The Continuous Story

She was about the right age and the right height and had that nice, freshly-scrubbed look so necessary for a female lead in any programme airing to impressionable British youth* on a Saturday evening. He made his mind up to give it a go.

"Hello! I'm the Doctor. Not a Doctor. The Doctor. You know the sort of thing - Daleks, cybermen, sonic screwdrivers, K9, world ending more often than it does in Buffy, more unlikely near-death experiences than James Bond, but all good, wholesome fun nonetheless. Thing is, I'm short of an assistant. Again. Kylie is doing the Christmas special, then I might have Catherine Tait for a bit, but after that I've a gap in my assistant diary a mile wide. How are you fixed?"

Cecily spun round. She couldn't see who was talking to her from inside the blue box, but she had a sudden mental image of Christopher Eccleston gurning like a cathedral gargoyle with constipation. But then again, it might be that lovely David Tennant. He was lush...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise...


* Impressionable youth from other countries will need to insert appropriate day of week on which programme is aired and, if you've never seen it, you really should. Much better than Benny Hill.
 
The noise emitted from the blue telephone box...
Cecily stood at the crossroads of her life.....

She could stay and face the courts over the death of her husband (probably be found guilty and spend the rest of her life in jail)

She could try to catch up with her somewhat strange amd quite possibly short lived father.

Or she could join some strange man in a telephone box for an unpredictable,quite possibly dangerous and exciting life.

After everything that had happened so far in her life, Cecily went with the safe option and entered the telephone box.................
 
A seagull perched on a nearby wall watched intensely as Cecily entered the blue police box. The seagull couldn't believe its eyes. The blue box faded as a strange noise emanated from its vicinity and then it was gone. Bewildered the seagull stared at the spot where the box had just been when a split second later the noise returned and the blue box faded back into existence on the very spot from where it had vanished.

The door to the box slammed open and Cecily pretty much flew out to land on her backside.

"I warned you didn't I?" someone shouted from inside the box, "I gave you plenty of chances but, oh no, you just had to do it one more time didn't you. Well it's so long Cecily and thanks for all the..."

The man's voice was cut short as the box's door slammed shut. For the second time in less that a minute the seagull watched as the box phased out of existence.

Cecily stared at the spot where the box had been and a wide smile broke across her face.
 
She got up and brushed herself off. What an adventure THAT had turned out to be.

She decided it no longer mattered that she was stuck once again in the time that she had decided to join the doctor. She could start her life anew seeing as though she fell through a Youth Vortex on Planet Sahj on her eighty-fifth birthday. She realised it would be her ninetieth tomorrow but her current body was identical to that of her eight year old self.

When she saw the seagull perched on top of that wall she burst out laughing.
 
"Is that you, Frankie?" she asked. "I thought you'd never be seen again."

"What're you laughing at," the Frankie-gull enquired.

"Sorry, I found a few stubbies more than my six-pack in that blue box that just dematerialised. So, how's life with you, Frankie? Been anything interesting lately?"

"Well, you'll never believe what happened," Frankie the Talking Gull replied, miraculously given the absense of lips or any appreciably articulate tongue, "but I'll tell you, anyway, and you can have a good ol' laugh at my expense. I'd just nipped behind this sand dune, you see, when," and he porceeded to tell her the most remarkable story that she, or anyone else I'll bet, had ever heard in her life.

It went like this:
 
"So, there's me, Doris the Herring-Gull and Fat Tom the Guillemot. We're all behind the sand dune, arguing over a bit of oily rope that came up on the spring tide and trying to peck each others heads, when suddenly the clouds are rent asunder and there's this bloke with a huge white beard staring at us from on high.

Well, Doris doesn't notice him at first on account of the fact that she's half choking to death on some carelessly discarded plastic, but me and Fat Tom drop to what would be our knees if we had knees and give it a load of the "nought in thy sight" folderol. They like a bit of genuflection and sucking up, these Creator types.

