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Crash of the Titans.

October, 1995. Los Angeles, USA

David Burton stepped out of the taxi and looked around. It was a comfortable, middle class neighborhood of bungalows. He must be doing well for himself, he thought to himself. He took a moment to check himself in the taxi’s side mirror. A little rumpled, but no missing buttons, no loose threads, reasonably groomed. He grimaced, flashing his teeth. Always check the teeth, you don’t walk into an audition with a bit of lettuce caught up there.

He paid the driver, a hispanic man with a soft voice.

“No tip?” the man complained.

Burton shrugged his shoulders and smiled apologetically. Trying to fix the accent in mind.

“I’m a little short,” he said.

“Pendejo,” the man said genially.

Burton relaxed a little. The car drove off. Burton turned back to the house. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and putting a deliberate spring in his step, strode up the walkway and rang the doorbell.

A moment later, the door opened, a tall white haired man appeared.

Burton stuck out his hand.

“Terry Nation, I presume!” Burton said dramatically.

Nation took it, smiling.

“Well, well, well,” he replied, “the New Doctor Who himself!”

“Just the New Doctor,” Burton said. “The BBC is quite strict about that.”

Nation chuckled.

“Well,” he winked, “I don’t think they’re listening in. Come on in. We’ll chat in my office.”

As they wandered down the hallway, Burton glanced at the framed pictures of Nation with various celebrities and props, Forrest J. Ackerman, Richard Dean Anderson, Tom Baker. Nation lead him to a large room piled high with papers, scripts, ledgers, loose paper was strewn around everywhere. He pulled loose a pile of papers from a chair and waved to Burton.

“Sit please,” he said, “can I have the wife get you a cup of tea.”

“That would be lovely,” Burton beamed. “It’s hard to get good tea over here.”

Nation nodded. For a second, there was an awkward silence.

“So... Terry Nation!” Burton said, “the biggest man in British science fiction, creator of the Daleks, Blake’s Seven, Survivors, McGuyver.”

“Not quite,” Nation corrected. “I didn’t create McGuyver, I just wrote some episodes, produced some.”

“Still an accomplishment,” Burton said. “Quite a career.”

He looked around.

“I figured I’d see a Dalek about somewhere. Are they in the shed?”

“No,” Nation replied, “I used to have a few, but I left them back in England when I moved out here. They take up a lot of space you know. Didn’t really need them.”

The tea arrived. Burton was introduced. Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Misses Nation left.

“I didn’t come at a bad time, did I?”

“Oh no,” Nation replied. “Paul mentioned you’d be dropping by today.”

“Lovely fellow,” Burton replied. “I saw him just before I left. He sends his regards.”

“I spoke to him this morning actually,” Nation replied.

Burton shifted in his chair awkwardly. For a second, he kicked his foot out. Nation glanced down, and Burton placed his shoe flat. He hoped that Nation hadn’t caught the hole in his shoe.

“So what are you doing out this way?” Nation asked. “Thinking of relocating?”

“Convention,” Burton replied.

“Ahh,” Nation said.

“Quite a thing these conventions. They pay air fair, hotel, meals, a stipend, apparently I’m quite in demand. I’ve been to so many, I hardly sleep in my own bed. Quite a thing they are.”

“Quite a thing,” Nation agreed, smiling.

“Indeed.”

“I’ve been to a few, I find them exhausting. It’s hard to schedule conventions around a busy workload I find. I imagine it must be the same for you, working actor and all, between auditions and roles, it must be hard to find the time.”

“True,” Burton said. “But it’s for the fans. And it keeps the show alive.”

“True,” Nation agreed.

“And since I was here, I thought I might drop by to apologise in person,” Burton said, “about that whole Blake’s Seven thing.”

Nation waved it away.

“We all thought it was on the up and up. We had no idea... Ian Levine.... It was just a mistake.”

Nation shrugged.

“Don’t even think of it, it all got sorted out, no one’s the worse for wear.”

“Still, it’s awkward,” Burton said. “Levine...”

“No worries,” Nation replied. “I know the type.”

There was another moment of silence.

“So...” Burton said, “how’s California treating you?”

“Quite well,” Nation replied. “The weather’s certainly an improvement over dreary old Egland, and there’s alway something going on.”

