This Time, This Place (Part 7) - 50th Anniversary fiction

For 'this is not an adventure' disclaimer and notes on the Sororiate, see Part 1

Part 6 here



From the daybook of Octo-Dam-Maria, Year of Grace 1367:

They appeared on the Galilaea without warning, throwing the Sororiate into panic; an elderly man and a very young woman. The Doctor and his granddaughter. I gave orders they should be admitted, which no doubt caused many mutterings. But my authority was not questioned to my face, at least.

They were brought from the porch and I received them in my study. Abelard waited on us. The young woman, Susan, was a little nervous of Abelard, but she soon settled. A brittle but beautiful child, full of uncertainty but ever reaching out to explore. There was an extraordinary light in her eyes; they lit up her face, which seemed shaped as if to draw attention to them.

This was a different Doctor, a man yet to find himself. Long silvery hair, a habit of holding his head at an angle as if assessing his surroundings; a certain peremptory sharpness to his movements, as if he was afraid of settling, of resting for even a moment. His dark eyes showed a more guarded nature than the others I had seen; less open, less kind. Less adventurous.

And yet, this was the one who had abandoned everything he knew and taken Susan out into the universe.

They were fugitives, these two, only recently clear of the clutches of their own people. After several landings they were now confident they could not be traced. Not that they told me this directly, but it was possible to infer much from what they did say. And Susan’s mind was open to me in a way that very few are, betraying emotions and strongly-held fears in unguarded moments.

‘We shan’t trouble you more than is necessary,’ said the Doctor over the first cup of Ventus tea. ‘Just one or two little things I neglected to, ah…pick up before we left.’

‘Anything we have is yours. Write me a list and I will give it to the storehouse.’ I motioned to Abelard.

‘You’re most kind. Most kind.’

I began to speak but something stopped me. I knew very little about time travel, but it seemed to me that it might be dangerous even to reveal that I already knew the Doctor, that I had seen what I now understood must be his future selves. At this point the pattern of his life was not set; I could not risk influencing his path.

‘Mmn?’ He looked at me enquiringly. Aged and mildly infirm he might appear compared to some of the others I had met, but he missed nothing. ‘You were going to say..?’

‘O-only that you should visit the garden while you are here. The lake is very tranquil—it affords an ideal atmosphere for contemplation, and you have…potentially difficult choices ahead of you. And Susan should see the Aeturnums.’

‘Aeturnums..?’

I told him about the blooms, and the good they might do Susan’s restless, impulsive nature. If he wondered why I did not advise him to bond, he did not ask me.

‘Ah, yes!’ His eyes lit up when I had finished. ‘I had heard about these flowers. How very fortunate we should land here.’ He saw my look and his eyes wandered uneasily. ‘I have a little trouble controlling my ship at present…some difficulty with precise landings. I…I expect it will be…’ He trailed off, then lifted his head slightly. ‘I will attend to it.’

Susan had been composing a list with the materials Abelard had brought to us and now handed me the results. They were mostly ordinary objects – writing and drawing materials, a few items of clothing.

‘We left in a hurry,’ Susan explained. ‘Food is no problem, but there are other little things…’

‘Where are you going?’ I asked. ‘Does your journey have an end?’

They looked at one another. The Doctor sat up a little straighter, playing with the lapels on his dark jacket. ‘That remains to be seen. For the moment, our destination is …everywhere. Anywhere. We shall explore, and observe.’ On an impulse, it seemed, he reached out a hand sideways, to Susan, and she clasped it in both of hers. ‘The child will have the education, the experience, that I was only able to dream about.’

I looked again at the list. ‘We have little in the way of everyday clothing, but some stores of cloth. Perhaps,’ I looked up at Susan, ‘you might like to choose some material and take it, in order to fashion your own garments…?’

Susan looked eagerly at her grandfather, who held her gaze without blinking for two or three seconds before waving a hand as he broke into a smile. ‘Run along, child, run along. Just be careful you don’t abuse their generosity…’

‘Abelard will take you to Soror-Vestitus.’ I caught myself. ‘To Soror Emilia, I should say.’

When they had departed, I could see the Doctor looking after them with interest. He turned to me. ‘An unusual servant. Where did you acquire him?’

‘He…fell from the sky. An escape capsule. He was clearly in service to someone, but we never discovered his masters.’

‘Does he speak?’

‘A few words. His capacity for learning language is not great, and his vocal apparatus seems ill-fitted for speech. But he understands everything I say.’ I waited for a few moments then said, as gently as I could: ‘What happened…to Susan’s parents?’

He looked at me for a moment, then his eyes shifted away.

‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘You prefer not to speak of it. But…forgive me, but is it the wisest thing, to take her away from her home, her own people..?’

Now I had offended him. He sat back. ‘I do think, Madam, that that is hardly your business. I’m much indebted to you for receiving us, and for refreshment, but—’

Abelard re-entered and the Doctor silenced himself. I sighed. ‘I am sorry. I meant no disrespect. But the child is…there is something oddly…febrile about her.’

‘More than any other child of her age?’ he queried.

‘Perhaps not. My experience of children is limited, I admit. I was merely concerned…’

A strange twitch from Abelard distracted me. He took a step towards the Doctor. I watched him for a moment; his expression was unreadable as always, but his head was held sideways at a strange angle, and there seemed to be a cold glitter in his eyes.

