own lives as well as everyone else's. Or do they think they've
discovered a way of staying clear of cosmic destruction?
You never know with that lot. Risking perpetual life at the
moment of death - for what? Eternal and physical torment...'
He waved his hand in the air dismissively, sending crumbs
towards Amy.
He was as fired up as she had ever known him. But
underneath it all, he sounded frightened too. She didn't like
to hear him like that.
Of course it wasn't in his nature to stay fearful for long.
'I think I'd better get my mail,' he said a bit later, whistling
Mister Mailman to himself and straightening his bow tie
without much effect.
This was such a mundane remark that she hardly knew
keeping from laughing. 'I didn't know you got mail!'
He was embarrassed, responding by mocking her. 'Why
shouldn't I get mail? It's information and I depend on
information.' He had dragged an old laptop out of a drawer
and was murmuring a password while winding it up with
a little crank handle. A pixelated face appeared on the old-
fashioned screen and welcomed him. 'Good morning, Doctor.
You have approximately eighty-two million new mails. Shall
I download?'
'Thanks, yes.' The screen was teeming with messages, a
babble of different images, voices and languages. Horrible!
He leaned forward, frowning as he tried to concentrate on
them. Finally he said: 'Terraphiles, please.'
The screen suddenly stopped, grumbled to itself, almost
sneered, Amy thought, and reluctantly brought up a flashing,
busy site.
Now Amy was beginning to grin. She heard him give
another password and peeked over his shoulder. 'Oho!
What's this?' she teased. 'You're a member of the Desperate
Dan Pie Eater's Club? They knew I'd spill your secret for
enough cow pies!'
She leaned over his tweedy shoulder to peer more closely
at the screen. 'Blimey! Let's see? The All-Galaxy Legion of
Terraphiles? Your dues should be paid in by the following date...?'
She read on, feeling more and more cheerful as she often
did when she discovered new aspects of the Doctor's complex
personality.
'What is this? ' Greetings fellow Earth-worms! There's
news of the latest and greatest intergalactic RENAISSANCE
TOURNAMENTS!!!'
(This was accompanied by a picture of a Judoon, a centaur,
two women, two men and a canine, all clad in bright greens
and glaring whites.)
A voice-over explained who they were but she hardly
understood a word. The Doctor wasn't happy about her
looking on but was too busy taking notes to remonstrate.
THE TERRAPHILES ARE GOING TO THE "GHOST
WORLDS"Ml Three great teams will play for the legendary
Silver Arrow of Artemis, said to be of immeasurable value, in the
Terraphile All-Galaxy Renaissance Re-Enactments Interworld
Series Tournament, which resolves on that weird system Miggea
at the centre of our galaxy. You know the one. Scene of a dozen
planetary thrillers ? Sexton Blake in the Ghost Worlds? "Nobody dare live there more than a year and a day..." They say it's fair to all players, a planet as close to the centre of the galaxy as you can get!!!
Apparently the Arrow of Artemis is well worth winning, and the
team that wins it gets all kinds of profitable endorsements for the
next two-and-a-half Terra-centuries. Well keep you posted, fellow
Earth-worms, as the teams make their way to Miggea, named, we
understand, for an old Earth warrior-goddess. Anyone care to send
more details... ? - The Head Wriggler!!!!'
She was shaking her own head now. 'I get it. This is a site
for Earth-nerds. People in the future, yeah? Who like to dress
up in what they think are human clothes She pretended
to give his own clothes the once-over, then returned her
attention to the screen, which was threatening to collapse on
them. 'You're a - what? - you put out fanzines called -' she
read the screen - 'EarthWormer and Novae Terrae?"
'It's just one organisation.' He was defensive. 'I joined
while I was in the future a few years ago. I was curious, that's
all.'
resist getting another rise out of him.
'I make it my business to be informed of what's going on
in the -
She was smiling at him affectionately again. 'A Terraphile,
eh? That explains a lot! You're a fan-boy, aren't you? A fan of
saving us from all those terrors and invasions. It's because
we're your HOBBY! Isn't it? Own up!'
'Oh, no, not that, I promise you.' He was suddenly serious.
'But as for the rest,' he gave her a slightly self-mocking, hang-
dog look, 'it's even worse than you think. Maybe... it's how
I first became interested in Earth - the real Earth, not the one
these fans believe existed. They've got Terraphilia, yes, but
based on what people in 51007 thought old Terra was like.
A bit similar to people's guesses in your time about what Ur
might be like. Or Atlantis. Or Barsoom. Only the Terraphiles
had it a bit easier because they had a few books to consult.
The screen began to fade.
'What sort of books?'
'A pretty miscellaneous bunch. The books are a sort of
Rosetta Stone for academics in the fifty-first-thousandth
century. The entire remaining printed texts that were found
on Old Old Earth, sealed deep in a natural cave in Arctic
Skipton. The Story of Robin Hood is one of them. Boys' Friend.
