The data pad flickered into life. Spread casually across the sumptuous bed, her head propped up on her elbows, Romana idly scrolled through the last words entered by its former owner. She had already skimmed through thousands of entries covering a dozen decades. In her years as a time tot, little Romy had proved particularly adept at the art of speed reading. The secret, Aunt Baba had always told her, was to get an idea of when the writer would get to the point.
Pengallia had made several points. In the earlier entries, her anger at the Time Lords' betrayal was dominant. Being imprisoned on K'thellid had been frustrating, and revenge seemed at the foremost of her desires. As years passed into decades the anger shifted, and concerns that she might lose control became apparent. But she had held back. The entries conveyed her mood but not, Romana sensed, her innermost thoughts. Either that or they had been deleted. There were missing and edited entries throughout the journal, and they were becoming more apparent as she scrolled forwards.
In her last days Pengallia was openly confessing her fears. Both about the survival of her people, and the collapse of an uneasy peace between the Demosians and the K'thellid.
The overcity could not sustain itself much longer, and the lack of resources would leave them vulnerable should the K'thellid decide to attack. With neither a Protector, nor direct access to their god, their civilisation had been in disarray for decades. But whatever influence Pengallia had over the natives was waning, and she was anticipating a bloody and final revenge.
As she lowered the data pad, Romana became aware that Teyamat had returned. The old woman stood silently, looking down upon her. It was a little disconcerting.
"The Silver Queen was a fascinating woman," she said, breaking the ice.
"Far less autocratic than legend has it."
Teyamat smiled. "Oh, she was certainly autocratic. You must remember that only her military advisers joined her crusade. Her political peers stayed at home." She paused, looking away with a hint of bitterness. "All the better for them to betray her."
"You speak as if you knew her."
"Do I?" The crone smiled dismissively, her eyes belying her reply. "The story of the Silver Queen is the only history we have here. After two million years her life is the only thing that has meaning for us. You must forgive an old woman's…passion."
"Before, in the abbot's office, you said that Pengallia had sacrificed herself. And here, in her journal, she says here people are in danger of extinction if she doesn't act. What did she do?"
"That's not important right now," said Teyamat, crossing the room and staring at her own reflection in one of the mirrored walls. "There will be plenty of time for you to find out later."
"Oh? I'm not sure I'll be staying that long."
Teyamat ignored Romana, motioning with her right hand. The mirror responded, fading away like smoke. It revealed a lavish wardrobe beyond; stocked with some of the most extravagant clothes even a noble like Romana had never seen.
"Here," the old woman reached into the wardrobe, withdrawing a set of garments which had been isolated from the rest. It flashed silver and heliotrope. "The robes Our Lady wore for her coronation. Why don't you try them on?"
"What?" Romana rose from the bed, instinctively reaching out for the costume. She held it up to admire the needlework, the cut of the dress, and the feel of the shimmering silk against her skin. It felt good. She ran her fingers along the hem; encrusted with the richest selection of jewels she had seen this side of Calufrax. It was gorgeous. She simply had to try it on.
But then she asked herself why. "What do you want me to wear this for?"
"Well, when you are invested, you'll want to be looking your very best. And I doubt that shabby old time ship of yours would have anything as fine as this…"
Romana agreed, still captivated by the robes. "I'm sure you're right. These clothes are fit for an Empress, but… did you say invested? What do you mean? Why would I need to look my best?"
"The Ceremony of Investiture is our grandest ceremony, Romana."
"Investiture as what?"
"As Queen, of course. To reaffirm your position as …"
"So let me get this right," Romana interrupted. "You believe that I am Pengallia?"
Teyamat nodded. "Returned to us."
"So as your Queen, you have to obey me?"
"Forgive me, Romana," Teyamat sighed, "your body is the vessel through which Pengallia has returned. Only when you have undergone the ceremony will you be reunited with your memories."
