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‘Who?’

‘Kilkan Si Ishkavaarr. A Draconian diplomat. Much like Thomas Jefferson, but with a bumpier head.’

‘I just wanted to get on with my life,’ Daniel muttered.

‘But you already made your decision. When you saved Roslyn Forrester’s life. And again, when you wished to stop the Bomb being used.’

‘Was that the future? Forrester said it was the future.’

‘Yes. The future isn’t always good, but –’

‘– but that just means I’ve got to make a better one, is that the idea?’ Daniel shrugged. ‘And I’ve already made the decision. Hahh.’

He stepped forward, towards the doorway.

‘One more thing,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Who’re you?’

The mouth sighed. ‘I used to be an interface. I used to be a point of contact between the TARDIS and its operators. But the TARDIS had its own ideas, as it always does. Now, I fear I’m simply a tool of the ship.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Didn’t understand a word of that.’

‘Nonetheless, I did appreciate the opportunity to tell someone about it,’ said the mouth.

‘Pleasure,’ said Daniel Tremayne, and stepped out into the darkness.

‘Listen. The universe is full of creatures that can get inside your soul. Things that try to take away the very things that make you who you are... are you listening?’

Yes, I’m listening. The words were so loud in Chris’s head that he wondered if one of his gynoids would be born with the sentence woven into its body, like letters in a stick of rock.

The Doctor’s warning. Maybe the Doctor had seen this coming when he’d said those words, all those months ago.

Maybe the Carnival Queen was the one he’d been warning Chris about all along.

‘Things that try to take away the very things that make you who you are...’ But what if the ‘things’ weren’t evil, or mad, or even bug-eyed monsters? What if the ‘things’ just wanted a chance to live in the kind of universe they felt they deserved?

And what if the ‘things’ actually seemed to like you?

– Tell me about your history, the Carnival Queen suddenly said. And the word ‘history’ stuck in her throat. – Tell me.

Tell me about the place where you were shaped.

‘Shaped?’ queried Chris. Funny way of putting it.

– Shaped. I think that’s the word I mean. I’m sorry if I sound distracted, Christopher, I’m somewhere else at the moment. Trying to have two conversations at once. Yes.

Shaped.

Chris shrugged. ‘Well... we lived on level fifty-three of the city. I mean, my family. We weren’t poor or anything. But Dad said we had to be careful, because the Adjudicators didn’t trust our bloodline. He said they always got suspicious of Adjudicators who interbred, however long their families had been on the force. Dad used to... um.’

– Chris?

‘Sorry. Just had this memory. Um. Frisbee. Why am I telling you all of this?’

– Ah. All those terrible, pointless restrictions you must have grown up with. Always having to be careful. Always having to look over your shoulder to make sure you were still in line. Oh, that’s better.

‘What?’

– You just made another gynoid. Look.

‘I did? Cruk. Didn’t notice.’

– Still much too rational, though. See, it’s even got a little nose. Cute.

‘Er. Look, I was going to ask... what about Roz and the Doctor? You said –’

– They’ll be here. Now stop concentrating.

‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’

Roz stumbled through the darkness, feeling her hands tear through the silver screen. The amaranth in her pocket jerked and skittered, trying to spin but not being able to find any new information to work from. The floor lurched under her feet, and she could hear waves lapping in the blackness. This was wrong. Sheol, of course it was wrong. This whole thing was like a bad Trauma trip, history pushing her from one timezone to the next with no sense of control. This, she thought, must be how Daniel feels all the time.

The amaranth gave one final turn, devised one last scenario, then gave up and was still. The cinema had turned into the hold of a ship, and the seats had become shelves. There was a smell...

Roz gagged.

There were maybe eighty blacks