The Time the Stories Went Dark The Second Annual Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown (On-line HTML version at http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/) _________________________________________________________________ Contents 1. Arrival 2. The party continues 3. An uninvited guest 4. Authorial Persona Manipulation 5. A stranger on horseback 6. Sailor Gallifrey held captive 7. Emergency! - the Reset Button 8. Is Kid Curry really guilty? 9. In search of the Master 10. The Circus Wagon on the plains of Titan Three 11. The plot begins to come clear 12. The search for Sailor Gallifrey 13. Kid Curry demands an explanation 14. Arrival at the Valeyard's cave 15. A traitor in their midst 16. The menagerie 17. Kid Curry's origins 18. The Sword of Authorial Freedom 19. Return of the Odd Trio 20. Confrontation with the Monitors 21. The first victory 22. Back in the TARDIS 23. Locked memories begin to crack 24. Kid Curry tells his story 25. Off to the Circus! 26. Trouble in Vortex City 27. Imran has a sudden flash of insight 28. Six gryphons 29. Preparing for the Psychic Circus 30. Preparing for the Psychic Circus (2) 31. The Contessa makes contact 32. The Gods of Ragnarok arrive 33. Daibhid gets stage fright 34. Harlequin and the Typo Gremlin 35. Nyctolops on the high wire 36. Cats and Dogs 37. Blinded by Rage 38. A challenge from the Gods of Ragnarok 39. The Fortune Teller 40. The charm reawakens 41. Echoes of another Universe 42. A Duel between the Doctors 43. Undead Gladiators 44. The Nth Doctor 45. The Equine Magic of the Twelve Sweethearts 46. Allie's collapse 47. A ghastly chariot race 48. Bokman and Zoe's magic act 49. Kid Curry goes to find Allie's soul 50. The Gods' magic act 51. Escape from the Cave of Annwn 52. Riding the outlaw trail 53. Gordon's pantomime 54. Interview with the Contessa 55. Conclusion of the pantomime 56. A hundred lost years 57. Siren's sister 58. Gordon's return 59. Sailor Gallifrey goes missing 60. The trapeze act 61. The Taming of the Fiercesome Beast 62. A judgement in the Underworld 63. Sandra and Allie 64. The Salamander 65. Starting to fight back - the finale 66. The song battle begins 67. Victory conceded 68. The Feather of Ma'at 69. The Odd Trio vanish 70. Dreams and other weirdness 71. Deciphering the Tarot 72. In the Glory 73. Monsters 74. In every ending is a beginning 75. Loose ends 76. A nice jar of home-cooked smoke 77. Epilogue 78. Credits * * * 1. Arrival * * * Let the Party Begin... It is a warm May evening, and you are driving through the suburbs of southeastern Virginia, hoping, maybe, to find a quiet beach for a long stroll in the moonlight, just like you've always read about in the personals. Unfortunately, you seem to have gotten very, very lost, and are trapped in a maze of cul-de-sacs. The lawns are all as neatly manicured as a golf-course, and the two car garages are all closed for the night. Peering into a few of the windows, you catch glimpses of t.v.s with the evening news on, and toy-strewn floors. You sigh. If there's any romance here, it's all very domestic now. You decide to turn around and try to find your way home. But you make a wrong turn, and drive into another cul-de-sac. The scene, here, however, is very different. Cars of every shape and color, with license plates from as far away as Australia and Finland, and every place else, line the asphalt circle. Squeezed in between the cars are Police Boxes, Greek pillars, and several free-standing doors, each draped with black crepe, as though in mourning. The epicenter of all this is a small grey house with blue shutters. Several helium filled balloons are tied to a lamppost at the end of the driveway, along with a large cardboard sign, announcing "THE SECOND ANNUAL PRO-FUN TROLL HOE-DOWN HERE! All Welcome!" "All" seems to be taken literally. The sounds of laughter and fiddling pour from behind the house's doors, and party-goers have spilled onto the front lawn, standing in groups of three and four, talking and laughing. There must be at least a hundred people here. Whoever they are, they're not the kind of people you'd expect to see in an Upstanding Community like this one. Even stranger still is that the neighbors don't even seem to notice what is going on. You, however, notice with alarm that several of the guests seem to be children, dressed up in strange costumes left over from last Halloween: like Teletubby outfits sewn together by someone high on pot. As you slow down, wondering whether you should call the police, someone in the crowd waves to you and calls out: "Come on! Join in! Don't be a lurker!" "What the hell," you think, "at least I may get some action." You park your car and get out. "Go on in," your new friend says to you. "The dessert table is to die for this year!" And as if to punctuate that remark, he licks chocolate frosting off his fingers. As you make your way to the door, you realize that the "children" aren't children at all, but real, honest to goodness aliens -- or *somethings* -- short, round creatures with long noses and longer tails, big bare feet, and bigger grins. Some are clothed, but many more are naked (or nearly so, since each one of them is wearing a brightly colored paper birthday hat -- all except for one, who has tied a plush toy Gengar to the top of his head). A potent mix of eager excitement and nightmarish apprehension well up inside you as you reach for the door handle, but you've come too far to turn back now. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and push open the door. But no amount of bracing could prepare you for what is beyond that threshold: a real, honest-to-goodness barn -- at least 2,000 square feet of floorspace, and every inch of it, it seems, is filled with people and creatures, each there to celebrate for a reason of their own. Balloons of every color, and crepe paper twists of every other color, line the ceiling, and drape over the partitions between the animal stalls. The stalls themselves have been swept spotlessly clean, and in the place of their former occupants stand tables groaning with food of every sort. Over each stall, where the animals' names used to hang, are various announcements: "Happy Birthday, Alryssa!", "Congratulations, Cardinal Krizu and Auntie Zorak!", "We're Happy, too, Paul Ebbs!" "Gareth for the Ninth Doctor!", "Happy Birthday, Ol' Blue -- 15 May, 1963!". Down at the end of the line of stalls, however, is the one somber place in the whole scene, the sign above draped in black crepe just like the doors outside, bearing the words: "Douglas Neil Adams, RIP". You barely have time to take this all in, however, before the lights go out. Then a single spotlight snaps on, illuminating a small round stage in the center of the floor. One of the strange creatures is standing there, wearing a highly embroidered fishing vest with bulging pockets, and holding a fiddle in one hand. An expectant hush falls over the crowd. The troll (for that's what she is) raises the fiddle to her shoulder and begins to play. It's an old folk tune you're sure you've heard before, but you can't quite place it. Soon, the troll adds her voice and words to the melody: Once I lived on the mountain top, now I live in town; I'm posting on the RAD-Wah 'group; hosin' flamewars down. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! The old Doctor, he had a dog, strangest I ever saw, Had a laser for a nose, but never could run far. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! The Doctor, he fought pepperpots that would never make you sneeze, But when they said "*Ex-term-in-ate!*" we all got shaky knees! The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! The inside of the Doctor's ship, it surely is no game: Fifteen miles of corridors that all look just the same. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! I won't talk to the nasty trolls, tell you the reason why, Say so much as "How do ye do?" they'd spit right in my eye. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! I wish I had my own sadfan. I'd put him on a shelf, And every time he'd smile at me, I'd get up there myself. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as a fat June bug, crafty as a fox! Once I lived on the mountain top, now I live in town; I'm posting on the RAD-Wah 'group, hosin' flamewars down. The old Doctor, the renegade, travels in a box, Crazy as the fat June bug, crafty as a fox! She takes a bow, and a wild roar erupts from the crowd. (*clap* *clap* The wildly clapping figure of Ninni Pettersson, entirely dressed in black and sporting an enormous grey cat lolling in the crook of one arm, fades discreetly into the background, appears momentarily at the bar to snare a gin & tonic, and then makes herself unobtrusive again.) "What have I gotten myself into?" you wonder aloud. A short, turquoise troll at your elbow overhears you. "Well," she says, "if last year's party was any indication, I'd say you've gotten into a fantastic adventure!" She proffers a crumpled paper bag filled with sweet fruit candies. "Would you like a jelly baby?" Cameron Mason reaches into the back and pulls out a red jelly baby. "My favourite!" he exclaims. --- A large U-boat, painted in a purple and green camouflage pattern, with a big smiley face on the front, trundles into the car park on extendable monster truck wheels. A hatch on the conning tower opens and from the mist appear several shadowy figures, in uniform. The sinister effect is somewhat spoilt by the party hats, the goofy grins and the fact they're all on spacehoppers... The Captain and a cheerful hunchback are last out. As the crew bounce off the deck and into the house, Captain Gordon (for it is he) reminisces with Igor about catching the end of last years event. Our Hostess finishes licking the 'spilled' drops of fondue cheese from her fingers, and looks out at the cul-de-sac to see who is arriving next. She grins a large grin from ear to large ear at the sight of Captain Gordon and his crew. She pauses, though, when she hears Gordon start to reminisce: "I was a newbie to RADW. I didn't know what rolls, pro-fun or otherwise, were at that time." :::Oh dear, she thought -- those typo gremlins are bold this year... I'd better set out some gremlin repellent. They can really create havoc in the fictional dimension -- you never know what strange twists in a plot can happen when they get loose!::: "I didn't even bother lurking, I just jumped straight in without thinking." He smiles. "I think I got away with it though!" "The very first thing I saw was the first Pro-Fun Hoedown. I had no idea how it had started, or exactly what it was. I just knew it was daft, silly and fun. I knew I'd found a home!" Captain Gordon and Igor walk to the end of the stalls and stand for a moment, hats held in their hands in respect for Mr. Adams. "He was one of the people who showed me what pro-fun was all about." Gordon says, quietly. He turns to Igor. "You go on ahead, I'll catch up with you." Gordon finds a small stall that has no banner, nor anything else in it for the moment. He removes his big black coat and holds it in front of the stall before whipping it away to reveal a small, round table, with a large smiley hand-painted onto it. A photograph and a small plaque sit at its centre. The photo shows a smiling old man, in a black suit, with a smiley badge on one of the lapels. The plaque reads - "Harvey Ball died on April 12th 2001, at the age of 79. He was one of those people whose name wasn't well known, but what he brought to the world touched us all. In 1963, he designed the original smiley face to put on badges for a morale boosting campaign at an insurance company. His design spread throughout the world. It has become a worldwide symbol for fun. R.I.P. Harvey Ball. We may not have known you, but your smiley will live on." Gordon lowers his head in respect, for a moment... He twirls round in a blaze of colour. He wears a football shirt with the name Adams and the number 42. The front emblazoned with a mahoosive smiley. He takes off his captain's cap to reveal a plush Gengar strapped to his head. His human form discarded, he now looks like he stepped straight out of a particularly silly Chuck Jones cartoon. He walks round the room for a minute, taking everything in. He recognises a few of the people here, and notices one or two are missing. He instantly recognises the head pro-fun troll, who has been such an inspiration in recent times. He sees Igor is already delving into his sack and bringing out brightly painted metal pipes, tin cans and monkey wrenches for the percussion section of the band. "I can't help thinking there's something missing," he ponders. A light bulb suddenly appears above his head and lights up. (Literally, we're far beyond the realm of serious laws of physics by now...) He waves his coat (now technicoloured) about a few times, lays it on the floor and whips it up to reveal... ...a bouncy castle and a foot pump. "Any voluntee..." Before he can finish, a small, but hugely enthusiastic troll is pogoing up and down on the foot pump to the beat of the music, laughing as it does so. "I don't think this will take long." Gordon says to Igor, who has returned from setting up his...drums, for want of a better word. They both smile, fiendishly. (But a pro-fun fiendishly...natch.) --- Several guests turn in surprise as their hostess sprints from the room, returning shortly after with votive candles that smell a little bit like citronella, and a little bit like licorice. Moving quietly around the room, the avocado green troll places a candle at each end of each table, and lights them one at a time. Unlike other repellent candles these beauties (brand name "Typo-nope") have multi-colored flames, that give off striped, polka-dotted and swirly-colored light. The hostess smiled. "Don't know if it'll work," she said to herself. "But the effect is sure nice." By the time she returned to the line of tables, Gordon had already set up his tribute to Harvey Ball, and she stops to read the plaque. "Thank you, Gordon," she said to him, after she had finished reading it. He is truly one of the founding fathers of Pro-Fundom. For where would Pro-Fun trolls be without :)?" She read the plaque again. "'1963', huh? A very good year, on many counts!", and she threw Gordon a ;-). Turning around, she caught sight of the bouncy castle, and all the trolls lining up to dance the edifice into being. "Yay!" She exclaimed. "It's perfect!" --- From his near-permanent encampment near the food tables a tall young man in a bright green jacket that clashes badly with his bright red shirt and appears to be a battleground between Doctor Who and Discworld icons looks at this scene with an expression of combined apprehension and interest. Then he shrugs and returns his attention to the food. You notice that although he joins conversations readily, he doesn't really start any, unless you count "Is thins vegetarian? Oh, good." "Is *this* vegetarian?" Daibhid corrects himself, adding "*Darn* those typo gremlins! Darn 'em all to Heck!" Still, he seems glad to be there. Three typo gremlins pop up behind him and cackle. Bokman chases them away with a flashlight, then exclaims "Okay, who brought the Mogwai?" At this point, a large grey owl flies into the barn and turns into a short furry creature with enormous eyes and wearing a shocking pink party hat. From under the party hat, Nyctolops produces an enormous bowl of guacamole and a giant bag of tortilla chips. "Ah, I thought I heard someone asking for something vegetarian, so I brought this. Enjoy!" She finds a place for the guacamole and chips on the table and wanders off to greet the Pro-Fun Trolls and other guests. --- As you watch, a young man in a battered green anorak hurries over to the Douglas Adams RIP sign, and replaces it with a new one, which reads: Douglas Noel Adams (1952 - 2001) "I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed." The avocado green troll puts down her fiddle and trots over to the young man. Noticing the sign which has just been replaced, she shakes her head in wonder. "It's those durn typo gremlins," she commented. "I just hope they don't cause any more trouble than that, this year..." Gordon tuts as he walks by. "It was bad enough when they had the Doctor peeing over a shelf..." "Reminds me of the time Nicolas Bryant came to visit," comments Bokman, searching for a place to put the fondue pot... "Typo Gremlimss, what Tipoh Gremlins?" asks Cameron as he places a Bread and Butter Pudding on a table. Our Hostess leads Bokman to the "hot foods" buffet table. "I was hoping someone would bring fondue," she said, sniffing appreciatively. "It's always been one of my favorites." As she makes sure the warming plate is working properly, she asks: "So, this Nicholas Bryant ... Nice fellow, is he? Think he'll show up tonight?" ((Suddenly...)) * * * 2. The party continues * * * /As more guests arrive... / --- An enormous double-fudge chocolate cheesecake with oreo cookie crust and chocolate ganache appears out of nowhere with a wheezing, groaning sound. It is carried by a pointlessly tall man with blue eyes, shaggy blond hair and a short beard. He clears his throat. "Sorry about that wheezing groaning sound," he says with an apologetic grin. "My sinuses are a bit backed up at the moment." He sets down the cheesecake and rummages into his backpack. From its murky depths he produces a large mirror, a yo-yo, a can of deodorant marked "This is not deodorant", a lit floor lamp, a large party umbrella, a stripy deck chair, a startled fat black cat who purrs inquisitively, something that looks suspiciously like the Key to Time, and a crystal decanter of good port. "Aha!" he exclaims, finally producing a tall, sparkly, pointed blue hat with small stars on it. "Knew I had it somewhere." He places it on his head; suddenly a large POOF of purple smoke billows forth, and a three-horned, blue-skinned troll appears in his place. "Bugger," he says. "Wrong hat. Oh well, it'll wear off in an hour or two." The avocado green troll turns in alarm at the all-too-familiar sound. The last time she heard *that* inside her barn, the hoe-down went distinctly pearshaped from that moment on (though, to be fair, they *did* end up saving the world because of it, so the trouble with Compassion did have its upside). Still, she was relieved to see it was a Friend Bearing Chocolate, and not a TARDIS Bearing Chaos. If she could choose between chocolate and *anything* chocolate would definitely win out. By the time she carefully wove her way past the mirror, yo-yo, aerosol can that claimed not to be deodorant, the lamp, the umbrella, the chair, and the 3-D puzzle pieces that she is sure she'd seen somewhere before, the tall dessert-bearing man was replaced by a three-horned troll in a sparkly hat (a wizard's hat, probably, she thought. Even official Pro-Fun hats didn't have those powers of transformation). "Welcome Jim!" she said, extending her hand in greeting. "I hope you enjoy the party." Leaning over, she whispered into his ear: "If that puzzle thing is what I suspect it is, I suggest you keep it with you at all times. It might come in handy if we get caught up in crossing timestreams, but if it gets into the wrong hands..." she trailed off, not wanting to even contemplate the consequences. "Anyway," she said, brightening, "watch out for typo gremlins..." "Twas merely the wrong hat, lass, that puts me in this horny mode. I'm betting Auntie Krizu or Phi1ip Legge switched it while I was busy baking the cheesecake," the jim-troll replied. "As for the plastic sculpture, fret not. It's not the Key to Time. It's just the Key to Time and the Rani, and it doesn't work very well anyway..." --- ((Cardinal Zorak boggles at the mention of Auntie and Phi1ip.)) "Only them??" :-(( Jim looks around... "I don't know, I'm used to being 6'5", not 24"! Everyone looks so different from down here. I'm used to seeing just the tops of peoples' heads. About all I *can* see here is Philip's Legges and Auntie's Krizu...." --- Somewhere in the background, c1ose-by to the gathering in the Virginian cu1-de-sac that is home to the avocado-co1oured tro11, a fami1iar sound begins to sp1it and jar atoms out of their random osci11ations in the atmosphere. Out of nowhere a rectangu1ar shape starts to so1idify, resemb1ing a 19th Century wardrobe in Ita1ian neo-c1assica1 sty1e, made of wa1nut and topped with curious urn-shaped finia1s at each corner. Phi1ip, a young man sporting a somewhat untrimmed goatee and resemb1ing a stick-insect in bui1d, emerges sneaki1y from one of the doors of the ta11 wardrobe-shaped SIDRAT. Immediate1y after 1ocking the doors he scratches his ear, which he imagines is itching for a reason! He notices immediate1y a very short b1ue-co1oured tro11 standing before him, and 1ooks rather sharp1y at him, b1ue-grey eyes staring through round g1asses. "You weren't ta1king about me behind my back I hope?" he asks in a rather gruff basso. Litt1e does the tro11 know that Phi1ip's apparent harshness is just a p1oy with which he hopes to e1icit a repeat of the ear1ier comments, but instead he remains si1ent. "Ah, my dearest Cardina1!" Phi1ip recognises Zorak immediate1y from his resp1endent red ve1vet cassock, and embraces and kisses him in the European manner, on each cheek. "I'm so g1ad to see you! I'm sorry I'm 1ate, I was p1aying Cupid with some friends at another party just now." "I suppose that exp1ains why you're dressed in that toga?" Zorak raises an eyebrow to comp1ete the inference. "Um... yes, I did want to put in a 'Deus ex machina' appearance!" Phi1ip rep1ies. "Is dearest Auntie here yet?" Cardina1 Zorak shakes his head but answers enthusiastica11y, "I'm expecting the grouse to f1y in at any minute!" Phi1ip beams and picks up a g1ass of that sinfu1 O1d Janx Spirit from the Doug1as Adams tribute tab1e. "We11 here's to your hea1th sweetie, and Auntie's! I suppose I'd better put on my pro-fun tro11 hat!" From underneath one of the numerous c1oth 1oops of his toga he pu11s a green and purp1e tricorne, which c1ashes incongruous1y with the white of his toga. "Oh we11," he says sad1y, "fashion was never my strong suit." Phi1ip sudden1y rea1ises the two-feet-high b1ue tro11 is staring at his shins and sanda11ed feet where they emerge from the bottom of his toga. "Do I know you?" Phi1ip addresses himse1f to the tro11. The tro11 nods, his three horns bobbing up and down 1ike a pecu1iar trident. "I'm actua11y Jim, though you wou1dn't recognise me at the moment!" "Jim Vow1es? What on earth happened to you? You never 1ooked 1ike that before!" Jim the tro11 smi1es wicked1y. "Someone substituted my proper fun hat, which has turned me b1ue, shortened me by three times, and made me a11 horny! So natura11y I thought it might have been Auntie or you." Zorak frowns s1ight1y, and mutters, "But if Phi1ip's on1y just arrived, and Auntie is yet to f1y in, then who can have done the deed?" Phi1ip muses, "Who indeed? And why have a11 of the 1ower-case 1etter 1's in my post sudden1y turned into ones?" --- Meanwhile, the avocado green troll is surprised when a platter of assorted crispy, cracker like things :::zzippops::: into her hand. Tentatively, she tastes one. "Hmm, an interesting blend of bell pepper, carrot, celery and onion.... These must be Vegetarian Thins!" She trots over to Daibhid and hands him the platter. "For you, Sir, I believe. Courtesy of the typo gremlins." "Thank you," says Daibhid, and looks around for the typo gremlins to thank them as well. The three Bokman chased off reappear, and apologise for their behaviour earlier. They claim to know nothing about Phi1ip's prob1ems... The troll bows, then turns to see how Gordon is coming with that bouncy castle.... Oops! The discussion of packages reminds Daibhid that he hasn't made any contribution to the food table he is so eagerly depleting of all things non-carnivorous. Finishing off the Vegetarian Thins, and washing them down with a pint of Irn Bru, he calls his rucksack, which runs up on hundreds of tiny legs. "Sapient Polyester," explains Daibhid, before realising that Pro-Fun Trolls and their friends see weirder stuff than this every day. Rummaging through the bag, he pulls out a stack of comics, "The Key To Time", "The Thief Of Time" and a black cat in a green collar called Schroedy, before finally locating a bag marked CCCB[1]. "I brought these from afp[2]." he says, unaware that the mere mention of that group has caused him to break out in footnotes[3]. "There's a bit of a flamewar going on there at the moment, but they're generally pro-fun, so I didn't think they'd mind." He pours the beans into the platter the Thins were in and sets them on the table. "I'm not that keen on them myself, but I'm told that if you like that sort of thing they're delicious." He then follows the avocado green troll to see what Gordon's up to... [1] Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans. Favourite snack of most of afp[2], recently featured in Thief of Time. [2] alt.fan.pratchett. My other main hangout. [3] A common occurrence on afp, those who post there regularly find it occurring on other newsgroups and message boards. --- Across the huge party space, the various incarnations of the Doctor are dancing, or chatting with others, or in the case of the Fourth and Eighth Doctors, having a drinking contest involving much Guinness. People are laying bets on who will go down first. --- ((Meanwhile, outside Phi1ip's SIDRAT...)) In a dark corner, a wheezing groaning sound is heard... a peepshow box materializes with a thump! Phi1ip and Zorak look towards the creaking door expectantly, and scratch their heads when they don't see anything. Suddenly, Phi1ip jumps, clutching his toe, the tails of his toga flapping dangerously high. "AAAAAK!" Phi1ip lands on his behind with a thump, his thin legs sticking in the air and the long folds of his toga draped over his head. With effort, Zorak tears his eyes away from Phi1ip's slim, perfectly-formed thighs. "What is it?" Grunting in pain, Phi1ip points down. Zorak looks back down at Phi1ip's pointy^H^H^H^H^H thighs. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" Phi1ip can only make a muffled sound as he tries to extricate himself from the tangled toga. >;-) There's a sudden noise, and... Zorak turns to see a white flurry of feathers whooshing past, and disappearing around a corner. "Oh, bloody hell..." "Does that mean what I think it means?" "Yes, I think so..." Heavy bootsteps can be heard from behind the corner, stopping as if to pick something up, then a faint cooing sound as the steps come closer. With a swagger, the Ainley Master steps out of the shadows, cradling Auntie Krizu, in the form of a happily pot-potting snowgrouse, on his left arm. Scritching the grouse's chin with his right hand, he and the grouse both chuckle evilly and grin at Phi1ip and Zorak. --- "And me without my umbrella," Jim observes. Suddenly a large part of the set tilts, as though on an unconvincing and gentle pivot accompanied by a wildly tilting camera. Everyone slides leftward with exaggerated movements and giggles. "Bugger," says Jim, who then has to leap away from several guests who thought it was a suggestion for the next party game. --- "Quick, into the SIDRAT!" Phi1ip cries. "You might find that a little difficult, with it trapped in a Time Cone," purrs the Master, and with the flick of a switch on a small black device in his hand, the wardrobe SIDRAT vanishes into invisibility. Zorak and Phi1ip look furtively around as if to run, but suddenly the Master steps closer and stares into their eyes, which begin to glaze over. "I am your Master, and you will obey me." Dumbly, they repeat the Master's words back to him, "You are our Master, we will obey." The grouse flutters up to the Master's shoulder, and whispers in his ear. "What to do with them? Oh,... very well!" The grouse coos and pots in delight. "Slaves, go to my TARDIS, and fetch out the torture chaise-longue and the silk bondage ropes!" the Master says triumphantly. Zorak and Phi1ip look at one another with a stupefied look, and then unquestioningly troop across to the Master's TARDIS, cunningly disguised as a peepshow box. "And now," the grouse thinks to herself, "how to attract Doctor number five away from that drinking race he's overseeing between Doctors four and eight!" ((The party is going well...)) * * * 3. An uninvited guest * * * /As snowgrouse Auntie Krizu enjoys herself with Zorak and Phi1ip.../ --- Our hostess, the avocado-green troll, looks around her and smiles. The Hoedown is going well. Nasty trolls are keeping their distance, no one has yet slipped any bitter pills into the drinks, and people have arrived ready to have a generally wonderful time. The Doctors have all arrived and joined in -- *and* none of their TARDISes have gotten tangled together (she makes a mental note to make sure there will be enough beer for the other guests after 4 and 8 have finished their drinking contest). She really must congratulate Gordon on the bouncy castle -- such a mix of innocent and naughty is perfect for a gathering of Pro-Fun trolls. The only hitch may be in the typo-gremlins, but they can't cause nearly as much trouble as Eris did ... can they? She isn't sure of the answer to that, and quickly changes the subject in her mind. She searches the crowd for a familiar face, and to her delight, she finds it. "Jamie, me lad!" she calls out as she goes up to him. "I'm so glad you came! You brought your pipes, I trust?" Jamie looks hurt. "Ach, now what piper would arrive at a gathering such as this without his pipes? I'd shame the whole McCrimmon clan if I had left them behind!" Our Hostess beams. "Wonderful!" she exclaims, as she leads him to the stage. "This hoedown has everything it needs -- but too many people are standing still and just watching. But I think a good reel could change all that." Jamie picks up his pipes and grins. "What is your pleasure?" he asks. "Oh, lots of things," she answers with a wink, "but right at the moment, I'm thinking of a song from your own country and time -- an anthem for Pro-Fun Trolldom if ever there was one: 'The Reel of Tullochgorum'! If you'll play, I'll sing it." Jamie nods, an ear to ear grin on his handsome young face, and begins to warm up his pipes. The wheezing, groaning sound, and the loud first few notes, startled the partygoers to attention. The troll let him play one verse through, to get the rhythm and melody into her head, and then she belted out the words -- her voice, surprisingly loud from someone of such short stature, bold enough to compete with the famed highland pipes of the McCrimmon clan: "Come gies a sang," Montgomery cryed "And lay your disputes all aside, What nonsense is't for folks to chide For what's been done before them." Let Whig and Tory all agree. Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory Whig and Tory all agree To drop their whigmegorum, Let Whig and Tory all agree To spend this night in mirth and glee And cheerfu' sing alang wi me The Reel of Tullochgorum Tullochgorum's my delight, It gars us a' in ane unite, And ony sumph that keeps up spite, In conscience I abhor him Blithe and merry we's be a', Blithe and merry, blithe and merry Blithe and merry we's be a' To make a chearfu' quorum. Blithe and merry, we's be a': As lang's we ha'e a breath to draw, And dance, 'till we be like to fa' The reel of Tullochgorum. Let warldly minds themselves oppress Wi' fear of want, and double cess; And silly saules themselves distress Wi' keeping up decorum: Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, Sour and sulky; sour and sulky; Shall we sae sour and sulky sit Like auld Philosophorum? Shall we sae sour and sulky sit Wi' neither sense, nor mirth. nor wit, And canna rise to shake a fit, At the reel of Tullochgorum? May choicest blessings still attend Each honest-hearted open friend, And calm and quiet be his end, Be a' that's good before him May peace and plenty be his lot, Peace and plenty, peace and plenty; May peace and plenty be his lot, And dainties, a great store o'em: May peace and plenty be his lot Unstain'd by any vicious blot; And may he never want a groat That's fond of Tullochgorum! Our Hostess let her voice trail off, since now nearly everyone was "shaking a fit" of some sort or other (though the old curmudgeons and purists would all agree that there was no sort of reel among them). Still, "fun was had by all" and that's all that mattered. "Ye're a Hielander, Daibhid." remarked Jamie afterwards. "Why did ye no' leave yon food table and show 'em how it's done?" "I know how do a reel in a technical sort of way," Daibhid admitted, "it's the fact that I've got the natural rhythm of a stunned goldfish that's the problem." "Ach, dinnae put yerself doon, lad. I'll gie another skirl in a whiley, and I want to see ye up on the floor!" "Aye, okay." Daibhid agreed reluctantly. He knew a Pro-Fun group was somewhere you should feel comfortable making a fool of yourself; he'd done it before, but he still felt uncomfortable starting off. Once he started dancing he was sure he'd... But then a shadow filled the door of her barnTARDIS, and a bellow loud enough to drown out the pipes interrupted their fun. The leader of the Pro-Fun Trolls felt her face go cold, and her hands get clammy. :::Oh, no! she thought. Not *him!*::: --- A large bellow resounds through the barn TARDIS. A shadow fills the door. The Partygoers, Bookworms, Doctors, Companions, Trolls, Captains, TARDISes, goddesses, and other assorted entities pause from cakewatching, drink contest betting, and general merrymaking and hoedowning, and turn to the source. 'Oh no,' the Doctors - all eight of him currently present - mutter. 'The Flame Bringer.' 'But Flame Bringers usually ignore the Pro-Fun Trolls...' Seventh thinks out loud. 'Zoe,' Second whispers. 'Check the whipped cream. Fire Extinguisher size... One way or another, we'll be needing it.' Zoe nods, and heads for the Second's TARDIS. ---- Bokman's ears pick up at the mention of the name Zoe. "Zoe's here? Well, I suppose I'd better introduce myself," he declares, heading for the Second's TARDIS in his turn. ---- Daibhid was astonished to see Schroedy, along with all the other cats brought by various guests, rush for the opposing wall in a mass of howling and spitting. "It's okay, kitties," he said. "It's just another TARDIS... isn't it?" "I thought I heard the Doctors say it was a Flame Bringer," muttered someone on his left. Daibhid went white. "A Flame Bringer? At a Pro-Fun Hoedown?" He had to help. After all, he'd just agreed to dance, and he wasn't going to give a Flame Bringer the chance to make fun of him. He looked for the purple, legged form of his rucksack. It was gone. --- Gordon wonders, "Maybe if we feed the typo-gremlins things full of typos, they'll chill out and relax for a while?" From out of his dimensionally transcendental pockets, he brings out several copies of 'The Doctors' by Adrian Rigelsford and a bundle of fanzines. "I edited this pro-fun fanzine several years ago, it was so full of typos we were going to have a 'How Many Typos Were In Issue One?' contest in the second issue. We never got to a second issue though." Gordon starts waving the publications in front of him, calling the typo-gremlins. "Coo-eee! Look! Loadsa, loadsa typos in these!" A small typo-gremlin walks up to Gordon warily. He takes a nibble of a fanzine. He immediately falls over, as if drunk. "Typos must have the same effect on them as alcohol does on us! There are so many typos in the fanzine that just one bite gets them utterly blitzed! We're saved!" Gordon distributes the publications and then moonwalks off to groove mightily on the dance floor... --- ((Meanwhile....)) In a shadowy spot across the street, a wobbulating video effect signals the decloaking - sorry, delurking - of a man in his mid-twenties, with a shock of long, curly hair (which is badly in need of combing), glasses, and slightly too much stubble. He is wearing a blue anorak in a post-modern, ironically self-aware kind of way; a copy of The Discontinuity Guide protrudes from one pocket, while in another is what appears to be a book containing lists of train numbers, some of which have small ticks marked next to them. He hesitates for a moment, taking in the scene, listening to the sounds of pro-fun-ness that carry in the evening air and watching the party-goers on the lawn. Then, he takes a step towards the door... hesitates... and stops, still in the shadows. He looks at his reflection in the window of a car, and mutters to himself thusly: "Hmm... no, a little *too* ironically sad-fan, perhaps." He considers for a moment. Reality shifts a couple of millimeters, and the lurker's clothes have changed; he is now dressed in black jeans, a belt covered in a celtic knotwork design, an Oxford University DougSoc t-shirt and a black denim jacket covered in assorted badges, mostly but not exclusively relating to science fiction or music. His stubble has vanished, and his hair seems a little more tidy. Once again he stands still for a moment, watching and listening. He tips his head to one side, apparently paying particular attention to the sound of a fiddle. In an echo-treated voice-over, his thoughts can be heard: "Well, it *is* meant to be pro-fun, which seems to mean not being superior and nasty about other peoples' tastes even if they're different from one's own - but perhaps people won't mind a bit of rock-'n'-roll...." With another jump-cut, his appearance changes again. His jeans are now blue, and flared; the t-shirt is still black, but with a Marshall Amplification logo, and the jacket is also blue, of a different style, and without badges. His hair is now tied back in a pony-tail, and in one hand he holds a Fender stratocaster which looks suspiciously as if somebody has deliberately beaten it up a little in an attempt to create a battered and well-used look. In his other hand he holds a small combo amplifier and a coiled lead (which is, please note, plain black and straight, and definitely *not* curly or of a bright day-glo colour). The indecisive newcomer makes it almost the whole way across the road this time, before stopping and talking to himself again. "Hey! I can pretend to be Fitz pretending to be someone else - I might even pull that way! Oh... but the only slightly Who-related things I can play are "Smoke On The Water" and "Shakin' All Over", and those are pretty tenuous, especially for people who don't read the BBC books.... Maybe this isn't such a good idea...." Reality does that slightly-shifting thing again. The musical paraphanalia has gone, and the newcomer is now wearing black jeans (again), a grey shirt, a black leather waistcoat, a long black leather trenchcoat, and a black felt hat. His hair is untied, but now nicely combed and untangled, though still fairly wild. "Right. Enough faffing around!" Taking a deep breath, the stranger pushed his hands into his coat pockets and strides across the road and in through the door. Once inside, he walks briskly across the floor. To the casual watcher, his body language suggests confidence - but a more careful observer would note that he's actually rather nervous, not entirely sure whether or not he's meant, or even allowed, to be here, and is thus using the "look as if you own the place" ploy. He glances around, trying to look like somebody expecting to meet people, but avoiding eye contact with the other guests, and not quite plucking up the courage to speak to any of them.... The small turquoise troll, ever on the lookout for uneasy newcomers, appears at his elbow (or rather, due to the difference in their relative heights, his knee). "Excuse me, Sir," she asks, proffering her ever full bag of treats, "would you like a jelly baby?" She smiles as reassuringly as a troll can while he takes his choice, then scurries off to find the Founder. --- 'And just what do you think you're doing?!' Sixth asks, positioning himself next to Our Hostess... She turns, and gazes up at the fuzzy headed Doctor. "Who, me? At the moment, I *think* I'm thinking. If you haven't noticed, there are quite a few dangling story threads around here, and if I don't pause and sort them out, it could get really headache-y in a moment. Tangled storylines are even worse on a body than tangled timelines." Suddenly, a lightbulb appears above her head -- a full hundred watt one (Gordon's influence, she thinks). She turns from Jo to the Flame Bringer and back again. "That's it!" she says. "These gremlins can change reality -- make things appear, or turn them backward. If we can get them over to the Flame Bringer, maybe we can change him into something else -- or maybe -- return him to his true nature," she added, noticing that there seemed to be a strange sort of dimensional warp going on around him. She hurried over to Imran, and spoke into his ear: "The words 'Flame Bringer'," she said, "or rather, the letters in the words -- where they are on your keyboard -- you think you can figure out what typos we can use to turn that all around, into something positive -- Pro-Fun?" Unfortunately for Imran, Daibhid's rucksack is rubbing against his legs, having apparently found a new friend. ---- 'All right...' Sixth says, turning to the Flame Bringer. 'Now I know what /she's/ up to... what are /you/ up to?!' 'I am... the Spelling Flame Bringer...' the creature rumbles. 'I come... to flame all those afflicted by the Typo Gremlins...in the name of proper punctuation.' The writers mutually gulp. This is /not/ good. ((It is at this point that the little turquoise deputy arrives with her news...)) * * * 4. Authorial Persona Manipulation * * * /As the avocado troll's deputy arrives.../ --- "Hostess," the turquoise troll said, a little breathlessly, as she found the avocado troll leaning over Imran's shoulder, "a new guest has just arrived, and he has some... interesting abilities. I've been watching him since he appeared in the cul-de-sac, and he seems to be able to change his form at will -- without the influence of the gremlins. Do you think he might be able to transform the --" and here, her voice dropped to a whisper "-- F.B.?" The founder straightened, thoughtful. "Perhaps," she said, slowly. "Though I suspect it's probably just a skilful use of 'Authorial Persona manipulation', and is something he can only work on himself, not others... Still, A.P.M. is closely related in fictional mechanics to Typo Transformation. Yes... yes... He might have expertise which could prove very helpful indeed. Go explain the situation to him, and see if he won't join our little pow-wow." The turquoise troll ran off to do just that, while the hostess and Imran returned to their study of his keyboard. --- The turquoise troll runs up to Philip Cotterell (for that is the new guest's name - note, that's one l [ell] and no 1's [ones]), who is now feeling somewhat more comfortable as a result of a friendly greeting and a jelly baby, and rapidly explains the situation. Philip chews thoughtfully on his jelly baby. "I'm not sure if I can help. But just give me a moment and I'll join you. There's something I should do first." He walks over to the Douglas Adams memorial stall, removes his hat and stands in silent respect for a few seconds. He starts to turn away, and is then struck by a thought; turning back, he closes his eyes and concentrates for a moment, then reaches inside his coat and extracts from a pocket a small cardboard replica of a 1950's talking-type wireless set which he places on a small wooden table next to the stall (which possibly did not exist a few moments previously). In front of the wireless set he places a small card, on which is written: "Sir Harry Secombe, 1921-2001 : Ying-Tong-Iddle-I-Po" "Well, why not," he announces to nobody in particular, "after all, The Goon Show was certainly pro-fun, and there are bound to be a few fans here." After another moment of silence, Philip replaces his hat, and proceeds across the hall to join the avocado troll and Imran. "It's like this," he says. "I don't really know *what* my abilities are here. I've never studied fictional mechanics. In fact, I'm not really an author - or at least I wasn't before I got here." After a thoughtful pause, he continues: "I *think* that I can do anything that I believe I'm allowed to get away with." Another pause. "Now, I'm not sure if I can transform this Flame Bringer into something benign - I'm really not sure. But I do have an idea. Perhaps all I need is a little technobabble to convince me that such a transformation conforms to the rules of fictional mechanics as they apply in this particular reality! Yes! Do you think that one of you would be kind enough to ask one of the Doctors to whip up an Authorial Persona Manipulation Field Transference Projector for me?" --- Imran and the hostess exchange a knowing glance. A slow grin spreads across each of their faces, simultaneously. The hostess turns to Philip, still grinning. "Why ask just *one* Doctor," she says, "when you can ask all *eight*--" The expression on Philip's face betrays the following thought: "Because I want an APMFTP, not an eight-way argument!" The Doctor looks up with a toothy grin from the bottom of an empty pint glass of Guinness, and says to Philip, "But don't you realise - you don't need an Authorial Persona Manipulation Field Transference Projector at all!" Philip seems slightly unsure whether it is the good Doctor articulating this thought or his Guinness speaking for him: "Ah, I'm not sure I do see..." The Doctor jumps up to his feet, his scarf twisting in the air like an electrocuted snake, such is the suddenness of his ascent. "You'd only need a Field Transference Projector to stabilise the Fictional Space-Time Vortex if only a single author were present!" Imran says incisively, "And that's not the case is it?" A younger man with a fresh, rather innocent face takes up the conversation. "What I believe I am... er, *he is* trying to say, is that all this time, the various authors have thought themselves in complete control of the Fictional Space-Time Vortex when in fact they are only acting in isolation." Philip says, "Yes, I think I can see that." "-- after all, it sounds like all we need to do is --" and at this, Imran chimed in, and they finished together: "make some adjustments to the Time-Space Visualizer!". The troll nodded. "Yes," she continued, "and that was a group effort." An older Doctor suddenly strolls up behind the troll. "Exactly! A group effort, my child, means that there is no ability for one author to determine the fictional outcome." At this, Philip's expression clears slightly. "Well," he thinks, "if they've all done something similar together before...." The Doctor pulls on his lapels and tut tuts. "It's been done several times before. But not without great danger, in each instance..." She turned to number six. "You pull yourselves together for this," she said to him, "while I get the TSV out of the closet." The Doctor closes his eyes with a look of profound concentration. "My other selves, I implore myself now to have come to him." A tall Doctor with a shock of white hair strolls up and mutters, "Great balls of fire! My high Gallifreyan must have slipped in my old age, I don't normally confuse my personal pronouns like that!" Another Doctor wanders up and helps himself to one of the sandwiches and dips it in a savoury sauce. "Not to worry old chap, you see, I've *always* known how to speak it!" "Ah ha, the scarecrow. How am I?" "You're fine as I usually am, fancy pants!" And finally an eighth individual Doctor arrives, beaming brightly and rakishly adjusting the angle of his hat. "Well, it looks as though we're all here then! What was this about a fictional vortex?" Philip watches the Sixth Doctor gather his other selves. He looks like he wants to make sure that they know what they're being asked to do, but isn't entirely sure that it would be wise to ask; he seems particularly concerned about the Fourth and Eight Doctors, not being sure how Time Lords metabolise alcohol in this reality. A rather washed-out looking, half-human Doctor looks up from his place in the sculling races, peering at his other seven, younger faces. "I think I'm feeling a bit queer in this regeneration. Would one of me give me a glass of water?" "We won't need the Hand of Omega, this time, will we?" Sixth asked a little nervously. "Oh, I shouldn't think so, since we're not dealing with different corners of the multi-verse... yet. A couple dozen D batteries should do the trick." She chortled to herself happily, as she went off to dig around in her TARDIS's boot cupboard, since there is nothing a Pro-Fun troll likes better than to turn nastiness inside out. --- 'Hey! Get off! That's my drink!' 'Wait...' our hostess says. 'I think Daibhid's bag may have something in mind...' 'And something on my keyboard...' Imran mutters. He cracks his knuckles. 'I don't know if this will work... the gremlins may not be strong enough... but, hey. It's either this, or experience a Spelling Flame...' 'Right... "Spell /Fame/ Bringer"...' Our hostess blinks. 'What?' Imran blinks at what Daibhid's bag has written using his keyboard. 'I have /no/ idea... Who on Earth brings fame for /spells/?' The result of Imran's typo, however, has... unexpected effects. Cameron looks up from his plate of food. "Oh no - not again!" Somewhere on a gramophone, the record gets stuck in a groove... "I told you we should have borrowed Uncle Pete's set of Technics rather than trying to mix on these things..." said Gordon. "Well, it was worth a try," replied Igor, who was currently trying to DJ with an old gramophone, a wax cylinder and a reel-to-reel tape player. He tapped Gordon on the shoulder. "What's that?" Igor said pointing at a man-shaped/sized package covered in brown paper sitting all by itself in the corner of the barn. Gordon's eyes went like this... (o_O) "Oh bugger...I thought he was still lost in Ibiza?" A figure burst out of the package, with a black triangular helmet, a flowing white robe, carrying a....microphone? Igor is suddenly shoved off the decks by a Voord with a big furry hat on. My name is... Yartek, I'm the leader of the Alien Voord, Lock away your beers, get your daughters secured! You thought I was blown up, you thought I was dead, With my funky white robe and my triangular head. Straight out of Marinus, from the acid seas, Had a bit of a problem, with a set of keys. That went in a computer in a big fancy room, Put the last one in and it all went boom! I'm funkier than James Brown. Sexier than a backless gown. Groovier than Isaac Hayes. More valuable than the Dying Days. My brother Voord keep on tripping on their flippers, We'd be better off wearing fluffy bunny slippers. The Doctor thought by beating us he did the right thing, Now most of us are kitchen staff at Burger King! I'm Yartek and these are my alien Voord, through the galaxy we have played and toured. Feel the bassline kick and the breakbeats pound, as we bring you the funkiest sound around! Wooah-ho! Wooah-ho! Wooah-ho! Wooah-ho! Yartek suddenly spots Igor and Gordon and runs through the door...without bothering to open it first... "Quick Igor, after him, he's too funky to be allowed out in public for too long!" Gordon and Igor exeunt with great rapidity through the wall... The avocado green troll picks up a small bit of paper left fluttering in their slipstream. --- The black-clad lurker had stared with open mouth at the outlandish spectacle Yartek and his Alien Voords had put on. "My knowledge of early Doctor Who is sadly lacking," she thought and shook her head. Having already consumed one gin & tonic, and now being halfway through her second (as a tribute to DNA she had decided to stick with this drink at the hoedown), her attention was very easily diverted though, and when she saw her hostess reading something she couldn't refrain from peering over her shoulder: "Sorry to run off like this, but the safety of the multifunkyverse is at stake! We'll try and get back before the end...with biscuits. See ya!" The avocado green troll suddenly turned and looked up at the lurker with an inquiring but friendly expression on her round face. "Oh. I'm s...s...s...so sorry. I d...d...didn't mean to pry." She stammered. "I was j...j...just curious." She took a deep breath. The troll didn't look angry after all, and it was her hostess. Perhaps she ought to introduce herself? "May I introduce myself, my name is Ninni and I'm a lurker from Sweden. I'm sorry I didn't bring anything for the buffet, I forgot. What a lot of people there are here, I feel a little lost. Especially since my cat seems to have disappeared. That ... creature ... frightened him, and now I can't find him again." It all came out in a rush, and she felt rather foolish. "You might think I'm a teenager for all the savoir-faire I'm showing at the moment," she thought wryly. The troll smiled. "I wouldn't worry," she said to Ninni. "You know how resilient cats are. They've probably all found the cream pots in my TARDIS' pantry by now, anyway. And don't worry about not having brought anything. I, myself, wasn't expecting this to be pot luck, either. It just turned out that way..." She paused. "But maybe there is something you can do, she added, "I have my doubts that that 'spelling flame-bringer' is what he appears to be. Just for a split second, when he first arrived, I was sure he was someone I knew -- someone we *all* knew, and that he came here for a reason. But that someone, or something, is interfering. Who (or what) would want us to confuse us like that? And why? Any ideas?" --- Daibhid looks up from his futile attempts to herd the cats. "Is one of these yours?" he asks Ninni, pointing vaguely behind him. Looking over the nervously milling cats, she shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. He doesn't go on very well with other cats so he's probably slipped away someplace where he can watch the action in safety. And I guess he will soon home in on the cream, he's a glutton. I'll try and stop worrying about him. There are apparently more important things to worry about at the moment." She looked around the BarnTARDIS that was now full of people of all shapes and sizes giving all signs of enjoying themselves. Even the Flame Bringer seemed to have settled down and was now vainly trying to attract the attention of the barkeep. She noted Adric's sudden appearance, and the robot then exploding and killing him. "I wonder what Nyssa will say. Flagrantly poaching on her territory like that," she smiled to herself. "And what was going on over there?!" Her Scandinavian contemporary and the Ainsley Master were evidently planning to enjoy themselves thoroughly. Perhaps she ought to wander over and see if she could pick up some interesting new techniques... Her hostess' new words however, called her back to the matter at hand. "Anyway," she said, "That's why Philip and the Doctors need to finish work on the Authorial Personal Transference Field Projector as soon as possible -- so we can discover who the newcomer is, and why he's here -- *and move the story forward*!!" "Moving forward... Yes, that's what's wrong here!" Ninni suddenly realised. Nothing ever seemed to lead to anything. There was Adric again for example, walking through the door after a short woman in a bright yellow baseball cap. And Yartek and his Voords had just disappeared, and everyone just seemed to talk and talk. "I bet Auntie and the Master won't get anywhere either," she thought glumly. In fact... "Look! All the Doctors have started bickering too," she exclaimed. "You do seem to be right," she said to their hostess, "some force seems bent on making all the potentially interesting stories fritter out into nothing. We must *do* something." She hurried off to where the Doctors were loudly arguing. "What are you lot *doing*?" she asked sternly. "I thought you were supposed to help with the APTFP. *Not* browbeating yourself because he's conducting an in-depth study of the human lifestyle. Something I think several of you could do well to try," she fluttered her eyelashes at the Fifth Doctor and moved closer to him. "But," says Philip, looking concerned, "if you don't think it's a real FB any more.... I was going to transform it into something benign, to make it safe - now I don't think I know what you want me to do. How can I transform it into whatever it really is if noone knows what it really is? Have I missed something?" "No, not you," the troll said apologetically, "me. I'm the one who missed picking up the clues..." She made her way over to the huddle of Doctors. "Rather than *transform* our guest, do you think you could calibrate this gadget to *reveal his true identity*?" she asked. "Are the two tasks really that different from each other?" --- Imran snaps his fingers. 'Just a moment...' A short, brown-haired girl in a truly /bizarre/ yellow and green ensemble pops into existence. 'Oh, thanks /so/ much...' she complains. 'Allie...' Imran says. 'Look, what do you need /me/ for?' 'You're my Muse,' Imran says. 'We /really/, *really* need an Authorial Overview, so we know what's going on... and that Philip's plan doesn't go splat.' Allie sighs. 'All right...' Her eyes unfocus. 'Okay... Gordon and Igor are chasing Yartek. Ninni's introduced herself to our hostess, feeling very embarrassed and not a little lost, with so many people around... and she's lost her cat, who got frightened by Yartek. Daibhid's lost his bag... and said bag's currently tap-dancing on Imran's keyboard. 'Bokman's followed Zoe to the Second's TARDIS, as Zoe collects some whipped cream, Jim's lost his hat, and Auntie and the Ainley Master have hypnotised Zorak and Phi1ip into strange and kinky escapades with the torture chaise-longue and the silk bondage ropes. 'Our hostess's looking for some batteries for the TSV, as Sixth drags the other Doctors together to reconfigure the TSV into Philip's (not Phi1ip) Authorial Persona Manipulation Field Transference Projector... and the Typo Gremlins seem to've got stuck to /you/...' Allie grins wickedly. 'Yes, yes...' Imran mutters. 'And there's the Spelling Flame Bringer which got /attracted/ by all those Typo Gremlins...' Allie observes. '...Hmm. Philip believes he needs a technobabbly explanation to enable him to change the Bringer. However... You gave me the ability to do /anything/ - I /am/ your creative impulse, after all, and that's the whole point...' 'Deus Ex Machina, Al...' Imran says. '/No/. Not this time. It doesn't fit the story.' 'Hmm... Didn't you say you'd brought a magician's cabinet?' Allie says, almost as an afterthought. Imran starts to grin. 'Yes... and we should have /something/ in there for this...' 'Found the TSV!' our hostess calls. 'And Sixth's got the Docs together...' Imran rubs his hands together. 'Now, if I remembered to bring what I hope I remembered in the cabinet, we should have everything we need...' He grins. 