Anyhow, formalities over, he tells us that all of the gods of the major world religions have had a bit of a pow wow over one of Mrs Jah's excellent goat curries. They didn't invite the lizards or the scientologists, but I understand that they were quorate nonetheless. They're a bit worried about the complete balls-up that your lot are making of the planet, so they've decided to give the sea-birds a go. So, the terns, skuas, gulls, fulmars, kittiwakes, guillemots, cormorants and all the rest of it are now in charge and you lot are yesterday's news. I'm the Archangel Frankie now, which as I think you'll agree has a nice ring to it."
 
No sooner did Archangel Frankie finish his little diatribe, than a sport fisherman with a big red beard came waffling down toward Frankie in a flying blue kayak. It appeared as if it was Frankie's last swan song, but right before the bearded sportie nabbed Frankie, a Great Blue Heron swooped from the blueish haze and knocked the flying kayak off of its deadly course.
"Nobody messes with my Archangels!" The Heron crooned, and spun around on what would be his heel if he had one.
"My God! you've transformed into a Heron!" Frankie said, happily surprised.
"Why, didn't you think my impression of Tony Blair was better?" The Heron replied.
"I like just about everything you do, Hermes."
"EXUSE ME." A voiced bellowed from the sky between the clouds.
The birds all looked up.
"Yes, Neptune? What's happening, bro?" The Heron asked.
"Don't you think you'd better stop playing around and get to work?" He nodded in an unspecified direction. "This planet's a mess! You can start by converting all of the bloody offshore oil rigs into fish farms."
All of the birds chirped with glee at that suggestion.
Meanwhile, Cecily who was still busily standing at the crossroads of her life, asked "Can I help?"
Coincidentally, the Sport fisherman with the red beard was waking up. He was pushing aside his broken kayak and groaning "Bloody birds."
 
Then quite suddenly and with no apprecialble warning, the fisherman burst into laughter. He had been reading a synopsis of the story so far and realised that he had just made the foolish error of entering before his scene. Even so, he thought, I can still make it look intentional if I ...
 
Dissapear into the blue telephone box. Moments after he did so, Alien daddy came out of the box looking bewildered. He looked over at Cecily who was still busily standing at the crossroads of her life, and said
"Cecily my dear, what's going on around here?"
"Don't 'Cecily my dear' me, you impostor! You're partially responsible for this mess aren't you?"
"What makes you think that?"
"My brain." She replied.
Alien dad thought for a minute, rubbing what would be his chin if he had one, and said "I'll tell you what - I'll get the fisherman's head for your collection if you don't turn me in."
Cecily was slightly taken aback. It was a really attractive offer. It was rather hard to concentrate, what with all of the skwauking in the backround. Cecily shot a glare at Alien dad. "Would you tell that Flock of Seagulls to keep it down? I'm trying to think."
"They were much better back in the 80's I must concede."
 
Cecily found it hard to think as she had spotted someone watching her from afar. It was a man and he was really tall and wore a tuxedo with one hand in his pocket and another holding a piece of paper, and all she could make out from this distance was that the writing was coloured red. She would have ignored the stranger but there was something very peculiar about the man's body. It was as if something was moving beneath his jacket, like a set of heads or something.

'What are you looking at?' asked Alien Dad impatiently. 'I really need to know what you are going to decide!'

Her answer came to her and she was about to speak when a really loud sound startled them all....
 
"Whoa! Sorry about that!" cackled the Archangel Frankie.

"Yeucch! Frankie - that's disgusting!" said Cecily, covering her nose with one hand whilst furiously wafting at thin air with the other.

Frankie looked affronted.

"I'd like to see how you got on with a diet of wet fish, more wet fish and unidentifiable bits of flotsam and jetsam. And I'd thank you to show me a bit of respect, what with me being an Archangel nowadays. Would you talk like that to St Peter?"

"I would if he smelt like something had crawled up his jacksie and died..."

