"Not exactly bull's eye, Flavia," she said, looking round grimly at the craggy, desolate landscape.

Off in the distance, over extremely rough terrain, stood Rassilon's Tower.

The Doctor shook her head. "Looks like we're in for a bit of a hike, Munchie."

The little elf nodded soberly.

"Distance to the Dark Tower, Mistress, 3.9 kilometers."

"Thanks, K9."

All of a sudden she knew she was going to be violently sick.

"Oh great, this is all I need," the Doctor griped. "I'm really beginning to not like this body very much."

As Technician Torbis continued to monitor his console, all at once things began to happen. And very quickly at that.

"President Flavia!" Torbis exclaimed, his eyes never leaving his monitor.

Flavia silently glided to his side. "Yes, Technician Torbis?"

"Lady President, the energy levels are stabilizing."

"In the MATRIX or in The Dead Zone?" she asked her eyes moving to the MATRIX display.

"The Dead Zone, my lady," Torbis said his eyes remaining glued to the console before him as his voice's volume rose. ""I don't believe this. Now," he paused briefly. "Now they're diminishing!" In total disbelief he stammered. "Pre ... President Flavia, the recursive power surges have ceased!" He whispered to himself. "How? How, Doctor?"

Finally, he allowed his eyes to journey to his sovereign. "How, your Excellency? How did the Doctor manage everything so quickly?"

Flavia was obviously very well pleased, and relieved, but hardly surprised. She turned from Torbis, and slowly walked towards the small, huddled group of fellow Time Lords, speaking softly to herself. ""Well done, Renegadrix." Reaching the group Flavia began to speak in a normal voice. "Very well done, Doctor. Your regeneration has not altered either your adaptability, nor your resourcefulness." Singling out Gomer, she smiled expansively. "Do you not concur, Surgeon General?"

Gomer smiled and nodded, handing her a rather thick, clipped brochure, keeping an identical one for himself.

"Thank you, Lord Gomer," Flavia acknowledged, taking the copy from him. "Mine to keep, of the Doctor's final medical report?"

Gomer nodded secretively, glancing briefly at Coordinator Damon. "Yes, Madame President." Almost as an after thought he added: "And medical instructions."

Flavia grinned, guardedly. "Ah yes, Gomer. Very special instructions for a very special patient." Turning to the others, Flavia was once more her formal self. "I realize, some of the Inter-Council were skeptical of the Doctor's involvement in this affair," she said, her eyes falling onto Gomer's Report. "However, I think all must agree that the Doctor is quite remarkable, even for a Prydonian. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Gomer"?

"I would even qualify that by saying, your Supremacy, the Doctor is among all of Gallifrey, unique."

He turned his gaze towards Damon. "Do you think I am being over dramatic with that judgement, Coordinator Damon?"

Damon smiled, and slowly shook his head.

The others in the room began to buzz among themselves. What was the President and the Surgeon General, trying to say to them, that was so apparent, even to a lowly coordinator? What point were they all missing?

"Now ...," the room fell silent as Flavia began. "If only the Doctor can deal with the MATRIX as easily as she has dealt with The Zone."

Grinning widely, Gomer and Damon nodded in agreement.

One of Gallifrey's best kept secrets had just gone ... public.

Groggily ... shakily .. the Doctor stood. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket she wiped her mouth, wishing she could get a drink of water from somewhere, anywhere, to rid her mouth of its acrid taste.

"Can't even trans matt without being hurled into the clutches of nausea, vertigo, and projectile vomiting," she said, shaking her head. Munchkin chuckled.

"Oh, last time I felt that crummy, was ... gosh ... it must have been during a cool-down." She chuckled. "Well ... at least, I won't have that to worry about for the duration of this regeneration!"

She looked round at the unfriendly landscape she now found herself in . Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped round, knocking her Panama hat from her.

Bending to retrieve it, before it blew away, she mumbled. "Last time I go out without my scarf!" she promised herself.

Turning slowly round she tried to orientate herself.

"That way Doctor," Munchkin pointed out the way.

"Elfin people never get lost, do you?"

Munchkin shook her head.

