The Editor was standing beside the stairs as the Ood filed out of the TARDIS and back onto their home planet. They all held translation spheres, yet they all seemed connected to the Circle of Song.

So why wasn't Cathect?

"What's it like?" she asked him once the others were safely in their barren world. "The Circle of Song?"

"It is harmony," said Cathect. "Each person has a place, or makes their own. It comes from their subconscious; what they do, and why they do it. Who they are. But it is all in unison."

"What is the Circle's purpose?" the Editor asked. She sat down in one of the many arm-chairs in the console room.

"It reminds us who we are," replied Cathect in the overly-polite voice. "Both as individuals, and as a whole. It allows us to function as one, with us singing to what you call the 'hive mind' and it keeping us one."

"Is it difficult not being a part of it?"

"We do not know who we are." Although the translation sphere had only one voice setting, the Editor still thought, just for a moment, that she heard a tinge of sadness in the voice. "We are alone."

Alone. The Editor knew what it was like to be alone. Once again, her heart twisted in pity for the broken creature in front of her.

She put a gloved hand on top of his, just brushing the translation sphere. Cathect blinked, as though in surprise at the movement.

"I- I'm not sure if you know what I meant by that," the Editor said suddenly. "It's my way, my people's way, of showing that you're not alone. That I'll be with you until I can reconnect you to the Circle."

"Thank you, Editor-Friend," Cathect said.

"But," said the Editor promptly. "We need to look after the rest of your people first. There's two more planets, ten space ships, and thirteen space stations left to go." She stood and returned to the control panel, hands flying over the controls in a precise, practiced way. "I'm sure that if certain colleagues of mine were here, they'd comment on the number thirteen being unlucky. But I can assure you that such a notion is nonsensical, and this will be a doddle." The Editor flicked the final switch and turned, beaming, to look at Cathect.

And an irrational sliver of the Editor's brain seemed to think he was smiling back.

Cathect stepped out of the TARDIS onto the space station. The Editor could see why the Doctor loved bringing companions with him. There was something about the tentative sens of wonder that accentuated their every move. Something that made the Editor feel a little less... old.

She followed him with a smug sort of grin, watching the Oood look around at the facility that was, for this era, state of the art. Cathect had likely never seen anything but the Ood Sphere before. "What do you think?" She whispered to him.

"I think that it is most impressive. I am proud that my people built such a thing. But I am sad that they will never be credited for it."

The Editor winced, then pulled out her Sonic umbrella. She pointed it at the translation sphere, adjusting the volume.

"The legacy of the enslaved," she whispered back. "The forgotten builders of all humans take pride in. But not anymore. Not with your people, at least."

She crept through the metal hallways, the shadows cast by her and Cathect flickering in the dim lights. There were signs of a recent panic. Scratches were gauged in the sheets of metal lining the hall, and further ahead an amergy lever had been pulled. There wasn't any blood that the Editor could see which relived her greatly.

"Since we're here to rescue your people, how would you prefer this be done?" the Editor asked. "The proper by-the-rules way or under the assumption that they'll react the same as on earth?"

Cathect seemed to study her for a moment. "You prefer to work with the rules," said the voice in a far quieter tone.

"Yes," she admitted.

"I should think that humans wouldn't want want uncooperative Ood on such a fantastic piece of machinery as this station," said Cathect. "The proper way."

"Oh, I like you," said the Editor with a grin. She walked down the hall with a bit more authority, and less like she was sneaking.

They walked down several corridors before finding anyone that was alive.

"Who's there?" called a timid voice from inside a dark room. "I can hear your footsteps."

"Hello! That would be me and Cathect. I'm the Editor, pleasure to meet you." The Editor held up both of her hands, one still holding the umbrella, as she stepped into the room.

A woman holding a gun came into the light. "Who're you? Why've you got one of 'em?" she demanded.

"Your hands are shaking!" the Editor cried. "Oh, no need to have a panic attack, dear. The Ood aren't going to be a problem anymore. Cathect and I are going to take them home. They're not slaves, you see."

"We do not mean you any harm," Cathect added.

"Ood?" the girl whispered. "What about the Ood?"

"The Ood... red eyes? Killing people with their translation spheres? Rebelling for freedom?" the Editor asked. "Isn't that what happened out there?"

The girl shook her head. "Donae ken about any rebellious Ood."

"Then why in the world are you armed? And why was the emergency lever pulled?" the Editor asked.

"The droids!" the girl said. "The droids have gone mad! They killed Tryn. And now they're gonna kill us too."

"Oh dear," said Cathect. "That's not quite the adventure we were planning on."