A chilly autumnal wind ran through Russell Avenue, bending the balding branches of the park's trees and tearing off a few, still clinging, leaves. These plucked leaves danced in the air until they got stuck on the windshield of cars or houses' roofs. The thick november dew was replaced by the dawn hoar that sat out onto the grass like crystals. Crows were forking in groups above houses, watching, and croaking, whether they can find anything to eat.

The McAllistair house was still penetrated by the morning's calmness. The grandfather's clock was clanging singly in the living room, its sound echoing in the stairway. In the kitchen, the mother of the McAllistair siblings was bustling about as quietly as she could, making breakfast for the family. She made tea, sliced bread, cut vegetables and set the table for three people. Then she sat onto one of the chairs and rested her eyes, leaning back.

Andrew, in his bed, was listening to the clock and the unmistakable noises that were coming from the kitchen. His mother wasn't a late riser like him and Stephanie. He turned onto his side and reached for his new mobile phone to look at the time. It was just past eight o'clock, he was musing. The thought came to his mind, that he could sleep back but he didn't find himself being sleepy. He looked at the mobile; its feel was still unusual. He missed the one he got from the Doctor and his own mobile that were left on Moreno's space station, along with every other stuff of his. However, agent Adams helped him out. Moreover, he attended to the boy's every problem with pleasure. He was the person who got him new IDs and a mobile, using the same Torchwood account from which Lynn was supported.

The boy sat up, sighing; another regular day is waiting him. It was hard for him to admit that he missed the adventures with the Doctor. He was happy, of course, for that his life wasn't in danger but all of this ended too suddenly. He hadn't seen the Doctor since the space station, he didn't have an idea about what happened to Moreno or why the Time Lord had an argument with Annxira. Instead of answers, he got a normal life again.

Summer flew past quickly after the last adventure and school started again. At the end, they weren't classmates with Lynn; the girl lived with the opportunity offered by Coal Hill and enrolled there, though it was revealed that it wasn't Agatha who arranged her application. Andrew suspected that the Doctor recommended her to the principal, maybe as a compensation for participating, though a tiny bit, in wrecking the girl's life. At least, she was having fun, more or less being accustomed to the twenty-first century, although there were aspects that embarrassed her. Luckily for her, Clara was always there to help her; they became friends.

While Andrew was wondering about his normal-again life, he dressed up and went downstairs. As he expected, his mother was in the kitchen, sitting on a chair with her eyes closed. The boy smiled, there wasn't a trace of the numbness John Hart's weapon caused her in the summer, his mother recovered from it completely. The woman heard her son's steps and looked up.

"Good morning!" she greeted.

"You, too, Mum!" Andrew nodded.

"How come you're up early?"

"Just because," the boy shrugged. "I don't know."

Andrew poured himself a mug of tea then sat down to the table as well. He didn't start a conversation, he let the two of them to enjoy the early peace. For their biggest surprise, soon Stephanie also ran down the stairs; it seemed that the curse of sleeping late avoided everyone. The blonde girl also greeted them then, with common consent, started to eat their breakfast.

The weekend's joint meal became a tradition these last times. It started in the summer, after Andrew came home from Pluvia. Firstly, it was Stephanie who waited for her sibling, seeing that Andrew was in the habit of sleeping later than her. And the boy started to wake up earlier, to not to miss breakfast. Then it became a habit.

Although they were generally chatty, no one spoke during today's breakfast: the two kids were awake but weren't shaken up completely and their mother didn't interrogate them. The quiet meal was disturbed by the ring of the doorbell.

On Sunday, in the early morning, an event like this was very unusual. They weren't waiting for any guests so they couldn't imagine who that could be.

Andrew jumped up from the table and hurried to the door, swiping his hand over his mouth while running. He took a quick look at the gate phone's screen and his stupor evaporated. He was shocked to see agent Adams who was ringing the bell. The boy's hand stopped in front of the knob. Why is the agent here? At least, he could be grateful for the fact that he didn't teleport as he sometimes did.

Andrew took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Agent Adams?" the boy greeted him.

"You have to go away!" the Torchwood agent told him, without saying hello.

"What? Why?"

"Our satellite images signalled aliens at London's border. They're squarely coming this way. You may not have much time left."

Andrew was taken aback upon hearing the news.

"How's that possible? I don't have the Nayad signal anymore."

"I can confirm that. But it doesn't change the fact: you're in danger."

The boy's brain was working furiously. He didn't have a reason to doubt Adams' words and if alien murderers are really approaching their house, his family would need to vanish. If he could notify the Doctor, if he would still have his phone, this would be easily solved. However, he didn't have the opportunity to do that.

