"You
know, Romana, I think it’s going to be one of those days..."
Flopping
part of his enormous multi-coloured scarf over the side of his
shoulder - a defiant comfort gesture of sorts - The Doctor, having
also pushed back the brown felt hat currently perched unceremoniously
atop his mop of immense curls, went on to deliver a mighty ‘Ha!’
at the incredulous and unique sight before him. He fancied himself as
one of the most travelled of people (well of the Time Lords, at
least) in the cosmos- he’d seen the creation, life and destruction
of worlds both natural and not, experienced wonders and curios that
would fill a thousand ‘must see before you die’ guides, and
fought the evil ambitions and tyranny of many diverse kinds of
malignant species. He’d seen strange phenomenon that would make
that esteemed ‘author’ Oolon Coluphid take note, and partaken in
alien customs that would both delight and make the skin crawl,
sometimes simultaneously. But today, on this strange world of
Terkerus, a big tree, big swamp ball of dampness in the P-3445
system, The Doctor was genuinely surprised, nay gobsmacked a little,
by the sight in front of him. His also relatively travel-experienced
TARDIS companion Romana, a notable Time Lord of growing confidence
and ability herself, looked equally curious as she finally emerged,
nay near blundered, out from the misty, near snowy, envelope next to
him, having spent several weary hours away from their time vehicle.
The
universe was full of inconsistencies and idiosyncrasies of its own,
but this was a new one. The truly alien world around them, whose
aforementioned gargantuan trees (barely discernible through the cloud
layer pea-soup sky), and strange night-time calls of natural
inhabitants hard at work doing whatever they did to survive within
brownish/purple fauna that would look beyond anything seen at the
Royal Chelsea flower show, was sight enough, but the wreck of an old,
near fallen-apart-with-use 1970’s caravan, a British Union Jack
sticker firmly applied to its door with an ‘up yours, we’re
coming anyway...’ attitude, seemingly plucked right smack in the
middle of the dense environment, was certainly something you didn’t
see every day! A fact The Doctor couldn’t help but remind his young
companion, who reacted with an ambiguous but also slightly flippant
air, signposted by the slight turning up of her nostrils!
Striding
carefully forward, and still brimming with continued fascination at
the Earth relic, which was certainly no disguised time vehicle or
trap as far as they could see (not even his dreaded arch nemesis, The
Master, would have his active Chameleon Circuit appear as a tatty old
wreck like this!), The Doctor and Romana carried out a unique
circular investigation of the caravan before meeting back at its
point of entry, whose cracked, months of dirt-adorned windows were
closed, barely hanging together, whilst its thin wood-panelled door
was held in place by a severely rusted padlock. The Doctor made some
further pokes and prods towards it, but in the most careful way,
before carefully examining the solitary piece of felt tip pen
lettered card that was as faded and equally tattered as the door it
was attached to.
The
Doctor passed the removed sign to Romana who looked at it with the
kind of elegantly thoughtful yet disdained look- facial gesturing
that only she could give - surely used many a time towards her peers
during a prior life on Gallifrey that likely seemed so long ago to
her now. “Well, I hope he’s got the right galoshes for this
environment,” she said rather sharply, as The Doctor tried but failed to put the
sign back properly, now lop-siding it the other way, as if nature was
once more craftily playing games with him.
And
yet, Terkerus didn’t look the kind of world to be truly hostile-
talking about it further to Romana as they sat on opposite soggy
logs, The Doctor considered the unlikely scenario they had stumbled
upon. Could the arrival of a human and his caravan to it ultimately
turn out to have some kind of future (or past) significance?
Whatever the explanation was as to how ‘The Fisherman’ got here,
at least their arrival on Terkerus was going to have some potential
interest, especially as there was no tell-tale signs of trans mat or
time storm activity/residual energy that could be visually
determined. Nonetheless, having only recently escaped the paws of the
evil and revenge-threatening Black Guardian, The Doctor and Romana
remained mildly uneasy, especially as the TARDIS itself had seemingly
bypassed the Doctor’s unique ‘Randomiser’ travel/escape device
to bring them to Terkerus, for a reason that the craft had not
revealed.
