DOCTOR WHO AND THE TOAST MONSTER

PART ONE

Romeo’s thumb lay poised on the up arrow. The news failed to interest him. Click. A game of Rollerball on channel 465 burst noisily onto the screen. He glanced at the scoreboard and saw that it was two Martian teams. He sighed. Click. A shiny man wanted to sell him some self-improvement device called “The Abdomination”. Click. A documentary on the history of… Click. Naked woman… Click. Three men sitting at a bar… Click. The weather forecast… click… click back. He thought he’d seen an alien behind the three drinkers. He returned to the channel and saw that he was correct.

“I don’t care what you say, Space Mutiny will go down in the annals of cinema as one of the finest pieces of cheap and tacky Canadian science fiction ever to reuse footage from Battlestar Galactica” said the large man.

“All I asked was ‘will you ever buy a sodding round?’” replied his smaller friend.

“Yes but I saw the underlying criticism of my one hundred and ninety third favourite bad movie.”

“I hate science fiction conventions” added the third man at their table. “I want to kill everyone here. The desire to exist in a reality other than our own is a laudable one but not when it involves men with pointy noses and simplistic retellings of classical mythology.”

“Euan – comrade – you always want to kill everyone everywhere. Your psychotic neuroses make you a fascinating companion. It’s only when you cross the line and actually kill someone that I find myself vexed to the point of irritation.”

“There’s a man over there dressed as a wookie” noted the little man. “How sad is that?”

“How dare you – I’m hoping to score with her tonight” snapped the fat man. “Now, Euan mentioned drinks –mine is a lager, tell them to use the fire bucket but wash it first. I hate the taste of sand before midnight.”

Romeo clicked away from the channel. He had that vague feeling you get when you know you’ve seen everything in a film without actually knowing what the film is. He turned the television off, said goodnight to his vast home entertainment system and went for one final look around his collection room.

Romeo settled himself in his favourite chair and picked up a black rock. The rock tingled in his hands as though it were alive. It was the difference between touching living flesh and handling a joint of meat. Not that Romeo had touched flesh for a long time. The power in his hands was vast, it was the power of life, the power of death, the power of the universe and it was his. His life, his power, his death and his universe. Romeo looked over to a display case containing a gleaming cyber-head and smiled. It had cost him a small fortune but it was worth it. Oh, some collectors believed that the modern Cyberheads weren’t nearly as good as the older ones but Challenger disagreed. This was state of the art – highly polished chrome – and he got a little thrill every time he saw his reflection in it.

“We will conquer the universe, puny human” he imagined it saying, “and no one can stop us.”

“I will stop you” said Challenger in a bold, manly voice. “I – Romeo Challenger – will thwart your diabolical plans. You have picked the wrong Space Security Service agent to tangle with this time, Tin Man.” He laughed a deep, booming laugh at his mocking retort. The Cyberman glared at him with dead eyes and attacked.

He imagined the heroic tussle that would follow. His fists proving worthless against the metallic strength of the Cyberman, he would have to rely on cunning. He would goad the cyborg into charging at him and, at the last second, he would step aside and the monster would fall from the gangway (this confrontation was now taking place on a gangway) and fall to certain death. Then, remembered Romeo, he would deal with the rest of the Cyberfleet. With their leader dead and his gun in Romeo’s possession (the fantasy was revised so the Cyberleader had now dropped his gun before falling) he would lay waste to the entire tin army.

Romeo turned (both literally and in his daydream) and came face to face with a Zygon. Oh no! An evil alliance to conquer all of space and time (did the Zygons time travel? Romeo wasn’t sure). Romeo pulled his cybergun up to the Zygon and blew it to smithereens. His beautiful sidekick (he now had a beautiful sidekick) Christie St Moritz flung herself at him and they kissed against the wall. Wall? He was on a gangway. Oh well, fantasies aren’t meant to be real. This rude intrusion of logic broke the imaginative tissue and Romeo Arthur Challenger, balancing uncomfortably on the edge of his chair, fell backwards onto the floor. At least it hadn’t been a real gangway, he thought as he hugged the black rock to his bosom. Christie St Moritz kissed him better. He wished he’d watched a little more of that naked woman on channel 469 to give Christie a few ideas.