Romana passed the garment back, declining the offer. "I have my memories, thanks. And I'm not ready to give them up."
"Hmm." The old woman reached forward, placing her hand above Romana's breast. "Two hearts? This isn't your first body."
"It is. Modern Gallifreyans are bicardial from the moment we're loomed. Why do you ask?"
"Because you react like someone who's never regenerated. Pengallia's mind won't squeeze you out. You'll keep your memories."
"And my personality?"
Teyamat drew a slim booklet from the folds of her robes. "Here," she said coldly. "This is the script for the ceremony. I suggest that you spend the rest of the cycle familiarising yourself with it."
"I won't do this," said Romana, defiantly.
"If you're anything like Pengallia, I'm sure your curiosity will get the better of you. I'd say you were a born leader. The ceremony will be held at the lightbreak, in the next cycle but one. Think about it."
Placing the coronation robes on the bed, Teyamat left the room.
In a dark underwater tunnel, a small red light winked into existence. K9 was firmly bound in place by a protective shell of some kind. Unable to wiggle his sensors or extend his probe, the small robot was prevented from properly analyzing the shell, reliant instead upon observation. It was strong, transparent, airtight, resistant to changes in atmospheric pressure, and able to conduct sound.
The descent was quick, but bumpy. K9 noted the shell's capacity for absorbing impact damage, and conducted a brief self-diagnostic. His operating efficiency had stabilised, and his cerebral functions appeared to be intact. He reviewed his memory banks. They were intact and… K9 noted that his stored memories were of a greater volume than they had been when he shut down. 0.2743 exabytes greater, to be precise. He isolated the moment the information had been uploaded through his exitonic circuits into his memory core at a frequency of….one point six microbars. There was also a new file present. It was labelled K-thellid.
K9 accessed the file.
Some time later, while his processors still assimilating the new data, K9 emerged from the tunnel into a large underground pool. His m'n'ch'k escort carried him across the rocky surface at the bottom of the pool, and K9 was able to pick up flashes of luminous blue and silver as sea-creatures high in mineral content flashed past them. Soon they were ascending a reef. Luminous and displaying a dazzling arrange of colours, its artificial symmetry indicated an external influence, which became more apparent as the serried ranks of the corals shifted into the shape of a large, translucent dome which K9's new memories identified as the K'thellid under city.
Entering one of the many wide passageways which were scattered across the dome, K9 became aware of the cephalopods surrounding him, passing back and forth between the 'streets'. Most were unattached, but some were bonded to ground-walking m'n'ch'ks, and others to large whale-like creatures whose behaviours suggested that they might be beasts of burden.
At the heart of the dome K9 was carried through a quadrangle, and beyond that into an inner palace constructed from heavier elements than would be found in a coral reef. The colours indicated the presence of hematite, antimony, copper, palladium and gold, but the robot dog's urge to analyse was still suppressed by his protective shell. The opportunity soon passed however, as the m'n'ch'k took him deep into the palace itself.
At its centre, K9 felt a pressure change as his mount brought them before an opaque energy barrier of some kind. Without pausing it stepped through the barrier, and into a large air-filled chamber.
It was a large, circular council chamber. Or a throne room. Or both. There were tiered, circular rows running around the room, each occupied by large numbers of pink k'thellid. All were wearing water-filled shells, serving the opposite purpose of that surrounding K9. At the centre of the chamber, filling up about a third of the room, was a large, free-floating circular dais, on which rested the heaving, pulsating body of the single largest k'thellid K9 had encountered so far. Its thick ruddy skin was rough and heavily wrinkled, suggesting that its size may have been a consequence of its great age. He estimated that it was approximately four metres in diameter and three metres high. Unlike the other k'thellid he had observed thus far, it had two large, white milky discs for eyes.
K9's mount tipped itself forwards, and he found himself sliding towards the ground. Within moments the m'n'ch'k had sprayed him with another mucous like substance, and his protective shell began to disintegrate.
