It was raining up on the hill, the steady patter-patter-patter hitting the vast golfing umbrella like bullets on tin. Truth be told, it was raining everywhere, but up on the hill, here in the allotment, that was the only place Wilfred Mott really cared about it raining right now.Whenever it rained, he couldn’t help but remember. That awful, awful day when  he  had come to the house, bringing Donna with him. Unconscious, unable to remember anything. For her own safety.

It felt as if the whole world was made out of night. Their small boat was running the tide inshore towards an invisible coast. Above them hung ink-black air, starless and heavy. Below them, the sea was as dark as the sky. It broke around the bows like black glass. The little outboard motor chugged to itself. They were barely leaving a wake.

‘Two and a half billion light years,’ said Donna Noble, her eyebrows raised and a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, ‘and you’ve brought me to an art gallery?’ ‘Two and a half  million  light years,’  corrected the Doctor, pulling Donna back out of the path of something that resembled an upright anteater, studded with drawing pins, trundling down the street, ‘and it’s not  just  an art gallery.’ He sounded almost hurt.

You will be told: Planet 1 is real. Planet 1 is real just as any other planet is real: an actual world orbiting an actual sun in an actual bona fide solar  system. Planet 1. The planet where technology got so advanced  its ruler is in every material sense all-powerful. The planet where the very molecules of the air can be sculpted into whatever you desire. Oh, it’s real, all right. You will be told.

‘Where now?’ the Doctor said. He was like a kid at a funfair, trying to decide which ride to go on next. He stood poised, waggling his fingers, his face glowing green in the light from the TARDIS console. Donna thought he looked like a string bean in a blue suit. A string bean with trainers and sticky-out hair.‘Dunno about you,’ she said, ‘but I could do with a breather.’ ‘A breather!’ he said, aghast.

Katherine sat by the fire and sewed. The night was cold, and there would certainly be snow before the week was out. Her husband was out in the cold, somewhere. He was an academic. Katherine's mother had warned her about marrying a soldier, who would always be away fighting some war or another, but nothing had been said about academics.  They,  too, were often away,  chasing  down some elusive new truth, consulting with German colleagues about the minutiae of anatomy.

Del McAllen shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold. He twisted his head, the torch mounted on his  helmet swinging its beam across the walls of the tunnel that had been roughly hewn from the ice, the pool of light twisting and skittering across the frozen surface. There was something wrong here, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.  It was unsettling him.

Castle Extremis – whoever holds it can control the provinces either side that have been at war for centuries. Now the castle is about to play host to the signing of a peace treaty. But as the Doctor and Martha find out, not everyone wants the war to end. Who is the strange little girl who haunts the castle? What is the secret of the book the Doctor finds, its pages made from thin, brittle glass?

The peace and quiet of a remote homestead in the 1880s American West is shattered by the arrival of two shadowy outriders searching for ‘the healer’. When the farmer refuses to help them, they raze the house to the ground using guns that shoot bolts of energy instead of bullets…