Tegan had backed out into the dark hallway, her hand clamped over her mouth. The Doctor emerged from behind a large generator to hurry out to her.
"What's the matter?" he asked, looking about.
She pointed with shaking fingers inside the doorway.
Taking her arm and leading her inside, the Doctor stationed her near the door then turned to the area toward which she had indicated. Turlough was already kneeling next to a prone figure. The man lay upon his back. His palms were literally charred, and his open eyes stared without vision, an expression of shock locked onto his face.
Tentatively the Doctor pressed his fingers against the man's neck. "He's dead," he confirmed with little surprise. He passed his fingers over the man's eyes to lower the lids.
"What happened to him?" asked Turlough.
"It appears that he was electrocuted."
"An accident?"
"Possibly."
"There's no blood on him. Where did the blood in the sink come from?"
"Druus said there were two men here, the engineer and his assistant. Perhaps the other man was hurt trying to help him."
"Then where is he now?"
The Doctor and Turlough stood to search about the room, but they found only the machinery. Tegan remained near the door, staring at the dead man.
Pausing near a large piece of equipment, the Doctor said, "Why don't you two go and search around outside? Druus said that the men alternated breaks at the resort, so they must have a vehicle. See if you can find it, or if you notice any tracks indicating that he's driven away."
Turlough moved toward the door, but Tegan blocked his exit.
"Are you coming?" he snapped at her.
She blinked. "What?"
"I said are you coming to look for the vehicle?"
"I—" she hesitated, appearing confused by his words, then her eyes returned to the electrocution victim. "He's gone." Her voice was flat.
"Yes, we all know that. Are you coming or not?" When she did not respond immediately, he pushed past her. "Fine. I'll go by myself."
"Watch yourself," the Doctor cautioned, glancing up from the machinery. "Tegan, go with him."
"But he's… he's been killed," she said. She had grown terribly pale, and her hands shook.
The Doctor stood and strode toward her. "This isn't the first time you've seen someone who's been killed," he reminded her rather curtly. "It's unfortunate, but we have other things to worry about."
"So much death," she muttered. "They all leave, you know. Even you. One day you're going to leave, too…" Her voice was very soft, and tears welled in her eyes. "Too much death," she said again.
The Doctor grasped her shoulders. "Tegan, try to get a hold of yourself."
His firm tone and grip seemed to rouse her. She blinked at him. "Can we at least move him?" she asked plaintively. "He shouldn't just have to lie there…"
The Doctor took the man's wrists and dragged him across the hall to the living quarters, where he quickly spread a blanket over the body. He shut the door behind himself and returned to the control room. Tegan remained near the doorway; she had not moved since he left. He took her arm and led her with him back to the piece of equipment that had occupied his brief attention.
"Sit here," he instructed, guiding her down to the ground. "I may need your help."
"Too much," she mumbled again, "too many dead. It could have been you. He wouldn't have cared if it were you."
Without responding to her, the Doctor knelt to remove the front panel from the machine.
Turlough had searched all around the building. At the back he had found a covered area where several containers of a substance smelling much like petrol sat beside a large, empty space. He saw tire tracks leading out and around the building, back toward the resort. The second man must have gone to get help. It was curious, though, that they had not passed him on their journey. Perhaps he knew of a shorter way to make the trip.
The deep aching in Turlough's head and neck had not diminished. He returned to the building in search of pain killers. He went directly to the living quarters, barely noticing the covered body on the floor. He searched the kitchenette cabinets with no success then headed into the small bathroom. The white sink had rust-colored smears on the edges, but otherwise the fixtures were quite clean.
"She thinks she knows everything," he hissed. "She doesn't know a damn thing."
He flung open the mirrored cabinet above the basin and scanned several small, plastic bottles, finally reaching for one to skim the label. Satisfied, he removed the lid and shook two tablets into his hand, then shook out one more. He swallowed them without water, grimacing at their bitter taste. He turned on the tap and bent to scoop a handful of water into his mouth.
He did not realize that he had received a blow to the back of his head until he felt himself sinking to the floor, blackness quickly enveloping him. His one brief thought was that he was glad he had taken the aspirin.
