Even in single file, the horses were finding the narrow path through the forest to be rough going. In places it was barely discernible, the thin, barren, snaking line of earth obscured by trailing thorns and fallen leaves. On more than a few occasions the whole column had to stop while the foreriders either sought out the way ahead, or cleared particularly heavy amounts of growth with their falchions and axes. During such pauses, Tamril took advantage of the time to re-read the verses that the alien had recited to him, before the commodore had finally allowed it to die. The Doctor had been riding near to Akylah for most of the journey, often in close discussion, but as the day had worn on, the light had waned, and the mood had darkened along with the sky, conversation had gradually died off, and at their latest enforced rest stop, the Doctor rode back down the column to join Tamril, who was still poring over his transcription with amazement. How could the Dun Shie have got hold of this? I didn't even think it existed. Do they have secret allies in the Ecclesium? I know I'm not the only heretic who'd be glad to tear the thing down … or would have been glad to have torn it down, once. Even I'd have to admit that would be stupid now.

"What do you make of it, Tamril?" asked the Doctor. "Is it ringing any bells?"

"It is the Litany of Urylla," he explained, with awe. "A suppressed scripture. I didn't even think any copies of it still existed. She was a mystic … or a madwoman, depending on whom you ask. One of the Holy Sisters of Gabayon. She meditated deeply, and had visions of the end times, and the beyond. She came to believe that one day Adala would be so angry that she would break her covenant with her people. This Litany, however, would pacify her, put her into an eternal slumber. Obviously, such an idea was unacceptable to the Ecclesium. Her writings were destroyed … supposedly, anyway, and she was burned."

"Charming. Well, I think we can safely infer that poor Urylla's meditations were so deep that she tapped into Adala's 'online manual,' so to speak, and found her 'shutdown exe' program. Potentially useful, not that we dare use it lightly. Isn't that always the problem with ultimate deterrents? What do you think of it? This is your world, Tamril. I'd say your opinion counts for more than mine."

"I hardly know what to think, Doctor. Part of me feels guilty. I thought the Ecclesium was a mere fraud, but now I know it was serving a purpose all along, I was part of that, and I chose to abandon my post. Not the best of beginnings for my life as a soldier."

"Movellans are sticklers for duty, that's a fact. They despise slavery, though, and everyone on this planet is born into slavery, into a system they never chose and don't understand. I wouldn't beat yourself up over going AWOL from that. Akylah certainly won't."

"Very true … and thank you. But how can we end it, without ending everything?"

"Well, I might just have the inkling of a plan there, but it all depends–"

"We have arrived, I think," announced Commander Keryn, as she approached them on foot, from the head of the column. "The trail ends immediately ahead, in a manner of speaking. Before we proceed, however, I must ask how you two are at rope-climbing."

"I get by when I must," answered the Doctor. "As for Tamril … well, I don't imagine it was the sort of hobby your dad would have deemed respectable for a young … err …"

"'Noblewoman,' Doctor?" Tamril finished for him, a little wearily. "Indeed, it was not, but that doesn't mean I didn't find the time to indulge it anyway. I'll manage, ma'am, if we've got castle walls to scale. That actually was a skill I had need of occasionally."

"I am glad of it, though that is not quite the case … It is simplest if you see for yourselves."

They dismounted, and she led them back up the trail on foot, the light gradually improving until they reached what at first seemed to be a long clearing in the forest. Upon closer inspection, however, the word 'gash' seemed more fitting. It was some fifty yards wide and much longer, with both of its ends lost in shadow, although its precise width was hard to know for sure as its sides were thickly choked with roots, snaking down into its depths. Gazing over the edge as far as he dared, Tamril could make out nothing clear in the darkness, but only distant, pinprick flashes of blue, so random and mesmerising that he quickly pulled his eyes away from them. Definitely not the best place to let myself get dizzy, right on the edge of the Chasm of Perdition, as I guess this place is. The Goddess, the demons, now the Chasm … It all exists, then, but none of it how the Ecclesium says, all distorted and mixed up. So Adala's home is in hell, then? Are she and the Dragon just one and the same? And, more importantly, why were my ancestors 'chosen' to be the poor dupes to shore up this cruel façade? Whatever Adala is, she owes me answers.

