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In the main control room of his Time Machine, the TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimensions in Space) the aging, white-haired Doctor sat in a rotatable oval pod studying the system readouts of the central computer. His chameleon-like dark matter had morphed into that of a man, and in mind of the late nineteenth century and the Old West he intended to visit, he wore a long-tailed black suit and frills. The Doctor already knew that, by the Earthdate 2250, all life on the planet would become extinct. So what had brought about this calamitous scenario? Through a rapid assimilation of the databanks, he had established that a nuclear holocaust had occurred in 2020. Judging from the history of that time, an unscrupulous megalomaniac had risen to preside over the world's most powerful nation. His election to office had been the catalyst for disaster, but from the Doctor's understanding of the president's ancestry, he should never have existed. An alternate Time Line had come into effect. From his calculations, the Doctor ascertained the Time Line's origin, and he set the course coordinates and date on the time module. *** Tombstone, Arizona. October 25th, 1881 Red Culpepper was a scrawny and bearded old prospector. He had spent fifty years panning for gold in a creek outside Tombstone. Some folk called him an ornery old critter; others called him a crazy old Tinpan. He was a bit of both. He panned all day, every day, and he panned enough to pay for his provisions. That day he had come into town to get soused, and he was tethering his horse in the OK Corral when it started getting mulish on him. "Eh, eh, eh! Hush now! Damn it! What's got into ya!" As he tightly gripped the reins, Red looked towards the barn. The wind had got up, and there was one hell of a ruckus going on inside the barn. It sounded like some dang locomotive tootin' and hootin', and there was a light flashing off and on. It didn't last long, maybe a few seconds, and then all was calm. "Easy, easy! Whoa there! Whoa! Dang! What in tarnation was that?!" Red shook his head. "Damn new-fangled contraptions..." He was thinking it could be one of them new travelling conveyances. He'd seen a couple in his time, but he didn't know what folk saw in them. Smelly, and loud as hell. What's it doing in the barn though? "Maybe I should go look-see," he murmured. And as his horse nickered at him and tossed its head, he tittered, "You reckon so too, huh?" Then with a slap down its neck, Red made off towards the barn, but he'd only taken a few steps in that direction when he pulled up. The barn doors had opened, and a white-haired, dignified looking fellah in funeral parlor duds came out. Red thought he looked kinda furtive as he looked round. That's before the time the stranger spotted him. "Ah, good evening!" he called out. "Perhaps you can help me." Red thought the stranger sounded right eloquent, but as he came closer, there was something about the old fellah's mad eyes and grim, skinlined face that put Red on his guard. More so when the stranger asked: "Are you familiar with the name, John Henry Holliday? I believe he's in Tombstone at this time." "Uh?" Doc Holliday . That wasn' t a name Red wanted to hear. The Doc was a dirty-dealin' poker player who was right slick at dealin' a hidden Ace. But then, he was even slicker at dealin' a gun into his hand.
Approximate Word count = 2381
Approximate Pages = 9.5
(250 words per page double spaced)
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