The
pitted large fire in front of them had obviously been well used for
at least a week, with what looked like a further piece of large,
stronger tree bark to perch on with reasonable comfort, spotted with
dents which indicated a human shape had sat on it. As Romana lit the
fire, hoping to attract the right kind of attention, the duo prepared
to wait for their unique, promised company. The human was certainly
expecting company of some kind, as indicated by the note. But was
that company of fellow human or alien kind? Or did ‘The Fisherman’
somehow know that he and Romana were coming all along? Now that could
lead to all kinds of problems if it was the latter…
As
the mist remained through the start of the murky evening, and the
camp fire was now at full strength, its crackling shadows looming
large on the trees around them, the duo heard the noise of broken
twiggery and disturbed ground made by heavy booted feet, followed by
the sound of whistling, as a seemingly bulky shadow figure emerged
towards them and was soon fully caught by the yellow orange light.
Proudly
shouldering two enormous alien fish whose freshly killed bodies were
squelching one on top of the other as he walked, of which his mud
soaked galoshes were indeed firmly secure, ‘The Fisherman’s
portly frame gained pace towards the strangers awaiting him at the
caravan site. A bigger than his head fishing hat, deliberately hiding
the last few black/grey hair strands underneath it, was loaded down
with lots of badges glistened in the light, denoting all kinds of
hobbies, clubs and places of interest to him, alongside other kinds
of emblem unique to planet Earth’s humankind. With a beer belly
girth protected by a padded gelay, both of ‘The Fisherman’s hands
were gripped to fishing rods and bait attachments. The Doctor noted
the strange mixture of clothing underneath his water wear that
mistakenly mixed paisley with tweed, a crimson tie with unknown
patterns and a trio of flying swans locked in flight badge sculptures adorning a lapel similar to the ones that The Doctor himself was
currently wearing on the left lapel of his own long coat. Should he be
worried about that?
Adorning
‘The Fisherman’’s seasoned, weathered face of late fifty-ish
years was a pair of black well-rounded glasses that had been through
the wars a bit, mighty O’s around his eyes held together at each
support end by Elastoplasts, over ears that looked set to be taken
over by his unusually long grey sideburns that truly gave him an
unlikely Werewolf Grandad quality. Looking at the overall picture of
‘The Fisherman’. the concept of the genuine ‘British Eccentric’
certainly held true on Terkerus, as far as the two Time Lords were
concerned.
“Howdo!”
‘The Fisherman’ said with a happy kind of freeness about him,
trampling on towards them, as if the presence on this world of the
curled-haired human with the mighty scarf that was seemingly
swallowing him up, and his striking-looking fair-haired tweed suit
wearing companion, was just as commonplace. He placed his fishing
rods and equipment slowly down as some mild back pains caught at him,
then threw his captured dinner near the fire. Unhooking from behind a
backpack attachment of some kind that revealed itself as a small and
fragile-looking wooden chair soon wide-opened, he firmly planted
himself down with a brief tiredness that soon soothed and gave way to
enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you, I’m Norman. Norman Sturgess. I’m
from Littlehampton. Do you know it?” He looked at them for a few
seconds, hoping some common and relatable reactions would occur. Dare
he hope they were British, too?
The
Doctor soon gave Norman that glowing and comfortable big grin of his
which he brought out for special or victorious occasions - a smile
bigger and brighter than a sun going into nova. “And very pleased
to meet you we are, Norman.” The Doctor rolled out a firm handshake. ‘This is Romana,” he indicated to Norman, as his companion gave a small and polite ‘hello’ wave back. He continued. “You
could say we’re tourists… of a sort. I have a pet dog, too, but
he isn’t here right now.”
“A
dog?!” Norman was startled but happy that ‘Man’s best friend’ had somehow
made its way to the stars in ways beyond being orbit trapped for Russian
space history glory.