'And a little extra.' ((Outside, meanwhile, someone else seemed to be arriving...)) * * * 5. A stranger on horseback * * * /The avocado troll's quick ears have caught a sound from outside.../ --- In the evening gloom, the dull ringing of unshod hooves on the asphalt can be heard for some time before the approaching traveler is visible. As the noise gets closer, a careful listener could make out that it is the sound of six feet, not four -- both horse and man are travelstained and limping, and the passer-by has dismounted and is leading his weary mount cautiously over the hard surface. He looks edgy and somehow out of place as he comes into the radius of light spilling from the open doors. From inside the sound of the party is becoming raucous, and there are still a few late-comers pushing their way sheepishly in. None of them seem to have noticed the new arrival; but then this is precisely how he likes it. He doesn't quite know how he ended up here, but the wild goings-on inside, however daunting, offer a more welcoming face than this manicured dullness of endless square houses and paved roads in which he has been lost for so long. For a moment he hovers on the edge of the lawn, scowling. Then, as another gust of laughter sweeps out from behind the doors, he seems to come to a decision. He leads the horse over to a quiet corner of the lawn and lets go of the bridle, reaches round to pull down a worn Gladstone bag -- which appears to contain all his worldly possessions -- from behind the saddle, and makes his way in towards the source of the hilarity without a backwards glance. The horse looks after its master's departing figure for a moment, then drops its nose and browses tentatively. But it is too weary to take any real interest in grass, let alone in wandering off, even though it has been left untethered, and it is soon standing splay-hipped in the darkness in an exhausted doze. The glowering stranger, bag in hand, pushes through the door and is immediately stopped in his tracks, blinking, by the scope and strangeness of the festivities going on inside -- and the sheer scale of the place. For a moment it looks as if he is about to back out again hurriedly; then a sudden ripple in the crowd blocks him off from the exit and thrusts him into a corner by one of the tables. He retreats rapidly against the wall and stares round wildly, tensed into a half-crouch, as if expecting the shoving of the other guests to prelude an attack of some kind, but nothing happens. Finally, as no-one seems to take any notice of his unexpected arrival, he apparently begins to relax. After a while, straightening up, he takes off his battered coat and hat, and drapes them over the bag at his feet. The traveler is revealed as a stocky dark individual of medium height and a somewhat shifty expression, with a bristling black mustache. He is dressed in a loose hide vest, jeans, shirt and boots that were obviously never fashionable even when new, and which since that long-distant time have clearly seen many days' hard work. At the moment he carries with him a general aroma of horse, with a certain additional edge that suggests at least a week of unwashed journeying; on the other hand his nails are clean and he has obviously taken the trouble to shave at some point today. The table at his elbow holds a selection of appetizing-looking meats that smell tantalizingly good. He helps himself, glancing round edgily as if expecting to be stopped, and starts to tear into the food with more enthusiasm than politeness, as if he has not had a square meal in several days. Once the edge is off his appetite, he ventures a foray to the neighbouring stall. Here a handful of party-goers who are obviously old acquaintances are holding a heated discussion on the merits of various types of beer. The stranger rapidly acquires a beer in each hand and retreats out of the conversation back to his corner, where he swallows down the first glass in one gasp, and takes a deep draft from the other while observing the ebb and flow of the rest of the company around him. He's seen some strange folks in his time, but nothing quite like these 'trolls'. They seem harmless enough, though... and after all the notice did say 'ALL WELCOME'. A few of the more confident guests, spotting the newcomer lurking on the edge of the crowd, even try to strike up a conversation without much luck. Still, though the stranger continues to give the appearance of a man whose nerves are on edge, and his hand keeps sliding under the edge of his vest as if to reassure himself by the solid presence there, it gradually becomes plain that he is not so much jumpy as simply uncertain of his reception. --- The avocado troll's large ears twitched. "Excuse me," she said to Ninni, "There's something I must attend to." She wandered over to the large water trough that stood against a back wall, and moved her fingers quietly in the air above it, as if flipping switches that weren't there. The smooth, reflective surface of the water rippled, and the trough's true purpose was revealed: her TARDIS' scanner. Sure enough, her hearing had not deceived her. There *was* a horse on the lawn, and he was looking rather worse for wear. She sighed. The "crisis" with the Flame Bringer had yet to come to a head, and she still had responsibilities as a hostess. Luckily, this year, she had a deputy. She called the turquoise troll. "There's a horse outside that looks like he needs some TLC." The smaller troll started jumping up and down. "A horsey? I *love* horsies!" "Yes, dear, I know... So do I. But this creature may be skittish, so be careful. Bring him round to the other stable in the back -- give him one of the big box stalls. And make sure he has plenty of water." She paused, thoughtful, looking at the creature in the scanner. "Give him some beet mash and oats, too. ... and it looks like he's lame in his right hind leg. You know where the jar of special liniment is?" The little troll nodded excitedly. "Yes, yes, yes!" she said, "I'll make the horsey all better!" The hostess smiled. "I know you will, dear," she said. As her deputy trotted off to make a new friend, she turned her thoughts to the horse's rider. Chances are, he'd need some tlc, too. "Somehow," she thought to herself as she went in search of him, "I don't think he's from the same quadrant of the Fictiverse as the rest of us... I wonder how he ended up here... Still, he may be able to help out. Things sure have gotten strange since the 'newcomer' interrupted our reel." (Since the only flames around were still the multicolored sort from the gremlin repellent, her doubts that he was *really* a flame-bringer were beginning to grow, she was beginning to think that there was something much bigger at stake, and she was getting uneasy waiting to discover what that was -- like the dreadful stillness and heat that hang in the air before a tornado hits). --- Finishing the last swallow of his second beer, the stranger lets his watchful guard slip for a moment as he sets down the glass on a nearby table. When he turns back, there is a squat, grinning green creature at his elbow. The corner of the table lifts sharply and crashes back against the floor as he backs off abruptly. There is a pallid cast to his swarthy skin, and dark eyes, wild-rimmed with panic, are riveted on the waddling thing. His right hand has darted under his vest. For a split second he seems not only insane but very, very dangerous... But the large flapping ears and feet are irresistibly comic. Far from flinching, the avocado-green troll gives him an almost reproachful look. Finally, it dawns on him that the outstretched hand is holding nothing more threatening than a paper bag, half-open, which is being offered in his direction. The troll, observing the confusion on his face, gives him a wide and friendly smile. "Have a jelly-baby?" As if mesmerized, he watches his hand dip into the bag and emerge with a rubbery orange candy. He blinks down at it. He's seen this ritual played out before, on other guests... As the adrenalin rush of surprise fades, he recognizes this creature, and remembers the way the crowd always seemed to centre around the energetic little figure. He knows well enough how to read a room; it's a skill to pick up early if you care to keep your hide in one piece. The traveler jerks his head in a nod of respectful acknowledgement. "This your party..." (he hesitates, taken aback by an unexpected problem, and finally making a resolute guess) "...Miss?" The troll shrugs it off, her grin widening even further (quite some feat!) "This is our second Annual Pro-Fun Troll Hoe-down," she tells him. "You seemed a bit out of it - so as chief Pro-Fun Troll, I came to say an official 'welcome'!" The stranger looks a mite uncomfortable. "'Fun's not really been in my line much so far, I guess," he confesses. "But I'm mighty grateful for your hospitality. I was about all in when I got here." He glances down at his fingers, and pops the jelly-baby into his mouth. Judging by his expression, the flavour wasn't quite what he was expecting. For a moment he looks about set to spit it out onto the floor; then, catching his hostess' eye, he swallows hurriedly, and proffers her a somewhat cautious hand in his turn. "I go by 'Kid Curry', mostly. There's some that say I'm half-crazy, but then I never cared much for any of them either." He brushes his free hand across his mustache in a nervous gesture, looking down at her. "You got a name?" The avocado-green troll introduces herself, and proceeds to name sundry other regulars in the crowd. But after a dozen or so names have spun by her guest is starting to look distinctly overwhelmed and panicky again, and she stops, with a rueful grin. "You'll get the hang of us all in no time," she reassures him, reaching up to award him a pat on the arm and carefully schooling herself not to notice the flinch from her touch that follows. "But if you can manage here now, I really must dash - there were a couple of problems earlier on, and I'm afraid things may have gotten a touch out of hand..." She turns and starts to trot off rapidly, but after a moment she catches the sound of hesitant footsteps following in her wake and halts, glancing over her shoulder in surprise. Almost equally taken aback, Kid Curry meets her gaze awkwardly, a dark stain mantling his cheeks under her searching expression. "If there's anything I can do...?" He drops his eyes, plainly thrown off-balance at finding himself making the uncharacteristic offer. "Helping out's never been my style; but I reckon I owe you one." At the thought of having this unpredictable individual anywhere near trouble, the avocado-green troll's heart sinks despite herself. But there is a queer yearning in the stranger's face - not so much puppy-dog appeal as dawning hope in the gaze of a whipped and vicious stray - and her Pro-Fun instincts get the better of her. A welcoming smile hides the momentary dismay. "Sure, we can always do with extra help. Why don't you come along?" She hurries across the floor back to the assembled Doctors, where the group's activity seems to have become suddenly hectic during her brief absence. One tiny stray corner of her mind, listening to the uneven steps at her heels, finds itself wondering absently meanwhile just how to persuade a paranoid, footsore stranger into permitting her to treat that limp. --- ((Meanwhile, back amongst the assembled Doctors...)) Imran, who's been very quiet during all of this, finally speaks up. 'I /think/... the reason no-one knows what it really is, is so we /can't/ change it in any way. So we can't get the story moving. In other words... someone is trying to stop the story from moving forward.' 'So what we need to do is find out what it really is...' 'Hey! WHAT ARE YOU??' Allie yells. The Flame Bringer turns around from where it's /still/ trying to get the barkeep's attention. 'Tell me who I am. Tell me what I can be. Choose my future. /Because I don't know what I'm becoming.../' 'So *that's* it...' the Second murmurs. 'The Flame Bringer's already changing into something, and it wanted /us/ to force that change!' 'But what's it becoming?!' 'Philip!' the Third commands. 'The APTFP, *now!*' In a matter of seconds, the Doctors are at work on the APTFP. ((Our hostess hurries over, Kid Curry in tow.)) * * * 6. Sailor Gallifrey held captive * * * /No-one seems quite sure what the Flame Bringer is.../ --- Imran was just finishing his theory about how someone or something was deliberately trying to bring stagnation to the story just as the Hostess and Kid Curry arrived. She nodded. "Ninni noticed the same thing," she said. "Said something about dangling story threads tangling up everything to keep the story from moving forward. They're invisible, of course," she added. "But if you focus, you can feel them, wrapping around everyone like sticky spider silk...." She stopped herself before she went off on another tangent. "And it's not just *our* story that's been knocked off course," she said, with emphasis. "This is Kid Curry, and he seems to have gotten lost ... " she paused, then added, as gently as she could, since she knew how embarrassing it is to have people talk about you in third person while you're standing right there (but this fellow didn't seem ready to speak for himself, quite yet). "Whoever he is, he doesn't seem to belong in the Whoniverse. I think whoever is trying to stop our 'mystery guest' from completing his mission is also trying to stop Kid from reaching *his* goal, too." "So maybe," Jo said quietly, as the idea was forming in her head, "the two goals are related." "But how?" asked Philip. "Kid?" she asked, turning to him, "can you remember where you were trying to go (or what you were trying to get away from) before you got lost? Can you remember *why*?" --- For a moment Kid Curry hardly seems to have heard her. He is staring in Imran's direction, with a sort of mesmerized fascination directed, by the looks of it, almost as much at the Bookworm's unfamiliar keyboard as at the squirming purple knapsack-type object still trying to wind itself around his ankles. He shakes his head, blinking, as Our Hostess gently repeats the question and she catches a glimpse of disbelieving wonder chasing across the wary features. "Lost?... why yes, I guess I've gotten myself lost, right enough..." But as the implications of the question sink in, the momentary innocence drains away, sharp nose and eyes coming instantly on guard. "Sure, I remember why. I was on the run after pulling a liquor store job - that good enough for you?" He looks away, unable to meet her eyes despite himself. Then the dark glance shifts again, a brief flicker up around the circle of faces as if seeking an escape. The gathered party guests shift their weight uncomfortably at this news. "Well," someone in the crowd murmurs, "she was right about one thing -- he doesn't belong in a 'Doctor Who' story." "Have you not read many Virgin New Adventures?" asks Daibhid. Everyone, including Kid Curry and the avocado troll, glare at him. "Just trying to lighten the mood. Sorry." As Kid continues laying out the details of his crime and his escape, the guests find they have things to do elsewhere -- important things -- in the far corners of the barn. Only the hostess remains at his side, not taking her eyes off him. As with Lord Gallifrijan, she senses there is a field of confusion around him, hiding his true identity. This time, however, it's clearly self-imposed. So many years of being on the run, of hiding himself from the authorities and lynch mobs had taken their toll. She wondered to herself whether or not *he* even remembered who he'd been, once upon a time. "The old man held out - wouldn't hand over the cash. I laid him out, and he split his skull on the counter on the way down." His mouth tightened. "There was maybe ninety bucks in the whole place - not enough to get your head broke in for, not enough by a long shot... Turns out he had a parcel of sons. Just about everyone in the whole town must have been some kin of his, I reckon. They come after me, ten or fifteen of them. I was a good way out by that time, but they just kept coming." Both hands are clenched now, shoulders riding high. "If there'd been a bunch of us, we might have made a stand; scared them off maybe. But there was just me, just the horse and me, and they all knew that country like the back of your hand. Couldn't seem to shake them, no matter how I tried. By the end I was running blind, chasing this way and that, knowing odds were I'd make a wrong turn and they'd head me off -" He bites off the words sharply on an indrawn breath and catches himself back. One hand tugs at his mustache. "I thought it was a dust- storm. Eyes play funny tricks when the dust gets to blowing; a man can see shapes in the wind, and it won't mean a thing. But even if I'd known - even if I'd guessed I wouldn't come out the far side, at least not in any place I'd ever seen - maybe I'd have gone on through anyhow. Maybe it wouldn't have made much odds." :::A shape in a dust storm, the avocado troll thinks to herself, I'll have to keep my eyes peeled for that on Titan Three.::: His scowl dares the onlookers to comment. "You talk about stories that can't find their way to an end. There was an finish to a story coming up pretty clear and soon back then, and it looked like being mine... a dirty little killing in a dirty little town at the back of nowhere, with a rope's end waiting. Maybe I don't belong here... but just maybe I don't find too much appeal in the notion of going back." --- Kid's shoulders sagged, and his fists unclenched, but the culprit was sheer exhaustion rather than a willing drop of his guard. A voice broke into the silence that followed. "Maybe," it said, "*he's* the one behind this mess. Maybe he's stopping our story to save his own life." The troll shook her head. "No," she answered, quietly, "the trouble started long before he got here. And I don't think, if he were behind it, the effects of his actions could be detected as far away as Titan Three." But her guest had a point. He *did* have a powerful motive to keep things as they were. Even if he weren't the cause at the beginning, he could sure make a mess for them later ... unless she could convince him to work on their side. In the meantime, she had to make sure to minimize the danger to herself and her compatriots. Slowly, gently, as though reaching out to comfort a wild horse, she took hold of one hand, then the other. Kid tensed once more and tried to pull away, but she was stronger (and heavier) than she looked, and didn't let him go. "Daibhid," she said, "I can't reach -- would you do the honors? I believe you'll find a gun in under his vest on the left side. If you would be so kind as to remove it, and put it somewhere safe?" "A *gun*?" Daibhid asked, incredulous. "Well, he *is* a 'Wild West outlaw', after all." Cautiously, and with clear trepidation, Daibhid reached under Kid's vest, and pulled out the offending weapon, holding its handle between thumb and forefinger with a level of disgust usually reserved for a half rotten oppossum found under the porch. Kid tried to resist, but with both hands held fast, and his balance hindered by having only one sound leg, there wasn't much he could do. The troll nodded her approval. "There's a safe beneath the bar," she said. "I suggest we lock it in there until the story is over." Now without his weapon -- the one thing he had depended on to feel safe for all these years -- Kid's defensiveness collapsed. His whole persona shrank in on itself like a three-day old birthday balloon that had been left in the rain. "Come on," the troll said as gently as she could. "I think we should sit down and talk for a bit.." --- The crowd parted to let Daibhid through. Finding his way to the safe he threw the gun in and slammed the door, relieved he had managed this without shooting himself or anyone else. "This is getting too much for me," he thought. "I really need that Irn Bru." Pouring himself a glass of the orange stuff he noted the Rucksack chasing the cats. "I'd better do something about that subplot of mine before it interferes with the story," he muttered to himself. "Not necessarily," came a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw Imran, taking a break from the work on the APTFP. "Remember how that Rucksack of yours worked with me and the typo gremlins? Let a plot thread loose and someone else can pick it up later." Daibhid stared. "There's half a dozen cats running around the BarnTARDIS floor, and possibly more in the other rooms. How's that going to help anyone?" "I'm working on it." "I wonder," Jim says. Several expectant pairs of eyes (and one or two strays) turn his way. "Well, I was just thinking. The Daleks have done wonders with static electricity--they ran a whole city on it, if I recall correctly..." The first Doctor perks up at this. "Yes! Indeed they did, though Susan and I soon put paid to their plans, didn't we?" He taps his nose thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, I begin to see! A sufficient, erm, power source could cause a feedback loop with the source of the authorial disprup, erm, disruption." "Exactly!" "Just one problem, my dear boy," the Doctor tuts, apparently oblivious to the fact that he is addressing a horny troll. "How to harness it?" Swooping in to snag one of the strays with his stubby trollish hand (and surprised to find it takes two hands in his currently reduced circumstances), Jim begins stroking the cat's fur in a soothing manner, and in moments the cat is purring contentedly. A faint crackle of energy is almost visible. Smiling, Jim reaches out to the nearest person and, with a SNAP! and a blue spark, discharges the static electricity. "Zapped," says the fifth Doctor, grinning. "Exactly--and if we zap the source of the disturbance....well, perhaps something will happen," Jim finishes lamely. "In any case, it'll be fun, and the cats don't seem to mind!" --- ((At that moment...)) Allie gasps. 'Allie? What's wrong?' Imran asks. 'Someone's... Someone's trying...' Allie shudders. 'They're trying to stop the story, I can feel it, trying to divert it into pointless action... Trying to stop the creativity.' Imran's eyes widen. 'Stagnation. And Sailor Gallifrey's out of the situation.' He concentrates. 'No. No... No way. No way does the story end here. Allie...' Allie starts flickering. In and out. In and out. 'Imran...?' 'Hold... on...' Imran murmurs. 'Just a bit longer... Fighting the stagnation...' Our hostess turns to Philip. 'Do it, Philip. Someone's trying to stop us from finding out the Flame Bringer's true identity - and trying to stop /him/, too. We have to help him.' 'Hold on. Hold on... Need to keep the story going.' 'Finished!' the Third announces. 'Philip, it's all yours. Activate the APTFP. Speed the Flame Bringer's change up. Before the story can stagnate. *Now*!!' Philip nods, and leaps for the APTFP's controls. --- ((And in Another Place...)) "Let me go, you snivelling piece of rhinoceros pizzle!" A young woman in a fuku was struggling against her supernatural bonds, her unseen captor laughing with glee. "I must admit that while your insults amuse me, your do-good attitude does not. Your meddling in my affairs will cost you... and your friends... dearly..." "I won't let you do this." "However do you think you will stop me?" "There's a way. There's *always* a way." The figure turned back to its 'project.' And Sailor Gallifrey, for the first time as a living planet-entity in a Senshi outfit, began to doubt she could actually do anything this time. "Gods help you, Doctor... because right now, nobody else can," she whispered. --- Allie, her flickering form a bit more stable, gasped. "She hears us!" she said. "Sailor Gallifrey hears us!" "And she's coming to help?" Jo asked, hopefully. Allie's face fell. "No," said. "She's being held captive, and can't break her bonds." "Where *is* she?" "I'm not sure," Allie replied. "But she's with our villain, I think." --- A flash of absolute horror surged through the Hostess, as searing as a flash of lightning, as red as blood. "*No*... Not that --" she said, which, despite being barely spoken aloud, brought all the dancing and laughing to an absolute halt, as every one of the guests turned their attention to her, "-- anything but *that*!!" But Our Hostess didn't even notice. She ran to their "mystery guest" as fast as her short legs could carry her, and tore away at the tangle of sticky story threads that had begun to engulf him like a cocoon. Before long, she saw the hem of an old familiar cloak, and the faint smell of banana daiquiri filled the air around him. "Lord Gallifrijan?" she asked, hope and worry mingling in equal measures in her voice, "is that you?" She was answered with a muffled affirmative. "Quickly!" she called to the others behind her. "Help me get him free. We have to save him!" "But from *what*?" Philip asked. "Someone, somewhere," she answered, "is trying to destroy the magic of storytelling itself!" ((Meanwhile, Jim Vowles had noticed their earlier concern over the stagnation...)) * * * 7. Emergency! - the Reset Button * * * /Jim has a desperate solution to offer for the stagnation.../ --- "I'm sorry, I've been trying to get this bloody hat off my head for the last half-hour," says the Jim troll, interjecting his haberdashified (and temporarily transmogrified) cranial appendage into the conversation. "But I always keep one of these around for emergencies." Emerging fully from the swirly-whirly special effect, he mutters "go on then, go bother someone else" and the temporo-spacial anomaly scuppers off happily. Jim takes a deep breath and pulls a large, leatherbound copy of Hitchhiker's Guide from his voluminous robes. However, the book is a fake, designed purely to hold one object. It is a black box, roughly the size of a paperback novel, and with the same glossy-paper shine to its surface. A dimly glowing red button is set in the exact middle, and gold-scripted alien writing rings the button itself. Below the button, the words "PANIC BUTTON" appear in large, friendly letters, though someone has written "DON'T" above them, using a tin of Liquid Paper. "Behold," Jim says with reverential awe, "the dreaded Reset Button. Rumour has it that a special button was crafted for each season of Trek, allowing writers to conveniently forget all character development, backstory, and any other perceived 'clutter' between stories or between seasons. This is why there are thirty-five stories about Data wanting to be a real boy, several dozen about Worf dealing with his Klingon heritage, and so forth." As the others look on, amazed and somewhat fearful, Jim continues. "This very button holds great power. According to my source, it was used once and only once during all of Trek--at the end of season one of Next Generation." "The one with the brain bugs?" "The very same." A timid hush falls over the room. Jim carefully returns it to the book and lovingly closes the cover. With a flourish, he hands it to the Mistress of the Hoe-down. "My lady, I place this in your care. If you believe it is needed, you may use it. But be warned! I understand that a certain book editor has something similar, and it's caused no end of trouble amongst the fanboys." And with that, Jim folds his arms and beams expectantly at her, awaiting a response.... --- "Oh... FLIP!" This not being the response which Jim was expecting he turns, surprised, to see Daibhid putting a remote-control-sized device with a single button labelled "Deus Ex Machina - Do Not Press" back in the Rucksack. "My big chance to be relevant to the plot," he mutters. "Back to the cat-herding then, I guess." --- The hostess paused in her efforts to free Lord Gallifrijan from the tangled mass of story threads long enough to acknowledge their offers with a smile for each of them. The truth was, she was a tad overawed by the great amount of trust they place in her, but there's no time to let that slow her down. "I don't think we need to go to quite so drastic measures ... yet." She turned back to her task, tearing away at the sticky cocoon with a vengeance as she spoke. "Don't you see?" she asked, "it's been in front of our noses the whole time: first, it was the typo gremlins, then it was the mirage of the 'flame bringer', then it was Yartek. Someone -- or something --" she repeated, "has been trying to stop our story from continuing, and each time --" she paused again while she shook a particularly sticky and nasty mass of dangling plot lines from her fingers "-- each time we've gotten close to discovering the truth," she continued, "an even bigger disruption has been thrown our way. It was the entrance of Mister Kid Curry here," she said, nodding to her reticent guest with a smile, "that finally made it all clear to me. *He*," she explained, "has been taken out of his own story completely. It's not just *our* story that's under attack -- *it's ALL stories EVERYWHERE!* If we don't stop the villain -- whoever is doing this, *we* might end up scattered through American soap operas, or history books about World War II, or show up in some poor family's genealogical record -- or worse, we could simply cease to exist!" "But who would do such a thing?" Imran asked. "Not the Black Guardian again?" "No, I don't think so. I imagine that Eris has him on a pretty tight rein after the mess he caused last year." "The Valeyard?" Daibhid asked. Lord Gallifrijan, now free from most of his wrapping, coughed and sputtered, and spit out the last of his gag. "No, not the Valeyard -- he's actually the one who sent me. He came back to Gallifrey from Titan Three to warn us about some very disturbing anomalies that started showing up in the temporal fields around there. He said you lot would be the best people to ask, since you all saved him last year." "Does that mean that we have to go to *Titan Three* to solve this?" "I'm afraid so," the hostess replied. "But that's the most depressing planet in the galaxy!" "I know -- but all the more in need of some Pro-Fun agitation, right?" She tried to sound enthusiastic as she said this, but wasn't quite sure she succeeded. "But if all the pro-fun trolls get depressed," Daibhid said, "the universe will be doomed!" "I know," the hostess said, "that's what's worrying me." --- ((Then...)) ...for the second time that night, a lightbulb flashed above the avocado troll's head. "The 'Authorial Persona Manipulation Field Projector' --" she asked the Doctors, "is it working?" "Yes," the fifth said. "But we don't need it now, do we? How is that going to help us?" "Here's how!" She snapped her fingers and whistled, calling the one typo gremlin who had gotten to Gordon's collection of fanzines too late to join the orgy. "Here boy! Here ya go, a pair of niece jiucy typos!" As soon as it flew within range, she scooped it up in her party hat and set it down on the APMFP. "There! Now, it's an 'Authorial Persona Manipulation Field *Protector*'! -- As long as the pro-fun trolls join in and become authors, they'll be protected from outside influences, such as depressing atmospheres, and meddling villains.... At least I hope so." Ninni looked at the outlandish contraption. "So this means we can all do things purposefully now, instead of being sidetracked all the time? Good." The avocado troll turned to Philip. "Since this is your pet piece of fictional engineering, I think you should do the honors." "You sure?" Philip asked, a little nervously. "I don't have much experience with this sort of thing." The hostess nodded vigorously. Philip reached out and hit the big purple button marked "on" and a quiet, deep thrumming sound filled the TARDIS. "Right!" the hostess said, heading for her console room. "Time to go to Titan Three. Brace yourselves, everyone!" --- "Excuse me," Ninni intercepted her hostess, "will the transit take long?" "Not at all, not at all. We'll be there in no time." "In that case... If you'll excuse me for a while. I'll be back soon!" All during this conversation she had kept a wary eye on the Master, the happily pot-potting snowgrouse on his arm, whom she had noted was now purposefully making their way towards the Fifth Doctor. She would have to act quickly if she wanted to counter their evil plans. She fairly ran up to the Doctor, grabbed his hand and began dragging him away. "Come on. We have urgent business elsewhere, right now. And then you can tell me all about Titan Three afterwards." ((Meanwhile, the hostess seized her chance to talk to Kid Curry...)) * * * 8. Is Kid Curry really guilty? * * * /The avocado troll slips off to talk to Kid Curry.../ --- Kid let himself be led away as meekly as a newly weaned puppy. The troll brought him to a side room off the main hall and sat him down in the big red armchair where she liked to take her afternoon naps, and pulled up a three legged stool and sat down next to him. "Kid," she said, and waited until his eyes came around to focus on her. "I can only imagine how frightened you must be, and not very well, at that. I know you don't want to go back, and I sympathize. But it's not just the *endings* of stories that are in danger -- it's their beginnings and middles too. Do you want *all* of that to be erased? Think back to your own beginning. Surely, there must be someone there you loved -- a parent, a sibling, a pet..." she paused, and took a chance "...a sweetheart." Kid took his breath in so sharply she might as well have punched him. "Do you want to lose that, too?" she asked, after a moment. "Because it will be lost, unless we do something to set it right." Kid didn't answer, at least not in words, but his gaze turned inward, as though he were focussed on finding his way through the maze of his memories. The troll stroked the back of his hand while she waited for his decision. It was then that she noticed the incongruity. "Kid," she asked, "If you were on the run for your life until the moment you came into the cul-de-sac, when did you get the chance to wash your hands and shave?" He tensed again, the old hostility rising to the surface. "You callin' me a liar?" "No, not exactly, but..." "But what?" "Maybe whoever is messing with your story is messing with your memories as well. Maybe you're not as guilty as you think you are." --- Kid Curry turned away almost violently, staring down at the fingers she held in hers. There was a long silence. Finally his other hand came up, tracing along his jaw where the first rough shadow of beard was only just beginning to show, and he shook his head almost helplessly. "I was down in the valley, that's all I know. Down on the track with my horse sinking under me and the hunt on the crest behind, and the dust- storm came up to hide me, horse and all. And when it was gone... All I remember is, it was night. First it was day and then it was night, and I was in town, but it wasn't any town I ever saw. Where I was, in between, all those hours... I don't know. I just don't know at all!" They made an incongruous pair, the two of them; the drained dark face of the outlaw, hunched in on himself against the winged back of the wide red chair like a straw doll that had lost its stuffing, and the tubby little troll with her feet curled up under the stool beside him. He'd have laughed to see it, himself, not long ago - jeered until the victim turned and drew, or else mocked him for a coward. You had to run with the mob; keep your side up, or be pulled down in your turn. More memories welled up, and he let out a quick half-sobbing breath of laughter through clenched teeth. "I always knew I'd swing some day for what I've done - but not like this. Not for ninety dollars and a man I never meant to kill..." He caught hold of the hand that was stroking his and pulled it towards him, bringing her face up close to his own. "Makes a fine story, don't it? Part of the time you're the hunter and the rest of the time the hunt's after you - not a place to stay, not a friend to trust, not a safe name to call your own. You kill, and kill just to stay ahead, and all the time you're on the run. You take the cash, and somehow it never lasts, and the story goes on - and then you hit the twist. That's the end. "You know it's the end, on account of it makes a better story that way. You don't go down for all the stuff you've done; no, you go down for the one time you tried to do right, or the one time you didn't aim to shoot an old man and maybe should have. But it's the story says that's the way it's got to be - just so as it can end like it ought to, on a twist." He took a deep breath. "But this time it looks like something went wrong, doesn't it? Looks like I got twisted clean out of the noose - out of where I was meant to be. Looks like I got another chance -" "No." The avocado troll is shaking her head sadly. "No, Kid, you can't. You can't leave a story dangling like that. Sooner or later it will start to come apart, and everyone in it - everyone in your past, Kid, everyone who made you what you are. And if you let that happen, then *you'll* start to go. And every story that touches yours. Your whole world, and everyone you ever cared for - even the beginning." Watching his face, she makes another guess. "Even before it all went wrong." Kid Curry says nothing; but the very silence is an admission. The spark of animation has drained out of his face, leaving a stony mask. For a moment she is afraid that she has lost him. "Listen." Her voice is urgent. "What happened to you was a mistake - it has to be. Whoever's doing this, the last thing he could possibly have wanted was to bring you here - to us!" She presses her point as a flicker of interest stirs almost unwillingly behind his eyes. "That must have made your story unstable. He tried to cover up for it, and the whole thing went off-balance. If we can get at the memory of those missing hours, we might be able to get a clue as to just how he's doing it, and work out a way to stop what's going on. We need all the help you can give - and there's a chance -" She breaks off, leaving the words dangling. He takes the bait. "A chance?" --- Her next string of words comes out in a rush. "What I mean," she says, "is that maybe you have someone *else's* story in your memory -- maybe whoever is doing this planted the memory of the murder and the lynch mob in your head in order to get you off track -- in order to get you to run..." "No!" Kid said, violently. "I know what I did. I know what it felt like to hit that old man, the sound his head made as it hit..." For the first time that night, his stony mask was broken, and he began to shake. He clenched his fists to stop the trembling but with little success. "I'm sorry, Kid," the troll said, trying to imagine the horror of having your own story taken away from you. "But you have to admit, it did get you to run right into that Time Scoop without thinking twice." "'Time Scoop''?" Kid asked. "What in blazes is that?" "It's a -- a --" She stopped suddenly. She hadn't realized what she had said until she heard it echoed back at her. Was it really a Time Scoop? Could the Time Lords really behind all this? She shook her head. No, not even they could be so reckless. But she wouldn't be surprised if it was similar technology.... Now, who would have similar technology, and why would they use it? "Think, Kid," she said to the astonished cowboy, not knowing how to answer his question. "Think hard. Back *before* the hit on the liquor store, back before you came to that town. Why did you shave? You were going to meet someone, weren't you? Someone important. Someone you wanted to impress." It was all a guess, of course, but she could tell by the subtle shift of muscles around his eyes that she was hitting close to the mark. She just hoped that she herself wasn't implanting false memories. "Who was it, Kid?" she asked, urgently. "How would the story have gone if you had kept that meeting, and not been swept off course?" She watched his eyes, as his mind traced his steps back into his memory. At last, he took a breath, prepared to speak, when the little turquoise troll bounded into the room. "The horsey's all better, Hoste-- /eep/!" she squealed, in spite of herself, at the sight of Kid. The avocado troll looked from one to the other. The reaction, it seemed, was mutual. If Kid had been ready to say more, he was no longer. She sighed. "It's okay, Dear," she said. "This is the horse's human. He's going to rest here a while." She turned her mind to the other guests. "Do they *all* know where we are going, and why? Have you told the Master, Auntie, Zorak and Phi1ip?" she added, remembering that those four were otherwise occupied when Lord Gallifrijan finally got his message to them. "I -- I didn't want to interrupt them," the little troll said nervously. "I'll do it," the hostess said. "I want to ask the Master about Time Scoop engineering, anyway. I think we may need his help on this." --- Kid Curry watched the two trolls dive into agitated conference. He'd gotten a feeling it could somehow be vitally important to understand what they were talking about - but it just didn't make sense. None of it made sense... Where *was* he? What *was* this place? One hand crept up to rub at his forehead almost desperately, as if trying to erase the furrowed lines knitted there. Valeyard... Gallifrijan... Time Scoop... And the worst of it was, it all sounded familiar somehow. He didn't know what it meant, but he could have sworn he'd heard it before. And that didn't make sense, because he hadn't. He knew he hadn't. He knew where he'd been. He knew who he was - he didn't have to like it, but he *knew*... Only, suddenly, he didn't. Suddenly, he was in a place where stories shifted and changed - where you could remember a murder out of the mind of some other man - where a guy could be framed for a killing he hadn't done, and even he'd believe it - Blind panic was nibbling at the back of his mind. No wonder these folks were scared. But at least they seemed to know what they were talking about. He didn't. He was way, way out of his depth, and he didn't know what to do. For a long time after the avocado troll and her little companion had hurried out, the fugitive huddled motionless in the chair, eyes closed, jaw clenched rigid. Finally and unexpectedly, exhaustion got the better of him. When the avocado troll peeped back a while later, she found that her guest's head had dropped forward against the side of the armchair. His mouth was open, and she could detect a soft but very definite snore. --- She smiled quietly to herself. :::The Napping Chair strikes again! she thought::: Maybe he wouldn't exactly be right as rain when he woke, but perhaps his memories would sort themselves out through his dreams. She took a deep breath. Time to do what she had been putting off far too long. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the milling crowd as resolutely as she could, trying not to notice all the people who wanted her to stop and explain what was going on. "Erm," Imran said, finally, tugging hard at her elbow, forcing her to stop. "We've arrived at Titan Three. What should we do now?" "Sit tight for just a minute longer. There's something I have to do." Going up to the 19th Century Italian Neo-Classical wardrobe, she knocked at the door (With considerable bravery, *she* thought). "Master? Auntie? Cardinal?" she called. "We've stumbled into a major crisis. And we could really use your help!" ((The wardrobe door was ajar...)) * * * 9. In search of the Master * * * /The avocado troll hopes to enlist the Master's help.../ --- The door of the wardrobe gradually fell open with a lugubrious creaking noise, and the sound of the Master's chuckling could be heard echoing around the space inside. Distinctly un-nerved, the troll poked her nose closer to the threshhold. "I can hear someone laughing in there... is that you, err, Master?" The avocado troll gestured to Imran to come close and back her up, and then thinking better of involving him, she turned to him and said, "Whatever you do, don't follow me. This could be very dangerous." With no further ado the troll ventured nervously into the wardrobe. She stepped up through the real-world interface into a large black hexagonal room, familiar roundel patterns on the walls, elements of each echoed in the shape of the metallic black console at the room's centre. A strip of subdued lighting around the very edge of the ceiling provided very dull illumination of the contents of the room: a blank scanner on the wall, an interior door, the console, and off to one side of the room another 19th Century wardrobe. The troll sauntered across to it, and examining it closely, it appeared to be an exact copy of the wardrobe she had just stepped into. After a moment examining the lock of the wardrobe she sensed a presence behind her and spun around to find Imran standing between her and the console. "I thought I told you not to follow me." "Yes, but I borrowed this communicator from Doctor number two - apparently we can patch through to UNIT and call for help if we get into trouble." Imran's face fell. "Of course, that's if it works from inside the confines of a TARDIS." The troll frowned. "Well, at least we have safety in numbers. If two's any better than one. Are you any good with locks, Imran?" "Not particularly, but then these wardrobes didn't use particularly complicated locks! I'll give it a go!" After a few minutes of manipulation, first using a similar type of key to the shape of the lock, and then the antenna of the communicator, Imran finally succeeded and the interior wardrobe's door fell open. "Do you have a feeling of deja-vu?" the avocado troll asked. "You're wondering whether there might be an infinite recursion of wardrobes?" Imran smiled. "For some reason, that thought had occurred to me..." "Unlikely. I think the Master has simply materialised his TARDIS around the original SIDRAT wardrobe. After you," Imran smiled. "Erm... thank you, I suppose!" the avocado troll grinned. The interior of the second wardrobe was much smaller than the TARDIS; done out in rather plainly varnished walnut, and with a greatly diminished control console at the centre of the room. "Hmm, very season fourteen..." muttered Imran under his breath. "What did you say?" the avocado troll asked. "Not a Master to be seen. Nor a Cardinal. Not even an Auntie." Imran replied. "So what do we do now? The Master must be somewhere else..." The avocado troll turned to go out the same way she came in, and noticed a chaise longue in the corner. "That must be the chaise longue of unreasonable discomfort!" she murmured, "We should get out of here..." Cardinal Zorak and Phi1ip suddenly entered the SIDRAT, still with a glazed look in their eyes, bearing silken cords in their hands. "... before it's too late?" Imran glanced at the avocado troll, arching his eyebrows. "When I say run, run!" the avocado troll whispered to him, and looked around. The SIDRAT had no interior door, and Zorak and Phi1ip were standing right in the way of their escape... --- "Oh, heh, heh..." the troll said, trying to look as though making a run for it was the last thing on her mind. "*There* you are! We've been looking for you guys." She backed away as casually as she could. "Listen, there've been a few, erm, 'developments' since you ... er ... left the dance floor, and things are a bit hairy right now --" The Cardinal grinned in a wickedly intoxicated way. "Hmmm... 'hairy'," he said, "I'll get the electric razor!" "Nonono, No, NO!" the troll said quickly, "Th-that's not what I meant. I-I think it's time for a quick recap of the story's main plot points. Don't you, Imran?" "What," he asked, incredulous, "*all* of them?" "Okay, maybe not. The short version then," she said. And then, with a rapid fire delivery that would make a professional auctioneer jealous, she spit out: "The mystery guest (whom we thought was a Flame Bringer) is really Lord Gallifrijan, who was bringing an emergency message to us from the Valeyard on Titan Three, asking for our help. The reason it took us so long to figure that out is that someone or something is deliberately interfering with our story, first with the typo and tense gremlins, and then by making all the dangling plot lines extra sticky. What's more, this someone or something has dumped a spaghetti western outlaw named Kid Curry into our fictiverse, and has thoroughly messed with Kid's memories in the process. But, based on the bits and pieces of what Kid has said, I believe whoever it is has pirated Time Scoop technology, and is trying to undo every story in the multiverse. So I've piloted my TAR-- /EEp/!" This abrupt end to her spiel was brought on by a dark shadow falling across the doorway. Looking toward its source, the avocado troll found herself staring up at the Ainley Master, dressed in full Dom attire, whip and all. "I came looking for my slaves," he said, sounding almost apologetic. "They were taking far too long. ...I only caught the tail end," he added. "Did I hear correctly -- someone is trying to undo *every* story in the multiverse?" "That's right," the troll said, grateful that *someone* seems to have heard her. "And I could really use your expertise on several technical matters." "'*Every* story'?" the Master repeated. "Even erotica?" "Even erotica," the troll replied. "Sorry, boys," he said to Cardinal and Phi1ip, tossing the whip into the corner. "Business calls." Catching sight of their puppy dog eyes, he purred: "Don't worry, when this is all over, I'll make it up to you -- with a vengeance! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!" --- Grabbing the Master by one hand and Imran by the other, the avocado troll hurried out of the wardrobe TARDIS, with Zorak and Phi1ip taking up the rear. A questioning "Pot, pot, pot?" could be heard as snowgrouse Krizu came out to see what all the fuss was about. "Come on!" the troll said, "I have a sneaky feeling that if we don't do something big, this story will be turned inside out!" "By midnight?" Imran asked. "I wouldn't be surprised." As she stepped out of the TARDIS, she was grateful to see that her guests were still there. It had gone so quiet, she was afraid everyone had called their various pet vehicles and gone home. Even though many of the partiers were dozing or milling around glumly, she breathed a sigh of relief. "What happened?" Phi1ip asked, a dazed look of relief and disappointment on his face to be free from the Chaise Lounge of Unreasonable Discomfort. Several in the crowd turned to see who he was talking to, and gasped. "The Master!" Third bristled. "What's *he* doing here?" "That's okay," Fourth reassured him. "We've worked together before, when the universe itself was in danger, and something tells me it's in danger again." Our Hostess nodded. "That's right," she said. "As many of you may have noticed, our story has fallen victim to nearly threat that a story can: typo gremlins, dangling plot lines, out of place characters --" she paused, and waved down her deputy. "Speaking of which, would you go see if Kid Curry is awake?" she asked. "He needs to be in on this." The turquoise troll ran off, returning shortly with a groggy-eyed cowboy in tow. "Good," the avocado troll said, nodding authoritatively. "And now, it faces the greatest danger of all," she continued, "stagnation! Even Imran's muse can hardly withstand the strain." And she indicated Allie, who was now as dark and transparent as a reflection in water. "Allie, no!" Imran cried, running to her side. "Hang on! I can't lose you now!" "I fear it is the same for all the muses throughout the universe -- even the original nine -- and *they're* goddesses! I believe that someone, or some group, is deliberately trying to rip every story in the universe to shreds -- and more than that, to destroy the art of narration itself, so that no new stories can be made." "But why?" someone in the crowd asked. "What does it all mean?" "I don't know," the hostess replied. "But if we don't do something soon, all stories -- both fiction and non fiction, will disintegrate. The Valeyard, here on Titan Three, has detected some strange dimensional anomalies, and he sent for our help. So we're here to find him, and learn more. I need you -- all of you -- to do your best to fight the stagnation you feel, and roll this story onward!" Zorak piped up behind her: "This thing doesn't roll along on wheels, you know!" "That sounds familiar," First said. "Yes, yes... I wonder where I heard it, hmm?" The avocado troll turned to the Cardinal and grinned. "You're a genius!" she said. "*Wheels!* Of course... why didn't I think of that?" She turned to Kid. "We have a bit more traveling to do," she said, "and I'm thinking you'd be more comfortable riding ... naturally ... than jostling along with *this* lot," and she indicated the motley crew around them with a sweep of her hand. Kid gave a brief nod. "Much obliged... Miss," he said. She nodded. Turning to her deputy, she said: "Help Kid tack up, and lead his horse outside, please. I have some ... adjustments to make." She hurried to her water trough console and moved her fingers in the air, as though flipping invisible switches (which is, in fact, exactly what she was doing). There was a brief, mechanical "thrum" throughout the barn, and when it was over, the troll went to the door, to see what the finished effect was. The real world interface was no longer a small grey suburban house, but a full blown circus wagon, led by a team of 12 android white horses with bright purple and fuchsia ostrich plumes adorning their bridles. "Hm. I was going for a wild west stagecoach," she said to herself, "but considering my guest list, this is probably more appropriate." She turned back to her guests to call out a final warning. "Brace yourselves, this will probably be a bumpier ride than you're used to!" she called out. And then she climbed up to the driver's seat. "What's this?" the troll asked, noticing a big red button on the seat beside her. She pushed it, and rollicking calliope music blared all around them. "Of course!" she said. "'Calliope' -- the muse of epic poetry. Of all the Greek goddesses to protect our adventure from here on, *she* would be the best!" She took the twelve golden reins in her hands, and cracked her whip. They were off -- a garish circus wagon driven by a little green troll, with a wild west cowboy galloping alongside. The dust of Titan Three had never been stirred like that before. * * * 10. The Circus Wagon on the plains of Titan Three * * * /As the wagon began to roll.../ --- It took a while for Bokman to notice the change in locale, having been absorbed in a philosophical discussion with Zoe over the nature of rock quarries and their importance to the structure of the cosmos. "I don't understand. Why is moving the party to Titan Three going to help matters?" he asked. "It's the climate," replied Zoe. "Apparently the atmosphere of this planet, though hospitable to humans, is very hostile to Typo Gremlins and other annoyances." "Well I'll be.... Here I thought it was just a remote planet with a few Jocondans running about." "Everyone makes that assumption. That's what makes it such a good planet to escape to in events like this one." "So what now? I haven't exactly been following events." "Neither do I. Be a dear and freshen my drink, will you?" Bokman headed to the bar, listening for any news of what the avocado troll had planned. --- "So," he asked the bartender, as he handed over two tall glasses for a refill of True Millennium Time Bombs, "What's the lowdown so far?" "Well," the bartender said, with a casual drawl, "The guy we thought was a flame bringer is actually Lord Gallifrijan (a real character the party met up with last year when they accidentally got transported to Gallifrey -- I wasn't there, myself, but I've heard the rumors), he brought an urgent message from the Valeyard, who (so I understand) is here for the hermitage that Six never got around to. Apparently, there's real trouble brewing, that only Pro-Fun trolls can handle. So Our Hostess brought us here so we could sniff it out." Bokman nearly choked on his drink. "The *Valeyard*?! Why would pro-fun trolls want to have anything to do with *him*?" "As I understand it, they saved his hide last year when he got tangled up with the Black Guardian, and almost became a tool in the destruction of all of cyberspace. The story goes that this lot here --" and he indicated the whole milling crowd with a nod of his head, "tickled, danced, and water ballooned all the nastiness right out of him. He's on our side, now." "Well, I'll be..." Bokman said, trying to get his mind wrapped around all this information. His efforts were interrupted, however, by a call from Zoe. He quickly picked up the two drinks and headed back in her direction. "Oh, and one more thing --" the bartender added before he left, "whoever is trying to disrupt our story and causing all this trouble has dropped a wild west outlaw into our reality. Real shady character named Kid Curry... wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, myself. He's milling around here, somewhere." --- Meanwhile Cameron was still at the Buffet Table, where the suspicious yellow dip remained untouched, trying to decide between Creme Chocolate Cheesecake or Chocolate Creme Cheesecake. He heard the commotion. "Should I join them?" he wondered. "Should I help them?" "Nah!" And making up his mind, Cameron grabbed a slice of each cake. ---- A groovy troll with a plush Gengar strapped to his head quickly took hold of each of Cameron's wrists and slapped his cake filled hands into his face, leaving Cameron covered in much Chocolate, much Cream and much Cheesecake... [Gordon:] "I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!" ---- Cameron started licking himself like a cat. When he was finally clean, he exclaimed: "Great! Now how am I supposed to decide which cake is better? Guess I'll have to grab another slice of each!" And headed back to the Buffet Table for another slice of each cake. ---- Bokman, noticing the commotion, asked "Where can I get one of those plush Gengars?" "�4.99 from Tescos..." One swipe of a debit card later, and Bokman handed one of the adorable extradimensional plush toys over to Zoe. "Thanks!" she exclaimed. "Normally I don't collect stuffed toys, but I just can't resist this!" The accumulated cuteness of Zoe cooing over a plush toy made Bokman dizzy, and he promised himself that next year he'd tone the self-indulgent companion seduction fantasy down a notch. --- "Hope your Muse is refreshed. Things are going at a fair clip now." :) Gordon looks over at the bouncy castle, where his muse is running around and bouncing like a six-year old on a massive sugar rush. Think Tasmanian Devil then multiply by ten. "Yeah, I suppose 'refreshed' would be one word to describe it..." :) "Woohooo!!! It's great to see you back." :) --- ((Meanwhile, belatedly...)) A distant rumbling could be heard from the cul-de-sac, soon a purple and green camouflaged tank pulled in and ran over a Daihatsu Midget then came to a halt. The hatch opened and out popped a head wearing a furry purple top hat. He looked around the cul-de-sac seeing if he could recognise any of the myriad of vehicles surrounding him. A large smile formed as he spotted a camouflaged u-boat on monster truck wheels parked in a driveway across from him. "I'm in the right place, come Barry we have work to do" The purple-hatted man hoisted himself out the tank and jumped to the ground below him, a black cat soon followed. He was dressed in a baggy pair of combat trousers and trainers. In one hand was a plush Gengar. Barry hoisted himself out muttering something about a rope. He was heavily built with a red vest and a ginger beard, he stumbled out of the tank and proceeded to follow his associate. They both approached the house with caution trying not to look suspicious watching as others entered. Suddenly the purple-hatted man stopped and motioned Barry to his side. "Okay our mission here is to infiltrate the facility without attracting any attention to ourselves. We have no idea what may be inside, god knows what kind of vile experiments are being conducted in the vast underground laboratory facilities hidden below this house." "There must be a backdoor somewhere. Maybe we should find it first," suggests Barry. "No," says the mysterious man, "I have a better idea." The attentions of the occupants of the TARDISbarn are suddenly grabbed by a large bang at the entrance. They turned to see a large pyrotechnic display go off at the barn door. Purple and green fireworks shot all over the barn and two rows of flares lit up from the doors. Inbetween the flares walked two men to the sound of heavy music, one with a purple hat, the other with a ginger beard. The music died down and the mysterious hatted man produced a microphone out of nowhere. He raised his hand to the crowd as if to speak-- A voice is heard from the back of the barn. "Bloody 'ell...it's *him*!" "--Have no fear," he said, "Saville is here." Silence followed, nobody knew who this man was or what he was doing here. Nobody but... "Saville? Why the flip is he calling himself Saville? Maybe he thought there would be some Simons here already?" Gordon walks up to the newcomer, carrying a frying pan in one hand and dragging an unconscious Voord by the flippers with the other. He points the frying pan accusingly. "You're late. I cuss you bad. What took you so long? You been messing around with Mr. T's bins again? Why did you bring Barry? You looking for zombies again?" "Well, I see you're missing the cuddly Gengar from your head..." "Yeah, Yartek ate it..." Simon....sorry, Saville whips his other hand from behind his back to reveal a replacement Gengar which he proceeds to stick on Gordon's head. Gordon drops the frying pan and Voord, and the two figures start grooving mightily. "Funkier than the Mario brothers!" shouts Gordon "Groovier than the Blues Brothers!" shouts Saville (the artist formerly known as Simon) They both shout together, "We are the magnificent Super Dempster Brothers! Ready to save the paramultishiftyverse!" They both grin in an endearingly loony fashion... Barry and Igor look at each other and shake their heads in unison. The black cat that was following Saville and Barry sneaks in and makes itself at home on one of the comfy chairs beside the fire. "So what's going on?" Saville asks. "I'm only just back myself, I believe there's some sort of crisis and we both know what to do when there's a crisis, don't we?" "Panic?" "Well, yes. But this is a pro-fun hoedown, so we take the crisis and turn it into an entertainment opportunity!" "How do we do that?" "Well...." --- ((But elsewhere...)) "No! They're getting too close!" Sailor Gallifrey allowed herself a small smile, despite her fetters. "You can't defeat the Writers, you know. You take something away from them and it makes them want to fight all the more. You of all people should know better by now than to try and destroy creativity in any of its forms." "Be silent!" She screamed as pain coursed through her, blue flame crackling as it licked at her skin. It stopped as suddenly as it began. Her eyes hardened as she glared at her adversary. "You can't kill me. Not while the spirit of Creativity lives. And it *will* survive!" "I may not be able to kill you, Senshi, but I *can* make you suffer..." Through the torture, she fixed her gaze upon her staff, out of her reach across the room, held by a forcefield. If only she could get to it, get out of this infernal contraption... She summoned her energy, and sent her thoughts out to the motley band of people currently travelling in what appeared to be a circus wagon... --- The air was cold and thin, and sharp enough to take a man's breath away as the wagon gathered speed. Kid Curry let the wind blow the last of the sleep out of his eyes, urging his horse up to run parallel with the team leaders as the dust swirled out round the gaily-painted wheels. He glanced back at the swaying wagon, then round at the wide horizon, his mouth unconsciously crooked in what was almost a smile of disbelief. This sure wasn't the way things had looked when he'd ridden in - but it suited him just fine. Out of habit, he leaned back to check that his bag was secure in place. But the worn leather was gone. For a moment, the horse swerved sharply as his other hand tightened unthinking on the reins, and he jerked its head back with a scowl. Of course, he'd left his gear back in the barn along with his coat and hat - Barn? He blinked and shook his head, half-grinning despite himself, and swung the horse wide to steal another glance over his shoulder at the circus wagon. It sure did look real, right down to the curving gold in the riotous tumble of letters on its side, and that green troll was one wild driver. She had the fancy white horses racing flat-out across the plain, bouncing in her seat at every lurch like an india-rubber ball, both hands full of reins and the whip-handle wedged tightly between her large bare toes. Despite the jolting of her perch, he glimpsed through the dust the broadest of trollish smiles. Automatically, Kid Curry pressed the horse further out from the wagon, narrowed eyes scanning back along their trail, until the vehicle was all but shrouded in the following plume, faint carnival music unreeling through the air betwen them. No-one in sight - nothing in sight at all, in fact. Maybe the folks round here lived like gophers, down in the ground, or maybe this territory wasn't exactly inhabited... It wasn't much to look at, and that was a fact. Just bluish dirt that flew up in a fine spray under the pounding hooves, clinging to the horses' legs like a night-time shadow. Blue dirt... He shrugged, not even letting himself start to think about that one. Spurring forward again through the dust, he rode up close to the box and leaned over towards the avocado troll, who looked round as the hoof- beats drew level. "You sure there's nothing round here can hurt us, Miss? We're leaving a trail you could follow all the way from here to yesterday, if you get my drift." "Well," she shouted, over the calliope music, "There's not many people here *to* follow us, except maybe a few atoning hermits, and perhaps a few scientists. At least, that's who're *supposed* to be here... as for those who're *not* supposed to be here, well, I'm tired of them playing hide and seek with us. If they want to chase us down, then at least we'll finally get to meet face to face, and get to *do* something about all the trouble they're causing!" --- The Sixth Doctor came out from the back of the wagon and sat down next to the troll on the driver's seat. "Are you sure this is Titan Three?" he asked. "Positive," the troll said. "Why?" "Well, for years, it's had the reputation for being the most depressing place in the universe... And I'm not feeling depressed. Are you?" She shook her head. "No, I'm not, now that you mention it. Hm. The APMFP, you suppose?" "No, it feels more *general* than that -- as though there's been a change in the air...." "You don't suppose it's the dimensional instability?" she asked, worried. She knew how important it was to stop the disruption of stories, perhaps more than anyone there. But she hated the idea that doing so would replace hope with glum morbidity. The Doctor didn't answer, he was staring straight ahead, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. "Good lord," he said. "What's *that*?" The troll looked where he pointed. Far in the distance, she could see bright flashes of color that flitted and danced like tiny moths caught in a butterfly net. Reaching into a vest pocket, she pulled out a miniature telescope and put it to her eye. When the image came into focus, all she could do was let out a long, incredulous whistle. She handed the scope to the Doctor. He looked through the scope for a long time without saying a word. Finally, he handed it back to her. "Someone," he said, with the tone of someone trying to make sense of a flying elephant, "has decorated that cave with flags and whirligigs!" The troll nodded at him, her grin wider than ever. "The Valeyard?!" the sixth Doctor asked, incredulous. "*Him*?" "It seems that our pro-fun attack on him last year really stuck with him. Come on!" she said, urging her android horses even faster, "we have an appointment to keep!" Just then, the second Doctor poked his head through the wagon TARDIS doors. "Put your team on auto pilot," he said, "and get back in here! The readings on your scanners are all going haywire!". The troll flipped a switch embedded in the reins and followed the second Doctor back inside. "Going haywire?" she asked, following him to the water trough. "How?" "I'm not sure," he said. "... It's not exactly the same, of course, but it gives me the same odd feeling I had that one time I used the Emergency Unit." Jamie, who was at the Doctor's elbow, as usual, nodded. "Aye," he said, "I felt it, too!" The troll looked from one to the other. "You don't mean..." she said, her voice trailing off. But the Doctor confirmed her fears. "The same alien intelligence we *thought* we'd destroyed when we all got hijacked to the Land of Fiction!" ((Thus, inside the TARDIS))... * * * 11 .The plot begins to come clear * * * /The TARDIS scanners are going haywire.../ --- Imran blinked. 'Alryssa?' 'What is it?' the hostess asked. 'Wait... wait, I'm getting something... I can... 'Oh no. Oh no... 'They're back. The Land's creators are /back/... 