Chapter 5 – Mind Games

Wiping a shaking hand across his sweat-drenched brow, the grey brother raised the comlink to his lips.

"You have done enough, Brother. Get out of there as discreetly as you can, and return to headquarters. I have a situation here which requires your… expertise."

A crackling acknowledgement bounced off the walls of the chamber. The acolyte rubbed his eyes wearily as he turned back to the monitor, shaking his head as he assessed the grainy image before him.

"Poor Novin..." He sighed. "What has that boy done to you?"

Suren raised his head from Nyssa's chest and looked at Tegan, his expression betraying his anxiety and concern in a manner that mirrored the Earth woman's feelings precisely.

"There are definitely decreased breath sounds on the left hand side of the chest cavity, and - " he looked back to Nyssa, who moaned incoherently as a rivulet of blood trickled from her nostril.

"I think there's internal bleeding. We need to get her out of here, My Lady, quickly."

Tegan got to her feet and looked around the Sanctum, the feeling of panic that seemed to have become her frequent companion in the last few weeks stirring within her once more. The scene in the crowded chamber was calmer now, as the vast majority of the congregation had dropped to their knees, some staring in wonder at the fire burning brightly high above the Inner Sanctum, whilst others looked towards the dais in expectation, or at the Procardinal in confusion. The notable exceptions were the Prime Consul, who had returned to his seat and was running gnarled fingers through his beard in quiet contemplation, and the Procardinal himself, who stood surrounded by kneeling acolytes, mesmerised by the dancing flames, his face a mixture of consternation and horror. Tegan's eyes turned towards the only other upright figure in the crowd. The Doctor stood in the midst of a sea of kneeling Serenites, his hands still bound and his movements restrained by his attendant Fosters, who had both dropped to one knee but still held their weapons firmly pointed at the Time Lord's chest. Their eyes locked, and Tegan noted the sense of concerned helplessness held within the Doctor's expression. She looked back down to Suren, still crouched over Nyssa as he monitored the stricken girl's life signs. She clenched her fists. It was down to her now.

Remembering her air stewardess training, she pushed the growing feeling of panic towards the back of her mind. She had passengers to help, people looking to her for calm direction and guidance. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Varden.

"I believe, Prime Consul, that... Her Holiness requested that the Doctor be released. I suggest that you do so, and allow us to take My Lady for medical attention, before she dies from the damage inflicted by your guards. Unless, of course, you're happy to have the death of a goddess on your hands?"

Varden raised his eyebrows at the unexpected outburst as he studied the strangely-attired woman - who seemed to have appeared from nowhere - for the first time.

"And who, may I ask, are you?"

Tegan returned his gaze defiantly, her hands on her hips, chin tilted upwards in a regal manner. "I am Tegan Jovanka," she said haughtily, hesitantly glancing at the Doctor before continuing: "Handmaiden to The Lady." The Time Lord frowned but kept silent, not fully understanding the game Tegan was playing, but recognising that he was unable to do anything other than go along with it.

"'Handmaiden'?" Varden questioned. "Interesting... our sacred texts make no mention of such a person, especially not one so..." he looked her up and down - "...strange in appearance."

Tegan took a sharp intake of breath, but before she could voice her indignation at the Prime Consul's comment Suren quickly got to his feet, cutting her off. "You can verify her credentials later, Prime Consul, but please - my Lady needs medical attention now!"

Looking from the scene on the dais to the Doctor, still bound and restrained, Varden turned over the possibilities in his mind. After a moment's quiet contemplation, he turned to the shell-shocked Procardinal.

"Well, Jonaris, what do you have to say on the matter? Has there been 'sign' enough for you? Jonaris?"

The cleric blinked and shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the flame burning above the Keeper's Chamber to look at the Prime Consul. "I... I don't..." he stammered.

"I think that answers my question." Varden sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily before rising from his chair to address the assembly. "Doctor - as things stand it seems as though your reputation has been vouched for at the highest possible level. As such, I have no choice other than to order a - albeit temporary - stay of execution." He looked towards the dais. "Medic Suren."

The young physician looked up from his patient, turning to hear the Prime Consul's words.

"Since you have made it clear where your loyalties lie, you shall assume responsibility for the Doctor whilst he remains on Serenity."

"Yes, my Lord."

"But understand this, Suren: as in the days of the Keeper, such 'privilege' comes with a price. If the Doctor should infringe the law in any way, then your life too shall be forfeit." He looked at the medic gravely. "I hope, for your sake, that you have chosen well."

Suren bowed nervously, his eyes flicking between the bound Time Lord and the injured girl at his feet, before returning to address his leader. "I understand, Prime Consul. Now please, I beg your leave to remove my Lady to the Infirmary before it is too late!"

Nodding his head in assent, Varden signalled to the Fosters surrounding the Doctor, who gritted his teeth in pain as his hands were untethered at last. Wasting no time, he made his way towards the dais, rubbing the inflamed, painful skin at his wrists and trying to shake some feeling back into his fingers as he strode determinedly through the crowd. Tegan ran to him as he mounted the steps.

