Preparation:

Another entry for the Big Finish competition. Yet another example of me not following the guidelines to the letter. A better effort than the unfinished imprisoned. I believe a result of writing more between the two entries. I'm still not entirely happy with it . A little too similar to broadcast stories doesn't help. Maybe the idea cooking in my head will be better written this year? Time will tell.

He was in the Pantry when I first met him: the Doctor. I was eight years old and frightened. They were in the living room: crawling after me. 

It all began six months earlier. An intense advertising campaign had hit our television screens and assorted
children’s comics. Pester power was used and the country was gripped by ‘Soldier Joe’ fever. We swapped
double copies of the soldiers with our friends in the school yard. It became an obsession. Talk show hosts
discussed the craze with leading actors as they sat on their sofas. Comedians peppered their stand-up routines
with references to the Soldier Joe phenomenon. No matter which channel you switched to, there was no
escape. It was the latest craze to grip the country.

Screams had woken me up. I peered through my curtains. Soldier Joes were crawling along the pavements.
A drunk lay glassy eyed nearby. Pets ran for cover recognising the threat before their so called human masters. Cars exploded like Roman candles as the invasion began.

The Doctor was a smallish man dressed in a Safari suit and wearing a hat. 

‘I was just passing through,’ he explained, ‘I thought I’d take a second look at the Louvre. I’m not in the Louvre
am I?’ he asked, frowning at the sight of the brown sauce bottle and the Marmite Jar.

‘No, you are in our Pantry,’ I replied.

‘Country?’ asked the man.

‘England,’ I replied confused.

‘Year?’ he asked.

‘1979,’ I answered wondering who the strange man was.

The man stuck his finger into his mouth, pulled it out and held it in front of him. He frowned.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked gently sensing my fear.

‘Timothy,’ I answered nervously.

‘Timothy, I feel that we should know each other. But now is not the right time. It seems I have work to do,’
frowned the man. ‘I’m the Doctor,’ he explained, ‘we’ll meet again.’

He bowed to me nearly knocking the condiments off the shelf. He seemed funny almost clown like but I could
also sense a danger within him. Something told me that he was involved with what was happening. The rest of
that evening now seems confused to me. I remember the Doctor disappearing. Outside the screams and
explosions increased. I remember lying huddled in the corner of the pantry wondering where my Mum and
Dad were. I remember a strange elephantine wheezing noise and then? Well the rest of that long night played
in my imagination for a very long time. The memory cheats one person in the Media once said. That maybe the
case but I remember an earth shattering roar followed by the chugging of Chinook helicopters; gun fire and
screams. I remember waking up cold the next day and switching on the television. Reporters talking about
mass hallucinations and a product recall number for Soldier Joe. Apparently when wet, the toy soldiers emitted
an odour which gave rise to hallucinations. Mum and Dad, I was relieved to find out, were fine if not shaken.

The second time I met the Doctor I was Seventeen and studying for my A levels at College. He looked exactly
the same: Safari suit, Boater style hat and question mark topped umbrella. There had been an incident recently.
News reports of a hoax alien landing. I had been too tied up with Charlotte at the time to take notice properly.
I remember there had been some excitement: Aliens had been in contact. Reporters had been jabbering away
furiously at our screens but I didn’t care. I lay next to Charlotte and that was all that mattered.  The next
morning I half listened to a news report on the Radio as I left the house to buy some milk for Breakfast.
Students had created a hoax that had convinced the public that we had been visited by Aliens. Apparently it
was a homage to Orson Welles. A reporter with a military cut was showing prosthetics and explaining slowly to
the screen what had happened. It was explained to us by other earnest reporters, all with military haircuts,
that people had been arrested for the hoax: there was no danger, ET had not arrived. I was indifferent to all of
this. All I could think of was Charlotte and her warm embrace. I walked into the newsagents and there he was,
the Doctor, reading the front page of a tabloid.

‘Ah Timothy!’ he purred ‘Let me see,’ he said. He tapped me on the head. ‘Hmm: not yet ready. I will see you
soon,’ He bowed theatrically, smiled goofily and then walked away.

