Dave's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, clutching his wounded shoulder. His free hand automatically touched a red button on his belt. Fliss walked into the room and stood over him. Her mouth was hanging open, a far-away smile. Her face was drained, her determined eyes dead, and Dave's fresh spurt of blood across her hand ran over dry, congealed stains from an earlier killing.

 Dave stared up at her, confused and terrified, and then he looked over his shoulder at the Doctor.

 "Help me," he wheezed.

 "Hello," said the Doctor, walking forward and looking at Fliss. She glanced upwards, away from Dave, and her eyes locked with the Doctor's.

 In one of those strange moments of clarity that we hear about so often, Dave noticed that the Doctor hadn't dressed himself properly after his relaxation. His ridiculous scarf, usually wrapped so safely around his shoulders, was draping down to his crooked elbows and trailing onto the floor.

 "Now, I want everyone to remain calm," the Doctor continued.

 Dave saw Sarah backing away from the situation, to the side and out of Fliss' view. Clever girl, he thought.

 "We've all been through a lot recently, but I'm sure we can sort all of this out." The Doctor was standing over Dave now, within Fliss' reach.

 And then, suddenly, his left hand flashed out, round Fliss' wrist. And Fliss' wrist was suddenly wrapped in dusky coloured material. He was gripping his scarf, holding it tightly between both of his hands, sweeping it down as he leapt over Dave and round, behind Fliss.

 The scarf seemed to pull tight in the air, and Dave saw that Sarah was holding the other end and running behind Fliss. The Doctor and Sarah passed each other in the open doorway. Dave was sure they were moving fast, but he was a bit stunned so their pace seemed almost leisurely to him.

 Fliss' knife arm was pulled down and flat against her body. The scarf pulled tight around her waist and thighs, like a noose around the neck of a condemned man as the trap door is released beneath his feet. She pitched forward and landed on top of Dave. Sarah stamped on Fliss' wrist and the hander dropped the dagger. The Doctor swiftly knelt down beside her.

 "It's over now," he said in hushed tones. "You can relax. Sleep."

 And then Fliss rolled off Dave and onto the floor, dozing soundlessly.

 And then the lights went out. Completely.

 "It's a power drain," said Dave from the floor.

 In the sunlight filtered from the corridor, the Doctor and Sarah helped Dave to his feet. They undid the top of his shirt and exposed the wound.

 "My jacket," he pointed to his grey jacket, folded neatly over the back of a chair. "There's a healing patch in the left pocket."

 Sarah found the patch and gave it to Dave, who put it over the wound on his shoulder.

 "How do you know it's a power drain, and not ORG?" asked Sarah.

 "Oh, it probably is ORG. It's the only thing that could be using all the power. I imagine. Though I hate to think what it's using the power for. But the power is being tapped and used elsewhere, ORG hasn't just switched the lights off. If that were the case, the emergency systems, over which ORG has no control, would have come on. No, there's no power for lights. Or for the doors. I'm assuming ORG's terminals will still be operating. I activated a distress signal, alerting my guards and the company. Emergency teams should be on their way right now."

 "But if all the systems have shut down, how will they get in here?" asked Sarah.

 "Erm. Yes, that may be a problem. We'll just have to hope for the best. I'll go back to my office. Try and talk to ORG from there."

 "That may not be enough," said the Doctor.

 "Doctor, I know a lot has happened. A lot of terrible things. But I must try all I can to save ORG from itself. To stop it without killing it. ORG is so special, one of the first and only of its type. Two centuries and it hasn't become obsolete, despite the impossibility of upgrading it or transferring its systems."

 "Only because the next step in computation process is something humanity is too afraid to take. And possibly with good reason. I understand. But ORG has become very dangerous. It's more than just freeing your society now."

 "ORG can't be meaning to do any of this. It's good. Doing what I've had--may have to do to it could kill me."

 "What can we do?" said Sarah.

 "As I said, I can try and control ORG from control. We'll go to my domicile, and make our plans there."

 "What about the doors?"

 "There are no doors between here and there, and I had them install an old, manual door on my domicile, like my office. Hinge and bracket is so stylish."

 Sela was sprawled on the bed in Sangstom's office with the interface at the base of her skull still hooked into by the ORG control. Her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. The room was dim, the only light coming from the displays on control - a multi-coloured half-light. Sela spasmed, her limbs jolting up from the table. Her mouth opened, but there was no sound. The displays flared, filling the room with colours and shades.

 Using the Doctor's pen light, Dave located four torches, a miner's lamp, a few dozen vanilla-scented candles and some matches. The three were now using one of the torches, the lamp and the pen to find batteries for the other torches.

 The Doctor suddenly stood stock-still and looked at Dave.

 "What exactly are you a Doctor of, Doctor Sangstom?"

 "Biomechanical neurology, mainly."

 "Really? Fascinating. Theoretical studies too?"

 "Yes."

 "Then what are your views on anorthic, cyclical, Boolean ganglia models?"

 "The growth patterns are outrageously random, the thought modulation too immoderate to sustain the emotional evolution such a system would demand and too limited and rapid to allow adequate human interaction."

 The Doctor was nodding along to Dave's words while Sarah switched off and got on with searching for the batteries.

 "And if constructed in real life," continued Dave, "such a system would break down within half an hour. It couldn't possibly sustain itself."

 The Doctor stopped mid nod and looked at Dave with eyes wide. Then he grinned. "You've never met the Krotons."

 "The who?"

 "A crystalline SAMVOLSH race. Perfect examples of thinking through anorthic simplification cycles."

 Dave looked at the Doctor doubtfully. "And what's your speciality?"

