THE LONG WAY HOME, PART 7

In the temporary Junior Gazette meeting room, a small group was huddled around a tape player. As they listened to the contents of the tape, their faces grew very long and worried. None of them could believe what they were hearing. The recording ended and Frazz shut the machine off.

"This isn’t true," Spike said. "This can’t be true. We all know Lynda well enough to know she’s not a criminal."

"Lynda regards the Junior Gazette as an extension of herself," Tiddler said. "I can see her forgetting to reimburse the paper every once in a while. We’ve all done it, I’m sure, and with as much work as Lynda does, it wouldn’t surprise me if that happened."

"You’re implying she’s guilty," Spike said defensively.

"I’m implying no such thing," Tiddler replied. "Julie is, but I’m just seeing this as a Lynda screwup. Until we have more information, that’s the best spin we can put on the issue."

"Julie’s jumping the gun on this," Frazz said. "Max said himself he hadn’t gotten things straightened out yet. Until he has a complete accounting of things, Julie has no story."

Tiddler disagreed. "Julie thinks she’s got a story, and if she doesn’t come up with enough to put in print, she can at least make it harder for Lynda to get back in the editor’s chair again."

"Julie doesn’t do half the work Lynda did around here," Jane said. "Lynda was here practically the whole time the building was open. Julie comes in and goes out when she feels like it, and she spends a lot of time talking to Kerr when she should be here."

"Be fair," Tiddler said. "Julie’s very new at this and probably has to ask a lot of questions."

"You weren’t here when we first started, Tiddler," Jane retorted. "Lynda almost sank the paper trying to get a lead story. Kerr wouldn’t go out of his way to help her, but he sure bitched a lot. He’s babysitting Julie big time in comparison."

Spike nodded. "Kerr does seem to be taking an interest in Julie’s problems. How much of that is due to everything that’s gone on around us lately?"

Jane seemed a bit mollified by this, but still wasn’t happy. "All I’m saying is that Julie has been assistant editor for over a year. She should have an idea how to run the paper on her own. As far as Julie goes, she’s probably the worst about remembering to pay back anybody she borrows money from."

"Forgive the obvious, but why not ask Colin if Lynda or Julie ever paid back any money?" Jeff asked.

Spike and Frazz both shook their heads at the same time. Spike spoke what they both were thinking. "Nothing Colin tells us can be relied upon. Does anyone here actually trust Colin?" Nobody spoke up. "We can ask, but if he says ‘yes’, we’ll need some proof to back him up. Judging by the state of affairs Max claims to be dealing with, that won’t be easy."

"May as well ask him," Frazz said. "Max, too, for that matter. We need to lean on him a little for running his mouth to her. I thought Marriner’s people were cagier than that."

"Full court press, Julie style," Spike muttered.

 

Dr. Harry Sullivan happened to be in his office late when a knock came at the door. His brother, Bill, assistant headmaster and teacher of English at Norbridge High School had come to visit Sarah Jackson that afternoon, but couldn’t find her room where it was supposed to be on the third floor. When asked to explain himself, Bill said the door to the room was missing. Ordinarily, this would be the sort of thing hospital workers would chalk up to being lost or to stress, but as a member of UNIT, Dr. Harry Sullivan could never be sure the impossible really wasn’t happening. When aliens were involved, it was always a good idea to check, no matter how silly the claim. Up to the third floor they went, and there in the corridor on the third floor was the door.

Dr. Sullivan and his brother entered the room, and found Sarah in bed shuffling through some magazines. She warmly greeted both of them.

"Sarah, my brother had a little trouble finding your room just now," Dr. Sullivan said. "You didn’t by any chance have anything unusual going on here?"

"Sorry," she said apologetically. "I had to step out for a minute."

"So you took the whole room with you?" Dr. Sullivan asked.

"It’s a very nice room," she replied. "I’m quite fond of it."

The two Sullivans looked at each other. "Perhaps we’d better not think too hard about this one, Bill," Dr. Sullivan said.

"Agreed," he said. "This wouldn’t have anything to do with the mysterious Doctor that Harry likes to talk about, would it?"

Sarah shook her head. "I’ve never met him myself, but I do know some of the family."

"That settles it," Dr. Sullivan said. "I don’t want to know. I’ll leave you two to visit then." He walked out of the room.

Mr. Sullivan looked at the magazines. "I detect a distinct wedding theme here. Lynda asked you to be in the wedding party?"