The m'n'ch'k sidled from the chamber, leaving K9 alone at the vast k'thellid's base.
Its eyes focused on K9. Something was happening.
Slowly damaged joints and connections within K9's torso began to move, reconnecting and restoring his operational parameters. The dents in his head and torso filled out, and the cable connecting them retracted. K9 observed the reconnection of his head, and the restoration of the seals beneath his collar. His sensors detected a high concentration of reverse tachyon chronons. His host was repairing him by reversing the effects of time itself.
A brief self-diagnostic informed K9 that his memory remained intact. With his tracks firmly on the ground again, he trundled forward, extending his sensor probe.
"Query," he stated, "can you confirm that this is the undercity of K'thellid?"
It speaks! The voice had no pitch, and was unlike any K9 had previously processed. The creature appeared to be communicating through his exitonic circuits, in much the same way that his memories had been updated. Yes, this is the City of K'thellid.
"Besides being identified as the race-name adopted by the planet's indigenous cephalopod population, K'thellid is the local name given to the single planet of the legendary star K'thannid, formerly located in the Constellation of Elysia. This is not the Constellation of Elysia. Explain."
The creature shook like a big jelly. Its tentacles writhed.
Our star system was shifted into a pocket dimension by the Time Lords.
K9 processed this. "Confirmed. The k'thellid race is reported to have been highly intelligent, aggressive, and capable of existing in all eleven dimensions simultaneously."
You are a remarkably well-informed little robot, but K'thellid is a principle, not a name.
I am the Protector K'thellid, my people are K'thellid, and our world is K'thellid. And, as you can see, we currently occupy only four dimensions of time and space.
"Your appearance is in keeping with anecdotal descriptions of the k'thellid," said K9.
You're not listening. We are K'thellid.
"Affirmative. This unit is designated K9."
Whom do you serve, K9? thought the Protector
"My master is the Doctor," K9 said, recalling his mission. "The Doctor requires assistance."
Is that why you are here?
"Affirmative."
"This really is excellent tea, Sheriff," said the Doctor, smacking his lips together. He was sat in a comfy old chair that Malthus had kindly brought in from the common room. Aldus had flinched when he rested his boots on the desk, but had otherwise displayed no sign of irritation. Admittedly, the eye patch helped. Two eyes were easier to read than just one.
"Thank you," said Aldus, genuinely pleased to receive the compliment. "I pick the leaves myself. The monastery stuff's a little too fragrant for my tastes. How are you feeling, by the way?
"I've been better. My ribs are a little sore and…" he touched the dressing above his left eye, "I'll have a shiner for a few days, but nothing too serious."
"I'm glad to hear it. So, are you ready to tell us what happened?"
"Certainly. I'm a little hazy on some of the details, but I'm sure I'll be able to answer any questions."
"Good." Pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil, the Sheriff got down to business. "First, what's your name?
"I'm the Doctor."
"Your full name?" Aldus pressed.
The Doctor looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I haven't used my real name for more than five hundred years. It's on the tip of my tongue…"
"Never mind. Doctor will do."
From the other side of the room, Malthus coughed gently, clearly unhappy that the Sheriff wasn't going to pursue the matter of the Doctor's name.
"Where are you from, Doctor?
"Oh, here and there. I'm a traveller, you see." The Doctor registered confusion on the Sheriff's face. Perhaps travelling wasn't an option hereabouts. "But I'm from the Monastery originally." He added. "Used to be a monk."
Relief spread across Aldus' face. "There, what did I tell you, Malthus?"
Across the room the sergeant grunted. He was busy taking an additional set of notes for the station's incident book. Largely because Aldus had a tendency to doodle rather than note down the facts. Still, it kept them both busy.
"Look, I was making my way through the forest with my dog, when…"
"Dog?" Aldus hadn't heard of one of those. It must have been the thing with the blaster.
"Yes. My robot pet. He's called K9."
