"They're bringing in the cake!"

Elvis Pyper jerked his head up and it thudded solidly into metal inches above, making the console ring. He swore long and hard. Danni, his young apprentice fitter, grinned evilly and turned her attention back to the vidscreen.

"Cor, it's a lovely cake too ... all that lovely chocolate and cream and rich brandy sauce ... mmmmm!" She smacked her lips luxuriously.

He rubbed the smarting spot on top of his head. "Shut up about that crukking cake! Pass me a screwdriver!"

Elvis leaned further forward into the inside of the console and glowered malevolently at the offending pipe. What had bloody Warricker said?

"Ah, Elvis, there you are ... got a little job for you to do before you go off duty. One of the communications bods said some of the conductive piping at their station was getting a little on the warm side. We don't want a zectronic overload now, do we? Be a good chap and pop down and sort it out ... I'd go myself, but I'm due for the Captain's cocktail party at eight ... won't take you a jiffy."

Do it himself, indeed ... that bloody idiot wouldn't know a zectronic conduit pipe from the Great Briar Pipe of the Sky God Xertrexes.

He touched the pipe and snatched his hand away ... it was hot. He frowned. He'd supervised the laying of the pipes throughout most of this ship - and several others besides - and he thought he'd sorted out the conductivity problem. He had always been proud of his work - 'Elvis Pyper's Piping' - the talk of engineering circles! He'd even published a paper on it. Not that it any difference to brass like Warricker, fresh out of officer academy with no practical experience. Just because he came from a Plebeian background and started at the bottom ... oh no, no commission for poor Elvis! Do all the work and get no reward ...

He regarded the offending pipe sourly. There's always one, he thought. It was the feedback oscillator - this brand had a habit of switching themselves off. Loose wiring, probably. Cheap Draconian rubbish...

He reached up and unplugged the main power source, mindful of the big warning sign in bright day-glo lettering above the pipe:

DANGER, TERMINAL ELECTRIC SHOCKS: UNPLUG MAINS SUPPLY BEFORE ATTEMPTING MAINTENANCE TO FEEDBACK OSCILLATOR & MAIN FEED PIPELINE.

He waited for the heat to cool more, absently scratching some graffiti into the side of the pipe. Danni started cooing over something on the screen. He sighed. He'd dragged her along in a fit of pique. If he had to miss the Christmas party, or most of it, there was no reason he should suffer alone. He regretted it now - she seemed determined to rub it in. What's more, she appeared to be drunk. The apprentices had started early, it seemed. He shouldn't have been surprised.

"They're cutting the cake now!"

That was the last straw. "Right!" Elvis rattled the oscillator casing and flicked the power back on, pausing only briefly to check the light had switched from red to green, then slammed his tools back into the box. That was it. They'd have to bloody wait for him to replace it. He wriggled clear of the console and stood up. He should have time to get changed and nip down there before they ate it all.

"Are you sure you've done it properly?" Danni wagged an admonishing finger at him. He fumed. Christmas or not, he decided she was going to be doing some of the dirtiest, hardest jobs he could find after the celebrations were over. That would teach her! He slapped her finger aside.

"Properly enough for now. Come on, get my kit back to the engine room ... jump to it!" he barked.

Danni giggled and snapped a sloppy, sarcastic salute before weaving back down the corridor, Elvis's toolbox banging against her leg.

Elvis slammed the cover to the console back in place and hurried after her. Unknown to him, the warning sign, secured by only a single screw, slid from the wall at the violence of his action, and fell down the back of the unit, unnoticed, forgotten...

***

Years later...

The Daleks were not half the species they once were. Once they had a huge empire that spanned half the cosmos. Now, their home planet destroyed, their empire racked with civil war and depleted constantly by the never-ending array of alien alliances pledged to destroy them, the remaining Daleks were little more than nomadic scavangers, setting up bases wherever they could establish a sucker-hold, roaming space in search of new technology to seize and make use of for themselves.

New technology? The Earth ship they'd captured wasn't in good shape, and hadn't been for decades. But the Daleks couldn't afford to be choosy, and they landed it on the planet Tersurus where it was stripped down to help make up a new centre of operations for fresh plans of galactic conquest.

The Dalek technician scanned the console and noted the poor quality of the conductive piping for the zectronic energy unit. Typically shoddy human workmanship, it noted. But it would suffice.

It slid the cover back on the console and went back about its tasks. It didn't heed the absence of the warning sign. Daleks didn't need them, after all ...

***

More time passes...

"You don't want to try again, do you?"

The new Doctor squirmed shyly under the girl's imploring gaze. That other woman with the beard and the bumps and the Daleks were all looking at him as well and he blushed self-consciously. He longed to creep back into the TARDIS again and take off for somewhere nice and quiet where he could be alone with his thoughts for a while. His head throbbed slightly from the regeneration and his fingers still tingled from the shock that had caused it. He had only a vague recollection of recent events, but remembered enough to shy away from the girl. Marriage? At his age? He shuddered. Didn't she know he was a grandfather?

All he wanted now was a nice cup of tea, some nice warm buttered toast, and a good book or three. Come to think of it, the TARDIS library was in a dreadful state. Yes, that's what he could do - sort that out! He wondered if he'd rediscovered his love of libraries. A whole universe of reading matter, there for the taking! Yes, retirement sounded very attractive and promised a plentiful supply of nice, quiet things to occupy his time. But, one last duty to perform...

He laughed nervously. "Probably not a bad idea ... shouldn't be too much of a problem."

He bent over a control panel. He became aware of his fiancée leaning over it as well. He jumped back nervously and pointed off in the other direction.

"Actually, I think the problem is located in this area..." He bounded off down round to the other side of the unit, glad of an excuse to get away from that girl again...

Zectronic energy ... unpleasant stuff, that. He tugged a panel off and squinted inside at the pipes. Nasty scratches on the wall there ... tut tut, someone had been careless with a screwdriver. He flapped a hand to clear the steam. Way too hot in there... something amiss with the flow. That was probably it. Yes, the feedback oscillator was misaligned. Put that right and it would be fine...

He was sure he was forgetting something ... he squeezed deeper in, huffing and puffing. He hadn't been this bulky since his sixth incarnation. He'd have to get that exercise bike out again.

He squinted into the gloom. No operating instructions or any warning signs ... he shook his head. Regeneration always played tricks with the mind. Jumping at shadows. He was perfectly competent at this sort of thing - wasn't he? He probably had a good book about it in the library.

Grasping a pipe, he fiddled with the oscillator. Loose connections touched. Power whined. Something brushed the top of his head. He craned his neck to look up and saw the main power unit. Its indicator light switched from red to green.

"I remember!" he cried.

Too late. Energy pulsed through the unit and flowed through the pipe the Doctor was holding. Badly shielded, it coursed through the pipe and through him as well. The Doctor was flung back into the wall, the oscillator torn free with him.

His hearts hesitated, and stopped.

"Bugger ...not again!" he gasped, as the familiar forces of regeneration took hold of his dying body.

Illuminated by the sparking energy from the damaged unit, the crudely scratched graffiti became clear. They were the last things this Doctor saw as he lay there, body twisting and altering as unnatural forces took hold. He managed to croak groggily, reason slipping away:

" 'Merry Xmas, Elvis P.' What? Surely not ... after all I did for you..."

His head slumped, the face blurring and changing into that of a younger man.

The 11th Doctor had left the building.