This feels right.

An Underwood manual, a ream of paper, a Cuban cigar (I've felt an urge lately), a glass of Louis XIV and Coltrane on the stereo.

A long time ago, this room was covered with butterflies and blue skies. It was one of those quirks destined to remain in one regeneration, and move on. But until a few weeks ago, relatively speaking, the butterflies were still here.

That part of my life is over.

The room that replaced the butterfly room is covered in leather and dark wood, similar to the control room of the ship. It's atmospheric and timeless all at once. The desk is something I think I got while helping run messages for Camus and the Underground during World War Two on Earth. I remember seeing it in one of the bunkers the Free French were using as a de facto headquarters and marked it as mine in my mind...

I'm avoiding what I really want to discuss.

Things have changed so much recently.

I'll start with the dream. It's not that I'm troubled by it, but I've had it so many times, always the same.

It's the little guy with all the props, the one with all the question marks all over his sweater. He's worried about something. He's standing in the middle of this grassy field at dusk, a steady breeze moving the top of the grass in swirls. He faces south - what I would consider south - and walks toward this large black boulder that pulses. When the little guy gets within a few yards of the boulder, this gaunt-faced gaunt man appears, along with a chess set. The little man sits down and plays the gaunt man. The little man overthinks every move, plays timorously. His opponent is more relaxed, and moves his pieces with confidence. The little man is gearing his game toward defence, but his opponent keeps forcing him to attack, and just as the little man is about to succumb to his opponent's strategy, the gaunt man announces checkmate. The little man's face crumples, and he follows the gaunt man away from the boulder and into the night.

My first reaction was to find out the last time I'd seen The Seventh Seal. And if I'd had the dream only once, I would have left it at that. Now, I have this vision every time I close my eyes, and I am obsessed with finding an answer as to why it comes.

Sometimes, I think I should open up to Diamanda, though I doubt she'd understand. I know she intuits my confusion and turmoil. In the short time we've been together, I catch her out of the corner of my eye observing me with a deeply sympathetic look on her face. I think when I was younger, I might have confided in her. Not now though. I just want to assign this repeating vision a meaning and let it go. Henry Rollins once told me that he always wanted to deal with things on his own, that you shouldn't dump your troubles on anyone else unless you're paying them. At the time, I thought he was being cynical. Now I realise he had a point. I could sit here and dump my issues on someone else, but would it really matter? Not really. You have to deal with your own conflict and move on.

***

I haven't chronicled my adventures in a long time. Iris used to get on my case about that.

"Doctor, you have lived through enough adventures to last a thousand lifetimes," she would say, especially when she was pissed on gin. I'd laugh and divert the topic to a new direction.

I'm on my last body now, and now that I'm closer to my own end, the urge to tell my story my own way has paced my mind like a caged tiger waiting for the opportunity to spring free.

Hence, my friend the Underwood.

I'll start with what happened recently. It was a few days ago when my employers called me again. I'd had a nice break after having an all too brief meeting with Dyane in San Pedro (she's come a long way since I'd last run into her, but that's another story). I took Diamanda to Paris and London, and almost felt like my old, happy-go-lucky self once more.

Personal Note: I have to admit, I do feel calmer when I am with Diamanda, just as I have with all my fellow travellers and companions. If not for them, I would have ended up being another pedantic old know-it-all like my Gallifreyan brethren.

It was when we returned to the ship that I saw the signal on the console. So much for the jury-rigging I'd spent a few hours on while I let Diamanda loose in Paris with a hefty credit line. I pressed the comm circuits and before I could say anything, the hologram appeared. It was Heather Nova, one of the few members of the High Council with any sense at all. Romana had bumped into her a couple of times and tried to steer the young one the right way.

"Doctor, we've been trying to reach you for a long time."

"Sorry, my ship is a bit old," I replied.

Nova smiled, the kind of smile that said, I know you're lying, but I'll let it go, for now.

"The President has asked me to present you with a mission of high importance."

"Which little tinpot empire stumbled into the mysteries of controlling the vortex this time?"

The Counsellor ignored my comment. "Do you know of Anathema?"

Anathema. How could I forget about that? The larger question was how could I know about Anathema? Since Gallifrey was no longer in existence, Anathema shouldn't exist. And I let Nova know that.

"Anathema was created and deployed well before the destruction of Gallifrey, Doctor. You know what its purpose was, don't you?"

"Yes, to suck the Earth out of this universe as a pre-emptive strike against the enemy."

