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A sneakered, ponytailed intern was pushing the gurney. The Doctor lay on it, partly covered by a white sheet. They had already put one of those plastic tags around his toe, labelled John Doe in smudged blue pen. A single trickle of blood had run down from his scalp, across his left temple.

Benny stretched out a hand, but the intern grabbed it before she could touch the Doctor. ‘What are you doing down here, Señorita? Did you know this man?’ she said around her chewing gum.

Benny the tough as leather, Benny the invincible, caught the edge of the gurney, found herself kneeling beside it, gripping the frozen steel for comfort. ‘This can’t be happening,’ she protested weakly. ‘Oh God, this isn’t happening.’

There were footsteps, echoing in the dark tunnel. The intern looked up. ‘Don’t you people know this area’s off limits to the public?’ she said, irritated.

Benny raised her head. It was Cristián.

He pushed past the intern, put his left hand on the Time Lord’s face and said, ‘Wake up.’

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, bright blue and alert. ‘Otiquihiyohuih,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been having a little think.’

Benny yelled. The intern fainted.

* * *

Ace found herself being examined by a horrible face, a face like Cristián’s, but horrible, painted half blue and half black, white teeth standing out against the coloured lips. The face was surrounded by hair bleached white with time. He was saying something to her, some word that she couldn’t understand.

‘Who are you?’ She couldn’t speak properly – there was something on her mouth. On her mouth and nose, blocking out the air. She clawed at it. ‘Get it off,’ she muttered.

The mask came away from her face, and she gulped air that tasted of disinfectant. ‘Medic,’ she said weakly.

‘I’m here,’ said the Doctor. He looked up at Cristián. The Mexican looked grim, his arms folded. He was wearing a black coat over his pyjamas.

Cristián shook his head. ‘It is gone,’ he said. ‘Whatever it was, it’s gone.’

Ace said, ‘Hey, Doc, you look like I feel.’

‘How do you feel, Ace?’

‘Like a pile of shit. What the frag happened?’

Benny rolled her eyes. Ace was going to be just fine.

‘Booby‐trap,’ said the Doctor. He glared at the grey‐haired medic, who scuttled to check on her next patient. ‘Meant for me.’

‘The hotel,’ said Ace. ‘Somebody knew you’d come snooping around eventually. So they left a bomb behind for you to find.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘A telepathic bomb. A pool of psychic energy. Just waiting for a trigger.’ Suddenly he took her hand, squeezed it. ‘I told you to leave the research to me.’

‘It’s a trap,’ said Bernice. ‘The whole situation is a trap. Doctor, we can’t stay.’

Already Ace was swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She was wearing a murky green hospital robe, open down the back. Cristián blushed delicately and retreated. ‘Where the hell are my clothes?’ said Ace. ‘For that matter, where the hell is my gun?’

‘Ace!’ said the Doctor. ‘We had an agreement!’

Ace reached for the bedside table, discovered her shades, and pushed them onto her face. ‘Let’s get the frag out of here.’

* * *

The morgue attendant probably would have seen the joke. He might even have laughed. But all he did was lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

The Doctor put a finger to his lips as he led them through the morgue. Cristián’s eyes were raking the floor, the ceiling, the rows of metal wash‐basins against the wall, anything but the work‐benches with their heavy burdens. Benny took his arm. He was shaking all over, as though he’d used up all his courage in just coming to the hospital.

The Doctor stopped short, looking at his handiwork: the attendant and the madman, lying side by side on the metal benches, with those ridiculous little tags hanging from their toes.

‘They had no idea…’ he breathed. He reached up and plucked a piece of broken lightbulb from his scalp. ‘I wonder if it would have made any difference?’

‘Not knowing why they were dying?’ said Ace. ‘Doesn