"That's the plan?!  'Sneak in, distract the natives and the Master, and rescue Grace'?!"
   The Doctor looked at his incredulous guest calmly.  "You have a better idea?"
   Brian shook his head spasmodically.  "No, I mean of course that's what 
we've got to do!  But I was expecting maybe a little more detail?"
   The Doctor merely looked back at him.
   "Like exactly how we can go about doing this," Brian prompted, a little 
desperately.
   The Doctor stirred slightly.  "Oh, well, the fine details will have to be worked 
out when we've arrived and seen exactly what we're up against."  He rattled 
his copy of the print-out.  "The TARDIS data banks are excellent for getting 
an overview of a thousand worlds, but no data storage system can convey all 
the nuances we'll need to know in order to put a strategy into effect, without 
on-site research."
   Brian blinked.  "It sounds as if after reading all this," he replied, waving his 
own print-out, "that you're basically saying that we're just going to...'wing-it'," 
he faltered.
   "I prefer to put it as 'to think on our feet..." the Doctor corrected him, smiling.
   Brian opened and then shut his mouth.  He was not used to 'winging-it'.  He 
was used to lists, and schedules, and daily planners.  And now here was this 
alien guy sitting in front of him, frenetic mop-top of hair straggling out in all 
directions, about to jump right into an obvious trap.  Brian felt a sudden surge 
of righteous indignation on Grace's behalf.  Grace had helped this guy, and this 
was how he repaid her?  He was going to get them all *killed*!
   The Doctor looked at the slightly twisted expression on Brian's face.  "Brian," 
he quietly told the anxious man sitting opposite him, "Believe me when I say I 
have been in situations like this many times before and managed to find a way 
out of them."
   Brian looked back at him, slumping a little.
   "I'm glad you agreed to help," the Doctor continued earnestly, "especially after 
you and Grace, what is it called, 'broke up'-"
   "That's not the point!" Brian interrupted, annoyed, suddenly sitting up straight.  
"The point is how to get her out of this, and-"
   The Doctor, pleased by what he'd heard, smiled encouragingly.  "And we 
will.  Trust me."
   Brian looked back at him, still doubtful.  "You've really done this sort of thing 
before?"
   "More times than even I care to admit."
   Brian relaxed a little, intrigued.  "So you're an expert in rescuing people?"
   The Doctor shrugged.  "Years of experience.  You learn things eventually."
   Brian got to his feet, restless.  "Well, what are we waiting for?"
   The Doctor smiled.  "Exactly what I was about to say!" he said, getting up 
and hurrying over to the Console to activate the rematerialization contols.  
"We are landing...now."


