4500 words. Completed in 2004. Rewritten/reimagined as "Flashpoint" for Short Trips: Monsters (Sep. 2004), published by Big Finish.

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is copyright property of the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).

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The humans, they stare at me with admiration and wonder, but I return only contempt. None realizes that each new day is a gift of fortune. The species should have been wiped out before learning to walk upright. I was intended for something momentous, a devastating act of global proportion. But here I am… relegated to a mere curio.

A male child breaks free of his mother’s grip and darts under the ropes that separate me from the crowd. He stops beneath me and reaches up a cautious finger to my base. Making contact, I sense his inner warmth, which I draw upon. Although I delight in temperatures humans consider extreme, I have long since settled for the tiniest spark of heat.

The child jumps back and gives me a confused glance as he wipes his finger on his overalls. His face contorts, reddens, and he begins to cry. His mother grabs his arm and drags him through the crowd to the exit.

There’s a small commotion among the onlookers before reverting to their silent, watchful state. All I can do is observe and reflect…

Curtains of steam obscure tapestries, bronze statues of athletes and marble busts of men with prominent noses. The rising humidity is soothing and I yearn to be immersed in the large, heated bath at the centre of the room. With little effort, I could make the water boil, sear.

Half-naked servants have left the room to fetch the ill-tempered, portly head of the household. A figure steps towards me through the steam. He is wearing a full set of robes, which he grips with wizened hands. Fiercely intelligent eyes, set into a deeply-lined face, peer through the layers of my prison. His mind attempts to make a connection with my own.

"How very curious indeed," he says. He leans in and runs a finger over my surface. I detect a quick pulse… No, a set of pulses. The male withdraws his hand and reaches into his robes, producing a handheld electronic device.

"Just as I suspected," he says, carefully examining my features. "You’re a long way from home. However did you end up in there?"

A young, bright-eyed female steps cautiously through the steam.

"Do you plan to take a bath, Doctor?"

"Hmmm? No, I was just examining this relic here, my dear Vicki."

"It looks like Nero, the emperor."

"Yes, hardly a fetching likeness. No matter, I need your assistance in taking it to the TARDIS."

"You’re going to steal it? Surely Nero will realize it’s missing?"

"It may not seem obvious, but this is a very dangerous weapon. We need to take it to the TARDIS so I may dispose of it properly."

He knows what I am, perhaps even my intended purpose for the planet. From him, I can learn my true potential. I reach out with my mind; I read his thoughts. My prison trembles and inches forth on the marble stand, towards the pair.

His face twitches with fear. He turns around and fixes me with a sharp gaze. My prison settles. A mental barrier clouds his thoughts.

I jostle about in a cloth bundle carried by the Doctor and his companion Vicki through the streets. I perceive torch light and frigid night air. I hear the muffled voices of passersby and the trotting of beasts of burden.

"Rather late for a stroll, isn’t it civis?" We suddenly stop at the sound of the gruff voice.

"Excuse us," says the Doctor. "We’re in a rush to return home."

"That I can see. And if you show me what you have there, I’ll step out your way," says the stranger.

"Now see here! We have important business to attend to, so stand aside—"

"Calm down, senis. Let’s not upset your maiden. Just hand over the bundle."

"Doctor, he has a knife!" Vicki whispers.

For a short while, there is only breathing before I’m passed over to the stranger and he flees.

"Stop him!" cries the Doctor. "Thief!"

Cradled in the stranger’s arms, part of the cloth bundle slips loose. I watch as we dart into alleyways, scale walls and leap between rooftops. A distant whistle sounds. The stranger hops down into a garden, and hides me and himself under fragrant bushes. He exhales puffs of vapour in the moonlight.

Several armoured guards appear nearby, with drawn swords and lit torches. Concentrating, I cause the flames to burn white. But the men pass by and their footfalls quickly fade. The stranger sighs with relief. The bundle is parted and a thin, pallid man examines me with a grin.

"Gods be praised!" He chuckles. "You’ll fetch me a fine price."

The ship rocks to and fro over the waves, which crest in the moonlight. I sit on a shelf beneath a portal window. The captain is passed out on a bunk below, an empty vessel of wine nearby. There’s a knock on the door and he stirs.

"Go away!" He lifts me off the shelf and cradles me against his chest. "No way they’re going to steal my prize," he mumbles before passing out once more and snoring loudly.