"Cecily!" Alien Dad was starting to lose his temper. "For the love of God stop swapping gags with a deranged talking seagull and concentrate!"
 
Her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed tightly together.

Cecily was concentrating and it was giving her a headache.

Whereupon the man in the tux approached and held out his hand, offering the paper to her.

"For God's sake don't interrupt her now, she was about to progress the plot," Alien Dad protested.

"Sorry, can't be helped," said the tuxedo-clad stranger in a voice that sounded like the chorus of a thousand ancient Greek actors, "she must sign the contract if she is to stand here, at the crossroads of her destiny, for one second longer, and she must sign this contract with the blood of her very own veins, like all the rest have done since time began and will do again until the final tolling of the bell that ends all creation and the palace of the Olympian gods is divided into a block of affordable bedsits, La La La, foo-nnnmmmA!."

Alien Dad perused the document and having done so, he nodded his sage old alien head.

"He's right, I'm afraid, stop concentrating for a moment, Cecily."

Palpable relief showed on her face as it relaxed and her brain changed down into neutral.

"What does it say?" she asked her Alien Dad.

"Well, it looks like this crossroads actually belongs to this gentleman, here."

"I suppose we ought to have guessed," she said, glancing at the document and looking at its owner in one swift movement of her eyes. "So," she said, "this is Tuxedo Junction."

From somewhere in her mind or in the distance, it was all the same to the track layer, came the sound of the Glenn Miller Orchestra tuning up.
 
And it was at that precise moment when she remembered an ancient Eskimo legend, whereupon it is written, on whatever it is that they can find to write on up there, that if you encounter the man with the Tuxedo whilst standing at Tuxedo Junction, you must NOT under any circumstances... sign his contract. The only way to get your self out of this mess is to chop off his head immediately ( and if you happen to be a collector - you can keep it if you wish)

So, just as the Glenn Miller Orchestra reached a creshendo, she swung a scythe that she had managed to keep hidden all of this time, and with a squishy swacking sound, the man with the tuxedo was now headless.

Cecily was laughing maniacally, and alien dad was backing away slowly for fear of losing one of his most treasured limbs as well.

Frankie merely commented "That was quite impressive. There might be a few heads of state we could render in the same fashion, thereby removing a few roadblocks to our goal of cleaning up the planet."

The Flock of Seagulls was now engaging in a chorus of "Iran's so far away"

Frankie turned around, his mouth turned down in disgust "It's not 'Iran's so far away' you idiots, it's 'I ran so far away'." He rolled his eyes, and said "Now maybe we can get back to business. Where's that Tony Blair person? Or that G-dub Bush guy. Maybe we could start with him. A Bush's head in hand is worth two birds pecking a Blair."
 
Whereupon, Frankie actually went to Hollywood.

"What was he saying about cleaning up the planet?! Alien Dad asked.

"No idea. Must be a plot point we all forgot about," said Cecily, a worried frown hovering between her brows, for she had seen something that she was sure was going to make the next chapter even more scary.

"Easily done," Alien Dad assented.

"Don't turn round," she said. "Do you see what I see?"

"Well, hardly," he said, "I'm facing completely the opposite direction."

"Trust me, you'll be glad you are in a minute. Come on, we have to get out of here."

"Why, what is it, for God's sake, what's going on, Cecily, you have to tell me, you must, YOU MUSSSST!"

"It's a Duran Duran tribute band! Ruuuuuun!"
 
Presently, Cecily took on a hazy purple glow, and said "Alright you mangy seagulls, get the Flock out of here! I can't stand that incessant singing that sounds so... so..." She broke off and fainted.
Alien Dad jumped to his knees, paused at her side and said "Somebody get a doctor. I think she's fainted."
Frankie smiled. "No, you really think?"
Alien Dad said, "Sarcasm Frankie? At a time like this?"
Frankie shrugged, looking unconcerned.
Just then The Great Blue Heron puffed out of the Blue telephone box like a magic act and said "Did somebody call for a Doctor?"
Frankie looked at the Heron. "Has anybody ever told you you look like Groucho Marx?"
"No." He replied. "But coming from you Frankie, I'll take that as a compliment. Now, what seems to be the prognosis?"
 