Nova smiled. She looked like a teacher praising a student for the correct answer. "There have been severe disturbances in the vortex directed at Anathema's present location. The President and the High Council are worried about what they might mean."

"Paranoid, Nova."

"What?" My comment stunned her.

"The current President is a paranoid loon who believes that if he can prevent any other sentient life form from time travel then Shada will be safe from any form of attack."

"Can't you call the homeworld by its proper name?"

"Shada is its proper name, Nova. You know that."

I could tell by the look on Nova's face that she would have agreed with me if she could. Her stiff posture and the formal tones she spoke in told me that she was being watched.

"Nova, why don't you tell El Presidente to come over and chat with me directly."

The hologram of Nova crackled with white noise, then blinked out. A few seconds later there was a burst of static, and the President appeared in all his glory.

Aoxomoxoa certainly looked different from any previous holder of the office. He chose to wear his Commandant's uniform, rather than the robes, which, considering his ample girth, was a mistake, as the uniform stretched to the breaking point. The robes might have conveyed some dignity to him. His face was a perfect sphere, almost pig-like with his jowls and upturned nose. He carried his plumed helmet under one arm in the style of the Roman legionnaires, exposing that dull grey combover which looked like a fresh roadkill.

"Doctor, am I to understand by your flippant attitude that you're not impressed by the gravity of the situation?" He spoke with the voice of a long time military man, a voice that sounded like orders and cadence, even in casual conversation.

"What I'd like to know is why you're sending me to Anathema, rather than deploying the fleet and going there yourself, Lord President."

The President matched my own stare with an impressive one of his own. "For the time being, all other agents have been recalled back to the homeworld."

"Sounds to me that Gregor's private enterprise has shaken you."

"Yes- No, No!" The President's face turned crimson. "We've sent two agents to Anathema before you, but somehow their capsules were destroyed." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "We believe that your experience might be able to show what the fluctuations are, and how to stop them," the President said. He flashed a malicious smile at me. "We tried to contact you first, Doctor. However there was some difficulty."

In the President's mind, I was to blame for the deaths of the two who went off to Anathema. I wasn't going to fall for that.

"You should have been more patient, Lord President."

If Aoxomoxoa could have slapped me, he would have. Instead, he snorted. "Counsellor Nova will brief you on the details directly."

The hologram of the President faded out.

***

This is probably a good time to explain what has happened to the Time Lords living on Shada, as they have had a hand in everything - almost - that has gone on since my latest regeneration.

Unlike Gallifrey, or the other clone worlds, Shada survived the cataclysm that prevented the war with the enemy and removed Faction Paradox from the timelines. My guess is the barriers that kept the prisoners on Shada prevented it from being consumed in the same way the homeworlds were.

Anyway, the few survivors were either brought to Shada, or came to the prison planet of their own choosing. Shada's unique properties made it undetectable from the rest of the universe. This allowed the Time Lords to rebuild their numbers. Roughly five hundred years after Gallifrey was destroyed, the new Time Lords started investigating the universe, intent on following the guidelines on non-interference as their Gallifreyan ancestors did before.

Unfortunately, while the Time Lords went through their period of reconstruction, time travel went the way of all things in the universe, it went free market.

It shouldn't be too surprising. With the Time Lords out of the picture, other races, planets, empires and systems no longer felt the need to suppress forays into temporal physics. Some were more successful than others. The bigger picture was that most of the major civilisations had some form of time travel technology - from scoops and cellular accelerators to fully functioning time machines. The fastest way to make a profit was to either specialise in military or tourist fields.

So, as the Time Lords once again made their presence in the universe, they must have been aghast at what they'd seen. Combine this with the still lingering fear that the war with the enemy might occur despite the destruction of Gallifrey....

The Time Lords decided to reclaim what was theirs.

The whole system of Colleges, revived from Gallifrey, was scrapped. The old family houses that managed to spring up with ease were decimated. The bureaucratic system of High Council, Cardinals, Chancellors was replaced with a streamlined, central, almost military system. New Time Lords, either loomed, or live born, were sent into the new Academy and given both theoretical and practical training. Upon graduation, they were either sent out into the field as observers and agents, or sent for further schooling in research and development. After a few years, the most successful field agents became members of the High Council, while others became academy instructors. There was no need for the CIA, because the High Council was, for all intents and purposes, the CIA.