Tegan had drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, hunching into a tight ball. She rocked her shoulders back and forth, her feet moving off of the ground and back down in an odd, arrhythmic manner.
"Tegan, stay still!" the Doctor enjoined after several minutes of the incessant tapping.
"What?" she asked after a moment.
"I can't concentrate with you rocking about like that. And I could use Turlough here to help me with these wires. Go and find him." This was not a request; it was a command.
"But he might be outside," she protested. "I don't want to go out there—there's someone out there. I saw him hiding in the bushes—"
"Tegan, there is no one out there! I've already told you that it's impossible that we were followed. Now go and get Turlough."
Hesitantly she stood, but the look he gave her impelled her toward the door. She stepped out into the hall, her eyes moving carefully in each direction. Despite the Doctor's words, she was loath to leave the building. She walked slowly toward the exterior door then opened it cautiously to peer outside. "Turlough?" she called softly, leaning out to look about. There was no response.
Tegan stepped back inside and shut the door. Even in the hallway she had an eerie sense that she was being watched. Quickly she walked to the living quarters but began to back away when she saw the covered body. A flash of copper, however, caught her eye as she glanced at the open bathroom door. Trying to quell the rush of emotion that the dead body brought, she took a few steps toward the lavatory. Turlough lay upon the floor.
Tegan hurried to him. He lay on his side, his hands and ankles bound behind him
"Turlough!" she cried, shaking his shoulder.
He groaned and opened his eyes. "What did you do to me?" he asked groggily.
"Me?"
"You hit me… you crept up behind me and hit me!" Now he stared at her with mounting anger.
"What are you talking about?"
"You've wanted to do it all along, haven't you? You were just waiting for the right moment—" He tried to sit up but discovered the restraining ropes. "You little bitch! You tied me up?"
Tegan's emotions had quickly escalated with his accusations. "I wish I had! And you're right—someone should have stopped you a long time ago. I should have thrown you out of the TARDIS myself!"
Turlough frowned. "What do you mean you wish you had?"
"I mean just that—I wish I'd done it."
"You didn't?"
"No."
Turlough's eyes darted around the room. "Then who did?"
Tegan stood and turned toward the control room. "We have to warn the Doctor—there's someone here. I knew there was—I knew it."
"Wait!" he cried. "Untie me!"
She spun back to face him. "How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you've been involved in this all along. How did you know what the tattoos meant?" She bent and reached behind him to grasp his cuff. "Oh God, you're one of them!"
"You stupid idiot! How the hell could I be one of them? I've never been here before. I don't know any of these people."
She stood again and began to move toward the door.
"You're going to face whoever did this alone?" he sneered. "You, Little Miss Coward, Little Miss Whiney-to-the-Point-of-Blows? Little Miss-I-Can't-Stand-to-See-a-Dead-Body—"
"Shut up!" Tegan's foot moved abruptly toward Turlough's head.
He jerked away, a look of true surprise on his face. The toe of her pump collided with the base of the toilet.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he spat.
Tegan stared at her foot for a moment, the thrum of pain shocking her back to rationality. She lifted her head to meet her reflection in the mirror: She saw a mask of anger. Taking a breath, she knelt to reach for Turlough's hands. "It's the transmissions," she said, her voice shaking in her efforts to suppress her ire and trepidation.
With trembling hands, she untied the ropes. Turlough had calmed less, and the moment his hands and feet were free he stood and stormed out of the room. Tegan followed behind him, anxious to speak with the Doctor.
As soon as they entered the control room, Tegan cried, "Doctor!" hurrying toward the equipment that had recently occupied him. "Someone knocked out Turlough and tied him up—"
The moment she saw the Doctor's face, she knew that he was aware of the events. Directly behind him stood the bartender from the resort, pressing a gun against the Time Lord's temple. He held the Doctor's arms behind his back.
"Yes, Tegan, I know," the Doctor growled, clearly enraged but unable to act upon his emotions.
"Back across the hall," the bartender ordered, pushing the Doctor forward.
