You will probably want to read the Introduction before you start.
Prologue
Robin took the last swig of her drink and dropped the bottle on the floor with a limp hand. It joined the other empty glass bottles as it thumped and rested on the carpet, puddles of wine leaking from the opening and seeping into the cream-coloured floor, polluting it to blood-red.
It was the third night in a row and she’d almost shifted the memories. Alcohol worked for memory like that, but it was only like a morning frost. Soon, the effects would clear, and Robin would be able to see again. She hated being able to see. She preferred the figurative frost, however cold it left her inside.
She knew that she’d have to drink enough to forget. Not enough glasses, and the alcohol would work as a mild depressant, keeping her conscious of what had happened but that little bit sadder. She didn’t know how much she’d drunk now, losing count as her ability to complete calculations deteriorated. She was just a machine, taking in as much as she could and chugging away. Her cogs were wearing stiff, clashing against each other as they spun, and slowing, in desperate need of repair.
She didn’t notice the lights flashing outside of her window, covering the sunset. If she did, she passed it off as her intoxicated mind playing tricks. But it was nobody’s mind. That impossible lightshow was very much real.
The Pharos Institute
Professor Graves threw the papers off the desk, rejoicing in the mess they made over the floor – then, ironically, moved carefully over them. When he reached the filing cabinet he stopped and kicked it. He sighed. He knew what was coming. The curse of computerised memos. Sandra had the nerve to send it to him over the building’s messaging system: Sorry hun, time 2 pack ur things x. She must have overheard a management conversation. He resented every abbreviation in there. There was no need, was there? It’s not like Sandra was busy. She just ate biscuits and logged names all day.
Cartwright entered. Chest up, poker-face, combed-back hair – basic management techniques.
“Professor Graves.” Graves had heard that voice a few too many times. “I’m sorry-“
“There’s no need for the awkward moment.” Graves shook his head. “I know what you’ve come to say. Hence the papers all over the floor.”
“We love having you here. You’re one of the country’s best scientists, and your work on orbit has been fantastic. But we can’t fund these projects. They’re expensive and you’re getting slower. We’re moving forward, and you’re-“
“I’m a dinosaur,” interjected Graves, solemnly. “Yes, I know. It’s what you all think. I’m seventy years old and I’m trapped in the past. But I’ve got modern views and ideas. Age is only the mind, and my…” He tapped his cranium with his index finger. “My mind is still young. Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t make it harder for me, Graves,” urged Cartwright. “You know I hate telling you this, and you know me well enough to know that if I could have done anything, I-“
Cartwright was interrupted by a lightshow from outside. It shone in through the skylights, allowing Graves to bask in it like some sort of Messianic figure. Quickly aware of what was happening, he moved to the site, rejecting his own authority. The room shook and Cartwright instinctively grabbed Graves to stop him from falling and injuring himself. The shaking stopped after a few seconds. The room looked no different; they hardly counted the few extra papers that had fallen to the floor.
“What the hell was that?” asked Cartwright.
“I know you hate telling me this, but I know you well enough to know that if you could have done anything,” quoted Graves, “you… would?”
“Why are you talking about your job? What was that?”
“Well…“ Graves lifted the form Cartwright had been holding. “It depends how desperate you are to know…”
It was the third night in a row and she’d almost shifted the memories. Alcohol worked for memory like that, but it was only like a morning frost. Soon, the effects would clear, and Robin would be able to see again. She hated being able to see. She preferred the figurative frost, however cold it left her inside.
She knew that she’d have to drink enough to forget. Not enough glasses, and the alcohol would work as a mild depressant, keeping her conscious of what had happened but that little bit sadder. She didn’t know how much she’d drunk now, losing count as her ability to complete calculations deteriorated. She was just a machine, taking in as much as she could and chugging away. Her cogs were wearing stiff, clashing against each other as they spun, and slowing, in desperate need of repair.
She didn’t notice the lights flashing outside of her window, covering the sunset. If she did, she passed it off as her intoxicated mind playing tricks. But it was nobody’s mind. That impossible lightshow was very much real.
The Pharos Institute
Professor Graves threw the papers off the desk, rejoicing in the mess they made over the floor – then, ironically, moved carefully over them. When he reached the filing cabinet he stopped and kicked it. He sighed. He knew what was coming. The curse of computerised memos. Sandra had the nerve to send it to him over the building’s messaging system: Sorry hun, time 2 pack ur things x. She must have overheard a management conversation. He resented every abbreviation in there. There was no need, was there? It’s not like Sandra was busy. She just ate biscuits and logged names all day.
Cartwright entered. Chest up, poker-face, combed-back hair – basic management techniques.
“Professor Graves.” Graves had heard that voice a few too many times. “I’m sorry-“
“There’s no need for the awkward moment.” Graves shook his head. “I know what you’ve come to say. Hence the papers all over the floor.”
“We love having you here. You’re one of the country’s best scientists, and your work on orbit has been fantastic. But we can’t fund these projects. They’re expensive and you’re getting slower. We’re moving forward, and you’re-“
“I’m a dinosaur,” interjected Graves, solemnly. “Yes, I know. It’s what you all think. I’m seventy years old and I’m trapped in the past. But I’ve got modern views and ideas. Age is only the mind, and my…” He tapped his cranium with his index finger. “My mind is still young. Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t make it harder for me, Graves,” urged Cartwright. “You know I hate telling you this, and you know me well enough to know that if I could have done anything, I-“
Cartwright was interrupted by a lightshow from outside. It shone in through the skylights, allowing Graves to bask in it like some sort of Messianic figure. Quickly aware of what was happening, he moved to the site, rejecting his own authority. The room shook and Cartwright instinctively grabbed Graves to stop him from falling and injuring himself. The shaking stopped after a few seconds. The room looked no different; they hardly counted the few extra papers that had fallen to the floor.