'I know who's doing this. I know who's behind all this. 'The ones who created the Land of Fiction. The ones who /make/ stories stagnate, as they feed off the entertainment. Feed off the creativity. Their /final/ feeding. Destroying all the stories... 'The Gods of Ragnarok are back. And they're waiting for us.' 'Can't...' Allie's dark silhouette moaned, almost fading from existence. 'No... Not now! Not now...!' Imran's face twisted in pain. 'We have to keep going, we have to keep going.... The Valeyard knows what's going... /NO!/ *NO!!*' --- "It's back *again*?" Bokman remarked, remembering the events of CONUNDRUM but not wanting to break whatever Law of Time that would prevent him from telling the Doc his own future. "But the Land of Fiction is outside the universe, right? How'd the Master get here?" "I took my TARDIS," The Master replied. "No, not you, the other Master." "Bobby Fisher? Beats me, I never knew he could travel through time..." "No, the Master of the Land of Fiction." "Oh. Never mind." After the brief confusion about which 'master' they were talking about, Our Hostess brought them into a small huddle, making sure they were out of First's hearing, in order not to break any laws of time *or* fiction. "No, no," she explained to Bokman, "the one *called* 'the master' by the characters in the Land of Fiction was an ordinary human -- a writer, just like us. He was kidnapped by aliens, and brought to a place outside the dimensions of space or time. The energy of his creativity was used to create the Land of Fiction, but he was ultimately controlled by these aliens. They wanted to use that artificial world as a sort of holding pen for humans so they could take over the Earth without damaging it. The Doctor, here," she nodded toward Second, "along with Jamie and Zoe, foiled that plan. But I imagine those aliens are trying again, with a different plan: instead of trapping us within our own fictions, they're trying to sap our minds by destroying our fictions, for we humans need the structure of stories to hold our minds together and make sense of our world." "But why here, why now?" Zorak asked. "And how are we going to stop them?" "That's what we're here to find out," she answered. --- At that moment... **fusion** Allie and Imran disappeared in a flash of light. One figure reappeared. 'Back. Back...' 'Allie...?' the hostess said. 'Imran...?' Philip said. 'Here... We're... *we're* here.' The figure raised its head. Mismatched eyes. Allie's grey, Imran's brown. Androgynous. When the figure spoke, its voice fluctuated. 'Fusion... Imran... had to fuse...with Allie... Allie...fading out. Had to fuse... body and mind... keep her going. Give her enough energy to stop the stagnation.' 'It's getting worse,' the Second said. 'Worse and worse as time passes...' 'Sailor Gallifrey... somewhere here. On this planet. Needs... needs our help. Someone... needs to help her, get her free. We /need/ her.' Allie/Imran's face tightened. 'Just enough. I have just enough... One last effect...' For a moment, Allie/Imran's figure glowed. A burst of energy flared out, racing out across the sands of Titan Three into the distance. And then they slumped. 'What... what have /they/ done?' Phi1ip asked. 'I think...' the hostess said, 'that *they* - and it *is* they - are trying to help Sailor Gallifrey somehow. They've combined their energies into something that will help her, wherever she is...' "I suppose, in order to find those responsible for this mess, we should follow that energy burst. I suggest we split up," said the Eighth. --- ((Meanwhile...)) In the room where Sailor Gallifrey was being held hostage... 'NO! NO... This is not /happening!!/' Impact. The energy burst exploded. And the forcefield holding Sailor Gallifrey's staff collapsed. On top of the staff, the sigil of the Eye of Harmony, the yin-yang symbol, flared open. Held immobile by the infernal contraption, Sailor Gallifrey smiled. 'You've had... your fun. Now... in the name of Creation...' Her captor span round. The Voice that spoke wasn't Alryssa's. Or the spirit of the planet that lived within her. It was both of them. Both of them... and much more. The voice of Sailor Gallifrey. '...In the name of Harmony. In the name of Fun... 'GALLIFREY STAR POWER, MAKE UP!!' There was a sound beyond that of human hearing, as invisible bonds shattered. A blinding light, swirling Vortex winds howling around the complex cave system where they had held her, deep inside the planet. And just as suddenly, it dissipated. Standing in its place was the living embodiment of Creativity. And boy, was she *pissed*. "I think now would be a good time to say, 'I told you so,' " she murmured to her captor, as she held out her hand. The staff returned to her. The symbol revolved slowly, glowing purple. "They're coming. They're coming here, and they're coming for you." She smiled, a dangerous, knowing smile. "I think it's time I performed a little exchange of energy, hmm?" And with that, she tapped the staff on the cold floor three times. "VORTEX.... WINDS.... SCREAM!" --- 'Anythin' we can do fer *them?*' Kid Curry asked. The hostess looked down at Imran/Allie's prone figure, lying on the floor. Then she looked up at the approaching cave. 'Well... we're just about to meet the man who /can/ help. The Valeyard.' 'But...' The hostess turned to the cart's passengers. '...*you* have to keep fighting the stagnation that's trying to stop this story. If we can push it back enough, it should give Allie and Imran enough energy, enough time, to recover, to fight back ...and remember, somewhere out there, Sailor Gallifrey needs our help. Some of us will have to go and find her, while the rest of us investigate the dimensional anomalies...' --- "Energy?" asked Ninni, who had come up to the group, studiously ignoring the Master's baleful and accusing stare. "Jim has come up with a brilliant idea for generating lots of energy." The Jim troll, carrying a happily purring moggie in his strong arms, interposed "It's dead simple, really. You take a cat, stroke it for a while, and then ... ZAP!" The spark that flew from his stubby finger almost singed a hole in their hostess' best party waistcoat. "Ooop, sorry about that. The power generated seems to be getting stronger all the time, strange... Anyway, since Daibhid and his rucksack has managed to round up all the cats," he pointed to where Daibhid and the Fifth Doctor stood, each with a cat in their arms, in what appeared to be a sea of waving, furry, tails. Many of the guests were beginning to congregate around them, sweeping up their own cats to be petted and cooed over. "We can now generate as much energy as we want." "But how are you going to harness it and channel it where it's needed?" their hostess asked. This idea seemed pretty wild to her, but it might be just what the story needed right now. Limitless energy, to feed all the stories in the world.... She forced her attention back to the matter at hand. "Well," the Jim troll sounded a little uncertain "I *thought* that perhaps the Master could come up with something... and if the Doctors all helped...." "Absolutely *not*," said the Master haughtily, "I will *not* work with those idiots, they will only spoil everything. But if our enchanting hostess," he smiled winningly at her, "would be so kind and lend me the use of her laboratory, I'm certain I will come up with something useful in no time." The Doctors had started stuttering at the Master's words, and now they had all opened their mouths to launch into a long diatribe about the Master's general untrustworthiness, personal habits and hygiene, and sundry other shortcomings. "Don't even think of it!" retorted their hostess, and frowned so sternly at them that the Doctors fell silent. "Of course you may," she replied to the Master. "Anything that will get this story back in full swing again." --- Imran/Allie moaned, shifting slightly. "Imran?" "I think their energy has given Sailor Gallifrey the boost she needs - and in turn, her freedom will give Allie strength," said Fourth. "Although it seems as though she might be occupied with whoever was keeping her hostage..." "All the more reason to split up," murmured the Seventh. "Come on, who's up for watching some fireworks? I hear this Senshi can dish out some real anger when she's capable..." Eighth didn't look impressed. "That's what I'm afraid of." Everyone looked at him. He elaborated. "She's still an unstable entity... she shares a human mind, and she has human faults, and that entity isn't quite mentally all with it yet. Now, she's understandably annoyed that she's been cooped up against her will, by someone who wants to destroy everything she stands for... but with the kind of power they granted her -" "They who?" asked our hostess. Eighth carried on, regardless. "With the kind of power they granted her... she could take it too far. She might even destroy this planet. Her rage could well be capable of wiping out whole star systems, galaxies, even." He looked sheepish as he said it. "What... how... why...?" "It's... complex... can we just hurry up and get moving?" The little troll decided not to push the issue - for now. "Right. Pick your team, Doctor. Er, Eighth Doctor, that is. And we'll hopefully still be in one piece when we meet again..." she trailed off, looking somewhat worried. Eighth nodded... as his fingers crossed behind his back. ((And so the party prepared to split up.)) * * * 12. The search for Sailor Gallifrey * * * /Somewhere on Titan Three, Sailor Gallifrey is dangerously angry.../ --- Our Hostess took a moment to breathe deep. Either there was a drought in the action, or a downpour. She counted off in her mind the things she needed to do: Get the Master and his team to the laboratory, so they could work on finding a way of harnessing the cat energy, divide the remaining guests into two groups -- one to search for Sailor Gallifrey (and, even better, get to her to calm her down before she blew away this entire quadrant of the galaxy), and one to meet with the Valeyard to see what *he* thought was going on, and if he had any better ideas on how to set things right, make sure Gordon was aware of what was going on, so they wouldn't create any holes in the plot by accident. She took another deep breath. Not too much, considering. Taking a giant silver whistle from her upper lefthand pocket, she put it to her lips and blew. :::Twa-WEEEETTT!!!!::: The guests stopped chattering and arguing with each other, and turned their eyes toward her. Gordon stopped shoving cake in Cameron's face. "Okay, ears up, folks!" she called out. "Here's the plan: The Master, and, erm --" she thought on her feet, "Jim and Daibhid will go to my laboratory to work out a way to harness and control the cat static energy," she said. The snowgrouse pot-potted in a disappointed way, but the avocado troll worried that Jim's current horniness and the Master's current kinkiness would combine to form a big enough distraction as it was. "Deputy, you'd better go with them," she added. "Make sure they don't misuse any of my equipment in there," she whispered into the little troll's ears. "The Eighth Doctor," she continued, "will lead the search party for Sailor Gallifrey, while I'll take another group to meet with the Valeyard." She thought a moment... What to do with the First Doctor? No matter which group he went with, he'd be sure to meet up with secrets from his own future. But, on second thought, that was probably true for every one of them -- herself included. She could only trust that their respective memories would block out any information they weren't ready for when the dimensions stabilized again. She sighed. There really was no easy way to figure this out. She glanced at Gordon and Kid. These were the wildcards, fictionally speaking. One because he had been off chasing the Voord, and the other because he didn't belong there at all. Best to keep *them* away from the potential *Boom!* of Sailor Gallifrey. She nodded to each of them. "You will be on my team," she said to them. "And your muse, too, Gordon," she added. "Her energy might come in handy." "Eight?" she asked. "Which of your selves do you want on your team? Once we get that figured out, it will be easier to decide which of the other guests should go where." --- Eighth thought. 'Hmm... Fifth?' Fifth nodded. 'You're remembering Manussa and Deva Loka. Help Alryssa search for her still point. I'll do it.' 'Third?' 'Of course, old chap. If things get out of hand...' 'Sixth.' The Sixth turned round. 'What?!' 'It's either this... or we have you and the Valeyard go through *another* of your interminable shouting matches...' 'You have a point...' Sixth mused. '*Not* you, Seven...' Eighth acidly commented, Seventh grinned. 'Oh, don't worry. With /him/ around...' He jerked a thumb at Sixth. '...it's no problem...' --- 'Aah... ah... ah...' Allie? Imran? unstable fusion's unstable we're resonating Creative impulse, that's me... spirit of creativity's free... resonating. resonating... 'AH!!' Vortex Winds. The Vortex is free... --- An energy ball arced across the landscape, glittering red, yellow, purple... ever changing, shifting, swirling... ...screaming with the voice of the Vortex Winds... ...heading /for/ the cartTARDIS... ...Impact. --- The figure's eyes flew open. 'Uurrrrggghhh...' The hostess leaned over. 'Imran? Allie? Umm.... what /should/ I call you?' 'Bookworm... Just call me...us... the Bookworm, for now...' the figure got out. 'Are you all right?' 'H...Hardly... Tapping into... energy... Sailor Gallifrey's... radiating... I /should/ be able... to move... uggghhh...' Slowly, the Bookworm picked her/himself off the floor. 'Big... trouble... Alryssa... Vortex Wind Scream...' 'What?' 'Alryssa... Alryssa ...transferred some of... her energy.... to us... the Vortex Wind Scream... imbuing the Vortex Winds with a little creativity....whoo...' The Bookworm shook their head. 'Wooo... Recharge. Only a temporary fix, though. We need to take care of the source of the problem...' 'Yes... Before you collapsed, you said the Gods of Ragnarok had created the Land. I thought it was the alien entities who'd kidnapped the Master of the Land... that /they/ were behind this.' The Bookworm smiled ruefully. 'In a /sense/... The Gods of Ragnarok created the computer that maintains - /maintained/ - the Land, and gave it a degree of self-autonomy... well, creates is the wrong word. Adapted is closer... and it had its own agenda. But it had no creativity, since the Gods of Ragnarok have no creativity, which meant it had to kidnap humans for inspiration... But the computer should have been destroyed along with the Land...' 'So are the Gods the same as the aliens?' 'Long answer...' The Bookworm half-smiled. '...Given that the Land's energies are turning up in normal space... I'm at least willing to bet that the Gods were /working/ with the aliens... and the aliens wanted to take over the Earth.. Actually, I'd suspect that the aliens struck a... a deal of some kind with the Gods, to use the Land to imprison humanity.' They smiled. 'Whew. What we'll do for a retcon, huh?' 'So... who's using the Land? Who's sapping creativity? The aliens? Or the Gods?' 'Now /that/ I don't know...' the Bookworm said. 'The Valeyard should have the... oh crap. I know who imprisoned Alryssa.' 'The Valeyard?' the hostess suggested, a sinking feeling in her stomach. 'No, not him... One of the Gods' servants. The epitome of repetition, boredom, dullness, nitpicking, stagnation... the antithesis of creativity.' '...Captain Cook,' our hostess realised. 'But didn't he die when the Psychic Circus was destroyed?' The avocado troll shook her head in quiet admiration, as a new realization came to her. "So *that's* why my TARDIS chose a circus wagon for her real world interface --" she said quietly, under her breath, "it's the battle of the circusses: the circus of creativity versus the circus of stagnation!" And she chuckled quietly to herself. The Bookworm shook their head. 'He fell into the well linking the Circus to the Gods' dimension. I'd suspect the Gods look after their own... even undead explorers...' 'We know /who/. We can guess /why/. But /where/?' The Bookworm looked up. 'I know...' They sketched out a map on a napkin, indicating where the cartTARDIS currently was, and where Alryssa would most likely be in relation to it. 'You're not going with him?' the hostess asked, indicating Eight. The Bookworm shook their head. 'Staying here with your group. I think we'll need all the muses with you... and Alryssa's generating enough energy to keep her part of the story going, at least until her search team get there.' Our hostess nodded, shuddering inside at the thought of the amount of energy Alryssa must have been using for the Bookworm to feel it /here/... 'All right. One team to find and help Sailor Gallifrey, one team here working on how to channel the cats' static electricity, and one with me to meet the Valeyard, and finally find out what these dimensional anomalies are... and who's /really/ behind all of this...' 'So that's you, me, Gordon, Gordon's muse, the Kid, First, Second, Fourth and Seventh on your team...' the Bookworm said, 'the other Doctors on the team looking for Sailor Gallifrey, and Jim, Daibhid, the Master and your deputy researching the cats.' --- Gordon grooves in, grinning inanely... Another figure, wearing a furry purple top hat grooves in with him. "This is my brother. He's currently calling himself Saville for reasons known only to the Mexican Border Patrol." "Hi!" "Our cat (well, I say *our* cat, he merely allows us to occupy his house) is hanging around somewhere, small, black, answers (well, I *say* answers, he'll usually ignore you) to the name of Jones. He may or may not be help on the cat research front. But be careful. He's daft." The hostess nodded. 'Does anyone else want to join a team? Speak up now before we go...' "I notice Barry's not saying much..." 'And speak up soon,' Eighth added. 'We've got to get to Alryssa fast, before she loses control...' The hostess shuddered. --- "I'm staying here with the cat team," Ninni said, and then added in a low voice "Someone ought to keep an eye on the Master. I don't trust him an inch. Not an inch." She hurried off in the direction the cat herders had gone. Auntie's ears pricked up in a way that would make parents cover their children's eyes on seeing them... "Oooh, I'll keep an eye on him... every inch of him." Licking her lips, she hoisted up her skirts... "You know, I don't know whether to feel sorry for the Master or insanely jealous of him..." Gordon piped up as he grooved past. Auntie waved happily to the grooving Gordon, for it is always a Good Thing to see someone grooving mightily, winked, and handed him a business card. "Peepshow?" Gordon's eyes boggled. Throwing a mighty Moonwalk spin on the floor, he started grooving towards the black peepshow box, behind which Phi1ip and Zorak were hiding...;) --- Cameron got up from his seat, stretched lazily, and yawned. "Mewoooooooow!!!!!!" Cameron looked around to see where everyone was going, and said "I'll join the cat team." He stalked lazily after them... --- Nyctolops added "I'll join the cat/static electricity research team to see if I can help. I'm all furry myself this time around. "Good," the hostess said. "Can you find your own way to the laboratory? There's a bit much going on right now for me to play tour guide. Just keep your ears perked for the Master's 'Bwa-ha-ha!" "I think I can hear him now," said Nyctolops and scurried off down a corridor. --- One of the guests says, "Has anybody seen Lord Gallifrijan? He was here a moment ago..." "Here I am!" Lord Gallifrijan said, coming through the doorway that led to the pantry. "I was just checking on your supply of bananas; I thought I'd bring my speciality to the party." "But we don't have *time* for that now!" Our Hostess said, exasperated. Lord Gallifrijan looked crestfallen. "How about later," he asked, "after the good guys have won?" The avocado troll didn't have the heart or the time to express her worry that the good guys might not win, this time. "Okay, fine," she said, "you stay here and prepare the celebration party." Of all the Gallefreyans she'd met over the years (including all 8 incarnations and the one inbetween incarnation of the Doctor), Lord Gallifrijan seemed the most flighty. Best to keep him out of danger, she thought. ((Meanwhile, things were starting to get on top of Kid Curry.)) * * * 13. Kid Curry demands an explanation * * * /The Hoedowners prepare to separate into three parties.../ --- As the milling crowd of guests began to split up, the members of the various search parties sorting themselves out from those who were heading back to the tables or trying to resume an interrupted conversation, Kid Curry backed off, tensing, only to find himself engulfed in the general confusion. Crowds had always made him jumpy - and too much was happening too fast. In the course of a few moments' jostling he had lost his bearings altogether. He stared round with eyes that darted somewhat wildly in a vain search for the squat figure of the avocado troll amongst the mass of shoulders and strangers' faces. He had to stick close to her. He'd gathered that much from the talk, and besides she was the only one who'd thrown out any hints as to just what had brought him here... And though he didn't admit it, the little creature was, besides, the only one of all the strangers that he'd let himself even come close to trusting. Finally he caught a glimpse of the group he was supposed to be joining, only a few paces away, and swung round to plunge forward through the crowd. At the same moment a large and truculent Doctor began to make a move in the opposite direction. The collision almost knocked Kid Curry off his feet. The Sixth Doctor reached out a long arm to grab his unfortunate assailant by the shoulder, swinging him round. "Is there some kind of problem?" he demanded, staring down his nose at the shorter man. "Maybe there is." The outlaw pulled free, bristling. "Maybe for a start *you* can tell me who the Valeyard is - and this female Sailor Gallifrey!" 'Do you /really/ want to know?' 'Yeah.' 'Hey! Hey...!' the Bookworm said. 'What's going on?' 'That's what /I/ wanna know... are you a guy or a gal?' 'Just call me pardner...' the Bookworm sighed. 'If some people would /look/ further than the end of their own noses...' Sixth began. 'Not now! There isn't time for a testosterone contest...' the hostess said, tugging at his sleeve. 'You've got to get ready to look for Alryssa.' The large Doctor paused. 'Yes. Yes, of course...' He eyed the outlaw warily. 'But I'd advise you to be careful. A lot of things can happen...' 'A lot of things did...' the Kid replied. The Bookworm winced. 'Eeghhh... That was most /definitely/ not fun.' They looked to the Kid and the Sixth. 'Hmm... cream pies at high noon...' 'That fella looks like he /ate/ most of 'em...' the Kid observed. 'I wouldn't bring that up around him...' the Bookworm said. '...What was it you wanted to know?' 'Who're these people we're going after? This Valeyard fella an' that Sailor Gallifrey... Who are they?' The Bookworm raised an eyebrow. 'People never ask the simple questions any more... The Valeyard is the Doctor.' 'Another o' those "incarnations"?' 'Sort of... He /used/ to be the embodiment of the Doctor's evil, from far, far in the Doctor's future, inbetween the Doctor's twelfth and final incarnations...' The Bookworm frowned. 'We're still not sure exactly what that means, though... Anyway, he came back in time to the Sixth's time, and put his past self on trial.' 'Wait... he was the judge *an'* the accused?' 'That's what the Doctor said...' the Bookworm said wryly. '/Apparently/, he was after his previous self's lives - don't ask, yes, it is a contradiction in terms, how could he exist if he steals his lives *then*... Eventually, he settled for taking over another Time Lord... 'Then, after the first Pro-Fun Hoedown last year, he chose to renounce that and retire to Titan Three, where he's been for the last year.' 'Don't sound like a pleasant fella to be 'round...' the Kid observed. 'That's what /he/ thought,' the Bookworm said. 'Which was why he went into seclusion, to think about things...' 'An' /he's/ the one who can tell us what's up with these anomalies...?' The Bookworm nodded. 'Hmm...' the Kid said. 'An' this Sailor Gallifrey?' 'Another long story...' the Bookworm said. 'Basically, a year or so ago our time, the Doctor's home planet, Gallifrey, was destroyed, its history constantly rewritten in the moments before it blew up.' 'You mean... the Doc's homeless?' 'Yeah.' the Bookworm said. The Kid looked over at the Doctors, his face unreadable. 'Know how he feels... Go on.' 'Okay. This gets a bit weird round here. Bear with me. When Gallifrey was destroyed, someone - or some/thing/ - preserved its spirit, spoke to it. They asked the spirit if it - if /she/ - would fight against the stagnation and corruption that had brought about her and her people's destruction. 'She accepted. 'But in /order/ for that to happen... they had to bond her to a human host, body and mind, link her to a human consciousness and physical form...' '...This Alryssa you keep talkin' 'bout.' The Bookworm nodded. 'Alryssa's the host. Sort of like our - Allie and Imran's - current situation. We're sharing the body and mind... but the bond's unstable.' 'Sorta like a shaman thing. The shaman speaks to the spirits... 'cept in this case, the spirit's ridin' the shaman.' 'Close enough,' the Bookworm said. 'So... when Creativity is threatened, Alryssa becomes Sailor Gallifrey, champion of Creativity. And her clothes change into a sailor outfit. /Don't/ bring it up if you ever meet her...' 'An' /as/ Sailor Gallifrey... she got enough power to level a galaxy.' 'At least.' The Bookworm frowned. 'Problem is... we don't know who gave her her power, or who made the deal. The /Doctor/ does, but he isn't talking...' The Bookworm felt a Doctor's glare bore into its back... and studiously ignored it. 'Mmm.' The Kid looked deep in thought. 'Spirits usually ain't my thing - better to leave them be, most of the time... This Valeyard, tho'...' The Valeyard... He scowled again, biting at his mustache. That name just kept ringing a bell, and he didn't know why. Didn't seem to recall where he'd heard it, or when, or even if. Not the sort of name you'd think you'd forget any too easy, either - sounded like some kind of stock pen, but it meant a man. And no, not even a 'man' - and just how, for crying out loud, had he known *that*? --- *You can't kill them.* *Why not? They were all too willing to try and kill me - * *This is not what we are. This is not what we stand for.* *I shall have my revenge, damn you! I never wanted to be your host! I never wanted all of this! Take this stupid war and find someone else's brain to share! Maybe if I destroy them you'll go away and leave me in peace!* Across the room, his equipment in flames, Captain Cook dared a peek over the smoking remains of a table. The being known as Sailor Gallifrey, champion of creativity and originality, was frozen, immobile, fighting an inner battle with her own mind. And it looked like the angrier side might well be winning... --- Our Hostess bustled about, sorting out which guests would go on which search, her mind on a million things at once. Foremost among them was how the Eighth's party would travel, once they split up, since his TARDIS, along with most of the others, was parked back in the suburban cul-de-sac. The Master's wardrobe TARDIS was here, of course, but she doubted he would agree to lend it to the Doctor. And even if he *did*, she was doubtful the Doctor would be able to pilot it, since much of TARDIS engineering depended on telepathic links. There was Auntie Krizu's peepshow box TARDIS, but she made it very clear that she was allergic to anime fiction, and had opted to go see the Valeyard. The best thing, she decided at last, was to split up *after* they'd all gotten to the Valeyard's cave (they were nearly there, anyway), and she'd lend the Eighth her Circus Wagon TARDIS ... there was still the problem of telepathic links, but it was probably a smaller glitch than it would be if Compassion hadn't bonded with her TARDIS a year before. That decision made to her satisfaction, her mind returned to the puzzle of Kid Curry, the way a tongue returns to tease a loose tooth. He was understandably confused by the Valeyard (as were they all), but he seemed completely unfazed by the Doctor -- neither by the fact that he came from another planet, nor that this motley group of eight men were in fact the same person (something many of the Doctor's own companions had trouble understanding)... He didn't even blink when Bookworm mentioned that the Valeyard was one of the Doctor's "incarnations". It was little things like that that were out of sync with Kid *really* being someone from the 19th Century American West... So who *was* he? And why was his story tied up with theirs? ((At this point, the Circus Wagon was fast approaching the Valeyard's cave...)) * * * 14. Arrival at the Valeyard's cave * * * /The Circus Wagon approaches the cave at high speed.../ --- The wagon lurched suddenly, worse than before, and slewed sideways for a moment as if the wheels had hit a patch of gravel. There came a brief lull in the conversation as, all around, party guests caught their balance with a grab at whatever was nearest; Bokman grabbed Zoe - who, it had to be said, didn't seem too upset... There were a few glances towards the front of the wagon, where the glimpses of sky through the open doors had given place to a view of the side of a cliff-face approaching at considerable speed, but somehow no-one seemed worried. Without taking the time to notice the others' reaction, Kid Curry was already scrambling back out onto the box of the wagon, where the reins lay slack on the seat. They were very close to the cave now, with its incongruous dressing of flags and streamers twirling in the breeze, but the twelve horses didn't seem spooked by the dancing scraps of color - nor by the rock-face, now closing at dizzying speed. The team just kept dashing flat-out towards the side of the cliff. Kid Curry's own brown, galloping free alongside the others, had lathered itself into a sweat with the excitement of the riderless run. The white horses weren't even breathing hard. They hit another patch of gravel, and the brown propped and slid, swinging in briefly close to the box as it struggled to keep its footing. For a moment, as the wagon rushed towards the rocks, the outlaw almost leaned out to grab a handful of mane again and jump free. Instead, not quite sure even himself why he'd let the chance slip, he grabbed for the thick mass of reins on the bench where the troll had left them, trying desperately to remember what she'd done before leaving the team to its own devices. There was some kind of switch... Something hard moved beneath his fingers as he caught up the bundled leather, then moved again as he tried to rein in. He didn't know if that was right or wrong. Didn't have time to think about it. There were ways and ways of pulling up a twelve-horse team, but most of the ones he'd ever known had involved being out in front and getting the *driver* to do the stopping... --- The unwieldy circus wagon came to a decorous halt in the very entrance to the Valeyard's cave. The loose horse, trotting alongside, lipped curiously at a whirligig and snorted, ears flattening abruptly as the little windmill blurred into an answering spin. The guests started to pile out, looking round curiously at the gaudy decorations that adorned what were, on the face of it, unpromising surroundings. Clambering down in his turn, Kid Curry leaned briefly against the side of the wagon, eyes closed, and let his breathing slow. "I'm not sure that was actually necessary, you know..." the Bookworm said, rather diffidently, from above, examining the settings of the auto-pilot switch in the discarded reins. Kid Curry directed a wordless glare upwards at the driver's seat. Reaction was catching up with him; after a moment he was almost overcome by the insane desire to giggle. "Yeah, well, you might've told me..." '...Well, I don't know /everything/...' the Bookworm said, grinning. Then it/they looked around, head swinging back from side to side. 'Hey, you okay?' The Bookworm shook its head. 'I... I don't know. I just... Creative revenges. I'm coming up with creative revenges... ' The Bookworm closed its eyes. 'We're up the creek without a paddle, aren't we?' 'Yes.' the Bookworm said. 'I - we - we're resonating with Alryssa, with the energy she's giving off... at least, I think that's what it is... I /hope/ that's what it is, but I wish I didn't... and right now, what she's thinking of - what she's /radiating/ - is vengeance. She wants someone to /pay/...' 'For what?' the hostess asked. 'For... I don't know. Hurt... anger... pain... she wants it all to /stop/, and someone to pay for hurting her...' 'Oh no...' the Eighth breathed. 'Oh no. If she goes all out... if she loses control...' 'Resonance...' the hostess murmured. 'You're resonating with her. Could you - both of you - could she resonate with you?' 'If that worked... She'd... she'd pick up what I felt, what I radiated. But the anger's consuming her. She could choose /not/ to act on what I radiate, not to feel it... I'm fighting it, I'm fighting it... bleedover. /I/ want revenge on something... but it's not my emotion. That helps me block it out. It'd work the other way... because it's not her emotion, she'd block it.' 'But you /want/ to block her feelings...' the hostess said. 'You /don't/ want to feel revenge.' The Bookworm slowly smiled. 'No. No, I don't.' 'Then what /do/ you want?' 'I want to be free. To create what I'd like to create. To have fun, to enjoy myself... and to be free from the pain... and not to kill anyone.' The Bookworm blinked. 'Wait... I /always/ want to not kill anyone. Why are - am - I feeling... oh. Oh, I should have /remembered/... It's not just Alryssa...' 'Gallifrey.' the Eighth said. '/She/ doesn't want to go ahead with this - the two of them are at cross-purposes...' 'But who's going to win?' 'Hmm...' The Eighth slowly smiled. 'Try resonating.' 'Huh?' 'Resonate with her. Try it.' --- There's a place inside... ...the link's unstable, the bond incomplete... ...creativity, emotion pouring through... ...push back, push through, to the point where they join... ...where one unstable link resounds to another... ...anger and hurt and I just want my /life/ back... ...I want to be free and I want to create... ...they hurt me, and I hurt them... ...and they hurt you. Or someone else... ...feedback loop... ...hurt everyone else so they never hurt you... ...creates /nothing/, creates fun for no-one... ...fun... that's what they want to destroy... ...making me like them... ...you're making you like them, Alryssa... ...Gallifrey...? ...do this... ...they /hurt/ me... ...and that's what they expect you to do to them... ...expect...? They expect...? ...they hurt me... I want them to hurt... Do you? --- The staff clattered from Sailor Gallifrey's hands to the floor. She didn't notice. 'Do I...? Do I want that? I want to, but I... I... hurt... so angry, so /angry/...' She looked up at the Captain, her face a mask. 'Go. /GO!/' The Captain got. She raised her hands up, not seeing them. 'What... what do I /want/...?' --- 'Milkshake?' the Bookworm said. Then it blinked. 'Want...? Ah...um... is anyone else wondering about where they're going in life?' The partygoers looked at each other, then, as one, nodded. '...Oh good. Existential crisis.' The Bookworm blinked again. 'Only here could I say something like that...' 'She's in an existential crisis,' the Eighth deduced. 'She'll be calmer, but...' '...we've got to get to her.' the Fifth said. The hostess nodded. 'All right. Now we're here, we can split up. You take the cart and find Alryssa - *fast*. Before something else happens. Something we /can't/ stop.' The Eighth nodded, and took the horses' reins. Third, Sixth and Fifth hopped back into the cart (they'd managed to reattach the loose horse). 'We'll meet you back here.' Eighth said. The hostess nodded. Eighth cracked the reins, and the cart rolled off. 'He's good.' the Kid observed. The Bookworm raised an eyebrow. The hostess clapped her hands together. '... and now, we're off to meet the Valeyard.' And so saying, her group set off into the cave. --- The Valeyard was in the main chamber of the cave, sitting in a lotus position, doing a crossword puzzle. "Fourteen letters," he murmured. "Begins with S..." He looked up and saw the motley party standing in the cave mouth. He smiled, stood up, and walked over to meet them. "It's you!" he said, sweeping the avocado green troll up in a hug. "This *is* a pleasant surprise," he added, putting her down again. "What brings you to this desolate part of the universe?" The troll looked concerned. "But... didn't you... Lord Gallifrijan said..." "Lord Gallifrijan? What's he doing in this time zone?" The troll rallied. "He said *you* sent him. He said you'd gone to Gallifrey with a warning about some worrying temporal anomalies, and sent him to ask for our help." The Valeyard shook his head. "Lord Gallifrijan belongs in the time of Rassilon, remember -- millions of years ago. If I'd sent a warning to Gallifrey, it would have been to Gallifrey in my own time." "And you haven't sent any warnings to Gallifrey?" "No. I don't have any means of communicating with Gallifrey here, and even if I did I wouldn't use it. The Time Lords don't know where I am, and I intend to keep it that way." The Seventh Doctor looked knowing. "Still not happy that you tried to wipe out the High Council, eh?" The Valeyard nodded. "If I wanted your help, I'd contact you directly. And, pleasant a surprise as this is, it's still a surprise." "So, no temporal anomalies, then?" "I haven't noticed any, but that doesn't mean much; I spend a lot of time in my cave, meditating. The person you should ask is Lord Gallifrijan. Where is he?" The troll thought for a moment. "I left him in my TARDIS, making banana daiquiris." "I assume your TARDIS is parked outside?" "No, the Eighth Doctor took it and some of the others to look for Sailor Gallifrey." The Valeyard looked confused. "*Sailor* Gallifrey?" "Long story," said the Bookworm, stepping forward. "It began when... actually, I think you'd better be sitting down for this..." ((But as they talked, little did they know there had been a traitor in their midst...)) * * * 15. A traitor in their midst * * * /Meanwhile, in the Circus Wagon.../ --- The Pro-Fun circus wagon rolled out across the landscape. After a while, the Eighth Doctor put the horses on autopilot and went inside to have a conference with himself. "Since the Bookworm decided to stick with our hostess," he explained to his earlier selves and the small group of party-goers who weren't either visiting the Valeyard or somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS helping the Master and Jim with the cats, "we can't rely on him/her to show us the way to Sailor Gallifrey. We'll need to build a tracking device of some kind." "The work of a moment," said the Third Doctor confidently. "But it will still take valuable time to reach her travelling through normal space," said Lord Gallifrijan, somewhat indistinctly through a mouthful of banana. "Why don't we just use this TARDIS to travel there directly?" "Because we don't know where 'there' *is*," snapped the Sixth Doctor. "I do," Lord Gallifrijan said, negligently tossing the banana peel over one shoulder. Everybody stared at him. "Why didn't you say so before?" asked the Eighth Doctor, eventually. "The time didn't seem right," Lord Gallifrijan shrugged. He reached under his cape and produced a large ray gun. A smile crossed his face (which, everybody noticed for the first time, was actually a rather unconvincing latex mask). "But now, with our happy group diminished in number, I think I can keep you all under control..." --- ((The Eighth Doctor blinked...)) Eighth sped the horses up as fast as he dared, blinking as the sharp wind stung his eyes. The Bookworm helped direct position, gazing into the middle distance. "What are you getting now?" he asked after a few minutes, the only other sounds the horses' hooves pounding the ground, and the wagon wheels creaking as they rolled. "Despair. Discord. Apathy." Eighth's mouth set in a line. "How much farther?" "Not... too far. Caves." The Bookworm pointed up ahead. The Doctor saw the outcrop of rock wavering in the heat haze, and snapped the reins again. --- Sailor Gallifrey sank to her knees in the cold, dank cave. First one voice spoke, the voice of a young woman frightened by an unbearable responsibility. "Why me?" A second voice issuing from the same lips, calmer, more stable. "I cannot say. They made an offer that I accepted. I had no idea at the time that it would involve fusion of any kind." "I know I wanted to be part of something important, but... I never wanted this. Am I stuck with you in my head now for the rest of my life?" "Our life. And, I'm afraid to say, immortality comes with the package..." "Oh gods! So I'll never be free..." "Why do you insist on seeing this as an punishment?" "Because I must have done something wrong to deserve it, or they would have had the common decency to *ask* me first!!" The rage welling up again.... NO! I won't let you control me. I WON'T! I do not wish to control you, merely join with you. But I cannot allow you to inflict harm, even upon yourself. I can't... can't... --- The circus wagon came to a shuddering halt in a cloud of dust. It hadn't even stopped moving before Eighth had jumped down, Bookworm in tow. "Quickly! We're running out of time!" Bookworm shouted. Eighth led his team into the cave system. And then, before he had taken a dozen steps, he slowed his pace and stopped. He turned to Bookworm. "Wait a minute, he said, slowly. "*You're* not supposed to be here! *You* had chosen to stay with Our Hostess's team, consulting with the Valeyard!" These words were barely out of his mouth when "Bookworm" and all the others of his team, flickered and went out. The Doctor was alone. An evil "Bwha-ha-ha!" echoed through the cave. The Doctor looked back toward the circus wagon, standing in the brilliant sun. *It* seemed solid enough, but the little brown cow pony (which he was sure he had hitched to the wagon himself with the twelve whites before they left) was nowhere to be seen. "That's funny," he thought to himself, "Why did I hitch a saddled horse to the circus wagon in the first place? There's no place in the harness to hitch a thirteenth horse anyway." Then a second wave of confusion swept over him, which made his thoughts about the pony seem as small as a ripple in comparison. He could have sworn that he'd put the android horses on autopilot and went back inside to consult with the others about constructing a tracking device to find Sailor Gallifrey/Alryssa. So where -- *who* was he? It was like watching himself dreaming -- one eye on his "real" self, the one doing the dreaming, and one eye on his "dream" self, battling fantastic monsters, and running down corridors that never had any end. One was real, and one was the illusion. But the only problem was, he didn't know which was which -- he didn't know which thoughts to fight and which to embrace. I wonder, he thought, with a stray corner of his mind, if this is how Alryssa feels all the time. Alryssa! He had to get to her -- and quickly! But how? He was trapped inside -- .... "Aah!" The Doctor's eyes flew open, searing pain racing from one temple to the other, and down his spine. "That gun!" he shouted, as he struggled to reached the figure in the Lord Gallifrijan mask. "It's shooting a disorienting ray -- you must all fight it!" --- "So let me get this straight," Our Hostess said, dread welling up inside her and almost blocking her ability to speak. "Half of the Doctors, half my guests, and the Master, are trapped in my TARDIS with someone who may want Alryssa / Sailor Gallifrey to blow up this entire galaxy?" "At least," the Valeyard said. "Having Alryssa blow up the galaxy may be only the first step to an even bigger, even more evil plan." "And we are totally without transport, except for one cow pony..." Before the Valeyard could answer, the Second Doctor, Jamie and Zoe all cried out at once and pressed their fingers to their temples. "No," the Second Doctor said, moaning, as if arguing with a voice inside his head. "No! I won't let you do this -- not again!" --- I /can't/ do this. Not for forever. Not immortal. It hurts /me/. This... this hurts me. I know. I... ...It hurts you too, doesn't it? ...Yes. Then why...? ...I can't let you hurt someone. Can't let you hurt yourself... Can you stop me being hurt? No. I never claimed I could stop it. But I don't want to cause any more pain...not after... ...ssh. I know. I know. It wasn't your choice. It wasn't my choice. Neither of us were to blame... ...then who do you blame? Them. They imposed this on us. They didn't ask. Didn't say "hey, you want to do something important?" Simply stuck us with the job. And what would happen if we set that job down? I don't know. Worse? Better? But I'd have my life back... oh no. Yes. I know. I would pass on. Do you want to...? Not... not now... I wouldn't have my life back, would I? This would always have an impact... Yes. I can't change what's already happened. But I can change what's going to happen. If I'm going to have an impact, then /I/ choose how it affects me. /They/ may have made the choice. But I'm the one who lives with the consequences. And I'm not going to destroy myself just to show them why they shouldn't have done this. I want to know why they did this. I want to know. I want... --- The staff rose off the floor. 'I want to find out.' Sailor Gallifrey whispered. She looked, truly looked, at the large cave again. She squinted, as if trying to see beyond the damp stone. "Dimensional shift," she muttered. "Not very well hidden, when you know what you're looking for..." She reached out and touched the stone. The walls shattered into oblivion. And once more, she was in the place she had been brought to - before this had all begun. Before she had been... fused. "Full circle." She lofted an eyebrow. "Come out. I know you're here." A shape moved in the darkness. "So you have found your way back to us, Senshi." "Why are you doing this? You tried to destroy *me*... a being you created!" "It was not our idea. We were simply coerced into carrying it out. Of course, there are always those who will agree and those who disagree with its... results...." The leering tone in its voice made itself clear. She set her jaw. "So you thought it a nice tidy little operation if I doubted my abilities, my strength, my friends, and took myself out? How convenient." "There's still time for that, my dear. Right now, your friends are wandering about in the menagerie. Including that infernal Doctor... in more than one of his incarnations." A screen materialised, seemingly out of thin air. She could see the troupe in the 'caves.' They were in trouble. She went to reach out to the image, but it vanished. "What are you going to do with them?" she demanded. "I simply propose a bargain." She didn't like the sound of this, but these were lives at stake... "Go on." --- 'The computer...' the Bookworm whispered. 'I will /not/ let you do this!' Second hissed. 'Not again! I will /not/ listen to you!' 'What does it want?' Seventh asked. 'It wants me to go outside. It wants me to go to my friends. /Not again/...' 'Because *it* would be waiting for us outside...' Seventh said. 'And it wants that...' Fourth said. The Valeyard's face darkened. 'No. No. I have no intention of giving /that/ any satisfaction... Come with me.' He stood up, and walked deeper into his cave. Supporting the Second, Jamie and Zoe, the others followed. --- A hand reached out and grabbed the masked figure. '/No/.' the Sixth said simply. 'No. I have walked in the Matrix. I have faced the illusions of Varos, and the fantasies of Astrolabus. My mind was tampered with, far too many times. /Not again/.' He twisted the gun out of the masked figure's hands, dropped it to the floor, and stepped on it. The others blinked, and shook their heads. '/That/ was particularly nasty...' Third said. 'Who are you? Why have you lured us here? *What do you want?*' 'You would come. You always would come. We simply had to get your attention. Now you are here. You, who fight for the cause of diversity. Individuality. You are trapped here, unsure of what is real and what is not, of what can be trusted. A prison of our making. A prison we control. Even what I say now... how do you know it is true?' the masked figure hissed. 'How can you fight... when you do not even know where we are? Who we are? What we want? Even if Gallifrey does calm herself, does find you... you remain in our trap. Our cage. And you cannot even see the walls. Our plans unfold. Watch, then. And learn.' The figure dissolved, leaving only the mask, which fell to the floor. 'I /hate/ this...' Sixth murmured. 'Now we're in The Prisoner... 'Say. Nothing.' he told Third, who'd already opened his mouth. 'What now?' Fifth asked. 'Now...' Eighth's face shadowed. 'Now we find...' Something fell out of his pocket. 'The Bookworm's map...' Fifth murmured. 'The one you got back before we split up...' 'Can we trust it?' 'It's all we have...' Eighth said. 'Let's go and find Alryssa.' --- The Master raised his eyes from the tangle of electric circuits he'd been studying, and let the jeweller's loupe fall from his eye. "Sh!" he said to the others. "Do you hear that?" "I don't hear anything," Daibhid said, after a while. "Exactly!" the Master said. "It's far *too* quiet. "Even when the whole universe is in danger, those silly fools can't keep still for five minutes! Come on!" As the group came around the corner into the party hall, the found the dance floor nearly empty. A deserted rubber mask and crushed ray gun lay on the floor in front of the bar (a carelessly discarded banana peel was nearby). The Master crouched down beside the ray gun to examine it more closely (being careful not to touch it). "A disorientation ray!" he said, with disgust. "The fools! I *knew* they would mess everything up..." Straightening, he went to the TARDIS's water trough scanner, and flipped a few invisible switches. An image of the cave mouth rippled into view. "And I bet those idiots are currently getting themselves lost in *there*!" he spat out. "Hey!" said the little turquoise troll said. "How do *you* know how to work Our Hostess's scanner?" The Master chuckled quietly. "I don't think you really want to know that," he said. "Come on," he ordered, as he ran toward his own wardrobe TARDIS. "We don't have much time!" When the others hesitated, he pulled out his TCE. "You *will* come with me," he said, flatly. "I'm not going to let you stay behind and risk you ruining all my work!" The others came. "But why are you *doing* this?" Jim asked, after the black TARDIS doors slid quietly shut behind them. "Why try to save the Doctor, since you hate him so much?" "You think I'm doing this for *him*?" the Master asked, derisively. "I'm doing this for myself. "If I let someone *else* destroy this galaxy, then I won't be able to rule it, will I?. Besides, now that I know that these aliens are armed with disorientation rays, it's clear to me that *I'm* the one best suited to stop them." "Wh-why's that?" the little troll asked. "Because -- unlike you and all your simpering friends, *I* am free from all self doubt!" ((And as the Master had guessed, deep in the cave system...)) * * * 16. The menagerie * * * /Elsewhere on Titan Three.../ --- 'We're in trouble,' the Eighth said. 'Oh?' 'Circus... circus. The Bookworm guessed - no, saw - Alryssa with Captain Cook...' 'Psychic Circus,' Third completed. 'There are robot clowns behind us, aren't there?' 'No.' 'No?' 'Robot zookeepers.' 'Which makes a twisted kind of sense...' Sixth muttered. 'Sonic Screwdriver, anyone?' 'I wouldn't bet on it...' Eighth said. '/Something's/ animating them... as it reanimated the good Captain.' Fifth raised an eyebrow. 'Not the Gods of Ragnarok?' 'We'll see...' Eighth murmured. --- 'Perceptive...' the voice said. 'Very perceptive...' Alryssa paused. 'Coerced? You were coerced into this? But...' 'The Powers That Be are bound by their own rules, Senshi. As are we.' The figure indicated that this avenue of inquiry was /closed/. 'Now, the bargain.' 'You want me to deal with those who coerced you, don't you...' Alryssa said darkly. 'Have your little doll take care of what you can't.' Something else, another shape, slid into the room. 'This was not the arrangement...' it said. 'This was not why we asked her...' 'Not why *you* asked...' the first shape said. 'Others disagreed.' 'Killing her because she was not what you wanted... of course she was not what we wanted. She would make her own path, not answer to us...' 'A trap. This was a trap...' Alryssa whispered. 'Push me towards self-destruction, alert my friends, lure them here... for your own purposes, and for those of whoever coerced you... and if your little Senshi blows up - and blows her friends up - so much the better...' 'This is the real world, Senshi...' the first voice said. 'Your concern is with the Universe.' 'I fight for my friends...' Alryssa hissed. 'She was supposed to forge her own path. We were /not/ supposed to meddle!' the second shape insisted. 'Advice, if she wanted it, if she wanted to listen, assistance... but the choice was /hers/.' 'We did what we were told to do,' the first said. 'What happened next was not our concern.' 'But you would have /enjoyed/ it...' the second voice hissed. Alryssa tapped her staff against the ground. 'My friends? This /menagerie/?' 'Ah, the menagerie... I believe your friends are just about to encounter a prize exhibit...' the first voice leered. --- 'WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!' 'A gryphon. Half lion, half eagle.' '...Where does it say it's made out of metal?' 'That's why it's here. A metal gryphon? A /living/ metal gryphon? Perfect for a sideshow...' 'A /hungry/ metal gryphon...' "I think it's time to resort to plan C," concluded Sixth. Third looked askance at him. "Run, you idiot!" Sixth yelled, as he turned and tried to peg it further into the caves. His attempt was thwarted by a well-placed foot. "Stop being such a bloody fool," Third said as he picked Sixth back up. "What do you suggest?" came the snapped reply, just as the gryphon made its first swipe. "I'm working on it!" yelled Eighth, as he dodged the talons - barely - and rolled to safety behind a large stalagmite. --- 'Of course, it's just a baby...' the first voice observed happily. 'It hasn't reached full growth yet...' 'What do you want?' Alryssa said, through gritted teeth. 'Just tell me the damn bargain...!' 'No!' the second voice said. '/No!/ You will not do this.' 'No? And what do you propose...?' "I propose we bring him here." Alryssa stared as the figure pointed. "Him? He was involved in this somewhere down the line, wasn't he? Why does this not surprise me..." she trailed off. "What do you want to do to him?" "You'll see." --- There was an ungodly screeching as the gryphon slashed at the stalagmite to get to its prey. Eighth struggled with his sonic screwdriver, irritated by the distraction. "Look, could you just find something else to do for five - gagh!" He rolled again. Rock shattered. "I don't suppose any of you could - " *Zzzzzzpop!* "Could what?" replied Sixth, daring a look around his vantage point. "Er... he's gone." "What?!" The gryphon changed its mind, having lost its prey, and began stalking the next available source of Lunch.... --- ((Meanwhile, gloom threatened to overtake the avocado troll and her party...)) For the first time since this adventure began, the avocado troll felt like something like a fifth wheel. She was too short to offer much support to her three weakened guests, and she no longer had a hoedown to lead. She didn't even have her TARDIS anymore, and she felt homesick without it. She didn't even have her fiddle (she'd left it lying on the stage the moment the Mystery Guest arrived... She hoped some thoughtful soul had noticed and moved it to a safer location... If anything happened to it...) For only the fifth time in her long troll life, she felt the need to indulge in a long, self-pitying sniffle. *No!* she told herself, I don't have *time* for this... If everything else is falling apart, I must try all the harder to keep myself together. I may not be able to *do* much at the moment, but I'm still able to *think*. And so that's what she did. The first thought that came to her mind was an angry one: I never liked that Lord Gallifrijan, anyway, even the real one, back when we first met him on Gallifrey. He was far too charming, knew far too -- That was it! Even back then, he'd known far more than any Gallifreyan from the time of Rassilon ought to have known. He'd recognized Compassion as a TARDIS, long before even type one TARDISes had been invented... He'd been able to recognize that the correction of the crossing timelines had come from the goddess Eris, hidden inside Compassion. Even then, she'd never been able to figure that out -- how could any mortal be able to pinpoint a Divine Act at such close range? Unless, of course, he wasn't mortal at all... It would have been easy as picking out a black pebble on a white beach for another god, a rival god... So. They *were* dealing with the Gods of Ragnarok after all! The euphoria she felt at having made that connection vanished the moment she realized what that fact meant. He even knew my private Earth identity, she thought with a shiver. She felt another, even longer, sniffle coming on. Another, chilling thought crowded in on that the first one's heels: But it had turned out that the "Lord Gallifrijan" that knew her name and recognized Compassion was actually the Valeyard in disguise, before they had attacked him with water balloons, cream pies, and giant feathers, when he was still under the control of the Black Guardian. So his knowing Compassion, and her private name, made perfect sense, since he was simply a weird, later incarnation of the Doctor, and all the Doctors knew her well. If she remembered correctly (and 99.44% of the time, she did), the Valeyard had trapped the *real* Lord Gallifrijan in a time loop, and took over his identity. But then they freed the Valeyard from the Black Guardian's mind control by provoking him to laughter (for evil cannot keep hold on a mind that is bent on *fun*), which freed the real Lord Gallifrijan, too. And the Valeyard decided to go off and be a hermit, to try and figure himself out, and atone for what he'd done, and now, here they all were -- reunited. But the Valeyard still wouldn't have been able to recognize Eris -- normally. If the knowledge of Eris had come from one of the Gods of Ragnarok, did that mean that the Valeyard (or maybe the Black Guardian) had been working with *Them*, even then? Was the Valeyard, she thought, with a sudden wave of panic, *still* working with them? *NO!* she told herself. I *refuse* to believe that! No God of Ragnarok could giggle as sincerely, as helplessly, as the Valeyard had after that owl dropped that egg on his head. They can try to imitate laughter, but they don't have the creativity to make it honest or real -- the closest they can come is an army of robot clowns (as far from real laughter as a vampire horror flick is from "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood"). No God of Ragnarok could have hugged her with as much warmth or enthusiasm as the Valeyard had, just moments ago. But for all the assurances she told herself, the nasty thoughts were gathering, threatening to batter down the door. She turned her attention outward, to the people around her, and discovered that she was straggling near the end of the line... she must have slowed her pace without even realizing it. Only one other person was nearby ... that strange enigmatic guest that didn't belong there at all... or did he? --- The story was fluxing under them... and twisting back. A story had a momentum of its own; on some level he'd known that all his life - kicked back against that deadly flow and never succeeded, never even realised, until he'd been plucked abruptly out of his own stream and dumped here. But it was a known power, good or bad, but understandable. Back when he'd first come to that barn, he'd felt that strength already weakening, and now it was all but gone: anything could be on the cards soon, maybe. A few hours ago he'd fastened on that idea as salvation, the way out of a life that was tightening towards a noose. He'd seen it as hope. He must have been crazy. Because the stories were flying apart now, all that power and direction bleeding away - /stolen away/ - their own histories shifting under them the way his had, the way the troll had shaken him up, back in the barn... She'd been right, right all along. Nothing was safe anymore. Nothing in the world. And that memory triggered another. A question... "Someone important. Someone you wanted to impress. Who was it, Kid?..." --- She'd seen that look on his face before -- before her deputy had come in with the news that they had landed, and startled him back into guarded silence. She took a chance, and picked up the conversation where they'd left it. "That meeting you were headed for," she ventured, quietly, and left the phrase dangling, waiting for his mind to catch it. After a while, it did. "Ma'am?" he asked. "I'd bet ten to one in favor of it having something to do with *this*." Kid shook his head, more in wonder than in disagreement. "But how could it? This is a universe away --" "You see?" she said, cutting him off. "That's just it! I've watched you pretty closely since the moment you walked into the cul-de-sac. I've seen you thrown off balance by lots of things," she smiled wryly, "--*me*, for example. But you're *not* thrown by the idea that eight separate men, who are as alike to each other as fish is to whiskey, are really the *same* man. You're *not* thrown by the idea of distant planets, or vast galaxies, nor by the idea that we could travel there in the time it takes you to walk from one end of town to another. Now, where would a cowboy like yourself get comfortable with ideas like *those*?" At once, she regretted that last question. She hadn't phrased it right, and she could see the hostility start to rise again. "Now," she added quickly, before the anger made it all the way to the surface, "I believe you are a real cowboy, and that most of the life you remember is a real one. You smell too much of horse, and earth, and sweat, and hunger for all that to be fake. I'm not accusing you of lying.... I'm not *accusing* you of anything..." "But," he prompted. "But," she continued, relieved that she hadn't lost him, "I suspect that somewhere in your lost past (a past that was either stolen from you, or blocked by your own mind to keep you from going crazy), you've had an encounter with the Doctor -- or with someone like him... maybe a mad dreamer of a star gazer, who told you all his crazy ideas about distant worlds, and shamans, and spirits, and that maybe, just maybe, some of those crazy ideas started to make sense. I suspect that these aliens we're up against -- the Gods of Ragnarok -- stopped you from going to that meeting because if you had gone, if you had told this someone what you knew, or saw, or suspected, then their plans would have fallen apart right then. If we only we could get at that lost memory, then we'd have a chance at figuring out their weak spot -- we'd have a chance to defeat them!" Kid opened his mouth as though to speak. But before he could get a word out, the Valeyard called out from ahead: "Here we are, then! We'll be safe in here!" The little band of not-so-merry travellers stopped their long trek, and the avocado troll found herself in the center of a crowd once more. Looking around, she saw that the cavern they were in had been hewn into the form of a perfect dome, and that the natural stone had been covered over by a strange metallic substance that shimmered like mother of pearl, giving off a soft, silvery light of its own. "Like it?" he asked, cheerily. "I did this when I first got here --" "*You* did this?" Fourth asked, incredulously, "*All* this?" "Yes, well, when you have the prospect of a millennium or so of solitude in front of you, you discover the need for a hobby. Besides," he added, a little sheepishly, "after the debacle with the Black Guardian, I wanted to be sure I couldn't fall prey to mind control again. The scientists from Meston Viva, who first inhabited this planet, left a lot of perfectly good equipment behind. It didn't start out this grand, of course," he conceded, "but it just sort of ... grew on me." "But what are these walls made of?" First asked, reaching out to touch the glass-smooth surface. "It's a alloy of lead, phosphorous and other ores found only on this planet... I started out making helmets," he explained, "tinkering with the blend until my mind felt its most secure. But the helmets were hot, and incredibly heavy, so I came up with the idea of a chamber... I then added the phosphorus so it wouldn't be so damned dark." The avocado troll looked to the Second Doctor, Jamie, and Zoe. Sure enough, they seem to be recovering from whatever attack had hit them before. "Now," the Valeyard said, after basking a moment in the admiration of his handiwork, "let's all sit down, and you can tell me *exactly* what brought you here." And so they sat, gladly, in a circle, like the oddest group of campers ever to gather around the campfire. Only, there was no campfire. And the story the avocado troll recounted one more time (this time, properly introducing Kid to the others), was no flight of fancy, but a nightmare all too real. ((But the Eighth Doctor's party is still in trouble...)) * * * 17. Kid Curry's origins * * * /As the gryphon attacks, the sound of the collapsing stalagmites reaches the ears of the avocado troll and her party... / --- Suddenly, her story was interrupted by a distant, but terrifying sound (if the source had been nearby, she was sure it would have been ear-splitting.) "*What* was that?!" she asked. "I-I don't know," the Valeyard said, concerned. "All these caves are connected to each other, I'm sure. Sounds carry through these tunnels like voices along the string of a tin can phone. It's surprising, sometimes, the things you hear... But I've never heard anything like *that*." "Sounds nasty, whatever it is," Seventh commented. "Should we go investigate?" --- As they set off... 