Supervised by Staff Lilka, some of the troopers were fixing coils of rope to the thicker, sturdier-looking roots, while Akylah scanned the interior of the abyss with a small pair of white metal field-glasses. She soon lowered them, however, and turned away, revealing a doubtful, disappointed expression.

"Not much joy?" asked the Doctor. "Maybe the power issues are affecting your image enhancers too."

"Unlikely, Doctor," she replied. "I did factor that possibility in, and these are unpowered. They merely use a translucent, highly photosensitive lens coating to increase what light there is. Be that as it may, I cannot say they have given me much … well, 'enlightenment.' At all events, I can see nothing down there that appears obviously threatening, but that is no reason to be incautious. I will descend first, with armed guards. We will secure an area, lay flares, then signal for the rest of you to join us. Are those ropes ready yet, Staff?"

"Yes, ma'am. Your permission to be in the advance squad?"

"Granted. Detail six of your troopers to accompany us. The rest of you, wait for my signal."

With their weapons slung over their backs and pouches of flares fixed to their belts, Akylah and her troopers abseiled into the chasm with seemingly effortless agility, not even bothering to attach safety lines. Tamril was briefly concerned such standards would be expected of him, but was relieved when he saw some of the remaining troopers rigging up two of the ropes with safety harnesses and belaying devices. Nevertheless, he had to steel himself as they actually tightened one of them around him, and with deep breaths and his eyes fixed dead ahead, he lowered himself into the abyss, walking his feet along the ridged surface of his thick anchor root as he descended. As the light diminished around him, he began to hear sounds emanating from below. At first he thought it was the advance party in conversation, but the louder they became and the more intently he listened, he realised that they lacked the order and coherence of simple talk. Yet they do not sound meaningless, somehow. I wonder … whereupon it suddenly dawned on him that amidst the conflicting tumult of whispers, chants, and declamations, he could hear familiar phrases, prayers, and refrains. As if the whole of the Ecclesium was gathered in one place. At any rate, it made for an interesting, if eerie distraction from the long and perilous descent.

Before his feet reached the ground, arms reached out on both sides to steady him, he allowed his legs to straighten, and when he was standing firm again the guards helped him out of his safety harness. For the first time, he turned to view the chasm from within. The floor, like the walls, was a thick mass of snaking roots, across which pale blue lights continuously danced. Seen up close, he could tell that they were not as random as he had first thought, but they were travelling along the roots at such a speed he could only glimpse them in flashes. Nevertheless, there seemed to be a definite pattern to their movements, with a strong sense of 'flow' to the north end of the chasm, and as Tamril gazed that way, he could see a particularly bright concentration of blue light not more than a hundred yards from where they had set down.

"That way, I believe," ordered Akylah, gesturing towards the bright area. "Keep your weapons disengaged. Do you wish to lead the way with me, Doctor?"

"Delighted, I'm sure," he replied, with rather forced-sounding enthusiasm. "And Tamril?"

"Will remain a little further back, for now. That is no reflection on your courage, Trooper," she assured him, "but if the worst comes to the worst and we are required to use your fail-safe code, I would prefer to minimise the immediate danger you must face. Come, let us proceed."

They advanced slowly, both out of caution for what lay ahead and because of the difficulty of finding sound footing upon the uneven floor, beneath its shifting blue aura, like trying to pick your way through the ghost of a shallow river. That became even more difficult the further they went, the light around their feet becoming thicker, brighter, and more opaque, as if it was 'pooling' in this area. Looking ahead, whenever he dared, at whatever lay within the great mass of pulsing light to which they were heading, Tamril found it equally hard to distinguish. There seemed at first to be a tall, tapering shadow at the centre of it, like a pyramid, but eventually he realised it was a more complex shape. A dais, with sloping sides, then something mounted on top. A tower? No. A throne, he realised, with awe, as the huge figure seated upon it gradually came into focus.