“What the hell was that?” asked Cartwright.
“I know you hate telling me this, but I know you well enough to know that if you could have done anything,” quoted Graves, “you… would?”
“Why are you talking about your job? What was that?”
“Well…“ Graves lifted the form Cartwright had been holding. “It depends how desperate you are to know…”
The Eighth Doctor Adventures
Series 1 - Episode 4
EARTHSTOP
Written by The Genie
“We need to tread very carefully,” instructed Graves, lightly stepping over to the doorway at the end of the room. “I need to see if there are any spilled chemicals. This could be incredibly dangerous.” He entered the passcode and the door swung open.
A fizzling puddle of acid was on the floor. Empty bottles and test tubes lay haphazardly on the shelves like one of those Health & Safety ‘Spot the Hazard’ exercises. Graves choked and wafted the smoke away.
“Move back!” he choked. “There’s gas, and it looks like I can see-“
His eyes widened and he ran to Cartwright as quickly as he could, pushing him through the other door and fire exit. Graves smashed the alarm on his way out, and the action was heightened by flashing lights and ringing alarms. Their spectacle was outdone by a mighty explosion and the sound of the skylight smashing; both me fell onto the cobbled floor as shrapnel soared over their heads.
“Highly-reactive elements!” exclaimed Graves. “Never let them meet.”
10 Downing Street, London
“We’ve done our best to keep these events to ourselves, but-“
“To ourselves?!” The Prime Minister thumped his desk, startling the UNIT officer. “The whole damned world felt that tremor! There are going to be a lot of questions directed at us. I need you to find me answers.”
“Sir,” continued the UNIT officer, secretly fearing this pointless figurehead. “It will only be a matter of minutes before the entire population become aware of the greater problem at hand. It’s sunset. And because the Earth has stopped turning, it’ll continue to be sunset. They’ll notice soon, and we need to tell them something, sir.”
“Are you sure it’s stopped turning?”
“It seems the only likely option. Nothing is changing in the sky. It’s like time has frozen.”
The Prime Minister bit his lip in thought. “Then I’ll have to make a statement. But we need experts. Gather experts.” He crossed his legs, a relaxing motion that, in his case, usually indicated stress. “Professor Graves of the Pharos Institute, he’s one of the nation’s greatest experts regarding orbit. And…” he considered, feeling sweat gathering on his brow. Just the thought of the name did that. But he had to say it. “Has the Doctor been contacted?”
The UNIT ffficer raised his eyebrow.
“Yes, I know I’m not supposed to know about the Doctor, but I do. I know what he’s done for the country before, and he’s the ultimate expert. Has he been contacted?”
“He will be,” answered the UNIT Officer.
Primrose Hill, London
Robin was woken up by curtains being pulled. The light hit her instantly, stinging her eyes. As she lifted her head, she felt the weight of a bad hangover. Suddenly, alcohol seemed like the last thing she wanted. But she knew, from experience, that that feeling would only last about an hour.
“I let myself in,” said Christine. Christine was Robin’s neighbour, if ‘neighbour’ wasn’t an insult. Christine had been so much more than a neighbour, supporting Robin whenever she needed it, even if she didn’t necessarily want it.
She was a dark-skinned African woman who spoke with a strong accent and wore dresses which resembled curtains. Her face was crafted for a smile.
“You’ve got to get up, Robin,” she said, picking up bottles. “You’ve got an interview later. I got you an interview at Coal Hill School. I know the headmaster and he said there was a vacancy.”
“I’ve… got… a…” murmured Robin.
“Hangover?” Christine bagged up the glass and wandered into the kitchen. “We’ll sort that out for you. You need a job. Something to get you out.”
Great, thought Robin, sarcastically. Great…
***
“That looks better.”
Robin’s head was still heavy and her throat like sandpaper, but she’d masked her appearance with copious amounts of subtle makeup and the Aspirin was starting to bring some life back into her.
“Tie back your hair,” suggested Christine. “And I’ll slice some cucumber to stick over your eyes for ten minutes, it should brighten them up.”
“Thanks.” Waking up, Robin was beginning to see sense. She didn’t want to go anywhere but knew, in her heart, that the interview would be a good opportunity. “So what are the news saying about this sunset thing?”
Christine picked up the remote and turned the television on low.
“We would ask everyone to continue their days as if they were normal. Public transport will be functioning and workplaces will be open. As far as we’re aware, the light changes are a natural phenomenon to do with light absorption.” It was the Prime Minister, lying through his teeth. Some things never changed. “For now, we would like to refute any claims that this has anything to do with the Earth’s rotation. We currently have experts gathering-“
Robin turned it off. She’d heard enough. They didn’t know any more than her.
10 Downing Street, London
“Come in.”
The UNIT officer entered, his eyes red and teary. He was trying to force them open. The Prime Minister sympathised, remembering days when he’d be up all night, getting the real work done. The officer probably wanted nothing more than a small snooze.
“There’s been an attempt to contact the Doctor, sir,” announced the officer. “He hasn’t responded but we’ve also sent him the secret location for our meeting.”
“He might turn up unannounced,” said the Prime Minister with a lot of wishful thinking. “He does that sometimes.”
“Professor Graves will be coming too, sir.”
“Thank you.” The Prime Minister stood up, rolling up the venetian blinds and looking out of his window. His desk glowed orange under the fierce setting sun. “It’ll keep setting,” he remarked. “The sun, I mean. That phenomenon that we see every day for just a few minutes and here we are, trapped with it. Those precious few minutes frozen. They’ll end up becoming a curse.”
The UNIT officer shifted awkwardly by the door.
“Off you go,” said the Prime Minister. “I’m sure I’m keeping you from important work.”
***
The girl had her long, blonde hair tied back as she played the piano, garbed in tight-fitting leather. That was the first thing the Doctor noticed as he opened the door – that and the fact that she deliberately avoided his gaze, even though she wanted nothing more than to look. She played the same chord again, and another one that was perhaps just a semitone dissonant. Unsatisfied, she tried a different one. The Doctor realised she was composing.
