Chaos in Cyberspace: Out-takes

The fourth Doctor, who, thank the Gods and Guardians, happened to standing at Thomas's elbow, quietly took the weapon from his hand. "I'll take that," he said, slipping it into a coat pocket. "The time lords have a bigger special effects budget than the BBC, you know. And the effects can be rather nasty."

Tom looks rather put-out, as his face puppy-dogs.

"Good grief," says the fourth, "You look like someone I know, only... I can't quite put my finger on it..."

Tom shrugs, innocently. Alryssa rolls her eyes, as he begins to wander around, apparently looking for more things to fidget with, his frockcoat tails swinging behind him.

The troll breathed a sigh of relief. Now, she only had three problems to deal with at once, instead of a potential three dozen. She turned back to Lord Gallifrijan.

"I wouldn't be too sure, m'dear..." whispers the former Birthday Girl. "Tom's terrible for fiddling with things, y'know. I can't take my eyes off him for two minutes without something happening!"

Lord Gallifrijan made a small gesture, and the alarms fell silent. Into the silence that followed, could be heard the very faint, but clearly recognizable, sound of Buddy Holly singing "That'll Be The Day" coming from Compassion's direction.

The tall Time Lord raised one thin eyebrow. "*What*," he asked, "is *that*?"

Alryssa looks up, whistling nonchalantly.

'Oh, nothing..."

"Oh-oh-ho, I feel just like Buddy Holly! Something something over Mary Tyler Moore." The girl singing was rather plain to look at. She was dressed in black jeans and a battered Buffy: the Vampire Slayer tshirt. Half-boots covered her feet with white socks sticking out the top. Black hair tumbled around her shoulders madly. She occassionally tried to wind it into a bun, but had nothing to secure it with and ended up letting it tumble down again.

The singing sort of rattled the ear if you listened hard enough. Her name was Ana and she'd just stepped through a doorway off to the left of a rather large crowd of party-goers.

Ana froze, her voice trailing off, and stared back at everyone as they stared at her. "Um... hi." She blinked at her surroundings. "Need to have a word with Kielle about those portals." She mumbled.

"You're under arrest to." The sort of weaselly man with the red hat on informed her.

The Bookworm noticed the newcomer's sudden arrival... and sudden arrest by a rather weaselly Watch Guard.

_Everybody?_ They're arresting *everybody*?

Why?

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it. Honest. It was alllll Lynx's fault." She paused, "Aaaand you people have no idea what I'm talking about. Right." She flashed a cheery smile. "I'll just be going, then."

Lynx, lynx... The Bookworm tried to remember. He'd heard that name before. Something to do with a Subreality Cafe, wasn't it? She was one of the patrons...

His eyes widened. A gate to *there*, inside a barn-TARDIS? What was going on? And what did Subreality want here?

A guard caught her arm as she stepped back to the portal.

"Or maybe not." She went calmly and willingly to stand next to some of the apparent prisoners. "Capital punishment." She mumbled.

'Oh, don't worry...' a nearby prisoner said. 'They don't use capital punishment except in the really _bad_ cases_...' He looked around. 'Uh-oh...'

"So, you're saying that I'm on Gallifrey, back before the whole TARDIS creation thing, etc. And that you all came here in a barn." Ana nodded cheerfully. "Right. So, where's a nice large bottle of Bailey's?"

'Let me see,' the friendly Bookworm who'd (rather confusingly) explained the situation to Ana said. 'I think I had one here somewhere... Nice to see you by the way, my name's Imran, don't get too worried, somebody's probably going to sort this out, even if we don't know who... I usually hang over at This Time Round, it's nice to see someone from Subreality here, hope you enjoy it...'

"What's the charge, anyway?" Thomas demanded. "You people have no sense of humour. We were just throwing a party and things got a little enthusiastic and we... somehow.. got here. What's the deal?"

"Violtating Gallifreyan airspace, landing (and subsequently crashing) the transduction barrier..."

"Damn that Bill Gates... I knew we should have gone with Linux..." muttered the Castellan, hoping he wasn't overheard.