‘Doctor! Wait. Who are you?’ I asked breathlessly as I had to jog to keep up with the briskly walking man.

‘Indeed, who am I? Civilisations have risen and fallen and not known the answer! My name is not important or
maybe it is too important?’ He looked unsure as he said this,’ No, Just the Doctor:  a friend. I think. I hope,’ he
frowned ‘We’ll speak soon!’ he beamed. And with that he walked out of my range and out of my life.

The next time I met the Doctor I was Forty. The year was 2011. I had completed my thesis on Biological
engineering some fifteen years before. The work had interested me, inspired me: it opened doors into
Government research. Sadly, that was the last time my research satisfied me entirely.  I worked for the
Government in various departments and on various projects: whilst I’d often complain that my work wasn’t
inspiring, I had to admit it paid the bills. Charlotte had long gone. We were too different apparently. She was a
creative spirit whilst I was a drone: doomed to a life of servitude. The last I heard she was living in a commune
in Paris. That was so her. For a long time I was hurt: My Smith’s records were on heavy rotation. Time moved
on. Technology changed and the internet seeped into the public consciousness. My work was routine and I
needed a new passion. It was at this time my memories of the strange little man, I had encountered, began to
occupy my mind. With the advent of the internet I was in my element. I became an internet sleuth: the Doctor
was my goal. I had followed the internet trail left by him and had come to the conclusion: The Doctor must die.
He was a threat. Every time he visited earth, death and destruction had followed. I had created a dossier on him
; communicated with others. Those who met him always ended up dead. He had visited several times:
Hundreds of times maybe thousands. Not always with the same face; not always the same gender but he was
there with death in his wake. After an online rant one night, fuelled by my Friend Bob’s special Brew, I received
a mysterious reply to my post. The person stated they had the means to dispose of the Doctor: would I be
willing to meet up?

Mr Billingsworth was an odd looking gentleman I give him that. He was six and a half feet tall with hands like
shovels. His face was rubbery and angular. He was craggy and formidable looking. To be honest, I was more
than a bit afraid of him. He told me of a serum which could halt a Time lord’s capacity to regenerate. With the
ability to regenerate impaired the Timelord could be stopped. No more death. The earth would be safe from
its most fearsome predator. There would be fake attack on the Earth which would trigger the Doctor’s arrival:
he always struck when the earth was at its most vulnerable. The idea was that I’d attack the Doctor and inject
him with the serum. Mr Billingsworth would do the rest. The Doctor would be in the heart of the maelstrom:
that’s where I would find him. Mr Billingsworth told me to visit Bognor Regis: this is where the attack would
take place.

My mind was a blur. I found it difficult to concentrate at work. Soon it would be over: Earth’s greatest danger
would be gone. My life would be in danger but at least I would have the satisfaction of knowing I made a
difference: that I, Timothy Taylor, 40 year old singleton and Government research Scientist had saved the day.
Sure I wasn’t flash: aesthetically I could do with shedding a few pounds but at the end of the day, I had what it
counts: integrity and bravery. I was going to prevail: I was sure of it. I could die knowing I had made a
difference.

It had started off so promisingly: the day was bright and sunny reflecting the newfound optimism I felt. I was to
enter the production plant of Petrochemicals Inc, part of Geo-Con Global, a conglomerate that was responsible
for the production of all things plastic and steel: they owned companies that produced staples and rockets,
nothing was too mundane or too reprehensible for the company which had risen to one of the top companies
on the planet with an average annual revenue which would shame most developed global economies.
Petrochemicals Inc was where the action was to take place: the company allegedly made capsules which would
house Alien infiltrators needing disguise as they amassed an invasion force around the world. This was the
information which was going to ‘mysteriously leak’ to UNIT triggering off an emergency response team. The
theory was the response team’s presence would alert the Doctor. Whilst the Doctor was looking into one of
the pods, I was going to leap out of my hiding place and inject the Doctor with the serum. I would be a hero:
A true Earth defender.

