‘So we’ve got to stop it,’ Graham said.

  ‘It can’t stay here, Graham.’

  ‘Then we find a way to help it clear off without damaging the space-time whatsit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the Doctor agreed.

  There was something about the Doctor’s solemn tone that alerted Yaz. ‘But it’s not as simple as that, is it?’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘Even if we could find a way to contain the damage to the space-time continuum, you all know what happened to the dog after the Argomeld left it.’

  Ryan and Graham looked at each other. They’d told Yaz all about it. Pythagoras and Milo looked equally shocked.

  ‘You mean, Myia will … die?’ Milo asked.

  ‘The transference process destabilises the host’s atomic structure.’

  ‘But the dog just sort of … collapsed,’ Ryan said. ‘Into nothing.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You can’t let this happen to Myia,’ Pythagoras croaked.

  Milo rose to his feet, fists clenched and muscles quivering. ‘I will not let it happen!’

  ‘We may not be able to stop it,’ the Doctor said. ‘If I’m right, the Argomeld is close to making the jump back to its own universe. Once that happens there will be nothing we can do to help Myia. The process will be complete.’

  ‘This is monstrous!’ Pythagoras declared. ‘I will not have it! There must be some way – some theorem, some practical solution …!’

  ‘Surely the key to this is the tetra-whatsit,’ said Graham. ‘If she don’t have that, the thing inside her can’t make the jump home.’

  Yaz nodded. ‘He’s right – so why don’t we just stop Myia making the tetractys?’

  ‘Actually,’ replied the Doctor, ‘I was thinking of helping her.’

  They all started talking at once, with Pythagoras and Milo leading the protests, but the Doctor shushed them all as quickly as she could.

  ‘I know it sounds daft,’ she said, ‘but at least hear me out. Because otherwise Myia doesn’t stand a chance, and, to be honest, I don’t think the rest of us do either.’

  Silence and puzzled looks.

  ‘You all saw what it was like when the Argomeld communicated with us – the block transfer mathematics distorted reality all around us. Remember that it’ll be worse when it makes the final tetractys and shifts back to its own plane of existence, leaving this area of the space-time continuum with irreparable damage.’

  ‘But you want to help it do that?’ Ryan asked, totally bewildered.

  The Doctor nodded eagerly. ‘I want to make the transmigration easier. If we can reduce the trauma it may not be fatal to Myia and it may prevent the damage to our part of time and space.’

  ‘If? May?’ said Milo. ‘I do not like these words, Doctor!’

  ‘They’re great words, Milo, because they give us hope. All we really need is the perfect kind of tetractys. And I’ve got an idea about that.’

  ‘But Doctor,’ argued Pythagoras, ‘how can we know what kind of tetractys to make? If the dimensions are so crucial, how can we possibly—’

  The Doctor was striding purposefully around the room, hands gesticulating as she tried to describe what she was thinking. ‘It’s not so much about the measurements, Pythagoras. We could go on refining those until we get down to ten absolute singularities in perfect equilateral tension. I mean that would work, of course, but we don’t have the tools for that in 500 BC. No, what I have in mind requires a bit more imagination.’

  Half an hour later, Myia was standing right in the centre of the outer courtyard of the Pythagoras villa. The Doctor handed her a flaming torch. ‘Hold this and stand perfectly still.’

  Behind the Doctor stood Pythagoras and Milo, and both of them held torches. Beyond them stood Yaz, Ryan and Graham, and they had torches too. The flickering light of the flames cast long shadows on the walls of the villa, creating a fervid, threatening atmosphere. No one looked happy to be there, including the three students who stood at the very back of the yard. They also held torches, and the light glistened on their sweating faces. They were Pythagoras’s best students and they were being entrusted with the most important task of their lives.

  ‘Right you lot,’ the Doctor said to them as she breezed over. ‘Aristaeus, you stand here.’ She led the first student over to a spot on the far side of the yard. ‘Brontinus, you come over here.’ The second student shot over to the place she marked and stood there with his torch like a guard on sentry duty, marvelling that the Doctor had remembered his name and mentally promising her his eternal devotion. ‘And finally, Pythena, you stand over here. Yes, that’s right – there’s the spot. Smashing! Brilliant!’