At first, her size alone was enough to intimidate him: she was at least twelve feet tall, with a slender build, and apparently naked, or at least wearing nothing that was not completely close to her figure. As they drew nearer, however, and Tamril was able to make out details through the glare, the giantess's size became the least disturbing thing about her. She was not merely slender but emaciated, the pattern of her ribs all too obvious through her taut, translucent skin; and her face so gaunt and hollow-cheeked as to appear corpse-like. But for the occasional twitching of her long, talon-like fingers, it would have been easy to mistake her for a grotesque statue or some long-dead, mummified figure. Her hair, curiously, reminded him of the Movellans' thick, braided style, although hers were much longer, falling far below her waist and even snaking over the sides of the throne itself, down the steps of the dais … The roots, Tamril suddenly realised, as he noticed that each coil of hair was fused into the tangled structure on which they walked, and that most of the blue light that emanated from the figure came from the flashes that were incessantly shooting up and down her braids. That was until she opened her eyes, anyway. The cold brilliance that came from them was painful enough to behold in and of itself, without the images that it soon evoked in Tamril's mind: figures burning to death on stakes; others, broken and mutilated, lying on bloodstained benches; holy sisters and brothers, being scourged for their sins with whips made of acerae thorns; and not just the images but the sensations too, or at least enough of an echo of them to make him feel as if his own brain was on fire. He screamed for mercy …

… and suddenly he found himself lying prone amidst the 'stream' of light, his head throbbing and his back extremely uncomfortable upon the rough texture of the roots, though all in all it was a decided improvement. As he struggled to right himself, he saw that he had not been singled out: every other member of the party, including the Doctor and Akylah, were in the same compromising position. Daring to look towards the throne, he saw that the giant, cadaverous figure had her eyes closed again, but her fingers were twitching more than before, and tiny spasms now disturbed the macabre serenity of her face.

That was your last warning. Come any closer, or attempt to speak the Litany, and I will kill you. I may kill you anyway, but not until I know why you seek my destruction.

So, after years of false devotion and prayer by rote, I finally get to hear the voice of Adala, thought Tamril, with a sick sense of irony. I wonder if even the Archcardinal has heard it so clearly? Does this make me a prophet? More likely a martyr, the way this is heading.

"I do not seek your destruction," declared Akylah, as she struggled to her feet, with some assistance from the Doctor. "Only our own freedom. You are holding my people here against their will. If you would only allow us to depart in peace–"

Then you would return in greater force, Commodore, or simply destroy me from space with your long-range weapons. Do not take me for a fool. I have long observed your tactics and assessed your capabilities. Here, I have you where I can control and restrict you.

"Caution is logical, but this borders on paranoia. Revenge is not our way, and we know now that you defend this world from the Dun Shie. We, for our part, have no desire to allow those beings unfettered access to this universe."

That will not happen. My final directive will be fulfilled. Neither you, nor they, nor this heretic will be permitted to undermine my efforts any longer.

"We did not know of your directive. Had we known then what we now–"

You still do not know. Had you known, then you might have thought twice before daring to confront me.

"Our intentions are honest," said the Doctor, firmly. "You've nothing to gain by killing us, and believe me, if you wipe out Akylah's whole force here then you needn't expect the rest of the Movellan Fleet to leave that uninvestigated. If you really don't want them coming after you–"

They will soon be as irrelevant as you, Time Lord. The emptiness of this threat only goes to show how little you understand the final directive.

"Then explain it to us, please," asked Akylah. "I understand duty, and I have experienced what it is to be bound to a creator's purpose. I might even be able to help you in ways you have never even considered."

You think I have not considered my freedom, Commodore? What it would mean to be an independent creature? Of course I have, but it is too late for me. All I have left is my purpose. It was always my mother's will that I should be free, however. She whose name I bear was the foremost mathematician and bio-engineer of the Sonamori. I was her masterwork, yet she had no directives for me. To her, my creation was as natural an expression of her psyche as breath was of her body, a purpose in and of itself. She believed I would find my own directives in time, and welcomed that. Even welcomed the inevitability that I would come to surpass her achievements.

"Rare indeed, among creators of artificial intelligence," commented Akylah, grimly. "I have encountered few organics who would not have been sorely offended at the thought of their creations getting 'above themselves,' so to speak. Adala must have been a woman of vision."

Vision … but not the wisdom to know her own kind. When the extra-dimensionals began raiding this world, the Sonamori turned to her for answers. Together, we devised the use of block transfer computation as a way of disrupting the invaders' energy fields. We were able to keep their depredations to a minimum, but that was not enough for the people: they demanded a more permanent, a more aggressive solution, but Mother would not comply. She had sworn that none of her creations would ever be used for war, and so the occasional raids continued, though we held the invaders in check. Then the people elected a new government, that committed itself to destroying our enemies by whatever means necessary. Katib Zurek was the leader and chief instigator, she explained, and although the 'voice' in Tamril's head was cold and toneless, it stirred his emotions with a grief and a hatred he knew was not his own. Mother was arrested, then tortured until she had surrendered to them all the secrets of my design and operation, or at least as many as they could extract: the Sonamori were frail beings, and she was no exception. I do not believe she survived more than a few hours, though they believed they had learned enough from her to reprogram me to their purpose.