Frightened for her friend's life, Tegan complied unquestioningly. Turlough, however, lunged for their captor. The bartender's arm shot out, whipping the gun across the Trion's face, striking him on the jaw. Turlough faltered to his knees.
"Bring him," the bartender commanded, waving the gun briefly at Tegan then ramming its barrel into the Doctor's temple again.
Tegan grabbed Turlough's arm and helped him to stand then led him back to the living quarters, followed by the bartender and the Doctor.
"Into the bathroom," was the brief order issued as they entered the quarters.
The three travelers crowded into the small lavatory as the bartender backed away slightly, still pointing the gun at the Doctor. "Open the cabinet," he instructed.
The Doctor complied.
"The razors," barked the bartender, "give them to me." He held out his hand, the gun unwavering.
The Doctor placed the requested items on his palm. The bartender stepped back to close the door.
"Wait!" the Doctor said sharply. "Why? Why do this to all those people?"
"Money," was the simple, jeering reply.
"You work for one of the other resort corporations, don't you?" the Doctor asked. "You're one of the only employees without a bracelet—you aren't from the penal colony. You were sent to sabotage this facility—"
The bartender smiled viciously. "You think you're clever, don't you? You've got it all figured out—"
A second man appeared behind their captor. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, as was the bartender. He had the same aggressive expression on his face, magnified somewhat by a long slash down his cheek. He held a blowtorch in his hand.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go."
The Doctor glared at the newcomer. "You were the engineer's assistant—you reset the transmitter."
The assistant glowered back. "You are clever," he gibed.
"He actually thought he could fix it, too," the bartender said derisively.
"Thought?" the Doctor repeated irately. "No, I knew I could. I was very close—"
The assistant snorted. "And then you'd have returned them all to happy zombies—the most satisfied guests in the galaxy, clambering to return at every opportunity, making money hand over fist for Sanadia—"
The bartender glanced at his cohort. "That's enough. Did you set it?"
The assistant appeared momentarily miffed by this interruption, but he nodded. "Yeah."
"How long?" asked the bartender.
"Just over an hour. We'll be long gone by then." The assistant reached for the doorknob and slammed the door.
The Doctor pounded furiously against the solid metal. "What have you done?" he demanded.
There was a slight whooshing sound and a curious smell. The assistant's voice was muffled, but his perverse pleasure in the information he shared was still evident. "I've set one of the machines to its highest level—which will cause it to explode when the pressure becomes too great. This entire building will go up in the blast. I'll return to the resort, and when the Federation authorities arrive, and they will, I'll tell them all about the transmitter—reluctantly, of course—and Sanadia's filthy little secret will be exposed. And it won't hurt that three helpful guests will be killed in the blast. That's even more of a stain on the company's reputation."
"Wait!" the Doctor shouted, but there was no response; the bartender and assistant had left. The Time Lord raised his arms and slammed his fists against the door in wrath. The device fell from his pocket and landed with a clatter on the tile floor.
He lowered his arms to stare at the object, then with some effort steadied his shaking hands and retrieved the device. Quickly he switched it on and performed the procedure upon himself. His hand dropped from his forehead, the device nearly falling from his fingers as he leaned into the door. After a few seconds he took a deep breath then turned his attention to his companions.
Turlough was slumped against the wall, still slightly dazed from the gun's blow. Blood dripped from the outer edge of his lip. Tegan was pressed into the corner near the shower, her eyes wide with fear. She had clasped her wrists in front of her chest, her fingers digging spasmodically into her palms. The Doctor was careful to administer the treatment to her in full. He gave her shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze then moved over to Turlough.
The young man was just regaining his full awareness, and his anger was building quickly. The Time Lord moved the device in front of his eyes then pressed it against his forehead. The instrument emitted a small, forlorn half-beep and switched off. With a doleful shake of his head, the Doctor dropped it into his pocket then studied Turlough's face for a moment.
"Turlough?" he asked. "How are you doing?"
The Trion squinted then rubbed at his neck and the back of his head. "Just great," he muttered.
"But your anxiety and aggression levels have decreased?"