"...partying without a licence, and playing musical instruments without a permit in the Capitol."

The Eighth Doctor cocked his head to one side, a mischeivous sparkle in his eyes.

"And that's just the beginning..."

Thomas looked at him.
"Are you going to let me in on it?" he asked.
"Maybe."
Thomas sighed.
"Scissors, paper stone, best of three?"

"Also imbibing alcoholic substances without a licence..."

"Oh, SHUT UP!" yelled everyone, as they yearned for the bar.

'It's the first in a brand new series...' Fitz said hurriedly. 'Musical androids. You tune them up, and off they go... It's a trial run. We're just seeing how ordinary Time Lords such as yourself might respond...'

Hmmm, that's as may be. But Buddy Holly?

Compassion managed to do her best impression of an unthinking android, while threatening Fitz silently with dismemberment.

Lord Galifrejan sniffed. 'It will never catch on... Now... Milady Capriuni...'

Our hostess gritted her teeth at this overfamiliar use of her Earth identity. 'Yes?'

...you do realise that gritting your teeth in that manner can cause undo damage?

Not if you use new Whizzo Tooth Grit - the grit that's kind to your teeth.

<jingle>
Now teeth that get gritted can feel soft as your gums
with mild new Whizzo Tooth Grit...
</jingle>

Let's ask some of these people if they'd swap two packets of new Whizzo for one packet of their old tooth grit...

"In the name of High President Rassilon, you are all under arrest!"

:::Oh, no. Not again!:::

Many fans have theorised that if we knew why everybody at the Pro-Fun party had thought this simultaneously, we would know much more about the Universe.

Unfortunately, we don't.

:::Smirk::: Now, I know this is a reference to the immortal works of Douglas Adams.... But I think it's safe to say that it's because they all remembered it happening before, and they didn't like it the first time.

"My dear Doctor," the troll responded. "I do more than *visit* Cyberspace... I was *born* here -- right here on Rad-wah." She gazed off into the distance, wistfully. "Over yonder, in the valley between those two mountains, there's a lovely arching bridge that provides perfect shelter from the rain..." she snapped out of her reverie. "All trolls, pro-fun and nasty, are born in cyberspace, and then, sometimes, we move to dimensional space, and make our homes on the mundane planets..."

The Doctors looked at her. 'My dear,' the First said, 'it would appear that we have misjudged you, hmm? We had, mistakenly now it seems, assumed you were born on Earth... But with the dangers of Rad-waah, for you to survive, leave this place and support Fun throughout the Universe...'

'Sounds familiar, doesn't it...' Eighth remarked, with a tiny smile.

Sixth grimaced. 'Please... _not_ the meteor shower again...'

'We're not going to do _that_...' Fifth said. 'but...' He caught Eighth's eye. '...there might be a place special to us that we could...?'

Eighth nodded.

Imran crossed his fingers, hoping the _rest_ of the Eighth's companions weren't there, after what his adwc alter-ego had done to them...

Suddenly, he clicked his fingers. 'Hey... Maybe if we could establish a crosspost between adwc and Rad-waah, we could convince the adwc writers in the 'Round to help, too...'

He helped the duck out of the car, and, while Alryssa was fishing her pockets for the link back to Rad-wah, asked quietly: "Now, tell me, just how much experience *do* you have with 'a spot of trouble'?"

The duck looked thoughtful. "Well, it depends on how you define 'a spot of trouble', really. I mean, on the one hand, I have been in pitched battles before, but the job that got me stuck here was giving a couple of people a lift in my TARDIS. I take it from what you said that this is going to be more in the pitched battle line of things?"

"Your TARDIS?"

"Finders keepers," said the duck defiantly. "Besides," it patted the convertible with one wing, "it likes me."

Alryssa and Imran continued to stare at the duck.

"What do you think?" Imran asked his companion, out of the side of his mouth.

"Well . . ." said Alryssa, "if we brought him back, we could get back to Rad-wah without having to step in anything nasty."

