The Doctor sat up with a start. He was on a low couch. He couldn't remember how he got where he was. A jumble of thoughts chased themselves through his mind.
A First World War battlefield. A Roman legion charging. A Mexican bandit. An American Civil War platoon. Jamie and Zoe wearing helmets with spikes on them.
Jamie and Zoe! He must find them. He swung his legs off the couch and stood up.
A wave of nausea washed over him and he had to sit back on the edge of the couch again.
"Ah, so you're awake then," said a voice.
Turning, the Doctor tried to focus on the figure sitting in the chair to his right. As his vision cleared he realised it was one of them.
The Time Lord sat completely still in his chair, without a flicker of movement. Rather like a lizard on a rock, the Doctor thought. He had steel grey hair and burning eyes, set into a lined but not old face.
Finally a movement, a slight twitch at the corners of the mouth. Almost a smile.
"What do you remember, Doctor?" asked the Time Lord.
The Doctor concentrated, bringing his jumbled thoughts into order. "A planet. Human soldiers from many eras, fighting each other. One of us working for the enemy. Contacting Gallifrey. Escape and capture. Saying goodbye to Jamie and Zoe. Trial and sentence."
As he said the last word, the Doctor's hands flew to his face. The sentence had been exile to 20th Century Earth, with forced regeneration thrown in for good measure.
But his face felt the same. Everything seemed in order, including the floppy black fringe he could just see when he looked up. So they hadn't carried out the sentence yet. Why?
"Where am I?" he asked the Time Lord.
The almost smile returned. "I was wondering when you would ask the obvious question. I don't suppose you've heard of the CIA?"
The Doctor shook his head. "Unless you mean the Criminal Investigation Agency from Earth's United States."
"No, I mean the Celestial Intervention Agency here on Gallifrey."
"Intervention? I've just been put on trial for that!" the Doctor exclaimed.
That annoying almost smile was back. "We're a secret organisation, dating back centuries and nominally answering only to the Lord President."
The Doctor frowned. "You're a very well kept secret. Where do you intervene?"
"Anywhere we are needed. Illegal time travel experiments, rogue elements with too much power, species who are getting too big for their boots. That sort of thing."
The Doctor sat thinking for a while. This was a lot to take in. He had always thought his fellow Time Lords cared nothing for the affairs of the Universe at large. He was surprised to find there was an entire secret organisation dedicated to intervention. Which led to his next question.
"So why are you telling me all this?"
"Isn't it obvious?" asked the Time Lord. "We want to recruit you!"
"Me?" the Doctor exclaimed. "I thought I had just been tried and sentenced for what you do."
"You have," the Time Lord replied smoothly. "And the sentence will be carried out. In full. But first we can use your special talents. You are the ultimate interventionist!"
"Why should I help you?" the Doctor demanded.
"Because it's the last bit of freedom you'll get for a while. Being exiled to 20th Century Earth won't be much fun."
"True," the Doctor said, his mind kicking into a higher gear.
"And before you even contemplate the idea, technicians are currently fitting a working recall circuit to your TARDIS. We don't want you running off again, now do we?"
The Doctor's face fell. "I've not agreed to work for you yet!"
"But you will. You can't resist the challenge. The possibility that you might be able to outwit us again. That you might, just might, regain your freedom. It's too good to miss."
The Doctor sighed. "Seems you've done a complete psych-profile on me."
The Time Lord produced a slim cylinder, which he held up for inspection. "Your bio-data extract, Doctor. We used the Matrix to predict your reactions. So far, you're performing well within expected limits."
"I'm glad you find me so predictable," the Doctor said, frowning. "I wouldn't want all your hard work going to waste."
"Now, now, Doctor, there's no need to be tetchy. That's the kind of reaction I would expect from your first incarnation."
"And what if I did refuse to work for you?"
"You would be returned to your holding cell. The regeneration process would be triggered and you and your TARDIS would be dispatched to 20th Century Earth."
"And if I agree?"
"You'll be doing what you do best. Problem solving, intervening, helping the oppressed. At least for a while, until we have to return you for the sentence to be carried out."
The Doctor paused, thinking over his options. On the one hand, immediate sentence and exile. On the other, limited freedom and the small possibility of escape. The offer was certainly tempting. But he had always worked best independently, not as somebody's agent, willing or otherwise. That was one of the reasons he had fled Gallifrey in the first place, to be his own man.
But in the end, the chance of freedom, even limited freedom, was too great. "Very well, you leave me little choice but to accept."
"Excellent," the Time Lord said, favouring him with that trademark smile. "We have a mission now that is well suited to a man of your talents." He rose from his chair. "If you would follow me, I'll brief you on the way to your TARDIS."
