The sun tumbled behind the horizon. The shadows of the trees extended across the uneven ground, elastic formations stretching to occupy the longest, most narrow piece of the ground. The leaves drooped in the oppressive humidity; the dusk air heavy and still.

Diamanda Roesseler leaned next to one of the trees, took large gulps of air into her lungs. Her knees ached from running over the rough ground, tripping on a rock that sent her sprawling. She pushed her hair out of her face, patted her pockets in search of something to tie her mane back. Not for the first time in the last half hour she wished she had cut her hair short like Ricky Powell's wife had done.

She worked her head around the trunk of the tree, stared into the dusk-filled woods. Diamanda looked for anything - the hunters, Smith, the cow-sized dogs with drooling faces and matted fur - anything that would help make up her mind on what to do next. She turned her head up and found a low slung limb, gave a thought about climbing until she had a vision of a small mammal stuck on the end of a branch as some large beast followed behind it and several more waited below.

Crikey! What to do?

Diamanda took in one last breath, ignored the jackhammer beat of her heart, ran forward with her arms outstretched.

Keep running, she thought. Just keep running.

***

Gregor didn't really need the night vision goggles. He could see fine without them. However, it was needed for appearances sake. His men already thought he was an odd one to start with. He didn't need to give them another reason. So, he used the NVGs to scan the woods.

He thought about joining in, but chose not to. There was a reason why you hired local talent. He didn't know the territory all too well, and if he'd known about the oppressive heat, he might have chosen a different spot for his quarry.

But the Doctor did have a thing about Earth. And this part of the planet was remote enough for him to conduct his operation without scrutiny of the local law enforcement.

He lowered the goggles, turned his attention to the blue cabinet parked next to a shack that had seen much better days. It surprised him how easy it was to obtain the Doctor's TARDIS. All it took was a few pieces of specialized equipment and enough knowledge to convert it to something useful. Getting the Doctor's TARDIS was easy. Entering it proved far more difficult. The lock couldn't be picked, nor could you cut it or blow it. He could have called back home and sent for a couple of techs who would have gotten inside the capsule in mere moments.

But this wasn't a bone fide assignment. Truth be told, if his superiors back home found out about what he was doing, then he'd be back home. He worked very hard to become a field agent and the only way he'd return is if he was dying.

He shook his head, walked into the shack to see if there was any more useful equipment.

***

I'm too old for this.

Smith dwelled on this obvious thought as he kept his legs moving down the path through the woods.

Behind him, he heard shouts, incoherent voices barking out directions.

Somehow he'd lost Diamanda during their run, also lost his ship as well. Things were not looking good at the moment.

Smith stopped, turned around ducked behind an oak. The last remaining bit of light hovered in front of him. He felt the anger rise up in him, forced it back down. Plenty of time to deal with his own incompetence of letting a young one get the best of him. There were other, more important issues to deal with - the three cast-offs from Deliverance on his trail, for starters.

Smith looked skyward, found a limb low enough for him to reach and thick enough to support him. He leaped, grabbed the branch, swung himself up. He checked the pockets of his pea coat, found some fishing line and nodded. The fishing line wasn't much, but at least it was a start. He let out some line, muttered to himself, got to work on what needed to be done.

***

Diamanda ducked behind a wide bush, chest rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding. She stared out into the darkness around her, but could only see black shapes on black shapes. Diamanda hoped that her pursuers would have the same disadvantage in the night... And then she saw the first beam of light cut through the gloom. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

"See anything?"

"Will you shut up, fool?"

"Like talking's going to matter."

"Just shut up and load up the rifle."

Diamanda curled her body tighter, forced herself into taking deep breaths.

"Boss said he wants them alive. The woman and the man."

Diamanda sighed, watched the beam of light cut through the forest, waited for the beam to be not where she wanted to go.

And she was off again, running as best she could, ignoring the sharp pains in her legs and the sharper one in her chest.

Diamanda felt a piercing pain in her shoulder, ducked behind a tree, panicked. Her hand felt around, pulled out a long dart. She held the dart loosely in her hand as the darkness overcame her vision. In the distance she heard "Got her, I got her" fade into a low rumble as she slid down to the ground...

***

Gregor recognized the woman draped over Mort's shoulder as he proudly walked toward the shack, shouting. Right behind Mort, Jeb smiled, a huge wad of tobacco puffing his cheek out to comic proportions.

"Hey boss, we got one!" Mort shouted.