"Can you speak to the Doctor?" He looked at Adams. "Send some kind of distress signal or something..."

"Our base never had a direct connection to him."

"I can't call him, either," the boy explained sadly. "You could find one of his former companions. Clara, maybe."

"Miss Oswald is not available," the agent interrupted. "Do you know someone else who could contact the Doctor straight away?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Andrew murmured and sighed. "Then let's start at the beginning. Are you sure they're coming this way?"

"Yes. They might observe your house earlier, before you even deactivated the signal."

"Why did they wait this long? Three months passed since then," Andrew mused, while trying to stay calm. "Can we suppose that they only know the house? If we go away, can they follow us?"

"I think they know their target."

Andrew hummed, thinking.

"So, if we go away, separately, then Mum and Steph won't be harmed, will they?"

The agent stayed silent. However, Andrew didn't have a better idea on his mind. He didn't know how else he could protect his family. He didn't have any weapons or a magnificent gadget so this was the only solution.

He hurried back into the kitchen without a word. He had to convince the others to leave the house. If it would only involve Steph, he wouldn't have a hard time telling her, she would understand the weight of the situation. But what should he say to his mother? Every one of his earlier attempts were futile when he tried to tell her about his summer adventures but he couldn't fight the Nayad memory-altering compound: the woman forgot everything he said or, at least, understood it in a different way. He gave up trying and hoped secretly that he won't have to tell her this anymore. The events falsified his hopes. He had to think of something!

As he stepped into the kitchen, the people sitting there turned to him.

"Who was that?" Steph asked.

"Agent Adams," the boy's tongue slipped. "We're in trouble."

"Who? What agent?" Their mother looked at them suspiciously.

"I am," the agent's voice cracked at the door.

Andrew jumped in fright. He thought that Adams will wait for him outside until he's finished. However, the agent took control, marching into the room and stopping in front of Andrew's mother.

"Robert Adams, at your service!" He offered his hand.

The air froze in the room. The siblings' eyes met worriedly, then they were watching the scene before them, what its end will be. Their mother was staring gloomily at the uniformed man standing opposite her who, to seem friendlier, pulled his ragged, brown scarf away from his face. The result was not the waited one, as the wound across the agent's face had a scarier effect.

At last, the woman stood up reservedly and accepted the offered hand.

"Elaine. Elaine McAllistair," she introduced herself. "What do you want from my son?"

"I want to protect him." Adams reached into the pocket of his uniform and took out his ID holder and gave it to the woman. "I work for Torchwood."

"Torchwood?" Elaine observed the ID, looking at the letter 'T' uncomprehendingly. "Like the one on TV? Is this real?"

Adams nodded nervously.

Andrew was looking at his mother with a worried expression: the woman was just staring at the ID holder, seemingly speechless. The silence started to get longer and more awkward. The boy felt that he had to break it.

"Do you remember, Mum, what I told you last summer? About the Doctor?"

"I think so." His mother looked at him. "I'm sorry but I don't remember everything clearly."

"For a reason," Andrew added. "But the point is that I was telling the truth back then. I know the Doctor. He's real, just like Torchwood. I've travelled with him, more than once but I got into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Worry was showing on Elaine's face.

"It got solved more or less," Andrew tried to calm her, "but not completely. So please, I really ask you to go away while there's danger!"

Elaine was looking at her son, taken aback, what she heard was probably unbelievable for her. She looked at the agent wonderingly, then at her daughter. Steph cowered before her, as if trying to seem invisible, but she couldn't hide from her mother's gaze.

"You knew about this, Steph?"

"I did," the girl answered, looking down. "You have to believe what Andrew says! Everything is true. Everything."

There was another pause. Everyone was waiting for what Elaine had to say.

"I don't know what to believe." The woman was turning the ID holder. "What you ask for is so unbelievable, so unrealistic." She looked at her son. "But I don't doubt you. Where should we go?"

"Away from here, far away. Okay, not so far away but don't stay near the house!"

"And what about you?" Elaine's voice was trembling with worry.

"I'll stay with agent Adams. He will protect me."

The agent coughed then nodded.

"I will take care of him!"

Elaine sighed deeply, put Adams' ID onto the table and went out of the kitchen to get ready for leaving. Andrew stepped to Steph.

"Talk to her, okay?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"The Doctor said that the Nayad gas is like a Silent's ability: if you don't concentrate, it activates."

"I see," the girl was nodding. "So, I have to talk about your adventures? About the Doctor?"