I lay behind a table where the pods had been ‘manufactured.’ I stood there wondering where Mr Billingsworth
had attained these ‘invasion pods’. My mind raced with other thoughts: would the Doctor actually arrive?
Would it happen in the next hour as I was desperate for the loo? I examined the phial with the Serum in: it was
burnt orange in colour. With shaking hand, I plunged a needle into the serum and pumped it into the syringe.
Not long now until the Doctor, not long until my greatest hour, my triumph. A klaxon screamed into life. With
my heart thumping wildly in my ears, I strained up from my crouching position wondering whether I was
suffering from Arthritis. I started to totter drunkenly to the far end of the plant to the doors. I saw through
blurred vision that I had about half a football pitch to cover to escape.

‘Halt,’ barked an authoritative voice.

I ran gasping in oxygen, cursing myself for not frequenting the gym and for not avoiding the double chocolate
digestives. Before long, the inevitable steel like grip of a military personnel’s hand clasped around the back of
my neck. I stood still gasping painful breaths brought on by a sudden burst of physical activity. Wincing from
the combined pain from my captors vice like grip and from the pain created by my sudden exertion, I shuddered
and sobbed as I awaited my fate. 

I imagined my fate: trapped in a soulless, windowless room with the Doctor. He would leer at me, snarl at me
and taunt me. He and other companions would slowly destroy me as he had many others. I steeled myself for
my fate. 

How wrong I was. Mr Billingsworth turned out to be an alien of reptilian origin. He was an intergalactic con man
who wanted to sell the Earth to Emperor Scythe of the Elgelsis quadrant, ruler of all of Sentient Reptilian kind.
Mr Billingsworth wanted to get the Doctor out of the way so the sale could go ahead. Mr Billingsworth had
created the fictitious company ‘We dream retreats’ a supposed realtor of planets. He had hired a suite of
buildings on Alpha Prime for an eye watering sum. However, to make big, one had to invest big: that was his
motto. Indeed it had been remarked, as he faced trial for this misdemeanour, that he would have made a great
businessman. As far as Mr Billingsworth was concerned, Earth was an ideal place to terraform for other
reptilian species to holiday in. Mr Billingsworth had convinced the Emperor, and his accountants, that Earth
was a prime piece of real estate ideal to be converted into a holiday planet for the habitants of the Elgelsis
quadrant. He’d even created mock plans for a nearby hyperspace network to suggest that Earth would be i
deally located for travellers from the Elgelsis quadrant. He had to act fast: if the Timelords, or other higher
species, realised that he was going to wipe out a Level three sentient civilisation, to enable a despot to
terraform a planet to make it suitable for an entirely different species then he would be in big trouble. The
problem with Earth was that it had, in some parts of the universe, become famous for two things: firstly,
among time sensitive species, it was foreseen that the Humans of Sol 3 would become a dominant force in the
universe one day and secondly, it had gained quite a reputation for being defended by a Timelord known as
the Doctor. Mr Billingsworth knew enough about the Doctor to be cautious in his plans: The Doctor had
defeated Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans and Ice Warriors- no mean feat: he had to be taken care of.  However,
with his acquisition of a Serum designed to incapacitate Time Lords created in the Danghor system meant that
he dared to take the risk. Mr Billingsworth was a descendant of the legendary Haarth, Defender of all
Reptilians. Haarth was a legendary hero to all sentient Reptilian beings, he had fought the Mammalian slave
overlords of Beltis 3 and carved out an empire of Reptilian kind.  With this particular lineage, it was perhaps
unsurprising that he didn’t like the sound of humans from Sol becoming dominant in the universe: as far as he
was concerned the Universe would better with fewer humanoid pink apes. Selling the Earth to Emperor Scythe
and have it transformed to a planet suitable for Reptilian species was far more appropriate than having their
spawn pollute the Universe.  The serum he owned wouldn’t kill the Timelord, such serums were close to
impossible to come by, but it would incapacitate the Doctor long enough for Mr Billingsworth to auction him
off to the Daleks, Cybermen or any other entity with a grudge against the Doctor.  He would raise enough capital
from the sale of Earth and the sale of the Doctor to never work again. He could sit at the beach planet of
Nykandir and drink cocktails from dawn to dusk. I found this out from a sort of soldier type, who was guarding
the bay, I was now sitting in. Apparently the holding bay was owned by an organisation named UNIT. My head
was swimming: the Doctor was a bad guy. All the evidence pointed to it and yet I was holed up, as if a prisoner
, whereas the Doctor was free to roam where he wanted. My mind was racing when he walked in.

