Doctor Who_ Delta and the Bannermen - Malcolm Kohll [8]
Keillor was a highly experienced professional and sensed immediately that Delta was no ordinary tourist.
He had intended a week away from the stress of
‘freelance soldiering’ as he called it, but his mind was already working overtime on all the possibilities of the case. If something was going on he had no intention of missing out on it. He thought perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone, that is, earn some currency and have a holiday at the same time.
Earth appeared through the panoramic windscreen. The satellite, accelerating at thousands of miles per hour, was rushing straight towards them.
The singing had died down and Mel leant forward to have a chat with Murray. ‘Do you often do the 50s run?’
she asked.
Murray’s face lit up. ‘Uh-huh. I love that sort of thing –
the music, the haircuts, the baggy suits.’
Mel nodded in agreement. ‘The music’s the thing that attracts me,’ she said. She turned to Delta with a smile,
‘Where are you from?’ she asked.
Murray watched them through the mirror, straining to hear their conversation. ‘You’re not a late arrival for the Navarino party, are you?’ he asked.
Delta looked him straight in the eye. ‘No,’ she said, lifting her chin defiantly, ‘I am a Chimeron.’
Keillor, a few seats away, made a note in a small black book. Just then there was a spine-jarring CRASH! as the satellite tore into the front of the bus, sending it into a corkscrew dive, hurtling towards Earth’s surface.
Passengers screamed and clung to one another in terror as Murray fought with the controls to try and bring the damaged craft around. Luggage ripped free of the racks and crashed down onto the hapless tourists. Food and drink filled the aisle.
Chapter Seven
Hawk and Weismuller, after several fruitless hours trying to pluck signals from the ether, had returned to the hillside phonebox. Weismuller, reluctant to admit failure, was still scanning the skies with his brass telescope.
‘Forget it, Weismuller. Without any co-ordinates we’re shooting in the dark.’
‘Well,’ said his partner huffily, ‘it’s not going to be me who makes that call. No sir! I wanna skedaddle out of this place. You know it’s been so long I can’t even picture May’s face anymore.’
‘So what’s to complain about,’ Hawk mumbled to himself.
‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Hawk. By this time he was getting impatient. ‘The boss said we were to share everything.
That includes responsibility, you know,’ he whined.
Weismuller held up his hand to silence further debate.
‘Just make the call, Lex,’ he said.
Before Hawk had a chance to act, the strained atmosphere was broken by the urgent ringing of the telephone in the police box. Weismuller snatched it up,
‘Weismuller here... Yes sir, no, nothing yet. Gee, that’s too bad. I’ll do my best, sir.’ He hung up, looking grim.
‘What’s up?’ asked Hawk, a nervous tone to his voice.
‘Bad news – this satellite thing has gone haywire. The scientists think it’s gonna fall to earth somewhere around here. The Pres. wants us to find it before certain enemy powers get their mitts on it.’
Hawk collapsed the telescope and hopped into the car.
‘If we don’t screw upon this one then it could mean promotion. We could both be home by Christmas, Weismuller. Home!’ With fresh enthusiasm he started the engine and they puttered away down the road.
Chapter Eight
Inside the TARDIS the Doctor was watching his screen in horror. The bus was spiralling towards the blue planet, impact only a few moments away. An emergency siren was whooping inside the TARDIS, drowning out the sigh of the time rotor.
On board the bus Murray’s face was dripping with sweat as he twirled a defunct master control. ‘Keep calm, folks.
We’re just experiencing a little technical difficulty,’ he said. Murray’s knuckles were white as he manipulated his instruments, straining to take control of his craft. The bus shook more and more violently and he hoped that it