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Prologue: A few authors having a drink in This Time Round. That was the way they liked it. Had anyone there realised who they really were, they would have been hunted down and cast into the Outer Darkness, where the cacodemons would take great pleasure in devouring them layer by layer. And it wasn't just because they were authors, either. It wasn't even because they were a secret conspiracy - of _course_ they were a secret conspiracy, but what was the point if you had a secret lair with secret meetings, secret plans, and hooded robes? _Everyone_ knew that was how conspiracies did things these days. Honestly, some people just never seemed to get the hang of things. Look at the Brethren of Nyssa. What the hell were they _drinking_? Anyway. No, it was because they were the hosting committee for the adwc Adric Awards, the ones who decided which victi- er, which sucker- which author would be chosen to organise and host the Awards this year. Sounds pretty harmless, doesn't it? Tell that to the authors. And the characters. And the Muses. And... well, you get the point. So here they were, just a few acquaintances, gathered together for a drinking session. "How're things coming?" one said. No, of _course_ I'm not going to give you names and descriptions. What do you think I am, completely insane? I'm just the Narrator here. No, not an author, the Narrator. Look. There are some things the Boss Lady can't trust to an author - or the Author Mafia. Things she doesn't want leaked out - or that she knows others don't want leaked out, things she knows certain people'd be less than happy about if they're released into general circulation. So she created me, your friendly local Narrator, to take care of that. To narrate stories about those topics for general release. So... names and genders have been changed to protect the guilty. Right. Now that's out of the way... "How're things coming?" A said. "Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. No go. Nothing." B said. "_None_ of them?" A said. "Nope." "What about Danel? He seemed promising." A said. "Ah. We, ah, had a run-in with a certain green-eyed Muse who seemed very insistent that Danel was, and I quote, 'busy'." C said. "If we pressed the point, there were certain Harry Potter spells she said she'd be more than happy to demonstrate to us." "Ah." A fell silent. "What about Imran?" "Dragon-Allie." B said. "Ah." A looked hopefully at them. "Um, Eloise?" "Apparently, Sweetheart has a most efficient mail-filter." C said. "Mr Wade?" A said desperately. "Verity was kind enough to point out that even though Mr Wade _is_ a tabloid reporter, he _does_ have limits. And organising something like this was most _definitely_ outside those limits." C regarded A over his folded hands. A sank down in his chair. "Oh... _wonderful_." "In short," C said, "while we have no shortage of potential _presenters_, there is a marked absence of potential _organisers_. "Or of any organisers. At all." "Just crukking wonderful." A muttered. "Like we weren't up the creek before... "Of course, you know what this is about." The others nodded. They did indeed know. "_Willis_." A's voice dripped venom, such as might be used in speaking of entities of the utmost darkness, such as the Dukes of Telesales or the Olsen Twins. "That damn cheapskate redneck. Oh no, he couldn't actually _give_ Adric any money, could he? Oh no, our favourite murder victim has to organise the ceremony on a budget of... what was it again?" "Nine dollars." B supplied. "Nine dollars." A finished. "Look at the locations. This Time Round. Verity Lambert Public High School. They had to supply the heating by burning books in the furnace!" "It _was_ 'Who Killed Kennedy'," C felt obliged to point out. "That's not the point." A said. "And it should have been 'The Pit', anyway." He settled himself in his chair before continuing. "It wasn't just that, though - half the audience couldn't even get inside! And then, when we actually _got_ to the presentations... "Alright, some of them had to be taped elsewhere - that's fine, that's normal practice. But thanks to budgetary restraints, most of them - even the ones who didn't tape elsewhere - paid to make their presentation out of their own pockets-' "Or the Author Mafia's." C said. "Or them," A said, twitching. "And then, when the tapes are finally shown, it's on bloody _Betamax!_ And if that weren't bad enough... did you _hear_ those musical interludes?" "I quite liked them." D piped up. A, B and C glared at D, who cowered back in her chair. "And as for that fiasco with the Steward and the Datemaker..." A went on, visibly shuddering. "Summoning _Shub-Barneyrath?_ Almost killing _Bagpuss?