The Doctor was beginning to think that Scrabble hadn’t been the best solution to recent TARDIS crew bickerings. Ordinarily a nice, civilised game for all the family, it had degenerated into a multitude of arguments.

“’Tsun’ is a word” protested Adric. “It’s an Alzarian word meaning ‘The gap between words.’”

“Why is he allowed Alzarian words and I can’t have Aussie slang?” demanded Tegan. “Drongo would’ve given me the lead.”

“Yes, I do think it’s unfair that Adric can use his native tongue and I can’t use mine” added Nyssa.

“Quite right” agreed Tegan. “We should be able to use our tong…”

“Children” snapped The Doctor, instantly regretting it. He was fighting a losing battle to convince his three young companions that he respected them as adults and remarks like that, albeit in the heat of the moment, did little to help his cause.

“This is a stupid game” bawled Adric. “Letters just aren’t as exciting as numbers.”

“What about algebra?” asked Tegan sarcastically.

“Algebra is different” explained Adric, missing the sarcasm (whether by choice or just ignorance), “Algebra is numerical poetry. Words only have value as a means of communication – only numbers can express feelings.”

“What utter cr…” began Tegan. Her mouth froze. The Doctor smiled.

“I’ve extended the temporal grace to cover swearing” he explained. None of them quite knew when he was joking. The heated moment having passed, Tegan didn’t feel like trying again.

“Why don’t we try sticking to words in here” the Doctor held up the official Scrabble dictionary.

“But that gives Tegan an advantage” protested Adric.

“Nonsense” said the Doctor, “This book covers good English words and Tegan is Australian”. Three of them laughed. One of them didn’t.

“Rabbits” cursed the ‘one’. Obviously the swear filter only covered words and not the intention behind them.

"This is really very interesting" said Nyssa after five minutes of skimming through the dictionary. "I never realised how many words the humans knew."

"That's not fair" moaned Adric, "Nyssa's read the dictionary - she's got an unfair advantage."

"I give up" snapped the Doctor. "I'm going for a walk." He stormed out of the console room. The three companions looked at each other in momentary silence.

"That was your fault" muttered Tegan. Adric threw a Scrabble tile at her but, being Adric, it missed her face and hit her on the thigh. She screwed up her face as she scanned the board. Eventually she pushed two tiles towards Adric's side of the board. That done, she walked silently from the console room.

"Nyssa" began Adric, "can I borrow the dictionary please. I'd like to know what a 'fu' is."

Romeo Challenger cuddled his stuffed police box. Polly had been his childhood friend – more loyal than any of the so-called “real” people that his parents had tried to force upon him. Polly understood his needs, his wants and his dreams. Polly had protected him from the Autons, the Drashigs and the Tereleptils. Some nights he would cradle Polly and yearn to get inside her. His psychiatrist drew lots of silly conclusions about this. Challenger just ignored her. If it hadn’t been for the court order he would’ve stopped seeing her years ago. Romeo put Polly back on her dais and wandered down the roundel-covered corridor. The corridor where he had fought the Rani to the death over the crystals of Dennibren (which had the power to hypnotise anyone who looked into them). He had made her change her ways and dedicate her life to good. Romeo could be terribly persuasive when in ultra-heroic mode. Romeo sighed. He had dedicated his entire adult life to saving as much of the galaxy as possible and still he was alone. Christie St Moritz only kept him company when he had the energy to conjure her up. He tried to bring her to him but could only manage a fleeting glimpse. He sighed again. But before his melancholy could engulf him he spotted something he hadn’t seen for weeks. His genuine Sontaran battle helmet. Suddenly he was under attack. Major Slumm of the Sontaran Ninth Fleet was firing upon him. Romeo pulled out his blaster and took shelter behind a computer bank. Energy bolts fizzed past his head and, between deadly volleys, Romeo and Christie St Moritz returned fire. Today was, he told himself, a good day to die. But a better day to live.

