"You're mad," says Kastral flatly. "Bloody mad."

Sen nods her agreement. "You've got all these extra rations now, why would you risk this?"

He shrugs. "Someone got into that vault. The only person on Gallifrey who seems to have their head above water is the King, so, I want to know. Was it him?"

"He'll kill you. Or worse, slave you to his Citadel."

"I wasn't going to just walk in there and ask-"

"Mmm, that does sound like exactly the sort of thing you'd do though, Doctor." Clara, rehydrating her breakfast mush ration, mocks him from across the kitchen table. He fixes her with a fierce scowl, earning rolled eyes in response.

"Are you seriously telling me," he continues, "that there's nothing at all you want from that Citadel?"

Sen puts down her spoon very deliberately. "He has plenty that I want, Doctor. I just don't believe you can get it for me."

With that she takes her leave, stiff and angry, leaving behind an awkward silence broken only by the chink of cutlery. He cannot help but meet Clara's eyes across the table again, to find his conclusion reflected. Her mouth is a thin line of disapproval rather than a celebratory smirk but he knows she thinks the same.

Gotcha.


"I don't want to hear it."

Sen is stacking boxes, rather more forcefully than is strictly necessary. Rations from the vault, the other half of which the young Time Lords have been sent to retrieve. Cora picks up her own box, saying nothing. They work in silence for a while, until Sen sighs.

"I can hear you bloody thinking it."

"He's the Doctor," she replies with a shrug. "If you tell him what needs to be done, he'll do it."

"He's a Time Lord. How can you say that? You know what they're like. He'll have his own agenda. They always do. And it's us that'll pay for it."

"You don't know him-"

"Neither do you! You met him for all of two minutes, half a century ago!"

"No, it's more than that," Cora returns, flushing pink, "It's not just me, I mean…" She tries again. "Clara trusts him."

Sen throws another box to the ground. "Yes, exactly! Clara. Another reason I don't trust him; walking round with some poor copy of you−"

"It's not like that!" The strength of her own voice shocks her. "It's not."

Sen's presses her lips together, tact never her strongest suit. "Cora, I'm not trying to make this worse for you than it already is. But you must see the similarities. She might not be Meanwhile but he's still making clones…"

She cannot stop the bitter laugh escaping her throat. "That's the point, Sen. He didn't make Clara. She made me."

"You really believe that story about the tracks in time of a dead Time Lord?"

"Yes. Yes I do. Clara can't lie. Not to me. I'd know."

"I'll have to take your word for that," Sen replies ruefully. "It just… it doesn't feel right to me. And I don't want to lose Kastral. Not after Rob- I mean, not after everything."

Silence, but for the scrape of boxes.

"If you want to see him again," Cora says eventually, "you need to tell the Doctor. He'll find him. I know he will."

"No one's finding Roben." Sen shakes her head. "He's long gone. I just… know it."

Cora can find no reply to this, other than to reach for the hand of her friend and squeeze her callused fingers in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"It's… It is what it is." Sen sighs again. "He's going to go anyway, isn't he?"

"I think so."

"Then I guess I'd better help him. Before he brings the whole King's Court down on us," she concludes with a shudder.


From their vantage point on top of the dune Clara can see clearly the coloured wisps, coalesced into vaguely humanoid form. "What are they?" she whispers, putting field-glasses to her eyes once again.

"Neverwere," answers the Doctor. "When the time plates shift, people are crossing back and forth across their timelines, creating paradoxes. Go too far and you might never have been."

Clara frowns. "Then how can we still see them?"

He shrugs. "Who knows? This isn't a branch of temporal physics that's ever been tested before."

"Are they… still alive? Are they conscious?"

"I don't think so."

She puts down the glasses. "Are they dangerous?"

"Not directly," replies Sen, "But when you see a lot of them together like this? It's bad news."

"Why?"

"It means the plates are about to shift. We shouldn't be doing this. Not now."

"Seren," cuts in Evin. "Your concern is noted. But there are five Time Lords here. I think we'd be able to sense a major shift about to occur."

For a moment Clara thinks Sen might just punch the supercilious smirk off the young man's face. Instead, their guide draws in a shaky breath and produces a horribly false smile. "Of course, sir." Clara's mouth drops open.

"Doctor?" she breathes.

He at least has the decency to look shamefaced. "If we wait the plates might move before we have the chance to reconnoitre."

