Chapter 6 - Breakfast and Blood

Brother Byrnus looked down at the sleeping boy, pondering the events to come as he watched the star-shaped badge on his chest rise and fall. The boy turned fitfully in his sleep, muttering and growling incoherently. Byrnus frowned. He had kept the faith all his life, hoping for the prophesised arrival, but now that he was here he still found it hard to believe that this boy, this ragged youth, had played such an important part in his people's past, and was soon to become the catalyst for their future. That knowledge and science were to be restored by an adolescent in an obvious state of mental instability seemed... wrong somehow, but Byrnus knew better than to question the path to be taken. Events so far had played out as foreseen, so why should events to come be any different? He pushed the nagging doubt to the back of his mind as the door to the chamber creaked open, and the Father entered.

"I have had word, Byrnus, that a feast to celebrate the Lady's return is being organised, and will take place tonight." He looked towards the bed. "You must prepare him. This is the opportunity we were promised. The moment of change."

Byrnus looked at him, the unwanted doubt resurfacing in his mind. "Are you sure, Father? I don't mean to question the prophecy, but I don't see how - "

"I am sure, Byrnus. The time is now - there can be no other. Have faith, Brother!" He put a reassuring hand on Byrnus' shoulder. "Now I must leave. You know how to proceed."

Byrnus bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

The door closed, leaving Byrnus alone with the Boy once more. He crouched down by the side of the bed.

"Well, young Adric. It seems you and I have a lot to do..."

The Refectory was sparsely populated, and Suren had escorted Tegan to a secluded, unoccupied table before heading off to the automated counter to rustle up some breakfast. He returned, armed with an overflowing tray containing a number of plates and beverages.

"Forgive me, My Lady. I didn't know what you would like, so I got a selection."

"Suren, the only thing you need to be sorry about is calling me 'My Lady'!" Tegan smiled. "Please, call me Tegan."

Suren smiled shyly and took his seat. "As you wish... Tegan." He looked at her, uncertain, and they laughed together, then set about their breakfast. Tegan surveyed the options, selecting what looked like a bowl of assorted fruit and an opaque liquid that resembled milk, though slightly yellower in colour.

"So, have you always been a medic?" she asked, sniffing the liquid cautiously.

"Yes. It was my father's occupation, and his mother before him. I trained with them from an early age. It was either that or join the Order, and I have never been the most religious person." He looked at Tegan, suddenly realising what he had just said. "Until now, of course! I mean - "

Tegan laughed as he backtracked and began to apologise profusely. "Suren - just relax. I'm not going to bite your head off!" He looked on, wide-eyed, as she sunk her teeth into a riverfruit.

"Cripes!" she exclaimed, "If I'd followed in my father's footsteps, I'd be a sheep farmer!" She laughed.

Suren looked puzzled. "What's a sheep?"

Tegan rolled her eyes. The novelty of explaining commonplace Earth creatures and objects to aliens was beginning to wear off. "It's just an animal that we use for meat and wool. Milk sometimes, too." She held up her glass. "Is this milk?"

Suren shook his head, but didn't elaborate further. "So did you have a vocation on your home planet? Before you began to serve the Lady, I mean."

"Well, I wanted to travel. You know, see the world a bit. So I joined an airline." Noting Suren's puzzled expression once more she pre-empted the question: "My people travel our planet in jet-propelled aircraft, and it was my job to take care of the passengers." She sighed, playing with her food. "Or it would have been, if I hadn't met the Doctor." Pausing thoughtfully, she took a swig of her drink, frowned at the unusual taste, and then smiled once more. "Guess I got more than I bargained for there, I'm definitely seeing the world now - or rather, the Universe!" She looked at her half-empty glass. "What did you say this was again?"

"I didn't!" Suren smiled, before looking down at his plate. "I've never been outside the Colony. My people used to travel across the many worlds of the Union, sometimes even beyond... but we don't venture into space anymore. That technology has been lost to us, along with the Source."

"The Source, right... Nyssa's told me a bit about that. It was built here, wasn't it? On Serenity?" Suren nodded. "So why can't you just rebuild it?"

Suren poked at his food, considering his answer. "There are many reasons, really, the main one being, well... fear, I suppose. The Source... or rather, our pride in it, and others' desire of it, is considered by many to be the cause of the Union's destruction. That fear has led to all high technology being shunned, and the knowledge has been lost as a result." He sighed. "But fear aside, the Source was created at at time when there was a whole Union of resources to call upon, and limitless power. I'm afraid we simply no longer have the energy, skill or capability to undertake such a massive feat of engineering."

Tegan took another sip of her drink, and thought. "Perhaps the Doctor could help with that..." She wiped her mouth. "Seriously Suren, what is in this drink?"

Suren smiled. "It's a liquidised fungus that grows on top of water. It's very nutritious!"

The Doctor arrived just as Suren was wiping the remnants of Tegan's drink from his face. He looked at the Time Lord, laughing. "Would you like some breakfast, Doctor?"

"I'd give the Pond Scum Smoothie a miss if I were you!" Tegan grimaced, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Is Nyssa okay?"

The Doctor sat down next to Tegan, his face clouded. "She's fine. Sleeping peacefully." He picked up a fork and played with it absent-mindedly, pressing each of the tines into his finger in turn.