The room was circular and coloured a contemporary white, with black furnishings completing the monochrome picture. It felt airy and cool, but the Doctor noticed a heater on the wall flicked deliberately off.
“I don’t normally get visitors,” said the woman, still looking away.
“Well,” began the Doctor. “I don’t normally make visits. Nice cell.”
“Thanks.” She stopped playing and shot him a penetrating stare. “I like it.”
“You must be in here for something pretty bad,” deduced the Doctor as he scanned the room, pricing up the furniture and scanning the piano with his eyes. There was a computer system built into the wall.
“What makes you say that? It’s beautiful in here.”
“Exactly. They must be terrified of you. Only an idiot would tighten up security – if you don’t want someone to escape, all it takes is to make them comfortable.”
“I’m very comfortable,” she said, sitting herself on a padded computer chair.
“What did you do?” interrogated the Doctor.
“I was a criminal forensic psychologist,” replied the woman.
“I didn’t mean your job. And you’re either a criminal psychologist or a forensic psychologist – I’d avoid the surplus words.”
“No, I think you misunderstood me,” retorted the woman, undercutting the Doctor’s deviousness. “I was a forensic psychologist who adopted criminal behaviour. I was a criminal psychologist. We’re the best.”
“I bet. All those years of criminal profiling – you must have played one helluva game.”
She nodded. “My name’s Autumn Rivers. What’s yours?”
“Call me the Doctor.”
“Oh, they’re sending up psychiatrists? What an unusual lot.” Autumn clasped her hands together. “That’s so sweet, but tell them I’m not interested.”
“Funny,” commented the Doctor sarcastically. “But I think you know why I’m here. Tell me what you know.”
“One condition.”
“Name it.”
“You release me.” She relaxed, stretching her arms. “It’s not much to ask.”
“It really is.” The Doctor turned back to his TARDIS. “I can cope without you, Autumn.”
“When I woke up this morning I felt different,” started Autumn. “Everything.” The Doctor stopped. “The world around me shivered and shook, and it felt like I’d been caught in the heartbeat of a dying man.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Something’s going to happen to the universe.”
“Thanks for the clichés.” The Doctor got in the TARDIS and slammed the door. Autumn flexed her fingers, preparing to wait patiently. She knew what was coming next.
***
The Doctor poked his head out of the door and sniffed the air. Newspapers and coffee shops. Definitely London. It was a vacant street, thankfully, one of those side-alleys for old jewellery shops and places to buy e-cigarettes.
“How d’ya do that, then?”
The Doctor looked around, confused. An old man in a worn blazer jacket stared up at the Doctor from his home of cardboard on the ground. The Doctor noticed a tin of change. “You one of those street artists?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Or I could always tell someone…” He drifted off, trying to be compelling. His cockney accent said ex-trader through-and-through.
“Look after it for me?” The Doctor flashed a ten-pound note.
“Consider it done.”
Coal Hill School, London
“Please, sit down.”
The first thing Robin noticed about the headmaster, Mr McKnight, was how attractive he was. Not in a conventional sense – she imagined that one would have to be in a room with him to appreciate it. But the strong scent of his aftershave, coupled with his pensive eyes and sensitive smile, was enough to make her feel at home. She noticed, too, that he was Scottish.
“So, I’m just going to get straight down to business.” Mr McKnight scanned through some papers. “Christ, my secretary’s useless, I’m so sorry.” He chuckled. “These notes are awful. She likes to paraphrase all the emails she’s sent but it’s more like reading an English-to-French translation, or phonetic Scottish…” He moved his finger along the page. “Aha, got you. Mrs Moon. You worked as a pastoral support worker for seven years at two different schools. Neither noted you as anything exceptional, but you got the job done. So – since my secretary only seems to have copied half the notes here – why did you quit?”
“My son died,” replied Robin. “And my husband. My son was six. I found it too painful… the teenagers, I mean. Watching these kids growing up, and knowing mine would never reach that stage. A department store seemed much less complicated.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss. And I’m sorry about my bloody secretary.”
Robin laughed.
“So, what sort of an impact do you think your loss would have today? Is it something which would affect your approach to young people?”
“No, I’m… over…” Robin tried not to focus on her shaking hand. In trying to hide it, she drew Mr McKnight’s attention to it.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.” Robin got up. She couldn’t bear having to tell a single lie. “I think this has been a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”
***
Robin rested her head against the window of the train. It was uncomfortable, but the best she could wish for at that time. The vibrations of the train shook her. Her head was leant so that her ear was up against the back of the seat, listening involuntarily to the phone-call behind.
“I can’t talk now…” Robin didn’t look around, but imagined a man in a suit with a smart haircut and a heavy briefcase. The London type. “I’m on public transport, so I can’t say anything overt. Listen, I’ve been forwarded the location for the conference. If you want to apply, I’ll need the security verification. Right.”
Curiosity got the better of Robin as she followed him off the train. She’d learnt spying techniques not from any kind of training but naturally from her time as a pastoral support worker, following troubled youths around schools to make sure they were staying out of trouble. She fixed her eyes on him, staying behind walls where even her shadow would be hidden. As she stepped out, she bumped into someone and cursed under her breath.
“I’m s-“
She tripped and stumbled. It took her a minute to focus and she wondered if her mind was playing some sort of sick game with her heart. But it was him, the Doctor, clearer than he was in her drunken thoughts.
“Robin…”
“What the hell are you doing here?” hissed Robin.
“I was following this guy. I’m supposed to be going to this meeting, you know, about the sunset thing. I’m sorry, I-“
“What do you know about it? Do you know what’s causing it?”
“Not yet.” The Doctor shook his head, squinting in thought. Someone had to fill the awkward silence. “I have some theories, though… if you want to see them.”