I feel the excited pulse in his chest, pumping thinned blood to his damp hands, which grip my surface. I delight in the warmth, despite the foul breath he expels. I reach out with my mind to calm him, to soothe him, maintaining his state of slumber. Then I draw forth on the heat that courses through him. Feel it gradually rise, feel it surround me.

I focus now, invigorated as the male’s body heat increases to lethal levels. His skin begins to blister and blacken. He winces in pain, but then relaxes as I trigger his body into a coma. The hairs on his face and hands singe and a waft of smoke rises from his clothes as they begin to smolder. They catch fire. His heat fills me like a fever. The bedding also catches fire and, concentrating on the flames, I soon draw forth a roaring blaze.

Whistles and bells sound as the crew discovers the fire. They scurry about, dipping vessels into the sea and throwing water onto the blaze, but in vain. I control the flames, cast them forth, spread them across the deck, up the bulkheads, flooding the cabin with molten heat.

The flames burn through the wood deck. I fall to the lower deck in a rain of charcoal and bone. Surrounding crates go up in flame. Smoke floods the ship and the crew jump overboard. A smoldering section of keel cracks and suddenly gives way. Sea water bubbles and seeps in. A cloud of steam rises as the water pools around me.

So cold, so very cold.

The bus screeched to a halt at an intersection. Steven set down the newspaper and looked over the passengers: several tourists with cameras dangling from their necks, scattered among dozens of tanned locals. Sun-bleached shops and cafés lay outside, broken up by the odd Roman home or Baroque church. Crowds of people flowed past produce and fish vendors. Down side streets, he caught glimpses of the coast. Fishing vessels dotted the sea, which sparkled beneath a mountain silhouette.

He turned to the Doctor, who slept calmly beside him. A light breeze blew a lock of white hair across the old man’s face, causing him to twitch.

"Doctor," Steven whispered.

A mumble.

"Doctor," Steven repeated in a low voice, touching his companion’s arm.

"What is the meaning—" The Doctor glared about and, catching sight of Steven, took a deep breath to compose himself.

"Sorry, you dozed off there for a minute."

"I was not dozing, my dear boy, but meditating! I suppose you wish to ask me something?"

The bus turned a corner and picked up speed.

"That bust of Nero—I assume you have more in mind than a simple look-see?"

The Doctor arched his eyebrows. "And how did you deduce that?"

"Well, for starters, this heavy knapsack we retrieved from the TARDIS."

The Doctor chuckled. "Perhaps I intend to purchase souvenirs, hmmm?"

Steven grinned. "What is it you’re not telling me? Didn’t you have your fill of museums on Xeros?"

"Well you see, I’ve come across that bust of Nero before."

"But according to this article, the ship it was on sank two thousand years ago…"

"Quite so. I would guess a few weeks after my visit with Nero himself."

The bus pulled up before the museum, a large medieval building, and the passengers filed out.

I cannot control this. The rising water extinguishes the flames. Composing myself, I feel my powers fade. The ship is sinking, drawing me down into the depths of the sea.

On land, surrounded by air, in contact with living matter, I could affect the climate, empower myself. As I descend with the ship to the seafloor, darkness swallows the moonlight. Chill currents rob me of control.

I recall the Doctor’s thoughts, his mental images. A smoke-filled room, permeated by screams. Walls set alight with crimson and gold flames. Suffocating, searing heat.

For a brief moment, I am filled with glorious warmth. Then a veil of frigid darkness falls.

The crowd stared intently at the marble bust of Nero. Beads of condensation sparkled in the afternoon light before trickling down the polished surface. Steven scanned the onlookers who muttered to each other under their breath. Many were tourists, sporting cameras, sunglasses, sunburned faces, shorts and plaid socks pulled up way too high. A pair of electric fans provided a meager breeze, mingled with deodorant and perfume.

Steven noticed the middle-aged woman beside him toying with Rosary beads around her wrist, whispering to herself. He leaned towards the Doctor.

"What’s the big fascination? There’s obviously some mechanical heating device inside Nero’s head."

"Hmmm? Not exactly mechanical, but you’re on the right track." The Doctor looked about the room, fidgeting with the lapels of his coat. "You see, my dear boy, not even the top scientists can figure out how a source of heat came to be encased in a two-thousand-year-old marble bust. Archaeologists are fighting scientists in the courts to prevent the bust from being broken open."

Steven nodded his head to the side, indicating the woman beside him.

"Do some people consider it a miracle of nature?"

