He opened his eyes and looked at the closed hospital curtains around the bed. Why was he in a hospital? He felt no pain. He held up his arm and saw that it was bandaged. And yet he was sure there was nothing wrong with it. There was a bandage on his head, too. But there was nothing wrong with his head.

Except that there seemed a great empty void in it.

"So, Angel Eyes is awake." A nurse, middle aged and plump with a pleasant voice opened the curtains and looked at him.

"What did you call me?" he asked her.

"Angel Eyes. The young nurses all called you that since you were brought in here. Because they said you had the most beautiful eyes they ever saw. I thought they were being silly until I looked at you, but they are right. You DO have beautiful eyes." She smoothed the blankets down around him gently. "Do you want to tell us who you really are?"

"I…." He began to speak and then stopped. "I don't know. I can't remember."

"Memory loss?" The nurse frowned. "That's not good. I'd better tell the doctor."

"Please… don't go yet," he begged. "What happened to me? Can you tell me? How did I get here?"

"You were among the casualties of the terrorist attack on the Regia Omnia space station. A lot of people died. We've been looking after the survivors for days."

"Space station?" He had been aware for a while of a faint vibration. "What is this place? Where am I?"

"You're on board the Starship Grace Holloway - a hospital ship. There are over four thousand patients aboard. All victims of the attack. You're not the only unidentified one, but most of the others can't be identified because their burns are too severe. You are our miracle."

There were footsteps and then the curtains were drawn fully back as a white-coated doctor approached the bed. "Well, young man, Nurse Terrell is not far wrong in her assessment. You do appear to be quite miraculously well." He nodded to the nurse and she began to remove the bandages from his arm. "Two days ago, when you were brought in here that arm was partially severed at the elbow. Even with microsurgery it seemed impossible that you would have the use of the hand." The last of the bandages came cleanly off and he lifted his arm. There was not a mark on it. The skin was clean and white and unblemished. "No doubt your head is also repaired. There was a serious skull fracture there when we began patching you up. To say nothing of first degree burns down your back and one side of your body."

"Should I apologise for that?" he asked. The doctor seemed irritated by his recovery.

"No, not at all. I just wish some of my other patients were as lucky."

"But I don't know who I am," he said. "That can't be right."

"Despite all appearances you had a very bad blow to the head," the doctor told him. "You may be experiencing some temporary amnesia. That means we shall have to keep you here a little while longer, even though there is clearly nothing physically wrong with you." The doctor turned away to attend to his next patient. Nurse Terrell closed the curtains again before she began to take the bandages from his head. There was no wound. His dark hair fell back into place framing his pale but good looking face. A face he himself didn't recognise even when he looked in the hand mirror he requested of the nurse.

"I don't know WHO you are, My young Lord, but I DO know where you are from."


"You are a Time Lord of Gallifrey. I knew when I first had care of you. Your blood type was impossible to ascertain, and it is a colour nobody else here had ever seen before. And you have two hearts."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do." Nurse Terrell smiled. "Before I worked here, I was a nursery maid to the children of the Gallifreyan ambassador on my planet. I know all about your people, about your unusual physiology and your ability to repair your own bodies."

"I don't even know where Gallifrey is. It's my home, according to you, but I don't even know it. Everything is gone. I…" He winced. His head hurt suddenly and he felt a hot burning sensation down one side of his body and he saw in his mind's eye the fire that overtook him as he ran for cover from the bomb blast. The nurse looked at him with new concern.

"I remembered being burnt," he said. "I was trying to get back to my…." He stopped. Get back to what? Home? The word he was looking for had the same safe, comforting, secure feeling as "home" but that word didn't seem QUITE correct, and there was no definite picture in his head of what that safe, comforting place looked like.

"Try not to force it. I am sure your memory will come back in time." Nurse Terrell adjusted his pillows and suggested he try to rest. She said she had other patients to attend to but would come back to him as soon as she could.