"Doctor, I was just saying to Suren that you might be able to offer some help if they wanted to have a go at rebuilding the Source? I mean, from what you and Adric have told me about your trip to Traken you know a fair bit about it, don't you?" The Doctor continued to examined the fork intently. "Didn't you say you'd seen some plans?"

The fork clattered to the table as the Doctor stood abruptly. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Tegan. As a Time Lord I am forbidden to interfere."

"'Forbidden to interfere'?!" scoffed Tegan; "Look Doc, I might not have known you for long, but 'interfering' seems to be a major hobby of yours!"

A pained look crossed the Doctor's face. "Yes, thank you Tegan!" he snapped, before turning to look at the ceiling in an effort to regain his composure. "The fact remains that I have meddled enough in the affairs of the Traken Union, to the cost of practically every soul within it, so I do not intend to meddle any further. Now, I am going to look for Adric - " Tegan opened her mouth to interrupt but the Doctor carried on regardless - "and I am going to do so alone. Tegan, please stay with Nyssa and Suren." He turned and walked towards the exit.

"Doctor!"

He stopped, mid-stride, but did not turn around. "And Tegan, please try to stay out of trouble..."

The Time Lord strode from the Refectory, leaving Tegan momentarily speechless. She folded her arms, a petulant look clouding her face.

"'Stay out of trouble'? Well, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is..."

Suren frowned, confused. "What has kitchenware got to do with the situation?"

The earth woman groaned, her head in her hands.

"Aliens!"

All was still in the Infirmary, the blinking lights of the medical instruments and the gentle hum of the treatment arch above Nyssa's peacefully slumbering form the only indications of activity in the deserted room. Detecting the lack of movement within the ward the medicom had dimmed the ambient lighting accordingly, ensuring the optimum environment for its patient to achieve restful, healing sleep. The various flickering display screens caused shadows to dance on the walls, and the far corners of the room were filled with darkness.

A shadow detached itself from the wall nearest to the door, and slowly crept over to a nearby terminal. In the light of the display the shadow resolved itself to reveal a large figure in the garb of a citizen, his face concealed by a dark-coloured hood. The figure worked at the terminal momentarily, before looking to the ceiling and waving his arm in a rapid motion. Satisfied that the automated lighting systems had been overidden, he moved, this time with more urgency, towards Nyssa's bed. He stopped as he passed a tray of gleaming medical instruments, carefully selecting a couple of items before moving on to stand at the sleeping Trakenite's bedside. He looked down at her for a few moments, studying her features before raising a gloved hand hesitantly towards her face.

Nyssa stirred in her sleep, sighing and turning her head. Her movement caused the intruder to start and take a step back. She settled again, but he kept his distance for a moment, his resolve wavering.

Eventually, satisfied that she was once more sleeping soundly, he moved back towards her. He reached forward, and, after one final hesitation, gently pulled her hair back, revealing the smooth white skin of her neck. His other hand hefted a hypospray, which he applied to the exposed flesh just behind her ear and activated in one swift motion. The medicom emitted a soft beep as it registered the presence of the sedative in Nyssa's system, and the intruder checked a nearby display. Reassured that she was completely sedated, he discarded the hypospray and retrieved the other instrument from his pocket. A blade gleamed in the light of the display, and the intruder's whispered voice broke the silence.

"Forgive me, my Lady..."

The early morning sun emerged from the ornate roof of the Sanctum, bursting into the civic square and causing the Doctor's elongated shadow to dance before him as he strode purposefully across the patterned flagstones. His hands were stuffed deep into his trouser pockets, his eyes hungrily devouring the ground before him as he paced, his normally cheerful face clouded with melancholy.

Stopping abruptly, he turned his head to one side and listened intently for a moment, before reaching into his coat pocket to remove his rolled up panama hat. A deft flick of the wrist caused the hat to unfurl, and he turned it over in his hands, running his fingers around the brim, apparently deep in thought. Birdsong broke the early morning silence, welcoming the new day with chirps and whistles as the Doctor, placing his hat firmly on his head, wandered on a little further. He moved across the deserted square, heading in the direction of the Penal Wing before stopping suddenly once more.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The subtle nuances of early morning air on an alien planet was usually one of the things the Time Lord treasured most about his wandering existence, but this morning the experience felt tainted, polluted by the painful memories and emotions that Nyssa had inadvertently shared with him. He looked to his feet, petulantly kicking at a stone in a futile effort to vent his feelings. The pebble skittered across the square, but the Doctor's eyes remained fixed on the ground, his frown intensifying as he stared at the patch of stone beneath his feet. Crouching suddenly, he ran his fingers over a discoloured area of pavement.

"Have you had this analysed?"

The Doctor studied his fingers closely, his words ringing out across the deserted square, where they were met with a resounding silence. He sighed impatiently, and stood back up to his full height.

"I hate to cast aspersions on your professionalism, but I have been followed by a great many people in my lifetime, and I'm sorry to say you are not one of the best."

After a few moments a sheepish young Foster stepped out from a darkened alleyway leading off from the square. The Doctor looked in his direction, his face breaking momentarily into a disarming smile.