The old man grinned. "Let’s just say, many on this planet are keen to find ways of reassuring their faith." He scanned the crowd again. "It wouldn’t be the first time a leaky piece of art has made the news. No matter, let’s get to work."

Steven nodded and moved to the edge of the crowd, taking the knapsack in hand. The Doctor suddenly swooned and rested his hands on the arm of a nearby man.

"Are you all right, signore?"

"Just—just a bit lightheaded, I’m afraid," said the Doctor. He clutched his chest. "Dear me."

The man shouldered the Doctor’s weight.

"Dear me," the Doctor moaned, "I don’t feel well at all."

The onlookers gradually took notice and surrounded him.

"I—I need to lie down, good sir. I feel cold."

A commotion rose from the men, women and children watching as the man laid the Doctor gently on the ground and placed a beach towel beneath his head.

Meanwhile, Steven stepped over the ropes and backed up towards the marble bust. The security guard left the room to call a physician. Putting on leather gloves, Steven reached into the knapsack and revealed an identical head of Nero. When he was sure no was looking, Steven quickly switched the two busts and rejoined the crowd. He pushed forward till he stood over his companion. Catching his glance, Steven tapped the knapsack and the Doctor winked.

"Oh my, my aching head," the Doctor moaned, suddenly wincing.

"Quite the act you put on at the museum, Doctor. Looked like your four-hundred years had finally caught up with you."

The Doctor pursed his lips.

"What’s to become of our friend here?" Steven asked, tapping the knapsack.

"My dear boy, that is a sentient terraforming weapon, sent here millions of years ago by a fungoid race, intending to turn Earth into a breeding ground. It is a friend to no one!"

"Are we going to destroy it somehow?"

The Doctor sighed and glanced out the bus window. "No, no. I can’t do that. It is a thinking, living being after all."

"But it’s a weapon!"

"Yes, a weapon unaware of its full potential. I shall ensure that it remains in the dark. You see, it flourishes in the depths of volcanoes. Somehow, it was cast upon the planet’s surface, ending up encased in marble. This delayed its activation, as did lying at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea—each environment colder than the last."

"So, you’re going to freeze it?"

"Precisely. I know of the perfect ice planet. I’ll use the TARDIS to jettison the weapon beneath the surface."

Steven patted the Doctor on the shoulder. "To be safe, let’s keep it in the freezer on the way there."

The vehicle comes to a halt, and the Doctor and Steven exit. Through a hole in the bag, I see the setting sun, then shadow as we turn into an alley. Their body heat is masked by the summer weather.

The Doctor keeps his thoughts shielded, so I turn my attention to Steven. Faint images appear: pained faces floating in darkness, an unblinking eye, withering skin, loss, frustration…

The thoughts disperse as we near a tall blue box. The Doctor unlocks the door and, stepping over the threshold, I suddenly feel disoriented. Reality gives way to confusion.

Surrounding me is a vast mind.

"Second left... Third right... Middle door," Steven muttered, making his way through a maze of narrow hallways. His fingers tingled as he ran them over the walls.

In solitude, he had made half-hearted attempts to map the TARDIS interior, but he always ran out of paper. Plus, he suspected the ship updated its layout as often as the Doctor changed moods.

He came to a steel door and pulled the latch. A rush of chill air seeped out. In the dim light, Steven made out the grotesque features of a Chinese dragon carved from ice.

"I come bearing gifts," he said with a grin, holding up the knapsack. Passing by wooden crates and plastic containers, Steven produced the marble bust and set it in the dragon’s open mouth, causing a belch of vapour.

Exiting the freezer, Nero’s eyes stared blankly at Steven as he closed the door. The fans whirred to life, then halted with a click. He sighed and tapped a nearby panel.

"Doctor, the freezer’s blown a fuse again."

A crackle of static. "Lifetime warranty indeed… All right, I’ll run a systems check."

Steven’s muffled voice pervades the darkness of the chamber now that the whirring fans have stopped. I grow weary in the lingering chill. Suddenly, a presence surrounds the chamber. A haunting, curious presence. It seeps into circuitry, forming intricate fractal patterns, analyzing, processing, searching.

The presence closes in, enveloping the ice sculpture, and a faraway eye looks into mine, looks deep within. Branching through synapses, it infests my thoughts before burrowing into my subconscious. I shudder deeply. It tries to subdue me, but my tremors increase. As if bitten, the presence scatters to the corners of the chamber.

