Korr wriggled painfully past him on his way out towards the galley.
‘Two sugars!’ Faltato called after him.
Rose went out to join the Doctor beside the smelly but salvaged TARDIS, free of the mud mountain at last. Through a yellow-grey cloud of volcanic smoke, the African sun was starting to set behind the shattered peak of Mount Tarsus.
It was a beautiful sight – but the Doctor had eyes only for his police box.
‘You gonna wash it, then?’ Rose wondered. ‘It’s well mucky.’
He considered. ‘There’s an Oulion rocket-wash opening on Titan in 900 years’ time. Pretty reasonable rates, as I recall.’
‘And what about this place in 900 years’ time?’ she asked.
‘Year 3000?’ He grinned. ‘Middle of Africa’s third golden age.’
‘So it’s gonna be goodbye to the Third World, then?’
He nodded. ‘With a little help from a fourth.’
Rose frowned. ‘You don’t normally like that. I mean, nicking alien technology and stuff –’
‘Oh, it’s only mud! Anyway, it’s always going on – fact of life,’ he said dismissively. ‘Is it better that the Henry van Stattens of this world get their hands on it every time? Nah, let the little people have a go.
Let them grow big. ’Cause their dreams are even bigger.’
He looked out at the sunset himself for a while. Then he opened the TARDIS doors and she walked into the welcoming sea-green coolness 189
of the control room. The Doctor banged the doors shut behind them and was soon tugging away at the console’s switches and levers.
‘What about those two Valnaxi? You’re just going to leave them here on Earth?’
‘Africa’s been their home longer than anywhere else.’
She shivered. ‘One of them looks like me, though. . . ’
‘Maybe more than just looks,’ he said distantly. ‘When they sifted through you for the template. . . ’
‘Oh, I dunno. . . ’ He looked pensive for a moment. ‘They get one chance, that’s all. But I think they’ll be OK.’
‘You hope,’ said Rose.
‘What’s wrong with travelling hopefully?’ He gave her a beguiling grin. ‘I’ve turned it into an art form. . . ’
He threw the final switch and the TARDIS heaved itself into the time vortex, taking them on to new adventures.
On the edges of the desert, Male and Female sat in silent wonder, feeling the setting African sun on their skin.
‘The sun feels good,’ said Male.
‘Free,’ murmured Female. ‘Free feels good. Free of the ancient obligations. There is nothing we can do for our race now.’
Male agreed. ‘They will survive in their disembodied state. Perhaps they can sense their way back to the home world. Then –’
‘There is nothing we can do for our race now,’ Female said again, ‘so we must live for ourselves.’ She looked down at her bare arms. The golden pigment was slowly darkening.
‘But where shall we go?’ whispered Male. ‘How shall we live?’
‘You know from Solomon’s thoughs that the old settlements are quiet and small and ignored. We shall find such a settlement. Or we shall start our own. It does not matter.’ She closed her new eyes, worn dizzy with seeing. ‘So much to experience in these forms. So much to suck in through these senses.’
‘Endure,’ said Male suddenly. ‘We must endure, find a way to make art that endures. That we must do for our race.’
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She shook her head. ‘We have endured long enough. It is time we learned the art of living.’
Female rose and offered Male her hand. He took it.
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Acknowledgements
Thanks first and foremost, as always, to the urbane and unflappable Justin Richards, who never makes a drama out of a crisis, though often besieged by both. Special thanks also to Jill Cole, Helen Raynor, Lesley Levene, Jac Rayner, Philip Craggs, Kate Walsh, Jason Loborik, Mike Tucker and Linda Chapman.
About the Author
Stephen Cole used to edit magazines and books, and in the late 1990s looked after the BBC’s range of Doctor Who novels, videos and audio adventures. Now he spends his time writing books for children of all ages.
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Document Outline
Front Cover
Contents
Prologue
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Back Cover