And then I felt the presence of something else; a mind. Vast, ancient, malevolent. An entity from beyond, beyond everything we knew, spawned in some pit of evil on a far distant world. A mind that had traversed not only space but time to arrive at this time, this place.

This creature had control of Abelard and the Ogron’s hands were lifting, reaching, stretching towards the Doctor.

The Doctor saw my face and turned to look, but it was too late. The huge hands closed around his neck, and Abelard pulled him into the air. I lurched from my chair but I knew it was useless. I plucked feebly at Abelard’s arm as he held the Doctor suspended.

I am not certain what happened next. The Doctor dropped back in his chair, clutching at his throat. Abelard twisted about with a snarl, and beyond him I glimpsed a small figure, a girl with black hair and dancing eyes, backing away and speaking words I could not hear. She seemed to be taunting Abelard, and he made a lunging grab for her but she twisted clear and this time I heard the words: ‘Have to do better than that, big boy…try again!’ She faced him, her eyes shining: ‘That’s it, come and get me…’

And she skipped farther back and her form grew indistinct, and Abelard stumbled after her…and then shook as his body seemed gripped by some force which distorted the air. He sank to his knees. His body seemed to shimmer, as if it might disappear. Then, all was gone. The girl, the force, the sense of evil. Abelard fell on his hands and knees, heaving great breaths.

Another rasping exhalation near at hand reminded me of the Doctor. I bent to attend him, but he waved me away, struggling to sit up. I watched him anxiously for some seconds, then thought to offer him water. He swallowed gratefully, coughing slightly.

Abelard was standing, looking about him nervously. I went to him and laid my hand on his arm. He looked at me, clearly not understanding, but I held his gaze and felt him slowly relax.

‘Wh-what happened,’ spluttered the Doctor. ‘Why did your servant attack me..?’

I felt quite drained suddenly, and very weak. I returned to my chair and lowered myself slowly. I could feel my heart almost shaking my entire body with the force of its pounding.

Haltingly, I explained what I had seen. The Doctor listened, his fingers to his lips and his eyes cast down. When I had finished, he came to his feet, coughing slightly, and went to where Abelard had fallen. Abelard stood close by and watched him but did not move. Eventually the Doctor came back to his chair.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘nothing there now. Clearly, some alien intelligence intruded, possessed…eh…Abelard, but was driven away somehow—by this young woman you saw. I can only surmise that both she and the alien entered by means of some kind of time portal, and that by drawing your servant back towards the physical point of entry, the alien was pulled out, sucked back to where it came from…’ He sat back. ‘But as to who she was, our mysterious saviour, and what the attacker was…that may remain a mystery. As will where they came from…or, indeed, when. Most odd.’ He looked towards Abelard. ‘I admit…it occurred to me to wonder if your servant had been left here for that very purpose, even so long ago, but I suspect it was merely a case of using whatever subject was to hand. But still, as to the reason… most, er, mystifying…’

I thought about the girl I had glimpsed so briefly, and wondered, recalling the description Soror Hazel had given of the people at the lake, earlier in the season.

‘Could it,’ I ventured, ‘could it have been your own people that—’

‘No, no,’ he cut in brusquely. ‘Impossible. Even if they had managed to find us, such an attack is simply not…’ He shook his head. ‘No.’ Then he gave me a sudden, sharp look. ‘Susan must not know of this.’

‘If…you think that best.’

‘I do. Especially as I have no idea what it might mean.’ He tilted his head back a little, regarding me with a gleam in his eye. ‘I don’t suppose you have any notion of the reason for such an attack?’

I returned his gaze in silence for a second. ‘No. But…you mentioned…a time portal? If you were accurate, if such a thing is to be believed…perhaps there is something in your future…?’

‘It seems likely, yes.’ From his expression I could tell he was not entirely satisfied with my evasion, but he had clearly decided to let it pass. ‘Oh, Susan…,’ he muttered to himself, ‘perhaps you would be better at home, after all…’

The door burst open and Susan came in, loaded down with cuts of cloth. ‘Oh, look, grandfather, this colour…and this…and look at this…’ She spun back to me. ‘Thank you, thank you! It must be a good omen, our landing here…’ She looked at the old man. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘Mmm, yes…quite so, child. Quite so.’ He gave me another penetrating glance. ‘Now I think perhaps we should be off—we’ve troubled the Dam quite enough.’

‘One thing,’ I said quickly, as he rose from the chair.

‘Yes?’

‘Allow me to show you the garden.’

Abelard had to carry me there—and back again when they had left.

They knelt with me by the Aeturnums, and I told them, I do not know why, about Veritae and the years we spent together and yet apart, and the flower that joined us both. And I watched the Doctor’s bloom turn brown from the icy blue it had been, and I watched his face as he digested what it might mean that there was a flower there ready for him. He looked at me but asked no questions. Susan cooed with delight as her own Aeturnum turned green; it was only with difficulty that I persuaded her it must remain here. The Doctor soothed her with a promise to visit the nearby Rings of Ahkaten. Recalling what had been said about the behaviour of the TARDIS in the early days, I hoped he would be able to get Susan there.

They left reluctantly, but with a sense of purpose. And in doing so, showed me a new wonder—a further mystery. The only familiar thing about their departure was the sound, that crying that now seemed to me like the tearing of the fabric of the universe, a shredding of the commonplace and the everyday. The sight was not what I had anticipated, indeed looked forward to; in order to depart they stepped through what seemed a breach in a rocky outcrop, and then the rock appeared to melt and become smaller, losing a part of itself. What had become – or was to become – of the small blue hut, perhaps I will never discover. It only underlined the sense that this man I had just met was not quite the Doctor.