Overseeing this whole new system was the Lord President, Aoxomoxoa. He was a member of the Chancellery Guard, part of a detachment on cleanup patrol on Dronid when Gallifrey was destroyed. He returned to Shada as the Time Lords began their rebirth. He rebuilt the Guards, then slid into politics just as the Time Lords explored the universe once more. How he managed to claim the presidency, is something I don't know. All I do know is that when I first returned to Shada, he had the office.

There is more to this, but I'll save it for another time.

***

"Doctor, the potential damage from some one or some force tampering with Anathema could be devastating to all of space-time." Nova seemed more relaxed. The President must be off to bellow at someone else.

"I know that. What concerns me is why you would know about Anathema."

"I shouldn't tell you this, but when you were recovering on Shada, Lord President Aoxomoxoa had the database to your TARDIS downloaded and copied. It made sense at the time. The Matrix had no data from before the destruction of Gallifrey."

I was too angry to reply. I mumbled a few choice words, then let it go.

"Fine. I'll be on my way, then."

"Good luck, Doctor."

"Thanks, Nova, and do me a favour?"

"What favour?"

"Sever the link between my ship and Shada."

Nova frowned, then shut off the hologram.

***

Lovely. First a deal with the Sontarans, and then I find out they've raided my ship for the knowledge within. If I didn't have a personal stake in this upcoming job, I would have set about dismantling the ship and stripping it of all bugs, plants and anything else my employers probably have on board.

I calmed down, though. I had to give them some credit for not going after Anathema and making use of it. The only reason I could think of why Aoxomoxoa hadn't done so yet was in fear of taking the rest of the universe with him if he actually fired the thing.

***

"Another Job?"

I'd just switched off the communication net when Diamanda strolled into the ship, shoes in one hand, trousers rolled up, hair tied back. Diamanda must have disappeared into the beach room the moment I decided to answer my employer's call. She had a sixth sense about knowing when not to be around.

"Yes. A place called Anathema." I set the co-ordinates, and the ship was on its way.

"What's the work?"

I didn't respond.

"How about this: What is Anathema?"

"A city on the edge of forever."

Diamanda was already in the leather lounge. She stuck out her leg and poked me in the side. "Come on, spill."

"The city of the Remote, at least it was - will be."

"Remote?" Another nudge.

"The Remote were the creation of a sect of time travelling Voodoo cultists called Faction Paradox. Unfortunately, neither exists anymore." I returned to the controls of the ship. I've been more hands on with the piloting, which, after all these years, does ensure smoother and more accurate landings.

"Am I going to have to kick you in the bum for each answer?" Diamanda asked, nudging me again.

"The short version is that they belong to a future that never happened. The long version is that they belong to a future I prevented from occurring. Either way, it doesn't matter."

"Thank you for making things clearer."

"Of course."

***

I had a visitor waiting for me in one of the labs. Another member of my past.

"How are things?" he asked, sliding his felt hat off his eyes and towards the back of his head.

"Why do you ask?"

"General concern." He flashed me that huge smile of his. "Some of us are quite worried about you."

"The rest of me have nothing to worry about."

"Still though."

I walked past his lanky from, rummaged through an old tool chest for a few pieces of equipment.

"Some of us feel you might make the wrong decision."

I turned around and faced him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're the one who knows it all."

He smiled again. "Well, yes and no. I'm a bit more understanding." He pulled out a yo-yo, began doing tricks in earnest. "Though I do have concerns."

"Please don't give me a lecture on morals," I said as I turned back to my search.

"Not my style."

"But you felt concerned enough to pop in and say hello anyway."

I didn't have to see it, but I knew he just smiled and touched the side of his nose.

"Tell the others that they have no reason to worry. I haven't been turned to the dark side yet."

I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Trust me, they thought the same thing about me."

It was my turn to laugh.

I felt his hand come off my shoulder, and I knew he was gone.

Personal Note: I still don't know whether I'm hallucinating or not when one of my past selves decides to put in an appearance. I see them, and communicate with them, but are they really there?

***

As the ship got closer to Anathema, I felt a strange sensation, a weird sort of telepathic connection. It wasn't coherent or concrete. Just a feeling that got stronger, but no less precise as my old ship made its way through the vortex.

Anathema.

A strange place to build a city, unless you understand the details.

In the timeline that was erased when Gallifrey was destroyed, Anathema was the perfect hiding spot from the Time Lords. A superweapon capable of blowing a hole in the universe, but undetectable to either side for a myriad of reasons, the most important being that when you fight a time-aware enemy you have to hide the knowledge of your weapons less they enter your past and extract the location for themselves.