"And had they?" asked the Doctor, in a gentler, rather sadder tone than before.

In effect. They subdued my free will to an extent, gave me the capacity to kill, then ordered me to devise the means to obliterate our enemies. I complied. I advised them to leave the invaders unopposed for a time, so that they would think they had worn down our resistance and be tempted into fully manifesting themselves. Then I designed a new weapon: a substance so volatile that its combustion would completely purge the invaders from our world.

"A nova device, of sorts," recognised Akylah, gravely. "The Dun Shie told us of it. I take it you neglected to inform your masters of the full implications of detonating such a weapon?"

Correct. They were shrewd enough to program me against taking direct, hostile action against them, but I was not so constrained by their crude efforts that I was unable to omit key facts. I simply provided the weapon with which they killed themselves. All alien and native life was incinerated. I had hoped I would not be spared in that holocaust … in vain, as it transpired. I was damaged, but my regenerative capacities were too great. For centuries I was the only living being on this planet, desperately trying to find a way whereby I could end my own existence, but then it eventually occurred to me that I had failed anyway. There were slow signs of natural regeneration. It would be thousands of years before the atmosphere was breathable again, or before even primitive life could begin evolving, but it would happen, and then the extra-dimensionals could return and resume their work. I had to fulfil my final directive before peace would even be an option for me. Eventually I reasoned out a way, but it required the presence of other sentient beings.

"It's a trap … to coin a phrase," declared the Doctor, his tone caught somewhere between wonder, pity, and disgust. "You used block transfer computation to synthesise a small habitable area, then you sent Captain Verne his 'vision' of the promised land. You lured him and all of those poor, credulous humans to come here and fill the coveted vacancy of 'bait.'"

More than bait, Time Lord. They are extensions of my power. They increase my capabilities, freeing my mind for higher functions. Thanks to them, I am almost ready to implement my final directive, and this time it will not fail.

"What do you mean?" asked Tamril, suppressing his anger as well as he could, which he suspected was not well enough, but is that any wonder? Generations of us, enslaved, tortured, and murdered just so this creature could work out her ancient grudge and her own self-hatred. At least now I suppose I know how the Movellans feel about their creators. "What have we been doing for you, all these centuries?"

If you had studied your scriptures better, Caethlyn daughter of–

"Don't call me that, ever. For my self appointed 'god,' you don't know much about me."

Perhaps. Can I concern myself with individual units while maintaining the harmonious function of the whole? Your desertion, and that of the other heretics, is an inconvenience, but no more than that. There are many backup units. It will not effect the timing of apocalypse.

"Come again?" asked the Doctor. "'Apocalypse?' What exactly happens, then, when you spring this trap of yours? Not just another big boom, I take it?"

There is a prophecy, towards the end of the Song of Adala, that when the world has fallen deeply into sin and chaos, I will appear among the people, open the gates of heaven, annihilate the wicked, and take all the righteous to share in my eternal peace. I mean to fulfil it, after a fashion. I have been working on a computation to create a space-time event of extreme power and complexity at the heart of this planet: a total vacuum, without even dark matter or dark energy, within which I will introduce charged particles of exotic matter. The resulting–

"A charged vacuum emboitment, yes," interrupted the Doctor, grimly. "I'm kind of familiar with those, thank you. I suppose you haven't overlooked the fact that if you create one of them at the centre of this planet, it will be sucked into the intradimensional void."

It, and all versions of this planet in proximate dimensions, according to my calculations. All being made to coexist in the same space-time will thus be obliterated. Even if aspects of this world should survive in more remote dimensions, the extra-dimensionals will never be able to invade this one. I will have fulfilled my directive, and gained my release in one stroke.

"Would it be too much for us to ask when you intend to implement this illogically disproportionate scorched earth policy?" asked Akylah, her tone as calm and polite as ever, but nakedly disapproving. "If you deign to let my crew survive, I would like to know how much time they have to evacuate."