As I wondered, Abelard merely grunted and turned back towards the Cenobate with me in his arms, but I made him pass by the garden again and he let me down, and we stood for a while. I have a feeling that it was the last time I will look upon the lake and the mountains beyond. I stooped and said a farewell to the bloom that is all that remains of Veritae, of Maria, and all that we were and all that we wanted to be.

The events of today have shaken me, physically, and I have taken to my bed. Abelard stands by the door; he has no memory of what he attempted to do. His only concern now is for me; he senses the end is near, and he will not leave, or sleep. Hazel has also entered many times, to the extent that I have had to remind her of her duty to the garden. I will have to speak to her again before I pass.

I came here long ago with no thought in my mind but escape. I cannot remember now when that changed, or why it changed. That it was before I had truly known Veritae seems to me impossible, but I think it is so.

There are traditions that believe everything we do in life is destined to be, that no action of ours is free—that our only true choice in life is whether to accept or to reject what is presented to us. Whether to love and thus live, or to hate and thus die. It is a choice we face in every moment, in every circumstance—in this time and this place, wherever we are. It took me too long to recognise that choice. But having seen it, and having also the supreme joy of being seen, in my entirety, by one other who shared my life here, I am happy to let go.

Abelard brings my supper. I hope I have the strength to eat, or he will fret all night.



Epilogue (Year of Grace 1368):

‘Dam Hortus Maria,’ reads Clara over his shoulder. ‘Is this…is this her gravestone?’

‘A memorial,’ he says. ‘They cremate all members of the Cenobate, but the gardeners are commemorated here.’

‘You knew this one.’

‘Better than I realised. I think she’s been the gardener here for the last sixty or seventy years.’ He stands up, slowly. ‘We met many times; I just didn’t always know it was her. The little girl who watched us from the bushes, to the Dam who sent us on our way at the beginning.’

Clara takes his arm, wraps it in both of hers. ‘Glad I’m not the only one you were stalking.’ She looks across the water to the distant peak. ‘The view is beautiful, but you could get tired, even of this. Don’t think I’d have wanted to spend my whole life here.’

He recalls what seems to him to be his most recent visit, and smiles. ‘Not quite her whole life. She saw a few things, a few other worlds and times. But this was her home.’

‘Brr…give me travelling, any day. I couldn’t bear to be confined to one place, one time.’

The Doctor smiles down at Clara. He starts to speak, checks himself. ‘I…oh. Ah.’ As she looks at him curiously: ‘I was going to remind you that we’re all actually confined to one place, one time—because we can’t be in two places at once. But then, that doesn’t apply to The Impossible Girl, does it? I should think you’d be grateful to be in one spacetime location for a while.’

‘Well, let me ask you—having seen so much of the universe, are you satisfied? Do you want to stop—settle down?’

His face is a picture. She smiles. ‘There you are. And I’ve seen a lot of what you’ve seen, remember. Hasn’t made me any less hungry for more.’

‘It will end eventually,’ he says. ‘Not for me; but either you’ll leave, or…I’ll change. Either way—’

She folds her arms. ‘After what I’ve seen, unless you’re going to grow two heads or start using swear words stronger than “Daleks”, you can’t scare me with a regeneration.’

‘Excuse me, Sir…Madam…?’

The voice comes from behind them, from the stones nearest the shore. They both spin about, the Doctor nearly losing his balance. Clara steadies him.

A Sister stands watching them. She is initially staring at Clara, but eventually addresses herself to the man. ‘You are the Doctor?’

‘For the time being.’ He pauses, frowning to himself. ‘For the time, I am being,’ he says, as if testing how it sounds. ‘For this being, time is—’

‘Yes,’ says Clara. ‘He is.’

‘The Dam told me to expect you.’ The Sister looks at Clara. ‘But…I have seen you before. With another man.’

The Doctor looks askance at Clara; Clara seems mildly embarrassed. The Doctor steps towards the Sister. ‘Did you…have any message from the Dam?’

‘Only…only that the garden is yours. Whenever you wish to come.’

He nods. ‘I wish the Dam was here, so we could thank her.’

The Sister seems suddenly tearful.

‘What’s your name?’ asks Clara.

The Sister looks uneasily at Clara, but gathers herself. ‘I am Sister Hazel-Hortus.’

‘Ah. The new gardener,’ says the Doctor.

‘Not…so very new,’ says Hazel. ‘I have been working with Dam Maria for many years.’

‘Then you must be very upset,’ says the Doctor softly. ‘She was a great lady—and a friend to me at many points in my life.’ He declaims, but quietly: ‘An oasis of tranquillity in a universe of strife.’

‘What have you been reading lately?’ mutters Clara, barely audibly. The Doctor affects not to hear at all.

Hazel comes closer to the visitors. ‘She…the Dam has said to me that she has known you with many faces…perhaps a dozen. I myself have seen two in one place, but this seems to me to be against nature, beyond possibility…’

‘You believe, don’t you,’ says the Doctor, ‘in the possibility of the spirit appearing in many forms, of it manifesting in different ways…? Same thing, really.’

Hazel nods warily, but her eyes keep returning to Clara. ‘You…were here before?’

‘I...may have popped into the Cenobate, very briefly.’ As the Doctor looks at her: ‘Don’t ask.’