He couldn't rest. He had already rested for several days, so he was told. Now he was awake and he needed to know what was happening.


Bo woke painfully. Her head hurt badly and she ached in every bone in her body. Shooting pain from her broken leg had her reaching for the button that regulated the self-administering pain-killers in the intravenous tube attached to her arm. She looked up at the white ceiling of the hospital ship. The same dread that had been in her heart before she slept came back to her. She turned her head and saw Cassie still sitting at her side.

"Is there any news?" she asked weakly. "Do they know if Chrístõ…"

Cassie shook her head. "He's not among the dead. At least not those they found enough remains of to identify. Terry went to look earlier. They put photographs of the dead along the corridor so that relatives could find their loved ones. He's not among them."

"Unless he was one of the bodies they couldn't identify at all," Bo said weakly. "They say those directly in the path of the explosions didn't stand a chance."

"Don't think of it, Bo. Please don't." Cassie looked close to tears, and she had cried enough already. "There is still a possibility he is alive. We mustn't give up hope."

"I'm not giving up hope," she said. "But where is he?

"We don't know." Sammie spoke with a sigh as he and Terry slipped in through the curtains. Terry hugged Cassie. Sammie stood looking anxiously at Bo. She looked rough still. Worry about Chrístõ was not helping any of them, but Bo was taking it hardest, as well as being the worst injured of the four of them with a broken leg, concussion and cuts and bruises all over her body. Those were healing now and her beautiful face looked almost right again. Only the pain in her eyes and the red rims from crying so much betrayed her grief. He longed to see her smile again and for those eyes to be bright with the joy of life.

"I'm not giving up hope, either," Terry said presently. "But I do think its time we told his father. I've booked a videophone call."

"What are we going to tell him?" Bo asked.

"I don't know," Terry sighed. "The truth I suppose." Bo sighed and turned her head into the pillow. She was crying again. Cassie gave in and cried too, after holding it in for so long. Terry felt little better, but if Sammie could keep his cool, he figured he could, too.

One of the auxiliary nurses told them that their videophone connection was available and pointed them to a workstation where they could make the call. Terry and Sammie stood together as they waited to be connected to the operator on Gallifrey, who quickly put them through to Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior's home. A few minutes later Chrístõ's father appeared. He was standing next to a woman he supposed was Chrístõ's stepmother.

"It's… Terry isn't it?" Ambassador de Lœngbærrow said, surprised to be speaking to him. "I remember you. I don't think I know this other young man. But…."

"Sir," Sammie interjected, identifying himself quickly. "I am sorry to have to tell you, but your son is missing, presumed dead."

Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior looked at them with a shocked expression. His wife gasped and grasped his hand. He looked at her and smiled gratefully at her but asked her if she would let him alone for a few minutes. The woman kissed him on the cheek and then slipped away.

"What has happened?" he asked when they were alone. "Where are you?"

"We're on board a hospital ship at the Regia Omnia space station," Sammie told him. At that, Chrístõ's father's face turned pale. Clearly the news of the disaster had reached Gallifrey.

"You were all on board the station?"

"Yes," Sammie told him. "Chrístõ brought us here to see the solar eclipse of the Regia Omnia twin suns. We were on the observation deck when…"

"I know what happened," Chrístõ's father interrupted him. "The news media of the universe is in a frenzy over it. But Earth Sons, what has happened to my child? Where is my Chrístõ?

"We don't know, Sir," Sammie told him. "We fear the worst."

"No," Chrístõ's father was reassuringly certain. "My boy is not dead. He is the flesh of my flesh. I would know. I would feel it in my hearts. He is not dead. He may be in mortal danger, but he is not dead."

"You are sure of that, sir?" Terry asked, hardly daring to hope.

"You have been Chrístõ's friend long enough to know there is far more to our species than meets the eye. I have often felt Chrístõ's distress when he is hurt, no matter how far away he is. I WOULD know if he was dead. I would feel it as a void in my hearts. I feel no such void. But nor do I feel any distress, which is puzzling. I do not know what is happening. But I cannot believe he is dead, and nor should you." He turned and spoke to his wife, off screen and then back to them. "I will be with you in a few hours."

