Doctor Who: Bright Lights Burning

'The Adventures of the Eleventh Doctor'

-Christmas Special 2010

Starring Matt Smith, Karen Gillan, and Arthur Darvill, as the Eleventh Doctor, Amy Pond, and Rory Williams -

Chapter 1: For the good of the planet

By Nathan Mullins

Name: Professor Baxendale

Age: 54 but hates to admit that he's actually 64, and three quarters.

Job title: Teacher, but works as an inventor in his spare time.

Invention: The lights in the sky which return every night to him, having been sent every morning on a journey to America, across the Atlantic, and then back again.

"For the purpose that I may use these lights to give humanity some reassurance that just about anything is possible, accomplishable and worth their while…" he said, leaning across the desk sounding all chuffed with himself.

"They're a marvellous invention Sir," said Mr Simpson, in his American accent, so very recognisable among the British man, and small Irish woman seated in a chair beside Mr Baxendale.

"But, there's always a but… so spill the coffee!" Catherine cut in.

Mr Simpson leant in further towards his two 'guests', and smiled at them, as if not to sound harsh by telling them they were not ready to be sold just yet.

"The English and American markets aren't yet ready for flying obelisks that hold power greater than the sun; despite the advantages we might seek from them, to replace nuclear plants and atomic weapons!"

Trevor Baxendale could not believe what he was hearing.

"Einstein would have said himself these are a marvellous invention!"

Arnold Simpson shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. Being a proud man, he hated knocking other people's dreams, when he was living in a dream of his own. His job was to give promise to the Prime Minister that all new technological devices were brought into public knowledge, when, and only when they were ready for it. Think of the crimes listed given that the hover-board had been invented 20 years earlier than a scheduled release. Burglaries would be up; theft would be the cop's main concern. Kids would get away from them too easily on their flying recycled half scooter, half roller blade thingies…

Catherine had been all relaxed, before she heard the words 'no', Arnold already having passed judgement on Trevor's life long passion, to give something back to the world that meant no pollution, no killing, no false hopes, and all that – things can only get better, if we switch over to nuclear time'. Trevor had invented the ultimate prize he was willing to share with planet Earth, and he had been turned down in a stinking office, that smelt awful no thanks to the stench of cigars, smoked by Catherine, and Arnold pushed open the only three windows to allow some air to clear the stench.

"Your time is up Trevor, and I regret to add that we, as in 'House of future chosen by you' are ending your contract."

"But Mr Simpson, I mean Arnold," Trevor quickly backtracked, choosing to refer to Mr Simpson as his friend, his brother, which was who he was, his second name the chosen name of his wife, of whom had ordered he go under, if he wanted to be free of his father, and be able to actually move to the country.

"But nothing Trev…" Arnold replied, harshly. "We gave you ample time to return us something brilliant, something the whole blooming world would go for, and so far, you've brought us home some crap the UN would have stood a better chance of producing given some plado in which to mould. I'm sorry brother, but the Minister has ordered I relieve you of your duty to go on serving your country."

"How dare you!" Trevor shrieked, his hatred for his brother now growing steadily worse. Catherine held him back, whilst he hoped to reach out and break his brother's neck.

"Get out!" Arnold ordered.

Catherine cut her eye at him, as she pushed the handle to the door down, still with Trevor in arms, pushing him through, and tumbling outside the office after him.

"Don't take this personally!" Arnold teased, as he shut the door after them, locking it with a press of his panic button beneath his desk.

"Yes, I'm sure the Prime Minister would have loved those obelisks," said Arnold, lounging back in his chair, thinking over the possibilities. "But then father always said Trev would reach the top, and I might never succeed. One of us has to take the plunge, and it won't be…," and whilst he went on, and on, and on, his chair slid back, and he tumbled backwards, he skidding into a window , in which he fell through, falling to the ground from the third floor in which he had died before splintering into pieces on the concrete below.

Trevor would never know. He was finished with his brother, and Catherine was glad this was so.

To be continued…