Albert fastened the final strap of his fighter harness. The excitement of the moment had made the routine tasks of preparing for a mission take longer than usual. Even his ground assistant had fumbled with things. This is it, he thought. This is the "big" one.

Darmellonian fighters were designed to go into battle and remain there for days. The solid fuel was slowly converted through complex atomic reactions completely into energy, Thus a few pounds of fuel provided sufficient energy for hundreds of hours of 5- to 10-G maneuvers. Each fighter carried two pilots. A pilot's flight seat could slide them away from the controls and viewports and into a dark chamber in a sleeping position. If battle conditions became highly intense, both pilots could be called on to monitor sensors and operate controls.

Albert's partner, Tammy, adjusted her flight helmet and tested her communication connections -- internally, of course. "Can you hear me, Albert?"

Albert took a second to complete his connections. "Sure can," he replied.

"Theta squad, report," the voice of their squad leader commanded remotely.

Albert and Tammy listened as the first 52 squad teams reported. Tammy then took her cue. "Theta 53 ready for liftoff," she said briskly. Fourty-seven other teams gave similarly optimistic reports followed by the squad leader's next command.

"Ground crews away," she demanded.

She waited about a minute as the ground assistants scurried through doors to stand behind protective glass. When the last door closed she gave her next order. "Follow me. Line up in numerical order in the escape tube." Her fighter lifted off its maintenance pad and shot up into the entrance to the escape tube. In rapid sequence a hundred other fighters followed her until they were lined up, spaced every fifty meters, with the leader's fighter a mere 150 meters from the tube's exit onto the planet's surface.

Fourty-two other such tubes filled in the same manner, with all fighters tuned to a command channel specifically reserved for emergency military operations. At the other end of the channel Whatley and Fergus stood near the back of a stadium-sized operations room. Defense sensors had detected the incoming Smarlonian fleet.

Analysts busily processed the incoming data. Soon one of them barked out a finding. "Preliminary estimates suggest several hundred thousand fighters could be based on the five cruisers detected so far."

"Best to wait as long as possible and learn as much as we can of their strategy," Fergus suggested.

"I like the idea," Whatley agreed. "Your savage wanderer didn't turn out to be much help," he added.

"Maybe not," Fergus sighed. "I just wish I had the assistance of the person who brought her here."

"She didn't come on her own?"

"Actually, she didn't -- though she very obviously left on her own."

"Who brought her?" Whatley wondered.

"An old friend whose advice would be very welcome at the moment."

"And where might this friend have come from?"

"Fergus turned to gaze straight at his defense commissioner. The flattened line of his mouth suggested he was examining his answer options. "Just someone I worked with about fifteen years ago."

"Back in the days when you were campaigning to limit continued inward expansion," Whatley recalled with a twinge of bitterness.

"And deciding if I should enter politics."

"Each cruiser has just launched a couple of hundred fighters," a voice from the floor informed. The two leaders turned to face the task at hand. "They appear to be headed for the visible surface constructions."

"Give me a countdown to the time you think the first Smarlonian fighter will be in range of a target," Whatley ordered.

A technician immediately began hacking at a keyboard, and in only half a minute had a countdown clock appearing in the corner of one of the large tactical displays.

"I'm guessing our fighters can reach the invaders in three minutes or less. To give them time to engage the attackers I'll wait until there's five minutes left on that clock," he explained to Fergus.

The regent nodded very slightly and said nothing.

Based on a previous arrangement, Tammy would pilot the fighter out of the tube and out to the point of first engagement. Albert slid his seat into rest position and tried to sleep, unsuccessfully it turned out. So he heard Whatley's voice give the deployment command. Moments later 4300 Darmellonian fighters poured out of the planet from all sides, converging on the five incoming columns of single-pilot fighters. Tammy's headset carried two audio signals. The louder of the two was reserved for communications between Theta squad members. The other monitored the planet's primary defense coordination channel.

All the Darmellonian fighters deployed heard that traffic. So they all knew almost as soon as those in the operations room that moments after they had broke the planet's surface the Smarlonian cruisers had deployed another five thousand fighters each.

"We only have another thousand fighters in reserve," Whatley complained unnecessarily.

"Hold off on sending them," Fergus commanded. "We may need a surprise soon."

"In other words, we're doomed," George lamented.

"Maybe...."

"For it's next witness the defense calls," Pollet paused for effect, "the Black Guardian."

"You are completely out of order!" Flavia shouted.

"Your honor, the prosecution vigorously objects!" This second exclamation, occupying the same temporal territory as the first, came from the Castellan. Andred simply stared at Pollet with his jaw in neutral.

"I find you in contempt of the High Council and order that you...." Flavia was interrupted by the sudden awareness that the named witness was sitting in front of her.

