Time Zero.

by Justin Richards.

Immobile: 1938a

A man stands. Frozen in time. The chill breeze from the open door ripples the yellowed pages of the book he holds.

The elderly woman sniffs and shuffles out from behind her table and pushes the door shut. She gathers her coat about her neck and returns to the task of counting the day's meagre takings. She might spare the man a glance. But he has been there for so long now, standing immobile, that she probably doesn't bother. He will buy the book, or he won't. His decision might add to the small pile of coins on the table, but it is unlikely to disturb the universe.

Unlikely, but not impossible.

53: Bodies in Motion

Everyone in Britain can remember where they were when Fluppy died.

This is largely due to the fact that it happened on live television children's television. The repeats on the news stopped short of the lingering shots of the poor animal's caved*in skull. But one of the tabloids managed to get a screen grab for its front page. In colour. It was an historic moment of the most memorable kind the nation's favourite puppy killed in front of millions of children on a winter's evening a fortnight before Christmas.

'Quite moving,' Trevor enthused to the camera. The image cut back to a last shot of the coat hanger and tinsel glory of the advent crown, two of the candles burning lazily.

'And next week,' Suze added through her synthetic smile, 'we'll be lighting the third candle.'

'Mmm,' Trevor agreed. 'Can't wait.' He set off towards his next mark on the studio floor. 'But now to movement of a very different kind.' He paused, a split second of horror visible in subsequent freeze*frames as he lost his place on the autocue. 'Now we all remember Newton's first law,' he said at last with some relief.

'Every object continues at rest or in a state of uniform motion unless acted upon by an external force.'

'That's right, Mick,' Trevor said, apparently impressed. 'Though we don't mean school uniform, of course.' His smile twitched as he caught the director's eye, and returned quickly to the script. 'What that really means is that nothing moves unless something makes it move. And once it is moving, it won't stop or change direction unless something else affects it.'

'Like gravity,' Suze chipped in, interposing herself between Trevor and the camera. 'Or friction.'

'Exactly, Suze.' Another camera picked up Trevor as he moved across the studio to where a young man was standing, shy and bemused. A small dog blurred past the young man and hurled itself at Trevor.

Trevor reacted with well*rehea.r.s.ed surprise and amus.e.m.e.nt. 'Get down, boy,' he chided gently. 'Fluppy the puppy may be an exception to Newton's law, of course,' he said as he palmed off the dog. 'Did old Isaac have a doggie? Did he, Fluppy?' Trying to make it seem as if Fluppy was indeed travelling in a uniform manner under his own volition, Trevor managed to fling the creature away from him while keeping his balance and his smile.

'But we've got somebody here with us today who can also, it seems, give Newton something to think about.'

'That's right, Trevor.' Mick had joined them and was ushering the young man forwards. If either of them heard the snarl of protestation from Fluppy as Suze held him back, with her hand gripping his collar more forcefully than Isaac Newton would have deemed necessary, they ignored it with well*practised ease. The effect was spoiled only by the startled glance of the young man as he looked across the studio and missed the cue he'd been waiting for all afternoon.

'Isn't that right?' Trevor said, nudging the man.

'Yes,' Mick said, repeating the line they had rehea.r.s.ed so often that day: 'Our guest this week is someone who has an extraordinary ability. And he's come all the way from Gloucestershire to share it with us.'

'Absolutely, yes,' the young man said quickly. He shuffled nervously as he saw his face stare back at him from a half*dozen monitors. 'I can make things move. Sometimes.' He was supposed to be reading, but his eyes were watering so much he couldn't see the words. 'Though I think Newton would probably say that I'm exerting a force that we can't perceive rather like gravity.'

'Right,' Mick agreed without missing a beat. 'And it isn't a trick, is it? Not like those spoon*benders and fairground magicians.'

'No, no. Absolutely not.'

'Terrific,' Trevor said. 'Well, we've devised a little demonstration, a sort of test for you.' He paused just long enough for it to be apparent that the young man wasn't going to give the scripted response. 'And Suze has been setting up the apparatus, haven't you, Suze?'

It was not really 'apparatus' and it was not Suze who had set it up. It was a golf ball on a table standing in front of the Charity Totaliser. There was a gla.s.s cover over the table, which Suze explained was to make sure there was no tampering with the ball, and to eliminate any chance of a draught. She said that the table was perfectly smooth and level, and she bent down and looked at the camera from beside one of the table legs to show there was nothing underneath.

The guest stood watching her, hands behind his back. He was a slight man, in his early twenties. He was wearing a suit his mother had picked for him and which the television company had paid for. His nose was bulbous and his face round. His eyes, in close*up, could be seen to have large black pupils and irises that were midnight blue. His hair was black as ebony, seeming darker still against his pale skin.

He stood absolutely motionless, as if frozen in time, and stared at the golf ball. He was within reach of the table, but kept his hands clasped behind Ius back. He was leaning forward slightly, like a swimmer mentally preparing for the dive.

For once, Trevor, Mick and Suze were all silent.

The only movement was from Fluppy the puppy. With a triumphant snarl, he broke free from his handler and raced across the studio claws clicking on the floor.