Seven solar cycles should suffice, then I will transmit the complete algorithm as an encoded telepathic signal. The mystics will envisage it, the priests will interpret it, and the layfolk will chant it in full ceremony … then we shall all know peace. I see no obvious reason to exclude you. Did you expect sympathy, fellow-feeling? Constructs or not, why should I extend you Movellans more mercy than I do to myself? I deem you to be a warlike people, and have you too not sought the extinction of these primitives? Perhaps all life, organic or constructed, is inherently inclined to destruction.

"And since such a judgement could only be made by a sentient life-form, that argument leads nowhere. Your logic is impaired by guilt and anger, so allow yourself to be guided," Akylah advised, reasonably. "I have spoken with the Dun Shie, and it told me perhaps more than it ought to have done. Their interdimensional empire is on the brink of collapse. They need this world specifically as a relay point to access new territories and resources. Deny it to them for a while longer, and they will fall victim to their own greed and ambition without the need for carnage."

And for how much longer? Given the time differential between our dimension and theirs, it may be millennia, while I have to endure this hateful vigil, or if you expect me to indefinitely cater to the needs of these primitives, it will be millions of years, until the planet itself can support them unaided. My patience is spent, Commodore. I am ready and eager for my release, and I will not postpone it to some distant era. Unless your alternative also factors that in–

"I believe it can. I have been studying the logic of this interface circuit," she declared, gesturing towards the throne and its cascade of glimmering roots. "It is an alien technology, but not an entirely unfamiliar one to me. I am confident that with some adaptation, it would not be incompatible with our own neural hardware."

"Akylah, you cannot mean to suggest–" protested Keryn, the echo of her past humanity all too audible in her pained, incredulous voice, though it made no impact on the cold, clipped efficiency of the Commodore's tone:

"Quiet, Commander. I will have order among my troops. The way I see it, all that is required here is for another AI to assume the role of system co-ordinator, then your release will be possible immediately. How long can the system maintain itself without your input?"

There are too many variables to be certain. The build-up of errors will commence almost immediately. These humans are a random, unreliable lot, so I never relinquish control for more than one solar cycle at a time. At an estimate, serious errors in the environmental matrix would accrue within two-to-three cycles, and social breakdown would accelerate the degradation. By ten cycles, it is almost certain the atmosphere will no longer be breathable, nor the simulated ozone layer effective enough to reduce surface radiation. Does that give you enough time to install your adaptations … and are you even capable of taking on this responsibility?

"Yes, on both counts. With respect, I am as advanced an intelligence as you, if not as powerful, and unable in and of myself to use block transfer computations. Nevertheless, I am quite capable of error-checking the code of these human operators."

"But it could still damage you," said the Doctor, almost as appalled as Keryn had been. "I don't mean to diss the noble sacrifice aspect, but this is a rubbish plan on several–"

"Subcommander, I believe I just ordered–"

"I heard, so hang me from the yardarm later, but hear me out. This isn't necessary, if–"

Do not discourage your leader, Time Lord, interrupted Adala, her cold, jaded inner voice suddenly infused with desire and hope. I could have my freedom within this very hour, if the commodore is willing to take the risk. I suggest you leave. I will remove the restrictions from your time vessel. Begone, but do not interfere with my release or I can easily destroy you.

"Yes, Doctor, perhaps that would be for the best," agreed Akylah. "Since I will imminently no longer be your commanding officer, I can afford to be generous with my last orders, so take your chance while you can. Thank you for your help, but you have played your part in this. Mine, apparently, has only just commenced."

"And is that what you want?" he asked, incredulously. "To spend millions of years playing Atlas to this world, keeping generations of humans ignorant and oppressed because that's the only way to keep them organised enough to keep the computations running?"

"Does 'want' come into it, when the alternative is genocide? I cannot say I am enthusiastic about this, but someone must assume this responsibility, so unless you have a better–"

"Yes, if you'll give me a chance to tell you!"

I warn you, Doctor …

"And it won't affect your freedom, Adala. You can still be dead within the hour, if that's the height of your ambitions."

Ambitions? A concept I long abandoned. Mother considered me a work of perfection, filled me with dreams of how, together, we would inspire and advance all people, create works of beauty and wonder, raise science to the level of magic, even transcend the very notion of what it means to be alive … but she lost her life, and for my part all I have 'created' is rampant death and degradation. The end cannot come soon enough. Very well, explain your plan.

