Timeless.

by Stephen Cole.

This book is for Dave Owen provider of last-minute inspiration.

Thanks are due to Justin Richards for good, clean plotting and conspiring. And beer.

To David Bishop, Paul Leonard and particularly Simon Forward for being so accomodating.

To Jason Loborik, Mike Tucker, Paul Magrs and Tolstoy, the Long-Eared Bat for lightening the load.

And to Jill, my wife, for loving patience.

Pre-credits sequence.

The story so far.

It was a ruined world, you could see that from s.p.a.ce. A great, flattened sphere, its bright continents gone bad and brown, drowned in the grey sea.

Just one of the many Earths that Fitz had videoed for posterity.

Anji clicked the stop b.u.t.ton, ran the tape back a few frames and made the edit. The computer's hard drive whirred and whistled, the familiar multicoloured floret whizzed round, and it was done. Then she scooted through the recording till she reached the next Earth they'd come to, wobbling about in Fitz's framing of the TARDIS scanner. Anji remembered this one. It was an Earth where chocolate had never been discovered. They hadn't stayed long.

Anji wasn't sure which of these myriad Earths she hated more; the ones which were just dead rocks hanging in the blackness, or the ones which looked so teasingly normal.

You can't go home again, wasn't that the old adage? Anji shivered. wasn't that the old adage? Anji shivered.

A minute for each, Fitz had suggested. He'd wanted all these alternative worlds immortalised, wanted everyone to remember them. By the fifteenth, Anji had taken an executive decision ten seconds. It was all she could stand to view without wanting to slump in a heap, and if Fitz didn't like it he could find someone else to edit his stupid video. She'd tell him the computer couldn't handle that much footage. He was from the sixties, what would he know about it?

Frustrated and bored as the TARDIS doggedly tried time after time to reach the real real Earth, Fitz had decided to make a doc.u.mentary. The way he saw things, if the Doctor ever succeeded in getting reality back on track, then no one would ever know what the plucky crew of the Doctor's time ship had been through. And if things Earth, Fitz had decided to make a doc.u.mentary. The way he saw things, if the Doctor ever succeeded in getting reality back on track, then no one would ever know what the plucky crew of the Doctor's time ship had been through. And if things never never got put right... got put right...

She leaned back in the foldaway canvas chair Fitz had found for her. He'd written EDITOR ANJI KAPOOR A.C.E. on the back of it, for what he'd termed that authentic Hollywood touch. Bolly Bollywood, she'd corrected him. Fair enough, she'd spent much of her life distancing herself from her Indian background. But up here, floating around in s.p.a.ce that was shuffling faster and faster through a whole pack of realities, the little background, cultural things that had helped to define you through the years seemed suddenly way more important.

She felt horribly homesick.

The lights in her room on board the TARDIS dimmed a little, as if in keeping with Anji's mood. Night-time. The Doctor was trying to naturalise them to the TARDIS environment. He'd set the lighting to approximate Earth time-cycles, helpfully prodding them as to when to go to sleep, when to rise again. Anji was tired but knew she wouldn't sleep. So she hit play and ran her rough-cut through from the beginning. The first strains of 'Mars, Bringer of War' from Holst's The Planets The Planets suite sounded from the circular speakers. The screen darkened as the credits rolled over black. suite sounded from the circular speakers. The screen darkened as the credits rolled over black.

Un film de Fitz Kreiner Anji smiled to recall Fitz's excitement when he'd seen what the Mac's caption generator could do. The cardboard placards he'd specially prepared still lay gleefully discarded in a heap at her feet, together with the coffee-stained Styrofoam cups and empty bottles of Snapple.

These Islands Earth Cheesy t.i.tle. Whatever.

Or, How the Universe Was Won (We Hope) Starring Fitz Kreiner And introducing Beatrice 'Trix' MacMillan Anji mimed sticking her fingers down her throat. The cuckoo in the nest. The cheek of the woman was unbelievable. She'd stowed away in the TARDIS without any of them knowing. Secretly she'd been using it as a base for what she termed her 'business ventures' in Anji's book a euphemism for getting as much as possible for herself at the expense of anyone she chose to target. Unfortunately for her, the Doctor had given up landing the TARDIS for the time being while he sought a way out of the mess they were all in, leaving Trix unexpectedly high and dry. Unlucky, thought Anji with a satisfied smile.