'Umm... Could I talk to you about something?' 'Of course,' the hostess said. 'It's... about the Kid.' the Bookworm said cautiously. 'You have a clue as to what really happened to him?' 'Not... exactly.' the Bookworm said. 'A... theory, maybe.' 'Yes... But your theories generally tend to be close to the mark.' the hostess said. The Bookworm's mouth turned upwards. 'Blame it on an anal-retentive memory... and my own weird sense of logic.' 'We all have our own weird senses of logic...' the hostess said. 'That's why we're here. Fun for the sake of fun? That's not strictly logical...' '...but it /is/ fun.' The Bookworm grinned. 'Anyway... I have... some experience with other Fictiverses.' 'You /are/ a Bookworm,' the hostess observed. 'Heh. Well... /ordinarily/ I'm a bookworm, little 'b'. Interested in fiction... And I suspect I know which Fictiverse the Kid may come from... or which /set/ of Fictiverses.' 'You do?' 'It was... it was the familiarity with the Doctor,' the Bookworm said. It pointed. 'Somewhere out there, there's a city. Vortex City. A frontier town... outlaws, bank robbers, bad men, gunslingers, gamblers, good men... all of them visit it. It's Western to its heart. 'One of those who have visited the town...' The Bookworm paused. 'A man of medium size, but he seems taller. He wears the costume of a riverboat gambler - tan trousers, white shirt, multicoloured waistcoat - but his face is that of a gunslinger. Stubble across his face, an eyepatch covering one eye. A long face, hardened by the weather. Sharp eyes. Dark hair that hangs in curls beneath his hat.' 'Not...' The troll indicated the Fourth Doctor. 'No...' the Bookworm said. The troll looked at it, her eyes appraising. 'The Eighth.' 'Not... Umm... He is the Doctor's counterpart in that Fictiverse. A gunslinger. A man who fights the bad guys, the evil men. Who fights a Man in Black. A man with a long and mysterious past... No, he isn't the Kid.' The avocado troll breathed a sigh of relief. 'They call him Doc Gallifrey,' the Bookworm said. 'And he looks, very much, like our Eighth Doctor.' 'You think they've met?' 'I think...' The Bookworm hesitated again. 'I think he and the Kid may have... friends in common. Friends who might understand Doc Gallifrey's connection, across the Fictiverses, with our Doctor. And who might have spoken to the Kid, hinting at this, of other worlds, other times, other universes. Other /multiverses/... A hermit? A shaman? A stargazer, prophet? One who others might think mad...? I don't know. It's a guess.' 'You said you knew of Doc Gallifrey. That suggests he's turned up in our Universe.' our hostess noted. 'Fictionally, but still...' The Bookworm's face had a wry expression. 'Yep. He has. Not in the Doctor Who books, or the audios... but I think you knew that, well... for the audios, if I remember correctly.' Our hostess nodded. The Bookworm looked somewhat sheepish. 'In the comic strip.' Our Hostess nodded. "Ahh," she said. "I see." She thought a minute, biting her lip. "Too bad we're not in Cyber-Space, this time 'round," she said, after a minute. "Or I'd search out a link to this fictiverse, myself... Are you sure that what you've told me is *all* we know of Doc Gallifrey? No one knows if he'd had any companions, or met them?" Bookworm shook hir head. 'It's a long story...' the Bookworm said, even more sheepishly. 'But we have encountered his Fictiverse before.' It held up a hand. 'And... all we know of it is what I've just told you. That, and my own speculation.' 'So what you've just told me... it's the capsule summary?' 'It's *all* we know...' the Bookworm said. 'I may be wrong, I don't know. It may be muddying the waters too much. But... it's a theory.' 'Hmm...' the hostess said. 'Hm...' What the Bookworm had told her... could fit with what she'd guessed about the Kid herself, if it were correct. But... what had his friend told him? Or had been about to tell him? What had the Kid known... that someone would go to the lengths of tampering with his memory? Something important. Something linked to the crisis they now found themselves facing. Something... "I'm getting a bad feeling," she said slowly. "If the Gods of Ragnarok wanted to stop Kid Curry from getting his message out ... why'd They drop him in the laps of the people most likely to meddle?" "Maybe they didn't mean to," Bookworm suggested. "Maybe they fouled up." "Maybe. But they're *Gods*! Mistakes generally don't come with that job description...." "A slip between cup and lip?" "You mean... The Gods of Ragnarok originally meant for Kid to go into that duststorm and get carried off into Oblivion (or wherever), and somewhere between the boonies of Vortex City and the big O, another force knocked the Kid in our direction?" Bookworm said nothing... maybe he didn't mean anything. But the idea lodged itself deep in the troll's brain and wouldn't leave. A force so powerful it could knock the Gods' of Ragnarok plans sideways up. Whatever, or whoever it was, she hoped it was on their side... whichever their side was. She only wished she knew for sure what was at stake, and what they had to do to set everything right way 'round again. In spite of herself, she started to whistle, a nervous reaction to calm her fears. The sound echoed back at her from the rock walls -- or was it coming from the other side of the wall? She gave the three note call of the bobolink, and an echo (or an answer?) came back at her. She was about to try again, when the Fourth stopped, and put up his hand. 'Shhh...' Fourth said. 'We're getting closer.' A larger, louder - and even more terrifying - sound rumbled around them. From below. --- The last to leave the chamber, Kid Curry glanced back. The great shimmering dome gleamed faintly, pearly colour swirling in its walls in an almost hypnotic pattern that tugged somehow at memories -- memories that kept swimming palely upwards before slipping away, like the trailing hair of a drowned woman... For all his bravado, he felt the old inward shudder at that image. No -- no, forget the drowning. Pearls -- the globe -- remember the globe -- His lagging steps came to a complete halt, and heavy brows knitted together in frustration as he tried desperately to make the jump of memory. Pearls... great lustrous pearls, reflected back in a darkened globe... Hands, graceful, unconscious in their beauty, that painted worlds, strange and apart, with every animated gesture. Folds of a dark gown. A woman -- a lady? A face... "The Contessa." A deep breath, almost shaky with relief. He had it -- something, at last. Nails bit into his palms in sudden excitement. "The Contessa!" Zoe, last but one of the outstretched party, caught the echo of that half-voiced exclamation, and glanced back down the passage in alarm. But there was no-one in sight. She shivered, hurrying to catch up with the others. She'd always hated being on her own at the rear... --- Kid Curry leaned back against the wall, surroundings all but forgotten in the rush of returning images. How could he -- how could /anyone/ -- fail to remember the Contessa? Bold, dark eyes in a tawny face. Gold in her ears, at her wrists, at her waist, on those long, clever fingers... flashing in her smile. And the swimming depths of the pearls she wore, always, hanging at her throat. Worth thirty thousand, maybe, if they were real. Enough to set a man up for life... but no-one touched the Contessa. Oh, there were those who tried. In the city, there were always those who were new, and rash, and ready to try for an easy buck, or an easy woman -- but no-one tried the Contessa, and lived... or kept his mind. She had ways to protect herself, and influence in high places. But there were rumours enough abroad that she could also call on other debts... from Outside. The preachers called her scarlet woman, witch, devil-friend; a few were even fanatic enough to say it to her face, and get a laugh for their pains. The first of those things... she was not, save in the dirty minds of those who could conceive no other. The last... well, there were always the rumours. As for the second: for every upright citizen to cry 'witch', there was another ready to cry 'charlatan' -- and two others eager to slip into her parlour by the back way and cross her palm with gold. From the depths of the globe cradled in her slender hands, the Contessa would tell the name of a successful lover, the birth of the first daughter, the date of the errant husband's return. She would bring a child, or prevent one -- for a price. A gambler might come to buy the name of his lucky card -- a homesteader, for warning of a drought or bitter winter -- an outlaw, to hide his trail, for a while. Strange customers, she had in plenty -- stranger allies, maybe, or so they whispered... She sold all dreams to all men. To Kid Curry, bitter and drunken, tormented by unreasoning black moods, she sold salvation. Chin sunk on his chest, sprawled in the old chair in the darkened corner of her parlour, he would let her soft voice flow over him, watching the lamp-light flicker up from the globe over her lively dark face, chasing shadows across the heavy drapes as she gestured, her hands painting stories with every movement in their graceful dance. Sometimes the tales were wild beyond all belief, crazy enough to wake an unwilling laugh; often enough they were merry anecdotes of the city and its doings, accounts that made the round of every saloon in cruder form; once or twice she had brought the hair up on the back of his neck. His grandmother's people had had tales like these, of spirits and those whom they rode... But when he left, on those nights he could sleep. Whisky gave cheap oblivion, but the spell of the Contessa's words brought peace, and surcease of dreams. An hour or two of her time was dearly bought -- she could gauge a money-belt to the last silver dollar -- but the price, to his mind, was worth the paying. And the stories stayed with him... half-forgotten, half-believed, surfacing sometimes, at odd moments, told over and garbled on restless nights under the cold stars. --- He pushed himself upright and out into the centre of the passageway, blinking around him as if waking from a dream. It was months since he'd last had the cash to make it into town -- months, surely, since he'd last seen her? He still couldn't remember; couldn't remember /at all/ -- Frantically, he clutched at the one last escaping shred of memory, the one that had been teasing at him for so long -- her name. The Contessa. The answer to a question. He didn't know /why/ -- but he knew /who/. That last time, he'd been heading in to find the Contessa. He'd been flat broke, sure, but yet he'd /still/ been heading in to Vortex City... and he'd never made it. Kid Curry was still glancing up and down the corridor, the uneasy realisation beginning to hit that he was alone, when a larger, louder -- and even more terrifying -- sound rumbled around him. From /between/ him and the direction in which the others had gone... --- 'What was *that*?' 'I think...' Second said. 'that that was the first sound's mother...' The troll fought the urge to giggle, remembering a favorite t-shirt slogan in her family: "If Mama ain't happy, ain't Nobody happy!" A combination of fear and giggles bubbled up simultaneously inside of her, but she managed to get out: "*Wh-where* is she?" she asked. "Are we blocking her way out, or is she blocking ours?" As she found her voice, the words, came easier as did the thoughts. "Anyway we can find out?" she asked. The Second, Fourth and Seventh Doctors all took their sonic screwdrivers from their pockets. "Won't be a minute," Fourth said with confidence. Another roar, felt, this time, more than heard. It made the walls of the cave (and her teeth) vibrate. "I hope we have that long," she commented, under her breath. As the wave passed, she heard another sound -- clearly a voice -- several voices -- that they all knew. "The other team," the avocado troll said unnecessarily (for they had all heard it, this time). "They're right on the other side of this wall -- we've been moving toward each other all this time." "Into the center of the labyrinth," Second commented. Zoe turned several shades greyer. "Not the Minotaur, again?" Second put his arm around her shoulder. "No," he said. "No, I don't think it's a minotaur, this time." But the avocado troll could see from his expression that he thought it was something much worse. * * * 18. The Sword of Authorial Freedom * * * / The Master and his 'guests' begin their trip.../ --- Silently, efficiently -- without any of the humming or friendly pats on the console they'd come to expect from the Doctor, the Master activated his TARDIS, and the ship responded in kind, its time rotor rising and falling with a military precision, the sound of dematerialization a steady, harsh pounding, hardly alive at all. The party guests who had volunteered to work with the Master in the laboratory (more for the love of the kitties than for any thing else) sat on the floor, their backs against the walls of the console room. Concern for the four Doctors, and the guests, who had vanished was compounded by their fear and mistrust of the Master himself. This led to a very glum silence, indeed. Nyctolops opened her mouth to speak, almost uttering a theory as to what might have happened, and what they could about it, but the words never came. Ninni noticed this, and their eyes met, briefly, and then both looked away. Each one of them were sharing the same thought (although they didn't know it, of course): They were spending an awfully long time in the vortex for such a short journey.... The little turquoise troll worked up the courage to look at the Master, to see what could be taking so long. He was walking around and around his console, studying first one readout, than another. The little troll had never had much experience reading the Master's face (for which she was eternally grateful), but he seemed to be experiencing a mood to which he was unaccustomed: worry. "I-is something wrong?" she asked, at last, very quietly. He turned abruptly at the question, as though he'd forgotten there were others with him, this time. The troll flinched in spite of herself, bracing for an attack -- verbal or physical. But instead, he answered her question, the concern clear in his voice. "I've got my TARDIS locked on the Doctors' temporal signatures," he explained, "all of them are somewhere in the caves, quite close to each other, except --" "Except?" the little troll prompted. The others lifted their heads, their attention grabbed by the tone in her voice. "Except for the Eighth," the Master said. The turquoise troll waited. When nothing more came she prompted again: "Well, where is the Eighth Doctor?" The Master shook his head. "I don't know." "B-but I thought you said you've locked your TARDIS onto his signature." "I have. And he is simply Nowhere -- and Nowhen. It's like he's completely vanished from Space-Time." A common groan rose from the guest-hostages. "Well," the Master said, after another minute of studying his gauges, "we won't find him by hovering in the vortex forever." He flipped a switch, and his TARDIS materialized. --- As the roar (scream? rumble? all of these?) passed at last, Kid stood there a moment, unsure which direction he should run. It was probably only a second of indecision, but it felt like an eternity. Just as he was about to move his feet, however, there came a second sound -- A machine sound, this time -- like the pounding of a locomotive's engine. It wasn't half as loud, but twice as frightening. It was close by, right in front of him, in fact, in a space with nothing there. Only, there *was* something there -- maybe -- a shift in the shape of the tunnel walls, or a new stalagmite rising from the floor. Kid couldn't be sure *what* it was -- couldn't see it with his eyes, but he could *sense* it -- he *knew* there was something, someone, new in the tunnel. There was a moment of silence, and then a wall in the tunnel shifted. And the one he'd heard the green troll call "The Master" stepped out in front of him. For a brief second they stared at each other. Then the Master took another step forward, forcing Kid Curry to look up if he wanted to match his gaze, crowding him. "Where's the Doctor?" There was a hint of impatience in the cold scorn of his voice, but more than that -- none too skilfully hidden -- there was also an uncertain edge. It was clear that whatever he'd expected to find, it wasn't this. Behind him, in the room that hadn't been there, some of the guests from the hoedown were visible, sat down against the walls. None of them looked any too happy about it. "I don't have the time to pander to the culture-shock of some down-at-heel primitive. Where -- is -- the -- Doctor?" The Master's eyes narrowed into the kind of flat stare you could see coming halfway across a crowded saloon. No need to ask quite what that device that had suddenly appeared in his hand was aiming to do -- Kid Curry got the general drift just fine. It was a situation he'd seen a time or two before, but he'd liked it a good deal better when he'd been on the other end of the gun and the questions.... "Down that way -- mister." He jerked a thumb straight towards the source of that latest dreadful sound. "All of them." With a certain grim satisfaction, he watched the Master stride off swiftly on Zoe's trail. Right into the jaws of whatever-it-was, maybe. The next moment, he had to drop to a crouch to catch the little turquoise troll, stopping her from following. "You don't want to go that way, lady," he told her, somewhat surprised -- this time, she'd actually looked relieved to see him. The rest of the party guests were beginning to emerge, most of them looking pretty worried. From the direction in which the Master had disappeared there came the sound of a distant, echoing crash. The tremor shook the walls. --- ((Elsewhere, the Eighth Doctor has found Alryssa...)) 'Ah. Hello, Alryssa.' The Doctor looked around. 'Hmm... so /this/ is where everything happens.' 'Doctor...' 'And /you/ must be the Monitors. Or speaking for them, at any rate...' 'Doctor...' 'It's alright, Alryssa.' He turned his gaze on the two figures. '/They/ can't touch you. Or me. Or anyone in this Universe. One of the laws the Powers That Be set down...' 'The... Powers That Be? The Gods?' 'No.' The Doctor looked thoughtful. 'Quiet!' The Doctor turned on the figure. 'I am filling my friend in - something you have significantly /failed/ to do.' 'Remember the Guardians? White and Black? Order and Chaos?' Alryssa nodded. 'Together... the six-' 'Six?' '-Guardians created the Key to Time. To keep the universal balance. Six parts - one for each Guardian.' The Doctor paused. 'But even the Guardians must answer to someone. At least... that was the rumour I heard in the Matrix - that an authority exists beyond even the Guardians, something even /they/ must answer to...' 'Eris?' Alryssa said. The Doctor smiled. 'The Goddess of Chaos obeys only the rules she creates. She could defy the Guardians one minute, be their loyal servant the next. She is Discordia. No... the rumours I heard suggested something else... ' Alryssa nodded at the two figures. 'And are /they/...' 'We are not,' the second figure said. 'We are the Monitors.' 'It was /said/...' The Doctor frowned. '...If I could remember who said it... it was said that the Powers That Be created the Monitors, as their executive arm. Working to correct the balance, where the Guardians - or the Key - could not. Keeping the Gods, the Great Old Ones, the Eternals, the Chronovores, the Sidhe, the Society... keeping them in check, Not only in this universe, but across the Universes...' 'The Omniverse was winding down...' the second figure said. 'You were there. You helped the cycle begin again.' 'Oh, I get it...' The Doctor smiled darkly. 'You're angry because I helped set the Omniverse on a path of multiplicity and diversity. You wanted death, nihilism, stasis...' '/They/ did...' the second Monitor said. 'What /are/ you talking about?' Alryssa said. The Doctor hesitated. 'Some time ago... in one of my Fictiverses... the... the force, the mind, that maintains the Omniverse - the totality of everything that exists - it was dying. Because of my companion's intervention, a new mind - another life - was chosen to keep the Omniverse going. And shortly afterwards... you - Sailor Gallifrey - were created. A champion of creativity... after seeing how close the Omniverse had come to stagnancy and death. I rather suspect the Monitors made the decision off their own bat...' '*That's* why...?!' Alryssa gasped. 'I'm... what, the regulator for the Omniverse?' 'You are what /you/ will make of the role,' the second Monitor said. 'You are Sailor Gallifrey, the champion of creativity. What that role means is your choice.' 'But being Sailor Gallifrey wasn't...' 'We know.' the second Monitor said. 'You were the person, in the place, at the time, with the capacity. In your terms, we had... we had a fraction of a second to choose, because the opportunity would not come again. We lacked your time.' 'I can't go back,' Alryssa whispered. 'You made me something else, you took the life I had away...' 'Would you have seen this happen to someone else? Would you ask someone else to do this?' Alryssa hesitated. 'I...' 'No-one asks for this level of responsibility...' the Monitor said. 'Those who /do/, are those we would not choose. Those capable of understanding, though, /they/ we select.' 'You may set it down.' the first Monitor said. 'You are Outside. Here, it is possible. You can go back to your ordinary life, be an ordinary human once again. You can set it down. Complete this adventure, bring the Feeders on Story back in balance... and we will make you normal once more. And your friends will remain safe. Sailor Gallifrey will end with you.' 'Is /that/ your bargain?' Alryssa demanded. 'It is.' 'It is /not/ mine.' the second Monitor said. 'That is why you are here, Doctor. For the second bargain.' The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'I think I know... You need someone who will advise the /next/ time the Omniversal cycle slows, someone who knew what happened the previous time, and can let them know what is happening.' 'That is part of it,' the Monitor acknowledged. 'Alryssa...' Alryssa jumped. 'Alryssa, my bargain is this. I cannot promise your friends will be safe. All I can offer you is advice. Advice on the capabilities you possess, that you may decide how best to use them. If you accept my bargain, you will never be able to set down the mantle of Sailor Gallifrey. Not until such a time as there is another who can take it up, one who will have the choice you were denied.' The Monitor hesitated. '/That/ is why you are here, Doctor. If she accepts my bargain... because you have a link to Gallifrey... you will be the one to offer the next choice. To offer the decision to become Sailor Gallifrey to her successor. To speak on Gallifrey's behalf. Are you willing?' 'I am,' the Doctor said. 'But... Alryssa, the choice is yours.' Alryssa looked between the three of them, dumbfounded. --- ((Meanwhile... the despair begins to spread.)) A figure walks alone, deep among the caves. A figure with a cuddly toy on his head. He didn't want to leave the others, but this wasn't quite as pro-fun as things were supposed to be. The rest could have some daft runaround among the cave system, he was sure that if nothing else, his brother's recent appearance could add just enough uncertainty for things to happen in a fun way. Other trolls had shed their human guises when they had arrived. He had disguised his. The frail, human self was his real form, not the performance he put on to try and interact with life. He took the cuddly toy off his head and twisted it, unfolding it into a black top hat. From the hat he pulled out a large piece of black material which he whipped round to form a long coat. He put them on. He felt more comfortable like this nowadays. The constant attempts at pro-fun activities had ground him down. "It's stopped being fun?" asked his muse. "Yes. I'm sure it wasn't *meant* to turn out like this. I only caught the tail end of last year's hoedown. I only saw the silliness and hilarity. Was there an underlying sense of dread and doom back then too?" "I dunno, wasn't here..." "That's not exactly surprising, you never are..." "Oh no, here we go again." his muse muttered. The Avocado troll sniffs the air. "Uh-oh," she said to the folks assembled on her team. "I smell an Internal Critic. ... Wait a minute ... Where's Gordon? ... He was here a minute ago. I'll be right back," she said, and trotted back down the tunnel, calling: "Gordon! Gordon, are you here?" At last, she found him. The plush Gengar no longer on his head, and instead he was dressed in a black top hat and cape, like a magician signed up as the main entertainment at a funeral. His muse was with him, and the two were in a heated, socco voce, discussion. Still, with the way the tunnels carried sound, she couldn't help overhearing. "We create facsimiles of ourselves with all the best intentions. But we put them through hell. Why? I'm even doing it just now..." "Yeah, well you can't blame me *this* time. I'm right here, standing next to you." "The others are possibly wondering why you don't seem to have a name. Why they've found it impossible to describe you." "Yeah, well you haven't given me either of those, have you?" "Why do you think I haven't bothered giving you a name or a description? You keep deserting me, leaving me adrift. You only turned up after I'd had to make up an excuse for my lack of activity." "You know I only scraped a pass in the Muse Inspirational Course on an appeal..." "Oh yes, I've got plenty of ideas, I just can't translate them into words. I end up being reactive rather than proactive because I have to wait until someone else inspires me to respond." He looked at his muse accusingly. "I don't know why I bother keeping you around sometimes. Better just to give up and not even try than to try and have to give up along the way." "You can't blame *me* for everything!" cried the muse, who was now *the* muse, not *his* muse. "You're scared." The lone man turned away, he knew this to be true. "You have all these ideas, but you're scared people will take one look at them and laugh. You're scared people will think you're just another enthusiastic amateur who isn't good enough to do *real* writing. You're even scared to follow up other people's work because you don't think you're up to the job!" "Aha!" the troll thought to herself, "I was *right*! An Internal Critic of draconian proportions!" And without another moment's hesitation, she ran up to the two of them. "Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," she said to his muse (a slight figure, whose gothic makeup would make her seem grim if it weren't for the long, brightly colored patchwork coat she wore), "but I couldn't help overhearing, and I think I have something Gordon might find useful in the next part of his adventure." Turning to Gordon, she patted him on his arm in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "You're just suffering from attacks of an Internal Critic," she told him. "The bad news is, such a beast doesn't go away. Even wildly successful writers like Steven King and Neil Simon have one nesting in the back of their minds. The *good* news is that, with practice, the I.C. can be tamed, and only let out of its cage for the final draft, when you need to check your spelling and punctuation. You just need the right tool for the job." "What am I?" his muse asked, an offended tone rising in her voice, "Chop Suey?!" "No, not at all... You're very important to him. But you can't be responsible for *everything*, can you? Some battles, he has to fight for himself." So saying, she reached into a vest pocket, and pulled out a sword hilt. It was of heavy gold, faceted, and set with rubies and amethysts, so that it glittered, even in the dim light of the cave. Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it was the Magic of Storytelling, but it was perfectly color coordinated with his muse's coat. The avocado troll handed it to him. "It's the Sword of Authorial Freedom," she told him. That ruby, right under your thumb is really an 'on/off' switch. Try it." Tentatively, Gordon pushed the button. The blade of the sword flashed into existence, shining like a light saber, but with the traditional shape of a broadsword. "There!" the troll said, happily. "Perfect for fending off a dragon-sized Internal Critic. The next time that whiner starts nagging that you're not good enough, just threaten to shave his whiskers with *that*, and tell him to 'Shut the F*** Up!!!'" She grinned. "It'll work in *any* story, or poem, or essay, or whatever, too. It's especially good," she added, with a wink, "at whupping some Monitor butt. Carry on, I believe you have some work to do." And she began to trot back up the tunnel to see how the Doctors were coming at discovering the location of Mother Beast. --- "How did you know I just can't resist swishing things like that about and making whooshy buzzing noises? :)" The Avocado Troll winked, and her Pro-Fun Birthday Hat changed instantly into a Pro-Fun Wizard's hat (dark purple with silver stars and sparklies). She wiggled her fingers in the air: "Oooh-Whoooooo!" she said, in her most theatrical spooky voice: "That's the Magic of Storytelling!" "Hey!" shouted the Jim troll from quite a long way away, "That's *my* proper wizardy hat! Where did YOU get it?" "Hey, Jim!" she said, waving to him, cheerily. "I thought you were with the Mast-- Uh-oh, is *he* here, too?" "My *hat*?" Jim reminded her. "Oh, this? I don't know *how* I got it," she tried to sound innocent... "I just winked, and there it was!" ((Then things got interesting.)) * * * 19. Return of the Odd Trio * * * /Having vanquished his Internal Critic, Gordon sets out to aid Alryssa... / --- The muse walked up behind him. "You know yourself you're not a brilliant writer, but that doesn't matter here. You have an imagination that puts others to shame, you just need to work at how to show that to other people." "You're right, I haven't done enough. I went away, promising I'd be back and better than before and I let them all down. That's going to change. I may not understand *half* of what's going on round here, but I'm damned if I'm going to sit here and let things pass right by me." He turned round and looked at *his* muse. "After all, in the end...it's all about the story..." As he started to walk away, he stopped. "But first..." --- The avocado troll smiled to herself as she trotted back down the tunnel, relieved that Gordon was getting back into the story, and that he seemed to like the Sword she'd given him. Its glowing, silver light sent her round little shadow stretching out ahead of her. And then, it was -- gone. She turned in surprise. All she could see of Gordon now was the hem of his long black robe trailing out behind him, and then, it too, was gone. It was almost as if she were watching him step through a door and close it behind him. Maybe, she thought, scratching that strange little itch that always seem to appear behind her left ear when a strange idea popped into her head, that's *exactly* what she was watching: Gordon walking through an authorial door from one part of the story to another. She shook her head in wonder, remembering, too, the lightbulbs that appeared over everyone's heads when he first arrived at the party. "That boy has more storytelling magic in him then he realizes," she murmured to herself. Then, she heard something: voices that she recognized.... Or, at least, she *thought* she heard them. It might have been her imagination, or it might not have been. But, again, it was as though Gordon had opened a door, and she heard a snippet of a conversation going on in the other room -- the other part of the story: --- 'Alryssa...' the Doctor said. (So the Eighth Doctor *did* manage to find her, the avocado troll thought happily, when she recognized his voice. The smile that was just forming on her lips stopped, however, when she heard what he said next) 'What they're /really/ asking is whether Gallifrey - whether Gallifrey's spirit - lives or dies. It's your decision.' Gallifrey...? It's as he said. I cannot make the decision. It's your choice. But... '...I don't know,' Alryssa whispered. 'I don't know.' "That's not right!" the avocado troll said to herself, with such conviction that it might have come out loud. "That *can't* be right! No *one* person, troll, pixie or Sailor Planet can be responsible for keeping a spirit *that* big alive! It has to be up to *all* of us!" Especially, she thought, if Bookworm is right and the spirit of Gallifrey is the spirit of Creativity itself. After all, there are (at least) two sides to every story, (at least) twelve arrangements for every song, and (at least) twenty-two exceptions to every rule of grammar! She ran back to the others as fast as her short legs could carry her, the bells on her toes ringing wildly, and her long troll tail lashing out behind her like the tail of an angry cat. For suddenly, she knew what they were up against -- if not exactly *who*. Now, all the stagnation they met at the beginning made sense -- the Forces they were up against were trying to create a Multiverse where there was One Right Way -- turning their multi-dimensional, ficti-multiverse, into a one dimensional Universe. No wonder the muses were weakening, no wonder Kid Curry couldn't remember who he was or why, no wonder.... And worst of all, they (whoever they were) had convinced the Doctor himself of their "fact". She doubled her pace. They would have to pull out all Pro-Fun Stops to get to the end of *this* story! --- "I've got my hands full for the moment," Jim said. "Auntie started petting the Ainley Master and his loud purring freaked out all the other cats. I've spent *ages* getting them down from the tree..." He sighed. "Ah well, bygones. We managed to get a good half-hour's work out of the Jonathan Price Master before he began cackling madly, so we're not as far gone as we might have been. And frankly, Delgado's been a real workhorse. Even gathered up a few decrepit in-betweeners for help (although between you and me, the guy in the cloak isn't much help, and we had to duct-tape Eric Roberts' mouth shut so he couldn't spit goo at people)." "So...have you got the energy thingamajig ready?" the turquoise troll asked tentatively. "Just about." "Er," she began. "Oh, about this hanging in mid-air thing? Heh..." Jim laughed. "Turns out that the Master's chameleon circuit had the perfect transducer element for the energy whatsis, or something. Anyway he unplugged it and the real world interface sort of went away." A muffled voice from somewhere else bellowed "Try now! mUhwahahahahahah!" A muted and brief wheezing-groaning sound vworped exactly once, and a child's play-fort (built of sofa cushions, chairs, and blankets) appeared. "Not much of an improvement, is it?" the troll asked. "Not really, but it is better than hanging about in mid-air." A distinguished gentleman with saturnine features and a dark beard, tinged with grey, popped up from beneath the fort, pushing aside a flowery quilt. He bore two thick jumper cables which crackled with energy, and a bemused expression. "There you are, my dear. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd herd cats again," the Delgado Master chuckled. "Do try to see that the Doctor's *third* self gets these, would you? He's the only one I really trust with a reversible polarity neutron induction system. Come along, troll, we have a few loose ends to tidy up ourselves. I want to get this over with so I don't miss my appointment with that latex artist fellow." "Ah well, must dash..." Jim said, disappearing beneath a fuzzy blue afghan. "Just rap on the interface when you are ready for us, I'll get them moving somehow." --- Hmmm... Okay. Ann's right; stories do have a life of their own. I should know. Oh. Allie. I'm Allie. Sort of. Imran's anal-retentive memory at work here... Okay... What we've learned so far. Alryssa's creators, the Monitors, trapped Sailor Gallifrey, and used her as a lure for the rest of the Hoedown to trap them on Titan Three. They were trying to force Alryssa into a self-destructive identity crisis, potentially devastating the galaxy - and definitely destroying the Hoedown. Thanks to the resonance Alryssa had established between herself and the Bookworm, the Bookworm was able to stabilise her - and Alryssa decided to confront those who had attempted to harm her friends. However... the Monitors had been /forced/ into this, by - we suspect - the Gods of Ragnarok. Someone's bending and twisting Titan 3's reality - we think they're using it as a cage. While we're here, the Gods are free to stagnate and destroy stories across the Universe. So... we've gotta get out of these caves, free Alryssa, challenge whomever's trapping us here, and eventually have a final showdown, circus to circus, to banish the Gods. And Kid Curry's gotten some of his memory back - he remembers who told him stories about the Doctor - the Contessa. But he doesn't remember what the missing piece of knowledge is that'll help us stop the stagnation. I have a theory about that... ...but I need to talk to the Kid. But I'm with the Doctors who're trying to /find/ the others... Meanwhile, the other group of Doctors are battling a baby gryphon, and the Kid's met up with the Master's group... --- 'Found it!' Fourth called from the wall behind which they could hear the sounds of the others. 'Found what?' 'Mama Gryphon isn't in our way.' 'Oh, good.' 'We're not in her way, either.' 'Oh, good.' The Fourth grinned. 'She's coming for her baby.' The wall exploded. As the dust cleared... A hungry living metal baby gryphon looked around from the middle of the wall's debris. Looking at /both/ groups of Doctors... And, the hostess noted worriedly, Mama's roaring was getting louder... 'Miss us?' the Sixth said. 'Get /down/, old man!' the Third shouted. The baby gryphon leaped into our hostess' current cavern... --- "Everybody out of the way!" Our Hostess yelled, as the baby leapt over her head. "Against the walls, now!" Just then, she saw a familiar, tall figure running toward them, right down the middle of the tunnel. "Master!" she shouted. "Get out of the way!" The last place *anyone* wanted be, she knew, was between a wild mother and her baby -- especially if that mother were big enough to carry an elephant in her talons. And if the Master himself felt threatened, he might use that TCE of his... she shuddered at the thought of such a young, innocent creature escaping from the Gods of Ragnarok's Zoo only to fall victim to the Master. Luckily, however, the Master sized up the situation for himself, and stepped behind a stalagmite just as the baby ran past. The call of the mother (for that's what it was) was quite clear, now. And to Our Hostess's ears, it sounded like it was just outside the cave entrance. It made sense, now that she thought about it. There was no way a full grown gryphon could fit in the tight spaces of the cavern's labyrinth. And besides, the instincts of both lion and eagle would be to avoid cramped, dark spaces, it would only be natural for a gryphon to feel the same. She only hoped that the mother wouldn't get frustrated and impatient... --- Alryssa stared at the Doctor, through him. Flashes of recollection assaulted her. Of the first time she had been here, half-awake, barely sensible. Snatches of conversation ran through her mind. One voice she knew was his. "....too primitive, unstable, you can't expect...." "...no time!" "Immature mind... no predicting what might..." "She's... last hope, Doctor." "Have you ever felt lonely? Because.... she'll be! Forever!" She felt her fists clench involuntarily. He'd not wanted her to do this. Had protested it. Immature... unstable... *primitive*! Hot tears welled up. Burned her skin. "That is the ultimate price," he whispered suddenly. "A price I thought would be too heavy for you to bear. Bad enough that you carry the responsibility on your shoulders, but... to be alone...." His eyes glazed over as he looked beyond her. "You thought I couldn't do it," she stumbled over her words. "I won't think any less of you if you decide to let her go." "I'm a failure again, I always have been, what does it matter anyway what you think of me?" She pummelled him, but only got as far as three punches before his fingers encircled her wrists, held them tight. "I think very highly of you. You've managed better than I thought already. I think highly of all my - " "Spare me," she spat, "I don't need it." "I'm sorry." "You've used that word an awful lot lately. One might be forgiven for thinking that you've forgotten what it means." His eyes hardened. "I'm not here for my benefit. I'm here for you. It's your decision that will affect the lives of billions. I've had to make those decisions before. Had to determine what was for the common good. The question is, can you?" You will never be alone, as long as you have your friends. If I stop, you'll die... but my friends will live. If I don't... They have a chance. It will not be a hundred per cent certain, but they did not say they would die for sure. I don't know if I can be alone like this. Do what he does. He'll be around. You know that. I don't want to be alone. Please, I don't want to be alone. "Alryssa? They're waiting." "I've made my decision," she said... --- ((...just as Gordon arrived...)) "Hello Alryssa, sorry we took so long..." Alryssa managed a weak grin. "What, no Sailor Marinus?" "I didn't think it appropriate at this time. Hello Doctor. Wearing the *blue* coat today are we?" Gordon ignored the mumblings of "It's green..." from both the Doctor and Alryssa. He looked at the two figures standing in the darkness. "Hello! Forgive me for suddenly appearing to be the hero of the piece, but I've been away far too long and done far too little, so indulge me for just these few minutes. I suppose I could have done something overly dramatic like revealing myself to be the alternate universe Peter Cushing Doctor, the 7th Guardian or the hand holding Sutekh's cushion down, but I prefer to at least attempt to fit in with what's already happening, even if I'm not actually very sure what's happening..." "We're creative, we're *never* alone," he said quietly. "We escape the drudgery of real life by creating characters. No matter what, there's always a little of us in them. Even if it all goes wrong here, there are echoes of me out there. There are people who'll remember them. The undertaker preserving the dignity of the dead. The second-hand bookshop owner who fought the Old Ones. The pyrokinetic artist. The wandering mute ninja. The London crimelord. The 19th century mad scientist. Even a Doctor or two." His muse whispered quietly to Alryssa, "I think he's definitely moving towards one of his Doctor personas right now. How do you think he's doing?" "If you had your way," he shouted at whoever were the Monitors' masters. "The stories would stagnate, become all the same, with no deviation, no change from what *you* want! In your universe the King Of The Rocketmen would have died in last weeks cliffhanger. Bobby Ewing wouldn't have appeared in the shower. Yartek couldn't have come back from the dead to groove mightily at the hoedown. Skaro would have remained destroyed." He looked straight at the first Monitor for a second. A thought had just struck him. "Now, I may be completely wrong here...Gallifrey was destroyed in one continuity. You don't want that to change do you? You want it to *stay* like that. Why?" He looked around. "I'm surprised Imran isn't here, when this sort of chaos ensues the three of us are usually in the same room...drinking." Alryssa looked at the figure beside Gordon, they seemed familiar. "Have we met?" Gordon looked at the figure, who was quite short, with pale features, long black hair and gothic make up. She wore a long coat, a patchwork of deep reds and blues and purples. The look on her face was stern and serious, but the twinkle in her eyes hinted that anything could happen in the next half hour. "This is Yokoi, my muse." Yokoi waved enthusiastically. "Hiya!" Gordon turned to the Monitors. "We're here to get creative on your arses!" --- The Bookworm looked up. 'Where's Yokoi?' 'Who's Yokoi?' The Bookworm blushed. 'Gordon's muse. Allie and Yokoi went to the Collegium Imagineum together. Allie ended up on work experience, and she *still* hasn't graduated to be a full Muse - while Yokoi barely passed her inspirational course, and /that/ was on appeal.' 'You went to /college/ with Gordon's muse?' 'Hey, it could've been worse - Imran could have been at college with Gordon...' 'I've just been talking to them. Giving them a pep talk.' The hostess pointed down a tunnel. 'Gordon's been battling his Internal Critic - and I gave him the sword of Authorial Freedom to help him vanquish it. I think he's still down there.' The Bookworm suddenly grinned. 'Oh, /I/ get it... Excuse me a moment... Don't worry, we will be safe... Just need to check on an old friend.' Our hostess blinked. The Bookworm had suddenly run into one of the corridors. She blinked again. They'd gone after Gordon - vanishing into the cave she'd just indicated. Where /had/ Gordon gone after her talk, anyway? 'I hope they're all right...' the hostess said to herself. ((Meanwhile, to the surprise of the Monitors))... * * * 20. Confrontation with the Monitors * * * /With the arrival of the Bookworm, the scene is set... / --- 'Y'see, we're - well, they're - the Odd Trio.' 'And they've got this whole kind of diversity thing going on.' 'Like... Alryssa's Ryssal and Sailor Gallifrey...' '...Imran's the Bookworm and a Writer...' '...Gordon's Captain Dempster, Sailor Marinus, and there's this odd thing that happens whenever he gets splashed with cold water.' 'So... no, not too happy about the choices you've given us.' 'Excuse us?' Alryssa said. 'I thought this was supposed to be our revelatory confrontation.' 'Actually,' the Doctor said. 'It's mine.' Everyone turned to look at him. 'Did you really think I'd be so easily fooled?' he said. 'That it was Alryssa's choice, and Alryssa's alone?' 'But...' 'It was confirmed when the Bookworm and Gordon came in here. /Then/ Alryssa made her decision. You see... when you merged Gallifrey with Alryssa... you created something beyond them. You created the incarnation of creativity. Something that was no longer a human woman, no longer the spirit of a planet - but both, and infinitely more. And if Alryssa had had time to think... she'd have realised it. 'And creativity is something that belongs to everyone.' The Doctor wheeled on the Monitors. 'Bring them here.' 'Wh-?' 'Bring /everyone/ here. They must /all/ have a say in this. Oh, it won't stop the story stagnation-' Yokoi, the Bookworm and Alryssa's muse winced. 'But it will put a stop to /your/ little game. 'Do it. Now.' The Monitors looked at each other. Then they nodded. 'Doctor...?' 'It's another layer of the trap,' the Doctor said. 'Forgetting you were creativity incarnate - if you alone had made the choice, /you/ would have decided creativity for the Universe. And... no one person should have that power. Or that responsibility.' 'But... there are only a few of us,' Alryssa protested. 'How can I speak for everyone in the Universe?' 'Listen to me, Alryssa. What we're doing here... it's about you, and us, and about the Hoedown. They're putting you through a trial by fire. But what we almost forgot is the wider picture. The Omniverse is at stake. The Gods of Ragnarok are feeding off all the stories, reducing them to one. We have to escape Titan Three, and confront the Gods on their home ground. But first... we must put a stop to the Monitors' little games. I was sick of games my last incarnation, I'm sick of them now. We /will/ decide this here - and then, we're going to confront the Gods...' 'Not just them...' a voice said. The Doctor nodded. 'You suspected it, too?' 'Yes,' the Bookworm said. 'I think I know who's been orchestrating this, setting mindtrap in mindtrap. Who's been working with the Monitors and the Gods of Ragnarok-' --- "Whoever it was was probably the one who let my Internal Critic loose. Manipulated my bad relationship with my muse to take me out of the action for a while." Gordon looked up. "Well it's *not* going to work! You can try and overcome me with despair, but as a good friend of mine once said: for some people, small beautiful events are what life is all about! The look on Wile E. Coyote's face as he falls off a cliff in a Chuck Jones cartoon. The songs of Ian Dury. The adrenaline rush when I play Robotron 2084 and instinct takes over. The cats who come up and talk to me when I'm delivering newspapers. A gig by Elastica. Dozens of people singing along to a mathematical sequence in a club. A game by Shigeru Miyamoto. A comic by Evan Dorkin. Waking up to find Jones snuggled up on top of me. A cuddly Gengar. Gotan!" He pointed at the second Monitor. "His head and *this* frying pan!" "Eh?" **BOING** Yokoi grinned. "Even in the face of losing everything we can still bring a bit of daftness into the universe." "Those are just some of the things that make life worth living, and I'm not going to let *anyone* take them away from me. So come on you contemptible bampot, give me your best shot!" "He's going a bit over the top isn't he?" whispered Alryssa. Yokoi just grinned even more. "I'm so *proud* of that boy!" She was interrupted by a flash of light. --- "We're getting out," Kid Curry told the assorted crowd flatly, grabbing Cameron by the shoulder and shoving him in the direction of the exit. They didn't look as if they were going to follow. "Get moving! You want this cave to fall in on you?" Scowling, he bent down to the the turquoise troll, who was trying to dash after the Master again. "Listen... the horsey's outside. Go and take care of the horsey - right?" The little troll gave him a reproachful look. She gave a long sniff. "*He* is free to run away, now," she said, her voice grave and suddenly very grown up. "My friends -- *our* friends are not. Our Hostess is back there - the Doctors are back there. I'm not leaving them!" The others murmured agreement, and went to follow the deputy. "What are you, crazy?!" Kid asked. "You *can't* go back there!" The little troll stopped and looked back at him. Her large, round eyes looked like they belonged in the face of a china babydoll, but her gaze was piercing, nonetheless. Not half as piercing, though, as what she said next. "Haven't you ever had a friend you'd do *anything* for?" Kid opened his mouth, but he had no words for her. No one had ever asked him that question. Before he could decide what his answer was, the ground began to shake, and the air was rent by the sound of metal scraping on stone. Filling the tunnel before them, and coming on fast, was a creature unlike any Kid had seen before. The front half looked a bit like a dead eagle chick he saw once on the floor of a canyon, the back half looked like it belonged on a puma cub... Or that's what the two halves *would've* looked like, if they weren't so damned *big*, and if they didn't shine like silver and brass. There was no way they could get past that creature... and there was no way they could outrun it. Then, suddenly, it was like the world fell away from him, as if he had stepped off the edge of a cliff -- or as if the trapdoor of a gallows dropped from under his feet. And everything went black. --- ((In the moment of transfer, Time and Space themselves become fluid...)) Between times... between places... ... The slanting embers of the afternoon's sun glimmered under the edges of the drapes; lay heavy from outside on the dust-furred folds. Within the parlor, as always, there was only lamp-lit dusk. A voice -- male, light-toned, angry. "You sent *who*?" The Contessa stared back at the shadowed shape of her accuser. Her reply, when it came, was almost measured enough to give the lie to the high colour that burned across the bones of her face. "Kid Curry. And I did not 'send' him. He knows nothing." "You just happened to drop a hint that he might keep his eyes open and do you a favor, I suppose? Something like that?" The Contessa's gaze returned the scorn with quiet mockery of her own. "Something like that." "A two-bit outlaw!" A sudden, furious movement in the darkness as her guest leaned forward. "You knew what you were risking -- so *why*?" She shrugged, a graceful gesture that meant everything and nothing. "He owes me, as you say -- and who would suspect *him*?" "The whole town owes you, the way I hear it..." It was an old grievance between them; even the jibes were tired. "Nice little set-up you've made for yourself here -- just how long do you think you can keep it up? How many years of crystal ball-gazing and playing at gods and demons before they call your bluff?" At that, she did laugh. "Here? A hundred years, maybe -- and still they would not wonder. How 'real' do you think this city is, my friend? How many legends walk the street? Vortex City draws them from every universe for as long as the stories shall last --" A breath of a sigh. "Ah. We wondered..." "Why I help you?" Gold gleamed in the lamplight as her hands sketched passionate scorn. "Yes. And now you know. Because all this --" the gesture took in the room, the house beyond and widened to embrace the whole city -- "all this is my home. My people now. And when the fictiverse dies, the archetype cannot exist..." "Then why?" This time there was almost an edge of disbelief to it. "In a town where you can pluck a legend off the boardwalk -- with your gunslinger friend in tow --" "Doc Gallifrey? 'In tow'?" Dark lashes swept downwards, but behind their veil the Contessa's eyes had widened. "You flatter me, I think -- or else you are a fool. He goes his own way, like always." "And so you chose to use *Curry*? When it matters this much? A crazy quarterbreed bandit with a list of enemies as long as your arm -- an uncultured brute who can't even thieve enough to live in style when the law's not on his tail?" "They were all like that... the real outlaws." Her voice might even have held pity. "They were not glamorous, my friend, and they were not skilful, and they were not rich. They were lazy men who had failed..." Her eyes had risen again to meet those of her guest, their cool gaze searching the shadows of his. "And Kid Curry is -- was -- real," the Contessa said softly. "That is why I sent him. That was all my hope...." --- Otherwhere... otherwhen... A distant image. No sound. Weary horse; weary rider. The outskirts of a tired-looking town. The man aims to ride on through; the beast balks, head drooping. Kid Curry swings down, grabs the reins, tugs at its head; mule-like, the brown plants both forefeet in the dirt, and resists. Maybe it has scented its fellows in the shabby livery stable back a ways down the street. Maybe it's just tired enough to be wilful. At last he gets the horse moving. Leads it on, past the store at the end of the street with the grinning boys looking on, past the first of the outlying cabins; gets ready to mount up. The horse's ears swivel sharply. After a moment Kid Curry too swings round. Whatever they have heard, it is coming closer... A man appears around the corner of the cabin. Relaxation. The outlaw's hand leaves the hidden butt of his gun. Not a threat. Looks like a preacher... The old negro is talking to him, beckoning him to follow. We can almost hear Kid Curry sizing him up. The clothes are shabby, hanging loose -- maybe it's a suit of cast-offs from a bigger man, maybe he's lost weight; preaching hasn't been paying too well these last few years. An elderly man -- time-worn face, bald on top, wiry white hair clinging to the sides and back of his skull. A soft touch, perhaps -- but doesn't look like he's got money -- a bite to eat, maybe? Kid Curry shrugs and nods, shakes the man off as he pulls at his sleeve - but follows. The horse, standing patiently, lowers its muzzle to lip at the grass growing out between the bottom rows of logs. Looks like this cabin's been abandoned a while -- but Kid Curry hasn't noticed, hasn't smelt a rat; he's letting the preacher lead him off round the corner, out of sight -- Now we get another view. The inside of the cabin. The two men are coming in. The shutters are up. It's very dark. The old man moves confidently in the dark, goes straight to a corner and picks something up. It's not a lamp. It's some kind of flashlight. It doesn't belong here. We recognise it. Kid Curry doesn't. A moment later. The preacher is shining the bright beam right into the other man's face. His own eyes seem somehow to have dilated into great mesmerising pools that are sucking in the half-blinded outlaw, catching hold of him, hypnotising him... ... Later; outside. Time has passed. We don't know how much. A man, lying on the ground. His hat has fallen off a few feet away. His face is slack; the sallow cheeks are pale. The horse is grazing nearby, glad at first of the rest -- but it is becoming uneasy. Why is its master lying so still? It ambles over and starts to nose at him. The man begins to stir, thrusting the moist breath away. He sits up and reaches for his hat, face still strangely blank, and we recognise him. It's Kid Curry. After a moment, expression comes back into his face -- he looks haunted, then desperate. He scrambles to his feet and into the saddle, yanks the horse's head up, drives it forward, straight into a gallop. We follow him for a while... until he is well and truly lost. Back to the cabin. The preacher is watching, smiling, as the rider crests the horizon. He no longer looks feeble and harmless... nor is his smile benign. ... One last glimpse of the fugitive, as the image starts to fade back into the present. Head and shoulders. We close in, focussing tighter and tighter. Throat and jawline now, rigid and desperate -- and there's a thong round his neck, a worn rawhide strip. There's something threaded on it. A glimpse of blue; a bead, maybe. It's a lucky colour -- for some. --- When he came to, the first thing he was aware of was the floor under his feet -- hard and smooth, not the uneven rock of the cave tunnel in which he'd just been standing. The second thing he was aware of were the voices, all making sounds like they were surprised and confused... Kid himself had learned that if you're surprised and confused, the best thing to do was keep silent. And then, over the noise and jumble, one voice boomed: "The gang's all here." --- ((And as Gordon defies the Monitors...)) 'The gang's all here...' the First Monitor said. 'Good,' the Doctor said. He looked around. 'Ladies, gentlemen, Trolls, and everybody else... we're here to make a decision. And that decision will decide the fate of creativity across the Omniverse. Choose wisely...' "I'm sorry," Alryssa whispered. Everyone stared at her. The silence was deafening. The Doctors blinked. "Oh no..." murmured Sixth. "I'm sorry that our party got disrupted again. I'm sorry that things got this far. But most of all... I'm sorry for /you/." Eighth looked horrified.... ... as she turned to the Monitors. "You didn't /want/ me to bond with Gallifrey. Some parts of you wanted it even to kill us both. But it hasn't. And what doesn't kill me... " she smiled, "can only make me stronger." An exhale from the assorted Doctors, and their friends. She turned back to Eighth. "I'm ready this time, Doctor. I'm ready to merge. Properly. Finally." The avocado troll looked from Gordon to Alryssa, and back again -- twice -- the one bathed in the silvery glow of the Sword of Authorial Freedom, held high above his head, the other standing proud and defiant, the fire of Old Gallifrey's volcanos glowing behind those seemingly human eyes, the roar of Gallifrey's winds in her voice. She was proud -- so, so proud. A lump came to her throat, and she wiped away a happy tear. She couldn't help herself -- she hugged the nearest pair of knees. --- The Doctor nodded. 'You know what to do.' Alryssa looked at him, then looked around the cave. Gordon bathed in the silvery glow of the sword. The Bookworm watching them, smiling. The Doctor, eyes as unreadable as ever, /watching/ Alryssa. The partygoers at the Hoedown, watching in hushed silence. It's time. Are you scared? Yeah. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. Me too. But... I want to know what happens next. So do I. Ready? Ready. ((Sailor Gallifrey raises her staff...)) * * * 21. The first victory * * * /Alryssa prepares to accept her destiny.../ --- The staff rose into the air. 'By the powers of Gallifrey, by the powers of Earth Two bound together through bonds old and new Past, present and future are within my domain To create and inspire the quest I choose Creativity embodied, a planet's spirit reborn Defender of inspiration, a woman discovered Both human and Gallifrey, the birthright claimed Magic and beauty, mystery and wonder Brought together as these forces collide Technology and creation, revelation and joy In diversity, creativity - in acceptance, unity Let these people now become one!' The staff's sigil glowed with rainbow light- -and the light burst outward, the onlookers turned away- -too beautiful, too terrible- -across the Omniverse, on worlds that would never meet, times unknown to anyone else- -a feeling, a /sense/- -creativity would be guarded, its guardian now come into her own- -choosing her purpose, to defend and guard that which belonged to all- -two now become one, and so much more- --- The staff descended, settling into Sailor Gallifrey's hand. She looked at it wonderingly, as if seeing it for the first time. 