But that's neither here nor there.

Anathema was the home of the Remote, who were designed by Faction Paradox to be used as a drone species to conquer worlds. For unknown reasons, the Faction decided to leave them alone. The nature of the Remote was that they were a cloned species that followed random signals. Chaos as a form of evolution. I guess that the Faction thought that if the Remote were deposited on a planet and tuned into the local signals, they would be able to both understand and assimilate the local culture.

Anathema itself was set up for the remote as a giant conductor of signals. Imagine if you had 5,000,000 channels hardwired through a random signal generator and plugged directly into your brain. Then create a city out of the resulting images.

That was Anathema.

By the time I arrived there, the Remote had been influenced by a young woman named Samantha Jones, who gave the Remote a morality. And in doing so - not by her choosing, for the record - changed the nature of the city and its denizens.

Personal note: Methinks Edna would have loved observing Anathema from a pure scientific standpoint, but that's another story.

***

As the ship landed with its usual groans of protest, I had no idea what the city would look like. Or whether it was a city by any definition of the word.

Upon landing, the strange, incoherent telepathic signals I had been receiving had stopped.

Diamanda had turned on the scanner. Like Romana, she dressed for the occasion by donning a Nehru Jacket and Capri trousers in silver-grey.

"This is Futurama?" she asked, pointing above.

Anathema had become an HR Geiger painting made real. There was a chaotic mix of metallic and organic structures - silver tubes with rib cages embedded into the walls, strange batwing skulls mounted on Ionic columns that emitted pale yellow light, flesh rivers moving through trough of silver.

"A different timeline, so there are different results."

Diamanda made her way over to me, threw an arm over my shoulder as if she wanted to be held. "Crikey," she said.

"Definitely not a stop on the local tour," I said. I found the visuals deeply unnerving.

"... Um, Doctor, do catwalks disappear at random in Anathema?"

I turned to Diamanda, who now gripped my arm hard. "What are you talking about?"

"Watch." She pointed at an open space between two towers. A few seconds later, one of the towers disappeared, replaced by a circle of the light towers.

Anarchitects. Marvellous.

"Diamanda, it would probably be best if I handled this alone."

"What is going on?"

I gently broke loose from her and went to the console, where I searched for the controls I needed. I pressed a button, and a keyboard popped out of the console.

"Setting a few perimeter defences."

"Defences?"

"Against Anarchitects, Diamanda."

"Is that what's causing things to disappear and change?"

I nodded. "They're construct programs designed to attack non-organic structures," I said as I set a few traps into operation. "If one were to penetrate the ship, well, lets just say it wouldn't be pleasant."

"I thought you said the TARDIS was indestructible."

"It is. It's also non organic. If one got into the ship, it could remove the console, remove all the floors, or compact the interior to the size of a pea. One was let loose into a planet of sorts called the Worldsphere and reduced it to the size of a football in less than a minute. And since Anarchitects were designed with the intent of wreaking havoc on TARDISes, I should expect it to lock onto us fairly soon."

I finished laying the last trap and took Diamanda by the hand. "Hang on."

For a moment, the control room turned upside down, then sideways. The ceiling cracked and splintered as the Anarchitect made its move on the ship. The console changed shape, sunk towards the floor.

It was then the trap sprung. The ship righted itself. I checked a display and saw the Anarchitect was contained in a storage bank. I typed in a command line and the Anarchitect was reduced to harmless machine code.

"You okay?" I asked Diamanda.

"Um, yeah, sure." She made her way to the lounge chair and curled up into it. "I'll sit this one out, Doctor."

***

After I reset the Anarchitect traps, I exited the ship. The stale air, cold and dank, filled my lungs, and I suppressed a cough. I felt the metal ground give slightly as I walked. The only steady sound was the beeping detector in my pocket, hunting for temporal disturbances and Anarchitects that still might be rearranging Anathema. The metallic/organic decor of the city set my nerves on edge; I imagined I had been swallowed by a Cyberman.

While my palmtop cheerfully and regularly chimed, I walked down the metal road toward a series of towers and spirals, each one a strange mixture of bone and steel. As I made my way to them, I could find no openings - doors, windows, not even a catflap - in them. Out of curiosity, I knocked on one, listened to it ring hollow.

