August stuck his head out the TARDIS doors, looking out into the cluttered docking bay with a half-chewed lip and wide eyes. The green light of the tractor beam had faded, leaving the cool, metal interior bathed in the sterile white light of the ceiling lamps. These were the type appropriate for a doctor's office or hotel hallways. The smell, however, was right out of an auto repair shop. He could taste iron in the air. The scent of slag, oil, rubber, and rust emanating from the clutter of discarded aircraft parts nearby stung his nostrils.

'Not very pleasant, is it?' voiced Donna, her nose scrunching up in distaste.

August pulled a similar face, fully stepping out of the TARDIS and onto the bay floor. 'God, it's hot,' he muttered, pulling his tie loose as Donna closed the doors behind them. 'Think we're near the engines or is this station run by reptiles?' He jumped, listening to the clunk of metal underneath his rubber soles, then lowered himself to his haunches and felt the floor. It was buzzing with movement like a washing machine on full spin.

'Where are the people that want to kill us?' Donna asked tonelessly, ignoring his antics, and probably trying to avoid looking at him altogether.

August wasn't sure if Donna was aware of it or not but there was a constant wetness in her eyes, as clear an indicator of her discomfort as the check engine light on a car. Trusting him couldn't be easy on her, he knew. The circumstances were beyond weird. Even for the Doctor's world.

Shock, anger, scepticism—these feelings were to be expected from someone in Donna's position. August, on the other hand, felt beneficially numb. Either because his mind didn't have the capacity to process the complex revelations that occurred to people who've just discovered a beloved fictional world is actually very real and dangerous, or he simply was more sensible than he thought. After all, there was no use in panicking. The mark of a good companion was the ability to accept things as they came, no matter how utterly impossible they may seem at first. The only thing that betrayed August's blasé demeanour was his shaking numbers.

'Dunno,' he eventually said in answer to Donna's question. It did seem strange that there weren't any people managing this section of the station, considering the issued threat to their lives. 'Maybe they went out?'

Donna huffed. 'Went out where? For a spacewalk?'

'Not out out,' August clarified. 'They might be doing other things, letting the automated system run landing protocols. Which… sort of gives us an advantage in making an escape, then.'

Standing straight, he turned on his heels, gazing around the bay for any signs that living beings had recently been in the room. He let his gaze linger on the conspicuous blue box at its centre (another thing to process later), before glancing up at a group of wires attached to the ceiling. He then followed the trail towards the point on the innermost wall where the tractor beam's light had shined, noticing a rectangular glass piece embedded inside the metal.

August continued voicing his train of thought as he followed the trail of wires back out into the main floor of the bay. 'Likely whoever runs this station thought the TARDIS was junk and decided to pull it in for scrap. It's happened before. No one would need to be on duty for that until they're ready to inspect the salvage. That is if their systems are advanced enough for that which they seem to be as far as I can tell.'

'Fair enough,' said Donna, though August wasn't completely sure she'd actually been listening. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as he picked his way through all the scrap toward the large machine he had spotted.

'You almost sound like an expert,' came Donna's voice again.

August shrugged. 'Well, not really. Like I said before, this is all—was all fiction. A geek like me is going to sound like an expert to someone who—' he suddenly remembered who he was talking to— 'er… has something better to do with their life than watch telly all day, I suppose.'

'You realise Star Wars is not that niche, right?' replied Donna. August didn't need to look at her to know the face she was making. The sass exuded from her in waves, lighting his backside on fire.

August licked his lips and tried to focus on the machinery in front of him.

The tubes and wiring they'd been following all converged down into a bulbous, domed-shaped roof that hung just above his head. Underneath it were six nozzles pointing towards hexagonal, silver plates on the floor. Reaching up, August felt across the barrel of the nozzles, picking up a load of dust and oils on his fingertips. Bits and pieces of the nozzles seemed broken or at the very least badly damaged; the black-painted metal was dented in several places and rust scabbed over the inner lining. Bending down next to one of the large angular struts that kept the roof in place, August spotted a switch and pressed it in. A soft, blue glow began emanating from the plates followed by a weird warbling noise that made August's ears tingle.

'What're you doing? Do you even know what that thing is?' came Donna's voice from somewhere behind him.

As August moved towards the terminal near the machine that had also powered on, he admitted, 'No, but we're not going to learn much if we don't muck about. Besides—' he nodded up at the wiring on the ceiling— 'I figure since this machine seems to be connected to the tractor beam that drew us in, maybe we could jerry-rig it into pushing us back out again. Reverse the polarity, as the Doctor would say. Get the TARDIS out of harm's way and then we can have that talk just as I promised.' He paused to chew at his lip, glancing towards the bay doors. 'Let's just hope whatever opens up those doors is part of the same mechanism…'

Coming up beside him, Donna playfully slapped August on the arm. 'Good thinking, Skywalker.'