‘No—here on the shore…’ persists Hazel.

‘I couldn’t tell you. Possibly, at some point.’ She jerks her head at the Doctor. ‘It can get confusing, being around him. Personal time and universal time…you know.’

Hazel nods. She appears to have nothing else to say. After perhaps half a minute, she bows and retreats, wishing them joy of the garden.

They watch her disappear into the distance. Clara turns to the Doctor. ‘I think she’s killed the mood. Are we ready to go?’

‘In a moment.’ He moves quickly back along the row of stones to the shore, and makes his way to the flower bed, his steps slowing as he draws nearer. He stands looking down. She joins him.

‘That was…Tegan,’ he says, pointing. ‘And Nyssa. And Peri. And Susan.’ He looks farther. ‘Charley. Victoria, Jamie. Ace. Martha.’ He crouches. ‘And this one looks suspiciously like your eye colour.’ He glances up at her.

She lowers herself beside him. ‘Could be anyone…’

‘Except that it’s moving when you move. They all move a bit, the unlinked ones, when they sense someone near, but they give up when they realise you’re already bonded.’

‘Hmm. What about that one?’ she points to the Aeturnum with blended streaks of colour.

‘Ahh.’ His mouth is a line that is not quite a smile. ‘That’s Maria’s flower—Maria’s and Veritae’s.’

‘I suppose at least they had each other…for a while. Must have made the place more bearable.’

‘I don’t think she – either of them – saw it as a prison, not in the end. I met her in the last year of her life; she seemed quite content with how things had turned out. With the life she’d had.’

Clara stands up. ‘But with all that universe out there,’ she spreads her hands, ‘to stay on one tiny planet…?’

He stands, looking down at a flower that still cannot match the shifting colours of his eyes. ‘We each live in two universes,’ he says, ‘outer and inner. And some traditions believe the outer is only a reflection of the inner. So many lives, so many ways of living, of existing…I was saying before; where you are and what you do isn’t always the most important thing.’ He turns away, walking directly up one of the slopes. She follows, hurrying to catch up. ‘Yes…?’ she insists.

‘There’s also who, or what you are.’ He pauses at the crest of the ridge, looks back, before walking toward the familiar blue shape. ‘We mourn the passing of planet, or a star system, a galaxy, but every death is…’ He trails off and breathes out heavily. ‘There’s an entire universe in every heart.’

She has also paused to look back but catches up with him again as he reaches the TARDIS.

‘Says the man who has two…’

He smiles, opening the door and indicating she should enter. ‘Well, I always was a bit of a show-off…’

She skips inside. He closes the door. The light flashes, the sound echoes interminably across the still water. The Aeturnums bend in the breeze and appear to hang their heads, just a little.



From the daybook of Octo-Dam-Maria, Year of Grace 1367:

The Doctor would no doubt laugh at the notion that there is no such thing as freedom. He has followed that shining beacon for many lifetimes. But whatever the truth of the way our lives are ordered, the Doctor has exercised that simple liberty to choose, in every one of his forms; that liberty to love—not just those close to him, but all aspects of creation, even the most terrifying. His is a passion for adventure, the great adventure of life. I have been privileged to be the Keeper of the Garden in an age when a very special flower bloomed. I hope it will continue to bloom for aeons to come.

This Time, This Place (Part 6) - 50th Anniversary fiction

For 'this is not an adventure' disclaimer and notes on the Sororiate, see Part 1

Part 5 here



From the daybook of Septuagint-Honorarius-Hortus, Year of Grace 1352:

I do not think I have ever seen a face so beautiful. I had the uncomfortable feeling I was betraying the memory of Veritae merely by looking. But Veritae was fifteen years gone, and she was here, in the full flush of her youth. Black hair gathered at the back of her head, large dark eyes, a straight nose with perfectly-shaped nostrils, and lips fuller and lovelier than I could remember seeing. Blessed with beauty. And touched by sadness.

She had not seen me approach; she was looking wonderingly at the Aeturnum that had clearly bonded with her, its petals turning a deeper brown than any I had ever seen. The morning was chill with a fresh breeze, and she drew up the collar of her shining reddish skin jacket.

Without conscious thought I found myself looking around; I was not surprised to see a tall man standing on the Memoriam Steps, his pale brown coat billowing slightly as he stood contemplating the lake.

What is it about large bodies of water that draws our gaze? Perhaps the combination of stillness and movement, the visual appeal of a shining surface and the knowledge of the concealed depth? Perhaps a body of water mirrors the pattern of creation in this way. Perhaps that is the secret of the spiritual repose that water brings us. I made my way carefully down the last part of the path, assisted by a supporting grip on my arm from Abelard; at my age even the slightest slope becomes a (possibly imagined) peril. The young woman became aware of my approach and came to her feet, looking instinctively towards the distant figure of the man before properly registering the figure of Abelard and taking a step back.

‘Do not fear. I know his appearance is against him, but he is harmless.’

‘Oh…’ She put a hand on her chest, taking a deep breath. She looked warily up at Abelard’s face before returning her gaze to mine. ‘Hello. I’m…Martha. Martha Jones.’

‘Septuagint-Honorarius-Hortus.’ At the look on her face I felt suddenly moved to add: ‘But my name…is Maria.’

And there it was, the word that had not passed my lips – had scarcely even entered my thoughts – for six decades or more. Why had I given it now, to this young woman?