"Doctor! Are you - "

The Doctor brushed her aside as he hurriedly knelt next to Nyssa, swiftly assessing her condition before gently scooping her up into his arms and turning to his newly-appointed guardian.

"I gather you have a medical facility nearby?"

"Y-yes. It's - "

"Right. Lead on then, quick as you can!" He hefted Nyssa's slight form in his arms and began to move off in the direction indicated by Suren, when Tegan pulled at his elbow.

"Doctor? Where's - "

The Doctor brusquely cut her short, her entreaty dying unsaid on her lips. "Tegan, now is not the time!" he hissed, hurrying her forward. "Let's just get Nyssa to safety as quickly as we can." The assembly parted reverently as they followed in Suren's wake, heading towards the heavy Sanctum door. The Doctor leaned towards Tegan slightly as the crowd thinned. "And perhaps on the way you can explain to me exactly why these people think Nyssa is a goddess, and that you're some form of... 'celestial lady-in-waiting', hmm?"

As Varden watched Herald, Lady and Handmaiden depart, he stood absent-mindedly twisting his beard around his fingers, deep in thought. After a few moments he signalled to Proctor Morovan, who hurried forward.

"Have Drevus tail them," he muttered discreetly. Morovan nodded silently, before hurrying off to regroup his men, most of whom had begun ushering the crowd of bewildered dignitaries toward the exit. Rubbing his fatigued brow, the Prime Consul turned towards his religious counterpart. The rotund Procardinal stood in the middle of the Sanctum, staring at the Source flame burning brightly above the empty Keeper's Chamber, his expression alternating between horrified disbelief and outright fear. Varden allowed himself a wry smile.

"Well, Procardinal - how are you feeling?" Jonaris tore his eyes reluctantly from the dancing flames, and looked at Varden in confused irritation.

"What?"

Varden spread his arms wide. "How do you feel Jonaris? I can't begin to imagine... I mean, well... it's not every day you meet God, is it?!"

Footsteps echoed as the grey acolyte paced up and down a dimly lit corridor, beating out a steady rhythm on the stone floor. He turned suddenly as a clamour of hurried footfalls mixed with his own, interrupting his even tempo and heralding the arrival of another grey-clad figure. The newcomer stopped, panting, and raised a closed fist to his sweaty brow.

"I came as quickly as I could, Brother Byrnus. The Inquisition has been halted and the Herald allowed to leave. He has taken the girl to the Infirmary. Suren is with them."

"All as expected." Byrnus slowly nodded. "They will be followed, of course."

"I can take care of that, Brother. I'll just need a couple of men to - "

Byrnus raised his hand. "That will not be required. The Herald will do nothing to raise any alarm - for the moment at least - so the surveillance is of no consequence."

The newcomer frowned. "Forgive my impertinence Brother, but - how do you know?"

"That is not your concern!" Byrnus snapped, before sighing and distractedly running his fingers through his hair. He looked at the stout wooden door before them. "In any case, there are more... pressing matters that we need to attend to."

As he spoke his eyes were drawn downward, to where a small, dark pool of blood began to seep, ominously, from under the door.

"Over here Doctor!"

The clinical lull of the deserted Infirmary was shattered in an instant as Tegan crashed through the doors. She led the encumbered Time Lord to the treatment bed that Nyssa had vacated a number of hours ago, as Suren rushed forward to clear the area. The Doctor gently placed his Trakenite companion down, and stepped back, looking at Suren expectantly. The medic looked back at him, confused.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor held up his hands. "I will assist in any way I can, Suren, but my doctorate does not extend to medicine, and particularly not to Trakenite medicine. I am happy to defer to your expertise - please, do whatever you need to do to help Nyssa."

After a moment's hesitation Suren stepped forward and activated the medicom, his fingers moving over the controls with an impressive speed and dexterity. The treatment arch sprang to life and began to advance across Nyssa's recumbent form. As he activated the diagnostic routines to examine his people's supreme deity, avidly watched by the Harbinger of Darkness, he began to wonder what else this day could throw at him.

Varden had left the now-deserted Sanctum and started to head towards his living quarters, his mind working overtime processing the events, implications and possibilities that the past few hours had brought. Somewhere along the way, however, his preoccupation became so great that he failed to notice the direction his subconscious mind was taking him in, and it was not until he was at the door of his office that he realised he had arrived somewhere other than his intended destination. He sighed heavily and looked towards the sky, where a rose-tinged glow was just betraying the onset of sunrise. It was too late to retrace his steps now, he decided, and the only thing he would achieve at home would be to disturb his wife's sleep, which was never a good idea in his experience. This was the reason he had had a small bed installed in the ante-chamber to his study in the first place, and as he disengaged the security lock he resigned himself to a fitful couple of hours of sleep wrapped in its familiar folds.