“Yes,
a dog of sorts,” The Doctor replied happily. “But, you know, all
this mud, not good for his drive motor circuits… I’m sure you’ll like
his company when you meet him. But I warn you, he’s a terrible
cheat at Chess.” Now
getting up, the tall frame of The Doctor fully revealed, he rummaged
into his coat pockets high and low but disappointingly found them
sorely lacking of his needs, soon asking of Norman, “You wouldn’t
have any marshmallows, would you?”, to which the fisherman looked
mildly flabbergasted in response.
The
conversational air now established. Romana continued...
“Good
fishing, then?” she asked with polite charm.
“Oh,
yeah!” Norman said enthusiastically, his favourite topic of
discussion activated, suddenly remembering what he’d been up to.
“Three times bigger than the Salmon I normally get with the lads,
but much tougher to get these buggers out of the water, for sure! Not
much to really eat around here apart from the fish- there’s animals
about, but with the sounds they make, I’m likely to end up on their
menu.”
Norman
looked towards his catch, as unhappy memories of recent times
returned. “In many ways, I feel like a trapped fish out of water
meself...”
“I
take it your arrival on Terkerus was not part of the daily routine?”
The Doctor cautiously and seriously inquired, his face now looking
slightly older, whilst the attractive Romana, with her youthful
schoolgirl-type looks, betrayed a similar, near-mysterious reaction.
“You
could say that.” Norman adjusted the glasses back onto the upper
part of his nose, ready to tell his amazing story. “I was out with
my regular fishing posse on a special trip to The Lake District. It
should have been a week of happy bliss between fishing and pursuing
the Amber Nectar. But I’d had a blazing row with one of the guys, a
newbie I never wanted to have anything to do with, about the general
quality decline of the Halibut, and realized I wanted to do some
quiet night-time fishing away from them. So just as I’m finally
about to have a relaxing start this blooming great ugly spaceship
came down on me, sent a lighting bolt through my caravan and sent me
up to their ship with what they call a ‘tractor beam’ in those
films. I’ve seen ‘The X-Files’, so I knew what might happen.”
With
no discernible idea what ‘The X-Files’ is or was, The Doctor and
Romana briefly looked looked towards each other then returned their
attentions back to Norman. From her long time travelling with The
Doctor, Romana had learnt never to judge a book by its cover, but she
really didn’t understand why a group of space twerps would capture
an Earthling so seemingly insignificant to the destiny of the galaxy.
She didn’t need to ask that question as Norman soon revealed all.
“Well,
they told me they were ‘Marauders’, liked to go to offbeat
worlds, find the most severe or remote locations where Tellurians
were – I assumed that was me, kidnap them, take them round the
universe to rent them as slaves and playthings for a bit, then
deposit them back on Earth where their stories would never be
believed by the primitive society, or so they thought us to be. We
ended up on … Terkerus? ... when the ship developed a navigational
fault. You can never escape the ‘Old Bill’, even in space, and
they were soon onto us, shot ‘em up a fair bit, too. Well, I assume
they were Police, they did have flashing lights on the top as far as
I could see from the windows. Unfortunately, the pirates made a quick
escape but we ended up crash-landing here – they dropped my caravan
as excess baggage in the process. That was three weeks ago.
“They
were soon bored shooting the place up in anger, and they decided they
were going to have some fun at my personal and physical expense.”
Norman gestured a side-to-side throat cutting gesture, added by a
rather chilling ‘Klak!’ sound emanating deep up from his throat.
“Fortunately for me, they weren’t to live long...”
The
Doctor continued listening fascinated, occasionally wanting to hold
back a laugh or flip a curly hair back in the face of Norman’s
bizarre adventures. It couldn’t have happened to a stranger fellow.
Just before he started to get bored, Norman’s last words about the
Marauders peaked his interests, his eyes getting wider.
Norman’s
look was both happy yet fearful. “They met ‘Sheila’...”
