"Bring the Master to me."

"The Master?" the Doctor balked.

"Yes."

The questions quickly tumbled from her lips. "Why me? Why do you want him? You had him once before! Why would anyone want him back?"

Rassilon's projection chuckled, arching a brow. "More questions, Renegade?"

The Doctor shrugged as if to say, ('I can't help myself').

"It's far past time he paid for his villainy, Doctor. You of all people know the extent of his evil, his corruption."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she said softly. "Hard to think we were once such close, friends."

The hologram nodded. "And it is the Master who is the one, primarily, behind the Time Lord's present problem."

The Doctor became even more interested. "Indeed?"

"Then I can count on you bringing him back to me?"

A twinkle came to her soft, velvet eyes. "Was the Pope, Polish?"

The projection smiled his approval. "I take that as a yes then, Doctor." The smile faded. "Alive and undamaged. I insist on that, Doctor. Alive and not damaged. And ... bound. He must be bound."

"As you wish, Lord Rassilon," she said, nodding, thinking to herself that she understood her instructions, but certainly not her mission. Yes, this was to be an odd one in many ways.

"Your quest will be perilous; your way strewn with obstacles and danger, Time Lady."

The Doctor's hand moved to her lips, somberly contemplating Rassilon's words.

"But not with impossibilities."

The Doctor smiled. "Whenever, wheresoever the Master is cavorting about, obstacles and dangers are rampant, Lord Rassilon."

"You are not dissuaded?"

The Doctor was steadfast. "I am not." Her mood quickly smoothed out. "I guess I'll be off then," she said, clasping her hands together, turning to leave. Her present body language reminding Rassilon so very much of Cricket (persona #5). Maybe it was the costume?

"Not so fast, Renegade. Where are you going?"

The Doctor looked back at Rassilon's projection puzzled. "To deliver the Master to you, as requested."

"You require three things first."

"I do?"

She thought a moment. "But I have my TARDIS, my sonic screwdriver, and my two companions here. Is that not three to draw to, Lord Rassilon?" she asked, invoking the old poker game cliche; withdrawing the silver device, for him to see.

"Those three may have been sufficient in the past Renegade, but I now offer these: first, a Time Ring."

A sound near the Doctor caused her to turn towards it. A bracelet sized, gold, Time Ring slowly materialized on a table before her.

"This Time Ring is keyed to the Master's exact brain patterns, his retina scan, his voice graph, and his fingerprints. I must be sure it is the Master you deliver to me."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she said, with a slight bow.

"I want him delivered to me as soon as possible for the stability of the Universe, Doctor."

"And for my own peace of mind, Lord Rassilon." The Doctor picked up the Time Ring and slipped it on Munchkin's wrist. "This is important, Munchie, protect it with your life."

The little elf nodded soberly.

"Killing me once was hardly sufficient, Lord Rassilon. I'm sure he'd be more than delighted to do it a second time."

"No doubt of that, Renegade. Especially under these circumstances."

The Doctor gazed at Rassilon not completely comprehending.

But Rassilon ignored her unasked question, choosing instead to continue with his current train of thought. "The Time Ring will return you, once your mission is complete."

"Naturally, the only way to fly," she grinned toothily. "And the second thing Lord Rassilon?"

"Behold! You will be allowed to take with you, one of my warrior robots." As Rassilon's projection spoke, a silver, Raston droid slowly advanced towards her.

Eying the Raston Warrior warily, the Doctor grimaced, as if in pain.

"Something amiss, Renegade?"

"Just ... ah ... your androids, Lord Rassilon; they are the most adroit killing machines ever devised."

For a second time, Rassilon's projection allowed the Doctor to see the features of the large face soften. "Why, thank you, my dear." The giant eyes narrowed. "Somehow this is a problem?"

The Doctor began to pace, back and forth, before the cubicles, quite careful to avoid the Raston Warrior. "Yes, a problem, Lord Rassilon. I try not to carry weapons. Usually, only this," she said, holding up her sonic device. "And, if this Raston droid is programmed to protect me ... and if I am to bring the Master to you alive and unharmed ... perhaps The Master would be safer after all with just this?" she queried, cocking her head slightly, once more raising the sonic device.

