Part 9 (1/2)

The Doctor smiled benignly at Sal, the shop a.s.sistant at the boutique. The radio news was being piped out of the shop's PA system, but the young woman wasn't paying attention to it as the detailed descriptions of the two murder suspects were read out, right down to Bernice's ballgown.

'Are you going to be much longer?' the Doctor asked his companion.

'I'm done now,' the voice came from behind the changing room curtain. It swished back to reveal Bernice in a pair of jeans and a bright orange polo-neck s.h.i.+rt.

'Not terrifically original, but stick to what you know, that's what I say. I'll wear these now, but I'll need a bag for my old stuff,' she informed the a.s.sistant, handing over the bar tags.

'OK. How will you be paying?'

'Doctor ... '

The Doctor rummaged in his pockets and produced the money.

Bernice was hovering over the jewel ery rack. 'Hey, it's ages since I wore these.' She tossed a big pair of gold hoop earrings onto the counter. 'These, too, please.'

The Doctor took out the last of his money.

Bernice put the earrings on as they walked out of the shop. The Doctor took the bag with the ballgown in it. 'Are you sure we can't get back to the TARDIS?' she asked.

The Doctor shook his head. 'It's right outside the National s.p.a.ce Museum. We'd never get across the Square without being spotted. We'll have to find a computer elsewhere.'

She took the bag back from him. 'Getting access to one can't be that difficult, even in 1997.'

The Doctor drummed his fingers over his mouth. 'No, no, not at all. The trouble is that we don't know how long we'l need to study the data. We need somewhere like a library or a university.'

'How about an Internet Cafe?' Bernice suggested, from halfway across the street. She was heading to a shop with a bright neon sign flas.h.i.+ng on and off.

'A what?' the Doctor asked, following her across.

He stepped into what would have been an ordinary cafe, except for the personal computer sitting on each table.

The place was about half-full. Its proprietor, an overweight little man, stood behind a gleaming counter, his attention occupied by the big wall-mounted television. The Doctor followed his gaze, fascinated by what he saw on the screen. A man in odd clothes and a woman in a tailored suit were standing in an American street. He was trying to convince her that he was a time traveller and that in the next twenty-four hours the world would come to an end. She thought he was mad.

'What is that?' the Doctor asked, a little worried. The time travel er seemed sincere enough.

'Twelve Monkeys,' the cafe owner said. 'Cool film. It's just come out on sel -through. How can I help?'

'We'd like a couple of cups of tea and access to a computer terminal.'

'Sure.' He pa.s.sed over the price list. 'Have you surfed the net before?'

'Not like this, no.' The Doctor admitted, searching his pockets. 'I've only got ten pence,' he announced.

The cafe owner shrugged. 'Looks like you won't be losing your net virginity this afternoon, then.' He turned his attention back to the movie.

'We don't have money?' Bernice asked, aghast.

'We spent it al on your clothes.'

38.'You should have said.'

The proprietor glared at them. 'If you can't pay, could you at least keep quiet? This is a good bit.'

'If you'll excuse us one moment,' the Doctor said, smiling. He took his companion to one side. 'Couldn't you ...

persuade him?'

'How?' Bernice scowled.

'Well, you're not a little girl anymore...'

'I beg your pardon?' she snapped, before remembering the urgency of the situation. She bit her lip. 'OK.'

Bernice leant forward, and flashed her eyes at the proprietor, who dragged himself away from his movie. 'I don't have any money, but I think I have something you might find of interest.' She lent forward and whispered into his ear, before pulling back. 'Do you want that?' Bernice asked softly.

'If you'l do that for me,' the fat little man said in all seriousness, 'then you can have as much connect time as you want, and free cappuccinos.'

'I'm on the surface, chaps'. Two other astronauts followed him out, and they spent some time bouncing around, getting used to the idea that they were on an alien planet. 'Keep that camera pointing that way, Bob. There's a beautiful violet sky,'

Eve yawned. After the tenth time, even men on Mars lost their novelty value. 'Top the report with it.'

'Yeah, you're right,' Alan conceded, stabbing the pause b.u.t.ton. 'Then establis.h.i.+ng shots of the museum. Your commentary over that leading to the interview with the Mission Controller ... '

'Theo Ogilvy.'

'Ogilvy, that's it. Cut out his waffle, concentrate on the technical stuff, then finish with Greyhaven.'

'No, no,' Eve objected, 'Finish on me updating the progress - we want it to be current. I'll phone the office at the s.p.a.ce Centre and get the latest news just before we do the uplink.'

Alan rewound the tape. 'Any word on where we're going next?'

'Kyle wanted me to investigate the Loch Ness Monster.'

'I hope you told him to - '

'I did, Alan, don't worry. I'm not get lumbered with al that ”Real-life X Files” c.r.a.p. I convinced him that we should do a feature on Lord Greyhaven.'

Alan looked up, a smirk on his face. 'Did you indeed?'

'The guy's a national hero here, and he's pretty big back in the States, too. Remember him on Nightline? He lives in a stately home, but he's a brilliant scientist and a billionaire businessman. Good pictures, topical. People need heroes nowadays.'

'Wow, yeah, he's sort of a cross between Batman and Alfred the butler. And luckily he gave you the number for that flas.h.i.+ng red phone of his.'

'That too,' she laughed, 'and don't even think of bringing the Bat-Pole into the conversation right now. We'll get this done, then check the file on Greyhaven, see what we can find.'

'Sure. Whatever.' Alan turned back to the screen.