"You are coming here?" Sammie was puzzled. "But aren't we millions of light years from your planet, sir?"

"My son is not the only Gallifreyan who owns a TARDIS." Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior smiled indulgently though the worry was clear in his eyes still. "I will be with you soon."

Terry and Sammie went back to the girls. Bo was still crying. Cassie sat with her head against the back of the chair and stared into nothing. Sammie went and held Bo. She clung to him as she cried. Holding a woman he loved while she cried in grief for another man was a surreal experience. He was glad he WAS the one she turned to for comfort, but there was little he could give her. The only thing that would heal this grief was finding Chrístõ alive. And then she would not need him. Precious Bo, so loyal and loving. How did Chrístõ ever think she would come to love anyone but him? Yet he had insisted that it was so.


"You should sleep, my Angel Eyes," Nurse Terrell told him as she came to his side. "Your body may have healed but it WAS very badly torn. Any ordinary soul would be dead with half the injuries you sustained. Even for your kind it must have drained your strength."

"I must remember who I am," he said. "I must. Do you know what happened to me? Why was I so badly injured as they say?"

"You shielded a child from the blast with your own body. You took the full force of it to save her. When they dug through the rubble they found you apparently half dead and the child crying but alive and unarmed beneath you. You are a brave man, my young Lord."

"I don't feel brave. I don't feel anything. I feel as if my hearts have been frozen."

"Well, there are a lot of us who think you ARE a hero, Angel Eyes." She smiled at him and stroked his cheek. "There must be somebody worrying about you. Somebody who loves you. I can't believe you're alone in this universe."

"I can't remember anyone," he said. "But if they're worrying about me… why haven't they come here to find me?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they will yet."

"Perhaps they're dead?" His eyes welled with tears, and he didn't know why. He was mourning loved ones he didn't even know he had who may not even be dead.

"That's strange. A Time Lord of Gallifrey who cries." Nurse Terrell brushed the tears that fell from his eyes. "It makes you look even more beautiful."


Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior brought his TARDIS out of temporal orbit between the great bulk of the hospital starship, the Grace Holloway, and the stricken space station. 13,000 people had been on board the station. The latest reports had listed 4,274 dead, 6,269 injured. And all because of the suicidal intentions of religious zealots who objected to the space station being there in orbit around the planet.

He was ovr 3,000 years old, and as an ambassador of his home planet to many far flung parts of the galaxy he had seen many startling things, but as the viewscreen panned across the bulk of the Regia Omnia space station he was presented with a sight that he would remember for the rest of his life. The news reports had said that four separate explosions had occurred, destroying the main control room, the drives, artificial gravity and life support, ripping through bulkheads and exposing many areas of the station to hard vacuum - accounting for very many of the deaths, of course. That it was still in orbit and not crashing into the planet below with catastrophic consequences was a miracle.

Miracle! That was a Human word, and a Human concept. Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow smiled at himself. His contact with Humanity had given him ideas that would distress his more conservative friends. But he defied them to find a better word to describe the fact that ANYONE who was aboard that station was still alive.

His son was alive. Of that he was sure. Again his colleagues would scoff at the idea, but he firmly believed that love was an even more powerful enhancement of telepathic connections than blood itself. Since his son left home to gain field experience before his graduation, he had been more aware than ever of the empathic link that bound them. He had not intruded on all of his son's experiences, but he was aware of his strongest emotions. When he was in danger, when he was hurt, he knew. He had known that Chrístõ was hurting a few days ago. But now there was nothing. The empathic link was broken. But he would not believe he was dead. If that was so, he WOULD have felt it in the core of himself. The death of a child - that was something any parent felt. He had not felt it. He knew Chrístõ was alive. But he didn't know why he could not connect with him. He had hoped that, once he was close, he would find the connection again, but so far there was nothing.