“Why would I want to see them?”
“I don’t know.” He bit his tongue. “You just… might.”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Why all the plants?”
Robin found it strange; the TARDIS, that sonorous, refined place, overcome with potted plants and strangling vegetation.
“It’s an experiment. I’ve linked the TARDIS to the Earth’s timeline, so time passes in here at a normal rate.” He dashed up to a cactus plant, scanning it with his sonic screwdriver. “The plants are growing slower.” He pocketed the screwdriver. “Something’s affecting the rate of fundamental scientific processes on this planet. Something capable of stopping the Earth in space. That’s…” He stroked his chin. “That’s impossible,” he concluded, with raised eyebrows. “Let’s see what the country’s best have to say about it.” The ship softly landed. “Stay here,” he instructed, adjusting some settings. “I’ve made a direct link to the conference so you can listen in, but you’ll have to stay in here.”
A Secret Location – Somewhere
“Professor Owen Graves!” exclaimed the Doctor, shaking the old man’s hand vigorously. “I’ve read some of your work. Fascinating. A human with a coherent understanding of science.”
“I take it this is the Doctor,” he said, looking over to a UNIT soldier.
“Yes, sir.”
There were only about six of them, accompanied by a number of UNIT soldiers. It was a classy conference room with a touchscreen-enhanced table, dimmer lights and maple-wood walls. As they sat down, Graves used his finger to scroll down the table display, selecting an animated graphic of a turning Earth.
“The basic fact of what’s happened is that it’s a miracle. I don’t need to bring up any remotely complex equations yet – I’m going to start at basic logic.” Graves adjusted his glasses. “The Earth,” he said, pointing at the diagram. “Let’s see it like a plane, since we all arrived here on planes. It’s moving, soaring, through space. But when you’re on a plane, you don’t feel it moving because you’re on it and it’s moving smoothly. Then it hits an air pocket.” He wiggled his finger over the diagram, so that the Earth moved up and down. “You get turbulence, as you feel the plane moving up and down. Suddenly you’re aware of the speeds you’re going at. Now let’s consider something impossible.” He lifted his finger. “Now let’s land the plane. Touchdown. You’re aware of the speed then. The plane rockets forwards, and the only reason you don’t is because you’re strapped in. It stops. You lurch forward again. The same goes for a speeding car – if you stop something going that fast that quickly, you lurch forward. The seatbelt holds you back.”
A few people considered muttering something about primary school science.
“This is what’s happened to the Earth, simply. We’ve observed it. The evidence is inconclusive.” Even the doubters were still listening – Grave had conviction in what he was saying. “The Earth has been moving at unimaginable speeds through space and turning at one-thousand, six-hundred and seventy-five kilometres an hour – give or take, depending where you are – and it’s stopped. It’s stopped rotating on its axis, and it’s stopped soaring through space. It’s standing still.” He held his finger down on the image. It stopped suddenly. “We should all be dead. It stops, we lurch forward, like any passenger. We become aware of how quickly we were travelling. Everything would be uprooted; buildings, people. We’d be gathered into the atmosphere like a blender.”
The secretary looked up in horror, pausing over her notes.
“The oceans,” continued Graves. “They’re just the same. Take a bucket of water and fill it to the top. Run with it – if you’re careful, the water won’t spill until you stop. But we’ve stopped. The oceans will move like that water, drowning the land. Earth – or, at least, Earth as we know it – would be destroyed. But, more to the point, it would have happened already.” He clicked off the image. The table was back to being just a table. “The miracle isn’t what’s happened – which is, by the way, impossible. It’s the fact that there have been, thus far, no tangible consequences. Everything we have witnessed over the last day, from the lightshow in the sky, and the stopping itself, to the ordinary lives we’ve continued living, is impossible. It contradicts everything we thought we knew. ‘Experts’,” he said with disdain, waggling his fingers, “are saying to prepare for the consequences of this. For the perpetual night-time that’s hanging over half of the world – for the loss of crops, for the weather changes, for the lack of tides as the Moon’s stopped turning too. I ask you this: if everything we thought we knew about physics has been proven wrong, how are we supposed to anticipate the consequences?
“Have you thought of the logical answer?” asked the Doctor.
“Being?”
“Why don’t you lurch forward in a car?” He sat up. “You said it yourself, Professor: you’re wearing a seatbelt. If we’re applying a metaphor, the only way this could fit in with the logic you’ve used for so many years would be if someone placed a seatbelt over everything on Earth.”
“But that’s impossible.
“More plausible than the alternative. It would mean that this was intended. That there’s something behind this. A force of unimaginable power. I’m going to find out what – I always do.”
There were a few rolled eyes; those who’d heard about the Doctor’s pride.
“What do you need?” enquired Graves.
“A companion. Someone clever, preferably. In fact…”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Robin Moon, meet Professor Graves.”
Robin shook hands with the Professor. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m taking you home, Robin,” said the Doctor, piloting his ship. “I don’t want to involve you in anything dangerous. Not after – well – last time.” Robin looked down, nodding. Graves tried to be inconspicuous. “Anyway. Here you are. I’ll show you out.” He led Robin to the door, opening it. It was in her living room. She hoped he hadn’t crushed her coffee table or something.
“Why did you do this?” she murmured. “What was the point?”
“I just thought you might want to know, you know, what the experts are saying and all that. I thought you might-“
“Are you sure that’s it? Nothing to do with…”
“To do with what?”
Robin glared, looking away. “Nothing. Go on, then. Save the world or something.”
“Are you sure you’re safe here?”
Robin looked out of the window. Still sunset. “Just go.”
The Doctor shut the door, turning back to the console. The plants still hadn’t grown.
“Professor Graves!” announced the Doctor. “I just need to nip to prison very quickly.”
