"My name is Sylvia Fields. I am Homo Equine. I am 26 years old, born on the Human-Equine colony Pandeus. My parents moved to Earth when I was 13. They lived in London, Zone 1. I moved to Fort William, Zone 1, when I was 23 to take up a position at Marley Industrial Chemicals."

The Equine woman's drugged up to her eyeballs. She'll tell them anything - everything - they want to know. And she can't help herself; she isn't really conscious right now.

"When did you get involved with this... Humanoid?"

Points at me.

"Eight months ago. The Chief Executive Officer of Marley's Industrial Chemicals division had recently been replaced. The replacement was the Doctor's rival, the Master. The Master had... had killed Alex, my fiancé. My parents had died in a car crash four months previously. I had nothing left of any value in my life."

"The Doctor... do you know what species he is?"

"He calls himself a Time Lord. I don't know anything else."

"What about his TARDIS? Do you know where it is? Is it a 20^th-Century Police Box?"

"His ship? It's a Police Box. Where is it? He sent it into the Vortex. He'll recall it when he needs it. I don't know how."

"He must have a Stattenheim control on him. Damn, should have thought. The Master won't like that. At least, though, he's tied right now. You! Search him!"

One of the Human lackey's own lackeys approaches me. He 'searches' me.

"Idiot. I said search him, not beat him. Still, at least you found it. OK. Sylvia, why did the Doctor return here?"

"I don't know. He told me there was 'unfinished business' with the Master's interests in Marley."

"Did he know the Master brought a controlling stake in it using stolen Mafia drugs money?"

"He may have."

"Does the Doctor know about the Master's interests in Marley Industrial Chemical's development plans? Especially with regards to those chemicals developed for their genetic material-altering properties?"

"Yes."

"Good. The Master will be very interested in trying... certain items... on the Doctor."

"I'm sure he will."

The man laughs at me.

"I know he will be."

"You have the Doctor?"

"Yes, Master. And the Equine woman who'd alerted him to your interest in Marley."

"Bring them to me. We'll use the last products to roll off Marley Industrial Chemical's product line on the Doctor. As for that female... some of the older stock of chemicals can be allowed to work their magic on her."

I put down the phone. It's good to hear that Finch has captured the Doctor. I knew the idiot wouldn't be able to resist it when I began to resume my... meddling... with this period of Earth's history.

This period of Earth, just after the recom experiments, just before the Dalek Invasion, has presented a perfect opportunity for me. Marley goes bankrupt thirty days before the Invasion begins... in a year's time. The Equine recoms on Earth are exterminated during the bacterial bombardment, a peculiarity of their genetic make-up making the Dalek diseases even more virulent to them. So, I suppose I'd be doing that Equine woman - Sylvia, I think - a favour by letting those chemicals kill her now. Oh, well.

I'm not sure what effect X3I will have on the Doctor's half-breed genes, only that it will be an interesting one. With any luck, it'll turn him into a pool of slime. After an agonising death first, of course. It'd be amusing if he survived that. Imagine, keeping the Doctor's mutated remains as a pet. Ah, well, I can but live in hope. They won't get here yet. I've given Finch express orders to bring the Doctor here covertly. You never know what friends he may have.

Sylvia's sleeping the remnants of the drug off now. This transport's going somewhere, by the feeling of movement. I'm not sure where, there are no windows and beside that, I'm blindfolded, gagged and tied. So's Sylvia. The Master's servant has said that he plans an especially horrific fate for myself and Sylvia. I'm not keen on us being there to find out.

The problem is one of escaping before we get to him, then. And that won't be easy. We're sealed off from the outside world and the driver. We need something to happen, and quickly, to ensure our survival.

And it may just be happening. He's braking, hard. We're turning, turning over. Rolling. Stopped. That was rough! My head's against the side of the transport. I rub it against it and manage to dislodge the blindfold. Sylvia's lying sprawled in a corner of the van. I hope she's all right. Now the next job is to get free.

Idiots.

They'd gone before Finch's men had arrived. That means they could be anywhere.

"Finch! Have your men found the Doctor and the Equine yet?"

"No, Master. We don't think they've gone far."

"No, Finch, you don't think. Find them or else!"

This is really scary.

No, scrap that. I'm absolutely petrified.

"You're lucky I heard you in the back of that thing. What were you doing in there, anyway?"

"You don't want to know, you really don't. Anyway, I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Sylvia, who's currently unconscious. The Master's servants will be looking for us here, we should really get moving."

"Who?"

"No time for explanations, just help me move her. We have to get away from here!"

Is this man mad or am I the one who's insane? Considering that they were tied up in the back of that transport, it's rather depressingly looking like I'm the crazy one around here.

"Where are we going to take her?"

"Somewhere away from here would be a good start."

"Will they be looking for us?"

"Undoubtedly."

This is bad, real bad.

"This is the middle of nowhere!"

"We'd better find somewhere, regardless."

Methinks this poor Skunk recom's getting himself into more trouble than he realises. It's just too bad I can't do anything about it right now.

"She isn't going to recover anytime soon. She'll need hospital treatment if she's going to survive. It's too bad your transport was destroyed in that accident."

"Hadn't we better try to make sure she doesn't bleed to death on us first? She took one hell of a battering in that accident."

He's right, of course. Sylvia is bleeding, profusely. Death is inevitable unless it's stopped. She'd been impaled on something in the transport. Thankfully, a judicious use of a strip of my shirt soon stops that. Death from blood loss is unlikely, at least for now.

Copyright 2001, Stuart Moore.
Daleks created by Terry Nation.
"Doctor Who" and all related trademarks and copyrights are the property of the BBC.