‘Ah Timothy we meet again,’ smiled the Doctor.

I looked at him: the same jacket; the same hat.

‘What’s going on Doctor? Haven’t you killed enough people? Go to Hell!’

Frowning, the Doctor looked at me sadly.

‘Timothy, you’ve got me all wrong. I protect your planet…’

‘Yeah, right!’ I sneered.

‘I’m not sure what Mr Billingsworth has told you but I can assure you it is not true. Earth is one of my favourite
planets. You Humans, you have so great potential. Admittedly the potential to do good or bad, and there are t
imes when I despair of you all, but you usually get there in the end:  you’re indomitable- Hah!. The Universe will
be shaped by your presence in the millennium to come,’ continued the Doctor. ‘I want to see that potential to
come into fruition,’ he said with a soft Scot’s bur.

‘But everything I’ve read about you suggests otherwise,’ I insisted plaintively.

‘What have you read? What have you heard?’ enquired the Doctor.

‘People die when they are with you,’ I began.

‘They die trying to be the best versions of themselves…’ started the Doctor.

‘What’s that supposed to mean!’ I exploded.

‘I try and bring the best out of other people in order to defeat threats to livelihoods and threats to people’s way
of life,’ answered the Doctor.

‘You get other people to take risks whilst you walk away unharmed,’ I stated. The sneer was returning.

‘You’ve heard of regeneration?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Yes, it’s a Timelord way of cheating death,’ I replied.

‘Twelve lives is what you get,’ explained the Doctor, ‘Most of my people live for thousands of years and
regenerate once a millennium whereas I, a mere youngster, am already on my seventh incarnation,’ he
continued, ‘My life is fraught with danger and it has taken its toll.’

‘What attracts you to our Planet?’ I asked annoyed that the Doctor was starting to sound quite reasonable.

‘Back when I was young, I was reading about the civilisations of the universe and looking at their projections in
time and space. Earth’s trajectory in time and space in terms of influence on the Universe was quite immense.
Indeed, its cultural footprint over time was greater than that of the Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans and the
Rutans. There had been great debates amongst the elite of my people on what was to be done about Earth.
The debates lasted years. I followed them through to the end. The final decision was to observe and only act if
necessary. As far as my people were concerned, your people are destined to shape the future of the universe in
one way or another. It is a fixed fact not to be removed,’ he explained.

‘Ok,’ I replied, ‘So Earth had a fascination for you. But that doesn’t explain why you always visit. Surely, you could
observe us from your home planet?’ I asked now interested in the response.

Sighing the Doctor explained,’ In the arrogance of my youth, I believed I could positively influence your culture.
Shape you to make the right decisions and get you to shy away from the wrong decisions…’

‘You thought you could play God!’ I thundered pleased that I was on the side of morality gain.

‘Look the memory cheats,’ began the Doctor, ‘My reasons for leaving home were many and complex but I knew
that visiting Earth and trying to encourage people to make the right choices was a priority!’

‘You decided to manipulate us!’ I accused.

‘I have seen the myriad possibilities Earth’s influence could have on the universe: some good; many evil. I
merely want the universe to have the chance to see Earth culture at its best. To be honest with you, ruthless
Mercantilism is probably the most singular contribution Earth will make to the varied cultural tapestry of the
universe but from that ruthlessness, there will be sparks of cultural resistance: some from other species; some
from humans, or their descendants, themselves. I recognise that and I do not try to stop it. I focus on the
individual and try to make them become the best version of themselves,’ he explained.

‘Is that why you visit so much? Because you want to observe us?’ I asked.

‘One of the reasons. Yes.’

‘There are others?’ I enquired.

‘Companionship,’ explained the Doctor.