Still, there is was! Rassilon's Tower! And only about two and a half a miles ahead of them, though across some very uneven ground.

"Well, Doctor, could be worse. One foot in front of the other and we shall soon be able to chat with ... Rassilon."

"I thought you said that was his tomb," Munchkin puzzled.

"Ooooh, but it IS. But never, never, underestimate Rassilon when he is in a gaming mood. Even if he IS dead."

With that much said, the Doctor set off, whistling the USA's WAC official marching song, "Duty."

Standing in the Great Hall of Rassilon's tomb the Doctor let out a deep sigh, as she surveyed the large chamber. "OK. What now, Doctor?"

Deciding, silently, almost reverently the Doctor turned and approached closer the stone bier where Rassilon lay in eternal slumber.

"You who? Anybody about? Ollie, ollie oxen ... free?"

A large, optical MASER generated, holographic projection of the head of Rassilon appeared above her and the stilled, corporeal body of the ancient Time Lord; and a disembodied voice boomed out. "This is The Game of Rassilon!"

The Doctor was very uncomfortable, trying to riddle out just exactly what she wanted to say to the venerated Gallifreyan, her hands stuffed deep into her trouser pockets. But she was game to try.

Clearing her throat, she removed her hat, and rolling it up, crammed it into the nearest pocket. "I know I have regenerated twice since I was last here Lord Rassilon, but I am the one called, Doctor. Perhaps you may recognize me from my costume?"

"Always a pleasure, Renegade," the giant lips responded with a nod from the giant head.

The Doctor flashed her toothy grin, grateful no further explanation was necessary.

"Beautiful, Renegade," the hologram added. "Your smile was worth all the effort expended in getting it there. As to you eyes, no other Doctor you have ever been, nor will ever be, has eyes as deep, nor intense, nor as expressive, nor as lovely to look at, as are yours, my dear."

The Doctor, not use to being spoken to in such a manner, didn't know exactly how to respond. Until it dawned on her. "It was you!" Her eyes narrowed. "You interfered with my regeneration!"

The huge, translucent face began to glow with delight. "Of course, Renegade. Though I prefer to consider it fruitful experimentation."

The Doctor glared distrustfully.

"This is The Game of Rassilon!"

"Perhaps so Lord Rassilon, but it is all too real a thing to me!" she blustered. "You ... you had no right!"

The projection scowled. "No right? You dare to accuse me of wrong doing? Tread lightly Doctor. You are here, you exist Time Lord, because I willed it to be. You stand before me as you are now because I willed that also!"

The Doctor swallowed hard, her hands moving to cover her face. "But why, Lord Rassilon? Am I being punished?"

The projection's eyes widened. "I was not aware, Doctor, being female was a punishment."

"Munchkin is it?"

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," she said, bowing her head slightly towards the projection.

"You are a female?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel it is a punishment?"

"No sir, rather an honour."

"Doctor?"

"For what purpose then?" she tried to understand.

"Knowledge, and a requiring of your most unique talents."

"What unique talents?" Lowing her hands, the Doctor's tiny nose crinkled with her questions. "Sparking eyes?"

"Give them time, Doctor, for they will be made apparent to you. If you are truly unaware of them at present."

"But, couldn't you have gotten my attention without getting so physical about it?"

The voice laughed heartily. "This experience will be most profitable to you, Doctor. So try to relax. Enjoy this regeneration's many benefits."

"Benefits?" she echoed, beginning to mutter to herself. "Easy for him to say. No one ever changed his fiery red wattles to pale pink ones." Then a thought occurred to her. Clearing her throat she would try an old and useful tool ... cooperation. "If I should be able to help you, Lord Rassilon, with this MATRIX problem, will you reinstate me as I was?"

The hologram shimmered. "This is the Game of Rassilon!" it bellowed. "I strike no bargains with Time Lords, Time Lady!" All at once the features of the projection softened. So too the voice. "The Doctor you were is no more. You made that decision to interfere in the crisis on Pisces Australis Nine yourself. I was in no way responsible for his death. I was just involved in this regeneration turning out as it did. And ... you will remain as you are now for this entire life span as even I am powerless to change you now. Only the fluid time between regenerations allowed it to be so in the first place. Your METAMORPHOSIS evolved from the deepest part of your inside to the outward."