Martha extended a hand, but I did not trust myself to take it, so I put my own hands together and bowed slightly. She echoed my action with an uncertain smile. I looked over towards the Steps. ‘And that, of course, will be the Doctor.’

She looked at him and smiled, but there was something else there, something that kept the smile from reaching her eyes. ‘He said he’d been here before.’

‘Many times. Have you seen his Aeturnum?’

Her expression made me realise I should have made myself clearer. I gestured down at the bed. ‘The flower that stands somewhat alone. I had never known a bloom that changed in this way. I do not know how long it took me to understand that they were all the same man.’ I shook my head. ‘Or perhaps I always knew.’

She looked down at the flower but did not stoop for a closer view. ‘The others…what were they like?’ I could see she was resisting the urge to look directly at me.

‘They were…good men.’

One image surfaced in my mind to belie the statement—but then, I had not spoken to that man.

Martha was struggling with another question. ‘Were there…always…others? With him, I mean?’

‘Almost always.’

‘Was there…I mean, did you ever see…a girl…’

‘There have been many…girls…’ ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course.’ She sighed. ‘Never mind.’ She lifted her head, still not looking at me, her eyes seeking out the figure on the lake. ‘So…the Doctor says this is the garden for some kind of a monastery? I sometimes wish I had faith. Must be nice to talk to someone – or something – and know that they hear you. That they see you.’

‘I have often thought it must be, yes.’

She looked at me, a line creasing her perfect brow. ‘Sorry, are you saying…?’ She dropped her eyes, thinking, then looked up again. ‘If you don’t…if you don’t believe, why are you here?’

‘Sometimes, uncertainty has a stronger grip than sure knowledge. Sometimes, one simply waits to be heard.’ I knew that this was not the whole truth, but I hesitated before speaking again. ‘Sometimes…one cannot help but hold on to the little one has.’

She was now avoiding looking towards the lake. ‘Is that…cowardice? Is it stupid?’

‘It is human.’

‘And he isn’t. But he’s holding on to something. Someone.’

‘Perhaps that is why he came here. This place – the blooms, the water, the space – has been known to lay many ghosts to rest.’

All the while she had been speaking to me I was aware that her attention was divided, and now she turned her head towards the lake again. He was moving, returning to the shore. I saw her restrain herself from running to him. She did not look at me as she murmured: ‘It’s a bit pathetic, I know.’

‘You…had a choice—whether or not to accompany him?’

She nodded.

‘Then to expose yourself to such potential hurt could be seen as a courageous choice.’

‘But if it’s pointless…?’

‘Who can say what is the point of anything we do?’ I turned with her to watch him approach. ‘I question daily the purpose of my existence here...but here I remain.’

He thrust his hands into his pockets as he came to stand before us; upright, energetic, with a mobile, youthful face framing the most sparkling brown eyes I had ever observed in a man. ‘Well, if it isn’t my old friend…no, wait, don’t tell me, I know this… Quinquaginta-Soror-Hortus!’ He pulled out his hands as if to shake mine, remembered, clapped his hands loudly together.

‘You flatter me, Doctor; I have not been Quinquaginta for nearly eleven years now.’

‘Really? You sure? Ah, well, who’s counting?’ There was a moment of stillness, as he seemed to be looking at each of us in turn. ‘So,’ he said to Martha, ‘find yourself an Aeturnum?’

She was nodding, but before she could speak, he looked past my head. ‘And who’s this strapping fellow? Have we met? People say all Ogrons look alike, but I’d swear I know that face…’

It was impossible not to respond to his energy. I smiled. ‘This is Abelard. You…left him with us after your last visit.’

‘Did I?’ He froze for a moment, his mouth open. ‘Ooohhh yes, I do remember. Longer ago than you’d think.’ He flashed a quick grin at me. ‘Blinovitch, as well—doesn’t help. Bits filter through. Well, Abelard – interesting choice of name, by the way – must say I like the bits of grey in your hair. Very distinguished. I used to have some of that. Probably will again.’

He looked up at Abelard for a moment or two longer, then returned his attention to us. ‘So, are we good to go?’

‘What?’ Martha seemed taken aback. ‘We only just got here…’

‘Well, mustn’t hang about, we don’t want to get in the Sister’s way…’

‘I am no longer a Sister. I am now an Honorarius.’

He lifted his brows. ‘Oooh, a Dam-in-waiting, practically.’ Before I could assert my modesty, he shot at me: ‘Ever left Caela since you got here?’

‘…No.’

‘And how long ago was that?’

‘I…I was…seven years old.’

He stood quite still and examined my face. ‘Sixty odd years on one planet. I don’t know how you do it.’ He firmed his mouth into a line. ‘I’d’ve been doing anything – making flying machines, building a tower of stones trying to reach the sky – after a week.’ A light gleamed in his eye and he grinned. ‘Want to come for a little spin?’

‘What…? You mean…’

He nodded. ‘Twice round the spiral arm and home via the nearest supernova. Close your mouth, Jones, you look like a drunk Kandalingan.’

I glanced at Martha, who was recovering from her surprise. I tried to steady my thoughts. ‘B-but…I have responsibilities…they will be expecting m—’

‘You’ll be back before they know you’ve gone. And I’m not just saying that.’ He extended an arm, indicating the nearest slope. ‘Just over the hill.’ His eyes seemed to reach into my heart. ‘How about it?’

I think I went mostly because I thought it might help me to understand him—to understand what he was, where he came from, where he was going. In the end, I understood none of those things.