She knew even a sizeable amount of alcohol wouldn't make those odds look any better, either. Goddess, she could *murder* a pint of Guinness right now...
She looked longingly at This Time Round, but her train of Guinness was abruptly halted when Imran continued,

"He doesn't seem to be a match for someone like the Valyard, though, does he? All of cyberspace and the history of fun are at stake, you know."

Alryssa rolled her eyes. "Do *any* of us -- a handful of dancing trolls, lurkers, a snark, a Groucho Marx wannabe, and an orange Anubis --" she asked, "seem like a likely match for the Valyard?"

That pint was almost willing itself into existence. Dang it! She'd drink the Eighth under the table someday. She'd sworn that the moment they'd bumped into each other on Gallifrey. Time Lords are notoriourly bad at metabolising alcohol.

"You're right!" Imran agreed, a grin spreading across his face. "This duck is one of us!" He extended a hand in welcome. "I'm Imran," he said, "and this is Alryssa. We'd be *glad* to accept your help."

"Hi. We have a plan. I think."

"I don't suppose we could have a drink first?" Alryssa gestured towards the pub, with an air of, 'If I don't get a drink in the next five minutes I'll have to kill you' about her.

"Err... ok. Sure."

The trio made their way to This Time Round, and the horrors that lay within...

A sudden and collective wave of vertigo sweeps over the eight Doctors and our hostess, followed by a backlash shock like a heavy slap to the brain.

"*What*" asks the Third Doctor, "was *that*?"

The others exchange dark and knowing looks. It's never a good thing when that happens.

The Fourth Doctor speaks up first. "Paris, 1979. Those times when Scaroth. . ."

"You mean *that* was a time rift?" our hostess asked. "Ouch!"

"Yes, and a rather big one, too.... I don't know if the Web can take another hit like that..."

"Ooooh, my head hurts... Does anyone have an aspirin, a pint, or possibly, both?" Alryssa asked weakly.

All was still, the landscape a desolate plain, with mountains in the distance. There was a bit of grass in the foreground, but not much. What was mainly there were rocks and gravel. Wind blew silently carrying eddys of dust with it.

There was a crash.

"Bloody hell, that's the last time I travel by Timescoop." The person carefully moved onto her knees and stared about herself. "Oh. Even better. All my comrades have gone off."

Ana carefully stood and brushed off her hands. "Ugh. I hate gravel."

There was a noise from behind her. It sounded just like-- Ana turned and stared at the gaping maw of the Timescoop. "Ah, s---"

Silence reigned on the plain again.

Ana landed on gravel again, this time only going to her knees. "Ow. Owowowow." She glared around her and then blinked. "Cars. Spaceships... I've landed in the carpark from the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, haven't I." The capitals were clearly pronounced.

She stood. "Fine. There's a building that might have a bar. Bar means booze. Bar good."

"And I need to start working on my vocabulary again." She added under her breath as she started for the bar. It wasn't that she wasn't worried about where she was. Far from it. But Ana had been a resident of Subreality far too long to worry about the little things, like why there was green slime on half the cars. Or why the doors to the pub appeared locked. Or why there were no lights coming from inside.

The doors refused to open. She shrugged and knocked. Nothing. "Right, time to climb in the window."

Around the side was an unlocked window with a very inviting and convenient rain barrel beneath it. Ana sighed. "Great, Narrative Causality says if I stand on that, I'll fall off, or get arrested. And I'd rather not do either."

She stared at the carpark again and frowned. "If they're all here, why are the doors locked, and why am I outside?"

Gravel crunched from her right and she turned to behold a rather bored looking man in a red uniform. "Miss, I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest for attempting to..." His voice trailed off and he stared at her in confusion. "You're supposed to be on the bloody barrel! Don't you people ever get ANYthing right? Argh. An honest gaurd, I am, and what do I get for it? Huh?"

"Lots of people obeying Narrative Causality and being arrested?"

He began to whine, "And then there's people like YOU. You people who just walk through life like you haven't any problems."

"Uhh..." Ana stepped away from him carefully and began backing towards the corner, back towards those locked doors. "I'm sure it's absolutely horrible."