“Very picturesque.”

“The only thing I don’t like is the politics. I don’t know if you follow over there, but it’s quite disgraceful. Witch hunts, this toxic bile that spews from the nightly news. Vile characters like Limbaugh, it’s like they infect their listeners with ugliness. You can’t even turn it off, it’s everywhere.”

“Doesn’t sound pleasant,” Burton replied.

“I try not to dwell on it. It’s quite busy, sending out proposals, projects, reading scrips, taking meetings. A lot of irons in the fire, here and at home. Paul and I, for instance, we’re working on a Blake’s Seven revival.”

“Well now’s the time for it,” Burton agreed.

“Yes,” Nation said. “We think so. How’s the New Doctor?”

“Finished our second series,” Burton said. “Went quite well. We’re all taking a bit of a break, but I’m looking forward to picking up the traces again.”

“I’m sorry,” Nation said, “we don’t get it out here. I haven’t had the chance to go looking for it.”

“In that case,” Burton said, “it’s brilliant. A heartbreaking work of pure genius.”

Both men laughed.

“When did you finish the second series?” Nation asked.

“A while ago. We all decided to take a break before coming back to it. Lately, I’ve been doing work with a William Baggs, but we’ve parted company.”

Nation nodded.

David took a breath and decided to go for it.

“Actually,” he said, “that’s why I’m here.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes,” Burton said, “we’ve had some changes in our partnerships.”

“Unfortunate,” Nation said, “and this is the cause of the delay?”

“Somewhat.” Burton rushed on. “Anyway, there’s an opening, and we thought, with your background, that you would be a perfect fit, as... Producer... Executive Producer.”

Burton’s heart was racing.

Nation nodded.

“Interested?” Burton almost squeaked it out.

“Very.”

Burton felt a palpable sense of relief, of tension draining out of him.

“So tell me,” Nation asked, “do you have the financing in place?”

Just like that, the tension was back.

“It’s coming together,” Burton replied with what he hoped was easy confidence. Sweat was breaking out under his shirt.

“Excellent,” said Nation. “Well, when it does come together, let me know. I’d be thrilled to work with you David. Paul has said such positive things about you.”

“Terrific,” Burton replied, his smile was strained.

“Indeed,” Nation said, “I’m happy to lend my name to the project, feel free to do so... Calling me first of course. This is certainly something I would enjoy participating in.”

Nation checked his watch.

“Oh,” he said, “look at the time, I’m afraid I’ve got a call coming in.”

“Ah,” said Burton, “I guess I should be going.”

“We’ll call you a cab,” Nation said.

He made the call, while Burton sat quietly, looking casually around the office at pictures. None of them were recent, he realized. It was all 1980's and earlier. The two men made small talk, waiting for the cab, exchanging stories of the old days, reminiscing about shared acquaintance.

“I should give Barry Letts a call,” Nation said. “He’s with your group right? Millennium.”

Burton blushed.

“He’s moved on, actually,” Burton said sweating a bit. “Taking some time off.”

Nation nodded.

The cab arrived.

“Uhm,” Burton began, “this is a bit awkward?”

“Yes?”

“All this travelling...” he hemmed, “back and forth, I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit mixed up and...”

“Yes?”

“I’m a bit short of American cash. Could I borrow a few dollars for the cab? I’ll ensure...”

Nation waved airily.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s been a pleasure, and it’s the least I could do after you came all the way out to see me.”

Nation reached into his pocket for his walled. David Burton felt relief. He wasn’t sure he could navigate the city’s bus system.

“Thank you.”

Just before David left the house, he turned back to Nation.

“I hope your revival with Paul goes very well.”

“Thank you, we’ve got great hopes.”

“Is the financing in place yet,” Burton asked, and then tried to bite back the question.

Terry Nation’s smile was rueful.

“It’s coming together,” he replied.

The two men shook hands, and Nation watched David Burton make his way down the walk to the cab, get in and drive off.

Terry Nation shut the door and kicked off his shoes. As he did, one tumbled over exposing the holes in its sole. Nation looked down at his big toe sticking out the hole in the sock and sighed

Then he padded back to his office, and returned to the task of trying to make a living.