Lord President Borusa made no moves to administer an oath of truthfulness, but the Black Guardian didn't seem to think this any sort of discourtesy. After waiting to see the Gallifreyan's reactions to his appearance, he took command of the proceeding by simply speaking.

"Do you think your commands and restrictions have any power over me?" he snarled toward Flavia.

Flavia appeared to ignore him as she gestured toward the guards posted in the Council chamber. They quickly took hold of the defense Jurist and literally carried him from the room. The Black Guardian took no notice of this and continued his speech.

"You didn't know whose powers you were tapping, did you?" he said, staring right through Cordar. Cordar sat deathly still. "You simply provided the hands that performed a task I needed done," he crowed. "And there were plenty of beneficial side effects to your actions -- here and on other planets!"

The Guardian stopped to gaze around the room. "Where is the Doctor?" he suddenly demanded.

"Your testimony has no weight with this council," Flavia asserted with considerable force. "We did not issue your invitation and we'd just as soon you joined the one who did invite you!"

"But I'm having too much fun," the Black Guardian cackled. "You sit here and observe pompous and stilted ceremony and pretend that you're so much better than everyone else in the universe. Meanwhile your name is a swear word on planets where the legacy of your 'enlightened beneficence' has embittered billions."

"For which reason we have enacted strict codes regarding interference with other cultures," Borusa pointed out, "the very requirements Cordar is being sanctioned for violating."

"And yet you tolerate the Doctor's constant meddling all over the universe."

"The Doctor has been punished for his interference, and his deeds are under constant surveillance by this council," Flavia pointed out.

"Where is he?" the Black Guardian again demanded. "I was told he was an important witness in these proceedings -- as I had planned."

"The Doctor's part in this hearing has been completed and he has gone on to other pursuits," Andred surprised everyone by interjecting.

"No matter," the Guardian suddenly dismissed. He turned to look directly at the newly-elected Lord President. "The Doctor has much knowledge about the good and bad of Gallifrey. Someday you will find his knowledge and wisdom greater than your own. The teacher will learn from his student. But it will, I fear, be too late." The Black Guardian's voice drifted off with his last line, followed shortly by his presence in the council chamber.

One of the PRV cameras zoomed in on Tanalin who, in characteristic understated fashion, commented on the spectacle. "It may take several days for the council to sort through the complicated issues raised by the appearance, apparently at the invitation of Jurist Pollet, of the Black Guardian in the chambers of the High Council. Such an appearance is unknown in Time Lord history and may signal a sense among the forces of evil that the tide is turning in their favor. We can only wait to see what troubles lie ahead; for ourselves and for other worlds.

"Public Register Video has prepared a documentary on recent events at the citadel and in other places where certain Time Lords have allegedly been involved," the reporter continued. "You can see that program this evening...."

"Here goes nothing," the Theta squad leader wailed, just before her first enemy engagement. Tammy selected a target and veered off to intercept it. Knowing that Albert was already up and ready, she checked to be sure he would take charge of offensive weapons.

"You got the missles?" she asked.

"Yep."

Just then Tammy saw a burst of light from her target. Instinctively she guided the fighter into an evasive dip that threatened to invert the stomach and the heart. The bottom of the dip allowed the energy bolt to bypass her craft, and the return portion gave Albert just enough time to target the enemy fighter with a "smart" missle. By the time that missle had found it's mark and carried out its destructive task Tammy had selected another Smarlonian fighter.

Other fighter pilots had different first encounters. One relative rookie found himself being chased by an enemy vessel. When he saw the energy bolt fast closing on him he released a decoy and veered sharply away. His heart almost failed him when he saw that the bolt didn't turn after the decoy, but his realization that it didn't turn after him either saved the heart.

Whatley had it figured out quickly and instantly issued instructions to all his pilots. "Come at them headon, being sure there's nothing behind you. When they fire, dip and target your weapons."

The Darmellonians quickly developed a routine, a necessary result of each fighter being responsible to knock out over 200 enemy vessels. "This is like a duck shoot," one irreverant pilot smarted off. Most of his colleagues, sickened by the one-sided slaughter even as they understood its necessity, booed him; at least to themselves.

The Smarlonian captain sat in his command chair and let his head drop sideways in incredulity. "What sort of magic have they mastered?" he asked no one in particular. His fighters had dodged the Darmellonian attacks only to have the attack carriers turn in midair and strike his fighters anyway. He had sent out wave after wave of fighters, each with successively more sophisticated moves to dodge these strange devices, and each with equal lack of success.

The Darmellonians, meanwhile, seemed able to dodge his fighters' attacks at will. Energy bolts don't change direction once fired off. He had been able to document only two confirmed hits, and both of the fighters hit seemed to have returned to the planet for repairs. The debris of thousands of his own vessels began to float past his cruisers, creating a hazard for which he was better prepared to cope.