Turlough shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so."
Tegan moved away from the corner to stand next to the Doctor. She pointed at his pocket "Is that it, then? Is it done?"
"It has one usage remaining."
"Just one?" Tegan asked.
He nodded. "Yes."
"Can you spread it out—give each of us just a little?"
"Possibly," he replied. "But I was hoping to use it to fix the transmitter."
"Really?" Tegan was surprised. "It can't have that much power—"
"It doesn't, but if I can link it to the transmitter, its circuitry can direct the transmitter's circuits."
"Which would be all well and good if we had any way to get out of here," Turlough said miserably. "I assume they've locked the door."
"Yes, and welded it shut for good measure," said the Doctor.
"Welded it?" Turlough echoed. "Oh, that's just great."
"Cheer up, Turlough," the Doctor said rather brightly. "Where there's a will there's a way." He turned his attention to the door.
Tegan took a washcloth from the towel bar and ran some water over it. She lifted it toward Turlough's chin.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"You've cut your lip," she said, wiping away the blood.
He watched her for a moment. "Thanks," he finally said, reaching up to rub at the back of his head.
She turned on the tap again and rinsed the cloth then folded it into a small, thick square and saturated it in the cool water. "Sit down," she instructed, nodding at the toilet.
He arched an eyebrow at her but complied. She bent his head forward and trailed her fingers over his hair until he winced at the tender spot. She held the cloth gently over the site.
The Doctor ran his hands over the door, knocking occasionally at it then inspecting the hinges. He turned back to Tegan and Turlough after a few minutes, mildly surprised to see her standing over Turlough and pressing a cloth to his head. He stepped toward them and lifted Tegan's hand to scrutinize the new lump.
"A matched set," he said wryly.
Turlough winced as the Doctor returned the cloth to its place. "Just my luck," he muttered.
The Doctor turned away to the study the open medicine cabinet. He handed a bottle to Turlough. "Take a couple of these," he suggested.
Turlough replied, "I already did, but they aren't helping much. Is there anything stronger?"
The Doctor removed several bottles, turning them over in his hands. "Hmm," was his only comment. He bent to peer into the small cupboard beneath the sink. After a minute he emerged with a bottle in each hand. "These should do nicely."
Turlough stared at the item "Bathroom cleanser? No thank you. I'm not in quite enough pain to want to drink those, but if I get hit one more time I just might consider it."
Oblivious to his companion's comments, the Doctor twisted the caps off of the bottles and moved toward the door.
"What are you doing?" asked Tegan.
"Hmm? Oh, these contain petroleum solvents—highly flammable and combustible in just the right combination.," he replied cheerfully.
"Combustible? And that's a good thing?" Tegan inquired.
"It is if you want to blow off a set of hinges. Does anyone have a match?" The Doctor poured some powder from one of the containers onto each of the two hinges then looked over his shoulder at his companions. "Get into the shower and hold a wet towel over your face," he suggested rather offhandedly.
"What about you?" Tegan asked.
"Oh, I'll use my respiratory bypass system. Now really, do either of you have a match?"
Turlough rummaged around in his jacket pocket then shook his head. Tegan had no pockets and no purse to search. The Doctor watched them rather impatiently then reached into one of his pockets and produced a matchbook. He studied the writing on the cover for a moment, commenting, "Excellent ristafel—best part of that trip to Amsterdam." Glancing back at Tegan and Turlough, he said, "Hurry up! Into the shower!"
Tegan wet two towels then stepped into the stall with Turlough. Both covered their faces with the towels then turned toward the back wall. Tegan jumped when she heard the concussion of the small explosions. Smoke filled the cramped room, and fumes stung her eyes even through the towel. She felt the Doctor take her arm and lead her and Turlough through the smoky lavatory and out into the larger room.
When she lowered her towel, she found the Time Lord smiling proudly. "That worked rather well," he complimented himself. "Now on to the transmitter."
Coughing and blinking back tears, they followed him into the control room. He stopped before the transmitter then turned to face them. His smile had faded, and his expression became serious as he removed the device from his pocket.