The dark shadows within the study receded somewhat as the ambient lighting control mechanism noted the Prime Consul's arrival, factored in the early hour of the morning, and brought the illumination in the chamber up to a dim yet acceptable level. As Varden headed in the direction of the ante-chamber the light glinted off an object on a nearby shelf. It was the model of the Source Manipulator, its opaque sphere glinting as it sat on the dusty shelf. He reached up and removed it once more from its home, turning it over in his hands as he veered towards his desk and sat down heavily. His brow furrowed as he looked into the depths of the orb, as if searching for answers from deep within. After a few moments, he shook his head and sighed. The wisdom he sought would not come from here. Placing the model carefully back on his desk, Varden sat back and closed his eyes, his mind racing.

His peaceful reverie did not last long. Almost immediately his eyes snapped open again as the door to his chamber crashed against the wall, shattering the early morning stillness. Varden shot to his feet as Jonaris burst in, unattended and unnannounced. The heavy door rebounded against the wall with enough force to cause it to slam closed behind the incensed clergyman. He purposefully strode through the chamber before coming to a halt before Varden's desk, his meaty hands thudding onto the paper-strewn surface.

"Well?!"

Tegan woke abruptly, rubbing her eyes as she struggled to remember where she was. Realisation dawned as she looked across from the uncomfortable couch where she lay to see the Doctor, sat on the other side of the Infirmary waiting area, tapping his steepled fingers together in a rhythmic pattern as he stared into the distance, apparently deep in thought.

"Any news?" she yawned, struggling to sit up. Before the Doctor could answer Suren entered the room, his green tunic creased, the large bags under his eyes indicating his level of exhaustion.

"She's stable. You can come in now."

The Doctor and Tegan hurriedly got to their feet and followed the medic back into the ward, where they were relieved to find their companion awake and apparently out of danger. She lay cradled in the angled bed, propped up with pillows, the treatment arch humming above her upper torso.

"Nyssa!" The Doctor's face broke into a wide grin. "You look a great deal better than the last time we saw you."

"Thanks to Suren." Nyssa smiled weakly. The Serenite blushed and looked down at his monitor.

"Is she ok?" asked Tegan, eyeing the medical equipment suspiciously.

Suren nodded. "She will be. As I was afraid of, the earlier treatment to my Lady's ribs had caused the skeletal structure to weaken in that area, and so the force of the acolyte's grip caused a disproportionate amount of damage to a number of bones. She has a complex fracture to the left humerus, and varying degrees of damage to a number of ribs, including one which ruptured the pleural membrane and penetrated into the lung."

The Doctor had been examining the treatment arch with interest. "Nothing Serenite technology can't handle, I presume?"

Suren took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, yes and no, Doctor. This equipment predates the destruction of the Union and so is centuries old, and having been designed at a time when the Source was active the medicom sometimes has difficulty in recognising the specific nature of injuries inflicted by violence."

"Ah, yes - no need for that sort of thing when the Keeper was around, hmmm?" the Doctor mused thoughfully.

"Exactly. The diagnostic routines tend to get rather 'confused', meaning I had to improvise somewhat with my Lady's treatment. Anyway, the immediate danger from the compromised lung has now been resolved, and the bone-knitting cycle is well on its way to completion." He looked at Nyssa, his face serious. "But you MUST remain here this time, my Lady, until the process is fully complete."

"I really don't feel like going anywhere at the moment, so you've no need to worry." Nyssa smiled warmly. "Thank you Suren. I'm greatly indebted to you."

The medic's face flushed once more, and he gave a deep bow in response. "It was my honour, my Lady." He turned to Tegan and the Doctor. "Now, it's been a long night for everyone, and my Lady needs to rest. As the sun seems to be up, perhaps I can suggest some breakfast? There is a refectory just down the corridor."

Tegan's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. In her concern for Nyssa she hadn't realised how hungry she was. "Sounds like a good idea to me! Are you coming Doctor?" The Time Lord shook his head.

"I think it's wise in the current climate for someone to stay with Nyssa. In any case I'm not particularly hungry - being on the verge of execution doesn't tend to have a good effect on my appetite. You two go - I'll catch up with you later."

Suren led Tegan to the door, a puzzled expression on his face. "Just how many times has he been 'on the verge of execution'?"

Tegan rolled her eyes, laughing. "Now that's a long story!"

"I see you have recovered your tongue, Jonaris." Varden regained his composure following the intrusion into his chamber, and resumed his seat.

"Damn it Varden!" Jonaris thundered. "This isn't the time for games! What the hell are we going to do about this... this - situation?"

Varden sat back and steepled his fingers, smiling. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my dear Procardinal."

"You know exactly what I mean!" the clergyman raged. "This...this girl CANNOT be the Lady! It is - well, it's just impossible!"

"How so?"

Jonaris, turning his eyes heavenwards, sighed in exasperation. "We both know the truth, Varden," he said through gritted teeth, his tone uncharacteristically subdued. "Now if you would kindly desist from the mind games, perhaps we can discuss exactly what we're going to DO?"