The Doctor paced the dark corridors of the TARDIS, muttering to himself about the ingratitude of youth. The old ship seemed to sense his mood and had dimmed her lighting accordingly. He thought about Adric for a moment and the lights flashed a vibrant red. The Doctor, amused, patted the wall affectionately.

“At least someone understands” he said softly.

He paced deeper and deeper into the heart and soul of the craft. In his mind he could still hear the argument raging in the console room. Console? If only. Perhaps he should take Tegan home. Nyssa and Adric had plenty in common – that would make the ship a happier place. Or maybe Adric was the one to find a new home for. The girls shared a bedroom for crying out loud – they must get on well. No –this was foolish talk. A parent doesn’t think about which of their children they should get rid of and that was what the Doctor had become. Nyssa’s family were dead and he was involved. Maybe not to blame but he was involved. Tegan’s auntie died and he was involved. Adric’s brother died and he was involved. He was their guardian whether he liked it or not. So cease this foolish talk. That was the thing the Doctor liked best about being angry or depressed – the moment of relief when he realised he was being stupid or that his problems weren’t really problems, only inconveniences. He turned 180 degrees on his heels and marched back to the console room. The soap opera portion of the day was over. The corridors burst into light and the boyish smile that denied his centuries lit up his face.

The Pebelon Captain slapped his thigh and barked out an order to go into Hyperspace.

“Make it now” he shouted. Three lesser Pebelons jumped to attention and the ship roared smoothly into Hyperspace. Hyperspace, by the way, is green. The Captain summoned his science officer to the bridge.

“Science Officer” he began, “we must find Space Security Service Agent Romeo Challenger and eliminate him. He has thwarted our plans for the last time.”

“I have perfected a death ray which is tuned to Romeo Challenger’s personal light wave profile. All we need to do is point it at his home world and he will be dead.”

Romeo liked the Pebelons. They were the only race he had ever invented. All the rest had come out of history books but the Pebelons were his creation. Standing about eight feet tall, they were lizard men with sharp teeth and a strict code of honour. They had dedicated their lives to taking over the entire universe and killing him. Or rather, killing him then conquering the universe (in that order, usually). He first encountered them when they were called the Pedelons but he remembered there actually was a place called Peladon and that could cause confusion. Hence they were, from the next encounter, Pebelons.

“We are in range” announced the Pebelon Science Officer.

“Excellent” boomed the captain, rubbing his lizard hands together in triumph. “Fire the weapon.”

A shaft of light ripped from the nose of the Pebelon Warship and headed for Romeo Challenger’s home planet. Luckily he had set up a space mirror and the beam was reflected back at the Pebelon Warship. The space mirror – coated with a special coating which changed the properties of the laser beam and so made it lethal to Pebelons – shone the ray at the engines of the huge battleship. It exploded in a feast of fire and the Universe was safe for another day.

“I came too early” muttered Romeo. “Normally I can make them last longer than that. A space mirror? Where did that come from? Pathetic, Challenger, pathetic.”

The Doctor had made on diversion on his way back to the console room. Three wrong turnings, yes, but one deliberate diversion. Clutching a guidebook, he marched into the control room.

“I’ve decided we need a holiday” he declared. He ignored all their questions and busied himself with the controls. He flipped from page to page as he tried to decide when and where (exactly) to aim for. He had a woolly notion that the more precisely one aimed, the more likely one was to get fairly near. It was harder on the mind but probably worth it. But it was just a theory. Maybe that explained why he was better at short hops than galactic journeys. Adric pestered him about whether it would be warm where they were going. The Doctor ignored him. He laid a course for mid-July, California, 2001. Worst case scenario, they’d arrive in Florida, 1999 or Washington State some time in 2005. Whatever the specifics, there was nowhere which encouraged family bonding more than a trip to America.

“Are we nearly there yet?” moaned Adric. The Doctor still ignored him. Nyssa was trying to follow the swift movement of the Doctor’s fingers as he manipulated the controls. She longed to be able to pilot the ship. It frustrated her massive intellect to be ignorant of something that the Doctor made look so simple. The controls themselves looked almost childishly easy – a few big knobs, levers and flashing lights. Nyssa suspected there was more to them than that. She assumed that flipping the switch was just the beginning of the process. She didn’t have long to wonder. The pulsating central column juddered to a halt. The Doctor activated the scanner.