The Doctor sighed deeply. "That's what Gomer told me. Every cell."

Every cell, Renegade," the projection echoed. "It would have been impossible to do it any other way."

The Doctor chuckled, stroking her cheek. "Gomer said it was just impossible."

Still, up to this moment, and especially for the last ten days, the Doctor had felt, even if it was just hovering in the back of her mind, that her condition was somehow just temporary. But now, gazing down at the marble floor beneath her, she knew this was how it would be. Left handed and female ... until the advent of Norm!

The Doctor tried to remember if she had ever felt more frustration ... more desolation ... with any previous situation. She felt like crying, screaming, running from the room, kicking hallowed walls, anything ... something ... if only it could correct things. But then, with logic of the situation ... the Doctor surrendered.

Looking across to Rassilon's sleeping form she sighed. The words spoken to him then were soft, subdued, tumbling from her mouth like smooth velvet. "Permanent?" she asked, stroking her throat where an Adam's apple should have been. "So that is how it is?"

The hologram nodded.

The Doctor sighed deeply, shaking her mass of curls. "I do wish you'd thought to read volume two, reverse spells, before you thought to go and 'zap' me, Lord Rassilon" she grumbled.

The Doctor's natural resiliency was already beginning to surface, and it was to no surprise that even Rassilon responded warmly to it. "Well put, Doctor," it said nodding. "Very aptly put."

"Oh!" The Doctor suddenly remembered. "Lord Rassilon, the reason I was allowed to come to this forbidden place, in the first place."

Rassilon's projection smiled secretively.

The Master waltzed into his gaming room, smiling to himself. He sat down at one of the terminals, flipping back his Cape with a flourish. Now, to the destruction of the Transduction Barrier," he said, thoughtfully, stroking the Klingonize type beard. "Oh, I know I can't dismantle it completely, but just a few holes in it, to allow my silver cohorts access to the surface." The Master began then to zestfully punch in a complex string of numbers.

The Security Control Room, on Level 3-0, beneath the Panoptican, in the center of the Capitol, planet of Gallifrey was unattended. That is, no flesh and blood sentry stood there on guard. If there had been, what they would have heard at present would have been the control panels governing the Transduction Barrier making grating, groaning sounds. Next, they would have seen the room fill with smoke. But, as no human sentry was there, all the occurrences passed unseen, but certainly not undetected. The auto guard, sensing all the occurrences, set off a loud alarm.

As the smoke screen thickened with dark, ominous swirling, Gallifrey was informed of yet another problem.

The Doctor made for a tiny, figure standing in front of Rassilon's bier flanked by the two companions, both who were even smaller than she. But having decided things were wholly beyond her reach, or her control, she meekly accepted what was to come.

"What is it, Lord Rassilon, that you ask of me, then?"

Rassilon's projection nodded, well pleased. "Behold!" the hologram intoned.

A small, very bright ball of energy appeared before the Doctor and began to gently bounce and bob at the level of her eyes. Her eyebrows peaked. "We're going to have a sing a long?"

Rassilon ignored the comment. "Follow," the voice instructed, with a low, gravelly growl.

Barely containing a smile she nodded, and the trio silentlty obeyed, and were led by the bouncing ball of energy, through a series of maze like passageways, to a huge, darkened chamber. Deciding they had arrived safely, her face took on a wry smile. "Oohs, just like Dungeons and Dragons!"

As they were slowly surrounded by house lights, the little ball of energy, serving its purpose, winked out.

Grinning, the Doctor wiggled the fingers of her left hand in a wistful gesture of goodbye.

Wandering round the room, it appeared the little globe had led her to some sort of gallery, or maybe one might call it a library. Whatever, it truly was a miscellaneous collection. This and that from here and there.

The Doctor and Munchkin idly strolled about, carefully picking up first one artefact, and then another. Gazing first at this painting, and then at that statue.

"I've always felt so at home in museums," the Doctor said. She briefly cogitated, rather ruefully; ('probably because I'm usually older than anything else on display').

Quite suddenly she froze, as she at last realized, the Doctor was standing in the middle of nothing less than a Doctor Who collection, literally.