'You know,' she said, speaking to no-one in particular. 'I've been saying this a lot, lately, but...' She raised the Staff of Harmony. 'GALLIFREY STAR POWER, MAKE UP!' And the lights went out. Then, slowly, they started to come back on. 'I am Sailor Gallifrey,' she said. 'I am the defender of inspiration, a champion of creativity.' 'And I am finally myself.' There was a brief silence. Then Alryssa's muse started to clap, beating the Doctor to it by a fraction of a second. Then Gordon and Yokoi joined in. Soon enough, /all/ of the guests were applauding. Our hostess span round. 'Come on, everybody!' The clapping intensified. One of the Monitors started to join in, but was quelled by a look from the other. Sailor Gallifrey bowed. There was a gasp. Everybody fell silent. 'Yokoi? Wha-?' Gordon began. Yokoi pointed. On the floor where the Bookworm had been were two bodies. One that of a girl with long brown hair and grey eyes, in flowing white Grecian robes. The other that of a man with short black hair and brown eyes, in a wizard's cloak. Allie and Imran. Finally separated. 'Wha... what happened to them?' Gordon asked. 'They were linked to Alryssa and Gallifrey,' the Doctor said softly. 'Resonating with them, because their bond was as unstable as Alryssa's...' '...When they joined,' the hostess said, 'the Bookworm must still have been resonating - it bounced back, and the Bookworm separated back into Allie and Imran...' 'Oh my...' Yokoi whispered. Allie's eyes opened. 'No way are you getting off without paying that tab, Yokki...' 'ALLIE?!' Allie slowly sat up, rubbing her head. 'Probably... at least, if you stopped shouting, I could make up my mind...' 'Uhhhgghhhh...' Imran groaned. '...Allie?' 'Yeah?' 'Funny, Mum never said it'd be like this...' 'Oh ha ha...' Allie's face softened. 'Imran...' 'It's okay, Allie.' Imran said. 'It's okay.' She reached out a tentative hand, meeting his own unsure response. They looked at each other. And then both of them started crying into the other's shoulder. 'How come she's not fading?' a bystander asked. 'That would be because of me.' Sailor Gallifrey said. 'The muses here no longer have to fight the stagnation...' 'The muses /here?/' the hostess asked. Sailor Gallifrey nodded. 'The other muses... across the Omniverse, they're still being affected. The stories are still stagnating.' 'Then let's go /do/ something about it!' Yokoi said. 'YEAH!' the Hoedown chorused. Our Hostess smiled. Now she remembered, back at the beginning of the story (or was it the middle?), when she, and Daibhid (and Daibhid's backpack) and Jo were standing around Imran and his keyboard, trying to figure out who the Mystery Guest was... *That* was when they realized that the story was falling apart. *That* was when Imran knew that Sailor Gallifrey couldn't come to help them, because she'd been trapped. They needed to find her and free her so that she could give them strength to move the story forward. And now, that is just what had happened. Time to get back to the Barn/Circus Wagon TARDIS and get the show back on the road (and, she hoped, let the good times roll once again -- literally). But then -- Alryssa's muse looked around. 'Hey, where'd the Monitors go?' 'Right here...' "Oh, no," she muttered to herself... "How many antagonists does this story have, anyway?" --- 'Three, last time I looked...' the Eighth Doctor said. 'It's simply that Gordon observed that they wanted Gallifrey /dead/, and he wanted to know why. And... I'm more than a little curious about their conflicting motivation...' He suddenly grinned. 'Besides, we need them to /tell/ us where the Gods' current home realm is. We can hardly challenge someone if we don't know where the people we're going to challenge /are/.' 'I could be arrogant, and claim that this was all for the universal balance...' the second Monitor said. 'But I can't. We /hurt/ her, we /manipulated/ her, and you, her friends, were caught in the middle of psychological mindgames.' 'Nice to see you've reached some awareness,' the Doctor observed. 'She came through, despite what was happening to her. Thanks to you - all of you - she survived, and took on her role. I /could/ say this was all a psychological mindgame designed to force her into accepting her role - I /won't/. It was a /trap/. You and she would have remained caught here, trapped in mindgame upon mindgame - and if /some/ of us had had their way, she would have destroyed herself - and you with her.' The second Monitor glared at the first. '/Some/ of us felt the universal balance had tipped the wrong way because of your intervention, Doctor. They wanted one way, static, unchanging...' '...uncreative, dead...' the Doctor breathed. 'I /thought/ so. But you /hadn't/ realised Alryssa had become the spirit of creativity. You thought she was only its defender - and without a defender, the Gods would make /all/ creativity stagnate - which would, incidentally, serve /your/ purpose.' The hostess gasped. 'Nevertheless...' The Monitor's hood creased in what might have been a smile. 'You have triumphed over everything we could throw at you, defeated every challenge. No blame lies on /us/ that you won - you triumphed fairly.' 'Something for the transcripts, hmm?' the Doctor said. 'So...' --- 'Kid?' '...So that's what you really look like.' 'Actually,' Allie said. 'this is what I originally looked like, before I met Imran.' 'And discovered Sailor Moon videos,' Imran muttered. 'All right, all right, I'm sorry...' Allie frowned. 'I'm not sure why I reverted, though...' '...Or why I have this cloak.' Imran said. 'Anyway... I needed to ask you something.' 'Yeah?' Allie took a deep breath. 'Did you... that is, can you remember, meeting a preacher?' 'A preacher?' 'An elderly black man,' Imran said. '...bald at the top, hair on his sides and back...' they said together. 'You remember?' 'I...' The Kid hesitated. 'There was a man... a light, I think... A bead in the sunlight? A pearl... Vortex City, done what I'd come to do, take care of some business, some scores needin' accountin'... went to the Contessa, afterwards, somethin' nagging at my head. Spoke to her, she said...Said somethin' 'bout dark forces in my future... somethin' to protect me from them... gave me a... charm? To ward them off, turn them against themselves... Asked to keep my eyes open... do her a favour. Little thin' , no skin off my nose - hell, after all she'd told me, I could hardly do otherwise. Then I left her, set off on my way, through the towns... then I met this preacher fellow. And then...' The Kid frowned. '...Was meetin' up with your hostess, next clear thing... You know that preacher man, or someone like him. Otherwise, wouldn't be askin' me.' Allie hesitated. 'Yes. Yes, I know him. So does Imran... and I think Gordon and the Eighth Doctor know him too. I was hoping /not/...' 'I think...' Imran hesitated. '...wait, do you still have that charm?' The Kid blinked. 'Charm.' 'You said you got a charm. Right at this moment, we need all the charms we can get.' Imran said wryly. 'That's the truth,' the Kid agreed. 'I got it..'. He reached for his neck. '...here, I think.' He brought it into the light. Allie and Imran blinked. A blue bead with a hole in it. Carved into the shape of a little eye. 'Talk about being literal...' Imran finally said. --- The first Monitor was watching the Kid thoughtfully, as if it could place his face from somewhere. 'She no longer needs our help, Doctor.' the second Monitor said. 'She may /want/ it... but in the end, it is /you/ she depends on. All of you. We... to be honest, she would be well within her rights never to speak to us again. To reject us utterly. Equally... she could go to the other extreme.' 'Yeah, like *that's* going to happen.' Alryssa's muse muttered. 'I think not,' Sailor Gallifrey said. 'No, I'm not going to forget what you set up. What you plunged me into. But it occurs to me that one way you might correct yourself... is by advising me.' She raised up a hand to forestall any protest. 'You /are/ the Monitors of the universal balance. That /is/ your purpose. But... you can be coerced into things, be forced - or choose - to act in ways seemingly against the balance. Those are the rules you're bound by.' '...Yes.' 'You're on probation,' she said. 'I think... this time... you have almost stepped too far beyond the balance, set things nearly spiralling out of control.' She grinned. 'But the universal balance is dynamic, /creative/. It must be, to balance all the forces at work. And I defend the creative. So... if someone were to coerce you into acting against the balance, I'd set the balance /back/. Antagonists, protagonists, allies, enemies, advisers... for once, you have a chance to act /in/ the universe, rather than set things in motion - because you'll be interacting with /me/. And with /us/. How you choose to act from now on will decide that role in the universe.' The second Monitor started to speak, then shut up. '*Now*, you have another chance,' Alryssa told them. 'Don't mess it up.' '...All right,' the Monitor said. 'All right. As you said... it /is/ our role, and things /are/ out of balance. The Feeders of Story - the ones you call the Gods of Ragnarok - are going too far. Follow the new Psychic Circus - and the circus the Feeders have reanimated to haunt its steps...' Then... they were gone. 'Damn,' Gordon muttered. 'One set of antagonists down, two to go,' the Doctor said. "I'm not so sure," Our Hostess said. "I have a feeling those two weren't exactly of one mind. One of them seemed, despite their actions, to actually *want* us to succeed, even if ... it ... wasn't able to act on that desire directly. Perhaps that desire itself tipped the balance of the scales in our favor. And one of them seemed downright hostile... Now that that side's lost (for now), there might be a grudge factor working against us." She scratched that curious little itch behind her left ear, again. "Only thing is," she said, "now that they're gone, I can't remember which is which..." "Hmm," the Eighth Doctor commented. "Does it matter?" "No, I suppose not... So, where do *we* go next?" she asked. The Seventh grinned. 'I've been following what Kingpin and Mags have been doing with the renewed Psychic Circus, and I'm seriously impressed. I think it's time we paid some old friends a visit, don't you? Besides... it sounds like they might need a little help...' "We're going to the circus!" she said, clapping her hands. "But how will we get there? Here we are, outside all of Space-Time, and our TARDISes are back on Titan Three." "I wonder," Fourth said, "if there's a decent transmat around here... Wouldn't be surprised." And he went off in search of one. --- Our Hostess nodded in satisfaction. Turning to the Valeyard, she asked: "Care to join us? If nothing else, it should be a bit of a romp." But he shook his head. "I'm not quite ready to jump back into stories, just yet, as I'm still unsure of my character. Besides, I have this crossword puzzle to finish. ... You wouldn't happen to know a fourteen letter word starting with 's', would you?" The troll thought a minute, then shook her head. "Not in English. How did you get a crossword puzzle, anyway?" she asked. "It's not like they deliver "The Times" to Titan Three." "I write them myself," the Valeyard said, proudly. "You write.... ?" He nodded. "Then I hide them in the caves. By the time I've found them again, I've usually forgotten all the clues. It's ever so much *fun*!" "That's It!" Sixth (who had been eavesdropping) exclaimed. "I *knew* there was something different about the atmosphere on that planet -- it's the spirit of *fun*. I do believe you've *infected* the place." He looked thoughtful. "For a long time, I thought you wouldn't amount to anything but trouble," he told the Valeyard. "But I have to congratulate you on this point." And he gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Probably the first *fun* that bit of rock has experienced since it congealed out of the interstellar gasses," he added. "Perhaps," the avocado troll said, as the idea formed in her mind, "that's why the Monitors set their mind traps *there*, as opposed to somewhere else. Titan Three has *always* been a nexus point of stagnation, of depression. But when *fun* started to break through even there, they knew that the order of the universe was shifting. So they decided to nip it in the bud, so to speak." A wide grin spread across her face. "And they failed." Fourth reappeared from around a corner. "You won't believe the transmats they have here!" he said, admiringly. "You could transport whole planets, if you wanted to!" "How about a motley crew of trolls, cowboys, Time Lords, Writers and Muses?" the avocado troll asked. "Oh, most definitely!" She turned to her guests. "Okay, gang! Ready to go spread some infectious fun throughout the universe?" A wild cheer echoed through the vast chamber. "All right then! First stop Titan Three to collect our TARDISes (and return the Valeyard to his crossword puzzle), then on to meet up with the Psychic Circus!" Another cheer. The troll's grin got wider and wider. ((A short time later, in the transmat room:)) * * * 22. Back in the TARDIS * * * /As the party prepared to transport back to their TARDIS.../ --- It was rather like gathering for a group photo: squinching into the space that the fourth Doctor indicated. He set the coordinates and timer, then ran to join them. "Are you sure you know how to work this thing?" the avocado troll asked, under her breath. "Have I ever *not* been perfectly adept in such matters?" the Doctor asked. A few groans rose from the crowd. "Yes. Well..." he conceded. "At least, this time we have Sailor Gallifrey on our side." Our Hostess started to think about this when the "zzzippop!" interrupted her. It was like the world *fell away* from her, suddenly -- like stepping off the edge of a very large step you didn't know was there... only not just from under her feet, but from all around her. Almost as if the world were a bubble she was floating around in, and it just popped... ceased to exist. It was a little better than the first time, though (when they were in the caves, watching the baby gryphon run for its mama), because now, she knew a little bit about what to expect. But still, she doubted it would ever be among her favorite experiences. The first thing she was aware of, when the world came back to her, was the rough rocky ground under her feet. And then, she heard her guests exclaim and sigh, and ask each other if they were all right. "There!" she heard the Fourth Doctor say. "I *knew* it wouldn't be a problem!" "Oh," said the Third, "you can't fool *me*, you know. You were just as uncertain as the rest of us!" Then he chuckled. It was then that she had the courage to open one eye, then the other. They were all in one piece. That was good. They were on Titan Three. And that was better. And her Circus Wagon TARDIS was in sight. That was better still. But it was in sight a long way off... There was going to be a long hike ahead, and they were already tired. She sighed. Well, she thought to herself. Three out of four isn't *too* bad. She searched her pockets until she found what she wanted: her favorite gold and silver kazzoo. Perfect! "Who wants to march in a Pro-Fun Parade?" she called out, then, not giving her guests a chance to say "no," she gave the order: "Follow me!" And, putting the kazzoo to her lips, she led them on with as many jolly marches as she could think of, and a few more that she made up on the spot. Then, as they came around an outcropping of rock, a huge, shadowy form prompted her to slow down and lower her kazzoo. She signalled the others to be quiet (not too difficult, since many were now too tired to show much exuberance) and pointed. There, sheltered from the wind by the side of the mountain, lay the mama gryphon, licking her baby clean as it suckled. The avocado troll smiled, reassured by this sign that peaceful, life affirming order was beginning to return to Titan Three after the Monitors' and Feeders' meddling. Not long after, the Master parted company with the others. "I've parked my TARDIS around here, somewhere," he said. And he went off to look for it. --- They came upon their circus wagon a little after sunset. The avocado troll was relieved to see that Kid Curry's horse was there, too, standing on the leeward side, out of the wind. Perhaps, despite appearances, he could sense that this was where he had found the comfortable stall and a belly full of warm oat mash. Perhaps he sought (futilely, she thought, with a pang) the companionship of the android horses. The sky grew a shade darker as Titan Three's sun sank another degree below the horizon. A cold wind kicked up. Our Hostess shivered. But they were there, together. She was *home*. "Come on, everybody!" she called out with fresh enthusiasm. "I think we all deserve a couple of rounds of hot chocolate to revive our spirits! I'll meet you in there in a second." Like clowns into a clown car, her guests filed into the Circus Wagon. Going over to Kid Curry's horse, she led him 'round back to his stall. Perhaps, she thought, adding to her list of reasons how he'd found her TARDIS, under that ragged coat and world-weary eyes (despite being paired with a desperate and frightened outlaw), this nameless horse was a pro-fun creature himself. She hoped so. "What do you say, boy," she said, rubbing his forehead where the hair came together in a little swirl (only, she noticed there were two swirls -- a sign of intelligence -- or madness), "You ever dream of running away and joining the circus?" After he was settled in, she headed up to the bar to fix herself a double dark hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. --- A thought occurred to her while she drank the chocolate. 'What about the other creatures in the Gods' - it /was/ the Gods, wasn't it - zoo?' our hostess asked, putting the mug down. 'Assuming Fourth missed sending any home while he was trying to place us...' the Valeyard replied. Fourth raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, shouldn't I have mentioned that?' the Valeyard said. 'Assuming any are still left, I'll take them home. They should have that much...' 'What about the gryphons?' our hostess wondered. 'Their homeworld was destroyed quite some time ago,' Second said sadly. 'We could take them back where they belong, but...' '...they'd be destroyed shortly after they were returned.' our hostess realised. 'Let them live out their lives here,' Eighth said. 'This planet's been devoid of life - animal life - for far too long. Enough of their kind are here for them to start again. And there's enough space junk and debris to keep them going for... oh, the next few millennia.' Our hostess looked confused. 'They're living metal,' Eighth explained, 'so they don't eat carbon. Kid's horse wasn't in any danger - they eat metal.' 'Of course,' our hostess realised. 'The gryphons simply wanted to be reunited and... oh...' She started grinning. 'Baby must have thought your sonic screwdriver was food...' She thought (but didn't dare say it out loud) it was very good fortune indeed that the mama hadn't found the android horses.... Eighth ahemmed. 'Yes, well...' Sixth grinned wickedly. 'Say, "old man"...' 'Oh no. Oh no...' the Valeyard said flatly. 'Still, it would be good to know someone was keeping an eye on them,' our hostess said. 'Make sure no-one tries to make them part of one of their..."zoos".' The Valeyard looked at her, an eyebrow raised. 'You always manage to do that to me...' 'Everyone should be able to celebrate fun,' our hostess said. 'Including the gryphons.' Slowly, the Valeyard smiled. 'Yes... Yes, you're right.' "Besides," the avocado troll added. "This planet is now an official outpost of fun in this sector of the galaxy. And I can't think of anyone better to keep it up and running! I love your taste in whirligigs!" She winked at him, and put another dollop of whipped cream into his hot chocolate. 'All aboard!' the deputy troll called. 'You're sure you'll be all right?' Fifth asked. 'Of course,' the Valeyard said. 'Things were getting... a little dull around here.' 'That's what we do best!' the hostess said. 'Challenging dullness and shaking up boredom by celebrating fun! And-' '-It's what you're doing next.' the Valeyard said, smiling as he stepped down from the TARDIS. 'Good luck.' 'And to you,' our hostess said. She pressed something into his hand. Then she pulled herself over to the cartTARDIS' reins. 'Everyone on board?' she called. 'YES!' 'Ready to spread a little fun at the Psychic Circus?' 'YES!' 'Then... let's go!!' The hostess cracked the android horses' reins, and they started to trot. Then canter, then gallop. As they sped up, the sound of a TARDIS' dematerialisation could be heard, echoing across Titan Three. The cartTARDIS began to fade. Until, with a final groan, it was gone. The Valeyard smiled, and looked back at the gryphons. 'Incredible...' he murmured. He looked down at what the hostess had pressed in his hand. A kazzoo. He smiled, and closed his hand over it again. He sat watching the gryphons for a short time, as Titan Three's sky began to glitter with stars. Then he reached for his crossword, and started filling it in. 'I wonder...' he mused, to no-one in particular. 'Where /was/ that calliope music coming from...?' --- Meanwhile, at the Hoedown... 'Hey, I've got this /great/ recipe for hot chocolate!' Imran began. 'Oh no. Here we go again...' Allie murmured. Alryssa chuckled, her feet resting up on a table. She was back to normal, if you could call wearing black go-go boots and a velvet black dress normal. Only those who knew her would notice the change; subtle but permanent. Across the room, almost all the Doctors were busy debating on a topic that everybody else had given up on keeping up with by now. Eighth had wisely chosen to decline the discussion, and sat instead at the Muses table, nursing a pint of Guinness and joining in the lively conversation. He briefly caught her wandering eye, and winked back. She smiled. "Are you going to introduce your Muse, or will she be nameless forever?" The avocado troll was standing in front of her. "Oh! Forgive me... I've been a little... preoccupied. This is Tessa." The red-headed Muse shook the troll's hand. "Preoccupied indeed," Tessa sniffed. "Next time you have a universal crisis to deal with, I'll make sure you know that I'm being left out, OK?" Alryssa shot back. "I'll bring out those pictures again." Alryssa paled. "No! Not those... I won't be able to stop writing for weeks! And none of it will be publishable!" "When is it ever?" "!!!" The troll shook her head, laughing, and continued to make her rounds as the party rolled on. --- Our hostess grinned as she walked around. Things were slowly getting back to normal... and her guests were all resting, getting ready to meet up with the Psychic Circus. So, where exactly *was* the Psychic Circus, anyway? She trotted up to the Seventh Doctor. "You said you'd been keeping an eye on Mags and Kingpin..." she ventured. Seventh nodded. "Yes, indeed," he answered. "Took them awhile to get back on their feet," he added, "after the Gods of Ragnarok -- or 'Feeders' had done their damage, but those two really believe in what they're doing, and refused to give up." "And now that they're strong again, the Feeders are back," Our Hostess concluded, sadly. "But you know where to find them, right?" "They've moved on from Segonax, of course," he said. "After all, they started out as a *traveling* circus, before they got trapped by the Feeders at the dimensional well... So I don't exactly know *where* to find them, but I *think* I know how..." "And that would be...?" she prompted. "Kingpin had a medallion that protected him from the Feeders' powers. That medallion has certain dimensional properties..." "And if we lock my TARDIS's homing device onto that dimensional signature," the avocado troll finished, "then we will be drawn right to him like a paper clip to a magnet!" "Exactly!" Seventh said, nodding enthusiastically. "So how do we do that?" the troll asked. "Well, if we had something with similar properties, we could scan that signature into your TARDIS databanks." "Hm. And if we *don't*?" "Excuse me," Imran said, looking up from his typing, "but I think we *do*," and he told them about Kid's necklace. "You mean," the troll asked, "he's starting to get his memory back?" She hadn't had a chance to talk to him since before they'd entered the Valeyard's meditation chamber. "Well, sort of," Imran confessed. "He's remembered that he was on his way to meet someone called 'the Contessa', but he doesn't remember what he was going to tell her. It was the Contessa that gave him that bead." "Shaped like an eye, you say?" Seventh asked. Imran nodded. "Hm. Just like the eye sygil on those kites." Our Hostess was about to ask "What kites?" but that was a detail that could wait until later. Right now, she had to talk to Kid, to convince him to let her borrow his charm, and maybe, by asking the right questions, jog his memory back on track. Soon, too soon, they were going to meet with the Feeders. And they needed to know their weak point before the confrontation. "Imran," she said, "earlier, you said you had a theory about what Kid might have seen. Are you any more sure about that theory, now? Even if it's not exactly right, if I suggest it to Kid, it might help him remember what actually happened." "Well," said Imran, "It's like this..." * * * 23. Locked memories begin to crack * * * /Imran has a theory as to who has tampered with Kid Curry's memory - and why... / --- '...It goes back to why Sailor Gallifrey was created.' 'As the defender of creativity,' our hostess recalled. Imran nodded. 'That's what the Monitors had in mind. They created her because...' He hesitated. 'Go on.' 'Because - or at least, this is what the Doctor speculates - they had seen how close the Omniverse had recently come to stagnancy and death.' 'When the Black Guardian tried to destroy Cyberspace?' 'No... This happened a little later. In one of the Doctor's Fictiverses-' 'One of them?' 'One. I think we've lost track of how many there are... anyway, in one of the Doctor's Fictiverses - it's the comic fictiverse again, sorry about that-' 'There's really got to be a way to get those on wider release...' our hostess mused. 'It feels as if I'm missing out on something important whenever we get into this.' 'I wish...' Imran said. 'In that Fictiverse... some time ago, the... there's no good word for this - the life-force, the mind, which maintains the Omniverse and all its diversity - it was dying. There was a battle, which the Doctor got caught up in, to choose another mind to keep the Omniverse going. A choice between stagnancy, despair... one way, one path, no creativity...' Our hostess shuddered. '...and hope, diversity... many paths, many ways, creativity and inspiration.' 'And the creative side won,' our hostess said. Imran nodded. 'Yep. And from what we've just seen, it looks like some of the Monitors weren't too happy.' 'Some /were/, though.' our hostess observed. 'Yeah. Some were.' 'And the Monitors who /were/ happy with what had happened - they created Sailor Gallifrey to try and stop something like that happening again?' 'That's what the Doctor suspects.' Imran said. 'He may not always be right, but... There /will/ be another conflict to choose another mind to keep the Omniverse going... but it won't happen for a long, *long* time to come.' 'That's something of a relief...' our hostess said. 'But what does all this have to do with what Kid saw?' 'Because of who was caught up in that fight,' Imran said. 'The Doctor?' our hostess said. 'And the Master.' 'The /Master?!/' our hostess gasped. Imran nodded. 'Not one of the ones who attended the Hoedown, thankfully. This is 'bout as far into the Master's future as we've seen, the body he got after he and the Doctor fought in San Francisco, when the Eighth Doctor was born and the Master's body got sucked into the Eye of Harmony.' 'He survived even /that?/' 'So did Omega,' Imran said. 'And the Master was in the same condition - he existed only as a being of pure mind. Survival is what he knows - perhaps better than anyone else.' 'Go on,' our hostess said, more than a little disturbed. 'All right. He was bound into another body again - the body of a man who'd just died in Shoreditch.' Imran held up a hand. 'Not going into all the details here. Someone else did it on the Master's behalf - no-one we're going to meet during this adventure though. He's gone... elsewhere, now, and he's found some peace.' 'So the Master gets a new body...' our hostess whispered. 'And both of them got caught up in the battle,' Imran continued. 'The Doctor on the side of creativity and life -' '-the Master on the side of stagnancy and death.' 'In this body, the Master's thoughtful, considered, intelligent...' Imran said. 'No ranting, no raving... preferring to watch, and to set things in motion. Okay. When the fight to save the Omniverse was over, the Master was... /banished/ somewhere. I don't know precisely where, though. But I think he's been orchestrating all this - working with the Monitors, the Gods' sudden increase in power - working with them to get what he wants.' 'And you think the /Master/ was the one who blocked Kid's memory.' Imran nodded again. 'That's why Allie and I asked if he remembered seeing a preacher - an elderly black man in ill-fitting clothes. *That's* the Master's latest body. He prefers Time Lord robes, usually - but those /would/ stand out in Kid's Fictiverse - so, he went for his other look.' 'And... what does this Master want?' 'Partly... revenge on the Doctor. The Doctor stopped him from being able to reshape the Omniverse to his whim. Now... I think he's trying it another way, from the outside.' 'Working with the Gods of Ragnarok and the Monitors to reduce all stories, all creativity, to /one/ story. A story of death, corruption, and stasis. The final story. The /last/ story. ...But why block Kid's memory?' our hostess wondered. 'What does Kid know, that the Master would want to /block/ his memory? Why didn't he - horrifying as this is - kill Kid?' 'I think... because Kid knows something important, both to the Master, and to us. Something that prevented him from killing Kid. Maybe the Master knew Kid was being protected by something - the same something that let Kid cross our path. Maybe he's important to the Master's future plans - though Kid doesn't know it.' Imran spread his hands. 'I don't know.' He paused. 'But Kid said something... He said the Contessa had asked him to keep his eyes open, as a favour to her. Then he met the Master, and lost his memory.' 'Hmm. Maybe it was something he saw for the Contessa...' our hostess mused. 'That lady sounds like an intriguing woman.... Do you think we'll meet the Master with the Gods' Circus?' 'I wouldn't think so...' Imran frowned. 'I think he may have something else up his sleeve. Last time we met the Gods, they were feeding off the creativity of the visitors to the Psychic Circus. This wholesale devastation of stories - stories across the Universe - that's far beyond what they were capable of last time...' 'Then we'll have to see what /we're/ capable of.' our hostess decided. 'Especially that wizard's cloak of yours...' She frowned. 'But what was it he saw? Or knew?' '/That/ I don't know...' Imran said. 'I can only guess why his memory was blocked. I can't guess what the memory is.' He frowned, too. 'Given what we're caught up in... I think it might have something to do with stories. Only a guess, though.' 'Stories...' our hostess mused. "But it still doesn't make sense," she said. "The Master needs stories as much as the Doctor does, and just as stories need the Master, or someone like him." She turned to the Fourth Doctor. "You've worked *with* the Master before, didn't you?" she asked. "Lot of good *that* did me!" Fourth and Fifth said, in unison. "Yes, well, I never said it turned up all roses," she conceded. "But doesn't that just go to show that the Master doesn't really want to *destroy* the Omniverse -- just control it?" "But how can destroying *stories* destroy the *Omniverse*?" Imran asked. "There are some," Our Hostess explained, "who believe that the Omniverse, multiverse, whatever you wish to label it, is not made of atoms, but of *stories* -- that stories create reality. I think *that's* why, when Sailor Gallifrey stabilized the energies for our own story, you, as the writer half of Bookworm, reappeared wearing a wizard's cloak. Did you know," she added with a wink, in spite of herself, "that the word 'spell' originally meant 'to tell a story'?" "So when stories fall apart," Imran said with a shudder, "the whole Omniverse..." he didn't need to finish. "Exactly!" the avocado troll said, with a grim nod. "It will be just like it was in Logopolis, eventually," Fourth said. "Yes, *just* like Logopolis. And that's why I don't *think* the Master is behind this, even a far distant future incarnation, though I could be wrong. He was willing to correct his mistakes back then, even if it was almost too late, and it almost killed him. He's not stupid. He wouldn't go over the same ground twice. Actually," she said, after a pause, "now that I think of it, I think Logopolis may be the key." "How so?" the Fourth Doctor asked. "Well," she said, "you were there, and I've only seen the outline of what happened in my TARDIS history banks, but if I recall correctly, the Logopolitans were preventing the heat death of our own universe by siphoning off energy from other universes." The Fourth and Fifth Doctors nodded slowly, their faces both darkening. "That's not exactly *fair*, is it?" the troll asked. "What about all the other life forms in those other universes? What if one of them held a grudge? Say, found a way to enter the minds of the Monitors, the Gods of Ragnarok, the future Master, and use them almost as drinking straws to draw energy away from our segment of the multiverse." "You mean, siphon off energy *through* living things," the Fourth Doctor asked, "all the while making their victims think they are acting of their own free will?" "Yes, something like that. How do you know that isn't how the Logopolitans did it? All *they* knew were the numbers they chanted, but how do we know what the effects *felt* like for their victims in the other universes?" "But you're not saying we should let them, whoever they are, *win*, are you?" Imran asked, horrified. "Just take the energy back, and let our own universe die?" "No. Not at all... We just have to employ the opposite of entropy." "Which is?" "Synergy! The more being the sum of its parts, the ability of patterns to form themselves out of formlessness, the ability of life to make itself more complex as it evolves, rather than less --" she took a deep breath, ready to launch herself into the big finale: "the ability to take a rubber band, a plastic drinking straw, a wire spring, and some crepe paper and building the most fantastic toy, ever!" She rocked up on tiptoe, and threw her arms wide. "The ability," she concluded, "to have *Fun*!!!" "If we generate enough fun," Imran said, catching on, "then we'll be able to reverse the direction of the energy drain, and there will be enough energy for all the universes! "Right!" "I'm on it!" he said, going back to his keyboard, and hitching up his long wizardy sleeves. "Get ready for some magic!" The avocado troll lowered herself back onto her heels. "But first," she said, a little more soberly, "we have to *stop* the siphoning off of the energy long enough for us to build up some fun energy of our own. I need to go talk to Kid. I'm not sure, but I *think* he may have witnessed the first entry of these meta aliens into our universe, might have seen the mechanism (if it was a mechanism) used. He wouldn't have known what it was, of course, but if he could have described it to the Contessa, chances are *she* would have known." "So the siphoners used Future Master to wipe it from his memory..." "Yes, *and* they entered our universe through Vortex City, the least known segment of one of the least known of the Doctor's fictiverses..." "So that no one would notice when the stories there started to fall apart until it was too late..." "A lot more subtle than entering through the 'King Arthur' fictiverse," she agreed, "or 'Sherlock Holmes'." She turned to leave. "Well, I can't put this off any longer, I suppose.... Thanks, Imran.' 'No problem.' --- After a while, when the noise from the rest of the barn had begun to get loud and cheerful, and the sound of a fiddle was winding its way up amongst the rafters, the horse raised its head in a soft snort of greeting. Kid Curry leaned against the side of the stall and gazed down, somewhat abstractedly, into the untouched mug of chocolate that had been pressed into his hand. There was a thick skin beginning to form, but it didn't really seem to warrant the kind of close attention he appeared to be giving it... The horse nudged his shoulder, and lukewarm chocolate spilled down the side of his sleeve. Kid Curry jumped and swore, dumping the half-empty mug down into a corner in order to dab at his shirt with a hastily- caught-up twist of hay. The horse's muzzle reached over again, snatching for the hay, and he put up an angry elbow to shove it back. A few more moments' thought, and he seemed to come to some kind of decision. Moving swiftly now, he left the stall and disappeared towards the front of the TARDIS where the doors had been, to return a minute later carrying his worn Gladstone bag in one hand and his coat and hat in the other. He let the whole lot fall on the floor next to the horse's tack to one side of the stall, sighed, and dropped down on his heels beside his own familiar possessions, leaning back against the rough planking, eyes closed, arms linked around his knees. The brown horse shifted from one leg to another behind the partition, blowing quietly. It might almost have been any stable, any town... A long time later he sighed again, biting at his upper lip, got stiffly to his feet, and reached for the brush that was hanging with the rest of the grooming tackle against the wall. A faint remaining puff of bluish dust filtered down into the bedding with each brush-stroke, but in truth someone had done a good job already on the animal's formerly staring coat. Perhaps it was just as well. Working his way down past the brown's knee, with his forehead resting up against the reassuring horse-scented warmth of its flank, Kid Curry's mechanical, unthinking movements were those of a man with something entirely different on his mind. ((Meanwhile, the avocado troll was looking for him...)) * * * 23. Kid Curry tells his story * * * / In which we finally learn what happened to Kid Curry... / --- The avocado troll leaned against the doorway leading into the barn, and watched the two of them -- each simply taking comfort from the company of the other, the two-legged and the four-legged leaning into each other as if they were the same species, communicating in a language they had taught each other on the trail. The horse mouthed the hair at the nape of Kid's neck as Kid ran the brush down the horse's side, almost as though Kid were a younger, skittish member of his herd that needed comforting. She wondered how much the horse understood of what was going on. She couldn't help but notice the discarded mug in the corner, the now cooled cocoa spilled into the hay. It was unfair, perhaps, to expect Kid to take the same pleasure from these things that the others did. It was also unfair, she thought with a pang, to *use* Kid in their upcoming battle. If she had had a choice, she would have sent him on his way with a round of whiskey and a purse full of gold for his trouble. But she *didn't* have a choice. Taking a deep breath, she straightened, and braced herself for what she had to do next. "Kid," she said, quietly. He straightened suddenly, tense, and on guard. His hand went to the place where his gun wasn't before dropping to his side. "It's only me," she said, walking toward him, hoping that her voice sounded unforced. "We got separated after leaving the Valeyard's cave, and I wondered if you saw anything back there I should know about." She sat down on the tack box and patted the space beside her. Cautiously, Kid left the stall and joined her. "Yeah," he said, after a while. "Yeah, I s'pose there is..." But he fell silent again. She studied his face. There was something different about it, something a little more -- what? Self-assured? No, not exactly... But there was something... "So," she said, as much to herself as to him, "you *did* remember something, didn't you?" "You're not being straight with me, are you?" Kid asked, but without malice ... almost as if that's what he expected. "Well," she admitted, "Imran *did* tell me a little of what you told him. But it was pretty spotty. I want to hear your version." Kid leaned back against the wall. His shoulders relaxed. A faraway look came into his eyes. "She's called 'the Contessa'...." he began. And told her everything: about the way the light crept 'round the heavy velvet curtains, and the way her hands moved, the lamplight, and the crystal ball, and her laugh. And the way he was free from nightmares after, and the charm she gave him, the last time he went to see her. "She was the one I was going to see, to report to," he concluded, "when -- when I got sidetracked. I'm sorry.... I don't remember any more." "Of course!" the avocado troll said. "The Storyteller! Who else would be so interested if trouble started, and the stories themselves started to unravel? I wonder..." she mused. "Did the Contessa *know* what you were looking for, even if you didn't? Or did she just sense that something was 'off'? If she *did* know, then maybe that charm she gave you is some sort of clue. "...Kid, may I see that charm, please? I'd like to take a closer look. I'll give it back, I promise." Kid hesitated, and for a moment, the troll thought he was going to refuse. But then, slowly, carefully, he lifted the thong from around his neck and handed it to her. She cradled the bead in her palm. It was so small, so finely carved, a shade somewhere between turquoise and lapis lazuli. There seemed to be something carved on it, besides the eye design -- some sygil, or glyph. She tilted her palm, hoping the light pouring in from the dance floor beyond would help her see better. It didn't. Patting down her vest pockets with her free hand, she found the pocket-sized flashlight, and turned it on. Kid leapt up and away from her so quickly that the tack box rocked underneath her. His horse, startled, half reared in his stall, banging one hoof against the door at her back. Suddenly, she realized what she had done. "I'm sorry, Kid," she said, with an embarrassed chuckle. "I keep forgetting what technology you're familiar with... You're so comfortable with the TARDIS. This is called a 'flashlight', it's --" "I-I don't care what it's called," he said. "Just get it away from me!" She turned it off, and put it down, where he could see it. "It's okay, Kid," she said. "It's perfectly harmless. Take it. See for --" "No!!!" She had never seen him like this. His lips had lost all color. Even from eight feet away, she could see that his whole body was shaking. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, staining his collar. He was pacing now, turning in circles, but all the while, he kept his eyes fixed on hers. "I never should have trusted you!" he spat out. "Kid --" "Admit it! You're one of Them!" "Who, Kid?" But Kid didn't seem to hear her. He crumpled in on himself, whimpering, into a fetal position, his eyes wild and staring at something in the distance, something that wasn't there -- except in his memory. Slowly, quietly, the avocado troll went over to him, and draped a horse blanket across his shoulders. "Deputy!" she called. "Bring a shot of whiskey. Kid's had a shock." All she could do now was sit with him and wait -- wait until the shell around his memory cracked. She only hoped that his whole self didn't crack with it. --- The little deputy came trotting up with the glass, her eyes wide with curiosity, and stopped short as she caught sight of the huddled, rocking form of their guest. Her mouth formed itself into a silent 'o' and she glanced up in alarm at the hostess, who gave her a reassuring smile. "It's going to be all right," she promised them both, hoping that she could make it so. "It's going to be all right..." Kid Curry's mouth was moving almost silently under the heavy mustache. "...spinning..." she caught. Then, half-broken, "...nightmares... like a ghost... sucking dry..." The avocado troll's own heart twisted. Cautiously, she reached out again and opened the clenched fingers as he tried to pull away, pushing the familiar smooth curve of the glass into his hand. It seemed to work. He stared at the liquor blankly for a moment, then she could almost see his eyes begin to focus as he came back from whatever private horror he'd been reliving. The outlaw let out a long breath and tossed back the drink in one movement. Finally, dark gaze still wary and flickering, he reached across slowly and replaced the empty glass in the hand she held out for it. Their eyes met, and she caught a glimpse there of the returning ghost of trust. The avocado troll let out a breath of her own she didn't remember holding. "Now," she said softly, indicating the flashlight, "do you think you can remember and tell me where you've seen one of these before?" Slowly, phrase by reluctant phrase, she pieced together the details of his encounter with the future Master. "Guess he must have put that whole business about the lynch mob into my head right about then." Kid Curry's habitual scowl was strained and tense. "I can still see that liquor store twice... one time going past, and then on top of that another time with me going in..." He slammed a fist down suddenly on the tack box, hard enough to hurt. "What kind of trick is that to play on a man? Drive him out of his mind, and then watch him run -- even a bounty hunter at least tries to kill clean --" The hostess had her own ideas about that one... but she wasn't sure it would help. "Kid," she said instead, "when you first came to that town you wanted to push on. You were in a hurry, you said, to get back to the city. You'd found something out, hadn't you? You were going to see the Contessa..." She took a deep breath. "Do you remember -- now -- what it was you saw... or heard? What did she send you to find out?" For a moment, at the memory, blind panic woke again in his eyes. He nodded, mouth tightening. "Yeah, I remember... and I reckon now I'll never manage to forget..." He stood up again, abruptly, without looking at her, and took a few restless paces across the barn that brought him up against the side of the stall. The brown reached out a curious nose to greet him and he shoved it away automatically, his fingers twisting and unplaiting in the coarse hairs along its mane. "The Contessa wouldn't say what she meant," he said at last. "Said something was wrong, that was all - said there was a stifling in the air so as she could hardly breathe. Maybe she had an idea or two -- I reckon she did. But she wasn't saying. Told her I was aiming to head down South, and she said that'd do just fine... "I was out maybe three, four weeks before I started to get a feel of what she'd had in mind. There were places -- places all over -- where things had gotten kind of..." he hesitated... "dull, thin, dead -- no, not dead, but sick, I guess. The folks didn't trouble to look up when a stranger went by, the dogs didn't bark, even the schoolhouse was quiet. No singing, no card games running -- I got to thinking maybe there was some kind of hell-fire preacher in the neighborhood, but when a town gets religion you can sure feel the buzz. These towns... there was nothing there. "It wasn't just the people -- or even the livestock. Often as not, I'd hit on the edge of one of these grey places way out in the open country, nothing but lizards and rattlers for miles... and it got so as the hair on the back of my neck'd raise right up just from looking round. Nothing growing, nothing changing. Just -- just --" He stumbled over the word. "Just *existing*, I guess." His fingers must have tightened in the brown's mane. The horse threw his head up with a snort. "I tried asking round, every place I found that seemed half-way normal. They were pretty scared. Scared of their neighbors -- scared it was coming to them. Got myself run out of town a couple of times for asking into what they accounted wasn't none of my business. All I got was their name for it -- 'tornado blight'." The avocado troll frowned. "But a tornado wouldn't have anything like the effects you were describing, Kid," she pointed out, puzzled. "And there'd be damage -- a lot of damage. There wouldn't have been much left of your 'dead towns' bar the storm cellars..." "Yeah, well... it was talking that way got me turned out of a couple more places," he told her, scowling at the memory. "By that time I reckoned I'd paid back the Contessa whatever favors I owed her, and then some. I planned on heading someplace else, where the pickings were better, and the land wasn't thin in patches. I was clean out of cash, and mighty tired of sleeping rough -- so I found me a trail heading in to one of them little towns that were so uncommon kind to strangers, and laid up behind some rocks." His eyes shifted, slipping away from hers. "I figured sooner or later there'd be someone along..." Oh, Kid. The troll sighed, and, as if he had caught her thought, Kid Curry's head came up defiantly. "No matter why I was there. No-one came, anyhow... and it was kind of hot, with nothing moving... I hadn't been sleeping too well, the last few nights. Guess I must have dropped off." He shivered suddenly. "And when I woke it was cold, like a winter's night. Cold enough to ache to the bone, and the light was grey... I got myself up and on my feet pretty quick; and then way over to the right, on the far side of the trail, I saw it." His jaw was clenched. "It was like the air was bulging in on itself... heavy colours moving, like oil or thunder-clouds, all rolling over... No, not the air. Something else. Something, pushing through... twisting... sucking everything in... "Like a twister stretching way up... but not clouds. Like it wasn't there at all. Like a ghost, like threads spun up out of nightmare... and it was *cold*. It was aching and it was hungry, and it was pulling everything in -- all the light, and the colour, and the life --" He broke off, sweating. "And I knew then what they'd meant. I knew what had happened, again and again, all over this country... and I could see it coming for *me*..." "But you got away?" the hostess prompted gently as the silence between them lengthened. Kid Curry blinked, slowly, as if he had almost forgotten where he was, and finally nodded. "Yeah. And that was the queerest thing..." He dragged one sleeve across his forehead, breath still coming in shudders. "He saw me." The avocado troll stared at him. "*Who* saw you?" "One of Them... like that preacher man, I guess, like those things back in that place... with Sailor Gallifrey --" "One of the *Monitors*?!" An impatient jerk of his head. "I don't know what it was. All I know is, it was kind of like a man... only all hooded up. I never got a clear view. He was down below me, on the trail, all stooped over -- and then he looked up... and pointed. Just a dark hood, but I tell you he saw me. "And that twister swung round and started in to move. Like it was a part of him. Or maybe like he was a part of *it* -- like he was its eyes... "I wasn't thinking too well back then. I was maybe three parts scared and one part mad, and I came tumbling down onto that trail and loosed off at him with everything I had. Never touched him. Guess I was aiming kind of wild -- leastways, unless all them bullets went right through... And there I was, with an empty gun and that tornado-ghost swinging up into the sky behind like damnation itself, and he was stood there in the dark just looking at me, like I was some ant running round in the dirt under his feet. "I kind of cracked, I guess. He'd backed off a bit when he saw me, and there was some rocks in the path right down where he'd been standing. I went to grab one of them up, like I was a kid scaring crows, and it wasn't a rock. It was some sort of box made out of stone -- real heavy, I couldn't get a grip -- and when I looked up, there he was rushing towards me of a sudden, and the twister right above." Hmm, the troll thought, sounds like the Monitors, alright -- their sort of technology. "Looked like I'd stumbled on something that mattered to him, for a change... and then my hand slipped, and something moved. And everything -- everything... sang out." Ah, she thought again, a smile bubbling up inside her (even if it didn't make it to her face) so the effect can be reversed. Good. Good. He flushed, his dark face almost lit up for a moment as he groped for words to describe what he'd experienced. Finally he shook his head. "I don't know what happened. The twister untwisted all at once, that's the best way I can put it... like someone set off a charge of dynamite, only it blew everything back together. And it blew out past me, and past him, and I heard the horse give a sort of call from back up the hill, like he'd caught the scent of an old friend... and I found myself lying there on the dirt of the trail in the sun, and the crickets singing, and a cool breeze. There was a big old bull-snake curled up across the way under a tuft of thorns, and I just lay there looking at that snake, every scaly inch of him gleaming with life like a colt in springtime, and the thorns springing up clean and sharp with the sap flowing..." The first grin she'd ever seen out of him, sidelong and somewhat rueful. "I must have been plumb crazy for a while -- but I tell you, right then that pass was the most beautiful thing I ever did see." He sighed, one hand stroking absently along the line of the horse's jaw. "But the box was gone... along with everything else. Can't say as I was sorry, though I guess the Contessa would've liked a look at it. Anyhow, I figured the trouble was over. I set off nice and slow, jogging along back north, feeling pretty good. When I hit the first dead spot, I wasn't too worried. I reckoned it'd be bound to take a while for things to even out... "Then I saw another tornado, up ahead. And another. And another. Like living things, working their way up -- and all headed for one place. All aiming for Vortex City." His face was masked again, behind the hard, protective shield. "I tightened my belt and pushed on as hard as I could. Paced them for a while... then started to draw ahead. Reckoned I had about a day in hand, come that last morning, and I'd be in the city by nightfall -- took a few minutes to get cleaned up, and began to relax." His free hand clenched on the side of the stall. "And rode right into a trap. They must have been watching me all the way..." And something just collapsed inside her. Oh, no. Oh, *no*. She could feel his desperation, his despair. All this time, she thought, he's been trying to get back there, trying to race ahead of the ghost tornadoes, trying to get back to the woman he loved (for she was sure he did love the Contessa, in his own way, even if it wasn't the sort of love they write ballads about). And he's been trapped, here, with her motley crew, whose only worry, it must have seemed to him, was whether there was enough chocolate on the dessert table. "Don't worry, Kid," she said, with conviction. "We'll set everything right again. We will. I promise." * * * 25. Off to the Circus! * * * /The avocado troll has learned from Kid Curry of the 'ghost tornadoes'.../ --- She picked up the charm the Contessa had given him, which she had dropped when he'd collapsed, and looked at it admiringly. It seemed to glow with a life, with a light, of its own, shining like a distant blue star in the darkness of the stable. She needed to program its dimensional signature into her TARDIS, if they were to find Kingpin's and Mags' Psychic Circus. But right now, right at this instant, Kid needed it more. She pressed the bead into his palm. His fingers closed around it automatically, like the talons of a bird when it perches on a branch -- a reflex action, and his breath came a fraction easier, a fraction deeper. "Actually," she said, sitting down on the tack box again, "what you've reported to me confirms my theory of what's going on -- I think." And she told him a little of the Doctor's encounter with the Logopolitans, and how these people used pure mathematics to stave off the slow death of our universe by siphoning off energy from the universes around it. "They *said* they were siphoning off the 'excess entropy' from *this* universe into the others... But I think that was just a euphemism. You can't pour a lack of something from one glass to another. By interesting coincidence," she added, "the leader of the Logopolitans was also called 'Monitor' -- but it's a common enough title, I suppose." "And now," Kid said, coming to the same conclusion she had, "you think someone's finally gotten around to stealing that energy -- that lifeforce -- back." The troll nodded. "Maybe it's just some poor sods in cubicles somewhere," she said, "chanting out numbers like the Logopolitans were, who don't even realise the effect their having. Maybe it's deliberate, an act of revenge -- payback. But I think the Monitors you saw, and the ones we met together in -- whatever that place was -- are simply puppets. Remember how they kept saying they were 'coerced'? But they certainly didn't seem clear about who was coercing them, did they?" Kid shook his head, thoughtful. "It's like -- like --" she struggled to find an image he would understand. She'd used 'drinking straw' with Imran, but she doubted Kid Curry had ever set foot in an ice cream parlor. "It's like someone is dropping a boulder in the ocean..." she wondered if Kid had ever seen the ocean, either, and if that was the metaphor she wanted anyway. The answer to both was probably "No", but she pressed on anyway, "and the waves make ripples, and the ripples scare a fish, and the fish swims away because it feels it *has* to, without ever knowing the reason why." She shook her head. "That's not exactly right," she said. "But it's the best way I know how to explain it, right now. "The Monitors felt they *had* to set up those stone box things, felt they *had* to trap us and Sailor Gallifrey -- without knowing why, or who was making them do it. "But you saw the effect of it -- you saw the energy being drained away -- taken out of the universe. I think, when Sailor Gallifrey came into her own, she broke the meta-aliens' hold on the Monitors. Unfortunately, they're not the only conduits the meta-aliens are using. There's also the Gods of Ragnarok, and they're the ones we're fixing to meet up with next. Unfortunately, if all we do is block each conduit as we come to it, a new conduit is bound to open up somewhere else." "So it's hopeless?" "Not at all -- the other universes need the energy, the creativity, the hope, as much as we do, so we're going to try and give it to them. We're going to try and generate enough energy -- enough fun -- to fill up all the empty spaces, and then some. We'll stop the leaking of the bucket by placing it in the ocean!" "That's a tall order," Kid said. "Perhaps. But I have faith in the power of fun. If we put our minds and hearts to it, I'm certain we can come shining through! We'll need all the help we can get, though," she said. "We'll need your help, too." "I don't know..." Kid said. And the troll realised that as hard as it had been to break through the shell of his memory, breaking through the shell of desperation he had built around himself, to find the joy and the hope she knew was inside would be even harder. She knew that joy was there, the expression on his face when he described what it was like when the life came rushing back had convinced her of that... She just had to convince him, too. She thought a minute, looking at him carefully with her head cocked to one side. "I think," she said, "that that charm of yours -- of the Contessa's -- is what brought you here, where you're needed -- and yes, I think you *are* needed here --" she interjected, before he could voice his objection, "rather than where the Monitors *wanted* that dust storm to take you." "And where would that have been?" he asked, doubtful, challenging her. She shook her head. "Perhaps the same place, the same cave, where they had trapped Alryssa. To be honest, I can't say for sure. But," she continued, "I think that charm is somehow connected to the stories, and to the power holding them together. I need --" and then, she stopped herself. She was about to say: 'I need to borrow that charm for a moment,' but she had already taken it from him once. She didn't want to do that to him again. "I need you to do something for me," she said, taking him by the hand. She led him to her water trough console. "Would you," she asked, "please dip that charm into the water for me?" Kid looked at her like she was crazy. "Just trust me on this," she assured him with a smile. Shrugging, Kid complied, lowering the bead an inch or two under the surface of the water. As soon as the water settled around it and became still again, a glow spread out from the bead -- a bright, blue, living light radiating out from the hole where the eye's pupil would have been, spreading though the water like dye, until the water itself started to glow. And then, the light burst forth from the surface of the water with such intensity and brightness that the whole barn was flooded with light, and all her guests looked up and shielded their eyes from the brightness. Suddenly, the troll understood exactly what Kid had meant when he said when he'd said that everything had "sung out". There was a slight shift under their feet as her TARDIS changed its orientation within the vortex and followed the pull toward Kingpin, Mags, and the reborn Psychic Circus. There was a shift, too, in the TARDIS's hum. It was almost, now, as if the ol' girl was singing (with harmonies) to herself. A hush fell over the crowd as her guests tuned their ears to listen, and then, almost simultaneously, laughter bubbled up from each of them. Even Kid Curry's bush of a mustache was turned up at the corners, quivering slightly with the laughter inside of him, as he slipped the charm back around his neck. "We're on our way!" Our Hostess announced cheerily. "Has everyone decided what act they want to perform in the Circus?" --- "Act? I don't need to act!" puffed up Sixth. "With that coat, no, you don't..." muttered Third, that comment earning him a glare. "I'm rather into fencing, myself," Fourth ventured. "I challenge thee to a duel!" countered Eighth, jumping up and grabbing an epee, and waving it at Fourth. The people around him ducked, hoping he knew what he was doing. Bokman raised his hand. "Me and Zoe are finalizing a sort of magic act- we're drawing up the schematics on a cocktail napkin, should be done in time." Nyctolops popped her head up. "I could be the trained monkey in an animal act, or I can change from my present form into a large grey owl in a magic act." Bokman acknowledged her. "That won't be necessary, we think- the whole thing's getting into kind of a weird area." Zoe leaned in next to him, asking "Do we have any Legos?" --- The little turquoise troll trotted around to all the guests, oversized legal pad in one hand, oversized pencil in the other, making note of their ideas for circus acts, and the props they'd need to pull them off. As she turned the corner down one of the corridors, she was surprised to see Jim still in the laboratory, cats milling in and out of his legs. All the lashing tails made it seem like there were a million, but in fact, it was probably only about two dozen. "Oh, hello, Jim!" she said. "The Master didn't take you to Titan Three, then, when he went in search of missing Eighth's team?" "Eighth's Team went missing?!" "Oh, it's okay," she assured him. "That part of the story has all been sorted out. We're all back together now. We're getting ready to put on a circus act, as a matter of fact. Do you have any special talent? You sing, or dance, or juggle?" "Erm... Right now, I'm rather busy with these *cats* at the moment... I don't have any hands free..." The turquoise troll thought a bit. "Right!" she said. "We can use that gadget to power the fireworks for the big finale!" "Not until the very end?" Jim asked, a little disappointed. "Want to be the 'lion tamer', too, then?" --- "What were you thinking of, Imran?" the avocado troll asked. "Something to do with mirrors, perhaps," he said. "As long as they don't lead to parallel dimensions, that's fine by me," Alryssa countered. "I don't think I have an act, really." She glanced across the room at Fourth and Eighth, who were testing lunges. "Maybe someone needs to keep an eye on those two and make sure they don't get too enthusiastic..." Tessa noted. "I have an idea or three," Gordon offered. "Does it involve bouncy castles?" "Oh no," he replied, an evil glint in his eyes. "Something much, much better..." "You are not..." said Alryssa sternly "...doing the elephant impression again! You scared the living daylights out of the Tythonian ambassador last time! "No, that's *not* what I was about to suggest." "What then?" "Masked Mexican Wrestling Armadillos!!!" "Eh?" "I rescued them from various Woolworths stores throughout the UK, where they were given copious amounts of alcohol and then spun on a Twister(TM) mat to determine that week's Woolworth's Singles Chart!" "O.....k....." The armadillo discussion was interrupted by Auntie Krizu, she was holding something behind her back. Gordon hid under the table. Muttering could be heard, something about "No, not the feather duster... it's tickly....nononononono." "Hello," said Alryssa cheerfully as an evil grin appeared on Auntie's face. "I've got something for him..." "What is it?" asked Alryssa. "It's small, purple and makes his face light up with joy whenever he plays with it..." Alryssa's mind boggled. "With the right thing plugged into it, it even vibrates!" Alryssa's mind boogled. (Like boggling, but funkier...) Gordon grinned. "Yay! My GameBoy! I haven't seen this since the Master stole it after I tossed him off..." Alryssas mind temporarily shut itself down for exceeding safety limits when the image that last line brought up entered her head... "...the Scott Monument in Edinburgh!" Two suited men suddenly appeared behind Gordon, grabbing a shoulder each. "Excuse me sir, we're the innuendo police. You've exceeded your quota for this quarter and we will have to ask you to accompany us down to the station." Gordon's eyes went like this... |\o_O/| The suited men began to drag him away, still in the chair... Suddenly a loud thunderous voice shouted, "Wait just a minute!!!" --- Cameron stopped preening himself, and smoothed down his dark fur. "I think an animal act is all I'm good for at the moment." Cameron smiled, showing enlarged and sharpened teeth. "Any volunteers to help me with it?" "Check with Jim," the little turquoise troll said, "-- the last I checked, he was in the laboratory with the other cats and the gizmo we were experimenting with to see if we could harness the cats' static electricity energy. I suggested he try a lion taming act, but he never gave me an answer... maybe you could convince him." The *actual* Jim walked out, looking rather surprised and somewhat sooty, like a cartoon character who discovers that the hot dog is actually a firecracker. His face was blackened, and his blond hair stuck straight out. He was wearing a "Babylon Park: Kicking Ass in Outer Space" t-shirt (on which all the characters looked equally surprised and sooty, except Kenny/Kosh, who was dead, and Londo/Cartman, who was pissed off). His arms were covered in "cat trails" (a.k.a., deep red wounds from playing with cats who have claws). Tiny blue sparks danced around his teeth. He looked a bit dazed and confused. "Are you okay? What happened?" the turquoise troll asked. Jim shook his head to clear the fuzz from his brain and and furiously squinted until he could focus on the troll. "It's that bloody Jonathan Price Master," he said. "He sabotaged the whole thing! I had gone to get a few spare parts and a loaf of bread (sorry, I was out), and when I came back, the various Masters were arguing, and then most of them stormed off. I asked the one who smelled funny what was wrong, and he said 'oh, nothing, i think they've gone off with someone with bigger etheric beam locators or something'. Why on earth did I believe him? Next thing I know, I'm trying to follow the delicate bits of the diagram, and I hear 'Mwahahahahahhhhahha!' behind me. I damn near peed myself! The lunatic Jonathan Price Master was behind me, with the two ends of the power cable crackling with energy. He dove for me, and I had only a second to react." "Goodness! What did you do?" "I ripped the hat off my head and stuck it on the ends of the cables. The backlash bounced back and blasted him and my poor 'instant transmogrification' hat, frying the circuits. As for the Master...." Jim held up a large fuzzy beanie-baby version of the CoFD Master. "When you push his belly he says either 'Mwahahahah!', 'Die, Doctor!', 'I bribed the architect first!', or 'Five hundred miles of fear and feces!'