“Behold – California” he beamed. All they saw was a wall. “Well… they have walls in California.”

The Pebelons were not going to take things lying down. Commander L’unk stared at a star chart.

“Behold men – the entire universe.”

The assembled Pebelons gasped.

“It is ours for the taking.”

Romeo looked down at the rock he was clutching. It made everything so easy that his imagination was suffering. A map of the universe? Not even the Pebelons could create such a thing. It was ridiculous.

“Behold men – The entire Galaxy” said L’unk (take 2)

The assembled Pebelons gasped.

“We will assemble the largest fleet in history and anyone who gets in our way will be destroyed.”

The mob began to cheer. Several burly Pebelons bashed tankards of beer together in their celebration. Romeo didn’t stop to wonder where the beer had come from. He’d only ever imagined them eating raw meat, often still alive. Pebelons were a truly monstrous creation.

Romeo looked back at the rock in his hands. It had cost more than most Scallonians would see in a lifetime and yet it had given him everything. This was more than mere superstition – this was magic. A rock, just a rock, which made his day dreams real. It made them as vivid and exciting as those dreams that came when he was asleep. Only he was in control. He could be anyone and anywhere. He loved his dream rock even more than he loved Christie St Moritz. Or was she Christie De Wolfe today? Or Christie Santa Monica? It was Christie anyway. Christie Something. But the dream rock was draining his imagination. The Pebelons used to have imaginative schemes – they used to ally themselves with the Daleks and the Rutans and employ humanoid robots, sinister double agents and invent time machines to go back and eradicate Romeo Challenger’s ancestors. Now they had nothing better than vague threats of Galactic conquest, a huge fleet and tankards of beer. Perhaps he needed a break from the dream rock. Perhaps he needed to spend some time outside his home. Away from all his artefacts, his books and his holo-records.

Away from all traces of his idol. His hero. The man he most wanted to be.

Away from all thoughts of The Proctor.

Suddenly, Romeo’s head almost exploded. Pain the likes of which he had never felt before engulfed his mind. He had been shot by a Pebelon warrior. He was in the uncomfortable position of seeing his own brain splatter against his walls. His eyes boiled away to nothing, his skull shattered like dropped china. He turned and felt the blast of a Dalek death ray. It vaporised his insides and left him lying sprawled on the floor. He turned again and a sword plunged through his stomach. Then an axe cut his head off. Then a Raston Warrior Robot sliced him apart with it’s spears. A Drashig ate him alive. A Cyberman crushed his skull between its mighty hands. The Muster shrunk him to the size of a doll. Projectiles fired by human soldiers shot through his flesh. Romeo died a hundred deaths in one agonising instant. He screamed and threw the dream rock across the room. Then there was silence. He sobbed as the pain stroked away at him like the ocean’s tide caressing the beach.

They wandered round for a few minutes before Tegan gave voice to the suspicions of the group.

“We’re not in California” she said.

“Now, we can’t be sure of that” protested The Doctor.

“What’s a California?” asked Adric. Tegan tried to explain about sun and sand and sex and sin and so on but he still looked bemused.

“It looks like some kind of store room” said Nyssa. She pointed to a mannequin covered with a dirty white sheet.

“There’s another” said Tegan. The mannequins were housed between large wooden crates, each baring partially hidden labels. The dust was thick enough to betray a lifetime of neglect. Whatever was in this room was either so valuable that no one dared touch it or so worthless that people had forgotten it was there. The Doctor examined the sheet.

“Cotton” he exclaimed. The others attached no significance to this. He pulled the cover completely off the dummy and stared at the horrible sight below.

“My god” gasped Tegan, “who would wear a coat as disgusting as that?”

The Pebelon shuttle raced through the atmosphere. On board was a Trit (12 men plus a captain). They were heavily armed and solidly armoured. The pilot flew them through an area of turbulence – a pocket of air that reminded them that they had left deep space and were closing in upon their target. The captain pressed a button and the main screen showed a picture of Romeo Challenger.