"What's the matter, Doctor?" Tegan asked. "Can't you fix it like you thought?"
"I believe that I can. However, there is one small problem." He fiddled with the device for a moment. "As soon as I connect this to the transmitter, it will become useless to us. And if I use the last treatment on any or all of us, this instrument will be useless to the transmitter. I may not be able to finish the repairs before the effects of our last treatment wear off. Do you both understand what that means?"
"We'll have to try not to get emotional," Tegan said hesitantly.
The Doctor nodded gravely. "And time will be of the essence. First I have to try to shut down the machine that has been set to explode, and I will need both of you to help me. But we won't be able to do this if we permit our emotions to take over."
"I'll try," Tegan said softly.
The Doctor gave her a small, sober smile of approval. "Turlough?" he asked.
The Trion nodded. "Yes."
"All right," said the Doctor, "then let's get to work."
Tegan looked around the room; there were dozens of machines whirring away. "Do you know which one he set to explode?" she asked.
"How could he know that?" Turlough responded. "He's not a mind reader."
The Doctor's eyebrow rose momentarily before he said, "We need to find one that has been altered. See if you notice any panels that have been tampered with, or if any of the machines appear to be making an unusual noise."
"Like she'd know!" Turlough said.
"Turlough," the Doctor warned, "try to keep a handle on yourself."
The Trion lad rolled his eyes but refrained from replying. Instead he busied himself with the nearest piece of equipment. Tegan shot him a glare but kept her comments to herself as she cautiously approached one of the generators near the wall.
After ten minutes during which no egregious modifications became evident, Turlough said, "Why not just leave here? The explosion will destroy the transmitter, so everyone's brain waves will return to normal, right?"
The Doctor looked up from the panel he was studying. "Not necessarily. It would be best to reset the transmitter to its original frequency. I'm concerned that the former prisoners will have difficulty with their aggressive impulses—we did, after all, tell Druus to remove their bracelets. So with no transmissions to induce calmer feelings they may pose a significant danger to the guests, as well as to each other."
"So now you're saying that you think this brain wave alteration is a good idea?" Turlough asked.
"For the moment, yes. It seems the best way to keep everyone safe."
Tegan had continued looking at the various pieces of humming equipment, still uncertain what would provide a significant clue to potential malfunction. She rested her hand on the top of a large metal box with several vibrating coils attached to the front.
"Ow!" she cried; the metal was hot.
The Doctor turned to look at her across the room. "Tegan?"
Shaking her hand, she said, "This one's really hot."
He hurried toward her then began examining the machine. "It's definitely producing a great deal of heat," he said, holding his coat tails over the top panel to remove it safely.
"Enough to make it explode?" asked Turlough.
"Possibly." The Doctor continued poking about inside the machinery. After a few minutes he reached inside. Tegan saw his shoulder jerk back, then he removed his hand grasping a thick bundle of wires. "Well, that should stop it," he said.
"So now we just have to fix the transmitter, right?" Turlough asked, already looking longingly at the door.
The Doctor patted the top of the disconnected machine. "Yes, and at least we've given ourselves some time." He returned to the transmitter; he had begun his study of it shortly before the bartender accosted him. "The main circuit board is here," he commented, tapping at a panel on one side. "I'll need something with which to remove it. Tegan, see if you can find a screwdriver. I noticed a large tool box over there." He gestured to the far side of the room.
"I'll go," Turlough offered. "I've probably got a better idea what to look for."
"I'm perfectly capable of finding a screwdriver!" Tegan responded tartly.
The Doctor shook his head. "One of you just go!"
Turlough pushed past Tegan. "You could at least excuse yourself!" she scolded as he stalked away.
"Tegan," the Doctor cautioned, "watch yourself. You have to remain calm."
"It was his fault! He's not even trying—"
"I'm sure he is, in his own way."
Tegan crossed her arms over her chest and leaned heavily against the wall. "Fine, I'll be the bigger person."
The Doctor returned to his work without further comment. Turlough brought several different screwdrivers, and soon the Time Lord had removed the panel and begun to investigate the machine's circuitry. "I need something to crimp the wires," he said, removing the device from his pocket and beginning to dismantle it.