_ We're just lucky every last backup of the damn thing got trashed! "No _wonder_ none of the Authors want the bloody job. Who could bloody blame them?!" A paused, bringing his breathing back under control, before he continued. "And what did Willis say when we asked him why he'd taken it on? Can anyone remind me?" "Because it sounded like a cheap laugh." C said. "Because it sounded like a cheap laugh," A repeated, his calm, quiet tone conveying seething, maniacal hatred of the author in question. --- Somewhere in Alabama, B. K. Willis shuddered, but put it down to the refrigeration unit he'd just finished working on. --- "But that wasn't the worst of it, oh no." A turned to B. "How big was our mailbag, the day afterwards? Remind me." "One thousand, three hundred and ninety-four emails and letters." B said, without blinking an eyelid. "Mm-hmm. And what did _each_ and _every_ one of them happen to mention?" "The corporate sponsorship." B said. "The corporate sponsorship." A repeated. "And those one thousand, three hundred and ninety-four were just the tip of the iceberg. We've been _swamped_ with complaints about NorInCo's corporate bloody sponsorship - never mind that we weren't the ones who asked them to do it, never mind it wouldn't have happened if Willis had actually _given Adric some money_ - oh no. Somehow, in some strange way, it's _our_ fault." "It's not, is it?" D said. A glared at her. "_No_. It's not." "Oh." D said. A scowled. "Which is why, this time, we have to make sure there's absolutely _no_ trace of corporate sponsorship. Which means our best choice is a charity telethon - with no corporate influence. No corporate money whatsoever. Which means, with no authors, we are _screwed_." "So what we need..." D said slowly, "is an independently wealthy organiser willing to take it on." "Finally..." C muttered. "Exactly." B said. "But where are we going to find someone like that _now?_ Crazy enough to take on the job, rich enough they don't care about losing money, and soft enough to let the money go to charity?" She looked around at the others. "With the Authors out of the way, the only person likely to take the job is the Doctor - and you know what _that_ means..." A, C and D nodded. They _did_ know. It was at that point that A's pocket decided to ring. "If this is another bloody Duke of Telesales..." he muttered, pulling out the mobile. "Hello?" His eyes widened. "Um... no, no, it's no trouble at all. Oh, our secretary? No, no, it's no problem, we were just finishing our meeting." The others nodded. They might have a public office, but they weren't stupid enough to actually _go_ there, not with hordes of rabid lunatics after their blood. "You did?" A said. "You did? Well... that's very good of you, but really... Oh... oh, it was no trouble. This year's? You'd like to help? No... no, it'd be no trouble at all. How would you feel about being our organiser? Really? Okay, we just need to ask a few questions, first... how would you feel about staging it as a charity telethon, taking no personal fees...You would? And how much...?" His eyes widened even further. "Erm, you wouldn't mind sending us official confirmation of your balance? Only we've been... thank you. Did you have a particular cause in mind, only we're looking for something the public at large can empathise- that sounds perfect. Absolutely. We'll just do our own check... if you could... Look Who's Talking? We'll get right on it." As A continued, C had already begun to take notes. "Oh, that reminds me, where were you planning to hold - you were? ...No, no problems at all. Yes, we'll be sending someone around to check on it... It does have heating and lighting, right? ...Of course. No problem. Um, you wouldn't mind... of course, thank you very much, sorry to put you to all this inconvenience... only, we've been... yes, yes, that's it absolutely. ...um, when we said 'staging', you did mean... professional broadcast facilities... food, refreshments, sanitation, safety... thank you... and, um, how are you about driving off any alien, temporal, dimensional or Cthulhoid incursions... you'll take care of it, thank you... The others listened, boggle-eyed, as he went on. "You weren't planning to hire, erm... 'Righteous Indignation', the Brethren of Nyssa Chorus, or the Verity Lambert High School Marching Band, by any chance, were you? No? You're sure? Thank you... Oh, one last question - you don't receive sponsorship from any known corporation, anyone affiliated with a criminal organisation, or anyone associated with certain establishments, or if you are, can conceal it from any- you don't. Thank you. "...Yes, of course you can, this is _your_ show... No, no, a pleasure talking to you. Oh no, no trouble at all. Again, thank you. Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Of course, later, no problem. Thank you. Thank you. Look forward to speaking to you again. Once more, thank you." A put the phone down on the table, staring at it as if it might disappear at any minute. The others were staring at A, open-mouthed. "Did you just..." B began. A nodded. "Did they just..." D began. A nodded. "They _actually_..." C began. "Yes," A said in a distant, far-away voice. "Agreed. To everything. No conditions. Named cause. Effectively unlimited budget. Providing all facilities. Will take care of everything. _Everything_. Sending confirmation over as soon as possible..." "Um..." D nodded at the table, eyes wide. The others stared. A large brown envelope had appeared in the middle of the table, where it hadn't been a few seconds ago. "Wha..." B finally managed to rediscover the art of speech. "What the Hell? Who _was_ that?" "Hell?" A said. "No no no... not Hell at all. Not by a long shot." "Then..." C stared at A. "It wasn't Who, was it?" "No... No, it wasn't the Doctor." A took a deep breath. "It was... she _said_ she was..." A took another deep breath. "She said her name was Amber, and she said she was..." "What?" B prompted. "She said she was what?" "She said she was a goddess." A said finally. The four of them stared at the envelope as if it might explain the last few minutes. Unfortunately, it couldn't. --- The Supervisor answered as soon as the phone rang. Tall, lanky guy, the Super, with a shock of grey hair. He's got this really weird offset eye which looks like it's always moving - just when you think it's focused, it's off again. Looks like he saw one too many Johnny Cash gigs - black shirt, belt, and trousers, topped off with a wide-brimmed hat. He's even got a guitar. "Hey, Amber! How'd it go? ...They agreed? That's great. I'll get on to Kiyone and Mara, tell them the good news." The Supervisor allowed himself a smile. "The kids're gonna be pleased about this. They've really been looking forward to it. Mm-hm. Mm-hmm. Uh-huh. Everything gonna be okay for PTTV's camera crew? Yeah, yeah, but toddlers... Yeah, exactly. ...Baby Eighth, Fitz and Ayeka, I think... Mara's going as chaperone - well, you know what she'd do if she saw you on TV. This way, I can warn her first. Uh-huh. Okay. Uh-huh. Yeah. We'll go over them later, no problem. Yeah. Okay. I'll just go tell Kiyone and Mara, let them know what we're getting in for. Yeah, should be interesting. "Oh, and Amber? "Thanks. "Yeah, you too. "Yeah, talk to you soon." The Supervisor beeped the phone off, smiled, and went to tell his reluctant employees the good news. --- The phone rang in the middle of Tara's meditation. Some people say she's chubby. Me, I think she looks gorgeous as she is. She looks to be in her early twenties, with straight brown hair that falls to her shoulders, sleepy eyes, and a full, pouting mouth. She's got curves in all the right places - and I _mean_ all the right places. Tends to dress like she just escaped from a New Age clothes shop - tie-dyed dresses, peasant-style skirts and blouses... although _some_ of her dresses... Where was I? Oh yeah. She answered on the third ring. "Um... hello? Who is this? ...Amber? Is this another of Andrew's stupid jokes, because if it is- Oh. Oh, sorry. No, no... it's just, um, Amber's the name of the actress who played me, and, um, well... um... Um, how did you get this- oh, right. Uh-huh, okay. Uh-huh... uh-huh... Adrics Awards... well, um, I _think_ the guys will be going, once we know more... um, if you don't mind, who- "Oh. "Oh. "*Oh.* You do? "Um... okay, it's just... well, we _do_ get evil doubles, robots, shapeshifting primal evils... You're sure? Really? I mean... okay. Okay, I'll... I'll get in touch with the Doctor - Buffy should have his number. Thank you. Sorry to put you through all this, but... Thank you. Yes, that's... mm-hmm. Okay. I can, um... I'll get in touch with the Doctor, and, um... well... I'm sorry about this... Thank you. If it'd been me... Uh-huh... um, well, I suppose I'll see you there. Mm-hmm. ...It was good talking to you, too. Mm-hmm. See you, then." She put the phone down. And sat down on her bed with a 'whump'. What... what had just happened? --- In case you were wondering, Amber _is_ a goddess - the Muse of metafiction and folktale, to be exact. Me, I usually call her the Boss - that's what she is, after all. Her current form's based on Tara's: the only thing that marks her as different are her eyes - they're a warm yellow, the colour of amber - and most people think _those_ are contact lenses. The body wasn't exactly her own choice, so she says. Could have fooled me. Wish she'd show herself off a bit more often, though - looks like she got Tara's dress sense into the bargain. She says she likes it - quite frankly, after a couple of million years having to be painfully formal, it's a _relief_ to get into something comfortable and flowing... Still haven't given up, though. Oh, right. Where was I? Oh yeah. Right, the Boss thought, as she set the phone down. That's _almost_ everything sorted out... taken care of the setup... confirmed it with the committee and the Supervisor... managed to get my personal guest... just need to get the presenters... Now who can I get...? Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Report - Credits
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