Trix loved performing in all its guises, whether conning a sucker or, they'd discovered, indulging in amateur dramatics. Making the best of things and extending an olive branch, Fitz had innocently asked her if she'd like to take part in his movie. Anji had expected her to laugh in his face and that would be that but no, she'd accepted enthusiastically, grateful for something to do. And then, of course, she'd promptly tried to take over. Fitz had often come moaning to Anji about the creative tension and equally creative use of foul language between the two of them, urging her to be his screen siren instead.

Uh-uh. Camcorders made Anji self-conscious. She'd seen herself on too many home movies and cringed at the naff little waves and forced smiles she'd felt obliged to give every time the camera fell on her. Much better to stay behind it. So by default she'd become the editor, cutting and splicing, making sense of scenes in a way you never could in life. Especially not life as it was now.

They were all taking Fitz's silly little idea dead seriously. It gave them something to focus on, something to keep them occupied while the Doctor...

Yes, well.

(Fade up from black. Close up on FITZ) His long face was serious and stern, holding a hairbrush like it was a microphone. He could be such such a big kid, even now the first wisps of grey were showing in his straggly brown hair. He'd commuted his North London accent into the neutral tones of a news anchorman: a big kid, even now the first wisps of grey were showing in his straggly brown hair. He'd commuted his North London accent into the neutral tones of a news anchorman: FITZ: The story so far...

(Cut to alarm clock in front of scanner screen showing s.p.a.ce) FITZ (V/O): Time and s.p.a.ce have been fractured, fragmented in fact, royally shafted due to the demented actions of an eighteenth-century time-travelling ex-British Secret Service agent pain in the a.r.s.e called Sabbath.

(Cut to TRIX as SABBATH, wearing long grey coat, naval commander's hat and a pillow stuffed under her jumper. In little letters top left we read: RECONSTRUCTION) SABBATH: Ha! Ha! Ha! Working as I am for unspecified higher powers, the nature of my misguided plans remains frustratingly obscure, ha ha!

Anji had to hand it to Trix, though it pained her to do so: it was a decent caricature, right down to the rich, low voice.

(Cut to FITZ) FITZ: What we do know is this: Sabbath has been trying to collapse the multiverse. For the uninitiated, I shall explain: there is not just one universe, but an infinity of them. Or there used to be, anyway. Now, thanks to Sabbath's meddling, they are all squashing together into one leaving us with a sort of mashed potato universe. The nasty watery sort your gran used to make, with lumps in.

(Cut to a starry sky on the scanner, and SABBATH'S hand holding a potato) SABBATH (V/O): The universe can take a few lumps! My masters want a single universe none of this 'a-new-universe-is-born-every-time-a-decision-is-made' rubbish and that's what they'll get, so there!

(Cut to FITZ) FITZ: Compounding our problems is a journal written by, er, me.

(Cut to diary on a desk) FITZ (V/O): A fascinating, well-written and much sought-after account of the ill-fated Hanson-Galloway excursion to Siberia of 1894, it's unfortunately become a bit of a paradox.

(Cut to a rubber chicken lying beside an Easter Egg) FITZ (V/O): One of those chicken and egg things. To cut a long story short, this journal has to be returned to a bookshop on Earth in 1938. Otherwise it can't be sold to its extra-special customer and wind up where it needs to be in 2002. But the paradox is, it only wound up in 1938 in the first place because we took it there in the TARDIS once we'd picked it up from 2002. And the problem is, that while we keep on trying, we haven't been able to find the right Earth to take it back to because they've all become jumbled up as the different universes struggle for supremacy and...

(Cut to gla.s.s of water and two tablets) FITZ (V/O): My brain hurts. Being a mere mortal I shall defer all explanations to the fella whose cranium is bigger on the inside than the outside... the fella who needs to get the book back so he can buy it in the first place and ultimately save the day...