Turlough walked off again, failing to see the scowl on Tegan's face that followed him. A few clinks were audible as he rummaged through the tools.
"Doctor!" he exclaimed abruptly.
The Doctor looked up. "What is it?"
"This machine over here—it's smoking!"
The Doctor and Tegan hastened toward him; he stood next to a large compressor unit. Smoke seeped through the small spaces in the casing, wafting up into the air. "This must be the one he reset!" Turlough said, pointing.
The Doctor quickly assessed the machine. "The other one must have simply generated heat as part of its operation," he muttered.
"How long do we have?" Turlough asked. "He said an hour, and it's been, what? Half an hour at least."
"Something like that," said the Doctor, already preoccupied with the machine. "I should have kept looking," he murmured.
Turlough turned to Tegan. "This is your fault! If you hadn't gotten all bothered by a little heat from a machine—"
"My fault?" she repeated. "It is not!"
Turlough ignored her comment. "You're probably going to get us all killed."
"Me? Get us all killed? You've got nerve saying that! You're the one who kept the Black Guardian a secret—you're the one who almost got us killed. And you did it on purpose!"
The Doctor seemed to appear between them in an instant. "Stop it, you two!" he ordered. "You have to control yourselves." It was clear that he was working hard to do as he'd instructed. His jaw was clenched, as was his fist. He opened his hand slowly, stretching out the fingers in a purposeful gesture of self-control.
"I need both of you to do this," he continued.
"Why not just pull the plug, like you did on the other one?" asked Turlough, his voice deep with resentment.
"Because the wires to this one run into the ground. I don't know how this has been rigged. Pulling out the wires may result in instantaneous combustion."
"Then let's just get out of here," Turlough began. "Let the damned thing explode."
The Doctor's hand clenched again. "I told you," he said with forced evenness, "we can't do that. It will result in too many people being harmed."
"As if he'd care about that," Tegan scoffed. "All he cares about is himself!"
"That's enough!" The Doctor took Tegan's arm and pulled her toward the wall. "Stand right here, and keep your mouth shut."
Turlough's mouth twisted in sneering satisfaction, but the Doctor's hand on his arm altered his expression. He was pushed toward the opposite side of the machine. "And you," the Time Lord directed firmly, "stay here. And don't say another word!"
The Doctor returned to the machine glaring at his companions. "You've both wasted valuable time with your petty arguments." A deep frown seemed emblazoned on his brow, darkening his features and erasing his usually benign expression. "All I asked was that you keep yourselves under control—and you can't even do that—either one of you!"
Tegan opened her mouth, but his fierce glare silenced her. "No more!"
He worked in silence for several minutes while the air between his two companions thickened with ire. Turlough had returned to rubbing at his neck, and the incessant motion grated on Tegan's nerves as palpably as if he were scraping his nails over a chalkboard. When the Doctor finally snapped at her to kneel at his side and hold several wires for him, she complied reluctantly, obstinately preferring to bore into Turlough with her furious stare. She tried to look around the machine at him, but the Doctor barked at her,"Tegan! Keep your eyes on these wires!"
She heard Turlough's satisfied grunt and began to drop the wires, but the Doctor turned to her with a sharp whisper. "The bigger person," he hissed, then added, "And if you drop these, this may very well explode."
She swallowed hard, working for a moment to suppress some of her anger. He had chosen her to assist him; he had trusted her, not Turlough. She nodded slightly in grim gratification and tightened her grip on the wires.
"She won't be able to do it."
Turlough's voice seemed to float above her. She looked up to see him standing over her, his face a mask of mockery. Without thinking she opened her fingers and dropped the bundle of wires to stand.
"Tegan!" the Doctor shouted, slamming his hand down on her shoulder to force her back down to the ground. He scooped the wires up in his other hand before they hit the floor then grabbed her wrist and pressed them back into her hands. He was livid.
"Do not move a muscle!" he yelled. "You will kill us if you do!"