"Really Jonaris, I don't understand why you're so upset. Just think of the possibilities now that our Lady walks among us!" Varden smiled. "And you, her closest servant, are ideally placed to, shall we say, 'benefit' from those possibilities, surely?"

"The 'possibilities', Varden," growled Jonaris, "are exactly what I'm afraid of. As should you be. This has the potential to jeopardise both our positions, don't forget."

"I am completely aware of that, I assure you," said Varden, picking up the model once more and turning it over in his hands.

"Then you will take action?"

Varden shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I would like to help, Jonaris, really I would. But my hands are tied - you see, this is a religious matter, and therefore - regrettably - outside my jurisdiction."

"Varden...!" The blood rose in the clergyman's face but the Prime Consul rose to his feet and carried on regardless.

"Now, I'm sure you have lots of important matters to attend to - you have a goddess to welcome after all! Word will be out by now, and I'm sure everyone will be expecting a celebration of some kind?" He rounded the desk and began to steer the incredulous Procardinal to the door. "So if you don't mind, it's been an extremely long and trying day..." He opened the door and politely gestured for Jonaris to exit. Jonaris hovered at the threshold, glaring at Varden.

"You may mock, Varden, but you're going to have to take this seriously sooner or later. You know, as well as I, what this could mean for Serenity." He looked ominously at the model of the Source Manipulator on the Prime Consul's desk. "If she is who she says she is... if that DNA report is correct..."

"But you are adamant that it is not!" sighed Varden, beginning to lose his patience. He placed a firm but insistent hand on the clergyman's shoulder. "You worry too much, Procardinal, when what you should be worrying about is how you are going to prepare a feast fit for a goddess at such short notice!" Varden gently pushed Jonaris through the door, and as the Procardinal turned to argue he held up a hand to silence him.

"Goodnight Jonaris!" he said firmly, before pushing the heavy door home. He shook his head wearily, then carefully placed the miniature Source Manipulator back on its shelf as he turned towards the ante-chamber and the welcome release of sleep.

The Doctor grabbed a nearby chair, whirled it around and sat down, facing Nyssa as she laid on the treatment bed. The arch above her torso hummed, quietly and painlessly repairing the damage to the Trakenite's ribcage, filling the silence between them. The Doctor sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"So, I gather you're a goddess now?" He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"Tegan told you?"

"Well, I'd worked out as much from what went on in the Sanctum, but Tegan filled me in on the rest whilst Suren was treating you." His eyes lowered towards the floor. "It seems my visit to Traken had an even greater impact than we could possibly have imagined."

Nyssa sighed. "I should have told them the truth, put them right about what really happened on Traken, I realise that. But at that split second 'playing the part' of the Lady seemed the only way to save your life. I'm sorry, Doctor."

"Well, I'm very grateful for what you did Nyssa!" he exclaimed with a wide smile. "That's the second time you've saved me from the sharp end of an execution, and I'm more than happy for you to continue to do so!" His bright grin faded somewhat. "It does leave us with a problem though, if you still want to settle here." Nyssa nodded in agreement, her expression melancholy. The Doctor sighed, avoiding her eyes once more. "So what are you going to do?"

She looked at him, confused. "Aren't you going to tell me what I should do?"

The Doctor took her hand in his. "Nyssa, this is your life... your future. I can't tell you how to live it." He paused, a pained expression crossing his outwardly youthful face as he let go of her hand again. "I of all people have no right to have a say in your future. I've messed up your life enough already."

Nyssa was horrified. "Doctor - no! How can you possibly think that?"

He stood up and absent-mindedly fiddled with a switch on a nearby piece of equipment, still seemingly reluctant to meet her gaze. "It's not often that I come face to face with the long term... shall we say - 'ramifications' - of my wanderings through time, Nyssa, but being here, in the remnants of your civilization, has brought a few things home to me." He looked at her, his expression grave.

"If I hadn't come to Traken... if I hadn't seen off the Master, would he have gone on to Logopolis? Would that fatal entropy have been unleashed? In all probability if I hadn't interfered, your homeworld and everyone on it... everyone you loved... would still be alive."

"Alive, and enslaved to a tyrant!" Nyssa exclaimed. She tried to sit up, but an insistent alarm noise erupting from the medicom and the intense pain in her ribcage that flared up as a result convinced her that this was not a good idea. The Doctor eyed the readouts on a nearby monitor before continuing.

"But alive nonetheless. And where there's life, there's hope." He shook his head dejectedly. "The Serenites are right - I brought death and destruction to Traken. I was the catalyst."