  Nine people stood spread across the yard in a broad equilateral triangle. The Doctor took up her position right at the centre; turning on her heel to inspect everyone was in place.

  ‘Are you sure this is gonna work, Doc?’ asked Graham plaintively.

  ‘Course!’ she replied, crossing the fingers on her free hand. She waved the flaming torch around with the other. ‘Giant tetractys made out of people. Perfect!’

  ‘Is it perfect, though?’ Pythagoras asked. ‘The mathematical relationship must be exact. We can’t possibly be totally accurate if—’

  ‘Remember, it’s not the exact measurements that matter now,’ the Doctor said. ‘Just the shape. The positions – and the points of light as the focus. The Argomeld will do the rest. I hope.’

  ‘But how will this help Myia?’ Yaz asked.

  ‘Well, I’m hoping that by sharing the transference process among everyone here we can dilute the trauma and Myia can survive.’

  ‘You’re hoping?’ Ryan echoed uncertainly.

  ‘Sometimes hope is all we have, Ryan.’

  ‘Will it be bad, though?’ Yaz asked.

  The Doctor looked her straight in the eye. ‘I think so, yes. Still up for it?’

  Yaz squared her shoulders. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’

  I am ready

  ‘Ay up, it’s starting!’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘Everyone – hold your positions and don’t move, whatever happens. If anyone breaks the tetractys it’s all over. Wait a sec.’ She suddenly shot out of position and darted across to Myia at the tip of the triangle. ‘Are you ready for this? Cos I am.’

  Myia nodded, pale in the light of her torch.

  ‘Brilliant!’ the Doctor clapped her on the arm and ran back to her position at the centre as a wind sprang up from nowhere and causes the flames of every torch to flutter and spark. ‘Here we go!’

  I am tetractys

  The voice echoed through the very substance of their being, each one of them channelling the presence of the Argomeld. It was, thought Graham miserably, like being a human tuning fork and picking up on the sound vibrations from a nearby motorway. His teeth didn’t feel so much on edge as actually loosening in his jaw. Worried that they might actually come out – and he was proud of his teeth – Graham clamped a hand over his mouth.

  I am returning

  The wind, swirling around the courtyard, suddenly reversed – not so much a change of direction as a vacuum. The breath was sucked out of everyone – with the exception of Graham, whose eyes bulged with the sudden change in pressure.

  ‘Hang on, everyone!’ the Doctor gasped. The flames crackled and spat, clutching at every last bit of oxygen.

  Reality warped once more, but this time it felt like a massive convulsion that tore them all out of the shape, out of the universe, out of time itself. In a moment of panic that seemed to last a lifetime, Graham felt himself being drawn away from everyone else, from Ryan, until they were all just tiny, infinitesimal points of light, like stars in the sky.

  Then something, everything, blackened like a leaf on a bonfire. The world went into spasm and something bulged through a rent in the universe, glistening like the guts of a hernia.

  ‘Doctor!’ Yaz wailed, horrified. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Stay together!’ the Doctor yelled. She looked up, around, inside, everywhere – there was no escaping the sight, the sense, of the universal viscera extruding into their reality. Coils slid wetly over one another as something began to unfold on the other side.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Reality prolapse,’ the Doctor gasped. ‘I’ve opened up a void in the space-time continuum.’

  Ryan tried to close his eyes but he could still see the thing, the monstrous entity, swelling straight into his mind. The tips of long, sinuous feelers began to probe into every consciousness within reach.

  ‘It’s the Argomeld, isn’t it?’ Graham realised miserably. ‘That’s what Zaris is. That’s what it looks like.’

  The students screamed. Milo swore mightily. Pythagoras staggered.

  Somehow the Doctor’s voice could be heard over the throb of the emerging Argomeld. ‘Stay in position! Keep the shape! It’s vital.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Yaz’s voice rose above the tumult. Clearly she could sense things were getting out of control. And the feeling was spreading.

  ‘The Argomeld’s sensed my mind. It can tell it’s more advanced – it wants to take me over instead of Myia!’