"Just one question," the Doctor said, also rising.
The Time Lord paused, one eyebrow raised.
"What is your name?"
"You may call me Ferain," the Time Lord said.
***
The Doctor and Ferain walked along a shadowy corridor. "So what is this mission?" the Doctor inquired.
"I believe you've visited Station J7 in the Third Zone," Ferain replied.
The Doctor nodded "I was part of the official delegation from Gallifrey that attended the opening. But you must know that already."
"Of course," said Ferain. "Well, the research aspects of the station have increased over the years, to the point where they are now conducting illegal time travel experiments. We want you to talk to the Head of Projects and get the experiments stopped."
"Very well. But I have a condition."
"What condition?" Ferain asked, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice.
"I'll need my companions, Jamie and Zoe."
"Impossible," Ferain stated. "They are being processed for return to their own time zones."
The Doctor stopped walking and folded his arms across his chest. "Then I'm not doing it!"
Ferain sighed. "Be reasonable, Doctor," he pleaded.
"No," the Doctor replied simply.
Ferain frowned at him. "Very well, I'll see what I can do," he promised eventually. He moved further down the corridor and spoke into his wrist communicator.
A few minutes later, he approached the Doctor once more. "The girl has already been processed and returned to her own time. The boy is part way through having his memories of your travels erased."
"I hope you've had the process halted."
"I have," Ferain said. "He thinks you have just left the planet Telos."
"That could cause problems," the Doctor commented. "He will be expecting Victoria to be with us."
"That is something you'll have to find an explanation for," Ferain told him. "We've done more than enough to accommodate your needs. Now we need you to carry out your mission."
***
The Doctor and Ferain stood together in the console room of the Doctor's TARDIS. Ferain looked around himself with disdain.
"A Type 40," he remarked. "How, quaint."
"She has served my needs very well over the years," the Doctor said huffily.
"Well, we've made a few modifications," Ferain stated.
"Like what?" the Doctor asked, bristling.
"I'm sure you'll find them, when you need them. Now, the Head of Projects for J7 is an individual called Joinson Dastari, while the experiments are being carried out by two scientists called Kartz and Reimer."
The Doctor smiled slightly. "I remember young Dastari. Sharp mind. I knew he would go far."
At that moment, a Time Lord medic led Jamie into the TARDIS. The young man was staring blankly ahead.
"Just clap your hands and it will wake," the medic told them.
"He," the Doctor said. "Jamie is a person, not an it!" The medic scuttled out, abashed.
"Well, I'll leave you to your mission. Good luck, Doctor."
Ferain exited the TARDIS. Heaving a sigh of relief, the Doctor clapped his hands.
***
Mission complete, the Doctor stood over the console. Could he really escape the clutches of the Time Lords? A smile flickered across his face. He could but try.
***
"Sir, the Type 40 is re-entering the vortex," the technician called from his post at the monitoring station.
Ferain came to lean over his shoulder. "Is it following a return path to Gallifrey?"
"Yes, sir, direct course." Then the technician frowned. "It's deviating from the direct course now, sir. Attempting to exit the vortex early."
Ferain's lips twitched into his almost smile. "Activate the recall circuit. Don't lose the trace."
"Recall circuit activated, sir. TT Capsule now back on direct course for Gallifrey."
"You'll have to try harder than that, Doctor," murmured Ferain.
***
The Police Box shrieked it's noisy arrival in the landing bay. The squad of guards stood by.
It solidified with a thump. The Doctor stepped out, followed closely by Jamie.
"Hey, where's this, Doctor?" asked the young Scot.
"Home," the Doctor said, glumly. "My home."
"I dinna understand," Jamie said. Two of the guards stepped forward, taking his arms.
"Leave him alone," the Doctor said as Jamie struggled in their grip.
A tall, silver haired, black clad figure stepped from the shadows. "Take the boy away. Complete the processing."
"Hey, get off me!" Jamie shouted. "Doctor, what's happening?"
"I'm sorry, Jamie. You have to go home too. I'll not forget you. Goodbye."
"I don't want to go home," the young man protested as he was led away. "It must be some mistake."
When he had gone, the Doctor rounded angrily on Ferain. "Did you have to be so callous?"
"The boy must be returned to his own time. We indulged you once. It won't happen again."
"Well, I've done your dirty work for you. I hope you're happy."
"Very," Ferain assured him. "In fact, we have another little task for you to fulfil."
The Doctor scowled at the Time Lord. Ferain just smiled that maddening smile.
Season 6B continues in: Derelict