That worried him. And it saddened him. That empathic connection they shared was a special bond between them, and without it he felt as if a part of him was missing.

And that, too, his colleagues would regard as a sentimental foolishness, a weakness. But they had sons, and he defied them to say that they could be stoic and impassive while their flesh and blood suffered.

One thing he DID make connection with. He smiled. It was Chrístõ's own invention, taken up by almost all travelling Time Lords. The device that detected the presence of another TARDIS. Of course, Chrístõ's OWN TARDIS had a second device to prevent it being detected. But those who knew the frequency - like his own father - could override that.

Chrístõ's TARDIS was floating among the debris that had come loose from the station and was now adding to the hazards of those who were still finding the dead and trying to investigate exactly how the disaster was allowed to happen. Its chameleon circuit had activated, so that it seemed to be just a piece of the debris. Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior smiled wryly. None of the other pieces of debris, no matter how large, had the symbols across them.

TARDIS's were designed to be impregnable to outside interference. Even another Time Lord should not be able to do what he did now. But the Lœngbærrow 's were an inventive family. His son, before he even graduated, had patented the Dimensional Recognition Device - the DRD as it was commonly known. But HE was one of the few Time Lords who knew how to slave another TARDIS to his own so that he could control it remotely. He did so now, overriding the protocols that prevented such interference - protocols put there for good, sound reasons, it had to be said - and activating Chrístõ's TARDIS in order to bring both machines into the parking bay on the Grace Holloway.


Nurse Terrell had many patients to attend to. They all did. This was one of the worst disasters that the Grace Holloway had been sent to. But there was something about the one they called Angel Eyes - they all ignored the 'unknown male patient' written on his chart. Something made her come back to him more often than she needed to.

He looked tired. And he looked unhappy. He lay there looking up at the ceiling, his eyes still glassy with those puzzling tears. He looked as if he was fighting sleep, afraid to let himself go for fear of ever finding himself again.

"Sleep, my young Lord," she said to him gently. "Don't torture yourself. Your memory WILL return to you. For now, be grateful of the oblivion. There are patients enough here afraid to sleep because they fear the nightmares of what they remember only too well."

"I remember the pain," he said. "I remember being under the rubble, pinned down, unable to breathe - I remember stopping my breathing." He frowned. That seemed a strange thing to do. "Can we do that?"

"Yes. It's a gift that Time Lords have. They can recycle their breathing within their bodies when their air supply is cut off."

"Then that's what I must have done," he continued. "I know my arm was hurting. I know I was bleeding all over. And I couldn't move. I didn't dare move anyway or the child might have been crushed. Then there was light. People were lifting me. They thought I was dead at first. Then I must have moved or tried to speak. I heard them shouting for a stretcher. Then I don't remember anything else until I woke again here."

"That's something at least. The rest will come in time. But you must rest." Nurse Terrell stroked his forehead gently. She could almost feel the frustration and tension within him. But the touch of her hand seemed to soothe him. He looked at her gratefully and closed his beautiful brown eyes, his long lashes fluttering momentarily as his overwrought brain began to relax.

"You are supposed to be off duty, Nurse Terrell." She looked around at the younger nurse who came into the curtained off bed space. She smiled as she looked at the patient. "I'm so glad he's getting better. But we still don't know who he is, or if he has anyone who cares about him."

"Somebody must," Nurse Terrell said. Of that she was certain. She stood up and sighed. She was tired. They all were. But 'off duty' was a word that hardly applied. She needed to eat and get a cup of coffee, maybe a quick hour's sleep. But then there was much more to be done yet before she could truly think of being 'off duty.'