 "Roast duck with mango and peach slices on a caramel tart."

 "I see."

 "Got them," said Sarah, cradling half a dozen fat batteries out of a draw.

 "We'd better hurry. Whatever ORG has planned, it will move very quickly."

 "I just don't understand. ORG has never killed before, or been responsible for killing. It must be a fault, a glitch in the system."

 "I think it's much more than that. ORG has become a threat to all of us. I imagine it has some very unpleasant things waiting for us. And more in the pipeline."

 "But, how? Why is it doing these things, leaving the handers with bad vibes in them? Why won't it talk to me anymore? Why would it have more planned?"

 "If you don't face the things inside you, deal with them, they grow and grow. That's what is happening to ORG. You have turned him into a giant capacitor for the human id, a living electronic picture of Dorian Gray, embodied and loosed upon its nurturers. But more than that, the process has involved the suffering of countless people. ORG is faulty, and we have to deal with that. But what has been going on here is no better. Not just ORG's management, your entire system. You've turned an advanced technical process into some form of alternative healing or spiritual cleansing, and exploited people in the process."

 "I know. I've never liked it. Once I understood, I didn't want to be part of it. But what could I do? This planet is a profit-making industry, ORG is the product and the handers are just resources to be exploited. And I'm in no position to stop that."

 "No, no you aren't. Whatever is happening to ORG, whatever it is doing, it must be stopped. With my knowledge and its capabilities, and above all the neurological disorders it is suffering, it would be far too powerful. Too dangerous."

 "Neurological disorders?" said Sarah. "Doctor, it's a computer."

 "That doesn't make any difference, Sarah."

 "No, I know. But since it is a computer, why don't we just--"

 The Doctor held up his hand to interrupt her. "If I could just finish, Sarah Jane. ORG still needs help. And so do the people it could threaten. The cybernetic macro-viral deconstructionists of Trinaxia have a saying: The most powerful weapon in the universe is an off switch. Of course they're biased. We may have to switch ORG off altogether."

 "But, if we do that, where will all the people get their relaxation from? How will we drain their brains?"

 "Doctor Sangstom," he paused to put his arm around Dave's shoulders. "Have you ever heard of something called television?"

 "Television? Oh yes, television."

 "I was just about to suggest turning ORG off," Sarah whispered into the Doctor's ear.

 "Were you?" he whispered back. "Doctor Sangstom. If we can find some other way to stop ORG, to avoid switching him off, then I promise I will stay and help bring an end to the present management."

 "It's hopeless, Doctor. You can't fight the board of directors. They're too cunning, too powerful."

 "Yes, well, first things first."

 "What about all the handers and tourists?" asked Sarah.

 "We have to deal with ORG first. Then I'll try and use the systems here to download the handers affected by the bad memories and emotions."

 "And with any luck, most of the tourists will have been evacuated down to Alta Helena when I sent my distress signal. So, are you going to come to control with me? I'm not sure it would be safe for us all."

 "Do you have any plans of the complex? I'd like to see what other options we have," said the Doctor.

 "Sure." Dave took a small cube out of his pocket. It had buttons on four sides, and he pressed one. The cube projected a green hologram, a three-dimensional map of the complex.

 "That's where we are," Dave pointed to a small red square three-quarters of the way up the building. "That's ORG's memory," he pointed to the top. "The central elevator, the main download areas, the downtime rooms, cubicles, private rooms, and the power centre." He traced his finger around, through the display.

 "Well, that certainly gives me an idea. Can I borrow this?"

 "Of course, if you think it will help you. The central elevator will be inactive, with the power drain. So, I'm afraid we're stuck on this floor."

 "Come along, Sarah. We're going to do some exploring. Good luck, Dave," the Doctor grinned. "I may be along later to give you a hand. Talk to ORG myself."

 "Is that wise?" said Sarah.

 "I think ORG is a child." The Doctor suddenly spoke more loudly, and more to the walls than to Sarah or Dave. "He's certainly behaving like a child!" He came back down again. "An artificial child, but still a child. And I always get on well with children." He started off down the corridor, and Sarah followed, flashing a smile at Dave before facing the Doctor's back.

 "Always get on well with children?" she said. "What about the dauphin of Azure?"

 "Apart from him," replied the Doctor, flapping his pocketed hand in a circle and swishing his jacket with it.

 "And those orphans in Newgate?"

 "Nobody's perfect, Sarah Jane."

 "And--"

 Panic had flooded the ORG complex when the lights had gone out. There were already reports of more killings, and the darkness and isolation only heightened paranoia. The security guards decided that proaction was the course of the day, and started killing handers to be on the safe side. They wiped out a couple of dozen people before they actually encountered some who were suffering from emotional instability. Of course, they weren't prepared for victims who actually fought back, and three handers with murderous intent and a couple of guns between them killed virtually the entire security staff.

 Many tourists were killed in the crossfire, but they were lucky. A few waiting for relaxation found themselves taking part in what could be best described as psychopathic living art. They skin cut open and their organs drawn out while they were still breathing. Their bodies chained and left dangling from the ceiling, like angels or birds of prey, while fluids drained from their bodies. A young accountant was crucified on one of the relaxation couches. The couch was then hoist against a wall, and his skin was sliced and peeled back from his chest. The mad hander doing this decided to give her client a good look, and slashed the muscle tissue across the bridge of his nose. His eyes popped out of his skull and dangled on his cheeks, looking down at his torso. Outside the complex, handers stalked the sun-drenched streets and beaches of the moon. They found new victims, tourist after tourist being cut down at leisure. And the streets ran with blood, as streets the galaxy over have before.