***
“I knew you’d return. I made you a cappuccino.” Autumn glanced to two cappuccinos on the table, chocolate sprinklings arranged in star-shapes on top.
“Thank you.”
“Who’s this?”
Graves stood awkwardly by the wall. There were only two chairs. It would have been the courteous thing to do to allow to two men to sit, but it was her home and Autumn had no intention of relinquishing her authority.
“Professor Graves,” said the Doctor. “He’s an expert.”
“Is he now?” Autumn raised her eyebrows. “So, have you come to let me out?”
“Yes,” answered the Doctor, reluctantly. “But you definitely know something about this?”
“Look at where I am. How could I not?” Autumn pressed a button underneath the table and the wall by Graves gave way, moving smoothly sideways to reveal a panorama over the Earth. Graves pressed his fingers on the glass, hardly believing. As he breathed, the water vapour blurred the North American continent.
“Oh my God. We’re in space.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, unsurprised. “Why else do you think I came? Autumn’s a prisoner, according to her, anyway. A criminal forensic psychologist who was imprisoned by her own people for…” He looked to Autumn in the hope of elaboration.
“…for something that’s none of your business,” she finished.
“They put her in here, gave her all this in the hope that she wouldn’t try to escape, and launched her off into space. How long have you been drifting across the universe for?”
“Eight years.”
“She just happens to stop by Earth on the day that it stops turning,” stated the Doctor, blatantly unconvinced.
“Wow,” remarked Autumn. “How quaint is that? You think this is just an Earth thing? Everything has stopped moving across space, here at least. Only your ship’s managing it.”
The Doctor muttered something about Time Lord technology.
“I’ve passed lots of planets,” explained Autumn. “I drift through space quickly, and you wouldn’t have noticed me. Only, whatever is doing this has stopped my ship, too. I’m stuck orbiting your world, and I want to find out why.”
The Doctor got up, finishing his cappuccino and wiping off the froth from around his lips. “Come on, then. With me.”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Nice!” commented Autumn, running her hand along the console UNIT. “Kind of gloomy, though.”
“I prefer the word Gothic.”
“I prefer white.”
“I can tell.”
Autumn ran her hand down her hair. “So – what next?”
“I’m one step ahead of you,” said the Doctor, then looking to Graves: “one step ahead of both of you. I know what’s stopped everything in its track. A signal. I’ve found it. I don’t recognise the wave, but it leaves behind a background radiation. That radiation is on every single object.”
“How can you see it?”
He pointed to his eyes. “Time Lord contact lenses. They see background radiation. Now…” He dialled something. The room shook and Graves stumbled. Lights flickered on and off. A madman would probably have said something about a strange presence. The Doctor, madder still, smiled.
“What was that?”
“Every signal has its source, and I’ve just locked onto it. I know exactly where we are, and it’s all beginning to make sense.”
He approached the door, both tentatively and eagerly, reaching out to the handle and preparing to embrace the impossible beyond.
“Are you ready to meet your masters?”
A fizzling puddle of acid was on the floor. Empty bottles and test tubes lay haphazardly on the shelves like one of those Health & Safety ‘Spot the Hazard’ exercises. Graves choked and wafted the smoke away.
“Move back!” he choked. “There’s gas, and it looks like I can see-“
His eyes widened and he ran to Cartwright as quickly as he could, pushing him through the other door and fire exit. Graves smashed the alarm on his way out, and the action was heightened by flashing lights and ringing alarms. Their spectacle was outdone by a mighty explosion and the sound of the skylight smashing; both me fell onto the cobbled floor as shrapnel soared over their heads.
“Highly-reactive elements!” exclaimed Graves. “Never let them meet.”
10 Downing Street, London
“We’ve done our best to keep these events to ourselves, but-“
“To ourselves?!” The Prime Minister thumped his desk, startling the UNIT officer. “The whole damned world felt that tremor! There are going to be a lot of questions directed at us. I need you to find me answers.”
“Sir,” continued the UNIT officer, secretly fearing this pointless figurehead. “It will only be a matter of minutes before the entire population become aware of the greater problem at hand. It’s sunset. And because the Earth has stopped turning, it’ll continue to be sunset. They’ll notice soon, and we need to tell them something, sir.”
“Are you sure it’s stopped turning?”
“It seems the only likely option. Nothing is changing in the sky. It’s like time has frozen.”
The Prime Minister bit his lip in thought. “Then I’ll have to make a statement. But we need experts. Gather experts.” He crossed his legs, a relaxing motion that, in his case, usually indicated stress. “Professor Graves of the Pharos Institute, he’s one of the nation’s greatest experts regarding orbit. And…” he considered, feeling sweat gathering on his brow. Just the thought of the name did that. But he had to say it. “Has the Doctor been contacted?”
The UNIT ffficer raised his eyebrow.
“Yes, I know I’m not supposed to know about the Doctor, but I do. I know what he’s done for the country before, and he’s the ultimate expert. Has he been contacted?”
“He will be,” answered the UNIT Officer.
Primrose Hill, London
Robin was woken up by curtains being pulled. The light hit her instantly, stinging her eyes. As she lifted her head, she felt the weight of a bad hangover. Suddenly, alcohol seemed like the last thing she wanted. But she knew, from experience, that that feeling would only last about an hour.
“I let myself in,” said Christine. Christine was Robin’s neighbour, if ‘neighbour’ wasn’t an insult. Christine had been so much more than a neighbour, supporting Robin whenever she needed it, even if she didn’t necessarily want it.
She was a dark-skinned African woman who spoke with a strong accent and wore dresses which resembled curtains. Her face was crafted for a smile.
“You’ve got to get up, Robin,” she said, picking up bottles. “You’ve got an interview later. I got you an interview at Coal Hill School. I know the headmaster and he said there was a vacancy.”
“I’ve… got… a…” murmured Robin.
