The day he died was the best of Pavel’s life.
They had agreed to meet on the cliffs, between the wood and the stone circle. It was bitterly cold and his feet crunched into the frosted snow.
The full moon reflected off the white ground, casting double shadows eerily across the landscape. Behind him, the brittle, leafless trees clawed up towards the cloudless sky. Ahead of him, the icy stones glinted and shone as if studded with stars.
And beside him, holding Pavel’s hand, was Valeria. He hardly dared to look at her in case the dream faded. It had to be a dream, didn’t it?
The two of them, alone, together, at last.
He did look at her. Couldn’t stop himself. Lost himself in her wide, beautiful smile. Watched her ice-blonde hair blown back from her perfect smooth-skinned face. Felt himself falling into sky-blue eyes. A dream. . .
A nightmare.
Her eyes widened, smile twisting into a shout, then a scream.
Darkness wrapped round them both.
A sudden glimpse of the
shadowy figures shuffling towards them from the wood. Then hands clamped over their mouths – bony, dry hands as if the trees themselves were grabbing at them.
The world turned as the two of them were dragged off their feet, twisted, carried shouting for help. Pavel’s hand was snatched away from Valeria’s. The last time he saw the girl’s terrified face was as she 1
clawed back at him, desperate to make contact again, desperate for help.
A dark, robed figure stepped between them, blotting out his view.
A black hood covered the head, face in shadow with the moon behind like a cold halo. The figure turned towards Valeria.
The last thing Pavel saw was the blackness of another figure looming over him.
The last thing he heard was Valeria’s scream. Terror and horror and disbelief. As she saw beneath the hood.
The TARDIS froze for an infinitesimal moment, caught between the swirling colours of the vortex. Then it flung itself forwards, sideways and backwards through infinity.
Despite the battering the outside shell of the TARDIS was taking, inside was quiet and calm. The central column of the main console was doing what it was supposed to do; all the right lights were flashing; Captain Jack Harkness was whistling and all was well. Jack paused mid-whistle to press a button that really didn’t need pressing, then resumed his rather florid rendition of ‘Pack up Your Troubles. . . ’
The warning bleep was so perfectly in time with the beat that he didn’t even notice it until he was halfway through the next chorus.
‘Smile, smile, smile. . . ’
Bleep, bleep, bleep.
Then he was all action. At the console, checking the scanner and scrolling down the mass of information. Not a lot of it made sense, but he nodded knowingly just in case the Doctor or Rose came in.
‘A warning?’
He checked another readout.
‘Cry for help. . . ’
Grinned. ‘Damsel in distress, maybe.’ Probably best not to touch anything. Probably best to wait for the Doctor.
Then again: ‘What the hell. . . ’
The Doctor arrived at a run, Rose in his wake. He was stern, she was grinning.
‘What’s the fuss?’ Rose asked.
‘Just a distress call,’ Jack told her, moving aside as the Doctor’s el-bow connected with his stomach. ‘Nothing much. Happens all the 2
time on the high frontier.’
‘Not like this,’ the Doctor told him, not looking up from the scanner.
‘This is serious stuff.’
As if in reply, the bleeping changed from a regular pulse to a vio-lent cacophony. ‘That shouldn’t happen.’ Slowly, the Doctor turned towards Jack. ‘You haven’t done anything stupid, have you?’
‘What, me? You think I don’t know the standard operating procedure?’
‘There isn’t a standard operating procedure,’ Rose reminded him.
She was at the console too now, straining to see the scanner. ‘Here, let’s have a butcher’s.’
‘Oh, great. Distress call comes in and you want to open a meat shop.’
‘Shut it, you two,’ the Doctor ordered. ‘Someone’s responded to the signal, so that’s all right.’
‘Is it?’ Rose asked.
‘Yeah. Whoever it was will go and help. Sorted.’
‘They will?’ Jack asked quietly.
‘Bound to. Morally obliged. They get first dibs. No one else’ll bother now there’s been a response, will they? Automated systems broadcast for help, someone responds and they start streaming all sorts of location data and details. Signal strength’s gone up 500 per cent, probably using the last of their back-up emergency power. Though after so long it’ll be a waste of someone’s time, I expect.’
‘I wonder who responded,’ Rose said. She was already turning away, dismissing the problem from her mind.