  Ryan’s eyes widened. ‘I thought we were helping it escape?’

  ‘We’re making it worse!’ Yaz screamed.

  ‘No we’re not,’ said the Doctor firmly.

  The world around them bulged and slithered, reality warping into a nest of tentacles that reached out for the Doctor.

  ‘That’s it … come on, sunshine,’ the Doctor said. ‘You’ll love it in my head. Better view, for a start – on a clear day you can see forever … and the journey back will be so much easier!’

  The tentacles – invisible, intangible, but clear to everyone in the deepest parts of their consciousness – coiled around the Doctor.

  ‘Stay strong everyone!’ cried the Doctor. ‘We can do this!’

  Graham forced himself to look. The tears were streaming from his eyes. He couldn’t tell if he was looking straight into a gale, or the sun, or his own memories. All he could see was the slithering immensity hovering over his world, reaching for the Doctor. He tore his gaze from the nightmare and looked for Ryan.

  ‘Ryan! I’m here, son! Stay strong!’

  Ryan’s eyes were tight shut, but Graham knew he could still see. ‘I’m on it, I’m on it!’

  With immense effort, as if he was fighting the g-force of a rocket ship blasting off, Graham raised his free hand and stuck up his thumb.

  ‘Keep together!’ the Doctor’s voice screamed across the void, at once immeasurably distant and right in his earhole.

  Graham struggled to remain exactly where he was, which turned out to be quite difficult as he now felt as though he was hurtling through space like a comet. He was leaving everyone and everything behind, careering into the infinite like the bloke at the end of 2001. Mercifully, he could no longer see the creature between the dimensions.

  ‘I’m losing it, Doc!’ he croaked.

  ‘You’re doing fine!’ The Doctor’s reply, instant and clear, jolted him back to the here and now. He chanced opening his eyes – and saw a maelstrom of rainbow fire, flames of every colour, roaring around him. In the centre of it, arms wide, coat tails flapping in the slipstream, was the Doctor. A bright light shone from her wide open eyes.

  ‘Now’s your chance, Zaris!’ she cried. ‘Go! Leave us alone. Leave me alone! Back to your own universe! Back to where you belong!’

  And then, with the speed of a slamming door, it was over. The storm abated in a moment, the fires were snuffed out, and everyone was left standing with blackened, smouldering torches. None of them quite knew where they were – except for the Doctor, who was already bounding across the yard to Myia.

  Pythagoras’s daughter, white as a lily and every bit as weak, collapsed into the Doctor’s arms. The Doctor lowered her to the ground as the others crowded around.

  ‘Myia! Daughter!’ Pythagoras wiped tears from his eyes as he knelt close. ‘For the love of every god, please speak to me.’

  ‘She’s going to be fine,’ the Doctor said. ‘Just give her a minute.’

  ‘But is she all right?’ Milo asked. ‘Really all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, silly,’ Myia said happily, as if she was just waking up from a dream. ‘What’s been going on? Why do you all look so worried?’

  Later, with Myia sitting in the cool of the villa, attended by her husband Milo and every other member of the household who loved her dearly, they asked the Doctor what it was they had seen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘A glimpse of something we should never even try to imagine. If you could lift the universe up like a rock in your garden, then maybe that’s what you’d find lurking beneath. Something that only exists in the dark. The Argomeld was an extension of it, I think, or perhaps an emissary.’

  ‘It tried to take over your mind, though, Doctor,’ said Yaz. ‘It could have killed you.’

  ‘It would have done for Myia,’ said Graham. ‘The Doc was a tougher nut to crack.’

  ‘Big risk to take, though,’ Ryan said.

  The Doctor’s nose wrinkled. ‘Nah. Takes more than extradimensional quantum mathematics with an attitude to impress me. I prefer people – the kind who’ll stick together and stand up to the monsters. Way more impressive.’

  Pythagoras shook the Doctor’s hand. ‘You taught me this custom, the shaking of the hand,’ he told her with a smile. ‘It is a good one. My thanks to you once again, dear Doctor.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ The Doctor pulled out her brightest smile. ‘Happy to help.’