Trevor ran to catch him, slipped on a patch of PVA glue which he had spilled earlier, and went flying. Mick stifled a laugh. Suze watched in horrified antic.i.p.ation as Fluppy headed straight for the table for the special guest. They all knew Fluppy, they all knew what was about to happen. All except the Special Guest.

He only discovered as the excited animal sank its teeth into the fleshy part of his calf, piercing trousers and skin in a moment.

Since the cameraman knew as well as anyone what was going on, the viewers were spared this sight. Instead they saw this week's guest's face contort in a mixture of rage and pain. His eyes opened wide and his pupils seemed to dilate. The shot changed to a wider view of the studio just in time to show the golf ball hurtle across the table and crash through the gla.s.s cover. It missed the young man by inches, and the camera lost it as the ball embedded itself in the studio wall forty feet away.

But there were other things to watch now. The slight man was unmoved, his face fixed in its anger and surprise. Furry Ted flew from his shelf. The table was now covered in shards of gla.s.s. They lay like ice crystals across its surface. For a moment the gla.s.s was still, then it seemed to shudder as if the table were shaking. People dived for cover as the gla.s.s icicles whipped through the air. The standing shelf units wobbled crazily before crashing to the floor. Ornaments, toys, things that Trevor and Mick and Suze had prepared earlier smashed and crumpled. The Advent Crown's candles blew out and it swung angrily on its string. When the string snapped, the crown spun across the studio in a blur of tinsel that glittered in the bright light.

A camera rolled suddenly and heavily into the table, knocking it sideways. Fluppy let go of his victim's leg and leaped back with a frightened yelp as the table struck him.

The enormous Charity Totaliser, almost at the target now, toppled forwards. The huge piece of scenery was shaped like a giant test*your*weight machine complete with a bra.s.s bell at the top. But the tube that led up to it was filled with donations from 'Give and Take'TM sales across the country eighteen thousand, four hundred and eleven silver and gold two*pound coins.

The technical crew was already sheltering under the control room gantry. The Floor Manager was holding on desperately to a fixed piece of scaffolding to save herself from being dragged somehow across the studio. The three presenters were curled up on the floor with their hands protecting the backs of their heads from flying gla.s.s, objects, anything. Suze was screaming.

One man was standing rigid, immobile, in the eye of the storm.

Camera 3 was against tile shattered table, angled downwards. The output from the camera was visible on half a dozen swinging, moving, crashing monitors. It showed Fluppy the puppy staring balefully upwards. It showed, in close*up and perfectly focused, the central tube of the Charity Totaliser smash into the dog's head, coins spilling across the floor in a glittering pile. For a moment, Fluppy's famous ears were still visible in the chaos of coinage. Then the silver and gold stained red, and the Totaliser's backboard knocked the camera sideways to ensure a good view of it crashing down on top of the coins.

Only then did the television screens in the homes of millions of children finally turn black.

In the studio, the chaos slowly died away and silence returned. The guest blinked and looked round, as if only now seeing what had happened. Slowly, carefully, he picked his way through the debris and made towards the studio doors.

There was someone standing beside the doors, he noticed. A large man, with his hair cropped short, dressed immaculately in a crisp dark suit that put his own to shame. The man seemed faintly amused by the whole proceedings. He smiled politely. When he spoke, his voice was rich and dark and low.

'It is so good to meet you at last.'

The large man reached out and took his elbow, leading him out of the studio and down the corridor towards the dressing rooms. He spoke as if they had known each other for years, an old friend offering kind advice.'

'A word, if I may...?'

The Special Guest said nothing, but allowed the man to follow him into the small dressing room. If the man had something to say, then he would listen. After all, it was unlikely to change his life.

52: Sweet Sorrows

The masts of the ships were like broken bones, sharp and jagged against the gathering clouds of the night sky.

Three figures stood on the quayside. The woman shuffled and stamped her feet in boredom and to keep out the cold. She was huddled inside a large woollen coat. The younger man was also wrapped up warm, slapping his hands together and blowing dragon's-breath steam.

The Doctor had made no concessions to the November cold. His long velvet coat flapped open in the breeze from the harbour and his cravat was loosely tied at his throat. 'Bracing, isn't it,' he said with a wide grin as he watched Fitz and Anji trying to deal with the biting cold.

'I can believe the Thames froze over in Victorian times.' Anji said. Her jaw was twitching as she tried to prevent her teeth from chattering. Why couldn't they say their goodbyes in the warmth of the TARDIS?

But they had already said goodbye to Fitz in the TARDIS. She could have stayed behind and let the Doctor walk him to the ship. Or he could have gone alone. It was only a hundred yards after all. But there was something about saying farewell to a friend a real friend. She couldn't let go that easily, any more than the Doctor could. Any more than Fitz could, come to that. For all his posturing and play*acting she could sense that he was grateful for their company in these last moments.

'Well, I suppose this is it, then,' Anji said, for want of anything more poignant or emotional.

'I suppose so,' Fitz agreed. But he didn't sound too sure now.

'You won't change your mind?' Anji asked.