So,
The Doctor and Romana weren’t the expected guests from the sign,
both saying in uncanny unison: “Sheila?”
“Well,
that’s what I call her anyway- she told me her full name and
I couldn’t say it, so I shortened it. ‘Sheila’. Y’know, as
the Australians say. She was in the same boat as me but on the other
side of the universe. She was being taken away to be dumped in the
hot core of a sun by her own people. A miserable lot, from the way
she describes ‘em. They just couldn’t accept her for what she
was.” Norma harrumphed. “Can you believe that? And in this day
and age, too?”
Norman
continued to tell his tale with eager release whilst starting to cut
up the skin of the largest fish of the deceased pair, then digging in
confidently through its innards.
“She
broke out, killed them all, took control of the ship but the damage
was bad. Crashed it not too far from here. She wasn’t very happy
when she got out of the wreck, believe me, and wasn’t much happier
when she walked into the Marauders not long after – to say she was
ready for a fight with ‘inferior warriors’ was an
understatement.” Norman whispered to the pair semi-frightened, his
knife pulled out from the fish. “She has mood swings anyway,
y’know.” His voice returned to normal. “Regardless, she chopped
‘em up to mincemeat and has started to cannibalize the parts from
the two ships to try and get us off here. Meanwhile, there’s not
much I can do - I can barely mend a fuse - so it's a nice chance for
me to stretch my legs and do the kind of fishing I’d have never
have thought possible. Angling Times has
nothing on me now! The lake’s a pretty big one around here and I’ve
been getting all kinds of stuff that I can’t wait to show the lads
when the time comes. It’s going to take a while for Sheila to get
used to life on Earth, but I think she’ll settle eventually.” The
fish were ready, as he added “And besides, you get used to her
smell after a while.”
“And
‘Sheila’ likes fish?” Romana asked as the first cut pieces of
one of the creatures started to go on a small Teflon dish above the
fire. The pleasant aroma quickly capturing their equal attentions.
“No,
she’s not really a meat eater… she has to absorb some kind of
‘power nutrient’, so she calls it.” Norman offered the cooked
fished, to which his new friends took a piece and enjoyed it
wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s gone out to get some stuff now.
She’ll be back later.”
The
‘later’ proved sooner than expected as a squat, fearsome sight
soon flew out of the sky in a surprise attack, having hurtled itself
through a gap in some tree layering and landing literally inches from
the camp fire, with one hand clenching some kind of multi-part
knife-like weapon. The intruder was exuberantly and expectantly ready
for combat from its opponents, and clearly thinking that Norman was
in some kind of danger.
So,
the next biggest surprise of the day had revealed itself to The
Doctor and Romana, both now shocked to standing as they perused the
familiar but also unique being - nasty, brutish and short, in
synthetic armour suiting, wearing a massive half circle helmet which
bore two inverted triangle slits for eyes, from which blood thirsty
eyes could now be seen through them.
A
Sontaran warrior!
Confidently
and antagonistically walking towards them, its guttural noises
indicating a building wild animal hostility, it was Norman who soon
had the situation under control of sorts.
“Hi
Sheila!” waved Norman, breaking the anger, looking to the Sontaran
then back to the newcomers it couldn’t wait to slaughter. “Don’t
worry, they’re friends. That’s the Doctor and that’s
Miss Romana there.” The creature was still in an excitable action
state. “They saw the sign I left and are staying for dinner! You
can relax!”
Its
aggressive body language slowly starting to subsist, the creature
kept a strong posture whilst swiftly sheathing its blade through a
mighty utility beat. It then removed its mask, of which a familiar
but not so familiar sight awaited the time travellers.
The
ugly, squat deformed Humpty-Dumpty’ish head was unmistakeably
Sontaran, but now with strangely feminine features adorning its ashen
skin. The eyes were undeniably female, as was the unusual blotch of
dark hair hanging like a pig-tail from under its right ear. And
looking closer at the warrior’s body there were clear curvature
signs indicating that this was not your usual Sontaran.