Thriller Picture Library. The Captain. The British Boys' Book of
Our Empire. Captain Justice and the Submarine Gunboat. Sexton
Blake and the Terror of the Tongs. Some people think that last
one is the greatest epic poem in any language,' the Doctor
said, in a tone that suggested he probably agreed with them.
'Then there's a collection of cigarette cards from between
about 1919 and 1940. My guess is they were unconsidered
stock from some old Old Yorkshire newsagent's. If the shop
was built over a cave system, as so many were, the whole
thing could have been swallowed up in one of the massive
earthquakes following the comet strike.' He caught her
expression and added quickly: 'Yeah, well, don't worry about
that. Not yet, anyway. But they've all been invaluable to the
study of ancient Earth. I joined the Terraphiles ages ago, so
long ago I can't remember. I still keep up my sub to the LOT.
Out of nostalgia as much as anything."
'The lot?'
'The League of Terraphiles. They're the ones who are
the keenest Re-Enactors. Most of their legendary sports are
derived from those books."
'A bit Brit-centric aren't they? Is that a word? Still, that
explains it.'
'Explains what?'
'Why you show so little interest in the rest of the planet!'
'That's not true!'
'Well, you seem to like America, too. But as for China,
say...'
'I'm very interested in China!'
'Oh,
really?'
'Really. I wish I had more time to argue.'
'You're a Time Lord, you should have all the time in the
universe!'
'That would be nice.' His voice became distant, distracted
again as he returned his attention to his main instruments
and screens. 'But 51007's the date. Now I have to refine that
and pick a place. Ah! I know...'
'What?'
'They're playing a friendly match on a Planet of the Peers.
There's several of them. Peers™' - he actually said the 'TM' -
'is a concession which creates a sort of never-never England.
It's a laugh. You'd love it. Better than Disneyland, I promise.
Well, different, anyway. We could join them there. That way
Frank/Freddie and the gang wouldn't know we were taking
a special interest in the Miggean "Ghost Worlds" and get the
jump on us.' He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. 'I'll have to
brush up on my sledgehammer skills."
'Sledgehammer?'
'Cracking the nut. It's one of my best events. I hate the
broadswording, though."
to think about what he meant. Only after they reached the
space-time coordinates he had plotted for them did she ask
him: 'Why are you worrying about something happening so
far in the future? How does it affect us?'
'Well, like everything else, the future is relative. Time
moves at different "speeds" in different sections of the
galaxy. What takes place at the centre of our galaxy affects
the past as well as the future. Like ripples extending out from
a dropped stone, you know?'
'And it's powerful enough to ripple through all time and
space? So is it dangerous to us now?'
He was honest with her. 'I'm not exactly sure. It's
something the Time Lords used to worry about. That, of
course, was when there were things they could do to stop
the phenomenon happening. Psychologists, mythologists,
metaphysicists, historians, astrophysicists... Thousands of
brilliant altruistic minds all focused on the same problem.
But now it's just down to me.'
'Hey! I'm here, too.'
'And I'm sure you'll be just as brilliant.' He smiled. 'Even
brillianter, probably. Now, we need to get hold of that Silver
Arrow first. That seems to hold the power the guy sending
that message was trying to tell us about."
'Off we go, then?' She felt an odd flutter in her stomach.
'Yes," he said. 'You and me and whatever rag, tag and
bobtail bunch of allies we can rustle up in a hurry. Oh, we
probably need an army to help us out. But well be in 51007
in a whisper and all the armies who might do me a favour are
dead. Occupational hazard, I suppose. Unless I can contact
Captain Abberley and the Bubbly Boys, of course... Oh, you'd
love them. Heard of them? Some call them the Chaos Kids...
Sorry. Twenty-first century. I forgot. There's three of them.
And their uncle - or possibly their dad - Captain Abberley.
Two brothers and a cousin. They - oops.. .' The TARDIS gave
a skittish flick to the right. 'Oof." One back to the left.
It was going to be another smooth ride, she realised.
Amy helped the Doctor brush up on his Tournament sports
for the period they were visiting. He was delighted in her.
She was naturally good at almost everything - even getting
proficient at many games - but Barrers and Bludgeons
stumped her. She understood most of the other games which
combined to produce the galaxy-wide sport favoured mostly
by Terraphiles of this far future that bore such a strange out-
of-synch familiarity to her own not-so-distant past. She also
shared his disgust for the broadsword event.