If they were buildings, then where were the entrances and exits? If they were monuments, then where were the inscriptions? If they were art, then where was the beauty?

I racked my mind for answers, but couldn't come up with any.

I was nearly a half mile down the sheet steel roadway when I saw the ring of bright lights. Curious, and in hindsight, desperate for a different view, I made my way over to the ring of lights. The light towers were the same combination of column and bat skull, except the lower jaws were extended further than the upper, casting the light upwards. The light reflected off a large sheet of polished metal and reflected the light onto a platform made of trusses and vertebrae. My first thought was of the countless execution platforms I'd seen over the centuries. Like suburbia, some things are the same all over the universe. In the centre of the platform was a single piece of metal, framed with femurs and shin bones. Engraved in the metal, on both sides, were the same three lines:

Kill a man and you're a murderer
Kill a million and you're a conqueror
Kill everyone and you are a God

There was a jagged, violent look to the letters; the engraving an act of will and madness at once.

I don't know how long I stared at the engraving. The next thing I remember after reading those disturbing words was hearing my palmtop screech in chaotic tones. I yanked the device out of my pocket and checked the readings.

I was shocked, yet not surprised by what the readings showed. From the report my employers had given me had shown, it could have only been one thing that could have caused such strange disturbances in the vortex. I was grateful that they couldn't interpret their own information. Then again, sentient TARDISes were not part of this new future.

The palmtop exploded in noise again. And then I heard the familiar materialisation noises fill the air.

Standing before me was a featureless humanoid form, swirling with the bright hues of the vortex. It stood before me arms at it side, its head cocked at a strange angle, as if puzzled by my very presence.

And then it changed, slowly growing pink skin, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a wide smile, a feminine body type. Then it went through a few hundred wardrobe changes in seconds before settling on a black velvet dress that covered everything except her hands and feet.

Personal note: I think the only reason Marie decided to look like Goldie Hawn was that it must have pulled the image out of my mind. I must have thought of Iris and Marie picked up on it.

"You're an unexpected visitor," it said.

"As you are an unexpected arrival."

For a moment it changed forms, back to the featureless version, before returning to the blonde.

"My apologies. There was an instability."

"What sort of instability?" I asked.

"Loss of control. Nothing of consequence."

The smile on her face was quite disturbing. Raw madness staring at me.

"So what brings you here?" she asked.

"Technically speaking, you." I said.

"If I had emotions, I'd be touched. What do you think of the monument?" She pointed to the steel slab.

"A sign of madness, if you ask me."

"This whole place is a sign of madness." I caught a frightened statement on her face, if only for a second, before it went back to the calm, blank slate.

"How so?"

She smiled again. "I would think you of all people would recognise the symbolism."

I nodded. "Why would someone create a memorial to a timeline that never existed?"

"Because we are not supposed to be here." She giggled, then dematerialised before my eyes. I checked my palmtop. No sign of her, according to the screen.

The lights emitting from the bat skulls faded in intensity.

And then I was on the ground, laying on my back. The slab with the inscription remained, hovering in mid-air. The podium had disappeared, the light towers now forming directly out of the ground.

There was a groaning sound, and the blonde was offering a hand out to me.

"I should have warned you about the Anarchitect before it struck," she said, as she pulled me to my feet. "I can detect them, but my system kicks me into the vortex before they can strike."

"Very useful."

"Most definitely."

I brushed off my jacket. "Do you have a name?"

"Marie."

"Doctor John Smith -"

"Doctor for short. We know of you."

"We?"

The smile again. Marie drew a line down her chest. The line became a slit, which became a huge doorway. I felt her arms encircle me, and then I was drawn into Marie's interior.

Technically the original sentient TARDIS, better known to me as Compassion, is a paradox unto itself. The Remote were created by Faction Paradox. Compassion was a Remote copy of a human named Lauren Tobin before her transformation to a TARDIS. Since the Remote were created by the Faction and the Faction no longer exist, therefore there was no Remote copy of Lauren Tobin that called herself Compassion. And without Compassion, there could be no other sentient TARDISes. The new generation on Shada neither has the technology, nor the ability to create a sentient capsule. However, since Compassion does exist, therefore sentient capsules do exist, therefore Faction Paradox does exist, and it was they who created the Remote who copied a human named Lauren Tobin.....

Inside of Marie, the corridor walls remind me of tenement flat walls; the dirt covering the floors, the stench of decay ever present, the interior light dim and cold. I buttoned my coat against the growing chill.