Licking
its lips in the traditional Sontaran way that most other life forms
found quite disturbing, it put its helmet down, then made the race’s
trademark salute. ‘I am Shelekeria. You are Tellurians…? Like
Nor-man?” it inquired with a whispered curiosity.
The
Doctor hands firmly in pockets, he now carried a flippant air about
him. Whatever physical differences this Sontaran possessed, it was a
still a warrior, and this scenario they’d found themselves could
still all be part of some unique trap. A blurred vision of the past
linked to the Sontarans, and their thirst for Time Lord genetics
linked to a previous regeneration long, long ago, was now lingering
in his mind.
“'Shelekeria'?
Isn’t that a Sontaran term for something unwanted or undesirable?”
The Doctor’s voice was less playful now, far more serious.
“You
are correct.”
“How
fascinating,” The Doctor replied.
“I
am race memory aware of who you are Doctor, and the many Sontaran
campaigns you have thwarted. But I will not kill you, not unless you
do either myself or ‘Nor-man’ direct harm.’
Romana
tugged at The Doctor’s arm and said with a slightly fearful but
nonetheless intrigued whisper: “I thought all of the Sontarans were
male clone bred?”
The
Doctor trademark-gestured his hand against and along the bottom of
his lip - a sign of fascination mixed with alarm. “They are. Well,
all of the ones I’ve encountered so far have. This must have been
an incredible divergence somewhere, one that the Sontarans didn’t
expect, or, with their rigid and rather bland mindsets, ever want.”
Shelekeria
was clearly impressed with the ugly humans. “You are correct,
Doctor. I was an accident – and to my Sontaran brothers a soon
abhorrence. I was born from a warrior battalion fighting the Rutans
in the Palembra nebula. The Rutans had developed a genetic weapon
ready for testing against us that could have proved a turning point
in our long conflict. We had destroyed the weapon and the base in a hard-won
and truly glorious victory, but many Sontarans had been destroyed and
the clone vats were unwittingly contaminated whilst re-enforcements
were being created. There were many subsequent deformities that died
instantly, but I survived. A mutant strain. Sontaran yet not
Sontaran. The High Command was fascinated with me for a brief time
but their attitude soon turned to dread, especially concerned that I
could potentially self-replicate on my own and disrupt the unique
Sontaran clone bloodline forever. I was a secret to be extinguished.”
“Yes,”
The Doctor said loudly, looking down to kick some earth into the
fire. “I bet those probic vents of theirs must have been steaming furiously to get rid of you. Norman told us how you escaped...”
“Hell
hath no fury like a woman scorned, eh?’ added Romana, clearly
making her own personal, subtle point to her cagey best friend.
“Killing
my brothers was an inevitable, necessary part of my survival,”
continued Shelekeria. ‘I am a Sontaran, Doctor. I live to fight.
That coda has not changed, even if my body has.” The memories of
that brutal and bloody physical conflict against her own brood on the
escort craft lingered hard. ‘It seems I now fight to live, too.”
She looked towards her ‘Nor-man’, who returned her gaze with a
happy-go-lucky, dozily affectionate smile as he potted about by the
caravan. “I have a reason, a cause, to protect my beloved Nor-man.”
She smiled the smallest of smiles to herself, thinking of the destiny
she had found herself in.
“Congratulations,
it couldn’t have happened to a nicer Sontaran,” The Doctor said,
beaming. He fast-draw whipped out a torn and crumpled bag of Jelly
Babies from one of his many coat pockets in celebration, one of whose
sugary head’s was soon being meticulously bitten off by Romana. “A
noble purpose, indeed,” he continued as multi-coloured sweeties did
further rounds. “I just hope your special relationship doesn’t
end prematurely,” The Doctor added with unexpected finality.
Shelekeria
had been examining the small and interesting little eating creatures
lodged in the palm of its three digit right hand, her eyes now
concerned. “What do you mean, Doctor?”
“Well,
I hate to put a damper on things, but you and I both know your
ex-Sontaran family isn’t going to stop annihilating you until... they've annihilated you.”
