"Tryn was goin' to analysis room to look up how to get a droid to work again, but he didnae come back," said Amara. "So I went to go lookin' for him, and there he was on the floor, bleedin' his guts out."

"What exactly did the droids do that made you think they were no longer operating correctly?" asked the Editor.

"Wouldnae do what I said," whimpered the girl. "We turned 'em off an' turned 'em on an' they they just stood there recalibratin'."

"Did you actually see them kill Tryn?" the Editor pressed.

Amara shook her head. "But it doesnae take a genius to work it out, ma'am."

The Editor frowned. "And you're certain you have no Ood on board?"

"Of course we have Ood," Amara said. "But they aren't the rebellious sort. Ye ken what I mean?"

"But they have rebelled," insisted the Timelady. "The Ood are quite free now, although I've yet to hear of one killing so violently."

"Ood arenae killers."

The Editor huffed. "If you humans would stop telling me what's impossible, you might be able to accomplish something!" She stood up, brushing off her skirt. "I'm sorry about Tryn, Amara, and I hope that you don't have too much trouble getting the station back in order and fixing the droids. But I must retrieve the Ood and leave."

"Ye cannae leave me here!" Amara cried. "Those droids are killers, they are! They'll kill me dead like Tryn!"

The Editor gave a sigh. "I'll take a look at these killer droids of yours, then."

"Thank ye," said Amara, letting go of her death grip on the rifle long enough to grasp the Editor's hand gratefully.

"Cathect, will you look for the Ood?" she asked.

"Where should I go if I cannot find them?" he asked, translation sphere glowing in the dark room.

"Meet me by the TARDIS in fifteen minutes. Amara, dear, please take me to the Analysis Center."

Amara stood and walked stiffly out the door. "I donnae want to look at him."

Cathect went down the opposite direction of the hallway. The Editor silently wished him luck, then followed Amara.

"You won't have to, dear. I'll take care of everything. Just point me to the door."

"I cannae look at him," Amara continued. "It's awful, what they done to him. I cannae bear it. He was my friend."

The Editor realized there was little point in attempting to soothe the girl, and simply let her prattle.

"An' here it is, ma'am. But please, donnae make me go in." Amara propped herself up against the wall, her whole body shaking. The Editor merely put a hand on her arm and nodded before going into the room.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "No, he wasn't killed by an Ood."

Tryn was on the floor, eyes wide but unseeing. His hand was on his stomach, but it did little to hide the fact that his organs were simply no longer inside it. They spilled out around him, resting in a pool of the poor boy's blood.

"You poor, poor thing." The Editor stepped over the mess and bent over the close his eyelids. Then, mouth set in a straight line, she looked at the computers lining the walls of the rooms.

She scanned the screens. The Droids were all off-line; she assumed Amara had effectively disabled the mechanics. There were no signs of a malfunction in programming, unless the Droid Programming Information Feeds had been frozen. The Editor then took a closer look at the settings.

No, there was nothing wrong with the Droids themselves. But they had been set to a program that, in the Editor's opinion, should never have been put in place.

"Amara?" The Editor walked out of the room and looked at the girl. "Why did Tryn set the Droids to Apocalypse?"

"Apocalypse? I donnae know much about the Droid settings, ma'am."

"Apocalypse is only to be used in the case of certain virus strains or some similar predicament. It causes the Droids to kill anything living on the ship."

"Tryn wouldnae do that!" Amara protested.

"Someone did," said the Editor.

"Ma'am?" asked Amara meekly.

"Yes?"

"Did... didnae you say somethin' about the Ood bein' rebellious?"

The Editor was shocked. "You don't think the Ood changed the Droid settings."

"You thought they mighta caused all the ruckus here. Whynae use the Droids?"

The Editor started to argue, but then she remembered that she had made the mistake of thinking of the Ood as little more than animals once. Who's to say the Hive Brain couldn't have resulted in their using a smarter method of rebellion?

With a sigh, she realized that the Ood wouldn't yet know that they were freed. Amara and the Editor would be a threat, unless Cathect could convince them otherwise.

"I don't suppose you have a station-wide announcement system?" asked the Editor. Amara shook her head.

"Went out with the lights an' the Droids when I blew one of the s... systems..."

"Amara?" The Editor peered at her face. The girl had gone rather pale. "Amara, do you need to get away from the room?"

"The Circle has been broken and reforged," said an overly-polite voice from behind the Editor. "You cannot keep us from returning home."

She turned slowly to find an Ood standing right behind her, and several behind him. Desperately, she looked among them for Cathect, but realized she wouldn't be able to tell him apart even if she could.

"Cathect? Did he find you?" she asked meekly. "We're friends of the Ood."

One Ood pointed at Amara with a free hand. "She is armed. She must remove her arms or be eliminated."

"Amara, dear, please remove your gun," the Editor said politely.

Amara shook her head wildly. "They killed Tryn! They changed the droid settings!"

The Editor blinked. Amara had figured it out before she had; that was a first for the Timelady. She had made the mistake of thinking the Ood to be little more than animals twice now. She wouldn't do it again.

"Ood," said the Editor. "I have a spaceship to take you back home if you'll come with me."

"We do not take orders from humans any longer," said the Ood in his too-polite voice.

"But I'm not human!" the Editor protested, before she realized it was the wrong argument. "I mean, I'm not attempting to order you abo-"

The Ood raised a crackling translation sphere.

Both women fell quiet.

"We wish to return home," said the Ood. But this time, they all spoke as one, sending a flickering wave of dim light through the hallway.

"I can take you home," said the Editor desperately.

"Remove your arms."

"No!"

"Or else you will be eliminated."

"Amara, do as they say!"

"No!"

"We wish to return home."

"No!"

Oh, this is breaking so many of my rules, thought the Editor ruefully. With a sigh, she whirled around, momentum sending her umbrella swinging into a very specific spot on Amara's skull.

The gun slipped out of her hands and clattered to the floor. The Editor reached out and grabbed the girl before she followed after.

The Ood tilted his head. "You hit the human."

"She was about to make a very bad decision," said the Editor. "Which might result in hindering your return home."

The Ood looked up, past the Editor.

"You broke the rules for my people," said a voice ahead of her. A voice that was slightly too quiet in comparison to the other Ood.

"Cathect?" she asked, looking up. There stood another Ood, looking down at the Editor. Their faces didn't have expression, and their translation sphere's lacked any emotional tones. But she could almost feel something coming from him. She had never been as good at telepathy as the Doctor, but even she could make this out.

Forgiveness.

A small part of Cathect had still blamed the Editor for what had happened. She was like the other humans, ordering Ood about and unable to truly help. But here she had broken her own rules for them.

Redemption. Just a sliver. But just enough.

Hello, everyone! Sorry for the delayed update; this chapter just wouldn't come out right! I hope that you enjoyed the final result, however. Please review with your opinions, where you hope things go, or rants!

-J.A.