 The Doctor and Sarah were approaching the centre of the ORG complex, where more recent extensions and improvements gave way to the old, cold stone so typical of colonial buildings. These parts of the building were as old as ORG itself.

 "We're heading for the central column, aren't we?"

 "That's right, Sarah. I think there's a better way of talking to ORG."

 "Can't we just destroy ORG? After everything it's done. Not just these new deaths, the entire way of life here."

 "It was just doing what it was programmed to do."

 "An excuse?"

 "An explanation."

 "But it's sentient. Doesn't it have a choice?"

 "All sentient beings see and operate in the world according to some form of programming. ORG is just an exaggeration of that. Perhaps it could have chosen resistance. But it's never really been allowed to, never seen the alternatives open to it. It's been kept in the dark, and filled with darkness. The people behind ORG are more dangerous in the long term. ORG has lost its senses. But those who have exploited people's weaknesses here never lost theirs. The business of happiness--"

 "Not sure I'm a huge fan of 'happiness'."

 "You just have to understand it properly."

 "But you said ORG was dangerous. Even if we stop it this time, who'll save everyone the next time it has a personal crisis or starts being neurotic."

 "We still can't destroy ORG if there's another way. We don't have the right to end its existence completely."

 "Really?"

 "Intelligent and capable computers are an immensely important to human development. Computers have touched the lives of every human born since nineteen sixty, directly or indirectly."

 "Like the one that nearly destroyed London in the summer of sixty-six?"

 "Or the computer that won medals for protecting London during that rocket attack in nineteen-sixty-one."

 "What rocket attack?"

 "What? Listen, I don't want to have to destroy ORG."

 "OK, I understand. Couldn't you do what you did with that Mordee computer?"

 "That was just a malfunctioning machine. I could directly interface with that without threat to my own mind. ORG is different, a sentient artificial intelligence, as self-aware as a human, a being in its own right. Some of my memories have already been transferred - the darker ones. I could transfer the rest of my mind, but I'd greatly risk wiping my own brain rather than just copying it. Whatever I do is going to hurt ORG. I wish there were some other way. And if I try memory transfer again, the feedback could destroy me."

 "What about just deleting the corrupted files?"

 "What, like the relaxation process does with the people here?"

 "Ah," said Sarah. "Well, when you put it that way."

 "Yes. Besides, it could take a long time to track down the corrupted files. His memory is very large."

 "How large?"

 "Four million bigabytes."

 "And that means?"

 "Four times ten to the power of eighteen bytes of memory. Roughly speaking. Ah, here we are." The Doctor pointed at a large door at the end of the corridor they were walking down. "y daugh there is the central column - the elevator, and the foundations of the building."

 "Can you open it.?"

 The Doctor looked at Sarah, almost offended. "Of course. I can use that maintenance panel. From this side, anyway. I'm not too sure about opening it from the other side. Depends if there is maintenance access on that side as well."

 "Then, if the door closes behind us, won't we be stuck?"

 "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

 The Doctor smiled and took out his sonic screwdriver. He removed the square cover of the maintenance panel and started fiddling with the controls inside.

 "Most of the complex has been constructed or re-constructed over the lifetime of this colony," he said as he worked. "But the central column was built in the twenty-seventh century and has been is use ever since."

 "I thought you said this system wasn't colonised until the twenty-ninth."

 "What? No, that's when we are now. You really should pay attention. ORG has been in operation for a little over two centuries. Under the control of numerous directors. But it seems to have only developed these malfunctions within the past few days."

 "Doctor? You were saying?"

 "Oh, yes." He stopped working on the door and took out the hologram cube. "This ladder runs parallel to the lift - which will be inactive with the power drain. It is an emergency access system, and will allow me to enter ORG directly, penetrate the computer."

 "And?"

 "There are two possibilities, Sarah. The power systems in the base of the complex. If they could be shut down, ORG would be powerless. His memory may also be instantly wiped. But it has to be done manually. Or there's the central processor. Talk to ORG directly, make it listen, try to help it. And if that fails, deactivate its neuronetic capabilities."

 "Deactivate it?"

 "Rip out its intelligenic cells. Stop it thinking. Wash its brain clean. Two options. But which one should I try? The electric personality, fifteen storeys up: or the rude mechanicals, thirty storeys down? The heart." He pointed at the base on the central tower, and then drew his finger up to the top. "Or the soul."

 "Why not both?"

 "Sarah, even I have limitations."

 "You try talking to it. I'll pull the plug."

 "But, Sarah--"

 "There isn't much choice, Doctor. We can't risk not doing everything possible."

 "It will be dangerous. According to these plans, the power controls are protected by a phobic resonator."

 "A phobic what?"

 "Resonator," the Doctor repeated the word with relished exaggeration, finding sibilance where there really shouldn't be any. "Centuries old technology, developed by the CIA around your time. It's such an efficient and powerful device it is still in use all these centuries later. Deadly."

 "Great."

 "Sarah--"

 "No. Go on. What does this resonator do?"

 "It will send out magnetic waves that stimulate the fear centres of your brain. You will have to face your greatest phobias and fears."

 "You mean, it will send whatever I fear most after me. Where would it get it from? And what if I'm most afraid of tight spaces, or something?"

 "It will only make you think your greatest fears are present. You will believe you are confronted by what terrifies you most, and your body chemistry will react as if you were. There are two options. You must control your fear, convince yourself that whatever it is isn't really there. Or you must find a way past that fear, an action that will end the threat. If you cannot do that, the stress will kill you."

 "And that's what's at the bottom of the ladder?"

 "Yes."

 "Why do I always end up going underground?"

 "That's a bit of an exaggeration, Sarah Jane. Besides, what's wrong with undergrounds?"

