Epilogue

After four centuries as leader of the free universe, Romanadvoratrelundar, the four hundred and thirteenth President of Gallifrey, was ready to go home. Unlike her predecessor, whose life had been devastated by only a few years in the presidency, Romana seemed to have been strengthened, even reinvigorated, by her experiences. But after two terms of office she had had enough. She still loved the job of being President, and, barring a couple of assassination attempts, a few temporal hiccups and the odd civil war, hers had been one of the most successful presidencies in history. Her early years – a time of political and social reform – had exceeded even her own high expectations.

But there were dark times ahead, and Romana knew that her leadership wouldn't survive the coming conflict. She may have managed to silence her critics in the past, but there was no way she could count on the people to support her in the future. Her Presidency would soon be over – and that was fine by her. She was ready to return to her estate near the southern mountains and resume her private life as Romana, Time Lady.

With just two spans before she was due to address the gathered assembly of a thousand senior time lords, her personal bodyguard, Antrobus, stepped into the Hexagonal Office for the last time. Immaculately dressed in the starched black uniform of the Presidential Guard, he snapped his heels to attention, smartly shouldering his polished staser rifle. Filing into the Hexagonal Office were her personal assistant Sylvian, her secretary Hardin, her best friend Leela, and a Public Register trideeographer. The trideeographer circled around the outer wall of the office, trying to become one with the bronze cog-inset walls whilst using his camera to record the last microspans of the Romana years.

The President paused in the centre of the room, looking down at the Seal of Rassilon embedded into the floor before turning her attention to the rest of the room. The office looked bare and clinical to the outgoing president, having been cleared of all her holograms, mementos, and other personal effects. Even K9's kennel was gone, leaving a worn square patch in one of the corners of the room. Her desk was bare of everything but a small white hypercube.

Romana sat down at her desk one last time, picked up the ansible, and concentrated. The sides of the cube folded outwards to form the hypertunnel through which she would make her last communication as President. It was a personal communication. One of her ordinals, Peora, had undergone a particularly traumatic regeneration, and was fighting for her life. Having failed to reach her family through the Office of the Surgeon-General, she had instructed K9 to hack into the public record and track down her next of kin, with whom she talked for several minutes. As she was talking, the Chancellor came into the office, accompanied by Tarran, the Commander of the Chancellory Guard.

After Romana said her goodbyes and closed the ansible, she leaned back and chatted with the aides who had gathered around her. She talked about her favourite room in the Winter Palace residence, the Green Room, and told them about the rude message she had left for her successor on a post-it note in the desk drawer. They laughed when she told them what it said, before pausing to soak up the poignancy of the moment.

Hardin stepped forward and briefed the President on the schedule for her last day in office. He told her where she was to stand during the resignation ceremony, when she would be taking the secret route to the Capitol Spaceport to give a speech to well-wishing off-worlder from the Alliance, and when she would be boarding the skimmer that would take her to her country retreat on the shores of Lake Abydos. As Hardin completed the briefing, the President reached into her robes and withdrew a small silver sphere.

"I don't think I'll be needing this anymore," she said, offering the object to the Chancellor. "Would you give this to my successor?"

Romana remembered when she authorised the sphere's retrieval from the heart of a black hole. The ultimate deterrent. She had carried it with her throughout her presidency, but nobody knew exactly what it was.

"I should hold on to it, Madam President," said the Chancellor. "You're still the Commander-in-Chief. You can turn it in after he's sworn in as president."

Romana nodded and placed the sphere back into her pocket.

Then the Commander stepped forward and gave Romana shortest security briefing of her entire Presidency. "The universe is quiet today, Madam President," he said.

The trideeographer captured a few more scenes, including some group moments with everyone huddled around their leader, who remained seated at her desk. After the pictures, Sylvian said, "It's time, Madam President."

Romana stood and faced the door that led out into the Memorial Garden. A direct transmat link to the Panopticon waited for her on the other side. There she would deliver her resignation speech, calling for the election of her successor. She had refused to name a successor – the Time Lords would have to take that responsibility for themselves.

Sylvian moved aside as the door swished open. The President stepped forward – then paused at the threshold for one last glance at the room that had been her workplace and sanctuary for the last four centuries. She paused for a few microspans, thinking private thoughts while her aides waited for her in silence. Lost in thought, she almost didn't hear the polite cough that came from the open doorway.

"Madam President?" The unfamiliar silhouette of a tousled, dark-haired man filled the doorway. The rumpled, weathered clothes he wore set him apart from the finery of her retinue. He certainly wasn't on staff. "Romana?"

Weary eyes met hers as she reached out, her mind brushing his as she attempted to identify him.

"Doctor?" She was sure it was him but the light—the sparkle—had been replaced by the fire that burned deep within him. Black fire. She remembered how he had purged it once, long ago, but now it had returned. Rage, anger, fear, anxiety, resignation. Whoever he had once been was gone now, and whatever things he had done since, those eyes had been the only witness.

"Don't go," he said, refusing to acknowledge his identity. "The madness begins the moment you walk through this door. I've broken laws to come here, and I need you to listen to one last petition."

"This is Gallifrey," she shook her head. "It steers like the galaxy it inhabits. History has changed more times in the last two hundred years than in the last two thousand. I've tried, but I've reached the point... I'll change if I stay. I'll become a warrior, not a peacemaker."

"Sometimes that is what's needed," he replied with gravelly resolve.

Romana sighed, reaching into her pocket and retrieving the silver sphere. "I don't like what I'll become if I choose that path. I've seen my dark side, and she is not the woman for the job."

"Are you sure?" His eyes were pleading now, filled with an unspoken sorrow that strengthened her resolve. If he could change...

Romana dropped the sphere into his open palm and brushed past him, stepping out of the Winter Palace, and into history.