"Mph!" Camelia grunted as her back hit the wall of the cupboard and she slumped down to a sitting position, hands and feet tied in front of her. Someone took the gag out of her mouth and she rolled her aching jaw. "Hello."

The Doctor glared from where he sat, also bound. "You were supposed to run away!"

"So were you."

"Be quiet," said the officer in charge, and they closed their mouths. The sergeant had something in his hands on the table in front of him, out of sight from where Camelia sat. The officer addressed the two of them: "Alright, let's get this over with. What are your names—hey, hold on!" He was looking at the table. "Where did you get all that?" he asked the sergeant.

"It was on the guy. In his coat."

"What, all of it?"

"No, the pistol I found on the girl."

"Where did he put all of this?"

"I found them in his pockets—look, I'm as lost as you are!"

Camelia frowned and mouthed to the Doctor: "What are they talking about?"

"Hey, sit tight!" ordered the officer, cocking his rifle in her direction. She fell back against the wall obediently. "You," he said to the Doctor, "what's your name?"

"I'm the Doctor. . . Just the Doctor."

"The Doctor," he echoed skeptically. "Do you want to tell me what this is?"

"Sonic screwdriver?"

"What?"

"It's . . . sonic."

"And this?"

"Subfrequential biostabilizer."

"And this?"

"Collectible?"

"And this? . . . And this?"

"Helic pulsation amplifier . . . Stethoscope . . . Quasiextradimensional folder . . . Metaradiometric spanner . . . Laser spanner . . . Synchronic replicator . . . Handwarmer . . ."

"And what about this?" The officer held up a small ring. "I suppose this is a polyidiosyncratic hammer?"

"Ahh, no, that's a biodamper . . ." Camelia couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"And this?"

"That's my watch."

"And I suppose you draw on this." He held up the psychic paper.

"Eh . . ." He shrugged vaguely.

The sergeant held up a key on a rope, which the officer took and exhibited skeptically. "And what in the world is this?"

"It's a key."

"A key to what?"

"My . . . transport."

"What exactly do you do?"

"Freelance work."

"Alright, smart guy, let's see your identification."

"He doesn't have one," said Camelia.

"Be quiet." He frowned at her, then reached down and ripped the key right off her arm.

"Ow!"

He handed it to the sergeant, who scanned it quickly. "Camelia Gangway, University of Nysa, citizen of Ilythia. No criminal record."

"Alright, Camelia, who is this man? Is he your lover?"

"Huagh!" She saw the Doctor's face and checked herself. "Alright, sorry, not like that, but . . . still. Blegh. No, he is most certainly not my lover."

"Then he's an old schoolmate."

"We just met today. —And hey, you protect a secret underground laboratory in a public hospital: Why are you asking the questions?" He raised his weapon and she closed her mouth again.

Lopez found Grif and Simmons still unconscious outside the lab door. He couldn't believe Dufresne hadn't pulled them inside and shut the door when he was ordered to look after them. They didn't want anyone else stumbling across Barkhoff's precious experiments, did they?

"Hey, Dufresne! . . . Frank? You in here?" He stepped through, peering round corners as he went. "If you think is funny you're gonna find out just how funny it is waking up with scalding hot coffee down your shirt, you read me? . . . Frank?" He noticed a door at the back of the laboratory had been left open. He heard Dufresne's voice grunting from inside and jogged forward. There was some kind of fog pouring out of the room. He coughed. "Dufresne! Now! I don't wanna have to drag you out!"

He pushed through the door rifle-first and was just about to go in when a shape formed rapidly in the fog. It threw itself straight into him, gazing vacantly with Dufresne's eyes and gasping numbly with Dufresne's mouth, and was inches away from Lopez's face before he even knew it was coming. "mmMMaaaaah . . ."