'Actually, Obi-Wan disabled the tractor beam on the Death Star. So, really you should say "Good thinking, Kenobi."'

Donna decided to ignore his correction, frowning at a different train of thought. 'Hold on, though. Why do we need to push the TARDIS out? Can't we just do the fading in-and-out of existence thing?'

August snorted. 'Do you know how to make it do that?'

For a moment Donna appeared puzzled as she looked at him, then all at once became terribly sad before sighing and shaking her head. 'Right. Pushing it is, then'

He stared at her a moment longer, guessing what she was thinking. It was easy to forget, in the heat of the moment, that the pattern you were used to following had changed. Autopilot had sent August crashing into a gift card stand once or twice at the museum when Lars had begun to figure out his habitual walk to the cash registers. He supposed the same was easy to do with people when you expect one person to be at your side only to find they'd been replaced with someone less experienced. Such as Lars.

August clenched and unclenched his bony hand and swallowed tightly before gazing down at the controls on the terminal. Hesitantly, he tapped at the main control button on the touch screen. That brought up a menu with two sets of XYZ coordinates. One was defined, the other undefined, followed by several sets of numbers that he supposed had to be a third, fourth, and fifth series of coordinates but more… spacey wacey. There were also labels for buttons reading: initiate, set, and locator, while the rest of the screen was filled with all sorts of digital bulbs and sliders that didn't appear to have any rhyme or reason. It took August exactly two seconds after looking over the controls to realise what the machinery was for.

'Ooooh, it's a transmat…' he breathed. He felt he should be more excited at the revelation, but he found himself disappointed that his idea for getting them out of the docking bay was a wash.

'What? Like those things the Sontarans used to teleport up to their ship?' asked Donna.

'Probably. Though this one's a bit dodgy looking compared to those and of a completely different design. It's got the classic blue glowies instead of pink and— Hold on, was that a test? Are you testing me?'

Donna gave August the most innocent look imaginable, shrugging. 'Blue glowies? That a technical term?'

August was at a loss for words, his mouth gaping open as he searched for a comeback.

Donna rolled her eyes. 'Oh, never mind it. You've basically proven your story by gawking like a fish at me half the time, so just tell me: can this thing get us out of here or not?'

At that question, August sighed. 'Maybe?' He shut his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 'A transmat and a tractor beam are completely different as far as I'm aware, but if the station's running them through the same power source, then there must be a connection. I just don't know where to look for it.' He then looked round. 'The wiring all goes back into the wall, further into the station. There's a door visible just beneath it. Are you up for it?'

'We don't have much of a choice, do we?' said Donna, motioning him forward. 'Lead the way.'

August nodded, but before moving on, asked, 'Have I really been gawking?' in perhaps his smallest voice.

Donna smiled all too sweetly. 'You'd think I was Madonna or something.' then she thought about it. 'Am I?'

'Are you what?'

'Am I played by Madonna in this television show of yours?'

August smiled endearingly. 'Oh, I tell you what, Donna. She's better than Madonna.'

On that note, he began picking his way back through all the clutter towards the small, silver door along the innermost wall just below where that clustering of wires began their way into the bay. Donna followed his path, as August habitually catalogued the odds and ins they passed—car muffler, part of an aeroplane's wing, some old boots, and a gigantic tyre—when a thought suddenly struck him.

That morning, at Nana's, he'd been cautiously wading his way through piles of antiques just as he was doing now through the similarly cluttered docking bay. Strangely, those memories of less than twelve hours ago seemed centuries old now. Almost as if they had occurred to someone else completely. Like a dream of something more ordinary.

How far away from home could he be? he began to wonder. And how long into the future? Nana and that little shop of hers were likely buried in some war that had happened since. Holly and Parady… How long did they look for him? A year? Two? Did they even know he was missing? Or had he become a vegetable? Was his body left to rot in a hospital bed while his mind was out among the stars? What would he do if he could never get home and was trapped wandering another universe for the rest of his life?

There was a pounding in August's chest as these panic-stricken thoughts began to roam free—untamed and unfiltered—filling his mind with all the questions and concerns he'd managed to keep loosely behind bars before. He still wasn't prepared to have them. However, trying to find some avenue of thought that didn't lead to outright panic resulted in August's mind stalling like an old 90s Windows computer on boot up. He started overheating. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His chest was on fire! He had to stop and bring his knees to his chest in a comical squat position as he held his aching head. That didn't help. He ripped off his tie, freeing his constricting throat. He tried pressing the palms of his hands against his chest in hopes that the pressure would stop the burning, but then he felt something completely different.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

And again.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Hearts. Plural. They beat away in his chest like madmen preparing for a million-mile marathon. The magnum opus' of Time Lord physiology—the proof positive of Gallifreyan genus; as much of a dream as real life was turning into.

