Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [0]
by Lance Parkin
‘Welcome to the future.’
The early decades of the twenty‐first century. All the wars have been won. There are no rogue states. The secret services of the world keep the planet electronically monitored, safe from all threat. There is no one left for the United States and the Eurozone to fight. Except each other.
A mysterious time traveller offers a better future – he has a time machine, and with it, humanity could reach the next stage of evolution, they could share its secrets and become the new Lords of Time…
…either that, or someone could keep the technology for themselves and use it to fight the ultimate war.
This is another in the series of original adventures for the Eighth Doctor.
* * *
Prologue: The Banquo Legacy
Chapter One: Friendly Fire
Chapter Two: A Case for the Doctor
Chapter Three: A Pretty Girl is Like a Malady
Chapter Four: Never Say Neverland Again
Chapter Five: Baskerville
Chapter Six: Time Trip
Chapter Seven: All Fall Down
Chapter Eight: Time and Tide
Chapter Nine: After the Deluge
Chapter Ten: The Secrets of Time
Jaxa’s Story
Chapter Eleven: Bankruptcy
Chapter Twelve: The Spy Who Shot Me
Chapter Thirteen: Tomorrow Never Lies
Chapter Fourteen: When Rhinos Attack
Chapter Fifteen: Time‐Flight
Chapter Sixteen: Dealbreaker
Chapter Seventeen: Stand Off (ish)
Chapter Eighteen: Boom and Bust
Chapter Nineteen: Action
Chapter Twenty: Endgame
* * *
Prologue
The Banquo Legacy
Now Baskerville mentioned it, the night was getting cold.
They stood at the side of the road. Cosgrove took in the scene, savoured it like an ’07 Tattinger. The water in the loch was glittering, almost purple. The scent of heather filled the air. It was so quiet – no cars and lorries trundling in the distance, no aircraft scoring a line through the sky. Everything was so sharp, so well‐defined. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this felt almost more than real. Hyper‐real.
Baskerville looked distinctly bored. He was leaning against a tree, checking his nails. He was the younger man here, in his sixties, with thin white hair. He had an aquiline nose, a high forehead. Cosgrove studied the face, for future reference.
‘Have you seen enough yet, Mr Cosgrove?’ Baskerville asked.
‘Don’t use my name,’ he snapped. They’d agreed that from the start. No names.
‘My dear Cosgrove, no one is listening in.’
It was a liberating thought. When was the last time Cosgrove had known for certain that he was having a private conversation? He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to speak without assuming that someone, somewhere, was recording it and filing it away. No concealed microphones, or phone or data taps, no lasers on his windows, registering every vibration in the air. He was in unmonitored territory here, for the first time in years.
There was more, though. He was beyond the law here. He could kill Baskerville where he stood, leave him lying at the side of the road. And no one would ever know. The thought of killing someone without having to do any paperwork was a refreshing one.
‘Can I walk around?’ Cosgrove asked, looking back at the loch.
‘You can do what you want. How about you walk towards the forest, there?’
He hadn’t noticed the forest. Cosgrove found himself nodding, then decided against it, in case it was a trick. ‘No – the other way.’
Baskerville smiled. ‘Of course. Lead on.’
Cosgrove stepped back up on to the road. ‘And this is the year…?’
‘1040, as requested.’
‘You can prove that?’
‘I’m not sure I can. Look around, though, there could be some evidence. Judging by the hoof prints, this road is a busy one.’
Cosgrove found something after a few minutes. An arrowhead, dropped in the mud. He examined it.
‘Keep it,’ Baskerville suggested. ‘Give it to your people for analysis. That should be your proof. Wait! Can you hear the horses?’ He could, but only just. Baskerville had keen senses.
‘Do you think it’s them?’
‘Yes. We’re in the right time and place. It’s why we are here, after all.’
‘But the witches should be here –’
‘They aren’t. You remember