"Concentrate. You're losing Herriot!"

 The Protean fell to the ground, spasming in pain. She reverted back to her Zoe form and fell unconscious. Rubenstein thought to herself for a moment.

 She began to walk towards her desk when the door burst open and uniformed soldiers ran into the room. Finding herself flanked by armed intruders, she stood perfectly still.

 Turlough walked into the room.

 "Ibbotson!" She looked surprised.

 "I believe you have some explaining to do," Turlough said to her as he pointed to the Protean on the ground morphing back and forth between its natural state, the Zoe state and the blonde woman.

 *************

 Chapter 5: The 'Corridors' Theme (reprise) by Rob Stradling

 One had been three miles up when the first bombs hit. Ninety-seven percent of her immediate family, and three other complete hives, had perished before she even reached the ground. She had been unable to landfall anywhere near home, as that sacred place, that she had left without thought the same morning, was but a droplet in a pool of molten slag by highsuns.

 She had had little time to mourn, as the strange hardshells rained from the sky and disgorged their fleshy cargo - hideous, fat tree-shaped things, with heads like yewyar roots and eyes like dead coals, which swarmed over the land like mammals, burning everything that moved. She had only survived by staying airborne for three whole days, her weakening wings aided by the unnatural thermals from the liquefying land. Not another had she met all that time, until she was rescued by a passing heal-team, miraculously operational in their well-equipped cloud-galley. Only then, as the story from around the world was told her, did One shed a whiff of sulphur - lost as it's meaning was in the strange new atmosphere of a world that was no longer home.

 For two whole seasons, she had worked with that small but dedicated hivelet, salvaging whatever and whoever could be sifted from the ashes of oblivion. When the living were finally counted, much later, they numbered one five-millionth of their remembered whole. A world that had been fertile and humid was shattered, poisoned and utterly defiled. Hives were established where they could be, their queens volunteers rather than the usual chosen. Scientific knowledge had been at a premium, and One had soon found herself on the advisory phalanx to the ruling gestalt. Working slavishly, in the painful isolation of their dilute numbers, they had rebuilt the Seren species from the cusp of extinction to a stable, thriving future. In two generations, they had come close to recapturing their former glory - and, through her efforts once again, were now at the crossroads of an undreamt opportunity.

 All of which considered, it was more than a little galling to find herself surrounded by sweaty, tree-shaped mammals once again, and looking once more down the barrel of one of their horribly unimaginative weapons. Memories released themselves into the superhighways of her insectoid brain, and something inside the Seren snapped like a frayed cable. With a spray of foul-smelling adrenalogue, she leapt towards her Trion tormentor, wings unfurling impressively in the cramped space of the room.

 She didn't make it halfway across the floor.

 "I said no firing, you fool!" Turlough screeched at the subordinate who had undoubtedly just saved his life. Inwardly, he cursed himself - if you really don't want foot-soldiers to shoot people, he thought, the only safe policy is not to give them guns. Turning to the prone Seren, he was nonplussed to see the Protean, now stable in the blonde stranger's form, kneeling over the body.

 "Then you'll no doubt be happy to hear that she's alive..." the woman said in a haughty, reproachful tone, "though an inch further to the right and she'd probably have exploded. I suppose I should give your man the benefit of the doubt, and congratulate him on an excellent shot."

 Turlough glanced briefly back to the trooper, who was desperately trying to make his six-foot frame look as small as possible. Switching his attention back where it was needed, he said, with all the authority he could muster, "And who, exactly, do I have to thank for that diagnosis?"

 The woman rose to her full height, taking care not to alarm the soldiers again. When Turlough signalled his men to lower their weapons, she visibly relaxed, threw her shoulders back, and gave a formal nod of the head.

 "Romanadvoratreludar, President of the High Council of Timelords, Heir to the Legacy of Rassilon, Matriarch of the House of Prydonia, Fellow of the Academy of Temporal Engineers..." - she paused to stared quizzically at the ceiling, - "...MPhil." she concluded with a smug smile.

 Turlough returned her smile with irony.