"It is." He sniffled.

The corner of the building loomed on her left and she carefully stepped out a bit more. "Oh, horrible."

"Yes." Tears flowed down his cheeks. "Which is why I have to do this."

"Do what?" A foot more.

"Kill you."

"Ah." Ana's hand came up, a handful of gravel in it. She flung it at him, turned and ran for the doors. They weren't locked this time and she burst into a noisy, crowded room of people who all fell silent to stare at her. "Um... Hi."

There was a bar, Ana headed for it like there was a demon on her tail. "Hi. A Guinness, please."

With a nod, the bartender complied. Ana accepted the drink and began wandering the room, studying it. It was very reminiscent of some of the Olde English styled pubs she'd been in. Though it mostly reminded her of the Subreality Cafe.

The clientele was quite different, though. Aliens, a group of Cybermen playing poker in one corner, several version of Adric playing Russian Roulette with a loaded crossbow, and many version of the Doctor chatting amiably about gadgets.

"ANA!"

She'd barely chance to recognise the yell before she was trying to save her Guinness from Alryssa. "Ryss! I found you again! Cool. Hey, hey, watch the Guinness!"

After a quick explanation of previous events--including Alryssa being the nexus of a series of time rifts--Ana bought another round of drinks.

"How will this help?"

"Well, if the universe is ending, I want to be drunk for it."

"Who said it was ending?"

"Well, you did, I thought..." Her voice trailed off as she sipped more Guinness. "Look, you said you were trying to find me because I'm a Subreality Writer, and we have 'powers' right?"

"In a nutshell."

"Well, why?" Ana shrugged, "I mean, technically, the only difference between me and you is that I'm from Subreality, and you're from Rad-waaah. It seems to me, as a Writer, you'd have just as much control. If not more, since it isn't MY turf, so to speak." She smiled cheekily. "Does that make sense?"

Ana returned, shaking her head.

"Ok, this is the maximum in Weirdness, with a capital WEIRD. I'll never, ever, ever complain about strange things in Subreality again."

Alryssa looked at Compassion, an amused smirk on her face despite the headache that threatened to split her brain into two factions.

"So the Easter Bunny does exist," she snorted, "Wonder if it'll be Santa next."

Compassion glared as best she could with the expression of a fluffy bunny. Alryssa poked her tongue out in retaliation.

"I'll live longer than you... and I can get my revenge!"

"You might outlive me, but I'm going to have more fun," Alryssa countered. 'Besides, your Doctor has a few skeletons in his closet that he didn't care to tell you about..."

She glanced at Eighth, who looked innocuous. Alryssa shook her head, grinning. She paid for it though, as the headache made its presence felt again, and she buried her head in Thomas' frock coat, willing the velvet to soothe the pain away. Damned temporal rifts.

The tuneless bunch of Doctors was rapidly giving up hope. Fourth kept hitting Second unintentionally over the head with his acoustic guitar. Eighth was having problems co-ordinating his long fingers with his banjo. First was muttering about the indignity of having to play the maracas.

"Well," retorted Third, "You won't play anything else!"

"It's not like you're doing any better," snapped First, looking at the cornet and jealously eyeing Fifth's drum kit.

Ann sighed. Getting the Doctor to cooperate with himself could be so darn *difficult*...

Thomas set the kitty down. It looked at him in mild annoyance, then went to Alryssa and rubbed up against her legs. Thomas kept looking. A pair of ping-pong bats and a ball. An Anfield banner.

"Good grief. Anything really *is* possible here."

"You said it," replied Ann, not without a sigh.

The troll boggled. "How did *you* get here?" she asked her rather ordinary human counterpart.

"Authorial Glitch, I suppose. Easy enough to get the fictional alter-ego and the origin switched when you're typing fast."

The small grey cat came over to sniff the wheels of Ann's chair -- all sorts of interesting smells, there.

Ann reached down to scratch behind the cat's ear. "My grandmother's name was Josie, you know," she told the cat.

The troll was still boggling, a little angrily now. "Are you telling me that *I'm* fiction? I thought *you* were!"