"Yes, whatever you can tell. She mustn't forget that you have to stay away from the house."

"You can count on it." Steph hugged her brother, surprising him. "Maybe we could go to Lynn's place. She could also help."

"Good idea." Andrew got out of the hug. "Be careful, alright?"

"You, too!" With this, Steph left as well.

Andrew was eavesdropping wonderingly; they were talking while getting dressed, according to the noises coming from the entrance. The unsaid worry engulfed him and it was as if a real fog would have appeared, he could barely breathe. It seemed to be a good idea, sending his family away but he still felt that he didn't make the right decision. Maybe he couldn't have. He was scared.

He looked up at Adams' tiny movement, when the agent put his holder away. The man sent a surprisingly warm glance towards the boy.

"Hard, isn't it?"

"Very."

"It's not permanent." The agent tried to cheer the boy up but it wasn't successful. "It will pass."

They went out to the hall as well where the others were ready to go. Elaine was spinning her car keys in her hand nervously. As she glimpsed her son, she stepped to him, pulled him towards her and hugged him.

"Be very careful!" she whispered. "I can't imagine what madness you got into. Don't be harmed!"

"Everything's going to be okay," Andrew moaned in his mother's grip, though what he said sounded like a lie. "When we're finished, I'll tell you everything."

"Dress up, not to catch cold!" the woman continued.

Andrew huffed angrily. As if catching cold would be the biggest danger!

"Mum..." he murmured, but warmed immediately. "I love you!"

"I love you, too!" Elaine let the boy go, hugging Stephanie quickly, then looked at Adams. "Take care of him!"

The agent pulled his scarf in front of his face again.

"He won't be harmed."

Andrew was watching from the door as the family's grey Vauxhall started its way from the front of the house. He just caught the old neighbour lady's curious looks, then he stepped back into the house. An unspeakable fear gripped at his heart, he felt like he made a mistake. As he pulled the door closed, he could hear murmuring. He looked into the living room where he glanced agent Adams, standing in the farthest corner. He was pushing his index finger to his ear; he was talking to someone through his earpiece.

The boy quickly went back into the cover of the wall of the entrance. He wasn't in the habit of eavesdropping but he was very curious about what about and to whom the agent was talking. Especially now when the alien bounty hunters could break into the house anytime. So he stopped at the wall with bated breath.

"You said that Archie got it done… Don't they have better things to do?" Adams was indignant. "Let's say, wrap the Zygons up?" He fell silent then sighed resignedly after half a minute. "Alright, Max, connect me."

There was a pause. Andrew was thinking about who this Max could be, the one the agent was talking to. He mentioned his name earlier, when they were discussing Lynn's stay in London. He's probably one of Adams' colleagues or some kind of undercover man. Though seeing that they mentioned Zygons, he can be another Torchwood agent. And who could be the third one who has this thing with the aliens? Andrew couldn't wonder more, Adams spoke again.

"Robert Adams," he introduced himself to the person at the other end of the line and this was followed by another pause. The man was huffing angrily, bugged by the situation. "Ma'am, with the biggest respect, you wouldn't be able to make a bigger mistake. If you send soldiers, you will make him a target." Another pause. "I'll accompany him, it will be less flashy. Then you can protect him all you want but don't even hope for me to leave him alone. This is still Torchwood's business." Another pause. "The Doctor is not here; his opinion is secondary. Adams out! Did you hear this, Max?" He was talking to his partner again. "They nose into everything." He giggled bittersweetly. "Yeah, of course! Call if there's something else to know!"

Andrew took a deep breath as he heard the creak of the old floor. Adams started. He can't be busted. He threw himself away from the wall and stood in front of the rack, as if he would have been examining that until this moment. He twitched when the agent's thick boots tramped behind him. Andrew turned slowly.

Adams' other times lifeless eyes now glinted with anger. As a matter of fact, this was the first emotion the boy saw on him. The upset eyes, when glanced him, slowly gained back their well-known, stoic form.

"Change of plan," he stated. "We're going to the Tower!"

Andrew wanted to ask what they had to do at one of London's landmarks but he realised the answer for the unspoken question. UNIT has a base under the Tower, that is known as the Black Archive and they collect there everything that's somehow related to the Doctor or other extra-terrestrials. And with this, Adams' discussion made sense: this organisation was responsible for the Zygons' peace negotiations on Earth, at least according to Doctor Who's latest episode. The series didn't lie until this point, why would this be an exception? And UNIT's London department was led by Kate Stewart, the Torchwood agent could be talking to her. What could they agree on about which Adams took umbrage of?

"Why?" The boy asked only this.