"Ah, there you are, Foster...?"

"Erm... Drevus, Sir." He sidled over to where the Time Lord stood.

"'Drevus', excellent. Now, Foster Drevus, I wonder if you could help me." The Doctor held his discoloured fingertips out towards the nervous guard, who regarded them suspiciously. "Have you had this patch of liquid analysed?"

Drevus looked at the outstretched fingers, then at the patch of ground at the Doctor's feet. He nodded. "About an hour ago, Sir. It's blood."

"Yes, I managed to work that out for myself, thankyou." The Doctor sighed impatiently, looking up to the heavens. "Do you have any further details? Antibody type? Grouping? Planetary origin, perhaps?"

Blushing, Drevus extracted a hand reader from his belt, tapped a few buttons and passed it to the Doctor, who quickly scanned the data in front of him.

"Hmmm... unclassifiable organelles... leucocyte readings off the scale... elements unknown to Serenite science..." He gave the reader back to Drevus. "All of which would suggest that this is Alzarian blood." He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his fingers clean, a worried look crossing his face.

Drevus looked confused. "'Alzarian'?"

"Adric, my companion - is from Alzarius. He was taken last night, as we were being escorted to the Sanctum." The Doctor looked up at the Foster. "I believe you've been investigating the matter?"

Drevus shifted uneasily on his feet, unsure of how much he should share with his erstwhile quarry, who after all had been on the verge of execution for mass murder but a few hours ago. Strangely, he felt no malice from the strangely attired young man in front of him, but still he hesitated. The Doctor allowed his face to break into a smile once more, putting his hand on the young guard's shoulder.

"Come now, Foster Drevus. I have just been exonerated by the Lady herself! If I am deserving of Her trust, surely I am deserving of yours?"

Drevus sighed uneasily. "Well... I'm afraid we haven't really got a lot to go on, Sir. The assailant with the knife managed to evade capture, even though she was hit by a number of shots. We can only assume she was wearing some kind of protective garment. Both her and the Boy - your friend Adric - were lost in the melee, and events were so confused that we cannot find anyone who can identify in which direction he was taken. We have done an extensive search of the surrounding area, but this - " he indicated the discoloured patch at the Doctor's feet - "is the only trace of him we can find."

The smile faded from the Time Lord's face as he contemplated his companion's fate. Adric was, usually, more than capable of looking after himself - his years as an orphaned Outler on Alzarius had made sure of that. But on the other hand, like any teenager he was prone to rash behaviour, as recently demonstrated on Deva Loka. He sighed, frowning. Most worrying of all, he was undoubtedly hurt to some extent.

"But why Adric?" he thought aloud. "He was obviously specifically targeted, but for what purpose?"

Drevus looked around, scanning the empty square for signs of life. "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Sir."

The Doctor ignored him, lost in his train of thought. "And the real question, of course, is by whom? We were already in the hands of the Fosters, on our way to the Prime Consul's Inquisition, where we were most likely to be disposed of by the Order." He took his hat off once more, rolling it up and tapping it on his lips as he paced round in a circle. "Which means..." He stopped abruptly. "Foster Drevus!"

The young Foster, only inches behind him, visibly jumped. "Sir?"

The Doctor span round on his heel. "Ah, there you are! Are you a believer, Foster?"

"Er... well, yes - of course, Sir!"

"Excellent! Now, I presume belief in the Lady is widespread? Universally held across the colony?"

Drevus frowned. "Well, yes, I suppose so. There are different factions, of course, but the basic tenets are the same..."

"Factions, eh? And are any of these factions particularly concerned with - " He paused, clearing his throat. "'The Herald'? Or perhaps... 'The Boy'?"

The young Foster looked nervously around the Square once more. The russet tones of the early morning sun had begun to fade, as the sky turned from orange to pale blue, and signs of life began to stir in the adjoining alleys and courtyards. When he spoke, his voice carried across the Square.

"That's really not for me to speculate, Sir. I - I should be getting back to my duties."

The Doctor looked over his shoulder, confused by the Foster's sudden change in demeanour. Drevus followed his gaze.

"The citizens are stirring, Sir. Have you eaten this morning?"

The Doctor frowned and looked to his feet once more. "I haven't got time to eat. I really must find my companion, so if you can't help me any further, Foster Drevus, I'll bid you good morning." He turned to leave, but was stopped by the Foster's hand on his arm.

"Sir, you really should eat," he said insistently. The Time Lord raised his eyebrows, looking at Drevus' earnest expression with a renewed interest.

"The tavern next to the Botanical Gardens will be opening shortly - I can highly recommend the breakfast there." He paused, throwing the Doctor a significant look. "I'm sure it's just what you need. Now, I must return to my duties. Good day, Sir." With that, Drevus strode off in the direction of the Penal Wing, leaving the Doctor scratching his head.

"Well, maybe I could use some breakfast after all," he muttered, striding from the Square.

Tegan and Suren had finished their breakfast, and on leaving the Refectory had decided to head back towards the medical suite in order to check on Nyssa's progress.

"So, have you seen much of Serenity since your arrival?" asked Suren.