  ‘I may need to borrow Pythagoras’s shades myself, Doc,’ said Graham, finishing his last cup of red wine. ‘I think this fruity little number has helped my head for now – but I can’t vouch for tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Come on, old man,’ said Ryan. ‘Let’s get you to your bed!’

  ‘Before you leave, please …’ Pythagoras offered Graham the leopard-pattern sunglasses. ‘I thank you for their use, but they are not mine.’

  The Doctor’s face crinkled into a frown. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Maybe they were Audrey Hepburn’s after all,’ the Doctor muttered.

  Graham perked up a little at this, slipping on the shades and clapping his hands together. ‘Right then – nothin’ else for it: who fancies a quick trip to Hollywood?’

  Mission of the KaaDok

  Mike Tucker

  The Doctor peered out of the door of the TARDIS and smiled. There were very few places in the universe where the bright blue police box shell of her time machine could go unnoticed. Mid-twentieth-century Britain was one, but the prop store of a major film studio was the other.

  She stepped out into the darkened shed. It was perfect. All around there were racks piled high with artefacts from a dozen periods in Earth’s history – native American totem poles, Egyptian chariots, 1920s automobiles … There was even what looked like an egg-shaped spacecraft lurking in one corner. Nestled amongst rows of classical columns, ornate doors and huge Greek-style urns, it was very unlikely that anyone would even give the battered old box a second glance.

  ‘Well, are we there?’ came Yaz’s impatient voice from over her shoulder.

  The Doctor stepped aside and allowed her, Graham and Ryan to tumble out into the jumbled prop room.

  ‘Cool!’ Yaz looked around with excitement.

  Graham was not so easily impressed. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ he asked, the disappointment evident in his voice. ‘Looks a bit grubby …’

  ‘Definitely the right place,’ said the Doctor peering at the readout on her sonic screwdriver. ‘Paramount Studios, California, United States of America, January 1961.’ She sniffed the air. ‘The eighth,’ she added solemnly, snapped the sonic device closed and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. ‘Come on.’

  Throwing open the doors to the prop room, the Doctor led her friends out into the bright Californian sunshine. As Graham stepped out through the doors, his face lit up. ‘Now this is more like it!’

  All around them there was bustle and colour. Huge, whitewashed buildings, emblazoned with stage numbers stretched as far as the eye could see, trucks loaded with scenery trundling between them in a seemingly endless procession. People were everywhere, some in suits, some in overalls, some in costumes from as many different periods as the props in the warehouse. Through the crowds raced stressed-looking runners, delivering packages and messages to the various soundstages.

  As a couple of young men dressed in sharp pinstriped suits scurried past, deep in conversation, Graham smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. ‘Do I look OK? I’m not exactly dressed to meet a movie goddess …’

  Yaz looked at him in amusement. ‘It’s sweet you’re such a big Audrey Hepburn fan.’

  ‘Don’t …’ Ryan rolled his eyes. ‘Every Christmas, out come the DVDs … He must have made us watch My Fair Lady a million times.’

  ‘Well, that was your Gran’s favourite. I always preferred Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’

  ‘And now here you are about to watch it being filmed!’ said the Doctor. ‘How brilliant is that!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Graham took a deep breath. ‘I know.’

  ‘Here.’ The Doctor reached into her pocket again and withdrew a large pair of sunglasses. ‘You can be the one to give them back to her.’

  As Graham took the glasses, Ryan shot him a suspicious glance. ‘You’re not going to embarrass us, are you?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Graham indignantly.

  ‘Asking for her autograph or something … Getting all star-struck.’

  ‘Oh, like you wouldn’t be if it was that rapper you like. Stormy.’

  ‘Stormzy.’

  ‘Yeah. Him.’

  ‘No.’ Ryan shook his head. ‘I’d be cool.’

  ‘Oh, yeah right. Like you wouldn’t try and get a selfie …’

  ‘Um, excuse me …’ The Doctor was glaring at them sternly. ‘There aren’t going to be any selfies. 1961, remember? You know the rules. The only person allowed to use anachronistic technology—’