"UNIT." Adams sighed tiredly. "Stewart can't handle the situations when she can't take charge. She thinks that she has the right to get into Torchwood's cases as well. She wanted me to leave you to her soldiers. But I could reason with her; I'll take you to the Black Archives and I won't leave you alone there, either. I will be beside you all along."

His tone was like saying a ceremonial vow. Andrew marvelled at it but was glad that he can expect Adams' protection. The sullen uniformed more than once proved that the boy's health is important to him, even if he couldn't save him sometimes. Andrew would have given him a grateful smile when he finally realised how nervous the agent seemed. Both of his hands were on his belt from where, contrary to usual, two pistol holders hung. His fingers were drumming on those.

"How is that you didn't bring your rifle?" the boy asked.

Adams looked down at the boy, perplexedly, then pulled his coat away on one side. A silvery pistol grip could be seen and a bluish light was pouring from its holder.

"I will be less flashy with this."

"I've seen something like this!" Andrew marvelled. "Your parents used similar ones to this."

"Exactly this." Pride was pouring from Adams' voice. "A durable piece. But let's go, we don't have much time!" He grew serious.

At the wave of the agent, Andrew started to dress. He put on his coat and a cap onto his head, twisting a scarf in front of his face. He thought that his possible attackers would recognise him a bit harder like this if they can only rely on their eyes. However, as he glanced himself in the mirror of the entrance, he froze; even he couldn't recognise himself. Only his eyes could be seen from his 'mask' but they were completely different. They changed and he hadn't noticed this before. Everything he lived through left a trail in them but he wouldn't have thought that those experiences could be seen like that. Did someone else notice it?

He had to tear his eyes from his changed reflection with force and a couple of minutes later he tried to lock the disturbing thoughts from his mind while fighting with the chilly wind outside. He had to concentrate on the present situation; he has time to think about how much he changed by the Doctor's side. He just has to be alert until they get to the tower!

Adams let the boy to ponder about things, shepherding him with only mute gestures. He was watching instead of Andrew, too, observing their surroundings with close eyes. And still, unbeknownst to them, a woman, dressed in black, came forward from between the houses of Russell Avenue, who then went after them.

Portia Mallony was grinning confidently in the base of a red brick house while watching the home of her target. If she would have believed in a god, she would have been grateful for them because she found the easiest job of her life that could become the most rewarding. There's no enough money, spaceship or weapon that can compare to an opportunity offered by the Nayads. A large part of the Universe knew them, their preachers or mediators were everywhere and spread the legends about the species. At first listening, all of it could seem to be a tail but the really well-informed people knew that if the Nayads find someone worthy then that person could take part in an unimaginable wealth. And this grabbed Portia's imagination very much.

She glanced at the chronometer, built into her Vortex Manipulator, that showed time according to Earth's time zone. She had to wait a couple of minutes more. She can indeed wait that much, she wasn't worrying.

Because of her employer, Annxira, brought her here, along with the two other bounty hunters via time travel, even she had to stick to some rules: for example, she couldn't kidnap her target before they arrived Earth the first time; this could rip a tear in time because there wouldn't be a target for whom they came for…

She shook her head to avert her thoughts; she didn't want to busy herself with time paradoxes. The point was that she had to wait.

She looked around in her shadowy hiding spot, checking the street once more and her visor giving her numerous information about the weather, the lights and everything that was measurable by devices. The glasses-like gadget accompanied her on almost every adventure of hers; she would have even trust it with her life. Shame that leaving it home came to her mind even for a minute. But it could have been a risk easily: according to Annxira, the target is the Doctor's friend and she won't get anywhere against him with any kind of electronic or mechanical device.

However, she was lucky unless it wasn't about Annxira's careful foresight in this case: the Doctor was occupied by the leadership of a peace conference between Earth humans and thousands of Zygons who came to conquer the planet. And this meant that the target boy was a freejack.

From her point of view, she spent days with observation: she noted the boy's usual paths, his acquaintances, his home. He led an expressly boring life that meant an advantage to Portia. Maybe he wouldn't be missed by a lot of people.

Her two bounty hunter partners came to her mind who would be sorry when the kid disappears. She giggled when she imagined their faces when they get the information that they came here in vain. And by that time, she'll be sitting in the pilot seat of the West Wind and on her way to Annxira to receive the huge reward for the boy. It would be time for her to think about what she would ask for from the Nayads.