Shelekeria
licked her lips in that familiar way again. “I’m ready to fight
any one that comes here- they can send a million-strong army for all
I care, and I will defeat them all!” she said to The Doctor with
the kind of formidable if apotheotic narcissism and conviction that
would happily keep Sigmund Freud dancing on the edge of oblivion for
years.
“Oh,
I believe you,” The Doctor continued. “But for all their might
and need for a good head-banging, I think your brethren will try a
more simplistic approach. They’ll have known by now that something
went wrong, and I can’t believe for one moment that your crashed ship wouldn’t have
been monitored…’
“You
mean a Dysteriax missile?” Romana interrupted urgently, her
knowledge of the deadliest Sontaran weaponry and their potential war strategies
fully utilized.
Norman
suddenly dropped his pan, dropped everything in fact, upon hearing
such worrying words, looking up and beyond the ominously quiet sky
above them all with the dread unease of a Londoner waiting for a V2
rocket. Double taping the windows of the caravan was unlikely to be
effective in this particular declaration of war, he thought to
himself, cradling his badged fishing hat to his heart whilst the many
equally worried hairs on the back of his undistinguished head sprung
upright.
“A
quick, clean and efficient method when needed, Romana. Big enough to
wipe out half a planet, unstoppable in its trajectory and a great way
to cover up a revolutionary secret like you, Shelekeria.” Jelly
babies re-pocketed, the Doctor, now licking his right thumb of
sugar-coated residue, gamely thrust it into the air, testing the
environment. “Norman said you’ve both been here a few weeks. I’m
guessing the missile is already on its way. A Dysteriax hyperdrive
has an unusual frontal energy displacement signature that proceeds
its arrival over a vast distance.” He kept waving his thumb in the
air. “No sign yet. But we surely haven’t long.”
Norman
was starting to mildly panic, trying to keep a bold face in front of
Shelekeria. “But how long is long?”
“Long
enough for us to get back to the TARDIS and work out a defensive
strategy, that’s for sure.” The Doctor was clearly in battle
stations voice mode. “And If I know my K-9’s correctly, that
little Napoleon is already happily conjuring up war strategies with
the old girl and has the force field up.” The Doctor looked towards
his colleagues- Romana, always so splendid and ready in dangerous
situations, if a little wary of her friend’s always seemingly
hodge-podge plans, whilst Shelekeria, her right hand clutching
Norman’s, was primed for action once again. “C’mon,” he said
with upbeat urgency, flipping his scarf casually over a shoulder. “We’ve got some running to do!”
Always
the leader of the pack, The Doctor, having just piped out five
special coded breath taps of his sonic dog whistle during mid-jaunt,
never ever seemed out of breath in dangerous situations. Likely from
decades of experience running away from the enemy when absolutely
necessary, Romana had told herself, whilst a struggling and out of
condition Norman and Shelekeria (the former being dragged along by
the latter with necessary speed) joined him in reaching the battered
blue ‘Police Box’ located at the end of a double-blocked row of
immense tress, whose bushes had looked as if they’d specially given
way to the recently arrived space/time traversing oddity. Norman
hadn’t seen a Police Box back in Littlehampton for nearly twenty
years, their having gone the way of the Dinosaur. Or so it had
seemed. To see one here, now, was nothing short of jaw-dropping and
strangely eerie. Could do with a fresh lick of paint, though...
With
no time to think, and barely enough time to breath, Norman had been
pushed through the singular right panel door of the Police Box by
Shelekeria. Face down, catching that elusive breath, he looked up and
around the incredulous surroundings he’d now found himself in:
gleaming white walls adorned with strange roundel shapes, whose centre saw a large and impressive glass column with some kind of rotor instrument, around which a six-panelled control area was built. A
control area now ablaze with activity as The Doctor and Romana moved
around it adjusting panels, ticking off a verbally urgent ‘to do’
list of things, speaking words that were all gobbledygook to him.