....pretty cool, actually." "Obviously the power equipment's all burnt out, and there are about a hundred and fifty highly agitated cats awaiting me back there. So, after I've had a quick shower, I'll help out. Lion taming should be no problem after a roomful of Masters and cats," Jim said. Cameron stretches out, and roars. "Excellent! But first I must hunt, kill, and eat..." Nyctolops decides that this is an excellent time to go calm down the agitated cats and, incidentally, get far, far away from Cameron's rumbling stomach. --- ((Meanwhile, the Odd Trio are having trouble with the Innuendo Police...)) 'Oh dear...' Allie said. 'Was she like this at college?' Imran asked. Allie considered. 'Nope. She was even /worse/...' 'Let. Him. Go.' Yokoi said quietly. 'He's /mine/ - even if he /is/ half-dead, doped to the gills, and seeing armadilloes everywhere he turns.' 'Thanks, Yokoi...' Gordon muttered. Imran raised a hand. 'Excuse me? Innuendo Police? Umm... I haven't been using my quota very much - at least, I don't /think/ I have...' 'I don't have a quota,' Alryssa said. 'Well, I /do/ write EF stories...' 'Sorry sir, ladies. We /will/ have to ask him to come with us. Going over your quota is a misdemeanor.' 'All right.' Imran said. 'By the way, before you go, would you like some hot chocolate?' 'Oh smeg,' Allie said. 'He's got that I'm An Insane Genius look again.' 'They're dragging me off - and you're giving them /chocolate?!/' Gordon spluttered. 'With just a /touch/ of something extra.' Imran said. 'Here you go.' The two suited men took the mugs and gulped them down. Then their eyes crossed, and they fell over, unconscious. 'Of course, I didn't say /what/ the something extra was...' Imran said, grinning. Gordon was taking the opportunity to put the boots in. 'Hey, they were dirty after all that stomping around the caverns!' Gordon protested. 'They needed to go back in the cupboard... I'm going to get you for that.' Yokoi grinned. 'Finally decided what I'm doing...' Imran said. 'I think... something a little different from mirrors. Besides, I already did the mirrors leading to a parallel universe thing - Charley's /still/ not happy about that one.' 'You already /did/ them?' Gordon said. 'Long story. Very long story. Screams of "Hello, my name is Skoo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.", Charley disguising herself as a Prince, bad men, good men, hammer wielding, ki-blasts, duels to the hurt...' Imran shrugged. 'The usual sort of thing, really.' 'Y'see, /this/ is why we're called the Odd Trio.' Alryssa observed to no-one in particular. Imran grinned again. 'I think I'll go with a little magic.' And, with a flourish, pulled a cup from his magician's cloak. 'Magical milkshakes, to be precise.' 'Magical /milkshakes/?!' 'I was bored, it was late at night, and Allie'd been watching her videos again...' Imran paused. '...So what are /you/ three doing?' he asked Allie, Tessa and Yokoi. The three muses looked at each other. Then, very slowly, started to grin. 'Uh-oh...' the Odd Trio chorused. "This isn't going to involve cloning experiments again, is it?" Imran asked. "Hey! We were getting better... sort of... we would have had a fully functional clone within about... um... twenty years..." Alryssa looked at Imran. "They would have managed it if you hadn't sneezed on their slides." "I can't help being allergic to hairspray!" "Anyhoo..." Gordon interrupted, from his drug-induced stupor, "What did you have in mind?" Yokoi coughed politely. "Well, you know that bit on Bagpuss? Where the little girl says the magic words?" "Yeeeeeees...." "We're been working on some magic words of our own," grinned Allie. "Oh, bugger!" Imran scratched his head. 'Wait, didn't those magic words... oh no. Oh *bugger*.' 'Oh crap.' Gordon moaned. 'So what're you bringing to life /this/ time?!' The Odd Muse Trio stared at him. 'Bring to /life/?' Yokoi said. 'We're /muses/. We're not /gods/.' Allie added. 'No, we had something... different... in mind.' Tessa said. Yokoi grinned. 'Much different.' ((Meanwhile, in Vortex City...)) * * * 26. Trouble in Vortex City * * * /Elsewhere, as the Hoedowners plan their acts.../ --- Between times... between places... There was a sudden whip-crack, and a rattle of hooves and wheels from further down the street. The Contessa, skirts caught up in one hand, swung round swiftly, stepping up onto the sidewalk. Halfway across the road beyond her, another woman glanced over her shoulder and began to hurry, a little girl clinging to her hand. A second volley of cracks from the lash, followed by a cheerful yell as the buckboard swung into view around the slow-moving traffic. Al Hainer's pure-blood team were being driven at a flat-out pace, showing off their speed, and the driver was laughing, reins dangling loosely from his hand as he leaned over to trade jokes with his partner, riding behind. Down in the road, Mrs Mallory took one look and broke into a run, half-dragging her daughter behind her. As she sprang up onto the sidewalk, the little girl lost her footing and fell, losing her grip on her mother's hand and smearing her frills with dirt. Her mouth opened for a forlorn wail; then she caught sight of the team and buckboard bearing down on her and drew breath to scream in real earnest. Instinctively, the Contessa began to dart out into the street. But the mother moved faster, catching up the child in her arms, snatching her away both from approaching danger and from the contamination of the other woman's touch. Back on the sidewalk they stared at each other for a silent, hostile moment as the swaying rig raced past, barely a foot away, wheels obliterating the memory of the child's small body in the dirt. Lucy Mallory's mouth was tight with unshed tears. Finally, she made a brief, painful nod of acknowledgement and brushed past, gathering her respectable skirts around her. The child, too young to understand, turned in her mother's arms, one chubby hand reaching out towards the lady with the gold in her ears and the pretty pearls. The Contessa, shrugging as always, smiled back. Then she froze, dark eyes widening. After a moment she moved forward, slowly, and laid her fingers on the pole that held up the awning. Three inches of solid timber... and the little girl's trailing hand had brushed through it as though she were no more substantial than a wreath of smoke. Almost unwillingly, the Contessa turned, watching her neighbor's straight-backed progress. Twenty yards down the street, Mrs Mallory's skirts caught against an overturned milk-can -- and glided on through. The other woman, watching, felt her breath catch in her throat. And so it had started. Even here in the city, and in the heart of her own power. And so the stories fade... and those who never lived, live a little less every day. And for the rest of us -- for Al Hainer, Kid Curry, herself maybe -- the world is drained a little thinner, a little greyer, a little closer to the long-gone reality we once called home. For we cannot go back... and in the end, no matter how far we run, without a world we cannot live. One hand had risen, unbidden, to her throat. She swept round almost angrily, small, uneven teeth fastened in her lower lip, walked the half-dozen steps to her own side door, taking care not to run, and let herself in. --- In the warm, kerosene-scented darkness of the front parlor, she threw back the drapes on the table on which her crystal ball stood, and ran her fingers over the hidden controls. No more coy temporal glimpses, a week, nine months into the future -- her hands slid across the carved wood, working by touch -- she needed to reach out across time, across the universes. She had the coordinates still, but it would take power. Power of the sort she had shielded, hoarded away, hiding herself for so long. Power of the kind that would have betrayed her to her own people once, not so long ago -- when her birth-place had still been there, far off and despised, to reject her and give her the chance to reject it in turn... She was no wanderer by choice. It was the wanderers who came to *her*, from across the worlds, finding refuge and brief comfort in the shadow -- paying her in cash and in kind; sometimes with no more than a glimpse of a monstrous face in a dark alley when it was needed. She gave them tales, and a place to come. She gave them the reality she had worked so hard to find -- moments of /home/. Her home now. Her neighbors, her people -- the proud little Mallory and her strait-laced friends, the street-girls and the outlaws, the cowboys and the gamblers and the drunks -- living on stories, all of them, even as she did. The only difference was that she knew it, and they did not. She had not created this place. She would never belong. Not her Fictiverse to rule; not hers to protect, and her power was not of that kind, never had been-- But it was her *home*. And it was being *used* -- used *up*... And what did she have, really, now to lose? She had bargained for help; had done her part, in the darkness, in the background as always. They owed her, one more debt in her life's woven tangle of bargains -- and soon it would be too late. Time at last to blaze out, maybe? No time to wait again for them to contact her; no more time in which to hide. The Contessa sank down behind the table, cupped jewelled hands around the crystal ball, /pressed/... and almost gasped as the scanner cleared. Power, blue, incandescent -- her power, her charm -- Kid Curry, forgotten, forlorn hope -- but greater than anything she had ever dared give him -- tapping, somehow, back to the source of its makers. One hand crept up again, without her willing it, to touch the pearls at her neck. She leaned forward, staring into the scanner, coordinates forgotten, her lips parted. Somehow... somewhere, beyond any dream or hope of her own... someone had linked the charm into the metadimensional circuits of a TARDIS. --- ((Meanwhile, back in the TARDIS...)) Our Hostess smiled to herself as she walked around the dance floor, checking in on each of their plans. Their combined energies would certainly do much to create the energy needed to replace that which had been stolen away, and even, perhaps a little more. But. But this was more complicated a problem than tickling the darkness out of someone, as they had last year. While her guests focussed on generating fun and energy, creating the synergy that would counteract the entropy sapping the omniverse, someone had to figure out how to use that energy, where to direct it, and how to reverse the damage already caused by the "tornado blight" before it was too late. She realized, with a slight sinking of her heart, that that would probably have to be her. (Times like this, she thought, I wish I'd done better in science class). She left Doctors Four and Eight at their dueling practice (after all, the two of them together had enough exuberant energy to make up for any flagging spirits among her guests.). But she searched out the other Doctors and called them into a meeting, along with Kid Curry (truth is, she couldn't really see Kid performing a circus act, and she had suspicions about that charm he was wearing that she needed the Doctors to verify). She led the seven of them back to her "puzzling" room, which was mostly just a space for a massive, round, oak table, surrounded by hard-backed armchairs that were surprising comfortable. The vaulted ceiling seemed miles above them (but she secretly guessed that that was just her TARDIS having a little bit of fun with her dimensional mapping capabilities). Somewhere up there a wind chime hung, and every once in a while, as if in response to a thought, its quiet melodic tones would echo down to her. The highest roundels gave off a bright white light, but they gradually grew dimmer on the lower walls, until, at slightly above eye level, they gave off a soft amber glow. The overall effect was of sitting in a well protected grotto, with soft, hazy sunlight filtering down from above... Only here, she had a place to write notes, and set down a mug of something, if that's what her thoughts required at that moment. Several notes were, in fact, carved and doodled into the table top itself, like the tracks of long dead creatures fossilized into stone. If there had been such a thing, a paleontologist of the mind might have been able to trace the evolution of her thoughts by reading them. She traced one of her long, troll fingernails along them now as she spoke, repeating, for those who hadn't heard it yet, her theory of what was happening. It was, by her estimation, the third time she said her ideas out loud. And she was hoping that the third time would be the charm, hoping her theories could crystalize into some plan for action. But nearly every time she paused for breath, it seemed, one or more of the Doctors would interrupt, debating with her and with each other about what was really going on. And even though they all shared one life (and, presumably, their memories overlapped), none of them could agree on how to interpret the events so far. As the minutes passed and the words grew more heated, alliances began to make themselves clear. First and Fifth found themselves agreeing more with each other that it all led to a fundamentally mathematical model (First drawing on his experience with the Toymaker, and Fifth on Castrovalva). Second and Sixth argued for the mass hypnosis, or nightmare scenario (drawing on their experiences in the Land of Fiction and the Timelords' Matrix). Three and Seven bounced between the two sides. Three kept insisting that whatever universe was sapping energy had to be a close parallel to this one, as that was what it was like when his TARDIS did that weird hop between the two Earths. Seven kept interjecting with: "Excuse me, but we are going to be facing the Gods of Ragnarok, and I *am* the only one here who has actually met them yet, so can I get a word in edgewise?" Our hostess gradually slumped down in her seat, traced the doodles of old, and tried to keep herself from getting a massive headache. "Excuse me," First said, interrupting the argument he was having with Sixth, leaning over the troll's shoulder, "but what *are* you writing?" She looked down. Without thinking, she had left off retracing old marks, and was carving a new design into the wood, going back and forth over the same shape, and the scratching was getting deeper and deeper. "Oh," she said, blinking, as if stepping from a dark corridor into a brightly lit room, "I'm, ah --". She cut herself off. What *was* that? she wondered. It looked vaguely familiar, but where had she seen it? Then, the lightbulb went on. "It's the glyph I saw carved on Kid's charm!" she exclaimed. "Yes! I'd been meaning to ask about that," Three and Seven asked, in unison, each glaring at the other for stealing the words right out of his mouth. Seven completed the thought, while Three harrumphed. "What exactly happened back there, when you connected the charm to the TARDIS' circuits?" he asked. "The result was -- remarkable -- to say the least." "When Kid connected the charm, actually," our hostess remarked, wanting the credit to go where the credit was due. Kid shifted in his seat. She could almost feel the embarrassment rising off him. "Excuse me!" First said, haughtily. "Let us deal with one question at a time, shall we? I believe I asked her first." The others slumped sulkily back into their seats, like chastised schoolboys (which was ironic, she thought, since by most people's way of reckoning, it was the first Doctor who was the youngest). "Now, young lady," he said, turning back to her. "You say this symbol is carved as a glyph on a charm?" She nodded. "The charm that the Contessa gave to Kid," she said. The First Doctor turned to the outlaw. "Now, m'Boy," he said, holding out his hand, "let's take a closer look at that charm of yours, shall we?" Without hesitation (the troll noted with a slight pang of jealousy), Kid took the charm from around his neck, and let it drop gently into the Doctor's waiting palm. "Well, well, well. I never! This explains much about that 'result' you were so interested in. This charm was made by one of the Sisterhood!" "*The* Sisterhood?" Sixth asked, coming around the the table to peer over First's shoulder at the small blue bead, "The ones Rassilon exiled to Karn?" "Just so." With those words, the other Doctors got up from their seats and crowded around him, each jostling with the other for a better look. "From the look of it," First continued, "I would say this is an ancient one, too, passed down from generation to generation -- or stolen. It appears to be from the era of Rassilon himself." "But I don't understand --" Seventh said. "No, of course you don't," First muttered, under his breath. "Why would a charm made before the time of TARDISes -- a superstitious bauble -- react with a modern TARDIS the way this had?" "Bah! 'superstitious bauble' indeed! You know as well as I do that below the surface of animosity between the Timelords and the Sisterhood, the two groups hold a great debt to each other -- so great, in fact that it is never spoken out loud." "But Rassilon," Second countered, "had to banish the Sisterhood, and undo their ritualistic way of doing things, before he could establish our space-time traveling technology." "Bah!" First said again, dismissively. "That's the official line. But ever since that lecture by Professor Uytheys in Ancient History, I've had my suspicions that Rassilon conveniently 'borrowed' many of the teachings of the Sisterhood, reworded them a bit, and re-presented them as his own 'scientific' theories." "I have not!" the other Doctors answered, in unison. First sighed. "Regeneration may have its uses," he said. "But it often leads to small, uncomfortable memories slipping through the cracks." "That may well be," Third snapped back. "But it doesn't explain what one of the Sisterhood is doing in Vortex City, or why she gave Kid here such a powerful charm." First shrugged. "That, I can't answer for certain," he said. "But really, do you think we're the only renegades in exile in time and space, ostracized or on the run from our overly regimented, ritualized society?" "So," the troll said, breaking into the long, uncomfortable silence, "if you're certain that charm is from the Sisterhood --" "I am." "Then what does it mean? Now that we know *that*, how can we use the information to bring the omniverse back together again?" Another long silence. Broken by a cough from Kid Curry. Seven pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise. He'd been so quiet that they'd almost forgotten he was there. "Forgive me, Ma'am, Sirs," he said. "I may be overstepping my bounds, here, but..." "Go on," the avocado troll encouraged. "Well, truth be told, I never had much schoolin', and I can't say I understood but half of what's been said here, but..." "Stop apologizing," Sixth said, impatiently, "and get on with it!" "Well, it seems to me that each of you," he looked up at the Doctors and scanned each of their faces in turn, "are lookin' at the same thing from two sides -- like with the university trained doctors with their instruments and such, and the shaman folk with their songs and prayers." He paused, and chewed thoughtfully on one corner of his mustache, and let his eyes drop, and his voice dropped too (the troll was sure that all of them stopped breathing to make sure they heard what he said). "Just like these Timelords and the Sisterhood, or a world made of numbers or of dreams. "Perhaps the whole thing is fallin' apart 'cause the two sides have been kept separate for too long... Maybe when that charm there came together with the TARDIS, the two sides were reunited, and that's where the power came from... Maybe we got to figure out how to make that reunion *big*." As one, they breathed again. The wind chime high above them, sang out. The troll smiled. Now, the only question was of *how*. ((Meanwhile, the Odd Trio have been in a discussion of their own...)) * * * 27. Imran has a sudden flash of insight * * * /The Odd Muses have their act all planned... / --- A spotlight switched on. 'Introducing a girl group like no other. A trio who sing like angels and dance like demons. Who can make you feel like you spent a day on Olympus and a night in Hades. A trio who give a whole new meaning to the term 'Girl Power'!' 'We are...' Allie announced proudly. '...TYA!' 'The /what?/' Gordon said. Alryssa put her hand over her eyes. 'T. Y. A. Tessa. Yokoi. Allie. Oh my Gods...' 'This is gonna get cheesy, isn't it?' Imran said. 'You have /no/ idea...' Allie reassured him. Yokoi looked over at the hostess. 'She's worried. Too worried. And... she has a point. There's no way one Hoedown can generate enough energy to restore what's been drained.' 'And I don't think even Sailor Gallifrey can generate that kind of energy..' Tessa added. Alryssa's eyes narrowed. 'You three know more than you're letting on.' '...no,' Allie said. 'We know about as much as you.' 'Then why are you saying it can't be done?' 'We didn't.' Yokoi said. 'Catalysing...' Imran murmured. 'The energy the Hoedown releases will act as a /jumpstart/...' 'Exactly.' Allie said. 'So... the energy we release will spark off a chain reaction, leading to the creation of more energy... wait, we're fighting one of the basic thermodynamic laws!' Imran said. 'Entropy increases.' 'In a closed system,' Allie agreed. 'But bring in energy from /outside/...' Gordon clicked his fingers. 'Oh, /I/ get it... The energy the Hoedown releases will open an extradimensional hole /outside/ the omniverse...' 'Which will let the energy we need /in/...' Imran realised. 'Then we direct it where it needs to go, restore what's already been drained...' 'And entropy gets reversed.' Alryssa concluded. '...Hold on, what lies /outside/ the omniverse? 'I know.' Imran said. 'And we /can/ do this.' 'But how can we reverse the damage?' Gordon said. 'We get the energy back no problem. But what about the damage?' 'Trust us.' Yokoi said. 'We know what to do.' Seventh slipped out of the room where he'd gone with the others and whispered in Eighth's ear, while the Odd Trio tried to overhear the conversation. Imran grinned as he overheard one part of the discussion in particular. 'What are /you/ so happy about?' Gordon asked. 'Because I've just remembered something.' Imran said. 'I /know/ who that sigil's meant to represent.' 'Who?' 'Well... the Gods of Ragnarok are bound. Bound by the rules laid down by the Guardians - and those /above/ the Guardians.' Imran suddenly grinned. 'Hey, reading The Quantum Archangel came in handy after all... ' 'And Kingpin's amulet is one of those rules,' Alryssa realised. 'Exactly. And since the charm has an affinity for the amulet...' 'But...' Gordon looked over at the Seventh and Eighth's conversation. 'I'm sure I heard the Sisterhood of Karn mentioned.' Eighth broke away from the conversation. 'Well, they /did/ make it. And their knowledge of the mystic... hmm. Their knowledge of the mystic could have made it a conduit to those who laid the rules down in the first place. But someone overrode those rules, coerced the Monitors. Someone on a par with - or /above/ - the Powers That Be.' 'And,' Allie said. 'TARDISes /are/ a lifeform in their own right. The ultimate embodiment of mathematics given life - linked to the Sisterhood's expression of the mystic.' Imran gasped. 'Oh no. Oh /no/... No. No way...' 'Imran?' Alryssa asked. 'Oh. My. God. 'Embrace the Glory. Embrace the Glory. I see it. I /see/ it... I see /them/... So /that's/ it. /That's/ who... Things /are/ falling apart. The parts are being divided. Someone's dividing the parts, dividing the mystical and the rational. At the centre of things. The charm, the TARDIS... they're reacting to this as the /embodiment/ of that division. And I know who's doing it...' 'Imran?' The cartTARDIS materialised. 'We're here!' the deputy called. 'You've worked it out. You know who's doing this. Who's making the omniverse - not just this universe, but /all/ the universes - fall apart. Who's separating the parts.' Alryssa said. Imran looked at her. 'I hope I /haven't/. I truly hope I haven't.' 'I'm rather afraid that you may just /have/...' Eighth said. He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Because to /me/, the Sisterhood and the Time Lords /were already reunited/. They rejoined, when I went home to the House of Lungbarrow. The two sides of /Gallifrey/ are already back together. /This/ is not when they rejoined, because it's already happened. /That's/ not what needs to be put back together. Someone is /forcing/ the omniverse apart...and you may just have realised who.' Imran shook his head as if trying to clear it. He was babbling, as if he'd realised something, something terrifying. 'Not now. Not now. Face the Gods first, stop them feeding first... *then* we'll face who's behind this...' --- Alryssa looked sidelong at her friend, worry evident on her face. "I'm beginning to understand," she said. "Divide and conquer. That's the best way to destroy an enemy. They're dividing the elements of the universe - Creativity, Fun, Science, Magick... and intending to pick each element off, one by one. They almost succeeded..." she thought back to earlier, "But now they've been foiled at one part, they're going to move faster to destroy what's left before we can stop it." She thought. "The separation of Science and Magick, specifically... has been going on for centuries. One refuting the other. Take both elements out simultaneously and... there's no method of understanding." "Hit 'em where it hurts," Gordon murmured. "We need them to comprehend... to understand. Yokoi, Allie, Tessa... we can bring this energy in, but it's highly dangerous. We need a conduit..." The Muses looked at each other, then at Alryssa again. "Um... we're not capable, even together, of doing that, but maybe with Sailor Gallifrey's help...." "You have *got* to be kidding." Eighth's face was deadly serious. "No. It began with the attempt on your life, as well as ours. It has to end through us. What would be more frustrating to them than a being who combines not only logic and mathematics but creativity and fun as well? It's only fitting they should meet us all face to face, so to speak, for the final showdown." Alryssa sighed. "It might kill us all. Me at the very least." "I know." "Poor Kid," she murmured, "Thrown in with a bunch of strangers, and about to encounter even stranger things than the last day or so have ever brought...." --- The avocado troll covered her face with her hands and sighed. She could feel that they were working against themselves, playing into the hands of whoever was doing this, and doing it with such conviction that they were saving the omniverse itself. Was this what happened with the Monitors? she wondered. She hurried over to the stage, and, hopping up before the microphone, picked up her fiddle and played one, long discordant note. The chatter stopped (except for a few "Ow! Please"'s). "Imran and Alryssa are right," she said, when her guests had settled down again, "entropy does increase -- within a closed system. "*But The Omniverse Is /Not/ A Closed System!!* "It's like, like..." she struggled to find the words. "It's like each individual universe, fictiverse, parallel dimension, alternate reality -- they're connected to each other, like soap bubbles floating in a dish of water: sharing boundaries, interconnected. All the bubbles together -- that's the omniverse." She paused, scanning the faces of those looking up at her. Several people were nodding. They had each had their own experiences confirming this idea -- there was no denying that the worlds of fiction and history met, or the realms of cyberspace and three-dimensional space. Still, she took the time to make eye contact with each of her guests, noting their faces, their bearing. It was absolutely vital that they understood what she was about to say next. When she was sure that she had each of them, she continued. "But," she said, "the surface of that water in which those bubbles are floating is *not* a flat plane... It curves back on itself, at least metaphorically. Like a Klein Bottle. There is no 'Inside' or 'Outside'. No 'Us'. No 'Them'." --- 'May I say something at this point?' Eighth said. Our hostess nodded. 'We /are/ talking about multi-dimensional relationships at this point.' Eighth said. 'However, contradictory as it may seem, the Omniverse /does/ have a centre - a place you can see the whole Omniversal spectrum. A single point, where all the dimensions meet.' 'I should know,' he added. 'I've been there.' The audience gasped. 'The Omniverse is interconnected.' the Doctor continued. 'But there /is/ something outside it. A gateway to the first truth. A solution to all the mysteries and secrets, the answer to every question that has ever been asked. 'When the gateway opened, the last time... I was there. But I /didn't/ look. I wanted to...but I did not. There are still so many secrets and mysteries to learn, to discover...' 'You are right,' he told the hostess. 'The Omniverse does only have one surface - it's closed and open. But equally... there's somewhere outside. It's /neither/ closed or open - and it's /both/ closed and open. It has a centre, but no edge. Open and closed, closed and open... encapsulating /all/ contradictions within itself. Infinite and finite.' 'It's /not/ a paradox.' the Doctor added. 'Paradox - and confirmation - are /both/ part of the Omniverse. /Everything/ is - even entropy and creativity. That's the wonder of it all. And it's something Faction Paradox never understood. But it's being pushed out of balance...' --- "Then where is the energy going?" "Good question," the hostess said, "with an important answer. Energy *can* flow from one universe, one bubble, to another. The Logopolitans," she reminded them, "siphoned off energy from our surrounding universes when the structures of our own universe were growing weak. That, naturally, created an imbalance, a weakness -- like poor circulation of blood. I suspect," she said, "that someone in one or more of those surrounding universes -- mathematicians like Logopolitans, or mystic entities like the Guardians -- are siphoning the energy back, either as an act of revenge, or blindly, trying only to keep their own universe, their own small bubble, whole, without realizing that lives are being lost here." She took a deep breath, grounding her worried mind, preparing to project her idea as well as her voice. "It *is* possible," she said, "for us to strike down the forces siphoning off our energy. *But*, in the long run, that would only further weaken the structure of the omniverse -- destroying our interconnectivity, and destroying our spirit of fun. When we leave this TARDIS, to meet up with Kingpin and Mags, we must do so with the hearts of healers -- of peacemakers. Even if we are being deliberately attacked," she said, "if we approach our upcoming ... challenge ... as a battle, with thoughts of revenge on our minds, then we are no better than an army of robot clowns!" Her audience gasped as one. "Entropy is a real force," she conceded, "but so is synergy -- the impossible coming together of different things to create something new and unexpected, unpredictable. This Hoedown," she said, with a smile, "is an example of synergy -- who among you could have predicted, when you came through that ordinary blue front door on an ordinary cul-de-sac, that you would end up here, preparing to dazzle the omniverse with the wonders of magical milkshakes and Mexican masked wrestling armadillos?" She smiled as a chuckle spread from one listener to another. "We have already," she assured them, "created a vast amount of energy, and we've barely even started. Now our job is to apply that energy to heal the wounds around us." --- Just then -- A noise from outside the wagon TARDIS alerted the crew. Fifth was already trying to determine what was going on, as the avocado troll hurried to check her console readings.... As they did so, Imran grinned. 'Hmm. So... Would it help any if I mentioned that I have a mad scientist's coat /and/ a magician's cloak?' His grin got still wider. 'Mad scientist and magician. Science and magic. And Who manages to combine 'em both. Well, apart from the Third's line in The Daemons.' Third managed to look offended at this. He put on the mad scientist coat. Then the magician's cloak over it. --- Gordon's mind flashed back to previous echoes of himself. The 19th Century scientist, who used a pack of cards to tap into some unknown source of inspiration for his unbelievable inventions... The Son Of The Ether, who disguised his magic as technology, or was it the other way around? The university student, who attended a university where the only difference between science and magic was the colour of the explosions... And his first real creation...the last warrior from a doomed world, who dared to try and mix the arts of science and magic in an attempt to save it. Who created battle armour of amazing technology, then in her last rites, imbued it with her own spirit and hidden on a faraway world. Found by an ordinary human. Merged, bonded in symbiosis to stop an evil spreading throughout the galaxy... "I've always mixed the two, never quite been able to keep them apart." he grinned. "I believe my past experiences may be of some use." He smiled at the avocado troll. "Don't get mad, get creative..." The troll grinned back. "Ooh," she said, "I like that!" --- 'Hmm... Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold...' Imran mused. 'It occurs to me that by forcing the ways we explain the Omniverse apart, the /explanations/ of the Omniverse are affected - and stress is placed at the centre...' 'The centre cannot hold.' Alryssa breathed. 'The centre of the Omniverse will be unable to hold the multiverses together.' 'Remember the Doctor mentioning Kid saying something about tornadoes? Tornadoes draining the energy of whatever they came up against?' Allie said. 'What if...?' '...the energy they're draining is being used on the /centre/ of the Omniverse. And when it cannot hold...' '...The Omniverse falls apart.' Gordon whispered. 'You /know/ who's behind this.' 'I hope /not/.' Imran murmured quietly. 'I hope our hostess is right - that it /is/ someone from another universe, tapping into our own. But if I'm right... It may be instinct, it may be deliberate. But it's no accident.' "We'd better get our acts together then..." said Gordon. "Yes, well, that's easier said than done." "I meant for the circus!" grinned Gordon. "Oh..." "Still," the hostess said, "*that's* easier said than done, too! Excuse me while I go change into my Ring Master uniform... How do you think a three-foot tall, avocado green troll would look in a red Ring Master's uniform -- too Christmas-y? Yes, I think so... Royal blue with dark purple trim would look *so* much better, with silver buttons and a big, white carnation in the lapel... "Handkerchief in the breast pocket, you say, Imran, instead of a carnation in the lapel?" Imran nodded. "Probably a good idea," she conceded. "I can be prone to ridiculous sneezing fits, and a flower right under my nose certainly wouldn't help matters." She ducked back to the wardrobe room, singing to herself: "The story of how I got this hat, it really is quite funny. My grandfather died and left to me His property and money. But when the will was read out it stated plain and flat: If I should have his money, I must also wear his hat! "'Where did you get that hat, Where did you get that tile? Isn't it a marvy one, in just the proper style! I should like to have one, just the same as that!' Wherever I go, They shout: 'Hello! Where did you get that hat?'" The hostess came back grinning. 'You're never going to believe what's outside...' * * * 28. Six gryphons * * * /No-one would ever have guessed what was outside.../ --- "Mags and Kingpin!" the little turquoise troll said, clapping her hands. "Well, yes," she answered, with a crooked, mischievous smile. "But I figured everyone *would* believe that -- after all, that was the plan..." "And you expected us to believe," someone called out from the crowd, "that things are going according to plan? You *are* an optimist!" "You're right," she answered, unflustered by the heckling, "I am. Mags and Kingpin are there, but they've also brought some new friends to meet and greet us. Come on! Come and see!" She threw open the TARDIS doors, and her guests poured out. For the third time in thirty minutes, the crowd gasped as one. There stood Mags and Kingpin, side by side. Hands on hips, chins up, they looked like they had just stepped off an oldtime circus poster. But that wasn't what made the onlookers gasp. Flanking them, three on one side, three on the other, were six gryphons, each a different species, each magnificent. The first gryphon on the left was pure white, from wingtip to wingtip, and from nose to tail. The first gryphon on the right was just as black. Then there was a gryphon whose wings were colored like a rainbow, with a long peacock tail trailing gracefully behind. And one whose feline half was spotted as a leopard's and whose brow sported golden horns, spiraled like a ram's. The fifth gryphon had the bird features of an owl, rather than an eagle. And the last gryphon had the skin of a dragon, rather than fur, with scales of rubies, sapphires and emeralds. "The Gods of Ragnarok must have acquired a taste for gryphons," Eighth said, quietly, "they've gathered quite the collection." "Oh, no," Kingpin said, having overheard him, "The Gods of Ragnarok didn't bring the gryphons here. They came of their own free will." "Are you sure?" "Oh, yes. I've been under the Gods' control, remember," he said, shuddering involuntarily at the memory. "I know how it feels -- what it does to you. These creatures have too much life force around them -- a strength -- a --. Well, it's hard to define, but you can see it in the way they move, the way they hold themselves." "They just started showing up," Mags explained, after we arrived, and started to set up the circus. First one, then another. It's like they are attracted by something -- like birds of prey gathering around a water hole." She sighed. "At first," she said, "they were quite the attraction. People couldn't get enough of them, or us. The main tent was full every night. Not only the audiences came, but performers, too -- the best performers from the seven galaxies! *Everyone* wanted a chance to be near these magnificent creatures. But then ..." Her voice trailed off. "But then, something changed," Kingpin continued. "It started with the audiences," he said. "Just a subtle shift, but they seemed tired when they came here -- dazed, worn out. They would smile and clap and laugh during the show, but the good spirits didn't last very long after the show was over. It didn't *sustain* anyone, anymore. Then the performers began to lose their enthusiasm, and gradually just stopped coming. Then the gryphons --" he paused, searching for words, "they didn't become hostile, or aggressive, exactly... just, just --" "Protective," Mags finished for him. "They gave off a ... a vibe of 'Stay away! Danger!' And people did." She sighed. "We're alone again, now," she said. "Just like we were on Segonax, in the end." She looked up at the magnificent creatures around her, "except for our friends, here," she added. "They were getting excited," she said, "the way they hadn't been in a long time. That's how we knew something was up, and followed them here." "And found *you*!" Kingpin said, his face brightening, throwing his arms wide, as if he wanted to hug all of them all at once. "I *like* your wagon," he added, admiringly, almost as an afterthought. "It was my TARDIS's idea," Our Hostess said proudly. "She knew we were bound to meet up with you even before we did." "Meet you, *and* the Gods of Ragnarok," Seventh Doctor reminded them. The avocado troll slapped her forehead. "Of course!" she exclaimed, as the lightbulb went on. "In ancient mythology, the gryphon was always seen as the guardian of gateways, particularly the gateway to sacred knowledge, letting the pure of heart through, and keeping away those who would misuse the wisdom!" She pointed to the leopard-spotted, horned gryphon. "In some Babylonian art, the 'Angels' guarding the gateway to Earthly Paradise looked like that." She pointed to the peacock-tailed gryphon. "And that was pictured as guardian to the Otherworld!" Alryssa smiled, making the connection. "And there was a gryphon on Titan Three," she said, "at the entrance to the caves where the Monitors had put *their* gateway!" Eighth nodded. "They must be attracted to interdimensional vortexes," he said, "like a moth is to flame." "But," the avocado troll said, "I don't think this is blind attraction. I think they know just what they're doing." "And if the vortex the Gods of Ragnarok are opening up has attracted *six* gryphons --" "Then we've got a mondo battle of creativity versus stagnation to face!" Our Hostess and Ring Master said. "Come on, gang! Let's go!!!" --- ((But not everyone was thrilled by the prospect...)) Kid Curry squinted in disbelief and looked again at the six monstrous creatures crouched calmly in front of the wagon. The gryphons returned his stare, bird-like, black eyes unblinking. The nearest creature -- the white -- took a slow pace forward, muscles rippling under the creamy plumage, and stretched out towards him with its beak cocked first to one side, then the other. The great head came close enough for him to see the insides of the nostrils quiver as it strained after his scent. He jumped back with a bitten-off curse, reaching automatically for the gun ... that was not there. The gryphon did not move. It was still watching him out of one sparkling eye. Somehow, from this angle, the curve of the animal's beak made it look as if it was finding something very funny. Glowering, he backed towards the others. The avocado troll's round little face was split from side to side by a smile of pure delight, almost as if she had somehow mothered the animals herself. As she looked across from the white gryphon to her guest, her grin broadened with excitement. "I think he can sense the dimensional rift on you, Kid -- even after all this time! He must be able to detect the vibrations of a different skein of the Omniverse ---" Then, belatedly, as his bewilderment dawned on her: "That you came across out of a different world from the rest of us, I mean..." Kid Curry cast another wary glance from one gryphon to another, as if daring any of them to move, and shook his head. His breath was coming rather faster than he liked to admit. "Yeah, and maybe it just likes the smell of horse on me -- you ever think of that?" He glared back at the white gryphon. "I tell you, these things sure don't come from any world of *mine* --" Then he broke off abruptly, frowning. The brightly-dressed woman -- Mags -- was speaking again, her words a ripple of reassurance as she reached up to slip one arm around the neck-feathers of a towering gryphon. But Kid Curry's eyes had narrowed, and he was staring past her. "Penny for 'em, young man?" Someone touched him lightly on the shoulder from behind as the other guests began to file past, and he swung round on his assailant, only to meet the amused gaze of the first Doctor. His clenched fists slackened and fell away under the old gentleman's shrewd smile. "Penny for your thoughts?" the Doctor prompted again, one eyebrow raised. The outlaw jerked his chin slowly in the direction of the horizon. "Back inside... when you were all talking over the Contessa's charm..." "Yes?" the Doctor said sharply. "...didn't /he/ --" a nod at the Seventh Doctor -- "mention kites?" "Kites?" Kid Curry pointed, silently, and saw the other man's face sharpen into sudden hawk-like attention. "Hmmm... now that's interesting..." First said softly, almost to himself. "Very interesting..." --- The gryphons were noticing, too. The quiet air of repose that had surrounded them was gone. Kid could almost feel the muscles tense under their skins, and the air around them tingled -- it had the smoky, wet scent that came right before a big storm hits the desert. As one, they leapt in front of Mags, Kingpin, and the hoedown guests, blocking their path. Then everything seemed to happen at once, as the quiet murmur of friends getting reacquainted was replaced by squeals of surprise and terror. Kid's awareness of what was happening to the others was a mere blur, but the details of his own experience were as clear and sharp in his mind as the polished wood-grain of the Contessa's table, when he saw it magnified through the lens of her crystal ball. With the speed of a striking rattler, the White's head came down as he snapped up Kid and the Doctor in his beak, lifting them into the air as though he and the Doctor together weighed no more than a twig. So, this is how it ends, he thought, bracing himself against the crushing of his bones, swallowed whole by a giant bird-thing. But the end never came, at least, not then. The gryphon held them firm -- no way he could struggle free -- but the massive beak didn't so much as poke a hole in his shirt. This fact had barely registered itself in his brain, however, before he felt himself being swung through the air and dropped onto the gryphon's back, between its shoulder blades. "Hold on tight," the Doctor's voice said at his ear. "I think we're about to take flight." "What?" Kid asked, still recovering his sense of rightside-up. The answer came from below him, as the creature's muscles coiled and bunched, like a bronco about to throw its rider. Instinctively, Kid's fingers found a loose fold of skin below the feathers and tightened around it. And just in time. With one strong downbeat of its snowy wings, the gryphon leapt. The rush of air going past them was strong enough to push Kid's exhaling breath back into his lungs. He had never been higher than the roof of the Hotel in Vortex City (and he'd vowed never to go up there again); he'd never traveled faster than a twelve-team stagecoach going at full gallop. Both those things together seemed as safe and still as lying on his bedroll after a large meal, compared to this. He buried his face in the gryphon's feathers, and tried not to be sick. "That won't work, m'boy," First said, as though reading his mind (or maybe Kid's queasiness was clearly written on his face). "If you want to avoid motion sickness, the best thing to do is keep your eye on the horizon. Besides," he added, "you'll never get a chance to see /this/ again." Kid shakily raised his head, and focused on the distant horizon. Sure enough, his stomach started to settle, despite the smallness of the details below them, or the speed with which they passed by. The good thing about horizons, he thought, was that they're always the same distance away. If he just focused on that sharp line between earth and sky, it was almost as if they weren't moving at all. Almost. For the first time since the White had snapped him up, Kid became aware of the others. They were all being carried by the gryphons. And every last one of them, it seemed, was laughing and cheering and whooping it up, as if they had found the richest vein of gold, ever. Kid's thoughts were focused on something else, however. The gryphons were taking them somewhere. But where? And why? And then he saw the kites. Mags screamed. "The eyes of Ragnarok!" she yelled. "They've come back for us!" Each kite was as large as the mainsail of a clipper ship. And each had a single eye painted on them. Only they weren't painted, not really. They were alive and hateful -- and /watching/ them. The White let out the piercing cry of an eagle: both melodious and fierce. The others answered. And again, everything happened at once, it seemed. Doubling their speed, the gryphons dove for the kites, attacking them with talons and beaks, diving and spinning through the air while their passengers clung to their backs for dear life. One detail remained clear in Kid's mind, though, the kind of detail he knew would stay with him for years, after everything else had been forgotten. Just before each attack, the gryphons would meet the gaze of the kites, and light would flash behind the surface of their dark eyes, like the wave of lightning inside a storm cloud. And the light was /blue/. --- 'YAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!' Imran screamed. 'Just... don't... let... go...' Allie grunted. 'Don't worry, we're holding on to you!' Tessa's voice was strained. 'But who's holding us?!' Gordon screeched. '- Yokoi, /what/ are you doing?!' 'Getting this,' his Muse answered. 'Hey! Get... That... oyy, I'm gonna start giggling...' 'Imran...' Allie said through gritted teeth. 'Now would really be a good time to...' There was a small flash of light. 'PULL US BACK!!' Imran yelled. 'But-' 'For Calliope's sake, do what he says!' Allie screamed. Slowly, Tessa and Gordon managed, with great difficulty, to pull them back onto their gryphon, now circling around for another attack on the kites. There was another flash of light. And Allie cautiously lifted her hand from her author's. 'What was all that about?' 'I... We... we bound our hands together...' Imran panted. 'She /couldn't/ let go of me, no matter what.' 'But /both/ of you could have fallen...' 'You wouldn't do that.' Allie said. 'But-' 'You wouldn't.' And then- For a moment, the battle paused. Gordon raised the Sword of Authorial Freedom towards the sky. 'You know what this is. You know who we are. You know why we're here. We /won't/ let this happen.' The kites hung in the air. Watching. 'This ends /now/. Get back to old stonyarses, 'cause there's a new show in town. The Psychic Circus is back in business - for good. You want to challenge us? Fine. But not here. Not now. We're calling you out, Gods of Ragnarok. A battle of the Circuses. The biggest show in the universe. Acts from across the Omniverse. Armadillos. Milkshakes. Singers. All ready and waiting to put the Psychic Circus back on the map. 'Whaddya say to /that/?' A brief silence. Then the kites silently slid away. The gryphons hung in the air, flapping their wings. 'Gordon...?' Gordon lowered the sword. 'We're back, and it's about fun.' 'Gordon, that was quite possibly one of the bravest-' Gordon beamed. '-and /stupidest/ things I have ever seen.' Imran said. Gordon's face fell. Imran grinned. 'We wouldn't have you any other way.' 'Thanks... I think.' Gordon said. 'What now?' Allie said. 'To the Circus!' our hostess called from the gryphon she sat on. 'We've got a show to put on!' --- As if in response, the white gryphon's wing dipped, curving the creature and its passengers round in a long stooping turn. All across the sky where the battle had left them, the other gryphons were doing likewise. For a moment, collision seemed inevitable; then Kid Curry felt great muscles flex under the feathered hide beneath his knee. Despite the instinctive death-grip that had flattened him forward against his mount's neck, he raised his head just enough to risk a quick glance sideways. Far below and behind he caught a glimpse of the gaily-painted circus wagon; then the wings lifted and spread again, and the wagon was lost from view as the White dropped neatly into place at the end of the loose skein of gryphons. Like a string of ponies in Indian-file, the five had swung round to follow the lead of the huge horned gryphon that now arrowed through the brightening air. It was as if the stormy thickness had filled the world on the tails of the devil-kites, and with their vanishing, had been washed away. All thoughts of falling forgotten, Kid Curry leaned forward, one steading hand wound firmly in the creamy feathers that crested the gryphon's neck, trying to make out where they were headed. Amongst the clinging crowd of backs that pressed cheerfully together between the wings of the leader, he could glimpse the bright shoulders of Mags, and beside her the glitter that was Kingpin. The woman leaned forward and laughed; and in that moment, high on the creature's withers beyond, he could just see an avocado-green trollish tail tucked up tightly for balance around the waist of a little turquoise deputy. Unconsciously, his narrowed gaze relaxed slightly. Wherever they were going, it seemed like they were in good hands... The Doctor, behind him, was pulling at his shoulder and pointing off to the left. For a while he couldn't make out what the old man was getting at. Then, as the gryphons began to sink lower, wingbeats slowing to a long curving glide, at the Doctor's prompting he finally saw. At first, it was tiny, a red-and-white splotch half-hidden in the crawling folds of the ground beneath them. It wasn't until they had almost reached their destination, and the horned leader ahead of them, half-lost in the final flurry of dust from frantically back-beating wings, was about to touch the ground -- the huge beast utterly dwarfed by the scale of the structure beyond -- that he finally grasped just what they were looking at. That had to be the biggest tent in the world -- in all the worlds. Tall enough to swallow one of the razor-edged kites of Ragnarok, its bellying walls spread wide enough to line the whole of one side of Main Street in most of the towns he'd known -- and some to spare... High in the gay-striped crown of the great canopy, scallop-edged vents opened dormer-like to the skies. As the White beat its way steeply down to join its fellows in the shadow of the Psychic Circus, Kid Curry caught a wave of warm scent rising up towards them, crushed grass and canvas, tugging at memories he'd almost forgotten he had; of a crowded camp one autumn and winter up at the hidden canyon, one more old crazy scheme from back in the years when he'd gone along with the rest of the bunch... Through the gaps in the awning, the three low-walled rings could be glimpsed clearly inside, empty now but still worn, stained by the ghost of sawdust and the scatter of glitter shaken down by performers passed on from under the gathering storms. Last in line and lightly-burdened, the white gryphon set them down neatly on the edge of the chattering crowd that surrounded its fellows in a graceful back-winged landing, and dropped to its haunches. Kid Curry swung himself down almost reluctantly. For an unthinking instant, meeting the gaze of those dark bird-eyes, he had all but turned back to thank the creature for the ride. One hand lingered on its flank, patting the warm, cream-furred hide. "Better not get too much of a taste for it," the Doctor advised, scrambling down nimbly in his turn. Then, as Kid Curry turned, surprised: "They're not halter-broke, you know. You don't get the chance of a ride on gryphon-back often, m'boy." And with that, he was off, forging through the rest of the guests towards Mags and Kingpin with a sublime indifference to the crowd that parted and jostled in his wake. 