This is a collection of short stories based on Doctor Who, the long running British science-fiction television show.  This continues a short story collection originally introduced by Virgin Publishing's Doctor Who series.

'These Zealots have offended against the laws of Rome and our Emperor,' the Doctor called out across the massed ranks of legionaries.  He waited briefly for the buzz of excitement to die down before continuing.  'The gods will surely punish them for their temerity, turning flames of righteous anger on these Jewish rebels.  And I can promise you this - tomorrow, Masada will fall and the long siege will be over.'


Barbara leaned back against the building from which she had emerged and regarded the scene before her.  A wide space, dotted with buildings.  Marble.  The ancient world, perhaps.  And there were people, hundreds of people, all focusing on something out of her sight.  She could smell smoke and the sky was lit with a sullen red glow.  The people seemed agitated, some shouting and others whispering, all in motion without actually going anywhere.

So where was she?  And how had she got here?

There were memories, she realised.  Yet another landing in the temperamental TARDIS.  Earth, the Doctor had said, and she'd felt a surge of hope.  She'd looked at Ian to share the feeling, but he'd been frowning past her at the Ship's screen.  She'd known immediately that this wouldn't be the time they reached home.

A desert landscape outside.  A walk through it in the clean, early-morning sunshine.  Even then, the heat had been stifling, hanging almost tangibly in the air like thick folds of fabric.  Soon, they'd found the sea - a strange, flat, dead blue.  Susan had dipped her finger in the oily water and looked at the bleak mountains around them, which, like the sea, seemed incapable of supporting any form of life.  'Not Earth, then?' she'd suggested tentatively, but the Doctor had shaken his head impatiently and Barbara had realised that she was doing the same.  'Israel,' she'd said, at the same time that the Doctor had muttered, 'Palestine.'  They'd looked at each other and the Doctor had shrugged - time travel rendered them both potentially correct.  Then the Doctor had seen the soldiers approaching them.  'Judaea,' he'd said with certainty.

They'd been caught in a skirmish.  On one side had been Roman soldiers, she recalled now.  Ian had stood by her with his usual fierce loyalty, but the Doctor and Susan had quickly been lost in the confusion.

She touched her side and flinched.  Of course.  She had been injured.  Ian had carried her from the fray.  Had they met up with some other refugees?  She couldn't remember.  All her memories after the injury were hazy.  There had been a long journey, a mountain and finally a bed.  And as she'd floated in and out of consciousness, Ian had always been there, comforting her and begging her not to give up, not to leave him.  So where was he now?


The flames licked at the night sky.  Above them, heat haze obscured the clarity of the stars in the desert air.  The Doctor was a dark, slightly stooped shape outlined by fire.

A gust of wind blew the flames nearer and the line of soldiers facing the fortress retreated another pace.  Susan could see the legionaries hesitating, caught between two impulses: fear of the unnatural fire and obedience to their commander.  It seemed that fear was gaining the upper hand.

'The Zealots have summoned spirits to control the fire,' said a sour, greying man, the oldest of the tribunes.