'Will you?' Fitz countered.

The Doctor had stepped back slightly so that his face was in shadow. There was no steam*breath from his mouth, Anji noted. The way she and Fitz were performing, they could couple up coaches behind them and do the Brighton run.

Anji shook her head. 'It's time to go home,' she said quietly.

'For those of us with homes to go to,' Fitz murmured, glancing at the Doctor's shadowy form. He shook his head, as if realising. 'Sorry,' he said louder to Anji. 'You know what I mean. We've all lost something.' He made a brave attempt at a smile. 'And not just innocence.'

'Oh?' the Doctor asked.

A figure had appeared at the other end of the quay. A dark patch against the darker night as he strode towards them. The click of his heels audible as he approached, beating out the last moments they had together. And with that urgency, Anji suddenly had so much she wanted to say. So much she wanted to tell Fitz before he was gone.

She wanted to tell him that he was a good friend, and that this might sound trite but it was the best compliment she could think of and that she trusted him and would miss him and had enjoyed the time they spent together despite the death and the cold and the dark and the longing. And so much more.

But he was already trying to release his own emotions and feelings, his tongue tripping over itself as he looked from Anji to the Doctor to Anji again. And all she could do was listen and try to hold back her tears.

'I'll miss you both. Well, I'll see you again soon Doctor, I guess. That is, soon for you not for me. Months and months for me. But this is something I have to do, you know? For myself. I mean I'm thirty*three. Well, OK so you don't really get birthdays in the TARDIS and you lose track of time, which is a bit ironic. But I sort of worked it out. And I want to have done something something. Sorry, I don't mean that all the time we've been together has been like nothing. But something for me. On my world. Just getting to see some of the wonders and the beauty and the excitement of where I belong. Or nearly. I mean, this isn't 1963 after all, but I'm only eighty years adrift and that's pretty impressive for the TARDIS, you have to admit. Sorry, Doctor. And Anji, well, like you said this is sort of it, I guess. You know I wasn't really sure about you at first, and I know you didn't exactly take to me. But...'

His voice tailed off. When he spoke again, his words cracked with the emotion of it. 'What the h.e.l.l,' he said. And he grabbed Anji and hugged her like a sister. Like Dave never had. And she was hugging him back and they both pretended not to see each other's tears or to know how much it mattered.

'You ready, Fitz?' George Williamson asked. His voice was melodious and calm.

Fitz pulled away. 'Course,' he said, blinking rapidly. He picked up the canvas bag at his feet in his left hand, and reached out to shake the Doctor's hand. 'All set.'

Anji stepped back to let the two friends say their goodbyes. She glanced at George, and he was smiling at her. It was the easiest thing in the world to smile back, and she felt the clouds lift a little and a touch of moonlight glistened on the water. He would look after Fitz, she knew. Williamson might not be any older, might be far less travelled and experienced, but for all that Fitz needed looking after.

'You understand, don't you?' Fitz was saying to the Doctor.

He nodded. 'You have to do what you have to do.' His voice was dull and flat. As if uncaring. 'It'll be colder than this in Siberia,' he added.

'We shan't be in Siberia for a long while yet,' George said. 'Three months until we get to St Petersburg. Then we shall need to take on supplies, organise guides. Wait for the other members of the expedition...' He waved a gloved hand to imply that there were a hundred and one other matters to be dealt with.

'Bring us back a mammoth,' Anji said as brightly as she could manage.

'You know,' the Doctor said slowly, 'We could just drop you off at ' But Fitz was shaking his head. 'No, I want to do this properly. I mean, otherwise what's the point?'

'What's the point,' the Doctor repeated flatly. 'Yes, I do sometimes wonder.'

It was a long hundred yards back to the TARDIS. Anji tried not to look back. But she didn't manage. She was rewarded with the vague view of George and Fitz walking up the gangplank, of one of them turning to look back at her and waving. She knew it was George.

The Doctor did not look back. He looked at the ground, as if afraid he was about to trip on an uneven flagstone.

'Will they find their fossils?' Anji asked. She needed to say something.

'Very likely,' the Doctor mumbled indistinctly.

'Prehistoric animals frozen in the ice?'

'Perhaps.'

'Don't you care?'

No answer.

She was silent again until they were inside the TARDIS. She could feel the tips of her fingers thawing. They should be glowing, she thought, as she tried to wriggle the feeling back into the rest of her hands. 'Take me home,' she told him as she took off her coat.

'You're sure that's what you want?'

'Like Fitz said, it's time.' She looked away. 'Just tell me,' she blinked away the moisture. Yes, the heat after the bitter cold was making them water, she was sure. 'Just tell me, you do care. Don't you?'

She could almost feel his hand hesitating behind her, unsure whether to pat her shoulder, to turn her round. So she turned anyway, and found he was already at the console, facing away from her. His long dark coat seemed to go on forever. She was staring at it so hard she could see every frayed loop of the velvet.

'Don't you care that your best friend is going off on a crazy expedition looking for things that probably aren't there and from which he might never return?' she blurted. 'Mammoths, or whatever.'

'It may not be that crazy.' He still didn't turn.