‘At first I was wary of Humans. I’d seen, through my studies back home, how dangerous you can be as a species
. It was with great reluctance that I settled for some time in London. However, it was there where I met some
great people. I learnt a lot about the good qualities of humanity: love, comradeship and respect. These were
virtues that were merely glossed over in some parts of the Academy. Up close I saw how great humanity could
be. I saw the spark that would enable humans to reach out and explore when the time is right. I knew to ensure
that great cultural migration that I needed to ensure that the planet was defended.’

‘So you are not out to destroy us?’ I asked trying to clarify in my mind that I had definitely got it wrong: the
Doctor was not a threat.

‘No. There are times and will be times when I will have to stop the actions of humans. There are or will be
times when the very actions of human beings will threaten the very fabric of the Universe and, at those times,
I will stop the activity. However, the resistance to those plans will originate amongst humans themselves and
copied and adopted by many other species in the universe. It is that resistance and that inspired aspiration of
the few to do right against their fellow comrades which I try to nurture. In my many travels many of my closest
companions have been human. Indeed, it would not be overstating the fact when I say that there are times
that you humans have acted as my conscience and have helped me, myself, to be the very best that I can be
and it is that trait that I am eternally grateful,’ explained the Doctor further.

‘So what happens now?’ I enquired.

The Doctor sighed ’Let’s see: you have a background knowledge of me and you have had contact with alien
kind. In addition to these two facts, you have a Science background. I’d say that would make you an idea
l candidate for UNIT Scientific research, ‘ he paused, frowned and then smiled, ‘I think you have a new job. Just
excuse me whilst I do some talking,’ he raised his eyebrows in a comical manner spun around 180 degrees and
left the room.

My heart was racing, adrenaline was coursing through my veins and it felt as if my kidneys were throbbing
painfully in time with my pulse . I was sat in the dark trying to make sense of the last five minutes. One minute
I was after a man who I believed had been the scourge of mankind; the next I had been offered a job by him.
Moreover, my accomplice had turned out to be reptilian alien who had a hostile dislikes and now I’m thinking
of humans as just one species. Not hypothetically speaking but as a fact.  I sat alone thinking of my future,
relieved that I still had a future.

Eventually a man in military uniform entered the room. He was accompanied by a man in a cheap suit.
The other man was carrying a clipboard with some paper attached to it.

The Military man spoke ‘Well, young man: you’re lucky. The Doctor, our Scientific officer has taken a shining to
you. If it were left to me you’d be spending a considerable time imprisoned. Still when the Doctor wants has
made up his mind he usually gets what he wants. As I’ve said: You’re lucky. If you speak to Mr Farnforth here,
he will make a note of your particulars.

And that is how I ended up working for UNIT. I wasn’t front line which suited me fine: that two minute pursuit
that day had convinced me that field work wouldn’t be my forte. I did start attending the gym after that
though. My research became a lot more interesting: I was part of a team which tested alien DNA: sampling the
building blocks of other species.

I headed a team which developed cures for visitors to our planet. We looked at their DNA coding and
developed suitable vaccines and medication to help visitors whilst they were on earth. I liked the idea of
helping out other species. Whilst I was fully aware that there were dangerous species out there I liked the idea
of trying to be the best version of myself that I could possibly be. This was a sentiment the Doctor had elucidate
d to me. Over the years, however, the influence of the Doctor’s visit started to fade.

I was approached by a Colonel from a covert branch of UNIT.  He talked to me about Alien threats to Earth and
the need for last resort weapons to fight them with. Thinking of Mr Billingsworth, I couldn’t help but agree with
him. Shortly after I became a head of a team which developed biological weapons to be used in case of an
Alien attack on Earth. ‘Don’t tell the Doctor,’ was our buzzword. I was disappointed that the work I was
undertaking may go against the wishes of the man who I had learnt to admire rather than fear. However,
knowing there were life forms out there with hostile intentions towards my species persuaded me that, whilst
not desirable, defence was a legitimate excuse to develop such an arsenal.