"It's a medical term referring to the state of health of a patient, but why are you asking me that? You're the damne ddoctor, aren't you?" said Frank.

The heron looked blankly at Franky and frankly, Franky looked blankly back.

"Seems I puffed out a bit quick, there. I twisted my ankly," said the heron.

"Lanky git," Franky sang.

"Don't get cranky, Shankley," which was Frank's middle name, though how this was known is not known, not by no one. Oh, no, no known one knows how this known thing was shown. "At least you didn't just regenerate and find yourself in a completely inappropriate body!"

"How did it happen??"

"No idea. I said I wanted the body of a hero, now. And I got the body of a heron."

"Ow," Franky winced sympathetically.

At that, Cecily began to recover. The Doctor heron flapped his wings over her to help matters and a feather landed on her nose. She sneezed.

"Well, that seems to have done the trick all right," said the heron and he turned and puffed into the blue box again.

"Poor guy, doesn't know if he's a heron or a puffin, now," said alien Dad.

A scream emitted from the interior of the box and echoed around their ears.

"Damn it," a distant voice protested, "now I've regenerated into a pouffe???"

"Ow," said a sympathetic Cecily.
 
Damn it, and I thought we were going somewhere interesting with the Sat Nav graveyard! Now, how are we going to get back there? Have we done the tuxedo Junction joke yet?
 
"Who's this fellow who keeps asking questions about the plot and stuff?" said Alien Dad as he looked up toward the sky twisting his head around on what would be his neck if he had one.
"I really couldn't tell you." Cecily replied.
"What does he mean Sat-Nav graveyard?"
"I certainly couldn't tell you that either."

Frankie Shankley _________(Last name goes here) flapped his 9 inch wings and said, "I know who that fellow is."

Cecily, and Alien dad re-trained their gazes upon him.
"They call him Interference."

Cecily smiled. "Well, what do you know? Someone who lives up to their name. That's rare these days. Why can't we see him?", she asked.
"He's one of our creators."
"Creators... like 'ess' as in plural? I think you've gone off the deep end for sure this time frankly, Frankie. I knew you were strange, but I didn't know you were a polytheist."
"Well, I am an Archangel after all, I should know a thing or two more than the average sea-bird."

"Okay well what else can you tell us?" Asked Alien dad intently, as he was tying his shoes.
"Well, you see... this Interference bloke is a bit peeved because the medium that holds the database where he creates us crashed."
"What's a database?" asked Cecily as she was braiding her hair.
Frankie rolled his eyes. "You don't know what a database is?"
"No, so sue me." she replied.
"Well, it was all explained in the ICD." as he was rubbing his tail feathers on a nearby brick.
"What's an I-C-D?" She asked, as she stood motionless.
"Do I have to explain everything?" Frankie asked, looking quite unsatisfied.
"Apparently."
"It's this document." he paused and glared at her. "Don't you dare ask me what a document is."
She lifted her palms toward him and tilted her head. "I wouldn't dare."
"Okay." He continued, "It's an Interface Control Document. That's where they get the ICD letters from."

"Interference Control document?" She asked twiddling what would be her thumbs if she had any.
"No!" That the creator guy's name" I said "Interface, not Interference!"
"Okay, sorry. Gee whiz." She replied as she was spreading cheese whiz on a muffin.
"Anyway, The ICD tells you how to run the database, and what to do if it crashes. I think I've got a copy of it right here under my left wing."
"So it's a left wing document?" She asked, eating her muffin with cheese whiz on it.
"Not, really. Will you let me finish?"
She waved her her hand in a circular motion as if to say 'go on'.