For the four friends it had been a long few hours. They had gone over the events of three days ago again and again. They all remembered only too well the moment when the terror had begun. Apparently ordinary tourists watching the eclipse on the huge amphitheatre-like observation deck had suddenly stood up from their seats with blast guns. How they got the weapons through the security protocols was one of many questions the authorities were still trying to answer. But it was soon clear that all over the station the same thing was happening. The engine rooms and the control centres where the artificial gravity and life support were maintained were forcibly taken over. The shopping mall and restaurants and entertainment decks were cleared as civilians, commercial staff and crew were herded together and made to listen as the terrorist leader read a statement about heathens and pagans from other worlds using the space station above their holy ground on the planet below. Their intention was to blow the whole station up, along with themselves and everyone on board.

But they had been stopped. Not all the explosives they planted went off. The chain reaction they had expected failed. While many thousands did die, including some of the zealots, many more survived.

They looked around as the curtains opened again, expecting a doctor or one of the nurses to attend to Bo. They were surprised and relieved to see Chrístõ's father.

"You're my son's friends?" Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior greeted them warmly, shaking hands with Terry and Sammie and hugging Cassie warmly. They all knew his face from the videophone at various times, but this was the first time he had seen them in the flesh. He looked at the oriental girl. Bo Juan, he remembered. Even if he was not aware before of the affection she had for his son, he would have known from the look in her eyes, the tears on her face. He went to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "My dear child," he said tenderly. "Do not cry any more tears. Chrístõ is alive. Take my word for it. I don't know where he is and I am terribly afraid for him. But I know he is alive. So have faith, gentle lover of my only son. He will be returned to us."

"I believe you," she said. She reached out towards the chair by the bed. Draped over it was Chrístõ's leather jacket. Bo had felt cold on the observation deck and Chrístõ had put it around her. She had still been wearing it when they were separated. "Take his jacket to him. He always feels lost without it." Terry picked it up and almost hugged it to him. It was so much a part of Chrístõ that it felt at the same time comforting and an aching reminder that he was not there.

Chrístõ's father stood and took the hands of each of his son's friends in turn. He told them not to give up hope. He would find him, if he had to physically search through the hospital ship ward by ward.

"But he's not among the list of patients," Terry told him. "I've looked again and again. There are very few new names added anyway. Mostly they're finding the dead now." He brought Chrístõ's father to the information desk where a database of patient names and their planet of origin was made available for those seeking loved ones. No search for the name of Lœngbærrow , or any common misspelling of the name brought any result. Scrolling slowly through several hundred 'L's' manually brought nothing.

"What about these?" Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior pointed to the long list at the end of the patient register that simply said 'unknown male', 'unknown female', 'unknown gender unspecific' or some such thing, with 'Humanoid' or other general species information and a ward number.

"I didn't know about those," Terry said. He cursed his stupidity. Was it as simple as that? Was Chrístõ among the 'unknown males'?

"Most of them are in ward 330 to 333b," he noted. "Must be a specialist area."


Wards 330 to 333b were the specialist burns units. The very worst cases were those 'unknowns', all receiving the very best of care, but for the present that meant covering their bodies with a special plastic resin that prevented infection until they could begin surgery to repair their skin. Terry and Chrístõ's father both looked sadly at them. Terry marvelled that they had any hope at all. In his century, in the times he remembered, most of them would have died in agony by now and any that survived would be horribly maimed all their lives. That they all had hopes of a normal life after the surgery was amazing to him.

But Chrístõ could not have been among these. Even if he HAD been so badly burnt his body would have been able to repair itself. Slowly, to be sure, if he had suffered as much damage as some of these people. Some of these were barely recognisable as Human, let alone male or female. But Chrístõ was not Human and his flesh and skin and hair would be starting to repair by now.

"It was worth a try," Terry said with a sigh.

"Yes, it was," Chrístõ's father agreed. "There were others listed in other wards. We won't give up."

"No, sir." Terry paused before bringing up something that had been on his mind. "Sir… if… I mean WHEN you find him, will you take him home?"

"That would depend on what state he is in when we do find him. If he is badly injured, I think I would like to be able to care for him. I'd want our doctors treating after him. I know you are his friends. He thinks highly of you. So do I. But I would want him home with me."

