[Faction Paradox 00] - Dead Romance by Lawrence Miles

Author:Lawrence Miles
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Bernice Summerfield, Lawrence Miles, Time Lords, Faction Paradox, Doctor Who, Chris Cwej
Publisher: Mad Norwegian Press
Published: 2004-10-12T23:00:00+00:00

Third Notebook (128 Pages, 8 Blank)

Notes on Reproduction

1

The scroll that Chris Cwej bought for me on Cygni 8.6, the one that charts the history of the Summerfield name in the “real” world, isn’t really parchment at all. It’s some kind of computer, pulped down until it’s as flat as paper, just like that copy of The Times with the talking columnists. If you press the names on the family tree then little windows of ink open up, and tell you more about the generations of Summerfields.

Because of this, I know that Jonah Summerfield was born in 1930, and died in an industrial accident in 1975. The scroll says that he was skilled in all kinds of crafts, but that his main line of work was in the military. I think what this means is that he spent his life being pushed from one job to another, and got called up for national service sometime in the ‘50s. The family tree also tells me that Jonah was just eighteen when he got his wife-to-be pregnant, and that the boy-child they ended up with was also called Jonah.

Jonah Jnr. was born in 1948, the same year as me. I know Jonah Jnr. must have been a child of his time, because when he had a son of his own (in 1970, another big date in my personal diary) he called the baby Valentine. After the lead character in Stranger in a Strange Land, probably. You’d be amazed how many people had the same idea in the late ‘60s.

When Jonah Summerfield Jnr. called his first-born Valentine, he was actually starting a long tradition of Summerfields with stupid names. Valentine’s one male child was called Benedict, born 1990, and I have no idea what might make someone give their son a name like that. Maybe there was a famous pop star called Benedict in the 1990s, who knows?

2

It wasn’t hard, finding a decent coke supply in London 1970. You just had to know which public toilets to hang around. On the 5th of October, I got back to the flat after a happy afternoon’s toilet-shopping and found a note from Cwej waiting for me on the doorstep. Something had come up, the monitoring station had spotted another problem, blah blah blah, and he’d be back before nightfall unless he got killed or something.

So, I wasn’t expecting to find anybody waiting in the living room. But I found Khiste.

Khiste looked like a totally different kind of killing machine, here in the light of the bottle. He sat hunched up in the middle of the floor, his body too big and bulky to squeeze into any of the bunks, with his little grey face fixed on the TV set. Watching Eamonn Andrews rounding up the stories on the Today programme.

He looked up at me when I walked in, and grunted. He almost sounded friendly. Whatever kind of tension there’d been between us on Simia KK98, there didn’t seem to be much point to it here in London.

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