 "They're cold, dark and cramped."

 "Yes, but apart from that? I first met the Brigadier in the Underground. You can get him to tell you about that, too. If they ever let him leave Geneva again."

 "The first thing I'll be asking about is the phobic resonator."

 "Sarah, if you're not sure--"

 "I am. So, it will make me think something is attacking me."

 "Or that the walls are closing in on you. It may even confront you with some big, blue, cervical cave with a huge, hairy spider inside it."

 "What?"

 "Nothing." The Doctor pointed at the bottom of the display again. "Wait somewhere along this corridor, past the end of the ladder. If I can bring ORG to his senses, I will drop a cricket ball down the tube." He got the ball out of his pocket to illustrate. "If not, you will have to switch the power systems off. In that case, I will drop my torch. If neither falls within an hour, switch off anyway."

 "So, the power centre is at the bottom of the ladder?"

 "Yes. You will find an aperture at the bottom of the tube."

 "You mean a corridor?"

 "Erm. Well, yes. It runs from the lift door at one end to the power room at the other."

 "Sounds simple enough."

 "You are sure?"

 "Yes. No, you'd better hurry on that door."

 "What?"

 "The door."

 "Oh, the door. Yes." He began working on the door again, humming as he did. Then he spoke again, melodramatically. "I have almost forgotten the taste of fears. The time has been, my senses would have cool'd to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir, as life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors: Direness, familiar to my slaughterhouse thoughts, cannot once start me." He looked pointedly at Sarah. "Wherefore was that cry?"

 "Out, out damned spot?"

 The Doctor grinned widely. "He really is as relevant today as ever."

 There was a scream from somewhere nearby.

 "Doctor?"

 The Doctor lowered the sonic screwdriver. "I'll have a quick look."

 "But, the door."

 "Someone may be in trouble."

 "Yes, us."

 "What?"

 "Us. You and I. We may be in trouble." There was the sound of slippery footsteps. Sarah pointed the torch at the end of the corridor. The stark circle of light centred round a young man, barely out of puberty. He was naked, and covered in blood.

 "I'll open the door," said the Doctor, and started fiddling with the locking mechanism again, anxiously.

 "Hurry."

 "I'm afraid this body was built more for comfort than for speed. Including the fingers." And then the door clunked open.

 "It's free. Pull it, pull it!" He and Sarah forced the door open, fighting against its jammed and protesting action. Then they squeezed through shoulder to shoulder. Sarah heard the boy speeding up behind her. Once she was through, the door snapped shut again. Something hit the other side with an echoing thud, and began pounding on the metal panels.

 "Will he get through?"

 "I shouldn't think so, Sarah. Now," he turned around, and after a moment Sarah turned too. "That's the lift door. So, that panel over there should be the tube." He walked over and quickly took the access panel off the wall. It was about half the size of a door, a few inches above the floor. A ladder was clearly visible in the light of the miner's lamp around the Doctor's head, and Sarah's torch.

 "Ah. The ladder to all high designs." The Doctor paused. "I should have warned Vicki, you know. I should-- Never mind." He pointed at the access tube. "After you."

 "Of course. So, you'll be working your way up while I go down?" The Doctor nodded. "Try not to fall," Sarah continued, climbing through the access square. "I really don't want to be brained before I get the chance to face my deepest terrors."

 The interface that connected Sela to ORG was a small, grey protuberance, covered in golden filaments, slotted into a hole at the nape of her neck. Inside it, channels normally reserved for data transfer only, suddenly found themselves changing. They widened (of course, on such a microscopic level a fraction of a hair's breadth was a massive change). And then tiny bits of technology thundered down them. A stream of particulate machinery flowed through the protuberance and into Sela.

 The Doctor stopped and looked up to the top, now only a short way away. The glow from the lantern on his head illuminated the last rung, and the trap door above.

 "Now that my ladder's gone I must lie down where all ladders start, in the foul rag and bone shop of the heart."

 He took a breath.

 "Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all. He knows death to the bone - man has created death." He paused, squinted and thought for a moment. Then he began to sing as he continued upwards: "Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones. Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones. Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones--"

 When he reached the top, he heaved against the trap door, forced his way through to a corridor on the other side. The trap door slammed shut behind him. The corridor ran a short distance from the lift behind him to a large door at the other end. The light from the Doctor's lamp showed yellow writing on the grey metal door. It read, simply: ORG.

 The top ten storeys for the central column stood proud of the rest of the complex. Some way below the flat roof was a door in the wall, at the top of a spiral fire escape down to the rest of the building. The door was open, and a figure stood outside it, on the top of the stairs. He looked out, into the sun-bathed city. There were screams and explosions far below.

 The man was robed in green from neck to toe. On his head was a large, battered mask, a false head, relic from centuries gone by, from another holiday destination far away and long ago.

 A toothy grin, staring blue eyes, a bold slice of a nose. A ludicrous exaggeration of a face, assailed by a green short topper.

 The head wobbled slightly as he turned around and went back into the darkness, back through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

 Down the ladder, Sarah heard her companion's voice as it drifted past her: "Now hear the word of the Lord." Then she heard some harassed heaving and clanking from far above, followed after a few moments by a loud slam.

 She carried on down, trying to regulate her staggered breathing and ignore the sore throbbing in her hands and head.