It could take ten minutes or more to get a Smarlonian fighter in the right position for a defend/attack sequence, meaning the whole operation was likely to last for over thirty hours. Tammy and Albert fell into a pattern of four hours on, four hours off. The excitement was gone and the task had turned into a difficult and gruesome duty.

"We have one option," Tortellin offered after over a day of watching the Smarlonian fighter reserves dwindle to nearly nothing. Hundreds of thousands of pilots had refused to take off on what seemed to be certainly a suicide mission. This had sparked her thinking processes.

"It seems quite clear most of their civilization is underground," she stated. "And we have five weapons their fighters can't stop."

"What?" the dejected captain queried.

"The cruisers."

"For their size the cruisers carry relatively limited and primarily defensive armaments," the captain countered.

"I didn't say the weapons on the cruisers, I said the cruisers themselves."

"What do you mean?" The captain showed his first sign of interest in hours.

"We have identified five surface targets," Tortellin contiued. "If we were to aim each cruiser at one of these targets and drive them at maximum accelleration toward the planet, the planet's own gravity would increase the energy with which they would strike."

"But cruisers aren't designed for atmospheric reentry," the captain noted.

"And they aren't designed to be crashed into planets either. They have too much mass to burn up on reentry. Outer hulls, maybe, but still plenty of mass to deliver a lot of energy to the surface. That collapse could well do major damage to an underground infrastructure."

"The ultimate suicide mission," the captain noted ironically.

"It would beat returning in so complete a defeat."

The High Council ruled, without dissent, that adequate defense had been presented to determine the facts without bias, and promptly found Cordar guilty on ALL the original charges. Flavia informed him (while looking at Loralar) that he would have three months to find a new defense jurist and plan for the penalty phase of his hearing.

"The question to be decided," Tanalin informed her PRV audience after the decision had been announced, "is if Cordar knew he was drawing on the powers of the Black Guardian as he developed his plans. Character witnesses may be called, but they will likely have little impact on the High Council's determination of penalty severity. If the Council believe Cordar knew the identity of his source of assistance they will assess a very severe penalty, possibly even molecular dispersal. If, however, they believe he didn't know who provided the additional mental skills he drew on, or if they believe he wasn't aware the knowledge wasn't his, which seems very unlikely, they may issue a lighter sentence."

The Doctor reached up and switched off the monitor. He had taken refuge in Andred's private quarters, enduring Leela's two boisterous youngsters. Moments earlier, having heard of the truncated proceedings, Romana had stopped in.

"He didn't know," the Doctor informed her. "He really thought he'd somehow reached a breakthrough in his mental development. Ego is his main crime."

"You should know," Romana teased. "Does this mean we wait around for three months?"

"No," the Doctor answered curtly. "Let's go," he stood to illustrate.

Leela, dressed in light, functional Gallifreyan garb, rushed in from a back room to see them out. "It was so nice to meet you," she said to Romana with only the slightest hint of insincerity.

The Doctor took a sudden turn on his way to the landing bays. Romana found herself standing on the opposite side of a force field from Pollet. "What on earth were you thinking?" her companion asked the prisoner. "You may well be headed for the dispersal chamber yourself for pulling a stunt like that."

"You, of all people, Doctor, should know that," Pollet chided. "The Time Lords have grown too complacent and self-righteous. Ours is an old and dying race, Doctor."

"How so?" Romana challenged.

"Young lady," the Jurist explained patiently, "you have yet to experience all the wrongs that get committed in the universe."

"I have seen many horrible things," she defended.

"And you will see many more," Pollet countered, almost interrupting. "When Rassilon first gave our race its powers, we set out to make the universe, or at least the portion of it within our reach, a better place. But without wisdom, few are granted that gift, our acts were perceived by many as unwarranted and even destructive.

"For that reason, our forefathers developed safeguards, including our ban on intervention. So now we seem content to monitor the universe and deal with strictly physical and natural threats. But our detachment may soon earn us a less complimentary name among those who know of us than we already have." Pollet looked at the Doctor knowingly. Romana looked at him quizzically.

"I'll explain soon," the Doctor told her.

"When might that discontent, even hatred, turn into attempts to destroy us?" Pollet continued. "And when will they find the technology to overcome our defenses?"

"But Cordar's attempts to use biology to reduce our dependence on technology wouldn't have cured those ills, since they are related to character, not circumstance," the Doctor said.

"Which is exactly why I say we are a dying race. It is our character, not our technology or even our leadership, that dooms us." Pollet leaned back in the chair that had been provided him, and breathed deeply. "Cordar will be justly punished, and the leaders of this world will pretend that a great evil has been averted. But the greatest evil, our own insufferable arrogance, will be abetted rather than hindered.

"It will take a much greater leader than Borusa to save Gallifreyfrom itself," Pollet warned.