"Apologies for the mess, I'm not much of a housekeeper," Marie said, her voice tinny and echoing off the walls.

"So, why did you bring me in?"

"My pilot would like to meet you. Just keep going forward and you'll come to the control room."

"And why is that?"

"Because he believes you are the only one who can help."

***

I do believe it's time to change the music. Coltrane just isn't appropriate for what I'm about to bring up.

I've probably been typing for well over an hour now, but it feels like just a few moments. We can chalk that up to the perceptions of time.

It takes me a few minutes to find what I'm looking for. It's buried with some of the other records in a trunk. Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Not too sure when I first picked it up, though I do know that Leela almost wore this copy out.

The speakers pop and crackle for a few seconds, until the needle catches the main groove. There's a fraction of silence, before Tony Iommi's guitar blasts through.

***

The control room has bar lighting - dim and localised. It took me a few minutes to notice that the same bio-metallic design scheme dominated here as it did outside in Anathema. The console was made of solid bone, with blue veins pumping fluids through it. Ribs hung from the ceiling like stalactites, the ends rounded and blunt. Metal panel walls held in place by rusted rivets.

From one section of the console, a series of brightly coloured wires and cables attached to various plugs on the bone console stretched across the room and through a doorway.

"Stay here, I'll get him," Marie said. The hum of the ship changed, and I could no longer sense Marie. All I could sense was hostility - the mind of one at war for far too long.

As I waited, the room became unpleasantly warm, similar to the humid weather in New Orleans during the summer. I felt the sweat bead on my brow, wiped it off roughly.

He came through the door, slowly, without a sound.

He was emaciated, arms and legs like twigs. His clothing hung on his frame like drapes. His skin was the colour of tar and his face was covered with lines and scars. His white hair spiked out in all directions. I could hear his joints creak and grind with every movement, mechanical motion without lubrication. The only sign of life was his eyes, purple and shining.

It was then I saw the wires and cables from the console were plugged into his spine, from the base of his skull down to his lumbar.

I had multiple reactions: awed by his desire to survive, unnerved by his very presence, horrified by the modifications done to his body, his being.

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it when I realised I had nothing to say for the moment.

He reached the console, pressed a few buttons that had grown out of the bone. The normal hum of Marie changed in pitch again. It was at that point he gave me his full attention.

"We've met before, a long time ago." His voice, strong and rich, contrasted violently with his physical form. "An auction in the ReVit Zone. You prevented me from obtaining the key to the war."

"A war that never happened, Mr. Homonculette."

"Then why do I exist, Doctor?"

"I haven't-"

"If I exist, then the War has taken place as predicted by the Matrix. If the war never happened, then I shouldn't exist. But I do exist, therefore the War has happened."

"But the War never happened, Mr. Homonculette. Gallifrey was destroyed."

"Impossible." He gripped the console.

"Change of subject," I said. "Why are you here?"

"You mean here at Anathema?" He let go of the console and walked around towards me. "Waiting."

"For the Faction?"

"Faction Paradox? Not worth my time."

"It explains your decor," I said. "But I think you're here for another reason."

"And that would be, Doctor?"

"I think you want to use Anathema as intended."

For the longest time, Homonculette just stared at me, not moving a muscle. I could sense him contemplating what I had said. His eyes changed colour from purple to black. Then he let out a low rumble which was laughter for him.

"If I wanted to destroy a time machine, be it TARDIS or whatever the Enemy decided to use, I wouldn't need Anathema for that." Homonculette was now inches from my face. I could smell the decay of his wizened flesh.

"But I still think you want to use Anathema."

"As a gateway, Doctor."

He pressed closer. I held my ground.

"A gateway for what?"

"To suck the enemy out of this universe." He pressed a dry twig finger against my chest. "That was the purpose of Anathema."

I pushed his finger away from my chest. Homonculette grunted in pain.

"I still think you're also waiting for the Faction."

"As I said, not worth my time. However, if they were to arrive here and see this city as one of their shrines..."

"You get the extra bonus of eliminating them at the same time."

Homonculette seemed quite pleased with himself.

I had far too many questions to ask, the biggest was why was he here when his timeline didn't exist anymore. His very nature was paradoxical.

"Kill a man and you're a murderer. Kill a million and you're a conqueror," Homonculette said, "Kill everyone and you are a God."

"Your words?" I asked. Homonculette headed out of the console room the way he came in.

