Ibbotson winced. "She seems to be holding up her end of the bargain. She's been a bit careless in dealing with the subject, but there doesn't appear to be any major problem. I certainly don't trust her, but I've told you that before, Director."

 "Indeed you have. Transport is on the way. Good work, Turlough."

 Chapter 3: Running Interference
by John "Omega" Seavey

 Many people have attempted to describe the sound of a TARDIS materializing. Some call it a "wheezing, groaning noise"; others use descriptives such as a metal pipe being run up and down a length of piano wire. Still others simply use the onomatpoeic word, "Vworp". However, in this particular instance, the sound was irrelevant, as there was no-one around to hear it. This particular TARDIS arrived in a deserted clearing, and its chameleon circuit quickly determined that its current form as a World War I era tank could be considered somewhat conspicuous, and changed it into a small tree instead. From behind this tree, a slim woman with long, blonde hair stepped out, followed by a young man in a red uniform with white piping. They were too late, though, to hear the sound, and not inclined to describe it in any case.

 "Milady President," the young man said, glancing around nervously, "I still protest this--this interference in this planet's history! I am well aware, of course, of your Interventionist policies, but surely there are agents more suited to this sort of action than your august self--"

 "Don't be silly, Dolon," Romana said, closing and locking the TARDIS door. "I was interfering with things long before any of our agents were, and I was trained by the best. Now, I agreed to have you along on all this because the High Council insisted, but I really don't see why I have to listen to you, too."

 "But we are in the distant past of a primitive planet! There could be unimaginable danger here! We could be subject to any number of primitive rituals and deadly wild animals! This--"

 "This 'Ancient Greece', Dolon, is widely considered by the natives of this planet to be one of the first flowerings of peace and civilization. It's perfectly safe." Romana was willing to admit the slight exaggeration of 'perfectly safe' to herself, if not to Dolon. "Just between you and me," she added as she began to stroll off, "I don't think there's much to this 'unauthorized temporal interference' that the CIA were warning of. Probably just a minor natural phenomenon, easily dealt with over the course of an hour or so. I just wanted to get away for a bit, take a holiday, and this seems to be a perfect excuse. Now, let's get moving--the chronon detector indicated one of the sources of the anomaly just over this ridge."

 Dolon moved along, his eyes darting about in search of unknown danger. Romana was the High President, of course, and he was bound to obey her, but it was quite obvious that she'd been overly influenced by association with renegades. Like that one fellow...what was his name again?

 She had hoped it would be different this time. She had hoped that despite the other lies they'd told her, the Delphi Institute would at least have cured this. But as she fell asleep on the rough ground, lulled by the flickering light of the fire, she found herself here again. A field of mud and grasses, trampled by thousands of feet in a senseless war (which war?), looking for something. And the music...she kept hearing it, a loud, tuneless hooting noise that threatened to drive her out of her mind.

 Maybe she should see a doctor.

 And every time she thought that, the man with no face was standing there, looking at her, his expression hidden in shadows, always seeming to convey an air of terrible sadness. And every time, she'd reach out, and every time, the dream would start again, night after night after night after night...

 Zoe woke up screaming. Again.

 The vid-phone rang, and Zoe answered it. "Hullo," she said breathlessly.

 "Hullo, Zoe," Bromley said. "Sorry to wake you up so late."

 "No, no worries," she said. "Couldn't sleep. I kept dreaming I was in Ancient Greece..."

 Bromley looked at her with an expression of concern. "I thought you were better now."

 Zoe smiled beatifically, as though she'd never brought up the problem. "I am. What's up?"

 "Um...well, we've had a bit of a problem with Space Probe Seven. It's altering course in unforseen ways, it's having some sort of anomalous readings in its fusion reactor systems--are you sure you're alright?"

 "Of course I am," she responded, a touch testily. "I presume you want me down at the lab?"

 "As soon as you can get there. Bromley out."

 Olec looked over at 462ahw, a sheepish expression on her face. The small snakes that nested on her head in symbiosis, though, continued their dominance displays for the choice nesting spots on the scalp.

 462ahw's expression was impossible to read. Its large, multifaceted eyes betrayed no emotion as it snacked on a small clam. From its translation device, though, it emittied clicks and whistles that approximated commonspeak. "May release you, provided you agree to frighten humans from area. Ask you questions first, however. Advise you to answer."

 "Um...like what?"

 Olec looked at her. "Like what is a native of a planet that can't even master elementary combustion engines doing using a language invented by and for space-faring beings?"

 "Ah. Well." This was something that had never come up until now. In a society where population levels weren't stringently monitored, and nomadic societies were still frequent, there didn't tend to be too many questions about where you came from. She tried to think back to the Doctor's usual tactics, when he was asked where he came from.

 "Er...you probably wouldn't believe me."

 "Try us."

 OK, that was usually the response they gave to the Doctor as well. Time to try the next thing that the Doctor usually did, under the circumstances.

 "I'm a time traveller. I'm actually from several hundred years into the future, and I've come back in time--"

 "I have heard enough," said a deep voice from behind her.

 "Note Demck!" clicked 462ahw. "Wanted to ask for your opinion."

 Vicki turned around to see a large--no, a huge--humanoid standing behind her. He was covered in light brown fur, much like a seal, and was dripping wet. His eyes were almost wholly black in color, and large tusks jutted out from his mouth. He carried in his arms a variety of electronic devices, most of them coated in barnacles and slime from the seabed.

 "Did you find the power core?" asked Olec.

 "Not yet," Demck said. "But it is not important at the moment."

