Doctor Who: Delta and the Bannermen (2 page)

The Tollmaster, delighted at last to have a receptive audience, directed his answer to Mel. ‘You have won... our Fabulous Fifties Tour – a week in Disneyland, Planet Earth. Back in time to 1959, a great year. I wish I was as lucky as you.’

Mel’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘That’s fantastic! Oh, let’s go Doctor – please say yes – I haven’t been to Earth in ages. Oh please...’ Mel turned her soft eyes to the Doctor, using her best Spaniel look to try and melt his heart and change his mind. She was put in mind of the sparrow trying to sharpen its beak on the rock of time.

But surprisingly it worked, because the next thing the Doctor found himself saying was, ‘Yes, a week’s holiday might in fact be quite pleasant, now that I think about it. A rolling green sward, a cool stream, birds twittering. Exactly what’s needed, a large dose of tranquillity.’ He closed his eyes in thought; he could almost feel the cool breeze and smell the sweet scent of new-mown grass.

The sustained fire from a squad of Bannermen soldiers sent rock chips flying from the rough-hewn walls of the Frontier. Huge boulders which acted as defence barriers for the Chimerons were almost obliterated in palls of sulphurous smoke. The battlefield was littered with dead and dying Chimerons.

Chumeria, known as the Garden Planet of the Universe, was under attack. The warlike Bannermen, after making their own world uninhabitable by polluting its rivers and atmosphere, had devised a simple plan – to annihilate the passive Chimerons and take over their world. At the head of the shock troops was Gavrok, who with his scarlet eyes and fierce nature had earned for himself, in a few short aeons, one of the most ferocious reputations in the galaxy; he wasn’t known as ‘Gavrok the Merciless’ for any philanthropic endeavour.

Chumeria’s inhabitants, the peace-loving Chimerons were soft and pupa-like with silvery green skins and vivid blue eyes. Having lived tranquilly for thousands of years the Chimerons were unaccustomed to battle and were helpless before the savage and relentless onslaught of the Bannermen.

The first wave of shock troops had all but obliterated the Chimeron defences and now Gavrok had only to mop up. He stood on a large shattered rock, an awesome sight in his black military uniform. Slung across his chest was a powerful ray gun and in his left hand, raised aloft, he clutched a huge spear from which long black pennants fluttered wildly in the wind – the insignia of his empire.

He pressed to his lips a grotesquely carved curling horn, and blowing a low mournful note which echoed across the fractured valley, he rallied his troops.

There were only a handful of Chimerons left, and they were engaged in desperate hand-to-hand fighting with the Bannermen. In the front line was Delta, the Chimeron Queen, surely one of the most beautiful creatures in the Universe. Unlike her subjects she was more humanoid in appearance with a delicate translucent skin tone – more pink than green, the mark of royalty amongst the Chimerons.

Phaser in hand, Delta was pressed into a rocky gap with one of her bodyguards, watching in horror as her people and planet were falling under the alien boot. Gavrok shouted across the clash of weapons and clamour of battle,

‘Take no prisoners. KILL THEM ALL!’ And raised the horn for another dismal bellow.

Delta had had enough. She was enraged at the death and destruction which the murderous Bannermen had brought to her beloved planet. She popped out of her hiding space and aimed her phaser. Gavrok’s horn exploded into a thousand pieces, almost knocking him off the rock with the force of the blast. Rage flashed across his sinister features.

Exhausted by the fray, Delta turned to her bodyguard.

‘Are you strong enough to run?’ she asked.

‘Where? They’ve firebombed every ship we have,’ was his desolate reply.

‘Then we’ll have to take one of theirs!’ said Delta, setting her lips. By now, she was well aware of Gavrok’s evil plan to exterminate her people, and although it saddened her to flee her stricken planet, she knew it was necessary to prevent the wholesale destruction of the Chimeron race.

With grim determination she pointed through the fug towards the squat black Bannerman fighter, bristling with weapons. ’NOW!’ she yelled as she and the bodyguard rushed from their hiding place. Gavrok’s troops opened fire on the fugitives racing towards their ship. Weaving their way through corpses and splintered rock they narrowly avoided the vaporizing rays of a hundred Bannermen phasers.

The Bannerman soldier guarding the fighter loomed up in front of Delta. She snapped off a shot and he slumped down as the energy beam tore through him. Delta and her bodyguard pushed him aside and ran up the ramp into the ship. ‘I’ll cover the hatch while you retract the anchor ballast,’ she gasped.