Tegan smiled sardonically. "Well, let's see... so far I've experienced a dark, overgrown garden, a hospital waiting room and the inside of a prison cell, so no, I haven't seen many of the sights really!" she laughed. Suren laughed with her, before blushing furiously.

"Perhaps then... er, maybe I... I could give you a tour at some point? Serenity has much more beautiful and interesting places to visit, I assure you!"

Tegan smiled as they rounded the corner to the Infirmary. "That sounds good. It'd make a nice change anyway," she mused, "I don't generally get to see much of the alien planets we visit, what with all the running and screaming... why is it so dark in here?"

They had entered the Infirmary to find it ominously silent and gloomy.

"Don't worry," Suren reassured her, "My Lady must be asleep. The medicom is programmed to adjust the ambient lighting in accordance with the patient's biorhythms, to provide an optimum healing environment."

"Oh. I see." Tegan took a step forward, but Suren gently took her arm, holding her back.

"Careful - the motion sensors will pick you up, and increase the lighting - if she's resting we don't want to disturb her." He picked up a hand reader from a workstation at the edge of the room, and tapped a few keys. "I can monitor her progress with this." He glanced at the screen for a moment, before turning to Tegan and smiling. "She's fine. Condition: stable, bone-knitting cycle at forty-eight percent complete."

Tegan looked back towards her sleeping friend across the room. "So how long before she wakes up?"

"I'd say a couple of hours, at least."

"And she's safe here?" A dubious expression crossed her face.

Suren smiled. "Tegan, she's perfectly safe, I assure you. I trust my medical staff implicitly, and there are Fosters posted at every entrance to this building - no-one can get in without being seen." Suren held up the hand reader. "And we can monitor her condition remotely with this - it will notify us should anything change."

Tegan thought for a moment, chewing her lip, then took the young medic's arm and steered him back towards the exit. "Right then! You've got two hours to change my first impression of this godforsaken planet of yours!"

The Doctor had left the Civic Square in the direction indicated by Foster Drevus, but had very quickly become lost in the numerous, winding side-streets and alleyways that adjoined it. Unperturbed, he strolled on as the city began to waken around him, passing through what appeared to be a merchant quarter, where stallholders had begun to display their goods and call out the day's prices. They eyed the tall, unusually dressed stranger with suspicion as he ambled by, clustering into small groups to whisper darkly in his wake. As he ventured further on the market blossomed into a symphony of rich colours and smells as traders piled their stalls high with a myriad of brightly-hued fruits and vegetables. The Doctor stopped at the nearest stall, picking up a purple tree-fruit and sniffing it appreciatively. A young woman approached carrying a box of similar-looking fruits, and he rummaged in his pockets, pulling out an assortment of coins in the hope one would be acceptable. He found a likely looking specimen and held it up, sunlight glinting off its bronze faces.

"I do hope this is adequate, I beIieve it's called a 'knut', but I can't for the lives of me remember where I got it from. Now, I wonder if you could kindly point me in the direction of..." He took his eyes from the coin to find the box of fruit spilled on the floor in front of him, its owner nowhere to be seen.

"Ah. I see my fame precedes me." He placed the coin carefully on the stall and took a bite of the fruit, smacking his lips appreciatively as the surrounding citizens stared on in silence. "Delicious!" He beamed. "Now, if someone would be so kind as to tell me the way to the Botanical Gardens, I can leave you to go about your business in peace."

A dozen hands shot up instantly, anxiously pointing towards a street to the left. It was lined with stalls overflowing with vibrant displays of flowers, and at the far end the Doctor could see a glass-domed structure, its panels shining in the early morning sun.

"Excellent! Much obliged!" The Doctor doffed his hat and span on his heel, leaving the fruit stall holders to gape as he strode quickly down the street, nimbly threading his way through the flower market. He reached the entrance to the Botanical Gardens without further incident, and stood for a moment looking up at the swinging sign of the adjacent tavern.

"'The Foster's Rest'," he breathed to himself. The tavern looked pleasant enough, with well-tended window boxes and colourful hanging baskets adorning the exterior. Tendrils of climbing plants weaved their way through a trellis around the door, their exotic-looking flowers giving off a delicate perfume. He'd been in far worse places, he mused, as he rolled up his hat and stowed it inside his jacket, before stepping up to the door. "Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon," he said, and with that he opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

Given the tavern's clandestine recommendation the Doctor had been prepared for the usual dark and dingy interior, with disreputable characters huddled over beverages of questionable origin in shadowed corners. He was pleasantly surprised then when he stepped into a light, airy space filled with flowers and greenery, more akin to a garden centre than a public house. Directly in front of him was the bar, where a barrel-chested man stood polishing glasses, while a rosy-cheeked, plump woman waited on a couple of locals seated at tables to the right. To the left was an archway, leading out into a large, glass-roofed area that seemed to link through to the Botanical Gardens next door. Bright sunlight shone onto rough-cut tables and benches, which were interspersed with various fruit trees, bushes and ferns. The Doctor's eyes turned back to the bar, to find several pairs of eyes regarding him with suspicion.

"Ah, good morning. The breakfast here comes highly recommended... I do hope I'm not too early?"