August realised he was scared; completely and utterly terrified. That didn't feel like a secret to himself. He expected it. He expected to be afraid in the Doctor's impossible world. That was its nature and it was okay because he could always rely on the Doctor being there to stop the monsters. But the sound of those hearts in his chest denied him that comfort. The weight of them was as suffocating as it was intoxicating. Perhaps before, when he'd realized his incredible condition—he hadn't fully considered the implications. He wasn't just responsible for his own life anymore, but the Doctor's as well. One slip up and they'd both be dead. Or worse…

No wonder he'd been so numb before. How was anybody supposed to cope with the fate of the universe resting on their shoulders?

A delicate but firm hand suddenly gripped August's arm. Surprised, he whirled around, on the defensive, but then he saw Donna's big, kind eyes focused on him. 'It's okay, it's just me,' she said softly. 'Deep breaths.'

August did as he was told. Slowly the pounding in his chest subsided and he found he could focus. Immediately his cheeks reddened. 'Sorry,' he coughed, voice suddenly hoarse. 'I just… sort of… put everything into perspective. Hadn't had much time till now. Not with all the yelling, shaking, and then the "we're going to kill you" stuff.' He let out a terse laugh.

Donna took the Doctor's tie out of his clenched fist and moved to refasten it around his neck. 'It can be overwhelming,' she concurred, putting on her own brave face. 'Look on the bright side. At least you haven't had to deal with any giant bugs or potato people yet.'

August swallowed tightly, finding his voice again. 'Yeah,' he agreed, 'big empty space station's no big deal. Just another weekday, really.'

Donna snorted. 'Too right. You wouldn't believe the number of space places I've been to and yet, still, no Bahamas.' She finished knotting his tie, tightening it just below the collar, before nudging him forward. 'Now, come on. I'm going to need that geeky brain of yours if we're to get that tractor beam working.'

Although he'd never had reason to doubt Donna's capability to handle all manners of the unspeakable before, the level of care she was taking with him gave August the motivation he needed to keep on. Brave Heart, he told himself. If he wasn't able to get himself and Donna through this, there would be no chance of ever seeing Holly or his friends again. And that, he recognised, concerned him more than anything else at the moment.

At the inner bay door, August immediately noticed there were no handles or doorknobs to open it by. Thus, he had to be looking for a control panel of some kind which he found in a small, silver box with a paper-thin slit down the middle just within arm's reach of the door.

'Oh, that's familiar,' said Donna. 'Key card scanner.'

'And me without my I.D.,' tsked August.

That was when Donna offered him some of the most magic magical words in the universe, 'Try sonicing it.'

Oh, and there it was. That sprouting of childish glee that had to have been preparing itself all this time; carefully waiting until the perfect moment to blossom. Years he had spent crafting the perfect wielding technique, honing his thoughts so that the psychic link between him and the device would be in perfect sync for the day he got the chance to hold the real sonic screwdriver in his hands. It was a fact he would deny, but the precision from which he pulled the small, silver, cylindrical device from his inner jacket pocket was impeccable. The cobalt crystal at its tip gleamed in the stark white light of the bay, soaking up all the attention it deserved as part of the Doctor's toolkit. Pressing in the small, black button on the shaft, August watched as the crystal lit up with purple ecstasy—a low, buzzing hum accompanying—and grinned.

'Think and point,' said August, unintentionally putting on the airs of someone with immense knowledge on a subject they'd completely fabricated.

Donna was rolling her eyes. Men and their toys, she thought.

At the same time, August did as he instructed himself, poking the sonic in the direction of the card scanner, thinking, 'Open the door'.

But nothing happened.

Frowning, he then pulled the sonic in for inspection. Seeing nothing out of place he once again pointed it at the scanner, mentally shouting for the door to open upon his command.

Immediately a sharp, ear-ringing alarm screeched into existence.

'TURN IT OFF!' screamed Donna in a similarly sharp, ear-ringing tone.

August, reluctantly, peeled his hands away from his ears, pointing the screwdriver at the panel again, some very vulgar words thrown into his mental request to: 'shut the damn alarm off'. It stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and the door slid open. August went to smile, proud of his achievement, but then a very tall woman backed by two larger and burly men stepped through.

Ah, he thought. Here are the people that want to kill us.

There are moments; the most terrible of moments, when you wake up, and suddenly realise that everything has gone horribly wrong.

Not unlike when mam's vase sways on its podium before crashing onto the floor after you've knocked into it with your custom cardboard sled on the way down the stairs. Or when you laugh at a friend after a skateboarding incident only to realise, they aren't finding it as funny as you and, in fact, have brutally injured themselves.