“Hangover?” Christine bagged up the glass and wandered into the kitchen. “We’ll sort that out for you. You need a job. Something to get you out.”
Great, thought Robin, sarcastically. Great…
***
“That looks better.”
Robin’s head was still heavy and her throat like sandpaper, but she’d masked her appearance with copious amounts of subtle makeup and the Aspirin was starting to bring some life back into her.
“Tie back your hair,” suggested Christine. “And I’ll slice some cucumber to stick over your eyes for ten minutes, it should brighten them up.”
“Thanks.” Waking up, Robin was beginning to see sense. She didn’t want to go anywhere but knew, in her heart, that the interview would be a good opportunity. “So what are the news saying about this sunset thing?”
Christine picked up the remote and turned the television on low.
“We would ask everyone to continue their days as if they were normal. Public transport will be functioning and workplaces will be open. As far as we’re aware, the light changes are a natural phenomenon to do with light absorption.” It was the Prime Minister, lying through his teeth. Some things never changed. “For now, we would like to refute any claims that this has anything to do with the Earth’s rotation. We currently have experts gathering-“
Robin turned it off. She’d heard enough. They didn’t know any more than her.
10 Downing Street, London
“Come in.”
The UNIT officer entered, his eyes red and teary. He was trying to force them open. The Prime Minister sympathised, remembering days when he’d be up all night, getting the real work done. The officer probably wanted nothing more than a small snooze.
“There’s been an attempt to contact the Doctor, sir,” announced the officer. “He hasn’t responded but we’ve also sent him the secret location for our meeting.”
“He might turn up unannounced,” said the Prime Minister with a lot of wishful thinking. “He does that sometimes.”
“Professor Graves will be coming too, sir.”
“Thank you.” The Prime Minister stood up, rolling up the venetian blinds and looking out of his window. His desk glowed orange under the fierce setting sun. “It’ll keep setting,” he remarked. “The sun, I mean. That phenomenon that we see every day for just a few minutes and here we are, trapped with it. Those precious few minutes frozen. They’ll end up becoming a curse.”
The UNIT officer shifted awkwardly by the door.
“Off you go,” said the Prime Minister. “I’m sure I’m keeping you from important work.”
***
The girl had her long, blonde hair tied back as she played the piano, garbed in tight-fitting leather. That was the first thing the Doctor noticed as he opened the door – that and the fact that she deliberately avoided his gaze, even though she wanted nothing more than to look. She played the same chord again, and another one that was perhaps just a semitone dissonant. Unsatisfied, she tried a different one. The Doctor realised she was composing.
The room was circular and coloured a contemporary white, with black furnishings completing the monochrome picture. It felt airy and cool, but the Doctor noticed a heater on the wall flicked deliberately off.
“I don’t normally get visitors,” said the woman, still looking away.
“Well,” began the Doctor. “I don’t normally make visits. Nice cell.”
“Thanks.” She stopped playing and shot him a penetrating stare. “I like it.”
“You must be in here for something pretty bad,” deduced the Doctor as he scanned the room, pricing up the furniture and scanning the piano with his eyes. There was a computer system built into the wall.
“What makes you say that? It’s beautiful in here.”
“Exactly. They must be terrified of you. Only an idiot would tighten up security – if you don’t want someone to escape, all it takes is to make them comfortable.”
“I’m very comfortable,” she said, sitting herself on a padded computer chair.
“What did you do?” interrogated the Doctor.
“I was a criminal forensic psychologist,” replied the woman.
“I didn’t mean your job. And you’re either a criminal psychologist or a forensic psychologist – I’d avoid the surplus words.”
“No, I think you misunderstood me,” retorted the woman, undercutting the Doctor’s deviousness. “I was a forensic psychologist who adopted criminal behaviour. I was a criminal psychologist. We’re the best.”
“I bet. All those years of criminal profiling – you must have played one helluva game.”
She nodded. “My name’s Autumn Rivers. What’s yours?”
“Call me the Doctor.”
“Oh, they’re sending up psychiatrists? What an unusual lot.” Autumn clasped her hands together. “That’s so sweet, but tell them I’m not interested.”
“Funny,” commented the Doctor sarcastically. “But I think you know why I’m here. Tell me what you know.”
“One condition.”
“Name it.”
“You release me.” She relaxed, stretching her arms. “It’s not much to ask.”
“It really is.” The Doctor turned back to his TARDIS. “I can cope without you, Autumn.”
“When I woke up this morning I felt different,” started Autumn. “Everything.” The Doctor stopped. “The world around me shivered and shook, and it felt like I’d been caught in the heartbeat of a dying man.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Something’s going to happen to the universe.”
“Thanks for the clichés.” The Doctor got in the TARDIS and slammed the door. Autumn flexed her fingers, preparing to wait patiently. She knew what was coming next.
***
The Doctor poked his head out of the door and sniffed the air. Newspapers and coffee shops. Definitely London. It was a vacant street, thankfully, one of those side-alleys for old jewellery shops and places to buy e-cigarettes.
“How d’ya do that, then?”
The Doctor looked around, confused. An old man in a worn blazer jacket stared up at the Doctor from his home of cardboard on the ground. The Doctor noticed a tin of change. “You one of those street artists?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Or I could always tell someone…” He drifted off, trying to be compelling. His cockney accent said ex-trader through-and-through.
“Look after it for me?” The Doctor flashed a ten-pound note.
“Consider it done.”
Coal Hill School, London
“Please, sit down.”
The first thing Robin noticed about the headmaster, Mr McKnight, was how attractive he was. Not in a conventional sense – she imagined that one would have to be in a room with him to appreciate it. But the strong scent of his aftershave, coupled with his pensive eyes and sensitive smile, was enough to make her feel at home. She noticed, too, that he was Scottish.