Her happiness was disturbed by a sudden movement. From the target's supposedly inhabited neighbourhood, a figure appeared. He wore a blue uniform and backpack, had a brown scarf in front of his face; it was a miracle that he could see anything from under his ruffled hair at all. His stance was broken and his shoulders slumped but Portia knew immediately that he was a soldier. She had to search her memory for only a moment to realise that she knew that guy: years ago, when she broke into one of the local museums, he was there.

She aimed her weapon, seeing through all his tricks and she would have shot him if her weapon doesn't vanish into thin air for an unknown reason.

Portia's confidence wavered a bit. The uniformed was making his way to the target's house and the door was opened for him soon after and he was let in. The man's appearance was definitely a confounding factor. The thief was staring at the house, flabbergasted: can't go everything bad now! She drew a deep breath and fought down the momentary panic. She can't lose the biggest opportunity of her life!

Her chronometer beeped: it was time. She has to do something now. But she couldn't do that until the soldier stayed by the target's side. It didn't matter that she had her Vortex Manipulator that could take her anywhere in time and space, she couldn't just teleport in and out of the house. She had only one jump that sent her into her ship so she had to calculate and set up every jump, even the tiny ones, for example the way to the target's house.

Minutes passed by but the soldier didn't want to leave the house. Portia grew more and more nervous. It already came to her mind that the man only came here to ruin her day. Or the Doctor suspected what will happen and sent a protector to the boy? The Time Lord was a spoilsport so this was totally imaginable.

The door opened but it wasn't the uniformed that stepped out of it but the target's mother and sister. The target himself stayed at the doorstep until his family got into the grey car in front of the house and left. The boy seemed worried and it was favourable for Portia. If someone is worried and afraid, they make good decisions harder. And she could be sure that the boy was informed about the danger. The target backed into the house, seemingly not noticing the thief. Portia's lips formed a self-confident smile again.

After some more minutes, the target also left the house, along with the soldier. The boy wore a coat, a scarf and a cap to hide his features. He looked like the soldier's smaller clone. However, their similarities ended there. In contradiction to the boy, the soldier was observing their surroundings without intermission. Portia was sure that he's watching with every sense of his and this lowered her chances to a sudden attack.

In the end, she decided that she won't jump and run for the boy, hoping that she catches him before the soldier shoots her. She had to play safer than that. She will follow the pair and wait for the appropriate moment. After all, opportunity makes the thief, as the saying goes.

Another plan fell flat.

Andrew did a quick calculation in his head while trying to hide between the underground station's pillars, as Adams commanded. The result was more than aggravating: all summer, every attempt to protect him failed. He wasn't mad at the agent but he had to admit that no matter how the man tried to help, things always turned out differently. Now, for example, one of the bounty hunters found them.

When they left the McAllistair house, everything seemed positively simple. They just cut through the streets, get on a tube, then a squad of UNIT soldiers wait for them at the Tower and they wait together until the bounty hunters get bored of searching for him.

Of course, it wasn't the thing that happened! As they left the stairs leading to the station, the pair found themselves face to face with an alien. He was two heads taller than Adams and bulkier. His arms bulged with muscles and his figure was hidden by a knitted, poncho-like cloth. He had a blatant rifle strapped to his back but he didn't take the weapon into his hand, for an unknown reason. As they arrived, the alien dashed forward, yelling, from between the tunnel's shadows, saliva spilling from his wide mouth. The creature's appearance was followed by the screams of the people at the station.

The agent knew the ropes; he reacted immediately and jumped out of the alien's way, while pushing Andrew to the side who almost fell. The creature turned quickly and reached after the boy but the Torchwood agent hang onto the attacker's thick arm. By this time, most of the people waiting for the underground left the station, and the rest, with phones in their hands, stayed behind only to record the unusual fight.

"Hide!" Then the order sounded.

The boy obeyed. Andrew ran between the pillars while watching the man who got the hits from the bounty hunter. However, the agent was taking every one of them, grunting, and fighting back, sometimes successfully. He took out one of his weapons but the alien was aware of it and hit it out of his hand and the gun fell onto the tiles of the station. It came to Andrew's mind that he should fetch it but he was sure that he wouldn't have been able to use it. He didn't have the ability nor the will to do so.

He decided that he'll go for the weapon when he heard an unusual hissing sound from the tunnel. He thought it was like when air escapes from a hermetically closed bottle. The phenomenon didn't make any sense for Andrew; he got used to a lot of noises in the station but this wasn't one of them.