A rush of intense heat fills me. I am overwhelmed with purpose, desire. I am the spark that sets the fire.

With a violent shudder, my prison cracks then shatters. I scream across galaxies to ancient elders, to alert them of my presence. To tell them I am self aware.

A deep, sombre chime fills the chamber.

Roaring inside me is a fervent blaze. The ice sculpture becomes a gushing stream, flooding the chamber. Focusing on the floor once I make contact, it melts beneath me, exposing pulsating circuitry.

I seep inside, ready to consume.

Steven hurried to the console room, the corridors echoing with the deep chiming. Rounding a corner, he spotted the door and dashed through. The Doctor was frantically working the controls, flicking switches and adjusting dials.

"What’s going on, Doctor? What’s with the loud bell?"

"We’re in grave danger!"

"That terraforming device?"

"Yes, the device." The Doctor studied an output reading and tapped the console impatiently. "It’s now a triggered weapon, I’m afraid."

"Can’t the TARDIS contain it somehow—or even expel it?"

"It’s too late for that, my dear boy. Go fetch the emergency supplies and cold weather jackets."

Steven left and quickly returned with a crate of supplies and anoraks for both of them.

"We’re abandoning the TARDIS?"

"Abandoning? No, I’m shutting her down—everything." He pulled a series of switches and the lights dimmed. The chime ceased. The faint, persistent hum of machinery faded. The main doors opened inward to reveal a vast arctic tundra.

The Doctor took an anorak and exited the ship. "Time to set up camp," he called over his shoulder.

The presence has disappeared to the deepest, darkest corner of this inter-dimensional craft. And with it, the luminescence and warmth. I sense neither Steven nor the Doctor. I smoulder circuitry, set it alight. But ashes give way to a fathomless void eager to draw me in.

Passing through a wall, I am now in a dark and narrow corridor.

With a click and a whirring, the portable heater hiccupped to life. Steven rubbed his gloved hands together in the warm breeze directed their way. He sat beside the Doctor, who was examining a handheld electronic device.

"It’s no bonfire, but it’s all we’ve got till sunrise."

The Doctor stared intently at the device’s readings. Steven tapped his shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

"What time is sunrise?"

"The sun rose six years ago. See that star?" He pointed off to space. "That faint, reddish one?"

Steven brought his knees to his chest and crossed his arms tightly. "I see."

"I’m sorry, Steven. I underestimated the abilities of our guest."

"Better here than it wreaking havoc on Earth, I suppose." He gave the Doctor a feeble smile. "What’s that you have there?"

"It’s tracking our guest’s movements through the ship."

"So what’s the plan? Wait till the temperature inside the TARDIS matches that of this moon, then lure out the alien with this heater?"

"Precisely."

Steven stared ahead at the compact, self-powered heater. "Splendid."

His mind drifted to the Mediterranean climate of Cyprus. I’d give my soon-to-be-frostbitten right foot to be back there, he thought, grinning at imagined warmth.

The craft’s climate is cooling. The ever-branching corridors become a labyrinth in the dark. I conserve energy rather than burning through further walls.

I sense a pinprick of heat, either faraway or an insect nearby for all I know. Having wandered for hours already, I estimate the direction of the heat source and set off.

A desert of snow and ice surrounded Steven. Silhouettes of glaciers dotted the horizon. Tales of early Earth explorers came to mind—the Franklin expedition in particular.

"Do you suppose there are any polar bears about, Doctor?"

"Hmmm? No, this ice moon is quite lifeless."

Steven huddled tightly in his anorak, teeth chattering. He placed his hands on the vent of the heater. "Has that alien found the console room?"

"It has a ways to go, I’m afraid." The Doctor rested a hand on Steven’s shoulder. "How are you making out, Steven? More tea?"

He poured tea from a thermos into a cup and passed it to Steven, who cradled it tightly in his hands.

There was plenty to nibble on, Steven noted, tea to spare and the heater the only source of power. Rather limited emergency supplies. The Doctor took the security of the TARDIS for granted, it seemed. Steven stared again at the horizon and his stomach sank.

"Doctor, have you noticed it’s been getting darker this past hour?"

"The thought did cross my mind, yes." He tapped the device’s output display. "And night will likely last as long as day."

"So it’s going to get a whole lot colder." He huddled tightly. "Why don’t we take our chances inside the TARDIS? Materialize near a sun and lure the alien out that way?"