But I saw the heart of the sun that lights Caela; I saw the darkness that lies beyond the edge of our galaxy, and the million million galaxies that swim in it; I saw worlds where the sole living intelligence took gaseous form; I saw the deepest chasm in all the known worlds and the winged creatures that exist only to swoop and sing amid its chorus of fathomless echoes; I saw marriage and birth and disease and death and the creation of a new world; I saw enough to make me sink to my knees in awed helplessness, and for him, all it seemed to do was serve as a spur to further exploration, greater excitement, higher joy. Eyes bright, mouth wide, he treated each new sight as if it was a gift to him that he was sharing with us. Watching him, being with him, I certainly came to better understand Martha’s situation, at least.

I do not know if he meant to give me faith, but that is what I have brought back with me from those few days that passed in a few minutes. I have seen the depths inside the smallest things, I have seen how the great can be contained within the tiny, and I have finally seen, finally understood, that we are loved—because all of creation is loved, all of it has purpose and that purpose is to bring forth love. That we are here and that we know we are here, that we can speak and question and dream and cry and laugh is to me a gift that could not be the result of mere chance, the product of a mechanical universe, but could only come from a source ultimately beyond even the very highest graspings of our material minds, something we cannot hope to understand but can only serve by attending to what it offers us from day to day, be it adventure and death or the simplest domestic task that we have performed a thousand times before.

And somehow, in so many of the wonders I was shown, I was brought back to the memory of Veritae. If all of life is a returning to or a quest for the source, that which ignites the spark of life within each of us, then surely we find it displayed most plainly in another heart which surrenders all its defences before us. We look into another’s eyes to see not only their soul but our own, brought to full flower. It is not that we need another to complete us, but that there are parts of us that remain incompletely expressed without that profound and private blending of souls and bodies.

Yes, I believe I understood Martha better, by the time we returned. Who could look into that face, so alive, and not be seized by a desperate longing?

He explained to me the different faces I had seen, the process by which he renewed himself and survived what might otherwise have destroyed him. I could not help but notice the number of times he used the word ‘we’ and then corrected himself—said ‘I’. It was the only private conversation we had, while Martha slept, and I found I could not ask most of the questions that haunted me.

When we returned the Doctor went for a final look at the lake. Martha hovered close to me. ‘Are you all right?’

I was dizzy with exultation…and a sudden profound sense of grief. I managed a nod and stumbled towards the Aeturnum bed. Abelard’s great hands came out to offer support, but I waved him aside. I fell on my knees before the flower that had been Veritae’s. There, the sense of love and of loss overwhelmed me and I wept as I had not wept since I was a novice.

Martha stood silently beside me. I had told her of the rarity of physical contact in our order. When I had recovered, she crouched next to me and gently laid a hand on mine. There was as much of life in that slight pressure as in all the worlds and stars and systems I had just seen.



From the daybook of Octo-Dam-Maria, Year of Grace 1364:

My first act as Dam has been to re-introduce the use of proper names. This has caused some consternation among the older Sisters and Honorarii.

Considerably more consternation in fact, than was caused to Soror-Hortus-Hazel by her discovery this morning of two visitors to the garden. She behaved with remarkable composure; she did not speak to them, but watched them for some time and brought me a report.

A young woman with soft, shining black hair, small, with a rounded face and quick movements. Exceedingly pretty, Soror Hazel said—and I felt the smallest pang that I no longer visit the garden.

The man was tall, with grey-white hair and eyes that pierced, even from a distance. He seemed to be withdrawn, and Soror Hazel noted that the young woman appeared a little uncertain around him, as if they did not know each other very well. He looked at the lake, and she talked and walked up and down, and then they left. Soror Hazel did not see where they went; I assume he had landed the TARDIS a little way away, as he so often does.

Will I see him again? Abelard is a comfort to me in these times, as he is solid proof that those encounters by the lake were real. Today I gave his pacifier to the workshop Sisters to recycle; I have not used it since he bonded. That must be four years ago now. His mane has turned white and his spine is a little bent, but he is still able to carry a food canister on each shoulder. I must get him to help me down to the lake, one of these days.

Part 7 here

This Time, This Place (Part 1) - 50th Anniversary Fiction

Disclaimer: This is not an adventure as such, more a character study and a commemoration, though there is a story of sorts. I would like to have included everyone, but it wasn’t practical, so I should warn those entering here – there’s no Rose, but her influence is felt, and there’s no Sarah Jane, but her absence is definitely felt. (As is Elisabeth Sladen’s, surely a shoo-in for the 50th programme if she’d still been with us.) So, please just consider this a brief visit with each of those splendid fellows, and a few of their assistants. (...Companions. Fellow travellers. Whatever...)

The story will be posted in seven parts, ending 16th November 2013.



Prologue: (Year of Grace 1368)

Crouching, he passes his hand in front of the heads of the flowers at the end. The stems give out tiny creaks as the Aeturnums lean, their pale red petals spreading and shifting in hue. He smiles as the colours follow one another; green, grey, brown, blue. He opens his eyes wider and leans in, as if to offer the flowers a better view. ‘Can’t quite get this set, can you?’ He addresses himself primarily to a flower that is already dark brown, but is fluctuating slightly as he stares at it. The red-petalled flowers subside into stillness.

He looks across to where the young woman is gazing out across the water. ‘Clara...’ He straightens up and lifts his head, tilting his prominent chin slightly towards his companion. ‘What colour are my eyes?’

