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The little Pilot had struggled free of the Shonnzi guard. He backed away from the struggling Processes and stared up at the descending globe. "Silly grumblies," he said. "It's a great big egg. Anyone can see that!"

The Doctor winced. The moon had looked to him like a roundel in the walls of his lost TARDIS. It took the child Shonnzi, his protégé, to see things that were lost on the fuddled brains of adults. Inside the shell of the vast globe, something was moving. The shadow writhed inside its egg. In the Cat's Cradle, where Time was tangled, the tyrant despot Process had summoned its own Beginning. The monster was supervising its own birth.

It couldn't be allowed.

The younger Process arched up from its hideous crime. Black blood slobbered on its footmouth. "The Future, it is corrected! Now, there is only Now!"

"Wrong again, Process," called the Doctor. He nodded up at the mottled egg. Cracks were appearing in the shell. "Your own Beginning is about to correct you!"

The Process emitted a gurgling shriek of frustration. "My guards. Their minds sustain the World. They can destroy you."

The scattered guards turned in one movement towards him. A wave of the Process's hatred, amplified through their telepathy, bowled the Doctor off his feet. He scrambled for cover, but found himself lifted into the air. Higher and higher he rose, flailing on a crest of malice. His ship was slipping away from him. He heard the clanking bells and the howl of the Banshee. The shell of the egg was closer and closer. It was splitting across. He didn't know what he was saying or how to stop it. No one had told him.

"Ace!" he choked. "Use all available resources!"

The other Phazels were backing off in terror. Ace watched the Doctor spin helplessly in the air high overhead. She saw the massive moonshell splitting open. Suddenly the dimensions were changing. The walls were shrinking. She saw the bulging TARDIS doors split open as the newborn Process emerged.

"It's the Beginning again, Professor," she called. "I've seen it before!"

She ran across the floor of the Tower and grabbed at the filament, pulling it desperately towards him.

The Beginning. This is what he was seeking. A fresh page or canvas.

"Guards! Phazels!" he cried, his voice cracking under their onslaught. "Chronauts, listen to me! This is the Beginning. You are free people. You are reborn. The Process has no power over you yet!"

He dipped in the air as he felt their will falter. Close above him, he glimpsed slimy hide through the cracks in the shell. Below him, the Process gurgled with murderous rage.

"You have a choice," persisted the Doctor. "Reject the Process's cruel slavery and find your homes again! Remember Gallifrey!"

He heard a telepathic sigh of release.

The power snapped and he plunged towards the floor. He snatched at the filament pulled by Ace and swung on it, his hands bleeding again.

On the floor below, the Process shrieked. Its guards were pulling off their lifeless helmets. They swayed uneasily, stunned by their release.

A cascade of broken shell fell from the egg. The new Process squealed as it began to force its way out.

Vael watched both Ace and the Pilot run towards the little runt Shonnzi and hug him.

When Vael saw himself, his own future, released and stumbling towards him, he gave a cold laugh. And his future laughed too. Then a bolt of pain knifed into their brains. It was the eye that lived with him again. The insane old woman who thought he was her princeling. He would reject her and still have the power she promised. He was an Individual.

A boom like thunder. The whole Tower jolted. The shrinking world beyond had reached the bounds of the fortress.

"Chronauts," called the Doctor from above. "I need your power now! I claim my TARDIS back!"

They were reunited at last. The minds of the Gallifreyans bonded in one thought — to restore the power of their deliverer.

The bells of the Tower rang out. And at last, the chime was complete. The chimes of the Jibert Cathcode Troisième