"Point well taken, Renegade. The choice in this matter is, of course yours," the projection sighed. "I am then, reluctantly, agreed."

"Third, you will be permitted to choose a companion from one of the six Doctors you have been."

All at once, the lights of the first six cubicles winked on.

The Doctor looked up at Rassilon unbelieving, removing her Panama hat. "But I thought you said these museum copies were wax!"

"Did I Doctor? Are you sure? Besides, you of all people know appearances can be very deceiving. The companion at your side, for instance. A wizened warrior? Who would suppose from her slight stature, and velveteen eyes?"

Nervously she began to roll and unroll her hat, not knowing whether to put it back in her pocket, or back on her head.

Rassilon's projection smiled. "I only let you assume wrongly, for a time, Doctor."

"Somehow, Munchie, I felt he was going to say something like that," she said, continuing to pace.

Clearing her throat, her eyes returned to the projection. "They are alive, Lord Rassilon?"

"Yes. Clones ... if you wish; awaiting only my final reanimation of them."

"Doctors in a drawer?" she asked, picking up her pace once more, speaking to herself. "If he keeps acting like that I'm either going to start believing in Limbo; or, start talking to myself."

Suddenly stopping in her tracks, she turned her back towards the projection. "All of them?"

Rassilon was growing impatient. "This is The Game of Rassilon!"

"So you have said." The Doctor suddenly shuttered, and not just from the cold of the Dark Tower. "And to think, I use to think it was just a war game ... team spirit and all that," she muttered to herself, re-pocketing her hat.

Grinning she put her hands on her hips. "Are you doing something illegal, Lord Rassilon? Some possible infringement upon the First Law of Time?"

"Folded, spindled, stapled, and mutilated, Renegade," the projection admitted. "But as they are, even the first one, my laws ..."

Her quicksilver mind switched to a different tack. "Well, I hope, someone, one day, makes it severe criminal offence to change the sex of Time Lords, and sees the perpetrators are punished by eternal, perpetual death on a shelf!"

"It probably already is," snorted Rassilon's hologram, smiling, "Somewhere." After a long pause it continued. "Why, my dear Doctor, you really do surprise me. You of all people, wishing to stifle a man's creativity?"

The Doctor successfully stifled a chuckle.

"Besides, do you not feel ... honoured ... to be part of this most unique undertaking?"

"You mean, like a prize winning steer, grateful for the ribbons and attention, yet wishing to have returned to him that which was rightfully his?"

Rassilon's projection roared with laughter. "Oh Doctor, extremely well pleaded! It seems the last time I came across that particular turn of phrase, Ben Franklin had just expressed that same sentiment to you. Only, the young, neutered, bull calf in question he spoke of, was the new United States."

"True, but all old Ben was concerned in loosing was, the dubious Rights of Englishmen," the Doctor said, scowling. "What about me?"

"Doctor, let me assure you, the termination of this regeneration, will find you just as adamantly insisting on its continuation."

The Doctor began to shake her head very slowly. Yeah, right! No way could she believe THAT. All she wanted was a return to normalcy in her lives. Perhaps she though, rather ruefully, a swan dive off the top of The Dark Tower would be all that was necessary to instate the future Norm (persona #8).

"I grow inpatient, Time Lord, choose!" growled Rassilon's projection.

His thunderous voice of authority had returned the Doctor to the very real and very present, and the task at hand.

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she said bowing humbly.

The Doctor began then to weave in and out between the first six cubicles.

Which one ... which me? her mind implored. Rassilon is waiting, and I in need of an equal companion. Which me ... which me?

The Doctor picked up her pace, her hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of the tan coat with the buttons on the wrong side. (That is, the incorrect side for a male.)

At last, the Doctor stopped her pacing.

