Escaping from Rotolesk with Zoe had been far harder than the Doctor had imagined. That his friend Jamie, and his alternate self in his Sixth form, had turned out to be fakes, working for Rotolesk, didn't help him feel any better about having such a hard time of it. He should have known better. How he had been fooled he couldn't say ( Read more... )

Zoe Herriot had given up hope. She had been a prisoner in Rotelesk's think tank for nearly half a year now, and she doubted her distress signal had reached anyone capable of doing anything. Six months of forced thinking and calculating had worn her down. The Zoe of a year ago would have laughed at the pitiful sham she was now and demanded her to ( Read more... )

The Doctor looked at the scanner, where his older self was pointing. It revealed the interior of a non-descript looking ship or underground bunker. Slightly curved metal walls, a relatively low ceiling and little else. "Looks like a ship," he mused, rubbing a hand on his chin. The commotion of earlier was forgotten--they were on the right track ( Read more... )

The Doctor listened to Jamie discuss Zoe's last whereabouts thoughtfully, sipping at his tea intermittently as he did. "Right, the Golden Gate bridge," the Doctor mused. He set his tea down. "Well, she's clearly not there anymore. I'd guess she's not anywhere near here, even. She's a bright girl, you know. She'd have found you, or at least one of ( Read more... )

Somewhere, floating in empty space, is a distress signal.

On the distress signal is a recorded video message.

The video is grainy, black and white, and shows a tired-looking petite young woman with short dark hair. "This message is for the Doctor," she says, quickly and in a low tone. "If you are not him, and you get this, please find a way to get it ( Read more... )