"But they left out the part about the most recent data, so we actually went back in time."
"So, a database is a time machine?" She asked, now sucking remnants of cheese whiz from her finger.
"No, no no." Frankie writhed a bit, and ruffled his feathers. "Why do I bother?" He said.
Alien dad broke in. "Don't stop now, I was just getting interested."
"Well, The ICD originally had a section in it that told you how to run the Sat-Nav system, but that part got lost."
"Hmm... too bad." Alien dad replied, adjusting his baseball cap.

Frankie opened the 390 page document, and pushed it toward them with his beak. "Here, see for yourself."
Alien dad began reading. "In the beginning, there was nothing. and then there was light. And there was still nothing, but now you could see it." He looked up at Frankie and Cecily. "Interesting, but where's the part about the database and stuff?"
"Oh, that's toward the back, after the part about Slurp spiders." Cecily looked at Frankie quizzically, and Frankie stared her down. "That's all I'm going to say right now. If you want to know more, read the ICD."

Just then the sky cracked open and a big goofy looking giant with strawberries in his hair peered in at them.
 
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"Let me take you down," goofy-guy said, "'cos I'm wear ing a ..." he paused in a quite unnecessary fashion ... "strawberry wig," at which he went back into the clouds humming an orchestra backwards.

"Something has changed here," said Alien Dad, who was singularly in tune with that sort of thing. "Somehow, something is different, I don't know how, and I don't know why I know, but it has and I do."

He wet his finger thoughtfully and stuck it into the muddy ground around them.

"The world is moving much as it did," he murmured.

He tilted his head so that first one ear, then the other, caught the subtleties of the sounds around him.

"The sky is no different," he said.

He looked carefully at a breeze that was passing some inches above his head.

"Not much difference there, either," he concluded. "So it must be us."

"How do you mean?" asked Cecily.

But rather than answer immediately, Alien Dad plucked a feather from Frankie's left wing and let it drop to the ground.

It fell sideways two inches and then vanished.

"Where did the feather go?" Alien Dad said to Frankie in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer.

Frankie nodded.

"You know the answer to that already," and he showed his wing, resplendent in its completion, no absence of a feather to marr its perfection.

Alien Dad turned to his daughter and said, smiling, "We aren't dreaming, are we?"

Franky shook his head sagely and some parsely fell out of his ear and he said, "It's getting hard to be someone, isn't it? But don't worry. It all works out."

"Time has gone back on itself," continued Alien Dad. "Something we did, or something we were going to do, has been taken out of Time completely and we're back at a turning point, the crossroads of time - Time Junction. A point at which we have a choice. Either we can repeat our mistakes - or we can do things right this time."

"How do you know this?" Cecily asked, suddenly impressed by the lack of any consciously attempted humour for over a dozen paragraphs.

"You heard the goofy giant," Alien Dad said. "You know the rest?"

"Yes," said Cecily, who had a sensible and admirable record collection back home, "Nothing is big."

"Er -- yes. That is ... I think that's true enough, but perhaps more importantly ... you know, I know when it's a dream."

Frankie frankly yawned.

"How do you know this?" said Cecily with a growing sense of deja vu.

"Because I'm an Alien Dad, silly girl. I can tune in to this sort of thing. I know you can't, you know, tune in - but don't mind that. It's all right. Like the gull says ... it all works out."

"All right, so how do we avoid making the same mistakes?" said Cecily.

"EasY," Frankie piped up. "Decide what you're definitely going to do next and then .... do something else. It's what our creators would like."

"Kayak!" said Cecily. "I don't know what made me say that."

"Don't worry," said Frankie. "It's an obsession of one of our creators. One might almost call it a fetish."

"I know the one you mean," said Alien Dad, "the one named Zubi of the Ondo."

"Great name for a god, isn't it?" said Frankie.

"Much better than that other one," said Alien Dad and they both burst into laughter.

"So you say he's one of our creators," Cecily chipped in, after mulling over a quite significant point for quite a few moments, "How many are there???"

"Not nearly enough," said Frankie and he winked at a camera that wasn't there to an audience that wasn't looking.
 
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