"Not yet," Sarah said. "She probably will when she gets around to planning things." A mischievous look came into Sarah’s eyes. "You’re jumping to conclusions a little, Mr. Sullivan. It might be my wedding, you know."

"Don’t tell me you and the Colonel--"

"Not yet," she replied. "Don’t be surprised, though."

"Sarah, this isn’t wise. I can understand Spike and Lynda. They’ve known each other a long time. You’ve only just met the Colonel. Are you seriously thinking about committing to someone you don’t even know."

Sarah shook her head. "Time makes all the difference, Mr. Sullivan. I know more about Paul than Spike will ever know about Lynda, because I’ve been up here." She pointed to his head as she spoke. "Paul and I are very different people in many respects, but we share a bond that no one will ever be able to break. That’s all I can tell you."

She grew restless at this point. "Mr. Sullivan, what would you say if I asked whether you’d want to see the Junior Gazette returned to the way it used to be?"

Sullivan seemed surprised. "I was under the impression that the commercial status of the paper was a given."

"Things can change, can’t they? The commercial Junior Gazette has been an interesting exercise, but I’m not sure how well the paper will ever be able to do financially. Colin has suggested we might have more impact in television journalism."

This set Sullivan to laughing. "Sarah, one thing you have to know as management is that Colin is a man of many ideas, few of which are ever good ones."

Sarah looked disappointed. "Management involves the ability to pick out a diamond in the rough. Who would believe anyone could get Spike to be a reporter?"

"Point taken," Sullivan said.

"We need a Junior Gazette in the schools. Everyone on the paper now has had their lives changed as a result of working there. Where would Spike and Frazz be if you and Kerr hadn’t believed enough in them to give them a chance? I’d still be flunking exams and afraid of my own shadow. I’m managing editor and part owner of a newspaper now, and partner to someone with enough power to make politicians cower. Why should I deprive one of your students of the same opportunity to succeed?"

"And Lynda would say---"

"Any number of things, most of which you would send her to detention for if she still was in school. It doesn’t matter what Lynda thinks. Paul and I own the paper now, and if we think Lynda needs to find something new to put her talents to, she’ll either do it with us or on her own. Either way, we win the argument."

"You want me involved again, I assume?" Sullivan asked.

"If you’d be willing, we’d value your assistance. I would love to see the schools involved again. It won’t be the same as it was originally, but I think we can make something of our experiences the first time around and not make the same mistakes again."

 

Frazz and Spike entered Colin’s office and closed the door. Colin looked at them with his usual dopey grin. "Guys, what’s the good word?"

"How high are they going to hang you, you mean?" Frazz replied. "Max doesn’t sound too impressed with your recordkeeping."

"I’m a salesman, Frazz," Colin replied. "All those numbers and receipts are so confusing."

"Julie’s going after Lynda," Spike said. "Did Lynda ever charge personal things on the Gazette credit card and not reimburse the paper?"

Colin’s face recognized the seriousness of the question. "Maybe the odd thing here or there, but nothing really important."

"She would reimburse you for anything she did charge, correct?" Frazz asked.

"Absolutely."

"Did you keep any records of those payments?"

"Probably just deposited them in the account," Colin said. "How was I to know this would happen?"

Spike kicked over a wastebasket in anger. "We’ve got nothing to stop Julie. Nothing!"

"We can work it back from the deposit slips, maybe." Colin shrugged. "I will be happy to vouch for Lynda’s character."

Frazz shook his head. "Yeah, and who are we going to get to vouch for yours, Colin?"

 

Spandrell had put the TARDISes in flight. With Sarah on her way back to the hospital, Spandrell took off with Paul, Lynda, Kate, Kevin, Sophie, and Laura aboard. Kate and Kevin were not at all accustomed to TARDIS travel and decided they weren’t going to budge from Spandrell’s side. Sophie and Laura immediately wandered off down a corridor and disappeared. Paul motioned for Lynda to follow him as he set off at a slow walk from the control room.

"Give us a yelp when we’ve landed, Spandrell. I have some matters to discuss with Miss Day."

"Act like you own the place, Marriner," he replied gruffly.

"Not to worry, Castellan," came the cheerful reply.

Paul wandered down the corridor whistling a tune. Lynda followed along. "Lynda," he said, "we need to talk about the future."

"Mine, yours, Sarah’s---who or what are you referring to here?"