She bravely faced the door, hoping to keep off the wave of hostile troops which would appear at any moment. The royal bodyguard gave a cry, causing her to spin around.

Gavrok was standing behind them with an ugly leer on his face and a glowing blaster in his hand. Delta’s bodyguard was lying on the floor, a gaping wound in his chest.

‘You are the last survivor,’ hissed Gavrok. ‘But not for long. Move!’ He gestured with his blaster for Delta to go through the hatch. She slowly raised her hands as Gavrok’s ugly bulk advanced towards her, forcing her towards the hatch and certain death.

Suddenly a beam took him full in the shoulder, catapulting him out of the hatch. With lightning reactions Delta slammed it shut and spun the rotalock. Muffled banging and cries of rage came to her through the armour plating.

Delta turned to her fallen bodyguard, his weapon still in his hand. He was fading fast. ‘You saved my life,’ she said, crouching beside the mortally wounded Chimeron.

‘Go... get away... take this with you...’ he gasped.

Although very weak and in great pain he rolled over and produced a large silver orb from a pack on his back.

As Delta took the orb the Chimeron gave a final gurgle and died. A high pitched whining noise snapped her out of her painful reverie – the Bannermen were using a sonic drill and would soon smash through the rotalock. Delta jumped into the pilot’s seat and started frantically punching the controls. With more luck than skill the ship gave a shuddering groan and blasted off...

Planet Earth. The blue orb was turning peacefully in space.

A Morris Minor slowly puttered down a narrow road meandering through a pine forest in South Wales, Britain.

Peering over the wheel was a skinny American with a crewcut and homrimmed glasses – Hawk. Seated beside him was a fellow countryman in a plaid jacket with an ungainly paunch rolling over the top of his trousers –

Weismuller. Their dress was highly fashionable for its time

– the time in question being 1959.

Hawk and Weismuller were more reminiscent of surburban America than the Welsh hinterland and looked strangely out of place. Within intelligence circles, the Welsh assignment was seen as being one of the most boring postings in the world – in fact it had become an established dinner party joke. Unfortunately, Hawk and Weismuller were used to the privileged position of being secret agents under the direct control of the President himself, and this lonely posting was generally seen as a demotion. Yet they both knew that if they were conscientious in their work they would soon be home, and eligible for promotion once more.

The Morris stopped at a lay-by and the two Americans got out. Glancing nervously around, Weismuller rolled up his sleeve and plunged his arm into a hollow tree trunk. He produced a small silver aluminium can, similar to a film canister, with a tight screw-top lid. Inside the can was a message on a slip of rolled-up paper.

Weismuller read the message with a heavy heart and passed it to Hawk. Hawk read the note. When he had finished he screwed the paper up into a tight ball and eyed it distastefully. With a sideways glace at Weismuller, Hawk gave a sigh and reluctantly put the paper ball into his mouth. He proceeded to chew the minute mouthful, and after what seemed like an eternity swallowed hard and it was gone.

Satisfied, Weismuller started back towards the car, saying, ‘I never had a red alert before.’

‘Me neither,’ said Hawk, sucking on his teeth.

‘I reckon we’d better find a callbox fast,’ said Weismuller, all business.

Hawk looked around – there were trees as far as he could see. ‘Out here?’ he asked. Weismuller started the engine.

Half an hour later the Morris appeared over the crest of a hill. There, below them at the side of the road was a police phonebox. Weismuller cut the engine and coasted to a halt beside it. He produced a small codebook from the cubby hole and clutching it furtively to his chest, he got out of the car and crossed to the callbox. At the same time Hawk reached under his seat for a small brass telescope.

Winding the car window down he scanned the horizon.

Since his side faced only the callbox and a high privet hedge there was very little to see. The main sweep of the valley fell away in the opposite direction, a fact missed by Hawk since he was far too comfortable to leave the car.

Weismuller lifted the handset and dialled the local constabulary. Moments later he was connected. ‘Hello, this is a Code Eleven call, please put me through to the White House... Washington, D.C. USA.’

The line cackled and hummed. Finally the phone came alive. Weismuller stood to attention. ‘Hello? Yes sir, Special Agent Jerome P. Weismuller here. From Wales.

