Doctor Who_ Delta and the Bannermen - Malcolm Kohll [44]
‘Why thank you sir. That’s very fine of you to offer,’
replied Weismuller with a pleased look on his face.
Just then a tour bus arrived at the gates of the camp. Its roof-mounted loudspeaker was playing ‘Singin’ the Blues’
at high volume.
‘Good Heavens! I completely forgot – the Skegness Glee Club! And I have no staff. I really must dash – goodbye,’
said Burton, furiously pumping the Doctor and Mel’s hands before trotting off to welcome the new intake of campers.
The only people now left were Mel and the Doctor, Hawk and Weismuller. Something caught the Doctor’s eye.
There, hanging from the top of the metal gatepost, was the American satellite, surrounded by other debris from the Navarino bus. Large and round and slightly dented from its interstellar impact but basically still intact.
The Doctor pointed at it, saying, ‘I believe that satellite belongs to you, gentlemen.’ Weismuller slowly turned and gawped at the gutting orb. His face cracked into a smile which became a whoop of glee. He clapped Hawk between his skinny shoulder blades so hard that he almost fell over.
‘We did it, Hawk! We actually did it!’ he cried with delight.
Everything had turned out all right in the end. Now that they had the satellite there would be no need to mention Bannermen and spaceships, and they could go home practically as heroes. Hawk would probably receive a medal for being wounded on active duty. At that moment Weismuller couldn’t be happier. He turned back to the TARDIS. ‘Thanks Doc...’ he started to say but his mouth fell open. The blue police callbox had vanished as if it had never existed. Weismuller, no longer surprised at anything, scanned the heavens for any sign of the disappearing spacecraft. All he could see was a clear blue sky with the occasional bird breaking through its smooth surface. He turned slowly back to where the satellite hung on the gatepost. It was still there. ‘C’mon old buddy,’ he said to Hawk, ‘we’re going home...’
Epilogue
The Bannermen craft flashed through deep space, accelerating strongly all the while. Inside the craft Billy was sitting at the flight controls, trying to learn the basics of interstellar navigation from Delta. ‘It’s a bit more difficult than the Vincent,’ he said.
‘Once you’ve got the hang of it then I’m sure you’ll be an excellent pilot. You seen to have a natural affinity for mechanical things,’ said Delta.
Billy stared at the instrument screen. ‘Uh... how long till we get to the brood planet?’ he asked.
‘It won’t be long now,’ she said, checking the star charts.
In the hold the Bannermen were sitting up, trying to eat the food which the young princess was offering them on the end of a long fork. They had first thought of trying to overpower her and recapture the ship, but two things had argued against that approach – first was that without Gavrok to lead them, not to say bark at, bully and cajole them, the Bannermen had felt the zest go out of soldiering.
As a matter of fact, they had decided that if they were ever free again, they would set up a weaving collective, making rugs which could be sold throughout the galaxy. The second thing which ensured their meek compliance was the princess herself, who had given a low call just to let them know that at the slightest sign of trouble she would open her mouth and paralyse them with pain.
A small yellow dot appeared on the screen. Billy raised a silvery green eyebrow in query. Delta nodded. ‘There it is.
It’ll take over for the landing,’ she said, taking the controls from Billy. He marvelled as he watched her hands swiftly working the instruments, bringing the craft down to a speed which would not tear it apart as it entered the atmospheric envelope of the brood planet.
With a hiss the craft settled onto the ground. The hatch opened and Billy stood staring open-mouthed at what lay before him – the entire surface of the planet, as far as the eye could see, was covered with hexagonal cells, each big enough to