"K9?" Aldus noted something on his little pad. "How does he work?"
"I'm sorry?" This wasn't the question that the Doctor had anticipated.
"Well, I've never seen one before. Most technology doesn't work."
Of course, thought the Doctor. This was a hollow planet with a thick crust, rich in heavy metals. The interference would play hell with higher technologies.
"Er…clockwork and pneumatics mostly, powered by nuclear fuel cells."
"I see." Aldus doodled. He wasn't really interested in technology, just idly curious. "So you and your…dog… were just walking in the woods, minding your own business."
"That's right. We came across a lynching. A bunch of hooded riders were picking on a k'thellid."
"Hooded riders?" The doodling continued. "How many?"
"Oh, lots." The Doctor decided to butter up his host a little. "They were big. And strong. They overpowered me and killed my poor K9. Then they tied me up and took me prisoner."
"How long for?"
"Just a few hours. They kept me in a room or a cave somewhere, and then they picked me up and dumped me here."
"I see." Aldus was focused now, looking for any sign that the Doctor might know more than he was letting on. "Did you see or hear anything that might give away their identities?"
"Not really, I'm afraid," he lied.
"Not to worry," said Aldus, "we know who they were…"
"You do?" The Doctor feigned surprise.
"Indeed. And I can assure you we'll bring them to justice for what they did to you and your…dog."
"And the poor k'thellid," the Doctor added, oozing concern for a fellow creature.
"Of course," said Aldus, as if a bone were stuck in his throat, "and the k'thellid."
The Doctor lowered his feet, leaning forwards and staring earnestly into the Sheriff's good eye. "I'm just sorry I can't tell you where they attacked him. I'm useless with directions. Perhaps we could saddle up and go take a look…"
"Yes, well…" Aldus was keen to curb the stranger's enthusiasm. "I'm sure we'll find it. But I'm more concerned about you, Doctor. The well-being of the living is my first priority."
"Oh," replied the Doctor. "Well, thank you."
"Not at all. Are we done, Sergeant?"
Malthus was now standing at the Doctor's shoulder. He was clearly not yet satisfied, and asked a question of his own. "You said earlier that you were a traveller?"
"Yes, of sorts."
"Will you be settling down in the city?"
"Ah." The Doctor was uncertain how to answer. When the Time Lords had placed their marker stone, there had been no human settlements on K'thellid, and just the one island. If he said no, then there might be nowhere else for him to go. It would look suspicious. "I'm not sure."
"Well, if you want to stay until you're feeling better, there's an empty lodging house next door to me."
"Oh." The Doctor was completely surprised by the offer. As far back as he could remember, no-one had ever offered him a house before. "Er… thank you, sergeant."
"Not a problem," the sergeant beamed. "If you drop back later, I'll sort you out with a set of keys."
"Drop back?" Now the Doctor was confused. "You mean I'm free to go?"
"Of course you are, Doctor," said the Sheriff, standing up to escort him to the door. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Oh," said the Doctor, reaching out to shake hands. The Sheriff's grip was as strong as an Ice Warrior's. "Thank you again."
"Oh, Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"When you do come back for your keys, perhaps you'd like to stop by for a bite to eat? I cook a mean snailwing casserole."
"How very kind of you, Sheriff. That would be very hospitable of you."
Stepping outside, the Doctor marvelled at how such helpful, hospitable people as Aldus and Malthus could possibly be harbouring such loathing for another species. This place, he decided, warranted further investigation.
"Well?"
Closing the door, Sheriff Aldus felt happy that the Doctor would present no further danger. He wondered if Malthus felt the same.
"He seems genuine enough, Sheriff."
"It certainly looks that way. But I've arranged to have him followed. Just in case there's a problem." He stretched out his hand. "And I was right about him being a monk."
Malthus dropped a couple of groats into the Sheriff's palm. He'd lost that bet fair and square. "What I don't understand," he asked, "is why you didn't push for his name?"