Grace shut her eyes fatalistically.  Several hands gripped her gently, and she 
flinched, taking a deep breath, what she half-assumed to be her last-
   The hands took firm but gentle hold of her, and suddenly lifted-
   Her eyes flew open, and she stared upwards in shock.  She was in the air, she 
was being lifted up-
   She yelped and instinctively began to flail, then decided abruptly that was 
the last thing she should do.  She was being carried.
   All around her, the crowd surged and murmured happily, as the entire group 
started off down the street, Grace's guide at the front, leading the way back toward 
her prison.
   "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "What're you doing--?  Put me down!"
   They ignored her.
   Grace slumped.  This was ridiculous.  No one would listen to her, and what 
they were doing made no sense to her at all.  First she thought they were going 
to kill her, then they ended up carrying her around...
   They arrived back at the little stone building.  The native who had carried her 
halted and several others pulled her down, but all with the utmost deference and 
good humor.  They seemed to be in quite a cheerful mood.  The whole crowd then 
moved towards the open door of the jail, and Grace found herself gently but 
inexorably pushed within.
   She turned around to look back at her honor guard where it stood just outside 
the door, and stared, shaking her head in puzzlement.  "Why are you doing 
this?" she asked.  She wasn't very surprised when she got no answer.  They 
nodded and murmured happily, and she saw her guide turn to address the mob 
momentarily, which then began to drift away.
   The door creaked shut.
   Grace turned away, wincing in frustration.  She put her head in her hands for 
a few moments, then looked up again and approached the door.
   The two guards outside turned, startled, as a vigorous thumping came from 
within.
   Grace stopped kicking as the door creaked open.  The two blue humanoid 
guards stood in the doorway, peering uncertainly at her.
   She stepped forward.  "Look, talk to me.  Just...tell me what's going on.  
Please."
   The guards looked at each other, then back at her.  One opened his mouth 
and said something in his incomprehensible language.
   Grace winced, shaking her head spasmodically.  "I know you can talk to 
me - you did it earlier!  Talk to me!"
   Startled, the guards backed away and started to shut the door.
   "No, wait!  I'm sorry!"  She hurried forward, then stopped in 
dismay as the door abruptly re-opened to reveal the Master and Baranac on the 
threshhold.  She rapidly backed up.
   "We were passing by, and we noticed that there seemed to be a problem 
here," the renegade commented, mildly.
   "Is all not to your liking, in the place of waiting, Offering?" Baranac asked, 
concerned.
   Grace glared.  Finally, someone was talking to her again.  And making 
cruel sport of her.
   "No, this is not to my liking," she spat.  "Why don't you let me out 
again?  That'd be a good start!"
   The Master, smirking at Grace's impotent fury, frowned suddenly.  "You 
let her out?  I told you to keep a careful watch over her.  If she escapes we 
might lose the other part of the Offering.  The Rejoining will not work properly 
without that other part!"
   Baranac did not seem overly concerned by the Master's irritation.  "The 
Presentation had to be performed, as is the custom.  All Offerings must stand 
before the people, so that they may be revered."
   "Baranac, why wouldn't you talk to me before?" Grace interrupted, keeping 
a wary eye on the Master.
   "I don't understand, Offering.  I have been trying to talk to you; it's you 
who have been testing us with your refusal to speak so that we can understand."
   Grace stared, dumbfounded.  "But I couldn't understand you!  And why 
can we understand each other now, but not before?"
   "Don't listen to her," the renegade Time Lord interrupted impatiently.  "She 
wastes your time."
   Baranac looked at the Master implacably.  "When an Offering speaks, we listen."
   "She's only trying to confuse you."
   To his annoyance, Baranac merely nodded.  "You told me that these Offerings 
would 'Test' us, that our faith must be strong enough to see through the 
deception.  It was our duty to listen."  He turned back to Grace.  "Now I 
will listen to you, Offering."
   "Wait - I'm an 'offering'?  For what?"
   "To Shamileth, the god-who-sleeps, Offering."
   Grace closed her eyes.  "I don't believe it.  You're going to sacrifice me?"  
She opened her eyes again and pointed to the Master.  "Did he tell you to do 
this?"
   "We know you are all a part of Shamithel, Offering.  You and the other who 
shall come are incomplete, are due to be returned from whence you came, to 
be Rejoined."
   "This is crazy, this is insane.  We're not even from your world, how can 
we be-"
   Now that she'd begun to find out what was going on, she wished she hadn't 
asked.  Apparently, the Master thought the Doctor would come here and become 
an 'offering', too.  They probably sacrificed any strangers to their bizarre alien 
god...
   She looked up again, and, stung by the Master's subtle expression of 
satisfaction, exclaimed, "Wait a minute!  How about him?  He's like me - why 
do I have to get 'rejoined', but not him?"
   Baranac glanced calmly from her to the Master and back again.  "It is not his 
time yet."
   "'Not his ti-  Oh, I suppose he told you that, and you just believed him.  
That is so-" Grace began, her voice low and infuriated.
   "Unfair?  I know, Grace," the Master sighed, as she glared at him in disgust.  
"But life isn't always fair.  Some of us get to return to Shamileth sooner than 
others."  He moved closer and lowered his voice.  "I was here first, Doctor 
Holloway," the Master told her softly, smiling sinisterly.  "And as you already 
know, I can be very convincing at times."
   Grace could have sworn his eyes gleamed slightly.  She took an involuntary 
step backwards as the Master turned and swept out of the room.  Baranac 
bowed slightly and followed, closing the door behind him.
   She slumped despairingly back against the wall and buried her head in her 
hands.


