they presented to the outside universe. Through him, the pure computation of the Logopolitans could be related to other, less mathematically-minded beings.

It was the Monitor's job to speak to other species in their own languages, to boil down the complicated mathematical equations for alien minds to understand. And even then, many essentials were unavoidably lost in translation. For some concepts, there simply are no words. And for that reason, despite the Monitor's best efforts, misunderstandings were not only frequent, they were inevitable.

The Time Lords understood the basic tenets of Logopolitan mathematics. They adapted the more elementary proofs and theories to suit their own designs, creating dimensionally transcendental structures that were larger on the inside than the outside. At least a passing acquaintance with block transfer computation was essential for any Gallifreyan engineer, physicist, or mathematician who passed through the Academy, and a few advanced students sometimes opted to study abroad on Logopolis for a decade or so as apprentices to the Logopolitan Monitor, assisting him with his work.

Yet because most Time Lords did not understand Logopolis, they quickly came to view the planet, rather derogatorily, as being essentially a gigantic garage. Logopolis was the place they brought their time capsules whenever they needed a check up, minor or major repairs, or even a complete upgrade. The delicate adjustments that would take a team of Gallifreyan engineers several weeks to implement took only a matter of moments on Logopolis, where the power of collective computational thought instantly, even magically, enacted the needed changes.

But Logopolis was far more than a highly advanced auto shop, just as the capsules they repaired were far more than highly advanced autos. The Logopolitans were guardians of a secret, a secret so vast and so terrible that a unanimous decision had long ago been made to keep it confined to Logopolis. For the good of the universe, for the good of reality, no outsider was ever to know the truth hidden within the living circuits and systems of the Logopolitan network, or the true purpose behind the planet's creation. Not even their Time Lord allies.

The Doctor had always been wary of block transfer computation. The implications of such powerful formulae were simply staggering to say the least and entirely mind-blowing at best. It was with good reason that the Skasis Paradigm was known as the God Maker. To allow an individual mind such complete control over reality could only lead to madness.

The Logopolitans had safety in numbers, and in their innocence of the baser emotions that plagued the less computational races of the universe. But the innocence that protected them was also their greatest vulnerability. The Logopolitans were a sheltered, trusting people, so focused on the higher reality that they couldn't see the shadows for the light. So, when the Master targeted Logopolis as the latest stepping stone on his climb towards universal domination, the cave-dwelling mathematicians were caught completely by surprise.

The Master, like the Doctor, was a renegade Time Lord—brilliant, yet unconventional, even radial, in his thinking. Too radical ever to find fulfillment amidst the conservative, stoic society of Gallifrey. The two misfit Time Lords had once been friends, schoolmates, but as they grew they'd discovered that in ambition and outlook they were destined to exist as polar opposites. The Master desired power, respect, adulation. The Doctor required adventure, excitement, and trusting, faithful companions to keep him fighting, but his highest aim was always understanding. He traveled the universe to learn, to grow, to protect. But the Master traveled for gain, for spite, and for conquest, and he would never be satisfied until the entire universe had been subjugated to his will, forced to obey their Master.

It was right near the end of his fourth life when the Doctor came to Logopolis. He'd come with the aim of finally fixing his notoriously faulty chameleon circuit. He'd long been reluctant to alter his ship's comfortably familiar police box exterior, but with the Master at large and on the move, he knew it would be best if his old TARDIS could appear less distinctive, at least for a while.

Unfortunately, the Master had tagged along on the Doctor's journey and, while the Logopolitans turned their considerable mental abilities to the Doctor's problem, the Master had taken advantage of their distraction to further his own plans. He'd hatched the brilliantly simple idea that, if he could just gain access to the control center of Logopolis, he could force the Logopolitan Monitor to use the Skasis Paradigm according to his dictation, harnessing the vast computational resources of Logopolis to reshape the universe to fit his design. The Master would become an instant god, and the Doctor would be forced to watch, helpless and beaten, as the universe and all its inhabitants became as clay in his hands, their very existence subject to the Master's capricious whims.

The Master had only intended to create a minor stir, a tiny ripple of chaos to allow him the chance to slip in unnoticed and snatch the power of Logopolis for himself. He'd used his patented shrink ray to compress several Logopolitans to death—only a few, here and there, just enough to skew their calculations for the Doctor's repairs.