(Cut to TRIX in brown curly wig and the Doctor's dark blue velvet coat) TRIX (bouncing up and down on the spot and adopting earnest public schoolboy voice): h.e.l.lo! I'm the Doctor, a man of mercurial moods and wanderer in the fourth dimension of s.p.a.ce and time.

Silly cow, thought Anji. Fourth and fifth dimensions of s.p.a.ce and time, thank you very much.

Trix hadn't been Fitz's first casting choice for the part of the Doctor, of course; not when the Doctor himself was about. But he'd taken to hiding out in his laboratory, fiddling around with aimless experiments while the TARDIS auto-systems kept trying to bring them home.

With the same guilt that got you when you found yourself staring at a traffic accident, Anji clicked the mouse on the trash and dragged out an outtake file. She'd named it, 'OOPS.mpg'. She'd promised Fitz she'd wiped it.

As quick as it took her to double click, Fitz appeared in a little window on the monitor. He'd set up the camera on a tripod, recording on automatic.

'Tonight,' Fitz was saying, 'I'm standing outside the laboratory of that mysterious traveller in time and s.p.a.ce known only as... the Doctor!' He mugged a spooky expression to his make-believe audience and walked casually towards the lab door further down the corridor. 'I've been promised an interview tonight in relation to the current crisis in the vortex and I...' He cupped a hand to his ear, like a political reporter outside Downing Street. 'Yes wait I think I can hear movement inside.'

The door flew open, nearly flattening Fitz, and out stormed a blur of dark velvet and bobbing brown curls. The Doctor froze as he almost smacked into the camera. His pale blue eyes blinked in surprise.

'Doctor!' moaned Fitz. 'Jesus, I think you broke my nose...'

The Doctor ignored him, peering into the camera as if searching for someone inside. 'What are you doing, Fitz?' Usually so proper and softly spoken, there was a hard edge to his voice now.

'I'm making a film,' Fitz explained, 'a kind of doc.u.mentary about... well, all this. You know, our predicament.'

'A bit of light-hearted fun, eh?' asked the Doctor. Anji felt her insides stir, same as every other time she'd played back the clip now she knew what was coming. Over the Doctor's shoulder, Fitz was shrugging.

'More of a distraction, I suppose. And because when we sort everything out, I don't want to forget what we've been through to do it.'

'Who were you thinking of showing it to?' wondered the Doctor softly, his long face still turned to the camera. 'When it's finished.'

'Well, I don't know. No one, I suppose '

'Well, I suppose suppose you're right,' snapped the Doctor. He spun round to advance on Fitz. 'After all, no one will be left anywhere in the cosmos if we can't put things right.' you're right,' snapped the Doctor. He spun round to advance on Fitz. 'After all, no one will be left anywhere in the cosmos if we can't put things right.'

'I know!' Fitz protested.

The Doctor's voice was rising. 'It's the end of everything. Fitz! Everything!'

'I know, I know!' His nose was bleeding and he had to keep wiping at it. 'But I'm not helping by waiting about doing nothing here, am I? While you hop aimlessly from one universe to another, hoping you'll get lucky '

'Me, aimless?' bellowed the Doctor. 'You're making a movie about the end of all all the universes to the universes to amuse amuse yourself, for a distraction! Can you comprehend even remotely...' He seemed to tire of talking, strode off again towards the camera. Again he stopped, as if confused to find it still blocking his way. But his eyes, once bright, were hooded and furtive now. He pushed past the camera and out of sight. yourself, for a distraction! Can you comprehend even remotely...' He seemed to tire of talking, strode off again towards the camera. Again he stopped, as if confused to find it still blocking his way. But his eyes, once bright, were hooded and furtive now. He pushed past the camera and out of sight.

Anji dosed the clip down. She'd seen that last, tired look the Doctor gave the camera a lot, lately. Every time she caught sight of her dark eyes reflected out of the monitor. Lonely for her own place and time.

She'd not seen the Doctor for three days straight. And even then he'd just stomped past her with his hands in his pockets, not saying a word.