 "Major Vislor Turlough," he gave a barely perceptible signal, upon which the pulse-torches snapped up to cover Seren and Protean once more, "man with the guns." he concluded through that same smile.

 'Romana' stared into Turlough's eyes until he was forced to blink - damn, he hated that!

 "Are you completely insane?" the creature asked.

 Turlough failed to suppress a brief, humourless laugh.

 "Now let's see: I am a security operative from a small, insecure state, attempting - with no external pressure to do so, I might add - to avert a crime of temporal vandalism and quite possibly genocide in a star system light years from my normal sphere of operations. Yes, I can see how my actions may perhaps be deemed eccentric." he began to pace around her motionless form, much like he had seen interrogators do back home. "Nevertheless, when confronted by what appears to be a malfunctioning organic androgynoid who thinks it's the President of Gallifrey, I think I'm forced to differ on which of us is 'insane'. Now, are you going to revert like a good little slave, or am I going to have to ask one of my band of formidable marksmen to burn off your plasmidermis cell by cell?"

 "Look," the creature spoke calmly but with impatience, "I realise that up until now you have been dealing with a bland simulacra-" Turlough took the opportunity to make a mental note that his suspicions had been right. "- but things have changed - the contact and control have been reversed. I don't know how long my hold on the Protean will last, but for the moment, at least, we're on the same side - I'm as anxious to stop whatever's happening as you are."

 Turlough continued pacing, trying to fit yet more new pieces to the puzzle. Clearly, this was no standard Protean.

 "Keep talking..." he said.

 "What I told you was true - for the *real* me, anyway. That's why I recognised the anomaly with the girl Zoe, and traced her mental chains back here." She risked a bright, girlish smile, "I'm really quite clever, when you get to know me!" Her aristocratic features blurred for a moment, and Turlough saw Zoe's features reassert themselves.

 "What's going on?" Zoe asked. Turlough was about to answer when the Protean grimaced in concentration, and Romana's features returned. "Sorry, about that. Perhaps we should talk in private."

 "Calm yourself, sir." Dolon put as much soothing sweetness into his voice as his military and ceremonial training would allow him to recall. Judging that paralysis would now be self-maintaining for several minutes, he removed his thumb from Troilus' forehead, and stepped away from the kneeling figure. He tried not to notice the primitive human's pathetic attempts to break the neuron lock.

 "Why don't you slay us and begone, fiend?" Troilus growled, perplexed that he could still speak, yet otherwise not so much as blink.

 "Whatever you believe us to be, human, we mean you no harm. My companion is a personage of great import - a Queen, you might say - and she would wish only harmony between our people and yours. You friend ails, and we must seek the cause of her malaise if the truth about what you have experienced is to be known. You have my word, sir, that she will come to no further ill by our hands."

 "And what, then, have you done to me, treacherous monster?"

 "Feeling will return to your limbs in moments. I have a weapon, with which I could easily despatch you before that happens. I am hoping that my refusal to do so may go some way towards establishing trust between us."

 Dolon moved closer to the kneeling forms of Romana and Zoe, and surveyed the locale nervously. If he listened carefully. he could hear Romana muttering under her breath, but it was impossible to make out the words. Clearly, however, the President was in control. Hearing movement, he surmised that the male human was regaining mobility. He turned and watched as the man struggled uneasily to his feet, then cautiously moved towards him.

 "My name," he said, spreading his hands, "is Dolon."

 The man moved with staggering speed. Dolon had simply not been prepared for such agility so soon after recovery. Flinging the Gallifreyan aside, Troilus raced towards the women. Recovering his balance, Dolon saw the human bear down upon his helpless charge. Instinctively, he grasped his staser pistol and, hoping absently that it was still set to 'stun', he shot Troilus neatly between the shoulder blades.

 "Guard the human!" cried Demck, reaching for a weapon. He stared levelly into Olec's eyes for a moment "I want her in one piece when I return. *Breathing*."