One day the inevitable instruction came through: TimeLords could be a possible threat to Earth: find a defence.
This instruction sat uneasily with me: I had read the classified files there were those of his kind who had been a
threat to Earth. However, a biological weapon against Timelords could be used against the Doctor. Since taking
up this post I had read files of different species and had been impressed how often the Doctor had defeated
schemes against the earth and against the harmony of the universe itself. Indeed I felt more guilt regarding my
actions years before. I also started to feel uneasy about my role at UNIT. However, the job had its perks: I could
afford to put my nephew and niece through University and help set them up financially. Something I had
resolved to do after my time with the Doctor was to spend more time with my sister and her family. I was a
Bachelor and quite set in my ways but I loved visiting my sister and her family. I felt invested and connected to
them; far more so than before my encounter with the Doctor. The salary and perks of UNIT were hard to give
up. Still I was troubled. Experimental Serums which shut down the regeneration process of a Timelord and
poisoned them was developed. Of course we hadn’t the opportunity to experiment with the serum but it was
there. It was easy to sample the Doctor’s DNA: he had worked for UNIT on and off over the years. I delayed
reporting to my superiors: excuses were made; data, at times, faked. But eventually, with a heavy heart, I
submitted the serum. Afterwards the serum was locked away in a vault to be used in emergencies.

I first noticed the cough after a few days of having a dry throat. I visited the UNIT medical teams. After much
testing, I was given the news. The shock of cancer was shattering. Over time the prognosis was not good:
terminal. I spent time with my sister and her family. The care I received was top notch: perks of being
employed by UNIT. I eventually became resigned to my fate: I had lived a good life; seen things and known
things most other humans were blissfully unaware of. The one thing bothered me: the Serum. Guilt gnawed
away at me. Day after day, I thought about the serum. Peace of mind was alluding me. I looked up old files:
there were certain ways to contact the Doctor. I looked them up. I left him a message: meet me.

On the appointed day, I awaited in my apartment. The elephantine wheezing and groaning of the Doctor’s craft
the TARDIS announced his arrival. He walked out of the door and bowed to me theatrically: same hat; same
jacket same umbrella.

‘Timothy, old friend. So soon. But good to see you,’ he beamed in my direction.

‘Doctor: it has been fifteen years,’ I stated.

‘Hmm, from point of view I suppose it is,’ he replied.

‘Doctor, I am dying,’ I told him.

‘I know,’ replied the Doctor rather awkwardly.

‘I needed to see you one more time,’ I explained.

‘You have been busy since we last met. Some good work. Some...not so good,’ the Doctor replied frowning at
the last part of the sentence.

‘You changed my life: gave it focus; you opened up my mind. You made me…’ I explained.

‘More afraid?’ interjected the Doctor ‘I had hoped that our last encounter had convinced you I was not a threat,
’ he carried on sadly.

‘You did! You did!’ I cried emphatically blushing because I knew that he knew about the Serum.

‘Are you sure?’ the Doctor asked with an unnerving undertone.

‘It wasn’t about you. It was about the other: the bad ones. I tried to argue against it. I was just doing…’ I trailed.

‘Your job?’ he finished a touch scornfully.

‘It’s here Doctor. It’s yours,’ I said handing the Serum over.

‘Thank you Timothy,’ the Doctor said quietly.

We chatted for a while and then he made his excuses after a cup of tea and a slice of Battenberg cake. He
popped into his Blue box and disappeared from my time and space. I never saw him again.

Epilogue:

The Doctor stood away from the others at the Funeral. Humans were like fireflies: bright, dazzling but brief he
reflected. He looked sadly at the crying woman being consoled by her husband and her grown up children.
Other UNIT dignitaries were there. He spotted who he was looking for: Major Shaban, a tall distinguished
looking, greying military man.

Major Shaban saw the Doctor. He recognised him as one of the ‘earlier ones.’ He saw that the Doctor wanted
to speak with him, alone.  They walked in silence to a cafe in town. The Major ordered a Coffee; the Doctor an
Earl Grey tea.

‘How can I help you Doctor? the Major asked gruffly.

‘I want to give you this,’ he replied.

He opened the palm of his hand. The serum was in it.

The Major spluttered and reddened with embarrassment.

‘Why would you give me this?’ he asked.

‘Faith Major Shaban. I gave it to you as I have Faith with humankind,’ replied the Doctor.

With that he got up out of his seat, pushed his chair in and bowed to the Major. Without another word he
exited the Coffee shop.