"I understand you’ve been whispering in Sarah’s ear--"

"Oh, that." Lynda seemed embarrassed. "It was just talk. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything here."

"None felt," Paul said. "I care very deeply for Sarah. I just think it’s a little premature to discuss things like that. This is a serious deal when you live as long as we do. As for your future, I think we need to figure that out, too."

"At the Gazette?" Lynda asked.

"We can’t have two editors. You know that as well as anyone."

"So you’re asking me to quit?"

"I’m asking you nothing. I don’t know what I’m going to do," Paul said, stopping his walk for a moment. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Lynda was caught off-guard by the question. "I want to be editing the paper," she said after a brief pause. "That’s what I do."

"The paper or a paper? Are you going to run a junior newspaper your whole life? I know that was never Matt Kerr’s intention for you when the paper began. He’d want you to go on and become a success in whatever field you chose to pursue. So much the better if that choice were journalism."

"We built this paper," Lynda said. "This is our paper now."

"It is a junior newspaper. You’re still young, Lynda, but you don’t have the same feel for youth that you did when you were in school. Adulthood changes your outlook on things. Oh, and actually it is my paper now. You just work for me."

"We’re always recruiting at schools for new blood. I don’t accept your premise that we’re out of touch."

"The kids don’t make the decisions--who runs the paper? You and Julie. Colin fiddles with the books and the advertising. Kate runs graphics. All of you are old-timers, and all Norbridge High grads. Every last one. Have you ever even considered doing an apprentice program to train new people for these positions?"

Lynda shook her head. "After Kerr tried to strip us of the paper after our first year, we never discussed doing anything like that. We didn’t want to give him an avenue to get any more control over us."

"Gaining you the paper at the expense of your purpose. Norbridge is never going to be a two newspaper town. You’re a novelty act. When you have something important or outlandish to hawk, you guys sell some papers. If you don’t, you don’t cover your budget. Simple as that."

Lynda looked at him curiously. "Why buy the paper then? Was this all a charade just to get a book away from me?"

"In the beginning," Paul said. "Things got away from me. I have Sarah to look after now, and as you lot know of my identity, I am just going to have to keep an eye on things more closely to make sure you don’t make my life any more complicated than you already have."

"Great. I have an owner who sees us as kids to babysit."

This comment brought Paul to a stop. "I see you as professionals, Lynda. I wonder if you belong here. Why not editing the London Times? Why not anchoring the news on the BBC? Why not doing your own magazine?"

Lynda’s eyes betrayed the fact she was thinking of it. "My own magazine? My own television show? You make it sound like all I have to do is snap my fingers and I can have anything I want."

"No, that’s me," Paul smiled. "I can get you started, though. Colin thinks you and Spike would be wonderful on television. He’s pitched Sarah already, and probably Bobby Campbell too, if I know Colin."

"I’m not going to do ‘Crazy Stuff’ for a living!"

"Who said anything about that?" Paul replied. "You need to figure out what you and Spike are going to do with your lives. If I were you, I’d get home, pack up Spike, and go off somewhere exotic and peaceful and let yourself dream for a while. Come back in a week or three and tell me what you want to do with your life. I know your track record, Lynda. I don’t have any doubts about Lynda Day being a success in life. Nobody would ask you to write a biography if you weren’t famous for something."

Paul paused in the corridor at a nondescript door, behind which he could hear Sophie and Laura laughing. "Does this worry me, I ask myself." He opened the door and walked into the room, with Lynda following behind.

A pair of shrieks followed. "What are you doing here?"

"Spandrell has a pool? That old slyboots never told me." Paul said to himself and sat down in a deck chair. "Have a seat, Lynda," he called out.

Lynda spied some clothes piled on the deck of the pool and guessed what was bothering Sophie and Laura. "Paul," she called out, and pointed to the clothes. Lynda was smiling as she did this, and Paul looked at the clothes and glared at the swimmers in the pool.

"Skinny-dipping in the Castellan’s pool. Good plan, you two. I can see it now. Yours truly dragged before the High Council under arrest for having companions who shocked the poor old Castellan to death."

"Poor old Castellan nothing," Spandrell muttered, having wandered into the room unnoticed. "I’ve dealt with a lot worse than this in my day. Now pack up these pests and get them out of my TARDIS. We’ve landed."

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This page created by Murray Head on the eleventh of June, 1998.