But like most Time Lords, the Master did not have a full understanding of the workings of Logopolis. For all his arrogant expectations of an easy victory, the brilliant Time Lord had greatly underestimated his foes. They weren't simply a repair service for faulty time capsules. The programs they ran were far, far more vital.

Logopolis was actually responsible for holding up the very structure of the universe. By killing so many of its living components, the Master had disrupted the workings of the great Logopolitan computer, corrupting its programs forever. Without the programs to sustain it, reality at once began to crumble, the order the Logopolitans had artificially imposed on the universe instantly fading into entropy. For the truth was, the universe had long ago reached the point of collapse. That was the Logopolitans' great secret. The universe was teetering on the brink of existence. It was only the constant efforts of the Logopolitans, working tirelessly year in and year out, that had kept it from destruction. And now they were fading away, all of them, vanishing into nothingness, swallowed by the forces they had struggled to keep at bay for so long.

So many planets had died that day, so many stars. So many peoples erased from existence by the spreading tendrils of entropy.

There was only one way to stop the spread and preserve what was left. Before their sudden destruction, the Logopolitans had been experimenting with mechanical methods to help ease their secret burden. One of these had been a massive satellite dish, which the Logopolitans used to open voids to draw in energy from alternate realities. This energy was then converted and used to sustain the structure of their own collapsed universe, allowing it to continue as it had been, to keep expanding and evolving. The Fourth Doctor gave his life to ensure such a void was opened safely, halting—at least temporarily—the entropy that had threatened to swallow the universe. Without the aid of Logopolis, however, there was no way to repair the damage that had already been done. The planets, stars, and lives that had been extinguished could never be restored.

For a long time, the Doctor tried not to think about that terrible day on Logopolis. He tried not to think of the fragility of the universe, or of the void he had opened to sustain its delicate structure. It was all too much, and the implications made his head hurt.

And then came the Time War. Daleks versus Time Lords, the ultimate battle for survival. When a battlefield encompasses the fourth dimension, the whole of reality hangs in the balance. Nothing can be trusted when the established timeline is considered fair game by an enemy intent on exterminating all life, save for its own.

Second by shifting second, facts became fiction became facts. Two friends beat down a Dalek force before one turned around to discover the other never existed and the Daleks were still coming. The design of the Bayeux tapestry shifted to show King Harold being shot in the thigh, not the eye. Wellington met his Waterloo up close when he was knocked out of his boots by a triumphant Napoleonic charge. Darwin contracted tuberculosis on his Galapagos voyage. Mendel's peas shriveled in a blight. General Lee listened to Longstreet and retreated from Gettysburg before the fighting broke out.

The universe was rippling, shivering, convulsing by the moment. Timelines were forming and fading and branching and splitting faster than even a Time Lord could track. Dewey defeated Truman. The Japanese decided it just wouldn't be sporting to bomb Pearl Harbor on a Sunday. The Space Race was won by Lithuania. W.G. Grace was revealed to be a woman in disguise. Jimmy Cagney never learned to dance. Rowan Atkinson was the first man on the moon, beating the Apollo team of Wallace and Gromit by a good three years.

Amidst such fluctuating chaos, it was only a matter of time before the Doctor's hasty patch job tore a seam.

And so, terribly, vividly aware that all of reality was hanging by a rapidly fraying string, the Doctor did what he did best. He drew on experience, thought on his feet, and bent more than a few rules well near to breaking point. Then, at the moment it seemed all was lost, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and pressed the button he'd ironically labeled Restart.

Gallifrey burned. The TARDIS burned. The Doctor burned and the pain was so bright, so blindingly bright...

But the universe… The universe carried on…

To Be Continued...

Next Time on Nowhere Men:

"Do you have any–ANY–idea what you've just done?" Ten shouted at Four, his freckled face growing dangerously red. "Forget a paradox, this is…this is catastrophe! A dimensional anomaly to top the cake! To top the cake that topped the cake! A TARDIS within a TARDIS–the same TARDIS–" He tore his hands wildly through his hair, horrified by the implications. "If we haven't already fallen victim to infinite regression, we very soon shall! We'll be trapped in here forever, all of us, locked in a spatial paradox while the universe outside rips itself to bits!"

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