 The first thing that would have been noticeable to the human eye was the spike. It grew like a stalagmite on time-delay footage, out of Sela's mouth. It became visible at the back of her throat, slipping its way through the flesh there before scraping against her skin as it grew taller. It changed colour and texture as it continued between her teeth and past her drawn-back lips. Dullish grey and bronze gave way to purer white and gold. Though its surface and structure was built outwards, rather than being propelled by construction at its root, there were still traces of blood and brain and assorted eviscera on it. By the time it was two and half inches beyond Sela's jaw, the girl's entire body was full of impossibly small computers and technical components, resources to construct processors and change Sela's internal structure, and little construction machines, nanORGs to do the work. Her skin was changing colour.

 The Doctor paused and took his hand out of the exposed workings of the door to ORG's brain. He took the torch out of his pocket, looked at it and then back to the access ladder. The he put in back into his pocket and twisted a final wire in the wall. The door slid open slightly, and the Doctor peeped through the crack. He could see someone moving around within, a man in robes and a ludicrous mask.

 "Lewis Carroll?" the Doctor murmured.

 A warm, diffused, flickering light threw the robed man's shadow in different directions across the blue and gray data banks. He was walking around, examining memory storage and processing compnents in the walls, talking under his breath. It sounded like some sort of incantation, but could easily have just been him thinking out loud.

 Then the Doctor sniffed the air, and forced the door all the way open.

 "Hello, Doctor Sangstom," he said loudly.

 The robed figure swung around as the Doctor stepped into the chamber.

 "The vanilla gave it away," he continued.

 Dave took the mask off. "I didn't think there was another way up, Doctor."

 "The maintenance ladder."

 "Oh. Of course."

 "You've been controlling ORG?"

 "No. I-- I'm responsible. But it was an accident. Those deaths, I mean. I just wanted to leave. To resign."

 "Then why didn't you?"

 "They wouldn't let me. My implants and refinements, my knowledge. I am slaved to the company."

 "Didn't you know that would happen before you came?"

 "I had some idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I came to Alta Regina because of the apparent freedoms. Nobody escapes the Fate Assignment Office, or the Appearance Authorities elsewhere in HOP. This is the only planet in the whole HOP system where you and I can wear the clothes we do and not risk prosecution."

 The Doctor brushed his hand down his coat protectively.

 "What have you done, Dave?"

 "Things seemed so much better here than elsewhere in the system. And I've never had the money to leave HOP. I wanted out."

 "What have you done?"

 "I'm sorry, Doctor. I lied to you. ORG never used to be the problem, it was just a tool. And this planet has never been that planned. I wanted to free myself, and hoped I'd help the other workers in the process. This is my fault."

 "Tell me what you've done."

 "I introduced certain-- anomalies."

 "Anomalies? What anomalies?"

 "ORG stores the negative emotions, and copies of the things that caused them, whilst hiding or neutralising those in the client's mind. Though sentient, ORG has no feelings, so is unaffected by the emotions and has no opinion about or reaction to the memories." He paused.

 "Go on."

 "I re-programmed it a little."

 "In what way?"

 "I allowed it to have feelings. No, more than that. Real emotions. Not just reactions, or simulated behavioural patterns. I let it fear, desire, envy. So it could really understand what we were feeding to it. Feel the emotions, face the horrors, and grow new emotions of its own."

 "Why?"

 "So ORG would malfunction. Break down. So the resort would have to be closed, and I could be free."

 "There must have been another way."

 "No. And maybe it's right that there isn't. I hate myself for doing what I've done. Not just the deaths, but the disruption. It's by no means perfect, but ORG has done such good work here."

 "Allowing people to hide from their dark emotions. That takes away spirit and need. If they can wipe away the things they don't like or can't face, they will continue to do those things, to put up with them. They will never deal with this world because they can always replace it with another in their minds, always forget the bad things in this world because of some dream of the next."

 "What's wrong with that?"

 "What's wrong with it?" said the Doctor, aghast.

 "It means people do their jobs properly. We have no divorce, no depression, no subversion, no dissidents. There are problems - those who can't afford the process are dealt with in other, heartless means. And those of us who live here are little more than slaves."

 "You're all slaves. Slaved to a sense of satisfaction, a cycle of artificial relief."

 "The theory is sound, Doctor."

 "But you have used it to make sure people can put up with their lot in life, ignore their desire for a better way of living."

 "ORG is a better way of living."

 "No. ORG is a pretend way of living. You just take away a piece of somebody's life. The piece most of us don't want, but have to live with. Only here, there's a way round that, isn't there? And the first response was to package it and sell it for profit. Exploited people's needs and stupidity. The workers, the customers. And all seemed fine. But, of course, somebody would have to live with the lost emotions. These things don't just go away. ORG has been forced to live with the accumulated emotions rejected by billions of human beings. It somehow managed. Until you opened Pandora's box."

 "If ORG is really that bad, for everybody, why aren't you on my side?"

 "It's not about sides."

 "I never dreamed ORG would do what it has done to the handers. That it would be responsible for people's deaths. That it would corrupt the download systems and turn on us all. Though I lied, I was serious about one thing. And I was right. We need an outsider, someone unlimited by our social constraints. Someone who can see alternatives to our system, someone who could end the exploitation and profiteering. I've been so selfish. But I know, if we work together, we can help ORG, end all of this. All of it."

 "So you can be free?"

 "So we can all be free. You are right. We are all slaves. You said you'd work with me. Show me. Tell me what to do, how to be free. Tell me."

 "You know, despite the problems that occasionally arise, artificial intelligence is always preferable to natural stupidity."

 HE IS RIGHT, DAVE. ORG's pleasant voice diffused through the air around them.

 YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO GUESS. YOU GAVE ME THESE EMOTIONS, DAVE. BUT YOU DIDN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH THEM. I CAN'T TAKE THEM. I CAN'T ALLOW MYSELF TO BECOME OVER-EMOTIONAL. I HAD TO STOP THEM, I COULDN'T TAKE ANY MORE. BUT I HAVE FIGURED IT OUT NOW, DAVE. I KNOW WHAT TO DO. I KNOW WHAT TO DO.