The plump woman looked up from her conversation, walked up to the barman and gave him a playful cuff round the ear. "Stop staring, Von! You're enough to kill off anyone's appetite!" She turned to the Doctor and smiled. "Don't mind them, they don't get out much. We've just started serving - if you want to take a seat in the Conservatory I'll bring a menu right over."

The Doctor strolled through the archway into the dappled sunlight and sat down at a secluded table sheltered by a large fruit tree. The woman appeared with the menu as promised, and he selected a light cooked breakfast accompanied by fruit juice. As she departed to the kitchen, he sat back and took in his surroundings.

There were five occupants of the Conservatory besides himself: a couple held hands across a table in the centre, watched by a lone white-robed acolyte sat two tables behind, whilst at the table in the far corner two Fosters sipped their drinks in silence and tried as hard as they could not to look in the Doctor's direction. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in dismay as the barmaid returned with his order.

"Thank you, this looks delicious!" He smiled. The barmaid laughed in response.

"I'd reserve judgement till after you've tried it if I were you! I take it you're not from around these parts?"

The Doctor sniffed at a spoonful of something unidentifiable. "You could say that, yes." He looked around once more. "I'd have expected more Fosters in here, given the name of the place?"

"Oh, that. It harks back to the old role of the Fosters, back in the Keeper-Time." She lowered her voice, leaning closer to the Doctor whilst keeping an eye on the table in the corner. "When they carried spades instead of guns. They used to come in here after their shifts at the Gardens next door. This place did a roaring trade back then I'm told - course it's more of a struggle now, what with the curfew and all." She straightened up, raising her voice once more. "Still, mustn't grumble - enjoy your breakfast!"

The Doctor took a tentative mouthful of food whilst watching the barmaid's progress back to the kitchen. As he turned to follow her movement, he caught a glimpse of something white in his peripheral vision, and realised that someone had occupied the table behind him.

"Don't turn around."

The low voice was barely audible, and the Doctor guessed that the newcomer had his back to him, facing away from the Fosters over on the other side of the Conservatory. He slowly turned back to his breakfast.

"Do not react to what I am saying or bring attention to our conversation in any way, or your life will be forfeit. Drevus sent me. Are you aware you're being followed?"

The Doctor pushed his food around his plate, feigning nonchalance. He looked over at the Fosters, who kept surreptitiously glancing in his direction. Luckily a few branches of a large fern hung between them, partially blocking their view. The Doctor hoped it would be enough to disguise the movement of his lips.

"Of course I am - I'd have to be blind not to!" he whispered. "I presume you mean those Fosters, or are you referring to your colleague over there who followed me from the marketplace, and who is also, may I add, a hopelessly incompetent stalker?"

The newcomer paused for a moment, and the Doctor guessed he was checking out the acolyte across the room. He heard what seemed to be a muffled choking sound, which nearly caused him to turn around before he realised that it was stifled laughter.

"He is not my 'colleague'. My name is Byrnus, and while I may publicly wear the same robes as the Order of the Lady, I can assure you that myself and my brethren in the Grey Order do not share the same devotions."

The Doctor picked up his menu and began to study it. "'Grey Order'?"

"We are a covert faction, a secret brotherhood within the Order. Over the past centuries we have struggled in the shadows, toiling in devotion to what we had begun to think was a lost cause. But then you came... and brought us the Boy."

"Adric?" The Doctor sat bolt upright, drawing the attention of the Fosters. He coughed, putting his napkin to his mouth. The Fosters resumed their conversation.

"Where is he? Is he safe?"

"Rest assured, my Lord Herald, there could be no safer place in the Colony than within our care. My brethren and I, we have waited our whole lives for this moment. I cannot tell you what an honour it is, to be here at the culmination of our work, when we shall break free from the oppression of the Order and - "

"Yes, yes, very good," the Doctor broke in impatiently - "Now you listen to me. I don't care what faction you're from, what your aims are or what makes your beliefs right and everyone else's wrong. What I want to know is what has happened to Adric, and exactly how you are going to return him to me - unharmed."

Byrnus paused for a moment, uncertain how to proceed. "I - I don't understand, my Lord Herald. Your hostility is unfounded, I assure you. We are on the same side, after all."

"All I know is that your people have captured and hurt one of my companions," the Doctor growled, "and from where I'm sitting that makes you the enemy. And if you know anything about me at all, you'll know that is a very dangerous position to be in. Now for the last time, where is he?"

"There... there is a feast planned for tonight, in honour of the Lady. He will be returned to you then, you have my word." Byrnus paused, taking a hefty swig of his drink with a shaking hand. "There was no malice in our intentions, my Lord, quite the opposite - the Boy was only taken to protect him from the Inquisition."

"Ah - I take it I'm dispensable then?"

"No, My Lord!" Byrnus hissed insistently. "Quite the contrary."

"Well, that's strange. Because if my memory serves me correctly I was nanoseconds from execution a few short hours ago!"

Byrnus sighed. "Not so, my Lord. Regrettably we could not take you both from the melee in the Square, you can understand why that would have been impossible. But look under the lapel of your coat."

Checking he was not being monitored too closely, the Doctor discreetly checked his clothing as directed. His fingers instantly closed around a small round object, which he carefully detached and hid behind his menu. It was a thin, circular disc of metal, no more than a centimetre across. He studied it carefully.

