The Story So Far Cataclysm Urban Decay So Long Legend Reality Bomb Once Upon A Memory Three Night Engagement '70s Cutaway The Millennium People I The Millennium People II Cutting The Threads The Convocation Nova Mondas Denouement I: Sacrifice Denouement II: Paradox Denouement III: Gift

Cutting The Threads by Niall Turner Brad looked at himself in the glass. All around him the pizzazz, the joi de vivre, the sheer, unremitting tackiness of the Univision Song Contest went on unabated. First shot had been good. Second had seemed a great idea. Third had been too much too fast and he’d felt suddenly hot. Plus sick. Which was nice. Fourth. Whoa, the fourth… He found himself loving everyone in a strangely detached manner. Even the Doctor. Good old Doctor, blending in seamlessly with the fabulously popular Sapphire Bar and it’s array of trans-temporal drinks - speciality, a personal cocktail for any birth date. Also good on screwing you up, really screwing you up. Brad blinked at the stage, where MC Nakedman was introducing the entrant from Alpha Centauri, whilst somehow managing to cover his modesty with the microphone stand and a clipboard. “Brad!” The Doctor was furiously polishing a glass at the bar while serving several customers at the same time. Brad made his way over. “What gives?” he asked, trying not to sound hostile and wondering why he was bothering. “Brad,” the Doctor leant forward conspiratorially, “This isn’t the place.” “No way,” said Brad, managing to sound half serious - he was so buzzed. “Yes indeed,” confirmed the Doctor, handing a tipsy Thal an IOU and a ball of string. He grinned at the befuddled customer, pressing the string into his hand. “It’ll come in useful, believe me.” The Doctor turned back to Brad. “At first I thought Alpha Centauri winning five years running had to be anomalous but I was wrong.” “Are you sure?” wondered Brad, shuddering at the music now coming from the stage. “Oh yes,” said the Doctor. “With the rim galaxies being voted out it’s just tactical voting from Mars and the Megallin Proletariat.” He paused. “Silly of me, really. Anyway,” he waved the tracker under Brad’s nose, “We should be going.” Seconds later the fabulous Sapphire Bar and it’s esoteric array of drinks faded from view with an asthmatic trumpeting that went unnoticed as the audience of the 5659 Univision Song Contest showed it’s unanimous appreciation for the entry from Alpha Centauri. The smell of death was in the air. Gas and poison and fear. Human bodies and machine creatures alike lay twisted and unmoving. The warehouse was dark, cold and still. With a subdued trumpeting a pair of faded blue doors appeared on a far wall. Brad looked at the scanner as the Doctor operated controls. Bricks and mortar. He frowned, looking closer. Plus bodies. Lots of bodies. “Nice,” he said with distaste. The Doctor looked up. “Feeling a little out of sorts?” “Well you should know,” retorted Brad, thinking about the revelations a month earlier. “Bradley,” the Doctor wagged a finger, “You can’t go holding me responsible for your drinking habits.” “I don’t hold anyone responsible for my drinking habits,” said Brad, belching loudly. “I drink, therefore I am.” “Bradley, Bradley,” the Doctor was looking concerned, “Why so sad?” Brad couldn’t believe he’d just asked him that. Was the Time Lord being deliberately stupid? The moment was gone anyway. The Doctor seemed to have noticed the huge Hawaiian shirt he was wearing for the first time. “Why am I wearing this?” he ruminated. “You won it on a scratch card at the Univision,” said Brad. “You remember, when we were high on the sheer, crushing pointlessness of existence.” “We were?” The Doctor blinked at him. “Something like that,” said Brad. “Well me anyway.” The Doctor laughed abruptly, a vital, healthy sound. “Life may be pointless but it is never meaningless!” He nodded to himself in appreciation. “Yes, I think so, very much indeed.” Brad pouted at him. I’m trying to tell you something here Doctor, he thought, and you’re really not getting it. He frowned. Or not wanting to get it. “Hello, who are they?” said the Doctor. Brad looked at the scanner. Two figures had appeared on the screen. He pulled a face. “Don’t fancy yours much. They look psychotic.” “Yes,” breathed the Doctor, operating controls again. “Let’s eavesdrop a little shall we?” Unfamiliar voices filled the console room. The two men outside were arguing. The first, who was taller, had unkempt blonde hair and a long scar running down his face over his right eye. He was dressed in combat fatigues and carried a lethal looking gun. The second was younger, his black hair cropped into a severe crew cut. Like the first he was dressed in combat fatigues although his were black as opposed to blonde’s khaki. The younger man frowned glumly. “So everyone’s dead again?” “Yes, Adric,” sighed his companion. “Everyone is, as you so rightly say, dead again.” “Not me,” said an unfamiliar voice. A dark haired stranger was levelling a gun at them. The blonde man loosed off a shot without even turning. The stranger’s head disappeared and the body fell backwards with a dull thud. “You are now,” said