The boy took a couple of careful steps towards the weapon, not to be noticed by the wrestling pair. The bounty hunter, like a bear, hugged Adams from behind and started to tighten its grip on him. The agent was thrashing, the scarf slipping from his face during the struggle. He tried to loosen on the grip, stomping and kicking, maybe hitting something important but the alien held him assertively. In his final exasperation, the agent snatched his legs up, hoping that his weight will pull them both forward. The bounty hunter really wavered; using this momentary weakness, Adams put his legs down and kicked himself out. Pulling his head back, he was able to hit the alien's neck and it fell back, groaning and taking the shouting man with it.

Andrew couldn't see clearly what happened with them after that because of the vibrating lights. He was staring at the ceiling, confused, and realised that the problem wasn't with the lighting. In spots, like a cloud hides the sun, dark hasps stuck to the lamps, covering them fully and it was almost impossible to see in the filtered light.

Andrew crouched down and snatched up the agent's weapon. Its grip was unfamiliar to him. He noticed from the corner of his eye that it was as if the tunnel's darkness was thicker than usual and maybe it was moving, swirling even. Shadow-tendrils reached out from the tunnel's mouth, clambering towards him, avoiding garbage bins and pillars.

By this time, the video-recording pedestrians fled from the station. Adams stood up, moaning; only his silhouette could be seen. Next to him, the alien was lying, rattling and clutching his throat with one of his hands; he wasn't up for another fight. The agent made his way towards Andrew immediately but in a slow pace, stumbling, thinking that he will fall over something.

The boy's attention was on another shadow-wave. The thick limbs reached him completely. He started to back away in desperation. He noticed a few more figures who were hiding between pillars or under benches but he couldn't decide whether they were scared people or attackers, ready to bounce.

The agent grew bored of the darkness because a light staff flashed in his hand. The shadow came to a halt abruptly, the new light source capturing its attention. The boy was still walking backwards until he bumped into something. He felt that his neck was grabbed. He was gasping for air with wide eyes, his body spasming and his fingers barely holding the agent's weapon. A slender arm reached next to him and grabbed the barrel of the gun.

"You won't need this," the arm's female owner told him before throwing the pistol far away.

Andrew, with his now free hands, reached to his throat but his attacker was holding him securely; he couldn't fight her off him. Then a strange tingle covered his body: a thousand needles pricked at his skin, his bones turning from their place. He felt giddy and the world disappeared in front of him.

The West Wind's so far silent inside was filled with the noises of wrestling. Portia, arriving, almost lost her balance because of the boy's push. Though her body didn't react that vehemently at time-travelling with a Vortex Manipulator, the momentary weakness was enough for the target, strengthened by his instinct to live, to show a real resistance. The thief braced herself and tried to squeeze her prey's neck stronger, hoping that she would be able to end the fight with this. During the fight, she yanked off his coat to get even closer to him. However, the boy didn't give up, scratching his attacker's arm with his hands but he couldn't shake it off. The woman pushed him forward, letting him go and the kid fell onto the ship's metal floor, moaning. Then Portia took down the magnetic handcuffs from the wall and knelt down onto the boy's back who yelled out painfully. The handcuffs were placed onto the target's arms within moments, pinning him to the ground with his face down. It seemed he saw that his situation is a losing one because he stopped struggling.

Portia stood up, sighing heavily. The fight made her sweat; she didn't expect him to defend himself but she had a wide grin on her face when she thought that she was able to tick out another point on her precisely worked-out plan. She now only had to deliver the boy to Annxira and receive her reward.

She took a proud look at the boy stuck to the metal floor then stepped to the West Wing's door. It came to her mind that she puts the glider into stand-by mode, making leaving quicker, but she knew well that Dashaalt wouldn't be happy about it. And it was positively worth getting on well with him if she wants to station the ship here further.

As she left the vehicle she called home, she took a deep sniff from the air that was thick with the smell of oil and hydraulic liquids. Someone else would have hated it but this strange mix of smells brought up pleasant memories in her. She was observing the steel girders of the hangar's walls numbers of times that almost got lost between the indentures of the rock walls so they could give the unique sight of artificial and natural environment. Light was provided by huge, hidden lamps and the different tools were always working in the hands, tendrils or anything the ship-fixing shipmen could hold something with. If someone was observant, they could learn the typical swearing of lots of species.

Dashaalt built his shop in the empty stomach of one of the largest rocks in the Brotenil asteroid belt. If someone didn't know where to find it, they didn't have a chance to get here and this meant that the shop's Mortir boss was only willing to business with people he liked. Portia, luckily, was one of his favourite clients. At least, she liked to think that.

Some time ago, the whole sector belonged to interstellar mining companies and, when they raided everything and went away, Dashaalt was the first to stand in their place. He started his shop then, sacrificing serious amount of wealth, he equipped a lot of smaller space pebbles with gravitational drives, making him able to alter the image of the whole belt as he wanted.