Nyssa laid back and looked to the ceiling, tears filling her eyes and flowing back into her long, curly hair as she struggled to contain feelings that, in the few short weeks since Traken had been destroyed, she had barely begun to deal with. She took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. "Doctor, Traken was doomed from the moment the Master's TARDIS materialised. If you hadn't stopped him, he would have gained control of the Source, and with that kind of power in his arsenal... well, the whole universe would have been in danger." She looked at him once more. "I, for one, will always be grateful you were there. If - "

"'If'!" The Time Lord rubbed his hands over his face wearily, before turning to face her. "Sometimes it seems as if my whole life has revolved around that word." After a moment's pause he stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked back towards the bed. "But anyway, we're discussing your life, not mine. I realise you haven't really had chance in the past few hours to think about your plans, but your decision does rather affect how we play this whole situation from now on, wouldn't you agree?" Resuming his seat, he peered at her intently. "So, where do we go from here?"

Brother Byrnus had paced back and forth along the dark corridor for some time, his eyes fixed on the ancient stone floor. As the minutes slowly passed his cowled head had risen occasionally in response to noises emanating from the other side of the solid door - a cry here, a gutteral snarl there, interspersed with sounds of physical exertion and furniture being scraped across the floor. Eventually the noises subsided somewhat, to be replaced by an ominous creak as the door opened just enough to admit the hooded head of his colleague. Byrnus took a break from his pacing to organise help in removing the still-unconscious Sister Novin from the chamber. He looked on in dismay as her prone and battered form was removed, before resuming his slow, measured stride once more.

"Brother Byrnus."

The call echoed down the corridor, causing him to start. Byrnus squinted into the darkness to see a figure approaching, its head covered in robes similar to his own. He bowed his head reverently in recognition.

"Father - this is an unexpected honour. We - "

The newcomer held up his hand, and Byrnus fell into silence.

"There has been much this night of an unexpected nature Byrnus." His voice was low and rasping, and carried the weight of age and experience in its tone. "I wonder if our source is to be completely trusted." Byrnus looked shocked.

"I am sure of it, Father! How could it be otherwise? The Herald, the Boy - it is all as was foreseen!"

"Yet now there is a new threat. A player we were not informed of." He paused, looking at Byrnus gravely.

"It seems... The Lady has returned."

Nyssa closed her eyes, turning the possibilities over in her mind. Her choices were clear, but neither seemed particularly easy.

Stay, or go?

Leaving in the TARDIS was the simpler option, but that wouldn't solve any of the issues that had brought her to Serenity in the first place. She'd still be homeless, an orphaned wanderer. But staying would bring its own problems. Her dreams of a normal life here on Serenity, of a home and family, seemed unlikely following her impromptu revelation in the Sanctum. She breathed deeply, her brow furrowing. The voiceless chattering at the back of her thoughts drifted into her consciousness once more, stronger than ever. But if her theory was right, that was only to be expected...

"Nyssa?"

She opened her eyes and found the Doctor leaning over her, his face concerned.

"Are you in pain? Shall I get Suren?"

Nyssa put her free hand to her brow, gently shaking her head. "It's nothing, Doctor. Or rather, it's something, but I don't think Suren can help." She hesitated, looking into the Time Lord's worried face. If she told him, explained about the voices increasingly intruding into her thoughts, would he think she was losing her mind? She sighed deeply. She had to take that risk. And besides, if she couldn't trust the Doctor, who could she trust?

"I noticed it in the Garden at first. It was faint then, barely noticeable, and if it hadn't been for the tranquility around us I probably wouldn't have become aware of it at all. But since then, it's become stronger, I suppose since I first awoke here, in the Infirmary."

The Doctor frowned. "And what, exactly, is 'it'?"

Nyssa looked away, blushing. "Voices, Doctor. It's like... like thousands upon thousands of voices, all speaking at once." She looked back to gauge his reaction. He still looked concerned, with a faint glimmer of surprise playing across his features, but she was relieved to see a complete lack of doubt or disbelief. She should have known, she thought to herself, almost laughing. It would take much more than this to unsettle a 900 year old Time Lord.

"And what are these... 'voices'... saying?"

"It's mostly unintelligible." She frowned. "At first it was like whispering on the breeze, faint and impossible to make out. It's become louder since then, more intrusive, but there are so many that I still can't understand them, for the most part. From their tone though I get a sense of desperation, pleading, sometimes crying out in pain."

The Doctor had wandered to the end of the bed, his hands behind his back, staring at the floor as he pondered his companion's story. "'For the most part'?"

"Well, there have been a couple of times where I've been able to discern a single voice. Once outside the Sanctum, waiting at the entrance to the Postern Gate, and once... inside."

Understanding dawned on the Doctor's face. "Ah. The Procardinal's prayer. I was wondering how you'd pulled that one off."

"I could hear him Doctor, loud and clear. Inside my mind."

He frowned. "And has the Trakenite species ever shown any evidence of telepathy?"

Nyssa shook her head. "Not to my knowledge, Doctor. I had heard it said that my step-mother was a 'gifted sensitive', but I always thought that was just some form of non-specific intuition. And anyway - "

"She wasn't your genetic ancestor." The Doctor finished for her. He sat down, staring into the middle distance, deep in thought.

Nyssa took a deep breath. "Doctor, I..." She fell silent, lacking the confidence to continue. The Doctor looked at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly, his reassuring trust in her compelling her to continue.

