The TARDIS next appeared in an empty orange meadow. Almost empty, anyway. A blue and white cat-like creature walked up when the craft's two occupants stepped out. Romana ambled over to the hillside frequented by the single young women. The gorral followed her. The Doctor sat down against the side of the TARDIS, slid his hat down over his eyes, and appeared to go to sleep.

The time nomads arrived in groups of three to eight at a time. Frantec, in her strange, flowing garments, stood out. She recognized the source for her normalization and quickly roused the Doctor. He stood to let her in, but then quickly resumed his indolent pose. Before she had changed and returned, the tribe's leader came up to speak to the Doctor.

"We appreciate your offer to help us," he began. "But earlier today we found what we were looking for. We have a few years left here before we HAVE to move, but we know where we can go when the time comes."

"Glad to hear that," the Doctor winked. "I think it's time we left you alone for a few centuries," he added.

"Whatever you think best," the old man offered graciously. "But I would appreciate it if you could have a conference with Frantec and me."

"Regarding...?" the Doctor wondered.

"Together we decided she should cut off her involvement with the planet where you left her. We both want to know if that was the right decision."

The Doctor said nothing until Frantec, dressed as she had been when she first joined him, stepped from the TARDIS.

"Over here," the leader gestured, indicating the trunk of a fallen tree at the edge of the forest.

When all three were seated, Frantec spoke first. "So what happened? Who won?"

"You have little experience with war," the Doctor explained. "When hostilities begin nobody wins."

"Was I able to make a difference?" Frantec forged ahead.

"Only the White Guardian could tell us for sure," the Doctor answered. "I can tell you that the entire Smarlonian attack fleet was completely destroyed."

"Whatley's forces were that superior?"

"They were different in a way that gave them a defensive advantage."

"So that was good for Darmellon?" Frantec's voice revealed that she hoped she was right.

"I'm afraid not," the Doctor corrected. "Like I said, once armed conflict begins nobody wins."

"Their enemies were destroyed."

"Destroyed in a suicide attack that killed millions on Darmellon and destroyed hundreds of years worth of construction work. Both sides lost much."

Frantec hung her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"We had no power to stop that," her leader commented. "Nor can anyone truthfully say that what we did caused it to happen." The grey-headed man turned to the Doctor. "Things like this are what made your race wary of getting involved?"

"Like this, and even worse." He turned toward Frantec. "I can think of one way you may have helped."

"How's that?" Vorlene looked up hopefully.

"Because the Darmellonians understand that this tradgedy was the result of a misunderstanding, because they know the details you provided, they may be able to resist mounting a revenge attack. Enough people have died already. More deaths will solve nothing."

"That doesn't seem like much," Vorlene noted.

"Sometimes we're able to help, sometimes there's nothing we can do. You were unlucky enough to stumble on the latter instance on your first outing."

"And my last," Frantec affirmed, standing.

"That's probably best," the Doctor concluded, following her example.

"Yes," the old man nodded, leaning back to indicate he wanted to stay on the log for a bit.

Romana walked up as Frantec walked dreamily toward the other single young women, dragging her feet for the sensuous pleasure of contact with native soil.

"She looked... well... kind of preoccupied," Romana commented to the Doctor as they returned to the TARDIS.

"Like she had a long story to tell?"

"Yeah, that too," Romana agreed.

The door closed, the Doctor programmed some coordinates, the TARDIS began to dematerialize, and Romana dropped into the Couch of Indolence.

"How do they do it?" she asked suddenly. "You saw the data Cordar had."

"The data has been destroyed," the Doctor predicted.

"How do you know?"

"Borusa can be stubborn, tight lipped, even vain. But even he has the wisdom to know that some knowledge is too dangerous."

"So you think he's already ordered the records destroyed, even from the Matrix." Romana fingered the edges of the hole in the arm of the recliner, the result of an earlier, unfinished project.

"I'm as sure of it as I was that Pollet would have some useful wisdom to share with us."

"Time Lords are predictable, aren't they?"

The Doctor fiddled at one of the console's keyboards. "It's not for us, you know," he blurted.

"What?" He'd obviously interrupted a train of thought.

"Natural time travel."

"And how's that?" Romana queried, for lack of a more compelling conversational topic.

"We need our machines. They're part of our identity. We can't control other intelligent creatures. It's not only immoral, it's ultimately impossible. Machines we can control. We need them. They don't. They have a luxury we are incapable of enjoying. Let's let them keep it."

Silence claimed the next few minutes. "You wanted me to get rid of that," the Doctor stole from the silence.

"Yes, I did," Romana asserted.

"Well..."

Romana looked at him curiously until the proper response occured to her.

"Of course," she said, rising.

The Doctor pulled open a panel in the wall of the control room. With Romana's help he pushed the maroon recliner out of sight and closed the panel over it.

"There, that's done," Romana huffed.

"I think we've earned a vacation." the Doctor said.