"Then we shall have to ask you to help us get back to Earth. We don't belong out here in space." He paused. "I'm sorry, that seems selfish of me. Thinking of the problems this causes us."

"You have every right to worry. And yes, I will help you if it should come to that. It is something we must talk about. There could be difficulties. You all come from different times."

"You can't send Bo back to HER time anyway," Terry said. "You KNOW her circumstances. Chrístõ intended something better for her."

"We shall see," he promised. "You are loyal to each other. That is a fine thing. Loyalty at least is valued on Gallifrey. Even if other Human traits are not."

"Chrístõ always spoke - I mean - he SPEAKS - very highly of his society, his people. He loves his homeworld."

"He loves it from afar. It chafes him to actually be there. He's a restless spirit. But no doubt you have realised that."

"He's a good friend. And a good soul."

"Yes." Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior sighed and tried to reach out to his son's soul. There was still nothing. If he was on this ship he ought to be able to feel him. It worried him that he could not. "Oh my son, where ARE you?" he sighed.


Nurse Terrell saw the middle aged man and the young man coming towards her along the corridor without really looking at either of them. More relatives looking for their loved ones. She hoped they would find them among the living. Perhaps somebody would come soon for her Angel Eyes.

Eyes. She looked up as they approached and saw the deep brown eyes of the older man. Even then she had passed them by before it really registered in her mind. She turned and looked at him. Was it possible?

"Sir…" Nurse Terrell ran and caught him by the arm. He stopped and turned to her. "Sir, forgive me. But… your eyes…. They are… Oh, if I am wrong I apologise, but are you seeking somebody here who is missing?"

"I am. I seek my son. Do you know of him."

"You DO have his eyes. The eyes of an angel. Your son… is he a Gallifreyan who can shed tears?"

"Yes." Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior's hearts leapt with new hope. He gripped the nurse's shoulders tightly. "Where is he? Take me to him, please." He actually took hold of Terry's hand as they hurried through the long corridors of the hospital ship. Terry didn't even think to object. He was as anxious to find Chrístõ as his father was, and he thought he was probably trembling as much as he was. He hoped this was not going to be another disappointment.

The nurse brought them to a curtained off bed and pulled it back for them. Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior stepped inside. Terry came behind, clutching Chrístõ's leather jacket tightly between his sweating hands.

"Oh my son," his father cried and ran to the bed to embrace him in his arms. "My Chrístõ."

He looked up as the stranger approached him. At first he didn't hear the words that were spoken as he found himself being embraced lovingly.

"My son. My Chrístõ."

"Chrístõ?" Nurse Terrell smiled as she repeated the name that still meant nothing to him. "A beautiful name for my Angel Eyes."

"Son?" His brown eyes widened as he looked at the man who had put his arms about him. He had the same eyes as his own. He knew because he had seen them in the mirror.

"You ARE my boy, my Chrístõ," his father insisted. "They tell me you can't remember. But I know you, my child. My own son."

"My father?" He tried to remember but there was nothing. He felt sad. He sensed that this stranger was telling him the truth. He WAS his father, and he thought he ought to love him very much. But he felt nothing for him.

"Come on, my boy," his father said. "Let me dress you. I want to take you to your friends. They are worried about you."

"Friends?" His eyes lit with hope. "I'm not alone here?"

"Far from it," his father told him. "You have four very loyal friends. Here is one, and there are three others still worried sick about you." The clothes he had been wearing were ripped to shreds, of course. But the nurse found a shirt and pants and shoes and socks to fit him. Terry wordlessly handed him the leather jacket. He held it in his hands for a long while. Something of it seemed familiar; the feel of the leather, the silk lining, the smell of it, leather, and a slight tang of his own sweat. It was HIS jacket, he knew. He wished he could remember wearing it.

He put it on and his father and Terry between them guided him as he walked through the hospital ship to another ward that seemed identical to the one he had been in. His father brought him to another curtained off bed.