"I... I think somehow, that it's... the people of Serenity that I'm hearing. I don't know how, or why, but I feel that I'm... I'm picking up on their prayers." She looked down. "It's foolish, I know, but..."

The Doctor smiled warmly at his companion. "Nyssa, an obscure Earth poet once said to me: 'There are stranger things in heaven and earth, Doctor, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Now at the time I was inclined to disagree with him, I mean, once you've had dinner with the spontaneously combusting sentient ooze of Hippolytos Prime there's really not much left in the universe to surprise you. However these last few centuries have proven me wrong in that respect. And what you're saying has a certain logic to it... the one voice you could make out clearly was that of the Procardinal, whose life has been devoted to directing his thoughts heavenward, so it stands to reason that his prayers would be, shall we say, more 'coherent' than the rest." He leapt up and began to pace once more, his mind racing. "So as news of your, erm... 'appearance' spreads, then I would expect the prayers of the faithful to become more focussed and numerous, which could account for your feeling of the voices becoming 'louder', perhaps...?"

"That's what I was thinking, Doctor." Nyssa nodded. The Doctor appeared not to hear her, lost in his own thought train.

"But I still don't understand why..." he thought aloud. "And the prayers of an entire planetary population? Inside one mind? I'm not sure that's such a good idea." He paced for a few moments more, before turning back to his companion. "Well, I can't explain why this is happening to you, Nyssa, but I can do something to help. I think it would be wise if I helped you to erect some mental barriers - there are some Gallifreyan meditation techniques I can teach you, but that will take some time..." He looked at her, biting his lip indecisively. "Of course, there is a much quicker and, ah, more direct way of strengthening your mental defences." He paused; Nyssa looked questioningly at him.

"Go on, Doctor, what is it?"

He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly bashful for some reason. "I could initiate telepathic contact with you myself. Help you build those barriers from the inside. Guide you through the process, so to speak."

"And is this something you've done before?"

"A number of times, yes. Usually with another Time Lord of course, but inter-species contact is possible... if rather more unpredictable."

Nyssa looked at him, her scientific curiosity piqued but still slightly dubious of what the Doctor was suggesting. "So you'd be inside my mind..." she mused, frowning. "Would that mean you'd have access to my memories? My private thoughts?"

"You can trust me, Nyssa. I won't go anywhere you don't want me to. But it's up to you. If you'd rather stick with the meditation then - "

"It's fine, Doctor," she interrupted, a decisive look on her face. "How do we begin?"

The heavy door opened with a loud and elongated creak, which reverberated along the corridor and caused Byrnus and his companion to turn their heads sharply. Their grey-clad colleague left the room, closing the door behind him and leaning on it, wearily.

"Well?"

He breathed deeply, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "The Boy is resting now. I've done what I can, but I'm working blind really - he's just not reacting to the medication in the way we'd expected."

"Is he lucid?" asked Byrnus. "Controllable?"

"I honestly don't know." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He's much calmer than he was before, but still quite aggressive, and... animalistic somehow. I don't know what, if anything, Novin did to trigger this, but - "

"Whatever she did, she has paid the price," the Father growled dismissively, turning to Byrnus. "We must proceed. It is the only way, if logic and science are to be restored to Serenity."

Byrnus looked shocked. "But Father - he's too unpredictable! How can we hope to control him?"

The Father smiled grimly, his grizzled voice resonating around the dark corridor.

"Everything is predictable, Byrnus. Everything."

The Doctor stood over Nyssa as she lay on the medical couch, the cool fingers of his left hand gently touching particular points on the Trakenite's pale skin, starting at her forehead, spreading across her temple and down to her cheek, which flushed slightly as a result of the unprecedented intimacy of the situation. His right hand held Nyssa's own, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm. The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of the treatment arch as it continued its work.

He closed his eyes, his youthful brow furrowing in concentration as he tentatively reached out with his mind, projecting soft tendrils of thought, searching for an opening into his companion's consciousness in the mental ether. This was always the tricky part of inter-species contact, he thought. The process with another Gallifreyan was always infinitely simpler, as in many ways Time Lords shared the same mind and therefore an instinctive, intuitive telepathic connection that was as easy to establish as the flicking of a switch. Complete communion with an alien consciousness was always much more difficult to achieve, and despite the Doctor's extensive experience over the past few centuries the process still felt unnatural to him, especially the somewhat claustrophobic sensation of a mind restricted to the lesser dimensions and unable to enjoy a shared perception spanning the whole of time and space.

It was quite surprising then, moments after he began to stretch his senses towards her consciousness, that Nyssa found him first.

One moment he was projecting his mental self down the neurons, along the dendrites and across the synapses of his body, down into his fingertips where his skin tentatively touched that of his young companion, then the next moment she was there. The Time Lord felt a familiar, warming presence wash over him as Nyssa mentally reached out to him, guiding him in.