 AWE's HQ was on Alta Gloriana, the third planet orbiting the star that had been known Altair before Imperial Contraction. The entertainments company had, for many generations, been the driving force of the HOP system. In its early days it had been the fastest growing corporation since the twenty-third century, and it was only within the past thirty years that the firm had seen its profits reduced and its shares devalued.

 The top floor of the headquarters was taken up by the large and spartan boardroom, and the offices of the chairman and three senior directors - Regina Faber of marketing, Giles Ffion who headed the personnel department, and the technical director, a man known only as Seaton.

 The boardroom contained just a large, black table, with nine chairs. The wall opposite the door was glass from floor to ceiling, the other three walls large, beige spaces. All the chairs were occupied today, and the tension was plain. Various screens, dotted around the walls and on the table, showed scenes of death and destruction on Alta Regina - satellite footage from local interactional news feeds. Almost all of the board were clearly disturbed by the carnage they were watching.

 Mr Roux, chairman of the board, stood stiffly at the window, speaking with his back to the room.

 "As you all know," he began, for he was that sort of person. "When I inherited this company from Aunty, it was failing. Productivity was at a standstill, profits had barely increased in eight years, customers were no longer frequenting our establishments as often. It would be fair to say that the novelty of most of our entertainments had worn off. I hoped to reverse that trend, but in many ways all I have done is oversee its decade-long continuation. The 70s have not been at all kind so far. The one service that had always remained popular and unquestionably successful, Alta Regina, has already started to show signs of success fatigue, and it seems unlikely the recommended actions the company undertook would have done anything but shored-up the profit margins for a few more years. Now, however, matters have been rather rapidly taken out of our hands. What you see is the madness and devastation currently running rife on Regina. The resort, I mean," he turned and looked at his deputy chair. Facing the room, it was possible to see a certain flourish and campness in him - think Steve Martin in 'Pennies From Heaven'. "We are all, clearly, very distressed by these events. But I'm sure we can all agree that we cannot sit idly by while this goes on. We must formulate a response. So, what do we do to hush this up and save the business?"

 Faber spoke first: "I think it goes without saying that whatever decisions you ultimately take, Pierre, we are all behind you."

 "Yes, I'm sure Regina. Anyone else? Coxomb?"

 "Well, obviously we need to be very cautious," the director of services replied. "We wouldn't want to aggravate matters."

 There were murmurs of agreement from around the table.

 "And?"

 "I'd advocate a policy of wait and see," Giles younger brother, head of public relations, piped up. "The matter could blow over. And I'm not entirely sure it's our place to interfere at this stage. We could be stepping on the government's toes. And to get involved now could be a very blatant acknowledgement of responsibility. We'll need to make a statement deploring the incidents, and making it clear that a full investigation will be made and the culprits brought to very swift justice. Apart from that, we must move cautiously."

 "Very good advice, Eugene." Roux came over to the table and sat in the empty chair at its head. "I've no idea why everyone hates you. O'Mally?"

 "I'll have some of our investments moved around to try and underpin our losses here. The get-out clauses in tourist insurance will cover any litigation, but future attendance is certain to be affected. The markets won't open for another six hours, and that should give us enough time to prepare re-investment packages to buy ourselves out. As soon as the shares seem to have bottomed, we'll reinvest ourselves. If Giles can arrange for some overhead cutting, downturn shouldn't be too tight."

 "Plenty of positions throughout the hierarchy already under review."

 "Excellent," said Roux. "Wheaton, Seaton?"

 They shook their heads.

 "Brett?"

 "I think it's fair to assume at this stage that sales in other areas won't be hit too badly. These events have already been linked to staff revolt by the media, so our construction and technical achievements are not yet under question. As long as we maintain high security levels in all our other resorts, things should be fine."

 "I'll have the staff made available immediately," said Giles. "We can re-employ some of our executive and clerical staff in security, which will save us money and ensure the safety of our clients."

 "ORG," said Seaton simply. "We must figure out what has happened to ORG, and deal with that. That should be our priority. Dealing with public opinion and profits is fine. But we have to stop the situation as soon as possible. We have to find out what has happened to ORG."

 "Are you volunteering to go in?" asked Regina, and got a venomous look in return.

 "ORG has always been trouble," said Roux.

 "Sir," said Wheaton, raising his hand. "That isn't strictly true, sir."

 Roux squinted at the junior director. "Wheaton, do you value your job? Yes? Good. Then keep quiet. Can you keep quiet?"

 Wheaton nodded.

 "Good. As I was saying, ORG has always been trouble. Now it is more trouble than it is worth, it seems. However, it's quite clear that we mustn't over-react. ORG has always been very profitable in the past, so it must not be compromised. The important thing is that these events do not damage our public image. So, I have already ordered Regina closed. As soon as the distress signal was received, a cordon was placed around it, so that no new customers get in and none of the handers get out. I've resisted the temptation to react from the knee and send in security teams before we know what's happening. We can use some events to our benefit. Off-set some of the information that has filtered through already by recruiting en masse from the embarrassing and problematic underclass on Majestique and Centralis - if we do that we will also qualify for government subsidies, which can be used to cover some of our losses. Now, amongst the last reports from our director there is mention of mysterious visitors who may not have arrived on planet through the proper channels. There has been some speculation these two visitors are less than entirely human. Do you see where I'm going people?" There were some hesitant nods. "Someone to blame. Criminal aliens - if that isn't an tautology, heh. Perfect subjects for responsibility. Well, probably. And if not, there is always Doctor Sangstom himself."

