Doctor Who_ Blue Box Part 29

Maybe it happened all at once when she paced my apartment, knowing she ought to be by his side; maybe she got there in a lot of little steps. In any case, I reckon she's going to keep holding on loosely.

The day she and the Doctor left, I visited them at the hotel.

For the first time, I got to see the Doctor in his 'ordinary'

clothes. The black suit was gone. Instead, he was wearing the coat I had glimpsed in the hotel closet an old-fas.h.i.+oned coat that came down to the tops of his calves, big lapels, big pockets. One lapel was orange and the other was pink, with a Bill the Cat badge pinned to it. All those patches tartan, red, big blue and white checks made it look as though it had been repaired over centuries by a dynasty of blind seamstresses.

Somehow I could imagine him trekking through the dust of Nepal or Morocco or even striding up Tottenham Court Road, looking utterly unselfconscious even as the natives stared. Customs officers and government ministers would take him seriously. No-one else could have got away with it. 'What seems extraordinary in one place seems utterly ordinary in another,' he p.r.o.nounced. 'What's fas.h.i.+onable in one era seems ludicrous in another.'

'Yeah, and disco's gonna make a comeback,' I said. He just raised an eyebrow at me.

I waited with him and Peri in the lobby, while the concierge ordered them a taxi to take them back to their boat.

They looked comfortable together, standing closer than friends but not as close as a couple. When a bellhop stared at the Doctor's coat, Peri first looked down in embarra.s.sment, then stared back until the bellhop hurried on his way.

They were both vague about where they were going next.

'So are you gonna write a book about us?' said Peri, changing the subject.

'Oh, yeah,' I said. 'I'm not getting much out of east-coast journalism. I think I'll write me a bestseller and then hang up my typewriter for a while.'

'Will you put everything everything in it?' she said. in it?' she said.

'Everything.' Peri looked at the Doctor, a little panicked.

'Don't worry. Names will be changed to protect the innocent.'

'Very well,' said the Doctor.

Peri touched my elbow, shyly. 'You're gonna be OK?'

'Thanks for your concern, little lady' I pecked her on the forehead, making her blush. The taxi was pulling up in front of us. 'I'm more worried about where your life is going to lead you. You take care of each other, now.'

I looked at the Doctor over the roof of the taxi. 'You're never gonna tell me everything everything, are you?' He just shook his head, with a wicked smile. 'Oh well. Can't blame a guy for trying.'

And me?

Once the final draft of this ma.n.u.script is in the hands of my publishers8, I'm heading back to the city of Angels.

Maybe, from there, it'll be a plane back to Sydney. I'll make up my mind as I go. Maybe I'll even find somewhere I like between one side of America and the other, and stop there for a while. I've bought a little Citroen, in honour of the one I destroyed on my way out of California, all those years ago. I put my typewriter in the trunk, but then thought better of it. By the time I feel like writing again, I'll probably be using a computer to do it.

Will computers of the future have biological components, maybe modified human brains? It's a nightmarish concept, and yet there must come a point at which the computer can't get any faster without also speeding up the lump of cold porridge that's trying to interface with it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is us.

Maybe the story goes like this: The princess cried out as the bull plunged into the ocean, his skin the colour of the foaming surf that surged around him.

She was terrified he would drag her beneath the waves. But instead the bull swam in powerful strokes, further and further from the sh.o.r.e, deeper and deeper into the ocean. Soon the 8 An Australian, writing an American story for British readers.

I pity the poor copy editor who has to cope with my spelling.

sh.o.r.e behind was Just a shape, then a line, and then it was lost to her.

The sea was rough, but the bull's strong swimming kept them safely afloat. Slowly the princess let go of her frightened grip on the bull's neck. She eased herself up until she was sitting, her knees holding his muscular back in an easy grasp.

Soon she was riding the bull without difficulty, her eyes fixed on the blue curve of the horizon, eager to see what would emerge from the waves.

'Well, what do you know,' said the princess. 'I was a cowboy all along.'

Acknowledgements

CHICK PETERS would like to thank his interview subjects, especially Peri, the Doctor, and Ian Mond, for giving so much of their time to talk to him.

KATE ORMAN would like to thank Nicola Bryant, Mark Bemay and Evan Doorbell, the denizens of alt.folklore.computers, Kyla Ward, Lloyd Rose, Lance Parkin, Greg McElhatton, the Infinitas writers' group, Alryssa and Tom Kelly, Mum and Dad for the loan of the loft, and Geoff Wessel for FLEX YOUR HEAD. And, as always, her busy bee Jon, without whose help this book simply could not have been written. Forgive me, all of you, for all the good advice you gave which I didn't take.

About the Author.

CHICK PETERS lives in Tiburon with his wife Sally, three kids, and two cats.

KATE ORMAN is the granddaughter of Jack Warren Orman (1916-2001), from whom she ultimately inherited a great part of her sense of humour and turn of phrase. She has written or co-written eleven Doctor Who Doctor Who novels; her short stories have appeared in novels; her short stories have appeared in Interzone Interzone and and Realms of Fantasy Realms of Fantasy. Kate lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and co-author Jonathan Blum. You can visit their home on the Internet at http://www.zip.com.au/~korman/.