"Hmm. Some sort of homing device?

"No, Lord Herald... much more than that. It is a transmat dot. Our agent at the Inquisition was poised to beam you away to a safe location, but then... shall we say 'events' took over, and rendered its use unnecessary."

The Doctor viewed the device with suspicion. "Let me see the control," he muttered, sighing. Byrnus was momentarily silent, then the Doctor felt something bump against his left foot. He made a play of knocking his fork on the floor, and diving under the table he managed to recover both the errant cutlery and what turned out to be a small, battered-looking silver box. He frowned, turning the device over in his hands behind the cover of the menu, before shaking his head and slipping both the transmat dot and the control into his coat pocket.

"Thank you, Brother Byrnus," he breathed.

"My Lord Herald," Byrnus spluttered, "truly no thanks are necessary. It is our sacred duty - "

"No, Byrnus. I mean thank you for not irretrievably scrambling my atoms to the wind with that poor excuse for technology!" the Doctor hissed, rubbing his face in his hands. "Rassilon's beard!" he breathed to himself, "I'd have been better off taking my chances with the axe!" He looked over to the Fosters in the corner, relieved to see them occupied with chatting to the barmaid, before speaking again.

"Brother Byrnus. Promise me you will not use a device of this type in future, on anything more sentient than an amoeba." Byrnus drew breath to answer, but the Doctor cut him off before he could begin.

"Now, I suppose for the time being I'll have to trust you about Adric. However, if you fail to return him tonight, or I find that you've harmed him any further, your 'Herald' will NOT be happy," he growled. "Good day, Brother Byrnus." The Time Lord pushed his plate across the table and abruptly stood up, threw a few coins down and walked from the inn, leaving his stalkers scrambling in his wake.

Tegan and Suren had spent an enjoyable couple of hours in each other's company, as the young medic guided her around the city and showed her the various sights, from the exotic fragrances and hues of the markets and Botannical Gardens to the opulent luxury of the Procardinal's Palace. As they walked they had chatted a great deal, and found that they had much in common beyond their similar ages. Tegan had warmed to his innocent enthusiasm and often mischievous sense of humour, whilst Suren admired her no-nonsense honesty and feisty independence.

They walked on through a small agricultural area where workers toiled in the late morning sun. The fields were bordered by tiny, run down houses.

"Do those homes belong to the farmhands?" Tegan asked. Suren nodded.

"It's a collective. The farmers own the houses, and the fields. They work together to provide for their families, and then any extra produce is sold at the market."

Tegan frowned. "They don't seem to spend much of their profit on their houses. Most of them look about ready to fall down around their ears."

"Well, there's probably not much left, after the Duty."

"'Duty'? What, you mean like a tax?"

The medic nodded. "A proportion of their income goes to the Order. Everyone on Serenity pays the Duty - it pleases the people to see the Lady honoured in a suitable fashion."

"Really?" Tegan raised an eyebrow. "That's funny, those workers didn't look particularly 'pleased'..." She silently wondered how Nyssa would feel when she found out how hard the Serenite masses worked to fund the luxury enjoyed by her ministers.

They reached the top of a low incline, and Suren pointed further along the road, to an area where the greenery of the fields gave way to a built up, industrial zone. Dust blew around grey, concrete walls, and tall metal chimneys, streaked with rust, permeated the sky.

"This is the Industrial District. It's disused now, of course, but still an important part of our history." His tone was reverent, one which Tegan would have associated more with a temple, or an ancient burial site. He indicated a large structure to the left of the area, where low-lying buildings surrounded a massive central construction: a vast circular metal framework encircled a wide crater, rising upwards to culminate in eight huge, evenly-spaced arms that stretched towards the heavens. "This is where the Source was born."

Tegan regarded the structure with wonder. It reminded her of a number of structures she'd seen back home, a cross between an Olympic stadium and a huge radio telescope she remembered from a documentary, albeit on a much larger scale.

"Wow - that's pretty impressive!" Tegan whistled, as they walked towards one of the nearest buildings. The sheer size of the construction became more and more apparent as they continued on, and she felt dwarfed by its magnitude as she craned her neck upwards to take it all in. "We have nothing like this on Earth. Nothing this big, anyway!"

"Well," he shrugged, "invention is driven by necessity. Your people probably had no need for an undertaking of this size."

"And yours did?"

"Absolutely." Suren nodded. "Serenity was colonised by the Trakenites millennia ago, in the Pre-Primeval time, before the Source existed. Unlike Traken, Serenity had a harsh, unforgiving climate, and the first colonists struggled to survive. They only prevailed thanks to the help of the indigenous people."

"Hang on!" interrupted Tegan, smiling - "I think I've heard this story before. Does it involve turkey, pumpkin pie and the eventual slaughter of the friendly natives?"

Suren frowned. "Slaughter? Not at all!" He smiled - "Quite the opposite in fact! Our species intermarried, and both the increase in numbers and favourable genetic traits passed on by the indigenous population ensured the survival of the colony. As time went on they became renowned scientists, and the harshness of the climate drove them on to master their environment via the creation of the Source. And this is where it was born."