Wales England. Yes sir... yes sir. We’ll get right onto it, sir.’ Weismuller hung up, looking stunned. Throwing his shoulders back he strode over to the car and Hawk.

‘Well?’ demanded Hawk.

‘That was no less than the President’s right-hand man.

Whew!’ Weismuller seemed very impressed.

By this time Hawk’s patience was wearing thin. ‘Come on, Weismuller, spill the beans. Why the red alert?’

Weismuller glanced nervously around, then leant forward in a confidential whisper.

‘Says that Cape

Canaveral has just fired a space rocket with an artificial satellite.’

Hawk blinked in disbelief then started grinning. ’This is history in the making, Weismuller!’ he said. Then his brow wrinkled, ‘Uh... so what are we supposed to do about it?’ Weismuller gestured at the expanse of sky.

‘Surveillance, Hawk. It’s our job to track the thing,’ he said.

Hawk gave a low whistle. Weismuller got into the car.

The silence was broken by the grind of the starter motor, and they moved away through the pines.

Behind the tollbooth was a vast hangar, entered through a labyrinth of passages. Dimly lit and damp, the passages reminded Mel of the underground burial chambers she and the Doctor visited on the planet Zoth. She remembered thinking at the time that the cold dank air seemed completely void of life, as if it hadn’t been exposed to the energy of a living organism, however small, for aeons and aeons. That’s what it felt like here, although she knew it couldn’t possibly be true. Peering through the gloom Mel could see that the walls had been decorated with murals. At one time they must have been brightly coloured, but the paint had grown dull and cracked over the years. The murals depicted space travellers from countless galaxies.

She recognized Solterns, Giboks and those funny little creatures the Wormese, who, without the aid of appendages of any kind, propel themselves along by the sheer force of their exhalations.

The Doctor peeled back a large flake of paint. ‘Aha, just as I thought,’ he said. ‘Of a very inferior quality. This paint is barely two thousand years old. Lack of central planning again, I’m afraid. It’s a wonder these places last as long as they do.’ The Doctor shook his head and sighed deeply.

The Tollmaster was leading the Doctor and Mel through the maze. In her hand Mel clutched her small suitcase. ‘Are we going to have a whole cruiser to ourselves?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said the Tollmaster, ‘You’re going on a scheduled tour with the Navarinos – from the tri-polar moon Navarro. Squat hairy beings which resemble artichokes, I believe.’

‘Won’t they be rather conspicuous on Earth?’

‘Not at all. They’ve gone through a transformation arch,’ said the Tollmaster as they suddenly rounded a bend and saw the great expanse of open hangar before them.

A 50s streamliner bus with ‘Nostalgia Trips’ written on the side was parked before them. Beside the bus was a square metallic arch, surrounded by a group of people all in 1950’s clothes. They were all trying to urge a round, leafy, hairy creature to enter the arch. Emitting shrill whistling noises it waddled towards the arch, hesitated a few moments and then retreated back to its original position.

Finally, with a mixture of taunts and cat-calls they encouraged the Navarino to go through the hoop to be transformed into creatures who would pass for humans on a day out. The Doctor looked somewhat sceptically at the leafy being, ‘Is that one of the tourists?’ he asked.

‘No, he’s your pilot,’ said the Tollmaster.

‘This should he interesting,’ muttered the Doctor, his eyes resting on the side of the bus.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mel.

‘Nostalgia Trips – the most notorious holiday firm in five galaxies. They’ve had endless disasters.’ The Tollmaster turning to the Doctor gave him a brittle smile.

‘They may have had a few problems in the past but that’s all been sorted out. This trip is going to be different. You’ll see...’ he said. The Doctor gave a half smile but remained silent.

Mel was flicking through the glossy brochure which the Tollmaster had given her earlier. ‘But the brochure shows a modern cruiser, not an old bus!’ she cried.

‘In fact,’ said the Tollmaster slowly, ‘it’s an expensive conversion. The chassis is from a Hellstrom 11, the latest thing in cruisers. The bodywork is just there to please the tourists. They expect everything to be original, even down to the transport.’

Finally the Navarino hopped through the arch. In a blaze of light it emerged as a chubby human in a wrinkled bus driver’s uniform. He turned to the Doctor, saying, ‘I’ve been through that thing a thousand times but I still don’t like it. I always expect it to malfunction just as I’m going through. That would be a fine thing, to end up half humanoid and half Navarino. Anyway, welcome aboard.