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Cables spread from the reactor to the thrusters and stardrive that gave the ship motion; to the life support plants that gave it life; to the sensors that gave it eyes; and to the batteries of weapons that gave the Eret-mensaiki Ska its teeth. Beside the cables ran a network of extruded glass.

Through this network flashed digital instructions carried on the back of laser beams. The glass fibre nerves ran from every extremity, bunching at ganglia, thickening as they wound through the ship towards the hub. There they terminated at the centre of all commands – the bridge. And at the centre of the bridge was the Emperor – a white spider hanging in a silver web.

The Emperor oversaw the flight of the shuttle. Inside the bloated, round casing, data flickered through neural implants. If the Emperor had wished it, control of that flight could have been his if he willed it so.

Shuttle switching to docking mode, reported Tac-op.

On board the shuttle was the prize, the seminal device of the ancient Time Lords – the Hand of Omega. What do you think of that, Doctor? thought the Emperor. I know that you are down there, on that pathetic little world. What desperate plan can your devious mind devise now?

Vast doors in the belly of the mothership opened. With precise spurts of power the shuttle rose into the docking bay. The engines began to wind down. Multi-armed robots converged on its skin. A disembarkation corridor mated with the forward airlock.

Silent in the vacuum, the vast doors closed behind it.

20

Saturday, 17:15

‘Well, Doctor,’ said Gilmore, ‘are we out of the woods yet?’

Rachel stepped aside to allow the Doctor past. He checked the connections that ran from the transmat to the television.

‘Providing everything goes according to my plan,’ said the Doctor.

Allison shuffled closer to watch the Doctor work. He ran his fingers over the camera on top of the television, then down the cable to the transmat. ‘I don’t suppose you could let us know what your plan is?’ she asked.

‘It’s a surprise,’ said the Doctor.

‘Oh good,’ said Rachel. ‘I love surprises.’

The Doctor pulled a pair of tweezers from his coat and picked out a cable from the cabinet. He checked the end of the cable and frowned. He kicked the cabinet and looked at the cable, then at the cabinet. The Doctor lashed out with his foot: the transmat shook and a point of light appeared at the end of the cabinet. The Doctor straightened up, removed his hat and with a nervous little movement ran his fingers through his hair.

Rachel suddenly felt herself grow tense.

The Doctor replaced his hat and turned to face them.

‘How do I look?’ he asked. ‘No, don’t answer that.’

He turned back to the television and switched it on. As the set warmed up static filled the screen. The Doctor coughed once and brought the cable in the tweezers to his mouth.

‘Calling Dalek mothership,’ he said, ‘come in, please.’

Rachel felt a hand touch her forearm.

The Doctor banged the top of the television. ‘Dalek mothership, come in please.’ The static slowly cleared.

The hand slipped into Rachel’s – the skin was rough and warm. It was a man’s hand. Group Captain Gilmore was standing close behind her; his uniform brushed her shoulder.

An image began to form on the screen. The cellar seemed to grow darker.

The image was blurred, showing ghosted objects. In the centre was a Dalek with a bloated dome. There was an impression of space around it and of purposeful activity.

Gilmore’s hand tightened on Rachel’s.

‘Ah,’ said the Doctor, ‘there you are.’

Rachel looked away from the screen and at the Doctor.

Flickering light played across his face. His eyes were hard and bright. He seemed suddenly larger.

‘This is the Doctor,’ he said. ‘President of the High Council of Time Lords, keeper of the legacy of Rassilon, defender of the Laws of Time and Protector of Gallifrey. I call upon you to surrender the Hand of Omega and return to your customary time and place.’

"The misshaped Dalek on the screen shifted slightly.