“Behold our target” bellowed Captain S’unk. “Romeo Challenger – Space Security’s top agent.

“He is the greatest enemy of the Pebelon race” agreed his Number Two, S’puk.

“He must be destroyed” added one of the foot soldiers.

“We will destroy him” declared a fourth.

The Pebelon shuttle opened its gun ports and the targeting system locked upon Romeo Challenger’s home. To the untrained eye it was an undefended mansion – rather grand for the time period, the Challenger family had lovingly preserved it for hundreds of years. It looked like the home of an ordinary man rather than a Space Security Agent. This is because it was. It was the home of a rather lonely young man who dreamed dreams of lizards in spacecraft.

And he had no idea they were coming to get him.

Three men were being thrown out of a night-club by a man who looked and acted like an Ogron but who was as human as you or I. Well, you certainly.

“As if we would dignify your pitiful hovel with our presence” shouted the leader of the three. The smallest one reminded him that they had indeed been dignifying the pitiful hovel with their presence, quite happily, until Smith had called the manageress a ‘ham-witted arse goblin’ and she’d called security. Euan, the tallest, was still clutching his pint of beer (amazingly un-spilled in the subsequent ruckus).

“I’m keeping this” he yelled at the doors. He put it in his pocket and joined his friends.

“This was looking like a good evening” grumbled Smith. “Life urinates on our heads, comrades.”

“We could always go up to the bridge and jump off” suggested Stevo – the runt of the litter.

“Nah – those are my weekend plans” replied Smith. “The problem with that bouncer was that he was a bear of very little brain. I need entertainment and entertainment means intelligence. Fighting is for the plebs – I want an argument.”

“You know your arguments always lead to fighting – remember the time you pretended to be an MP and a fishing debate ended with three people in hospital and live coverage on BBC News 24…” reminded Euan.

“A mere mishap, an abortion in my otherwise colourless career of verbal machinations” said Smith casually.

Romeo was confused – he’d never imagined anything like this before. Three men on a night out. What was the point of that? Wait. It was those three losers from that film. Why oh why hadn’t he stuck on channel 469? Romeo cursed his judgement and tried to make the men go away but they were stuck in his daydream. Like the guilty thought that you try to suppress the more he rejected them the more clearly he saw them.

“I can’t let you in because we’re already past our limit” insisted a bouncer. The large man, Smith, having abandoned his search for intelligence, wanted a drink.

“Who decided the limit?” he asked.

“The fire brigade, or the council, or the license people.”

“Mere amateurs – what would they know about having a good time?”

“But they know about health and safety…” protested the bouncer. “People have to be safe in the club.”

“Safe? Is smoking safe? The toxic fumes rotting their lungs. More people die of smoking than anything else. It is the single most harmful thing known to medicine. Smoking has a higher death rate than the Second World War. And yet you bring me tales of safety…” He let this remark hang in the air.

“But…” began the bouncer.

“And then there’s alcohol – it damages the brain and the liver, it causes anti social behaviour, makes a person unfit to be a part of society. It’s highly addictive, causes heart disease and has no nutritional value what so ever. And you bring me sob stories of health…”

“But…”

“There have been numerous studies into the harmful effect of loud music on the ears, and of flashing lights triggering brain damage…”

“Ok ok” conceded the bouncer, “you can come in.”

The three traipsed happily into the dingy club for a few hours of lung rotting, brain damaging, ear destroying fun.

Romeo couldn’t get rid of them. These three people – such ORDINARY people at that. Admittedly the fat one was rather amusing but for a man used to intergalactic adventures, the three seemed rather poor entertainment. He glared at his dream rock. It had become a deathly black colour. No light reflected off it. Indeed, if Romeo hadn’t been rather misty eyed after his fantasy, he would have sworn the rock was actually sucking light into it. Romeo Challenger made a decision. If he was stuck with these three ordinary people, he would have some fun with them. He would force his dream back to the space adventure that he craved.

The three crossed the threshold of the club but, instead of a smoky, noisy atmosphere, they found themselves in a silent chamber.