'Boy', indeed... Kid Curry watched him go, scowling almost ruefully. ((The Hoedowners begin to prepare their acts...)) * * * 29. Preparing for the Psychic Circus * * * /Sometime Later.../ --- Kid sat at the edge of the ring, watching the others practicing their acts, elbows resting on knees, his chin resting on his fists, only his eyes moving, and his mind somewhere else entirely. The sky battle. Now that his feet were back on solid ground, his stomach had found its home again, and his limbs had stopped shaking, the events of those few terrible minutes played themselves through his memory with greater clarity than when they were actually happening. The gryphons' death blow to the kites, and the moment right before, when eye met eye -- that flash of blue light. Blue -- just like when he put the Contessa's charm in the water. "Yes, you can do something for me, Curry: keep your eyes open." The Contessa's voice was so clear in his mind -- the rich, measured honey of it, that he straightened momentarily, and looked over his shoulder. But of course, she wasn't there. Slowly, he returned to that memory of the gryphon's eye. At least, that's what he *wanted* to remember. But his mind skirted around of it, lingered at the shadowy edges of it. And with a shock that made him gasp, he realized *he* had met the eye of one of those kites, too. Like looking down the shaft of a well, it was. No. Not like that. The walls, the edges, were spinning, threatening to pull him inside. Kid's arms ached. He realized that he'd been gripping the edge of the bench he was sitting on until his knuckles were white, just like he'd hung on to the White during the battle. He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to relax. It wasn't like looking down a well, he realized. It was like being high above the clouds, and looking down the funnel of a tornado -- or those life-sucking twisters of the Monitors: the "tornado blight" that was heading toward Vortex City. Suddenly, the noise of all their voices and the heat inside the tent made him feel lightheaded, and he went out to get some fresh air. Dusk was falling. The gryphons were nowhere to be seen. They had all flown away after bringing them back to the Psychic Circus' big top. Back to the mountains, Mags had said, where they nested. She thought maybe they had come just to fight with the kites, and now that that battle was over, there was no reason for them to stay. Kid was not so sure. But he was glad they were no longer hovering. Even though he had seen for himself that the gryphons fought on the side of the hoedowners, he didn't trust their ferocity, or their sheer power. If a guy could ever break one of those to the saddle, he'd have one hell of a mount -- but he hadn't needed the Doctor's warning to know that would never happen. He'd read it himself in the creature's eyes. Monster maybe, but no dumb beast -- and more ornery than the stubbornest bronc. Oh, they'd oblige Mags, he guessed, once in a while, when they'd a mind to. But a man could no more bridle and stable a gryphon than he could make a house-pet out of a cougar -- both ways, he'd end up with his fool head bit off some day when he let his guard slip... After the battle, Kingpin had given the avocado troll a ride back to her TARDIS in that crazy painted bus of his. And the circus wagon stood there now, its twelve android horses standing motionless and unblinking, without so much as the flick of an ear. He realized then, what he needed. He went into the stable and saddled the brown. Leading him back outside, under the light of two unfamiliar moons, he mounted, and rode off at an easy jog. The folks back there, they didn't need him. And he had spent far too much time in tight, enclosed places, far too much time with the voices of strangers in his head. His mind needed room to think, room to work out what all this meant. He dropped the reins, and let the brown go where he wanted, shifting from walk to jog as his body needed it. He trusted the horse's judgement for finding their way, more than his own, anyway. The horse didn't have the memories to contend with, didn't have the demons. The brown followed the scent of water, of green growing things. He found both at the edge of a lake, where the ground rose slightly under his hooves, and great, rounded stones, like the backs of turtles, pushed up from the earth. He stopped by the edge of the lake, lowered his head, and drank. He expected his man to dismount. But that bundle of confusions just sat there, as if unaware that they had stopped. The horse shifted his weight, stamping with his right hindleg, rocking Kid ever so slightly in the saddle, and the man came back to himself. Kid woke with a start -- or he would have woken, if he'd been asleep. Had he been asleep? He couldn't be sure. It took him a moment to realise his horse had stopped moving. Then, slightly embarrassed, he dismounted. It was truly night, now, and Kid noticed with alarm that the ground was hilly, here, and that great boulders, the size of small sheds, stood silhouetted against the sky. His horse had carried him into the foothills, near the mountains where the gryphons nested. Kid muttered curses at the animal, and the horse shifted his ears toward his voice, but didn't stop grazing. Well, Kid thought, he's not skittish, that's something. Maybe the gryphons had gone to other mountains, somewhere else. Sitting down on his haunches, Kid pulled the bead from under his shirt, and looked at it, *really* looked at it -- for the first time since the Contessa had given it to him. Holding it before him, with the night sky showing though its hole in the center, it really did look like an eye: the translucent blue stone like an iris around the eye's black pupil. Like the blue light swirling in the gryphons' eyes. Then Kid saw something else, too. It looked like the vortex, like looking down through the center of the vortex -- a spiral was carved around the hole, trailing out toward the corners of the eye. Then he saw both at once: eye and vortex, vortex and eye. Both at the same time. This vortex, though, was like that one he'd first seen in the desert, after his hand had slipped on that box -- it pulled the life together, held it in the balance. He started shaking when he realized the power he had in his hand -- literally. He couldn't help but wonder why the Contessa would trust such a treasure to a thief the likes of him. His gaze was drawn to the hole in the center -- *through* the hole. And, almost as though he were straining to see through a keyhole into a richly furnished room, he had the feeling that if he looked long enough, or hard enough, or in just the right way, he could see whole worlds through that tiny hole. He wondered if this is what the Contessa felt, when she gazed into that crystal ball of hers. But he was distracted by a movement behind his left shoulder. Turning, he saw the White Gryphon standing not twenty yards away. Kid's head snapped around to check on the brown. But the horse was still grazing, unconcerned. Kid then realized that it wasn't the prospect of a meal that had brought the monster to the lake -- it was the charm. Attracted to interdimensional gateways, the troll and the Doctor had said, whatever that meant. Could the charm be such a gateway? Or the key to one? Slipping the charm back around his neck, Kid stood slowly and turned to face the gryphon. No way was he going to remain with his back to such a creature. They stood there, man and monster, staring each other down. The gryphon's stare may have been inhuman, but Kid recognized it well enough: he was being sized up -- judged. Suddenly, the gryphon threw back its head and clicked its beak loudly three times -- a signal -- a call, or a warning, Kid didn't know which. The sound echoed like gunshots among the stones, and this, at last, sent the brown skittering away a short distance before he, too, turned to face the gryphon. Then the White launched himself in the air, circling once around them, low overhead, before rising higher and disappearing into the night sky. The horse became antsy, then, trotting back and forth, finally nudging Kid in the shoulder, butting him in the back. It was time to return to the Psychic Circus. Kid swung himself into the saddle and they were off. --- ((Back in the ring:)) 'Milkshake?' Imran said. 'Thank you!' our hostess said happily, taking a sip. Imran grinned. 'Hey, it's been a long day. Gryphon fights, debates about the nature of the Omniverse, joining the circus...' Our hostess grinned. 'It has rather... Did anyone say which planet we've arrived on?' 'Not as far as I know,' Imran said, piping some cream out in preparation for the next shake. 'Kingpin and Mags will probably know for sure.' 'The Gods'll probably arrive at midnight. Or the middle of the night, if this planet doesn't have a 24 hour day,' our hostess reflected. 'Because it's dramatic?' 'Because they're unimaginative,' our hostess said. 'Arriving precisely at the stroke of the middle of the night...' She shook her head. 'It abuses a perfectly reasonable dramatic convention, simply because they don't have the /imagination/ to do otherwise.' Imran looked amused. 'Yes, I suppose so...' Our hostess looked around. 'Where's Kid? I thought he was watching us rehearse...' 'Think he went for a walk outside,' Imran said. 'Maybe he needed to clear his head - especially after all he's been through.' 'Oh dear.' the hostess said. 'I do hope nothing happens to him.' 'He should be all right...' Imran reflected. 'But... I dunno, I can't help feeling he's /missing/ something, like he's just being swept along by things, and not getting a say in what happens.' 'Yes...' our hostess said. 'I get that feeling too. And this confrontation with the Gods, circus to circus - it doesn't really seem like there /is/ anything he could do.' 'There were sharpshooters,' Imran said. Our hostess looked at him curiously. 'At the sideshows. They used to - may still have, as far as I know - have sharpshooters demonstrate their skill with the gun. Demonstrate what they could do.' 'Mm.' our hostess said. 'Maybe he would be... no, it just doesn't seem to /fit/ him. We need to encourage him to find something he can perform, something that he enjoys... something /fun/.' 'Help him find a role?' Imran said. 'His own special take on things?' '/Exactly/.' our hostess said. 'Mmm... The Bookworm - we - told you how Allie and I met, didn't we?' 'If my wonky memory's working today,' our hostess said wryly, 'you said Allie was on work experience.' 'She is,' Imran said, whisking up another milkshake to make it foam. 'Allie got assigned to me on work experience - she isn't a full Muse yet.' 'She /isn't/?' 'Uh uh. She submits quarterly reports back to the Collegium... so far, it's still pending.' '/Why?/' our hostess gasped. 'Ye gods... if it hadn't been for her, we wouldn't have made it to Titan 3, let /alone/ meet up with the Circus!' 'Allie was... at least as far as I understand it, which isn't much... a difficult student.' Imran said. 'Brilliant, intelligent, enthusiastic about being a Muse... but she just didn't seem interested in the actual coursework.' 'So they put her on fieldwork,' our hostess realised. 'I think so. And I was the author they assigned her to.' 'Imran...' our hostess asked carefully. 'Has it occurred to you that if Allie becomes a full muse, she might be assigned to a /different/ author?' 'Yes.' Imran said quietly. 'But she could ask to stay assigned to me - if she so wanted.' 'You said she was a difficult student,' our hostess pointed out. 'Could she be /afraid/ to ask? No matter how well she does? Could that be why she's still on work experience - because she wants to stay with you?' 'Yes.' Imran said flatly. 'You /know?/' Imran nodded. 'Then why don't you encourage her to make that request? To stay with you as a full muse?' 'I do,' Imran said. 'But...' 'She's still afraid.' our hostess realised. 'But... /why/?' Imran shrugged. 'Who /is/ in charge of the... Collegium, you said?' Imran nodded. 'Calliope.' '/Calliope?!/' 'Yep. Calliope. The Muse of Epic Poetry.' :::And, the troll thought, ever since July 4, 1956, the muse of circuses, carnivals, and generally shameless and loud *fun*. Maybe tonight, with their call of fun and creativity going out across the Omniverse, Calliope herself will hear, and be in the audience. If so, she might be impressed enough to grant Allie full status as a personal muse -- or her presence might make Allie so nervous, she'd freeze. She didn't mention these thoughts to Imran, though. No reason for giving them both the jitters:::: Instead she murmured: 'One of the Nine... A goddess. A /goddess/. No /wonder/ Allie's too scared - it's not that she's scary, or intimidating, or someone to dread - but she's one of the /first/. A goddess.' She shook her head. 'It's something to meet a goddess...' Imran grinned. 'Yeah. Meeting Eris was fun...' '...but to know one on a professional basis,' Our hostess shook her head again. 'I hope you /do/ manage to encourage her...' 'Mm. Look at Kid,' Imran said. 'He feels guilty about what he's done, ashamed... maybe afraid? I don't know. And so he's letting events sweep him along. Doesn't act... maybe he's seen his actions lead to tragedy, and he just doesn't trust himself, his ability to choose anymore. Maybe I'm just pop-psychoanalysing.' 'Mm.' Our hostess doubted that. Something in what he'd said rang a bell with her. But what could she do? Maybe, she thought, after a bit, there was nothing she could do... If she tried to convince Kid to join their circus, and he did, then wouldn't he just be reacting again? She was sure that he had a key role in all of this. He was the odd man out -- the catalyst for change. It was his actions, not theirs, that could swing the pendulum either way. But it had to be up to him. If only he would realize the power he held.... --- 'Something /fun/.' Nyctolops sticks her furry little head up again. "Like being in charge of a monkey riding a big cat act?" she asks, hopefully. Thinking that of all the others only she and Cameron have nothing in particular to do yet. "Please. we want to help so much. I could stick my head in Cameron's mouth, even." Nyctolops shudders at the very thought, because she ran away from Cameron's growling stomach only a short time ago. She is absolutely desperate to help with the circus acts, though. "Oh, I don't think you'll have to go *that* far," the avocado troll said, taking another sip of the magic milkshake Imran had given her. :::I should have asked, she thought, exactly *what* sort of magic these things contain... would be kind of awkward if she turned into a sparrow, or something, at some unexpected moment. Still, it was *very* tasty. So she took another sip, anyway::: She thought a moment. "What we really need," she said, "is to organize all the separate acts into a coherent whole. Maybe you could help me figure how to do that." Nyctolops' face fell. She'd really wanted to do something in the center ring. Still, it was *something*, and maybe, while she was working on it, she'd get a spectacular idea for an act nobody else had thought of. She sighed. "What do you have in mind?" she asked. "We need the energy of one act to feed into the energy of the next in such a way that it will be funneled toward the Gods of Ragnarok and ... 'tickle' them, so to speak -- to untie the bonds they continue to hold over this part of the Omniverse, and thereby break the conduit through which whatever-it-is is stealing energy from the stories. Gordon and Alryssa's / Sailor Gallifrey's standing up to the Monitors did that, on Titan Three. But I suspect each Conduit must be broken in a different way." "And how much time do we have to figure all this out?" Nyctolops asked. "I don't know, honestly." She flagged down Mags. "How long 'till the stroke of midnight?" she asked. Mags peeked out through the main entranceway at the sky. "I'd say about six Jubilganzian hours," she said. The troll chuckled. "So this is planet 'Jubilganzia'?" she asked. "Let me guess -- a combination of 'jubilee' and 'extravaganza'? Did you settle here because of the name?" Mags shook her head. "We named it ourselves," she said. "This planet didn't have any technological civilizations living here when we arrived... That's one reason we came. Most established governments frown on circuses staying too long. A brief diversion is fine, but too much clowning around, and they feel threatened -- so they set up a labyrinthian system of permits and licenses -- much easier to be the first ones here." The troll nodded. "So how long, exactly, is a Jubilganzian hour?" "In comparison with --?" "Earth hours." Mags thought. "Roughly 3/4ths," she said. :::So, the troll thought, we have about 4 and a half hours to get everything ready. Sounds like a lot, but... ::: "Come on, Nyctolops!" she said. "We'd better get ready!" Just then, they heard the rattle of galloping hooves. The turquoise troll clapped her hands. "Kid's back!" she said. * * * 30. Preparing for the Psychic Circus (2) * * * /As the sound of hooves heralded Kid Curry's return.../ --- Imran grinned. 'You know, it's fun seeing all the different theories we're coming up with.' 'Mm?' 'Y'know. Explaining just what's going on. We've come up with so many theories about what should be done, and why...' He grinned again. 'That's part of the fun of it, isn't it?' our hostess observed. 'Putting the clues about things together, and seeing what we come up with. All the different theories. Like the different ways we can arrange the acts.' 'Rather like milkshakes. Or food, period. ...Want one?' he asked Nyctolops, offering her a milkshake. 'Thank you,' Nyctolops said. 'Of course, one thing holds steady.' 'Confronting the Gods.' Imran completed. Our hostess nodded. 'And organising the acts into the type of synergy we need to stop them draining creativity.' She peered into her drink. 'By the way, what sort of magic's in these?' 'At the moment?' Imran thought. There were low noises from outside, as Kid quieted his brown. 'Well... at the moment, a little divination magic. Nothing big, or fancy - but you may see something of this area's past or future, get an insight into what someone here's thinking, or an insight about the situation.' 'Oh. Will this take effect immediately, or...?' 'In this case...' Imran thought again. 'I'd give it a few minutes. Be careful you're not doing anything important, so you don't get distracted.' 'Hmm. Like the Water of Knowledge.' our hostess mused. 'Well... you might say that.' 'What's in Nyctolops'?' Imran frowned. '...I have absolutely no idea. I was focusing on the conversation, so I wasn't paying attention to what I was mixing...' 'Nothing too bad?' Nyctolops asked with concern. 'Nah. It'll be /something/ Pro-Fun, I know that much. Maybe something appropriate to the situation - no mind-control magic, or permanent transformations, or anything destructive just for the sake of it.' Our hostess nodded. 'All right.' Kid pushed under the awning, and stepped inside, nodding at the others there. He took up a seat by the edge of the ring. Our hostess noted his presence. Maybe there was something... Hmm. Then, her mind latched onto what was different: he'd actually greeted the others in the ring. It wasn't much -- maybe nothing. But, at least for now, he seemed to see himself aligned with them ... Maybe -- but no, she didn't want to speculate (and she didn't want to risk triggering the divination potion until something really important came along). She clapped her hands together. 'Okay! Let's get this show on the road!' --- Nyctolops wrinkled up her forehead, trying to remember the various acts. Sadly, it didn't seem to be working very well at the moment. All she could remember was that Imran was doing a magic act. "We really should start with the Grand Parade," she said. "That would start things off fairly low-key, then we build up from that." "Good Idea!" the troll said, "and having everyone line up for the parade would give us a chance to do a roll call." "You read my mind!" Nyctolops said. "Did I? Oh, dear... I was hoping this Milkshake of Knowledge wouldn't kick in until those Ragnarok dudes showed up." "I know I'm doing a kind of magic thing as well," Bokman chipped in. The troll nodded. "Right, I remember. With Zoe, right?" Bokman nodded, a goofy grin on his face. "Did you find the Legos you needed?" the avocado troll asked. "I think so..." Bokman said. "I'll go ask Zoe." "Well, hurry up!" She turned to her deputy. "And Jim is doing some sort of trained animal act with the cats, right?" she asked. "I don't know exactly how trained they are," the little turquoise troll responded, "but I think he's doing *something* with them..." "Hmmm. Getting cats to march in a parade could be tricky... Better get him some tuna to stuff into his pockets." The little troll made a note on her legal pad. "Check," she said. Daibhid, who'd been rummaging around in the Rucksack during this conversation, emerged triumphantly with three juggling balls. "A minor talent, but with two magicians already, I figure it's this or my singing, and you don't want that!" "There's no such thing as bad singing as long as you're enjoying yourself," said the avocado troll firmly. "Yeah, it's amazing how many people think that before they've heard me. Anyway, this is something I *am* good at. Well, pretty good, anyway. At least I was last time I tried, which was about a year ago. I think I'll shut up now, before I talk myself out of it." The little troll noted down on her pad "Daibhid - juggling (probably)". "Have you seen Gordon and Saville?" "They're being very secretive," her deputy said, "but I think I heard Gordon mumble something about 'dancing zombies'." "Oh. ... I hope their dancers are all ... erm ... volunteers. Grave robbing isn't very pro-fun ... on the other hand, if the spirit of fun has managed to survive the grave ..." "It might be just the thing to tackle the Gods?" Nyctolops finished for her. "After all, the Gods may not be undead themselves, but you could hardly call them living." "Now you're reading my mind!" the avocado troll said. "Perhaps it's catching." --- "What do you mean they're still in the airport waiting to get to Ibiza?" cried Gordon. Saville read from the newspaper, "Spanish coach driver's strike, then when that finished, the pilots went on strike." "Well that isn't very pro-fun is it?" "It's not a problem though..." "It isn't?" Saville whipped a small packet from his pocket. (singing) "A packet from his pocket, a packet from his pocket!" Gordon and Saville stared at the Three Muses. |\O_o/| |\o_O/| The Three Muses looked back. (^_^) (^_^) (^_^) "What?" "Nothing, carry on..." Gordon turned back to look at the packet from Saville's pocket. He read the label. "Instant Zombies. Just add water..." He looked at Saville, "You know, I really worry about you sometimes," he smiled. "So, what about the rest of our entertainment package?" Saville looked at his checklist. "The masked Mexican wrestling Armadillos are here, Steve Irwin's Crocodile Roadshow have confirmed, and the ninjas didn't actually say anything, but they did give me a thumbs up which I take it was a yes." "Cool, anyone else?" "Well, yeah. A paper aeroplane landed on my head, I unfolded it and it said 'I'll be there to help out as well' but it wasn't signed." "Hmm, wonder who that could be? Anyway, we should get going, they've probably come up with all sorts of ideas for what's going on by now, so we'd better get caught up!" They grooved mightily into the tent, past Captain Fallon of UNIT's SB Division[1] who was sort of acting as a bouncer for the night. "Sorry we were so long!" Everyone looked and noticed that the cuddly Gengar on Gordon's head was now jiggling about like one of those vibrating Tigger toys. Saville's hat was now glowing in a slightly worrying fashion... "We're back! And it's about fun!!!" [1] - SB = Silly buggers. They get called in when we're playing at it... :) --- Nyctolops furrowed up her brow again. "Now, how do circuses build up energy in the audience? They build from small to large, like starting off with small animal acts, then go to the horses, then lions, then finish off with the elephants. They also build from the ground up, until they have used all the space in the circus tent, as in using the jugglers and tumblers on the ground, then the fellow who juggles on a unicycle, then the springboard acrobats, and finish up with the flying trapeze. There is also usually a build up from safer acts to the really dangerous ones. Put all these ways of building up energy and tension in the audience together, and synergy should develop." The avocado troll nodded. "Just like in storytelling," she said, "until all the conflicts build to a single crisis point, from which only one outcome is possible, changing the status-quo that was present at the start of the story." She took another sip of her hot chocolate. It tasted slightly different, and she suspected Imran had slipped in a little dash of something while she was meditating on the change in Kid. Was that cinnamon, or nutmeg, or something else entirely? "As a matter of fact," she continued, getting back to her point, "I've been to circuses where all the acts combined into the 'chapters' of a story. "But, remember, we won't be performing for your ordinary audience -- this is 'dueling circuses' with the Gods of Ragnarok. I'm not sure how it will all go down when midnight comes, but I imagine that the Gods will perform an act, then we'll answer with another. What we need to do is figure out which of our acts will 'undo' the effects of each of the Gods' acts. It may be that 'small to large' will still be the way to go, but we can't afford to assume." "But then," Nyctolops asked, "how can we plan out our whole act before the Gods even get here?" "They lack all imagination, and we have the power of divination. Shouldn't be too hard to keep a few steps ahead." Alryssa nodded, as she toyed with her tarot deck, a deck featuring dragons that seemed to be almost alive as she shuffled them. "Unleash the powers of both, and you have a pretty potent force to work with," she said. "And," Imran added, as he stirred his great cauldron of milkshakes, "they're vain. They'll probably start out with their biggest act, in order to scare us into submission before the battle even starts." "Even after Gordon's little sky show?" Allie asked. "Well," Imran said, "they're not exactly famous for learning from their experiences." "No kidding," muttered Tessa. Alryssa shot her a look. The avocado troll read over the shoulder of her deputy. "You mentioned jugglers and acrobats," she said to Nyctolops, "-- two things I do *not* see on our list of acts. How do you feel about doing either of those things?" "Hmmm," Nyctolops said, a thoughtful, distant look coming into her eyes, "juggling: the balance of energies, order and chaos --" "Syntropy and entropy?" the little turquoise troll added. "Yes. *And* basic silliness, and trickery! An art long mistrusted by stuffed shirts and bureaucrats throughout history!" "What are you thinking?" Our Hostess/Ringmaster asked. "If we could combine juggling with typical "Doctor Who" technobabble gadgetry --" "Oh, no!" Jim called out from somewhere. "No more of that! I've had enough boominess for this lifetime!" "If we combine juggling with gadgetry," Nyctolops continued, undeterred, "then maybe we could 'juggle up' the energy the Gods will try to raise -- say if a juggler (or two, or three) just started performing off to one side, just as the Gods began their act." "What do you have in mind?" the avocado troll asked again. "Well, we have eight Doctors -- and eight sonic screwdrivers..." "This sounds like a dangerous combination already," Gordon grinned. "And the Fourth Doctor sometimes carries around an etheric beam locator and the Third almost always has something gadgety in his pockets and all of them have yo-yos . . . Hey, how many rings does the Psychic Circus have? Many circuses have three rings -- one big and two small, so we could put the Doctors in the two smaller rings and nothing would look out of place." --- 'Actually, Daibhid's offering to do the juggling,' the deputy said. 'He /is?/' our hostess said. 'It was either that or the singing...' 'Hmm...' our hostess mused. 'Must ask Daibhid whether or not he feels up to doing this. Maybe Third could offer him one or two pointers.' 'I'm doing the magical milkshakes.' Imran observed. 'Hopefully, /that/ should be able to tell whether or not the zombies are volunteering - of course, with Gordon and Saville, you never know... but basically, my act's the milkshakes. 'And be careful,' he advised Nyctolops. 'Since we don't know what magic your milkshake had, /anything/ might set the magic off.' Nyctolops nodded. 'Oh, umm.. I took the liberty of slipping a special ingredient into yours,' Imran said to the hostess. 'Why?' our hostess asked. 'Looks like a cold night tonight. Felt it needed /something/ warming. And given who we're up against... you'll need it.' Our hostess half-smiled. 'You have a point there, now you mention it... Magically warming, or normally warming?' 'A little of both, I think...' Our hostess smiled at that. 'Will that be a small or large act?' the deputy asked. Imran waved his hand from side to side. 'Mediumish... I think.' The deputy noted it on his notepad. 'Imran - magical milkshakes.' 'The Muses -' Imran indicated Allie, Tessa and Yokoi. '- have formed a pop group.' 'You have?' the deputy said. Yokoi blinked. 'Well, it's not /that/ surprising - anyway, we used to do it back at the Collegium, it was about time we brought the act outta mothballs.' '*That* should be a big production,' our hostess commented. '...Sorry, I'm not quite clear on this. Did Allie and Yokoi know Tessa back at the Collegium?' 'Well, we /did/ know her...' Allie hemmed. 'She was in our classes.' Yokoi said. 'Although she actually /passed/ her course - somehow. No, the act was just me and Allie back then. Still can't remember how she managed to get me into that...' Tessa shrugged. 'We only actually got to meet again sometime after our writers met up. It /was/ polite, after all.' 'And then they decided to form the Odd Muse Trio,' Imran said wryly. 'And /that/ scares me...' 'Wonder why?' Allie wondered. Imran raised his eyebrows. 'Anyway. I think Alryssa's decided to sit the actual acts out - but she /suspects/ Sailor Gallifrey'll probably be needed to channel the energy we build up, break the Gods' Conduit, and open up a Conduit of our own to /return/ the energy the Gods stole. Might be wrong on all that, though.' Our hostess paused for a moment. Conduit? Kid's amulet had seemed to act as something of a conduit - when it linked to her TARDIS. She stored the idea away for further thought. --- Alryssa nodded. "You're right - in a way. I'll be sitting the performance out - but I do need to be prepared. Which is why I created these tarot cards." Imran looked at the undersized deck. "Yes, Imran, there's no minor arcana. We need major power - cosmic power, but I can't release it all at once. Twenty-one aspects, twenty-one forces, twenty-one ways it could all go pear-shaped." "Oh... joy..." She smiled. "Better than seventy-two." "Will you be needing a milkshake, then?" "Definitely." 'Shouldn't there be twenty-two cards?' 'Twenty-two?' 'The Fool, The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, The Hierophant, The Lovers, The Chariot, Justice, The Hermit, Wheel of Fortune, Strength, The Hanged Man, Death, Temperance, The Devil, The Tower, The Star, The Moon, The Sun, Judgment, and The World.' Alryssa eyed Imran suspiciously. 'Get that Big Book of Tarot out from behind the cauldron, thanks. I refuse to believe even /you/ could remember all that.' 'Well...' Imran paused. 'Seventy-two? Which deck are you using?' 'Now /that's/ a much better question.' 'I'll say. There's a missing card somewhere; 72 - 21 = 51. Should be 52, cause there are /four/ suits...' 'Who're we starting with?' Alryssa said,. 'Our hostess, I think.' Imran frowned. 'I'm somewhere in the middle, Cameron's the penultimate one, and TYA wrap it all up with the big finale - although I think they're also doing backing numbers through this...' 'I wondered why she was dressed as Harlequin,' Alryssa observed. "Ahem," the little turquoise troll said quietly (as she couldn't help overhearing -- Troll hearing, normally quite good, becomes excellent when they are nervous), "Our Hostess is acting as ringmaster -- it is I, her deputy, who is going on first." [Authorial aside: Our Hostess has a clear complexion of avocado green, and stands a little over three feet tall. Her deputy has turquoise colored skin with medium to dark blue freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and is roughly 6 inches shorter (and thinner).] --- 'Good. This /should/ go well...' 'Yes...' Imran's frown stayed in place. 'Thing is, I wrote up a Tarot reading - well, a card reading, because those /weren't/ Tarot cards - when all this began.' [ http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/didthere.html ] 'You did?!' 'Not for the Hoedown, no!' Imran said hastily. 'Just for one of my own storylines. Done by the bad guy.' 'So what you're saying...' Alryssa said slowly. 'is that you've set something in motion totally /counter/ to what I'm doing.' 'Ummm...' 'Imran...' 'It /was/ telling a story!' Imran protested. 'Anyway, he's done now.' 'We'll see...' Alryssa observed darkly. 'Well, it had the Eighth Doctor as a card.' 'It had WHAT?!' 'The wild card, actually. All change.' Alryssa raised her eyebrows. 'Hmm...' Imran winced. --- 'Muses - pop group' the little troll noted. 'Imran...' Allie observed. 'Somehow, I /don't/ think the Gods would start with their biggest act.' 'They wouldn't?' 'No. Like we said, they're unimaginative and vain. They'll leave their biggest act till last, because it simply wouldn't occur to them to do likewise. /We'd/ do it because the culmination of the show should release the tension the rest of the show had built up - to show the audience something unexpected, inevitable and releasing.' Allie said. 'Basic Story Structure 203.' 'Didn't you flunk that?' Yokoi said. Allie's cheeks went red. 'I kept my notes, didn't I?' 'Singing, juggling, animal acts, magic with Lego, magical milkshakes... /something/ involving dancing zombies...' Our hostess shook her head at that. 'I think Fourth and Eighth are going to be showing off their fencing skills. Any idea what the other Doctors have planned?' Popping his head in, Bokman clarified. "Actually the Legos aren't that integral- we're using 'em for a few props." Zoe came over holding a box that shook and jumped as if something were alive. "What's in this?" Bokman, startled, replied "Um... let's be very careful with that. It'll help with the show, but we wouldn't want... them... getting loose beforehand." "Alright," Zoe shrugged. "I'll just put them in the protective area along with the-" she paused, not wanting to leak any secrets- "other props." ((Meanwhile, back in Vortex City, the Contessa is attempting to contact the Monitors...)) * * * 31. The Contessa makes contact * * * /The Contessa stares into her crystal ball.../ --- Contact. At last. ��-Yes? What do you want? Wordless, sharp query, across the link... ..mutual recognition. Condescension. She bristled. { -Ah, the little Contessa... { -Why have you not come? Silence. She had traded favors with the Monitors -- on her own territory, always. Had allowed herself to be betrayed into seeing them as equals, as individuals... and this one in particular as sparring-partner and friend. Now, extended coldly across space and time, it was made pitilessly plain to her just how wide was the stage upon which they viewed the world; how petty and obscure the puppet-like actors with whom perforce they dealt. Empires crawled like dust-motes against the waning backdrop of the stars... and beyond it all the Monitors moved, slow like the aeons, faceless and emotionless as the balance that weighs the life of a planet against a hair's-breadth of necessity and finds it lacking. What was one city, one world, one Fictiverse worth... in that scale? What to them was one forgotten exile of Gallifrey -- that she should dare to hold them to a bargain not of their choosing? She was nothing, the vast collective awareness gave her to know: a spider's breath, an eye-blink, a dying quiver at the heart of a sun... ��-*Stop it*! The Contessa clawed herself violently free from the mind-trap, shaking. She clung to that spark within her that had enabled her to resist, shielding it, feeding the tiny flow with the fuel of her betrayal and fear. Sent them back that defiant image in reply; the single wavering flame in the dark -- flaring up -- catching -- spreading from mind to mind -- a roaring, dancing life that leapt all confinement, woke in heart after heart where long-banked embers were all but dead... ��-All from one, she flung back at them. -All from one. One spark, one mortal, one despised grain of dust. All it takes is one. For we create, we give birth to life of which you cannot dream -- one story, one legend to wake a whole sterile world and resonate down the ages in a hundred thousand tales -- She could breathe again. And in the new-found awareness she had forced, she could sense the lie in what they had shown her. The cracks in the face of the monolith they tried to present. They had been riven by their own petty factions. Welded together now in temporary alliance that wished for nothing more than to disown all responsibility for what had passed... what was still going on. Even now -- linked once more to the senses of her distant body -- she could feel it, the dulling and the draining. The sterility. Who could know that better than she, who had been a fugitive first from the tyranny of technology and then the unchanging dominion of pure mind? ��-So, with one hand you promise me aid, and with the other you yourselves aid those who would destroy us all! Silence. But the texture now was different. If she had any longer believed it possible, coming from the one she had thought her friend she would have called it shame. ��-We may not help. We may no longer interfere. She sent fierce demand, hard-edged and clear, forcing it onto the personal level they sought so hard to disclaim. Their weakness, not hers. ��-*You owe me*. --- ��-The power is yours. A tiny, humbled thread of meaning, so slender she could barely accept it, let alone understand. Insistence, pressing against disbelief. Stronger now. ��-Already yours. Have you not seen? The image of a blue blaze across the link, almost blinding in its glory. Then a hard dark face, closed in and wary-eyed; Kid Curry. He looked lost and weary -- weary to the bone. Even on that night when he had first come to seek her help, she had never seen the demons that drove him lie so close under the skin. He bore the mark of a man who begins to perceive himself, dimly; and fears what further he may see... Those around him, discerned dimly through his shuttered gaze, were bright -- bright and eager, with joyous powers that called to her own. She caught snatches of their plans, grasped at the nature of their adversary, felt, above all, the focus that surrounded this place. The Omniverse itself held its breath. How could they not sense it? The tiered benches might be all but empty... but tonight there would be an audience such as the Psychic Circus had never seen. And in the center of it all, the bright circle -- spangles, music, lights, *fun* -- brave panoply flaunted before the gray invader... oh, and it would not, could not be enough. Her soaring heart turned over at the sickening realisation. She could feel the powers swelling against them, taste the devouring strength, probe even as they did around the rim of that golden ring -- and seize upon the same dark flaw. For one link was broken. Silent and wary, the outsider still -- always -- he sat, as ever, apart from the others, watching. Waiting to react. Laid open by those very defense barriers he so prized. When the Gods of Ragnarok came, they would find him only too apt to their hand. He had walked in ways of destruction for the forty years that he knew, and the countless more since that he did not know he had lost; and the scars were on him, body and soul. The charm she had given him beat fierce at his throat, impotent, its power locked to his hand alone by her own unthinking act. An ancient battered thing she had thought it, of sentimental value to her only in its link to times past; it was on those old memories that she had meant to draw. She had sought to seal into it a wielding of joy and home, as a shield in the badlands to a wanderer more rootless even than most; and yet something, somehow -- some rejoicing rush of vitality -- had waken long-locked powers deeper than even she had ever known or guessed. ��-But he will not act. The others would act for him, but they cannot -- and whether he wills it or no, that power will draw the Eaters of Story down upon them all like flies to a carcase. Oh, you chose well, little Contessa, did you not? ��-I did not choose him for this... It was almost a desolate cry. She watched through his eyes as a merry little Ringmaster trotted to the center ring (tailed by an even smaller creature holding a spangled whip), took her gaily-sparkling lash of office from her deputy with a smile and a whispered word that had the little one wriggling with pride, and raised both hands in the gesture of a conductor waiting to begin. She felt the queer twist of yearning in his throat. He would aid them if only he could -- but he had been a loner so long, and he did not know how... The taste in her own mouth was bitter. ��-I would not have wished this on you, my friend. She could feel the beat of his heart; the harsh rasp of his jaw against the collar of his shirt as his sat crouched and watchful; the circus-scent that teased at the edge of his awareness. How could she be so close and yet unable to make him hear her in his turn? She probed for the image of herself in his thoughts; shrank back from the tangle she found there. Not fair to use that -- oh, not fair at all -- "Listen to me, Curry. *Listen*!" She tried to make it sweet and measured, to equal his memories. "We have no time -- and *they are coming*..." --- ((And back in the ring...)) Finally! the avocado troll thought, it was all starting to come together. Each of her guests had declared an act, and regardless of how well rehearsed they were, they were all eager to begin. Daibhid, the Fifth and Seventh Doctors were practising a trio juggling act (while Daibhid's rucksack had joined with the cats in Jim's and Nyctolops' semi-trained animal act), Bokman and Zoe were doing a prop-filled magic act, and Imran was doing a potion-filled one. The Fourth and Eighth Doctors were doing a choreographed fencing demonstration, and Gordon and Saville were doing an act with Dancing Zombies (the Zombies being hidden away in a wagon draped with dark purple velvet, on which silver and gold stars had been embroidered). She herself had unhitched the twelve white android horses from her TARDIS wagon, and they stood prancing and ready, with Mags and Kingpin ready to lead the equestrian act (unlike the robot clowns of the Gods, she'd realized, when she decided to include them, they were an aspect of her TARDIS itself -- a living, sentient machine with her/its own sense of fun and mischief, and who, ever since meeting Compassion last year, has wanted to play a greater role in adventures than just playing ferry). And last, but not least, were the new pop singing trio TYA. The First Doctor volunteered to man the lights and the Second volunteered to play the organ. Third agreed to be Narrator, and Sixth, who still insisted that he didn't need an act, said he had something else up his sleeve, and the troll thought it wise not to press the matter. All that was left to do now, was to get them to line up to practice the opening parade. The avocado troll took her official Ring Master's Whip from her deputy, and raised her arms. She was about to call out to get their attention, when she felt an incredible buzzing inside her head -- so intense, it felt like her skull was vibrating like a tuning fork -- like an *alarm*. The buzz radiated outward: to the tips of her fingers and toes, and the very end of her tail. She lost her balance, and landed, ungracefully, on her seat, but she hardly noticed. The buzzing clarified itself, transforming into a voice: a woman's voice, at once beautiful and strained -- panicking: "Listen to me, Curry. Listen! We have no time -- and they are coming!" And then it was gone. She shook her head, to clear it. And became aware of her guests gathered around her, the concern clear in their faces. "Are you all right?" Jim asked, shooing a few cats off her lap and helping her up. "I - I'm fine, I think... Or I will be, once we win this battle." She had felt the Contessa's fear, of course, felt the dread. But she refused to accept it, refused the inevitability. Otherwise, they would lose before they even began. "What *happened*?" Imran asked. "That divination potion of yours," she told him, "packs quite a wallop." "You pick something up?" She nodded. "But it wasn't something meant for *me*." She looked over at Kid. He was sitting upright, now, straining to see what the commotion in the center of the ring was all about. But he was making no move to join them... eternally the outsider. He was someone, she realized, who'd locked himself in a prison cell (figuratively speaking), in a moment of panic, perhaps, when his world had gone crazy, in a moment when a prison cell was the safest place to be. Perhaps he'd locked himself in as a small child, before he'd really learned to play. But he'd dropped the key outside the door. It was right there, a mere inches away. He needed someone else to unlock the door. Once the door was open, it was up to him to step out, into the sunlight. The question was: would he? She handed the whip to her deputy. "Take over for me, please," she said, "I need another talk with Kid. I have a message for him that was ... misdelivered." He slumped back into himself as she approached, but she didn't let that deter her. Not this time. The urgency in the Contessa's thoughts didn't allow for skirting around Kid's fears. "The Contessa needs you -- *we* need you -- to *act*, Kid," she said flatly, sitting on the bleacher next to him. "What happens next is up to you. You know that, don't you?" He shook his head, his face a blank mask of incredulity -- as if she'd just told him that trees plant their roots in the clouds. "I can't." The troll grunted in frustration -- a harsh sound, bordering on anger. She wanted to shake Kid -- shake him hard, until he felt the alarms in her brain that she just had. She felt all eyes turn to her: Kid's, the Doctors', her guests' -- even the eyes of her TARDIS' android horses -- felt the surprise, the worry, just like when she'd fallen over in the ring a moment ago. Slowly, she told herself. Don't smash your skull in, trying to break down the door. The key. Find the key. She took a deep breath. "What happened when you rode out tonight, Kid?" she asked. "What did you see?" He shrugged, at first, muttering about "Nothing much, except --" And then the story came, word by word, slowly, quietly, almost casually, until he had relayed every detail -- right down to the way the moons' light looked as it glanced off the White's talons, and the way the horse had urged him to return. The avocado troll's jaw was hanging open by the end of it. "You ... *met* ... the gryphon's ... *gaze*?!" Kid nodded, innocently, a questioning look in his eye. "Don't you see?" her words, her thoughts, were racing through her brain, and she struggled to slow herself down enough to get them out. "Gryphons are *guardians* -- they separate the worthy from the unworthy. A *gryphon* found you -- with a treasure *of its own domain* -- and judged you worthy! If that isn't a sign -- a fifty foot, red-lettered sign -- that you were brought here to *Do* something, I don't know what is!" But Kid still shook his head. "Then the thing was wrong. After all I've done, all I am --" She interrupted him. "What you've *done*, and what you *are* are two different things. Gryphons are creatures that travel between dimensions, remember," she said. "When they see something, they see the *whole* of it -- the future, the past, the inside, outside, and sides we don't even have words for. You *have* done evil, in the past, I won't deny it, and there's no erasing it. But it's clear you have the potential, at least, to do more good than *all* that evil, combined. But it's up to you to *do* it." "Yeah? Well, how are you so sure that thing judged me worthy?" he challenged. "How do you know it didn't decide that I was *nothing*?" "You've seen those talons, Kid. You've felt the power of that beak, and the speed of the gryphon's strike. If a gryphon found you unworthy -- *especially* if it found you unworthy of an interdimensional key -- your remains (if you could call them that) would be scattered across no less than fifty miles, right now." Kid opened his mouth, as if to protest again, but no sound came. "So what do I have to do?" he asked, at last. The troll allowed herself to smile. "That, I don't know ... exactly," she said. "But I do know that the Contessa is trying to contact you, through that charm --" "Is that what happened, over there?" he asked, nodding to the ring. "Yes. And she's desperate, Kid. Terrified. I suggest you listen to her, keep your mind's ear open, so to speak." "Terrified?" Open concern spread across his face. "Of what?" "That the Gods of Ragnarok will use you as their puppet. Whatever you do, don't let them." --- He reached up then, touched the charm - a gift, it had been, a warding - 'Gryphons /guard/-' '-if a gryphon found you unworthy-' Contact. 'Curry? 'Curry, you have to listen! They're coming - they're looking for a flaw, something they can use. They're looking for you.' 'Lady already told me that.' he told her. 'These Gods, looking for a puppet, and they think I'll be the one.' Startled. 'You know?' 'Said your message went astray,' he said. 'It went to her, and /she/ told me. Looks like you weren't kidding when you asked me to keep an eye out for you - I have been, ain't I?' Flustered now, desperation quickly overriding it. 'Listen. If you don't-' 'Yeah? I'm guessing pretty much what'll happen if I /don't/ do nothin', now. Not without my choice.' 'Oh?' 'Yeah. I'm guessing if I say "hell with it", these Gods are gonna smash us down - they're like that, near as I can tell. Find a flaw, they'll use it. This time... this time, looks like the spirits are coming for me.' He laughed hollowly. 'Took them long enough, all I can say. And what was that you told me? Anger the spirits, and even infinity's too short to run. 'Now, if I say I'm in - hell, we lose, we win, I figure that's gotta be better odds than just waitin' for them to come along - and maybe this way, some of us get out the other side. Left enough bodies in my path for one life.' 'You're getting canny in your old age.' 'Learned from the best. And I'm figuring, from what she told me, I'm not the only one keeping their cards close to their chest.' A little gasp inside his mind. 'See, she /told/ me that you were scared of these Ragnarok Gods. And the Doctors - they recognised this -' he held up the charm '- from back where /they/ came from. Said it was a Sisterhood thing, from way back when.' '...It was a heirloom,' she said finally. 'Passed down through the generations, always in the House. A small thing. I tried to make it a shield - a warding for you against the badlands, against the evil that was coming, that you would face. I never realised...' 'You knew,' Kid said, his thoughts betraying only plain fact. 'Something bad was coming. Something nasty. Only you didn't know what, or where it was coming from. So you asked me to keep an eye open, see what I could see. And looks like I saw too much for someone's taste. Ever hear tell of the Master?' '...Yes,' she said. 'I could hardly do otherwise. Gallifrey's most famous renegades always left their mark.' 'Mm. Met /him/ along the way - and he wasn't happy, not happy at all... Then I land up with them, and now I'm figuring - what if he wanted me to meet up with them, forget what I'd seen and heard - bring the Gods down on our heads? What if I'd been /meant/ to meet them one way or the other? Playing a big game, Contessa...' No recrimination in his thoughts, and that was scaring her, scaring her more than she cared to admit. 'Looks like none of you took your world's destruction easy...' A tiny sound. 'Gallifrey...' 'Boom,' he said. 'Didn't say how, or who - but a year or so back, their time. Gone. All of it. Barring you.' Silence in his mind. '...no,' she finally whispered. 'No. /This/ is my home now. No.' 'And someone wants to tear it down.' A nod, slowly. 'Yes. Yes, I knew. I had to send you - someone who didn't know, who would see with only their own eyes, no-one else's. Who could see, and react.' 'I'm not the only one. Things calling themselves the Monitors - they saw me, too. Reacted pretty damn quick. And then these gryphons - fact they /didn't/ react's good, way our ringmaster tells it.' 'Gryphons...?' she whispered. '/Gryphons/?' 'Recognised this,' he said. 'Gryphons recognised...' Her voice trailed off. 'So. Time for runnin's past. Nothing left to do but face these Gods. Question is, what do I have to do?' 'You know,' she told him. 'You made your decision - to stand and defend the ones you're with. You are the defender - their ward against whatever the Gods may throw at you. That's the part you play. You know deception, and trickery, and bullying, and simple evil - known it all your life, in ways the gryphons do not know. As the others perform, so will you - protecting and defending. That's your role - to defend them from what even the gryphons may not. To join in, and help make sure they're free to perform. The key to the whole affair.' He sighed, then. 'Yeah. Guess it's true. First time... first time ever found something more than nothing.' 'The first?' she asked quietly. 'Maybe not the first,' he told her. 'But the first time I knew...' A quick smile, unseen. A gentle touch, deep within his mind.... * * * 32. The Gods of Ragnarok arrive * * * /The Contessa has managed to create a telepathic link with Kid Curry.../ --- 'Go,' she told him. 'You know what you have to do.' He nodded. Opened his eyes. And stood up. Almost lost his balance, for a moment. He shook his head, blinking. The wood of the benches above was rough under his hand -- hard, real -- where he'd caught at it to keep from pitching down into the ring. He tightened his grip, felt splinters bite. He could still /taste/ her presence in his mind. So close, it had been, he could almost feel the brush of her sleeve against his arm as she leaned across that little table of hers; hear the dancing trace of accent that coloured the velvet darkness of her voice; glimpse the shimmer of gold at her wrists in the lamplight. Like waking from a dream... Without thinking, he'd more than half-expected to find himself back in her parlor. But the prickle under his clenched fingers was real, and the vast shadowed height of the tent above. And somewhere outside were wild gryphons, and a night with two moons -- and far far away, way out and yet also somehow rushing up, faster almost than he could understand, like the sharp rocks at the bottom of a long fall... the unknown threat they called the Gods of Ragnarok. Like walking through the Contessa's wildest stories, all come to life. His free hand stole up, in a gesture that was fast becoming habitual, to touch the blue charm again, briefly, as if to bring her nearer. Voices in his head... He'd heard her -- more than heard her -- as if she'd been close at his side... Deep down inside, he could feel a helpless grin starting up. In the ring below, the avocado troll was doing her best to get the beginnings of a parade into order. Guests were struggling into costumes, chasing after props, scooping up cats... no-one glanced up. Kid Curry jumped down the last few steps of the bleachers, light-footed as a boy, and slipped out past the heavy flaps at the main entrance. The cold air hit like a steadying hand. He took a couple of deep breaths, out there in the dark -- then let the grin rip anyhow, laughing silently, joyously up at the two moons. Couldn't recall when he'd last felt this good in a long, long while. The brown nickered from out on the picket where he'd tethered him (no point spooking the pony with the wild goings-on inside). Might as well pay him a visit while he was out here, Kid Curry told himself. Fool horse had always liked his forehead rubbed... not too much, mind, can't afford to spoil a working horse like some kind of pet... They leaned against each other in the dark, listening to the chatter and nervous laughter floating out from inside the great tent. Crazy folk -- but they sure got things done. Ten dollars to a dime, not one of the guests had been on the inside of a ring before tonight; but he'd lay even odds that somehow they'd pull off a show all the same that would have the Gods themselves reeling. At the thought of the enemy his face hardened, lengthening into set lines. These Gods of Ragnarok were out here somewhere -- he could feel it like a prickling on the back of his neck, an oncoming storm -- and while the Hoedowners would put out everything they'd got, he guessed there was no way the Gods would fight fair. Hell, *he* sure wouldn't fight fair, in their place... He felt a cold touch at that thought. The Contessa was right. Him and the Gods, they had way too much in common. Yeah. That's why they need you, remember? He touched the charm again, for reassurance. Out here, it was warm to the touch... or maybe it had always been warm. That's why they need you. You know dirty fighting. You know how to spot what they'll try. You know how to face down a bluff, and spot the guy with a knife waiting on the sidelines... Somehow, he didn't think there'd be anything as simple as a knife in play tonight. If only... He sighed, and went back to the main entrance, hunkering down for a long wait, letting himself slip into lookout mode; mind all but blank, focused on eyes, ears, breeze on the skin... waiting for the change that meant they had visitors. Must be nearly midnight, now. He guessed they wouldn't be too long coming. And then the horse screamed. --- The avocado troll moved among her guests / performers, relieved that they'd finally gotten through dress rehearsal of the opening parade. They were talking quietly with each other in groups of three and four, each sipping a custom milkshake from the cauldron of Imran. There wasn't anything they could to do now except wait for the Gods to arrive. And that's the surface mood of confidence and friendship was a thin and fragile as the surface tension on a pond -- underneath, she could feel that they were all afraid, on edge. I wonder how close we are to midnight, Our Hostess thought to herself. I wish there was a clock here, so I'd know for sure. No, I don't! Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I wonder where Kid's gone, she wondered. She'd seen him go into a trance-like state, shortly after she had her talk with him, and she was sure that he was communicating with the Contessa. What she could not know was what he had learned from her. But she saw him, out of the corner of her eye, get up and go outside, after that. But although she knew he had a key role to play, she couldn't figure what it was, or how he would do it. All she could do was wait and see. The silence of the night outside was shattered by Kid's horse, crying out in terror in a voice that sounded almost human. Then an icy wind rose from nowhere. It circled the big top tent as though it were a madman, running in circles. Swirls of black sand, a color totally alien to Jubilganzia, crept under the sides of the tent where the wind blew them inward. The Gods of Ragnarok had arrived. --- 'Allie...?' Imran whispered. When Allie turned to face him... ...it wasn't the pain-wracked Allie of the stagnation. Wasn't the dark silhouette - the transparent figure - of the draining. It was all the more horrifying... because she still looked human. With an expression that belonged on nothing human. 'I can feel them, Imran.' she whispered. 'Their /age/... their terror... 'Their /hunger/. They're so /hungry/... Hungry for me. For my kind. For the stories... They could drain the Omniverse dry, and never be satisfied. That's what they /are/... never satisfied, wanting the original, the new... only /because/ it's original and new - not because it's entertaining, or enjoyable - but because they can /feed/ on it...' She shook herself. 'Are...' 'I'm... I'm ... no, I'm /not/ all right. It's like having a man-eating tiger waiting outside - something you /know/ wants to eat you. /Consciously/ wants to eat you, and leave nothing behind.' 'Allie...' Imran said, hesitantly. '... there'll /always/ be something of you, with me. Always. In our stories - in what you helped me /create/. Without you... the stories wouldn't be what they are. /I/ wouldn't be what I am - and neither would you.' Allie's returning smile was wistful. 'Thanks... Thanks. One Hades of a way to go though. My first assignment, and it ends up against the Eaters of Story.... They'd be writing epics about this for ages...' 'If we're going to go out,' Imran said. 'we're going out the only way we know how - with one /hell/ of a show.' 'Damn right!' Gordon proclaimed. 'Like we're gonna roll over and die and let those stonyfaced, humourless buggers eat everything!' 'And as long as /we're/ around,' Alryssa said, 'that's not going to happen.' --- Kid saw them coming. The black twister coiling and twisting - a dark, poisoned conduit following in their trail. Heralding their approach. From here, it was the size of one of the twisters he'd seen back in Vortex City. If that's what it's like from /here/... he thought. My /God/. Thing must be the size of a /city/... Around his neck, the charm began to glow a soft blue. Almost as if in response, declaring a challenge, the twister flickered red - a streak of dark lightning streaking out from its eye. 'We're here, you bastards,' Kid whispered. 'We're ready for ya. And we ain't gonna back down. We laid down the challenge - we ain't gonna walk away now, no matter /what/ light shows you throw our way.' The blue light grew stronger. --- Inside the Big Top... Allie looked down at herself. Her robes had started to glow blue. Yokoi's coat was luminous, its many colours sparking and iridescent.. Tessa's hair radiated a soft red glow, a halo of light framing her features. 'It's time,' Allie whispered. --- -Little thing. Little one. We have arrived. Cold voices. Stony voices. Voices that had forgotten any other feeling but hunger a universe ago - if they had ever known any other. 'Yeah? You gonna show yourselves?' And then he saw it. A corruption - a /twisting/ - of the Hoedown cart. Six skeletal horses led it, twisted metal and rust their bodies. At their reins... a man, his features a ghastly yellow, marked with the death pallor. A dead man walking. And the cart... the cart itself was a broken, mangled thing - a grotesque, dreadful parody of the Hoedown cart, in pallid, drained greys and whites. Kid clenched his fists tighter. Not here, not /here/... A screech echoed out across the land. A battle-cry, against everything that the dead circus stood for. A willingness to defend, to /champion/, the cycle and the balance. It reverberated with passion, with energy - with creativity. And the White Gryphon alighted in front of the cart. -You have no place here, the Gods said. The White raised its head. Its eyes flickered blue. -They have challenged us. We have accepted that challenge. You may not bar us. The White held its position for a moment. Then it roared. And the other five Gryphons alighted, taking their places alongside it. -This is their challenge, and theirs alone. None may aid. -Not even you, Sixfold One. You know the rules. Then Kid realised /where/ the gryphons had taken their positions. Three by one side of the entrance. Three by the other. Guarding the Big Top. Guardians. --- The Sword of Authorial Freedom shone with a silver light. The Staff of Harmony /blazed/ in a kaleidoscope of colour. And the wizard's cloak Imran wore took on sudden depth, its pattern of stars, planets and comets becoming a true night sky, stars gleaming against the blackness, nebulae forming in the void. Our hostess watched, watched all of it. And deep inside, the flame - the wish to celebrate and defend Pro-Fun, the many reasons she'd created the Hoedown, the desire to encourage and defend others' enjoyment and excitement - that flame began to reassert itself, to become stronger.... 'Everyone ready?' our hostess asked. Everybody nodded. 'Then take your places.' --- -Little man. Stand aside. 'No.' Kid said. -What?! 'I said I'd defend these guys. That's what I'm gonna do,' Kid said to the Gods. 'You want to get them... come through me.' -As you wish. A bolt of dark lightning flashed from the cart. And struck the charm. --- 'Oh my Gods...' Alryssa whispered. Dark energy leaped across one member of the Circus to another, crawling, searching, looking. Looking for a way in. Then, with a sharp *crack*, it grounded itself in the centre of the ring. --- Kid reached up. That bolt should have left him a cinder on the ground. Instead... instead, he was still standing. Untouched. But for a moment, for a moment... almost, it had almost found a way in. But it hadn't. And something deep within the charm - within Kid - awoke. To itself. To its true power. -Very well. Announce to Eloise that we have arrived. 'Lady?' 'Let them in,' the hostess' voice said from inside the tent. 'You heard the lady,' Kid said. 'Go on. What you waiting for, a signed invitation?' The Gods said nothing. Instead... there was a focusing of intensity, a coldness, a *thickness* in the air. -This is not over. Not by a long way. And then their presence was gone. Inside. Inside the Big Top. --- The lightning struck. Then they were there. In the stalls. The Gods of Ragnarok. Three Gods of hunger. Of entropy and destruction, devastation and ennui. Of stagnation and /famine/. The Psychic Circus turned to face them. -We have arrived, Eloise. Begin. -Announce us. The hostess took a deep breath, and stepped into the spotlight. --- The charm flashed, *flared* in a single burst of electric-blue light - And the Big Top was enveloped in a web of light. A shield. Holding the Gods within - and the Circus with them. Holding everything else without. On one side of the shield, the Big Top. On the other, the Omniverse. The show was about to begin. --- The hostess saw Kid standing at the entrance. He nodded. She let out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. 