the blonde man. “Lytton,” said Adric. “I forgot about him.” “He wasn’t particularly memorable,” muttered his companion. “Doctor,” Adric looked up at him seriously, “Why does it always end this way?” He paused, frowning. “I know the Mara taking possession of you on Deva Loka hasn’t helped but…” The Doctor’s eyes briefly glowed an incandescent red. He gave Adric a haunted look. “There was no other way. There’s never another way.” Adric ploughed on regardless. “I know but when Nyssa died, you said…” The Doctor’s voice was a strangled shriek. “I don’t wish to discuss Nyssa!” Adric realised the Time Lord was pointing the gun at him. “Oh fine, kill me as well then!” The Doctor just stared at him, white faced with anger. The silence in the console room was deafening. Brad had heard of pregnant pauses but this one was birthing octuplets at the very least. Somewhere he located his voice. “It’s you,” he heard himself say quietly. “It’s me,” said the Doctor as though repeating a mantra. He turned slowly. Brad didn’t think he’d ever seen the Time Lord look quite so upset. The big man was trembling with anger. “That is not me!” He stepped towards Brad, repeating himself. “That isn’t me!” Brad found himself being lifted by the lapels and pressed back against one of the roundeled walls. The Doctor was phenomenally strong. He couldn’t move to resist. The Doctor was shouting. “When I find whoever is responsible for this…” “You’ll what?” Brad raised his eyes to the scanner. “You sure that isn’t you?” The Doctor’s mouth closed abruptly. He relaxed his grip and Brad slumped to the floor, heart pounding. The Doctor looked as though he’d been slapped. "Anyway, you know who is responsible for all this. The Master, you said. Dead now, of course," Brad added, feeling a little revlieved within. “Something’s wrong,” the Doctor’s tone was hollow. “Something’s very wrong.” No shit, Sherlock, thought Brad. Thing was, he thought he could begin to see how the picture needed changing. And this wasn’t fine detail. Oh no. This was a broad stroke. New canvass even. Sounded familiar. He laughed painfully to himself. The Doctor looked down at him, eyes narrowing. Silence reigned once more in the warehouse. The Doctor slowly lowered the gun. “Something’s wrong.” He looked about himself. “Something’s very wrong.” “What?” Adric looked alarmed and crouched by Lytton’s body. He stood up with the corpse's gun and ammunition in hand. “More Daleks?” “Perhaps.” The Doctor was scanning the shadows at the far end of the warehouse. “Those doors weren’t there before.” “I don’t know,” Adric was looking towards the stairs. Something seemed to move in the shadows. In the TARDIS the tracker was going crazy, bleeping furiously to itself. The Doctor stared in fascination. Brad nodded at the scanner. “They’ve noticed us.” Blonde psycho Doctor was coming over. “Good,” said the Doctor. “I’ve got some things to say to myself.” He operated the door controls. Adric bumped into the Doctor as two unfamiliar figures stepped out from behind the unfamiliar doors. One was bearded and heavily built, clad in a garish shirt. The other was slighter and more thoughtful looking. He wore black leather. “I could have hoped to meet myself in happier circumstances,” said the Doctor. Adric stared in amazement. The black leather guy gave an ironic wave. “Hi! How’s your non existence?” “My what?” Adric stepped back as the bigger man advanced on the Doctor. He didn’t look in a good mood. “Put that... that thing down!” he bellowed. The Doctor’s gun was flung to the far corner of the warehouse. The big man was nose to nose with him, daring him to speak. “There’s no other way,” said the Doctor, quietly, tiredly. He turned away. “Doctor, what’s happening?” began Adric. “I’m happening,” said the Doctor with a tired nod to the big man. “Seems I can’t leave myself alone.” “What happened?” The bearded stranger’s voice was a horrified whisper. Brad had been watching the exchange with interest. There was a subdued energy to this other Doctor, a dangerous undercurrent that his Doctor didn’t seem to have picked up on. Which was good. Maybe the Doctor would erase himself from the picture. Before the other Doctor could reply there was an alarmed shout from his young companion - the boy, Eric or whatever he was called. “Doctor! Daleks!” These were his last words. A coruscating beam of black white light hit him full on, he twisted, screamed and dropped. Brad stared. A trio of malignant five foot chrome salt shakers appeared to have materialised out of thin air. One was gun metal black, the others a dull grey. Acting on instinct, Brad ran for the stairs. Behind him he heard one of the salt shakers speak. “Doctors - You are to be exterminated!” There was a deafening explosion. Blonde mercenary Doc had obviously got another gun. Brad turned and stumbled over a uniformed body, hideously burned. Harsh metallic cries echoed in the air. "Exterminate! Exterminate!” Two further explosions followed. Brad struggled to his feet and abruptly backed away from the hideous, bone thin figure hovering above him. Others floated behind it. As one they seemed to clap mantis hands in