"Chrístõ!" As he stepped in through the curtains he was hugged madly by a pretty, dark skinned young woman whose name he felt he ought to know. Another young woman was in the bed, and a man was holding her in his arms. Both of them called the name he had only just learnt as his own. He went to them. The man shook his hand warmly and said he was glad he was alive. The young woman, a beautiful oriental with almond eyes and black hair, embraced him tearfully and told him she loved him over and over. But he didn't feel any love for her. He felt as if he should, but he didn't.

"You all know me?" He looked around at them all. They looked at him curiously until his father told them he was suffering from amnesia.

"Oh hell, Chrístõ," Sammie said. "You don't know anything of what happened?"

"I know there was an explosion on a space station," he said, sitting on the bed beside Bo, who clung to him still. "I know we were all caught in it. I know I was badly hurt, but because I am different, I am recovered now - except for the fact that I don't know who I am or who any of you are." Bo cried all the harder and told him she loved him. "I believe you, sweet one," he said kindly. "But I don't even know if I love you in return. Please be patient with me. I don't even know if it's my fault you are hurt."

"Oh, Chrístõ!" Cassie gave a hollow laugh mixed with a sob. "Nothing could be further from the truth. None of us would be alive but for you. You don't even know what you did."

"What DID I do?" he asked.

"YOU stopped most of the bombs from going off," Sammie told him. "The terrorists had put twenty-four separate explosive devices around the space station and ringed them with hostages. We were all separated. Bo and Cassie were dragged off one way. Terry was with another batch they took another direction. Me and you were taken with a group who were tied up next to the bomb at the life support control centre. YOU went into one of your trances and you began dismantling the bombs with your mind."

"Chrístõ did that?" His father was astonished. "Telekinesis was his worst discipline at the academy. And REMOTE telekinesis is even harder."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with him," Cassie said, taking hold of Chrístõ's hands. "Maybe it burnt him out. Oh, my beautiful alien. You've always been so brave. But for you, we'd ALL be vapourised, along with thousands of innocent people. And maybe millions more on the planet if the debris had fallen into the atmosphere. And nobody but us even knows. And you, you've hurt yourself so terribly."

His father took his hands from her and lifted him to his feet. He put his hands on his forehead and the Humans around him all recognised a Time Lord reaching deeply into another mind. They had seen Chrístõ do it many times.

Chrístõ de Lœngbærrow senior was astonished at what he saw when he reached through the fog of confusion in his son's mind. He saw him and his young companions being separated. He saw the oriental girl cry out in terror as Chrístõ and the young man called Sammie were torn from her grasp. He saw her swept away, still wearing Chrístõ's leather jacket that was four sizes too big for her. He saw them forced to kneel as they were bound together around the bomb. Chrístõ and Sammie, and a dozen other people, including a mother and two young children. He saw Chrístõ close his eyes and send his mind out, connecting with the points around the station where the bombs were primed. He went into each one and with great effort he stopped the mechanism with his limited and faulty telekinetic power. Twenty four bombs in all. He managed to stop twenty, but time was running out, and he had not yet reached the bomb that they were tied to.

But he was not the only one fighting the fight. Sammie, the Human with military training, knew how to deal with ropes and knots. While Chrístõ fought with his mind, Sammie fought with his own gifts. He had loosened his bonds enough to reach down to his boot and slide a knife blade out of it. He cut himself free and crept forward to where two of the zealots were preparing to go to their eternal hereafter as glorious martyrs and rendered them unconscious before taking their weapons and checking the area for more terrorists. It was clear. Most of the zealots were elsewhere, certain that they were seconds away from their own martyrdom. He returned and cut the rest of the hostages free. With less than thirty seconds to detonation he persuaded Chrístõ to give it up and they all ran. Sammie took one of the children and he was through the second bulkhead when the explosion swept through that section of the space station. Chrístõ had been level with him, but he looked back and saw the mother with the other child fall. He went back to them. He took the child as the mother ran to catch up with Sammie and her other little one. Chrístõ had tried to time fold as the seconds ticked away, but his mental powers were exhausted and the blast caught up with him.