“That’s odd” said Smith. He struck a match and they had a brief glimpse at the nothing that filled the room.

“That’s very odd” agreed Stevo.

Euan whipped out a homemade torch. “Wow – it’s a room” he concluded.

“But not the room we were expecting” reminded Smith.

“Maybe it’s a joke.”

“Maybe it’s a joke” repeated Smith in a squeaky voice. “Piffle. Gentlemen – either we’re on a really boring trip or…”

“Or what ?”

“Just ‘or…’” repeated Smith.

“Ah” agreed his two chums.

The Doctor was poking round in one of the cases.

“This hat reminds me of one I used to have. I was older then and far less experienced.”

“Eughhh” whimpered Nyssa. She was clutching a charred lump of something organic.

“If I didn’t know better…” pondered the Doctor, “…Zygon techn… no it can’t be.” He didn’t sound convincing.

“This looks interesting” announced Tegan. She was holding what looked like a pen torch.

“My sonic sc…” began the Doctor. He grabbed the object and examined it. “My sonic screwdriver.”

“But that was destroyed by the Terilptils.”

“Not this one – this is the original. Limited functionality but I was always rather fond of it. I lost it somewhere between the War Games and my exile on Earth. Floating through the vortex is all fine and dandy but it does tend to play merry hell with your pockets.”

“So you’re saying this torch thing is yours?”

“Without a doubt.”

“How odd” declared Tegan.

“This strange hat is mine too – same incarnation as the sonic screw driver. I’ve even got a weird feeling that revolting coat is currently languishing in a cupboard in the TARDIS.”

“Well that settles it then” announced Nyssa. “I don’t know how you’ve done it Doctor but you’ve managed to land the TARDIS inside the TARDIS.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that the interior of the TARDIS existed in a separate dimension to the exterior? Well then – it must be theoretically possible for the exterior to land within the interior.”

“On the contrary – it’s theoretically impossible” replied the Doctor. “Which, admittedly makes it far more likely…”

“This is bad even by your standards Doctor” moaned Tegan.

“I’d love to study the flight log” said Adric, “The coordinates involved must be fascinating.”

“That’s all you can say?” challenged Tegan.

“Have you any idea of the mathematics involved in recursive dimensional transference?”

“Funnily enough, no” snapped Tegan.

“Well” began Adric, “firstly you have to multiply the vector curve by the tangential alignment but, before that, you have to invert the negative of the square of the…”

“Whatever.”

“Heathen” snapped Adric.

“Loser” replied Tegan.

“Now now” implored the Doctor, “why don’t you and Nyssa go and double check the flight log while Tegan and I have a look around?” Peace triumphed and the party separated according to their interests.

“Can it really be true Doctor?” asked Tegan.

“If it is, we’re in trouble. Just landing inside the TARDIS would be enough to seriously weaken the dimensional barriers, taking off again could puncture them completely. The TARDIS would…

“Burst like a balloon?”

"Precisely."

"How will we know?”

"Hopefully Adric and Nyssa will be able to unravel the flight log and tell us. If they can't then it's down to good old trial and error. Wander around until we know - one way or the other."

"That's not very scientific."

"We're a long way past science - we've entered the realm of luck."

The Pebelon shuttle had met with no resistance. Their ages old code of honour dictated that a Pebelon could not fire the first shot. A Pebelon would rather die a glorious death than live a dishonourable life. They were, in short, a warrior race. Romeo Challenger had studied warrior races and knew that the Pebelons were historically perfect. There was absolutely nothing original about the Pebelons. Or rather, there wasn't anything original about the Pebelons except their new found ability to exist. Not that they knew their entire race had only been real for half an hour. They had a long and complicated history, one which was about to become longer and more complicated. They were going to make the War God Gaaa’aaan proud of them. He that had created them (so they thought), he that watched over them (so they believed) and he cared that they only did noble deeds in his name (so they said). S’unk made the sign of Gaaa’aaan and said a silent prayer for victory. Being a Pebelon, his version of silence involved a lot of shouting.

“War God – Let us destroy these weaklings” he bellowed. That was it. He made the sign of Gaaa’aaan again and turned his attention to the crew.