She flicks aside her black hair as she glances round. ‘I don’t know. Depends on the light.’ She immediately returns her attention to the lake. ‘Time Lord colour?’

He looks at her for a moment, then skips down the slope to join her at the water’s edge. He waits without speaking.

She does not look at him. ‘I don’t know. They’re odd—-multi-coloured. Multi-dimensional, almost. Like...well...you know...bigger on the inside.’

‘Now she says it,’ he mutters, following her gaze out across the placid water to the solitary, white-capped mountain beyond the low brown hills. ‘Well...everyone’s eyes are bigger on the inside, anyway.’

‘Windows to the soul...?’

‘If you like. Every person’s bigger on the inside.’ He pauses. ‘“Soul”?’ He looks at her. ‘You know, speaking existentially—-’

‘Why?’

He frowns. ‘Why what? Why are we here? Speaking existen—’

‘No, I like it here. Don’t need a reason for the stop off. Why are you asking about your eyes.’

‘Nothing, it’s just – I noticed, this time the Aeturnums can’t match the— what d’you mean, ‘Time Lord colour’? How many Time Lords do you know?’

She looks at him pointedly. ‘Just the one. So far. But they change every regeneration. Your eyes, I mean. I thought...possibly sometimes you get a sort of mixture.’ Clara looks closely at the Doctor’s face. ‘I liked four’s very much. And that grin…’

His wispy brows lower. His head shifts uneasily between his shoulders. He looks at her, then at the water. His mouth makes shapes but he says nothing. He plucks at his bow tie, straightens his back and firms his thin lips into a line. His gaze is now fixed on the distant snow-covered peak.

Clara turns her eyes surreptitiously in his direction and controls her smile. ‘And six. Such...intelligence.’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ He folds his arms. ‘IQ points are all very well, anyone can stack up IQ points. But what about emotional intelligence?’

‘Listen to the geek-boy pot talking about the kettle...’

‘And sartorial intelligence?’

Clara opens her mouth, then closes it again after a moment. ‘Mmm. Okay.’

‘And, while we’re on the subject of clothes, the number of times he – I – we – nearly tripped over that scarf...’

Clara lets out a small, quickly suppressed snort and turns to him. But her eyes are caught by something else. He turns to follow her gaze. The sight of the line of rough, flat rocks stretching out from the shore into the water brings a sad smile to his lips. ‘Ah. The seventeen stones.’

‘Eighteen,’ she says, after a few moments.

‘No, it—’ He looks at her, then back at the stones. She lifts her eyebrows at the back of his head. He counts.

He sets off along the shore. ‘Come on.’



From the Day Book of Deci-Novina-Hortus, Year of Grace 1292:

When I went down to the garden today at sun-view there were people there. I watched them for a while, then went and told Nono-Dam. She didn’t believe me. None of them believed me at first; they said I must have fallen asleep and been dreaming. The Sisters sit all day talking to a spirit that no one can see or touch or hear, but they wouldn’t believe in people, real people, just standing and talking by the water—talking to each other, not to the air. But they had to believe me when they took me down to the water and everyone could see the footprints. The lady took off her shoes and let the water wash over her feet. They could see the shape of the lady’s beautiful feet in the ground, and a few marks of the man’s shoes farther away from the water.

I had watched them from the Ventus bushes by the path. I was just close enough to hear them; although they were strangers, I understood every word they spoke. Well, not every word—but it was our tongue. None of the Sororiate believed that, either.

His coat was so bright in the sunlight it almost hurt my eyes – garish lapels of red and yellow, and on the body of it, thin black lines crossing each other on a red background. He looked a bit like the party-droll I saw on the Morestran transit ship, with his golden curling hair and yellow striped breeches. His eyes didn’t make me laugh, though, even from so far away. After I’d been watching a minute he took his coat off and laid it next to him where he sat. He turned his face up to the sun.

The lady’s clothes made me wish for my old things—not so bright as his, but a soft white shirt and pale blue breeches that left her legs open to the air. I might have shown myself, I might have spoken to them, but I couldn’t stand beside her in my brown smock. And with my hair shorn! I can’t wait for the day when I’ll be able to wear the Cappa. Her hair was so smooth and black, just long enough to rest on her shoulders. It was beautiful.

She seemed unhappy, holding herself with her arms and moving her feet through the water, looking down as she went, as if she was searching for something.

‘Where would you go back to?’ said the man. ‘Not to your step-father.’

The lady pulled her mouth to one side, and shook her head.

‘I know, I know, Necros wasn’t,’ he hesitated, ‘the most pleasant of experiences, but-—’

‘It’s not that.’ She turned and faced him, still standing in the water, spreading her arms slightly. ‘I was thinking…what we’ve seen is just the tip of a…galactic iceberg, I guess. So much suffering; what can we…’ She stopped herself. ‘I mean, how do you decide…?’

‘Not always knowing where the TARDIS will land next has its advantages. No one can make those kinds of choices, Peri.’

‘So you trust to blind luck?’

‘I’m not so sure luck, if it exists, is so blind. I think you have to trust that wherever you are is the place you’re meant to be.’

I thought then that I couldn’t see how they’d got here. I looked around for a vehicle, but the only thing I could see was a tall dark blue cabinet, like a small hut, standing near the shore a little way beyond the Memoriam Steps.

