Part 1 (2/2)

Poor Archie wasn't very good at pretending. The smile that covered his face would have caused a cat to laugh. His mouth was twisted and strained and the muscles in his cheeks twitched with the effort of keeping his lips apart. The smile itself resembled a terrible razor slash, his red lips the open wound, the white teeth standing in for the exposed bone. 'Hallo, boys,' he said, attempting to maintain the smile. This made him sound like some tenth rate ventriloquist, the fixed smile preventing him from moving his lips and forming his words properly.

Romulus looked up from the book he was reading and cast an indifferent look at his father. 'You've been squeezing your blackheads,' he said at last. Archie's expression collapsed, his confidence shattered. 'I hope you've washed your hands. I don't want you touching me with bacteria-covered fingers.'

Archie opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I want to kill them! he screamed - but he only shouted this inside his head. I want to tear them limb from limb! But out loud he muttered 'I've come to say goodnight.'

Neither one of his sons replied. Romulus returning to his book and Remus continuing to rummage in a large wooden toy box.

Archie tried to cheer himself up by telling the twins about the android babysitter, but they remained impa.s.sive. He then enquired what sort of day they had had and the twins related in minute, boring detail each tedious event. Archie then attempted to counter bore by telling them about the publisher's party he was about to attend, but omitted to say that afterwards he was having dinner with computer programmer Vestal Smith - when the Voxnic would flow like water and he would receive lots of the deep understanding she was so good at.

But then the inevitable happened, the question Archie had dreaded.

It was made doubly unpleasant as it came in the middle of thinking about Vestal Smith.

'Where's Mother?'

Archie locked his fantasy away in a large box marked 'private' and turned towards his hateful son.

'Er... well, Remus,' he muttered. Archie hated using the twin's names in case he got them wrong. 'Well... to be honest... er ... she's busy.'

'Does that mean she isn't talking to us?' Remus's tone was as pompous and as arrogant as a tax official having just discovered a double entry. 'Or has she already gone out without saying goodbye?'

Archie reluctantly nodded. The twins retorted with a scowl, then said together 'Abandoned again!' This speaking as one person always unnerved Archie. He was aware that identical twins sometimes possessed an uncanny rapport with each other and were often able to antic.i.p.ate what the other was about to say, but Romulus and Remus were able to bring a rather unpleasant edge to the way they used this talent.

'You we forgive. Father... but not Mother.' Their dual intonation was like a terrible threat.

'I wish you would be kinder to your mother.' Archie was surprised at how stern he sounded. He then became afraid when the two advanced towards him. Standing shoulder to shoulder they stared up into his face, their own countenance hard and unyielding.

'Why?' they said together. 'Because mother happened to give birth to us, does that automatically grant her a place in our affections?'

Archie wasn't certain if the question was meant to be rhetorical or not, as they didn't give him time to answer.

'Respect must be earnt, Father. Mother is a fool! You know that!

Do you wish us to respect a fool. You've always said the contrary.'

A fool'.' A fool! How can they think she's a fool, he screamed inside his head. A woman who has four Ph.Ds and more degrees than any other person this side of Vebus Twelve! A fool!

Romulus and Remus continued to stare up at their father. Archie wondered if they could hear every ranting thought in his head.

Well, I hope you can! But out loud he said somewhat stiffly, 'Your mother is who she is whether you think her a fool or not. It's no excuse for poor manners and lack of concern.'

Archie braced himself for a savage riposte, but instead the twins turned away. 'As you wish, Father,' they said as one voice and then crossed to their computer terminals.

Archie was puzzled. Why the sudden change of mood'.' Cautiously he looked around the room expecting the worse sort of danger. The twins never gave up without a struggle. As a rule they would fight to the last shred and tatter of their argument.

Once more Archie's paranoia took flight. Perhaps they've put a bomb in my personal transporter. Reprogrammed the android babysitter. At this very moment it's making its way silently up the stairs, its micro-circuitry throbbing with one command: KILL

ARCHIE SYLVEST!.

'Goodnight, Father.' The tone was one of dismissal, not farewell.

Archie's racing mind jerked to a halt. 'Oh ...' he said, sounding awkward and embarra.s.sed as though he'd been asked a question to which he should have known the answer. 'Right... Goodnight, boys.' There was no reply.

Archie closed the twins' bedroom door behind him. His demeanour was that of a reprimanded schoolboy leaving a headmaster's study.

He was angry with himself. They always made him feel like a fool, yet he was every inch their equal. Had he not been called the finest mathematician since Albert Einstein? When only twenty years old, had he not published his thesis, 'Pure Mathematics and its Relations.h.i.+p with the Square Root of Minus Three.' (Archie was the first person to calculate the square root of minus three, until then, a feat considered impossible.) Not only had it astounded the mathematical world, but his book had become a best seller. He had proven his ability. I am a legend in the world of mathematics. I dominate my subject like a colossus.' What have those hateful children done'.

' Nothing.'

Dejectedly Archie shuffled along the hall and down the stairs.

Although he was a champion, a genius. Emperor of the Parellelogram, he knew it was simply a matter of time before he was replaced on the winner's pedestal by the twins. The consumption of all the Voxnic in the world couldn't change that.

The twins were too gifted for it not to happen. The trouble was Archie was too proud for it not to hurt. His psychiatrist was right: he was jealous of his own children.

The front door of twenty-five Lydall Street swung open and the portly frame of the greatest mathematician since Albert Einstein stepped out. The evening air was cold and Archie gave an involuntary shudder as it embraced him. As he turned to close the door, a gruff, hairy voice said, 'Are you Professor Archie Sylvest?'

Smiling, Archie turned to face his questioner. The owner of the voice was even more Neanderthal than expected. Archie stared blankly at the man and wondered who he could be.

Suddenly something powerful and hairy settled on Archie's arm.

At first glance, it resembled an enormous tropical spider, but on closer examination it turned out to be a muscular hand. The grip tightened on Archie's podgy limb, causing him to flinch. 'I'm Reginald Smith,' the voice grunted, 'Vestal Smith's husband!'

As ink travels on blotting paper, so did a look of horror slowly spread across the mathematician's face. At the same moment he seemed to lose control of his jaw and his mouth dropped open to reveal a set of excellent teeth. Unless Archie could immediately get his hand on a knuckle duster, a large club or the experience of a dozen karate lessons he would soon require the extensive service of an orthodontist. But such rescue only comes in fantasies and the grip, now hardening on his arm, reminded him of the impending reality.

From any point of view, it had not been Archie's day.

2.

THE MALADJUSTED TIME LORD.

Deep in s.p.a.ce, aboard the Doctor's TARDIS, things weren't an awful lot better. Regeneration had taken place, the event that is both a blessing and a scourge of the Time Lords of Gallifrey.

When a Time Lord is in danger of dying, his body grown too old to go on working properly, or, as one reported case has it, for reasons of vanity, a Time Lord is able to change his physical shape. This is brought about by a ma.s.sive release of a hormone called lindos, which, at lightening speed, is transported around the body causing it cells to reform and realign themselves. Although much work has been done by genetic engineers on Gallifrey, the process still remains a random and, in some cases, rather an erratic one.

Some Time Lords are able to proceed through their allotted twelve regenerations with enormous grace and dignity, growing older and more handsome with each change of shape. Others leap about to a startling degree, finis.h.i.+ng one regeneration a wise and n.o.ble elder, only to start the next a youthful, boastful braggart. This, needless to say, can cause enormous emotional and psychological upset. A good example of this was Councillor Verne.

<script>