"I will lead the landing party" he announced. "We will kill all resistance as soon as we meet it. No one will be left alive. Obviously sticking rigidly to our code of honour."

"Hurrah!" growled his fellow lizards. Romeo had never actually met any lizards and it never occurred to him that lizards don't growl.

“A full frontal attack – maximum power.”

“I propose” began Smith, “to totally Mr T their asses and bust out of this room, all guns a-blazing.”

“Cool” cooed Euan, violence being his second favourite thing.

“S’pose we could. Or we could just sit here” muttered Stevo. The extent of his aggressive past was having ‘Cut here’ tattooed across the insides of his wrists.

“Ok boys – you’ve seen the 80s TV classic – lets see what we’ve got to play with.” They hunted through various boxes and found scarves, diaries, pieces of Aztec jewellery, strange lumps of metal which looked (for good reason) war damaged. Smith and Euan searched with a passion while Stevo just skulked around. He stumped over to the door.

“It’s not actually locked” he mumbled as the door gave way to his slightest touch.

“Balls” cursed Smith. He walked over to it, slammed it shut and filled the lock with superglue. “Now it’s locked. Right – where was I?”

Stevo rolled his eyes and half heartedly joined the rummage.

“Ah ha” cried Smith, “sod the armour-plated golf trolley – this looks tasty.” He pulled out a cybergun and pointed it at the door.

Adric and Nyssa poured over the mass of numbers on the TARDIS screen.

“They look perfectly normal to me” said Nyssa. Adric didn’t want to commit himself. The figures looked normal but mathematics was so precise that ‘feelings’ or ‘assumptions’ were as invalid as trying to work out hexadecimal computations using your fingers and toes. After a moment’s thought he came to a conclusion.

"According to these figures" he announced, "we're somewhere in the Ganar System, possibly Frinta."

"But if we had landed inside the TARDIS, how could our space-time coordinates be right?”

"True" conceded Adric, "but if that's the case there was no point even looking at the flight computer because we couldn't believe whatever it said. No - I think it's far more likely that we ARE on Frinta, or somewhere nearby, and there is another explanation for all the Doctor's junk being outside."

"Such as?”

"Maybe the Doctor buys a house on Frinta and settles down."

"Hmmm" replied an unconvinced Nyssa. "I suppose it's possible."

"We should give the Doctor the news that we're not trapped in an impossibility."

They marched out of the TARDIS to find The Doctor and Tegan. They found them rooting through a box of clothes.

"Dodo wore something very like this when we met the Toymaker" muttered the Doctor.

"The Toymaker?" said a sickened Tegan. She remembered their recent encounter and had no desire to meet him again. Ever.

"Oh no..." gasped the Doctor upon discovering a purple garment.

"What is it ?" asked a concerned Tegan. The Doctor held up the Australian Airways tunic which the girl was currently wearing.

Smith laid waste to the door.

"Do it again" roared Euan.

"Don't be a pempslider" scolded Smith, "there's only the one door and that's toast." They charged out of the small store room and went in search of answers. They didn't know which gang of international terrorists / foreign power / axis of evil / perverted sex fiend / reality TV show had kidnapped them but no one messed with Smith's desire for chemical stimulation and got away with it.

“We won’t find the answers we’re looking for in here” declared The Doctor. He’d examined everything that the small stock room had to offer. It contained mysteries and it contained dust. But no answers. The Doctor tried the door and it yielded to his touch. He led the party out into the dark corridor. Lights sprang on as motion sensors detected their arrival. They were grateful for the illumination but all of them realised that this meant their presence had been recorded. The Doctor tried the first door they came to. It was a room eerily similar to the one they had just left. As was the next one. And the next one. This building seemed to specialise in dust. Adric was bored and raced ahead. He turned a corner and let out cry.

“Doctor” he called. “Doctor, come quickly.”

The Doctor raced round the corner to find out what was the matter. He stared with horror at the sight that met him. He came face to face with his worst fear – pure, unsullied evil.

“Daleks” he spat.

TO BE CONTINUED…