"Everyone was knocked out by the force of the blast wave," Sammie said when Chrístõ's father related that part of the story to them. "The next thing I knew I was here on the hospital ship. Some of the other people were there, but none of them knew what had happened to Chrístõ. I managed to find Terry and Cassie. They were both in sections where the bombs had been stopped. Bo had done the same as me, freed herself and those held hostage with her, and they had run for it, too, but their bomb went off and she was thrown against a bulkhead. We found her here. But we couldn't find Chrístõ and we couldn't find anyone who knew what had happened to him."

"Stupid," Terry chided himself. "Not to check the John Doe list."

"But will he be all right?" Cassie looked at Chrístõ. He was still standing, held by his father, but his eyes looked glazed and empty. When his father moved his arm he collapsed against him.

A bed was made up next to where Bo was recovering. Chrístõ was put into it and his father and his friends sat by him for several long hours, nearly as anxious now as when they didn't know where he was. The nurse who had cared for him for so long came to join them. She, too, wanted her Angel Eyes to be well.


He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. So many anxious faces looked at him. His father's face came closest to him and whispered his name.

"Father!" He knew him! He looked up into his father's eyes and he knew him. He knew his love. If he had EVER doubted it, he didn't now. He had come here, from Gallifrey, to find him when he was lost. He HAD been lost. For many days he had been lost. But now he had found himself. Some things were still fuzzy. But he knew who he was. He knew WHAT he was. He knew his friends. He looked at them. Cassie and Terry holding each other, Sammie trying to hold back his tears of joy because SAS men didn't cry. Especially not over other men! He looked past them to Bo, precious Bo, who should have been resting, but she was wide awake, watching him from her bed. He reached his arm towards her. She reached to him and they clasped their fingers together tightly. "My precious Bo, how could I have forgotten your love for me?"

His memory was not the only part of his brain affected. His telepathic abilities were almost completely worn down by the effort of racing against time to stop the bombs. But that damage was not permanent either. His father said he WOULD get all of his abilities back in time, though he thought he would STILL be bad at telekinesis.

But in the meantime, Chrístõ insisted, there was nothing to prevent him from piloting the TARDIS. His father had tried to persuade him, but he was quietly insistent that he wanted to carry on.


"I'm not happy with this, Chrístõ," his father said as they stood in the parking bay a few days later, Bo supported by crutches but otherwise happy to be going back to the only home she had - Chrístõ's TARDIS. "I wish you would come home. You went through something here that taxed you to the limit and beyond. At least you might be seen by one of OUR physicians."

"Father, wouldn't they just say that half-bloods are bound to have faulty brains?" Chrístõ told him.

"You could be right there." His father sighed and turned to his friends. "You all know how to contact me. If he shows any long term effects of this experience, please tell me."

"Father, using my friends against me. That's not fair."

"Chrístõ, my child, didn't I teach you when you were ten not to use that worthless complaint." His friends all smiled and gave their word to look after him. Anything as long as they could go on exploring the universe with him.

Nurse Terrell rushed down the parking bay. She was relieved to find them there still. "I had to say goodbye to you," she said, embracing Chrístõ fondly. "Look after yourself, Angel Eyes. You haven't been properly rewarded for what you did here. So many lives saved by you, my young Lord. I will remember it. Be sure of that."

"I will remember your kindness to me," he said. And he kissed her on the cheek sweetly before turning and going into his TARDIS. His friends followed him.

"So brave," Nurse Terrell whispered as she stood beside his father and watched the 'one man shuttle craft' with emblazoned on the side dematerialise. "So young. And so brave."

"When he was a baby, a fortune teller on Gema Korizon told his mother and I that he would be the most powerful of all our race in the fullness of time, and stand equal to our Creator himself. I put it down to her wanting to say the right thing to please me. But sometimes I do wonder." He shook his head and smiled. "I do wonder, indeed."