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By Root 736 0

Betty’s shelf – children, grandchildren, even a great-grandchild now. All that history, all those connections. Betty belonged here: her life, her history, her genes, all weaving and interweaving across more than a century. Now the century was about to enter its final decade, and his friends had started dying, one by one: Salvador, Irving, Larry and Graham just this year. They’d left so much behind; they’d contributed to the planet they’d found themselves on. In that same time, what had he done? He’d known he was different, but had always thought that meant he should lie low – keep himself out of the history books. If he went tomorrow, what would he leave behind? He could have made a difference, in this of all centuries. He could have made things better.

‘Do you want a handkerchief?’ Betty asked, handing the picture back.

He shook his head. Then he looked at the photograph in his hand and he knew. Wherever Miranda was, whatever she thought of him, he knew that he’d achieved at least one thing.

‘She’s a good girl,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘I’m so proud of her.’

‘Nineteen?’ Betty said. She hadn’t heard the last thing he’d said. The Doctor realised with a start that Betty was going a little deaf. ‘I wasn’t that much younger when we first met. Things have changed, though. Kids grow up so much faster. I’ve got grandchildren Miranda’s age, and... oh, the things they get up to.’

‘You were engaged at Miranda’s age,’ the Doctor reminded her.

‘We didn’t have teenagers when I was a teenager,’ Betty chortled. ‘You never really grew up, did you? You’re like Peter Pan. You don’t change.’

‘The world’s changed around me,’ the Doctor said. ‘Remember when I talked about the future? Well, it’s starting to happen. Things have changed, and usually for the better. There’s mass production, but mankind isn’t the slave of machines. We treat the mentally ill like people now, we don’t just lock them away. Computers are everywhere. And now, now the Cold War’s over. The world’s a better place than it could have been. But a lot of things have changed since I first went to Middletown.’

‘You always were ahead of your time,’ Betty said, laughing.

‘I tried to give her a normal upbringing,’ the Doctor told her. ‘Sometimes, I know I was a bit of a Victorian parent, but –’

Betty laughed, and the Doctor realised why. ‘No offence,’ he chuckled.

‘Maggie’s always going on about Victorian values,’ Betty said. ‘I was there. The life we have today, it’s better.’

The Doctor’s portable phone rang. He took it out of his briefcase.

Betty clapped her hands together. ‘That’s so clever,’ she said.

‘Debbie?’ the Doctor said into the phone. ‘Isn’t it past your bedtime?’

* * *

Miranda woke, surrounded by the unfamiliar.

The room was circular, as was the bed. There was a metal structure hanging over it, giving the impression that it was a four-poster. The wall looked like plastic, and had little niches and backlit computer panels set along it.

There was a pulsing in the background, an electronic sound. Beneath that a humming, like a generator, or engines.

She was still wearing just her Batman T-shirt.

There was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. She was tall, wearing a form-fitting black outfit in what looked like sculpted rubber. She was in her mid-thirties, Miranda guessed. Her dark hair had been scraped back and gelled to her scalp. He lips were painted a vivid scarlet. There was something familiar about her that Miranda couldn’t place.

‘I have clothes for you,’ the woman said. The voice was a trained monotone, clearly how the formalities dictated she should speak, but there was more warmth in her eyes.

Miranda stood, stretched a little to ease some of the cramp in her legs and arms.

The woman held up a one-piece undergarment, rather like a silk swimming costume, and swept her free hand to indicate the rest of the clothes: a polo-necked top that Miranda could tell would be a tight fit, a stiff-collared, shoulder-padded tunic in very dark green, baggy trousers that looked as if they’d been borrowed from an aviatrix, and heavy-duty‐looking boots.