For a long while she stood in total silence, and gawked.

"What is it Doctor," Munchkin asked, silently removing her bow from her shoulder, and started to take out an arrow from its quiver.

Finally, forcing her mouth closed, with her hand, the Doctor swallowed.

"No need for that, Munchie. Lots of surprises here but nothing dangerous."

"Snorting!" she uttered at long last, beginning to chuckle.

"Why thank you, Doctor," a disembodied voice rang out. Rassilon's hologram was beaming.

The Doctor looked up, only a bit startled to see that the projection had materialized above her.

"A museum of my lives and travels, Lord Rassilon?"

"Yes!" The hologram nodded proudly at his unequaled collection.

"You do me great honor, Lord Rassilon." The Doctor bowed formally. Continuing their survey of the chamber all at once the Doctor's curiosity got the best of her. "What's in the crates over there, Lord Rassilon? Extra companions ... spare parts?"

The containers in question were fifteen, large, rectangular cubicles, each standing next to the other, lining one wall of the chamber.

The voice chuckled. "One might say they were spare parts, Renegade. But do go and see for yourself," it invited.

Grinning the Doctor nodded. She stepped up to the first darkened box and waited.

The chamber's light slowly turned itself up until it clearly revealed a waxed figure very familiar to the Doctor.

"It's me!" she squealed in delight to Munchkin. Turning towards Rassilon's projection the Doctor became more formal. "I mean, the original, so to speak. Theta Sigma; the Prydonian Renegade; Susan's grandfather; Dr Who the first! But hardly the last."

"The true beginning of a legend," she continued to expound to Munchkin's and Rassilon's delight. "Or, should I say, the legend begins here? she gestured expansively.

Rassilon's image chuckled at her antics.

"Gosh he looks so young," she observed.

"The first persona at his prime, Doctor," the projection elucidated.

She nodded. Made sense to her.

Turning back towards the distinguished looking gentleman with silver cane and immaculate Victorian suit she asked: "Remember Totters Lane and the junk yard, Doctor? That's where we first had the Chameleon Circuit breakdown." Unconsciously she placed her fingers together in the same manner as the first persona use to do, so many, many years ago. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we, Number One?" Gazing at the waxed figure the Doctor tilted her head back, her right hand stroking her cheek in the gesture so familiar to Susan, and Ian, and Barbara, and so many others. "So many thing to remember, Doctor, so many times, so many people. Marco Polo ... Daleks ... Aztecs ... CyberMen ... Atlantis." Lightly she tapped the tip of the figure's walking stick. "Doctor."

Turning from the first cubicle, the Doctor noticed, from the corner of her eye, the light slowly fade, plunging the waxed figure into darkness, once again.

And yet, when Munchkin, and even K9, stood before the cubicle, the lights came up again.

Standing akimbo before the second container the Doctor's eyes twinkled in merriment. "Hullo, Doctor! How's Jamie and Victoria? Have any more run ins with that horrid woman, Zodin?" She smiled at the little man with straight black hair, wearing the long black coat and blue checked trousers that had been rescued from a rubbish bin. What magic was there, in this past Doctor, The Celestial Hobo, that made the present Doctor want to wrap him in cotton wool, and take him home, to cuddle later? But she didn't tarry long with that notion. For there were; things to do, people to see, places to go; the Doctor's mind raced on like quicksilver. "What treasures can be found in those oversized pockets, Doctor?" she pondered. The Doctor opened a front coat pocket and peered inside. "Yum, jelly babies!" Just the thing to remove a sour taste from one's mouth. Quickly retrieving a candy sweet from its wrinkled white sack, it was just as quickly consumed. Returning the folded sack to the pocket, her inventory continued. "Alarm clock, snorkel, vacuum flask, one, no, two sonic screwdrivers, catapult, box of Lucifers." She turned to the other pocket. "Ball of string, safety pins, two headed Martian coin." The Doctor snickered loudly at that discovery. "Scarecrow, will you never learn?" A puzzled look swept across her face.

"This Doctor too, at his prime, Doctor," Rassilon's projection said.