What a three weeks this was turning out to be, Norman thought,
continuing to look and strangely admire the overall alien-ness of it
all, this ‘TARDIS’ as his two new friends called it. The
Marauders’ ship had had so much junk and tech littered around it,
it had almost been like a second caravan of sorts to him, even if it
had been travelling in space. With this vehicle, Norman very
definitely sensed something very special, very old, and very unique
about it. The same kind of feeling applied to its pilots... The
Doctor and Romana were not your average space travellers, for sure.
The more he watched them at work, the more he sensed it. Despite a
note of romantic farce about them in their body language and
reactions to each other, they also possessed a mysterious kind of
aura, a not so subtly hidden ‘knowing’ experience of things that
was difficult to pin down.
Suddenly
appearing from underneath one of the panels facing a now open viewing
screen to space, a squat machine rolled out, indeed very much like a
dog, even down to the waggling metal tail and Tartan-flavoured name
tag around its metal pipe throat. Its single eye, under a red
lattice, protruded out towards the Doctor and Romana, with a voice of
supreme and rather snooty, yet strangely lovable aloofness, that was
now on the highest of alerts. Introducing Norman and Shelekeria with
lightning speed, The Doctor’s hunch about the incoming missile had
proved right, the black sky on the view screen now filled with the
genuinely threatening sight of the Dysteriax missile, a squat and
ugly looking technological terror device, very much of the Sontaran
design, The Doctor remarked to Shelekeria, who was, despite its
mission, admiring the weapon’s potential and destructive yield.
“Hold
onto your hats, your everythings!” The Doctor shouted with a kind
of tense buoyancy, twisting the middle left fingers of his hand into
a cross for luck and hitting a nearby red button. It’s always
red for danger, even on alien ships, Norman thought, as the
Dysteriax missile hit the screen and a white envelope flared it
ablaze for several minutes that would feel like a lifetime. Norman
had hit the deck thinking the TARDIS was going to be caught in a
shockwave but soon felt ridiculous when he noticed his friends were
still upright and watching the explosive detonation. When the searing
white finally subsided, the night sky returned, now approaching a
quiet and striking dawn.
The
Doctor grinned, Romana breathed a silent cry of relief that his plan
had worked, and K-9 reported a successful dispersal. The roundel
shaped doors parting inwards, Norman and Shelekeria emerged from the
TARDIS to find the forest, the world, around them still mercifully
intact. The same life, the same smells, thank goodness. “Incredible,”
Norman near shouted, whilst cleaning his glasses to re-examine his
surroundings.”Doctor,” he said gingerly, pointing all around him.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how is this... possible!”
“Well,”
The Doctor said with further casual, happy flippancy. “It was
nothing really. Well, actually, it had to be finely orchestrated, but
we extended our force field out to the Sontaran and mercenary ships,
and it thankfully took the full impact of the detonation blast. At
the same time, Romana...” (who was now blessing everyone with such
a clever and radiant smile) “… set up holographic recreations of
the ships and caravan that would seemingly detonate at their time of
impact. K-9’s got the next job- he’s working on a portable
hologram generator that will maintain things for a while yet.”
“You
mean it’s all a big trick?” Norman was very impressed indeed, as
Shelekeria looked at the TARDIS with an all-new appreciation.
“I
remember one of your countrymen, chap named 'Daniels' doing something
similar. Or did he copy me?” The Doctor decided not to give it
another thought. “Basically, it’s all one big illusion, and you
and Shelekeria are now dead to all outside observers. Well, walking
dead, anyway. I doubt that the Sontarans will want to attract any
attention by coming here, especially not with those nosey Rutans
about.” He then gave a mighty and jubilant “Hah!” and started
striding in the direction of the caravan site, whilst Romana followed
behind lugging what looked like a giant tool kit carried against her
chest. “C’mon everybody, there’s still lots to do”, The
Doctor was shouting back to them.