Whirling round, she pointed straight at Teeth & Curls. "This one, Lord Rassilon."

"All right, Renegade. But my turn now, why?" the projection posed.

The Doctor sighed deeply, "Due to the Master, a regeneration's premature end. Perhaps ... perhaps a chance for him to level the score."

Rassilon was well aware the Doctor's present thoughts were deeply distressing her, and it was only natural he sought to redirect her. After all, wasn't she and he his ...? "Sufficient, Renegade," the hologram interrupted its own tender thoughts. "Although, you may have overlooked the most logical reason of all."

The Doctor cocked her head. "I have?"

The projection grinned slyly. "Since you declined my most generous offer of a warrior robot escort, and this Doctor is of all, the most massive, perhaps he can provide you with the Minder you require most."

"Point well taken, Lord Rassilon," she said grinning widely. "He would make anyone a most excellent bodyguard. He can fight ... fence ... ride ... fly a plane ... drive a jeep ... a tank ... "

"Then I approve."

" ...has the accuracy of a spitting camel," she continued, apparently oblivious to what Rassilon had just said.

"Doctor," the projection growled, with mock disgust. "Children and the gentler sex are supposed to have beautiful ... pure minds."

The Doctor began to snort, and honk, most un-femininely. "Lord Rassilon, not to criticize you, but you've obviously spent far too long a period of time in these isolated, drafty corridors of yours. Welcome to the real world."

"But all of that is neither here, nor there, Doctor. As your companion to be is a clone, there are three things you should be made aware of."

The Doctor's eyebrow arched quizzically. Overly fond of triads, she mused, isn't he? Still, her un-wielding curiosity also had a firm grip on her. "And what would those three things be, Lord Rassilon?"

"First, as he is a clone, his nexus glands are nonfunctional."

"Then, that means he is incapable of regeneration."

"Correct, Doctor. But as your fondness for things human is well documented; this defect should do nothing but endear the clone to you."

The Doctor grinned toothily.

"And the second?"

"He is sterile."

"For some particular reason?"

"None that need concern you at present, Doctor."

"And the third?"

"He will be sensitive to the fact that he is a clone. It is an inherit weakness I have been unable to eliminate, for some odd reason. So steer him clear of dwelling too much upon this fact. He is as much the Doctor as you are.."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon."

"Then stand well back, Doctor," the projection commanded.

Stepping back, the Doctor was treated to Teeth & Curls cubicle coming alive with lights, sounds, and multi-radiations.

"What's happening to him, Lord Rassilon?" she asked, shielding her eyes.

"Besides completing his animation, I am also, updating his programming. He will possess, when he wakes, all the memories of the Doctor, to this very moment."

The Doctor looked up at the hologram startled.

"Your bio data on me is that complete?"

"Yes, Renegade. I would think you'd be grateful for the saving of many hours of explanations."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon, without question, but ..."

"Expect him to be somewhat disorientated at first," Rassilon's projection interrupted.

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she conceded. If Rassilon did not want to answer or explain ... Rassilon did not.

It appeared to the Doctor then, Rassilon turned all his energies to the task at hand.

The Doctor, literally mesmerized by the commotion in the cramped cubicle, riveted her eyes on the inanimate clone of her former self.

The fireworks at an end, the Doctor, in silent wonder, slowly advanced on the cubicle.

The projection of Rassilon, shimmered, greatly lightning. He appeared fatigued. Nevertheless, the projection managed a well pleased smile. Nodding his head in fatherly approval, the projection slowly faded. The two were on their own now.

Teeth & Curls eyes fluttered open; and he slowly slid to the floor of his cubicle.

The Doctor reached out her hands to steady him, preventing him from toppling over.

Once she'd settled the Doctor in, she sat back on her heels. "Easy, Doctor. Just take it slow and easy."

"Yes, yes, just stop fussing, Tegan. I'm perfectly ..." his voice trailed off. "Aup!"the Doctor choked, his hands moving to cover his face.

Allowing him a moment for himself, she then helped the Doctor slowly remove his hands.