“So, I’m just going to get straight down to business.” Mr McKnight scanned through some papers. “Christ, my secretary’s useless, I’m so sorry.” He chuckled. “These notes are awful. She likes to paraphrase all the emails she’s sent but it’s more like reading an English-to-French translation, or phonetic Scottish…” He moved his finger along the page. “Aha, got you. Mrs Moon. You worked as a pastoral support worker for seven years at two different schools. Neither noted you as anything exceptional, but you got the job done. So – since my secretary only seems to have copied half the notes here – why did you quit?”
“My son died,” replied Robin. “And my husband. My son was six. I found it too painful… the teenagers, I mean. Watching these kids growing up, and knowing mine would never reach that stage. A department store seemed much less complicated.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss. And I’m sorry about my bloody secretary.”
Robin laughed.
“So, what sort of an impact do you think your loss would have today? Is it something which would affect your approach to young people?”
“No, I’m… over…” Robin tried not to focus on her shaking hand. In trying to hide it, she drew Mr McKnight’s attention to it.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.” Robin got up. She couldn’t bear having to tell a single lie. “I think this has been a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”
***
Robin rested her head against the window of the train. It was uncomfortable, but the best she could wish for at that time. The vibrations of the train shook her. Her head was leant so that her ear was up against the back of the seat, listening involuntarily to the phone-call behind.
“I can’t talk now…” Robin didn’t look around, but imagined a man in a suit with a smart haircut and a heavy briefcase. The London type. “I’m on public transport, so I can’t say anything overt. Listen, I’ve been forwarded the location for the conference. If you want to apply, I’ll need the security verification. Right.”
Curiosity got the better of Robin as she followed him off the train. She’d learnt spying techniques not from any kind of training but naturally from her time as a pastoral support worker, following troubled youths around schools to make sure they were staying out of trouble. She fixed her eyes on him, staying behind walls where even her shadow would be hidden. As she stepped out, she bumped into someone and cursed under her breath.
“I’m s-“
She tripped and stumbled. It took her a minute to focus and she wondered if her mind was playing some sort of sick game with her heart. But it was him, the Doctor, clearer than he was in her drunken thoughts.
“Robin…”
“What the hell are you doing here?” hissed Robin.
“I was following this guy. I’m supposed to be going to this meeting, you know, about the sunset thing. I’m sorry, I-“
“What do you know about it? Do you know what’s causing it?”
“Not yet.” The Doctor shook his head, squinting in thought. Someone had to fill the awkward silence. “I have some theories, though… if you want to see them.”
“Why would I want to see them?”
“I don’t know.” He bit his tongue. “You just… might.”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Why all the plants?”
Robin found it strange; the TARDIS, that sonorous, refined place, overcome with potted plants and strangling vegetation.
“It’s an experiment. I’ve linked the TARDIS to the Earth’s timeline, so time passes in here at a normal rate.” He dashed up to a cactus plant, scanning it with his sonic screwdriver. “The plants are growing slower.” He pocketed the screwdriver. “Something’s affecting the rate of fundamental scientific processes on this planet. Something capable of stopping the Earth in space. That’s…” He stroked his chin. “That’s impossible,” he concluded, with raised eyebrows. “Let’s see what the country’s best have to say about it.” The ship softly landed. “Stay here,” he instructed, adjusting some settings. “I’ve made a direct link to the conference so you can listen in, but you’ll have to stay in here.”
A Secret Location – Somewhere
“Professor Owen Graves!” exclaimed the Doctor, shaking the old man’s hand vigorously. “I’ve read some of your work. Fascinating. A human with a coherent understanding of science.”
“I take it this is the Doctor,” he said, looking over to a UNIT soldier.
“Yes, sir.”
There were only about six of them, accompanied by a number of UNIT soldiers. It was a classy conference room with a touchscreen-enhanced table, dimmer lights and maple-wood walls. As they sat down, Graves used his finger to scroll down the table display, selecting an animated graphic of a turning Earth.
“The basic fact of what’s happened is that it’s a miracle. I don’t need to bring up any remotely complex equations yet – I’m going to start at basic logic.” Graves adjusted his glasses. “The Earth,” he said, pointing at the diagram. “Let’s see it like a plane, since we all arrived here on planes. It’s moving, soaring, through space. But when you’re on a plane, you don’t feel it moving because you’re on it and it’s moving smoothly. Then it hits an air pocket.” He wiggled his finger over the diagram, so that the Earth moved up and down. “You get turbulence, as you feel the plane moving up and down. Suddenly you’re aware of the speeds you’re going at. Now let’s consider something impossible.” He lifted his finger. “Now let’s land the plane. Touchdown. You’re aware of the speed then. The plane rockets forwards, and the only reason you don’t is because you’re strapped in. It stops. You lurch forward again. The same goes for a speeding car – if you stop something going that fast that quickly, you lurch forward. The seatbelt holds you back.”
A few people considered muttering something about primary school science.
“This is what’s happened to the Earth, simply. We’ve observed it. The evidence is inconclusive.” Even the doubters were still listening – Grave had conviction in what he was saying. “The Earth has been moving at unimaginable speeds through space and turning at one-thousand, six-hundred and seventy-five kilometres an hour – give or take, depending where you are – and it’s stopped. It’s stopped rotating on its axis, and it’s stopped soaring through space. It’s standing still.” He held his finger down on the image. It stopped suddenly. “We should all be dead. It stops, we lurch forward, like any passenger. We become aware of how quickly we were travelling. Everything would be uprooted; buildings, people. We’d be gathered into the atmosphere like a blender.”
The secretary looked up in horror, pausing over her notes.