Or perhaps it's like when you think someone you know is with you; someone you love has told you they love you back, and then you wake up and your stomach drops like a twenty-ton anchor as you remember you hadn't the nerve to tell them in the first place.

Maybe you'd dreamt the universe had become more impossible than imaginable. But what was a dream of wonder quickly turned to horror—creatures beyond the waking mind invaded and you'd found yourself trapped among them; small and frightened, unable to run, unable to hide—but then you woke up and it was a dream all along and you felt a momentous sense of relief.

Other times, on special occasions, the dream is encapsulated in light from the brightest candle on a birthday cake, promising to protect you from the monsters and share every piece of knowledge about the universe with you and you believe it because why not?

Because you know you'll wake up eventually and find that the monsters snuck in while you were sleeping. That bright, shining candle will be gone—just when you needed it most—and now what can you do? Surrounded in the dark?

In the bowls of storage bay ten, Jeanna screamed. And knew no more.

Security officer Tess Mayborune didn't love working aboard the space station. It paid the bills for her husband and daughter back home. That's what mattered. However, the job could get quite dangerous. The number of items stored within the endless bays that made up the majority of the station came from all manners of places. Some of the legal variety, others you weren't supposed to ask questions about. When Tess had gotten the news that a small, blue box labelled 'police' was being pulled into docking bay four with action 12B put in place, she knew it was going to be one of those more dangerous days.

Ikkeham and Roni backed her up just in case. Tess kept her pistol handy for when too many questions were asked or those waiting on the other side of the bay doors decided to try anything. Who knew what kind of police these two were? From the grainy security camera, they looked human but looks could be deceiving. The taller one had just set off the alarms after trying something on the card scanner, so she doubted they played things by the book.

As soon as Tess stepped into the bay, wielding her pistol, she shouted:

'Hands behind your heads!'

They obeyed and Tess took the time to look the two over. They were a man and a woman; the shorter being the latter dressed in a tattered, beaded, gold and brown dress that looked as if it had seen better days. The pin-ups in the woman's hair were loose, giving the impression the auburn locks were supposed to be wrapped up tightly in a neat little bun, but too much action resulted in piles of hair falling to her shoulders. She had a sneer on her face, though Tess quickly realised it wasn't levelled at her but at the woman's companion.

He was indeed as tall as he had looked on the security footage; likely the same age as his counterpart—mid-30s to early 40s at the latest. Handsome, tall, thin, and seeming somewhat giddy. He wasn't smiling, however. In fact, he was doing quite the opposite. An intense frown kept his mouth in check, but his eyes danced like a school boy's on their first trip to visit a space camp. Presumptuous, Tess decided and challenged it. The look lingered a moment before the man blinked and focused elsewhere.

'Who are you?' asked Tess, lowering her pistol, but keeping her gaze on him.

The woman cleared her throat, drawing Tess's attention to her. 'Donna Noble. Health and Safety,' she said with practised ease. 'This is my partner. The Doc—er…'

'Yes, Dr Keyes,' said the man, reaching out a hand to shake. Tess took it lightly. 'Also, Health and Safety. Course I am. Otherwise, I wouldn't be Ms Noble's partner!' His laugh seemed forced, clearly unused to announcing himself, unlike Ms Noble.

Tess raised an eyebrow. 'Credentials?'

Dr Keyes looked on for a second before Ms Noble elbowed him in the ribs, hissing, 'Paper!'

'Paper? Wha—Oh! Yes!' He began patting down his pockets. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for, producing a billfold the same colour as the box that stood innocuously in the bay behind them. 'Yes, here it is,' he said, flipping it open. 'All the credentials you'll need for one Ms Noble and Dr Keyes here to inspect your space station for health. And safety.'

Tess took the paper into her hand, squinting at the tiny script. It almost seemed… No, she could see it clearly. Two valid I.D.s from the Galactic Health and Safety office. Funny, she thought. There hadn't been any surprise inspections in ages. She looked between the two before her once again, then eyed their transport.

'Oh, yeah, right, our ship,' said Dr Keyes. 'Special issue from Health and Safety. Meant to reduce emissions and all that by being smaller and more compact. Like a smart car!' Then, under his breath, 'You still have those, I hope.' He cleared his throat. 'She got a little banged up on our way through the system. Ever so thankful you pulled us in with your tractor beam there. Fancy technology that, but erm…' He glanced at Ms Noble.

'We should get on inspecting, shouldn't we!' She forced a smile. Tess smiled back much the same.

'The commander will want to meet you first.' She turned towards the door, motioning Ikkeham and Roni to walk ahead of her. 'Dr Keyes? Ms Noble? Please follow me. Oh and—' she looked back at her new charges—'welcome aboard Eternis Station.'