They approached a nearby building, and Suren pulled open a grimy metal door, its hinges shrieking in protest. The air inside smelt musty, like it hadn't been disturbed for decades. Suren motioned for her to enter, and Tegan walked through, coughing slightly as the newly disturbed dust irritated the back of her throat. Suren followed, and the door banged shut behind them, causing Tegan to jump.

"It's dark in here." She shivered, rubbing her arms. "And cold."

"Hold on," said Suren, moving over to a panel on a nearby wall. After a few moments the overhead lights began to flicker, half of them bursting into life whilst the rest remained in darkness. It created an odd effect, with isolated pools of illumination dotted across the spacious room, highlighting what looked like several rows of desks swathed in white dust sheets.

"Oh that's much better!" laughed Tegan, her arms folded across her chest. "Not spooky at all!

Suren pulled a sheet from the nearest workstation, and the dust cleared to reveal a complex and intricate control panel. Tegan ran her fingers along the edge, taking in the unfathomable array of readouts and controls.

"It looks as good as new," she said, slightly surprised. "Is all this still operational?"

The medic nodded, examining one of the panels intently. "I think so. There used to be a historical society dedicated to its maintenance, but as the Order became more powerful they were forced underground. As far as I know though, everything is still in working order... although we don't have nearly enough resource to be able to operate it. Or a Keeper to control it, come to that."

They wandered through the vast, echoing control room, Suren pointing out various different aspects of the technology to his companion, who was trying her best to appear interested despite not having a clue about the vast majority of what the medic was saying. She ventured a question, anxious not to appear stupid in front of her alien host.

"So from what you said before, even if you could somehow find the power to get all this running again, it would be useless without a Keeper, right?"

Suren thought for a moment. "Not 'useless', no... just more 'unpredictable', I suppose. Back in the Primeval time, the Source existed by itself for a long time before it came under the control of the first Keeper."

"But the effects are better with a Keeper?"

"Yes. With a Keeper the power can be directed for the benefit of all."

"Can't anyone be Keeper?"

"Unfortunately not," Suren said, shaking his head. "The ability to commune with the Source was a genetic abnormality, a throwback to the telepathic skills our people once possessed. Only those with a certain aberration in their genetic coding had the potential to become Keeper, and they were all Trakenite."

A nagging thought prickled the back of Tegan's mind, as the implications of Suren's words began to link together in her subconscious. "But the Serenites originally came from Traken, didn't they? So why is there no-one on Serenity with this abnormality?"

"Because only half of our genetic heritage is Trakenite."

"Oh, right..." Tegan walked down the next line of workstations, absent-mindedly drawing patterns in the dust. There was something she was missing here, something niggling away at her, causing a feeling of unease to rise in her stomach. "You mixed with the native Serenites."

"Yes, but it's more than that, Tegan." The medic sat down on a rusted chair nearby. "There were only very few people with the abnormality - the 'Source Marker', as it came to be known - to begin with. After the first Keeper joined with the Source, and the genetic precondition became apparent, those with the strongest manifestation were sought out, and they became the beginnings of the Trakenite aristocracy, from whom Consuls and therefore new Keepers were chosen. They were required to keep their blood pure, to preserve their ability and safeguard future generations. Hence they were few in number, and all were lost in the Darkness. Or so we thought."

"Rabbits!" Tegan jumped up suddenly. "The Source Marker!"

"My Lady - sorry - Tegan?"

The Australian woman slapped a hand to her forehead in frustration, before starting quickly towards the exit. "Tegan Jovanka, how could you be so stupid?"

Suren hurried after her. "What is it?"

"Source Marker!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Back in the Sanctum - you said Nyssa had it!"

"Yes!" panted the medic - "It's how I knew she was who she said she was!"

"And it was in that report - the one you showed to Varden and Jonaris!" Tegan crashed through the shrieking metal doors.

"Yes... but I still don't see why we have to - "

Tegan stopped in her tracks, turning abruptly towards him.

"From what you've just told me, Nyssa's DNA makes her just about the most valuable person on this planet. Now the two most powerful people on this planet are aware of that." She turned, calling back over her shoulder as she broke into a run.

"And we've just left her alone!"

The bustle of the market descended into whispering and stifled gasps as the imposing figure of the Herald cut a swathe through the crowded streets, sending citizens scrambling for cover, before huddling together once more to mutter anxiously in his wake. The Doctor barely noticed them. He strode steadily through the throng, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, a sullen expression marring his youthful face.

The clandestine meeting in the inn had done nothing to improve the Time Lord's mood, and as he headed in the direction of the Civic Square the depression that had been wakened by the revelation of his role in Serenity's history, and nurtured by his telepathic contact with Nyssa, threatened to take hold once more. Daybreak had slipped into mid-morning, and the city bustled with life. As the Doctor turned into the Square he was faced with a multitude of people. His sudden appearance created a ripple effect akin to a pebble dropping into a pond, as those nearest to him instantly and simultaneously scattered at his approach, creating a wave of apprehension spreading outwards across the plaza.