The Montir's service was the most popular among the creatures that were working on the darker side of the law. Smugglers, mercenaries, bounty hunters brought their ships here if they needed fixing or upgrading. Dashaalt didn't ask, gaining a lot of money in exchange, and he always got what he needed. The West Wind could also thank him a couple of gadgets, including her military-level cloaking device.

Portia, right after finishing her look-around, went to search for the Montir. Generally, he could be found in one of the fixing halls; if a very sensitive equipment had to be installed, he liked to set it up himself, instead of leaving the job to fumbling space-scoundrels. So he was always busy. A large room, the home of the Wind, contained two more ships but she couldn't see Dashaalt at either of them, though there was barely any roundup around the two Hunters. Whether they just arrived or intend to leave, it was none of Portia's business.

However, her leave was also slipping and she wasn't very glad about it. She was afraid that the Doctor will notice the kidnapping of the boy and investigate her; he had his methods. So the best thing to do was to vanish as soon as she can and confuse him with a couple of smaller space-jumps. This way doesn't matter how he finds out the starting point of the time travel, he would have to follow the trails of space travel with traditional methods. But to make it work, she had to leave when she's able to.

On one of the corridors that were connecting the fixing halls, she met Dashaalt's assistant who, after offering him some credit change, went to get his boss. And the Montir arrived ten minutes later.

Dashaalt could barely called a creature, seeing how he made himself reinstalled during the fifty years of his life. He preferred the name 'augmented', but he seemed more like a cyborg, though Portia could understand even that, who simply saw him as some kind of fancy robot. His longish face was half-covered by metal, his mechanical eye walking all the time, zooming and observing, providing his brain with information. His left arm and leg were also mechanical; he lost the original of the latter in his shop. Supposedly, his first upgraded part was his arm and he did it just for fun and not because of an injury or a congenial spot. His other accessories weren't this scenic: his lungs were complemented by different filters so he could breathe in the thickest oil or toxic cloud and, as the saying went, he also replaced his stomach to get rid of the difficulties of digestion. He could be recognised from far away by his jolting, hulking steps. Now he was also wearing his unmissable, spotty overall. He greeted the thief with a wide smile.

"Already?" He opened his arms.

"Yes, already," Portia threw to him, while stepping closer. "We agreed that I'll have to leave faster this time. Very fast."

"I know that," Dashaalt scratched his head on its original side, "but there's a little problem. You can't go yet."

"There are no problems with you, Dashaalt." Portia's eyes narrowed. "What's the sitch?"

The Montir whined a few times which made it clear that he has to say something he doesn't want to.

"Korak is looking for you. They know your ship is here."

The blood froze in Portia at hearing the name. She's made a lot of mistakes in her life but the biggest one connected to Teng Korak. Incidentally, that she talked with him at all. Korak was a Zhak terrorist who was extruded even by his own, aggression-loving race, and who was now leading the most extensive racket of the galaxy. The gang was multifarious and engaging in everything that was forbidden by laws, from the biggest crimes to the tiniest violations with theft among these. This was what brought Portia into the picture; she was searched by the Zhak's men because of a promising lifting. She didn't know back then that there's no such thing as 'only a job' with Korak. Portia was stuck there like a slave; until an opportunity arose to redeem herself. Then that business went wrong and it led to two relative years of hiding.

"Did he say what he wants?"

"I don't ask, you know that. And I won't lie because of you, either." Dashaalt knitted his bushy eyebrows.

"I didn't ask you to," Portia protested.

"But I saw that you wanted to tax me with it. At least if you could," the Montir giggled, then changed his tone. "Even you aren't worth the destruction of my workshop. I won't provoke Korak."

Portia knew that the mechanic was right but she was sorry for that he didn't send the terrorist away. It wasn't that she wanted to get him into trouble; if there was someone she could call her good friend, it was Dashaalt. She quickly went through her options in her head: she couldn't escape with her ship, she was sure that one of Korak's heavy cruisers would blast it into pieces in a second. She could use her Vortex Manipulator but she would leave the West Wind for Korak and, most importantly, the boy who she'll get the Nayads' reward for. She has no other choice, she has to wait for the Zhak to tell her what he wants, then talk his head off to, at least, let her go until she delivers the Nayads' target. And then she will wish Korak out even from reality.

"Alright, let him come!" she said sullenly.

"You've made a smart decision," Dashaalt turned. "But don't make him shoot you, okay?" He looked back over his shoulder before waddling away.