"This 'Doctor' will be here soon?" Baranac inquired politely as they walked 
along.
   "Yes.  As I told you," the Master replied, not bothering to hide his impatience, 
not that the Isconian seemed to notice or care.
   The renegade swung around suddenly.  "Shamileth will not awaken without 
the Doctor being Rejoined to it, Baranac.  He glared at the Isconian leader, 
the ever-reborn Prophet.  "Understand that."
   Baranac nodded placidly.  "We understand.  All will be as Shamileth wills it.  
We shall do what needs to be done."
   The Master looked narrowly at the leader, then relaxed, mollified.  Once he'd 
gotten to Baranac and planted the modifications to the ancient ritual, the Isconians 
had been acceptably compliant, though Baranac himself showed occasional 
unusual flashes of stubborness.
   No matter; not every species susceptible to his hypnotic powers reacted in 
precisely the same way.  The Isconians craved their 'god's' awakening with 
the fierce devotion of primitive cultures everywhere; they would do whatever 
their Prophet told them.
   And their Prophet would do his bidding.
   "Be ready, Baranac," the Master warned the Isconian again.  "The Doctor 
will test you well."
   Baranac nodded.  "We will be prepared."
   The Master stood, watching him go.  Such simple faith, such singleness 
of purpose.  All tailor-made, really, for him to use.
   The Doctor was in for quite a surprise.


Grace stood underneath the window in her jail, considering.  It wasn't that high 
up.  She reached up , then winced in pain as her strained shoulder 
complained.
   Damn, damn, damn...If only her shoulder hadn't been twisted...  Sighing, 
she glanced despondantly around the room and cursed again, but for a different 
reason.
   A minute later, the waste bucket had been hauled over underneath the open 
window in the wall opposite the door, turned upside down, and Grace was 
balanced precariously on top, muttering.
   The bucket raised her almost up to the level of the window.  She peered through 
the opening; she could see the blue-green vegetation behind the stone buildings 
immediately abutting her jail.  Shifting her weight to her left foot, she placed her 
right against the stone of the wall, and reached forward.  She tested the feel of 
things, then reached forward, grabbed the edge of the window.  It hurt, but she 
could use her shoulder.  Pulling herself up, she strained, then slumped in 
momentary despair.  She didn't have the upper arm strength, she couldn't--
   Stop.  Forget the doomsaying.  She had to do this.
   Grace got off the bucket and rested for a few minutes.  Then she grimly 
resumed her post and stood, staring at her goal.  She closed her eyes, 
visualizing getting up and into the window, getting out.  She took a few 
moments to ready herself for particularly intense procedures in the hospital; 
so why not now?
   She reached up, grabbed the edge of the stone sill, then stood on the balls 
of her feet, bounced a few times, took a deep breath, then jumped.
   Grabbing at the window ledge as her momentum allowed her to get a better 
grip, Grace scrambled desperately upwards.  It wasn't that far, just a meter 
or two.  Her shoulder complained loudly, but she ignored it.  Her bare feet 
found a purchase on the stone wall - if she'd had shoes, she might not have 
been able to get a grip  She ground her teeth in a rictus of effort, pushed against 
the wall's surface, then pulled at the window's edge.
   Gasping with effort, she desperately threw her elbow over the sill, flopping 
forward and swinging one leg up onto the edge.  Gritting her teeth against the 
ache of her injured shoulder, she followed through with the other leg, and 
straddled the sill.
   Grace sat like that for some time, eyes closed, waiting for her pulse to stop 
racing.  She was trembling with the effort she'd just made, and her shoulder 
ached sharply, but she'd done it.
   Then she turned her attention to how she'd get down.
   Good thing she didn't have that far to jump - as it was, she landed with a 
painful oomph, and fell sprawling, jarring her shoulder yet again.  She lay 
for a moment, blinking rapidly at the momentary wave of pain, then got 
unsteadily to her feet and hurried off.





To be continued...








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