“The oceans,” continued Graves. “They’re just the same. Take a bucket of water and fill it to the top. Run with it – if you’re careful, the water won’t spill until you stop. But we’ve stopped. The oceans will move like that water, drowning the land. Earth – or, at least, Earth as we know it – would be destroyed. But, more to the point, it would have happened already.” He clicked off the image. The table was back to being just a table. “The miracle isn’t what’s happened – which is, by the way, impossible. It’s the fact that there have been, thus far, no tangible consequences. Everything we have witnessed over the last day, from the lightshow in the sky, and the stopping itself, to the ordinary lives we’ve continued living, is impossible. It contradicts everything we thought we knew. ‘Experts’,” he said with disdain, waggling his fingers, “are saying to prepare for the consequences of this. For the perpetual night-time that’s hanging over half of the world – for the loss of crops, for the weather changes, for the lack of tides as the Moon’s stopped turning too. I ask you this: if everything we thought we knew about physics has been proven wrong, how are we supposed to anticipate the consequences?
“Have you thought of the logical answer?” asked the Doctor.
“Being?”
“Why don’t you lurch forward in a car?” He sat up. “You said it yourself, Professor: you’re wearing a seatbelt. If we’re applying a metaphor, the only way this could fit in with the logic you’ve used for so many years would be if someone placed a seatbelt over everything on Earth.”
“But that’s impossible.
“More plausible than the alternative. It would mean that this was intended. That there’s something behind this. A force of unimaginable power. I’m going to find out what – I always do.”
There were a few rolled eyes; those who’d heard about the Doctor’s pride.
“What do you need?” enquired Graves.
“A companion. Someone clever, preferably. In fact…”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Robin Moon, meet Professor Graves.”
Robin shook hands with the Professor. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m taking you home, Robin,” said the Doctor, piloting his ship. “I don’t want to involve you in anything dangerous. Not after – well – last time.” Robin looked down, nodding. Graves tried to be inconspicuous. “Anyway. Here you are. I’ll show you out.” He led Robin to the door, opening it. It was in her living room. She hoped he hadn’t crushed her coffee table or something.
“Why did you do this?” she murmured. “What was the point?”
“I just thought you might want to know, you know, what the experts are saying and all that. I thought you might-“
“Are you sure that’s it? Nothing to do with…”
“To do with what?”
Robin glared, looking away. “Nothing. Go on, then. Save the world or something.”
“Are you sure you’re safe here?”
Robin looked out of the window. Still sunset. “Just go.”
The Doctor shut the door, turning back to the console. The plants still hadn’t grown.
“Professor Graves!” announced the Doctor. “I just need to nip to prison very quickly.”
***
“I knew you’d return. I made you a cappuccino.” Autumn glanced to two cappuccinos on the table, chocolate sprinklings arranged in star-shapes on top.
“Thank you.”
“Who’s this?”
Graves stood awkwardly by the wall. There were only two chairs. It would have been the courteous thing to do to allow to two men to sit, but it was her home and Autumn had no intention of relinquishing her authority.
“Professor Graves,” said the Doctor. “He’s an expert.”
“Is he now?” Autumn raised her eyebrows. “So, have you come to let me out?”
“Yes,” answered the Doctor, reluctantly. “But you definitely know something about this?”
“Look at where I am. How could I not?” Autumn pressed a button underneath the table and the wall by Graves gave way, moving smoothly sideways to reveal a panorama over the Earth. Graves pressed his fingers on the glass, hardly believing. As he breathed, the water vapour blurred the North American continent.
“Oh my God. We’re in space.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, unsurprised. “Why else do you think I came? Autumn’s a prisoner, according to her, anyway. A criminal forensic psychologist who was imprisoned by her own people for…” He looked to Autumn in the hope of elaboration.
“…for something that’s none of your business,” she finished.
“They put her in here, gave her all this in the hope that she wouldn’t try to escape, and launched her off into space. How long have you been drifting across the universe for?”
“Eight years.”
“She just happens to stop by Earth on the day that it stops turning,” stated the Doctor, blatantly unconvinced.
“Wow,” remarked Autumn. “How quaint is that? You think this is just an Earth thing? Everything has stopped moving across space, here at least. Only your ship’s managing it.”
The Doctor muttered something about Time Lord technology.
“I’ve passed lots of planets,” explained Autumn. “I drift through space quickly, and you wouldn’t have noticed me. Only, whatever is doing this has stopped my ship, too. I’m stuck orbiting your world, and I want to find out why.”
The Doctor got up, finishing his cappuccino and wiping off the froth from around his lips. “Come on, then. With me.”
TARDIS – Console Room
“Nice!” commented Autumn, running her hand along the console UNIT. “Kind of gloomy, though.”
“I prefer the word Gothic.”
“I prefer white.”
“I can tell.”
Autumn ran her hand down her hair. “So – what next?”
“I’m one step ahead of you,” said the Doctor, then looking to Graves: “one step ahead of both of you. I know what’s stopped everything in its track. A signal. I’ve found it. I don’t recognise the wave, but it leaves behind a background radiation. That radiation is on every single object.”
“How can you see it?”
He pointed to his eyes. “Time Lord contact lenses. They see background radiation. Now…” He dialled something. The room shook and Graves stumbled. Lights flickered on and off. A madman would probably have said something about a strange presence. The Doctor, madder still, smiled.
“What was that?”
“Every signal has its source, and I’ve just locked onto it. I know exactly where we are, and it’s all beginning to make sense.”
He approached the door, both tentatively and eagerly, reaching out to the handle and preparing to embrace the impossible beyond.
“Are you ready to meet your masters?”
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Next Time
Sunset Forever
The Doctor discovers the horrific truth about the stopping, facing an enemy more powerful than anything he's ever encountered. Evolution isn't always a good thing, learns the Doctor, as he finds himself at the heart of the universe... Episode list: 1. The Time Museum 2. The Adulteress and Her Doctor 3. Peacepoint 4. Earthstop 5. Sunset Forever 6. The Planet Makers 7. Who Watches The Watchmen? 8. The Anger Games 9. Extinction 10. The Quest Through Time 11. A Village Called Nothing 12. Bigger on the Inside 13. Extermination of the Daleks |