The Doctor raised his brows, eyes still closed, as he was momentarily taken aback by his companion's less than passive role in the mental process. Surprised by the strength of Nyssa's telepathic presence, he paused for a moment, and silently wondered why neither he nor the TARDIS had picked up on her evidently substantial abilities before. Making a mental note to investigate later, he took a deep breath and opened his mind towards her, allowing their consciousnesses to become entwined.

Contact.

As the thoughts, memories and feelings of Time Lord and Trakenite mingled, the Doctor tensed, screwing his eyes up tight as if in pain as he fought to retain his sense of self in the jumble of feelings and personalities. An unexpected depth of feeling radiated from Nyssa the likes of which he had seldom experienced, causing him to grit his teeth as he fought against the sudden onrush. Fear, loneliness, anxiety, confusion, despair, grief - all washed over him in a staggering outpouring of emotion that stimulated his twin hearts into a completely unfamiliar rhythm, pounding violently in his chest and threatening to escape his ribcage. The swell of feeling ebbed and flowed across his senses like the waves of a turbulent sea, one moment peaking into a crest that threatened to overwhelm him, the next receding into the ether, leaving him bereft and breathless. He instinctively increased his own mental shielding against the psychic onslaught emanating from his companion, dampening the telepathic receptors in his brain to lessen the impact of the intense feelings that Nyssa was sharing with him. Within the space of a few seconds the thudding in his chest began to quieten as he felt the emotional bombardment diminish to a more tolerable level. He sighed in relief and took a moment to gather himself.

As he did so, he began to perceive something on an entirely different level. The reduction in psychic noise revealed a quieter, almost audible sensation: a lower level accompaniment to the torrent of emotion which had previously masked it, one which shared its peaks and troughs but appeared to be manifested on an entirely different wavelength. The Doctor contemplated this for only the briefest moment before his shared perception with Nyssa allowed him to see both question and answer in the same instant - these were the innumerable streams of muttered thought, the voices that his companion had identified. They permeated through their interlaced consciousness, an incessant confusion of words that tumbled over each other, muddled and unintelligible. He realised with some relief that the interminable, despairing emotions he had just encountered within Nyssa's mind must also originate, not from her, but from some external source - they were as much hers as the voices forcing their way into her mind. But what source? For what reason? And most importantly, why was Nyssa their focus? The questions hung in the ether, unanswerable.

The Doctor gently probed deeper into his companion's subconscious, noting with interest that the low level murmuring seemed to get louder as he moved beyond conscious thought and towards the hindbrain, the realm of involuntary actions and instinct. Once more increasing his mental shielding he pressed deeper, breaking out into a sweat as the maelstrom of voices and emotions became thunderous, increasing in intensity until it took all his mental effort to block it out... louder and louder until finally he broke through, gasping, into what felt like an epicentre: an oasis of silence and peace at the heart of the screaming torrent.

And that was where he found her.

Nyssa lay, perfectly still, in the eye of the storm. Or at least, he mused, he was perceiving a manifestation of her psyche, as his brain processed the manifold and multi-layered perceptions it was being bombarded with and tried to interpret them through his visual cortex in a way that he was likely to understand. She was curled up tightly into a defensive ball, her arms wrapped around her head and her eyes screwed up tight. He moved forward, kneeling next to her and gently touching her shoulder. Her eyes immediately snapped open, her pained expression changing in an instant to one of relief as recognition dawned. She sat up and hugged him, which he indulged for a short while, simultaneously observing and experiencing the relief that his presence had brought.

After a moment he gently touched Nyssa's shoulder, and they moved apart, the Doctor sitting cross-legged opposite her. He took her small hands in his own. No words were necessary, as their entwined consciousnesses exchanged ideas at the speed of thought. The Doctor closed his eyes.

'Just relax, Nyssa,' he thought, breathing deeply. He felt the tension in her soften slightly. 'Relax and let me guide you.'

'We're going to build a wall.'

Rose-tinged rays of sunshine began to stream into the opulent atrium of the Procardinal's palace, bouncing off the polished marble floor to become captured by the numerous gleaming treasures adorning the room, before being magnified and released in glimmers and sparkles that danced on the high ceiling, giving the empty entranceway a peaceful, ethereal air.

"Fenravic!"

The early morning peace was immediately shattered as Procardinal Jonaris crashed through the doorway, slamming the heavy double doors behind him and causing a number of the priceless items surrounding him to leap on their pedestals. He stomped through the atrium, red-faced and puffing, and headed up a large and imposing stairway in the direction of his audience chamber.

"FENRAVIC!"

He burst through the doors of his office, his face even redder after the exertion of climbing the stairs, and began to pace about the luxurious chamber, his sweaty brow furrowed and his eyes fixed furiously upon the exquisitely patterned floor. After a few moments the sound of frantic footsteps emerged over the rasp of his laboured breathing, and a hastily dressed cleric rushed into the room, smoothing his uncombed hair before donning his skullcap and standing to attention before the pacing Procardinal.