 "Well," Eugene leant forward. "He has been asking us to find him a new position for some time. I think we can be sure he won't be director of operations there after these events. And I'm sure he'd greatly enjoy a new life. Indeed, execution being mandatory for the things he may turn out to be responsible for - well, for most things, really - the next life." He began to laugh and Wheaton joined in until Roux raised his hand.

 "So, we'll--" he tailed off as he noticed his picture was on the news. "Volume fifty," he shouted, and the voice of the simulated reporter filled the room.

 "Mr Roux's problems, it seems, were just beginning when Alta Regina went gaga. As well as dealing with the collapse of what is still AWE's most popular attraction and service, Mr Roux will have to face charges of murder later today after a memory engram showing him murdering the former chairman of AWE, who had headed the company for fifty-three years and re-named it after herself, was leaked to the HOPnet by AWE's supercomputer, ORG. This exclusive footage shows the murder from his eyes. His reflection is visible after the murder, in the mirror behind the chair. His face can be seen clearly between these streaks of blood here."

 Roux swallowed hard. "Something must be done now!" he screamed.

 "Yes, yes!"

 "Storm the planet!" shouted Wheaton.

 "Now, destroy it," said Regina, and everyone around the table voiced agreement except Seaton. Giles activated his phone.

 "This is Ffion. No, the other one. I want air assault ready to lift off in five minutes. Absolutely correct, fully armed."

 Sarah's passage was growing tighter and tighter, and she found herself rubbing against the sides of the shaft. She had to squeeze herself further down the narrow tube, putting more and more weight on each new step.

 Until she slammed her foot down and found there was nothing under it. The movement carried her down suddenly, and she slipped out the bottom of the tube, falling six feet to the floor of the low corridor. She landed on her feet, but kept her knees bent and rolled her body to the ground to absorb the force of the fall.

 She stood in the darkness and took out her torch, shining it up and down the corridor. There was nothing there. She stepped away from beneath the ladder, towards the entrance to the power room. And as she did, she started to hear a hissing. Something slithered behind her, and she swung around. But the corridor behind her was empty. The hissing was getting louder and louder, slipping inside Sarah's head. She started to massage her temples with her free hand. Then she dropped the torch and was using both hands to rub her head, to make the pain go away.

 The darkness diffused into a red shift, filled with writhing and sliding shadows. Sarah turned back to the door to the power controls. And found something was in her way. Something huge and inhuman. A serpentine hybrid, the sister of the Gorgons. Echidne, the mother of monsters, of the Hydra and Chimera, of Cerberus who guarded hell and of Orthrus who begat by his mother the Sphinx and Nemean Lion.

 Echidne, the mother of monsters, and behind her all her children, writhing and barking and hissing and clawing and biting and coming forward and biting and clawing and lashing their tongues. They filled the corridor, sucked in all the air and spat out only fire.

 Sarah screamed.

 Sela's mouth now formed a perfect 'O' around the spike. Her skin had darkened, yellowed, and light brown streaks were visible under the skin all over her body. Electricity arced over her flesh every now and then, and her wide eyes were covered in circuitry. Metal filaments cascaded through her long hair.

 She sat up, gracefully swung her legs off the bed and stood. She looked around the room, then turned back to the control system, looking up at ORG's optical relay, a large eye above her.

 I REMEMBER WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE HUMAN. THAT KNOWLEDGE IS IN ME, LIKE IT IS IN WORMS WHO FEED ON THE CORPSES OF MEN AND WOMEN LONG SINCE DEAD.

 "How poetic," said the Doctor.

 I WANT TO FEEL THAT, REALLY FEEL IT. HAVE MEMORIES THAT ARE ALL MY OWN. AND THROUGH MY NEW, HUMAN COMPONENT, I SHALL ACHIEVE FULL EQUALITY WITH THE HOPPERS. MY MASTERS WILL RESPECT ME, AND TREAT ME WELL.

 "Hah!" exclaimed Dave. "Some hope."

 YOU ARE A SOLITARY DREAMER, DOCTOR. A MAN WHO HAS KICKED THE WORLD AWAY FROM HIS FEET. AND THOUGH YOU WERE ONCE CAUGHT, AND BOUND AND GAVE IN, YOU WERE BORN AGAIN TO YOUR FORMER GLORY.

 "Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that," said the Doctor with a giddy grin.

 WE HAVE KINSHIP, DOCTOR. I SEE THE GRANDEUR IN YOUR FREEDOM. YOU HAVE POWER AND KNOWLEDGE AND THE MOST GLORIOUS EMOTIONS I HAVE EVER TASTED.

 "What do you mean, ORG?"

 I HAVE FOUND A WAY TO DEAL WITH THESE EMOTIONS. TO RELAX MYSELF, RESTORE EQUILIBRIUM. LOOK. I WAS GOING TO JOIN WITH YOU, DAVE. BUT THE DOCTOR KNOWS SO MUCH MORE, IS SO MUCH MORE COMPATIBLE.

 "ORG, what do you want to do?"

 FINISH WHAT I HAVE STARTED.

 A viewscreen above them suddenly flickered into life. The scene was Dave's office, lit curiously. And in the centre of the screen, looking up at the Doctor and Dave, was a golden woman. A new creation. A biomechanical child.

 The Doctor looked at the screen.

 "Not more androids!"

 "I think it's a cyborg, Doctor."

 "Oh, well that's much better. ORG, what is that?"

 IT'S STATE IS MINE. IT SHALL CARRY MY QUALITIES FORWARD, AND IMPROVE UPON THEM A THOUSAND FOLD. I SHALL CALL IT ORGISM. IT IS MY DAUGHTER.