"Doctor?" the Doctor asked softly.

The Doctor looked into soft, velvet, hazel eyes. "Oh, you're not Tegan."

"No," the Doctor said, shaking her head, trying to be helpful. "I'm not even Australian. Actually, I am the Doctor; the definite article, you might say," she said, grinning toothily.

A glimmer of understanding came to the Doctor's wide, pale eyes.

"Hey! I said that! Once upon a time."

"Yes, Doctor, I know."

The Doctor struggled with himself, trying to remember; trying to get his bearings.

Pulling up a long, lanky leg, he rested his hands on it.

"Then ... then ... you are me!" he stammered. "Regeneration ... regeneration ..." he struggled, looking round.

"Six, Doctor," she said, softly, assisting.

"Yes," he agreed. "Doctor number seven." It was all beginning to make some sense to him. "And we're both in Rassilon's tomb, in The Dead Zone!"

"Yes, Doctor, though, sometimes it feels a great deal more like The Twilight Zone, or The Outer Limits. She smiled widely.

The Doctor nodded in agreement. "Then there are seven of us now?" he asked casually.

"Actually, Doctor, I believe there is only you and I." Cautiously she looked round. "Ah, but one is never sure about these things, with Rassilon near by."

The Doctor smiled at her dilemma, but the grin quickly faded.

"Hey, you're a girl!"

"I am?" the Doctor asked, pouting.

The Doctor's brow furrowed. "Therefore, logically, you cannot be a later persona of me."

"Want to bet?" she teased. "It is always a mistake to underestimate Rassilon when he is in Gaming Mode."

She offered her hands. "Here, let me help you up, Doctor."

Munchkin too stepped up to assist.

Assisting the Doctor ... he was duly impressed my these tiny folk's strength. The Doctor and Munchkin stepped back, so the Doctor could steady his own self, by himself.

Gazing at him, her forefinger against her lips, she knew there was something different about the Doctor, but she couldn't quite riddle it out.

The Doctor looked at her in alarm. "Is something the matter? Rassilon didn't forget something did he?" The Doctor began to cautiously examine himself. To say he was intensely worried ... "I mean, I am all here, aren't I?"

"All six feet three inches, Doctor," the Doctor assured. Finally the proper neurons in her brain made contact. "Of course, that's it! You look older and heavier, than I remember me being at the time of change."

The Doctor silently snarled at her. "That bad, huh?" he asked, gingerly touching what should have been a dark, auburn sideboard; that in reality was now, far more grey than brown.

"Oh, no, Doctor," she quickly jumped in. "I just can't help but wonder where Rassilon has had you puttering about, for your last several hundred years or so."

She quickly gestured towards a cheval glass, silently inviting him to take a look.

"I take your point," he said, gazing at his reflection, lightly stroking his cheek. "I just remember as me ... reaching out to the Watcher ... and waking up here ... me. That is ... waking up the fourth me, still."

The female Doctor nodded compassionately.

The Doctor cocked his head in puzzlement, turning back towards the other Doctor. "Though," he began with a pout. "I do remember being Cricket ... and Joseph ... somewhere along the way. Rather like watching a long running telly series." His eyebrow peaked. "And ... and you ... you too. Ah, Doc ... Doc ... tor," the Doctor stuttered, stumbling over the familiar title, fighting back a most strange smile. "Still I, suppose, Dokk-tor, if you can live with your condition ... I can live with mine."

"Still, I suppose ...,"echoing him, grinning widely, rubbing her nose, "This all is going to take some TIME to get use to."

The Doctor looked at his future self, startled. "You read my mind!"

"Hardly an incredible feat, Doctor. We are, after all, telepathic as a species; and as you and I are in essence one mind, I would imagine our link is stronger than most."

"Are you always so astute, Doctor?" he questioned, grinning from ear to ear.

"Naw, this isn't my suit," she teased, grabbing the lapels of the tan coat. "It belongs to Cricket!"