"Damn, she's a fine looking filly," Jeb added, slapping the posterior of the unconscious woman.

"Jebediah, please don't touch her," Gregor said, his disapproval obvious. "Put her down by the fire, Mortimer."

"Sure thing, Boss." Mort gently laid Diamanda down on the ground. "What's next?"

Gregor shook his head. "Mortimer, why don't you and Jebediah help your friends get the other person."

Jeb was bent over at the waist, sweating, taking in large gulps of air. "C'mon, Boss. I'm bushed. Larry, Daryl and Darrel can handle it."

Only too well, Gregor thought. "No. Go out and help them. I want the man brought back here alive." The mouth breathers still out there would probably bring the Doctor's body back in pieces.

Mort walked over to Jeb, whispered in his ear. Jeb looked up, surprised.

"C'mon, Jeb."

"Sure. This time, I get to use the dart gun."

"Last time you used the dart gun, we spent a week in stir. I don't think so." Mort picked up his pace as he headed back into the woods.

"How was I supposed to know that the Sheriff would be out in the woods -"

Mort slapped Jeb upside his head with his Cat Diesel Power cap. "Hush, you dumb kicker."

As the pair of tellurians disappeared back into the woods, Gregor picked up Diamanda and carried her into the shed.

He left her on the floor of the TARDIS control room, went off in search of a chair and the right drug to bring her back to reality.

***

Smith finished the fishing line traps in time to scramble back up the tree without being spotted by his pursuers. He heard the baying of the dogs, watched them rush past the tree in a frenzied dash. He watched in the darkness as the dogs slowed to a stop, walked and trotted in small circles searing for the scent of their prey. The baying turned to yelps as the confused dogs scoured the ground and the grass for any signs of the scent that brought them to this point in the woods.

Smith patted his pockets, found the small vial and the wrist rocket. He scanned the woods, then chose his target. He launched the vial towards one of his fishing line traps, the one furthest away from him. Within moments, the dogs picked up the scent and howling joyously, took off after the odour.

Smith smiled, returned the slingshot to his pocket.

In the distance, the barking of the dogs was joined by a new noise. "Hey, I think the dog's got something."

"Them hound's are as useless as tits on a boar -"

"Shut yer hole, Daryl."

The howling dogs drowned out the conversation. Smith concentrated on the humans as best he could.

"Where in hell are they?"

"Over - gackk."

"Larry -" It was all Smith could hear before the dogs, growling, snapping and howling drowned out the humans. Smith knew what happened, wasn't very proud of what he'd done, did nothing to stop it, though. He stayed in his tree, listened to the horrified screams of the men rise above the howling dogs....

A single shot, then several more in succession. A few pain-filled cries from the hounds, another series of shots, then a few sounds of blunt objects on flesh.

"Daryl?"

"Jesus," Daryl replied. "What got into them?"

"Dunno, Darrel. But I'll bet that Limey we're hunting had something to do with it."

"The hell with catching him. We gotta do him for Larry."

"Aye."

Smith heard the two men load their guns. He frowned, decided to take a chance.

"Well, well. Having problems?"

A deafening silence filled the woods.

"Hello, can you hear me?" Smith added.

"You're gonna be a dead Limey when we get a hold of you."

Smith heard one of the men moving towards him. "Only if you catch me."

Smith looked down from his perch, saw one of the hunters below him. He eased himself out on the limb waited for the right moment.

"See anything?" the other yelled.

"No. But he's close. I can feel it."

Smith jumped down, drove both knees into the man's back. The man grunted as his head slammed against the ground. Smith checked for a pulse, found one. He grabbed the rifle that fell out of his hands and slung it over his shoulder, before climbing back up the tree.

"Daryl?"

Smith sat on the limb, took the rifle in his hands.

"Daryl? You okay?"

Smith fired the rifle in the air, paused, and fired twice more.

"Daryl? What's going on?"

Smith climbed down. "I got him," he said in a perfect imitation of Daryl's voice.

"Hot damn. Hang on!" Smith heard the other man approach with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants. "Yeeehaw! Yee - urk!"

The other man found the second fishing line trap. Smith slung the rifle back over his shoulder, walked over, found his pursuer bleeding from the forehead spread-eagled on the ground, eyes open and blank. Smith found a weak pulse in his neck, grunted in approval. He looked over in the direction of the other trap, the baying of the dogs echoing in his mind.