Aldus shrugged. "After five hundred years?" It was easy to forget how long they lived on K'thellid. The planet time forgot. "I can't even remember working up at the monastery, and that was only three hundred years ago. Wait until you get to be that old."
"I suppose." Malthus was a relative youngster. It had only been a hundred-or-so years since he came down from the mountain, and he hadn't had to rejuvenate yet. Unlike his poor wife. Her body couldn't stand another rejuvenation, and soon she'd be making the last journey, back up the mountain. Unless this stranger could help. Malthus cursed himself for not asking what sort of doctor he was.
"At least he's out of our hair," said Aldus. The Sheriff could see what was on Malthus' mind. "Why did you offer him the lodging house next door?"
Malthus shrugged. "Melosa. I thought it might be handy. Dr. Tavic lives on the other side of the city."
"Let's just hope he's a deep sleeper, then. I don't want him to see you riding out in your robes when we go hunting."
"Well we won't be doing much of that if your friend the abbot has anything to say about it."
"Idle threats, Malthus. We just have to pace ourselves. Let the odd menk reach the monastery once in a while, and the abbot will be happy."
"Maybe. Although I could never work out why those things feel the urge to leave the sea to go live at the top of a mountain."
"Ah, the great mysteries, Malthus." The Sheriff paused to consider the question. "If you ask me, it's just politics. They trust us about as much as we trust them, and the monks are too blind to see it. Which is why those bastards are such a threat."
K9's dialogue with Protector K'thellid had been going quite well until the little robot had inadvertently revealed one fact too many.
So this Doctor of yours is a Time Lord? The Protector's thoughts had become agitated. Angry. Mottled patches of crimson and purple flashed across its rugose features.
"Affirmative."
The Time Lords are the enemies of K'thellid. My predecessor, and those before him, was Protector not just of the k'thellid, but of the Well of Time itself. Then the Time Lords came. They were jealous of our connection to the great helix. So they waged war upon us. First they closed the Well, and then they stole our powers. The k'thellid have lived in only four dimensions ever since. And when the war was won, the Time Lords even betrayed the leader of their own armies. Why should I assist a Time Lord?
"The Doctor is a renegade Time Lord," offered K9, scouring his circuits to find platitudes appropriate for the occasion. "He does not live by the rules of his people. He only wants to help others, especially those he considers to be 'the underdog'. His predicament is a direct result of an attempt to offer assistance to one of your own kind."
The vivid tones of the Protector's skin paled as he considered K9's words.
The Protector is one of a kind. But you are right. If this Doctor is as you say, he deserves our help.
If the monks expected Romana to stay in one place until they were ready to impose a new life upon her, then they had another think coming.
Rummaging through the Queen's wardrobe, Romana had found a simple, but elegant, habit not dissimilar to that worn by the monks. She had stripped some of its richer features away – the fur lining, the jewelled hasps, and the silk ties – until what remained would allow her to pass unchallenged through the corridors of Madronal. She had to find the Doctor.
Stepping through the doorway, Romana noted that Brother G'thon was sitting in attendance. Her blind jailer. Emptying her mind of any random thoughts, she walked across the antechamber and out into the labyrinth of corridors which lay beyond.
Drawing up her hood, she accelerated her pace as soon as she reached the first bend, and soon found herself entering the principal concourse. Which spiralled downwards, deep into the mountain.
Brother G'thon sensed the echoes of Romana's thoughts as they receded from his immediate vicinity. He sensed no malice in her, but she had become anxious. She wanted to leave and find someone called 'the Doctor'. Rising silently from his post, G'thon set off to deliver his report to the abbot, as instructed.
As she descended, Romana found herself checking her speed. None of the monks appeared to be in a hurry, and considering the lack of stairs or lifts, it was beginning to frustrate her. She had determined to return to the chamber where she had first arrived. If it wasn't filled with chanting acolytes she could hit the fast return switch and find the Doctor in no time at all.