"Always the pessimist," the Doctor commented, dropping his hat on his head and walking away.

"You did that for ME," Romana charged when they were out of Pollet's hearing.

The Doctor did not reply.

"The cruisers are accellerating toward the surface," a technician in the strategic command center called out.

Whatley, who had been concentrating on an analysis of options to convince the cruisers to depart, looked up at the array of displays. He divined their purpose within seconds. It struck him then that neither he nor Fergus had considered what effect the systematic destruction of their enemy's forces might have on the enemy's desperation.

Fergus had left the center, since it didn't seem any critical decisions remained. But he came quickly when Whatley called. By the time he arrived the technicians had worked out an estimated time to impact and were busy trying to estimate the effects of their impacts.

"Can we tell where they'll strike?" the Regent asked.

"They're headed for our surface constructions," Whatley answered.

"Evacuate as many people from below them as you can," Fergus ordered.

"We're only thirty levels below the observatory," a floor supervisor noted. "Is there one headed here?

"Yes," a technican answered.

"We can't evacuate far enough," Fergus stated. "If the destruction reaches this far we can't stop it."

A young female technician jumped up from her seat, startled by a scwirr, schwirr sound that seemed to come from midair just behind it. She dived underneath her table when something began to materialize at the sound's location.

Romana stepped out first. She looked around, rapidly taking in the details of the large room, and not noticing the gestures of Fergus for over ten seconds. "Where is the Doctor?" he finally called out, just as her eyes picked him out.

The Doctor answered the question with his own appearance at the TARDIS' door. The young girl who had been so frightened by the TARDIS' appearance now crawled through the door without being noticed.

"Your friend is no longer with us," the Regent told his old friend. "At least we don't think she is. But we could use some help just now."

"What sort of help?" the Doctor asked, walking toward the command balcony.

Fergus skipped the background and quickly explained the current threat.

"Can't stop them," the Doctor rapidly decided. But I can evacuate this room -- and anyone else you can get here before those ships crash."

"How?" Whatley wondered.

"No time to explain," the Time Lord stated in full command mode. "Everyone, through this door," he pointed toward the TARDIS.

Fergus, understanding vaguely, gave the order that his subjects dare not disobey. He waited behind with his defense commissioner, calling as many people as could reach the center to come.

When the young technician had sneaked into the TARDIS the time to impact had just dropped below five minutes. The Doctor urged people to move quickly while Romana watched the indicators. With ten seconds left Romana dived through the door, pushed someone away from the console, and programmed a dematerialization.

At the door the Doctor waved for Fergus to enter. The Regent refused to step in ahead of any of his subjects, but a line of them reached to the center's door. The Doctor grabbed him by the arm, pulled him in, and shouted, "Now!"

The door closed in the face of a startled old man and the blue wooden box he couldn't imagine finding room in vanished from before him. But he didn't have time to process all the data arriving at his brain. The ceiling of the room caved; rocks, steel, and bits of furniture, building materials, and other Darmellonians fell onto the remaining occupants of the large room. Nobody lived to see it, but the framework of a Smarlonian cruiser passed through the area some five seconds later.

The TARDIS rematerialized on the surface, on a hillside within sight of the crater that marked the location of the interplanetary communication center. Dust and debris mushroomed from the freshly opened crater, and a rumbling sound of destruction oppressed the air around them as the Doctor led Fergus and his subjects into the field. The Time Lord took hold of both of the Regent's shoulders as he lectured him.

"Your people will need you now more than ever," he said. "They need the courage to rebuild, the wisdom to understand what has happened, and the grace to forgive. Your culture cannot survive unless it can forgive," he noted.

The two stood back and watched as over 500 people passed through the TARDIS' door into the meadow. "Millions have died," Fergus reminded.

"We fix what we can; we mourn the rest," the Doctor opined.

The first stowaway came out last. She stared hard at the dark cloud still rising rapidly from below the surface of her planet. She turned, saw Romana, and recognized her. "Thank you," she murmered. Then she burst into tears. "So many have died," she realized.

Romana took her hand and squeezed it between hers. "And many more have seen the work of a lifetime destroyed in an instant," she added.

"It's not fair," the young technician complained. "We should have died. Thousands of others didn't have someone like you to save them." She struck Romana's shoulders with both fists, venting her emotional incomprehension.

Romana did not back away. "We could save a few people -- we had to do what we could."

"But why us?"

"Why, indeed," Romana mused. "But listen," she spoke firmly, again grabbing the technician's wrists. "You HAVE survived, and that makes you responsible. You have to be strong for those who have lost everything, including friends and family. You have been given life. You have to share it."

The Doctor was waiting rather impatiently at the TARDIS' door. Romana released the young woman and winked at her. Then she followed the Doctor into the TARDIS and vanished with it.