 "Of course." Olec gave what for her race passed as a smile, "As agreed.". A couple of the snakes twitched, but otherwise her acquiescence seemed genuine enough. Signalling to 462ahw to follow, Demck made off in the direction of the sound.

 "Confess unease regarding motivations of Olec." the Vegan said as they ran, "Suggest you observe more closely. Opine that performance anxiety is making her..." he paused as the device at his chest bleeped,"...source translation as 'trigger-happy'."

 "She'll do as she's told," Demck replied, pausing to leap a huge boulder which the other wisely decided to side-step, "for now. She's depending on me for a good report. However much I agree that the woman is dangerous, she's also useful."

 "Express hope that your judgement is correct." 462ahw replied, adding hastily as Demck came to a sudden stop, "Share belief that this is the case, also."

 Ignoring him, Demck stared about for a few seconds, and sniffed the air.

 "This way!" he concluded, and bounded off in a new direction, leaving 462ahw standing.

 "Emote weariness and resignation." muttered the insectoid to himself, and scuttled after his commander.

 The creature hissed, and her 'hair' writhed repulsively. Vicki couldn't help thinking that, if this was indeed the being whose image would pass into mythology as Medusa, then the myths had actually been relatively kind to her.

 "Your chances of survival would be significantly improved by silence!" the thing snapped.

 Vicki knew the danger she was in, but also that Olec's orders kept her life, at least, safe for now. Still, she could not help but think of escape, and her thoughts raced. What would *he* do? Improvise, she thought; use the power of words, irritate and frustrate the enemy until it makes a mistake or drops its guard. This one seemed more sensitive than some - which, of course, also made her more dangerous. Vicki reached down and picked up the artefact.

 "So, what does it do, then?" she asked brightly.

 "Put that down." Olec cried. "You couldn't possibly begin to understand what it is, and I wouldn't explain if you could. Put it down, carefully, and walk away from it."

 "Well, I'm no expert, of course, but it looks like some sort of beacon device, to me. I should imagine you twist the top -"

 "NO!" the creature screamed, lunging at her.

 "- and press this?" Vicki finished, depressing the inset hieroglyph.

 Olec charged into her, pinning her arms to her sides. Vicki dropped the beacon, struggling as much to get her face away from the creature's foul breath as in the vain hope of escape. As they struggled, she noticed something in the water some way from the shore - a churning, bubbling motion, as if some great sea-beast were rising from it's slumber. The sound of the disturbance reached them now, and Olec stopped grappling, still holding Vicki in a firm bear-hug. As they both watched, something began to emerge from the sea - something black, and huge. Olec thought it looked like a ship of some sort, but the only ship - aside from their own - in the area was the Trion wreck, which was scattered in pieces at the bottom of the ocean.

 "Damn orders!" Olec hissed, and Vicki felt her legs go numb. As the creature released her, she realised that she was paralysed again, only this time just from the waist down. She stood, helpless, as Olec scuttled to retrieve her weapon.

 Turlough shrugged. "Almost no idea. However, my knowledge of time-corridor technology, sketchy though it is, tells me that you need more than just a thermonuclear bang to open one up. The Seren don't have the technology or the know-how to fill in the gaps, of that I'm sure."

 "Neither do the Trions, I trust...?" added 'Romana', with a quizzical frown.

 "Er... no. My knowledge comes from field work. There's a lot we in Security know of which our people are left blissfully ignorant.".

 "Even your government?"

 "*Especially* our government."

 "What an enlightened policy!", Romana chuckled. Turlough finally gave a genuine smile.

 "I have influence beyond my rank, I'm happy to say."

 "And wisdom beyond your loyalty. I'm impressed."

 "Let's just say I have a more holistic viewpoint.", Turlough said, "I like to think myself loyal to my people, but the government is not the people, particularly on Trion."

 "Indeed. Well, shall we slip into something less comfortable?"

 Turlough frowned humourlessly.

 "I mean", said Romana, "shall we rejoin your comrades and our prisoner?"