As soon as he was ready, they took the TARDIS to a
particular Peers™ planet and the Doctor, claiming to have
come from another Peers™ and desperate for a game of
Arrers, or indeed a game of anything, immediately tried out
for the 'Gentlemen'. He proved himself a fine all-rounder with
a special penchant for Hammer and Nut. As a result he was
picked for the First Fifteen, which, in spite of his heavy use
of nano-technical learning methods, made him a lot prouder
than Amy thought was really healthy. Up to then soccer had
seemed to be his game of choice. But now the important
thing they had to do was (a) play for the mysterious Silver
Arrow and win and (b) discover the whereabouts of Frank/
Freddie Force and his/their horrible Antimatter Men to thwart
whatever part of their/his scheme they could fathom. If, of
course, Force and Co actually had a plan. Or even existed.
'Or else...' The Doctor spoke wearily to Amy in a tone of
voice which had experienced every terror except this.'... it's
curtains for all life in the universe. Phut! And no chance of a
comeback this time.'
'Now you're being melodramatic," she said.
'Hadn't you noticed?' His eyes twinkled for a moment.
'We're living in a permanent melodrama. I'm the madman
with the box, remember?'
'That's all right, then.' She smiled.
Chapter 2
Blue
HARI AGINCOURT WAS BLUE. To say he felt the colour of a Mediterranean
sky at noon would be somewhat to understate his mood. If
he had studied English or some other ancient language a
little more assiduously at school he would have been able to
think of something profound by Self or Lester that described
his condition. Lying not far from the whackit pitch beside
the river, he was sucking his stylo and pondering an elusive
rhyme for 'snake in the grass' when, with a red rose in her
smart black Eton crop and clad in the flimsiest lavender frock
of her chosen year's latest Loondoon collection, Jane 'Flapper'
Banning-Cannon, the stunning subject of his pensee, sailed by,
poling a punt and singing 'I'm A Hip Swaying Honey From
Honalu-la-lu-la' in a high, clear soprano. Her companion
was a rather good-looking but seemingly vacant young
man wearing a bright green blazer and matching straw hat,
lounging on a pile of pillows, playing an expensive ukulele
and staring in a somewhat studied manner at the middle
distance.
(Jane, whose romantic obsession with the Middle
Edwardian Ages had caused her to adopt one of the most
popular girls' names of the period, had naturally fallen in
love with the handsome Hari the moment he strode onto the
Archery Court. After several failures, she had hit on the plan
to persuade poor Bingo to become her reluctant ukulelist in
the very punt at that moment being observed by the terrifically
blue Hari Agincourt, as jealous as Flapper had intended him
to be, but not about, as she had hoped, to fling himself from
cover and declare his undying love.)
Hari glared morbidly at the ukulelist, his fellow team
member and best friend (or ex-best friend as he now preferred
to think of him) Lord Robin of Sherwood, Earl of Lockesley.
'Bingo' Lockesley was the finest archer on Peers™ (XXII) and
the only other local in the intergalactic team kno
wn as the
Gentlemen (though the name was a bit misleading).
Apparently unnoticed on the bank, largely because of
the tall reeds, Hari, it is safe to say, was now replete in his
blueness. Hari existed in a universe of blue. Had he been an
advanced musician of the old Berlin school, he would there
and then have produced a 12-tone concerto called Blues for
my Blues for oboe and stirrup p u m p and been invited to take
a prestigious tour of the galaxy's major suicide salons. But,
sadly, he was merely an impoverished all-round gentleman
archer whom you might employ to improve your nephew's
target averages and bowing stance but not pay a fortune
for the privilege. After that, there were just the usual junior
teaching jobs and so forth. Not enough to pay for a third-
hand air-mobile and a decent room in a reasonably cheerful
level of the city, let alone keep self, spouse and offspring in
comfort. Which he mused sadly wasn't even Problem One.
Problem One came in three parts: (a) how to win the
affections of the lady in question, (b) how to achieve a
softening of attitude in his loved one's doting father, who
had not unreasonably been described as a blazing boil on the
face of a universe of boils and so far seemed to regard Hari,
when he regarded him at all, as less than worthless and with
a criminal mouth to boot; certainly not in the running as a
suitable spouse for the apple of his eye, and (c) ditto re his
loved one's doting mother. Even the most fearsome of tigers
was not as protective of its cub as Mr U.J. Banning-Cannon
IV of Great Hamptons, Long Island, USA, Earth Regenerated,
the terraforming tycoon. As it happened, Mr B-C was a cooing
dove compared to Mrs B-C, a stately lady with a powerful
right hook, who carried with her the air of a famished giant
pterodactyl upon whom one calls unexpectedly as she
moodily tears apart a small tyrannosaurus to provide her
chicks with an inadequate lunch.
Mrs B-C was an Orion Tarbutton, a family, it was said,
of unadulterated iron dipped in arsenic, with a murky and
murderous past and carrying the Curse of the Tarbuttons
from one generation to the next. Said Curse could, it was
true, begin as a virtue (or at least a way of making sackfuls of
dosh) but end as a vice, being, of course, pursuit of gambling.
Unlike Mrs B-C's Other Weakness, her gambling was, most