Smith shook his head, mumbled something in an arcane tongue, turned his attention to the ones alive and decided that fishing line was good enough to tie the hunters up with.

***

Gregor launched a tracker to follow Jeb and Mort. He decided to keep an eye on his employees, lest they forget that their quarry was to be taken alive. The tracker following the two tellurians came with a nice weapons package that Gregor had no hesitation to use, if needed. Besides, if they ran into the Doctor, he could handle his capture from here...

A low groan jostled Gregor out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diamanda open her eyes, stretch her legs as she worked the tranquilizer out of her system.

"Wha- where am I?" Diamanda said, her voice groggy.

Gregor walked over to Diamanda who slowly pulled herself off the floor and stood up on shaky legs. He let the woman brace herself on his shoulders. It allowed him time to reach for his blaster, which he promptly pulled from his waistband and jammed into Diamanda's stomach.

"Never mind where you are. Consider yourself a backup plan."

Diamanda looked into Gregor's eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Reparations." He looked at the dirty jeans and shirt Diamanda had on. "How did you enjoy your jaunt through the woods?"

"Bugger off," Diamanda said. She gave Gregor a hard shove. Gregor stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. He reached out and grabbed the retreating Diamanda by the hair, dragged her back to him.

"The only reason you're not a smoking corpse on the floor is that I have need to keep you alive, for the moment." He let go of Diamanda's hair, planted a firm hand on her shoulder. "In the meantime, you will keep your mouth shut and behave yourself." He pressed against a nerve, forced Diamanda to her knees. She cried out in pain, lashed out at Gregor with a wild fist, caught him between the legs. Gregor let out a short peep, dropped the blaster. Diamanda dove for the weapon, missed it, sent it sliding across the floor. Gregor fell on his sides, curled up in a fetal position. Diamanda staggered to her feet, lurched for the gun.

Gregor reached out, grabbed Diamanda by the ankle, gave it a flip. Diamanda landed hard on her side, let out a cry of pain. Gregor crawled past the woman. His eyes were on the gun, and of making this monkey-brained primitive pay for her insolence with her life.

Diamanda rolled onto her stomach, got into a squatting position and launched herself at the crawling Gregor. The two collided hard, Diamanda's shoulder crashing into Gregor's stomach and ribs. Running on adrenaline and instinct, Diamanda sent a fist into the side of Gregor's head. The Time Lord collapsed with a grunt.

Her whole body ached as she stood once more. Diamanda picked up the pistol, shoved it into her pants. She heard Gregor let out another groan and gave him another hard boot to the head out of reflex. She was about to give him another hard shot, when the scanner caught her eye.

There was the woods she'd been running through only recently. From a slight overhead view, she saw two men, the same two men who had been chasing her walk through the woods with determination and purpose. One was armed with the dart rifle that had taken her down. The other had an old-fashioned sawed-off shotgun.

"Crikey," she said. Diamanda walked over to the control panel, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was set up the same way as Smith's. It took her a few moments to find the door, as her erstwhile travel partner and guardian had only showed her the location once. Once the doors opened, she walked out of the ship, only to walk back in, blaster raised. Diamanda fired two green-white bolts into the control panel, watched it explode in a shower of sparks before leaving for good.

***

Smith stood next to the trussed up thugs, unsure how to proceed. Should he go after Gregor, or look for Diamanda. He wasn't sure of how well she could handle a situation like this. Smith hoped that living with a professional thief like Donneley might have given her some basic survival skills. Then again, he'd been able to sneak up on her without much effort...

Voices in the woods. Smith froze. He listened. Two, definitely locals. More relaxed and confident than his earlier pursuers. He closed his eyes, concentrated on where the pair came from. There was a third sound, a high pitched purr - a mechanical sound. He opened his eyes, climbed back up his tree.

The voices headed away from his spot, headed in the direction of the other line trap. Smith paused for a beat or two before sliding out of the tree. The one thug who was still alive started to grunt through his gag. Instinctively, Smith's hand shot forward, connected with the human's chin. The thug's head slumped to the side.

Smith took the rifle off his shoulder and followed the voices. This is for show, he thought. He got a few feet from the clearing when he heard a scream, then retching. He didn't dwell on the potential carnage at the second line trap. What's done is done, Smith thought, easing his way through a group of saplings. Sometimes you do what you have to in order to get out alive.

There could have been another way, you know.

A short man in a question mark sweater and dark coat hovering before him in the woods, his face lined with worry.