"We would risk causing a supernova. And inside the TARDIS, free of the marble, the alien would quickly detect and cook us alive. No, our best option is to remain here and wait for it to exit the ship."

"Doctor, a pathetic heater and a thermos of tea isn’t going to keep me alive if it drops another thirty degrees!"

The Doctor sighed and looked at the TARDIS, its doors wide open. "You’ll have to trust me, Steven."

The young man tried wiggling his numb toes. "Seems I have no other choice."

Within a couple hours, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. Steven was now huddled close beside the Doctor, the old man’s arm draped over his shoulder. According to the tracker, the alien was nearing the console room, but at a snail’s pace.

"I feel so tired," Steven muttered.

"You must stay awake, my dear boy."

"I’ll try."

"Focus on the sound of my voice, Steven. Did I ever tell you about the time I paid a visit to Earth as a youth?"

"I don’t think so."

"In my Academy days, I wrote a paper on Earth civilizations. The available textbooks were rather dry and uninspired, so I decided to conduct some field research. Time travel for students was permitted, but there was a lengthy screening process. We also required a professor to accompany us. Problem was, the paper was due in a month. So in my desperation, I side-stepped procedure and called in some favours."

Steven chuckled.

"Yes, I was a brash youth, but a resourceful one. So using a time travel capsule, I materialized in ancient Rome—during Nero’s reign in fact. I rented a room from a kind family and frequented the markets, observing the locals and their customs."

The Doctor glanced at Steven, who was fast asleep.

"Wake up, Steven!" He tapped his companion’s face. "Stay with me now." He shook his shoulders. No response, not even a shrug. Checking the tracker’s reading, the Doctor tensed and tossed the device aside. He took Steven’s pulse—faint. "Bear with me, my dear boy. This will all be over soon."

The Doctor shut his eyes.

A mind reaches out to mine. Mental pictures come into focus: a cramped room lit by moonlight, stucco walls, a bed of straw. The Doctor’s memories. His thoughts are perceptible now, his guard let down. Perhaps he is dying.

His memories are vivid; they become my own. The straw mattress prickles my back. The chill night air is disturbed by a warm, smoky breeze. Dark smoke eclipses the moonlight. A flickering glow outlines the room door. The wood is warm to the touch. I hear muffled screams, pottery crashing.

I open the door a crack and my vision is filled with a roaring blaze. Sections of the roof crumble and collapse under intense heat. Through the smoke and rippling air, I make out my host family. The children are screaming. The wife yells at them to exit the house while struggling to free her husband, who’s trapped under a wooden rafter.

I push open the door, intending to help, when a chunk of ceiling collapses before me. I choke on a cloud of dust that stings my eyes. I stumble back into the room. Turning to the window, I pull myself up and through. I run around the house to the front entrance. But the screams have stopped: the remainder of the roof has collapsed. I see nothing but rubble through the black smoke and leaping flames.

I drop to my knees, my eyes welling with tears. People scurry through the streets. Some carry buckets of water, tossing it on the fires in vain.

All around me the city burns.

The Doctor wiped his eyes as he opened them. A gelatinous, tentacled creature crept like a lobster out of the TARDIS. It recoiled as it made contact with the icy plain, but quickly recovered and approached the old man and his passed-out companion.

"Yes, that’s it. Come right this way," the Doctor whispered. With a cautious hand, he turned the heater to maximum, knowing full well the power cell would be drained in a matter of minutes.

The alien crept in close. The Doctor winced as a tentacle brushed his leg. But it moved on, focused on the warmth. It wrapped around the portable heater and gripped tightly. The Doctor sensed an empowering delight filling its mind.

The heat rose, and the heater’s casing turned black and began to melt.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around Steven and dragged him to the TARDIS.

A fiery glow surrounded the alien. Cracks formed in the ice below. The surface suddenly gave way, and predator and prey disappeared down a chasm.

The Doctor sensed a great fear, assurance that the heater had burned itself out. Laying Steven on the floor, he rushed to the console, shut the doors and initiated the emergency failsafe. The lights came on and the faint hum of machinery returned. A rush of warm air filled the room.

He shook Steven by the shoulders. "Wake up, Steven, my dear boy." He took his companion’s pulse and smiled.

Steven’s eyes flickered open. "W-what is it? What’s going on?"

"We’re back safe and sound in the TARDIS. Nothing to worry about, now."

Steven sat up and crossed his arms tightly. "It’s so cold."

"I’ll put the kettle on."