She was saying: ‘You’re not saying you think there’s some intelligence guiding the universe? Wow. That’s pretty close to relig—’

‘I’d be very careful of thinking that intelligence, as you or I understand it, is the only kind. Remember James Jeans: “the universe looks not so much like a great machine—-more like a great thought”. Of course, I had to prompt him a bit…’

‘“Remember”? Do I know this man?’

‘Oh…no, that was Polly…and Ben. Well, I can always take you to meet him…’

‘That’s okay. Another time.’

‘There’s always another time.’ He wagged a finger in the air. ‘But it’s never as important as this one.’ He stood up abruptly, brushing at his breeches and putting his coat over his arm. ‘Now, come along – let me show you why I brought you here.’ He walked quickly up the slope, not waiting for her. She stood watching him for a moment then followed, picking up her shoes before she hurried to catch him up.

He squatted by the Aeturnum bed. The flowers began to lift their heads. ‘As an alleged botanist, Perpugilliam, this should interest you.’

‘“Alleged”? Show me your medical degree, “Doctor”—-and then be prepared to take notes…’

‘You have heard of Joseph Lister, I take it…?’

‘What..?’ She got down beside him. The Aeturnums wavered slightly, not sure where to focus their attention. I saw her mouth fall open. ‘They’re moving…’

He sighed. ‘Nothing escapes the eagle eye of Professor Brown…’

‘Watch it.’ But her voice lost the sharp edge at once. ‘What are they…?’

‘Aeturnums. Another kind of intelligence. They bond – telepathically and otherwise – with higher life forms. Well—sentient life forms, which is not necessarily the same thing…’

‘Why are they changing colour…? They’re changing all the time…and this…this one’s brown…?’

‘They match eye colour. No one knows why. That one has latched on to you, it seems.’ The man leaned closer to a flower that now had bright blue petals. ‘And this one likes me.’

‘No accounting for taste.’

‘Mmm.’ The man sat back. ‘They bond for life. Those two flowers will always be that colour now. Well, if I don’t come again…’ He waved a hand over the rest of the bed. One or two of the flowers twitched, but none changed colour this time. ‘Normally they’re that sort of pale red.’ He reached out a hand quickly. ‘No, no, don’t pick it. If it’s left alone it could live for a hundred years.’

The lady was obviously puzzled. ‘But…but if it’s bonded…shouldn’t I…aren’t we going to take them with us?’

‘They won’t survive in the TARDIS environment.’

‘Are you sure? I thought the TARDIS was about the most—’

‘I’m sure.’ He stood slowly, looking down at the Aeturnums. ‘But think of this; wherever you go, whatever happens to you, there’ll be a memory, and impression of you – of both of us – in this time, and this place.’ He gestured at the dark brown flower. ‘That’s part of you now. And you’re part of it.’

She got to her feet beside him, and they looked together at the rows of blooms. Then she looked at him. ‘What is this time? When…are we?’

‘Approximately half a million years after your time. But even here, even now, there are human descendants on Caela.’

‘People?’

He waved a hand at the Aeturnums again. ‘This garden is still tended.’

‘But only one kind of flower…’

‘Yes, well…’ he looked around, and I hid a little further behind the bushes. ‘It’s a religious order. See the odd-coloured ones? The members of the Cenobate come down here when they first arrive, find one of Aeturnums, and bond.’

‘What for?’

‘I expect they find it grounds them in some way. Simplicity was what Thomas More thought plants were created for. Do you feel grounded, Peri?’

She spoke slowly, after a few seconds. ‘I feel…I don’t know. Not stressed.’

‘Well, there you are. Do you feel ready to face what the universe has to throw at us?’

She took a deep breath, and smiled. ‘I guess.’

As he lifted his arm and she took it, I stepped forward without meaning to, half out of the cover of the bushes. But their backs were turned and they did not see me. As they walked along the shore in the direction of the Memoriam Steps, I felt I wanted to run after them. The Sororiate had been as kind as they knew how, but I did not want to stay on Caela for the rest of my life. At that moment I was so frightened by the future I saw that I was ready to run after the strangers and beg them to take me away with them, for all their talk of suffering wherever they went.

But I was too afraid, and I watched them as they walked a little way out on the Steps, stood there for a time looking at the lake, then walked back and into the hut thing. There was a noise which seemed to me like the cry of some beast or monster, and I hid. When I looked the hut was gone.

Of course I said nothing to the Nono-Dam or any of the others about the disappearing hut. Or about my feelings.

Part 2 here



Notes on The Sororiate Pantheia

The Sororiate are a multi-denominational order in the cenobitic tradition – that is, the sisterhood welcomes adherents of many spiritual paths, and stress community life. The Sororiate was founded in the late period of the Seventh Morestran Empire, on the planet Caela, and eventually spread to several hundred worlds as far apart as Draconia and New Refusis.

Nomenclature: the sisters usually abandon their given names when they take their vows (a practice discontinued by the Marian sect, but reinstated later by some others), and are thenceforth known by their appointed task, the stage of their progress in the life of the spirit and of the community, and the decade of life they are living through. Younger aspirants are graded for every year up to the age of twenty.

Thus: Deci-Novina-Hortus denotes a ten-year-old novice gardener. An older novice (eleven and beyond) is Novus. Each section of the community (gardening, cookery, laundry, etc.) will have members at different stages, but no more than one novice, one disciple, one sister, and sometimes an Honorarius, a senior sister who is semi-retired from her official duties but may in time become a Dam, of which there is only one at any time, designated by age and title.