"Yes, Lord Rassilon, that is not the dilemma." Returning to the second Doctor's, first pocket, she deftly removed the pair of sonic screwdrivers. Turning to the projection she admonished. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Lord Rassilon; wrong, wrong, one per Doctor is all that is necessary. Replacing one of the sonic screwdrivers in Scarecrow's pocket, she pocketed the remaining one.

Rediscovering another pocket, with a look of sheer delight the Doctor withdrew the second Doctor's wooden recorder. You know, Number Two, I have a recorder just like this." Removing her own flute from her coat pocket she held them up in front of the unblinking, unseeing waxed figure. "How about a duet, ol' thing?" The Doctor sighed, making a distinct popping sound with her lips. "Another time, another place, perhaps." Solemnly she replaced his flute, and then her own. "Take care, pockets of patch, you precious, little man," she said in farewell.

Turning, she sighed deeply, then after a brief pause, sauntered slowly to cubicle three.

Was it imagination, Rassilon thought, his eyes narrowing, or didn't the second Doctor, on occasion, shuffle about much like that?"

As the light came on in the third cubicle the Doctor turned towards the image of the immortal Time Lord. "You know, Lord Rassilon, your containers look rather disturbingly like coffins. Doesn't that bother you?"

"No, Doctor, not a bit of it."

Turning, she mumbled to herself. "Well, it for sure bothers me!"

"How about you, Munchie," she teased, bumping Munchkin's shoulder with hers.

"No, Doctor, not a bit of it," she echoed.

Looking up she smiled. "Well, hullo Fancy Pants." The Doctor turned towards the hologram arching a brow. "Immaculate Trousers is the one with all the beautiful assistants."

"Yes, I am aware, Renegade," the projection said, nodding, barely containing a chuckle.

"Well, in those dapper days, of long ago," the Doctor said, lightly tapping her fingertips together, "I certainly did have a definite mystic." All a once she spun on her heels. "How's Betsy? Nee WHO-1." Taking out the extra multipurpose tool, she checked out the cranberry velvet attired Doctor for his sonic screwdriver. Locating it, she shrugged and replaced his, then pocketed the supernumerary. "Fetching wrap old fellow," she said, flipping a corner of the third Doctor's Cape aside. "Reminds me of a mother hen caring for her brood; keeping them ever protected, under her wings and close to her heart. Ah, hearts!" she corrected. "Long live the dapper Gallifreyan peacock, ever sheltering his flock of questing earthmen." Then in unconscious mimic of Rassilon she added. "I approve."

Strolling the short distance to cubicle four the Doctor positioned herself squarely in front of it. But its light failed to turn itself on. Placing a hand to her mouth she noisily cleared her throat. Still no light. "Obviously a product of earth science!" she said with a unladylike snort. Slapping the side of the box gruffly with her opened hand, the light flickered on. "Definitely earth technology!" she reaffirmed. Slowly she lifted her head. "Well, good morning Teeth & Curls; first draft." The Doctor smiled widely. Then began to rummage through the fourth Doctor's pockets, trying to locate a sonic screwdriver. Finding none, she took from her pocket the extra, and placed it in his pocket.

Turning to Rassilon's projection she nodded in conquest. "Handy little gadget and no self respecting Doctor should ever be without ONE."

Rassilon's projection nodded its approval.

Studying the blue suited, waxed Doctor a moment longer she adjusted the long scarf, done entirely in shades of blue. "Take care, user of K9's," she advised, and in perfect imitation of him added: "Ha, ha!"

"Oooooh," K9 purred.

Then, cocking her head, the Doctor looked at the waxed figure, recalling something that even now she hadn't come totally to terms with. Shaking her head she voluntarily broke the spell.

Bending over at the waist, she looked back at the fourth Doctor and smiled. "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha," she mimicked. Her tone suddenly mellowed. "Waffle, waffle, waffle."

Standing, the Doctor's compassionate smile continued to cascade round this massive former self. Turning her head slightly she smiled wryly. "You know, Lord Rassilon, never realized till now, I was such a rippingly large chap."

The projection smiled coyly. "Perhaps, Doctor, it is because of the stark comparison of what WAS and IS?"