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The Dying Days - Epilogue

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Kisses to the Future

Wednesday, 8 May 2593

'The student reputation for outrageous behaviour and excessive consumption of alcohol is, of course, a myth. Most students are extremely studious and hard-working,' Benny announced knowledgeably. 'If we want to uncover evidence of hedonism, one need look no further than the teaching staff. Professors in particular spend much of the time in a state of advanced inebriation.'

'Bernice, you sound like a professor already,' the Doctor assured her.

'Thank you.' Benny knocked back another vodka. 'Robarman, another round, please, if you would.'

'Certainly, Professor Summerfield.' Two more glasses joined their friends on their table. The college bar, quaintly named The Witch and Whirlwind, was decorated with rather wonderful gold fittings that warranted further in-depth investigation.

Benny sipped her ale. A rich taste that also warranted further in-depth investigation. She looked up at the Doctor.

'After this, I really think we should get my stuff out of the TARDIS and up to my room.'

The TARDIS had landed in a concrete expanse that Benny\x92s induction pack had rather optimistically labelled a piazza. It had been raining since they had arrived, longer judging by the torrents of water gushing down the overflow channels. Benny\x92s new home, the Garland College Hall of Residence, was a vast barrel shaped building in soaked brick. Its corridors and stairways were empty. A month before the start of term, the entire planet seemed deserted.

\x91Do you think it will ever stop raining?\x92 Benny asked.

The Doctor considered the question, peering off over her shoulder. \x91The orbital lift has permanently altered the weather patterns by the look of it,\x92 he concluded, pointing over to the north. A silver line had been drawn, bisecting the sky. The lift was a design familiar from a thousand Outer Planets, a metal spire tall enough to poke out of the atmosphere, allowing incredibly energy-efficient launches into low orbit. Cheap spaceflight, with a heavy cost to the local environment.

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\x91Bother,\x92 Benny said, moderating her language in the Doctor\x92s presence. Then she realised he\x92d disappeared into the TARDIS, so she repeated the sentiment using the F-word, just because she could.

The Time Lord emerged. \x91You\x92ll be needing this more than I will,\x92 he said, handing her an umbrella. The umbrella. She opened it up. It was a hundred yards and three flights of steps between her new room and her old one, and it took an hour of moving heavy boxes and cases between the two before the job was finished. Benny took a last look at the TARDIS and then walked up to her new room. It was what an estate agent would describe as 'compact', but there was a perfectly serviceable kitchenette sort of thing, a nice bathroom, a study big enough for half a dozen students (if they breathed in) and all her books. Finally, there was the bedroom.

She flopped down onto the bed next to the Doctor, who was looking a bit sad. Wolsey brushed against her legs.

'You need a companion,' the Doctor announced.

'Won't you miss him?'

'I'll miss him.' He hesitated, brushing back a lock of hair. 'Look, Bernice, I don't like goodbyes, but sometimes... ' He produced a very large bottle of champagne and grinned. 'Napoleon gave this to me, for services rendered. The very first magnum of Brut Imp\xE9rial. I've been saving it for a special occasion.'

He popped the cork.

'Er, this is a tremendous oversight on my part, but I don't have any wine glasses.'

'Mugs will do.'

Benny unpacked a couple and the Doctor poured. When he had finished, they held them up. Wolsey watched the proceedings with interest.

'To the adventures of Professor Bernice Summerfield,' the Doctor declared.

'To a,' Benny paused for a moment, and then smiled, 'Doctor who might change, but won't ever die.'

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'To the future, wherever and whatever it might be,' the Doctor said.

'The future,' Benny echoed.

They clinked their mugs together.

'I had better go,' the Doctor said quietly, when he had finished his champagne.

Benny hesitated, looking into those deep blue eyes of his. 'Yes. Look, before you leave, there's one thing I have to do. I'd never forgive myself otherwise.'

The Doctor looked puzzled. 'What would that - '

She grabbed the lapels of his frock coat, kissed him square on the mouth and pushed him down hard onto the bed.

Wolsey jumped out of the way.

Sunday, November 23rd 1997

It was a beautiful morning.

The bright winter sun poured through the stained glass of Westminster Abbey, bathing the Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen and television cameras assembled to witness a unique occasion: the only Recoronation in the history of the United Kingdom. Six months on, the Martian Invasion was a distant memory. One author, a man named Oswald, even claimed that there had never been any Martians, it had all been part of the coup leaders' conspiracy to divert attention while they seized power. His main observation was that few people had actually seen a Martian, and no items of alien technology had been recovered. Any 'sightings' of the Martians or their ship could be put down to mass hysteria or ball lightning. Oswald's book had become a best-seller, and his theory was particularly popular in the United States of America.

Queen Elizabeth sat on the coronation throne, the Imperial State Crown on her head, restored to its former glory. The Recoronation would clear the constitutional way for the election of a new Parliament. Every single surviving member of the Provisional Government was in prison, caught trying to flee the country they had betrayed. David Staines had been one of the first, found trying to catch a Eurostar while disguised as a woman. The resultant police mugshot was destined to become one of the most enduring images of the Invasion.

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Representatives of every nation on Earth were calling 'God save the Queen'. The European Union, the United States and the Japanese had made generous reconstruction grants, although Britain would continue to remember their inaction during the Dying Days for some considerable years. There was a great deal that needed doing, especially in the northern cities. Things were changing, there was a new sense of optimism, of hope for the future. Perhaps it would get worse before it would get better, but everyone knew that it would get better.

Behind the various ambassadors and heads of state stood the senior military men and other heroes of the Invasion. Outside, the crowds were cheering again, the sound percolating through the thick walls of the Abbey.

'It's a shame the Doctor couldn't be here.'

'Oh but he is, Doris.'

'Where?'

'See that chap with the scarf and the tin dog?' Lethbridge-Stewart pointed across the aisle.

'Oh yes. Is the blonde girl with him?'

'Judging by her dress-sense, I would say so.'

A couple of people leant over, stern looks on their faces. Alistair smiled back at them. When they recognised him, they mumbled their apologies and returned their attention to the ceremony. Montserrat Caballe had taken her place in front of the choir and now began to sing the Recoronation Aria, the specially-commissioned piece by Lord Lloyd-Webber. Future historians would count this as the first moment of the New New Elizabethan Age, when British art and literature entered a brief, but prolific resurgence.

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Alistair glanced over at Brigadier Bambera. His successors were going to do sterling work, probably even better than him. But he liked to think that he'd set a high standard for them. Hopefully in years to come, people would say that he had lived up to his illustrious ancestry, and that by and large he'd done a good job. He knew that he'd had a good innings, and despite the old saying, he'd neither died nor faded away. Retirement wasn't so bad, not on those terms.

And that's why, in the middle of a packed Westminster Abbey on one of the most important dates in British history, despite everything that had happened, General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart found himself roaring with laughter.

THE END