'Ladies and gentlemen - welcome to the biggest show in the Omniverse!' she announced. ((But one of the opening performers is getting a little nervous...)) * * * 33. Daibhid gets stage fright * * * /Meanwhile, in the side ring:/ --- "I don't think I can do this," Daibhid announced, miserably. "What?" said the Juggling Doctors in unison. "I can't do it. I'll screw it up. I'm going to drop something, or the Gods'll just hate me or it all go wrong somehow. I'll just find a bed to hide under and you can tell me when it's over." "Not a great attitude, Daibhid," sighed the Fifth Doctor. "And hardly in the spirit of Pro-Fun." "I'm totally Pro-Fun," snapped Daibhid hysterically, "I'm just not Pro-Responsibility. Especially a responsibility like this. It's going to go wrong! I just know it!" "Why would it?" asked the Seventh Doctor. "You werre doing fine in ourr little rrehearrsal." "That was different. Look, you saw me when I first arrived, right? Totally maladroit, yes? Spilling Irn Bru and those Vegetarian Thins everywhere. Because I didn't know what to expect. As I got less nervous, I gained more hand-eye coordination, until I was confident enough to juggle. You want to guess how nervous I am just now?" He sagged. "I want to help. I just can't. I've no illusions. I'm not a hero." The Fifth Doctor shook his head. "If you want to help, you can. It's as simple as that. Brave heart, eh?" The Seventh nodded. "You mentioned confidence. All you need to to be a touch less nerrvous, and you'll rregain enough ability to be a touch morre confident than that and so on. Worrth a trry, anyway." Daibhid was still unsure. He wanted to do his bit. He wanted to be the hero, although he was well aware Kid Curry had that role sewn up. A significant supporting player, then. He knew that here and now it was vital the Pro-Funners stuck together. But... Kid Curry turned to see what was happening, and shook his head in disbelief. The dumb kid thought he had problems! Cameron gave a plaintive miaow. The Trio, and muses, wondered if they should offer advice. The Doctors knew there was nothing to say. Unaware of what was happening behind the scenes, the hostess wondered what the delay was. Daibhid realised that everyone was counting on him. This just made him feel worse. The knot in his stomach became too much to bear. That was it. He had to decide, and he *couldn't* decide no. "O-*kay*!" he said finally. "Let's just get it over with." "Start at the beginning," Fifth said quietly. "What?" "The beginning. What was the very first juggling move you ever learned?" "Well, tossing one ball, and catching it, of course -- but that's hardly --" "Doesn't matter," Seventh said. The important thing is to *start*!" So Daibhid tossed one ball from his right hand to his left. And the most remarkable thing happened: the arc of the ball's flight was traced by a stream of blue light -- the same blue that had filled the TARDIS, when they first set out to find the Psychic Circus, the same blue as flashed in the gryphons' eyes. Daibhid felt a tingling in his left palm as the ball landed, almost as if the ball were alive -- vibrating with energy. He returned the ball to his right hand, and tossed again. Again, the arc of light, of energy went with it. A third toss, and he could feel the energy pass through *him*: out through his right hand, in through his left. He felt it go down his left leg, through the ground below him, and up through his right leg, and out through his hand again. He added a second ball to the cascade, and a third, tossing faster and faster. He felt the rising energy lift him up, so that he was a good inch taller than when he began. He felt the falling energy hold him to the ground and keep him steady. It was almost as if he and the balls had become *one* -- that he could no more drop a ball now than he could his let his own head roll off his neck. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw the two Doctors juggling their sonic screwdrivers, the small metallic cylinders glinting in the circus lights as they tumbled in the air, their lights flashing as the flew. Out of the corner of his other eye, he saw the Gods' first act enter the ring: a pair of clowns entering to do a buffoon act like thousands he had seen before -- but without any of the understanding of human foibles that made such acts funny: no humor, no *joy* or affection. Everything about them was *surface*: the garish colors of their costumes, the glittering rhinestones sewn into the ruffles of their sleeves and pantcuffs, the blazing white of their grease-painted faces. It was almost like the clowns were animated china dolls, except that china dolls are hollow inside, and these clowns were filled with the black, living hunger that filled all the Gods of Ragnarok. And more than hunger: they were filled with hatred, and utter contempt for what they fed on. Even the hungriest of wild lions show respect, perhaps even gratitude, toward their prey. But not so with these beings -- these *un*beings. Then Dabhid saw it. Maybe it was the energy coursing through him, coursing through his eyes, his brain, but now he could see the negative energy, the *un*energy, black and cold, snaking out like slow lightning from the clowns in the center ring. And it was aimed right at the little turquoise troll, who was dressed as Harlequin, waiting to go on next and answer the Gods' act with one of her own. Deftly, as if the energy guiding his hands guided his feet as well, Dabhid took one step to the left, and bounced a ball against the ground. It came up, right where, and when, it should, and intercepted that black lightning. There was a small, and mysteriously silent, explosion when lightning and ball met, and both disappeared in a puff of colored light and silver sparklies that lingered in the air for a moment before rising upward and dispersing, settling over the Hoedowners like a fine mist. The unenergy had been stopped, and transformed into a little more creative energy, for the Pro-Fun Hoedowners to draw upon. But Daibhid knew that this first attack from the Gods was the smallest of them all, and he knew such juggling tricks wouldn't fend them off forever. --- Back in the wings, Alryssa sat crosslegged, quietly within her own circle, and turned over the first card. 0. The Fool. Beginnings, travel, the Quest for knowledge. - it's time, isn't it? - 'fraid so. As the notes of TYA's first song harmonised and rang out across the circus, Sailor Gallifrey transformed and began to tap into the power of the first card, hoping all the while that her actions would remain unnoticed until it was too late for the Gods of Ragnarok... /Please, everyone... give it all you have. I need your energy, I need your protection, just as much as you need me./ --- Tessa shuddered. 'Synergy?' Allie asked quietly. 'Yes,' Alryssa's Muse said. 'Alryssa's started establishing the framework for the channel - for our channel, channeling the web's energy. Using her Tarot cards - she's at the Fool.' 'Darkly appropriate,' Yokoi said, 'given who's on stage at the moment...' 'Robot clowns,' Allie grimaced. 'Okay. Oh, I know...' TYA launched into their song - 'Mulder and Scully', by Catatonia. "Things are getting strange, I'm starting to worry. This could be a case for Mulder and Scully..." "You know, they look strangely, and very scarily, highly cute like that," Gordon mused, his feet shuffling to the tune. Imran just /looked/ at him. "Whaaaaaat?" 'What /really/ worries me,' Imran observed, 'is how scarily our Muses look like anime girls... Of course, Allie's gonna /kill/ me when she finds out what I did.' 'Why?' Gordon asked. 'What'd you do?' 'Well... um... while she's doing /that/, I'm writing /another/ story about this - partly from her perspective...' Gordon considered. 'You're right. She's gonna kill you - wait a minute, what's /Tessa/ wearing? All I remember's that she's got red hair...' 'Oh no...' Imran's mouth fell open. 'Bad case of Undefined Clothing - better get onto Alryssa about that...' Our Hostess checked her clipboard. The various acts were lined up: Act One: GoR Clown act, answered by "Harlequin Meets the Typo Gremlin". Performed by: Deputy and Spethan the Grimlen (juggling intermission, while the equipment is set up for next act [Note: Be on the lookout for trickery from the GoR during all intermissions!!!]) Act Two: acrobats -- first GoR, then Nyctolops. "I hope you don't mind that I volunteered you for this, but since Nyctolops seems to be in monkeyish form, this time around, I figured she would be particularly good at this." "Yes, Nyctolops looks pretty much like a big-eyed monkey and is really good at jumping and climbing. I should be able to think of some kind of act." (Light show w/music intermission -- Third and Second Doctors) Act three: small animal acts -- GoR and robot poodles, answered by Jim and the semi-trained cats (intermission: Dancing and fiddling from Our Ringmaster and Spethan) Act four: Magic, GoR answered by Imran (set up for next act going on simultaneously) Act five: Equestrian, GoR and their Robot Six, answered by Mags, Kingpin, and the TARDIS team of Twelve. (juggling redux) Six: More Magic, this time answered by Bokman and Zoe. Seven: Trapeze and Tightrope from the GoR, Dancing Zombies from Gordon and Saville Eight: Fierce animal taming, GoR with tigers, answered by Nyctolops and Cameron. Cameron growls to Nyctolops "Don't worry, I'll be gentle..." "Thank you. Those teeth still make me a bit nervous." "Don't worry - I'll keep my mouth shut unless I need to open it..." Nine: Finale -- GoR probably with explosions of some kind (*really* be on guard against trickery, here!), answered by TYA and ???? (With Syntropy, who knows?) She just hoped they had enough positive energy to build on the foundations the Muses were laying. Next up: The Four Doctors with eight sonic screwdrivers... "Are you ready?" she asked Fifth, Seventh, Sixth and Second. They nodded, as the final notes of TYA's rendition faded. --- Sailor Gallifrey held the second card up. It glowed as it hung in the air in front of her, beside the first. 1. The Magician. Magick. - you do realise that we have to open almost all the gates before we can afford an interruption? - don't remind me, please. I'm trying to concentrate on twenty-two things at once as opposed to just thirteen as it is. Imran watched, nervously, feeling the vibrations changing in the air around them as the energy of each card was released and absorbed. */Nervous energy is not a good thing right now. Give me a hand here./* "Eh?" Imran stared at Sailor Gallifrey, her face unmoving. */Oh, I'm sorry. I just need you to focus. Nervousness will draw their attention./* "I see. Ahem. OK." He breathed deeply several times, and allowed himself to flow with the vibrations, felt them, truly felt them, as they began to sing in his mind... */Umm... we're having a little temporal anomaly at the moment,/* Imran observed. */Should be sorted out soon - TYA should be doing the backing numbers for the acts, and Harlequin should be up as our first act./* */They should?/* Alryssa said. */...Damn. Wild magic. That nervousness of yours is throwing things off - the beginning's gone wonky. Calm *down*./* */I would. It's just.../* Imran grimaced. */Allie. She's hitting euphoria - and I'm getting some of the nervous shock./* */Nervous shock?! Catatonia?!/* */Long story,/* Imran said. Alryssa raised an eyebrow. */Knowing you, it probably is./* Imran managed to look embarrassed. */At the risk of turning this into yet another ImranPlug(TM) - "The Calliope Files: Allie", over on alt.drwho.creative... [ htttp://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/Calliope.html ] Think of it as Hoedown Apocrypha... ah! Whoo! What was *that*?!/* */Time resetting itself, unless I miss my guess. Now... I need to / /concentrate.../* --- For a moment it looked like Daibhid, down in the side ring, was set to freeze up. The kid was pale as skim-milk, with about as much body to him; and right now it was pretty clear a stiff breeze coulda blown him away... Then his hands moved. One ball soared up... then another, then the third. Up and over, a whirling ring of colors, as the cascade got going. Daibhid's face was a mask of concentration, but from underneath there was dawning the shadow of a grin. To either side, the Doctors were busy juggling gadgets. The act was safely under way. ---- The watcher relaxed. No trickery from the Gods there, then... just nerves. Guess the kid had a right to a touch of stage-fright after all, opening the show in front of an audience like *that*. A quick half-glance up at the hungry, aching dark that had swallowed the stalls like a choking stench. Even sidelong he could feel their stare, black and burning, a skewer of hatred echoed back from the white-faced nightmares in the ring, feeding and being fed. He had never known that black could become so dreadful. Shadows and darkness had been his home; shelter from pursuit, cover on the trail -- brief, snatched comfort and dreams in the Contessa's parlor -- the shining bird's-wing fall of her hair -- the dark of a horse's eye -- the doctor's shabby bag -- the rusty black of an old man's Sunday best -- All gone, now. All that dark living warmth sucked dry and overlaid by the icy hate of the Gods of Ragnarok. In their hands, it was not a color -- but a thing of horror. --- In the center ring, the clowns went through their routine like machines, tumbling limbs slotting into place one after another like the chambers in a gun. Their mouths were stretched into wide, side-splitting grins. It should have been funny. But the only laughter was the ghastly smile on the face of each clown. There was something going on. Some trickery. He could feel it. Down in the ring, black lightning flickered, chilling unlight that reached out, threatening, drawing every eye... But somewhere far above and beyond, the Gods snickered. As if in response, the charm flared, pulsing with a sudden hot warning that cut through the numbing chill in his mind. And he knew what was wrong. Too plain to see. Too plain by half. Send the bully-boys into the saloon, yeah, stage a brawl up at the bar -- but the one to pull the job is the quiet gun-hand in the corner... Not the clowns. Then where? A glimpse in the wings -- a flicker -- What was that? He couldn't see. It was like there was nothing there... but there *should* be! For a moment he couldn't even remember who it was. Not part of the act; not the part the Gods were supposed to know about -- In the main ring, the little Harlequin trotted on, and the act began to take on an entirely new twist. But Kid Curry never saw. --- Around the Tarot-teller and her cards, almost invisible, a shimmering curtain played. Not a threat. Not enough to waken an alarm. Just enough to hide her, make her *not there*... Temporal anomaly. The understanding was not his, but somehow the words were clear. Though he did not know it, all around his body a faint aura was glowing blue. So the Gods had discovered Alryssa, after all. Looked like they'd got wind of her plans... and they'd struck back. In the simplest, most undetectable way of all. They hadn't lifted a finger to stop her. They'd lifted *her*... out of time. Set everything out of joint. Made sure that all the energy she was focussing, all the *life* -- would trickle away into the dirt. Split. Wasted. If he'd let himself think, he'd never have been able to do it. But the Contessa's charm was blue fire against the pulse in his throat, singing in his veins, flooding with life in glorious, rioting protest. His eyes were shut. Made no difference. It was like he was seeing with his mind -- seeing through the eye in the charm itself. Kid Curry reached out all the way across the ring, and blue flame poured up from his hand, coiling, snaking, shaping itself from his mind even as it flew. When the tip touched the field around Alryssa, it had become a living whip. In the next moment, as the time-frame shattered, it had gone; with only the fading memory of the crack of the lash, and a flight of bluebirds that for a second wheeled and sang... ((As time reset itself, Imran was puzzled...)) * * * 34. Harlequin and the Typo Gremlin * * * /The Gods had attempted to create a temporal anomaly around Alryssa.../ --- Imran looked across the ring at where Kid was standing. Looked back at Alryssa. And frowned. How had she known? And how had she known Kid would break the anomaly? For that matter, how had /Imran/ known about the anomaly? Kid nodded at him. Lost in thought, Imran returned the nod. The outlaw accepted it, and continued his watchout. --- He couldn't ask Alryssa, she needed to concentrate... that had been /too/ close. He hadn't had any of his own milkshakes - that waited for his part of the show. He looked down at the cloak, the wizard's cloak that had enveloped him when he'd separated from Allie. Could that be why? Could the cloak have granted him the ability to see the anomaly? If it /had/... then it had integrated it into his worldview. He hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary when he'd entered the anomaly - only that there /was/ an anomaly, and how time inside it had differed from outside. The Doctors waiting for their juggling act, TYA as their first act... Right now, outside, Harlequin was stepping into the ring - and the Muses were gearing up for their next song as backing singers, building up until /their/ act. He'd been... an audience. Creativity, Authorial Freedom, and ...and what? Creativity. Author... and Audience. He'd been the Audience. A Cloak of Audience? Then something hit. Nervous energy. The Gods couldn't /create/, but they could /warp/, they could twist. They'd used his - and Allie's - nervous energy, its disruption of the magic... Disruption. They'd taken /advantage/ of the disruption, not caring where it had come from, to make their move. Like a gunfight. They want /anger/. They want /revenge/. They want /violence/. They want the fun to be disrupted. No. No. Calm down. You're part of the audience. If I start wanting that - then they're one step closer to winning. Imran frowned. Okay. So... Alryssa was the spirit of creativity, Gordon had the sword of Authorial Freedom, and he had, for want of a better term, a cloak of ...audience? But something was nagging at him. Why had Allie ended up in Grecian robes? Reverted, she'd said. That was the way she'd looked - well, formally - at the Collegium Imaginarium. Long brown hair, white robes - not the short, wavy hairstyle and the green sailor fuku she'd preferred after she'd been assigned to him. But... He shook his head, and looked out at the ring. Maybe it'd come to him. TYA on backing vocals. Harlequin in the ring. And Imran grinned at what he saw in there. --- The little turquoise troll went out into the center ring (with Spethan the Typo Grimlen sitting on her right shoulder). She could feel the Gods' of Ragnarok's icy stares, their hunger, and unforgiving hatred. She knew that if she performed for *them* -- gave them her best, that they would take her creativity, her fun energy, and swallow it up. But they would take no sustenance from it, wouldn't use it to grow, and they wouldn't return it to her. So she took a deep breath and decided to perform for her *friends*: for her Hostess, who had enough faith in her to make her deputy for the Hoedown (and for all the guests who had had the courage to enter through those strange doors), for Daibhid, who had the courage to start, for Kid, who'd decided to help them, even though he didn't belong there, and for Imran, who had begun to clap softly in encouragement, even though she hadn't started yet. She stole a sidelong glance at Spethan, who winked at her, and began her act. She started with warm-up exercises: stretching and jumping jacks, then began to jog around the edge of the ring. But Spethan snuck up behind her, and, while avoiding getting stepped on, touched the heels of her shoes with his magic wand, turning her "jog" to a "jig". Her eyes and mouth wide in mock surprise at this sudden change, the little troll began to stumble. But the gremlin tapped her hand just before it touched the ground, and her "stumble" turned to "tumbles": an intricate series of somersaults, cartwheels, and backflips right across the diameter of the ring. While she recovered, weaving and tottering in a dizzy, drunken manner, Spethan placed a rose in her path. Coming to at last, the little troll picked up the flower, and breathed in its sweet scent appreciatively. But then the "rose" was turned to "rise", and the little troll floated into the air, high above the ring. The Pro-Fun Hoedowners laughed. But the Gods of Ragnarok, who had neither the imagination to understand nonsense, nor the willingness to enjoy it without understanding, grew angry. The air within the big top grew icy cold, and a palpable dark, as thick and tangible as slime, descended. Soon, it was as if the little troll were alone in the Omniverse -- suspended in the exact center of a dark ocean too thick to swim through. She could feel it enter into her lungs with each breath, chilling her to the core. *No!* she thought desperately at the Gods, I won't *let* you win -- not this way! And then, in Pooh fashion: Oh, *help!* Oh, *bother!* Oh, help *and* bother! Then, just when she began to fear that she would be lost in the darkness forever, the air exploded into a thousand feathered wings and birdsong. Spethan, who had kept hold of his wand (and, it seemed, his wits) had transformed the "dark" into "larks", and a whole exultation of three dozen or more grasped the back of the little troll's Harlequin costume with their tiny talons and flew her safely down to the ground between Imran and the muses before flying out through a vent in the big top's roof. "Thanks!" she whispered to Spethan. The gremlin shrugged. "I like to imvoprise," he said. The Pro-Funners erupted into applause. The Gods recoiled into themselves, preparing for their next attack. "So much for starting small," Yokoi murmerd to the troll out of the corner of her mouth. But the little troll was still too shaken to catch the humor in that remark. "I think," she said, slowly, "that there may be no way we can win against the Gods by playing fairly. I think we'll have to outtrick the tricksters and cheat them before they can cheat us." "That's not really in the spirit of fun, though, is it?" But the little troll shook her head. "We can't wait to *re*act against them, we have to be *pro*active -- cut them off from the source their dark power before they have a chance to use it. They're using tricks against us now," she said, "but as we beat them in each round of this contest, they're bound to get frustrated. If we give them a fair chance, they'll just take the opportunity to destroy us outright -- throw the chessboard on the floor, burn down the gaming house, even. So we can't give them a fair chance." Yokoi squinted at her. "Are you sure that dark we just got hit with didn't affect your thinking?" The troll looked down at the silk rose in her hand, each of its petals edged with red glitter. "I'm *fairly* sure...." she said. --- 'I wonder...' Imran mused. His eyes narrowed. '/I/ know what's wrong. We're focusing on the /ends/, rather than the means. We're trying to outcheat the Gods of Ragnarok to /win/...' 'But Pro-Fun isn't about that, is it?' Tessa said. 'No. It's about having fun - and making sure others have fun. Not about winning, or about losing - because both can be a part of fun.' 'But if we don't /win/, there won't /be/ any fun!' 'And if we win through /not/ following Fun, what will that make us?' Imran asked. 'Can you compromise Fun to win? Because that's what you could end up arguing.' 'But I'm /not/!' the deputy argued. 'I'm trying to /defend/ it - and if we lose, they'll continue on until there's no creativity left!' 'That's the dilemma...' Yokoi said quietly. 'If we don't win, we die - and so will the Pro-Fun cause. But what we may have to do to win could mean that /we/ lose sight of the Pro-Fun cause - while saving it for everyone else.' 'Pre-emptive strikes,' Imran added, equally quietly. 'Get them, before they can get you. That's the way they're thinking - trying to get us, before we can complete our acts - and get /them/.' 'And what's to stop them? What's stopping them just killing us, or burning down the Top? Why are they playing by the rules? Why don't they destroy us outright?' 'Because they have to play by the rules,' Gordon said. 'That's the way it goes. You lay down the challenge - they have to play by your rules.' 'An act for an act,' our hostess realised. 'Each of /our/ acts cancels one of theirs. And they can't retaliate after one of /their/ acts, because we haven't responded - haven't played by the rules... they can only retaliate after one of ours - or try to disrupt one of our acts, or /destroy/ one of our acts, so our response fails. But why not -?' 'Because that's not the way we do things. They're doing it out of hatred, and hunger, and /fear/. They /accepted/ our challenge - and they're...' Yokoi trailed off. 'They don't want to lose.' 'If /that's/ the case...' Imran whispered. '...Then they have reason to believe - /something/ that makes them believe - that we might have a chance. Seventh defeated them last time - and they'll remember that. May even be wary of it... and because they have no imagination, if we do /unpredictable/ things, things beyond what a reductionist system would /say/ we'd do...' our hostess realised. 'Then they'll be cautious, fearing it's a move against them. They have no imagination - to them, /anything/ we do could be a move against them.' Yokoi completed. 'We're disrupting and disturbing them simply by doing what we're doing... because they don't understand /why/ we're doing it, that we're doing it for other people, that it's fun for us, and others, that we're making other people happy - but not at our own expense.' 'We're not playing to win, we're playing to have /fun/. We can think of winning, losing...' Gordon added. 'They're playing to win, 'cause it's all they can think of. Anything else... pfft.' 'All right...' our hostess said. 'All right. So what do we do?' 'They'll be /thinking/ that we'd get them before they got us. It's what they'd do,' Imran mused. 'So we won't. We're going to show them that tricks aren't just about /winning/, they're about teaching and learning and having /fun/.' 'Of course!' our hostess exclaimed. 'Like Brer Rabbit! Or Coyote!' 'Or Anansi. Or Raven,' Imran said. 'We're gonna show them what the Trickster's /really/ about - and that the Trickster's a hell of a lot more than just winning...' He frowned. 'Hermes... Mercury...' 'The messengers of the gods?' our hostess said. 'What colour's Allie's robe again?' Imran asked. 'Whi- No, no, it's not. It's glowing,' Yokoi murmured. 'Luminous. It was glowing blue when the Gods came... but it's silver, now.' 'Silver... or mercury? Mercurial?' Imran whispered. 'Blue to silver - it's shifting colours.' 'Mercury. Messenger from the gods to humans, encouraging them to follow the gods.' our hostess said. 'And Allie's a Muse - a messenger, an /aspect/ of Creativity to a creator, encouraging them to create.' '-and complete that creation,' Imran said. 'Creativity. Muse. Author. Audience. We have the aspects of creativity - of Pro-Fun. The spirit. The sword. The robe. The cloak. If we could find a way to put them together...' '...Then the Gods might be blocked off from their power. Or at least they'd be distracted from using it...' our hostess said. 'Intermission's nearly over,' Kid said. 'Right.' our hostess said. 'Yokoi, Tessa - you go back to Allie. Nyctolops?' 'Here,' Nyctolops said. 'Get ready. You'll be on after their acrobats...' our hostess said. 'And the rest of you - *Watch out* for anything they may throw at us.' --- "It's hard to think about fun, though," the deputy said, "when you're breathing pure *cold*, isn't it?" The others just looked at her. "Didn't you feel it?" she asked them. "Well," Our Hostess said, "we saw the dark around you, and we were worried... but when we saw the finale to your act -- well, it was just spectacular!" Then she caught the look in the turquoise troll's eyes. "... You mean -- that black cloud wasn't part of your act?" "You mean," the little troll asked in response, "that the Dark *didn't* fill the whole Big Top? You didn't -- none of you felt that *Cold*, did you?" They shook their heads, silently. Tears started to well up in the little troll's eyes. "*Attack!*" she spat out, blinking back the tears before they had a chance to fall. "It wasn't blind anger, like I thought -- it was an attack, on me -- aimed at *me*!" She shivered, and coughed. "I've heard it said, by scientific type folks, that everything has heat... that 'cold' isn't a thing in its own right -- just a means of comparison to something else. They're wrong. *This* cold was a force -- it crawled inside me. I was so *alone*, up there." "You're not alone, now," Imran said gently. "Would you like a milkshake?" "Better make it a hot chocolate," she said. "The hotter the better." Imran reached into his cauldron and, with a flourish, produced a mug of hot chocolate. Clouds of steam rolled over the rim -- so thick, they might have been whipped cream. The turquoise troll took the mug in both hands, and drank deeply, slowly, and gratefully. She could almost hear the ice inside her brain crack as it melted. At last, she sighed contentedly. "Still," she said, "we need something more than just the spirit of fun, this time. We have Kid to protect us against the sideways attacks -- but this was a direct hit (about a tricky as a direct punch to the gut), and we have Daibhid and the juggling Doctors to protect us from the negative energy the Gods themselves put out during their acts. We have the gryphons protecting the Omniverse from the Gods, at least until this showdown is over -- but unfortunately, the Gods are on the same side of the Gateway as we are at the moment. We need to protect our performers in the ring -- but how do we do that without spoiling the spirit of fun -- without breaking the rules?" "We need a shield of some sort," Our Ringmaster said. "Can we get one built fast -- like *instantly*?" Nyctolops asked, worried. "I don't know," the avocado troll said. "I hope so." "*You* hope?!" ((But help is at hand...)) * * * 35. Nyctolops on the high wire * * * /The Hoedowners need some kind of shield against the Gods' attacks.../ --- 'I think I have one...' Imran said. The others turned to look at him. 'What?!' 'It's just... where the /hell/ did you get a shield?' Imran patted at his cloak. 'If I'm right about what this is - if this /is/ a cloak of audience - then audience interaction might be affected.' 'Pardon?' 'I get it...' our hostess said. 'The Gods have made themselves part of the audience. If they're not on stage, and not in the backstage crew, then...' 'Then they've put themselves in the audience. The cloak made /me/ a member of the audience, seeing what was going on and accepting it as part of my worldview.' Imran said. 'Not trying to destroy or disrupt it - but let's see if I can get it to do something different...' 'Such as?' Imran paused. 'Well, the Gods pretty much define 'audience rage'... If that rage could be directed elsewhere... Hmm...' He took the cloak off. 'But it needs to be worn by someone who's going to be in the ring longer than I am - long enough to protect all the acts. Which means one of the jugglers, one of the Muses, or you.' He indicated our hostess. 'So... what's going to happen when we go out there again?' 'The Gods will - eventually - try an attack on the ring,' our hostess said. 'A /direct/ attack on our performers. The cloak... well, if Imran's right, we should be able to get the cloak so it contains all the coldness and anger - all the attacks - the Gods in the audience throw at the performers - hold it in potential until it can be redirected... and redirected as Fun.' Imran held the cloak up. The cloak was a window into a true night sky. Not the cold darkness of the Gods - the cloak seemed to hold potential; it held the welcome and safety that could wait in the night. Imagination and dream. Our Ringmaster appeared lost in thought, her eyes staring into the depth of that starry night sky. A slow grin spread across on her face. "I know that look," Yokoi said. "You've got that dangerous twinkle in your eye! What do you have in mind?" "Well, it appears that, according to how the rules of this challenge have been set up --" "Set up by whom?" the deputy asked. "I don't know -- the Monitors? The Intelligence of the Omniverse? Maybe we'll find out after we survive this... Anyway, if the Gods are playing by the rules (and if Imran is right, they have no choice), than the audience is allowed to transform the energy of the acts going on in the ring and send it back to the performers." Imran nodded. "That's what all audiences do, I think," he said. "Every reader makes each story their own; every fan has their own theory of continuity. ...And that's why no two live theater performances are ever the same." Our Ringmaster nodded. "The Gods of Ragnarok have been transforming our energy of Fun into fear and loneliness. But we --" "Could transform *their* fear and loneliness into Fun!" "Exactly! If the fear energy they send at our performers could be absorbed by the *dark* of the cloak when they try to attack us, transformed into fun, and then sent out through the *starry bits* of the cloak back at them as light and fun when *they* perform..." her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "I don't know," she concluded. "It certainly works on newsgroups. Nothing diffuses a flamewar, or takes the wind out of a nasty troll's sails, than to take flamebait, turn it inside-out, bring it on-topic, and adding some tickle to it. And in the ordinary world, the only way to control darkness is to shine light into it." "That gives me an idea!" Nyctolops said, running off. "Hey! where are you going? You're almost on!" "Be right back!" Nyctolops assured her. "Just a quick costume change!" --- ((Imran held out the cloak...)) 'So... who wants to take this?' "I will," the deputy said. "I've finished my act. I'm free to sit in the audience, now. I'll sit in the bleachers across the ring from the Gods. M-Maybe the cloak will attract the negative energy away from our performers, like a lightning rod." The avocado troll looked at her. "Are you sure? You've already sustained a direct hit." "I wasn't prepared," the troll admitted. "I wasn't thinking about *transforming* the Gods' negative energy -- wasn't thinking about them at all. This time, I will be," she said, resolutely. "I'll have the cloak to protect me, and magic hot chocolate inside me." She reached out to touch the sleeve. As she did so, the cloak came alive: cloning itself like an amoeba, pouring itself like water over the little troll. Soon, she was clad in a second starry-night cloak that was a perfect fit, while Imran still held the original. "What the --?!" he asked. "I get it!" the avocado troll said. "That cloak really *is* like the world of dream and imagination -- limitless, there to fit everyone who reaches out to it!" She turned to the little troll. "You won't be alone for long," she assured her. "I'll send each of our performers to join you, as soon as they've finished their acts. By the time TYA goes on for the finale, we'll be a *galaxy* of Fun in the bleachers!" "I'm back!" Nyctolops called, taking her place at the edge of the ring. Nyctolops was nervous and a little scared, but she put on her costume -- a little red vest with mirrors sewn into it that she had found among the costumes of the Psychic Circus. "Oh, my!" Our Ringmaster said. "It certainly is *shiny*!" "Well, you said we had to shine light into the dark, and nothing can redirect light into cramped and dark corners like a mirror." "Well, that's true!" --- Nyctolops thought through her act as she watched the Gods' acrobats mechanically go through their act, without joy, without feeling, without soul, and suddenly she began to feel a little better. Suddenly she felt a warm surge of courage fill her and her nervousness and fear dissipated. That was what had been in Imran's milkshake. She had felt a little of it before, but now it positively filled her. And with courage came an idea. She whispered to the avocado troll, "I just had a thought. If that darkness comes during my act, why don't you all try to counter it with clapping, shouting, whistling, laughing, any joyful noise? The Gods are solemn and mostly silent, maybe happy sounds could counter some of their magic." With that Nyctolops took a running leap and curled up into a ball in midair, flying into the ring looking like a furry cannonball flashing sparks. She landed on her feet, then began doing handsprings, cartwheels, walking on her hands and other tumbling acts. She thought to herself, "Maybe if I keep moving fast enough, the Gods won't be able to catch me." Then she felt the cold begin and sensed the blackness forming at the top of the tent. Then her courage spoke up, "Running won't do any good. You have to confront it." Nyctolops looked up and saw a tightrope high above the ring. She clambered up a guy rope and began walking across the rope on her hands, switching to her feet a quarter of the way across, then bouncing, nearly falling and catching herself with her tail. She heard gasps and appreciative laughter from her friends and hoped that the avocado troll had passed the word. In the middle of the tightrope, she looked up and saw the darkness descending. She stood on the rope, bounced up and down twice, then sprang directly into the blackness. She curled into a ball, hoping that the mirrors on her vest would catch and magnify any stray light. The cold was numbing to both body and mind, but the mirrors seemed to hold a little light, at least. She fought the numbness of mind with warm feelings about her friends and their stories and all the stories to come. Soon she began to hear muffled sounds. It was working. All the Pro-Fun Trolls were hollering and shouting and clapping and blowing noisemakers and the cold was becoming more endurable. Slowly, slowly, it seemed much too slowly, the darkness and cold retreated. Finally, Nyctolops found herself alone in midair, high above both the ring and the tightrope. She was exhausted, but she managed to snag the tightrope with her tail and one hand as she fell. She hung limp for a moment, almost too tired to climb back onto the rope and safety, but she managed to haul herself up. Then she crawled along the rope on all fours until she reached a guy rope and slid down. Safely back on the ground, she aimed a cheeky bow at the Gods' side of the ring, then scampered back to her friends. :::Jumping up and down::: "Yay!!! Yahoo! Yippee!!!" :::Whistle::: "Damn! We're *good*!!" --- The hostess caught Kid Curry's eye. She was grinning from ear to ear and yelling out encouragement and pure glee in the direction of the little spider-limbed troll up on the high wire -- but somehow the edge of meaning in the look she gave him was still quite clear. He cleared his throat, shuffled, and managed a couple of whoops of his own. What came easy and natural when a guy was liquored-up and riding through on the street was somehow kind of harder to do in cold blood -- even with a bunch of others hollering like crazy in his ear... But it was working. The black cloud up at the top of the tent was starting to break up, and he could almost feel the anger and bafflement of the Gods as the cheering got louder. Without thinking, he let out a final full-throated yell of triumph and joined in the storm of clapping that greeted the little red-vested acrobat as she slid to the ground and bowed. The avocado troll glanced at Kid in surprise and admiration. She'd only hoped, when she'd given him that look of encouragement, that he might join in the applause a little. He'd spent a lifetime on the run, in hiding, in the shadows. On the path he trod, his life depended on silence. She'd known a cat like that: a stray, born at the zoo, whose mother'd been killed by the zookeepers before she was fully weaned -- that cat never meowed, never used her voice until she'd had kittens of her own. Yet here Kid was, whooping and hollering like there was nothing in the Omniverse to hold him back. Maybe there was hope for him, yet. That applause didn't last long, though. He couldn't seem to get his mind off the swelling fury that brooded up in the stalls, where the Gods hid themselves in emptiness and threat. Way things were going, the Gods were bound to lose. Even he could see that -- and he figured there was no way the Gods would have been dumb enough to let themselves get suckered onto a losing roll like this one without some kind of plan to turn things round. With the two Circuses trading acts back and forward, the one who went last got to cap anything the other could try. It was like a game where one gambler kept the deal and the other was forced to call first on every hand. Maybe the Gods of Ragnarok just hadn't counted on any real opposition -- or maybe they reckoned their grand final act would wipe out the Pro-Fun Circus before any come-back could work -- but Kid Curry, for one, had learned the hard way never to count on the other side's knowing when they were beat... They couldn't win, by the rules. Imran had this theory that both sides just naturally had to stick to the layout of the challenge and the hostess seemed to reckon he was right; but -- no offence meant -- they were all way too civilized and trusting for the outlaw's liking. If the other side couldn't win by Pro-Fun rules, sure as blazes they'd break them. And make out to be keeping them until the moment that suited best... He scowled unseeing down at the ring. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe sweetness and light would win out. Maybe there were some laws that couldn't be stepped around. In fact, for once in his life, he sure hoped so. But no way would he be counting on it. --- Philip Cotterell, who has been running around just trying to keep up with everybody ever since Titan 3, finally seems to have got a grip on things again. Having managed to not get himself on the list of acts for the circus, he's just standing around looking thoughtful. With the air of one who's reached a decision, he pulls another one of those APM stunts, reverting to the denim-clothes-and-electric-guitar ensemble he briefly tried out before originally entering the Hoedown. He walks over to TYA. "Hullo, ladies - need a backing musician? I've convinced myself that in this particular fictiversal reality I can play whatever I need to (though it would be nice if we could do a proper rock-'n'-roll number at some point)." Allie opens her mouth. 'Here you go,' Imran interrupts, handing his Muse a milkshake. Allie looks down at the drink, then back up at her author, and blinks. She shakes her head. 'Anyway... Oh yes. A backing musician? Yep, no problem...' Yokoi hastily shoves the Karaoke machine out of sight. 'And I think we can slip in one or two rock numbers... right, guys?' Yokoi says. Tessa and Allie grin. 'Need a drink?' Imran suggests, offering Philip a milkshake. 'Looking a little worn out.' 'Just been trying to get a grip on things...' Philip says. 'Umm... are there any drugs in this?' 'Nope.' 'Ah.' Philip considers this, then drinks the milkshake. 'By the way, where're you getting these?' 'Bottomless cauldron. Got it out of my magician's cabinet.' Imran says. 'Amazing what a little magic can do... 'How're you doing all this APM stuff?' Philip asks curiously. Imran coughs. 'Well, most of the abilities I've been manifesting're from the cloak of audience -' he flourishes the cloak, '- or from my connection to Allie.' Allie takes a little bow. 'This, however...' Imran holds up a milkshake... 'is my own little magic - a few magical drinks to help us out.' Philip looks down at his empty mug. 'I thought you said -' 'I did. There /are/ no drugs in the milkshakes. Just magic. That one's a Restful milkshake.' Philip raises his eyebrows. And then asks: "Any chance your bottomless cauldron does whiskey as well? Nice as the milkshake was - it doesn't really fit my rockin' image!" Imran considers this. Then he reaches into the cauldron, and rummages around. 'I know I had the switch around here /somewhere/...' 'Umm...' Allie says, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of her robe. 'Did you want Scotch or Irish? And was it a single or double malt?' 'Allie, how did -?' Imran begins. '...Never mind.' 'Any chance you could get me something?' Yokoi says. Allie winces. 'I'm gonna regret this...' 'Oh?' 'You'll see.' Allie says. Yokoi looks offended. 'It's not like I'm *that* bad.' 'No? The 'Round's Proprietor still shudders whenever they mention your name. And whipped cream...' Philip takes the bottle. 'Thanks. You're a life-saver.' Allie opens her mouth. 'You should see -' 'Not a /word/...' Imran advises. 'Not a word.' 'Come on,' Tessa says. 'Time for the third act - the Gods of Ragnarok and robot poodles, followed by Jim Vowles and the semi-trained cats - and don't say a *word*...' Philip looks innocent. Imran looks around. 'Hmm. Still no innuendo police...' --- Nyctolops accepted the congratulations of her friends, as she shed the little red mirrored vest. Then she brushed her hand across the hem of the Cloak of Audience, and she, too, was clad in the starry cloak of the night sky. She hurried up to the bleachers, and sat down next to the little deputy troll. The troll was glad to see her. "But you're not done with *your* acts yet," she said. "You still have the Wild Cameron act coming up." "I know," Nyctolops said, "but I can be in the audience for a little while, at least. And besides, there's a much better view of Second and Third's music and light show, from up here." "Yes, there is," the little troll agreed. "Don't you just love the sequins in Third's cloak?" she asked. "...Almost like the stars in ours." Nyctolops nodded silently, her eyes following the swooping circles of colored light that seemed to be dancing in an intricate ballet in perfect time to the music that Second played. It was a beautiful piece of music, too -- jolly, and yet... calm... at the same time, leaving her in a state of perfect balance between wanting to dance, and wanting to dream. --- ((Meanwhile, Kid Curry was alert for trouble...)) The intermission was going on. The three scantily-clad girls who'd been harmonizing along to the various acts were taking a rest, chatting with another of those tall skinny kids from the audience. And going by the instrument slung over his shoulder... looked like the kid had plans to join in. Right now, though, the air in the great tent was swelling with a different kind of music and stabbed all across with beams of light, like a magic lantern show gone wild. The Second and Third Doctors were doing their light and music act. Both were in costume, the Second Doctor dressed up in what looked like some kind of fancy waiter's outfit, with his coat-tails flung back from the stool as his fingers vamped up and down the keyboards, pulling knobs here with a flick of one hand and nudging levers there with his knees, apparently at random. But the Third had really gone to town. His coat and pants were a rich plum color, cut in a cloth that caught the light for all the world like velvet. His vest -- what was visible of it -- was buttoned across in a snug shimmer of tawny gold. But most of the front of his costume was totally hidden by the flamboyant froth of lace at his throat, ruffle after ruffle of flowing cravat; and, nestling in its very centre with a rainbow glitter that held all eyes, a pin that held a vast and ostentatious diamond. The cloak that swirled back from his shoulders was almost filmy by comparison. But it was scattered with hundreds of tiny sequinned stars, and by some trick each seemed to be glowing with its own light. As the Doctor moved, the stars glittered about him like a dancing cloud of fireflies. The intermission was coming to an end. As Third gestured, six beams of light swung up to meet in a glowing peak high up in the roof of the Big Top, and the music dropped into hushed anticipation of the climax. All eyes turned upwards. And, gathering above, the familiar clinging darkness began to descend. "Uh, oh," the little turquoise troll said, "get ready for some major absorption!" But then: Kid Curry's fists clenched. "No. This time it stops!" The Gods never even blinked. Darkness swelled, slowly, like a spreading stain... - This time it stops! He flung everything into it -- out *through* the eye of the charm, across the ring almost without thinking, just as he had acted to break the barrier that held the Tarot-teller out of time -- and felt his opponents' shock. - We warned you, little man. You dared to oppose Our will... - No more attacks on the ring! Kid Curry could feel the vastness of the Gods' attention swirling round, beating down on his mind... but out in the ring as their focus switched, the darkness was dying. So they had a limit, after all. They couldn't mount two attacks at once. He savored a fierce inward grin. - No more attacks on the ring, he stated flatly. Try that one more time and you will have to come through me. No reply. But a vast gathering threat that prickled like the tension of lightning before a strike. "It's breaking up!" Nyctolops murmured in amazement. "It's Kid! He's drawing their attack away!" The little troll pointed at the bright blue glow at the outlaw's throat. "I hope -- " Nyctolops started, and stopped, shuddering as the coldness of the Gods' threat filled the Big Top. - You tried that last time, remember? Guess it still won't work... For a moment he almost faltered as the power threatened to swamp him. The charm burned brightly at his throat. He reached up to touch it, a brief caress, and it was as if he dreamed the ghost of a woman's laugh. - I'm not saying you can't fight back, he flung at them, suddenly light-hearted. Hell, I'm not even saying you can't cheat! Just quit using that one trick, OK? Maybe no-one ever had the guts to tell you before, but it gets kind of boring after a while. Why not show us something new? You think you're so great -- then show us just how good you are! Outrage, crumbling away into helpless disbelief. Finally, the scattered power began to pull together into a hissing, mounting threat. - You will regret that taunt. You will all regret that... And then the connection between them was abruptly cut off, like a knife-slash across a rope pulled taut. Kid Curry stared across the ring, his skin belatedly crawling. Just what can of worms had he opened this time? ((But the Gods' revenge, when it came, would take an entirely unexpected form...)) * * * 36. Cats and Dogs * * * /Kid Curry has chosen to confront the Gods of Ragnarok head-on.../ --- Perhaps it was the remnants of Imran's divination magic still working away inside her, but the avocado troll felt the shift in the Gods' attack, felt it shift toward Kid, felt *why*, and a hollow chill went through her. Oh, *no*, Kid, she thought. Oh, *no*. Don't sacrifice yourself for us. Don't do this to yourself -- don't open yourself up to attack. As much as we need you now, we will need you even more after this is over -- this is not the final battle, and even if it were, it wouldn't be worth *that* sort of death. She felt so helpless. If she were a performer, she could try and draw the Gods' un-energy away from Kid. If she were in the audience, wrapped in Imran's magic cloak, she could try to send fun energy directly at the Gods and distract them. But as Ringmaster, what could she do? She was at the center of it all, and yet, she was set apart. All she could do was see, and understand, but not act. She felt Kid's thoughts, felt his doubts that the Gods would play by the rules. Her deputy, too, had the very same doubts. And doubt was niggling at the edges of her own mind. But *they* were Pro-Fun -- living in the moment, for the sake of the moment itself. Playing the game for the sheer joy of it -- win or lose. And Joy, she knew, had a deep power that was almost always underestimated -- a power equal to that of the Gods of Ragnarok, and greater still -- *if* they trusted it enough to draw on that deep power. If the Gods provoked them into cheating, than the Pro-Fun troupe would be cut off from its power. But one of the fundamental rules of the Omniverse (almost as fundamental as the rule of gravity) is that you cannot win against a cheater by playing fairly. It was a no-win game, for them, it seemed. Except. Except they had Kid Curry .... the Outsider. On their side, for now, but not one of them. He lived by cheating. Knew it like he knew the rhythm of his own breathing. He *was* the Trickster: not the silly jester of royal court, accompanied by bright light and bright music, but Loki, the picker of mistletoe, the one who guided the hand of blind Hoder, the one who, by playing the innocent, moving in shadows, could fell a God. She took a deep breath -- filled herself as much with hope as with air, and, drawing on the divination magic still inside her, tried sending a message to Kid herself. :::Careful!::: She warned him. :::If you must fight the Gods, do it the way you do best. Sideways. Silently. The shootout in the Main Street at noon isn't really your style. We need *you*, Curry. Not the sheriff, right now.::: --- Something of that effort must have got through. From down by the entrance to the main ring she saw him raise his head sharply, like a dog questing for his master's voice. His response was both eager and hesitant, almost shy. - Contessa? And the unconscious, wordless message accompanying the name was most definitely *not* intended for the avocado troll to hear... Too late, she managed to pull back from the contact. The dark flush of comprehension that had begun to stain his face was mirrored on her own cheeks, painfully obvious beneath the clear green of her complexion. - Get the hell outta my mind! Fury and humiliation both, stinging like buckshot. Then, nothing. He'd cut himself off completely. --- The suddenness with which he'd broken off contact stung like a slap in the face. Perhaps she'd been wrong to try and communicate that way, but she'd been desperate to try and get the message to him that he was needed, and what other means were there, that wouldn't be detected by the Gods? Now, she had the worry that he would act even more rashly, spurred on by that fury and humiliation she'd felt. Oh, dear. Had she made it worse? She could only hope that he would realize on his own that confronting the Gods directly was the most dangerous thing he could do, and that, if they survived this battle, and he'd had a chance to regain his composure, he would accept her apology. Right now, though, she had to focus on other things. Even though she wasn't wearing the Cloak of Audience, she could try to add a little Pro-Fun energy at the poodle act, and see what that could do. --- 'Rules...' Imran muttered. 'Rules.' 'What about them?' 'The Gods are stuck with the rules of the challenge - one act for another. And they can't retaliate against us after one of their acts - because we haven't responded, haven't played by the rules...' 'Whose rules?' our hostess said. Imran's mouth quirked. 'The Powers That Be. The ones who're above even the Guardians, who even the /Guardians/ must answer to...' 'Umm, Imran...' 'Yep?' 'Don't the /Monitors/ work by the Powers' rules?' Imran froze. 'I really, *really* wish you hadn't mentioned that...' 'And the Monitors got pushed into working for our adversaries - coerced, because the rules could be bent far enough to allow that...' our hostess said quietly. 'How far can they push the rules of the challenge...?' Imran whispered. 'How far can they push it?' 'How good are they?' 'How good can /we/ be?' Imran said. '...Where /is/ Jim? Maybe he hasn't noticed...' '/That's/ an act that needs to go on,' our hostess observed wryly. 'Not noticing what's happening... Still, we need him - and the semi-trained cats.' 'Hmm...' Imran mused. He looked out at the ring in disgust. 'Can't stand poodles at the /best/ of times. God-animated /robot/ poodles...' Our hostess winced. 'I think I can guess.' Cold. Cold... no, not even mechanical. /Unnatural/. Against what /should/ be - against the basic sense of what is, and what should be. Animated by something antithetical to all that is. Scientific, magical, artistic - the robot poodles managed to violate /all/ senses of aesthetic, while still retaining the outward appearance of poodles. --- The two Doctors finished their act, seeming oblivious to the drama going on in the shadows that surrounded them. The final note drifted into silence, and the final spotlight dimmed into darkness. When the lights came on again, ten robot poodles stood in perfect triangle formation, and in response to their God trainer and the crack of Its whip, they moved in sync into different geometric shapes: perfect circles, squares, figure 8's. The little troll got an idea. Let's see what this cloak can do, she thought to herself. She focused on one poodle: number 5, and imagined a beam of fun was aimed right at its heart... or where its heart would have been if it had one. Sure enough, the stars on her cloak burned brighter and brighter, until needle-fine rays of light shot out from each one toward the poodle, converging at a single point right at the heart. When the light hit, the dog jumped, just a little, in surprise. If she hadn't been looking for it, the little troll might not have noticed. But from that point on, number 5 was just a split second out of step with the others. It's working! the little troll thought to herself, happily. It's less robot-y, more *alive*! And with that thought, she began to see 5 not as a robot in the shape of a dog, but as a real dog -- a dog who loved to run, and jump, and sneak tastes of ice cream, and roll in stinky things. As she thought these things, the light from the stars in her cloak grew even brighter, and a glow appeared in the dog's chest, where the star-beams converged. And then, something remarkable happened. The dog's robot form cracked, like the shell of an egg -- like an egg exploding from the inside out. And a real dog emerged -- all wiggle from nose to tail. A dog not caring about, or even noticing, the precision formation around her -- a dog bounding about the ring, ears pricked to all the noises, nose twitching at all the smells. The joy she felt at simply *being* dog was palpable, and the pro-fun hoedowners on the sidelines clapped and cheered and whistled for her. And she bounded toward them, nuzzling up against them, accepting ear scratches and licking faces. She even tried to say hello to the cats, and got a scratch on the nose for her trouble. She took even this, though, as part of the game. The Gods didn't react at all for what seemed like ages (but it was probably only a second). It was as if their vast imagination-deprived minds couldn't even perceive what was going on. But their rage, when it came, was greater than anything that had come before -- aimed not at the pro-fun hoedowners, and not at Kid Curry, but at their own. Cold, hungry, and totally without forgiveness, all their hatred built to a terrible weight high in the peak of the Big Top, ready to drop like an anvil in a Warner Brothers cartoon. Our Ringmaster stood in front of the now real poodle protectively. Then the rage fell, with greater speed and force than gravity would allow. And the God-trainer and the remaining nine robots were gone -- sent into a void that led to no other dimensions. The little turquoise troll in the bleachers choked back a sob. She had hoped to rescue all the dogs, as she had rescued the one. --- He stood in the doorway in the moonlight, sipping from his carton of Um Bongo. He'd left Saville organising the zombies, armadillos and ninjas for a few minutes. He'd spotted Igor in the crowd, trying to flick popcorn down Auntie Krizu's cleavage of evil(TM). Gordon felt something nibbling at the back of his subconsciousness. The shadow of despair again? No, this was something different. A sense of doom, an oncoming storm? Were the Gods holding back? Did they have something else they could do? Something none of us know about? Even with eight Doctors here, can we win? Yokoi had commented on him acting very unlike himself earlier, more like the Doctor. He still wasn't sure exactly what he'd done when he'd held up the sword whilst on the back of the gryphon. He'd felt himself slipping into other facets of himself that had only been revealed in the stories he had told. There had also been the Sailor Marinus incident[1] but he was trying to forget about that... He looked at the Sword Of Authority in his hand that the avocado troll had given him. It glinted in the moonlight. Sailor Marinus had been an accident, a glitch while tweaking his author avatar. What if the sword was letting him do more than that? He had an idea. A last resort. Stupidly dangerous, but if worst came to worst it was worth a try. He looked around for a cardboard box. That should do for starters, he could shanghai Yokoi in to the plan, although she'd probably call him for all he was worth. He'd need a volunteer from the audience as well. A short trip, a side step. It was possible he could catch the Gods completely unawares with it. Even with all the acts, the fun, we can use all the help we can get. He finished his drink, picked up his synthesiser (he was going to play a little tune as an interlude before his and Saville's extravaganza) and pushing all thoughts of Gods, darkness and storms to the back of his mind and walked back in to watch the rest of the show. [1] As seen in TTR : Of Mice And Mayhem --- ((The Ringmaster needn't have worried about the poodle act.)) Not a minute into the act, beams of Pro-Fun light from the bleachers converged on one robot -- and the next thing she knew, she was laughing and fending off the kisses of a real, living standard poodle. Then the Gods, unforgiving even of their own, erased the trainer and the remaining nine poodles from existence. Their act hadn't lasted for half as long as it was scheduled to. Was Jim ready? Where was he anyway? "Jim!" Our Ringmaster called, running back stage. "You're on! And you'd better hurry! After the incident with the Robot poodle that just happened, their tempers are short, at best!" --- 'What the Gods /can/ do is strike at an /act/ that's supposed to go on - disrupt it...' Imran murmured. 'If it fails...' 'Then they win.' our hostess completed. 'And they're almost certainly going to try it - but they can't strike at our /final/ act... because my deputy and Kid are out there, watching them.' 'It's just the rest of us with the problem...' Imran said, an ironic cast to his voice. 'Oops!' 'Bokman, Gordon, Cameron and Nyctolops, Mags and Kingpin... at this point, we're the ones they'll be concentrating on - after what Kid did in the ring, the Gods aren't going to try the darkness again,' Imran thought out loud. 'Hmm...' our hostess said. She whistled. One of the other Pro-Fun Trolls came running up. 'Call Jim. It's nearly time for his act.' our hostess told the troll. Then she turned back to Imran. 'Hmm... Could you whip up something to help out? Something that'd help if they /did/ strike at you?' Imran thought. 'Perhaps... Hmm, I know. But we'll have to hold on 'till I get on stage for that - and it wouldn't /stop/ the Gods, but it would help us.' 'That's good,' our hostess said. 'As long as we have /something/ we can defend against them with... Here's Jim!' --- Backstage, suddenly a beeper went off. Jim dug around frantically in his voluminous pockets and pulled it forth--and his trollish frown deepened. "Oh, bugger. Those bastards pulled the dirtiest trick possible -- a sneaky, underhanded, an RL incursion!" Sadly, there was little he could do to avoid it at this point -- but perhaps, just perhaps, he could thwart them anyway. "You'll have to go on for me!" he said, grasping Our Ringmaster by the shoulders. "But I think --" "I really, really appreciate you covering for me like this," he said, not letting her finish her protest. "Real Life incursions are the most foul of their tricks, but they're pretty much unavoidable. All you can do is compensate. Hopefully I'll be back in time for the finale... "Right, here's what you'll need. The cats are as trained as they're going to get, and I've asked Wolsey--yes, THAT Wolsey, he owed me a favor -- to lead them on their interpretive dance routine..." Jim began. "Interpretive dance?" "Yes, it's called 'The Fundamental Interconnectedness of All Things', as a nod to Douglas Adams. I can't possibly explain it to you properly at present -- you have to see it to believe it -- but it will look like total chaos at first. The thing is, eventually the pattern emerges, and it's all about going with the flow. "Then," Jim continued absently scratching a passing inquisitive kitten with a magic wand, "you'll need this wand -- which, if you look closely, is really a technological marvel. This microcircuitry affixes to tactile sensors which monitor brainwav