"AAAAAGH!" Lopez discharged five rounds, two that knocked Dufresne—what was left of him—backwards, one that hit his chin, and two that went into the ceiling as Lopez fell flat on his back. He turned over rapidly and floundered on his belly in a mad scramble to get away from the door, out of the lab, away from everything. Somehow he made it to his feet.

He felt something cold. Something on the back of his scalp, tingling and then cracking and then going numb in a feverish ache.

"No. No. No. NO!"

The sensation radiated out across his head and down his spine. His limbs went stiff and his guts went cold. His mouth went dry so fast his tongue seemed to shrivel up, and his brain simply died.

Or at least the higher functions died. The space in his skull that had served for so many years as the seat of a man's thoughts, hopes and dreams was gone forever. But there was a certain direction to his movements, a vague sensory response. There were warm bodies outside. And so he stumbled forward.

". . . but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of—"

"Hold on," the officer interrupted. "I asked you what your job was."

"Well, it's . . . complicated."

"Clearly." Camelia arched an eyebrow. Something she'd been doing with remarkable consistency over the past ten minutes.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and the four of them all jumped simultaneously. The officer frowned and opened it a crack. "Yes?"

"It's Berin. Barkhoff sent me down to help with the interrogation."

The officer opened the door wider and Camelia realized, with an icy shiver, that the man outside was carrying a tray full of hypodermic needles. And that she thought she faintly recognized him.

"Do you need to see identification?" asked Berin.

"Yes."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wristband. No sooner had it passed into the officer's hand, however, then it flashed blue with electric current, stunning him where he stood and dropping him to the floor. The tray fell beside his body with a clatter as the technician pulled an instrument out of his pocket and fired it in the direction of the other soldier. Something glimmered in the light from out of the device, but the sergeant ducked out of the way.

. . . Only to trip and fall as Camelia kicked him in the calves. Berin fired again, and the glimmer hit its mark. The sergeant was knocked unconscious.

"What is that thing?" she asked.

"Veterinary spray. My sister works at a clinic."

"Don't point it at me! just put it away—thank you."

"Sorry." He knelt down and began to untie them.

"Who are you?" asked the Doctor.

"My name's Berin Briggs. I'm a technician. Came down when I heard the craziest thing: Three people running like dogs through the hospital corridors, shouting for us to call the police, with our favorite new security guards at their heels."

"So you just came looking for us?" The Doctor was clearly impressed.

"I need someone to tell me what's going on. It's been obvious something's been off, ever since Barkhoff's first son died."

"Don't you mean, since his second son got rhixis?" asked Camelia.

"No, not that recent. His office set up shop here years ago." He helped her to her feet.

"How did you find us?"

"A hunch. I've found bootprints in this cupboard a few times before. And it wasn't the first place I looked, if I'm honest. Who are you?"

The Doctor and Camelia exchanged glances. He decided to take the lead. "We are . . . two people . . . who found something we weren't supposed to see."

"Alright . . . Care to elaborate?"

"Yes! but, ahhh . . ." He waved his hand at the unconscious soldiers.

"Ahh, yes, you're right, we should do this once we're clear of the hospital."

"No, we can't leave," the Doctor said quickly. "There's still more to the puzzle. But we should find somewhere else to hide for the time being."

"Alright; you should probably leave your keys so they can't track us, then."

"Good—oh, no, wait, I can adjust them sonically to set off an alarm when they're being scanned. Here, Camelia . . ." He picked up the screwdriver and pointed it at her key for a few seconds before giving it back to her. He went to the table and began stuffing the other gadgets back into his pockets. "Where is Medley's key, by the way?"

"They'll probably be tracking that, too," Camelia pointed out.

"I know, this'll only take a second . . . Thank you." He held the key in one hand and the screwdriver in the other, flitting through holograms with a long buzz.

"What is he doing?" Berin asked.

"I'm downloading," said the Doctor.

"Did you find something?" asked Camelia, brightening.

"Something," he admitted. "But I don't understand it. Not yet. . . Right!" He put the key down and the screwdriver away. "Lead the way, Berin!"