"Fine, but that's still no excuse for his tone," she hisses.

"I know, I know." He clears his throat. "Evin, no one asked for your contribution. As you're clearly so keen to participate, you can go and be the distraction."

"What? No, I-"

"Yes, yes, yes – off you pop. Try and look interesting enough for them to follow."

"But what if there's a time slip?" The young Lord cannot quite keep the wail from his voice.

"Well, you just told us all, didn't you? We Time Lords would be able to sense it. So go on." There is no jocularity in the Doctor's voice now, his eyes flinty. "Unless you don't trust your ability to feel the moving edge quite so well after all?"

Evin swallows hard. "I… I…"

"Oh for Rassilon's sake," growls Miri, "I'll go with you." She hastily ties her length of rope around Evin's middle, half dragging him towards one of the AGs.

"Good luck," calls Gryf.

"Same to you."

With that Evin fires up the machine and they streak away down the side of the dune, kicking up a cloud of white dust. The remaining crew wait, as the sand settles. After a few seconds the whine of another engine can be heard; a second dark shape moving across the sands after Evin and Miri's speeder.

"There goes the sentry," breathes Sen. "There'll be at least one other left behind at the post."

"Our turn, I think." Gryf, unusually sombre, draws her newly claimed weapon.

"Stun settings," the Doctor reminds them sharply. "We're not looking to make enemies here."

"Hmph," Sen sniffs.

Gryf and Horas slip down the other side of their dune, creeping towards the point of origin of the second AG. Clara watches them through her field glasses, as they try to move inconspicuously towards the stubby pillar box, outer watchtower of the King.

"They're in," she says, as they barrel through the bottom door. The remaining four wait in tensioned silence, until there is a flash from the top window of the box. A mirror reflecting the burning sun.

"One, two, three, four," counts the Doctor. "They've taken control. Time for us to move!"

They do not creep. They run down the steep slope of the mound, fast as they can, past the glittering ghosts of the Neverwere. There is a haze in the air; a force field according to the Doctor. It may as well be a mirage to Clara's eyes. They drop into a ditch dug against the base of it, gasping.

"Are we good?" manages Cora.

"They haven't shot us yet," Sen shrugs.

The Doctor is scanning with the sonic, scowling. Instinctively, they turn to him. "Just a minute."

Clara counts a hundred heartbeats pounding past. "Doctor?"

"A moment, I said." The sonic whirs at a higher pitch. "Got it!"

The shimmering haze of the shield seems to smooth out in front of them; a rectangular outline reflecting the dunes behind more clearly. The Doctor presses his palm to it, pushes, and it slides back like a door.

"Oh my God." Behind the door the desert landscape is disappeared, replaced by acres of green fields. Crops; stubby, cabbage-looking things, growing in neat rows. "How?" Clara manages.

"He controls the water," Sen explains. "What's left of the Canonflood river runs through the heart of the Citadel."

"Come on, quickly," commands the Doctor. "We won't have much time."

They step through, the door closing silently behind them. Clara offers up a silent prayer that they are able to find it again so easily.

"We need to split up," Sen whispers as they move into the vast field, keeping low. "Cover more ground."

The Doctor nods his assent, although he doesn't look happy at the prospect. "Okay. Clara, with me. Cora, you're looking for an irrigation control point-"

"No," says Sen.

"No?"

"I'm going with you. Clara can go with Cora."

The Doctor scoffs. "Why would I do that?"

The barrel of Sen's newly acquired pistol swings up to point at the Time Lord. Along the muzzle, lights glow red. Lethal mode. "Because I don't trust you," she hisses, "not one little bit."

"Sen," he growls, "You're on dangerous ground here-"

"Yes," she returns, "We are! The most dangerous ground there is on all of Gallifrey. Now, are you going to stand there arguing with me until we get caught, or do as I say?"

He opens his mouth, apparently ready to continue arguing. "Doctor," Clara finds herself saying, "Let's just go."

"Fine," he snarls, "Half an hour. Then we meet back at the door. No more than that."

"Yes, Doctor," agrees Cora, placatory hand outstretched. With reluctance he unties the length of rope that attaches Clara to his waist, and hands it over to her copy.

"Don't get caught," he commands.

"I won't," Clara replies. "We'll see you in half an hour." With that, she turns away from him, heading west across the field.