Someone thumped at Anji's door. She swore, jumped off her seat, and swiftly switched off the monitor, just as the door pushed open.

'Fitz, hi!' she said with one of those forced smiles and naff waves, though his camcorder was nowhere to be seen. 'How are you doing?'

'Fine,' he replied, without much conviction. He was wearing his 'director's beret' a threadbare black thing clinging to his head at a rakish angle.

'Been doing more filming?'

He shook his head. 'Caught another Earth on the scanner a while back. Dead one again.'

'I hate the dead ones.' Anji sighed. 'If you make me edit it into the montage I'll have to reduce the time on screen of the others, you know that, right?'

Fitz yawned, stretched and rubbed his hands over his unshaven cheeks. 'The shoot's finished for now, anyway.' He tossed a tiny tape on to Anji's desk. 'Me and Trix just re-enacted the climax of our last thrilling adventure.'

'Who played the Doctor?'

'Me, this time,' said Fitz firmly. 'She was everyone else.'

'Except me, right?'

Fitz looked sheepish. 'Well, I I couldn't play you, could I?' couldn't play you, could I?'

Before Anji could reply, the Doctor appeared suddenly in the doorway. He smiled at her vaguely and peered round, preoccupied, as if he'd lost something. Then his eyes lit up.

'Fitz! There you are.' He clapped Fitz heartily on the shoulder and produced a dark-stained handkerchief from his pocket. 'Here. For your bruised nose.'

'Huh?' Fitz stared at the grubby rag in horror. 'What's that?'

'Oh, only blood.' He sniffed it. 'Sabbath's I think.'

'I'll pa.s.s, thanks. In any case...' Fitz stared in bemus.e.m.e.nt back and forth between hanky and Doctor. 'You clonked my conk four days days ago!' ago!'

'Has it been four days? Really? I'm afraid I was a little preoccupied at the time of our last encounter.' The Doctor cast a look at the dead monitor, then a pointed one at Anji. 'I really don't remember much about it.'

Anji felt herself blush.

Fitz looked at the Doctor uncertainly. Anji knew he hated the two of them not being friends. But his bruised nose was still pushed out of joint.

The Doctor looked awkward, fiddled with a b.u.t.ton on his coat 'Fitz, I've been thinking...'

He didn't look up. 'For four days, all by yourself?'

'I would would like to be in your film.' like to be in your film.'

Anji raised her eyebrows.

'See... I'd rather be playing a part, than just looking on at the sidelines.' The Doctor eyed Fitz hopefully. 'That is, if you've any parts still going?'

Fitz pouted like a sulky kid. 'Sorry. I've finished it now.'

'Oh.' The Doctor looked genuinely crestfallen. 'Might there be a sequel?'

'Depends, doesn't it?'

'Hey, Fitz,' said Anji cajolingly. 'Why not add a pre-credits sequence?'

'Eh?'

She shrugged. 'They're all the rage on TV shows in my time, especially in America. Something a bit intriguing, a bit dramatic. You know, to entice the viewer into sitting down and watching the show.'

The Doctor nodded knowingly, like he was an authority on American television, and looked hopeful.

Fitz met his gaze and gave a small smile. 'Why not?'

The Doctor clapped his hands. 'Wonderful! What do you say, Anji, something arresting and exciting?! And what did you say? What did you say?' He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to remember, and then clicked his fingers. 'Dramatic!'

Cheesy as you like, the TARDIS chose that moment to rock as if hit by an atom bomb.

Anji was hurled across the room with a shriek. The lights flickered off just as she slammed into the floor. She heard the low, mournful tolling of some almighty bell, ringing out from somewhere deep inside the TARDIS.

'When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?' Anji moaned.

'What's happening?' yelled Fitz.

'It's time to fight,' said the Doctor, with more determination than Anji had heard in him for weeks. 'Time to find out how the story really ends.' Then he gasped. A gasp Anji hadn't heard for ages, the kind of gasp that said he'd thought of something big.

'Or how it all really begins begins! A pre-credits sequence! Anji, you might just be a genius!'