The Doctor closed his eyes, shaking his head. In spite of this Doctor's attempt at levity, or perhaps, because of it, his head was beginning to clear. With the passage of additional time, he was sure he would be his old fourth persona self, once again.

"Shall we be off then, Doctor?" she asked. "We do after all have an old enemy to fight. Only this time, he'll have the two of us to overcome."

"And a very wise, and wonderful elf, and a robot dog," the Doctor quickly added.

"Indeed!" the female Doctor agreed.

"The Time Lord's signal is coming in now, Leader," the CyberLieutenant relayed.

"That means the Transduction Barrier has been lowered. Advance closer," the CyberLeader commanded.

The longer Stiles worked in the TARDIS the greater his respect grew for the old T. T. capsule which was, no matter how you looked at her, an incredible machine. But no less incredible was the T. T. capsule's commandeered commander, the Doctor. A perfect cyborg the Doctor and the TARDIS were, Stiles thought, replacing a fuse. A fuse that promptly blew as power began to surge through it. Stiles sighed deeply. Well ... nearly a perfect cyborg.

Suddenly and unexpectedly the console in the main control room exploded and began to burn!

The scene was duplicated in the smaller auxiliary Console Room as the wooden console caught fire and began to char and melt.

Caught totally unawares, the technicians fought an ocean of choking smoke, as they quickly fled the burning TARDIS.

"Doctor? What is it?" Munchkin asked, stepping closer to her companion.

Steading her, a look of grave concern swept across Munchkin's face. "Doctor?"

The Doctor then collapsed, slowly falling towards the floor, assisted by Munchkin.

K9 quickly trundled over to the Doctor. "Master, Doctor?"

K9's sensor probe telescoped out to the Doctor's temple. "Vitals stabilizing."

Just as quickly, the two began to recover.

Looking at the Doctor, puzzled and a bit shaken, the smaller Doctor began to smile at him very sheepishly. "Nothing ... now. Sorry. Just a twinge of cosmic angst, I suppose. Something cried out to me. Like a scream: from a ghost. Didn't you feel it too, Doctor?"

"Yes, Doctor," he said, nodding his head, totally agreeing. "And, it was distinctly, female.

"Well, at least I didn't throw up my socks this time. How about you, Doctor?"

The Doctors smiles were becoming wider and more confidant. Even the colour in their faces was returning to normal.

"Fine. Just stirred, not shaken. How about you?" the Doctor asked, still very concerned with this special charge, although he was the one still lying on the floor.

"Might be, I'm still picking up the odd dendrite floss," she speculated, tapping her temple.

"Could be," the Doctor agreed, smiling with a nod, slowly uprighting himself. "After all, ten days into any new life cycle is hardly more than just settling in; and no telling what might be happening in your regeneration, unique as it is."

"Very true, Doctor," the Doctor said, nodding. "But why on earth then did you just faint?

"Don't be ricidulous, Doctor, I never loose consciousness," the Doctor snorted. He quickly changed the subject, and stood.

"So ... on to the Capitol?" he suggested.

She quickly agreed.

The Doctor's face lightened with his old, familiar grin. "I can hardly wait to see the expression on Flavia's face when I transmatt back with you."

The other Doctor looked at him slightly miffed. "The President will react, as one would expect Gold Usher, to react," she replied, in a very formal tone.

The Doctor smiled nervously, rubbing his nose. Oh ... a budding femi-nazi, he thought, I must remember that.

"However, to assure ..." the Doctor's words drug the older looking but in reality younger Doctor from his delightfully, devilish thoughts.

"... To assure that you do transmatt back with me ... might I offer you my coattails?"

"Good plan," he agreed. "But I offer a superior one."

The smaller of the two Docs arched a quizzical brow.

The Doctor growled menacingly. And moving towards her, opening his greatcoat; he sweepingly enfolded the Doctor within it, as if he were a hungry vampire about to devour her.

Giggling beneath the blue ocean of the Doctor's massive, full length topcoat, the little Doctor triggered the Capitol recall device.