The British shore looked dreary this time of night. The waves made a strange whispering lapping sound against the rocks, and the moon cast eerie shadows on the water. The shore patrol made their rounds as per usual, looking out for any signs of an Axis attack by sea. But one soldier lagged a bit behind. He had a bad habit of that, but he couldn't help it; he liked to look at the night sky. He always thought it was beautiful, but it lacked something. It felt too empty.
This soldier was gazing at the empty sky on this one blistery January evening in 1941, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A dark figure lying on the shore. A body? He rushed to the water and turned the figure on its back. No, it was just made of plastic. How did a store mannequin get out here?
The soldier was about to rejoin his squad when he heard a strange gurgling sound, followed by coughing and gasps for air. He whirled around to see a living, breathing man sitting where the mannequin had been. How very odd. "Hello?" said the soldier, "Are you all right there?" He reached down to help the man stand, and supported him as he coughed up more water.
"Hck! Yeah!" said Rory once he could talk, "A bit soaked but otherwise fine. Thanks!" The soldier looked confused. "How did you end up all the way out here? Did you just decide to go for a swim this time of night?" he laughed. "Actually, that's pretty accurate," said Rory, nodding. He then unhooked his belt and tipped the sheath of his sword upside down. Seawater along with a few small fish poured out of it and splashed onto the shore.
"I'm Rory," said the Centurion. The soldier saluted and said, "Private Wilfred Mott at your service." 'Hmm,' thought Rory, 'That sounds familiar.' "Tell me Private Mott, how far away is London?" asked Rory. "Oh, just about three clicks north of here," said Wilfred. "Thanks," said Rory and started off towards London.
"Hey!" Rory heard Wilf say, "Where are you going now?" "North!" Rory shouted when he realized: he didn't know which way north was! There wasn't a North Star and he wasn't awake when the sun had set.
"Ehrm," said Rory, turning around, "Which way is north?" Wilf pointed and frowned, "What's the rush? I mean, I just pulled you out of the channel." Rory shook his head. "I need to get there now," he said, "I need to protect my fiancé."
"Oh!" said Wilfred, "Well then let me help you. I can't let you get lost." Rory laughed. "No, no you should stay with your squad," he said, "But thank you." Wilf nodded.
Rory was about to turn and leave when he remembered something. This was Wilf! Donna's grandfather! "Oh, Wilf!" said Rory. Wilfred turned and tilted his head questioningly. "The sky," said the Centurion, "It used to have stars and comets and nebulas. It was wonderful and huge and full of possibility. It made all of this feel so small. It was beautiful."
Wilfred's eyes widened. "How did you..." he began, but the plastic roman had disappeared into the night. He looked up at the sky and could almost see it, the stars and nebulas and wonder. And he smiled.