glee, black eyes shining maliciously. “Tick,” they mouthed, a soundless chorus, “Tock.” “Tick,” said Brad, “Tock!” His head felt like it was going to burst. The blonde Doctor was holding a badly wounded arm. The bearded Doctor was looking quickly from the Black Dalek to its remaining trooper. “You idiot,” said the blonde Doctor, grimacing in pain, “We’ve killed ourselves as well as Adric! Well done!” The bearded Doctor shook his head. “This isn’t the way.” “Death is the only constant!” chorused the Daleks. The bearded Doctor gaped. “Strike me pink and bandy! Philosophical Daleks!” The blonde Doctor rolled his eyes. “So we can die happy now, eh?” He faced the Daleks. “You’re not from the station. Where are you from?” “We are from a future interface of the time corridor,” grated the Black Dalek. “Your actions endanger the Web of Time, Doctor." The gunsticks of the Daleks wavered between the two Time Lords, unsure which one was responsible for the flux in time. "You must be exterminated!” “Movement!” The other Dalek swivelled abruptly, gun stick training on the area by the stairs. Brad was swaying from side to side, unclear figures surrounding him. “Bradley?!” The bearded Doctor took the tracker from his pocket and stared in fascination. “Exterminate!” ordered the Black Dalek. “Brad!” the Doctor shouted a warning. It was too late. Deadly radiation spat towards Brad. Then bounced straight back at the Daleks. Reality seemed to shimmer. The Daleks imploded and vanished. Slowly the two Doctors crossed the warehouse floor to where Brad had fallen. There was no sign of the other creatures now and the bearded Doctor’s tracking device had fallen stubbornly silent. Together they stared down at the unconscious Brad. “Friend of yours?” asked the blonde Doctor. “Travelling companion,” said the bearded Doctor. “I’ve had so many but I can never seem to remember them. I have the strangest dreams…” “I never dream,” said the blonde Doctor darkly. He frowned. “Interesting company you keep.” “What?” The bearded Doctor stared. Brad’s unconscious form seemed to be fading then growing stronger again. At one point he was near translucent, the next, solid flesh again. “Oh Bradley,” the bearded Doctor sighed heavily. “This isn’t right.” “Tell me about it,” said the blonde Doctor. “Right hasn’t been on the agenda for a long time.” “You can change that,” said his other self. He indicated the stairs. “There’s something I want you to see.” At the turn of the stairs they stopped together and stared. There was nowhere else to go. Slowly, the stairwell was eroding to void, white substanceless and all encompassing. “How can you show me this?” asked the blonde Doctor. A look passed between them. “Oh. You have got problems.” He headed slowly back up the remaining stairs, before they disappeared. In the warehouse he turned to face the bearded Doctor. “Thank you.” “There’s always another way,” said the big man quietly. He turned to the still unconscious Brad and hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. “What will you do?” asked the blonde Doctor. “What we always do,” grinned the bearded man, “Find a way.” The blonde man smiled. “No surrender, eh?” “No surrender.” They shook hands. The blonde Doctor didn’t look as his other self dragged Brad back to his TARDIS. He heard the soft hum as the doors closed then looked from the gun in his hand to the creeping void now spreading into the warehouse. He could easily make it back to his own TARDIS but somehow that just wasn’t an option. He understood now that his reality was not real, just a passing thought in the influx of possibilities. He crossed to where Adric lay and stood astride the body. A strange sense of déjà vu seemed to turn within him. Slowly he raised the gun to his temple. As though realising his intention, figures began to form from the void. The blonde Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Oh no. Not this time. This time it’s going to be different,” he said in a voice that at once was and was not his own. And pulled the trigger to all kinds of futures. The Doctor was silent as the scanner screen slowly closed. There was only void out there now. “All kinds of futures,” he said to himself quietly. “Yes, yes…” A thought struck him and he left the console room in a rush. Half a minute passed. Brad lay still on the floor. Abruptly he opened his eyes and sat up. “Oh no, Doc,” he said with a grim smile. “Only one future that I can see.” He breathed deeply, conscious of a new power within him. His gaze travelled over the control panel, coming to rest on the coordinate settings. He pressed one button, reset another. Portland, that was the place this all started. Time to head home. “That should be… interesting.” He laughed softly to himself. “Bradley!” The Doctor was back, grinning an irrepressible bulldog grin. “You’re awake!” He was carrying a tray laden with tea caddy and various other items. “Tea!” he emphasised. “Very good for the brain - unclogs the synapses!” He grinned his expectant grin. It would be just heartbreaking to see that grin wiped away for ever, thought Brad. “Sure Doc,” he said with a smile. “Tea would be great.”