Not this time.

Since when has death been an acceptable alternative?

You're the last one to be moralizing me.

You've lost faith in our core belief

You mean that all life is sacred? How many lives have we taken in all our long years? Have many did you take yourself?

I have never-

Taken a life unless absolutely necessary, and with much regret? Don't kid yourself. It's rationalizing.

I deeply resent that.

Good. Now, if you don't mind I have work to do-

Put the rifle down.

It's for show-

Now, who's rationalizing?

Smith shot the little man a dark look.

You know I'm right.

Smith shook his head, gently set the rifle on the ground.

If I get shot, I'll find you and put my foot up-

There's always another way, Doctor. Always...

Smith blinked, and the little man was gone. In his place was a small, disk-shaped object, hovering above the trees. A series of lights ran along the edge, glowing and fading in irregular patterns.

Smith nodded, checked his pockets, found his sonic screwdriver. He walked directly under the tracker and pressed a button on the screwdriver. The tracker wobbled, then dropped. Smith took a step back and caught the tracker in his arms. In seconds, he had a panel open and began to rework some of the ancillary systems of the tracker.

***

"What in God's name happened?" Mort stared at the carnage in front of him: the chewed up remains of Larry, the corpses of his four Newfoundlander/Wolf hybrids pumped full of bullets. He wrenched his gaze away; his eye caught Jeb still throwing up behind a bush.

Mort mumbled a prayer out of instinct. He placed a hand on Jeb's back.

"How're you doing, Jeb?"

"I can't believe what happened to Larry," Jeb replied, his voice a ragged croak.

"It was the dogs. Too much inbreeding. Don't see either Daryl or Darrel. Maybe the dogs got them, too." Mort pulled out a pouch, grabbed some chew, shoved it in his mouth. "C'mon, lets go tell the boss and see what he has to say."

Jeb roughly wiped his mouth, stood up. Mort saw the ashen look on his face, placed an arm over his shoulders.

"It ain't worth it. The money ain't worth this," Jeb muttered, pointing at the dead dogs.

"I know." Mort took a step, stopped short when he saw the mini flying saucer hovering not five feet from his face. Jeb stumbled on his unsteady legs.

"Wha - my God," Jeb said. He gripped Mort a little tighter.

"Stay still, Jeb." Mort reached for the rifle on his shoulder as slowly as he could, never taking his eyes off the saucer.

Once the rifle left Mort's shoulder, two beams hit Mort and Jeb in the chest, knocking them cold before they hit the ground.

***

Smith used the last bit of his fishing line to truss the last two hunters.

"Doctor? Doctor?"

Smith turned around, saw Diamanda leaning up against a tree.

"Over here. Watch out for the fishing line."

"Do I even want to know?" Diamanda asked as she stepped toward Smith.

"Not really." Smith saw the frazzled look on his companion's face. "First question: are you all right? Second question: Have you seen the ship?"

"I am in desperate need of a shower, a glass of wine and a full body massage. And the big blue cabinet is over that way." Diamanda said, pointing. "By the way, I ran into Gregor. His ship is right next to yours, but I don't think it'll be working for a while."

Smith gave Diamanda a puzzled look. "How do you know that?"

"I blasted the control panel a couple of times with this." Smith frowned; it was the same staser that killed Donneley. He took it from Diamanda, shoved it into his jacket pocket.

"Time to go, then." Smith took a few steps, then stopped when he realized Diamanda wasn't following.

"Problem, Diamanda?"

"Is your whole life like this? Getting into trouble all the time?"

"Truth?"

"Better be."

"Only ninety percent of the time."

Diamanda saw the hint of a smile on Smith's face. "I'll settle for ten percent, then."

Smith let Diamanda show the way back to his TARDIS.

***

Gregor came back to consciousness in time to choke on the smoke of burning components. Waving the haze away from his eyes, Gregor stood up and ignored the wracking pain in his rib, the pounding in his forehead, as he made his way to the console. He started to assess the damage when he found the note, taped to the central column. After Gregor read it the first time, he bellowed, punched the console several times. The second time he read it, he went cold:

GREGOR,

I THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW THAT I'VE CALLED OUR EMPLOYERS AND TOLD THEM YOU NEEDED A LIFT HOME.

THEY ALSO KNOW HOW YOU ENDED UP IN SUCH A STATE.

DJS.

Gregor swore again, walked out of his TARDIS to wait for a lift back home.