Ann smiled. "Actually, we may never know who is whom. I'll just pop out now. You've had enough anomalies for one story." And then, she was gone -- no ripples, no pops. Just gone.

The troll shrugged. No one else seemed to have noticed that Ann had been there at all.

The party split up; most of the guests planning to revel in the streets of Gallifrey. The central group, though, headed straight for the High Council chambers.

Several disturbing thoughts went through the troll's mind as they walked the halls.

Eris had succeeded in getting them to save Cyberspace (though, as usual, it was in a very roundabout way -- first by leading them to suspect the Valeyard, then through saving Alryssa). That, as far as she could tell, was why the Goddess (all hail Her) had kidnapped them in the first place. As long as Cyberspace is healthy, Chaos will remain strong force in the universe (and who better to fight for Chaos than a barnful of dancing trolls and _Doctor Who_ fans?).

But Eris, for all her devious ways, *did* seem to be abiding by the Laws of Dramatic Naration. And Laws #1 and #2 are: 1) When you've resolved your story's main conflict, you're near "The End", and it's time to tidy up the little messy bits; and: 2) When you come to "The End", stop.

Bringing them *back* to Gallifrey did not seem to be "tidying up" at all.... in fact, it was, as far as the troll was concerned, a rather messy and unwanted complication. Besides, Compassion was still in the form of a pro-fun bunny, which foreshadowed a great battle still ahead (and the Third Law of Dramatic Naration is "Follow up on all your foreshadowing tricks). Either Cyberspace was still in danger, or Rassilon had another nasty plan up his sleeve..

Later...

Compassion had managed to get our hostess alone. 'Listen... I was wondering...'

'Yes?' our hostess asked.

'Your TARDIS wants to know if you want to change the link between you and her...' Compassion said.

'Change... how?' our hostess asked uncertainly.

'She knows your surface thoughts... and you can feel her emotions...' Compassion murmured. 'She wants to know if you'd be willing to share a full telepathic mindlink... You'd be able to share each others' thoughts..'

'Why're you asking?' our hostess asked. 'Not that I'm suspicious, but...'

Compassion glanced at 'her' Doctor. 'It's just... I don't know.' she confessed. 'But it's something I could do, while she and I are still linked... And... she wants to be able to _talk_ to someone who isn't a TARDIS.'

'And maybe,' she said, almost to herself. 'it's because I fell in love...'

'With my TARDIS?!' our hostess exclaimed.

'No...' Compassion said. She looked at her Doctor again.

Our hostess followed her gaze. 'Why?'

Compassion shrugged. 'I don't know. I'm still learning what it means...but I know our time's coming to an end...' She shook herself. 'So... do you want to do it? Go ahead with changing your link to your TARDIS? The change would be irreversible...' She halted, and looked surprised. 'Oh.'

Our hostess took a deep breath...

"Whether it would be irreversible or not," she said, as gently as she could, "I'm afraid the answer would still be 'No.'" She paused, trying to find the right way to say what she was thinking. "True love," she said at last, "can only exist between two *seperate* minds. There *have* to be secret places that we can both retreat to, so that we can each grow, and return with new gifts for the other..."

Compassion nodded. 'I had to ask, if only to get it out in the open... But I think you're right. There _do_ have to be places where we can be alone... and places where we can come together, too.' She looked at the Doctors. 'I wonder... I suspect he understands about being alone... but he's still learning about sharing something of himself...'

She [our hostess] let her voice drift off, becoming absorbed in the sound of the waves lapping the shore. Then she patted Compassion's hand. "No matter how long we've got," she said, "from Event One until the end of time itself, we're *all* 'still learning what it means' -- that's the magic of it."

Compassion nodded again. 'I... understand what you mean. Or at least, I believe I do. I'm still new to... being a TARDIS. To having a firm identity. I'm still trying to find my place... But in learning about love... I think I want to learn something about life as well, and the way we reach out to others' lives...' A brief smile passed across her face. Nodding to the Doctor, she added 'And I think *he* would understand, too...'