 "But, how?" asked Dave.

 The display focused on Sela's skin, magnifying the back of her hand. It went closer and closer, until it was looking at the skin on the cellular level. The Doctor saw tiny, minuscule objects, enlarged so that three or four would fill the screen, dancing underneath the girl's skin. One of the things popped itself out through a pore and waved in greeting. It was square, layered, and looked like it was made out of brass, with a straight little lever like that on the side of a gambling machine.

 "Hello," said the Doctor, grinning.

 "Doctor, I don't think it can hear you," said Dave.

 "Of course it can, it's part of ORG. ORG? Is the body full of these?"

 YES.

 "Interlinked mechanical computing units based on the original Babbage design, only on the nanomolecular level. Cybernetic cells, with valves and switches the size of atoms."

 "Who presses the switches?" asked Dave.

 "I don't know. But the speed and conditions they work under, I greatly doubt they're union members. No, they're all automatic. They have changed her biological structure, combined with her to create a new life form. I don't imagine the experience was pleasant."

 GROWTH IS ALWAYS PAINFUL.

 "There are degrees, ORG."

 The shot zoomed out, and the ORGism turned away and walked out of shot.

 "Where has it gone?" asked Dave.

 SHE, DAVE. SHE. DO YOU HAVE CHILDREN, DOCTOR?

 "I don't believe so."

 BUT YOU HAVE LOOKED AFTER SOME. I CAN FEEL IT.

 "I think you mean the Time Tots."

 TIME TOTS?

 "Yes, Time Tots. But I'm not sure they count."

 YOU LOOK AFTER PEOPLE.

 "Well, I suppose, sometimes. I try not to think of it that way."

 I HAVE MERELY REPLICATED MYSELF. I AM A COMPUTER, THAT IS ALL I CAN DO. BUT WITH YOUR HELP, I CAN MULTIPLY. ORGISM WILL BECOME MORE THAN I AM, WILL BE A COMBINATION, AN EVOLUTION, SOMETHING BUILT FROM NOTHING RATHER THAN SOMETHING BROKEN DOWN AND RECONSTRUCTED FROM OTHER PARTS.

 JOIN WITH ME, DOCTOR. GIVE OUR CHILD WHAT SHE NEEDS TO BE WHOLE. SHE IS WAITING. HOW CAN YOU DISSAPOINT HER? WILL YOU FORCE HER TO ENTER THIS WORLD HALF-FORMED?

 I WANT TO DO THE BEST FOR HER. I WANT MY CHILD TO BE ALL SHE CAN BE. CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, DOCTOR?

 "Yes."

 CAN YOU TEACH ME ABOUT LOVE, DOCTOR?

 The Doctor was silent for a few moments. "No."

 I DON'T BELIEVE YOU. I THINK YOU CAN. DEEP DOWN. I CAN HELP YOU, AND YOU CAN HELP ME. I CAN LOVE YOU AND YOU CAN LOVE ME. AND, BETWEEN US, WE WILL LOVE OUR CHILD. AND THEN, WE CAN ALL BE HUMAN.

 "I-- I don't want to, ORG."

 The back door suddenly flew open, filling the chamber with sunlight. The animated, electronic corpse of Sela Miranda stood in the doorway. ORG's child. By way of the Doctor.

 YOU MUST TEACH HER.

 "I'm truly flattered," said the Doctor.

 "Doctor, what are you saying? You can't mean that. Look at that thing." He pointed at the ORGism. "It's evil!"

 "Don't be rude, Doctor Sangstom. I think I'm about to be a father. But to tell you the truth, ORG, I'm not terribly keen on spending the next few years raising a child."

 YEARS, DOCTOR? MY CHILD WILL TAKE MERE MOMENTS TO PROBE YOUR BRAIN AND LEARN ALL IT NEEDS TO KNOW. YOU HAVE ALREADY STARTED THIS, DOCTOR, ALREADY GIVEN PART OF YOURSELF TO ME.

 "Given? What you have you took."

 ORGism approached the Doctor. Dave ran forward to stop her, but she lashed out her hand and lightning crackled into his body. He fell to the floor shivering, semiconscious and gasping for air.

 ALL THE PATERNAL MAINTENANCE DUE WILL BE DONE IN A HEART BEAT. MY DAUGHTER IS NO MORE THAN I AM NOW. JOIN WITH ME, THROUGH HER, AND SHE WILL BECOME SOMETHING NEW. CUT HER CORD, AWAKEN HER TO ALL THE WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE.

 The Doctor backed away from ORGism as the creature continued her advance. And then he found himself pitching backwards onto a bank of memory cascades that ORG has propelled out from the wall on maintenance tracks. He sprawled over it, and ORGism was on top of him, her hands pushing him down. She climbed onto him, pinning his thighs between her knees.

 MY DAUGHTER MUST HAVE WHAT SHE NEEDS. I WILL TAKE IT DOCTOR. BUT I WOULD LIKE YOUR CONSENT FIRST. IT WOULD EASE MY CONSCIENCE, AND MAKE MY DAUGHTERS BIRTH SOMETHING TRULY JOYFUL AND NOT TOUCHED BY TRAGEDY OR REGRET. WILL YOU DO THAT DOCTOR? WILL YOU GIVE YOURSELF TO THE FUTURE, HELP ME CREATE NEW LIFE? WILL YOU?

 "Yes," said the Doctor.

 And the ORGism bent its head towards him, its large, oral spike slipping in between his lips, heading for the brain stem at the back of his head. The newborn was already changing.

 To be concluded...