Portia left him without an answer; she was only listening as the Montir's machine-leg hisses and sizzles with every step. As the workshop's boss vanished, she hurried back to the West Wind. She tried not to think about the inviting pilot seat. Avoiding the boy, she went to one of the wall-compartments where she kept her equipment. She quickly looked over everything she found in there: knives, pistols, a few melting-grenades and other thief-gadgets which were useless to her in a fight.

She was curious about whether Korak comes alone. As arrogant as the guy was, she could see he would but she didn't believe he would be this stupid. He also knew who he tries to stalk. He'll come with two or three men and won't let her keep weapons with her. She can only rely on her brain, if he arrives.

"Comfortable down there?" she spoke to the boy lying on the floor, to calm her surging thoughts.

She was surprised when he shot back something.

"I wouldn't say that." She could barely understand his words because he was lying on his face.

Portia was staring at the figure that was cuffed to the floor contemplatively, then knelt down next to him.

"And what would you do about it?" she asked, grinning.

"I don't know yet," came the murmured answer.

She opened her mouth to answer when she heard the well-known and feared voice.

"Portia! Come out!"

The thief straightened up, sighing.

"Behave yourself!" she threw to the boy before leaving the ship.

Outside, she was greeted by what she expected: Teng Korak and three humanoid gunmen. It was as if Korak wouldn't have changed: he wore the same polished armour and half-short cut hair; maybe only his red eyes shone more evilly. His right hand rested on the grip of his pistol that was strapped to his thigh. The faces of his bodyguards were covered by skull-patterned helmets that became the symbol of Korak's gang although it was only copying the 'boss'' own helmet-paint. The men hugged powerful blasters to their chest but they could aim with them anytime. Behind the gunmen, Dashaalt was standing with a worried expression. 'Don't cause trouble,' his stare said.

"Spread your hands!" Korak snapped at her. "And don't even think about your bracelet!"

Portia's luck was that they didn't know how her Manipulator works. In this case, she couldn't have used it because her ship was only a few metres behind her. But they didn't have to know this. She did as the terrorist leader asked.

"What do you want, Teng?" she said back. "I've already paid you. I'm free."

The Zhak reached into the bag hanging on the belt of his armour to pull out three datacards. Creditbanks. He held them out towards Portia. The woman swallowed, recognising the cards: she gave him the money for her freedom on them.

"There's a little problem with the cover." The Zhak's face twitched. "The money is from Goron Ewvar but he's deceased. So this, here, is nothing." He started to grin. "And it means you're still mine."

The woman's blood froze from this cold smile. She almost couldn't concentrate on what the Zhak said. How is there no cover on the credits? But she got them from John Hart who swore that everything is okay with it. This whole situation seemed like a nightmare.

"And how is it my business that he was meanwhile hit by a supernova?" She tried to seem casual. "His money still has its value."

"He died when this amount was taken off his account," Korak explained but it seemed he grew tired of the conversation. "I thought you were more professional than this; you know bloody money doesn't work. I'm almost disappointed in you. But your service is still valuable." He finally put the creditbanks away.

Portia realised that she can talk herself out of this. Whatever Hart did to get the money, he could look over something. But to break his neck as revenge, she has to get rid of Korak first.

"Let's make a deal!" she started. "I still have a shipment. I deliver it and I'll gladly join you. I know how things are going."

"Then you would also know," Korak interrupted her, "that you have no 'shipment'. You belong to me, I just told you, didn't you listen? You aren't some kind of freelancer to transport to whoever you want." He lifted his gloved hand and waved. "Bring that shipment! We can take it."

Two gunmen walked onto the West Wind, fulfilling Korak's order.

"But you don't even know where to," came out of Portia. "You won't go anywhere without me."

"You're still not listening. You're coming with us, too!"

The last bodyguard stepped behind Portia and pulled the Vortex Manipulator from her wrist. The woman let him; she knew that they would shoot sooner than she could do anything. She felt almost naked without it; the loyal little gadget didn't leave her alone even in her sleep. She didn't take it off for years.

"And what about my ship?" she asked, maybe with more worry in her voice than intended.

"Dashaalt will take care of it 'til necessary," the Zhak replied. "I heard you're in very good terms."

Portia took a look at the Montir involuntarily who fell his original eye. Meanwhile she heard the knocking of the bodyguards' boots on the West Wind's ramp. They needed this much time to set the boy free of the magnetic handcuffs.

"I'm guessing, this is it." Korak looked at the kid.

Portia just nodded; she couldn't do anything else. Her mind was reeling on how this beautiful day could turn into a horrible one.