Part 45 (2/2)

'Roz wrote the last chapter,' said Kadiatu. 'What about the epilogue, where the Doctor is so overcome with grief and self-pity that he never does anything, ever again?'

'That isn't how the story ends,' said the Doctor.

'So,' said Kadiatu, 'how does the story end?'Extract ends It had been a few months since Thandiwe had let her robots sleep in her bed. She was seven now, and old enough to have the bed to herself while the robots sat on the end.

Her bots were back on the shuttle, out of reach. There weren't any toys at all. There wasn't even a terminal. It was just a hut, with a bed in it.

314.

Thandiwe lay down on the bed, picking at a thread on the blanket, bored. She could hear grown-ups talking and moving around outside, in the distance. Talking about Aunty Roz.

It had been a year since Aunty Roz had died. She would have spent that time wandering around, saying goodbye to all the people she knew when she was alive. A lot of them were here today, in the big house or the huts. The Doctor was back, and Chris, and lots of their friends that the Doctor had collected and brought here in his blue s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p.

The Doctor had talked to her, earlier today, while she sat on his knee and tried to play with his yo-yo. He wanted to know how much she remembered of things. What she thought about Aunty Roz.

'I'm her clone,' Thandiwe had said proudly.

'And what does that mean?' he'd asked.

'That means I'm a copy of her. Mama says that even though Aunty Roz is an ancestor now, I've got her genes.'

'What do you think about that?'

Thandiwe thought about it. 'I wish I'd got to talk to her more before she went away to the war,' she said.

Everyone had been there that afternoon for the feast. Thandiwe had not been too clear on what was going on, and why everyone was making such a fuss of her. She had thought it was pretty funny when they slaughtered the bull, and Beni had walked out of the kraal, looking an interesting shade of green. That night Beni had eaten a bowl of salad and asked her what she thought of being a medium. She didn't know, and decided to ask Mr Fact about it when she got home.

Mr Fact and Mama had explained some of the funeral to her.

Aunty Roz had been wandering for a year, they said, visiting everyone she knew and saying goodbye to them, and going to all of her favourite places. Now it was time to say goodbye properly.

Thandiwe had begun to fall asleep. Something nagged at her, pulling her back into wakefulness. There was someone else in the hut. She opened her eyes, holding completely still. She couldn't see anyone.

There was only one person it could be.

The Monster Under the Bed.

315.

Thandiwe pulled herself just to the edge of the bed, listening hard. Was that its breathing she could hear? Was it hers? She held her breath until she thought she was going to pop like a balloon, but she still wasn't sure.

All she had to do to vaporize the Monster was to switch on the light it always worked when Mama did it but that would involve getting off the bed and crossing ten feet of dirt floor to the switch. She wasn't sure how far the Monster Under the Bed could reach, and she didn't wish to learn.

It wasn't fair that the Monster had followed her all the way from Io to Earth. Or maybe this was a different Monster. Maybe every bed had one.

There was a flask of milk on the end of the bed. Mama had told Thandiwe not to drink it it was for someone else. She sounded like she expected Thandiwe to know what she meant. Maybe she meant the Monster. Would a drink of warm milk put it to sleep?

Maybe she could smash its head with the flask. She reached for it.

She heard a noise.

Thandiwe froze in position. There was was someone else in the hut someone else in the hut she could hear them moving around. In fact, she could hear them struggling with something, rolling out from under the bed and on to the floor. Struggling, and winning, pinning their opponent down on the dirt and sticking a finger in its face.

Right, they told the Monster, they told the Monster, you're busted. you're busted.

Thandiwe woke up the next morning when the sunlight creeping in through the door reached her face. She lay there for a while, thinking.

When she looked at the floor, she could still see a pale line where she'd poured out the milk, just the way Mama had described. She'd put the flask on the floor with the lid off.

She leant over the edge of the bed and checked. Nothing. No more Monster Under the Bed.

She went out into the suns.h.i.+ne to see if any of the grown-ups were awake. She glanced back at the hut, remembering the words she'd heard? dreamed? last night, just before she'd drifted off to sleep.

316.

Thanks for the milk. Next time, could you put some brandy in it? it?

317.

Ackknowledgements

Kate here. After Ben's troubles with writing So Vile A Sin So Vile A Sin, including a disastrous hard-drive crash, I stepped in at the last minute to finish it. Some of the book survived the crash, other bits existed as printouts, and Ben provided me with extensive plot and background notes to complete the bulk of the story.

I can't match Ben's prose for intelligence, wit and sheer unpredictable style; but I hope you've found my efforts entertaining. I was so desperate to read this book that I'd even write it myself!

I want to thank everyone for their encouragement and good wishes. Special thanks go to my beloved Jon Blum, who not only had to put up with my becoming Stress Kitten Kong as the deadline approached, but also understood the plot when I didn't!

Ben, for his patient help. Rebecca Levene and all at Virgin.

Greg McElhatton and Jon again for read-through and comments.

Andrew Orman, my unpaid military adviser. The experts of sci.astro for some heavenly advice. Jennifer Tifft, poet, costumier and visionary. And Karifa, for not eating his father's telephone.

Special thanks to Special K.

This book was brought to you by the alkaloid caffeine and by the benzodiaprene alprazolam.

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