 "Heard you say 'Not important'?" 462ahw clicked. "Ask you to recall the Plan. Seem to recall that the Trion power core was essential to extend the time corridor--"

 "It is not important," rumbled Demck, "when set against the importance of a spy in our midst!" He pointed to Vicki. "She claims to be a time traveller. That places her into one of three camps. Either she is a Sontaran--"

 "Which I doubt," Olec said wryly.

 "Or she is a Dalek agent--"

 "Express skepticism," 462ahw clicked. "Know that Daleks have many virtues in war -- also know subtlety is not one of them. Know that Daleks simply overrun the position, not bother with spies."

 "Then that means she must be affiliated with the Time Lords. And if the Plan is to succeed, she must die!"

 Ah, yes, Vicki thought miserably. That was usually the sort of response the Doctor got as well.

 Zoe spun around to look at the person who had approached their fire. She was blonde, and had an aristocratic air about her.

 Zoe forced a smile, her face ashen, and looked down at Troilus. He appeared not to have stirred yet, despite the commotion. "No, I...I feel fine. Really."

 The lady smiled, and sat down. "Well, someone should tell that to your face--it looks as though you've seen a ghost. And your companion--Dolon, fetch the first aid kit from the TARDIS."

 Dolon's face soured. "But I should not leave you alone with--"

 "A young girl? Remind me to tell you about the Great Vampire sometime." She sighed, and turned her attention back to Zoe. "Sorry...are you sure you're feeling alright?"

 "I've just been having bad dreams lately."

 "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, as she pulled out a small hand-held device and ran it over Zoe's body. "I don't suppose that you've been having any other odd experiences lately? Massive chronon backwashes, telepathic drains, time travel, that sort of thing?"

 Zoe looked at the woman in astonishment. "Who are you?"

 "My name's Romana, the fellow standing out there in the darkness waiting for you to try to sacrifice me to your gods would be Dolon, and we're here to try to figure out what's going on." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just between you and me, I think this might not be as much of a vacation as I'd hoped."

 Rubenstein said, "Troilus?"

 "Bromley. I meant...should I be dreaming?"

 Privately, Rubenstein cursed in a dialect that smelled like curdled milk. Admittedly, there was a certain calculated risk in keeping the Protean's mind open to the human girl's. It was necessary, though. Her memories and technological knowledge were needed in order to perform the necessary modifications to the probe, and her knowledge of Zoe's life helped to divert suspicion. However, if the Protean was beginning to assimilate other aspects of Zoe's life...

 Rubenstein mentally crossed her wings and shrugged. "Do not worry. These effects are only temporary. Shortly, you will not have to maintain that form. Once we gain full mastery of time travel, these humans will become irrelevant...indeed, they will never have existed at all."

 "So you originally went to this 'Doctor Rubenstein' to deal with memory loss?"

 "Yes," Zoe replied, "You see, Romana, I've been having noticeable degradation in memory retention levels ever since I was on the W3 station. There was an attack by Cybermen, but the Doctor and Jamie drove them off, and then I--" there was a brief pause-- "went home to Earth shortly afterwards."

 Romana's face fell. "Did you say the Doctor?"

 "Yes," Zoe said brightly. "I'd almost forgotten about him."

 "Actually," Romana said glumly, "I rather believe you have."

 Of course, it was still odd that they gave away all this assistance, simply for records of Trion survey missions conducted several thousand years ago.

 A sudden jolt shook Turlough out of his reverie, as the Trion shuttle connected its airlock to the larger ship. Picking up the memory crystal that was the point of the entire expedition, he left the shuttle and took a hypertram to the main bridge.

 "Ah, Turlough," the commander said as he entered the bridge. "Your journey went well, I trust?"

 "As well as can be expected," Turlough responded politely. "The humans did not detect anything out of the ordinary about our shuttle, and the Seren were most polite hosts."

 "Good, good," the commander affirmed. She turned to point towards a monitor. "Now that you're back, though, there is a bit of a problem that we were hoping you could help us with." She slid her hand over a touch-sensitive control, and the main display lit up with a freeze-frame of Zoe in a forested grove.

 "If there's anything I can do to help, Commander, feel free to ask." He looked at the screen. "Is this an archived transmission?"

 The Commander looked uncertain, and Turlough felt the first shivers of fear caress his spine. "Not...exactly. We found this signal piggybacked onto a Trion distress beacon--the beacon itself must have been destroyed quite some time ago, but the signal had maintained remarkable integrity over the years, although there was some data loss.

 "We're still trying to trace the signal back to its point of origin, but the real oddity is in the message itself." She turned to face Turlough. "It's addressed to you."

 Turlough blinked in confusion. "To me? Personally? But how? Zoe only met me for a few seconds, and that was under a cover identity. There's no possible way she could have--"

 "Just listen to the message, Turlough." The commander slid her palm across another control, and the freeze-frame jerked into life.

 "--Turlough. I repeat, this message is addressed to Vislor Turlough. You have been--" a brief wash of static obscured the next part of the message-- "and I was replaced. They have sent--" the sound cut out abruptly-- "as part of their plan to gain time travel. I am--" *crackle*-- "focus of time corridor--" another moment of silence-- "Space Probe Seven; they've turned it into a fusion bomb. They plan to send it back and destroy--" The message ended.

 "That's all you could get?"

 "We have technicians working to restore the recording even as we speak. From what we've already heard, though, it seems that you have some explaining to do."

 Turlough was already racking his brains, trying to figure out what might have happened. "Time corridor...time corridor! They must have sent her back in time!"

 "And how did she know your name?"

 "She must have met me--must be about to meet me--will have met me--" he stopped, trying to let his thoughts catch up with his words. "At some future point, I will meet her in the past." The others looked blankly at him. "Don't you see? I'll be going after her."

 TO BE (of course) CONTINUED...