"My Lord?" The cleric was grey haired and gaunt, worry-lines etched deep into his face from untold years of servitude to both the Order and the explosive temper of his Procardinal.

"Get me some wine, Fenravic. And make it the good stuff, not that godawful swill we give to the congregation!"

"Of course, my Lord Procardinal." Fenravic bowed deeply and hurried out of the chamber, glad to be released from his master's presence so quickly.

Jonaris paced for a moment more, deep in thought, before striding towards his desk and ripping open a drawer. He removed a comlink and sat in his high-backed chair.

"Are you there?" The comlink crackled for a moment before a distorted voice answered in the affirmative.

"Get here now," he growled. "I've got a job for you." He deactivated the comlink and threw it back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

Fenravic trotted back into the room, carefully balancing an intricately carved goblet on a gilded tray, trying desperately not to spill the contents despite his obvious excitement. Jonaris looked up at him, eyes white under his sullen brow.

"What in the Union are you so happy about, Highbishop?" Jonaris grunted, snatching the goblet from the tray and managing to spill half of it across his desk in the process.

"Is it true, my Lord? Some of our brothers have just now returned from the Sanctum, and they're saying... well, it can't possibly be true, can it?" He paused, torn between joy and trepidation. Jonaris took a deep draft from his goblet, before setting it down heavily and wiping his mouth.

"Well? Spit it out, man!"

"They... they are saying that... that The Lady has returned!"

The Procardinal slowly turned the goblet around, running a plump finger over the intricate pattern, deep in thought.

"My Lord, is it true?"

Jonaris reluctantly met his subordinate's nervous gaze, aware that with his answer he held the future of Serenity in his hands, and that his next few words could set in motion a chain of events that would reverberate throughout history. He weighed each one heavily, before uttering them in a low voice, monotonous and bereft of emotion.

"It is so."

Fenravick took a deep breath, hands clenched over his heart, eyes shining with joyous rapture. But his elation was stopped in its tracks by the raising of a meaty hand.

"I wouldn't be so happy if I were you, Highbishop," Jonaris growled, leaning back in his chair and taking another greedy swig from his goblet. His face broke into a sadistic half-smile. "You have twelve hours to organise a feast fit for a goddess!"

The trickle of sweat that meandered across the Doctor's forehead and made its way down his cheek was the only movement within the calm of the Infirmary, as Time Lord and Trakenite remained telepathically joined, their mental efforts outwardly imperceptible. Over the course of the last hour the Doctor had successfully managed to help Nyssa to strengthen her mental defences, patiently guiding her through the techniques required to fortify her mind against the unwelcome intrusions she was experiencing. As they sat together in the landscape of her subconscious, the emotional maelstrom surrounding them gradually subsided, dwindling in intensity until the multitude of voices receded once more into a background murmur no more intrusive than a babbling stream.

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at his companion as she sat across from him, and the beginnings of the smile that played across her lips was mirrored by his own as he felt overwhelming relief and gratitude wash over him. He could feel her exhaustion too, and the tiredness that replaced tension as she finally began to relax, worn out by the ordeals of the past few hours.

He began to gently disengage himself from his companion's mind as she drifted off into sleep, slowly withdrawing his mental presence so as not to disturb her, whilst at the same time keen to extricate himself from Nyssa's psyche before she entered the dreamstate, in case he involuntarily intruded upon thoughts and feelings that she would never consciously share.

It was just as he was at the very edge of her consciousness when it happened.

Just as the Doctor removed the last tendrils of his mental presence from her mind, Nyssa began to dream. He quickly broke contact, gasping as he opened his eyes and snatched his fingers away from her sleeping face. As swiftly as he had moved, it was not swift enough.

Time is not constant in dreams. It obeys no law save the whim of the subconscious, which can choose to visit past, present or future, spend an eternity on a single moment, or make a nanosecond last a lifetime. In the split second before the Doctor released contact, Nyssa's unconscious mind drifted and relived the events of the past few weeks, the Doctor involuntarily sharing those experiences along with her. A burst of emotion surged through him, flooding his senses before vanishing abruptly as his fingers fell away from her. Grief, loneliness, desolation... all reverberated though his mind like an electric current, together with a loss so complete that it ached through his being like a physical wound.

He backed away from her, falling into his chair, his hands covering his face as he fought to breathe. Gathering himself, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at his companion, now sleeping peacefully, cradled within the medical couch.

"Oh Nyssa," he whispered softly. "So lonely. So very, very alone..."

The Doctor got up slowly, ran his hands through his hair and took a deep, cleansing breath. The feelings Nyssa had inadvertently shared with him had faded, but the memory of them echoed around his mind, stirring up his own sense of guilt and remorse in response. He watched her intently for a few moments before burying his hands in his pockets and walking towards the exit. As he reached the doorway, he turned back to look at his sleeping companion once more.

"I'm so sorry."

He turned, head bowed, and left the Infirmary as Nyssa slumbered on, alone.