With
more equipment salvaged from the Sontaran ship, The Doctor and Romana
proceeded to put the craft out of permanent action then headed to the
less conspicuous-at-galaxy-travelling Mercenary vessel. Inside its
cramped bridge area, loaded with ultimately worthless loot, they were
soon fixing numerous panels or re-routing circuits amidst some
friendly (well, Norman hoped it was friendly) bickering and rivalry
as to who could fix what device first and when- at one point in their
competition, Romana even hilariously gave her friend a tongue ‘boo!’
to one of his remarks! The drive system and life support controls
were now back up and running, nay improved, as The Doctor gave one
mighty smack to one large console unit which resulted in all the
ship’s lights coming fully on and the engines revving up
aggressively.
Now
holding hands, Norman and Shelekeria were both in new attire of
sorts- the former visually boasting a new variation of his old
ensemble, with a black patterned (if still rather worn) red gelay and
flared trousers (fished out from his last goodbye trip to his caravan
site), whilst the latter impressed with a newly created synth armour
fabric created by K-9 in the TARDIS wardrobe area – an outfit more
“practically designed to the feminine contours,” or so it had
efficiently said. Having made a bittersweet but necessary ‘adieu!’
to the caravan, which Shelekeria, with her immense strength, had
consigned to the depths of the nearby lake, Norman had packed their
last essentials, with an assortment of ‘fridged’ fish to last
several months at least. As goodbyes beckoned, the pair, the greatest
odd couple the two Time Lords had seen in a while, looked with a
genuinely loving kind of way towards each other.
Romana
had made the last tweaks in repairing the navigational device. “Back
to Earth, then?” she asked them.
“Earth?
No... well, not yet. I don’t think Littlehampton is ready for us. We’re
up for some pre-wedding sightseeing of the Outer Rim, with lots of
fishing in between!”
The
Doctor bombastically walked onto the bridge. “And lots of good
fishing ahead there is too” He put an enthused arm around Norman.
“A regeneration or two back I did some delightful Babel Fish
catching on Carperian IV… now that turned out to be quite a romp I
can tell you!” he said with wide-eyed beaming.
A
short time later The Doctor and Romana watched from a safe distance
as an enthusiasm-unshackled Shelekeria piloted the
Mercenary vessel up and away on quiet impulse drive above the immense
trees, whilst Norman happily waved to them from the ship’s
observation window. Soon enough, the battered but serviceable craft
gathered pace towards the heavens, promising a new future for the
pair of them.
“Beyond
Littlehampton, do you think they'll be alright out there in the Outer Rim?” Romana apprehensively smiled as the glimmer of the ship
finally disappeared into the beyond dusk sky.
“Well, they’ll
certainly be… unique,” The Doctor confidently replied, shoving his hat back deeply into his outside pocket. “This
part of the Outer Rim is easy to get lost in, lots of diverse
lifeforms to hide amongst if needed. It may be a bit of a struggle at
first for ‘Sheila’ to control her warrior instincts, but I’m
sure Norman will do his best.”
“One
gets used to the smell after a while...” Romana humorously
contemplated to her surprised friend, as if there were some further
hidden meaning. “That’s what Shelekeria said about Norman, too.”
“Oh
yes,” he remembered with an air of relaxed surprise….
“Quite
the couple,” Romana said as the Doctor turned the key into the
TARDIS lock, happy to be back, happy to be home (the smell of K-9’s
toasted scones now wafting in the air, along with a near-to-boiling kettle (Dalekanium-plated, of course!) in operation somewhere), and happy for the next eventual
Randomiser-controlled adventure beyond Terkerus. "Just like us, eh?" she added, with her own happy brand of flippancy.
Now
giving her that unique ‘look of life’ experience and friendship
that only he could deliver, The Doctor responded as the right side
door opened inwards once again. “You know, Romana,” he said with a new beam of positive radiance. “It really was one of those
days, wasn’t it?!”
THE END
The Sontarans were created by Robert Holmes.
This story is respectfully dedicated to the ever-inventive and lively Doctor Who series work of Douglas Adams and Graham Williams.
