I thought that might make your... ears perk up. ;p

Whoooosh. Ooh-arr-thricket. Spllt.

The cheap sound effects fade away, and we find ourselves back in the Victorian era. The British Empire controls large blotches of pink across maps of the globe. In China, the penultimate imperial world-doctor worries about the effect this has on planetary *chi* points. In Russia, the last-but-two god-emperor of Kievan Rus, Guardian of Constantinople and Jerusalem, Warden of All that is Holy, heir to Julius Caesar, considers the Great Game and contemplates a crusade against the Turks.

And cities play chess. Paris vs London. Edinburgh vs Dublin. Berlin vs St Petersburg. Moves take weeks to arrive, and are routinely intercepted by intelligence agencies looking for spies with encrypted codes. More than one bearded German sage has been hung up by the heels to make him talk.

In London, Staunton is taken to a secret meeting with Lady Ada Lovelace, daughter of Lord Byron and computer pioneer. She demonstrates a working model of Babbage's Difference Engine.

Staunton: But what does it *do*, m'lady?

Ada: 'Do', Mr Staunton? Why, whatever you wish -- if Mr. Boole, in Cork, is correct in his idea of universal binary logic. And he is correct. I've checked.

Staunton: Forgive me, Ma'am, if I find the idea of an omnipotent abacus rather fanciful. Even Prospero had his sprite, Ariel, for the magical work.

Ada: An abacus? Perceptive, Mr Staunton ... at the moment, the engine can add, subtract and multiply numbers. The new model will handle differential equations. The one after that will play chess rather more efficiently than young Mr Morphy.

Staunton: Tosh! Forgive me, M'lady, but I have an appointment with a carrier pigeon. It's our turn to move against Perm. I plan to make a *human* move.

Ada: Well, sir, I dare say I've made a few humans move in my time. As for the communication business, have you considered *electricity*? A young Scots chap named Maxwell is toiling over some quite delicious equations even now.

Staunton: Electricity? In a game of chess? I am *shocked*, Madam ... but, erm, if you would care to suggest an *engine move*, here is our current position...

Augusta Ada Byron, Countess Lovelace, died in 1852. Forty years after Staunton's death in 1874, the game with Perm reached a tense middlegame. The only copy of the score, travelling round the world in the wrong direction yet again, went down with the Titanic.

Oh, and ok, I'll try to behave... if I have to. But it's not fair, <you> don't... :(

Now it sounds like Pygmalion with Wm Burroughs doing the Perfesser.

Then old Doc Schist, the dinosaur veterinarian, had showed up with a guy from Limestone University. Some kinda Brit, who insisted that the family dinosaur had been extinct for 60 million years. "Rocks", said Fred. "He wasn't even that extinct when we got him. One old lady owner, twenty million max. I betcha she sat on the egg herself."

The Professor of Paleorockology was not amused. "Thing is, Mr Flintstone", he said, "either that thing is extinct, or *we* are. You can imagine how the Powers That Be react to that scenario."

"You guys wanna put my tractor *to sleep*?" he asked.

"Not just yours, Fred", said the Doc. "Think I like having to learn mammal plumbing? Cats, gerbils, bats, God knows what. But the Brontos have to go. Orders."

"I don't care!" yelled Fred, as he jumped onto Dino's broad back. "We're outta here! Wilma - you can evolve that organism thing better on your own."

Could actually make reforensic a new tv series-genre! Some normal series about a judge with every episode new problems blablabla which all has been done more often than any can count <but> with a can-you-spot-all-references? aspect to it!