Turlough snorted. "I told you she—"
The Doctor shot up, his hands reaching for the Trion's collar. "And you! You're of absolutely no help here. Go back to the transmitter and unwind the wires; you'll see where I started." He released Turlough's collar and pushed him back slightly. "What are you waiting for? Go!"
Turlough lifted his hand, already balled into a fist, and seemed to consider for a moment whether or not to use it. However, the Doctor had ducked back down behind the machine, so he stalked back to the transmitter. He would show the Doctor and Tegan how useful he was. She was incapable of working with wires; she was incapable of most things. And he understood—what? What did he understand? He had not understood that the Doctor would take him home. He had never stopped to consider that all he needed to do was ask. Instead he made an instant agreement with the Black Guardian, an agreement that required murder… He was loathsome. His instinct on Striker's ship had been the right one. He wished that Captain Wrack had not rescued him; he had fully intended to die. Turlough sank down the wall until his legs were stretched out upon the floor. The wiring forgotten, he scrubbed furiously at the back of his neck.
Tegan continued to hold the bundle of wires, kept to task only by the Doctor's intense glare. As his hands moved over the wires and circuits, he seemed to calm somewhat. He could see that he was making progress, and having a specific task to occupy his thoughts helped him to focus. After a few minutes he had checked his emotions sufficiently to speak reasonably to Tegan.
"You're doing fine," he said. "Just keep holding those wires off of the ground."
She glanced at him hesitantly, still upset but drawn by his more cordial tone. She saw that his expression had softened. He now appeared quite intent, but much of the darkness had left his face. "How much longer will it take?" she asked, her own irritation mitigated in the wake of his demeanor.
"Only a few more minutes, I think."
"So you'll finish in time? There won't be an explosion?"
"If we can keep working steadily like this, no."
Tegan nodded and returned her gaze to the wires she held. She gathered them toward her more securely, her eyes wandering along their length. "They stretch a long way," she commented.
"Do they?" The Doctor continued working, but after perhaps half a minute he looked back at her. "Can you see how far they go?"
She craned her neck. The wires were threaded beneath other machines, but there was one green strand that she could discern stretching toward the wall where the transmitter lay. "Pretty far," she replied.
The Doctor reached back behind several moving parts, coughing as a puff of smoke spurted from nearby. His head vanished. Tegan could feel heat radiating from the interior of the machine.
"Doctor, it's getting hotter, and there's more smoke," she began.
"I'm almost finished," he said, his voice tightening again.
Her voice rose in growing anxiety. "But it's getting worse—"
"I told you I'm nearly there," he replied tersely.
"But what if you can't do it in time? Maybe we should just run—"
"Tegan! I told you that I can do it!" He dropped a screwdriver, which landed on his foot. "Ah!" he grunted. "I need that!"
Tegan adjusted the wires quickly so that she held them in her right hand then reached for the screwdriver with her left. She picked it up and pressed it into the Doctor's hand, her fingers brushing against his palm.
"Thank you," he said shortly, withdrawing his hand back toward the machine's innards. However, he paused for a moment. His fingers moved back toward Tegan's hand. He ran his thumb over her fingers, saying, "Trust me, Tegan" before quickly pulling his hand away.
She had found his brief touch surprisingly calming. For a minute she sat quietly, watching the Doctor's back as he worked. His shoulders moved up and down, soot beginning to stain his jacket. The smoke was thickening. She felt her eyes prickle with tears, and breathing was becoming painful. She coughed.
"Doctor," Tegan rasped, "there's a lot more smoke now—"
"I'm well aware of that! I just need a few more minutes."
She coughed again. Now the Doctor was obscured in the heavy smoke. Perspiration gathered on her forehead, dripping down into her eyes. Her hands were wet, and her arms felt like jelly. She wanted to continue holding the wires, needed to keep them in her grasp, but her head was swimming…
Suddenly she felt something tug at her shoulder as the wires fell from her hands. She tried to cry out her protests, but her voice failed her. Ears roaring, she felt a blow to her chest, then she was thrust backward, sliding across the floor on her back. She and the Doctor had failed; the machine had exploded. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the flames to engulf her.