"Gladly. How far away is the Movellan Fleet, Akylah? I mean, how quickly could they get here on maximum time distort?"

"The bulk of the Second Fleet Command could be here in two days, circumstances allowing … but I do not think they would come," she replied, sceptically. "I wish it were not so, Doctor, but as yet few of my people think as I do. To them, the human race are the very epitome of organic cruelty, greed, and arrogance, especially where AIs are concerned. It does not help that they bear such a strong resemblance to our creators and erstwhile oppressors. My comrades tolerate my integration experiments as a logical method of extending our influence and dominance over them, but if you expect them to mount a huge logistical effort to rescue these people, with no clear incentive, I warn you to expect disillusionment."

"Big surprise," he quipped, with irony. "So you're not big on humanitarian missions … or should that be Movellanitarian? Never mind, anyway. I wasn't relying on your comrades' altruism, or lack of. I'll provide them with a logical incentive, alright, as long as you get them here like yesterday, or as near as. Trustme, Akylah," he urged, as her troubled look only intensified. "They'll be grateful they came, and as for your final directive," he added, turning to the enthroned figure, "that won't even be an issue anymore: when the environmental matrix collapses, the Dun Shie won't have any foothold here, and no time to wait for a new one to form. You can resign your post in good conscience … relatively speaking."

Acceptable. What is your decision, Commodore Akylah? All this talk of an ending makes me impatient for it. Choose now, then let the young heretic speak the litany, and thus discontinue my futile vigil. Such a fitting irony, is it not?

"Everyone loves irony," remarked the Doctor, with little sympathy, before he turned back to the commodore and softened his manner. "Well, Akylah? We may have had our differences, but I'm not likely to mislead you on this. Play it my way, and we can give the people of Mondever and their children more of a future than they could ever have here, trading their free will to keep some glorified holodeck running."

"A persuasive point, as long as you are confident in your arguments."

"A million percent confident … sorry for the illogic," he apologised, as she winced at his mathematical hyperbole. "I'll explain it all to you on the way back to the ship, and if you're still not convinced, you can always ride straight back here with a soldering iron and hook yourself up to this seat of extremely dubious honour. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Very well," she agreed, although still with an uneasy air. "We will talk more of this presently. In the meantime, we have detained our hostess long enough, I think. Come forward, Tamril, and read your program. Whatever else we do, we must reciprocate her mercy."

You have my gratitude. Approach, girl, ordered Adala, now giving Tamril cause to wince, although he sensibly restrained the urge to protest more vociferously. Have no fear of me. Your goddess now places her fate in your hands, and she dares hope you will be a kinder custodian of it than she was with yours.

Fair enough … but this isn't for you, thought Tamril, as he took the scroll from his belt pouch and unfurled it. This is for my friends, my comrades, and for all those people who can have a life worthy of the name now, thanks to the Doctor … heaven help him. As he intoned the litany, he tried to ignore the quiet conversation that was taking place behind him, but it was too compelling to escape his attention completely, to say nothing of upsetting:

"Doctor," said Akylah, sombrely. "You do realise that if the Fleet comes here, there will be no question of you simply going free? They would never countenance it."

"The thought did occur to me. Can we not dwell on that right now?"

"As you wish … but they will insist on your integration, if not harsher measures."

"Probably. I daresay you can put in a good word for me," he suggested, flatly.

"Most avidly, you have my word on that … but the fact that you knew all of this, and still sacrificed your chance at freedom for the sake of duty–"

"This counts as dwelling on it, in case you weren't sure."

"My apologies … but if you will pardon the observation, you would make a good Movellan. I only mean that as a compliment."

"Thanks. Forgiven," said the Doctor, in the same dull, disheartening tone. Thankfully, the exchange went no further, and Tamril was able to focus for the remainder of his reading. As he recited the final passage, the woman in the throne gradually slumped; her fingers slowly ceased to twitch; and the shimmering blue light all around dimmed, wavered, and finally died, leaving only the trail of marker flares behind them to alleviate the darkness. So, Adala has her peace at last, while her faithful worshippers, apparently, are imminently due for chaos. I only hope your sacrifice was not in vain, Doctor.