 "Ah. Gladly." Turlough opened the cubicle door and stepped back into the office, where his men watched over the stirring form of the Seren. Romana followed him, sealing the cubicle behind her. Had she been in her real body, such intimacy would have been embarrassing, but privacy had been essential. As it was, she felt that the Trion had been more embarrassed than she, which couldn't hurt.

 One of Turlough's subordinates handed him a sheaf of papers. "Found these on the prisoner's desk, sir." Turlough thumbed through the documents. They appeared to be instructions regarding salvaging a wreck off the coast of Greece. The time frame given coincided with the era to which Zoe had been sent... and also the last known location of the Trion survey ship Rubenstein had asked about. Pieces fell together in Turlough's head, but the picture was still incomplete.

 "Ibb.. Ibbotson... you fool, why...?" Rubinstein croaked.

 "My name is Turlough," Turlough snapped, "and I've had quite enough of games."

 The Seren rose to a seated posture, appearing to recover quickly.

 "My name would smell overpowering to you - but a translation might be 'One of Many', which is not as apt now as it was when I was hatched."

 "Our agreement was that you would provide the information from Herriot's mind and leave. I don't seem to recall any mention of time corridors, Proteans, or thermonuclear explosions. I'm going to ask this once, and once only - why did you send Herriot into the past, and what do you need a thermonuclear bomb for?"

 Rubinstein was silent.

 "I warn you," Turlough continued, "that I'm asking this out of concern for your people in the field as much as for the countless millions who'll suffer if your plans succeed. If they have activated any Trion machinery, they are in great danger."

 Still, the Seren stared stoically at him with a thousand cold eyes.

 "You see, 'Professor', you were not the only one who withheld information - though I did so for less selfish reasons."

 "Turlough," interjected Romana, "are you sure it's wise to -"

 "I'm trying to prevent *any* bloodshed, Madam President - that includes Miss Herriot, and even Rubinstein's goons if I can." He turned back to the Seren. "The Trion ship your friends are excavating didn't crash on a survey mission - it was being pursued by a rebel frigate. Naturally enough, the fate of that ship is lost to our history - but as your friends are working only a few weeks after the crash..."

 Rubinstein puffed acid in horror.

 "Are you telling me there's an active, hostile Trion ship in the vicinity of my dig?"

 "It's possible, yes. And if they detect emissions from the Naval vessel or any of its technology - "

 "Er - Turlough..." Romana took him aside, and whispered urgently.

 "My TARDIS, my companion, and the *real* me, are there, too - and while I'm here, I can't *move* there."

 "Well, then I suggest you break the link and leave me to clear up here - I can deal with the Protean."

 Romana's voice took on urgency for the first time.

 "That's just it, Turlough - I *can't* leave. The Protean seems to be fighting me, and while it does, I can't break the link without killing myself and Zoe!"

 "I see." said Turlough, reaching to his belt. He glanced meaningfully at Romana, who answered with a resigned nod.

 "This won't hurt a bit, Madam President." he said, and, calmly raising his pistol, shot Romana in the chest.

 "Yes, I'm still alive!" mumbled Troilus, his face half buried in the ground. "How many more indignities do the Demons intend before I die?"

 "I'm sorry I had to restrain you again." Dolon said, "but you would have killed them both had you disturbed them."

 "Why do you still pretend to care about us, Demon?" raged the prone human, trying to force his anaesthetised muscles into motion. "You still deny your nature? Why, any fool knows that only Gods and Demons have weapons such as yours!"

 Dolon remained crouched by Troilus' side. He wondered if he really would have to kill this human to protect his mistress. Looking over at where Romana sat with the human girl, he shivered at her defenceless position. If he couldn't reason with the man, he would have to place the President's safety first. He placed a hand on Troilus' shoulder.

 "I understand your fear, human, but you must simply trust me. My weapon is quite capable of sending you to meet your Gods should I desire it - which, as I repeat, I do not. It is called a Staser, and I assure that there is nothing like it, divine or otherwise, anywhere in Greece, or indeed -"

 He froze as he felt something press into the back of his neck.

 "Advise that you have been misinformed." rasped an electronic voice in his ear.

 TO BE (of course) CONTINUED....