"I thought it lent that touch of mysticism and madness that the Faction would relate to."

"And where are you going?"

"To rest, Doctor. My body can't handle the stress. However, when I'm done, if I detect your presence anywhere near Anathema, I'll blast your antiquated TARDIS out of the vortex."

I was ejected from Marie, only it wasn't Marie. It was the humanoid form, featureless, indistinct. I landed on my back, my head lying against Homonculette's engraving, back on the podium which the Anarchitect must have recreated. The form hovered over me, then vanished into the vortex.

Not for the first time in my long life, I wasn't sure how to proceed. I walked back to my ship, palmtop checking for both Marie and any Anarchitects that might be warping the structure. I hadn't even gotten a chance to ask him about that, though I suspected that Mr Homonculette might have let a few loose in order to act as a line of defence against conventional attacks.

"Doctor, wait."

I turned to find Marie running down the road toward me. It was strange to see a sentient time machine look so feminine and demure as she came closer, her feet slapping against the metal road, her hands holding her skirt high enough so she wouldn't trip.

"I need your help."

The emotionless voice combined with her sympathetic visage made for a chilling combination.

"Help?" I said. "Aren't you on sentry, waiting for the enemy to come?"

"I understand the situation far better than Homonculette does."

I said nothing, just nodded.

"I know we don't belong in this timeline. And I have a solution, but I need your help in implementing it."

"Go on."

"Do you remember what happened to me at the auction?"

All too well. Homonculette was filled with rage and grief when the Shift managed to manipulate Marie into discharging her weapon systems internally.

"I want you to help me do that again."

"Are you sure?"

"There's no other way."

I knew Marie was correct.

"Are you in control right now?"

"Yes." Marie blinked. Her body spasmed in multiple dimensions, then settled down. "I've reconfigured my interior, locked him out for the time being. I just hope it is for long enough."

Once again, Marie opened her interior to me. This time I was deposited directly into the control room.

The only change to the bone console was the brass plunger with the ball on the end, thrust from the console.

"How much time do you need?" I said.

"Not long. Just enough to clear Anathema and find a proper location."

"Five minutes?"

"Plenty. I've found a convenient black hole on the other side of the universe."

It took me a few seconds to program the weapons system. I set the timer, and the knob slid back into the console.

"All set," I said.

And I was expelled from Marie, a much smoother discharge this occasion. Marie helped me stand up.

"One last loose end," Marie said. And she dematerialised.

I knew the exact moment the weapons system fired. I was back at the slab, rereading Homonculette's warped credo when everything shifted. The world went white, then changed back to colour.

The bone and metal execution platform was now a metal platform in front of a large perspex window with a view of the local system. As I slowly turned around, all I saw were rows of giant mainframes, all clicking along on their preset task of waiting for a War that wouldn't come. There wasn't any sign of the Faction Paradox decor.

I checked the palmtop. No disturbances, no Anarchitects.

Time to go.

***

I checked in with my employers, who seemed relieved that no one was mucking about with their biggest toy. I kept it brief and shut down the comm just before they could send me out on another errand.

Diamanda hadn't said much. She was busy painting her nails.

"So, where are we off to now?" she asked.

"Haven't decided. What's with the pedicure?"

"It takes my mind off stressful thoughts. I used to do this whenever Donneley was on the job."

"Could have gone back to the beach room, Diamanda."

She put down her bottle of polish and waddled over to me, placed an arm on my shoulder. "Some people chant, others take long walks on the beach. I polish."

She patted my cheek, then waddled out of the control room.

***

"How are you feeling?"

There's number four, leaning against one of the bookshelves, a copy of Eye Scream in his hand.

"I'm fine. Just filled with questions."

"As to how and why and all that?" He put the book back on the shelf. "Some things are best left unanswered."

"It might be important down the line."

"Truth?"

"I think you would."

He smiled. "I haven't a clue, either."

"Should I even bother poking around?"

"No," he said. "There are more important things to consider."

"Such as?"

"How things are back home."

"I don't care as long as they leave me out of it," I said.

"You know," he said, "its comments like that which are causing the rest of us to worry, you know."

"You're not asking me to-"

"No. But it wouldn't help to keep a better ear to the ground in matters back home."

"You think that El Presidente might try to pull something?" I said, standing up.

But he was already gone.

***

I'm still having the chess dream. I've let it go, along with the desire for explanations for what I ran into on Anathema.

I have bigger concerns now.

Such as what's happening back home.