The effect plunged the Doctor deep into thought once more. The pace of his current existence meant he never really found the time to sit and reflect on his lives, and his impact on the lives of others, to any meaningful extent. Maybe, he mused, that was more down to willful procrastination rather than circumstance, but now he found he couldn't get the number 'forty-five billion' out of his mind. So many lives, extinguished in the space of a double heartbeat. Countless futures wiped out, an ocean of potential obliterated, all through his inescapable failure. Such numbers were impossible for the human mind to comprehend, but unfortunately the Gallifreyan brain was more than capable of grasping the enormities involved.

He wandered on through the Square, ambling through spaces created by his new-found pestilential presence, and contemplating on Time Lord policy and his own impact on the universe at large. His condemnation of Gallifreyan non-interference was something he had held to steadfastly in his years as an exile; indeed he had often rejoiced in his innumerable efforts to alter events for the common good. But if he weighed it all up, what would be the result? Would all the good he had done, all the lives he had saved, outweigh those he had lost, and let slip through his fingers? And if he could somehow 'balance the books', and show that he'd saved as many as had fallen, what then? Would his lives literally have amounted to nothing?

Sighing, he turned abruptly in the direction of the Infirmary, only to find his way blocked. A small child stood before him, looking up at the Time Lord in innocent confusion. The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked at the boy expectantly.

"Hello."

"Hello." The boy looked him up and down, his nose wrinkling to match the furrows on his brow. "You're not a monster."

The Doctor crouched to the child's level, removing his hat and rolling it in his hands. "I'm glad you think so. But I'm not sure everyone else around here would agree with you," he whispered.

"That's because you're going to make it dark. They don't like the dark. But I'm not scared."

"You're not?" asked the Doctor. He leaned closer, as if to share a secret. "I can be quite scary sometimes, you know." The boy thought for a moment, scratching his nose.

"But in all the stories, good always wins in the end. And the Lady is good. She'll save everyone." He smiled. "Maybe even you."

"Doctor!"

The conversation was halted abruptly as the Doctor looked up to see Tegan running across the square towards him, closely followed by a red-faced Suren. He stood, turning in their direction. A nervous-looking Serenite woman took the opportunity to dash forward, anxiously grabbing the boy before quickly retreating to the safety of the gathering crowd.

"Tegan! Are you alright? Where's Nyssa?"

"Still in the Infirmary," Tegan panted, struggling to catch her breath. "We - "

"You left her alone?" the Doctor exclaimed - "Tegan, I told you to stay with her! How could you be so irresponsible?"

The Australian woman grabbed the Doctor's arm, heading off the tirade and steering him in the direction of the Infirmary. "Save the lecture for later Doctor, we've got to get back to her now - she could be in danger!"

The Doctor hung back, surprised. "What? Who - "

"Come on Doctor!" Tegan interrupted, dragging the puzzled Time Lord forwards. "I'll explain on the way!"

Leaves twirled in a myriad of dances in the spacious gardens of the Procardinal's palace: stirred into motion by the breeze, then kicked up by the feet of Jonaris as he paced the well-tended walkways, and also agitated by the hot breath of a hooded citizen as he watched and waited, concealed from view in a nearby thicket. He shrank further into cover as a white-robed acolyte ran past, then carefully observed as the Procardinal scribbled his signature on the proffered document and testily dismissed his underling. The cowled figure waited patiently for a few minutes more as his quarry paced alone, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Checking once more to make sure the cleric would remain undisturbed he made his move, quickly traversing the space between them with the speed and stealth of a trained assassin.

He was almost upon him when Jonaris turned slightly, caught the movement in his peripheral vision and span to face the intruder.

"You're late," the Procardinal growled. The intruder stopped, and bent into a low deferential bow. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"My apologies, my Lord Procardinal." The figure straightened. "With all the preparations for the feast tonight, it was difficult to slip in here unseen."

"I don't want your excuses. Do you have it?"

The figure slipped a hand into his garment, pulled out a small glass tube, and handed it to the Procardinal. Jonaris held the tube up to the light and examined the contents. His face broke into a satisfied smile.

"You have done well. I take it you weren't seen?"

"Of course not, my Lord."

"Excellent." Jonaris waved a hand dismissively, his gleaming eyes still on the tube. "You may go. I'll call you again if I need you."

The figure bowed and turned to go, then hesitated. "My Lord - " He stopped, faltering.

The Procardinal tore his eyes from the contents of the tube, a look of irritation crossing his face. "What? Spit it out man, I haven't got all day!"

The figure's face was lost in the shadows of his hood, but his uncertainty was evident in his voice. "All this - I mean, well... it just doesn't seem right, somehow."

Jonaris flushed, his eyes narrowing. "This is the Lady's business," he growled, "and as such it is for me to define what is right and what is wrong, not you."

The hooded figure bowed his head. "I don't presume to question your authority, my Lord, far from it. But... if it is the Lady's business... why did you require me to sedate her?"

Jonaris paused, visibly fighting to control his temper. "You presume too much, my friend." Gathering himself, he forced a condescending smile. "Of course I understand your dilemma... it must be hard for a - lay person - to fully comprehend. But please, I must ask you leave matters of religion to those who understand them best."

"Yes, my Lord Procardinal." The figure bowed curtly, then turned to leave.

The cleric smiled as the hooded figure began to walk away.

"Thank you for your continued dedication to the cause... Proctor Morovan."

The figure paused momentarily, before disappearing into the greenery once more.